[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

[servitor]

( So you're playing a rude, snobby noble or are you just putting parts of yourself into it? )

[Now he's just being a shithead at this point. Nyx has little tolerance for this kind of attitude, but they're all connected at the brain. Might as well poke some holes into the whole damn thing and roll with it.]

( So far, hard to tell. You're going to need to tell me where you are. )

[100mitsubishis]

[Kavinsky hasn't told her about Prokopenko. She may have picked up that K's father is no longer amongst the living, but does she see his carbon copy--the replacement Kavinsky led out of a dream--on those nights when she's escaped her own demons? She's given no indication, which means so very little; Kavinsky hasn't figured out what it would take to make her permanently leave him. Her resilience infatuates and unnerves him, always the first and then the second in that order.]

( You want the truth? )

[Her final warning, but of course Misa waits, expectant as a priest at confession.]

( I'm going crazy in this fucking thing. Can't smoke shit. Can't snort shit. Barely get away with swallowing. And I gotta lay low, everyone says. Stealth mission. I'm about to lose it. )

[He's about to burst. One more squeeze.]

[100mitsubishis]

[When the real fuck-up fucks up, Kavinsky will be on the sidelines sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth. Amateurs, he'll announce over the mental airwaves. But it will signal a release of his shackles; every grand reveal needs its fireworks. Until then, he's a slave to the mission rules. The invisible weight settles around his throat and wrists the same as it always does.

Lay low, be good, play nice, wear stifling robes and bend over when you're told to. The last mission spoiled him rotten.

He'd gotten to blow up a jail.

Rhan returns with The Robe and Kavinsky's squinting as he takes it all in.]

How'd you know I almost applied to clown college? Shit. How do I ever repay you for the gift?

[The Robe looks like a circus tent, both in size and color. Kavinsky's only known method of altering anything is to destroy it, but he's not sure where to begin on such a masterpiece.]

Love me a challenge.

[redheadcarrier]

...what do you mean "what's a comic book"?

[ It takes Asuka a minute to realize Aloy is serious and she boggles. ]

You've seriously never heard of them?

[greentech]

( Yeah. "We" might just assume it's from god or something. Or that it's the will of the cosmos or whatever. So asking questions will probably attract too much attention... )

[ Which is tragic, because Pidge enjoys asking questions. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Someone I care about. Asuka stiffens visibly at the words and she shoots him a suspicious look that sharpens into an almost angry glare. There's a mix of feelings leaking through their leak - surprise, anger, disbelief, suspicion, and somewhere in there, a faint hope that he might mean it, underneath all of the pushback and all of her walls. ]

Yeah. Sure. I've heard that one before.

[ Ikari had been supposed to help her and he'd failed, utterly and completely. Kaji had failed. Misato had failed (oh, and how). Everyone had failed.

Asuka had failed. So maybe she deserved to be abandoned. She wasn't good enough, right? ]

You just met me. Why would you give a crap? [ It's a probing question, but Asuka has always felt the need to make people prove themselves. To force them to get through her before she'll actually accept that someone might actually find her worthwhile. ]

Besides, like I said, I don't need you. Or anyone else.

[ It'd be easier to pull that lie off if she wasn't tied into a hive mind. ]

III

[earthborn]

[It's while Kavinsky is examining the furniture, living or undead as it may be, that Shepard drops in on him. Well, not physically, not in any strong sense of the word either-- just in a sense. A pun. A thought like a drop of water]

( So, fashion week. You oughta get paid for entertainment that good-- watching Rhan almost blow a gasket from the word go was hilarious. )

[adamance]

Our mentors may be able to help, unless we find ourselves limited to whatever utilizes that ... Nectar.

[It's still a very foreign concept. If it comes to that, they'll have bigger problems.]

[adamance]

( And it's unfortunate that our enemy is here ahead of us. Those questions may stand out, especially if they're accustomed to our intervention. )

[While Lexa can understand that a culture may just be the way it is, the circumstances here are so similar to what she knows that she can't help but have her doubts over the parallels. Throwing a wrench in the entire negotiation process could give them the upper hand.]

[shiro2hero]

(No argument there. I just wish the others would let us organize better. Or just agree to try and be more organized.)

[That whole briefing had been like herding cats. He would know. Har har.]

2ish.

[lifewithoutrest]

[ Helen has never especially liked sitting still either. She prefers having something to do, something to occupy her mind.

For a time, she occupies herself by reading through the material they've been given and wondering what exactly they're about to walk into; but after a while, she settles back in her seat and considers her fellow hosts. She still feels the strength of her connection to Aloy, and it's hard not to notice the young woman seems to be feeling restless.

Her own mind is quiet, like soft ripples on water. She's had time now to figure out a method or two for keeping her thoughts to herself. The calm persists as she addresses her. ]

Not fond of sitting still, are you?

[ Her tone is light, gentle. ]

How have you been finding your time here? I'm afraid we haven't had much chance to talk since our...arrival.

[lifewithoutrest]

[ She would argue that, as if she has any room to talk. But she takes his answer for what it is, giving a slight nod as she steps a little closer, stopping shy of entering his personal space. ]

I'll be fine. Though it does seem as if they've sent us in only half-prepared.

[shiro2hero]

That's nothing new.

[He leans his head back against the wall behind him. Blowing out a breath enough to blow his hair.]

It always seems like they just send us in with the bare minimum. And... when I showed up, I got shuttled off to a mission immediately. No training. Nothing.

[lifewithoutrest]

[ She wishes she found that more surprising. ]

That must have been overwhelming.

[ That initial confusion is still rather fresh in her mind, and she'd only had a quiet day on the station to face. ]

It's almost as though they want us to fail.

[ She doesn't actually believe that. Maybe. She hasn't decided what their true motives are yet. ]

[shiro2hero]

Really was. If I didn't have Pidge here, I really don't know how well I'd have done.

[Pidge, his teammate, like family. Her face flickers in his mind, like a photo shown off for explanation. He'd been overwhelmed and disoriented. Her being here had been grounding.]

Even if they do... We can't.

[He lifts his head off the wall as he says that. Determination etching into the tired lines of his face.] If we do... they leave us here. And we probably get killed.

[deployed]

[ A single urge presents itself again: let him help. But Bellamy's instinctive offer is no longer viable, so they'll have to find something else. Or someone else. Bellamy looks away from her, down the hall, and towards the windows and open garden. There's plenty of options beyond the Nest here. Risky, yes, but there are options all the same. They'd be foolish to waste it. ]

Before we leave, I'll make sure you've had a meal. At least one.

[ Bellamy's words are weighted with conviction. ]

It's what I owe you.

[wille]

( Night, Katie. )

[ There's something about fancy Rabadocean bedsheets that has her already beginning to doze. Must the thread count. Even so, she peeks at Pidge and the remaining light from the girl's databank like a child checking that her parents haven't gone anywhere without her. At the warning, she pulls at one of the pillows, and tosses it right at her. ]

[somnifacient]

[How much of a success it is remains up in the air. It may still devolve into silent stares of affirmation, or awkward coughing if either party decides to be less than elegant about it. Give it some time.

For now, though, Noctis does actually manage to respond in a way that doesn't sound terribly awkward. He scoffs, vaguely feeling humor rise at the question.]

No, nothing as weird-looking as those two. The only weird-looking sentient beings that aren't humans are the Six in my world. Our gods. [He shrugs. He probably should be more reverent and not call them weird-looking, but. Here he is.] You think they're annoying?

[Siva'co and Rhaan, he means.]

[somnifacient]

[He doesn't mean to make the other feel uncomfortable. Noctis is simply too open of an individual, too sensitive, when you get right down to it. Shatter past his aloof shell, and people are often met with someone brimming with emotion, sometimes to the point where he has trouble deciding how to pack any of it away; as a result, it all gets shoved into the pit of his chest, as is his habit. With a mental link binding all of them together, he's quick to take others' images into his own mind, his own person, turning them over and over, before quietly letting them go.

Boundaries, or setting up some kind of bulwark against letting these thoughts filter in, is something the young king hasn't quite figured out yet.]

...Sorry to hear that. If it makes you feel any better about me, though, I'm pretty sure I had the shortest reign in the history of my family.

[Oop, and there goes the robe over his head. Already, it seems to slide over him with far more ease than before.]

Yeah... I- I got it. [He slips his arms into the sleeves, shaking his shoulders to help it fall more evenly across him. Adra will still have to help with the rest, because... he is pretty useless when it comes to these robes, not gonna lie.]

iiib.

[deployed]

[ As they circulate, Bellamy stays close. This mission is well placed. Bellamy recognizes that had this been their first task, rather than Concordia, he would have struggled to watch Lexa assume the role she plays her and he would have struggled to step back as a bodyguard. Thinking of Gustus and Indra, how they had flanked Lexa in Trikru's village, is helpful to him but it still brings him inevitably to the campfire and Clarke's flat expression as she agreed to his plan. Despite Lexa's caution, Bellamy still carries guilt in his chest like a stone, and he feels it even as his mind hooks onto Lexa's to keep track of what she may ask while they circulate through the crowd.

At first, Bellamy assumes the other attendants are simply like the ones on the Station: thralls, minds lost. It's discomfiting, but not particularly horrific. But a cleaved skull is hard to hide. Bellamy's shock fades into horror, then disgust; not for the first time since they've arrived, he's aware he's lucky that his face is obscured. ]

( Because we want to replicate it or because we want to be able to neutralize it if this mission goes badly? )

[bracchium]

[Bucky blinks down at the tangled mess of robes and man then at his missing arm and back again. Right. Well, he can at least give it a shot. Can't hurt anything, right?

With a silent hum of acknowledgment, he switches arms, placing his much colder metal stump through the head hole as an anchor to free his hand for tugging at the fabric.]

[miscreant]

[Seviilia watches Bellamy in silence for a few moments. She doesn't understand him, his need to throw himself at the feet of people around him. He reminds her of a few people she used to know, who's willingness to help got them killed in short order -- but his face is also too young for the connection to stick.

The promise of a meal -- she doesn't need his help, or anyone else's to obtain one. But help would make it easier to get more.]

May I give you some advice, Bellamy?

[She rests her hands back on her swords. In reality, she isn't really asking for permission, but she gives him the courtesy to let him believe that she is.]

[deployed]

[ Bellamy suspects Seviilia's question is formality, though he has no intention of telling her no. The silence has stretched to a point of discomfort for him. He's yet to walk away from her, but he isn't immune to the awkwardness of being so closely scrutinized. It was simpler when he was trying, pitifully, to fight her. ]

You can try.

[ Lexa's been trying to give him advice for months now, and very little of it has stuck. ]

[miscreant]

[Seviilia can't help but smile at his reply, slightly unkind. She knows the path of rebellion, and he is still very young in comparison to her -- to most undead she kept company with, before coming to the Station. So much of the Nest knew nothing of what they were tied to, and that had suited her just fine.

But if Bellamy was going to help her -- Bellamy, the one Murphy dared to jump in front of her to protect -- then she owed him some transparency.

Just a little.]

Do not make it a habit to be indebted to me.

[She looks down the bridge of her nose, still smiling. In truth, she did not consider this his debt to pay, but it would be a useful bit of advice for the future.]

[deployed]

[ It isn't as if Bellamy needed reminding that she was dangerous. He remembers very well how completely pitiful his fight with her had been. It's more warning than advice, but Bellamy doesn't plan on ignoring her. As much of an enigma as Seviilia is to him, Bellamy recognizes the sincerity in her words. ]

I won't.

[ And he'll nag Murphy about that too, though Murphy is arguably safer than Bellamy when it comes to Seviilia.

But he's certainly not about to tell her that. He inclines his head, then moves on from her doorway. No need to push his luck now that the pair of them have both said their piece. ]