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station722018-01-14 03:41 pm
polyphonos) wrote in station722018-01-14 03:41 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] i do not know much about gods
CHARACTERS: The Prince, Cathaway, Ty
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: DAY 035
SUMMARY: A mystery guest.
WARNINGS: N/A, will add if necessary.
[Universes unfold in a thousand places. Green things seed and bloom, metals oxidize, countless stars are born and burst, scattering their dust to a million distant worlds. Somewhere sisters are laughing; somewhere a boy strikes his head on a stone; somewhere a figure wrapped in turquoise and cloaked in gems climbs a tower; somewhere a clawed hand draws a sword and says, 'If lines will be crossed, there here is one' and levels the blade. In each of these places exists the smallest tear, and they are aligned overtop of one another by their identical pinprick. And in that hole, a void. And in that void, a Station.
Station 72 lies dormant, its labyrinthine corridors still. If this was a place dust settled easily, it might have done so by now. The only sound is a voice in the circular gardens, which reads:]
It seems, as one becomes older, that the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence— Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy encouraged by--
[Cathaway pauses, her hand idly wound in the dark strands of the Prince's hair. They've taken their meal in the garden and his head now rests there by her knee on a thick cushion brought from his own quarters. It's warm, a pleasantly lifelike bubble in this otherwise whisper quiet place. But now she too has stilled, her attention switching away as if it were never there at all. A light blinking out. A--
She snaps the book shut and lays it on The Prince's chest.]
There's a ship in the hangar.
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: DAY 035
SUMMARY: A mystery guest.
WARNINGS: N/A, will add if necessary.
[Universes unfold in a thousand places. Green things seed and bloom, metals oxidize, countless stars are born and burst, scattering their dust to a million distant worlds. Somewhere sisters are laughing; somewhere a boy strikes his head on a stone; somewhere a figure wrapped in turquoise and cloaked in gems climbs a tower; somewhere a clawed hand draws a sword and says, 'If lines will be crossed, there here is one' and levels the blade. In each of these places exists the smallest tear, and they are aligned overtop of one another by their identical pinprick. And in that hole, a void. And in that void, a Station.
Station 72 lies dormant, its labyrinthine corridors still. If this was a place dust settled easily, it might have done so by now. The only sound is a voice in the circular gardens, which reads:]
It seems, as one becomes older, that the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence— Or even development: the latter a partial fallacy encouraged by--
[Cathaway pauses, her hand idly wound in the dark strands of the Prince's hair. They've taken their meal in the garden and his head now rests there by her knee on a thick cushion brought from his own quarters. It's warm, a pleasantly lifelike bubble in this otherwise whisper quiet place. But now she too has stilled, her attention switching away as if it were never there at all. A light blinking out. A--
She snaps the book shut and lays it on The Prince's chest.]
There's a ship in the hangar.