[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

[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?

[wille]

[ Misato's response is swift and definite: a displeased crinkle of the nose, a disbelieving huff, a scowl by any other name. But the timber of her mind betrays something else, a quiet appreciation for his calmness and a breath held so as not to disturb the minnow, belying the charade of her outward reflexes. ]

Really . . .

[ She mimics him, linking her hands behind her back too, and trying to match his steps, a child learning to walk. ]

Your thoughts to start, since you're, you know, thinking. Rhan's optimistic, isn't she? But all I can see is us making a mess everywhere.

[isorropia]

[He tilts a look in her direction, something measured in it. Maybe that's an illusion created by being wholly unable to see Lyr's dour expression, or maybe the sullen look is more theater than his examination is. Regardless, there's very little real judgement in the air between them - just... observation measured by the sound of their foot steps in the tilled soft earth.]

If that's all there is, then we might be in trouble. Luck then that you're not seeing the full picture. [Which even he'll allow sounds like cryptic rubbish.] For example, I'm wouldn't say optimistic is really the best word for Rhan al'Mira; consider that she just finds honey more effective than vinegar.

[Not that he shares the the sentiment:] You're right though. You are making a mess. Fortunately disasters make excellent camouflage for the rest of us.

[wille]

[ The weight of observation is kinder than other kinds, such as the one cast in dark rooms with men disguised as pillar, judgment the only sound in the air. It feels worlds away from this, the swaying leaves, the organic sound of their uneven footsteps.. ]

So you're saying she meant it as a pep talk.

[ Her disappointment is clear. An honest reprimand would be a compliment, but sugarcoated words hint at lack of trust. ]

But what are you doing? What are we distracting them from noticing?

[isorropia]

I'm saying that I believe Rhan finds people perform better under pressure when they don't think they're running toward a lost cause, and that she finds being overly restrictive as a potential limitation on an individual's usefulness to her needs.

[As for the rest-- he breathes out (through his nose maybe; it's difficult to tell with the heavy cowl), and makes a low soft sound.] I heard how your briefing went when Rhan and Siva'co first fetched you from the Station. I believe there was some conversation surrounding a 'Plan Z.'

[It's not an answer. Not really - is it? Yet here they've reached the end of this furrow. Surely that's as good a sign as any from the universe to turn in another direction, so Lyr leads them around the trunk of the endmost gnarled tree, then switches back in the neighboring lane to walk the length of the orchard again in the opposite direction. We're doing the same thing as you - seeing to it that we find some shape of success here.

[wille]

[ How fitting, for them to reach the end of the road at the mention of last resorts. For her part, Misato stops to stare at the pattern the bark forms, using the picture of its crooked lines as scaffolds for her thoughts, the way she assembles and disassembles the words Lyr says to her with what others have told her. See if it really must lead to this Plan Z.

Only when she finds enough reason to dismiss it again, for now, does she catch up with him, a skip in her steps. ]

I don't want it to happen. I don't want Plan Z.

[ But she won't say the stronger words either, because want doesn't mean won't. ]

You're not telling me that it's likely, right? Rhan said we don't have the ability to do it anyway.

[isorropia]

If you're asking whether we have the means to obliterate the planet's inhabitants on a scale wide enough to nullify the threat of the Nectar falling into the wrong hands, [--he sounds so mild when he says it; not pleased, not satisfied, just frank--] then correct. We don't have those tools at our disposal.

But the reality of the situation is that we have two tasks before us: to find a monster in the dark, and to be certain we don't arm it. And while we've yet to do the former, we should be prepared to weaponize an alternative as quickly as possible once we discover where our Enemy is hiding. To do that, we'll need the tools and strategy to see the envoy of our choosing selected as 'bride' to the Hyrypian cause. I believe Rhan is doing her best to make sure we're prepared when that moment comes. Failing that--

[Before them, at the distant edge of the orchard toward which they're headed, a breeze is stirring the pale leaves on their tangled branches. The breath of wind carries in their direction, swaying the branches overhead but not touching this sheltered furrow. Lyr tips his face up toward it, studying the motion of the foliage as they plod along.]

What is equally true is that we should have a plan should we fail to identify the Enemy among our company. Plan Z doesn't have to be catastrophic for this universe, but there should be some discussion of what a last resort option rationally looks like.

[wille]

[ At first, her stance relaxes, an exhale escaping her lips, when she hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath. How reassuring it feels to know she doesn't have to defend her morality when the world she understands has rarely functioned within its confines. She squares her shoulders again, staring at the swaying foliage without truly seeing it. ]

A Second is needed to purify the Nectar. If we do away with all of them then—

[ She swallows. Do away is such a paltry euphemism for killing, if not kidnapping, exiling, pushing out of the picture. To change the words one uses with regard to a group of people always matters, that is the first step toward dehumanizing them, to making their deaths something that doesn't necessitate mourning. That makes their murders righteous, somehow. She shakes her head. She doesn't want that either. ]

We can poison the Hyrypians against all the other factions, make it so that they're unable to choose a bride because they believe doing so would mean going against themselves. But that's assuming our host is beyond suspicion. That's assuming the Enemy won't take the violent recourse when this whole diplomacy fails.

[isorropia]

A Second can come from any Hyrypian bloodline - to eradicate them entirely, we'd have to wipe out the planet. So I suspect that's out of the question. So too is not choosing, as the political situation here means doing so would be more dangerous to the Hyrypians. They have the luxury to set their own terms right now. If they refuse to do so now, someone will decide to take it from them.

[There's an easy cadence to this, a low rolling rhythm. The tick of a clock. A metronome, a measured quality in the rise and fall of his voice. He's talking at her more than he is with her, but surely his ear must be tipped in her direction because--]

But the potential for violence is a legitimate one. I don't believe fear of losing control of the situation would cause the Enemy to raze the planet - we've seen instances of the Enemy destroying a place for a resource, and for whatever reason they haven't done that here so the preservation of Hyrypian society must somehow be important to them -, but that doesn't eliminate the possibility of...I don't know. Killing everyone here on the Pilgrimage and having the rest of the planet sort it out.

[wille]

[ There have been many previous instances of others talking at, rather than with, her. It seems a habit of those who think aloud, her included, and she doesn't mind besides, when she holds to the imperfect opinion that airing something out is better always than keeping it in. Better to speak of possible massacres than to keep silent as one pulls the trigger.

Her own mind is a whirr of activity, different pieces of possibilities slotted in and set aside, the many ways this could unfold. She nudges a swinging branch in her way, watching how unpredictably it wobbles in the wind. ]

You've been around long enough, haven't you, Lyr?

[ This time she rests her gaze squarely on him. ]

Have we ever struck back at the Enemy successfully? Have we ever scored even a little victory?

[isorropia]

What an entirely subjective question.

[But what isn't? He doesn't bother meeting her gaze.]

If you're speaking martially, I know of no physical conflict between us where we've been successful. But speaking personally, my brood has successfully complicated the Enemy's plans or caused them to abandon their efforts in a number of universes. Causing them to waste of resources and frustrating their ability to get what they need - whatever it is - from a place must be a victory.

[He does look at Misato now, the bland unadorned front of his Carbauschian cowl a blank, inexpressive slate.] Rhan said she heard your company have always been together - that you have always been a group of twenty to thirty Hosts. Is that true?

[wille]

[ How can victory be subjective? She has always understood life as a zero-sum game, with winners and losers clearly delineated. You live, or you die. Bystanders are set to lose by default.

She kicks up the earth with her next step, followed by a huff. None of what Lyr lists out sound remotely like the kind of triumph she seeks, but in all things, she attaches a not yet. That was before she arrived, for one, and it is truly incredible how automatically she assumes that her presence would make all the difference. That she alone is the hero of the story. ]

You can say that. When I first got to the station though, we were split, some of us on Concordia and the newcomers staying back. Why do you ask?

[isorropia]

Because we've been hatched for some time and have only ever worked in combination with one other brood - and even then they tend to be fragmented. And we have known very few Hosts indeed. Maybe only half your number in total.

[Here, his interest is undeniable. Not in her specifically, but generally? My, isn't what she's a piece of fascinating?]

Until you and your number arrived here on Hyrypia and I saw you for myself, I could have believed there might be only thirty Hosts in all the multiverse. We have been a very rare breed for some time. That there are so many of us now seems... significant. Or [ha] like a very small victory.

[After all, this much is indeed true: someone must be be the hero.]

[wille]

[ The surprise would be visible on her face, a pinpoint of light in her mind, a stone thrown into a still pool. ]

I was the first from my home to get here. Then Asuka followed, the girl with red hair, she told me our home is gone, done for. [ She breathes in slowly, and exhales much too fast. Never a fan of suspense. ] But when two others got here, well, that felt like a small victory too.

[ The way she says it, it's clear, it's not enough. She curls her hands into fists, holds as tightly as she can, then wills herself to go. ]

I want to believe we can win.