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Entry tags:
- *mission log,
- addison parker [original],
- ahsoka tano [star wars],
- anakin skywalker [star wars],
- angel [borderlands],
- aoba seragaki [dramatical murder],
- bellamy blake [the 100],
- bucky barnes [mcu],
- carata,
- cathaway,
- clint barton [mcu],
- hux [star wars],
- ilde vilmaine [original],
- lexa [the 100],
- nirad,
- petre dodrescu [original],
- rhys [borderlands],
- sam alexander [marvel 616],
- sam anders [battlestar galactica],
- sam wilson [mcu],
- steve rogers [mcu],
- the darkling [grisha trilogy]
[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD
CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.
IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.
On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.
“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.
“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.
Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.
“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”
Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”
“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”
At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”
Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.
Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.
It will be a long time before you see this place again.
((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.
If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.
IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.
On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.
“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.
“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.
Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.
“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”
Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”
“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”
At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”
Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.
Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.
It will be a long time before you see this place again.
I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.
Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.
"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."
The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.
Welcome to Concordia.
II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.
When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!
III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.
( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )
There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.
( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )
((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.
If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))
<33
But for her, it's only fair.
He reaches to take it, holding it idly between his own rough fingers.] If she's still capable of feeling us, she'll share it, too.
/o3o/
If she's feeling this, she'll be calling us pansies for starting out with such a shallow helping. [ which means he's reaching out to fill Ren's glass up double, to make him look like a proper alcoholic, and then doing the same with his own.
He didn't really want to stay sober tonight anyway. ]
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[It isn't water. It doesn't even do him the favor of pretending, strong as it smells when he lifts it to his mouth, the acrid burn settling deep within his nostrils. He breathes out once, mildly snorting away the worst of it. The scent's unfamiliar, but it brings to mind worn memories regardless: Han Solo's faded silhouette settled tired and contented at the Falcon's console, metal between his fingers and acidity in the air.
Dismissed in a single beat, this time he holds his breath when the glass is raised and tipped back— and half emptied before he's wrestling down the burn that sits angrily against the back of his own tongue. Exhales hard through his nose, frown deepening by degrees.
That he doesn't cough for it is a miracle.]
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[ he might be watching Ren a bit, head tilted against his shoulder where it's lolled back against the edge of the couch, Jessica's arm somewhere a few inches from his hair. There's a grin that might have been accompanied with a snicker, if he'd let it out, seeing the deepening frowns he goes through. But no choking or gagging. Cool. He hadn't been sure if Ren was the type for drinking, but it seems like he'll allow it for special occasion. Good man.
after following suit, taking another long drink from his glass to finish off another half, Sam's feeling his skin getting all warm and alcohol tingly, just a bit. he's far from his tolerance level, but it's that beginning bit. but he'll wait for them to take care of the rest of their glasses before topping off again. ]
You can always take it straight from the bottle. That seemed like Jessica's style.
[ going for the jug they had of moonshine to pass between them, not wasting time on pleasantries like cups. ]
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A distraction, really.
The glass clinks softly as Sam does them both the favor of a refill, and aside from the sound of them breathing it's quiet. Calm.]
Did you tell the others?
[Of how she's slipping, of where he's kept her— somehow he imagines they already know.]
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I think they know. [ about her slipping. about where she is. if they didn't before, they likely do now, with both him and Ren sitting around focused on it. ] I did.
[ hard to hide things from brood. he'd also been looking for her, as well as checking with the others, to see if they were alright. ]
You should talk to her. She probably hears us. [ at least, he's hoping that's the kind of coma she's in - the one with her mind still present, just dormant, unable to properly boot itself up again, just yet. Even in his, once his brain activity spiked, he'd been able to hear. ] I usually heard Kara, when I was out.
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Alongside Jessica herself. A presence that slips away, whittled away as the seconds tick onward. Sam is right: the others must be aware of it now, even if they were not before. He thinks of Ilde, wonders briefly if she suffers, or if her emotions are more complex.
Always she is more complex.]
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Another drink from his glass, longer, and he turns some, facing her on the couch rather than having his back to the edge of it. ] Tell her stories, maybe. Stuff she's missing out on. Like when someone's gone, and you think of all these things you want to tell them, and show them . Like it only comes up after they're out of reach, you know?
[ he'd spoken about people leaving, before. dying. maybe he doesn't know, but sam gets the feeling there's at least an idea. either way, he's not going to pry about it, instead, folds his forearms on the edge of the couch and looks down at jessica a moment, before chatting like it's just a long distance skype call. ]
Jessica, there's all these idiot looking kids here with crap like neon purple eyes and cat tails and scales for skin, and they look like frakkin' cartoons. And here I am with no one to help me make fun of them. [ a beat, head tilting, with a small smile. ] So hurry up and get off your fat, lazy ass, Jones.
[ the bill adama school of "i love you, now wake the fuck up you asshole" ]
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[Offended on her behalf (another half-glass down and if not for a distinct lack of sweat he'd swear the temperature in the room has somehow risen) Ren shifts to face Sam, cutting a stern, severe sort of look that's entirely earnest.
Someone clue him in on normal, reasonable humor.]
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I know she's not. Rogers could probably bench press her. [ which is saying something, because Steve looks like a twig. ] It's a joke.
[ polishing off his glass once again, and going right towards filling it back up, despite the happy, floaty kind of buzz stuffing up his head. Sam's also a proud graduate of the Kara Thrace School of Unreasonable Lack of Drinking Limitations, topping off Ren's glass as well, since he's here and has the bottle. may as well, it just makes sense, okay? ]
Well, since I was mean, then you tell her something nice. So she's not pissed in her sleep.
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He says nothing. Thinks less. Swallows quick and dry, and for a beat he thinks he needs a long sip of what he's holding without caring what it tastes like. The fire dies down, his throat feels less raw with the slow wash of alcohol coating it.]
It doesn't matter.
[She's gone. Sleeps without concern for the waking world and if by some miracle that waning tether brings her back, it's not his voice she'll need, nor Sam's or anyone else's.
Bitterly he dips his chin again to finish what's left in his cup. The room swims at its seams.]
We're wasting time.
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but it should be noted that it's fucking hilarious that saying something nice is what slams Ren into a halt. for a moment, he wishes there were someone around who'd be amused at that thought as much as he is. maybe he'll mention it to angel later. ]
If there's even a chance it'd help her brain start back up, what's it hurt to try it? [ other than his pride, which is a fairly huge deal for Ren, but if he's in here sometime later and no one's around to hear him, what'll it matter? ] I'm just saying, you don't have to do it now, or at all, but it's worth thinking about. There's been studies on this shit.
[ it's science, ren. but with that he'll let it go, though not before make a short stage-whisper to their vacant broodmate. ] Jessica, Ren doesn't think you're fat.
[ flopping himself back around to use the couch as a backrest once more, Sam slouches down, glass of whiskey-like space drink cradled against his chest and limbs feeling a bit loose. ]
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His eyes— tired from the strain of too many hours— dart over towards Sam before refocusing on Jessica herself. And then he leans in, carefully, as if sharing some great secret between them:] It's true.
[There. Progress in a compromise carefully made,
and he'll kill you if you make fun of him for it, Samuel.]no subject
sam's head leans back and to the side, looking over jessica a moment and thinking on her. ren had really had a connection with her, it seems, to get not only such a protective but caring reaction from him. it makes him hope all the more that her symbiote will repair itself and bring her back.
in the mean time, this. ] Even if she doesn't remember, she'll at least hear your voice. Maybe like it's a dream. You're more than family for her, so if nothing else, it's a comfort.
[ even if Ren doesn't like to allow himself things like soothing words and comfort, Jessica still deserves them. ]
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His knees tuck in under the couch's lower lip; it's easy to feel lost in that looping, shared feedback.]
Sharing a bond doesn't mean we take comfort in one another.
[Only that their existence— their survival— is a baseline.]
She barely knew me.
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and even if he's pretty sure this planet will run into disaster, once the androids gain full consciousness, that doesn't mean he can't try what he can to fix it in the last hour. do until you can't, and all that. ] Maybe just more stubborn. I dunno. [ probably. sam never did like being idle.
he blinks towards Ren, quiet for a moment, as he considers the notion of it, and looks from him towards the still woman on the couch. ]
And yet... here she is on your couch. [ if he'd barely known her, and vice versa, then why is he so committed to watching over her? while sam does thing ren has a bit more of a protective side to him than he might admit to, there's something significant about jessica with him. if it'd been steve, would he still drag him in here? if it was sam? ] You don't have to know someone intimately to be a comfort. Or at all. It's just connection.
[ he hadn't know the Eight that was dying on the Cylon basestar, but he'd reached for her anyway, just so she wasn't alone, and that moment passes through his mind, free to touch. then, he hadn't even known he was her creator. just that she was scared, and he could see that she didn't face that alone. ] Whether we wanted it or not, this brood thing means we're not alone anymore, and that's something we can know for certain. Some of us still need that. Like Ilde. Maybe Steve. I think Jessica does too.
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Alone.
It's been ages— so many ages— since he last felt the presence of anyone but Snoke stretched heavily across his shoulders. And something in him winds tighter and tighter with that realization as he lifts a heavy hand to scrub at his own face, covering his eyes - letting out a short, pained little bark of wheezing laughter that's entirely devoid of even the thinnest shards of happiness. Glass fracturing by millimeters.
He's not alone anymore.
In that instant, everything snaps. Laughter turns to wracking sobs, shoulders heaving; Ren abandons the empty glass in his other hand (it tumbles off the couch with a heavy thud and a small spatter of residual liquor) and smothers the entirety of his profile, trembling, rasping. Ungraceful and unattractive in every sobbing sense of the word.
Good job, Sam.]
this got so gay im so sorry
of the things Sam thought he'd see today, this was not on the list. or feel, because the depth of emotion that comes along with it is just as much the torrential storm that Ren's mind always is, more so, perhaps. like a dam splintered and broke free, and sam had been standing at the bottom of it, looking up.
he's not so wasted as Ren is, and he's had enough history with the feeling to manage clear enough perception while drunk that it doesn't escape him how rare of a moment this is, and Sam wonders how long Ren's gone without breaking down like this. he hadn't meant to cause him to shake apart, but feeling it now, and the echo of not alone anymore that resonates through the brood bond, he thinks, maybe it was needed. as much as Ren pushes for order and control, the very essence of his being is such turbulent chaos, suppressing that uproar had to come to a break point somewhere.
his mind circles back around to the talk they'd had in the nesting deck, the burst of vitriol Ren had there, and how he'd spoken of parents, of people rejecting what they don't want to see in you, of leaving when they're needed most. and then there's the same man now, seeming so, so young. it's about much more than just jessica. had sam known him on a purely disconnected level, maybe he'd have had his own thoughts on what Ren is or isn't, but the fact of it is, now, he knows what is it to be this man, he's been inside his mind and felt the pain there, sharp as razor wire, and the deep ache of abandonment, and loneliness is a universe that's too too wide. the reason and details behind that just... become irrelevant. whether Ren's choices are completely abhorrent, or if they make him a saint, none of them in the brood can simply not feel for him any longer. It's part of humanity, and the connection of one soul to another, he thinks. You feel suffering and you just know pain, the resonance of it, the despair of it. not pity - empathy.
Sam's arm is moving to lift before he's thinking much of it, and it falls over Ren's shoulders, tugging his shaking frame against his side, with a kind of solidarity that refuses to just let him experience this without recognition, pretending it isn't happening and wait until he pulls back together. A hand squeeze at a shoulder, like comforting someone in mourning, a physical weight to remind that they aren't isolated in the world, that they're heard and felt, and Sam's not afraid of seeming too personal at the moment. Ren's likely to aggressively wipe this from his memory tomorrow. It's just as well - he won't have to worry about whatever Sam does now anyway, if he decides to deny the whole thing. Not without recognizing that it happened.
we're with you, his mind presses, and the silence of the room is filled with thought folded on thought, in half formed words and flashes of emotion, pulsed between the symbiotic bond. whether we argue, whether one of us hurts the other, whether we look at the world and see something completely different, whatever happens and whatever we learn or see, it's we now, not i. no matter what else you are, you're my brother, and i'm with you.
there's a promise somewhere in there as well. he'd told ren, before, how he'd wanted to go as soon as he could, to be with kara. asked him to kill him, if it came to that point. but in the weeks since, talking to cathaway, feeling out what this brood is and what it means, he'd decided. he'll be here for as long as they need him. time is an irrelevant force in the face of the universe, and the beyond, but fate's connected him to these people for a reason, and here he'll stay, until he's the last one left. as long as he can, within his power.
no commentary otherwise. words mean so little in comparison to what's passed between minds, and making a verbal acknowledgment seems like it'd be a bit too much for Ren regardless. ]
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Her presence is delicate, the faint bouquet of a rain wet garden, the soft spice of smoke.
She doesn't yet know if this will be a good thing for Ren. Perhaps. Change is coming for them all, and for those most buttressed against it... cataclysm may be needed to wash away the past. She doesn't exclude herself, but for now, she doesn't entirely matter. Her brood is what matters. All their heartache and sorrow.
A sigh, an echo we're with you, the faintest kiss of reassurance past them both, but there's nothing for her to say, merely to have them in her thoughts. ]
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save some of the booze, guys]no subject
you know what he's calling nirad right now to get the body moved. ]
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But save him a spot. He loves parties. :')]no subject
So Ren stays curled against his broodmate's side, weeping against his own damp palms and the set of Sam's shoulder. Hungry, hateful, utterly crippled by a potent mixture of time and willful abandonment. Oil floating to the surface, his mother's soft features overcast with an uncharacteristic hardness: the sort of determination she saved for the Senate floor, aimed at him instead— or rather the circumstances she herself orchestrated. The first painful rift between them, a cyclical pattern where they've each taken turns driving it deeper and deeper. Perhaps Leia was always the origin of his own self-destructive tendencies.
Perhaps she was only the catalyst for it, sparking an urge to retaliate in the absence of affection.
It doesn't matter. It never did. All that remained was ash and his blood and the memory of Han Solo slipping backwards on his heels. If Leia felt it, half a galaxy away, he can't imagine she cared much. But his brood does— in part, at least. A lurching, sickening realization and he feels it boiling in his throat like bile— Ren recoils suddenly, struggling against Sam's hold.] Don't touch me!!
Don't touch me—
[Hissing, whimpering, sniffling through his own hands.]
no subject
Ben, actually, as the name the echoes through his memories, and Sam tucks that information away somewhere. Not to be used, just to remember.
it all comes as quickly to an ending as it had starter, with Ren lurching and lashing out and screaming, and while the suddenness of it may have Sam jumping some, he isn't really surprised that it happened. Sam's retracting his arm the moment after he's told, but doesn't put any fuss up about it. Instead, he eases himself up casually, as if Ren hadn't just lost his shit one direction and then in the other, and paces over to the nearby bed to drag off a pillow and blanket.
plopping the pillow near Ren's head, he flops the blanket over his curled up form as well, before reaching to take up what's left of the liquor bottle. Best not to leave that here, in case Ren decides to drown his sorrows and ends up with alcohol poisoning. ] Gets some rest. You'll have a killer hangover in the morning.
[ he probably has some more calming down to do, and maybe being close to Jessica, and her relative absence of presence, will be good for him. on the way out, sam hits the light switch. he'll just be passed out on the couch for the rest of the night, not far if Ren starts to have a more serious freak out. ]
no subject
At some point, he'd tired himself out in the cyclical argument, dozing off mid-way through.
Except something prods him awake, eventually. It starts at the back of his head, just a creeping oddness. Bones and muscles still heavy with the desire to rest, he ignores it. Minutes pass and it happens again, stronger. This feels more like a pull than a push and Hux feels like he's been doused in cold water head first. Snapping awake, he waits, pulse fluttering with the sudden jolt from sleep to wakefulness. A quiet but persistent wailing fills his hearing as he focuses, a rush of rage and an undercurrent of being completely overwhelmed.
It's Ren. Has to be.
Sucking in a breath, he slides out of bed, pulls his door open and makes his way as quickly and silently as possible towards the source. Ren's easy to find with how much he's broadcasting. The lights are off in the living room when he gets there, familiar blocked in shapes of bodies fitted onto the form of the furniture. As he carefully picks his way around the shapes, the tang of alcohol becomes nearly overpowering– the catalyst, he thinks.
With how dark it is, he can't quite make out Ren's features. Light from the windows barely casts a gradient wash of illumination, flickering from pink to blue to green from a noisy neon sign just outside. Tentatively, he reaches a hand down, coming into contact with the curve of Ren's shoulder. ]
Ren.
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