Chapter 1

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 1, Day 1 - Week 2, Day 1
Summary: Game launch 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.

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

The Nine

Hushed whispers and conversations behind sealed doors spread throughout Qresh, carrying with them rumor of the Lady Derrish's illness. Poisoned, some say, as they speak their quiet murmurs and the news travels like wildfire. It lights up the nobility with a new cause - there is no heir to the Derrish name. At least, none that is known. A surrogate mother carries the only Derrish child to be related by blood. She dwells on Leith, though her location is obscured to everyone who seeks her - both those who wish to help and those who would do harm. Some wish to procure the heir - whether following the warrant for his retrieval or hoping to gain favor with the Nine by gift or by blackmail. Some wish the heir dead, seeking to cause a power vacuum that could lead to a bloody war as families of the Nine scramble to gobble up Derrish land. All have backring that can be traced back to the nobility, each family pursuing their own agenda. 'False' heirs, those who claim to be related, or bastard children, either rise up in hopes of fortune or hide in fear of those who would stamp out the family name for good. On Leith there is said to be a hotel staffed by the most beautiful woman, run by a man who no one has ever seen. Only those with money or influence may stay the night at Blessed Branches, though anyone seeking fine wine and good company may occupy its lounge. Many come hoping to spend time with the hostesses, though the girls aren't known for taking bribes or slipping away for a 'good time'. It is here, in one of the premium guestrooms, that the surrogate heir and his mother are housed. The other women are unaware of her status - simply taking care of her as one of their own - and how much the owner knows is as difficult to pin down as he is. Any display of violence is sure to be noticed, as Company officials and RAC agents alike guard the building for significant pay. Getting in may be simple for some, but getting out is far more difficult. The mother's room is on the 10th story, with its few windows locked and curtains closed. As she approaches her delivery date, help comes and goes with frequency, but on no specific schedule. Criminals and RAC agents alike chatter in the streets of Westerley and Leith over just who, and where, this woman could be. Many assume she lodges with the surrogate clusters hidden on Westerley - heavily guarded by men and treacherous landscape alike. Others seek beyond the Quad, and some assume she's already dead. No matter the cause, no matter its difficulty, the rush to find the woman and unborn baby only grows. Some may consult information brokers, some may attempt to find their way into the genetic databases, some may rely on word of mouth, and some may lay in wait for others to do the sleuthing work before closing in on their target.

The Company

"We need to send a message," every Company employee receives the same directive, "Loud and clear." Rules are rules, and there is no room for disobedience - neither within nor outside of the Company. The citizens of Westerley have become more unruly than usual, taking out their frustrations with their lot in life on the Company and on society. Or so the directive says. It is for the good of the Company, and for those loyal citizens who keep their heads down and do their duty, to expunge the corrosive minds from society and extinguish the flames of a foolish rebellion. From prisoner guards to those selected to string criminals up for execution, to those who stand watch over the sizzling corpses (or soon to be corpses) belonging to symbols of the rebellion left out in the rain to die, to those in charge of door-to-door or man-to-man ID checks, every bit of available manpower in the Company is being used to secure the city. Some may begrudge their work, while others delight in the lax restriction on violence towards citizens. All should keep their heads down, lest they become yet another target for the efforts to 'increase security' in the city. A heatwave that brings with it Black Rain makes the job difficult and treacherous - stay out too long and you could get caught in a storm. Just the same as the local Westies, all of whom are more or less stranded in their homes - or the bars they passed out in the night before - everyone is scrimping by with whatever provisions remain. Only those Company officials lucky enough to live on Company property, a compound of barracks that provides middling levels of comfort, don't worry for their necessities. Travel through the tunnels may afford the few who know of their existence more mobility - the ability to help others, to stockpile what they need, or to make an impressive capture - but comes with its own dangers. From the culture that lives there to the increased presence of resistance groups making their safe-houses in the vast, winding network, some may decide that the potential dangers aren't worth the trip, and others may wish they had.

Leith

Every season brings a new batch of harvest workers—old, young, adventurous, desperate. But it doesn’t matter whether a worker has tended to the same hokk farm for ten years: when the limits of a work visa are reached, they must return to their planet of origin or face severe penalties. Sometimes, though, people slip through the cracks. Sometimes people change their genetic records altogether to make sure it happens. Whether it’s an individual who refuses to return to the cage of Westerley or a merchant willing to look the other way for off-the-books labor, visa law enforcement is critical to the Quad. Targets identified as “high risk”—those individuals who have a profile of criminal behavior or have given the Company reason to take a second look at their credentials in the past—are being routinely rounded up to ensure their genetic identities and visa information still coincide. Killjoys and Company enforcers are being deployed in equal measure to address this potential security concern in the days leading up to “harvest week”, the seasonal break where workers return home and a new batch of hopefuls arrives on Leith. For some, this can be a minor inconvenience, taking DNA samples and conversing with understandably irritable workers—for others, this could be a potentially fatal encounter and lead into Leith’s darker underbelly. For whatever reason a target has chosen to stay or change their identity, they have done so at great and calculated risk. They will fight without discrimination to stay hidden and maintain their secret--as, at times, will their employers. Maybe they've decided to pursue a more lucrative line of work, using Leith's fertile soils to grow illicit substances, or perhaps they've simply decided that their fate should be in their own hands, and not that of a visa agency. Either way, they won't go quietly.

True Leithians

Gunfire is lost under the sound of the rain. The pitter-patter of acidic water beats in tandem to Company rifles and shouts, the flash of grenades like fireflies in the distance. The Family Registry Bureau, well-guarded and set on the outskirts of Old Town, shakes and shudders with each successive boom, debris falling as the battle escalates. “For Leith!” A single voice rises above the commotion and for a moment, the night is still, the incessant rain seeming to take heed, as if the clouds themselves have paused to see what will unfold. The building collapses. Fire billows out in violent plumes, snaking through the twisted metal and broken glass. Survivors on both sides disperse like scattered marbles. By morning, the dead have been dissolved to bone by the rain, and Company enforcers are out to ensure that scavengers don’t take their pick of the remaining materials. Officials are tight-lipped about what, if anything, was taken during the attack, but word on the street spreads fast—there’s a man hunt and hundreds of genetic identities are up for grabs. Criminal activity in Eulogy sees an all-time spike as bartered goods come in, though not everyone in Eulogy or the criminal world takes kindly to stealing from their own. Nor do they care for the sudden attention drawn to their illicit little den, making it a hot bed of Killjoy and undercover Company activity. But Eulogy isn't the only place to see unwelcome guests. On and off Westerley, news of the attack spreads, and agents of each organization race to come out on top. Whether it’s a Killjoy tasked with locating the perpetrators, a True Leithian conspirator on the run, a Westie out for revenge and securing their future in the Seventh Generation accord, or a Company Enforcer on orders of execution off planet—everyone has someone’s number, and time is quickly running out for each of them.

Westies

The heat hangs over Westerley like a blanket laid down over a fever, suffocating and addling. Sign posts flicker erratically between Company propaganda and storm advisory warnings. Old Town’s streets, normally buzzing and bursting with life, are like a ghost town. The few stragglers that remain move like worms, slowly and carefully, their bodies bowed over the carts they push as if the sun has melted away their will to walk. In the square of the town, a group of well-clad Company men and women hurriedly work, bolting modern day stocks into the concrete. Prisoners, red jumpsuits and heads covered in black shrouds, are roughly shuffled between the soldiers as they’re chained and bound to the stakes. Only once they’re secured are they allowed to see the light of day—for the first and last time in years. The squadron commander, a stalwart woman, takes up the intercom on her truck, her voice booming through each sign post in Old Town when she speaks. “Westerlens, for high treason and threats to the public good, these prisoners are hereby brought to this place of execution where they shall be exposed to the elements until dead. By order of the Company, serving the Quad.” Seconds later, the sirens start. The soldiers finish their work with haste and pile into their vehicle. The sky, moments before overbearingly bright, disappears under inky shadow, bruised green and red as violent clouds spread out like reaching fingers. The storm rolls in without mercy or pause, enveloping the light of the day by visible inches. Acidic rainfall begins to pelt down, not lightly, not drifting, but in a hard, unrelenting stream. Anyone caught within it has but hours to survive, and moments to escape disfiguring injury. The storms will rage for three days with few breaks in between. But the environment is hardly the only, or even the worst, thing Westies have to worry about.

Resistance

The rebellion suffered a crushing blow. Of course, rebellions in Old Town are used to that--but with key leaders gone, Resistance members are scattered like grains of sand across glass, rolling further and further apart. Some individuals seek to take the power vacuum as their own chance at power, but they're met with staunch rebuttal, splitting this already fragile organization into smaller and smaller cells. Under the cover of the acidic storms, the remaining members of the Resistance take to the undercity, whispering into the ears of the discontent and angry. Follow the branch that's extended to you, they say, and you'll find a new place to grow roots. And so those roots do grow, down walls, on pieces of passed paper, across the hands of those who harbor dissent. It's a symbol, a living, growing map, of a new haven. Innocuous to those who don't know what it means, symbolic and religious, but to those who seek out its meaning? They'll delve to the very deepest parts of the undercity, a place manned only by those wearing the yellow and gold of the Scarbacks. There, a secure military bunker is hidden beneath the layers of Old Town, lost to all but the original blueprints of the city. Its concrete walls hold the barest bones of supplies, but there's potential, a skeleton upon which the rebellion can build its strength and muster the will to stand again. Finding the bunker, though arduous, isn't the hardest part. Getting in? That will take connections, charisma. Trust. The Resistance is in awful short supply of that last right about now.

The RAC

The RAC, as ever, maintains its neutrality and follows its singular mandate: the warrant is all. But that isn't to say that there can't be a little fun in the process--between serving out warrants issued on behalf of the other factions and singular individuals, the top teams within the Quad will receive a special directive. Black Warrant For all teams, whether temporarily formed for the sake of pursuit or permanently aligned, this presents a unique opportunity to compete against their fellow RAC agents. All manner of subterfuge is encouraged, although directly attacking your fellow Killjoys will receive at least one bad review on social networking apps. But while killing your competition isn't allowed, making their life impossibly difficult and taking the prize for yourself? That's the very definition of the game. This is a competitive warrant, open to all Killjoy teams with a level 4 agent or higher. Your task is simple in description but far from it in nature: find and secure an heir for Land Derrish before your opponents. The catch (there's always a catch, isn't there?) -- you'll be fighting off more than your compatriot Killjoys. Criminals and mercenaries will be gunning for the same targets, and there's a mountain of bureaucracy standing in your way to figuring out who is a legitimate heir, if one exists at all. Your time is short* and your competition is fierce. May the best team win. *Week 1, Day 2 - Week 1, Day 5

Comments

Kanda Yu | OTA & Closed | Week 1

[lotusmesenpai]

❃ Closed | Lancer | Day 2, Early Morning

[The problem with working for a crafty bartender is that, more often than not, he has Kanda agreeing to do something that isn't normally something he'd consider doing.

Like getting to the bar at sunrise, just to play security guard while they moved supplies down into a safehouse/storage area somewhere in the tunnels. Whether it was for local use, resistance, or the tunnel rats below, Kanda didn't know or care. All he knows is that he's been sitting in the empty bar for a half hour, sipping a bitter cup of caff as he waits for the other person to arrive.

Whomever it is, the bastard better get here soon, before Kanda's patience wear out...]

❃ Closed | Jennifer & Lavi | Day 2, Late Afternoon

[Seeing that warrant go out, seeing the utter vagueness of what a 'legitimate' heir is, and seeing that bitch Seyah Derrish's name involved, Kanda's first thought was surprising, even to himself.

They just painted a target on their little banished princess.

He's stopped in a few times since he'd filled a warrant to the technicality and then taken Jennifer from the facility where her family wanted to dump her and helped her get set up in Old Town. It's not an ideal location, to be sure, but at least it's in a room over a bartender known for doing the right thing (most of the time).

That might just be coming back to bite him now.

Because now? He's waiting for Lavi to meet him in the bar below, so they can head up to Jennifer's apartment. If nothing else, he plans to give her a choice in how her life gets flipped upside down by all this bullshit. Something those spoiled meatbags from Land Derrish never did.]

❃ Open | Day 3, Tunnels in Old Town

[Black rain has, more than anything else, the absolute worst timing. Between people acting stupidly, tempers flaring with the heatwave, having at least the last break should normally be a good thing. This time, however? Too many people staked in the rain, too much anger flooding the locals, and not enough common sense to calm anyone in between.

So here he is, just trying to make it as close to the intake facility as possible so he can get back to Noah for a shower and, if he's lucky, a nap.

Unfortunately for him, his luck rarely runs that way.

Rounding a corner, he quite nearly collides with someone else. Glaring in the dim light, he quickly sidesteps around the other person. ]

Watch where the hell you're going, idiot.

❃ Open | Wild card

Want something on day one or day 7 or somewhere in between? Just hit me up here and we can figure something out! ♥

[inksplashes]

[ He doesn't get there on time, precisely, but that can't really be helped. One arm bandaged and the stench of the undercity and blood clinging to his clothes, Lavi's day has been busy, and scampering back to Old Town's surface is no easy feat.

But as much as he liked to tease and taunt Kanda, he knew that tone of voice and that look he'd gotten, despite the darkness of the tunnels, so he hadn't wasted time once they'd ended their video call.

There was something going on about this warrant that bothered Yu on a level bordering personal.

So when he arrives at the bar, he offers an immediate look of apology when he spots his partner from across the room, mouthing over the words "sorry" even as he slips between drunk patrons. Careful to keep his still freshly wrapped arm out of sight, he beams cheerily, slinking up beside the shorter man. ]

Lavi on demand, as promised!

Bartender, drinks for my friend and me? Something really, really strong.

[lotusmesenpai]

[Despite being mildly irritated at Lavi's late arrival, he just nods once at the apology - it's not worth it right then to argue over something that probably wasn't even intentional.

Because regardless of the strain on their partnership, one thing they've always been good at is reading the room with each other - Lavi's lateness was no more a slight to him, personally, than Kanda's irritation was actually directed at Lavi, for once.

Thus, once their drinks arrive, he nods to the bartender as he reaches to catch both glasses in hand and pushes to his feet.]

Add 'em to my tab.

[That said, he shoots his partner a sidelong glance, and then nods towards a table set back from the others in a corner. Slipping into one of the seats, he offers Lavi one of the glasses, downs the other in one long swallow, and then sets the glass carefully on the table as he leans in, forearms cross on the surface before him as he gathers his thoughts.

When he finally speaks, it's just loud enough for Lavi to hear, blue eyes finally meeting and holding green with a mix of resolve and irritation.]

...Do you remember that job I caught heat for a while back? The girl that I escorted, and then... removed... from her designated location?

[He's leaving out the names of all involved, as well as the location, but he'd briefed Lavi about it after the job had been done - and Lavi had been there when their broker had torn out a strip of Kanda's hide for angering one of the Nine. Kanda knew his partner would read between the lines there.]

[inksplashes]

[ Offering his own nod of thanks, he follows after Kanda dutifully, though the way he's eyeing those glasses of hokk make it questionable just what he's intent to follow. His arm hurts like a bitch, in terms his partner might use, and he's as likely to use that drink to numb the pain as he is to disinfect it again.

Still, he takes his drink in more measured sips, ever the paranoid one, watching the room until a cool water gaze catches his own.

Ah.

Lavi hums lightly, taking another sip. ]

She's 'in the black', hm?

[ It's an old turn of phrase, not one he expects Yu to know, though he might, but the poignancy of it amuses him nonetheless. The timing of it all starts to make sense now, though why Kanda had gone out of his way to potentially help some girl and jeopardize his standing with the RAC was still something of a mystery to his partner.

I guess that's the difference in us. You're not as ruthless as you act.

And Lavi, on the other hand, is twice as ruthless as anyone he's met. He has to be.

But that trait, mystifying as it may be, is something endearing to him, so he doesn't begrudge Kanda for it, but rather chuckles to himself, chin propped on his good hand. ]

I'm guessing you want to intervene in history again, don't you?

[ It's Yu's turn to read between the lines. Letting someone innocent get hurt never brings Lavi pleasure, but to step between the tides of war for the sake of one side over the other? That's a violation of a sorts. Not merely as a killjoy, but as a bookman.

As an afterthought and acquiescence: ]

...She better be cute.

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda blinks, his confusion at the phrase evident, before he just shakes his head and takes a smaller sip of his own drink before setting it down.

It's times like that that make reading Lavi near impossible, for him. Because there seems to be amusement in the tone, the relaxed way his partner catch his chin on his fist and simply... observes him. Like Kanda himself is a part of the history Lavi is so intent on chronicling.

It's an odd, slightly uncomfortable thought, and one that (like so many others lately) gets pushed to the side. Instead of focusing on that, he leans forward to rest his forearms on the table, fingers laced loosely, lets his gaze cut around to automatically sweep the room, some part of him ever assessing the threats that may be waiting as he shakes his head.]

Not so much intervene as... [Shrugging a shoulder, he returns his gaze to Lavi once more, his expression almost bleak.] ... letting her have a hand in her own fate. She has the right to choose.

Once others find her, she won't be given that luxury, and that's bullshit.

[He knows all too well what having that right stripped from a person means. He's not going to be a party to that, this time, not for the viper's nest of demons known as the Nine, RAC be damned.]

[inksplashes]

[ Pensive, thoughtful silence follows for a while. If he's aware of Yu's attempts to read his expression, he offers nothing to help, face a pleasant mask of hidden intention.

It's not her you're trying to save then, is it?

You're trying to change her future because you can't do anything about your past.

The pieces start to fall into place, assembling into a more coherent picture. It's still a questionable choice of action, this plan, but it's doable with enough finesse, and Lavi has that in spades when it comes to political arrangements.

Provided, of course, that she isn't the only heir. If she is..

That's another debate, another discussion. They're not judges, they're not jurors--they are the tools of those that make those calls, and if they trample the rules that govern their place in society too carelessly, they'll quickly find themselves with worse punishment than a 'little heat'.

Should that happen, the difference in their capacities for ruthlessness will likely come to light.

Lavi hums again, laughing under his breath, then finishes his drink with an over-exaggerated sigh. He has a mind why Yu called him here over the much easier to access Royale, but there's not enough information to say so conclusively just yet. ]

Sure, then. Let's do that. Upstairs?

[lotusmesenpai]

[The ability to actually read Lavi is not something Kanda has mastered - hell for three years now, the smiling idiot was the only thing he'd known. It's only more recently that little flashes of what lies beneath have started to bleed through.

Enough, at the very least, to allow him the ability to recognize false cheer from the calculating mind that remains hidden behind the mask of frivolity.

Which means whatever is running through that damned idiot's head, now, is far beyond Kanda's ability to fathom - so he doesn't even try. Instead, he waits Lavi out, let's the man weigh Kanda's intent against the Bookman's assessment of the situation, and sips his hokk.

Waits, until he that quiet laugh, that fake sigh, and then he smirks before draining the last of his own drink. Setting it down, he pushes to his feet with a nod.

Figures Lavi parsed out exactly why they were here, instead of their usual haunt of the Royale.]

Third floor up.

[That said, he steps around the table and starts for the stairwell a few steps beyond, glances back at Lavi.]

She seems the fragile type. I'm not sure my usual methods will work too well with her.

[A.K.A. Step in if he looks like he's going to make the woman cry. He doesn't do tears.]

[inksplashes]

I'm sure they won't. Lucky for you, ladies love me.

[ Hands slid into pockets after he does a quick mental inventory of his current armaments, Lavi follows along behind his partner, scanning every face for potential threat.

Not a secure location to keep someone like this woman, but the sounds of the mission were never to keep her secure--just alive. If he'd posted guards for her, it'd be even more suspicious, but he still couldn't help but wonder what life was like for a lady of the Nine suddenly surrounded by sexters.

How long could delicate sensibilities last, really, before the reality of a broken cage crushed them?

Lavi supposes he's about to find out.

Two flights up and there's still no sign of imminent threat--just drunks and working men and women in their ritual of slurs and missteps. When they get to the top of the third floor, he does another tactical analysis, checks his weapons again, and paints a big smile on while waiting for Kanda to lead them to the right door. ]

Hey, so does this make you a knight in armor? I think it's supposed to be less.. black. And shinier. We can go shopping later, if you like.

[ Going to preemptively move out of the way of swinging distance. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Probably a wise move, as Kanda had already begun a swing in Lavi's direction - which he diverts neatly to knock hard on the door instead.

Rather than try to hit the man, however, Kanda settles for a glare.]

Idiot. You're spouting nonsense again.

[How Jennifer decided to move forward once he'd helped her settle hadn't ever really been Kanda's concern - giving her a choice to live how she wants was his intent. Whether she uses that freedom to live or die is up to her own strength of will.

Unless, of course, crazy nobility try to intercede. again.

Knocking a second time, Kanda raises his voice a bit.]

Oy, woman! Open the hell up, already.

[riastraid]

[ Being reliable's one thing, being prompt is another. Lancer's got a good track record at finishing jobs, but it's at his own pace, which means in today's case—clocking in whenever he feels like it. Granted, he's not used to having security detail waiting around, and god only knows what the (heavy) pack he's been saddled with has inside. Not his job to ask. Discretion's a good habit to have in this industry.

Whatever it is, it rattles a bit as he slumps it onto the bar with an overblown sigh. ]

Man— [ He cracks his neck, hardly taking a good glance at his 'partner' before he reaches for a bottle himself, delicately tipping it his way. The bartender owes him one anyway. ] I always thought there'd be more to being a killjoy than being Westerley's top billed packmule, y'know?

[ 'Hello, sorry for being late, excuse me and thank you.' No harm done, at least apparently not to him. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

['Fuck off and die' would have probably been the response. So it's probably good Lancer hadn't bothered with the apology.

Kanda would much prefer prompt, because he's not stupid enough to believe in reliable with anyone - even if (or maybe especially if) he's worked with them before. And now that everyone's here, he's just going to scowl at the free way the other helps himself to Kanda's caff because sorry Lancer...

No one's ever really taught him how to play well with others, though some have tried.

Instead, he snorts and shoots his temporary partner a smirk, raises a brow at the man.]

That's what you get for taking the shit jobs. You want more joy and less Westies, stick to the higher warrants.

[riastraid]

[ The nice thing about growing up in a rough-and-tumble environment (rowdy was putting it gently) is that he's used to all manner of rude bastards. Curses, threats, growls and scowls; he's seen the best and worst of them.

So he's unfazed, pouring himself a half-shot with a bark of laughter. Barely anything, but he doesn't actually tend to work drunk. ]

Can't argue that. But y'know—I kinda like it here. It's got personality. [ He says it like a joke, though there's a brief, genuine quality to his smile before he downs his (or probably more accurately, Kanda's) drink with a refreshed sigh. ]

This all seems a little below your paygrade though.

[ actually they're the same paygrade but whatever, he's curious what brings surly mcsurlyson here. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Snorting, Kanda sets his now-empty cup down and leans back to cut Lancer a look because what the hells is that supposed to even mean? This place - Old Town as a whole, really - smelled like stale alcohol and unwashed bodies. It reeks of oppression and desperation to survive so how does that translate to something worth liking?

Nuance of phrase is lost on this one.]

Personality.

[Whatever.

Looking around, he scowls and curses bartenders that actually pay attention to their tabs and the fine print attached. And then he shrugs dismissively.]

I throw out the trouble makers in my downtime for free hokk...Bastard that owns this place realized it's been a while since I've worked here, so this is how we break even.

[No big deal, right? Right. But honestly - they are the same rank so what else, beyond personality, would bring Lancer down here as well?]

So what's the bastard got on you?

[riastraid]

[ It felt a little belittling to say Old Town was charming—it isn't, it's downright fucking tragic—but there's something unpretentious about it compared to Leith. The higher up the food chain, the more everything turns to cloak and daggers, and he'd much rather deal with a bartender with a fine command over his tabs than any sort of politics.

Which is why Lancer looks a bit puzzled, then bemused. ]

A lot of drunken antics. [ Inebriated assholes give a whole lot of ammo to use later. However. ] I'm just here 'cause I felt like it, though.

[ Bartender buddy needed an extra body, and so here he is. Simple as that. He claps Kanda sympathetically over the shoulder, tone turned teasing. ]

Time for you to earn your keep! I'll tell on you if you don't get your job done.

[lotusmesenpai]

[They're all controlled by the Nine - the same bastards that had foot the bill on the experimentations that had been his nightmares for so many years - so as far as Kanda's concerned?

The whole damned Quad could burn and he wouldn't piss on the flames for them.

That double answer doesn't so much surprise Kanda and so he shakes his head at Lancer.]

Bastard.

[There's the faintest hint of amusement at the admission before Kanda smirks and pushes back off his chair. It's automatic, the way he systematically pulls each weapon, inspects it, and sets the firearms just shy of lethal before re-holstering them.

It's a process Lancer's probably seen before, given that it's nearly the exact same methodological process he's used since he was ten.]

[riastraid]

[ Some habits die hard. He remembers Kanda a little better than most—battle merit sticks to the brain a more than faces and idle chatter. The drill-like precision had stood out to him then, certainly.

But he also remembers him as a shitty little kid, so he simply responds with a chuckle as he hops over the bar in one easy vault despite his cargo (nevermind just walking around it), heading to the tunnel entrance for the Nth time. It's as innocuous as a storm cellar, a basement, what have you. ]

D'you think you'll actually need that thing?

[ He toes open the door, and nothing greets them yet but silence and a musty draft. Still, no telling what they'd run into today. Sometimes it was just a strung-out rat, but...

With the threat of rain already driving people inside, somehow he doubts it. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Glancing up, Kanda holsters the weapon and then follows Lancer's lead, vaults over the counter to land beside the man before he shrugs, face twisting in distaste.]

Last time we were down there, some piece of shit bit me. Had to get a whole damned series of shots to get rid of the infection.

[What should have been a strict and rigid series was really more like three, total, given the nanites in his blood. They'd done far more to repair the damage than any damned vaccine ever could.

Glancing from Lancer to the open door, he makes an impatient noise and starts the descent. He thinks it's overkill to send two level fours on a supply run, but hey. He's here as the 'hired' guard so might as well play the part.]

Where are we even taking that shit? He never actually said.

wildcard - that thing we discussed

[valr]

[The fight is relatively easy, in Kara's opinion, though shes probably not the best judge of that sort of thing, considering her experiences tend to lie in much larger battles than a squabble on a farm. Kara favors her sword over any long range weapon, not wanting to waste expensive ammunition, so she gets a little more up close and personal than some of the others.

It means she sees Kanda earn a knife wound as the fight is wrapping up; she watches him carefully for a minute or so, until she's sure he's alright, then gets back to work.

Once they're back on the ship with the True Leithians in hand, Kara makes a beeline to Kanda as he retreats towards his quarters in the ship. They're hardly friends, but their allies, and that's enough sometimes.]

Hey.

[She calls out once she's closer, figuring he'd rather her not draw everyone's attention to the injury. When she has his attention, she gestures at the wound.]

You want a hand with that?

[lotusmesenpai]

[Sleep deprivation must be finally taking it's toll if not only did he allow someone close enough to stab in the first place, but to let someone else practically follow him into his quarters on Noah.

He blinks at her with a frown before glancing at his door.

Normally Lavi would help with the clean up but... no partner means he'd have to do it himself, and he's never seen the need to waste the effort of bothering. He heals quick enough that he doesn't see the point in caring.

But at the same time... something feels off with the wound.

Normally he can feel the searing heat and burn of the nanites as they speed to the point of injury to begin repairs. This time, it's little more than a warm breath.

They really are getting less effective, huh?

Sighing, he glances back to her, the scowl still in place.]

You saw that shit?

[A beat as he watches her.]

Noah, disengage security to my quarters.

Disengaged, Yu. You seem to have a guest for once. Should I not re-establish the electrocution field after you enter?

Idiot. Just leave them down. [and under his breath because THANKS for just putting it out there that he never has guests in here, bastard.] Fucking AI.

[Without looking back, he steps in the room but leaves the door open for her to follow.]

[valr]

[Something almost like a smile plays across Kara's face at Kanda's exchange with the AI, mostly because she's not even remotely surprised that he's not the type to have guests.

But she doesn't comment on it, instead following him through the door and making the polite choice to do little more than give the room a cursory glance.]

If you got a first aid kit I can patch that up enough so you won't die before getting to a doctor.

[Despite her own enhancements, she tends to assume most people are normal.]

[lotusmesenpai]

I don't need a doctor.

[Nevermind the gaping wound in his side. He'll wear a dress and dance on the bar at the Royale before he goes to any damned doctor.

Crossing the room, he opens a cabinet door, pulls out a kit and sets it on the corner of the bed. He starts to shrug out of his jacket, frowns at the open door.]

Noah, close my door and prepare to leave. Set course for Intake.

[Last damn thing he needs is for Jack to walk by and say something that'll get the bastard shot in the neck.

Finally shrugging out of the jacket, he tosses it to the side rather than his bed, frowns down at the way the Leithian's shirt-turned-bandage is sticking to the wound, already soaked through. There's a slight wince when he pulls fabric from the wound before he finally yanks the shirt off over his head.

Now that he can see it... it doesn't look good. Just below the end of his ribs, the still weeping gash is wide, jagged, and deep.]

Fucking fanatics. This is probably going to take more than a day to heal.

[valr]

Suit yourself.

[It might be reasonable to guess that Kara would be the type to shun medical help as well, considering the situation that unfolded the last time she was majorly injured, but one bad experience doesn't undo years of help. Not that she needs that help much any more, and she's not going to push Kanda on the subject, instead shrugging at his comment.

The only thing of interest in his room is the sword on the wall - she likes weapons - but she pays it little attention when there's a medkit in front of her and a gaping wound in Kanda's side.

That's a little worse than she thought it would be, since he's been walking around with it, but his last remark clears a couple things up for her.]

Mods?

[It'll be good to know, since she can adapt what she does based on how quickly he'll heal, but for now she gets to work on grabbing what she'll need from the kit.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Grunting distractedly, Kanda shrugs a shoulder as he starts to poke at the edges to see how badly the serrated edge had shredded the skin there, the muscle beneath.

Bad enough that it'd be close to a critical wound for a human.

Enough to hurt like hell all the same.]

Nanite core, here.

[Closing his eyes while she unpacks supplies, he reaches up, places his fingertips to the center of his tattoo, and concentrates, forces the nanites into 'active heal' mode. He can feel a sharp change, as if he'd lit his blood on fire, before he opens his eyes to frown at her.]

...not marketable information, Kara.

[Military tech that hasn't technically been deemed released, Kanda has no desire to take on his former jailers at this point in time so if this gets out? He'll know where to look.]

[valr]

[Nanites mean that she likely doesn't have to worry about infection, though she has the antiseptic out just to be safe.]

I get it.

[There's - something in her tone, not sympathy but a seriousness that makes it clear she isn't going to be passing this fact on to anyone else. Even if it wouldn't risk a good professional relationship, Kara isn't the type to sell someone out for this sort of thing.]

Same boat, anyway.

[It's an offering of sorts, now he knows that she's got more going on than most, though she isn't going to disclose much more than that.]

Sit down. You want stitches?

[She can do them, but they might not be necessary; he'll know his body better than she does.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Less is more sometimes, and in this case - at the very least - it is enough. Because they're not confidants. Hell, they're not really even friends.

They're more work acquaintances, though working with her is easier than working with a fair few of the other killjoys, by far.

Still, that she'd given him ammunition as a trade in kind... it takes a measure of tension out of his frame as he moves to sit on the corner of the bed, leans back slightly to prop himself on his palms to give her better access to the wound.

Frowning at the skin, he finally just shakes his head.]

Better not to. If it's taped shut the skin should knit together easily enough.

[Cutting stitches out of skin forced to heal at an accelerated rate isn't worth the annoyance that comes of it.]