station72 | (no subject)

CHARACTERS: Bellamy + Noctis, their gross offspring, and you.
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :048 - DAY :050
SUMMARY: accept a visual representation
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

( the hatchening | closed to bellamy and noctis )
[ At first, Bellamy thinks he's broken it somehow in the transition. Can you take this? There's something else I want to do, he'd asked after having come across Noctis in the hall. There's only so long anyone could hold an egg, and Bellamy finished in the library. He'd meant to pawn the egg on the first willing party he found, and go to the training wing. Instead, as he extends the egg towards Noctis, there's an audible crunching noise. Bellamy stalls, looking down to where both his hands and egg are poised over Noctis' outstretched hands. ]

Is it...leaking?

[ Something is dripping, slick over Bellamy's hands and splattering over Noctis' upturned palms. It's black. Bellamy's thoughts flicker to nightblood and Ontari, chest split open and Murphy and Abby's arms stained black to the elbow with her blood. It's a gruesome image, even if it only lingers for a split second before obvious worry over what's happened to the egg crowds it out of his head. ]

Was this supposed to hatch?

[ Surely someone would have been keeping track of when it was supposed to hatch. The idea that it's happened by chance is worrisome, though Bellamy's afraid to move in case he makes the situation worse, even if it's to go find Cathaway or Prince to try to foist the splintering egg off on them. His mind latches hard onto Noctis, fretfully wrenching his attention to the matter at hand as if Noctis isn't already attentive enough. ]
( the baby shower | ota )
[ They're stuck.

This becomes very obvious about five minutes in, after the initial panic has settles. For all intents and purposes, Bellamy and Noctis are holding hands. They have six little legs wrapped from wrist to wrist, with six tiny sets of claws to pinch each time they try to detach. To be fair, neither of them have tried very hard upon mutual agreement.

At least the dripping has stopped.

Feel free to bump into them and remark upon their snoozing appendage's charming visage. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Well, shit.

That empty space that Noctis had left is filled with guilt as he watches Nyx leave. The man be able to feel it trailing behind him as he walks off, and it wouldn't be terribly hard for Bellamy to sense it pooling at his feet, either. Noctis makes no effort to hide it.

The young king curses under his breath, then gives Bellamy an apologetic glance.]

Sorry. ...That was awkward.

[He hadn't tried to run the man off. He'd have to talk to him later.]

[ This particular exchange doesn't do much to improve Bellamy's impression of Nyx. He can sense something deeper at play between the two of them, but it's complex in a way the reminds Bellamy of Polis and the veiled political climate Clarke had so willingly engaged in. Noctis' guilt is a heavy weight, flooding down the bond and mingling with Bellamy's own ever-present awareness of his own sins. His hand flexes as if Bellamy means to draw away, and is rewarded by the hatchling's claws pricking as it's arms tighten around them. ]

You don't have to apologize.

[ There wasn't much either of them could have done. Bellamy hadn't been able to keep the conversation from straying to a topic that had upset Nyx and Noctis both, and now he can't give Noctis time to recover himself. ]

I'm sorry it went like that.

[ Whatever "that" was. Bellamy isn't asking for an explanation. ]

Do you want to stay here?

[ There's not very much to offer in the way of distractions when they're stuck in this position. ]

[He shakes his head, unwilling to let Bellamy apologize. His own apologize rings in every word.]

Don't be sorry. Not your fault. Just some leftover stuff from home rearing its ugly head.

[It's not fair to burden any of that on his companion for now. He wants to focus on the creature looped around their hands and wrists, not commiserate over a fallen Altissia, or memories of destruction and loss. Noctis tries to rein it in, but it's a bit like trying to grasp at sand. He still hasn't gotten a hold of wrangling his emotions into one concise point within him, though he certainly wishes he could.]

We can keep moving. At this point, I don't think we're going to find any answers, so we might as well just keep ourselves from being bored in the interim.