[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

[wille]

[ Man is man's true enemy. Her expression shifts to concern writ clear on her face, knowing something pertinent to the conversation but unwilling to say it. The Angels were at fault only so much as wanting to live is a sin. And the JSSDF, well, they were mere pawns. Dogs unleashed by their masters.

Her words are measured, quiet above the ship's hum. ]

I should've known. I should've told you.

[redheadcarrier]

[ This feels different. Somehow, stupidly genuine, and she glances up from the datapad with a slightly twisted expression, staring at Misato as if she's not sure what to say or if she even wants to hear what's going to be said. ]

Should've told me what? That they were going to screw us over?

[ Is this a peace offering? Or just a way for Misato to make herself feel better or to get Asuka to do something for her? She's wary. ]

[wille]

[ Both, neither. Misato meets Asuka's gaze calmly, wearing a composed front despite the apprehension on her face. ]

It's my job to know the enemy. I figured it out too late.

[ Too late, she says, as if realizing it five minutes before, a year before, might have resulted in victory. As if there was ever a chance in hell. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ A part of her wants to laugh. Misato says that as if that's the only place where she failed. And to Asuka, it's perhaps the least important failure of Misato. to her, it's everything else. the favoritism, the disregard for her, the way she was happy to let Shinji play hero until he got himself hurt. The way she left Asuka to fight and die. There's so much more that Misato did wrong. Not realizing that the real enemy should've been other humans doesn't seem that important in the grand scheme of things.

And Shinji still could've prevented Third Impact if he'd tried ]

Not like it matters anymore, does it?

[ She shrugs, trying not to sound as bitter as she feels. ]

We're here. Maybe next time don't keep me in the dark for so long. Maybe you should actually trust me.

[wille]

[ It still matters, it has to.

The misplaced bitterness isn't lost on her, when she knows that among the entire NERV cabal, set against the likes of Commander Ikari, Kaji, Ritsuko, she is already the most transparent. But ah, who is she fooling? It comes down to cowardice, no, an attempt to control information to wield the situation to her favor. She's just the same as the rest of them, only knowing less.

Misato rises to her feet with an exhale, the very sound of exhaustion. ]

Well, things have changed. I should be the one saying that to you this time, right, Asuka?

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka's of the opinion that it doesn't matter, but she actually saw the world end - sort of. She was there long enough to join the gestalt, to see it all come tumbling down like so many dominoes. So forgive her for thinking that what's done is done. She's not eager to go running back to save a dead world - especially not a world where people have the choice to change and refuse to do so. ]

I always trusted you. Even if I hated you.

[ That's raw and bitter and far too honest. ]

I listened to you. I did what I was told.

[ And look where that got her. ]

[wille]

[ It doesn't hurt her as much as she thought it might, hearing Asuka's admission of hatred, as clear as can be. It doesn't mean much to her when she has so jealously guarded the distance between them, never near enough to even touch. Just the same, the admission of trust means as little.

Her expression may be subdued, easily mistaken for sadness or something like it by less observant eyes. Her mind is shut off from her, just as quiet. ]

I know.

[ Is that all you wanted to say, Asuka? Is this what you wanted to hear? ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ None of this is what Asuka wanted. She would've preferred something more than a simple "I know". She would've preferred that Misato actually appreciated her and cared for her. She would've preferred any kind of reaction other than the distant indifference Misato always throws in her direction. Anger, sadness, joy, something. This just feels like she's being abandoned all over again.

So why does she keep ramming her head into this wall?

Her shoulders tighten a little.

They've had this conversation before, so why does she keep asking? ]

I guess I just wasn't good enough for the great Major Katsuragi.

[ The tone in her voice carries a mocking, acerbic sound, but it's a very real, very sincere sentiment once someone looks beneath the surface. It's the idea that's haunted her her entire life and one that this just reinforces: she'll never be good enough. Second-rate, useless, discarded. An extra. Even when she excels.

Why does she keep returning to this wound? Why does he keep pulling at the scab? ]

[wille]

[ The same, different conversation. Practice makes perfect not for the mere repetition. It's a matter of realigning oneself according to mistakes previously made. Cycles of victory and subsequent defeat. Three steps forward, two steps back. But eventually, somehow, they will get somewhere.

Misato's persistence is exhausting even to herself.

If she winces at the word great, this time, it is because she has gone through previous iterations. ]

It was never about being good enough. You know this, don't you, Asuka? But you want it to be, because at least then it's something you can help. At least then you can do something about it.

[redheadcarrier]

Maybe I just thought you were a better person than you really are.

[ Or maybe Misato is right. Maybe it's both. Maybe she desperately wants it to be something she can control. If it isn't, if it's all just random chance, then what's the point? If she can't earn love or respect or affection, then doesn't that imply she's more worthless than she already thinks she is? If she can't change anything or pull herself out of the hole she's in by being good enough then, there's nothing left for her.

She dangles Misato's datapad from her fingertips, staring up at her with a cold, clear gaze. ]

If it's not about that, then what is it? Are you just a cold, uncaring bitch at the end of the day? You seemed pretty cozy with Ikari the entire time I was there.

[ What's wrong with me?

She sits back in her seat, shoulders tight, hands behind her head, as if she's carefree and that she isn't about to start spreading dirty little secrets. She can't make Misato care - that's true - so why does she chase after it? ]

Or maybe you just like little boys. That's gotta be it. I should've been a man!

[ She's just being vicious at this point. There's no other reason other than to try and fling barbs at Misato to see what sticks. Part of hew knows (thinks) that Misato is just going to close it off and stonewall her. But Shinji seems to be a sore point, so who knows. ]

[wille]

[ This is an impasse. Where she offers what she hopes is an open hand, Asuka puts forward barbs and fences to keep her out. She knows, too, that as much as the girl despises her, she also longs for her validation. The counterintuitive nature of rejecting the world while hoping it would love her. That age-old illusion, that one day everyone who has ever wronged her would see the error of their ways and come crawling on all fours to beg for forgiveness.

It won't happen. Her telling Asuka so would be useless. So be it.

She grabs the datapad from the girl's fingertips, meeting her eyes measure for measure. ]

I don't know what you hope to get from this, Asuka, picking at your own old wounds.

[ Because it isn't her old hurts that the girl unearths. The battle is skewed to Misato's favor from the start, she who holds the catalog of wrongs done against Asuka, who understands so little of her. ]

If I were you, I'd go get some rest. We might not get to once we land.

[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!