[hatch log] the sea seemingly a constant to the naked eye is one long goodbye

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: New Hosts & EVERYONE
WHERE: Station 72; Hyrypia - The Far Shore
WHEN: DAY :041 - DAY :042
SUMMARY: A hatch; an arrival; a homecoming. The Hosts part ways.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

STATION 72
DAY :041

NEW HATCHES
YOU WAKE UP and the universe and you in it are suddenly different. --No. That's not right. You're you, the universe is as it's always been, and there's no 'suddenly' about it. But it's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking up from a very deep, extended sleep or coming up from the darkness of some wine dark sea. Nothing is different and yet everything is.

Here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small, faintly hexagonal chamber with a gentle white light emanating from the surrounding walls. If you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

But once the tube's disconnected? Things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Some of these emotions might be yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party happening behind a nearby closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Maybe it's time for a change? Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone. There are a handful others very like you here, all of them somehow intimately familiar.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room, the vast Station is quiet and still. It feels for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.


DECISIONS, DECISIONS
BARELY AFTER YOU STEP OUT OF YOUR POD someone pokes their head around the corner and says, “Oh good, you’re awake. D’you have any idea how boring it is to watch people sleeping in tubes? Mind-numbing.”

This...person looks more or less like a normal human, as far as you can tell, and they’re gesturing for you to follow. “I’m Ty, nice to meet you, I’ll be your conductor this--” they pause, squint, count on their fingers, then give up trying to figure out what time it actually is. “--Mevening? Aftermorn? Whatever. I wasn’t supposed to be on orientation duty more than once but here I am, fresh with instructions to answer questions better.”

Ty’s dark eyes appraise you as if judging your outfit, then xe raises xyr eyebrow. “First up, the bathroom’s over there. Second, don’t mind the noise in your head. You get used to it. Third, are you going on the field trip or not?”


THE STATION
WITH A LITTLE UNDER 24 HOURS before the ship makes its way to Hyrypia, now might be a good opportunity to familiarize yourself with Station 72-- either before you leave it or in preparation of finding yourself sharing it with a gaggle of strangers. Better claim your bed early.

The savviest eyes will note that a number of rooms in the Living Quarters show clear signs of having been inhabited at some point; however, there's a fine patina of stillness or stasis in those places. If this place was one where dust might gather, there might be a layer of it here. Exactly how long has it been since this last group of Hosts left for their Mission again?

Come the simulated morning, a strange slate colored craft resembling folded origami more than a ship waits in the Hangar. A small, bird-like woman attends to it and when the time is right she climbs into the cockpit, cheerfully inviting anyone who wants to go to the planet to ride along with her. Then it too leaves the Station and for a time the quiet left in its wake is very dense indeed.

HYRYPIA - THE FAR SHORE
DAY :042

A SHIP TO SHORE
THE SUN IS HIGH IN THE SKY before the first calls of the sailors can be heard heralding the shore in the distance. It isn’t long after that they get close enough that the passengers - the remaining members of the Envoy and their Hyrypian hosts (a thinning herd, it seems) - are encouraged to begin preparing themselves to disembark. It’s a messy process. Unlike the docks they boarded on, this place has no permanent mooring. Instead temporary docks are brought out from the ship itself, anchored in place by small vessels that swarm around it in the water as small fish around a shark. By the time the maneuver is complete and the passengers are packed, the afternoon is threatening to turn into evening. Still, there's enough light to see by as they are led down the ramps and the docks and out onto the loose, grey stones that make up the shore.

Where the Red Coast had been tall cliffs and sand, the Far Shore is formed of pebbles and small stones dotted with driftwood. It’s grey and bleak, a single path heading up the nearby low hills, covered in short greyish yellow scrub and lichen. This place is draped with an overcast sky, the clouds churning and wind gusting, the air cool and dry. In the distance a chain of mountains scrapes the sky, but there’s a quite a bit of distance between here and there. For now, the immediate task at hand is getting the caravan rolling along the rocky, pitted path through the lonely, hushed landscape. Wind hums through the hills, a mournful crying sound.

SHIFTING ODDS
WHEN CAMP IS FINALLY MADE each Envoy is encouraged to quickly pitch their tents and then summarily herded into them. The Morran apparently want to avoid any more murders in the dark. In what is almost certainly a rarity, this means the Hosts all find themselves sharing each other's company around a single brazier in their largest tents - raw meats, vegetables, a hearty broth and a large copper bowl have been provided by the Morran, but it's up to each envoy to prepare and cook their own meals tonight.

Maybe it's a dour evening - after all bonds will be broken once the ship arrives and some of your number make their way back to the Station; however, it certainly takes a turn for the positively grim when a large number of Hosts suddenly fall comatose at the exact moment Cathaway's ship pierces into the universe.

TWO ROADS DIVERGED
RENDEZVOUSING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT has suddenly became more complicated. What was once an easy hike out of camp to meet with Cathaway's stealth ship now suddenly requires the movement of quite a few comatose Hosts (Rhan, for one, seems exceptionally distressed over the complication).

The comatose Hosts will have to be secreted away from camp to connect with the ship from the Station hidden in hills. Once there, it's time to make introductions, to say your goodbyes, and to wish others all the best. It may be some time before you see one another again.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the hatch on Day :041 and the arrival and/or retreat of Hosts on Day :042. As a reminder, please chime in on the OOC HEADCOUNT going on to indicate whether your character is staying on Hyrypia or on the Station. Please see THIS POST for breakdown on how recent drops are being handled.

You can find a more detailed overview of the host hatching process HERE and additional setting information about the Station HERE. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information if you're brand new to the game. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

cathaway | npc | ota

[polyphonos]

I. PREPARE THE PREPARATIONS - STATION 72 (DAY :041)

[One hall turns into another, into another, into another, into a massive flight. It's strangely empty, populated by only two bizarre looking crafts. They are as shiny spools of tangled ribbon or origami softly folded, black and bizarre and utterly alien. One of them has come unfolded.

Beside the unraveled starship is a woman. She is aging and rail thin, narrow through the shoulder and hip, and the pin straight sheet of her grey hair hangs across her shoulder as she rearranges small components on the ship's exterior. Only no-- that's not quite the phrasing for what she's doing, is it? Her hands are there, fingertips placed gently on the oil slick hull, and under her fingers something about the arrangement of the ship's exterior plating is shifting according to some invisible and unspoken request.

Her attention doesn't rise from the craft, but she does call out:]

Is there something you need?

II. THE FOLDED SHIP - SPACE (DAY :042)

[Snap. The ship punctuates the space between spaces and slices into the universe. In the same instant, some invisible tether comes undone. Some inexplicable but very real balance shifts.

In the cockpit of the alien ship, the woman who calls herself Cathaway recoils and rips her hands from the controls' projection disks. It's space, blessedly empty,
so for a moment there's no discernible difficulty in the pilot being so suddenly staggered. The craft just continues its forward trajectory, a black bullet through the darkness of space as Cathaway clings, winded, to the edge of the control panel.]

III. THE RENDEZVOUS - HYRYPIA (DAY :042)

[She's a strange image in the Hyrypian night - a picture of a woman who somehow doesn't belong. The Hosts have been on this brassy, alien planet for forty-two days and never before has Cathaway set foot on it.

She still hasn't. Even as the older Hosts come up into the hills to meet the ship, she lingers there at the top of the ramp in the shadow of the twisted fuselage. Maybe it's the hum of the wind, or maybe it's just a trick of the senses, but some heavy miasma seems to linger around her there. It's a blacker cloak around her in the darkness of the evening, an uneasy hesitation in every line of her as she waits there to see this meeting done.]

IV. WILDCARD

[you know how this works]

3 hi mom

[shiro2hero]

[He hasn't been alone since he woke up here. There were always others. Always people buzzing around on the edges of thought -- older and wiser and more experienced thoughts to fall back on. It's never been so quiet.]

[That's why he's here. They were both there to see Clint away. The three were there to see the Darkling gone. Now there's one and he has a Duty.]

[Just to bring a comatose friend and a broken promise to Her.]

You'll take care of him?

[As much as possible, he already knows, but he has to say it.]

hi son

[polyphonos]

[Deep in the hills, so far removed from the camp and in the shadow of the alien stealth ship, Cathaway wears no disguise. The chill breeze that lilts across the landscape cuts here on the ramp, harsh on her bare face. For a moment, her attention is divided: between him and the long line of hosts, the comatose bodies they've brought with them - the math of it as much as anything else.

(This is a dangerous land and a delicate task; best to see it done and be away before bowing to any kind of grief.)

Eventually, her focus sharpens. An edge striking a flint. A spark in the darkness that lights the narrow space between them.]

Of course.

[She is facing him fully, but there's a sensation yet of her shoulders being turned slightly away - as if she has a foot in some other place. Still, her heart or her face or the sensation of her is at least marginally tender:]

He's been very kind. We'll do what we can to return that.

[wille]

[ Someone else has secreted Kaji's body away. The flesh holds no sentimental value. He's dead. As before, life goes on. There will be time later to grieve. ]

It's bad when you have to show up in person.

[ Her throat is dry, voice parched, her humor equally arid. She means that higher-ranking boots on the ground only ever mean trouble. It turns her guarded, and she keeps her arms tightly wrapped about her heavily-robed self, standing solid on Hyrypia, toes barely an inch away from the ramp. ]

What is it then. What do you have to say?

[ Because what could she say to speak of her own terror at this looming promise of near-eternity. How this seems all eternity she'll ever need and all eternity needs of her. ]

[polyphonos]

[The moonlight is thin here, the night blue-black. The low golden glow of the ship's interior should seem more welcoming than it does, should color the short woman there in some more amenable light. But she is a strange ghost here, a pale human shaped figure wearing no disguise and making no effort to appear differently where she stands to the side of the ship's boarding ramp.

Cathaway turns her attention to the figure at the bottom of the ramp. She draws her translucent shawl more tightly around her shoulders against the chill.]

Will you be coming with us?

II. YOU CAN'T STOP ME

[byodo]

[ It reminds him of a mistake that haunts him to this day. His hand on the scalpel slicing through white-pink bone with haste until his belligerence led him to cut through the silvery dura in one featherweight gesture. He realized his mistake before he could stop himself, and felt the sinking weight of remorse before the clear fluid streamed out, proof of what he already knew. It feels the same here, in the pause before he would be shown things he should already know. ]

What was that?

[ He inches slowly forward, shoulder brushing against the wall of the ship in case of unexpected landings. ]

[polyphonos]

[Her hand is pressed there against the smooth foggy control console. Whatever function the panel beneath her fingers is meant for clearly isn't meant for it - a small orange light pulses from under the touch, and though there are no words there is an element of a question in the light: some latent program asking for her input and receiving none as Cathaway finds her balance.]

Disconnection. [She sounds crooked, rattled, and very far away. There are more important things to tend to than his presence at her side, his questions.] Something's gone wrong on the planet.

[Discovered, maybe? That thought spurs her to sharpen, to straighten and abruptly snatch her hand back from the blinking panel. The orange light recedes and the ship answers to her secondary touch, rapidly decelerating. With a turn of the hand, the low interior lighting of the craft dies. The hum of the ship softens to a whisper.]

We'll wait here a moment.

ty | npc | ota on the station

[tynacious]

I. WAKEY WAKEY, DAY :041

((How does one react to an unusual person explaining unusual circumstances poorly? Feel free to interrupt Ty's lackadaisical mumblings; xyr orientation is open to improvisation.))

\o/

[poppycock]

( something is right. something is very wrong. klaus wakes from a peaceful sleep, familiar and unfamiliar in ways that ease and unease him in equal measure. he has only felt a sensation of waking like this once before, muddling through the dark, trying to find that pinpoint of light: when there was a dagger drenched in gold, buried deep into his chest and piercing his heart.

this is not that.

the high, soft voice of his daughter calling his name is the last he hears before coaxed into full consciousness. her small, baby-round face manifests in his mind's eye, the bridge of her nose and cheeks spotted with freckles. he sees her smiling, sweet and earnest, and then he remembers her distraught and confused, beseeching tears hanging in her eyes.

that was the last time he saw her, before — the sounds of being stalked, the creature in the woods, and the strange child's hand cold in his... there was black.

klaus' eyes flutter open. there is this, now, and he knows his stomach should turn at the realization: there is no panic, no pain, no hunger, no terror, no rage. no recognition but a sense of peace. his breath is steady; his heart beats sure. as a matter of course and instinct, he lifts his hand to the gentle tug at the back of his neck. he disconnects the tube. a sudden, suffocating weight bears on his chest until his mind breaks and the dams flood over. multitudes of terrors and angers and happinesses and longings crack open his skull and drown him, and the only relief he clings to are his own coming back to him: wrath and fear and heartbreak, horrible and bright.

his fingers press into his temples as he slides and half-stumbles out of his pod, his breath harsh through his nostrils as he fights to control the rolling invasion. he's not inept; after all, he has had plenty of practice with his own tumultuous, amplified feelings.

they quiet. through his own efforts or otherwise, it does not matter. he accepts the tide of clarity, on his knees where he had landed.

a voice is near, and he understands the words, the greeting, and the beginnings of what he assumes will be an inadequate explanation, considering the circumstances. instinct and impulse go hand in hand for klaus; paranoia and rage do too. they flare in him now, fill every crevice and well. whatever this treachery and deception is, he weathers it with violent force:

he is in front of the figure in less than the blink of an eye, his arm extended, a windpipe's integrity tested beneath his strength. ) What did you do to me?

talk about a meet cute

[tynacious]

[ The slight raise in Ty's brow seems an understatement of the surprise xe should feel at being attacked, but then again...it's hardly the first time. Instinct lifts xyr hands in a surrendering gesture, waving slightly for emphasis before xe tries to speak. ]

Hh...Huh?

[ A small wheeze is all xe musters before pressing xyr lips together in a bemused expression. Ty looks at the attacker, then to the attacker's arm. Lifted shoulders join lifted hands in shifting the surrender to a shrug, a silent communication of "Do you want me to answer, or would you rather just choke me?" ]

[roseinpromenade]

[The last thing Asellus remembers is the sharp pain in her ribs and the crash of her body into the ground; she is, as a result, pretty grateful to wake up able to breathe painlessly, though that grace is immediately overshadowed by her head, exploding into about a billion emotions, complicated and foreign and almost painful in their intensity. She's about halfway scootched out of her pod when the wave crests and she pauses, looking intensely distracted and distressed as her mind instinctively tries to shut out all the noise. For a few moments, she's staring off into nothing, heart pounding-- and then she pushes through it, trying her best to ignore the sourceless noise in favor of one more obviously generated.

"Good m--" Asellus also seems to consider this, though it's more polite and rote repetition of a common platitude, and less of a 'it is morning outside' observation. "I... really have to stop waking up in strange places. Um... I haven't... been sleeping here for like twelve years, have I?" Her face indicates that she's dreading any sort of affirmative answer on that front. "Wherever 'here' is, anyway." She looks down at her frayed clothing and makes a moue of distaste. At least it's not bloodsoaked and completely destroyed, though she'd be happier in something more clean and comfortable.

the keyword for your icon...i'm dying

[tynacious]

[ Ty's brow quirks upwards. ]

No. I don't know. I definitely haven't been watching you sleep that long. [ Xe hasn't truthfully been watching any of them sleep for any significant amount of time. That would be creepy. Xe's mostly just been napping, drawing faces on the outsides of pods, and meandering.

Kind of convenient that xe always manages to end up back here right on time for new Hosts to wake up. ]

Here is the Nest. Or the Station, whichever you wanna call it. It's home now. [ Ty points to the cubby near Asellus' feet. ] Your space-onesie is there.

klaus mikaelson - the vampire diaries - ota

[poppycock]

DAY 41 & 42; the station.

( after bonding with his new friend ty, klaus has decidedly abandoned the waking people around him and instead taken to discovering and exploring all there is to know about his new surroundings. call it selective denial if you'd like; he's quite content disregarding, ignoring, and otherwise making his hostility clear with a barrage of unfriendly feelings and thoughts.

it's a credit to abduction and violation, he supposes.

that doesn't mean, however, that he will not engage when approached, or in any incidental vice versa. despite the balls of rolling anger and the undercurrent of panic and terror for his family and the daughter he left behind — and himself, here and now — he's quite aware that knowledge and numbers equal power.

mostly, he would just like to occupy himself from the ridiculousness and the vast emptiness of this place and from the invasion of his mind, particularly from the few personalities he can't seem to shake, nor what he assumes is the fabricated comfort of their presence, and the longing for others.

what he truly longs for is a way out of this wretched plane. bones snapping between his hands. blood erupting from where his teeth rend skin. true retribution.

in the library, klaus pauses to open a few books. he stands before the lines of shelves and picks up one and then the other. some he knows and some he does not; some bear languages that are familiar and others, gibberish. they are absolutely inscrutable, even to him at over a thousand-years-old. alien, in the way all of this is. fitting, is what he thinks, to visit a place in which answers should be plain on a page only to find more questions.

his frustration boils. his jaw tightens. there is something just barely satisfying about taking the next book and then the next and shoving it to the floor. an entire shelf follows with the sweep of his arm and then the whole bookcase, toppled viciously with a terrible crash.

he could use a drink. eventually he finds the nearest bar, sets himself up with a bottle or two of something amber and strong, and downs the contents of his glass as if it were water. somehow, this only makes him moodier, but it does round some edges. )

ooc | i'm open to anything! feel free to encounter klaus anywhere or contact me by pm or provenance to plot/discuss!

[byodo]

[ It starts as an urge, a flicker of irritation that Tenma can't quite place, before the action itself materializes in his mind before it happens in front of his eyes. The entire shelf of books toppling to the ground, the resounding crash a sound he knows to expect. If he hadn't seen the other man standing on the opposite side of the wreck, he might have believed it was himself who did it.

How porous are the boundaries between selves.

He hesitates, unsure how to speak aloud to someone who sounds so clear to him without any of them talking, then opts for German: ]

The books aren't behaving?

[technologist]

[ There's nothing about this that's significantly stranger than everything he's just left behind, frankly, so it's shockingly easy for Fitz to settle. And while he keeps to himself as much as Klaus does, his isolation's a cool contrast to all the bristling anger: it's reserved, quiet. Watchful, sometimes. His curiosity prickles at the edge of Klaus's mind once or twice, when Fitz looks up from the other end of a row of books and sees him knocking them off the shelf, or when Fitz catches a sense of tight fury from the other side of a wall.

It's all blood and bones and desperation. The thoughts aren't as jarring as they would've been a year ago, but they're distinctly not his, and it's difficult to shut down the instinct that has him chasing them up, trying to track them back to their source.

He does, though. Or he tries. Inevitably, he still somehow ends up in the bar just as the other man's slamming down what Fitz sincerely doubts is his first round. There's a beat of hesitation at the doorway — more reserve, more quiet, isolation more of a logical choice than an emotional one. The thing is, keeping to himself is looking less and less like a realistic option, and there's no team here to back him up. If he's stuck with these people— ]

Is that working?

[ A little flat, though not flat enough to come across as unfriendly. And a little dubious, because he somehow doubts booze is going to be enough to block out the spaceship or the frayed edges of their own thoughts. ]

OTA | Hyrypia | 42 pre-party split

[shiro2hero]

Hyrypia | GENERAL;
[It's too quiet.]

[That's not something he thought he'd ever think while he was here. But now, suddenly, his thoughts feel like they're echoing in his head with no one to hear. Feels like the loss of his arm is fresh all over again -- hard to explain, when you don't remember losing it to begin with. The thought of a hand gripping his.]

[ We just have to survive. We've lived through worse. Haven't we? ]

[And now... nothing.]

[On the SHIP, he's quiet. Wrapped in layers of black and his own thoughts. Moving mechanically through the motions of setting things up and assisting where he's needed in CAMP. He'll reach out to the people closest to him, when there's breathing space.]

[Unconsciously. To make sure there's still people here. There are still anchors in the wreaths of stars. Nothing else pulled out from under him. Wrestling with something he doesn't want to name or give power to.]

[Until, finally, the announcement, before it's too late.]

(I'm staying.)





((ooc: consider this just a general headspace slash activity detail for the day. If you want anything specific just let me know!! Wanted to leave it open for any last-minute conversations for CR heading back to the station.))

[greentech]

( So am I. )

[ There's a tangible sense of relief. She'd been... worried. What if he'd chosen to go to the Station? She wouldn't have stopped him, but she would've felt more alone if he had. More isolated.

She's glad that he's staying. ]

[persevere]

[Most of the people she knows and cares about seem to be headed back to the Station with her, either willingly or unconscious, except...

well, one.

Maybe it's the fact that other people she knows care about him too, making it matter to her more than it might otherwise after such a short time. Right now, it doesn't really matter.]

( Why? )

Hyrypia: Day 42, The Split | Open

[earthborn]

It is the work of Shepard's life to create situations in which one might be required to learn the subtleties of technique involved in transporting humanoids to and fro. She's drug one-man stretchers through jungle undergrowth, done variations on a fireman's carry, and on one memorable occasion carried someone piggyback for seven hours while they played lookout.

Good times. Unlike these.

As the appointed time approaches, she busies herself laying out blankets, spare canvas, even sturdy sheets. One for each of the unconscious, limp-limbed bodies to be slid or rolled onto. Maybe you want to help with that?

Or maybe you're only called over when Cathaway actually lands, and Shepard starts really directing attention. Two or four people per blanket, she says, quite as if she had a right to order you around. You? There. And you? Over there.

"One, two, three, lift," And you're off, moving at as rapid a pace as is possible with a heavy, unhelpful burden slung between you on a makeshift hammock of a stretcher. But there's no time to slow down, there's a lot of people to move, and therefore a lot of ground to cover. Shepard shows no sign of weariness, "Thanks for the help. Going or staying?"

[redheadcarrier]

Asuka's not all that happy. But when is she ever really happy these days? It's still not fun to stare at the limp bodies and remember that up until a day or two ago, these were people she'd been talking to. People she'd relied on. Clarke. Kaji.

Kaji hadn't wanted to go back. He'd wanted to die here.

She still remembers their last conversation. She remembers the feeling of nausea. It's stupid and it stings. Why would he want to die?

She's sitting there. Staring.

"I hate this."

It's muttered, but it's still easy to hear.

[persevere]

It may be a bit surprising, given the load they're carrying, that Caroline easily takes more than her logical share of the weight and seems to be far from struggling to keep up. Superhuman strength makes things like this a little easier, though this isn't exactly what she likes to use it for.

All of this is pretty uncomfortable and depressing for her, honestly. There's an undercurrent of fear, too, and it's obvious from the way she can't really filter anything that she's still very new.

"Don't worry about it." Better her than someone who can throw their back out. "Going, I think, hopefully. If I can talk my best friend into coming with me." Her lips twist slightly as she thinks about how that conversation might go. "How about you?"

[greentech]

Shifting Odds

The whole expedition lost its sens of "fun" a long time ago. Pidge doesn't like camping, never really has, but she's still there, still helping set up tents and gamely carrying on despite everything. There's a lingering sense of dread at the back of her mind. They've lost more people over the last couple of days. A cascade of people falling into unconsciousness and they've had to scramble to cover for all of them. So by the end of the day, she's feeling bone tired and ready to sleep.

But hey, they have to cook first. She has a collection of vegetables laid out in front of her and she's having a go at them with a knife, the steady sound of a blade against wood filling the tent as she tries to make a decent medley to go into their stewpot. She winces slightly as she manages to catch herself on one finger and she lifts her hand to suck on the wound.

"...Hunk always made it look easy," she says aloud. And then - "Hey, do we have a first aid kit?"


Two Roads Diverged

This is it, right? The parting of ways? The night-time rendezvous feels heavy and sad. Like there's a weight on her shoulders that she can't quite shift. She sucks in a breath, trying not to think about the comatose bodies they've had to bring up here. Or the sense of death that settles over everything. This feels depressing. Like everything is going to change after this. Like they've already lost, maybe.

She tries not to think about it.

"Guess this is it. Any idea how we win this thing now?"

Victory feels... far away. But she can't really stop believing in it. They'll manage. Right?

Shifting Odds

[sizeofyourbaggage]

It's... a lot. This mission, yeah, but the sheer number of people who've slipped into sleep - it's always been like that, he tries to remind himself; he's seen every Host who was here before him fall into it and a handful come back out.

But it feels different this time. Maybe it's the looming potential separation, maybe it's the timing, maybe it's a dozen other things. He's trying not to focus on it too much.

Instead, he's cutting up meats for the stew, and he looks up when he feels an echo of pain. Finds Katie way too easily, and quirks a little smile.

"I've got two. You want old fashioned first aid or the fancy ability kind?"

shifting odds

[blooded]

Damon, on the other hand, is not as affected by all the people going unconscious. He tends not to care more than absolutely necessary, and none of the people falling into comas have (or had) anything to do with him — if it was Elena or Caroline or Sam maybe he'd care more, but so far he really just gives no shits. The prospect of getting off this rock also has made his mood lighter — he's ready to go back to the station, much as he was happy to leave it, when they first came here.

Pidge isn't really someone Damon's spent a lot of time thinking about, after their first meeting — she's a teenage girl, and a techhead, and Damon doesn't have a whole lot to say to either of those types of people. But hey. He's in a good mood. He can help out.

"No first aid kit. How do you feel about blood? Not yours. Mine."

two roads diverged

[whereabout]

"Honestly? No."

Way to be reassuring, Joshua. But despite the fact that Estelle used to give him crap about his silver tongue, it's not really that politics are his forte so much as he was better than her at knowing how not to offend people. None of the things he's talked his way out of as a Bracer are on this level, and when the cards are down, he's better at the kind of fast, decisive solutions that are found with a knife.