TDM 001

[raiamods]

TEST DRIVE MEME 001 ❀

CONTENT WARNINGS: potential character nudity, violence, trypophobia (images) as well as light mentions of gore.

Please note: FOR THE FIRST 24 HOURS AFTER 'HATCHING', CHARACTERS WILL FEEL WEAK AND ANY POWERS THEY HAVE WILL NOT WORK.

Test drive meme threads can be considered game canon for players who are later accepted and wish to keep their CR. The rescue mission prompt will be a TDM-exclusive, but the other prompts that you see here will also appear on our first game log. There will, of course, be more going on that week.

Please reserve questions about consequences for altering or meaningfully investigating the setting for the first log of the game, where we will have a Mod Questions thread at the top of the log. On this test drive meme, please reserve this thread for clarification and setting questions.

On the first day of reserves (May 10th), only players who participate in the TDM will be allowed to reserve. You must link an AC-length thread from the TDM for early access. Starting on the 11th, any prospective player may submit a reserve. Our hope is that this will avoid overwhelming our reserves.

❀ HATCHING

Congrats, you've woken up in an egg. I'm sure this is exactly how you wanted to spend your Saturday, right? There's no time to get curious and check out the other egg sacs. By the time you've fought your way out of the membranous sac, spilled electric blue goop everywhere, wiped it out of your eyes and sundry other orifices to get your bearings, you have a spear (or a gun) leveled at your face, throat, or other vital organs. Even if you might be inclined to fight, you can barely lift your arms to protest being grabbed and dragged off. Before you can even get a word in edgewise, you've been thrown into a holding cell.

Characters will not have a chance to retrieve their items at the time of the first hatching, and may not even know there is anything left in the remaining eggs.

The holding cell stinks of something sour and acidic, like rotted citrus, but you are not alone. Several other detainees sit in similar squalid confusion, dressed strangely and equally gooey. Time to make nice, ask questions... figure out what the hell is going on, and maybe do something about all that slime?

Over the next few days, a few things become clear. Despite the alien greeting, your captors speak a language that you understand, and the unpleasant circumstances are revealed to be a matter of necessity, not choice. Supplies are low, but they ensure that the new arrivals' time imprisoned is as painless as can be — they offer hot communal showers of less than three minutes, some strange starchy meal-replacement, and medical treatment to those in need. You might strike up a conversation with your new best friend in the shower over a low soap dispenser or when you realize you might need to share towels.

The cost of these luxuries comes in the form of touch-and-go interrogation by the security officers keeping tabs on the cells and supervising the shower time.

A few notes:

☆ Your character may get pulled away for interrogation at some point. No torture, no drugs; just questioning.

☆ Locals will be stopping by outside the freestanding holding cells to ogle or ask questions. Are you really going to be mean to that little kid staring at you with wide eyes?

☆ Characters will be let out for bio breaks. No one has to pee in a bucket, that's just inhumane!

☆ Attempts to escape will probably get you tasered. The mods will not facilitate escape-plots/etc on test drive memes. However: if you app and are accepted you are more than welcome to chat with us about the possibility of having escaped or attempted it.

❀ EXPLORE THE BASECAMP

On the heels of a little benign interrogation, a medical inspection, and a stern talking to by Captain Childe, the survivors at Basecamp Leviathan determine one thing: you don't appear to be an active threat.

Released from the detention center after three days, you are given the run-down by the locals — you're on a planet called Ethyraia, and the people around you are survivors of the catastrophic crash of the UCSS Adamant several years prior. You, in fact, showed up on the third anniversary of the crash. Weird coincidence, huh?

You're being allowed to mingle with the others. The first order of the day is having a proper meal at the mess hall — some of the Adamant's survivors will be friendlier than others. They've been stranded here for years, remember? Some of them will be so desperate to talk to someone who has news of other places, and some will be giving you the cold shoulder.

You'll be fed the same as the rest of them. A plastic plate of crumbled protein of unidentifiable origin and gravy over rice with a single wilted stalk of broccoli and a cup of the worst coffee you've ever had. Maybe somebody bumps into you and spills said coffee, maybe you make it all the way to one of the long tables set out for communal eating.

Time to strike up a chat with your neighbor — maybe ask them to pass the salt?

(What do you mean, there's no salt!?)

After a meal — it's hard to say which one you'd call it, since the whole crew is on rotating schedules — you may decide to wander the basecamp. Folks in every department could use a hand. Those willing to help out may get friendlier reception than those who play the tourist. For more info on what else you might find, check out the LOCATIONS page.

During this time, characters will be able to return to the Central Chrysalis where they hatched. While there are no clues as to how they got there, they might find items — their own, or someone else's. Everyone is strapped for supplies, but try not to snatch up anything that isn't yours. The security officers don't look kindly on people chasing one other down the hall, trying to get back their dirty magazines.

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to help out anywhere. Every little bit of assistance you offer to the locals will raise their estimation of you. You could easily help clean dishes after the meal, help fix leaky piping or repair hammocks. You could stop by the aid station and assist with the wounded. You'll be watched closely and some of the survivors will be warier than others, but most will appreciate the opportunity to have a 'break'.

☆ If your character leaves the basecamp and wanders outside the Leviathan, they may begin to notice that what they perhaps took as a giant cave is actually an enormous dragon. Everything they see that seems 'human made' will look varying levels of worn down, patched, repaired and patched again. This is not a place of prosperity and happiness. Many people are recently injured, or have new scars or missing limbs.

☆ PCs will be warned about going beyond the shade of the dragon's wings. For the sake of the test drive mods will not be facilitating plots that deal with characters going further; we ask that players with an interest in exploring this wait until the game is fully open.

❀ RESCUE MISSION

"There's no time to waste," the woman says breathlessly as she grabs your arm. She pulls you to an augmented reality sand table and you will find yourself standing alongside some of the others you may recognize as having 'hatched' with you. There are murmurs by the Adamant's survivors as they pour over data. Maybe you remember Captain Childe from the stern interrogation she gave you a few days ago, but in any case but she's standing at the edge of the sand table looking at the distance scaled between the enormous huddle of HUD badges — the Adamant's survivors — and a tiny pocket of pulsing green some fifteen kilometers away.

"They knew better," Captain Childe says, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. "They should have been back hours ago."

"Fucking scientists," says a man with a faintly French accent. He is scarred and battle-worn, and looks properly pissed off. He's also sporting several fresh injuries, one of which seems to have warranted the use of a crutch. "They'd lose their heads if they weren't attached. Let them wait out the storm."

"No," the captain says. "They're too close to the Rat Nest. We don't need a repeat of —" she trails off, as if seeing you for the first time. She looks you up and down, and then: "You've been told by now that everyone here has to pitch in. If you know how to fight, be ready in ten minutes. You're our rescue squad." She turns and walks out, and there's an awkward moment where everyone present is looking at you to make a choice.

Ten minutes really isn't a lot of time to get ready to walk into danger. Or maybe you aren't a fighter. Maybe you just don't care. But either way, there are people looking to you. To see how you'll react. To see what you'll do. To see if you belong.

What'll it be, hatchling? Fight or flight? Maybe you ought to start coming up with a plan.

FIELD WORK

There's a cadre of scientists cut off by acid rain. From their last transmission, they were driven into the Rat Warrens — and you've been tasked with rescuing them. Too many members of the Security Team are themselves injured, and none of the remaining ones have experience leading a fire team. Let's hope you do — or at least that you can fake it.

Maybe you've hand-picked your team. Maybe you're just stuck with whoever else was closest. Either way, your companions are some of the people you might recognize as fellow 'hatchlings'. If you know them already — good, you've got a head start on what they might be capable of out in the field, and you can chat about the little things. You know, like the weather. Acid rain, gotta love it.

Either way. You're given few small slabs of surprisingly lightweight alloy that has a sheet of — is that hide from the Leviathan? — stretched across them, to divide up amongst your team. "Helps with the rain," Ensign Porter says, trying to sound cheerful despite the grim set to his jaw. "Just come back in one piece. I kinda feel responsible for you guys, you know?"

Before you know it, you're outfitted for the trip. Weapons (if you didn't have your own) and maybe some medical supplies, handed over with a grimace by Doc Sunya.

So then it's just you, your tiny team and a fifteen kilometer hike. Oh, and the acid rain. Luckily, the shields seem to be keeping it off, but it's hard to hear anything over the impact of the drops. Anyone want to play I never?

Or maybe you think you should make a break for it. This is your first time being outside the Leviathan unsupervised. You've got supplies, and other people with as little to lose here as you do. Maybe you should talk.

THE RAT WARREN

You've made it to the last transmitted location of the scientists. What you find doesn't bode well — one of them seemed to have an arm torn off — at least, you think it's an arm — the way it's been disintegrated by the rain makes it hard to tell.

One thing's certain, though. There are bloodstains leading into the nearby maw of a hole in the ground. There's a putrid odor wafting from it, and the sound of frantic scrabbling.

You have an idea of what might be down there. 'Giant rats with tentacles', Porter had said. Don't let the tentacles grab you, they leave chemical burns that usually result in amputation if they can't be treated immediately. But there's a chance the scientists are still alive, and you need to make your choice.

If you and your small team venture down into the darkness, what happens next is up to you. You'll be encountering hoards of these monsters. The scientists are still alive, but will they stay that way? And more importantly, can you get them back to the Leviathan in one piece?

PCs versus the local fauna, round one, FIGHT!

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to put player characters 'in charge' of the planning/logistics phase. If another PC tags into your thread, you and that player can decide which PC will be 'leading the charge'.

☆ Your character will have: a mini-railgun, a spear (if they don't have their items/weapons from home), a first-aid kit, the acid rain shields, ration bars (that are essentially condensed protein bars — they do not taste good) and one of the smartwatches, which will have a mini holographic HUD displayable on its interface. If your character is the sort to request other things, feel free to assume they received them (within reason — please remember that resource scarcity is the name of the game — feel free to be creative here!).

☆ There are fifteen kilometers to cover. If your character has an ability like superspeed/etc, please keep in mind it will work, but you also have your allies to consider. Normal walking time over this distance, given the difficulty of the environment (steep hills, acid rain, unknown territory, etc) would translate to several hours to an average person.

☆ Feel free to use the NPC scientists however you'd like. If you want your character to find some dead, you can. If you'd prefer they be rescued, that is also acceptable. These are essentially 'your' NPCs that you are using to facilitate the story at this point — the sky is the metaphoric limit!

❀ BOOZE

A week. You've been here for a week.

By now, you might have tried to venture out of Basecamp Leviathan and experienced firsthand the acid rains that the security officers warned you about. Or you might be teaching the kids at the schoolyard how to gamble. In any event, Thorkil seems to take pity on his disoriented new friends and taps his distillery for a little help.

Invitation passes by word of mouth to meet at the memorial wall. Moonshine of questionable quality is passed around in tin cups — hope no one's afraid of germs — as Thorkil explains the great relief it is to be gaining people instead of losing them. This settlement isn't big, and they aren't overburdened with hope or supplies, but there's been a lot of loss in the past three years. Some people might be willing to look at the arrival of these newcomers as a sign that things are turning around.

Bottoms up, hatchlings, and ... Happy Birthday?

A few notes:

☆ Feel free to turn this into an impromptu party. Maybe you're celebrating getting all the scientists back alive! Maybe it's something like a wake to remember them in the sad event of their passing. Either way, many of the engineers and other NPCs may join you in this moonlight drinking session, as well as whatever PCs you tag out to or are tagged by.)

❀ OBLIGATORY NETWORK

Welcome people of all kinds to Basecamp Leviathan! I'd give you a hand moving in except...

I have no hands.
Because I'm an AI.
Get it?
It's a joke.

My name is Cartagena. But anyway, this isn't about me or the Adamant for once. This is about all of you. So if you would kindly fill out the following questionnaire to get to know each other; it would also be very helpful for my systems.

NOTE: Participation is MANDATORY.

That was another joke. It's all voluntary. You people and your free will.

1. What is your name?
2. Where are you from?
3. What's your favorite smell? Please describe it as you would to a person without a nose. Because I do not have a nose.
4. If you could be any animal in any world, what would you be?
5. How old are you?
6. Did you enjoy this questionnaire?

Thank you for your participation! Please enjoy the rest of your stay here at Basecamp Leviathan.

NAVIGATION ❀

Comments

IDK we're doing something

[wittingly]

—can talk about this like adults, okay? Seriously, just... it's not alien, I mean technically, I guess, but it's-- it's just-- repurposed, that's not- oh, come on, man, you don't have to--

( A dozen different holding cells and mismatched shower opportunities mean he's got no idea Nate's here. It's been here maybe two or three days now, mostly stuck with the same six or seven faces in his designated cage. Apparently he's up last-ish for the Official Interrogation, which is... probably a lot more laid back than most of the ones that came before him. They took back the soldiers, the guys kicking a fuss, the ones that looked suspicious.

Ian's low priority, thanks to his mild manners and calm approach. It means this particular "interview" is being conducted by some rando only half interested in him, the door parted half way open, Ian standing over the guy's desk where he's disassembling Ian's MP3 player. Probably not checking for bombs or something anymore, so much as just curious about what in the hell the thing even is.

Which Ian would love to explain to him, except he's only listening with his eyes and his fingers. )

It's-- you know, like— a walkman, it came after those but before iPods- do you know what an- you don't know what an iPod is, do you? Jesus, it's just- it just plays music, man. I can show you. It's just, like, forty different songs by Pat Benatar, unless you- don't pull that wire, that's.... really... hard to... fix, god...

( Damn it.

Hello yes this is your romantic reuinion — accidentally passing by and catching Ian demonstrating all the alpha male command of a wet sharpoodle. )

unacceptable everything must be planned from start to finish

[nonscriptum]

[ They don't exactly have free reign of the area, but security's been lax since they started working through the main trouble-makers and down to the less concerning individuals, most of whom seem to either look wholly unintimidating or in general appear to possess a more congenial nature.

Nate has tried to keep up. Tried to catch a glimpse of each interview - an impossible task, really - and tried to gather names to see if there are any he recognizes, anyone who might be from his own world if not one of the ones he was forced into afterward. There isn't a lot to work with, a fact that becomes increasingly disheartening with each passing hour until he hears the desperation in a plea about a fucking Walkman.]

Hey- hey-

[ He pulls out of the hall without thinking about it, nudging the door open and setting eyes immediately on Ian, who looks about as stressed as anyone would be if their only source of entertainment from another universe was being probed apart. The relief that floods through Nate feels like a dam breaking but the more pressing issue is the official, who had actually sat in on Nate's interrogation a couple days ago. He slides in between them. ]

This is my-

[ They didn't choose a label, did they? Think fast, Nate. ]

-friend, from my world. That's just- hey, look, it plays music, that's it. Buncha wires in a chunk of plastic with a few storage chips, now look- it's Benny, right? If you thought those soldiers were annoying you can't even imagine what a shitfit this guy throws if he doesn't have his Red Hot Chili Peppers- it's a band, not a food, try to keep up, Benny. So what do say you just let him have this for the duration of our stay, and we can take it to the techs if they wanna scan it later, all right?

[ He's never been a good liar but he's always capable of improvising, and Benny sits back in his chair with a flat, unamused look. It's a gesture of acceptance, followed by a dismissive wave of his hand and a quiet "Fine, see the techs later" at which Nate breaks into a bright smile with a friendly clap on the shoulder.

The chair is pushed back with a thin squeak and the appointment concluded as Benny seeks greener pastures, leaving his victim to collect the remains on the table. Just as soon as he's out of sight Nate looks over his shoulder at Ian, then down to the Walkman. ]

...sorry I didn't get here sooner.

idk if this is gonna work out we should see other people

[wittingly]

( So intensely, stupidly focused is he that the intial hey, the distinctly recognizable voice (in hindsight) don't register. His eyes only peel away from the autopsy on the desk when Nate physically steps in, at which point all thoughts of the demise of the world's greatest MP3 player are promptly out the window.

His surprise and the absolute twist of feeling in his chest keep his mouth shut throughout Nate's entire exchange with Barry(?) Barney(?) whatever that asshole's name is. Franklin. Who cares anymore?

Sorry I didn't get here sooner.

The breathy scoff that escapes him is too full of relief to be real, and he answers by immediately erasing all sense of personal space to hug him with just a little too much gusto for a guy his size. If Nate weren't stacked like a fucking brick house it might have bowled him over. )

Yeah, you're late by like two days.

( Which he spent in a jail cell, with nothing to do except think. No distractions, no work, barely any conversation because the people were nervous or getting called back for interviews. Just his mind running wild, running the same scenarios over and over.

The principal one being you're never gonna see them again. )

do not lie to yourself it's unseemly

[nonscriptum]

[ Ian barrels into him so hard that Nate actually tips back a little, leaning into him again once he's regained his balance with both arms thrown around his stupid, solid torso with his stupid, happy breath huffing against the side of Nate's head. ]

Hey. [ He rasps with a faint laugh, squeezing tightly, relief bleeding into his limbs. ] Good to see you, too.

[ Plausible deniability is the watchword of a person who struggles with emotional vulnerability and Nate knows both himself and Ian well enough to tease around the subject, saving blunt honesty for more important things than hellos. He remembers what it was to wake up alone in Hawai'i, to check the network and find nothing behind - no digital signature - outside of past conversations. Nothing for the future. Just the past. ]

I've been here a couple days, actually. [ He says, slightly muffled. ] They interviewed me first thing. Guess we've been in different cell blocks.

your face is unseemly

[wittingly]

( They're in a different world with different soap and different laundry, with three minute showers and an entirely strange environment. Despite that, Nate somehow still smells familiar. It's almost more that than even his face that sends rippling relief melting down his spine. )

Yeah.

( He's a little hoarse normally, it's precariously raspy now. It's said over Nate's shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut like if he doesn't see anything he doesn't have to feel like he's overdoing it by hanging on a little longer. )

They- uh. They pulled pretty much everyone out before me. I think it's haireotyping.

( You know, what with looking like a total pacifist. And then being a total pacifist. )

wow RUDE???

[nonscriptum]

[ Nate tilts his temple into Ian's, letting out a slow breath he didn't realize he was holding. Hard to believe this man got swept up too, nudged into another world - the same as Nate - instead of dumped back into his own. It's a relief he isn't there, with the alien apocalypse and the Earth slowly drained of its resources, it's a relief he's here and Nate hugs him all the tighter for it. ]

Nah, they just correctly assumed you can't punch your way out of a wet paper bag.

[ He grins, easing back enough to seek eye contact, curling one hand around the side of Ian's neck to look him over. Tired, a little fraught, but otherwise looking okay. ]

How ya doin'?

[wittingly]

( It's a pretty sorry state of affairs that prison on another planet is still technically better than where he started. Shame about the sudden lack of taco trucks, though — not to mention he just got slapped with enough money to buy coffee. It's stupid that one of the first absurd, irrational thoughts that came to him was disappointment over abandoned, half-finished projects he wouldn't get to complete. Hope New Amsterdam enjoys those face masks.

He huffs out a sound that doesn't manage to seem quite as offended as he'd like.

They reel back and Ian has (hopefully) just enough time to wipe the train wreck off his face. School it back into something quasi-calm, though there's no erasing it completely. )

Scrambled in every possible definition officially, but no I'm good, I-

( Hatched out of an egg on a planet that is definitely not Earth and am half expecting to see a god damn alien any second now, at which time I will promptly shit myself. As much will be apparent in the flickering sliver of empathy bond stuttering its way through existence. That's something to look into. )

Served some hard time. Almost got a teardrop tattoo. Lucky they pulled me out in the nick of time.

[nonscriptum]

[ Yeah, he's not doing super well, is he? That abrupt veer into deflection is about as familiar to Nate as breathing, an easy decision to make when at a loss or lacking the ability to put something into more effective words. Ian had gone through a lot before New Amsterdam, more than anyone had a right to, and is already a person more deserving of a little peace.

It's selfish of Nate to be happy he's here, but he's only human. ]

You should probably learn what the tear drop tattoo means first.

[ Nate informs him sagely, not especially inclined to go into intense detail about the various meanings attributed to prison tats, seeing as he himself is familiar with most of those in Nuestra Familia's aesthetic collection. ]

But you should know you look better without.

[wittingly]

( Ian's familiar with exactly one reason for the teardrop tattoo, and the implication that he managed to murder someone during a two day stint in an alien prison is so absurd he's not even hung up on the grim possibilities of it. Wet paper bag. ​​)

True.

( He agrees with his best rendition of a nonchalant, conceding shrug. Might not quite hit his usual mark.

He doesn't even try and school out the concerned knit that takes over his brow )

What about you? Why-

( A beat, and then a baffled twitch hits his body language. )

How the hell are you already on a first-name basis with the guards?

[nonscriptum]

Eh- I was one of the first people they interrogated.

[ Nate says with a tiny shrug, lifting one shoulder and dropping it again. There's no sense in lying about that, particularly because it got him sent through the interrogative wringer and all he has to show for it is a handful of guards' names, most of whom regard him with vague friendliness now. The same cannot be said for their department head, who Nate is convinced has a deep, unrelenting suspicion regarding all newly-hatched people.

Not that he blames him, it's pretty weird. ]

Turns out saying "here we go again" after emerging from a big slimy egg is controversial.

[wittingly]

( There is one single beat wherein Ian stares at Nate like he has lost an entire god damn mind, and then he breathes out a disbelieving laugh. On the breathy cusp of it — )

Yeah, no, I'd say that's pretty controversial.

( What the fuck, Nathan Drake.

He passes an absent second-thought glance at his MP3 player, and goes about haphazardly (but... gently) scooping it up so they can get the hell out of Interrogation Room D or whatever it is, the backup-backup for when it's a half-hearted endeavor.

He tips his head toward the door, goes about ambling through it. )

So- what the fuck is going on? Is everybody else here? Is this like an aerie thing again?

( Or maybe another sim, though he just missed the first one. Hard to compare. )

[nonscriptum]

I don't think so. It doesn't feel like a sim or an alternate timeline thing because we'd...be different. And we wouldn't know we were different. That's usually how they operate.

[ In his experience, anyway. Dumping people in fully-formed and fully-fine is not the usual method employed by simulations in different worlds, but then, he's never been to this one. Hopefully it's the last in a long line of places he logically never should have been able to visit.

Nate follows him, slipping out into the hall, hands fidgeting for a moment as he works through another tangle of thoughts. They're together, at least, the only ones they know thus far. The only recognizable faces not from their respective points of origin. ]

You're the only person I've run into, that I've- I'm sorry, um. [ He stops short for a moment, dodging eye contact as everything else slowly rolls to catch up with him. He huffs a laugh, self-deprecating at best. ] ...For a couple days there, I thought I was alone. Again.

[wittingly]

( There's some undeniable processing going on in his mind right now; cool and grounded, but calculating. The kind of detached that isn't sustainable for long, but that he'll cling to tooth and nail until it finally fails him.

Nate has way more experience than he does in stuff like this. Technically speaking, until they can find somebody to top him, he may be the leading expert in multiverse reality hopping. Part of him still clings to a little bit of denial, that thus far unproven possibility that this is temporary and New Amsterdam is permanent.

Because...
Kyna.
Lance.

It's way easier to check his feelings when he has the opportunity to focus on Nate's instead. It's a comfortable instinct to angle himself in a way that blocks Nate from the wide open hallway, like he's shielding the private moment from onlookers that don't actually exist right now. Even more comfortable instinct to reach down and track fingertips down Nate's palm until he can thread their fingers together. )

Me, too.

( It's an honest admission, even if he's compartmentalizing the emotion behind it. )

But you're not. I'm like... the clingy girlfriend of interdimensional travel. Plus...

( A gentle squeeze to his fingers. )

Took us two days to run into each other, you know? You never know.

( How many others might be here, too. He packages that in with his denial — if they can find a handful more, it lends weight to the theory that this is temporary. )

[nonscriptum]

[ Nate tries not to linger on those thoughts, treacherous as they are, considering the loss of more people. He's already wallowed in them for the last two days, determinedly ignored them when they get too strong, everyone gone but him and now that isn't the case. He can work with hope, but tries not to put too much stock into it. Investment was never his strong suit.

Ian slides in and takes his hand and Nate lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, stuttering and sharp. Palm to palm he gives a little squeeze, the muted sensation of comfort carving a line into his walls once more, picking at the cracks. A faint twitch of a smile hits him with the assessment: clingy girlfriend is a joke but as close to an admission of whatever they are as he's gotten so far, so they can table it for the future. ]

Yeah, I know.

[ He does. Ian is choosing his words carefully, too, which is commendable. But Nate has the uncanny feeling that this place is more permanent than any of them would like. ]

I'm glad you're here. I woke up in Hawai'i and you...were gone. So. [ He sucks his lip between his teeth for a moment, gaze skittering off to one side. ] I got worried.

[wittingly]

( He hasn't been thinking about the what are we conversation. Nate can probably easily and accurately guess it's a talk that'll make him fumble, but it's one that hasn't even darted across his radar. As far as his brain is concerned, they are what they are, and they are definitely something. It's not commitment that he'll get hung up on, exactly, so much as... Expectation, maybe. Admitting the significance of how he feels out loud. It's a big card to put on the table.

Not one that really has a place here and now. )

Shit.

( He exhales, his thumb worrying over a small stretch of skin. )

How long?

( Was he gone? How long in Hawai'i before he woke up here? The full seven days? )

[nonscriptum]

It was only a couple days.

[ He hastens to add, so as to not seem like a total disaster about it in spite of the fact that waking up alone so soon after Sam's disappearance hit him like a tail-spinning Blackhawk.

God, he's stupid for worrying. Or stupid for lingering on it. He's given that speech how many goddamn times now, emphasized waiting and patience, but it's so much easier said than done when someone is a part of your life and then they're not. The sudden and abrupt absence carves something into a person, or hollows out the empty space they thought they had already filled.

Hard not to feel bereft of that warmth even in a balmy, humid climate. No callused hand skimming his hip, the funny tickle of a beard brushing Nate's shoulder with murmured words, that stupid, synthetic coconut oil scent. ]

That's all.

[wittingly]

( Ian is not even remotely convinced by that hasty addition. The look in his expression is the sincerest possible version of come on, man. )

I know what a couple of days is like. You made me run at five in the fucking morning.

( A couple of days is plenty of time to lose your cool when someone goes missing, he learned as much from Kyna. Sam and William to a far lesser extent, but still enough for him to get the impact.

He curls his free hand along the side of Nate's neck, thumb settling somewhere just before his ear, fingertips soft indents at the back. )

You've lost, like, a dozen people that way. You don't have to bullshit me.

[nonscriptum]

[ Nate doesn't need the empathy bond to pick up on that sentiment, which is good, because he can't feel it right now anyway and hasn't yet realized as much. Kind of hard to bullshit somebody who not only knew him for over a decade in another life, but has Seen him in this one.

Nate exhales with shaky control through his nose, jaw set and tense, nodding in spite of the pit in his stomach twisting back into that pretzel knot all over again. With gentle ease Ian's hand cradles one side of his neck and he's hard-pressed to not just shut his eyes and lean into it, but this is far too public for that kind of intimacy as much as he'd like to throw the middle finger up at their benevolent captors.

Some of the tension rolls from his shoulders and he reaches up, rests one hand on Ian's wrist. ]

I took you for granted. I don't want to do that again.

[wittingly]

( This is about when Ian notices the empathy bond is missing — because Nate says something that spears him directly in the heart. Normally he'd be fumbling inside of himself, riding out a wave of deep affection and feeling self-conscious as hell over it — except there's no echo, no external understanding, no amusement, none of the carbonated feeling he's used to getting back whenever he feels something like this.

His expressions are muted, maybe hard to track — fondness only in the corners of his eyes, then a sudden gentle confused furrow to his brow. A knit that reads something's wrong, accompanied by the tightening of his grip on both neck and hand.

He'd struggle and eventually muster up the balls to say something back that's equal in sentiment despite second-guessing himself all the while, except this new revelation throws a wrench straight into the gears.

His rusty voice cracks a little until it catches properly. )

Hey, can we- is there somewhere we can go right now?

( Private, somewhere not in this fucking hallway, so he can act and speak freely. )

[nonscriptum]

[ Something is wrong.

It's not immediately apparent except that Ian looks at him funny, as though something is missing, or expected and not forthcoming. Whatever mild, sweet fondness was there dissipates immediately under a cloud of concern and the fingers at his neck squeeze ever so slightly.

It's worrying. The creak in his voice, the hint of urgency. ]

...um. Sure, I think our options are "utility closet" and "interrogation room."

[wittingly]

( There's a two second flickering glance in the direction he's assuming utility closet is, an obvious little lift to one eyebrow.

If this weren't so serious... Tibet was a great vacation.

Heart > dick, let it be known.

Instead, he nods his head back toward the interrogation rooms, tugging Nate along with their hands still threaded. He only lets go once they're in, and it's so he can shut the door behind them. ​)

I can't... feel anything.

( And it occurs to him about three seconds after the earnest statement what that probably sounds like. He does a quick, jerky little shake of his head. Shaking the etch-a-sketch clear. )

I mean- that's not- I feel a lot. That's the problem. That's all I feel.

( Does that... make any sense? More tangible context, when he reaches out for Nate's hand again it's to sort of lift it up like he's making a point. )

[nonscriptum]

[ It's easiest to go back to the place they came from - particularly when he knows there shouldn't be any other interrogations on the docket today - and Nate follows with something like mild confusion, connected hand to hand and released once inside. There's that strangeness again, as the heat on his palm dissipates and he rubs it with his opposite thumb, watching Ian shut the door.

The first statement sweeps the legs out from under him and Nate stares, uncomprehending, waiting for the follow up that requires several seconds to register. Thank God Ian does follow up, or they'd really have to have a difficult conversation.

He feels, but not- ]

...Oh.

[ The back of his hand cradled in Ian's he looks down at the contact that should be lighting him up inside, filling him with an unmistakable reflection of warmth, reminding him of the bond they've earned and (honestly) scaring him a little that it isn't there. The glowing isn't there either, and Nate's free fingers wander over his own chest for a moment, glancing down and seeing nothing. No vivid blue piece of a thing-that-wanted-to-be-a-god.

The implications hit slowly, then all at once. ]

Oh, crap.

[wittingly]

( He doesn't let go of Nate's hand, probably a subconscious decision driven by the fact that he's feeling the same kind of fear as Nate. As uncomfortable as he's always been putting himself out there to be seen, it's something he'd slowly grown accustomed to. More than that, even — the echoes of understanding and matching feelings were a consistent reminder that they're on the same page. A regular, recurring, frankly kind of soothing bit of concrete proof that he didn't need to overthink his feelings — positive or negative — fifteen times over, because most of the time he could feel Nate feeling them, too.

He actually might have needed that, without even realizing it.

And it's gone.

Oh, crap. )

Yeah.

( Less a word and more an exhale, distinctly unhappy. Oh, crap is exactly right. Talk about taking things for granted.

Interestingly enough, where Nate's chest is unresponsive, Ian's is glowing subtly beneath his shirt. Probably not hard to connect the dots that he's trying, that he's activating the damn thing just like he would if he were putting up walls or something.

It's just... not doing anything. )

[nonscriptum]

[ He doesn't need the empathy bond to see the crushing disappointment in Ian's face, that he can no longer reach out and touch a piece of Nate that was given freely. He always tried not to lean too hard on that crutch, not to get too used to its effects to the point that not having it would become untenable, but maybe it would be an easier adjustment if it faded out slowly, expected. Not this. Not all of the sudden, no rhyme or reason, just emptiness where coiling, warm sentiment used to be.

An empty space on the bed, next to him.

Nate works his jaw a little, hooking his finger in Ian's shirt to check and it's there, faint but there. "God" touched, a fragment left behind from another world. And what the Hell does he have? ]

Why are you glowing and I'm- I'm not? [ He looks up, searching, confusion and panic seeping into the corners. ] What's wrong with me?

[wittingly]

( It's immediate and natural instinct for him to shove all his crap to the back of his mind and shift his focus entirely to finding a solution for Nate's distress. An echo of their position in the hallway slips in; Ian's free hand lands on Nate's neck, thumb settling gently along his jawline.

Trying not to think about how much he'd like to push through the actual sensation of reassurance right now, because that's not helping. He aims instead for projecting through body language, because at least he's been able to do that for basically his whole life.

Calm, gentle, rational. Soothing, hopefully. )

Hey, hey, there's nothing wrong with you, not that I can tell. We'll figure it out, it's okay. I'll do math about it.

( Physically, mentally, emotionally, he seems the same as he did back there. )

The aliens probably figured you were badass enough without it, and took pity on me being a walking bag of posters on mitigating workplace violence.