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.))
THE DARKLING.
i belong to all and no one
casually approaches cathaway
i heard a voice.it called,consoling
wildcard
bearings!!
apparently.
still very weird for him. anyway.
the hum of the elevator reaching their floor, and the metallic clicking of the doors pulling open rouses him from his nap, Sam shifting to lift his head, with the print of the fabric embossed on his cheek, and peer past their hologram screens set up by the couch to check who's showing up. More newbies, it looks like. ] Coming in droves now, huh?
[ Sam had woken up by himself, as did Petre a few days after him. Now there's been two groups, of about three, in a row. Interesting. either way, he's prying himself out from under Angel, and shuffling his way out of the technological command center they have set up, heading over to meet one of the new kids. The Darkling is the one he runs into first, and it seems fitting, because he has that intense, dark sort of vibe, like Kylo Ren. Yeah, sure, leave that one to Castor, why not. Okay, here we go. ] Nice flight? Did they skip the peanuts for you too?
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[ like the other two that he has arrived with, he's elected to wear the clothes he arrived with. thankfully, black does not reveal bloodstains very easily, and he has every intention of giving them a wash - once he locates whatever it is that washes clothes here. is it by hand? do they have attendants? perhaps there's a large machine that does the work. a machine as large and intricate as the command center that sam leaves, and the lift that the darkling has just exited. marvels, all of them. there is a greater science here than he has known, but thankfully not fooled himself into denying.
there's a lot to get used to.
there are two others with him, on the elevator. one is his own, a member of his brood, and even now he cannot stop flicking his eyes after bellamy, unconsciously watchful over him. somewhere, he can feel another member of those most directly connected to him. it's distracting, and he nearly misses sam's query. ] Terrible flight. The five course meal made up for it, however.
[ his is a tight smile, and the tilt of his chin betrays him. he's joking. gosh, sam. peanuts, really? ]
How is everyone doing? [ immediately, he parries question with question, gesturing to the space around them. even physically scattered as they are, he knows there are others, and he wants to know about them. sam is the first to approach, and fairly friendly, it seems. ] Is there anyone in particular you think someone new should be aware of?
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Yeah? Somehow missed that on ours. Maybe we were just riding coach and didn't know it. [ well, not really sure if he's of the right time period to get that joke, but whatever.
as for how they're doing, that seems like a good question to start with. get an idea for the situation, and sam scratches at the side of his head, as he glances around the commons area, at the others, explaining. ]
Pretty decent. Gathering intel, trying to piece this thing out. [ nothing incredibly ground-breaking as of yet, but they're getting along. ] There's been some H+H1 rallies going on we've been checking out. Kinda split up who's chasing what leads, I think. I've got notes, if it'll help you catch up.
As for anything you should know... [ his lips scrunch to the side, thinking of it. ] Depends on how much that told you on the station. About the Nest, and, you know. [ a tap to the side of his head. the symbiote. ]
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Skipping that - moving right on to the core of what he needs, beyond mild jokes and wry commentary about the state of Nirad's driving and the too-swift transition of the awakening-Station-Concordia adventure. He's here now, and has determined that it's best to focus on the task at hand, rather than the endless questions he can come up with about every little "other" thing. ]
I'd appreciate if you would share your notes, [ actually, he really would. ]
I was told enough to comprehend what [ mirroring Sam's gesture, with a touch to the side of his own head as well ] this means for all of us. I've begun to understand the "how", and I'm now working on the "who". I understand that we are all connected, and some are connected moreso than others, to start.
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Ilde is not a terrible ambassador to new hosts. She has a restrained calm to her and a pragmatic approach to their situation, although to be true she is biased in that she rather likes the power and meaning the symbiote has given her. She is ferociously attached to her brood, regardless of reason. Not all would agree with her choices. They don't have to. To be Hive did not mean giving up all opinion.
She is rising from one of her intermittent naps, taken at intervals throughout the day because she does not sleep in the night. Nothing has stalked her in the darkness since leaving her world, but she cannot change the habit now. It was better to sleep briefly and more often than to prolong her vulnerability.
She is braiding her hair on the way through the common area, she hesitates as she approaches the new member. Inevitable. She will come to know them all in time. ]
Hello.
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[ there are a number of them, the ones who have woken before he and the two he is accompanied by. are they considered older, by virtue of their experience? by the measure of time they have spent among one another, intermingling against the background ambiance of stray thoughts and emotions? the inner workings of this collective are unknown to him, and he'd prefer to play it safe and diplomatic until he's discerned who is who, in relation to who. even among a shared consciousness, there are individuals. and individuals have agendas.
there is a young lady. a braid in her hair and a greeting on her lips, and while he has returned to the mission directives featured on the item -- the databank, foreign and new, as the curved earpiece he's slid into the pockets of his kefta is as well -- there is no hesitation in the way he sets it aside and greets her. courtly manners and all, the nod of his head and the angle of his spine. she looks -- yes, maybe like she's just woken up. the darkling turns his eyes to the windows of their shared living space. it's not unlike barracks, or the halls of the little palace - though he's largely used to having his own designated quarters.
oh, that's right: ] How do you rest, with all the lights out there?
[ a minor curiosity. ] I've never seen so many lights. Not during the day, nor at night. [ -- is it night? ]
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She contemplates his question, to what depth she is in the mood to answer. ]
I rest intermittently. My world had little by way of daylight.
[ It was not always pitch black, but their skies were choked with ash from the world's perpetual burning... The sun never really made it all the way through, days were grey. Nights were black, and night was not a time to be asleep. ]
The lights do not disturb my sleep. But there are far too many of them and they are far too bright. I do not see the point, beyond garishness.
[ She sort of shrugs? The people of Concordia seemed to like garish things. They were so wasteful and indolent. ]
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Gently, he parries: ] It's an incredible feat of engineering. [ It reminds him of Alina, as though she were finally as vast and incomprehensible as he had told her she was. Everywhere at once, and overlooked as easily as she would be, should eyes that didn't understand her look upon her: terrible and beautiful. The city reminds him of that, and he has to wonder - what purpose do they have? What does the light keep at bay in a place like this? His world is candlelight and fireplace, glass and mirrors that keep halls and rooms well-lit and warmed against the encroaching dusk.
(He marvels at the lights, but he does not seem to fear the thought of the darkness.) ]
They're going to disturb mine. I heard mention of quarters. Are there any without windows?
[ Like this, his words suggest he is reliant on her knowledge. And truly, he is. She did not awaken with him - so she must have done so before. Things are too new and too many, and despite their dormitory's name, he has definitely not found his bearings. ]
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He feels like he should get a swiveling chair and wait for the new hosts to show up in Bearings. Then, when they come in the door, he'll swivel around, petting a white cat, and say, "I've been expecting you."
Unfortunately, there simply isn't enough time to gather the necessary materials. (It would've been great, though.) When he arrives, Rhys has only just gotten in, and is yanking off his gloves (two pairs; the fingerless taser gloves over yellow ones, the height of fashion) as fast as he can. Next comes the jacket. Completely contradictory to the unseasonably warm clothing are the sunglasses tucked into his shirt. Overall, he's a mess, clumsily covering up his visible mechanical parts to remain under the biochauvinist radar. He's probably on the fashion police's radar, now, though. ]
You, [ he says when he spots the Darkling, pointing in his direction. ] I've been expecting you.
[ God, it doesn't sound as cool when you're not swiveling in a chair and petting a cat. ]
Never mind, forget I said that, that fell flat. Hey, is what I meant to say.
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[ omfg if someone had to fit the bond villain/dr claw ticket between the two of them, it'd be the one dressed entirely in black. with the pseudo-russian accent. it's okay, rhys could keep the cat though. fur shows up like a beacon on black fabric, especially white fur. ]
Maybe we've been expecting one another.
[ too late, rhys. he's engaged your statement, you can't retract it now.
the sense of expectation has enlarged. is it the words that brought on the feeling, or was it always there, waiting to be acknowledged? he has far too many questions to ask, about far too many things. several of them are about rhys's manner of dress. is this the local style? ( he had better not be expected to dress in it, if so. )
is hey really any better, rhys........... ]
No, please. Continue. [ he's got your number now ] What am I expected for?
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Honestly? [ He makes a vague hand-waving gesture, scrunching up his face a little bit. ] I hadn't planned that far ahead. I was thinking of something cool to do when I felt you guys wake up, but then the day just got away from me, you know?
[ Long day going on Future-MySpace and trying not to look robotic, the ushe. ]
You were still expected, but not... for anything? Just. Your general existence in this vicinity was anticipated.
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It's all right, [ said graciously. first meetings are very difficult, especially when you're trying hard to make a good impression. or a cool one.
they're both wearing gloves, which makes it easy for him to move his attention to rhys's. he's got to know, why yellow? so he flexes his own fingers, and the curious pull of his mouth might be question enough. the concept of robotics and artificial life in the form of biomechanics is -- not something he understands yet. nor are robotic limbs?? ] They said the gloves were... tasers? [ subject change. ]
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hey kid wanna see a dead body
Still, he asks and she capitulates; she turns her attention to the void in him, her too-reflective eyes intent on his shape here. Her expression is slightly too still, but congenial, and despite the sharpness of her presence there is a casual warmth to her tone as she says--]
Of course.
[And turns with the sweeping fall of her greying hair and a faint jingle of the charms from the fine jewelry chains wound at her wrists and fingers. She makes no pretense to say goodbye to the others; they'll see them again soon and she feels them even as she leads the way from the Nesting Deck and up the corridor to Life Support and it's strange living quarters without any doors. It's clear by the direct quality of her stride that they have some walking ahead of them.]
You know people bring many things with them, but we believe you're the first to bring another bodyy. We weren't completely sure that was possible.
8( 8( 8(
She carried me into the world, it was only right that I carry her from it.
[ That, and: ] The one who came for me also said "whatever could be carried". I thought I should at least try.
[ If it had been impossible, he would have had to leave her. And then his grief would be a different creature entirely, brought on by absence, rather than presence. Even if she was dead, he could guarantee her the due respect she deserved: a son's respect, and his anger. ]
If she had been alive, could she still have been saved?
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Do you mean could you have brought her with you, were she alive when you left your home? [There's a question there, lingering between them; had she been killed by the thing that had come to his world to find him? Sometimes such things happened. An unfortunate reality, but a potentially problematic line of inquiry. She opts to disregard it as unimportant (because, ultimately, it likely is; his mother is dead no matter who or what killed her).] We're unsure. The Station isn't as comfortable for sentient minds who lack a symbiote of their own; it's possible she might have been brought here alive successfully, but unlikely she could have stayed for long.
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Could Baghra have been saved, had he known her just a little better? Had he remembered how willing she was to commit to action? Had she been saved -- would she have come as well?No, not her. He remembers her tone, and the way her blind eyes saw. And he tells himself: stop living in that moment. Live in the thousand once more. ]
It's possible, [ he echoes, touching a hand to the wall, seeking out visual cues so that he might remember where things are in relation to another. ] But, she clearly preferred death. She was old. She was tired. [ And he needs to change the subject: ] Who are you, Cathaway? To us, I mean.
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slinks over here
Only -- only suddenly it's not so daunting, not so emptied. There's a chill curling through him, metal and snow and the growing press of someone else. More than one, really, and its a bit disorienting to know that exactly. He can't ignore the way it feels right, a sense of belonging stitched underneath his skin. Like the curve of a bow in his hand, like the first time Nat'd looked at him as something other than a mission, like Laura and the farm and the soft weight of a child in his hands-- but Clint's seen how this works, the delicate threads between broodmates, and he doesn't want it. He doesn't want anybody else in his head, not if he can't shut them out either.
So, yeah, he avoids the Darkling at first. Gives him enough space to find a space of his own among their floor, and when Clint stumbles upon him, it's not necessarily an accident. But close.
Normally, Clint can sneak with the best of them, catlike and silent. Here, its strangely gotten even easier, as if the shadows knew how he wished to move. But they're broodmates, and Clint hasn't entirely mastered how to hide his mind. He sparks, quiet awareness, quiet recognition, a longsuffering idea that seems to say just my luck. ]
They don't take long to send for reinforcements, huh?
hawkbro.......
He meets him in the kitchen. Neutral ground, hardly intimate or personal, considering the foot traffic that travels through it at odd hours of the day. The Darkling has his thumbs dug into some... pomegranate-looking fruit, something hard and full of juice, and is extracting the innards of it of it over the sink. What a mess. He lifts his head from his task, when Clint finally arrives. ]
This enemy of ours travels fast, it seems. [ They've arrived only, what? Days apart? ] You're not happy about it?
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So he feels the still new awareness that says someone is before him, someone that belongs, stitched in alongside him. He knows what it means. Still -- Clint isn't expecting the Darkling. ]
What? [ He pauses, confusion giving way to slow sweeping understanding. ] Oh-- nah, that ain't it.
[ Clint's mouth twists, a wry little smile, even as he slips around the Darkling to try to hustle coffee out of the not entirely hi-tech coffee maker. His gaze slips, tracking down to that fruit, the Darkling's fingers slick with red as he shifts through the chaff. It's enough, with the unease another person nestled alongside his mind brings, for a sharp You have heart to cut through him. Thin and slender like one of Nat's knives, cutting to the quick and slipping away. ]
Reinforcements are fine, it's just the whole--[ A tap of his fingers against temple. ]--thing.
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Ahh. [ He says, in response to Clint's gesture. There is that, indeed.
-- and his own eyes are drawn down to his hands, unconsciously following the path of Clint's, as if suddenly aware of the macabre result of his gutting innocent fruit. ]
So, you're saying that you don't enjoy sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings among strangers.
[ Was that a joke? Oh, that was a joke. His mouth has twisted the way Clint's has, humor dry, but present. He nods his head towards the machine that Clint is operating, and the promising smell of coffee. ] Would you make me a cup as well? If we're to share our awareness, I'd prefer to get to know you as you'd say to someone who doesn't share a mind.
[ So. Over a cup of coffee. ]
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WILDCARD day 009 watching the game
Light as fingertips. He doesn't seek them out on purpose, not unless they're already close by, as in this case.
Beta Block is lots of flashing holo-signs and big display windows. It's difficult to focus on any one thing here when all of it's grabbing for you attention, so it's only the pull of a nearby Host that has him drifting toward a particular storefront. The screens in the window show a sports game in high contrast colors, too bright to mistake for the real thing. ]
Who's winning? [ He stands to the side of the other Host, hands in his pockets. ]
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Concordia's favored sport was called "Zero-Ball" and it was fast, aggressive and entrancing. Unexpected.
He feels the other Host as they approach, drawn by the siren's call of their connection. This one, he doesn't recognize at face value. He's wiry of limb, but that alone doesn't mean that he should be dismissed. They all had hidden depths. Without exception. ]
Based on score, the team dressed in white is. [ He points them out. ] Personally, I favor those in blue.
[ Blue Team looks to be a little more conniving than White Team, based on their plays so far. If that says anything. ]
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Blue makes a play that has the announcers going back and forth over a call that's stopped the game while they go over a replay, interspersed with clips of the white team's coach speaking animatedly with a referee.
A light huff, one hand running through his hair, slipping behind his neck to rub at it. ]
Guess it's good to see some things don't change. [ People in any world get heated over sports. ]
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Yet, there's a certain nostalgia that hovers along the surface of his mind. Something soft, stirred up by the scene on the screens before him. ]
There is a game the children play in the winter. At sunrise one of the children will take a colorful scarf and go off into the wilds with it. From sunrise to sunset, the other children will search. If the child is not found by sunset, they are the victor. They remain the victor until they are found. [ a game of tracking and endurance, at best. ]
a million years later.... a short tag
it's been 82 yrs...
CRIES
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