Chapter 4

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week VI, Day VII - Week IX, Day I
Summary: Chapter 4 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
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Ballroom Politics

Delle Seyah Kendry herself has sent a message to all with Qreshi citizenship. She calls them to a gathering of her own inception, a gala for the affluent few to spend a leisurely three days adrift in orbit. The invitation includes the ship's parameters, sure to comfort or entice any member of the nobility with expected and lavish accommodations, as well as a personal note of interest. It's been too long since everyone was together to discuss their pursuits, their thoughts, their projects… Invitations sent to: Crowley, Rhys, Sui Feng, Hanzo, Hanbei, & Royce On the surface, the event is a extravagant social soiree, but the undercurrent is clear. With the Peace Summit concluded, it's time to find an actual solution to the unrest in the streets. What house Kendry seeks is a move that benefits all members of the Nine, something that solidifies their position and ensures more years of prosperity. House Simms agrees, their pandering to the powerful Kendry family only intensifying. While there are some - perhaps land Hyponia - who disagree, their voices are hushed, few willing to lose life or estate for the common man. The cruiser hosting the event has three levels. The highest houses an opulently decorated hall, repurposed throughout the day for banquets, entertainment, and mingling. Only the finest food and hokk will be served, and those attending may also sample delicacies from the reaches of the J as they converse. As days drift into nights the lights will dim, long dining table replaced with smaller stands on which the elite can amuse themselves with the newest tech, including a gambling interface. The middle floor houses personal rooms, each containing a king sized bed with too many pillows, a walk in shower, a full kitchen, a stocked minibar, and a fully equipped entertainment room. Communication between rooms has been installed as full-scale holograms, and a mere voice command activates all tech within. The lower deck, housing the bridge of the ship and all workers’ quarters, is not advertised for visitation. Heirs and family heads alike will be in attendance, mingling through the ambling guests to speak with the most important, or the most concerning, individuals. Such a party would be woefully unenjoyable without proper security, and several warrants requesting RAC agent service have been placed. A high-paying position, any Killjoy who attends will need to dress formally and keep their gaze narrow. Some among the aristocracy may wish to speak with them - to ask for favors - but any conversations will be carried out with utmost secrecy. For the spaces warrants could not fill, Company enforcers have been summoned to bolster the event's protective forces. The higher within the Company, the less surreptitious one needs to be to chat with the Qreshi. However, having a distinguished Company pedigree doesn't guarantee any contact aside from being asked to dispose of something (or someone) for the good of the Nine.

The Company: Training Day

A divide has begun to form within Company ranks, and those at the top are loathe to see such cracks being driven into their foundation. Though the riots are growing more subdued, the lack of a 'unified' approach to street patrol has inspired action. Model Company officials will receive either a promotion or higher clearance for access to equipment. There is no mention of violence or brutality in the messages each receives to alert them of their bonus, the expectations of continued service acting as implicit reinforcement. Company officials who approached the malcontent populace with what have been officially labeled "high risk" methods - plainly stated, with mercy - will be notified of a different sort of reinforcement. Those who require acclimation training will be paired with an officer the Company can trust to exercise appropriately severe punishments, and sent to a volatile area. The location differs by assignment, but each has in common the hostility of its community. Spitting, jeering, and sudden attacks are to be expected by anyone wearing Company issued gear. All patrol, arrest, or recon missions in these areas will prove to be a battle against the Westie citizens who reside there. Not intending to lose members of their workforce, the Company does expect success and will not set any team up for deadly failure, but kindness on the part of any officers in the area will likely be met with suspicion or revulsion by the people, and possibly a report to upper by their partner. In a completely different sphere, officers who caused the Company figures of damage - or just a financial headache - will be assigned to stress training. The process is available to any employee, should they wish to opt in and kiss ass have something nice to put on their resume. A debriefing outlines that those participating in the training will board a vessel with a partner and be launched into orbit. The ship will have several interface and mechanical failures - all carefully monitored by the Company control below, of course - over the course of the simulation. Officers are required to land the ship despite these errors, and will be evaluated on their technique, teamwork, and attitude. Unbeknownst to all participants, the small ship will also contain three spider-type bots that will activate once in orbit and scatter over the framework of the vessel. They will trip alarms, project voices, and interface with the system to cut communication. The last any participant will hear from ground control is, "What's happening up there!?", an urgent final message sent before the true observation begins. Characters granted higher weapons clearance: Giovanni, Jack, Sui Feng, Hijikata, Hanzo, Juvia, Fenris Characters assigned acclimation training: Julius, Nyx, Shiro, Sion, Rhys Characters assigned stress training: Giovanni, Hijikata, Shiro Aside from the Company's inner workings, the world has not stopped spiraling deeper into chaos. Some enforcers may be requested as security at the Qreshi convocation, serving both abroad the actual pleasure ship and patrolling around it. Others may find their battle with the streets of Westerley dragging on as organized crime rises alongside the Resistance cells. Gangs threaten Company officials and average citizens alike, looting bars, sacking shops, and carrying out their own executions. Agree with the Company's blame of the Resistance, or see the gangs for the opportunists they are - either way, one thing is clear: The streets of Westerley are unsafe.

Westies: Karma Police

Cries for justice have distorted, shouts becoming incomprehensible as the dawn breaks on an otherwise calm Westerley morning. The riots that had become almost commonplace have dwindled, crowds thinning as the days drag on. Yet the violence that accompanied such frenzied backlash continues. It's not unusual to see a beaten and broken man lying motionless on the sidewalk as one makes their way throughout their day, bloodstains on the street coloring nearly every path through Old Town. The disenchanted have splintered. Some have returned to work, looking to keep their heads down and their necks safe from trouble. Some have taken a more subversive approach, fading into the shadows as the Resistance receives a new wave of sympathizers and participants. Some bask in the chaos, taking advantage of the upheaval to assert themselves, and their gangs, as a new authority on the street. Company enforcers remain pervasive, their patrols constant and their responses brutal, but they are no longer the only danger. Every abandoned safehouse, every street corner, and every back alley has become someone's territory. Lines drawn in the gravel are frequently contested, skirmishes between rival groups a common but insular backdrop to the violence teeming in the city. Though all gangs have different expectations, different eccentricities, they share a brash hatred for the Company. With growing frequency, establishments that serve Company officials will find themselves ransacked. Windows broken and goods stolen in the night, or the owner run out and beaten on the street, no venue can guarantee its safety without turning away those in Company attire. For some, even that is not enough. Speak too gently of the Company and one may find themselves labeled a sympathizer, subject to jeering or beating with little provocation. The question, How do you feel about the Company, asked by both enforcers and crime rings alike, is impossible to answer without earning at least one enemy.

Leith: Changing Winds

The winds of change howl across the Leithian landscape. The actions of the True Leithians have set events into motion that start to propel the usually relatively peaceful moon into the kind of unrest that's more common to its neighbors. As land reallocation continues, the upper classes of Leith start to resist the pull of charity. Where Leithians were content enough to provide aid to Westerley before, it's more difficult for that generosity to continue as their own coffers start to diminish. The relief efforts that the poorest of Westerley had relied on come nearly to a halt, because Leith is drawing away to protect themselves in the chaos. After all, chaos is starting to seep into Leith too. As donations slow, the Westerlen workers start to show their own unrest as their families and friends at home suffer for the slowed aid and the decreasing prospects of their own work. Leith's relationship with its Westie workers has always been tense, but it's never bubbled to the surface so much as this. The Resistance is quiet, but growing louder even on Leith. The market is often surrounded by workers striking, and Leith struggles to contain the protests. While a few unruly workers could be dealt with by a farm alone, hundreds of them forces those same farms to listen. Without their Westerlen labor, there's no one to tend to the farms and harvest the valuable crops that Leith provides to the Quad. The Leithian farmers may have to listen to the protests of their workers, but they wait, cutting off pay for those that refuse to work in a tactic to try and force them back to work. However, where some return to the farms reluctantly, it only makes the anger burn hotter for others. A massive field belonging to one of the biggest producers of Hokk in the Quad is torched, and the fire and smoke can be seen for miles. Ash falls on nearby towns like rain, and while the Qreshi fret over a shortage of their favorite Hokk, the people of Leith and Westerley both know that this is the start of something more dangerous on Leith. Rumor has it that the fires may have been started not by a Westie, but a rival Leithian, and with no one to conclusively blame, everyone bears the suspicion and distrust. Those disappearances that had effected only a select few associated with the True Leithians increase, but Leith itself doesn't complain too loudly. In the streets, Leithians seem oblivious or ignorant to what's coming, but they know. They only hope that so long as they pretend in public that everything is fine, maybe peace will return to their home.

Resistance: Power Vacuum

Hyperion becomes a whisper, a phantom looming in the background noise of discontent conversations and secrets kept. Some say it's a single person, a man of strong pedigree and polished cuticles, while others speak of a woman clothed in midnight black with a piercing stare that strikes through the heart of a man. Others yet suggest that it's not a person but many, a group of shadow puppeteers who offer direction.. but at what price? While rumors swirl and build into the myth of the Hyperion groups, rival factions rise to fill the empty spaces. For some, it's an ideological clash: whoever Hyperion is, they're too well-funded and connected to truly be of the people, too secretive and selective to warrant the trust of those who risk life and limb for sedition. For others--most, really--it's a matter of power hunger, groups forming and striking out to take control of the scattered members of the Resistance while the mysterious Hyperion remains an intangible figure. Unity, they say, in this time of division. They say it in town meetings and raids, in private conversations and public--albeit careful--demonstrations, using the cover of Westerley's rising gangs to cast shadow on their movements. As is often the case with politics, what they say and what they mean are quite different. While these different groups call for togetherness, they seek subordination and compliance to their respective ideas and goals going forward. Some call for violent uprisings, others aim for organized strikes and legislative pressure, and others still seek a peaceful but complete abolition of the current monarchy class. Each spreads their own propaganda in coded pamphlets and messages sent across the Meshwork, and though they agree on little, they are, indeed, unified on at least one common goal: The Nine must fall. In the meantime, though the focus of those outside of Hyperion's reach drifts, Hyperion teams continue to receive missions and intel, each cell working on a singular component for some great machination of change. Hyperion cites its compartmentalization as a means of protection--should one cell fall, the loss can be contained to those secrets and plans alone--but a closer look at each division's missions will offer a slightly more tarnished future than the one Hyperion claims to build. It's a war, even if the people on the streets don't realize they're fighting in it just yet, and in war... there are always acceptable losses. Collateral damage to be tallied and disregarded for the greater good. The Nine will fall, broken bone by broken bone.

The RAC: Level Grinding

As always, agents will have their hands full as the juggling jesters of the Quad's court, tasked with keeping the various factions served and satisfied with their contracted work. Between acting as guards for the Qreshi envoy, cleaning the streets of the detritus corpses left in the wake of the riots, and the monthly warrants, there's no shortage of work for the killjoy who's looking. And there's more killjoys than ever, at that. Following the lower level evaluations, a new score of Level 4 agents arrives on the scene, eligible--and potentially willing--to form new teams. With this advancement in rank comes new opportunities that span beyond the potential for awesome buddy-cop movies: higher level warrants that pay better and offer increased access to otherwise off-the-books missions. Will you band with your graduating class to knit powerful units and make your mark on the J star cluster? Or do you prefer to remain the lone wolf figure in this otherwise disparate organization? Maybe you have you sights set higher than that. Maybe you want to go for the top tier of the RAC and make yourself a Level 5. While it's generally thought that only those agents who have proven themselves as Level 4s are afforded the opportunity to advance, it's not strictly a requirement. Whether that fourth notch in your killing belt is fresh or well-worn, the Level 5 evaluations are open season, but not unfettered. Indeed, while any Level 4 is elgible to try their hand at the highest ranks, those who hold the most tenure will have a far easier curve to ascend than their less experienced counterparts. Competition will be fierce and the opportunity for advancement strictly regulated based on not mere skill, but psychological stability and past performances. Any mark left in the records of an agent can and will become leverage against them when they enter Level 5 evaluations. The evaluations, at least, are similar in construction to the lower-level missions, albeit with far greater danger. The evaluating agent must carry out a Level 5 warrant--with his or her team, if applicable--but rather than having the guidance of a senior agent to shape their path, they'll be monitored and observed with real time telemetry from RAC HQ. The results will thereafter be analyzed by the RAC's top brass and released for viewing in Chapter 5. With competition fierce and the test itself a life or death scenario, agents will need to utilize any advantage they can in order to come out ahead. Cultivating their contacts and gathering the necessary resources isn't just a strong recommendation for these killjoys but an implicit requirement for a successful promotion. That's not the only unspoken requirement. Whispers begin to circulate throughout HQ that certain palms have opened for greasing and can facilitate a smoother evaluation for the right price. Open discussion of the rumors is strictly prohibited and strongly punished, but for the cunning and sly.. ...any attempt to bribe those palms will be met with an automatic failure and subsequent investigation into the killjoy's past endeavors. Those individuals rumored to offer grace in exchange for joy are among the RAC's most loyal and stalwart class of senior agents, purposefully placing themselves within the public eye in order to draw out the rats of the organization. The warrant is all.

Comments

julius visconti | ota + closed prompts

[tousei]

[ Closed stuff below! Let me know if you'd like to do anything, I have him on the plotting post here. Otherwise feel free to PM me <3 ]

sion, w7d1

[tousei]

[ A giant beast with white fur lies motionless on the grassland, bright sunlight shining down on its corpse and the five people gathered around it. Three men and two women carrying weapons far larger than themselves, gazing at the slain monster with heavy eyes. ]

It's over. [ One of the women speak, placing one hand over her chest. ] R̥̭͓̭o̦̪̬̙̙̼m̙̻̹̫̙͡e̢̲͈͈̰̪͙͇o'͍s̹͓̱̮͕̳̬ soul can rest now.

[ Julius sighs. When he speaks, he sounds the same as ever - but he hides his eyes, turning away a little. ]

You cannot be allowed to die. All of you... it is for this purpose that the G̯̺͘o̜̘̠̩͉̭̙d̠ ҉͔A͏̘̰̣̤̥r̮̮̥c̗̠̭̪̥̜͞ ̣̬S̼̦̩̩̠͈̭͡o̗̕l̰͈̟͈͙d̩̟͖̹͙̟i̮̹̯e҉͉̖̝͎͎͇r̜̪̻̠̫s were built.

[ The young woman steps forward now, looking uncertain. ] Let us come with you. With all of us, surely - [ - but he raises a hand to stall her. ] No. This is my duty... mine, and mine alone.

[ The other girl speaks as well, voicing what no doubt is in Sion's thoughts as well: ] Will we... will we ever see you again, Julius?

Yes.

[ That's the only answer he gives as he turns, the three steel golems behind him moving as if pulled along by an unseen command. The afternoon light ripples as if a cloud has drawn itself across the sun, and Sion will find himself suddenly heavy with a pain that can only be described as regret.

A regret that belongs to someone else. Julius walks away into the open plain, a flicker of black visible on his skin before he shifts his weapon and hides it from view. ]

lapis, w7d2

[tousei]

[ It's dark.

A dark place without sunlight and yet not bereft of vision, crushed crimson leaves crackling underfoot as Lapis walks. It seems to be a forest without trees, only undergrowth and vaguely swampy soil covering the floor.

It would definitely have been less creepy if the air didn't also smell of iron. That swamp? Blood mixed with some unknown substance. There seems to be no one for miles, only a distant growl that has no source.

Monsters. ]

QRESHI PARTY/CRUISE

[thenine]

For ease of organization, feel free to use this top-level as a "party log" and/or make your own prompts beneath it!

hawke | killjoy

[kirkwalled]

[ Hawke figures if she's going to take one meaty paycheck this month, she might as well do security for the snobs. Low risk, high reward, just a few hours of misery -- that's good enough for Hawke. What does make her scowl though, is the fact she has to... dress up -- which for Hawke generally includes actually taking care of any current injuries she's sporting and making sure she doesn't smell vaguely of dog. She succeeds, barely, and so she goes.

Over the course of the party, she'll be found off to the side and trying to keep her head down. This would probably be best if she for once in her life stopped with the blood streak over her nose gambit, but she opts not to. So that, combined with the practical dress and boots, means she doesn't look much different from normal. Just, clean. And slightly more feminine that she's used to. Maker, help her.

Anyone's free to run into her while she's either:

1) making faces at the tiny sandwiches
2) on patrol and getting easily distracted by the windows (space is still, very cool)
3) nervously checking her PDD while standing guard because hello, promotions are about to be announced. Oh boy.
4) Or a variety of other stuff that equates to keeping her head low and trying not to cause an incident because stuff does always tend to catch on fire around Hawke.

Like, literally. Something might catch on fire too. ]

Rhys | kendry

[rhygret]

[ For all that Rhys enjoys the high life offered to him by his status he's actually not that big a fan of his own family or Hyponia mind you but that's more bias than anything else. It's well-known than Delle Seyah is a cunning and ruthless Family Head; she gets what she wants by whatever means necessary and you'd better hope you're not getting in her way. If she wants to project a powerful and unified House? You sure as hell better fall in line and put up that front.

On the surface Land Kendry is unified and iron-tight. They don't dissent and always give the impression of support when it comes to their matriarch's decisions. On the surface. Below that it's spiteful and cutthroat with all of them doing only as much as they need to in order to secure their own land and positions of power within the house. Rhys can't think of a single relative he actually likes who's in attendance. And that includes his biological donors parents who of course make every attempt to ignore his entire existence. He's used to that.

Doesn't make his time there any less miserable for it of course, but that's what copious amounts of Hokk is for. Rhys is dressed to impress with his Kendry colours on full display, and pretty much never without a glass of the stuff regardless of the time of day. He has enough self-preservation not to actually go any further beyond unhappily tipsy though, both because of the impression that would leave (he's not a Simms, gods) and because he knows there's more attention on him now than is usual. Probably had his Peace Summit proposal to thank for that one. Which means anytime it's brought up he makes sure to make his dislike for Westerley and its inhabitants in general known. Because he does dislike it. Like, a lot. It's dirty, gross, the people are completely lacking in basic decency, and really the Quad would probably be better off without it?

But if there's profit to be made in it and the illusion of control for the Westies why not, right? They don't need to actually have any. Just the impression should be enough. "The real power should stay with the Company," he says, not believing a damn word of it. Rhys would rather see that power in his own hands. He could do a lot more with it than they could--and he's going to prove it. Once...they're not watching him like hawks, and all that.

Bottom line is that it's exhausting to put up with, but that's...life as a Kendry most days anyway, honestly. So Rhys can most commonly be found:

-Drinking. Like constantly, sips here and there no matter where he is on the ship. Main hall? Hokk. Hallway? Hokk. Hokk? Hokk. It's not a problem it's a lifestyle.
-Awkwardly asking you to dance. Either to:
  a) avoid having to do it with a relative (new/old cr)
    or
  b) get you to pay attention to him because he moderately tolerates, to genuinely likes you (old cr)
-Gambling! Because why would you not when you have a cybernetic eye that can cheaImean help you?
-NETWORKING. He wants people to stop looking at him like a traitor ok guys can we just screw over the Westies a little no harm no foul? while secretly being entirely for his own purpose?
-Wallflowering. Because at a certain point even Rhys has had enough and he is Done with the politics of the Nine and he could really care less.
-Actually maybe looking a little bit miserable on the second day of it all? Probably could use someone to talk to. ]

crowley | simms

[eusford]

[ Crowley is beginning to remember why he hated socializing as much as he did four years ago. His direct family had placed a heavy burden on his shoulders to remain the picture perfect gentleman; looks like taking a four year hiatus from the rest of the world means you have to gather yourself back up, but his relatives treat him as if he had never even left despite many being completely unaware of his health condition. Which is why he's being offered Hokk left and right despite keeping a glass at hand to give off the appearance that he's drinking.

However he's perfectly sober--unfortunately, because if he could he would definitely appreciate being just a tad tipsy. It'd help blur the rest of the world and perhaps he could actually enjoy himself rather than spend most of his time appearing indifferent, looking over the heads of people he's speaking to and slowly blanking out.

His thoughts are crowded with topics that a Nine... perhaps shouldn't care for. Leith, Westerly, he wouldn't say that what he feels is empathy but it's obvious that he's falling into an area of grey. Unsure of whether to step left or right, standing and waiting to see what piques his interest first, lacking any sort of ambition. The thought alone makes him sigh with exhaustion. Doesn't help that he's dressed to impressed (pretend he's representing Simms colors lmao) and feels stuffy. Honestly he had been dreading this party the moment his maid walked in that morning to tell him he'd need to get suited.

Moving on:

a.) Perhaps you're someone trying to converse with this asshole and he's paying no attention at all, not-so-subtly looking somewhere else, and you're annoyed enough to grab his attention.

b.) Of course you could be someone that asks him to dance or he asks to dance, just so he doesn't die of boredom.

c.) You're acting as his guard and... honestly it'll just be a trip. Maybe he's handed another glass of Hokk and he's handing it to you so you can drink it.

d.) Or wildcard it because I'm down for anything!? ]

Giovanni Rammsteiner | Cerberus Unit/SF's guard dog

[ofobedience]

[He's only here as an accessory, of course. A dangerous one, one with a very specific function, but an accessory all the same. It sends a particular message, when one has a weapon of his pedigree standing at one's back-- a line of defense that's unlikely to be needed and probably, more than anything, for show. A show of power, a specific kind of wealth, and at a gathering of this calibre these are the kinds of buzz words that mean something.

As such, he's on his very best behaviour here, tonight. His mistakes would be her mistakes, and therefore he intends to make not a one.

For the most part he moves like a quiet spectre at the periphery of the lavish rooms, or somewhere close at Sui-Feng's side, perhaps a few respectful paces behind, but always near, or at the very least, always with his eyes on her. He blends in well enough, a fine-tailored suit standing in place of his usual uniform, but there's still something in the way he moves, a causal predatory grace, that makes it just a little too clear that he isn't quite right, isn't quite normal.

And he's on duty, yes, never straying far from Sui-Feng and often in the presence of Julius, who's acting as Handler for the duration of the cruise, but there are snatched moments here and there where he's left standing alone, in the ballroom whilst his superior dances, perhaps, or stalking the halls of the personal quarters whilst on a security sweep. Wherever he is, there will be times when he's unoccupied enough to make time for conversation, should you wish it.]

hawke | killjoy | ota + closed

[kirkwalled]

[ Some stuff for Hawke here! She's on the plotting log here and you're free to hit me up on plurk at claptrap! Otherwise, there's a general open prompt, party prompt, and the rest will be closed. ]

ota

[kirkwalled]

W7D5 - W9D1 | WESTERLEY

[ After the Qreshi party, Hawke can be found in Old Town mostly. She still hasn't found her dog and is growing increasingly distressed by the fact. Maybe he's gone this time, forever? Oh Maker, she really messed up if that's the case. She really, really did.

So, she's also easily found hitting up some of her usual haunts such as:

1) Posting physical versions of her flier to places and giving the stink eye to any Company (or otherwise) folks who try and tear them down. Fuck you, that's her dog.
2) Drinking, always drinking. During the evenings, she can be found at bars either ruminating to herself or getting involved in pretty lively discussions.
3) Underground fighting because what's Hawke if nothing but a thrillseeker, honestly!! Feel free to run into her during or after some fights because they're a quick way to make a buck and there's something satisfying about pressing fingers into a bruise, really.
4) Other... assorted Westie type activities. Look, this is the general day in the life type prompt and Hawke can be found anywhere, okay. ]

W9D1 | LEITH

[ Hawke's not a complete moron though and her killjoy passport allows her some pretty easy traveling. It's not hard to hear about the upset and subsequent fire on Leith and she finds herself catching a ride to the other moon just to -- just to see. The ash in the air is potent so, a red handkerchief is tied around her mouth to lessen the damage but she'll end up in the bazaar regardless. She's... snooping, is what she is, lingering around to hear about the upset, trying to see if anyone knows the source of the fires, wondering what could even cause them. Hawke's still a farmer at heart and burning of crops like this -- it gets under her skin.

Still, one can notice Hawke making a few purchases as she goes. A warm looking yellow sweater, a soft red blanket, hand-stitched leather gloves. She's got her reasons and they're mostly embarrassing but, you know, that's Hawke. She likes getting gifts for her friends -- and if her money helps the locals recover their losses even a little, that's nice too. Feel free to gift shame her or hit her up during her snooping. ]

closed | fitz

[kirkwalled]

[ Today, Hawke can be found in a lab in one of the Company's R&D departments. It should bother her more, being in the sterile offices like this and on property that so isn't neutral -- but with the way the RAC and the Company have been jumping into bed together lately, she doesn't feel bad about loitering for her own purposes. The idea of getting into trouble for it is laughable. She can go anywhere she pleases, can't she? As long as she doesn't pick one side or the other. The warrant is all, as they say, and Hawke is very good at giving very fake reasons for things.

Her goal today is to actually spend time with Fitz. It's been a while, she feels, since she's come across him and she doesn't like letting things go that easily. Is he eating right, she finds herself wondering, and one impulsive purchase later -- she's arriving at the lab with a bag full of hot food and an indifferent air about her as she pokes and prods at the little gadgets hanging about. ]

Fitz? Are you in here? Buried in a pile of metal, perhaps. Come out and assure me you aren't dead, please.

Badou Nails | all for one and one for one | OTA

[brokeassgoing]

A. Jeff Golblum sauntering towards a big pile of shit

[the question 'how do you feel about the company' isn't exactly new. the riots? not...the newest. people in his face? also normal. But people in his face while he's just trying to use the can?

This feels like its the start of the Boondock Saints part 3, except with more dudes on either side of him while he's at the urinal.]

Unless you wanna shake it out, can't we wait till later for this question? I-I don't mean anything by it y'know! I just get all pee-shy.

[he doesn't get a chance to even wash his hands before his answer is taken as anything other than a man trying to pee pee and all hell breaks lose. Where did he come from, where did he go, cotten eye Ba-dou? A urinal goes flying out so you might find out...?]

B. We didn't want a continuation of A but maybe it'll be something

[after the travesty that happened above, Badou's spent an awful lot of energy running down the factions of those boobs calling themselves the new resistance. Or just the resistance? Even though they're fake as hell. And also basic.

You know that description about a man found lying on the street? This goes down like that except Badou's probably been in the trash for an hour and his pursuers aren't tired yet--]

GO EAT MASHED POTATOES OUTTA THE COMPANY'S ASSHOLE IF YOU LOVE EM SO MUCH!

C. Wildcard

[what it says on the tin! Badou's usually around old town or the underground so throw something down and he'll be there, or hmu here: gingerfarts ]

b

[caninity]

[Maybe Badou's consistently pursued by nosy people because he's always screaming. Maybe. Because those very people never seem to hound (lol) Heine for very long. Maybe he's just boring -- which is fine. A testament to how boring he is.

In any case, he's frowning into the general direction of that trash heap that sounds suspiciously like Badou, curious, but not really tempted to move from his spot on the sidewalk. This will be a theme until/unless Badou takes notice...probably.]

A BECAUSE WHY NOT

[nekoshunshin]

[Seeing an entire squad of low-level Company enforcers following an already roughed up looking sap into the restroom isn't exactly normal bar antics and so, already irritated at the worst of the Company's heavy-handed methods for the day, she starts moving even before the door slams fully shut.

Although, no sooner does she push it open than she sidesteps a rather smelly flying porcelain.

She doesn't bother with witty quips or snide remarks - simply lays into the Company's lackeys with an almost econimical efficiency.

After all, she isn't the former commander of the Company's Stealth Forces for nothing.]

b; better late than never??? lmk if i should change anything :|b

[lefthandfree]

[James tells himself he doesn’t recognize the voice. Because that makes it easier to. Y’know. Not get involved with shit he really doesn’t feel like dealing with. Like maybe a moronic loudmouth inviting everyone with pro-Company sentiments to wander over and have a bash with the way he’s openly shitting on something so controversial to even discuss on a normal basis, especially with the unnecessarily loud goading and extreme metaphors for ass kissing.

But James is also the kind who, for whatever fucking reason, doesn’t know how to say no when a friend is in need of some help, especially from themselves.

When he finds a decent opening, he steps over to the mess and peers in, recognizing the familiar shock of vibrant, long hair without needing more for confirmation. Okay. Now that the identity has been confirmed, time for the tricky part... There’s no guarantee that Badou isn’t gonna fight back simply from assuming he’s one of the guys after him. So. Well.

James takes a slow breath and sends a silent prayer nowhere before moving in.

He pins Badou down as best he can, right hand against a shoulder and knee across his pelvis while the metal hand carefully—like seriously, he’s not trying to break any teeth here but he can't trust Badou not to chomp his right hand, so very fucking carefully by all standards when James' metal arm is concerned—clamps against Badou’s mouth to try and stop him from shouting anymore. For everyone’s sake now because there's already enough of this shit going on, and it's better for everyone when there's less of it. Really.]

Buddy. [It's soft, just above a whisper, but terse. There’s an obvious note of frustration (mildly disappointment) as James shakes his head.] C’mon.

handsome jack | company | ota

[refactor]

a. shiny new toys

[ As soon as Jack had been informed of his higher weapons clearance, he had absolutely been first in line to go check out some of his potential new toys. And admittedly, he was a bit more excited to just take some and take them apart than to actually use them, but... Hey, why not both, right? ]

i. [ Because boy, he sure is checking them out pretty excitedly. Jack is no Enforcer, just management, but he has a certain appreciation for firearms. He's always had an interest in them and tinkering with them, even if he wasn't a great shot himself. He's picked up a rather large, bulky gun, and as he turns it over in his hands with a grin, he'll speak up to whoever is near. ]

Hah, knew it! Friggin' knew they were working on a railgun— This- This is awesome! Y'think they'll let me have a few of these?

ii. [ Thankfully, no. They won't. As cool as the railgun was, it's also ridiculously unwieldy for what he would use any kind of weapon for, so he had just decided to take a pair of pistols to upgrade. They're the fancy laser kind, maybe even the set phasers to stun(ning), but first thing's first: target practice. He's down at a range as he fiddles with the components to load it, but he looks down range with a wry grin. ]

Gotta say— I'm half surprised they aren't bringin' problem Westies up here for target practice. I mean, if they're giving out bonuses like this just for doing your damn job? Company's gotta be pissed.

b. let's get you acclimated

[ The thing about Handsome Jack is that despite all of his eccentricity and all his bravado, he did good work. He did work that the Company not only liked, but set as an example, because his section of Intake had become so efficient and profitable under his watchful eye that it was truly a model for everyone else. It had always been enough that they turned their eyes away from the fact that it may be efficient, but it certainly wasn't clean, but with how things had been going lately, the blood was almost preferred.

So, what better place for someone to get assigned Acclimation training than the very pits of the Quad?

If you're signed up for Acclimation training, either voluntarily or otherwise, you have the option of getting assigned to train with Jack for the day. He fits the bill perfectly for what they're looking for. It's dangerous to work with the people about to get sent to the mines, since they're desperate and ready to do pretty much anything to escape... But Jack keeps them in line. At least, enough so. He leans on a metal balcony overlooking a rec area, and a grin splits across his face as he speaks and looks down at the prisoners that glare back. ]

Just— Just puts a smile on your face, doesn't it? Well, buddy, got news for you. Some of 'em have got some key info that the Company is really keen to learn about, so! Usually, this is the point where I take over, kindly persuade them that it's really friggin' stupid to keep secrets, but-

[ He looks back. ]

That's what you're here for today. Think you can handle that, pumpkin?

wildcard

[ The usual! You'll be likely to find Jack hard at work at Intake or keeping the "peace" just as the Company wants (aka through violence) or possibly working as a Hyperion cell member! Make up a prompt, hit me up through PM, whatever you want, I'm here. ]

closed prompts

[refactor]

rhys doesn't want to acclimated with you

[rhygret]

Yeah...sure. No problem.

[ No thank-you I'd like to go home now, what did I do to deserve this I don't even know how to arrest someone let alone interrogate them?? That's the gist of what's going through Rhys's mind at this moment as he does follow Jack's gaze out over the prisoner area, a frown of distaste and uncertainty furrowing his brow--not because he objects to anything he sees, but because it's so uncleanand gross down there and he swears he can smell them from here. He doesn't want to get locked in an interrogation with one of them--that smell will seep right into his hair and then he'll have to wash for gods know how long to get it out.

And what makes it even worse is the fact that he actually has to wear an official Company Intake Officer uniform for this, to "get a real feel for the work we do" even though he is in no way qualified for this and really doesn't deserve it either?? This has to be payback for something, one of his relatives or someone with too much time on their hands in filing.

Rhys suspects it's Sui Feng. Anytime he gets a directive or assignment he doesn't like he assumes it's because of her. ]

We don't have to actually touch them do we? Can't we just...strap them to a table and zap them until they talk or--or whatever? [ That's how they do it in the movies...... ]

a i!

[pesto]

[ He's required to be here, they say, because new weapons and new permissions don't often happen on the same day. They're not entirely keen on having a number of ( possibly ) trigger-happy enforcers bite off more than they can chew. At the same time, Fitz sticks out like a sore thumb, a clipboard in his hand as he floats from station to station, one of the few there that doesn't have their hands on a weapon.

The voice is familiar, which means he turns to it, and despite himself he lets out a small huff of laughter. ] Maybe if you were going to subdue the riots.

[ He uses the stylus in his hand to point at the gun. ] Sorry to say, those're for stunning. They mostly look like that to scare the crowds, [ A pause, then — ] ... though they still pack a pretty mean punch.

[ Hi, Jack. Can you tell this is Fitz's baby yet. ]

sion astal (company) | ota + closed prompts

[sunderings]

( see what Sion's up to this chapter over here! if you'd like a starter, feel free to hit me up via PM or on plurk @ avichuus. otherwise, i'm totally game for wildcards. ♡ )

OPEN | Westerley, W7D3 - W7D5

[sunderings]

[ Breaking away from the Company patrols, Sion rebuilds.

He'd accompanied a team of Enforcers on their morning routes if only to chart the locations of those storefronts and homes which had sustained damage first during the riots, and again in the midst of the gang-violence which had surfaced no sooner than the waves of insurrection had ebbed. Between Company inspections and visa checks (heightened, now, to content with the open hostility of civilians), and the skirmishes of those operating beneath the guise of the 'Resistance', noncombatant citizens have been left with precious little opportunity to repair all that had been broken. No hour of day, and certainly no hour of night, is entirely safe from the threat of disturbance borne from dissent, and that is why--...

The Director works to repair a shattered storefront window, the door kicked in, the shop itself ransacked and left in shambles.

Inside: the shop-owners and their children, calling plaintively for Sion by his title, his rank easily deciphered from the gold-colored emblem upon his shoulder armor. ]

Whoever was responsible for this will return. It may be today, tomorrow, or perhaps even a fortnight from now, but they will return, and I will not be here. [ As he answers their call, the sound of his voice becomes the center of a lost world, the humming touchstone that illuminates the cavernous darkness: ] But you will look after one another, find your strength, and continue to pursue your livelihood because there is meaning in that, purpose which no one – not I, the Company, nor any band of criminals – can take away from you.

I will tell you nothing else until I can tell you something hopeful and true. [ And perhaps some members of the family want to say no, but Sion's voice—gentle and kind, colored by understanding—does not invite defiance. ] Stay together and take heart.

[ ...and leave Sion to continue removing broken glass from the storefront window, the board he intends to replace it with lingering, yet, off to the side.

If you are Company, you might have chosen to follow him in thoughtful pursuit after he broke from the patrol. If you are a passerby, you may just be glad to walk down a (relatively) quiet street, free from the chaos of days past.

Either way: lend him a hand? ]

shirogane takashi | company | closed + ota

[stressors]

( i have plotting going on here. feel free to pm or to hit me up there if you'd like a starter! )

fitz; w8d3

[stressors]

[ shiro gets the message, maybe a day or a day and a half before it’s scheduled to happen. he’s never doubted the discretion of the company -- and he doesn’t doubt it now, when all of the debriefing comes at the very last minute possible and in the middle of the night no less. it skirts the very edges of professionalism, but he doesn’t complain. the flying’s the best part, he’d said. better back up the words.

all in all, the bad timing gives him a day to make arrangements to ride out of old town, and a half-day to get a hold of fitz. i heard you actually signed up for this. i’ll be counting on you up there, he says through his earpiece during the drive, with some small amount of humor. because in the end, fitz is a friend and a dependable hand that he can trust. likewise, i promise to pilot you back down safely. let’s try not to blow up, up there.

there’s an abundant and worrying lack of haste in the company building after everything that’s happened. the worst of the riots came swiftly, and although violence still remains prolific on the streets, nothing seems to manifest outwardly inside of these walls. people stay at their desks behind stacks of paperwork. the number of missions increase, but the enforcers take the assignments quietly. no one seems to panic, no one seems to care that they’re throwing their enforcers into death traps to train for a war. everyone wants a new world, and everyone has a different idea of how to get it. and then there are people like him and fitz -- and maybe they’re just trying to do good work at this point. maybe they’re just trying to do their damn jobs. he hasn’t had much of a chance to really drop by the lab, to talk about it. ]

All right, strap in.

[ it’s an impressive ship even by company standards. he supposes it has to be, when there’s enough tech on board to allow the company to remotely control their functions from so far away.

impressive, when fitz had enough to say about it. ]

Remind me before I start the engine: motion sickness. Yea or nay?

rin okumura | scarback | leith | ota!

[demonly]

w8d2 - protests

[ Once the protests on Leith had begun in front of the market he worked for, it'd taken someone somewhat politically naive like Rin a few days to grasp what was truly happening, and even a day after that to begin to participate. It wasn't anything too violent, but definitely not too passive either, and the longer he stood with the crowds, the more and more anger he felt towards the passiveness of the other Leithians. How could people just sit by idly when others were in need? When there were bans on sending aid to those people in need? It was just plain wrong. Rin felt the need to lend out a helping hand to everyone that was in pain. It was a core dissonance that he had with other Leithians, something that definitely set him apart.

Because he is fairly new to this act of protesting, he follows the ebb and flow of the crowd, doing what various people tell him to all the while trying to look out for others and make sure that nobody gets trampled on or anything like that. When the crowd chants, he does too, but he keeps himself on the outside edges of the crowd, wanting both space to move and an open eye to any threat that could come upon the people protesting.

At the protest, perhaps you're a:
a) fellow protestee, standing in the ranks with him? Leithian government is unfair! The Company is out there! Standing at the concession! Plotting our oppression!!
b) person who disagrees with the protest? Leithian, company, or otherwise, maybe you're here to break it up or at least speak your mind against these protests.
c) a wildcard?

w9d1 - famine

[ The famine that stretches over Leith as a result of the fires is almost immediate - but Rin is more or less prepared, having a small collection of vegetables he'd pocketed from both his job and the Monastery gardens. He's in a rush to get back there, actually, in so much of a rush that he doesn't watch carefully where he's going and walks full speed into someone - all of assortment falling to the floor. ]

Ah, shit - sorry -

[ But this gives the opportunity for the person whom he ran into who may or may not be less fortunate than he to have access to this food. In his momentary flusteredness, there's an opportunity to steal the rations from him. Or, maybe you're kind enough to hand them back? The choice is yours. ]

(additionally, here is his plotting comment if you have anything else in mind!)

protestsss

[mayora13]

[The streets of Leith are quiet and cold. Smog lingers enough to tinge everything grey, even the sunset obfuscated by plumes of black in the sky. Ash has stopped its steady descent, but an occasional breeze - the sort that ordinarily rustles leaves and blows sun into shade with comfortable warmth - still scatters soot from the rooftops.

It speckles his hair, stark against the black, as Hijikata walks down the street.

He'd come to check on the family he'd left behind - but it's not so easy as walking in the front door. Listening to the talk of the town is a better option. Or it would be, if anyone was talking. An eerie silence pervades the darkening evening, bars still occupied and people still milling about, but their voices hushed.

Until a shout cuts through it all. The words are so familiar Hijikata completes them in his head before they finish. It's all the Company's fault! They're destroying Westerley and they'll destroy us too!

He'd ignore it. He's off duty. Except things are never that simple, and the loudest voices always become self-fulfilling prophesies.

Hijikata reroutes, cutting his path straight to the disruption. A man his age, hair groomed and clothing well cut - everything expected of a Leithan elite.] Oi. Cut it out. [He expects spit in his face, so receiving only an incredulous, dawning look of realization and a muttered Company scum comes as a surprise.

The man ignoring him to yell his mantra once more, however, is all too predictable. Hijikata clamps his hand over the offender's mouth before a words can take form, grip tight and suffocating. The man struggles, uncoordinated and inexperienced, and Hijikata repeats himself.] I said stop.

Giovanni Rammsteiner | Company (Cerberus Unit) | open

[ofobedience]

Throughout Chapter 4 - Westerley

i.

[The riots may have quietened down, sliding off silently into broken figures too internally damaged to keep up with their demands, but there's still turbulence here, a harsher, more exacting kind of vengeance in the form of gang activity spread throughout Old Town and beyond. Company officials and sympathisers taking brutal beatings in back alleys away from prying eyes or at least away from eyes with the will to interfere. Establishments known for their Company clientele accruing hits at ungodly hours when the majority have taken cover from the simmering violence of the decimated streets, livelihoods left in tatters. Random beatings brought about by ideals and overflowing frustrations rather than concrete acts one way or the other, casualties of a moon set on tearing itself apart. Or at least, that's the way it seems these days, these nights.

There's still plenty for a Dog to do, to busy itself with.

As such, Giovanni is often out and about, one more figure of fear and ruthlessly controlled violence amidst an amassing heap of them, his Handler always close at hand, a few steps in front, in the shadows ahead, or watching with cold compassionless eyes as he exacts his emotionless punishments. It's unlike the riots, where all the terrible carnage in him had been unleashed spilling over in roiling waves, an inimical tide that he'd been - ultimately - unable to control. No, he's all ruthless precision now, cold and perfect in his implacability, perfect shots to the head or the heart or a quick snap of the neck between his pale-fingered hands ending the little bubbles and spurts of violence that rise up in Old Town's streets or in the wastes of Westerley beyond it.

Perhaps you'll run into him like this, a veritable incarnation of implacable death, perhaps you'll even want to intervene, though it isn't advised. Or Perhaps you're a Company Enforcer roped into acting as his Handler for the occasion. Whatever the case, he's here and he's moving with predatory grace, focused with a single-minded dedication on the task at hand.]

ii.

[And after the riots, his 'little slip', they've been watching him all the more closely, keeping the leash short and his movements restricted, never left unattended or under the unwatchful gaze of a blind eye, no chance to act independently for even the briefest of moments. Or at least, that's the intention. But the best laid plans often end in ruin, and all that jazz.

Not every Handler is as scrupulous as they should be, and given the unexplained wave of deaths extending to the ones who take on that dubious mantel of late there are those who'd rather shirk their responsibility, avoid being seen with a Dog in tow. As such, through bribes you'd be better off not asking about or the sharpness of his persuasive tongue, dismissed with a terrible precise degradation (off you go then, mutt, be a good boy now) that nonetheless suits his needs, or even his own cunning when it comes to giving them the slip, you may find this particular Dog prowling the streets of Old Town unattended. Dangerously alone.

Dangerous, yes, but there's also a certain hungry focus to his movements, as though he has a very specific prey in mind. As such, he may barely pay attention to anyone who falls outside of his precise specifications, turn a deaf ear to violence effervescing in the streets or to those intent on giving him trouble. To anyone who may want to shadow and slink in the apparent blind spots of his footsteps. Perhaps, but do you want to take that risk?]

closed - Steph, Julius

[ofobedience]

[She must have won over at least a little of their respect that day in the Badlands, regardless of the quiet murmurs of discontent that had passed from one Handler to the next when 'Unit 68' had been returned to the Kennel wearing her clothes. Enough, at least, that somewhere within the ranks of management it had been decided she could handle his transportation without additional assistance. No additional assistence besides Dog Bite, at least. This isn't the first time she's been called in for such a task, no doubt won't be the last, and on a simple handover job like this they can rest easy in the knowledge that it won't be quite as eventful as the aforementioned day had been. Even for him, right now, the opportunity to do something other than fight isn't one to be sniffed at.

Westerley continues on in a subdued form of chaos-- not as intense as the initial riots had been, but discontent still roils and burns among its people now, violence cropping up in fits and starts on a daily basis. He's been kept busy, of late.

But now the call has come in from headquarters on Leith to say his presence is requested there, that he's to be delivered over to one of his more permanent Handlers. Which leads them up to this moment, the short reprieve in duty that the flight brings, and with no-one else to demand otherwise he'll ride in the cockpit with Steph until they reach their destination. Not far to go now-- just a little further.

As is generally the case with him, he's quiet unless directly addressed, although there's a certain looseness in his limbs that suggests he's comfortable enough in her presence. Some of the initial stiffness from the early days of their acquiantance seeming to have bled out of him now. If anything, he seems almost (almost) tired.]

Hijikata Toushirou | Company | Closed

[mayora13]

[All prompts are closed! I'm late, but if you'd like to plot, you can hit me on plurk at fromgilbo]

✘ Sui Feng

[mayora13]

[The order comes and Hijikata nearly deletes it. Spam messages have increased since the new PDDs came out, he knows, but 'go on a search for the rare and delicious carrot' is too damn weird. Who the hell would believe that!?

Not this guy, the guy who puts his contact info into all of the delivery sites he orders from, gee wonder why you get so many ads, that's for sure.

Rash decision stalled only by the fatigue lacing his eyes, sharpening as the smoke of a cigarette dries them, Hijikata's finger hovers over the little trash can.

Sender: Mr. Tyth Ester

Not his boss. But his boss's boss's boss's - yeah.

Hijikata saves the email, and his job, before immediately reporting to the armory (just in case??) before meeting his assigned partner at the door.

When he sees who awaits him, he can't help but scoff. Hilarious. And terrible. Were they supposed to be slaughtering this carrot and its family?] Hey. Ready? [Said with a barely restrained chuckle.]