[hatch log] i had a dream which was not all a dream

[onemind]

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!

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!))

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

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

cathaway | npc | ota (station)

[polyphonos]

((ooc: feel free to either have a one-on-one conversation with Cathaway or pile in for larger group threads.))

[It's not much of a garden party, is it? But at least there's some concrete sensation of life here - untamed flower beds and overgrown ferns, a whisper of air moving that must be the product of some circulation system but nonetheless occasionally stirs the highest foliage of the strangest trees. The woman on the bench reaches to retrieve a plastic card from inside the voluminous folds of her draped wrap, the assortment of metal charms ornamenting her wrists and fingers and forearms chiming pleasantly as she does so.

Cathaway turns the card over in her hands, unfolding it out into a larger tablet screen. When she's done, she pats the spot on the bench beside her.]

Why don't you take a seat and we can have a conversation? We assume you have some concerns that may need addressing before we attend to matters of the immediate future.

[incinerates]

Oi, slow down a little more grandma. First thing's first.

[ 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 ]

[polyphonos]

[Ah. Don't children lend such a natural energy to a place? Anyone else might be swallowed up by the life in the garden, by the subconscious murmur of the Station and by the unknown shape of what's missing from it. It's refreshing.

Or maybe she's just in a good mood. Either way, the woman raises the libe of her chin and her smile widens with unmistakable fondness.]

You must be referring to the Host who brought you here. We're afraid they're not here at the moment. Most agents who specialize in search and rescue don't spend much time on the Station.

[There's something uncommonly direct in her attention on him - or the strange reflective quality of her pale eyes makes it seem so.]

What's your name? Or what do you prefer to be called?

[It's more polite to ask these things directly.]

[incinerates]

[ -- there it is: recognition of the weight of her attention, her fondness. He doesn't know her ( maybe, he does? ), so it's weird. Everything is weird right now, to be fair. It's crooked and unnatural, and his head throbs, sharp but manageable. This old lady must be -- what'd that chilly girl call her? Something foreign, something: ]

You're Cathaway.

[ Ah, why are the old "hosts" so bizarre? ]

My name? S'it really matter? All I need right now is to find that lump of slime that conned me into this -- don't think I don't know what's going on here. Nice work with the big test, by the way. The powercreep on that new villain was surprising an' all, but I'd have handled it fine if everybody'd have gotten out of my way.

[polyphonos]

[She listens, perched just half a degree forward on the stone bench so as to be the picture of attentiveness. If she knows any pleasure from him knowing her name already, it's just a flicker compared to the general pleasant quality of her presence. What a novelty - to be happy, to be patient with a boy intent on talking ahead of her, to find this delightful instead of wearying.

(Consider her very pleased with herself. The Prince should be glad to know she's so recovered.)]

It matters to us, actually.

[His name. Consider her pointedly ignoring the rest of it.]

[incinerates]

Bakugo Katsuki. U.A. High, class 1-A.

[ He gives it the way he's used to it; though the symbiote will arrange it, naturally, to make sense to those who give their surname last. Bakugo. That's who he is, a proud, clever young man who doesn't feel an inch of shame for who or what he is. However brightly she focuses on him, he keeps his chin up. Shoulders back. Eyes on hers; wary of what she may try to sell him, but not disinterested in her existence. ]

Do you work for the League?

[polyphonos]

No. I'm afraid we don't even know what the League is. [It would be easy to be a little sharp, a little over firm about it - but she's pleasant enough. If her interest is feigned, it's a convincing version of pretend.]

How old are you? What's the place you came from like?

[See, she can ask questions too.]

[incinerates]

[ He'll accept that, at face value. Whatever heights her 'creepy' level happens to be rising to, it's likely not the result of her being part of that Shigaraki guy's posse. Which means that he can rule out being re-captured by the League, and lead to believe it was of his own volition. He'll sort that out, sooner or later. ]

Sixteen, but since you - or someone - went through my shit before I woke up, I'm sure that means you saw my student I.D.

[ His name, his class, his one-day alma mater> U.A. High, an academy for heroes; it's where his mind lingers, for a moment. Tall buildings of metal and glass, sharp and sparkling and full of the most brilliant and passionate minds and hearts. A training ground for future heroes, full to bursting with the best the nation had to offer. He lingers on the broad shoulders of a man with blonde hair jutting up into antenna-like spikes, and the glowing admiration that swells within him for that victorious figure. He lingers on a slouched man, with tired eyes, half-hidden below a billowing scarf and the more subtle degree of respect he feels towards him. ]

Don't treat me like I'm just some idiot child, I'm better than anyone you'll meet from this... whatever just happened to all of us.

[ The hatchening. ]

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ Having another presence in her mind is nothing new to Rogue, and it almost makes her feel like she did in the old days back at the mansion, though the woman in front of her is quite a bit different than Charles Xavier. It feels pleasant though, and the atmosphere of the gardens does wonders to chase the memory of the mansion from her mind -- it's a good thing, since there are cracks in the walls of her grand plantation house, the shutters unhinged, the windows full of broken glass. She'll have to work on building up her shields again if she's to keep the psyches in her mind at bay.

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. ]

[polyphonos]

[She sets the tablet across her knee and sweeps the curtain of her steel colored hair behind the lone of her shoulder as Cathaway turns her body toward her new companion. The woman is a series of easy lines, as natural in this place as the alien flora, the strangely organic lattice work at the edges of the stone bench.]

Because you were in danger and for the time being, this Station is safe from the creatures that hunt you. That's the simplest answer, of course. [Implying there's a complicated one.]

Usually we'd offer to let that explanation lay for a time to be considerate as you acclimate to the Station. Unfortunately, it seems you won't be here for very long.

[Her spidery hand moves over the face of the tablet, tapping rhythmically through a few screens as she speaks:] But to begin, let's say that you were being hunted because your physiology has a special quality to it that makes you dangerous to their cause.

[She shoots the younger woman a sidelong glance, something sly like a joke in the arch of her eyebrow.]

Familiar concepts, we're sure.

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ Rogue is used to dealing with strangeness in her life; this woman could have green skin and four arms and it wouldn't faze her. What does get to her is all the woman says. For the time being and hunted. It brings up memories of sleeping in abandoned houses, camping in forests, always on the move. Images of the lights of the Sentinels searching for them, building crashing down around them once the hunters spot their prey. It's hard to shake loose of the fear that comes with the recollections, but she does her very best to push it aside to focus on the situation at hand. ]

Very familiar. [ It's little more than a murmur, punctuated by an uncomfortable shift as she starts to put the puzzle pieces together. If she won't be here for very long, if she's a danger to this enemy... Everything goes still in her mind as she thinks she begins to understand her new purpose. ]

I won't be here for long because you're sending me to fight them, aren't you?

[polyphonos]

[Maybe there are pieces of Cathaway that want to say No, nothing like that, but they're so small as to be insignificant - erased by the popular vote of everything else. What use is a lie of convenience or comfort in this situation? So the thought hardly occurs to her before it's slipping away. Instead, the wry lines of Cathaway's expression moderate. She sighs.]

Yes. [She offers the tablet out to Rogue. There are pages of information laid out on the screen - and however it makes sense for Rogue to page through them seems to be how the slim piece of technology operates. (Is that a strange coincidence, or something else? Some other benefit of the thing in her mind?) Regardless, there in the pages of the tablet lay neat blocks of text and illustrative images outlining the mission that lies ahead.] Unfortunately, at the moment we find ourselves fighting defensively - our numbers are small and the priority is to minimize the damage our Enemy can do while simultaneously keeping this Station secret from them.

[She laces her fingers together around the sharp point of her knee, deceptively idle given the topic of conversation.]

The Prince would say it's not much of a war at all, but we disagree.

[whereabout]

I'm fine right here.

[ 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. ]

[polyphonos]

[Her expression gives, some trace amusement on the flexion of her mouth and the tip of her head. Suit yourself, says the line of her wrist as she withdraws her hand from the offered place on the bench.]

How direct. [She's not laughing, but she could be. There's some shape of that in the air.] After this you'll be free to explore the Station for some hours, rest if you're able, and in the morning Rhan and Siva'co will arrive to take you from here to the planet where the rest of the young Hosts have been working for some time. Evidently the more senior agents there feel numbers on the ground would be to their advantage in hunting the Enemy which chased you here.

[Revenge, of a kind.]

[whereabout]

[ Rest if you're able. Well, at least they understand each other, because Joshua's more than likely going to spend every minute he has turning this place inside out and getting to know the territory.

But the rest of what she says is far more interesting. ]

Did everyone arrive this way?

[ He's not referring to the pods, but to the pursuit. To being hunted by - something, and presented with one path out - one that, evidently, leads here. ]

[polyphonos]

Very similarly, yes. The creature that hunted us might not have appeared the same as what came for you, but they're all part of the same Enemy force. Most Hosts arrived here after being rescued from otherwise lethal circumstances.

[Most, she says. But-- she touches her fingers to her throat, a clear reference to herself, her own presence on the Station:] It's how we came to be here anyway.

[whereabout]

[ He's curious about that story, although it falls under the purview of "things that will probably keep," so the next point he decides to pursue, instead - ]

Is the "we" royal, or collective?

[ Where he comes from, it would be a stupid question, but the cacophony in his head that he's trying very pointedly to ignore suggests otherwise. ]

[polyphonos]

The latter. Though, the former is delightful. So if you'd like to give us that, we won't refuse it. [She laughs, bright and sterling and so pleasantly human-adjacent that it's almost not troubling.]

But yes, we're a collected consciousness. This body's original mind is here in large parts too of course, but we feel it's best to be candid about these things as immediately as possible with young Hosts such as yourself. Keeping secrets or pretending we're something we aren't might be traumatizing if we weren't honest.

[Besides, the Prince would find it depressing; she can't find it in herself to be so cruel to him.]

You can call us Cathaway.

[whereabout]

[ If names are getting exchanged, then okay. ]

Joshua.

[ Just leaving it at that is easier than navigating that awkward space between being an Astray and being a Bright, when he knows that just being here seems to be pushing him back towards the former, even after he's decided he wants to be the latter.

That's kind of the least of his concerns right now, anyway, especially in light of what she's telling him. ]

Can you explain what you mean by "hosts"?

[ Because there are some quiet bells going off in the back of his mind, even as he's pushing past them and trying to focus on anything but his feelings. "This body's original mind" can't help but sound very alarming to him, after everything with Weissmann. ]

[iuno]

[ he doesn't sit — simmering with resentment, suspicion, irritation because all of those things are easier to let fill him than the dark grief that's waiting further below. besides, he doesn't care much for friendly overtures. nobody came here to make friends. he talks fast, hands in his pockets. ]

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?

[polyphonos]

[She waits. The shape of her there on the bench seems rooted there, the easy lines of her shoulders and wrists and the drape of her clothes spilling over stone and pouring into the off colored grass underfoot. But there's something direct and attentive to her gaze on him: the shape of a some anonymous point pressing against skin through a cloth. It could be the first finger on a hand ready to settle gently there, or it could turn and be some sharper and more dangerous thing.

After a moment, Cathaway smiles. It seems genuine, though the faint afterimage of tension standing behind her isn't quite swallowed. Still, she laughs: low and lovely.]

If we said yes, would it make a difference? But not to worry-- [she taps the corner of her eye in sympathy] --your other eye is perfectly safe, detective.

[She rises then with a sweep of layered fabric and the chime of a hundred little charms threaded onto fine golden chains. The tablet is folded back into its card shape and stowed unceremoniously back in some interior pocket.]

Come along. Walking while we talk might settle you.

[And really, what's he going to do? Refuse her?]

[iuno]

[ turning her down just to be difficult does cross his mind, and it wouldn't be the first time he pissed off someone in the best position to hurt him — wouldn't even be close to the first time. but he's a restless thing, the urge to pace and pick his surroundings apart simmering under his skin, so walking actually sounds better. if she wants to take it as him being cooperative, then all the better for him. ]

Sure. Let's take a walk. [ settling him is debatable. ] You got a name? I'm guessing you already know mine.

[ he looks her over while she stands there, narrow-eyed, trying to place her. she's calm, but there's two kinds of calm that come to mind: Sasha, sharp and professional, steering a ship with a firm hand; and Miasma, insidious and cold, touching her mind like looking for purchase on a pool of smooth, black glass. Cathaway's mind may not feel the same as Miasma's did, lacks her icy claws and the mantra that still features in Juno's nightmares sometimes, I will get what I want — but he's leaning more towards Miasma's brand of calm here. inhuman. unfathomable as deep dark waters. ]

[polyphonos]

We do, but we've been told it's rude not to pretend otherwise. [She offers her hand - long fingers, delicate bones, skin goes thin around age-sharpened joints; but there are callouses there at her fingertips and the pad of her thumb, across the base of her fingers. She getting old, not incapable. (Not yet anyway).] Our name is Cathaway. Technically speaking, it's the name for this specific body, but we're aware that's sometimes troubling to very young Hosts.

[Her sedate smile transforms briefly into a grin - undeniably shit eating -, then she moves to lead the way through the overgrown pathways of the vast circular garden. Upright, there's very little to her: she's quite short, narrow through shoulder and wrist. But beyond the most basic shape of her sits something... else. The youngest Hosts on the Station are loud, the buzzing of their minds pressing and pressing. But she is warm and pleasant and removed, the bright outline of her presence defined by some deeper, darker silhouette.

It's not quiet. It feels like the keyhole on a lovely, well-familiar door and behind it some unknown creature has its eye pressed close to spy.]

[iuno]

[ oh — christ. maybe he should be relieved by a glimpse of personality from her; it should make her easier to grasp, this fragment of individuality, but it's just creepy instead. especially next to the imposing shape of her he can vaguely identify, like he's woken up with a new sense. he supposes he has, in a way.

but it's one he's used before, and for a moment, he presses forward with his mind, moving in the confidence of familiarity. and then he hesitates. pauses at the threshold, hovering just shy of reaching out, because — she says it won't backfire on him, but Miasma's tomb is only a matter of weeks behind him and he remembers the violation of submerging himself in her head, the impossibility of touching her. agony erupting in his skull; so desperate to pin her down that he just cracked under the strain.

Juno doesn't often think before he follows through on an idea. he's a few days fresh from surgery for his cybernetic replacement eye, though, and maybe that helps. he only just stopped being useless. his body language reflects the almost-push he made, caught somewhere between squaring to stand his ground and curling defensively away, even as he walks with her. he doesn't miss a beat, because if there's one thing he's good at it's running his mouth: ]

Yeah, we like our trivial human comforts — names, identities. Just makes things easier. [ bitter, bitter. but he's been that way for so long he doesn't taste it anymore. ] So, do I get an elevator pitch?

[polyphonos]

[What does the very edge of a consciousness look like? Feel like? It's caramelized sugar to be snapped under the side of a spoon's tap; it's a thin layer of ice over dark water; it's a gauzy veil over the face of an unknown bride. There, in the circular garden with its faint warmth and the perfume of alien flowers, the shape of her mind under his tentative reach flexes toward him like an affectionate cat arches at touch, like a flower turning by some snall degree toward the sun, like the curve of some lover's spine. It's a warm breath very near or a predatory animal: intimate and steady.

Cathaway hums. She raises an eyebrow in his direction.] If you insist. The short version is that your brain is an acceptable environment for a creature we call the symbiote which presently binds your mind to every other host as part of an elaborate telepathic network. Unfortunately, your acceptability as a host puts you in direct opposition with the force that wants to eradicate the symbiote. This Enemy has wide reaching plans to somehow alter the shape of the multivers; as we seem to be the only beings capable of interfering, we are a liability to them.

And so, given that the alternative to resistance is the extinction of a species and the extermination of beings like us-- [With every step the metal charms and small strands of fine jewelry chain rattles. She is so incredibly sly as she says:] --Well, we prefer to put up a fight.