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

1/2

[snuggies]

[ Scott's not a particularly aggressive person, mostly because he's seen too often how easily violence can careen out of control--even without the help of strange animal urges. And also because it's a lot of fuss and time wasted on small issues, he doesn't want to start a fight in the middle of the hangar over an accident.

Except his irritation is only exacerbated when Jason strolls over without an ounce of remorse, and without thinking his hand shoots out to lock around Jason's wrists, uninjured eye glowing a bright gold as he faces the stranger and

Well, growls. ]

[snuggies]

[ As soon as the sound escapes him however, he seems to catch up with himself, eye going wide and fading back to brown as his gaze ducks away, stepping back and letting go of Jason's wrist.

That doesn't mean he's not still annoyed though, frowning at the ground and rubbing at his injured eye. ]

You in the habit of throwing wrenches at people?

[valr]

[The rest of Ginshu's explanation isn't really needed; as soon as he says slow executions Kara clues in to exactly what he means to do, and exactly what he must want from her. Maybe she figures it out so easily the sentiment is one that she shares.

Whether or not she agrees with capital punishment doesn't really matter. She knows death is part of life, and she's been responsible for taking more lives than she can count, but sadism isn't something she holds with, nor is drawing out punishment. She knows the purpose, of course, it's just another way to discourage acting out, but it doesn't sit well with her.

(An image flashes in her mind, a back cut open with the ribs hewn from the spine, but she dismisses it).]

Let's do it.

[For all his words, Kara keeps her response simple, though there's a hardness to her expression that belies her feelings.]

Got a couple handguns but I ain't be able to afford anything better yet. [Buying guns is expensive when you want to do it off the books.] I'm guessing there's no chance of a sniper rifle.

[She's not the best sniper, but then at least they could put a bit more distance between them and the Enforcers.]

A - day 1!

[impulsors]

[ let's say it's a streetcorner.

a streetcorner just steps away from itsuki's shoddy-bricked hole-in-the-wall means that it's packed in the middle of the day, yellow-lit as citizens swarm forth and back from the daily grind. it's a mingle of the city's strangest blood from overalls to shabby suits, some wheeling chrome-gaudy cycles along while others fumble by on foot, clutching at wobbly pyramids of takeout and coffee. it means you get all sorts drifting in from westerley's cross-sections, from children to lumbering pedestrians to salesmen hawking god-knows-what. (keith's shaken off two in the last fifteen minutes alone: veiny, knuckling men with ink-bright eyes and whozits-and-whatsits-galore tucked under their coats. so each claimed, unfastening their topmost button -- and keith'd spun on a heel and torn off in a hurry.)

but a streetcorner means lamp-posts just wide enough for slouching, means gum-patched sidewalks and street-signs. and, unluckiest of all: it means means a light permanently stuck on red, and a stream of vehicles pouring across the road in a torrent begging to amputate the first careless jaywalker. this, ladies and gentlemen, is what comes of not having your own ride.

it explains why keith's eye deigns to swivel from the light (seriously, it's been two minutes) over to. . . a slim, bright-eyed shape in a jacket too good for old town.

. . . ]

Maybe you should try a different street.

[ look, it's very simple math, the kind all the westerley kids learn: streetcorner + illegal sales all around + pretty-looking man + nice hair + complaining about getting too many men among his customers during times of stress = . . . ??? ]

a - eulogyyyy

[impulsors]

[ the good news is this: eulogy's in a better mood than usual. the papers were a windfall, of a kind that criminals hardly ever catch, and business lures business. the throat of the tunnel's abuzz with faraway dealings; broad-shouldered women, spikes riding high on each shoulder, crowd through the old mine's doors with a clap on the back and a filthy joke about the bouncers' mothers, to raucous laughter.

and now, the bad news -- first, that scott "i was genetically modified for superstrength but not supersmoothness" mccall can't actually pass for a broad-shouldered woman. even the guards don't seem to put much stock in him. what's slinging over his head at the mine's broad doors rings a bit less like threats and a bit more like ribbing -- at least the kind used by people who've never learned to be gentle. ("young to be out here, kid, aren't you? run home, ratbrat. if you're that-real desperate for a buck, why don't you tell your mama i'll be by tonight, huh?")

but the more important piece of bad news: when you hold up the line for those whose identities need to be verified for admission, you hold it up for everyone.

keith's five steps behind him -- he's been five steps behind for, it feels, the last hour, through the brusque rebuffs to the bawdier insults, to the idle flick of hands to holsters. this is exactly the problem with going undercover: having to tag along in the background of other people's dealings and pretend that they're reasonable instead of doing what anybody with half a brain would do and buying a smoke-bomb to clear the way.

it's temper, only temper, that drags him out of the watching crowd. ]

He's with me.

[ silence. silence -- along with the dead-eyed stare of three bouncers deeply unimpressed with this localised miracle of multiplication. and? who're you?

but keith's already sweeping a look over scott, sizing him up. narrow shoulders, big ears -- ]

Hey. Can you fight?

one!

[deceptions]

[ Koon's had enough attention for the week.

But he needs to finish this job, which means that he has to come to the hotel. It means he has to be dressed up, play the part, blend in with the crowd ( while still be prepared for anything. The life of a killjoy is difficult ).

None of this means that he needs to stay right in the middle of it all, all the time. He needs a break, a quick breather before he decides to strangle someone out of annoyance. Koon steps out of the hotel just as easily as he stepped in, eyes flashing in recognition. ]

Look who it is. [ Neutrality — it's not difficult to tell why someone like Takasugi would be here, right now. But they don't need that just yet, when all of this is currently a waiting game. So a simple greeting leaves Koon's lips, a sly smile waiting for the other. ]

[deceptions]

[ How do you find someone who wants to stay hidden? A person without a physical description, or a name; it's a wild goose chase disguised as a respectable warrant — the longer these days go on, the more he sees that, now. Not that he's planning to quit, but things are definitely a lot more troublesome than they were supposed to be.

Sorry not sorry about the cover blown, Lancer. Pretend it's just two old friends ( """friends""" ) running into each other for a chat ( """chat""" ); most Westies don't think much more than that anyway. Not unless they're looking for either blue-haired folk — though once seems to be a lot more popular than the other. ]

I'm sure your liver thanks you. [ Said with furrowed eyebrows, because man, Koon expected Lancer to have better taste than whatever the hell it is he's drinking. But his expression smooths out quickly enough, when he's certain Lancer feels the judgement practically radiating off of Koon. ]

Absolutely. [ One (1) sly smile returned right back, easing into a nearby seat. ] Nothing like ... [ Ugh, there's only so much pretending he can do when he's sitting in a shitty beverage cart in the grimy streets of Westerley. The smile stays on his lips, but he's definitely groaning eternally. ] strolling around the streets here.

yolooooooo this is fine!!

[deceptions]

Good. [ The first word out of Koon's mouth is venomous, sick and tired of the attention he's received the last few days. And the worst part is he likes attention, especially the good kind, in healthy doses. The kind of attention he's been receiving has been none of the above.

At least the entirety of the RAC now knows he's been thrown out of the Qresh.

Nevermind that — Koon's fighting hand-to-hand today, dagger drawn, his floating armor piece behind him. ] Ask nicely, of course.

[ A small huff of annoyance, and a sweep of the room later. ] Find a hotel guard. We'll need them.

but why would i

[deceptions]

[ Insert bat references Koon doesn't know about because this is an AU, but it bears being said.

A single eyebrow raised at Jason's response — it's also hard to believe, for similar reasons that Jason has a hard time trusting Koon ( some apartment-mates they make ). His hands slip into his pockets, head angled upwards to face the other properly. It's a quiet night, but that's probably a "for now"; he's expecting things to go side ways pretty quickly, considering that's how it's been for the last few days, but...

Well, he's take the quiet for as long it exists. ] Could've always joined us.

[ Not really, he doesn't need the extra competition, but it's said out of courtesy. ] You might have had a shot, who knows.

Part 1 | Day 2, evening

[lotusmesenpai]

Last I checked, [Reaching up to push back the hood of his cloak, Kanda shakes his bangs out of his eyes and arches a brow at Itsuki.] I showered this morning, so I don't think I qualify for either scraggly or unwashed.

[Glancing away from Itsuki, Kanda's gaze scans the crowded bar with a frown. Not having Lavi here makes watching the drunken morons surrounding them all the more tedious.

He frowns at that, then lets out an irritated sigh as he focuses back on the informant.]

We need to talk. Privately.

Part 1 | Day 6, late evening

[lotusmesenpai]

[He'd come here to trade - arms for information, at the very least. Having to threaten dismemberment not once, but working on the fifth time since his arrival, because the morons were too drunk to not realize a pretty face does not equal a quick lay and it's easy to see Kanda's barely there restraints on his temper are utterly shot.

Evident, in the way he'd just flicked his firearm from stun to max kill setting, before he heard Itsuki's voice.

A sharp elbow to the diaphragm and a kick to the side of the offending bastard's knee wins him some space, before he finally glances at the informant with a narrowed gaze.]

You. What the hell are you going to do that a bolt to the head can't?

[snuggies]

[ His eyes skim over the badge for a second, but Scott keeps his gaze focused on Lavi's face. He's not interested in any altercations, though he doubts that Lavi would pick a fight in the middle of the clinic in order to get what he needs. This isn't official RAC business either, given the way that the other man is going about it. Honestly, whether he should or shouldn't be, Scott isn't too threatened by the killjoy, though he is wary.

He focuses on the way Lavi trails off, trying to make sense of the information he's getting. ]

Why don't we know about them?

[ It's not an accusation, as though he thinks Lavi's lying to him about the entire thing, but he is open about his curiosity. An entire city existing under their feet seems like something people would know about. ]

Day 2 | Laaate night rendezvous

[lotusmesenpai]

[It's taken Kanda far too much time to track Kara down - far too many hours have passed since the black warrant was issued, since his conversation with Jennifer. Hours that Kara has had time to gather information and possibly even pass it on to someone else with the joy required.

First, he'd had to check all of her usual haunts within Old Town, and then wait for the rains to subside. Then he'd had to take the rover from Noah and shoot out of the city between the rains and hope like hell that the next bout held off long enough for him to make it to Eulogy.

In that sense, his luck held.

Once here, it hadn't taken long to spot the woman at all, and so he makes a bee-line over to where she's sitting, her back half to him from the entrance he'd used. Without a word, he steps right up to her seat, places a hand on the back of the chair, and leans over to catch her eye.

He's careful, too, to not make it look threatening in any way. This is her home turf. He'd be a fool to do so.

His gaze is serious, somber (moreso than usual, in fact) before he speaks low, so that only she could hear.]

We need to talk. Someplace... discreet.

[snuggies]

[ The breath he lets out his heavy when she grants him permission, and he doesn't give her a smile or anything that might earn her ire, but he does look noticeably relieved--or rather, a little pleased.

(It's stupid.)

He gives her a nod then, before hurrying toward the sound of the boy, who's protests he can still hear. The rain hits his face as he hurries, but he doesn't notice, the scars healing as they form. The boy he finds isn't as young as he could be, perhaps around ten, looking distraught under the hold of his family member. It's a relief at least, Scott's not sure he could make this work with someone younger, but the boy listens, and bundled up with coats and jackets they head back out.

They both apparently have the same amount of optimism as they approach Riza and the prisoner, though the boy at Scott's side stubbornly refuses to show any weakness, either at how scared he is that something will go wrong and he'll get in trouble, or how horrified he is to see his mother in such a state.

Scott's attention wanders to Riza, watching her gaze to make sure that she isn't going to spring something on them, and when the boy shuffles forward a little quicker to his mother side, he turns to the Enforcer - ]

Are you going to get in trouble for this?

[ Not really something he'd wanted to ask before. ]

[snuggies]

[ Considering the amount of luck that Scott had on his own so far, he probably should've been a little more grateful for his knight(??) in a leather jacket. Instead, his instincts rebel against trusting anyone that would still have a mullet in this day and age--

And also, he really hadn't wanted to fight. Scott's gained a lot of things in the past couple of years, but a silver tongue and a bank account that allows for generous bribes unfortunately didn't make the cut. It's not that he can't, and maybe a little roughhousing might earn this crowd's respect, but really he's supposed to be keeping a low profile, and ever since he'd lost his anchors, he's been having an on and off time with the more wolfy aspects of his genetic modifications so he just. ]

Yeah--

[ But the thing is that he had been holding up the line, and you don't need to be a grimy criminal to resort to violence over long queues, so when it seems like the hold up isn't just one scrawny kid but two, well let's just say that Scott doesn't need super senses to anticipate the fist that came knocking on the back of his head.

It connects anyway, and as soon as he stumbles sideways into Keith, the dam breaks and everyone that's been made to wait a little too long comes surging forward, whining and pitching about they've got business and damn, their dead grandmas could work faster than this. ]

[cauterised]

[The wariness on their part is well-founded: Enforcers have not been kind of late. Regardless of whether or not she's done anything personally to offend either of them is moot; the actions of the whole taint the reputation of the individual.

Not that she makes it any easier, eyes dark as she watches the young boy take first one step and then another towards his ill-fated mother. She keeps her gaze firmly trained on the boy for any sign of trouble, not even shifting when Scott speaks up again. A cute question, though not one that warrants any detailed response.]

Does it matter? We're both already here.

[He's none of her business (yet) and she's none of his. Besides, she's well aware of local sentiment towards anyone affiliated with the Company right now: frustration, wariness, fear, ire bordering on hatred. If she's to be punished - and there's something about the way her shoulders don't relax at all, the scant lift to her chin that seems to point towards the affirmative - shouldn't he be happy?

Inside, her mental countdown's still running. Forty-five seconds left.]

[snuggies]

[ Scott shrugs, watching the boy as well know, as he speaks quietly to his mother, not crying even as he leans in close toward her scarred face. There's awareness seeping back into her features now, and Scott almost wants to reach out and leech away her pain, but he doesn't want to test Riza further. ]

I thought I'd say thank you. [ Something he should probably say regardless, but.

He still needs a minute to warm up to her.

Their warm and fuzzy moment doesn't last the full minute however, and Scott tenses when he hears footsteps, the heavy thud of Company weaponry, and he turns just in time to hear

What exactly are you doing over there? ]

[valr]

[Kara leans forward a little as soon as the hand is on the back of her chair, pulling her wings in tighter to avoid any accidental touch, even as she shoots Kanda an unimpressed look. She resists the urge to tell him to get the hell away from her, as that would only cause a scene, but she does glance around to make sure no one is looking.]

Get yourself a drink, then follow me. At a distance.

[She waves him off without really looking at him, not wanting anymore to draw a connection between her and a Killjoy.]

night of day 6

[lotusmesenpai]

[Kanda had noticed the man earlier, back when he'd been looking for Kara. Now that his business with her was concluded, however, he'd stopped to grab a drink, watch the man as he tried to place him. He could feel the now familiar ache, see the illusion of lotus blossoms opening on the ground between them...

(How else would they get your joy, stupid cyclops?)

A childish voice, threaded with skepticism and suspicion, and in that moment, Kanda remembered. The night he'd lost everything... the last person that had treated him kindly was that man.

It took a long moment to smother the realization, to tamp down the shock of it, before he finally gets up and crosses the room to claim the stool beside the man. Tapping the bar twice, he indicates another round to the bartender before cutting the man with a bandaged head a sidelong glance.]

...Took me a while to figure out who you are, Cyclops. But I remember well enough, now.

[cauterised]

[She whirls at the unexpected interruption, arms lifting slightly from her sides and stance widening. Not out of any particular need for aggression - though anything extra helps - but out of protection, an instinctive desire to shield as much of Scott and the boy as possible.

An older man, definitely higher ranking than her. Probably here to double-check everyone's work before the rains hit in earnest.]

Routine ID checks.

[The lie slides easily off her tongue despite the rain, and two boys clearly unrelated that stand still too close to the prisoners. It's not entirely incorrect; if she asked right now for their IDs, they'd have to provide, and all of this would be the truth.

Turns out, her lie becomes the truth regardless, the second Enforcer raising a dubious eye before turning his gaze on Scott, fingers outstretched.]

Yeah? Let's see 'em then.

[Briefly, she prays that both of them have their IDs on them.]

Day 3

[lotusmesenpai]

ii.

[Pushing his damp hood back enough to let Fenris see just who he has caught in his grip, Kanda smirks at that man before he pointedly looks down at the hand holding his wrist - his expression clealy saying take it off or he will.

It's only a glance, though, before he looks back to level an intent gaze at the man before him.]

Fuck that. I have a job for you, for once. Still need to walk around intimidating people, or can you spare a few minutes now?

[A beat before he leans in, blue eyes narrowing thoughtfully.]

It's not something to discuss on the streets, but I can say it's something you're going to want to hear.

[inksplashes]

Ah.. that's...

[ Weird.

But he's not so unseasoned to just say that and invite more explanations or personal information than he's interested in receiving, so Lavi just lets his voice trail off, beaming pleasantly at the older man and letting him make of the unfinished statement what he will.

To the last, however, Lavi offers bright laughter, false but perfectly delivered, strolling up the ramp and into Noah's cargo bay. Inside, most of their sharper tools have been put away securely, though there's a collection of books, some quite old, littering one of the tables, and an ATV that looks like its seen its share of the four seasons in the last few days. ]

Sure. Here's a start. I'm not the only killjoy on this ship, but I'm the only one you want to meet. Other guy? Grouchy.

[ He pauses long enough to enter a few commands into a datapad and close the ramp, leaving Noah to automate the rest of the process. ]

C'mon then, I'll show you to your room. Trip shouldn't take too long, but a lot of first-timers get space sick.

Kanda Yu | OTA & Closed | Week 1

[lotusmesenpai]

❃ Closed | Lancer | Day 2, Early Morning

[The problem with working for a crafty bartender is that, more often than not, he has Kanda agreeing to do something that isn't normally something he'd consider doing.

Like getting to the bar at sunrise, just to play security guard while they moved supplies down into a safehouse/storage area somewhere in the tunnels. Whether it was for local use, resistance, or the tunnel rats below, Kanda didn't know or care. All he knows is that he's been sitting in the empty bar for a half hour, sipping a bitter cup of caff as he waits for the other person to arrive.

Whomever it is, the bastard better get here soon, before Kanda's patience wear out...]

❃ Closed | Jennifer & Lavi | Day 2, Late Afternoon

[Seeing that warrant go out, seeing the utter vagueness of what a 'legitimate' heir is, and seeing that bitch Seyah Derrish's name involved, Kanda's first thought was surprising, even to himself.

They just painted a target on their little banished princess.

He's stopped in a few times since he'd filled a warrant to the technicality and then taken Jennifer from the facility where her family wanted to dump her and helped her get set up in Old Town. It's not an ideal location, to be sure, but at least it's in a room over a bartender known for doing the right thing (most of the time).

That might just be coming back to bite him now.

Because now? He's waiting for Lavi to meet him in the bar below, so they can head up to Jennifer's apartment. If nothing else, he plans to give her a choice in how her life gets flipped upside down by all this bullshit. Something those spoiled meatbags from Land Derrish never did.]

❃ Open | Day 3, Tunnels in Old Town

[Black rain has, more than anything else, the absolute worst timing. Between people acting stupidly, tempers flaring with the heatwave, having at least the last break should normally be a good thing. This time, however? Too many people staked in the rain, too much anger flooding the locals, and not enough common sense to calm anyone in between.

So here he is, just trying to make it as close to the intake facility as possible so he can get back to Noah for a shower and, if he's lucky, a nap.

Unfortunately for him, his luck rarely runs that way.

Rounding a corner, he quite nearly collides with someone else. Glaring in the dim light, he quickly sidesteps around the other person. ]

Watch where the hell you're going, idiot.

❃ Open | Wild card

Want something on day one or day 7 or somewhere in between? Just hit me up here and we can figure something out! ♥

IT FEELS THAT LONG.... was the last time... shinji and totsuka....

[nightchild]

[Everything about this situation is almost perfect – here he is totally handcuffed (KINKY!!!) and in the presence of a beautiful woman (EVEN BETTER!!!). Also, outside, which like he probably wouldn’t mind??? (VAL, STOP MAKING ME TYPE THESE SINS OUT) But that kind of scenario exists in a perfect world, a world where Itsuki wouldn’t be handcuffed in the first place for speaking his mind (albeit in a totally rude way). So as much as his mood seemingly lifts when Riza takes control of the situation, he’s still irritated by everything that’s irritated him since he woke up this morning, looked out his tiny cheap window through duct-taped glass, and seen the warnings for incoming Black Rain and the Company prowling the streets. So, instead of giving her a totally gross wink and ruining Riza’s day with an unneeded come-on, Itsuki gives her a 50% gross wink and waves his hands. As much as he can. With them handcuffed behind his back. So like, he wriggles his hands.]

Hey, Riza. [casually, as if she just hadn’t witnessed something embarrassing] I was just about to get a drink, like every other hard-working Westie would.

[He would totally clutch at his chest dramatically if he wasn’t handcuffed, sighs.]

Only to get harassed and restrained! I know paranoia’s part of the job, but aren’t these a little much? I like handcuffs as much as the next person, but there’s no point if it’s a guy who’s putting them on me.

[/ADMITS TO HIS KINKS IN FRONT OF RIZA. He was probably handcuffed because they could sense his inner pervert, or something. That, or they just slapped them on him because he looked poor and perfect to beat around. Itsuki doesn’t know if he’d like either option, and as much as he sighs dramatically, there’s a note of real irritation creeping into his voice.]

Get off his ship!

[lotusmesenpai]

((OOC info: While they're on Noah, there are a few things to note! The first two doors before the bridge are Kanda and Lavi's personal quarters. Both doors will remain locked unless they're in there, and any attempts to force the codes to open them will result in Noah sending a shock strong enough to singe the fingers touching it. The room on the middle right of the image that looks like a conference room has been gutted and turned into a sparring room, so the walls are lined with all manner of practice weapons, as well as a wall locker that has a DNA access only to the weapons and ammo therein. What? They're not overly cautious or anything...

Mid-left room is their small med-bay, and the large open area is their 'home' area, complete with a kitchen and lounge on one side, a 3D holo viewer in the middle, and extra seating/large open space on the other. The guest quarters are the bunk-births in the top right part of the ship, along with the refresher, so that's where Kanda would have lead them to drop their things.

If they try to get into a place that Lavi has deemed off limits, Noah will let them know in the snarkiest way possible.))

❃ I.

[They have hours before they reach Leith, and even then it could be days to actually track down the farm where the True Leithians are based out of. Even if they find it soon after they arrive, they'll still need time to scout out the place and develop a plan...

Any which way one looked at it, he was going to have far too many people on his ship, for far too long.

Sighing to himself, he belatedly realizes he's glaring at Lavi's empty seat in the pilot's seat before he moves to take Lavi's place there. With ease that speaks of long practice, he begins running through the motions to get Noah into the air, confirms their clearance to leave the docking bay at Intake.

Time to get this circus in the air...]

❃ II.

[Safe landing on Leith and hunt underway, they still have to break at night to give everyone time to rest.

Not one to be able to sleep much, however, Kanda has gotten used to spending much of his time in the training room. Staff or wooden swords, staves or blades, he trains with them all in the vain effort of tiring himself out.

If nothing else, it helps him find a better focus, beyond the incessant fall of lotus blooms and petals that is ever there, where only he can see. Feel free to join him - just know that he's not going to hold back, no matter how young or old you are!]