[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

lmao nicely done

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ No, it's not at all personal, but it becomes that when she notices the spark of emotion from him. There's something there, some reason for him to react poorly to her words, and she makes a note to try to not use it with him. It won't be easy, but she will try.

Her mood noticeably sobers a little at his joke; she knows it's that, a joke, but she can't help it. ]

No, but others might if they touch my skin.

[calhar]

[ Mat gets the sense that he's made some kind of misstep when that unbridled enthusiasm's dampened, though it takes him a moment to realize why — not what he's said, exactly. Just the baggage it's dug up.

There's a beat of indecision, a tangible struggle between curiosity and leaving well enough alone. Men teach cats curiosity, but cats keep sense for themselves. Curiosity wins out. ]

You make it sound as if you've got some kind of curse.

[ His tone's sober without being particularly heavy, cautiously toeing the boundaries. He thinks there are some Aes Sedai men would die from touching, but the turn of her mood makes it clear it's not her choice. ]

[theycalledmeacurse]

I used to think it was. I sometimes still do.

[ It takes a decent amount of effort, but Rogue shrugs off the darkness that's begun to settle around her. There's no need for it now — she's not a prisoner anymore, nor is she being hunted by soldiers and Sentinels. She has a purpose again, the open sky is a truly beautiful thing to behold, and he doesn't mean any harm with his curiosity.

A moment passes, two, as she recalls how to reach out through the connection they all share. It's caution that leads her to sharing the information this way, born of years of hiding and a fear now of what might happen if anyone learned their group isn't who they've said they are. ]

( It's a mutation, a difference in my genetics. It was common in my world. People were born with it and the difference became apparent as we got older. )

[calhar]

[ Mat's experience with the symbiote is about as limited as it gets. Things get shared simply because they're there, and things get said in about the same way they're said out loud — with deliberation, and thought. The idea of smoothing someone else's edges with his own self-control is still foreign, but the idea of offering sympathy in his expression and voice isn't. Not that she can see him. The intent translates anyway, practiced or not, and their connection's kept calm like a hand offered for balance.

Mutation and genetics sounds like so much nonsense, but he gets enough from context. Caution colors his thoughts as he follows her lead and switches over to the mental link, parallels to his world going hand-in-hand with his own baggage. ]

( Sounds like the Aes Sedai. If they'd have enough sense to be wary instead of arrogant, that is. What sort of power's kept at bay with a pair of gloves? )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ That sympathy is accepted with gratitude, because even if he doesn't know all of the specifics, it's far more than she'd gotten from anyone back on Earth in a very long time. It says something about him, something that she appreciates and will undoubtedly positively influence her view of this new acquaintance.

She doesn't recognize the reference he mentions, this Aes Sedai, which makes her think their worlds are quite different. It's interesting to her, though; she's always enjoyed meeting new people and learning about their lives, and it's something she'll likely ask about another time. ]

( When I touch someone with my skin, I absorb part of them into myself. Their memories, thoughts, and emotions are imprinted in my mind, I can borrow any special abilities they might have, and I absorb their lifeforce. )

[ There's no emotion behind the explanation, no worried waiting with bated breath for his reaction, no hope that he'll accept her or fear that he won't. Whatever he does with the information, however he processes it, she's done asking permission for her existence. ]

[calhar]

[ Sympathy aside, he can't help the faint hint of discomfort as he processes what she's saying. Not because it's surprising. He's seen stranger things since showing up here, and he doesn't even have a grasp on his own powers yet; there's no saying judgment wouldn't make him a hypocrite.

It's familiar. The foxes hadn't had to touch skin, but they'd rifled through his memories and emotions fine in spite of it. There's a chagrined memory of people who aren't quite people, their ears pointed, their features fox-like; and of someone dressed in robes, same as the ones they're wearing now, the memory of his life being yanked from him like veins on a fish hook. His strongest emotions are in the past, though, and not here and now. There's no spike of fear or paranoia, no impulse to step away. She might get the sense that he's watching her hands, more aware and maybe more reserved, but that's all. ]

( I'm sure they've got gloves for sale at one of these carts. You know, in case you'd like spares. )

[ A little wary, a little grateful the fact that she's careful with her powers. He wishes, again, that any of this had to do with the One Power. At least then he'd have some defense against it, but he's given up on his luck making a comeback. ]

( You're in good bloody company, anyway. And not just because we're all stuck wearing gloves. )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ The discomfort is expected, though she's grateful that it doesn't seem pronounced, nor does he appear to be cursing her name. Not that he knows it yet, but still. It says something about his experiences before this place, and perhaps since arriving, that he just sort of takes it in stride, offering helpful comments rather than interrogating questions. But no, those memories drifting along their connection, like dust filtering through sunbeams, offers a glimpse of a life full of encounters with people and creatures unlike himself. Maybe, if she's lucky, more of the others will be like him.

(She may not require their permission, but she does desperately long for their acceptance.) ]

( What do you mean? ) [ Perhaps it's because she's still getting her footing here, but she can't quite piece together what he means. Then she looks down at her gloves and shrugs slightly, enough to be noticed under all the layers.]

( As for spares, I don't have any money. I have another pair that I brought with me, though. ) [ There's a sense of regret and distaste with the words, for she'd much rather watch those grey gloves burn than wear them again. If only she had that option. ]

[calhar]

[ Mat taps lightly at the side of his hood, which is obviously the universal gesture for "mind reading". ]

( I mean we're all bloody witches, now. )

[ Witches is touched by some bitterness, though it's too dismissive to hold a real punch. It isn't just the mind reading; it's the abilities, though as far as he's seen they're a complete crap shoot as to whether they're useful or even work. He pulls a small pouch from the breast of his robes, absently pouring a few coins out into his palm as he continues. ]

( What's wrong with the other pair? Unflattering color? )

[ The bad joke's an out, easier to deflect than a more earnest question. Because really, he shouldn't be prying — he wouldn't have caught that sour note in her comment if it hadn't been for the link. ]

[theycalledmeacurse]

( I'm not sure grey is all that flattering a color on anyone, to be honest. )

[ Dark grey, perhaps, but not that lighter shade that looks like white that's seen too many days, that makes people look washed out and sickly. Not that she'd probably really needed much help in that territory recently, though it's not as if anyone were paying attention. Regardless, it's said with a hint of amusement before she visibly shrugs, the folds of her robes moving with the motion. ]

( I was a prisoner of war before this. The gloves were part of my uniform. )

[ Being a POW sounds a hell of a lot better than being a lab rat. It's the story she's sticking with here, the full truth of the matter buried deep down beneath the shields in her mind. ]

[calhar]

( Light— )

[ Fashion critique takes a quick back seat to prisoner of war. Mat looks up, but there's no whiplash of surprise along with it; just a quiet pause, considering, sifting through thoughts to dig out the right ones. Memories of battlefields and combat and captivity set almost dismissively aside, all of them dim and unclear.

Not his, really. There's a flicker of confusion before he settles on the much more appropriate sympathy, offering up the rest of the purse and keeping the handful of coins to himself. ]

( Get some new bloody gloves. )

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ There's a part of her that wants to protest, the urge automatic and almost irrepressible. They're just gloves is on the tip of her tongue, but... they're not really, not when every time she looks at them, she feels sick in her stomach and has a spike of anxiety up her spine at the memory of all those terrible years. All of that's behind her now and a brand new life ahead, but it's hard to move forward with such a stark reminder of her past - she already has one inked into her skin, she doesn't need another on her hands. ]

( That's awful kind of you. ) [ She hesitates before reaching out to take the purse. ] ( I'll be giving back every penny I don't spend. Though really I think you should just come with me - I'm a bit out of practice at shopping and I sure could use a gentleman's opinion. )

[ Threaded through the gratitude is humor and a dose of flirtation, a call to the woman she used to be who flirted as a form of communication. It feels good to be reminded of that. ]

[calhar]

( You're bloody right you'll be giving it back. I worked very hard for those coins. )

[ He did not. It's all from gambling at the dinner table and elsewhere, which she could guess just as well from his tone as the gentle reassurance across the link. He's got no intention of taking her money — unless it's over a bet, obviously. Fair is fair.

The word gentleman makes him second-guess everything, a brief hesitation in his thoughts and enthusiasm. His aversion to the word isn't defensive, even if it is built on pride; he isn't a gentleman, and he hates most men who'd say they were. But there are titles and then there's just being nice, and she's clearly just being nice, even if her concept of it is going shopping for clothes (the worst).

More important than all of that: she's interesting and she's good-looking. That isn't the kind of company you pass up. ]

( Luckily for you, I've been told my interest in clothes is disgustingly practical. Or it might've been disappointingly — same effect, I think. )

[ Yes, he'll go shopping with you. Sorry in advance for his bad opinions on fashion, though. ]

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ For half a second she worries, but that reassurance does its job and she relaxes into the situation. There's no pity in his words, no desperate need to look after the wilted flower fresh from imprisonment. Their back-and-forth feels natural, and those brief reflections of her old self shine a little brighter for it.

Leaning in closer, she doesn't hesitate to slip her arm through his, giving his hip a little bump with her own before gesturing to the way ahead. ]

( We're on a secret mission to help save the universe. Practical is all I need. )

[ She doesn't care about your fashion sense, just your company. And yes, she's flirting with you. ]