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

[riastraid]

{ ooc: working on closed stuff, but please feel free to let me know if you'd like anything for week 4 and we can work something out! }

for keith.

[riastraid]

[ It never hurts to have a rolodex of people to work with, but building that means trying some missions out together. Crafting a repertoire and seeing if any chemistry comes out of it. And sometimes it ends in disasters and no second outings—but he's seen (or heard, mostly heard) Keith around the apartment enough times that surely he's been worth a couple joint ventures. Besides, he doesn't mind tagging along with people who need the authorization to shoot a guy. Everybody starts somewhere.

Granted... this is a fair few number of warrants here. As they sort through the crowds at Eulogy—which don't seem properly afraid or contained enough considering there's a superplague about—Lancer ticks them off on his fingers. ]

—Vaccine No. 2030094-D, P4-No More—

[ At the end of his long mental list, he pauses and glances to Keith. ]

—and Vrofedilieve. Sure are a lot of cures for just one pesky disease.

[ Most of them are sugar water and pills, no doubt, maybe a couple fancy vitamin supplements thrown into the mix. There's not much of a threat to consider here, except maybe: ]

I know you were probably just playin' it safe bringing me along, but... try not to start a fight with every vendor, all right?

❤

[impulsors]

. . . I wasn't looking for a fight.

[ Only his shoulders square, his jaw juts as he consults a list that doesn't really need reading over again: twenty-six names, letters and numbers in writhing, elaborate sequences. Two lines crossed, and another two hours' work to go. One hand twitches against the urge to scrub at the back of his head where a paper fan had struck him (three times) on their way out from the last stall.

Even so: in a rebellious mutter - ]

She didn't even try to pretend her son wasn't cheating their customers.

[ An introduction to Keith: unlicensed motorcyclist, professional killjoy, quarreler with old ladies manning black market booths. ]

[riastraid]

[ Better a paper fan than some other weapons of choice with people like this. Lancer aggressively rolls his eyes, waving his hand in a flourish to the crowd. ]

Kid, look around. Everyone's a cheat.

[ Some of them probably got in with actual criminal records for fraud and forgery. Trying to pick a fight for the side of Right was a lost cause, though when he's done being melodramatic, Lancer looks sidelong to him, not without some sympathy. ]

Don't expect any honest business from these guys and it'll save you a lotta headache. [ And heartache, in some cases. ] Speakin' of— [ Here's their next dealer, a guy who fits the sleazy black market bill to a T, the brim of his hat shading his eyes but not a crooked smile. He nudges Keith towards the goods in question as he engages. ] I hear you got some product in? Got a brother on Leith who could use a pick-me-up.

[impulsors]

[ At once, the seller's all show: spreading hands and a gem-capped grin over an array of little bottles and vials on ragged synthsilk. Couldn't we all, dark times like these. So? How much pick-me-up we talking? Out here, we got nothing but your finest uppers, all the little fixes -- A snap of fingers tugs up his sleeve, and a silvery vial winks from palm to palm in easy sleight. Nothing the local forces'll mind, obvs; but if you're looking for something to keep your brother around, that depends on how big you're willing to go. ]

Big.

[ It's gone sharp before Lancer's had a chance to, possibly, adjust their footing for an opening position in the inevitable haggling. ]

We need it as big as it gets. Tell us about the biggest things you've got.

[ -- like a boy who's never played j-poker in his life. Their dealer only widens his eyes, bright to Keith's narrow glowering. Aw, but how's a humble guy supposed to know you all're on the level, yeah? ]

. . . because the rest of the mine isn't safe? Eulogy only has one level. We're standing on it.

[ This gambit in answer to a clear dig for a bribe. Send help. ]

[riastraid]

[ God, having an earnest partner in a crime den, give him strength. This amount of sincerity would be much more endearing if it weren't messing with their leverage—Lancer isn't the sort to deal in bald-faced lying much, more fond of untruths and pleasantries, but in this case it looks like it's either him or bust.

He puts a hand on Keith's shoulder as though to placate him, smile turned slightly slanted. Or strained. Depends on the angle. ]

Well, you heard my buddy—let's get to business. I gotta be honest with you though, I'm not as eager as my good friend here to keep him alive. My brother croaks, I get his inheritence. [ Lancer sighs, shrugging. ] I only picked your "cure" 'cause we heard it doesn't work a damn anyway.

[ The people in the Westies didn't have much more than a box of moth-eaten clothes to pass along to their kids, but family politicking is more than the norm in Leith. And he speaks with the proper dismissive nonchalance of a guy playing the game. The vendor looks skeptical, at once defensive ('I'll have you know,' a finger stabbed in Lancer's direction, 'we got the finest lab-grown stuff—') but already weighing his competition in his head, the undercutting scoundrels on the rest of the floor.

After some more tepid back-and-forth, Lancer still ends up forking over more joy than deserved, but (1) shiny vial rolls between his fingers shortly. He practically drags Keith by the collar out of earshot before flicking him hard against a temple. ]

All right, rule one. Never let anyone know how much you need something, they'll milk ya dry for———actually, y'know what.

[ He turns a bit straighter, vial tucked away in a thick jacket pocket along with vials 2, 7, and 15 of the day, frowning. ]

Pop quiz. What've you learned about haggling today?

[ Impress him with what you've absorbed about the black market so far. Let's see how much they have to work with—maybe he's just underestimating the poor kid. ]

[impulsors]

Don't?

[ It's only half a joke -- but it's not like Keith can't spot when he's massively outclassed, and when he shouldn't be. His fists knuckle in his pockets as he braces against a shrug. ]

. . . keep your mouth shut. You'll get more of a chance to see what the seller thinks the highest price should be that way.

for kanda.

[riastraid]

[ The cure may have been found, but a crippling pandemic doesn't get smoothed over so quickly—there's still the matter of disseminating it, and doing so quickly. Which is easier said and done. No one's exactly thrilled to go into infected areas (cure or no, there's always a risk around the sick), and those that are may not be there for altruistic reasons. The dying, desperate, and delirious would pay a premium for the right medicine right now.

Which is why even a doctor's supply transport needs some extra hands and sellswords both—hence why Lancer's on Leith today. His immune system's held strong, and there's no reason to doubt it now... though the same can't be said for everyone.

He looks over Kanda with a frown as he hops up onto their convoy. ]

You sure you should be up and about already?

[ Tough as he may be, it hasn't been that long. ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Maybe it was too many old faces, or too many faces that rang with a sense of the familiar and yet were not - but for the first time in three years, Kanda left for a job with his sword, Mugen, attached to his hip once again.

Oh, he still had both pistols, but the sword just... called to him, again.

Even so, he's brought out of his musings about the sword with Lancer's voice, his question that seems genuine. Blinking up at the man, he follows the other up into the back of the supply truck and steps to the opposite bench with a shrug.]

I'm fine.

[Since they'd both taken the cure, Lavi's been sleeping it off but Kanda - well, he's back to simply seeing the fall of lotus blooms, rather than people taunting him.

At this point, he'll count that as a win.

Crossing his legs, he pulls Mugen up to lay across his lap, his gaze sliding over the cargo before turning back to the man before him.]

I was already recovering when they started distributing this shit - Lavi's the one that needs more time, though. But you didn't get sick at all, huh?

[Is he actually showing interest? Maybe just a little...]