[HATCH LOG] IS ANYONE THERE?

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day :150
SUMMARY: Today is the day you wake up.
WARNINGS: None; will edit if necessary.

A MOMENT AGO it seemed like you willingly took the hand of someone beckoning to safety.


NOW YOU WAKE UP in one of many chambers of Station 72’s nesting deck. If you had wounds, they’re (mostly) gone; if you had doubts they are - for the split second between dreaming and waking - gently reassured. This is correct. This is right. You’re safe here. The only question is what here is exactly.

The compartment you find yourself in is small, though gently padded for comfort with enough elbow and head -room to not be wholly claustrophobic. Still, it’s difficult to re-orient yourself; the best way to get to the chamber’s built in ladder and down to the smooth, polished white floor of the nesting is to simply roll over onto your belly and go out feet first.

First thing’s first though: get rid of that tube running from the rear wall of the chamber to the base of your skull. The moment you’ve done that, there’s the sensation like a rubber band popping - a string in your hand being jerked. The headache that punches in falls like the heavy end of a hammer - not serious, but surprisingly abrupt - as a of combination confusion, resolve, anxiety, certainty, delight, and fear and expectation finds you. In fades after a moment, churning to a low dull pressure and a faint hum. It’s feels like standing outside the door of a small party, sounds muffled and incomprehensible. Some pieces rise and swell above the others then fall again. Strain your ears and realize you’re hearing nothing at all.

On the plus side, you’re not hooked into the compartment anymore. Slide out and onto the ladder, though not too fast or you’ll miss the small cubicle built into the wall near the mouth of the chamber. In the cubicle are all the things you brought with you, every small piece you own of the home you left behind. There’s a neatly folded pair of something like white pajamas there as well. They’re definitely in your size, though you have the option not to wear them since you’re still in the clothes you left home in. Granted, for some of you that might not exactly be a blessing. Your clothes haven’t exactly been laundered or repaired, so best hope you didn’t bleed or sweat on them too much during your escape.

Sliding free from the chamber pod and stepping out onto the ladder, you’ll find yourself in an open space. The room is broad and pale and clean, its sloping walls featuring dozens and dozens of holes like the one you just wiggled out of. There are more ladders and a few other people climbing down, or stareing, or already down on the nesting deck’s floor but the sixteen - seventeen, including yourself - people present would hardly fill even a sixth of the room’s available accommodations.

The noise is louder when you near any of the others. It’s as if you've entered the party yourself. Identifiable now is the low wash of feelings, a hum of emotions that only serves to make the slight headache worsen. They feel genuine. They feel like they could belong to you. Still, that pressure in your head doesn't worry you --Shouldn't it worry you? Does worrying - about the headache, about the world and people you left behind, or the strange place you’re in now, the odd collection of people you’re with and the fact that you feel strangely drawn to five or six of them - make the headache better? Or worse?

If you manage to push the sound aside and listen with your true ears, you'd notice you can't hear anything besides this small group of fellow hosts: their footsteps, their oddly sharp breathing. There’s no sound of traffic, no wind in the trees, no birds, no hum of a ship. Only circulating air and silence.

You may not know what a brood is, but finding yours is easy. There are minds among these strangers that call to yours, their voices louder than the rest, their feelings sharper. The nearer to you they are, the more comfortable you feel. Is that strange? You don't know them, but you do. There are few answers to be found on the nesting deck.

Eventually you will have no choice but to head out of the room. There’s only one way out that you can see: up through a spiraling hallway that arches overhead. When it opens again the space seems slightly less alien. There are doorways of a kind lining the walls and each one opens to a small, nearly normal room. There are no doors, so it's easy to see all the rooms are vacant. In seventeen of them there are items neatly stacked on the bed. Most are hygiene supplies. Some of them - a toothbrush, comb, razor - may be familiar to you. Others less so. There's a flat horizontal ledge beside the bed with a small light and a single drawer. Another table, apparently built into the wall, sits across the room with a chair. A mirror is on the desk; it’s slightly mundane and not quite to the Station’s style.

This room is yours for the moment. It doesn't mean someone won't want to trade - or take. Beyond this life support deck stretches the rest of Station 72. It is quiet and and twisting and perfectly inert.

At its most familiar, the Station is merely a still, empty ship with broad chambers and gently mottled light. At its worst, it’s an Escher painting of strange angles and bizarre platforms that seems grown as much as built. There are many ways to many places and while it seems all doors and passages open to you, there’s an unshakeable feeling that the space doesn’t quite match up - that there’s even more to the Station which you can’t yet see. Don’t get lost!




For now, you reach the floor of the nesting deck. When you do, something blooms in your mind. A voice, disturbingly lacking any identifying traits but warm and comfortable like sweetened milk, says:

( ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬...There you are...▬▬▬..Welcome to Station 72 ▬▬. )

If you follow the thread of that voice, you’ll eventually find your way either to Cathaway on the bridge or The Prince in the training wing.

---

((OOC Notes: Welcome to Station 72! Feel free to check out the SETTINGS page for more information about the Station. If you have any questions about the setting itself, feel free to ask them there; otherwise, please direct all questions to either the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages.

Prince’s top level should be live in the evening! Keep an eye out for it if you want him to give your character the introduction spiel instead of Cathaway.

Happy hatchday, everyone! :) ))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

cathaway | rho-specialized npc

[polyphonos]

It takes a long time to reach the bridge. Or maybe it doesn't. The faint hum of the mind reaching out is louder by far than the Station's empty corridors, passages, lifts and doorways. Eventually, with enough persistence or an especially focused mind, you might find yourself making your way down a gently sloped passage. It's not an especially wide space, scarcely broad enough to permit three walking shoulder to shoulder, but the ceiling of the corridor stretches high enough that the light filtering in from above makes it difficult to tell just how much space is above your head. Eventually you reach a wall. In it is a narrow doorway. Beyond it is a starkly empty room and at the center of the strangely concise space is a middle aged woman with starkly greying hair. She is walking in a patient circle. With each step, the small metal charms on the fine jewlery chains wound in her wrap dress and up and down both arms jingle with a faint, melodious chime.

Cathaway doesn't stop pacing. She does, however, raise her eyes from the bridge's marble smooth floor and look at the new arrival (or arrivals, if you've brought a friend or five) in the doorway. She smiles.

"There you are."

Some piece of her voice sounds like the one that had called through the ship. It's not exact, but it is achingly familiar. Maybe that counts for something.


((ooc: prose or brackets is aokay!))

[erbier]

[ The lack of the natural world here disturbs Ilde, deeply. It is too quiet and too sterile. It feels as if there is nowhere to hide, nowhere to tuck herself away. It plucks at a deep anxiety inside of her: childhood spent running, spent hiding, spent scavenging. Even the little jingle of Cathaway's bracelet does little to soothe her, though she wishes that it would. It makes her think of the chimes in her trees.

She longs for her trees.

Until all of this she had not cried since she was a child, and now it almost feels as if she has somehow lost control, as if she is now crawling on the razor's edge between shattering outward and collapsing in on herself. Her voice is hoarse when she responds to Cathaway, ]

I will go mad.

[vocalis]

[ The headache hasn't left him yet. He's already taken a third of the pills Granny left him with, dry-swallowed them all down hard. Yeah he's impatient for them to kick in, but it's like they aren't working at all! Hadn't Granny said these were a stronger prescription? It's this place and the strange too-white lighting, bright like a hospital. There is leftover pain at the base of his skull from ripping the strange tube out, but it isn't compatible to all the noise in his head.

Though not all of it feels so unwelcome. There is pain, but also comfort. He hears it in the pacing woman's voice. ]

Me?

[ Aoba points to himself, awkwardly hovering in the narrow doorway. He'd been wandering, his regular clothes back on and bag packed like he's intending to find some way out. His heart pounds and vision flashes red after she speaks, another wave of pain washing over his senses to replace the relief it brought for one split second. ]

Tch.

[ Teeth clench as he grimaces, but he doesn't take his eyes away. He'd never seen anyone on Midorijima that looked like her, but her voice, he knows it from somewhere and he's sure of it. ]

Do I know you...?

[narcissithstic]

"You."

How sickeningly familiar, that voice (that face, even, which should make little sense, and yet--) enough that Ren's lip curls in a bitter sneer behind the plated, inhuman mask he wears. It isn't contempt that peppers his expression, but unfocused rage steeped for too long in worry, doubt, fear--

They would claim to have saved him, her voice, her...consciousness, the mass behind it, and yet the Supreme Leader is gone, wiped clean from his world: the only guiding presence he has ever known, and he feels gutted for it, standing before her covered in armor.

Entirely naked in his own skin.

[mercenares]

Focusing too much is something he's trying not to do, but he can't block it all out. He's too new to this to manage it, hasn't really adjusted yet. The faint call is a thing he follows because he'd like it to stop being distracting, and if he can't make himself stop noticing it... he'll just have to find where it's coming from.

And finally, it brings him here. Ares lingers in the doorway, slouching against the side of it with his arms folded while his eye curiously traces her path-- there's not even anything in here. Is there a point to this place at all?

"Yeah, so what do you want?"

His voice, like his posture, is casual; nothing else matches it. He doesn't know what to expect, doesn't really feel threatened by any of this but almost wants to. Then he'd know what to do about it.

[faul]

Yeah... I got stuck on a tube, sorry about that.

[ Any other day she would be taking the woman (woman?) down on the ground, quick and easy, and force her to answer. But she doesn't think it would work, and even worse, a part of her opposes, both because violence against her feels unnatural and because there is a silent warning being issued; do not even think someone like that can't fight back.

So semi-annoyed humor it is. For now. ]

I'm sure you tell that to all your kidnapees.

[insurrectum]

[ He keeps looking. For a way out. It is suffocating, to be here. He forces himself to have that notion. Forces himself to damper the calming peacefulness that this place brings. Like it is right to be here. Like he belongs. But Parker is a long time cynic and more than that, he has always been stubborn. Not the kind of stubborn stories tells of their heroes that make them determined. No, he is the stubborn that leaves others pulling hair because he does not listen and then shit hits the fan. He is a continuous turmoil of stubbornness.

So, he keeps walking. Keeps looking. For a place he really belongs. Not here, he grits his teeth, as his insides turn at the idea of not belonging here. Like some kind of misplaced idea.

Something about this makes a sickness coil around his throat.

His hand, dirty, harsh, runs along the wall of the corridor. A flicker of hope, burning bright. It pulses as the path stretches. An exit, he thinks. Somewhere he can leave. His other hand grips his bag tighter and he rushes down the path until-- until he does not find an exit, but a woman.

He stops, abrupt. Leans his shoulders back, defensive and his open mouth closes in a sour expression. He likes-- no, hates the way her voice is so familiar. Doesn't want to place it in the sensation of safety, even if it is trying to push it towards her. He grits his teeth. Curls his lip. ]

What the hell is this? [ A forceful demand. Takes a tentative step back. Pushing her back. He doesn't want her near. Regardless of what the fluttering in his chest says, he doesn't. ]

[snippycup]

[Even with the persistent ring of calm, there's an underlining sense of disturbance -- whether its the Force or the persistent noise that she doesn't recognize is impossible to tell, but its hard to settle. The stress of the events shortly before her rescue, among other things, was still settling among everything else.

So the warmth that is Cathaway's calling draws her seeking self -- she'd always been used to being held up by a community or by others, until very recently. The thought of being alone is--a terrible thought, right now, even if it means trusting a stranger.

Master Skywalker had always told her to trust her instincts. So when the voice echoes familiar, she's almost relieved. Almost.]

Were you...looking for me?

[It feels like a stupid question, enough that she has to bring her hand up to her head and pinch the skin between her eyes.]

Nevermind. Forget I said anything--sorry.

[whowhatnow]

Here I...am?

[He doesn't mean to come off as confused. But honestly, he doesn't know what to say. He can't tear his eyes away from her. A part of him pushes him forward, because she seems familiar, she seems right, she seems like some weird personification of his destiny...and yet another part of him almost wants to run away, skittish, too frightened of what she could possibly offer him. He had a life. A stolen life, yes, but he liked it. He never wanted to abandon it so quickly for...her. Whoever she is.]

[He tries to find his voice, and momentarily can't. He digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket, too many questions burning through his mind. Finally, he finds enough courage to state some of them, giving her a serious look that doesn't quite fit his boyish face.]

...What is all of this? What did you do to me?

[apoptotic]

[ he expected something stranger. some creature he could only imagine to match the nightmarish and imaginary that has marked every moment since he awoke to red eyes. away from the dragon, anakin could think it a figment for how suddenly, how impossibly it came on. then the smell of smoke fills his nostrils and padmé's scream rings in his ears and he must keep his hands fisted at his sides for fear of breaking anything. ]

And you are? [ abrupt, not smiling, but for the moment willing to engage. he thinks her the voice he followed. the one he did not hear, which only his knowledge of the force keeps to this side of abnormal.

moreover, she is standing in the bridge. she seems to be expecting him — or any who would seek her out. anakin presumes her a leader of sorts, meaning she is his best opportunity to learn of what happened after he was rescued. to send a message back. he only needs to know of padmé and the baby, he needs to know — ]

lexa | the 100 | ota!

[adamance]

arrival

[Lexa knows why she came here. Having that rolling feeling that reassures her makes it easier for her to remember, but the rest is unfamiliar. Her surroundings are nothing like anything she's seen before in her life, the feeling in the back of her neck is like something she's felt before, and she works quickly to remove it before she sets out. Her fingers trace over her neck where the chip is located to ensure that it's still safe, and that it's still secure. (It is.) The chip is why she's here. Her protection over her own life is not as secure as it should be, but she has to protect the chip. The odds that those things may have done something to retrieve it were too high. She knew that. She knows that.

As someone so controlled, so trained in the ability of bringing a wall up around her emotions to keep them away, the wave of unfamiliar ones startles her as she reaches the floor with the others. Having grabbed both her sword and dagger on the way down, she looks almost like she's about to go on the attack as she backs into a wall. These emotions are both suffocating and unfamiliar. No matter how much happiness she just had with Clarke, she's too accustomed to barring herself from feeling certain things. And she can't control these, because they aren't hers.

Being drawn to people only makes her more wary. The emotion she gives off is contempt, with large waves of anxiety because of the lack of control. She may have been saved, but at what cost? Immediately, Lexa is reminded of what she knows of the inside of the Mountain (though she knows little outside of Clarke's descriptions). The sterile appearance makes her angry, and it shows through the narrowing of her eyebrows and tightening of her jaw.

Her back presses tighter against the wall, and she refuses the call to the trainers. For now.]

Someone explain.

later: the circle gardens

[Desperate to find something familiar to her, but very aware that it's unlikely, she sets out through the Station in search of anything like the world she came from. There are aspects of memories that remind her of this place, but they're faint dreams from the first Commander, and she's never fully understood them for what they are. No, what she thinks of is the inside of Camp Jaha (now Arkadia) and the inside of the Mountain. She thinks of what she knows of these places, and how disparate this Station is from the world she's known her entire life.

Simply put: Lexa is having a bit of a culture shock.

Dagger in a sheathe at her side, she ends up finding the gardens before long. They're still artificial compared to the woods where she came from, but there's some comfort in the greenery and life available there. Her entire body seems to relax for the first time since she arrived, mind focused on trying to drink up some hint of familiarity among what otherwise isn't familiar.

Still, she's alert, and the moment she hears someone beside her, her hand is on her dagger and her feet are spinning her around with the weapon extended.] Don't sneak up on me, [she chides, even if they didn't do that. Her eyes are bright yet angry, as she observes this person.]

closed: even later, with clarke

[The lack of privacy frustrates Lexa. She's used to having secrets, many of a political nature, and many because she sends out spies to do her work for her. No matter how many battles she prefers to fight alone, she knows that she can't do absolutely everything.

In the hallway, she had spotted Clarke, but noticing the lack of privacy, the overwhelming emotions, and the hint of distaste, she had mustered up the ability to send a hint of recognition in her direction and nothing more. Lexa counted on the mixed up feedback from the others to cover what she felt for Clarke (because unlike the contempt she felt for the others there with her, she felt great love for Clarke, and great hope in her being here and alive).

It wasn't the first time they had been forced to abandon their people together, but this time, it's different. At least, she hopes it's different. The lack of control she has over this situation disorients her. Lexa is accustomed to having her finger on the pulse of everything surrounding her, and if not, then she usually has a solution available—either she comes up with one, or Titus is quick to follow. Here, there is none of that. But at least there is Clarke.

It's only after seeking answers, after learning the full depth of what's happening here, that she seeks Clarke out again, fingers pulling her into the depths of Clarke's claimed room so that they can speak with as much imagined privacy as they can manage. Lexa looks more alert than she likes to be with Clarke, as there is no covering for this room. Her muscles are tense, like she's quick to attack. Clarke has seen this look on Lexa a number of times, but of late, it's rarely been in her presence.

She swallows, closing her eyes. The first words she speaks betray her tension, and it's almost like relief wafts off of her for the first time since their time together back in Polis:] I'm ... glad you're here, Clarke. Not as a target, but alive. Safe. [She does not place Clarke above her people, but at least she's here.

Lexa only wishes she weren't encumbered by this situation, and thrown in with all the unfamiliarity associated with it.]

Gardens

[faul]

Please, if I wanted to sneak up on you--

[ She stops herself. Breathes. Not the time to get in a petty argument. ]

Okay, sorry. We're all on edge right now. I'm just wandering, this place doesn't make any sense.

[ She's keeping her eyes on that dagger though. ]

steve rogers | castor brood (open!)

[decommission]

i. CHAMBER PODS

[ No belongings came with him. He's shoeless, toes curling around the rungs of the ladder as he makes his way down to the ground level.

He should be taking in the sights on his way, all wide-eyed and wary, if not for the humming in his head, gray and threatening the edges of his vision. His mouth is dry and his skin is damp. He doesn't drink, not often, and this sensation is why - but liquor's not to blame. The sterile walls and nearly soundless room make it worse, there's nothing to fix his senses on to orient himself - or there is, but he instinctively resists the pull of it without considering why. The bodies around him are magnets, his gaze sliding over some and fixing on others. He stares at the ground, his shoulders and face lined with tension.

He remembers how he got here, as unbelievable as it was - for better or worse, here is no dream-like quality to the memory, and his mind doesn't try to reject or reshape it as anything else (it doesn't seem strange to him, which should seem strange). Science fiction brought to cold, unforgiving life. The blood on his t-shirt is dark and dry, the fabric torn in the back and the bottoms of his pants muddied. Agent Carter, Dr. Erskine - he'd parted with both earlier to meet them in the morning - he closes his eyes for three seconds, sees a man's face ( a man in uniform, face blanched and eyes wide, staring back - ) - and turns to place his clammy palm against a sleek white wall, releasing the contents of an empty stomach.

(he'd been fasting for his procedure). ]

ii. REC WING + LIFE SUPPORT

[ The problem with wandering all the way toward this section of the ship is that he's got some doubts as to whether he'll be able to figure out the path back. Ship is a funny word for the place. It's got the claustrophobia of a sub (he imagines), but in more space than Grand Central. It's disorienting.

And this room is even more strange.

He passes a library toward another open section, equipment recognizable and otherwise strewn about. His attention is quick to fix on the former, and he finds himself bending down to pick up a discarded ball. The leather, once bright white, is now various shades of dark grey and brown, the red laces torn on one side. Would've matched him earlier, but he's since changed into a clean shirt and slacks.

He picks at the leather, running his thumb over the rough edges where it's broken apart. When he hears footsteps (wants to think he hears them, rather than feels them), and he straightens, turning toward the sound. ]

Half expect to walk through a door and find a whole damn field. [ He eyes the newcomer, than the baseball in his hand, turning it around in his palm.

Almost everything in here has signs of some wear, and the leather didn't get muddied from these sterile halls.

Later, he can be found in the barracks - Life Support. His short time in basic has left him accustomed to sparse, open sleeping arrangements, though he's a little surprised when he notices there's no obvious separation between where the genders are situated. Some part of him find no trouble with this - the same part of him that finds no trouble with any of this, but for the first time today he makes no attempt to buck against its attempts to sooth.

He slips his shirt off, his hand trailing over a spot on his chest that's bruised in a spattering of heavy purples and light green. Not surprisingly, it hurts when he pokes at it. After a minute of that he stands in front of the mirror on the desk, turning around and trying to get a good look at the matching bruise on his back, mottled and dark.

( - dark, dirt and rocks digging into his feet, something hits him in the side like a truck - ) ]

( OOC note: First come first serve for the CHAMBER PODS prompt, but the second prompt is open to multiple replies. The parts in ( italics ) are specific memories that can be mentally picked up by anyone walking by. Permissions are here! )

CHAMBER PODS

[erbier]

[ His physical aching is almost a relief. It is something she understands, that deep panging hunger in him from his fast, the revolt of his body after such an... exertion. She draws closer to him, because how can she not, and she is untroubled by the bile on the white floors, thin and yellow. She lays at hand on his back, her presence is not exactly comforting, not quite a reassurance but a solidarity.

She aches too. Her heart and her mind and her body aches and this place is strange.

And his sickness is, at least, something real. Something tangible that she understands.

Ilde Vilmaine is a pretty twenty year old girl, her features astonishingly well-composed except for in her eyes which are wet and red from crying. ]

Prince + Iota-Specialized NPC

[regalled]

[Past the Nesting Deck, past the Life Support the station begins to open. Two paths split, each leading to more. It is a great, monstrous thing, too big by far, too quiet, too empty. It should be more uncomfortable than it is, more lonely than it feels.

It has been lonely, but the noise from the new Hosts now eliminates any lingering feeling of emptiness from the Station. It can be overwhelming for those unaccustomed to the volume and intensity, unused to sharing more than they meant, to receiving more than they wanted. For those who chose not to follow the warm call of the voice in their mind, for those who wish to find silence and the smallest amount of privacy, who turn away from the hall that beckons and instead head towards the silence, they will find themselves, eventually, in the Training Wing.

And near the entrance, seated on a bench that pushes out from a low wall is a man. Unlike the rest of the strangers, the ones who reach and claw and cling to you, he is quiet. And unlike them he fits in to the space. His uniform bears similar lines, the stark grey and white broken only by the pop of violet in the form of a cape, a streak in his hair that seems incongruous both with the maturity settled in the lines of his face and the gravity of his presence.

It is clear you've come across him at work, a pad in his hands, something between a tablet and a clip-board, and he takes the time to find a stopping point before he looks up, expression mild and distant. With a nearly imperceptible gesture the pad folds, neatly and automatically into a small card-sized rectangle which he slips into a slit in the wall beside him before he stands to meet you, tall and broad and steady.]

You've awoken.

[It's not quite a greeting, but it might be the closest you're going to get.]

[decommission]

I'm not the only one.

[ His eyes had been following the stranger's hands, now they're fixed on his face - narrowed slightly and jaw set. His body is wrapped in tension, as if he can somehow physically reject acclimating to his new setting. And wary now too, given that every other time he's encountered someone it's been... well, louder.

He'd stopped his approach more than a handful of paces away. The uniform gives him pause, or maybe something about the way the guy is holding himself. ]

Who're you? [ Besides not someone who just woke up. ]

Romy | Adara | OTA

[faul]

STARTED FROM THE BOTTOM ( ARRIVAL )

[ The first thing she does when she wakes up is feel the spell tattooed under her right breast. It flares for a moment, and then her skin takes the color of the living, and her eyes "glow down" to a regular stunning intensity. The second thing she does is yank the thing at the back of her head, pick her stuff (and repair her tattered clothes with magic) and crawl out.

The sudden increasing of the noise shocks her for a moment, but she soon realizes what's going on. Knowing doesn't make her any happier about it. Something's funny with her mind. She can't tell what exactly, but is wrong. The people around seem as lost as her, but she can't trust them, not without knowing what's going on.

Still, she ends up gravitating closer to someone, but no words come from her. She's content with being a creep that hovers for now. ]

NOW WE'RE HERE ( BRIDGE )

Well, this is disappointing.

[ She's still going to inspect the bridge anyway, passing a hand through the smooth surface of the walls that make up the place. She can feel something tugging in her mind, but it's beyond her what it could mean. It feels a bit like staring at something too big and rooted on the ground to move, but she's not sure she wants to move it anyway.

Just for the heck of it, she claps twice. The lights don't go out. ]

Huh.

ZOMBIE ON THE TRACK ( TRAINING WING )

[ When in doubt, hit something. Hit all the things, for as long as you can, because you can.

There are dummies, mats and even equipment to get things going, so Romy doesn't waste time wondering about the ship for the time being. Now it's the time to get tired for a while and pretend she can still work up a sweat.

It's going to take a while and several punching bags to calm her down. ]

(training wing)

[mercenares]

[She's not the only one with that idea. Ares finds his way to the training wing after a while, searching for something to do to try to ignore all of the distraction in his head-- he just needs something else to focus on, because blocking it off himself sure isn't working.

He hangs back at first, hands tucked into his pockets while he watches Romy; she's one of the ones who seems to be louder to him, more present, and he's already sort of wondering whether this is the best idea. (On the other hand, is he really going to let something like that make him leave? That's dumb. He's not giving up that fast.)

After a moment he takes a few steps closer, while the bird accompanying him flutters up to a different perch.]

Guess you got bored too, huh?

[It's not really boredom, not according to the thoughts that go along with it. Less like 'just got bored', more like 'needed to get away'.]

Kylo Ren | OTA

[narcissithstic]

I: AWAKENING

[His robes are damaged. The scent of burned cloth and boiled blood still clings to the tear that runs from its formerly high collar down to the jut of his shoulder, fortune found only in the fact that he's been left his cowl - unharmed and too easily draped about his neck to mask healing scars and bare, flecked skin. His jaw works-- tense and apprehensive-- as he peers into the milky shine of a nearby panel, struggling with the grim sight of his own reflection. Impossible to tell if the distortion comes from perception alone, or if his festering wound truly has marred the set of his otherwise sharp features. Uneasiness curdling in his gut like a poison as the seconds tick on, no longer spurred by delusion or urgency, fostered instead by growing noise that reverberates-- resonates-- within his bones like the Force should, or does still, he can't be certain--

It was better with death clawing at his skin, or the tube boring into his skull. It was supposed to have been salvation. Promise. The dreams that stuck between his teeth all his life like something more lurked ever-present beyond his reach. This is not that craved glory: bliss bleeds from him, hatred pools at the sight of his own face, and Ren is too quick to retrieve the mask and fix it firmly over pale features, drowning in the familiar sensation of claustrophobic plating. Better.

Better.

From there he finds his room. 'His' room. Too many years spent within whispers and echoes make it all too easy to trust the information that clings to him without a voice to accompany it, muddied now by that weighted din. A universe pinned down with fleeting, charged input. The more time passes, the worse it feels: like he's twelve again, barely capable of calling the Force to him without it going brittle and wild. Sets him to pacing, one gloved hand dragged along the misshapen corridor walls as a bitter brace, fingertips curled into claws, temples raging with a livid headache.

No matter how he mentally reaches out-- and he does, with increasingly violent determination-- Snoke does not respond.

Has he been abandoned? Has he failed - fallen to a moment of poor, hopeful judgment?

Another twisted corridor, echoing with air and light and the false promise of peace. Another rolling wave of discontent scrabbling desperately for a foreign mind to cling to, ricocheting with as much oppressive force as Kylo Ren can muster: if another soul lives beyond the few he'd initially ignored in his stupidity and ebbing bliss, they would answer him. They would tell him everything.]

II: AFTER THE STORM

[The gardens are like the green he remembers from his childhood. Curling over himself beneath the shade of something alien and vibrant grants a brief reprieve from his own running anxiety and fear, taking the edge off like a balm for his senses, and it's impossible to know whether it's a feeling that truly belongs to him, or proximity tied to the symbiote that now curls beneath his skin. He does not resent it, nor does he reject the reality it brings, but programming conflicts within the confines of his skull: his actions would not bring the Supreme Leader contentment or pride - does it make him a traitor, then? A deserter to everything he'd ever held dear, no better than a defective, broken trooper spun on his own heel? Back and forth it rolls until exhausted attention turns instead to the vast, tangled network that exists within his reach. The shifting shapes that mull throughout the rest of the gardens, half-hidden by the point where the Force and his symbiote meet, working to understand how the two could possibly coexist. Like learning how to breathe again, like struggling to walk - for a moment he feels broad and vast and clear, fingers raised and outstretched, focused on discovery rather than contempt.

A beacon on that landscape, framed by vibrant, emerald green.

―Come here.]

[ooc: Kylo Ren is, even at the best of times, an unpleasant handful to deal with. For more details on his mental state or the way the Force might feel should your character connect to him (and it by proxy) his info post is located here. Without the safety net of its close comfort and control where the symbiotic network interferes, he's having a bad time in spite of any soothing thoughts - think of a professional F1 driver having to learn how to simply sit behind the wheel of a car again.]

[erbier]

[ Of course she is in the garden. It is her place, her sanctuary from the terror and suffering of the world. Dreus had brought her there out of the wreckage and given her a place and a purpose. A violent, poisonous sun who had shown on her with affection, and she had filtered that affection into her work. Had coaxed life and love from her garden despite his cruelties, which he shared with them all in such honesty. She had barely been able to stop her crying until she had finally found her way here, and now with her hands and her feet and the hems of her white clothes turned the color of dirt, she at last has some measure of peace.

She steps out from between the great green reaching leaves at his summons. Her expression cooly thoughtful, although the salt tracks down her cheeks belie that she has taken this change no easier than anyone else. She hesitates, his name on the tip of her tongue, but why would she know that... She shakes it away, running a hand through her hair, winding dirt into the strands without caring. ]

Be calm, you will disturb the plants.

[ And by her own God does she mean that, it is not meant to soothe him but them. ]

Aoba Seragaki | DRAMAtical Murder | Adara Brood OTA

[vocalis]

I. First Murder cw: robot pet 'death'

[ It's some time after he wakes, before Aoba comes down from his slot in the wall. He remembers what happened, and as much hard denial as he carries in his mind, there is no denying those final, terrifying moments on Midorijima and what he agreed to do about it. No room for doubt when he looks out and sees for himself the alien reality he's woken to. But reflection on what has happened and what is about to happen is not what keeps him from joining the noise (the silence) that calls him below.

Ren is not responding. A sense of panic radiates from his small chamber and replaces all comfort the symbiote offers as he tries and tries again to turn the little blue allmate on. Despair quickly settles in as each attempt fails. It's some time after he wakes, before Aoba comes down to join the others, because he's been crying.

It makes the headache that's spreading through the nerves in his hair so much worse. He's too heartsick to care if the pain is spreading through the network. When he's finally down the ladder and re-dressed in his garish neon blues, he's barely responsive. Cleaned up, eyes dried on his puffy sleeves but still red around the edges, and head throbbing.

Yes all of this is strange, out of this world, whatever you want to call it. It's confusing, it's too loud, it's too silent, it's making him dizzy, and what does any of it matter when his best friend isn't coming back online? Despite everything and everyone around, Aoba only has one question in foggy mind, and it's so loud over the symbiotic network he hardly needs to ask.

How do I fix my friend here?

Except it comes out- ]

Do you know if there's a computer around here I can borrow?

[ The two are related, really. ]


II. Boarding

[ There doesn't seem to be much he can do for Ren right now, and being heartsick isn't going to help him get over this headache. It's one of the worst he's had in a while, and for once it isn't his fault... at least not entirely. Aoba's already swallowed a third of the pills Granny left him with. They aren't helping.

He wanders to try and clear his mind of the noise and the silence all at once, making his way up the arching passageway to the hall of bedrooms. He doesn't like this place. It's too much like a hospital, (too much a reminder of the accident that put him there and made Granny worry so). Maybe he slept too much in that hole, or it's just his eyes feeling heavy from the crying he did earlier.

But he can't lay down or relax, not with the door wide open like that. Aoba sits on the edge of the bed, holding his head and mess of blue hair in his hands. The next time he feels sees someone about to walk past, he calls out to them, voice friendly but a bit forced- ]

Hey... could you maybe close the door for me? Thanks.

[ He hasn't noticed the lack of doors yet. ]


III. Wildcard

Let me know if there's something else you'd like to do with Aoba! Check out his permissions here!

( boarding. or should i say... BROOading. heh. )

[insurrectum]

[ He has been walking in circles, or so it feels like it. Everything is pale and clean. Everything is in order. He is not used to this. He is accustomed to chaos and destruction, to dirt and grime. To noise and darkness. To the smell of putrid flesh and hospital beds.

In here, there is no scent. It makes him uneasy, even when there is a voice telling him in a comforting lullaby it is not. He wants to shake it off. Push it away. Get it off of him. And yet, he can't. Like something that sticks to you, a tick, a thorn, glue. It is a buzz that is only screaming louder as he walks past a door (was loud even before he passed by, even before he took that direction and he wanted to veer away from it, but somehow ended up close anyway). He stops at the entrance, a dirty thing, black against white, dirt and blood under his fingernails, dry blood splattered unevenly over his pale skin and his black clothes. His hand around his rucksack, the other in the pocket of his jacket. He stands there, back stiff and straight. Uncomfortably close to this kid. Like he is breathing over his ear, but they are too far apart for it to be like that.

He feels safe. He feels sick. He wants it to stop. ]

What door.

[ The same tone of "you are an idiot". ]

Ares | Adara brood | wide open!

[mercenares]

(arrival)

[He's dealing with everything the same way he usually does: by not dealing with it. Trying not to think about it too hard, to ignore the headache and the noise in his head in favor of just grabbing his stuff and moving.

There's no caution in the way he climbs down the ladder, skipping steps and sliding a bit until he's close enough to the floor to hop down-- the crow on his shoulder lets go and flutters after him, settling back in with a grumbly little caw that he barely notices. It's hard to pay attention to any one specific thing in the midst of the louder noise and feelings, grasping for them and losing them just as quickly, and he stops to buckle his sword belt into place as an excuse to stay still for a moment. Try to adjust.

Trying to block it out is harder than he expects it to be, but he's less unsettled than he probably should be, too. He's not sure how he's supposed to feel about that; he reaches up to rub at his face, make sure his hair's tousled into its usual style (which isn't a style at all, it's just- hanging over half his face, pretty much.) The crow stays perched where it is, watching silently.]

Jeez, keep it down, would you? I totally could've slept more...

[Or he assumes that he was sleeping, anyway. He definitely can't now. There's a restless energy coming from him even though his stance is casual and relaxed, telegraphed without him quite realizing it-- Ares is definitely antsy under the surface, and further below that, uncertain.

If you haven't found a reason to regret 1. sharper senses or 2. being in a room with these people, here's your reason. It's been something along the lines of weeks since this guy last saw soap. (Look, in the middle of a war, showers are not remotely on his priority list.)]

(rooming)

[He doesn't stay in the chamber long, hoping to get a little more peace and quiet (and less distraction) somewhere else. Where he's going... well, he figures that's a problem that'll solve itself. He'll know where he wants to stop again when he gets there.

When Ares comes across the rooms, he peers into a couple before claiming one for himself. Sure, he doesn't have anything he's comfortable leaving behind except for the weird clothes that had been left with him, but they'll do as a marker for now-- if anyone has a problem, he'll just fix that. It shouldn't be hard, right?

Thanks to the lack of doors, it's easy enough to come across Ares thinking out loud as he goes through the items on the bed, talking to himself while he sets most of them aside.]

-nah, not gonna need that, or that... dunno what that is... this is just gonna take up space...

[The 'unnecessary stuff' pile is-- well, most of it. Basically all of the hygiene supplies. It's not like he's going to use them, and besides, he can just borrow things from other people if he really needs to, right? (Nevermind 'during a war', showers are actually on his priority list 'never'.)

He glances back to the open doorway when he picks up on someone else nearby, addressing them abruptly.]

If they were gonna leave us stuff, they could've made it less boring. Think it's the same in all of these?

[Did he just come across somebody else's stuff? It's a definite possibility.]

[decommission]

[ BLINK BLINK BLINK ]

Uh - [ Steve's bent down, picking up a discarded toothbrush. ] I got one in mine. [ He straightens, inspecting it from about two inches in front of his face, looking for something wrong with it because... ] You sure you don't want this?

[ Did he bring a toothbrush with him? ]

ahsoka tano | ota

[snippycup]

Awaken (Pods)

[Her awakening is not pleasant. Rising from a world doused in fire while being held helpless in suppressor cuffs, her panic is quick even when cased in a glass tube. The calm that washes over her is sudden and both natural and unnatural, so much that it feels like it almost isn't even occurring within her space, but as if she's watching someone else be calmed in her place.

A lift of her hands shows that the cuffs have been removed, which allows her to indulge in the calm that's being pushed on her by--whatever is happening. For a long time, longer than feels correct, she lays there breathing and staring. There's a fog that won't allow her to process--anything. Anything she perceives as stressful refuses to be called to the front of her mind. And after a while, she must bite her lip and work her way free.

The pop startles her, puts her on the defensive before that calm happens again, a warm sort of mental slime that she doesn't want to accept. Its like the Force, and yet feels as a separate entity. Rather than think too much about it, she forces herself to begin her almost mindless descent down the ladder.]

Bridge

[Everything feels like its moving slower, like she's carrying some new weight that makes her feel heavy, pressed in by the strange sensation of -- something else. The sound is driving her mad, a new transcendence of hearing that goes beyond the echolocation her people are naturally capable of.

She had hoped leaving that strange pod room would make her feel more comfortable, or that it would give her more answers than she had. It hadn't.

Being near people should be comforting, but it feels -- different, not like it used to. All of these people (most of them, she thinks -- there might be at least one familiar mind among the Many) are strangers to her, and yet she feels the need to hover and stay for a time, like spending more time in their presence will make her feel...better.

But she knows better. Nothing here, not even this weird...connection is going to heal the hole in her heart. Was this supposed to be the answer? To start over with this--colony? Or whatever it was?

It doesn't sit well with her.]

Flight Hanger

[Even Ahsoka, who's natural inclination is to be near a familiar group of people at all times, has found herself overwhelmed by everything going on in her headspace and around her. Even if the layout of the ship is alien, every worthy vessel had a flight deck, and that's where she's learned to feel most at home even when she's lost.

She spends her time walking the length of it, occasionally stopping when one ship or another catches her interest to further inspect its engines. Or perhaps you've managed to catch her just as she tries to climb upward in order to check out the cockpit without actually attempting to climb inside.

Her thoughts spark to life the second she gets a good look at anything, full of comparisons and excitement that fills the strange hole that had been there just moments ago. And if she remains uninterrupted for a long enough period of time, then she might be trying to climb inside places she shouldn't be climbing into.

Maybe you should stop her? (Or encourage her, if you're feeling frisky).]

flight simulator 2016

[narcissithstic]

[In terms of overwhelming stimuli, Kylo Ren is reeling from more than the taxing trial of his own relocation: his encounter with Cathaway had been crippling and enlightening in equal, uncomfortable amounts; the Force runs muddy through his veins, tangled up in the symbiotic network that still feels too wrong to his precalibrated mind.

Meaning the clatter of a child clambering up across alien scaffolding is intrusion enough well before he senses the faint draw of something more...

Like a pulled thread, his footfalls bring him ever closer, stalking just beneath the overhang where Ahsoka's fingers strain to carry her weight-- or more accurately her curiosity-- that much higher. Unlike a select few aboard the station, they are not bound to one another by the creatures beneath their skin, but it is with a more familiar tether that he finds his thoughts stretching for the girl's consciousness.

A test of sorts, if ever one could exist with the Force little more than a faint pulse in his veins.]

Nathaniel Horn | Brood Shaula | ota

[whowhatnow]

ARRIVAL

[For a beautiful moment, just lying here, he feels good. He feels comfortable. Like nothing could ever be wrong, that this is where he belongs. And that all gets taken away so abruptly when he pulls the tube out of his neck.]

[He almost reels from the abrupt screech of emotions that start to pound in his head. It takes him a moment to collect himself (and really actually collect himself, last time he remembered he was a melting pile of flesh and bone so he's happy to feel he's pretty much human-shaped and solid again). Though the noise in his head has died down to a low hum, Nathaniel has a feeling that it will, most likely, never go away. He doesn't know how to feel about that.]

[He finds his clothes, though the shirt and pants are burnt. His light green jacket isn't in too bad a shape though, so after he dresses in the white pajamas, he puts it on, too. Nice. He looks ridiculous, but he really doesn't mind.]

[He makes his way down to the open area, eyes poring over the people around him. One doesn't even need to read his mind to see how curious he is, how eager he is to understand what is going on. There's a hint of wariness and confusion, too, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him from approaching some of the others with a friendly expression on his face.]

So, this is some kind of party, huh? I could really go for some confetti and cake, honestly.

[He's not being serious - it's obvious he's trying to lighten the mood a little.]


WANDERING

[People are interesting and all, but Nathaniel feels the itch to explore. He really hopes that the rest of the station isn't the same as that room - the cleanliness rubs him the wrong way. It reminds him of a life he left a long time, where things had to be orderly and controlled. Add that to the fact that others can rummage around in his head, and he's not sure he's liking any of this.]

[But still, he'll give this a chance. Maybe it'll even be better than the life he left behind, even though a part of him feels upset that he got himself into this in the first place. But taking this was literally a case of life and death, and honestly? He's happy to be alive right now.]

[He can be found wandering the hallways, whistling a cheerful, if rather annoying tune as he does so. Occasionally, he stops and looks around, pausing in his whistling to click his tongue in slight disappointment.]

Man, this is kind of boring.


POOL

[Sooner or later, he finds something not so boring at all: the swimming pool in the training wing.]

[Anyone who comes by the pool later might be very alarmed to see Nathaniel just resting on his stomach by the poolside, his head completely dunked underneath the water. Is he drowning? Is he...dead? He doesn't seem to be moving, and he hasn't moved in a long time.]

[Approach him, and you will find that he is, in fact, very much alive...and he's laughing underwater, to boot, if the bubbles coming up around his head are any indication.]

[He lifts his head out of the water just a tad to take a look at his fellow pool visitor, extra eyelids blinking sideways over wide, yellowish eyes. It looks like he has a nice pair of gills on the sides of his neck, too.]

Oh, come out to try the water, too? [He says, casually, as if he wasn't just dunking his head in it like a weirdo.] It's really nice.

pool

[adamance]

[In her discomfort upon her arrival, Lexa had tried to ignore the range of emotions (or lack thereof) projected by Nathaniel. In that hallway, she had felt drawn to him, but had felt that he was nearly the antithesis of her. Calm, relaxed, but curious and wary—as the Commander of her people, she can't risk being any of those things. She's all brittle edges, and any moments of happiness always verge on stolen moments that she likely should not have for herself.

It's not that she's a stranger to happiness. In fact, prior to her arrival, she had felt a great deal of lightness and happiness. But again, it was a stolen moment, one framed by the oppressive need to take care of her people to ensure their constant survival.

But he had been someone marked as a person to avoid. Until she found answers, that is. Now armed with knowledge from Prince and some idea about the similarity of experiences with the rest of the Hosts, she allows herself to explore, and to follow any of the familiar calls that she might have. When she happens upon him, her face is calm and neutral. She isn't judging him in the least, but she also definitely isn't giving off any impression of being there for the pool.

(She's seen basins like this back home, surrounded by fauna and largely destroyed. It's weird to see one filled with water, and to see water ... wasted in this way.)]

I came to find you, actually. [Lexa emanates with a sense of purpose. The brood gives off the same feeling she has for her people, which makes her uncomfortable (and there's a hint of that right now). That means she has to get it under control and become accustomed to it.]

parker ( iota, adara brood )

[insurrectum]

(( Hi. This is Parker. He hates everything already. I'm so sorry in advance. He will actively try to push everyone away from his mind and block it all. You know, like a child holding their breath because they hate broccoli. ))

( ARRIVAL. ) A WILD PARKER APPEARS! PARKER USES LEER!

[ The awakening comes like any other in the pods; gentle. But it is only for a split second that it is like so. A heaviness hits him with the strength of a nauseating train and his whole body tenses as a flood of memories explodes at the front of his brain. The blood rushes. He feels it pulse angrily in the roof of his mouth. Rippling through him like a violent sea. The fleeting bit of memory, like you have before going to sleep. You can't remember, but you know it happened. The stairs, the bag. The bag. His antidote. His heart rushes. Something frets, then tries to calm him down. His conscience, maybe, but he does not listen to him. How long was he out? He panics, looks down at his arms - jacket stained with blood and soot. He tries to move. Something pins him to his place and he winces, gags a sound of discomfort. Like something holding him back. He carefully feels around, to let his fingers find a tube going into his head. There's a duality struggling inside. Part of him trying to calm down. His stubbornness claiming for fear. His breathing uneven, he slowly pulls it out. It doesn't hurt, but it makes him feel sick, the sensation of it.

It is when he slides out of the tube that he notices the weight on his shoulders and he grabs at it. He has his bag. Heavy enough to know what he values the most is inside. He pushes past the white, clean clothes, a stark contrast to his black ones, dirty and caked with dry blood.

The humming in his head is unsettling. He makes another noise, a sound of-- almost pain. He holds a hand to his head. Presses the heel of his palm to his forehead. Trying to push it away. Stop it. Someone comes. He takes a step back and stares at them. Hard. He wants answers but he's not sure how to begin. ]

( ROOMING. ) ALIENS DON'T KNOW DOORS

[ It is too loud.

Parker nearly vomits from the noise. He wants to get away from it, even if his legs are leading him to a corner - away from a group to another one. Like instinct rather than mindless wandering. But, he stops himself. Whispering voices, not really voices, images. He forces himself to stop and it is almost like denying himself of satisfaction. His shoulders tense and his hand grips around the handle of his rucksack hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He presses past them, careful distance, and into the rooms. He hates that there are no doors. Bullshit. Even in a wasteland crawling with undead they still had right to privacy.

He stops halfway into one of the doorways when he crosses eyes with another person. Jaw tensing. Unhappy. ]

What? [ Rude. Brisk. Brusque. Like it's their fault he's here. ]

( WE ROLLIN'. ) AN EMPTY SPACE

[ Silence isn't unfamiliar to him. In the wasteland, silence is your friend. In it, you can hear a whole lot more than you expect. Silence is your ally when you are on the lookout for flesh-craving undead.

In here, it is not different. Silence is his friend. It is a small blessing. To get away from the buzzing. He still itches for others, but it is against his innermost instinct to continuously reject others. This is not his home. This is not his place. This is not where he belongs.

He sits, somewhere, empty, white, clean. He stands out. A dark mark of dirt in pristine white. Holds his bag to his chest with his head buried in it, a hand against the back of his head. He doesn't look to be moving much. He is quiet. Like his mind.

Ah. Sleeping.

But he's a light sleeper. Moreso with noises invading his mind. It is hard to fall asleep with so much noise, which is why he moved away from the rooms to this small space near the library, hidden between shelves. He startles awake, though, when footsteps (and noise) pass by. Stares at them, in the most offended face imaginable. ]

( X. ) WILDCARD

If whatever I have here doesn't work, tag me anyway. Let's go on adventure. Candy mountain, Charlie.

rollin'

[faul]

[ Something pull her towards him, and it's not what usually pulls her towards relatively good looking men, or women, or anyone that strikes her fancy really. No, this feeling goes deeper, and it's unsettling because Romy doesn't know where she's going until she notices him. It's the calm of his sleep, she notices, what drew her towards him, a stark contrast with the concert of sounds pulling her mind in every direction.

She didn't think it would actually carry over, the noise, but Romy has never been on a hivemind before. Should've guessed as much.

Welp, that's for the calm she was looking for. ]

I'm sorry. I just- [ She pinches the bridge of her nose ] Everything's too loud and you were silent, and I can't believe I'm saying that out loud.

[ Now she's actively pushing the noise away, and trying to ignore his anger that comes in waves at her too. ]

anakin skywalker ( castor | ota )

[apoptotic]

I. HANGAR
[ the first thing anakin did was change.

a necessity. attacked in his sleep, all he had with him were his pajama bottoms, which reek of smoke and sweat. that and his lightsaber, the silver and black hilt clipped to the all-white outfit with which he was provided.

he hates his clothes. hates that he does not know where he is. hates the thing he pulled out of the back of his head. ( his skin was numbed the last time and only time he removed something from inside him. he was bid to look away, but anakin refused to miss a single moment. he watched the device removed from his arm with a vicious sort of satisfaction. ) and he hates the lack of gloves. his right arm has to be left bare. he isn’t ashamed of it — far from it, the prosthetic is stronger, surer, more durable — but the clear lack of skin and muscle invites questions.

which was partly the reason why he vacated the nesting deck so soon. there was no point to asking anyone questions. he had no need of the force to see the confusion heavy as fog. with the piercing headache behind his eyes, plunging into the middle of the upset with everything so heightened — not the force, this is something else…

he found the bridge first or was led to it. there is little difference to one who follows the force. the hangar he found on his own, and here he chooses to remain. some of the ships have a familiar design. many are wholly strange. this, anakin understands. this makes sense. and best of all, it’s quiet.

he knows when someone walks into the hangar because he can sense it — but mostly because he can hear it. he leaps, clearing five feet without difficulty to land atop a ship’s wing. the cockpit refuses to open, but that does not stop him from poking around it anyway. anakin keeps his head down, hoping that whoever it is will stay away and leave him to whatever he’s doing. ]


II. CIRCLE GARDENS
[ the headache has gotten worse.

to counter it, and attempt to get ahead of the rising tide of frustration threatening to overwhelm him, anakin turns to his absolute last resort: meditation. atrocious at it during good days, it is a doomed enterprise today. but with no other options left, he tries.

far as he can get from anyone else, anakin stands on one of the paths in the gardens, hands clasped behind his back, breathing as he was taught, trying to clear his mind as he was taught. he almost succeeds.

anakin! the dragon descends. anakin’s eyes snap open. he does not realize he grabbed his lightsaber until the electronic feedback from his grip around the hilt stabs into his shoulder. ]


III. WILDCARD
[ what it says on the tin. set up your own starter or pm me to set up one for us :'> ]

hangar

[whowhatnow]

[Nathaniel had been wandering the clean, boring hallways for a while now. Honestly, he was about to give up on finding anything relevant to his interests, until he turned the corner, and discovered a place that he knew right off the bat would be one of his favorite places in this whole station.]

Oh, nice. [He says, under his breath. It's been a while since he's had the chance to pilot anything, and as he walks among the ships, some familiar, some not, he can't help but feel like a child in a toy store. He wants to try out everything. He reaches out his hand to slide over their exteriors as he moves along, as if just touching them will help him understand each and every one in a way that his eyes can't.]

[He oohs and aahs at a couple of complicated ones that look like they could take ages to learn how to fly, before he decides, finally, to address the elephant in the room. Technically, the person in the room. He stuffs his hands in his jacket, turning his head slightly in the direction where he feels Anakin is hiding. He raises his voice.]

Come out, come out, wherever you are... [A pause.] No, but, uh, seriously, don't worry. I don't bite. I'm just here to check out the ships.

[He grins.] They're pretty cool, huh?

angel the siren | adara brood | ota!

[circumspector]

i. PODS

[ She takes it well. She doesn't take it well at all. There's something completely alien to the manner she wakes up, but all too familiar. A gripping sort of panic of finding herself plugged in to anything. That rolls from the detached, slow movement of her fingers as if she has discovered them new again. Brushing across herself, feeling out the bumps of the injector ports on her back, the metal plating of the metal grafted into her head. Slipping fingers that, shaking, will herself through the rising panic as she finds what's keeping her trapped inside the pod. Gripping tightly before she pulls, and there's mind-numbing fear for what might happen if she does that. With it, she's numb.

But what hits her after is the slap of pressure between her eyes, recoiling from the sudden wash over of otherness. Spent enough time living inside her own head to know the difference between herself, and the pull of something else. But this isn't right. The world is slippery, the voices indistinct, and the technology not what she's used to for her to latch onto it either.

She fumbles the rest of her escape. Legs that aren't used to holding her weight, hands that don't know how to grip. She slips on the ladder, taking sharp uneven breaths. Turns to measure the distance to her gear, and there's nothing to hang onto to get there, and she is loathed to let go of the ladder without something else to hang onto.

But there are other people, and hasn't it always been this way, really? Doing the things she can't do for herself. ]

Hi. Uhm, sorry. [ The apprehension, mixes with something like excitement. Reaches out with mind before words, though it's reflexive more than active. ] Can you... help me? I'm not sure...

[ it's childish. It's the fear of riding a bicycle after the first time you fall off. Skittering around the idea, strange as it is to even think. It's walking. She used to walk, she used to run and jump and play. Now the distance across the room feels like a canyon. ]

ii. sneaking about

[ Eventually she does manage to get out of there, and get dressed, one way or another ( with a lot of leaning on walls to get there when it got too much, just stop and breathbreathbreath ). Granted once she's there, she doesn't really know what to do in her room, once she's picked it out. She sits there, looking around at its bland walls, and feels closer to claustrophobic than anything else. The one difference is the lack of doors. Actually, it makes all the difference, because otherwise, this quiet, filtered air might drive her mad.

But she's not willing to do what she does normally about that problem. Instead, she goes poking around at other people. Peeking into rooms and hoping to not get caught as she just mildly watches how other people are doing things, how they're settling in. It's an old habit, learning to do things slowly bit by bit. So she can just be found lurking, and if caught, there's an immediate apology. ]

Oh, sorry, just got ... distracted. [ She might have gone for lost, just that there isn't much chance of that here. ]

iii. Headaches

[ At any point, she's still struggling with having her mind split open when it had been something so carefully controlled all her life. But she gets better as she goes, rapidly trying to put up walls with each movement, it's not working. Fighting a war on too many fronts is never a good idea, and she can't juggle them all. Not the hum of technology that's too foreign to her, nothing she can use to surround herself with, not the growing loudness of other people's voice pouring into her head, and the worst of it, the pressure of her own skin, of light clothes that are heavy because she's forgotten, forgotten the pull of gravity. The details, the details she'd forgotten are more than just walking, it's where her teeth falling against each other in her mouth, it's the confining weight of clothes touching her all around, it's the way the cybernetics implants pull as her whole body moves. Hard not to drag steps as they start heading first into the room and then out of it again.

Her head keeps aching, but she clings to that feeling that she's not supposed to worry about it. That this is all how it should be, because that at least is soothing, calming.

So she's sorry person standing next to her as she makes her way through the rooms, or that comes too close, seems that she can't keep it in her box. Instead, it's just going spilling over the floor. Or minds, whatever. Just one more fun part of the process. ]

IV. WILDCARD

[ wheverever, whenever we'e meant to be together. Okay no, but pick whatever you feel like. Brood or just nest stuff! ]

pods

[whowhatnow]

Hey, hey, are you okay?

[Says the young man who comes up to her seconds after she sends her request out, a touch of concern in his features. He had heard her as clear as day, and although there had been a quick moment where he had considered letting someone else take the chance to give her assistance, he decided to go forward and see what he could do.]

[Nathaniel's only just woken up a little while ago, himself, so the sounds and feelings in his head are making him a bit jittery as he gets used to them. He reaches his hands out but doesn't touch her yet - his gaze is questioning, uncertain.]

Do you need me to help support you?

general hux || brood shaula || ota

[exhuxperation]

i. the (relative) sound of silence

[ If there’s one thing that is always true of him, it’s that he doesn’t waste time. Hux learned early that time, while manufactured, is important. It cannot be traded or hoarded like credits or things or even relationships. What’s made of it can decide one’s fate.

This is why he so rarely sleeps. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. After all, no son of Brendol Hux can have anxiety or worry or weakness that keeps him up into the late hours. When he wakes here, in this strange place, he’s disoriented. An expected reaction, honestly. His pulse ticks up for a moment as his mind catches back up, recounting what happened to get him here.

Finally, his breathing slows back to normal and he goes about not wasting time.

Unplugging and finding his way out of the chamber, he ignores the headache. Ignores the odd sensation that his head is full of things that don’t belong to him. This task is not easy, even if he has magnificent focus. Sure hands have him dressed in the uniform, jacket smoothed as much he could in the moment. He drapes his greatcoat over his shoulders like a cape, inhaling slowly to keep his concentration.

Carefully, he makes his way down, relaxing only marginally when his feet are back on a solid surface. Once there, he tilts his head back, staring at all the identical sections and feeling the limits of his control snap. Emotion rushes over him in a tide, a frantic pulse. Almost none of it is his and he feels dizzy with it all. Unbalanced, he sets his palm flat against the closest surface, attempting to find some grounding. ]

What–

[ What is this? Why is it happening? Is this the Force or something else? ]



ii. chaos has no place here

[ Order in all its forms is a beautiful thing. Worthy of respect.

Which is why, over the dull roar of emotions, over his annoyance and frustration, he feels oddly peaceful. The polish of the corridors is different and the architecture is strange, but it feels similar to the Finalizer. To it’s clean lines and lack of unnecessary frivolities. He can’t say he feels like it’ll be easy to settle here, because the mind does not take well to change.

But, he’s probably more open to it than some others might be.

Hux takes his time walking around, noting how standardized everything is. Though, he is already missing his quarters on his ship. He feels a pang as he thinks about the room on Starkiller– gone now, surely. It’s a lifetime away and yet not far in the past enough. ]

They should be commended for their attention to uniformity.

[ Something said mostly to himself, though the observation is out there for anyone else to agree with (or contradict). ]



iii. wildcard

[ got another prompt idea you want to throw at me? go for it! ]

ii

[adamance]

[After speaking to Prince, it seemed prudent to find the rest of her broodmates. Lexa had been in the process of approaching Hux when he spoke, and the words catch her off-guard. While she hasn't failed to notice the rather uniform nature of the Station, it's unsettled her. To a degree, it seems lifeless and overly organized. To a degree, it makes her feel exposed, just like her people must have felt when they were held like the Mountain Men in cages.

Finding the means to contradict him comes too easily for her.]

You can't say the same with who they chose to rescue. Your commendations won't go very far. [Though she's willing to use contractions, Lexa's way of speaking is stiff and abrupt, and the way she stands is as if she comes from a military life. Of course, her training as a soldier is far from uniform. No one would ever mistake her for a well-trained stormtrooper, but there's still the hint of a soldier to her.]

anduin wrynn | brood shaula | ota

[fearward]

arrival;

[ Anduin wakes, breathing hard, terrified, clutching at his chest. Something horrible happened--was happening--was prevented from happening. And now he's here, wherever 'here' is. He forces himself to calm down, calling Light to his hands--thankfully, it answers, and he breathes a sigh of relief at that, at least. He just sits there for a few moments, letting the energy calm him, letting it wend through his aching muscles and bones.

But he can feel the tube pressing into the back of his neck, and its presence grows more egregious as the seconds pass. He grits his teeth and reaches to tug it, pulling it out with as much delicacy as he's able.

Then it's time to get up, look around. Anduin collects his things--book, mace, knives, etc--but leaves the clothes; he's not ready to give up his own just yet. He carries the book in his hands rather than affixing it straight away to his belt, and he's still hugging it like a teddy bear when he joins the person nearest him. ]

I'm guessing you don't know what's happening, either?

gardens;

[ Ah, greenery. Anduin's tension finally starts to ease as he walks through the gardens, letting his hand skim over the tops of the shrubs, against the bright petals of the flowers. He breathes deep, closes his eyes, and sits as close to the center of it all as he can, one leg folded over the other. He tries to clear his mind of the noise and worry and confusion, and tries instead to focus on the soft murmuring that's surrounding him here--the wealth of faint emotions and desires, the afterimage presence of others, whoever they may be.

He inhales slowly, exhales deliberately, and lets it all flow through him. He is one with the universe, and the universe is one with him. ]

The Light is with me. All will be well.


rec wing;

[ Cards are well and good, but Anduin rummages around until he finds a chess set. It's heartening, mostly because of its familiarity: here's something he knows, a link between the life he left and whatever life he has now.

Anduin sets up the pieces on a table, and then takes a seat across from the white half of the board. Should anyone pass, they'll get a hopeful look and an inviting gesture. ]

garden

[adamance]

[To say Lexa has been busy would be an understatement, but it's a measure of her control (and need to have control) that has led to her using her legs to ensure that she meets all the members of her ... brood (she still hates that word). Knowing that these people will be closer to her for their time here requires some contact. She had spotted the deeper connections upon her arrival, and that's what makes it easier for her to notice the resonance with the connection later.

No matter how much her typically restrained emotions are barely locked behind a cracked wall, she's trying to find something solid beyond it all. A foundation, a sense of an understanding over how the others feel—and Anduin, as she approaches him, resonates with calm. It's a different calm than she'll find with Hux or Nathaniel. One is firm and constrained (not unlike her), while the other is cheerful and bright, like he has to inject a sunbeam into everything.

It startles her as she grows close, with that connection more isolated than before. His words startle her, too, as she focuses on them.]

How can you be so certain? [The words lack any judgment. She is, after all, simply curious.]

michelle benjamin | adara brood | ota!

[hallways]

i. arrival ( all your plans and all your reveries stagger on )

( michelle is not one to panic.

of course, that could purely be because there hasn't been much in her life to panic about, at least recently. still, even without the feeling of reassurance that washes over her as she wakes, she wouldn't be too worried. not for herself. she remembers what came before, the terrifying chase through the alleys of shiloh and then her rescue, and she worries for her family, for david, for all of shiloh and gilboa, but not herself. wherever she is, she's safe, for a given value of the word — at the very least not in immediate danger — and thus can think of herself later. what she has to do now is collect information.

the tube, the headache, even the pajamas are all catalogued neatly in michelle's head, each item a piece to a puzzle she wants to solve. the pajamas are left where they were, with michelle instead remaining in the dress she had been in when she was rescued. one of her heels broke when she was running, so she has no footwear, which would no doubt send the queen into a fit — the crown princess, wandering around amongst the common people with no shoes? — but there's nothing to be done for it. she makes her way into the nesting deck, and it's now that she finally begins to feel unquiet, in both a literal and metaphorical sense.

there's emotion, so much of it flowing through her, and at first it feels like it must be hers, but no, that's not quite right. as she realizes where all these emotions must be coming from, michelle looks at everyone around her, clearly interested.

in fact, she's so interested that she tries — with no idea of how to begin doing such a thing or if it's even possible — to push her emotions on someone else. whoever her target is, they may feel a slightly more insistently nudging curiosity — or they may just be concerned about this tiny woman staring at them so intently. )

ii. life support ( your tin gods are left behind )

( more than anything else, it's the sparseness of her room that surprises michelle. it's a silly thing to be surprised by, she knows it, but — well, she was a princess. she lived in a literal palace. her room was more than half as big as the rooms afforded them here, and much more plush. the lack of furnishings shouldn't come as such a surprise, and yet here michelle is, stopped in the doorway of a room and staring perplexedly at its contents.

it's just a room, the same in function as her bedroom at home, but this is the first michelle is actually feeling her demotion in status. she'd have liked to think herself above balking at a lack of creature comforts, but... jack was the one trained for war, not her. jack wouldn't have lost a moment, faced with all this. michelle likes to believe herself the voice of her people, the most grounded member of her family, but apparently she's just as out of touch as the rest of them. had she really been expecting her room to be any different?

under any other circumstances, it would look strange enough that michelle is just standing in the doorway to her room, doing nothing but stare. here, with the mind link being what it is, she's not only standing there like an idiot, she's also mentally radiating discomfort and projecting images of her family, the palace in shiloh, and her bedroom there.

come say hi to the poor sad princess. )

[decommission]

[ The images are noisy, vivid. He doesn't stand up to tell off the person projecting them. It's not their fault. It also gives him the chance to try blocking them out. The signal isn't the pervasive draw of one of the four threads most deeply rooted to him, that much he can tell easily after only a few hours in the Station.

Instead, it's an image that draws him. A face.

His head pokes out from his wall-pod, glancing in one direction, then the other - settling on the source. He's not sure what he's expecting to find. Someone he recognizes, maybe, but he's got a decent eye for faces and he's never seen her before.

Could be that he mistook that face too. The expression's wrong, and the clothes - his head's all turned around. ]

You need something? [ He finally straightens, stepping out of his pod room and calling over to her. Seems like the only thing to ask. ]