station72 | [hatch log / mission: hyrypia] the winds that will be howling at all hours

Entry tags:

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

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 )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( ....well, okay then grumpy child.

waking up on the station had been a wash of negative emotions — the sense of being uprooted and thrust too closely together with strangers; of being bound to people who hadn't earned the trust required to unlock the reward of being her tragic emotional sounding boards, but with whom she struggled to hold anything back from. touching down on hyrypia had been similarly unpleasant, but their strange alien guides' promises of brothers and sisters had manifested in the form of three actually, truly familiar faces. and that? that had brought comfort. a sense of stability and support. clarke's also met someone she thought was dead, but has already cried a river and waded through the depths of it to come out on the other side... happier.

happy enough, at least, that prickling hostility won't ruin her mood. there's an awkward beat where clarke stays standing for too long, then carefully sweeps the tails of her cloak beneath her as she settles alongside asuka. but, social cues aside, she's never been one to shy away from the harder topics, and a short while late, softly: )

( Not looking forward to this? )

( which is the most polite, unobtrusive way she can think of to tread water around the bigger question: ...you okay? )

[ Asuka stares straight ahead through her veil, not deigning to even glance at Clarke. She can sense the other woman beside her. Another newbie (as if Asuka wasn't incredibly new herself). Her anger and frustration and hostility isn't aimed at Clarke; not really. It's a general sort of defense. Spikes and quills designed to repel anyone and everyone, without much sense for who might get hurt in the process. ]

( It doesn't have anything to do with this. )

[ Asuka's thought is focused and a bit overbearing, but again it isn't aimed at Clarke. But that's a good way to answer the question. Reading between the lines: <No, I'm not OK.

Not that Asuka would ever admit that out loud. ]

( even if asuka's sour mood isn't aimed at her, clarke feels it. it's like waves lapping at the shore, dark feelings swirling in the air between them; the sort that don't have to be named and spoken of to be known. even without the mental bridge between them, the fact that something was bothering the girl would be evident in her tight posture.

and she gets it. these are familiar emotions. clarke had been a whirlwind of open hostility and suspicion when she'd woken on the station, frustrated with circumstances that were beyond her control, and plagued by a deep sense of guilt that manifested as anger that momentarily overruled her more practical, logical, and diplomatic responses. it'd been that way since landing on the ground, more or less; anger fueled, anger drove. hostility were hard walls to overcome. but all her wealth of knowledge on what it's like to be hurt and frustrated by it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable being on the receiving end of round about emotions. )

( We don't know that, ) ( is the best response she can manage, light and trying not to trod on any invisible land mines. clarke's observing the stage area, the general crowd. outside their personal realm of negativity, there's a heady buzz of excitement and pleasant conversation; everyone else seems happy, or at least content. it's a gathering, it's a performance. ) ( Plays can be history or myth. We're bound to learn something about these people. )

( My mood. )

[ Asuka's retort is a mental snap. ]

( My mood doesn't have anything to do with this stupid play. Are you stupid or something? )

[ Which isn't really fair to Clarke; even with emotions and thoughts ping-ponging back and forth, things are misinterpreted. Then again, Asuka is rarely (if ever) fair about a lot of things. Her capacity for fairness and trying to play nice went out the window a long time ago and she's only starting to rebuild that part of her. ]

( The play thing will be entertaining. Maybe. Who knows what it's gonna actually mean for our mission, though. )

[ There's a pause as Asuka stews in her own sour mood. ]

( ...you're new, aren't you? )

Edited 2017-07-15 23:54 (UTC)

( clarke backs off slightly, a buzz of apology about her. if she weren't so painfully aware of their surrounding company and caught up in keeping a rigid posture that doesn't invite questions, she'd hold up her hands in an attempt to soothe and mollify. instead, her gloved fingers remain interlaced in the folds of fabric across her lap, and clarke radiates sorry i'm not good at this yet; sifting through a torrent of emotions and not ending up making an ass of herself in conversation. )

( Pretty new, I guess. )

( but hey, that's not the worst thing in the world, right? sometimes all it takes is an impartial sounding board to rail against in order to feel better. someone willing to weather the storm of another's emotions could make all the difference, and while clarke's not usually in the type to dabble in casual talk therapy, she's the type to try to help. )

( Which means if you want to talk about it... ) ( it; that angry haze that hangs over both of them like an ominous crowd, that sour mood that colors asuka's tone in every escaping sentiment. ) ( I mean, if someone's bothering you, it wouldn't be like I'd know who you were talking about. )

[ The mental interplay is interesting by itself. It's a sharp flicker of emotion one way and then the other, images and mental noise that convey weight and feeling and intent. It isn't an easy way to communicate, but it certainly helps with figuring out how sincere someone actually is. Asuka's weight shifts a little, as if she's getting more comfortable on her chair - and she is - but it's also a response to the noise in her head. ]

( Why would I ask a stranger for help with anything? )

[ She's going to keep being prickly. Especially (or maybe because) Clarke is new. Or maybe Asuka is just difficult. ]

( I don't need your help. )

( wow, difficult people. she's never, in no way, ever dealt with them in her life. what new uncharted territory. except not, see: the 100, seasons 1-4. )

( Either way, I'm offering. ) ( and there's the mental impression of a shrug, neither dismissive nor allowing herself to be dismissed. she'll let the conversation trail off there, if asuka wishes. clarke settles slightly into her seat as well, never very comfortable with the constant sharp anger blurring around the edges of her mind, but content. she tried, there was only waiting it out to see if the other girl cracked in the silence, as the mechanics up on stage click to life and a story plays out for their enjoyment.

it's not a new story. it's familiar, almost biblical. bits and pieces strike her particularly close to home — group suffering, the last of the rabadoceans striking out on their own in search of some sort of salvation, the tedium of searching for relief in a harsh world. it's a long play, and halfway through clarke becomes completely entranced by the performance, no longer constantly checking back with her companion; no more cautious glances sidelong at asuka behind the obstruction of their clothes. at least not until the end, when the orb explodes throughout the garden. )

( That was beautiful. )

( the brilliance has light playing behind her eyelids, even as clarke blinks to readjust to their hosts bright house again. her hands automatically raise to join the applause. )

[ Asuka lets the offer hang in the air between them after that. It's tempting, in a way, but Asuka has always been reluctant to let people help her or acknowledge that she even needs it. In a way, she's gotten "better" since Third Impact. She knows she can't be alone, but old fears and habits and anger all die very hard. So that wall of suspicion and pride stays up and she shoves the conversation away as she watches the performance. It's actually sort of enjoyable. A little boring at times, but the light show and the stage are fascinating to watch.

She's almost forgotten about Clarke until her voice bursts back into her head after that dazzling finale. ]

( ...yeah. Pretty impressive for an old story. )

[ Faint praise, but it's something. ]

Edited 2017-07-18 04:05 (UTC)

( We probably won't be quite as star struck when it's our turn to make that walk. )

( because as much as the play felt historical and weighted, gave insight into hardships overcome, it was also something of an itinerary. the mission brief had included more than a few mentions of a pilgrimage to be made in the near future, and the symbiote in her head has rendered the drifting conversation around them comprehendible. )

( Probably not. )

[ Asuka has to agree. Grudgingly, at least. She's a bit grumbly and irritated, still, still recovering from the long, emotional half hour she had a while ago. ]

( Do you think they're going to send all of us? )

[ Her curiosity overrides her natural desire to stay prickly and distant. ]

( I don't know. )

( a truth for clarke on many levels when it came to this place, these people, this mission. despite the neatly worded file on their databanks and the mission debrief she'd sat through before coming down to hyrypia, a lot of aspects are still difficult to wrap her head around (like aliens? those are really a thing?) and she feels like she's perpetually playing catch up. )

( I guess we'll find out soon. But I don't think it would be smart. )

( she has some very loud, very opinionated thoughts on the benefit of having this many people in one hostile location, all trying to keep up with a facade that, if it slipped, could mean death. or destruction. a negative contention with rhan and siva'co slips across the link, like a bitter taste on the tongue and a headache. there's the sense of familiarity with situations like this, however seemingly small scale to their objective here, and the hint that, if she were had a greater say in the matter, things would be going differently. )

( They're going to want some of us as backup in case something goes wrong. )

[ Asuka agrees with Clarke; her mind is working quietly but steadily, considering the tactical possibilities. There's not enough information for her to full put together a scenario. It's just bare bones. The pilgrimage, the fact that they need to convince some people to do something for them. What's their objective, besides stopping the enemy? How are they supposed to do that, anyway? So far they're just being spies. More questions than answers, really.

Of course, she can hear Clarke's thoughts pretty loud and clear. Oof. It's not a surprise; she's been radiating negativity herself since day one. The idea of being able to 'hear' thoughts is still strange, though. ]

( I'm Asuka. )

[ As close to a peace offering as she'll get. ]

( asuka. the name fits like a puzzle piece she didn't know she'd been missing, rings of distant sorrow that runs deeper than simply pitying an upset kid. vaguely, clarke feels like she knows the girl, and tries not to spend time thinking further on the subject; tries to resist drawing on history that isn't her own to place her face, voice, or name. it feels... impolite. intrusive. )

( Clarke. )

( and there's a soft smile beneath the layers of fabric, the impression of it floating between them in place of any formal it's nice to meet you. then, to avoid the potential for awkwardness and get right back to business — )

( Some of us, maybe. But they don't need all of us, and unless the entire population goes on this pilgrimage, there's still going to be people here. This Enemy we're facing, they'd probably think to leave someone behind to watch over everything, ) ( this is clarke, putting herself in the enemies shoes; trying to think ahead and plan, but mostly just spitballing. oddly enough, between emotionally high reunions, and stilted introductions, she hasn't had much time to talk about the mission at length. ) ( and that might be the easiest time to track their movements. When everything is less populated. )

( Kind of a weird name. )

[ She's blithe and a bit blunt, but there's not really a lot of venom behind the comment. More an observation on Asuka's part. Beneath that, there's layers of sorrow and emotion, a lifetime of hurt and having been tossed aside in favor of something "better". The idea that she isn't good enough, that no one has ever really cared and no one ever really will. Including herself. ]

( If we can figure out who they are. They're probably in disguise like we are. Not like we can go around asking people if they're some weird, nebulous enemy they've never heard of. )

[ Asuka sounds a little put-out by that. ]

( It's always easier when you have an actual target. )

( wow what a touching compliment asuka, thanks. sorry baby naming books didn't survive the nuclear apocalypse.

after a brief moment of blinking, trying to determine how offended she should be, clarke lets it slide. shakes off the observation with a shrug, attempts to ghost over the hints of tragedy despite the urge to prod and understand better, and slides into easy agreement. there's a nod, plagued by the weary memories of wars on her homefront — easier never meant easy there, and it probably wouldn't here either. )

( Maybe. We'll figure it out either way. ) ( because they have a few dozen collective minds working this problem, and because they don't really have a choice. clarke makes a vain attempt at sounding more hopeful than she feels. )

( My people —... I had a lot of enemies back home. Here at least, it sounds like we only have the one. )

[ Asuka tallies up a (small) victory for herself and then her attention shifts as the conversation does. More important things to worry about than digging in more little needles. At least for right now. ]

( An enemy we've never met and have no idea how to find. How effective at fighting them are we really going to be if we can't even ID them? )

[ She's much more used to having a target she can fight. To having a gun, to having her Eva, and being told to destroy. This is all new to her and it still feels strange and awkward and more than a little weird. ]

( They can't even tell us that much about this "enemy". It's so irritating... )

( a new thought blooms, born of the edge of suspicion and the assumption of constant danger among new faces that has been building since clarke had woken up. her memory digs up rhan and siva'co, the name cathaway, which kaji had muttered over a game of chess with a conspiratorial tone that matched all of her own misgivings. )

( Can't or wont? ) ( it's more mused aloud than an actual pointed question. clarke's second one is more direct: ) ( Do you trust everyone here just because you can hear most of their thoughts? )

( because that is a dangerous mud slide she's been slipping down, especially in regards to her broodmates. )

( Trust? Not really. People are assholes. There's no reason to trust any of them. I mean, I guess they pulled me out of the hell-hole I wasi n before, but that doesn't mean I trust any of them. )

[ It's easy to do what you're told, though. Asuka's good at following orders, especially when she thinks she has a clear target and a clear objective. The cloak and dagger stuff leaves her more frustrated than anything else. ]

( But... I don't know. I guess hearing thoughts makes it a bit easier. It's still a bit freaky. It reminds me of Third Impact... )

[ Which was mostly a barrage of thoughts and emotions and feelings, not all of which she could identify as hers. ]

( it's the answer clarke expects, but still leaves her feeling a little disjointed; again, struggling with the knowledge that she'd been reborn into a group she knew, but didn't. wanted to care for, and simultaneously wished to keep at arms length. felt inclined to trust, to seek out, to confide in, and continually grappled with the logic that she shouldn't. not yet, at least.

a little lost in her own thoughts, the question is an afterthought. )

( Third Impact? ) ( the name alone carries the weight of destruction, but the specifics, and the similarities to their current situation, are all hazy details wrapped in a blanket confusion. the history of nuclear bombs, the rumble of the earth upon high speed collision, and the sound of wood splintering echo in her thoughts, but none of the memories match. )

( The end of the world. )

[ The way she says it is blithe, almost dismissive, but there's more to it than that. There's fragments of memory - of strange truths, of being one with a vast collective, of having regret and pain and sorrow thrown into her face for her to see. Of a red sea and a dark beach and hands around her throat. ]

( Not like it matters now. )

( My world ended, too. )

( said softly, gently. like that fact speaks to a volume of camaraderie between them, even if it's blatantly obvious they experienced different parts of the apocalypse. the little she can garner from asuka is a drab mess of destruction, of something similar to the hivemind they're now a part of. of sand and choking. clarke's world had ended 80 years before she had been born, and rebuilt itself into something more dangerous. pain and sorrow had been beat into her until she wasn't the same child who'd smiled with her first breath of fresh air anymore. all her mistakes and the consequences of her actions thrown in her face at every turn.

clarke gets it. understands the desire to suppress it all and speak cavalierly about worst parts of life.

but she also knows that doesn't work. )

( It matters. )

( a hand is raised, reaching to gently grip asuka's shoulder and squeeze. maybe in some misguided attempt to soothe some of that anger that still rolls off the other girl in waves, maybe to impress by touch that it's okay to feel. )

[ Here they are, sitting "silently" next to one another, swathed in layers and layers of robes and cloth. To an outside observer, they probably look strange with the exchange of a silent touch. Asuka's not that worried about appearances now, though. She's just... angry. And sad. And tired.

She stiffens when Clarke touches her. She wants to throw the hand off and tell her to get away. She doesn't want or need pity. She doesn't want hollow words of sympathy and she never has. Her shoulders hunch slightly, as if she's bracing herself for... something. ]

( No it doesn't. It's gone, now. There's no point in crying about it. )

[ And despite that, there's a well of sadness. Tears and exhaustion for herself, for the world that she's lost. ]

( I don't need pity. )

( even through the layers they're wearing, clarke can feel asuka's shoulders tense, every muscle coiled up to bodily reject this tenuous offer of physical comfort. still, the other girl hasn't thrown her off completely yet, nor stood up and stormed off into the crowd. that's all the leeway clarke needs to push her forced positive agenda. )

( This isn't pity. )

( it wasn't even sympathy. ...okay, it's kind of sympathy, but pushes deeper than that. there's the instinctual drive to alleviate the pain, to dress the wound, to treat asuka's symptoms. but clarke knows from experience that there's a difference between tending to physical wounds and dealing with those that ran right to someone's core. she knows that pity, sympathy, and empathy only go so far when you're wrapped in your own world of hurt and can't scream loud enough to find some catharsis.

envoys from different factions are sparing them odd glances, but it doesn't matter. )

( No one needs that. It doesn't do any good. But I think everyone deserves to be understood. )

( and hope. there's the press of that, of light at the end of the tunnel no matter how dark the current reality felt. that's what she's offering here, because clarke griffin is a gigantic hypocrite who struggles with that concept herself, but feels just fine impressing it upon others. )

[ She can't make a scene here. The mission won't allow it and Asuka, for all of her many faults, will follow orders for the sake of the mission. Or maybe there's something more to it. She both detests and secretly welcomes the link she has with others here. It isn't the all-encompassing, smothering feeling of having her sense of self subsumed into the sea of humanity like Third Impact. She's still her, but she no longer has any defenses (or perhaps now she can simply see clearly) and her emotions are on display for everyone in the Nest to see. And by the same token, she can feel the intent and the emotion that comes from everyone else.

A blessing and a curse.

Besides, Clarke is saying something that she's wanted to hear. She's wanted to be understood, but she's always feared letting people get close enough to do that. She's feared rejection, being discarded, being thought of as weak or not good enough. She hates people for being necessary and at the same time she craves their approval. She is full of contradictions and tangled emotions; a thicket of thorns that threaten to tear at Clarke if she gets closer. ]

( What makes you think you could ever understand me? )

[ Underneath that question is an a plea: look at me, don't leave me, don't abandon me, don't hate me.

She's coiled and tense, ready to stand and push away at a moment's notice. Waiting for Clarke's words. She's already cried herself to exhaustion once tonight. It wasn't as cathartic as she'd hoped but it also didn't leave her as weak as she'd feared. ]

Edited 2017-08-10 00:55 (UTC)

( well, perhaps luckily for the both of them, a little tense, dangerous foliage and sharp emotions have never managed to deter clarke once she set her mind to something. it's a gut pull, to care for asuka; an immediate sort of investment that isn't out of sorts for her, but maybe not entirely her own. maybe this was the force of the symbiote, edging them towards caring each other when the pathway for any sort of friendship has only just started laying bricks. it's hard to parse, so she doesn't try to. that can wait for a time when she wasn't faced with weighted questions.

the answer comes surprisingly easily. )

( I'll try to. If you let me. )

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

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