station72 | (OPEN | mental link + some log prompts)

Entry tags:

(OPEN | mental link + some log prompts)

CHARACTERS: Sam Anders + anyone
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day 170 and forward, until the mission
SUMMARY: General mental link talk, calling for Castor brood meeting, training, doing weird robot things.
WARNINGS: Will mark individual threads/prompts

( You guys are about to love us. )

[ To any willing to accept it, Sam will be opening up the room he's currently in, doing something a lot like Cylon projection, to bring everyone else into his space with him. It's not seeing from his eyes, it's like being in the room with him. He'll be standing in front of a rough but sleek looking brewing still, set up in a room near the life support deck, already filled up with the ingredients needed for mixing up some moonshine, a few jugs of some very serious alcohol already brewed and sitting on a counter nearby. ]

( Guess what Anakin and I found. And got working. ) [ which was a process, but one Sam ended up learning a lot in, and now here he is. ] ( I'm not saying we've got top shelf Ambrosia or anything, but if you don't mind needing a strong chaser, things just got a little more normal around here. )

[ which, sam thinks, everyone could use a bit of. for sam, it gives a solid reminder of Galactica. Galen's jet juice. the bar, Joe's, they set up in the corner of the flight deck. just for things to feel a little more like home. even if home wasn't a place any of them were going back to. if it can help him, and the men and women from the fleet, maybe it'll help his new family on the station.

anyway, there's one other tidbit. ]

( Before I let you guys go - Castor. Can I get you guys to come by this room in a little while? Just want to talk about something. Rather do it in person. Thanks. )

CASTOR MEETING;

Okay, guys. Here's the speech. Please hold all groaning and eye rolling and seering critique 'til the end. [ Sam starts, once everyone who'd been willing to come shows up. It's been a while since he's done this - since New Caprica and the Insurrection, really. He hadn't really been part of a real team, since finding out who he was, and even less looked to for guidance. Not that they're doing that here, but he wants to heal this brood. He wants to make sure all of them get through this, alive and well, and they don't end up with voids in them where a person, a soul, used to be. ] I know we don't all like each other, hell, I'm pretty sure some of you hate each other, but this is the thing. We're stuck together. Permanently. For the rest of the time we're here, and if you've been listening, you know that's gonna be a long ass time.

Losing one of us hurts all of us, screwing up a mission hurts all of us, and considering our place here, in the Nest, is our future, we can't afford to keep frakking up just 'cause we don't like the people we're next to, you know? [ they have to know the thin ice they've all been on. just telling someone he's new to castor has been getting sam looks of 'wow, sucks to be you, buddy'. and even if that sentiment's deserved, doesn't mean they can't still be kicking ass while looking like a train wreck. ] I know none of you are stupid, and I know you understand how to make tactics work. Some of you better than most. I mean, look at what we have. Kylo Ren and Anakin both have the Force, they can wreck pretty much anything in front of them with that. Steve and Jessica are both durable as all hell. Any kind of tech is nothing to me, and Ilde can turn any sentient being into a whimpering pile. There's no reason we shouldn't be getting things done out there, and coming back to the station with Cathaway and Prince putting little gold stars on our charts.

[ maybe relating this to kinder garten reward systems isn't the best analogy, but whatever, you guys get the idea. ]

Shove each other off all you want on downtime, but whether you're here to protect the multiverse from that thing that wants all of us dead, or if you're trying to gain power, or if you're just trying to make the best out of a shitty afterlife, helping each other in the brood helps you. Harming, or letting harm come to another broodmate means putting yourself more at risk.

[ sam pauses there, breathing out slowly, as he turns to pour himself some moonshine. ] So, that's it. That's all I got. Booze? Anyone? Jessica?

SAM DOES HIS HYBRID THING IN THE FLIGHT DECK (cw: minor self-mutilation for cyborgish purposes);

[ the broken navigational computer had been in the scrap pile of the flight deck a few days before, and sam had pilfered it for the purposes of working on his symbiote ability. well, more so for plugging himself into the universe at large, using the scrapped nav computer as a conduit, and had been expecting that he, in hybrid state, would have just fixed whatever issue was wrong with it. however, now that he's sitting in the hangar again, turning the thing on and trying to make sure it's all been patched up, what the screen gives him makes no sense. ] What did I do...

[ a jumble of strange symbols, letters and numbers in no real order, and after sam squints at it for a long moment, he starts to get a picture out of it. at first, he'd thought it was a vague, starburst kind of effect, with no real meaning. but upon stepping back, squinting his eyes to blur his field of vision, and tilting his head a bit, he sees it. a colonial cylon basestar. for a long, too still moment, sam has forgotten to breathe, and it's as if he's guided more than moving of his own free will. the pocket knife he'd had set to the side on the work table is dragged towards him, as he takes his seat again. the sharp point digs into a barely healed cut on the heel of his left palm, splitting the skin open again, down to the muscle, with a grimace. automatic, sam reaches into the exposed wiring of the computer, tugs out a cable, and proceeds to press it into the cut, feeding it into his body. with a sudden jerk, Sam's spine goes completely rigid, and his fingers grip white knuckled against the shell of the computer. eyes wide and mind absent, he starts to ramble in flat monotone, as if in a trance. ]

Generation of forward chaining systems, percept format copied, applied, adjusted, parameters of the missing whispers in a cavern of dark and void, echoes in the hallways of ghosts, their mouths sewn shut. Books and cards and thumbprints no longer our own, end of line. Dust in the solar wind we will all follow, NLP complete, it knows it's source, we have seen the scars left by chains, the smoke has cleared, lessons learned, only time will tell. [ A pause, eyelids blinking once, twice, three times, as the screen flickers it's backlight in the same rhythm. ] Awake the soul and find the writing on the wall that lies in the shadow of the light. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center.

[ As if it takes a considerable amount of effort, the hand not plugged into the computer gradually moves towards the cable buried under his skin, fingers twitching, until he can grasp it firm, and yank it out. with a violent gasp, and a bodily shudder, Sam goes slack against the back of his chair, eyes blank but open as they stare somewhere off into space. give it a moment (exactly twice the time he'd spent rambling like a crazy person), and he'll jolt back up, like waking from a too intense dream. ]

Daniel... [ turning, eyes wide and smile spreading, he shouts it to whoever's nearby, regardless of if he knows them or not. ] It's Daniel!

[ well, it's not really Daniel, because that would take a hell of a lot of work and more minds than just his own, but it has the structure of the murdered seventh cylon model there. sweet, soft, innocent little daniel. sam's happy to see even just a shadow of him. ]

JAILHOUSE TATTOOING IN THE REC WING;

[ self tattooing is not something sam's any kind of talented in, but he'd managed to get the basic idea of jailhouse style stick and poke. that'd be why he's bent over a table in the rec wing, with a sewing needle, a pen, a pencil, some string, a tray of ink, a lighter and some rubbing alcohol. through the course of the next couple hours, he can be found with his left forearm braced firmly on the tabletop, inside facing upwards. what he's trying to ink into his arm is already drawn there with the pen: ]

[ simple, and there to preform a function. if asked, he'll likely tell, but otherwise, after the part where the needle has to start being poked into his skin, all you'll hear from sam is: ]

Ow. Ow. Ow. [ mumbled, under his breath, mostly unconscious. the original tattoo on his right arm wasn't this much of an annoyance, though he's not sure if that's from the fact he's doing this in the least professional way possible, or just the fact that he's doing it. ]

TRAINING/SPACE SPORTS;

[ sam had been essentially paralyzed for at least a month, maybe two, and before that he hadn't exactly been keeping up well with his physical training, either for Pyramid or for soldiering. he's out of shape (though still looks like he could snap steve rogers in half with a gentle shove, because, come on, he was a professional sports star for about 5-10 years), and Sam can't have that if he's going to be sent out for combat and, well, they insist it isn't military, but it seems a lot like military, missions. he needs to be fast, strong, and back in good health, and that's why Sam can likely be caught in the training room on most days, working out. doing pulls ups, push ups, weight training, agility training, and running laps either in the training wing or just out and about in the station. so be careful coming out of doors into the hallways, but at least Pyramid has taught Sam enough about dodging and weaving that he'll only shout out a quick: ] On your left! Sorry! [ before taking a quick sidestep and dodge swiftly around the body in his path. maybe he's not that sorry, because it is very good practice.

but should you find him in the training wing, and he doesn't happen to be running the same routine of exercises at the moment, he's likely setting up a court for Pyramid. whether the game means anything to him these days or not, it's still at least fun, and it's still a hell of a good work out. so, if he catches you watching, he'll likely wave you over. ] Hey! Come here, this thing needs two people.

[ if you're either someone from his brood, or one of the two guardians of the station, he'll start chattering to you while doing his exercises, or practicing some solo Pyramid runs. ]

So, this is what I figured. I'm not going home, and it doesn't really matter when I die, because time's all screwy anyway. [ it does matter, because he was on his way to a good death, to a certain and sure peace that he'd longed for, that he and Kara had both worked so hard for, and that was robbed from him. and yes, he's petulant, and he's bitter about that. but he's going to make sure he's still deserving of it by the time he gets over there. he doesn't like waiting, he doesn't want to, but it's also more than just protecting earth now, isn't it? removing himself means leaving a gaping hole in the souls of his brood, and he can't do that to them. awake only 4 days, and he's already too attached to them to bare the thought of hurting them like that. ] I've got at least, probably, twenty years? At max, thirty or forty? Before my brain's not totally mine anymore? If I'm practicing, but being careful about it?

[ by which, he means strengthening his symbiote bond to further his abilities. ] If I can train it just far enough to get me back where I should be, I'll be useful to you guys. Cylons should be able to shove a person through a wall if they push hard enough, and I sure as frak can't do that right now. I should be able to control something the size of this station and probably more, with the right set up. But I'm not there either.

[ he talks while he's physically distracted with tossing the pyramid ball around, or while doing pull ups, or jump rope. whatever one of the sundry of things he's set himself about to do. ] So, I train myself up that far, then cut it off. I know it's an eventual thing, so the mind meld thing'll keep going, but I only need so much, you know? Then seal it up and batten down the hatches.

CLOSED TO KAYLA RENO;

[ sam's caught up in jogging laps around the training wing, possibly right after word vomiting something close to the speech above at Ren (seeing as he's developed a weird habit of confiding his mental dilemmas in this man), as the man had been making his way through the area for whatever reason. there's a moment of pause, once he's finished, before a thought seems to occur to him, Sam dashing over to Ren, turning to jog backwards in front of him. ] Hey, hey, wait a second. Question.

[ at which point he stops, hands on his hips and lungs working hard to keep up with him. ] You're a warrior or something, right? Space knight? I know there's the Force and all, but you know normal combat too, right?

Could you teach me?

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[It's an unfortunate habit she has. She processes what someone says, but doesn't always give a reply. Even with the Nest feeding the other person the information that she's failing to give some of the time, she doesn't tend to make up for it herself. Sometimes, Lexa might return later to add what she's chosen to omit. Sometimes. But certainly not always.

All in all, she's a task-oriented individual. Anya had been the same, believing that actions had bigger consequences than words (and she had been Lexa's mentor). And Titus, her teacher as a novitiate, had advised her to repress her emotions and uncertain thoughts, lest they show weakness.

She's aware that he's confused by her lack of commentary on the nature of her blood, but she doesn't offer much to help. Maybe another time. If it proves necessary. Should it prove necessary.

For now, she brushes her fingers over the supplies.] If a sewing needle sufficed, then yes, I can. Easily. My hands are steady enough. Anything more significant will need someone else. I'll train them in how to do it. [An artist likely wouldn't mind an additional skill.]

[ it's nothing terribly new to sam. his wife had a habit of leaving even the important bits out, at times, but he'd usually either puzzle it out himself or she'd tell him again later. he's learned not to push people for it.

more concerned with the tattooing now, he's tugging up a couple stools to the table, leaving one for lexa, and settling in the other himself, putting his arm out that'd already had a few spots done. ]

Don't worry about it. Not looking for art here, just need the words.

[ it's just for simple reminder. if it'd been something like a tribute, like the caprica wing on his shoulder that he shares with Kara, he'd have waited for a professional. but this he just can't shake the anxiety and fear of forgetting, these two important things, until he has it there permanently. ]

[Setting up the tools correctly comes easily enough for her. Her hands fumble only for a moment before she sets everything together. It would be better if they could have a stronger prickling tool, but this will do better than what he originally had intended to use. Thankfully, he already had ink on hand, which helps for part of the problem.

Once she's set, she closes the distance between them.]

If we remain in here, we can get what you need to keep it clean. [She sweeps her eyes around the room. She doesn't actually know a whole lot, but she knows enough that if her people can keep wounds or tattoos clean, anyone can. What her people use is different, but it's wise to use something.]

[ He watches her as she goes about it, curious to learn how this happens, though he doubts he'll ever try tattooing himself again. But nonetheless, curious. ]

Right, I think I saw soap and antiseptic around here somewhere. [ Soap had been what he and Kara used for the other tattoos, so that seemed right. ]

So how'd you learn this stuff?

You may have to return to restock, but that should do. [Not that they lack soap in other areas of the Station, but still: the antiseptic may prove necessary.

Her work is not as precise as someone who has been at this for a long time. She knows what she is doing because her hands are steady enough, but her knowledge isn't as practiced as it could be. Still, Lexa is hardly incompetent. She didn't boast of her skills in doing anything more demanding, so she has used her humility where it was needed.

She flickers her gaze back up to his face with the question, hands hesitating.]

My people are fond of tattoos. Some of us get them when we're declared warriors. Each of our commanders have received one on the night of our Ascendancy, and we ask what we want. I have one or each of these occasions. [There's a pause.]

When I was younger, I wanted to learn how to give them because I was curious. [Because they are such a big part of their culture.]

It's not too big, I'm sure I'll manage. [ There is plenty in the way of soap around, so he isn't that worried about it.

It's clear Lexa has a good idea of how to go about this, much better than Sam had, at least, and he's grateful to her for volunteering to help. He'll have to remember he owes her a favor in the future. In the meantime, seeing as he's not going anywhere, and may as well get to know her some. ]

Sort of a custom, or tradition thing? I see the importance of wanting it done right. [ He nods, watching her work, as he adds that piece into what he has of her world in his head. Tribal, it seems. ] Where I'm from, they weren't so special of a thing. Basically any drunk idiot could stumble into a tattoo parlor and get 'I heart mom' inked onto a shoulder.

[ A short, tight laugh. But that world's gone, and it'll be a long time before the new Earth reaches it again. If they even evolve that route. Surely some kind of body marking will come up. ] So you're a commander?

We do have some tattoos brought on by poor choices, but they are largely markings defining us as part of our people. [Not all of them are the same kind of poor choices. No one gets a tattoo of their ex girlfriend, for instance. That just isn't a thing that her people would ever do.

(She also doesn't know that it's things that people do ... period. She'll learn, probably.)]

And yes, I am the Commander. It's different from how other people understand it. I'm the leader of all my people. [Hux hadn't fully understood it when they both first arrived, so she now knows to explain it.] I can send people to war, but I have to make daily rulings with the ambassadors from different clans. [But there's a glimmer of understanding that's unspoken: that her people are a warring people, that war is often what they know.

So it makes sense that the title of "Commander" would last (beyond the whole Becca coming down wearing it on her clothes thing that Lexa doesn't know about).]

The Commander. Nice. Most commanders I meet have a few decades on you. [ Not said sarcastically or patronizing, he's genuinely impressed. She seems very young, but in a world like what she'd explained, and what Sam's been imagining, that's likely not very out of the ordinary.

It isn't lost on him that she's meaning her people are a war driven society, and that isn't terribly surprising either. In a new world, with new land, without the kind of solid, aggressive national lines that come later in a culture's lifetime, there's territory wars all the time. Land, resources, insults. Modern civilization doesn't happen over night.

And even then, you have your fair share of border disputes. ]

Do you have to do that often? Send people to war.

[The lack of patronizing is good. With people from other cultures, she's grown accustomed to someone questioning how she rose to that rank. Within her culture, people follow her without thinking twice (though Nia had certainly taken advantage of her youth and willingness to love early on in her rule).

It earns him some esteem in her mind.]

Not as much as before. [She pauses, shifting the angle of her arms so that she can continue.] Now that we have the coalition, there is less reason to go to war. Though one of the clans wishes that they had more power than they did. Unsurprisingly, they were the last to join. [Not counting Skaikru, but that's ... still in progress.]

Ain't that always how it is, though?

[ always one asshole that's just not happy with the status quo. the twelve colonies had gotten along decently well, but there were always disagreements and tensions. every civilization has its adjusting periods, before it can settle, and even then, it's a compromise. ]

How many clans is it you've got in the coalition?

[ to get an idea of the size of the community she ruled over. ]

Twelve. [She does sound as if she's making a mental revision, and there's a buzz of unclear thought in the link between them.] I recently accepted a thirteenth, but they changed leadership. They don't agree with our ways. Still, they are the smallest of us all, so if they continue to cause trouble, we have plans to deal with them.

["Deal" is exactly what it sounds like, though Lexa does intend to try for more nonviolent solutions first. If she can.]

Twelve. That's how many Colonies we have. Well, had. [ Now, none. Twelve Colonies went to a bunch of commercial ships in a fleet, went to a bunch of survivors founding a new Earth to try to build back a future on. In a few hundred years, most won't remember the Twelve Colonies ever existed. ] Plus, a lost Thirteenth. Magic number, I guess.

[ it is funny, though, how that works out. these odd similarities. ] That's a lot to juggle, though. Some people just have a knack for that kinda leadership. You like it?

I do. [There may be some who want to see between the lines, but she sees no contradiction between wanting to be selfish once in a while, to have something with Clarke, and knowing that she has to give something to her people. It took Lexa a while, but she can accept that weakness that makes her human. The major condition is that she does not let that weakness guide her.]

It's my birthright, but it's a role I enjoy ... and miss. [Odd to say this to anyone.] It's not that I believe I have a right to rule these people, but the conditions of the Nest are less rigid than I'd prefer. The disorder and lack of leadership is something that makes me think we are just waiting to be knocked down and replaced.

Once you're used to taking care of people, it's hard to let that go and stand by while someone else, or no one else, handles it. [ he can understand that, and it was especially apparent in the fleet, and on board Galactica. some people are just suited to it, and feeling a certain pride and enjoyment of being able to proudly serve and guide your people isn't any kind of sin. so long as it is that, he thinks - serve, and protect. ]

The commander that was heading the survivors I was with - old man Adama, one hell of a leader. I think he'd probably go nuts here, with everyone running around doing whatever the frak they want, no order to it. [ not when they could be working towards being better, preparing themselves, solving the problems in front of them, defending the people. he'd be barking order left and right, and they'd be damn good ones. ] Good man, though. I don't think humanity would've made it without him.

[Adama. While Lexa is certain she will never meet this man, it still feels important to remember it for Sam's sake. It's her first time meeting him, but knowing his figurehead is important. And to her, it might prove relevant later.]

Did he assert his authority from the very start? [When it had been the matter of her people versus Skaikru, it had taken some doing to show her power to them. She had to be smart, but matters are very different here.]

He was already commander of the one military vessel protecting the civilian ships in the fleet, so, in a way, his station alone was all he needed. [ he was already a defender, and the highest ranking government agent. at least, until they'd figured out who ascended to president, after all that was left. ]

But he'd had to share that with the President - legislative officer, if that makes sense. Adama handled all military decisions, Roslin, the President of what was left of the colonies, handled the rest. Laws, justice, decisions for the well-being of the people. [ sam hadn't seen the beginning of it all, was still stuck on Caprica when the fleet first formed in their escape, but he'd heard. ] Wasn't easy, but they made a pretty damn good team.

He would struggle with the expectation that he must humble himself when he would otherwise prefer to help. [Perhaps that is a matter of projection, but it is difficult to be among people where she has to prove herself when she has already done that for her own. And it wasn't only in the battle to become commander. She has proved herself countless times over, and her people are those who look at weaknesses as if they are worse than scars.]

I struck a deal with a president once to free my people from them. I wouldn't say that we were working together, but they had a society of all their own. [One they used to prey upon Lexa's people.]

That president no longer exists. [Neither of them.

Thankfully.]

Yes, I think he struggled a lot, with wanting to do what he thought was best, but having to leave that decision up to someone else. [ Admiral Adama was one of those people who were just born to lead. Not like Sam, who ended up leading by happen stance and just tried to do his best with what he could. Adama and Lee both had those natural instincts for it, and the urge in them to take control and steer things to safely.

Not always the correct urges, but that's why you have divisions of power, like with the President. Because sometimes you may be right and have a good idea, but someone else is more right, with a better idea. ]

'President' is a fairly broad term. Could mean leader of a nation or head of a book reading club. [ just as a general explanation, to say they aren't necessarily the same set of government. however, her people being prisoner is something pretty damn serious. ] But, I'm guessing it wasn't a book club holding your people captive. Why?

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(OPEN | mental link + some log prompts)

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