[MISSION: HYRYPIA] And through that cordage threading with its call one arc synoptic of all tides

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: Everyone
WHERE: Station 72; Naerstone House
WHEN: DAY :001
SUMMARY: Makeovers, wining, dining and...dead bodies??? The first night on Hyrypia.
WARNINGS: N/A, will update as necessary.

CASTING OFF
     I. MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER
[It's less than one full day after the briefing that the hosts once again have a voice interrupt their thoughts. It is familiar this time: the curt, low sound of Siva’co in their mind without warning.]

( There is- ) [the passage of time pressed into their minds like a flower into a book- one hour-] ( until departure. All hosts will report to the Hangar Deck for supply and outfitting. ) [He does not say precisely when they should report, but something about the weight of the words says sooner rather than later.

When the hosts arrive there is a strangely antiquated looking ship waiting for them, its rivets and steel in bizarre contrast with the seamless white flow of the Station’s walls. Its gangplank is already lowered, but before they can pass into the interior there is a raised platform manned by Rhan and Siva’co. Once again clad they're clad in the layered robes that Misato and Aloy had seen them in. On the platform there are stacks of similarly lush and contrasting fabrics, one for each host, each one a neat pile topped with a pair of odd boots that give the impression of heels.]

There will be no space on the ship to kit up. You will need to outfit yourself before we depart. If you cannot figure out how to dress yourselves, get assistance.

[His voice is clipped, sharp and precise. It does not invite conversation. The slightest survey of the deck reveals that there is no kind of privacy provided, which may explain the crooked grin on Rhan’s face.]


     II. IN FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT
[Once aboard the ship there is little time before the deck of Station 72 drops out beneath them, lowering them down and out and into the still darkness of the in between.

They stay there, frozen for a second before the engines kick on - a low efficient hum, no apparent feeling of motion to accompany it. After a moment another much louder noise begins. It's a gurgling, creaking sound that seems more suited to the ship’s exterior appearance.

Siva’co remains where he has been since they boarded, poised beside a panel just to the left of the hatch to the exterior where he's checking a number of crisp readouts. They're digital black and white like the databanks held by all hosts and are completely out of place in the ship's leather and wood interior. After a moment, seemingly satisfied, he reaches down and snaps the display shut - holding his hand there as a glow spreads around the edge of the panel the fades into a seamless fusing into the interior walls, just another section of brass and pipe and spinning dials. He moves through the cabin then, down the rows of seats and towards the cockpit, nodding to Rhan as he passes her.

She seems to take it as a sign, standing up as he disappears with a dip of his head under the low bulkhead of the hatchway. She drags a heavy bag out from under her seat and drops it with a thunk.]

Well my dears, we've a few hours ahead of travel ahead of us. I hope everyone brought along something to read. If you're feeling bored, might I suggest swapping notes on the mission briefing? You've brought your highlighters along, right?

[She grins, flashing an encouraging wink.] --Oh! And before I forget, I've a little present for you all from myself and Siva'co.

[Rhan reaches into the bag, producing a series of ancient looking books.] Take one and pass it down. [She hands one to the nearest Host. The books are shockingly light... because they've been hollowed out into the perfect shape to conceal a databank.] This way you can keep your cheat sheets with you at all times. I've decided we're all very religious -- or at least that we have the pretense of it.

[As promised, the trip in is indeed long. It takes them through vast reaches of real space. It's quiet and still - the perfect atmosphere to get some last minute studying in.]


HYRYPIA
     [At a distance, Hyrypia is a world made of gold and brass banded with iron. As the Host ship pierces down through the atmosphere, the colors morph and curve into hard stone, bitter scrub, black seas, and beautiful - but barren - golden waves of long valley grasses. White stones and squat farmhouses speck the landscape which slants as if inevitable toward the glittering pastel household acting as sentinel at the landmass's edge where today a hundred brilliantly colored banners and flags fly from every tower and gate, are wound through every garden and adorning every tent on the grounds surrounding it.

Naerstone House sits at the eye of a veritable flock of ships of every design and taste. They range from delicate as a rapier to solid as a stone, from as slight as this small ship the Hosts have used for their transport to large enough to cast a shadow across the entire structure of the compound. The yellowed grasses bend and shake in the shadow of them as they drop from the sky and the Hyrypians stuffed on the gray road leading to Naerstone from the valley hold their clothes against the energy dispersal from the engines. The host ship touches down in the fields in a place marked out with blue and yellow flags, just one of scores.

Welcome to the corner of Hyrypia where hundreds upon hundreds of varied Rabadoceans have met under a flag of peace for perhaps the first time in two centuries. As the gangway to the platform is lowered, it becomes immediately apparent that Rhan and Siva'co's companions have come to meet you. Completely obscured from head to toe, there's no telling what they look like, but surely they must be familiar to the agents, as no one asks questions when one of them hurries aboard.]

[Lyr's mind is cool like a river stone, though in this moment the river is being chopped by rainfall:]

( Half of you - the ones who know how to speak - follow me in the procession to the Veranda. The other half - take everyone's things and go with Collector. )


SPLIT THE PARTY
     III. THE PROCESSION AND VERANDA
[Lyr leads the hosts in his company to join the long, winding procession making its way up they gray road to Naerstone. They are all recognizably Rabadocean, though their styling and some mutations of their biology separates them into clear subsets. Here is a group with elaborate cloaks of liquid silver billowing as flags in the acrid sea wind; there is a group dressed in thick rich furs, huddled close for warmth and trying not to look it as they make their way. Everyone travels on foot through the field of ships, the village of brilliantly colored silken tents, and everywhere one looks is another strange collection of people to stare at. --And some of them may be staring back.

The grand procession winds its way through the main entrance of the sky blue compound, through brilliant open breezeways painted with frescos of four legged animals, lush vegetation, and threads of light. Eventually this train of people reaches a vast garden at the center of which is a massive shallow pool with a path leading to the covered structure at its middle. THE GARDEN has clearly been decorated for a party. On one side is an apparent series of games and common entertainment, and on the other are a series of low tables and long benches dressed for an inevitable dinner studding the space between low flowering shrubs and beds of golden grass punctuated with winding stone paths.

But they bypass this all in favor of THE VERANDA itself, draped in gauzy silks and furnished with a series of low couches and delicate wood chairs with elaborately embroidered cushions. It's clear that the Veranda is where the ranking officials and their aides will start the evening. There's easy conversation to be had or overhead. Two musicians skillfully play large string instruments balanced on their knees and a series of mute servants make their way through the gathering with trays of fine finger foods and small cups of rich black wines. They're so silent and unaffected by the hosts of company that they might as well be dead.

--Which is because, on closer inspection, they apparently are. Or close to it. They've an ashen pallor and milky eyes; one or two of the re-animated dead servants wears conspicuous articles of clothing to cover the thing which killed them - a cracked skull, a terrible wound.]

( Act naturally, ) [says Lyr's voice in the mind] ( If you find yourself drowning, call for me. )

[Enjoy the appetizers and polite company, everyone! Strangely enough, it seems perfectly simple to understand the rough, low shared language of the Rabadoceans and as equally easy to mimic it.]


     IV. THE APARTMENTS AND GARDEN
[Those who remain after Lyr has departed are greeted by the second stranger. Much like Lyr, she speaks into their minds, but unlike him her voice is soft and sweet and melodic, ringing pleasantly as a bell, accenting somehow the sound of crowds and distant pulsing beat of some kind of music. She is taller than the rest, and the process of elimination says that this must be Collector.]

( Welcome to Hyrypia. I hope you will tell me your stories, when there is time. For now, please follow. )

[She turns, heading in the opposite direction as Lyr and his batch, weaving her way effortlessly through the crowds towards the largest collection of buildings on the castle grounds. Each building is connected to the rest by plain walkways through simple stone gardens with the occasional gently sloped awning. It's a longer walk then it seems like it should be, but after they pass some of the more grand rooms - most of them at least partly open to the air - they come across another low stone patio. This one Collector steps on to, passing through the wide open entry and into the half shadowed space beyond.]

( There are a number of rooms, please, take your pick. I would suggest keeping your most valuable possessions with you, but there are lockers beneath each bed. They have tales here of lovers being secreted away in them, but these should not be occupied. )

[With that thought - the bubbling cheerful ring of it - she passses through the living area, sidestepping the low piles of cushions and disappearing into one of the rooms.]

( We should join the festivities soon- ) [Her voice is as near as it would be directly into their ears, despite her absence-] ( And please, feel free to speak. Silence is only my virtue.)

[It is only a short time later that she again emerges from the room, pausing in the center of the space and pulling a bell from her sleeve, ringing it once with her gloved hands - a sharp peal that interrupts even the low background hum of the surrounding apartments.]

( We must now venture out. There are stories waiting to be made. )

[She leads the hosts out the same way they came and then further into the heat of the festivities. Here the crowd grow thicker - a myriad of Rabadoceans, some wearing intricate costumes, some in elegant garments or wearing very little. All head towards the same space - a great GARDEN at the center of which is a shallow pool and VERANDA. Clever eyes may spot the other hosts there even though the obscuring gauze. They're hard to miss in all that heavy layered cloth. It draws attention even from strangers here, some of which shoot them glances with their sharp dark eyes. Others Rabadoceans whisper as the hosts pass, but the exact words are hard to hear.

The garden itself is as sprawling as the apartments and is mainly composed of a low shrubs with pale flowers and the same amber grass that covers so much of the planet only broken by the occasional rug and twisting stone path. The largest open areas are home to what appear to be games: balls and hoops and poles. Some look like they're to be struck or thrown, others which appear to be a part of some elaborate strategy game involving the placement of people around a central pole. The Rabadoceans laugh - low coughing sounds - but you recognize them for what they are. Just as you become aware that their words - thick and mealy as they seemed at first, now sound perfectly natural. It would be easy to mimic, easy to speak. Collector smiles through her mind.]

( Go on now. You may be shy, but you must be sharp. Life waits for no soul. )


     V. A COMMON PURPOSE
[When both sides have completed their tasks - picking their rooms and playing alongside the common folk, or eating appetizers and rubbing palms with the elite - all are summoned at once to gather in the gardens together by the signal of a deep resounding horn. The two parties merge on their short trek across the garden to the long low benches. Each set of benches has an equally long table with a narrow walking path through the center of it, and as guests sort themselves into their correct places - each distinct party collected with itself - food begins to be brought out. They're sumptuous and heavily spiced dishes. Although you cannot immediately see her, Collector’s voice joins the procession-]

( You can process all of the food without risk of death, however humans may wish to avoid the eel. It will cause indigestion. They are scooped up from the shallow streams that flow out of the highest mountains, and they dine only on the passings of the cave rodents that surround such places. )

[Lively string instruments play through dinner and talk is encouraged on the fringes of each envoy. Dishes are passed from hand to hand down the length of the long table and re-animated servants pour long streams of dark wine and faintly bitter water from long necked pitchers to wide, intricately inlaid cups. And while you are clustered in with the rest of your “delegation”, there are other Rabadoceans sitting across from you- strangers with strange smiles. Food does not seem to prevent conversation. Anything you want to say without being overheard is better left in your mind- and the minds of others.]


     VI. EVENING'S END
[Evening falls. The braziers are lit. Eventually, the music of the uncanny reverberating string instruments wanes to a tinny pervasive whine that stretches long enough to rouse suspicion. Ting, comes the chime of a small metal bell. Ting, ting, ting - the sound of the metal adoring the robes and elaborate headdresses of the small group of four Hyrypians which passes now down the long path from the Veranda and into the middle of the feasting.

They come to a halt there in the burnished grass. Quiet falls, save for that pervasive buzzing whine. Finally the Hyrypian at the front lifts her hand in the dark, revealing from her belled sleeves the rows and rows of brass and gold and glass scales adorning her gloves. She breathes across her glove and for a moment it's as if the air has turned to gold. It slips glittering between her fingers, then the scales peel themselves from her hands and flitter away to reveal themselves as wings of thin intricately beaten metal with glowing glass bodies: insects with watch-gear small mechanisms powering the rapid beating of their wings. They take flight, swirling and dancing through the thin breeze. As they do, the acolytes behind her raise their own hands to reveal larger insect-lights within each palm. They toss them lightly as jugglers. At their highest peak they too take flight, elegantly pirouetting to hover over the tables and casting a warm glow over the guests who applaud, each according to their own custom. This group cheers with a low whooping sounds from one corner, that one with stomping feet, another with lightly chiming bells. The smaller lights come to land along the edges of cups, on the high peaks of guest’s hats, and on knobby wrists. The machines are small, twinkling lights held on wire fine legs and they hum with a comfortable, welcoming heat.

The leading technomancer then goes swiftly to one knee, her hand pressing into a barely visible stripe of copper that runs down the main walkway. With that, the Veranda behind them lights up suddenly and brightly like a catching flame. The light races along the branching pathways of of the garden led by similarly fine wires, and not long after the lit garden is joined by the entire castle: every castle and balcony shining brilliantly in the darkness by this lone technomancer's hand.

From one of the long central tables, an elder Hyrypian in an elaborately draped tunic and cloak picked with gold rises. She raises a mottled hand before her, palm to the summer night sky.]

Friends. [Ysiddia Cabrielle's voice is low and thick, requiring attention without demanding it. She speaks with all the ease of a Major House of Hyrypian's head - which is appropriate, for that is what she is.] Welcome to our Hyrpyria and this Naerstone House. You've done my family an honor that will persist for generations. Tonight, we know each other as strangers-- [Some measure of her smoothed facade shifts; Ysiddia has a wry smile, as if she's telling a small secret to a cherished second daughter.] --or as enemies. Tonight, we are separate peoples divided by the places we came from and the things which those places required we be. But in the weeks that follow, it's my wish - and the wish of all Hyrypians - that we remember we are all Rabadocean and that the prosperity of one is the prosperity of all. We look forward to reaching the end of this great pilgrimage not in the company of friends, but with honored family.

We hope that this journey will do for you what it has done for our people. That it brings you understanding and renewed respect for The First and all those who have followed down their path. We hope you will come to see our people’s true destiny and true strength. But for tonight and the two days that follow, we invite you to enjoy yourselves as yourselves.

[Ysiddia bows her head to the assemblage, then to the techomancer who rises. The light fades as she does - first form the distant apartment, then to these gardens, to the veranda and finally where she and her acolytes stand.

The music resumes. Ysiddia takes her seat once more and the Seconds retire into the darkened garden.]

---

((OOC NOTES: This is the log for the first day on Hyrypia. For events beyond this evening, feel free to make additional logs/posts occurring on DAY :002 and :003 as the assemblage will be at their liberty in Naerstone and beyond for those two days. What follows after? Who can say.

'Wait, can I NPC this character?' If they don't have a name, 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 blow your cover!))

MISSION HYRYPIA OVERVIEW • NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[miscreant]

( I cannot blame them, given why we are here in the first place. )

[But she does blame them. Her social graces were limited and lacking, especially as of late. She doesn't have the want, nor the patience to continue pretending to be something she isn't. Really: she just wants to kill what needs to be killed and be done with it.

But she hasn't done much talking to Clint, so she isn't about to say as much.]

( Espionage has never been one of my strong suits. )

[miscreant]

I do not worry. Not about them, specifically.

[It is a selfish desire for all of her knights to be in tact, should she ever return. But the nuances of her needing to prove herself toward the greater society is not something she is about to share with Asuka.]

If the Legion is not stopped, my planet will cease to be. And my people, a rebellious flock to begin with, now are without their leader.

[They aren't some deep voice reminds her in the back of her head, its echo locking several vertebrae in her spine against her will.]

[greentech]

( That's a great thought. )

[ For a moment, her mind's eye is fill with the idea of a "dark Pidge" tapping away on a computer that's basically like hers, except you know, crimson because it's the bad guys. She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. ]

( Pretty sure I can beat whoever they've got. No one's as good as I am with this stuff. )

[ She has a reason to be proud. Although she might not be that good. ]

i

[adamance]

[Lexa does not know Lovejoy's face, not exactly, but she does recall the Mount Weather guard uniform. She recognizes the image for what it is as it passes through Bellamy's mind, and she comes to a pause beside him, hand raising up to hold on to the cloth in his hands for a moment. She considers the color, and then motions with her head to tell him to leave it.]

Something else. [A beat, another beat.] Remember that we are not impersonating the dead. We are the living, pretending to be someone else that is living. That's all.

["Don't find a reason to be guilty" is her underlying meaning.]

[adamance]

( Does your symbiote aid you in this? )

[Lexa remembers Sam and Angel quite vividly. Both of them came from worlds where their technological skill had made them adept in any world's tech, but they—especially Sam—had further advancements thanks to the symbiote in the back of their heads.]

party time

[cognitived]

[ The last time Clint had been at a fancy party like this, he'd been playing much the same roll. Natasha had been playing an heiress, and Clint her loyal guard dog; a well-worn role for the both of them.

Just as Nyx falls back into this roll, so too does Clint. He'd followed Sam into the party initially, but eventually swapped places with another and slipped away. Though the hall is well lit, there are plenty of shadows to slink into, and plenty of things to hear when you're unseen and unheard. Eventually though he needs to step from the shadows before he gets stuck there, mind absent. Luckily for him, Nyx is darkening a corner, and most eyes are on the actual diplomats for now.

So Clint touches his mind, a quick don't move, and slips from Nyx's shadow. He appears between breaths, and with a faint shiver shakes away the burgeoning edge of ice. ]

( A pity. )

[ Soft laughter, but, well it's true isn't it? ]

( Not that they don't already have plenty of reasons to stare. )

[servitor]

Just don't forget you've got the rest of us sometimes, including me.

[No, he doesn't know about Asuka's insecurities, and honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if he did ever somehow hear of it. Everyone's got a hang up, right?

It's just... it's the way he is. He's the last figure in every equation, every time.]

[servitor]

Sleep. [He answers with a bit of a sheepish grin. It's not entirely true, and not entirely false either. Most of the time he was too damn wired and ready to go before a mission.] Nothing like this, no. We're not deep undercover, we're infiltrators, fighters. The Glaive was trained solely to take out the Empire's MTs and daemons. We were an assault force mainly. Sometimes we'd get into places for information but we didn't have to dress up.

[redheadcarrier]

Oh.

[ That's a familiar feeling. It's not quite the same, but it resonates with Asuka. She was supposed to stop her planet from being destroyed. She failed, but she blames others for that failure. It's still a hollow, weak feeling. Confirmation that she wasn't quite good enough and never will be. It's why she has to reinvent herself here. ]

I was supposed to save my planet, too.

[ She rolls a shoulder in a shrug. ]

Someone screwed up though. [ Her voice drips contempt. It wasn't her, it wasn't her, it wasn't her (but she hates herself all the same). ]

[redheadcarrier]

You're really willing to put yourself out there, huh?

[ She gives a skeptical, probing look, but something tugs at her heart. She wants to believe him, but she's heard that before. And she wants to be able to rely on herself. No one else. Even if looking at him makes her heart skip a beat occasionally.

That's not really fair, is it?

She waves a hand dismissively, as if she can push the offer and her own feelings away. Someone being handsome doesn't matter. Shouldn't matter.

Shit. ]

We'll see how well you actually do in the field. [ As if she can judge that. ]

[greentech]

( No, mine makes me invisible. I'm just... really good with technology and computers. It's what I've been doing since I was a kid. Kinda runs in the family. )

[ She's had an experience in dealing with alien technology and making things work. ]

( I'm just good at it. That's all )

[wille]

[ Man is man's true enemy. Her expression shifts to concern writ clear on her face, knowing something pertinent to the conversation but unwilling to say it. The Angels were at fault only so much as wanting to live is a sin. And the JSSDF, well, they were mere pawns. Dogs unleashed by their masters.

Her words are measured, quiet above the ship's hum. ]

I should've known. I should've told you.

[greentech]

( ...if you say so. )

[ Pidge's anger doesn't dissipate. It just sort of settles. But there's not a point to holding onto it here. The people who hurt Shepard are far, far away and odds are she'll never meet them. So she'll just do her best and try to help make up for it here. ]

( So, uh, what do you think about this pilgrimage thing? )

[ Change the subject? Change the subject. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ This feels different. Somehow, stupidly genuine, and she glances up from the datapad with a slightly twisted expression, staring at Misato as if she's not sure what to say or if she even wants to hear what's going to be said. ]

Should've told me what? That they were going to screw us over?

[ Is this a peace offering? Or just a way for Misato to make herself feel better or to get Asuka to do something for her? She's wary. ]

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy tosses her hair with something akin to a haughty grin. ]

I've got an impressive mane. It's only natural to feel a little lackluster next to me.

[wille]

[ Both, neither. Misato meets Asuka's gaze calmly, wearing a composed front despite the apprehension on her face. ]

It's my job to know the enemy. I figured it out too late.

[ Too late, she says, as if realizing it five minutes before, a year before, might have resulted in victory. As if there was ever a chance in hell. ]

{closed; for clint}

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Act naturally, Lyr said, and Sam does his best to do just that. Draped in layers of grey and white silk, with blocks of dark purple and splashes of crimson and steel blue, he carries himself like he belongs, like he's used to being listened to. Despite that, he does most of the listening as he mingles with the others, prompting people to talk about themselves and lingering only with the ones who do so readily, for the moment.

With Clint at his shoulder, just behind him, or a few paces away moving with a quiet grace and cutting an imposing figure - Sam feels so much more at ease.

Does he ever say anything or just stand there stoically? one of his new acquaintances asks, and though Sam's affectionate smile is hidden by the disguise, there's no mistaking the fondness in his voice as he replies, Wouldn't be a very good bodyguard if he did anything else, and he's the best. I don't even think he knows how to talk.

The last is added on hastily, as though he might have been too familiar, even as amusement trickles out across his connection with Clint. There's a silent question that follows it, something close to am I doing okay? ]

[earthborn]

( I think this is nothing more than an energy fight-- you ever hear of an oil war? Same deal; a bunch of power and a bunch of money making people get stupid and violent and competitive. )

[We could all accomplish so much more if for once in our fucking lives, we worked together. But there's that evolutionary imperative at work again, and no wonder Javik's people had worshiped the concept like a particularly fickle god. Tribalism and the desire to survive could drive even this ritualized fight into the ground.]

( So hey, let's all go pretend to pay our respects to the Seconds while we look for which of these other guys to knife in the back, as if it's any of our business. Go home team.

What about you? )

[huntsmachines]

[ The happiness she gets back from Shiro is enough to make her own bloom a little more and she's laughing before she can stop herself. She smiles over at Shiro, remembering the way his shoulders looked for a moment and enjoying that smile as it spreads across his face. ]

The mountains were my favorite. I could climb up and up and be on top of the world.

[cognitived]

[ Act naturally, Lyr said, and it is a freedom. It's been years since Clint was reliably able to lose himself in a cover, to wield his well honed skills. Not since SHIELD's collapse, and Nat dumped their files on the net. Not since Clint had to fight his way home after his OP turned, and found his covers compromised.

But this, this is easy. He's worn the trappings of a guard dog many times over the years, and even the strange new clothes can't detract from it.

Instead, Clint trails after Sam's steps, watching his back in this new den of lions. Easy to keep his mouth shut and his movements liquid grace, threat written into him like steel under silk. It doesn't mean he's actually quiet, though, and the connection curling between them is alive. The comforting press of a palm between shoulder blades, a low, rumbling laugh at Sam's new acquaintances' questions. ]

( You're doing just fine, don't worry. )

[ And Sam is, really. Clint can't and won't bother muffling the pride the surfaces, heady against his tongue. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[To be fair--which Misato doesn't need to be, Kavinsky has never seen it as a necessary trait--he's not lobbing the dough in fist-sized chunks. They're scraps, when he thinks nobody is looking. A casual way of passing the time when he knows they don't need his type of charisma for this mission. At Waypoint, his methods of lounging in bars, sharing his wares--that worked. It worked so well, though he never ended up using the vast majority of his collected information.

This job takes a political finesse he never learned. The Jersey in him doesn't allow for it.]

( They don't even blink. )

[He gives a faint and fake struggle for control of his arm before letting her hold it as long as she'd like.]

[100mitsubishis]

[Someone should have caught him ages ago. He's been at his task of dismantling for a solid fifteen minutes, spreading the robe out after every tear to check his progress. The mission goals stay a vibrant checklist in the back of his mind; he can't forget them, the rest of the Hive would never allow it. But he has an idea of how he could cover his limbs with gloves and underlayers of long-sleeves. Not all of his plans come at a horrible price, many are incredibly affordable for those willing to cough up the pay.

But it may never come to fruition. Someone has found him out, sought his mind, snapped at it.

Rhan.]

( I gotta express myself. )

[huntsmachines]

Sometimes it is. We just have to stick to our plan.

[ Aloy looks back at Asuka, gauging her. there's a lot of tension in the girl, a lot of nervousness. ]

Better to think positively.

[redheadcarrier]

[ A part of her wants to laugh. Misato says that as if that's the only place where she failed. And to Asuka, it's perhaps the least important failure of Misato. to her, it's everything else. the favoritism, the disregard for her, the way she was happy to let Shinji play hero until he got himself hurt. The way she left Asuka to fight and die. There's so much more that Misato did wrong. Not realizing that the real enemy should've been other humans doesn't seem that important in the grand scheme of things.

And Shinji still could've prevented Third Impact if he'd tried ]

Not like it matters anymore, does it?

[ She shrugs, trying not to sound as bitter as she feels. ]

We're here. Maybe next time don't keep me in the dark for so long. Maybe you should actually trust me.

[redheadcarrier]

Do we even have a plan? We haven't even arrived and all I know is that we're gonna be pretending to be aliens so we can talk to other aliens so maybe we can prevent someone we don't like from getting their hands on this stuff.

[ Asuka sighs. ]

It's like some stupid spy comic book or something.