[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

---

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[unfavoured]

[ The difference is, making new friends is a sentence that is not at all something that Parker partakes on. In fact, she tends to do the opposite, but that neither here or there. It isn't that she doesn't know how to adapt, but her adaption is more practical than getting comfortable outside of her zone of comfort. She has never really enjoyed doing that. For all that rebellious spirit, some of her values are stubbornly immobile and grounded.

The presence of many others at Level 18 bothers her terribly. It is a constant effort to keep them off, warding any attempt of contact. Putting up a wall; some of it out of practice against probing minds from back home, but here it's-- different. An intrinsic part of the new situation she wants nothing to do with and it is hard to shake off when the instinct to chase the open connections keeps getting hammered in. But at the very least, Parker has always had good self control, so resisting what feels like an urge is not too hard. Just extremely annoying.

In her effort to put up a wall, she only takes notice of Lexa's presence a little too late. She would have taken a different route if she knew. As it is, she has to halt her walk to her quarters when the other stands there in front of her. A little buzz in her head, in her ears, and she hates it. Focuses again. Wall, wall, wall. Rejection. Makes sure there is a proper distance between them. Jaw set, shoulders tense. Why is everyone so invasive in this goddamn place?

The question is clearly not something she expects it (and the accusatory tone just about makes her tense up even more). Her face scrunches up, tilting her head back slightly like she has just barked at her or grown a second head. ] What? [ Rhetoric what. Doesn't really care for her to expand on it. Shakes her head in surprise and annoyance and makes a harsh, low gesture with her hand, like warding off a fly. ]

Move.

[ No, she isn't going to engage. ]

[adamance]

[The rejection is clear. She feels the attempt at walls, but doesn't make any efforts to look behind them. Lexa wants to offer that much respect, even if she's being confrontational right now. Trying to parse out this woman's intentions and actions will prove necessary for their future ("their" being the Nest, rather than "their" being the relationship between the two of them—she's barely interested in that). It's not that she doesn't understand her need to close both physical and mental doors around her. It's that doing so might make her less of an asset and more of a burden.

Between the comatose bodies and a certain brood's volatile nature, they have enough burdens to go around. They don't need another.]

I would ask you to make me, but I'm not here for a fight. [There's a pause, but she noticeably doesn't take a step back. She isn't moving as she's been told to do, and doesn't give the sense that she has any intention of acting on that.]

Avoiding us will only make it harder. You came here to survive. They took advantage of that desire. Now, you seem like you're afraid to make the next move. [Hence, the question. Her words are clipped and staccato, spoken like someone who's used to speaking to a crowd instead of one individual (and spoken like someone who expects to be listened to: she certainly speaks with, if not authority, the idea that she's right)].

[unfavoured]

[ This is exactly what she needed after a day of exhausting herself with blocking people out - one more obstacle. Strangle out ties, sever links, a process she is yet to be familiar with, doesn't quite know how to do it yet - a far cry from mind reading but with some similar grounds to stand on. She has never been a quitter, anyway, so she keeps trying.

Parker is not one blessed with the gift of patience, however, so when Lexa says she isn't there to pick a fight but then does not move, Parker crosses her arms tightly over her chest, jaw set, unkind expression in her eyes. A pulse through them, of irritation, because she is still trying to understand how you can shut it out, reel it back in. Only a moment of it before she manages to take hold of it.

Her eyes lose focus on her quickly enough, looking behind her, rudely uninterested on what she has to say, on the knowledge she has to offer. She wants nothing of it. Will not listen - she has never been much of a crowd-person, unluckily for Lexa. Parker has never been a fan of speeches. She can see under the voice and words that the way she speaks has some command to it, but given her track record, as in joining a rebellion and ending up becoming the leader of the Resistance, it's easy to guess she isn't big on listening, especially to figures of authority.

She brings her eyes back to meet Lexa's, under a light frown, expression neutral. But there is an explosion of indignation under her skin. Almost offended, but not quite. Angry, but then again, she always is. ]

You shouldn't talk about what you don't know. [ A pause. Jaw set. ] You might end up sounding like an idiot.

[ And that's that, apparently. Parker untangles her arms and since Lexa isn't moving, she is going to do it for her. Pushes past her, short space between them, but enough to squeeze through. Shoulder set hard to be the one pushing back against Lexa's when she passes by, ungentle, too hard.

Like saying, "here's your next move". ]

[adamance]

[When she shoves past, Lexa is swift to grab on to Parker's arm, fingers wrapping tight around it. While Lexa's dexterity makes her right handed, her training has made her far more than capable of using her left. She can fight with a pair of swords and a spear in each hand should the occasion call for it. She has neither of those on hand, but she isn't ending the conversation so quickly.

It seems that her intentions have to evolve, have to change. Where she had been here to challenge her before, she sees that here is nothing about this woman that's willing to relent. Her strength is increased because of her symbiote, and she holds Parker's arm like someone who has some practice with that new ability. It has been a few weeks, after all.]

Is that why you refuse to speak to us? You're afraid of seeming like an idiot?

[The questions are a way of turning her words back on to her. It might even be a childish effort, but Lexa thinks it's all too easy to do it. Her eyes move over her face.]

You will have to adjust. Otherwise, you'll just be a bother to us and the first to be forgotten. Don't make yourself a burden.

[Lexa doesn't free her arm for a moment, instead choosing to hold on a little more tightly, as if she might be aiming to bruise her.

And then she does let go, stepping to the right to let Parker find her way into her quarters. Her guard goes up (both mentally and physically) as she prepares for retribution. It'd make sense for it to come, and while Lexa's wearing clothes that make her seem like any other woman, she's clearly done a fair bit of fighting herself.

Perhaps, in addition, it was unwise to seek out this conflict. She'll see how the results go later on.]

[unfavoured]

[ While not fully ambidextrous, Parker is well capable of throwing a mean left hook. But to be fair, that would be a too extreme reaction, even for her. So instead what she opts to do is to try and snap her arm back. And she would have been successful too, almost pulling it away at the same time Lexa reaches for it - almost. Could have gotten away with it if it wasn't for that one second of difference. Enough to get her in her grasp. Tries to pull it away, regardless, but the fact that this woman is holding her with more strength than she should have. Gripping at her so firmly that Parker can barely move it an inch. Makes her sneer, caged animal. Both because it is a gesture she does not appreciate in the least, being touched, and because of the strength it carries. Clearly something supernatural. A power and Parker and powers do not get along. She is better with them than she used to be some years ago, but she still caries a knee-jerk reaction to their display. Not ever comfortable with superpowered people.

It gets harder to control, that paper-thin hold she has on cardboard walls (for now, she is hardly going to throw in the towel, never one to do so). Not with the closeness. It runs through her, a sick pulse, needles prickling skin and soul, like the feeling of cut circulation when you sit too long on your feet, but in your brain instead. Parker is quick to try and barricade that. Finds the will to repulse the warmth of belonging. Not quick enough to not to feel it, but still adamant in not budging in her resolution. Two way street, though. Manages to barely reel back in, the constant anger and guilt boiling ever so present in her chest. Some-- images. Scattered. Rebellion, riot, revolt. The immeasurable, incurable feeling of loss. Only the surface of it, however.

Her eyes slowly lower to the hand, all predatory, until Lexa speaks up again. Then, slowly, Parker looks back up to her with a frown. ]

That's a terrible come back. [ Flat, dead tone. Like speaking to a child she does not like at all (never been a fan of kids, anyway).

The tightness gets a dangerous tilt of her head. Doesn't move nor wince. Keeps her eyes on hers, a bulldog fight. Not backing down from it. Her words don't-- they rush past her. She heeds them no concern.

It is only when she lets go, that Parker bothers to respond. Her hand, free one, has long been on the hilt of her gun. ]

I have a better idea, which I will explain to you slowly and simply, since you seem to need it, [ Oh, yes, she can be very mature. ] You don't tell me what to do, I keep not giving a shit about any of you and we all ignore each other. Because that's what I'm going to do.

[ She has absolutely no intentions of hearing a counter-argument, clearly, as she carries on without pause or waits to give her a chance to respond, even if her voice is paused and words well articulated, making sure each one lands effectively. ]

And don't ever touch me again.

[ Face neutral, raising her eyebrows as if putting an end to this conversation. ]

[adamance]

[Somewhere in there, there's a flicker of sympathy. It's unrestrained, because no matter what practice Lexa has had at keeping up walls with or without a symbiote inside of her, she's not as good as she wishes she could be. Those images aren't ones she fully understands, right up until the end, almost until it's an answer to it all: loss. Lexa understands loss. Could she have ended up like this woman if she hadn't had to shoulder her people's future? She thinks she may have. But then, it had been Titus who had taught her that love was weakness, and she only gained that lesson as a commander, as someone who could endanger people close to her.

It's no matter. It's not a conversation that she intends to have today, even if there's a flickering of a dark haired girl in her mind, with long braided hair and dark solemn eyes.

—And then it's gone.

The insults feel empty. Lexa doesn't spend a whole lot of time worrying about the state of her intelligence. Besides, the Mountain Men had viewed them as inferior, as savages. She's heard it all before. She's carried it all before. It's inherently unnecessary to consider.]

Those who don't adapt are the first to meet trouble. [In any situation. Treating others as if they're enemies will only lead to more problems. It had taken Lexa far too long to learn that lesson. Adaptation had to move in several directions, rather than just one.]

And those who are ill-fit for this life will be taken care of in the end. [She offers these words with a raise of her eyebrows, as if she's showing that she, too, is just as able to communicate with them. The words are rephrased, but it seems as if she's reiterating a point someone else has made. ("Seems" may not be the right word. "They were something Cathaway had come close to saying" is likely more accurate.]

Don't throw away your life because we're an inconvenience that you're afraid of.

[There's something about this that makes it clear that she really just wanted the final word. Lexa really does exude the training of a leader who expects to be listened to, and that's something that will take a terribly long time to go away.

She does begin to leave, though.]

[unfavoured]

[ It is not something she wishes from anyone, much less these strangers crawling around in this place-- sympathy. The one thing that she wants to be given is apparently one that seems to be difficult to come by. Privacy. Nobody is too keen on that here, as it seems. Which only gives her a bigger reason to try and master the art of getting people out of her head, as soon as possible. She doesn't want anyone looking into her life. It's hers and she has no plans of sharing it in the least.

Parker gives her a big eye roll, almost like a petulant child, annoyed, tired of these sermons. It is pointless to offer kind words or sage advice to a person that is not going to listen to them. She has made up her mind already, and Parker is one of fixed ideas. Stubborn and unmoveable. Stares at her when she is done talking, slow blink, not unlike that of a judgemental cat (you could most likely draw a cartoonish comparison between the two). ]

Wow, you really do believe the bullshit you're vomiting, don't you? [ Her tone isn't so much mocking as it is flat, which, all things considered, do give it a bit of a judgemental tonality. ] You might want to tell it to someone who is as devoid of opinion as you are.

[ Literally a fight over who gets the last word. Someone bring an adult that can put an end to this. ]

[adamance]

I believe in surviving. [The latter half of Parker's opinion doesn't make a lick of sense to Lexa. "As devoid of opinion"? Does she think that Lexa is only saying this because she's given herself over to the Nest? It's an odd interpretation of her motivations, and she does nothing to clear it up, instead acting as if those words were never said.] You would think that since you've come here, that you would believe the same.

[It really is a matter of getting in the last word, and she knows it's unwise to continue bothering with responding. Lexa has already seen people fall into comas and one has died. It's an unpleasant reality here, and one that she fears: the control that she loses with that eventuality is something she doesn't like.

But even more than that, she does believe that some people are just lost causes. If this woman is like that, then maybe they'll all be better off with how she's chosen to present herself.]

[unfavoured]

[ Parker was halfway through going back to her path, but the mere assumption that is spoken by Lexa makes her halt. Stops her footsteps, slow and precise. Shoulders tense still, but something to them-- a rope being stretched thin, sudden and vicious, a tug from contempt and dissension. But the way she holds herself, the way she stands and turns to her, you would think there is nothing of that. Just a faint pulse she does not control well yet that signals her ill temper, settled sickly in her chest. Barely contained thing. Growing, growing, growing. But she pulls more chains around it to keep it down. Pushes a harder and bigger shell to muffle it. ]

Don't assume to know what I'm here to do.

[ It is not her death she fears. A self destructive little thing, all tight from sickening guilt and the inability to let go. ]

Just because you're part of some hivemind mentality doesn't mean I'm going to follow the same path you freaks are. I'll keep my own for myself.

[adamance]

[Lexa turns to offer her a look, and rather than sticking boards up around her mind to try to block out Parker, she lets her disbelief leak out. She is not someone who trusts others easily, and her willingness to work with the people here is because she sees them as tools. Her training as the leader of her people has made it so that she has a hard time seeing people on an equal level, and it's only through some effort that she's accomplished it in even the slightest bit.

All of this is clear (including the part where she's a leader of hundreds of people, albeit more distantly, more abstractly) should Parker wish to recognize it. She's not forcing it, but the idea that she's a part of this "hivemind" mentality almost amuses her.]

You resent your situation. By simplifying it, you think yourself above it. You make everyone your enemy. [She refuses to say the words "you're wrong." Anyone who's spoken to Lexa here either through her own pushy and domineering way of having a conversation, or through trying to get to know others (often in the same manner), would know that she doesn't trust others easily. She doesn't take things at face value, choosing to question what she can. Her views evolve because they have to evolve, but she keeps much at an arm's length.

Clarke had once said that it's hard for her to trust others. She's had to accept that she can see most of the Hosts as valuable assets. That's trusting them, at least to a degree.

(A number have gotten past that barrier. A very, very small number.)]

I'll gladly be your enemy. Better me than the rest of the Hosts. Please, continue to attribute all your assumptions to me. ["Please," no matter how flatly she states it, is said in a terribly condescending manner.]

i am so gomen about the lateness of this i am an industrial sized garbage can

[unfavoured]

Oh, don't worry. You're not that important.

[ She says, flat, no tone to it, eye on her. She could not care less for either the rest of the hosts nor Lexa.

Much like her however, Parker does not trust people. Never has; recent years have shown that it is a death sentence to trust anyone that you do not know for years and even then, the people you choose to come close to have to be carefully handpicked. Parker has lost too many of those to rely on anyone else but herself - and if this was a truth she abode by back home, in here it is worth twice, if not more, as much as it did back then.

There is very little you could do to make Parker the least bit agreeable to the situation, if anything at all.

Last words or not, Parker decides it is high time to just stop indulging this woman, whoever the hell she is (does not care to know, even if the pulsing possibility in the back of her brain could make it so easy to connect and would be something so natural to it, but Parker rejects and refuses it violently). ]

But you could start being my enemy and piss off.

[ With that, she turns, and doesn't seem the least bit inclined in coming back. ]

shhh no you are not

[adamance]

[What Lexa does to her enemies is hardly obvious, hardly apparent, but she does not let them live for long. She is hardly martyring herself here. She only wishes to relieve the Nest of their frustrations so that they can actually complete the mission at hand. In no way has she ever acted nobly for the sake of everyone just for the sake of nobility; even now, she knows that what she does will benefit her people. Should their true Enemy grow more powerful, it will be a problem.

It occurs to her to boast, to project an image of the countless enemies she's killed, but she chooses not to bother. Why try to raise herself up any further when she already believes in her superiority?

She watches Parker's fleeing back and then turns, heading deeper into their maintained floor of living quarters.]