station72 | [hatch log] i had a dream which was not all a dream

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[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!

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 )

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What the hell are you.

[ 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.

[ She doesn't like being spoken to like that... but she can think of several other hosts who insisted upon it. Foul, rude mouths that tended to mask hurting hearts. A suspicion that she tucks away for later, she found it ill-advised to make decisions about other hosts too soon after their awakening. No one was quite themselves when first feeling the effects of the symbiote.

So she merely inclines her head, a friendly recognition to his rude question, although it is the latter half of his statements she answers, ]

There are quarters, beds and amenities, you may find your clothing there.

[ The Station could be helpful like that. ]

[ That's just too bad. She's too quiet, among all that noise - it's freaky, alarming. Noticeable, in the eyes of one who pays attention to little things, who pries people apart for their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Things to exploit, in the end. ]

Huh. You know your way around, then. One out of the rest of us who does - what's that make you?

[ They're meant to stay, he assumes. A longer stay than anyone with a home to return to would desire. ]

Was that you, talkin' earlier?

[ It's hard to differentiate between voices and un-voices right now. He's referring to Cathaway's call, though. ]

No. That was Cathaway.

[ Although to say that, at this point, some amount of Cathaway didn't live inside of Ilde would be, frankly, untrue. She was closer with the older woman than most. Had allowed herself to be. ]

I am Ilde. I have merely been a member of the hive longer, but I am a host, like you are.

[ A little older, perhaps a little wiser, but in the end: the same. ]

[ "Hive", "host". Foreign words, new words. He understands them in a way that he doesn't want to, comprehending the weight of them with a sort of sinking revulsion - directed at everything. At her, at "Cathaway", at the poor other saps that were waking around them. They're already just too close, he wants distance. ]

How do you do it? [ Her chill, her remoteness; things he wants Right Now. ] It can't just be age.

[ Or experience; there has to be a way to shore up defenses. ~~Teach him, strange chick.~~ ]

[ She considers him, steady, a blink. The envy is a strange emotion to have wash over her so early. Even she hadn't envied Cathaway upon waking. Still, the answer to his demanding questions is much more complicated than his impatience can contextualize.

Spend your life waiting to die. Spend every idle moment, ready to die. Be surrounded by death, live among the dead, breathe among the dead. Suffer. Burn. ]

Patience. It is learned with patience.

[ Enduring past what can be endured. ]

[ That's not the answer he wanted. ]

I can be patient. I'm patient right now, see? S'this patient enough?

[ -- oh, he's not even the slightest bit capable of waiting for the ability to come to him. He'll pursue it, however, with the singleminded viciousness of a boy who has always excelled at the things he sets his mind to, who has been rewarded for his deeds - even when they were simple things. Who despises that now, because it has hindered him, held him back, left him ill-prepared. ]

Teach me. I'm already sick of turning corners and finding out that I've wandered to someone my mind's telling me I ought to recognize.

[ Irony quirks at the very edge of her lips. The natural set of her mouth is too sullen for it to immediately appear as a smile, but the idea of it is there: a glimmer in the eye. Patient, but so impatient. She purses her lips briefly, licks the lower one. ]

I am happy to instruct you, but even with instruction it will take time. Our new powers are like muscles, they build over time.

[ But it's rare to find someone so eager. So many were so quick to immediately squander the new senses they possessed, to deny them. She has her own eagerness, at the idea of shaping this ball of fire into something finely honed, sharp. She does love her tools. ]

[ By "teach me", he means "show me, and get out of my face". There's little room for him to parse subtleties, and elegant gestures like hers give him hives. Even now, he asks her for her experience, because she's the first and most immediate one that he has come across who has it. The sense that: if not here, then someone else lingers between them. ]

You don't have a crash course?

[ He can't -- conceptualize her. She's frosty, reminds him a bit of some of the more distant kids in his class, the ones he doesn't honestly care to get to know. ]

I'm on a time crunch here. I got other things that need to be done.

[ smh he's so tacky ]

[ Her smile becomes a bit more noticeable, imperfect teeth in a charming, crooked smile. ]

There is no shortcut to what we learn, as hosts.

[ It would be painful. A test of endurance both physical and emotional. What would happen to this little spirit? Would he burn himself up trying to reach so much farther than his mind could tolerate? Or would he blossom. ]

I've never had a problem learning something I've set my mind to. Don't worry about me.

[ Underneath all his attitude and spark, there's a distinct intelligence. Something that keeps a hawkish eye on her smile, how it pairs with her composure, how that settles among what she says and does not say. It's a risk, asking the first person he meets ( and one that was so cold ) to divulge her secrets, to give him anything -- especially when he ought to be handling this entire thing himself. He can do it himself, that's not what this is about. This is like -- an older student imparting a younger with valuable information about what's going to be thrown at them later on. ]

Don't fuck with me, though. I'll know if you are.

[ His defiance is incendiary, making sparks pop in that central place where she is not as cold as she seems. Where the Godking's madness sits coiled inside her -- a phoenix, a snake. There are certain people who have just a way of lighting her anger, her greed. She is becoming more aware of this. She will have to be careful, about this boy and his direct arrogance and sharp eyes. ]

I'm not familiar with that turn of phrase.

[ A demure inclination of her head, inviting him to elaborate. She doubts he yet realizes how much the Nest's many voices can fill in spaces where cultures gap, and she wants to see if there is a line to his foulness where he might reconsider himself. ]

You'll just get to learn it for what it is, then.

[ Whichever turn of phrase she meant, he was far more apt to demonstrate it than explain it. That old adage about actions versus words could never apply to anyone more appropriately than him, though he would say what he meant and do the things he swore he would. The invitation goes refused, in that way, as he tugs on the sleeves of his current attire and ruminates on just how terrible white is as a color. ]

What happened to you, to end up here with all the fresh meat?

Nothing.

[ An airy answer. Nothing had happened to her besides the slow, insidious degradation of her brood, like a plant rotting -- while Steven stubbornly clung on, sapping rejuvenation from her spirit. She wonders how she'll ever forgive him that, his stubbornness. His misguided, uncaring, stubbornness that had worn and worn and worn at her until it had rubbed straight through, leaving a hole where she no longer felt much of anything besides a vague, tired, disdain.

The lack of him in her head is peaceful. ]

Nothing at all.

[ A pause. Such a fraction of a thing, weighed against the speed of their conversation - the highs and lows that such a thing could take on, within seconds. He seems to weigh her words with sharp eyes, as his pulls deeper and deeper into a frown, a grimace, a snarl. When he speaks, his words are weighted: ]

"Nothing" put you here.

[ Nuances aren't exactly lost on him, but he dislikes roundabout conversation, it seems. ]

Tch, some mentor you're meant to be, then.

[ Ah, she wants to show this irritating little thing his place. Instead she looks away with a faint, obtuse little smile. ]

The reasons why we fall and rise are not known. Some plants simply do not make it. Others need another season to sprout.

[ Ilde. Don't talk about people like plants, you're showing your hand. ]

What.

[ She reminds him of that seaweed-headed nun from 1-B. Too full up of some notion of delicacy when it came to direct conversation, and it's driving him up the wall. There's a tic in one corner of his mouth, the muffled sound of grinding teeth as evidence of his confusion feeding into his temper. ]

What kinda' plant does that make you?

[ It sounds like a stupid question; his tone, careful and terse, suggests he has a reason for asking it. Hidden depths. ]

Acicularis.

[ A kind of rose with deep, tenacious roots. She barely even thinks about it, as if someone might have posed that question to her before. Something she'd thought about in the dark beneath the palace? She had contemplated many a fanciful thing there in the dark, it was easier to bear the place when she kept herself busy. Sometimes she had simply recited the same poem to herself, over and over again, to drown out her awareness of the screaming the dungeons, the smell of blood. ]

[ An unfamiliar one. He resolves himself to locate a library in this weird, honeycomb structure of a place, in the hopes of finding a proper text on plants -- he knows mountain shrubs, roots, trees. If not in name, then by sight. "Acicularis" is delicate and complex a word, and it makes him wary. ]

Sounds pretty.

[ Voice lowered, cautious now: ] -- are you dangerous?

If I were, would I admit to such a thing? I think it would serve me far better to pretend otherwise.

[ An airy tone, unconcerned with whichever way he chooses to take that. He'll have to decide for himself how dangerous she is, or is not. ]

Tch. You're givin' me the creeps, sleepy.

[ Because she's -- got sleepy eyes. He's not great with names, even if she's just given him hers. Ilde. Ilde Ilde Ilde. That sleepy chick with the dangerous vibes, all prettied up and exquisite-looking but feeling like some ancient, sleeping thing. She reminds him, just a little, of All for One. The man who looked like nothing, but felt like a weight, wearing down on him. ( The important pawn, he'd said. ) ]

I don't think it'd be the smartest thing to say something like that to your face. Let's call it a [ the word is strained, like he's never used it before ] draw.

[ Sleepy... It is not the most offensive epithet she's ever been given, nor does it amuse her... ]

As you like.

[ She inclines her head to it, perfectly willing not to fight. She's amiable that way. ]

Shall I show you to your quarters?

Edited (goddamn whitespace) 2018-01-03 01:34 (UTC)

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

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