EVERY LIVING THING PUSHED INTO THE RING,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Welcome to the arenas.
WHEN? Two weeks of arena time.
ANYTHING ELSE? Please warn for anything besides physical violence and move to a personal journal if it's beyond PG-13.

GUESS YOU THOUGHT YOU COULDN'T JUST WATCH;

no one's getting out

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

THE ENTRANCE

COST and the Regency receive formal invites a week before the arenas open, requesting their presence at the opening ceremony. And not in just any capacity, but as guests of honor. Queen Thsh agreed to host these arenas, after all, as a show of power and confidence in that power; not only to spiderkind, but to those who would support or overthrow her.

The inner rings of Ythaway buzz in anticipation. Aranean architects and their workers put the final touches on the massive structure strung over the pits of Ymir, dedicated in equal parts to combat and gaming and court life. Carved from stone and adorned with wicked sculptures, it looks impossibly delicate, balanced on bridges only just wide enough for a single female Aranean. They are packed with spiders and their decorative servants on opening day, made more hazardous by the crowd and perpetual darkness.

The arena is lavishly decorated on all fronts; while the bulk of the audience only offers standing room, there is peculiarly decorated Aranean furniture along the perimeter of each area, set up high so even those significantly smaller than the average Aranean female can get a view. It's possible to find Aranean children tussling here and at the forefront of the crowds, with even the smallest already sharpening their backstabbing skills.

» THE CEREMONY

The opening ceremony is a grandiose affair, marking the beginning of a two-week event. The arenas themselves are hung with banners and trimmed by gold filigree that represents the Royal Family and each of the remaining Great Houses. Each house puts on their own show, displaying the best of their respective skills and resources.

Jankeh's is technological genius, featuring mechanical wonders and holographic projections that earn noises of admiration from the crowd. Shaiy's is pure luxury, displaying all the latest fashion trends and elegant in movement. Khah's is power, with elaborate dances that mimic military formations and tell tales of the Thshan Empire's victories. It takes the better part of two hours to display everything they have in full, each display more extravagant than the last.

And then, as fireworks go off, it's your turn. COST and the Regency aren't expected to do much, fortunately; you aren't the entertainers here, at least not yet. But you're brought on stage and introduced, expected to bow and carry out your pleasantries. It's short and snappy and the Regency exchanges derisive looks with any recruit who meets their eyes.

Once you've cleared the stage, a parade of uthcki and hhcho are marched out in neat rows perhaps a little too similar to the ones you just departed in. All of them wear the colors of House Chchai and they are, in essence, the last vestiges of the house. They're displayed proudly by House Shaiy, with Lady Thchnk's daughters standing at either edge as an honor guard. And then, at the sound of a rising cry from their mother, they turn as one on the genetically engineered creatures.

It's brutally quick and silent, save for the crack of bone, as each female Aranean cuts down the servants and pets of the now-dead house. Their teeth gnash and blood splatters against their carefully, lovingly crafted dresses. Part ceremonial and all power, they kill every last uthcki and hhcho until the stage is littered with remains and permanently stained red with blood.

As Lady Thchnk's eldest daughter and heir apparent delicately wipes her mouth of blood, none other than High Queen Thsh steps forward, to applaud the display. And, with her word, the arenas are officially open.

These are your battlegrounds.

» DIVIDE AND CONQUER

As ever, "conquest" is the name of the game in High Queen Thsh's empire. While you've made impressions and connections with noble spiders, this is your chance to show off where your loyalties lie. If you claim victory, you can dedicate it to your chosen monarch. While COST would like you to declare for the Queen, you can show your favor for Princess Chch or any other spider allies. COST will not reprimand you and Young, at least, spares Queen Thsh no love.

But note that, while you may kill competing Araneans and Regency agents here with immunity, the same holds true for them to you. To step into an arena is to forfeit any semblance of safety or diplomatic immunity. While there are rules—you still need to follow proper Aranean duel etiquette and can't wantonly attack anyone when you aren't participating in these arenas—they are few and far between.

COST and the Regency aren't the only foreign diplomats in attendance, either. There is a surge of new arrivals through the Jhashchan terminals, some humanoid and some not; if you can imagine it, you're likely to see an alien of that sort in the audience or competing in the arenas themselves. Of course...whether they're here willingly or not is another matter.

That said, for recruits who make a name for themselves: Don't be surprised if an Aranean asks you for a genetic donation to their labs.


THE ARENA

Upon entering the arena, the social niceties that encouraged the spiders to separate COST and the Regency dissolve. You are left to the darkness and your own devices, so don't get stabbed in the back, whether by an Aranean or the Regency operatives. While the three individuals in charge of the Regency—Khnum, Ptah, and Tatenen—icily engage Grothia and Young, the agents under their employ at left to your mercy and vice versa.

None of them are without their shabti; in many cases, when a Regency operative considers a challenge beneath them, they order their shabti to take it instead. It's yet another display of power to the Araneans, daring them to take offense. The shabti never protest; they execute their assigned duties with a minimum of words, uncannily blank faced and almost robotic in their motions. The Regency's unspoken point is clear; they expect the Araneans beneath them to bow just as their shabti do.

Mhic Nathair, earstwhile matron in Gallipoli, keeps her distance, though her shabti secretary occasionally flits through the crowd to get her mistress drinks. The shabti Mhic Nathair owns is a quiet, demure woman, who shies away from conversation as though she expects it to preclude physical violence. No one knows what Mhic Nathair is doing to her secretary, but it hasn't resulted in any bruises anyone can see. But, then again, she's always wearing long sleeved shirts and high collars.

Still, no agent is foolish enough to disgrace one of the Araneans at the top of the food chain. There's real deference in their treatment of the High Queen and Princess Chch; the observant might even catch a few meaningful glances between the princess and some of the higher ranking Regency agents as the Royal Family receives their guests.

It's a cool affair, before they wave everyone into the hands of the Great Matrons, ever playing politics. And the Great Matrons brush the duty off on their daughters, who are as disdainful as they are vain. After all, you haven't proven yourselves yet and the Matrons have their own duties; it's only under their watchful eyes that the arena logistics unfold. And there will be hell to pay if they don't go as planned.

Each of the Great Houses claims domain over one of the arenas. Rumors hint House Chchai would have dominated the court and dabbled in the games, but with the family exterminated, it's only hearsay. As it stands, House Khah exerts most of their influence over the game and the stadium, while Shaiy shows the most favor to the court, but does not hesitate to plunge into the other arenas. House Jankeh favors the stadium and then the court. This is done most transparently in the form of sponsorships, which they'll offer to victors with particularly impressive winning streaks, especially if they dedicate victories to the family.

And remember, even here the hierarchy is in play. But it doesn't always obey the simple layout outside the arena doors. Someone sharp of eye might notice that some challenges in different arenas are specifically gamed so one tier of the hierarchy dominates the others. So keep an ear to the ground and follow the spider gossip if you want to play to your strengths; sometimes the arenas are, without a doubt, rigged.

» THE LOGISTICS

You have the option of choosing the outcome of your arena exploits and tailoring them to your liking. But for those who are interested in a bit more risk...well, there's a bit more reward involved as well. If you'd like to RNG your battle, sign up here. Be warned: Losing may result in serious injury or death.

Of course, if your character dies, they'll be teleported back to BASE and will have to convalesce there for three weeks, although given the way BASE time lines up with everything else, well. There's a good chance they might get teleported back into the mission not long after they died. And they may also experience a strange vision, a magical glimpse into the future...or maybe that's just the excellent drugs Chiron has in Medical.

That said, the prize for winning is much more impressive. Win well enough and by a large enough margin and the loser (or the house of the loser) must give you whatever you claim as boon, within reason. If they own it, you can take it. Up to and including their very lives.

In all arenas, you can name enemy spiders, Regency operatives, and other NPCs; feel free to make up their personalities and handle them as you see fit, down to plotting their demise. If you need to contact an Aranean NPC for something that cannot be handwaved, please go here; to talk to Mhic Nathair, her shabti, or any other Regency NPCs, please go here!

» THE STADIUM

The most openly dangerous of the arenas, combat is for recruits who see strife as a way of life. While the setting varies—sometimes there are even simulated fields in the barren, boiling style of Jhashch's daytime landscape, modified so all lifeforms can survive it—often they're darker than the rest of the arena, so your assigned goggles may come in handy.

Fights take any manner of shape and form, from straightforward combat to competitions that test competitors' mettle in reflexes or speed. Opponents vary; some of them are ordinary humans whose luck has taken a bad turn, while others are aliens on par with your own cognition. Others still are monstrous wildlife, big or small but always deadly. Just remember: it's expected victory end in blood. If it doesn't, rumors inevitably fly.

There is no rhyme or reason to what kind of fight you find yourself in, whether pairing up with a friend or against said friend. You might even find yourself temporarily allied with an Aranean, the Regency, or another being. And recruits are authorized to carry any weapons they like into the arena; perform well enough and House Jankeh might sponsor you with their own arms.

Also, Princess Shai and Princess Aythy compete in this arena. Deadly and graceful, they're a sight to see on the battlefield. Arena encounters with the Twin Generals are only available via RNG and mean your character has an extremely high chance of dying, so tread with caution.

» THE COURT

As ever in the Aranean court, etiquette is key. Entertain, dance, and dine; in this arena, it's as much an artform as stressed by your training. Only here, if you make an error, a droid doesn't cutely—infuriatingly—glitter ball and inform you that you've been consumed. No, here it becomes reality. And these interactions are no longer reserved for Araneans; again, there are other species on the playing field, representing other factions of the Thshan Empire and all here to exercise that specific brand of Aranean diplomacy.

And, of course, there's the Regency. It becomes clear that the Regency is working to fill the power void created by the fall of House Chchai; there are candidates of all sorts clamoring for recognition in these arenas, which serve both foreign and domestic diplomats.

COST recruits receive a list of marks, with pro-Regency targets highlighted. While all members of COST are told to keep company with at least one other recruit, it holds especially true in this arena. The court may not be fast-paced outside of bursts of blood-bright violence, but tensions constantly run high. And, for the unlucky—or the lucky, depending on your point of view—you may encounter Princess Chch herself. While her mother derides participation—well loved as these arenas may be, they're a celebration of High Queen Thsh and don't merit her participation—the princess has her own agenda, so watch her closely.

» THE GAME

The safest of the arenas, by virtue of why it exists in the first place, there's no limit to what kind of games the spiders offer. As long as it has a bit of violent spice and a clear winner or loser, it's all good. Moreover, the night vision goggles you received at the beginning of the mission can interface with the VR equipment, provided you do some tweaking.

This is also the arena that allows interplanetary participation. As such, there are several players who appear as nothing more than usernames on a screen. The spiders in charge of this arena claim participation is locked only to diplomats and individuals with important political sway, as a way of paying homage to and fostering relations with distant stars, so rest assured you're gaming with someone very important.

...Probably, anyway. There are signs something is off about some of these distant competitors, whether through the muttering of spiders or their own silence. They never speak, sticking exclusively to text for communication, and at one point an entire group is banned from the servers. Which doesn't seem to be enough to keep them out; several return, taunting anyone who will listen. Trolls, perhaps; it's certainly how the higher ranking spiders like to spin it.

Prince Shch and a few members of his entourage observe, although as male Araneans it's derided that they participate. It's funny enough to female Araneans that male humans like video games; the idea of a male Aranean enjoying the pastime is preposterous. But he remains a silently ominous figure in the stands, bearing witness to your endeavors and showing understated favor to victors who somehow win his attentions.


THE FALLOUT

All of the arenas run the risk of being bloody. Physical confrontations are almost inevitable and brushes with them are inescapable. While it's possible to sweet talk your way out of them in the court or game arenas, there are a few things to keep in mind for those of you who try and don't succeed...or for those of you who want to be a big damn hero and come to another recruit's rescue with guns blazing. Your pick.

» THE ARANEANS

Araneans are as powerful as their size suggests. Their legs are only deceptively fragile; while their joints can be weak points, their exoskeletons are like armor. They're much faster than any human, with almost preternatural reflexes; they may not be able to deflect or dodge bullets, but in many cases they simply don't need to. Again: their exoskeletons are like armor. They can absorb pure magical attacks, though using bespelled items or elements can work. The underside of their abdomen is a vulnerable spot, but it also puts any targets at the mercy of their eight legs. It's highly unadvised for a baseline human to take an Aranean on solo.

Older female Araneans often go unarmored in the arenas, unless stipulated otherwise; if they're armed, they often carry spears. Male spiders and young female Araneans just stepping into their first arena often don armor. Originally designed as protection and an aid in mining duties, it's evolved with their culture. Designed in a plated style with futuristic trappings, it protects the abdomen and joints but affords the spider full mobility, as expected of a species that prizes agility and jumping. Male Araneans often use longer spears to make up for their smaller size, to give them the reach of a female Aranean, but you'll never see them carrying weaponry that elevates them above a female spider. Historically, that's a sight only seen in rebellions mercilessly crushed by Queen Thsh and her mother.

Their detection ability is a boon against artificial and magical entities—magical ones, especially, who they can sense in the very air. And, as always, mind their fangs. You only have three autotoxin injectors, but keep them handy.

» THE REGENCY

For recruits who endured Gallipoli, facing the agents here isn't too different. Only agents of high ranking have access to power nullification equipment, but they're all in beyond peak physical condition. It'll take at least two baseline humans to tackle one Regency operative, who have additional cybernetic modifications. Some of this is offensive, but it affords them a great deal of additional strength in all cases, depending on what's augmented.

Their actual weaponry varies between arenas, but they err in favor of what the spiders want to see and stick largely with melee weaponry; it earns more respect from the Araneans. They also aren't shy about sending shabti into combat in their place, should they see it necessary. Or if they're aiming for insult and injury.

The shabti are augmented just like their creators; while none of them have the cybernetic implants their lords and ladies favor, there's something preternaturally quick and resilient to each of them. If your timing is equally preternatural, you might see one kill an Aranean...or you might see an Aranean kill a shabti and devour their remains. While spiders are well aware of the Regency's intent behind the shabti, they're also quick to adapt to this hiccup in the hierarchy and treat them as little more than food and decor, just like their own servants. But that isn't to say they're to be underestimated on the battlefield.

» THE LAST FRONTIER

There are far more than spiders and humans in attendance. What they look like, who they represent, and what they're capable of is as variable as you'd expect in a meeting of interplanetary forces. You never know what you might find.


THE KIOSKS

When you aren't participating in the arenas, you have access to your quarters and the Siopai in the Second Ring. Really, you have access to (almost) all levels of Aranean society, should you wish to explore it. However, the sensation of being watched within the dark halls of Ythaway never disappears; if anything, with the arenas, it intensifies.

And the kiosks are no exception. While they're more affordable than the Siopai, they still aren't cheap. They predominantly sell kitschy trinkets and food; none of the latter is labeled outside of a vague description of what it is, so buyer beware. You don't know what's mixed in there, but it's definitely meat. Mystery meat that the Araneans devour ravenously, as if to remind you they once devoured their creators.

The kiosks—and more than a few other locations in the mines—are also overrun by the paparazzi, Aranean and otherwise. They demand interviews, detailing your latest win in the arenas. What's your date of birth? Is it possible to translate it into the Jhashchan calendar? Perhaps your star sign is compatible with a competing bachelorette.

It's going to be a long two weeks.

READ THE JHASHCH INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

ashitaka | ota

[lonelywar]

THE ARENA
(A) They have been told that the social graces that might save them from a knife placed in their back on the streets of the city are not present here. With that heavy in the minds of most, there's a dangerous sort of energy that pervades the darkened hallways. Ashitaka, respectably clad in his blue robes, keeps a wary eye about himself, always with a hand resting on the hilt of the rapier hanging from his side. He especially tracks the movements of the Regency members found throughout the throngs of creatures. They had always worn masks, casting themselves as faceless pieces in their war over time and everything held in its cradle. It is so strange to see them as they were, though he finds he cannot see them the same as he sees himself and the others of COST. There is something cold to them, something alienating in the gleaming pieces of machinery that many wear as points of pride.

The Commander and Young split off from the rest of the COST agents to speak with what looked like the leaders of the Regency, and the subordinates of all factions begin to disperse, either towards the various arenas of skill or some even back towards the Rings of the city and the amenities they offered.

Ashitaka has watched the behavior of a hunting predator to know that this is a tenuous time. He approaches another nearby COST agent, looking towards them with cool eyes and giving them a nod in greeting. Then he speaks in terse undertone, "We are being watched." It's an obvious statement, as everyone is watching everyone, but he seems to mean something a little more specific. "It is at times like these that a quiet attack is most well-hidden."

He is silent, contemplative, for a moment before he continues with a severity of tone and expression. "Though we could also attempt to trap the hunter, if you are so inclined."

THE STADIUM (CW: BLOOD, GORE | MID-MONTH | this isn't actually a prompt, god forgive me)
Ashitaka has always been a grounded young man. As he strides out into the harsh ring of packed dirt monolithic and rock which stood as the arena for this match, he does so with his feet firmly on the ground, his eyes set level and forward. He has never had delusions of his own strength, and having come to lend his aid to COST and see the others that had done the same had only further tempered his internal expectations. In the end, the culmination of his life's training and what strength the curse recklessly gave him were not much when compared to the gifts of others. He was well aware of this, and yet he was also sharply aware that he had little else to give. To some, his straight-forward nature and predisposition to not mince words was something charming in and of itself, earning him trust where others might fall short simply because it did not seem to be within the fabric of his person to show deceit. That is still true. Though he could pace through the motions of the niceties and tradition of court and fumble his way through the layered conversations (a form of combat he had never been trained in), he knew that he would earn COST no renown there. And so he had put himself forward for the stadium, spending life and limb as the only currency he had to use.

He does not wear the extravagant blue robes he had been seen in at court and during the opening ceremonies, instead wearing plain pants with a deeper blue vest which cropped short at the sleeves. He walks with bow already drawn and strung, arrows kept in a quiver slung across his back, his shortsword buckled to his side. Along his right arm, bared for the first time to the world without long sleeves and gloves, was a blue and purple mark which wound its way towards his shoulder, partially visible at his collarbone where it continued around his chest. Until this point, Ashitaka has kept the physical mark of his curse a secret, thinking it was his own to bear, but he got the feeling it would not be so easy to keep hidden here. So he had cut away the one piece of deceit he performed to the world, brandishing plainly the mark of one who would kill a god.

He had not heard much of his opponent, and facing him now, he realizes how little he expects. The Aranean ringfighter known as Nkh stands tall, and despite being male, that is still markedly taller than his human competitor. Despite maintaining distance at first, Ashitaka can see the glint of the scimitars in his hands, a look of severity in his eyes.

Tension builds, thrumming in the crowd as hundreds of Araneans tasted the barest trace of the magic in the bowl of the stadium.

And then the fight began.

Ashitaka realizes immediately that he has never fought with a creature that moved exactly in this way, with such speed and an ability to change course and direction seamlessly. Nkh is fast, so much so that he knows he will not be able to outpace him, so speed and precision is of the utmost importance. The ringfighter immediately begins a circular flanking route, and Ashitaka nocks an arrow into his bow, training it on the moving target. He's seen these creatures, studied the places where one could pierce between pieces of chitinous armor. The first arrow he looses goes wide, crashing into a rock and splintering into pieces; the Aranean was too distant and too fast. He takes another breath, draws another arrow back, staring down the fighter who is now rushing him with blades drawn, testing the air with curving slices. This time the arrow flies and strikes true, perhaps having found its target growing lulled with a false sense of security at this human boy firing sharpened sticks. The arrow sinks nearly half its length into a gap in the plates of armor in his shoulder, and the Aranean screeches, slicing off the feathered protruding end with a scimitar blade before tearing out the remaining part. He continues to charge, and Ashitaka manages to fire two more arrows before Nkh is upon him: one shatters uselessly off of a plate of armor and the other finds its mark in the connecting tissue of one of the spider-like legs, very nearly severing it completely. The noise begins the build in the crowd, growing louder to a clamor as Nkh falls fast into melee range and Ashitaka realizes there's no way he can disengage and find good ground to continue a ranged attack.

It's at this point he begins to doubt.

The scimitars cut a storm of sharp slices, and in blocking the first few blows he loses his bow, dropped and immediately forgotten in the dirt kicked up. Nkh retreats for a moment, Ashitaka draws his sword, and as the ringfighter rounds to his flank and comes in for another attack, he defends with speed that blurs, the sound of metal ringing against metal marking time in the murmur from the stands. It grows louder as something odd begins to happen, a dull blue glow that emanates from Ashitaka's right arm, extending down the length of the sword. When fighting, when the intent of violence and the desire to spill blood fills the air, the beast that Ashitaka tries to keep bound and caged slips through his fingers, seeping out of his very pores.

Nkh's body language changes, grows more sharp and aggressive with the scent of magic stronger in the air; for several more exchanges of blows Ashitaka keeps pace, scoring a few minor blows, but then he misses a parry on one of the scimitars swiped at his side. The blade cuts deep, glancing against bone, and blood spills. Ashitaka gasps in pain but manages to parry another few blows — before missing another, gaining a deep gouge along his left shoulder. The blue glow grows restless, stretching out like reaching fingers, forming into waving tendrils of corrupt magical energy which extend out and around their host, wrapping around the blade of his sword. Behind them he leaves footprints seemingly burned into the earth, seeping like poison into the ground.

And Ashitaka leans into the strength that the curse offered.

The pain of the cuts and the feeling of losing blood eases out of his mind, replaced only with the roar of the increasingly-raucous crowd, the song of metal slicing through air, a howling in his ears like a pack of a dozen wolves. Now it's him that unleashes a series of blows against his opponent, scoring several hits from superficial to potentially significant, though the aggressiveness left once-careful guard wide open. For every blow he gains on Nkh, the Aranean scores one or two more. Ranging from grazes to deep cuts, they each rob from Ashitaka blood, and soon things start to grow hazy. In desperation he reaches for whatever the curse will give him, and the curse gives in kind all that it can, jealously wanting for nothing else in existence to rob from it the host that it itself wished to claim the life of. Each of Ashitaka's wounds seem to open more, spilling blood, but keen eyes of observers would find that it was not blood but scores of waving red tendrils spilling from the wounds, spreading over Ashitaka's body like an infestation. His movements grow less exact and more wild and reckless as he hands himself over to the demon that he had killed, that lie in wait to one day kill him, and he does score fleeting momentary victory. One of Nkh's scimitars falls to the ground as the arm holding it was maimed in a way that it fell limp, and the ringfighter decides to retreat again, leaving Ashitaka to slow to a halt where he stands.

Blood pooling ruby red at his feet, by this point he is barely visible beneath the seething cloud of wormlike corruption, waving and writhing however it can, intent to turn away blows that might kill its host. Ashitaka heaves for each breath, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth, barely able to see through the haze of rage and what he's become. He hears first the sharp crescendo of excitement from the crowd as the harbinger of Nkh's final charge before he hears the skittering of spider-like legs on the packed earth.

What happens when they clash for the final time is a flurry of blows, Nkh's remaining weapons growing strained and brittle as they came into contact with the defensive nests of tendrils. It's during one clash of blade upon blade that Nkh, with a twist of his wrist, manages to disarm Ashitaka by tearing the blade from his weakening grasp. The ringfighter takes a step back, and Ashitaka attempts to take one forward to follow, but something in him gives out, sending him down to one knee. Everything grows dark, and red, and angry, swarming around him from dozens of bleeding cuts. He slumps to the ground, tasting iron hearing chaos, and then the very last of the curse's energy fails him and he falls unconscious.

For a long moment Nkh stands, as confused as the onlookers, before what had once been his opponent, unsure how to place what had happened as the prone body swarms with the curse's infestation. In the end the ringfighter proclaims his victory and dedicates it, and the broken body of what had once been Ashitaka is removed from the stadium by a half dozen magically-immune Aranean hands.

RECOVERY (LATE-MONTH)
(B) Ashitaka is not seen for a week.

His wounds were extensive, landing him within an inch of death. But the stubbornness of both himself and his mortal curse kept him clinging to life just long enough to get him stabilized, and a week confined to bed rest later and he is mobile once again. He at first walks very slowly through the halls of the villa that COST has been stationed in, and carefully-assembled bandages and wraps of gauze can be seen in what few places the blue robes reveal: some around his neck, below his chin, and in places on his hands. He eventually comes to stand in the garden at the center of the building. He stands before the statue of the blindfolded Aranean and the beast, realizing after a long minute what they were. The Watcher and the Hunter, or the essence of them, retold in the reprise of an entirely different people.

He wonders if anyone would have dedicated a piece of art to her in memory of him, should he have died.

He decides that it would not have mattered regardless.

WILDCARD
(C) As usual, anything and everything else!

B

[mylawn]

In addition to his own fights, 76 is paying careful attention to the other recruits' battles, if only to stay abreast of any particularly interesting developments. Ashitaka's fight is brutal in more ways than one, but it seems he survived his recent bout. 76 has questions, of course, about what he's seen, but the important thing is that he managed to escape with his life. He's wandering the courtyard of their villa when he spots him, and the bandages say it all.

"You look like you're doing better."

In that he's alive, and up on his feet, even if it's been a week.

"How are you feeling?"

A loss like that must sting, if not physically then psychologically. He knows Ashitaka is a thoughtful man, but 76 can't quite imagine what must be going through his head as he stares down the statues.

[lonelywar]

He remembers very little past a certain point. He does remember the sword being wrenched from his hand, and then there had been something that welled up from within him: a destructive force, a desire to take into his hands what he couldn't undo with weapons and wrench it apart himself. He hadn't cared what. Nkh, certainly, for he'd been right in front of him and had wounded him to the point of death, but he would have charged after anyone else in this world he didn't understand, one built upon the status of violence. But a week has given him the time to think, and now he believes he understands how Nago had felt as he charged through the woods after innocent victims, wishing only to pay back in kind what was done to him as his bones were broken into shards within his own body.

He knows he is lucky to be alive. This is not his first incredibly narrow brush with death. He thinks it's unlikely it will be his last.

Ashitaka's head turns to face towards the familiar voice, feeling the dual sensation of relief to hear that of someone he respected but also a twist of guilt and shame for what he most likely had witnessed of him in the ring. The young man's expression is guarded, and he is silent for a moment before he answers, "I am alive. And I will continue to do so."

It's his answer to both questions. How he feels is something for which he has far too many words and none at all.

He turns back towards the statues and is silent for a moment, as if mentally weighing something, but he ends up speaking of something he knew that Soldier would have a unique perspective on, as he was one of the few people he'd spoken to at least in part about his time in the captivity of the Regency, of Kebechet and what they had done.

He speaks in a low tone, one shared only between himself and 76. "When I was in the hands of the Regency, Kebechet forced my hand during the time I was speaking to them, and I became what everyone saw in that stadium." His gaze falls, growing heavy-lidded and tired. "But this time I brought it upon myself willingly, though I had sworn to myself I would never do such a thing."

And he hadn't even thought about that. He'd only thought of surviving, though perhaps there is a point where one can only survive at a detriment to everything else.

[mylawn]

76 takes the powers of other recruits in stride—he’s getting more and more accustomed to strange abilities and supernatural natures, so he doesn’t have much to comment on when it comes to what Ashitaka displayed in the arena. He imagines the kid is having a difficult enough time as it is, so he’ll wait to see if he wants to address it before bringing it up himself.

“You fought well.”

Which is the truth, all things considered. Maybe Ashitaka is ashamed of his loss, but 76 won’t begrudge him for it. The enemies they’re going up against are formidable, and wins and losses seem as much attributed to luck than anything else.

When Ashitaka mentions Kebechet, it becomes apparent that the ability is something he’s ashamed of. There’s a bit of surprise evident on his face. He tries to choose his words carefully, knowing that he doesn’t understand what, exactly, went on during the fight.

“It was life-or-death. Don’t think anyone blames you.”

[lonelywar]

It is not necessarily the loss. That brings with it a different sort of feeling, a kind of personal disparaging that he's not really accustomed to but which clings to him when he thinks of how ineffective he has been in the last few missions they have been on. Even in Paris, he did not accomplish any success without also having caused critical failures. His time in COST has been a gradual degradation of his morale, the strengthening concern for whether or not he is a benefit or a detriment to his companions or their overall cause.

In the grand scheme of things each of their individual fights were relatively minuscule in impact, but its effect personally was a different story.

He dips his head, wordlessly accepting the assuaging words. He doesn't necessarily disagree. He knows he is a competent fighter. It just hadn't been enough.

He thinks that there might indeed be at least one person that might have strong opinions of what had happened in the arena, but perhaps there is truth to 76's words as well. Though Ashitaka is concerned he does not have the full picture of what it was that he bore, what had overpowered and overtaken him. There is a pause as he considers what to say, finally settling on, "You are correct. But what that was - what I had become - it was not something that would have differentiated between friend or foe." He pauses a moment longer, and then continues, "In my most dire moments, it becomes very possible I might once again become something which might lash out at my companions. It is this which troubles me the most."

[mylawn]

76 has been through enough war to know that sometimes it’s not the discrete battles, but the sum of all their parts. He still has his pride, of course, but he’s not overly-concerned with individual wins and losses, as defeat is just as much a part of fighting as anything else. Knowing how to handle it—how to take it and learn from mistakes and grow for the next time—is something that comes with experience.

He can't quite imagine losing control of himself in the way Ashitaka is describing, but he remembers feeling powerless in the face of the Crisis, doing whatever he felt was necessary to end it, and as a result finding himself part of a secret government experiment that had the express purpose of turning him into a killing machine. In the years that followed, he'd always been acutely aware of his own body, never wanting to hurt or destroy anything or anyone by accident. To have someone take that power and use it against him--or force him to use it--leaves him with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

"You've got something to fight for? Something you can focus on?"

A

[cutlery]

Aranean culture continues to be nothing short of a delight so far as Sebastian is concerned. It's dark and decadent in its violence, and for a demon, there's little better than that. There's a balance to be kept in every movement, and it's even more pronounced with a factor that has never really effected Sebastian. For once, there's a mild threat in this dance that he might actually be up against something close to equals. Not exactly (or so he's quite self-assured of), but enough that there's a more personal stake in these proceedings. It isn't watching court drama from the position of an outsider where he can laugh at the fruitless efforts of short-lived humans.

As such, it's probably why he enjoys these arenas. It's the sort of viciousness he would expect from his own kind, and it's actually quite entertaining to watch. He knows his fellow recruits hardly feel the same, but he personally, though quietly, enjoys all of this the way an Aranean does. It doesn't appear to be that way as Ashitaka approaches, since he's simply unassuming and quiet while he watches with a distant fascination, but the attention breaks when he realizes that a fellow recruit is approaching him. He smiles, bows his head in greeting, but looks back ahead to where he watches.

"Oh, always," he comments smoothly, and there's not an ounce of tension in his tone, "I would commend anyone for such an effort, though. It would be exceedingly bold, even if it is quiet."

Sebastian waits quietly, since he can tell there's something else on Ashitaka's mind, though when it's said, he smiles lightly. He doesn't turn his attention to him fully, but there's at least a glance given. "My, my. I can never refuse being proactive when faced with an inconvenience."

[lonelywar]

They are at completely opposite opinions on that, then.

What he had seen here in Jhashch and in Ythaway was very nearly more aversive to him than what they had seen in Gallipoli, though the only thing that changed his perspective was that this was not a human civilization but one of an entirely different species of creature. It neither saved nor redeemed much as humans still played a part here, and a terrible and pitiable one at that. And regardless of how much his heart yearned to change what he saw and perceived as wrong, he knows there's nothing to be done. This place had once been one of humanity, but they had created a race of people to do what they could not, and then that race decided to consolidate the power they realized that they held over their creators. Ashitaka knows things are not so simple. Perhaps this type of savagery was just in the Araneans' ways, natural to them, and how they inflicted it upon their once-creators was simply the punishment they now paid for creating sentient creatures just to enslave them.

It makes the troubles he had seen lifetimes ago back home seem almost simple in comparison.

So he might not like it or appreciate it, but Ashitaka's strident heart has been stifled enough so that he doesn't attempt to change anything. He is just one rock standing against an endless tide, and so all he can do is to weather that torrent without losing his ground.

When Ashitaka sidles up next to Sebastian and speaks to him regarding what he had noticed, he does not do it because he is concerned for the man. He knows he is not a fool, and he also trusts in the amount of confidence Sebastian walks through each and every court and ceremony they are led through. Certainly regardless of what might or might not happen, he would be able to handle himself, but... perhaps they could work together and use their respective skills to attempt to play this brutal game in their own way.

He nods. He supposes it would be very skillful, particularly if it was done in a way that no one saw the culprit. But certainly the Regency would have brought their best, and a thing would be squarely within the realm of reason. He fears the Araneans slightly less in this respect, thinking them far too direct in their violence (and so prideful in that) to go through such underhanded channels when there were statements that could be made.

That Sebastian is interested in helping is good. Ashitaka would be in trouble if he caught something too large for him to be able to handle, but he did not think that would be a problem with this man helping.

"If we were to set a trap, I am willing to act as bait." He's got that look about him, doesn't he? Dressed fairly nice, with a decent amount of confidence to his gait, but there's something about him amidst these social engagements that seems out-of-place, fish out of water. That would be evident to the most well-trained in the room, he is sure.

He glances to Sebastian, gaze sharp and telling. "So long as you are willing to take hold of what it is we might capture."

[cutlery]

"Oh?" his tone tilts upward in interest at Ashitaka's proposition, and it's enough to pull his attention to Ashitaka himself. That's not a light prospect to propose, since by all respects, both the Araneans and the Regency don't seem predisposed to much mercy, near comical requests for surrender aside. Though admittedly, part of it is also that anyone would be asking him to help with something like that. He will, and he'll do it as perfectly as is possible, but it's the amusing dissonance that sometimes rears its head. Trusting a demon is usually a fatal mistake, but luckily he's inclined towards being on his best behavior while serving Ciel.


He gives Ashitaka a look-over that he doesn't bother to hide, since he's evaluating how well it would work, and he seems to come to a similar conclusion. Sebastian nods, though the contrast to Ashitaka's gaze is stark. He's still as relaxed and confident as if Ashitaka had asked something far less dire. Hopefully it gives him the sense that Sebastian was at least the right person to ask.

"That I can certainly do. That said, I assume you can handle yourself well enough, yes? I can intervene if things because quite heated, but..." he trails off lightly, as if leaving it to implication, but he does finish the thought, "Depending on who or what we pursue, it may be more advantageous for me to wait until the last moment."

[lonelywar]

It is not something Ashitaka would typically suggest.

His is often a neutral energy. He lends himself to waiting, to watching, to taking in both hands each side of a terrible argument and attempting to find what he perceived as the truth in-between them. Perhaps he should worry that this thought is lending itself to him, to act as the predator rather than an outside bystander, but perhaps it had been his time as captive prey of the Regency that had changed this in him. Were it anyone else, it is likely he might not have jumped to such a conclusion. But after his captivity and after seeing these Araneans devour with impunity both their own number, humans, and all manner of other creatures here in this place, he finds his empathy and understanding quite at their definite limit.

Ashitaka is not completely blind to the particular type of help he is entreating. He has no specifics, but he knows to trust his gut, and he knows better to trust the vague sense he can get from the demon mark. Standing near Sebastian as he does now it gives him an odd sense, like static electricity built up and waiting for contact that would release it. He remains wary, but he does not doubt his decision.

"If the need arises, I can." He knows he is not nearly as deadly as other COST agents, but he is at the very least hard to kill. "So do as you believe is best."

He observes the crowd as it throngs and disperses, mingling and separating. It's still a confusing ocean of individuals and groups of all different allegiances. He doesn't move quite yet, instead continuing to ask of his companion, "If you were to single someone out to target, what is it that you would look for?"

After he says this, he turns to set Sebastian in a cutting gaze. Perhaps he had particular reasons for picking him for this little venture in the first place.

[cutlery]

Sebastian nods as Ashitaka confirms that he can take care of himself, at least to some degree. His expectations aren't very high, but that's not because of Ashitaka himself. He simply doesn't tend to think very highly of human ability. It's simply beyond comparison to his own abilities. Still, the less he has to look after his teammates, the better. He still arrogantly thinks himself superior to the Araneans, but he's also acutely aware that the gap between them is much narrower.

As such, when the crowd starts to shift, a sharp eye will notice that Sebastian's attention changes, though its subtle. He still carries himself as if relaxed and at ease, but his gaze is sharper. He's watching how the crowd moves and anyone that starts to stray a bit too close. He carries the illusion of being casual well, but he's being careful.

He hums lowly and thoughtfully at he question, though Ashitaka doesn't receive his full attention as he answers. His focus is still very much on the crowd, and he even pauses further to give a deferential smile to a passing Aranean woman whose gaze lingers a bit longer. He assumes that much is because of the magic, though.

"It depends, really. It is a matter of just what you want," he answers smoothly, "If you want to cause harm, then you look for the distracted or the weak. They are easiest to bring down quickly and quietly. But if you are more inclined to learn, then the confident and charismatic. They are simple the sort to be inclined to talk."

closed to hei:

[lonelywar]

This is the third time Ashitaka has been within a few breaths of death. The first had been when he had carried a young woman out of a city despite the mortal gunshot wound he carried in his chest, leaving in his wake a trail of blood and confusion among the people he had, until that point, endeared to him. The second had been when he faced Hei in one of the metal hallways of BASE, scarcely having the time to approach his once-opponent before he'd been knocked unconscious. And then there had been this, a fight for all to see in which he had failed to uphold a promise made to himself, that he would never allow himself to be overcome in the way that he had.

So when Ashitaka finally wakes up after nearly two days of remaining unconscious, the psychological weight of what had happened settles over him almost more stiflingly than the layers of bandages and other medical apparatuses that he couldn't even begin to understand. He takes a deep breath, then releases it. He can't move his right arm at all (it seems to have suffered the most damage, and is practically restrained), but he lifts his left to reach towards his neck, feeling for what he was grateful to find was still there: the talisman that COST had given him to keep the curse at bay.

His hand grips the talisman for a moment: a large curved fang of some large beast, faintly inscribed with circuitous pattern. Then he releases it, and his hand falls to rest by his side once more.

He musters enough energy to move, sitting up a bit in his cot so he could take stock of the room. In comparison to other chambers that they had access to, these recovery rooms are plain. There is more machinery he is unfamiliar with, a few plain, empty chairs, and another cot. Which is... occupied, and occupied by none other than the author of the second time he had nearly faced death.

Ashitaka nearly laughs.

He can't tell if Hei is awake or asleep, based on how he is sleeping, but on the off chance he is conscious, Ashitaka asks in a muted voice, "I take it you faced misfortune in the arena as well?"

He has to wonder how much favor they will even be able to win for their cause, if so many of them ended up here.

[dipolar]

He wasn't killed. Saved by some fool whose face he can't remember.

Fuck, he can't even manage to die properly. That's the first real impression he has of his injuries when his eyes finally crack open only to immediately close against a harsh light, head lolling on its pillow. That quiet voice greeting him certainly doesn't make him feel better, but he's been holed up with chatterboxes aplenty and it's no term he'd use to describe Ashitaka.

Hei tries to get his heavy jaw to cooperate with him, rasping, "Yeah. Take a picture; commemorate the occasion."

There's no hostility in the tone he uses, just a bone-deep exhaustion that weighs on every word. He looks harmless, weak with the way his features seem to bruise darker the tireder he gets—Ashitaka's one of the last people he wants to show vulnerability to, but there's no helping that right now. All he can rely on is the notoriety he's gained and the trauma he's given away.

"Who'd you fight?"

that icon ... omg

[lonelywar]

They shared that quality, didn't they? Both so specifically obtuse they couldn't die when it was proper for them to do so.

Ashitaka doesn't laugh. It's not really in his nature to do something like that. But, hidden from Hei's view, there's the faintest wisp of a sardonic smile which brushes past his features before disappearing once again. "I do not relish any of our losses." It only made what they were trying to do harder, after all, as it made them seem less strong individually and also as a whole. Silence stretches between them a moment before he adds on, quietly, "Unfortunately."

It's a joke. Or what passes for one, in Ashitaka's book.

They are, at least, equalized by their mutual exhaustion and vulnerability. If it's worth anything, it doesn't change much of how he perceives Hei, to see him this way. The strong can always fall; the nature of entropy demanded such a thing, sometimes.

A slow breath escapes Ashitaka, and his eyelids flutter closed. "No one of consequence." He had not gotten involved in house politics. With his upbringing and training, it was nowhere near his area of expertise. He had not, then, made any incisive decisions into who he was to fight. "An Aranean, a professional fighter. Nkh." He had thought to make a name for himself through this, and, well... perhaps they spoke of him now, but not in the way he would prefer.

There is silence again, and then he concludes, "It did not go as I might have wished."

a; alex ilu so much im prosing for u

[watchin]

Leo's well aware they're being watched -- pun intended. He's kept his eyes squinted shut, but with his eyesight already so augmented it's impossible for him to miss the beady eyes fixed on him and the other man -- who Leonardo assumes is a fellow COST agent. Hopes, even. The other young man speaks to him, probably having come to the same conclusion, and Leolardo shuffles a little closer.

"There are a few of them," he responds lowly. "Not just that one, but further in the crowd --- she's been tracking us." If Ashitaka were to look, he probably wouldn't be able to see her --- it's really just Leo's word in play, here.

He does tense, however, when Ashitaka mentions the trap. He's really not one for fighting, but he'd also prefer not to be spider food. "What... do you have in mind?"

Famous last words, maybe.

I FEEL SO HONORED SIPP ILU

[lonelywar]

Ashitaka has been with this cell of COST long enough that he recognizes by sight every individual, or at least is familiar enough with them to be able to single out a fresher face. This young man must have joined them recently, because he did not even recall having seen him when they were training for this particular mission back on BASE before they had been deployed here.

This is a trial by fire, then. He keeps this in mind.

He speaks with certainty that he can't find any reason to disbelieve. There's a faint sense of surprise on Ashitaka's face that slowly coalesces into resolve with just a faint hint of interest.

"I see." There's no doubt in his voice; he's seen enough during his time in COST to trust when his gut tells him to. "Is there anything else you can tell about them? Do they appear to be working together?"

One has to consider all elements like this before they set out on a hunt.

"It depends on what we catch." How they might deal with an agent of the Regency might be very different than if an Aranean decided to try their hand at opportunism simply because they had two very different end goals. "But it would be something to make a statement."

ilu2 <3333

[watchin]

It certainly it a trial by fire for Leonardo. It's not completely outside of the scope of what he's done before, back home -- but he's still in over his head and it shows, to Ashitaka, even, with the nervous tension in each move. Leo does possess some survival skills, though, evidently -- he keeps his eyes squinted shut, for the moment, because he doesn't want to tip them off.

"They're two Araneans working together. I think one's going to lure us..... and the other's going to come up from behind. They're both women, and I don't think they've got any orders or anything --- I think they're just hunting for the, ah, sport of it. One of them has a weapon. A sword. The third is acting alone, I think, it's harder to tell."

If it comes down to a fight, Leo won't be of much use -- but he's got the analyzing down pat, it seems like. "I don't think we can lose them even if we used the crowds to our advantage..." Leo licks his lips nervously, still whispering. "They know what they're doing."

He'll defer to the other boy for strategy -- he seems to have a much better handle on this whole mission than Leo does, himself.