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

[brickinthewall]

[Hanna, though, is amused. She even quirks her lips at the sight of the scratched shoes. This entire affair is really, stupidly out of place, but hey, she used to be here once, right? A lavish gala for the poor?

Fuckin' bullshit.]

Who'd you dance with, a puppet?

[Funny, though. She used to be the overeager dancer.

Except she definitely didn't have two left feet.]

[eusford]

[ He understands her humor and responds in a similar fashion: ]

If she were a little less talkative then I would have, but alas. [ Whether or not that's actually a good thing is put into consideration briefly. ] Can you do any better?

[ He could only imagine someone being worse. ]

[brickinthewall]

I wouldn't be stepping on your feet, that's for sure.

[She's not keen on letting up crucial rich kid information. Ballroom dancing and swing weren't things you could throw out casually as a Killjoy.]

[eusford]

You sound confident.

[ Said flatly, indifferent, it's a complete contrast to what he suggests next: ] Shall we? [ He extends a hand, ignoring the daggers currently digging in the back of his skull from the woman he had left previously. Honestly it is what he's aiming for, for her to lose interest, but whether or not this is a good idea or not is still up on the table. ]

[brickinthewall]

[Her eyes drift from him to the woman who is pretty damn intent on killing him with a glare.]

As long as you don't tell anyone I was here. Plus. [She grins, baring her teeth only slightly in a way that shows some kind of danger behind that mischief.] I like pissing people off.

[So she takes his hand, oddly graceful for anyone who knows her well.]

Lead on.

[eusford]

I can't do that without a name, so it'd be in your best interest to keep that sort of information to yourself.

[ This gracefulness is all because he doesn't know her. She has no name to him for now and not a face he deems familiar, it's all easy when it seems that their personalities click under odd circumstances.

So whoever this woman is she's interesting-- anyone familiar with Crowley knows that this could lead to be absolutely dreadful for the other person. ]

Mm. [ He guides her back to the dance floor, the corners of his mouth still lifted into a grin as he keeps her hand leveled at his side. It's all practiced, years of learning to remain proper and poised for when the situation demanded it; turning to her he tilts his head down slightly, hand still holding onto hers only lifting up slightly. His free hand moves behind her, fingers dipping into the small of her back. ] Now I expect you to stay true to your word about not stepping on my feet.

[brickinthewall]

[There are only two tattoos left uncovered by cloth: the neatly scripted words inked across the knuckles of her right index and ring fingers reading "good" and "bye", respectively.

Though she knew the physical contact was inevitable, her body heat flares briefly. Call it a defense mechanism. Nine times out of ten, even the smallest touch would set her off out of her own instinctual paranoia. She only half hopes she doesn't burn the mysterious stranger.

Her own smile is practiced, perfect white teeth flashing between oxblood lips. Apparently the two of them know how to fake it pretty damn well.

It's just demanding for her to be someone she's not anymore.

Green eyes flicker down, back up to meet his eyes. Whoever he is, at the very least he's pretending to be a gentleman. That's a nice change of pace.]

You have no idea what I'm capable of. Are we being proper members of society or do we not give a fuck?

[eusford]

[ It's neither a difficult nor surprising discovery when he sees the tattoos across her knuckles. It earns a quirked brow at best and even that only lasted for a second, perhaps even less than that.

Because what really hits and sinks into his memory is that moment where he can feel the heat rise against his fingertips. It's brief but evident, a moment that his brain immediately registers as something to take interest in and causes his lips to curl up and reveal a toothy grin. ]

Surprise me and I'll follow.

[ Because Crowley is a man who enjoys surprises, but if she continues to catch his interest it may lead to something more... dangerous. ]

[brickinthewall]

Dunno about all that.

[Flashy, when she wants to be, subtle, when she has to be. Leith's finest would find themselves shocked to know the once-dead Hanna Talbot is alive and... not well.]

What's the name of the game?

[She leads, but in a simple series of steps, nothing too complicated. Right now she's trying to at least not start a scene.

Trying.]

[eusford]

[ Simplicity is a blessing in comparison to what he had experienced before and Crowley strides in confidence with his temporary partner. No shoe stepping or desire to free himself from her grip surfaces as he pays no mind to the lavished Leithian's and unpracticed guests around them. ]

Perhaps, "Are we on Leith or Westerly"?

[ Translation: just leave everyone confused. ]

[brickinthewall]

I wouldn't be here if this were Westerly.

[Which is true, she'd probably be knee-deep in a fight or getting some kind of shitfaced.]

So why be here if you're bored out of your mind?

[And as she asks, she steps in closer. Leith or Westerly? Why not a bit of both?]

[eusford]

I meant it as in making others think that way, but perhaps I worded it wrong.

[ Or put no thought into understand what she meant. Maybe something else. It doesn't quite matter at the end of the day, though. ]

Family. [ He answers flatly. She steps closer and he steps back, however it's not to put distance more than it is to raise her hand and twirl her in place before bringing her back into his arms. ] I'm not wearing blue because I find it charming on me.

[ A hint, if anything, that he belonged to the Simms. The Nine. ]

Said it's good for a face like mine to represent them during a time of need.

[brickinthewall]

[Family.

Blue.

She remembers the colors, the stupid associations, and how she had them drilled into her mind and soul as if that's all she was ever worth. Let's face it, it's all she ever had been worth. If the Talbots couldn't become the Nine, the least they could do is have their children marry into them.

Such was their greed.

The twirl is smooth, as is her return to posture, but the heat coming off her body spikes suddenly. One could almost think there's a blaze in those green eyes of hers.

They don't need anything, she almost hisses. Let them burn.

Temperance. It was never something she was good at, but she does her damned best to get her body heat back to normal, or at least, whatever runs normal for her. A fever to anyone is normal for her.]

Politics, then. That's the word you're looking for.

[eusford]

Sure.

[ He answers swiftly, again noticing the spike in body heat. It'd be easy to ignore if he were completely human (years ago he's certain he'd never notice something so subtle), but now it's different. Obvious.

Curiosity pulls him like he were a child taking their first steps into the world. ]

Your body gets warm randomly, do you happen to have a fever?

[ It's not asked in concern, but more as a genuine question. ]

[brickinthewall]

No.

[Said flatly.]

Just a thing I can do.

[It's the way she'd always said it was: a thing. No need to mention what it really was, nor was there any reason now to tell anyone that it wasn't even of her own volition to be this way.

Hack mods, at least, aren't uncommon. She leaves the answer vague and hopes to not get a follow up.

She doubts that's how it's going to go.]

[eusford]

That's a very interesting thing you have there.

[ And it may seem that the conversation has ended, with Crowley looking indifferent as he turns his head slightly. It's simply to catch the gaze of his previous partner briefly, who is now stomping off elsewhere, and causes him to settle back with a toothy grin. ]

I can do something pretty off, too, but I'm willing to bet we both want to keep these secrets to ourselves, right?

[brickinthewall]

[Her eyes fixate on his, punctuated with deep suspicion and curiosity. Ouranos had no shortage of of subjects, but she'd never gotten to know them. She was already too erratic; the mods only made it worse.]

Not much of a secret in my line of work.

[It's all she can say to that. RAC has her paperwork, extensive as it is, so really, anyone who bothered could know that she's more than just a lethally amazing Killjoy.]

[eusford]

Ha? So you're saying that somewhere it's documented?

[ Not like he could get it if he wanted, and if it's not a secret for her "line of work" then it's something she must not mind being out in the open. The opposite of his little secret; nothing would be said about his illness from himself or anyone else here. ]

What is your name, by the way?

[brickinthewall]

[It's not that she doesn't mind.

It's that there's not a choice in the matter.

Irrelevant when she can make it, a secret until it matters. No one needs to know she can't burn, and no one needs to know how she got there.]

King.

[She doesn't answer the first question, and not quite the second either.]

You?

[eusford]

Sounds more like an alias.

[ If it's her real name it certainly doesn't fit her, in his opinion. ]

Crowley.

[ When the music stop so does he, not bothering to give a round of applause like many others when he takes his hands away from her and to his sides. ]

Thanks for the dance.

[brickinthewall]

Did I dance with the devil, Crowley?

[She can't help but smirk. If he doesn't believe her last name, she doesn't believe his name either.

Hanna doesn't bother to clap either. She tries not to fidget and snap her fingers out of habit, instead choosing to remain as poised as possible.]

Why do you not believe me?

[eusford]

Well I'm certainly not a God, but I wouldn't say that I'm that bad.

[ So did she? Did she not? She can decide that for herself. ]

I'm not a very trusting person, but I'm sure soon enough I won't care whether or not it truly is your name.

[brickinthewall]

Some people might be offended by that.

[She doesn't care, much as she's intrigued by this Crowley. If only she could make a ghost of herself.]

No, you weren't bad at all. Nice to know some people still have dancing manners.

[eusford]

Well they can just exhaust themselves if that's what they want to do.

[ Because it's not like him offending anyone will change his opinion? Just facts. ]

It's to be expected, or else all those classes on etiquette and ballroom dancing would have gone to waste. You're not bad yourself.

I thought I replied to this?

[brickinthewall]

Stuck with classes too, huh?

[Too.

She can't catch herself in time without letting slip the word too. King, heat sensitive skin, and apparently a dancer.

Random clues to put together, but nonetheless, it could be put together, eventually. If she's already in deep, there's no real way to back out.]

Etiquette never worked for me. Good ol' mom was always pissed about that one.