[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

[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- ]

[incinerates]

[ For a moment, he thinks that the music-man is going to comply. And he should, because Bakugo is the one who's come to him. He's the one that brought water, his concern ( though it comes in the form of their mutual need for secrecy and subtlety -- facts that have been drilled into him by more than one annoying member of their team ).

And then Gildor starts taking off his robes. ]

Oi.

[ Hey. No.

Immediately, he's all hands on deck, shoving cloth back into place with a strangled, alarmed sound as he takes hold of another fistful of cloth -- this time, Gildor's head coverings, and practically shoves them messily back in order. He's stunned. Flabbergasted. Drunk hosts are bad hosts! Being drunk is dangerous! Wow!!! ]

If you're going to start that, I'm bringing you back to the barracks. Come on, let's go.

[ Tug tug. Let's go for a walk, Gil... ]

[perroquet]

[ He's suddenly being manhandled, and reactively pulls back, struggling futilely against him. But then, Gildor belatedly realizes that he's been saved. Of course, they're not in the barracks and he's not supposed to remove the robes. He can still hear the chatter of the locals still feasting nearby, the sounds blending with distant music and crashing waves. His hands come to settle over Bakugo's, a faint gratitude trailing from muddled thoughts - and some rather brutally honest words- ]

You're... you're a better lad than he was anyway, Bakugo. Cruel as it is to say...

[ Then he's being pulled up. Borderline blackout as he is, his movements are slow and staggering, balance near nonexistent. He leans heavily on the boy in place of his staff, which is- ]

Where... where is my staff?

[ Somewhere in the sand, blending in. ]

[incinerates]

[ If given an inch, Bakugo will control everything. He knows best, he's the smartest - it's always been that way, and right now, it's being proven to him. Gildor is drunk and someone has to keep an eye on him. He's sure that there's brood that could do this, maybe someone more hospitable than he is, but he's the one here right now, and he can't turn his back on this. He wouldn't ( even if, somewhere inside of him, the nastiest, most uncharitable parts of him laugh that it's such a waste of his time -- ).

It's washed aside, when he feels the faint gratitude echo out of the other. The mere presence of it surprises him, mentally and physically. ]

Man, you don't know what you're saying.

[ He brushes it off briskly, though the praise makes him glow inside. Bits of him light up -- the good and the bad. His pride and his heroism, fed into by a sliver of something gentle and appreciative. ]

I got it, I got it. [ He does; fumbling through the sands to find Gildor's staff.

This is the second time he's lead him from the sands, but this time he holds his staff -- doesn't trust him to be able to keep his grip on it, because Gildor feels like lead all over. Heavy, with drink and whatever feeling led him to this point. This time, Bakugo wedges himself -- broad, strong shoulders and steady arms -- under Gildor's arm. ]

Who're you talking about, anyways?

[perroquet]

Shinji Ikari. [ His voice is soft, quietly punctuated with loss he knows he shouldn't be grieving over. Though the subtler nuances in his tone may be lost, now that he's hoisted up beside Bakugo's ear perhaps they'll both have a better time of it. ]

He wanted nothing to do with... this. [ He gestures vaguely at nothing with his free arm, and widely - nearly off balance again if not for Bakugo holding him up. ] May the Artist watch over him as he slumbers with... with the rest of them. Bloody sleeping curse it is...

[ The last sentence fades to a bitter mumble as they begin to trudge, once again, away from the sand. ]

He cared not for anyone but those of his own forsaken world also trapped here. But you... you and I have no one from our former lives. This is our world now, Bakugo. We must not be so selfish.

[ He says, as though he hasn't been incredibly selfish tonight. ]

[incinerates]

[ Shinji. The name doesn't ring a bell, not even a little. Another "lad" -- a kid? The kid from the beach, the one with all the shells and the stilted, hollow way of talking about things. Scolded him for pushing a girl into the sand. Like this, with Gildor balanced across his shoulders and his drunken slur directly in at least one of his ears, he picks up on things better. The frustration inside of him ebbs a little, and he strains to keep his ear close to where Gildor's mouth is. Just to -- just to pick up on what he's actually saying. ]

You smell like a winery.

[ He's heard his mother tease his father like that, after a long, fond night in -- spent passing a bottle of cheap wine and beers back and forth. ( They're so in love, it's gross. He misses them. ) ]

I like it that way, [ it's a small thing to admit, as he jostles Gildor as gently as he can, trying not to jar his booze-rotted guts as he repositions his weight. ] It means I did the right thing, when I lured that thing away from my world. [ Selfish. It was a little selfish, but the thing was calling for him and him alone, it wanted him, the way the League had wanted him. Probably caught sight of his little fit during the Sports Festival, for all he knew. Stupid. He'll go back, once he's beaten the shit out of That Thing and every thing that ever thought it'd be a good idea to fuck with the "nest" members. ]

Why are you so upset, if he didn't even like you?

[perroquet]

[ He lets the winery comment slide. It's entirely fair, and his own nose is clogged with far too many smells to make a short comeback. Instead he ticks them off mentally, muddled thoughts open to Bakugo if he wishes to listen beyond the use his ears. Wine and liquor, seawater and smoke, chemicals and sweat, night air and heat.

They trudge a few more steps together, the silence punctuated by Gildor's breath. It's gone heavy with effort, though the ground is steadily becoming firmer and easier to walk upon. He takes his time to answer, thoughts and words dragging along as slow as his legs. ]

Because... of the symbiote. Because it comes with pre... predetermined ties to it's brood, and those ties are family. When it is near them, it rejoices. When they leave it grieves, and you grieve with it. It is artificial in nature, but... it is impossible to ignore.

In that way, it... it gave me a sense of what it is like to have a family... for the first time.

[ The words slip out before he realizes, though when he does he can hardly bring himself to care. Alcohol has made his tongue slick with truth. ]

Do you have a family, lad?

[incinerates]

[ It's a fairly bland comment, compared to the rest of their conversation -- a petulant thing to say, for petulance's sake. On Gildor, he can smell the wines he's imbued himself with, the sand heavy in the creases of his robes, the smoke of the fires as it wafted up and over the beach. Sand gives way to solid ground, and Bakugo rotates them in a slow circle -- keeping an eye on their surroundings, maneuvering them to avoid prying or wandering eyes. ]

I have a mom and a dad.

[ Though he snarls the words -- an overflowing of defiance in the face of the concept that a symbiotic relationship could be forged in place of the relationship he has with his parents -- his voice is hoarse. It cracks in places it shouldn't. On the first 'm' in 'mom'. The 'a' before 'dad'. A subtle quiver in his throat. ]

I won't let some weird brainbug replace them. It can suck it up and deal with that, we're already doing enough, having it live inside of us!

[ But, for someone who has been given a family, through the connection... it must be a wonder, to feel that comfort. He tries not to consider it, he's never been very good at empathizing with anyone else. ( It's why he failed his licensing, in the end, because opening his heart to someone in a vulnerable position was practically begging to be fucked over. All he had to do was WIN, WIN, WIN. A nonstop missile, a powerful emblem for an era that he had-- he'd just-- damn it. ) ]

-- sorry. About Shinji. I guess if I lost my mom or dad, I'd feel the same way.

[perroquet]

[ There is so much that can be said and empathized with here. Drunk as he is, sorrow flows freely from Gildor - heavy as his weight on Bakugo's shoulders. His heart aches when the boy's voice fluctuates with the faintest notes of pain, not just for him, but for the parents he's left behind. How devastated they must be - though he doesn't vocalize the thought, or even think of it too solidly. Bakugo may not be good at empathizing, but he isn't stupid - Gildor doesn't need to point out that his family must be missing him terribly too. Because if anything was conveyed through his angry declaration not to let the symbiote replace his parents, it was love.

Deep down somewhere dark and childish, Gildor is a bit jealous of him for it. Yet he is also grateful that even his artificially manufactured grief for Shinji might come close to anything familial. It's validating after all the bad choices he's made tonight. ]

Thank you.

[ He trudges alongside for a few more steps in silence, a few more beats, before adding- ]

I pray you never have to feel it, though it seems every brood is effected in... in time. Even if you're a strong one, better prepare yourself for it.

And I am sorry too. We can... we can drink to them! Shinji, and your mother and father, back in the barracks if you like.

[ Because the bad choices don't have to stop here! ]

[incinerates]

[ The weight of a drunk, and the weight of his sorrow is enough to slow Bakugo's pace. He practically drags Gildor and his grief across the sand, onto solid ground, pausing when he has to redistribute the weight he's carrying and press back against the sorrow. Inside of himself, he flexes against it. Tries not to throw up walls of heat and gouts of flame to keep the other at bay, the way he's been practicing - it's hard to resist, because grief is infectious and it reminds him of the way he feels ( useless, stupid, helpless -- ) way deep down where he's buried it. ]

I don't care what the symbiote needs, I don't plan on getting close to my team.

[ "Team", not brood. Giving in to the telepathy is as close as he wants to get to touching the dangerous depths of that connection. ]

They're all weird, and I hate them.

[ Some of them, he's on neutral terms with. Most of them, he's just mistrustful of. ]

Gildor. I'm sixteen. I can't drink, it's illegal.

[perroquet]

[ Even now, with his brain functioning at half capacity, Gildor comes to two conclusions. The first: that Bakugo has already lost to the symbiote. Here he is helping someone he's only met twice and knows so little about. Someone drunk and pathetic who isn't even brood, and Bakugo is practically carrying him on his back, uphill. He goes on about how determined he is not to form bonds with his brood, and Gildor quietly listens. Even if the feelings for his brood are neutral now, Gildor knows time will change that. He didn't particularly care for Shinji either - not beyond the virtues of him being young and inquisitive - and now here he is, back in his worst habit over the boy's absence.

But he says nothing on that first conclusion. The second, he merely points out- ]

Not here it isn't.

[ Let that sink in, Bakugo. You are not in Kansas anymore. ]

[incinerates]

[ That couldn't be it. Altruism was a virtue that many, many kids his age actually, genuinely possessed. They were from an age of heroes and icons of peace, of justice. Helping someone out was as natural to some as breathing. While Bakugo had never been a helpful individual, he could rationalize his actions now -- and to give his innate drive to be the best hero over to the symbiote would shatter him.

He can bond with who he wants, especially if they're not "brood". It's why he hangs out at the docks with Voyul and Th'eru so much, lingering in the company of two raucous sailors more than any other, for now. Until they all have to move on, and he leaves them behind. ]

Then, let me make myself clear - I won't.

[ Bluntly, as he shifts them closer to the barracks, reaching out with the hand clutching Gildor's staff in it. Just a few more feet. ]

Isn't it embarrassing? Knowing there are things you don't want other people to know, but having no way of stopping yourself from saying them?

[ At least with the mental link, one could muddle it. A little. Not completely. ]

[perroquet]

[ He's quiet again as he considers, thoughts chugging as slowly along as his feet. This entire situation is embarrassing enough without each of them being able to glean insights from the other, and therein lies his answer. ]

At times... yes. Actually, when you put it that way... it's a lot like being a little drunk all of the time! The truth just slips right out. Ha!

[ They are all of them as inescapable from the truth of each other as a drunk is brutally honest. Gildor chuckles his way right into the curtain of the tent, mildly surprised at their arrival. Normally he's straining to be hyper-aware of his surroundings, but tonight he'd turned that concern off. He'd turned a lot of concerns off, but there's one he's coherent enough to make up for- ]

You're a good lad, Bakugo. I apologize if I made you feel pressured. Besides-

[ He brushes a flap of the tent out of their way with his free hand, then immediately goes to his veils, yanking them off eagerly. He's grown hot and stifled in his own 'winery' smell, and his hair falls freely over his shoulders. ]

-there is more to do with alcohol than drinking it. Ever made a... a bottle into a bomb before?

[incinerates]

Ugh. Shut up about it, it's fine.

[ The words are harsh, but his tone is mild. Almost shy about the way something warm and pleased blooms in his chest and the back of his mind; the gratitude goes a very long way, in a very short amount of time. It's funny, maybe a little stupid of him to feel this way. It's not like he's conquering anything, just dragging one of the drunk hosts out of public view so their mission is compromised. ( See, he wants to shout, don't lecture me. )

He lets Gildor go, once the tent's secured, and watches him pull of his disguise. Layer by layer. He looks different, than Bakugo expected. He was thinking he'd look like a composer. Salt-and-pepper, a neat goatee, the planes of his face hungry. Not like this -- fey and pointed, but unsurprising. One of his classmates is literally the invisible girl, and another one is a bird. Appearances aren't concerning to him. ]

No, but I've heard of it. Haven't got the need to make other things into a bomb, generally. That's what I do.

[perroquet]

[ If it weren't for that tone and that underlying warmth, Gildor might've been put off by the harsh words. What a gift the symbiote can be when reading the subtler nuances in people. Like he said, the truth just slips right out.

He slips off the last outer layer, pulls off his gloves, and eases down onto a cot. Whether or not it's actually his he'll find out later, or perhaps not if he's sound asleep enough. ]

Yes, well, it's always good to... to be prepared. Why I carry at least three extra strings everywhere I go. Where is my... my case any-

[ He starts to idly question, the faint idea of getting some practice in just barely coming to mind when suddenly - his stomach lurches. Something about laying down again isn't agreeing with him, and his nerves are shot cold. Embarrassed but careful, Gildor slowly shifts to his knees. Slower still, he crawls off the cot and over towards a curtain, where he can feel the shape of a chamber pot.

He just barely reaches it before retching into it. ]