Chapter 3

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week IV, Day VII - Week VI, Day VI
Summary: Chapter 3 prompts!
Restrictions/Warnings: Violence, blood, et cetera. For anything surpassing 'R' on a rating scale, please create your own log.
Notes: Please title your subject line in the following format -- Open / Closed | Date. OOC event information can be found here. Calendar information/dates can be found here.

Quick Navigation
The Nine
The Company
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Promises Unmade

Using the increase in unrest, as so many opportunists do, those within the Nine who seek to pursue their own agendas - whether that be family prestige, personal gain, or systematic upheaval - will find bountiful footholds to secure their positions. Land Kendry continues to assert itself as a leader in these troubling times, with Land Derrish falling in tow. Their first target, Land Hyponia, is shaken, careful not to make any mistakes that could crumble the already cracked mortar holding them together with the nobility. Aggressive though Land Derrish may have been, their sights have moved elsewhere, now focusing on driving forward oppressive legislation to replace the Seventh Generation Accords, rather than further eroding the power of Land Hyponia. Kendry is looking to control a functioning oligarchy, not cause a war over the territory that would be up for grabs should Land Hyponia fall. With the announcement of the Seventh Generation accords confirming already widespread rumors, those within the Nine are careful to place blame for the decision on the activities of the Resistance. For many, this is a believable conclusion, as the attacks by the True Leithans shook society at its core on both Westerley and Leith. Being a radical group, their intentions have been conflated with those of the Resistance in the eyes of many. Discourse on the subject isn't uncommon, but any within the Nine who seek a different target of blame best do so quietly, as dissent from within could quickly have one labeled a sympathizer of the unjust cause of the Resistance. On the surface a harmless placating measure taken by the Nine, the new PDDs being distributed through the Quad are touted as the pinnacle of communication technology. While some higher ranking Company officials and members of the nobility may already have access to quick and reliable network connection, these capabilities are now universal with the installation of the Meshwork. The Meshwork will enable all characters to interact in real time via text, video, or voice, but it isn't without side effects. For some reason, characters who frequently use their PDDs or who are in areas of heavily concentrated network use may suffer from headaches, nosebleeds, blurred vision, and/or dizziness, with more severe side effects including temporary blindness, loss of balance, short-term memory loss, and hallucinations. Connection of these symptoms to the PDDs is not the most common diagnosis, as many think the afflictions are a result of the aftershocks of P43X.

The Company: Balancing Act

With clean up from the P43X attack not yet completed, all Company officials should expect to have no singular responsibility, and little time for sleep, as they find the expectations levied upon them to only grow. Frayed nerves can create a hostile working environment, though anyone could be on the receiving end of any outbursts. The streets have returned from their throes of death with new life, but the city's usual clamor is being overtaken by the roar of protest. Some are peaceful demonstrations; some are violent riots, every display a reaction to the repeal of the Seventh Generation Accords. …At least, that’s what it says on paper, the docket that many Company officials receive outlining simple but brutal crowd control and suppression tasks. Whether a bar has been taken over as a hub of dissent, a street corner filled with unmoving protestors, or a Company affiliated storehouse raided, there's plenty to do for those tasked with keeping the peace. You may simply wish to make arrests, or you may welcome the chance to get your hands dirty - the law is on your side, and all voices daring to oppose the order of things need silenced. Those who don't take to the streets will likely find themselves on border control duty, checking the identification and supply dossiers of all incoming and outgoing ships. No one gets in, or out, without the proper clearance. Ship-wide searches have become standard practice, producing storerooms overflowing with contraband. Some may welcome the chance for banal organization, while others may take some 'bonus compensation' for themselves. With the tightening of rules comes the increase of bribery, and Company officials looking to line their pockets will find their opportunities in surplus. Get caught, however, and there's no second-chances. Although the Company audits have concluded, tensions only grow, and anyone found helping those with diverging agendas will be punished swiftly, cast in with the rest of the dissenters.

Westies: Tidal Force

Bereavement weighs heavy in the wake of the P43X attack on Westerley. Burdened by being both the last location of infection and the last to receive medicinal aid, Westies are entrenched in the solemn task of burying their fallen while the merciless machine of the economy marches on. Whether it’s the result of a lost loved one or the continued illness of primary caretakers, the end result is the same: families all across Old Town struggle to feed their children and make ends meet. It’s always been a guiding principle of Westerley—if you can’t work, you can’t eat—but with so many who can do neither, the situation in Old Town begins to grow dire. But there’s hope, albeit in the form of a double-edged blade: with the newly distributed PDDs and Meshwork installation, nonprofit organizations are able to conduct themselves on a wider scale, drawing in more donors from outside of Westerley. While their efforts are ultimately but a drop in the ocean, the renewed spirit of community and altruism provides relief—as well as nourishment—for many who might very well die without it. That same tool which allows the people to come together is also used to rend it; rumors begin to circulate through encrypted bulletins about the emergency meeting held on (Week IV, Day VII). Some of the rumors are wild speculation and fanciful daydreams, but in the mire of them, a grain of truth slips through. The Accords have fallen, they say. Be ready. Most people disregard the rumors, writing them off as the idle machinations of conspiracy theorists. They cling to their hope that soon their children will walk a planet that is bountiful in food and sunshine, that the land promised on Leith will deliver them from the hell they current endure. It’s those people who shout the loudest when the official announcement confirms the rumor. The Accords have been repealed. (Week V, Day III) At first, protestors gather in small, grumbling groups, little more than angry drunks. But as more and more people take to the Meshwork, the wrath of the few awakens the desperation of the many, and over the course of the night, the peaceful protest swells into an unruly riot. Workers strike, but without any legal protection, they swiftly find themselves rebuked by unemployment. Now with nothing to lose and everything to gain, the riots expand, filling the streets of Old Town with anger and tension. Company personnel become popular targets, and within the next day, all travel permits to and from Westerley are temporarily revoked. The moon closes its docks in an attempt to smother the flames of the rebellion. What starts as a movement for change shifts into a violent cataclysm, homes and businesses burned down, families torn apart by dissent within and outside of themselves. The Company seems content to let Old Town destroy itself, to let them “get it out of their system”, but all too soon that stance changes as well. With the death of a distant cousin of the Derrish, Company orders shift. Lethal force is authorized, and all too eagerly, used. Once the death toll begins to climb, the protests decline. The riots soften, though they do not disappear outright. Company and Westie optimists take to podiums in a desperate attempt to bid their fellow compatriots once more into peace. But something else awakens in the fires of those riots. Something far more dangerous than the chaos of anger: something controlled, methodical. They call themselves Hyperion, and they are the new faces of the Resistance.

True Leithians: Rested Laurels

For this faction, the time to scatter is nigh. Their work is complete: the Accords are no more, and the militant leaders order the reintegration of their soldiers into civilian life. Leith’s rightful owners retain the precious land that was once threatened, and although their methods were extreme, they are justified by the end result. But while the True Leithians see this as only a rested pause in their work, their benefactors—those who provided the resource and information that allowed their wicked deeds to see fruition—see this time as the closing of a chapter. Loose ends that might later lead to Qreshi officials or even potentially the Nine themselves are dealt with severely and harshly, albeit quietly. Several prominent figures of Leith’s highest echelon of society simply disappear, and curiously, those around them don’t seem to remember that they were ever there in the first place. Their benefactors are not the only group that would see the True Leithians burn. Among the first wave of missions delegated beneath the Resistance is the assassination of known True Leithian sympathizers. Unlike the Company, the members of Hyperion are ordered to perform their tasks loudly, to send a message written in the blood of the True Leithians. The citizens of Westerley will no longer be the gutless pawns of the Quad. They will strike back, and they will uncover the source of the True Leithian’s funding and information. If the True Leithians thought themselves ruthless, they’ll soon learn a new measure of savagery when Hyperion converges on their trail.

Leith: Olive Branch

The atmosphere of Leith is one of both hope and mourning. Recovery on Leith proceeds more efficiently than that on Westerley, their infrastructure and resources better able to accommodate those that were felled in the P43X attack. But although agency has the streets of Leith cleaner and the surfaces shining, the spirit of the moon itself suffers a devastating blow in the wake of the attack, the people of Leith unprepared and unseasoned to deal with the psychological ramifications of so much death. But they are not yet hardened by the experience, drawing together in the spirit of cooperation to restore not just the physical aspects of their homes, but the mental fortitude of their people. Charity drives and galas proceed in extravagant fashion, as if by the display of their assets they might rebel against the somber circumstances on which they’re hosted. For most on Leith, the fall of the Accords arrives as welcomed news, the citizens of the moon long since opposed to sharing their land with those of Westerley. But although the sense of satisfaction with the ends is high, there’s also an undercurrent of regret for the means which provided it. Unlike the True Leithians, most of the citizens of Leith are not radical or extreme, and they offer their sympathies—but only their sympathies—to those Westies in their midst. News of the riots results in tighter security around the Westies still stationed on the moon, and for the days that the violent storm on Westerley builds, Leith in turn becomes markedly quieter and more conscientious. Moderates come together over the Meshwork and propose a Peace Summit, a meeting of both delegation and charity, once the riots and dangers of traveling have passed. The summit is sanctioned by Leithian officials, as well as the allocation of surplus resources to aid their sister moon in her recovery. While many citizens of Leith eagerly await the news of lands once lost to their families for the Accords, many more donate their time and hands as part of the newly created Good Will Corps, a coalition of both political pundits and regular people devoted to strengthening the connection between the moons rather than sowing division. Volunteers—and some individuals who are voluntold, join the Good Will Corps on a trip to Old Town where the Peace Summit is scheduled (Week VI, Day III), lending their time, their labor, and their technology as a gesture of good faith. But whether or not that’s sufficient to see the Peace Summit garner any steps towards system stability is another matter altogether.

Resistance: Sacred Grove

The people of the Quad barely have time to remove the packaging from their new PDDs before a new voice of dissent begins to worm its way down the feed. Encrypted messages, quick flashes of imagery begin appearing at random on open networks and closed channels alike, pitting the harsh realities of the suffering, suffocating Westerley against the excess and decadence on display by both Leithians and the Nine, showcasing the disparity in the starkest of lights. All of it aimed at one purpose, to spread one solemn truth: the branches of the Mother Tree are burning… and the Nine seem to be holding the matches. The name whispered, the one goading dissent, echoes through the Quad - Hyperion - followed slowly with the murmur of hope. Of an intellect so profound that not even the Nine themselves will be able to stop it. With an artful ease, this new force begins to reach out, to commandeer the discordant efforts of the Resistance and reforge it into something stronger, faster. Deadlier. It starts with a select few receiving instructions directing them to safe houses already stocked with equipment and supplies, each with tech tailored to that cell's purpose and loaded with dossiers far too complete to have been compiled by the average citizen. Some of the background information appears to come directly from the records of the Company, or the Nine themselves, while still more from planets outside the Quad. Some even hint at records long since sealed by the RAC. Nothing points to one faction over another. Nothing reveals the how or why this Hyperion has decided to play these particular cards now, but one thing is quite clear. There's a deep laid plan being set into motion, and neither the Company or the Nine will see it coming. All these leaders have to do is gather their forces...

The RAC: New Grade

The citizens of the Quad were not the only ones affected by the P43X - the upper ranks of the RAC's field agents is notably thinner - and with tensions shifting yet again between the moons, they cannot afford to be ill-prepared and understaffed. In order to bolster their ranks, the decision comes down the pipe of a new assessment system: Peer Evaluations. Many of those that have been in their current ranks - those between Levels I - III - will be eligible to receive a two-part assessment of their capabilities to operate efficiently at the next level through successful completion of live warrants. These field evaluations can be conducted by any Level IV agent and turned into Central Command for compilation and rank change approval. Unlike the lower level agents, Level IV assessments will still be conducted by RAC's Central Command, once all of the subordinate assessments have been completed and processed. These agents should take note - part of their own evaluations for Level V will be the efficiency with which they're able to evaluate those below them. During this time, warrants will still flow in and agents sent to answer - especially once the travel bans go into effect on Westerley, as those agents alone bearing active warrants will be able to enter and leave the atmosphere, though their docking point will be limited to the Prisoner Intake facilities.

Comments

ota - riots

[fledges]

[At first, the protests seem reasonable, an expected result of the decision on the accords. Kate is glad for them—they're a visible, tangible consequence of the Company's mistreatment. It doesn't take long for the momentum to build, and keep building, until finally everything erupts.

It's utter chaos, only made worse when the Enforcers are given authorization to use lethal force. Ideally, the resistance would be taking control, fighting back, and acting as a leader and protector. What really happens is that they're all so scattered that they can't strategize. Kate gets ahold of people in bits and pieces, but none of their communication is reliable, and the streets are so dangerous that it's hard to do anything. Kate has never been in a situation like this before. Prior to coming to Westerley, her life had been an endless procession of galas and boarding schools and cloistered, protected spaces. Even Old Town, with all its crime and violence, has never been like this. And yet this feels oddly familiar to Kate—for no reason she can explain, she falls into a rhythm almost immediately. Protect the bystanders and help them fall back to safer locations, take out the aggressors, and use every bit of her knowledge of Old Town against the Company Enforcers. It isn't luck. It's like deja vu, like she's been trained for this, but she hasn't, and something nags at her, like a word on the tip of her tongue or a half remembered dream.

Of course Kate doesn't have any time to analyze it. She uses her trick arrows to confuse and distract the Enforcers, giving protestors and bystanders alike time to escape. She tries to disarm and disable, injuring enough to take people out of the chaos but not enough to kill. And she tries, desperately, to find her friends, looking for a flash of robes and messy blonde hair or Lavi's tall frame, or Lunafreya tending to the wounded. She doesn't run into anyone she recognizes. Old Town is a surging, furious mess, and it's all she can do to keep herself safe.

Eventually, she starts to run out of arrows. There's a a nasty gash above her eyebrow, sticky, drying blood tracking down her temple and cheek, but she doesn't seem to notice. There's an Enforcer taking aim at a man using a crowbar to smash through a shop window, and Kate reacts on pure instinct.]

Hey!

[She's exhausted and getting desperate, but she nocks and looses her arrow in one smooth, skilled movement, and it hits the Enforcer right in the arm. Rather than piercing his bicep, it sticks in his skin, and the man convulses, then drops to the ground, twitching. It's a tiny taser in arrow form, one of her most useful, but she's running out of those, too. She's going to have to start using the ones that rip out chunks that Jack gave her soon. The thought simply makes her feel more drained.]

[affinities]

[It honestly shouldn't be that surprising that things escalated to this level. It felt like resentment ran through everything here at the best of times, and this is clearly, dangerously far from the best of times.

Corrin isn't overly concerned with his own well-being when there are people in harm's way; his fine clothing is dirty and torn, despite his assertions that he'd actually like to help. The fact that he has had to draw his own weapon several times already anyway means that there are those that just plain don't care and are itching for a fight.

He whips his head around when he hears Kate's voice, having just shown a rather aggressive man exactly why he carried a sword; he hadn't done any serious harm, but it was enough to drive him off.

He blinks, looking between Kate and the dropped Enforcer. It doesn't seem like the man is dead from the way he's trembling. Honestly, just because they received Company permission to use lethal force doesn't mean they have to. Still, killing an Enforcer for carrying out orders, no matter how objectionable, isn't something he is willing to accept either.

Frowning, he waves a hand at the twitching man, who doesn't seem quite ready to speak.]

Will he be alright? Is he going to live?

[ofobedience]

[It didn't start out this way. One must have control to be controlled, and Giovanni has always carried a certain level of pride in the fact that of all the Dogs, he never loses himself. Oh, he's brutal and violent and filled up with roiling pulsing ferocity yes, but there's always a cold hard kernel of self that shines bright and clear in him, the thing that stands between him and pure unadulterated chaos. He never bites the hand that holds the leash, he can discern the difference between friend and foe, and though he kills with vicious glee it's only ever those his masters point him towards that feel his inimical wrath.

But today, all of this-- it does something to him. He kills and kills and kills, and the more blood he spills the more he wants, the more it gets into his bones until he almost hears the words echoing inside his head, a scrabble and a pant and a whisper (come on, now-- hit the switch). And so he does.

He loses himself to carnage, utterly.

And this is how Kate encounters him. There's movement from the side as Kate's tasing arrow finds the Enforcer, sudden screams, a wave of blind panic, and from amid the unruly crowd the Dog appears. His visage in that moment, it's more monster than man, blood smeared across his face his teeth, staining his hair, his arms from fingertips to elbows, clothes torn but not a mark on his flesh and manically, he's laughing.

As he passes the fallen Enforcer his boot comes down on the man's throat, a stamp and twist and there's the crunch of bone, the wet gurgling remnants of breath. He doesn't pause to look, though, keeps moving, grabs for the crowbar-wielding man and in an instant he's wrenching him back by the arms, bones snapping as the man cries out and then Giovanni's teeth find his tender throat, ripping down and tearing it open.

There are no thoughts in him. Only beautiful blind abandon.]

[fledges]

[Kate has witnessed a lot of awful, awful things today, but she sees Giovanni tear into the men and for a moment, she freezes, horrified. There's a Company insignia emblazoned on each shoulder of his jacket, and past all the disgust and horror and overwhelming urge to gag, all Kate can feel is a level of rage she doesn't think she's ever reached. Lethal force is bad enough. This is pure brutality, and there's no way to justify it, not even with the Company's usual pretty lies.

It's instinctive for Kate to go, immediately, for one of her more lethal arrows, a wicked broadhead meant to do as much damage as possible. Fortunately for Giovanni, and unfortunately for Kate, she never shoots to kill. She nocks the arrow, aims, looses—but it's pointed towards the meat of his thigh, purely to maim and slow him down.]

[ofobedience]

[And the arrow strikes home. Giovanni turns then, sharply, head whipping around in a predatory animal gesture, and half the man's throat comes with him, muscle and gristle and viscera still smattering his face and caught up in his teeth, his eyes made hard with something blank and terrible. It's visible in him, the fact that there's nothing going through his mind besides base and ugly instinct.

He drops his prey to the ground, body still twitching and slickly drowning in it's own blood, and he takes a moment to yank the arrow from his thigh with no more care than someone removing a splinter. There's the hiss and sizzle of kinetic energy, bluegrey plumes of rising smoke, his body knitting itself back together quicksharp and leaving him perfectly unharmed. He smiles then, though it's barely a smile at all, something wide and awful and raw, something inhuman.

He's launches himself across the distance that stands between them, movements swift and fluid and unnatural as the rest of him.]

[fledges]

[Kate's stomach clenches when he rips the man's throat out. It's like every horror movie she's ever seen, made real and terrible right in front of her, but she shuts it down, turns that horrified part of herself off, and her expression goes hard. The regeneration is more worrying—he's some Company experiment, probably made for their worst jobs, which means she doesn't need to pull any punches.

He's so fast, though, that Kate barely gets out of the way. She scrambles back, at least graceful enough to grab for another arrow. This one is a simple field point, one she's far more brutal with, aiming right for his eye.]

[ofobedience]

[Which has him sweeping both arms upwards in fluid graceful arcs at the last moment, covering his face as he lands and leans back to avoid a strike to the head. Even like this - berserk, out of control, monstrous terrible rabid - he has enough wherewithal to protect himself against a headshot. Perhaps it may not have penetrated his brain, but there's enough survival instinct pulsing through him that he isn't about to take that risk.

Instead it thuds into his left arm, punching in through flesh and muscle and out the other side again, and though he grunts as it goes in, he shows no more concern for it than that. Again, he's yanking it free and the smoke rises up and he grasps the bloodied arrow in the palm of his right hand, all movements that take no time at all before he's hurling it back at her.

Aimed right for the heart.]

[fledges]

[Kate moves again, instinctively. She missed, but for a split second, she's somewhere else, with a man standing above her, helping her to her feet, his expression all concern.

"I got him, right?"
"In the eyes, Kate—"

It's the echo of an old conversation, like a suddenly recalled memory, except she doesn't recognize the man and she doesn't remember that exchange, which means she must be hallucinating—

It's a bad time to lose focus. She moves, but she's so thrown that she doesn't move enough, and the arrow hits her right in the arm. She cries out involuntarily, shocked suddenly back into the present. His throw doesn't have nearly the force of the draw of her bow, but the point of the arrow still buries itself in her bicep, and she's left open.]

[ofobedience]

[The sound of her cry, it does things to him, unsteady shivers that pulse through the Spine and push him ever onward towards greater heights of violence. It's the only thing that registers for him now, the scent of blood, the cries of terror, the wet rip of flesh as the arrow goes in and it's good and he wants it yes he does.

Left open, a moment of weakness, and he capitalises on that opportunity as any predator would, moving in fast as he springs yet again, meaning to bring her to the ground.]

[fledges]

[Kate goes down, but the pain grounds her, gives her enough foresight to pull an arrow from her quiver at the last second. It's another one of those wicked ones, this one made by Jack. As she falls, she tries to drive it into the side of his neck like a dagger, but her aim is thrown off enough by the fall that there's no way to tell if it will strike home or miss completely. If it does hit flesh, it's meant to dig in and extend razor sharp barbs—to tear chunks out, as Jack put it. She doesn't have time to pay attention to whether or not she's actually hit him, because she strikes the ground and the air is knocked painfully from her lungs, all in a rush.]

[ofobedience]

[It's a narrow thing, but he twists to the side even as he comes down on top of her, the arrow missing his target as he straddles her waist, pins her down with the weight of his body. He barks out a rough and brutal laugh and as he leans in close he's panting, chest rising and falling in quick little starts but it's not from exertion no, not from the previous pain that's already gone out of him, gone up in smoke along with his wounds-- it's all visceral animal excitement, the desire to riptearmaim, to kill.

It won't be painless, it won't be quick.

His hands find her ribs and they press down, meaning to break them, one by exquisite one.]

[fledges]

[It isn't like Kate hasn't taken a beating before. It isn't even as though she's never had broken ribs before, but Giovanni presses down, and Kate can feel the pressure breaking her ribs slowly, and it's excruciating. She tries not to scream, tries not to give him the satisfaction, but a desperate, strangled sound tears out of her anyway.

The adrenaline is kicking in now, and it's what gives her the energy to force her hands up, trying to hook her thumbs into his eye sockets and press down. Even if she doesn't do any damage, maybe he'll pull back and give her a chance to get free.]

[ofobedience]

[The sound she makes, the brighthard vibrations of her breaking bones as they travel through his fingers and wrists and up up up into the dark centre of him-- it's a wonderful thing. It makes him laugh (and laugh and laugh) red eyes empty of anything but a fast ascending animal glee and even as her hands snatch out for his face, it doesn't stop.

Instead, he moves to grab her by the wrists, pull back just like she wants him to, but he still has a hold of her as he stands, makes to swing her up and hurl her across the blood-smeared ground.]

[fledges]

[He strong and so, so fast, but Kate knows that if he gets a good enough blow in, she's dead. He lifts her up easily enough, considering how light she is, but she swings her legs out, tries to lift them up to wrap them around his waist. She needs to get distance between them somehow in a way that doesn't involve being thrown against the concrete, but considering the way she's clinging to him now, that doesn't seem like an easy feat.]

[ofobedience]

[Her legs around his waist brings them in body-close and it's enough to prevent him from tossing her yes but now she's here, pressed against him, the copperhot scent of blood pouring off him in deep red waves. And he'll work with this, yes he will, doesn't seem put off or perturbed, doesn't seem anything other than rabid and savage and filled with an endless propensity for brutality.

His arms go around her, then, pull her in close in a sick parody of affection, and she might catch sight of his razoredged teeth before he tries sinking them into the meat of her shoulder.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Fortunately for Kate, rather than a mouthful of flesh, an inhumanly strong hand reaches forward, knifes right in between those jagged edges hard enough to bruise the corners of a normal human's mouth - the other hand pressing the cool muzzle of a pistol right in the center of the Dog's forehead.]

Fucking mutt. A woman isn't a damned chew toy.

[Dimly, he's aware of the serrated edges of those teeth shredding the back of his hand, his palm, but it doesn't matter. Instead, he doesn't hesitate - just pulls the trigger.

He'd used the highest stun setting possible, just shy of a lethal current. More than enough to knock someone with his own - or Giovanni's ability to heal - right on their ass.

So no sooner does the blast hit Giovanni before the pistol is hastily holstered, Kanda's now free hand snapping back out to cut between the two, to anchor the woman back against him, so that she doesn't get taken down with Giovanni.]

[caninity]

[His indifference is almost comical. The way he's perusing the street, he may as well be contending with a surprise rainstorm or something similarly trifling but not at all life-or-death, which is entirely the case before his eyes. Death isn't something so foreign to him that he's prompted to turn tail and hide out somewhere until the hostility wanes, nor does he feel inclined to pick a side and fight for the greater good, or not. He may be biased in one way or another, but that doesn't necessarily mean he has to act on it.

He's a body for hire, unfortunately -- or fortunately? He's not contributing to any of this, so long as he's not accidentally stabbed. He can heal faster than an auctioneer reciting the alphabet, but that doesn't mean he like to showboat that talent.

Hey!

--Grabs his attention, though he's not at all being addressed. His gaze lifts and settles on the woman who's just sent a man into convulsions. She may've come out on top there, but she looks worse for the wear.

He says nothing, but idles some seven-feet-or-so from the scene. Close enough for an inspirational lecture, entirely nonchalant. She seems fine, overall -- she's conscious. It's none of his business...]

[fledges]

[Kate doesn't know what to do with the man she's just shocked into unconsciousness, but she's sure assaulting a Company Enforcer carries a pretty heavy sentence. She rubs her hands over her face, then yanks her hair back into a tight ponytail as a stalling tactic, trying to give herself more time to think. It's then that she senses someone watching her, and when she looks over her shoulder, she spots a white haired man just... standing there. Kate frowns, eyebrows raising.]

Uh... Hi? Are you okay?

[Is he going to cart her off to the nearest Enforcer or something?]

[caninity]

[There's something about laws that he doesn't believe in -- or care for, one of those. Whatever the case may be, Heine doesn't seem particularly inclined to run off and tattle tail. He'll rub at the back of his nape, touching at the spot above his ingrained collar.]

Fine.

[Though it seems he shouldn't have left his place today.]

It got noisy all of a sudden.

[His only complaint, if he had one. He'd return the question if he already hadn't decided that she's fine. What a dick.]

[fledges]

Noisy? Do you mean the riots?

[Admittedly, there are a lot of really weird people in Old Town, but Kate is still at a bit of a loss over that response.]

I don't think you should be out on the streets. It's dangerous.

[caninity]

Yeah.

[Heine's regarding the entire situation like an old man who's grown tired of kids running about his lawn. So much so that he cannot summon the effort to give a single crap.

Though, that's something he hasn't heard in...a long time. Ever? He can't place that piece of advice.]

I'm fine.

[Not to parrot himself. On the other hand, there's a question lingering on the tip of his tongue -- an offer, really. He should take advantage, all things considered.]

Are you hanging out here?

[Which isn't quite what he meant to say.]

[fledges]

I'm not hanging out, I'm trying to keep people from dying.

[He's so relaxed about this. Did he hit his head or something? Kate hesitates, then finally approaches him, reaching for his arm carefully.]

We should get out of the way at least.

[caninity]

[That sort of means the same thing -- one's just a watered down version. He's not sure how true her statement is, considering she just...possibly killed someone. The Enforcer will probably be fine, but uh, who knows. Heine's not worried about it.

He doesn't seem overtly concerned about a dang thing until she means to help guide him somewhere. If he were an actual dog, his hackles would raise to high heaven. Since he's not, he practically stumbles in reverse as an ENTIRELY over the top means of evasion, an arm poised diagonally in front of him as if to block any other helpful inclinations.]

Don't-!

[For all of that consideration, he's treating her like she's got the plague.]

[fledges]

[Wow, that is quite the reaction. Kate takes a quick step back, hands held up placatingly.]

Hey, it's okay. Sorry. I'm not going to hurt you.

[caninity]

[As if she were nest of vipers or something. Even his breath's gone uneven -- talk about extra.]

...That's not the problem.

[As if he, or they needed an example, en empty glass bottle comes careening his way. It's something he'd avoid with ease if he weren't totally engrossed in the fact that she may try to invade his personal bubble. It makes contact with his skull, though it was probably meant for the window just beyond his head. His response is atypical; he may as well have been hit with a bag of sand.

He spares a moment to scan the immediate area for a culprit. There's some blood and the impact definitely hurt to some degree...but it's fine. The search is over a few seconds after it began and she's got his full attention once more.

Where were they-?]