MAY MINGLE

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: May 17th-31st
WHERE: On Etraya
WHAT: A mingle log!
NOTES\WARNINGS: N/A, please note any needed warnings in threads.

⏵ a hero's return ⏴ As champions exit the Labyrinth, they’ll find that their environment has gone through some fairly drastic changes. Where there used to be larger bodies of water is now thinner rivers going through land; the amount of bridges connecting landmasses has decreased, given what had been individual islands are now much more connected. In addition, Etraya is significantly more green; flowers bloom, birds chirp cheerfully, and there are numerous additional species of insects, mammals, and aquatic creatures throughout the lands. Baby foxes roam through forested areas, bees pollinate the flowers to spread them more thoroughly around the inhabited areas, and it feels brighter. Or perhaps that’s just in comparison to how the Labyrinth had been. There are more areas to explore, new facilities, animals, and Etraya feels significantly more settled than it had before. Aurora’s promise of renovations had been true. And if one looks up, they may notice a city bubble visible on the closest planet that hadn't been visible before. ⏵ coffee break ⏴ After hearing Clarke’s suggestion, Aurora sets up a new cafe close to the apartment complex, and sends out notices to individuals with mandatory coffee hour times listed for them to come to Corrine's Cafe and make a few friends. While the note does state that it is mandatory, there will be no follow-up from Aurora nor the companion bots to ensure those who receive notes do show. Given this is Aurora trying to take suggestions in mind and see how successful they are among the citizens of Etraya, however, following directives may not be a terrible idea. It's up like a modern-day, smaller cafe. One walks in through the front door, and is greeted by a companion bot behind the counter who offers a wave of their hand and a friendly “Welcome! Let me know when you’re ready to order”. The menu offers lattes, mochas, espresso, black coffee, several different kinds of teas, and a few drinks that are a little odd to find in a cafe; ale, canned sodas and coffees, numerous bottles of wine, but only pinot noir. Soft music plays in the background, impossible to place but it sounds as if it may be based on tracks that were popular in the early 90s. Tables and booths are set up to seat two to four, with packets of sugar and small containers of creamer set out towards the middle. There are charging stations set up at every table, which may seem strange considering phones and laptops aren’t widely available, but Aurora’s doing her best. There are also a few bookshelves full of the classics, a few historical fiction, and several written by H.P. Lovecraft. Each seat has a placard in front of it, with a name, and a ‘fun fact’. One might say “Hello! My name is Joe, and I like to paint!” Another may say “Hi, I’m Jill! My sister died tragically in front of me and I’ve never gotten over it.” ⏵ new horizons ⏴ Several of the new bridges found in Etraya now have signs posted just outside of them, and on those signs is a QR code that the earpiece’s HUD can scan. Scanning this with the HUD will bring up a scavenger hunt, listing several items and circling areas where they can be found. Some of these objects will be obvious: find Corrine at Corrine’s Cafe - the companion bot who runs the counter, find a delicious meal at Bangsan Market, break into S.T.A.R Labs, or find room 87 at Point Blanc Academy. Some will be less obvious, like locating a bat, becoming friends with an archer, find a pink shirt, open bagged milk without making a mess, or get a drink at the mutant-friendly pub. Please feel free to make up your own items to find around Etraya! ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Welcome to our mid-month mingle! Please feel free to use this to explore Etraya, put up wildcard prompts (you don't need to use the above!), or use the open prompts to assist in jumpstarting cr. This mingle covers the period from May 17th to May 31st. Our next mission (and next mod log) will not go up until June 7th. ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

[skaikru]

( hannibal busies himself with flipping the chicken, which means he probably misses exactly how severely clarke wrinkles her nose at that notion. she has no want for fame or recognition, not even for something as simple as a warning poster. there'd been a reason her name and network username had not been included, in case anyone had wanted to reach out and ask more about the effects of the flower. it'd been a cut and dry do not look at this! message, redrawn by hand so many times her wrist twinges at the memory. sometimes it is better to be no one than someone people look to for answers, and it wasn't like she had many to give.

somehow, she manages to reign in the severity of her face by the time he looks back; schools it down to just mild offense, a quiet distaste, but the vibe remains the same. she doesn't love that he'd kept the flyer, but won't say a thing provided he doesn't go around showing it off and spouting facts of yet another artist.

the apartments, they're talking about the apartments now. and with hannibal's pronouncement of her own misfit status, she basically snorts. )

It's got running water, and a roof. Again, I'm not exactly picky.

( given where she'd come from, it'd be ridiculous to gripe about gifted shelter. but at the same time clarke is in the perpetual argument with herself that she shouldn't be picky while also despising the apartments. her own quarters are still in the exact same arrangement it had been when she'd first arrived, little bits and pieces dropped around to indicate someone inhabited the rooms. but it's a place she stays, not where she lives. she sleeps on the couch, the bed going untouched because it's just too soft. she's left her filthy labyrinth clothes in random corner for days now, telling herself they would be dealt with. she's tacked up every bit of information she'd managed to gain about this place on pages ripped from a yellow legal pad. she keeps her kidney in its jar on a counter of the little kitchenette.

but there are no stars. no quiet rumble of other bodies around her when she tries to rest, which may be a factor in how little she actually manages to sleep. there's no rumble of an engine vibrating the floorboards, there's no sway of the sea. it's not a home. this entire planet should not be thought of as a home, anyone who gets too comfortable is doomed.

also the apartments are ugly as hell. )

[relished]

You should allow yourself some pickiness, especially here. If Aurora or Echo will provide it, ask. Or, has a place from your home already appeared?

[it sounds like he's only making polite conversation now, but depending on her answer, it'll decide where he may walk to next. Clarke isn't an open person, at least not to him. he's made some progress, however little. he suspects her past and greater suspicions of him alone prevent her from trusting him.

but they've already had one too many instances where he was able to come to her aid. he wants those moments to muddy her perception, blur her view. she is a challenge he is willing to work with, willing to shape as he shaped Abigail and Will. he's sure that Bedelia would have something to say about that, would question his intentions and want to discuss the why.

he knows why. everything is calculated, and he will bide his time until the moment is right to turn the place upside-down. it's all a game to him, a game that isn't so different than the one Echo is playing.

he takes out a two plates and silverware, places them on the counter beside the stove.]

[skaikru]

Not that I've found yet.

( and in a day or two's time, when clarke does actually happen upon the makings of the burnt out dropship camp, she will have to look back on this conversation and wonder if she'd somehow managed to speak it into existence without even asking the higher powers. like how brief, unkind sentiment that they were all like rats in a maze had been followed up with an announcement of the labyrinth in the following month. like how the running joke of terrain challenges had eventually separated her and krouse in the bowels of the maze. how she and hannibal had discussed darkness one moment, just to be faced with a mark of her own descent in the next. it's known that they're being watched, constantly evaluated; it doesn't feel all that paranoid to assume what she did or said could then influence future events.

then on second evaluation, clarke will be forced to wonder if maybe the camp was his unintentional doing.

but in the now, she is too wrapped up in watching this cooking showcase. it's when hannibal starts setting out plates that clarke finally wills herself away from standing cutting board and instead hovers between the morgue-like preparation table and the stove island. the condensation on her orange juice has reached the point where the glass itself feels difficult to hang on to, or maybe she just needed something to occupy her free hand and cupping the bottom of her drink. )

[relished]

[almost like he knows something even though he very well doesn't, his next words are airy; a second thought.]

You should have a look around, you may be surprised.

[just as he had been. no one alerted him of his home, he had to discover it all on his own. he's glad that he'd been the first one to find it. if someone else had decided to stake a claim, he would've disposed of them.

he busies himself with the chicken, entirely engrossed. nimble hands working as precious minutes tick by and the second pan is set on the stove to heat up. he's timed it perfectly so when the pan is hot and ready for the eggs -- which he will be scrambling separately in a glass bowl -- the chicken will be fully cooked and prepared to be shredded. he pours himself into those precious minutes, sparing Clarke only one or two glances.

he clicks his tongue.]

You've hardly touched the juice. Is it not to your liking?

[her discomfort is leaking out onto the island, toward the food, toward him. he hasn't had such an uncomfortable person in his kitchen since Will, but she's another breed by nature. most of Will's discomfort tended to land in the back of his throat, catching along his jaw and sending tension everywhere else. he's noticed that hers settled in her hands.]

[skaikru]

( engrossed in his tasks, hannibal likely misses the way clarke's eyes narrow at the repeat mention of finding her own space here. she scowls at his forehead for a long second, evaluating if maybe he's actually just some sort of etraya plant meant to encourage her to assimilate; to find something here to latch on to, to forget that any cure for her homesickness would be a loose fabrication at best. she watches the frothing fork used to beat egg yolks and whites together in a homogenous mixture, and the glowers at the hand that braces the bowl.

of the few times he glances over in her direction, her face is carefully redirected. she catches the beginnings of movement and quickly focuses on the fridge door that reminds her a mortuary chamber, or the painting of naked women that still evokes the same visceral sensation of handling slimy raw chicken. when asked about the orange juice, she just says, )

It's fine.

( then purposefully brings the glass to her lips and drains half the thing.

and like, it's not just fine, it is arguably the best orange juice she's ever had; bright and cheery along her tastebuds, sweet without the overwhelm of added sugar, pulpy in a fashion similar to biting into a fresh orange. but clarke could be content with juice concentrate, if their differences in palettes had not already been made clear in the labyrinth. it is decedent, but the chocolate cake in mount weather had been enjoyable right up to the moment she'd learned the mountain men were going to drill her friends for their bone marrow. she's not picky, just a little haunted.

and uncomfortable. and feeling that awkward sense of being out of her depth with no one else but the homeowner to throw her a proverbial life preserver. so, if he's going to focus on her juice drinking, she can focus on his cooking. )

How do you know the chicken's done?

squints at recipes, squints at writing, keysmashes

[relished]

[she says it's fine but there's no hiding the pleasant reaction in one's face after consuming something delicious. he hears her drink it down before looking at her pointedly, hardly going out of his way to hide a satisfied tick up of his lips.]

I've been gifted with a very unique sense of smell, but you should always cut into its center to be sure there isn't any pink left inside.

[chicken now being transferred to cutting board and then eggs to hot pan with butter. all those prepped ingredients are poured to the pan as well, adding depth and color. this is the quicker end of the preparation and he glides through it, cutting and shredding the steaming chicken before adding it into the omelet. he makes it look easy, as easy as breathing; a second nature.

soon it's all finally looking together and he is arranging the meal on a plate as a chef would a fine dining restaurant. garnished with a freshly picked wildflower and salsa (minus the quail egg) he's bringing the plates to the dining room to be set. all silverware is placed (rather perfectly) and he urges her to sit down, pulling out a chair for her, because ladies first.]

Bon apétit.

[there's an interesting painting that she'll likely notice when guided to sit.]