(closed) storms make the oaks grow deeper roots

[graftage]

Who: John Steinbeck, Handsome Jack, and Bucky Barnes
Where: Various locations
When: W5D5 onwards
Summary: Hyperion Cell Team Root meets up and does their dirty work
Restrictions/Warnings: Murder, body horror, Handsome Jack in general, snark fights...will edit for anything else that pops up!

[This is a catch-all log for Root's movements and actions! Toplevels will go up for each event as they progress.]

Comments

ONE ON ONE WITH HYPERION

[graftage]

[Cell leader, huh? Good to know he has some clout in the Resistance. His skills have been acknowledged, and he has been trusted with heading an operation that could finally make something meaningful happen. John Steinbeck wants to strike while the iron is hot - sure, they could move around supplies and whatnot for years, but he wants to see the Company topple sooner rather than later. His family deserves that. Now, without the Accords, their work over the years had basically been erased.]

[It makes Steinbeck livid in ways he didn't even know he could be.]

[He makes his way easily to the safe house. The bunker is worn, it's seen better times, but Steinbeck doesn't care. It's hidden in plain sight, that's what is important. It's a good place to group up and discuss plans without worrying about prying eyes and ears. He takes a moment to assess what the bunker contains, before he makes his way to the holoprojector, which looks so shiny and new compared to the rest of the place. He looks for a button - there is none - before he sees the indention.]

[Ah, well now, he is always willing to bleed for the cause.]

[He nicks his thumb and places it against the indention, watching as the screen lights up, and the conversation opens. Now, he can figure out what Hyperion wants from him.]

Oh, hello now. You're from Hyperion, aren't ya?

[thenine]

[The figure - eyes obscured as the video signal navigates the depths underground - wearing a pleasant, almost doll-like smile, gives a nod.

Both in greeting, and confirmation.] That's correct, my friend. [Well-enunciated formality betrayed by a tongue-and-cheek cadence. As if the man is on the edge of laughter.]

Ah. One moment. It's difficult to trust a man when you can't see his eyes, don't you think? [He sways out of frame, returning as the noise disappears and the video grows crisp.] There, much better.

[graftage]

Rather difficult, yes.

[He doesn't know what to make of this man. He seems well-polished in ways that make Steinbeck more wary than ever. Where did this Hyperion come from? What did they really want? Questions and more questions spring to mind, but for now, he'll just fall back on one:]

What's your name, stranger?

[thenine]

[He brings a curled finger to his lips, a pause to think before he answers with an apologetic smile.] You can call me Hyperion.

[His posture slackens then, betraying the pristine cut of his coat with a languid slouch.] I have a theory, do you want to hear it?

[Clearly, he wants to tell you.]

[graftage]

Alright, Hyperion. [He almost wants to roll his eyes. He's following the orders of someone. Someone mysterious who clearly doesn't want to give him all the details he wants. Great.]

Yes, sure. Go right on ahead.

[thenine]

[He might have expected some resistance, eyes widened in brief surprise before his smile grows, laced with something dark.]

So we all know that the rich hate the poor, the poor hate the rich. [Rattled off facts given no real weight.] And of course the poor will eat each other if there's nothing else left, while the rich use one another as stepping stones. [Moving to the revelation-] Now, those things are just done for survival, there's no emotion in it other than, 'not me, not me!'

[A beat.]

But I think the underprivileged are just teeming with hatred. Ready to slit the throat of their neighbor for no reason other than, 'not you, not you!'

It would only make sense if the same happens for the privileged! What do you think?

[graftage]

[He's silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, almost too calm. He smiles. His eyes don't.]

You sure like to simplify things, don't you, Mr. Hyperion? I'm sure the poor would have a lot to say if you just thought that all it boiled down to was simply "hatred".

[There's a beat - it's so silent one could hear a pin drop in the safe house.]

Of course, I'd very much like to see the throats of the rich slit and bled dry. That's one of the reasons why I joined the Resistance. [His smile widens.] But if you're going to step off the wrong foot here and imply that the poor are as simple as violent animals trying to survive, then you and I will have to agree to disagree, won't we?

[thenine]

[The man's eyebrows raise, his placid smile unmoving, unnatural.

Even the buzz of the video feed seems to vanish into silence.]

That may be necessary, yes. [He does manage to sound disappointed, at least, but his chagrin is short-lived.] But perhaps we can agree that the rich are nothing more than well groomed livestock for the slaughter, hm?

[graftage]

I think calling them livestock is a compliment. I think even cows are more noble creatures than they are.

[He lets out a short laugh, giving a casual shrug.]

But either way, I agree that they should be taken to the back of the house and dealt with like the way you treat any rabid animal. Their madness for wealth isn't something you can solve with simple persuasion.

[thenine]

[Steinbeck's laugh is echoed, a clipped chuckle settling into misplaced warmth on the man's face.]

Surely not! Parasites don't have the capacity to listen to reason. [He adjusts his language to match the blonde's sentiment.]

Let's get to it, then. I have no doubts you're ready to carry out some of these executions yourself.

[graftage]

I'm willing to do what has to be done. Hurt them, kill them, whatever.

[His lip curls up, like he's an animal already ready to sink his teeth in something.]

Nothing's too good for those bastards.