MISSION: WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT. I

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: WAYPOINT SHRIL
WHEN: Day :025 - :029
SUMMARY: Welcome to Waypoint Shril, the soon-to-be home to the galaxy's most incredible competition!
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.

SOMETHING IS WRONG. Strange, how a moment ago everything seemed perfectly fine - as normal as things get on Station 72 - and then the next the entire void shifts by a degree. There's a crackling, anticipatory feel in the air. Dwelled on too long and it might become nauseating, triggering some hindbrain impulse the nervous system under the skin or--

Something is coming.

Something is coming undone.

In the heart of the Station in a small, featureless circular room, The Prince and Cathaway dredge the Station from its mooring. There's a rush of shared adrenaline, then an massive sensation like an inhale. A gulp of breath. Relief floods through the body like something palpable as the massive beehive structure of the Station snaps into real space above the deep space space station known as Waypoint Shril.

( ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬...Please meet us in the hangar. We have your next assignment....▬▬▬. )

Once they've arrived at the hangar, the Hosts will be briefed by Cathaway and Prince on their new objective. They'll be given their mission kits, along with a written brief on their databanks. The usual warnings apply. Try not to kill anyone. Do not get killed yourself. And accomplish your mission. From there, pack yourself onto the transport shuttle and make your way to the Waypoint. --One of you knows how to drive, right?

Once ejected from the Station, you'll find yourself on one of literally thousands of ships. The black space above Waypoint Shril is full to bursting with air traffic from the smallest pod-shaped one being ship to the most gargantuan floating planet cruisers. Some of them rival even the Station which now lurks, a mottled white and grey latticework structure that's no more bizarre to look at than any of its neighbors.

VROOM. A ship shaped like a sword with a naked multi-limbed alien painted in lascivious, technicolor detail along the blade slices directly across the path of the shuttle transport. It blares a proximity alarm and a holographic message full of swearing and threats pops up even as the ship blasts down toward the traffic choked landing platform in the distance. A school of insectoid fighters go swarming after it. In the distance, the flash of ships dropping out of hyperspace through the gate rings gleams like a strobe light and on around the landing platform itself buzz two dozen security vessels desperately trying to keep order.

Welcome to Waypoint Shril. Don't crash into anyone on the way in.

     I. PLATFORM ALFA
When the ship finally docks on Waypoint Shril - after a lot, lot longer than you may have liked -, the scene that greets you is more hectic than even the busiest rush-hour on Concordia. There are simply too many people in too small and too hastily prepared of a space. The platform itself was clearly designed for utility, not for comfort and not for style. The walls- towering sheets of welded metal from a countless number of sources, flecked with old paint and the occasional slash of grafitti - offer nothing in the realm of sound dampening, and the electro-cloth banners that hang from the ceiling, advertising the Aurora Blue Arena! in dozens of different languages do little to help. As a result, the entire platform echoes with thousands of voices trying to talk over each other and the newly enhanced intercom system struggling to be heard over the din as it works to provide simple directions and instructions for the teeming mass of tourists.

In the press of flesh and the constant motion, it’s easy to get swept away from your party. It’s easy to find that the items you just had on you are suddenly missing, expertly palmed away by slippery fingers as you try to push your way towards the series of pneumatic tubes leading to the Waypoint proper. Ship's hydraulics hiss, lights flash, and the smell of greasy stall food spreads out from the edges of the platform. There are a few bright-eyed, clever locals - or what count for locals on Waypoint Shril - who don’t hesitate to reach out and grab your arm, offering to be your guide. Asking if you’re here as a spectator or a participant. Asking if you need information. Company. Everything has a price.

Get your bearings - if you can. It’s going to be a long couple of weeks.

     II. THE MOST FABULOUS PLACE IN THE UNIVERSE (Please Excuse Our Dust!)
Waypoint Shril's main thoroughfares and twisting platforms may have made sense to someone, but now absolutely no one knows how to navigate them as the ABA! has swept through Waypoint, bulldozing and building up anything and everything in its path. Oh, did you like that tentacle sandwich shop you stopped in five minutes ago? Too bad! We decided two minutes ago we're tearing it down to make way for a spa-slash-beer-garden! Stand back please, there are explosives detonating in this area in 3, 2, 1…--!

Everywhere you look, Waypoint Shril is undergoing a dramatic transformation. Maybe there are places on the outskirts, far from the Arena Zone that aren't literally being paved over or built on top of, but they seem to be the exception to the rule. Don't get lost as the neighborhood quite literally changes shape around you!

     III. MEET THE COMPETITION
Between the fabulous prizes and the fabulous fame - every single still-living winner of the previous competitions became household names before they stepped out of the Arena, then went on to live lavish lives of excess where they're paid exorbitant fees just to be seen and heard, known for canoodling and cavorting with the best, the brightest, the most privileged the Galaxy has to offer- it’s no surprise that the ABA! draws competitors like a magnet. And while not everyone advertises their status, plenty do - hoping to exchange the slimmest possibility of their victory for favors or drinks or just plain old attention. They’re loud, they’re visible, and plenty of them are very, very drunk, or whatever counts for drunk for their species.

If you want to size up the competition, now’s the time - in the middle of Blunt Force, with scores of other competitors lined up. The club itself is home to a deep, thrumming beat that vibrates through your chest, the industrial concrete walls covered in splashes of electro-paint that pulses in time with the beat. The floor is dark and smooth, the bar is long and there isn’t a single seat to be found at it, just an endless slab of some ancient black stone that drinks slide back and forth across. Every bartender wears a half of a mask in clear plastic run through with simple circuitry in complex patterns and they’ll keep you hydrated for a modest price. Above the floor on a catwalk composed of corrugated metal and transparasteel there are low couches and cushions in rich fabrics of a hundred different patterns of velvet and neon, two dozen tables, and another small bar that will hand out drinks and powders and oils and smoke. The patrons are as varied as anything else in this place, as hodge-podge. Slender, slick looking people with hunched backs and long necks. Short, broad aliens with four legs and four arms. Something heavily shrouded, the only part of them visible a proboscis. Some are here to dance, some to drink, some to talk and more than a few to fight - maybe for keeps. Hell, you might be one of them.

     IV. WILDCARD
There's plenty to see, do and explore. You've got a few days before the competition kicks off - might as well make the most of it.

---

((OOC NOTES: Welcome to Waypoint Shril! This log covers the arrival on the Waypoint and can be used for anything prior to the start of the Aurora Blue Arena! on Day :029. However, feel free to make your own logs if you choose! You can find a complete mission overview and a place to ask any mission-specific questions over at the OOC post.

Thanks everyone!))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[deployed]

[ Bellamy doesn't doubt Lexa's sincerity, but he still isn't used to hearing her voice concern for his life without Clarke to veil the intent. Her words are met faint discomfort, which Bellamy covers by looking quickly around the room to be sure they aren't overheard. ]

I know he'll keep me safe, Lexa. I don't want to go into this alone.

[ And in the wake of Ren's coma, the Darkling is off-kilter. Ilde is reckless under the best of circumstances. Murphy is a constant, and Bellamy doesn't see any reason to gamble on teaming up with someone else. ]

I can handle Murphy. And the sooner we complete our objective, the sooner we can move on from this planet.

[ The next planet may present a better option for escape. But Bellamy's not going to mention that to Lexa when the debacle on Concorida is still so fresh. ]

[adamance]

He'll keep you safe only so long as you go along with his beliefs. He's made that clear to me. [The fact that Murphy believed Concordia would somehow be a path back to their home is one that she hasn't made sense of just yet. She has a hard time with it, if only because with every corner she's turned to prove that they are nothing more than pawns, she finds more evidence that they are now trapped in this life. As she said to Petre, it's very difficult to lie to another in this situation. Very.]

And he seems to believe that I've given up my humanity to better serve this Nest. That is a belief, Bellamy. He won't listen to what I have to say. And I refuse to allow you of all people to play mediator between us. [If only because Bellamy is the least impartial person she has ever met.]

[deployed]

[ Explaining Murphy to Lexa would make all of this easier for Bellamy, if no one else. But Murphy wouldn't appreciate it, and Lexa is clearly going chalk it up to Bellamy's obvious bias. He crosses his arms, jaw working around the initial flood of protests. ]

He'll listen in the ring. I'll ask him to listen. [ Which he realizes immediately is the kind of mediator role she just demanded Bellamy avoid. ] Who would you rather I took with me?

[ Frustration bleeds into his tone. She's staying out of the ring, and there's precious few people in the nest Bellamy wants to take into it with him. As hard as he tries to separate the symbiote-fostered sense of connection from reality, it still doesn't manage to rival the familiarity that he shares with Lexa and Murphy. That carries weight with Bellamy. ]

You could prove him wrong. We both know you haven't given anything up.

[ But Lexa guards her emotions better than most members of the nest. Bellamy knows what he's asking of her, and he knows she's unlikely to bare herself for Murphy's benefit. ]

[adamance]

Yes. But he's not unlike another around here. Parker. Who also does a poor job of listening and tries to find holes in what anyone says. I hadn't thought he'd be so like someone so frustrating, but now I see that they're two of a kind. [Perhaps it's a good thing that Lexa is fairly certain that the two don't know one another, or she would have been involved in their dubious plan on Concordia. She also hopes that her comparison won't lead the two to one another.

Her frustration over this possibility spikes, but only briefly.]

As it is, you know I'm not in the business of proving anything to anyone. If he wishes to comply with my advice, you can work with him. But it won't help you any if he finds ways to counter what I'm saying constantly.

[deployed]

He's not like Parker.

[ Bellamy's frustration bleeds into the statement. He's a poor choice of mediator, even if Lexa and Murphy were both amenable to him assuming that role. ]

I don't think there'll be time for argument in the competition anyway. We'll make it work.

[ He pauses, then sighs before amending: ]

I'll make it work.

[ He trusts Murphy. It's difficult to explain in terms that will break through to Lexa, and Bellamy's unwilling to give up the more personal, revealing details that define their interactions. His own assurances will have to do. ]

[adamance]

He nearly already cost you with his selfishness. Why do you believe in him? [Lexa had thanked him for his willingness to help Clarke, to keep her alive while she sought to shut down the City of Light. But now, she can no longer do that, seeing him as nothing more than an agent of chaos.

In this way, she would prefer to understand. If it's coming from a place of guilt, she has to know. If it's coming from a place of blind belief, she has to know.

But John Murphy does not strike her as someone capable of the flexible pragmatism that they will need moving forward—both in this tournament and beyond.]

[deployed]

It's complicated.

[ Though Lexa doesn't have to say a word for Bellamy to know that answer is unsatisfactory. Most answers he could attempt for her would likely be unable to bridge the gap between Bellamy's trust and Lexa's skepticism.

He offers her his hand instead, the way he had done to show her Polis. It's easier with physical contact as an anchor. It keeps Bellamy from straying too far out of his own mind. ]

I can show you.

[ Though she's free to decline, not that Bellamy ever doubted her ability to do so if something displeased her. ]

[adamance]

[There is a hint of agitation at "it's complicated," as if Lexa doesn't understand complicated. Murphy was apparently privy to her death, and yet he continues to treat her like she is nothing more than a predator. In truth, she can see the reality of it, but the politician in her head, the leader that she's always been, finds it to be a simplification of everything.

Rather than a complication.

Her hand extends, eyes wary.]

Very well. Show me.

[deployed]

[ When he takes Lexa's hand, he thinks of Angel, then Clarke, both distracting before he tightens his grip and focuses past the spill of associations to focus on what he's trying to impart. Grounding himself with physical contact makes sharing memory easier for Bellamy. Fingers laced together, this feels more like pouring sensation through an open conduit rather than lobbing impressions between them.

He doesn't give her the hangings. What he gives her is the jagged, shattered edges of mistrust between the pair of them and Bellamy's disdain coupled with the way Murphy had flinched away from him in Arkadia's makeshift jail cell. There had been nothing between them but wreckage and the ashes of loyalty. Bellamy hadn't trusted him. His impressions are a morass of guilt and loathing superimposed over Murphy's scuffed face. It carries through to the face of a cliff and a girl sobbing as her fingers dig into Bellamy's shoulder through his guard jacket. Every time the straps slip, Bellamy's heart stops. They'll die if they drop. He can hear screaming above them before the gunfire and the horn.

The memory narrows down to the gasping relief of being reeled onto solid ground and the realization of the strap bunched in Murphy's hands. The skip of Bellamy's thoughts is adrenaline soaked and unsteady, but a single impression lingers: Murphy could have let go. Bellamy would have expected him to; Murphy had no obligation after all that had passed between them. But he'd held on. That tipped the scales.

Bellamy doesn't let go of Lexa's hand when the memory begins fading. ]

I trust him. He's had plenty of opportunity to abandon me since then, and he hasn't.

[ Lexa doesn't need to see anymore of the ruin of Polis, even if it meant witnessing Murphy following him into danger and likely death again. ]

[adamance]

[The memories provided do contaminate her own perspective on Murphy. He had been there when Finn had murdered countless numbers of her people, even if he hadn't partaken in that act. He had been an easy casualty of the war that her people had thought they were waging: he could be tortured, destroyed, and tossed aside. After all, the Sky People were seen to be a threat, imposing themselves on lands that were already unsafe because of the efforts of the Mountain Men. Taking one of them to weaken the rest had been easy. Exiles weren't uncommon among their people. Finding one of theirs to try to make him betray his own had only made sense.

Lexa had only been behind some of the decision making, but she trusted her own to do what they must. When reports came in, she adjusted things accordingly. That is why she sent Tristan, after all.]

Whether you trust him does not mean that he trusts you. [It's not a contradictory term. Trust is hard won, and Lexa has only extended it to so few. But these days, she finds herself doing it more and more. It's almost as if she has no choice (and almost as if Bellamy has infected her with that mindset, that need to add a different kind of significance to every degree of interaction).]

Or whether you will continue to trust my judgment. I would prefer that his ... perspective does not come between us.