ACTING ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOR,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Welcome to Jhashch.
WHEN? The first three weeks of Spiderland!
ANYTHING ELSE? Please warn for anything besides physical violence and move to a personal journal if it's beyond PG-13.

EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD;

There's a room where the light won't find you

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

DEPARTING BASE

PLEASE ASSEMBLE FOR TIME-STEP AT 0600. ETA 0900 LOCAL TIME.

The call comes a day in advance, warning that it's time to pack and brush up on your datapack before everyone heads out. Remember to act with strength, as if you're always prepared for a fight. As per etiquette training, recruits are to speak and act on behalf of COST, to declare their side of the war superior to the Regency's. There is no such things as too much boasting in the coming political summit.

You're to appear in dress uniform—for once, skulking and hiding is unnecessary—and form five rows of ten in a facsimile of a proper army, for one last dust over...and one special appearance. Grothia and Young appear openly for the journey as your Commander and Scout, dressed in their officer uniforms. Grothia is her usual put-together and stiff self, but Young makes a different sight, markedly non-feathery and distinctly human in shape; she cuts a slight figure next to Grothia, with a hood that casts her face in shadow.

She holds herself with the necessary poise, but doesn't seem the least bit happy about it. If anything, she seethes, even as she stalks down the aisles of recruits to distribute night vision goggles. The spiders like their lairs dark, after all.

And, once the numbers are cleared: the time-step begins.

» THE TIME-STEP

The transfer begins like a vibrating heat on the collar bone, just a hum of sensation.

But the vibration spreads. Veteran COST soldiers often refer to this phenomenon as "the buzz". The feeling builds, not unlike standing near a great engine or the wind-rattled branches of a massive tree. There is a long moment of motion sickness and you can't be sure if the world is shaking you from the inside out or the outside in. It may be better to close your eyes against the growing nausea, as the world blurs out of focus.

A star shines in the distance. You may hear the faint rustling of leaves. Some swear they hear voices in this moment, indistinct words echoing off nothingness. Others say they feel a touch of the divine, that the eyes of the eternal look down upon you. Ancient bones rattle just out of earshot, cold and brittle and nothing more than the suggestion of sound. Or maybe it's only an illusion, brought on by the powerful technology grafted into your skin.

One thing is for sure: One moment you are here and the next you are not.


THE ARRIVAL

The first day in Jhashch is a fast-paced affair, laid out from start to end with particulars. This is your time to shine, COST; first impressions are the most powerful ones. So stand tall and, if you feel queasy, at least wait until your Aranean greeters turn their backs to vomit. Though expect judgment for such a grotesque show of weakness.

The destination this time isn't a field or a ship or crammed in a corner; no, for once recruits arrive in a bustling terminal, in the same lines they departed BASE. COST is welcomed off a round platform—and there are others like it, used by Araneans and humans and more, to vanish and arrive with nary a second glance—by a female Aranean, with a data screen in one of her four hands. The arm is clearly cybernetic and old enough that she's accustomed to it. She steps forward and her dress drags with seemingly impossible weight, far too heavy for a human. Rich orange silks trail behind her, rustling with movement.

But more notable is her tremendous height and many eyes. She dwarfs everyone present: at three meters, she is lean and powerful. Her multifaceted gaze, however, focuses on Grothia. She bows, first, but only to Grothia and Young; it seems no one else is worth noticing for the moment and, in turn, Grothia and Young bow back.

"I am Lady Tchuul, a daughter of Matron Nkouk's first clutch, of the house Chchai. I welcome you on behalf of the royal family to Jhashch. We will guide you to your quarters." Two male Araneans come forward as she speaks. They're easy to identify; unlike Tchuul, they're in human disguise and only two meters in height. But they match her dress, suited in the same rust-orange as their lady. "You will receive the list of events for this evening from another guide, who will come later this afternoon to collect you for the Royal Family's banquet."

Grothia replies with pleasantries, thanking the Royal Family for the invitation and the House of Chchai for welcoming and honoring COST with their presence; Young, meanwhile, still simmers. The male Araneans don't speak and the Matron's daughter never seems to acknowledge their existence—but she does notice COST's male recruits. There is a moment where she looks past Grothia with her many wet black eyes and something subtle twists unpleasant when she lays eyes on them, like she's seen something particularly distasteful.

But she looks back to Grothia only to say, "If you will, please, follow me."

Grothia's hand lifts, two fingers up in military singling as she points first up and then directly forward. Fall in, they're moving out.


IN RESIDENCE

The terminal is in the outermost layer of the Third Ring, with wide windows that face into the unforgiving Jhashchan landscape. Lady Tchuul leads the recruits through these halls, giving them glimpses of everyday spider life—at least for the upper class and their servants (often uthcki, but sometimes human). It's another half-hour journey on foot into the Second Ring, which is more of the same, but tighter, denser, and with the occasional trip over bridges that gives way to dizzying views of Ymir's bones, mined far below in the unforgiving landscape.

But at last she brings COST to their quarters, a rectangular villa that faces into a courtyard. The courtyard is filled with bright alien flora; at its center is a sculpture of a blindfolded female Aranean, with a large beast at the foot of her robes. A few tame skrit chri roam its confines; they're all young, standing only a meter tall. It paints an almost idyllic image, if not for the relative darkness and high vaulted ceilings overhead.

The building is open and intimate, almost delicate in it's furnishings. Each member of COST has a room that opens into the courtyard, featuring a large four-poster bed, a desk, and a set of drawers. Cleaning and laundry is handled by human servants; notably, any attempts to speak to them fail. By and large, they avoid your eyes completely. Forcing conversation turns into blabbered apologies and an attempt to flee.

Take note: these are the spies you were warned about during training. It's hard to turn a corner without seeing one of them here and they stand out all the more when labor this menial is typically performed by uthcki. Araneans, if asked, will claim it's for the comfort of their guests; most humans find the uthcki uncomfortably uncanny valley.

A set of male Araneans guard the outside of the villa, under the pretense of ensuring COST and the Regency play nice while in Aranean territory. If the groups are to shed blood, it's best done in a manner appropriate to the land they're visiting, right?

After more greetings—and yet more bowing—recruits are left to their own devices until the banquet. You're given relative freedom in traveling the Second and Third Rings, though you'll find the First Ring—where the Royal Family dwells—impossible to access. If you attempt to travel the other way, Araneans will find it odd you want to leave the innermost Rings at all; most spiders spend human lifetimes trying to kill their way into this sanctum.

However, if you aren't interested in leaving your quarters, you aren't left bored. A small troupe of musicians appears around midday, sent as a gift by Matron Nkouk, consisting of a singer and a few instruments. They set up in the courtyard by Grothia's invitation and play until an hour before the evening's activities. They fill the air with traditional Aranean music, which remains soft and sweet. They're most definitely more spies—each day someone new will idle their hours away near COST's recruits—but there is no way to refuse them without being offensively rude. So Grothia keeps them where everyone can see them.

At this point, everything is about managing what is heard by whom.

» THE THIRD RING

Should you take to exploring, whether before the banquet or after, you'll find tall, powerful Aranean women walk the Third Ring, dressed in long, elegant day clothes and with one or two servants behind them. Others travel in carriages with glass windows, pulled by hhcho. The architecture varies; some buildings are huge mansions, bustling with people and extending onto bridges, sometimes even over the top of the street. Others are more modest in size, if not in decoration, and give the appearance of interconnected terrace houses.

The facades of the houses are intricate stone and metalwork, featuring effigies of Araneans and their servants. Some carved murals depict the Great Consumption: Araneans attacking, defeating, and eating their creators. Others have weapons carved into archways or around window frames, with mock lines of spears to make up fences. Some show unity and pride with their family house written in intricate letters.

But one thing, however, is the same to them all: like the courtyard, there is a statue of a female Aranean on every corner and gazing down from doors. Her eyes are always covered by a sash of highly expensive material and her lips are painted in a faded red that sometimes drips from her mouth. Some of the wealthier houses hang their statues with heavy, valuable jewelry; others include the beast seen in the courtyard, seemingly poised at her fingertips. Veteran COST recruits may recognize the pose and motif of the statues, for they are the Watcher and the Hunter, insofar as the Araneans have interpreted them.

For recruits particularly sharp of eye, you may notice that, unless it's a statement of power, servants are kept out of immediate sight. Peer a little closer and you'll discover they travel through small corridors secreted into corners, connecting huge mansions.

» THE MINES OF YMIR

The Second Ring is marked by huge bones growing from the massive ravine beneath Ythaway. They go on for miles and there are no railings; it should go without saying, but don't fall. The false atmosphere humans need to survive ends only a mile down. In some areas, it's possible to make out the remnants of steelwork, once the foundation of the labs, or lower class spiders nimbly leaping through the cruel space to mine the precious resource.

And throughout it all, even the most nonmagical, sixth-sense blind can feel the pulsing of life. When passing through earlier, Lady Tchuul explained this is all but an extension of the palace itself; lesser rooms for those outside of the immediate family and Great Houses, who vie for rank in the inner circle. And there are many of them, moving through both the streets and glimpsed through the windows of the formidable houses.

More than that, news of COST's arrival has spread. And with it comes a far more unwelcome feeling: intense scrutiny.

It might not be more than a whisper, or a look given askance by one of many sets of eyes. But whoever they pass and however they do so: COST operatives are quietly, subtly, addressed. Some of it's favorable, while others regard them similarly to Lady Tchuul; the higher ranking spiders have no issue displaying open disgust, based on gender and magical ability. Others, female and artificial, are given more appraising looks. Even in exchanging glances, hierarchy is everything and the spiders will readily single out potential victims.

THE HIERARCHY

Recruits of artificial and magical origins will find it most difficult to get around without attention; their presence is almost magnetic to the spiders, who zero in with astounding accuracy. Anywhere they go, they'll be hounded. While male spiders will largely refrain from entangling themselves in COST's affairs, aware they're socially outclassed, Araneans are not a shy people and aggression is always the name of the game for female spiders.

They find this trait desirable in their consorts as well. Especially in a show of physical strength; the bigger and beefier, the better the meat, after all.

» ARTIFICIAL

Artificial recruits—even men—will find they gain easiest access to semi-restricted areas with the least questioning. The problem lies in using this as an advantage; artificial individuals are constantly observed and judged for their strengths and weaknesses. It's nigh impossible to slip away and the Araneans are merciless in their questioning.

The nature of your origins, your augmentation; if it pertains to your artificial condition, they're eager to hear about it. It may be best to exercise your storytelling abilities to satisfy them. In return, Araneans readily brag about their genetic history, including that of their ancestors; those lower in rank will readily use the conversation as a leg up in the race for power.

» NATURAL

Almost always overlooked in favor of their company, natural recruits have their work cut out for them if the spotlight is something they want to earn. Aranean eyes practically slide right over them; only their dress separates them from servants in the arachnid worldview.

Natural recruits who attempt to approach an Aranean will often be met with light surprise. Male Araneans are more receptive to conversation, satisfied by holding rank over someone natural, but keeping the attention of a female spider will vary from individual to individual. The staunchest followers of the hierarchy will utterly ignore attempts to communicate, but more liberal members may ease into a conversation.

» MAGICAL

A constant reminder of hunger and treated as such, Araneans instinctively loom over magical recruits. Magic exists for Araneans to mine and consume; it automatically marks the life attached to it as prey. It's a difficult stigma to overcome, but power and viciousness is key. But this victory comes at a price; should a magical recruit gain prestige, it doesn't so much put them on par with natural or artificial recruits as it makes the Araneans ever more enthusiastic about consuming them in the event of defeat.

Araneans are willing to converse with magical recruits, if only to assess their weaknesses. They love the thrill of a good hunt. Male Araneans are again more likely to be civil with those perceived as lower than themselves, but they too associate magic with food. Consequently, recruits of this rank are at highest risk of death, especially if their aggression is subpar.

» HYBRID

To be unique is not a good thing in Aranean society. Hybrids aren't meant to exist, aberrant to both the artificial and magical. They'll find themselves barred from locations just as often as magical recruits; the scrutiny they face is less vicious than that experienced by the artificial and less predatory than that of the magical, but they'll face a constant air of suspicion.

Hybrids will have the hardest time performing their diplomatic duties; Araneans shun anything that doesn't fit their defined hierarchy and find this mix particularly disgusting. But while hybrids are derided and treated like something diseased, they're also the least likely to be eaten. Even if they kill a hybrid, many spiders consider the victim tainted meat.


FROM GAMING DENS TO THE CROOKED ROCK

Whenever recruits are given leave to engage in entertainments—or perhaps sleuthing—they'll find a slew of activities in the Second Ring of Ythaway. But remember there isn't a word that the Araneans won't use as blackmail, especially when COST is causing a bit of a stir.

But to help maintain appearances, each COST recruit receives a small, gold disc, that looks something like a coin; it works akin to a credit card and provides the holder with a small splash of cash, amounting to a grand total of 500 CCs (cross credits, roughly equivalent to $1000 or €800). There aren't any rules as to how you spend it—and do not ask how they got these funds, thanks—but Grothia makes it abundantly clear there won't be more coming, so spend wisely. And not on, say, your weight in jelly babies. She also advises you keep it on your person at all times; she refuses to be responsible if Young steals it out of sulkiness.

The Siopai is a series of shops and entertainment venues; the most popular and easily accessible in the Second Ring. But it's also wealthy, impossibly so, and the problems begin almost as soon as you're there.

While a disturbing amount of purchases and services in the innermost rings are simply out of COST's price range—at least not without intensely pooling your credits together—sometimes it's not even easy to walk into a store. Almost all of the shops have a male Aranean standing guard outside and many will actively block recruits from entering, especially if they're male or magical, or accompanied by someone of that rank. These stores tend to be high-end and have only incredibly powerful and amazingly well-dressed figures in them.

The ones that do let COST members in are:

» BARS & MIDDLING RESTAURANTS

The Araneans were engineered by humans and, alien as some of their traditions may be, others are strikingly familiar. Like any human city, the spiders have no shortage of bars. Moreover, it's tennis season, even if it's a little varied from what COST recruits might know: a match involves two rackets and two balls in a match, and it's almost always in doubles. And, as in most competitive arenas, Araneans are very committed. Their people kill for the right to join sports teams; drafts are less drafts and more battles to the death. Walk by a bar during a game and it's likely packed with female Araneans shouting perverse suggestions (and threats of devouring) at the holoscreens. They're raucous events, with a healthy amount of booze and food, just...be careful you know what you're eating. Otherwise, they're generally places for all sorts to mingle, from the highest to lowest.

But, should you attend, watch your limbs. Araneans are known to accidentally devour whatever's closest to them out of excitement. Most establishments expect to lose more than a few uthcki this way during high stakes games.

» HUNTING SUPPLY STORES

Hunting, go figure, is an immensely popular sport amongst Araneans. There is a range of high- to low-end stores and the ones that open to COST soldiers are moderate, offering a limited but decent supply of traditional hunting weapons. The most common is a spear and dagger and heavy leather armor; Araneans consider firearms tacky and hunting in particular is a display of your strength. Hthi are in season; if you're lucky, you might see a female Aranean bring in her kill, eager to prove her strength.

» HANDICRAFTS & ARTS

Araneans are magnificent craftsmen, as their many arms and fine motor control might suggest; it's difficult to match the speed and skill that they create their art. But it is possible to learn or refine existing skill, should you so desire. And Araneans have everything, from clay modeling to jewelry-making to an art all Araneans perfect at a young age: lace-making.

They spin huge shawls and wall decorations of crocheted lace. It is one of the very rare times noble spiders deign to spin their own silk, and only if they undertake a specific diet to produce the highest quality web (and there are books in these stores that delve into its specifics). Alternatively and far more practically—especially for those that do not produce silk—there are walls and walls of fine ply wools and cottons mixed with silk.

» THE RACETRACK

The largest racetrack in the Second Ring is located just above the shopping and entertainment areas, and it is always packed. Racing skrit chri is a fond pastime for many an upper-class Aranean, with the bonus of one day consuming your prize steed, after they're past prime and have sufficiently passed on their genes. The tracks the skrit chri run aren't like those of Earth's horses, however; they're almost wild terrain, requiring acrobatics along with speed.

And betting pools are just as dangerous as the rest of Jhashch. To gain a buck, you might find yourself gambling limbs or even your life; neither are worth much here, to a people who risk both every day by merely coexisting.

[If you'd like to pursue something unlisted and aren't sure if it's allowed, don't hesitate to ask here!]


BACK TO BUSINESS

Two hours before the banquet, a message appears on the BCE:

TWO HOURS UNTIL FORMAL DEPARTURE. PLEASE SEE TO ALL PREPARATIONS.

It's time to get ready. Get your court clothes out—whether they're red or blue or purple—have a shower, and brush your teeth. Make sure your hair is in place and every last buckle is tightly cinched, shoes polished and tightly laced. If you don't...well, the servants are here to help. While they typically only assist with cleaning, they'll do your hair, paint your nails, and assist with fiddly materials that need an extra set of hands for a banquet as important as this.

Or maybe you don't trust the servants and would prefer to call another COST recruit over to help. It's not a bad idea; it's a good time to double-check your aliases and go over your Aranean social skills. Make sure you know the who's who of the Aranean upper-crust and that your pronunciation of their names isn't miserable; keep in mind who you're meant to bow to first. Failure here has as high stakes as any battle, so make sure those steps are right.

As always, only the rapier and dueling pistol are allowed in polite company, as far as weapons go. Other weapons and armor are forbidden wholesale; they're better saved for the stadium.

At the appointed time, carriages appear to escort recruits to the dinner. They're similar as to those seen earlier, but longer and entirely windowless.

Don't lose your glass slipper, now.


THE WALTZ OF THE FLOWERS

The carriages deliver COST to a great set of stairs that lead up to a huge door, marking the entrance of the inner palace. They arrive in a grand ballroom with a vaulted ceiling and translucent pillars—tubes—wrapped in gold vines. It's possible to see the same steelwork from the mines beneath the finery, the remains of a lab made into lavish decoration, holding up a ceiling meticulously painted to depict the Great Consumption. And, in particular, a female Aranean. She wears no human skin and carries a sword and spear, crushing and consuming humans amongst eggs of the first clutch. She stares down over the guests with her terrifying, domineering appearance.

The room below her is only furnished with lounges that line the room. Many Araneans sit on them, but each corner seems to be reserved by a member of the Great Houses. They're easy to identify—the surrounding Araneans defer to their every action and word—but they don't seem to be the Great Matrons. Rather, it seems they're the heir apparent; Lady Tchuul is seated at the center of her house. Each family is distinct as well; as varied and lavish as their clothing may be, members shares a particular color between them.

A small orchestra plays in one corner, in front of an area set out for dancing. Already couples and groups move on and off the floor as songs start and finish. In fact, it's popular and universal enough that Araneans and foreign diplomats alike approach and are allowed to approach without regard for ranking. There is almost a merriment to this space, perhaps because of the event itself or the wine passed around on trays. Whatever the case, the Araneans are keen that there be no wallflowers here; for those of you with clumsier footwork, you would do well to ask a fellow recruit to rescue you.

And there's no mistaking that the scrutiny is much worse than on the streets. From the second you step into the room, the whispering begins behind glittering fans or in another language. Their many black eyes follow you avidly and, even if their mouths smile, it's possible to see fanged mandibles pressing from inside the skin. Because they are skins, long-dead humans who are now nothing more than a thin veneer to what lies beneath.

But they are beautiful. Each Aranean, male and female, is a moving piece of art. The women average three to four meters in height and their trains are meters upon meters of layered fabric, masking the click of arachnid limbs. They are studded with jewels, hair intricately arranged, and weight is no object, evidenced by every effortless step, regardless of the impossibility of their clothes and headwear. The men favor sleek, clean lines that show off lean whipcord bodies; their extra legs protrude like fans from their backs. And between all of them is a sense of purpose behind every move and glance. There isn't a member of the court who doesn't move with a dancer's grace.

Araneans were created to be without equal, needed by countless star systems for what they have been perfected to mine, and they intend to let no one forget it.

» RETURN OF THE REGENCY

The Regency arrives in white, sleek and almost clinical in their luxury. Decked in lace, they glitter with diamonds and perfect poise, like sharks in the water. They've come with three factions, identifiable by the insignias stitched into each of their sleeves and the servants who follow them. Silent, still, and always at attention to their assigned lords and ladies, the servants look more like soldiers.

Most obviously, however, is that the majority of the servants share the same face. Or three different faces, each representing a distinct family in attendance.

The Araneans ignore them, as they do all servants, but some spiders murmur out of Regency earshot. It's a mix of low anger and belligerent respect, for these are the Regency's shabti. Clones, in short, engineered to serve. It's a political move on behalf of the Regency, to establish the superiority of their own diplomats: even the lowest amongst them holds rank above the genetically engineered, regardless of their own augmentation.

And, for those watching the Commander during dinner, it's easy to see how her jaw tenses when seeing them. One of the Regency diplomats, ever calculating and with impeccable manners, leans to an Aranean nearby. "We thought to bring reminders of home and her old comrades for Parsy-Luo—oh, forgive us. We mean Commander Grothia."

You may also recognize Mary Smythe, now under the name Mhic Nathair. She walks with distinction and has a shabti servant of her very own; this one isn't a soldier, but bows and scrapes along behind her as a perfectly polite, demure secretary.

And, while Araneans do their part to keep COST and the Regency in line, they won't prevent agents from mingling with each other. You do you, fam. While many will watch out of the corner of the eye and any words exchanged are far from private, encounters with the Regency won't be bloody events. At least not yet; they treat COST with a disdain that is by no means manufactured and is not far off from what recruits experienced when they met Kebechet.

» LONG LIVE THE QUEEN

After an hour and a half of free mingling, the two guards by the door send up a sharp cry that is almost a song. Immediately, everyone scatters to the sides of the room. The music stops and the Araneans sink into deep bows, faces turned up. You'd do well to follow their lead.

The Queen has arrived. The entrance doors swing open to reveal her in all her glory. Standing at five meters tall, she is a statement of pure power. She does not hide her lower body or her extra arms and legs. There is little about her that could be called wholly human and it's hard to breathe if you stand too near to her; literally so. Her clothes aren't fabric; her gown is of chainmail and, moreover, Ymirite bone. Linked meticulously together, even dead the Ymir seems to breathe, sucking vital elements and moisture from the air. Those magically sensitive will feel it sing in the air and even the most oblivious will sense the change in air pressure.

Beneath the dress, Queen Thsh's skin is inhumanly white and mottled with purple where it meets her exoskeleton. All eight of her eyes are pitch, liquid black and stark in her face. She strides the length of the hall and, after she enters, the rest of the entourage follows her.

The family resemblance is striking with her children, though the purple is lighter or darker, depending. Five steps behind the Queen is Crown Princess Chch, equal in height to her mother and in a black dress that thankfully isn't as oppressive to the atmosphere around her. The Twin Generals Shai and Aythy keep pace behind her, in gorgeous dress uniforms rather than gowns. After them is their brother, Prince Shch, dressed as richly as any of his siblings if smaller and less prominent in almost all other ways. The hierarchy is clear.

After them come other noted members of the court, including the Matrons of the Great Houses. The Regency's three most prominent emissaries accompany them; should you take care to listen, you'll learn their titles are Khnum, Ptah, and Tatenen. And, for better or worse, your own Commander and Scout are in attendance. Though it's a different look for them, Grothia and Young have risen to (or been forced into) the occasion. Young's face is, as ever, masked and Grothia balances against the weight of the train behind her. Neither of them look comfortable, but they commit to the Araneans' etiquette and don't falter in their steps.

It's only after the procession is seated that entry into the banquet hall is allowed.


BON APPETIT

It begins with the first chime of the evening bell.

When you enter the banquet hall for the first time, you are required to bow first to the great table that seats the Royal Family, Matrons of the Great Houses, and honored guests. This is done one at a time for all guests and that goes for COST, too. You might have a wait ahead of you, but try not to fidget too much. Araneans are drawn by movement, after all.

From there, you may either proceed to your seat or approach the high table at the end of the room, where the Queen presides over her guests. Here, you may bow and receive a cursory inspection. Queen Thsh is known for her long memory and you can be sure that, brief as the interaction will be, she will remember it.

It takes a good half hour to seat everyone and, when it is done, there are roughly three hundred or so guests present. COST is seated in small groups, interspersed between the many courtiers, but the Araneans notably avoid seating anyone from COST next to anyone from the Regency. While the Araneans enjoy bloodshed, they've no intention of running afoul of their guests, especially before they know what each side has to offer.

But at last the first glass of wine is brought out, as is custom, and the Queen lifts her glass and cries, "SKOLGA!" As one, the Araneans—and hopefully you—raise their glasses with her and scull their wine. Long and tedious a trial as it may have been, the banquet has begun.

» EAVESDROPPING AND YOU

It's possible to overhear some interesting gossip whilst you're mingled with the guests. Much of it's idle, if pointed chatter, and the Araneans will needle as much information out of you as possible, so watch your tongue; they're eager to keep you the fly in their web.

The bulk of Araneans in attendance are from the four Great Houses. On the surface, they all offer their respect and support to Queen Thsh; beneath that, it grows...complicated. Ever the backstabbing species, every Aranean present has their own vendetta and those vendettas revolve around the acquisition and maintenance of power. It's also no secret that political games are ever one of numbers, so it's important to know where these families stand.

It takes some digging, but characters can discover the general political sway of each house.

JANKEH: Matron Awai and her eldest daughter, Jcck, can barely stand each other's company. It's not a secret and hardly unusual to see them hissing and clattering at each other. What is a secret, the rumors say, is what they fight over. While lacking evidence, the most prominent rumor is that Jcck selected a member of the Chchai family as her first consort and her mother vetoed it. No one is sure why she might have done that, but the other rumor is it involves a trade deal the family was meant to get for the High Queen.

SHAIY: Matron Thchnk was a staunch supporter of the Crown Princess for years, as the Matron and and Princess grew up together. However, there has been a rift since the Crown Princess rejected a male put forward by Matron Thchnk, as a potential consort for the Crown Princess. No one is sure if it's because the Crown Princess hasn't dared to take a consort since the famous incident with her mother or because of a personal disdain for her potential suitor. But, because of the refusal, the male Aranean has remained out of the public eye and kept company with Prince Shch. It's also been speculated that Matron Thchnk and the Crown Princess haven't been as close since.

KHAH: This house firmly detests the royal children, due to how they previously destroyed the family. But they don't seem to favor Queen Thsh either, instead seeking to secure their own power. Consequently, gossip brands them disloyal and oft mentions Matron Jhhnk vowed never to forgive those who slighted her—though it's unknown whether she means the Twin Generals or who her house killed to reclaim their position. Her children are young; several at the banquet are almost ready to choose their first consort, allowing more insight into the habits of this private family. Word is, worse than saucy, they're militaristic to the point of dullness—whatever that means for an Aranean.

CHCHAI: Out and out in favor of the Queen, and thus of COST. They're said to have dirt on every family worth knowing; one rumor claims they have secret books of blackmail. They are incredibly assumptive in all their conversations and openly seek COST members to speak with them. They have no qualms about making conversation with newcomers, even if it might be of questionable worth to polite Aranean company. But it's also a well known fact the eldest daughter, Lady Tchuul, is starting to feel suffocated by her mother.

» ALL'S FAIR IN LOVE AND GORE

The dinner is peaceful, for the most part. Conversation is all doublespeak, but no more than that. Until there's a clatter of razor-sharp cutlery and glasses.

It happens in a flash. Uthcki decked in colors befitting the Royal Family bring out servings of skrit chri when there's an inhuman, furious hissing sound. The Great Matron of House Chchai, Lady Nkouk, looms over the Matron of House Shaiy.

There's a moment of stillness as Lady Thchnk touches the fresh gash through one eye. It weeps blue blood, dripping onto her chest and elegant silk dress. Then the dinner erupts into a flurry of violence as the two houses set upon each other in earnest, like two great waves crashing into each other. Screams of pain and victory come as they tear at each other's limbs and fine clothes. Blood splatters, some even reaching towards the ceilings.

The other spiders scatter, brazenly cheering on one side or another, and a few even pull COST and Regency agents out of the way; they are promised diplomatic immunity, after all, and the spiders aren't ready to eat either side yet. Moreover, this is an affair that the Chchai and Shaiy houses need to sort out themselves and you're blocking the view.

There's a strange, organized quality to the chaos. The houses don't mistake bystanders for enemies, hyperfocused on each other, but it isn't a perfect science; it's best to steer clear, to avoid getting devoured by any stray mandibles. This isn't a duel where the goal is to avoid bloodshed; this is an open challenge over an accident with cutlery, a match where it's winner take all, including her victim's life.

When the movement stops, Lady Nkouk lies dead on the floor amid a heavy silence. Bodies twitch before going still. The numbers of the Shaiy family are diminished, but victorious.

In the aftermath of violence, Queen Thsh congratulates Lady Thchnk as she devours what remains of Lady Nkouk. The rest of House Chchai, including the Lady Tchuul, lie slaughtered. Other members of House Shaiy stand over them, proud and splattered with strange spider blood that runs red and blue. In areas where it's puddled, it's become a vibrant purple. A cry goes up, cheering the fall of one house and the rise of another. But for those more astute, it becomes obvious that the politics of Jhashch just changed dramatically.

Once everyone regains composure, utchki clean up the blood and, rather than take it away, collect it into an ornate vessel. The surviving members of House Shaiy dip their fingers into the blood and slide it up their jaws.


POSTMORTEM

After the chaos of the dinner, your next few meals might seem a little dull. Or perhaps your appetite is gone completely; it's understandable, but you should do your best to get it back. The upcoming weeks promise to be strenuous ones and the local restaurants are not nearly as considerate about clearly labeling what's in your food (although maybe you'll try the local flavor, should you like food that shrieks).

Most notably, a week after the dinner, after they've laid first claim, House Shaiy auctions off House Chchai's remaining possessions. The items range from cheap trinkets to outlandish furniture and vehicles; there are even a few hhcho and skrit chri, who survived the initial rush to devour the family. COST is permitted—and even encouraged—to participate, though most items are likely outside your price range. A victory is almost sure to hurt your pocketbook.

[If you want to participate in the auction, reply here!]

» THE BALANCE OF POWER

Still, in the wake of their arrival, COST recruits remain curiosities to the point of mild celebrity status. Whether this is for good or ill... Well, that remains to be seen. The Araneans are keen to interrogate recruits' on their preferred arenas, however. Already, there's no shortage of rumors whispered about the upcoming event's grandeur; the Royal Family ordered the construction of an entirely new stadium, stretching precariously over the pit of Ymir. It also seems the Araneans have heard of COST helping in the Parisian Riots and it's something they admire. Over the coming weeks, it becomes clear that those who rebel are prized by this former servant group, who overcame their oppressors by eating them.

Hence, you may find yourself receiving letters of challenge or, Watcher forbid, fan mail. By and large, the challenges are one-on-one endeavors with reluctant promises that neither Aranean or recruit will die. Probably, anyway. The tone varies from vicious to deadly polite; you can turn them down, but know it's either a sign of weakness or a slight...or both. And, should you choose to accept a challenge, you should never go alone. These are invitations to private noble homes, after all. It'd be a shame if something happened to you.

Oh, also. Enjoy the media attention. While it's quiet the first week, the closer the arenas come, the more likely you are to encounter an Aranean reporter and their paparazzi.

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

[horsepowered]

A. Mines of Ymir
The mines were the part of the mission that both intrigued and horrified Chiron on a number of different levels. He had known that gods from all pantheons were involved in this conflict, had been told that those sided with the Regency had been flattered and in ways, changed, from their original purpose. And then the mines were explained and there was a low concern in the pit of Chiron's stomach.

The way he figured it, mines might run out one day. Might the Regency turn on godly allies and turn them into mines as well, if there were no primordial gods left? And if that was the case, what did Chiron owe to his gods? Did he owe anything? (It was impossible to not place Apollo in the equation, not when that was who had raised him.)

So walking through the mines of Ymir, Chiron is tense. He walks with extremely quiet steps, hands at his sides, eyes going everywhere at once. He can feel the scrutiny in return, and he does his damndest to clamp down on how much mana he is expending to maintain his form. Of all the places to be vulnerable, this strikes him as the absolute worst one.

Moving deeper inside, Chiron can only mutter a single comment. "How long until this place is depleted?"

B. Back to Business
[With everything from the mines of Ymir weighing on him, Chiron is not exactly in a rush to enjoy fancy dinners where aggression is in and his usual demeanor will put him at risk. It's why he's slower to move into his full court clothes, opting to walk around the courtyard in everything but the coat of his court outfit which is far more decorated than the rest trying to lend a hand.]

Do you have everything you need or...?

C. Return of the Regency (semi-closed)
[The entrance of the Regency's operatives comes just as Chiron finishes yet another dance. He's perfectly adequate with the footwork now thanks to endless practicing and the concentration on footwork allowed him to ignore the levels of scrutiny being placed upon him.

It's impossible to ignore the same faces. It's also impossible to ignore the muttering, and Chiron strains his ears to make sense of the words. Shabti. Power move. Well, that's all well and interesting, but it doesn't set him anymore at ease.

Chiron has no desire to engage. He instead walks over to those he knows, and those who recently dealt with the Regency under less than pleasant circumstances.]

Are you okay?

D. All's Fair in Love and Gore
Everything happened in a single, mad moment. Silence, then crashing, scattering, fleeing to the wind. Chiron's own speed was his greatest asset, but it wasn't meant for selfish use. His eyes whipped around, searching for other COST members who might not be pulled out by others. (Thank God for all the color coding.)

There's no thought to being aggressive (or non-aggressive) as he elbowed his way through the chaos to make sure no one else was accidentally pulled into the matter, or else trampled in the rush. He grabbed onto hands, collar, whatever he could.

"This way."

Two stern words. That was it.

E. Wildcard
You know the deal. Will match tense+prose or brackets

D

[dorzalta]

It happens in a single, mad moment that truly should have been expected, with all that they know. If the Regency's appearance was not problematic enough, perhaps the sudden and violent way the Day-Ones explode into battle should be.

Donning a blue dress, she's no stranger to violence. Still, this seems far more unnecessary than even the Dothraki's displays. She stumbles to her feet, the skirts of her dress light enough that they don't tangle around her legs, pants-clad though she may be. Irriella is near her, mandibles clicking excitedly as she watches her kind war amidst themselves. Still, she's mindful of both her lady mother and lord father, slotting herself between their frailer bodies and the fray.

There's a hand wrapping itself around her forearm, and for a moment, she nearly tugs herself free--but she catches who it is who's made the grab for her, a brief flash of concern for the man. "Mind the Regency."

b

[jailbirds]

[ it's so weird to be nervous about a lie she has to pull off. Minatsuki has always lied; almost her whole life has been one lie after another, pretending to be someone she isn't because she thought it was what she needed to do. but this is — different. this isn't crocodile tears and hiding shit in another kid's locker to make it look like they stole something, and it isn't even on the same level as playing the spineless burikko in Wonderland to get a leg up on her opponents. this isn't her persona, it's a bunch of stupid rules she had to memorise in record time, and the person she's pretending to be has to know all of that.

so t-minus however long to the banquet has her pacing once she's ready to leave, muttering names of Araneans under her breath and occasionally cursing to herself. this is ridiculous, just completely stupid; she doesn't get nervous, not about this. she might have said she wouldn't lie anymore, but this is her specialty, so why is she freaking out? and the elaborate kimono she's gotten dressed in with the help of a servant or two is... a lot. she's never worn something like this, barely even seen it outside of weddings and fucking hina dolls.

so when she gets checked on out of what's clearly just courtesy, she opens her mouth to brush the guy off automatically without even turning to look at him, never really eager to accept help from anyone, much less a stranger, and then she pauses— ]

Mh. Actually — mind checking for me that all of this shit is sitting alright? [ she turns to demonstrate the swathes of fabric at the back of the outfit, bulky with everything beneath the outermost layer of the robe. ] Kinda hard to do it myself when I can't see the back of it.

A

[cookeries]

"They're mining at a staggering rate."

Ignis keeps his voice quiet as he approaches Chiron, both surprised and intrigued to see another COST operative. There are benefits to being a servant class, but he makes every attempt to remain discreet. Though he's not had any unfortunate run-ins with the spiders and their ilk yet, there's still a great deal of time remaining in this mission. He opted for the mines, excusing himself from the opulence of the court affairs for a moment to investigate.

"To think some are made to live here." And though it's beautiful in its own right, Ignis can't shake the strange feeling he has in the pit of his gut, that even away from the center of festivities, they're being watched.

mordred | ota

[bloodings]

[ General notes: Mordred will be wearing the left/male version of this outfit to the ball. Her hair is also down, with a single plait on each side that join at the back. That's as fancy as she gets. ]

a | it's a hybrid's life for me.

[ Being magical is the most dangerous thing of all in Jhashch, but being a hybrid comes pretty damn close. She's not seen as prey, but she's shunned and treated as disgusting... though, the clearly non-magical treatment might come as a surprise to those who only know her as a Heroic Spirit. There's something else going on that doesn't apply to Siegfried or Chiron.

Mordred at least knows how to make it work for her. Her personality is fitting for this planet, with her posture dominant and her attitude fierce. An Aranean hisses and scuttles out of her way as she explores the Second Ring, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance, scowling. ]

Screw you too, you fatass bug. [ Petty, but all this posturing is starting to wear on her. She's always seen herself as better than humans, so being derided — that makes something nasty in her chest start to swell. ] These guys really piss me off. [ To anyone nearby: ] Hey, don't get pushed around, okay?

[ She means it. Here, being a pushover could prove fatal. ]

b | pre-the feastening.

[ Jhashch society might be female-led, but Mordred's set in her ways. She shows up to the event in masculine attire, and generally follows the male role in things — earning her confusion from some of the Araneans present. If it bothers her, she doesn't let it show. This is how she's always been.

In fact, she looks more at home than others might expect, having spent most of her short life serving in her father's court. She might not like it, but she knows it well. It almost seems like she's keeping an eye on anyone from COST she expects might have more trouble with things... ]

i.

[ ... And especially anyone looking like a wallflower. It's too vulnerable to be alone here, with the Araneans and Regency on all sides. ]

Looks like they expect us to dance. ... It's stupid, but we might as well.

[ Nothing better to do. She offers her hand with the slightest of grins. ]

ii.

[ Or, feel free to catch her flipping the bird at the Regency agents across the room. She makes no secret of it, and might even nudge the nearest person, as if encouraging them to join in, no matter how childish it seems. ]

c | spider fight.

[ Mordred's seen violence. she's perpetuated plenty herself. but this is savagery on a new level. Two families literally tearing each other apart... even the most brutal of feudal lords wouldn't have dared do this at a feast, and her father would have stopped them regardless.

But not all rulers are like him. ]

i.

[ If anyone strays too close, it might be Mordred, not a spider, who grabs them by the arm and pulls them away. To them, or anyone else who looks like they might interfere, she hisses: ]

Stay back, you fool. Let them sort it out.

[ Her face is pensive, focused, and there's almost concern in her voice under the rudeness. A scene like this brings the knight out of the traitor. ]

ii.

[ After the fight, while the blood is being collected, everyone has a few moments to themselves. Mordred looks more annoyed than anything else, a kind of resting bitchface that's served her well in Jhashch. ]

This is crazy. [ Muttered under her breath, lest their 'hosts' think even less of her. Then, to any COST agent that's close to her: ] The guys that lost... I'm pretty sure they were our allies. More than the others, anyway. Dammit...

d | wildcard.

[ Obligatory! If none of these work, then leave me whatever you want. ]

2b

[omniavincit]

[ William's attention is focused on one Regency agent in particular—a woman he's seen only in the lines of a drawing. His gaze stays with Mary Smythe—Mhic Nathair—as she glides across the room.

Until someone jostles him. ]

What the hell are you doing? [ He's too surprised to keep the edge out of his voice. He shakes his head once, disbelieving and disapproving in equal measure. ] This is a diplomatic function, not rush hour traffic.

Armitage Hux

[neutronium]

A. Residence

A(i). Wandering

[Hux wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with himself here, just yet. The idea that he was being listened to, always, wasn't a new concept for him; he never trusted that he was completely to himself in the First Order, unless within his own quarters--so being here was not that different.

Still, being mostly ignored was an entirely strange concept to him. But given that he was gathering information for COST and the Regency it worked well enough for him.

So he wandered the pathways, making sure to keep his wits about him at all times; he couldn't help but mutter to no one in particular,]

I wonder who is going to get eaten before this is all over.


B. Pasttimes

B(i). Racetrack

[It reminded him of Canto Bright, frankly; equally as dangerous, though in very different ways. He was steering clear of the gambling, as he had no desire to lose any of his limbs, and frankly there was nothing the Araneans had that he truly wanted.

But watching the races was an interesting diversion, and it gave him time to watch others, as well. There was no way to take notes in any capacity without it being noticed, so he took mental notes as best he could, his hand occasionally straying to the scarab in his pocket, a soft warm reminder of his other purpose here.]

C. The Formal

Hux would have preferred to wear white. But as he had been told that it was the colors of the Regency, he resorted to what he knew best--red and black. He found something that suited him well, and with his hair slicked back, weaving golden pieces through it, his nails paints gold as well...well if he hadn't been human, perhaps he would have gained some attention. Regardless, he wasn't going to let himself be seen as doing anything but his best.

He had faced down Snoke for years and survived; he could survive this as well.

C(i). Dance

[Hux isn't about to let some spider creatures think that he is some poor feeble creature. While he isn't fond of dancing, he isn't bad at it, picking up the different types they have here; luckily it reminds him of some of the more formal dances he knew from the Empire days.

He takes partners as they are offered, making sure not to approach anyone that is above his station when it comes to the Araeans, at least--unless he is asked first. That doesn't happen often, and when he finds himself without a partner, he walks over to a nearby COST member and bows, glancing upwards.]

Care to dance? At least you won't have to worry about being eaten, if you trod on my feet.

C(ii). Change of power and what comes after

Dinner had been going fine, but then that entire bloody mess broke out and...well. He ate because he needed to keep face, but he certainly didn't wish to.

All of it was entirely barbaric--like watching Tusken Raiders go at each other; he suspected Phasma would have enjoyed it, though. Even though she had tried to distance herself from her old homeworld, Hux knew that wildness was in her still.

He was happy when it was all over, but as the week went on, and he started to get letters regarding challenges for him in the gaming arena--

--as he was a COST rebel--

--ugh.

Hux was doing his best to hide his distaste with all of it, but already the facade of this place was wearing thin with him. He enjoyed the game, the dagger and cloak within the pretty facade...but calling him a rebel and eating people was just a step too far.

"Well, at least I haven't received fan mail."

D. Wildcard

What it says on the tin

d;

[verumdicit]

[ It doesn't take long to find Hux. Meliorn simply looks for a redhead towering over everyone else that's human, and he's not surprised to find a shock of scarlet, elegantly draped over his shoulder to accentuate his pale features. Like a roman politician, he thinks. They're at a fountain, and Meliorn's arrival is signaled by the light staccato of the heels his uniform has come with. He feels far more comfortable dressed like this, and it shows. Between the gold tint to his lips and the purple eyeshadow, he thrives.

Or he would, if he wasn't labeled magical and spent most of the time being looked upon hungrily. There are worse things in life, he knows, but he doesn't have to like it. ]

I'm pleased to see you haven't been eaten.

[ Hello, Hux. ]

AVA | OTA

[artifica]

≣≣≣ ┃ YMIR'S BONES

[ Ava is so small against the cavernous dark of the mines, the white bone stretching across the ground and ceiling massive enough to rival the skyscrapers that humans boast of. She is so still, standing on the edge of a steel scaffold, that she might seem in awe. But her eyes are trained on a dark spot far below, where two Araneans toil against the rock.

She fixes you with a gaze the moment she makes note of your presence. Her question is as pointed. There might be a trace of anger in the shadows of her face, but then it could be a trick of the light. Her voice is so gentle. ]

Are those Araneans the same as the ones who greeted us in dresses?

≣≣≣ ╎ HUMAN SKINS

[ Asymmetry should be the domain of humans, not hers. But the arm she pilfered from one of her predecessors weigh but a few milligrams heavier than her other. It chafes enough to see her detach it from her body, holding it by the wrist with her other hand, stump on her lap, as she meticulously trims the synthetic nails with her rapier.

She turns to watch you when you enter the room, but doesn't seem at all embarrassed by her own indiscretion. Instead she smiles. ]

Hello. Are you here to help me dress?

≣≣≣ ┇ SPIDER BLOOD

[ Like committing a piece of choreography to memory, Ava watches the ensuing duel without blinking or stepping back, not even to spare her white dress. She is impassive, as if in shock, unable to take her eyes off of the chaos until it resolves itself (can the deaths of so many rightfully be called a resolution?) as swiftly as it started. Then she takes a sudden audible breath, almost a gasp. Belated.

This time she doesn't deign to turn to you, the one she's addressing, because the context of the conversation is clear without any need for her to establish a connection. That is, such grand disturbance is felt by all, and so ensuring the subject's relevance to the other party is unnecessary. ]

Is this what you call a war?

≣≣≣ ┋ WILDCARD

[ Anything goes! Ava will wander about wherever she's able to slip into, especially through the servants' corridors. She can often be found standing in place observing the Araneans or staring at the many statues and architecture. If asked, she would always agree to a dance at the party. ]

wildcard; @LOUISLAMOUR

[omniavincit]

[ As the seating goes on...and on...and on: ]

She's here.

Kylo Ren | OTA

[ergosphere]

A. In Residence
i. The Villa
As much as the opulence and the posturing grated on him, Kylo was at the very least grateful they weren’t bogged down in trenches, or suffering in primitive conditions. Jhashch felt more familiar, and that went a long way in how convincing his act was going to be, putting on airs and watching for daggers to the back. Here it was a literal and figurative danger, though the latter of which he had less direct experience with. The officers of the First Order were well-versed in that art, but as apprentice to Snoke and Master of the Knights of Ren, his position had been assured, unchallenged.

Once they’d been outwardly left to their own devices, but still trailed and spied on by the servants and entertainers, Kylo took to exploring their new lodgings. Again, it was an improvement over what they’d been through during the last mission. It wouldn’t be long before all the faults of this place really started to emerge, though, so he absorbed the architecture and culture while he could still do so, unmolested.

Thus far, the only reason he attracted attention was because he still wore his COST dress uniform. Otherwise, no one would’ve looked twice at him. Despite his power in the Force, it apparently didn’t register as magical, which therefore left him… unimpressive. He knew going unnoticed around here would be a blessing, but it still chafed. Let them be blinded by arrogance, then, and underestimate him.

For the first few days, he would be easy to cross paths with, peering down corridors or open doors. On more than one occasion, Kylo would stand near one of the corridors where the servants came and went, debating. If he ever went in, he’d have to certain no spider saw him.

ii. The Mines
Even though he was considered a natural human, with nothing special about him, Kylo still felt something down in the mines. Calling anything the bones of a god gave it a weight that couldn’t go ignored, so this was, of course, one of the first places he’d gone.

It was a lot like Starkiller, he decided. Down to the hazardous lack of railing over wide open expanses, looking over dizzying heights, even. Starkiller had been gutted of life and transformed into a monstrous machine, the kyber crystals within converted to a singular, killing purpose. The parallels weren’t exact, but he had to wonder -- what would this place feel like when the Ymir was gone? Cold and empty, like Starkiller? Or angry and desolate, like a desecrated ghost?

Outside the relative seclusion of the villa, Kylo found himself under greater scrutiny here. It put him on edge, feeling defensive when he shouldn’t be showing any indication these spiders bothered him. But being dressed up, parading around like false royalty, it felt too much like he was back in the senate, trailing after his mother. Standing dangerously close to the edge looking down into the mines, Kylo waited for his best opportunity to retreat back to his room, without seeming like he was actually fleeing.

Anyone from COST that he encountered on the way would be shouldered aside. “I don’t have time for you right now.”

B. From Gaming Dens to the Crooked Rock
i. Handicrafts and arts
He’d never been much of a shopper. Kylo had always had access to whatever he’d wanted, and that was generally simple necessities. Trinkets and keepsakes were a waste of time and space, and a reminder of the excess that dragged down the Republic, both past and present. Well, past in both cases now, he supposed.

Everything that looked halfway worthwhile was horrifically expensive, just looking in through the windows. The male spiders standing guard outside didn’t really pay much attention to him, but he knew if he tried to go in, they’d stop him. He kept walking, slowing again to inspect the intricate weaves of silk and lace. What caught his eye through this particular window, though, were the paintbrushes and inkwells. These spiders admired mastery of skills, didn’t they? It had been… it had been years since his last attempt at calligraphy. Surely it would be easy to pick up again.

“It can’t cost that much,” he grumbled, half to himself. Now to see if this was a store that would even let him in.

C. The Waltz of the Flowers
i. Dancing & The Regency
If Kylo had chafed under the scrutiny before, he was doing his best not to sweat through his dinner clothes now. There were no glitterbombs to correct mistakes, just hissing and hungry spiders, but he didn’t shy away from the activities. At least, not when he could get away with it.

When the Regency arrived, he stared a bit longer than was strictly necessary. When he snapped out of it, either by himself or someone jostling him, he realized what the problem had been. He’d been waiting for that fog, the buzzing and the loss of power that came with their presence. But it hadn’t happened, which meant he could keep his attention on the real danger: the spiders. Of course the Regency was a threat… but to him it wasn’t quite as bad as the spiders.

Once he was confident he’d assessed the various dangers of the room, he cut into a circle of dancers, giving his partner a sharp look. “Just keep your rhythm.”

D. Wildcard!
[Will match action/prose.]

ii

[dorzalta]

"Fortunate that I wasn't asking for your time, then." It comes out cool, the blues of her eyes like flecks of ice. Anything warmer that he might've encountered is gone, replaced by the air of the queen. It wasn't something she needed to fake; this came naturally.

Irriella is a way's back, still watching Dany, but this is as private a conversation as the two might have... all things considered.

So she glances back over her shoulder, considering his retreating back. "Why are you rushing?"

They have no pressing matters at hand. It's near a chide. If she could tell he was in a hurry to leave, why could the Day-Ones around them not?

John Constantine | ota

[inconstantly]

A. FROM GAMING DENS TO THE CROOKED ROCK: BAR

[Leave it to John Constantine to find the bar. While he typically enjoys attention, the looks he receives from the Araneans are not exactly his custom. Yet there's still something enticing about the adventure, the thrill of a magical dazzling a predator out of their hunger through a silver tongue and drink in hand.

Yet even so, the constant upkeep is exhausting and he'll risk sitting directly in the middle of the spiders' den if it means having a drink and watching the screens on his own. At least one thing is for sure, it's a hell of a lot more entertaining than any Wimbledon. If he sees a fellow COST member he'll likely flag them down to be an extra set of ears as the conversations go on around them. Or maybe he's too enthralled with the match and it's up to someone else to quickly bring to John's attention that he may want to do something about that Araneans looking hungrily at him with a knife.]

B. BACK TO BUSINESS: PREPARATION

[John is hopeless with looking formal. Try as he might, each day brings with it a new rumpled look by evening. Ordinarily looking unkempt is his custom, a fact which he has aggressively accepted as his aesthetic. Yet unfortunately never bothering with appearances is now detrimental to the mission at hand, and John still sees something worthwhile in carrying on.

At the moment he stands in front of a mirror in his suit of various shades of blue tying and re-tying his tie. While he can do it in theory, nothing looks particularly nice. It either hangs too low, the lengths are uneven, or everything turns crooked. His hair isn't great either, standing in all directions like someone with a severe aversion to combs. He won't ask for help, but he needs it desperately.]

C. THE BALANCE OF POWER: AN INVITATION

@SPIRITFINGERS

i've received a rather flattering letter from an admirer of my considerable storytelling abilities

the letter concludes with an invitation into a home to swap tales and tastefully entertaining lies. i could use some company if anyone wants to join me. i can guarantee that no matter what happens it won't be boring

D. WILDCARD

[Anything else you wanna do? Go for it or hmu if you have a q!]

preparation;

[verumdicit]

[ Meliorn is dressed impeccably right down to the fact that he's got eyeshadow on. It's Seelie tradition, of course, to wear Seelie Armor when at war, which means he's has to say goodbye to a lot of things he finds aesthetically pleasing, and this mission selfishly allows him to latch onto it again. Besides, since the dining training exercise had been a consistent bust, at least he can hold onto the fact that he knows how to dress properly.

The person he's passing, however, is worrisome. So much so that, after walking briskly by, he immediately circles back to check on him and see if his state has improved.

It hasn't. ]

Are you going to make it? [ The other looks like a mess. A handsome mess, but a mess, and he'd rather not have a COST member eaten when he can help. Meliorn takes a few steps forward, smile as pointed as his ears. ]

Let me.

Jeyne Westerling | OTA

[goodandtrue]

I. Natural as a Shadow

[Being brought into COST at a clear disadvantage had already leveled much of Jeyne's (already frail) confidence. Gallipoli, she had something to contribute, but even then, she felt out of place and a burden to those around her. It wasn't until coming here that she genuinely felt like nothing. The spiders overlooked her from the moment she appeared, brushing her aside as though she were a shadow.

The rest were given a warm welcome, but those that were similar to her, normal and without magical properties, they were nothing. It made matters difficult when she had a question, as everyone seemed to just walk past her.

Frustrated that her attempts to gain the attention of their hosts had gone ignored, Jeyne leaned back against the wall in the hallway, clear irritation on her face.]

I might as well be a shadow.

II. Waltz of the Flowers

[She had seen some of the celebrations at Casterly Rock, but never had been given the chance to be truly part of them. She was too young at the time, kept at her mother's side as she desperately tried to find a better match for Jeyne. But those were distant memories and in looking at the seen before her, that seemed strange compared to this. It was coming to a point when spiders and new worlds were becoming more recognizable than the home she chose to leave.

She had dressed in blue, a simple gown without any needed flair or embroidery. All it had to speak for it were long sleeves of gossamer silk. It didn't seem necessary to be elaborate, no one would really notice her as it was, given her status.

The Regency arrived, casting a dark stain over the events, which weren't going smoothly to begin with. But the sight of the Regency was enough to bring a flush of anger to Jeyne's cheeks. They were behind Robb's disappearance or they knew something about it, they had to.]

Why are they being hosted here? Why would these creatures want anything to do with the Regency?

III. All's Fair in Love and Gore

[As soon as the first blow was dealt, Jeyne was up from her chair, stumbling back from the table. There was some benefit to being natural, no one else seemed to notice her as she struggled to contain her horror and disgust at the sudden irruption of violence. Never fond of spiders, her stomach turned to watch one devouring the other, the event treated as a triumph by the creatures.

She shook her head, trying to steady her nerves.]

How can they let something like this happen? They are killing each other.

i.

[eyedrop]

[ Aizawa's in the same boat, though he doesn't seem bothered by it. He's dressed in a fine suit, with his long hair tied back in a bun, his facial hair neatly trimmed. The effect is in sharp contrast with his usual appearance, though the dark circles under his eyes remain. Probably should do something about those, but ... it doesn't actually seem to matter, given his position.

He stands beside this young woman, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He should watch his posture, but no one's watching them, so. ]

It's a blessing in disguise.

76 | ota

[mylawn]

i. in residence & hierarchy

a. [76 cleans up nicely, all things considered, almost as if he’s used to it (secretly, he is), but there’s still plenty to navigate, especially upon arrival. He’s glad to have been warned about the hierarchy, at least—knew going into this that he’s situated sort of at the top, but had admittedly hoped being a man would stave off most of the Aranean curiosity. That doesn’t prove to be the case. It seems being an “artificial” (for all intents and purposes) human representing COST is enough, and 76 finds himself cornered sooner rather than later.

The worst part is having to suck it up and deal with it, pretending like it doesn’t chafe him every wrong way to talk about himself like this. Still, he doesn’t have a choice but to play along. He isn’t much of a storyteller, but he can at least recount how he came to be this way—chosen for genetic enhancement as part of a classified and vaguely controversial program, capable of all manner of superhuman physical feats, despite his apparent age.

The situation means that he’s easily overheard, being fairly frank about things like illicit government experiments, and his stint as an illicit government experiment. Possibly you are eavesdropping. Possibly this explains a few things.

Either way, it’s clear he would rather extricate himself from this situation sooner rather than later, and he is. Definitely making eyes at the nearest COST recruit for assistance. That’s you. Come save him.]

b. [Or perhaps you are the magical one, in need of a buddy. 76 is here to rescue you, sidling up like he meant to be here all along. His voice is confident and dangerous.]

Don’t worry. They’re with me.

ii. out and about

[76 is keenly aware that even with his artificial status, he is nowhere near the top of the food chain. Still, he isn’t about to stay in COST’s residence the entire time he’s here, if only because being cooped up makes him antsy. He takes to exploring, dangerous as it is, but soon enough he ends up in a few interesting places.

He’s easily found in one of the hunting stores, inspecting weapons and possibly debating whether or not to buy something. If he’s not there, he’s in a bar, definitely buying something. Alien liquor might be irresponsible, but he thinks he’s going to need it.

So here he is, trying different kinds (but generally staying away from the food), mostly to see if it’s going to do anything. He’s more interested in the alcohol than the game, but he surveys the room with a keen eye, just in case things get too raucous. If he notices a fellow recruit, he'll nod in acknowledgement, as much as an invitation to join him as anything.]

iii. dinner & postmortem

a. [It’s been a very long time since he’s been in a situation like this, and he hadn’t been very enthusiastic about etiquette and poise during training, but now he realizes that it’s like riding a bike. Years of galas and summits and peace talks and meetings with politicians and diplomats have trained him for this—or at least, the concept of it. He slips back into his diplomatic role with ease, and even though he’s loath to actually do much talking, he knows enough about navigating this kind of situation to provide some subtle guidance to someone who might need it.]

Back straight. That’s it. Don’t let them see you sweat.

[He speaks quietly but reassuringly, leaning in only slightly and clearly not wanting to draw too much attention to the motion. He might not want to stick his neck out for this one, but at the very least he can encourage someone who isn’t used to this.]

b. [All of that changes, however, when dinner quite literally becomes a massacre. 76 has seen enough horror in his life to swallow down a more visceral reaction, knowing full well that showing any weakness, even in the face of this, is going to make him a target. He follows the lead of the other non-Araneans in the room, clearing the area and spectating, as much as it makes him want to vomit.

76 tries to watch the Regency instead, because from what little eavesdropping he’s done, it seems that one of the families currently engaged in the fight was backing COST. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if this skirmish, seemingly out of nowhere, had been spurned on with the explicit intent of sabotaging them.

He’s quick to take the nearest COST recruit by the shoulder, though whether the motion is to keep anyone from entering the fray, or to ground himself is anyone’s guess.]

Don’t get any closer.

iv. wildcard

[I’ll do whatever you want. Hit me up on plurk at whitticus.]

i. a

[jailbirds]

[ even if she can say all she wants that she's only looking out for herself, Minatsuki has been keeping a close eye on other recruits as they all mill about, trying to ingratiate themselves like proper socialites — and her focus always catches on the men, more than anyone, in case she really does have to step in and save someone from an unfortunate situation like they'd all talked about. so she doesn't miss the non-verbal cry for help coming from a guy who she's sure she's seen around BASE.

she manages not to roll her eyes before she changes direction to head for him, dressed up in a kimono with hakama, fake flowers strewn in her hair. her expression is cool, and she reaches out to put a hand on his arm with an assertiveness that doesn't really seem to match someone of her small stature or build. the first thing she does is bow properly to the crowd he's drawn, and then she turns to him. ]

Darling— [ that's how it translates, anyway, though it's not actually more than an overly intimate "you" when she says it. ] I'm terribly sorry to pull you away like this, but you did promise to come shopping with some of us, and we're hardly going to wait around for you.

[ and she doesn't — she's pulling him away by the arm whether he wants to make some courteous goodbyes or not, although she does look back to the Araneans with a saccharine smile and says sweetly: ] Men, you know how they are! [ before she goes back to pretending to drag him out of there, in the vague direction of the markets, since she did just make that her cover story. it's not like she had plans to go there already, but she'd rather go a little further to seem convincing than drop it too early and get caught out.

as soon as they're far enough away, and when there are no other Araneans close by, her pleasant demeanour vanishes, and she mutters under her breath— ]

Fuckin' pain in the ass nosy spiders.

heine | OTA

[whitehair]

i. PRE-BANQUET- to and through the heart

► AROUND; (third ring, the mines, etc)

[ The hierarchy they've forced them to follow rankles at him a little - as much as he stands out with his pale colouring, Heine isn't used to being so openly scrutinised (too many eyes and too many fingers, the sound on the pavement like nails against chalkboard). It would be a blessing if they just ended it at looking, but no, they ask questions too, being of artificial origin as he is. It probes too close to the rankled wound, but the show of aggression isn't taken as impolite; rather, they seem impressed by his reactions however involuntary it was. After feeding them some bullshit about his origins a couple more times, Heine's had enough. He ducks into one of the many alleyways that veer off from the main path; here, it's a little bit quiet, out of sight for a moment.

Are you there because you're also taking shelter, or are you trying to sweet talk some servants? does Heine even notice you're there? who the hell knows? ]

Jesus fucking Christ, don't they ever shut up?

► BAR (second ring)

[ If anyone asked him a year ago what he expected to see in a spider planet, Heine wouldn't have answered a tennis match. To be clearer, that (wait for it) metaphorical ball wasn't even in the metaphorical fucking court at all. Of course, it's not like a normal tennis match... ]

It's like watching a wrestling match - too many fucking legs.

[ Heine takes a swig out of whatever's in his cup, before glancing down into the depths of it and grimacing; that tastes like shit. What waste of money. He catches your eye, and lifts the cup slightly. ]

You wanna finish this off?

► SHOPS (second ring)

[ None of these stuff on display makes any sense (is that a brooch? or a gun? or some weapon of mass destruction? it's hard to tell, and Heine decides it's probably all three) but they look fancy. It's not like they need any of these to be honest, but he's going to ask anyway. ]

Should pool our money together and buy that.

ii. BANQUET- time to bring the fire down

► PREPARING;

[ Despite all the shit talking about spiders peeling off their skin and laying eggs in chest cavities or whatever, when they actually get here Heine finds things to be a little more... sedate. It only really means that nobody's fucking tried to murder him yet, but then, it's probably a matter of time. The soft rustle of the skirts and the muffled sound of many legs make something between his shoulders tense, veiled teeth snapping in his head, and Heine has to force himself to straighten up and stand straight time and time again.

Right now, he's trying to get into his court clothes. They don't have a lot of time, apparently, but there's no way that Heine will get himself dressed in time and look decent enough to not get ate. ]

--Where the fuck do these belts go?

[ he's talking to himself most likely, because he's a big boy who don't need no help...... not. please help him. ]

► DINNER + SHENANIGANS

[ Congratulations, you're seated next to Heine for the duration of the dinner. Thankfully, all these Araneans actually being there instead of the droid from hell means that he behaves himself more or less, doing just enough to stay under the radar ... for the most part.

At one point, he's going to turn to you, and theatrically whisper (within earshot of the Regency, who are seated a little way away): ]

Hey, what was your fake name meant to be? Can't forget about those assholes over there.

iii. ASSORTED- in cycles in circles

► WILDCARD;

[HIT ME UP AT sdat! i'm keen to do whatever! ]

BAR

[prizeneck]

[It's not like he can see the screen, he just decided to sit down, eavesdrop some more - the promise of alcohol and heated tempers by sport tends to loosen tongues or... mandibles, however that works.

He snorts, waving his hand at the cup, schooling his face into neutrality but not without a flare of his nostrils that he hopes is a mere sniff at the odor of whatever that is.

It's a good thing he brought the canteen from Galipolli, filled with water from the tap in his room. That it looks old-fashioned even manages to match the whole aesthetic of this place. ] What kinda wrestling have you been watching?

prompto argentum | ota

[millimeter]

1 | BANQUET BULLSHIT;

[They haven't even been in Jhashch for twelve hours and Prompto is ready to leave. He's trying very hard not to stare at the Araneans, lest one of them think he's trying to initiate a challenge or strike up a conversation, but they're wearing people. He has never felt so out of his depth, not even in Gallipoli, but this is an entire world divorced from his experience. He sucks at bowing. He sucks at dancing. (He sucks less than he thinks he does, but he's too self-conscious and nervous to be good at it.)

He's too distracted to really notice when the Regency shows up, catching ripples of conversation more than seeing it. But when he does spot them through the crowd, Prompto feels like he swallowed barbed wire. He does his best to avoid them and stick near other COST recruits, but now instead of stealing glances at the ballroom columns, his eyes wander to the Regency.]

The spiders... They don't seem too happy about them.

[The shabti, he means.]

2 | DRAWN AND QUARTERED;

A | BUGS ARE ICKY;

[He's quiet at the villa, seated indoors with something unhappy to the set of his mouth. He tries to distract himself with the goggles, turning them over in his hands and clicking them on and off, testing different settings. It is, quite frankly, boring as hell.

Until a hthi grub flops from the ceiling and lands squarely in his lap.

He stares at it. The grub, with its many eyes, seems to stare back.

Prompto yelps, leaping to his feet. He hot potatoes the grub; up it goes, into the air...and then he accidentally spikes it right at you.]

B | ADVENTURE TIME;

[Everything terrible about spiderland aside, the architecture and caverns are awe inspiring. There are things Prompto wants to see, loathe as he is to enter the spiders' scrutiny, and he sure as hell isn't going anywhere alone.

Which is why he ends up intercepting the first COST recruit he sees on the villa premises.]

Hey, you up for going somewhere?

3 | AROUND TOWN;

A | DANGER ZONE;

[Prompto is not the most intimidating guy. Kind of the opposite, especially in a world dominated by what look like, to him, massive Arachne (as if the daemons weren't already bad enough). So it's not exactly a surprise when he gets cut off by a pair of them, eagerly asking what he is. He flinches, visibly, when they cross too close into his personal space, and knows he fucked up before he even recovers.

One of the Araneans leans closer and he pales, but forces himself to hold still.

Please rescue his artificial ass.]

B | THE GREAT ESCAPE;

[Creepy eyesight aside, there is one area of Aranean society that Prompto knows pretty well from his years as the Crown Prince of Lucis' best friend, and that is how to ditch the paparazzi. It's a lot harder here, sure—and Prompto is far from used to being the target—but the gist is the same.

Which is how, if a reporter or camera crew just won't go away, Prompto manages to intercept you a step ahead of them, around a corner.]

C'mon, this way. [He motions down an alley, too narrow for a female Aranean to follow.]

4 | WILDCARD;

[If a prompt just doesn't cut it. Banquet prep, saving him from the dance floor, getting scrutinized at the shops, etc; you name it and you got it.]

3a

[bloodings]

[ Mordred doesn't care at all about his predicament. She's just passing through when she sees him, and she can't let something so pathetic continue — intercepting them from the side, she makes eye... eyes... contact with the Araneans. ]

Get lost, you ugly bugs! [ It seems to be effective. Her hybrid status, combined with the palpable aura of anger she gives off, is the closest thing to an anti-Aranean barrier someone can get. Mordred takes a few steps after them as they scuttle off, and then stops, seemingly satisfied. ]

... Hmph. It's good that they're scared. [ She looks back at Prompto. ] Don't just stand there and let them treat you like food. Punch one, if you have to. They're big enough targets.

ryuji sakamoto (or, frances rowlet thanks nix)

[ryuji]

1. When the night falls down (pre-Banquet)

a. I wait for you and you come around
[If anyone needs some help tying obis, Ryuji's probably not the best bet, but word's gotten around that he brought a pretty well stocked hygiene kit: nail clippers, q-tips, deodorant, clear nail polish for stocking disasters, razor blade and shaving cream, tide pens (half empty already, bless his mess), nose hair clippers. And, yeah, he probably cares about your safety if you're in COST, so he'll be around in the courtyard, idly playing Birchstory with his box at his side. Just in case you need that last minute pick-me-up.]

b. And the world's alive with the sound (closed to Bucky)
[There's something he never learned how to do- something that maybe he could've picked up earlier in life if he ever had a chance, or ever had the patience to endure through. Ryuji can hold his own when it comes to hip hop dancing, can strum a beat along on drums fairly decently, but when it came to the prestigious skills that one acquires through the time honored tradition of ballroom... well, he doesn't know the difference between a Viennese Waltz or a salsa. And maybe it's a text conversation that leads to this moment, but the Japanese youth looks particularly apprehensive as sounds from a Futhark speaker beats out a rhythm that sounds confining, stuffy, uneasy for someone with so much yearning to keep his body in perpetual motion.

He looks up at James, and sighs to himself.

But no one ever grows by staying stationary. So here he is, completely out of his comfort zone and nervous as he looks up to his instructor. In a formal Japanese haori, nails painted bright blue, and soft hues of makeup complementing his already pale skin tone. Nothing ever grows by sitting still and accepting things the way they've always been.]

Alright. I'm ready. Let's try it again.

[He holds his hand out for his lead to take.]

c. Of kids on the street outside (network)
>>ALL
@ENTERTHEDRAGON

Frances here. I know we got that data deck and all but shit, these spider bitches are freaking me the eff out. You guys figure out a way to get away from everyone watchin you with those thousand eyes of soul crushin contempt?

2. Put on your red shoes and dance the blues (the banquet)

a. If you say run, I'll run with you (dancing!)
[For someone that never got the chance to attend his senior prom, this is... actually kind of how he thought it'd go. Although outwardly, self-esteem has never really been that much a deficiency in Ryuji's mannerisms, he notes a few similarities: a rigid social structure, girls that look like they'd chew him up and spit him out, bad music, a severe lack of inebriation, and, most importantly... going stag. Wallflower-ism extremely discouraged, Ryuji still feels that awkward pang of not knowing how to approach someone and ask them without fucking it up to high hell.

So here he is, trying not to fade into the drapery, rubbing the back of his neck as he approaches you, anxious and weirdly not anywhere near his usual form of spunky self-righteousness or vulgarity. He opens his mouth, eyes crawling upward, uncertain and---]

Dance with me? I don't wanna get eaten.

[Or tell him to bugger off. Hopefully no one will lay eggs in his chest.]

b. And if you say hide, we'll hide (ESCAPING!)
[And then there's a literal fucking panic at the disco when some sleight happens and the ball is ruined. Ryuji, for a moment, is caught between two Araneans who look like they're DTV (down to vore), and he wants

no freaking part of this.

Narrowly escaping a sharp slice off his head (really, his fault for being too close to begin with), he looks around the room for his fellow COST-mates. Yeah, no, they're hightailing it the hell out of there. Seeing you in a particularly similar situation, Ryuji takes you by the hand.]

I dunno about you, but I'm outsies. Let's get the hell outta here!

3. I heard you on the wireless back in fifty two (around spiderworld)

a. Lying awake intent at tuning in on you (arcade)

That's effin' CHEATING.

[He watches an Aranean holding down the control board of a familiar Street Figher-esque game, multiple appendages on each of the buttons of the joystick panel. She's owning this game, downright, owning, and as Ryuji watches her to get a sense of her style and weaknesses, it appears almost flawless- with one, tiny observational giveaway.

She doesn't play defensively at all. Hand to his chin, he turns over to you.]

How confident are you right now in your skills? I think we can shark a little cash here for those auctions.

b. If I was young it didn't stop you coming through (doubles tennis)
[Somehow, an exchange broke out that had led to this very moment. A duel, proposed, not by the will of honorable armed combat, but at a bar, with an Aranean who looked as if she wanted to kill this disgusting magic low class whelp over the results of a tennis match on tv. He's not the charismatic type, but you were there to help him talk his way out of it and along the way, talk both of you into a game of doubles tennis with this spider bitch and her bestie.

So Ryuji looks down at his standard issue tennis shorts, thinking that these remind him all too well of track jumpers, and holds his racket like a sword. God help you two. He readies the first serve.]

You got this, right? We have a chance of winning, right?

b. Oh... no
[Listen, after he figures out that the skrit chri are being used as Aranean slaves for entertainment purposes, he can't sleep that night. There's something so inhumane about keeping a pet to just race it- something so critically wrong that it bites at the scores of things he's done as a Phantom Thief to emancipate people who were bound by things completely out of their control. It's wrong and Ryuji? Well, Ryuji is an agent of justice, clearly.

You get a text on your BCE sometime in the middle of the night.

This is BULLSHIT. I can't believe they just keep em pent up like that. They look so unhealthy and sad.

That's it. We're gonna go free some of them.

Meet me outside the stables.

Operation: race to freedom has begun.]

4. Wildcard / OTA

[If you want to do something otherwise with this idiot, let me know! Feel free to assume he's having a horrible time anywhere in the spiderverse, or hit me up on centerfold! Metaverse shenanigans are also always open.]

2a because hideous

[prizeneck]

[The voice isn't really of someone he recognizes, but this kid is obviously COST and the ask isn't really off kilter. Maybe he spotted him in practice, and Mamoru wasn't that bad at anything that involved coordination and choreography.

In fact, you could say that good fighting had a lot to do with dancing.

Maybe that's why these spiders liked it so much.

He jerks his head, hand moving from the hilt of the Japanese sword to wave him to the dancefloor.

He didn't like it, but...] C'mon.

ryo asuka ( tennou vergilius maro ) | ota.

[reillumination]

INFERNO: CANTO I (ABOUT THE RINGS).

[ Murmurs follow them, follow him.

Along the Rings, he feels the weight of eyes pressed up against his back. Countless eyes, black and pitch, which in turn wink out most often each time he passes. The sharp click of mandibles and scandalized hisses follows almost always after.

Unlike many recruits, he does not require the continual use of the night vision goggles they’ve been given, which sit pushed up neat against hair on-and-off, off-and-on again. Any who keep track of him would note they’re most frequently on when talking to fellow recruits, to spiders that insist on cornering him. It isn’t so much for his own vision, one could postulate, as much as it is a means to obscure everyone else’s. ]

A. life which made them foul.

[ Perhaps you’ve run into him while he’s viewed as anomaly – a feat much simpler to witness – a thing to be left in the dirt of the Aranean Hierarchy. Like this, he’s easily able to slip through and by largely unnoticed. Some spit curses at him if he comes too close to them, but there’s something wound and coiled in the way Ryo navigates through the space they’ve all been enclosed in for now. ]

Shut up, [ he bites out eventually. Out of all he’s glared back at, this one seems to have hit its mark. How unsightly, wearing a skin like that. It’s a particularly venomous mud-slinger, their mandibles clacking, and Ryo has his hand on his pistol beneath his coat as it passes, tittering as though his words mean nothing at all. ] I don’t need your bullshit! If I’m unsightly, then look somewhere else!

[ It gets worse the deeper he goes, but eventually time finds him in a quiet and discreet corner nearer to COST’s quarters, cigarette in his mouth. He’s muttering to himself, his free hand clenched against the blue fabric of his coat. It’d be best if you greeted him instead of sneaking up. ]

B. from one blood to another.

[ Or, perhaps, you’ve run into him while he’s viewed as something magical. Spiders always seem to be hungry and are more than eager to weave him closer to them. He doesn’t step near anyone in COST, but it’s possible he falls closer into their path. He’s only human. It had to be from what he’s already known. He’s only – ]

Go around, there’s less of them this way, [ he says, after a long moment. He isn’t necessarily relying on anyone here. It’s just advantageous for him, especially if whoever is closest to him is of a particular persuasion more appealing to Araneans. ]

C. falls each star that rose.

[ Maybe you’ve seen him just now or maybe you’ve seen him through all three as rare as that might be. This hour finds him cornered by an Aranean, their many eyes glistening appraisingly over his form. They’re definitely asking more than a few questions of him, and anyone stepping in might find them asking after his origins and where he was born – what made him so unique, since it seems like he wasn’t modified at all. Ryo, for all of his lack of tolerance for conversation with those he has no time for, seems to be holding his own just enough. ]

My guardians never gave me a chance to see the inside of it. The building was taken down after I was born, [ he continues, his voice pitching into something low and dark. Staying vague in details helps when Ryo doesn’t understand why it is he’s being asked. That power he was given shouldn’t throw them off this much. Should it? He can’t question it right now, not when he’s focusing on keeping his posture stiff despite the feeling of nausea that wells in his gut. There’s almost a bubble of laughter that comes up in response as the Aranean mulls over this and asks a little more. For some reason, he can’t seem to stay consistent in their hierarchy at all.

Peculiar. Give him a hand anyway? ]

D. entered on an uncouth path.

[ Or maybe you’ve caught him on the worst day he could have had here in the rings: there’s two spiders currently bickering loudly over what in the world he is, which might give anyone around enough time to slip by if they’re being hassled too. ]

Hurry up, [ Ryo hisses. He has no problem yanking you by the elbow if you’re not fast enough to follow him into one of the corridors the servants bustle through. ]

PURGATORIO: CANTO II (VICES & WAR).

A. to be gnawed by self-reproach.

[ Humans often used vices to forget their own troubles and Ryo was no exception, regardless of how much doubt had been cast on him over the last few days alone. So, perhaps it’s just natural that he winds up in one of the bars, a bottle of something that resembles wine at his hand that he dutifully keeps pouring into his glass each time he drains it. Each time he sets it back, there’s a smudge of blue at the rim, though whatever lipstick he wears seems to stay put by and large regardless. It’s a pretty contrast in a dim, dreary den of purples and reds. There’s a good mix of individuals here, both Aranean and no. Even with the game buzzing on the background, whatever dive he’s found is quieter than most.

If his posture wasn’t so well kept and his makeup wasn’t so well set – one could say he’d look tired if he was wishing for an easy death. Ryo, for his part, isn’t. Still, he doesn’t really pay mind if you sit down next to him to grab a drink. He’s too aware of everything else that could kill him here.

However, if you go to order, he’ll chip in almost nonchalant despite his otherwise tense air. ]

If you want a drink, don’t get that. There’s barely any alcohol in it.

[ Just how long has he been here? ]

B. you have seen the fruitless desire.

[ SEE BELOW. ]

PARADISO: CANTO III (DINE WITH DEVILS).

A. a great flame follows a tiny spark.

[ He’s skilled enough, that should be given to him.

There’s a small hit of a bruising along the high of his cheekbone that he seems to be covering without much aplomb in time for the banquet, the blue of his eyes almost too blue against the dim and the dark. He’s already pulled on his formal wear without so much as a wrinkle or a pull, but he might notice you struggling with your makeup if you’re grumbling loud enough.

He’ll turn, made more notable by the click of his heels, his arms crossing loosely in front of his chest once he finishes up. ]

Don’t smear it around like that, [ he says, voice just as cool and even as usual. Still, there’s something wan at the edges that wasn’t quite there before. ] It’ll start flake off as soon as you start eating.

[ He’s not really being generous or kind here. He just has other things to worry about. You and your failure to apply lipstick or concealer isn’t likely to be one of them. ]

B. like diamond struck by sunlight.

[ Ryo doesn’t dance much back home.

But, expectations here are high and he’s not about to get eaten because he’s got a rebellious streak a mile wide and the glimmer of contempt of their circumstances in his eyes. He’s had at least a drink or two to take the edge off of what they’re about to do and so if he’s going to be coupled off into someone’s proximity, he’ll bear it without so much as really looking at you – at least he appears the part. ]

Keep up, [ he says, more of a direction than a request. If take the hand he’s dispassionately extended, you might notice how cool and smooth his skin is once you get past the impeccable blue of his nails. Once the music strikes up and you’ve settled in, he’s surprisingly graceful for someone so off-standish. Just don’t mention it to him. He’s liable to fumble. ]

C. to be secure from corruption.

[ There’s something dark and strange in the pale of his eyes that flickers and flares as the families tear each other, spackle the dance floor in the thick of their blood.

Unlike the recruits who move and flee about him, he remains for a moment suspended. It’s long enough for anyone to notice. It’s long enough to notice the odd way his mouth curves, the blue of his lips upturned into something half-horrified and half-enthralled.

He might not be close to the battlegrounds, but he’s close enough.

If you want to pull him back or pull him on out of there, it might be to his best interest. ]

DANTE: SUMMON SOMETHING NEW.

[ I'm happy to write you up something special, should you like! Hit me up on here, disco (morning star#3715), or on rasasvada. OPENS ARMS. ]

ryo asuka ( tennou vergilius maro ) | closed.

[reillumination]

[ Surprisingly, it’s taken this long to get the harder end of his ire.

It comes up in an argument that you can’t quite hear, but there’s a sudden shattering of glass and Ryo’s up on his feet – steady despite the amount of alcohol he’s seemingly imbibed. Grasped in his palm, there's the remains of the neck of the bottle he's had at his hand all night. Fractured as it is, it cuts into the pale of skin. Blood pools between the tips of his fingers, drips. If he cares for the mess he's made across the barroom floor (and he doesn't), then he needn't to because in the back, the game roars across a grouping of television sets and the curious eyes are far and few.

There’s slivers of an exchange caught here and there – something about a bet. Some off-color joke. A statement of how Ryo’s bound to be the next entertainment piece for the Araneans he’s stumbled into. And then, it’s Ryo’s voice that comes up, clipped sharp and thin. ]

Oh, that? [ He laughs, the smile that jerks up about the laughter dissonant – out of key. He brandishes the bottle before him and it brings up a surge of chattering, but it's only temporary. ] I’m not worried about that. You’re more than welcome to go ahead of me.

[ It’s not what he says that starts it, not really. He’s mostly a hybrid, something not to be touched and not to be taken too seriously – but it’s someone else who was looking for lunch (which they seem to have decided might be him). A chitinous leg lashes forward and Ryo jerks – he manages to miss the brunt of the strike by ducking. It grazes a smaller spider behind him instead and there's a bark of a laugh as the new target legs their way into the brawl.

It isn't too long before there's three. Four. And Ryo skirts the outside of the mess he's helped made manifest, eyes flashing wide and bright against the chaos of it all. ]

genji shimada | ota

[doublejumps]

I. HIERARCHY

[ Gallipoli had been a stark change from the world Genji knew, but it had at least still been Earth. The coelacanth had been a step up from that, as he'd walked on the back of an eternal creature and discovered beings he could have not imagined in his wildest dreams. This is a step up from that. Genji had studied up as asked, done the requisite training, but actually experiencing it is something else entirely.

Suffice to say that he spends the first day wandering around the easily accessible areas, looking this way and that as he takes it all in. There's a lot to remember when it comes to how he composes himself, and he has no interest in rubbing anyone the wrong way, especially when they've only just arrived.

Really, he's minding his own business when a pair of curious female Araneans approach him and start in with a string of questions about him and his enhancements. They're not at all shy about it. ]

I suffered great injuries. I was stabilized, and then offered the chance to be saved. This body is the result.

[ They continue to press, wanting the story of how he became so injured, as well as asking for more details on what parts of him were man or machine.

Which leads to some nervous language on Genji's end. ] It's... a long story. I wouldn't want to bore you!

[ One of the Araneans rears up, clearly offended that he would assume anything about what they would or wouldn't find boring. Genji straightens in turn, not sure what to do next or how to stop himself from getting eaten right then and there. (Are they truly that aggressive? He doesn't want to test it.)

Help? ]

II. BACK TO BUSINESS

[ The time has come for the banquet, possibly the first of many, and Genji isn't about to shy away from it. Not that he thinks there's even an option to skip such an event without offending someone and getting all of COST into trouble as a result. He's been to events like this before, as the son of a family that had been well-off and well-connected, to say the least.

When he was just a child, he hadn't even realized what sorts of deals his father had been making with people behind closed doors at such gatherings.

That's all a world and a lifetime away, though. Genji has been provided with an outfit that thankfully fits his sensibilities, and he's slipped into it without too much trouble. With the ensemble covering most of his body and with his faceplate retracted, he could almost pass for a normal human.

It's a long time spent staring in the mirror, though, and he can't quite shake the wave of nervousness that's washed over him. It's been a long time since he's done this, after all, and there's still that sense that he doesn't look quite right in what he's wearing.

He sticks his head out of his door into the shared hallway, looking this way and that for another COST agent. When he spots someone, he waves to them. ]

Yo! Does my hair look all right?

III. RETURN OF THE REGENCY

[ When the members of the Regency arrive on the scene, Genji attempts to not watch them with a piercing stare, but he fails. There's still so little that he knows about them, but he'd seen what they were capable of back at Gallipoli, had fought them with his fellow COST agents on the beaches.

Then he'd learned about what they'd done to the group they'd captured, and he now thinks he knows enough to definitively say he's not a fan.

He finds it distracting that they're allowed to wander around the party and mingle without anyone batting an eye. He realizes that they're being treated as guests in the same way that COST is, but he doesn't have to like it. He sighs and looks to another COST agent who happens to be standing nearby. ]

If only it was easier to eavesdrop on them.

[ As tempting as it is to simply approach one of the Regency members to question them outright, Genji's style has always been a bit more subtle than that. ]

IV. LOVE AND GORE

[ One moment everything seems to be going smoothly. Genji hasn't actually eaten much, partly because he doesn't require much food in general, and partly because he doesn't necessarily want to, given what's being served. He hasn't earned any judging glances yet, though that's the least of his concerns once the fighting starts.

Chaos erupts after that, with some people trying to get away from the bloody mess as quickly as possible, while others are pushing closer so that they can get front row seats to the action. Genji doesn't want to leave until he sees the end result, and as grotesque of a sight as it is, he has a strong stomach.

When all is said and done, it's the lady who'd greeted them and showed them to their living arrangements who lays lifeless on the floor, surrounded by the other members of her House. Genji may not know much about the deeper politics at play here, but he knows this can't be good for COST.

When the queen starts devouring one of the corpses is when he decides to take his leave, ducking through an exit to get some (relatively) fresh air. He thinks he's alone at first, but when another COST agent approaches, he looks them up and down with a worried frown. ]

Are you all right?

V. WILDCARD

[ There's a lot to do here, and I'm open to whatever! PM me or hit me up at demonology if you want to plot something. ]

iv

[heilt]

( she'd been closer to jack when it had happened, with him catching her during the event, keeping her as steady as he possibly could. angela had wanted to help, to do something, but it had all ended in blood before she could move. jack wouldn't have let her at any rate. it wasn't a good idea. getting dragged into their politics, and the danger was a terrible plan.

it had been too much for her. angela had seen horrors on the battlefield but this was something else entirely. eating the dead, the speed and decisiveness of the attack. angela had left as soon as she'd been able to -- as soon as she'd been able to. she'd hoped to be alone outside, gathering her composure in peace, but there he is. angela doesn't push him away. genji knows her, and even with that question she can hear the concern and doubt in his voice.

there's just a small shake of her head that confirms it )

I don't know how they could do that.

( but it's a different culture, a different set of rules. even in their own society, there are many acts that angela doesn't understand -- not knowing how or why someone could be so violent or wish to hurt another. for pleasure, or 'sport'. war is something that she'd dealt with but this wasn't war. not as they knew )

minatsuki takami / "hanamira kougousabi" ( ota )

[jailbirds]

( OUTFITS!! when she's walking around the second & third rings or the residence, minatsuki can be found in a kimono + hakama with matching geta and eventually, earrings she buys while here. her banquet outfit is a more elaborate kimono with okobo. )

I. HIERARCHY

[ the funny thing is, she joined up with COST at least in part because she wanted to figure out how to be someone better than she was in Wonderland; I don't want to lie anymore, right? and then the very first fucking thing they ask her to do is use a skillset she was supposed to have retired, and it comes more easily to her than she'd like it to. for everything the Araneans prize, the girl that she was back in Wonderland is the top of the ladder — an artificially-enhanced young lady who is violent, manipulative, and back-stabbing. so much for self-improvement.

it's something she's not going to hesitate to take advantage of, though, and it works in favour of everyone else too. use her however you have to in order to get by; she has no problem intervening in any situation where a fellow recruit seems to be cornered, and she'll do whatever she has to when you need a bail. the rest of the time, she seems like a completely different person from who she was on BASE. like she said, she really is playing a role: Hanamira Kougousabi has a cool temperament, a polite tongue, a haughty demeanour behind her knife-sharp smiles. she'll talk with Araneans like that without ever slipping up in her act or signalling anyone to come to her rescue.

if you need an escape route or you want to check that she's okay because she's been stuck in that conversation for an awfully long time, Hanamira is available. ]

II. PRE-BANQUET

[ she lets the servants help her dress for the banquet because there's no way she can put on a kimono this elaborate on her own, and she's met so few Japanese people in COST so far that she doubts any of the other recruits will know how to help with the specifics of the outfit. but the hair, the make-up — all of that, she can do herself. even though she's not used to dressing up to this extent, she doesn't mind taking the time to do it; she's definitely a little bit happy to look like such a princess, no matter what the occasion is.

after her make-up is done, she ends up doing her braids in the courtyard, since it's a familiar routine for her and she doesn't need a mirror. she even seems peaceful doing this, half-heartedly taking the time to glance over anyone else who wanders into the courtyard while they're all waiting for time to be up. it's only at the end when she pins her hair up — the back gathered into braids while the front hangs loose, and the braids crossing over the top of her head like a headband — that she whistles for the attention of someone who's nearby. ]

Oi! [ her speaking style doesn't really suit her appearance now, but— ] Is my hair sitting alright? I'm not shuffling back to my room in this stupid get-up.

[ she's already out here, she's not going back just for a mirror. might as well just ask for someone else's eyes. ]

III. DINNER & DANCING

[ if you were hoping to find an entertaining conversation partner at dinner in Minatsuki, after the attitude she's displayed so far on BASE and over the network, then you'll be disappointed; Hanamira reigns throughout the entire thing, all prim and proper like she's never been anyone else, and at most you'll be able to pry a bit of whispered shit-talking out of her. she's in full survival mode, which means she absolutely won't break character until she thinks she's in the clear.

but you might be able to get a flicker of her usual self when it comes to dancing. she takes any invitation she's given and makes offers herself, and however you end up with her, she steps in close, and digs her nails into you hard. it's not cruelty. it may not be easy to tell unless you're familiar with it, because her mask is so careful, but — it's actually touch aversion. it's been a long time since she was this close to someone without being in the middle of a fight, and she's trying hard not to flinch from it.

when it's unlikely that they're going to be overheard or interrupted during the dance, she does whine a little bit: ]

I wanna go back to BASE...

IV. END OF THE EVENING

[ the violence starts suddenly, and that's about the only part of it that surprises Minatsuki.

unlike everyone scrambling out of the way or trying to get a better view of the carnage, she doesn't even get up from her seat — she cranes her neck a little to see what's happening over in the thick of it, but other than that, she stays where she is, even picking at her food while this goes on. she doesn't seem at all fazed by it. they always used to broadcast the Penalty Game during mealtimes, and she stopped being shocked by that in her first few months in Wonderland; the sound of someone screaming in the background hasn't done anything to put off her appetite in a while. this particular violence might be physically closer than the Penalty Game on a screen, but emotionally, it's much further from her.

if there's anyone still sitting near her, she leans over to them — and if not, she'll turn in her chair to talk to any COST recruit that's gotten to their feet nearby: ]

I get the feeling this is gonna mean we're royally fucked.

[ she speaks pretty loudly over the cacophony going on. it might be the only time you've seen her stop being Hanamira Kougousabi all night. ]

V. SECOND RING

[ window-shopping was always a good way to pass time even in Wonderland, and although her money here is limited, she doesn't need to hold onto any of it just to keep herself alive. this is the most relaxing thing she can think to do when she's in-between diplomatic conversational bullshit; the shops might be more limited than she's used to, since they aren't exactly intended for humans, but weapons and jewellery are both things she's happy to take time browsing.

most of the time, she'll pass other COST agents with nothing but a polite wave and a smile unless they come up to her. but on a rare occasion, she might be the one that comes to you, announcing herself with what, to her, is an overly intimate "you" and translates to other languages as: ]

Darling! [ without asking, she slips her arm through yours to link elbows — and it's not just a gesture for show, because she actually seems to be kind of putting her weight on you? the reason for that becomes clear when she leans a little closer and mutters: ] My feet are fucking killing me. I haven't worn geta since I was a kid, this sucks.

[ and then she straightens up and smiles, the change like a switch flipping, and her expression is utterly charming. ] So, tell me, what are you here for?

VI. IN RESIDENCE

[ over the weeks, the only time Minatsuki really drops her "Hanamira" persona for longer than a muttered curse or two is in the relative safety of their lodgings. relative safety, because she's not stupid enough to think anywhere in this place is safe, the same way nowhere in Wonderland ever was; but safe enough that she doesn't care about who sees her take a moment to breathe. this is so different to who she pretended to be as a child, or either side of her Hummingbird act, but it's just close enough that it's exhausting.

she's been thinking: nobody here knows where this is coming from in her, what kind of mindset she's drawing on to pull this off. talking to these people... it isn't at all like being friends with the other Deadmen, people who knew what she'd done, who had been monsters themselves. and the last time she was lying like this was when she tried to kill Ganta, and now all she can remember is the look on his face when she backstabbed him, that moment where the disbelief is stronger than the horror — they moved past it a long time ago, but fuck. they moved past it because she let go of all that bullshit, and now here she is, prying it out again from beneath the rubble of her Wonderland memories.

she doesn't know what's wrong with her right now. it's not like her self-esteem is that bad or anything, but to join on with COST thinking she'd be someone that Ganta and her brother and the others might be proud of, only to find out that what they need is the worst parts of her is... disheartening? like this is what she really is good for. she tries to see the world a little better and it really does its best to fuck that up.

it's only a temporary thing, but she's tired — so in the courtyard of their lodgings, Minatsuki leans back against a wall, drops into a crouch, and hides her face in her knees. just for a minute. all she needs to do is shove all of this down so that it stops scratching at the back of her mind and she can focus on the only thing that matters right now: survival. ]

VII. WILDCARD

[ THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS TO DO HERE feel free to make something up yourself or if you want a specific starter then hmu @ dragonstrike ♥♥ ]

2

[cutlery]

[ It hadn't taken long for Sebastian to prepare for the banquet, but to be fair, his outfit wasn't nearly as complex as some others. In fact, he rather likes it, save for slicking back his hair. It's the sort of thing that Lady Francis would insist on, and though he knows the neatness is required for high society... He's still not exactly a fan. Ah, well. At least it's only an evening before he can set it back to his preferred style.

He had come to the courtyard to casually mingle, half looking for a reprieve to pass the time before they head to the banquet, and half making himself available should anyone want assistance. Though he doesn't look the part now, his experience as a butler to a very picky young earl at least makes him well suited to help. He's become a good servant in Ciel's service, which would be irritating if not for the fact that he enjoyed the work...

He's not looking at Minatsuki when she calls out to him, but he still turns to face her. There's a light confusion briefly on his face, since the rough manner of speaking definitely doesn't match her appearance at the moment, but it's gone behind a pleasant smile quickly. ]

Ah, let's see— [ He walks closer, though he does bow his head lightly as if silently apologizing for intruding. He takes a look with a cant of his head, since he seems to be taking her question surprisingly seriously. ]

It is sitting well enough, yes, though the ends could perhaps be a bit better concealed. [ Though they most likely are very good for not having used a mirror... Sebastian is just being picky. ]

thor odinson | ota

[thunders]

1. MINES OF YMIR

a. [ The first place Thor goes, when he has a moment of freedom, is back to the mines of Ymir. There's an unsubtle tension in him, like the charge in the air before a storm. He's been warned against going anywhere alone, and for a good reason. Everywhere he goes, eyes follow - and not just eyes, in some cases.

Thor doesn't seem to notice that he's being pursued as he moves deeper into the mines - or if he does notice, he doesn't seem to care. He feels the hum of life from Ymir's remains, though the giant has long since died.

It isn't unusual for mortals to confuse or borrow the names of gods for their own purposes. He had assumed that this was the case with the ymir used to power their operations, but this - this really is a primordial god. It is perhaps not the same Ymir that he knows of, but at the moment it matters very little. Even Thor is given pause when watching a body desecrated in this way.

He doesn't get very far before one of the spiders lands nimbly in his path. She looks him up and down, as if assessing a particularly juicy steak.

Are you all alone here? She asks, with the underlying hiss of a threat. She leans in. I can help you find your way...

Thor realizes, very belatedly, that he may have made a mistake. He folds his arms. ] Of course I'm not alone. I'm with... That person over there.

[ That's you. Sorry, you're his friend now. ]

b. [ Or maybe you're the one who's strayed too far into the mines and ended up cornered by a 'helpful' spider. Thor doesn't have much in the way of rank, but there's strength in numbers, and he looks quite confidently unafraid. ]

There you are - I've been looking everywhere for you.

2. DINNER

a. [ Thor has more than enough practice setting troubled thoughts aside and putting up a good front when he needs to. He spends dinner in fine form, though he can't help but think his brother would have been the one who really thrived in a place like this.

Thor looks perfectly regal and comfortable in his elaborate clothing and isn't at all self-conscious of the attention he receives - even if most of it is from spiders looking to lay him out on the table for dessert. He brags his way into the center of more than a few conversations. He tells a number of stories, each more exaggerated than the last, but cunning and bloodshed and the slaying of fantastic beasts are things that he's quite well acquainted with. At the moment, he's telling a tamer tale. The beginning involves his hammer being stolen, and an elaborate plan to steal it back from a giant. He gestures with both hands, and speaks in a voice that carries. ]

So then I tore off my wedding dress and hefted my mighty hammer - but not before I had liberated the giant's head from his body. With my bare hands, of course.

[ He's a great distraction - should a fellow cost recruit need to deflect attention, all they have to do is catch his eye. If anyone is particularly clever, they'll be able to encourage the spiders or Regency soldiers to speak more about their own victories and alliances in order to draw interest back away from Thor. ]

b. [ Alternatively, if you're having trouble being bold or putting up a front under such close scrutiny, Thor leans in and speaks to you as if you've been friends for decades. Didn't you say you fought in an arena before? ] Tell them the story. It's a good one. [ Don't worry, he'll help. ]

c. [ Nothing completes a nice banquet like wholesale slaughter. With the suddenness of the violence, Thor instinctively reaches for a weapon and moves toward the fray.

It's easy enough to stop him before he gets too close, but he doesn't look happy about it. ]

So much for our allies.

WILDCARD

[ Thor can also be found in the bars and hunting supply stores in his off time. He has a good eye for quality weaponry and armor, and and he's pretty adventurous when it comes to drinking. Maybe you need a taste tester for that suspicious blue liquid? Or maybe you're inclined to share after you see the fan letter he's received - artfully designed to look like a menu, with colorful descriptions of how he would best be prepared in the event of losing a battle.

He tries to stay close to his fellow recruits - he's mostly learned his lesson about wandering off alone. ]

2a

[cutlery]

[ Sebastian has been seated near Thor, and though he's hardly shy himself, he ends up being drawn in by the boastful stories as well. They're somewhat familiar to him, and it catches his curiosity and attention, though at least not as much as the spiders that Thor is entertaining. A beat comes in his story, and Sebastian decides to speak up with a small, but pleasant laugh. ]

My, my. It is an impressive feat, and I must admit that I am glad to know that my coworkers are quite formidable as well. Working with your bare hands is no small feat.

[ Attention does turn to Sebastian at his polite boast, because he's in a very similar position. He's magical to his very core, so he's surely just as delicious. But he doesn't falter under the attention, and he takes the intimidating shift as easily as if it were a normal conversation. This seems natural for him, because he's working with his words in such a way that he's hoping to shift the conversation back to their hosts. With two magical and male COST recruits telling elaborate stories, he imagines an Aranean will feel compelled to chime in with their own tales. ]

In my experience, I find that having claws helps with the process, though... Admittedly, I have never met a giant. And certainly not in a wedding dress.

william | ota

[omniavincit]

i. sightseeing

[ The shop's quiet when he walks in, just a couple of spiders arguing over the heft of a dagger. Their eyes slide off William and he gives them a wide berth—who knows if they'll start tossing the thing around. The walls are hung with old, proud spears—the newer ones bristle in containers on the floor, inviting customers to test them out.

He's thinking of trying his luck with a question when the spiders turn—as one, the first consensus they've reached—to the door. A moment later it bursts open and in a chattering of legs a female Aranean enters, hauling a monstrous corpse behind her. The hthi is missing a few of its smaller legs and one of the bigger ones, something white curdling at the empty sockets.

She pays William no mind as she hoists her prey overhead, depositing it with a triumphant grunt on the counter. The thing's...tail? stinger? whips out and William dances back, drawing the spider's glittering gaze. ] Who is this? A little hunter?

[ Her mandibles click delightedly. One of her arms moves—what it does to the air is between a sway and a slice, then it's resting under William's chin. He stands rigid, eyes on hers, breath locked in his chest. ]

ii. dinner

[ Still well away from the great table, William waits patiently in line. This—deferring to the whims of someone else, expression schooled into neutrality—he is practiced at.

Though his eyes stray every so often to the ceiling.

He leans toward the person standing in front of him, lowers his voice. With a nod at the queen: ] So are you going to introduce yourself?

iii. privacy?

[ The night of the banquet, William sleeps in a kind of stupor—not drunk, his imagination glutted with blood and slaughter. It's the nights that follow that give him trouble: he'll wake a few hours after going to bed, or well before daybreak. One such occasion finds him slumped in a chair in one of the common areas, his eyes unfocused. He startles if approached too suddenly, jerking upright and adopting the posture they've all had drilled into them, the posture he's only able to relax when alone. ]

What're you doing up? [ Asked in wry commiseration, with a lopsided smile.

He glances—purposefully casual—at the servant who, even at this hour, hovers nearby. ] You want something to drink?

iv. wildcard

[ Grab him for exploring (especially the mines or servants' corridors!), use him as a spider buffer if you're of the magical persuasion. He is solidly mediocre at everything but 1. remembering names and titles and 2. all-knife dining. Also he is wearing: blue. ]

iii;

[verumdicit]

[ Meliorn can't sleep either, and it's not due to insomnia. Seelie sleep lightly in the first place, but this is different. There's an incessant clacking of legs and mandibles that Meliorn would like nothing to do with, and yet he swears he keeps hearing it. He's being paranoid.

Better paranoid than wind up being eaten. He's very plainly magical in nature: pointed ears, blue in his hair, golden vine markings along his face. He's also fairly certain they can somehow smell it off of him, and that's the final thought that causes him to rise. He slips into his dress clothes easily, making his way to a common area. His line of thought is that he can simply read, but someone jerking in their eat causes him to take a few steps back as well.

Meliorn must be exhausted if he didn't catch another person in his first cursory glance around the room. Had it been an enemy, he would have died. ]

How careless of me. [ It's hard to tell if Meliorn says this while sliding into a bow because he'd mean to introduce himself first, or if he's berating himself for not noticing the other. ]

I would hardly say no to a night cap. If this still counts as a night cap?

Samus Aran | ota

[raisedbybirds]

» Aranean attention

The amount of attention COST was getting wore on Samus scarcely more than a few hours after arrival. Say nothing for the ridiculous formalities from clothes to pose and everything in between. No amount of training or failed glitter bombs could have prepared for the relentless conversations and questions. Most conversations go well... well enough. The Araneans are not shy asking about Samus's physique and how it was made, likening her to a tool or product. It's hard to not resent that viewpoint but Samus mitigates her simmering anger with pride and confidence.

"The blood of a warrior race flows through my veins, and I alone carry their genetic legacy." Yeah... okay it's corny but said with conviction. She goes on briefly as best she can without actually naming said race or giving any uniquely identifying details... which is hard when she is, as stated, the sole survivor. Part of her would love to clarify with trusted company but she wouldn't trust these spiders as far as she could throw them. (Which would probably be decently far, but I digress.) So long as it gets her a pass on conversation and formalities that's all she cares about.

Or here's the bit where Samus involuntarily reacts to the word "Aranean" itself--darting eyes, a jerk of her head, the most subtle of flinches--and said Araneans pick up on it but have no idea what it means.

She wouldn't object to a convenient (or inconvenient) interruption in any situation.

» Spider booze, spider booze, does whatever a

The massive alcoholic drought that was Gallipoli still lingers with her. Probably because the alcohol supply back on BASE, while significantly better, was still poor by her standards. She's not here to overindulge--this is especially is not the place for it, no. In the same vein however, she's hoping to eavesdrop in on lips loosened by liquor and she's not shy about encouraging any Araneans to a drink. Samus has a strong tolerance and she's confident in her ability to keep the utmost composure when it matters the most... even if it means dragging you into a cheer or round of shots.

» Huntsman

There's few things she likes about this planet and Aranean culture, but there is one thing she can have a deep unyielding appreciation for: hunting. An Aranean displays her most recent kill proudly, a Hthi with arrows lodged all along its body like a stretched out porcupine. It was not necessarily large but the Aranean boasts about how it put up such a voracious fight, no doubt because it was a mother protecting her eggs. The eggs were left alone, an act Samus can't decide if it further offends or pleases her. She remarks how she'd not even hunt a brooding Hthi in the first place, and would go for the largest and oldest beast in the territory instead.

The Aranean takes it as a clear challenge.

Before Samus knows it she's being dressed in leathers by servants and a bow is thrust into her hand. Perhaps the servants assume you're with Samus or perhaps you're in the right place at the wrong time.

» All the spiders clap along to the music

Everyone made it to the inner palace in one piece. It's an obligatory dance prompt. It's not the actual dancing she has trouble with, but even after the hours and hours of training and practice enticing her out onto the dance floor is still a struggle she tries to make not obvious. Her partner is missing; oh don't worry they'll be back very soon, they uh, just went to the bathroom. Wait, she has to go to the bathroom. How is she supposed to dance when there is a fancy hors d'oeuvres in her mouth? Actually she just got done dancing, you totally missed it. It was great. Damn shame. Can't expect her to hog the dance floor, that'd just be rude.

» Obligatory dinner prompt

She's alright at this--putting food in her mouth meant she didn't have to use it for droll conversation, though more than once she falters with the silverware, resulting in her, for lack of wanting to draw attention, slowly downing more wine as she subtly eyes what the hell everyone else is doing. She can't do wrong if she's not doing anything. That's going to work for. A little while. Probably.

» I've lost my appetite

There was a fleeting moment some time during dinner that she wished something more exciting would happen. As soon as that violence erupts she immediately wishes she could have taken that thought back. Everyone scrambles to a safe distance and once she's there she automatically takes up a defensive position, stupid dinning attire be damned, and stands in front of whoever looks like they might need a meat shield. "Move your feet. I'll cover you." She'll help anyone to their feet who may have fallen and it looks like she's equally as braced to fight. She's simultaneously disappointed and relived she doesn't need to join the fray.

There's probably some stray spider blood on her somewhere she's not going to notice for hours.

» Challenger approaching: WILDCARD

Probably Samus gets a challenge letter at some point. She's not exactly going to read it out in the open but she is going to read and re-read it more than once. Perhaps there are even letters. We can also do the wildcard prompts here, I'm game for anything.

Huntsman

[horsepowered]

Hunting here was an extremely different thing from Chiron's own time, but the familiarity of the weapons spoke to a level of universality that he found a strange comfort in. Likewise, sticking close to other COST operatives, especially in a space like this, was of utmost importance given that he was at a severe disadvantage within the hierarchy.

Chiron does hear the actual exchange between Samus and the Aranean about the recently dispatched Hthi, even as he studiously examines a bag meant to hold all manner of equipment. He assumes it to be the required aggression, all until he looks up and sees Samus completely clad in leather armor.

He doesn't dare speak yet, but he shoots her a concerned look that asks, Do you need to get out of this situation?

eren yeager | ota

[trample]

[ It's alien, is what it is. Eren's never been to the moon, and he's never planned to. The very idea of a spider sizable enough that it couldn't be crushed under his feet wasn't one he was very fond of. Needless to say, he wasn't liking Jhashch. But it couldn't be helped. He was a soldier, and this was his duty - no one ever said he had to like it. ]

a drink (i).

[ He needs it. There's a bar that offers their services to lowly humans like himself - so he takes the opportunity readily, and seats himself square in the midst of all the chaos one would expect from a facility manned by man-eating spider people and their servants (all the quieter, edgier corner spots had been taken already by quieter, edgier people than himself - a hard measure to beat!).

And with what little capital he has, he decides to spend it on a bottle of wine (could it be called that?). He assumes it'll have alcoholic content, at least. And while he's waiting, maybe a fellow COST agent can spot him and take a seat. Or join him for a drink when it's already arrived. But if not... ]

a drink (ii).

[ Then he can be found in the estate in which COST calls its own. Within the privacy of his own room - a luxury he was, truly, grateful for - he's popped open yet another bottle of liquor, having found that non-human beverages tickled a particular niche that would likely go untouched if he were to miss the opportunity in front of him. Yes, he called indulging in spirits an opportunity. Someone, stop him. His door's wide open. He's about to chug half the bottle down himself. Save him. ]

good hunting.

[ If guns were tacky, he didn't want to be tasteful. His trigger finger wasn't trained from adolescence just to go unused. He's done more inspection of his dueling pistol than he'd like to admit, but that alone didn't really bring him much ease of mind. So he figured - might as well check out the shop here. He's inspecting what looks like a Winchester 1894, but it's not quite the same thing, due to the obvious difficulty in having something from a time period so specific and because of copyright issues.

If you want to walk up to him as he enters the shop, when he's inspecting the gun, or making the final purchase, feel free. He looks, for once, enthused, almost. By the weapons around him and the uses for which they exist. ]

"it's a rapier." "are you serious?"

Dead serious.

[ The Aranean's giving him this disapproving look. Like something's not quite right, but he can't quite put it to words without coming off as a bit too skeptical. For what it's worth, just about everything's right with Eren's person - he's wearing haute couture clothing, has shaved and cut his hair in truth, and wears his eyepatch like a fashion statement more than anything. It's just...

His sword. It was too big to be called a rapier. Massive, thick, heavy, and far too rough. Indeed, it was like a heap of raw iron. At least, as far as rapiers go. In reality, his cavalry blade, a memento from Gallipoli, wasn't much different from a rapier, just that it was curved for slashing instead of stabbing. Big whoop. The curve was the only reason Eren was being held up here at the entrance for so long, and while he wasn't getting antsy, he was getting a touch sarcastic. Maybe not the best thing to be at the moment. Help a guy out? He just wants to eat. ]

let's dance.

[ After bowing more times than he had in his whole life, he's finally found a comfy enough corner - luckily, free of Araneans - to escape from the dance in. It was, without a doubt, the farthest thing from him as it could get. Music wasn't his thing. He never much took to anything he couldn't scream his lungs out trying to recreate. So, dancing was even worse. Best, then, to avoid it entirely, than to make a fool of himself on the floor.

So, there he is. Just standing in the corner, looming behind it all, one arm making a triangle at his side as he tilts his head in what might be tired amusement. He didn't like it, but there's something about seeing the people you know take to the floor like that. He's still very, very uninterested. ]

wildcard.

( do I really need to tell you what to do? :^| )

rapier.

[prizeneck]

It's called a saber, a modality within the art of fencing appreciated by many a prominent fighter. Or are you not aware of the finer intricacies of the blade?

[The Araneans look offended by being told off, especially by one of those they'd normally consider a servant. Mamoru, however, looks even more put off by the looks they're giving the sword. There are a couple of things that stir his temper and disregard for a fighting style may be close to one of the quickest in that short list.

Also, the idea of grilled meat is actually sounding amazing to him. You can't blame him for being hangry.

However, Mamoru isn't really wrong. And while he has a Japanese sword at his waist, his own rapier is also slung below it, a weird variation of the double-bladed carry ancient samurai used to hold. He jerks his head for Eren to follow him inside.] C'mon.

lena oxton ☼ ota

[desynched]

exploring

midnight at the villa

[ The oppressive feeling of Jhashch is hard to shake. Behind the opulence and the impeccable manners lurks something feral and sinister. Behind those fake smiles and pretty words are people who would happily rip her apart if it suited them. Not only does she have to avoid being eaten, but she also has to sell them on COST.

No pressure.

Lena sleeps poorly in the villa. She knows she’s being watched constantly and pretending that it doesn’t affect her is taxing. Still, she finds herself wandering at night and is often in the courtyard at what passes for midnight on Jhashch. With her Chronal Accelerator, she’s not hard to spot in the dimly-lit landscape of the courtyard at night. Sometimes, she’s jogging to shake off some restlessness. Sometimes, she’s sitting on one of the benches and takes time to appreciate the plants in the courtyard-- probably the only living things here that aren’t assessing her merit. Well. She hopes they aren’t, at least.

Any other COST recruit that happens upon her will be invited-- either to sit with her or take a jog-- with a smile. ]

Can’t sleep either?

not quite a pub in london

[ Lena feels most comfortable in the bars. It’s the only place where the hierarchy fades and the Araneans take interest in something other than asking about her augmentation or pulling her in to polite but drawn-out conversation. It’s not quite a pub in the heart of London, but it’s the most familiar thing she’s found here. She spends most of her time nursing a glass of some alien liquor, which she drinks slowly and sparingly. It’s always better to be sure that it won’t kill her or make her turn purple or something.

Any COST agent who walks in will be greeted with a friendly wave and an invitation to sit with her. ]

the banquet

put on your dancing shoes

[ Dancing was one of the few things she took to during training. Although she didn’t actually volunteer to dance, she doesn’t protest at being pulled onto the dance floor by an Aranean. Dressed to impress, she follows the dance, doing the human version of it nearly perfectly. When they change partners during the dance, she might end up with another COST agent. Lena flashes them a confident smile, and she tries to give those who are struggling a bit of a leg up. After all, it’s not strange for her to lead, especially if her partner is lower on the social ladder than she is. Or maybe she and her partner will cut a rug, making the Araneans take particular note.

Either way, this is the most relaxed anyone will see her all evening. ]

feral and sinister

[ Lena felt that she’d been adapting well to Aranean society, or at least well enough not to ruin the mission, until the fight breaks out. She pulls people out of the way of any snapping mandibles-- Aranean, COST, Regency, it doesn’t matter-- and it takes all of her willpower to stay out of the fight once it turns truly gory.

She’d almost forgotten the true nature of the Araneans until the moment the fight ended and an entire family had been slaughtered. Lena knows she has to watch, start to finish, or be perceived as weak. Even if she wanted to leave, her legs feel like lead. Instead, she blindly grabs the hand of whoever is standing next to her and holds it in a vice grip. ]

It’s going to be okay. [ She whispers it more for her own benefit, though it doesn’t help. They can get through this. They can survive this test of their strength. ]

Midnight at spidervilla

[horsepowered]

Not so much as can't as don't strictly need, which I'm starting to feel is an advantage here.

[Chiron will admit that for all the drawbacks of being a Heroic Spirit here, not requiring sleep is a massive advantage. It lets him keep an eye on things well into the night, and it's hardly an extension of his abilities to do so.

But it is terribly quiet business, and he's happy to have company as he walks the corridors in the evening, eyes and ears keen to detect anyone foolish enough to believe spying on COST in the dead of night is a wise course of action.]

Yourself?

henry cooldown | ota

[handsomefoil]

i. ＯＶＥＲＶＩＥＷ

Being painfully natural, he does avoid the looks of the Araneans, which is pretty much what he wants for the time being. He's not looking to get into the spotlight right off the bat, waiting for a chance to show off when it becomes necessary. When that will be, even he's not really sure, but he's got his eyes peeled.

Dressed in the COST uniform upon arrival, he dresses to impress but not too much. The flashier court outfit can be saved for special occasions. He remembers his training and keeps himself poised, tall, really flaunting that typical European superiority thing that he loves to incorporate into his character.

ii. ＩＮ  ＲＥＳＩＤＥＮＣＥ

It's almost jarring how familiar the setting feels, despite its towering cielings, altogether alien architecture and spider people walking about. The rooms are impeccably designed and to his own tastes, strangely enough. It makes one wonder if they just somehow knew. He makes little attempt to talk to the servants, even if he keeps a wary glance over at them throughout the time they're in his room.

The music is probably the worst culprit, the tune so nostalgic and reminding him of home. He can't decide if he likes it or not, trying to steel himself. At the very least, he appreciates the atmosphere. Often times, he can be found watching the band from a far, arms cross and leaning against a wall like he's either brooding or contemplating. He's almost always seen in a rich, navy get up, dressed to the nines of course, and does his very best not to break character.

Fortunately, again worth noting, he's rarely given any attention from the Aracheans. Even with his navy colored outfit, neatly pressed and tailored, he gets nary but an uninterested glance whenever he does see passing spiders.

iii. ＷＩＬＤＣＡＲＤ

a very light toplevel, so if anyone wants to thread anything lemme know! hanshi or hanshi#8624

arthur // ota

[pointedlook]

i. in residence

[ After their arrival, it's felt like everything has been a whirlwind. They'd been hustled from the platform and to their quarters, led by an assigned greeter. So far, the politics are playing out how he imagined.

What does surprise him is just how big the Araneans are. He's done his homework of course– what kind of point man would he be otherwise? But there's reading a number and seeing it in person. The female Araneans tower over them all, powerful and sleek, true predators. Arthur makes note to go over the intricacies of court once more, just so he doesn't piss anyone off and get eaten.

Being consumed on a diplomacy mission is really not his idea of a good time.

So far, they're acting polite, setting out to be gracious hosts. The musicians are a nice touch, despite them being spies. He remains in the common area, keeping an eye on as much as possible. ]

Calm before the storm. How long do you think it'll keep?


ii. waltz of the flowers

[ To put it bluntly, it's game time.

Really, it was once they're left the landing deck, but being in the court just drives the point home. He can feel eyes on his back (and all over his person); it's almost like walking through a dream, projections keeping an aggressive gaze. The views vary from curious to disdainful and back. Fine, if they want to look, let them look. While this society works on making a spectacle and holding tight to the title, he wants to try and blend and become invisible. Being without magic or artifice, he's at least halfway to that goal.

To disappear further, he stays away from the walls, sticks to the crowd, and dances with whomever agrees. He's traded off partners, smoothly interjecting with a measured bow and outheld hand as an invitation. ]

May I?


iii. all's fair in love and gore

[ The first clatter of silverware is what gets his attention. From there, it's the hissing, the posturing, and while the imminent fight is happening a number of chairs down, Arthur has no intention of getting caught in the middle.

Imminent becomes total throwdown and he politely excuses himself from the table to get the hell out of the way.

With the chaos happening so fast, he's also going to pull whatever unfortunate COST recruit might be too slow to react out of the potential fray. ]

Move!


iv. post mortem/balance of power

TO: @ALL
FROM: @POINTANDKICK

Probably don't need to tell you to keep on your toes, but it bears repeating. We did just lose our biggest supporter. Try not to get eaten.

PS: If you still don't know how to dance or answer a letter, come see me.


v. wildcard

[ Got something else you want to do? Feel free to drop me a line here or on plurk vaulkner! ]

i

[doublejumps]

[ It's only after they've been dropped off at their living quarters that they're finally given some time to breathe and let everything sink in. He doesn't know about everyone else, but this is Genji's first time in a situation like this, tossed onto some alien planet surrounded by alien creatures. Even with all of the prep that they'd been given, it's a lot.

So he's drifting in his own thoughts when a voice cuts in to snap him out of it, and he slowly turns to look at the other man, who's dressed immaculately. All of them are still in their dress uniforms, but some pull it off better than others. ]

It never lasts very long, in my experience. It's only a matter of time before one of us missteps.

[ That's likely to reflect on all of them. Still, Genji hasn't met this man before, and manners have been on the brain, so he extends his hand to him. ]

Genji Shimada. Though I'll be going by 'Suzume' here.

siegfried || ota

[gerechtigkeit]

[arrival. If there's one thing that he notices all too well, it's how easily he's picked out among others. Being magical and male causes many to look his way and immediately judge him as a potential snack, Siegfried already disliking the feeling of being watched consistently. Passing through the mines gives him pause, eyes trying to avoid the definite bones being used for harvesting, the humming from them he can feel practically vibrating through him. He exhales, muttering quietly to whoever is nearby.]

It would have been too much to hope this would have been easy, wouldn't it?

[conversation. (A) Truthfully, it's not hard to find Siegfried if you go looking- with his sigil and hair out in the open instead of usually hidden, he's easy enough to see even in a crowd.

And if COST members can see him, so can the Araneans.

You'll find him conversing with a group who seems keen on cornering him as quickly as possible, all under the guise of being intrigued in who he is- a man by the name of Iosef Aquinas, a military strategist who joined COST of his own reasoning. Siegfried answers their questions well enough, firmly and patiently, but he definitely isn't outright aggressive in his behavior towards them, and they notice. At one point, his eyes flicker to the side to see if anyone is nearby, and he instantly recalls that this is a bad idea. And it is, because the Araneans push in on his space without hesitation, even as he quietly clenches his jaw in defiance.

Basically, please help his dumb ass recover from a really stupid mistake.

conversation. (B) But after a week of having eyes consistently on him, the patience Siegfried is known to have is fraying at the edges. He keeps his irritation of being watched away from most, but the more the Araneans push and insist on testing his space, the more he finds himself wanting to push right back. It's uncommon for him, but thankfully he'd been glitterbombed enough by his droid to begin to know where to place his arrogance and his assertive behavior. This society certainly isn't helping in making it easier (or maybe it is, because he now seems like he has something of a spine), but he no longer quite seems like a quiet man who can barely carry himself on his own.

In one particular instance, a young Aranean woman comes to his side as he's returning to the residency one day, her many eyes glistening with eagerness and hunger. Her motive is out in the open, as it should be- but she is also assuming he is docile and will simply bend to her will, and without any aggression at all. One of her hands teasingly grabs his chin as they converse, her way of forcing him to remain still so she can easily study him like a predator tests its prey before a kill. His tone changes instantly.]

Are we going to continue this conversation normally? [He can see her mandibles clack at the question, but she doesn't answer him. Siegfried's eyes narrow, voice as sharp as a blade.] Remove your hand from me, or I will remove it myself.

[The female lets out a bit of a startled sound and promptly drops her grip of his chin, allowing him to move his neck freely once more. She clacks angrily at him, mostly out of embarrassment for being scorned in public by a male, but he doesn't apologize for his words. Green eyes stare back at her with ferocity until she withdraws, Siegfried snorting quietly before quickly looking for an exit.

Where there's bound to be one problem here, more will show up eventually. If he can find anyone from COST nearby, maybe they can help him get out of here and avoid whatever else may come.

residence. It doesn't take long after that for at least one letter to arrive with his name on it- and Siegfried promptly takes it out of prying eyes of any servants there, lest he have more trouble be brought to him. What he reads from this letter makes him pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh in exasperation, folding the piece of paper back up and stuffing it quickly back into the envelope.

Sensing someone nearby, he scoffs, turning to face whoever's noticed him and his reaction.]

It's an adoration letter. [Fan mail. Gods help him. His grip tightens around the envelope, and he wonders if it would be considered rude to find an open flame and burn it.] I don't have any intention to reply.

[banquet. (A) When the time comes, the common braid he's worn down his back is done up and away, and the outfit he sports is fancy enough for the banquet itself. If anything, it reminds him of the attire he needed to wear when attending court as a prince rather than a knight, and he never was truly fond of it. There was always too much politics, and not enough caring for the people as a whole. It was why he preferred to be out in the kingdom, physically helping all he could.

Above all else, his back has not felt this vulnerable in a very long time. He hates it.

Still, when the time comes, every manner is in place. His bows are done correctly, he speaks when spoken to and shows aggression if tested. He performs properly and even dances without much of a hitch in his step at all. For all that he says he dislikes the court, he fits in as if he'd never left it back when he was alive.

Sometime during the banquet, he'll wander carefully to others to check to see how they're doing, quietly tilting his head and trying to avoid any missteps.]

Enjoying yourself?

[Making smalltalk to avoid a bit of staring, if at all possible. Whatever he can do to help, he'll try for.

banquet. (B) Of course, all that goes into the shitter when the fight breaks out between the two houses. Siegfried pushes whoever is by him behind him as he moves away from the mess, trying to act as a shield before the other Araneans sweep in, making sure all of the COST recruits and the Regency remain unharmed.

Eyes mostly focused on the battle, he notices others who may not be taking this scene as well. Gently, so as not to draw attention away, he speaks.]

Breathe. [It's meant to calm whoever he's talking to.] In and out. Can you do that right now?

[wildcard. hmu with whatever!]