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

[ She's right, and the slip earns a flicker of straightforward embarrassment. They're here to stop a trade; the world's just the stage and, if he'd gotten the right impression, at risk of being collateral.

And that's the catch: they've been sent here to meddle in things they shouldn't, to put the station's needs ahead of this world's. Mat can understand that there's a longer con to it than that, that good and evil plays for the war, not one battle — and he does, really. That doesn't mean he has to be pleased about it. ]

Burn the mission briefing. I don't care what you're here to do, but burn you too if you think I'll let them play me for a puppet.

[ He says, stubbornly, as if the disgust and self-righteousness her question stirred up hasn't thoroughly blown up his spot. ]

Right now, the only thing that plays you for a puppet is your emotions. You give in to your anger, and it weakens you. It makes you vulnerable, and it will make you into a target. [It's not that Lexa doesn't sympathize with him. Soon after waking, she had been spurned toward anger. Her resentment toward Prince (and, at times, Cathaway) had been so laden in her actions early on that she allowed her bitterness to dictate how she went about things. It had been difficult to experience the emotions of others, to keep them in check while keeping her own in check.

But the circumstances were different. She did not risk the lives of others. She was not like Ilde, who killed a man and brought about consequences for the rest of the Nest. And here, the stakes are even higher, where he is one man among many, and a deeply unnecessary attribute to their overall goal. If it weren't for the killswitch, she'd take care to threaten him. In fact, some part of her wonders if she could—if there's a chance that he might be like Shiro, left in the dark about how the symbiotes take care to keep the Hosts from bringing lives to an end. She'd rather not risk that—if he's this angry and this suspicious, he might try to rally someone against her. That would be ... inconvenient.]

If you won't act for us, act for yourself. Take care to keep your head down, or it will cost you your life. I hope you didn't miss that part of the briefing. [Out of one fire and into another, so to speak. He may have been rescued from the Enemy, but they are here and they are real. If he's attached to living, then he has to value that. Unless that's a front, but that's, again, worth finding out.]

[ Nothing she says stirs disagreement. On the contrary, there's a reluctant thread of guilty admission in the connection, still touched by his previous chagrin. It's enough to keep him quiet long enough to listen, and it's the only real sign that he's taken any of what she's said on board — the moment she's done speaking, the defensive temper kicks back up. ]

I'll do what it takes to avoid getting myself or any of the rest of you killed, but that doesn't mean I'll do it with a smile. [ His tone's flippant. The memories aren't — a man with his throat torn out, a field of dead soldiers — but they don't give him any pause. ] I don't need a minder to keep me to common sense.

( Bloody women. ) [ ... is less intentional, but a little too sharp to hide. Even so, it's backed by equal parts petty spite and reluctant fondness, more memories of familiar faces scraping at the surface. ]

It seems as if you're rather acquainted to having someone mind your manners. [Lexa says this more as a leap of faith, as a piece of guesswork, and little else. She knows that she's drawing conclusions that may not be there. Half of how she functions is by utilizing context clues, and if someone corrects her, then that's all the better.

It means she either confirmed or denied a suspicion.]

You are accustomed to bringing trouble to others, aren't you? Telling me you won't smile means nothing. We're all hidden. You can grimace for all I care.

[His mind will always tell a different story. She can see that already. Lexa isn't even trying to pry, but with the new and emotional Hosts like him, it's impossible not to.]

[ He scowls at the comment, which she can probably feel well enough in spite of the hoods. Being in an entirely different reality doesn't mean women are any different, apparently. They're still hounding him and trying to teach him manners, whether it's by giving him lectures or kicking him in the shins, or—

Mat thinks of Tylin before he can think better of it. It isn't fondness, exactly; there's resentment, embarrassment, the confusing tactile mix of a sharp blade at his throat and silk sheets, and— ]

( Stop bloody testing me. )

[ He's had enough experience by now to know his thoughts aren't private. That doesn't mean he's any better at controlling them, but he can at least interrupt them. ]

( There's no real reason to test you. You offer me everything I need to know without trying. I believe your guilt will be a resource to us, but don't try to turn your back on it to prove anything. )

[Lexa wonders how he would take the two of them being in similar roles: to go from a knife to the throat to the sheets, to having someone push and press at every ounce of control they have to challenge them. The difference is that her every action doesn't marinate in guilt. She is conscious of the consequences of her actions, but her mistakes don't guide her future decisions.]

( Guilt as a bloody resource. )

[ He doesn't hate it because it's manipulative. He hates it because she's absolutely right. Glaring doesn't accomplish much when he's still wrapped from head to toe in their ridiculous disguises, but the impression of it's still strong enough in the link.

Once the frustration's expressed, there's a subtle shift in tone; resignation, or something like it, and it seems to play out without much resistance. This isn't the first time he's been backed into a corner, and it isn't the first time he's been forced to deal with reality. ]

( What are you, then? Because if I had to bet coin, I'd name you for an Aiel. )

[ She won't know the term. He's aware, and for once the give in his thoughts is intentional, if a bit long-suffering: more images than one, women in black hoods in deftly skilled combat or women with pale hair and eyes, expressions stoic and unforgiving — and a woman with short golden hair, her memory sharper than the rest and cut off just as quick. ]

Edited 2017-07-22 02:49 (UTC)

( It seems there are people like mine in every culture, ) [she begins, complete with a thoughtful tone and some warmth. The Krogans, the Orcs, the Aiel. All different in some way from her own, but comparable. She doesn't reject the comparison. It seems right, and if it helps others understand her, she'll take it.

After a moment, she focuses, showing an image of her fighting, complete with a pair of swords. It was her last battle, her last fight against Roan to prove her strength to her people. It's fleeting, but at least he knows what she looks like. She's more human than the other comparisons she's seen from the other Hosts, but his Aiel are human as well.]

( I am Heda to my people. ) [Not uttered, but translated just the same: Commander.] ( Formerly from Trikru before I was called to lead. You can say that I know all about finding tapping into the various resources presented by those around me. ) [She is not just a military leader, but a politician. Lexa is better about making it clearer to people these days. It shows her intentions but also helps her bypass extremely unnecessary misunderstandings.]

[ The comparison's more apt than anything else he's found here so far, and the way her memory feeds across the connection is familiar — someone else's fight, someone else's tactics.

He reminds her of Aviendha. Birgitte, briefly, but that's discarded after some thought; Birgitte was never quite this formal. Aviendha'd lecture you about duty and honor until your ears fell off if you gave her the chance.

There's plenty in her explanation that catches his interest. The idea of viewing people as resources, profiling their strengths and weaknesses, knowing how best to place them in battle. The thing his curiosity sticks to is more specific, though. ]

( Called to lead? Didn't you have a choice? )

[Her mind (though clearly restricted) wanders to Luna and how she desired nothing more than to flee the violence of the people who raised her. Lexa has known for years now that had Luna not fled, she would not be standing here. Her death would have come six years sooner. It was inevitable just the same, to die or come here, or die at the hand of her mentor. But death was the end point of her accomplishments no matter what, and Luna allowed her to live a little longer.

Few understood Lexa's willingness to show Luna mercy. Sometimes Lexa herself struggles to understand it. Touching on it, referring to it—it all is a rather disorienting matter. So she refuses entirely.]

( They call the Natblida to the capital to train. The strongest among us ascends to be a leader. If you don't wish to lead, you can lose this battle. But I knew it was my calling. ) [Natblida, again, is translated through the link: the Nightbloods.

Even if she likely would have lost to Luna, she would not have given up easily. Lexa hoped to answer that call. It drove her, gave her purpose, and she could see where she would excel in the role.]

Edited 2017-08-02 18:37 (UTC)

[ There's the hint of restraint, more deliberate than before (a high bar, honestly), but that's all he catches of her thoughts. The things she shares are enough to hold his interest, in any case. ]

( Bloody Aiel and their ji'e'toh. ) [ He isn't aware of the use of the Old Tongue, but the meaning filters through regardless; obligation, duty. Mat barely understands the Aiel obsession with honor, but it's the strongest analogy he's got — the sense of resolve he can sense from Lexa feels about the same.

Also about as ridiculous, in his opinion. ]

( A person's calling should be to themselves. Honor's nothing more than a fine way for good men to die. )

( Some people fail to see honor in how my people proclaim a leader. ) [Lexa herself isn't certain that she sees it there, but then, honor doesn't always have a role in survival. It's a tricky matter, and one that has come up time and time again in her life as a Host.]

( But if you feel your calling for yourself is to lead, is it so bad to take it? Do you think I should have turned my back on my people? ) [The correct answer to this is "no." Lexa allowed herself to become a symbol for them. She can't shake it. She's not certain she wants to, for that matter.]

[ There's an uncomfortable and telling pause, his own emotions and thoughts mixed. It'd be an outright lie to call the pull of the Pattern anything other than a calling. Being labelled Ta'veren is as good as giving up free will.

Which is exactly why he bristles against it, though his answer's more careful than his stubbornness might dictate. ] ( I think that the moment you do something because of some calling, you're on a steep hill without a foothold. You can cut your own path without turning your back. )

[ He's not entirely sure his path is his own making, admittedly, though he's certainly rejected plenty of "callings". ]

[Being her people's leader had been too much of a burden at times, and it had led to a lot of loss. What if she had been on the opposite end with Luna, choosing to give up in that moment? She knows that she showed mercy to Luna because she saw no reason to kill her. She also showed mercy because it made her seem more powerful. Lexa knew that her message was clear: if Luna wanted to run, she could run. If she wished to return and try to become the Commander, she could do that as well. She would live and die by that possibility.

Luna had been the one to cut her own path, to create her own clan, to promise peace and separation, to never take part in any wars. Lexa had embrace leadership and everything that came with it. If she had run like Luna, Costia would still be alive today.

These choices don't exist in a vacuum. One thing always leads to another. But Mat's words don't make her falter, even if they make her think.]

( Then you'll be pleased to know that my people underwent a number of changes because of my rule. I didn't hold to traditions. I wanted to make them see a new and better way, and united them under that cause.

That is how I cut my own path. I did it with the power invested in me by my victory on my Ascension Day. )

[Because she won her conclave, she could bring change. She knew how to bring peace without forcing it, and without scolding her people for who they had been before.

That was the most important thing.]

[ The more she shares — or doesn't share, at times — the more his initial assessment starts to shift. Comparing her to Aiel or even Birgitte might've been the lazy approach. It doesn't help that it's been a small age since he's seen his best friend, but as the words settle, my people and ascension and united under a cause—

She reminds him of Rand. There's an uncomfortable tug at his thoughts along with the realization, a pang of frustration and guilt and fear that's small enough not to have real bite.

Because technically, it isn't Rand she reminds him of — it's the Dragon Reborn, Rand gone half mad and forced by fate to stand in front of armies. If they weren't wearing cowls he'd be pointedly avoiding eye contact, and as is his mind seems to hit a stumbling block before he tries to rope off his thoughts. ]

( Have you always been like this? All duty and purpose. You must've been a boring child. )

[ Less judgmental this time, 'boring' aside. It's also less abstract, abandoning the concept of responsibility to focus on her. ]

Edited (clarity!) 2017-08-28 20:10 (UTC)

[Some part of her is curious about the chain of emotions present within him. Lexa doubts that his final words have anything to do with how he's feeling, but she assumes that nothing about her answer appeased him. It's not the words that give that away. Even if she's called boring, she feels that it's more that she's somehow failed to meet the correct mark for his inquiries.

There are times when Lexa wishes that the people here understood what it was like to be her, to have grown up and to have trained to be the next Commander. That training didn't make her any less willing to walk an unknown path. Still, she doesn't fight to make people see, as she tells herself she has nothing to prove. It's frustrating all the same.]

( 'Boring' is a new one. I'm anything but that, which you'll soon come to see. ) [Given his recent arrival, she has to wonder ...] ( Do you know your broodmates yet? )

( There's more than one definition of boring. )

[ Argumentative, sure, but it's in a way that's distinctly different from his initial reluctance. Arguing and complaining is par for the course. It's easing into something more companionable, at least.

His mind's still stuck on Rand. He wouldn't have thought his friend would be so quick to take up the crown, either, and he'd been proven wrong on that — but it isn't a fair thought, just as his thoughts of Lexa's leadership likely aren't, either.

The question about his broodmates catches him slightly off guard. There's another twinge of annoyance along with it, though it's still a far cry from his initial abrasiveness. ]

( I've met them. Girl who cries too much and two men who smoke too much. If the aim is to recruit soldiers, I'd say they've missed the mark. )

[ She'll glean their images easily: Clarke, Kaji, a third man lingering at the edge of the room during their initial briefing. ]

( Clarke is stronger than most warriors. She'll attest that I'm the least boring person you've met. )

[The statement itself is more in jest than anything, as if she's playing along and actually enjoying the conversation at this point. It's easier, though, now that she feels like she's laid into him about wanting to avoid this because of some weird guilt.

(To her, guilt is still a waste of emotional resources. It's a wonder she loves Clarke as much as she does.)]

( You know Clarke? )

[ Everyone here knows everyone, don't they? But the comment implies a bit more than acquaintance, and the tangent into small talk's uncharacteristically welcome. He can do small talk if it'll steer them clear of more deep thoughts.

And despite his initial, slightly dismissive description, he's more fond of Clarke than the other two. Or maybe it's just that she creeps him out less?? Whatever, beggars can't be choosers. ]

[Perhaps the warmth she feels in considering Clarke is something that she'll be able to subdue, but it's difficult to do that now. She's special—she elevates herself—and more. "Girl who cries too much." What a less than acceptable way to refer to someone.]

( She's one of my ambassadors back home. And the leader of her people. ) [Whether they recognize that or not.

Putting Clarke in such plain terms is simple enough, but there's still the sentiment behind it. Clarke is not just someone that Lexa respects.]

( She certainly seems like one. )

[ Half a compliment, because she'd shown plenty authority and compassion when he'd first run into her; half not, because she's also got the trademark guilt that goes with being any good at leading. The sentiment does leak through, and it gives Mat pause, his gaze slanting towards her — which doesn't accomplish much, of course. Stupid robes. ]

( What's an ambassador do where you're from, exactly? )

[ He's got one or two. He doesn't think of them as fondly as that. ]

( The ambassadors stay in the capital and convey the thoughts of their people within disputes, discussions, and other arrangements. They're given a vote to decide the matters of the coalition when it's fitting. )

[Now this is a very neutral way of communicating the role of an ambassador. In case Mat was in need of a contrast.]

( Clarke remained because it was apparent that she had the best grasp of how to balance the new alliance we forged with her clan. )

[Also to keep Lexa in check, but it's not like Lexa would ever communicate that in a million years.]

[ It's incredibly, offensively neutral. He wasn't really looking for a definition, but that's probably what he should've expected. She'll still get a clear sense of his curiosity in the link. ]

( And what about when she's not being your ambassador? )

[ Mat might talk a lot of trash about women's hobbies, but the truth is that he's been trained in the ways of being a nosy old lady by the best of them. Thankfully, it's got that same note of harmless amusement; nothing genuinely prying or voyeuristic. ]

( The two of you are broodmates. I believe you'll be able to work out the rest. )

[Ties like that are almost impossible to hide. Given that Clarke is new to this arrangement, she doubts that she'll ensure that it's a secret.

As it is, Lexa likes to be difficult, which is the main reason why she doesn't say it outright.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

lexa u cracked him like an egg

:)

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yes finally the gossip

:>

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