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

( Nothing is wrong. )

[She is perfectly capable of being drunk. Come on, Petre.]

( I wouldn't think you a savage because you've been in the desert. One of the clans of my coalition are based there, but further out is the Dead Zone. ) [The definition of this is clear: it's a desert, but unlivable. The transition is very apparent.

If she's aware that she's sidestepped his final question with her initial words, she doesn't let it show.]

[ It's a good thing that Petre is easily distracted - not such a good thing that Lexa is not rid of the hint in her head, and that it keeps nagging at his connection.

Needless to say, he doesn't believe her. Something has to be wrong, if she's changed. Somewhere, somehow. The smallest things are enough to set his obsessiveness off, to no one's surprise. ]

( I didn't say I was one, just that I didn't do the whole savage thing. ) [ Wrong word, Petre. Wrong word. ] ( Do you have any training with this kinda stuff? )

[Definitely the wrong word, especially as the Mountain Men were known for referring to her people as savages. It was a way of dehumanizing them. Thankfully, she's accustomed enough to Petre that if she can accept that he likes to eat human flesh to feel powerful, she can overlook this.

But not without a little chiding first:]

( It's not typically considered 'savage' to be in dryer areas. ) [Not that Lexa hasn't been forced to question her people's tendency to kick people out to areas such as the Dead Zone, to force them to live because of their physical deformities. Her experiences here have led to her thinking of that, especially since she now has a better understanding of science.]

( I've little training in regions like that. I grew up in an area that was more temperate: green, with very hot summers and brief, but frigid winters. I can't say I suit these circumstances. )

[If the desert is to be believed to be a desert. Perhaps it's symbolism, like the Flame of the Commander that's merely a chip said to hold spirits.

Just the same, that something wrong isn't fed into by any degree of tension: but it is consistent.]

[ Adjusting himself in his seat, Petre contrasts whatever ease has slipped into Lexa's mindset with his own unrest. It's something his symbiote has managed to adapt to, in small amounts; the constant wriggling and buzzing in other people's minds is nearly mute by now.

But the demon is not. ]

( Are you telling me there's something you don't know how to do? )

[ He's tentatively amused. ]

( I didn't know you thought so highly of me to think that I'm capable of just about anything. I'll keep that in mind. )

[It's more a matter of not letting anyone know what she can't do, but Lexa allows him to sense her amusement.]

( Seriously? )

[ His amusement strikes right back, barely holding in laughter outside their link. ]

( All you do is speak highly of yourself! )

( That's because I'm rather accomplished. )

[There is more than a hint of amusement now, in part because she's fairly at ease with this.

And also, she knows she's good. Strut strut, etc.]

( Yeah, accomplished in jerking off to your own ego. )

[ His own thoughts are as offensively fond as Petre gets, what with how their relationship has developed. It's something he can laugh about, and not just at. Besides, if pride is what lies at the center of Lexa's chest, it's only one more thing he can take and enjoy for himself, ever the glutton for sins. ]

( If that were one of my accomplishments, you wouldn't hear about it. )

[Hint that Lexa is having a good day: she retorts with this joke in particular.]

[ Hmm. ]

( No, seriously. What's wrong with you? )

( I mentioned before that there's someone special to me. )

[Lexa doesn't continue her thought, assuming he can connect the dots.]

( No you didn't. )

[ He's haughty when he says that. A disgruntled poke at a wound that isn't there, trying to draw out something while pretending it should come out of Lexa by her own accord. ]

( I did. )

[This time, her words are firmer. The pillow beneath them has been ripped away, as she sees no need to soften them. She had mentioned that there was someone—once, some time ago. Perhaps she's the only one who remembers it between the two of them, but Lexa has had little cause to speak of Clarke.

(Partly because that's a complicated matter altogether. It can expose so much of her.)]

( She's here now. She arrived today. )

( Where is she then. )

[ The implications of the question are neither here nor there. Petre wouldn't know how to name his intentions anyway. ]

( You make it seem as if you don't believe me. )

[Lexa isn't certain that's actually what he's getting at, but it's the first way of probing.]

( What, can't I meet her? Are you embarrassed of me or something? )

( No. I was merely trying to determine why you'd ask that. )

[After a moment, she reaches out to where Clarke is across the seating arrangements, and draws Petre's attention to her. She's as covered as any of them.]

( I don't have to have a reason for everything. )

[ Another childish complaint, though he turns his head to follow her lead. Unfortunately with all this fabric covering all of them up, there's no real assessment to be made. Unless, of course, he prods at what's inside her mind. ]

[ ooc: do we want to make it a three-way thread? ]

( But you had a reason this time. )

[The more he complains, the more she feels certain that he had intended to be getting at something. Just the same, she rises up from where she's sitting, alerting Clarke of their approach.

This whole thing is odd for Lexa, but only because she had once introduced Clarke to the best of her notiviates. Aden had even looked a little like Petre (if he had been given the chance to grow up, that is). She's conscious of that fact. It strikes her as exactly the thing that Clarke would think about, as well.]

( Remember that she's new. ) [These are the final words she offers to Petre before she leads him to Clarke, hand on her shoulder once they get there to capture her attention.

It occurs to Lexa that Petre knows so little about her in this moment. That he even knew there was someone shows the depth of his importance to her, strange as it may be. Still, that's bound to show soon enough.]

( she'd begged off lexa's company through the performance for several reasons. there was the desire to integrate herself in this society, their mission here — to get her feet under her in what still felt like a familiar set of circumstances, just cast upon a different backdrop. there'd been simple curiosity, too; a chance to study hyrypian culture first hand, and maybe start to parse out her own conclusions about who was friend and who was foe here.

and then there's the simple need to decompress. if the reunion with bellamy had felt as intense as a car wreck, seeing lexa had felt like the ark splitting apart upon reentering the atmosphere. heady, full of emotions too weighted to put into words, so she'd just allowed them to roll off her in waves as tears rolled down her cheeks. and clarke had thought it best to give herself time to process, only to turn right around and distract herself from this goal by mingling with other hosts and watching the vibrant lightshow. she's deep in thought now, twisting the hem of her cloak idly in her fingers and drawing loose lines of symbolism between a trek across an arid desert, and a sharp descent through cold space when lexa's mind brushes her own. it's deliberate, but gentle, like having her name whispered against her skin. a shiver races itself up her spine, and another a few moments later when gloved fingers smooth over the tense muscles in her shoulder.

clarke almost speaks aloud, but stops herself. )

( Hey. )

( she's half out of her seat before realizing lexa isn't alone. sorry petre, your presence will always be eclipsed by lexa kom trikru, the heda of her heart. and maybe that's preferable to gaining clarke's full attention and bearing the brunt of the gust of guarded curiosity. she's wary, dragging veiled eyes between the two of them — and loud, brimming with a swell of barely contained thoughts. they slip from between the fingers of the tight fist she's been working for the last hour to wrap around herself, but eventually give way to sometime a little kinder, a little more open. it doesn't take much to notice the ease between lexa and this new stranger, to guess what he's doing here at her side.

this is familiar. with a nod of her head: )

( We haven't met yet. I'm Clarke. )

[ Before she concedes, Petra is caught rolling his eyes at her conclusion-assumption. Concealing a mute spark of excitement (and a less pleasant one of anxiety), Petre offers her a distracted nod and follows her lead. Clarke has little reason to make an effort and shield her mind - Petre is keen on prying regardless, trying to guess what she looks and acts like when no one's watching. His first, one-second long impression? A wary, quiet girl. Probably boring, which is probably why Lexa likes her. He just doesn't get why she's supposed to like her that much.

Unseen, Petre's lips press to a thin line. Standing from what feels like a higher level of ground, evaluating a stranger asking to be granted access to his home.

(And this actually is his home.) ]

( Petre. I'm her friend. )

[ He almost wants to say something akin to, and I was here first. ]

[There are few who would be so bold as to call Lexa their friend, as she's done well to ensure that everyone experiences some trepidation with it. But there's no point in how she carries herself that indicates that she's inclined to disagree. He is her friend, as well as her student, and someone she means to protect. They're all roles she's taken on with him, one after another.]

( Petre woke not long after the first of our group. I've watched over him since then. ) [All facts. Though Lexa is curious about how he'll take the presentation of them. Will their perspective ultimately vary?]

( He was curious about you. It's hard to hide that something's changed given our conditions. ) [There's some humor in these words. Lexa is far from the days in which she had a distinct sense of distaste for the mental link. While she still feels tense whenever she thinks too deeply of it, it serves a purpose. For instance: they can have this conversation in public with little worry of being caught.

As it is, Lexa is curious about Petre's impression of Clarke, and even nudges against his mind in wonder. If she learns he thinks she's boring—if, as it's possible he won't reveal that—she'll find it amusing. After all, Clarke is ... capable of the kind of brutality she's certain that Petre would readily respect.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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