station72 | [mission: hyrypia] i am not there; i do not sleep

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[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!

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!))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

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[ There's a pause. Outwardly and inwardly. November can feel the tension along their lines, even if he can't see Noctis' face through their layers. The silence says everything really.

His smile curls a bit more at the ends, satisfied with his work. ]

( Easier to shed if I need to. I've gotten used to it, over time. )

[ So a little of all the above. ]

( Pleased to meet you, Noctis. Or would it be Mr Caelum? Pardon my manners. )

[Noctis takes an inward step, not unfriendly, but obviously keeping a bit of a mental space between them. Such is the life of an antisocial prince-king, who has always found it difficult to know how to approach anyone. The interconnectedness of their minds doesn't make it any easier.]

(So... is just calling you "November" okay?)

[Maybe he should just go with "Jack".]

(Noctis is fine. Hardly every anyone calls me "Mister" anything.)

[ November lets the space happen. He's not looking to press anyone into corners here. At least, not outright. Maybe later on down the line, when he needs more answers than he's being given. Only time will tell. ]

( That's fine. The 11 is hardly ever appended, unless you're my boss. )

[ Decade, formal to a fault. ]

( I suppose it has an aging quality to it, calling someone 'Mister'. You're hardly in an aged bracket, though I'm sure you've only gotten better with it. )

[ Another passing flirtation, because he can. There's a mischievous glint in his eye, not that Noctis can make it out with the veils between them. ]

[It’s appreciated, that there’s no mental step forward when he steps backwards. Though the flirtation is the equivalent of him being handed something and not knowing what to do with it, so he figuratively stands with it, awkwardly in his arms.]

(I… thanks.)

[Thanks?]

(I’m thirty, though.)

[Which reveals that he just has a young mind, if he considers thirty aged.]

(You said your “boss”… What was it you used to do?)

[ It’s amusing to him, whenever there’s someone who doesn’t know quite what to do with his flirtatious overtures. Because their awkwardness is their own– he doesn’t have that experience anymore. ]

(And I’m certain you’ve improved from when you were, say, fifteen.)

[ Thirty isn’t really old. Only a few hairs older than himself, really. Though, he’s coming from a perspective of a contractor; not many of them live past a certain age. Dangerous lives and all that. ]

(I work as an escort. For the very rich and lonely, you understand.)

[Awkwardness can be one of the defining traits of Noctis Lucis Caelum, that's for sure. For all of his royal upbringing and despite everything that he's been through, enough to have crushed it where it stands, some things will just never change.]

(...I... oh.)

[AN ESCORT... as if that's supposed to make Noctis feel any less weird about it, but he tells himself to stand up straight and pretend like it ain't no thang.]

(That must've been an interesting life.)

[ The response is so awkward that it comes right back around to being endearing.

And hilarious. He watches the sudden shift in posture. Unsurety first, weight leaning to one side. Then, false confidence, in the set of his shoulders and the clarity of his answer. How it doesn't intrude or ask more questions. ]

( I'm kidding. )

[ November lets that sink in for a moment before moving on. ]

( I'm a spy. Or was, I suppose. Worked for the British Intelligence. )

[How embarrassing it would be to know how easily he’s read. Poor Noctis, just wanting to rely on his aloofness, not realizing that it’s just backfiring on him without him realizing it.

A joke, though. Oh. He scoffs, a thread of humor in it.]

(British?)

[Sorry, it’s not something that he recognizes.]

(Sorry, what world are you from again?)

[ Oh good, Noctis hasn't run away. It's always a gamble, joking as he does. Some people have a good humor, lean into it and laugh afterwards. Others start backing away as quickly as possible. Normally, he prefers to be around the latter, for obvious reasons. It's even better if they give him a taste of his own medicine every now and again. ]

( Ah, I apologize. Earth. And you're from? )

[He's not in the habit of completely running away, even when he was 20 and arguably even more awkward than he is now. He will stand his ground, as is his habit, no matter how much at a disadvantage he might be. Add stubbornness to his traits, along with a cognizance to remain... relatively polite, all things considered.

The path this conversation is treading is easier for him to follow, at any rate.]

(Eos. Specifically, the kingdom of Lucis.

I'm going to assume that you've never heard of it, given the trend so far.)

( You are correct, I'm afraid. It doesn't ring any bells.

What is it like? )

[ He figures if there's anything to bridge the gap, it would be to ask about something that Noctis feels more comfortable talking about. Also, he's nosy and wants to know about these things. Part of it is habit, from being in the secret service for so long.

And the other part is that this is who he is. Sticking his nose into other people's business. ]

(Dark and crawling with daemons.)

[Something more comfortable for Noctis to talk about, you say? Ah, if only this would qualify, this automatic response -- the state of his world, crumbling into pieces, a slow, languid death. The state he left it in is imprinted in his mind, and that won't change for a long while yet.

And yet... belatedly, he seems to realize that maybe this twists the conversation in an awkward direction, and so he attempts to skew it back to something "normal".]

(Or... I guess you mean before all of that. It was beautiful. I grew up in Insomnia, and it was big and sprawling and busy, but... I don't know. It was home.)

[ Oh. Well then. That's not the answer he expected. ]

( Seems like the symbiote and station have a tendency to pick people from particularly apocalyptic places. )

[ His planet isn't like Noctis', but Earth is just as messed up. Contractors, Heaven's Gate, Hell's Gate, the fake sky, dolls, moratoriums. So much unexplained and it's just been getting worse. ]

( What happened? If you don't mind my asking. )

[That implies that maybe November came from a similar situation as he, and the question rises in his mind before he tempers it down to answer the other's first.

Though there's a faint hesitation, if only because it's hard to know where to begin.]

(It's... kind of complicated. But-)

[He wonders how ridiculous it'll sound to someone not from Eos. He's told it to Annie before, of course, but no one else really knows the story.]

(I have... had an ancestor, one who couldn't die because of something that happened to him. He was wronged, and felt betrayed, probably rightfully so. And all of this played right into the hands of a prophecy, that there would be a man who would bring darkness to our world. All out of spite, and... I don't know. Probably a desperate wish to die.)

[Something in him rises. Anxiousness mixed with sympathy. His feelings on Ardyn are highly complicated at this point, but stringent all the same.]

(Long story short, he did it. Blotted out the sun and let daemons roam for ten years. Eos was a mess, to say the least.)

( Blotting out the sun alone seems rather dramatic. )

[ Include daemons running around and he's getting a pretty clear image painted for him. Chaos sounds like such a soft word. ]

( You faced him then? The undying ancestor? )

[ Of all the contractor powers, he hasn't heard of something like that. Maybe illusions, to appear young. February, who gave up days, weeks, months, years, depending on how much power she used. Immortality? Still something the selfish and afraid sought after. ]

[It is a soft word. But Noctis doesn't want to go into the details of people huddled in cities, under the harsh relief of floodlights. Of the grand city of Insomnia, crumbling and deserted with the exception of the deamons that patrolled its streets. Those lost to the night. Hope waning, barely present, until recently.

Chaos is enough to get the point across, he thinks.]

(...Yeah. There was, well-)

[The memory is still fresh, the emotions running so high they were sharp and deep and cut into him. That anger. Noctis felt sorry for him.]

(He was angry, to say the least. But after living so long, I think he just wanted me to end it. Apparently immortality isn't all that great.)

[ Noctis starts and then seems to pause again. He just lets him collect his thoughts and his words, feels a slight brush of pity. November isn't quite sure if it's from him or Noctis, with their proximity and their minds so connected. ]

( I don't imagine it would be. Leaving behind everyone you know, endlessly. )

[ Maybe a contractor wouldn't have such a bad time of it. But others, with their attachments, their emotions– it wouldn't work. ]

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