[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

Aloy

[huntsmachines]

I. Modesty? What modesty?

[ As soon as it becomes obvious that she's supposed to change her clothes, Aloy sets to it with a will. In a moment, she strips down to her underwear and bends to examine the pile of clothing. She wrinkles her nose. All of this fancy, constraining, and probably uncomfortable. Not like the clothes she's used to at all! She shrugs herself into one of the complex robs and squirms it into place before peering at herself, then looks around the back. Why are the fastenings in the middle of the back? With an annoyed huff, Aloy glances towards the nearest person. ]

Can you give me a hand with these?

II. In flight entertainment

[ Once settled in the craft, Aloy begins to get antsy almost as soon as they're in motion. She's not used to having to sit for so long. Sure, staying still and silent for hours waiting for the perfect moment to attack a machine is one thing but being stuck in a chair for hours and hours is completely something else. She amuses herself first by doing some reading up on the place they're going, then finally settling for small talk with those around her. She leans forward a bit in her seat. ]

Are we really supposed to stay sitting for the whole trip? I'm going to go crazy.

[ She leans back in her seat to stare at the ceiling for a moment. ]

...I'm not used to parties.

III. Nah man that ain't me

[ Aloy is truly doing her best to settle into arole as one of Lexa's retinue. Whether that's a guard, advisor, confidant, or all three she's not quite sure. She has to remember to keep her posture upright and to try and imitate the stately grace of those around her. It's not easy and she finds herself keeping close to Lexa almost as much for a sense of comfort as for appearances sake. She lets her eyes drift over the buildings and the gardens as they pass through them on the way to the veranda and idly wonders if this is what the cities of the Old Ones looked like. Casually, she lets her eyes drift across other guests.

It's easy to fall into watching. She's used to watching and being around so many other people gives her a bit of nerves. There are so many people and with the vast array of clothing and styles, it's a little overwhelming. And hard to gauge who might be a threat. Still, she plays the role the best she can, quietly shouldering her way between Lexa and anyone who wanders too close. As they step up onto the verandah, she shoots Lexa and the others a smile. ]

Here we go...

[ The silent servants disturb her but that doesn't stop her from plucking a finger food from a plate and scarfing it down as she hovers near Lexa's shoulder. ]

IV. Wildcard

[ Got something else in mind? Throw it here! I might make another top level for the feast and stuff later, but I think this is enough for one post for now. ]

[somnifacient]

I. MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER

[You know that little kid who tries to put on a garment that’s too big, manages to get his arms through, but gets lost in the fabric void as he tries to attempt to pull the rest over his head? And he just stands there, awkward for a moment, shuffling, trying to get it to work but it’s futile; he’s trapped himself in his cloth prison, and will probably need assistance to see this through to the end?

Noctis is that 30 year-old kid right now.]

Gods… dammit…

[-can be heard, as the folds of too-many layers catch on his shoulder, making it impossible for him to do much of anything without being able to see what the issue is. But of course he can’t, because his vision is obscured, the top of whatever robe-like mess this was supposed to be folding in half over his head, making this even more embarrassing for him. You can’t see it, but the walking robe pile is frowning.]

Can I get a little help here? [He directs to whoever must be nearby. He hears shuffling. Noctis knows you’re there.]

II. IN FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT

[Now properly dressed, Noctis holds back complaint about how heavy all this cloth feels. It lingers on his mind, but remains pushed aside for more pressing matters, such as focusing on the situation at hand. He helps with passing the books down, commenting to whoever happens to be near:]

…Some light reading.

[The levity might fall flat, with how withered and dry the words are that accompany it. Still, he won’t say much more for the rest of the flight.

Boredom, however, settles in quickly with Noctis, as it always does. He shifts his weight in his seat more than a few times, raps his fingers against his knee. Leans his head back and closes his eyes, only to open them a few minutes later. Anticipatory anxiety, maybe, or just a restlessness that’s always run through his core since he was young.

After a while, he amuses himself by making the book he’s been given disappear in fractured blue light. A crystalline glow envelops the tome, and it’s gone. Another wave of his hand, it it appears and solidifies again mid-air; Noctis catches it between his fingers before it falls. Rinse and repeat. His royal magic put to the best use, clearly.]

V. A COMMON PURPOSE

(Hold on, which one is the eel?)

[Noctis glances at all of the dishes, ignoring the overwhelming scent of spices and strange foods filling his nostrils. It’s too much at once for him to decide which he thinks is appetizing, and which he’d rather avoid for now. It’s with an automatic motion that he hands dish after dish down the table, curiously scrutinizing each meal being brought out in the interim.

It's during the brief moment his hands are empty when it comes into his periphery; the eel dish, its meat soft and cut evenly for ease of consumption. It’s fragrant and covered in some kind of slick sauce, or at least, he assumes that’s what it is.

And of course, it’s placed squarely in front of him.

The obvious option would be to ignore it, of course, but a Rabadocean, smiling serenely at him, interrupts this intent with a polite comment. Telling him that he should try the eel, it’s delicious, and it’d be a shame for him to pass over it in such a way. Noctis can feel the gentle pressing of obligation from those words, and he seems to hesitate.]

(You’ve gotta be kidding me.)

VI. EVENING’S END

[The show’s impressive, but Noctis sees it for what it is — pomp and circumstance. After the introductory speech is over and the lights fade, he can’t help but comment.]

(A lot of words, just to say “play nice with each other for now”.)

[A subtle glance around the crowd, music reverberating in the background still.]

(Anything of note beyond the obvious?)

[redheadcarrier]

II. Tray tables up...

[ It's going to be a long flight, apparently. Without a whole lot of wiggle room. the layers and layers of clothing and gauze don't help much either, but she can get used to that. It's just another uniform; another part of the mission. She shifts in her seat for a moment, fingers tapping against her legs. She has her datapad in front of her and she's idly flipping through mission notes, trying to do something to keep her mind occupied. She's done this sort of thing before - hurry up and wait - but that doesn't mean she particularly enjoys it. It's just dull. She blows out a long-suffering sigh and leans over to bother one of her neighbors. ]

If I'd known we were going to be stuck like this for a few hours, I would've brought something to read...! What are you doing?

[ Sure hope you didn't want that personal space. ]


IVa. Home away from home

[ Asuka would be lying if she said she wasn't fascinated by what they find when they land. It's colorful and vibrant and alive and that by itself i enough to attract her attention. The last planet she left was dead and dark and crimson, but the air here is full of life. There's no stagnation, so overpowering scent of blood, so her eye is wide and open beneath the gauze of her veil and the folds of her clothing. She doesn't have much chance to enjoy it - or rather, to take it in. Instead she's being ushered on by the clear, melodic voice of Lyr that echoes in her head. So she follows, steps surprisingly light. For once, there's no anger or resentment, just... awe. Almost child-like and certainly youthful. This is like no where she's ever been before and she savors it for as long as she dares.

The walk takes her attention again and by the time they reach their new apartments, she's still trying to wrap her head around all of it. She's uncharacteristically quiet - at least until they get told to claim a place to stay. Then she's moving with energy and a bit of bounce, almost acting like her old self (the self that no-one besides Misato has likely even seen). She grabs one of the rooms closest to the entrance, standing almost theatrically in the doorway, arms akimbo. Even through the gauze and clothing, there's a sharp, energetic angle to all of her movements. ]

This one's mine!

[ Her head sweeps the rest of the room and there's the sense that she's daring anyone else to challenge her for it. ]

IVb - Fun and Games

[ Afterward, they're all ushered out to join the festivities. For a little while, Asuka hangs back, apparently a bit sulky and feeling a touch frustrated at this. They're on a mission, right? Why the mingling? She knows why, of course, but she's not sure she really likes it. It's so weird to be getting to know a bunch of aliens who she's not sure she really wants to care about. Then again, she's feeling a bit full of energy. She's been sitting on a transport craft for hours and now there's real sunlight, real dust, real... everything, and the attitude of the whole place is a bit infectious.

Besides, Asuka has a competitive streak.

After a tentative few minutes of watching the swirl of Rabadoceans and the hustle of bustle, she edges forward to join in one of the games. It involves using a small, bouncy ball to pass through a hoop rolled by an umpire, while one's opponent has to field the ball you throw and then return it in a few smooth motions. Apparently points are scored for not only accurate throws and forcing your opponent to miss their catch, but also the style involved in throwing and the elegance of the movements. It's almost more of a dance, but Asuka seems to throw herself into it, despite the odd looks from the other Rabadoceans and a few whispers about the rather enthusiastic Carbauschian who's joining the festivities. She starts out slow, but after twenty minutes, she's racking up a lead and crowing about it. So much for modesty. ]

Is that the best you can do?

[ She's in familiar territory now; she's taking over the room, putting herself forward, making herself seen. She gestures at the Rabadocean who she's currently competing against who makes a low, laughing sound, even if his eyes glint with a sense of competition. ]

I didn't realize Carbauschians were so competitive.

[ Ulp. Asuka blanches slightly under the gauze, but she straightens and tries to brush the comment off. ]

Maybe I'm just getting bored. How about a game of doubles? [ There's a ripple of assent and some smattering of applause and enthusiastic noises from the small group of on-lookers. ]

I just need - hey!

[ She darts into the crowd to grab onto one of her crew mates. ]

Come here!

IIV. Wildcard

[ Whatever else! I'll likely add in a prompt for the feast/dinner later as a sub-post. ]

petre

[inflori]

II. IN FLIGHT ENTERTAINMENT

[ It's all (relatively) fine with the dressing ritual, as much as he hates his clothes. They're ridiculous, says he, like they're out of some movie or video game trying too hard to seem exotic. Why not just shirts and pants and cool looking jackets with badass boots, man!!

Oh hey, books.

Like a classroom of freaks who don't much mind blowing up planets here and there, they're passed down and inspected by the smaller freak who doesn't mind eating humanoid people here and there, until --

I've decided we're all very religious

I've decided we're all very religious

I've decided we're all very -- ]

-- are you fucking serious? [ Turning to whoever is the closest to him, childishly indignant, ] They're not serious, are they?

I. Modesty? What modesty?

[inflori]

[ Discomfort colors Petre's face immediately - like the concept of stripping down to his (her, everyone's) underwear and slipping into the robes and fabrics wasn't embarrassing enough, now he's got girls with bare backs asking him to touch them and shit.

(Any other guy would totally have patted himself on the back, right. Sucker.) ]

Can't you just put on something else? That looks stupid. What's the point of wearing something so complicated?

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy snorts and half-turns her head to look back at Petre with a disbelieving stare. ]

It's not my choice--this is what we have to wear for the mission, or weren't you paying attention? Stop whining and help me out already. It's not like I enjoy wearing this anymore than you do. Just help me fasten it!

[ She's pretty sure most boys are just idiots by this point in her life. ]

[inflori]

[ Is that a trick question, Aloy. ]

... So? I doubt it's what we really have to wear. Like... can't we just keep our shirts.

[ No, Petre you can't. ]

How do I fasten it? It's like... what is this?

[ His own question, finally trying to step toward some kind of productive conclusion, comes with a tug on one of the sides, trying to make something out of its structure. It's so small. ]

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy is rapidly becoming sorry that she even asked for help at this point. She wriggles the robe lower so that it sits properly at her hips and shoulders, then tries to gesture. ]

It has a series of small clasps--do you ever stop crying about things you can't change?

[earthborn]

Wow, you're easy.

[Shepard's watching Petre's face with a particular amusement. He's either got nothing to hide, or he's not even trying; it's a good thing this outfit involves a lot of coverup because he's got the definition of a face journey right there. She tries, for his sake, to suppress her smirk.]

Never play cards, kid. You'll lose your shirt.

[And he might just lose a little more than that.]

Don't let her get you. This is serious.

MISATO KATSURAGI | OPEN + pidge option

[wille]

001 ✖ 体中が熱くなってくる 

[ Even under the shelter afforded by the VERANDA, the Meradans are visibly shivering, huddled together in a corner and taking whatever wine passes by them in hopes of warming themselves. Misato has been watching them for some time, her hood and scarves allowing her the freedom to stare freely, but she makes her move only when another Host passes by, starting to walk toward the group with only a brief invitation for her ally to join her. Two is better than one. ]

( Follow me and do as I do. )

[ She stops at a respectable distance, having gauged it from watching, and takes off one of her many scarves to present it to the envoy standing to the very left, the most high-ranking one, having gauged it from watching, and listening, closely. Then she draws a deep bow, saikeirei, and holds herself in place with the scarf draped over her outstretched arms, allowing the awkward moments to pass by as the Meradans stare at the top of her hooded head, not understanding what her gesture means. This is the gambit. In letting them disrespect her, it earns her a moral advantage as they try to compensate for their perceived mistake -- well, Misato doesn't quite think of it that way, when it implies a degree of dishonesty that she can't condone, but she knows that the most loyal friends are the ones who owe you.

A few beats too late, in the language of the Rabadoceans: ]

A gift.

[ The Meradans let out a low cough, the equivalent of an uncomfortable laugh, before the leftmost one finally accepts the scarf. Misato ends her bow, her mind thrilled with the rush of nearly dropping something precious only to catch it at the very last minute. Luck, or something like it. ]

002 ✖ IT'S AUTOMATIC (closed to pidge)

[ It's long after the end of the evening, but Misato is too awake still from sharp-edged excitement -- no, fear, no, focus. Too fixated on cataloguing everything she saw and heard today that she forgot to take off her layers upon layers of disguise even when already sitting on her chosen bed inside the windowless room, typing everything into her databank before her mind chooses to forget the most important details.

So it's mere hours before dawn when she finally takes to wandering the apartment, tiptoeing into rooms and peeking into beds to find a certain girl, a bundle of her scarf cradled against her side. She says nothing once she finally finds her, taking a seat nearby and opting for a mental connection. The heights of paranoia. One can never be too careful. ]

( Hey, Pidge, hey, look-- ) [ She unwraps the bundle gingerly to reveal the mechanical insect. ] ( For all we know, it could be listening to us, so be careful. But if you play around with it, it might tell us something. )

003 ✖ WILDCARD

[ PM me or ping me at muditaya to plot something out! ]

[greentech]

I. Makeovers!

[ Pidge isn't 100% comfortable going into this without being able to bring along her armor or a lot of her other personal gear. Even if it is supposed to be a spy mission, she's not sure she wants to go into this without everything in her toolkit. At the very least she's spiriting some of her computer equipment in. If she can find something to dismantle or take apart, she wants a way to record her observations. She wants to be able to store her information on something that's hers, not the Nest's.

Little things.

But here they are, getting into some strange, new outfits. She'd rather not strip completely down for this, but considering all the layers and her propensity for sweat... Ugh.

Pidge ducks into the transport to actually change. She emerges after a few minutes, looking a bit lumpy and draped and she definitely sounds a bit grumpy. ]

I feel like a Christmas present.

VI. Evening's End

[ Pidge has been picking at her food and trying to pay attention to the buzz and hum of conversation. She feels a bit out of place and awkward and she's trying not to make a fool of herself or giving anything away. She's deflected a few attempts at conversation (awkwardly), but when the technomancers come out and the little speech starts, it grabs her attention. She sits up straighter and leans forward to try and catch sight of the flitting little insects and to see how the technomancers manipulate their technology. When the lead technomancer lights up the entire building she almost jumps out of her chair, eyes wide underneath her veil and layers of cloth.

She's also speaking aloud. ]

Did you see that? That's amazing! How do you think-?

[ She's going to babble if someone doesn't stop her. ]

Wildcard

[ Throw something at me or ping me at dragoon1940!

[greentech]

[ Much like Misato, Pidge hasn't changed either. She's too busy typing up her notes and trying to think of a thousand different things. She's seen and heard a lot today and she needs to figure it all out in her own head or it's all going to be gone. Staying up into the wee hours of the morning is her usual modus operandi. So she's still awake when someone slips through the door.

She turns to her, mouth opening to say something, but she snaps it shut when Misato explains why she's there. Her eyes widen behind her glasses and she leans in to gently run a finger over the small, mechanical insect. There's a distinct sense of awe and wonder and interest radiating from her and she glances up with a grin. ]

( I was hoping someone got their hands on one of these! Did you just grab it? )

I. Makeovers!

[inflori]

[ Petre only really laments having to put the damn things on, with or without further equipment, what with finding them so utterly uncool. There's finally the promise of some action and this is it? Ugh.

By the time Pidge comes out, he's still struggling, having thrown one layer over another that was supposed to be on top, making him fight the thought of bursting into flames and calling it a day. Because then he'd end up naked. ]

This-- Fuck! I hate this shit!

[inflori]

[ Petre curls his upper lip, with both frustration and the slightest distress at the sight of more skin. Funny, seeing as he has very few qualms about ripping into people's flesh when it's time to feed himself (or cure a boredom of the palate), but apparently when touch is needed to be helpful, he turns into an actual child. Which he is. ]

Shut up, I'm not crying. [ !!! ] It's not my fault that this is complicated. Why do you girls always have to wear this shit?

[ Attempt. Another attempt. Tug, tug. Tug, and there, both sides of the clasps connect.

Now, to do the same for the remaining 29384759. ]

[inflori]

[ Soon as he hears her voice, Petre's gaze snaps and prepares the Full On Glare before she's even had the chance to finish her exhale. Unfortunately it's a provocation through and through, and even less fortunately, the joke goes right over his head. ]

Why the fuck would I bet my shirt. That's stupid.

[ Sulk mode: activated. ]

I'm not gonna do it anyway.

[adamance]

i: makeover

[While Lexa herself was once waited on hand and foot back in Polis, part of that was for the sake of appearances, of presenting herself in a certain way. Though her hair remains long, it's been a long time since someone sat at her side and braided it. In addition, she doesn't have the same fortune of having someone to help her dress herself. That was lost when she came to the Station, but she came from a rough enough life before her time as a novitiate that it was never much of a concern. She knows both privilege and hardship, and she also knows the necessity of certain clothing.]

If anyone needs help in picking out a more suitable set of attire, feel free to ask for my assistance.

[As it goes for the whole bit about shame and whatever, Lexa doesn't seem too concerned. She just also isn't paying much attention to that, instead more focused on getting the set of robes that suits her best—aesthetically, that is.]

iiia: at ease and observing: part one

( We'll need to determine how to play their games before we proceed. Let's observe politely, and act as if we are enjoying ourselves. ) [Though the games themselves don't seem too complicated, Lexa wants nothing to be held against her. Upon arriving in this area, she finds herself needing to seem domineering, to seem as if she's at ease with all of those—and for someone like her, "ease" and "domineering" are synonyms. They may be a spiritual group, but she had been spiritual back home. Power isn't removed by what someone believes in; if anything, that only strengthens it.]

( I intend to play soon. ) [Just in case that's not clear.]

iiib: the veranda and the ... dead

[Thanks to her training as an emotional block of ice, Lexa is able to steel herself quite easily in the face of those who are obviously dead. She finds herself observing them silently, politely, without staring. But anyone close to her will be able to pick up a hint of her taking mental notes, though the notes themselves are concealed to her and her alone.]

( We'll have to learn how they manage that, ) [she offers to anyone close enough to her. It's just a statement, but one they need to keep in mind.

Otherwise, she's polite, willing to share and pick up the language of those around her, to understand what it is that she has to say and do. Here, she at least feels at peace and in her zone, so to speak.]

vi: friends or enemies

[Some part of Lexa can't help but appreciate the wording of the speech, and there's a sense of ease with which she provides her attention. Among her people, it's rare that someone offers a speech unless it comes from her alone, being the Commander. Within the separate clans such things happen, but she's not as aware of them as she might have been when she was among Trikru. But that was a long time ago, and their ways are less riddled in a sense of "monarchy" than, say, Azgeda.

It does help to know that different nobles can speech with ease, and can make a political declaration with little resistance. Their placement is part of it, to be certain, but it will at least put some of the Hosts' delegation at ease moving forward. It will make sense if there are clashes in a sense of who is in charge if they are representing different groups, at least to some degree. For her part, it will require an adjustment in her thinking, but Lexa is all too prepared for such a thing.

When enough time passes after the speech, she proceeds to reach out to the other Hosts:] ( It would be helpful to see who may be well on their way to identifying their enemies. I find it curious that she speaks as if we can all reach a common cause by the end of this, but brings that up just the same. ) [But she thinks it's mostly lip service, and that there is something more to be gained by it.]

wildcard

[Throughout all of this, Lexa will be in full-on Commander mode. She'll expect anyone who's moving with her to respect her space, to act on her behalf, and to take her orders at face value. This may or may not lead to some snarky commentary, as she slides into such a ... Top Dog mode so easily, so to speak.

Needless to say, perhaps, but Lexa will definitely be enjoying the challenge of being a ranking official in another culture.]

[greentech]

[ Oh, boy. Pidge stares for a moment, trying to decide whether she should laugh or actually help. Eventually her good natured (sort of) wins out and she steps over to try and help him with the garments. ]

Hold on! You've got it on in the completely wrong order!

i

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy has managed to struggle her way into one of the stifling, all encompassing robes that pass for clothing in this culture, but she's not entirely sure about the rest of her. She's never done much with her hair except comb and braid it in the simple Nora fashion and this is... confusing. She pauses next to Lexa.

Aloy's vivid hair is unbraided and loose, tumbling down her back in red waves. She runs a hand through it and grimaces. ]

I'm not sure what I should do with it. I don't think the Nora fashion suits the role I'm playing, though.

[huntsmachines]

[ Aloy snorts. ]

It sounds like crying. And It's not my choice, it's what we have to wear for the mission. Why are men so emotional about every little thing? No wonder the Matriarchs run our affairs back home...

[ She straightens a little, continuing to grumble quietly as the robe is closed up. ]

[inflori]

[ There's unintelligible bitching and moaning while Pidge puts her hands on his layers of clothes. Any struggle is conditioned by the soft and ornamented prison, until, finally, his head is back to reality where it belongs. ]

Why is there even supposed to be an order to this!

[ Because... logic... ]

[inflori]

The who?

[ He knows the word, what he doesn't know is why it's supposed to be relevant. Easier to assume it's just an idiom, brushed aside while he keeps struggling to be helpful in every sense. ]

I'm still not crying. [ .gif ]

[greentech]

Because it's clothing. We don't put our underwear on over our pants or whatever. Or at least I hope you don't. Even you aren't that weird.

[ She's judging you, Petre. Judging you real hard. ]

[inflori]

Does this look like underwear?

[ No one understands his pain. His terrible, fashionable pain. ]

How'd you put your shit on?

[greentech]

No, it looks like robes and layered cloth. Hold still-

[ She's trying to adjust his outfit into a semblance of at least looking vaguely proper. It's a bit touchy. Why does she do this for people? Especially him? ]

I tried. Maybe you should actually put some effort in.

[inflori]

[ Because friendship. ]

They're clothes, you shouldn't need to put any effort in at all.

[ And once he's finally got freedom - fabric weight aside - he yanks his arm away from her help and pats himself down the front. ]

We look stupid.