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

Takasugi Shinsuke | closed

[shikomizue]

[ ❁ catch all for chapter 3 ❁ contact: fromgilbo ]

learn the taste of dirt and pain ❁ kanda

[shikomizue]

[The city is throbbing, it's infrastructure splintering under the burden of broken futures. As is only appropriate - the shattering of so many hopes should be audible. It should be a cry that swells so loud it renders sleepless the entire writhing population.

Takasugi watches the swelling masses with an easy smile, his thumb caressing the foreign-style flask at his side. It weighs half empty, the sting of it's contents still burning the back of his throat.

As the street corner grows thick with agitation Takasugi retreats, standing under the awning of a closed bar. There's a crash, an uproar, and then the jeering of a bloodthirsty mob circling their prey. Concealed by drab rags hanging from gaunt bodies is a Company officer, grounded and bloody, beaten - growing broken as the abuse drags on.

Blood, not filth, will slick the streets tonight.

A pleasant thought. Though he doubts his company will share such a delight. When the Killjoy had arrived doesn't matter - it's only once their shoulders nearly brush that Takasugi speaks.] Neutrality has it's perks, doesn't it? [Wry sarcasm is the only greeting he offers.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda has no real degree of empathy for the Company man - he'd been an enforcer if the remnants of his uniform are any indication, and they were (more often than not) the worst abusers of authority.

They had to expect that to rebound on them eventually, especially when they were Westie born to begin with. ]

I have the feeling that your definition of 'perk' and mine aren't even in the same 'verse.

[That said, he reaches down and, without even the slightest hesitation, he smirks as he snakes the flask from the older man's hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he takes a decent-sized sip before making a face and offering it back.]

And your taste in hokk is still questionable, Pops.

[Seems like you're stuck with that nickname, now. He's not going to let it go that easily. Besides, he still doesn't actually know the man's name. ]

[shikomizue]

[Heat brushes his hand and Takasugi's fingers twitch, curling as if to ensnare - but they grasp nothing. Before the Killjoy even samples it's contents he's turned his head away, a soft sigh of discretion.]

It isn't hokk. [He twines his fingers with the rope wrapped around the mouthpiece of the flask and lets it swing to his side. The drink is an import from Edo - not regulated nor widely distributed in the Quad. It's expense rises with it's refinement, this particular serving only middling in quality.

He's drinking to dull the smell of the street, not to dampen the clarity of his memories.] If you were able to interfere, would you join in smashing the man's teeth on the pavement? Or would you suffer their anger yourself to pull him from the brink of death?

[lotusmesenpai]

Then what is it? It's unfamiliar.

[Turning his gaze to the mob before them, blinks slowly, and then lets a slow sneer slip into place. Because for him, the question doesn't offer a challenge, no moral dilemma to be found. Instead he rolls his head to the side, the sneer still in place as he scoffs at the older man.]

I am able to interfere, but why would I waste my time? Sure, I hate the Company, but it's not a piss-ant nobody like that that matters. And just because I was born a Westie doesn't mean I'm as pathetic as them.

Fuck 'em both, for all I care.

[shikomizue]

[Reckless.

Consequences - and Takasugi can think of many - be damned.

Looking for a fight he can actually sink his teeth into - their banter real and Takasugi's question a mere wisp of imagination.

The man replies with a curt laugh, his head lulling forward as his shoulders shake only to settle sunken lower than before.] You'd see them both strewn across the street by morning.

You may have been born a Westie, but you don't share their burdens. Has the RAC lightened your load? [No, it hasn't. But he'll at least imply an explanation for the benefit of neutrality.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda just snorts in answer, an utter dismissal of the implication of using the RAC as a shield to dismiss his cares behind.

Because for Kanda, it's nothing of the sort.

His 'neutrality' is more a stepping stone. A place to stand while he figures out which way the world would best burn.]

Why should I? It's not like they've ever shared mine. No...

[Softer now, his voice reflects a resolve forged through the pain of experimentation, sanctioned in blood from the first time they'd parted ways.]

My sights are just set... a little higher... than the nobodies too weak to keep themselves from being strewn across the streets like gutter trash.

[shikomizue]

[An excellent vantage point, among the stars and exempt from the ties that bind to the world around like a noose around the neck of a man soon to drop. Like that one can see each and every glimmer of hope fade into a black pit.

With a view like that, it's hard not to imagine how the hollows would look burning alight.

Ambition rings pleasantly in Takasugi's ears, and he almost looks fond but for the distance in his eyes as he replies, levity in his deep voice clashing with the brutal scene before them.] Oh? And where do you hope to find yourself laid out?

no one smiles like that ❁ lavi

[shikomizue]

[If he has to listen to the babbling of petty criminals, it's always more entertaining to listen to the batshit crazy ones. Tales of rising pyres and phantom storms that sounded like broken readings of folk stories entertained him over the open line to Eulogy.

He wouldn't have time to stop for a drink, or for any business opportunities - the most crucial of his contacts could be maintained over a secure network.

When those very men - some shrewd and some off in their own rights - echoed the mystification of the addled, Takasugi himself considers that the legends might be true.

Cursory plucking at the web of information leads him to a description of two familiar characters. A cowardly Company idiot and an affable eye patch wearing redhead - one would have been enough to catch his interest, and two are cause enough for a detour.

Neither would see Takasugi upon their rescue, their location gleaned from the broken sentences of brain rotted residents of the badlands. Lavi has been ushered to his room by a scantily clad blonde, who shoots him a dirty look the entire way. She seems to think this is nothing but an inconvenience, which she mutters with intentional volume as she deposits the 'cargo' in his quarters.

Little more than an hour later, the door will open after a short series of lazy knocks. Takasugi comes bearing nothing but his pipe, bowl half smoked.] Yo. [Casual, almost friendly, Takasugi leans against the wall.] I've heard the ending to an interesting story...

Perhaps you know the beginning. How do we come upon our heroes stranded in the badlands, fatefully spared by storms that brew in the blink of an eye and pyres that rise to burn the sky?

[inksplashes]

[ His spirits accordingly lifted by the prospect of not dying in the Badlands with the whiny prince in tow--and then further elevated by the wonderfully ill-dressed woman who leads him to his "room"--Lavi spends that hour between pick up and meeting the ship's owner in rest and reprieve.

He does not, however, accept more than the offer of passage. Neither food nor water has been granted, though it was certainly offered, and his state of dehydration would show, no doubt, were he not so otherwise mired in the grime and blood of the desert.

Still, he was gracious when he declined, knowing full well not to cross a would-be savior lest he transfigure them into a potential enemy too soon. Gratitude he gives freely, trust he hoards.

(Not that he ever trusts in others, as a general rule. That burden is one Yu alone bears, and its weight is mighty despite its fractured core.)

When Takasugi comes knocking, Lavi is against the wall of the room, placing himself at the best vantage point to see vectors of approach. Settled on the floor, he looks--and truly well is--tired, darkness beneath his eyes and a faint tremor in his hands.

This he conceals with a press of fingers into fist, knee drawn up carefully in front of him despite the newly inflicted--and some reopened--lacerations along his ribs. Lifting his head, he regards the figure perched against the wall with an even stare, an easy smile.

An enemy after all, he thinks for a moment, but that's not quite right. That was another life. Another persona. How many people has he been since they last met? Aki was not a long-lived character, fading out of view as so many things in early childhood seem to do. What didn't fade, what burns in his memories now, are the flames of that night, the screams of it.

But even this now seems like a pale moment of time, just one of many that the gaze of adulthood strips of its romanticism and makes plain. ]

Guess someone just got real lucky and made a pact with Mother Nature. Or maybe it was a pact with too much Bliss?

[ He laughs, the sound warm and rich and well despite the pain the convulsions cause him. ]

I imagine the first makes for a better story, and the second more realistic.

[ A beat, a smooth transition, seemingly casual. ]

Appreciate the assist though. When will we be touching down to Old Town?

[shikomizue]

[Food growing cold and congealed sits on the small circular table of Lavi's quarters. It doesn't go unnoticed as a sign, along the glass of water unmarked by dirtied fingerprints, of their passenger's delirious - and distrustful - state.

Apprehension isn't unexpected - Takasugi has come armed out of his own caution - though the degree to which it's painted on the redhead's body is dully amusing.

An intricate game of showing obvious suspicion to wipe away any veneer of lies, their sheen already pierced... or a simple case of exhaustion. Either way, Takasugi sees nothing but a creature forcing poise through pain.

He doesn't need a conclusion - his agenda doesn't hinge on the knots their communication may tie. Takasugi has come to confirm what he'd seen through the feed of the rescued party's boarding - a familiar boy surrounded by fire.

Though now, he supposes, those flames have long been extinguished.]

Heh. [Takasugi echoes Lavi's laugh, his voice stretched thin. From their cadence, one would assume their roles reversed - Lavi content among familiar holdings and Takasugi only narrowly slipping from the grip of death.] Three hours or so... [His confirmation is accompanied by a finger tapping idly on the stem of his pipe.] While we wait, I'd like to hear the story of Mother Nature's promise.

Unless you have something better for me. [He lets his body sink into a ledge on the wall, seated and sprawled. Running checks on the redhead had revealed am unfamiliar name - Lavi - and a particularly interesting association with a certain rough-spoken agent.

There are quite a few stories he wants to hear, and he has time enough to coax forth whichever threads he can twine his fingers in.]

[inksplashes]

Sorry, buddy.

[ He almost puts enough effort in that to make it sound sincerely apologetic, but not quite--either too exhausted or too impetuous to bother. Lavi reaches for the back of his neck, a common tick he's manufactured to make himself seem more anxious than he really is.

(His heart beat, in fact, is steadier than it has been in hours, cool and calm. Wariness and paranoia are old friends to him and he falls in line with them easily.)

Thus rubbing at his nape, his smile widens a little more in an artificial plead for forgiveness. ]

RAC business and such. We're not paid to be talkative about our warrants.

[ Not that he thinks it was really a request so much as a thinly veiled demand, but even at the mercy of another's charity, he can rely on technicalities and statutes to get him out of unnecessary conversations.

Especially with the likes of you, he thinks. ]

But if the warrant holder wants to tell you about it, I won't stop ya. You picked him up with me.

As for something better..

[ It's not, he knows, the wisest move. It is not a move of caution or calculated intent--it's exhausted youth showing itself in brash colors. An unwillingness to leave an itch alone despite knowing it'll surely bleed and scab if he scratches too hard. ]

You ever hear of Sugar Point? Place not too far from where you got us. Nasty business, what happened.

[shikomizue]

[His name may have changed, but the redhead's disregard for gravity remains consistent. The right words spoken in a tone that all but condemns them sounds childish - they're a display of security rather than a show of aggression.

Takasugi notices his own stillness as Lavi shifts to bring a fidgeting hand scrawling battered nails over the ridges of his spine. Fatigue suppresses all motion but the necessary, though the purpose of the redhead's display is vague.

So be it.

He lets his focus shift, the appeasement guiding his head to tilt away from the other. The room is untouched - it's the space between them that settles in Takasugi's view.

When the first layer of their caution is breached - a mention of the setting for their shared history breaching the formality of acting as strangers - he doesn't move. Only his countenance changes, lips cutting into a smile.] A great loss.

Shame that it's such a common story. [Distance lingers in his voice.] Though hearing you weave it may not be so dull.

[inksplashes]

More common than you know.

[ A sharp note there, weary and worn down in a way that doesn't fully fit with his state of physical exhaustion. It's a voice instead of an experience lived too many times to spark emotion, something rote and redundant however secretive it might be.

(Every story of humanity ends in the fireworks that had blistered the sky that night. Every word and action devolves into the rubble and detritus of war.

It's just the nature of the species, so far as this historian can tell.) ]

You know how it goes, yeah?

[ Casual, lilting--his expression subtly shifting into something a little slier. It's probably a rhetorical question. ]

People get up in arms about workin' conditions. They rebel. They're crushed.

'Cept..

[ He hums, shaking his head lightly and ignoring the involuntary wince that results. ]

Nah, just conspiracy theories. I'm sure you've got better things to do than listen to somethin' like that.

[ Besides, it seems to him that this ship's captain would be far better suited to expanding on those theories than Lavi. ]

the gentle art of making enemies ❁ rhys

[shikomizue]

[For the two who found themselves stranded among waste and sand, the descent of Takasugi's ship may seem like the pinnacle of luck. However, it's the commander who considers the opportunity a favorable wax of the tides.

As the dock opens Rhys will be greeted by a man donning shades, his ears completely obscured by tech. He's not the talkative sort. Walking to the room where their venerable guest may rest is a quiet journey, silence only broken for one-word vague answers that communicate nothing but the impetus for more questions.

Left to a large room, foreign in style but not lacking in amenities, Rhys has been offered a change of clothes - with assurances that his effects will be properly cleaned and returned - along with shower utilities and a meal. The food isn't memorable, though it likely tastes savory to a starving palate.

Only after Rhys has had a few hours to grow accustomed to his temporary lodgings will Takasugi make a personal visit, bringing with him a bottle of refined hokk. It's a taste the noble can enjoy paired with the lies he'll soon be swallowing.

A few lazy knocks announce his arrival,] May I...? [He'll wait for permission, however entitled or combative it may be, before entering the room and offering a lazy smile of greeting.]

gdit taka you're so smooth it's criminal

[rhygret]

H-huh? Oh...yeah, come in. [ Rhys doesn't sound his usual confident and cool self, but then he did only just get rescued from a bunch of insane, awful bandits after being stuck in a radioactive wasteland for the last two days, uncertain if he was going to survive another hour, let alone get home to tell Vaughn about it later.

And Lavi...

Rhys's gut still churns about that, about how he's doing and with guilt and worry. Kanda killing him for it later doesn't even enter his head right now as he sits on the edge of his cot, hands knit together in an anxious habit.

At the sound of Takasugi's voice he looks up and at least makes an attempt to appear...alright? Untraumatized? Something like that. ]

emphasis on criminal

[shikomizue]

[Rhys sounds his usual strained self, the forced confidence on his face exactly as he'd imagined when desperate threats scrawled across his monitor months ago.

Now, instead of coercion, Takasugi offers a tilted head and a relaxed smile.] I apologize for not introducing myself sooner,

[He approaches, hips leading a confident stride.] My name is Tani Umenosuke - this ship belongs to me. [Instead of and outstretched hand he shifts to pull a chair near the cot and sit, posture wide as he leans forward.] I hope you're finding our accommodations acceptable... they're not what you're accustomed to, I imagine.

[rhygret]

After the last few days? trust me, this is paradise, [ Rhys supplies wryly, tone just a bit thin and strained even as he makes an attempt at humour. If it falls flat he doesn't really care at this point, but he tries to at least appear a little grateful (he's a lot grateful, actually, just exhausted) so he doesn't offend their only chance at getting Lavi proper medical attention. ]

We're lucky you came when you did.

[shikomizue]

[As Takasugi sets the bottle of wine by the leg of his chair he gratifies Rhys's humor with a chuckle, light and pitched well above his voice's lilting baritone.] I'm happy to help.

[A beat. He sets the glasses down near the bottle.] You don't need to worry about any reparations or reward.

I imagine there's enough going on in your head without it. [It's entitled to decline something that hasn't been offered - but that's an attitude Takasugi assumes Rhys is accustomed to, being among the nobility and the Company alike.]

[rhygret]

[ He is familiar with it, and honestly he hadn't even thought about either of those things. The fact that he's okay and Lavi might not be, but they're alive somehow is just...it's a lot.

But Rhys is good at keeping on. ]

Are you...sure? I mean--you saved our butts back there. We'd be goners without you.

that which cannot remain silent ❁ lapis

[shikomizue]

[Proceedings broken into blocks, Takasugi doesn't enjoy the luxury of free time until the formal discussions have ended. During the breaks given to the delegates for them to stretch their legs - and their palms for 'encouragement' - he would perform. Sometimes the song struck from the foreign instrument mingles with the still leaves in the garden, and other times it clashes against the bare concrete and minimal decor of the center.

Tonight he's been requested to play a lilting lullaby for those staying late to discuss further actions, the melody waning as the milling bodies within the hall dwindle.

As he's packing the instrument away, his motions careful but long practiced, he'll speak to the nearest passerby, raising his jaw to meet their eyes with a heavy lidded glance.] Are you enjoying it?

[oneirism]

[Lapis has simply been listening to everything at the summit - to the official talks, to the talks hidden away in the dark corners of hallways, listening through her A.I. planted within their devices. And also, to the musician within the hall, her own interest in music causing her to linger longer than most to listen.

So maybe it isn't too surprising when his eyes meet hers, her head tilting slightly at his words. The vagueness doesn't bother her, but her bluntness means she doesn't keep her thoughts back either.]

Kind of a vague question. [There's many "it"s around here, after all. She'll address the two obvious ones then.]

Your music, very much, I haven't seen an instrument like yours before. The summit, a bit less so, but it's interesting to listen to.

[shikomizue]

[It's her thoughts he's inviting with vague statements - Takasugi greets her response with an easy smile, an acquiescing nod.]

Ah, thank you. [He takes the compliment with graciously, closing the instrument's case soundlessly.] The shamisen, though you won't hear it much outside of Edo. [A planet only some know of, so he moves on-]

That's a good approach - you'll gain more from listening than you will from talking. [What it is she seeks to gain, however, Takasugi has yet to discern.] Do you find what you're hearing to be uplifting?

[oneirism]

[Shamisen? Edo? Two words she's unfamiliar with, and they'll be ones she looks into later. For now, her focus is on this conversation, tilting her head slightly as she glances over the case, before her eyes focus on him once more.]

Hmm... [Lapis mulls over that for a moment, before giving a slight shrug of her shoulder.]

Some of it was. Some of it was more interesting than anything. It was all valuable to hear, either way. [Always nice and handy to have some info against some bigwigs.]

What about you?

[shikomizue]

[Interesting is a rather safe word - it gives away attention paid without betraying the intent behind it. But even such a vague assessment can be valuable, illuminating dimly the girl's purpose.

She could appear bored, shrugging and slight shifts of focus wanting for the opportunity to participate.

Or she could simply have understood what he'd advised long before tonight.] I have little hope for anything coming of this. [He heaves his instrument onto his back with a sigh.] Well minded the ideas may be, everyone is competing over who will take the spotlight.