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

clarke griffin | the 100

[skaikru]

i. welcome to the panic room ( entrance )

( she tries to take comfort in the fact they'd at least been given time to prepare, but at the end of the day — and at the end of however many days they may prove to be stuck in this place — clarke has to perpetually wonder: will it ever be enough?

she'll arrive just outside the labyrinth early on the appointed day, dressed in a fresh pair of black cargo pants, a layering of a thick black sweatshirt with the tiniest sliver of a hi-vi green shirt peeking out over the collar, and the most water resistant jacket she could find with as many zippers and cinches as could added to a piece of clothing. every pocket on her person seems to be full to the point of heavy, just like the two backpacks that she has, each slung over a shoulder. and her face is set in a grim line of resigned determination that might look a bit like fear depending on what angle the light catches on the edges of her lips. clarke shows up alongside rita mordio and natsuno yuuki, but as more people begin to gather she can be seen constantly looking around — making note of familiar faces, tallying their total number to see how it compares with the number at the end, appraising others preparedness, openly searching for someone...

and as time ticks by to the point of no return, as she gets antsy and the first pinpricks of nervous sweat begin to accumulate in the baby hairs at the back of her neck, finally drops the packs and crouches to do one final check of her supplies. there's food, water bottles, baby wipes, homemade first aid kits that contain everything from band-aids to morphine, little shooters of vodka from the kwik trip, rolled up pairs of socks, fire starters, more food, a bag or two of skittles, spare steak knives with their serrated edges wrapped in a towel and taped securely so she won't cut herself on accident. there's a knife on her belt, and the very edges of a braided bracelet peeking out from beneath the cuff of her jacket too. it's just...

it's never enough. but at least her hands don't shake when she grips the hilt of the knife and pulls it out to inspect the sharpness. )

ii. maintenance required ( companion bot )

( prepared for war as she is, the sight that greets clarke when she manages to get through to the gardens is so wildly out of left field that it almost throws her completely off her game. that sure is a companion bot there, that sure is a whole lot of red splattered across and dripping down it, and it sure is begging like a poorly tuned music box. but this tableau of horror is so ridiculous it crosses the line and plants itself firmly in the realm of comedy. and, like, really? the ominous size of the maze, all the monsters that could be lurking within, all the peril it could promise and — she's really expected to pause right here and play nursemaid to a robot?

did echo run out of ideas? or was this just soft pitch? because it certainly strikes as the most obvious and in your face morality test she's ever seen. there's still the temptation to turn around and exit the garden, surely someone else would come along and help, or put the poor creature out of it's play acted suffering. be it find the exit of this godforsaken place or seek out her friends, clarke has better things to do than this. and yet... the way the thing is modulating its voice-box to cry for help sure does still manage to sound a lot like an actual person begging for relief over a radio frequency...

...goddammit.

clarke huffs out hard through her teeth, all but stomps over to the felled companion to drop to her knees in the grass. and with complete and utter dispassion: )

Yeah, okay. Okay. Roll onto your back. Where are you "hit"?

iii. ( wildcard )

( ooc: neither of these strike your fancy? feel free to hit me with your wildest dreams, or hmu via plurk or over on my ooc plotting post! )

closed starters

[skaikru]

rita & natsuno

[skaikru]

whispering, whispering

( the time finally comes where they all must slip into the maze or weather complete hypoxia and clarke griffin stands shoulder to shoulder with two of the only people in the world that could make her feel prepared to tackle this task alongside of. it's daunting, just looking up at the weathered face of rock that make up the outer wall, more ominous to speculate just what kind of things they'll be forced to confront within the depths of this labyrinth, and discouraging to remember the last time she'd walked through a door with no promise that she'd ever return. the last door had lead her to a cold, stone room and the first thing her gaze had alighted upon had been an overwhelming amount of blood and gore, and all of it had lead back to the beheaded body of natsuno yuuki with empty eyes and no sign of ever returning to them. she'd never gone into express detail about the time she'd spent curled up on the rocky floor, bawling her eyes out and wishing she could just die alongside him; rita'd never really talked about the anxiety that'd ripped at her heart when clarke's head had never manifested on the wall of the waiting room either, and what could natsuno even elaborate one? he'd spent an unspecified amount of time in the form of a monster haunting one of the other rooms.

at least this time the solution to escaping didn't seem as convoluted as shattering sandy hourglasses and hunting the childlike alter ego of their captain. they just need to get through to the end, ideally together. for a brief moment clarke reaches out a clammy palm to snag her fingertips in natsuno's sleeve, glances across him to take stock of rita's face. and promises herself she won't lose either of them, come hell or high water.

one is missing from her squad however, and just as they move in concert to cross the threshold into the unknown, she casts around those mingling behind them. spots octavia in the crowd and feels her eyebrows shoot up. locks eyes with the other girl and reaches out a hand to beckon her to follow them, and quickly. but almost immediately upon entering the maze, the path carves sharply to the right and compresses to force the three of them to walk in a single file; clarke distractedly bumps a shoulder against the wall in an effort to make the turn while resolutely glancing over her shoulder, and she never sees the brunette girl follow them in.

she never sees anyone follow in directly behind them. and her stomach twists, seizes up to the point of nausea. but there's nothing else to do but press forward.

eventually the path opens enough that clarke can readjust their order; slips between rita and natsuno to take up the middle; the other girl at the rear for the firepower, him as the point guard to make use of any heightened senses that could alert them to danger. it's a wordless switch, trusting her friends to understand where they're best suited and a little too wary of how heavy the air hangs in the maze. to the point of suffocating, like being in a den with a bear nestled just past where the eye can see, sleeping for now but certain to wake the second they make a sound or misstep. clarke keeps her shoulders hunched and stance ready, one hand hovering over natsuno's shoulder and the other perpetually extended behind her for rita to grab at any point should she need it. they walk for a while, the only sound the scuff of their shoes on the dirt path and the occasional pebble kicked astray. left, then left again, then at a cross-roads and they pick the right path. one more right hand turn and for the first time the surrounding walls don't look like plain, boring stone that's crumbling in a few places because it's adorned with —

heads.

dozens and dozens of heads, mounted on the wall like trophy kills. clarke only has to register the vague idea of what she's seeing before she stops so abruptly that rita's likely to collide with her shoulders, stomach dropping down to her feet and suddenly struggling to fully inflate her lungs. no. no — )

This can't be happening again...

( only it's worse than before, because drawing a little closer to the first set of mounted heads she can see their lips moving tightly. and below the rustle of wind through the aisle, she can hear persistent mutterings:

turn left. left, left.

go right, you idiot.

move, move.

just reach out your hand, follow the wall, you're almost there.

...running out of time, need to hurry up...

please, i'm so tired of this —

and one is just quietly sobbing. )

[neverleave]

[Natsuno hadn't experienced the true horrors of the last labyrinth. Of course he didn't enjoy waking up naked save for a lei, especially not when his only clue was a message from Skulduggery that explained absolutely nothing. There were a lot of angry pacing and useless screams involved. Still, it was nothing compared to the torture the others experienced in that waiting room, nothing like the horror Clarke was barely willing to talk about.

Still, when Aurora first explained the next "test," Natsuno's immediate reaction was to call Clarke and Rita because can you believe this shit?? After the whole evil clones debacle, Natsuno no longer cares for the differences between Echo's supposed plan and the captain's childish caprices. He would've stayed outside out of sheer spite if it wasn't for his friends. Now he's here and committed, evident by the firm squeeze he gives Clarke's hand when she grips his sleeve. The three of them are going to finish first, and if Natsuno has any say about the next mission, it's going to be "sit and do nothing for 20 minutes to pass."

He takes the lead, every enhanced sense attuned for the slightest sign of trouble. He made sure to drink his fill right before entering, and it should keep him going for a while provided he doesn't get horribly injured. He's the first to hear the whispers when they're about to turn the corner.]

I can hear people talk. Be careful -

[Much like Clarke, he stops dead in his tracks staring at the heads. What in the Return to Oz name is that? Natsuno looks back at her, alarmed. She seems terrified, but they can't let the sight get to them, as disturbing as it is.]

Whatever they're saying, it must be a trap. We should stick to the middle and ignore them.

[myagic]

[Nothing like a labyrinth to confirm Rita's opinion that Echo is definitely messing with them. As they wait until they need to go in, she stands with her arms crossed, foot tapping, and a scowl on her face. It could be anything inside, after all, and while that waiting room might have been its own form of awful, she never experienced whatever horrors were inside that last labyrinth--she just has the knowledge that something upset Clarke to the point of refusing to talk about it, and the fury of knowing Natsuno was transformed. Like hell she's letting anything like that happen this time--this time, they're in it together, as it should be.

--And while Clarke might have strategy in mind, getting shoved to the back of the line has Rita grumbling, because now she can't even see anything but Clarke's back in front of her, stone walls looming high on either side, and the sky far above. She can't even look out for traps! But she does trust Natsuno to be in the lead, so...ultimately, it's just the usual brand of grousing from Rita.]

Ow--hey, what gives?!

[Also, yeah, definitely walking straight into Clarke when the other girl stops short. She stands on her toes, still can't see, and with an irritated, impatient huff, elbows her way forward until-]

Wha--they're joking, right?! What the hell?!

[--She can't even decide if this is better or worse than before, having the heads talk (or cry) instead of staring blankly ahead...]

rin

[skaikru]

balance beams and crushed athletic dreams

( she can't have been separated from her friends for that long, maybe an hour and a half. that's enough time for the stitch in her side to relax, to catch her breath, to mourn openly in a flurry of curse words that she hadn't kept a better grip on rita's hand or natsuno's jacket as they'd run. it's enough time for clarke to feel her fear grow in size, double over on itself and reform into the type of paranoia where all of one's senses seem heightened. every skitter of a pebble across the ground in the distance sounds like the warning bell for impending attack, the way the wind whips around the corners begins to set her teeth on edge the same way a human scream would, she could swear the darkness down some corridors practically pulsated like this whole place is a giant living organism with its own heartbeat.

but she can't stop moving. to allow herself to freeze in place is to allow fear to win, and when fear wins death follows. so clarke pushes on alone, fingers curled around the handle of her knife in lieu of anyone else to cling to. nothing happens for a long time, and eventually the rapid race of her heartbeat drops back near baseline. the stone hallways twist and turn without reason and clarke's only plan is to follow her gut when it came to deciding which fork in the path to choose. except apparently her gut sucks because one wrong turn leads her to the edge of a massive clearing. it reminds her a little of a long abandoned zoo enclosure, just without the overgrowth of moss and plant-life on every staged bit of enrichment. big wooden fixtures had been built here; some vertical with large coils of rope piled next to them, some a simple straight length of wood elevated off the ground with a bunch of planks stacked, one's just a wall juuuust high enough that she wouldn't even be able to jump and grab the lip of the edge above...

clarke's still trying to parse out what exactly she's looking at here when she hears something behind her, whole-body startles and white knuckles her knife just to whip her head around and at least recognize the other as human first, and familiar second. it's the girl who'd returned her bracelet to her, which is now securely tied around her wrist and barely peeks out beneath the cuff of her jacket. what was her name again...? )

Oh, hi — ( she has to pause and then acknowledge with an ounce of awkwardness, because last they'd crossed paths had been weird, right? ) ...again. You can go through first, I still need to... decide my approach.

( aka stand here awkwardly, envisioning herself falling off every balance beam, trying to take stock of what she has on hand that could be used to shield the palms of her hands against the rope wall, eyeballing the lengths of wood set out to make a bridge across a deep trench and — not for the first time — wishing she'd at least taken a brief apprenticeship in engineering. this section truly looks impossible at first glance, and it hasn't quite occurred to clarke that these are tasks meant to be summited together. )

[revengeisalie]

[ Meanwhile, Rin has gotten separated from Aang, and her heart races as she makes her way through the labyrinth, trying to find him again. Aang seems plenty capable of fending for himself, but that doesn't stop her worrying. Capable as he is, he's still a child, and he's been so nice to her. It would just about break her to see him hurt.

When she comes into the clearing, she first notices the girl in front of her. Ah -- the one she'd returned the bracelet to. The one she'd met twice, because of whatever happened that duplicated them, flesh and blood, into a worse version of themselves. It's still very hard to wrap her head around that. Is this the original version, then? She's pretty sure the doubles are gone, but then again -- can she be sure?

She approaches with apprehension, only for the girl to turn around, and she sees the knife in her hand, braces herself to nearly grab her own sword, which is slung through the bag at her hip -- but then the girl seems to recognize her and lets up.

Rin relaxes a fraction. ]

Ah -- hello.

[ And it's only then that she sees what lies beyond. She has to do a double take and blink a few times to make sure she's got this right. Some type of obstacle course? It looks very precarious.

Rin gulps. ]

... I think I'm gonna need a moment, too.

damian

[skaikru]

the biggest obstacle was each other all along

( you know what's worse than struggling through that obstacle course once? ending up separated from the person you managed to complete it, taking two lefthand turns in the belly of the maze, and somehow finding yourself routed right back at the edge of the stone enclosure again, before your blisters have even finished swelling or your bruises even have a chance to purple.

clarke stops dead in her tracks, kicking up tiny bits of rock dust with the tips of her sneakers and, she can't help it, her entire face falls. her arms and legs are already smarting with the release of lactic acid, her back already hurts, she's already filthy from having fallen once or twice, and what's worse, already knows there's no choice but to complete this trial again before the maze will consider silently shifting to open a new pathway forward. several long seconds pass, all of the stages of grief wash over her face, and acceptance comes with a slight grunt and another puff of dust as she slips her backpacks off her shoulders and let them fall to the ground with a solid thump. in theory she has no problem with the concept of teamwork, but in terms of experience — in alliances forged and broken, in betrayals of trust, in being dragged down by weaker people, or succumbing to the loudest voices — one had to be exceptionally careful when it came to choosing who to cooperate with. personalities had to mesh, goals had to align, strengths needed to compensate for weaknesses, and above almost all else, they needed to trust one another.

and in the maze, there's no control over any of that. she'd tried, but lost her friends already so it was just down to chance who stumbled upon this clearing next and how long they'd take them to even arrive. all clarke can ultimately spend the next bit of time doing is crouching above her bag and extracting a roll of medical tape — which she rips in pieces with her teeth before carefully wrapping her blistering palms. )

[brat]

( damian feels like he's been walking in circles, even if it becomes quite clear the further he gets that they're not circles, just - walls meant to make him feel like he's getting nowhere any time fast. they curve, move, create new pathways to make him feel as if he's going mad. counting his steps, memorizing landmarks, none of it makes a difference in ensuring he's continuing in the direction of the exit. this labyrinth, much like the last one he had found himself trapped in, doesn't follow the laws of physics. it was created to irritate him, to show him he cannot rely on his senses alone, and that.

well.

damian doesn't like that.

the gait of which he makes his way through the pathways shows his irritation clear as day if it were any other teenager, it might have been considered stomping. but damian's steps, despite the anger clear in his body language, are near-silent. his breathing remains almost too even, and when he sees clarke around the next curved pathway, well.

aside from the dirt on his kneepads, clinging to his cloak, and how a few strands of his hair have begun falling out of place, almost drooping into his line of sight but not quite, he doesn't appear too worse for wear.

even if his scowl deepens when his head tips up and his eyes focus on clarke herself. arms raise to cross over his chest, adding to the exasperated air he's giving off. )

Not you.

krouse

[skaikru]

"i'm fine", round 264728

( sound is weird within the maze. sometimes clarke can strain her ears and swear she can hear other people conversing in the distance, or the clattering din of something dire happening well beyond her line of sight. sometimes she hears nothing but the wind, but swears there's the slight grind of rock sliding around like the tectonic plates of pangea rearranging their narrowed world. there's growls, there's screams, and somehow the worst is the oppressive and heavy silence that almost lures her into thinking she's safe for a second. time is also proving to be difficult to track; there's the shifting of light above them, but the walls are so tall... they press and squeeze and cast shadows, and she finds herself entirely unsure what day it is let alone the hour. there's at least enough light to see by at this moment, and after what she'd guesstimate to be three hours of staving off thirst, clarke needs to stop and sit for a second. sloughs off the straps of her backpack and digs around for a warm bottle of water, cracks the plastic seal and despite wanting to down the whole thing, she forces herself to take slow and deliberate sips. a measured intake, a self imposed rationing — because aurora hadn't exactly given them an idea of how long they'd be stuck in here, and the supplies she'd seen strewn around tended to look like trappings purposefully strewn across a minefield. the red-headed girl she'd been separated from most recently had once accused her of being overly paranoid, and in her solitude she has to acknowledge that she is. but also look where it's gotten her: moderately hydrated and at least not worrying about being poisoned in this specific instant.

her stomach chooses this exact moment to writhe and gurgle with something other than anxiety, and seeing as she also can't remember the last time she'd taken a moment to eat, clarke recaps the bottle and sets to digging through her pack for something protein dense or sugar filled when she hears —

was that a screech?

it sounded animalistic in nature, and a great deal closer than any of the other ambient sounds. it'd cut through the silence like a knife through butter, a scalpel through flesh, and the brief moment of reprieve is immediately over. she drops her granola bar back into the messy confines of her go-bag and instead grasps at where her knife is shoved into the beltline of her pants. she scrambles to her feet and slings a single strap across her shoulders, glancing to her left and right in order to discern the best direction to run — but then there's a snarl, and a growl joining the cacophony and they echo relentlessly against the rock. in the end it's not even a choice of running towards the fray versus away from it when she can't pinpoint the origin, but clarke gravitates to her left on instinct and creeps as quietly as she can. peers around the edges of the nearest corner and —

oh, that doesn't look good.

all she can immediately discern is a small scale swarm of creatures. some the size of house cats, some of medium sized dogs, but there's something wrong about each of them. the color is off, or they're oozing a neon green acidic substance with every footstep; one is completely skeletal with gold flinting off bared teeth and sharp claws, and another has ridges of moss and bark in place of fur. there's a barn owl the size of a car door beating its wings to hover and screaming what almost sounds like a rallying cry for all the beasts swarming below. the only consistent and familiar thing she can sense is an overwhelming swell of rabid ferocity, and all of it's directed at a single being.

in the middle of it all, the lanky figure of a boy with a familiar mop of dark hair and approximately 0.5 seconds away from being disemboweled —

wait. she'd blinked for a second and suddenly he was five feet to the left, narrowly dodging a vicious lunge from what looks like the adolescent offspring of the leopard with the snake tail that'd taken up residence in the hospital cafeteria. clarke blinks again a handful of times, and reaches up her free hand to wipe at her face in case the amalgamation of sweat and dirt across her face was somehow making her imagine things. )

Krouse? ( she asks aloud, but also entirely to herself. nothing else in this pathway seems to hear her, all the beasts focused on their quarry and said quarry understandably distracted. the point is that she's recognized him, and the left hand perpetually hovering above the bent handle of her knife commits: she wraps her fingers into the makeshift guard and yanks it free. )

[equivo]

[ Someone once told Krouse that tinkers who work wet are especially bothersome. Krouse thinks he tends to agree.

No matter how sophisticated or dangerous a mechanical tinker's constructs get, there's something about the messy viscerality of a bio-tinker's creations that inspires a more primal kind of horror. They're off, twisted wrong, askew from what should be real by way of the feverish daydreams of someone who looks at flesh and sees clay.

But the worst thing about them isn't anything as trivial as an aesthetic quibble. The problem with any tinker is that they iterate. The specific problem with bio-tinkers is that they evolve. Of all the things that could have turned out to repeat across the multiverse, it's just their luck that would be one of them.

He's seen some of the things in the swarm before. A handful of them here in the forest, or elsewhere in the labyrinth, and that's bad enough. But the ones he recognizes from Boston - well, that's several degrees worse. And something he can't help but take a little fucking personally, even as he barely sidesteps the snarling juvenile chimera.

There's too many of them, none of them the right mass for easy switches, which means his timing can't fall into rhythm. He knows what some of them are capable of, in theory, but he doesn't know what surprises they're hiding under passing familiarity. The shrieking of the monstrous owl drones on, sliding like a razor the wrong way down his already frayed nerves as it draws more threats in by the second.

He's been in worse tactical positions, but he's not thinking about them as he reaches for his right hip. Everything narrows down to what he does next, one choice at a time, or that's what should happen, until the flash of light off metal at the periphery of the bristling horde catches his attention.

Krouse doesn't freeze when he recognizes Clarke, because that's a quick way to end up dead. He kicks away a cat-sized amalgam of fur and carapace as he backs up, eyes narrowing, and draws up the hem of his jacket in a smoothly practised gesture.

Draw, safety, aim, fire. One continuous, unhesitant flow from start to finish. The fur-carapace bursts with a gout of greenish fluid and goes still, and he's already swinging the barrel of the gun up to fire again, winging the snake-tailed leopard along its shoulder as it bounds sideways to try to latch, improbably, onto the goddamn stone wall.

He swaps with it. Its momentum sends it tumbling over itself, while Krouse lands on his feet from a drop of a few inches, already lining up his next shot. ]

Hey - do you know that saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight?

[ He calls out, not looking her way, a dark glint of joyless humour in the hook of the question. He pulls the trigger, and a heavyset dogthing with hooves and tusks squeals in wounded fury. ]

hannibal

[skaikru]

oh sinners, let's go down, down to the river to pray

( the entire world has melted away.

gone is the disgusting sensation of stone dust sticking to every spot of exposed skin via sweat, gone is the crippling fear of being hunted or lonely. clarke can't even wrench her gaze to the way the water gently laps at the edge of this suddenly manifested pool smack dab in the middle of a stone alley, let alone ritualistically glance over either of her shoulders in the height of paranoia — all she wants to do is look at them. the acoustics of other monsters and people are replaced by the overwhelming awe at the way the gentle, hushed humming of the creatures in the water echoes and resonates down to the bone, like a warm blanket after hours of treking through the snow. sum seven feet from the rocky shoreline, two near identical figures effortlessly tread water, heads peeking up to hold clarke with intense regard. they're nearly identical, both brunette, both with water-logged blue-green eyes. one has her hair done up in a complex mix of pinned layers and braids, dark paint smeared down her cheeks by the water, and a dark gem stuck between her eyebrows, and she stares at clarke with a weighted sort of demand, a cool and commanding presence that makes her want to wade into the shallows like one would rage into battle.

the second pulls all of her damp hair across one shoulder, naked faced, and eyes soft; wanting, begging, an unspoken promise to kneel in turn if the blonde girl would just get in first. and god, for her clarke would willingly drown.

both of them reveal incredibly sharp teeth every time they part their lips to intone, but she can't really focus on that. intermittently, they strike up a familiar hummed melody as they bob and drift closer; the braided one even comes so close as to splay her webbed fingers on the edge of the pool sum three feet from clarke, and lovingly croons: )

"In your bed," mama said; Baby's riding off to dreamland
One my one, they've begun; Dance and prance for little baby...

( but she reads so much further beneath the lyrics, suddenly punched in the chest by exactly how tired she is and a fish on the hook at the invitation to just rest. to let someone else take care of everything, to not worry, to fall in line, to follow and trust instead of lead and just guess. and here are the likenesses of her dead girlfriend in two different fonts, promising protection and comfort if she just gets in the water and asks for it; if she just reaches out and takes their hands. and they're right, she can't do this alone. she can't do this at all.

clarke sits back on her haunches and shucks off the straps of her backpack. undoes the trappings of her jacket, then pulls her sweatshirt off over her head and sets both aside. shoes next, the lacings of her boots a little difficult to fumble while still unable to divert her attention from the women in the pool but hastily undone in the name of want. this leaves her in cargo pants and a neon green, sweat soaked t-shirt as she shuffles to the very edge of the pool again; dips her feet in first and, upon discovering it's a relatively pleasant temperature (would it matter if it were frigid or a cleverly disguised boiling pot?), pushes off the edge and slips into the water entirely. )

[relished]

[sirens aren't unfamiliar to him -- he knew what they were the second they made themselves known. to think he would be able to encounter such incredible beasts in his lifetime was enchanting. but he does not fall under their spell as Clarke does. their hymns are unfamiliar, but based off of her response, they're familiar to her.

the smell of the ocean lingers and becomes enveloped by dirt and sweat. he'd like to see it first-hand, something no man has ever truly lived to tell the tale of. there are poems, paintings and stories of these creatures, but never a live show.

he watches her for a few seconds too long, watches as she shrugs off her backpack and takes off her boots. a fool rushing in toward her demise. it's questionable who she's safer with, the sirens or Hannibal, and with their focus on her he's able to focus on them and truly analyze them. it's a tantalizing experience. he sees beauty in it, a lost girl reaching with so much yearning, blinded by it. he wonders if she'll snap out of it.

she doesn't. as expected.

he undresses as much as he needs, placing his suit jacket over her backpack and taking his shoes and socks off.]

Clarke!

[his voice rings off the walls, an empty plea. he didn't plan on doing any diving today, but it's looking like he'll have to -- she's too far for him to reach. an experienced swimmer, he dives in, surfacing right behind her. he's quick; a hand reaches up to her collar and tugs roughly while he tries to pull her close to him, back to the edge of the pool. he wants to keep as much distance between them and the sirens as possible.]

Let them go.

dean

[skaikru]

go to sleep little baby

( it just adds insult to injury to stumble upon this scene in reverse again so soon, salt water washed over metaphysical wounds and the burn running deep. clarke had to be dragged by the throat out of water not too long ago herself, and subsequently left to contend with the idea that maybe she was worse than just too weak to handle this place. maybe she was susceptible too; malleable, easily impressionable. the song of the sirens had hooked into the meat of her mind like sharp fishing hooks piercing through the lip, and even though it's been the better part of a day clarke still can't quite rid herself of their haunting melody. but she's already unintentionally been peeled away from the likes of hannibal lector, and stumbling around corner after corner brings her to the edge of a very familiar waterway that's overtaken the stone floor.

with a little time, with a little perspective she can see that it really does look like a trapdoor fell out in the middle of the walkway; the subsequent water is deep and seemingly comes from nowhere, the bottom of the pool murky and perpetually churned by the siren's tails as they tread to keep their heads above water. and they're singing something sweet and soft, but it just manages to grate at her nerves. like flint and tinder, sparking a deep rooted and indignant fury. there's no walking past this, it's oddly personal despite the creatures in the water no longer bearing any likeness to her own dead lover.

clarke surges forward. )

No you don't — ( she hisses at the creatures lurking just out of reach from the shoreline, who screech at her in turn with a pitch that successfully wrenches the melody of all the pretty little ponies out of her mind for good. she can see this for what it truly is: a feeding ground, and the lamb to slaughter in the middle of it all is a man she doesn't recognize. not that there's a lot of features to place, his back towards her and head bowed towards the water. from her vantage it looks like he's ready to dive right in and —

and, yanno, she's learned a moderate lesson from the good doctor. the best way to drag someone out of this sort of enchantment is by getting a hand into the scruff of their collar, hauling back, and preparing for being lashed at in protest. here's just hoping she crosses those final few feet before he manages to get over the edge and splash down... )

[venatoris]

[ This isn't the first time he's dealt with a siren, and later, when his head is clear and he realizes what happened, what he fell for again, he's going to be angry with himself, for his weakness and stupidity.

In the moment there is nothing but the song, though - the sweet lullaby of some far off tune, one that's been buried in his mind since he was a child. Hey Jude cycles on repeat, the plinking of piano keys by his own demonic fingers, the soft hum of his mothers voice, the low tenor of an angel. It encircles him, draws him in, lures him to the edge where he teeters on the brink of insanity and desperation. Dark smoke, thick and curling beckons him, forming into slender fingers as she hums the tune he knows so well. He can see her so clearly, the mess in his mind confused and panic driven, the connection that still worries him, scares him deep down.

The smoke only Dean sees clears and all there is is her, watching, waiting, singing the soft song of his youth. It's easy to get swept up in it, too easy, and step by step takes him forward, closer and closer to the edge. There's footsteps behind him, someone who would take this from him, the woman, the song. It pushes him forward and instead of walking over the edge, stepping off slow and sure he leaps, ocean water surrounding and soaking him to the bone. ]

nicky

[skaikru]

saint george and the dragon

( she's going to fucking die here, isn't she.

one wrong turn — because no matter which direction she chooses, thus far it's always proven to be the wrong one — and clarke had found herself face to face with a dragon. a full fledged dragon, burnt ember orange in color with fire licked eyes narrowed in base animosity; with talons the size of butcher knives and a wing span twice her height. it's body is the size of a clydesdale, perfect for traversing the pathways in the twisting lanes of the labyrinth with impossible agility. and all she'd seen of the tail before turning her own to flee was that it was thick as a healthy sapling and when lashed against the wall beside it hard enough to crack the stone. there have been plenty of times in which she'd felt like a prey animal in a swarm of predators, but few times it'd actually seemed like she could be devoured whole in one bite. it's an entirely new type of fear that overtakes clarke as she turns to book it away, the only sound in her ears the relentless thump of her own heartbeat and the continual growls of the beast behind her.

she runs for her absolute life. fire burst in a stream just past her right elbow and clarke tucks in on herself; then a jet of heat crosses above her head and she can smell her own hair burning. there's no way to outpace this thing on her heels, it'd make more sense to turn and face it — extinguish the threat before anyone else found themselves in the same situation. but all she has on her person is a piece of spaceship debris that's been sharpened into a knife and bent for the handle to double as a makeshift brass knuckles. and for the first time in a long while, determination and the glint of steel don't feel like they'll be enough to get her out of this alive. a third fireball hits her square in the back, making her stumble enough to almost lose footing entirely. but residual flames are mostly just eating away at the material of her backpack, and clarke manages to shuck off the shoulder straps and toss it behind her without missing much of a step. the dragon doesn't even stumble, and flexes it's wings like it's about to take flight and start stalking her from a higher vantage point.

she's crying. unbidden tears of exhaustion and fury for the whole situation squeeze out of the corners of her eyes and are pushed back into the wells of her ears by the wind resistance breaking against her face. it isn't fair, she'd wanted to get out of this place intact, ideally one of the first to stumble across the finish line and maybe get one step closer to understanding how the decisions were made around here —

and then she's rounding a corner blindly, and it feels like she's run into a wall. but that's not completely right, is it? that was the give and jostle of another human body, and she's sent sprawling to the side in a cloud of kicked up dust instead of back on her ass. it still hurts, the stitch just below her ribs feels like it's ripping apart and all the air is knocked from her lungs with an anticlimactic oof. her thighs burn and her feet don't cooperate completely when she tries to get back on her feet.

and she can't draw in enough air to properly scream, but whips her head around and wheezes imploringly at the other figure: )

Run.

( he's on his feet, he should be fine. just leave her there, worst than could happen was a bit of a fire and a really awful story to tell upon regenerating several hours later. )

octavia

[skaikru]

theseus and the minotaur

( it's been days. how many days? good question, she'd lost count of the sunrises and sunsets and only tracks the passage of time by the ache in her bones and the number of people she's come across — just to be summarily separated from. and as that number reached the double digits, there'd come the temptation to simply stop counting at all, but. she's holding out hope, like a candleflame in the wind, that either the end is near or one of her friends is just around one of these sharp turns. and finally, be it luck or the mercy of the maze, she does.

clarke stops cold in the middle of a four way intersection of pathways, and stares at the figure emerging from the opposite shadows like she thinks she could be hallucinating. two handedly rubs at her tired, bloodshot eyes, and feels the tinderbox in her chest try to strike up a flicker of hope but — the flame can't catch without oxygen to feed it, and she can't fully inhale until she knows if this is real or some sort of labyrinth trick. )

Octavia...? ( her voice is as wrecked as she is. fading bruises around her throat speak to at least one instance of being throttled, the specific way her hair hangs in ugly, crusty clumps a telltale sign of being submerged in saltwater and having to airdry after the fact. the knees of her black pants and whole front of her black jacket are dusted in the fine dirt that covers the entire labyrinth floor, and the steel toed war boots she'd wrangled off the back racks of roxx are dented and scuffed. all in all, clarke looks as if she's dragged herself out of hell. she looks like she tended to back on earth, at least in those early days of mount weather and her self imposed isolation in the woods.

but she smiles once the other girl comes into full view. it's a tired expression, managing to reach her eyes but not alleviate the worry lines carved like canyons between her eyebrows. she takes a step towards octavia on impulse, just to immediately pause because directly to her right — down that other shadowy passageway, the one she hadn't turned to stare deeply into yet in an attempt to sus out a threat — comes a deep chuff of an exhale. )

deku

[skaikru]

hand based injuries

Everything has proven just as awful as Clarke expected it would, and she has officially lost track of the number of days they've been stuck in this place. She had started off on this journey alongside friends, just to be immediately separated from them with a hoard of zombies straight out of their combined worst nightmares; blistered her hands on the rope section of the obstacle course twice, nearly succumbed to sirens and subsequently tried to drag three other people away from the same toothy fate. She'd lost her backpack of supplies to a jet of dragon fire, but could at least call that a blessing in disguise as it'd spared her back being scorched. And then there was the unrelenting swarms of mutated monsters, and the actual verifiable minotaur, and the cold of the night, and the constant sense of unease that prevents her from resting until her body gives out completely, and the stomach rattling hunger that shakes her occasionally and could be abated by a slightly salt-water drenched protein bar from her pocket but then — who knows how long they're going to be stuck here? How long will she have to make that last?

Long story short, this has been hell on earth. Only it's not even her Earth, and she has no idea how any of the work to survive inside this place translates into proving her worlds right to be spared the collapse of the metaverse, and no idea where these godforsaken pathways actually end. All Clarke can manage at this point is to keep walking upright, her head on a rather belated swivel. But even on high alert she never could have imagined the outcome of rounding this one specific corner.

One second she's got her eyes tracked on distant moment; on a mop of dark hair on the opposite end of an otherwise empty corridor. The next she's feeling her back slammed into a highbacked wooden chair and the cold bite of metal against her wrists counteracting a startle reflex. Disoriented, Clarke stares down at her hands and can't quite believe what she's seeing; wide iron manacles bolted to the arms of her chair that don't budge no matter how aggressively she yanks. All of a heartbeat later she hears the light whirr of mechanics, and drags her eyes up to focus on the suspended drill that's kicked on and begun it's slow approach towards her chest. And fear rules her.

It'd only been a few weeks ago that she'd been stabbed through the heart by the vicious, doppelganger version of her best friend. And that had been horrible but at least it'd been quick. She'd entered this labyrinth with three goals in mind; protect her friends, be one of the first to emerge so she could have a say in next month's mission in order to better protect her friends, and not fucking die again. And if that thing gets its drill-bit teeth into her sternum, it's over. All of it. Doesn't matter if she'll just wake up 48 hours later, it'd be a delay and also she doesn't want to die here.

It's instinct, not malice that has her planting both feet on the ground and rearing back in her seat with enough momentum to rock their chairs closer to the drill softly whirring on his side. Definitely not malice, as she hasn't even realized the boy from the opposite side of the hallways is even there yet.

Re: deku

[wannasmash]

The first day, Izuku suited up in full Hero gear like any other mission, fully equipped with a dark green jumpsuit, arm and leg bracers, gloves, and a small tattered yellow cape. He's spent more time in it than out of it lately, even before he came to this world. The pouches on his belt and scavenged backpack contain food, camping, and medical supplies. A coil of rope never hurts either.

None of these things can help him now. Izuku is sporting blood-stained bandages over injuries, and he has to be sparing with his painkillers. He's tired. He didn't rule out being found in his sleep by unsavory creatures or people, so he only slept for a little at a time in uncomfortable, hard to reach places. The days run together, but he dutifully counts them by his dwindling supplies. At least when he left U.A. after the battle of Jakuu, he had Pro Heroes looking out for him (however much he tried to put distance between them so no one would get hurt).

He wakes when something hits the back of his head. He's already suffering from a concussion from the other day, and the pain is disorienting.

"107/28!" he garbles the correct answer to a difficult math question, wondering why on earth Mineta (who sits behind him) walloped him across the skull.

...He's not sitting in class.

He's staring at his scarred right hand as it struggles under the metal, Quirkless. His legs are similarly bound, or else he'd use his Iron Soles to destroy--a drill? Izuku takes in the rest of the situation in an instant, as a Hero must. The undeniable presence of another person gives him a whole new set of problems to deal with.

"H-Hey! Are you all right?"

ii.

[riskfalling]

[ He'd gotten separated from Barbara almost instantly. Even anticipating it, it hit like a fist to the solar plexus when he turned around to find a wall where she had been, when calling out for her just meant he was yelling along in an ever-changing maze. Lewis Carroll, eat your heart out.

The voice he does finally hear, tinny and panicked, isn't Babs, but it's enough for him — Dick bolts toward it, wishing desperately for a train to latch onto or a few skyscrapers to loan him the height and speed he's used to.

The tableau he finds when he comes running into the gardens seems clear at first glance: someone's been injured, badly. He sees a flash of red and a prone body and it's a moment before he realizes the red is the wrong shade and the body is... metal. But at least it's not alone. Kneeling beside it is— ]

Hey, porkchop girl.

[ He grins at her as he comes to the bot's other side, hunkering down and reaching with a gentle, gloved hand to help roll the thing over. It makes a long, keening sound that strikes straight to Dick's heart, even knowing it's just a digital facsimile of pain. ]

What happened here?

[skaikru]

( porkchop girl? for a split second she doesn't even register that the nickname is being directed towards her, but a shadow stretches across the ketchup'd mess of the companion bot and clarke does inevitably glance up. just to find herself face to face with one of the many spandex clad young men that seem to be running around the city in droves of late. and she places the blue and blacks of his uniform almost immediately; places the name back to what feels like a year ago but had really just been a few weeks — when they'd been pinned behind a table and arguing about killing a chimera. he'd gone and done backflips in order to wrangle it, and while she'd been tempted to run and leave him to his fate...

yeah, she certainly had dug her hand into the buffet line of the hospital dining room instead and hurled gravy slathered meat in an effort to distract. cool, it's this guy. she does not match dick's welcoming grin, but the grimace lines already hanging about her face deepen with further annoyance.

what happened here? the robot answers for her: )

I have been wounded. I am in need of assistance.

( and the muscle under clarke's eye twitches, even as she digs in the pocket of her jacket to produce a roll of gauze — this is such a waste of resources, but she's playing along. begrudgingly. ) This is so stupid.

Please assist, I am in the process of bleeding out.

It's a condiment.

christ can I get out of my own way

[riskfalling]

And it looks dire, [ Dick agrees.

That absolutely wasn't what she said, but it's what the situation calls for, he thinks. He can recognize a near-death scene when he sees it; there's a non-zero chance this thing is going to start quoting Shakespeare at them before it attempts to expire. ]

C'mon, put some pressure on. This poor guy is seconds from death's door.

[ The robot makes a sorrowful, gasping sound, managing a fair approximation of a death rattle. Dick takes its... hand?... in his, patting the back of it gently. ]

It'll be okay. We've got you, buddy.

[ To porkchop girl, very seriously: ] Will he need stitches?

[ How they'll stitch up a metal torso that's bleeding ketchup, he as no idea, but he's in it now and along for the ride. ]

entrance

[thinkerseven]

[ Clarke isn't the only person searching for something. After all, aren't they all looking for a way out? But she's one of the more miserable-looking ones of the bunch.

And paranoid, too, if her search of all her stuff is anything to go by. Lisa watches from a safe distance, cataloguing it all along with Clarke, then making a note of her own in a miniature, spiral-bound notebook set with purple sparkles. Blonde - wavy hair - prepper.

That settled, Lisa saunters over to see if there's anything more beneath the surface. This one is one to watch. She stands much too close behind a person inspecting a knife, and grins. ]

Looks sharp to me. But are you sure you have enough zippers?

[skaikru]

( if prepper and miserable got together in the dictionary and decided they needed a posterchild for the cause, one would find a black and white picture of one clarke griffin pasted beneath. and in it she'd probably be covered in an amalgamation of blood and mud, but at least in this exact moment the horrors haven't commenced yet and she hasn't gotten the opportunity to fully embody Apocalypse Filth chic.

feels like only a matter of time, though. clarke alternates between appraising the contents of her bag and staring at the entryway of the maze. she can vividly imagine a countdown clock set into the rockface, just can't get an actual beat on the numbers. do they have hours? or just minutes until all the air in the city behind them gets redirected and it just cements the fact they have no choice in entering this beasty deathtrap; swear she can almost hear the entire labyrinth breathing, but it's possibly just the wheeze of air escaping her own lungs amplified by the blood rushing between her ears...

the internal cacophony plays a big role in the fact she doesn't hear lisa approaching behind her. or at least that's how clarke explains away the sudden and unpleasant surprise of someone looming over her, and a key talking point as she persuades herself to loosen the hold she'd just clamped like a vice around the handle of her knife. it takes secondary lengthy moment to coax herself to exhale, and turn around on her knees to squint up at the newcomer.

she may be sans notebook, but immediate observations still register: a girl, also blonde, no concept of personal space. )

...As many as I could find. But if you have any recommendations as to where to find more, I'm all ears.

[thinkerseven]

[ Lisa adds a few exclamation points to the end of prepper, because wow, that girl really is wound tight. The fact that she's able to exhale at all is commendable, and Lisa chooses to reward that with a slight nod of her head. If this person is perceptive - which she seems to be - she'll catch it.

And look at her, able to take a joke, too! Lisa's grin widens, following the scar that extends from the corner of her lip upwards to her cheek. Lisa's own brand of apocalypse chic is the black makeup she's smeared across her eyelids and lower eyes, obscuring some of her freckles and giving her a suggestion of a mask. ]

You might have to ask Rory about that one. Roxx is pretty short on that kind of look, and I don't think we're going to get a shopping spree challenge in here.

[ Ha, ha. Lisa doesn't think about anyone else, or any other shopping sprees she might have had with them. This conversation is all about information-gathering. ]

Still, I hope they're useful. Video game protagonists wear them for a reason, right?

[ Time to see if that conjures up any associations. ]