[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

[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.

[redheadcarrier]

You don't know the first thing about me.

[ Asuka retorts with a muted grumble She's keeping the knife, though, and she follows him toward the vessel he's clambering on to. She isn't quite sure where she's going to end up yet. For now she's sticking with him, despite their differences. ]

But apparently you're ready to judge me, anyway.

[ He can't see the way she rolls her eyes, but he can probably hear it in the tone of her voice. ]

Get off your stupid high horse and wake up.

[incinerates]

[ The wave of hostility that emanates from him dares her to keep it up; to keep on pushing back like she has any moral ground to stand on. Like her murderous little hands mean she's somehow got the right to tell him off -- like he can't judge her, for what she's done. It blasts back against her, hot and sudden, where he's the epicenter of a swift, merciless detonation of disgust. Killer. It's enough of an answer. ]

No. I have no desire to settle for living on your level.

[ He's fine, right where he is. ]

Turn your attention to the hunt, I'll school you later. It's going to be dangerous enough, without being at one another's throat. Th'eru's been around these hunts since he was "my age", and he knows all the other crews, if you need one.

[redheadcarrier]

[ The feeling of hostility almost bowls her over for a moment before she remembers to push back. She's all defensive, jagged edges. Anger and hurt and wariness at being called some sort of murderer. At being told that she was wrong to try and live. It's less heat and more a sensation like broken glass or concertina wire. Barbed and strangling. ]

No. You don't get to judge me without knowing anything! You don't have that right...!

[ She hates this. She doesn't need or want his approval but the idea that someone could form an idea about her because of one sentence, one word, one idea - she hates that. She's been pushing back against that her whole life, trying to find a way to make the world see her on her terms instead of their own. ]

[incinerates]

[ She bites back, whenever he pushes himself towards her -- all teeth. He could respect her for that, if he didn't hate everything about her ( that's a lie, it's always a lie; he doesn't hate her, he just hates what she's done ). So, as she raises her voice -- out loud, not between minds -- he leaps from the boat. Comes down close to her and takes her by the wrist with a belated, sharp shh.

He'll take her down towards the edge of the docks, where the crates and equipment are stacked high to be loaded onto the boats, where prying eyes and ears are fewer and far between at this wee hour. ]

Fine! Fine, [ if it keeps her from blowing her top ( e tu? bakugo ), he'll hear her out. ]

Go on. Explain yourself.

[redheadcarrier]

Hey-!

[ There's an objection as he grabs her wrist and starts to drag her and she yanks her arm back - but she still follows, refusing to let the sudden second-thoughts stop her from following through. He doesn't have a right to judge her, she thinks, but just as surely, he doesn't have a right to know anything about her. She's scowling under her veils, trying to think of what she's going to say. She hunkers down in between a pair of crates, arms folded across her chest.

Defensive. ]

I was a pilot. For an organization.

[ The name isn't important, but it still creeps into her mind, flickering across her surface thoughts, mingled with the image of a cockpit and a massive red war-machine. NERV. Unit-02. ]

We were supposed to defend the world from monsters. Angels. But apparently we should've been worried about people, because they're the ones who decided to try and kill us. All of us.

[ The memories are more fragmented. Bits and pieces. A darkened cockpit. Fear. Fear and self-loathing and then a surge of confidence and violence, brutal and quick and full of action and adrenaline and the knowledge of victory. ]

They brought an army. What do you expect me to do? Let them wipe me out? It was them or it was me - and I chose me.

[ And mingled with the words are flickering images from a cockpit. Attack craft swatted out of the sky. Missiles and bullets and explosions - and strange, white war machines that match her own. But it's all jumbled and messy, clouded by time and adrenaline. ]

If that makes me a monster or a murderer, fine. But don't - you don't get to sit there and tell me I'm horrible because I wanted to live!

[ She keeps her voice low, but every word carries weight and anger and resentment and a creeping fear of being judged and found wanting. ]

[incinerates]

[ He enjoys none of what she tells him. It's complex, a world too unlike his own -- devoid of heroes, full of archaic concepts like "armies" and "monsters". It makes him think to his classmates. The invisible chick. The kid with the bird head. Various forms of "human", and he wonders -- nastily -- if Asuka and her kin would think of them as monsters.

She calls herself a pilot, but that word has already been wrapped up in Shiro's image. The image of a vast mecha-lion. ( Cool. Very cool. ) And his mind and body recoil from what she's saying. Armies. People, killing. It makes them all wrong, all killers and villains. A dividing line that he draws between himself and the knowledge. ]

Don't put words in my mouth, you don't understand a damn thing.

[ Though he snarls his words, there's something quivering in his voice. Confusion. A heart that knows good from evil, become unsure about a new awareness. ]

There's nothing wrong with wanting to live. All life is important, all lives should be preserved. There are so many other ways to confront what could kill you, and come out victorious. That's what heroes stand for -- they're the ones with the power to choose who lives and dies, and they choose life every time.

[ He sighs, and covers his face with his hands, leaving the space where his mouth would be uncovered. There's no need to muffle what he's saying. ]

Being unable to find a way isn't your fault. It's just your weakness.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka is acutely aware of so many of her own faults. She's always second-best. She tends to rush things. She has a burning need (desire) to find perfection. She fears others. She fears bring hurt. She loathes herself, hates what she is and wishes she was so much more. She doesn't see being willing to kill people who wanted to kill her as a weakness and underneath her veil her eyes flash and her face goes pale and before she can really process it, she indulges in the anger.

It's a lance of emotion and her hand comes up and around in a stinging, open-handed slap aimed at his face. ]

[incinerates]

[ There's a spike of anger, and in the moment it takes him to realize it's from her and not him, her hand has caught him across the face. Tangled into the layer of cloth and jingling copper metals that decorate the folds. It means he doesn't take the brunt of her slap, but she definitely hits hard enough to sting. ( It was inevitable, really. He'd shoved her, she'd hit him. Maybe now they were even. )

It's just -- he's always been so good at hitting people where they hurt, and then beating the shit out of that spot until he's won and they've lost. She's easier to hurt than most, because he knows where to sink his fingers in and really twist. It's in all the same spots where he aches and bruises over. The pride, the impatience. The temper. The absolute RUSH of adrenaline, the hunger for a win. The need to not be second-best, to not be surpassed. ]

It's not your fault for ending up in that position, it's theirs. You're just a kid.

[ The way he says it doesn't make it a kindness, but it's better than "murderer" or "killer". ]

[redheadcarrier]

[ He is good at hitting people where they hurt. And he's managing to do it again. Her palm stings where she slapped him and the force of it is still running up her arm when he hits her with something that hurts her more than his last comment ever did. She sucks in a breath and steps into him, all fire and hurt and anger. ]

I'm not just a kid, you idiot-!

[ She reaches up as if to shove him. ]

I'm not a child!

[incinerates]

[ Her hands rise, as though to shove him -- they're on the docks, one of them will misstep eventually and end up in the water. He can't let that be him, his robes'll take forever to dry and it'll put him out of commission. So, he moves. Into her space, pushing her wrists up with the flats of his hands. It brings them crashing together, puts them scant inches from one another's hidden face. So what. ]

You really want to do this right here? Right now?

[ No way. ]

How about later, you damn brat? You want to step to me, we can handle it where nobody'll see.

[redheadcarrier]

[ Asuka grinds her teeth. She'd prefer to do it now. To yell and scream and make him understand. To shove him right onto his stupid butt and maybe that would jolt some sense into him. He's right, though. Her fingers flex and she stares at him across the gulf and she finally yanks her hands away with a tug and steps back. ]

Fine. Later.

[incinerates]

[ It feels weird, being the guy who advocates waiting, instead of throwing down right there and then and really showing her who's boss. He's riding a wave of something, though. A long, tense something that began back home and has carried him along throughout this mission. ]

I'll see you later. Don't fuck up.

[ It's the nicest of wishes he'll send her along with, as he backs off from her and immediately climbs into the boat he's been hanging out on. ]