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

[uncrownings]

[Is this kid- evaluating him?

There's a part of him that's startled by this exchange, and another that reminds him that this is Leith- age doesn't count for much. Whoever this boy is, as the son of one of this gala's invites he stands to inherit a future that Westies can't even wrap their heads around. The Qreshi may own the Quad, but their power comes from limited and removed numbers. Leith is a tangible wealth- a visible, knowable, theoretically attainable life.

Noctis doesn't approach any closer, nor does he attempt to round the pillar between them. He lapses into silence when a server passes by and trades his half full glass for a fresh one that he doesn't sip from. Expectations.]

I'm flattered. [There's nothing facetious about Noctis' manners. He's always had a sarcastic streak, but he doesn't make a habit of throwing sass around with strangers.] But I'm just a merchant with a run of good luck. [Admittedly not entirely true, but he's not about to open his mouth and talk about supplies and what he may or may not traffic in with a ten year old he's never spoken to before. He's survived this long with discretion and caution, in equal measure.]

He must have a lot of business if you're here working too. Unless you're striking out on your own?

[bywolves]

[ Royce's lips twitch slightly in amusement at Noctis calling him a showoff - he didn't do it on purpose this time, but he won't protest. Whether Royce likes it or not, easily jumping off fire escapes and landing like a cat tends to draw eyes and first impressions. ]

Hard to be in the right place, right now. [ Royce remarks, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes are on that wound. He's distant for a second, running through a list of medical supplies he might have at his place (if he can get in his place, that is) should Noctis need them. As for the question, Royce shrugs. ]

The building I typically live in got hit by some of the worst of the riots. I'm staying far away from it, seeing as I'd like to keep all my limbs.

"He understands." ??? !!!! this kills the man

[uncrownings]

[This is not what he expected his life to be like. Noctis knows that he isn't the only person in the Quad who would say the words and maybe that's part of what keeps him from saying it- but every now and again, the thought vibrates through his body. He doesn't belong here. He had a home before this. He had a life and responsibilities of his own, he had politics of his own to navigate; here was upheaval and chaos and uncertainty back there, things he knew. Things he never got to see through to the end.

Would it have turned into this if he'd stayed?
The woman on his shoulder goes slack, knees giving out only seconds before help reaches them.

What Noctis sees first is the Company uniform and he knows with bone deep certainty and five years of adjusting to the norms here that if he pulls a weapon on a Company enforcer- it's going to change the course of his life again. But if he doesn't, this woman might die and so might he.

The hilt is in his hand. But the man doesn't attack.

It takes Noctis a moment too long to place his face- the do-gooder guy from the alley. Mr Hero, at it again. The relief is almost immediately replaced when the man's words register and with one arm around the injured woman's waist, his head whips up, anger creasing his brows.

Does he not realize what he's saying? Does he not realize what he's saying while wearing that uniform?]

They don't all want to stay off the streets.

i should have expected that and yet

[uncrownings]

I. [Hanna isn't wearing pants. Their relationship isn't one that's ever made this normal, or given him practice with her casual approach to- so many things. But it's something Noctis should be mentally prepared for. He knows that.] Uh-

[And he abruptly turns around all the same, chin lifting and gaze casting pointedly upward- at pretty much anything that isn't Hanna.]

Sorry, what?

[uncrownings]

[Need is always so subjective here. Noctis does need more medical treatment, but he doesn't need it as much as the protesters need protection, or food, or shelter, or a future. It might scar, but he's not going to die, and that's a far weightier reality hanging over their heads.

His desire to appear aloof keeps his expression mostly unflappable while he wraps the wound. It's messy and crooked, the work of a guy that's never needed to tend to himself at his worst. There's blood under his fingernails and in the creases of his knuckles. Noctis nods, tries to keep it normal.]

Here's hoping they don't burn it down.

But you might be away for awhile.
[Even with the tide of violence rising, there's so much momentum behind the riots that they don't feel close to stopping any time soon. Maybe perspective is different this close up, he can't say for sure.]

[bywolves]

[ Royce watches Noctis wrap his wounds, only just barely acknowledging that he'll probably be out on the street for a while before taking a few silent steps forward. He gestures at Noctis' wound and the messy job. ]

You wrap it like that and it'll fall off. [ Look, he's an asshole and he admits it most often, but Noctis needs his arm as surely as the people out here need protection and food and shelter. Sometimes being selfish is better in the long run. ]

Don't waste my bandages by doing a slapdash job. Let me do it if you can't.

[inksplashes]

[ Ostensibly, he's here to check in on an informant of sorts, a marker of historical events that has earned a place in his records. On the surface, that's what Kate is -- what their relationship falls to -- a summary in a record, a cliff note left at the end of a page with a small number.

Calm steps, easy smiles, hands in his pockets, head tilted down. Some of the passing people take pause, scan him for signs of Company insignia, but the badge at his arm wards them off.

Killjoy, not a cop.

So when he sees the shroud of shadow at Kate's window, deftly slipping through, he keeps his pace. Wears his smile without pause.

(Inside his mind is ticking, turning, clicking, humming. Who is that? Why are they here? Someone to hurt his friend--

His source--

But she's not helpless, and they'd know that.)

His right hand falls towards his hip, fingers brush the weapon holstered there, then lower, touching the compact hammer strapped to his thigh.

No, not needed. This isn't a warrant he's pursuing, at least not yet. Best to be friendly about it. Maybe they didn't know that doors are ordinarily for the entering, and it's polite to knock.

Lavi demonstrates, then, knocking once, twice, knuckles a soft rap on the door. Casually, calmly: ]

Did ya know this is a custom of the people, friend? Knocking on the door when you wanna get inside someone's place. Windows went out of fashion centuries ago.

[uncrownings]

[Well there's nothing like disapproval when you're trying your best- which is to say, so much for playing it cool. The job is absolutely messy, but Noctis is a little put out to have his patch work dragged when he figures it'll do. He's not going for medical grade but surely this is enough to last until he gets somewhere safe to clean it up and pay for a doctor.

Right?

Noctis flexes his hand experimentally. The uppermost band comes loose and sags.]

It looks-

[His face turns away, maybe an attempt to avoid the unavoidable]

Fine.

[bywolves]

[ Royce doesn't answer at first as he's gone through the window, but after a moment, he peeks back out at Lavi, expression flat under the dark hood he's wearing. ]

I like to consider myself old-fashioned. [ Royce says. He's not worried. Killjoy, not a cop - not someone who is going to arrest his straight out. He doesn't have any warrants on him right now. He's fine. He'll be okay. He has his papers. ] She isn't home.

[bywolves]

[ Royce closes the distance between them. He doesn't touch, though. Doesn't like to make a habit of reaching out for people. ]

It looks like a beginner's job. [ Royce tells him. ] Can't apply a beginner's knowledge to an expert's problem. I'm not going to tell anybody I fixed it for you.

[ He's also not going to grab unless Noctis gives him the go ahead. His hands stay folded across his chest. ]

[bittybat]

[It's fine. Damian will get the goods out of Noctis one way or another. Preferably, Noctis will learn to come out of it in one piece.] I'm sure.

No one in this entire building is just a merchant with a run of good luck. [Just... a casual reminder that Damian isn't stupid.] Not right now. An RAC agent is impartial and holds no alliances.

But currently I'm not on duty, so to speak. I'm a Wayne, here with my father while he mingles among other merchants with a penchant for good luck. [He doesn't take his eyes off the people, and he doesn't make any move to close the gap between them. He stands very straight, legs together, arms crossed over his chest.] Father is trying to build an enterprise.

He wants to dabble in a little of everything to see if he can make what's available better for the general public. [Damian doesn't specify whether the general public is Leithian, Westerlies, or those like the Nine.] Medicine, industry, augments.

And protection.

the riots

[lacuscular]

[ Displays of violence aren't something lost upon Juvia. She knows that right now, it's just following orders. What's happening here does not equate to who the co-workers beside her really are. Until now, she's been able to say that sentence with absolute certainty.

Juvia is rooted to the ground, the person she was holding back from getting in on all that action having run off as soon as she let him ago. It's more of a whisper to herself, because it's hard for her to imagine someone she knows doing something so brutal. ] Fenris! [ She would be fully panicking if it weren't for so many people around them. Many people that, she concludes, cannot interfere.

A torrent of water shoots through the crowd, the sheer force of it sweeping a handful of people right into it. With practiced motion, she shapes her water into a giant bubble— not only trapping those swept inside, but forcing them to survive long enough in it until her point is proven. ]

If you continue with your actions Fenris, Juvia will stop you. [ You will go in the bubble! Everyone will go in the bubble!! ] And if I see anymore acts of violence, simply arresting will no longer be the first thing I resort to!

[ Granted, she very much just made things entirely worse and more frightening by essentially drowning people in the middle of an industrial city, but she's only focused on settling everything right now. ]

[impulsors]

[ It's still simmering, all grumbles and little bursts of violence kept to Old Town's backstreets and not its grimy storefronts, its old-fashioned windows worn with polish. They're angry, are the people knocking over garbage cans and piling down the way; but they're still workers with mouths to feed and beds to tumble into at the end of the day -- not the fury-forged body of a real mob, heedless of everything but the need to burn things down. Bad sign, but it's nothing he can't actually take.

Not that actual danger would stop Keith from pushing his way through a cramping alleyway. He's got armor. He can deal. ]

Hey!

[ It's a blur at the corner of his eye -- the slam of shoulder to shoulder, kicks and a roar, a body falling -- and (stupid, stupid) Keith whirls back, elbowing his way to drag the figure back up and out of the way. He's got a hand braced beneath an elbow, a hand steadying against his back, before the face actually resolves and registers. ]

Wait -- you?

[ He has to shout to make himself heard -- not that it matters when he's hauling them both for the last couple steps into open air. ]

What're you doing here?

[ofobedience]

[He hears the softly murmured words, meant as hope and reassurance yes but is that the reality of it? Vaguely, Giovanni has his doubts, both in regard to the tactic and the sentiment. He wants to shake his head, click his tongue, but even with this man who he knows will tolerate more from him than many Company higher-ups would, he restrains himself all the same, bites back the words. It's not his place to voice such opinions (to have opinions at all) and more than that, he doesn't care enough for the fate of those missing family members (or, indeed, the child itself) to make any mention of them. To think too long on where they've ended up.

Instead, he moves as requested to the other man's side, listens attentively enough.]

You're wrong about that. With respect, hahah. Those kinds of traits, they're not meant for things like me.

[But regardless, he's reaching to grasp the child's thin leg between his palms-- hands that can punch through flesh and bone with a sickening kind of strength now resting there mildly, all the sparking brutality in him held, temporarily, in check.

He glances, briefly, into Sion's face. Just for a moment, and then his gaze returns to the broken appendage lying beneath the pass of his hands.]

How much force should I apply, Sir?

[Not too much, he thinks. Like reassembling a gun rather than a movement meant to cause harm.]

[valr]

[The look she gives him is somewhere between (fond) annoyance and genuine concern, since he's looking almost as bad as she is. And as far as she knows, he doesn't have nanites to help the healing process.]

Something like that.

[The food thing really doesn't bother her, so long as he hasn't touched her drugs, because that's where she's heading now, to a spot under the sink where a first aid waits. She sets it on the counter near Royce and starts rifling past the bandages and aspirin, looking for the real painkillers.]

Want some of the good stuff? Looks like you could use it.

- BADOU | W4D7

[iuramentum]

[ Lurking around the nooks and crannies of the darker corners of the worlds is part and parcel with being an RAC agent. In all honesty, she's staking out the general area for a... uh... "fugitive" that skipped out on their lunch bill.

(They ordered a glass of water and ate two baskets of complimentary bread sticks. Shocking.)

Imagine her surprise when she spots a certain someone doing whatever it is he does - aside from annoying the general populace - on a daily basis. Saber immediately changes course, making a beeline straight for Badou with a grim quality to the set of her shoulders.
Cue Jaws theme ]

[bywolves]

[ He does not. Though he'd love to get some of those nanites, honestly. Hook him up, Kara. ]

No. [ That's firm. He doesn't mind the pain - keeps him level and keeps him focused. He's got this crazy vendetta against painkillers in general. Royce carefully cuts through the apple with his dagger - the shiny, white, ultra-sharp one he always has on him - and munches on one of the apple slices as he watches her go through the first aid. ] Not that bad off. You know I'm excellent at avoiding confrontation.

[ He's uneasy, though - he doesn't much show it on his face, but he's spent enough time around Kara for her to probably pick out that he's sitting on the counter because he doesn't feel very safe. If he did, he'd be in a chair, sprawled out. ]

- GIOVANNI | W5D5

[iuramentum]

[ It's absolute bedlam on the streets. Broken glass, all brittle, sharp edges. Smoke. Fire. Screams and curses.

And people. A literal sea of bodies.
Some rioters, some not, almost all of them frightened and lashing out at those around them in the instinctual response of a terrified animal. More than a few innocents have been injured by their peers rather than the Enforcers descending on them en masse.

Saber's chosen to spend her time directing foot traffic away from the worst areas, shepherding her charges through the maze of side streets and alleys as quickly as she can without sacrificing order. Not all have chosen to trust a stranger in a suit, but it helps a little that she remains utterly calm regardless of the reactions her presence garners; deliberately choosing not to openly bear arms helps a little when talking down the occasional belligerent man or woman from their adrenaline high.
It's not much, but becoming the rock in the proverbial storm helps to ground some of the civilians from panic, and for now that must be enough.

Currently, Saber stands above the crowd thanks to the fallen concrete barrier she's used as a perch, keeping an eye on the bottleneck forming at the mouth of the alley between a mechanic's shop and the smouldering ruins of what may have once been a modest restaurant. She clearly expects the Enforcers to be approaching from behind the crowd, driving them forward, not for certain outliers to circle around and approach from the flank. ]

[uncrownings]

[There's something encouraging in that- not just that Royce won't comment about it, but the comparison he makes. It's a balm, effective because it makes sense without making him feel inferior in the process. Noctis knows there are leagues between what he knows and what those around him are capable of, he isn't an expert at survival or a seasoned combatant.

Noctis watches him- and his shoulders soften by degrees.] Alright.

[He eases back from the wall and into the space between them, unable to offer his arm outright without doing more damage in the process.]

Show me what to do.

[bywolves]

[ Yes, him - and Royce is vaguely glad that he's not been curbstomped, but mostly, he's annoyed that he had to be rescued at all. Especially by this guy, the killjoy he recognizes. Royce scowls at Keith as he's dragged up, wrenching his arm away from the guy the second they're out in said open air and putting his back to a wall. Any wall, he doesn't care. ]

I live here. [ Royce snaps, aggravated. ] What are you doing here?

[impulsors]

[ Stripped of the insulating crowd, Royce looks (and reeks) very much like a guy who landed in an dumpster and got dragged across a patch of concrete that's probably had at least three crimes committed on it. Keith steps back, folds his arms tight; an eye flicks back to the alley in a deep-felt expression. ]

You live here.

[ In a dumpster? ]

[uncrownings]

[The posture should have given him away- but in retrospect, Noctis has seen a few Killjoys in the day to day grind with far more casual bends to their spine. He'd written it off as manners, something ground into him probably from birth. Which leaves Noctis with the knowledge that not only is this kid potentially navigating him into a contract or interrogation, but that he's also a bounty hunter.

Unbelievable.

His back to the pillar, Noctis' gaze moves over the crowd- lands briefly on a few familiar faces and tries to find the combination of complexion and bone structure that might give away Damian's parentage. It's not an urgent need, but it's something to keep him occupied. The glass in his hand remains as full as when he'd taken it.]

That sounds ambitious. [The only track he can really take is to let the other lead and take his time in following. It's not beyond him to give information where he can, so long as the cost isn't owed to himself or a client, but this particular conversational partner is- complicated. To say the least.]

I can see why he could use your help.

[bywolves]

[ ... Okay, listen, you. Royce scowls even further. ]

General here. [ Royce massages the bridge of his nose. ] Westerley here. Though if these riots keep going - never mind. I doubt you live here. Which brings me to my question.

[impulsors]

. . . some people were talking about calling in the Company a couple streets up. They think it's worse than it is.

[ It's both answer and warning in the same sharp note -- derailed, abruptly, as context filters back in. Clearly Royce isn't a rioter. What he is, on the other hand -- ]

You should probably take off.

[bywolves]

I was trying to, before the rioters found me. [ Royce has absolutely no interest in rioting whatsoever. He's also not going to thank Keith for helping him, because he's a jerk. ] What do you plan to do?

[ Out of curiosity. Information gathering is information gathering. ]