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

[ofobedience]

[She pushes forward and down and, caught off guard by pain and surprise (feathers, flying, fancy that), he goes with it, the sword like fast-moving frost inside of him (burning, cold), out again and then down into solid ground. There's a moment of ugly surprise on his face, hands moving to grasp the blade that pins him as surely as a butterfly caught under glass, the wet rasp of his breath as he drags it in, steadies himself for what's to come and then--

--he pushes sideways with a fractured gasp, making space for the pain inside of himself, taking it in because this is the only way. The blade, it slices through him, smoke rising heavy and thick as the wound seals shut behind it's passage.

Hoarsely, darkly, he laughs.]

[iuramentum]

[ Blank look. Whatever are you talking about, clearly she's just concerned for your well-being!!!!
Also joking is pretty much beyond her, so. Safe to say taking the piss is not in the cards today.

She studies his hand for a moment, decides she needs a better look, and promptly steps in while reaching out with the intent to snag his wrist herself. ]

I'm quite serious. No fracturing, no joint damage, no broken bones?

[ I mean, there's not really much she can do about it if the answer is 'yeah, you frickin ruined my hand thanks', but it's the thought that counts, right????? ]

ready to riot

[homonka]

[ She does not make a show of it, her craft. While ordinarily she'd be among the last individuals summoned to Westerley, the mother of all things--necessity--sees her return once more to this rotten world. These rotten people.

They scream and they rage and they are a fire that burns the night sky black and orange, but even in all of their light, they do not see her.

Because again, her craft is not one of showiness or flash. In the silence and spaces between the storms of the crowds, she slips through like water, small hands finding purchase in throats, in the hollows between ribs.

It's mechanical, and in part, thoughtless. These people are not worthwhile opponents, they do not stir her baser instincts to life. She kills because it's what she's trained to do, it's what she was made to do, but she need not be mentally present in situations like this.

(It's not combat, not really. It's just rote memorization.)

But then there's a flash of something and a heavy atmosphere, feral and raw and she feels those long-sealed memories pushing at her brain. Sui Feng settles beside the source like a feather, and for a moment, she thinks to crush his neck, his soft spots--

And then she wakes from the mirage and she sees him as he is. Fenris.

Bodies swarm nearer to them, startled by the arrival but not dissuaded. Sui Feng reorients herself, rights her mind and redraws the boundaries of enemy and not-enemy. Within this space, Fenris is not-enemy. All others outside of them are enemies, and the rules for engaging with them is blissfully simple:

All enemies must be slain.

Sui Feng draws one of her daggers from her livery, offers it in a lifted palm to him. ]

Quicker. Cleaner.

[iuramentum]

[ Saber lets Sion take the lead with no further prompting, falling into step to match his stride slightly behind and to his right. Far enough to give him an appropriate personal space bubble, close enough to take action if necessary.

Well. "Take action" as in either football tackling him into cover like a runaway freight train or seriously messing up an assassin's day if they got too close. Her effective reach with Excalibur is kind of obscenely far... so long as her charge is within range, not much would reach him in one piece.

(A.k.a don't wander off.) ]

...I wasn't informed of the delay. Is this an urgent matter? [ Saber clearly doesn't think so. Although her expression remains a study in composure, the tiniest downward cant of her eyebrows and narrowing of the eyes speaks volumes of her disapproval. ] It would be safer to get you to a secure location, and send either myself or another Agent to the boutique on your behalf.

[ That smile does not bode well for her, she can sense it in her gut. In no way shape or form is she going to be happy about getting delegated to "bag carrier and box holder" if he absolutely insists on having the worst timed shopping spree in history. ]

[valr]

[War is messy, war is cruel, and war is fucked up, but Kara has never seen someone slide themselves sideways off a sword. It turns her stomach, color draining from her face even as her grip tightens on the hilt of an incredibly bloody sword.

Whatever this thing is, it's not natural, and Kara knows that if she stays, she won't survive this encounter.

The crowd has dispersed, most people sensible enough to avoid the violence between Kara and Giovanni, and she doesn't need to fight for the sake of it, with no one left to protect. With a hard pull, Kara yanks the sword out of the concrete and launches herself back in the air, landing roughly on a nearby rooftop.

She spares a backwards glance at Giovanni, just to make sure he isn't following, before fleeing.]

[ofobedience]

[he's already on his feet by the time she yanks the blade from the ground, readying himself to move, to lunge, to tear out her throat with his bare hands, but just like that she's launching up and away. Flying away. Pain still sears him from the inside out as flesh muscle internal organs sizzle and fizz with the healing process, but none of that shows on his face as he looks after her, grin spread wide, face a mask of blood and death but none of that matters, no, not now. She glances back for just a moment, and then she's gone.

It gives him time, the area clear of all but blood and viscera and the corpses of those who hadn't been able to escape him, and so he takes a moment to move over to the nearest wall, lean there panting. It hurts, but not for long. He'll be ready for more in less than a minute, maybe two at most, more people will die by his hands this day, but--

--but. That was interesting. Her face, her scent, he won't soon forget it.]

[brokeassgoing]

[he makes a tiny noise of distress, flinching away but welp, there it is there's his hand. That's the scarred one, by the way, and he isn't too happy about it.

also?? confused as hell]

I'm fine. You killjoys don't usually give a damn about stuff like that unless it can make ya connections, so why bother?

[eleutheron]

[ He had expected a lecture from anyone who came for him. Demands to reign himself in, to spare these people. Part of him wants that to happen. Somewhere in the back of his enraged mind, he knows this is not right. He was not meant for this, to be used like this. These orders were made to be disobeyed.

But he can't. The Company created a weapon, engineered him specially. When he reaches for something beyond their control, he hits blankness. A void of memory, of identity.

So he turns back to what he knows. He looks at Sui Feng, watches her dispatch more and more of the rioters. The crowds start to thin, but not quickly enough. The energy rises, if anything. Worsens. They're throwing flaming bottles, they're drawing knives and guns.

Fenris's circuitry flashes as he grabs a woman by the throat. She drops the gun in her hand just before she pulls the trigger; it clatters uselessly to the ground.

Their eyes meet--hers, full of fear; his, enraged, despairing.

He breaks her neck.

He lowers his head. ]

As you say.

[ The word master flicks through his mind, unbidden, and his temple throbs.

But he presses on. ]

[iuramentum]

[ LOOK JUST CHILL OUT OK jeez dude

She's making an effort to be gentle, if that helps - even if the look she shoots him has "dude, just let me do my job in peace pls" written all over it. Figures he complains just as much as when she was actively trying to kick his ass down the length of the street. ]

Leaving behind unintended casualties is poor form. [ A somewhat distracted answer, all things considered. ] Make a fist, please.

[brokeassgoing]

Like I said, no one usually gives a fuck. They walk away with their wallets fat.

[he can't believe he's listening to her instructions but the faster she lets him go...

he makes a fist, sighing loudly]

[iuramentum]

Irrelevant. Nobody gets paid more for extra victims.

[ Not counting some of those crazy Black Ops-clearance agents, anyway, and they're practically myth.
She applies slight pressure to each knuckle, making certain nothing is out of place, and finally releases him. ]

For what it's worth, I didn't intend to injure you.

[brokeassgoing]

[once he releases him Badou curls his fingers into fists again, tucks them against his sides.]

Well y'know hell was paved with good intentions too.

[but for what it's also worth......]

...Are your shins okay and everything?

[servitor]

[It's complicated.

The anger that flares within him dies almost immediately. He knows he chose his side.

Though, in a way, it was chosen for him. No one would take him. As far as anyone knew, he was less than Westie. Still is less than Westie. There were really only two options: Company, or Killjoy.

He couldn't see himself tearing after warrants.

And though he owes a world of gratitude to the man who gave him a job, it wouldn't have ever been enough to sustain him and feed himself daily.

Nyx will never say how much he's already seen since he was a child. Westerley was just home without the daily skirmishes.]

It's not with my orders, either.

[Not that it doesn't sting.

But he's used to it by now.

Nyx adjusts the hood of his uniform, pooling his face in shadows as much as possible. Word's going to get out about this, isn't it?]

She's not going to make it if you keep talking to me. Go.

[servitor]

[That's the expected reaction, honestly.]

I'd offer you a seat at my place but I'm not looking for it to get trashed so soon.

[Nyx nods at the bartender.]

Beer, the dark stuff. Thanks.

[Nyx eyes the other a little, more concerned than judgmental. He's heard a little here and there. At least he's not alone and drinking himself into a stupor, right?]

Not by you. Those guys out there.

[brickinthewall]

[She gives him a once over, jaw tensing slightly.]

C'mon, get inside. You weren't followed, were you?

[And still, she glances out, checking both directions. It's no small secret who she is, what she's done. Wouldn't be a good day if she had to punch out someone's throat for tailing Noctis.

Once he's in, she shuts the door and triple locks the shit out of it.]

My crew and I have a couple of defunct places scattered around, but once you use one, I have to torch it. My secret and all that shit. Unless you just mean to crash at my place.

[iuramentum]

A little sore, truthfully.

[ Saber smiles, just a tiny ghost of a thing, despite herself.
Bruise for bruise, right? A fair exchange. ]

I've taken worse.

[brokeassgoing]

[well damn now he feels kinda bad. cue him scuffing his toe on the ground for something to do.]

Yeah? Need uh. Anything?

[somnusrex]

"Yeah, yeah."

He mumbled it, more as an answer to everything than a true form of complaint, tossing a file folder on Sion's desk. It landed on the veritable mountain of other files, and he could have just told him what he'd found, but he didn't want to risk being recorded. Sion would destroy his report after he read it; that was a certainty. It contained nothing more than a summary, a barebones outline of what he'd found in accordance with the mission as it had been presented. But in those notes were the locations of caves and other cavernous places.

Rather than caring about the question he was met with, Ryner narrowed his eyes at the food and tea on the desk.

"I checked in with your assistant, you know."

It had been a casual thing, as it usually was, but every subordinate of Sion's had quickly learned to be honest with Ryner when he asked after the Director's health. He did his best to help them manage the man, for all that it seemed hopeless. The reports mere moments ago had made him scowl, though. Three days and Sion hadn't touched his food or any liquids aside from a couple sips of tea, and as usual, he hadn't slept.

That last one was more of a fool's errand than the others, but he'd still try. He always did, if only because Sion was too stupid to take care of himself. But before he was inevitably assured with a laugh that his boss was perfectly fine, Ryner abruptly slumped onto the rather comfortable sofa to the side of the desk.

"Three days? You're going to kill yourself, you idiot. Stop the paperwork for five minutes and eat your damn food. You're no good to anyone if you're dead."

Very little could get Sion to stop working, but appealing to his sense of duty to the people sometimes worked. Not often, but it was worth a shot.

[iuramentum]

Oh! Actually, yes --

[ She digs a neatly folded warrant out of her inner breast pocket, unfolds it, and holds it out for him to take a look at if he likes.
spoilers it's a photo of the typical smug fuckboi]

Have you seen this man around?

[brokeassgoing]

[he squints down at it and nods]

Yeah, he looks familiar. He's around here somewhere, or check Old Town. He got a warrant?

[iuramentum]

A minor one, yes.

[ Sigh. Saber scrubs at her face with one hand, pinching the bridge of her nose between a forefinger and thumb. ]

He needs to pay a small fine for a dine and dash offence. If you can even call it that.

[lotusmesenpai]

Best kind from Leith.

[In other words, what would normally be a week's supply of his favorite kind: spicy orange sesame soba. This holds out, offers the bag to her before stepping into her apartment.

It's automatic, the way his gaze slides over the people holed up inside, recognition flaring once or twice before he turns to look at her, his expression flat.]

I've seen two of their faces on Company wanted boards.

[A beat, to let the warning set in, before he shrugs and nods towards the kitchen. After all, Company targets do not mean Reclamation targets unless an active warrant happens to be involved and this isn't the case, for either.]

Those are best cold, but they're not bad warm either.

[valr]

[Kara takes the bag with a thanks on the tip of her tongue, before Kanda decides to be rude as hell, instead, and she has to hold up a hand to placate the panicked looks that cross her guests' faces.]

He ain't a snitch.

[Or he better not be, if he ever wants to have polite words with Kara again, but that's probably a conversation better left for private. His nod towards the kitchen echoes her own thoughts, so she leads him there, closing the door behind them.

Her guests aren't going to eavesdrop, but - still.]

Was that necessary?

[She's still getting out bowls for them both, setting the soba on the bench, she just has to ask.]

[brokeassgoing]

Dine and dash? [snorts] Shit's gonna hit the fan and you're out here? The priorities, as always, sure are fucked.

[inksplashes]

[ He doesn't precisely fight against the force of the person in his hands--it takes a moment to register that it's Kate and not another lookalike--but he's stalwart, inexplicably increasing his strength to match that pit against him.

Recognition dawns upon them both at roughly the same time, Lavi's hands unfurling from her arm almost immediately-- ]

There you are! Geeze, are you trying to give me a heart attack?

[ --and then he's right back to holding her arm, but this time with the fret and frenzy of worry, checking her over for injuries. Her jaw looks a little too pink for his linking, but he's more concerned with any potential bleeding. The rest, though worrying, can wait. ]

Are you hurt anywhere?