Chapter 3

[thenine]

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

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

The Nine: Promises Unmade

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

The Company: Balancing Act

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

Westies: Tidal Force

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

True Leithians: Rested Laurels

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

Leith: Olive Branch

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

Resistance: Sacred Grove

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

The RAC: New Grade

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

Comments

[brokeassgoing]

[if he can keep his mouth shut then maybe he will be the getaway driver.

He's got his own gun drawn at a moment's notice, and though the sound doesn't produce any enemies, his mouth droops. Badou hates this, he hates it so much; how his heart buckles in his chest and how the nostalgia cloys in his nose, practically. Its too much.

After a moment, the gun lowers to his side.]

Nope, go back to the drawing board. [its pretty bad Lavi] Next one, then. [in this abundance of shitty tunnels]

✘ Hanzo

[mayora13]

[Sweat runs down the back of Hijikata's collar, one hand brandishing his weapon and the other tangled in a protester's shirt. He shouts, his face already red from the prior arrests he's made, and the rioter only sneers back a practiced line: Company dog!

Hijikata forces the man to the ground, three blows given easily to press the dissenting face into the pavement hard enough to cut off any more misguided comments.

Some members of the Resistance had stolen Company equipment, including standard uniform - and the heist had won them extra time on the street, confusion between uniforms and disguises allowing the riot enough time to grow large enough to require back up.

Hijikata reported when the bubble had been burst, arrests already made in large sweeps, and the way he plays his part is methodical. Until the crowd begins to shift and churn, bodies pressing against one another with an unintelligible chant. They're moving - he's swept with them. Even felling bodies doesn't stop the flow, a trample for escape forcing him to stay upright or be obliterated by the stampede.

Only once they've traveled out of the city center does the group splinter, the largest part pulling him into a warehouse, down a flight of rusty stairs, and into a dimly lit room.] What- [People settle into a circle, and quickly Hijikata does the same.

He's outnumbered. A congratulatory pat on the shoulder is all he needs to put the situation together. They think he's one of them. Shit- Is there anyone else? He scans the room, looking for any Company face he recognizes.]

✘ Badou

[mayora13]

[What a terrible time for his damn certification to come up for renewal. There's no good time for this, Hijikata knows, but he'll be begrudging about the ordeal anyway. After his Company review had come out clean, he'd been left with completing the final step himself.

Showing up, in person, to have his photograph re-taken and to verify his signature. It's basically space BMV - the wait infamous for being the singular most boring thing in the universe.

Hijikata has taken his number and his seat, the hard plastic chair driving discomfort into his back with every tick of the clock. They call a number: 74 and he glances to his slip of paper: 56.

His foot taps the ground. But his frustration can't work itself through physical fidgeting alone. Hijikata reaches for a cigarette, but the moment he places it between his lips an attendant approaches, places her hand on his shoulder, and points to the 'no smoking' sign.

That cigarette has no chance, crushed to a ball in his fist.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Not bad, but... You really think so?

[Dry amusement warms the question, though he has to admit she has the degree of trained skill to back up the confidence. (Whether that skill has been sufficiently combat tested and forged is another question, and one he doesn't have enough information to determine with any real clarity.)


The ability to assess the level of strength shown thus far, his reach, and which blows she could take and which to block so quickly definitely indicates a keen mind and an armed proficiency that any evaluator should find acceptable.

Not that he's going to tell her that, just yet.

Instead, he raises to his feet, catches his center, and then leaps straight towards her without hesitation to deliver a near inhumanly quick flurry of jabs and thrusts. Because if she can read him while they're locked close, he's not going to give her the opportunity to put distance between them, develop a full strategy of attack.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Fuck that shit.

[Without hesitation, Kanda reaches down between them and, without even the faintest change in expressions, wraps his hand around the back of the interloper's head and slams it down, hard, against the bar.

He doesn't even watch as the body slumps to the ground.

He does arch a brow at his new companion, however, when several indignant shouts sound out behind them.]

If you can't fight, now's the time to hide behind the bar.

[An offered reprieve, because he'd caught that anxious hint before they'd been interrupted.]

[inksplashes]

[ Lavi weathers that look with the usual grin and shrug routine, as used to dealing with women (and men, really) quietly reeking of disapproval as he is to waking up on chessboards.

Which is to say both happen more than he'd like.

Sitting back down, the redhead stifles a yawn behind a long hand, shaking his head softly as he wears off the blurriness of sleep. He flips a small box beside the board open with a single digit, blearily peering into its depths while his other hand waves her forward. ]

Nah, c'mon. We can start when you're ready. Black or white?

✘ Hawke

[mayora13]

[Being assigned supervision of a RAC agent is not Hijikata's preferred position. Killjoys could be anyone - skilled or unskilled, annoying or tolerable, talkative or silent. Figuring out the personalities of those he works with regularly is taxing enough. Doing it for someone he'll never see again is just a damn pain.

He'll try to keep things strictly professional, a cold greeting given as he arrived to board the agent's ship. The warrant is simple: track down the errant ship LWSS Elba, which slipped through border control without the proper paper work filed, and apprehend the ship's owner, along with any necessary members of the crew.]

Have you read the dossier? [Rather than taking a seat, he'll lean against the wall of the bridge.]

[mayora13]

[Hijikata was surprised when he received the order to not arrest everyone who stepped even a toe out of line on sight. Physically demanding it may be, he'd rather shove someone into a truck and be done with them rather than get into an argument about 'rights'.

Those don't apply when you're throwing Molotov cocktails through someone's window.

But an order is an order, so despite how he'd rather put the asshole who spat at his feet on the ground, he just monitors the man's path until he's out of sight. Such goes his evening, his partner doing much the same - and he assumes doing so much even as she falls behind him.

As he's raising a cigarette to his lips he feels a tug on his sleeve, but only after he's placed it in his mouth does he stop walking.] Huh? [A break?

Hijikata surveys the area - most people are keeping their heads down - before nodding.] Sure. I'll keep a look out. [They'll do just as well 'monitoring' from a seated position as a walking one, so there's no reason to protest.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda has no real degree of empathy for the Company man - he'd been an enforcer if the remnants of his uniform are any indication, and they were (more often than not) the worst abusers of authority.

They had to expect that to rebound on them eventually, especially when they were Westie born to begin with. ]

I have the feeling that your definition of 'perk' and mine aren't even in the same 'verse.

[That said, he reaches down and, without even the slightest hesitation, he smirks as he snakes the flask from the older man's hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he takes a decent-sized sip before making a face and offering it back.]

And your taste in hokk is still questionable, Pops.

[Seems like you're stuck with that nickname, now. He's not going to let it go that easily. Besides, he still doesn't actually know the man's name. ]

[sunderings]

Too much in the Quad is dictated by status, by those who profit from the law which abets them. [ Translation? Heard loud and clear, and perhaps as much is evident in the way the Director gives pause—profound and just a touch too knowing—to glance back at Saber in quiet study, the playful levity gone from his voice, though its warmth very much remains: ] That you should have found your change of pace, your own path to walk with the RAC...

[ And forward again! Tally ho, sally forth! ♫

Come what may, Sion is confident in his own ability to see both himself and his escort to the boutique unscathed. Truth be told, it is the Director who finds trouble more often than not, so if he should remain undistracted and wholly given to the task at hand, Saber's workload will surely be an easy one! They are not in the vast reaches of space where their vessel might receive some foreign distress signal (which Sion would most assuredly be compelled to answer!), nor are they on Westerley where the Director is wont to delay his patrols in favor of offering the people of Old Town aid (and subsequently leaving himself vulnerable to any would-be assailants), and so...!

He focuses on Saber alone, offering her a smile and simple, truehearted words: ] ...I am glad.

[ With her, he speaks freely, content with the fact that their conversation will go unheard, that his words will be lost somewhere amid the hubbub of the marketplace (but hopefully not upon Saber's own ears)— ]

Everyone should have the right to spend their days as they should please, even if that pleasure should be something so simple as a lazy, afternoon nap.

[ They should be nearing the establishment now, he thinks, and ah, there it is, a quaint building with a most charming window display boasting both men's and women's fashions from evening wear to more casual clothing, some styles certainly more eye-catching than others. ]

Do you not agree?

[iuramentum]

[ If leaving herself open to attack is so very tempting, good. Better to keep his attention trained on the one person capable of defending themselves rather than the civilians at her back.

Saber's green eyes shine eerily in the firelight. She does not return his smile. ]

I will not permit you to run wild, cur. Not here. [ Her chin lifts just a touch, enough to make it clear she is symbolically looking down at him with the utmost disdain. It doesn't occur to her, exactly, why she's doing so, but what she does know is that there are those weaker and more frightened than she in need of protecting.

A glance over her shoulder - mindful to keep the grinning, bloodied man within sight - reveals most of the civilians have managed to funnel into the alley, with only a few remaining stragglers due to injury or age still slowly making their escape. The few that have fallen don't move, trampled to death by their peers.

Of what worth is a king who fails to protect the powerless? A whisper, maybe an echo, asks the question, sparking an achingly familiar wave of resolve to firm the set of her shoulders as she looks back at Gio. She clearly doesn't plan to let him pass. ]

Heel back to your master. These few are beyond your reach.

[brickinthewall]

[She flat out stops in all of her movements, having been caught off-guard in the middle of finding the maps for the adequate safe room.

That is a hell of a bomb to drop.]

Holy crap, Noctis.

[Her eyes read all sorts of things among the usual exhaustion and rage: slight confusion, genuine surprise.

Loss.

Would she ever be able to not give a shit? Truly let go and let live, move on with life with no concern for anyone else? Amelie had tried.

Amelie wasn't here to gently remind her of techniques now long forgotten and dead, buried like the rest of the team. It always circled back to that day. Always.]

How many?

[tousei]

[ Ah, he's busted.

There's a bit of silence before he replies, voice fainter than before. ]

I don't know.

[ Well, he does, but he doesn't know how to summarize it so succinctly. ]

Please don't touch it... I don't know if it'll do anything.

[shikomizue]

[Surprise after surprise, as Alice continues to break from the information he'd been given. Her confidence does not cause him to falter, though he does idly wonder what has already lit such a spark in her.]

The call of the hungry, the cries of the sick. They're rippling far enough that even a hermit can hear them. [Is it really a 'pleasure', to experience the world in such a state?

Only sublime vanity would render one eager to act in the face of such tragedy - and such isn't what he's come to expect of her. A somber sense of duty, perhaps...] So many have spoken, and now they're holding a convocation to find solutions. Do you know of it? [Personal introductions brushed aside for the moment, Takasugi's focus is on the purpose lacing their almost idle chatter.]

[brickinthewall]

[There are only two tattoos left uncovered by cloth: the neatly scripted words inked across the knuckles of her right index and ring fingers reading "good" and "bye", respectively.

Though she knew the physical contact was inevitable, her body heat flares briefly. Call it a defense mechanism. Nine times out of ten, even the smallest touch would set her off out of her own instinctual paranoia. She only half hopes she doesn't burn the mysterious stranger.

Her own smile is practiced, perfect white teeth flashing between oxblood lips. Apparently the two of them know how to fake it pretty damn well.

It's just demanding for her to be someone she's not anymore.

Green eyes flicker down, back up to meet his eyes. Whoever he is, at the very least he's pretending to be a gentleman. That's a nice change of pace.]

You have no idea what I'm capable of. Are we being proper members of society or do we not give a fuck?

[inksplashes]

Good news for us then.

[ He doesn't normally drink much--it blurs the mind too far and doesn't play well with his sense of paranoia--but right about now? A shot of something strong and fiery would do wonders for his nerves.

Sitting on what passes for a bar stool in this place, he posts his elbows on the bar top, long hand rubbing at his face. They need to come up with a plan of action (when did it become "they"), but he also needs to tell her about "Duster".

Lavi frowns, his concern amplifying at that thought. ]

See anything that we won't need a vaccination to drink?

[fledges]

[Kate turns towards the bottles against the back wall, frowning for a moment as she studies them. She finally settles on a bottle of rum, and she grabs two glasses before stepping around the bar to join Lavi, plopping down on the stool beside him. She thunks the glasses down on the counter, pours them both probably a bit more than necessary, and then passes him a glass.]

Probably only one vaccination.

[She takes a swig and then winces slightly. Unusually strong, which she should have expected. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.]

It got so bad so fast.

[iuramentum]

I do.

[ That's generally the outcome when someone forgets to duck and there's a sharp object coming in at (terminal) velocity, isn't it? It never pays to lose your head HA HA during the heat of battle.

Her eyes narrow as he closes the gap once again. Up close he certainly would've had the advantage, being more flexible than she is, but at a distance... well, either he has a gambit up his sleeve, or he's testing her defenses. Either reason is sound enough to pay attention to unusual details he may unconsciously give off.

Excalibur flashes up again - deflect, step, step, block, sidestep, riposte, jab - each motion smooth, economical. Since the main mass of his body is out of reach, she changes tactics to target his wrist and forearm instead; severing a tendon or temporarily weakening his grip would give her enough leeway to step in and increase pressure.

Theoretically, anyway. To be honest Saber is mostly operating on instinct and taking chances as they present themselves. ]

[brokeassgoing]

Don't gotta tell me twice-- fuck this!

[he can agree, at least. he's already halfway ducked under the countertop when all hell breaks loose and it seems like fights spark like forest fires. Of course, with the fights come those who are happy to use whatever's nearby to aid them-- which includes the stool Badou's holding on to.

Screaming, he plucks it right up and bashes it into the head of this particular creative one:]

Get your own furniture, this one's got my ass sweat on it fair and square!

[inksplashes]

[ His spirits accordingly lifted by the prospect of not dying in the Badlands with the whiny prince in tow--and then further elevated by the wonderfully ill-dressed woman who leads him to his "room"--Lavi spends that hour between pick up and meeting the ship's owner in rest and reprieve.

He does not, however, accept more than the offer of passage. Neither food nor water has been granted, though it was certainly offered, and his state of dehydration would show, no doubt, were he not so otherwise mired in the grime and blood of the desert.

Still, he was gracious when he declined, knowing full well not to cross a would-be savior lest he transfigure them into a potential enemy too soon. Gratitude he gives freely, trust he hoards.

(Not that he ever trusts in others, as a general rule. That burden is one Yu alone bears, and its weight is mighty despite its fractured core.)

When Takasugi comes knocking, Lavi is against the wall of the room, placing himself at the best vantage point to see vectors of approach. Settled on the floor, he looks--and truly well is--tired, darkness beneath his eyes and a faint tremor in his hands.

This he conceals with a press of fingers into fist, knee drawn up carefully in front of him despite the newly inflicted--and some reopened--lacerations along his ribs. Lifting his head, he regards the figure perched against the wall with an even stare, an easy smile.

An enemy after all, he thinks for a moment, but that's not quite right. That was another life. Another persona. How many people has he been since they last met? Aki was not a long-lived character, fading out of view as so many things in early childhood seem to do. What didn't fade, what burns in his memories now, are the flames of that night, the screams of it.

But even this now seems like a pale moment of time, just one of many that the gaze of adulthood strips of its romanticism and makes plain. ]

Guess someone just got real lucky and made a pact with Mother Nature. Or maybe it was a pact with too much Bliss?

[ He laughs, the sound warm and rich and well despite the pain the convulsions cause him. ]

I imagine the first makes for a better story, and the second more realistic.

[ A beat, a smooth transition, seemingly casual. ]

Appreciate the assist though. When will we be touching down to Old Town?

[eusford]

[ A person only needs one experience to ruin the entire night, and after getting his feet stepped on and arm pulled by someone unwelcoming the last thing he wants to do is repeat it. Despite having the patience of a saint Crowley still has his limits. ]

Unfortunately.

[ He breathes a small sigh of relief. ]

It's been so long I nearly forgot how out of control people can get if you set the mood right.

[ Too bad this isn't anything that he was interested in to begin with. ]

[brokeassgoing]

[someone else is having trouble with that rule, kicking up a fuss. A loud one.]

NO I WON'T THROW IT OUT-- I DON'T SEE YOU THROWING OUT ALL THOSE PERFECTLY GOOD DONUTS YOU GOBBLED TWENTY MINUTES AGO! AND ANOTHER THING--

[he's not quite fighting yet but he brushes off the attendant's hands on him. His attention flickers to Hijikata.]

YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

[chakushi]

[ Here's what this crowd manages to catch alongside their so-called 'Company dog'— a perturbed dragon swept in the chaos of adrenaline and outrage, ruffled by bodies and casually-distributed violence. Standing two bodies away from Hijikata, Hanzo meets his fellow employee's scan around the circle and flashes him the barest look of indignation he can muster in this enthusiastic gaggle of Resistance rabblerousers.

He's lost his Company uniform somewhere along the way (may it rest in literal pieces), all traces of his usual impeccable exterior scattered among the metaphorical carrion.

He doesn't look happy.

He should probably work on that. ]

...Move over. [ Is his not-at-all friendly suggestion to the man standing next to him, who responds with a slight narrowing of his eyes and a dubious grunt. What Hanzo is trying to do is to scoot on next to a face he recognizes, but clearly he's. Not doing a great job ingratiating himself to their sympathies with his sunny disposition.

An exasperated look at Hijikata here, as if to say— well??? How he still manages to be so arrogant in the literal den of his enemies, nobody knows. ]

Corrin | ota + closed prompts

[affinities]

[Feel free to hit me up at synodic if you want to do anything, or just come at me.]

Itsuki | week 5

[affinities]

[It was supposed to be a relatively simple trip. Charity drives were a great start to helping out downtrodden Westies, but Corrin felt like he could find out what they really needed better if he saw it himself. Besides, if he had the means to help, the least he could do was see the state of things with his own eyes. It was probably a terrible to go, what with the Accords being repealed, but that's all the more reason to go. Besides, he can always cut his trip short should things get too heated.

Nothing ever seems to go quite the way it should on Westerly though, and, naturally, protests have quickly broken out. While he can handle himself in a fight, even he has enough sense to know that he isn't going to be the most welcome or even tolerated person right now. Sympathy from him is less than worthless in the face of what these people are going through.

Sympathy also isn't going to help with violence, which is extremely obvious when he ducks just in time to avoid a well-aimed bottle thrown at his head.]

That was close.

[Of course, now he has to look around to see if he can spot who threw it, but keeping an eye out so he doesn't actually get winged in the head with an improvised projectile is a good idea.]