Entry tags:
- *hatch log,
- annie westwind [original],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- darlene alderson [mr robot],
- elliot alderson [mr robot],
- helen magnus [sanctuary],
- ilde vilmaine [original],
- joshua bright [legend of heroes],
- juno steel [the penumbra podcast],
- katsuki bakugo [my hero academia],
- rogue [x-men films],
- rust cohle [true detective],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- seth gecko [from dusk till dawn]
[hatch log] i had a dream which was not all a dream
CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Red Coast
WHEN: DAY :025 - DAY :026
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; getting them down to Hyrypia proves to be more complicated than usual.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!



((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch on Day :025 as well as the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia late on Day :026. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find additional information pertaining to the Red Coast on the previous mission log (located here); newbies are welcome to utilize that log as well as it occurs within the same time period as the hatch.
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 Red Coast
WHEN: DAY :025 - DAY :026
SUMMARY: Somewhere deep in the void between multiverses, a fresh clutch of Hosts hatches; getting them down to Hyrypia proves to be more complicated than usual.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!



STATION 72
DAY :025
NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and the universe and you in it are 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. But 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. Some of these emotions might be 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 others very like you here, all of them somehow intimately familiar.
Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room, the vast Station is quiet and still. It feels for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.
Eventually, a sensation manifests out of the hollowness:PREPARE YOURSELF
THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD is sound and sensation: a brilliantly warm shaft of sunlight through smoky glass - a gauzy curtain twitching in some summer breeze - the blooming pleasure of a familiar face after a very long time away. 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 small grassy lawn in the center of the lush, circular gardens where an aging woman waits on a stone bench. The pin straight sheet of her hair hangs like a graying curtain and the sensation from her is lovely and golden, real delight pouring through her like light through a pinhole camera. She smiles and sets aside the book in her lap.
"There you are. 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."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 other than the people you woke up with there's a distinct lack of company 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? Otherwise-- well there's plenty of places to get lost...
By the simulated morning, a strange archaic ship has arrived on the Hangar. Its very alien pilots are in the process of unloading-- bodies. No, scratch that, they're clearly still alive, though in some kind of comatose state. One of the pilots - a pale female alien who calls herself Rhan - says, "Well, this is awkward. We were supposed to be done with this already. Uh don't mind us, darling. We'll finish up here and get on our way. In the meantime, why don't you go through your packs and get changed?"
She nods toward two trunks on the hangar deck where assortment of pre-prepared packs are waiting for each new Host. In each pack is a series of items, including a set of beautiful and very all-encompassing robes. Better get comfortable. Not hot on the fabrics or patterns in your pack? Mixing and matching with your new best friends is totally acceptable.
Eventually, you leave the Station. If you're lucky, you might one day make it back.



HYRYPIA - THE RED COAST
LATE DAY :026
A PURPOSEFULLY SUBTLE WELCOME
UNDER THE COVER OF DARKNESS, Collector and Lyr make their way through the barracks where the Hosts on Hyrypia are meant to be sleeping. It's nearing whatever the Hyrypian equivalent of midnight is; if you're awake, all the better. If not? Expect to be roused (gently and silently by Collector, rudely and abruptly by Lyr).
"Get dressed. We're going for a walk."
There's nothing quite so suspicious as bringing a bunch of reinforcements to the planet in the aftermath of a rather public murder, which means a highly ritualized midnight procession of Carbasuchians into the highlands. It's easier to secret a handful of newbies in an anonymous group, right?
That meeting in the dead of night in the rocky wilderness above the Red Coast bears even a passing resemblance to the strange occurrence on DAY :010 is probably just a coincidence. Besides, there aren't any mystery circles burned into the stone and grass here: just a stealth ship materializing out of the black night and touching down in a stony outcropping where it disgorges the freshly hatched (or newly reawakened) Hosts.



((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch on Day :025 as well as the arrival of new Hosts on Hyrypia late on Day :026. Feel free to make your own logs and posts additional to this if you care to. You can find additional information pertaining to the Red Coast on the previous mission log (located here); newbies are welcome to utilize that log as well as it occurs within the same time period as the hatch.
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!))
cathaway | npc | ota (station)
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[ Um.
There's an unsubtle refusal in the way he stands, arms crossed over his chest, stance staggered out like he's braced for escalation. At some point, he's changed out of that battle ensemble he'd arrived in, and actually donned the clothes left out for him - considering his school uniform and other clothes were probably not in the vicinity. ]
Where's that oozing, disgusting lime-flavored jerk that brought me here.
[ leading the charge, the bakugo way: with class and dignity ]
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A deep breath, held for a few long moments, and then she nods, reaching up with gloved hands to nervously tuck striped hair back behind her ears before taking that offered seat. The grey of her gloves is like a dark smudge against the white of the clothes she'd been provided, but the last thing she wants is to hurt anyone here. ]
Why was I brought here? [ Her voice is soft, a smooth southern drawl coloring the vowels. ]
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[ Standing, that is - the posture of someone who's always ready to move if the moment calls for it. He doesn't feel anything threatening from her, but when the proverbial switch is flipped, he's not inclined to trust a feeling over the pure pragmatism of possibility. ]
What happens next?
[ There are a lot of questions...but a lot of them, when you get right down to it, are just ways to dance around that one. ]
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What concerns? [ he's had time to think, dragging his feet to come find her: ] You pulled me out of Hyperion when it was about to be reduced to rubble, and the only proof I'm gonna get that it made out better than I did is your word and a lot of good faith. Now I'm at least a galaxy away from Mars, probably recruited to whatever your agenda is because I didn't want a planet to die just for my sake.
[ he's least bothered by the part where he had to give himself up, no worth assigned to that: as far as you're concerned, that's very little on the line. but talking about the state he left Hyperion City in skirts dangerously close to the edge of a hole he's only just keeping himself from falling down, an empty space in his head and his chest, something missing from the shape of him. like taking him away from the city had ripped out parts of him, too many of his wounds scabbing over roots that Hyperion had in him. less than what he was now; he thinks about the empty skeleton of an abandoned building and how it unsettles, knowing there should be more. ]
And somehow, between then and now, you stuck something in my head that's getting me more up close and personal with the other suckers here than I'd like — this isn't my first telepathic tumour, lady. [ a memory of something cold and inhuman that makes him shudder. not so far behind him. ] But I'd prefer it if this one doesn't take out my other eye.
[ there's a moment, a pause of that thought clicking into place. ]
I guess that's a concern. Any chance it's going to pop if I work it too hard?
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juno steel | ota.
II. FOR PETER (even if everyone else gets to overhear his distress )
III. FOR EVERYONE ELSE / WILDCARD
HATCH TIME.
[ Words, said out loud. Somewhere between an inner monologue broadcasted among the gathered bodies and the thundering crash of a heavy gauntlet hitting the floor near Juno's feet ( he threw it; he literally threw the thing, this thing rigged and wired and created to combust dangerously ). It's not a very nice gesture, not a very friendly one either. It's one meant to shake someone up, make them worried, make them flinch. Anything to cut off this lady's hysterics before he winds up infecting any of the other lesser characters without spine or the ability to stay cool. Bakugo can stay cool, look at him. Cool as a cucumber, if not twitching with something like resentment for such a display of vulnerability.
Ugh, people with emotions. ]
Seriously, knock it off. You're freaking me out, you damn freak.
[ His tone is scathing, as he fits one bare thumb under the edge of the mask still upon his face and lifts it. Up, into his hair, where it sits like a strange hairband, heavy with extensions that resemble quills. Maybe butterflies, if you squint and don't breathe a word about it to him. ]
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slowly. slides in here.
which peter is fairly certain shouldn't be happening. it'd be awful timing and he's not even sure he's prepared for it (but really, what kind of preparation do you need for this kind of meeting?) so it can't be juno, but the sensation is almost unmistakable in a way peter isn't very certain how he knows. it's the sensation of his name, not spoken aloud, not even though so much as encompassing the idea of him. nureyev. there's no shrugging it off, just leaning in, listening closer as they watch the ship unload its cargo of hosts - there's a feel to them, shiny and new, and peter is glad for it if only because he's tired of being new. but he can hear him, an empty, yawning echo of a cavern with a repeated calling sound from the bottom. it's dark down there, empty, as if something's gone reaching in, unearthing something and leaving juno at the very bottom to try to climb out for himself.
and peter immediately loathes it. whatever's done this.
all of them are robed, so distinguishing him from the rest isn't easy by sight, but by impression? oh, juno is like a fist to the jaw, so indelibly himself. he isn't his the way that elliot is his, his brood, but he's still no doubt his in a different way, one that makes him step forward at once. ]
( Juno? )
[ peter doesn't make to run up to him, rather, walks just on the edge of the group of hosts - new and old, trying not to make the scene bigger than it ought to be. he doesn't lift his hand, only raises his head, the veils draped carefully. hard to see in the dark due to its color: a deep burgundy and black. he steps forward, unspooling, unraveling, unwinding something soft and desperate, smooth as silk, desperate to calm in the face of juno's cavernous, frantic panic, though it bleeds outward so much that peter feels his entire mind shudder under the wave of it. the impact is bruising, and peter digs his heels into the sensation, drawing attention, answering the horrendously loud beacon.
he doesn't know how to do this, he just. does what he can. and what he can do is press the impression of himself up against juno's mind in a strange embrace of consciousnesses. weird and melding and sliding in through the gaping crack that makes up that enormous part of juno steel, that city on the horizon, that red desert dirt.
in disbelief, half distracted by his task at hand, of filling in the panic, already feeling it eat at him slowly: ]
( You're here. )
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3
[There are new people around. Which, of course, means he's doing his best to keep his thoughts clamped down. Keep the wall of stars secure around his brain. He absolutely refuses to add to the clamor going on for all the new people. It's not fair to them.]
[As much as he hopes for a familiar face.]
[He's not used to people verbally addressing the things in their heads, though. It's probably a good thing they're in the house they've all been assigned. With himself sitting on a bench against a wall, trying to relax a few degrees.]
[Only to jump at the sudden voice.]
You weren't talking to me. Were you?
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III
Not exactly good at shielding just yet. ]
I wish it came with a manual.
[ She responds as if he'd been talking to her. ]
Would make my life a million times easier.
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wildest card
You're the guy.
[ Mouthwords, because even proximal he can sense that a connection might be a bad idea, that the lurking malware of guilt and self-involvement he personally carries doesn't need to be multiplied by itself. Fuck up squared. Pass.
But he thinks better of it after a moment because they're not really alone, none of them are ever really alone here, and there's politics at play, the whole alien facade to maintain. Maybe it's paranoid, but Elliot is a paranoid person. So, imagine some old modem noises, the shrilling whine of connection, his gaze fixed and sharp beneath the veil. Network connection. Trying to keep everything else behind an encryption, a firewall.. ]
( You're the one upsetting Hadrian. )
[ Words have more textured nuance, like this, and it's obvious he doesn't mean tears and sadness, means "upsetting" the way a jug of water can be upset, spilling everywhere. He's been caught up in his own anxious-relief-guilt at the arrival of his sister, Darlene, and all his feelings have had an echo, some twin emotion twisting up the liquid black glass of Hadrian's mind. ]
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wildcaaaaaard
Shinji has spent fourteen proud years of an unremarkably pathetic life perfecting the awkward twitch. He has excelled at being that one person on an abandoned road whom people can't help side-eyeing, giving a wide berth or a graceless pat on the back, because, lighten up, little guy. Stay safe. Eat some protein.
So, he recognises the trend of antisocial volatility when he spots it in this one strange man, and he has the good sense to mentally clap for the performance. He won't be the newbie who lets the suspicious sniffing or cautious paranoia get to him. He has lived much of his life in a city, avoiding stray glances in public transport and pointedly pretending not to notice anyone else's inconvenience. He is learned in the way of shrug-and-carry-on.
But it's a quiet night, he's aware of the robe uniform, and, you know. Sometimes you see a fellow freak cruising on his merry way, and you have to huddle. To hell with survival, this is Shinji sliding almost close enough to be a daring five steps away from the man's personal space, and murmuring: ]
...ahhhhhhh. Sorry. You'll look strange. To them. Not to me. But to them.
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III
They say talking to yourself's the first sign of madness.
[There's a tone in it that communicates easily that he knows what he's saying is bullshit. It's an icebreaker. And a test. This guy has been nothing but sharp edges pointed outwards like a damn porcupine since he glimmered into existence in Richard's awareness, closed off, distant, and definitely all wrapped up in someone else. This is the first chance Richard's had to really scope him out, and there's a sense of it emanating off him: heavy, intense observation.]
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wildcarding it! sort of. ish.
It's new, isn't it?
[ Her voice is smooth, the vowels rounded by a southern drawl, and she keeps her tone casual as she gestures with a gloved hand to her own eye as a way of indicating his. Her shields are up as much as they can be, though there are still cracks in the walls that will let things out before long. ]
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III.
Shit, if only.
[Shepard would like to have been out here to smoke. But she gave that up years ago and even if she hadn't there's little enough point-- the nicotine urge isn't chemical anymore, hasn't been for a decade, but sometimes she still nurtures it like a beloved grudge. That's masochism for you. Well, that, and the veil they all have to wear in public. Semantics.]
You find a manual, you share it with the class.
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just ilde things
[ Ilde Vilmaine is a pretty girl of twenty. She wears the plain charcoal jumpsuit made for the hosts without looking uncomfortable in it. For a long time she had clung to her white frocks, but that need to individualize and cling to her past station has faded from her. While she has awoken with these new hosts, she is not a fresh hatch herself. Her mind is frigidly controlled, still and peaceful, delicately obscured.
She has always made it a habit to introduce herself to new hosts, however, and she will approach any new member with a polite, ]
Hello, how do you fare?
planetside - greetings
[ Obscured behind cloak and her own careful shielding, it may not be entirely obvious who she is, until she removes her hood and cloak in their quarters. The first thing she does in this privacy is take several small spheres off her belt -- each smooth and white, the size of a pool ball. They expand to the size of an ostrich egg, lids popping open with a hiss to expose six plants that she reaches in to tend to, humming peaceably to herself. ]
planetside - culture time
[ Ilde enjoys crafts. She is the first to volunteer herself to partake in the sea-weaving, the jewelry making, the pottery. When it comes to entering that blood-colored water however... She balks like a frightened horse, only noticeable to other hosts in the sharp pang of panic it causes her.
She has worked hard to overcome her fear of water, but this hideous sanguine sea is too much for her. It prickles anxiety at the back of her neck. ]
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[ There's no mincing words, when it comes down to it.
As sharply as he pulls away from the connection, there are -- there's just -- everyone else continues to talk at once. They bleed, like open wounds, bruises that keep being prodded, sore throats that you swallow against in the hopes that this time the ache will be alleviated. But, not her. Among the noise, she's quiet. A still, subtle little pond of a person. Like a caldera full of rainwater, atop a remote mountain at daybreak. Chilly, pristine, hiding its depths and ushering fools into danger. ( The shoreline is too steep, you'll never climb out if you're not cautious. ) ]
-- and where do I get clothes like that.
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plants and stuff
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culture time
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station
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planetside; culture time
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station
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culture time
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king explosionmurder ( ota + some closed )
THE STATION ( HATCH )
[ The world -- kind of tastes like limes gone sour, soft and bitter in his mouth as he leaves the pod and immediately ( immediately! ) loses whatever nutrients were in his stomach into some grate nearby. The combination of nausea, the sudden brilliance and mis-balance that he feels puts him over that edge. It's gross, perhaps concerning to some, but he's quick to rub his fingertips over his temples and pull himself the hell together -- faster than most people who've just gone and done something highly embarrassing and very private would.
( Limes; limes in his mouth, disgusting, runny limes -- a leftover remnant of the thing that had thought itself a savior, a viscous and greasy thing that had urged him to run. There's the sense of something furious and insulted, hammering alongside his heart. Resentful, building towards vengeance upon the savior and some star-bodied freak of unreality that had called his name so adoringly. He can remember them both, clearly. Two shitty creatures on his shit list, and he'd handle them both in due damn time. )
Inside of the cubby, he puts his hands on what appears to be a very crisp, very clean uniform. What he's actually wearing, for all intents and purposes, the strangest sort of attire that those present might be familiar with - with the exception of those in equally-strange clothing. Already, he's removing one of the massive, grenade-shaped gauntlets in order to search through the cubby. And move on to the next, and to the next. Investigating? Nosy? Any which way, he might have just poked his nose into someone else's belongings. ]
Where the hell is that thing.
[ /murderdeathmurder ]
THE STATION ( WILDCARDS )
[ There is -- a lot. A lot to do, a lot to see, a lot to ask. And there is so little time.
There is: a room full of mirrors that do not reflect, a dead end full of whispered things you do and do not wish to hear. In each, you find a young man, with his palms sparking like flint and tinder - waiting to ignite. There is a breeze, there is a stillness. Who are you? How DARE you? A table in the kitchens, laden with spicy curries and a sink full of dishes, the scent of food and something like gunsmoke heavy upon him as he eats, and eats, and his mind comes to a simmer when he catches wind of another's presence. ]
HYRYPIA ( CLOSED TO AVIOR )
[ Ugly, unnatural familiarity.
( The rest of Avior will feel it, when he finally comes to the planet. Swaddled in layers and layers of greens with accented copper, oozing something white-hot. In his mind, he rejects the connection, but is too young, too unskilled and there is simply too much inside of him to be able to keep each spark of anger/rejection/anger from slipping out into the brood's mixings. ) It may be the first time, the last time, the only "slip" of the mind that that he'll allow himself. Tumbling head over heels, messy, chaotic -- young -- into the crook of Avior, bursting open like an aerosol can caught over an open flame; all shrapnel and venom as he spits through the mass connection: ]
I don't know you. I don't care to get to know you. Just stay the hell out of my way.
HYRYPIA ( WILDCARDS )
[ Some, he seeks out of his own volition. Those who seem positioned as "in-the-know", key players, people with something to say. What do you know, he demands of them; less a question, more a hunger. A sharp, deep-seated yearning to not feel like he's in last place, like he's late to the party. What have you accomplished, is the hair-trigger insult, lingering below his questions.
There is the sea, and he spends time skipping stones. A burst of something explosive, and the rock spins and hops far, far into the distance. The thrum of his mind betrays something calculating and attentive; what seems to be an idle way to pass his time is equal parts an act as it is him literally watching the rest of the nest. Observing. Filing away words and actions and, ugh, even stray thoughts. It might be kind of creepy, it might be kind of obtrusive. ]
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While he can't feel a gaze on him, he can tell that one of the new members is transfixed. Their symbiote is fresh and loud in his thoughts, and it's making him self-conscious in a way he isn't used to. So much that he stops halfway through a capriccio, lowers his bow, and stamps the ground with one boot.
It's difficult to read the vibrations in the ground when that ground is sand, but he turns to face where he thinks the newcomer is standing. ]
Hello! Come to have a listen?
[ Though his face is covered in veils, his voice - and connection - are cheerful, open, and welcoming. ]
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brood lovin
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hatch
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wildcards
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wildcards
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>:V (also wildcard)
>8U !!!!!
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hyrypia it up, homie
im ready for this wtf
r u rly
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EH
WOW!!!
friendship is happening
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wildcards!!
SAM!!!
oh my god he's already an explosion it's wonderful
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brood times
chinhands aggressively at rogue
such a sweet angry child
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barges in
here he is my bouncing boy
bounces him into the time out corner
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Helen Magnus | OTA
Hyrypia (Arrival)
Hyrypia (Wildcard)
arrival
[No one else needs that.]
[He does crack an eye open as people start entering. It's not the face he was expecting to see. But even so--]
Helen... right?
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Arrival
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station
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Wildcard
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>> station
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II { day :026 | the red coast } when the lights go out, I need to know, are you afraid of the dark?
III { day :027 | the red coast } if you ever ever call my name, you will find out that we're both the same
2
[He's in the housing, when they get there. Awake as usual. Pulled up on a bench to watch stars in the small hours of the morning. It keeps him awake.]
[Someone, though, is basically radiating happiness. Which is nice, considering the stress bouncing through his own brain. He offers her a nod, a sort of half-smile. It's strained, but real enough.]
Hey. Nice to hear someone's in a good mood.
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ii
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iii!
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joshua bright | COME AT ME, BRO.
[ It's a lot of feelings for someone who's spent most of his life running from them.
For the first few seconds after he opens his eyes, Joshua doesn't move. It's paralyzing; he isn't sure what's his and what isn't and it probably doesn't matter, because he's not sure how to handle any of them -
He promised Estelle he was done running, but he can't help it. He has exactly two coping mechanisms he can rely on, and one of them - her - isn't an option.
So he flips the switch.
And then he starts moving a lot faster, as his priorities start lining up in the most logical order he sees them. Get up. Get out of the pod. Get armed. But as he checks in the cubby and pulls out knives, smoke bombs, sleeping drugs - his hand brushes something else behind them, and for a few long seconds (too long, he shouldn't be wasting time) he's standing there staring at a harmonica and a letter in his hands, before he snaps out of it and pockets them both.
The next order of business is clear enough, even if the path to accomplish them is less so. Find someone. Get answers. Whoever they are, they went to some trouble to get him here alive and in one piece. He's not going to trust it to blind altruism. Things don't work that way.
(Except when they do, and they did, and he was eleven years old and waking up in Cassius Bright's house wondering why he wasn't dead, and nobody had a better answer for him than "things just worked out that way.")
Things don't work that way. There's a purpose to his being here, and when he hears (feels?) the voice coming from the garden -
Well, now he knows where his next stop should be. ]
hyrypia: just chillin'
[ Joshua's not silent on the trip over, exactly, but he's not particularly forthcoming, either; he speaks when he's spoken to or when he's seeking information, and he gets straight to the point in either case.
He's much the same when the new arrivals begin to integrate themselves with the hosts already on-site; if he approaches to ask you a question, it's direct, to the point, and he doesn't follow conversational tangents very far before he gets back to the matter at hand.
And when he's not seeking information, he mostly stays away. Sometimes the beach, sometimes the orchard, anywhere he has a hope of finding some mental quiet.
His mental presence doesn't draw much attention to itself, seeming calm and even enough at a glance...although anyone who brushes a bit closer won't have to look very hard to find the chaos under that icy veneer.
He's having a hard enough time trying to ignore his own feelings, thank you very much. He doesn't need to get anyone else's tangled up in there. ]
wildcard?
[ I am open to all kinds of shenanigans. If you're not sure something will work, prod me and we can talk, but if you wanna just throw me a curveball I'm game for rolling with it! c: ]
chillin'
So she finds him the morning after their arrival, before the day's hustle and bustle has really begun to pick up. She gives him a little nod. ]
Hey. How - uh - how are you settling in here...?
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chillin like krillin
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chillin'
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darlene || ota
[ 2- the Station - DEPARTURE PREP. ]
[ 3- HYRYPIA - THE RED COAST, various. ]
>> 1
The woman in front of her does not share her excitement, apparently. The sudden outburst as the other woman turns isn't unexpected, but still a bit jarring. Rogue just stars at her for a moment, her striped brown hair tucked back behind her ears, the white perfectly matching the clothes she wears that have been provided by the station (save for her own grey gloves and boots). When that moment passes, though, she just frowns slightly and informs her fellow host in a smooth southern drawl ]
Some of us are just trying to walk here, sugar, there's no reason to get all upset.
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sorry for disappearing - december got a bit crazy
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2
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1 - ilde option
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3! ! ! !
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2!!
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3!
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3 / tech
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( closed to her smol son )
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Except —
— ...Ikari Shinji, fulfilling his heroic destiny of shaming every opportunity to gaze deeply and meaningfully into the horizon and make some grand pronouncement. Instead, he's glare-guilting his proxy mommy figure into a silent trek down the beach, gainfully crushing, killing and destroying the rows of footsteps left behind by fellow tourists before them.
It's dark, he supposes — or 'evening' — or whatever period of time and inclination suits dimming light and minimal expectations of being seen outright, down to their damning details. Subtlety, after all. This young grasshopper is learning. ]
Misato... you're a girl. [ Newsflash. This is a grand reveal. ] So... please help me. Help me make one of those... shell chains girls like. For a girl. A woman. Whatever she is.
[ And this, despite appearances, is shrewd. ]
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Aloy
[ Aloy is naturally at the clandestine welcome of the new arrivals. She stands off to the side in her blue and red robes, watching from underneath layers of silk and leather with a sense almost of detachment. It feels strange, feeling new minds joinging them here. Not the first such wave of reinforcements that Aloy has seen and likely not the last either. She sways a little, feeling a little anxious and confined. She wants to be out of these robes and feel wind on her skin again. Those who brush her mind might get a sense of that, a brief flash of mountainous vistas. What can she do here? She picks someone out, especially someone new, and takes a step forward. ]
Welcome. I'm sure you have a lot of questions.
II. Open DAY :027
[ DUring the day, Aloy can be found doing a few things. One of them is walking up and down the rocky beach, staring out across the sea. It's the first ocean she's truly seen (even if it's red) and she's fascinated by the way it seems to just go on forever until it meets the sky. Even the largest lakes she's seen didn't feel like this!
You'll also find her quietly sitting among the tents working on embroidery that she's learned from Lakshmi. It's simple work, though the stitches need to be precise and fine. It's something to focus on and gives her something to do with her hands and the anxious, annoyed energy that comes from being stuck doing nothing for so long. Occasionally she mutters or curses and has to undo a stitch to fix something, and these outbursts might draw some attention. ]
2
[At some point, tired of butting up against new arrivals and sorting his head out among them all, Shiro left them to their own devices, in order to seek out more familiar minds. Safer minds. Ones who already know him, and ones he knows he doesn't have to tiptoe around.]
[Aloy is one of them.]
[He's just surprised to hear her swearing. So it naturally gets his interest.]
Re: 2
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i'm late but two two two
( for kaji )
She holds onto it, though. Even if she sees less of him. Even if she knows that he's gone back to Misato and that once again, someone she thinks (highly) of has left her for another. It's difficult to trace the line of her own emotions and introspection has never been her strong suit. She has others to lean on now, healthier ways to find outlets, but the siren call of the familiar is always there. It'd be easy to slip back into that role where she chases him. Where she tries to find something (anything) in his words and actions that will tell her that she's worthwhile. That she's valid.
That she's loved.
So she follows him one day. They're in this strangely peaceful seaside town, even with the blood red sea to remind her of her own failings and the end of the world. She tries to shut it out and focuses on following in his footsteps, trying to think of what she's going to say to him. Of what she can say, now that he's locked back in his world of adulthood and she's seemingly still trying to find a way to it that won't leave her gasping and drowning, like a fish out of water.
She is not the most subtle tail and he probably knows that she's there long before they set foot on the beach. But she continues anyway, as if she hasn't been seen and as if this is some sort of surprise. So she pretends as she follows his footsteps down the sand and when he actually glances back she "allows" herself to be seen and she darts forward, robes fluttering behind her as he tries to catch-up. ]
Kaji-!
[ As if this is chance. She's falling into old habits.
She hates herself a little more for it. ]
I haven't been able to talk to you in forever! [ As if they're friends. ]
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he lets her be seen because he has no other choice. there are many reasons their conversations have been few and far between as of late. they're covered in robes now, so she can't so easily exploit the visual expressions (and the validation it confers) in all his markers of adulthood and her fledgling adolescence. and she, of course, has bigger fish to fry - shinji,
and misato, and her dead broodmate, and anyone else she deems to have failed her as they certainly have. ]
It's because you forgot about me. [ kaji makes no connection between the cherry red of the seas and the world he left prematurely. his voice is the cheery dispassion she is so used to. maybe she hates it by now. ] And you're just now realizing it, right? [ the freedom in letting him go. ]
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