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

[bywolves]

[ For everything that Royce knows, there's going to be something he doesn't that Noctis does. The reason he bothered to speak up in the first place is because possibly, maybe, just a little, because he respects Noctis for being able to do the things he can't. And Noctis can't continue to do those things while injured. Royce leans in to unravel the bandage. ]

Takes practice. [ Royce tells him. He's pretty gentle, fingers quick and light as he starts wrapping the burn. The bandages are loose, but tied so they won't slide off. ] Don't keep this on too long. Need to run cool water over the burns sooner rather than later. This is just to make sure you don't get this dirty.

[impulsors]

Stop them.

[ -- says a boy with empty hands and a decidedly ugly jacket for a weapon. His brows twitch together as he listens -- but the roar's a tidal swell by now, incoherent as the sea. ]

What're they even yelling about?

[valr]

[They'd kill him but if he wants them he can have them.]

Sure looks it.

[There's sarcasm there, but it isn't cutting so much as just pointing out the fact that he's a bit of a liar, based on the litany of injuries he's acquired.

When she finds the pills she was after, she shoves a few of them into her mouth, then fills a mostly clean glass from the sink with water to wash them down. They'd be enough to knock out an elephant, but Kara's liver works quick, so they'll barely take the edge off for half an hour. Luckily that'll get her through most of the healing process.

Now she's a little more capable of functioning as a human.]

What's going on, Royce?

[Normally she'd be happy to bullshit their way around a conversation until she finally found out what was bothering him, but she's too tired for that, and he doesn't seem much better.]

[bywolves]

[ Okay, he concedes on that one. Normally he's good at avoiding confrontation, but normally the streets aren't full of people rioting and stampeding. Royce twirls his dagger idly, his eyes flicking to the doorway every so often. ]

The riots are going on. [ He shrugs. ] Half my contacts have gone dark. Building I was holed up in got ransacked. You've been out in the middle of it, you know what the damage is.

[ He's paranoid by nature. This all just ramps it up like crazy. ]

[bittybat]

[After a long scour, it's not hard to find the right man. It's not Bruce, technically, but it is in this world. As close as it's going to get. The man is an adult Damian except with blue eyes instead of green, an easy-going expression and an occasional and polite smile--two things Damian lacks.

It doesn't seem to bother the boy based on the face, but in the eyes...] So do you come to these events just to stand around and be useless?

[This time, he's looking at Noctis. His eyes don't waver, don't blink. They're firm and serious.] Do you come for charity? Free drinks and free food?

Or do you come to one day find yourself willing to help people who sometimes aren't able to help themselves?

[valr]

There are places it ain't touched.

[Which is a question that isn't a question, but she wonders if there's a reason he hasn't fled to somewhere like Eulogy, where things are quieter and safer because no one's about to riot there.

Is it because he hasn't been able to get out, or because he wants to stay to help? Mostly she's asking since she'll be able to help, if it's the former.]

[refactor]

[ He laughs lightly at that "who," but he doesn't tease at it any further. Even though he uses petnames like punctuation, he still knows the line where it just gets creepy, and he won't cross that one... So instead, he focuses on the much more interesting subject at hand. Or knee, as it were. ]

Important? Nahhhhhh, important's kinda generous.

[ That person has probably also stilled at Jack's presence, but he stares back at them with a grin that's nothing short of pleased. ]

I mean, you can stay right where you are, actually! Make 'em more uncomfortable, don't really care. [ He looks up to Juvia, but jerks his thumb at the poor person caught underneath. ] Not a warrant on this guy, so technically, not coming through my neck of the woods, but! Hey, they're totally a murderer. So. Yeah. Just another piece of scum who thinks they can just get away with being an asshole.

CLOSED | Ryner, W5D1

[sunderings]

A familiar scene: a cup of tea gone cold, but still very much full to the brim; a lunch delivered by the hand of a thoughtful subordinate, the food left untouched; no less than several mountainous stacks of paperwork overcrowding the exquisite resin detailing of the Director's desk, files and folders of varying shape and size artfully constructed in some great monument to the divine perfection of three (no eating, no sleeping, no room for oneself when there is work to be done, and Company aid distributed throughout the whole of Westerley), and...!

Somehow, yet, when the door to his office opens, Sion needn't lift his eyes from the document in his hands (reports, on the casualties from the P43X attacks) to know who it is that has entered. Already, he has discerned the identity of the Enforcer by the sprawl of their walk, the grumble beneath their breath, and the yawn which follows in short suit—

"Welcome back, Ryner." He greets, smiling, his eyes flicking up to briefly appraise the other man only in the moment when it suits him. And even then, the attention which he affords his guest is short lived, golden eyes shifting toward the monitor to his right, the screen displaying all active Company patrols in Old Town, including their products: arrests.

"You survived your time in the Badlands, I see."

Not that the Director had been over-concerned, of course. Why should he be, when it had been by his order that Ryner found himself deployed to an outpost in the middle of the most toxic place in the Quad? Officially, Ryner had been tasked with performing a geological survey of the most barren sector of the wastelands; unofficially, the man had been tasked with scouting for something much different.

Something which the Director appears to have forgotten entirely in the midst of his work.

"Have you anything to report?"

[stressors]

[ they're getting swallowed up by the crowd.

and the mob is not responding to sion's rationality, his appeasements, his level-minded bid for civility during all of this unrest. despite the speakers, his commanding, fluting voice booming over them, the people seem to hear very little of him. they look at his clothes and they want him dead. the accords have fallen, but the angry masses seem bent to take as many of the company's dogs down with them as they can.

it takes a while for shiro to wade through the barricade. there are the company's enforcers in their riot gear, and he's weighed down by the heavy shield he's hauling, that he's forcing into sion's space as gunshots ring out in the evening clear. sion doesn't need the cover, has never needed cover with his impressive tech and glittering barriers -- but there's a first time for everything. ]

Sion, you need to fall back.

[ because the majority here is of the opinion that they're monsters now, and he's no stranger to what that mindset does to a person. they'll talk and talk until their lips turn blue, and all the people will see are beasts howling at them, showing off their rows of pointed teeth. ]

These people want to be heard right now. Even if that's exactly what you're saying, they're not going to listen to you.

[ i arrive at the riot.

accords: fallen
people: angered
pro-resistance sentiment: out

sion is forcibly removed from the premises.

. . . or he would've been. shiro hasn't quite realized that all of that gold is actually blood and not some... strange fabric detailing along sion's uniform. ]

crowley eusford | leith | w5d2

[eusford]

[ Coming here with a solid twenty-five years of extravagant parties on Qresh is a definite downgrade, but Crowley couldn't care less to be perfectly frank. He's here to represent the face of the Simms with another handful of people. Show sympathy, give pity, donate and extend a helping hand if it's necessary--those were all the instructions he received and for the most part he's shrugged it off the first step he took.

He has his own, personal business to attend to while here so for the most part he keeps to himself. Eyeing faces he hasn't seen in years, exchanging pleasantries, and soon enough he's dancing with a starry-eyed young woman before prying himself off of her surprisingly tight grasp. (She made a joke of him being dressed to the nines and he couldn't even force himself to laugh.)

He must have forgotten how parties went after being stuck in a house for four years. ] Hi. [ And someone was going to have to suffer for it. Same woman was encouraging him to spend more time with him and honestly he wasn't for it. ] Stand next to me for a minute.

[ Or five. Let's not get specific. ]

( if you'd like anything more specific feel free to check crowley's plotting comment and contact me through there or at vongaribaldi! )

- LAVI | W5D1

[iuramentum]

[ So. Promotions.

Pretty serious business, for someone that's heartily sick and tired of the petty warrants taking up most of their day. There's only so many times that being told to do various feats of utmost stupidity retains even the slimmest amount of entertainment.

Therefore, Saber's made the Executive Decision™ to kick it up a notch and train day in and day out to make absolutely sure she's in peak condition. Strength training? Check. Endurance? Check. Weapon handling? LOCKED. DOWN.
Suffice it to say she's expecting more of the same from Lavi, since he's so very graciously offered to help her out. What a nice guy, right?

Moral support would work too though. God knows she needs all the support she can get. ]

shrugs a lot

[brickinthewall]

What, you ain't ever seen a girl in her underwear?

[She holds up a hand.]

Don't answer that. I don't want to know what you get up to when you're not peddling whatever.

[Hanna sniffles lightly, eying him. Why did he need her this badly, anyway? Did shit finally and inevitably hit the fan? Does she have to go kill someone?]

CLOSED TO RIN

[eusford]

[ And what's better than Bring Your Kid to Work Day? Nothing.

Crowley brought Rin along after he spoke about working for the charity drives. Honestly it's not surprising given his record of being almost overwhelmingly caring and having grown up with Scarbacks. Giving to those who desperately needed help was probably something Rin has done before, but for Crowley he wasn't too interested... but that doesn't mean he was disinterested.

However he drags the kid along with him to another gala, giving him a taste of what it's like to be on the other side of this whole situation. It's quite a contrast that he, personally, is more used to. Of course he could always do more but that would require more time than he had.

But his focus drags elsewhere, to the boy beside him, and he notices something that goes against all the lessons he received while growing up. ]

Pinkies up.

[ Show some etiquette nerd! ]

[brokeassgoing]

YOUR HAIR IS A PERFECT NEST FOR A DAMN BIRD! At least mine's natural, by the way.

[flapping the papers around]

I'm in the perfect position and authority to do so!

[brokeassgoing]

[he waves his hand dismissively, and its clear in the slump of his shoulders that while he's not exactly thrilled about it...he's not a tensed animal here. Not mostly, anyway.

He sighs just looking at Noct.]

Will you sit down already? You look more constipated than usual.

[friendship or not, he trusts that Noct at face value, at least. He says what he means and means what he says.
Or he's an incredible actor.]

[sunderings]

Were I to dismiss our arrangement, I fear that my superiors would not let me hear the end of it. [ Those superiors, the head of the hydra; the ones who had issued the warrant for contract with the particular turn of phrase 'by any means necessary'. That is to say, the Director had wholeheartedly considered terminating the agreement before docking upon Leith—the loss of joy means precious little to him, and what's more, if he were truly in danger, a break of contract would mean both the removal and safety of the Reclamation Agent tasked with protecting him from harm. However... ] And that which affects me so too affects those beneath my own command.

So... [ An inquiring cant of head, a flash of golden eyes, and the tumble of his hair (worn loose for the occasion!) down, over his shoulder. ] ...shall we, then?

[ Gesturing to some ambiguous point on the horizon, Sion makes to start forward, familiar with the docks and their close proximity to the Leithian bazaar—it should not take long to secure that which he needs before making his appearance at the nobleman's estate, especially if his guard is as exemplary as he remembers her record to be. ]

We will be deviating from the course you likely have been briefed upon. [ Do forgive him, if this makes life difficult, but...! ] It would be best to appear before an audience in common clothes rather than Company uniform.

[ To appear as a person, rather than as the extension of a machination of the Nine. ]

If my memory serves correct, there is a charming boutique housed within the nearby bazaar.

[ Hmm...!! A smile, a brightening of his expression. ]

Perhaps you know of it?

- KANDA | W5D1

[iuramentum]

[ OKAY TIME TO GET SERIOUS

As in - expecting a pretty good spar, Saber's spent a decent amount of time warming up with basic exercises and sword forms, outfitted in a pair of exercise slacks and a tank top (the former, black, the latter, grey - all regulation, of course). Kanda may or may not be the subject of some rumors around the lower echelon of the RAC agents.

Not all of them are complimentary, but you know how it is.

Having decided she's ready for whatever it is that can be thrown at her, Saber's settled in to a kneeling position squarely in the center of one of the exercise mats, Excalibur laid on the floor at her side.

bring it on, scrub. ]

[brokeassgoing]

[He has no superpowers or special training whatsoever, but he does have a bad feeling. Maybe that's why he isn't so startled when he sees her-- just braces himself, shoulders set, mouth a grim line.

Badou doesn't turn tail and run but he sort of wants to.
But she doesn't seem to be speeding up to attack either.]

Well, well, well, Chuckles. Fancy seeing you down here.

hanna king // open // leith + rac hq

[brickinthewall]

every rose has its thorn // W4D7 - W5D7

[For one of the few times in her life, Hanna King is laying low.

Way low.

She's not quite off the grid, but she hasn't been raising any kind of hell either. The infection took a toll. She's been trying to get her shit together, slowly but surely, really not feeling like pushing it too much. The last few days were a haze of fire and visions, things that felt too real.

Mostly, she's been holed up in her apartment, trying to sleep it off, eat whatever junk she can have delivered to her door, and drinking. A lot.

Of course.

That, and some shopping. Girl's gotta get some goods.

She's wearing a tight black henley and half-shredded jeans, an unusually low key outfit, save for the massive combat boots. Her reflective aviator glasses cover her somewhat bloodshot eyes, her shirt covers her tattoos, but if you know her?

She's got a pretty unmistakable swagger. Hanna is going in and out of shops, stopping at some point to pick up some food from some hole in the wall along with a beer. She'll... probably be okay if you bother her, she's too tired to really say otherwise.]

everybody was kung-fu fighting // W6D1 - W6D7

[HQ's not really her place, but it is kind of like a second home, if you could count your best friend's house who feeds you sometimes when you show up at weird hours a second home.

Something like that.

Hanna's looking much better, at least. Here, she's not trying to really hide or lay low. She is who she is here. As always, she wears a tank top, emblazoned with a series of symbols across the chest. She walks with haughty confidence now that she's just about 90% good.

Sitting at a table, she frowns at the news of the downed agents. It's... more than she expected.]

Well, we're really shit outta luck, aren't we?

wildcard

[Anything, come at me!]

w5d4

[brokeassgoing]

[he's got very little love for the Company, and even less so for everything going down-- it makes things too complicated for his liking. Too crazy. Too unpredictable, as little sparks start here and there, and especially all of a sudden when he's minding his own damn business.

So there's all of that and you know, seeing a chick about to get her ass killed. He's no hero. He doesn't care.

But he does tackle her out of that grip and shove her out of the way with a:]

Are you fucking kidding me?! Get outta here!

[equerry]

The same thing you are.

[ Quite obviously. More curious is what Noctis is doing. While his line of work certainly tends to assist those in need, getting mixed up in these riots doesn't seem like it would be high on his lists of priorities. Jeopardizing his income on both ends doesn't seem wise to Ignis, who has a vested interest in this civil unrest, but he isn't Noctis' keeper and so keeps his mouth shut— for the time being.

Between the two of them they manage to get the man into a less crowded area of the alley.]

What happened to him?

:')

[servitor]

[Nyx can't stop the glare he shoots at the kid. Not at all.]

Quit your stupid contrary comments and get her out of the streets! She's in no shape to stay out here, or to even fight.

[Yes, Nyx realizes what he's saying, what he's doing. If word gets back to the Company, he's as sure demoted or at the very least put on the lowest level jobs possible. It's not worth leaving women like her out on the street, rioter or innocent.]

Get your head out of your ass. I'm not talking about everyone. Just the injured.

[His ass is so past the line, might as well just keep going.]

Help or don't. I'm not going to be coming back around.

[iuramentum]

[ The reaction is entirely automatic. Compromised. Danger.
Saber's sword sings against the sheath at her side as she immediately shifts her stance, drawing the blade in one smooth motion, pivoting, full extension from shoulder to elbow to wrist --

-- and halts with the tip levelled somewhere around Giorno's chest, should he have continued to approach rather than stop at a safe distance. That's generally the neatest solution to unexpected attack. You know the saying... "the fastest way to a man's heart is through the fourth and fifth rib", right?
Anyway. There's plenty of room between them for her to process just who he is, that he clearly isn't a threat, and her raised arm drops back to her side with a rigidity that speaks volumes about how she's refusing to let herself show weakness. ]

It looks worse than it is. [ She tilts her head slightly downwards while sheathing Excalibur. ] My apologies. You startled me.

D7!

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda is both tired and annoyed, but with the travel restrictions lifted... his feet had carried him to Kara's place after handing over Giovanni without too much conscious thought. Because he hasn't talked to her much since all hells broke lose - again - and he'd found himself worrying.

And since neither of them would likely trust the new PDD's so far as he could tell, maybe his feet had the right idea.

Either way, once the gate was released, he took the steps up with an almost lazy pace, until he found himself standing outside her door. Leaning against the jamb, he wraps his knuckles sharply against the door, then crosses his arms to wait, a simple bag dangling from his grip. ]

Oy, hurry up. This is meant to be chilled, not room fucking temp.

[uncrownings]

[There's nothing like being told what to do by a guy that's literally part of the problem. Noctis isn't trying to be contrary, he's being honest. He's seen more people than he can count be shot, stabbed, punched, thrown- and they aren't ready to leave. They still want to fight. Yeah there are some injured who want medical help, and yeah there are some trying to find a safe place, but there are others that hear the authorization of lethal force and it turns them into kindling. It's always been life of death for Westerley- with or without a gun to the face.

Noctis feels himself digging his heels in and bends, takes the woman's weight entirely onto his own. Her blood is soaked into his shirt.]

Go do whatever it is you have to do, but don't pretend you're helping.

You picked your side, and it's not with her.