MISSION 002

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: May 3rd-28th
WHERE: Within the Labyrinth
WHAT: The second Mission
NOTES\WARNINGS: Potential death, violence, injury. Please add additional warnings as needed within threads.

⏵ into the labyrinth ⏴ Aurora's announced time for the mission was correct: four days after, as she had promised, the door to the Labyrinth opens, connected to Etraya's atmospheric bubble by its entrance point. Characters are directed to come to the entrance on May 3rd, and warned that they may want to bring medical supplies, weaponry, and any important artifacts along with them. She warns that large vehicles will not fit within the limited space available, and smaller ones may be difficult to remove, thus advises those to stay behind. Aurora also offers to watch over any companion animals and keep them safe while competitors complete the Labyrinth. They are given a short amount of time outside of the entrance to speak with one another, to plan and organize themselves, before they are ushered into it in groups of two to four. Once passed the entrance, they'll find that they are unable to turn around and exit out of it: a barrier keeps them from going back into the city proper, and as soon as they are far enough forward, the walls around them shift, closing them in, moving in complex patterns meant to separate them and bring them together. Characters with extraordinary abilities may find some of them inaccessible: super strength may be downgraded to closer to ordinary strength, magic may prove to be less predictable than it should be, and regardless of how strong, fast, or clever characters are: passing over the Labyrinth walls or destroying them proves to be impossible. While one may be able to run through the pathways at superhuman speeds, the pathways compensate for it by running them in circles, refusing to allow them to make any progress on their own. ⏵ pathways collide ⏴ Junctures of the Labyrinth often present competitors with choices, some that may have consequences: a left turn down a darker path may prove to be harmless, whereas the well-lit path may be full of traps intent on slowing them down: a trip wire that activates a swinging massive axe, or arrows that shoot straight out of the wall as soon as one gets close enough. Other junctures may present characters with choices that have consequences: they can choose the shortest pathway, but at great personal risk to themselves or their partner (ie, you can go this way, but your arm isn’t going with you) or they can choose the lengthy pathway full of traps and trials they’ll have to surpass to get to the end. ⏵ balancing act ⏴ The pathway opens up into a massive space, but it's not one with an easy path out: instead, competitors will find an obstacle course that will not let them continue forward until they complete it. Many of the tasks involve things that one cannot do on their own: they must walk across multiple wooden boards balanced precariously on a tall beam, but to ensure it's balanced, there must be one person on both sides of the boards and make sure that they're walking on the board in just the right space to ensure their weight doesn't cause it to sink too far on the opposite side. If a smaller child is on one end, they may want to stand significantly further away from the beam than the larger person on the other half. ⏵ help! i'm bleeding! ⏴ A large garden area spawns off of a pathway. The peaceful chirping of birds can be heard among blooming cherry blossom trees, and it all seems utterly peaceful and calm. An area one might wish to take a breather in, enjoy the sunshine reflecting from above, and get a good nap in. Or would, except a companion bot whose abdomen is covered in ketchup appears to be struggling across the ground, crying out for help. They state they are bleeding profusely and require immediate medical attention, otherwise, they will die. The companion bot also carries a bag of medical supplies and MREs, which player characters are welcome to utilize. The pathway out of this open space will not open until after the companion bot no longer states they are dying. Whether it's because they're "dead", or because those who came across them offered "medical attention" and patched them up until they've stated they're good and no longer need assistance - well, both will technically suffice. ⏵ choice is an illusion ⏴ After walking down an additional pathway, characters will find themselves trapped within a glass box. In front of them is a pedestal with two buttons: one red, and one green, as well as a tablet above it displaying the image of another group of characters. The tablet states hindering them will help you. You may either choose to make the second group's time through the maze more difficult, or hinder your progress by pressing the green button and helping the other group forward. Characters are given two minutes to decide which path to take; the timer, on the tablet, counts down regardless of any attempt to break or hack it. Pressing the green button will drop several squishmallows into the glass box. Inside one of them is a key that unlocks the roof of the glass box. Pressing the red button, while it promises to hinder the other group, actually. . . causes a toxic yellow gas to flood the glass box. The gas will burn the lungs of those who breathe it in, but it also begins slowly melting the glass box. This gas will make breathing difficult for the next 24 hours, but will not kill those who inhale it. Healing factors will not offset the gas. ⏵ who deserves the knife? ⏴ A group of two characters will walk through one corridor and find themselves strapped to two chairs, the backs of which are leaning against each other. In front of the both of them are drills, slowly approaching their chests. They cannot go sideways but can push forward and backward. They can push backward and get themselves further away from the threat of injury - forcing the person behind them to suffer but allowing themselves to escape - or they can push into the drill and free the person they're with. Alternatively, they can choose not to push either way, potentially sacrificing them both. Three options, but they are left with minimal time to decide as the drill continues to press closer. If they choose to go out together, they'll find that as the drills press against their chest - they simply stop. Minimal blood will be spilled, and they will have all the time they need to figure out how to squirm out of their bindings. ⏵ the Siren waits for thee ⏴ A seemingly harmless pathway turns into much more trouble than it's worth. A few steps through a corridor, and suddenly competitors will find the floor falling out from under them, revealing a body of water and - no solid ground on either side of it. There are the walls, but they lack any good climbing holds. Within the water are numerous Sirens - beautiful androgynous creatures that sing soft songs meant to entice others into following them deep into the water. While they may look beautiful, their mouths are full of razor-sharp teeth, and their intentions certainly aren't innocent. However, the Sirens can only touch competitors once they have initiated touch first. They will do their best to encourage this: holding out their hands, crying out for help, pretending to drown, or trying to coax them into coming in close enough for a kiss. As long as they remain on the path, they're harmless. But the moment they reach out for the Sirens... getting away from them will not be easy. Their tails are powerful, built for moving swiftly throughout the water and dragging others along with them. They bite hard and will dig their teeth deep into flesh to discourage struggling. If one gets captured by them? They're lunch. Or worse yet: if they get bitten but manage to escape, they may find themselves becoming a bit.. scaley around the neck, eyes shifting color to a too-soft green, and an almost impossible-to-resist urge to take a bite out of their friends. This effect will continue until May 28th regardless of when the character reaches the end of the Labyrinth. After May 28th, they will find that their scales slowly begin to shed, their eyes begin to turn back to their normal shade, and any other new features slowly turn back to how they were before they were infected. ⏵ don't forget your ball of twine ⏴ The Labyrinth is large, and there are many challenges around each corner. There may be space for breaks in between monsters, challenges, riddles, places to sit and recuperate between battles and mind games. It's not all chaos and challenges meant to test one's strength of will. ⏵ NOTES ⏴ May's mission is completing a massive Labyrinth. All characters must enter the Labyrinth; whether or not they participate once they're inside is up to them, but no one will be permitted to stay behind in the city. The duo who completes the Labyrinth first will be allowed to assist in choosing the next mission. Sign-ups for this are here. We will contact the chosen characters on May 13th. This mission will cover the time between May 3rd and May 28th. After May 28th, any characters who have not yet exited the Labyrinth will be gathered by the companion bots and brought back into the city. The companion bots will be aiming for nonviolent intervention. If more is needed, please let us know here. The first to exit will be returning to the city on May 15th. There will be powercapping during this mission, but the extent of which is fully up to players. We want the Labyrinth to be challenging but don't want to hinder gameplay too much. If you have any questions relating to this or want assistance coming up with ways to powercap your character, please feel free to ask us here. We will be largely leaving this up to player discretion. Food is scarce within the Labyrinth, but not impossible to find. There are chests (or maybe they're mimics?) strewn throughout with various useful items. One might have a sword, another might have a fresh chicken nugget Happy Meal from McDonalds. Or an entire birthday cake, candles included. Large vehicles will not fit in the Labyrinth and must be left behind in the city. Numerous challenges are throughout the Labyrinth. You are welcome to make your own, but we will also provide several you may utilize! Please feel free to throw down wildcards, or your own challenges into your prompts! The limitation is that characters must remain themselves throughout the challenges. There are no mirror replicas, nothing within the Labyrinth will affect their personalities or core values. It’s meant to challenge, not change them. Deaths that occur within the Labyrinth will last 24 hours. Please report these on our Death Tracker. All new locations will appear after player characters have returned to the city. Feel free to note the differences from the May 3rd map, versus what characters will be returning to on May 15th.

Comments

[skaikru]

( why not? he asks, and her mind absolutely boggles. why not? why not because — )

At least in silence we'd be able to hear if something was sneaking up on us.

( clarke has had the absolutely awful labyrinth experience of running into monster after monster after monster... no puzzle breaks, a brief back to back stint in the obstacle course but other than that it's just been the perpetual sense of being a live feed dropped into an animal enclosure — recent siren escapades included. and she knows that not all monsters are dragons and chimeras and evil mermaids; she knows most of them are human, which probably lends to the resistance of being asked to sit here and examine her own feelings, when they're currently a jumbled mess. something about the good doctor across the fire sets her teeth on edge, but he'd done right and she'd done wrong and...

it's just a lot. it's wire strippers passing over already frayed nerve endings. and while she subsequently sinks into a solid 45 minutes of absolute silence just to prove a point, at some point it becomes oppressive.

at some point her mind wanders, and she stares into the base of the fire they've both continued to feed scraps of foliage into, and it looks no different than the base of sticks one would build a funeral pyre out of. she thinks of finn, then of lexa in her warpaint, then lexa leaking out blood as dark as the charcoal she'd used around her eyes. then of the sirens, one plain faced and the other prepared for battle, urging her towards it and how readily she'd wanted to follow...

and despite imposing it, clarke is the first to lose the quiet game. )

What else do you think we're going to run into out here?

( she needs to know, so that in the inevitable future in which the walls shift and separate the two of them, at least she'll have a better idea of what to expect. )

[relished]

[ah. well, he doesn't press, though he is just slightly disappointed. she is so ready to push back, and much like a petulant child, she silences herself in defiance. he busies himself in other ways; tends to the fire as needed, surveys their small perimeter twice as he gathers more kindling. nothing about what he does is anxious and it's clear there is a lack of it, a lack of urgency in general.

at last he is satisfied with the dryness of his shirt and is able to dress himself once more, taking his time to do up each button.

her voice breaks the silence. he had wondered how long it would take her.]

Those sirens took the shape of someone you knew. [not said in an accusatory way, but he's guessing she'll take it as such.] That leads me to believe that the labyrinth could be a reflection of ones mind.

[that part he is not looking forward to.]

I think we should turn to the recesses of our minds and prepare ourselves for upheaval. These are no ordinary monsters. The labyrinth is a reflection of what we know, and what we choose to ignore.

[skaikru]

( she decidedly hates how much sense that makes.

clarke's general baseline of paranoia is already ratcheted up, and hannibal just piles on with his take on the situation. she's been thinking a lot about how she'd made the drunken, glib joke (but not a joke) about how they were all lab rats stuck in a maze, then turned around and found out the next mission was a labyrinth. and the last labyrinth she'd entered, she'd just laid down and died from grief in when faced with the mirage of her best friend's corpse at what felt like the end of the world. but, like every apocalypse, humanity persisted in the wake — worn down and inevitably changed. doomed to repeat itself in waves, much like the wave of headless zombies chasing down her and her friends in the immediate onset of the maze challenges. and then the sirens...

it's all the same. nothing's new. her homeworld is still facing destruction and echo is no better than the captain. same lack of originality, too.

she'd had a snippet of a memory as hannibal had held her by the throat, and the visage of the same snarling man manifest for a split second in his place across the fire. what's the matter? you don't like to be faced with your —

she waves emerson off by sheer force of will. )

Well, I'm familiar with my demons, and understand how this place may twist them now. What should I know about yours? You know, in case they converge on us in the next five minutes.

( her clothes are not dry, especially along the back which hasn't been exposed to the warmth of the fire. but she'd manage if it became necessary to stand up and just walk off. )

[relished]

[Hannibal's mind is not a happy place. his mind palace, while expansive, is also dark. there are pits there. he honestly, truly, would pity the person who may have to greet the monsters that lurk. he doesn't answer her immediately, holding one hand out a little too close over the fire briefly before pulling it away, feeling the heat on his fingers. he doesn't want to answer her. rather, he isn't sure how to begin to describe it.

it is the first time one of Clarke's questions concern him.]

I'm going to apologize in advance for anything you may encounter. It is fortunate that my world held no mythical creatures.

[but he had been allowed to see into Clarke without her control, allowed to see her scream and writhe against his violent grasp to save her. if he does at least open one door, she'll never trust him. he's come too far.]

I grew up in a very dark place. It wouldn't surprise me if that darkness reached this maze.

[he doesn't see himself as evil, he is necessary. but his memories? his past? the deep, endlessness of his home in Lithuania is another story.]

[skaikru]

( she purses her lips, complaint on the tip of her tongue because — darkness as a concept or a fact, hannibal? it's already night time, and if dredging up the visage of dead loved ones to act as a lure for an inevitably painful death wasn't morbid already, she's sure the maze is just biding it's time. aurora had pitched this mission as a place for teamwork and further bonding, but was it really? the whole place still feels alive in its own right. the wind that whips through the passageways on occasion the labyrinth's breath, the creak and moan of walls changing their orientation like a beast flexing its many fingers. just one giant monstrosity actively working against them — are they in it, or is it in them?

but she settles herself. imagination wins out. considering darkness, there's always the chance of turning a corner and finding themselves stuck in absolute pitch blackness. the thought of being deprived of an entire sense and left fumbling along the walls just to move forward, or having to combat some shadowy enemy is appropriately daunting. almost without thinking, clarke leans forward and reaches to stoke the embers of their little fire with a spare stick. )

I grew up in a pretty dark place too. ( space can be an oppressive smear of gloom once all the fluorescent lights are turned off. and the necessities of war? well, one doesn't have to be evil to be guilty. )

Hope you packed a flashlight.

[relished]

[he's sure that the darkness has already reached these ugly corners and pathways, sure that it looms over the both of them in entirely different ways. he knew she wouldn't be entirely satisfied with his answer but refused to delve into it further. he's offered her enough, between her life and this fire. he could drill the guilt in if he really wanted to.]

I prefer to rely on my senses, and one does get used to it.

[being in the dark. his mind is already there. he glances to Clarke's backpack, where he knows a flashlight stays. he wonders if she'll make it out of here alive. had he not run into her, those sirens would have sunk their teeth into her with little resistance. she had welcomed them.]

[skaikru]

( a dinky little flashlight that'd been on display on the kwik trip counter just alongside the swiss army knives is nestled in one of the front little zipper pockets of her pack. it's twin in a flank pocket of the rain resistant survivalism jacket she'd layered on at the beginning of this entire ordeal as well. something tells her that in the darkness he'd alluded to, the tiny little warm light they cast wouldn't do much to puncture the oppressive blanket of black — and that she'd learn nothing more if she were to whip one out and shine it directly in his red-flecked irises.

but clarke notes, adaptable. )

So you're as good as nocturnal. Got it.

( and she does reach for her bag next; stuffing the ignored energy bar back into its confines and digging around for a pair of dry socks before setting to redressing her feet. her boots have probably dried enough at this point, maybe she can avoid more blisters. )

[relished]

[he chuckles at her remark, as small as it is, she describes him well. he wouldn't exactly call himself nocturnal, but he is very astute and detail-oriented. he'll use whatever is around him to his advantage, and if being in complete darkness splays someone's weakness out for him to snatch, he will wait in that void for as long as he needs.]

Hardly. But your body will adjust, especially in dire situations. Even more if you train it to do so.

[his eyes follow her movements, lips forming a slight frown.]

Are you sure your things have dried properly?

[skaikru]

( nocturnal is still going down in her mental notes. and clarke has a lot of thoughts — and quite a few experiences — with adapting in the name of survival. from solar radiation to bone marrow transplants, from childhood innocence to a layer of blood she'll never be able to rid her hands of completely.

then he asks after the state of her clothes, and... yeah, no, they are still cold and damp and sticking to her skin like a conduit for chill to seep through. but she'd never been one to be spoiled into complacency; comfort is never expected. )

Dry enough. I can't stay here forever.

[relished]

Certainly not.

[he can smell the mixture of sweat and salt and cold on her. can tell she wants to get moving as soon as possible, and even further away from him. they've already spent enough time pulling the heat from the flames and he can feel how much her energy has shifted. the urgency is returning, no more is the excuse of sopping wet clothing left, now it's sticky, but doable.]

I'd ask if you would like to go alone, but I'd feel quite guilty watching you walk away. I don't want you to get into any more danger if I can help it.

[besides, he's sure he's more dangerous than most of the things in here, sans the dragon he's heard about, he could probably help her more than she'd like to admit. he already has.]

[skaikru]

( there is absolutely nothing to be done for the salt. deep in her backpack is a package of baby wipes, a handy addition inspired by francis krouse mere weeks before this and something clarke figures she could use to deal with the sweat, but what is the point when they're stuck out here for the foreseeable future? cleanliness comes in second when pitted against base survival. the cold however, can be counteracted by more sweat — by getting up, by moving, by pushing herself further because all she wants is to get out of this place. and ideally first.

before clarke can move to stand and sling her pack over sore shoulders though, hannibal pipes up with his... well, it's not really an offer, more of inviting himself along. and she freezes, fingers still clenched around the zipper tabs and eyes underlit by fire when she stares at him. a series of responses filter through her mind, ranging from polite, dismissive deference you've helped enough, i know what sirens are now and won't get tricked again to just plain rude fuck no, i don't want to deal with that darkness you might bring.

her mouth twists, indecisive. the desire to escape hannibal lector and his unending scrutiny rages, but clarke doesn't know how. comforts herself in this floundering by justifying it's all supposed to be a test, right? she's not supposed to wave off help, this entire place is based off teamwork, it's not her fault she can't shake him it's by design. )

...I'd be fine, ( she eventually settles on as a response. the stubborn insistence that whatever is thrown at her, she'll survive. the sirens had been a fluke, and she's learned. )

But if you're ready, let's go.

( this place sometimes feels like a living, breathing creature with thoughts and plots and ploys and it's own agenda. clarke had already noticed she'd tended to get separated from any chosen companion within eighteen hours of joining up with them and figures she won't be stuck with hannibal forever. she moves to stand, and kicks some of the sandy dirt that coats every inch of the maze floor over the fire before stamping it out to completion. )

[relished]

I'm sure you would be. It's for my peace of mind.

[it's so easy for him to nudge his presence onto her, knowing full well that she wouldn't deny him. if she had, he would have said something about strength in numbers, or whatever sounded right in the moment. not so much pleased as he is triumphant (while hidden) he gathers himself, slips his shoes back on and is ready in a manner of seconds.

he watches as she stamps the fire out. he would have just left it to die out on its own. if it somehow managed to damage the maze he'd be surprised -- he's sure Echo or Aurora had something installed in the labyrinth to avoid its destruction.

she may have started getting ready first, but he's the one in the lead. he does pause briefly, however, as an odd, shifting grumble echoes down the path they're about to head down. he glances to her with a near-mischievous expression, eyes narrow and lips turning upward. does he want something to happen? or is he just perplexed? no one will ever know.]

We may have another problem. They're being quite naughty here, aren't they?

[skaikru]

( hannibal takes the lead naturally, and clarke has only the vaguest qualms about letting him assume the role of sacrificial canary. she follows in his wake, a specific distance (more than arms length) maintained between them; but allows neither company, rear position, or space to lull her into a false sense of security. in pushing on in the maze, they open themselves to new dangers which could come from any direction — and she's surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder at the hint of a cold, rattling breeze whistling at her back when he pauses abruptly in his tracks. she doesn't walk directly into his shoulder but it's a near thing.

and then for a brief moment, confusion reigns. she can hear the distant scrape and grate of heavy stone shifting beyond what they can see; it's become an almost familiar sound, like the shriek of a gateway to a new challenge being raised, and sets the still-damp hairs on the back of her neck on edge and imagination reeling. is he talking about the walls themselves, an extension of this entire place that feels like it's a living, breathing creature in its own right? no, because it's not; this is all calculated and manufactured. he's talking about — oh. )

Yeah, Echo's an asshole.

( same pronouncement, slightly more vitriol on clarke's end. but she grinds her teeth together to prevent any other antagonistic sentiments from leaking past her lips. unsticks her feet from the dusty floor and draws properly level with hannibal to spend a few seconds staring at the unassuming walkway before them. then drags her gaze sidelong, tilts her head up to look at his face and jerks her chin towards the shadows.

we have to go anyways. still wanna take the lead? )

[relished]

[uneven, soft steps drag, clip clop, crunch on the rubble and dirt just out of sight. something animal bleats. Hannibal recognizes it, but his arm lifts just enough to signal for Clarke to remain behind him, hand inches in front of her waist. he remains like that for a few long seconds, statuesque, head cocked as he listens.

without looking at her, he shifts his palm up, but keeps it hovered by her waist. his whisper is assertive, but calm.]

Give me your knife.

[his scalpel is just as useful, but a knife would be better if he's correct about what they're going to encounter.

and boy is he. no sooner does a creature emerge from the darkness, familiar brown fur enveloping a shape that looks normal right up until its head, which swivels unnaturally. right out of an nuclear lookbook, a mutated deer ambles closer, and closer. he notes the bubbling of muscle between its misshapen heads and exposed teeth, which jut out in ways he can only imagine are uncomfortable. he's almost -- entranced? by its appearance. he finds its oddities fascinating.

but there is an underlying tone of danger in the way it looks at them and Clarke is taking too long.]

Clarke.

cw: the 100 deer

[skaikru]

( at first the knife doesn't come his way because she's caught onto the same ominous wavelength and pulled the blade from the waist of her pants with every intent to use it on her own.

then, the knife doesn't come because she's frozen in place.

the deer hadn't even bothered presenting its profile just to scare them later, it'd swaggered into the hall from a little shadowed alcove easily with it's head held high and it's antlers a mangled mess of red with scraps of velvet hanging off the prongs. only one of its eyes looks at them with any hint of recognition; the fourth is a hazy greyed out, dead color, and the second and third fused together with a cloudy milky white sheen that indicates blindness and rot all in one. its ears flutter, the nostrils on one face flare, and the exposed muscle between the two heads work as it pants.

she is homesick. she is terrified. she is moderately aware the deer looks different; bigger, yet thinner. it's shedding, and it looks sickly. rabid compared to the last time they'd stumbled upon each other, wherein it'd just been scared. and no way this is the exact same creature, right? but it's close, and isn't the notion echo could reach into their histories and dot their current tasks with gruesome likenesses from home even more terrifying to behold than it is to just think about? there's no siren song this time, just the aggrieved chuff of the animal before them and the impatient beat of it's hoof against the stone floor. )

I —

( can't? won't? am about to be sick? clarke gets out exactly one vowel sound before her throat tightens beyond speaking capabilities, and even that had sounded like it'd been punched out of her lungs — preemptively gored. )

cw animal body horror, gore/blood, animal death

[relished]

[eyes flit from Clarke to the mutated deer and he knows what he has to do. expertly, he grabs the base of her hand that holds the knife and presses into the nerves close to her wrist with his thumb to shock it into release, taking the knife from her with the other.

he stalks toward it, nose crinkling with disgust. the deer reeks, its heat and disease boiling it from the inside out. he can taste the sickness when he inhales, can see the infection behind its eyes and exposed tendons. a trail of bulging veins snake down its neck and shoulder, a flourish of blues and purples blended into fur. how it's walking around upright is beyond him, but he needs to put it down.

the deer wants to be aggressive, but hardly has the capacity to. surely its only purpose is to shock and freeze its prey in hopes to get close enough to them. Clarke succumbed to that.

an unsettling amount of liquid -- saliva? -- slides and drips from its mouth as it focuses on him. splatters on the stone. Hannibal doesn't care. it has to be put down. the poor animal, or what it used to be, is poisoned. Hannibal holds the knife in his left hand, at an angle, blade facing away from him. there's a glimpse of how he may fight in his stance, but the deer is hardly giving him any true trouble. he's cautious because he doesn't want to get bitten.

he steels one last glance to Clarke. what she is witnessing is a privilege. what he is doing for her is a privilege. he could easily leave her here, glued in her own sense of fears, but doesn't. the deer is disoriented in its ailments and he is closes the distance between them with two strides. the next movement is a bit more stealthy, a half-crouch swept upward as he plunges the blade straight through its neck, slicing all the way to its jaw. the only sound is one of death, a final cry from the deer's throat as blood splashes, sticks to skin and the cuffs of his shirt and jacket. neck muscles and tendons fray out. the animal slumps, then collapses to the ground. hooves scrape together.

his shoulders are squared as he looks down at the mangled mess. he doesn't turn away from it yet, instead inspecting it.]

cw animal body horror, gore/blood, animal death

[skaikru]

( it says something that she doesn't fully register exactly what hannibal's doing when he reaches for her hand until after the knife has already been wrested from her fingers. sure there's the uncomfortable twinge of pressure on a nerve, but it's secondary. confusion, tertiary. ) Hey, I — ( she partially complains but the urge to fight falls by the wayside. first and foremost is the spiral — as if the sirens wearing two differently made up faces of her dead lover hadn't been enough, clarke stares at that deer and has to wonder exactly how much echo knows about them. there's a difference between reading something on paper and bringing it to life in a way that passes, in a way that triggers something deep in the belly of the pawn he or she is trying to make a play with. there's facts and then there's picturesque accuracy, down to the stretch of exposed muscle between the deer's two mouths.

so hannibal takes the knife and approaches the animal. and it does not feel like a privilege to bear witness to slaughter, even when the slaughter is necessary.

her stomach unfurls itself from the tight knot it'd been in, flip flops aggressively, and a wave of nausea rules — but she doesn't keel over and vomit right then and there. she swallows hard around the taste of bile. he looks back at her, another set of eyes possibly the only thing that could urge her to rip her own away from the swollen, half blind gaze of her deer. and she wants to fuss — it's just a deer, it's not dangerous we could just turn around, it's from my home, you don't have to do this — but all complaints die in the crush of her back molars clicking into place. hannibal is already striding towards it and all that leaves clarke to do is wince when the blade of her knife sinks into the animal's throat. the deer screams, the deer falls. death isn't foreign but it is still weighty, and she's secretly glad that the angle of it's head doesn't force her to watch the light go out of the deer's one good eye; from glossy to matte.

a long moment passes as they both just stare at its corpse.

him up close and wetted in blood, her a few paces removed and surveying the scene as a whole — despite her own eyes insistence on slipping in and out of focus. it takes a solid shake of her head to rattle sense back into place, and a concerted force of will to uproot her feet from where they'd planted themselves on the pathway and eventually step forward. clarke draws level with hannibal's elbow, careful to stay away from the pooling edges of the deer's blood spreading out on the cobblestone flooring of the maze. the death throes aren't entirely over with, she can see the contraction of tendons and releases of musculature throughout its flank. the brain doesn't know when it's done for and will fight on, he should have stabbed it through the eye. )

cw animal body horror, gore/blood, animal death, generally bad vibes

[relished]

[he's staring down at it, expression empty aside from a slight frown. a little twinge of pity is directed toward the animal, but nothing more. he ponders its existence for a moment, wonders about the connection between it and Clarke for her to have such an adverse reaction to it. he could have gone straight for the deer's brain, but didn't. he'd left it untouched. its tongue is lopsided, poking out between its warped teeth.

the smell of death and blood envelopes him, yet he is so coolly unaffected. he places a hand on Clarke's shoulder, a bit too close to the nape of her neck, meant for both comfort and persuasion. the knife is held out to her by his other bloodied hand, grip loose enough for her to take it if she accepts the offer.

he wants to test her; he can feel her unsteadiness beneath his hand. this is a pivotal moment between the two of them, a door opening in the darkness. the deer's chest heaves shakily below.

his voice is a deadly, hypnotic whisper only for her; a flourish against the unnerving dying breaths of the animal.]

It's still alive. [purposefully so. even as it bleeds out, warm blood threatening to reach their shoes through the cracks of the stone.] You should end its suffering, hm?

[he tilts his head, a glint in his eyes. they've already pushed through the disconcerting trials of the siren, bruises from his fingers around her neck that his hand is uncomfortably close to yet again, ready to guide her forward into the kill.]

Bad Vibes, the thread (all cw cont)

[skaikru]

( the muscles in her neck tense immediately beneath the weight of hannibal's hand, and she scrunches her shoulder up towards her cheek in an abortive effort to shrug him off. clarke accepts her blood slicked knife back from the blood drenched fingers offer it up because it's hers, and she feels better armed; she does that part almost instinctually, and it's only a moment later when the words — the challenge — he'd issued out really take root in her brain and begin to spread their vines.

there is a flare of helpless disgust. he'd been the one to strike the irradiated beast and bring it to the ground, why couldn't he finish it?

there's the idea they could just leave. turn around, walk back the way they'd come, and never think about the deer again.

but every time it tries to pant, another wave of blood gushes from its throat and the tongue hanging from its mouth grows increasingly dry right before their eyes. it only has one good eye, yet it's the combined milky white eyeball between the first and second head that seems like it's fixed and staring at them. waiting. gauging. desperate and wondering. and... scared.

so, so scared. fear is an animal instinct shared across species, and where the deer can't make a single sound at the moment, clarke hears the faint reverberation of a gut wrenching groan — a hnngh — and belatedly realizes it's coming from her own throat. there is the urge to violently gag, but it's shoved down with a thick swallow. a deep breath and the reminder that it's just an animal, and not even real at that — some sort of recent byproduct of echo trying to get to them, trying to make them feel at home — and she fully shrugs off hannibal's hand.

ignores the fact she immediately feels colder for the lack of human contact, the dampness of the clothing she hadn't taken the time to let fully dry still apparent. then she takes a step forward, the tread of her shoes landing in the rapidly expanding pool of blood originating from the animals neck wound. the deer tries to raise it's head, but just ends up nosing in the rock dust that covers most of the labyrinth ground. looking down at the half-corpse, it really isn't hard for clarke to brick up the bits of herself that threaten to overflow with sentimentality. and after a steadying breath, she steps over the beast entirely, and kneels at the back of its heads.

this isn't hard. it's just another ugly, bloody thing that needs doing.

so why does she reach out her right hand to lightly pet between the antlers before mapping down to that notch between skull and vertebra. and why does she whisper shhh and it's okay repeatedly before positioning the knife between bone and punching it between synapses — wiggles the blade side to side a little, just to be sure she'd severed the spinal column. the deer doesn't even writhe, so much as it deflates.

and why isn't she crying? that's something personal clarke will have to unpack, and in the meantime she is going to do everything humanly possible to avoid looking hannibal in the face again. )

cw ~*~*~

[relished]

[she shrugs his touch away, yet his touch leaves her so naturally. like he planned for her body to reject his touch. past the earth and dirt, the overwhelming sticky iron, the tangy fear, there is Clarke. he smells the bile that threatens her throat, her hesitancy, her adrenaline. it mixes into everything else in a beautiful, foul sort of way that only he can appreciate.

when she kneels by the deer, or more like when she isn't able to see his expression, his mask falls if only for a few seconds. he watches her curiously as she tends to the creature with soft touches and gentle whispers. notes how she knows exactly where to puncture it, relishes in the act.

she hadn't wanted to, that much he can tell. but he also guessed correctly -- she doesn't like watching something suffer. she'd been able to deal with his suggestion and swallow what he fed her, however silently.]

You've done this before.

[with the undertone of well done.]

[skaikru]

( it's not often that clarke had been praised for her capacity for killing.

turns out it doesn't feel any better than being reviled for it.

and all of it for nothing, she doesn't even manage to catch the cracks in hannibal's composure as he watches — too focused on the little dribble of blood that leaks out from the knife wound in the base of the deers skull, and then the smear across her own knuckles, and the dark liquid dripping from the tip of her knife. the latter two are quickly wiped on her already filthy pants. despite the lack of tears, her nose suddenly feels full of snot and it takes a few harsh sniffs to clear it. which may or may not have been a mistake, because then the scent of copper hangs so strongly in the air that she can practically taste it.

the animal was a personal slight from echo. the animal is dead. for a brief second, it feels like she's back on earth again, and like it'd be a waste not to butcher it on the off chance her provisions run thin — there's still no telling how long they're going to be stuck here, and hannibal isn't the only one who'd lost his taste for teriyaki jerky as soon as he'd tasted it. clarke stares at the still-warm carcass for a moment too long before shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. )

Sometimes, ( she says. it sounds like the start of a longer sentences; sometimes i hunt, sometimes i have to but any follow up sticks in her throat. nausea flip flops in her stomach, and she needs to put a little distance between herself and the blood — so she moves to stand and take a few steps back from both of them, the deer and hannibal.

and against better survival instincts, turns around. shows them her back, gives herself a few moments to recompose. )