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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!))
no subject
[ People have died. The thought seems to strike him hard, a well-placed blow to a cluster of nerves - an echoing illness, rippling out further and further from him, even as he turns his focus from the dead to reigning in his own mind. Just enough, so that it doesn't start brushing up against anyone else's, to keep him from having to feel out their emotions and recollections. Three, at the least, have died. Among the sagging, tired corner that he can feel in the distance ( the already-dead, among the nest, though he knows nothing of them, and cannot truly recognize the sensation for what it is ), there is a fresh ache. Someone recently lost, one of this "nests" own.
In that moment, his anger is directed at this stupid "mission" they're on. The fact that a loss such as that was not grounds for pulling those still alive out of danger. Instead, more people were sent down to the planet's surface. ]
Quit it, this is serious.
[ The music's not his style, even if it does dip into something a little harsher, a little closer to what pumps through his headphones. A little closer to something with a deep bass, a heavy beat, something he feels in his pulse and chest, more than his ears. ]
Why haven't you all been taken out of here? You meant to tell me our lives are, what? Collateral damage?
no subject
[ The music continues, and if anything, intensifies. Not out of his own anger to the suggestion of leaving, but the idea does not sit well with him. ]
Because the first loss was a tragic accident, and the next two were not among our number. That is a cold thing to say, to be sure, and I do not mean for it to be. I only wish to present you with the facts as I know them, and I will be the first to admit I don't have all of them.
[ He spreads his hands, bow in one and violin in the other. A welcoming gesture as much as a shrug. He is open to answering anything he is able to. And there's another mental nudge at the connection, this one not as gentle as before. Like a hand gripping a shoulder with the intention to steady, just a little too hard. ]
Talk to the nobles about taking leave if you like, but I will stay and complete this pilgrimage, and help if I am able. I'd rather the murderer of the two Descendants be found, as well as any other enemies that may be lurking among us.
no subject
As much as he can control the uncontrollable, because there is information he needs, more than he actually needs this music-man to take his solid beat and piss off. ]
Don't misunderstand me.
[ The words are snarled, ripped from between his teeth like the revving of a chainsaw. ]
I don't actually give a shit about you, it's just that I have a better picture of what those fu -- [ pause. ] A better picture of what cost this pilgrimage is expected to take on us. And I think it's bullshit. I'll be fine, I was talking about the rest of you -- there's a bunch of kids, expected to shoulder these deaths?
[ buddy you're a kid too ]
no subject
[ He's assuming based on what he hears of the boy's voice, but his ears are sharp. He doubts they deceive him now - he's young as edge of his mind is irritated with heightened teenage emotion. ]
It is tragic and cruel, especially for the victims and family, and that is all the more reason justice should be done. But we cannot end our journey prematurely, just as we cannot cease time from moving.
[ Which is to say, hopefully without diminishing the losses, that people die all the time. The rest cannot stop living because of it. ]
:*
[ If this is the danger that they're confronting, there are kids who could die. How is that right? How is that even remotely acceptable to anyone in this nest? He should have asked that old biddy on high when he saw her, he should have asked her so many more questions, and the first one he's going to ask her after he's done stuffing a fist full of flame down her throat is why the kids. ]
Where's the justice in any of this -- let's come fuck around with some alien lives, some of us'll die while we're at it, we're going to be constantly under threat of losing our heads if anyone steps out of line, but no big deal. There's justice in this, after all.
[ He's
not that great at handling this "death" thing. SORRY GIL ]
We should have sent the kids back on the flight, why didn't any of us think of that? They're in the way.
[ Translation: I'm not used to overtly caring about other people and suddenly this symbiote makes me care SO MUCH. ]
no subject
I'm sorry, do children not experience death where you've come from?
[ The question is as genuine as the apology before it. So much that he's practically dropped character to ask it. ]
no subject
[ It's making him ill, this escalating pattern. The music-man is an elegant thing, a pretty instrument like the ones Jirou talks about. Woodwork and wound string, capable of producing sounds that resonate in the chest and belly, rather than the ear. ( Give him a cello, an electric guitar, the beat of a drum -- ) ]
I'm talking about sudden, violent death. And these kids are just as likely to face that!
no subject
[ His voice goes up an octave to a tone that might have come off as flippant if they weren't so connected. He's more surprised at himself than the boy - that his own world was so full of violence to be considered normal despite his own adversity to it. ]
Apologies for my surprised air. It's just that... well, most of the passings I've experienced since childhood were rather tragic, now that I think on it. A natural death is a luxury for the wealthy and healthy.
[ He crosses one leg over the other and the the violin settles in his lap, though he still holds it delicately by the neck. It makes no sound, but the strings in his head continue to trill on and on. ]
I'm so very glad to meet someone who aspires beyond that. What is your name, boy?
no subject
Uh. Th-- thanks? [ What the heck happened. ] It's just what I was taught.
[ Was he reading the entire conversation wrong ( yes )? Or was the music-man and his constant psychic string-playing agreeing with him, about death and the children who were here on the ground, in the thick of it. He's experienced death ( a grandmother; an old teacher -- ), and he knows about violence ( fingers around his throat, one digit away from rotting the flesh from bone; his hero, diminishing and bleeding out before him -- ) and neither are something he wants to see again. By default, it extends to the others in the nest. ]
Bakugo, [ his voice has grown quieter now, not a mumble, but something more subdued: ] Who are... you?
no subject
[ He lays the bow across his lap and holds out a hand to shake. His reach in Bakugo's direction is off - just by a few degrees, but enough to be off. ]
Whomever taught you that taught you very well. And I should thank you for reminding me that the way things are could and should always be improved. Thank you.
no subject
[ "Mister" would be his father, definitely.
He watches, warily, from under his veils as the music-man ( Gildor, he'd heard and would soon dismiss from his memory banks ) extends a hand. It's off, yeah. It's easy to reach across himself to find purchase in it, briefly shaking Gildor's hand before he pulls it back. Doesn't even know why he does it -- he's not one for touching, and the vibrato of his mind lets that be known. ]
It's no big deal.
[ The praise ghosts by him, and he does his best to keep it from reaching that wounded part of his heart that doesn't need to be mended with casual platitudes. ]
I thought it was just somethin' obvious.
no subject
[ He repeats the name, and firmly grips the boy's hand. There's an effort behind the grip, a mental hum as he holds a second longer. An effort to know and remember him, to file him neatly away. It contains Bakugo's sensation of not enjoying this, and Gildor lets him go again promptly. ]
It should be, but unfortunately it isn't for many who come from more broken places, as many of our number do.
[ He takes up his violin again as he speaks, but not to play. He's gotten enough practice in for now, and it will need to be cleaned before he plays again. It is wrapped in a silk cloth with careful hands and placed back into a case at his side. When it's locked he stands, then crouches to retrieve his cane from where it blends in the ground. Bits of sand roll off it as he shoulders his case. ]
Bakugo, would you be so kind as to lead me back to the path towards our camp? I'm afraid I'm bloody useless at navigating in sand.
no subject
Yeah, I heard. [ From a number of others. ] Being broken doesn't mean you get a free pass to be the only one who knows about shit, though.
[ Oh, something or someone has rubbed him the wrong way, then. By the way he bristles, by the way his mind surges.
It doesn't take him long, between the way that the music-man offers his hand and the cane that he gathers, for Bakugo to recognize what's up with him. He's loud and brash, but he's not an idiot. It's easy to put the obvious together, and come up with an answer. Music-man's blind, or at least close enough to it to need assistance. ]
I'm not... [ Charitable? A guide animal?
Whatever he was about to say, never comes. Instead, he elbows up along Gildor's side and aims him in a better direction. ] This way.
no subject
[ -is what he says aloud, as a hand presses to his back. It steers him through the fuzzy feeling of sand beneath them, each footstep sinking softly instead of reverberating off their surroundings. Mentally, he's reading what he can from the boy without being too intrusive. Eavesdropping on this new, unpracticed symbiote, and responding quietly in kind. He says thank you, but he feels it too - humble gratitude flowing contentedly through him like a string of musical thought that isn't quite finished, with half formed lyrics that whisper words of approval.
Those high notes - the surges and bristles - aren't unnoticed. Neither is that thirst. It has been a long time, but it's a feeling Gildor recognizes well from his own youth. To not only be his best but the best. It is with thoughtful familiarity that Gildor carefully navigates another question: ]
Of course not. Do you have any ideas as to how we can do better, then? I am all ears.
no subject
Suddenly entranced by the single-minded focus of guiding the blind musician across the sand without needing to touch him at all times, because the last thing Bakugo is, is touchy-feely. Not emotionally, not practically. He guides Gildor with his elbow, nudging it against him to lure him one way, to coerce him another, moving across the sand. ( How'd he get so far out, the way he was? )
Funnily, Gildor's the first one to ask him his opinion; to ask him why he thinks this entire mission was fucked from the start. ]
When the mission's built on stealth and has high stakes, don't bring every able body to the ground, just the ones best-suited for diplomacy. Leave others to be support: long range observation, tactical strike teams, rescue ops if things go south and we need to beat it. Everyone could be involved, everyone should be involved. They just didn't need to be here.
[ A beat. ]
But, what's done's done. Now, it's all just a clusterfuck of us all trying to get into someone's good graces. We should bolster the diplomats, and have a team that can still provide offensive support if we need to flee. That way, nobody else will get hurt or die.
no subject
We are very lucky to have strong thinkers and fighters together, you know. On top of all the formalities, this pilgrimage has been one hunting expedition after another. I've not been able to participate in any such events, though I have been building relationships where I can, as have we all.
[ The next round of suggestions are ones he finds more agreeable. Despite their many talents, they really are a "clusterfuck" aren't they? He smiles behind his veils and his thoughts crescendo approvingly. ]
I think that is a wonderful idea. Perhaps you could practice your new abilities and share these suggestions with everyone. I know more than a few solider-types who would be happy to enlist and help formulate such plans. One addendum I would emphasize is keeping not just ourselves safe in the event of an emergency, but the innocent Rabadoceans as well.
[ As soon as they figure out who those innocent Rabadoceans are, of course.
As much as Gildor approves of Bakugo now, the elbowing-steering is a bit difficult to read, and more than a little pokey. He slows and puts up a hand the next time he's jabbed, startled but patient. ] Sorry, I can find my way back up eventually if this is too difficult for you.
no subject
[ ( Boy, you've been HIKING. You've never held a gun or any hunting implement a day in your life. Your dad is a designer. Your mom played volleyball. Chill, for just one second. ) Gildor needs to know none of this, just that Bakugo is eager to dive in. Not because he wants to get participation credit, but because he's likely to resolve the problem. It's just how he things -- vastly willful, highly prideful. Glowing bright with independence, which sets the symbiote to cringing and reaching for his brood, for nestmates. ]
New abilities? What are you talking about, I was born with these.
[ The imagery of fire, explosions. His fingers curled around his palms, the act of wiping sweat from his brow and setting alight without a care in the world. The sense that he is very, very comfortable with his power, as if from a young age. ( He doesn't disagree, not completely, when Gildor refers to the Rabadoceans. They can fall in line, if they want to be taken care of. Bakugo will win this round, they won't have to worry at all. )
He pauses, when Gildor catches his elbow, and lets him know it's -- not helping. Wordlessly, and with a measure of hesitation, he nudges his arm up underneath the music-man's, a little more steady and a little more stable. By the tension in his forearm, it's clear he's not used to "handling" people. Not used to touching. Just be grateful, his mind hums, red with a childish embarrassment for being caught out. ]
no subject
Oh! You're a blaster caster! Then of course you must be excellent at bringing down strong foes. Although we must be careful about what we show off here. I've bolstered fire users in battle before, but've had little opportunity to provide support here. Too many prying ears and eyes.
[ He takes that tense arm in his and pats it, but then slips out of his grip again. The boy has made it clear by his handling that he has no clue how to lead, but he isn't upset. Gildor takes it upon himself to re-arrange them, easily and patiently. He settles with a hand gently holding the crook of Bakugo's elbow, which is all he really needs until they're out of the sand. ]
Here. Like this is better, if you don't mind. Is that alright?
As for your new abilities, I was talking about... ah... [ He lifts his cane and motions to tap the side of his head with it, lightly. ]
no subject
Yeah, that's me.
[ He's definitely about bringing down strong foes; the stronger, the better. The louder and more powerful he can be, flaunting his talent and genius, the better he feels. Cutting loose is the thing he absolutely cannot do, and as blustery as he gets about it, he won't put the kids on the team into danger. He won't be That Guy. ]
Even if this entire "be subtle" bullshit means I can't do everything I'm able to, there's still plenty else I'm good at.
[ The music-man rearranges the hold he's got on the proffered arm, and Bakugo relaxes. Just a little. Enough to guide him across the sands, towards solid ground without much more protest. ]
Oh, that. I don't need whatever's binding me to the team I've been assigned to, or the nest as a whole. Sure - it's handy to have a walkie-talkie in your head, I'll give it that, but fat chance I want to end up like that old lady on the station. That's just... it's gross.
no subject
Well, I'm not sure what a walkie-talkie is, but I agree no one needs it. It certainly has it's uses, though. I don't believe I've met this woman you speak of, but - I've experienced seeing for the first time thanks to this. Never thought I'd see the say! [ A small chuckle at his own joke. ]
What else can you do? I don't wish to brag, but my abilities cover a wide range of support, from healing to improving strength and accuracy. All you need to do to receive that support is listen.
no subject
I, uh. [ a beat. ] I sweat nitroglycerin, and I can detonate it at will. I've had my Quirk since I was a kid, so I know how to use it really well. And I'm third in my class, back home. I don't have a variety of different skills, but I know how to use what I have, and I'll only get better.
[ Man, he really hopes "listen" isn't literal. ]
We're here, by the way. Solid ground.
no subject
So we are!
[ He was listening to Bakugo's explanation so intently, he barely noticed the shift in the ground. A rare thing for him to miss, but he was being attentive and trying to puzzle through things he's never heard of. Nitroclycerin? Quirk? Though he's not familiar with the vocabulary, he can still piece it together as- ]
Exploding sweat! That's rather unique. [ A beat as he lets go of the boy's arm and turns to almost face him again. ] If I've learned anything these past few weeks from traveling with this group, it is that magic takes a great many forms across the universe. It's nice to meet another user. [ Or at least someone who doesn't reject the existence of fantastical energies outright...
He firmly pats Bakugo's arm twice, and there's a tingling sensation across the new link that connects their minds. He feels the smallest rippling sensation over the boy's form, and as it rolls across him, there's the sense Gildor is getting a look at him. ]
I can find my way back from here. Thank you, Bakugo. It's been a pleasure. I do hope you will reconsider getting in touch with everyone about that emergency plan idea.