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

Alice Liddell - OTA (Leith mostly)

[digophelia]

Week 5, Day 7 - Semi-closed, if anyone actually visits Alice at her home?

[ Alice Liddell, who other Leithians know to be a recluse and who has her large house away from others is known not to really venture outside. Others see her as snobbish in some regard, because of her nature to not interact with others, not even with a "hello". She's quiet, she keeps her gaze straight-forward and has a stony expression. And others see her as a troubled girl -- the ones who know how Alice struggles to keep herself grounded.

The whispers persist of how Alice has been found in the streets with no recollection of where she came from. She's quiet, often meek, and barely shows objections to others telling her what she should do. More importantly, the Liddell family lawyer, who is next in the line of the Liddell inheritance has stifled her. He doesn't have to admit to it, she knows he's the cause of her stay in an asylum in Westerly.

Alice is starting to change.

Early in the morning with tea at her side in a would-be dining hall for other guests, Alice has a set of papers while the little girl she took in thanks to Sion sits awkwardly in the middle at the large table, doodling over scrap papers. Both girls are tight-lipped, engrossed in their work; a heavy silence fills the air as neither one of them exchange words. Alice, a few times, peaks up from her notes to peer down at the shell-shocked little girl.

All is quiet until a well-dressed man with gray hair enters the room. Judging from his quick, heavy footsteps, Alice knows who it is: the lawyer she's come to loathe and the unfortunate executor of her parents' wishes. Malicious underneath the guise of a well-mannered Leithian. Alice speaks with a bolder voice, a voice that doesn't crack as it once did. ]

I've decided to set aside funds to aid children that have been orphaned left behind from the epidemic. A large portion.

[ She knows when she decides to invest money into something other than let himm decide, it's met with a protest. She doesn't glance up at his worn face, his sharp features, she continues with her work coldly. So unlike the girl who not even a few weeks ago broke down sobbing when he would tell her that she would be sent back to Westerly. ]

That seems so frivolous, Alice, you ought to be wiser with your money. Invest it into something practical or let me handle the expense of-

[ She pulls her head up from her work, her green eyes boring into him. ]

I think you've handled enough of my parents' money and it is a wise investment, it benefits the future generation and it's an example of good will.

What did I tell you the last time? There are people who know your eccentric behavior, they know where you come from-

[ For the first time, Alice raises her voice, standing from her seat, turning up at him as he towers over her with a stern expression. ]

I don't care if they know where I come from. My past will not define me and you cannot send me back. If you try to interfere anymore, I'll make you regret it. [ Beyond the calm face, an anger began to brew so intensely that her hands were shaking despite her demeanor. From the table, Alice calls to the little girl, gazing up at the adults with wide brown eyes. ]

Come, Gwen, let's go outside, shall we? And leave Mr. Randal to his thoughts.

[ With Gwen following behind as Alice clutched her papers, she didn't relent her gaze from his scowling face, she kept her eyes locked until they were out of the dining room completely.

At least Gwen would enjoy a walk around the Liddell Estate. ]

Week 6, Day 1 - Unwounded they go, unwounded they return

[ A gala, a social interaction Alice happened to dread. Large rooms happened to make her nervous, as she could barely handle markets on her own, time to time. The small heiress felt out of place, glancing at people that passed by, barely recalling names. Even if she was the daughter of a prominent educator on Leith and from a wealthy family, she lesser among them. Their fashions were definitely bolder than hers, as she stood there dressed in white all too tempted to shrink away from others. She wanted to return to her home, crawl back under the blanket she usually warped herself at this hour and read a book.

But Alice was on a mission. So many well-to-do Leithians were here -- stable and confident individuals unlike her. Alice who was so small no thanks to years of being deprived of food, nearly gaunt and pale was stepping in the room. She had lost her confident walk up to the gala, clutching her hands to herself. You must do this, a voice whispered in her mind, not at all like her own. It felt like it curled around her shoulders, sharp claws pressing into her shoulders. How else will you save them, Alice?

Every journey begins with a single step.

Truth be told, she loathed Westerly and it would take time to convince her otherwise. ]

I'm here for the Good Will Corps, that is all.

[ She murmured to herself, while making her way to a glass of water. ]

Then I'll go home.

Week 6, Day 3 - I grew and I throve well

[ The Peace Summit, at least, is where Alice started to thrive. She had no skills in farming, building, or technology, but at the very least, Alice was starting her dream (if it was to be called a dream). With other Leithians who were too engrossed with their work, Alice could feel comfortable in the fact gathering food and clothing for children required minimal conversation.

And let it be known Alice was a "picky" sort, going through each donation given to her. ]

Come now, would you enjoy food that would expire soon or clothing that's already dirty? Think of these children, they have lost it all, they have nothing else. What is wrong with them receiving the best?

[ She would ask this each time to anyone who would protest her telling dirty clothing or old food was fine. When assorted boxes would fill up, Alice would call for help. That is when she wasn't being stubborn, picking up things that made it difficult to look ahead. ]

Excuse me, if it is not too much trouble, could you help me carry it over there?

Wildcard

[ ooc; or, alternatively, reach out to me if you want a specific prompt! ]

sion astal | ota + closed prompts

[sunderings]

( as usual, feel free to contact me @ avichuus or over yonder if you'd like a starter! i also love wildcards, so come at me!! ♡ )

OTA | Westerley, W5D4

[sunderings]

[ The second day of protests comes to a crest, threatening to spill over into insurrection as a bottleneck of civilians forms at the centre of Old Town where vendors would canvas their wares, where Scarback Monks would offer their blessings, and where the hollers and shouts of rambunctious children met with the shuffle of the increasing numbers of the destitute and homeless. Habitual, the cacophony of congested streets, budding with the sound of life in all its forms, but today the resurgence of Old Town's spirit is manifest in burgeoning cries for justice, for reparation and for aid, the clamor carried to the ears of Company Enforcers, officers who held a line in riot gear. Shields are employed to to push back the crowd in the square as many desultory groups coalesce into one—

"Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴄᴏʀᴅs ʜᴀᴠᴇ ғᴀʟʟᴇɴ! Wʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs?!"

"Oᴜʀ ғᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ, ᴡᴇ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴀғғᴏʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴛ!"

"Tʜᴇ Cᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴍᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜɪs! Wʜᴀᴛ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴊᴜsᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴘʜᴏʟᴅ?! Tʜᴀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ Nɪɴᴇ's ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ's!"

—their voices edged with desperation, frustrated with hours of demonstration to no avail. Unwilling to be cordoned off for any longer, they surge forward and together as one, swelling against the line held by the Company, fueled by anger which rises and expands like thunder until a single civilian breaks through. Company officers immediately move to subdue the man who lashes out, made fierce by his purpose, but in the instant before the Enforcers are able to bring the protestor to heel, a barrier forged of solidified light separates both parties, the gleaming construct keeping civilians safe from harm even as it bolsters the Company's uniformed barricade. ]

We hear your voices, but this cannot continue! [ In the lull momentarily borne of surprise and of awe, in the collective gasp of the protestors and the continued silence of the Company, Sion's own voice rings out, resonant and clear as a bell: ] There will be difficult days ahead, and many questions about Westerley's future remain unanswered, but--

[ But Sion forgets he wears the Company uniform, bearing the crest of his rank upon his shoulders. So focused on parting civilians from Company officers, he forgets to guard himself, the Director who stands as an outlier; who is the obvious cause for the strange partition used to keep the people of Old Town from fighting for the justice they are so deserving of.

(And almost, he forgets to cover the entrance-wound of the bullet after he hears, staggers back from, but does not feel the shot. Where had it originated from? The Director seems undeterred, reassuming his posture, his right hand pressed to his abdomen as glimmers of gold blood well in the cracks between his fingers.)

Still, he speaks, determined to hold his position, unwilling to let the wall of light flicker out.

("Cᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ ᴍᴏɴsᴛᴇʀ!" someone shouts.) ]

--I am confident that we will be able to find those answers together. But we cannot aid you, not like this.

[ Not without both sides first ceding ground.

But this will not happen so easily—certainly not in one day, and not with a second shot lining up as civilians clamor, their anger now heightened by fear. Fear escalated by the bids of several Officers for the Director to fall back to safety.

It seems that Sion himself will have to be forcibly removed from his post. ]

CLOSED | Giovanni, W5D2

[sunderings]

[ He takes Giovanni to a place beyond the congestion of Old Town's streets, the industrial city-sprawl of mining, business, and factory facilities tempering first into districts of ramshackle housing, then into the remnants of tent-city clinics erected in response to the P4CX attack, the structures kept in serviceable condition for addressing the infection's aftermath, and more than that. Few and far in between are RAC certified doctors and Company physicians on Westerley, rendering clinics such as these a necessity, the supplies delivered to them by the hands of the Company essential for survival.

And, at times, it is not only the distribution of supplies which is essential.

Today, the clinic is overcrowded, rife with not only those recovering, yet, from infection, but residents injured in a housing collapse, the tiered structure giving way beneath their feet. Of course we will help, the Director had said, offering his training as a field-medic in the military, and all at once, he'd found himself treating a child with a broken leg, the bone badly fractured.

Beneath the watchful eyes of his security detail, Sion has soothed the child (with kind eyes and sweet assurances), administered an analgesic, and fashioned a splint from the board and plank available to him. Now, there is only--... ]

Giovanni. [ From his place at the child's side, Sion looks to the other man, gold eyes seeking out red. Funny, how only a handful of days ago, they'd been brought together to inflict pain upon another. Now, Sion hopes that they may move together to alleviate it. ] Have you set a fractured before?

CLOSED | Saber, W5D7

[sunderings]

[ With the travel bans between moons newly lifted, the Director departs once again for Leith, due to meet with a Reclamation Agent under warrant to aid with supply transit for charity efforts to Westerley.

Recovering, yet, from an injury sustained early on in the week, the upper echelons of the Company had seen fit to bolster Sion's detail of security—where it might have been by far more prudent to err on the side of caution and see to it that the Director remained safe and sound within the command post on Westerley, Sion Astal is a man who boasts ties to many a Leithian philanthropist through his own Leithian citizenship and his late-father's nobility. It is imperative, that he secure continued relief for the people of Westerley, and a direct order that he returned unscathed.

(...doubtless, that the latter is something which the Reclamation Agent he is to meet has been covertly tasked with already.)

And so, as the Director descends the boarding ramp of the Company vessel no sooner than it docks upon Leith, his golden eyes are cheerful and bright, the fluid grace to his step betraying nothing of his somewhat less than optimal physical state.

Now then, who is it that had picked up the Company-issue warrant? (Admittedly, it had been somewhat negligent of him not to consider the Reclamation Agent's file...) Could it be that gentleman over there...? My, they have a rather distinctive look about them...!

(A shame, perhaps, that he misses the approach of an ahoge in his peripheral.) ]

noctis | ota | leith & westerley

[uncrownings]

a black tie affair | leith

[There are a lot of people here. This is the third gala Noctis has attended in as many days and it feels like each one is more extravagant than the last. He knows that this is as much a method of coping and resilience as any other, but there's something that just doesn't sit right with him about it. It's a lot of festivity for so many casualties. A young man passes on his left, tray laden with an array of brightly colored drinks and equally bright garnishes. While he hasn't seen Qresh with his own eyes, he's sure that what passes as optimistic extravagance here couldn't hold a candle to that kind of opulence.

Noctis spends the brunt of his time ghosting around the edges of these gatherings- well dressed enough to fit in and doing his level best to avoid anything that looks like it might end in dancing. He's not above ducking into hallways or loitering beside a familiar face for that matter. Lucky you?]

aren't you a riot| westerley

[The Accords, they say- in what starts as a murmur and becomes a rallying cry. Noctis doesn't plan to be there when the riots begin but that's because he hadn't really expected them to begin with. He's always assumed that even the crown in Old Town was more worried about living day to day than banding together to make some kind of statement.

When rumor becomes fact and Westies are heading out into the streets in droves he's- worried. It's telegraphed by the crease in his brow and the lingering gaze he turns on the windows. The voices that carry are enough to prompt him to open his mouth should he see you standing up to join them-]

Are you heading out there?

[By the time the riots are in full swing and Company orders are lethal force, there's no more pretending to avoid it.] I need help over here! [His voice will carry, doing his best to bear another's weight.

When attempts to stay out of harm's way fail and Noctis is without the influence of a sensible companion, he does his best to push through crowd in search of a medic. Coming up empty will leave him lingering near trash chutes, trying to wrap some nasty burns with fabric from who only knows what.]

ride on the magic schoolbus | leith & westerley

[Security is tight, and with tensions mounting what was once a relatively simple ordeal is now one fraught with suspicion. Noctis is both willing and able to transport those who can't find legitimate means to leave the planet- but it isn't a comfortable ride. His ship is searched daily, like any other in the docking bay. It's still a nerve-wracking process.

If you're one of the many in need of a lift, maybe you got his name from a friend of a friend. If you're one of the officials tasked with security he'll want to see some I.D. But if he's between jobs and you're a familiar face, he might turn up on your doorstep not with a hello but instead with-]

I need a favor.

[iuramentum]

[ "Any means necessary" is a very dangerous phrase to use in any order relevant to a warrant. It effectively gave the acting agent leeway to act however they pleased - certainly not an order to bandy about lightly with even the highest ranking men and women with countless successful expeditions under their belts.
Saber, however, was a special case. She wasn't known for going in to any situation without thoroughly weighing her options first, which made her uniquely suited to protecting even the most disagreeable client.

Not that she expected that kind of behaviour out of Sion, of course. The dossier included in the warrant had been quite thorough on his even temperament.

To absolutely no-one's surprise, her voice pipes up slightly behind him, at a respectful distance. ]

Mr. Astal? [ As usual, she's timed her approach to be halfway through a polite bow by the time he turns to look. ] RAC Agent Saber. I will be your security detail for the duration of the agreement.

[ Considering the matte black sheath at her side practically blends in with her suit in profile, she probably looks anything but intimidating. Small, slender, apparently unarmed... things are gonna go just great. ]

leo elster | open | week 5

[slotted]

ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ sᴏʟ ᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ
[ things have never stopped being busy at work! leo may have had some time to visit westerley the past week, but now he really can't. mostly because of the apprehension the leithians are showing towards the westies, and also because he's being worked to the bone. much of the high-class society in leith are holding various charity events, and the cafe leo works for just happens to be one of the venues for said events. the invitation extends to anybody from leith who has money, though those related to the company are regarded as vips in this event.

leo doesn't man the bar this time around and instead has to wait tables. not the best job in the world, and he does get weird looks from time to time from the bigwigs who actually know he's from westerley. add that to the fact that his father was a criminal, then the looks get even weirder. he doesn't seem to show how he doesn't like the treatment being given to him, though. ]

Would you like a drink?

ᴡɪʟᴅᴄᴀʀᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɴ sᴏᴍᴇ
[ hit me up here if you'd like to do anything specific! link ]

[ofobedience]

[This kind of work-- it's not what he's best suited to. It's something at least, the opportunity to stretch his legs, get out and about as it were, but there's a placidity to it that leaves him restless, the jitter of violence ever present in his bones like an itch that refuses to abate. Despite this, he walks the respectful two paces behind his Company charge, as expected, surveys the poverty and poor conditions that only increase the further outside of Old Town they go with a quiet kind of indifference. It means nothing to him, all of this, and where there seems to be a well of compassion inside the man he's accompanying now, he has no such feelings himself.

Regardless, he continues to tail the other man with the composed calm expected of him in such situations, his face a blank and impassive mask, the thrumming energy underneath held in careful check. When the request for assistance comes he merely stands to one side - close, but with that same submissive distance held between them - watches the other man work whilst a significant part of his awareness is kept honed on their surroundings, the possibility of attack. Not that he expects it to come, not from these people. Injured and crippled and - perhaps, a few of them - destined only for death.

It would be easier, he thinks, simpler, if he were just to put them out of their misery. A quick shot from his gun, or the hardfast twist of his hands about their throats. It'd be over just like that, and there'd be something satisfying in it.

Of course, unless ordered to, he'll do no such thing.

The child Sion is doctoring quiets eventually (mercifully-- the noise of the initial high-pitched wails had stabbed at his sensitive hearing, left him vaguely on edge) and instead there's the soft sound of Sion's voice and the deft movements of his hands. Funny indeed to think that those same hands had been put to quite a different use, the last time they'd been together like this. Something altogether harder.

Giovanni perks into subtle alertness at the sound of his name, meets Sion's gaze, and when the question comes he gives him a quick, sharp smile.]

I was made to break things, not fix them.

[But just like that, he shrugs.]

However, if you instruct me, I'm sure I could manage.

[Which is to say no, he never has, but if it's what Sion asks of him then of course he will do it.]

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 ]

w6d1

[tousei]

[ One wouldn't question why a Company Enforcer would be here, if he was under guard duty - but Julius isn't, at least not completely. He has a stun baton concealed in his formal clothes, but he's also here in his capacity as the head of two family estates. His own, and that belonging to Dr. Rachel Claudius. She had left him everything she owned, and this everything was still sizeable after the Company seized what was not legal.

Alice draws his attention, his eyes adept at picking out discrepancies within the crowd. She's thin, almost malnourished, which strikes a chord. ]

Excuse me. Are you alright?

[ His voice is quiet but not unfriendly, a young man not much older than her. ]

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. ]

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. ]

juvia lockser | ota

[lacuscular]

Week 5, Day 3
[ Even with the riots going on, Juvia's only concern is the Company and the people she cares for within it. She chooses to make arrests among the people who she believes to be inciting violence, only because she deems it to be the most efficient way of controlling the crowd. She doesn't want to waste her strength, doesn't want to harm anyone, if she doesn't have to.

She, especially, wants this to end as quickly and as neatly as possible. For the remainder of the day, Juvia will be using a very hands-on approach to apprehending civilians, instead of using her water. Hands-on, meaning that she's got her knee digging into someone's back as she twists their arm behind them. ]

It's useless to resist against Juvia.

Week 5, Day 5
[ For the first time in a long while, she feels nervous. She finally thinks about her parents, somewhere in Old Town, among all the chaos and the families like hers who might be in trouble. Juvia is both horrified, and relieved, to be sent over to Old Town. Relieved because it gives her an excuse to check up on her family, and horrified because the anger in this town is so palpable she feels her hands shaking.

Half-way into this job, Juvia is struck by a civilian-- the only evidence thereof is the bruise forming on her cheek. But it doesn't deter her as much as it should, because later on Juvia is trying to put out the fires that were set during the uglier part of the riots. ]

You should move! It's not safe to be here.

[ All clothing-- save for the uniform she wears (Company rules sadly)-- are missing. Large blobs of water are suspended in air, just a few inches above her hands. ]

Go home.

Week 5, Day 6
[ Or, later on when the number of deaths begin to add on and the protests die down, Juvia stops patrolling in favor of listening to one of the peaceful demonstrations going on. No matter who is speaking, Company or Westie, she feels all the weight of everything that's been going on the past couple weeks finally sink in. Her stern, hardened, expression melts away into something more vulnerable.

She finds herself moved at the ideals being spoken-- of a Old Town more peaceful, without the struggle and despair of the past few days. She feels her eyes water, tears flowing over the darkened bruise on her face. It will take her a few moments to compose herself if she sees someone she knows. If you're a stranger, she'll awkwardly make eye contact and quickly hide her face in a panic. ]

Wildcard
[ if you want to just throw something at me, I'm cool with that! c: and if you want to work out something specific, you can pm me at enoshima ]

[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.

pretend hes mrs frizzle on this magic bus ok

[brokeassgoing]

[and he'd just had a great time at hammering wooden planks to the doors and windows too and here Noct is, just to say hello. Eye bloodshot and nothing like humor in the downturn of his mouth, he glances both ways before crossing this particular street of trouble--]

Hey, I'm doing great, thanks. Just redid the barricade in my throne room.

[again with the toilet.....but the tense expression doesn't shift.]

What do you need?

Badou Nails | ota + some closed stuff

[brokeassgoing]

[if you want something specific that isn't here hmu gingerfarts]

ota, any time, any place, any who

[brokeassgoing]

lol r u dtr (rebel)

[he's suspicious is as suspicious does or something when these things are passed out like hard candy. That doesn't stop him from being an absolute nerd about all this: coffee shops may not be as popular this century but bars do just fine and forums...holy shit. He's found his people, these conspiracy theorists. Mothman, make room for him, he's coming home.

Some more interesting stuff too. His attention is half between the new tech and half between all the not so subtle meetings taking place in the seedy bar, but he isn't spread thin. Should your rumbling tickle his ear he'll give you a scoff if what you said is particularly....hopeful.]

We're fucked, no matter how you look at it.

Time to get the fuck outta dodge

[If you're one of those hard working and lucky few he's definitely been trying to sneak or bribe his way onto your ship. The bloodshot eye almost seems like its permanent, the way he's been skulking around the dock for days while strings of tension stretch farther and further.

They say something about slackers, right?-- does that count for slack too?

If you're one of the luckier ones in charge of boarder patrol, you'll still find him skulking, but along with his papers he pushes under your nose, there's a picture too. It isn't flattering. If it isn't you you can bet it's someone a little higher up. But rest assured it's a familiar face up to no good in this beautiful photo.]

Yeah, so I know about that. If you don't wanna be airlocked starting with your junk by your humble bosses you should let me get out of here.

closed to lavi (i listened to katy's ET does that make this better)

[brokeassgoing]

[He's familiar with these tunnels. Too familiar, even, that he almost has a good time of not focusing on the blind panic that wafts in the air along with the usual stench of dirt and probably bodies by now, of fear and loss.

(he tries not to choke on it, tries not to follow the path that's all too familiar to him, to where the Deep swallowed up his past)

Also luckily, he isn't alone. Instead of being stuck with the groups of tourists fleeing in here, Badou's got a friend in eyepatches.]

I don't care how many lugnuts are on the wall, if you sing that one one more goddamn time while I'm almost dying--

oh that isn't a terrifying mental image at all

[uncrownings]

A place to lay low for a few days.

[The question is there, hovering at the back of his mouth and only barely kept in check. It's not that Noctis is cruel by nature- it's the opposite really, but he hadn't grown up socializing with people he could consider his peers. Confronted with the reality of it, he feels like he ends up fumbling over the place where thoughts and words meet.

What Noctis almost asks is "why do you always look like shit?"

What he settles for instead, after the reply falls out of him is-]

When's the last time you slept?

;0

[brokeassgoing]

[If this proves anything at least its Noct has room to grow and has grown. There's some...tact in there...very loosely.

He blinks at him, scratches at his hair.]

Got no time to sleep when I've got work to do. If you need a place to stay...usually I'd set you up at a safehouse but I have the feeling this is hella urgent huh.

[sunderings]

[ Ah, his name. His name voiced in a timbre which he hadn't quite been expecting, but is welcoming of (and responsive to) all the same. There is color, to his escort's voice, a resonance which speaks beyond dutiful introductions and a reminder that their time together is little more than an agreement; an exchange. And so...! One does wonder: had Saber accounted for the Director to return her bow, rising only when Saber herself so cared to? A gentle smile curving his lips, he makes to catch green eyes with gold, unconcerned with Saber's stature (but... that wisp of hair, its curl and bounce, isn't it cute?), and bearing only the utmost confidence in her ability (and in the sheath which does not escape his sight).

Though he may be unfamiliar to her, the Director certainly knows Saber—albeit, by a different name. Once upon a time, he had processed her paperwork, her clearances, and unfortunately, her suspension. Already, he knows what she is able to do; that she towers heavens higher than her size.

(Of course, he will refrain from making the joke that she barely rivals the length of his braid in height.) ]

A pleasure to meet you, Saber. You've my thanks, for assisting with our collection of aid for Westerley.

[ The dossier on the Director's temperament? Without flaw. Mild-mannered and given to diplomacy, it had been realized early on that Sion Astal would be of better use to the Company not in the field, but on assignments such as these: strengthening the bridge between moons, newly rebuilt. ]

I will endeavor to look after you, just as you look after me.

[ Though t h a t statement, it is slightly worrisome, isn't it? A testament to the fact that even someone wholly agreeable may prove to be troublesome to protect. Sion is a man forgetful of himself—of how he should likely have not mirrored Saber's bow after being shot in the side. ]

My crew will remain with the ship in order to take in the supplies already present upon the docks, but I imagine that you will be joining me in my venture to the countryside?

[ To farmland which houses a nobleman's estate, the very first person which the Director is to convince to join hands with others in order to preserve the goodwill between Leith and Westerley. ]

let's start a riot

[equerry]

[ Ignis hasn't used his augment so often in a long time. Navigating a world of semi-darkness has been his life for years, but these riots leave no room for error. He can feel the strain it's putting on his head, a low-grade ache that pulses in his sockets. Watching for weapons, watching for the familiar and hoping they aren't amidst the dead.

He all but appears at Noctis' side when he hears the shout (I need help over here!) drawn to the sound like he's been raised to respond to it. He tucks his arm around the one incapacitated, his hand snug against the smuggler's side opposite. ]

That way. [ Ignis says, nodding to a break in the orange glow of the crowd. ]

ota & closed prompts; various dates

[inksplashes]

[ OTA and closed starters! If you'd like a personalized one, just hit me up via PM or over at redrumreversal! ]

OTA: Week 5, Day 4-6, Westerley

[inksplashes]

[ People gather in disparate clumps; a littering of bodies here, a glob of humanlike structures there. Humanlike, mind, and not expressly human, because in this state, in the atmosphere charged with the threat of violence and first-blood drawn, the people of Old Town are pale pantomimes of their usual civility. Now, hands gripped about clever tools and teeth mashed around not as clever words, they remind him of herd animals, agitated but too dumb and simple to make an autonomous move.

To his peripheral, he sees a splash of color, the diffuse light of a flash grenade overtaking the shapes and forms of the world. The sound of cracking follows, sharp and loud despite its distance, rings in his ears like a thousand terrible bells all at once, shaking the ground beneath his feet.

The herds coalesce, drawing in to one another with an instant, primal magnetism. The patterns of long forgotten but still ingrained instincts come to life in a moment’s notice, unearthed from beneath the centuries of social function as easily as one might clear a stack of papers to reveal the desk beneath.

And that’s all it is, that’s all it ever is,, those layers of civics and infrastructure that humans pride as hallmarks of their ascension from the animal kingdom. They are but a layer of dust waiting to be shaken off the tome of a long, bloody story that is the history of the species.

The ceasefire, called not by formal announcement but by the exhaustion of rioters, a collective moment of breaths taken and anger rested, draws to a close.

Now like a swelling wave the crowds build until they cease to be the plural and become a single, writhing entity of violence. He’s within the fleshy-walls of humanlike creatures, and whatever reason had subsisted up to now to ward them off (not reason, but fear, the badge on his arm, the gun at his side—) ceases, because they’re encircling him, mindlessly mashing around him.

Lavi grips them as they move by, redirecting their force. One person sweeps too close to his ribs, he dips his shoulders and slides away, palms firmly urging the rioter away. It’s not personal, neither the attacks or the defensive responses, and he knows this.

Yet he searches he face he comes across for a familiar structure, pausing every now and again when he thinks he’s found someone—or something—that warrants leaving his cozy indifference and taking action. Each time he’s met with disappointment, and more than a few other encounters result in swinging fists and snarling mouths.

He shouldn’t be here, but should and should not have less and less bearing these days. He’s looking for his friendlike acquaintances, trying to find them and see them well. Friendlike, mind, and not expressly friends, because he would like to claim no such attachments in this world, but he’s here, searching, mindlessly and thoughtlessly drifting through the brawls and angry clutches of humanity, reaching for those people who ought not be more than splashes of ink on paper.

Lavi grabs another passerby, the spark of familiarity felt, swinging around to face them, to see into them and divine if they might be that friendlike thing he's searching for, hopeful. ]