[mission: hyrypia] big, but not coarse - merely on another scale

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: Everyone
WHERE: The Red Coast
WHEN: DAY :036 - DAY :037
SUMMARY: A multiverse away, new hatches wake on the Station. On Hyrypia, the Garstall hunt begins in earnest - and wraps up with terrible consequences.
WARNINGS: Animal hunting and slaughter, death, Bad Times at Ridgemont High. Need something added? PM the mod account!

STATION 72
DAY :036

THE HATCH - NEW HOSTS
YOU WAKE UP and the universe and you in it are altered. --No. That's not right. You're you, the universe is as it's always been, and there's no 'suddenly' about it. But it's been a while, hasn't it? It feels like waking from a very deep sleep or coming up from the darkness of some wine colored sea. Nothing is different and yet everything is.

You find yourself lying in a small, hexagonal chamber with a gentle light emanating from its walls. If you were injured during your escape, you're now healed. If you were anxious or frightened or distraught, those feelings have been calmed. There's something peaceful about waking up here - like you belong. That feeling persists until you disconnect the IV running from the base of your neck to the chamber wall.

Then things get loud. A wave of emotion fills that peaceful void - fear, uncertainty, relief, a sense of purpose or loneliness or anxiety. A matching dread. An easy comfort. Some of these emotions might be yours, but they can't all be.

Eventually you find your way out of the pod, having found whatever belongings you brought with you and a change of crisp white clothes in a cubby near your feet. Once you descend to the Nesting Deck, you’ll find you’re not alone. There are a handful others very like you here, all of them somehow intimately familiar.

Welcome to Station 72. Beyond this room, the vast Station is quiet and still. It feels for all the world like a shell for some vast dark thing.

EXPLORE the strange environment you've found yourself in. The Station seems to be both infinitely vast and strangely small. It's possible to wander along halls and through chambers for hours, only to turn a corner and find yourself in a place you've already been because your mind happened to think of it.

PREPARE for what's to come. Not long after your arrival, a pair of aliens arrive in a dark ship bearings mission kits for everyone. Get changed into your disguises, brush up on your mission briefing, and ask what questions you have while you can. It isn't long before you're loaded onto the ship and leave the Station behind.

HYRYPIA - THE RED COAST
DAY :036

A CALLING
A FAMILIAR FEELING to those that know it is sign enough that the elder hosts must depart to fetch whoever it is remains on the station. But this time, it's not just two of them that strike out under the cover of night. Instead, all four of them make their way from Whalsome House.

( We will not be gone long. ) Collector’s voice is a cheerful lilt in their minds as she gathers a book in hand. ( Try to have only pleasant stories for me, when we return. )

And with that Rhan, The Collector, Siva'co and Lyr are gone. They take with them the comatose Hosts and leave the rest to their own devices.



HYRYPIA - THE RED COAST
DAY :037

THE HUNT
DAWN BREAKS over a coastline already bustling with activity. The day has finally come to take those long boats out beyond the shallows and hunt the massive serpent-like Garstall in earnest. A familiar horn is blown and anyone who wishes to participate files down onto the beach and is divided into groups, a dozen or two people for each boat. There's a celebratory air to the whole affair, a true pleasure in taking the boats out into the sea. For all that the Barithian Hunt was anxious and quiet and tense, this is is a day of laughter and shouting and singing rowing songs as the boats slash their way through the open water toward the massive creatures roiling through the deeper water off the coast.

SHORT HANDED might not be the first thought that comes to mind on the bustling ships, but at some point during the hunt it becomes clear that Keya isn't present despite the fact that she's been attending every training session. Should anyone ask, one of the Descendants confesses that Keya skipped the hunt because Shee Naraxa secured a meeting between her and the heads of House Tyrisson concerning "her peace talk idea." The news seems to surprise one of the other Descendants; while it’s difficult to read her expression, it’s clear this is not what she expected to hear. She remains tense for the remainder of the voyage.

FINDING THE GARSTALL is simple enough for the experienced sailors of the Red Coast. They look for signs where the water’s color is more pronounced and where the waves seem to stir in unusual directions. They direct those who have less to do with controlling the fickle vessels to keeping a weather eye out for these signs, and to let out a cry when they spot them. Once a Garstall is spotted, all the nearby boats must rally together to take it.

ONCE SPOTTED what had been a pleasant but almost routine sail becomes something far different. Orders and directions are shouted down the lengths of the vessels. Hunters are armed and those in charge of ballast set to their stations.

The boats maneuver incredibly well for their size, their narrowness slashing through the sea to close on the Garstall that has risen near the surface. The beast is huge - larger than any single boat. It's like a great tree come to life, a twisting trunk of a body in the waves. The ships cut in separate directions, and when the signal horn sounds then the hunt truly begins. Hunters begin to hurl harpoons into the waves, aiming for the Garstall's sinuous body.

When the harpoons find their target, the whole boat shudders and tips. There's shouting and some laughter, the eager deck hands compensating for the drag of the beast by sliding weight across the deck to the opposite side of the boat. On one of the boats, a line snaps and sends the ship springing back the opposite direction - several of the sailors thrown into the water even as the hunters lose their footing. On another boat they fail to slide the ballast quickly enough and the Garstall wrenches them forward as it attempts to dive, leaving the other two boats attached to the beast attempting to compensate. On still another boat, they subdue a smaller beast much more easily. Sailors line the boat's side as one of the crewmen slides down the harpoon line, knife in hand to finish the job.

It’s a chaotic experience - but a successful one.

RAISE A BLADE, RAISE A GLASS
IN THE AFTERMATH of the successful hunt, the Garstall's massive carcasses are dredged up into the shallows. It's hot work to beach the massive animal. Once it's in the foaming purple surf, the most delicate parts of it must be stripped from the carcass before they can rot. The harvesting of the fat under the Garstall's heavy plates can wait, but the exposed flesh must be stripped promptly to avoid rot. Luckily, this work is done under the guise of celebration and the result is half slaughter and half bonfire beach party as night falls over the Red Coast.

BUTCHERY might not be the right work for everyone, but the locals leading the task are good natured and encouraging.

FEASTING on the sweet meat of the Garstall is a given. Huge slabs of meat are roasted over equally massive fires as the work is completed. Drinks are passed around. Music is played. Fashionably late, the heads of Tyrisson House come down for their manor (for a split second in the company of Shee Naraxa before she peels away to join the rest of the Descendants) to give another cheerful speech. The work is hard but rewarding, and for a moment the tenor of this place is so very good.

A DREADFUL DISCOVERY
BUT A MONSTER IS HUNTING and just after the speech, a horrifying sense of dread grips the Hosts. It's sickening - a vomiting, visceral wrongness that reaches out of the universe and finds the symbiote and the Host mind and sinks its hooks there exactly as it did that night on the road from Naerstone. Should anyone follow that dreadful sensation, they'll find themselves in the twisted orchard near Tyrisson House, mist clinging low to the ground in the chilling evening, lit only by a pale moon. What waits for them there is a pitch black circle scorched into the loamy earth - so exact and so precisely like the one discovered so many days earlier. And near this perfect circle: the broken body of Keya, her throat split open and blood still wet on the ground.


NEW FRIENDS (OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES)
NEWS OF THE MURDER SPREADS and all the envoys are encouraged to return to their quarters for their safety while those in the employ of Tyrisson house secure the area-- encouragement which turns to insistence until all the members of the Envoys have returned their respective housing. Lights are lit in every courtyard and at every corner. Tension runs high. During this time, as the Hosts wait in their own row of Whalsome House's low stone buildings, company arrives:

A VISITOR arrives with a special request. An older Descendant wrapped in a heavy cloak with a deep hood comes knocking. When she reveals her face, Lakshmi might recognize her as Keya's aunt. "My name is Casiria," she says. "I believe you knew my niece."

It’s clear from her demeanor that she has far more to say before she goes.

FAMILIAR FRIENDS in the shape of newly hatched hosts and your senior chaperones arrive not long after Casiria's departure. They find their way to Whalsome House in a hush, having apparently faced some difficulty in dodging the added security. Better catch everyone up quickly.

---

((OOC Notes: This log serves as a general catch-all for events from DAY :036 through DAY :037. Please feel free to create your logs outside of this one, though we strongly recommend not forward-dating to the following morning. Please be aware that in the context of this log, new Hosts won't be present on Hyrypia until after Casiria has left. 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

casiria | day :037

[onemind]

((ooc: this thread will be a free-for-all with no set tagging order. please try to keep conversations with Casiria to one thread, but feel free to split off into side conversations with other hosts!))

[She stands for only a short moment in the doorway before casting a glance over her shoulder and moving fully into the room, out of the sight of anyone who may be looking this way from the other stone buildings. Perhaps it's done by accident, but she'd positioned herself so no one could possibly catch sight of her from any window, even were they were not covered.]

You will have to forgive my intrusion, but I believe I can trust you to help me.

[Her voice is low and brittle, but unwavering despite the fading signs of recent grief on her impassive face.]

backflips in

[deployed]

What do you need?

[ Action is a relief. It's easier for Bellamy to make an immediate offer than to try to express sympathy. What good did we're sorry for your loss do this woman? Whatever he felt for Keya, he had to tamp it down and set it aside before it became something ugly and destructive. Helping this woman would be a welcome distraction, even with the riot of emotion from the Nest rattling in his head. ]

lyr/rhan/siva'co/collector | day :037

[isorropia]

((ooc: this thread will be a free-for-all, there is no set tagging order, conversations may split off as needed! Feel free to split off into side conversations with other hosts!))

[The incoming Hosts, old and new, all but trip over Casiria as they arrive at Whalsome House, though given the security in the courtyard there's simply no time to stop a wandering Descendant to ask questions. But once inside? Oh, there's plenty of time then. A silent look is shared between the four of them - more easily read in the second of silence then in their shrouded faces. After a moment though, Rhan speaks:]

My, I wasn't aware we were entertaining guests at home these days.

[There’s a feeling, a bubbling, surprised laughter, as Collector perches on one of the low beds, her hand held to her breast.] ( I do not think the story will be pleasant. ) [her mental tone is unflappably cheerful, chirping, breeze through an open window] ( But I think we would like to hear it. )

[Siva’co folds his arms against the small of his back- shoulders straight, but he is for the moment silent. Lyr clears his throat and promptly begins shedding his cloak and cowl.]

[sistershoggoth]

( We gotta do the guilt trip about this one too? I didn't cause it this time. Don't be blaming me. )

[ Annie Westwind: a picture of sensitivity. ]

ty | station npc | ota new hosts; day :036

[tynacious]

[ There’s someone waiting for you, not immediately outside of your...pod thingy, but near enough. They’re crouched on something you’re really supposed to sit on, but if everyone did what they were supposed to do then nothing would be interesting ever.

This person, Ty, is scrutinizing their palm and spinning a pen or pen-like thing in their other hand, resting their elbows on their knees. If you’ve seen someone try to memorize notes they’ve written on their hand at school, you recognize that facial expression.

Ty looks up as you approach, and gets to their feet. ]

Right, then. I’m Ty, you’re...new here. Mom and dad are busy so I’m on orientation duty. [Clearing their throat, they begin to pace slowly back and forth along the bench-thingy they were perched on, referring to their hand as they speak. ]

You were rescued, this is the nest, you’re a toast--[ They blink, double-check their hand, and correct. ]--Host, my bad. You’ve got a thingy in your brain, no you can’t take it out, if you go back to wherever you’re from they’ll kill you, don’t ask me who they is, it’s just...they. Uhhh and this place is...I already said the nest. Oh, it’s between universes. Got it?

[persevere]

[If this is supposed to be the welcoming committee, Caroline is pretty sure they picked the absolute worst person for it imaginable. If they hadn't already outed themselves as the kid who doesn't want to be here doing this for whatever reason, she would have thought they were new too.]

No, I don't 'got' it. [She makes air quotes and everything.] What do you mean by thingy?

[It's gotta be the source of all the noise in her head, right? Please say yes so she doesn't think she's going crazy.]

[frakkincylons]

[ um you're not his real mom, where's cathaway???

sam stands by watching this new nest-sitter with knit brows, eyes casting from them, towards the walls, towards the other new hosts, and back. how long has he been asleep? also, wow, how dare you call him a toast? sam waits out the speech, shifting from one foot to the other, and nodding, okay, yes, all that seems to be the same as it was before, at least, even if it's coming from a different person. hopefully 'mnom and dad' still means the same people. ]

Not new, actually, but you're doing great otherwise. [ aside from the toast thing, but A for effort, okay? you go, ty, you go. ]

Are mom and dad still on the station somewhere? You know when they'll be done being busy? [ because he maybe has some questions and concerns he would like to discuss with them. a lot of it circles around the 'what the hell do I do now' idea. the two are all he'd known from before that had so little of their brood left. ]

just ilde things

[erbier]

THE HUNT
[ She does not want to be on this boat. She detests it, and that total fear and sickness radiates off of her like a toxic cloud, sickeningly sweet and feverish. She hates it, but after spending all of her time here on the Red Coast hearing from the weavers their fond tales of all the hunts past... She knows too well that it is important to these people.

She quells her terror as best she can... but getting too close to her, to the area of effect that is her symbiote ability, will cause you to hallucinate. To see what her imagination sees in those dark depths: shadowy faces and sharpened teeth swimming round and round in bloodied water. The scent of smoke. An eerie orange sky raining ash. ]

THE FEAST -- THE DREAD
[ She refuses to touch the garstall. She eats very little and then leaves the gathering. She did not care for big crowds, this should surprise no one that has ever known her before. She is alone, at a distance from the group, when something as familiar as dread washes over her.

Her brows pinch, and she lifts a hand to her ear, as if trying to listen to its voice more carefully. ]

( Where does it come from... )

THE DEAD
[ She doesn't react to the little corpse much. She had not been on the planet to witness the events which had tied Keya to them, but knows of her import to the others... ]

I will go shortly, to see who is whispering in House Tyrisson.

WILDCARD
[ Do anything, if you have a half-formed thought and need my help, hit me up! I will make it happen. ]

wildcarding!

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Sam's never sure what he feels about crowds these days. It's easy, sometimes, to mingle among them and have fun, but others, it's too much, irritating or overwhelming, and he breaks free as soon as he can. He's not sure if it's his own fluctuating moods or the nebulous influence of those he's close to in the Nest, but it is what it is.

The feast has already started, though the ones throwing this thing haven't made an appearance yet, and Sam's been more or less enjoying himself. But he feels like he could use something of a break before the heads of Tyrisson House come out and his cover as nobility means he has to be there, and he wanders off alone.

It's then he finds Ilde, and makes his way over to her.

His mental presence has shifted a little while she slept. His shields are stronger, more in control of his ability to widen and narrow his connections to other Hosts - but he's wound deeper into the Nest, and there's flavors of other Hosts speckled in his mind. ]

( How was your sleep? )

Sam Anders yo hey sup howdy

[frakkincylons]

[ᴀ] ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱʜɪɴᴇ (ꜱᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 72);

[ Sam's mind comes back to his body in an explosion of mental storm, a cacophony of sound and thought and being. like the fire and smoke that billows out from the engines of a spaceship, a high functioning machine coming back online like breaking out of a cage. those that had been in the hive before, when castor was whole, - any that had been unfortunate enough to be close to Sam while he fell into Hybrid state - will remember this feeling acutely. those that weren't, well, sorry for the headache. sam's kind of loud.

immediately, it crumbles inward, even as he's reaching out - Jessica, Anakin, Ren, Steve, Ilde. he's only barely able to brush against one of them, and the emptiness in contrast is so, so cold. a cavern collapses in his chest, threatening to pull all of him in, under the current. pieces of his soul, broken or silent, and the pain of the four of them lost only echoing between one point and another - him and ilde, wherever she is in the multiuniverse. perhaps only the thought of her, the sullen girl he feels in his mind like a twin too distant to be much more than a low echo of a being. he clamors like a small, blind baby bird, hands slapping against the walls of his pod, reaching to the base of his neck, hissing as the IV pulls free. it takes an immense amount of effort to remember how to breathe, hand clutched against his chest, but sam's main focus is scrambling his way down the familiar nesting pod, until his bare feet brush the cool metal of the ladder. down he goes, half scrambling, half climbing, until he can peer into the other pods clustered around his.

Jessica, asleep, with all the knick knacks they'd planted around her, bottles of liquor in case she woke up thirsty, which they were sure she would. Steve, small and brittle seeming, but so strong and so brave, a beacon among them. Ren, with the dark hollows under his eyes, even in his sleep he still doesn't seem at peace. And the one left empty besides Ilde's - Anakin. His death replayed in the back of their minds, every second of their waking hours, and in their dreams. Sorrow, regret, disbelief and guilt fill up his mind like a dense fog, choking. It isn't difficult to know what happened. he went under, and while he'd been asleep for who knows how long, the rest of them faded away.

His head bows, resting on one of the bars of the metal ladder, eyes closed for a passing few seconds, but when he blinks them open again, it's a direct line of sight to the cubby beneath the pod, and the motionless, powered down little droid he'd built with Angel during his first few weeks on the station. Reaching out, Sam tugs at one of his little hands. ]

Hey, little guy. Nap's over, we gotta go. [ Time to get back to what's left of his brood, and think of anything more to say besides I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Picking up the droid, Sam cradles him to his chest like someone would a human child, before descending the ladder, landing heavily on the floor before, only to blink up and notice several unfamiliar others rousing. Oh. New people. ] The brain noise'll quiet down, just try not to lose your shit.

[ʙ] ꜱᴜᴩ ꜰᴀᴍ, ᴡʜᴀᴛꜱ ɢᴏᴏᴅ (ʜYʀYᴩɪᴀ);

[ The few Sam still recognizes from before he'd gone into his coma (about 5 or 6 of them total) may get a small wave, or a mental brush in the way of greeting, but Sam goes straight to Ilde, as they have a heated conversation in the corner of the room, ending with her moving away, leaving Sam staring after her like she just punched him in the face.

Eventually, he lets out a deflating sigh, moving back towards the main group of new comers and older Hosts mingling, introducing and explaining. He's never been a particularly shy person, and despite the anxiety and loss that has him digging through his pockets to light up another cigarette, he still manages to sound amiable, if not wry and sarcastic. Friendly, at least, as he speaks up to the group at large. ]

Gotta love family reunions. Anything else terrible happen while I was asleep? [ If the person standing next to him happens to be one of the many, many faces that've turned up since the last time he was up and about, he'll be adding on an introduction, a hand offered for a casual shake. ] Sam, by the way. Sam Anders.

[ᴄ] ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ;

[ idk hit me. sam can be found setting up his small bundle of things in whatever corner of the living quarters he's claiming for himself, a small bag with clothes, knick knacks, tools, a few weapons. nothing very fancy, aside from Daniel 7.2, the little droid he brought back with him from the station. the time he'd been powered down seemed to take some toll on his systems, and he's having some trouble booting back up, so Sam will busy himself with working through his wiring and programming, and trying very hard not to think about the state of his brood. otherwise, feel free to place sam anywhere you like, and if you have any questions, hit me up at wuzzafuzzle. ]

[b]

[earthborn]

Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy.

[She likes a nice handshake. It speaks to familiarity and the human sensibility, which is nice; too many aliens in her life these days. Though in some ways, not enough of them.]

I mean, one of ours died. [There was a whole pyre and a funeral, it was very touching.] You were awake before? We don't get a lot of that coming both ways.

EARLY DAY :036 | OTA, will keep to one thread!

[wille]

[ Her layering tricks upon tricks only makes the concealment overly obvious. It is what happens when even self-deception fails, because she knows too well that she is lying, and knows that nothing could come of this. 

She swaddles Shinji's unresponsive body in robes and veils to make it seem as if he is only sleeping, resting, perhaps only a bundle of cloth, inconsequential. She knows it makes no difference, that it is inevitable he would be taken from her unless by some miracle (there are no miracles) he wakes from his coma and he could laugh at her tears and she would laugh this whole thing away too. And he would be taken away, she knows, there is no stopping it. What matters is what she does, now, it is the one thing she has any hand in. What matters is whether she has given her all to protecting him, helping him, keeping him safe, and if she failed before, she wouldn't fail again.

Misato jumps at the slightest sound of someone approaching, wheeling around to level them with a sharp gaze, heckles raised. A mother protecting her cub. ]

What.

[deployed]

They have to take him.

[ It's not what Misato wants to hear. Bellamy hadn't needed the whipcrack of her voice to understand that she's not about to let go of Shinji without a fight. His mind nudges around the edges of her consciousness, seeking any kind of give without an expectation of finding it. ]

You have to let go of him.

[ If it came to blows, Bellamy isn't sure who would prevail. But he knows that Shinji can't stay with them. He'd heard it from Cathaway herself as they'd sealed the Darkling away. Shinji's mind would decay. He wouldn't be able to survive outside the pod. Bellamy would push that memory over to Misato, if she would have allowed it. ]

BAKUGO & MISATO ( CLOSED ) -- DAY :037

[incinerates]

[ All he knows, is that the sinking, black sensation in his guts is a thing that could be familiar, in another light. ( It feels like All for One; it feels like That Astral-Bodied Freak that ran him out of his world and into the intangible arms of the Station. ) It's sickening, dangerous in a way that reminds him of every other nest-mate who's told him to keep his mouth shut, that they're all counting on being fast and quiet to accomplish the goals of this mission. Reminds him he shouldn't run off alone.

He does, regardless. Because if he doesn't, someone else might and if someone isn't there to back them up -- it'd be bad. Running from danger and dread is not in his heart, nor his soul. It just happens that he lucks out; while he pushes through the trees, diving into the orchard -- the same orchard? he wonders, the one he'd spoken to Lyr in? -- and elbows up against a familiar set of Carbauschian-styled robes. Someone like him, drawn IN rather than warded AWAY. And that's, good. ]

Let me guess -- [ He shoots his mind their way, a bullet fired from a gun: ] This has happened before?

[wille]

[ Misato measures the fear of being seen by Siva'co, back during the dressing down, to this dread and finds the former lacking. Incomparable. It's not him she fears, but this, and she has always sought after that which frightens her the most. Besides, see, she has asked nobody else to come with her, not even this boy she finds along the way. His choices are his own. ]

( Yes. )

[ Crisp, exact. Yes, this has happened in this exact manner before. But her mind gives way to something more vague, a blind reaching in the dark, and she tries to remember the path she took down the orchard last time. ]

( C'mon. We have to find it before it's gone. )

caroline forbes ; ota

[persevere]

THE STATION: DAY 036

[After a rough orientation, Caroline can't find it in herself to sit still, so she explores. They place seems so empty, but it's clear that it shouldn't be, but everything about it feels hollowed out.

She's pretty sure she's never felt more alone in her life.

There's also the fact that she can hear things. It takes her awhile to understand she's not hearing them with her ears, the whispers and mutterings that filter through her consciousness. So when she isn't exploring the ship, she's reaching out with that instead, trying to understand it, until it gives her a sudden headache, as if she's pulled a muscle she isn't used to using.

She lifts her hands to her head as she sits on the floor, rubbing at her temples.]

Crap.

HYRYPIA: DAY 037

[Caroline isn't sure what she expected. After an entire day feeling distant, not to mention a whirlwind of information, she's shuffled off a new freaking planet, which is something she never thought she'd say in her entire life.

There's huge crowds here, though, and once they finally make their way to the Whalsome House, she breathes a sigh of relief. There's some other commotion going on with the people that accompanied them here, but she can only deal with one massive thing at a time.

Things are clearly a mess here and she has to clear her head before she can even think about anything else. She finds a wall to hold up with her back, leaning her head against it, her eyes shutting as more and more voices seem to find their way through her head.

So much for clearing anything.]

day 37.

[deployed]

[ For someone already feeling overwhelmed by the chorus of other people's minds and emotions, Bellamy isn't exactly the best person to come into contact with. He bleeds out what he's feeling at the best of times, a live wire in spite of his efforts to wall himself off. But he's compelled to help. Or try to help. (He couldn't help anyone on this mission so far, and that—)

His thoughts are all colored over with guilt, preoccupied with Casiria. Her face grief-lined face is very clear in his mind as he stop in front of Caroline. ]

Hey.

[ Not the best greeting, but Bellamy doesn't see the need to deviate into niceties at the moment. ]

Are you holding up alright?

[ It's had to suss out the connection between broods. This girl's mind is new and open to him, and if she's linked closely to anyone else, they haven't broken off from the crowd to greet her. Bellamy looks back, then returns his gaze to her, veils pushed back to drape around his throat and shoulders and waits for her to answer without pressing further. ]

ota!

[adamance]

aftermath of the hunt

[Without the trauma of the previous hunt hanging over her head, Lexa finds herself able to enjoy this particular one. Her ease with the actions and the training prior to this moment would have been readily apparent to the other Hosts. Finding herself in this position helps because, if nothing else, she can throw herself into it. Aloy is gone. There's a great deal of things that Lexa herself has had to deal with. And she's only left with wariness and concerns over the rest of the mission, when she would rather bring it to an abrupt close.

(The precursor to this mission, all those days ago, has left her certain that they can skip to that step. Can't they? Why don't they?)

The only part of this that's unfamiliar for her is the boats, but she manages well enough. By time it's all over, she's found off to the side of the moving roves of hunters. Her head cants toward the nearest host.]

( If we can avoid further casualties, we may be able to enjoy the rest of this. )

[Unspoken is this: they may have no choice but to enjoy it. That lingers deep down, along with her paranoia over Rhan's decisions. Or future decisions.]

post-discovery, but before the aunt arrives

[Never one to skip the opportunity to take the floor for herself, Lexa takes the opportunity when she can. It's not out of condescension or out of a desire to have eyes on her: they need to broach the topic of the elephant in the room. The Enemy has just taken out one of their allies, and it shouldn't go unnoticed.

And they do recognize the Enemy for who they are, don't they? There's no other person or people it could be. The sentiment can only be a part of having the symbiote within them.

So, she speaks:]

I believe it may be time to consider that the Enemy knows that we are here, and knows that we have no capacity for discerning where they stand. We need to discuss how we intend to proceed. Among us. Especially since I've heard that some of the newcomers among our numbers believe that they can resolve the situation themselves.

[Lexa doesn't name names. She knows better than to do that again, but she wants them to be on guard when someone might further expose them.

Her suspicions may be wrong, but she hopes to speak with certainty. After all, if they act like it's a certainty, perhaps they will act with urgency.]

post discovery

[ophidia]

[She talks about someone thinking they can resolve things themselves like there's been any alternative offered so far. The whole crew's a mess, disorganised, haphazard in what little work they have done. Richard wouldn't be surprised if someone had decided to set out on their own. It'd just be another piece of the clusterfuck.]

If the Enemy knew we were here, we'd be dead. [Is what he says, instead of addressing the rest. The root of what she wants considered.] That's supposed to be how it works.

[It isn't phrased like a question, but some inference is there. That if she knows different, she should say so.]

Shiro | ota

[shiro2hero]

1) 1st BREAK | comatose hosts | day 36
[Something had to give.]

[Something in all the rigidity, the way he held himself so tightly wound, so closed and shut off. Something had to fracture. To break. The sudden loss of shadows and arrow fetching, of a hand at the back of his head, of something sheltering and holding against a solar flare... it feels like a wall giving way. A hull breach. Warning sirens blaring.]

[He doesn't remember getting to his unconscious friend's side. To Clint's side. Breath shuddering violently and hands clasping tight around one of his -- around limp and chilled fingers. Not dead, he hears himself thinking. There's life here.]

[He's just got to hold onto it. Or else someone else is going to be lost.]


2) HUNT & SUNDRY | day 37
[For the most part, Shiro holds himself back from the festivities. From the bloody hunt and the butchery. After losing someone he trusted that much? After the last hunt went so far off the rails, he keeps himself away from it.]

[Away from a lot of things, actually. His mental landscape locked down tighter than ever.]

[He can be found in the housing area. For the most part. Eyes on the sky. Like he can actually see the station from here.]

Sorry. In your way?

[He'll ask that to almost anyone who approaches. New faces or old, quiet and a little distant-sounding.]


3) 2nd BREAK | Keya
[At first, when he senses the wrongness, the dread, he's cautious. There's a warning to anyone within mental range. But he can't just sit there. He does end up following it -- slowly, carefully, with a constant update and open connection to anyone listening. Every precaution taken.]

[That connection is still open when the scene is reached.]

[When words and images stutter to life in a jerking movie reel of memory as he takes in her face. The echo of her laughter and the feel of her hands and her earnest expression and her voice and her hope and I'm glad that I may come to know you as friends before the Pilgrimage is over and ... oh god.]

[And if you need anything, you know who to call. For someone Lavellan wanted to keep safe -- I will too.]

[The connection is wide open when the hull breaks again. When the hull breaches and the stars pour in like water, air rushing from lungs like a vacuum's pull. The stars flare and burn. Green twists of lightning begin an ominous crackle. And something stirs.]

[It stirs and it is angry.]

[There's nothing to hold it back. I'm so tired - I don't want to lose anyone - I should have - I said I would protect her - Lavellan died - rages and twists and thunders through his head, there, in the darkness.]

(Keya--)

[A cry. A denial. A warning, all in one. One word he can manage before the power in him desperately tries to surge out. To find the one who did this and make them hurt before they take something else away. Take someone else -- take Bellamy or Ilde or Elena or Bucky or Pidge or Sam...]


4) and aftermath | 12 hours later
[The wildcard option. Shiro won't be much for seeking people out, but feel free to find the spaceman skulking around the housing area, trying to keep to himself and probably failing. If you want anything specific, PM me or redfirelight on Plurk!]

day 36 / clint.

[deployed]

[ Clint's slipped away before. This isn't the first time it's happened, but it feels dire now with their broodmates dwindling away. Bellamy wishes he could numb himself to the feeling of loss. It's as if another limb has been severed. Clint had been on the Station since before he arrived. Foolishly, Bellamy expects Clint will always be part of their mission. He holds the same hope for return that he does for the Darkling and the others. ]

It's not permanent.

[ It could be permanent. Bellamy doesn't say that. He doesn't believe Shiro could weather that fact just now. ]

He's woken up before.

[ Hope, even if it feels strained by now. The Darkling had woken before as well, but he hadn't emerged from his pod either. ]

Sam Wilson | OTA + one closed(ish)

[sizeofyourbaggage]

I: Aftermath of the Hunt

[ With Clint gone, Sam's not necessarily feeling all that sociable - but there's no comatose body to guard, nothing to occupy his time, and he wants the distraction.

So he can be found during the butchering, getting some practice with his knife skills in a different way than out on the battlefield. He chats with the locals giving him tips, but if he senses the presence of another Host nearby, he'll reach out with a faint greeting. He can also be found during the feast, talking with those cooking up the spoils of the hunt and trying his hand at it, offering the results to anyone who's nearby. ]

II: CPR Extreme Edition - for Bucky, Mat, Shiro, Elena, and Gildor

[ Sam moves in the moment he sees Keya laying in a pool of blood. If he was doing this as a pararescueman, he'd look closer at her injuries, check her vitals - realize this is a hopeless case, because if he was doing this as a pararescueman, there would be no point.

But he isn't. He looks at her and he sees her earnestness, the way her nose scrunched up when she helped him pick up beads - sees Shiro relaxing with her to skip rocks, sees Nelly's last act to keep her alive. He has to hope that there's still something left of her, something for his ability to latch on and pour into.

He doesn't specifically say what he's intending, but his connection with his broodmates is strong, and the impression of what his thinking is clear across his link with Bucky. They don't have a defibrillator, they need to get her heart going, need a jolt of electricity while Sam gets his hands on her to try to heal her injuries.

Sam drops to her knees at her side, only vaguely concerned with watching out for whoever might be around her at the moment, and sets a hand on his shoulder. His symbiote ability doesn't activate automatically - it doesn't want to, and that should tell him something, but instead he pushes. ]

III: After Casiria Leaves/Arrival of New Hosts

[ It's been - it's been a night. His mind hums with the turmoil of some of the people he's closest to, from unconsciousness and the urge to isolate to reactions of the night's events and feelings about the new Hosts.

But he shuts it down, and the distraction of new people is a welcome one for him. He's never reminded more to keep his connection to the Nest tight and his shields strong as when there's people new to the Nest. He doesn't want to overwhelm any of them more than they might already be.

So his mind's distant, nothing more than a faint sense of wind and feathers, a steady calm. ]

Hell of a welcome, huh?

IV: WILDCARD

[ Have another idea? Hit me up with anything! ]

i. feast!!

[iuno]

[ it's bad enough to be at a gathering with strangers who couldn't care less about Juno Steel's existence; it's much worse to be at one surrounded by people who feel familiar, who want to be familiar to him just because they all got saddled with the same parasite. nobody seems to take the hint of his irritation, low-grade simmering in his mind like background noise. all he wants is a job to do and they keep trying to talk to him instead. but — there is food. and that's a consolation prize that Juno can grit his teeth through just about any party for.

he has a drink in one hand, and he takes a piece of meat in the other from Sam when it's offered to him. makes some indistinct sound of thanks, ignoring the feeling of that Host-to-Host greeting as adamantly as if he's covered his ears. and it's not a plate he accepts. he picks up a single slab of meat, and then he goes to shove it underneath his robes without a word — pauses. frowns when he remembers that he doesn't have any pockets right now. ]

They couldn't put pockets in these things? [ he seems genuinely put-out by it. ] How's a lady supposed to carry anything he needs like this.

[ was he going to shove meat into his pockets and leave? yes. he isn't too proud to admit that. ]

bakugo ( ota + some closed )

[incinerates]

THE GARSTALL HUNT ( WILDCARDS; OTA )

[ ( i. ) Long before dawn breaks, there is a solitary figure at the docks - windswept, binding down layers of Carbauschian-standard cloth with a slender length of rope. In silence, he holds out another length of the same type of rope: I'll show you. I practiced, to make us safe.

( ii. ) Later, the same figure stalks the length of the beach, weaving in and out of aliens and hosts alike with a tall, lean farana in violet-and-gold and a broad-shouldered old-as-hell sailor hot on his heels -- the three of them are calling for someone: Keya? Keya, this is no time for nerves. The trio break, after a while, and enter heated discussions about finding someone to replace the missing Keya on short notice.

( iii. ) And much, much later -- the garstall surface, and the whistle of spears and the cry of hunter-sailors fills the air. In the middle of the din, his mind surges forward. It's the best way to reach a fellow host, when the voice cannot carry: Tell your crew to get their asses over here! He yells through his mind and the other, sharp and pointed, to draw attention to one of the boats which has taken the brunt of a surfacing seabeast and splintered badly. There are figures frantically bailing the boat out, and at least two treading water as it churns: another garstall will be surfacing there, and very soon.

( HMU for specific threads, I'm doing mostly closed stuff this round! ) ]

bellamy ( closed )

[incinerates]

[ -- it's after Keya's aunt leaves them, and the nest begins to disperse for various stages of planning and alliance-crafting, that he seizes Bellamy by the wrist. There's no tact in the gesture, only the bruising force of someone a little too desperate to touch another living being. Out of all of them, he knows the sound of Bellamy's voice. Hardly knows him, as they're not brood -- just tangentially connected by virtue of being part of a whole or something stupid like that... but.

He felt the most honest. His intentions were the closest to the ones simmering, muted and blanketed below a field of brood-forced calm, inside of him. ]

She was supposed to be with me today, [ his mind trips over the thought: small, confused. ]

[greentech]

A Dreadful Find

[ The rising sense of dread almost makes Pidge want to vomit, but she's not about to shy away form it. There's something out there and she plans to take a look, even if it means the potential of danger. She thought she'd be looking at danger to herself - not one of their hosts. Then again, there have already been murders. She should've expected it. The presence of fresh corpse is more than a little disturbing - downright rattling in fact - but she's trying to force herself to focus on what they know and what they can find, even as the sense of panic threatens to squeeze the breath out of her lungs.

Her focus is on the circle that's been burned into the earth. And she tries not to let herself be swept awya by the emotional pull of herself or the people around her. ]

Hey - I need your help.

[ Whoever it is is getting a tug on the sleeve for emphasis. ]

Wildcard

[ You know the drill! ]

[whereabout]

[ Joshua is...moving in the opposite direction, though it's not really the danger or the corpse that he doesn't know how to cope with. It's the press of everyone else's emotions that's a little too much.

Still, he stops when she speaks, because while his immediate instinct is to stay away from everyone, keep his head down, and pray that everyone stops thinking so loud, a task? Okay. Something to focus on, hopefully distract him from - everything, and then when she's got what she needs he can go back to sticking his head in the sand like an ostrich. That could work. ]

What do you need?

lakshmo | ota

[shri]

ABOVE DECKS
It's been a long time since she'd been on a ship. For all England was a naval power, her concerns had been in back streets, whorehouses and working stations. It wasn't since a desperate fleeing from - now Pakistan, so Kaji called it - to Portugal and across the sea to England's miserable chalky coasts, that she had walked the deck of anything... that she hadn't been in the process of burning down. But United India ships and docks notwithstanding...

But she had no reason to skulk, here. The veils settled over her, she spends her time talking at length with the deck hands on the ins and outs of ballistas - old but still usable to her mind. After all - had not the great Shivaji I taken down armies with such things? Not to say of Alexander the Great or the Chinese unifiers that she had been told tales of? To that, there is a comfort. Weapons and weaponry. Trading a reputation she builds on steady action to fill an emptiness she has not stopped to weigh in on since it had happened.

Shinji had no interest in such weapons.

Best not to linger on, so after she's shown, she settles into the work she is comfortable with. Tying off ropes when prompted, hooking off the spare tie off rope by hooking it against her thumb and forefinger and around the bottom of her elbow. Old habits at least, least of which from the sea. Wrapping it over and over again. Until she begins to get towards the end of it and she indicates with a flick of her hand, careful to speak instead of think for the sake of the close quarters with outsiders they were in - "Grab that, would you?"

HEAVE TO
Calm until it isn't, and when the call comes, when the boat shudders and rocks, the roar of the beast and her mind ripples with not an overwhelming fear - but rather, more than anything, a well-worn fear. Of facing something big enough to swallow her whole, big enough to rip her to pieces, and knowing it too can be killed. It seizes her in her limbs, as she feels the ship pitch, hears the excited cries of the men, and symbiote or not, that to her settles more infectious and full in her all her limb.

( "Secure that line! It's got to hold or it'll escape us!" )

And for her part, she snatches at the ballista now unmanned from the men being thrown everywhere. Nothing that ought to be wielded with easy but she sinks inch something clawing and heavy that she draws up and up into her hands, her arms, where muscles lock, shoulders tense and roll back as she shifts the entire thing in deep heaving breaths. Feet pressing in heel down, knees bent and she takes aim as best she can.

( "Reload! Now!" )

The roar of it all is deafening, from outside - the cry of the men, the beast as it crashes down into the water - the shout of her mind and orders - knows how to pitch it, a note thats deep and booming out of her lungs and her mind all at once - but she lives in it, down to the last second. Whole body snapped to one purpose and action:Hold, Hold, Hold.

OVERBOARD
Small mercies is growing up on the edge of the Ganges with a father that never knew how to do instil a ladylike instinct in a daughter more keen to bows and arrows than bows and ribbons that when she sees men go over or another member of the hive, she goes straight after them. Struggling under the weight of bits of timber, or just desperately trying to dodge the Garstall's twisting and turning under the water. As likely to crush and bite in its attempts to free itself it seemed, as was any creature.

The dive isn't elegant, but it does clear her of any nearby mess in the water as she reaches for whoever might be closest to her, hauling them up out of the water:

a ) it's another hive member she's saving, kicking her way through the water, looking through the blur of salt water, reaching out desperately. ( Reach for me.) Her hand looking for anoter's and desperately pulling with that tremendous strength. Until she can get an arm around the chest to hook and swim them both up to the surface.

b ) It's another member of the crew, and she drags them up with her back towards the deck. Feeling them limp in her arms and hauled them out of the water. ( "Grab them, by the shoulders. Quickly!" )

Her patience wasn't her best trait, not by far.

CUTTING IT OFF AT THE HEAD
The whole damn thing doesn't need to fit on the deck.

Just the head.

Just for long enough to kill it.

She grapples with the ropes as they go sliding as crew in turn grabs and loses control of the creature as it does its best to hold off its death and maybe it was cruel - hunting like this - but it wasn't like it hadn't taken its fair amount in return. A smashed shipped, however many drowned men - it was too late to stop now, it would gladly take them down with it.

Couldn't fault it for that.

Just the same as she didn't have the space for mercy and if that mouth didn't get closed and now they were going to have a problem. One she can at least do what she can about with some help.

It's reckless, and it's stupid, but she's got enough to scars to say that she's marvellous at doing both those with great abandon - snatching up a harpoon in her off hand and using the rigging as a climbing point, the other end she mimics her orders of before though now there's a clipped urgency to it. ( "Get ready to hold onto it." )

The shape of her plan is easy - that harpoon is going through that creature's jaw and using it to anchor it straight to the deck.

A JOB WELL DONE ( OPEN + KAJI, RUST, MISATO ?? )
When it's over, she doesn't join in the cutting of the meat, - that was definitely better left to the experts, but she certainly joins in the festivities otherwise. More at home amongst soldiers as sailors, rather opposite to the demeanour she keeps around most. She settles into them with ease, joking comfortably, her tone broad, whole, the thrill of a battle well fought. Trading stories in an easy group with them, though some details she changes for the sake of their cover.

But at least for those of the hive when it is her turn to tell a tale, there's a flicker of snarling teeth that begets the experience she speaks of. The hot eyes in the dark, and the wet warm breath on her skin. Visceral and exhilarating in the fight. Merciless in how she took.

Still, easy to get her attention in the warm afternoon sun, a tap, and she hums with the turn - Yes?

overboard

[redheadcarrier]

Ever since they found the beast, it's been chaos. It reminds her a little too much of their hunt on land - shouts and screams and the high-pitched drumbeat of fear and adrenaline from a dozen different minds singing in her head. It amplifies her own, makes her reactions that much sharper. She's been everywhere, ti feels like. Tying off ropes, catching onto the boat when it's rocked by the thrashing of the great beast they've come to fight. It reminds her of another fight, a long time ago - her first fight - but there she'd had her Eva and here she has only herself.

But that's all she needs, she reminds herself. She doesn't need the Eva to be something anymore. She can be so much more. She can-

Blades and primitive weapons that seem oddly familiar. The slick squirt of blood, the crash of water. It's all blending together. She's on her high, now. Acting and reacting instead of thinking, losing herself in the blur of moments that will come back as disjointed memories later. But there's a tug on her attention, a mental string, and she follows it. Lakshmi is half in the water, one arm wrapped around a limp crew member and Asuka darts over with a length of rope. She has very little upper body strength but she can still help. She loops the rope around his (her?) chest, under the arms, and then then heaves, trying to get them onto the deck.

( I'm trying-! This guy is heavy...! )

Gildor

[perroquet]

❚❚❚❚❚ POST HUNT (ota)

[ With Shinji gone, brood Mirfac is faced with what many hosts already know - that sudden and endless feeling of loss that stems from a comatose broodmate. Gildor isn't one for burying his emotions away, and despite the artificial taste of symbiote-induced grief, it hurts, and he allows himself to acknowledge that pain. It hurts like the day he awoke to find Kagolin gone, and suddenly the pain is compounding with drudged up memories of the past.

After attempting and failing to call the boy back with music and magic, he's grown desperate to find something to fill the void, and quickly. Music has already failed, and half the nest is out to hunt, (including his queen, and what if she were to fall the same way as Lavellan?). So he does what he hasn't allowed himself to do on this pilgrimage, or anywhere else he's been in over a decade-

Gildor steals a bottle of that grassy Hyrypian drink, uncorks it, and finds a spot on the beach to lay with it in private. After a while he stumbles back towards the festivities thoroughly drunk, with less than a quarter of the liquor left in the bottle. ]

One should always be drunk! But with what? With music, with poetry, with love, with virtue, with roasted whale-meat! That is for all of us to choose. Tonight, I choose wine!

[ With that, he ungracefully clamors through the sand and appears to collapse on his back. But he sways right back up, all the while holding the neck of the bottle expertly so as not to spill a drop.

A couple of Tyrisson locals wander past, unable to keep themselves from staring as they dart around him. One whispers to the other- ]

What’s a whale?

❚❚❚❚❚ POST MURDER (closed to Rust)

[ Gildor is mostly quiet during Casiria's visitation, save for the two-second play he puts on. A quick-thinking excuse that should erase one of their more conspicuous comatose hosts, (and potentially cause gossip, though harmless in nature). Even the orchestra in his head goes quiet as he sits back and listens to the mental conversations happening below the surface of the collective, and observes those observing.

No host presides over the meeting more intensely than Rust - his focus sharp enough to draw blood from Casiria over something worn round the Descendent's neck. For a moment Gildor idly and openly wonders if the detective notices he's being mentally watched right back. When no response comes, he guesses not, and goes back to listening. But once the aunt of the murdered girl leaves them again, he rises - moving gingerly because the symptoms of symbiote backlash and hangover are not yet fully cured - and approaches Rust. ]

What was that about?

[ He holds the image of the necklace in his thoughts, though it's Rust's own intensity surrounding the necklace he recalls. The rest are abstract colors he has no names for, the symbol that's not quite right in his mind, and the impression he has a greater reason than curiosity alone for asking. ]

❚❚❚❚❚ WILDCARD

You know what to do.

[aluminumandash]

[ He's almost on top of Rust before his presence goes acknowledged—Rust's off somewhere in his own head, inscribing details into memory. Casiria's glance over her shoulder, the way she'd brought her hand to the pendant at her neck. The flow and substance of her gestures.

And then it shifts. He listens, for once—tries to catch whatever strain of music accompanies the refracted imagery, the hall-of-mirrors feel of his own preoccupations filtered through Gildor. Automatically tweaks the distorted impression of the necklace.

He stops himself from thinking about the bead in his pocket. For now. ] ( Where were you, when it happened? ) [ Not an accusation—a kind of confidence, the feeling of being drawn in.

And aloud, for the benefit of any listening ears: ] Fuck if I know.

( EARLY DAY :037 | OPEN )

[wrackful]

[There'd been no chance of Murphy going out on the hunt. The boats were bigger and stronger than the tiny thing he'd almost died in, but knowingly going out into monster infested waters was a line too close to stupid for him to take.

But he can still help. As soon as the carcasses are dragged in, he joins the locals in starting to cut the meat away. It's hard, messy work - worse in the robes - but it's distracting. Satisfying. A relief from dwelling on the gnawing ache of Seviilia's absence in the back of his head.

The cooking's even better. A stack of the meat (and a few cookery tips) granted to him, he sets up next to one of the fires and starts working through it, talking easy, serving to anyone who asks.]

[sistershoggoth]

[ She's just sitting here and staring at him. Like a creep. You're welcome. ]

[sistershoggoth]

i.
[ She doesn't give a shit about the garstall hunt. But she goes because she's brain-melded to the fucking king of fishing and he gives a whole bunch of shits. More then anything though, really, it's just something to fucking do other than lay around on the beach and drink. And what a goddamn tragedy it would be if she just did that.

She also supposes that she is a pretty strong swimmer and pretty okayish on a boat, so she she should probably come and lend her skills to the endeavor. Maybe try to make sure none of her kids drown to death wrestling a giant eel, or whatever the hell it is they're supposed to be doing.

They'd have to find the damn thing first though, wouldn't they.

In the meantime, she's perched on a crate thinking about how fucking hot she is in her robes. ]

( Think we're gonna have any fuckin' high seas skullduggery today? )

ii.
[ Oh hey, look. They actually caught the fucking thing... She's bruised and soaked from the effort, but satisfied with it. Maybe, she guesses. She wouldn't want to admit that out loud and actually have to deal with Noct's self-satisfaction. ]

( We better eat this bastard and not just mount it or some shit... )

iii.
[ She refuses to go out after the fucking dread cloud this time. It had been a wasted trip the first time, just nightmarish bullshit making every sweaty and delirious with anxiety. No thanks. She watches others filter out of the gathering, that stupid glazed look on their face, and she just pushes more food up under her hood and into her mouth. ]

Fucking idiots...

iv.
[ Back at the Whalsome House... she's probably had enough of everyone's shit. She's hunched over a sketchpad, once Steve Roger's and now hers with him unconscious, and she scribbles in it irritably. Come by, maybe she's drawing some imagery she picked up off of you. ]

v.
[ wildcard, ping me if you need anything. ]

iv.

[detestable]

He was bigger.

[ is Seth's critique, followed by faint irritation. The reminder that memories are slipping out of his head despite his best attempts to barricade them in is unwelcome, even if it's just from Annie. She's not harmless, but she's less of a pain in his ass than the rest of this crew. ]

And don't draw that shit. Seeing it once was enough.

[ Unspoken: stay the fuck out, even as he puts down a glass next to her. ]

Skipped out on the show?

for rogue (closed)

[bracchium]

[With all other obstacles behind him, the Soldier presses onto the next issue: transportation. He can only run so fast for so long and if the desert is any sign, he may be running for a while. His handlers won't like their asset exhausted and covered in sand at the extraction point. His head is filled with familiar, comforting static and the chill of frozen steel pressed to his nerves. His only hand smarts something fierce, but he ignores the pain as best he can. A weapon doesn't feel pain.

Do not fail.

The barracks are largely empty as the soldier moves with mechanical steps, each measured and steady in time with the last. There should be some kind of transportation around here somewhere and the longer he spends looking, the longer he wastes of his handlers' time, the longer he risks not being extracted.

The Soldier nearly tears the door off as he enters, unflinching eyes scanning for any sign of a vehicle.]

[theycalledmeacurse]

[ Rogue had been halfway to where that awful feeling of Dread was coming from when she felt something else — grief, heavy and cold on her mind, an icy anger seeping in over the circumstances surrounding the one who'd been lost. Taken, that connection tells her, murdered, and it's pure self-preservation that has her turning back toward the barracks. She can't handle that kind of emotional backlash right now, she'd only get in the way of everyone dealing with it and probably leak her own grief all over the place.

If she had continued on her way, then she wouldn't have seen a familiar figure heading into one of the buildings. She wouldn't have been able to reach out to confirm their identity and feel... something wrong. That steel is still there, but there's something else, a sense of almost emptiness that pushes her to hurry forward, concern curling up out of her own shielding as she rushes inside just a few seconds after him. ]

Bucky? Sugar, are you alright?

kate fuller | ota

[forgive]

STATION 72 — DAY: 036

[ When the chaotic cacophony in her mind finally levels out to a manageable buzz (at least for the time being), she is able to take a closer look at her surroundings. And more importantly the people who are here with her. Though she doesn't recognize any of the faces — not even the dark figures who brought her here in the first place — but, there's a familiarity, like when you pass someone on the street and you swear you've seen them before. Maybe in this case, she's seeing and feeling something else entirely.

Dwelling on it for too long takes her mind to a dark place, swimming with memories of a girl with a face just like hers damning her from one hell to another. Instead, her focus goes back to the ship, the dull din of space and steel. She explores and follows the sounds, taking her in circles through corridors and chambers. Kate doesn't know what she's expecting to find (answers, maybe?), but anything except emptiness would be a welcome relief.

Eventually, her exploration is cut short and the bustling echo returns. They're all given a disguise, and weapons (the dagger is heavy in her hand), and a mission to carry out. She really has no idea what she's in for — and no choice but to go along. ]

Did you know about any of this? [ It's a question she asks, but she expects one might know as much she does. ]

HYRYPIA — DAY: 037

[ This isn't where she wants to be. But she goes with it, because she knows what it is to survive — though she hasn't really decided if this is quite what she call living.

In a way she misses the echoing emptiness of the ship, everything here is booming and there's a pull that was even stronger than on the station. There are people here she knows she needs to find — not just seeking out an enemy like she was brief, but someone else... It feels like when she was searching for her brother down in the tunnels of the labyrinth. Except she's not afraid.

The scene on the beach is overwhelming yet captivating; something that feels easier to manage behind the heavy layers of the disguise. Though she honestly has no idea what she's doing, and she knows it's a risk wandering around, anyone could approach her. Still, it gives her some time to explore the coast and find her bearings. If she does get a quiet, private moment alone, being as stealthy as she can (or maybe not to any other hosts nearby) she takes to inspect her personal databank for answers she's still looking to find.

Later on, around the fires, there is a rumbling hunger in her stomach; it dawns on her she's eaten in, well, literally months. Though the sight of massive slabs of foreign meat are not exactly appealing. Cautiously, she pokes at the roasted fish that's eventually handed to her. ]

WILDCARD

[ Whether it's day 36 or 37, if you've got an idea that doesn't fit any of the above, especially those in her brood, then hit me with a starter! c: ]

[raw]

[ He feels the pang of hunger like it's his own, which is pretty unusual when his body barely ever bothers him with shit like that. At first he thinks it's a result of using his power for the first time, but when it happens again he realizes it's actually an external sensation rather than a twinge in his own stomach.

He looks up, across the fire, at the other robed figure sitting across from him, and he knows. Just like he did with Joshua, or Hadrian. Knows that she's a young woman, catches the edge of her name, sees her consternation about the fish. Not only that, but the thrum of this newly awakened connection makes him feel deeply satisfied, some rightness slotting into place after weeks where there had been a hole. Their puzzle, complete. ]

( It's not that bad. )

[ As he watches her look down at the hunk of meat someone's given her. ]

( Might be better with a side of fries, though. )

[ There's a shade of longing to that comment; he misses fries. ]

kavinsky | ota

[100mitsubishis]

Day 37 - Feasting

[Kavinsky's never been one of those people driven by consumption of food; the smell of roasting meat can only rouse his interest so much, which is to say, less than pills or tits or a smoking engine. But he's dying for a party, and he's butting right up against that quote about beggars choosing. He chooses to wish the music bore any resemblance to the tracks he would have blasted from mile high speakers at the events he used to host. Yet, he's there, physically at least, his mind bouncing as consistently as his knee whenever he sits.

He fills his plate with remnants of the creature from the red lagoon and what looks to be spiced root vegetables (he can only assume, because he's never really paid attention to the food pyramid).

His tongue clucks against the roof of his mouth as he moves the party's offering around on his dish instead of chowing down. And he might not have meant to let it slip across the mental link, but it's there all the same:]

( How the fuck do we know this won't give us space tapeworm? )

Night 37 - Dread

[He's been told the Symbiote is a bug, a worm, a parasitic hitchhiker that won't go until it's carved out, possibly at the cost of the host's life. So, while he would like to jam a shard of glass into the back of his skull and cut it out, turning the constant static of the others' misery away from the blaring snarl of his own, that would result in death. And he gave up on that whole suicide thing when he took the offer to join spacefleet ages ago. So passe. Yesterday.

But it's so loud. Not only the agony of terror vibrating inside his ribcage, but the answering echo of everyone else's.

His feet move without his permission, dragging him along, but he's on the edge of the orchard before he slams down to his knees. His fingers dig deep into the closest patches of earth. He already popped a pill before, like Advil for a migraine but it should have shut down his ability to feel so much. It didn't. And he knows if he goes any further--

Well, he, personally, doesn't. He throws up.

Knew he shouldn't have eaten the fucking space fish.]

Wildcare

[hit me.]

feasting

[wrackful]

[The question wasn't directed at Murphy - feels like maybe it wasn't directed at anyone at all - but as the nearest of the hosts actually involved in the cooking at the fires, he figures he should answer.]

( Because it's cooked. Parasites don't survive heat, same as anything else. )

[Tone dry, obviously like an undercurrent in the words. He might not have paid enough attention in Earth Skills, but he remembered that much.]

luv | OTA

[memita]

i. day 37 - lurking;

[ Dressing in layer upon layer of clothing, Luv finds, lends her a familiar sort of invisibility. All of her number that sneak into their Whalsome Home accommodations that evening are curiosities to an extent, but silent and withdrawn from the crowd, Luv can be nothing more than another pile of fabric, an inanimate object, watching without drawing specific attention to what she's watching. She can maintain perfect control — at least, of what anyone sees of her.

Her mind, however, is not nearly so well concealed. The nest buzzes all the louder here, sending choppy waves against the battered glass of her defenses, and her own failure to shut them out altogether only strengthens the annoyance radiating off her in return. She is better than this. More controlled. Perfect. She just needs to be perfect. Why are there so many humans here, getting in the way of her being perfect?

Eventually, with a swift snap of movement, she decides to go where there are fewer of them. Outside. Anywhere. There is some value in scouting the perimeter, surely. ]

ii. day 37 - investigating;

[ Luv can't keep her distance forever, though. When the others begin settling in again after their guest's departure and the heated conversation that marked her arrival, the layers of clothes start to come off again. Upon her return to the building, Luv's lingering veils threaten to draw as much attention as they initially deflected. It's inevitable, and she doesn't waste time mourning the loss; she simply unwinds one mask, and dons another. Demure. Polite. If she is to succeed here, she'll need to gather more information. ]

The girl who was killed, [ she asks the person nearest her, or at least the person nearest her who doesn't look like they have cried or might cry anytime in the near future, preferably ever in their life. She has enough feelings already, thanks. ] Was she a valuable asset?

[ Everyone seems very emotional about it. ]

iii. wildcard;

[ give me anything, i'll roll with it. ]

ii / day 37

[ryohji]

[ luckily, a crying man wasn't a welcome sight for anyone, though, and what mortifying un-kaji behavior besides. if he had the mind to bewail the loss of the descendant girl, he would be seeking for her family by now, and he wouldn't be the only one.

here he is instead. the woman bears a familiar impression, and scattered buzzwords (EVA, SYNC RATE, ANGEL, AYANAMI) surface aimlessly only to park in the empty space where a smooth, stolid answer should have been. ]

'Promising' may be the better word. [ steady fingers seek for refuge in his pockets. ] We'll never know now.