[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]

[ Asuka has a keen eye and she is watching Clarke for a reaction when she descibres Misato. She's a bit gratified to see that Clarke tends to agree with her - or at least isn't calling her out for being cruel or mean or blunt. She shifts her weight around, shoulders rolling in a shrug as she considers the question. It's... harder to answer than she anticipated. After a moment, she frowns and then shrugs again as she tries to wrap her head around the answer she wants to give.

Misato is complicated. ]

She's competent, if that's what you mean.

[ It's said grudgingly. Whatever her complaints with Misato, the Major wasn't bad at her job. ]

But no. I don't trust her. And why should I? She's never really cared about me. I was just a disposable tool to her and now she barely acknowledges I even exist!

[ That's... some vitriol, alright. ]

[skaikru]

( incompetence and untrustworthiness are two very different beasts to be reckoned with, and although asuka deigns to wipe one of these hindrances from the board, clarke can't quite find it in herself to feel... heartened. there's another slight hum of understanding in her throat, but most of clarke's attention is fixed on asuka's face, watching the vehemence and venom color and contort her features. it's a personal admittance, and honest if perhaps not entirely objective. but she hadn't asked for objective. )

So she used you. ( and subsequently threw her away. clarke has no ready comparisons for her own life, none that haven't already wound their way back around to peace with her manipulators. four months ago and she would have been spitting lexa's name with as much hatred and distrust. five months, her mother. ) How?

[redheadcarrier]

They all used me.

[ Asuka's still bitter over all of it. But how does she really put the experience into words? How does she get across the depth of betrayal she's felt? Or what it felt like to be shunted off to the side over and over again, quietly neglected until she started to waste away? Some of it leaks through their link - the emotional impact that's stayed with her. Flickers of "benign" neglect, of being passed over, of being told that she was "only" a child, of being expected to play second fiddle, of favoritism.

It's a jumble of images and emotions and sensations and it likely makes no sense whatsoever. ]

Once I wasn't any good, they just got rid of me. She knew what I could do and she still made me second string. They still didn't try to save me. She cared more about Shinji. He had to get all the special treatment.

[skaikru]

( asuka's feelings wash over her like a high wave with a particularly strong riptide, and there's that threat of being dragged into the sea of swirling hurt that rests just beyond the shallows. it's still a heady experience, being swept up in someone else's thoughts, and it takes all of clarke's conscious effort not to allow their embittered emotions entangle. the wounds don't match, she can't relate to asuka's experiences by filtering them through the mesh of her own life and finding commonality, but ultimately clarke doesn't need to in order to come away with a very firm stance on the woe's that had befallen the other girl in her short lifespan. )

I'm sorry. They shouldn't have — and none of that should have happened to you.

[redheadcarrier]

Doesn't really change anything, does it? It still happened.

[ She's not really in the mood to hear "it shouldn't have happened". It did. Words don't change that. She's still here, still has the memories and the pain that's been caused to her. ]

Now she just ignores me.

[skaikru]

( platitudes and sympathy never do as much as the one who utters them hopes they will achieve. and clarke knows if the roles were reversed, it'd be another useless sentiment she didn't want to hear. she blanches a little, at her own words and asuka's smooth rejection. doubles down; tries again. )

If you hate her that much, do you really want her to pay attention to you?

[redheadcarrier]

I want her to tell me that what she did to me was wrong.

[ It's what she tells herself, anyway. In reality, there's probably something to the idea that she hasn't been able to figure out how to just get past it, already. ]

I want her to treat me like a person!

[skaikru]

( that's a fair desire, and clarke feels so fully for the other girl that she's pressing her mouth into a thin line and nodding in agreement. that's fair, that's deserved, and she finds she wants very much for asuka to receive the recognition and validation she'd earned. but that nagging voice in the back of her head, the one that insists none of them will ever get what they truly want — the train of thought still smarting from butting heads with misato a little while ago, that feels like she's walked away with enough of an understanding of the woman to make judgements — insists that asuka might never get it.

a pause, a break. carefully formulated words, spoken slowly. )

If she never does. Will you be able to get past that?

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka glances at Clarke and her mouth sets into a thin line. After a long moment, she rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. She doesn't know and she doesn't know how to answer that question. It seems almost impossible. ]

...probably.

[ Maybe. No. Yes. ]

[skaikru]

( probably isn't a good enough answer. it's as empty as i'm fine and it'll be okay and i'm sorry, and clarke bites her lower lip at the unfairness of it all. she wants to reassure her, tell asuka that she saw her as a person; vow to always treat her like the person she is, and not something disposable. but those were heavy statements, the sort that never felt genuine if spoken aloud. it was best to show someone you wanted to gain the trust of that you meant to support them, not just tell them. and so eventually, clarke just nods stiffly. )

I hope you get that. ( you deserve it. )

[redheadcarrier]

Thanks.

[ Her response is flat and not at all enthusiastic. "I hope you get that" feels empty and meaningless in the moment. Something an adult says because they don't know what to tell you. She's come to terms with that. Sort of. She takes a deep breath. ]

Why are you asking about Misato, anyway?

[skaikru]

( ah. )

We spoke. ( an awkward and stilted response, as if clarke momentarily forgot conversations and prying questions could go both ways. and then has the decency to act a little embarrassed for gossiping, a soft, forced smile and dipping her head to look at her cup.

to grimace at her cup. )

It wasn't a... a pleasant conversation.

[redheadcarrier]

Really? Why's that?

[ Asuka turns her head to fix Clarke with a little glare. She's curious and also incredibly resentful of Misato.

Funny how that works. ]

What'd she say?

[skaikru]

( funny, yeah, how two people of like mind tend to feed off each other's disdain and dislike of one person until it's almost like they're talking in circles. yikes. )

Nothing important. ( trust. ) She asked me if I was angry I couldn't stop someone from participating in the races. ( kaji. ) And she told me I was cold. ( bellamy.

honestly, her own dislike of misato seems petty now, in comparison to the reasoning behind asuka's. )

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka actually laughs. It's cold and mean and not at all warm, but it's a laugh. ]

That's rich. Coming from her? Calling someone else cold? Who does she think she is?

[ But the mockery hides a deeper pain. ]

[skaikru]

( that laugh is potentially even more unsettling than the deep and intimate conversation she'd held with the resident ice cube, misato katsuragi, and clarke winces at the underlying cruelty. has to wonder how much more hurt lies beneath it that they haven't even touched upon. like a black pool, depth unspecified and daunting to touch. )

What about Kaji?

( a purposeful redirect, edging away from the raw nerve that is misato. but equally curious, wondering if her original judgement of the man as sociopathic and alarmingly detached held up alongside someone who knew him better; someone who apparently held no ounce of blind trust in her bones. )

[redheadcarrier]

Kaji-

[ Her voice brightens a little when she says his name, but there's still wariness and hurt and so much else wrapped up in the way she says it. Pain and attraction and a strange sense of longing that doesn't quite match everything else. She breathes out and then shrugs. ]

...does it matter anymore?

[ She doesn't want to talk about her feelings about Kaji. It's a weak point. ]