Chapter 1

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 1, Day 1 - Week 2, Day 1
Summary: Game launch 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.

Quick Navigation
The Nine
The Company
Leith
True Leithians
Westies
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine

Hushed whispers and conversations behind sealed doors spread throughout Qresh, carrying with them rumor of the Lady Derrish's illness. Poisoned, some say, as they speak their quiet murmurs and the news travels like wildfire. It lights up the nobility with a new cause - there is no heir to the Derrish name. At least, none that is known. A surrogate mother carries the only Derrish child to be related by blood. She dwells on Leith, though her location is obscured to everyone who seeks her - both those who wish to help and those who would do harm. Some wish to procure the heir - whether following the warrant for his retrieval or hoping to gain favor with the Nine by gift or by blackmail. Some wish the heir dead, seeking to cause a power vacuum that could lead to a bloody war as families of the Nine scramble to gobble up Derrish land. All have backring that can be traced back to the nobility, each family pursuing their own agenda. 'False' heirs, those who claim to be related, or bastard children, either rise up in hopes of fortune or hide in fear of those who would stamp out the family name for good. On Leith there is said to be a hotel staffed by the most beautiful woman, run by a man who no one has ever seen. Only those with money or influence may stay the night at Blessed Branches, though anyone seeking fine wine and good company may occupy its lounge. Many come hoping to spend time with the hostesses, though the girls aren't known for taking bribes or slipping away for a 'good time'. It is here, in one of the premium guestrooms, that the surrogate heir and his mother are housed. The other women are unaware of her status - simply taking care of her as one of their own - and how much the owner knows is as difficult to pin down as he is. Any display of violence is sure to be noticed, as Company officials and RAC agents alike guard the building for significant pay. Getting in may be simple for some, but getting out is far more difficult. The mother's room is on the 10th story, with its few windows locked and curtains closed. As she approaches her delivery date, help comes and goes with frequency, but on no specific schedule. Criminals and RAC agents alike chatter in the streets of Westerley and Leith over just who, and where, this woman could be. Many assume she lodges with the surrogate clusters hidden on Westerley - heavily guarded by men and treacherous landscape alike. Others seek beyond the Quad, and some assume she's already dead. No matter the cause, no matter its difficulty, the rush to find the woman and unborn baby only grows. Some may consult information brokers, some may attempt to find their way into the genetic databases, some may rely on word of mouth, and some may lay in wait for others to do the sleuthing work before closing in on their target.

The Company

"We need to send a message," every Company employee receives the same directive, "Loud and clear." Rules are rules, and there is no room for disobedience - neither within nor outside of the Company. The citizens of Westerley have become more unruly than usual, taking out their frustrations with their lot in life on the Company and on society. Or so the directive says. It is for the good of the Company, and for those loyal citizens who keep their heads down and do their duty, to expunge the corrosive minds from society and extinguish the flames of a foolish rebellion. From prisoner guards to those selected to string criminals up for execution, to those who stand watch over the sizzling corpses (or soon to be corpses) belonging to symbols of the rebellion left out in the rain to die, to those in charge of door-to-door or man-to-man ID checks, every bit of available manpower in the Company is being used to secure the city. Some may begrudge their work, while others delight in the lax restriction on violence towards citizens. All should keep their heads down, lest they become yet another target for the efforts to 'increase security' in the city. A heatwave that brings with it Black Rain makes the job difficult and treacherous - stay out too long and you could get caught in a storm. Just the same as the local Westies, all of whom are more or less stranded in their homes - or the bars they passed out in the night before - everyone is scrimping by with whatever provisions remain. Only those Company officials lucky enough to live on Company property, a compound of barracks that provides middling levels of comfort, don't worry for their necessities. Travel through the tunnels may afford the few who know of their existence more mobility - the ability to help others, to stockpile what they need, or to make an impressive capture - but comes with its own dangers. From the culture that lives there to the increased presence of resistance groups making their safe-houses in the vast, winding network, some may decide that the potential dangers aren't worth the trip, and others may wish they had.

Leith

Every season brings a new batch of harvest workers—old, young, adventurous, desperate. But it doesn’t matter whether a worker has tended to the same hokk farm for ten years: when the limits of a work visa are reached, they must return to their planet of origin or face severe penalties. Sometimes, though, people slip through the cracks. Sometimes people change their genetic records altogether to make sure it happens. Whether it’s an individual who refuses to return to the cage of Westerley or a merchant willing to look the other way for off-the-books labor, visa law enforcement is critical to the Quad. Targets identified as “high risk”—those individuals who have a profile of criminal behavior or have given the Company reason to take a second look at their credentials in the past—are being routinely rounded up to ensure their genetic identities and visa information still coincide. Killjoys and Company enforcers are being deployed in equal measure to address this potential security concern in the days leading up to “harvest week”, the seasonal break where workers return home and a new batch of hopefuls arrives on Leith. For some, this can be a minor inconvenience, taking DNA samples and conversing with understandably irritable workers—for others, this could be a potentially fatal encounter and lead into Leith’s darker underbelly. For whatever reason a target has chosen to stay or change their identity, they have done so at great and calculated risk. They will fight without discrimination to stay hidden and maintain their secret--as, at times, will their employers. Maybe they've decided to pursue a more lucrative line of work, using Leith's fertile soils to grow illicit substances, or perhaps they've simply decided that their fate should be in their own hands, and not that of a visa agency. Either way, they won't go quietly.

True Leithians

Gunfire is lost under the sound of the rain. The pitter-patter of acidic water beats in tandem to Company rifles and shouts, the flash of grenades like fireflies in the distance. The Family Registry Bureau, well-guarded and set on the outskirts of Old Town, shakes and shudders with each successive boom, debris falling as the battle escalates. “For Leith!” A single voice rises above the commotion and for a moment, the night is still, the incessant rain seeming to take heed, as if the clouds themselves have paused to see what will unfold. The building collapses. Fire billows out in violent plumes, snaking through the twisted metal and broken glass. Survivors on both sides disperse like scattered marbles. By morning, the dead have been dissolved to bone by the rain, and Company enforcers are out to ensure that scavengers don’t take their pick of the remaining materials. Officials are tight-lipped about what, if anything, was taken during the attack, but word on the street spreads fast—there’s a man hunt and hundreds of genetic identities are up for grabs. Criminal activity in Eulogy sees an all-time spike as bartered goods come in, though not everyone in Eulogy or the criminal world takes kindly to stealing from their own. Nor do they care for the sudden attention drawn to their illicit little den, making it a hot bed of Killjoy and undercover Company activity. But Eulogy isn't the only place to see unwelcome guests. On and off Westerley, news of the attack spreads, and agents of each organization race to come out on top. Whether it’s a Killjoy tasked with locating the perpetrators, a True Leithian conspirator on the run, a Westie out for revenge and securing their future in the Seventh Generation accord, or a Company Enforcer on orders of execution off planet—everyone has someone’s number, and time is quickly running out for each of them.

Westies

The heat hangs over Westerley like a blanket laid down over a fever, suffocating and addling. Sign posts flicker erratically between Company propaganda and storm advisory warnings. Old Town’s streets, normally buzzing and bursting with life, are like a ghost town. The few stragglers that remain move like worms, slowly and carefully, their bodies bowed over the carts they push as if the sun has melted away their will to walk. In the square of the town, a group of well-clad Company men and women hurriedly work, bolting modern day stocks into the concrete. Prisoners, red jumpsuits and heads covered in black shrouds, are roughly shuffled between the soldiers as they’re chained and bound to the stakes. Only once they’re secured are they allowed to see the light of day—for the first and last time in years. The squadron commander, a stalwart woman, takes up the intercom on her truck, her voice booming through each sign post in Old Town when she speaks. “Westerlens, for high treason and threats to the public good, these prisoners are hereby brought to this place of execution where they shall be exposed to the elements until dead. By order of the Company, serving the Quad.” Seconds later, the sirens start. The soldiers finish their work with haste and pile into their vehicle. The sky, moments before overbearingly bright, disappears under inky shadow, bruised green and red as violent clouds spread out like reaching fingers. The storm rolls in without mercy or pause, enveloping the light of the day by visible inches. Acidic rainfall begins to pelt down, not lightly, not drifting, but in a hard, unrelenting stream. Anyone caught within it has but hours to survive, and moments to escape disfiguring injury. The storms will rage for three days with few breaks in between. But the environment is hardly the only, or even the worst, thing Westies have to worry about.

Resistance

The rebellion suffered a crushing blow. Of course, rebellions in Old Town are used to that--but with key leaders gone, Resistance members are scattered like grains of sand across glass, rolling further and further apart. Some individuals seek to take the power vacuum as their own chance at power, but they're met with staunch rebuttal, splitting this already fragile organization into smaller and smaller cells. Under the cover of the acidic storms, the remaining members of the Resistance take to the undercity, whispering into the ears of the discontent and angry. Follow the branch that's extended to you, they say, and you'll find a new place to grow roots. And so those roots do grow, down walls, on pieces of passed paper, across the hands of those who harbor dissent. It's a symbol, a living, growing map, of a new haven. Innocuous to those who don't know what it means, symbolic and religious, but to those who seek out its meaning? They'll delve to the very deepest parts of the undercity, a place manned only by those wearing the yellow and gold of the Scarbacks. There, a secure military bunker is hidden beneath the layers of Old Town, lost to all but the original blueprints of the city. Its concrete walls hold the barest bones of supplies, but there's potential, a skeleton upon which the rebellion can build its strength and muster the will to stand again. Finding the bunker, though arduous, isn't the hardest part. Getting in? That will take connections, charisma. Trust. The Resistance is in awful short supply of that last right about now.

The RAC

The RAC, as ever, maintains its neutrality and follows its singular mandate: the warrant is all. But that isn't to say that there can't be a little fun in the process--between serving out warrants issued on behalf of the other factions and singular individuals, the top teams within the Quad will receive a special directive. Black Warrant For all teams, whether temporarily formed for the sake of pursuit or permanently aligned, this presents a unique opportunity to compete against their fellow RAC agents. All manner of subterfuge is encouraged, although directly attacking your fellow Killjoys will receive at least one bad review on social networking apps. But while killing your competition isn't allowed, making their life impossibly difficult and taking the prize for yourself? That's the very definition of the game. This is a competitive warrant, open to all Killjoy teams with a level 4 agent or higher. Your task is simple in description but far from it in nature: find and secure an heir for Land Derrish before your opponents. The catch (there's always a catch, isn't there?) -- you'll be fighting off more than your compatriot Killjoys. Criminals and mercenaries will be gunning for the same targets, and there's a mountain of bureaucracy standing in your way to figuring out who is a legitimate heir, if one exists at all. Your time is short* and your competition is fierce. May the best team win. *Week 1, Day 2 - Week 1, Day 5

Comments

[lotusmesenpai]

[That, he can believe.

The Nine are nothing if not duplicitous. He has every faith that they're going to have a hand in... whatever... is coming. Especially with Claimant day creeping ever closer.

As she steps back, he glances down, fingers absently reaching to probe lightly at the edges.

(She'd done a better job than he would have, that's for sure.)]

...Thanks.

[It's gruff, but sincere. That said, he turns and crosses to a closet, opens the door to reveal a very regimented closet. Everything spaced exactly the same distance from hanger to hanger, perfectly organized to a military degree.

Rather than grab something off the hangers, he opens a drawer and pulls a shirt out, yanks it on before closing the door and turning back to her.]

Something about all of this doesn't sit right. This was too... nuanced... for those idiot fanatics we fought today. The whole thing felt off.

no problem!

[bittybat]

[Strangely, Damian doesn't seem pleased nor upset about Kanda's answer. His face is as flat as it had been when he came into the training room in the beginning. A man who lives by the job, or so Kanda claims.] The warrants don't make the rules. [He slides the toe of his boot under the discarded stave, hefts it up so he can catch the length along the middle. It spins along his arm and elbow, and he catches it vertical by his side.]

Following the jobs you take without question will make you mindless. You kill and spare just because someone writes it down for you? [The stave gets hung back on the wall where it came from, and he heads for the door with the water bottle in one hand.] The people that get in your way are still people. You're just on the side that paid you better.

You've never failed a mission? [He pauses at the door, glancing back.] There's a first time for everything.

np!

[eleutheron]

[ Fenris is mostly through his glass by this point. He listens carefully as he sips, thinking it over. His primary concern with any job brought to him outside of official channels is whether or not the work would conflict with Company interests. He thinks of them, of what they want and what they would want of him, before he thinks of anything else. Before his own comfort, his own judgment.

But in this case, he does not have to suffer a disconnect between what is right and what might be demanded. ]

I understand. Send her to me, and she will be protected.

[lotusmesenpai]

...You're too soft for this job, kid.

[There's no heat or accusation in the statement, just calling it as he sees it.]

The warrant sets the parameters, short stack. Don't ever forget that. I kill those that get between me and my objective, I authorize my team based on an immediate situational analysis. I am not only responsible for the warrant, but my partner's life as well. So no, I don't question a decision once made, and if someone is willing to put themselves between me and the target, then they chose how to fight or die.

Stick to the lower levels, killjoy. You're gonna get yourself killed at mine.

[That's the most advice he's given to a rookie, kid. Take it or don't - that's not his problem.]

[bittybat]

[For a moment, his mouth opens, eyes burning with a readiness to start (and win, he's sure) an argument, but then he closes his mouth again, so quick his teeth click.

Too soft. He doesn't think it's about being soft so much as--good? He's not exactly cut out for diplomacy, sociability. He couldn't be a mole in the profession of ambassador, business owner. So he has to be an agent with the strange morals of his supposed father.] Everyone is glad to follow orders as the best excuse but then forgets other people are doing the same. The people who oppose you likely had no say in what they're ordered to do. Meat shields. Protect, attack.

I'll come find you when I'm level six.

[Yes, some kids still do believe in fairy tales.]

[deceptions]

[ The blank stare gives him the answer he needs before he hears it from Fenris' mouth. Koon prides himself in his ability to make connections — to observe, understand, plan out how ever many steps ahead. But this is... new. Unforeseen. Annoying, because this is definitely Fenris, yet there's no recognition on the other end.

He doesn't like giving information out to strangers ( he doesn't like giving information out period ), but Fenris isn't exactly a stranger, sort of. ] Mm.

[ Koon hardly blinks when Fenris draws nearer, carefully plotting out his next set of responses. ] Thought people would.

Apparently if you have Derrish blood, you're a hot topic in the Quad right now. [ A glance at the thugs' bodies, then— ] Regardless of whether or not you've been kicked out. [ He's definitely lying, but if the lie is also technically true does it count? ]

[deceptions]

[ And this is how Jason pissed off Koon in absolute record time — he'd been doing so well, maybe he could have even gotten out without fighting anyone ( unlikely )... and now he's found himself right in the middle of a brawl that he didn't initiate. Thanks for that, neighbor.

At least from here, it's straightforward. His dagger is drawn, and simultaneously blue cubes of light float into existence. The thugs seem keen on jumping them until there's tech they've never seen before; they hesitate, shake themselves out of it, then begin running for cover.

Oh great, now it's a gun fight. ]

Going to take that as a no. [ He spits out, complete with a glare that's sent over in the other Killjoy's direction because he's!! Going to get you back for this one, how dare you. ( But he also runs for cover, because that's probably a good idea ). ]

omfg I FIGURED i was just prepared in case it was gonna be like neopets level of inflation

[nightchild]

[But is it truly that weird to think of your partner like that mmmmmmm]

That's a terrible deal that I can't believe I have to agree to. [The tone of Itsuki's voice is short of 'The stakes are much higher for me now fck u lavi why are you doing this to me!!!'] But fine.

[This isn't the first time he's throwing his life in jeopardy, see koon please.]

The surrogate's on Leith. Word is, she's shacked up with Sveto McGillian, a mob boss. But not a big mob boss, more like a small fish -- medium fish -- type. In any case, he doesn't seem big on the physical, so he's more than likely to try and hire mercenaries to kick your asses, but... that's something you guys can handle, I'm sure.

[nightchild]

As long as you don't flat-out offend them, maybe. [POINTEDLY!!]

But yeah, I know what you're saying. There are a bunch of guys out there who lie for fun, but they don't last long in this business. Can you imagine? Selling the wrong stuff to the RAC and the Company? [Itsuki might talk shit about both, but he's of a mind not to get on anyone's bad side.] I've been an informant for more than a couple of years now. It's my job, and it's how I survive.

[He pinches the bridge of his nose. He's not unused to giving this spiel, god knows how difficult it's been just getting his foot in the door, but it has been a while.]

Anyway, shit like that's just part of the risk. You can stick to the RAC however you like, but keep in it mind that there are others out there who aren't on the payroll -- the next time a guy walks up to you and asks what you like.

[impulsors]

The light's green.

[ itt: a fine display of shounen dumbass listening skills. ]

[valr]

[Now that the wound is taken care of, Kara's less worried about things like hygiene, so she wipes her slightly bloodied hands on her shirt, before packing away all the unused parts of the first aid.]

You think the Nine had a hand in it?

[Kara isn't sure whether she agrees with that or not; she's been on both sides of what people call terrorism, and there's rarely tactics that desperate people won't come up with.

Not the mention the True Leithians have the resources to pull of the attack, and that's usually a sticking point.]

[valr]

[The amount of time Jason took really should have been an indication, since he usually isn't the sort of person who dallies, and Kara is glad that they're on the same page.]

Want me to go go lure him out?

[Jason could do it, of course, but although Kara has styled herself to be off-putting, a 5'4 woman is less threatening than... everything Jason chooses to be.]

[tirejacked]

[He's totally unassuming, what do you mean. The picture of dystopian scifi innocence.

On the one hand, it's risky letting someone else take the reigns when they're playing this opportunity by ear. On the other hand, she's pulled through for him enough times that he can trust her judgment on it at least this far. And he'll be nearby. So he gets the gist fast and nods, backstepping to start circling around the building, tapping two fingers just below his ear. Works for him. He'll be listening.]

Holler if you need the cavalry. [She's a tough girl. But it happens. He's fine with letting her be the bait if she's fine putting herself on the hook. And despite everything he chooses to present himself as, for many a personal reason, he's not actually the kind of asshole that would leave her swinging.] I'll be around back.

[So, aim for the back door, or circle him around somewhere a little more private once you've got him out. Either way, it's a little more contained than the front doorway. No need to attract any more rubberneckers than they have to.]

1/2

[nightchild]

. . .

[CONTROL UR SHOUNEN FOR FIVE SECONDS KEITH]

[nightchild]

[okay u know what, it's fine. that's a good end to a conversation as any, so Itsuki just sighs and decides to move on with his life. by crossing the street that Keith very helpfully pointed out just now, goodbye, sayonara, shall we meet again etc, etc...]

[Itsuki gets five steps forward before an enthusiastic courier on a stupid bike comes vrooming down the street, knocking helpless pedestrians and tiny strays out of his way because apparently there are Westies who own bikes who are also colorblind, who knew -- and continues to run along and rams straight into Itsuki, immediately killing him]

Fucking shit -- !!

[jk he just rams into Itsuki, who barely avoids instant death but most probably just got a concussion, BUT THAT'S NOT STOPPING THE BIKE COURIER, WHO heads straight where Keith is too because this is apparently a two-for-one special today!!! NO SHOUNEN LEFT UNTURNED TODAY]

[nightchild]

[The lack of trust here stings Itsuki's kokoro... But he gets over it relatively quickly once he hears the change in Kanda's tone. That's -- a surprise, really. It's not as if Kanda's ever really come off as strait-laced or devoted to some kind of moral code, but he seemed to be the sort that wasn't interested in distractions or pleasure of any kind. (Which is terrible, but Itsuki's the last person to criticize people's lifestyles.)]

[Actually, he still seemed like a guy who'd rather punch a drug dealer than take a drug for funsies, so...]

It's not like jakk. [Itsuki replies, as if reading Kanda's mind, but more out of experience of fielding this question from a ton of potential buyers.] You'll get addicted if you take it too many times in a day over a few months, definitely, but it's not something you'll crave if you take it a couple of nights. If it was that addictive, then I'd be a lot richer than I am now.

[He looks Kanda over without the barest hint of sublety.]

You're not asking because you're actually interested, are you?

[lotusmesenpai]

[Sleep is not so much a pleasure as it is a necessity. One he's been at odds with for far too long.

Fortunately for Itsuki, Kanda completely misses that look (though that in and of itself is a considerable tell, now isn't it?) - but a closer inspection would reveal the faint hint of dark circles under his eyes, a tired frown pulling at his lips, because if there's one thing Kanda's not always so good at, it's hiding his frustrations.

Hells, he
s so distracted in that moment that he doesn't even answer immediately.

Instead, Kanda's still weighting the pros (sleep) versus the cons (doing something so stupid in the first place without Lavi here to watch over him) in his head.

So for now, for this moment, he settles on resignation.

But Itsuki's words linger, a whisper of promise for even one night of blessed rest... It's a temptation that won't so easily fade, despite the uncertain look in his eyes as he shakes his head.]

Fuck off, idiot.

[The harsh words help ground him, even if there's no real heat in the low tone. He blinks, shakes his head once again, and lets a scowl fall in to place to cover the way his thoughts still linger, then steps back to cross his arms across his chest.]

I'm actually here on business, so quit talking about your side shit already.

[Because Itsuki was totally the one that brought it up in the first place... ]

[lotusmesenpai]

[Yeaaah... he's not going to let her walk out of his room with his blood sample, even if she did help him. So when he sees her wiping her hands on her shirt?

He flicks the door back open, reaches into his closet. and takes one of his clean ones out. This he tosses it onto the bed beside the kit, and then rather pointedly turns his back on the woman.]

I'll wash yours and return it.

[Hands clasped loosely behind his back, he waits calmly, head canted slightly to one side.]

...Not the Nine necessarily, but, to me, they were too tactical in their attack for it to have been planned by a group of farmers. They knew the layout. They knew exactly where to go to get the claimant data. They tried to destroy all remaining evidence with a high impact-low radius explosive.

The whole thing seemed more black ops than pissed off farmers.

[lotusmesenpai]

[Rather than take the man right up the stairs to meet Jennifer, however, he sits back in his seat and narrows his eyes suspiciously.

Because that?

Too damn easy.

Easy usually means shit goes sideways fast and next thing you know, you have a rabid psycho trying to bite your neck. (Don't ask). ]

...So that's it? No 'what's in it for me bullshit'? Just going to agree to play meatshield out of the kindness of your heart?

[lotusmesenpai]

[Morals are a dangerous thing for a killjoy to possess - they really will get the kid killed.

But hey. He'd been that know-it-all-little-shit at that age, too.

It'd be a waste of breath to try to convince the kid otherwise... especially when he still believed in boogeymen tales like Level Six.

Instead he just shakes his head and starts to lift his water bottle again.]

Whatever, short stack. Let's see if you make to to the end if this one first.

[eleutheron]

[ It doesn't matter whether Koon's lying or preaching the solemn truth, because Fenris has no idea either way. He does know that Derrish heirs are a hot commodity right now, and Koon's response suggests all he needs to know about the little brawl they just finished. ]

I would ask why someone of your status is lurking in a filthy alley, but I suppose that's not such a strange thing for an exile.

[ He gestures back to the street. ]

I have a question.

[ Probably more than one. ]

But we should leave before your friends wake up.

[eleutheron]

What do you want me to do? Shake you down?

[ He waves a hand, and the inscribed circuits cut into his skin flash in the darkness of the bar. ]

Threaten you? That would serve no useful purpose.

[ He finishes off the wine and shakes his head. ]

The Company will want these heirs protected. You offer me a chance to do exactly that. I see no issue here--unless my making this difficult would be more fun for you.

[deceptions]

Ah. [ With one, swift movement, there's a small device in his hand — the screen that lights up reads:

Koon Aguero Agnis
Level 4 RAC Agent ] Being exiled means I have to feed myself. [ Comes as the explanation, the device pocketed again just as Fenris speaks up again.

A pause, turn — ] Hm? [ An eyebrow raised. He could refuse and just leave, but... hopefully curiosity doesn't kill him this time around. ] Okay. [ Koon tilts his head towards the main street. ] After you.

[impulsors]

[ but keith, on the other hand, has actual reflexes.

he jolts behind the lamp post, swings around it as the courier whirls blithely by, mere centimeters from crushing his instep, speeding too quick to chase. the rest of the world trundles along the crosswalk as the light burns green-green-green, because prettyboys come ten a penny in this city and nobody loses out on joy if itsuki bleeds out right there between the cracks and the gutter.

what an apt metaphor for his life. only -- ]

Hey!

[ sorry, did you think that being too fast to chase meant that keith wouldn't try? there he goes. please enjoy dying alone, itsuki. ]

[shikomizue]

It isn't much of a story. [A tilt of his head, as if judging his own comment sardonically. The tale of his eye in particular was overwhelmed by less obvious scars left behind - scapes he'd willingly paint for Koon, if personal neutrality continued to outweigh alliance obligations.

Doubtful.

As doubtful as any genuine 'neutrality' among the Killjoys.]

I've found myself in pleasant enough company, an improvement from this place - though we could both say that. [The din of the crowd from within silenced, the tide of conversation lulling before beginning again with scattered chatter. If the guards' alertness was any indication, soon there would be a much more violent eruption.]