[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

Re: 2

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy shrugs one shoulder at Shiro and gives a small smile. She's doing her best to radiate some sort of confidence but her nerves are all too apparent thanks to the mental link. ]

Hopefully. I plan to stay as quiet and as unobtrusive as I can manage, but...

[ She sighs and shakes her head. ]

We'll see, I guess.

i

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy isn't used to a lot of things here on the station. Showers. Electronics. Hot and cold running water. Nice underwear. Friends. So when she catches a glimpse of the frilly underthings that Shepard wears (and All-Mother, don't they just seem to hold onto Shepard really well) she can't help but stare a little. This from the girl who doesn't mind being seen naked and can handle machines with ease.

Yeah it's the underwear and one hundred percent not the woman who's wearing them. Yep. Focus, Aloy. When Shepard calls her out, Aloy's face turns a little pink. ]

I haven't--I've never seen underwear like that, before.

[ Her embarrassment at having been caught staring and other nervous feelings mingle together in the link before she has the presence of mind to remember to clamp down on that nonsense. Her words at least are true. Her underwear is something more like a loose pair of bloomers and a band of cloth that's been wrapped a couple times around her chest before being tied or pinned in place. ]

a goat named parker & one npc ( all ota )

[unfavoured]

( I. ) I've lost my track of what i know, i know i'm not invincible

[ Not one to respond well to these mind-intrusions, Parker continues to do what she was doing even after the urgency of Siva'co's voice. She takes this as the last chance to float quietly in the pool, now emptier with the other Hosts moved by urgency exiting to pack their bags. She, however, takes her time, relieving the stress on her back. The time stretches out until she decides she ought to go.
Far from being the first on the hanger, there are however still many people there, struggling with the alien clothes. Her hair is still wet when she gets there.

With garments long and large enough to be worn over her own clothes, Parker doesn't seem interested in pulling them off like most are doing. She just shoves it on like a second layer, however she leaves the gloves and sincerely uncomfortable-looking boots for later. She immediately hates everything about this, the intricate vest, the cape – it is all too restrictive to her usual style, and she already feels suffocated like a toddler being forced in to a gown.

Parker is tugging uncomfortably at the cape, annoyed by it, when she notices them looking – struggling or not with their own clothes, maybe judging her bare feet. She frowns. ]

This is a promising idea. [ She comments irritably. ]

( II. ) Heading for collision in the wait of intermission

a) [ She takes a far corner of the ship, not paying attention to whatever the agents are saying because it's not that relevant. It's just reinstating what has been said a million times. Inane talk. She also pays little attention to what everyone else is doing, chilling on her corner quietly over the copy of Treasure Island Steve had found.

The hollowed book passed by Rhan is quickly discarded to the side on the floor next to where she sits, little interest in it. She has brought along her own notebook. ]

b) [ Later, during the journey, she has to stand up to stretch her legs, still without her books or gloves, walking next to the window to look at the infinity of space. She squints tiredly at the stars, before glancing to the people around, crossing her arms as if cold. She rubs her face with her hand, clearly in need of sleep if the bags under her eyes are not a good enough indication. ]

c) [ Parker has her notebook open on her lap. There are a lot of notes written down, the handwriting mechanical and slanted from the rush of the transcription. She flips her page to another one, scratching her head in focus with the tip of the pen distractedly. Then she quietly scribbles down something on the corner of a busy page. ]

( IV. ) When I'm in between the noise and sleep

[ These people are way too chatty, Parker finds herself thinking as they force their way in with their voices in their minds. The descend to the alien planet had been rather beautiful, and she couldn't ignore that fact. Something so completely alien, you ought to admire. But it dies quickly with the chatter in her head and she has to endure their endless talk just in case they say something worth knowing – so far, she has been disappointed. Then again, what she is looking for is different.

Her eyes flicker over to the taller figure with interest; she memorizes the clothes she wears – for later. For a moment, Parker almost joins the party Lyr leads, but decides against it. All for the better, as the group Collector leads gets to take first pick of the room. ]

a) [ Parker takes the room closest to the entrance. Before it can be claimed, she shoulders in – but not aggressively, only very assertively. Okay, it's a little bit aggressive. ]

I'm keeping this one [ It's said tiredly, but with a firm tone – no intentions of sharing either. ]

b) [ That bell has to be an insult, right? Either pick being a chatterbox in one's mind or use a chime. What are they, Pavlov's dogs? With her clothes off in the privacy of their rooms, she takes her time to put them back on, this time without her full clothes underneath – it gets too stuffy. They are a legitimate hassle, these things. She follows one step behind and unaligned with the rest, taking a mental note of the path and all that it entails – for use of leverage or escape. ]

What a bunch of bullshit. [ She mumbles between greeted teeth at Collector's words echoing. Everyone talks but nobody says anything. ]

c) [ She approaches where the games are being played in silence and stands in careful distance from the players – but not enough to not to be noticed. A Rabadocean waves her and anyone standing nearby over to join them. Come play with them, friends.

Yikes. No, thanks. The glance she takes at the nearest person is enough to sense the "nope" face under all that fabric. ]

( V. WITH NPC ) Steal my blood and steal my heart

[ Parker takes no seat at the tables nor does she care to eat the food – not at that moment, at least. Maybe later she will regret it, but as it is, she already eats a lot less than she should. She stands invisible in plain sight, just a background figure that none cares to pay attention to. But it is easy to be quiet where everyone is loud.

So, when she is noticed, she is caught off-guard. It is a Second daughter that seems to be amused by her stand-offish attitude. The bracelets of copper and gold around her wrist clink together in a soft chimely melody. ]

It is of my understanding that you are quiet people. [ She says and her voice is sweet and young – perhaps just at the beginning on the Path of the First. ] But you are especially so. You do not even sit near your own. Are you some kind of lower servant?

[ Parker frowns under the hood and turns her head slightly to the alien, one eyebrow raised. ] Why do I care to talk to them?

[ Quick, someone intervene before she causes trouble. ]

( VI. ) You swam across the devils pond

[ The show is impressive, but she only watches it tangibly as her eyes scan the room instead for an odd, misplaced reaction from the guests, a less sincere applause, a glance that doesn't feel quite right – but it is hard to tell when these are aliens with alien ways.

She glances over to the nearest person who is passing as a servant, then back to the crowd. And then she starts walking slowly into it, trying to catch a conversation that they should not. ]

( WILDCARD & NOTE. )

[ As always, I'm up for anything; also, I would rather keep one person or one group thread per prompt! I love group threads so hop in if you feel like it. Also, I'll be taking control of the NPC unless Abby/Donna want to intervene. Aayyy. ]

VI

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy's response is tinged with her own sense of awe mingled with a healthy dose of skepticism. ]

( They're eager to act like everyone should be friends. Which I can't really fault them for, but I feel like they're just waiting for me to turn my back before they make a movie. )

[somnifacient]

[Noctis is quietly grateful for the faint lighting that helps guide him down the path. Gravel crunches under his boot with each step, his gait purposefully causal and even. Under his robes, the man swallows and narrows his eyes, keeping focus on the route before him. In the distance, steadily approaching, are what appears to be benches, coupled with the echo of voices.

A hesitation, a hitch in his step. Noctis wants to eavesdrop before anything else, though he starts to wonder if talk of a braid coming undone is really anything to eavesdrop on. What was it that Lyr had just told him? The universe doesn't bend without momentum? Briefly, he thinks about how close he should approach.

Noctis had chosen the color of his robes, black as night, out of habit; now, he wonders if the color will serve a purpose, to make him less noticeable in the evening as he carefully edges away from the path proper, hovering around the periphery of the farthest bench from the two. If questioned, it was easy enough to chalk it up to eccentricities and strange customs.

For now, a bit more eavesdropping.]

IV.a

[unfavoured]

[ Across the door - not directly across, some further out doors nearer the entrance, Parker is standing at the door of her own room. It is the small consolation prize she gets out of this: privacy. A door. She has a newfound appreciation for doors ever since she has been stuck up there in the crazy station. ]

Yell it louder. I think people up in space didn't hear it.

[ Or move down. Like, all the doors down. Further out. ]

[somnifacient]

[Sorry your king is still an overgrown child.]

(Too much trouble. I had enough issues trying to get this damn thing on to begin with; I don't want to repeat that again so soon.)

[And, despite his complaints, he knows that he's just going to have to buckle up and probably end up eating a few things that he finds questionable at best. Nyx saving him from the eel couldn't always be the solution he relied upon.]

(Worst case scenario? Chalk it up to weird customs; eel... offends me or something, I don't know.)

[somnifacient]

[Noctis has both of these in his mental tone, as well, though his leans heavily towards skepticism. All of this politeness, all the politics -- when in the end, it was just a beautiful vehicle to decide who would tilt the war in their favor.]

(I don't think that feeling is wrong. It's all just wartime politics.)

[Which causes tension to course through Noctis, perhaps more than the rest. He grew up in a world where warring with one particular nation had been a constant during his lifetime; he has no reason to feel even remotely comfortable, magical atmosphere or otherwise.]

II, a

[somnifacient]

[Noctis sits in the back, as well, and he’s remained mostly silent thus far. He had noticed how quickly Parker discarded the hollowed book, but decided not to remark for now. In fact, he thinks maybe leaving her be would be the best course of action in general.

But then, not long after making this executive decision, boredom begins to settle in. How much longer was this flight going to be? Gods, he should’ve brought a book, too.

He’s eying the book that Parker is reading, trying to catch a glance of the title from this angle. He can’t quite make it out.

Finally:]

Hey… what are you reading?

001

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy isn't next to Misato, exactly. She's been hovering around Lexa doing her best to look attentive and dutiful. She hears Misato's words and turns her head, then move to follow her. Lexa should be alright with her other hangers-on for a few moment. Her head tilts attentively, imitating Misato's attitude as she offers the awkward gift. The awkward stiffness isn't really feigned as she dips into a bow along with Misato. ]

( What was the point of that? )

[ Aloy's confusion and some mild annoyance filter through with her words. She straightensa and takes a step or two back to flank Misato, as if merely doing her duty. ]

( I guess they think we're strange now. Not that they didn't before... )

[huntsmachines]

( I hate all this politicking. I'd rather focus on actually getting things done. The people in charge talk and talk and innocent people, the small people, slip through the cracks and suffer because of it. )

[ She finds herself annoyed by the thought. It had been this way at home in some ways. This felt the same. She itched to actually do something. This talking and talking just felt wrong. ]

[earthborn]

[She's not offended. If anything, she's amused. You're fucking adorable, Asuka.]

You wanna start a conversation about bras and think that's out of bounds?

[Asuka has a body that implies that she's been under significant physical duress for years. Some kids are naturally slight, small-breasted, and strong for all their thinness. But then, most people with Asuka's physique got that way because they were training for the olympics, not because they were training to fight aliens in a giant robot. Go figure.]

Yeah, yeah. At least you don't have to share a brood with her.

[Shepard will try not to trip over the high bar she's been set.]

[earthborn]

( That's fair-- it's not exactly my realm of expertise. )

[The only family Shepard ever had were her crew, her ship, and her commander. In all cases she was either the matriarch of this motley assortment, or a much-doted-upon only child. Metaphorically, of course.]

( You know, I wasn't exactly hoping for it before, but now I kind of just want to start hitting people. You ever feel that? I can't be the only one who just sort of... wants to kick over the anthill. )

[somnifacient]

(You'd think I'd be used to politicking by now, but it still just makes me restless.)

[That much will never change, he supposes.]

(Everything about this missions screams "patience", though. They say it's a virtue. And I agree with you, but... I think the older hosts are going to tell you worrying about the "small" people isn't part of our mission.)

[unfavoured]

[ At least when she is reading, she is not being the obtuse and rude person she usually is. The interruption doesn't even seem to bother her that much, especially because this guy is using his human words rather than the mind-invasive speech that some seem so fond of. He gets one point. ]

A book.

[ Okay, Parker, let's try that again, but without being a dick this time. She does the herculean effort of pulling the book up so he can look at the cover, holding it there long enough for a toddler to read. She sets it back down to the initial, more comfortable position. ]

If you want it after I'm done, it's not mine. [ Implication clear: it's nobody's, really, something found aboard the station. ]

[somnifacient]

[He doesn't bristle at the blunt answer, even if he hears the duh hanging in the air after it, loud and clear. It's... probably how he would've answered, honestly, if someone more familiar had asked him the same. Unfortunately, very few people really qualify these days.

He catches the title this time when she holds it up. Those extra few seconds are unnecessary, though, and Noctis can't help but arch his right eyebrow.]

Treasure Island. [Maybe he'll read it when she's done. Or save it for the next hours-long flight they're forced to take, stuffed into too-big robes.]

Well, would you recommend it?

[miscreant]

[Her question unearths a bemused chuckle, and a pointed shift in her stance. The mere suggestion makes the base of her spine itch -- how many people could she wound before she was overwhelmed?]

( It takes quite a considerable effort for me to feel anything else, Shepard. )

[She had fed not long before departure, but feeding off hosts was almost never satisfying. She would have to kill here eventually.]

[adamance]

( This is where you'll excel. Understanding what you can about how they utilize the Nectar will help us. Thankfully, it's something you can learn without putting yourself out there. Silence may be your friend in finding out what you can. )

[That isn't a matter of "I want you to be silent." But Pidge may be overlooked as she's seeking out answers because of the silence, and might be able to find some answers that someone like Lexa cannot.

Which is good. It's apparent that Lexa can understand some ... sense of what Pidge is saying (thanks to the Flame in the back of her neck), she doesn't have the ability to utilize her knowledge with ease. Technology isn't her forte, and it will never be her forte.]

[earthborn]

( See? I knew there was a reason I liked you. Right from the start. )

[It's a perverse urge, like the unwilling desire to jump that comes when one looks down from a height. Shepard doesn't really want to lash out and start killing-- the romantic notion of it is cathartic, but the reality would be messier. There would be consequences, backlash, the other hosts would want an explanation and the fighting that followed would by ugly and formless. Shepard didn't mind ugly, but she liked to at least know a target from a friendly.

No, no. She didn't really want to jump. But just the same, it wasn't completely possible to erase the notion of what it would feel like, just this once, to give in to impulse.]

( You and me, we have a lot in common. )

[adamance]

( That's why I've suggested that their control is an illusion. They have ensured that they have a desired resource. They have ensured that they are the ones that everyone will seek an alliance with. Nothing is ever that simple. But they have developed a sense of who they are based on that neutrality and what has empowered that neutrality. )

[There's no part of Lexa that needs to be told that none of the people are friends. They should all realize that they are being used, strung along on some journey to prove themselves. But a "faction" such as theirs is useless, all in all. They should have nothing to offer to the bigger picture.

Yet they can and do. More than that, there are some among their numbers who may be able to utilize their own powers and knowledge to show that technomancy is only an ability within the eye of a beholder.]

[earthborn]

[Oh now, it's a little bit the underwear, at least. Shepard's a woman of supreme confidence-- it takes a lot to shake her. And not the least of that is, under the armor and the standard-issue BDUs and the floppy, ill-fit sweatshirts and the Alliance-brand tank tops... She wears lace. Not for anyone, not to fit some ideal of beauty or femininity, but to look good.

For her. Because she deserves it.

Plus, as they always say, you never know when you'll suddenly need to be wearing the nice panties. And lucky ducks, here we are: the apocryphal day.]

You might wanna give it a try. It's... [She doesn't know if it's appropriate or not to denigrate the whole homespun and leather thing Aloy seems to be used to, so Shepard compromises by not saying anything at all.] ...real supportive.

[Shepard has to remind herself not to flirt with a girl likely not less than ten years her junior. That it is certainly inappropriate. That even if no one else can know, Shepard would know, and having standards is what separates professionals from everybody else. Step one out of a thousand tiny steps towards decency: do not even go there.]

You gonna be okay over there? I mean, I know I'm hot, but-- [Failed step one. Goddammit. Focus.] We're kinda on a schedule.

[adamance]

Thankfully, you'll only be expected to be in a position where you'll watch my back. Observe everything that occurs around us. Take note of whoever seems to think little of my efforts and my words. We might be able to use that.

[Acting like someone ignorant isn't her favorite game, and she's only successfully pulled it off in a limited setting. And it was a setting that involved veiled threats, ones that she's certain were eventually used to her advantage later on.

If anything, Lexa hopes to present herself as proud and not easily tricked, so that people have to try to do exactly that. But they might try just the same, thinking so little of an isolationist group like theirs.]

[huntsmachines]

Supportive? Oh! So...

[ Aloy is catching on to that one really quickly. She lifts her hands towards her own chest in an upwards gesture. ]

They hold everything in place? That sounds really useful.

[ Maybe she should get some of these fantastic undergarments. Binding only works so well, plus you have to repin it or retie it when it loosens up. She's trying to focus on the practical aspects but Shepard's ability to pick up on her awkward attraction and then tease her about it sets her back on her heels. She never asked to have feelings--she never had time for them before. Or anyone to have them about for that matter and now she's here and there are multiple people that spark that weird, uncomfortable, exciting flutter in her stomach and--wait, reply to Shepard, Aloy. She's just an older warrior who knows what she's doing. Take a breath. 'Hot' is a new colloquialism for her, but she manages to pick up the meaning just from the context. She answers hurriedly. ]

I'm getting dressed--I just hadn't--You have clothes I haven't seen before, that's all.


And. You're impressive.

[ Smooth. ]

We should get ready.

[ And spare Aloy further embarrassment. ]

[earthborn]

( You think there are other ways to refine the Nectar? Now we're getting interesting. )

[Now there's a thought. But it had merit-- with the Seconds controlling the source both in possession and common knowledge, the pressure to do research into alternatives was deflected. Not the worst theory, but harder to prove.]

( Are we laying bets? )

[earthborn]

[At this, Shepard laughs-- it's an honest laugh, if small, a little chuckle half-turned away, for politeness. Holy shit, Aloy. You ought to be illegal.]

Not too bad yourself, from this angle. [Shepard can admit, without shame, to a weakness for a woman with a good set of arms and Aloy's are doing her plenty of favors. The abs don't hurt, either.] --Thanks.

[A few moments pass in relative silence, marked only by the rustle of fabric.]

So, you like women then? I mean, I assumed you were lookin' at Lexa...

[Shepard is a bad, bad woman, and she is going to the special hell.]