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.

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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

[digophelia]

[ Alice's eyes drift to the washcloth and then back to him. She had kept her calm (a little too much, perhaps) through this until now. A look of fury appears on her face as Alice stalks over to him. She does not take the washcloth quite yet, instead, with her free hand, Alice points a finger, keeping herself from laying a hand on him. For now. She keeps her voice low, as it is an icy anger that overcomes her. ]

I've asked you to take her for the evening.

[ This man did so much to her, he sent her away to the asylum for ten years, and tried once more to dictate her life. Just the idea of anyone instructing Alice to do anything will send her into a rage. ]

This is my mess and it was my choice. You will not tell me where to go and what to do. No one will anymore, do you hear me? It's a simple request, Sion.

[ She, naturally, won't allow him to touch her. As soon as Alice comes close to striking him, she turns on a heel, her hair spinning with her as she takes the time to clean her face. ]

[sunderings]

You are not well, Alice.

[ —his voice falls softly, lightly as he edges around something too painful to name, leaving Alice to take the washcloth from his hands; to turn away from him as she cleans the blood from her face, silence lapsing between them. And what a strange thing his quiet is, his footfalls the only sound as words cease to pass between them not because he has been stunned into shock, and not because he is fearful of the anger which burns in the vivid green of Alice's eyes, but because he understands. He knows loss, what it is to be robbed of a decade and more; what it had been to be subject to the control of a faceless many, to have his very being twisted and maligned to suit their needs, and even now--...

He hasn't yet escaped.

But Alice has, and for perhaps the first time in her life, she had fought to protect something (someone) and succeeded. ]

I would know how it is you intend to wash this stain clean from your home. [ —the farthest from accusatory, Sion's is the most soft-spoken sort of question, his expression equal parts gentle and adamant; compassionate and fierce.

One by one, his footsteps take him closer to the body where it lies, and notably, Sion is not deterred by the smell or the gore: ]

Tell me, so that I might know when and where to avert the eyes of the Company, should they fall upon you.

[digophelia]

[ You are not well, Alice.

Alice's pace slowly becomes to a stop. Her body visibly tense and her shoulders begin to square up as her body begins to tremble. She has yet to place her knife aside and as her body trembles and so does her knife in her hand. Even Alice would concede at this very moment that insisting that she is well would be a lie. The mess around her now and how she struggles to keep her consciousness in her body and in reality. ]

Would you send me back to Westerly, too? Back to the asylum?

[ To think that she's close to bursting into tears over his question. Instead, she sucks in a breath to settle herself, running her thumb over the handle of her knife to keep herself here. In her body. ]

I will clean it myself; I am not like other Leithians, I clean up my own home and take care of it myself. I had no plans on leaving tonight, it isn't as if I will sleep tonight, anyway.

[ The blood doesn't bother her; she is confident she'll find her own way. Her only concern is still for the little girl who hid by Alice's instructions. Now that she has her face clean and parts of her neck, Alice turns back to him. She wants to ask why he puts up with her so much with her. Inwardly, Alice would want nothing more than to be consoled and to cry to him how tired she is and how much she wants to be her own person. And, most of all, putting Gwen through all of this and how she wished she had found another way to stop this man sooner.

None of that shows, her expression remains neutral, as Alice hovers between planning and disconnecting from reality. ]

[sunderings]

No, you are not like other Leithians. [ Something tugs at him, a shadow of a thought which whispers she is going to disappear, begging that he glance back, over his shoulder, to glimpse Alice's look of dispassion; the fugue just beginning to settle over her. Though they have been parted by a pane of glass all this while, it is only now that hoarfrost has begun to blossom in quiet upon its surface, but--... Sion will not let it settle there, and in an instant, he is drawn to Alice's side, though he allows for a comfortable distance to remain between them. ] You are Miss Alice Liddell, willful and brave, and you will walk on from this.

[ And she has support, she has help. In the here and now, as he has always said, she is not alone, and the sentiment is given life by way of a gesture: the offering of his hand, palm barefaced and open, if only she should wish to take it.

(But he also will accept the knife, should she think to relinquish it to him. That, or perhaps the bloodied washcloth to be disposed of.) ]

I once told you that I wanted only for your happiness, and that has not changed. I would not send you anywhere you did not wish to go.

[ Until she believes it for herself, he will say it, act upon it, and show her that--... ]

Alice... [ A step taken forward, the distance between them becoming smaller, because more than anything, he feels this must be said: ] It is not your fault.

[digophelia]

[ It doesn't really seem to occur to Alice at that moment Sion is offering a hand. Each minute, Alice seems to be growing more distant, looking at him with hollow eyes. She can hear him, still, and it's his voice that keeps her grounded.

Of all things.

By nineteen years old, Alice knows what it's like to drift off and she knows that it will come and take her, pull her down into the deepest depths of her mind. She stares at him as his words finally register and Alice glances down at his hand.

Hardly a flinch and not a word. Alice simply stares, still holding her knife. She's not sure of the gesture or what it means in this moment, only that she dislikes touch of any sort.

And then she steps back, as if Sion either had some terrible illness or as if he would strike her with that hand. ]

My happiness isn't important right now. [ Gwen who she's sure that she's already upset and another reason why Alice wishes to see her rest elsewhere for the night. Alice takes more steps back, keeping Sion in her line of sight. ]

I do wish things were different and it didn't have to come to this. I take no joy in what I did, only solace that we're safe.

[ Which is, to say, she believes her lack of action is still her fault. ]

I'll never ask you to do such a thing again.

[sunderings]

[ In the end, she recoils from him, though as surely as she takes the steps to withdraw, she keeps her eyes trained upon him as though she'd trouble differentiating a threat from a friend; an open hand from a closed one, ready to strike. I will never give you reason to be fearful of me, he'd said to her, once upon a time, and he wonders if she remembers it now, the promise which he'd made to her as the streets of Leith bustled with revelers and merriment, and Alice herself had been so terribly hesitant; so shy.

Fingers curling, he presses the flat of his hand to his chest, his palm resting over his heart as he regards her with a careful look, relieved if only because she seems to no longer be in danger of drifting off, into a place where even his words would not be able to reach her.

(Where she would torment herself, because in her eyes he sees the weight of her guilt; the blame which she will not shake from her shoulders in one night.) ]

Come what may, I am here for you. [ Shaking his head, his fingers curl into the fabric of his uniform, his stance evocative of the way some storybook prince might swear an oath; take a pledge. ] More than anything, I loathe the fact that you would have me leave your side, but--...
[ His expression softens as he relents: ]

I understand. You protected both yourself and Gwen, and I will honor that. [ By caring for the girl who has been alerted to another presence within the house; the echoes of another voice which causes movement to stir on the second floor of the home, little footsteps and the soft sounds of crying becoming audible. ] But you must not forget yourself while I am away.

Send for me, in the instant you should need for anything.

[digophelia]

[ It's odd that now after how many times she's tried to shoo him away, gave him grief for fussing, and came so close to striking him for instructing him to leave, Alice actually finds herself appreciating him. In her right hand, her knife still remained tightly gripped and her left hand flexed. She really never had an urge to reach out to another for any sort of comfort. She will have her mess and after she cleans up she'll be alone again. Strange feelings overcame her in that moment while she stared up at him.

The feeling of loneliness that she tried so desperately to rebuke and the other need to seek out comfort. It had her wondering what would happen if she did take his hand, actually, instead of recoiling at his offered hand like she so often did. Hands descending on her would always hurt her and the slow realization that he had no ill intentions, just an offer of help and comfort. She hid it will, she buried it as she always did. She would not show that "weakness" outwardly and tell him she wants to go, too. She couldn't bare to stay here now, even if she fought so desperately to keep this house.

It hurts and so she would retreat as she always did once she was finally alone by the end of tonight and she knew it. Instead of desperately begging for someone to stop it from happening and her illness to grow worse, Alice remains silent. After a moment of staring up at him, like a feral cat would in the alley, Alice was attempting to pull herself back into her body. As much as she'd like to offer thanks and ask him to delay just a bit more, she just can't find the words or the actions. It's been too long since she felt that way.

Carefully, she walks around him, looking down at her feet. She loathes that he'll leave her side, too. ]

Come back in the morning. [ More than likely, he'll find her in a catatonic state and this night will be barely remembered. ] With her. This won't be here, I promise that. She likes stories, remember? And picture books.... and bundles of blanket. She should sleep well with you -- she hasn't been able to sleep by herself most nights and that's fine.

[ At last, Alice has finally put her knife aside on a side table, wringing her hands as she continues to circle around him. Slowly. ] You need not worry about me, I shall handle this tonight.