Chapter 2

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 2, Day 5 - Week 4, Day 6
Summary: Chapter 2 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
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Poisoned Well

With the heir delivered and Lady Derrish returning to health, balance has been maintained amongst the Nine. Swift and efficient - and, some would say, unbelievable - medical attention administered may have steadied the Lady's life, but for those in the ruling houses, the atmosphere of tenuous peace only grows thicker. Land Kendry has launched an investigation - with particular focus on Land Hyponia - into the source of the 'attack' on Lady Derrish's health. Of course, that is only the surface, and some suggest, with hushed voices, that there may be more to Land Kendry's goals than to weed out an assailant. Land Hyponia has long since been in support of maintaining the Seventh Generation Accords, which it defends staunchly against any opposition. One of the most agitated among those in disagreement with the Accords is Land Kendry. Now is the perfect opportunity for them to rearrange the pieces in their favor, and with the information they've fabricated, they'll be able to replace the head of Land Hyponia with someone who is - at least hopefully - more pliable to their agenda. The Derrish have their own suspicions, the cure surfacing all too conveniently timed to have been a coincidence. When Land Kendry's investigation procures evidence pointing to Land Hyponia as the culprits, inflaming the crime with implied - yet vague - ties to the resistance, the Derrish publically accept the accusation. Behind closed doors, the solution seemed to have come as uncannily easily as the cure, and suspicions only rise. But for now, the two houses remain allied - ready to use one another for their own interests. For those among the nobility, it's the time to reevaluate alliances, assuring the old and gathering the new. The more support you have, the safer you are - unless, of course, you chose the wrong friend. Some turn to other members of the nobility, some to the RAC for hired guards, some to the Company to mandate investigations unsuitable for Killjoys, and some may even turn to the underbelly of society to accomplish anything necessary to stay on top. Or to simply stay alive.

The Company: Cleaning House

There will be no accolades, and no rest, for the hard working Company officials following the response to the True Leithan attacks. Assignments shift from one thing to the next, moving from bureaucratic nightmare to bureaucratic nightmare. While there’s always busy work to distract from the intrigue behind the scenes, it’s not liable to be any safer. Some officials will be charged with maintaining peace and order on Leith, as the outbreak of a pandemic slowly spreads over the moon. From helping the afflicted find their way to a place of treatment, to safe and efficient body disposal—burning corpses by the hundreds—to attempting to track down the source of the virus, it's best anyone assigned here take heed ‘lest they find themselves falling ill as well. Westerley, on the other hand, is a different kind of headache. With Harvest Week in swing, most company officials will be reaching for a drink of their own at the end of their shifts. Rowdy workers celebrating their time off, spending their hard earned Joy frivolously, and citizens whisked away by the atmosphere of celebration all mingle throughout Old Town. Property damage, fighting, less than subtle illegal activity, and crowding all become more of an issue than they usually are during this time. It's the perfect setting to lay down the law, or to not be noticed by it. On top of it all, each and every member of the Company's workforce can expect to have their documents double and triple-checked. Those with any suspected ties to Leith are likely to undergo a more serious investigation. One-on-one interrogations become common practice, and whether you're trusted or suspect, you may come face to face with a companion in your duties. True Leithan sympathizers are what the Company review is after, but anything else unturned will surely not be ignored. Cover your bases.

Westies: Harvest Week

Harvest week is in full swing throughout Westerley - visa workers have been shuttled back in droves from their time on Leithian farms, many of whom were willing to take some of their observations to information brokers for a price. Most had superficial information to sell (the state of unease on the average farm due to the impending Accords, the increased suspicion that the migrant workers were forced to endure, the fear of retaliation by the rebellion for the True Leithian attacks), others with reports of increased security and weapons caches on the farms of those whose sympathies lie with the “heroes” of the attack in Old Town. Old Town, however, is even more of a chaotic mesh of humanity with the mass influx of returning bodies. Bars stay busy day and night, the hokk and ale flow almost faster than most can keep up, and many Enforcers and Killjoys alike can make a good bit of extra joy (or free drinks) by moonlighting as security at the more popular locations. Despite all of the fun to be had, there is still the undercurrent of unrest, because Company checks have increased even more and Intake has become a revolving door of petty criminals being held for the smallest infractions. Everyone is on edge as the Resistance grumbles and the Nine search the shadows for something or perhaps someone. The unrest only worsens once Leith is placed under quarantine. And through it all, criminal activity is on the rise. Somehow, despite the strict regulation and transport of migrant workers, there is an increased access to Jakk and Bliss. Norn has an ever growing market, and weapons dealers are in high demand both in Eulogy and by private buyers alike. Something is brewing beneath the revelry, and no one wants to be caught unable to defend themselves, it seems. Not that any amount of firepower can defend against disease when P43X shows up on W3D7--but it can certainly make the symptoms worse.

True Leithians: Second Stage

Wounded and pressed to a corner, the beast rears its head and bares a maw of teeth and ruthless pursuit. The True Leithian organization does not take pause to mend wounds left in the wake of last week’s retaliation, no. They do not seek the comfort of safe haven and recovery. Instead they turn their anger and fear inward, sacrificing their own for what they believe to be the greater good. On Week 2, Day 6, three individuals slip into the crowds of Leith, mingling with the revelers and the families celebrating Harvest Week. They share smiles and laughter, they share conversation and drinks, but most importantly, they share infection. Each of the three is responsible for disseminating P43X, a viral bioweapon designed by Zan Nikora on behalf of the military in years past. During its conception, the aim of P43X was simple: to create a weapon which could demoralize and destabilize an entire population within a matter of days. To create madness that builds in the blood and eats into the brain, spreading through every tier of society. And though its use has long been out of commission, its engineer has lingered. Zan Nikora, kidnapped and held under threat of death not to himself but to those he holds dearest, is made to choose between the lives of his family on Westerley or the strangers on Leith. His choice is obvious, though far from easy. Reassembling the buried curse takes time, supplies, and testing. He is provided amply with the last two but scarcely with the first. But still he complies. When his madness maker is complete and his existence becomes a potential loose end, it’s not freedom that Zan Nikora tastes, but the poison of his own medicine. Only once the voices in his head have risen above whispers and turned to screams, when his mind can no longer hold secrets worth sharing, does he see his family again. It takes six days*. Six days and Zan Nikora stumbles through Old Town, eyes unseeing, mind riddled with disease—infection spreading. Mod Note: *W3D6. Cure and vaccines will be developed and disseminated beginning on W4D3, but will not be fully administered to all locations until W4D5.

Leith: Pocket Posies

Harvest Week in Leith marks a period of joy and relief. Bazaars are open longer, the ordinary bustle of the business day replaced with celebration and festivities throughout the evening hours. Vendors offer games for adults and children alike, the sky is a constant wash of soft pinks, purples, and greens from holographic firework shows, and music fills the air from different stages. All walks of life are welcome to join in the merriment, just so long as they have the right to be there. Anyone suspected of an invalid visa or citizenship papers are dealt with harshly, but quietly. Tucked away into the darkness of a holding cell like all of Leith’s more problematic elements. It is a time of peace and relief, this week, and they will not abide disruption. But within the hallowed days of celebration, a sickness grows, incubating. Spreading. First, it begins with an ache deep within the muscles. The body tires too quickly, the flesh burns with a blanket of rising fever. Whispers skirt at the edge of hearing, unintelligible but audible, filling the audio cortex with illusions and lies. Food loses its appeal, though the body yearns dearly for energy it cannot hold, and breathing becomes tighter, harder. Next the tide of high fevers, of lethargy. The brain devolves into paranoia and mania, the mind races with delusions and hallucinations. Pain follows, a pain that seems to emanate from every nerve without relief or pause, seeping through the muscles and aching within the very bones of a person. Some may wish for death, and for many, that wish will be granted in an unending sleep when the fatigue pulls darkness across the mind, plunges the last thoughts of a person into static slumber. But not all will succumb so readily, and therein is the weakness that ultimately shelved P43X during its initial creation. Its impacts are not uniform—while much of the population suffers dearly, most are sustained with timely medical interventions, and many others recover with the prowess of their own immune system. For Leith, bountiful in money and supplies, most of P43X’s more fatal properties are circumvented or delayed. But even in this lush world of affluence and peace, there are the poor, the underprivileged, and the weak. They are not afforded the same haste of care, the same salvation. Instead, they’re given graves of sanitizing fires, and their bodies turn to ash.

Resistance: Sleeping Dogs

The chaos of the festivities that go along with Harvest Week provides the perfect cover for the Resistance to begin moving once again. New cells need to be formed in the wake of so many executions and new members need to be recruited. Info brokers with Resistance-leaning sympathies have an opportunity to make a little extra joy by putting the disconnected sympathizers in contact with one another, aiding the vetting of Company insiders that need new handlers within the organization. For Resistance members already embedded within, they need to work now to find new locations to store what supplies remain and to begin rebuilding the stockpiles of weapons and supplies re-confiscated by the Company. Some may have heard of abandoned mines or facilities that can be retrofitted out in the Badlands while others are needed to track down rumors of Company made fallout shelters located within the under-city tunnels. For this, Company moles are essential - the only hope of accessing these shelters is with long forgotten Company passcodes. And the Scarbacks, well. Everyone’s heard rumors that there are many within their ranks willing to help with recruitment and contraband transportation, though there’s little the Company can do to restrict their movements at this time. Because of this, Scarbacks may also be the only ones that have a chance of getting into Leith once the quarantines go into effect. Those already aligned with the rebellion will be tasked with coordinating supply movements, making a deal or three with the devil on behalf of those unwilling to back down from the promises of the Accords. Caution and purpose should drive their movements because if the True Leithian attack is any indication… those nationalists are not going to let go of their precious land and status without a long, bloody fight.

The RAC: Holding Pattern

Warrants still flow in with a regular consistency - enough to keep the average team or agent quite busy. Every harvest season there are visa jumpers that need to be caught and low-level warrants claiming petty theft from farms by Westie migrants. The increasing number of disturbances and crimes in Old Town guarantee a plethora of local warrants to capture criminals across the moon or those that managed to escape an Enforcer’s arrest. Some, however, have either been requested by Seyah Kendry herself or volentold by their seniors within the RAC to conduct investigations into the attack on the Nine. And not all of these investigations are on the Lady’s behest. Some of the Nine aren’t quite willing to take Land Kendry’s word as law and have quietly requested their own investigations into the attack in Old Town and the Land Derrish misfortunes. (MOD NOTE: There will be a comment thread for teams to sign up for the specialized plot related warrants on the monthly warrant post, located HERE. Once teams have posted for a plot warrant, the mods will give them a location and focused assignment.)

Comments

iggy.

[ex_infantry157]

[ it is not of his own volition, that he occupies the royale. though his station within the company is moderately high, there are some duties that fall universally. duties that are less than desirable, and leave him to supervise the special breed of drunks that make themselves known only on harvest week. normally the patrons of old town are quick to comply when faced with a company officer, some are rowdy, resentful surely but most eventually bow down to the greater power. there is something different in the air during harvest week, the hok flows more freely, and those prone to dissent are spurred to action. it makes the bold, bolder.

the lights of the club flicker and pulse with the music playing, and it is only broken by the sound of glass shattering, voices raising, two telltale signs that there is a fight going to break out. some new to westerly pause to stare at the spectacle, while others who have inhabited old town long enough do not do so much as bat an eyelash even when the verbal fight escalates to physical blows.

it is tempting to leave the situation be, as much as the company are rumored to enjoy asserting their own power, he is loathe to do so for something as trivial as a bar brawl. but it appears intervention may be a necessity given how the situation escalates.

it takes him only a minute to push through the throng of people, to grasp one offender by the scruff of his neck, and pull him away from the other. as he had thought, this one reeks of drink, as if he had been doused in his. his own expression twists into one of distaste as he protests he didn’t start this— ] I do not care who started it, only that it ends.

[ he releases the man, pushes with his prosthetic arm, sending him tumbling towards the entrance to the club. ] Take your leave, now.

[ the brawl circumvented leaves himself the new spectacle of the club, and as much as he may wish it, he can no longer return to the corner he occupied. instead he sinks down onto a barstool, slides his attention to the barkeep. ]

A drink, something strong.

[equerry]

[ This is not the first brawl to begin this week— in fact, it's not even the first to break out today— but Ignis always gives it part of his attention nevertheless. They have Killjoys hired to take care of these things, extra bouncers making sure things don't get too out of hand, but Ignis knows this can only go so far. He needs to be more aware than most because he can't look and see the collateral damage coming his way. Ignis must always be one step ahead.

When someone unfamiliar decides to break it up, it gets more of his attention. The Royale is a sea of orange and red, body heat overlapping over body heat, but the man's artificial arm makes him stand out.

That, and his cadence. It's familiar, in a way he can't place just yet.

Ignis busies himself serving the Harvesters who didn't bother getting from the counter before the man with the false arm is sitting to his right. When Ignis "looks" at him, his attention seems to be somewhere over his shoulder, even if he addresses the man directly. ]

Do you intend to walk, or crawl out of the bar?

[ex_infantry157]

[ there is a moment of silence between the moment the question is posed and when he answers where he scrutinizes the man in front of him. it has been a long time, since someone has challenged him so overtly. within the walls of the company, the threats are less direct, layered with subtleties that he finds it irritating to decipher. in a way, the question ( a threat no doubt ) is refreshing in lieu of the nightmare that has befell the organization, leaving every official open to questioning and potential charges of treason.

his voice is even, betrays none of his thoughts, may even sound a bit bored. ] You forget yourself, barkeep.

Papers and visa where I can see them, now.

[equerry]

[ The throb of silence that stretches between them gives Ignis a sense of exactly what he's dealing with. Some officials respond positively to this sort of bar talk, while others are unsure what to make of it and become defensive immediately. Ignis finds that as a barkeep, he certainly gets away with much more loose talk than he does when working as a chef, even with Company enforcers. ]

Apologies. [ He tilts his head magnanimously, lifting a hand to his breast pocket to pull out his phone, swiping it one handed before laying it on the counter. A citizen of Leith, but with a perfectly valid working permit. He even pays his taxes. While letting the man see that he's legal, Ignis turns to pour the official a drink— far from what is strongest, since it's clear that despite what he might have said that isn't what he's here seeking. ] Is this your first Harvest Week on Westerley?

[ex_infantry157]

[ a quick glance at the offered phone is enough to discern that the work permit is valid, he supposes that he may have reacted too quickly, assumed malign intent from the man before him when there appears to be none. it has him on edge, the amount of people swarming through the streets, the disorderly nature of it all. the military was the opposite, everyone moved with a purpose— there was no time for leisure, and the behavior shown here was hardly tolerated by superiors. the infantry, his squad, were meant to be his brothers, and they interacted with each other as such, but his nature ( unpleasant, cold at times ) pulled him away from such things. camaraderie. he was never inclined to joke, or banter, and was only dedicated to the service. to carrying out each mission with efficiency, trying not to think of who he was ultimately serving.

everything traces back to the nine, everything he had done then, what he does now acting as law enforcement in the royale when he would rather turn his attentions elsewhere.

there is another thing that makes him uneasy, that pricks uncomfortable at the back of his consciousness. that something about this man is familiar. his instincts are hardly ever wrong, and he knows now that he originates from leith. odd that he would end up here, as most are striving in the opposite direction. to move upwards from poverty, to a chance at something better.

his attention is now more on this encounter, then the bar around them. ] Not my first, no. I doubt it will be my last. It is the duty of those in the Company stationed here to maintain order. Even when attempting to do so is an exercise in futility.

[ one that he does not enjoy, that much is probably apparent in the rigid line of his back. the distaste written in his posture. ]

It is up to each individual however, how seriously they take the assignment.

[ some do more than others, that much is also obvious, given how a number of enforcers have taken the opportunity to become part of the celebrations instead of policing them. ]

How is it that a man native to Leith ends up here serving drinks?

[equerry]

[ The drink is set on the counter, a warm amber colour poured over ice. With the low, strobe lighting of the bar, the beauty of it is somewhat lost. Ignis can't see it, of course but he's had it described to him and he has a vivid imagination with no other input. From the tone of this man's voice, he can assume a handful of things about his character: that he disapproves, that he's unhappy with his station, that he likely would prefer to be literally anywhere else but here in this moment. Thus far Ignis hasn't been able to discern whether this distaste comes from disdain to the lower class, or a distraction.

These things are more difficult, when one can't read body language. ]

It seems an easy thing to get carried away.

[ After all, Ignis has been privvy to a number of company officials that started with the intention to work and later stumbled up to his bar laughing and asking for another round. It isn't his place to judge. So long as they offer the joy, he's here to serve. ]

A long and unpleasant story. [ That the man, at a glance, doesn't seem to recognize his surname either means that the rumour of his family's disgrace hasn't reached as far as he thought or this individual simply wasn't concerned with those kinds of affairs. He lifts a hand to push up his glasses. ] My services were no longer needed on Leith, but there is always room for a cook and mouths to feed in Old Town.