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

[refactor]

[ Jack has his reasons for his lack of interest in the proceedings with the Nine, but those reasons are something that no one is privy to. Those touch upon his much more ambitious plans for the Quad, for himself, but that ambition could be misread as treasonous. So as such, he keeps the extents quiet, even if that doesn't always match up with Jack's personality otherwise. For example, when Itsuki's grin splits, Jack's face is almost a mirror. Where Itsuki's smile is a little more vicious, Jack's is simply excited. ]

See, that? [ Jack interrupts himself to laugh, but his laugh is short and pleased. ] That is why you are my favorite dude! For info, anyways.

[ He adds the caveat playfully, then pulls out his datapad to start tapping away. ]

You've got names, there's a chance I can give you back some sweet info to sell to the next customer that comes askin'. Now, granted, I am already gonna be a few steps ahead of them, but...! What they don't know doesn't hurt them. Consider it free joy for a job well done, or something. Otherwise- [ He taps with a flourish, then fixes his attention back on Itsuki. ] Lay it on me. Usual rate's all yours if I like what you've got.

[bittybat]

[If Handsome Jack is a "Jack," does that mean there's technically a headphone jack? #bedtimeparadoxes]

There's a difference between classic and out-dated.

Reading would be a better endeavor. It increases intellectual capacity and language enrichment. [Damian crosses his arms.] What other songs do you have? Besides those.

damian wayne | ota prompts

[bittybat]

→ Old Town, Westerely; branching out The Resistance

[Before taking a warrant from Jack, Damian spends some time scouring Westerely's underground for additional ranks of the Resistance until the departure for Leith.

Frequently, he is dipping down into the belly of Old Town with packages. If you follow him, he'll try to lose you, but ultimately, he hands off what he carries to Scarbacks. Food. Ordinary supplies. What's hidden inside them is a different story.

Sometimes, he has a strange branch made out of thick, metal wire, and this he hands off, too.

If you have good eyes, there's a package waiting to be lifted just before going to the underground, nestled in a nook and hidden by a board that's painted with a white tree with a single black (familiar) branch. Damian is on his way to retrieve it, and will be fiery mad when it isn't there.]

→ Leith; visas

[While on Leith with the True Leithians gang, Damian decides to assist his father with the illegal workers--though not in a way the RAC would be proud.

He's posing as an agent "guard" while waiting for DNA testing to go through. Any disagreements on the part of legitimacy, and Damian steps in to play a casual hand at getting the worker through.

#LETHISPEOPLEGO]

→ Wildcard

Feel free to hit Damian up on the network here during any day, or come up with your own prompt!

[refactor]

As if you'd know. You're like twelve, tops. [ He snickers, since even though he's making fun of Damian's age, he still brought him along...? Sometimes kids are prodigies. Even at things like bounty hunting and possible murder. It's cool. No judgement. ] Not that you could tell from how you talk, because, I mean, language enrichment? Jesus. You talk not only like a grandpa, but you talk like a grandpa that's been sitting on some kinda board for most of his life and has no idea how people work anymore. Do you want to be a grandpa, kiddo? No, you do not.

[ Jack has been tapping away at his datapad as he rambles, but then looks up with a smile as an even worse song plays. ]

But anyways, to your question on my fine, fine music: hilarious ones, obviously.

[inksplashes]

[ Formality, like smiling and politeness and every other social charade, has its uses to Lavi. Here, it's respect for the customs of the land, a show of deference to the culture at large--but most importantly, it's a staunch barrier.

A reminder, reinforced and forged with steel, that Qreshi people really must be kept on a different level.

He drops the offered hand, rubbing at the back of his neck with the whisper of a sigh. The guy seems genuinely grateful for the escort, and while that hardly warrants dropping his guard, it earns him a more sheepish smile in return. Fine, if not formality, detached familiarity will serve in its place. ]

How about Crow then? Sounds kinda badass, don't you think? Yeah, that's more suiting for a guy like you.

[ But he doesn't wait for an answer, tuning on his heel to flash a suggestive grin at those sympathetic eyes of the servants and head for the very door he'd just strolled through. Evidently, familiarity means not offering to carry someone else's bags. Sorry about that. ]

I promise to deliver him in one piece, ladies. But feel free to get my number to check up on him. C'mon, Crow, I'll give you the grand tour.

[inksplashes]

[ Compartmentalizing isn't something this one struggles to understand, but more importantly, not something he asks or pays much mind to. If they stopped to help everyone they came across, they'd never make it with the supplies--let alone their clothes--to the intended audience.

So if he's surprised to see the doctor brush off a potential patient, he doesn't let it show, sparing the people around them no more than a glance for threat-assessment.

(Though the evasion itself is noted, he lets it go out of a sense of fairness. He hadn't exactly provided a real answer to Midori's question, either, and like most relationships, their camaraderie is hinged on knowing what questions not to ask or press.) ]

Shame? I have plenty of shame.

[ By which he means absolutely none, at least not the variety that Midori means.

To one side of them, an unmarked wall. To the other, white paint spread in crude cracks and straggled lines, almost resembling a child's rendition of a branch. Lavi studies it for a moment, contemplating its meaning, searching his memory for similar symbols--

--and then remembers his company, filing the image away for study later. ]

Here.

[ He turns, following the almost-branch's path. The lighting, already dim and inconsistent, gets lower as they proceed, people beginning to filter out as they delve into one of the lesser used tunnels. Their destination shouldn't be too far off, but the cost of that convenience is a significant likelihood that they run into someone with no intention of letting them see their journey's end.

Enjoy the ice cream, Midori. ]

You brought something sharper than a syringe, right?

[selfsatisfy]

[Midori's eyes follow Lavi's to the symbol-- but he doesn't keep them there, instead watching Lavi's face. Ho... He's glad he came. He's seeing interesting things already. He doesn't remark upon it though, merely following dutifully as he's done all along.]

Of course, I'm a doctor-- there's scissors in there too.

[...Horrible. Then again he doesn't feel the need to illuminate just what he can do with his hands let alone a case full of bandages, medicine and other tools. It's kind of boring to talk about, right? Much more fun to keep teasing Lavi rather than telling him pertinent information.]

You shouldn't worry so much. Whatever happens I'm sure it will be fine. I have you with me; I'll be counting on you~.

[Truly he is a piece of shit, but yes show him what you've got Lavi.]

[inksplashes]

Counting on me, huh?

[ What a foolish thing for anyone to do. A bookman is only loyal to their mission--not to the people involved, not to those they might call friend. If anything, it would be in Lavi's better interest to let Midori sustain damage down here and leave him to die. One less killjoy to compete with, one less lie to maintain.

But Lavi is always mindful to cultivate what's useful to him.

(And in some small part of him, there's possibly some genuine fondness for the other, mired beneath layers of both earned and unearned distrust. But that isn't something Lavi pays mind to: if he became conscious of even the slightest sense of attachment, he'd have to severe communication immediately.) ]

Sure. I'll do my best.

[ Said with the usual smile and the sound of one long-suffering, he adds lightly -- ]

But if you get hurt because you left the one-eyed guy to fight in the dark, well...

[ The murmur of voices, tense but indistinguishable, catches his attention. Someone--possibly multiple someones--is shuffling, but stops when they in turn notice the approaching men.

Lavi frowns, regarding the supplies in his arms furtively. Dropping them would probably be fine, but this isn't the kind of area you just leave something--or someone--unattended. He glances back at Midori, then raises his voice to a level that most people would consider obnoxiously loud. A warning for those waiting for them down the line: ]

SO.. I heard you bagged a Level 4 warrant without any shots yesterday, nice job. What are you working on today?

[ Yes shut up he knows they're both level 3, but maybe "two killjoys coming through" will be sufficient warning without anyone having to get hurt. ]

[snuggies]

[ That certainly is a good cause, and it gets a surprised rise of Scott's eyebrows because he'd been expecting all manner of inconvenient requests, but this one is undoubtedly one that he should be the least dismissive of. Even if he has no care to spare for the monks himself, he can't deny that they do tend to people.

Still, his expression noticeably drops from pleasantly welcoming to strained, and he feels a little guilty about already thinking of excuses. ]

I can check. [ He starts gently, and he faces the stranger with an expression that blatantly tells him not to hold onto too much hope. ] But we're not in the habit of running on a surplus here.

[ He gaze flits outside, toward the sun and the heat that's out there for now. ]

We're not sure if what we've got is going to last the rains either. Have you been around to a lot of places?

[snuggies]

[ Scott's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives her a look of open shock. ]

I'm not going to pay. They're mine.

[ His voice goes a little off at the word "mine", thrown by the thought of something his being taken. It's a strange and unusual feeling, one that's not really in line with his normal behaviour, and it gets him to drop his gaze, hating feeling irresponsible. ]

I'm not here to fight anyone inside either. I just want some information I can use to get them back.

[snuggies]

[ He meets her gaze, considering. ]

What would you consider a fuss?

[ If she wants to lay down some boundaries, then he's willing to comply. He'd rather cooperate with her to achieve his goal than stand here butting heads.

Hopefully the kid is a reasonable one that'll listen to any warnings that he passes on. ]

[eusford]

[ That's better, but it's also a complete one-eighty and Crowley catches himself wide-eyed with his response. ] Crow is alright. [ That's the first time someone would give him a nickname of sorts, and to be perfectly frank just those few sentences were so damn refreshing in comparison to how everyone has treated him his entire life. Perhaps this was a good idea in more ways than one.

Lips are curled into a smile, interest already ignited in his chest. ]

Sorry, that would be going against their contracts. So the only way you'll be contacting them again is through me. [ But he's certain that Lavi was simply teasing.

He bids the women a goodbye and promise to be back soon, following the smaller individual behind. He doesn't look over his shoulder to notice that they're all huddled around the front door when they exit, probably discussing on what excuse they'll give his family to keep this entire trip a secret. ]

I'm excited~ To finally leave Qresh for a little while has always been a goal of mine.

[selfsatisfy]

[Skills Midori has: murder, doctoring, murder, cleaning assembling and shooting any gun you can name and several you can't, murder. Skills Midori doesn't have: acting and bluffing. ...The look on his face is hilariously awkward for the briefest moment. And then:]

...Ah, yeah. There is a guy I'm looking to get to the core of. He's a tough one; if I simply torment him he'll just retreat in on himself. So I'm taking my time. Making it slow. Ho ho~. It should be good.

[Midori continues down the tunnel, letting Lavi think on that however he likes. Pain, death, loss-- these things don't strike fear in him. As such it's very easy for Midori to stop just a foot or so shy from the darker shadows that mark the other party moving through this place.]

Hello.

[There's something to be said for traveling with a sociopath. A polite tone doesn't change the very real sense of murderlust oppressively beginning to bear down in the stifling air of the tunnel.]

Are you looking to play out a massacre with us today?

[valr]

[Oh, honey.

Something in Kara's expression softens, just for a moment before she slams down on expressing any sort of real sympathy. That's the sort of thing that will get her in real trouble.]

Anyone in there with those IDs ain't gonna leave here until they're all gone.

[So he's either going to have to buy it, or fight to get it back.]

Best case scenario you get a Killjoy involved, but they don't go cheap either.

[inksplashes]

[ He hadn't really expected Crowley, now and forever Crow, to go along with it so easily, but it's a pleasant surprise when he does. What a weird one he is, Lavi thinks, eyebrow tilting slightly in curiosity that never reaches his smiling mouth.

(Don't ask questions, don't involve yourself. Just fulfill the obligations set out and be done with the task at hand--it's best for everyone, especially him, if things are kept simple that way.)

Still, a scholar at his core, he mulls over that word "contract" as he descends the overly elaborate stairs. Qreshi laws are a confusing tangle more akin to feudal lands than modern social systems. While the governance of the Quad itself is relatively uniform, that which passes as law on the private grounds of their kings and queens is often much less clean cut. Were those women slaves? Indentured? Their behavior didn't seem to indicate it..

Lavi shakes his head to dismiss the train of thought before he falls in to deep, just nearly missing the other man's declaration. That one? He can't keep himself from commenting on. ]

You almost sound like you've never been off-world. I'm not taking you on a maiden voyage, am I?

[ Never one to say something potentially personal without humor to cheapen it, he laughs lightly to himself as they come to the bottom of the stairs and approach Noah's open cargo bay. ]

I would've brought you flowers or something. My bad.

[snuggies]

[ Scott's expression hardens at the same time, knowing that she's right. He doesn't want to fight, not just because he's a peace-loving hippie, but because he genuinely doesn't think it would be an effective way of getting way he wants. He has no idea what the atmosphere is like in Eulogy, whether or not others would jump to his opponents aid if Scott were to instigate a fight—it seems more likely than not. It's not a fight that he's arrogant enough to think that he can win.

But if he doesn't have a choice either way, then he'll have to make it work. ]

I don't want to hire anyone either, but I will if I have to. Right now all I can do is get in and see what the situation is, and work from there. [ Which is shortsighted, and not a strategy that he's particularly interested in.

He looks at her, considering. ]

How are they able to sell them anyway? Shouldn't the Company have failsafes to prevent fraud like that?

[ It's not just his genetic history that had been stolen. ]

[valr]

[This sounds like a terrible plan all round, and Kara has a feeling it's going to end with someone dead, though she isn't quite sure who. Anyone who can scale the walls is potentially someone not to be messed with.]

You think the Company really gives a shit?

[They might run frequent ID checks, but it's not because they care about people's identities being stolen; it's just another form of control, a way to remind people who has all the power.]

[snuggies]

Not really. [ He can admit that easily enough. ] But they pretend they do sometimes. Besides, aren't they all about wanting to police who gets into their sacred land?

[ Leith isn't Qresh by any stretch of the imagination, but it's better than Westerley. And its inhabitants know that. They probably think themselves better than the Westies too.

He meets her gaze again, because eventually it boils down to: ] I can't do nothing.

lmk if this is okay!

[inksplashes]

[ ...

His teeth set to trap his tongue from saying anything that might betray his irritation, expression blanking. He's less concerned with whatever game Midori thinks he's playing (with him?) and more with the other man's apparent intent to make a potentially bad situation worse. The doctor is far too bright to not understand Lavi's aim, he's just too damn stubborn not to follow along.

Such, he supposes, is the price he has to pay to get these supplies.

Very well.

The shadowed figures rise, the smaller of the two trembling slightly--another addict--as their dirty faces come into view. A man and a woman, both malnourished and weakened with the lack of sunlight, flash their teeth in feral warning, gangly bodies bowing out towards the two killjoys in threat.

Thoughtlessly, Lavi drops his supplies and moves himself in front of Midori, as much protecting the other killjoy from their would-be robbers as he is protecting them from Midori.

"G-give me what you have!" the man rasps, swinging a crude shiv towards the pair. The woman behind him looks as if she's both hiding behind his back and providing support so he can stand.

There's no question that Lavi could turn the tables with force, but he's still of the mind to handle things peacefully. They're just desperate people. Lavi holds his hands up, open palms, to show he means no threat, and prays to the trees that Midori doesn't make good on his threat about a massacre today. ]

We can't do that, friend. We have to take these to the uncles or a lot of people are going to suffer.

[inksplashes]

[ He knows that look. That's the, "sorry, but no dice" look, and it's one that he's seen in varying degrees of apology and hostility throughout this morning. Visibly crestfallen, Lavi sighs, letting his shoulders drop temporarily in defeat. ]

Yeah, you're my fifth.

[ He offers a half-smile, and though he's being slightly dramatic to sell the point, he's not lying--trying to gather supplies to treat people that most of the city, hell, most of the galaxy don't even consider human is a trying task. ]

Not a lot of places want to help out tunnel rats, you know?

[ But that's depressing, and he's already said more than he meant to. Face brightening up on cue, Lavi covers with a laugh and straightens up his posture, resuming the cheery behavior as if nothing ever happened. ]

It would be great if you could check. Even just a little bit could go a long way to help.

[valr]

Think about it, now they have an excuse to put a hold on it, or come down harder on people. They'll take advantage of this.

[Maybe she's thinking too poorly of the Company, but they've yet to prove her wrong when it comes to being incredibly awful.

The Company doesn't really matter, though, because they're not going to help with this situation. Right now, Kara is the only one who can help.

With a sigh, she drops her cigarette and crushes it under her heel.]

If you figure out who's got your shit, tell me. I'll handle it.

[She's angry at them, anyway, the people selling their fellow citizens' identities. Killing one of them won't rest heavily on her.]

[snuggies]

Tunnel rats? [ A little confused by the information he's getting here.

He knows about the tunnels in the same vague sense that anyone might know about the history of something that happened in their neighbourhood: that they exist, that they once had a purpose, and are now largely abandoned because even by Westerley standards, they're basically the Worst.

His eyes narrow, and he fixes Lavi with a puzzled look. ]

You need extra supplies for them? It can't be more than a handful of people, they should be pretty easy to keep inside and safe.

[snuggies]

[ It's probably a little presumptuous, the way that Scott's eyes light up at her. He slides down from where he'd been sitting on the ledge, standing on the balcony now, looking her with considerable interest, expression open. ]

What will you do? Can you figure out how they got it in the first place?

[ He doubts it, there's no way anyone would reveal how they came about their goods, lest their supply get cut off, but the question slips out before he can help it. Maybe it's just because he's been starved for an opportunity that might lead to something good. His demeanour changes immediately, and he focuses more closely on her, studying her presence and trying to commit it to memory. ]

[valr]

[Sometimes it amazes her how hopeful and trusting people can be, despite everything that Westerley chooses to be. It's lucky for Scott that Kara isn't the type to take advantage.]

Best not to ask questions you won't like the answer to.

[She'll spare him from having to get his hands dirty, but that doesn't mean she has to coddle him. If he's a Westerlen, he knows how things have to work sometime, that violence is the only language some people talk.]

[inksplashes]

[ His turn to volley that look right back at you, kid. His chin tilts from one side to the next before his smile morphs into a grin and he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck again.

Ah, Company propaganda at its finest, it is. He fixes the young man with a mildly sympathetic look, voice lowering. It's not illegal to talk about, but on the off chance this happens to be one of the few places in Westerley with a hidden Company soft spot, he'd rather not broadcast information about this particularly interesting subculture of theirs. ]

Think... more like another city beneath Old Town as opposed to handfuls. Though I guess if you had really big hands, that might be accurate, but man, who would want to be that guy?

[ His eyebrows raise, expression melodramatically contemplative. ]

He's definitely not getting any dates. [ Or maybe he's getting all of them. Who knows? Women are weird. ]