[MISSION: HYRYPIA] the moon drops one or two feathers into the field

[isorropia]

CHARACTERS: Everyone
WHERE: The Station
WHEN: DAY :055
SUMMARY: Two veteran hosts arrive on the Station and a mandatory meeting is called. It's time to prepare for a new mission.
WARNINGS: Just chill dudes having a chill time. (Will add warnings as necessary)


I. THE SHIP.
((closed to one thread with a maximum of two player characters; first come, first serve; please don't nab this if you want to play an AFTERMATH prompt and vice versa))

[Early in the day, one of the hangar's platforms rotates upward into place. On it sits a long, bird beak shaped ship. For a moment it has all the appearance of being held together with little more than hope and a prayer. Its nose panels are scorched from the punching in and out of atmosphere and its wings have a rugged, rudimentary sweep to them. Then the illusion melts away and the ship becomes fundamentally concrete, though no less strange as it twists into a shape more closely resembling some complex origami. From it comes two hosts, both in elaborately layered stiff edged garments that cloak them from neck to knee.]

Double time, darling.

[The pale alien flashes a broad grin at her comrade as she vaults from the cockpit to the hangar floor. Her partner, hood thrown back and his scarves unwound to reveal short, tawny fur and two sets of small horns, tosses two bags down after her then follows her down.

The ship seals itself after them like a fan folding closed.]

II. MENTAL LINK.

[There is a strange, unfamiliar voice in your mind. It comes without a greeting and without the polite request for attention, but rather like a voice over an intercom, curt and low:]

( Hosts will report to the briefing room in- ) [the measurement of time that filters into your mind is not quite numbers, untethered by the standards of one people, but the meaning of it is clear- approximately 15 minutes] ( You have received the mission info on your personal databank. Proceed to the location upon review. )

[There is no invitation to continued conversation, but there is the impression of a location, one which you are unfamiliar with. The space it occupies pressed into your mind like a seal into hot wax. You can find it. You know it.]

III. BRIEFING.
((thread jacking encouraged for this - speedier back and forths seem like the funnest way to accomplish a group meeting; tag order will be treated cavalierly at best in any group threads!))

[Not far from the hangar deck, the corridors curve and then abruptly dead end at a circular room with a series of tiered benches seemingly carved from the Station's structure. Is this where you meant to be? Well, the voice had seemed like it wasn’t optional.

At the center of the small briefing room sit two Hosts. The first, a tall narrow alien with long pointed ears and solid green eyes sits straight with military precision, facing forward and not moving except to breath. The second, a pale alien with fringe touched by gold and dark lip lacquer is sitting in a spindly chair and aggressively typing on her tablet. She's shed her elaborate outerwear for one of the Station's bodysuits. She doesn't look up for a long time.

Eventually once everyone is seated, Rhan folds her databank up into a cube, sets it on the pedestal beside her and strokes along its side to trigger a projection of glittering gossamer images into the dim room's center.]

Let's get down to business, shall we? Hopefully you've all done your homework, [She arches an eyebrow, flashing a quick grin] --so the nuts and bolts won't be shocking. But Siva'co and I wanted to go over a few particulars before we take you all on this charming little adventure. Namely this one:

[She taps the side of the cube with her finger with a click of her long fingernail. The briefing report sent to the hosts earlier scrolls rapidly to the line '--one of these major diplomatic factions is believed to have been infiltrated by 'Enemy' agents.'.]

Now we've worked rather hard for the last year in this universe and we both would be very unhappy for all that effort to go down the drain just because someone thinks they'd like to be a hero. Isn't that right, Siva'co? I don't know how much contact you've had with our good friends out there, but let's be clear about this: if the Enemy becomes aware of our presence on this planet, this mission will be aborted. They'll get whatever they want out of this universe and, most importantly, some of us will die while running with our tails between our legs.

[Rhan tips her head to her partner.]

How do you feel about getting killed by someone with ideals, Siva'co?

[There is a long pause before he answers- and it is difficult to read his face exactly, but he seems somewhat exasperated.] Whatever the source of the failure, to die for reason other than the success of the mission is not acceptable. All must fulfill their roles with focus and dedication in order to see victory. Foolishness will not be tolerated.

[Rhan looks back to the assembled Hosts, cheerful smile unflagging.]

Questions?

IV. AFTERMATH.
((each prompt limited to one thread, first come first serve; please don't pull one of these if you nabbed THE SHIP prompt and vice versa.))

SIVA'CO.
[Regardless of the fact that the meeting is complete, Siva’co does not immediately leave. Rather a) he waits, stiff backed and formal by the door as Host’s filter out, not particularly inviting conversation but not fleeing, either. When the last host has left the room, he is found b) in the Training Wing, working his way through a number of the exercise machines with a single-minded focus, breathing heavily through his noses, hooved feet silent on the treadmill and the foam mats.

RHAN.
[After the briefing sessions, someone quick on their feet might manage to catch Rhan a) in the corridor leading from the briefing room. But you'll have to be very quick as she clearly has things to do and is shortly swallowed up by the labyrinthine corridors of the Station's interior. Some time later, she appears b) in the library, making space to shelve a series of small leatherbound books. Rhan flips open each one to check the label on the first page as she takes them from the open bag at her feet. The bag itself appears to be stuffed with…. well, stuff in addition to the books.]

Comments

[unfavoured]

( III. ) when you think of me you should think of fire

[ The loudness of a voice that isn't familiar pushing through her barriers is enough to make her throw one of her temper tantrums. Thankfully, because she's floating around in the pool she has become so fond of, it's more than a mild annoyance, but not enough to make her say "screw you" out loud. There is, however, a moment where she chooses to continue to be stubborn and not do any of the things they have been instructed.

For about ten minutes, she continues to ignore it. But it's her conversation with Pidge that brings her eyes open and she stares at the ceiling with a frown. Dammit. That freaking kid.

So when she gets to the briefing room, being probably the last one, she's still wet but carrying her datapad and notebook (and she even threw on her clothes, though not shoes. Good going.). Parker takes the furthest seats and flips the datapad open, not yet having read anything, but doing so as the alien speaks. Her hand writes something on the notebook as she does.

Her eyes flicker up when Rhan mentions ideals. She stares at the pair for a second, before shaking her head with an eyeroll, but doesn't say anything-- not yet. She writes down something, always using pen and paper rather than the datapad.

It's quiet immediately after the speech until, from the back, her voice comes - rough and probably the first time that it has been used today: ]

What did you work so hard last year on?

( IV.B SIVA'CO ) I got fifteen bucks worth of savior faire.

[ Her (honestly far too many) waking hours are divided between the library, the pool and the Training Wing, when it's less occupied - moreso lately with the problems the EXO-8 has been giving her. Parker pops by when there are less people; she has come to terms with the fact she will never be alone in this area, but she can't really give up on another distraction of hers. Nor stop exercising - that, at least, will take her mind off of things (without ever allowing herself to break focus from her walls being up).

She's using the foam mats nearby to practice her ground parkour-- using no obstacles but the floor to move around the area she has defined as her working space. Usually, this is a less laboured exercise, but with the pain in her back, Parker is struggling on performing some of her more basic flips. She misses one of her backflips when there's a jolt that shoots through her - something she can't avoid masking as well as she wants to - and falls on her back with a loud, dry noise. She groans through closed teeth, mixture of pain and annoyance, kicking in frustration one of the fallen foam obstacles across the mat, until it slides over to Siva'co. ]

( WILDCARD. )

[ I'm game if you're game. ]

III.

[isorropia]

[Rhan turns her dark eyes to Parker and nods in acknowledgement. Another tap to the side of the databox and the image shifts to a basic map with a thousand little points of indexing. With a sweep of her fingers, Rhan highlights one and taps it open to display additional - and copious - indexed information.]

Scouting. We're the first hosts to ever go to this universe, which means mapping and cultural studies and learning the common language. Our eyes and ears are why you won't be up a creek when you get there. Hard to do covert operations when you can't ask where the potty is, right?

[She laughs, shrugs.]

We were tasked with collating information, identifying a need and building mission parameters to achieve that need. Believe me, if our brood could've handle this on its own we wouldn't have asked for back up. It's a sensitive situation, but we need the number on the ground as much as we need... [A little melodious hum, the soft subharmonics of her voice vibrating through the shape of her jaw.] Let's go with 'discretion.'

oops i forgot to say that anyone can ride on this thread as much as they want

[unfavoured]

[ Parker keeps her eyes on the data and her notebook every time she writes something down. She does make a face at the joke; it's not Rhan's fault, Parker's humour just shrivelled up and died a while ago.

Her hand makes a gesture that seems to be one of double underlining something. She glances up again before Rhan's finished talking, giving her a frown. She writes something down again. She's still writing something as she speaks: ]

So what does "the enemy" want?

[ She doesn't do the airquotes, but they're definitely there in her tone. ]

[isorropia]

[Rhan makes a small noise like a laugh in the back of her throat and tosses a look in Siva'co's direction. Her raised browline says to him what her mouth doesn't: What're they teaching these kids?]

Well in this case, I'd say they probably want the Nectar. But how that shakes out for this universe a thousand years down the line, I can't tell you. But that's how it always is. They come to a place, they make something happen, and then somewhere else something changes and it gets more dangerous for us.

[unfavoured]

[ Parker doesn't look up from the notebook, ] Yes, I got that. [ Her tone is kept even, if tired. ] I meant, in general. [ She sets the pen down for a second, but doesn't let go of it. She straightens up, trying to adjust a position where her back isn't killing her. ]

Do they want to destroy the world? Or do they just, [ Her hand makes a vague gesture, as if pointing to nowhere. ] What's their point?

[isorropia]

If we knew that, I'd be drinking palosian blues with a little umbrella in it on a beach right now. [Rhan sighs and shifts forward in her chair.]

Look-- what's your name? I'd love to tell you I knew exactly what their point is, but all I know is that they're in this universe for a reason and that reason seems to be getting their sticky little fingers on this stuff the Hyrypians have. Maybe the people they're working with need it to accomplish something that they like. Or maybe they want to crack open a bunch of Hyrypian skulls and figure out how to use it for themselves so they can take it somewhere else and kick another group of Hosts around with it. [That one seems unlikely, but as long as they're throwing shanxu at the wall--]

What the Enemy wants is bad for me which means I like getting in their way. Don't overthink it. You'll give yourself a headache.

[isorropia]

[He ignores her.

She is not unique in this. There were things that required his attention and things that did not. Right now his attention is on the things he has not been able to do over the long many days he has been away. The Station had facilities that could not be found in wilder space, and his training has suffered for it, not that anyone but him would notice. Alien as he is, he certainly does not look in poor shape.

The noise draws his attention, the slightest tip of his chin, a glance, the flare of his nostrils- but little else until the foam block comes bumping against his machine. Then it requires his attention.

He turns it off- a simple press against the handle and intent- and waits until it stops. Then he steps off, bends to pick up the block, and takes it back to the racks they rest in when not in use.

When he is finished, he returns to his previous position without a word to her, stepping up onto the treadmill again and turning it back on.]

[unfavoured]

[ The majority of people here are, as far as she can tell, human or relatively human-looking. They all probably look as alien to him as he does to them.

Parker sits up with effort, wincing at the pain in her back. She wipes her brow with her hand, leaning forward on her bent knees. Slightly slumped forward, she looks up as the noise of the treadmill stops. She watches him pick up the black and putting on the rack with a frown, and then back on the treadmill.

She sighs through her mouth. ]

You and your partner-- [ She says, out of the blue. ] Are you two travelling alone?

[isorropia]

[His eyes flick down to the readout on the treadmill, still running for a short time, gait obviously inhuman. But after a moment it slows into a trot and he slows in turn.]

Here yes. Collector and Lyr are not needed for this.

[He offers no more, at least not immediately, but after a moment he says, apropos of nothing-] Will your infirmity be an issue in the field?

[unfavoured]

[ His silence offers her an opportunity to get in something more: ] No, not here. [ She really should start making herself clearer, but that means practice and the last thing she does is practice how to socialise with other people. ] I mean, [ She pauses, trying to look for a word that doesn't creep her out. ] Something like this Station.

[ She doesn't mind the long pause, she does them herself, and but she does get annoyed at the question. ]

You don't have to worry about that.

iv. rhan, b.

[deployed]

[ In the wake of the briefing and the excess of information, as well as the inevitable, impending departure, Bellamy had retreated to the library. Clutched on his bicep is the little no-longer oozing baby, who seems blissfully oblivious to the change in situation. The library will still be in place when Bellamy gets back from Hyrypia, but Bellamy isn't secure enough in that knowledge to take the departure easily. Mount Weather had seemed secure once too, and it had been swallowed by a bomb. If Earth has taught him nothing, it was that everything is transitory to some degree.

The library's silence means sound carries. Bellamy's feet deviate from his planned path and stray towards the gentle thud of books on a shelf. He expects the Prince, maybe, or Lexa, but he pauses when he realizes it's Rhan. ]

What are they?

[ If Rhan means to leave them, it explains where so much of Prince's collection has come from. Bellamy takes a step closer, gaze dropping from the shelf to the overstuffed back at her feet to try to identify the items there. ]

[isorropia]

[She looks up, pausing in her shelving process to turn over the book in her hand. Flipping past the first page, Rhan skims this one briefly and then snaps it shut. It gets slotted away alongside its siblings.]

They're information. Cultural data and copies of stories and religious texts. Collector likes to make sure copies get back on the Station as a redundancy in case something goes wrong. [She fetches another journal from the bag. In the bag alongside a small library of the books are two ornately engraved cups, a fine silver necklace with a series of orange stones. A knife, heavily decorated. A box with a fine metal latch. Small leather satchels filled and tied shut with string.]

I'm Rhan, by the way.

[deployed]

Bellamy.

[ What he wants to do is reach and take the book directly out of her hand to examine for himself. He wants to know what language it's written in and if it's something he can read. The items in her bag are less pressing, though his gaze lingers on the little sachets curiously. ]

Who's the Collector? Prince?

[ Maybe a foolish question, but the library had always seemed to be Prince's. It was harder to get a grasp on what Cathaway preferred as far as location.

Regardless, Collector reminds him of Dante and Mount Weather and his storage room heaped with precious items. It's not a comforting association; a chill ripples outward before Bellamy can forcibly shake it away. ]

[isorropia]

[There something in the subharmonic tinge at the edge of her voice that makes her laughter pleasant like a bell ringing.]

Prince? No. He keeps stuff because he's sentimental. Collector gathers stuff because it's her purpose. You'll meet her later. She's sweet. [She fetches another book from the bag, checks the front and shelves it between two others.]

You gonna help me with this or just stand there, Bells?

[deployed]

Is she coming here or will we meet her when we leave the Station?

[ The word sweet lingers, snarling in at the edge of Bellamy's mind. It jars with Bellamy's initial impression, and the clash reverberates even as he crouches to dip a hand into the bag. The clutching ooze baby seems unbothered by the motion. ]

Have you been here before? Met Prince and Cathaway before now?

[ The idea of how close the Nests were connected is a point of contention. Bellamy's more curious about what Prince and Cathaway had been like before any of them had arrived. Even the shared memory Cathaway had pressed into his mind hadn't shed any particular light onto that subject. ]

I. SHIP (if anyone else wants to join, do jump in whenever!)

[wille]

[ Misato is running obstacle loops around the hangar to beat her previous records. Poor, in her opinion, age on top of all those desk-bound and sleepless years have taken a toll. But she's getting there, slowly but surely, and besides the view here is nice, all the interesting vehicles of perfect form, one of which emerges so suddenly from the floor that she nearly runs into its tail, which shifts from something charred beyond redemption to a material she can't even name.

Slack-jawed, obvious in her astonishment, she steps closer to touch the ship, stopping only when she hears one of the visitors speak. She peeks around the tail to call out to them. ]

Hey, what's the hurry?

[isorropia]

[The pale alien is hauling what's clearly a heavy bag from the deck to her shoulder, but pauses and straightens as Misato calls out to them. Any excuse to put off heavy lifting for a few more seconds, right?]

Places to go, people to see, clothes to change out of. The usual.

[Come to think of it-- she reaches up and begins to work open the buttons of the heavy cloak.]

You're not here to check our papers, are you? Because I seem to have left them in my other pants.

[isorropia]

[The other one- taller, rangier, turns to look back at Misato, for only the shortest second, before reaching down to grab his own bag- and the second. For all that she springs immediately to speak, it is not until he has both raised in long arms that he turns his attention back to the conversation.]

We don't have time for games Rhan.

[His voice is a stark contrast, without the harmonics of her own, clipped and low, and just slightly nasally.]

Unless you are going to change here.

[wille]

If you've found your way here, the papers don't matter, right?

[ Misato gets the joke -- gets that it is a joke -- only when the taller alien speaks up, and she frowns to herself in embarrassment. Not that it stops her from stepping closer to him, thinking he's the one she needs to win over to keep them from rushing off. Her excitement is palpable and obvious on her face, like a child, no, a puppy hearing the sound of its leash being taken out of storage, already imagining the great outdoors. ]

You're looking for Prince and Cathaway? Do you have news? Are you taking us somewhere?

[isorropia]

Boy, we've got a live one here don't we?

[She tosses a sidelong look to Siva'co while undoing the rest of the cloak clips. Losing a layer or two right here on the hangar deck won't kill anyone, least of all her sweaty underarms.

Rhan slips the cloak from her shoulders and loops it over her arm. The tunic under it is equally dense, layered high to her throat and falling to her knee. It's heavily embroidered and every scalloped edged cut out reveals a different patterned fabric layered beneath it.]

Let's keep this short and say 'all of the above.' Have you seen dear old Cathy and Crown anywhere?

[A superfluous question. They're not that hard to find.]

rhan - aftermath wildcard

[inflori]

[ To no one's surprise, Petre wasn't too involved in the discussion. Instead he caught arguments here and there, lamenting that he could only fantasize about using the clash of personalities to cause chaos - and once it was over, he retired with no concrete idea of what was to take place.

But that's just Petre.

Ambling about, he eventually takes a turn to catch a glimpse of the pale host. It flashes in his head, the curiosity he's felt about the hosts while they talked to the group. These ones look remarkably different, more so than the contemporary ones with the long ears and colorful skin. They certainly look more alien than Cathaway and Prince. It's easy to get the impression that these weirdos only exist on the planets they visit, but then... it's just as easy to be reminded of how far the Hive goes.

Petre can start the trek of knowledge with this one, he guesses.

The hands in his pockets are a pointed effort to seem casual, lips twisted, eyes reluctantly curious. The truth is that he hasn't been around since he woke up again, and the fact that people he cares (cared) about keep leaving isn't too encouraging to create new attachments. It's a mix of what's the point and a grudge when fresh faces are too busy making sense of what's beyond the walls and he's too busy sulking. Change is needed, and up until now he's convinced himself that there wasn't any interesting enough to get him off his ass. Could this finally be it. ]

Hey. [ Totally casual. I'm not eager, you're eager. ] What's up with all that stuff?

[isorropia]

[The equipment room off the hangar is neat and orderly - had been before Rhan had gotten her hands all over it. As it is, she's littered the floor with piles of fabric, a literal bucket full of ornate daggers, and a hole host of other miscellany that she appears to be organizing into distinct piles. One sash for you, and you, and you. One elaborate pair of shoes for you, and you, and--

She straightens at the sound of the greeting, a sheathed knife in each hand.]

Oh. This stuff? [The dagger sheaths are set with intricate curving inlays, an assortment of small dark stones. They're clearly similar, but absolutely not the same. She smiles, seeming to recognize how ludicrous she looks, and shrugs.] I'm assembling your kit.

[inflori]

Assembling our kit.

[ He's not sure how he feels about the use of that word, scanning the items and making a mental list of how the piles have been composed so far. Asking for his opinion isn't needed; his thoughts and frown make it clear enough. What a bunch of weirdos, damn. ]

They look like Halloween costumes.

[isorropia]

[Well, it's not an unfair assessment. Rhan chuckles, the sound a pleasant bell like noise that vibrates softly through the yellowed frills at her neck and jaw.]

You'll notice I've elected not to wear them for the moment either. Unfortunately, maintaining an illusion would draw attention to us rather quickly. Best to be very traditional about these things with the Enemy present if it can be helped, hmm?

[Believe her, she's not terribly over the moon about being covered from head to toe either.]

[inflori]

[ He's caught staring for a little too long, between how her laugh sounds like, to the frills, moving sinuously, minutely...

(I'm not fascinated, you're fascinated.) ]

Traditional sucks. Maybe they'll like us if we do shit differently.

[ No, Petre, attention is the opposite of what everyone wants. Except you, but. ]

Don't you ever do anything differently?