[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

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! ]

[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. )

[wille]

[ Misato, on the other hand, rarely finds a competition not worth partaking no matter how petty. A ramen-eating competition, a game of rock-paper-scissors, or a lethal race through treacherous grounds atop a steed she only knew existed days ago. Challenges ignite the animal spirits in her, a ravenous want and the audacity to take it, consequences be damned.

When he rests a hand on her knee, she moves to cover it with the scarves draped about her neck. His is a new voice in her mind. The fire in him is somehow comforting, like a fireplace in the middle of winter, nothing at all like the flames of war. ]

( Is that your line? I've heard worse, but . . . )

[ But she's already making to stand, gritting her teeth through the pain and refraining from leaning any weight against him. ]

[hymnals]

[ Adrasteius scoffs as he snaps his fingers; a second later, Misato will find herself levitating--a very subtle and hardly noticeable couple of inches off of the ground. Enough to ease the burden of her own injured weight. ]

( You're a little young for me. )

[ He's pretty sure that applies to the entire nest, honestly. He jerks his head towards the edge of the crowd, then leads her out and away--towards some secluded spot where nothing can spy on them except the trees. ]

( Now, let's have a look. )

[wille]

[ Walking away from the rest of civilization with a certified stranger while her feet barely touches -- no, not touching the ground at all -- sounds much like the start of a mystery novel, and it amuses her, the thought of herself in a body bag with police and detective types milling about to try and figure out the killer. It amuses her because it is so far removed from this alien world, when this alien world is already so far removed from the life she knew before, and the thought of walking on thin air should be such a shock to her, but isn't. It should be enough to drive her mad, unless she already is.

Misato chuckles to herself at this secret joke, and methodically hikes up her robes to slip off her boots with less care than she should treat a twisted ankle, a decision she quickly regrets when the pain shoots up her leg like a knife. She grits her teeth and offers him an apologetic smile. ]

Tell me if you're going to do something that hurts, okay? I know you'd have to, so just tell me.

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.]

[wille]

[ It's not that she's unaware of her missteps, when she recounts them each night before sleep as a form of mental self-flagellation. She commits to memory and picks apart Siva'co's words to shreds. She is her own harshest critic by design, and the censures from others only ever strike her as meek, lacking teeth, and her own merciless examination keeps her unafraid of others even when they dislike her. Caring about the opinions of others is as pointless as running a hamster wheel. ]

( This war has rules. We can't be here otherwise. )

[ This, here, is a tenuous truce upheld by ceasefire agreements and an attempt at diplomacy. Even war maintains pockets of civilization. ]

( Then there's something else they're looking for. And if it is just for show, what's the point? )

[adamance]

( Why do you think it's a matter of what they're looking for? What if it's a matter of trimming the herd? Grudges will arise as a result of what we just experienced. I already feel the gaze of those who resent me for what I accomplished out there today. ) [Thanks to her upbringing, Lexa knows a simpler path here. It is not a matter of shows or displays, or else they wouldn't have hidden a large portion of the last race. It's about what they might do to one another. She recalls Emerson coming down from Mount Weather to bring her Cage Wallace's deal, and she recalls taking it. Part of the deal was that her people would leave, but she knows that if she had been asked to act against Skaikru there, the deal might have been off. In all of it, there's a game of politics at play.

There might be something more complicated to it, but she doesn't believe that a ceasefire is made with the intention of keeping it that way. They can't claim that there are rules when the rules aren't apparent to them. The Hyrypians went out of their way to ensure that their guests would remain ignorant, and would not be able to search out contradictions.

In doing that, they ensured that any rules would be no different from what the Nest itself is doing: they became an unknown entity through this, and with it, they cut out any rules that might have existed in the first place.]

[wille]

[ Ah. Ah. The realization slots into place with a neat click in her mind, a straightening of her shoulders as she fully turns toward Lexa. Her gaze is sharp even from under the shadow of her hood, and it is unrelenting. The implication is grave, hard to swallow, a piece of information that demands a fundamental reorganizing of the whole. Messy and uncomfortable, but necessary. ]

( Divide and conquer? )

[ Her bruise throbs. She can feel the beat of her quickening heart to its rhythm. But this isn't fear, no, it's arousal, excitement, or a rose by any other name. The Basittia dignitaries suddenly seem suspect to her, their occasional laughter losing their innocence to gain a menacing edge. ]

( If you're right, we're in deeper shit than even Rhan can joke about. We can't keep playing along. )

03

[sistershoggoth]

( The best cheater is definitely me. )

[ Half-sarcastic because it might actually be Bellamy, but she did her fair share until a bigger bully came and knocked her down. She and Misato share the swathe of bruising. ]

( You managed not to break your neck. )

[ It is friendly, but, well. Annie has a simmering antagonism for Misato that she doesn't really try to hide. ]

[wille]

[ Now, open antagonism strikes her as somehow familiar, and thus, comforting in its own way. She tweaks a smile under her hood, only the sense of it traveling between their minds. The idea of a chuckle. ]

( I have a way of barely escaping death.

So, you think they'll pick you? )

[sistershoggoth]

( Fuck no, I barely dragged my ass over the finish line, I was fuckin' pathetic. )

[ She's disgusted about it, really, but at the same time what is she going to do about it. Besides let it gnaw in the back of her mind all the ways any failing, any skill lacking, was a direct route to disaster. Her anxiety is insidious like that, although to be fair to her it was built in to her, programmed over the years by perfectionists who wanted the most efficient soldiers they could muster. ]

( Don't we have a dossier on their stupid cultural values and shit. I didn't take them for the underhanded type. )

[wille]

( You're not. Don't say that. )

[ How definite she sounds, as if she alone is the arbiter of failure or success. The flicker of irritation betrayed by the link can easily be mistaken for a personal slight, as if Annie calling herself pathetic is somehow distasteful to her, offensive. The look she gives the other woman is deeply concerned, hidden by her hood, but apparent in the space between them. ]

( Who's to say the dossier is right? )

[ At any given time, there may be vastly different stories being told that would be proven true by those who believe them and see only what they choose to see. Knowing which to trust is half the battle. ]

01

[ryohji]

[ within a matter of minutes, he catches up with her, falling into step next to hers, his own longer stride equalled by misato's more rapid pace. keeping tread was one of those tendencies you inadvertently developed when working alongside spies, diplomats, and military commanders.

the crowd was beginning to mature, in accordance with the rider's return. kaji had been able to make her out from the assemblage of robes with little difficulty. it's wasn't as though the station was suffering from an abundance of short, footloose hosts who mounted their horses with so much singleminded focus. her thought-voice over the chatter serves extraneous confirmation he never needed. ]

That was some impressive riding. [ for once, the comment incorporates only a negligible amount of innuendo. he takes the proffered note and ribbon off her hands immediately, even though his next words proclaim his hesistance. ] Though, I think you should be the one holding onto these. Failing that, I'll just find something of yours to hide it in.

[ now that invites their familiar friend innuendo back into the party, but the reunion is bittersweet, what with the brief glimmers of capsules and motels. the softened, almost relieved approval in his voice should be infectious. ]

Good work, Katsuragi.

[wille]

[ She is tired, tired to the bone, and her muscles ache in that increasingly familiar way that impending mortality announces itself. Where her willpower wins out over physical limitations before, now her body sets the bar lower and lower. It's uncanny to think that after everything, age will prove her bane. And it is in obeying her biological imperative that she strides fast toward the drinks, swallowing back her words until after she has grabbed a glass, gulped it down without break, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Only then does she step into his personal space, a hand grabbing the crook of his elbow. ]

Misato. [ Remember?

Her bite lasts but a moment, giving way to a loosening of her shoulders as she shrugs off any remaining tension from the race. She basks in it, his approval of her no matter how expected, a child catching her parent's gaze in the middle of a school play, knowing to expect unconditional commendation. This is her true reward.

To continue in the tradition of consorting with their familiar friend innuendo: ]

These would really stretch your skills, don't you think? Better set your mind on finding hiding places enough for both of us.

[ryohji]

Right. Sorry about that. That's going to take some getting used to.

[ the learning curve is steep, and habit, if not resisted, quickly becomes disposition.

she'd held her own remarkably well during the march, giving a better performance than him by yards. then again, he'd never done a single military drill in his life, and while he suspects her long years of soft-pedalled alcoholism had taken its toll, he knows of worse thirty year old civil servants. with or without her various vices of sloth and drink. ]

You'd be surprised how much I can fit into small spaces. [ the apocalypse, exhaustively documented to the most inane, inconsequential details, inside a capsule measuring one pinky nail across. while it's in his hands, kaji will take a cursory look at the note, understanding a great deal of nothing. ] - Unreadable, just as I thought. But it belongs to you.

[wille]

[ Casual and businesslike. Impersonal, isn't he? Well, she can only blame herself for setting the precedent.

That she can claim no victory for her recent exertion does little to temper her levity, right now she feels that she has paid her dues in full, earned her place and proven her worth, a hero returning triumphant from the battlefield, bruised and bloodied with the rush of having courted death only to escape unscathed. He misunderstands her words for their more innocuous meaning.

She knows to set the empty glass aside first, her movement as deliberate as her intent is capricious, when next she loops her arms about his neck, leverage for a kiss, urgent and demanding, the kind that forces her to forgo breathing because an inhale would have softened the gesture and she has no need for softness. It is risky, yes, which is perhaps the point she means to emphasize, but risk is also her mistress, the one she dallies with at any given chance. ]

What else belongs to me?

wiiiiildcard

[extradite]

[ After, she moves like a chicken who's just discovered its head crowning a rice bowl, then started wobbling back at a firm, but polite pace set to telegraph that social boundaries have been broken, bad life decisions were made, and prosecco will never be trusted again.

Shinji, for his part, doesn't need to ask what caused Misato's — predicament. He was there, in the crowd, unenthusiastically cheering. Mostly, he thinks, to cover the awkward thud of bodies hitting the ground in the race brawl, before getting promptly trampled over. There's nothing quite like medium-scale violence to get an audience pumped for its collective duties as accessories to crime.

He knows her, at first for the glimpse of her hair under the many-layered veils. Then, because poetic justice demands that the ribbon she's awarded should be a little more frayed and unkempt than the rest, he uses it to spot her in the swarm. Once the ribbon's cleared, it's down to guesswork and fumbling and a lucky fall with an up(skirt? veil) view, but Shinji thinks, all in all, he's done his bit in the name of amateur sleuthing.

He's found her often enough to tell she's the one with the walk carefully preserved from her halcyon days of obliterating the high-heeled shoes he polished to put at her disposal. ( Terrible. Just terrible. ) They're sort of and maybe close to each other by the time he talks, candid strangers who can't negotiate entry on each other's orbit. ]

Congratulations. You did — [ Well. ] ...anyway. You're walking now. Although, just so I understand, maybe... how was this meant to help?

[wille]

[ A certain not-so-amateur sleuth would be proud to have him as a rookie, when at his tender age he already boasts persistent dedication wrapped in a veil of ineptitude to coast by unnoticed by her despite his hovering in her general periphery. In true fashion. Most of that could be blamed on her single-track mind, her attention a tiny pinprick of a fovea excluding all other background noise including him.

It is only when he announces himself by speaking out that she is alerted to his presence, attention latching onto him complete with a fervent grab for his wrist. Gotcha. ]

There you are. [ Why must he ask the difficult questions couched in a child's naïveté? Why is the sky blue? Why do people die? ] Hmm . . . I don't know. Showing up is half the battle, right? I was hoping to figure it out as I go, but--

[ But why must they talk shop? It must be about time to rest on one's laurels for a bit. She lets him go, distracted by a passing tray of alien canapes or its local equivalent, which she heartily collects on the palm of her gloved hand without offering him a single one. ]

But did you enjoy the show?

[extradite]

[ Gotcha indeed, and he struggles to smile bravely for it, like every bit the (dead) man Kaji would want him to be —

...only to whimper pathetically when he's released in favour of Misato colluding with the regional, desiccate equivalent of overpriced organic supermarket snacks. Well done, tiny appetisers. Your sacrifice will not go forgotten. Now, if you could only take down the fiend with a stern, but fleeting bout of indigestion...

No. No wishing terrifying bathroom fates on the single key to your ongoing survival. Bad Shinji. He overcompensates by injecting something close to enthusiasm when he hums along, nodding vigorously. ]

Mmmmmm!

[ This is affirmative. This is enthusiastic. He might need to snag the passing-by server's tray and scribble so on it, then hold it up as a public service announcement — but it's true. All of it. So strike him God with alien cataclysms. ]

It was exci — [ ...ah. He recovers from the abyss of his moral vault enough decency to look away. ] Sorry. You were hurt, weren't you? Something that hurts people shouldn't be enjoyed.

[wille]

[ By now the boy should know that his displays of agreeableness and reflexive apologies would only raise her antennae, and she knows he knows this, which begs the question of whether he's doing this for attention (unlikely) or to throw her off the scent with a red herring. Either possibility requires her to sniff in closer, now shoving the remaining extraterrestrial snacks in her mouth and dusting her gloves off.

She doesn't care to swallow before speaking. ]

Oh, it's nothing.

[ Isn't this how you do it, Shin-chan? To say nothing is to mean yes, something's up, so look closer. Her voice is light, sing-song, two can play this game -- if only her impatience doesn't get the better of her. ]

Have you found your place yet? Or are you going to sit on the bleachers the whole ride through?

003

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka's in a relatively buoyant mood. Seviilia appreciated her, praised her. She did well in her part of the race. She's relatively content for once, which means she's riding on a wave of good feelings when she hears Misato tugging at her attention. So there's not an instant refusal or even hostility. It's more of that arrogance she tended to wear on her sleeve when she first arrived in Tokyo-3, tempered iwth the knowledge that Misato made a mistake somewhere.

Today is great. ]

( Hopefully my team. We did just fine, unlike some people. )

[ Yes, she is throwing shade, because Asuka can be hideously petty.

Besides, her conversation with Shepard and Seviilia still lingers at the back of her mind. ]

[wille]

[ Asuka's arrogance is, has been, so palpable that she wonders how much the link between their minds contribute to the effect. She doesn't need it to know, surely, that the girl has somehow found herself a trophy to parade around, new robes to prove her singular worth to others in hopes that their praises might help her believe in her worth as well. It's road she has traveled too. She knows.

As quick to build as she is to pull the rug from underneath her: ]

( That's not what I asked. )

[ If the girl means to say her team is the best rider or the best cheater then that says little about what the Hyrypians are looking for, unless she means their hosts are looking for her team, if so, what for? That in itself is nothing to brag about. It doesn't matter. It's not what matters for now. ]

( Have you met the others, Asuka? )

[redheadcarrier]

[ Misato is so quick to try and tear her down. Just like she always is. Even if it's expected, it still stings. Asuka tries to brush it off; she's not going to let Misato's sour mood at being a loser drag her down. She has a triumph today and she has people to care. Maybe that's what this is about - rubbing Misato's face in it. Showing her that she doesn't really need Misato after all, as if that might cause Misato's façade to crumble.

It's a fantasy. The sort of petty imagination that a teenager has - that one day she'll be on top and the people who wronged her will come crawling back for forgiveness. ]

( Which "others"? There's a lot of people here. )

[ She sounds careless. Her mission, as far as she's concerned, was to put in a good showing and impress people. She's done that. What else does she need? ]

[wille]

[ The fault here, as in many other instances relevant to many other people, lies in Asuka reading Misato as if they were the same person, with equal expectations, comparable wishes and fears, and identical complexes. Nothing could be further from the truth. She finds her survival from a race so brutal victory enough to celebrate, and she has little interest in tearing the girl down, only to tear away her layers of pomp and provocation to get to the point -- and to get it over with.

She rests a hand on her hip, watching Asuka quietly for the few beats it takes to let the silence almost turns unnerving. ]

( Kaji. Shinji. Playing dumb doesn't become you. )