[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

[redheadcarrier]

[ She just detects the nod. She doesn't acknowledge it; there's nothing there worth acknowledging. Just because they know about Shinji, just because they talk about him, doesn't mean they agree. Case in point: Misato has a different idea about his motivations. Asuka wants to argue the point, but Misato keeps going. There's the admission that Asuka's made.

She isn't sure if the lack of reaction is disappointing or not. She mostly just feels numb at the moment. Misato's successfully torn the wind out of her sails and her emotions are crashing. Hard. ]

( I got someone to listen to me. )

[ It's a hideously vulnerable admission, but Misato knows all about her already. What's there to hide at this point? ]

( I got someone to believe me. )

[ That won't really matter to Misato, will it? None of this does. Nothing Asuka does is important enough to even merit a flicker on her radar. Always second-best, always beneath notice until Misato needs something from her or wants her to do something. ]

[wille]

[ It occurs to her that one of these days, if not already, Asuka would find it in her to confront Shinji and take judgment upon her own hands. Only a matter of time. But she also trusts that the boy can deflect the fury just as easily as he has deflected most everything that life throws at him, and besides, the symbiote will ensure no fatalities. All in all, she's unconcerned. ]

( So you should be happy. )

[ Unless, that is, the price of getting what you want is getting what you once wanted or rather, it was never what she wanted. Misato thinks of herself sitting in her bathtub after Sachiel's defeat, the weight of expectation of happiness on her shoulders. The question contained therein: why aren't you? ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka has already made a choice; she's not going to exact vengeance from Shinji. She's already seen him in all of his hideous vulnerability and she can't bring herself to do to him what he did to her. There won't be fingers closing around his throat. Her attention is on Misato's words, instead.

She wants to say that it made her happy. She wants to talk about how, for the first time, there was someone on her side. The outpouring of relief that came with it. She doesn't have the words, though. No real way to describe it. ]

( What do you know about happiness? )

[ Asuka has never been fooled by Misato's facade. Not even once. ]

[wille]

( Not much, I guess. )

[ If the question was meant to be rhetorical, a challenge rather than an inquiry, she decisively ignores the intention to go ahead with her answer. It's known to the both of them, anyway. Asuka's life story is contained in a stack of files she has read multiple times, but her own history has been broadcast to the world, bent with the details substituted while retaining that grain of truth. Her answer says nothing new. ]

( I don't get what all the fuss is about. You should be happy when you get what you want, but that's not really what happens. They get it, and they're still unhappy. Then we have everyone running around trying to get what it is they want, so they would be happy. It's like we never learn. )

[redheadcarrier]

[ There's a flicker of... something. Of Asuka trying to get a read on Misato, of a probing tendril of the mind that threatens to try and bash aside walls to try and find understanding. Misato confuses her. And underneath it there's resentment at Misato's casual dismissal of her happiness, of the reason it matters. She doesn't understand and she never has and she never will and that hurts more than she can really say. ]

( You don't understand. )

[ It's bitter and a touch halting, because she's not sure what to say to follow up on it. Can she even make Misato understand? Does Misato want to? Nothing in her attitude or demeanor suggests that she does. She'd rather wash her hands of Asuka entirely. ]

( It's not... it's not about being happy! )

[ Because in a way, it isn't. Asuka's not sure she deserves to be happy, in any case. ]

[wille]

[ For what it's worth, she allows Asuka to probe the surface of her mind as she pleases, having organized herself just so that any passing glance from outsiders would reveal nothing she would regret. Anything more damaging would take greater effort that she is confident the girl wouldn't, couldn't muster. She doesn't understand her, it's true, but the girl understands her no better. This is a battle she sees no point in fighting.

The words that should follow Asuka's protest: so what is it about? What don't I understand? Explain, tell me how I can help. Instead, the words she says: ]

( Fine. Is that all? )

[ Are we done here? ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ Hurt flashes through her mind, raw and loud and Misato can likely feel it. It's another confirmation in Asuka's mind that Misato doesn't care, will never care, and that Asuka has somehow failed again. This is a brick wall and she should stop running into it, but Asuka has bent herself to proving Misato wrong. She wants to show her that she cna thrive and succeed and be herself without her. She wants Misato to acknowledge the wrong she's done.

Unstoppable force, immovable object. ]

( You're not even trying. )

[ It's flat and hurt, but the raw anger hasn't blossomed yet. ]

( Why do you keep acting like I don't matter? )

[ There it is. Raw and hurt and surprisingly open. ]

[wille]

[ Misato scoffs in disbelief and dark amusement. This is becoming repetitive: the pointed questions and the hurt rolling through her mind, marked as an other, as something belonging to something outside of herself. She doesn't let any of it touch her and she doesn't reach out to grasp any of it. Her apathy is a still, immovable object, the anger as immaterial as smoke tendrils slipping through her fingers. The girl knows the answers to her own questions, but she would ask them again and again because the pain of knowing satisfies the part of her that mistakes it for validation.

One grows to love even the thorns on one's side, no matter how agonizing, because it's familiar. ]

( If you can't convince yourself that you matter, how could anyone else believe it? )

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka flinches as if physically struck. That's the heart of the matter, isn't it? The question she's been asking herself for most of her life. The gap that she's desperately tried to patch with the approval of others, if only to give herself a few moments of feeling like she isn't invisible or forgotten. There it is, though. Presented to her on a platter. What does she say to that? Misato's right and there's nothing she can say to deflect it or turn away the barbs that sink into her heart.

She feels alone and small, suddenly, and wants nothing more than to go crawl into her tent and hide from the world. There's a roiling current of fear and torn, jagged emotions. Does she admit the vulnerability? Or try to pretend it doesn't exist? ]

( ...I don't know. )

[wille]

[ As far as she's concerned, a time will come when she will have to answer for her own existence. Lay out the reasons for being here, list out the achievements that have made the sacrifices of others worthwhile, account for her mistakes and answer for her many shortcomings. All that and more are on her shoulders and her shoulders alone. It is no selflessness, no, only another form of arrogance, to think that all her victories and losses are her own with no credit or fault attributable to others.

It is this same undertaking she expects of everyone, to answer for themselves, always. ]

( Stop waiting for someone to come along and say you matter. That's for you to sort out. )

[ Is that all, Asuka? She allows the girl only a moment of pause before starting to move. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ That's far easier said than done, isn't it? She knows that's what she should do. She needs to take her fate in her own hands and figure out why she matters. She needs to make herself someone she'll be happy being. But it's hard to break the cycles and the habits, to drag herself out of the hole she's been digging for most of her life. And sometimes it feels like it's an impossibility. Almost like now. The rejection still hurts. The cold dismissal still wounds her. Her gaze stays on the ground and she's aware of Misato starting to move, but before she goes far, Asuka has a question. ]

( Misato. )

[ It's thin and quiet and it feels delicate, like a hand made of thin glass. ]

( How do you do it? )

[ She never seems to falter. Not even once. And Asuka envies that, even if she detests the way that Misato seems to deflect everyone around her with a fake smile. ]

[wille]

[ She stops the moment she hears her name, granting Asuka a glance over the shoulder. Cold still, but attentive, for whatever it's worth. The question is one she has always known how to answer and too few have asked. ]

( Decide who you want to be. )

[ Someone happy. Someone unafraid of reaching out to others. A good girl in the eyes of any father. A bad woman in the eyes of any man. Someone no longer beholden to her father. Someone powerful. Someone who can dismantle her father's legacy, someone to bring it to fulfillment. She has reached none of these goals. None. But isn't that the point of the journey? Everything is easier said than done, most of all the things Misato says. ]

( Then, after you take that first step, it's just as important to keep going. )

[redheadcarrier]

[ It's decent advice. Maybe good advice. Asuka turns it over in her head, still feeling small and ignored and hurt. Misato will always reject her and always consider her little more than a nuisance and yet she keeps trying. Because...? She crabes approval from some mother figure in her life? Because she can't stand the thought that Ikari was able to do it without even trying? Because she has (had) nowhere else to turn? She doesn't know. She just knows that she keeps doing it.

But she answered this one question that Asuka dared to ask. Even if it was cold and distant, she didn't tell her to just "figure it out". That's something. Isn't it?
Or maybe it's just Asuka desperately trying to latch onto something, anything, to prove that she matters. She doesn't have any cutting remarks or screaming. Misato's cut her too deeply this time. ]

( Then I'll try. )