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

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. ]

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni doesn't even have the promise of a meaty paycheck to see him through the tedium of his event-- he's just a weapon, something owned, has no right to decline or complain and can expect neither joy nor praise for his work here tonight, there's no choice in the matter, not for him. But when one's very life has been defined by the absence of choice, there's nothing else to compare it with. One can't miss what one has never had.

So he thinks.

Instead there's only the dubious pleasure of a job done well keeping him from sliding sideways into mind-numbing boredom, the fact that he takes pride in having been brought here by his owner, evidence that she thinks him capable enough to get this right. Because it's a far cry from anything he knows, anything he ordinarily does, all the hard-packed violence in him kept in check, out of sight. Instead of the severe lines of his Cerberus Unit uniform he's dressed in style tonight, has been told he needs to blend in, and despite that it's different from anything he believes he's ever known, he seems right at home in his expensive new attire. Body languid and loose as he moves to slip past Hawke, shadowing Sui-Feng from the edges of the room.

He should move on without a word. He should. But he sees her checking her PDD and can smell the thrumming anxiety on her, and the opportunity to needle a killjoy is just too tempting not to take. When his voice comes as he draws level with her, its a sly, sardonic slide.]

Look sharp, now, will you? And here I thought you were meant to be on duty.

I'M HERE i'm ready and i am so sorry jfc

[kirkwalled]

[ It isn't as if Hawke is unaware of the amount of Enforcers lingering about the room. She made a note when she arrived to take stock of every single one out of a long worn out habit. In the back of her mind, she's aware of just how many are in the room and just what vantage point they're keeping guard of. She hates it almost, how her instincts yell at her to do this each time -- but she's become very good at appearing as if it's nothing she'd ever give thought. If she presents herself as semi-incompetent, no one will ever believe otherwise. That's how Hawke likes it, less pressure on her shoulders, less blood on her hands.

So, in a way she's not surprised when someone calls her out for being anxious about the other problems in her life. She blinks, looking up from the PDD and to the smirking face in front of her. A name, a name. Something with a G. Something stupid too, she remembers thinking. Ugh, she should've memorized the list. ]

I'd say I'm looking perfectly sharp as it is. [ Haha, get it. Because she's hot? The ego on this woman. ] But if you disagree, you're welcome to state your case. I'm desperate for a good laugh.

[ She will put the PDD away though, no use in mindless refreshing and a moment later, she has her hands loosely clasped behind her back and a smile on her face as she rocks on her feet and drags her eyes over Giovanni, sizing him up or checking him out -- hard to tell. ]

I was only checking my messages. Nothing terribly sinister, I assure you. Still an eye on the crowd and who is snatching a finger sandwich too many. Promise.

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. ]

why is he like this

[tousei]

[ Julius is here in the identity of an Enforcer, his own family not high enough to be extended an invitation. He's mostly sticking around his superior and Giovanni while they patrol and do other Company stuff, so Rhys might only run into him at late night when he's been dismissed and allowed to return to his own quarters. He's dressed down in a relatively elaborate outfit that conceals the synthetic armour that he's got underneath it. Seemingly no weapons, but any Enforcer worth their salt can kill without them.

Not something he's here to do, though. They know each other awhile, so when they meet he'll offer a slight greeting and be on his way if Rhys doesn't continue talking. ]

[rhygret]

[ This is Rhys. Of course he's going to keep talking, he's actually found someone who isn't related to him to talk to (no offence Angel) on this ship and that slight greeting is all he needs to perk up a bit. ]

Oh...hey. Uhhh...Jules, right? Julian? [ Rhys is trash with proper names when he only vaguely knows you. ]

Gio, Julius, Rhys!

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni is here, of course, only as part of Sui-Feng's security detail, his superior 'off-duty' for the duration of the party, at least in the capacity she usually occupies. Whether one can ever be entirely considered 'off-duty' in the presence of such people as have received an invitation to this particular 'party' is a matter for debate, but whatever the case, he's here only as her silent shadow whilst she networks and socialises and keeps up appearances, never straying far from her side or at least from her general vicinity. More often than not with Julius - who is acting as official Handler whilst Sui-Feng plays Lady and member of the Nine - within close proximity, too.

And he may be a Dog, just a fancy piece of weaponry brought along more as a show of power and a dissuasion tactic more than anything else, but he's been told that his usual Cerberus Unit uniform won't do, that he has to blend in a little, look the part. As such, he's wearing a surprisingly expensive and well-tailored suit that Rhys may recognise, bright orange sunglasses obscuring his eerily-coloured eyes. And yet, despite that it's a far cry from his usual Company issue attire, he looks somehow more relaxed than he tends to, posture slinky and boneless and decidedly at ease. Even whilst standing close to the wall beside Julius as they keep a careful eye on their superior, currently engaged in a dance with one of the other party attendees.

He only takes his gaze away from her for a moment, and when he does it alights on a figure he recognises. And no he's not here to socialise, not here for the festivities in the same way the members of the Nine are, but nonetheless he flashes a smile at Rhys as he stands about wallflowering at the edges of the room.

Come over, why don't you? There's no rule against talking to the help.]

[rhygret]

[ Well duh he's going to come over, the moment Rhys spies Giovanni standing around in the suit he bought him he's all grins and obvious approval. He heads over with more energy in his step than he was mustering just a moment prior, glass of Hokk balanced in one hand and the other seated comfortably in his pocket. ]

Hey! Can't believe you're here and not, uhh...not--y'know, in all the weird gear they had you in before. [ You know, when you visited Qreshi at his behest. ] They really okay with that? That's awesome.

[ Oh, and you get a nod too Jules. As soon as Rhys finishes obviously being pleased about Gio finally being at ease in relation to something he did for him. It's like a personal victory. ]

sup nerd

[eusford]

[ Holy shit is Crowley ready to keel over and die because this party is exhausting. If it's not the overwhelming smell of Hokk it's definitely the over-excited party goers who are treating this occasion as... well, as they should be, but considering he's unable to join in on their usual festivities he's very much bored out of his mind. Drifting in and out from one conversation to the next, being pulled around from relatives and strangers alike who wanted his attention.

It's that question of when he'll be having children and if he's single that Crowley suddenly has somewhere to go. ]

Rhys. [ If the other man is currently doing anything then he's not anymore, Crowley's grabbing him by the arm and tugging him over. ] Come dance.

fellow associate

[rhygret]

[ Well Rhys was trying to impress upon the benefits of "getting control of the Westerley situation before it gets out of hand", but not anymore. He doesn't actually get pulled off balance or do anything more than stumble faintly which is impressive all things considered, a slight sound of surprise escaping him.

Irritation would've followed too but uh. Crowley just asked him to dance and he's not sure he heard that right?? ]

E, excuse me?

[ The saddest part is that there's actually a flicker of excitement in his chest for like, half a second here. He's hopeful for a moment. ]

[r3f4c70r3d]

[Angel had found out about the gathering while doing Rhys's weekly scheduling, and it had immediately peaked her interest. An exclusive cruise for members of the Nine was not something she would usually have access to, the wealth of information she could gather from this small venture could be invaluable...and if not well, she'd never been to a gala style party before. Even if she wasn't, y'know, really there, this was probably the closest she would ever get to such a thing.

From the piece on Rhys's ear there's a soft crackling sound before Angel's voice filters in.]

Rhys? Can you hear me okay?

[rhygret]

[ It's a welcome interruption to the pacing of things even if it does catch him by a surprise a little, enough that he blinks once or twice before he remembers oh right, Angel's on comms and he lifts a finger to the earpiece unconsciously.

He doesn't actually have to press on it or anything to communicate...he's just a nerd. ]

Oh, hey Angel--yup. Loud and clear on my end, what's up?

[ Rhys would be lying if he said he wasn't happy to hear from her. He prefers the company of AI to the company of relatives by a long shot. ]

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris has been confined to Westerley of late. His ruthless efficiency was much vaunted in the wake of the riots, and he was kept on hand to continue dealing with the unruly citizens--a job he took seriously, if begrudgingly.

But it's not unusual for him to serve as a bodyguard, either, especially when high-status people require protection. Thus he finds himself at this extravagant gala, tailing Rhys and not terrifically enjoying his life. He's dressed impeccably, in a dark, bespoke suit provided by the Company for the occasion. The suit conforms well to all the sharp edges of his body, but the glow of his tattoos still penetrates the fabric--perhaps done purposefully, as intimidation or warning.

He stands near Rhys, eyeing the glass of hokk in his hand. It's not appropriate to drink on the job, but the conversations he's overhearing make him want to break protocol very badly.

As Rhys goes on about the filth and chaos of Old Town, he finds himself surprisingly on edge. He mutters, before he can stop himself. ]

Were you even there? During the riots?

[rhygret]

--Huh? [ Rhys is halfway through a vague detailing of how awful the whole thing was when he catches that murmured comment, nothing but the tail-end of some comment to his ears. But it catches his notice all the same and pulls him from his story enough that he looks over to Fenris with a lifted brow, not really sure why he's suddenly being interrupted.

He's not exactly upset or annoyed by it, more confused? And wondering is maybe he missed something in his retelling of...facts he's heard or seen in reports. Not firsthand. ]

Sorry, what was that?

goodbye world

[decompiler]

[ This is the price Royce always pays for a life of relative solitude. As individuals go, a Hyponia with few friends also has few enemies; the family has unfortunately seen his value here, the value of a well-regarded ancillary with an entirely different surname, the value of a party as uninvolved in previous unpleasantnesses as a party can be.

But the hokk's a blessing, and there are cards, and Royce knows how to count both, so he does have to admit it's not as bad as he'd anticipated based on previous experiences.

And it really helps that a lot of people seem to have no clue whatsoever what family he belongs to, or indeed, if he belongs to one at all. Other Hyponias display their red proudly tonight, refusing to hide. Royce's choice of formalwear is rather less forthcoming, colors worn as if dragged out of him, and in the end by comparison he manages to appear as nondescript as he is polished.

After a couple games, Royce gets bored of winning at cards and takes his empty glass to the nearest bar to refresh it. And who should be waiting behind him as he turns back around but— ]

Rhys.

[ His voice betrays little surprise. Like, when does it ever, but there nonetheless does seem to be a small note of pleasure in it. ]

Now how 'bout that.

hello sin

[rhygret]

--Royce??

[ Well this is unexpected. Not--bad unexpected, this is rather good. Excellent actually, and it's embarrassing how much Rhys's expression brightens in lieu of the older man's presence. The trace amounts of a frown vanish entirely, the edge of his eyes soften and even his overall posture becomes more welcoming.

He looks delighted and surprised all in one. ]

What are you...hey, how've you been?? It's uh. It's been a while?? [ God he's grinning like an idiot now. Angel don't judge him too hard.

Especially since he's on drink three in as many hours. ]

Haven't heard from you much recently. Have you been...good?

[stressors]

[ for the most part, the people that make up the nine seem to all be wired in the same way. they all dance in their gilded cages as the crystal chandeliers glitter sharply above their heads; they gorge themselves on glistening fats and more than enough hokk to poison most of the quad as a whole, but -- that's a cynical view, perhaps. shiro's done nothing but patrol the streets of westerley in the lasting handful of months, and all of this decadence stands in sharp juxtaposition to the dirty streets, the scrawny bodies he's seen scatter as his familiar black armor comes into plain view.

but he's not unfair. there's a different struggle to survive in this fancy space. the room steeps with the pressure of every loaded conversation, all of these favors being exchanged between families, the cutthroat pleasantries that disguise pointed barbs amidst all of the ballroom politics. his job, however, is not to join in. his job's to keep watch, stay silent. he doesn't tail rhys very obviously, but it's hard to blend in for all that his suit sits stiff over his broad shoulders, with his tie neatly pressed between his lapels.

he keeps his distance because there's an element of surprise to be had when no one really knows who's guarding whom. but he's been watching all night, and honestly, rhys, that is a lot of hokk. ]

Sir.

[ it's casual, almost, when his hand closes over the rim of the filled crystal glass before rhys has the chance to grab his next refill. ]

. . . I think that's probably enough for the night, don't you think?

[rhygret]

[ A lot but not nearly enough to handle all these inter-family politics, as Rhys will be happy to inform him of after he finishes looking surprised to see a hand come out of nowhere from his point of view and effectively cut him off.

But that's probably because he hasn't been really paying attention to his escort much as he was trying to blend in, mingle with the rest and pretend he's just as pretentious and awful inside as the rest of them. To fit in, and in a weird way he thinks maybe he really doesn't have to try that hard at all.

But he is going to pout just a little when Shiro steps in, brows knitting together. ]

What? I haven't h-had that much, just...I mean I've had a few of these green...blue things now yeah, but I'm totally fine. [ He is Not Totally Fine. He has been averaging one and a half to two of these an hour for the last...several. It adds up. ]

I'm doing better than that Simms over there, I mean wow. Can you say trainwreck? He-heheh, hah.

[ he really needs to stop ]

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!? ]

[ofobedience]

[He's here only as part of Sui-Feng's security detail, her vicious guard dog should anything go awry, but the fact that this isn't the kind of assignment he's accustomed to doesn't show in the easy lines of his body, his languid predatory grace. He's dressed to impress himself, and while the expensive suit Rhys had gifted him with is a far cry from the Cerberus Unit uniform he's more frequently seen in, there's a curious lack of discomfort in the way he moves, the way he stands. As though such attire is something he wears regularly rather than the anomaly that it actually is.

He's been told he needs to blend in, hence the suit, and yet there's still something suspiciously inhuman in the way he cuts through the shadows as he keeps a careful eye on Sui-Feng, something knifey in his movements that gives him away for what he really is. Just a weapon, a tool, not a person at all, and when he needs to slide by the man in Simms colours his eyes may be subserviently lowered but he still smiles his serrated smile. In the dim light, it reveals a flash of too-sharp teeth.]

Excuse me, Sir.

[He only means to move by, doesn't mean to impinge on your time.]

[eusford]

[ It's as easy to note odd behavior as it is to ignore it, and originally that's what Crowley is doing. He'll happily allow his thoughts to wander off while simultaneously nodding, at least giving off the appearance that he's intrigued by whatever conversation he was pulled into.

However it's difficult to fake it for long and soon enough he's looking for a reasonable excuse to get away. ]

Ah? [ There it is. ] Perfect timing, I was looking for you.

[ Even though he has no idea who this person is or what they're doing here. Apparently he doesn't belong to one of the families and that's just fine. He's not saying anything but his eyes read that he's requesting--demanding--that he play along. ]

c !!!!!!

[lacuscular]

[ She never actually thought he was going to take her to one of these parties. She thought he was just joking with her like he always does (she thinks, she hopes those comments about mercy killing her are just jokes) even about wearing his family color. Even if the only reason this is happening is because it's her job for the duration of this trip.... aaaahh!! ]

Crowley?

[ Ohhh, she actually misses Rin. She wishes he could be here with the two of them-- or with her, because she feels he would definitely understand her feeling of being overwhelmed. Juvia just feels so out of place that all she can do is grab at the glass he hands her with a iron grip. She thinks she hears a small crack in the glass, but she ignores it in favor of trying to calm her nerves. ]

Just tell them you already have a glass.

[eusford]

[ He's indifferent about Rin not being here only because he's brought him to something close to a special occasion already. The end results were surprisingly successful and unexpected, and he predicts that returning to an event similar wouldn't be on the top of the younger's priority list. ]

They're drunk. [ He counters, placing the glass to a passing waiter. ] They all are, I can hardly even smell a hint of cologne or perfume because of all the Hokk.

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.]