[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

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.]

[whowhatnow]

[It is probably no surprise that Nathaniel had been avoiding Lexa for the same reasons she had been avoiding him. She was so different, so wound up, so willing to stamp out her emotions that he wasn't sure he could handle being around her. So, he needed some time alone - it wouldn't do to try to engage her when other people's emotions were bouncing around in his head like a rubber ball off of brick walls.]

[He can tell she's uncomfortable, and he's a little uncomfortable, too - but honestly, he's glad to feel more than strict discipline coming from her. She doesn't seem like someone who could care less about the people she orders around - she seems more like a natural leader, and Nathaniel appreciates that.]

Oh, really? I'm the man of the hour, huh? [He gives her a warm grin, trying to displace some of the tension between them.] Great! Just give me a second.

[He pulls his head completely out, shaking his head free of some water like a wet dog (and inadvertently getting some water on her in the meantime, sorry, Lexa). As he moves himself into a sitting position, the gills on his neck seal themselves with barely any sound. His bulging fish-like eyes sink back in, changing back into to their usual human brown.]

[He crosses his legs and looks up at her, looking very much like a child at elementary school who's eagerly awaiting for the teacher to read him a good story. His hair is still dripping wet, but he doesn't seem to mind.]

So, what's up?

[adamance]

[It is only the practice of sitting in audience in front of her people that makes it possible to hold back any visible reaction to what he looks like as he changes his eyes and loses the gills. The feedback is different, though: underneath that cool neutrality is a feeling of discomfort and confusion. Where she comes from, there are people who are disfigured, cast out because they are different, because they might make their society look weak. It's a tradition started long before Lexa was born, but it's one that continues. They are not a perfect society, and their ideas of what people need to survive are skewed by a lack of thorough knowledge in all things scientific.

That he's able to both be dis...torted, and then change back, unsettles her. But it's also something that makes her curious, makes her want to know how he came about that power.

She doesn't voice her curiosity. Now isn't the time for that.]

I believe introductions are in order, [she begins, and her voice is soft with these words, careful, and even making her seem every bit the woman in her early twenties that she happens to be. She has no cheer, but his calm calms her, which makes her resistant. Every fiber of her being is tightly wound, and having an external force trying to change that unsettles her.

Clarke has gone the distance in opening Lexa's eyes, in bringing about smiles and reintroducing happiness to her life. But she still has her sharp edges. She sees none with him and it makes her uneasy, because only children are so naive, and that is usually ripped from them as they learn more about the world.

(That she perceives him as naive speaks volumes. That is what she thinks of uninformed cheer and optimism.)]

I am the—[she begins, the words escaping automatically. Her head tilts forward and she looks away, swallowing though her awkward mistake. The last word there? "Commander." Heda. It's clear through their connection that these words mean one and the same.] My name is Lexa. I'm not ... [comfortable] interested in the connection they've given us, so I'd prefer to keep speaking this way.

[Unless circumstances call for otherwise. She can see the use of such a connection. That doesn't mean she has to like it.]

[whowhatnow]

[If she said that he was naive out loud, he would laugh. And then, he would just agree with her. Of course he knows he's far more than naive, that his cheerfulness and optimism are grown from roots that could've been too twisted and gnarled to result in anything good. But he doesn't see being naive as a bad thing. Of course, one can't be too naive, but there was nothing wrong with admitting that you didn't have enough experience to take on the world. Nobody was born a genius.]

Lexa! That's a nice name. [He says, honestly meaning it. The skipped word is interesting, but he doesn't press it. Instead, he just puts it aside on a slowly growing mental shelf of things he's learning about her.]

I'm Nathaniel. Nathaniel Horn. Though you can call me whatever you want, I'm not picky. [That isn't exactly true, even though "Nathaniel" is a stolen name and his real name can't even be pronounced by human speech. He holds onto the former because it was simply now a permanent part of his identity. He could take on a million nicknames, gladly, but Nathaniel would still be something he would never let go of.]

Yeah, this connection thing is something I'm still getting used to. [He leans his elbow on his knee, pressing his cheek into his hand.] There's nothing like good old-fashioned talking, so I'm with you there.

[There's a pause, as he tries to think of what he can say. His fingers drum against his cheek.]

So, uh, you're human, aren't you?

[adamance]

[Nathaniel. It's not a name she's unfamiliar with, as one "Nathaniel Hawthorne" is the author of a book they managed to salvage in the years following the Earth burning. Her people learned little about the nature of public persecution from that book—but then, that's in large part because the Mountain Men had seen the as savages. It was hard to look at themselves as the problem when there was something worse. Sometimes, self-awareness is difficult.

She commits it to memory, as she's not the type who's prone to nicknames. Titles, yes, but nicknames are a whole other ballpark (and they don't have a whole lot of those kicking around without being partly decimated in her future).]

Are you not? [His shapeshifting should have been a clue, but she doesn't come from a world where there are many alternatives. Though she has the voices of the Commanders speaking to her from a chip, she believes they exist in a spiritual way, speaking to her from beyond. She has no idea of the truth.

Should she explain that beyond her initial question, one that doesn't act as a confirmation? Most likely.]

The people of my world are all human. But many I've seen here don't ... qualify. Even beyond deformities. [Ahsoka and her horns, for instance, are not "human" qualities, even if she talks and breathes like a human. It's strange.]

[whowhatnow]

[She asks that simple question, and it's like a little spark alights in his eyes - he smiles widely, like he's heard of a nice little secret that he's more than happy to pass along.]

Despite my very handsome human appearance... [He says, gesturing to himself in such a grandiose manner that it's obvious he's not being at all serious.] I'm not. Technically, this isn't what I even look like. It's like that whole "you can't judge a book by it's cover" thing. Except, in this case, it's "you can't judge a Nathaniel by the fact he looks human".

[It might be strange, how open about it he is. Others may choose to hide it, pretend to be just as human as (mostly) everyone else. But in a case like this, where spaceships are docked in the hangar and everyone is obviously from different worlds and galaxies and such, Nathaniel sees no point in keeping his true identity hidden.]

Well, there are a whole lot of worlds out there. Some worlds know about each other, some don't. Yours is probably one of the latter ones. [He beams.] It might be odd, I know, but hey, you get to know what you and your people have been missing out on! There are a lot of alien races out there, so you've really only just hit the tip of the iceberg.

[adamance]

[What Nathaniel says reminds her of learning about the Sky People when they first came down. Though people had left the sky before on suicide missions, these occasions were so rare that her people didn't fully understand the circumstances. Now they did. If people could circle the planet for a hundred years in a ship, why wouldn't there be life beyond the Earth? Her spiritual beliefs don't necessarily account for it—but they aren't opposed to it, either.

To think that there could be other civilizations isn't surprising. She had lived side-by-side with one completely different one while growing up.

That she's able to calmly process it speaks volumes for her. That calm ease is partly her training, because she doesn't want to seem too uncomfortable or too surprised. But, of course, it's also partly because it wouldn't behoove her to not take it as fact. Nothing he says comes with a hint of deception, and, again, she seems to have that sense about him—that very uncomfortable sense.]

My world barely has any life as it is. [There are thousands of people, to be sure, but it's hardly anything like the billions that covered the planet before. Knowing about additional life would have come with a cost: they likely would have been razed off the planet as well.]

Why do you choose to appear as human when you can be anything? Is that common among your people?

[whowhatnow]

[He's absolutely fine with her being calm. It's much better than having to deal with pure panic and stubbornness. While it's not like he went around talking about aliens with the humans on Earth, it often amazed him how adamant people were about the fact that Earth was the only populated planet in the whole galaxy.]

[Man, did he want to laugh right in their faces.]

Oh. [He frowns, almost looking sorry.] Did something happen, or was it naturally like that?

[Because it's one thing if it was a desert planet, where barely anything survived, or a planet whose denizens were intentionally wiped out.]

That's, uh, a long story. [He reaches a hand to scratch the back of his neck, almost looking sheepish.] My race doesn't exactly like to be anything else other than what they are. They're kind of stubborn, that way. [He shrugs.] I'm only like this because I happened to crash on a place filled with humans, and they're pretty isolated. They don't know about the existence of aliens, and they sure as hell wouldn't like me as I really am. So, human I had to become.

[adamance]

You acclimated. [Somehow, the two words come with a degree of fondness and respect. When he could have attacked an unknown society and seen them as enemies, he chose to walk among them. Lexa knows that she lacks the full extent of knowledge, but she does know that his cheer makes him an unlikely candidate for violence.

(Again, she hasn't shaken the idea that he's naive. ... He just may be less naive than she originally thought.)

Her experiences with outsiders had led to two different approaches. One involved a constant war—a cold one, where her people were frequently victimized and taken prisoner, and another, where her people were attacked almost on accident ... and then on purpose, because both sides had known nothing more than pushing the matter. She had ended the latter, and had taken the wrong strides to end the former. These days, the same kind of contempt remains from outsiders, but it's not a belief shared among all people. She knows there are occasions that call for it, just as she isn't likely to trust people she doesn't know, but she's not a visionary for nothing.]

In my world's past, the world burned. My people just barely survived it with the help of our first leader. Some people escaped to the sky to live in stations, while we remained down below. [It's factual, and she doesn't add in any of the obvious factors: they struggled, and they still struggle, but she has done her best by them. She has led them into an era of peace, no matter how tenuous it happens to be.]

[whowhatnow]

Yeah! Yeah, I acclimated. I learned to fit in.

[There's a sense of delight that he feels, as he notes her respect, but along with it comes a muted shudder of shame. This life didn't come free to him. This form was not something created on his own.]

[He's wearing a dead man's face, after all.]

[His expression sombers as he listens to her. It must have been hard. He wouldn't know anything about surviving day by day on a practically dead world, but he can imagine it, and it seems stark. Cold. Depressing.]

[He would not be able to live in a world like that.]

I see. You're a born survivor. Did you ever think about living up in the sky, getting there somehow?

[adamance]

[Momentary confusion fills the link between them, making it clear that Lexa had never considered anything quite like that. Though her people knew that there was something up there because of the occasional suicidal Sky Person, they had never dreamt of going up there and seeing what was there.

Such thoughts wouldn't have any place among a civilization desperate to survive. Those who had thoughts that were too progressive were often seen as outsiders, or difficult. Lincoln, who had come under Indra, was one of them. Lexa had issued a kill order on him because of his eventual betrayal for that reason, and she hadn't been surprised. They knew about his difficult nature.

She inhales before she responds.]

We couldn't risk such thoughts. But more than that, it wouldn't have ever occurred to us to wonder. We knew about the sky and its constellations from books that just barely made it through, but dreaming of anything beyond our surroundings would be a waste of our time.

[whowhatnow]

Hm. I guess so.

[He agrees with her, but he can't help but think that if he were in her situation, he wouldn't have seen dreaming as a waste. Dreaming is the thing that pushed him out of that prison of a society he left. If he didn't think of things outside of his world, waiting to be discovered, he wouldn't be the way he was now.]

[He tilts his head at her, still curious, still interested.]

How do you feel, though, now that you're here? Away from your people?

[adamance]

[For most, his question wouldn't be an unkind one—in fact, it'd be a fairly reasonable one. But for Lexa, there's a sense of her building another wall in her mind, like she's further trying to sever the link between them. This proves impossible, and the need to do that is present in how immediately uncomfortable she feels.

She is uncomfortable. She also hates that she's been forced away from her people, and that she is a threat to them.]

I intend to return to them. [That is neither an answer or a comment on her emotional state.] I've already accepted that there's much I'll have to learn about our new positions. [The technology, for one thing. But at her own pace, with her figuring out what she will and won't accept into her arsenal, so to speak.]

But I won't be led by whimsy.

[All that aside, she knows what she would want from a life where she isn't responsible to her people: love, emotions, and happiness. She knows who she'd want it with, and no matter what she finds along this particular journey, she doubts she'll stray from that realization. It had proved to be almost a confession when she first said it, and she can't change that now, or so easily.]