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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! :) ))
iii.
There's a baseball in his hands, he rolls it absently between both palms. It's not his - he took it back with him from the room with all the old equipment. Didn't seem like anyone would miss it. The worn leather feels good against his skin, familiar, and after a little while he starts picking at the fraying red thread that's barely holding it together - only for the ball to jump from his hands when the sudden, sharp pain of a headache shoots past his flimsy mental walls and jolts through his shoulders. It rolls out from the wall-room he's seated in, past the opening and into the path of footsteps.
A quick warning: ]
Watch it - [ He leaps to his feet, wincing a bit. ]
no subject
Maybe just that she was makes handling other people pressing back a little easier to handle, even if she can't block things the way she used to. Was there a way to throw a firewall up at someone else? Should try to work that out next.
Snaps out of working that out, because thinking about something, even if it was ridiculous ( could they work out how to make an anti-mind-virus suit, probably not, but hey ) when she hears him, and it's still not right. She hears his voice and he's right there. Next to her, bold as anything. Like it's normal, for him and the ball he dropped, to go rolling past. Just staring at him and then it, and the reaction is more than it should be, though it's not to catch the ball. Her left her, her marked hand, snapped up into a defensive recoil, pulling tight into herself. Already placating words ready as the first suggestion. Good thing she's not sick of the word sorry yet because it seems to be what she's on a stuck loop of saying. ]
Sorry. I didn't mean to get in your way. [ Or get in his head. Though the thudding in her mind, that felt like it was blooming out from her temple, for all the distraction, isn't getting better. Rather him being there alone spikes it from panic if nothing else. That pain of eyes trying to adjust to the light flicked on after just adjusting to the dark. ]
no subject
You're not - [ in my way. His lips form a thin line, bracing against another headache that splits through his train of thought. He shoves both hands (and the ball) into his armpits, shaking his head again. ]
It was my fault. [ A pause. ] Guess the last group must've gone through all the aspirin, huh?
[ He offers something like a thin half smile to go with his attempt at a joke. ]
no subject
Or our neural pathways have changed so completely that more mundane medication is rendered completely useless. Or have more dire consequences, I'm not really sure what would happen if we took it, honestly. It might mess with, the uhm... [ Pauses, stops. Looking up at him sheepishly. ] Oops, sorry that's not... really helpful is it?
[ She clears her throat. ] I've been trying to think about other things. [ It's just... not working, but hey it might help him. ]
no subject
The pain in his temple dulls a bit. He pulls his hand up, rubbing at the back of his neck. Other things - ]
You like sports? [ He produces the ball again, offering it to her. The leather's a few shades removed from white, its grey, stringy innards partially exposed thanks to the fraying red thread holding it together.
Distractions. ]
no subject
[ Right, he's speaking again. She darts from looking at his face to the ball and fiddles again. Unsure over it. Smiles again, apologetic about this too, but at least... he wasn't mad. As long as he was amicable, she could manage this, little by little. ]
I haven't... actually played any before.
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[ Her lack of surety in the situation is - well, literally contagious to some degree, and he finds the hand at the back of his neck running forward, smoothing down the front of his hair. For the first time he really takes a good look at her: the strange haircut and the mark on her hand. When she doesn't take the baseball he holds it there awkwardly for a second, then pulls it back to his chest. ]
There's a room with a whole lotta stuff - [ he jerks his thumb in a direction ] - there's cards and chess, books too.
[ Stuff to pass the time, however long a day lasts here. ]
no subject
Really. I guess you could say I've... never really had anyone to teach me? [ There's a pang of guilt, for not taking the ball off him when offered and - they're both out of sorts. ] Did you want to show me? I've always wanted to.
[ And she smiles, all an effort to be soothing. ]
no subject
Oh - yeah, sure. I can do that. [ He glances around the hall, then back to her, eyebrows still reaching for his hairline even with her smiling like that. ] Now?
no subject
Sure, why not? Better than sitting around worrying about everything else. [ When she can feel what he's feeling like echoes on a radio, that she thinks he can feel her own, and that odd way she couldn't stop feeling where her tongue set against her teeth. ] So, how do we play?
[ Someone's dad never played catch with them. ]
no subject
I guess everyone starts with practicing catch - [ tracing a large shape around his catching hand ] - it's easier with a mitt. [ At that he wonders, looking at her strange appearance again, how much she knows of baseball at all. There's something sad about it too, he thinks - even with all his childhood troubles, he still got more than his share of summer days playing in the streets and abandoned farming lots. Everyone should get that.
Once he's backed up a handful of feet, he stops, cupping his hands together. ] Use both of them for now. [ And he pulls his arm down, prepping an underhanded throw. ] Ready?
[ If she gives the affirmative, he'll gently toss the ball in an arc. ]
no subject
Once she's sure she's standing right with both hands braced at the ready. It's careful, her eyes flick from his face to the ball then back again. Simple, easy other people things. Living things, outside things. She wants this. Even if this is just playing catch. Shifting her weight on her bare feet like she's still not settled in her skin, might never will be, but as for right now, there's an unbridled excitement that creeps up in her thoughts, her actions, the brief nervous smile when she nods. ] Ready.
[ her brows knit concentration when he tosses it, darting forward to catch -- both hands, like he said -- it. Grasping it in her small hands, a second almost where it might slip, but holds steady. Beaming up at him once she's done it, looking for approval, even if it's over something so simple. ]
no subject
Ready. [ His turn now. He cups his hands the same way, rather than trying to be a show-off and risk dropping it. ] Toss it underhand.
[ Some small part of him might be aware how bizarre this is, playing catch in the middle of an alien hallway. He just isn't really thinking about it. ]
no subject
What was that about doing alright at this? Nevermind. ] Son of a -- witch.
[ Her hands go up to her face, ducking her head, embarrassed by it. But she appears to be laughing more than anything. ]
no subject
Wanna go again?
no subject
I've only ever watched people do this. [ It's brief attempt at conversation, maybe to ease herself as much as to ease him. Her only contact point had been talking, and talking around her problem. ] Guess I'm rustier with hand eye co-ordination that I thought.
[ Because that's what this is, and either she's thinking too much or not enough, she can't tell. Should she consider of the physics of it. But she's shy to think about anything too much when there are people drawn into it as much as she's drawn into their thoughts. ] Ready?
[ Steadies herself, this time. maps it out with her eyes first before she tosses the ball again and this time -- actually manages to aim properly, sending it towards him. ]
no subject
Instead he nods, cupping his hands again. ] Been a while since I played. [ Years. Not since they were kids. ] I like to go to a game whenever I can. [ It's a different kind of fun, a different kind of memory. But he circles back: ] It's easy to get the hang of again once you practice for a bit.
[ His eyes are on the ball, following the downward arc. Hands shift forward, just a bit, and close around the leather. Grins at it, then at her. ]
no subject
Like Snick-et? [ It didn't look like a snick-et ball. Well, maybe, she didn't exactly have the best surveillance once they got out that far, regardless. ] I thought no one knew the rules to snick-et?
[ She shifts back, ready to catch the ball again. This was fun - and alright maybe she was looking through rose coloured glasses, but it was, for now at least. It wasn't thinking a lot either, which was better. ] Do you go to see games often?
no subject
The hand holding the ball winds back and forth twice before he lets it fly from his hand again. ]
Whenever I've got the spare change. [ He can taste the molasses of Cracker Jacks on his tongue, the heat of the summer sun on his face. Unbearable sometimes, but worth it - especially when they won. ] They got professional Snicket teams?
I am so sorry Steve....
[ She frowns a little, before darting forward to catch it this time. ] But that was on Elpis, and he sort of forgot, I think, about the lowered atmosphere and launched himself out of orbit. Or at least really, really far away. That was for basketball, I believe.
[ Because both of these stories are totally normal right? Right. But she caught the ball again, despite all that, another smile for it, before she got ready to throw it back. ]
welp
That's... some game. [ Eyebrows shoot up - after a moment he sets his hands out again, ready to catch. ] Where you from?
[ His voice pitches slightly on where? ]
no subject
Oh sorry, didn't I say? I guess the planet I've lived on most of my life now is... Pandora, Elpis is it's moon. The company I used to... work for... had a huge space station called Helios between the two as well.
[ Sure, that sounds... normal-ish. She carries on, and no one in her corner of the six galaxies really needs explaining, Pandora's reputation well... it spoke for itself. ] But... it's not the best corner of the galaxy after all, most of the stories about it are true, unfortunately.
no subject
A space station? Is it anything like this? [ Tilting his head to indicate their long stretch of hallway - the rest of the station.
His hand lowers to his side again, though he seems to have forgotten about their game. ] What's so bad about it?
no subject
It's uhm... well, a lot of things. I guess everything would be too broad? [ Her head tilts, and maybe if she were better at filtering her mind, she might be able to spare the images as they come up. The snarling of skags, the monolith movements of a the rakk hives. The screaming when the necrophage splattered all over someone over the cameras she observed with. ] Most people... well, some of them like to have what they call 'skin pizza parties', which isn't what you're thinking but it's about as gross, trust me. I'll just say that they've completely lost their mind. The whole planet is called the planet of convicts and cannibals.
[ Which mercifully, she doesn't think about people cutting off other people's faces. Well, not for a long amount of time, so that's... better. ] It's not all bad, there are some people who are sane. They're still thieves and murderers, but ... well, everyone is, they're just less likely to eat their children. Or each other. Or themselves. [ What a wonderful place, clearly. ]
no subject
Christ. [ And that's all there is to say at first, sharp like a hiss and holding apology within it. ] There wasn't any way to leave?
[ A dumb question, he seems to realize just as he asks it. A prison is the last place that ought to be easy to leave. His mouth forms a thin line.
She's not there anymore. ]
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