[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

cw: gore

[wrackful]

[Bellamy yanks, rough and imploring. Murphy doesn't have chance for a response, a fractured piece of the maelstrom of his mind unfurling outwards, lashing angry and frenetic like--

the shock of an explosion between one word and the next, one step and the next, nothing left of Harris but a falling splatter of blood and body, someone screaming, screaming, scrabbling backwards over the sand until--]

( I don't need your protection, Bellamy. )

[Sharp-edged and vicious, slicing outward, but there's nothing cold in him right now. The relentless churn of his anger won't settle to it.]

( Don't let your costume go to your head. )

[deployed]

[ The memory is a shock. It hits like a fist to the chest, and knocks the breath out Bellamy. Maybe some of that is bled through from Murphy's mind, a by product of being pressed in so close, but it feels like the only reaction that should follow watching a man blow up inches away. He grabs Murphy as they round a corner, fingers snaring his upper arm. He's caught hold of Octavia like this before. The same frantic urge to protect and soothe is driving him now. ]

( I'm not leaving. )

[ Stubbornness underscores that statement. His jaw is set beneath the fall of the veil. ]

( You don't have to talk to me, but I'm not leaving you on your own. )

[wrackful]

[Bellamy grabs him, and he shrugs him off, immediate, hard, like--

Harris, hand on his elbow, Murphy pulling free, touch me again and I'll end you, Jaha's disapproving look for the threat and he'd cared, like an idiot he'd actually cared--]

( You already have. )

[Each word is a blade, turning back on Bellamy, for all the good it does either of them with the veils in the way. But he'd said as much to Clarke, earlier, that he'd been the only one trying. All Bellamy gave was this, the same old soldier act despite everything - everyone - he'd left behind.

But now he had Clarke. And Murphy--]

( Just go back to the party. ) [He turns to walk away again.] ( Maybe you can ask them to run the whole thing again, let you get a good look at the bullshit you're going to be heroically throwing yourself face first into this time. )

[deployed]

( That's not true. )

[ He doesn't know how he can be any more present. Murphy's emotions wash over him, hooking in deep, cinching tight around his throat like the tug of a noose. It's condemnation. Bellamy can't parse how much of this stems from the argument that'd had in the wake of his sparring session with Seviilia and how much is new, exposed by Clarke's arrival. ]

( We came down here to fight. What else do you want me to do, Murphy? )

[ It's how they make it safe to leave this place. It's how they go home. It's the only way Bellamy has ever met an opponent. He doesn't know how to turn away from a fight, even one where their enemy is hidden close by. ]

[wrackful]

( You seriously think that's what this is. )

[Behind his veils and scarves, Murphy smiles, sharp and incredulous, stopping to look back at him. A fight. Like they'd ever have a chance.]

( We were sent down here to probably die. They don't have any other options. This, every "mission" we've been sent on, is one last ditch effort after another. We're one hundred disposable kids on the dropship, every time. )

[And it had been going on for years. Lifetimes. Cathaway's age alone could answer that, but then there was what Rhan had said, in the very memory Bellamy had shown him. How many other hosts had they already seen wake up, fall asleep? Die? They weren't going to see the end of this war. None of them were, and the impossibility of it rips through him, through the centre of the storm in his head. Grief, open, unfiltered, guilt and self-hatred and sheer helpless frustration. He could scream with it, but he can't. All he can do is churn and rage with it, fists clenched tight, anger sharp behind his teeth.]

( That's what I want you to do, Bellamy. ) [Stepping back into his space, chin lifted, thinking how much easier this was when he could say he didn't want anything from Bellamy at all.] ( I want you to remember when no one gave a crap about who we were, what we wanted, or who we cared about. Because they don't. They can't. Even when they've soaked up every little bit of our brains. They never will. )

[But then he's smiling again, stepping back, derision rising vicious and easy.]

( But you've got Clarke now, right? Nothing left back home to worry about. )

[deployed]

[ After the jail, after Concordia, it had become near impossible to block Murphy out effectively. Bellamy's more in tune with him than he'd ever intended to be. That reality makes it difficult not to buckle under the emotions that unspool when Murphy crowds into his space. Before Murphy can step out of reach, Bellamy catches his elbow again. ]

( I never forget that we're soldiers to them. But you can't think I'd just forget about wanting to go home. I'm fighting this hard because I want this to be over, so we can leave safely. )

[ Octavia's face fills his mind, crowds out another, more cutting memory. Raven with one arm bound to a bedpost, blood on her face, voice mockingly accusing: Clarke's been back for one day and you're already taking orders. ]

( I went with you to that surgeon on Concordia because I didn't want to stay here. Nothing's changed. )

[ Except that Clarke changes everything. Bellamy's priorities have to shift, to include her safety, be sure of her well being. What he feels for her is cracked open and exposed, but maybe it never was. Murphy's always been able to incisively puzzle Bellamy out even before they were linked like this. ]

[wrackful]

( Bullshit. )

[Cracking out of him, hard, as he pulls his arm out of Bellamy's grip once again. Everything's changed. He knows, because if it was him, if he had that--

she comes back. out on the road, Murphy with animal blood streaked down one side of his face, she'd left him but she comes back, smiles, and it surges in his chest warm and happy and--

she comes back. a food-seller's stall in the market, calling out to him, drawing him out of step with ontari and her entourage. she came for him, came looking, and she smiles and he feels it again, even in the flamekeeper's clothes, the bruises from ontari's collar at his neck, there's relief and warmth and--

she comes back. chaos all around, the throne room a mess of bodies, alie's soldiers coming back to themselves, murphy's hands coated black to the elbows, but he turns and he sees her and he knows she's free. she's free and she's safe and he needs to go to her, he needs to hold her, tell her it's okay, but then

there's a voice in his head, a screeching in the air, and her face, terrified, you can save her . he turns away and--

He's never going to see her again. It's a certainty, a truth, a wound so big all it can bleed is anger. He'd left her, alone, a threat hovering in the air inches above her. She was dead, or he would be, or the Nest would eat him. It didn't matter which. The conclusion was always the same.]

( We aren't soldiers. ) [Soldiers would have training. Weapons. Plans.] ( We're bodies. We're nothing, and this is never going to be over. )

[He was never going to see her again. But Bellamy, Lexa, he could hate them for what they'd had. That moment of Clarke at the door, real, in the room, all the hope and happiness spilling out untempered to everyone.

He could hate them. Maybe he even did, right now.]

( So keep telling yourself that's what you want. I'm sure it'll still sound just as nice and convincing when you're as old as Cathaway. )

[deployed]

[ It's as if he'd knocked a hole in a dam. Murphy's memories flood free, dousing him; Bellamy struggles to take a steady breath. There's a woman and she's smiling, face tattooed, hand covered. The way Murphy feels for her has Bellamy's heartbeat skipping, erratic with secondhand affection. He reaches for Murphy again, a third time, feeling the links of red pulling taut with the dual need to see more and to comfort what might be heartbreak. Bellamy can't put a name to it. ]

( We're going to get out of here. )

[ And in the meantime, Bellamy would put himself bodily between every enemy and Murphy, Clarke and Lexa. It was all he could offer. He can't let go of the hope that he'll return home to Octavia and the rest of their people. He can't stop fighting. But he can wind in close, trying to assuage the grief howling through Murphy's mind. ]

( You'll see her again. You have to believe that. )

[ It ends a little desperate; Bellamy has to believe it too. What is the point if he didn't? Clarke's arrival and her safety are a crippling relief, but it doesn't change the fact that they can't stay here forever. They'd lose their minds if they did. Bellamy won't allow that. ]

[wrackful]

[Bellamy catches his arm again, and he wants to listen. He wants it, badly, the ache of it trembling in him. Wants to be able to believe that they'll find a way, that she'll be safe, that he'll be able to touch her again, hold her, tell her how sorry he is that he ran, that he left her.

But then there's the Nest. There's everything Cathaway's told him, shown him, the truth between her words and the Prince's and Nirad and Rhan. The pain of his brood all falling, one by one. The black swirling swarm of the Enemy shrieking in the air of Polis' throne room, the press of desperate urgency in his head on Shril, the dark, monstrous fear bearing down at Cathaway's back.

He isn't strong enough for faith. Not against those odds.]

( I can't. )

[The veils hide it, at least, as the wet of his eyes spills over. He pulls away from Bellamy one more time, turning, again, to walk away.]

[deployed]

[ This time, Bellamy doesn't reach out again. As stubborn and relentless as Bellamy can be, he recognizes that they've come up against a hard limit. He can't push any farther today. Maybe not ever. Murphy's head is full of terrors and Bellamy understands that in the face of that weight, holding out hope is too much to ask him for.

But he can't leave Murphy alone with all those fears and the grief churning beneath them. Casting one last look back down the corridor towards the performance, Clarke, Lexa, the welcoming clutch of the Nest, Bellamy trails Murphy all the way back to their rooms. He hesitates at the doorway. It's tempting to follow Murphy in, try a second time to buoy his spirits. But Bellamy lets it alone.

Instead, he retreats back to the plush-cushioned couches and stretches out. Ooze baby skuttles across the floor the moment Bellamy lifts his book. He casts one last look towards their room, and then begins to read. He's present, connection between them stretched thin, but near enough to make his point. He's not leaving. Murphy doesn't have to weather this alone. ]