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Entry tags:
- *hatch log,
- adam parker [original],
- ahsoka tano [star wars],
- anakin skywalker [star wars],
- anduin wrynn [world of warcraft],
- angel [borderlands],
- aoba seragaki [dramatical murder],
- ares [vagrant soldier ares],
- cathaway,
- hux [star wars],
- ilde vilmaine [original],
- illyria [angel],
- kylo ren [star wars],
- lexa [the 100],
- michelle benjamin [kings],
- nathaniel horn [original],
- rosemarie strauss [original],
- steve rogers [mcu],
- the prince
[HATCH LOG] IS ANYONE THERE?
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! :) ))
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:
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.
Happy hatchday, everyone! :) ))
no subject
A computer? I just need one to run some diagnostics.
[ It's a last ditch effort, anyway. He'd prefer the use of his computer at home, with all of it's data stored neatly for Ren, but he doesn't have that luxury here. Any computer will do, even one too advanced for him to understand. He'd learn, for Ren. He has to save Ren. Maybe the technology here is more advanced and can even help bring him back online faster. ]
It will help.
[ It has to. ]
no subject
...is it like, some kind of medic or something?
[Annnd that would be the something in question. If a computer's supposed to fix the guy's friend there, it's the best guess that Ares really has.]
I haven't seen anybody like that yet.
no subject
[ They're just going deeper into this confusion spiral together for another minute. This guy is drawing such a big blank, he can feel it as he gently prods him with the symbiote for information that just isn't there. That's when he finally realizes- ]
Wait... you really don't know what a computer is?
[ His voice goes up several octaves as he ends the question with a point of shock. He can't be from here, just woke up here like the rest of them, but just what kind of place doesn't have computers? Aoba is clearly having trouble processing, pun intended. Ares might as well have asked him what water or air is. ]
no subject
And gentle as it is, that prod is definitely unwelcome. Combining it with the shock at his lack of knowledge doesn't do any favors, either; Aoba will likely get a quick flare of temper bleeding through from Ares, one that doesn't immediately subside.]
Hey, you're the one making up words here, you don't have to sound so surprised about it!
[This is going to go well...]
no subject
I'm not making up words! Allmates are a type of personal computer that-
[ No. He stops, making a real effort to hold his tongue and keep from getting angrier. He really doesn't know these concepts, that much was obvious, and Aoba has to remind himself that it's probably not his fault. ]
Okay, what kinds of technology do you know about? Phones? Phones with cords? Calculators? Telegraphs?
[ He's trying not to sound too impatient, but seriously, how primitive are we getting here? He needs to know before he tries to explain anything else. ]
no subject
At least it's mostly just directed at him because he's convenient, not out of malice. Heated enough that he'll probably simmer down a little.
...probably.]
You're totally making things up! [He points an accusing finger at Aoba, there.] I've never heard of any of those.
no subject
[ Aoba is really trying here. Trying to recall the
sweetly rich, deep, and silky smoothsound of Ren's voice telling him to mind his attitude. So he's got to get more technologically primitive than he anticipated. Where can he even begin to explain...Maybe with computers, like he originally brought up. Ares clearly didn't like the intrusion of his mind, but they're still connected. Aoba's having a hard time keeping his cool in the face of the other's temper because of it. He can still focus enough to recall the interior of Heibon junk shop, where the oldest functioning computer he can think of sits at the register. It's ancient, all boxy and grey with a loud clackity keyboard, no projections built in for holo screens or light keys. ]
This is a computer.
[ He holds the image clearly as he can just at the edge of their connection, hoping it's not too... alien or something. ]
It's a machine that stores and processes data... er, information. They can connect to each other using wireless... um... invisible signals in the air. Think of it like a mechanical book, if books could connect to every other book and share all their information at once.
[ Terrible explanation, he knows, but it's the best he's got for someone who's literally a blank slate on the topic. He also knows better than to jab, but wow that temper is really boiling his right back. ]
You know what books are, right?
no subject
[That comes with a huff, and he waves off the jab with a vague gesture as he considers the image he'd picked up. (Meanwhile, the bird on his shoulder ruffles its feathers and caws at him, which he ignores. It really does feel like it's scolding him sometimes...)
It still rubs him the wrong way to use that connection at all, but it's kind of useful to see a picture like that, even if it doesn't make sense-- it's just a box? A box that's supposed to somehow work like a book?]
How come you'd need to do that, anyway? You could just read the other books...
no subject
Because, why have a huge library when you can have all the information you need at your fingertips? It doesn't take nearly as long to find what things that way. The computer I showed you is really old too, computers now are more like...
[ He tries to recall his own holo home screen projected off his coil, but for some reason the first image that comes to mind is one of Noiz. It's thanks to that time he caught the hacker in his room, sitting in the dark, surrounded by his own glowing green screens and holographic keyboards.
Well, it's as good an example as any for a modern computer, (that bastard had some really nice equipment). However, the image isn't held through the connection for long. It scatters when Aoba finally notices the bird sitting at Ares' shoulder. How long had it been there? This whole time? Maybe it was quiet and still, or maybe he's too used to seeing Koujaku with Beni to have noticed... except this bird isn't like Beni at all. ]
Whoa, that's... that's not an allmate, is it? That's a real bird?
[ He hasn't seen a real bird sitting on someone's shoulder in... ever. Birds were among the popular allmates models back home for their small size, light weight, and availability in more colors than any other type. But real ones? No, too messy, no internet search capabilities. ]
no subject
[More under his breath than anything, as he takes in that image. Without much of an understanding of the concept, things like those glowing screens and holographic keyboards are utterly foreign to him, especially with the differences between the two things Aoba's shown him.
Then the image disappears, and leaves him glancing between Aoba and his crow. It's pretty small, people don't always notice, but they've never asked if he's real.]
What? Why wouldn't he be real? I already told you we don't have whatever those other things are. [Ares reaches up to lightly prod at it, and gets an annoyed caw in response.] His name's Emergency Food, he's been following me around for a while.
no subject
[ It looks like an uncustomized allmate. He thinks of Ren, the minimal customizations he's made on his simple model, and how easy his upkeep is compared to a real dog. A real dog couldn't talk to him or check his e-mail, and it'd have to go out often... so inconvenient. ]
Allmates are personal computers that usually look like animals and act as companions and assistants in daily life. They can make calls, monitor your health, search the interne-...
[ Oops, he's getting that blank feeling again. And the internet is not something he wants to explain to someone just now learning about computers for the first time. That is going to be Way Too Much to take in, so he flips the subject back on Ren as casually as he can. ]
My allmate Ren... he's not turning back on- er, I mean... not waking up. I don't know why. That's why I need a working computer to figure out what's wrong.