[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

day 012, night before. closed.

[deployed]

Earlier that morning, Bellamy carefully doctored the fingertips of his gloves to allow for skin-to-skin contact. By the time evening falls, and the braziers are lit, he's ready to put his plan into action. He can't ride, but he can assist the competition in a more underhanded way.

Once Misato and Kaji are ready, they meander over to the braziers casually. Look cool, guys.

[onemind]

The braziers crackle and spit, the evening air pitching dramatically cooler now that the red Hyrypian sun has slipped below the horizon line. Here, the mournful wail of the wind across the Graze and into the mouth of the Finger Maze is reduced to little more than a background hum - lost among the lick of fire and the distant sounds of activity in the encampment. The snap of manners. A laugh, striking out across the clearing.

The laughter originates from the a small cluster of three Meradan clustered close to the brazier, wrapped in furs and warming their hands near to the fire. One of them laughs again, louder this time, and begs her companion to stop whatever joke it is he's telling--

"Please. Arin. You're killing me. I beg for peace," she wails.

"--And then I said 'That's no maridah, that's my finger.'" And he raises his hand, wiggling the stump of his missing small finger for emphasis.

[ryohji]

There were worse ways to idle away half an hour.

"Excuse me."

He begins, having slid up in such a way that gave him unobstructed view of the three Meradans, Misato enough room to squeeze through, and Bellamy's position vis a vis. His tone speaks of both casualness and goodnature, while his mind demonstrates calculation and analysis. He could flirt just as well covered head to toe or wearing next to nothing. The voice alone is enough to suggest a long-stemmed rose, a baritone sax and grand piano jazz duet.

One of his gloved hands lunges for the fire, before stopping just short of an acceptable distance. Turning his head, he gives a hopeful look towards the trio.

"We're not interrupting anything, are we? These robes aren't nearly as warm as those furs of yours look."

[wille]

Misato follows close behind to grab Kaji by the arm while letting out the late half of a laughter. A way, she thinks, to establish for the Meradan how common physical contact is among the Carbauschian and how casual this is, and so, how common their next act will be. What he takes to like breathing, she must plan and deliberate and think through, up to and including sending a quick glance at Bellamy like an invitation, an indication that he's part of the group.

To Kaji, "Are you sure it's the chill or just nerves?"

Then to the Meradan, the one with the missing finger, "We've been giddy all night! I think it's nerves. Are you telling jokes? Can we listen in while we share the fire?"

[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.

[ryohji]

( Well, I'm pleased to know sex talk exists on other planets, too. )

"Back in my day?" I don't like the implications of that," Kaji smiles, even though he knew his company couldn't appreciate it for what it's worth. Short of taking hard narcotics, there was no finer form of entertainment than making people feel increasingly uncomfortable. For his part, he is honored to relegate flirting to unconscious reflex action. "Don't tell me. Some things should never fall out of style."

A whistle of mock frustration, contriving to convey that Kaji's subtlety held less credibility than a bottomless and broken cup.

"Should we toss our plans for tonight, then? I can't have us seeming old-fashioned."

[wille]

"No turning back without giving it a real shot!" Misato is a hair's breadth away from stomping her foot and pumping her fist in the most contrived display of cheerfulness and indefatigable optimism. Truly, this corner of the room is quickly turning into a contest of actors playing at acting, liars telling bad lies to avoid being found out as a liar.

"Now, you--" the third Meradan, a daring finger pointed right toward him. "I'd give you the hood off my back for a kiss but wouldn't that leave your friends in the cold? We were thinking instead . . . "

She turns to Kaji in her loss for words, then Bellamy.

( Okay, but, what do you call a threesome with six people? Sixsome? That's so weird. )

[deployed]

( Don't make any promises we can't keep. )

"She was thinking of more than light conversation, but that's nothing new," Bellamy says smoothly.

Every complaint he'd had about the veils and robes can be taken back by now. Bellamy knows his face would have immediately given something away.

All his association with the Meredan hasn't left him in a position to judge their reactions. Bellamy steps in slightly, closer to the brazier, but hopefully closing the gap between their two parties and get him closer to his intended target.

[onemind]

"My, and before we even know your names. You Carbauschians aren't what I would've have expected."

"They're overwhelmed by your service record, Arin," says Bellamy's target with a flash of a grin and their third companion laughs out loud, clapping Arin on the shoulder.

"Well can you blame me? I'm properly sick of light conversation." Arin affects a high, faux smooth accent. "'Oh where do you come from? Where's that? Let's avoid talking about the war, shall we? How passé,' and so on and so--"

Bellamy's target cuts her companion off with a sparkling smile and a shoulder check. "I'm Olair, that's Renaldt, and this old bastard's the one and only Arin demar Flay. Thank the stars."

Renaldt takes his hand from his cloak and touches his forefinger to his temple in acknowledgement. "Pleasure." And winks at Misato.

[ryohji]

( A sexsome, ) Kaji notes scientifically, the observation distinctly lacking in humor as Kaji's mind narrows down on the objective so precariously within their reach. ( Bellamy, find your way to her waist. Her friends are already quite touchy, so this should be nothing new. )

"There's a saying thrown around from time to time," For his part Kaji demonstrates as he sneaks out a hand and tickles the concave of Misato's waist, redirecting his focus on Renaldt. He doesn't expect Misato to register it as a tickle under the heavy cloak of her robes, but if she knew what was good for them she'd react excessively, and with a little salaciousness thrown in for good measure. He does, however, expect the Meredans to feel every ounce of his invitation, face obscured or no.

"More interesting is a gift wrapped up than out. You shouldn't bother telling me your names, when all I'd like to do is forget them, anyway."

[wille]

Misato lets out every ounce of girlish giggling that gives way to the coughing sounds these Rabadoceans use as laughter, somehow easy to mimic. She even throws in a healthy slap against his shoulder for good measure. Fanfares and caricatures. They fall right back into old routines, the drama amped up to eleven.

But it's Bellamy she speaks to. "Me? As if you weren't the one who came up with the idea! Or are you scared?"

[deployed]

( Her waist doesn't help me. I need bare skin. )

Using his had been easier on Concordia. Accidental at first, then haphazard, but still easier. It turns out the robes were an imposition, just not in the way Bellamy had expected.

"I can't take them anywhere," Bellamy says, mock exasperated as he takes a step closer. His hand touches Olair's arm lightly, a bid for attention though he addresses the group at large. "They're better behaved when they haven't been making small talk for days."

[onemind]

She doesn't shake him loose. Rather, Olair gives him a conciliatory pat right there on the gloves forearm. "You're going to be in trouble in another week then, aren't you? I can't imagine it's really going to get any less stilted."

Arin makes a low, displeased noise into the fur collar of his cloak. "Don't say that, you'll break his heart," Renaldt helpfully echoes.

"Well no one's stopping you two," she says. "But some of us have things to do in the morning. --Not that your gracious offer isn't appreciated, friends." It's punctuated with the a tip of her head toward Misato and Kaji.

"Ah, dear Olair the diplomat," Arin murmurs.

Her grin doesn't falter. She's very cheerful about telling him to, "Fuck off, Arin."