[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

[nastygram]

[Darlene, more software than hardware, is still familiar with the crisp snap of fitting together parts during a build, or in the inverse, the crack of breaking apart a pre-fabbed piece of hardware. That's what this is like, but full body. Like she's the part. It feels, for a moment, wordlessly good, right on the edge of a high.

She has no time to mark the pronouns and anyways her stupid harmonious brain is already course-correcting her, normalizing some alien culture. She has just enough time to think something like, well, fuck this, all this kumbaya brain bullshit, before she gets the punch-back from this asshole. It hurts. Underscore and bold that, it fucking hurts, because she's supposed to be buddy-buddy with him. That's what that first feeling means.

All of this shows in Darlene's small flinch. And then she digs in, because she doesn't let herself get hurt like that. If he's going to be a fucker then so is she.

Her hand is steady when she snatches the scarf away from him.]

And baby shit will look great on you. [She throws her scarf back. And there's two ways to deal with this little tête-à-tête, ignore and move on, or highlight and call attention, and because she's getting that keep out vibe, Darlene decides that she's going to do the latter.] Chill out on the mental aggro, dickface. I don't like this any more than you do. Maybe even less.

[iuno]

[ he feels her hurt, something that echoes before he can cover his figurative ears to block it out. and, well — good. he's not guilty about that, despite the way the symbiote is practically strangling itself on its leash to reach her. that's the best introduction to Juno Steel a person can get, cutting themselves on his sharp edges and knowing better than to wander close to him again. a lot less people would end up disappointed if they took that warning the first time. ]

That's a hell of a competition.

[ who can resist this with more venom; it works in his favour, at least. he considers her warily, winding the scarf around his hand with restless unease, things he does for no other reason than to keep in motion. he doesn't owe her anything. there's maybe one person alive who's owed something from him, and that person is safe in another galaxy where he'll never have to see Juno ever again, which is probably a better gift than anything he could have actually given. but he still has to swallow around an urge to explain himself, to justify the fucking wreck that he is to someone that doesn't know him.

they're stuck together, he tells himself. she didn't ask for this any more than he did and they both know there's no way to conveniently cut the cord. that's all it is. not this... thing, this parasite. ]

Look, I've had my fill of telepathy for a lifetime. [ barely weeks behind him, at that. he's still so tired that it feels to him like he hasn't slept since. ] Didn't end well.

[ he taps just beneath his mismatched right eye, subtle in its differences but unnatural enough to stand out as cybernetic, the little patterns and rings on the iris, a camera lens at rest waiting to be adjusted however Juno likes — and there's a vague memory of excruciating pain erupting in his skull, half his vision suddenly going black, blood streaming from the place where an eye used to be. feeling cold and violated and holding out desperately, for just long enough that he can die—

christ. it's much harder to keep himself in than it is to keep other people out. that connection pulls just a little and it unravels him so easily to be exposed, and he hates himself for it, mouth full of bitterness. he should be better than this. ]

[nastygram]

[The memory of pain is visceral enough that Darlene has to resist the urge to touch her fingertips against her own eye. Cold, and blood, everything half dark. Thinking his thoughts puts a taste in her mouth like hot blacktop tar in the summer, like licking ash off a cigarette. Bitter, guilt, self-loathing.

Just what she fucking needs.]

Yeah? I have zero experience. Which means mean I am not super psyched about it myself. Seriously, dude, lay off.

[That sense of better than this vibes harmonious with Darlene's steez. As tough as it is to wade through the shit he's giving her, she has that to dig into. Tough, determined, and fuck asking for help: that's Darlene. The survivor. Rotten underbelly, firm face. Once she's gotten her feet under her and feels less like her eyeball is going to pop out of her face, she can look at his eye. The robot one. She nods, short, at that side of his face.]

What's it do?

[Small talk. She's browsing, getting a feel for this. Keep her walls up and test his.]

[iuno]

[ Juno doesn't have much in the way of walls and he knows it, even with how new this all is. there are no tidy dividers in his head, no way to compartmentalise his thoughts, feelings, history. he oozes like a toxic spill, so the best he can do is put all the worst parts of himself that he can find at the forefront, hope it turns people away. make sure that if they're going to touch him, they come out of it more hurt than he does — which is a sentiment that sings through every line of him like vibration along a metal frame. ]

Good question. The answer is I have no idea. [ he's clearly not happy about that, faux-casual sarcasm even more acidic than his genuine anger. ] I asked it the same thing and it won't give me any solid answers, because why would I get to have a useful virtual assistant drilled into my brain. If I had to guess, it'll at least compensate my aim. O'Flaherty hired me as his pet detective, he'd probably be paying for best results.

[ none of this means much to her, but he's talkative, surprisingly so for someone as plainly antisocial as he is. words are an easy defence, a blockade between him and other people. he learned a while back that the faster you talk, the less likely someone is to want a conversation. besides, he thinks fast. he doesn't want to stop and take the time to consider his words before he says them, so he'll just say them all. ]

Pretty sure it does other tricks too, but the splitting headache isn't great for my imagination.

[nastygram]

[When he talks--and god, does he talk, unhappy snappy sarcasm and all--impressions bleed out. Not like a movie that plays in Darlene's head, more like all of these references that he's making, they should be personal, she should be able to roll her eyes and tell him to quit with the insular bs--but there is an element of knowing that is very much alive. She doesn't know the nuances, can't put a face to a name, but can't outright pretend that she doesn't get it, to a degree, because she does. A vibe that resonates, like a story you heard a long time ago, or a pop culture reference adjacent to one you'd get more quickly.

Specifically, her attentiveness curdles on detective. Should be a danger, considering the close-to-unlimited access he has on her, but it's all shit that doesn't matter here. New York City, cyber crimes, none of it translates. Still marks him as someone to watch.]

Someone just slapped a robot eye in your face and put you back on the street? Back alley surgeries are typically not so charitable. Lucky you.

['Lucky'. Sarcasm. It has to do something, right? Like the Terminator at the very least. Darlene probes, tentatively, at the grey matter of this story. Seeking a crack or a lie or a half-truth to exploit. If she has to get stuck with these assholes, she can at least figure out their worth.

Still conversational:]

I hope you keep that headache to yourself because I am pretty sure I have enough shit to deal with without sharing your migraines. Sorry if you wanted to share that burden.