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

[slotted]

[ leo just about opens his mouth for a comeback, but he's got nothing good to say. good, in this case, would be something sensible. ]

What's it to you?

[ he's going to surrender any time soon. he just doesn't understand what it is that noctis actually wants. ]

[uncrownings]

I don't- [A beat. Noctis' act at hardball is often just that- an act. He plays at disaffected apathy, only to be called out in the act- caught like a kid with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. His face turns away, an attempt to smooth over the creases in his expression only to wind up dragging a hand over his face in defeat.

What does he say? He hopes someone'd do the same for him, despite knowing how unlikely that is. He knows some part of him would be stewing on it if he didn't at least try.]

It'd just make me feel better. Alright? [His arms fold over his chest: defensive, accusatory.]

[slotted]

[ hm.

he gives noctis a long and hard stare for a few good moments. what's with this guy? he's going to feel better if he patched leo up? ]

You try something, and I'm calling someone. Got that?

[ it's too much to suddenly threaten noctis like that, but he can't help it. he's done getting hurt. ]

[uncrownings]

[It's only a surprise in the sense that he expects the threat to be a gun to his head and not a call made to someone else. His hands raise, a gesture that's part surrender and part agreement.]

Do what you gotta do.

[And then he's leading the way, space enough between them that the guy would be able to bolt at a moment's notice. The space they're headed to is small- clearly intended for storage and maybe the odd unsavory exchange, but he knows there's a first aid kit floating around somewhere, and a change of clothes in that same in-case-of-emergency pile. Noctis leaves the door open and sets to rummaging- resolutely trying not to think about turning his back on a relative stranger. This is where a friendlier personality would start conversation, an attempt to ease the awkwardness out of the silence. Noctis doesn't. This is mostly because Noctis is terrible at interacting with people he doesn't know.]

[slotted]

[ leo follows, but he's feeling just as awkward. he was thinking that this guy had an actual place for helping people, where he could be treated properly. it just feels as if he was led to noctis' mother's home and into her basement where noctis dwells. it's. not at all cool. ]

I hope this isn't where you live.

[uncrownings]

[Noctis squints back over his shoulder- and continues squinting right up until his hands are on the medical kit and the tin is sliding across the table.]

Why would I take you to where I live? I don't know you.

[He's not sure if he should be insulted that it's presumed he lives here, or if he wants to petulantly point out that their distrust goes both ways. Instead of doing either, he cracks open a bottle of water and douses a cloth from the pack- holding it out into the space between them.]

Here. You still bleeding or is it mostly dry now?

[slotted]

[ noctis might want to be insulted, tbh. it wasn't meant as an insult. leo was just curious as to whether or not this was actually his home. because he would actually bring somebody to his own home if they were injured.

he just wants to help.

in any case, he uses the back of his hand to wipe his nose again. ]

It's dry now.

[ leo then takes the cloth and wipes the blood off his face. his hands, too. he really looks like a mess. ]

[uncrownings]

[With the cloth handed over, Noctis is left holding only a spare shirt and with little else to do with his hands. It feels like he's intruding on what's definitely a situation of his own making, and in the silence that stretches out, his face turns away- the illusion of privacy.]

I've got some painkillers too, if you need 'em.

[slotted]

Painkillers won't work.

[ which... is probably an odd thing to say, but at least he gives more context to that statement shortly afterward. ]

I'd still remember how it felt.

[ #crawling in my skin ]

[uncrownings]

It'd... help if you were still in pain. [Noctis' expression wrinkles; he's trying to put two and two together and not coming up with a satisfactory answer. Instead he thinks maybe he's just supposed to assume this guy is a pessimist and leave it at that.

There are some fights he's just not going to fight. His outstretched arm bobs, dark fabric and all.]

Here.

There's blood on yours.

[slotted]

[ he wouldn't usually accept the shirt, as noctis has done enough, but he takes it. and before taking his shirt off to get dressed (yeah, in front of noctis, too), he holds up the shirt and shakes it once. ]

I'll— I'll pay you back.

[ it would be weird if he returned it after washing it. and with that, he turns his back on noctis to remove his shirt. noctis might notice leo's abdomen area to be covered with bandages. the part on his side is rather bloody, too. but leo's quick to put the clean shirt on. ]

[uncrownings]

[He catches only a glimpse of what looks like bandaging, wrapped around the guy's torso- but between Leo's modesty gesture and Noctis' own, there's no real examination. They move nearly in unison, turning their backs to one another as the conversational gambit is passed from one to the other.

He isn't one to pry, and however strange the sight, this is no exception. The only thing he takes away is that a nosebleed makes way more sense now than it did by blaming a fight. His gaze moves over the walls and with an absence of decor he has nothing to linger on.]

Don't- worry about it.

-I've got plenty.

[slotted]

[ now with a clean shirt on (which will eventually get dirty because of the blood coming out of his abdomen), he turns back around as he folds his own shirt in his hands. ]

Are you sure? I don't-- [ free things are weird. this whole situation is weird. it's not about his pride; he's just legitimately confused.

he sighs in surrender. ]

Thanks. For all this.

[uncrownings]

Don't worry about it.

[This whole situation is probably beyond weird, and he's definitely never going to see this shirt again and imagines he's never going to see this guy again either. But Noctis isn't trying to earn a favor, he's just doing what felt like the right thing to do- and stumbling his way through the rest. A sense of responsibility that he can neither name or place sits in the pit of his stomach. The need to do something. He hopes it doesn't get him killed one day.

Noctis' turns just enough to stand in profile, first aid kit and emptiness between them.]

I'm not gonna ask- but you should probably see a doctor.

Sometimes stuff like that ends up worse than you'd think.

[slotted]

No, I can't see a doctor.

[ not with the weird wires shooting out of his side, which he hides using the bandage around his torso. not with what just happened to him—remembering something that never even happened. that's just crazy talk. people don't like him already; what more when he talks nonsense? ]

It's going to pass... whatever this is, anyway.

[uncrownings]

Alright. Just- [Admittedly, he'd only seen a swash of bandages wrapped around the guy's torso, but it's enough to suggest that whatever is underneath is sizeable. Noctis figures he doesn't need medical expertise to know that it's "going to pass." In the same hand, he'd also said that he wasn't going to pry. They don't know one another, he doesn't even know this guy's name. It's not his place to go making sweeping demands or recommendations- however much his gut wants to.

If he says he can't see a doctor he knows it's more complicated than an aversion to white coats. Maybe he's here illegally. Maybe he's modded. Maybe there's a warrant out. He can feel a headache starting, right behind his eyes. Noctis ignores the urge to rub at his temples in favor of reaching into his back pocket and withdrawing a data chip- his contact info.]

If you ever change your mind- I know a few people off the books.

I'm Noctis.

[slotted]

[ that actually gets leo's attention. his face remains neutral, but he does consider asking about his contacts.

oh, but he introduced himself. he should too, shouldn't he? ]

Leo Elster. [ he pauses there just to gauge what noctis' reaction might be to his name. and if there's nothing, maybe he really doesn't know anything about david elster. which... is fine. ] I... You should come to the cafe some time. It's-- I owe you a drink, at least.

[uncrownings]

[Noctis' introduction to the Quad had been figuring out how to make a living in Utopia- and you don't make a living in Utopia without learning a thing or two about modding. There is no way he hasn't heard the name Elster floating around. There were some who believed the man was pushing the very boundaries of what was possible- about the gray area to be explored between biology and technology. Noctis has listened because those boundaries were the reason he didn't have a place to return home to.

The recognition is clear if Leo is looking- something in his eyes that doesn't change the shape of his mouth or the settling of his face. It adds a different dimension to this cafe guy, but he's resolutely leaving it at that. Sons aren't always their fathers. Noctis knows this better than most.]

You don't owe me anything. I dragged you here, remember?

[His weight shifts the way that something in his tone does. He'd been tentative before- their conversation guarded and stilted. Now that they're venturing into neutral territory, the words are practically friendly.]

But I'll probably take you up on it anyway.

[slotted]

It was for the shirt.

[ leo doesn't mean to add some sass into the conversation. it only sounds like he's been sassy, but he's merely responding to the question. when noctis says he'll take him up on the offer, though, his eyebrows arch and his eyes widen a little. his lips form a line before he says: ]

The music is rather bad, though. That's something my employer refuses to fix.

[ cheesy 80's music... ]

[uncrownings]

[There's a beat of hesitation- one deeply pronounced and only further underscored by the suspiciously wary squint that creases his features.]

How bad are we talking exactly?

[Ah, priorities.]

[slotted]

[ he has to pause and think of the worst example he can think of. there are a few at the top of his head, but he wants to make an impact. ]

Have... you heard of Christopher Cross?

[uncrownings]

[While not always great with names, there are a few that stick out. Noctis tends to remember the things he doesn't like far more than the things he does- and that's why his mouth downturns. Like he's just eaten something incredibly sour.]

The slow dance when I'm sailing song?

[slotted]

[ do you know how many times he's heard that song? do you? do you, noctis. ]

I'm so tired of hearing it.

[uncrownings]

[It's impossible not to find himself wearing a sympathetic grimace, and Noctis isn't even going to try imagining how many playthroughs would fit in a single eight hour shift.]

No luck breaking the speakers?

[slotted]

I'd get fired.

[ it's said rather flatly, almost as if he doesn't even care. but he does care because he likes his job even if he's treated pretty badly by the company! ]