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

[eggplanting]

[The realization that he's apparently been living on doughnuts and coffee for the past two days earns a look that is partway between exasperation and concern, which is not an unfamiliar expression when dealing with Rhys.]

If we go somewhere nice am I gonna have to get changed?

[Company uniform is all well and good, but sometimes places have standards.]

[gauntlet]

[ It doesn't take Peter long to figure who he's meeting, once he gets there (in addition to the info the RAC provides Rhys and Gio are ....not exactly inconspicuous) and makes his way over, amicable enough, if not in a no-nonsense kind of way.

Amicable, no-nonsense and enormous. This is being mentioned specifically because it is hilarious, especially in contrast with Rhys. His entire body and Peter's forearms are probably about the same circumference. ]

Rhys Kendry? [ He does that semi-diffident head nod people do when they're almost sure they have the right person, but not quite, then extends a hand to shake, probably more informally than most people would greet a member the Nine Families. Do Cerebus shake hands? Are they like, allowed? Or are there rules about biting, who knows. Either Gio gets the same offer, because, you know, bare minimum standards of common decency, we have them! ]

Peter Burke. I'm your Reclamation Agent. [ His mouth quirks to one side, wry. ] Not that you couldn't've guessed. You ready to head out?

[fledges]

[Kate leans back when he pulls away, scrubbing her hands over her face, her voice low and frustrated.]

People are dying, Lavi. We have to do something. I know I'm not the only person in this city you care about, neutral or not.

[iuramentum]

With good reason.

[ She can't blame the public for lashing out, really, when peaceful means haven't garnered any response.
As for her new companion, she sighs and turns slightly so he faces her injured shoulder. ]

The bullet is lodged too deeply to remove without a kit.

[refactor]

Killed a... [ Jack hums, pensive and thoughtful, but he can't quite remember it, so he shakes his head ] Ahhhh, don't remember, but also don't suuuuper care. The who ain't my problem so much as the fact they did it. Right, bucko? Because I don't hear you objectin' to anything I'm sayin'.

[ Indeed, they've been quite quiet, though that could also be just as much because talking back at Jack can be a one way trip deeper into the mines. Jack puts his hands on his hips, though his smile falls a little as he looks down, and he shrugs almost exaggeratedly. ]

Not everyone gets a warrant. Kinda unfortunately, but hey, if you don't kill someone important enough? Who cares, right? But that's how we do things in my corner of town. Scum's still scum, so—

[ He looks to Juvia again, and his smile returns ]

Yeah. They're coming right to me. If you don't mind escorting them, anyways.

[refactor]

[ Jack watches Lavi with a grin that's easily friendly, open and charismatic in a way that to less shrewd people does intend to imply affection. For most people, this kind of friendliness would only come once there was friendship, but making that assumption for Jack was a leap, as Lavi noted. He's no master manipulator, but instead there's just an easy, genuine way in which Jack carries himself that tends to get misinterpreted. Friendliness doesn't mean that he's not a danger, and in that, the danger is almost compounded.

Though not here, of course. Here, Jack is only playing cards.

Lavi's comment gets Jack to raise an eyebrow, but his lips twist up into more of a wry smirk. ]

Yeah, empires, sure— But, you just gotta have a strong hand behind 'em, right?

[ His response is wry to match his smile, but it's a little more than that. At talk of empires, even in a joking fashion, his interest gets caught, because there's no shortage of ambition in Jack. In another world, another life that Jack doesn't remember, someone had taken notice of this in him. They had tried to stop him, in fact, but here he was, alive, albeit the king who had forgotten his kingdom.

Jack fans himself with the cards, but doesn't raise his bet. ]

And looks like you're feelin' pretty confident in yours! But, hey, overconfidence is like, big reason for that particular kinda hot streak, right?

w6d3 - and let me know if the assumed cr is off at all! 👌

[refactor]

[ It's been a while since Jack was on Leith, though that wasn't quite his decision. Considering how things had really gotten crazy over the past few weeks, he couldn't be surprised that travel had gotten restricted, but now that it's lifted? Boy is he glad. Westerley is pretty much a shithole, and it's not like he likes Leithians all that much, but at least Leith was nice to visit. When there was occasion for him to go to Leith, he was usually the first to take it, because a Company-sponsored "vacation" was pretty much the only time off he tended to get.

Visiting Leith now was pretty predictable, at least on the surface. He was here for the Peace Summit, not as a participant (the Company wasn't inclined to let someone as hot-headed as Jack speak on their behalf), but just as an observer. He would rather be more active, but hell, if he got to go? Why not. It was going to effect his work either way.

That, and he has other reasons to be here. But no one knows of those. No one ever will know, if he has his way.

As Alice collects donations, Jack is wandering in the area, and he sees her hard at work. He pauses to watch for a moment, just observing as he's meant to do, but it's with a light smile. He knows the girl, knows a bit about her deal, because it had come across his desk once upon a time. He had a soft spot for it, all things considered, and though he had never explained why, he did try and make a point when he was on Leith just to see her and see how she was doing. It was little more than being acquaintances, but he knew her.

He also knows her well enough that when Jack sees her stubbornly struggling with a box, that's what he takes as his cue to approach. He walks up and announces himself with a laugh. ]

Looks like you're havin' some trouble, kiddo. Need some help?

[sunderings]

Do not think of it as force, but as a slow stretch instead.

[ Where Giovanni would search the Director's face, Sion thinks only to observe the other man's hands, noting their placement upon the child's broken limb, the bend and flex of wiry, slender fingers boasting an undeniable potential for violence and yet--... Their strength will be used for a different purpose, today, if only because Giovanni himself is subject to the Director's order; Sion's will to aid these people who for too long have been considered as little more than the filth they struggle through, day in and day out, just to live.

It is a bleak place, Westerley, and Old Town is a sinking ship, but even so those who people it boast extraordinary resilience—they are the lotus flowers Sion had once glimpsed upon Leith, rising up from the mud to bloom out of the darkness and radiate into the world, and Giovanni...

One day, it is Sion's hope that Giovanni might help to nurture something so very beautiful out of his own manner of impulse-borne volition; that will which the Director glimpses in sparks (flashes of convictions withheld, viewpoints gone unvoiced) coloring eyes red as blood. ]

After a break is made, the surrounding muscle contracts, protecting the bone, but so too rendering it all the more difficult to set back into place. [ Laying the strips of cloth along the edge of the cot so that they might be retrieved at the ready, Sion makes short work of folding the excess fabric, murmuring as he does: ] The body... has rather peculiar ways of defending itself, doesn't it?

It is rather stubborn, in some ways, but— [ He looks to Giovanni, then, a faint smile playing upon his lips. ] —we will overcome it. When you pull, remember that you are simply relaxing the muscle until the bone may be straightened and held with the help of the splint.

[ The splint which the Director prepares with fingers which dance delicate and deft, his focus upon having all materials in place for the moment when the child's leg is set back into place. The child who shifts and stirs in discomfort addressed by a gentle hand placed atop the head, dulcet intonations, and an apology: it will hurt, what happens next, but I will be here with you to help.

(And it pains him to think that, with the limited analgesics available to them, that 'help' will be the offering of additional strip of cloth—something to bite down upon instead of crying out during the application of traction.) ]

No more than two kilograms of traction, as we begin. You may gradually strengthen the pull as the muscle of the leg gives.

[ With a decisive nod of head, he voices his confidence in the other man— ]

After that... think on how your own body heals. [ As rapidly as it does. ] You will know what to do.

[rhygret]

Nah, we can just go to someplace nearby. Honestly right now I am up for anything at this point, whew. Didn't realize how hungry reports made me! Heheh. [ It's an easy chuckle that leaves him despite her look, mostly because he's looking straight ahead and only glancing back over intermittently. Mostly to make sure he doesn't walk into any walls or anything uncool like that.

His eyes are sore from staring at data screens for the last....five ours. ]

[eggplanting]

[Things that are probably gonna happen: Steph bringing Rhys some healthy snacks later in the day so he can eat something while working that isn't doughnuts.]

How about sushi, I think there's a place nearby?

[There is a place nearby, and Steph is pretty sure they have fairly private booths, making it a slightly better place to talk.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Just stand still and catch your damned breath.

[For all that she pulls away from him, he can see evidence of the shock of the moment settling in, see it in the tremors wracking her frame - and while he's hardly someone that would be classified as a 'savior', he's not so calloused as to leave her there to fend for herself just then.

Not when there are people surrounding them with the blank, mindless faces of ones given int to the chaos.

Which is why he keeps one hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm to provide support as he pulls the firearm out of the holster once again. He takes a moment to lower the stun setting a bit, and then focuses on taking aim, dropping several enraged citizens that attempt to rush them - probably to get to Giovanni's prone form.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Mmm. I captured the bastard during the riots a couple of days ago - caught him trying to rip a woman's throat out with his fucking teeth.

[Shifting to lean hipshot against the counter, he lifts the bowl in salute (and to silently ask for either chop sticks or a fork!), his customary scowl slipping into place once more.]

Shot him point-blank, just shy of a lethal setting, and all it did was knock him out for a few hours.

Anyone else, they'd have been out for days after a hit like that.

[A warning, and a means of potentially at least temporarily neutralizing him, if she ever faces Giovanni again. ]

[valr]

[Kanda you know how draws work (but no, Kara gets out chopsticks for him and a fork for herself, because she's too tired to fuck around with tiny sticks).]

I ain't fucking around with shy of lethal, I see that thing again, or any of it's buddies, it's dead.

[It's not wounded pride or anything, Kara isn't so full of ego that she can't take a hit on occasion, but letting the Company have creatures like that is dangerous, so much worse than just Enforcers. Killing one or two won't make a huge difference, but she can't just let them run around wreaking havoc on innocent people.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Witty sarcasm and challenges offered - these are the things Kanda is used to during a fight.

Not screams about ass sweat.

He pauses after punching someone in the temple, just long enough to shoot this man a disbelieving look, before he snaps a foot out and kicked the doubled-over assailant hard right in the center of the man's chest.]

...I don't think they give a damn about fair and square right now, idiot.

[A blink, and then a lift of his chin as he reaches to his side, unhooks the still sheathed sword at his hip.]

Behind you.

[iuramentum]

[ Brave words, Sion. A pessimist might be more likely to say pursuit of dreams only ever ends in failure or disappointment, but since this is Saber we're talking about, he only gets one slow blink in response.
So... neither agreement nor disagreement. Could be worse.

Next thing she knows, there's a cup of tea in her hands, they're ushered into a shop so full to bursting with clothes, and it becomes obvious Saber's going to be nursing a minor headache by the time it's all over. Typical.
The tea mostly gets politely ignored - it smells lovely, but poisons can't always be detected by scent alone and she's sure as hell not keen on taste testing that theory - cradled in her fingers while she walks a slow circuit of the showroom floor, inconspicuously clearing the area as any good bodyguard should.

Not that she really expects an assassin to come dramatically leaping out of the frilly dress racks, of course. Not without getting a teacup forcefully introduced to their sinuses first.

Speaking of frilly dresses...

Saber eyes the dress thrust at her with the kind of wary caution usually afforded to venomous snakes of the deadlier persuasion. ]

Ah. I'm somewhat... indisposed, currently.

[ The gunshot wound to her shoulderblade is still a little tender under the light dressing; she's not fool enough to jostle it any more than it needs to be, and tearing the stitches would earn her an earful from the RAC medical staff. God knows she gets enough flack for her usual routine as is.

And then there's the fact that wearing a dress is exceptionally unprofessional for an Agent - therefore the answer to Sion's coaxing will always be a resounding 'NO' while on the clock - being sleeveless would also have the unfortunate side effect of showing off Saber's brand new collection of bruising under the bandages.
Advertising weakness to potential assassins? Ballsy, and suicidally stupid.

No. No dresses. Absolutely out of the question ]

Perhaps another time?

[lotusmesenpai]

[She's good - no move wasted, no effort misdirected in order to show off with flashy flicks of the blade. Just smooth economy of movement and a sharp eye on the ebb and flow of the fight.

And yet.

She still sticks to a focus with the blade alone, each thrust and jab aimed at disarming him - but without the use of either fist or feet or even elbows - and so he has to question if this is because of preference, or lack of experience.

Which is why, to test this, he shifts to the defensive, to draw her attacks in and counter each blow with a block or parry - and a knee to the gut, or a punch aimed at the chest, a twisting step away followed by an elbow aimed at the temple...

But all with an unnatural speed and efficiency, with the shock of inhuman strength behind each as he works to jar the blade from her hand.]

[iuramentum]

[ He's faster than she originally anticipated. It's only by virtue of the violent prickling sensation at the nape of her neck combined with nerve enhancements that allows Saber to twist aside from the strike, bringing her sword around in a vicious overhand arc to discourage a follow-up.

What kind of idiot puts away an advantage to fight someone with their bare hands? That's either exceptionally suspicious or a pretty good indicator that he's gone stark raving bonkers.

Meanwhile the wound at her back bleeds sluggishly; soaking her sleeve and coating her fingers, made worse in the heat of combat. ]

youre good

[brokeassgoing]

[he freezes as soon as his face hits that sticky surface, blood just as frozen in his veins-- you know when that sharp pain of his arm isn't in the way.]

I never wanted to play any goddamn games! Why don't you try monopoly?

[this is when he starts wiggling]

[lotusmesenpai]

[They're still standing, and the bastards are still breathing, therefore he's clearly not done enough.

However, he's not so enraged as to act blindly - he's not going to hurt her just to break free his arm.

Instead, he reaches down, unholsters the firearm then, flicks off the safety, and then snaps the weapon up to snap off a few rapid shots, hitting each of the men that had cornered her with an economical efficiency.

Gaze still hard, utterly unyielding, he glances down at her and frowns.]

...Stun setting, for now. But if anything's broken.

[He will switch to lethal settings. Now.]

[brokeassgoing]

[for a second he's sure this man is so offended by the ass sweat that the sword is intended for him-- but the warning has him ducking out of the way-- so he can follow up with a kick to the back of this current foe's kneecap]

WELL IT MAKES ME FEEL BETTER! I don't have time for a better war cry, you try!

[lotusmesenpai]

Then what is it? It's unfamiliar.

[Turning his gaze to the mob before them, blinks slowly, and then lets a slow sneer slip into place. Because for him, the question doesn't offer a challenge, no moral dilemma to be found. Instead he rolls his head to the side, the sneer still in place as he scoffs at the older man.]

I am able to interfere, but why would I waste my time? Sure, I hate the Company, but it's not a piss-ant nobody like that that matters. And just because I was born a Westie doesn't mean I'm as pathetic as them.

Fuck 'em both, for all I care.

[fledges]

Wow, the mouth on you.

[There's no real bite to it, and she does as he asks, feeling at her ribs gently and wincing. Then, much more quietly:]

Thank you. Seriously.

[homonka]

[ Because there's something so very, very wrong about all of this. Not morally--no, she is ever faithful to her duties, but something that echoes in her spirit and screams. Claws at the wrongness of it all.

Because we are not their slaves, she thinks, but that makes no sense either. They are servants of their respective masters, and though she ranks above him, she is no more granted freedom than he. They are both cogs in a machine that decreed the why and when they were born, who they are and will be.

Sui Feng grits her teeth against these traitorous thoughts, watching the woman's silhouette disappear into the rabble that's cloistered away from their red landscape to tend to the fires and rages of less vicious beasts.

She should kill that one, make a message of it.

She shouldn't have made Fenris stop.

Dagger sleeved, Sui Feng surveys her uniform with a touch of disgust, haughty airs put on display to distract from the muddled state of her mind.

Finally, breath drawn and tone cool despite the tumult behind its summoning, the reaper--no, the officer speaks. ]

Better to leave a survivor to tell the tales of those we slay.

[ Better not to lose himself to mindless killing and forget his place in this world. Even if it's an unpleasant place, it's meant to be better than this. More artful.

Less... base. ]

Come. Representatives of the Company should never be in such a state of disarray. It's disgraceful. We should retire for now.

steph brown | westerley | week 6

[eggplanting]

Good Will Corps - Summit; OTA

[Steph feels a little weird about being at the Summit, when she signed up with the Good Will Corps it was because she wanted to help by doing something, and words aren't exactly her strong suit. Half the Good Will Corps seemed to be invited, which makes it a little less awkward, though she still isn't quite sure what her purpose is supposed to be.

It seems important, at least, to be a Leithian and a Company employee who isn't… terrible, who doesn't hold anything against Westerley just for their existence, so she shows up every day and tries to listen, even if she doesn't have much to contribute. As far as she can see, there isn't an easy solution to all the problems, but she can understand the frustration of Westies in a way that sits like a familiar weight in her chest.

So when some fancy-looking Leithian starts spouting off about how Westies don't deserve a replacement for the Accords after they poisoned people, Steph can't keep her mouth shut.]

You can't just blame an entire population for the actions of a few of them, that's shitty!

[She's not exactly eloquent but she's gonna (verbally) fight this dude anyway.]

Fight club; I discussed this option with a couple people feel free to jump in if you want!!

[Ever since the hijacking attempt over the Badlands, something has been itching under Steph's skin, a need to find the ease and familiarity she felt while dodging and throwing punches again. She has no idea what it means, but it's something to hold on to when not a lot else makes sense to her, so she does. It isn't a plan, ending up in the basement of a sleazy bar surrounded by a shouting crowd, but she was in the bar having a drink when she overheard a couple talking about the fighting going on downstairs, and she'd been curious.

Twenty minutes later, she'd ended up in the haphazardly drawn ring.

It's not the same as the fight in the Badlands, there's less desperation but the fights go on longer, requiring a little more thought than it did before, when she can't just rely on pure instinct to carry her through each moment, which results in her taking a few more hits than she did before. They don't bother her as much as she feels like it should, the pain is there, but it's easy to push away.

Even though she's taking some hits, she's still damn good, and she's still enjoying the hell out of this. Adrenalin is a hell of a drug, especially when combined with the thrill of knowing something, more than just the way she can fly and cook and do all those boring everyday things. A kick connects with someone's chest, knocking the breath out of them, and it feels like coming home.]

[homonka]

[ Sui Feng regards the man, studying the colors and grade of his wardorbe. A Leithian. Whether highly prized or polished, he is below her station, and she has no reason to stay her tongue.

He looks more like a rat to her. Desperate for the spoils of his Qreshi masters. Beneath them. Less than.

Tired of holding her shawl, she drops her hands, arms folding at the low of her back. Since she does not look upon her superior, she holds her head up, studying the young Simms from the corner of her eye. ]

They all do, my lord. It's the nature of the lower classes.

[ Softly, a thread of irritation bleeding through-- ]

It's pathetic.