50 years later meme

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Fast forward into the future of Station 72 where your character has been a part of the Hive for however many years. Are they still themselves? Have they integrated fully with the symbiote? Are they the only ones left of their brood? Have they formed other connections in their brood's absence? Do they remember anything of their life before the station? How do they relate to the other Hosts still around, or to new ones who have come in since others have fallen? What else can you come up with?


HOW TO PLAY
STEP ONE: POST WITH YOUR CHARACTER

STEP TWO: Either set up the scene or give some info of what your character is like X years down the line.

STEP THREE: TAG OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS

STEP FOUR ?????

STEP FIVE: PROFIT

Comments

[erbier]

[ Once upon a time he would have been executed for speaking to her that way, it is a pleasure to her, to remind him of that. To conjure up the tortures he would receive, if only she acted upon her bent for cruelty a bit more. There is an inherent cruelty to the Nest, just as there is an inherent love and it troubles her not at all to reconcile them. It never has, and while he imagines the softness and heat of her body, she imagines the inner wet of him, eviscerated. This is the heart of them. Dreamers. One fantasy and one nightmare, and they delight each other in repulsion. Every time.

She sets her hands on the table, eyeing where he now physically impedes her work. She does not try to remove him. She won't stoop so low as the touch him at all, it's what he wants. ]

( You can go. )

[ Frigid in her dismissal, though she hardly expects it to move him. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[Her disapproval should be bottled for continual consumption throughout the day; it's a pity times five that he can't constantly bask in the fuck you vibes streaming off the lady. Ilde has such a way about her. She has never joined him in the dream-crafting for good reason: they don't need that monstrosity gobbling up the Nest and leaving behind sparking wires. Tempting, though, sometimes. When Kavinsky knows he's losing himself bit by bit. A purge would save what's left of his soul that's all his.

That might be it. He feels uniquely himself around Ilde. She refuses to accept him. She won't even be congenial.

Kavinsky would thank her, but that would sour the mood.

He leans back on his hands, spreads his legs obscenely wide.]

( Closer. )

[Less and less a suggestion.]

[erbier]

[ She doesn't move. He's using her, even now, to satisfy himself. Such a wretched, impudent bug of a man. That too exists in the Nest. Lust, need, loss. Tangled together the way all things become tangled together as the threads intertwine, twisting, braiding to make something entirely new, unbreakable, disguising what once was. ]

( You only come to us when you are feeling sorry for yourself. )

[ He is a destructive self-loathing creature, a manipulative daydreamer, a charlatan and liar. She feels all of this for him with an utter certainty. ]

( What has upset you. )

[ She might take pity on him, if he told her. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[Wretched bitch; she sees right through him as if he was sculpted from solid glass.

He's grown to adore the Nest in many ways. Communication is a breeze, words can be abandoned in liew of sensation. His Brook is a pack formed from a collection of alphas. They're stronger together. There can be no tighter us. But he hasn't lost the niggling dust mote problem of the void in his chest. He's given more than enough and still he hungers.]
( Always got to make things heavy. What if I wanted to help? )

[Her approximations of him always forget the most important title.

Thief.]

[erbier]

[ A sensation like a hand on his cheek, although her hands have not moved from where she planted them on the surface of the desk. She is an expressive psychic being, it's not really something she can resist. Her total condescending tone towards him, however, is not hidden. Nor the threat. What if she cracked him open and took it from him, what troubles him. Bubbled it to the surface with searching fingertips, pressing in to wounds that never heal. Like an increasing pressure on the seams of his skull.

She's at least looking at him, cold and sharp. ]

( I don't need you. )

[ Not the way that he needs her. ]

[100mitsubishis]

( Aww. Want me to cry about it? )

[Kavinsky beckons her near, yet watches her move keenly, like a cat judging the range of a child that's pulled his tail before. He gambles with himself, egging her on when she could reach inside his chest and pull out something worse than the heart he was born without. His nostrils flare with heavy breaths--in and out.

He's had hooded bedroom eyes since he was fourteen. Showing concern, sincerely or in jest, isn't his strong suit.]

[erbier]

[ It would amuse her, to see him cry. Perhaps amuse is not the right word, it would not be so much a pleasure as a monument. A moment in time when he was forced to emote beyond his flippant veil. So carefully cultivated to express his wildness. She can tame that wildness. He was just one monster among many, so despicable in his habits but pliable to their manipulation. There is a give and take, to these things. She smiles drowsily at him, plucking at ethereal threads of their many minds, summoning up all the memories of weeping and sorrow that she can lure to them in this moment.

A reminder. A push. He cannot hide from her, from them, from us. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[The sorrow wraps around him like a midsummer heat. Every time one of their teammates has broken down and Kavinsky had no choice but to feel his own heart squeezed. He spent so much of his life refraining from empathy. He clutched at those that reminded him of himself, the lonely and the marvelous. But here, it doesn't matter if they share anything in common but the Nest. Their pain becomes his pain. Their tears wet his eyes. He blinks a few times, warding the misery off with a firm contempt.

They're both weaving rapidly--her, the sadness, him, everyone's resolve joined to his own.

He flings himself down onto his feet, closes the gap, grabs for her face. If she doesn't strike him, in one way or another, he will kiss her.]