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

[inksplashes]

[ His official position at the Summit isn't one that invites a great deal of interaction. He's there to sweep rooms for security threats, watch for the shadows in hallways, and mind the sanctity of his would-be charge. Would be because his official capacity is auxiliary to his actual motivations and goals.

(The keeping of Sion has largely been handed off to Kanda, and he knows he can trust his partner to ward off any threats better than Lavi ever could. He's good in a fight, but he's not at Yu's level--he can't be.

He's only human.)

Lavi is here as an observer, a record keeper. Each conversation overheard and downright eavesdropped will be the future content of historical journals. No detail is spared; everything from the lights to the aromas of the various delegates and visitors is marked with sharp detail in the notes he takes at night.

And it's fairly easy: for the most part, the parties ignore his existence as an expected shadow on the walls. So when he sees the young man head in his direction, he takes notice on a precursory level, assuming he's standing near someone or something the other desires to speak with. Lavi flashes a ready smile, attention turning away and back to the mingling people around them without pause.

But it seems this one is not content to ignore his existence. Chin tilting slightly, his smile turns into a restrained grin as he reaches up to rub at his nape. ]

Uhh, I hear the chips are kind of stale. Couldn't really tell you otherwise.

[ He taps his arm where his RAC badge sits, glancing down at the gun in his thigh holster. ]

I'm just security. Sorry.

w6

[inksplashes]

Who'd have the heart to yell at you?

[ The tone is bemused and honeyed, a hint of laughter beneath it. Lavi stands, hands in his pockets, gun at his thigh and badge on his arm, all the markings of a fine security officer--except for that grin. His mouth is a curve of good humor and affection, his visible eye lightly creased with the effort. (You have to make sure your smile touches your eyes or people will know you hate them.)

This time, at least, he doesn't have to perform mental acrobatics to make his smile less of a lie. He's glad--albeit surprised--to see Rin, the young almost-scarback a warm and pleasant companion compared to his more sanctimonious brothers and sisters.

(Lavi likes those as well, albeit in a different way. A sharper, colder kind of affection, the way historians think fondly of war.)

Carefully, slowly, he bends down the ground with as little strain put on his ribs as possible, though there's a faint wince for the effort regardless. He feels like he has more stitches than his clothes in moments like this, but it doesn't do anything to diminish his joy at seeing Rin or willingness to help. Just makes him a little slower than he'd like.

He gathers as many rations as he can, groaning with the effort to stand back up and move them to the now emptied box. ]

Man, they must not play many drinking games at the temple, huh?

[ Learning to balance unlikely objects is a time-honored tradition of the drunk and social, after all. Or maybe that's just him. ]

[brickinthewall]

Dunno about all that.

[Flashy, when she wants to be, subtle, when she has to be. Leith's finest would find themselves shocked to know the once-dead Hanna Talbot is alive and... not well.]

What's the name of the game?

[She leads, but in a simple series of steps, nothing too complicated. Right now she's trying to at least not start a scene.

Trying.]

[eusford]

[ Crowley has never had the emotion of holding canned tomatoes but if he did it still would have been done so gracefully, elegantly, just the very opposite of Rin. ]

I don't know, I wasn't the one you invented etiquette. But considering your lack of knowledge in history I could say that I did and you'd believe it anyway.

[ Not that it fucking matters but in case anyone forgot he thinks his son is stupid. ]

So pinkie up.

[sunderings]

"Who's a bean pole?" Sion scoffs, largely in play and with a puff of his cheeks as he sips, again, at the poor imitation of a 'vanilla' flavored drink. "You've no right to disparage me so, and you forget that for all you loafed through the training which you did not sleep away, there were those who held affection for the gentle man who remained a fool, unchanged by his time in the military."

That gentle man who holds to the Director's wrist with care, the sensation of touch a spark—one electron, one proton, two neutrons: a balanced equation, spinning like a top—which grants Sion more energy by far than the supplement which is set aside (the bottle emptied by half) and forgotten in favor of something which can be so keenly felt. Were it anyone else, the hand about his wrist would have only been perceived as pressure and the faintest warmth beyond the ever-present pain his body is in, but with Ryner... it has always been like this. What they had endured together had tethered them to one another in more ways than one, in both the physical and not so—for two designed to complement each other down to the marrow, of course it would be natural for them to miss one another.

Of course, it would be natural for Ryner to worry when Sion silenced the connection between them, wanting for his friend to know nothing of the internal audit and its proceedings (the Company agents who the Director himself had interrogated and disposed of), or the tragedy upon Leith (there had been so, so much death, and Sion could only weep with the bereaved as the bodies of their loved ones were burned), making the decision on his own—as he always did—to shut the Enforcer out.

"I..." Fingers curling against Ryner's hand, golden eyes catch with bleary brown. Innately, he knows what it is that the other man asks of him, but it is difficult for Sion to speak of himself. "...wanted only to protect you, Ryner."

Ryner, who has known such hardship in his life for reasons he could not help; for that which Ryner himself could not control.

"Please understand." So softly do the two words fall that it seems Sion had been afraid to speak them—what he has asked for is too much (were Ryner ever to ask that his welfare be disregarded by the Director himself, Sion knows what his own answer would be), and yet this is how it must be. Ryner, in his ignorance, will not be swept up into Company matters, and Sion...

...Sion will find solace in shifting to lie beside his friend upon the couch, forehead touching to forehead, and the long fall of his hair spilling over the cushions and onto the flooring below.

"When we've the chance, we'll go to a bistro on Leith. You'll grumble, because I've woken you up much too early to account for travel-time between moons, and I will order..." Laying down had been a bad idea, hadn't it? Already, sleep has begun its descent upon him, so swiftly that Sion finds himself blinking it back from his eyes. "...pancakes with cinnamon syrup, walnuts, and brie."

A twitch of his lips, a slow (teasing) smile.

"It will be just like date, don't you think?"

peace summit!

[demonly]

[ Rin, too, was working the peace summit, and while he can't really offer much in terms of planning or policy, he's more than willing to offer his time and energy to the cause. ] Huh? Sure thing. [ He stops his own organizing of the supplies they're collecting, sauntering on easily to her. ] Ya want 'em over there?

[ Gingerly, he leans down to lift the box of items, inspecting the contents inside with a bit of surprise. ]

Oh, ya got some really good stuff.

[iuramentum]

We may have to. The longer we delay, the fewer lives we save.

[ Barricades take time to set up, which they clearly don't have a lot of. ]

The problem is deciding which route would be the fastest...

I'm so sorry for how late this is

[rhygret]

[ Goddamnit Royce, Rhys is terrible at noticing when people do that?? Like if his life depended on being alert for these sorts of things Rhys would...well, he wouldn't be around very long. So it's a good thing Royce is in it for the Joy and not the murder because Rhys isn't trying to hide who he is now that Leith is for the most part very favourable towards The Nine for the cessation of the Accords. He wears his purple Kendry colours on a sash ties around his middle as he roams the Bazaar, equally as eager to meet the man taking up this job for him.

Like he tends to always favour, Rhys heads for the tea houses. It the location he'd set at previous less-than-savoury encounters, but it's also where he tends to go whenever he doesn't feel like being in the office. Even if he's more of a coffee drinker than a tea person.

The point is, he won't be hard to find as he heads towards one House in particular, as relaxed as one can be when they're about to hire someone illegally for a job. ]

[servitor]

I'll find a way.

[And when he says it, he means it. Security detail is one thing.

But there's something he wants out of the bar, and it's a long shot: for it to be accepted. If the locals like it enough, well, maybe they'll keep out of the way just enough for it to not be continually destroyed. He's just gotta do the job right.

Sounds easy when it's put that way.]

Besides, the Fury's already seen some of the worst and it's survived. I don't think it'll go down without a fight.

;;;;; I'm so sorry for how long this took

[rhygret]

[ Rhys has told him, technically. Insofar as "I'll let you know when we get there!" is an answer anyway. The warrant was listed as a simple escort through land on Westerley without many details about where exactly, but he'd provided the ever-crucial detail of "the Badlands" when pressed since certain arrangements would need to be made in advance.

Gas masks, radiation counters. Vehicles that wouldn't explode when exposed to it.

The usual.

Rhys had always known the Badlands were bad, otherwise why would they be called that? He knew they were what was left after hefty mining and resource extraction operations by The Company, that it was toxic and uninhabitable at the best of times: it was where the black rain came from after all. But knowing all of that still hadn't prepared him for the reality of the situation, where the very air feels hot and humid and metallic, or how nothing grows around them. How the air's so thick with smog and haze that he can't see into the far horizon. How the sky turns yellow from it all.

It's...bad. Really bad.

So Rhys talks, babbles, anything to fill the silence as they travel across the wastes. Lavi is uncharacteristically quiet, but maybe that's just him when he travels. Or he's trying not to crash them into anything, because it's not as if there are paved roads out here. Or roads at all, actually.

It's a relief when the redhead does speak though, and Rhys suppresses a cough through his own mask as he tries to speak over the engine. ]

I n, need something from out h-here. Some, [ cough ] data!

[demonly]

I know enough to know you ain't the one who invented etiquette, asshole. [ So stop calling him dumb!!! It's not his fault that he's rough around the edges and grew up extremely poor and then in a place where material things weren't exactly at the height of importance. He makes a mocking expression while he puts his pinkie up like the other requested. ] Look at me, I'm Crowley, I'm soooo fancy and rich. [ Sneer. ] This how you want me to do it?

[ He nudges the cup his way very abruptly, a little bit of tea spilling over the edge and onto his fingers - but he makes no expression to indicate that he feels it at all, as the skin of his hands is thick with callouses. ]

Why does this even matter? The teacup holding police gonna come over here and arrest me?

[demonly]

[ Rin mirrors Lavi's smile at his comment, always happy to see the other and also not exactly expecting to see him here either. Then again, Rin barely had expectations when he came to Westerley - it had been a long while since he'd last traveled off Leith and coming here to Westerley reminded him almost too much of his origins. But keeping busy had been helping with that, and definitely seeing someone he feels fondly towards is a big distraction. ]

Ya getting too old to lift even a few bags of crackers? [ He catches the slight wince in Lavi's stride, and confronts it head on like he does most things - but makes sure not to prod. Lavi would know from years of dealing with Rin's confrontational and empathetic self that he likes to show he cares, even if it's in blunt and abrupt ways. But instead of bothering the other too much about it, he just deposits the large stack of boxes to their intended destination, the stack taller than Rin himself. ] Maybe reading all those books is aging ya faster than normal.

[ If that were the case, Rin will be young forever. ]

And I had everything under control. [ Totally! Only one out of the five boxes he was carrying fell. ] I don't need to play drinking games to know how to carry stuff.

[inksplashes]

Right. Here's the thing, though.

[ Said very matter of fact, if a bit coolly, he holds up his index finger to begin counting off all the reasons why Buster isn't exactly making a good case for 'let's go find Kate Bishop'.

So far, the only redeeming fact is that being waist deep in helping idiots does sound like her MO. ]

First, you're breaking into her apartment, which means you don't have a key and didn't want to go to the super to get him to open it up.

[ Index and middle finger now. Dos. ]

Second, I have no reason to think you don't have her locked in a closet somewhere except that you're not full of arrow holes.

Third.

[ Four fingers, wait, three. It's been a long day. ]

Threatening to arrest guys who creep on girls is definitely one of the perks of this job, so I'm gonna keep doing that until I find her.

[inksplashes]

[ It's that spirit of camaraderie that really just oozes off Badou that makes him so very charming. ]

I don't know. You're not a hot girl so it's kinda hard to come up with a good name.

[ A long hum, considering. ]

Maybe if I drink enough I'll think you're prettier and get better at it?

[mayora13]

[Hearing someone else yelling should be cathartic, the sound of his soul projected from another's mouth - anguish clear but without the social consequences that accompanied such virulent complaining.

But it's not. It's damn annoying, the loud noise outweighing any potential for commiseration.]

Huh? [Hell no - don't drag him into this! The attendant is already shooting him a dirty look, and that pisses him off too-] You're talking about the bullshit smoking rule, right?

If we have to sit here for hours, the least they can do is let us light up- [The rule/glare combo from the station outweighs the other's volume, and he's joining right in with the bitching.]

lmao hanzo is a gift

[mayora13]

[Hijikata isn't sure what's more amazing - the fact that his only comrade in this mess is managing to look so steadily pissed off, or the fact that the guy somehow lost his clothes.

He decides to focus on the thing more likely to get them both killed: their demeanor. Hijikata isn't much better than Hanzo, his furrowed brow and thin pressed lips sticking out in the crowd of tired smiles and enthusiastic jeers.

When a man turns to him, offering a handshake of congratulations, the smile that crosses Hijikata's face is nothing but strained, his fingers wrapping around the other's hand with a tight, terse grip.

Then, once released, he's curling them with a cringe as he uses the path the man cuts going from party to party in solidarity to reach Hanzo. He has to shake a few more hands in the process - terrible - but he manages to close the gap soon enough.

Not that they can talk candidly. All Hijikata can do is offer his hand forward, giving a pointed look back the way they came, Do you know how to get to the door from here?]

[brokeassgoing]

Fuck yooooouuuu! I may not be a cute girl but I'm hella cute.

[mouth twisted into a scowl, he canNOT believe he's getting this kind of shit]

Your brain's just rusted, that's all.

[mayora13]

[Warm cheer is met with nothing but a cold stare - even if he wasn't stretched too thin between riots and border patrol, he doesn't care for the overly enthusiastic types.

God help them all when he finds out about the ammo. And guns. Because the moment he does will be the exact moment they need them.]

Elba. [Skimmed isn't good enough - he'll hand his copy of the ledger to her in a passive suggestion to actually read.

He's distrustful as a default, but after her less than stellar demonstration of memory, Hijikata has no shame in following the woman to the console and watching her put the coordinates in.] What's the time estimate?

[mayora13]

[The bench has seen better days, and Hijikata entertains the paranoia briefly that it's been left so pristine only as a house to a bomb. Rather than sit when she indicates he cocks his head, looking through the slits in the wood for any signs of flashing lights or patchwork metal.

Only once he's determined it's safe enough will he regain his posture. He won't sit, but he'll circle to the back of the bench and lean against it where the empty spot is. Resting his back against something is the most relaxed he's willing to get, with each passer-by a potential threat.

He's content to leave her to her own devices, but attention called to her socks calls his dull stare to them.

They're cute.] It's fine. [He turns away quickly, pulling out his PDD to check the time.

Still three more hours on left on their shift. That knowledge, more than the hours of working on-foot, makes his knees ache.]

[brokeassgoing]

WHAT MY BUDDY HERE IS TRYING TO SAY IS FOR YOU TO SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS! This is cruel and unusual!

[he's shrugging off those hands, still, and then he kicks a chair over. eyes are watching. the line moves on. agonizingly slowly.]

WE COULD GO ON STRIKE RIGHT NOW!

[ofobedience]

[Lengthening the distance, yes, and it's something Giovanni has yet to notice as the thrill of the hunt gets into him, sings brightly through his bones. Because this is it, what he was made for, what he's been conditioned to do with ruthless precision and a fierce predatory euphoria that stands between him and broken despair.

He moves further, faster, guns down another two rioters with a laugh that rings out hard and high and piercing, slams the butt of a pistol into the forehead of a third who gets too close. The crack of his skull is a sickening thing, a twisted cry leaving the beaten man's mouth as he drops like a heavy sack to the ground.

People flee, the crowd thins, but Giovanni's ferocity shows no signs of abating.]

[tousei]

It is.

[ He doesn't reply to her first statement, each passing second burning regret and guilt deeper into his mind. He shouldn't be burdening others with his problems. ]

Thank you.

[ What else can he say? ]

[oneirism]

[Her eyes stay focused on her own tea, quiet for a few moments. How she's acting isn't fair to him, she knows that. So she takes a deep breath, sitting up straight as she rubs her eyes with her hand, clearing her vision once more.

With that, she turns towards him, placing her cup down for a moment as her focus turns to him.]

Would... [She hesitates. It's a selfish request, and it's something she would do regardless half the time without even asking. But she pushes on, her fingers clenching into the fabric of her skirt.]

Would it be alright if I hugged you, Julius?

[tousei]

[ It's a street with plenty of exits, but few of them are onto the main road. Some lead off into alleys. ]

There's a big junction some ways down. How about it?

[ They'll have to deal with the alleys sooner or later, too. ]

cries

[tousei]

[ If this was anyone else, he would have immediately turned down the notion - but it's her, and she's someone he would trust with her life. ]

Okay. But... don't touch the mark, please.

[ They don't look at each other, and it's a good thing, because the sentiment is shared. ]