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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[Oh.]

[Well... that's a reaction all right. Not what he expected, but not unpleasant, either. He grins wider. The image falls more into focus. The Black Lion, in all its glory, massive, ancient. This thing choosing him, deciding to work with him. Their flight together over empty desert, pulling out of freefall together.]

[A partner.]

[His eyes are closed, there. For that memory. Clear and fond -- closer than anything. It's something he's held dear for a long time now.]

Man, I've wondered that too. Sorry, I don't have a good answer -- I'm not sure if anyone really knows.

[ There it is. Less a fleeting memory, more a tangible thing.

What happens is: he thinks to reach for it, the way one might reach for something far larger and far more dangerous than themselves. Blindly, and without much thought outside of the question of whether this lion-shaped craft was warm to the touch as a thing alive would be, or cold, like metal. He can't touch a memory, though. Certainly not one contained within a more practiced, older mind - one that's not even part of his own circle.

What happens is: he doesn't get a chance to fully conceptualize touching it, really. Shiro thinks of a "partner", and the image of an outreached hand snaps into a fist. Recoils, retreating back close to his chest, to his side, into his pockets. In reality, his posture shifts. It curls into itself again. Squared shoulders, hands slid into the deep layers of robes as though he still had pockets to sink them into. ]

You fight in that lion, don't you? You said it wasn't a passenger craft, so it's got to be for fighting. Are you here to take on that "enemy" thing Cathaway and the others are always going on about?

[It's sort of nice. Sharing like this. With someone who's so clearly enamored of the idea. He'd have liked to share more. Let the kid touch it. Share he memory of how it always felt under his hands. How the controls just fit -- as if they were made for him.]

[What he doesn't quite understand is the reaction. How quickly he pulls back. How quickly the kid goes from open and eager to closed and distant. It's strange. It's a bit concerning. But on the other hand, all of this is probably way too new to fully accept.]

[He won't push. Not now.]

Yeah. I do. Me and my teammates. [Pidge's face flashes, first and foremost. She's the one who's here, after all.] We were fighting before we got here... and... pretty sure we're going to keep fighting while we're here.

[So yes, they are. In other words.]

[ There's no sense of middling to Bakugo, only a stringent set of extremes that he gravitates between. The brightest combatant in 1-A, the most brilliant light in the sky - a shining example of the future generation of heroes. He's meant to be above it all, even if the reality of his world has begun to wear and tear at his edges. Tarnishing the gold, battering the defenses. It's no more obvious than when Shiro mentions how the lion is his partner - and the word is so weighted - so Unfortunate - to a young man who sees himself in such an independent light. ]

Hm. Good, [ the answer is sharp, without the heat that sparks inside of him. ]

I thought you all were just placidly pursuing some mission, but it seems that some of you actually have guts.

There's nothing placid about what we're doing here.

[If he says it a little sharply, it's not completely intentional. Bakugo is new. He doesn't know the reality of what's happened. He wasn't here to feel it. With all that in mind, Shiro should be more mindful. He should be able to break the news and be calm and rational.]

[But it seems like what happened to Lavellan is still slow to fade. Something hot, sharp, and twisting under the surface. Green lightning flickering behind starlight and cloud cover.]

People have been injured, and killed, already. Just because we're having some downtime now, just because it's not an obvious battle, doesn't make what we're doing here any less dangerous.

You all chose to come here, without protesting the structure and set-up of this mission? Pretty placid to me.

[ When he's met with the sharp tone, he snaps back immediately, just as prickly and hot-tempered as he's been with anyone. ( Raise your tone, speak in circles, speak down to him, scold him, tell him he's wrong -- it's not hard to set him off, unfortunately. ) ]

It was foolish, and unsafe. Some of you aren't even useful, you're just dragging those who are down.

[ No, he doesn't, but he talks a big game. He knows someone is dead, and recently so. The idea of "death" is revolting to him, the ultimate failure. It cuts deep into his heart in a way that he can't explain, like if he'd been here earlier, he could have done something. Like he can't trust any of these people who failed to prevent one loss. They'd lost. ]

Nobody should be dying. Nobody's gonna' die from now on.

You think there was a choice. It was this, or blow the whole planet.

[Flat, now. While he does his utmost to school his tone and expression back into something more leader-like. More becoming of the Black Paladin. Frank and honest and flat as a board.]

Everyone can be useful, if they know their strengths. We can work with them. Incorporate them.

[No one is useless. No matter what they, or anyone else might think. Everyone on a team had something to give. He's got no problem with saying so. With that same open honesty -- this is what he believes. This is not something he's going to be swayed on.]

[Nobody should be dying.]

[That... that digs in. That burrows into the old wound. Some of the flickering green cutting through his shielding. Reaching ugly tendrils of sharp loss, hurts, it hurts so much, and tossing him clear like a horrifying rag doll tossing him clear like a horrifying rag doll tossing him clear like a horrifying rag doll over and over and over--]

We're at war.

[He cuts off the thoughts sharply. Metal fingers creaking where they tighten on a piece of his robes.]

It's going to happen. And we all need to brace ourselves better.

No, it was this clusterfuck or teams. Smaller teams, suited for diplomacy or sneaking around or whatever it is we're doing here.

[ There is no such thing as a black and white decision, not when it's within his power ( anyone's power, anyone's right -- ) to stand up and discuss a better way of handling the situation. There doesn't seem to be any manner of leadership among this team, so no wonder people have been hurt, no wonder they've died. It's an alarming, eerie sensation that creeps through his core. Chilly, bitter. Like a cold wind just brushed along his spine. ]

No, some people are just useless. They're mentally ill-suited, emotionally ill-prepared, physically burdensome. They shouldn't be here, but they could have helped in other ways.

[ He's blunt, he's harsh. The words he picks are cruel with a teenager's single-mindedness; there's no denying that if he were better at diplomacy, he'd be conveying how much he cares, and better than this. Hell, he'd actually be AWARE that he cared, instead of feeling like his own life has been placed into danger by people who think that "everyone has their place" and that they have the leisure to figure that out now, in the middle of danger. ]

See, that's the problem -- we're not at war. This isn't war -- we're not even on the same playing field as this stupid nebulous "enemy" that we're meant to rally against, so how could we be at war. We're a goddamn irresponsible, unorganized JOKE. All we're doing is chasing ghosts.

And if you were there, I'm sure you would have been able to convince everyone.

[It... takes a lot to keep that from coming out as biting and angry as he wants it to be. The anger, the protectiveness, bubbling up at the back of his mind. To stand up for his team. For the people he cares about here. We need teamwork, he'd said to them. He'd always said it. Why are people here allergic to working together?]

[It feels, to him, as if the people who have suffered here, who have been hurt, who have died, as being ridiculed. As if LAVELLAN died for nothing, to this new arrival's eyes.]

No one is useless. There is always something people can do. A good leader figures out where they're best suited. No matter what.

[Bakugo is blunt and harsh and cruel and Shiro is resolute. Is steel and intangible stardust. With the weight of the Lion in that statement.]

Have you ever fought in a war? A real one?

I would have tried -- !

[ Somewhere within him, he cares. Just as much as the next person, just as much as the one standing before him. It's different, it takes another form. One that doesn't have as much charisma, as much ability to cooperate, as others - but it's there, his own drive to protect and defend lives by being victorious.

There's a tension in his chest, rising in his throat - frustration - a lack of understanding between them, an accusatory how dare you when he touches upon Shiro's own protectiveness, the loss that the man feels, and the way that they're just not conveying that they feel the same way. So, why bother? Why explain himself - especially when someone starts throwing their weight around.

Especially when Shiro brings up "war". If he's ever been in one. ] So, that's how you're going to spin it.

[ Like he's already figured it all out: ] No. I haven't fought in a war. Which means whatever I say isn't gonna' carry the weight that makes it worth anything, huh?

We all tried. This is what we got.

[The steel and dust and light remains. Unwilling to bend. But tired, worn out, the metal lined with wear, the light scattered and dimming. The words turning away from lecture, turning more to exhausted statement of fact. He's tried. The people used to working in teams, used to cooperating, tried. To no effect.]

[He should be schooling his feelings better. He should be more in control of himself. Because it's getting clearer this is a kid. This is someone like his teammates. The tension, the frustration, is clear enough. And so, as a result, he shoves the accusation, the indignation, and the rising need to save them to protect them I have to do something i have to i have to save him back. Under the walls.]

[Deep breaths.]

[Patience. Focus.]

It means... you've got a lot to learn while you're here. It's not a spin. It's something I needed to know.

[The clouds, the stars, part. Enough to let the honesty ease out. The sense of hands held out, palms up. Nothing to hide.]

For what it's worth -- and you're not going to believe me, but. I think I'm almost glad you haven't.

[ The interactions that he's had with the other hosts are a pattern of ebb-and-flow. His ire is a lively thing that rises swiftly and cools just as rapidly, a whirlwind of teenage hormones and a deep-seated something else that eats away at his defenses. As Shiro recants his prior stance, the tense line of Bakugo's shoulders softens. The crease in the middle of his brows grows shallow, until his already narrow gaze is more open. Startled, almost, by how Shiro also "ebbs-and-flows", desperate to control and compose himself, as Bakugo isn't.

Little else staggers him, physically and emotionally in one go, than the raw sensation of Shiro's honesty as it pours through like moonlight over a clear lake. Pure, simple. A natural thing that butts up against the hasty defenses he's rallied within himself and seeps through the inevitable cracks. Slowly, his hands find the depths of his disguises pockets. Or folds of cloth, he can't quite tell which is which, but his hands vanish all the same. Shoulders curling, head lowering, eyes darting off to one side. Guilty? Or dismissing his own feelings on the matter? ]

Nobody ever stops learning.

[ Everyone could stand to learn more. Like everything about him, there's no filter: the thought is simply there, unbidden before the two of them. ]

I know what fighting is, though. I know what it feels like to believe wholeheartedly in an ideal, and isn't that what war's really about? Protecting an ideal.

[Someday, he's going to have to figure out how to damp down on the seemingly endless fatigue etched through his very bones. Something almost as vast as the memory of the Black Lion's power, from that moment they united. But today isn't that day. So when the kid relents, looks away, hunches, the anger washes away in a breath of tired, like the last few rays of a dying star.]

[He's so tired of arguing with teammates.]

[This is better. But he won't draw attention to the yield. Just move on. It's for the best, he figures. Teenage pride isn't something easily healed. Focus on his defenses, on maintaining his calm. The honesty which comes so naturally to him.]

No, they don't, do they?

[A shake of his head.] You know how to fight -- [There's no questioning it. Just restating a fact.] -- and I'm sure that's going to come in handy at some point.

It's... it depends on who you ask. [About war, he means.]

[ TOO BAD HE'S "ARGUMENTS: THE LIFE, THE STYLE, THE HOLLYWOOD SUMMER BLOCKBUSTER". ]

I'm not asking.

[ What war means. There's little room inside of him to adopt another's way of thinking; just a burning, incendiary core of his own beliefs, carrying him forward relentlessly. While he bleeds honest, brutal reactions and emotions without a filter through which they'll be softened. It's like being punched, repeatedly, in the same spot, when his mind brushes along another's. What he believes in, is what he believes in. He won't let go of those values and dreams for anything; not for his brood, not for the nest -- not even if it's what kills him.

A hero is an ideal, and he'll take it all on himself and win. For his world, for the poor saps stuck here, because of what happened in theirs. ]

I promised that old lady back on the station that I'd handle it. So just -- stay out of my way, when I do. You'll get hurt otherwise, and you don't look like you can take much more of that.

[ He says it, blunt and sharp, but there's something layered under it. Some deeper meaning to the harsh things he says, like he doesn't know any other way to communicate. Or what he's even TRYING TO communicate. ]

[He doesn't ... mean to. He tries to hold it back. But the laugh that bubbles out of his throat is more incredulous than mocking. The little flare of emotion from him shows as much. You'll get hurt - you can't take much more.]

[It's... the opposite of literally everything he's ever expected to be. Expected of himself.]

Don't worry. [Sincere as before. Don't worry about me, and no one should and none of you deserve that.] I'm hardier than I look.

Did I stutter?

[ "Don't worry", he's not worried. He's not the type to worry much about others, especially those he's just met. It's just -- Shiro has a cool lion, that's his partner. And part of Bakugo ( just a small, childish part of him, honest ) wants to see more of it. Someday. He's not eager or anything, it just reminds him of television shows he used to watch back home, toy lines he used to collect, kid's meals he'd begged his mother to buy him - because he needed to have all of the limited edition parts of the whole. ]

Man, I could break you in half.

[ PHYSICALLY. ]

[It prompts another laugh from him. Same as the last. Man, he's barely met this kid and already he's being told he's not enough. But, oddly, there's no irritation in him. Not from this. Maybe he's just too tired right now, too wrung-out from this mission and the toll it's taken on them all.]

[Or maybe it's because, this is very much a teenager. The kind of mind he's used to, more than others.]

A lot of things could. And they've tried, too. Like I said... tougher than I look.

[The low rumbling sensation at the back of his mind, the voiceless support of the thing in his head, taking the familiar shape, the familiar sensation, of that ancient well of power. Mimicking the Lion in his head.]

[ He gestures, pointing to the bridge of his nose. Shiro's scar. The one he'd noticed earlier, the "cool" one. Tougher than I look, Shiro says, and there's enough in a single scar and a false, metal arm to back that claim up. The way he phrases it makes him curious enough -- there were missions before this one, weren't there? Had any of those scars from from one of those? ]

Anything like --

[ Raw, unnerving discomfort. Bakugo's nose wrinkles, red eyes narrowing as he recalls that thing that forced him to flee. ]

A body, made of stars. Tall, black with spots of light. Would have called your name, a lot. Or maybe mine, for all I know. Have you seen anything like that?

[He shakes his head slightly at the unasked question. These marks from long before all of this. There's a smaller tick mark on his chin, from where Sam had patched him up so long ago -- when Concordia literally exploded around them. But this was all from another world.]

[A lifetime ago.]

[Instead of answering right away, he pauses. The thickness in his shielding fades a fraction. Feeling the sensations off the kid, to add to his description.]

I haven't fought it personally. But it was there. When I was brought here. I get the feeling it was there for all of us.

-- I'm gonna KILL that thing.

[ The sudden, violent heat in his voice is punctuated by a crackling series of sounds, flashes of light -- miniature explosions encircling his bare palms as they clench and unclench. The thing that had attacked him, attacked his world. It was the same thing that had attacked Shiro's? Maybe other worlds? Whether it was or not, he'd already set his sights on it. On bringing its throat under his heel and crushing it until it rued the day it set its gross sights on him, of all people. ]

When we find it, it's mine to deal with, y'hear me? Even Cathaway promised she'd stay out of my way, and she's like... headmistress around here.

[His shoulders automatically stiffen. Faint flickers of purple around his right hand -- as the thing at the back of his mind stirs, ready for a threat. Ready to attack if need be, something massive suddenly roused from sleep. Ready...]

[He closes his eyes. His left hand ducking under his robes for the bit of metal he's taken to carrying. With the grooves around the edges. Trailing his fingers along it -- focus. Breathe. Until the urge passes, and he can look the teen in the eye again.]

Why only you?

[Calm forced into place, gaze and voice steady as if nothing at all had happened.]

'Cause I said so.

[ Clearly, he's not the type who's used to offering long-winded or non-egocentric excuses for his desires and needs. And this is one big clusterfuck of a want-need; that astral-bodied bastard is his to bring down, for what it did. He'll do it for himself, and by default, his might and generosity will extend to everyone else who's been threatened by it. That's all. ]

'Cause I'm -- [ "going to be number one" doesn't have as much weight or validity here ] a hero, that's why. You're supposed to let the hero handle this sort of thing, that's what we're here for.

When you say "hero"... that means something else to you, doesn't it?

[It's not just a word to this kid. It's not just a thing someone can be. There's a weight to it. He's not going to touch on the rest just yet. Not going to shoot him down and argue teamwork.]

[There's something else to figure out first.]

What do you mean "something else"?

[ A hero is a hero is a hero. A role that's as important to him as life itself, and a warm thing that fills him from top to toe, when he mentions it. There's a savage determination within him, eyes on the prize, hands reaching for the summit, tired legs carrying him over a finish line. A goal to be reached. ]

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

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