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

sion astal | ota + closed prompts

[sunderings]

( feel free to contact me @ avichuus or over here if you'd like a starter! i'm also totally open to wildcards, so hit me up. ♡ )

OTA | westerley, early week two.

[sunderings]

[ Betadine solution and sewing shears, bed linens and suture needles, hypochlorite for water purification and ah, what's this...? One of the three wayward gentleman who had taken keen interest in his gathering of supplies seems to have blocked his exit from Old Town's marketplace, another closing in from behind. With the influx of migrant workers newly returned, and Harvest week in full swing, it is an easy thing for organized crime to go overlooked, the Company's eyes focused instead upon revelers and rowdy drunks; the heightened possibility of illegals slipping in through the cracks. No one would notice how the third member of the trio darts in from the side, meaning to crowd Sion into the only available opening: the alleyway on his right.

But Sion doesn't move according to his assailants' design, rather he doesn't move at all, the impetus—light field—falling from his lips as his body acts as conduit for programmable matter manifest as...! ]

If you've an interest in medical supplies, might I first suggest that you express a need for them?

[ A wall of gleaming, solid light. A wall, now referred to as point 'x', where gentleman number three, affectionally dubbed object 'y', soundly collides, his nose bloodied from immediate impact. ]

Ah, I see you've taken the initiative! A broken nose is a good place to start.

[ And the injury, however minor, has left one of the criminals reeling, his two comrades hovering in brief indecision between fight or flight.

Perhaps someone will step in to hasten the decision? ]

Someone failed to study up on his anime to figure out where this scene was going

[sin_of_wrath]

[Entering the scene a bit later than most protagonists would have forgiven, Meliodas stepped out into the alley just as someone walked face first into a source of solidifed light. Blinking slowly and trying to take in the scene for what it was, the young man pointed an accusing finger at Sion, who looked absolutely calm and collected as three young looked more like the victims given their body language and uncertainty--]

Hey, pal! Are you bullying these guys?

1/2 i see it's time for shenanigans (◕‿◕✿)

[sunderings]

Eh...?!

[ Slightly offended at standing as the accused (and more so at being addressed as pal), Sion gives pause, the glittering bulwark of light he'd fashioned as a defense dissipating in the blink of an eye. While some would certainly call him bully (that demon of an administrator, and the devil who doles out paperwork!!), he is certainly not one to instigate a fight.

(Even if his air of calm, and somewhat cheeky grin hadn't helped this newcomer to think otherwise.) ]

You're mistaken—

[ He starts, unable to finish if only because where object 'y' is still gathering his wits about him, the others are thorough and equally swift in their followup, managing to wrest Sion's purchases for the day free of his grasp before making for a speedy getaway, leaving their fallen comrade to tail behind. ]

Those were medical supplies for my sister's clinic in the slums, and they will resell them with only their interests in mind.

[ Rudimentary though the supplies are, they are what is available on Westerley where the need for medics is great, and curatives greater. This, perhaps, is the Quad's most common fact...! ]

2/2

[sunderings]

And you...

[ Now this is a bullying smile, absolutely wicked in its sugar-sweet gleam. ]

...you are going to help me get them back!

[ And he's not really giving the kid much choice in the matter??? His hand forms a manacle about his new-found companion's wrist as he makes to dart forward, after the thieves with frightening (inhuman) speed. ]

[sin_of_wrath]

Hm? [Meliodas watched as the bandit in question took his chance and proceeded to run. What a guy--he profited off of Meliodas' misjudgment in record time! His instincts were definitely in good order. In awe, Meliodas even forgot to bother chasing him. Part of trying to remain somewhat incognito came with the stipulation that chasing someone down after a ten-second headstart and putting them in the ground would come with a surprisingly high amount of suspicion.

He looked to Sion, realizing the supposed 'bully' had lost his composure in that series of ridiculous events. So, scratch the idea of him being the offender in this case.

He hadn't really been paying attention to what Sion said initially. Meliodas commented aloud in mock wonder as the would-be bandits made a surprising amount of distance in a short time. The wonders fear did to a person were swiftly realized.]

Those guys sure can run fas--

[With a startle, Meliodas realized he was being dragged after them. Initially, the sudden shift in momentum was confusing but then--his feet were rapidly pattering on the ground and he wore a sudden expression of annoyance. In the next few moments, Meliodas caught up rather easily with Sion's pace, near to the point that it seemed like he was just skipping along.]

Wait, me? How is it my fault you haven't hired a bodyguard?

[sunderings]

Hire...? [ Curious, the way the boy's expression flits from awe, to surprise, then to a look of sheer vexation which should have been reserved only for a Leithian elder, yelling at rapscallions to get off my farmland. And perhaps more intriguing by far, the way his (captive!) companion falls into easy pace with his speed—to any onlooker's eyes, they'd be little more than twin streaks of silver and gold, treading the fine line between being labeled as the cause of a ruckus (or, at least, more of a ruckus than the ongoings of Harvest week!) and maintaining perfect anonymity. ] But why, when I've secured your assistance for free?

[ —there it is again, that cheeky smile, and now, a somewhat daring grin...! They are swiftly closing in upon their targets, and for Sion, a Company administrator dressed down in civilian clothes, this is something akin to ...fun? Certainly, it is more exhilarating than pushing paper all day long! ]

Get ready--

[ Because in the instant they draw close enough, pitching forward with a great burst of haste, Sion intends to see his companion (who is, perhaps, more than the boy which he seems to be) swung forward by the link of their hands, and hurled (bowled???) straight into the bandits, the men much too preoccupied with their retreat to spare anything for their own defense. ]

[sin_of_wrath]

What a smarmy guy you are. [The pace gave Meliodas a fair impression of what sort of enhancements were hidden under the fair complexion of the cheery guy dragging him around. Was it a familiar face? Meliodas, aging a fraction of the speed of what someone should have, only stood a few inches taller than the last time he stepped foot in his father's laboratory. Even so, he observed and reacted to everything going on, displaying refined experience.

He even had time to respond with the very same elder's dry tone.] I'm still not sure you aren't the bad guy, here.

[Point proven, Meliodas rolled out a sigh and curled his body inward the moment he felt Sion rear back to throw him. Anyone sane would try and shift their body to spread out the damage or at least to protect vital areas from harm but Meliodas fell into the toss like a cannonball, shifting himself in midair with a slight amount of pivoting.

His shoulder struck the back of one of the men, stealing his own momentum somewhat. The young man didn't stumble right away but he did fall straight onto his face. Meliodas helped keep him from dragging his chin on the cement by shifting and kicking him square in the back. Bouncing off of him, Meliodas sprung ahead of the two still running before they could register that they lost someone. In under two seconds, Meliodas had stopped them, struck them each three times and dropped them to the ground.

For a moment, Meliodas felt the idle tug of habit draw him into the moment, tempting him to finish the work and make sure they could never stand again but it fell into a fog in the back of his mind. A dark bruise rose on Meliodas' brow momentarily and faded back to pale skin. Dazed, but not unconscious, the muggers struggled to get their bearings as Meliodas grabbed them by their collars to drag them to the remaining third assailant(who was definitely unconscious after being hit with a fastball special).]

Poor kids. They tripped and fell over each other before I got to do a thing.

CLOSED | lapis, week three day two.

[sunderings]

[ Clack! A soft sound, the noise a pebble makes when it meets with a windowsill.

Clack! Louder, when met with a pane of glass.

Clack! And a third time cannot quite be called coincidence, not when the hour is late and the celebrations of Harvest week quieted, the many revelers newly returned from their work upon Leith fast asleep where one (1) Company man decidedly is not.

Rest has never come easily to Sion, pained by a great many things (the physical and the not-so), and with Company internal investigations well underway—Sion, himself, placed in the thick of them—what keeps him awake is the weight of the lives he carries; the thought that their sacrifice will be for naught if he is unable to fulfill his purpose.

(To find his mother and to see Westerley free; to preserve something soft, gentle, and carefree as the day when he had first met Lapis upon Leith, their hands linked by the promise of something better.)

Clack! One more throw, and if it should go unanswered, Sion will take his leave of his friend's residence for the night without disturbing her slumber.

(Though in his heart, he hopes that she might wake; that he might be able to glimpse her face before he takes his leave for the moon they once both called home.) ]

[oneirism]

[The first clack gets Lapis to blink, briefly looking up from the book in her hands, before her attention turns back to it.

The second gets her to lift her head for longer, eyes focusing on her window now. Watching for a moment, before her eyes glance back at the book.

The third convinces her this isn't just some random noise, and she she stands, hands absently smoothing out the fabric of the sweater dress as she watches the window.

So when the fourth clack comes, she sees the pebble hitting against the glass - no hesitation in her movements as she opens the window, sticking her head out to find the source.

Gold eyes widen when she spots who it is, a mix of relief and concern washing through her as she leans a bit further out the window. Glad to see that Sion is doing well, but she can't help but worry what brings him here so late.]

Sion? [She leans out a bit more, her hair trailing over her shoulders as she peeks over at her friend.]

What brings you here?

[sunderings]

Ah...?

[ Head cant, to the side. Like a child caught with their hand in the proverbial jar of sweets, Sion rocks back and forth upon his feet, his weight shifting from toebox to heel in precise rhythm atop the dirt-paved street. And then, his moment of sheepishness blossoms into a smile; a simple happiness of seeing her, his friend, bathed in what slivers of starlight manage to sneak in through Old Town's cityscape.

A finger tapping lightly to his cheek, he gives a decisive nod of his head before he answers, honest and innocently forthright: ]

I couldn't sleep?

[ Though as to why, he'll not readily confess: far be it from him, to burden her with such a thing—Lapis, who he had just reunited with; whose inquisitive gaze seems to always inspire his mischief where her concern plucks at his heartstrings.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle enough not to be overheard, but certainly strong enough to reach her ears: ]

My apologies, for calling upon you at so very late an hour, but I wished to tell you something. [ And though there is some distance between them, Lapis just may catch a flash of impishness to his smile: ] May I come in?

[oneirism]

[Lapis just watches as he rocks back and forth on his feet, head still tilted curiously - but his smile is one that's easily returned, even as curious gold eyes keep watching him. His words get a soft chuckle, but a dubious raise of her brows, not believing that that's all these is to it.

But she keeps waiting patiently, still smiling softly as she listens to him - only to then blink at his request. Not hesitating to nod as she leans back a bit from the window, gold still watching him for a moment longer.]

Yes, of course. Give me a second. [With that, she vanishes from the window - the sound of doors opening and closing echoing through the air for a moment. Before the door just to the side of Sion opens, her head now peeking out of there.]

Alright, come in. [Once he steps in, she leads him up the darken staircase, briefly illuminated by a flickering light. Soon opening another door that leads into her apartment - small by cosy, with a mis-mash of plants, ornaments and books covering most empty surfaces. There's a small couch in the room, bright, covered in pillows and well-used, which Lapis motions him to.]

Here, sit down. [Pause.] I don't usually have people over much, but do you want a drink of anything? I only have water and tea though.

[sunderings]

[ While he'd been well aware of the location his friend had come to call home, Sion hadn't imagined a day when he might pay her visit there until the very instant when he'd looked up after beginning to walk (for how long had he navigated the twists and turns of Old Town, his thoughts turned pensive and consuming?) and found himself beneath Lapis' windowsill. And now... now she leads him inside, revealing a small space decorated with an artistic, eclectic touch, and no less than seven plants.

Lapis, this place is yours...?

Perhaps just a touch amazed by the bright swaths of well-worn fabric and hand-picked ornaments (the idea of permanence and the ownership of things which brought one joy), Sion hesitates for the breadth of a moment before setting foot further into Lapis' home.

This place where he suddenly (remarkably) feels at ease.

And then, then he is told to sit down, but true to his inquisitive nature, he remains on his feet, his golden eyes memorizing all there is to this room; this second in time. ]

Tea would be lovely. [ —his voice rings, soft-touched with notes of awe. But then...! ] If you give me direction, I can set some to steep.

[ It is the very least one can do, after all, so soon after showing up for a visit unannounced. ]

[oneirism]

[Despite how Lapis presented herself as calm and so, well, flat, most of the time, she always figures it's a surprise for people when they see her apartment. The idea of living somewhere bland has never been appealing, especially after spending all her childhood in that lab. Though she's never really had many people over in the first place.

But now she does have a guest, one that's a close friend, and so she sets up tidying the place up a bit. Which isn't too effective when most surface are already covered in something - but she at least manages to clear some space from the small coffee table by the couch.

Gold eyes then glance back at Sion, not surprised he's still standing - or that he offers to make the tea. Placing her hands on her hips now as she looks up at him, giving a slight shake of her head - clearly determined to stand her ground about this.]

You're the guest, Sion. So I'll make the tea and you sit down. [She cares little for how he turned up unannounced, instead simply glad to see him. And so she wants to try to be a good host!]

CLOSED | julius, week three day seven.

[sunderings]

[ Long before the number of those lost to the pandemic rose, the Company had begun to dig, enforcers putting shovel and spade to Leithan greenery in order to accommodate ten, fifty, then a hundred some dead. Among them, Sion stood as a lone note of dissonance, passing over corpses and knowing them as men, women, and children, all deserving of so much more than this—a mass grave hollowed out as a fire pit.

Where his men keep their distance, fearful of contracting the infection, Sion is made dauntless by the knowledge of his own synthesized biology, made to withstand both injury and disease, as well as the simple action of pressing a lily into a child's hands before the body is delivered into the grave alongside the rest.

"We are waiting for your mark, sir." someone urges, and Sion catches sight of their silhouette from the corner of his eye as he rises, wordlessly granting the request to proceed with a nod of his head, his gaze turned skyward as the dead are doused with petrol, the smell of it masking the scent of death and the early stages of decay.

(There are so, so very many dead.)

He turns, then, to an enforcer—Julius, who is not under his jurisdiction, but shares this assignment all the same—who stands solemn; who carries a flare pistol in hand. ]

As soon as the area is clear. [ Then, the petrol may be lit. Then, there will be a new pit of bodies.

A bow of his head: ] May they find better fortune in rebirth.

[tousei]

[ For the most part, Julius had played the role of stability amongst the agents working here. Most of them were afraid even underneath their containment equipment - some making it obvious, some hiding them beneath masks and goggles, yet there was a certain stiffness to their actions that lent suggestion to their true feelings.

He stands amongst them, a lone Enforcer figure dressed in black and gold, grey eyes intense yet somehow vacant. There were too many dead, and the only way he could steel himself was to detach his soul altogether. Unlike what his demeanour suggested, he shares much of Sion's thoughts - yet, still unable to express them lets his entire facade shatter like glass. ]

May they, indeed.

[ A salute is offered, the only sign of emotion that he allows himself to express before he raises the gun and fires. The flare traces out a short arc in the air, glittering until it impacts and fills the pit with dancing flames.


And so it ends. ]

[sunderings]

[ From beginning to end, he does not look away—the enforcer's salute (veneration for the dead), the bright arc of the flare (a guiding light in its shape), and the inferno which gives rise in their wake bleeding together into a nightmare that eclipses his vision, and still... still he stands, commending the dead with a stance which is proud, and eyes which will never forget the image seared into them—

(The fire burns, flesh blistering over to black, its heat immense, and in the flames Sion glimpses a landscape which can only be worlds away: the color of the sky shifting from green to grey, he recognizes the place as a battlefield, fraught with bodies, good men and women who still lived, still breathed, but were maligned by a curse, twisted into some grotesque shape.)

—nor the magnitude of the loss.

There are no more words, no prayers to say, only tears which streak down the Director's cheeks as he staggers, sways much too close to the flame, his golden eyes reflecting only the great blaze.

(And as the curse spread indiscriminately throughout enemy and allied ranks, a King recognized the need to erase them, those humans who had been made into sacrifices, carriers for the curse and its plague. Rather than lose more to its clutches, the King then decreed that all those who lost the ability to reason, their minds gone and their bodies forfeit, be burned by his flame.

Because the had been such a need.

Because it had been something which must be done in order to progress.

The King «Sion Astal» he--... )

]

They did not die meaninglessly. [ Blinking the waking dream back from his eyes, he turns to Julius with tear-trails upon his cheeks, saline collected along his jawline. Shattered, he may have been for a moment, but in being so, he has found his strength; strength, for those who no longer could rally for themselves or the loved ones they'd left behind. ] Someone will answer for this.

Justice will be done.

[tousei]

[ While Sion dreams, he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the bonfire now roaring before them. The smell stings only a little against his eyes, grey looking forward and through the dancing flames towards an indeterminate point to the horizon. Already the features of the dead are becoming hard to make out, mangled and melded together in the fire - a fire of purgatory, a fire of erasure.

And not for the first time her voice rings in his head.

"Cleanse this filthy world... my son, my one and only, raze it all to ash."

So it's with a measure of surprise that he turns to listen to Sion speak - surprise at the other's tears locked from his expression but not his eyes, the barest lift of his eyebrows before he settles into his previous solemn expression, his figure cut black against the flames and Sion's shining white. ]

Justice will be done.

[ He echoes the other's statement - voice quiet in contrast, yet still firm. So many have died, and it's easier to focus on the task ahead than on what's happened. He only prays that he will still find the strength to do so, when all this is over.

In silence he retrieves a handkerchief out of one pocket and offers it to the other. It's a piece of plain fabric, though its texture will immediately identify it as one of expensive make. ]

[sunderings]

[ Though the Enforcer's voice falls soft as ash, the echo of his shared sentiment is resonant, profound like the offering of a handkerchief, the fabric extended to the Director with a measure of (humanity) understanding not often seen within the ranks of the Company.

Strange, that when Sion reaches out, it is almost as though he is the one offering comfort, his fingers curling about Julius' own with a gentle-strong grace so that the other man might hold fast to the square of fabric, knowing that the gesture had been appreciated (and perhaps undeserved), but that also--...

That handkerchief is not for Sion to take. ]

Will you walk with me, instead? [ Despite all appearances and his ever-regal, ever-proud stance, Sion's heart thrums like a thing alive in his chest, his thoughts in tumult, still, from the vision which he'd glimpsed. Hallucinations are a marker of the infection which had claimed the lives of all those wreathed now in flame, but Sion knows better than any: his body cannot catch ill. He has never taken sick. (So then, what had it been...?) ] I dare not dry my eyes, for I...

[ For just a moment, the liquid gold of his gaze shifts from Julius to the pit of flame, the smell of flesh, the stink of smoke, and the acridity of the fire seeming to stick to every inch of him.

(As though he bore some responsibility; as if he had been the one to decree that all be burned.) ]

Do not wish to lose sight of them. [ He releases Julius' hand with a parting squeeze of his fingers, falling back a step as he considers the man standing before him: a solemn expression, a stoic countenance, and something guarded; something which held his own heart protected. ]

You have my thanks, Julius.

[ Julius, he pronounces with surety, for he has processed the man's clearances before. That they've not met for more than a moment's passing in the field is by and large due to circumstance—perhaps, they were always meant for more than idle discussion in the Company's tower. ]

[tousei]

[ Julius holds his posture unmoving as Sion speaks, only letting his arm drop back to his side after the other lets go. The Director seems to be having a moment, and it's nowhere within his rights to interfere. Not when his own thoughts have not been sorted out yet. ]

I will. Let us walk.

[ He doesn't feel confident to offer any consolation, at least with verbal means. What he can offer, however, is his company, and his stoic unjudging quiet. If it will help at all, then he will give it; even if it's for someone he's barely met.

Any small help that can be given should be given. Perhaps one day, these small acts will cleanse the blood from his hands a little. ]

wildcard | party on westerley

[mayora13]

[OOC: let me know if there's anything I need to change ;u;b]

[Receiving a summons on his day off isn't unusual, unfortunately, but it doesn't give him any hope for his budding headache. He'd been sitting in his room, attempting to find the right rerun, when the call came through.

Vague, as it always was.

And here he'd thought he'd get some writing - work related, of course - done today. Because what's a day off how do you do that?

He approaches the meeting room with a sigh, the slacks and shirt of his uniform his clothes for the day, unidentifiable among a crowd but still standard-issue.] You called?

[sunderings]

( ooc; this is great, thank you !! )

[ A day off.

Fact: Sion Astal is under no illusions that one, Hijikata Toushirou, would spend a day off—a holiday well earned, however much the man is reportedly 'disliked'—to repair a report-writing deficit.

Fact: Having taken a shine to the man's work ethic and skill, the Director has appointed himself to carrying out the task of bestowing a 'gift' upon the Officer, something difficult to see and impossible to grasp; something like... ]

So I did. [ ...the warmth of a cordial greeting upon being welcomed into a conference room. Sion Astal is an unusual man, perhaps even rivaling Hijikata himself, efficient but 'too kind' for field work, and as such, someone sequestered away to management and a desk. ] You are the most reliable man I know, Hijikata.

[ In this facet, at least—the one where the man leaves no Company meeting unattended, no stone unturned. ]

Though we are pressed by our own internal audits and affairs, we cannot afford to lose sight of that which surrounds us. [ And here, a slightly apologetic smile. ] As such, I would be grateful for your help in investigating a string of crimes which has recently plagued Old Town.

[mayora13]

[Hijikata regards the 'gift' of a too-friendly greeting with the same impassive stare he'd entered the room with. The warmth in his superior's voice does nothing to melt the icy glaze in his eyes, a mark of the impartial professionalism expected of him.

A compliment he doubts is without expectation is hardly fulfilling to hear, though he takes the confirmation of his performance with a stiff nod. He's not going to argue-

He's the most reliable man he knows too.

And the man he's looking at is the most personable official he knows. The bar's not high, but Sion has never made him want to beat his head into a wall. Would today be the day?]

Of course. Will you be briefing me now? [No mention of his day off and no mention of the bulk of other work he's had piled on him during the audit. It's almost as if he welcomes the directive - something to do with his day aside from pour over the minutiae in paperwork.]

[sunderings]

With pleasure. [ —rings the Director's reply, seamless and without missing a beat. Where Hijikata trends toward the realm of all things dispassionate, Sion is nothing if not candid (pleasantly so!), gesturing for the Officer to please, take a seat with a small flourish of wrist before he procures not one, certainly not two, but most assuredly t h r e e dossiers on local businesses, the documents detailing the losses sustained by each in a fantastic string of robberies. ]

The general store, [ Quite renowned for its 'old fashioned' soda pop. ] the Encore lounge, [ An establishment catering to 'karaoke' enthusiasts. ] and the clinic in the northern quadrant of the slums...

[ A clinic, but also home to the most charming creature in the Quad, a dog by the name of Umbra. It may not be a fact widely known to most, but Umbra's "welcome home" barks and "I am happy to meet you" licks are guaranteed to glean a smile from even the most stoic of men...!!

Even Hijikata does not stand a chance. ]

...all have had supplies taken from their storerooms, and by my personal request, I ask that you investigate each location and unearth the thread of commonality between them.

[ Here, there is a thoughtful pause; a gleam of knowing golden eyes. ]

But perhaps more importantly, I would have you take me as your partner for the day. [ Eh??? But Director??? You issue clearances, delegate Enforcer patrols, and manage training operatives??? What good are you on the ground, anyway? ] It is not often that I've the chance to take on field work, and I would be remiss if I did not seize this opportunity.

[ And then, a joke: ] You'll look after me, won't you?

oh no that dog he's doomed

[mayora13]

[Chipper production of three files should grate on Hijikata's nerves, but he takes his seat with only the smallest of resigned sighs. It's precisely because he doesn't hate the other man's manner that he suspects the authenticity of each pleasantry, though he frowns in the face of false platitudes as well.

Not air-headed and ignorant to the atmosphere nor a false presentation for personal gain, Sion's personality is difficult to dislike. But maybe today would be the day.

Hijikata drags the dossiers across the desk to himself, flipping through the information provided as he listens to the briefing. He recognizes the general store, he's purchased tobacco there before, but the lounge and clinic are unfamiliar. Those files receive deeper perusal; he looks up only after his mission is stated.

But he doesn't have time to utter a standard 'understood' and begin his work. Instead he catches something in Sion's eyes that makes him pause-

The secret kept is immediately revealed, but Hijikata can't hide his concern. The man's eyebrows furrow, head tilting in the first expression he's worn since he walked into the room.] Mmhm- [It would be insubordinate to argue, so even with his suspicion of the other's physical capabilities pressing in his mind, Hijikata agrees with a clear of his throat.

Accepting though he's forced to be, there are necessary questions-

He takes that joke seriously.] Will you be bringing a weapon? [First and foremost - though he's not sure if a 'yes' or 'no' would be more worrisome.]