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

[blooded]

( it's not that damon thinks he can buy their affection with gifts. in fact, he wasn't really thinking of them much at all when he got the jackets and the hotel suite, he just... saw the jackets and knew misato and sam should have them. and then he couldn't very well get a hotel suite this palatial and not share it. elena's staying with him was a given, but there was even more room left, and, well. no friends of his were going to be staying in anything less than the lap of luxury. so here they'd all ended up, lumped in the suite all together, sam being depressed, misato taking longer baths than even damon is capable of, and damon just watching them both with amusement.

misato's suggestion is not one damon would normally be opposed to, but he wouldn't usually be too enthused about it either... but sam's all sad, missing his friend, and damon can't fix that with a jacket. wouldn't even know where to begin talking about it, or helping, other than to get absolutely crazy drunk so it's not even a problem anymore.

five minutes. sam can put his problems on hold for five minutes. )

Sounds good to me, ( he says breezily from the couch, looking over at sam, eyebrow raised. you really good for this, sammy, or do you need to mope longer? )

[sizeofyourbaggage]

Do I get a turn in there to at least change into something more appropriate?

[ Or slightly less appropriate than what he's wearing now, but since they're going clubbing, technically that's more appropriate. Once he's finished shouting through the open door at Misato, he turns back to Damon - and he knows the way that Damon's looking at him.

It doesn't surprise him that Damon's picked up on the way he's feeling. Damon's a hell of a lot more empathetic than he likes to pretend, and Sam's already gotten the feeling that he cares a lot more than he likes to pretend he does, too. Maybe if it wasn't someone who's head he's been in as much as he was in Damon's, Sam'd be able to hide it better. But Steve's gone, and he and Bucky are back out of sync with each other at the moment, and it's - he and Steve aren't just friends, and Bucky is more than just his brood mate.

Still, Damon's right. He can put his problems on hold for five minutes. More than that - he can take this distraction and run with it, enjoy spending time with two people he considers friends and be grateful for their support, even if indirectly. ]

I'm good.

[wille]

[ It's not unusual for Misato to find herself in the position of being the one to make the sort of noises that amuses others without quite understanding how or why. The foil. She does it to herself, really, the way she carries on utterly oblivious to the signals sent whichever way by the people who surround her. Sam's unusual somberness. The look Damon sends across the room. People less kind might say it's intentional, just another form of a head-in-sand approach from someone who claims to be so intent on facing everything head on. ]

I'm out, I'm out!

[ Shouted from inside the bathroom, before she walks out moments later, still furiously toweling off her hair. She's all sunshine and rainbows, humming some random tune as she drops herself onto the couch beside Damon with all the grace of an already drunk buffalo. ]

Before we start? I've got work in a few hours so don't let me get too carried away, okay?

[blooded]

( as misato flops down next to him, damon raises his arm out of the way and then drops it across her shoulders once she settles. it's as much proprietary as it is simple friendliness — all her personal space are belong to him — but damon doesn't say anything about it, even as his arm starts to dampen from the moisture still clinging her. )

You know you don't have to work, right? I could compel you anything you wanted. Literally anything. At all.

( his words are directed to her but his attention is, for the moment, focused on sam. he pokes at sam's walls, trying to feel out the truth of his statement, eyes sharp on sam's. sam isn't given to self-denial, he doesn't think, not on the scale damon is. he's one of those people who are annoyingly in-tune with themselves, and if he wasn't really okay with the idea of the three of them going out for the night, he'd probably say so. eventually, satisfied with the results of his poking, he looks back to misato. )

I'm not your babysitter. If you don't want to get carried away, police yourself.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Intentional or not, it works, and there's trickles of amusement at Misato across their mental link. He appreciates her - in general, really, but especially now.

When he feels Damon poking on the edges of his shields, Sam lowers them some, just enough to let him in a little. Sam's... he's not necessarily good right now, but Damon's right about him being pretty damn in tune with himself. Steve isn't going to wake up just because Sam sat in a hotel room moping, and he'd much rather go out for the night with them.

He's comfortable with them, and he laughs quietly as he uses Damon's knee to push himself up off the couch. ]

I'll make sure you drink enough water, that's the best I've got at 'sober friend.'

[ Well, with his ability he could make sure she got only as drunk as she wanted to, but she'd seemed uncertain the last time he suggested it, so he lets it be. Instead he disappears into the bathroom for a moment, coming back out in dark jeans, a purple shirt that errs on the side of just a little too tight, and his new leather jacket, courtesy of Damon. Who he raises an eyebrow at, curious. ]

How much do you gotta drink to get drunk, anyway?

[wille]

Fine, fine. I'll behave!

[ Misato reaches over to pinch the back of Damon's hand, playful and harmless. She's never becoming anyone's kept woman, waiting at home as dinner gets cold, no way. Her words may be harsh, but she tempers it by making it sound like a whine. ]

What kind of self-respecting woman doesn't work for the things she wants? You know I'm not doing it for the money.

[ It's for the mission, she tells herself, everything is. It's certainly not to keep her mind off of having an alien in her head that can send her off to an interminable coma at any given moment, or the thought that her world has ended and she just doesn't know about it yet. Better to focus on what she can do, and do the hell out of it, than get stuck in crippling circular thinking.

She climbs higher up onto the couch, using the mirror hung above it to start applying lipstick. Behold, boys, the magic of feminine transformation from homebody to party girl with a swipe of ruby red. She smiles at the sight of Sam in a leather jacket, Damon cool and languid beside her. Never let it be said that Misato doesn't appreciate the male form. ]

Well, well, you boys are gonna make me the envy of every lady out there tonight.

[blooded]

I'll see it when I believe it, ( damon says with a smirk, absentmindedly slapping at misato's hand when she pinches him. ) It's not about being a self-respecting woman, it's about doing a job for no reason when I could be making your life easier.

( damon is no stranger to doing things to take his mind off of his existential crises, though his methods are less wholesome than misato's by far. if he thought she could hang, he'd invite her to join him on a bloody pub crawl, but that really only works when you can participate, and misato doesn't seem like the type to enjoy a good murder. besides, he's being good. this will do well enough.

his hand reaches out to her waist unthinking, supporting her on the unsteady couch cushions as she applies her lipstick, and his head turns back to sam with a shrug, though his eyes sparkle their approval at the jacket. )

A lot. More than I'll be drinking tonight, probably. I get buzzed more than I actually get drunk. ( to misato, without looking back at her: ) You're not going to do half bad yourself, Sister.