[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

Kavinsky // cw: general K warning for drug use/sex mention

[100mitsubishis]

I.

[Kavinsky hasn't let someone play dress-up with him since he was a little kid. At age toddler, his arms were weak and riddled with baby fat. It took zero effort for an adult to lift them up. Pin them down.

That was a while ago.

He's found the robe that was meant for him (or maybe was meant for someone else several inches shy of six feet and shaped into one slim line). This is what he's supposed to wear, without a fuss. He's supposed to strip down and don the dress, smile nicely, and play along. He knows. He knows it in his bones what the rest of the Hive would like.

They lack vision. And he has one for the garment, steady as a dream. He started ripping.

As a rule, nice fabric is proportionately less powerful the finer its presentation. He doesn't even need a knife to tear in clean lines, but he has one just in case.

The robes' arms go first. Then a liberal amount of anything on the bottom. He's intent on turning it into an approximation of a sleeveless shirt (wifebeater, he'd say, without missing a beat). Once he knew the gist of the mission, he was good enough to dream up a pair of black dress slacks.

That's as good as it's gonna get.]

III.

[The servants in the Veranda are dead. Not dead in the inside, the way Kavinsky knew most waitresses to be on Earth, but dead-dead. Sallow skin, milky eyes, peek-a-boo fatal neck wound dead. They walk around in the haze of a post-Black Friday soccer mom.

Kavinsky is fascinated. He's seen corpses before, but he's only copied their living likeness. This is a whole other breed of cadaver.

As usual, he's ignored the eating aspect of having a plate full of food. He breaks off pieces of crispy dough from finger sandwiches to flick at the zombie-servants. So far, his target hasn't turned and made a groaning call for brains, but who knows. The night could get exciting after all.]

Wildcard

[He's always up for a good time.]

VI

[adamance]

[The lack of restraint in the words pouring out of Pidge's mouth leads to Lexa sending a sharp degree of admonishment right into her mind. While the two of them aren't "paired" for this mission, so to speak, she has no problem bypassing any understanding of different groups to make sure that her judgment is clear.

Because she likes Pidge.

And she believes Pidge can do better.

Lexa does have high expectations.]

( Remember that you're not meant to speak. Or be all that surprised by what you've seen here. )

[adamance]

[Thankfully, Lexa is someone with purpose. The stretch of Aloy's hair is something she only pays attention to for a moment, just before she decides.]

It would be best to pull it back tight, in a manner that ensures that your face is not apparent to anyone. Your hair can't disrupt your disguise. I don't believe I'd be one to offer much comfort. [There's a longer moment of consideration before she adds:] A bun would be most suitable. The point here is to ensure that we maintain mystery.

[greentech]

[ The recrimination from Lexa stings. She likes Lexa and wants to keep her good opinion, so the reprimand is probably more effective than it might have been from someone else. With a sheepish little shuffle, she sinks back into her seat and her shoulders slump, tightening up as she drums her fingers against the chair. ]

( I - yeah. You're right. I'm sorry - I've just never seen anything like that before and it looks... cool. )

[ She has a deep love of technology of all kinds. ]

( I just want to know how it works... )

[servitor]

Which one?

[Honestly, he hadn't been paying too much attention to the link. His focus had been on the clothing, trying to sort it all out and making heads or tails of the pieces.

But he'll have to grace to not say anything of her flushed cheeks. Now that he's figured out the top from the bottom, he'll slip into the shift easily. His hair, unfortunately, isn't quite so lucky to remain as it once was.

Callused fingers run through his hair in an attempt to tame it once more. The shaved sides have been growing out uncomfortably. Long enough to be annoying, but too short to even braid.

He really needed a good razor to shave it again...]

I've got a few, you'll need to pick one.

[shiro2hero]

(Yeah, me either. Maybe we're just too intimidating to ask.)

[He means it jokingly. An undercurrent of amusement.]

(Allura would be. Even Lance... he'd be able to talk these guys under the table.)

[redheadcarrier]

Uh - the one-

[ She sketches a finger over the right side of her ribcage, in roughly the correct position to be the fresh one that was standing out against his skin. It can't be from anything good, she's pretty sure. Her scars sure aren't. And maybe talking about scars will help get her mind away from other, stupider thoughts. ]

It was kinda noticeable.

[servitor]

[He's not... really sure if he'd pinned Lexa for the reading type. The surprise is faint and flickering before curiosity gets the better of him.]

What's it about?

[servitor]

Ah. That one. [He scoops up his own clothing and starts to fold it up fairly nearly.] I was shot before I got here at almost point blank. One there, one in my knee. I didn't expect it to be healed that fast, or at all, but whatever got me from Insomnia to here must've healed it.

[Nyx doesn't see a real need to sugarcoat it. He doesn't believe in it as a principle anyway, but with Asuka he imagines she's seen enough to not need it worded in some socially acceptable way.]

terrible food options

[servitor]

[It's only lucky the two of them are linked in a way that makes it impossible to ignore each other. Playing the part of bodyguard meant he'd exile himself to eat with others of a similar nature.

Meaning he's standing and not eating, faking to be security detail now for Noctis. Nyx leans in close, as if to share something important and secret. It's only loud enough so that others around him can catch the urgency and maybe a few words here and there.]

Your daughter, sir. She's looking for you.

[Nyx's face may be obscured, but he's giving Noctis an incredibly pointed glance. Quickly, crudely, he puts up a shield for the two of them, the thickets and forests of Galahd serving as their blockade.]

( Go with it. )

I.

[wille]

[ Misato's total disregard for the shame inherent in the act of public stripping is such that one has to wonder if it's intentional, enforced. She cares enough to act like she doesn't care, least of all about standing in her underwear (utilitarian and unassuming, cotton in plain pastels), a hand on her hip to not obscure the pale scar running ragged from her sternum to her waist. To hide it is to bring attention to it, to show that it bothers her, and so she lets it show as if it doesn't matter, so that when she shrugs it off later as the past being the past, she would be believable.

She affords an amused huff at Shepard, staring at the other woman as shamelessly as she flaunts her body. ]

You're stepping on my hood.

[miscreant]

[Seviilia doesn't look up from her swords right away, running one finger carefully along their icy edges over the cloth as she contemplates a proper response.]

It makes no particular difference to me. Though I imagine plenty of others are very pleased with the arrangement.

[Now she looks up, settling her hands on the flat of the covered blades. It isn't hard to sense her wariness -- frankly, she is glad for it. Even if they were all connected to the brainstem, there was a certain amount of distance she demanded. Enough to make her an authority, rather than an equal.]

I am merely becoming exhausted by the methods that we have needed to employ to operate. I prefer a more direct approach.

[A likely unsurprising fact.]

[miscreant]

[She doesn't understand his reaction until he holds up the robes to his face. What follows is a roll of her eyes.]

Honestly, Shiro.

[Were I a different sort, I might be offended is not spoken, but the thought is definitely there as she reaches to take the robes away from his face. She doesn't have the patience to have an argument, and she's not about to go dig up her shirt from under her armor.

She really just wanted the fasteners -- at least, at first. But now she thinks she might like this cloth better.]

[wille]

[ There are too many layers to this disguise, too many moving parts that slip and slide as Misato attempts to take a seat on Pidge's bed and cross her legs. An acrobatic feat, judging from the effort and maneuvering it takes. She spares a glance around the dim room to spot any prying eyes, but how would she know what form it would take? To think, she believed donning the robes would be the easiest part of this.

She wears a little smile, not that Pidge can see, and reaches over to rest a hand on top of the girl's head. ]

( I'll scrounge around. What else do you need? A magnifying glass? Tiny screwdrivers? )

III

[wille]

[ Misato's one-track mind is laser focused on the task at hand at the cost of dismissing any detail she deems irrelevant, like the dead servants and their fortunate lack of decaying smell to accompany their apparent deadness. But it has become clear that just as important as gathering information on the enemy, the mission at hand involves ensuring nobody blows their cover, something Kavinsky seems to regard as mere suggestion.

The next time he moves to fling another piece of dough at the servant, she reaches over to grab his wrist. She's more amused than angry, which probably says more about who he is to her. Indoor voices: ]

( How are you gonna explain that away as some weird Carbauschian thing? Symbolically feeding the servants? )

[greentech]

( I'd probably insult the wrong person. )

[ At least she's self-aware. ]

( Depends on how stupid they end up being. )

[greentech]

[ Pidge has the sleeves pushed back to give her fingers some leeway as she holds the little insect up to the light, still turning it over and over, trying to see how it fits together. It can't be wleded, can it? And they don't seem to have assembly lines or anything. Interesting. The outfit she's used to by now, but it's still a bit stifling. ]

( Both would be great. Maybe a ball-peen hammer and some small files. I have a few tools in my bag, but nothing big - well, nothing small enough. )

[ She glances up with a smile as she feels Misato's hand on her head. It's a touch patronizing, but she doesn't mind much. She trusts Misato and that sense of trust is pretty obvious through the mental link. ]

[redheadcarrier]

Huh.

[ That reminds her of her own scar. Although hers is hidden behind an eye patch. She lifts a hand to brush the pad of her thumb over the cloth without much thought, eyebrows knitting together as she thinks. ]

Might be something to do with the pods. I dunno. My eye was already healed before I got here, but... that was something else. Not the Station.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka respects authority, funnily enough. For all that she's been burned by the adult and mentor figures in her life, she's still a soldier of sorts. She'll follow orders. Even if Seviilia has hurt her, it's a hurt she can deal with. Physical pain is easy. It's the emotional pain that's hard. ]

You and me both. But orders are orders, I guess.

[ She sounds a little disgusted by it, for all that. ]

If keeping this stuff away from the "Enemy"- [ She makes air-quotes. ] -is so important, why not just get rid of it? Well - whatever.

I.

[isorropia]

[There's enough to do and manage, that the initial artful deconstruction goes unnoticed. There's equipment to be loaded into the transport, last minute details to refine, and if there's one thing Rhan believes these people perfectly capable of it's dressing themselves.

This is where hubris gets you, Rhan.

She's meandering down the rickety gangplank of the transport, having just stowed her own belongings, when she spies Kavinsky's art project. She stops dead in her tracks, thinks 'For fuck's sake' very loudly, and then quickly glances over her shoulder toward Siva'co doing his last pre-flight checks. Good. He's busy.

Rather than scurrying down the ramp and across the hangar, Rhan reaches out to Kavinsky with her mind: a thread through an eye needles, a precise little prick.]

( I see someone's getting creative. )

vi.

[isorropia]

( You mean other than the fact that four Seconds just retired to the garden and no one is following them? )

[There's an acerbic little bite to the comment - an edge of wit - and while it's difficult to pinpoint exactly which robed figure at the table it comes from, the identity is clear enough: one of the second elder hosts who had met them at the ship, the one who had led the first proud to the veranda. His mind is crisp, but overcast. Dry, but carries the tang of ozone - rain on the horizon.]

vi

[isorropia]

( Oh, I don't know. I've always rather liked a good knife fight between friends. )

[That is, absolutely unmistakably, the pale alien who'd run them through their briefing with such good humor. She's sitting a few seats down from where Shepard is standing, but it's difficult to tell exactly what has her attention given the heavy swath of fabric over every inch of her.]

[somnifacient]

[Help is welcome, of course, and Noctis experiences a wave of relief (hand-in-hand with embarrassment) as he feels someone come to his aid, noticeable by the way he can feel the cloth over his head rustle.

But then fingers catch in his hair, pulling at his scalp. There goes that relief, pushed aside for the sake of vague confusion and annoyance.]

Ow- hey!

[A mostly robed arm is trying its best to reach up and grab at Bucky's arm to encourage it to chill, but all he manages to do is grab hold of more robe.]

[adamance]

It depends on what you'd prefer. Our missions tend to last a while. I wouldn't bother with bringing only one. [After a moment, she opens a bag beside her—the bag itself native to Concordia, though she intends to replace it with something more like the culture where they're headed—and inside are several hard copy books. She's also one of those kinds of bookworms that likes physical books.] You can make your choice.

[adamance]

( Since we're a spiritual people who do not like to overextend ourselves, we can use that as an excuse. But it's possible that we may be able to do or mimic some of their abilities, and use that to our advantage. )

[If technology is shown so freely, perhaps Pidge can utilize it to spy. Lexa doesn't say this exactly, but the definition of "overlook" is passed on subtly through the link itself.

Of course, if all of that does lie within the ... ability users here, that might be more difficult.]