[mission: hyrypia] hey kid wanna see a dead body

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: The Second Flight
WHEN: DAY :021 - DAY :022
SUMMARY: Leaving the Graze and flying over the Finger Maze. [insert Psycho music cue here]
WARNINGS: Corpses. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

HYRYPIA - THE SECOND FLIGHT
DAY :021

I. ALLLL ABOARD
THE SOUND OF HORNS has become familiar in your time on Hyrypia, but the low drone seems out of place here in the great open space of the main hall of the Second’s Flight. The space here is fantastically and beautifully ornate, the pale polished wood floors and rich dark paneling strangely reminiscent of sand and stone, loamy earth and some rich, dense forest not native to the arid lands of this planet. The space seems to dare the sky to claim it, acting out some daring violation of delivering the earth into the heavens. The twin heads of House Tyrisson are equally lavish both in their appearance and welcome. Two brothers, draped in elaborate pastel fabrics and glinting with enough metal accents to put the ornate robes of Seconds to shame, they trade a short speech back and forth between them:

"Once, our ancestors would have travelled the depths and turns of the Finger Maze in an effort to follow the footsteps of the First. Luckily, we don't live in such dangerous times; the gifts of the First and this planet we call home have allowed us to grow up out of our desperation. Consider this comfort our gift to you and enjoy your time on the Second Flight."

A band strikes up the moment the Tyrisson twins take their seats and you are left to your own devices. So much for living simply.

II. A MURDER MOST FOUL
A SCREAM PIERCES THE SILENCE of the saunas. The low sound of gently flowing water and the soft piped music seems to fade to nothing in the wake of the raw, terrified noise. Unsurprisingly, it draws immediate attention as a horrified Descendant practically falls into the arms of the servant that comes to his aid. The outburst is easily forgiven as word travels like lightning through the ship.

There has been a murder - or rather, two murders. Two bodies, damp with humidity and beginning to give of a distinctly unpleasant smell, have been found in one of the hot bath grottos. The mineral water they've been soaking in has reverted from a milky white to a terrible, blood rust brown.

And while it's unlikely that any Carbauschians were sharing the pool with them (robes make for unpleasant waders), the dryer albeit stiflingly hot areas of the conjoined saunas are such a communal meeting places that it wouldn't be out of the realm of imagination that one or two Hosts might be nearby… Regardless, news travels quickly and the chilly atmosphere that descends over the Second Flight is palpable. A horrific hunting accident is one thing, but murder? That's something else altogether.


HYRYPIA - THE SECOND FLIGHT
DAY :022

III. A SORDID AFFAIR
TO SAY that the atmosphere is somewhat tense is an understatement. It seems that everyone has something to say about the murders- but these things are said tersely, in whispers under the breath, with darting eyes and suspicious glances, and security- once hidden, secret- is now easily visible. They can be found at the entrance of each of the broad areas, patrolling down the paths that run alongside the outer walls of the Envoy’s cabins- never intruding, but ever present. Still, there seems to be an insistence that it will be dealt with by a member of the Tyrisson protectorate guard - Detective Savela, a hard-nosed, serious woman who seems not to want any assistance - and that the guests should continue to enjoy themselves. The bands still play, the games are ever present. Of course, those that are enterprising may wish to try poking around, instead.

IV. THE SHOW MUST GO ON
MURDER SCHMURDER-- In what's very clearly an effort to retain some sense of normalcy, an elaborate meal is served late on Day :022. The dishes are so complex that might as well be show pieces of their own, the music has an air of desperation, and the display of technomancy from a pair of Seconds is so delicate and ornate - centering almost entirely on a cloud of small metal coins that shifts shape constantly to illustrate scenes from the famous epic poem The Arion throughout the course of the dinner - that under any other circumstances it might be a singularly memorable moment.

Unfortunately, the palpable sense of suspicion between the envoy factions persists and the temper of the room is anything but celebratory. Late in the evening when most people have retired from the stifling atmosphere, a scuffle breaks out between some Meradan bodyguards and a clutch of Carpathan servants.


HYRYPIA - THE SECOND’S FLIGHT
DAY :023

V. A FAREWELL TO ARMS
THE ENGINES ever-present hum ticking down an octave is the first sign that the Flight has almost reached its destination. By the time the servants are politely knocking on the entrances of the berthings, the new dawn reveals that the cliffs and the winding passages of the Finger Maze have finally fallen behind the ship. The land here consists of rocky, relatively bare hills and is accented only with occasional short, sparse woody tree and straggly clumps of red grass. From somewhere in the distance, salt touches the wind. The Second Flight lands, setting gently down into the trough between two hills. Its now familiar gangplank extends, ready to send the Pilgrims again out onto the road.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers days :021 and :022 on the Second Flight. A log will be posted for the walk on DAY :023 and the arrival at the Red Coast. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information to find setting information for the Second Flight. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

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

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

cw: alcoholism

[sistershoggoth]

one more, on me -- wildcard for a mopey ass
[ The relative luxury of the ship has, in its way, only exacerbated her. The lack of distraction by way of the day to day ruggedness of their pilgrimage has left her without anything to keep her busy. The booze is even easier and more plentiful here on the ship. If she is not actively in the corner of the bar with her drinks and her hookah, she's in the berthings, asleep.

Her presence is subdued, a muddy puddle of obscure thoughts, none of them positive. Her sketch book, increasingly running out of clean paper to work on, is filling up with scratchy, dark scribbles, faces and eyes peering with disapproval from beneath long, beautiful hair. ]

[raw]

( Hello again. )

[ Is this going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship or a bad habit?

Elliot approaches the limb-sprawled suckhole like he's compelled to, finds somewhere to sit in amongst the wreathing smoke. He's been trying to mix drinks to find the sweet spot in between caffeine buzz and alcohol depression, and he's ended up with an ultraviolet-blue-white mixture that is chalky and toxically saccharine and has exactly the effects he wants. He offers it to her, like payback for the grass liquor, and uses the cover of hookah to light a crumpled cigarette. ]

Some party, huh.

[ Even though that's not quite true: it lacks the gathered hedonism of yesterday's wake. Still, it's enough of something that Elliot wants to wallflower it out. ]

[sistershoggoth]

[ She's been keeping to herself in a corner of the room. Normally she'd chat it up in a bar, find someone to have sex with, maybe someone to fight, but of course that's not allowed on this fucking mission. She is not going to blow their cover, despite everyone's assumption that it will fucking be her -- do they assume that or is that in her head? A projection of self-hate, waiting to be the one who fucks it all up and just not wanting it to be true.

So she's in this corner, drunk enough to keep her mouth shut, which is pretty damn drunk, but hey. It's fine. She's a pro. ]

Hey.

[ She accepts his concoction, mostly automatically over anything else. She's long since stopped tasting any of this, it's all liquor to her tongue now but the sweetness of it bites through aggressively. ]

Egh. Tastes like blue and syrup.

[raw]

So I shouldn't stay on this planet and become a bartender, is what you're saying.

[ He takes it back, takes his own sip. It reminds him of shitty sugary candy, and he basically lived off junk like that back home. ]

So what's up.

[ Normally that's not a question he asks people, especially strangers, but this is the second day in a row he's found her just drinking heavily, and he doesn't think it's grief. ]

[sistershoggoth]

I'unno, have you asked the Rabos if they like it?

[ The really important question, and she'd rather stick to that one than carry on discussing anything regarding 'what's up' with her. She can feel the shape of the question, more than just a casual greeting, and she's annoyed by it. In that way that anyone trying to nurse a bad ritual gets annoyed when it's brought to the light and they actually have to think, defend, justify. ]

They told us to enjoy ourselves, so I'm taking them up on it.

[ She's not enjoying herself. ]

[raw]

[ Elliot snorts at the idea of him actually talking to any Rabadoceans. Probably another reason why he wouldn't really be bartender material. ]

Huh.

[ A moment's serious soul searching to decide just how much of a hypocrite he's going to be. ]

And this is fun for you?

[sistershoggoth]

[ Why you gotta push at it like that. Her head lists to the side, her eyes wandering off to anything other than the other figure in front of her. ]

Better than sitting around bored.

[ Boredom is her worst enemy. It allowed her to think too much, dwell too much. She is technically still bored, but at least the inner distress is now numbed and lubricated so that it grinds and squeals a little bit less. ]

[raw]

Right, boredom.

[ He knows and hates it. But he still casts a long sideways glance at her. ]

We're on an alien planet, in a flying ship. We have to be able to find something more interesting to do than drink.

[ But here they are. ]

[sistershoggoth]

Every interesting thing I could possibly do would get us in trouble.

[ She's already been almost caught by the Rabos a couple of times, she's bitter about it, feeling hemmed in by the mandate to stay hidden. Who the hell thought it was a good idea to stifle her. ]

Be more fun if they let me fly this ship though.

[raw]

[ Elliot hehs a soft laugh at that. ]

You wanna at least try and find somewhere to have a cigarette?

[ Smoking on an airship, faces uncovered, is a bad idea but he has some measure of proximal craving, and it will stop her slouching here like an abandoned blanket, maybe. ]

Nicotine stealth mission.

[sistershoggoth]

[ Her own laugh is more like crow's cackle. ]

I guess so.

[ What the hell else is she going to do with her time. ]

I keep meaning to shake down all the newbies for their cigarettes...

[raw]

Consider me shook.

[ Though his supply is pretty limited, too, so give it a month and he'll be the one doing the shaking. He's not really a regular smoker, though, so the hint of craving she inspires in him is new, albeit subtle enough that he doesn't really notice.

Finding somewhere to go is gonna be tough. ]

You explored much?

[ As they leave, Elliot turning his own knowledge of the airship over in his mind, trying to think where's both ventilated and isolated. ]

[sistershoggoth]

[ She is a monster chain smoker. Luckily the Rabos also do some hookah like shit that has kept her from completely losing her mind. It's astonishing everyone isn't driven to chain smoke around her. ]

Not a lot, tryin' to keep my head down...

[ After her small screaming fit upon arrival... ]

Wasn't expecting anything interesting anyway.

[detestable]

[ The second Gildor tipped from consciousness into sleep, or a coma, or whatever the fuck it is, Seth's had a gnawing sense of incompleteness. Carrying around this emotion that feels like a torn off limb is just one more drawback to this whole arrangement. Seth refuses to acknowledge feeling any of that, but he's taken refuge in the bar to sample alien alcohol.

And Annie's hookah, at the moment. ]

Move over.

[ She's not exactly the drinking buddy Seth had in mind, but any port in a storm, right? ]

[sistershoggoth]

[ She does move over, because she has no problem with being joined in her pity party, but she's also not just going to be, like, quiet about it either? ]

Oh, what, now I'm an okay person to chit-chat with?

[ You Geckos are real pieces of work!! ]

[detestable]

No one's saying we gotta make small talk.

[ Drinking in silence is fairly respectable, isn't it?

Though Seth knows immediately that Annie's not the type to drink in silence. Even without the mental connection, nothing about the impression Seth had gotten between her discussion with him and her interaction with Richie led him to believe that. ]

Better I sit with you than...

[ Seth gestures, indicating the other alien occupants of the bar currently. ]

[sistershoggoth]

What, you don't want to go gather some intel? Loose lips and all that stupid shit...

[ She'd do it herself, if she thought she could be trusted to control her own stupid mouth. ]

[detestable]

I want to have a drink in peace before I start trying to figure out how to make small talk with these people.

[ Aliens ghosts through his mind, punctuating his statement. Seth's still acclimating to being dragged into an episode of Star Trek. ]

Besides, aren't you the one who's got all that figured out?

[ From what he's heard, anyway. ]

[sistershoggoth]

I think we both know that I don't know anything.

[ She oscillates back and forth. Sometimes it's to squawk about no one listening to her, the rest of the time it's to demand they don't. She's an unreliable narrator, at the very least. ]

[detestable]

[ Seth looks at her, but he's unwilling to talk about the slime aloud. It's too easy to be overheard and he draws the line at mental communication. ]

If you say so.

[ Translation: Bullshit. ]

What're you working on then?

[sistershoggoth]

Seeing how many of these gross alien cocktails I can down without staining my dress.

[ Very serious scientific research. ]

[detestable]

[ Does that mean she's trying not to puke on her dress or trying not to spill on it? Seth may never know. ]

That's one way to spend your downtime.

[ Not that Seth has any room to judge. ]

At least you've got company.

[ There's enough of their number who seem to have camped out in the bar. Seth actually kind of resents it, but they can toss it off as team building if they're really trying to dress it up. ]

Was it really that bad down there?

[sistershoggoth]

[ God fucking hell fucking-- She exhales loudly. ]

No. It wasn't. I made my own mess and now I'm wallowing in it.

[ She'd made that mess as soon as she'd met Nyx Ulric. He'd been oil on her fire, and then had had the utter indecency to make her feel like he was something that could be relied upon. A source of stability and willpower that had dropped out from under her like someone had kicked one of her fucking crutches.

And now here she is.

Using him as an excuse to be the most pathetic she can be. ]

[detestable]

[ Uh oh, emotions are approaching. Seth can feel the edge of her pain flickering at the edge of his awareness. He'd shrink from it, but there's nowhere to go. Their minds are linked.

And really, Seth knows that feeling intimately. He knows what it is to have all your stability centered in one person, and that losing them is like getting cut off at the knee. It's hard to get up. Annie's predicament is uncomfortably familiar.

He still believes everything he'd said to Lexa. The show people made of their grief and the sloppiness that had followed it had been a risk and a liability. But Annie's feelings are something else. They're harder to dismiss. ]

How long are you planning on doing that?

[ Seth isn't really wired for the uncomfortable business of offering verbal support. Sliding his untouched drink across the table to her is a more concrete acknowledgement of her situation than anything else. ]

[sistershoggoth]

Until I get my head out of my own ass, which, conveniently enough, I don't feel too motivated to do when I'm fuckin' drunk.

[ And there is no more classsic a move in the book than belligerently acknowledging her own inebriation. Like somehow the self-awareness made it impenetrable, a war cry raised. Look at me, I made this fucking choice all in , and you can't stop me. She tosses back her drink and pulls his towards her as its replacement. ]

Can't keep this up on the road though, gotta walk their stupid fuckin' pilgrimage and admire their fucking natural beauty and historic sites.

[ She's sneering, soggy and loose, beneath her hood. She's tired of pretending to like the Rabos. She thinks they fucking suck. ]