[closed to S72 hosts] mental link

[polyphonos]

[Hosts have returned to Station 72. It's the most populous this place has been for some time, but the dull ache of missing links - the numerous comatose individuals now carefully tucked back into their respective pods on the Nesting Deck - looms like a shadow here. It's quiet and still and strangely barren. The distance which stretches between the Hosts here and those who chose to remain on Hyrypia is a physical presence as well. It's as a curtain between two rooms, two slowily turning mirrors on different rotations, infrequently capturing eachother's reflections. In the gap, in the waiting stillness, Cathaway's mind is a steady, rythmic drip of cool water into the mirrored surface of some greater, unmoving body of water:]

( Should you need to reach out to anyone left behind on Hyrypia, we will happily assist. Find us if you need us. ) [There's no image projected along with the words, just the certainty that if someone came looking then they would inevitbly find her.] ( If you have questions or require anything else from us, feel free to ask after that as well. We're here to help. )

[There's a bizarre texture to the shape of the thought: it wavers and shifts, malleable and untethered as if for a split second she is uncertain. Then that two turns, solidifies. Curtly:]

( Welcome back. )

Comments

[iuno]

( Yeah, I got a question. )

[ he's jittery again, restless more than uneasy, although he grinds it under his heel a little with Cathaway's presence on the periphery. she's not the worst of the lot or anything, but he still doesn't particularly like any of the older Hosts, much less trust them. ]

( Anything that needs doing? ) [ brusque — he really means it, though. desperately wants something to do with himself, hands itching for want of it, this need to be useful and to matter. ] ( I didn't exactly come back up for a vacation. )

[ wouldn't have come back up in the first place if it weren't for somebody's sleeping body. ]

[polyphonos]

[That wavering, unsteady line of her mind frays then twists then remakes itself - unwunding and rewrapping from some unknown point in the distance as her attention redirects to him. from--

Somewhere else.]

( You can do whatever you like. ) [Then: a spark. The sensation of a point being sharpened. That wasn't the question at all, was it? When the line of her thoughts shape into words again, it's more direct. Candid. If it weren't for the eponymous 'we', the sensation might even be...normal. Or as normal as is possible.] ( Sorry. We're distracted. What're you good at? )

[iuno]

[ ... well, that was — odd. he doesn't know enough about Cathaway or the Nest in general to have any clearer thoughts than that about it, but that didn't seem entirely good. the blunt edge of his mind recedes a little, cautious and wary. ]

( Shooting things. ) [ that's his obligatory sarcastic answer, although it isn't untrue. ] ( ... Investigative work. I'm not really a Jack of all trades. Or many trades. Kind of just the one, in fact. )

[polyphonos]

( There's nothing to shoot here, Juno Steel. )

[It's a bland remark, every edge blunted and plain. But after-- after, something softens or gives or melts. The shape of her mind in the yawning Station is malleable. Cathaway thinks:]

( Would you like to help us rearrange some things instead? )

[iuno]

( I know. It's terrible. )

[ what good is he if he has nothing to shoot. he does actually consider her offer, though; the tap-tap-tap of drumming his fingers along a surface, weighing his options. well. he doesn't really have any other options. so he's not as opposed to the idea as he sounds: ]

( What kind of things are we talking about? I'm not a secretary. I have my own secretary for that stuff. )

[polyphonos]

( It's not like paperwork. It's more mechanical- or near to gardening, maybe. We could do it on our own, but it's easier with a second. But it will require us to be near one another and for you to accept our guidance. )

[What's the mental equivalent of a worked eyebrow and a knowing look? Whatever's slithering out from her mind, probably.]

[iuno]

( Urgh. )

[ he's so enthusiastic. ]

( Well, you've probably already mind-read it out of me, but my track record with guidance is... ) [ a lot of picking fights with authority, digging his heels in. stubborn certainty that his way is the right way and then he gets punished for it. his time with the Hyperion Police was all friction and it combusted pretty quickly. ] ( ... not good.

Especially if I don't like or trust the people guiding me. Just a funny quirk of mine. )

[ he's still not turning the offer down. begrudging menial labour is better than being bored out of his mind up here; if he spends any more time sitting alone in his room with nothing to do, the Hyperion-shaped black hole in his chest is going to eat him alive. ]

[polyphonos]

( Yes, we suspected that might be the case. ) [It's a blooming amusement kind of thought, a dark colored flower widening in the sun.] ( If you'd like, we can find something less...connective for you to do. There's lots of equipment to be categorized and filed away on the hangar bay and the Prince only has so much time to do it in. )

['So much' as in 'too much'.]

( That said - call us biased, but we think you might prefer our work. It's much more interesting. )