[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

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy isn't sure what to do. She wants to reach out and comfort him. To reassure him. But she doesn't quite know how. As he settles the hood into place, she reaches up with one cloth swaddled hand and gently touches his arm. Despite the hood, her warmth and reassurance radiate through the link. ]

( If there's anything I can do to help let me know, alright? )

[servitor]

( We used to be a lot more, but by the end of it, we were about a hundred at best. )

[He can't help but fall back to thinking on Crowe and Libertus, his comrades and his most trusted friends. The war had been a losing one, but they'd done their damned best. A brief, shooting melancholy and a weariness echoes in the link. The leaves of the trees in the shield shudder softly

Some days, he just wants to retire and call it day. He already knows that's never going to happen.]

[somnifacient]

[It doesn't offer much consolation, not when Noctis is still wrapped up in his robes as if it were some sort of straightjacket.]

I don't know, I'm not used to wearing something with this many layers- ow, hey, be careful-

[Bellamy might just have to remove it completely at this rate. It doesn't seem to want to untangle for whatever reason, and Noctis is starting to eke irritation -- not at Bellamy, but at the inanity of this entire situation.]

[somnifacient]

Better. The respect I deserve.

[He says it out loud in response to Nyx's question.]

Anyway, I guess not. But this whole mission has me feeling paranoid, to the point where I think I'm starting to default to brain-talk.

[adamance]

If it's a matter of extraction, we can hope that those three should be enough to help you.

[Otherwise, it will be just as hectic as their escape from Waypoint Shiril, and she'd ... rather avoid that. Plus, she's pretty certain they would be dead by then.]

[shiro2hero]

(It sounds like you left a bad situation.)

[There's nothing but sympathy on his end. Sympathy and understanding etched between the stars in his shielding.]

[He hasn't been exactly there. But in the middle of a bad moment, in a war that felt like a losing one at night, when everything crawls out of memory to tackle him... he's been there.]

[wrackful]

( Depends on how much sense it makes. )

[He's long past the days of belligerence for belligerence's sake, even if Lexa's general attitude pushes him close to it. But it isn't Lexa that Seviilia's anger is directed towards (and he shoves aside the temptation to redirect it that way). Bellamy is still the problem, unexplained.

There's a sense of taking a breath. A deep inhale, preparation to push past all his various reluctances and venture:]

( That's how it started out, you know. Bellamy talked sense, so I did what he told me to do. )

[He leaves it hanging there, like an offer. Does she even want to hear any of it?]

[miscreant]

[Her response is slightly chilly at first, a natural reflex that she doesn't even seem to notice. But her curiosity eventually wins over her pride, and her ears flick toward him while her shoulders relax.]

( Go on. )

[She knows some things, pieces of what she has gotten from Murphy's interactions with Bellamy, memories she had picked up inadvertently through various other encounters. Bits and pieces of ideas that had no glue. And as far as she could tell, Bellamy acted every bit guilty as she had believed him to be.]

[redheadcarrier]

I do say so!

[ Asuka snaps and turns on her heel. This conversation started out decently and then went downhall; then again, that describes quite a lot of Asuka's experiences with almost everyone around her. She stalks off - not far, she can't really go anywhere and settles down to wait, carefully avoiding looking back in his direction. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Same as it ever as. She keeps pushing and pulling and poking and hoping that maybe things will change, maybe Misato will finally admit that she was wrong to treat her like an extra, unpleasant guest in her apartment. That she shouldn't have relied so much on Ikari, that Asuka had been worth something as a pilot and as a person. It's a happy (not really) fantasy and one that shatters every time she talks to Misato.

So why does she keep doing it?

She lets the datapad go with a sour expression and an even stronger, harsher flash of irritation, anger, and frustration from her mind. One that's likely going to get attention from everyone, considering their close quarters. ]

My problem is you.

[ Two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes it feels like Misato is actually making space for her and then reality comes crashing down around her ears and Asuka is left wondering why she bothers. There's a pulse of sheer hatred, a mix of emotion and fragmented memories, that rolls out of her. ]

You just don't want to admit you did anything wrong. You're too busy trying to save a dead planet!

[ Her voice rises in the enclosed space. ]

I don't need you to tell me to get rest! I'm fine!

[redheadcarrier]

It was just a suggestion.

[ Asuka rolls her eyes. Suggest that maybe destroying a target might be easier and usddenly you're the bad guy. What's up with that? It's not like the people on this planet were even human, right? ]

Not like I'm in charge, anyway.

[ Which is probably a good thing, all things considered. ]

[greentech]

( Is there really such a thing as a wrong question? Even if we don't get the answer we want, we still get another piece of the puzzle. Right? )

[ Call her a bit optimistic. ]

[100mitsubishis]

( You're such a bitch. You just want it when I say no. )

[There's an unhealthily wistful note tucked into his mental speech. He leads her on a chase, the core of his thoughts darting in serpentine and twisting patterns. In his chest, his heart beats with the zig-zag pattern of the retreat.

Leaving her side wouldn't help, but he thinks it might if he stared at the zombie waiter and not at the approximate place Misato's face should be beneath cloth.]

[100mitsubishis]

[Someone ought to teach Kavinsky how to feign shock and dismay better; the lift of his brows barely constitutes an attempt. It mocks the very idea of trying.]

Oh, my bad. Blend in--you know, I heard blend it?

[100mitsubishis]

[Her display of dominance would make a greater statement if Kavinsky hadn't gone loose and limp. He leans back, tipping his head as far as it will go. Caught, he's passive; there's no such guarantee should she release him.]

( Yeah, the whole thing's over because I threw some bread. Gig is up. Let's jet while we can. )

[wille]

( Hey, I offered before you said no. )

[ He's right, anyhow. She wants it more when he says no, but the thrill she finds in challenges is markedly different from his thirst for amusement. He likes games for the entertainment value where she is far too serious for that. Everything is grave, critical, the fate of this world and the next hinging on her winning him over. There's nothing reasonable about her visions of grandeur. ]

( So now what? I give up and prove you right, or keep going and prove you right, too. )

[miscreant]

( You know next to nothing about what these people find offensive. We gain nothing from testing boundaries. )

[She pushed the plate of bread away from him for good measure before releasing his wrist and taking a seat, uninvited.]

( You've never done this before, have you? )

[somnifacient]

[The gods of Noctis' world are not exactly superheroes, but gods proper. Or whatever could pass as a "proper" sort of god, he supposes. Beings with form, of immense power, the sort meant to watch over the world and dictate destiny; the ones that made a mistake thousands of years ago, one that Noctis had to shoulder, had to correct. The very reason for his birth.

His feelings on his gods, as helpful as they had been to him in the end, were still rather mixed notions.

But she's not asking about the gods, she's asking about the other hosts. And so, his own brow furrows together, as if trying to figure out what answer she's expecting.]

Maybe a little bit. But they know more about what's going on than we do, so we have no choice but to work with them for now.

[unfavoured]

It was a stupid suggestion.

[ Parker shoots back with a neutral expression that makes her look stern, but she isn't here to teach Asuka how to play politics or even to keep quiet. Indeed, Parker keeps her distance from what others are doing and doesn't force anyone to accept her opinions. She can aggressively show the lack of proof on the host's part, but she wouldn't force anyone hand in following her - she can't and she wouldn't even if did. ]

No, clearly not. [ She arches an eyebrow. ] So, what are you going to do?

[unfavoured]

They do?

[ Parker arches both her eyebrows at him, though her face remains stoically neutral, giving her a look like she is bored - or, with the heavy grey under her eyes, a too tired for any of this. Leaning a hand on a knee she brings up, she points at him with a book. ]

If they know more, then why aren't they telling us everything?

[somnifacient]

[Noctis' focus remains on getting in these robes without issue, and therefore he speaks about this rather heavy notion with a strange amount of ease and acceptance. The frown on his face disappears as he slips his head through the collar, but his words are heard easily enough.]

I was... [He shifts his weight a little.] I was supposed to give my life, for the sake of my world. And I would have, if I wasn't brought here. So...

[A beat, as his head pops out from under the collar. Success.]

...I would've been king for, what? 2 days, maybe? Most of my life was lived as a prince.

[somnifacient]

[Well, she has a point. Noctis readjusts his statement.]

I mean that they know more about the situation we're being thrown into than we did initially. Since they provided us with information, I think by default we want to trust their judgment.

[He says "we", but there's something about that unimpressed, bored look on her face that makes him think that he shouldn't count her as part of this group.]

But... what do you think?

[unfavoured]

[ Honestly, she suffers from resting bitchface syndrome, a terrible affliction common among uncool people. But it's the only one she has.

Parker blinks at him slowly like a judgemental cat and licks her lower lip, before shaking her head, glancing off to the side where the aliens are. She purses her lips in thought, then looks back to the guy in front of her. For a moment, it looks like she isn't going to answer him: long, awkward silences are only to be expected from her. It's awful at first, but eventually one gets used to it. Sometimes.

But then, she speaks: ]

I don't know what to think anymore. [ She admits, scratching her eyebrow with the hand holding her book. ] I think they don't know shit, but then again-- why are they following some invisible command and forcing the rest of you to go along? Some misplaced sense of community? It's stupid and vague. [ She doesn't like it. She don't like it, meeeeeem. ]

[somnifacient]

[Wow, she's worse than him. The silence that ensues is indeed long and awkward, and Noctis wonders if he's said something heinously offensive, to the point where he's put a premature end to this already stilted conversation.

He shifts his weight in the seat, turning to look out the viewport. Another moment or two passes before she speaks, and Noctis blinks, glancing over at her again.]

I think... [He trails off, really taking time to consider her question. He applies it to himself; why is he going along with any of this? Did he feel a "misplaced sense of community" with those around him? Most of them still remained strangers, people he didn't understand from far away worlds he couldn't even fathom.]

...I can't speak for anyone other than myself, but when I was uprooted from Eos, I lost my sense of purpose. Literally. [He was born for one thing, in the end. He couldn't achieve it any longer, far away from home.] Here, maybe I can have some of that back, even if I'm just kidding myself. Even if it won't ever be the same.

[unfavoured]

[ Yes, she is.

Parker keeps her eyes on him and frowns a little as he speaks. Perhaps if both of them didn't keep everything shelled away from the outside, they could relate. But whereas Noctis has turned his loss of purpose into something constructive (although debatable, in Parker's opinion), she has let hers become destructive. Not that it was hard to do it in her situation, with the guilt hanging over her everyday and the pull of dissimulated despair. She doesn't say it, though, keeps it inside and behind walls so tall that you would have to be too invested to even begin to think about climbing her. ]

So, you let yourself be their pawn. [ She concludes with a shrug, before leaning back on the floor, opening the book again. She's disappointed with the answer, it seems. ] That's some purpose you got there.