[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

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. ]

[deployed]

[ There are things that must be done. Bellamy knows that. Urgency has permeated the links between each of their minds. Somewhere close by, new nestmates are arriving and Misato's emotions are spiking, and Bellamy thinks he should be checking into both but he can't bring himself to shake off the hand clutching at his wrist.

The grief is palpable. Bellamy feels it wedge between his ribs, knocking the breath out of him. ]

( I'm sorry, ) [ Kneejerk, passed between their minds. ] ( I'm sorry, Bakugo. )

[ They should have protected her better. But Bellamy had never predicted something like this happening. He'd thought if there was going to be a strike or retribution, it wouldn't be directed at someone who was so obviously not a threat. ]

( I'll stay with you instead. )

[ Not much of a substitute, but Bellamy wanted to think his company was better than being alone. ]

[incinerates]

[ There's a lot going on, and for good reason. They'll get something out of this -- right? They have to get something out of this, or they're just letting people die and they'll end up calling it "acceptable". No amount of life lost should ever be acceptable, he refuses to believe in such a cruelty. He won't support it, not ever. ]

This is so stupid, [ the words bite, lacking his usual heat: ] It's not your fault. I'm the one who told her I'd watch out for her.

[ Stick with me, and you'll be fine. His words echo back, bouncing around his brain and into Bellamy's. ]

This is my fault.

[deployed]

( No, it's not. )

[ The thought is solid, unwavering as stone set against Bakugo's guilt. ]

( She was...trying to do something good. It was dangerous. And what happened isn't your fault. )

[ Bellamy's thinking of Lexa, of how she'd tried to broker a peace and suffered for it as well. He remembers Clarke screaming in Niylah's bedchamber and has to turn his mind away from it all. He doesn't want to think on that now when his attention should be on Bakugo. ]

( You can blame the person who did this to her, when we find them. )

[incinerates]

You don't GET it, [ he was hoping that Bellamy might. Out of everyone who spoke, he seemed the last wrapped up in what could be gained in the wake of such a terrible thing. The most focused on the life that had been extinguished by some cruel hand. ] She was alone. I left her alone. I trusted that a bunch of war-minded politicians would care for her beyond what her life and her voice could gain us.

[ This is absolutely his fault, no conviction of Bellamy's will strip that from him. ]

-- I don't care, about what you all do to complete this mission, [ a burst of heat, muffled under the hazy sensation of his broodmate's stifling, softer presence. Elliot and Hadrian did a number on him, to keep him so subdued. ]

I won't get in the way. I just want to do right by her, Bellamy. This place sucks, she was the only thing cool about it.

[deployed]

( I think whoever killed her is the person we were sent down here to deal with. )

[ It would be nice if things wrapped up that neatly. Bellamy isn't sure if it's better or worse if the Enemy was responsible. ]

( I promise you, I want that. She deserves justice. Getting that for her is the right thing to do. )

[ In spite of all the time spent with Lexa, all his attempts to see more than just his own emotional reaction, Bellamy still believes this. He would have sworn himself into Casiria's service no matter what it cost them. ]

( But if we screw up this mission, a lot more people will die. We have to balance it. )

i

[redheadcarrier]

I don't need you to show me. I've been practicing too.

[ Maybe she shouldn't be so quick to retort or sound defensive, but she remembers their first conversation and how horribly that went. Despite her words, she's working on tying her own knots and making sure everything is secure. She's planning on going out. She's going to hunt. And this time no one is going to die. There are little flickers leaking through her thoughts - memories of a broken body flying through the air, the painful nausea of having a vibrant, living connection suddenly stop. She's going to make sure it doesn't happen again.

She's going to win. ]

You're not the only one who can do things, you know.

[incinerates]

Can you do it without murdering anyone? 'Cause I'd sure love to see it.

[ His hostility towards her is without filter, swirling within his chest like a snake that's been poked and prodded at too many times. The words are sharp, they're meant to hurt if he can hurt her, even as he cautiously binds his robes in a way that folds them over to continue the illusion that he's alien-shaped, not boy-shaped. ]

Just --

Here.

[ From the depths of folded cloth, he draws a heavy looking blade -- curved and toothed, made of what looks like old garstall bone and flips it, holding the sharp edge between his fingers as he holds it out to her. ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ She's working on binding her own robes up. Meant to hide that underneath them, she's a coltish, slender teenager. One still growing and changing and struggling to find a place. Cover the physicality and make people see what you want them to see. She's had practice at that, but never quite like this.

Her response to his hostility is just as hot, just as twisted and jagged, ready to tear where it finds purchase. ]

I never murdered anyone. The people I killed were trying to kill me.

[ It's a sour retort, but at least she pauses when he makes the offer. For a moment, she's wary. Then she reaches out and takes the knife, balancing it in her hand. It's not quite like a prog knife (there's a ghost of a memory, of holding something similar, but it's an echo of an echo). Heavier. Weighted. ]

What? Do I get to keep this or something?

[incinerates]

Fine, it's not textbook murder. It doesn't mean you're a good person, killer.

[ The tune changes, but the beat goes on. Her hands are covered in blood, and he's shoved her existence into a corner -- a more civil one, but one that doesn't change the fact that he thinks less of her for what she's done. It's a black and white thing, the way he thinks, but there should always be a way around killing someone. That's true strength. ]

It's for cutting rope, I got it off of Voyul. [ The image of a farana, tall and strong, in violet-and-gold. One of his crewmates, it seems. ]

In case you get fucked along the way, you'll be able to cut yourself loose. I have another one, so you might as well keep it on you -- the blades we got assigned as part of our equipment aren't going to be useful out there. If you get tangled in the rigging or in the rope, it could kill you. So don't get caught.

[redheadcarrier]

Whatever. Dumbass.

[ The hostility isn't quite as directed and hot and fresh as it was on the beach. She can bury it for now, for the sake of getting through this. She's not going to let herself fail. She's not going to let the mission fail. And maybe more importantly, she's going to make up for Lavellan's death. She fingers the knife and then slides it into her belt, so she can get at it easily. ]

I didn't know you cared.

[ The tone is a touch mocking, but it's tempered by the grudging words that follow. ]

Thanks. I guess.

[incinerates]

[ Speaking mind-to-mind is a concession to make, for privacy and distance. Here, with her besides him, he recognizes his lapse -- the way it could weaken him in the future, and he clears his throat. She's close enough that he can speak with her, as he swings a leg alongside the wood of the vessel he's assigned himself to, and folds rope end over end along his wrists. ]

Weren't you listening? I don't want anyone else to die.

[ With every word, there is the sense of firm steps, a chin lifted in pride. A refusal to allow anyone to tell him that this is an inappropriate or senseless belief. Nobody should have to die -- no mission should ever be so important, or pursued so endlessly, that life cannot be preserved. The lives of the team, or the lives of the aliens. So what, if it's harder? So what? ]

I don't care for you, but it's not like I want you to get hurt.

gildor ( closed )

[incinerates]

[ i promised i'd build off of this part of gil's timeline of events, so here i am ]

So, why were you being so ridiculous earlier?

[ It's not a question, the way his words weigh like a judgment upon the music-man's current state. He'd thought him a merry one, but not one to pickle himself with heavy, youth-forbidden drink on the beach. Bakugo finds him, presumably after several others have, and his hands are filled with food and additional drink - this time, of the non-alcoholic variety. That he seeks Gildor out, like this, is enough to speak volumes of how he regards the man with a mind full of rustic tunes and elegant notes. ]

You're going to get sick, if you don't eat something. Come on, don't make me carry you back to the barracks.

[ Perhaps that "something" ought not be roasted meats, heavily spiced to his own liking, but they're the best he's got on hand. They're also made by his own hand, because he's not inept at cooking -- not even when it comes to putting meat on a spit and turning it steadily. ( At least the local lifeforms had a fairly similar way of cooking. ) ]

[perroquet]

[ The approaching footsteps are indistinct to him in the sand, the way stuffing a pillow over one's head makes it harder to hear, or how the veils constantly over their eyes make it harder to see. It's worse now, with his veins soaked in liquor, but that was also the point. To feel less of everything.

But he remembers the voice and the name attached, even through the fog of drink, and that's a feat - Gildor doesn't commit every voice and name to memory so quickly. The lad struck a chord, and his thoughts puzzle through the haze to strike it again- ] ( Bakugo. )

[ The first question is disregarded. It's an answer he'd rather not face at all.

The smell of smoke and roasting Garstall meat is heavy on the beach, but down here lying in the sand he was almost free of it. Now he's being offered some - again - and he heaves a dramatic sigh. Griping the empty bottle by his side, he rolls away from Bakugo, sand running down black robes as he explains- ]

Can't eat meat. I've already had my dinner. Fer... fermented grapes, or whatever this is... was. Find some... some more of this, will you?

[incinerates]

[ The first part - where the music-man says his name, mind-to-mind - he catches. The rest of it is stammering, stumbling drunken ramblings that he strains to pick up on. It's frustrating, to say the least, as he sets the platter of food aside on the ground and moves forward across the sands to Sir Dramatique. He accepts the empty bottle from him, and then pointedly sets it aside, exchanging it for water. ]

Are you doing this because you're celebrating, or because you're sad?

[ Contrary to the symbiotic link, he doesn't always understand what others are thinking. ]

I'm a minor, I can't touch alcohol. I brought you this instead, 'cause I'm charitable like that.

[ He remains there, crouched in the sand before Gildor, elbows balanced on his knees. ]

[perroquet]

[ He avoids the emotionally charged question a second time, but for good reasons. One: he doesn't want to answer. Two: Bakugo's second statement makes him balk, though slowly. He lifts his head, brows furrowing under the veils in confusion. ]

Bloody hell, of course miners can touch alcohol... they'd go mad if not, 'specially dwarven ones. Makes... makes sense for you what with the... explosions and all. Noble profession. Messy.

[ He lifts a hand, and after a few misses, pat's the boy's knee approvingly. But it's just more drunken muttering, and his head flops back down to the cushion of sand. ]

Said I can't eat meat, but... thank you. Enjoy it for me.

[incinerates]

[ What. ]

What. No, minors can't have alcohol -- what are you on about?

[ Dwarven minors? What kind of fantasy-realism world is Gildor living in, right now. He's rambling, and Bakugo is straining to catch what he says, the bits and pieces of conversation that they're trying to have. It frustrates him, more and more, and his voice grows tight and his sentences clipped. Leaning closer, until he's walked his upper half out towards Gildor to snag at fistfuls of his robes, tugging. Incessant. ]

Water. I got you water.

[ He clarifies: ]

Water. You'll make yourself sick, and it'll all end up in your robes.

[perroquet]

[ Before he can clap back with an equally incessant 'what are you on about' Gildor is aware he's being gripped by his robes and shaken lightly. Jostled and lectured about making himself sick by a teenager. He scoffs - as if he wasn't as renowned throughout his country for his music as he was for holding his liquor.

Though Gildor finds the boy makes a couple of valid points, as his stomach indeed threatens to fulfill this new prophecy with a lurch. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol in something of a decade, and it's already taken less than he remembers to get to this point. That and if he were to get sick, it really would be a mess in these robes, wouldn't it?

So Gildor places one hand on Bakugo's and that fist full of robes and slowly, gingerly pushes himself up to sitting with the other, muttering more indiscriminate things, but in an approving tone. Water's fine, but he'd rather not be sober. Once those fists have eased off him, he begins to clumsily unravel the outer layer of his robes, starting at the head- ]

i

[erbier]

Bakugo?

[ Her soft voice calls from behind him. The costume of the Carbauschians hides her form, but it is still entirely too easy to imagine her calm, polite expression, her blonde hair in the wind, blue eyes sad, hands folded neatly in front of her. ]

What are you doing here, all alone?

[incinerates]

[ The voice is a familiar one. With it, he knows her shape - the way she looks, the strikingly remote expression on her face. She's the "sleepy" girl, the one who he can't get a bead on, because she's so -- she's foreign to him, deeper in the nest than he thinks someone ought to be. ]

-- Ilde. [ Her name comes to him, after a moment. He's surprised by it. ]

I'm getting ready for the hunt. I'm... just always up early -- it's habit, easier to keep on a habit than let the world find a new one for you.

[ He fights back, in littler ways than most will ever see. ]

[erbier]

My... that is very devoted.

[ Is that what he wants to hear? A note of approval for the ways in which he fights back against the world? ]

I would have merely assumed you were excited for the outing.

[incinerates]

[ He couldn't care less, if anyone approves of him. Other things matter more. ]

That too, I guess. What're you doing up so early, then? You don't seem the excitable type.

[erbier]

[ Too cool for school, this little firebrand. ]

I don't sleep much.

[ She never has, and while she knows there is a minimum required for health and sanity, she does not make any attempts to sleep beyond that. ]

And I like the mornings, when it is peaceful.

[incinerates]

It's nice.

[ Even here, on the docks - looking out at the red water, looking beyond to the distant horizon where the sun will eventually rise.

Quietly, he shifts himself over -- leaving a space on the edge of the boat for her to sit, if she wants. Or something. ]

You're going out too, right?