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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! :) ))
anduin wrynn | brood shaula | ota
[ 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
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.]
no subject
Anduin might have an easier life if he did the same. But he just smiles up at her, beatific, and does not move from his place on the ground. ]
I don't know that I'm certain, miss. But I'm hoping, and it's working well enough so far.
no subject
Building upon her lack of knowledge means that she has to test and figure out things. Lexa lacks Titus or any of her other people to help her in this task, to pass on information so that she can process it from different perspectives.
She can only rely upon her own read of the situation.]
no subject
[ Is this where he necessarily wants to be? No, of course not. Given the choice, he'd head right back to Stormwind castle: disturbing rumors are thick in the air, and he knows his father means to act on them soon. Unease over the immediate future pervades Anduin's thoughts. But he trusts the Light: if he's here, it must be for a reason. ]
no subject
It matters less in the matter of life and death.]
You're meant to be alive. Whether you are fine as you live is another question altogether. [She's redefining his meaning for him, even if he hasn't asked.
(Even if that isn't what he means. Lexa has a problem with that.)]
no subject
I'm sorry; I don't quite follow.
[ The calm smile doesn't falter, but he does incline his head towards her, unsure of where she's trying to take the conversation. Fine as you live? Morally? Spiritually? Physically? He can't be certain, and he's not adept enough at manipulating their new connection to suss out nuances. ]
(no subject)
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rec wing!
-you know how this works?
[If he has any familiarity with chess or similar games, it's vague; the chessboard gets a doubtful look before he glances back to Anduin.]
no subject
But, in the absence of other options ... ]
D'you want me to teach you?
no subject
[You know, the strategic types. The ones who have picked up a book more than once or twice in their life. Anduin looks a little young, but then Icarus was a pretty young general, right?
And one of his own friends is already a king, at Ares' age. The thought itself doesn't transmit, but while his expression doesn't change, something just provoked a wash of negative feelings. He carries on, though, trying to brush it aside.]
--so is that what you are, or did you just learn somewhere?
no subject
No, I'm not a general. It is a great way to learn strategy, though. My tutors introduced me to it as a child, and I try to play a few times every week.
no subject
[Ares takes a seat across from him, though he turns the chair backwards first so he can fold his arms on the backrest.]
Don't you get bored?
no subject
[ He shakes his head, incredulous. ]
Not at all. There are countless strategies--endless permutations of moves and counter-moves. You could spend years playing the game every day and still never encounter absolutely every scenario.
[ How could that be boring? ]
(no subject)
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Her head is elsewhere when Anduin tries to speak to her. Something in her head wills her to hear him, though her attention is focused on the weakness of the Force and the presence of strange voices. It's haunting. She hates it. Is this her punishment for leaving Coruscant behind when it's people needed her?
Maybe the Council was right. Maybe she didn't deserve to--]
I--sorry, no.
[Continuing to ignore Anduin felt cruel, though she does eventually turn her eyes up to look and see who is speaking to her. His voice is unrecognizable so she isn't surprised when he looks like someone she has never met before.]
no subject
He smiles at her warmly, all the same, and offers his hand. ]
That puts us in the same boat, then. My name's Anduin. Anduin Wrynn. What's yours?
no subject
Ahsoka Tano. Its a pleasure to meet you, Anduin. My apologies--I am a little...disoriented.
[Her opposite hand moves up to her montrals, rubbing them gently like one might try to do in order to soothe a headache. Hearing the thoughts of others was a whole new sort of strange -- it was not as if such things were impossible with the Force, but without conscious thought?
It felt invasive, and dishonest.]
no subject
Something ... odd is going on here, isn't it.
[ He squeezes her hand gently, before then letting it go; his grip is firm, but gentle and warm. He supposes it's a paltry gesture, though, given that they're apparently capable of reading each other's thoughts and feelings so directly. Hell of a way to establish a rapport. ]
no subject
[The word she'd pick was a little more crude, but she doesn't say it aloud, and the thought is brief enough that it probably won't stick in Anduin's mind.
She takes a moment to clear her throat awkwardly before taking a breath to center her thoughts as she had always been taught. Even if she can't keep Anduin out of her thoughts, it would at least keep her from entering his -- maybe that would prevent any of the odd bleedback.
She hopes, anyway. There was no telling how an untrained mind might receive the Force, even as weak as it was.]
I was just looking for a way out of here. You're welcome to join me.
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For a minute he doesn't say anything at all, just stands there, flexing his fingers, trying to calm his own anxieties. His muscles ache. Light glimmers along his palms; an instinctive, reactive call, something to keep him calm. ]
A way out? Do you mean--of this room? Or--into space?
[ Sophisticated thoughts, Anduin. ]
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rec wing
More annoying were the stairs that seemed to go in loops. Or ones that were on the ceiling? Whoever had designed this place couldn't make up their mind. Slowly, he's starting to retract his earlier statement about this being orderly. It's still clean, however, so the credit for that remains.
His third (or maybe fourth?) lap through, he finds a room he'd bypassed before. The doorway wasn't as tucked away on this side of the hall, instead more inviting and open. Ducking in, he's ready to breeze right through when he sees a young man set up at a table with black and white checks on it. It's reminiscent of a dejarik board, but the pieces aren't holo, nor do they move. He's seen this once or twice, programmed on some old datapads in an academy closet. That had been years ago, but he has a vague memory of how to play. If he remembers correctly, it's decent for strategy, even if it's rudimentary. ]
Do you mind?
[ He sees your inviting gesture– just being polite. ]
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Understanding is always Anduin's goal, but uncovering it like this feels a bit like cheating. It unsettles him, this rush of information about Hux and nearly every other stranger he's met so far. Makes him feel as though he's broken into a vault. ]
Not at all. Please.
[ He smiles warmly all the same, and nudges the chair opposite him with his foot, such that it scoots out a bit from the table. ]
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How can anyone be so casual? He doesn't remember being so, though he was this young once. His father had no place for anything other than ambition and power.
Still, he takes a seat across from the blonde, posture straight backed as ever. Although– ]
General Hux. [ He holds out a gloved hand to the younger man in a polite, perfunctory greeting. ]
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Pr ...
[ He pauses; the word prince shoots through him, and is discarded: that doesn't matter, now. ]
Anduin Wrynn. Well met, General.
[ He gestures to the chess set, even as he thinks--general of what? For whom? Something about Hux makes him uneasy, but he stays friendly just the same. ]
Do you play?
no subject
Likewise, Anduin.
[ If he doesn't want to be reminded of a title, he won't say anything. Even if it rankles a little, not to do so. He's conformed to hierarchy his whole life, after all. ]
I did once, a long time ago. We have other games of strategy that are more interactive where I'm from, now.
[ A fact is a fact. He has nothing against the simplicity of this. Though, it's hard to suppress the thoughts and images of simulations, of hologram training rooms meant to test ones limits. At times it felt so real that in the aftermath he had to convince himself he was still alive. ] Your start, yes?
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[ He nudges a white pawn across the pawn; a simple opening move that seems to take no risks. ]
I play this every week, but I wouldn't say it's my favorite. I prefer cooperative games.
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