[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

3! ! ! !

[calhar]

It's called a disguise for a reason, you know.

[ His tone says I don't care, and his own hood's drawn back when he takes a seat in the sand beside her. There's a comfortable amount of space between them, but he's close enough to make conversation easy in spite of the wind.

It's difficult to tell if the taste of smoke in his mouth is second-hand or if it's just hers, bleeding across the link. Either way, he's jealous. There's a short pause as he watches the kindling of bright orange near her fingertips, idly taking in the small details: thin roll, white paper. It looks like the one Kaji had shared, which is why the question that follows isn't a complete non sequitur. ]

Are you from Japan?

[nastygram]

What?

[When Darlene laughs at him, it's neither kind nor particularly unkind. More bemused like, what the fuck.]

No, weirdo.

[If she digs in, she can feel some slight tingling of familiarity, enough to suggest that he's trying to make some connection. She doesn't give enough of a shit to dig deeper, half because she's wary of exposing herself in return.]

Are you trying to make a joke or is this some pickup line, because I gotta say: I do not give points for quote, unquote, "originality".

[calhar]

[ Well, at least it got a laugh. Not that that's what he was aiming for.

It takes a great deal more than mild judgment from some random woman to shake his pride, and amusement colors the link even as his brow furrows in confusion. ]

Your tabac. [ Welcome to stupid fantasy English, Darlene. He tips his chin up slightly, nodding towards her cigarette. ] The only person I've seen smoke like that is from a place called Japan. So no, it's not a— what's a bloody pickup line?

[nastygram]

Wrong isolated country, hon.

[Tabac. How totally charming. Darlene absently flicks ash off the end of her cigarette, totally practiced at this. And at talking to dumb boys.]

I'm from the bigger jingoistic shithole. America. A pickup line is the crash and burn component of a crappy flirt, used by dbags and wanna-be comedians. Supposedly used to win pussy but I am pretty sure that is urban legend.

Where are you from?

[calhar]

[ He's reasonably good at talking to women who are much smarter than he is, so this should go very well.

Or it would if he could understand half of what she's saying. Jingoistic, shithole, America, crappy, dbags, all new words. A few others, too. Some of them are easy to fill in from context and her own awareness, understanding dimly supplied by the link. There's a decent pause as he mulls it over, openly bemused. ]

Emond's Field. Which is in Andor, in the Westlands — south of the Taren River and west of the White, just below the Mountains of Mist. [ He isn't saying all of this because he thinks she'll know it. He's saying it to make a point: he understands about as much of what she'd just said as she understands this. And after a short pause, ]

Not America. And in Emond's Field we don't call them "pickup lines", but they'll earn you a slap all the same.

[nastygram]

[The Mountains of Mist. Darlene manages another half-grin. His point is taken: they aren't from the same anything, somehow. Which is a little bit of a mind fuck but what here is actually not a mindfuck.]

Universal constants. What a comfort.

[Not really.]

Now that we've translated for each other, ever been slapped before? Or are you a nice boy. I like to know what I'm getting in to. Although I guess I can literally get in to your brain or whatever, but. Humor me.

[calhar]

[ He grins, which would probably be more suspect if his answer didn't feel honest. But it does, and it comes off as more playful than shady. ]

Oh, I've been slapped. Just never by any woman I'm trying to pick up.

[ Only by the women he's very deliberately insulted. Sort of an improvement?? ]

I wouldn't say I'm a nice boy, either. Nice boys don't tend to end up this far from home. Why? Are you a nice girl?

[nastygram]

Damn, tiger.

[Over-inflated ego. Kind of cute. Useful. Exploitable. Darlene flicks through the tabs of categorization and sorts him accordingly. She is getting better at her firewalls, out of sheer determination--so each tab is harder to pick up on.

Deliberately, she shakes her hair out so it falls off her shoulder. Stripped down from her layers and scarves, she's a far less androgynous presence. Easy to take advantage of that.]

You tell me. Do I look like a nice girl?

[calhar]

[ Mat narrows his eyes slightly, giving the impression that he's putting serious thought into his answer. The grin's never completely gone, though. ]

You look like a smart girl, and a smart girl's only nice when it's worth her while.

[ Half a tease and mostly a compliment, and he offers her a hand — still gloved — to shake a beat after. ]

I'm Mat Cauthon.

[ Before they resort to calling each other 'boy' and 'girl' forever. ]

[nastygram]

Darlene.

[Surname redacted, mostly because, one, who gives a shit, and two, old habit. Giving a fake name would be her usual in a situation like this, but it seems pretty useless when her data is ripe to be skimmed right out of her head. Darlene has already built some defenses to keep herself secure. Uncertain of how lying would translate across the rippled connection they share.

She takes his hand instead for a handshake.]

You going to be worth my while, Mat? Full disclosure: I have not met very many people falling into that category so far.

[calhar]

I'm going to be whatever I bloody well feel like being.

[ Not defensive. He's kidding, though the sentiment's fairly honest; he doesn't spend much time with people he has to go out of his way to impress. ]

But I've never had any complaints. [ He's had lots of complaints. From women who are his friends, from people trying to get him to respect formalities. Not from women he's deliberately trying to entertain, though, which translates to a sort of smug lack of concern. ] Then again, you're in another world, surrounded by people from other worlds — if you can't see anything worthwhile in that, I reckon you're very hard to please.

[nastygram]

Then you would reckon correctly.

[Darlene fixes him with a half-smirk, with her own share of smugness. She's mostly exaggerating. Undeniable fact: there is something cool about being in another freaking world, no matter how much she resents her means of entry to said world.]

I do not have a hard-on for exploring brave new worlds and I do not get starry-eyed over new civilizations that do not have what I would consider some pretty basic tech. Call me when we have the internet. Instagram. Something I can actually access without also giving read permissions to every dillhole in the brood.

No offense.

[Full offense, but in kind of a bitchy teasing way. No real complaints yet on Mat. (Yet.)]

[calhar]

[ Full offense, but what the fuck language are you speaking, Darlene. He's managed context clues so far; this is almost impossible to parse, and the look he gives her is as judgmental as it is confused. ]

Burn me— I thought these things were meant to do the translating for us. [ Not being interested in strange new worlds is something he can sympathize with, though. A year ago he'd have been all for it, but a year ago he hadn't actually done any exploring. It still had its cool moments, but mostly it was just garbage. Dangerous garbage, even. Mat leans back onto his hands and looks out across the beach, trying to ignore the taste of the nicotine. He's already bummed enough cigarettes since his arrival. He doesn't need a reputation as a beggar, here. ]

What's it like at home, then? More like the station?

[ Because that's his concept of 'tech'. ]