[open] what mystery pervades a well; the water lives so far

[isorropia]

CHARACTERS: Rhan, Lyr, & YOU
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: DAY: 029-:034
SUMMARY: Puttering around for fun and profit. Wild cards are okay!
WARNINGS: N/A, will add if necessary

LYR. THE ORCHARD

[The twisting fruit trees lay in perfect, ordered lines. They stretch out in the shadow of Tyrisson House and crawl quietly up the hillside. It's quiet here; the yellowed fruit on the knobby branches must not yet be ripe and the weather must be kind enough to simply let the trees grow. Come noon, the skeleton crew of grounds keepers and field hands have largely quit the place, leaving the orchards empty. Or close enough to it.

It makes for a good place to take a walk anyway. A fact that Lyr is currently taking full advantage of. He cuts a path first up between two straight lines of lumpy trees and then down the next, crisscrossing the orchard in exacting lines.]

RHAN. ABSOLUTELY GODDAMN EVERYWHERE

[Considering the amount of time Rhan's kept largely to herself in the Graze, it should be hard to pin her down here on the Red Coast where there's so many nooks and crannies to get lost in. But it seems the opposite is true: that cloaked figure at the pub's corner table? Rhan. That Carbauschian wandering the coast and cliffs? Rhan. Trying to get in some alone time? She's almost guaranteed to show up at your elbow.]

Well, fancy seeing you here.

LYR & RHAN. CARBAUSCHIAN QUARTERS (DAY :033)

[It's late in the afternoon and you've made a mistake. Meaning: you've arrived just in time to catch Rhan and Lyr in the middle of a debate. Lyr has taken up post in one of the heavy built in bunks and Rhan is walking circles in the center of the space. Clearly most of the other Hosts have not yet returned from whatever misadventures they're having, or (more likely), the two elder hosts' dialogue has driven off any unwilling participants.

Not that you're so lucky. Before the newcomer can so much as shed an article of their heavy Carbauschian disguise, Rhan calls out:]

Oh! Just in time. Come help me tell Lyr he's being ridiculous.

Comments

rhan.

[deployed]

[ The pub wasn't really Bellamy's first stop. There's only so much time he can spend walking the coast. Watching the changing tides is only a reminder that he can't even wade in the surf while the water turns colors. His retreat into the pub was only meant to last a moment, but seeing Rhan changes thing.

Lexa had charged him with speaking to her again days ago. Bellamy hadn't managed it, and it seems the opportunity has presented itself now. ]

I just wanted a drink.

[ Or a break from the villagers on the street. Both. ]

Are you alone?

[isorropia]

[The heavy Carbauschian outerwear certainly doesn't lend well to saucy looks over the edge of glasses, but feel free to imagine it. Maybe the intent leaks through the mental link, pervading this scuzzy corner of the bar as Rhan moves her glass (and pitcher) to her side of the table.]

Not anymore. Take a load off, sweetheart.

[The waitstaff is on it. Within moments, a second glass is placed on the table for Bellamy. Rhan fills it accordingly with a sweet smelling, golden colored ale.]

Having fun?

[deployed]

[ Fun isn't the word he'd have picked, but Bellamy has to admit that this little village is preferable to their sojourn in the desert. The village feels safe. Or at least, it's removed from the place where Lavellan had died. The change of scenery is good for everyone. ]

Are you? [ He counters, before relenting and taking the offered seat. ] It's nice here. I didn't think they had places like this.

[ The wold seemed skewed between the lavish Naerstone house and the untraveled stretch of desert. The people living here suited him more than either of them. ]

Have you been busy?

[isorropia]

Enough. [She raises her glass by a fraction and nods. He's right:] As far as spots go, this one isn't so bad. Reminds me a bit of the place I'm from actually. It's all a little artificial when you get up close - too much money being put into this place to keep it exactly as it was -, but the tenor and the people? Very similar.

[Rhan moves to set this glass to her-- well, the fold in her heavy cowl anyway. You'd think after a half dozen damned parties in this place that she'd be better at this whole eating and drinking in the Carbauschian get up by now, but there's simply no graceful way to do it, is here? Kol, she's going to fetch a few dozen plastic straws the next time she's on the Station fetching up infants.]

--Oh, here and there. Having so many of us around means it's easier to poke my nose where it doesn't below. [Not that she's keeping her voice down about it.] You? Anything interesting?

[deployed]

[ How long has it been since she was home? Bellamy look at Rhan and wonders what sort of answer he'd get if he asked. Rhan talks around questions. It might be Lexa's influence, but Bellamy knows the latter statement is more important than the former sliver of history she's bared. ]

Nothing yet.

[ Which is true enough. Bellamy hadn't unearthed any secrets. He'd been a buffer. But this kind of espionage is still beyond him. It's more constrained than the Mountain had been, and they don't have the benefit of someone like Maya to pass them information. ]

Have you come up with anything? With all that snooping?

[ Since presumably that's what she's been doing, even if Bellamy suspects there's another angle she's pursuing. He'd told Lexa as much before they'd dragged on these robes and dropped to this planet. ]

Lyr & Rhan

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Now that his broodmate is awake again, Sam's been out and about more than he has since the night of the funeral. Getting back into mingling, trying to follow up on some of the information they've learned, keeping an eye on the other Hosts - generally everything exhausting as heck, especially with these disguises, which means he's really looking forward to getting back to their quarters and taking the damn thing off.

So of course someone's talking to him as soon as he walks in. Honestly, Sam'd probably react the same way no matter who it was, but because it's Rhan and Lyr, his attention is extra caught.

Doesn't stop him from at least peeling off the hooded robe and the veil before he moves in closer. ]

I'm pretty good at pointing out ridiculous shit, but half the time that's only to join in on it.

[isorropia]

I have full faith in your common sense. Or at the very least, I have every reason to believe the man's abrasive enough to chase people off from even a good argument.

[She flashes a grin in Lyr's directiin; he accepts it with a kind of droll glance, then rolls his eyes toward Sam. If she's all effervescence, a small bird hopping on a wire with its head swiveling to and fro, Lyr's mind is a grumbling storm cloud, the gurgle of some small stream, the flat shape of a cold rock in autumn. He says:]

I merely think she should ask for help with her project.

[Rhan sharpens considerably. --Rallies quickly. Her protest is purposefully breezy, all the edge pointedly thrown out the proverbial window.] That's not it at all. Don't you change the subject. We were discussing whether it would be better to hold ourselves back from whatever challenge happens next. Not entirely, of course. And hell, if it's all basket weaving and drinking with friends from here on out then I'm all for it but I suspect we're in for something big again and I wonder if it's smarter to be... conservative with our numbers.

[They're not winning this prize; no need to put the whole kettle of fish in danger.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ He straps a pair of metal wings on his back and jumps off things, Rhan, his common sense isn't always what it could be.

And of course his focus sharpens when Lyr mentions that Rhan should ask for help, raising an eyebrow as he looks between them. Still, mysterious projects aside, he... actually does agree with Rhan there. ]

I thought that back in the last one. There's no reason to risk so many of us when we just need to look like we're participating, but we got a lot of stubborn jackasses. Doing the alliance shit with Nelly felt like a decent compromise, but - [ Look where that got them. He cuts off his reply there more out of the fact that he doesn't quite trust his voice to remain steady than anything else, honestly. The dull ache of grief still tugs at the back of his mind, a whisper on the stirring of a breeze.

But he lets it go, lets it fade back into the faint rush wind that always flavors his mental link. ]

What kind of project we talking about?

[isorropia]

Ah, poor sweet Nelly. [Rhan sighs it out, something in the clip of her voice purposefully wistful. Nevermind that she barley knew him; it's still a little sad (and maybe she's avoiding other subjects - who can say).] --Have you and Collector written that one down, yet?

[Lyr grunts in response, tapping his leg with a short finger. The motion seems to say yes, it's all been taken care of to the point that Rhan can't very well keep fixating on the matter. Instead she springs smoothly to the proverbial other foot, flashing Sam with a smile.]

Anyway, thank you for your input. I suspect Lyr here would prefer to have as many eyes on the main event as possible to make sure we're getting as much information from them as possible, but I'd rather see what can be done about making sure some of us are left over for when we get to the end of this thing. Hence: projects. How are yours going? I assume a clever young man like you has a few balls in the air.

[She winks. From where he's sitting, Lyr says:] She's trying to put you off the point.

[Rhan makes a face.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Sam watches them both, wondering briefly if this is what other people feel like trying to have a conversation with him and Bucky when they're bickering.

There's a lot there that he wants to ask about - Collector and Lyr writing things down, Lyr's method of getting information, what point they're arguing - but he pulls back, focusing on what Rhan said about having some of them left at the end.

He gives a little huff of air that's almost a chuckle at Lyr's comment. ]

Next time I get accused of talking too much, I'm gonna point at you. My priority now's the same as it is when we first got here: getting out of this with as little damage as possible, and keeping people alive. The rest of it - [ He shrugs, grimacing a little. ] I'm throwing stuff at the walls and seeing what sticks. If you got something, what's it gonna hurt to get help with it?

LYR!

[wille]

[ Misato is hardly as kind as the weather, having picked one of the unripe fruits to cautiously sniff at and then stow in her pocket (see what Kaji might say of it). That is when she notices the presence of another in the orchard, quickly picking up pace to catch up. Unlike him, she cuts a straight path through, even slipping between two trunks, whatever works fastest, to get to him. ]

Is that your way of talking to the plants?

[isorropia]

[The afternoon is so blessedly sedate, it'd be hard not to catch the sound of footsteps hurrying to close the distance to him. Nevermind their connection - that mild shape of something that things between their minds -; surely he'd have noticed her approach regardless. So maybe the fact that Lyr doesn't alter his path or change the length of his stride whatsoever is tantamount to an invitation. Certainly - come walk with him.

Not that the first thing out his mouth supports the theory:] My species doesn't have that ability.

[With absolutely no follow-up. Eesh, tough crowd.]

[wille]

[ Her wince is both of the physical and mental variety, not directed at his response so much, when her focus is directed squarely inward. The misstep committed is hers, her fault for failing to anticipate such communication landmines inherent in interspecies conversations. Somewhat cowed, she falls in step with him, trying to better conform. ]

Uhm, neither does mine. It's just a thing some people do. They say it makes the plants grow faster.

[ It's clear from her tone that she doesn't believe this. It's make-believe. Crumbs for weaker minds. Her disbelief is extended to her next words too. ]

So are you just — walking?

[isorropia]

Ah.

[What a wholly uninviting sound. After a long moment where Lyr merely continues down the row, he says,]

That's the short of it, yes.

[The long of it is quite a different story of course - maybe some murmur of that thought shifts between them like a silvery minnow under the surface of some far off forest creek -, but a full explanation would require too much... everything. Which seems like reaching much farther than he has any interest in. So:]

I find the geometry of this place's layout pleasant. It's a good place to walk and turn over a thought or two. [Lyr clasps his arms behind himself; in the voluminous Carbauschian cloak and tunic, the fabric must fold out at awkward ankles to accommodate him.] Is there something you needed?

RHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN

[aluminumandash]

[ Among the lessons of the Barithian hunt had been this: the nest didn't extend forever. There was a limit, a point at which the thoughts and feelings receded. Rust's working on his walls, sketching tentative lines between himself and the rest of them, but it's been too long since he last had his thoughts to himself and—well, fuck it. He'll take the easy way out.

It's early, the air still cool, sea more black than red. The fisherman who'd offered to take him out has expressed so many concerns about water-soaked robes that Rust suspects anything less than a tragic drowning will break his heart.

He's grabbing an extra pole when she turns up, and he can't muster much in the way of surprise or even disappointment. ] We're just heading out. [ Rust doesn't brush past her to step into the boat—wouldn't be so nakedly rude—but his thoughts list that way. ] Something you need?

[isorropia]

Oh, not at all. I just happened to notice you from the street there and thought a morning on the water sounded lovely. You don't mind, do you?

[This is, categorically, not directed at Rust, but rather the fisherman standing in the little boat, currently wrapping a line and stowing it there at the prow. The fisherman pauses, gives her a look (more robes...), and then evidently decides he's already lost one battle, no sense taking up arms to fight another one.

It's impossible to see Rhan's smile under the heavy outerwear, but the shape of it in her mind absolutely blooms between them.]

Fantastic. [She claps Rust on the shoulder and moves to step into the boat.]

[aluminumandash]

[ It's choppy, in his head, as first he tries to gloss over his emotions—suspicion perceptible in brief, brilliant flashes, like fish beneath waves—then thinks better of it. Her smile meets with cool irritation, her touch with resignation.

Once she's found her footing he joins her on the boat, obeying the fisherman's gesticulations about where to stand. He swaps out his fishing pole for a paddle. Without looking her way, he says: ] I don't know how much fishing you've done, but a certain amount of quiet is de rigueur.

[isorropia]

Is that so?

[Her mind is there at the edge of his, a cat on counter slowly sliding things off the edge and to the floor. It's all but guaranteed that sans cowl and hood and swaths of Carbasuchian outerwear, she must certainly be wearing a particularly broad grin.]

I think I'll manage, darling. I can be very mindful, you know. [Which:] ( That's a pun, by the way. )

[Not that thinking does anything to slow down her mouth. Rather, Rhan exchanges brief pleasantries with the fisherman, arms herself with a paddle of her own and does her very best to follow directions as they push away from the dock out into the ruddy sea.]

LYR.

[incinerates]

[ Lyr might be walking, but others are all but sprinting. Laden down in voluminous robes and jingling coppers, he's still running amok in the orchards, half-emulating the heroic attire he'd left back on the station. Challenging a hill, slowing to a jog as he comes around a corner and nearly collides with the other

uh

"faux-alien". ( Carbauschian, the race they're pretending to be, he knows. ) He hits his brakes, coming to a fast stop on his heels -- someone's breathing hard under those veils. He's likely been keeping up with his pre-dawn exercise regime, alien planet and need for subtlety or not. ]

You do this every day? Notice anything good?

[ BLUNTLY, but with a sharp eye for things, as he half-jogs in place, bouncing from heel to toe to keep his blood pumping. ]

[isorropia]

[Exuberant exercise. Gross.

There's a moment where he must study the boy through the eye slit of the heavy Carbauschian cowl, a glimmer of something like derision for all the running and energy and sweating that must be happening, but it's a split second and nothing more. It hardly interrupts Lyr's stride.]

Hardly. Not here anyway. [Keeping his eyes peeled in the sprawling orchard isn't really why he's here.] You'll make your robes stink if you keep at that for very long.

[incinerates]

That's not how I work.

[ Man, he's never smelled like gross, sweaty teen or had to deal with acne a day in his life. Skin care regiment? Nah, he just rolls out of bed and goes for it. Without missing a beat, he falls in alongside Lyr. Besides, he has his reasons for Running Amok. Bio-chemistry at its finest. ]

Then where? [ Short, to the point. ] Thought an orchard would be a great place for meet-ups. Damn.

[isorropia]

Some of us don't spend all our time organizing clandestine meetings. [The clothes they're forced to wear is clearly cramping Lyr's style when it comes to arch sidelong glances, but whatever. Go with it.] Is that why you're here? Forgive me, I didn't take you as the plotting type though I can admit it when I'm wrong.

[It doesn't sound like he thinks he is, though maybe that's just habitual. After all, he is so very rarely incorrect.]

lyr&rhan

[detestable]

[ Seth looks at her flatly for a moment, veil half-off, before his gaze moves past her to her companion. Fucking aliens. ]

Looks like you're handling that just fine on your own.

[ But as much as Seth would prefer to leave the conversation at that dismissal, the need to pick apart everyone in this disaster of a job compels him to cross over to join them. It'd be stupid to beat a retreat rather than take the opportunity to try to puzzle them out. ]

You gonna sell me on why he's ridiculous?

[ Unconsciously, Seth reaches out to Richie. It's the same way he'd have tugged Richie's elbow if they were in a room together and Seth saw something interesting. The first instinct he has is always to make sure Richie is looking too. ]

[isorropia]

You mean other than just on account of his face? [Ha, hilarious. But no--] The man's spinning conspiracy theories. Which is a perfectly valid past time with a certain trajectory, but hardly helpful when we have so little concrete evidence from which to leap from.

[She's all vibrant, a buzzing electric kind of energy that has step light and the indelible tone of her mind sparking in the air. It's rare to see Rhan in the privacy of their shared quarters for long, which means it's strange to actually see her face. The frills of her neck flutter as she speaks and her smile is quick - sharp even as she turns it on her companion.

Lyr fixes her with a flat look in return, then slowly tips his gaze in Seth's direction. He clears his throat:] You've caught us in the middle of making a list. It seems we disagree on the difference between 'potentially relevant' and 'absolutely useless' intelligence.

[Rhan clucks her tongue.] He'd put everything in the first column if allowed, which naturally does us no good.

[detestable]

[ It's probably rude to ask her if those were gills on her neck. All the sci-fi in the world hadn't really prepared Seth for being confronted with actual aliens. ]

You going to share the list, or am I just going to make a blind guess about who's right?

[ The list would be...possibly useful. It'd be something to share with Richie, even if it meant having to dredge the memory of it out of his head to offer up. But he doesn't actually expect getting his hands on their information to be that easy. ]