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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I'll start listening when you say something worth listening to, idiot!

[ This is escalating quickly. Getting out of hand. She should walk away from this and find something more productive to do or a different part of the beach to sit on. Anything that isn't standing here, with tension crackling between them and the urge to spit venom rising in her. She's not usually the type to get physically violent, anyway, but God, does she want to wipe that look off of his face. She wants to rub his face in it, to make him realize he's not special, that his arrival doesn't mean they're going to worship him as their savior.

That Lavellan's death wasn't her fault. That he can't just tear open a fresh wound like that and make her hurt all over again. ]

Japan.

[ Asuka sounds hateful when she spits the word. Not that it's really the point. ]

Let me guess, you were special or something? Well you're not. Not here. We're all a part of this stupid team and we're all stuck working together and we all have this thing in our heads-!

[ She's trying to keep her voice down, but that's a little difficult when your discussion is getting heated. ]

So you're not different! You're going to have to the exact same thing as the rest of us!

[ There's nothing that he knows better than escalation, often to explosive heights and results -- if not inevitably to that. Meeting someone with as nasty a temper as his own and a tone of voice that's nothing but condescension and heat is like butting heads with a mirror, and the struggle he has with himself in the privacy of his own mind is now on display for all to take part in. ( It's nice, then, to now know there's someone he can fight against to mask those feelings; to hide them deep down and lash out at someone less deserving. ) ]

I was more than you ever will be, before I even arrived here.

[ And like that, he's on his toes. He's in motion, one hand reaching for the other, yanking the glove off as his palm sparks -- yellow heat, bright sparks, like flicking a lighter and watching something erupt into flame. There's a sound, a dull whff, milliseconds before the crackle-crash of a handful of explosion bursts into life between them, before her very nose. Kept from contact with where he figures her face is, by the clenching of his fist. Evidence of his nature, his power, and a physically demonstrative warning-threat, that he doesn't seem at all bothered to use. ]

I'm lightyears ahead of all of you. [ His voice rises, almost manic: ] You haven't got a clue what I'm capable of, so keep your mouth shut about stuff you don't know!

[ - there's no teacher, to tell him to stop. To remind him that this isn't acceptable behavior; there's just him, this bratty kid and a lot of ( mutually? ) repressed hurt. ]

[ This is stupid. This whole argument is stupid and she shouldn't give him the time of day, but she does, because her fragile ego and her sense of stubborn vindictiveness can't allow her to be shown up as second best, even if she's trying (and trying hard) to shove past the idea that her own sense of self-worth is dependent on being seen as the best. Besides, he's trying to intimidate her and even if there's a spike of fear in her, she's not going to back down.

Not like this.

Especially not when he decides to light up like a stupid firecracker. She jumps back with a muted yelp. It's startling and not what she expects and not quite like anything she's seen, but she recovers and immediately reaches out to grab his hand with a hiss, even as lights dance in front of her eyes from the sudden sparks. ]

You idiot-! Put your glove back on...!

[ She's literally trying to force it back on his hand, if she can get a grip on it. ]

Do you want to get us all caught?!

[ What she does is -- well, before this moment, it's mostly The Unthinkable. He's been restrained before, had his Quirk stifled under the weight of his teacher's own, been muzzled and placed into chains like a feral animal ( it stings -- it will always sting -- ). Nobody who's seen what he's capable of willingly puts their hands on him, not when he's capable of detonating himself at a temperature that rivaled the Earth's core. She does, though.

He just -- oh man, he just freezes in his stupid shoes while she crams his glove back onto his hand and yells at him about the mission and not about anything else. It's weird to him, more like something one of his classmates would do than some stranger he'd never met. With a start, he jerks himself back from her, putting a step of distance between them again. ]

Nobody's around. [ And a little more brashly: ] They've got bigger problems than some Ca-- Carbauschians having it out on the beach.

People are going to notice if you keep doing that... that thing! How th Hell do you even make your hands explode like that?!

[ That's the weirdest part. She's seen and met some strange people since she got here - Sevilla among them - so someone shooting fire from his hands isn't the strangest thing ever. It's still weird. But here she is, yelling at him anyway. She never really paused to consider being afraid of it. She just wanted to shove him back into the slot they're supposed to be in. ]

Didn't you stop to think that just maybe someone throwing fire around is kind of a big deal? Come on!

[ She's lecturing him with all the moral superiority of a teenager who has found a something they can use to bludgeon the opposition with. ]

[ Beneath the material of the glove, he wriggles his fingers - flexing them slowly into a fist, and back out. Working the buzz of recoil from his wrist while she's flipped the script on their conversation effectively enough to distract him from how much he wanted to shut her up moments ago - how easily he'd lost control, and the welling schism inside of him -- the need to "put her in her place" and the newness of the knowledge that such behavior is not acceptable. Ill-befitting a hero. ]

Nitroglycerin. [ The easiest explanation. ] I generate nitroglycerin and can detonate it at will.

[ It's not a symbiote-granted ability, that's for sure. There's no "tug" between hosts when he combusts, no errant ping of recognition, nothing to that effect. This is his own biological weapon, developed from grade school. ]

They're a bunch of aliens, and they know, like, nothing about the subspecies we're meant to be portraying.

[ With less heat, because he knows he's Escalated Too Far, and doesn't want to hear her lecturing him on it. "Big deal", whatever. ]

[ She pushes back against him, her own mind buzzing and humming with anger and shock and a thousand other emotions. But mostly determination to not let herself be pushed around. She's going to carry on. She's been here longer. She knows more. She doesn't need him to boss her around. ]

You can... what?

[ She squints at him, a little confused by the idea. That's the first she's heard of something like that. And even if shes a giant robot pilot, the idea of someone being able to generate and detonate nitroglycerin is still strange. ]

I mean - look! They know enough to know that we probably shouldn't be shooting fire out of our assholes or whatever! So keep it on the down-low, OK? If we get caught, we'll probably all end up dead, no matter how good you are at blowing shit up!

[ She's lecturing him, but there's not quite as much heat as there was a little while ago. ]

Explode.

[ There's a part of him that loathes repeating himself, the same way that he loathes the need to sometimes ask others to repeat the things they've said. He struggles with it, as he reiterates what it is that he does -- and the accompanying sensation is that this ability is not one that is shared. It has no place among the nest, a pre-existing thing that accompanied him when he agreed to leave his world. ]

-- I'm aware, [ ugh, having to admit that means he's aware of the danger just igniting will have for them. But, he squares his shoulders, and his mind shoves back against her, thuggish and indomitable. ] Nobody's gonna' die because of me, don't trouble yourself over it. Heroes don't cause death, they prevent it. Your voice is just so irritating I had to shut you up somehow.

Great. Explode. Whatever it is you do with yourself-!

[ She waves a hand, feeling her face start to flush as he squares off against her. How dare he? Doesn't he know what's good for himself? Doesn't he understand where they are? Why is he talking like they're in some kind of comic book? Heroes don't cause death? Yeah, right. She was supposed to be a hero. So was Ikari. They still managed to kill people - inadvertently, sure, but collateral damage hadn't exactly been minor. And in her case, she'd quite deliberately tried to kill the people who were trying to kill her.

Her teeth grind. ]

Shut up about my voice, idiot. It's better than yours.

[ She wants to lay into him. Flay the stupid, child-like logic away from his words and show him why he's wrong. ]

Heroes kill people all the time. What kind of idiot thinks that they don't? Are you just naive or what?

[ Honestly, is it any wonder that he finally snaps?

There's never been any part of him that was against hitting a girl; he'd fought plenty in his spare time, including one who had been -- she'd been tough, that was all he could say. Not timid, not fragile, she'd given her all in the fight. This girl, this one kept running her mouth, without a clue how things worked.

In the end, it's why he lunges for her. Hands pressed to her shoulders to shove her down, to the sand below, to be able to stand over her and snarl, the words ripped from his chest and a throat damp with something like agony, as if she's gutted him and all he can do is hurt her in retaliation for how much she's ended up hurting him, by insinuating, by SUGGESTING, by insulting heroes -- ]

Killing makes someone nothing more than a murderer! What kind of scum do you know that kills people and calls themselves a "hero", I'll destroy them!

[ Asuka wasn't expecting that. For a moment her eye widens in shock and then she hits the sand with a thud and the wind is knocked out of her. She starts to scramble backward, staring up at him with venom and hatred and a touch of fear and she lashes out with a leg, aiming a kick that's more to force him back, get him away. How dare he? He can't strip the title away from her. He can't tell her she wasn't a hero for what she did. She pushes at him, tries to find room to get to her feet, voice rising in a sharp, shrill retort.

Her whole mind is nothing but frothing rage. ]

I killed people! Because they were trying to kill me, you idiot!

[ God, he's thankful nobody can see them through the veils -- the way his teeth clench together, the way his eyes burn with something seething and revolted. There are things that he could accept, in someone he'd fight with his fists and his words, but a killer? A killer's not a hero. Murderers don't deserve to wear such an honorable, all-important mantle such as that, and he burns, against her rage, mind shoving against hers as well. ]

MURDERER, [ he spits, out loud, and through the connection between them. Every nerve ending firing, aching, torn asunder by the idea that someone like her, someone so young, could be a killer. ( A no-good killer! ) And then words fail him, and all he can muster is a roiling knot of wrath, oozing forth from him as smoke and the scent of burning cloth begins to emit from his gloves. It rises, higher, hotter. Within him, he feels as though he's standing a million miles above her. Not holier, just better.

-- and then it snaps, like a string pulled too tight. It snaps, and sloughs off of him, a dragon shedding scale, boiling at his core, his extremities overcome by cold. Overwhelmed, overloaded. Why's a kid killing? Why's nobody done anything to keep her hands clean? How could she think heroes were the scum who killed? Who's attacking her in such a way that she resorts to murder? The questions catch in his throat, the retorts strangle him. Between them, his heart wrenches - confused, furious. ] You just -- just stay the HELL away!

[ He says it, and forces himself to storm off, forces himself to walk away. He can't stay here, strangling under this whole thing. ]

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

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