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."

[horsepowered]

"Only because we must."

There's no sense of humor to the words. Chiron's not been in the mood for it since exploring the mines of Ymir, and perhaps even before that. Regardless, it seems that the location for all of those staying out of the way has been centralized, and he moves towards it with all elbows and serious face.

[northerndragon]

Any tense gathering may explode into violence: he's even heard a story, something that happened years ago now, of Grey Wind taking two of the Greatjon's fingers at supper over a disagreement about who would lead the van. The mountain clans are always fighting each other, and then there are displays that are more planned, like... Jon's face twists momentarily with a complicated emotion.

Was this what it was like?

He's not so absorbed that he doesn't think to get out of the way, or to get Dany out of the way, although his impulse is to stand in front of her, and that may be wrong here. Before he has the chance, someone has grabbed his arm, grabbed Dany's, pulled them both aside, with Irriella clicking and skittering along with them. He looks to see who's tugging at him -- Chiron. There's some relief in that.

"They're killing each other at supper," he mutters, anger in his voice.

[dorzalta]

Killing each other at supper, he says. She almost bursts into laughter.

Almost, but not quite. Too busy focusing on maintaining her balance and avoiding unnecessary collisions as they weave past Day-Ones, servants, and humans alike. It seems such a minor thing to grow angry about. This race's lack of respect for men in general is more exasperating to her. Their blatant use of servants--slaves--grates far worse.

"They'd do far worse over less if it was one of us."

[horsepowered]

"You're doubtlessly correct and...duck!"

Is it impolite to have to duck under a massive spider's legs in getting the hell out of the line of disaster? Who's to say. In that moment though, Chiron's forward momentum and looking backwards to keep an eye on Jon ad Dany means that the collison nearly happens.

It's with utmost relief that the moment doesn't come, and he's not even sure that anyone else has registered it. There has been too much commotion from the fight to make sense of just about anything else, and at least the safe spot is only a few dozen meters away.

"Regardless, it's hardly a good omen of what's to come."

[northerndragon]

He ducks, weaves, nearly trips over one of Irriella's now-alarmingly large legs, and says, "No."

He's been around giants -- giants who were not well-disposed towards him, and ones who were. It makes it easier for him to move among these huge spiders. But even giants don't behave like this.

"But if it was one of us, it would be over already."

[dorzalta]

"All the more reason for us--" She, alas, does not have the agility the other two have, and is soon picked up by two of Irriella's legs when she stumbles. Set back down seconds later. "--to avoid drawing unnecessary attention when we're alone."

It seems stupid to flee from battle.

She doesn't like the message this sends.

[horsepowered]

Chiron's gratitude for Irriella both as a friend and an ally continues to grow by the second at this point, especially when she helps with Dany's momentary stumble. He makes a note to express that gratitude later, although how to do so is beyond him at the moment.

"Agreed," he calls back, mostly in regards to Dany's statement, although Jon's is worthy of agreement as well. Either way, Chiron skids to a halt as they enter the safe area that all of the tiny squishy non-multi-leggeded diplomats and guests have been guided towards, and then and only then does he release his grip.

His hair's become a mess in the proceedings (natural, of course), and he fiddles with it idly as the fight rages on.

"No one's borne anything worse than a stepped on toe or small bruise in this, correct?"

[northerndragon]

"Not me."

A lock of black hair is loose around his scarred face, but nothing more. He glances at Dany, skeptical and concerned.

"Are you all right?"

[dorzalta]

"I'm fine." She's busy fussing over Irriella, who clicks her mandibles in a pleased way whilst grooming some of Dany's hair. "She's fine, as well."

Turning back to the other two, she frowns at the state of disarray. There's a Regency member standing nearby; her focus snaps over to them.

"We should fashion both your hair in something better able to withstand skirmishes."

[horsepowered]

Chiron's eyes go beyond the crowd, searching for familiar colors that still haven't made it to the point of safety yet. He sees movement, but it looks like helping hands have already found them.

He lets out a very small sigh of relief.

"Looks like the same can be for most of our numbers," he says, more softly lest the Regency be trying to take advantage of the situation. Chiron's not well versed in this aspect of warfare at all, but he can at least think critically about what ought to be overheard.

Having to fuss with grooming more, he just shakes his head, knowing Dany's right. "For tonight, it should just be put into place. We can do more extensive experiments on what will hold come morning."

[northerndragon]

"This will hold in everything but a hard battle," he adds; it has held in everything but a hard battle and tonight's chaos. He tucks the lock of hair back behind his ear and gives a cold, flat look to the Regency operative standing near them. Try it, he seems to say. Four of us, one of you.

But that kind of fight won't achieve their goals here. He lets out a huff of a sigh, trying to calm himself a little.

"I wonder how much of this fight was planned -- if one of them was waiting for one of the others to step out of line." He keeps his voice very low. "It would be an excuse for this to happen."

The carnage, which they can now watch at a safer distance, is ongoing. But if his suspicions prove correct, which side started it? Why?

[dorzalta]

"We'll need to," she says to Chiron.

To Jon: "That wasn't a hard battle."

Normally she'd care little about any of their hair. These are not normal circumstances, alas, and necessity dictates that ones deemed inferior to the spider find ways to avoid insulting their sensibilities. For them, it would be in their areas of expertise. Court, however, and the appearances of court--no matter the group she stands before--is her realm.

With a shake of the head, she's linking her fingers together and turning to look back towards the carnage.

"To make a show of strength on a diplomacy mission?" Likely a number of the houses plotted. "Did you both notice the guard?"

She means the twins. Curious that they would also attend.

[horsepowered]

"In all of the action, I admit, the guard did escape my notice," Chiron says. There's an undercurrent of embarrassment in his voice. It should have been something he picked up on. But in the madness, there was a monovision. Especially with the Regency around. But Jon's got a point, "That said, it'd be a surprise if this action wasn't carefully planned, let's not fool ourselves."

Chiron folds his arms across his chest, his own eyes focused on everyone around them. Who might be listening in, and who might be cataloging this conversation with malicious intent. Someone who wasn't obvious, unlike the Regency member whose eyes and ears were likely keen. To Dany, Chiron only inclines his head.

"You have a theory. Expand on it."

[northerndragon]

Looking across the room, it's easy to see that the Aranean who had greeted them all, the one whose eyes had passed over him with an unsubtle distaste he'd grown used to long ago but sees so seldom now that it always stands out to him, lies dead on the floor already. Things aren't going well.

Jon's eyes flicker back and forth, across the letters in his mind, as he sends private messages to his two companions.

I think we just lost our strongest support.

When something like this was done to my family, the punishment was disproportionate to the crime. They spilled my brother's blood, and the blood of our people, to put themselves forward. Two families did well out of it, though they lost all pretense of honor.

What do you think of the guard

[dorzalta]

It's like the battle between the Great Houses. She, too, looks toward the dead. If this was indeed planned, they did well to prove to both sides how vicious their culture was. This was not unlike her wedding day, with fighting and fucking and blood spilled before she and Drogo on the dais. What would this house receive in compensation?

When Jon speaks of his brother's death, she links her fingers together, stepping from their circle to stand beside Irriella. The Day-One clicks her mandibles, all of her dark eyes set on the scene before them, with red and blue blood mixing together.

If we wish to leave a lasting impression on the queen, perhaps we should look to her guard.

It would be something that could sway her. Tyrion's assessment on Jon, the way he'd argued for so many things--they held their power. Ser Barristan, ser Jorah, Grey Worm... they were her trusted advisors, all far more experienced than she when it came to battle. And this society embraced strength.

I don't know if we would be able to request an audience with them, but I have no doubt we would have far more luck with them than with her.

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.

[horsepowered]

Of course.

[Chiron isn't familiar with kimono at all, but he is certain that he can manage to at least spot errors on how fabric falls and what the end result ought to be like. To be certain though, he seeks a hand mirror before beginning anything, and grabs a hold of it just to ensure that he can show this young woman (she's clearly a new recruit) what's going on.]

There's a few strange wrinkles on your left side, that might be from transporting the fabric.

[They're low as well, which means Chiron crouches down in order to fuss with the fabric. The first thing he does is tug at the material horizontally, and he clicks his tongue.]

Hm. This is from how it sat in the bag, it seems.

[jailbirds]

[ ... oh. she didn't expect him to be that courteous about it. she watches him fuss around with the hem of the kimono, her expression puzzled and faintly embarrassed — it takes her a moment to find her voice, struck by the strangeness of a guy kneeling down politely to help her, of all people. everyone in COST seems so willing to assume the better of her without needing to give it a second of thought.

when she does figure out what to even say to a thing like this, she has to clear her throat first, and she grumbles in complaint. ]

What a pain... This is exactly why I don't get dressed up like this for anything. It's never fuckin' worth it. [ or, well, that's not the entirety of the reason, but it's close enough. she blows her bangs out of her face with a huff. ] You don't have to fix it, y'know. I'll live.

[horsepowered]

It's no problem at all to fix it, and given the emphasis here on proper dress, it may look bad if I don't.

[There's a few moments of silence from Chiron as he re-works the issue with the garment, and he then straightens up. He's clearly satisfied if the thin curl of approval on his lips is anything to go by.]

There, done. Everything else looks perfectly fine from my perspective, although I'd check one last time just to be sure.

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.

[horsepowered]

At the words live here, Chiron shakes his head. It's not disgust (he can't display disgust right now, not here, but he is absolutely disgusted). There's no denying that the stone cold face he has on takes genuine effort to keep up.

He hates this place. He hates everything about it.

"Staggering is a problem," he says softly. "If one runs out of a god, then where is the next source to come from?"

It's the only thought on Chiron's mind. He knows the status of other gods who have sided with and against the Regency. He has his fears about their safety, and his worries about what he owes to his own pantheon.

[cookeries]

"It seems all forms of life have a need to survive. At any cost."

Ignis knows this to be true of most species. Survival is key, and whether or not it directly effects another living thing isn't always at the forefront. A god being eaten alive, used up and cast aside. Deplorable. His face remains stern, tempered. If anything his life in the court taught him, it's this: stoicism is key.

"They will find another viable source." It isn't pleasant to think on. Ignis swallows back the sour taste in his mouth.

[horsepowered]

Is this needed for survival though? Economic survival, sure, but all other forms? Chiron can't argue in favor of that, but he also dare not speak that thought out loud. There's no doubt that his attitude has already given away how critical he is of this place and what is done here. He does not need to pile upon it further.

When Ignis says viable source though, Chiron's face cracks into a grimace. He can't help it, this is all too much.

"Gods forbid," he murmurs so that only Ignis can hear. "Even those who have sided with the Regency."