etrayalogs | MISSION 009

Entry tags:

MISSION 009

⏵ CAMP ETRAYA ⏴
On May 16th, Aurora and the companion bots direct those not heading off to Solmara to make their way to Camp Etraya.

Nestled away from everything else in a large clearing full of wildflowers and redwoods, Camp Etraya is a nostalgic summer camp experience put together just for it's residents! Cabins are assigned, scary stories are told around campfires, gossiping happens among friends on the trails surrounding the cabins - and don't be surprised when something goes awry. After all, this is still Etraya.

While the rest of Etraya is still accessible and will not be blocked off, characters are discouraged from venturing far from camp for too long: Aurora will specify that they are on a mission, and that missions do require participation, but she has intentionally left them the freedom to wander. Not sleeping in their assigned cabins, not participating in events, and staying away from Camp Etraya will end with her having to take more extensive security measures, so please be on your best behavior! The last thing she wants to do is start enforcing boundaries, but she will if she has to.

Camp is set up much like your generic summer camp! Each cabin is named, housing is assigned to characters as they arrive, there are camp counselors, and rotating daily tasks and chores. There are also multiple activities that characters are expected to participate in, and each activity is worth points that goes toward their camp graduation score. This score will be visible on their earpiece, and follows the A-F grading system. We are not be monitoring this, and are leaving character scores up to players. We do, however, ask that you please report your characters' camp grade HERE for rewards and demerits to be handed out after the mission itself.

Cabin assignments can be found here, which also has their roles, and chores assigned to that cabin. Those who are participating in Solmara have received an assigned cabin, too, but their absence toward the beginning will not harm the cabin's ability to compete given how spread out their assignments are.

⏵ WELCOME TO CAMP ⏴

Camp life is meant to instill a sense of belonging, connection with nature, encouragement towards the creative, all on top of a firm foundation of responsibility. Upon arriving, campers will be escorted towards a table of white t-shirts and countless buckets of dye!

Each Etrayan will be invited to make three Tie-Dyed shirts- as well as required to wear one as part of their summer uniform. Camp counselors must wear 80s basketball shorts or cut-off jeans. Campers may wear cargo shorts or a skort. For those with physical limitations to what they can wear, accommodations will be provided.

Here, bonding is the camp runners' priority. They will be pushed into various ice-breaker activities, such as trust falls, two truths and a lie, and Never have I Ever. As the sun goes down, there will be weenies roasting over the bonfire, followed by s’mores and a sing-a-long! With the stars well-visible, it’s off to bed with campers.

Each day after will start much the same: with the ringing of the bell and raising of the flag (Aurora, while unfamiliar with flag designs but an understanding of the concept, has chosen a rainbow flag for the camp. Rainbows make people happy, right?), followed by a meal at the Great Hall, morning assembly, activities with counselors, chores, free time, and then an evening winding down by the great fire. An hour after sun down, campers will be escorted back to their cabins for curfew. Camp Counselors are expected to keep track of their campers, and ensure they're all within their cabins for bedtime. This is part of their grade, too! Curfew lifts an hour before the first bell.

⏵ CAMP ACTIVITIES ⏴

As with most summer camps, Camp Etraya offers a wide variety of activities to participate in. While some of these activities may be mandatory, others are optional. We'll be leaving this up to individual player discretion: perhaps Viktor is mandated to report to arts and crafts, whilst it's optional for Silco to show. Silco, on the other hand, may be mandated to report to the archery contest. Characters are encouraged to participate in a minimum of one camp activity per day.

Below is a non-exhaustive list of camp activities.

Three-Legged Race - You and a partner are tied together at your ankles, and you must race others to the finish line. Those with abilities that would give them an advantage will find that the rope that ties them together hinders those abilities from functioning.
Archery - This can be more traditional, magical, or include moving targets! If you're particularly unlucky, your target may even shoot back.
Softball - What instills a sense of camaraderie better than a bit of team sports? Games will be held on Wednesdays, the field is otherwise available for practice.
Dodge Ball - Standing diametrically opposed to Softball is dodge ball, the bully’s sport. This is a great opportunity to claim dominance or be sent to the Nurse’s Office.
Obstacle Course - You are directed into a large maze with multiple obstacles for them to overcome, such as rock climbing walls, ramps, tires, and nets.
Capture the Flag - Small teams are put together in order to take the flag from a particular bot, whose entire goal is to avoid being caught.
Canoe Race - Canoes are placed into the rivers just off of the camp, and characters must race to the finish line.
Chocobo Riding - Learn how to care for and ride these magnificent birds! Newbies will be taken around the corral, whereas more experienced riders can take the trail around the lake.
Arts and Crafts - Make friendship bracelets, bead lizards, paint rocks, learn origami! Or perhaps you're tasked with putting together an enchanted necklace. Don't know how to do enchantments? Now is as good of a time as any to learn.
Campfire stories - Share scary stories amongst yourselves around the campfire late into the night. If you're particularly unlucky, you may just hear the thing you were just warning others about..

⏵ NIGHT TIME ⏴

Once campers have been put to bed, the counselors can still stay up. Unwind with hidden beers and the strumming of a guitar. Don’t get too comfortable, though, since without supervision, no one is keeping the campers in bed.

After dark, should campers evade their counselors, they can go exploring in the dark. Eerie lights glimmer from the lake. There’s rumors of a headless spectre walking from the archery field to the edge of the forest. Should you behave, you still might hear a scratching at your bunk house window.

And on the very last night of camp, there will be a talent show. Show off your hidden talent and bask in the excitement of wowing your fellow campers!

⏵ NOTES ⏴

Welcome to Camp Etraya! Please enjoy the s'mores and campfire songs. :)

Camp will last approximately two weeks, going from May 16th to May 30th.

For all questions relating to this mission, please refer to the plotting post. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ.

⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ He certainly wouldn't. He'd planned to suffocate Alicia Corwin in her car, and that was the very least of what he could do.

Harold remembers how their last conversation about children went, so he gives up the pretense and shuts his laptop, a wave of sad fondness washing over him. Maybe this isn't the right conversation to have at the moment, but Carver asked, so he'll answer. The vulnerability should go both ways; he's earned that much. ]

Because my child thought I was a better person than that, [ is how he chooses to explain it, plain and without excuses, ] and I didn't want to set that example after I'd spent so long preaching otherwise.

[ Before, it felt like an insult to compare Harold’s machine to a flesh and blood child. An offense that Carver couldn’t think to do anything except brittle and order him out, lest they both become entangled in a way that no one, not even the dead, can take back.

Now?

Carver just bows his head and strokes Bear’s silky fur. He accepts it as truth because that’s all there is in this moment. Uneasy, grief-born truths. ]

I tried so hard not to scare Matthew, [ he explains softly. ] He didn’t like seeing bodies. He wanted—

[ The words trail off. ]

It doesn’t matter. He was the best thing I ever did. But you…

You were better for her.

[ It's a charitable interpretation, and one Harold can't accept any more than he could the attempt at comfort a moment ago. Like he'd told John, he doesn't want comforting. He's braced himself, finally and at long last, to accept what he's done and face it. Having done that, backsliding an inch feels distasteful.

Like with Nathan and the irrelevant numbers, this is how he's chosen to live up to Root's memory, by being brutally honest with himself about the Machine.

Bluntly, ] She told me at the end that I'd made her to watch people die. She was right. I made her to prevent violent death, but that also meant she had to watch it over and over, thousands and tens of thousands of times. To predict something means to understand it.

I programmed the Machine to erase its memory every night, because I was afraid of it learning to care about me, and what that might mean. [ The pronouns slip back and forth with the time period Harold's thinking of without him fully noticing. ] I purposefully ignored the pain I was causing because it was easier for me.

Please don't think too highly of me; like you, I am only a man who has lost more than I know how to stand. Some of those losses were by my own hand.

[ Carver closes his eyes and rests his head against Bear's back. It's not what he wants to hear from Harold, he realizes distantly. Once, just once, Carver thinks he'd like to hear someone say they got it right. That they suffered and fought and came out stronger for it. That they cared for their people, their kids, and even if they made mistakes, they figured it out and made it right at the end with no equivocations.

That'd be nice, he thinks. It'd make the world simple again. Give him a rock he could steady himself against instead of just another person who tried and made mistakes and had to carry a lot of the same pain.

It hurts, he doesn't say. I'm supposed to be strong but it just fucking hurts and I can't do this anymore. That's not the sort of thing you can say, to anyone. ]

Was it worth it?

[ Please, God, let it have been worth it. ]

[ He can't say he got it right, he can't say he came out stronger for it. Harold can only say... ]

Yes. I think so. [ A moment's pause, and then he adds as if to substantiate, ] Would you like to hear about the people we saved?

[ Carver shivers. He keeps his face hidden against Bear's fur, a weakness. A sin. ]

Yes.

[ Please. ]

[ Sometimes that's all he has himself, and it's what the Machine had died asking for -- reassurance about the people they'd helped. So he starts with one of those that he thinks about often. ]

I don't think I ever told you, but when we receive notice that someone's in danger, we don't know if they're in danger themselves or if they're planning to hurt someone else. One of the earliest cases we received was Dr. Megan Tillman.

She was a remarkable E.R. physician, dedicated and skilled. She worked countless hours saving lives. Naturally, we assumed she was the victim.

[ Like before, he lets Harold's worlds churn through the world. Catching against the rocks of the moment, of whatever's bouncing around Carver's skull that won't let him settle, won't let him sleep. Pope called that weakness. The sort of thing they had to burn out.

He shivers again. Bear whines. ]

Who'd she wanna hurt?

[ He doesn't belabor the point, was expecting Carver to see through it quickly. This is supposed to be a good story, something hopeful, but he also thinks...

That Carver won't believe in something hopeful without a tragedy to it first. ]

Her sister was raped by a remorseless man, [ he says plainly, voice growing taught, ] and her attempt to bring legal charges was unsuccessful. A year later, Dr. Tillman's sister took her own life.

[ He leaves a moment of silence out of respect. ]

Eventually we realized she was stalking the rapist with the intent to kill him and dissolve the body in lye to hide the evidence.

Oh, [ Carver replies softly, the noise of it half muffled against Bear's fur. The dog doesn't fuss or bite at him. Just noses at his arm and lets him cling. He can't look at Harold right now, can barely focus at all. It's like the drowning tests, Carver thinks. That part at the end where the body starts to die and everything goes quiet and still. He almost liked that part when it happened.

Coming back always hurt, though. And he thinks the moment he takes a deep breath and returns to himself fully in this place is the moment he's going to do something unforgivable and scream. He tries to focus on the story instead, the things that Harold's telling him, choosing to tell him. And Carver wishes he could say that shit surprises him, that he had a part of his soul that hadn't gotten ugly and cold to this particular pain years ago, but he doesn't.

People do evil things to each other. He learned that early, in the Army. There's so rarely any justice for any of it.

Carver forces himself to breathe. To listen, and focus on Harold's voice instead of the way his lungs feel like they're burning. ]

What'd you do?

[ He knows this is the tipping point, that he needs to approach this with great care. He knew that already but it's reinforced by how still and quiet Carver becomes, how much he clings to Bear. Harold feels his heart rate increase with the pressure of getting this right.

It's still not a test, not to him, not for him or for Carver. There's no penalty for failure; he just wants to make one thing feel less awful for him. He wants that desperately. ]

There's more than one way to save someone, isn't there? It wasn't Andrew Benton who needed saving. Killing someone takes something from you, and Dr. Tillman, she'd only saved lives before.

John caught up to her and took that burden over. Promised her he'd take care of it.

[ It says something about the mood and the tired truthfulness with which he's telling this story that he doesn't bother with Mr. Reese, uses John. He's speaking softly, heart aching with the memories, thinking not just of what they'd done for Megan but how much it had proved to him so swiftly that he was right to also save John. To pry him from jail and push onto him a new purpose. ]

To this day, I don't know what he did with Mr. Benton. [ It should be something that makes Harold despair, makes him taught with the desire to know for certain, but he has reached absolute peace in trusting John's decisions. He's never asked and he feels no desire to ask now. ]

But he spared Dr. Tillman from having to do it. She could remember Gabrielle without thinking of that man with every breath.

[ The way killing him herself would have, made his face and his voice and his acts indelible to her, something she'd sullied herself over. Instead, he was gone, and no part of him could touch her the way it had touched Gabrielle. And Harold, of course, remembers her name as well. ]

[ The words come, flowing slow and steady. He knows the cadence of Harold’s voice by now, the particular rise and fall of the tone. Each word chosen deliberately, spoken just so. And maybe Carver knows why he keeps thinking about water, choosing metaphors that lead in some or way or another back to drowning because at least that means clarity. At least then there’s a point.

He lifts his head. The world blurs. The dog doesn’t bite him.

That burden, Harold calls it. Another word for the killing. The good doctor planned to get away with it, to deal with the mess. Maybe she would have. And maybe she would’ve balked, or gotten it done just fine but been unable to survive the aftermath. You don’t know until you know.

A burden. What a thing to say. ]

He gave her mercy.

[ Carver’s voice is low. A little unfocused. He thought only the Reapers could trust each other the way Harold trusts John. ]

[ Killing is a burden, isn't it? Harold doesn't believe in souls but he still believes that killing places a weight, something that can't be unshouldered. He doesn't see John as someone redeemed; he sees him as someone who has pushed himself to move and walk and fight with all those weights placed on him, even taking on more rather than let others be burdened themselves.

It's kindness and, yes, mercy of a sort that most wouldn't recognize. Harold isn't surprised that Carver does. And he doesn't need to say out loud that he agrees. ]

I keep tabs on her, [ he offers instead. This is a hopeful story. ] Megan Tillman went on to save many more lives. She's married now. By all accounts, she's never committed a crime.

Who am I to say that alone didn't make it all worth it?

[ Who's he to measure one life against all the rest? No one. He's just one more life himself, no greater or smarter or vaster than any other. ]

[ Carver sits with that for a long moment, focused on his breathing. On not losing his shit in front of witnesses, again. Don't be irrational, he tells himself, don't be emotional. No one likes that, no one needs it. They're here to do a job and Harold asked him to clean this place up, a task that Carver started but hasn't been able to complete. Too caught up in the noise churning through his skull.

A weakness. And you cannot be a liability, ever. It's a sin.

He twitches. Bear noses against his chest and Carver pets him, trying to focus on the story. Doctor Tillman, who had every reason to kill a man but didn't. John gave her mercy. Harold helped facilitate that but never asked for what happened in the dark. He trusted that John had a reason, that whatever happened, happened for a reason. ]

It was worth it, [ he says softly. Not for the first time, Carver wonders what it would've been like to save someone. Not just in a firefight, but -

Like that. He never has, he thinks. ]

[ He can tell the story lands, but past that, Harold has little insight into what Carver's going through. He's clearly still distressed, almost frozen through long periods of delay in his response, but anything more nuanced is utterly opaque. Harold has always cared about people and equally always been rather awkward about how to express it. ]

... They're not all that sympathetic, of course.

[ It's a strange sort of reassurance. He doesn't want Carver to think they'd been some kind of heroic figures -- they were just people doing their best, like he'd promised the Machine. That was all he could promise.

Harold casts his mind back to how they got into this conversation, and finally gives up and addresses it directly. ]

I apologize if anything I've said has distressed you. It was not my intent.

[ Carver goes quiet again. He misses his gloves, he realizes; that little bit of armor shielding his hands, reading him of his proper shape and all the world requires of him. Maybe this would've been easier if he'd been in uniform. He would've remembered to keep his mouth shut. To stand up tall and do his job the way Pope trained him. Wouldn't have indulged in this emotional nonsense.

But then he wouldn't have heard Harold's story, either.

He shivers. Bear whines and noses against his chest, and Carver remembers to pet him.

It's nice, the softness of Bear's fur. It's easier to focus on that. ]

I wasn't always like this, [ he says, very quietly. ]

[ That sounds like an apology, but Harold doesn't feel that an apology is warranted. Not for that. ]

I wasn't always like this, either. I used to be an inveterate jogger, [ he says bluntly, trying to startle him a bit with the personal tidbit. The mental to physical health allegory is a bit trite, but perhaps will serve him well enough here. ]

We all just find ways to go on.

[ In a different moment, Carver thinks he would've laughed at that. Maybe taken the opportunity to lighten the mood somehow. Tease Harold a little.

Here, he can't think of a thing to do but hold the dog and focus on his breathing. He's made too many mistakes lately. All of them were sins. One was worse than the others, though, the betrayal that Pope wouldn't have let stand. Not for a second.

And there's no one to correct him here except ghosts.

Carver twitches again. Bear whines. ]

I get emotional sometimes, [ he says, careful to keep his tone flat. His voice steady. No more slip-ups. ] It's hard to focus, to remember my place.

[ He has to stifle a reflexive, tart, And what place is that? Harold does learn from his mistakes and he does recall how they got to where they are presently. He needs to keep his voice calm and his words undemanding or risk another episode, one perhaps less thankfully mild than this one has been.

And he's been dodging it, reluctant to uncover things that he knows will horrify him, but maybe it's time to stop ducking away from what until now he's been parsing solely by reading between the lines. ]

What was it that made you emotional? [ he asks instead, plain and without pity. ]

[ You have to account for yourself, Carver knows. You have to understand how a mistake was made to avoid doing it again. And that's difficult without correction. Without a test to prove your mettle and your loyalty. Harold's not the commander, but he's due an answer. That much is true. That much is owed.

Things were simpler back home, Carver thinks unhappily. You live or you die and if you live you gotta suffer. Best take it on the chin, son.

Carver feels his fingers twitch, his right hand curling instinctively into a fist. He forces it to relax, to keep his breathing even. He doesn't know what the test will be here, only that there will be one. And that it's probably going to hurt a lot. ]

You talked about saving people, [ Carver says, very softly. ] And for a second, I -

[ He bites it off. ]

I forgot my place.

[ Harold has been trying to be conscientious not to make too many assumptions. He knows he tends to look for the best in people and, despite what John may think, that that can be a dangerous position to take. His very first meeting with Carver had included this very dog prepared to attack him rather than comfort him. Part of not reading into things as more than they are is paying respect, too -- building up a mental image of someone else without their input is disrespectful in the extreme.

So maybe he's not totally surprised to hear him say this, but he is touched, relieved, affirmed in what he's been quietly hoping for Carver all along. That like the rest of the team -- the entire rest of the team, to a one -- there was someone still buried in there that could see themselves doing good.

Goodness, he thinks he would hire him to work the numbers in earnest if his life even remotely worked that way anymore. But what to say in the absence of that job offer? Realistically, why can't it be his place in Etraya? ]

Are you afraid that when you go back, you'll have changed too much to be able to be who you need to be anymore? I assure you when I experienced time at home, I didn't remember a single thing about Etraya.

Or are you afraid that someone will arrive here and take you to task?

[ Even considering that question makes him a traitor, Carver knows. He wants to curl into himself even tighter or maybe bash his head into the wall until it breaks and his thoughts finally right themselves. It'd go quiet then, Carver thinks. He could have some peace, even if only for a second.

The dog whines. Then the dog bites his wrist very gently, almost cradling it.

Carver stares. Bear doesn't draw blood. Just whines. And Carver wonders if he shouldn't just dodge and say that he's dead back home, rotting on the killing fields with all the others, so what does it matter? He remembers the knife. He remembers that woman's face as her gun clicked empty and she went for the blade instead. Resolved and brutal. A soldier in her own way.

It wasn't an awful death. It was fast. He died in battle, and there's honor falling to a respectable enemy.

That's not the point, though. It'd almost be a lie if he let that be the answer. And Carver realizes he doesn't want to start lying to Harold Finch. It'd twist something between them if he did. ]

I forgot my place, [ he repeats, shifting to watch Harold. ] He'd test me if he were here. I'd deserve it.

Edited 2025-06-13 22:25 (UTC)

[ So it is the second one. He's afraid someone will show up and... do something, as yet undefined, for being disloyal. Not that Harold agrees with the concept of disloyalty being applied here; you cannot be disloyal in thought, not practically speaking, and with none of his other comrades around, what exactly could he be acting disloyal to? Maybe he should slip Carver a copy of Nineteen Eighty-Four with some particular passages highlighted.

But if thought corrupts language, language also corrupts thought.

Or maybe that would be too aggressive. Harold has very recently come to lose some of his longstanding patience, and that is incredibly poor timing for this conversation. He struggles to find it again and is left speaking in a measured tone, cautious but implacable in his decisions. ]

Let me be clear on one thing. I have no interest in dissuading you of your beliefs, and I will do my utmost to respect your choices.

But if I have reason to believe someone is harming you, physically or mentally, I will not stand by passively as it occurs.

[ Like before, like so many times before, Harold talks like he considers every word. No excess motion or noise. Every choice considered and weighed before it's made. Sometimes when they talk, Carver allows himself to think that maybe Harold just doesn't doubt, doesn't second-guess a thing.

That's not true, but it's a nice thought.

Bear whines. Still holding onto Carver's wrist. Carver watches the dog and realizes he doesn't understand this moment, this dog, these things he's saying like there won't be a reckoning. Harold and the others should stay the fuck away from him, Carver knows. They'll be marked just by proximity if Pope starts walking down the street one day.

Not so long ago, Carver would have thought Pope was right to do it.

He looks away. ]

Nobody's harming me, [ Carver mutters. ] It's not like that.

Not currently, [ he agrees, and lets that stand in a ringing silence that says more than enough on its own.

It's unconditional. It doesn't matter who it is, or why. Harold made his choices already about what he wants to believe and what he's willing to do, and it wasn't too long ago that he'd shot a U.N. ambassador with a dose of ketamine and stolen his identity to creep inside a highly secure facility and infect the entire world with a debilitating virus. He couldn't carry it out then, but he'd done it later. He'd shut down everything, everywhere, for at least a few minutes. He knows the repercussions of that. He purposefully killed his own child, because there are limits.

He'd finally decided there are limits. Harold doesn't come to them easily, but he knows where they are, now, can see them stark and fresh like a recently opened wound. A line he won't just refuse to cross, like before, but will now take action to defend.

He intentionally lets out a long breath to steady himself. ]

I've tried to be very clear with you from the beginning, Mr. Carver. You will tell me if you wish to leave before taking action against us, and I will not abide someone harming you regardless of cause. Those are the rules.

[ That's more authoritative than he usually likes to be, but -- he remembers the consequences of when he refuses to take a stand. It might not be his decision to make... but he's making it. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: sexual assault & suicide

cw: torture

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject