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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
The Station has medical resources at its disposal that often outrank those found in a host's own universe. We may be able to do scans and determine the underlying cause of your condition and deal with that as opposed to simply treating the symptoms. We would recommend beginning with taking images of your brain and doing a number of stress tests to determine what triggers the headaches.
[Simple enough.]
no subject
Stress tests?
[ The bottle disappears back inside the pocket of
that godawfulhis coat. ]no subject
[A pause, a moment's thoughtful consideration. She fixes him with a direct, penetrating look; there's a strange reflection to her eyes that makes it unsettling, though nothing about her really needs additional help in that department. Then:]
Have you considered cutting gluten from your diet?
no subject
No gluten? No, I haven't tried that... that's wheat flour right? It's not really in a lot of our-... oh wait it's in soy and rice vinegar... and probably soba, and...
[ Ren would always do a rundown of what he ate and how it affected him physically, but in a generalized way. It was mostly just to guilt him into eating healthier, the same way he would rattle off his heart rate when he was getting angry. He always knew how to calm him back down and keep him at his best.
Ren. The hole in his heart is reopening at the thought of him shut off and unmoving in the bag at his side, and Aoba has trouble focusing back on the matter at hand. Just the thought makes his throat tighten again, his eyes sting from held-back tears. Ren would advise to consent to the tests and change in diet, wouldn't he? Yeah, he'd think it logical to solve the problem instead of treating the symptom, now that a chance to find the problem is available.
He's agreed before he's vocalized it, and with those eyes on him still, he gets the feeling Cathaway can already tell. ]
Alright, I'll try the tests and cut out gluten... if you think that will help too.
no subject
Now if only all of the fresh hatched hosts were so straight forward about their difficulties, her job would be the simplest one in the world.]
It's as good a place to start as any. Many lifeforms similar to yours and this one find it has adverse effects on their systems. As for the tests, we will first take some time to examine your medication to create an adequate supply for you. Once that's accomplished, we'll tackle those scans and additional testing, hm?
[It would take a few days to develop and cross check the replacement for the pills. Best to be thorough about these things.]
no subject
deep, rich, velvety smoothvoice is well enough ingrained in Aoba's memory. Maybe he won't be making too many dumb decisions on his own after all, if he can continue to keep his temper down and focus on what's important. Like learning, adjusting, integrating. ]Alright. Thanks Cathaway.
[ It's not as casual as it may come across translated through the symbiote network. Aoba uses honorifics. It's only normal to be polite, especially when asking for so many things of a person he's only just met. ]
Do you think they'll be ready before we... get sent onto the field for the first time?
[ There's a twinge of worry he tries to hide there. He's not sure what to expect of this field work, but he's already taken too many pills to be rationing them out much longer. A better question might be, when will he be fully accustomed to having this extra thing in his head, around so many turbulent others? ]
no subject
That is-- less predictable. Depending on the particular compounds, the Station's synthesizers may take longer to process and copy the material in question. However, we promise we will do our best to make sure you're properly equipped.
[She regards him thoughtfully, mouth drawing thin for a moment. Then she nods, as if resolved on something.]
How many pills do you typically need in a day's time? And how many again if you must ration them? That will give us a better idea of where to start and how many to produce.
no subject
Even if the intensity of her eyes makes him twinge with mild discomfort as she studies him again. ]
Well, I just take them whenever the pain starts getting bad. It's not always there, but lately it's been getting worse...
[ Before coming to the Nest, he means. It's just that much worse with a fresh baby internet worm and over two dozen new people in his brain. What was the recommended dosage Granny told him again? He has to read the label on the bottle to remember. ]
Um, it says... take two when needed for head pain. So I guess I can ration that down to one.
no subject
And how often does the pain get bad? At what rate would you use, say, sixty pills? On average of course. No need to be technical about the math.
[Tell her all about your pill popping problems, Aoba.]
no subject
Um... sixty? It depends... I guess on average, two months? But they've been bad lately, so... maybe one. Or... two weeks...
[ He's a pill popping mess, basically. ]
no subject
Ah, we understand. Would you say your headaches have been increasing exponentially at a particular rate, or has the increase in pain been random? [She offers him an easy smile, willing herself to seem approachable even as he starts to fidget anxiously.] We apologize, we know these questions are difficult ones. There's no shame in it if you don't know the answer or can't remember; we are merely curious.
no subject
I guess it's been getting worse since...
[ This is uncomfortable. He'd only just learned about his mental and vocal abilities, and even in his scattered mind, it's quickly becoming clear that Scrap is related to his brain pain. If he had to pinpoint when the pain started getting worse, it would have to be when Noiz caught him in that driveby, which was a huge amount of frightening stress. Then it was worse when he used Scrap for the first time, also an incredible amount of stress.
He's not so ready to open up to Cathaway about Scrap yet, but hopes what he does relay is useful- ]
Since just a few days ago, so... it's probably nothing. But the pain does get really bad whenever I'm under a lot of stress, or when my friends are under a lot of stress too.
[ His empathy is strong. ]
no subject
I see.
[Perhaps the lingering effects of some as of yet untapped psychic ability? Quite possible. She makes a mental note to take it into consideration while testing him, but otherwise makes no comment toward that end. If he knows nothing of the cause, better to not taint any possible test results by power of suggestion.]
Well, don't worry Aoba. We will do all we can do assure that you and your brood are comfortable. For now, we will have the Station synthesize you a medical substitute and in a few days we'll begin testing. In the mean time-- do you have any other questions or concerns for us?
no subject
Uh, no, not right now. I'll let you get back to...
[ He glances around again, at the emptiness of the white room. No keyboards or screens in sight, nothing useful looking. Whatever she'd been doing is probably beyond him. Meditation? ]
Whatever it was you were doing.
no subject
hideousjacket very briefly and then lets her fingers skate away too.]Of course. We appreciate your patience, Aoba. In the mean time, perhaps some rest would do you good. Do you remember how to get back to where you came from?
no subject
Yeah, I think I remember. This place is... soft of familiar. The twisting and turning is, anyway.
[ It's similar to the many tight and interwoven streets of The Old Resident District, just... with a new sort of elegance Aoba isn't used to. It's familiar, but it will be a long time before it starts to feel like home. ]
I'll uh... I'll see myself out. Thank you, Cathaway-san.
[ After a deeper than short bow, he gives her a small smile and leaves through the same and only door he came though. ]