[hatch log / mission: hyrypia] the winds that will be howling at all hours

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - Naerstone House
WHEN: DAY :002 - :003
SUMMARY: New hosts hatch on the Station, are briefed, then make their way to Hyrypia to join the rest of the hosts… while they attend a very important history lesson.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

STATION 72
DAY :002

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP are are suddenly changed. --No. That's not right. You're you and there's no suddenly about it. It's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or surfacing up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and everything is because right there in your own head there's something both familiar and strange. You know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone.In fact there are lots of you and none of them are the strangers they should be. Some even seems like people you've known for a very long time.They are as familiar as this place you've never been is.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a hollow shell.

--Or it does until a voice separates itself from the white noise in your head:


BRIEFING
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD isn't really a voice at all. It's the warm tang of camaraderie, tinged with a flash of impatience like ticking hands on a clock face and a flicker of wonder: a falling star. It says:

( My, you're all very fresh aren't you? Unfortunately, the multiverse waits for no spring chicken. Once you've figured out which way's up, won't you all join us? )
Join 'us' where is the question. And yet, once you're ready to meet the owner of the voice in your mind, your footsteps simply lead you there naturally. Two strangers sit in a small circular briefing room - a tall being covered in short brown fur with a rigid demeanor, and a pale alien with yellow washed frills at her jaw and throat who is smiling cheerfully.

"Hey there, sunshine," says Rhan, her frills humming as she speaks. "Why don't you take a seat so we can get started?"

[ooc note: please see here for the catch-all briefing thread]


THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before it's time to make the trip to Hyrypia, this is as good an opportunity as you're going to get to familiarize yourself with Station 72 before you leave it. There's plenty to see, but a distinct lack of people to make conversation with. It's lonely and quiet and there's a sensation of dust gathering even where there is none. Maybe studying the briefing files on your databank and going over your mission kit is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...

HYRYPIA - NAERSTONE HOUSE
DAY :003

MEETING
A SINGLE SHIP LANDS in a field the color of burnished gold, returning to the place it had until late the night before occupied. It's carefully inserted beside dozens of other spacecraft bearing more than faint similarities, though each has its own unique aesthetic. When the gangplank drops, the loud engines powering down, it reveals--

New hosts. Seven fresh faces - obscured as they are in layers of intricate fabric - are led down the gangplank by Rhan There to greet them is a number of other hosts - any who answered to the sweet crystalline ring of Collector’s voice in their heads hardly a half hour earlier, speaking with certainty born of truth:

( Rhan and Siva’co are returning. Shall we see what stories they have to tell? )

Despite the solidarity that both combined groups provide, there's a feeling of eyes here. A number of guards along the edge of the shuttle field are watching the reunion like hawks. Better perhaps to return to the apartments where they'll be able to speak in private and teach the new hosts what it is that has been learned since their arrival. --Or explore, for those who prefer not to rest. Naerstone House's grounds are vast and they are almost entirely open to the parties of the pilgrims to explore.

THE PERFORMANCE
AS THE SINGLE RED SUN of Hyrypia dips low on the horizon there is a long, low, mournful sound. A deep bell-- or a horn? Or maybe it's something else entirely, but the call is heard and answered as any nearby servants inform the guests of the house:

“There will be a performance of the First Journey in a quarter turn. All guests are invited to attend.”

There's no mystery as to where the event is occurring. A steady trail of guests and servants lead out past the Veranda into the central garden where a number of pillars have been mounted and a large tiered platform festooned with with numerous draped curtains and abstract representations of trees and mountains - a great stage - now sits. The stage is surrounded by numerous low settees and tables, piles of thick cushions and richly colored rugs around which guests can be found clustered, lounging while sipping thick, syrupy drinks.

Each table is illuminated only by a single glowing orb at its center. Otherwise, as the sun sets it pitches the garden into darkness as even the castle itself has been left unlit. There are no lights in distant windows or on Naerstone House's high walls; these small orbs and the glitter of stars in the black sky might very well be the only points of light in the whole universe.

The allotted time passes and the performance begins. A sun rises over the stage. It's a much larger, more intricate glowing orb and reveals a number of players dressed far more simply than the Hyrypians the hosts have met. They wear complex machine masks upon their faces that shutter into different expressions as their hands flitter across their faces: dramatic caricatures to accompany the droning sound of their singing voices as they unfold the tale at the center of the performance - the one which drives this pilgrimage and for the Nest's very presence in the universe at all. It's the story of lost Rabadoceans coming to a planet near barren intent on brutalizing them - about loss and hardship until finally a single player separates from the rest. The orb of the sun over the stage turns, it's mechanical face shifting and resetting to indicate the passage of time as the very central platform of the stage begins to turn so that this lone player might walk. And walk. And walk through deserts and scrub land, through dark woods and dark caves, against the wind and with it. Through it all, the orb over the stage slowly lowers until at last this lone player can take it in their hands.

It cracks like an egg and brilliance streams from it. Braziers catch fire in the darkness. The garden illuminates itself. Every light in Naerstone House comes to life.

With that, the silence of the crowd breaks. There is applause -- each culture in its own unique fashion -- and then there is a rise of chattering conversation as the guests are served several small dishes and talk about the show they’ve just seen - and whatever possible clues it might give to the pilgrimage they themselves would soon be undertaking.

---

((OOC Notes: This is the hatch log for all new hosts as well as the evening's performance. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[skaikru]

( you know, loud and obtrusive voices in her head, she probably could have dealt with. so it felt a little like losing your mind, that could be manageable. but rounding the corner and coming face to face with two persons so obviously not human, it... throws her for a bit of a loop. clarke's seen some shit — two headed deer, an absolutely gigantic gorilla intent on eating her, radiation ravaged bodies — but never aliens. and she'd spent seventeen years in space.

her hesitance and immediate distrust is obvious, and at first she hangs back by the door, the desire to run the other direction and her curiosity waging war between her eyebrows. but, in the list of cosmic curveballs the universe has deemed to throw at her, this seems to fall right in line with everything else, and curiosity wins.

curiosity always wins, and clarke's shuffling forward in time to be handed a slim piece of technology. it's incredibly lightweight. raven would have loved it. )

Notes on what exactly? ( she eventually asks, because sure, she's got a lot of questions. but between the knives and tablets, this feels less space station orientation and more classroom lecture. war council? the question reverberates softly in her mind, too, because she's a fresh baked cookie oozing melted chocolate everywhere; sorry for the echoes, guys.

and although bid to take a seat, she doesn't yet. )

[isorropia]

[Rhan shoots her companion a glance, but returns her full attention to Clarke just a moment later.]

On the mission. And this place in general before we leave it, I suppose. I can't say either of us is as good at answering questions about it as old Prince and Cathy but-- [But she's sliding down a rabbit hole. This isn't what she's here to talk about really.]

Tomorrow once you lot aren't quite so scattered, we'll be going away to a planet called Hyrypia where your brothers and sisters are already. We've work to be done there, my darling.

[aluminumandash]

[ He'd partaken of Clarke's alarm—hadn't had a choice—but where she's nakedly distrustful, Rust is wary. He takes a seat as a means of keeping his distance, sizing up the two...beings as he would unfamiliar animals.

Physically he's still; mentally he radiates impatience, frustrated curiosity. He might as well be jiggling a leg.

He lights a cigarette. Enjoy. ] What if we say no? [ He asks the question calmly, an air of inevitability to it. If there's a challenge, it's in the way he holds Rhan's gaze.

Go ahead, threaten him. ]

[isorropia]

[Siva'co turns his head to him, smooth, predatory motion, only enhanced by the alien and unreadable eyes that fix on him. His own mind isn't quiet- not locked down or shuttered off, but it is keenly focused, a wound spring, a number of gears clicked neatly into place. A task and a duty to undertake keeping him narrow. The whiff of smoke has his nose flaring- all four nostrils- but he doesn't address it.]

Then you stay here, alone with the custodians. You leave your brood unprotected and at risk without you to rely on. You will feel their pain-perhaps their deaths- with no chance to assist them, and you put aside any chance to make a calculated strike against the enemy who brought war to your doorstep. We have no need of reluctant soldiers.

[He has no need of reluctant soldiers.]

[ryohji]

[ like clarke, kaji declines a seat at the table. he loiters, his back tucked against the conjoining walls where he can enjoy full view of the ongoing conversation. his eyes dart from one question to its attending answer like tracking a game of tennis. rust helps himself to three puffs before kaji's lighting his own cigarette, just in case rhan and siva'co had any undue impressions about this group that needed dispelling. ]

So, you're not going to drag us by the legs, kicking and screaming?

[ there's no teasing the thoughtful skepticism behind his question. benevolent captors? it confuses him, considering the circumstances that lead him here in the first place. these beings, they didn't seem above coercion, though the ruddy one's guilt trip comes pretty damn close. ]

And what if the whole brood stays behind?

[unsea]

Of course they're not. You were given the choice to come here, after all.

[ wry amusement; he's not here to be diplomat on behalf of the station, but it is always interesting to see who will resist and who will follow the connection strung between each and every one of them. two smokers, clarke griffin - who else, and how would their opinion sway the tone of this conversation. ]

[calhar]

[ There's no sign of tactics in the way Mat takes a seat, unless acting aggressively unbothered counts as a tactic. The undercurrent of paranoia's a counterpoint to the way he's leaning onto the table, chin propped in one hand as he frowns at the exchange of information. Being told where to go and what to do by people — sort of people — who've got access to things they shouldn't have, it's old hat. ]

Brood? [ He knows what it means. He's just judging Kaji for so readily buying into the terms or assuming any sort of coherency to their plans. ] And that's a loose definition of choice. If they'd said, now, Mat, you can either stay under this pile of rubble or come run errands for us in some other bloody plane, then it would've been a choice.

[ Mat sits back, crossing his arms as he fixes his attention back on their hosts. ] Are the two of you going?

[skaikru]

( yes, thank you mat, that is exactly what she'd been thinking. a choice between life and death is hardly a choice at all, and while there's no warm rush of affection as she glances in his general direction, there's a ripple of emotional backing; agreement. yeah, what he said. in a rush to piggy back off his question, maybe override it, clarke looks directly at rhan and tries not to let the perpetual shock and immediate distrust leech too far onto her features, or into her voice. )

And how many of us are there?

( a dual question; how many brothers and sisters were planet side and waiting for them, and how many belonged in a brood? because while mat, kaji and rust's sentiments are felt and, and often mirrored in her own self, there's still something, someone who feels absent; too far away, a tease to the edge of her consciousness. it's disjointing, like a populated loneliness. )

[isorropia]

Hold, hold. Give me just a tic.

[Karn, it's been some time since she had to answer this particular brand of questions. Next time she's letting Cathaway and Prince take them first, regardless of whatever time crunch they happen to be in the middle of.]

You'll hear all kinds of things from all kinds of people about the circumstances of how you or they got here, I imagine. But my dears, the truth of the matter is that if you hadn't come here when your Agent asked you to, you'd be dead. It's as simple as that, really. Not much of a choice, maybe, but I certainly prefer this version of events myself.

[Rhan flashes the room a winning smile.]

There are six hosts in every brood and presently I believe there are twenty-six of us on the planet and eleven of us up here. Not counting the drones, of course. [For those of you in the room who can count, that certainly indicates there are two Hosts lurking unseen on the Station somewhere.] Beyond that, I honestly have no idea and I doubt anyone else does either. As for staying here...

[That one she's honestly not sure about. What happens to Hosts who stay on the Station indefinitely? Nothing much, if Cathaway and Prince are any indication.] Well, on the plus side you'd probably like to a ripe old age. On the other hand, it sounds rather boring -- and I don't know about you, but I rather like spitting in the eye of the people who forced me out of my home.

[aluminumandash]

[ Rust pulls on his cigarette, makes a first attempt at stifling his thoughts. Because he agrees—living is a choice, one he keeps on making. Because he is, at heart, a coward.

(He doesn't ask who the other two are, or how many of the thirty-seven of them are too young to fucking drink, but he gives the questions more than passing consideration.) ]

Alright, so we're a cell. [ His wariness sharpens, though his voice maintains its lazy drawl. ]

What about supplies, weapons. [ He nods at the seven neat piles of cloth. ] Where's all that come from?

[isorropia]

[The use of the word cell is met with a sharp flash of recognition from Siva'co's mind, something bright- surprised. Hard to discern, but it appears, to an extent, to improve his mood.]

Yes. Those in your brood, as your cell, share with you the strongest connection. [This is natural- a correct way, the acceptance of easy in his mind.] Most of your supplies this mission come from the Hyrya System, collected by our brood during scouting operations. The rest come from the station, either collected by other agents in the past or manufactured here.

hope your half second of not being annoyed treated you well

[aluminumandash]

[ At the flare of emotion, Rust's focus draws tighter on Siva'co. He tries—not to forge a link, but to dig into whatever's prompted the reaction.

It's reflex, recklessness, maybe a pinch of calculation. The mental equivalent of throwing a sucker punch.

(Throwing a sucker punch when he can barely make a fist.) ]

[isorropia]

[It's- blunt. His chin raises at the feeling- like fingers gripping, digging in where they weren't invited. But-surprisingly, perhaps, he makes no attempt to force the foreign mind out of his own, though it would be quite easy. Instead, there is surprise, a note of irritation- permission should be requested, respect shown for rank. But while the mind that invades his own is nothing like a knife, carving away to the piece he is searching for, nor is it like delicate fingers turning over page by page, Siva'co can feel what that inelegant strike is aiming for.

Easy, then, to direct it, like a palm pressed against the back of his knuckles until they are pointing in the right direction. An early memory. Ten identical uniforms in his peripheral vision. Behind him, eleven more. Behind them, eleven more, seated straight-backed and quiet, a board in front of them with meticulous charts- troop movements, enemy numbers. Yes, a cell. A squad. A platoon. His siblings-in-arms. Hundreds of children under the eyes of cool minded, stern soldiers. This is the way of things. A cell- the ten who would protect you in battle. The ten you would protect. Reliability. Strength. Family. Do you know family, Rust?

He blinks. The memory is gone- cut off as neatly as a sword might sever a limb, and as much of a show of strength.]

[skaikru]

( distantly, she's aware of the tendrils of exchange between the two of them. whispers that can't be picked out amidst the louder thoughts that pound in between her temples like a heartbeat. it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and earn a suspicious glance around the room once clarke drags her gaze from the databank in hand. it'd been easy enough to activate, to find the index of the briefing report sent out to those who came before them, and while it's too dense to read through with the buzz of conversation about, it's enough to spark a few more questions.

once upon a time she might have raised her hand in a classroom setting. but this is a lengthy discussion nitpicking the semantics of subterfuge. )

You don't want soldiers, you want political spies. That's different. ( which she has a whole mess of feelings about, and yet... trepidation isn't chief among them. a flare of irritation, some sour sentiments about sending so many of them, working the odds against them for being discovered. that's how her history with such things has unfolded at least. a brief glance back at the mission statement, then back to their orientation leaders. )

How do you expect us to interrogate Enemy agents about which group they're working for without letting them know we're onto them?

[isorropia]

[It does not take any time for Siva'co to turn his attention back to the physical, the private part of his mind still shuttered off from Rust, at least. A connection narrowed and maintained even with distraction.]

It is not different. A soldier completes their assigned missions regardless of the parameters.

[Or he would not be here.]

We don't. You will not be interrogating the Enemy. Under no circumstances are you to reveal to them that you are aware of them. Doing so will endanger the mission.

[The edge to his voice- if that is an edge, difficult to tell through the echoing nasal tone of it- and the edge of his mind seem to brook very little argument on that front.]

Your task is identification and interference. First, discover who they are, when identified additional recon should make it easy to ascertain who they are assisting. Once we have this information we move to prevent their chosen party from gaining control of the Nectar. When we can be assured of this the mission will be complete and we will return to the station. We will not linger in enemy occupied territory longer than necessary.