station72 | mental link

[ She softens then, compassion more than anything. ]

You poor thing. Your head must be aching.

[ A soft breath and she leans forward, peering at him closer like she's learning something particularly, measuring it up for size. ]

Let's start there instead? Give you some relief. [ And she offers up her hand then, open palmed and relaxed. ] If you feel comfortable. I promise I'm not going to pry, but I can help make it... quiet.

[ Even in the face of such an offer, Bellamy hesitates. There's so much in his head that he would rather not share, even in spite of that ever-present undertow urging him to open up, to share with the nest itself.

But he has to trust someone with this at some point. Better it be Angel than try his luck elsewhere. ]

Alright.

[ As much to himself as an answer to her. He shifts down the cushions towards her before taking her hand, his physical proximity as much a demonstration of trust as the way he weaves their fingers together and holds on tightly. Bellamy doesn't do anything in half measures, even though apprehension is written all over his face. ]

Go ahead.

[ This is the part that doesn't come easily to him. He's verbally permissive, but what comes next? The link between them trembles, but doesn't spike. ]

[ She smiles, pleased to help, letting him get comfortable and squeezing his hand back as she settled herself. Going relaxed, her eyes closing and inhaling slowly.

It comes natural to her at least, broadening her mind against the walls around her. To use the connection of his fingers threaded with her own to let him in - and she does, like opening a door to a part of herself.

( Words, soft, careful, as much feeling as thought, here. )

Becuase here is the nebula of living, the constellations of behaviour, the shooting stars of emotion, black holes of griefs, asteroid belts of grief, their private universe that she does not find too much, not at all - rather she likes being part of the hive. She likes to sit and just let it wash over her. No fight in her against her. Her concerns are not so much with the heavens, but more earthly. The settle of his hand is distracting, in its way. She wants to set her palm to his and measure his fingers against her own and watch his eyes as she brushed her fingertips against his just to see what could be seen -

- and for that, she knows it is all overwhelming. There is so much, to being part of this hive. A cacophony of noises, speaking over the top of each other and she has thick walls against it that dim it as she lets him into her own mind. Within it, everything is no less busy, but like a planned city, it is organised, direct, she watches its flow with a careful eye, her control is an absolute in this place.

Nothing he needs to worry about being, right now, rather for the purposes for him, she lets the rest of the hive in, and at once it bursts in and it's always just a little, overwhelming. She takes a deep breath, and shows him then, like guiding his hand to paint -- ( breath, slowly, voice removed that speaks not quite right but, still her, somehow ) - and she dims it, slowly but surely, like turning the lights down in a room until the stars seem far, far away, and they are settled away from it, and it's more than anything -

- quiet. the chatter dimming like listening to someone two rooms away. ]

( Better? )

Edited 2016-07-19 13:35 (UTC)

[ Here.

It's a whisper, an impression accompanying the slow plunge into the ebb and flow of the nest. There are unfamiliar patterns of thought, belonging to those he has never met, only felt briefly, accompanying the people he can identify. The instinct is immediately to recoil, even as Angel's grip reassures him, act a focus to keep from acting on that impulse.

There's so much. Opening himself to it feels unnatural, and more importantly, dangerous. He can feel too much. Admittedly, Bellamy always feels too much, but his own emotions are more manageable than the whole of the Nest. Angel draws him in before it transcends his limited ability to withstand. He doesn't understand exactly what she's done immediately. It has the same sensation as when he'd draw a blanket over his head when he wanted to block out Octavia and his mother's conversation, all the buzz of the Nest muffled behind the careful enclosure of Angel's mind and the direction she turns him in.

Even as wary as he is, the sensation of being so immersed in her head still sparks the same impression: beautiful. ]

( Quieter, ) [ Bellamy tells her, aware of their joined hands, trying to follow her advice and keep his breath steady. ] ( How do you do this? How did you learn? )

[ She times herself to him, waits for him patiently to feel adjusted, to not be overwhelmed. Stretches her fingers in an absent way, relaxed mostly. Or rather, especially. She likes this, is maybe why she finds being in the hive so comfortable. It wasn't an invasion, it was too true connection to her. So removed from the physical, that the mental link was easier for her in many ways. A eager sort of intimacy she did not mind at all.

Especially, when there he thinks that word again, and she giggles, a ripple of thought that is upturned and pleased as much as abashed. ]

( It's a little complicated, I was born... different. We're called sirens. I connect with machines, mentally, like we're connecting now. But literally... millions of them I guess. So it could get very loud, and I'd get overwhelmed a lot when I was younger and... unfortunately when a siren isn't in control of themselves... people die. ) [ says it gingerly, she didn't want to scare him. But it was what it was. ] ( I had... help too. The metal plates on my head allow my brain waves to be monitored, and a team of scientists used to... observe me. Not that it's useful to you, but other members of the hive can help. Like this. ) [ A cheerful squeeze of his hand. ]

( So never worry about asking. Even if I'm busy, being connected means I don't even really need to be present. You can just reach out for me whenever you like, and I'll do my best. )

[ Sirens. Bellamy's mind involuntarily conjures up the image of beautiful, sea-bound women with voices that could draw men to their death, coupled with his mother's voice describing them, Bellamy tucked in against her on their tiny bed. It's a well-worn memory, though it jars against her explanation. She's not the same kind of siren. Bellamy forcibly refocuses, embarrassed.

Though approaching what she's telling him takes care. It's a delicate subject. She's revealing something about herself that she doesn't have to. He doesn't recoil from it. ]

( Is it too loud for you here? With so many of us? )

[ It feels loud, for Bellamy. He doesn't want to be a burden as much as he doesn't want to reveal too much of himself.

But she doesn't scare him. Her words echo into him, stirring up accusations and ugly truths about himself. They're not so different. Bellamy lashed out and people died because of what he'd done. He squeezes her hand back gently, shakes his head a little. ]

( I don't really know many people besides you to ask. )

[ Know, trust. One informs the other, really, and Bellamy doesn't know many people here that he'd trust to get this close to mentally. ]

[ It causes a giggle, that's not at all, and they do call to people - but in madness more than beauty. The shrieking of psychos that she had seen running towards Maya and Lilith, weapons raised with ever intent to devour their Gods and love in their mouths - will you marrow me? ]

( Not really. I don't consider this... a lot. I used to cover a... whole planet. Maybe if I ever become like Cathaway, that might be a bit much. )

[ She opens her eyes, watching his face then, for a moment, smiling oh so fondly at him. ]

( Well, until you do, I'm happy to be here for you. )

( Thanks. )

[ It's heartfelt, even as he catches flashes of memory from her. There's nothing like it here, or in Bellamy's scope of experience, but it still pulls at every protective instinct he has. Is that the kind of danger she lived with? Is that what's behind the beauty of her mind? Bellamy doesn't want to pry, knows that she promised to leave him privacy and deserves the same in return, but the curiosity is apparent, even as he buries it. ]

( What's Cathaway like? )

[ That's technically not the question he should be asking. He should be asking her how he can do this on his own, and what the fastest way to accomplish that might be. But the mention of Cathaway pulls his attention. He's making up for lost time. He hadn't spoken to either of them in the beginning, and he's regretting it now. ]

[ She presses her lips together, humming a moment and really there is only one thing that comes to mind. ]

( Like looking up at the night sky. Or a many faceted jewel. She's... powerful, and... I suspect there's a lot of aspects to her. But she's not cruel. Just, watching. )

[ She wants Cathaway's serenity, her great, expansive calm. She likes Cathaway, but she wonders too if it's the adoration anyone has for the person that undoes their shackles. She can't tell it apart, but it's something for later consideration, should it ever come up. Until it does - she finds herself too easily a child around her, settling at her feet, with her eyes up, listening for another story - just one more - please. ]

( She sounds cold, ) [ Bellamy observes, though it's absolutely unfair to attribute that trait to Cathaway without any real grasp of her beyond what Angel is telling him.

Truthfully, he's drawing wild conclusions based on the descriptor's Angel's using and what assumes Cathaway is like. Is she as disconnected from her former life as Carata had been? Was it as easy for her to advocate forgetting what they left behind as it had been for Carata to urge Bellamy? He won't know until he speaks with her directly, but he'll put that off as long as he can. ]

( Did it take you a long time to learn how to do this? To make walls? )

[ A tricky answer - she pauses, her teeth pressed against her lips and she watches the rivers of her mind, memories - that aren't pleasant - Jack please, it hurts, please it's choking me - Sweetie, it's for the best. We decided, it's for you own good. - a moment later, and she's screaming.

She breaths, slow out, steady inhales. Memories can't hurt her anymore. ]

( Sort of. I was born like this so... the walls were something I really mastered before I understood what I even was. But that's just a matter of daily... daily practise. )

[ The memories come in a tickle, haphazard, more impression than coherent image. Bellamy tries not to look, but the sense of them lingers. Someone was hurting her. Lexa had implied as much, but it's difficult to listen to the echo of her screams. His grip on her hand flexes, tightening in a useless reaction. ]

( Of course, ) [ Nothing comes easy. Even this. Especially this. ] ( I didn't mean to remind you of...that. Whatever it was. )

[ Something painful. His eyes flick up, catching her face, wondering about metal plates and who would do anything to her to make her scream like that. He doesn't ask. ]

( Sorry. )

( You didn't do it, you have nothing to be sorry for. )

[ Shakes her head, ducking down and lets it go. Hates how it creeps up on her - but there's nothing for it. It had been her whole life, after all. ]

( My home planet isn't a very nice place... and my father was one of the worst people you could imagine. But... ) [ She squeezes his hands in return looking up more fixedly, more happily. Like somehow he is as much a reason to smile as anyone was. The warmth is genuine, always is when she thinks on how lucky she is to be here. She'd made her peace with her end, to have more is - ] ( ... I'm here now, and I never have to go back. So there's nothing to be sorry for. )

[ Never.

He can feel the flare of her jubilation. It's hard to process, when all Bellamy wants is to go back. All the misery waiting there, it was a different kind of pain. He understands the discrepancies, even if he can't even begin to get his head around the idea of cutting ties completely. ]

( Wasn't there anything good? ) [ He asks, praying that maybe she did have something. Just one thing. Angel deserved so much more, but surely she had small comfort. ] ( Anything at all? )

[ It feels so strange, to taste the hope like second-hand smoke. Addicted to its taste, and wouldn't - wouldn't it be nice. It would be so lovely to miss something, anything, because then it all might have been --

-- someone else's life, quite probably. Hers was what it was. Knew enough people were like him, would do anything to go back. They missed, they had something or someone to hold onto.

( Because if she did have anything to miss, that would be to have hope at all, and if she'd had even a sliver of that at all left in what she had been, she might never have - ) ]

( I don't think those are the sorts of things you really want to know the answer too. Someone of us... don't have lives like that. )

[ Hope is a hard thing to keep alive. What little Bellamy has left is carefully hoarded, kept alive by his people, by Clarke. The lack of answering echo from her is discomfiting, made worse by the realization that none of the small hope he's cherished can be halved and gifted to her. ]

( You can tell me, if you want to, ) [ He says simply, finally. ] ( Do you have that now? Here? )

[ Which seemed impossible to Bellamy, but in comparison, without anything to root her to her past, then why not? Maybe this is all there was. Maybe this connection, the nest, her brood, they could be something good for her the way Octavia was for him. ]

Edited (dang it) 2016-08-14 01:06 (UTC)

[ She nods, the second part more than the first. Here -- here is much better. Here is more than she ever expected, and she can give him something back - because she hadn't wanted to make him feel sorry for her.

She leans in close then and there's something warm and tingling to her, a memory that she has embellished with the one's that Aoba gifts to her. It is just the feeling of weak sunlight on her skin the first day on Avera. Everyone had complained that it was miserable. But not her, never her, it's -- utterly pure. It's so clean, nothing, nothing will feel like that first breath, that speckling of light rain on her cheeks and the light, the light, the light - ]

( I do. )

[ she pours it over him, the happiness, it's everything, right then, it's filling up her lungs, it's trickling through her lungs, she is not just a sense of it, it is all of her.

This is the first day after the war, and the sky has never been so big. ]

[ This is what Bellamy has been trying to avoid feeling. Angel's contentment and satisfaction, the purity of her happiness, it's overwhelming. Bellamy holds his breath, savoring it unthinkingly. He hasn't felt anything like this in his entire life. Happiness always came with a price, with an edge of danger, even when he was just a kid. Knowing Angel feels this makes it hard to condemn anything, and he feels himself leaning in towards her until his forehead is pressed to hers.

She's not Octavia. For a moment, that fact is hard to remember. Bellamy has cared for so few people's happiness like this. Momentarily, it all blurs together. The sensation of that first breath and the feeling of rain mixing with the memory of Octavia's joy as she spun to face him in the open air of Earth. Surely this was the same exhilaration. Bellamy's happiness had been muted by the memory of gunfire and blood, but he'd seen this on Octavia's face. But it wasn't—

Angel's not Octavia. Bellamy's eyes open, mind humming, reminding himself. ]

( I'm glad, ) [ He admits, because whatever his own struggle to accept this place as his home, he finds the same pleasure in her happiness as he had in Octavia's. ] ( I didn't know it could feel like that. )

[ Being here, or just being happy in general. Probably both. ]

[ She glances up when he leans in closer, pulling in a breath with the sudden proximity that - settles as she lets it go. Her head tilts against his, her face turning up into him for that one shared moment when it's all the splatter of rain and the wholeness of feeling. His as much as hers, catching the edge of a left over exhilaration. ]

( Neither did I. ) [ There is a smile on her lips. ]

( I spent my life locked up in a tower - like those stories about princesses and monsters in towers. I didn't know life could be like this. )

mental link - :018

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