Chapter 2

[thenine]

Who: OTA
Where: Quad
When: Week 2, Day 5 - Week 4, Day 6
Summary: Chapter 2 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
Westies
True Leithians
Leith
Resistance
The RAC

The Nine: Poisoned Well

With the heir delivered and Lady Derrish returning to health, balance has been maintained amongst the Nine. Swift and efficient - and, some would say, unbelievable - medical attention administered may have steadied the Lady's life, but for those in the ruling houses, the atmosphere of tenuous peace only grows thicker. Land Kendry has launched an investigation - with particular focus on Land Hyponia - into the source of the 'attack' on Lady Derrish's health. Of course, that is only the surface, and some suggest, with hushed voices, that there may be more to Land Kendry's goals than to weed out an assailant. Land Hyponia has long since been in support of maintaining the Seventh Generation Accords, which it defends staunchly against any opposition. One of the most agitated among those in disagreement with the Accords is Land Kendry. Now is the perfect opportunity for them to rearrange the pieces in their favor, and with the information they've fabricated, they'll be able to replace the head of Land Hyponia with someone who is - at least hopefully - more pliable to their agenda. The Derrish have their own suspicions, the cure surfacing all too conveniently timed to have been a coincidence. When Land Kendry's investigation procures evidence pointing to Land Hyponia as the culprits, inflaming the crime with implied - yet vague - ties to the resistance, the Derrish publically accept the accusation. Behind closed doors, the solution seemed to have come as uncannily easily as the cure, and suspicions only rise. But for now, the two houses remain allied - ready to use one another for their own interests. For those among the nobility, it's the time to reevaluate alliances, assuring the old and gathering the new. The more support you have, the safer you are - unless, of course, you chose the wrong friend. Some turn to other members of the nobility, some to the RAC for hired guards, some to the Company to mandate investigations unsuitable for Killjoys, and some may even turn to the underbelly of society to accomplish anything necessary to stay on top. Or to simply stay alive.

The Company: Cleaning House

There will be no accolades, and no rest, for the hard working Company officials following the response to the True Leithan attacks. Assignments shift from one thing to the next, moving from bureaucratic nightmare to bureaucratic nightmare. While there’s always busy work to distract from the intrigue behind the scenes, it’s not liable to be any safer. Some officials will be charged with maintaining peace and order on Leith, as the outbreak of a pandemic slowly spreads over the moon. From helping the afflicted find their way to a place of treatment, to safe and efficient body disposal—burning corpses by the hundreds—to attempting to track down the source of the virus, it's best anyone assigned here take heed ‘lest they find themselves falling ill as well. Westerley, on the other hand, is a different kind of headache. With Harvest Week in swing, most company officials will be reaching for a drink of their own at the end of their shifts. Rowdy workers celebrating their time off, spending their hard earned Joy frivolously, and citizens whisked away by the atmosphere of celebration all mingle throughout Old Town. Property damage, fighting, less than subtle illegal activity, and crowding all become more of an issue than they usually are during this time. It's the perfect setting to lay down the law, or to not be noticed by it. On top of it all, each and every member of the Company's workforce can expect to have their documents double and triple-checked. Those with any suspected ties to Leith are likely to undergo a more serious investigation. One-on-one interrogations become common practice, and whether you're trusted or suspect, you may come face to face with a companion in your duties. True Leithan sympathizers are what the Company review is after, but anything else unturned will surely not be ignored. Cover your bases.

Westies: Harvest Week

Harvest week is in full swing throughout Westerley - visa workers have been shuttled back in droves from their time on Leithian farms, many of whom were willing to take some of their observations to information brokers for a price. Most had superficial information to sell (the state of unease on the average farm due to the impending Accords, the increased suspicion that the migrant workers were forced to endure, the fear of retaliation by the rebellion for the True Leithian attacks), others with reports of increased security and weapons caches on the farms of those whose sympathies lie with the “heroes” of the attack in Old Town. Old Town, however, is even more of a chaotic mesh of humanity with the mass influx of returning bodies. Bars stay busy day and night, the hokk and ale flow almost faster than most can keep up, and many Enforcers and Killjoys alike can make a good bit of extra joy (or free drinks) by moonlighting as security at the more popular locations. Despite all of the fun to be had, there is still the undercurrent of unrest, because Company checks have increased even more and Intake has become a revolving door of petty criminals being held for the smallest infractions. Everyone is on edge as the Resistance grumbles and the Nine search the shadows for something or perhaps someone. The unrest only worsens once Leith is placed under quarantine. And through it all, criminal activity is on the rise. Somehow, despite the strict regulation and transport of migrant workers, there is an increased access to Jakk and Bliss. Norn has an ever growing market, and weapons dealers are in high demand both in Eulogy and by private buyers alike. Something is brewing beneath the revelry, and no one wants to be caught unable to defend themselves, it seems. Not that any amount of firepower can defend against disease when P43X shows up on W3D7--but it can certainly make the symptoms worse.

True Leithians: Second Stage

Wounded and pressed to a corner, the beast rears its head and bares a maw of teeth and ruthless pursuit. The True Leithian organization does not take pause to mend wounds left in the wake of last week’s retaliation, no. They do not seek the comfort of safe haven and recovery. Instead they turn their anger and fear inward, sacrificing their own for what they believe to be the greater good. On Week 2, Day 6, three individuals slip into the crowds of Leith, mingling with the revelers and the families celebrating Harvest Week. They share smiles and laughter, they share conversation and drinks, but most importantly, they share infection. Each of the three is responsible for disseminating P43X, a viral bioweapon designed by Zan Nikora on behalf of the military in years past. During its conception, the aim of P43X was simple: to create a weapon which could demoralize and destabilize an entire population within a matter of days. To create madness that builds in the blood and eats into the brain, spreading through every tier of society. And though its use has long been out of commission, its engineer has lingered. Zan Nikora, kidnapped and held under threat of death not to himself but to those he holds dearest, is made to choose between the lives of his family on Westerley or the strangers on Leith. His choice is obvious, though far from easy. Reassembling the buried curse takes time, supplies, and testing. He is provided amply with the last two but scarcely with the first. But still he complies. When his madness maker is complete and his existence becomes a potential loose end, it’s not freedom that Zan Nikora tastes, but the poison of his own medicine. Only once the voices in his head have risen above whispers and turned to screams, when his mind can no longer hold secrets worth sharing, does he see his family again. It takes six days*. Six days and Zan Nikora stumbles through Old Town, eyes unseeing, mind riddled with disease—infection spreading. Mod Note: *W3D6. Cure and vaccines will be developed and disseminated beginning on W4D3, but will not be fully administered to all locations until W4D5.

Leith: Pocket Posies

Harvest Week in Leith marks a period of joy and relief. Bazaars are open longer, the ordinary bustle of the business day replaced with celebration and festivities throughout the evening hours. Vendors offer games for adults and children alike, the sky is a constant wash of soft pinks, purples, and greens from holographic firework shows, and music fills the air from different stages. All walks of life are welcome to join in the merriment, just so long as they have the right to be there. Anyone suspected of an invalid visa or citizenship papers are dealt with harshly, but quietly. Tucked away into the darkness of a holding cell like all of Leith’s more problematic elements. It is a time of peace and relief, this week, and they will not abide disruption. But within the hallowed days of celebration, a sickness grows, incubating. Spreading. First, it begins with an ache deep within the muscles. The body tires too quickly, the flesh burns with a blanket of rising fever. Whispers skirt at the edge of hearing, unintelligible but audible, filling the audio cortex with illusions and lies. Food loses its appeal, though the body yearns dearly for energy it cannot hold, and breathing becomes tighter, harder. Next the tide of high fevers, of lethargy. The brain devolves into paranoia and mania, the mind races with delusions and hallucinations. Pain follows, a pain that seems to emanate from every nerve without relief or pause, seeping through the muscles and aching within the very bones of a person. Some may wish for death, and for many, that wish will be granted in an unending sleep when the fatigue pulls darkness across the mind, plunges the last thoughts of a person into static slumber. But not all will succumb so readily, and therein is the weakness that ultimately shelved P43X during its initial creation. Its impacts are not uniform—while much of the population suffers dearly, most are sustained with timely medical interventions, and many others recover with the prowess of their own immune system. For Leith, bountiful in money and supplies, most of P43X’s more fatal properties are circumvented or delayed. But even in this lush world of affluence and peace, there are the poor, the underprivileged, and the weak. They are not afforded the same haste of care, the same salvation. Instead, they’re given graves of sanitizing fires, and their bodies turn to ash.

Resistance: Sleeping Dogs

The chaos of the festivities that go along with Harvest Week provides the perfect cover for the Resistance to begin moving once again. New cells need to be formed in the wake of so many executions and new members need to be recruited. Info brokers with Resistance-leaning sympathies have an opportunity to make a little extra joy by putting the disconnected sympathizers in contact with one another, aiding the vetting of Company insiders that need new handlers within the organization. For Resistance members already embedded within, they need to work now to find new locations to store what supplies remain and to begin rebuilding the stockpiles of weapons and supplies re-confiscated by the Company. Some may have heard of abandoned mines or facilities that can be retrofitted out in the Badlands while others are needed to track down rumors of Company made fallout shelters located within the under-city tunnels. For this, Company moles are essential - the only hope of accessing these shelters is with long forgotten Company passcodes. And the Scarbacks, well. Everyone’s heard rumors that there are many within their ranks willing to help with recruitment and contraband transportation, though there’s little the Company can do to restrict their movements at this time. Because of this, Scarbacks may also be the only ones that have a chance of getting into Leith once the quarantines go into effect. Those already aligned with the rebellion will be tasked with coordinating supply movements, making a deal or three with the devil on behalf of those unwilling to back down from the promises of the Accords. Caution and purpose should drive their movements because if the True Leithian attack is any indication… those nationalists are not going to let go of their precious land and status without a long, bloody fight.

The RAC: Holding Pattern

Warrants still flow in with a regular consistency - enough to keep the average team or agent quite busy. Every harvest season there are visa jumpers that need to be caught and low-level warrants claiming petty theft from farms by Westie migrants. The increasing number of disturbances and crimes in Old Town guarantee a plethora of local warrants to capture criminals across the moon or those that managed to escape an Enforcer’s arrest. Some, however, have either been requested by Seyah Kendry herself or volentold by their seniors within the RAC to conduct investigations into the attack on the Nine. And not all of these investigations are on the Lady’s behest. Some of the Nine aren’t quite willing to take Land Kendry’s word as law and have quietly requested their own investigations into the attack in Old Town and the Land Derrish misfortunes. (MOD NOTE: There will be a comment thread for teams to sign up for the specialized plot related warrants on the monthly warrant post, located HERE. Once teams have posted for a plot warrant, the mods will give them a location and focused assignment.)

Comments

ota & closed prompts; various

[homonka]

[ Just nesting my top levels under here so I can stay organized! ]

OTA Company People | Various Dates

[homonka]

[ In a word, the room is sterile. The air carries the faint remnants of antiseptic, every surface within matte and cleaned within an inch of its proverbial life. The walls are white, unadorned save for the sliver of a shadow cast by the woman sitting in the center.

Back straight and eyes focused, Sui Feng taps across the glassy surface of the table before her, summoning the embedded touchscreen to life.

Files scroll quickly with the dance of her petite digits, names and faces passing by in fractions of a second.

"Your next appointment has arrived, ma'am," an artificial voice chimes softly in her ear, tone lightly colored with a falsely imposed Leithian accent. A unnecessary trait, Sui Feng thinks, but user interface is outside of her division.

As most things are, actually. Sui Feng's division is particular. Limited in scope but drastic in impact. As such, she is not an ideal interrogator. She will not persevere to see the best in people, she will not offer the benefit of the doubt.

That is not her function. That is not her skill set.

Perhaps you're already familiar with her work prior to entering the interrogation chamber, her reputation as the ninth generation in a long line of Company executioners. Maybe you've even had the misfortune of working alongside the icy Qreshi in missions past.

But more than likely, this is your first time meeting the intelligence officer, and should you be very lucky, it'll also be the last.

Another rap of her fingertips, calling forward the next file. Yours. ]

Send them in.

kate bishop | week 2 | ota

[fledges]

OLD TOWN

i - the resistance

[Kate isn't a mole. She doesn't have the connections that a lot of people in and around the Resistance do, because she's cut herself off from her family. Sometimes her father tries to contact her, and the few times she does answer, it's only long enough to tell him where to shove his platitudes. Sometimes, she thinks that might be a mistake, that maybe she should make nice and try to get as much information out of him as possible, but she doesn't have the stomach for it. She's not a spy, and she knows she'd screw up spying on her own family.

So Kate does everything else. She runs errands—maybe she pops up in your shop, all smiles, asking if you have that shipment she ordered. She delivers messages, too, and if you're privy to the Resistance's dealings, maybe she'll slip up to you on the street one day, looping her arm through yours as if you're old friends.]

Hey. I'm starving. Want to help me find somewhere nice before I keel over?

ii - investigations. sort of.

[When Kate's not on Resistance business, she's on hero business. Private detective business. Whatever. Mostly, she's mind blowingly broke, and desperate for some cash, so she spends a lot of time wandering around Old Town, looking for anyone in trouble. Admittedly, these days her job and the Resistance blend together—she's always on the look out for gossip that might help the movement, even when she's just tracking down thieves. The problem, of course, is that when someone else is broke and utterly desperate, Kate can't always bring herself to turn them down.

Today, Kate's on the lookout for a necklace that's gone missing. It's a family heirloom, and secretly, Kate doesn't think she'll find it, but she's combing every pawn shop and shady store she can find in the city, getting progressively more and more frustrated. She might have talked up her ability to locate the thing this time, but the poor woman was so beside herself that Kate just couldn't break her heart.]

Great job, Bishop. Totally knocking this one out of the park.

[It's half mumbled, but Kate is so focused on scanning the grimy cases of the store that she's in that she swings around to turn a corner and smacks someone with her bow, far harder than she'd like to.]

Oh, crap, sorry. Hey, you wouldn't have happened to see a gold locket with initials engraved on it anywhere in here, would you?

iii - wildcard

[Put up your own toplevel or let me know what you were planning, and I can put one up for us!]

ii

[uncrownings]

[He's tired. Stopping into the first dive bar that looks like it offers food has been at the top of his to-do list since he docked, but somehow he just hasn't managed to connect the dots. Noctis knows he's not exactly single minded but this has definitely gotten out of hand. And yet, here he is, on yet another errand- further from his goal by the second. The set of his shoulders isn't resentment, it's resignation. The look of a man that's accepted his dinnerless sleepless fate.

Which is about the time he gets smacked in the face by a stick whipping around the pawnshop corner. Noctis backs up abruptly, in the process he narrowly misses tipping over some multi-colored glass baby figurines. The words register as an afterthought.] A- locket?

[Even rubbing absently at his cheek, he's taking a moment to pan his gaze around them.]

Some kinda treasure hunt?

i

[equerry]

[ Thankfully, Ignis is aware of her before she ever touches him. Though physical contact is all but impossible to avoid in a place so crowded as Old Town, Ignis still does his best. Few things are more startling than being touched from beside or behind when he is least expecting it. As such, his elbow cocks out, accompanying her sudden intrusion, his free hand remaining on the cane that sweeps in front of his feet. When Ignis turns his head, it isn't fully toward her, because he isn't looking at her directly. The flicker of his eyes behind his glasses is to scan the heat soaked crowd around him, not to verify who she is. Her voice makes it crystal clear. ]

Lucky for you I'm just on my way to market to see what I can whip up.

leo elster | throughout the chapter | ota

[slotted]

I ➤ HE WAS THE CONGREGATIONS VAGRANT
[ things have been… peaceful these past few days, but with the harvest week shining upon the quad, leo's been busy. the cafe he works at opens at an earlier time and closes at a later time. of course, this gets him more money, but it's also a bit difficult to handle when the other employees don't like him or trust him so much that they refuse to work with him. he's almost always alone during his shifts, and it sucks ass.

he's even more stressed because he suddenly feels a wave of dizziness hit him on his way to the bazaar. he actually has to stop and lean back on the wall to just get ahold of himself. he feels like he's going to pass out, and when his nose starts running blood, it just makes things worse.

a vision in his head appears and he's absolutely certain that what transpired in the vision has never happened. nor will it happen, but it seems so real. his brother, fred, contacts him and tells leo to meet him at the museum that "father has always talked about". what is going on…

eventually, he just wipes the blood off his face with his sleeve and marches on. though considering how busy the leith bazaar is, he's going to have to fight his way to get to the cafe. in some instances, he might accidentally touch someone on the shoulder and get his hand print with blood on their shirt. ah… ]

Sorry, I didnt'—let me get you a new shirt.


II ➤ I'M GOING NUMB, I'VE BEEN HIJACKED
[ news gets to leo fast, thanks to his underground connections. this time, the information he gets isn't something he'd give away to people in exchange for money. he'd willingly give it to them.

to those people he knows who are from westerley, they'll receive a text: A SICKNESS IS SPREADING IN LEITH. DON'T GO HERE IF YOU WANT TO CATCH THE VIRUS

but to those who are sick in leith, he'll try to help out as much as he can. he isn't aware of all the symptoms just yet, but he is on the lookout for people who seem to be struggling to breathe and whatnot. if and when he spots someone who seems to be in need of assistance, he runs to them immediately. ]

I'm here to help. You're going to be okay.

[ … and if they really look like they're struggling, he'll pull them into a hug. sorry about your personal space. ]


III ➤ BANG BANG INTO THE ROOM—wait
[ leo thought he wouldn't get affected, but here he is, having caught the virus. the paranoia has set in which is why he's walking as fast as he can on his way back to his apartment. if there's anybody close-by, he immediately takes a sharp turn and waits until that person passes him.

then he grabs them by the shoulder and shoves them to the wall. a key is held and pushed to their neck. as it's dark, it's difficult to tell what it is that leo is holding against them, but it's metal and it seems sharp. ]

Why are you following me?


IV ➤ WILDCARD
[ hit me up with anything! he'll only be at leith, unless somebody invites him to go to westerley. ]

i

[uncrownings]

[He's seen this guy a few times before, but it takes Noctis a few moments to process the how and where. His face is synonymous with the clinking of glassware and smell of fresh coffee and- inexplicably, the weird kink Noctis always gets in his back from sitting too long at one of the tables. The pack slung over his shoulder sways with the sudden contact, the press of a hand trying to navigate through the crowd.] What?

[Noctis' brows crease and his mouth is open, ready to dismiss the apology as unnecessary right out of the gate- until he registers the blood. The blood underneath the guy's nose. The blood on his sleeve. The blood now on Noctis' shirt. His posture shifts immediately. He doesn't fold in or start cocooning the guy, but there's a definite change to the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth.] Hey- maybe you should worry about yourself first.

[It's too crowded for them to be able to just stop and have a chat right here, but he'll take his cues from the way the other man moves. It doesn't look like the kind of bloody nose he'd expect from a fist to the face. This is probably something else.]

What happened?

ignis scientia | old town | ota

[equerry]

WEEK 2

PARTY HARD
[ Harvest Week never fails to bring with it the most colourful assortment of people. Ignis doesn't see it so much as he hears it and smells it. Raucous laughter, the smell of oil off engineers, alcohol clinging stubbornly to inebriated clientele and the ozone of firecrackers shot off too close to the general populace. Every year it is the same— the only difference this time around seems to be a fissure of tension drawn taught and invisible beneath everyone, especially those native to Westerley.

One would have to be utterly ignorant to miss it. There have been many checks, and the festivities don't stop it. It's hard to feel truly relaxed while waiting for the next Company official to grab you and demand your papers. Not everyone has them, and even if they do, it doesn't guarantee they won't end up at intake. Fighting is usual this time of year, but Ignis won't be surprised if there is more of it than usual.

In the interim he tends to the bar. Exchanging Hokk and ale for joy or, now and then, for information when eyes are averted. His fingers skim unseeingly over a set of tumblers, flipping it upright to set on the counter and pour another drink while addressing the next person in line. ]

What can I get for you?


RESISTANCE
[ Even with the Harvesters in full swing, it isn't just bars that Ignis is working for. He makes his way through the streets of Old Town, easing his way between sweaty bodies and keeping an ear out for what he wants to hear. The Resistance needs more supplies and weapons after recent raids, and beyond that, more supporters. From what little birds have told him, they're in need of Company support, but it's always harder finding those moles when the wrong target could land people in jail.

Ignis is less of a recruiter and more of an information distributer, but it doesn't mean he can't point people in the right direction. He can be found meandering market stalls or resting with his cane between his knees and a pumpkin beer in his hand. Anyone familiar will be granted a smile and, despite the sweltering din, a greeting of: ] Blessed weather.

WEEK 3

[ Sickness.

It's spreading, like a plague. First, just a rumor, the whisper of news that Leith has been quarantined. Whatever good humor Ignis had been harboring earlier in the week has evaporated, leaving a serious and focused man in it's wake. He does not shirk his duties as bartender or chef, with Harvest week winding down he can be found in both places, but elsewise he is keeping alert or anyone he knows— or anyone with information. With the civil unrest, illegal movements are increased, which makes Ignis guarded and wary.

When otherwise unoccupied, he can be found near or around where Scarbacks gather or near Lunafreya's tent. When he isn't ushering people to the nearest nurses and doctors, he is letting them know where she can be found to assist. ]

Wildcard: throw me with whatever idea you have, no matter the week!! you can find me at latitudes or you can just hit me with whatever i'll roll with it.

week 2

[tropism]

A rich husband.

[ he's probably too young to be in this bar, which is why he doesn't plan on staying too long. he just wanted to visit him whenever he can before he gets dragged off to do some low-level warrants and guard duty, whatever it is that they think westerly's in need of at the moment.

giorno seats himself at the end. ] If that's a bit short notice, water's just fine.

Lunafreya - Westerley - closed starters

[munia]

[[ ooc. if you'd like a starter, hit me up here or on plurk @ lunation! ]]

DAMIAN

[munia]

[ During Harvest week, it's easier to sleep during the day. The greatest influx of demand she gets is at dusk and again just before dawn, when all but the grubbiest establishments let out. This time of morning, Old Town smells like the aftershock of all the revels, old tobacco smoke and vomit and blood. In the middle of this is Lunafreya, tucked against the far wall of her tent and curled up over a mat, finally allowing herself a moment's rest. Umbra sits by, standing watch, but it's with little need--few of those patients remaining would have the energy to bother her, and those who would, wouldn't dare.

Umbra is a good and loyal companion, but even he has his weakness--he smells the food long before it's there, attention diverted from his watch to stare longingly to the mouth of the alley. Luna stirs at his whining, lifting her head long enough to squint at him. ]

Is someone there, Umbra?

[ Umbra's tail wags, and she knows immediately who it is he's expecting. ]

Rhys | OTA | all month long (+ closed prompts)

[rhygret]

Week II

A - Being rich is Hard (Leith/space bars)

[ Like really. Yeah sure life's cushy as hell when you're Qreshi royalty and you have everything you could really want at the tip of your fingers, but for Rhys there's also the ever-looming reminder of the fact that he's Land Kendry. He's a member of the elite's upper crust and no matter how much he generally dislikes his family he's...allied with them. Della Seyah's words speak for all of them: she's the head of the family. And as part of that it's his duty to put up a unified front not matter how much he desperately wishes to be distinguished from them.

The Kendry name is useful, but Rhys wants more. He wants to get out of the rat race, get out of all the false smiles and pleasantries.

So it makes perfect sense when he decides to hit the upper echelon lifestyle up where smiles couldn't be faker and the pleasantries more unfounded. But hey, that's how Rich People cope. Or at least how Rhys does. So whether it's hiring his favourite bioweapon and pilotchauffeur out for a movie-slash-hokk, complaining to his fellow elites in their houses, bumming at the Company HQ after hours with his "coworkers" or just hitting up some of the more comfortable establishments of Leith, Rhys can be found there being entirely self-indulgent. Because he needs some serious R&R right now, or at least a distraction from his life in general. ]


B - Wtf Hyponia & Simms I mean seriously (Westerly)

[ No, seriously. What the heck is going on with those guys?? Hyponia's to blame for the Derrish attack? And Simms might be their ally...? Rhys has...well maybe not exactly friends but like, associates? Who are Simms and the implications of this are just insane. Sure Land Kendry can't exactly just take all of Hyponia out, but he knows the greedy looks in his relatives' eyes when he sees it. There's blood in the water and all anyone's thinking about is a way to come out on top from it while outwardly projecting an air of concern and disbelief. As if any of them wouldn't cut throats the first chance they got to seize more Qresh land for themselves.

So yeah. Predictably Rhys doesn't go in to work which ultimately doesn't matter because his job is a trophy position anyway. No one's even going to notice he isn't there, which is good. He wants to be anywhere but where Royalty and Company are, so yet again Rhys does the Totally Sane Thing and goes to get drunk off his ass. Very likely at that bar you frequent or happen to be at, for once not proudly displaying his Kendry colours. He doesn't exactly want to be associated with them right now. Or anyone.

So yeah there's definitely some well-coiffed dude just sort of leaning with his head on the bar, a tall glass of neon blue Hokk (the establishment's most expensive), running his mouth off to anyone even remotely close to him. Because again, Responsible^TM.

It's just one night. What's the harm?? ]

Week III

B - Infectionnnnn (Leith)

[ Which is to say that this is where Rhys either gets infected or gives it to you, or is hallucinating the hell out of things.

Initially Rhys doesn't even realize he's been infected. Being sick is for Poor People and the news of the infection hasn't even started circulating yet. No one knows how deadly it can be or what the symptoms are, so Rhys takes his mild fatigue as a side-effect of the recent goings on, probably slightly related to his drinking all that Hokk the week before. So he thinks nothing of it and goes about his business as usual: work, family meetings, the odd, incredibly awful and unsolicited visited of a certain Scarback, and of course going to see a black market arms dealer.

All completely routine stuff. ]

Week IV

Wildcard

[ ooc; I DON'T HAVE A LOT OF PLANS HERE aside from Rhys getting the cure, so if you wanna do something either just promot me or hmu @ owlits! ]

Crowley

[rhygret]

[ But before he does all of the above? He's going to be sending a message to that Simms associate of his, because seriously: ]

Uh. What the hell was all that about? What the heck is your family doing over there Simms? You're supposed to be our allies remember?? Allies. As in, not helping those Hyponia guys who are clearly out of their minds and a bunch of traitors?

[ He's eloquent. ]

ravus + closed starters

[ex_infantry157]

[ top levels incoming! if you'd like a starter, feel free to reach me by pm/grantairian ]

sion.

[ex_infantry157]

[ he arranges for them to meet a coffee shop, one that is tucked into a corner of old town, small but still frequented by locals. it’s quiet, but not too quiet, that would make their conversation easy to overhear. the table he has chosen is towards the back of the establishment, away from the bar. he does draw a couple of curious glances from patrons, but their gaze flits away once he decides to meet it with his own.

the door at the front of the store chimes, signaling a new arrival, and he doesn’t smile at the sight of his sibling, but gives a small, pleased nod.

as the other sits : ] Sion, I trust you have been well.

[ well, and not drawing unnecessary attention to himself within the company. he is not so blind not to know where sion’s sympathy lies, and where his ambitions are. his brother cares too deeply, too much, for those around him. which would not be a flaw in a perfect world.

but it is in this one. ]

Do you know why I’ve called you here?

Giovanni Rammsteiner | OTA and closed prompts | all through chapter 2

[ofobedience]

Harvest Week management - Westerley - week 2

[There's something to be said for Harvest week. The constant undercurrent of violence, the buzz and thrum of heaving life throughout the streets and bars and stinking alleyways of the Old Town-- it keeps him busy, marks of the seconds minutes hours that might otherwise have gone unfilled aside from with yawning boredom. It isn't quite his remit, covertly patrolling the streets and seedy bars-- the Dogs are generally only brought out for bigger (nastier) things, but at a time like this it never hurts to have a few more deterrents on the ground.

Perhaps you'll run into him out on the streets as he walks with a loose and casual air as though he belongs out here as surely as any of the other inhabitants, as though he isn't something to be watched and carefully guarded against. Or perhaps you'll spot him in the corner of a bar with an untouched drink in his hand, just watching and waiting and hoping for something vicious to go down, something he can really get his teeth into.

Don't worry though, his Handler must be around somewhere. He's unlikely to savage you for no reason, right? Or if you're with the Company, perhaps you are his temporary Handler tonight, or know him well enough by sight to strike up a conversation. Whatever the case, he's here and he's cool and controlled and yet waiting (wanting) for violence.]

Damage Control - Leith - Week 3 onwards

[Between the fun of interrogations there are other moments to be filled, blank pockets of time that are best put to use to keep him busy, keep him useful, prevent him from having too long to think-- it's inadvisable, to allow one of the Dogs to become bored. Wouldn't want him thinking up his own ways to entertain himself, now. It also happens that his modifications make him immune to the sickness that's currently sweeping this world and as such, he's the perfect candidate for quarantine control or for escorting higher-ups as they seek out medical aid. And of course, there are bodies to be burned. He does enjoy a nice bonfire.

Perhaps you're another Company employee paired up with him for a few hours, or you're sick and in need of a reliable guard dog to get you from A to B? In any case, he's around. Approach him if you will.]

Sion - Westerly - Early week 2

[ofobedience]

[Cleaning house is fun. Perhaps not for those who fall under suspicion of the watchful eye of those above them, but for Cerberus Unit 68 it's a chance to get out and play. To put his particular skills to use in a way that's sure to bring him satisfaction.

His mood is good, then, as he walks to meet the Company employee he's been assigned to for this purpose, and though he maintains a perfect outward impression of calm, beneath all that things are buzzing and jumping in him, anticipation brighthot and scorching. They're distracting, almost, those feelings, and as such - when he reaches the office he's been directed towards, knocks perfunctorily then steps inside - it takes him a moment to register the identity of the man in front of him. He does though, recognition sparking behind his eyes and slowly, his face splits open on a smile.]

And here I thought you'd given up on the good old days in favour pushing paper. Who'd have thought it?

[and then, with a touch more formality--]

Cerberus Unit 68 reporting for duty, Sir.

Lapis Fathalla | Closed prompts

[oneirism]

[If you'd like a starter, hit me up here or at moonpaper! ]

Crowley

[oneirism]

[If there's one thing Lapis likes about Harvest Week, it's that it keeps her busy. And that's what she needs right now, so that she doesn't spend every moment consumed with worry about how her sister is in Leith, now that some kind of sickness is spreading around. It doesn't sound like anything major, but Lapis tends to fret a bit too much when it comes to her sister.

But right now, she just needs to focus on singing and the roaring of the crowds - her voice usually managing to attract a pretty big size of them to the bar, which the manager was always pleased about. Granted it meant more bar fights and some weirdos being creepy to Lapis, but more patronage is always good either way.

Yet when this song comes to an end, she finds herself pausing, blinking when she sees a certain face in a crowd. One she was not expecting to spot here at all, or ever. So she's quick to hop down from the stage, weaving through the crowd as she stops at his table - still a bit flushed and out of breath from the performance.]

You were actually serious about coming to Westerly. [Yeah hi Crowley.]

riza hawkeye | ota, various weeks

[cauterised]

EARLY W2 - WESTERLEY
[Even the Company celebrates the fruit of Harvest Week like all others, and Riza is no exception.

For the most part she works, tossing aside her day uniform for a sleeveless shirt and an unassuming height that gives her the element of surprise in wrangling rowdy drunks out of the bar. It's good pay, (largely) easy work, and a valuable opportunity to catch up on street gossip once her shift's over.

Buy her a drink if you don't fear an off-duty bouncer - or if she knows you, she'll buy you one instead, rare good humor for once present on her face.]

It looks like you could use a break too.

MID/LATE W3 - LEITH
[Riza does what she can, shuttling supplies between dropoff points and the overcrowded clinics desperately in need just one more shot of sedative, and escorting patients too far lost in their own madness to walk a straight path down the street. But even with all that they still fall - in clinics, in homes, or in back alley streets when the first two options are lost to them.

The bodies are carted away en masse, thrown with little respect onto the backs of carts, trucks, whatever might hold. Some come with identification, one last generous gesture from a soul long departed. Most do not, and as such she spends the majority of her time pricking fingers for DNA and registering the faces that pass by in quick succession.]

Did you know any of them?

[She'd lived on Leith, once upon a time, making it not so unlikely she might stumble across someone familiar. The same might be said for her partner for the day.]

LATE W4 - THE ROYALE
[Eventually, as with all things, the worst of the infection comes to an end.

Commerce and travel resume in slow fits and starts, and those Company stationed on Leith for relief efforts are slowly shuttled back—provided, of course, they hadn't succumbed to infection while there. Riza spends her first whole day back cocooned in her sheets dead asleep, but finally manages to drag her sorry carcass out to the Royale on the second night. After everything that's happened, a drink is in order.

Unfortunately for her, she's to get no easy solace from alcohol that night.

Two minutes in, her fingers go slack; the still-filled glass in her hand slips through and splinters into a wreckage of glass and ice on the ground. She pays it no mind, eyes unseeing and breath ragged as she tries to fight through the pain of sudden searing heat across her upper back. An attack on her, or the bar? A new strain of P43X?

But when she turns there's no one there, and when her fingers press lightly against one shoulder her skin is cool and clammy to the touch.]

W? - WILDCARD
[You know the drill! Leave me a prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up and I'll write something specific just for you. :>]

W2 - DOGNAPPING (KEITH)

[cauterised]

[Harvest Week brings with it increased flow of joy and hakk, but also increased flow of illegal and stolen goods, from oversized guns to top quality Bliss to....pet dogs, snatched away from right under their owners' noses. The Company, of course, has little time to spare for such a trivial blip in Westerley's otherwise already-teeming crime scene, so Riza takes it into her own hands to issue a warrant and recruit some outside help. Besides, it's personal now.

So here she lingers, at the site of the last known whereabouts of the latest dog to be whisked away by the nefarious kidnappers. When the RAC agent arrives, she lifts a brow.]

You're Keith?

[A little bit younger than she's expecting but you know what, she'll take it.]

Damian Wayne | OTA + closed prompts

[bittybat]

Week 3, Day 1-7

[When Allanah Sayeh Hyponia is convicted of high treason as part of the Resistance, Damian decides to don his newly acquired vigilante attire and moniker while on Leith tending to his ill "father." A short, but stern-sounding boy in a form-fitting single piece black suit and a cloak. The face beneath the hood is concealed by a mask, and the front of the suit is splashed with the silhouette of a golden bird.

His main goal is information. Under the cover of dark, he tries to hustle leads out of those who seem like Resistance sympathizers, feeling guilty about harassing his own, but wanting to trace anything back to an origin. Why risk countless Resistance lives for something that doesn't even hit the Nine?

If you're a sympathizer, you've been stalked for quite some time by a shadow. It drops on you from above suddenly without warning. No taller than five foot, it easily manhandles you into restraint, then begs the question:] What do you know about the usurpers?

Week 4, Day 1-6

[Damian still isn't satisfied with the reports of the disease and the cure. He thinks he knows it's a sham. A set-up to gain support for the Company and the Nine. It's too simple to be anything else. The sickness was rolled out by the same people who had the cure; what best way to get people to love you than that.

But the RAC takes up more of his time now than the moniker. He's running supplies to medical outposts, slipping some of the cure in his pocket for testing.

If you're a doctor or a nurse, he shows up at your door with the cure and basic medical supplies. Sometimes, he shows up with food, passing by the sick frustrated and ornery. Children get the brunt of his sympathy; he brings girls dolls and boys wooden rubber band guns.]

If you'd like a starter, hit me here or ping/pp moetan! Someone test D's stolen cure for JUSTICE.

Riza Hawkeye

[bittybat]

[The first half of the second week begins as shitty as Damian would expect. The only "adventurous" warrant he can snag is escorting Company personnel outside of the Quad.

Fortunately, he thinks he can take the opportunity to weasel into Company good-graces better. With Jack as the only other acquaintance, he thinks he can use some more personnel seeking him out.

So Riza gets a slim ten year old coming through the door to see her to the launching docks. He's too serious for a kid, all frowns and tight lips, brows looking meaner because of their arch. But at least he holds himself with formal elegance. Discipline. Without even knowing his capabilities, the militant way he stands and moves can speak volumes about whether or not he should be underestimated.] Damian Wayne.

The ship departs in twenty minutes.

OTA & Closed prompts ❃ Dates vary

[lotusmesenpai]

❃ Old Town | The Royale or Favorite Bar/place for moonlighting |Anytime between W2D6 - W3D2

[Truth be told, Kanda both looks forward to and dreads Harvest Week, every time. It's a good stress relief, spending their downtime in Old Town during the festivities - free hokk, and a steady flow of new scuffles with the locals that get too drunk and forget that a pretty face and a short temper happen to be an exceptionally volatile combination.

And this year is no different.

Reaching the door, Kanda shoves the drunken idiot towards the door and then delivers a hard kick to the man's chest, sends the bastard tumbling out into the street. Once there, the so-called patron is no longer his problem, and so he turns and threads his way right back to the bar, slides into the seat there.

He frowns when the bartender sets the shot glass down before him with a flirt (ignored) and a smile (also ignored).]

It's always worse on nights you give sexter discounts.

[That earns him a laugh and an offer of an extra half off if Kanda wanted to partake in their ample services, before the man drifts off to help an actual, paying customer. Shaking his head, Kanda's gaze cuts to the person beside him, the scowl settling back in place.]

...the fuck you want?


❃ Leith Bazaar | Afternoon W3D3 - W3D5

[What should have been a simple transport warrant turned out to be anything but. It had been... disorienting, to say the least, had given Kanda the brief fear that he'd succumbed to whatever has been sweeping its way through Leith. Reality had, for once, been stranger than his usual hallucinations and so (for now) he dismisses the worry. Instead, he makes his way through the bazaar - less crowded now, with the fear of falling ill, but still some brave souls wandering about.

One stop at their warrant broker and another at a small cafe and store. Here, he sits at the open veranda, eating a fresh order of soba while he waits for the clerk to gather the list of items he'd requested.

It's time, they think, to retreated from the cities and find a good patch of forest to hunker down in, until the worst of this subsides.

For now, though, he waits. Care to join him?]

❃ Kara Z.

[lotusmesenpai]

[Necessity means Kanda and Lavi both have gotten pretty efficient at emergency patching of things on Noah - at least until they can dock at intake and get Kara in to actually fix whatever went bad. But in this case... well, it's not so much that something has broken.

More like, something has been battered until it was incapable of working any more.

So here he is, ducking through the entrance to her shop, his hand holding one very scorched and abused targeting orb in his hand.

He doesn't see her at first, and so he stops mid-way into the place, glances around as he calls out.]

Oy, Lin! Where you at?

[Hopefully she won't get too mad about the damage - he hadn't meant to set the stun settings so high the last time he'd trained with it, but it had definitely been high enough to fry the little machine...]

Alice Liddell | Leith | OTA

[digophelia]

Week 2

[ Like any problematic elements on Leith, they remain quiet and undiscussed. Any sort of discourse that Alice hears about outside doesn't make it by her until later. When the whispers of delusions and hallucinations come through, Alice is then forced to stop and take pause. From little she knows so far from passing, from the few days she was able to handle a few trips to the bazaar, she hears how the ill are slowly being round up and taken away.

Delusions, paranoia, and hallucinations are sadly the norm for her. Alice then finds herself forcing to quell the worst of them, a myriad of paranoia of being taken away again and the stress of battling the Liddell family lawyer, Alice was shorter than usual. He didn't have to say anything to her, he knew that with his frequent check ins, he was trying to find an excuse to send her off again.

So like any other well to do Leithians, Alice was out and trying to enjoy herself -- no, she was trying to prove she wasn't ill. Hallucinating, yes, but that was sadly normal for her. Food hasn't really lost any sort of appeal, but out in the streets, between the stress and anger wracking her mind, Alice has to stop just once, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Of course she was seeing things -- terrible things -- that weren't there. All she could do was lower her gaze and take a breath to calm herself. Maybe they would pass peacefully, once she found something else to focus on, as she always did.

She could allow herself a few seconds to calm herself, right? Surely no one would think the worst of her for stopping just a short while. ]

Week 3

[ She toyed with the idea for months and, sadly, this was providing ample reason for her to take a stab at her idea. Watching the bodies being cart away in droves while wailing mourners cried out for their loved ones, a stone-faced Alice hardly bat an eye at the sight, stopping and watching a few times out of her morbid curiosity to see what the commotion was about. Truly, her heart went out to them; the death of a loved one was never easy and beyond Alice's seemingly apathetic gaze and stony expression, she did feel for them.

Having no relatives and being the sole survivor, Alice was definitely detached from the scene. She moved on, clutching her hands together, the only sign of emotion together. She should go home and thank her lucky stars she avoided being taken and sent away, no matter how insistent her last "guardian" was that she was ill. She was sure that the family lawyer wouldn't be happy with her idea, but at this point, she didn't care. It was unfortunate tragic circumstances were giving her courage to step up and show them how a real heiress could be. ]

It's unfortunate, there were so many opportunities to help others -- we could have helped save lives, us Leithians. Could you imagine how many children are orphaned now? Now they'll be vulnerable to just more than illness. Well, I can't have that, if there's a way to stop that... I will.

week 3!

[sunderings]

[ At the epicenter of the pandemonium, Sion stands as an imperturbable force of calm, doling out directive to those beneath his jurisdiction, extending his sympathies and assurances to the bereaved, and ...catching a child, a girl of no more than five, in the circle of his arms as her small hands reached in desperation for the skirts of her mother—a woman deceased. Protective, Sion shields her eyes, turns the girl away so her last memory of her mother will not be that of a body ravaged by infection only to be disposed of, piled upon the corpses of others (and buried beneath more) for swift transport to be burned.

The child cries, her fingers balling into the black of his Company uniform, and Sion ushers her away to a pocket of quiet upon the street, murmuring: by grace of your faith in me, trust that you will be all right. Little one, where is your father? Who is it that looks after you?

But where his own voice ends, another begins as a reminder of the present moment, the immediacy of their surroundings, and the reality that, even in the darkest of moments, there is always light to be found in the form of a familiar face; strength, in the beginnings of a solemn oath: I will.

When Sion's eyes fall upon Alice, he is overcome by relief, the knowledge that hers will not be a face he spies amidst a sea of so, so very many dead a blessing, one that he'd been too resigned to hope for. ]

Miss Liddell—

[ —he calls, and the child, tears streaking down her cheeks, lifts her head from his coat, blearily blinking up at Alice. ]

You should not be here, not outside. Will you not help me to return this child to her father? Afterward, I will see to your safe escort home for the night.

CLEANING HOUSE (maid costumes optional)

[teiaiel]

(Closed prompts for now, but maybe I'll do an OTA later)

for GIOVANNI (sometime during Week 1)

[teiaiel]

...Giovanni Rammsteiner. You may enter.

[There's no guest chair in Tieria's Westerley office - the other employess at Internal Affairs tend to avoid him as much as possible, and he certainly doesn't invite people to linger around for idle chatter. Several cardboard boxes of printer paper betray the room's former role as a office supply storage closet. Tieria, who ranks only slightly above the photocopier in the minds of most of his human coworkers, sits on a swivel chair in the center of the room, cocooned by a half-dozen holographic computer monitors. Their cool white light reflects off his glasses, giving him an alien appearance.

But then again, Giovanni Rammsteiner isn't quite human himself.]

As you're aware, the Company is in the process of conducting a full internal audit and employee performance review. Your service to the Company has been... satisfactory.

["Satisfactory" is high praise from Tieria, but he says the word with evident displeasure. There's a small part of himself that resents having to look at one of the Company's successful hack-mod projects when his own program was defunded as a developmental dead end.

That's petty reasoning, though. Emotional. Human. Tieria would never admit to it. So he swallows his reflexive dislike and glances up at Giovanni.]

Some employees have been... less than satisfactory, though. I'm authorizing their immediate termination.

hanna king // open + closed prompts

[brickinthewall]

TRACK LIST
uptown girl - a shopping spree in leith
dirty deeds done dirt cheap - a westerly warrant ft. giorno giovanna
enter sandman - an infection gone incredibly wrong

uptown girl // ota

[brickinthewall]

[Harvest Week means a lot of things, but really, it means Hanna can loiter and shop at stupid hours. She's been needing some new clothes anyway, as well as new boots. She has an aesthetic to maintain, after all. Several stalls have been catching her eye, and mostly, she's been keeping quiet, to herself, as she peruses leisurely. Odd, almost, given that she's a Killjoy with a pretty bad streak.

When she's not shopping, she's hanging out in different festival areas. The street musicians, though... that's what gets her the most. She stops to listen, to pick up on the beat and tap it out against her thigh. Music can't leave her, it seems. When she's at the concerts, well.

Hanna almost seems like a different person. One with the music, dancing, forgetting about everything, you'd think she was just a woman and not a Killjoy with her own agenda. You can catch her dancing, or possibly pushing through people, trying to get a fresh beer. She won't say no if you decide to dance, and she'll probably apologize if she steps on you or gets beer on you.]

[tirejacked]

[getting closed starters up first!!! ota to follow, hopefully. But hassle me on the plotting meme/via plurk or pm if you want something specific. alternately feel free to hit me with a wildcard/request a time/place/topic for a wildcard here and I'll write you something, yolo.]

"linda lang."

[tirejacked]

[As expected, the eventual spread of sickness throughout Westerley and the ensuing lockdown have only served to foster some more-than-typical amounts of chaos in the populace. Not just because of the sick—the delusional and paranoid sufferers with more weapons than sanity. As always, there's the opportunists, the bottom feeders who have no problem stepping over the weak to come out on top.

So as the days tick on, the noise that cracks through the air is one that has become increasingly familiar. Broken glass. Blaring car alarms. Jason knows this neck of the woods pretty well, tracking down the source doesn't take long at all. Soon enough, he's ducking around a corner toward the familiar shape of Linda's garage. One of the windows on the upper floor is broken in, glass scattered on the ground nearby. With no immediate sign of who or what might be responsible.

Pausing outside, he stops to get the lay of the land. If this is a breaking and entering, wouldn't hurt to keep some element of surprise rather than clue the intruder in, allow them the time to bolt, or fight, or take a convenient hostage. If Linda's lucky, she's not even home for the excitement.

Or he could mind his own business. (Hah.) He decides to let himself in, instead. Rather than bother with the door, he swings himself up onto the second floor to duck through the broken window above the shop.

Anyone home?]

sion astal | ota + closed prompts

[sunderings]

( feel free to contact me @ avichuus or over here if you'd like a starter! i'm also totally open to wildcards, so hit me up. ♡ )

OTA | westerley, early week two.

[sunderings]

[ Betadine solution and sewing shears, bed linens and suture needles, hypochlorite for water purification and ah, what's this...? One of the three wayward gentleman who had taken keen interest in his gathering of supplies seems to have blocked his exit from Old Town's marketplace, another closing in from behind. With the influx of migrant workers newly returned, and Harvest week in full swing, it is an easy thing for organized crime to go overlooked, the Company's eyes focused instead upon revelers and rowdy drunks; the heightened possibility of illegals slipping in through the cracks. No one would notice how the third member of the trio darts in from the side, meaning to crowd Sion into the only available opening: the alleyway on his right.

But Sion doesn't move according to his assailants' design, rather he doesn't move at all, the impetus—light field—falling from his lips as his body acts as conduit for programmable matter manifest as...! ]

If you've an interest in medical supplies, might I first suggest that you express a need for them?

[ A wall of gleaming, solid light. A wall, now referred to as point 'x', where gentleman number three, affectionally dubbed object 'y', soundly collides, his nose bloodied from immediate impact. ]

Ah, I see you've taken the initiative! A broken nose is a good place to start.

[ And the injury, however minor, has left one of the criminals reeling, his two comrades hovering in brief indecision between fight or flight.

Perhaps someone will step in to hasten the decision? ]

wildcard + closed prompts!

[deceptions]

PROMPT-O-MATIC

( a series of closed prompts for different people!! but as always, feel free to comment on this top level ( + an optional prompt ), and i'd love to write you a starter!! here is koon's plotting comment if you need prompts, but i'll roll with anything. c: if you wanna plot something more in depth, you can find me on charred @ plurk! )

for sui feng.

[deceptions]

[ A disgraced member of the Derrish shouldn't be standing here in the first place. But he is, it probably pisses off a number of people he's here, and he's got a warrant — the two reasons he's here in the first place, even if it's probably a terrible idea he's here.

The ends outweigh the means, but being on Qresh irritates him.

It can be blamed on some random, unexplained feeling of unease that occupies him, his less-than-high-quality clothes sticking out like a sore thumb among the norm ( even if he's well dressed ). But then there's also—

There's also the chance of running into "old friends" ( they're not really friends, not anymore ). ] Huh.

[ They're in a quieter area of a city; less eyes to watch their exchange, but also less witnesses should something go terribly wrong. His expression barely changes aside from a twitch of the corner of his lips ( is it a smile or a grimace? It's too early to tell ). ] Look who it is.

steph brown | leith

[eggplanting]

closed; Kara Zor-El; w2d1

[Harvest Week is just starting, but Steph has one last quick trip to make to Westerley before she can clock off for a few days to join in the celebrations. There's a dozen or so Westies who needed a ride back after a minor mishap with one of the other transport ships, and Steph volunteered because she doesn't mind visiting the other moon.

The trip itself goes smoothly, she drops the Westies off with minimal fuss, but when she goes to start everything up for the flight home, the AI warns her that there's a malfunction in the engine. With a sigh, Steph gives Linda a call, asking her if she has the time to swing by the docks to give the ship a look, and is relieved when the answer is yes.

She's less relieved that once Linda has fixed the problem and returned to cockpit, the AI decides it needs to spend five hours rebooting the system.]

Guess I'm stuck here for a while.

OTA; early week 2

[Steph has never been to Harvest Week before.

Or, well, she supposes that she must have, but she has no memories of attending one, so it feels like a brand new experience to explore, one that's a welcome respite from the stress at the Company. She's no Enforcer, and barely warrants paying attention to most days, but everyone is under scrutiny, and being under scrutiny is stressful. It's nice to get away from it for a little while.

It's why she's making an effort to relax and enjoy herself, trying foods she hasn't seen before, watching the fireworks with awe, or even having a go at some of the games on offer from vendors.

She reaches out to the nearest person, lightly tapping them on the shoulder.]

The vendor said I need another person to play this game, wanna help a girl out?

[crisised]

[ linda snorts, then covers her mouth with her hand in a feeble attempt to hide her amusement. ]

Guess so.

[ she looks at the controls for the ship, glances sideways at steph, then links her hands at the small of her back looking like the picture of innocence. (it's horribly unconvincing.) ]

Well, since you've got some time... [ linda tilts her head to the side and does her best to look charming. whilst having a grease streak across her forehead. ] Want to hit the town? Celebrations should be starting and they can be pretty fun here.

fenris | ota | westerley

[eleutheron]

IA. OLD TOWN - WEEK TWO;

[ Fenris isn't one much for holidays. For him, they don't mean revelry or relaxation--quite the opposite, in fact. People are never more eager to test their limits than during festivals like this. The celebratory air brings with it a kind of chaotic lawlessness, a sense that anything is possible and all is permitted. In reality, the Company's tightening its grip, its people told to squeeze the citizenry harder than ever before--nothing deters a miscreant like a bloody good example.

Fenris, of course, is here to instruct. He's in the thick of it right now, sitting in the center of a bar that's two seconds away from exploding into violence. It's early evening, but everyone's already had too much to drink. Tongues are loose, tensions are high, and Fenris is ready for a fight.

After somebody throws the first punch, he's out of his seat. If anyone's nearby, Company or otherwise, he hisses. ]

Give me a hand or get out of my way.

IB.

[ The brawl's over, but now it's time to reflect on the day's events, consider one's place in the world with solemn fortitude, and--most importantly--keep drinking. Fenris did not emerge unscathed: his shirt's torn, his knuckles are bloody, and he's got cuts across his arms and stomach from glancing knives. But he's had worse, and he's feeling calm now that order has been restored. Well. Calmer.

He drinks cheap wine as he examines his wounds; he does have a nasty gash along his right arm. A line of red wells up over the shimmering circuitry, drips slowly down and onto the floor. It stings, but otherwise the wound looks much worse than it feels. ]

I suppose it's not a party until someone's ruined the floor.

II. WEEK THREE;

[ Fenris scowls and stalks his way through yet another raucous night. The excitement hasn't faded away just yet--if anything, there's something new to it now, something fevered and anxious. A new sickness is on the rise, and it's replaced the carefree spirit of the recent festivities with panic, with a kinetic, dangerous desperation. Fenris has a couple of guys by the collar--random Westies clutching stolen food, blabbering about their sick mother.

Fenris's head aches. He's exhausted from the work of corralling and policing these people, particularly over the last few weeks. His grip on the man in his left hand is needlessly tight; he can tell by the breathless choking that he's crushing the poor bastard's windpipe.

"Please," the other one says, a younger man, probably no more than twenty. Thin and malnourished. Easily held. "Please, we're starving--"

Fenris hesitates. He feels weakness in his limbs, a foreign tremor. His vision swims.

He drops them both, unceremoniously. ]

Don't let me see you near here again.

[ The two sit there on the muddy ground for a moment, shellshocked, clutching their food. Fenris breathes in sharply, his circuits flashing. The men get to their feet, and they run.

Fenris staggers against the nearest wall, groaning. Before him, the crowded, filthy streets look both familiar and strange. He's somewhere else for a few minutes--a different town, a different set of miserable, struggling people, doing anything they can to survive. A name whispers in the back of his mind: Lowtown. It's gone as soon as it comes, a ghost that he can't grasp.

He covers his face with one hand and groans.

Should he hear footsteps -- ]

If you're a thief, now is a good time to keep walking.

IA.

[ofobedience]

[This kind of thing-- it isn't really what he does. Drunken brawls and uncouth violence, the kind that spills out of unruly yet regular citizens when plied with too much cheap booze and high spirits, it's fairly low on the scale. Hardly the kind of thing the Dogs were designed for. And yet here he is all the same-- Harvest Week is a rule unto itself, breaches of the peace coming too thick and fast for regular enforces to keep up with, and so it's one of those times when the Cerberus Unit is given a little more free reign, a slight loosening of the leash so to speak.

More space to get out and play.

Still, when he happens to be passing the Company employee (someone he recognises, knows a little about, someone he's worked with before) at the moment that wayward punch is thrown, he glances off into the crowd to catch the eye of his Handler, looking for permission to join in the fray. His look is met with a terse nod and as such Unit 68's smile spreads wide.]

Gladly.

OTA - Westerly (Old Town)

[sin_of_wrath]

1
[For the first few years, a typical night in the bar came with a few predictable events--ones that usually inspired a few drinking games among consistent patrons. Whenever someone commented on the owner's height or how young he looked, there would be a sip of beer. If he responded with 'I'm not a kid', then there would be another sip. The rules deteriorated into entire shots depending on how often something happened just to mitigate alcohol poisoning. Meliodas himself had gotten used to the games and allowed them to pan out if only because it was good money for his little dive.

What really got the drinks flowing was any given night when an old or an extremely new face would come in, surprised to see him for one reason or another. In both cases, there would be someone getting dragged out of the bar by their shirt or their hair--depending on the offender. Someone would be looking for an obscure sort of revenge against this young man or they heard rumors and wanted a piece of him for their reputation. The end result was always the same. Someone ran or they were tossed out to the street from the door.

To boot, there was a round mechanical pig patrolling the bar, looking to take orders and playing horrible music near constantly. Anytime someone got sick of it, they paid the pig to shut up and the droning melodies would end, punctuated by a cheer from other patrons. Each night, the young bar owner seemed to take a sadistic delight in this arrangement, collecting money from the annoying moving jukebox with a snicker every chance he had.

Then, there were the nights when the bar owner would challenge his patrons to arm-wrestling after dipping into his own stock a bit too much. Inebriated and merciless, he'd close after sending folks to the clinic with a discount on drinks as an apology the next time they came.]

2
[With the Company's usual approach to threats taken in mind, Meliodas decided to up the security in the bar just a little bit. He turned the pig's settings on 'Higher Aggression' to target any patrons dressed too well for the setting. Anyone with nice clothes would have obviously been an informant from the Company--or at least a patron that had disposable income and could afford nicer drinks. Either way, harassing customers into buying more expensive drinks would have benefitted him just as much as protecting his life.

Despite this, he took the usual spying for what it was--suspicion about him in general. It was no shocker that the Company would want to continue keeping tabs on him given rumored rises of aggression towards the Nine but he was no rebel and didn't subscribe to any politically driven publications so he didn't worry too much about things like his search history. Any investigations of Meliodas' use of networks would really just pull up the kind of filth to make someone blush rather than contemplating overthrowing a government.

On occasion, he would take aggressive steps for himself. Sidling up to customers while taking their orders, getting close and appearing as friendly as possible, he went out of his way to try and turn on whatever charm he could scrounge up to encourage more financially stable patrons to pony up and support the local dive bar. He had bills to pay. Shame was hardly an issue.

One night, he gave up trying to lay the charm on and simply hammered a sign on the front door that read 'Cute/Handsome Waitress/er Sought - Interviews Inside'.

He looked irritated as he regarded the sign as if it were a white flag cast. It was a sign of his utter defeat.]

What a shameful way to realize I'm not even remotely charming...

(OOC: Let me know if you'd like a closed prompt! If not, the contents of both prompts span multiple days so you're free to start off a thread using the events within. Otherwise, if you have questions you can catch me at dannication!)

2

[tropism]

[ giorno stops by his place for a break, and regards the sign with amusement. ]

If you'd listened to me from the very beginning, you would've realized that a lot sooner.

[riastraid]

{ ooc: working on closed stuff, but please feel free to let me know if you'd like anything for week 4 and we can work something out! }

for keith.

[riastraid]

[ It never hurts to have a rolodex of people to work with, but building that means trying some missions out together. Crafting a repertoire and seeing if any chemistry comes out of it. And sometimes it ends in disasters and no second outings—but he's seen (or heard, mostly heard) Keith around the apartment enough times that surely he's been worth a couple joint ventures. Besides, he doesn't mind tagging along with people who need the authorization to shoot a guy. Everybody starts somewhere.

Granted... this is a fair few number of warrants here. As they sort through the crowds at Eulogy—which don't seem properly afraid or contained enough considering there's a superplague about—Lancer ticks them off on his fingers. ]

—Vaccine No. 2030094-D, P4-No More—

[ At the end of his long mental list, he pauses and glances to Keith. ]

—and Vrofedilieve. Sure are a lot of cures for just one pesky disease.

[ Most of them are sugar water and pills, no doubt, maybe a couple fancy vitamin supplements thrown into the mix. There's not much of a threat to consider here, except maybe: ]

I know you were probably just playin' it safe bringing me along, but... try not to start a fight with every vendor, all right?