WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT.2

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All (New Hosts may tag anything from their arrival date on Waypoint Shril forward.)
WHERE: WAYPOINT SHRIL
WHEN: Day :033 - :038
SUMMARY: Come one, come all, to the most amazing show you will ever see! Catch-all for the all ABA! Events, excluding the Demolition Man Derby and Awards Ceremony on day :039.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.

I hope you’re all absolutely zazzled and ready to kick things off with a bang! As always, I’m Jaymez St. Jaymez St. Jaymez and I’ll be laying it all down for you as we head into this exciting and definitely deadly five day extravaganza! I’m positively passionate about bringing you all the hottest goss straight from the barrangar’s mouth, breaking down all the most important events that happen on Waypoint Shril for this entire Aurora Blue Arena!! I hope you’re ready, but we all know you’re not! Let’s get it going then!

     ABA! DAY I. THE OPENING CEREMONIES
You’ll forgive me if I scream, won’t you? Have you ever seen anything so zane in your entire life? I know you haven’t, but don’t worry, I’m here to help you process.

So we all know what happened at the big opening, right? Talk about flashy, and did our judges look great or what? I heard from a reliable source that Talius spent the whole night about neck deep in Surellian Smoke Brandy, but you almost couldn’t tell, they managed to keep all their feet on the platform at all times. Anyway, everyone in the stands had a chance to enjoy the show - and the announcements, of course! I have to say, for as long as I’ve been doing this, these sound like some of the best challenges we’ve ever seen. And last time around we had the Great Galactic Cookoff!

Of course, we all enjoyed the show. How could we not? It’s the afterparty that everyone was looking forward to though. Did you catch sight of all the competitors up in the front? The camera loves them, but close up or no you couldn’t get half as close as the people here taking part in the action. After the show wrapped up there was an exclusive meet-and-greet. Sorry, did I say exclusive? Just about anyone with a piece of paper that said ‘press’ on it got into the party. They say it’s business, but you know, it’s funny? I saw a lot more drinks in hand than holo-pads and cam-wires. In my own hand, too, if you know what I’m saying.

Of course, not all the competitors stuck around. Plenty of others ended up drifting off to the more- lets say colorful sectors of Waypoint Shril. Police reported a small brawl down by the SOMEWHERE SOMEWHERE SOMEWHERE, no less than five people had to be taken to the nearby medic station and an entire pop-up artisanal sugar glass stand was destroyed. TUH-RAGIC.


     ABA! DAY II. LIP SYNC FOR YOUR LIFE
I know we all saw it, but hold on to your glitter gloss and pull up your grav-control shorts, because just talking about it is enough to give me the vapors. I can hardly believe what I just witnessed. Did anyone expect that raggedy bunch of Team 010 to turn around such a hot performance? I didn't know Calridians knew left from right, much less up from down but the next time I meet one in a bar I might just have to ask for a demonstration. But of course that wasn't all (PLEASE). If you're anyone who knows anyone, I'm sure you'll be hearing all about the big backstage blowup between those two teams - wow I sure do hope everyone recovers in time for tomorrow events - and who could forget when the stage tilted over and that poor sweet doll from Team Sparkle Ribbon went sliding off that terrible drop and got sliced to, well, ribbons by the laser light show (RIP. YOU WERE FABULOUS AND WAY TO SCORE SOME MAJOR POINTS FOR YOUR TEAM ON THE WAY OUT). Of course, nothing stands up to the entire stagebeing lit on fire - unless, of course, we're talking Miss Mystery's absolutely stunning display of, uhhhh… Well, that dress sure was something, wasn't it? ( *∵* )

OMS [tn: oh my sequins]! So, basically it was completely off the runway. What else can you say? I can barely wait to see what the ones who lived through that bring to the stage tomorrow. Still, I mean I know what you’re saying. You’re all 'Jaymez St. Jaymez St. Jaymez we didn’t come to you to hear what we all saw, even if we do love your dazzling and completely fresh take on the whole sitch.' No no, I know, you want to know what you couldn’t see on your holos. Ok so, you know Baranay Bartrold and his partner Aarara Ang? The pair who were disqualified in round three at the last ABA!!? Well, they’re back again, only this time they weren’t here for the competition. Rumor has it they’ve been taking cash and cred in exchange for SarSarSeven. You know, that completely wrong, oh-so-right concoction that’s said to give absolutely anyone an edge like no other? Of course everything’s got a price, and SarSar goes beyond the hefty price tag. They say that if you take too much of it, you’ll go completely off the rack (gag) and end end up, like, totally changed. Which may explain the attacks we’ve seen. Several groups of people have been found in various states of like, not so good, and people have reported seeing hairy, misshapen shapes in the shadows clinging to the buildings and lurking in the ventilation. It’s totally creep-central……. unless that’s your thing. I’m not about to yuck your yums sweet things.

Oh, and there was that tramp Garzield. I’ve been told I have to tell you that he held some tacky little off the books game show in some sketchy back lot just after the competition ended and gave away, like, some paltry thousands of Shen to any old rando that drifted in off the streets. Oh sure, he had like a wheel, some doors, and some bright lights but I think we can all agree that they just washed him out. Ugh. No one should wear that shade of chartreuse.

     ABA! DAY III. WAYPOINT WROBO WRESTLING FEDERATION
Get me a sparkling sizza water, because I’m burning up! You think things can’t get any bigger, any better, any bloodier, and then the competition begins! I’m still trying to process and I’m sure all you at home are too. But don’t you worry your sweet little heads, because I’m here to help you get your heads back on straight or sideways or any which way they’re supposed to go. I think we all knew this event was going to be big. I mean, 400 feet is nothing to sneeze at, but did we know it was going to be this big? I mean, first off, you had the fourth place finishers from last year who got in a hee-yooge blowout over whether their wrestler GARBAN THE FEARSOME was, like, an ex-con or an ex-cop? Everyone knows that’s not what it was really about - ahem- Still, you’d think that the way they were trying to fight themselves would make them an easy team to beat, but the team they were up against had a shrevil of a time figuring out how to fight someone who can’t be predicted at all. Then you had PARADA and GUCICI. Sure, they started out normal enough with a fairly rote ‘you stole the love of my life’ storyline, but the twist ending, where they were re-incarnated lovers? Gorgeous! I couldn’t take my eyes off the stage when their half-nelson turned into a full on full grope-sesh. I’ve never been more glad to be posted under the Aircon. And then there were the two teams that kept trying to out-heel each other. I mean, how many orphanages (yes, actual orphanges) did they each burn down? You’ll have to start making more orphans at this rate! Still, it made for a good show, and they really did know how to work the ropes, which you all know Jaymez appreciates.

Of course that's not all. During the day's matches, I hear there was QUITE the upset on Platform Alfa. Apparently some giant ship decided they didn't want to follow the rules and opted to jump the line to park and crashed straight into the platform (R-U-D-E). I won't bore you with the details (fire, explosions, the tragic death of the occasional bystander probably), but I can happily report that that particular ship won't be crashing into anyone else any time soon. The crew's been arrested, expecting of course the captain. Apparently the dastardly drog managed to escape into the crowd and confusion and make his way onto Waypoint Shril. So keep your eyes peeled for any shady looking Roanotian with a cut temple and a scorched jacket. He's probably trouble. >:(

In more RIDICULOUSLY EXCITING news (I know, I know - 'Jaymez St. Jaymez St. Jaymez, what could be more exciting than everything I've witnessed today?' but hold on and regulate your breathing, because this is going to give you an absolute fit), a little lilran told me today that if you hurry right along you might just catch the Late Night Hour with none other than THE Scrilliax Shann, the winner of the ABA! four years ago. Oh my glord, if she isn't just the definition of glamorous and everyone knows her parties are the pinnacle of stellarnomenal. GUH, I'm breaking a sweat just thinking about what it's going to be like. Of course, now this party is going to be exclusive, so I sure hope you have an invite. Apparently only the wildly spectacular (cough), the radically famous, or the stunningly gorgeous are going to have any hope of getting through the doors. But I promise, it'll be worth it. Sure, the last time I saw a holo of Scrilliax she had about five different beings following on their hands and tentacles after her but honestly - not a bad way to live.

     ABA! DAY IV-V. CATCH YOUR BREATH
[Just a clearly heavily staged (and digitally '~*~enhanced~*~') video of Jaymez St. Jaymez St. Jaymez fanning themselves. It's on loop. There is quite a lot of product placement for a five second clip.]

     ABA! DAY VI. LEGENDS OF THE BEAST NINJA GLADIATOR WARRIOR MASTER
I’m- I’m sorry. I just need a second. Flob, my mascara is running, I must look like a total mess. But can you blame me? I am just - floored. Overwhelmed. Like, completely blasted. It feels like I’ve been blasted by the solar winds on Plezas Twelve. This. Was. Incredible. Like, these are the times you think like, wow, I’m so like lucky to be here. To be as fabulous as I am so that I had a chance to stand here and witness some of the most impressive feats of strength and skill and - let's be honest - pure friendship we saw here today. I don’t know if I’ve ever cried harder than I did when Shivarana was hanging from that cage by her one slender clawed feeding arm while Garavan, who had already fallen into the slip-mud earlier in the round finally admitted that she loved her. An incredible upset. And then there was the temple fun-run, where one of the trailing teams managed to successfully guess the correct door seven times in a row before being grabbed by one of the guardians. My head is absolutely spinning. And then there was the team challenge, where one team ended up stuck halfway through their passage and had to make the tough call to cut half of their team off - literally. I’m still not sure how they broke the chain, but it was fully legal. Still, going into the finale at half-strength… Well, I don’t envy them. We lost so many great teams in this challenge. Fargarvaragarvarava will never be able to afford her surgery now. It’s just so heartbreaking. But that pain only makes the victories sweeter, right? And let me tell you, we’ll be popping bottles of sugar water tonight.

Now, if you're like me then you might need some time to recover before you face tomorrow (I am. NOT. READY.). Luckily, that should be totally doable thanks to the ABA!s brave security force. What's that? You don't know what happened? Oh my darlings, I hate to break the news but during the competition there was an unprecedented threat against the Judges lives and all our happiness. Apparently in the middle of today's event, an assassin attempted to get a line on our beloved trendsetters. If you thought for a moment that Saldo Saldo's amazingly mysterious shape looked momentarily unnerved, why it wasn't your imagination. Luckily, the assassin was foiled before anything terrible could occur. Which, like, thank the stars. I don't know what I'd do without them.

But I DO know I certainly wouldn't be caught dead room sharing with a bunch of defunct competitors. Did you know that when you get ejected from the competition, you lose your room and board? Which means that a bunch of shambles of teams are looking for places to crash for the rest of the week. Eughk. Get a job, losers.

KISS KISS, MY LITTLE SAINTS. I can't wait to see what tomorrow has in store for us. We’ll be heading into the last and final event - and we’ll get to meet this year’s victors. Stay with me! I’ve been, am, and will be Jaymez St. Jaymez St. Jaymez, reporting from Waypoint Shril, for this Aurora Blue Arena!!

---

((OOC NOTES: This log is the catch-all for all ABA! Events, excluding the Demolition Man Derby and Awards Ceremony on Day :039. You'll notice the structure of this is… atypical. Feel free to glom on to absolutely any of the above hooks and prompts and go absolutely wild with them. No drama is too minor, no explosion too large. However feel free to also create your own logs concurrent to these happenings if nothing catches your eye. That said, please don't log or thread anything beyond Day :039 - you never know when things might wrap up with an unexpected bang. For full details of the events, please see the WAYPOINT SHRIL, PT.2 post. If you have any additional questions, don't hesitate to drop us a note on the Mod Contact page.

'Wait, can I NPC this character?' When it doubt, the answer is probably yes. Use your best judgement, but we encourage you to go wild. Should you desire mod input or for us to bounce into a thread, feel free to reach out to us and we'll be happy to accommodate. We may also be threadjacking some of these threads, however don't feel compelled to wait for us to do so. Have fun and don't get killed!))

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[HATCH SUBTHREAD] put on your blue suede shoes - DAY :033-:034

[onemind]

YOU WAKE UP and you are not the same person you were moments ago. --No. Scratch that. It's been a while, hasn't it? Something feels off - a combination of the strange and familiar right there in your own head - and you know intuitively that you've been unconscious for more than just a blink of the eye. It’s impossible to tell exactly how long or how exactly you escaped the danger that had been breathing down your neck, but you know for certain it wasn't just a moment ago.

But here you are, a small miracle of the multiverse: lying in a small faintly hexagonal chamber- very small, actually, and something about the coffin-like natures seems like it should frighten you, but it doesn't. A gentle white light emanates from the surrounding walls, and if you were injured during your escape, those injuries have been healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been briefly calmed. There's something strangely peaceful about waking up here. That feeling persists even as you find the tube running from the base of your neck to the compartment's rear wall.

However, things get loud when the tube is disconnected. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void. Fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety - maybe some of these emotions are yours, but they can't all be. After the initial sensory overload, the mental buzz elongates: stretches out into a murmur like the sound of a party behind a closed door.

You can sit up - barely -, and shift out of the pod. There’s a ladder at your feet and a little cubby just before it with anything you brought with you, as well as a set of crisp, loose-fitting white clothes; while your injuries are healed, whatever you’re wearing is in the exact state it was before. Drop down the ladder to the floor of the Nesting Deck and you’ll find you’re not alone - and that those sounds in your head are louder. There is a small group of people, and some of them may have minds that call to your own. If they do, the sense of familiarity runs so deep between you it might as well be cellular.

Welcome to Station 72.

It's relatively quiet outside of the others in the chamber with you, but you can sense something tugging at your mind. It's a pull from somewhere outside of the vast Station, the far distant echoing of - something. It's like a thread that you could follow, tugging you gently out into space.

But that will have to wait. For now, there is a single mind in the room with you that is not loud, not overpowering. It belongs to a broad shouldered man with dark skin and a full beard wearing a charcoal grey outfit not unlike a wet-suit, accented with a cloak and belt in a shade of purple not at all dissimilar from the streak near the front of his hair (an out of place accent for such a serious, even severe, face). He is very still and does not seem half as confused as the rest of you.

"Welcome to the Station. I am Prince, one of the guardians of this place. I would invite you to make yourselves comfortable, however you will not be here for long. If you would please head down this path, you will find rooms for yourselves and some items you will soon need. After that, you may ask me whatever questions you may have, or should you chose, you may find Cathaway."

The words are punctuated by a peculiar remote feeling - something nostalgic, pleased, the tinkling of a bell far in the distance. It's another mind from elsewhere in the Station. It's different from Prince's; it feels like a roadmap. You will have just under 24 hours in this place to explore and to meet the others who woke with you. Then--

( ▬▬▬▬Day 34▬▬▬▬ )

There is at least one truth in the words that Prince had spoken. Less than a day later you are ushered by an unmistakable mental call down to the Hangar. You may have already seen it, but it's subtly different this time if you have. The ships that are on the deck are not the same and there are fewer this time, which only serves to highlight the one that Cathaway currently stands in front of. The silver ship is pitched forward front and wings are swept elegantly high. The older woman seems to be engrossed in her work, but the door of the craft is open and it appears you have a trip to make.

WAYPOINT SHRIL has gone completely off the rails. Before the competition's start, the Waypoint had been nonstop constantly growing and changing, filling with thousands upon thousands of people. Now that the ABA!'s kicked off, the fervor on the Waypoint is so incomprehensibly loud and ostentatious that it's hard to even process. But that doesn't stop the feeling of something familiar happening from registering in the minds of the hosts already on the Waypoint. It's certain. You know it in your gut: new hosts have hatched.

By the next day - the first true day of the competition - a familiar mind touches yours. Cathaway seems as happy as she was a handful of days ago.

( We have new Hosts coming to join you. For those of you not otherwise occupied, you may wish to find your way to us on Platform Alfa. There is so much for you to show them. )

It's not a demand. It rarely is. Still, leaving the new hosts alone now? With Waypoint Shril bursting at the seams for ABA!? That's probably a bad idea. Besides, the new hosts might have skills you can use. It never hurts to be a pragmatist.


((OOC: Use this subthread for your hatchings and starters on Waypoint Shril. New Hosts will arrive on the Waypoint during ABA! DAY II: LIP SYNC FOR YOUR LIFE, so feel free to utilize any hooks from that day for your arrival on the Waypoint. You can find additional details regarding The Hatch HERE; you can find the mission information for Waypoint Shril HERE and HERE.))

[viperfire]

A: Arrival

Nasu nearly crumpled when the pain hit. One slender arm shot out; she groped for something to grab onto as the wave of unexpected mental pressure hit her. There she stood for a few seconds, breathing harshly as she leaned against the wall before she finally stood to take stock of her surroundings.

She'd assumed that when and if she was abducted, her Trigger would be taken from her. But there it was, in a small cubby within the hexagonal room: a small black metal handle, molded along the side to fit the user's fingers. This she slipped in her pocket as she exited the room, clad in her civilian clothing.

Was Prince's urging really a request? Or an order? Either way, there was only one thing she could do now -- try to find out more about her new prison.

"Were you caught, too?", she might ask of one of the other hosts. Or perhaps: "How long will they keep us here?"

[ Feel free to respond to any time between waking and after Nasu's had a chance to find her room! ]

B: Team Sparkle Ribbon, your dance was sizzling. But your execution was... a little overdone.

The last thing Nasu wanted to do now was watch some garish space talent competition, and yet that was exactly what her instincts told her she should do. Her unit had never been on the shortlist for the few away missions that took elite agents out into the dark expanse that made up the Neighborhood, which meant that what Nasu knew about the worlds outside her own was secondhand knowledge. Now, for better or worse, that had to change.

But that didn't mean she had to try and get front row seats. The crush of a crowded dome might be too much; she had no idea of how her new, unfamiliar ability to connect with others might really react in those kinds of close quarters. Instead, she'd found her way to Blunt Force, where an enormous screen was playing the events of the lip sync competition live.

When the stage lurched to one side, no doubt helped along by hasty construction work and the general sentiment of good enough, Nasu was there to watch. A pigtailed, red-skinned girl with butterfly wings shrieked as she slid across a stage slick with glitter and sweat. It was quick -- the sizzling and sparking from the laser apparatus, the steam of evaporating blood. A swell of exultant cheers and jeers filled the club as the instant replay panned lovingly over the still-smoking slices of the former 'sweet doll'.

"Oh, girl," said a woman with what looked somehow like holographic butterfly-rim glasses. "Guess she didn't make the cut."

"That stage? Those shoes?" clucked a man with a fan of spectacular feathers woven into his suit. "Choices."

C: The importance of looking both ways

Nasu gripped the rail in front of her and tried to fight off the wave of nausea. She ended up walking almost robotically out through the front entrance and down the street, her mind a minor storm of revulsion, pity, anger, and the strong feeling that that girl had been just about her age -- or that of any one of her friends. Was this what the Neighborhood was like? Was --

She barely had time to activate her Trigger as an automated vehicle slammed into her, sending her body rolling along the ground and back onto the walk.

C

[greentech]

Another day (well, roughly a day, she's not sure about the day/night cycle here) another... whatever it is they call their currency. Working security has its ups and downs, but mostly ups right now. Pidge is on her way back from the stadium when something tugs at her attention and alarm bells start ringing. She glances up in time to see Nasu get nailed by an oncoming vehicle and something in her screams out in sympathy. She immediately darts forward, trying to shove through the crowd.

"Hey-! Are you OK?"

That looks like it hurt.

A

[lilies]

Turning to her, Gladio stared a moment. There was something strange about meeting her eyes, just standing near her in general, a pull (almost gravitational) drawing him forward to speak.

"Caught..." Gladio's voice trailed off a moment. "There's a word for it."

More like he didn't have another choice at the time. Still. Maybe "caught" is the best way to think of it for now. The strangeness of the encounter that ultimately had to have brought him here is still rebounding a bit in his mind. A weird voice in his head, a daemon unlike any he'd ever seen before (shape-shifting and darker than the sky over head, the eternal night). The entire situation, waking up here, was weird enough.

"Long as they need us here," he frowned a bit. "Though I guess we're not supposed to get too comfortable just yet." Despite the Prince's invitation to do so, his warning that they wouldn't be staying long made him wary.

Ilde Option

[erbier]

[ There is a young woman waiting for the ship when they arrive at the Waypoint. A pretty blonde with solemn eyes and sullen lips. She gives away very little telepathically, she has a careful and pointed chill around her, which belies the polite greetings she provides. ]

Hello. What is your name?

[gogurt]

[MORE LIKE STATION 420:]

[He's used to this. Well, not this specifically. But the whole waking up— disorientated, drifting, voices in his head deal— it's basically a callback to half the arcs he's already been through, and it's not like he's forgotten asking for a quick exit from almost getting murdered (again) back at the Bureau. Point A to point B: check, set, got it. He collects his things, shakes off the loose-fitting cultist clothes they'd provided (no thank u) and slaps on his old routine instead, oversized wizard hat and all. Slides down the ladder, heels skidding where they're tucked against the outer edges, clicking when they hit the glassy surface of the Station floor.

>Taako rolls a 15 in perception:

Turning around, he adjusts the set of a stylish pair of sunglasses with one hand.]

What up, Prince.

[DRESSED TO SHRIL:]

[Cathaway's not the only one excited about the prospect of new arrivals setting foot on shore: this place is his jam. The glitz, the glitter, the riot of fame wholesale propped up by bustling crowds, he can't tamp it down, enraptured as he watches the scrolling feed of local coverage (and colorful advertisements) from a nearby spaceport monitor set designed to keep overcrowded lines occupied. Hands pressed together under his chin, clapping absently in wide-eyed wonder as a burst of artificial sparks floods the screen.]

Yeah sure great to rub minds with you, kemosabe, but holy shit when do we get to do this??

[He gestures with an index finger towards where the monitor is emblazoned with [The Jump], its advertisement mentioning a style 'power hour' event in honor of the Aurora Blue Arena!, where the loading zone is transformed via a perfectly safe, biodegradable (and non toxic!) blue glitter and gemstone array that free floats alongside anyone willing to leap in. Eventually it'll all float right out and disintegrate, but for as long as it lasts...]

[DRESSED TO SHRIL PART II:]

[First few meet and greets out of the way, Taako's getting over the idea of staying put for however long it might take for remaining veterans to filter in for their chance at saying hello. Eventually the heel-tapping stops, patience in the negatives as he sweeps forward through the crowded spaceport towards the Avenue instead: eyes alight, giant hat bobbing in and out of crowds, symbiote blaring excitement at the top of its...whatever.]

Hey, hey hey— [Detecting the pull of another host, the elf waves in a brisk bid at getting attention in front of a particularly glamorous boutique.] quick question.

How hard is it to steal from these places?

[hymnals]

i. arrival;

[ The awakening process is not kind to him. Adrasteius has never been a physically robust man, and he feels his bones rattle in his thin frame as he comes to consciousness; feels an ache flower fast and terrible in his chest. He was torn away, literally and figuratively. There was no time, it seemed. Something after him? A hand in his--he can't quite remember it clearly, now.

He struggles with the tube in his skull, then nearly doubles over from the rush of sensation that follows. Stumbling against the cubby, he fumbles around inside it, half-blind, til his hand brushes against the feathers of his staff. Thank the Light. He gathers the rest of his things in a daze; leaves the new clothes where they are--he'll keep his robes, even if they're slightly stained.

Somehow, jaw clenched and legs shaking, he makes it down the ladder. He moves forward slowly, leaning on his tremendous staff for support. Shoulders hunched, ears folded back like an aggrieved cat. Echoes swirl in his mind, a sensation of not being alone, of in fact being surrounded--unfamiliar and not that welcome, either. He rubs his temples as he crosses the stark room, and then he spots someone ahead. Someone turning to speak to him. ]

Yeah, I've got a goddamn question. What the hell did you people do to me?

ii. on the streets;

[ His new position in the universe is difficult to accept, but his problems with the hivemind pale in comparison to his problems with absolutely everything going on right here, on this planet, in front of his eyes. He's quite literally staggered by what he sees on the screens (never mind the marvel of the screens themselves, a technology that goes beyond even the holograms he's seen before). He grips his staff at he stares up at a hovering display on some flesh-packed thoroughfare, his indignation so violent that his shoulders quake. The wrestling matches are on, and he's watching competitors hurl insults at each other--some storyline about somebody banging someone's mother or father or some other overheated family melodrama--while beating each other to a pulp. One fighter grabs another by the jaw and slams his opponent's head down onto the arena floor, again and again and again. The screams from the crowd swell as the opponent's face shatters, turning quickly to a mess of blood and pulp. The fight doesn't stop until referees, laughing and shaking their heads, pull the two apart--or rather, just the one, because his opponent is definitely dead.

Color commentators make cavalier remarks about somebody taking things a little too personally! The crowd laughs. The folks gathered up around Adra, eyes glued to the screens, laugh too. ]

This -- is -- filth. Filth!

[ His voice is rising. Heads, not entirely friendly, are turning. ]

I haven't seen such callous disregard for life since I was on a battlefield.

[ He makes an accusatory gesture at anyone near him. ]

You find this entertaining? You condone this? You're disgusting.

[ He's probably about to get punched in the jaw. Maybe even by you! ]

iii. a corner somewhere;

[ He knows he's far from home. Not just Azeroth, but from what he understands as the cosmos in general. Perhaps he's been brought to a whole other reality altogether. It'd explain why the Light does not feel so close as it did before. A discomfiting thing, this loss, but he must take comfort that he hasn't been abandoned entirely. He blinks and floats through the throngs of people, past bars and clubs and ostentatious hotels. No churches that he can see. No places for silence or reflection. Everything is garish and gaudy and shrill; everything is plastic and consumable. He can't stand it.

Adra moves until he's found a relatively quiet place--an alley, to be honest, wedged between a run-down dive joint and some food vendors who aren't getting a lot of business. He presses his forehead to the tacky, grimy wall and clasps his hands together. He prays, and the Light responds; a golden glow suffuses his silhouette, limning his hands and making a halo on top of his cornsilk blond hair. ]

Light, why did you bring me here? How can I serve in this chaos? Who can I help if I can hardly breathe?

[lilies]

I. RISE & SHINE

[ things gladio is not fond of: waking up in unfamiliar places.

things gladio is even less fond of: the rush of garbled nonsense that fills his mind as something uncomfortably pulls itself from the nape of his neck. his hand flies up instantly to the skin there and what peace he might have had seconds ago is suddenly melting away. what adrenaline had sloughed off of him moments prior is starting to build again, heart racing, elbow hitting the side of the coffin-like pod that he instantly sits up in.

his head just glances off the top and he curses softly, glowering up at the offending barrier before looking at the ladder that's begging to be used and the stack of his belongings beside it along with a set of neatly-folded white clothing. while his own clothes aren't worse for the wear, per se, they could do with a wash after the last fight but--haha fuck that.

taking his belongings, he grabs onto the ladder and takes a couple of steps down before sliding he rest of the way down. he eyeballs a couple of the emptied pods, and others that look like they either haven't been touched are are waiting. something in his mind tenses, unsure as he passes a hand over the back of his neck. ]

We're past the point of 'pinch me I'm dreaming' right? [ he asks, casting a sideways glance toward whomever might be nearby. the irritatingly empty feeling is starting to bother him, like he's had holes poked through him and he can't seem to find what exactly will fill those gaps just yet. ] Not that I'd call this a good dream. [ if it were a good dream it'd have more cup noodles. or campfires. or maybe a good book. ]

II. NEVER MIND, I REGRET GETTING UP

[ this place is loud, all bright colors and flashing--he's not unfamiliar with crowded cities, but everything towers maybe too high and people seem far more on top of each other going this way or that (let's not get into the extra appendages, varying textures and shapes, the number of eyeballs someone has to the left of him, a few of which are on stalks and definitely touching him....... eugh????).

he hears mutterings of people getting out of here and others just flying in from this or that sector or planet or station and it takes gladiolus a moment to process just about everything he's hearing.

unfortunately, the alien with... multiple eyes is starting to really, really creep the hell out of him.

like. an eyeball being shoved up on his cheek creepy and another that's definitely trying to get even further up into his personal space, and another and listen.

he's had to deal with a lot of bullshit monsters in his (short) lifetime. he doesn't need this right now. ]

Sorry, you're not my type, [ he grunts, giving one stalk a very thorough shove backwards. another he smacks off with the back of his hand, and by the time he gets to the third one, he's a little less than kind, plucking it by the end of its long tendril and nudging it away. he tries to be a little gentle, but his irritation makes him pinch the stalk a little harder than he normally might (what is normal?) regardless, please Do Not. gladio scans the crowd for about ten seconds tops before-- ] Oi, I've been looking for you! [--and maybe slinging an arm around your shoulder (if that's cool, buddy), a little weighty but definitely steering away from strange eyeball alien with a wave. truth: he has not been looking for you, but seriously, walk faster with him away from incredibly invasive alien. ]

III. NO FOR REAL. I REGRET BEING BORN

[ regret regret reeeegreeeeet.

he definitely regrets following the strange, large shadow that'd been stalking him just a little earlier, but when you feel like you've got an unsettling set of eyes on you, following you, you're going to want to investigate to make sure you get whatever it is that's trying to get you first. regardless, if you're walking by a kind of sketch-looking alley, you might want to be carefully of the suddenly flying equivalent of a garbage can hurtling at a high velocity out of it.

folks don't really seem too bothered, or maybe they're walking much faster than usual. and sweating a little more nervously. or running and screaming. i mean, you've heard the whole "sarsarseven" debacle right? so this is great. perfect. wonderful.

investigate a little further and surprise, there's gladio ready to throw yet another garbage can at this thing that's got him pinned to the end of the alley. unfortunately, his sword is kind of laying a little too far for him to reach, so he's working with what he can okay, and apparently that's garbage.

give a guy a hand? ]

Prince | Iota-Specialized NPC

[regalled]

[For those who take his advice and follow the spiraling walkway out into the almost-normal space of Life Support, with it's doorless rooms and simple beds before making their way back to him, and for those who forego that entirely to face him immediately, Prince stands at attention, back straight and mind quiet.

He did not prefer to be here when new hosts first woke. He would rather let them find him elsewhere, to allow them some time to calm themselves and find some sense of shared understanding. The distance let them gain a better idea of exactly what it was they wanted to know, and it tended to bank the fire of their flow somewhat. But the timing of the mission did not allow for that, and so he was at their disposal, simply waiting for them to address him, and he would be, until they were as satisfied as they were likely to be]

Cathaway | NPC; Rho-Type Specialist | ota

[polyphonos]

THE STATION.

There's a pleasant warmth at the edge of the mind - soothing and kind and familiar. It's the chirp of small insects from the shadow of yellowing grass rasping as it's stirred by some distant summer's breeze. It's a cool hand at a feverish forehead. It's a monstrous emptiness behind a thin vacuum shield.

If you follow it, it leads here: a cavernous room deep in the Station's belly. A delicate walkway leads across the gulf, expanding at its middle into a disk where a a series of benches seems to have been built or grown out of the walkway itself. On one of the benches sits an old woman, her silvering hair falling in a pin straight sheet across her narrow shoulder as she leans out across the wall of the walkway and studies the drop to the floor of the cavern.

It's quiet here. It's still. For a long moment, she says nothing.

Then Cathaway lifts her face and steers her attention toward whatever being has found its way to this place. She smiles and it's as hollow and full as her mind is.

"Ah, there you are."

[anathematic]

I. WAKE UP, LITTLE SUSIE, WAKE UP
CIRCA. NINETEEN-FIFTY-EIGHT

[Stefan may not be used to a swimming sense of calm, a stillness to his mind and body, that reminds him of early mornings and a desire to sink back into sleep- to avoid prying his eyes open and keeping whatever he'll find a problem for another day- but he can't help an absurd form of gratitude, the moment he really does blink and see where he is.

This small coffin-like chamber might not be a safe, and the room that lays beyond might be more smooth, shiny metal than thick water and the bottom of a quarry- but Stefan's first instinct is to vacate it as soon as possible. He gets the impression that the tube he has to pry off the back of his head, might have hurt quite a bit more had he simply thrown himself forward and towards the ladder, than the more delicate extraction he did perform.

As it stands- it hurts enough. Reminds him of the way that Bonnie used to burst the vessels in his head, watch them heal, and do it over again- sharp and all consuming, white hot- and then it's over. In the space it takes him to breathe through it, his vision clears, and he can move. It's hasty when he does- so much so, that he almost misses the fact that a few of his personal items have been removed, and are lying in wait for him just before the exit. A ring he doesn't need, and another he'd hoped never to have to remove. He pauses only long enough to slide them on and then continues down the ladder.

As startled as he is to have no recollection of anything after his supposed rescue- he breathes easier the moment his feet touch the ground. The small relief it brings, doesn't last- doesn't, because he notices that he isn't the only one here. There are other chambers, some vacated and some with others inside- and the unease only grows when he steps closer to them, and the clamour on the edges of his mind swells, and a pressure builds behind his eyes.

Something- it's tugging him past this space, to somewhere that feels vast and incomprehensible, and he lets it. Let's it, because he's not sure how to shake the unease at standing before them, wondering at the ethics of leaving them there without attempting to wake them- and the dangers if he did, are something he can't begin to comb over without any information. And standing like a deer caught in the headlights of a too shiny room is the last method that's going to help find it.

It's not Prince that he expects to greet him when he does finally stop lingering around, but the woman who'd reached out to him in the first place. But that doesn't stop him from circling back to him instead of choosing to hunt down Cathaway. Prince feels still, in a way that Stefan can't explain, and Cathaway- she feels like a roadmap, long and winding.

He is lost enough already.]

Why is it so loud?

[And more importantly, how does he make it stop? It's perhaps not a question of the highest priority or even one with much clarity, but it's the place he feels the most out of sorts- the thing preventing him from following any one thought to it's conclusion, and at least- it's a start]

II. SO YOU BETTER GET THIS PARTY STARTED
CIRCA. TWO-THOUSAND-ONE

[If he'd thought the place he'd woken had been bad- the actual platform he finds himself on a little over twenty four hours later, is like a living nightmare. It's loud- as much for the actual noise level as the the way that it looks- flashing lights and bright colours, in the beings inhabiting it and the ships trying to fight their way to place to unload without creating a collision, and he's never been so grateful to be human.

It's overwhelming for his senses as they are, and the pressure that had been building behind his eyes has increased to a dull throb. He takes a moment to press his thumbs into the corners of his eyes, and then with the conclusion that he's unlikely to feel any better until he he finds somewhere quieter to hole up in, he starts to press himself into the crowd. It's thick- enough that he has to correct his course several times, feeling more like he's being carried by a current, than simply trying to walk from Point A to B.

Stefan adds a tension to his shoulders, sets his jaw- the very picture of being unapproachable. If nothing else, his absurdly long life has been useful in learning how to isolate himself, without necessarily having to interact and brush anyone off at all- and it ensures that no one, none of the too eager to help beings, with sharp focused eyes, latch onto him and try to help. Unfortunately, it means he's having some trouble picking out some of his fellow hosts in all the clutter.

It's after he's finished twisting his arm at an unnatural angle for the third time, and ducked under an absurdly drawn out collar, that he gives up entirely. When he straightens, he's smacked in the face by one large, feathery wing- enough to make him stumble back- one eye squeezed shut to stem off how much it wants to water, and feathers caught in his mouth.

He pulls out as much as he can, and spits the rest out onto the ground, nose wrinkling in distaste, and then simply stays exactly where he is, crowd or not]

Somehow- I've found Hell. [It's wry, and definitely not true, if he's done his job correctly- but it's the only explanation for all- of this, that he can accept]

III. AND THIS IS OPEN SEASON
CIRCA. TWO-THOUSAND-FIFTEEN

( this is your "make it up as you go along" option )

Just Ilde Things

[erbier]

Day 33
[ She's here, has come down from her tower -- as ever charming Kavinsky would say -- for a day or two, but she has just about seen all she cares to see. She's committed herself to the opening ceremony, at the least, to wish those competing well. But, much like in Concordia, she does not care for the crowds, nor the fervor. She will be glad to be done with it as quickly as possible. For now, however, she has a seat in the stands where she can be found, but she also moves through the arena with little attention paid to her. She'll be pleasant enough, should a host divert her. ]

Day 34
[ Early the next morning, she is already heading back to the docks to return to the Station. New hosts disembark, and she takes the ship back to where they came from. ]

DAY 34: LIPSYNC TEAM ERINYES

[sistershoggoth]

Annie doesn't do anything by halves, especially when she's doing something fucking ridiculous, and this lip sync performance she's put together is most certainly that. She doesn't have an ounce of shame, so while some of the other competitors had made note of how outlandish the judges' tastes were, it had all kind of sounded like shit Annie had intended to do anyway. With a few modifications.

She has to do some bartering to get her way to everything she needs. Which may or may not have involved sleeping with an alien for favors, only her unfortunate broodmates would know one way or another, and they're unlikely to want to have the conversation. It wasn't all sexual favors though, she snuck one of her arcade visitors and their frightened mother onto a supply ship taking off, before the port got sucked in to the excitement of the tournament. She has a heart, sometimes, especially when she needs something, and by golly had she needed quite a lot of supplies. The coin from the endeavor was worthwhile.

Noctis got her some of the paints she needed, but she'd still needed something large enough to paint the backdrop on. It's a bombastic swirl of bright colors, warped planets, genitals, mouths, and dripping liquid. She's not particularly more restrained in body painting Murphy and Bellamy, although she's kind of, vaguely, willing to listen to their suggestions. As long as it ends with them in kitty ears and covered in glitter. She tries to get them to wear a matching pair of spiked collars, but god only knows whether they'll be able to swallow down this idiocy and do it. She doesn't need much more from them but to look cute, flap their mouths, and kind of bob around to the beat.

She's got the rest of it. She's definitely covered in glitter too, in a pair of ridiculously tall, silver, gravity shoes. She'd traded one of the older arcade kids a bunch of alien cigarettes to steal them for her, the reward and the thrill were about equal in motivation. The shoes are most of what she's wearing, in general. The rest of her outfit is made up out of laced corset piercings. The piercing work she'd traded a bunch of tattoo sketches for at a skeevy shop in the depths of the alleyways: portraits of competitors in various poses of conquest or agony. It's been a busy couple days, the last of this bullshit only coming together the morning of the performance. The impromptu nature of it doesn't trouble her at all. She's comfortable with the music, getting recommendations for days from the hip little twits in her arcade: whether they liked what was broadcast overhead, or from the games themselves.

Most of the performance is her enthusiastic gesticulation and romping, a tongue ring, that was actually already there prior to all of this, flickering in the swirl of laser lights. She hadn't given the tech much direction beyond 'give 'em a goddamn seizure'.

The finale, however, is that goddamn soft vore, just like she promised. Again, she may or may not have fucked something or other to get her hands on a willing and capable performer to help out. Someone big enough to take her down their throat without actually digesting her. The thing is a fat pink blob with droopy jowls. As the song goes into its final instrumental, Annie crawls her way in like a lovely assistant at a magic show, descending out of sight, head first... Before she reappears, the ribbons from her corsets do, a confetti pop of color draping wet and may pole festive down the blob's chin. Then with a hork, it lolls her back out on its tongue, she poses as the song concludes, puddled in saliva and glitter, covered in an array of now unlaced steel ring piercings that catch the light.

The lights dim and all three of them hurry off the stage.

"Ready for a shower, holy shit," Annie is muttering, pretty much naked and covered in alien juice. Her once wildly styled hair now stuck to her face.

[wrackful]

Murphy is pretty sure he has glitter in his eyes. He's also pretty sure he's glad he has glitter in his eyes, the slim protection it may have given him from getting to see Annie's finisher in full, up-close detail. What he had seen was more than enough.

The fact Annie had gone for it hadn't really surprised him. Her being that full-on had been unmistakeable from the moment he'd met her. Any judgement simmering in his brain is directed fully at the alien judge whose preferences she'd been pandering to. But then, if there was one thing Murphy had learnt from being on Shril, it was that aliens were extremely fucking weird.

"Yeah, neither of us are gonna fight you for first on that," he says, scraping fingers over his eyes, smearing eyeliner and pink glitter into the painted silver scales framing his brow and cheekbones. It doesn't really help the stinging sensation, but it makes him feel better to be trying. "You know you're the only reason we got through that."

He doesn't even bother glancing at Bellamy for confirmation. Both of them had seen the words 'lipsync battle' and looked at each other in total confusion. Without Annie, they definitely would have been out of the running, an embarrassing first round defeat.

day 33 | closed to lavellan

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ It's hard to tell which back alleys are shadier than any other, when the ABA keeps demolishing everything and rebuilding it as they see fit, but so far this one is untouched, and maybe that's what makes it a little shadier than some of the others. It'd been free, though, and that's where Sam'd chosen to set up his clinic to appeal to those competing in the tournament.

He's haggling with some of the alien competitors, showing off what he's got to sell and prattling on about the power of healing energy and mystic auras, and it seems to be working. Of course, it helps that he's got his symbiote ability to back it up, and all it takes is a few hand gestures and some casual touches to get them feeling a little better.

It's silly, but the things he hears in return to pass on are definitely worth it.

When he picks up the presence of another member of the Nest, though, someone he doesn't recognize, Sam hesitates. His mind is calm and distant, and he puts a little extra care in keeping his shields up as he makes his excuses to the few remaining aliens and heads over to Lavellan. He always does when he meets new people for the first time - out of self preservation and not wanting to invade their privacy. He still remembers how damn overwhelming it was before he started learning how to strengthen his shields. ]

Hey, man. How long you been here?

[lavelly]

[It's a good thing Sam's shielded, because Lavellan sure isn't; confusion, frustration, and anxiety leak out of him like a breach in a dam. He's enough in control to recognize Sam for who he is, however.

Which he isn't necessarily happy about. He's had enough of being thrown into situations he has no control over or escape from; he doesn't need camaraderie with complete strangers to be expected of him on top of it.

He smiles thinly at Sam, and even that he only manages to sustain for less than a second.]

I'm not sure. Maybe a week?

[Maybe leave him alone in his pool of misery, Sam!!!]

» some closed starters

[martyric]

( feel free to pm / pp sharknado if you want a thing! )

» :033 | i'm well acquainted with villains that live in my bed

[martyric]

( honestly, elena was kind of expecting a bit....more, for the first mission. she shouldn't complain, the lack of danger is a beautiful thing, but she'd definitely been gearing herself up for something more violent, or high-pressure, or exciting.

there's an actual bed, though, and a shower, and new clothes, so she'll take what she can get. not that she's thrilled about damon going out and compelling a wardrobe for her, but she can't deny that the new outfits are sorely needed. any longer and she was going to end up with holes in her jeans, probably. she's wearing the clothes, so she can't mind that much, and from her position lounged on a couch she can just about poke damon with one of her feet.

it's clearly been a slow day, because the question that occurs to elena is just shy of absolutely mental. )

Hey. ( she starts, propping herself up on her elbows so that she can see damon, and she tilts her head a little in curiosity. ) Would you ever bite someone on the foot?

DAY :036 | RECON MISSION | ABOARD THE FAIR HEART | EVERYONE WELCOME!

[wille]

[ The rose gold chrome does nothing to soften the ominous and brutalist style of The Fair Heart, which looms larger and larger on the cockpit screens as their ABA! crew ship arrives to dock. The repetitive clangs of multiple metal gates being unlocked are distinctly unwelcoming.

At least, it turns out having a motley crew of amateurs can have its upsides. The Hosts are more, let's say, miscellaneous, which does them favors when posing as pets, personal assistants, bodyguards and stylists of one Talius Rex who isn't Talius Rex. There's Misato decked out in a veritable array of multicolored pompoms and ribbons, others in similarly embarrassing costumes, and then Petre, wearing the judge's skin, at least not literally.

Fear is right there in the back of her mind, waiting for her to let it step into the forefront, but she refuses to, clinging instead to its cousin excitement. All a matter of perspective. She tries to communicate the same through the link to anyone near her, especially Petre-as-T-Rex, like a firm grip of the hand in reassurance. ]

( It's all lining up. This is gonna be a piece of cake. )

[ The key is in making promises before the fact, then giving her darndest to fulfill them. They can do this, they can, they must. ]

[ OOC: Do feel free to threadjack/start an entirely different tangent/etc, this is open to all. More info on what's happening right here. Come join! ]

[howtoget]

[ A flutter of Petre-Talius' sparkly-gold eyelashes serves to barely acknowledge the guards that supervise the entrance. Identification cleared and pets scanned, the entourage is allowed into what would be the equivalent of the main entrance for visitors. It'd look that way if it didn't look like a maximum security prison in itself, which is only a sign of more corridors to come.

Petre-Talius hums melodiously, a tone that makes it unclear whether he's impressed, pleased, or... indifferent. The tilt of his head toward one of his assistants is the sign that he/she should open their hand and take a holographic pictures for the Space!instagram. This, of course, ends the moment one of the lizards snarls in what's actually a calm warning that that shit won't be allowed.

Tsh!, he says. His followers will not do what to do with themselves if they don't get news about Talius Rex every single minute.

Of course T-Rex refers to himself in the third person. And his communicator is already blowing up with messages from irrelevant and relevant personalities alike about where he is and what he's doing and whether he's okay. ]

( It'd be easier if I could rip all of these assholes apart. )

Team Undead Divas, Competition pt.I

[earthborn]

Various Starters To Follow

LIP SYNC FOR YOUR LIFE (and don't fuck it up)

[somnifacient]

[Noctis curses to himself every time his costume pinches him when he turns in just the right way. A black and leathery thing, interspersed with neon colors and with what he’s sure are integrated LED lights, or some alien equivalent. Half the time he’s not even sure what the lyrics are he’s supposed to be mouthing to, and he has to rely on the shared link of his fellow nestmates, dipping into their memories, borrowing the right shape of vowels and consonants for his own benefit.

It’s near the end of their routine (thankfully), and while the young king was never known to be a dancer, he at least is coordinated enough to not look like he’s stumbling through the whole thing. Here, he remembers, is when he was supposed to warp high into the air in-time with the crescendo of the song, and he does — a flash of blue crystalline light, and suddenly Noct is disappearing and re-appearing in the air above his teammates’ heads, performing a tight little twist-flip, before letting gravity pull him back down.

It’s like a trust exercise to the nth degree. Trust that is wavering at best, since he really knows nothing about these hosts and their competency, which is illustrated by the way he blasts into their minds a single thought:]

(Somebody better catch me!)

[You know, like they planned. No tripping over your own costumes, just break his fall, because this might hurt otherwise.]

Wrobo Wresting ExWraveganza

[earthborn]

If there's one thing in this word Shepard lives for, it's hitting people. The other thing, professional wrestling vids-- or to call it by its true name:

Art.

And the robot? Deadmen Walker wasn't just a robot awkwardly piloted by two or more people. Deadmen was art too. There was some sort of standard chassis under there somewhere, of course, and the controls, the armoring, all that was fairly standard, but the persona, that was Shepard's best work. He was a death-defying undead undertaker, a man-- a machine who once made his living keeping the dead down, he had since been betrayed by his partner, Paul Bearer, an insult so grave that no one could ever live down. Not even Deadmen. And so he had risen from the grave because if he was going down, he was taking everyone down with him.

It was a pretty good schtick, and that's what mattered here. Skill, sure, but from her position in the uppermost pilot's seat, smashing gleefully at a half-crumple opponent with both of Deadman's robotic fists, Shepard knew that the real winning strategy here was showmanship.

So, naturally, she hefted the enemy robot over their heads.

( Walk us to the edge! ) She laughed, and the vocal modulator in Deadman's hardware turned it into a deep, menacing chuckle, ( Time for the big finish. )

( closed to Lavellan )

[miscreant]

[After a long day of competition, Seviilia is unsurprisingly pinned to a bar counter, as far down as she can manage in hopes of avoiding adoring crowds of people. She's already undergone a change of costume back to her more menacing armor, hood pulled up so only her rotting ears stick out of two small holes. If the glowing pauldrons and two giant glowing ice swords on her back weren't indication enough as to who she was -- well, the slow attempt to pickle her thoughts likely will.

After all, the link between minds wasn't exactly easy to turn off.

She's not inebriated enough to ignore the approach of a host's mind -- one she doesn't recognize, which is enough to get her to lift her head from the wall to look around with glowing blue eyes. The bar is a mobscene, and she is placated only by the one or two bar fights that had already started.

Were it not for the discourse, she might have gone mad with blood hunger.]

barrels in with starbucks

[lavelly]

[Fuck.

Why does this always seem to happen when he's trying to get away from the whole idea. Can't he just get drunk and forget about everything in peace?

Though, it occurs to him that's probably exactly what the rest of the hosts are trying to do as well. Lavellan supposes he can't blame them.

The link points him the right direction, as always, and this time... it's a woman. An elven woman. Well, the only other elf he's met here has been... bizarre, and there's no guarantee this one will be any different. Yet, he can't suppress the relief he feels that she isn't yet another human.

Maybe it's that that steers him toward her, to try and strike up a conversation. Either way, he makes sure to order a drink first. Something strong, to counter the feedback he's about to receive from her.

He leans on the counter next to her, aiming for casual. Whether he hits his mark is another issue entirely.]

There's quite a lot of us about, aren't there? It's nice to find another elf for once, at least. I don't believe we've exchanged names yet.