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

[onemind]

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

'Wait, can I NPC this character?' If they don't have a name, go wild. Should you desire mod input or for us to bounce into a thread, feel free to reach out to us and we'll be happy to accommodate. We may also be threadjacking some of these threads, however don't feel compelled to wait for us to do so. Have fun and don't blow your cover!))

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

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[miscreant]

Mythology. Well, I should hope you never encounter any val'kyr, then.

[Because they were very real, and very dangerous.]

I like to think there are worse fates, but I am not fond of the fact that I was made to leave my men behind.

[Not while she was still in the middle of proving she deserved them in the first place.]

[redheadcarrier]

Val'kyr? Never heard of 'em.

[ She seems to dismiss the idea, but the possibility of encountering them is actually fairly remote. Why worry about it? She arches a brow in Sev's direction. Her men? She actually had a unit? ]

You were actually leading people when they grabbed you? I mean, I left Ikari behind, but he was a wreck anyway.

[ Definitely no guilt, nope. ]

[miscreant]

Unsurprising.

[Oh. Had she not told Asuka this? She clearly blinks, as if she hadn't realized her oversight.]

Of course. I am their Deathlord. I lead all Death Knights.

[redheadcarrier]

Deathlord? Death Knights?

[ Asuka's not sure whether to laugh or not. Seviilia's kinda scary, even if the names are a bit ridiculous. ]

That sounds grim. But I guess it's accurate. I mean, you were all zombies or something right?

[ You know, undead or whatever the Hell they were. ]

[miscreant]

That's right.

[Yes, Death Knights were never all that creative with their naming conventions, and Asuka's observation of it makes her chuckle.]

Death tends to be a recurring theme. Our minions and steeds share our curse -- rather convenient. It is quite impossible to startle a Deathcharger -- not even if you manage to stab it.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka shrugs. It sounds like something someone would put in a terrible movie or a comic book. She's never been much for fantasy escapism, though. She's been too focused on her training and her piloting, so she can't really comment on it. ]

If they're all like you, why are you worried about them? They were probably fine.

[ It's dismissive of Seviilia's worry. Which may not be the wisest course to take. ]

[miscreant]

I do not worry. Not about them, specifically.

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

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

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

[redheadcarrier]

Oh.

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

I was supposed to save my planet, too.

[ She rolls a shoulder in a shrug. ]

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

[miscreant]

[Seviilia picks up on her tone, her insistence that it wasn't her fault, without even scratching the surface of the other girl's mind. Its instinct to feign some sympathy, the act of her ears flicking up, and then gently laying backwards just enough to display a bit of concerned interest.]

Azeroth...is not lost. Not yet. But it will not be much longer.

[Does Asuka have any love for her home? She cannot tell. Her love for Azeroth was hollow, necessary only based in survival and duty.]

Is that how you obtained this?

[Tentatively, she reaches for the side of her head, to gesture at her eyepatch without touching her.]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Is there actually sympathy there? Asuka isn't sure; Seviilia's mind is cold and she doesn't feel like diving into it, even if she was inclined to go digging into peoples heads. She shifts her weight with a frown, but she also doesn't flinch when Seviilia reaches out. She's training herself not to act so vulnerable about the missing eye. Otherwise people might use it against her. Exploit an emotional weakness. ]

Well. Yeah. That was my last fight. I sorta showed you that already, right?

[ They're similar in that regard, Asuka thinks. We both came back from the dead - but in very different ways.

She doesn't know if she wants to show her any more of it. Dragging the memories up hurts and she has to relive those moments in her own head. The pain and fear aren't as bad as they were in the moment. Neither is the anger. But even the echo of those emotions is deeply unpleasant. ]

It's a scar. I'll deal with it.

[miscreant]

[The verbal confirmation makes it easier to recall the memories attached -- yes, she remembers the display she was shown. She could dig deeper, find the whole version instead of the pretty one, free of Asuka's deeper pain and of her failure, but perhaps that was better suited for a time when they weren't on a mission.

She thinks has a better way to work this angle anyway.]

You speak of scars as if they are marks of failure.

[She lets her hand fall to instead roll up her cavernous sleeves, a deliberate motion that displays just how far up those glowing runes on her fingers go.]

Is that how you see them?

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka's lips press together into a thin line. Aren't they marks of failure? Misato has always paraded hers, as if she isn't ashamed of it, but Asuka knows better than that. It has to hurt, no matter how casual Misato gets. So why should this be any different? She lifts her shoulders in a shrug, even as her eye is drawn to the runes that run up Seviilia's arm. ]

I lost. [ There's a bitter taste to the words. She hates admitting it, hates talking about it. No matter how good she was, she still lost and even if she blames others for it, she still failed in the end. Just like she always does. ]

How else am I supposed to look at it?

[ An admission. Even if indirect. ]

[miscreant]

[She stays quiet for a moment, as if to convey understanding. A subtle web of manipulation, a game she's played too many times to count, perhaps played unfairly against an overly emotional child desperately seeking approval. Then again, no one had ever gotten anywhere in life by playing fair, and maybe some twisted part of Seviilia missed having an impressionable mind nearby.

Her eyes flick upward, pointedly, and then back down to her own arms.]

My scars are pretty, in comparison to most. The magic holds together what some might consider irreparable damage. They picked me apart like vultures when they killed me. I was still alive for most of it. They went for my throat last.

[To accent her point, she rolls down her tight collared tunic to show the runes at the high point where her jugular vein ought to be.]

They tried to kill us, but here we are. Scars are not marks of your failure. They are a mark of your enemy's failure.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka's good at sniffing out bullshit, but she doesn't know Seviilia that well and her mind is a strange place. In some ways, she almost wants this to be genuine, even if a part of her knows it can't be. Seviilia isn't human. She's not like anyone else. But Misato's human. Kaji was human. Everyone who ever mistreated and abandoned her was human. So being "human" is no guarantee of anything. ]

That sounds familiar.

[ There's a bitter after-taste to the words, a hint of pain, and unbidden the memory of Eva units descending like carrion birds onto the twisted, broken wreckage of Unit 02 jumps into her mind. She shuts it off before the memory of the pain bleeds back into her. ]

I never thought about it that way.

[ Maybe she should. Better than considering them a sign of weakness. It's hard to just flip that switch, though. ]

They took my eye, though. [ Bitter again. ]

[miscreant]

You have one more. Unless you are looking for an excuse to give up.

[Simple, matter-of-fact. At the end of the day, it was Asuka's choice. For as manipulative as Seviilia might be, she could not inject will for life into anyone when she had almost none for herself.]

For what it is worth, I slaughtered the man who killed me, and the necromancer that helped him bring me back.

[redheadcarrier]

I'm not going to give up!

[ She almost did. Did, actually, for a while. She was dead to the world and to herself, wallowing in her own perceived uselessness and trying to find meaning in a world where she couldn't do the one thing she'd tried to be the best at for her whole life. Her fingers flex into fists, curled tightly at her sides. ]

I'd like to hurt the people who got me killed.

[ But she can't. And, she sort of forgave Shinji. Even if she still detests him. ]

[miscreant]

Good.

[Point made, Seviilia rolls her collar back up and lets her sleeves fall, leaving only her glowing, blood-thick fingers tapping on the crooks of her arms as she folds them.]

What is stopping you? The symbiote?

[redheadcarrier]

[ She forgave one. Shinji has been forgiven (but not forgotten; she hates him, hates him with every fiber of her being) and the other - the other she has a fragile peace with. One they're still working through and figuring out. ]

I don't know.

[ The symbiote. A well of empathy and sympathy that she pretends not to have but which is very, very present. She can be vindictive and cruel and haughty, but she is rarely ever out to cause true harm to those she knows.

Maybe it would be better if she could hurt them. ]

[miscreant]

[To this, Seviilia reaches up again to cup the other girl's chin with a hand wrapped in leather, protecting her skin from its cold. She is gentle in how she tips it upward, to force Asuka to meet her eyes.]

The world does not care if you weep for it. It will turn, with or without your pity.

[If she learned nothing else from Aelaidas and Cassian, it was that nothing was ever held sacred for long.]

Vengeance is pure intent. You are not less for desiring it.

[redheadcarrier]

[ The touch almost makes her flinch. Even through the leather, she can feel the cool of her skin and a part of her wants to resent the way that she's touched and man-handled, but there's something like (but it certainly isn't) affection in it that Asuka recognizes and that she clings to with a sort of desperation. Seviilia is offering her attention. She's offering her advice. She's offering her something that Asuka thinks she's wanted for a long, long time. ]

If you're so smart what do you think I should do?

[ The way she says it it almost sounds like a challenge, but in reality it's almost a plea. She's always hid those behind her actions, challenged people to break through her barriers - and usually no one does. Either because they're cowards or they simply don't care. ]

And why should I listen to you, anyway?

[miscreant]

Take it. When it is convenient for you to do so.

[Seviilia shrugs in response. Simple, really. She was a creature born of vengeance, so it isn't hard for her to consider.]

Not everything must end in death, thought that is my preferred method of execution. You can take what they love. You can defy their expectations of you.

[And to her last question, she smiles -- its an unsettling thing, but it is accented by the movement of her hand. She releases her chin and instead moves it to cup her cheek almost fondly, the gesture of someone who sees themselves in another.]

That is the beauty of being free, Asuka. You don't have to listen to anyone.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Take it. Just... take it. Don't wait for permission. Don't listen to that little voice deep inside of her that says she should give people a chance or try to be nice. Crush that well of empathy that exists down at her core.

It's tempting. Easy. Cruel. She could hurt Misato and Shinji and all the rest, if she wanted to. Her throat works in a swallow and she almost wants to run away. This is oddly terrifying, more so than many other things she's faced.

And then there's the hand against her cheek. It's a caress and her mind flashes back, involuntarily, to that image of Shinji crouched over her, his fingers tight around her neck, the struggle to draw breath, the weight in her chest as she struggles for air - and the single, gentle touch she left against his cheek.

Asuka teeters on the edge. It feels like Seviilia is offering her something she's always wanted. Some sort of affection, appreciation for being her, acknowledgement that she matters, that she's useful and needed. The thought is terrifying for so many different reasons. Is it a trick? Is she being used again? She shouldn't need this, shouldn't want it, should be able to stand on her own without anyone else, but the idea of it - it's so tempting. Even if the one offering it is some sort of strange zombie. ]

I don't... feel free.

[ She's lived her life in the shadow of her mother and enthralled to the idea of finding her own redemption.

She leans into the touch with a small, almost invisible movement. Terrified of accepting it, terrified that Seviilia will take it away. ]

[miscreant]

[She holds her hand still, too still, like she's done it before for someone else. There, she lets Asuka take what she needs from her, however hollow her presence might have felt. Its not what she wants -- Seviilia would be naive to think as much. But its what she has, and if Seviilia knows anything, its how to use what she has. Its now to be cruel, how to take the easy way out.]

Part of the freedom to make your own decisions is knowing when to strike, and when to wait.

[This small, angry, abused creature -- the kind she knows most keenly, the deadliest sort of weapon when wielded properly. To earn her trust ensures a devotion matched by few other things.

She will take it.]

When you are ready.

[redheadcarrier]

[ There's a part of Asuka that so very badly wants to take what's being offered. She's already taken a step down that road and it would be very easy to listen to the vindictiveness and the hate that's bubbling and seething around in her head. Would that earn her Seviilia's approval? What that mean finally having something or someone who is willing to give her love? And if not love, at least approval? The cool touch against her cheek almost makes her think so. That it might be worth it to grind her empathy underfoot and forget that it ever existed. ]

I don't know how to hurt her.

[ Asuka admits that. It comes out in a low, almost frightened murmur. None of her usual tactics seem to phase Misato; she simply deflects them with cold indifference. Asuka is still, in a way, frozen. Standing stock still and waiting for the other shoe to drop or for Seviilia to pull her hand back. For now that scared, terrified part of her indulges in the touch against her cheek and the thought that this might actually mean something.

In a way, she's lying to herself. ]

How do I know you actually care? [ She has to ask that question. She's been used up and thrown away so many times. ]

Why do you care?

[miscreant]

You will have to find a way. Everyone has a vice.

[She can feel Asuka's fear, uncertainty, and its a sweet nectar she hadn't thought to be gifted today. It makes it easier to offer that grounding pole, to assure her that she won't move until the other girl is ready to move herself. If she could feel sympathy, perhaps that would be what she was feeling then.

Seviilia doesn't remember anything of her youth, and only pieces of her time imprisoned with the Argent Crusade -- perhaps that was what drew her to Asuka.

Her questions though -- she is right to ask them. It doesn't take a scientist to see that the younger woman was used to being more of a tool than an individual. A phenomenon Seviilia is intimately familiar with.]

It is not a matter of 'care', dear child. You decision to act or remain idle does not effect me.

[Frank, simple. She is keen -- she doesn't care. Not really. Not in the way Asuka wants her to. Is she even capable of it? Perhaps more importantly, she has no ulterior motive. Asuka's revenge does not gift Seviilia anything.]

But I have known the bondage of duty, and I do not take pleasure in seeing others used at the whims of false masters.