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

ryo asuka ( tennou vergilius maro ) | closed to minatsuki.

[reillumination]

[ if ryo asuka — or tennou vergilius maro — had to be designated as unstable in the hierarchy when he wasn't thrown in the basement of it all, at least he had one thing going for him: he was typically immaculate no matter the scuffles or blows. the casual dialing in of his already present paranoia and his ensuing defensiveness also aided him here, if the way his words left his tongue was any indication. spiders, when they weren't scanning his potentiality or clacking their mandibles at what "magic" he supposedly stored, naturally fled him as though he were cursed.

and he might as well be, he's thought more than once. it's difficult to bear, when more than once he's woken up in terror of things he can't remember and things he couldn't since arriving here — if he even slept at all.

today was a day of chance that he brushed paths with minatsuki. as was typical, most spiders scuttled back on chitinous legs, their trains and fabrics billowing far and out of the way of even the barest brush of his fingertips. it was all the better that they let him go and stray, even if it meant being barricaded from almost anything of interest. well, that is, up until now.

now, he's in a jewelry shop with minatsuki, who is taking her time to browse through the wares. ryo, on the other hand, only glances briefly at the rows of earrings and rings — bracelets and necklaces, some far too large for a standard human. ]

If I wanted to shoplift, I would have done it already.

[ it comes up suddenly, but it is obvious who it is directed to. the longer they've lingered, the longer they've drawn attention for being such an odd grouping. the spider at the door is eyeing ryo in particular with a growing intensity. ryo doesn't even spare it a glance, but he's more than aware that it's there. after all, there's something in the set of his jaw that betrays how irritated he's getting. ]

[jailbirds]

[ if they're going through all this bullshit, she's not coming out of it without something to show for it. since there are no nurseries to buy plants from that she could take back to BASE, and nowhere that makes clothes fit for a humanoid body, she's pretty much left with jewellery to look into. these Araneans might be a pain in the ass, but they do make nice accessories.

she hadn't planned to be doing this with Ryo in tow, but when they ran into each other, he'd had his sights set on the marketplace too, and it made more sense to explore the place together; COST got on their case about sticking to pairs, after all. and while she's the top of the food chain around here, Ryo is — something else. she doesn't know what. she doesn't ask him, either, because she doesn't need to know. all she needs to know is that he gets undue attention from their gracious hosts, and so when she hears him snap at the doorman, she goes to grind the problem out under her heel in the way Hanamira Kougousabi would: by placing her fingers lightly on Ryo's shoulder and stepping up beside him like some grand noblewoman. ]

I'm sorry, are you casting doubt on my companion? [ one hand held delicately at her chest, she smiles with a little bit of teeth, the kind of knife-sharp expression that's a clear threat beneath the saccharine sweetness of it. ] Because I would take it as a personal insult if you were.

[ she might only be human, but she's both female and artificially-enhanced, too, and that's enough to turn the Aranean at the door away with a few words of excuses: that he didn't mean any offence, of course, but one can never be too careful with those types. when it seems certain that Ryo won't attract attention from that particular one anymore, Minatsuki claps him on the shoulder briefly and goes back to fetch the pairs of earrings she'd taken a fancy to, since she doesn't want to stick around any longer. it only takes a moment to make the purchase, and she's appropriately courteous to the salesperson before she sweeps out towards the exit, linking her elbow with Ryo's on the way whether he wants it or not. she's already learned that the stares slide off easier if it looks like he's taken, in whatever way; they go from predatory to curious, which is a precious distance to hold onto.

once they're away from the jewellery store, she drops a little of her persona, although the way she's carrying herself doesn't change. ]

They're so fuckin' annoying, huh? [ she clicks her tongue, looking at the two sets of earrings she bought — one more elaborate flowers, and the other simple jewelled studs. ] Overpriced, too. A hundred bucks.

[ but she does like them, and she needed earrings for her own sake. besides, she's used to spending money however she likes; and now she can do it without the threat of poisoning hanging over her head, too. ]

[reillumination]

[ it isn't to say that Ryo is a passive part, as much as he knows he needs to bite his tongue for the sake of everything else. it's difficult, to let others steer for him — to let them this close. the touch she gives, even through the thick of his coats, makes his skin prickle. it makes his muscles wind tight, the cut of the glare toward the salesperson Minatsuki now handles with professional ire almost collapsing like footfalls on weathered metal, a thin sheet of glass. he almost doesn't hear what she says when she slaps him on the back, a job handled, and it takes what it has in him not to pivot out of it and listen to the baser instinct to push back.

even still, he steadies himself — as much as he can steady himself these days — as Minatsuki continues to browse and eventually goes about her purchases. it is easy to see what she is, the spiders all know it too well. despite being a human (or presumably one), she skirts through restricted sections with ease with occasional stopping, particularly with someone as "loathsome" or "peculiar" as him at her arm. it is truly the brevity of these exchanges that saves him time and again, prevents him losing that edge — the strong always looking to consume the weak, like everything else in nature. this is a path.

still, he tolerates the continued point of contact as much as he can. it makes him itch, makes his posture all the more appropriate for the spiders and their cultural context as they wander on through the rings, searching for something — Ryo'd mentioned he was interested in weapons some time ago. ]

Yeah. No kidding. [ it comes a touch tenser than usual, his mouth pulled thin and tight. he won't quite look at Minatsuki, but there's the faintest tremble to his lashes as he keeps his eyes ahead. it serves two purposes in the end: he also doesn't have to make eye contact with the spiders that might see him as an entertaining topic of conversation or a reviled individual. there's the hard draw to stuff his hands where they belong in his usual pockets, but this attire affords no such comforts and no such comforts are similarly afforded anywhere on this pit of a planet. ] Maybe we should have considered shoplifting after all.

[ not that he's above that. he's done far worse than that. still, they are quite pretty, he supposes. he understands aesthetics to a certain extent, after all. ]

[jailbirds]

[ that makes her bark out a laugh that falls much more on the side of Minatsuki Takami than a refined lady like Hanamira, but she knows what the safe edges of her act are, how close she can tread the line between those two people; as long as she's still carrying herself the right way, this particular audience doesn't care about the smaller details when she's not engaged with them. it's not the same as it was playing the wolf in sheep's clothing back in Wonderland, where she had to be convincingly meek, non-threatening at all times. ]

Fuck, I wish. [ they have to play nice for COST, and that probably means not causing a diplomatic incident by stealing their expensive shit. she doesn't have any pockets to hide things in, anyway; not even a clutch to go with her outfit.

she knows that Ryo doesn't like having her this close any more than she likes being this close. it's obvious that the guy isn't particularly touchy-feely, and she can respect that in any other situation. she isn't used to this either, holding onto someone in a way that isn't dragging their body around in the middle of a fight. and even as a child, she didn't like to be touched, knowing that everyone had some kind of ulterior motive, that nothing was genuine in the end, that she could be hurt at any time. and in Wonderland — well. she would be hurt at any time. she hasn't really gotten out of that survivalist mindset yet.

so she gives Ryo as much space as she can, even while keeping up the act. she holds his arm with the pads of her fingers, rather than wrapping her hand around; she stands a little ways apart from him instead of being pressed to his side, like she's keeping distance for propriety's sake. enough to stake a claim on him for the eyes of any passing Araneans, and enough to give both of them some breathing room. she knows that kind of tension in the set of his jaw, biting down on his stress, and sympathetic is a strong word, but. she gets it.

as she eyes the shops they're heading past, she hums, thoughtful. ] Maybe I should pick up a knife too. Something shitty is fine, but it's not a bad idea to have a back-up like that...

[ it never bothered her in Wonderland, because if she was ever in a fight, then they were always going to be fights between fellow Deadmen. who the hell wouldn't be bleeding even if they weren't the first one to draw it themselves? but against an enemy that doesn't fight like her, and a shadowy thing like the Regency that supposedly might know her — it occurs to her that she doesn't want to be in a situation where she can't draw her own blood. all they'd have to do is take her earrings out and she'd have no trigger for the weapon she uses. she doesn't need anything extreme like Crow and his stupid blade-ring, but... keeping a knife in her boot doesn't seem paranoid, when she thinks of it like that. ]