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Entry tags:
- *hatch log,
- *mission log,
- annie westwind [original],
- asuka langley sohryu [evangelion],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- clarke griffin [the 100],
- elena gilbert [the vampire diaries],
- elliot alderson [mr robot],
- gildor helyanwe [original],
- lexa [the 100],
- misato katsuragi [evangelion],
- noctis lucis caelum [ffxv],
- pidge gunderson (katie holt) [voltron],
- richard gecko [from dusk till dawn],
- rust cohle [true detective],
- ryohji kaji [evangelion],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- seth gecko [from dusk till dawn]
[mission: hyrypia] i am not there; i do not sleep
CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :019 - DAY :020
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; down on the planet Hyrypia, a Host is laid to rest.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, funerary services. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch, the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia, the funeral of Lavellan and the supremely awkward dinner party meant to wrap the first stage of the Pilgrimage. 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're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :019 - DAY :020
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; down on the planet Hyrypia, a Host is laid to rest.
WARNINGS: Mentions of character death, funerary services. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!
STATION 72
DAY :019
NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and the universe with you in it is suddenly different. --No. That's not right. You're you, the universe is as it's always been, 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 coming up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and yet everything is.
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. There are a handful of you here, somehow intimately familiar to each other.
Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room it's quiet and still, feeling for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.
Eventually, a sensation manifests out of the black. It says:PREPARE YOURSELF
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD is sound and sensation: a warm shaft of sunlight through smoky glass - a gauzy curtain twitching in some summer breeze. It says or feels like:( Come meet with me, won't you? )
Where exactly this meeting is supposed to occur isn't immediately clear, but head in the direction that seems correct and eventually Station 72 gets you where you're meant to be: a circular briefing room with tiered seating, empty now, before a woman with a sheet of graying hair and something focused in her expression. It's been some time since she's spoken with a young host - since she's done one of this briefings. Apparently she's feeling something like her usual self. She smiles and it's very warm.
"Welcome to Station 72. Unfortunately, you won't be here long but we'd like to answer as many of your questions as we're able before you leave this place."[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 is the most proactive distraction, but if not? Well there's plenty of places to get lost...
In the simulated morning, a strange archaic ship has arrived on the Hangar. Its very alien pilots unload two heavy trunks, then dole out a series of kits to the new hosts. One of them - the pale female alien who her calls herself Rhan - cheerfully announces, "Get changes and buckle in. I'm afraid we've some grim business ahead of us today. Funerals, you know. But chin up, my darlings. One uncomfortable day and then we'll leave the matter behind us. --Oh, but do be gentle with the others. I suspect they might be tender for a few days yet."
You leave the Station. If you're lucky, you might one day make it back.
HYRYPIA - THE GRAZE
DAY :020
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION
A SHIP DESCENDS from the iron colored sky early in the morning on Day :020. Before it even pierces the planet's atmosphere, its cargo should be obvious to the other Carbauschians: a new batch of Hosts, freshly hatched and just in time for the grim festivities.
The idea is simple: that they are part of a mourning delegation, only here to briefly oversee Lavellan's funerary rites. Luckily (...) there's plenty of comatose Hosts lying in the tents to trade places with the newcomers.
Better get to know your new friends quickly - there's plenty to be brought up to speed on (such as, uh, the recent death of one of the elder Hosts), and likely enough work to be done that the new spare hands are welcome. Or maybe the state of nothing-like-faux mourning is a good excuse for some alone time on a strange new alien planet. You're all so very, very far from home.BURIAL RITES
THE FUNERAL has been arranged to the Hosts' precise specifications. Each and every single request they've made has been met, carried out by two soft-spoken, contrite Hyrypian servants who had come to them not long after their return from the hunt. Perhaps because the members of the other envoys are unsure whether it's permitted or welcome to attend, the site of the funerary pyre is hardly full to bursting with onlookers. Or maybe the burning of corpses goes against some obscure tradition. Or maybe some of the minor envoys simply don't care much and think the Carbasuchians are best left to their grief alone. Still, while it's hardly the entire encampment in attendance a notable selection of diplomats and their respective entourages and several of their Hyrypian hosts have turned out for the ceremony. It seems the Descendants in particular have turned out in some force, including the very hunter saved by Lavellan's quick thinking.
When the time comes for the rites to proceed, it's left to the Hosts to light the fire and say their farewells to their fallen comrade - the first and hopefully last to be lost in this strange land.A SOMBER CELEBRATION
ASH SCENT HANGS HEAVY STILL over the encampment. Or maybe that's simply the perception - after all, the breeze still blows in from over the Great Flat. Surely it's just a memory of the smell which lingers, as circumstantial as the mournful note the wind sighs as it cuts across the Graze and into the tangled Finger Maze.
However, matters of the universe don't pause for the tragedy of the loss of an envoy - and there is so much riding on this Pilgrimage. To their credit, the Hyrypians have done all they can to provide for the Carbauschians in their time of grief (including a visit from the Matron Bassita herself, pale and full of sympathy and apologies), and as evening falls what clearly was meant to be a carousing party to celebrate a successful hunt and completion of the Pilgrimage's first stage has been considerably tempered.
The drinks still flow; the food is still plentiful, rich and lavishly spiced - but the music being played is soft and careful and of the hundreds of small technomanced insect lights the drift over the encampment tonight, a considerably portion of them are dedicated to lingering around the charred skeleton of the funeral pyre as a sober acknowledgement of what has come to pass.
Give it a few hours and maybe the mood will lighten slightly. On the other hand, there's nothing like an uncomfortably close tragedy to bring people together - and as Rhan suggests, maybe now's exactly the right time to ask a few pointed questions. Or to get hammered with new friends. Or to take a nice long walk while everyone else is consumed by the muted festivities.
((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch, the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia, the funeral of Lavellan and the supremely awkward dinner party meant to wrap the first stage of the Pilgrimage. 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're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))
no subject
[ It's better than saying "I'm fine" and vague enough to hopefully not worry her. Of course she's not really worried, right? He'll just pretend with her. It's better than panicking that he can't keep his hands from trembling. He's sure he looks a mess, but he can at least try to keep his voice pitched, light, and not too obviously forced.
She still smells of the grassy Hyrypian liquor, but her mind is clear against his. He'd show appreciate it if his thoughts were clear enough to find a string of notes to express it. ]
I hope tonight has been better for you... I-I mean that truly, I'm not bitter.
no subject
Sorry, I know it sucks.
[ His pangs had pulsed in the back of her head most of the night, she just wasn't going to come in here and breathe how much she'd already had all over him either. ]
They'll have some hangovers and knock it off for a while...
[ That's what funerals were for. Although she does not include herself in that 'they' she hadn't started back on the booze because of Lavellan. She'd already been at it before he even died. ]
no subject
[ Symbiote or not, he's of the same mind - and remembers Annie has been suffering her own loss since before the death in the nest. He can't bring himself to be mad or scold her for indulging, and besides - she seems to have sobered up just fine. Their consequences are not the same. ]
It'd be nice to forget it all again...
[ He lets it hang in the air, a simple but unfulfillable wish for the both of them. ]
no subject
That's what they think, yup.
[ It's not what she thinks. There's no forgetting, and Lavellan was just another corpse added to a pile of corpses she dreamed about any night Noctis didn't help put her down, or that she didn't drink herself into the dark. ]
no subject
Gildor sighs at himself and reaches up to find her hand, his own still shaking. ]
It's alright. This moment will pass.
[ He fumbles a bit as a wave of nausea washes over him, and he settles with patting her knee awkwardly instead. ]
It... might pass like a kidney stone, but it will pass.
no subject
Shit, Gil. That's the metaphor you go for?
[ She puts the palm of her hand to her forehead, shaking her head with miserable laughter. It's not so easy to forget how she feels, but that also makes the surreal quality of that awful mental image all the more ridiculous. ]
Jesus.
no subject
[ And while they're both so miserable, he'll count that as a success. ]
What is that?
no subject
An expletive. Don't worry about it, it's not even worth explaining unless there's some kind of fuckin' Space Jesus.
no subject
[ He rolls over where he lays, turning so there's an ear listening her way and just trying to get more comfortable in the spot where he collapsed. ]
These hands are too unstable to practice, my gut too nauseated to eat, and my mind too restless to sleep.
no subject
[ A fuckin' story, are you joking Gildor... She laces her hands behind her head. ]
It's a religious thing. They made us study that kind of crap just like everything else, mostly so we'd be better at manipulating situations if we ever ran across the fuckin' religious types.
[ Most of what they learned was so they would be better at manipulating others. If nothing else, at least Sparrows recognized that manipulation was just as important as outright violence. ]
no subject
[ While he doesn't deny it, he doesn't ask if she's offering either. It's an automatic thing to assume not, though were he younger he'd have assumed differently. ]
I know the type. I am one, though I hope not as fanatical as say, a paladin or as pious as a cleric. Still enough of a religious type to be curious about the theology of other worlds, though. So tell me, how does an expletive fit into your religion?
no subject
Jesus is just like... a particularly fancy preacher. He was so fancy and moving and shit he got a gospel about how he was the son of god and how he was eventually martyred for his gospel and then came back from the dead and...
[ Ugh. She shrugs. She thinks it's a stupid story. ]
For the people in to it, he's like the model you follow for being your best possible you and you're supposed to remember how much he suffered to bring those lessons down from the clouds...................
So uh, you know, blasphemous bitches like me say his name in vain all the time.
no subject
How... interesting. [ He thinks better of asking for any more, settling with this new information at face value. For now. ] In my world if anyone comes back from the dead, they are swiftly returned to ground.
I can understand the model he represents... I think. That is the basis of most religion and society, isn't it? Being good and proper.
[ He interlaces his fingers and thoughtfully folds his hands over his stomach. It's still churning under his skin, but talking is helping ease the nausea. ] However, the choices life presents aren't always so clear cut as good and evil. Religion can be a great moral tool, but becoming your best and truest self often means expanding horizons and living outside the confines it creates. It is important to acknowledge the straight and narrow path is not the only one that leads us to our peace.
no subject
[ What the hell is wrong with him? She starts laughing, face in her hands. It makes her head hurt. Maybe she's a little more hungover than she thought she was. ]
Part "A", not that kind of back from the dead. Like divine resurrection, not zombie. Part "B", I am the last person to talk to about fuckin' morals, holy shit I am legitimately one of the worst people I know.
no subject
I suppose I've lived around preachers for too long.
[ A shaky sigh. ]
Ah, not that kind of undead then. Well that and morals aside, we are all our own worst critics, Annie.
no subject
Nah, totally objective.
no subject
[ Being near him probably isn't helping her own physical state, and for that he feels a bit guilty. Guilty, but still grateful for her company. ]
I have, and as brutal as they were in reviews, I still believe we are always harder on ourselves than we ought to be.
no subject
Yep.
[ An idle answer. ]
And you know it's legit when other bitches from dysfunctional lesbian super-human school tell you you're a fucked up bitch.
no subject
[ If they were, he might have been more inclined to actually listen to them. Just a little. Though he doesn't agree or disagree with what she says. He imagines, through the second-hand drunken haze surrounding his mind, she'd smack him if he did either. ]
My teacher always read me the paper the following morning after a new show. If the reviews were negative, he'd have ten things for me to fix by the next performance. If they were glowing, he'd have twenty.
[ He reaches up where her arm is, folding a still trembling hand beside it. ]
These useless twitching things used to play grand concertos, you know. I was quite famous.
no subject
[ She laughs, it’s kind of an idiom, but in its own way maybe true. The adolescent had a way of not knowing their own emotions and thus decimating the feelings of other in their confused wake. It’s not as though Annie herself ever really grew out of it. Maybe she was the worst of them all. ]
Do you miss being a concert player?
[ A note of incredulity in her tone. Sh didn’t care for being made to perform, she assumes no one else does either. ]
cw: mentions of suicide
[ She can be incredulous, but being made to perform is different. There was a time he found true enjoyment in it, until he realized what was being left out. ]
Don't get me wrong, being paid to do what you love is wonderful. However, as a child adopted into the Bard's Guild, none of what I earned was mine. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I started receiving a piece of the profits, and that was after I blackmailed them into it.
[ A beat, but he answers before she has to ask- ] I threatened to hang myself on stage if they didn't stop using me for their own gain.
[ Another beat. ] Teenagers really do know how to be awful, don't they?
no subject
[ It drips out of her mouth before she can even really think about it. There had been little by way of suicide prevention, intervention, in the Academy. Sparrows didn't want weak little girls who could take their own lives. So she let them die. Sometimes it would cascade through, one girl and then another a week later, then another... If it had taught Annie anything it was not to get too close to the weak ones. She has seen a lot of dead girls, and each and every one of them was replaced without a moment's regret from Coral Sparrows. ]
no subject
[ Not like her teacher at all. ]
This Sparrows sounds like a real shit. [ To put it lightly. ]
no subject
Whatever alien thing that had puppeteered the form of Coral Sparrows, Annie had never know that. The lack of truly knowing your own worst enemy makes her hate rather impotent, ambiguous.
A sigh. ]
Far as I ever understood her, we were just lab rats.