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

closed - rhys, w5d7

[lacuscular]

[ She doesn't understand why Rhys couldn't have, truly, done this himself...but she's not one to say no to someone who needs help (who is technically above her in the Company hierarchy).

The information, itself, wasn't all too hard to get a hold of. It was the timing between everything happening that made it more difficult than necessary. But as soon as she finally had some free time between orders, she's already on her way to Rhys' office. ]

It's Juvia. [ Her brows furrow instantly, realizing that he probably isn't doing anything scandalous in his office. It only urges her to knock faster, and then unceremoniously open his door quicker. A blob of water, with three ice cubes swirling around inside it, circulates right above her bruised cheek-- leaving her with a gloved and bare hand, the latter holding the document she's compiled. ] I have what you asked for!

so very busted

[oneirism]

[Y e p

And Lapis would've believed that, if he could look her in the eye and say that. So she just puts her hands on her hips, raising her brows in response.]

Can I make some tea for you, before you go? [At least she's asking, since it would be rude even for her to just barge onto his ship. Plus she notices how he can telepathically control everything. So, best to ask.]

[refactor]

[ Truth be told, Jack's skill with cards was actually a fairly recent development.

For most of his life, he hadn't really been the kind of guy to play cards. Never really timid, but back when he was working tech, it just had never really been something he'd been interested in. But as his personality got more boisterous, more unhinged, and his coworkers had changed a bit... He had learned pretty quickly. There was, after all, something to the image of a card shark that appealed to him. It was probably the bravado over anything else, but there was little that fit the persona of Handsome Jack better than anything to bolster bravado.

He grins each time he wins, toothy, but not unfriendly at all. This is an easy, relaxed game, one where Jack isn't playing with a vicious desire to win despite his competitive streak. It works well, since it means that this stays friendly. Jack has a temper, but in situations like this? He's at least not so bad. Or not as bad as he could be. ]

Oh- Oh, you think so, Ging? [ Short for "ginger," naturally. Jack is always fond of his nicknames, but at least there are more personalized ones once he gets a bit more comfortable with someone. Whether this is a good or a bad thing is up for debate. He waves his cards like a fan towards himself, snickering as he does so. ]

I mean, I dunno... Could have the best hand here. You sure you wanna risk that? I'm on a hot streak here.

[lacuscular]

[ Her demeanor almost immediately changes the moment she hears him speak to her, a stark contrast to the woman she was moments before he approached her. To be honest, having heard about that part of Handsome Jack certainly didn't prepare her for that sweetheart of his. In her embarrassment, she digs into the back of the poor person beneath her even harder, eyes bugging out in surprise.

The pained grunt beneath her is background noise compared to what she's trying to register right now. ]

Who?

[ She looks down, desperately trying to remember not to get distracted or do anything stupid (both options very likely). She squints her eyes in thought-- what does she even call him.. Jack? Handsome?? Handsome Jack??? ]

Are they important? Juvia can get off if you need her to.

[ofobedience]

[The pity Julius feels for him-- it remains an indiscernible thing just as Julius' reticence remains hidden and unobserved. Perhaps the small signs of it are there, something subtle in his body language and the tone of his voice, but if they are Giovanni's too wired to pick up on it. Too focused on his own rising excitement and the thought of things to come. Wouldn't, in all likeliness, understand even if he could perceive it.

Instead he casts a cursory glance down to the pistols holstered at his thighs, a fleeting thing because he already knows he's ready and prepared, knows he doesn't need the weapons at all should it come down to it. He is the weapon after all and he doesn't, in fact, intend to utilise them the entire time.

Would prefer to get creative, instead.]

Yes, I have everything, Sir. I'm ready.

[Ready and willing and raring to go.]

[iuramentum]

[ If Sion knows what's good for him, he will never ever voice her cuteness factor out loud. Height is free game though - it's an advantage in combat, and so there's no reason for her to be upset about it.

A returned bow? Unexpected. Possibly even a refreshing change from the usual client apathy. The offer to be looked after, however, falls on the opposite side of the scale; potentially dangerous, even if made with good intentions in mind.
And we all know which way a road paved with Good Intentions leads. ]

That won't be necessary, sir. [ The very last thing any bodyguard service needs is a client with an unexpected streak of suicidal heroism. Judging from Saber's firm tone, she won't be having any of your nonsense today, Sion. ] I would prefer you stay out of any possible altercations.

Transit in day to day duties was included in the contract, as you may recall... unless you choose to terminate the agreement early. [ Pause. ] Any payment rendered will not be refunded regardless of the duration remaining, so I would advise against it.

[ A.k.a while she would undoubtedly be perfectly happy to go home early and do whatever it is she does in her free time (spoilers: it's just more training), he'd be a complete and utter idiot to do so. Trust her to be perfectly tactless about loopholes in RAC paperwork. While it would be an easy way to get joy for essentially nothing... well. It just isn't right.

Saber neatly folds her hands at the small of her back, unconsciously falling into an 'at ease' position. ]

Have you decided on a route already, or shall I secure one for you?

(closed - W5D5) for lavi

[bywolves]

[ It's been a week. It's been a shitty week, but Royce isn't going to complain too much. He's not surprised, by any means, that things went horribly, and he's not surprised that the Accords fell through. Of course they did. Who could ever trust a bunch of nobles to follow through on promises that would make them less rich?

Something always... stirs in the back of his head, when he thinks about that. But he ignores it.

Kate helped him before. And Royce doesn't - he doesn't need help right this second necessarily, but he does need to check in on her. She's annoying, sure, but she's been useful. And while he won't be laying low at her place, he will be dropping in here before he heads elsewhere. Which means he just, y'know. Breaks into her place, like usual.

Or he tries to, anyway. He's at her window on her floor, lifting the window so he can slide right in. He's assuming that most people are more concerned with themselves at the moment, on top of being injured here and there, so he's not being as sneaky as usual. ]

(closed - W6D1) for rhys

[bywolves]

[ Royce gets a backlog of messages for Duster once the riots are over, which he thought he might. It's good for business, chaos like this. What gets his attention the most, however, is a message from one member of the Nine in particular. Senior Vice-President of Westerlyn Resource Acquisition & Management Inquiries - it's a mouthful, but hey, most governmental titles are. The reason it catches his attention is because he knows that people with titles like these have a lot of joy to throw around, which means Royce rearranges his schedule to see this guy first.

It takes some doing, but Royce manages to arrange a meeting on Leith. The Bazaar is open and a good place for meetings, and in any case, he doesn't much mind being there. It's nice. The air isn't terrible, and it feels better on his lungs.

He'll be on the lookout for Rhys - he has a general idea of what this guy looks like, and he's straight up going to be an asshole and attempt to sneak up on the guy. It's almost second nature for him to do it. ]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TDJBuKZKOQ

[uncrownings]

Work to do?

[As if he's noticing his surroundings for the first time, Noctis' chin lifts and his attention moves to the freshly hammered boards.

Oh.

There's a small shuffle of his feet- it isn't shyness, it's the nagging sensation of having other things looming over his head. It's incredibly unlikely that he's being followed, or watched for that matter, but that doesn't keep the need for privacy any further from the forefront of his mind.

Noctis' hands go restlessly to his pockets.]

Can I come in?

[uncrownings]

[If he's honest, Noctis can't say he'd expected anyone to come running. A healer might, if there were any around, if their lives wouldn't be in danger by virtue of being in the mass of bodies at all. As the throng moves in one great pulse of activity, Noctis squares his stance and bends his knees, attempting to take the man's weight and distribute it in any way that'd facilitate movement.

But instead of getting heavier, the load lightens.

Noctis' head jerks up, vision temporarily obscured by too-long bangs.]

What the hell are you doing here?

[uncrownings]

[The fabric is filthy. It's about as filthy as Noctis himself, streaked with dirt and blood and smelling like he'll need to spend at least two days in a shower to come out shiny and new again. He's not exactly thrilled by the prospect of fishing a potential bandage from trash in an alleyway, but there aren't a world of options open to him either. It's this reality that has Noctis' head lifting and he squints into the narrow, dimly lit spaces between one building at the next. It's Royce because of course it's Royce. Who else does he know that would be perching in a place like this. The dark of his cloak keeps most of the man's figure from view, but his face is a pale cut out and more than enough to give Noctis a target for his unhappy frown.]

Thanks for the tip. I never would've guessed. [It's dry, and punctuated by the drop of his hunched shoulders- as well as the lowering of his newly found fabric. Nearly curled in on himself this shift in position bares a length of charred skin in the space above his elbow. Part of his sleeve isn't even there anymore, he really doesn't want to think that some of it could be seared into the wound.]

Is this the part where you tell me you robbed a nurse on the way here?

honestly this is everything

[uncrownings]

[There aren't many voices turned to his direction. Noctis owns no property and has made no effort to travel in circles of influence. He has the connections he'd made in leaving Utopia, which allow him to attend events like this for the sake of networking- and he has some patrons he's collected since, doing jobs where he asks for no details and keeps his mouth shut. Part of the business is not socializing where anyone's eyes might casually land. Without wealth and power it would be uncomfortable to explain how they'd met. This is in everyone's best interest, really, and Noctis' aversion to small talk is grateful for the excuse.

He's making his way to somewhere a little quieter when he hears the address and the tone has him turning around to look for someone- well. Someone on his eye level.

A beat later than he'd like, Noctis realizes it's coming from a- kid.] Uh. No.

[The instinct to flee winds down, loses it's urgency, and Noctis' posture softens around the edges. It isn't sympathy so much as it is a deflation of his intention to go. The kid doesn't look like he's about to head anywhere either and instead- he looks a little like he's standing guard actually.]

It's not really my thing.

Not yours either, huh?

FUCKOJRP "no qurl thats a bootyhole"

[brokeassgoing]

[Badou takes in the look on Noct's face, of the movement of his body, the language, then sighs. Steps back from the door, sweeps an arm:]

Fine. But if anyone busts this place in I'm giving them your ass.

[Not necessarily true. But he covets his privacy okay! Can't pick your ass without anyone watching on this planet.]

fenris | ota | westerley, all weeks

[eleutheron]

WEEK IV: THE PDD;

[ Fenris neither likes nor trust most advanced technology. Insofar as he's seen--and intimately experienced--tech is not necessarily an avenue to making the common person's life better. In fact, it's the opposite: people with resources, with power and money and influence--they weaponize progress. In the hands of the Company and the Nine, tech is a cudgel, meant to keep the lower classes in line. Fenris himself is an excellent example, and in more ways than one.

He therefore regards the PDD rollout with immense suspicion. He uses his console and other devices only sparingly as it stands, and he does not find himself enamored with the Meshwork's promises of accessibility and interconnectivity between the peoples of the Quad. He has a standard-issue device, and he wanders the street with it for the first few days, jabbing it irritably.

He mutters. ]

A self-indulgent waste of time.

WEEK V: THE RIOTS;

[ Fenris has not slept well lately. He recovered from Old Town's little plague, but discomfiting dreams still pull at him, often spilling from sleep and into the periphery of the waking world. He carries afterimages behind his eyes, and he catches them sometimes as he's trying to go about his day. Discordant voices, faded faces, events and scenes that have no clear root in his memory. He's agitated, more so than usual.

The rising unrest over the Peace Accords doesn't help. When that unrest explodes into outright riots, Fenris is initially at a loss. He faces down the raging crowds with the other Enforcers, and at first he tries to pacify and subdue. He tries to avoid violence.

But the Westerlyns are furious. Rightfully so, he knows--they've been betrayed, and there's no way around it. Yet order must be kept--and orders must be followed. The stress mounts as Fenris tries to navigate the clusterfuck, but he was never one for diplomacy.

Finally, faced with a violent, surging mob, Fenris drops all pretense. He does not shout. He does not scream invective. He simply takes hold of the man nearest to him, a man currently trying to punch a hole in his fellow man's stomach, and he breaks that man's wrist. The circuitry flashes as his victim howls in pain.

Fenris grits his teeth. Company directives pulse in the back of his mind. Quell the riots by any means necessary.

He doesn't want to kill anyone. He doesn't. But his own rage boils hot and fierce in his blood, irresistible, mixing with his frustrations, his anxieties. He cannot deny the Company. He cannot deny himself.

He throws the man to the ground, crushes the man's neck with the steel heel of his boot. The man gasps, truncated, and goes still. A few people in the crowd stare, some of them run.

But not all of them.

It's going to be a couple of days. ]

WEEK VI: POST-RIOT;

[ What has he done? Fenris hunches over a bar counter, a scene that's repeated itself every night for the past week, ever since the riots died down. He's used lethal force before, but never to this degree. Never with such unrestrained savagery. He stares at his red drink and he stares at his dark palms and all he can see is red there, too, stain after stain after stain. His hands won't stop trembling, and his head aches.

And--gods damn it--he's still fucking hallucinating.

If someone approaches, his head snaps up like he's expecting an attack.

He snarls. ]

Keep your distance.

WILDCARD;

[ Fenris will be in Westerley for the duration of this Chapter, appearing first as a vicious Enforcer during the riots and then as a sad lump of regrets later on, haunting various seedy bars with his miserable face. If you'd like something more specific, let me know! ]

[iuramentum]

Perhaps.

[ A noncommittal answer, but that's not far from the norm for Saber. In all honesty, she doesn't particularly care how much time it takes, so long as order is restored with a minimum of casualties.
She's made a point not to draw her sword despite the danger; choosing instead to rely on nerve enhancements and situational awareness to alert her to danger, and trusting her combat experience is enough to evade incoming hostiles if necessary. Seems to have worked so far.

Besides... there's no honor or justice in cutting down frightened civilians in the streets. The name of the game tonight is de-escalation, not slaughter on a massive scale, no matter what the Company might claim otherwise. ]

Avoid confrontation if possible. This is not the time or place to be making enemies of the public.

[sunderings]

[ It is not so simply a 'noticing'. Rather, it is the careful anticipation of when Julius—Julius, who has withdrawn even further into himself over the course of the night; Julius, who reminds the Director so very much of himself, at times—will choose to take his leave of the party.

Since their sojourn in the Leithian meadowland and sunshine (that day when a trio of friends had relaxed and laughed, speaking of light, airy things like belonging, like dreams), Julius' health has been in a slow but sure decline, and as much hasn't escaped the Director's eyes. Upon his return to Westerley's Command Post, Sion had sequestered himself away in his office, perusing anything, everything of note within Julius' company file. Truth be told, the investigation had been fueled by hope; by a truehearted wish that what Sion suspected (dreaded and feared) would be disproven: what he glimpsed in Julius, it could not parallel that which had been done to both himself and his dear comrades, the friends which had suffered as he had. The people who he'd sworn to save.

(The soldiers who he had promised to show a kinder, better world to before he'd lead them to their graves.)

But his findings left no shadow of doubt, just as the blood on Julius' hands left no room for inaction.

This time, Sion is the one to offer Julius a handkerchief, the square of cream fabric trimmed with gold, pretty but not so delicate as to be of disuse. ]

You are hurting.

[ Hurting in a way the Director is familiar with himself: pain, which stems from being both more and less than human. ]

Why did you say nothing? [ Gingerly, gently, Sion presses the flat of his hand to Julius' back, reassuring and steady. Though he'd witnessed only the end of the coughing fit, the blood is testament enough to its severity. A wonder, that Julius remains on his feet; that his breathing is labored, shallow, but not uncontrolled. ]

Nevermind it, do not speak. [ —chiding, it is impossible not to hear that the Director's voice is edged with with worry, his brow furrowed in concern as his golden eyes flash, suddenly sharp. ] I want for no protest when I escort you back to your ship.

[tousei]

[ Julius had expected her to chide him much like Sion did, but she doesn't - it's a surprise, but it's also something he appreciates. She doesn't press him when it really mattered and it helped preserve is stability. ]

... alright.

[ He moves so she can enter his ship, the hatch closing behind her. ]

[tousei]

[ The blood comes from the slow but steady process of the serum converting his cells into something alien - something like tissue rejection, but from within himself instead of something that was transplanted whole. His humanity fighting with his destiny in what seems to be ultimately a futile battle, leaving him weakened in time for his death and potential rebirth into a monster.

And yet, Sion has found him. A testament to the man's tenacity and perceptiveness, a gesture that only deepens Julius' own guilt.

He doesn't trust himself to speak, so he has to comply, taking the handkerchief and wiping the blood from his mouth. He would have to repay that too, after this - act upon act of something he doesn't quite deserve, all piling up until their weight was no longer not something he could bear.

In this moment, he's powerless, and he will have to impose even more. ]

for kate.

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris has the guy up against a grimy alley wall. He's got his arm braced against the man's neck, crushing the windpipe, pinning him in place. Fenris had yanked him from the thick of the riots a moment earlier; as far as he could tell, the man was a laborer, possibly in the fields, possibly in a mine somewhere. Covered in dirt, smudgy skin, matted hair, unwashed clothes. Screaming his voice raw. He'd been inciting the others, directing them as they threw bottles of flaming alcohol against the broken windows of various shops.

Now he was struggling, kicking his legs, trying to get even a breath in edgewise. Fenris doesn't quite know what to do with him. He's distracted. Hearing things, seeing things. It's been particularly intense over the last few hours--he feels sure that he's being watched. That someone's following him, stepping just beyond his line of sight.

The man whimpers, and Fenris jabs his elbow into the soft meat of his throat. Then, he hears it--someone taking a sharp, sudden breath. Scowling, he looks up, around. ]

Show yourself. Now.

[sunderings]

You will do more than just manage. [ An automaton brought to life by an enchantment—the sound of his name—Giovanni no longer stands as a sentinel, but instead colors the medical tent with the flash of a smile (there and then gone), a gesture which Sion returns with a soft huff of sound (well-intentioned but exasperated, likely chiding, but only by a touch), and an inviting cant of head; a loft of brow. ] Please, come here.

[ To the side of the cot where the child lies still in the absence of adrenaline, hushed save for recurrent pleas for a mother, a father, an elder brother, family whose whereabouts remain unknown. And what Sion murmurs next—you will see them soon, should you be able to keep still for awhile longer—is not a lie, but a steadfast hope, one which sees the child eased, and the medical tent brought back to a quiet marked by both urgency and an undercurrent of warmth; the benevolence to be found in one man, given to kindness and to mercy, and another...

...willing, at least in part, to to help. ]

It is inherent to us, to build, to break, then build again. [ Satisfied with the condition of the makeshift splint, Sion sets his sight upon fabric—old bedding to be repurposed into bandages—and takes to portioning the material, ripping it precisely along the selvage edge. ] This is true, even for you, Giovanni.

[ Two strips of fabric, three, then four. ]

It would be of immense help to me, if you apply traction to the leg. If you pull in the same directional plane as the bone, it will ease the break back into place. Meanwhile, I...

[ Five, six.

(Breaking, to build.) ]

...will secure the splint in place. Together, we will fix this.

kara styrdottir | westerley | week 4 | open & closed

[valr]

open; week1; westerley

[The newly distributed PDDs are filled with calls to action, both for assistance and resistance, but Kara's is sitting in pieces somewhere in the Badlands, so her own efforts are quiet and focused on what she knows. Right now, her focus is on assistance more than anything else, because there are whispers of what's coming and she knows that soon her attention will be on larger, but not necessarily more important, goals. Until then, she spends her Joy and her time gathering simply supplies; medicine and food, mostly, because it's what people need when sickness strikes.

She's a quiet presence, bag slung over a shoulder, stuffed with her purchases as she makes her way between houses. Not every house is stopped at, but almost every back end clinic receives a visit at some point during those long days as the virus peters out, and she stops on the street sometimes to offer food to the grubby and skinny kids that run past.

For anyone she knows who stumbles across her, it's probably a bit of an odd sight, Kara playing the good Samaritan, but for anyone she doesn't know, they might be getting asked if they know anyone who was sick, or if they themselves need help.

In another universe, caring like this is harder, but here the cold exterior is still mostly just an exterior.]

→ hanzo; early week 5

[valr]

[Someone is following her.

The upper tunnels are quieter than usual, all of the Resistance delving deeper where there's less chance of Company Enforcers finding them, but Kara was due to meet some low-level messenger so she could give him Joy and info to take back to some of those higher up on the tree.

When that contact hadn't shown up on time, she'd waited for only five minutes before deciding to retreat, knowing that it could mean he'd been caught by the Company, and she doesn't trust him to not spill the location of the meet-up if the Enforcers press the right buttons. But she has a feeling that five minutes was too long, judging by the almost-silent footsteps she can hear in the tunnels behind her, the sound of someone trying to be quiet.

Knowing there's only so far she can run without risking drawing her follower deeper into the tunnels (and thereby risking exposing the Resistance), Kara stops her attempt at fleeing and turns to face whoever is pursuing her head on, hand resting on the hilt of her sword, ready.]

Show yourself or die.

[It seems like a fair offer to her.]

→ giovanni; w4d5

[valr]

[There's blood in the air; it's more than just the smell that alerts her, it's the copper tang on the back of her tongue as she breathes in, it's the sound of screams from terrified Westies, something deeper than just fear of the Enforcer, who dole out death with quick shots.

Kara could run, should run, maybe, but there's blood in the air and there's war in her blood and so she doesn't think as she strides against the fleeing crowd, searching for the source of the panic. The taste of blood grows thicker as the press of bodies thins out, and Kara draws her sword.

The man with his hand in a rioters chest is covered in blood, and Kara has no doubt he's the cause of all this.]

Enough.

[Her posture is loose, sword held firm in her hand. She's only a small thing, but there's violence written in the every line of her body.]

→ royce; w4d5

[valr]

[The text she'd sent had been fairly innocuous, a simple my window's open if you need it to Royce's device when she'd had a couple of seconds to spare between dragging people away from Company fire or hiding them from Company eyes. She doesn't know if he'll accept, or if he'll even have need of it, but with how chaotic things are at the moment she hadn't felt right not making the offer.

It's been hours since she reached out to Royce by the time she finally stumbles in through her own front door, shirt soaked with blood from almost-healed wounds, but despite the distraction of the fading pain, she immediately knows that someone else is in the apartment.

Maybe because she's sure she didn't leave the kitchen light on.]

Royce, is that you? You better not be eating my food.

→ kanda; w5d6/7 i'm not fussy

[valr]

[Kara is tired. It's a rare feeling for her, when her body keeps her at peak performance regardless of how much rest she's had or how much work she's done, but the last few days have stretched her even to her limit, so when the riots are quelled and everyone retreats to recover, she takes time to do the same.

Of course, there are orders delivered to her that she needs to start investigating and a handful of Resistance members sleeping on her couch because their places were raided during the riots, but it's still a chance to get off her feet for a few moments.

Apparently the universe has other plans for her, because not long after she's popped the top off a beer does the buzzer for her apartment sounds, though at least a quick check of the surveillance reveals it's only Kanda.

Any of you got warrants on you? Is asked of her guests, and when they all shake their head, she hits the button to unlock the gate, allowing Kanda to come up. These people are Resistance, but Killjoys are neutral, so long as there's no warrant involved, she's sure he won't make a big deal out of it.]