[mission: hyrypia] give me my scallop shell of quiet, my staff of faith to walk upon

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Graze
WHEN: DAY :013
SUMMARY: A day of competition begins, and Hosts put their newfound skills to the test.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

THE GRAZE
DAY :013

A MOURNFUL SOUND passes across the Graze in the early hours of the morning: the mingling drone of the wind coming up across the flatlands and funneling into the depths of the Finger Maze. It saws, a tired, hollow constant noise. Carried with it up through the Great Flat are maybe forty visitors carried by a variety of carts and wagons, automated and incredibly austentatious live mounts. Apparently the events of the day are drawing a crowd from the surrounding farms and homesteads on top of the various diplomatic envoys already in attendance.

After a brisk, light breakfast the short blare of a horn cuts across the encampment. It seems it's time to saddle up.



I. THE SIDELINES
A CHEER SWELLS up from the assemblage of Rabadoceans as a team successfully completes their event. On a nearby platform, musicians takes turns striking up a series of fast paced, sparkling tunes and the tang of roasting meat is heavy in the air. There's a sense of festival in this that quickly becomes lively as the Hyrypians' official pleasantries cede encourage the Meradan's cheerful, competitive shouting and the Descendants'' entertained clapping and smiling. There might even be a few smiles to be seen among the typically grim faced Carpathan diplomatic envoy.

Get something to eat. Talk to a stranger. Make friends. Sabotage a competing team. Most importantly: keep your eyes and ears open. For every moment you might spend machinating, someone (or something) else might be doing the same.

II. THE SORTING
THE SUN HAS FULLY RISEN by the time the first event is ready to begin. There has been a constant bustle up until this point, people meeting up and splitting off again, members of Envoy’s checking in with each other, carefully discussing their strategies- or laughing the challenges off as a game. Now, all of the competitors are gathered together to be given their tools- the ropes and crooks of the Gryer wranglers- even as the spectators begin to gather at the edges of the large pen, some standing at the fences, other on long staggered benches along the edges. There are a flags strung up all along the fences and large banners fly from the outermost posts of the pen. When it is nearly time the teams are split- each of the members led to a different point on the outside of the pen, to the gates that will set them loose upon the false gryer within.

When it is time for the Hosts to begin, the gates are again reset, the Gryer are all released from their holding pens, and the spectators have become no less raucous. They’re so loud it’s almost hard to hear the horn that calls from the holding pen, but the gates that spring open in front of the hosts are signal enough for them to begin. They are afforded just enough time to make their way fully into the pen before the three Gryer are lit, scattered through the herd and still milling about. The clock- or whatever passes for a clock- is ticking, and the faster they manage the task- if they manage it- the better.

When it is over, the crowd cheers, either way- energized by the competition and the strong grassy flavored drink that seems to improve every Rabadocean’s mood.

III. THE MESSENGER RACE
A SERIES OF FLAGS marks the route of the relay race that runs along the edge of the outermost cliff faces - not that it's necessary. Spectators are strung along the sidelines that it might be possible to run the race using only them as a guide for where to go. The course itself is studded with obstacles - logs and ditches, stacks of brush and at least a few imposing walls made from coral harvested out of the Finger Maze. The riders of each team are dispersed along the length of the course toward the finish line, quiet and lonely (if you disregard the forty or so other riders from competing teams in your company) and waiting in the midday heat for--

The short burst of a horn. The first string of Elin and riders, each in possession of a ceremonial scroll, launch forward across the starting line. Hopefully. What would be even better? If they keep all their riders in the process.

IV. THE ELINMASTER RUN
THE FINAL EVENT comes late - so late that the sun is already beginning to move towards the high horizon of the clifftops, leaving a cool purple cast across the landscape as the competitors and spectators alike are gathered at the yawning entrance of the isolated splinter of the Finger Maze. Unlike the other events, there is no seating, no rows, no stretches of banners or strings of flags. The environment doesn’t allow for it. Instead there are ropes separating the milling crowds from the riders. There are no gates and no strict starting point; rather, there is an area the width of the entrance and forty feet behind it that the racers may begin from. A large number are clustered near the very front - eager but clearly at extra risk, the metal and rubber flesh of the Elin automatons pressed close enough to crush. In the stillness of the near-evening air, the anticipation for this event is more subdued. More hushed. It's clear that the majority of the race will not be visible to spectators or judges. There will be only a small party waiting at the end of the course, ready in the clearing to mark places, and no witnesses before that.

The most senior members of House Basittia stand on either side of the entrance, protected by the ropes and flashy in their officiator-wear. When the horn is blown, sharp and with very little warning, it echoes down the length of the waiting canyon walls. It echoes strangely, broken only by the sound of metal hooves pounding forward into the maze and out of sight.

The first challenge is immediate - beyond the wide entrance the canyon begins to narrow dramatically. Those who have chosen the front of the pack will be forced to either get ahead or muscle their way through the others around them. Those that have chosen to stay further back will find that the distance between them and the next rider ahead of them narrows. Before there is much chance to adjust to the new positions, there is the first obstacle - a ditch, narrow but sudden, ready to take the legs out from under an Elin that fails to jump. From there the course begins in earnest. A number of paths split off from the main line, each with their own challenges. Coral branches fallen in the path, others arching just over rider’s heads. The course is full of switchbacks and sudden turns and in places the ground is made of pebbles that slide beneath the metallic hooves of the mechanical beasts. The course narrows in sections, barely wide enough to allow one rider to pass, and as the race stretches on fewer and fewer are able to continue. Some riders simply fall, others are knocked off, others foul their mounts and end up as new obstacles for those behind them.

By the time the end is in sight - a large open clearing, the far end of which has a simple stage where the judges wait - many racers have been unseated and countless others have simply fallen behind. But for those who make it to the end, there is a note in an ancient looking tome and a ribbon to be tied around their wrists to show that they have completed their trial. They will linger there in the winner’s circle until the last of the racers trickle in. Once that happens, they will be allowed at a much more sedate pace to make their way out of the canyon and into the awaiting cheering crowd - into the beginning of night and the lighting of the great braziers and flames, the scent of a well-earned meal that awaits them carried across the Graze by the mournful sigh of the wind.

V. BEFORE, AFTER, AND BETWEEN
THE COMPETITION stretches long, each individual challenge met by scores of Envoys eager to impress or simply eager for something to entertain themselves with. But the day is made far longer by the time between the competitions which is filled with talk, general chatter, and some good- and less good-natured betting - all lubricated by a constant stream of the cool grass drink that’s growing rapidly more popular as the sun’s heat increases. There's plenty to do- and plenty to enjoy between the events themselves. People will have little trouble finding things to keep busy with. And after the competition is said and done there is dinner (of course), the great dining tents pulled open and even more crowded than before with the additional local color. It’s those locals, and perhaps the camaraderie born of shared experience, which seems to help encourage some of the Envoys to intermingle more than they have before.

Of course, not everyone is in a good mood. Some of the participants didn't perform as well as others. Bruised egos are as abundant as bruised bodies among some envoys... a potentially volatile situation considering the close quarters they share with other Rabadoceans who clearly think very highly of their own performances.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers the competition events of Day :013 and any related sideline activities. You can find a full breakdown of the events/a place for mini-event specific questions HERE. Sign-ups will remain open until the next event log goes live, however going forward please make sure to either join the individual event or have a full team selected for the team events. Please be aware that signing up late won't give you extra time to finish your thread to qualify for the finale event.

Have more generalized questions? Drop them on the MISSION: HYRYPIA OOC POST or get in touch with us on the Mod Contact page.))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

ii >> in the aftermath

[otrazhenie]

[ The race is unlike anything Elena's ever experienced before. She'd been in competitions before, knew what it was to fight to the top of a ranking, but this? This is brutal, and all bets are off as they speed through the obstacles. There are a number of occasions where only her vampire reflexes keep her seated on her Elin, and even they fail her once when she does fall, dislocating her shoulder as she barely managed to catch her mount in time to stay in the race.

She's not as cutthroat as some of the others in her actions, but the predator in her does rise to the surface a few times, following the examples of other competitors to take out a few not of the Nest. By the end, she isn't in first place, but not at the very end of the survivors either.

That sense of needing help doesn't go unnoticed as she leaves her Elin to be cared for, and it takes only seconds for her to reach this person's side, moving quickly and just barely able to refrain from using her enhanced speed to go even faster. It would be a bad idea, and for once she realizes that before acting and causing more trouble than good. There's barely any water wrapped around her mind to keep her thoughts her own as she holds out an arm, and there's a sincerity and concern to those thoughts that is entirely genuine. ]

( Here, let me help you. )

MISATO KATSURAGI | OPEN!

[wille]

001 ✖ STRAINS OF BATTLE A BROODING STORM

[ All the missteps and mistakes she has made so far in this mission aren't enough to have Misato take a backseat, no, never, her hands are still holding fast to the reins. What she lacks in skill and experience, she more than makes up for in boldness easily mistaken for sheer insanity. When she falls off the Elin -- once when its antlers tangle in the coral branches and cause it to trash, then another, when its hooves slip and slide due to the pebbles -- it is only a matter of getting back on the saddle and keep going.

For all the advice she gives and doesn't keep, the will to walk on after the first, most difficult step, is only one she lives by.

She doesn't finish first, far from it, but she completes the race regardless if she would be the last one to do it. By the time she rides back toward the crowd, she has regained much of her breath, but fatigue is still heavy in her limbs and the sharp rush of adrenaline is palpable on her mind. She hands the ribbon and the note to whoever stands closest: ]

( Hold this. Keep it if you want. )

002 ✖ CLOSED TO ADRA

[ Adrenaline has a way of masking the worst of pains. It is some time after the third event has ended, once the dinner is in full swing, that she first notices the flimsy way her ankle holds, like a chair with one too-short leg. The ache announces itself soon after, accompanied by the sense of something being wrong, very wrong. The urgency with which she moves through the throng to find somewhere to sit and rest her leg is fortunately hidden among the raucous crowd, and she is just as fortunate to find a fellow host, dressed as they are in their feigned Carbauschian gear.

She doesn't care to ask who he is before grabbing him by the wrist, insistent, near desperate, just as she drops herself onto the seat. ]

( I think I messed up my leg. )

[ The most detailed diagnosis ever made. ]

003 ✖ THE CROWD STANDING STARING FACELESS

[ There's a growing bruise settling over her right hip, throbbing mercilessly to remind her of its presence when it's not sending jolts of misery each time a movement causes her robes to brush over its surface. She rests a gloved hand over the worst of it, and presses down, hard, breathing slowly against the pain that momentarily slips past the walls of her mind. But this way the throbbing at least stops, and the surprise is subdued. It is no longer an unknown, treacherous variable. This and her ankle, what merciless reminders of her own fallibility.

Otherwise, she seems neither pleased over completing the race with all her limbs intact nor distressed over missing the first prize. Trophies are nice only insofar as they affirm her own confidence, which she now generates within herself, self-existent. The grassy drink held in her other hand is ignored, her entire attention taken up by the handful of Basittia dignitaries just a few steps away. ]

( What do you think they're looking for? It's not the best riders. Is it the one who didn't cheat or the one who cheated best? )

004 ✖ WILDCARD!

[ Anything goes. PM me or ping me at muditaya as your heart desires! ]

[deployed]

Bellamy is having vague second thoughts, but it's too late to turn back now.

"Most of the people gathering around the other braziers are so long-winded," Bellamy says dryly. "A lively conversation would be a good distraction from thinking about tomorrow."

It takes a moment for him to cotton on and follow Misato's example, touching her shoulder before circling around Kaji's other side and gripping his elbow lightly for a moment as he settles. The robes are useful in this moment. Bellamy's skepticism about their chosen approach is well hidden.

[onemind]

There's a flicker of hesitation among the Meradan, but its only lasts as long as one might expect from a group of friends finding their conversation interrupted. The farana - the supposedly brilliant rider - is wiping tears of laughter from her big dark eyes and blinking rapidly. "Of course," she says. "Plenty of room for more around the fire."

"It's cold as the hells on this rock," agrees the third Meradan, pulling the furred collar of his heavy cloak closer. "I don't know how anyone stands to be in their light things once the sun goes down. You bunch have the right idea. I'd kiss someone for a hood right now."

Arin (missing finger) clucks his tongue and tucks his mangled hand back into the layers of his cloak with a grin. "Children, the lot of you. Why, back in my day we weathered ice and lighting storms to--"

It's met with a chorus of groans from his companions.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ All right, all right, no more pink. For now. ]

( Something like that. )

[ Sam's laughter is echoed in a bloom of warmth across their mental link, the playful tugging of a summer breeze. His breathing slows, though, falling naturally into a rhythm of steady, deep breathing as his fingers lace through Shiro's. They can take a moment here to ground themselves, to get centered for the upcoming competition. To take a moment for something that's real, not a part of their cover.

It's a few minutes later that Sam lets go to pull out a pin of red and blue feathers held together with ribbon, and tie it to the front of Shiro's robes. ]

[shiro2hero]

(Oh yeah? Where'd you find a rabbit around here?)

[He's laughing still. But it's warm and amused and grateful. All in the same breath. Something real amid all the pretending is hard to find. It's a relief. It's more than that -- and he doesn't know if he has the words for it.]

[But the affection and relief radiating off him is probably words enough.]

(... That's not a foot, Sam.)

[He leans in again, just to rest his head against Sam's.]

[isorropia]

( Or death. )

[The sentiment fills what had been a yawning silence from Siva'co's mind. He has had nothing to add to this point, seemingly content in his own preparations, his hands steady on the mount's saddle, carefully making minuscule adjustments to the stirrups that rest high on the mechanical creature's back. He tugs firmly at it, a last test before swinging himself up onto the Elin, robes fluttering out alongside his tucked legs, effortless.]

[shiro2hero]

(All right, I'll buy that. I'd be more all right with the idea if it helped figure out who we're supposed to be avoiding.)

[His shields are still up. A little patchy, from general fatigue, but standing -- stars and galaxies now turning through a sky dotted with the occasional cloud.]

[The frustration leashed tight.]

(Shiro. You must be new.)

[shiro2hero]

(Win-win seems a little cocky to me.)

[But there's no real heat to the words. Thinking it's sealed or in the bag is ego, to him. He doesn't miss the glance at the little token on his robes, but also declines to comment -- save for the sense of a raised eyebrow.]

[And an incline of his head to Siva'co. Polite.]

(I say we go after them one by one, cut them off and lead them in faster that way. Any other plans?)

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ They both have people who they're drawing on for inspiration, it seems - for better or worse. It means Elena's doing well at this part they're playing; he's just not so sure it means she's doing well in general.

Well. No, he knows she's not doing well in general, but he suspects her feeling like she has to keep herself separate from everyone else isn't helping. Especially with that sense of resignation he can feel, and there's a hint of it echoed in his own mind. ]

( You and me both. ) [ He'd tried the whole living a normal life thing, but it never quite seemed to work out. Sam's life will always be a lot, but he's come to terms with that. The fight will always find him. ] ( Makes you wonder how many times you're gonna have to adjust to a new normal, huh? )

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ There's a huff of laughter, muffled by the scarf that hides Sam's face but still clear across the mental link. ]

( I don't know how you did it, man - putting up with dumbass rich guys was bad enough back home, if I had to deal with royalty all the time like this, I might go crazy. )

[ Not that they're all the same, of course. Noctis doesn't seem like a bad guy, from the little Sam knows about him, and Lakshmi is... well, intense, but not insufferable like some of the nobility among the other envoys have been. Even back home, T'Challa had been a hell of a lot different than Tony Stark, in the end, but still. ]

( I guess it gives you practice for having to put up with all kinds of shit. )

[otrazhenie]

[ There's a definite feeling of agreement from her at that, because she's certainly known what that's like a number of times over. When her parents died, when she learned about vampires, when she discovered she was a doppelganger... The list went on and on, each new life-changing element that entered her life redefining 'normal' in a new and complicated way. It was exhausting. ]

( I keep wondering if any of this would have been easier if I'd had more time between transitioning and being brought here. If I'd just had time to learn... )

[ How to be a vampire. How to control her urges, use her abilities, fight the hunger... That hunger that rises up from the depths to float at the surface now, calling to her as she recalls the taste of his blood on her tongue, the scent of it filling her up even now. She catches herself leaning toward him, just a mere inch, and takes a firm step away, to the side to put a little distance between them. Not enough to look strange to anyone who might be watching, and not nearly enough for her own sense of security, but it's the best she can manage and so she'll have to make due. ]

( I'm sorry. )

[sizeofyourbaggage]

( That's why I said something like that. It's almost like a foot. )

[ Except not, but Sam's just teasing anyway, his mind lighter than it's been in a while. Part of it is things being settled again with his broodmate - as much as things are ever settled between him and Bucky, but at least they're on the same wavelength again - but also just Shiro's laughter tends to have that affect on him, honestly.

His hands settle on Shiro's waist, pulling him in a little as their foreheads press together. There's an image of the pair of alien birds that were often in Sam's company back on the station. ]

( They're from the twins. )

[otrazhenie]

[ Elena's mind is much more open than Misato's, the small amount of training Sam has given her not yet enough to do more than obscure what resides within. She is hidden beneath an ocean, each thought blurred and deafened by the feet of water above her head, but still visible for any who would look.

She's been trying to stay calm, to not let herself be even the slightest bit nervous about the approaching competition, and by some miracle it's actually been working to a moderate degree. So when Misato approaches, Elena's own focus moves to the other woman, answering the question quickly and easily without taking time to deeply analyze where it might be coming from or really mean. ]

( Climb back up. Why? What will you do? )

[ There's no other possible answer in her mind and she really can't see how there could be another answer. So why even bother to ask the question? ]

[shiro2hero]

(How are feathers... anything like a foot?)

[He should really be ashamed of himself. He should be focused on the competition, not on how much lighter and easier this simple conversation makes him feel. He should be ready, he should be prepared, should be... so much more than standing here, swathed in a ridiculous outfit, laughing.]

[But his shoulders are loosening. The outside observers fading to pinpricks of notice.]

(Then if we win, thank them for me?)

[wille]

[ An ocean is a fitting defense, when it is the one thing Misato would think twice before bearing through. Fear is as good a motivator as it is a hindrance. For now she desists, busying herself instead with fastening the hems of her robes. Wrists. Ankles. Neck. She is methodical, slow and precise. The last thing they want is to fall and reveal themselves as decidedly not Rabadocean. ]

( I thought so. )

[ She doesn't answer the question in return, because it's insulting to even ask her -- she who survived alone when billions failed, who rose from a dead sea and thrived, how can a little tumble from a toy horse compare? See, it was an insult. Given and returned. So why bother asking? Because to say something is to commit it to it. Words become bonds. The girl's nerves are apparent even when distorted under the surface of water. ]

( You know, it's better to admit to yourself that you're nervous, then imagine yourself winning anyway. Picture all the steps it takes to get there. The finish line. See yourself stumbling but keeping on anyway. And you will. Nerves be damned. )

[shri]

[ She listens, yanking at the straps on her mount. Securing in the pattern of old habits - assuring everything is the way she likes, as she lets them talk around her. Shaking her head to the squabble of it. If they were here to earnestly race? Perhaps then she might have Gildor's reservation. A sigh and clipped cut of her thoughts. Enough of that. Even if she doesn't have the age or position being so new to the hive to expect anyone to listen to her - the slide of her thoughts is rather like rapping on a child's knuckles when you see them fighting over a toy. ]

( As it's all cheating - whatever form you prefer to call it. Give us whatever blessings you like - before the race. But make sure it is not too much. Winning too obviously will be the ruin of us all. )

[ She works at the leathers, pulling the strap under the saddle where she is a little longer in the leg but shorter in her upper body. Taking her preference in it, practically blunt, both in the work of her hands and in her planning. ]

( To that end, I agree, Asuka ought to be first. My Lord Darkling, if you would like to follow her, you will surely be able to make up whatever ground might be lost for inexperience. If I follow after, I can ensure none of that ground is lost - and Lady Servillia, you should be last, as I believe you need the help least of us if it all comes down to you. )

[ She was more than a human could manage, an impossible strength and speed and reaction, true enough. But they - they were something else again, and to them? She didn't have a false hubris. Just sure that she can hold her place, hold their position, not fall or falter either, but no more than that. If it simply escalated by steady increments - well, it would become too obvious that they were doing something else. That they were something else. ]

( I would also suggest, Mr. Helyanwe, if we prompt you, that anyone we direct you to finds themselves with a sudden malady in their stretch of the race. )

[ He would know the best form of how to do that, with as many tricks he seemed to have. Her own mind's eye isn't helpful. That flash of cutting the hamstrings of a horse as it swept past, letting it crush rider as it screamed and toppled. But then, she's been fighting a little too long to know how to play so bloodless easily anymore. Perhaps he can come up with something a little... cleaner than that. ]

[aluminumandash]

( Seeing as how you're able to read my mind, Mr. Shirogane, I can only assume you're willfully mistaking my meaning. ) [ Likewise, no heat: Rust maintains a deliberate distance between his emotions and Shiro's. Hands off.

The shift to strategy would be seamless were it not for a nip of eagerness in his thoughts. A dinged-up memory, watching from wood bleachers as a pair of men on horseback—one in front, one behind—snared a steer. The air baked warm. ] ( It'd go quicker if we split up, rope one apiece, but that'll take coordination and a skill with a rope that frankly I don't have. ) [ Which is to say, unless the two of them think they can pick up the slack, he agrees with Shiro's more cautious approach.

Finally, he turns—so to speak—to Siva'co. ] ( You think someone might try something? ) [ There's urgency in the question, but no alarm. The crowd, all those people, reasserting itself in his consciousness. ]

[isorropia]

[Siva'co finds his grip on his reins, adjusting his thick-gloved hands a the two of them trade minor barbs, apparently disinterested- mentally disinterested. He tests the mount like a thing pure machine- as if from a manual, step followed by measured step. He doesn't turn his attentions to them again until that faded distant memory is visible. That he does, body and mind, his face is hidden entirely by the hooded shrouded cloak but the feeling of his eyes is almost palpable, mind brushing just the edge of that thought, not pressing- despite their earlier meeting.

In turn he presents instead an image, a thought- a plan, seen from the outside. Something of what they have already experienced- easy to picture the way the Elin moved, the way the mechanical targets would shift, how the riders would navigate the press of them. Three riders chase the first target, the one that looks the most difficult to wrangle. Once they have it- forcing distance between the others with the bodies of the Elin a rope or crook could snag it all three could lead it to the edge of the herd, at which point one of them should be able to control it alone on the final extraction to the pen, the other two free to return to cutting out the second target. Two seemed to work, a nod to Rust's memory. His own confidence in his ability to handle a single gryer once it was loosed from the herd. It is not an order, nothing hard edged about it's presentation. Once it is done- seamlessly- he turns his mind to the question.]

( The main parties will be cautious. They will not want to risk spoiling their chances so early in the negotiations- [A somewhat unfitting word, but it was functionally accurate] but that doesn't mean they will not risk it if they think the benefits outweigh the costs. I expect this will become more true as some begin to fall behind in their performances. I'm sure the Hyrypians aren't going to make their choice based on this game, however- ) [there's a brief flash of understanding- this war, how long it had lasted, how long they have spent jabbing out at each other for each victory. How much pride was on the line even in what should be a simple, meaningless competition-]

( Now I think they will be cautious, but I suspect that will change. As for the smaller parties, some may be willing to take the risk for a chance to win an ally or route an enemy or simply out of stupidity. I am sure the Hyrypians are equally aware of this, but caution is still advisable. )

[otrazhenie]

[ I thought so. The words take her by surprise, and after no more than a second's analysis, make her suspicious. That isn't the response you'd give to an answer like that -- it's an obvious answer, yes, but you would confirm the choice with affirmation of it being the right one, or offer caution or advice. You wouldn't righteously confirm that you'd known that would be the answer and then simply move on from it.

The advice that is offered is wholly different and completely unexpected. It's not exactly bad advice, but... it's not what she's used to either. Not unappreciated, but perhaps not the most effective. ]

( Thank you... )

[ There's a hesitation to the thought, an uncertainty about the intention of those words. She's still stuck on what she'd said before, and instead of fumbling about with it for a while, Elena just decides to ask outright. ]

( When you asked about what I'd do if I fell-- You weren't just asking about the race, were you? )

[hymnals]

[ Adra's not a fan of competitions, generally speaking. He's rarely observed a contest that he didn't find ultimately arbitrary, and today is no different. What does riding prowess prove, beyond your ability to guide the construct? What does that skill mean? Does it make someone a better person? More compassionate, more thoughtful, better able to make decisions that serve the universe?

He's mulling over these irritated doubts when Misato grabs him, and he stumbles a little, tugged forward as she sits down. ]

( Ah--- )

[ He re-centers his thoughts as he kneels beside her, angling his (unfortunately slight) body to obscure any eyes on his hands. He touches her knee, his palm fever-warm even through the heavy fabric of their robes. His agitation melts instantly to concern. ]

( Can you walk? It's better if we do this away from the crowd. )

[miscreant]

She holds her wrists to The Darkling wordlessly, allowing him to finish what'd she begun. There is no interruption for everyone else's chattering, and she only gives the feeling of approval in Lakshmi's direction. It all made sense to her. Seviilia was not a creature of honor, after all. Cheating or not, it didn't matter.

Aside from the fact that she doesn't believe she needs the help, there is one other concern she has. Her mind turns to Gildor.

( You speak of magic. Arcane, I hope. )

'I hope' is a mere formality. Gildor would not be coming near her with anything based in the Light.

003

[adamance]

[Since the night of the dread, there has been some calculated reticence on Lexa's part for Misato's actions that evening. Instead of acting with caution, she had burst out into the night with little consideration for what lied ahead. She has no way of knowing that Misato had been chastised for it, but she doesn't hide that she's somewhat peeved about the actions then. It makes Misato's support of her seem like a thing of diminished value, taken with little regard for what she had been attempting to do.

(Odd that depoliticizing that had been the thing that made it less interesting, but here they are.)

The question from Misato captures her attention, in part because it feels like an oddly narrow way of looking at it. That assessment may be because Lexa is beginning to view Misato's opinions in a lesser light. She knows that, but it doesn't keep her from thinking it. Lexa will always be judgmental and quick to change her opinion of someone if necessary. She has to do that to adapt, to survive, and to ensure that she doesn't play favorites. Otherwise, her people will see her as weak.

(Her people are not here, but this is one habit that's unlikely to break.)]

( These people are at war. What does cheating have to do with it? Or honor? ) [She recalls Shepard's mention of honor and how her people are limited by it, believing that they can't adapt or change when the circumstances may require it. It angered her at the time, and it has no place here. But the recollection of that occurs to her just the same. Honor or dishonor has no real place in war. People only pretend that it does to make themselves feel better about it all.]

[sistershoggoth]

Closed for Alnair - Herding
[ Annie is pumped for this event. As much as she doesn't get along with animals... herding, wrangling, and roping are more her kind of skills over fuckin' communing with the dumb beasts. The game calls for teams of three, and she happens to know a couple of idiots who probably won't tell her no. Especially if she beams about it and extols how fucking great they'll do at it. ]

( Remember, dickheads, warping is cheating when nobody else can do it. )

[ Which probably means her unearthly aura on the loose scaring the Gryer into running from her, rather than any real skill at herding, is also cheating... but whatever. Since when do the same rules apply to her. ]

OTA - Around / Wildcard
[ This isn't really her scene. Shril had been more her scene, with big aliens that played loud nasty music-- This reminds her a lot more of a Renfaire and fuck that shit. She's wandering around trying to find something to amuse herself with until her next event, which of course isn't until the end of the damn day. She keeps skirting past groups happily drinking, blanching on the inside as the always recovering alcoholic in her stirs, rumbles, wants to join in. That'd be the key to blowing this whole ruse though: get her drunk and watch her run her mouth. She can't even really find a quite place to smoke a cigarette... She assumes they have a hookah tent or something to that effect, but doesn't want to risk that kind of inebriation either if it's that different kind of smoke-- ]

( Who's where, who's doing what, is any of it fun? )

Elinmaster Run -- There's a whooole bunch of options in here, pick a spot in the timeline and insert!!!
[ Her otherworldly presence is obscured for this event. A veil of mist and smoke that comes from each of her respective broodmates, to stop the reality of her alien monstrousness from triggering that panic response in the backs of these automatons technomanced minds. It's a start. She can ride the thing, and it sits under her without trembling.

But this was still a bad idea. One day's lessons aren't enough to overcome a total dearth of knowledge in the subject of riding an animal. Annie gulps, her fear hidden behind the smokescreen as much as everything else, and then she steels it over. Preparing herself for probably breaking a rib or two when she inevitably gets thrown, or maybe crushed under this thing. Whatever. She's been through worse.

The least she can do is maybe take out some of these other riders, give her crew a better chance.

All she has to do is make it through the initial pinch... and then she can start kicking bitches off their ponies, right? Kicking, punching, shoving, shouldering... Her goal isn't to win so much as impede everyone else, and that almost makes it easier to get on with her own Elin.

Until, at last, someone on the 2.5 meter end of the scale has enough of her and sends her flying. Ah, yes. Her back hits the rock face and she tumbles downward, end over end. Her mechanical steed tumbling after, she knows it is and scrambles, mostly missing its flailing legs. ]

( Ugh... )

Closed for Noctis
( What do you think, can you actually win? )

Ping Me For Anything Else @ itsabee

[adamance]

[Lexa had noticed Elena's return. But since there had been little time to see the girl she had spoken to only briefly before, she hadn't bothered to change her tactics. They hadn't known one another well. Like many, Lexa had tried to ensure that Elena had been prepared for what lied ahead. A return would only mean she was more prepared. When Elena had come into the race, Lexa had received the first tip off that something had changed, and the following race itself—during which she had to be conscious of the other Hosts, as she had to ensure that her actions didn't have consequences for them—made that clearer. As a warrior among her people, Lexa is predatory because she has no choice but to survive.

The Elena she spoke to before had none of that experience. Seeing her now, it's difficult, almost impossible to put them alongside one another. The disparity is very apparent to her. What happened?

Naturally, the race hadn't been the place for that, and it hadn't been a thing to be brought to her attention until afterward—until now.

The support is meant with a sense of appreciation, and she leans into her, glad for it. Her body will recover, will heal—it just needs time and a chance to be away from all of this.]

( You've changed. ) [Leave it to Lexa to take this opportunity now, but she can't help it.]