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

[tousei]

[ Soon enough a trail of carnage grows along the street. Julius is caught up on his own end, fending of rioters that thought taking out the Handler would be enough to slow the dog down. That's not true, of course - reinforced by Giovanni's glee. After a while Julius realizes he can no longer see his partner, and that has him closing his own confrontation with a particularly strong surge of electricity. He tears down the street in the direction Giovanni was last seen in, but it might already be too late.

Especially with how a sudden coughing fit seizes him, forcing him to stop and waste those precious few seconds. ]

[affinities]

[Why... did he suggest a drink if they're not allowed to serve it? That seems like the opposite of what you'd want to do as a waiter, but then again, Corrin has never done that sort of work, and it isn't as though he's actually been to many cafes. Maybe it just happens sometimes.]

Oh... alright? [And then Leo is cruising away to hopefully bring back at least one drink. He'll be happy to just have some regular tea, if nothing else.]

[ofobedience]

[Whereas Giovanni keeps going, ranging ahead with unnatural speed and grace, follows the thick of the rioting with more clattering shots from his pistols, urgency increasing in him with each death that occurs at his hands. It takes a while for him to realise that there's no sign, anymore, of his Handler, that through the stink of blood and rubble and death he can't even pick up his scent.

He should search for him, he knows. He should-- and yet all around him the riots continue, violence spreading in an inimical wave and their objective had been to quell the disorder through any means at their disposal. Beyond that, he wants it, sick excitement rising up in him, pushing him further harder faster.

And so there's only a brief moment's pause before he continues, hurling himself into the unruly fray with wild and rising abandon.]

[ofobedience]

Am I, now.

[And perhaps he doesn't know too many details, the ins and outs of who this man is, but he knows the one thing that matters to him, the one that binds them tenuously together.

His voice drops low, and there's something in it, slick and predatory.]

I know you're fond of stray dogs.

accept the love julius

[oneirism]

[Once he gives the okay, there's no hesitation. Making sure not to touch the mark, her arms wrapping around him warmly as she leans closer, letting her chin rest on his shoulder.

Despite her hesitation before, there's nothing hesitant or awkward at all at how she hugs him. The hug is one that's full of warmth, and unlike the spontaneous one from before, she doesn't immediately pull away. He said it was okay, so she wants to be selfish, just this once.]

[uncrownings]

I know. [While he might have made it a point to underscore his irritation for conversations past, this is different. He's done a lot of varied work for people since coming to the Quad, but he's never really worked with someone else. Noctis is acutely aware that every step Hanna takes closer to this puts her neck on the line, and the guilt is there, gnawing at him. But it's also her decision, and he can't pretend that he's somehow personally capable of overriding her judgment. It's-

He has to trust her. There's just no other option.

Noctis' shoulders slope and with the exhale comes the last of his hesitation.]

I've got their IDs, and the papers they'll need to get settled. I wanted to get them out first thing in the morning, but they're inspecting all ships before we're clear to leave the bay.

I can work something out- but I'll need a day at least. Two at the most.

[uncrownings]

Like I'm the only one.

[Noctis doesn't have the assurance of joy and prestige behind him to excuse his lack of interest, and while Crowley's attention has the freedom to land wherever it pleases, his companion's is spent on brief nods of acknowledgement and sliding his gaze from face to face.]

Unless you want to dance a few more rounds and you're just playing hard to get.

lonely sol you say

[moneyman]

[ receiving any form of preferential treatment is still a weird thing for him, even after years with the Company. before that, he was firmly on the lowest rung of the ladder; a kid on Qresh who had no business being there beyond the fact that he was being paid to be friends with some bratty kid from the Nine. kinda sad, but in the end it turned out okay. mostly.

Leith has never really felt like home. he was born here, and works here, but somehow Rhys's lavish mansion on Qresh still comes closer. it's more familiar, even if the feelings of humility haven't completely faded. that said, he's comfortable enough here, but parties are weird. does this even count as a party? it's not that often he's sent to them for work, and he sure as hell wasn't allowed to go to any on Qresh. not that he has any problem whatsoever with anything that involves giving to charity, but there won't be any kicking back at this event.

he looks bored as shit.

a waiter approaching snaps him out of his disaffected trance, startling him a little. fortunately he has no drink to knock over (yet). ]

Oh, uh... [ he knows what he wants to say, but he's here for work, and he's a tremendous lightweight. nope. ] I dunno, do you have anything that won't make me say anything really stupid and get fired? Like, besides water? I mean, I know this is a bar, but...

[ save him. ]

[eleutheron]

[ He bristles. Whether he likes the philosophy he's spouting or not, he can't argue with the logic in it. Nor can he imagine that the Company disagrees. The Westerlyns--the peasants--are a dime a dozen to the nobility. Fodder for their cannons. There will always be more of them to exploit, to blame, to use. He knows that for a fact, and all too well, besides.

He looks upon her water work with open disgust. ]

You don't know anything about me.

[ He gestures to her bubbles, sneering. ]

Keep back.

[eleutheron]

I rarely draw my gun.

[ It's not actually an answer. He owes her a debt; this he can acknowledge. But he doesn't necessarily owe her answers. ]

If I bind him, his compatriots will simply free him. Their insurgency will continue unabated.

[ Still, he's easing up, even as he talks. He eases pressure on the man, who honestly by this point looks too battered and exhausted to be getting up to any revolutions. But Fenris hasn't quite let him go. ]

[eleutheron]

No.

[ Fenris lets the man go--but only so he can jab the sharp edge of his elbow into Genji's side, only so he can crack the back of his own head against Genji's face. He means to slip out from his precarious position, to create distance between them. If the blade nicks him in the process, he doesn't mind. He's deceptively strong, and his lithe body moves with rapid, shimmering speed.

None of this is his idea of justice. None of it is his idea at all.

But that doesn't mean he'll tolerate threats--or judgment from strangers, for that matter. ]

[moneyman]

[ the bazaar is a nice enough place. it's not that exciting, but it's lively and pretty and every once in awhile something at a stall catches his eye. usually something stupid. but it's okay, because despite making okay money and having a safety net in the form of a filthy rich best friend, he's frugal as hell and he rarely buys anything.

...except food. he's just leaving a cafe counter with a little bag of god-knows-what when he spots a familiar face—someone he hasn't seen since a misadventure on Westerley.

now, that was exciting. ]

—Oh, hey! Corrin!

[ beware: a tiny weirdo approaches. ]

[eleutheron]

[ Giovanni's not exactly wrong. Fenris means nothing outside of what he means to the Company. He has no other identity, no foundation of memory or friends or family. Sometimes he tries to reach for those things, as though he can push past his ruined mind if he just concentrates hard enough. But it never works. He has only nonsense fragments; voices that don't make sense, images that don't feel authentic or recognizable.

Like right now, for instance.

The blood splatters onto his boots and pants; the woman's dying moan echoes low and choked in Fenris's sharp ears. He watches her gory collapse with apparent dispassion, but his eyes suddenly widen as Giovanni rears back. The collar glints in the twilight darkness, and its small gleam suddenly blinds him, overwhelms him.

He staggers back, clutching at the side of his face. A powerful image bursts open in his mind's eye. Himself, dressed differently--strange leather, no shoes--and kneeling before a shadowy figure. There's an iron collar clamped tightly around his neck. The shadow holds the leash.

He sucks in air. His eyes are open, he's sure, but this--memory? hallucination?--is all he sees. ]

Venhedis.

[ That foreign word again, rising like bile in his throat. ]

[eleutheron]

[ The Fury? Fenris chuckles. ]

Stalwart name, at least.

[ He takes a long drink from the cup in his hand, eyeing Nyx over the rim. ]

If you need assistance, you can call on me.

[oneirism]

[The sound of him tugging off his cloak prompts Lapis to look up at him again, watching quietly as he unbuttons his shirt. Brows furrowing as her head tilts, his words getting a quizzical look for a brief moment. But then she sees the burns on the skin underneath the plate.

Immediately all her thoughts go to how she can treat those burns, concern washing over her as a hand ruffles through her bag. She's certain she'll have something for this...]

How did this happen? [Even as she asks, she can already start to guess it was the mods. What else could burn him like this, under the plating? Her eyes glance down at her bag for a brief moment, giving a soft sigh in relief when she finds the antibiotic ointment.]

Let me know if this hurts too much. [She'll debate the best ways to cover up the burned skin later, for now she'll work on applying the ointment to those burns, trying to be as gentle as possible.]

[oneirism]

[Okay he's... Actually right about that. Both the shit hitting the fan and that she was being dumb. So cue her deflating a bit, her shoulders sagging as she sighs.]

I know, I just get... stupidly protective of my friends. But thanks again, I really owe you one for that.

[eusford]

[ Simplicity is a blessing in comparison to what he had experienced before and Crowley strides in confidence with his temporary partner. No shoe stepping or desire to free himself from her grip surfaces as he pays no mind to the lavished Leithian's and unpracticed guests around them. ]

Perhaps, "Are we on Leith or Westerly"?

[ Translation: just leave everyone confused. ]

[eusford]

What are you, five?

[ It's asked in that usual, pleasant smile of his, but contrary to popular belief it's very much an insult and there's no doubt that Rin will see right through that. It's obvious enough to anyone familiar but in eye of someone inexperienced of Crowley's usual antics it may seem like a joke. Doesn't help that his words end with a drawl and seem more like light teasing than anything else.

And then he's spilling tea, which causes that all too friendly smile to be staring at the small amount that dripped from Rin's gross fingers and onto the floor briefly.

Brief because he doesn't care, if someone slips and breaks their neck that's Rin's fault and he won't save him. ]

No, I was just wondering if you could act civil if the situation calls for it. [ Drag him. ] You're outside your element and all of this is probably weird to you... to be honest, I really hate gatherings like these.

[bywolves]

[ Royce eyes that sword for a long moment, and then glances back up at Noctis. ]

Twenty-five and a favor. [ As a measure of - something. Friendship, maybe, even if Royce isn't all that great at friendships. ]

[sunderings]

You will not.

[ He holds fast to his friend, Julius who is a man struggling to walk his own path; to live by all that is good and right before the end. And it is an end which the Director plainly refuses with a shake of his head, his arm securing about Julius' waist as they press on, traversing the road before them as a pair of shooting stars: Sion, who burns steady and bright, and Julius who flickers and flares, on the verge of collapse, but is so too resisting of the fact. ]

You are not a prisoner of fate. [ Of that which he'd endured alone for a decade, and more than that, if one were only to count present day. But... even though Sion cannot pretend to know what it is that Julius had been meant to become (he only sees the signs in tissues disgorged and dispelled, none too dissimilar from the way his own body makes room for the continued growth of biological circuitry within his system), he is unfailing sure that it may be delayed. It may be fought, and when Sion's speaks, his cadence falls upon the ears like a hymn sung before battle; his belief that everyone may be saved as strong as it has always been: ] Do you not know? Change is the universe's most fluid, most human form of power, and it is precisely what the Quad is most in need of.

[ A change. A light shining in the dark. A beacon to follow in times of hardship and despair. ]

Old ways and dated prophecies crumble into the dust when the future arrives, and it is always arriving. [ With a turn of his head, he makes to catch Julius' eyes, gold (over-bright with emotion, with passion for his friend) boring into grey as tears are staved off, kept at bay by way of a smile, heartbreaking and bittersweet.] Even here, even now, right beneath our feet.

You are only in need of something to hold you here, in this time and place. Constant change means confusion, a state of flux; we need only to figure out where your center is to keep you safe, Julius.

[ Alive and safe, whole and hale—if questioned, Sion will elaborate on this 'center', on how he might hope to stabilize someone with failing health, deterioration attributed to human experimentation. But until then--... ]

As I said before, I'll not let the power inside of you tear you apart, but...

[ Voice softening, gentling, he is undoubtedly respectful of Julius' wishes, even if he cannot abide by the thought of the other man dying and leaving his friends (his heart) behind. ]

I will help you prepare for the future which you wish to realize. [ Being the person that he is, Sion could do no less. ] Whatever materials may yet be in your name, I will see to it that they are transferred appropriately.

[digophelia]

On Westerly?

[ After everything that Alice has been through, the last place she wanted to be was on Westerly. She doesn't really respond after that, instead, she approaches the little girl to gently advise her to play inside.

It gives her moments to process the suggestion. A somber Alice turns back, with her hands held together. ]

I've been to Westerly, sir, and I would not like to return to it. It's not influence I seek, anyway.

[digophelia]

[ Looking back at the crowd, it seems to grow with every passing moment. How people keep seeming to keep finding others that they know. ]

Fresh air would be nice, yes.

[ Swallowing, Alice began to walk towards the pavilion. But where were her manners? Turning around, Alice offered up a small smile. ]

Thank you, I appreciate it, especially regarding any announcements. I just hope that no one asks for my plans; I'm still working on them.

[digophelia]

[ This isn't a face she's seen before and Alice is a bit delayed in responding, trying to remember what to say. As in, just a "hello". She finds herself blurting out the next thing that comes to her mind. ]

Oh, yes, most of it came from here. Ah, children's things, mostly.

[ That's not exactly a proper greeting. ]

So, ah... hello. I appreciate the donations. Though I'm looking for mostly things for children, I'll gladly accept anything given to me to sort.

[brokeassgoing]

[Badou squints at him. This guy is a slick contender, like a goddamn snake (will he offer the Apple though?) and it's enough to feel like bugs are crawling all over Badou's skin.]

Can't say I am. They're loud and they shit everywhere. Rumors are rampant out here.

[eusford]

[ Listen Crowley only gets this freedom because he's 6'3" and everyone here is short enough that he can just look over their heads. But he's quickly reminded of their presence with someone a ridiculous hat or something and his moment at peace is quickly ruined. ]

I'd rather not. [ He's reminded of the misfortune of having to dance with someone who was all to eager to step on his feet. And unfortunately when he dips his head down and glances elsewhere they make brief eye contact and his stomach turns in dismay. ] In fact, if you're willing to jump ship we should go now.