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

julius visconti | ota + closed prompts

[tousei]

[ hit me up if you'd like a specific thread! I didn't post to the OOC post so reaching me via pm would be best. <3 ]

closed. giovanni, w5d5

[tousei]

[ The Company has sanctioned lethal force.

It's what's written on his dossier, and what hangs on his mind as their transport rolls across the pockmarked Westerly roads.. He's assigned to work with Giovanni, a common occurrence now that they're in the same unit, and for the first time he feels unease. It's not the other man's fault, and they've been amiable up till now, but - there's always the fear (for him, at least) that they would kill someone undeserving.

Already he can hear his mother's voice, chiding him for worrying. Laws have to be followed, justice kept...

... but whose justice? That's what whispers back unbidden in the back of his mind. ]

We'll be arriving shortly.

[ He says this mostly to quell his own anxiety. Sui Feng is harsh but she's never been inefficient, and there's a part of him that still trusts her judgment. Just follow orders and it will be done, break up those who in their anger hurt others undeserving.

It'll make sense, in the end. That's what he wants to believe. ]

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni-- he has no such qualms.

He's been waiting for this, hoping for it, ever since the announcement was made and the riots broke out there's been fast ascending anticipation in him, something that started as small sparks inside of himself and grew bigger brighter more all-encompassing as time marched on and the riots only swelled, became fiercer, more out of control. Hoping he'd be needed, be given free reign to play. A loosening of the tight-held leash.

To do what he'd been created to do.

And now here it is, and the brightness in him is barely concealed beneath the usual cool exterior, something detonating behind his ribs and lighting up his face as they grow closer to their destination. It's all there in him, the jitter and thrum of pent-up energy, the desire to riptearmaim, for the music of torn flesh broken bones gunsmoke and screaming and yes he wants it. He does. Utterly.

Julius says those words meant to steady himself, and Giovanni gives him a quick little smile.]

Yes. Good.

[tousei]

[ There is one thing that he remembers, that prevents him from hating his companion and replaces it with a sort of empathetic pity. They are both bioweapons after all, their curses rooted to their body (and in Giovanni's case, his mind), and it's not something they can change.

It's not their fault, after all. The injustice lies somewhere else. ]

Do you have everything?

[ The heat and dust are not things that bother him anymore. Their acts, however, still are. ]

[ofobedience]

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

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

Would prefer to get creative, instead.]

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

[Ready and willing and raring to go.]

[tousei]

[ Such is the tragedy of those who have been cursed since their birth. ]

Very well. [ Their transport halts, and the voices outside intensify. ] We are to do this efficiently.

[ He knows Giovanni relishes violence, that can't be helped - so it falls to him to take charge. They're being deployed in the most violent of places, so that would justify it a little.

But maybe not much. ]

Let's go.

[ And the back of the trailer opens, revealing a clamour of voices, blood, and sweat. ]

closed. sion, w5d2

[tousei]

[ It's a testament to Sion's skill that the party for Lapis was well orchestrated - it's beautiful in every sense of the word, which he's no doubt already told to Sion before it began. For the most part, Julius has spent the time resting, as he had to rush work in order to get here. He offers casual conversation if approached, but he generally just lurks in a corner to observe.

The curse progresses, and its burn sears itself more harshly into his body. It's best to not push himself, which is why he expresses his intention of leaving to rest - regrettable, but he still has duties he must attend to the next day.

It's an easy exit, and would have continued so if a sudden coughing fit hadn't set itself on him. Luckily, he's out of range of the gathering at large, but perhaps not so for certain dogged individuals who might have chased after him if they noticed his absence.

Most unfortunate, for the fit passes and leaves him with blood on his hands. His own. ]

[sunderings]

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

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

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

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

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

You are hurting.

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

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

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

[tousei]

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

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

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

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

[sunderings]

[ If there is someone guilty of imposition in the here and now, surely it is the Director himself—Sion, who is willful (as ever and as always), protective (of his friend), and steadfast (easily fashioning himself into a crutch for the other man, his arm shifting to loop about Julius' waist, supportive and bearing as much weight as need be), all without saying a word. But as surely as they begin to walk forward with slow steps, an easy pace, something needs to be said; Julius cannot be left to mire beneath the weight of some baseless debt, the guilt which the Director glimpses in his eyes. True, such a sentiment would be Sion's own, were their situations reversed, but--...

There is no need to think on his own shortcomings, not when there is another in need.

Mindful of Julius' condition, Sion gives pause where it is necessary, is patient when there is a need to wait for the Enforcer's breath to return to him, and remains on alert in the event his friend should no longer be able to remain on his feet—no, the Director is not beyond sweeping the other man up, into his arms once again. Though it is the Leithian docks which they make for and not the lush greenery of meadowland or the vast stretch of mountainside, when would Sion ever allow for a friend to fall behind...? ]

Once, you told me that you were unworthy. [ Of pursuing true justice. Of taking up the mantle of change. Of having the Director stand at his side, just as Sion is in this moment. Of so, so very many things that Sion hadn't been able to grasp at the time, but now looked upon with all the clarity of day. ] But you must understand that you are no different, no more and certainly no less, than any other soul in the Quad.

You are deserving of kindness, something which you have offered so readily to both myself and others. [ In small, gentle ways, much like attending Lapis' party for the sake of her happiness; like joining a pair of rambunctious, thrill-seeking speed demons on a race through Leith despite being in pain. ] You should be able to lean upon another without fear and without regret, because--...

[ His voice tapers off, gentling by the time he speaks next, words formed with a fluting, airy tone which gives shape a statement so natural, so right, that the Director may have been stating a simple fact of the world: ]

The power within you isn't you, it is yours. It will not tear you apart, nor will it bring harm to those who you hold dear. [ They're... the same, aren't they? Fools, worried about the monsters they'd the potential to be, consumed by ghosts of those they'd failed in the past. ] You'll not let it, and I will not either.

[tousei]

[ For all that's happened to him, Julius' willpower remains steady. It is with this that he forces himself to move, one foot after the next, eyes focused entirely on the road before them. However, he doesn't speak; merely waiting for Sion to finish his words and for him to compose his own in return.

This time, he isn't even sure if his body will let him give it voice - but the coughing seems to have dislodged whatever blood there was to discharge, and his voice is audible if not faint. ]

I may be deserving of kindness, but... [ And here it is that he pauses again: ] I do not think I will have much time left.

[ He will die soon. ]

I was changed... not to make myself better, no. But to turn myself into something else, something inhuman. [ A curse that progressed. ] This was my fate for the last ten years.

[ The serum had already burned itself into his blood, it would continue to eat at him until it had its way. ]

I may not have much time left. I will treasure... this kindness that you have given me. I... I wish to use this remaining weeks to do something useful.

[ In a way, his acceptance of what Sion had offered him. ]

I was the heir of the Claudius family. [ Still is, but he doesn't keep his adoptive mother's name. ] There are... still things to my name. I need to prepare where they should be sent. I believe you will know better than I am.

[ The land, the grants... and then, his own humanity. Heavy topics they speak of while they walk along a road still lit dimly by stars. ]

Should I die... I do not wish... to have died in vain.

closed. saber, w5d5

[tousei]

[ There's unrest thick in the air of Westerley, a particularly volatile mix of sweat, blood, and smoke. Any form of peaceful protest has been since swallowed by violence, with attempted peacemakers on both sides faced with blades and blows. It then fell within logical prediction for the Company to fully mobilize their agents, as well as some of the Reclamation Agents - but they're all stretched thin after what had happened in the past few weeks, and two people really isn't enough to control a full street.

At least, he has the fortune of knowing the person he's been assigned to work with. He tightens the grip on his sword before throwing his partner a glance. ]

This will take a while.

[ No shit, Sherlock. ]

[iuramentum]

Perhaps.

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

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

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

[tousei]

[ Enemies of the public. Well, he's an enemy of the public already, given what he's wearing - but it's honest advice, so he allows his grip to go slack and his blade to merely hang on his belt instead. ]

Alright.

[ There's a lot of discord outside, which thrums through the air as they approach. Speaking to people was never his forte, so it fell logically to Saber to take the lead. ]

Where should we begin?

[iuramentum]

Directing foot traffic away from the riots is priority.

[ She speaks while surveying the crowd, mentally weighing their options. ]

How well do you know this area?

[tousei]

Not very. But we can make barricades if needed.

[ Given the chaos that is almost close to erupting, anyone who goes towards the riot instead of away from them is either joining it, or having a death wish. ]

I pray that herding does not become an option.

closed... lapis, w5d3 morning

[tousei]

[ After what happened the night before, Julius isn't quite sure what to feel. Sion had fussed over him - while the gesture was appreciated, it only deepened his sense of dissociation. This wasn't something he should ever be bothering others for, even if they were kind; a conflicted sort of feeling that dug deep into his chest.

It's uncomfortable, and his usual way of dealing with discomfort was to throw himself into his work. If he left Leith early enough for his rendezvous point, no one would come after him.

Hopefully. He had already been delayed by his health. ]

[oneirism]

[Yeah, if Julius thought he would be able to leave quietly, he was sorely mistaken. He probably should've expected Sion to tell Lapis about what happened, since she did at least know something was up. And there was no way she would let him just simply leave like that.

So his ships systems maybe alert of her approach before she even presses the intercom outside. Either way, she seems to fully intent on talking to him before they both leave - the look she gives through the camera one that's both firm and a mix of concern.

At the very least, she wants to make sure he's feeling a bit better and maybe barge her way into the kitchen to make tea.]

HES BUSTED

[tousei]

[ There's a civilian within range, which immediately eliminates the possibility of taking off. Just who would come bother a docked ship?

It's a rhetorical question, though. Given that it's Lapis, he has to open the hatch. He's dressed in a white button-up shirt with golden embroidery along the collar and bottom edge, as well as a purple cardigan over it - the inner half of his casual (or as casual as it can get) clothing. ]

Yes?

[ He looks tired. ]

SO BUSTED

[oneirism]

[Lapis pretty much just waits for him to open the hatch, knowing that he'll do so eventually. And while he's a surprise to see him so, well, dressed-down, how tired he looks immediately catches her attention.]

Have you slept much, Julius? [Maybe she should try to nudge him to go lay down and nap for a bit.]

[tousei]

[ Dressed-down indeed - he was getting ready, after all. His blond hair is left untied, reaching past his shoulders. ]

I'm fine. [ Dodging the question now... ] I'm sorry I couldn't stay long yesterday. Did something happen?

closed. hanzo, w5d5

[tousei]

[ It's in the hours before dawn that Julius receives his dispatch note. Orders are orders, which have to be followed - but the fact that it came outside of daylight marks it as something very serious. After all, dissent is not easily placated, especially if it involves the overthrowing of something entrenched centuries ago.

He had already docked his ship on Westerley days prior, so it's a simple thing to merely prepare himself and report to the assembly point. What isn't expected, however, is seeing a familiar face. ]

Good morning, sir.

[ It's a habitual thing, the way he greets the older man - but there's also that implicit trust and respect that comes with it. They'll be in the same unit, which he trusts Hanzo to already know, so it didn't need mentioning. ]

[chakushi]

[ 'Sir'. There's something aristocratic about the way Julius says it, and Hanzo hasn't seen fit to correct him or impose another way of speaking to him thus far—

—except, well. Now that they're in 'enemy' territory, with enmity permeating through every street corner, it would probably be prudent not to draw upon hierarchies so liberally. The Resistance is already on edge, so better not to call attention to themselves too much.

A nod in return for the greeting, before Hanzo turns his attention to his surroundings. ]

'Hanzo'.

[ He corrects, looking just slightly amused enough that the sentiment reaches his eyes. It comes and goes. ] Unless you would subject me to the ire of the wolves first.

[ Don't make him an easy target, Julius!!! SMH!! ]

[tousei]

[ It is very aristocratic, even if he's also an heir much like the other - there's a sort of deference in it, a deference of age an experience, and capability. This is the first time Julius has been assigned to this sort of thing, after all. ]

Of course.

[ Said with a polite air, the usual - and the jab seems to go entirely over his head. It's still something he's not used to, addressing superiors (in all ways) by their names if they warranted a title. But he'll try his best. ]

What should we do first?

[chakushi]

[ With that done, what they have left to do is address the mission. Or, well— the addendum to what they've already been doing. ]

We will need to assess.

[ "Whether lethal force needs to be used" goes unsaid. This is the only deviation from their objective of hours ago, and judging by the full regalia that Hanzo is in today— cybernetic bow and arrow and all— it's clear that he intends to intimidate with violence if the occasion conflates to that level.

The sound of shouting grows in the distance. Another day, another wave of hatred. ]

If they draw blood, we have sanctions to stop them by whatever means necessary.