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

W4D3 Leith Quarantine Zone

[lotusmesenpai]

[By the time a cure rolls around, Kanda's own modifications have (mostly) purged the illness from his system. Enough at least, to allow him to take a few local warrants while Lavi suffers through the joys of recovery now that he's received his own dose of the cure.

Which is why, once administered and sure that Noah's monitoring is strict, he takes the rover out and answers the call.

It's simple, easy.

Carry medical supplies and crates with freshly minted vials with the cure to one of the quarantine zones. These are tied down safe and neat in the back seats of the rover.It's nearly an hour before he nears the gate out side the makeshift hospital, but as he nears it, he's assaulted with the reek of burning flesh.

Death pyres, to burn down those that couldn't be saved.

It makes his stomach roil, a bit. Reminds him starkly of his last day in Sugar Point, before explosions had ripped his world apart. Still, it's an old memory. An old wound scarred over many times - and so, it's one he can push back with relative ease.

Which is why, once he catches sight of a familiar face near the bonfires, he veers off course slightly to intercept the man midway between the pyre and the gate, a smirk already in place.]

Oy. Didn't expect to see you on this moon, Dog. Here with your owner?

[ofobedience]

[It's not the most enjoyable assignment, burning the corpses of those who succumbed to the sickness, the ones that couldn't be saved. The stink of charred flesh doesn't cause him particular offense - it's just another scent, a specific strain of information - nor does the physical act of moving the bodies, of watching them burn. It's only that people are a lot less interesting when they're already dead, all the lights in them gone out, blood turned stangnant and cold. There's not much in it for him. It's the hunt and the kill he enjoys, not whatever this is.

As such, there's something tedious in it, something toeing the edges of boredom, and if it weren't for the pretty leap and blaze of the fires themselves, the hot rush of black smoke against the crisp blue of the sky, he'd probably be one step up from somnambulism by now, asleep on his feet, eyes open. This macabre affair, it's just one of the many jobs that falls to him because of what he is, his immunity, the conditioning that prevents him from voicing (or feeling) moral protest. But no matter-- not every day can be filled with excitement.

Regardless, his mind is beginning to drift towards other things when through the reek and stench of death their comes the faint scent of flowers. He'd heard the rover from some way off, hadn't thought much of it - one or two have passed through on their way to the makeshift medical centre already, their presence meaning nothing to him - but the scent, it's one he recognises. It's for this reason that he looks up moments before the RAC agent calls out to him, his own mouth made crooked on a smile.

Almost, he welcomes the distraction.

Kanda draws nearer, the words come, and Giovanni gives him a sly roll of the eyes.]

No improvement in your wit, I see. But if it puts your mind at ease, then yes. My Handler's around. I'm not going to bite.

[And he laughs.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Like I give a fuck about that - but it's good to know I won't need a rabies shot.

[Smirking in return, he arches a brow at the man, noting the hale appearance - seems this one hasn't been subjected to the joys of the pandemic. Probably a good thing that this he hadn't - with this one's barely contained bloodlust, adding hallucinations and delusions to the mix could have been devastating.

If not for Giovanni, then the local population surrounding him.

Still... he's never seen one of the members of this particular unit on Leith, and so he can only be a touch curious. Glancing back, beyond the other's shoulder to take in the sight of the burning pyres, he nods towards the writhing mass of smoke and flame.]

How long has that been going on?

[Just how removed has he and Lavi been, too busy fighting their own battles with this disease to realize just how bad things had gotten once the quarantine had been put into effect?]

[ofobedience]

I daresay you'd need something a little stronger than that.

[And his smile edges wider, a serrated gash across his face, just the hint of those razoredged teeth. But the curiosity Kanda feels is a fair thing-- the Dogs, they're far more frequently found on Westerly, or used off-moon entirely (Qresh is an even rarer affair, one that comes with suffocating restrictions, not an experience he ever particularly enjoys) and it speaks to the level of devastation, perhaps, that he's been here quite so long and quite so openly this time, the tight regulations of his visa extended far beyond what is usual. Says something about just how dire this situation had really been.

As does the vastness of the funeral pyres behind him, the answer he gives now.]

It's been going on for days, the burning. So many dead.

[Though there's something in the way he says it that's indicative of his indifference. His near-boredom.]

But you've survived, amid this sea of blood. What luck.

[And his voice, it's a sardonic drawl.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Luck, huh?

[Snorting at that, it’s Kanda’s turn to roll his eyes now, because really. Giovanni might be able to give him a damn good fight, but he’s not going to raise to that particular bait. Instead, he frowns at the size of the fire, recognizing it for what it is – a startlingly vast mortality rate.

It had been easy to lose sight of just how widespread the damage had been, given how insulated they’d been on Noah, once it had become clear that both he and Lavi had been infected.

Even so, it’s not that he cares about the people lost… it’s more that his mind is already turning to the implications of just what this could mean for the Quad, though he’s not really pressed to attempt to hazard a guess.

That, he’ll leave to his partner.

For now, he simply shakes his head dismissively, and then focuses on the seemingly bored man before him.]

Oy. Where’s the damn field hospital around here? [Hooking his thumb towards the back seat and the cases of medical supplies strapped there, he arches a brow.]

Sooner I can deliver this shit, sooner we can get you off this shitty-assed moon.

[It’s not that he cares about the Leithians, or even Giovanni especially. He just figures it’s a pain in the ass to keep a weapon designed for carnage on a moon full of repressed-as-fuck people.]

[ofobedience]

[Whereas for Giovanni, in the thick of it, maintaining quarantine borders and now dealing with the myriad dead, there's been no escaping the immensity of the mortality rate, the sheer glut of death. What it means, where events will go from here-- well. He can only anticipate that things have been set in motion now, that the Quad will stir and shift in volatile ways and for something like him, it'll be interesting. More chances to get out and play.

The more far-reaching impact of all this, how far it will spiral, it's not for him to speculate. He'll leave it to those who matter.

As things stand, the eyeroll drags a laugh out of him, a bright abrupt clatter of sound, and when the question comes he answers readily enough. As close to amicable as he's likely to come.]

Ten miles further south.

[And he points with one slim, pale finger.]

They wouldn't want the corpse bonfires too close to those who may yet make a recovery, now. It might upset them.

[And again, there's that wry edge to his voice, something that borders on derisive.]

And perhaps I ought to assume you're trying to insult me, but in truth I'm not opposed to making a swift exist. This place...it's not terribly exciting.

[Kanda's train of thought, it's not exactly wrong-- there'd been some measure of interest in this at first, but already his restlessness is beginning to show, a cold jitter through his veins and behind the ribs, something wanting outoutout and it really is only a matter of time. Things like the Dogs, they really are best kept occupied. Boredom breeds frustration breeds violence, and that's not something this moon needs right now.]

[lotusmesenpai]

[The laughter is unexpected, but the almost friendly nature of the other man's words more so. The Company man must be bored indeed, if he's being amiable with Kanda, given their last interaction.

Still...

Ten miles, huh?

Turning his gaze from Giovanni, he takes stock of the firepit, the others milling uselessly around it. It would drive a sane person over the edge to simply stand here, hour after hour, day after day, cremating bodies.

He imagines the chaos in this particular man's head has far exceeded that, at any rate.

Add in that, for him, this is such a bullshit warrant - but when you're recovering and you're partner is still bedridden - little ones are just as good at passing the time. Even so, it's frustrating for him, to be forced to sit still on this diseased rock and wait to watch the masses die.

It's challenge and impulse combined that has him nodding sharply towards the passenger seat.]

Get in. You can play nav.

[Arching a brow, he smirks a bit more, curious to see which way the Company wardog would bark. ]

Keep your head in the window and get us there without fuss, and maybe we can fix that boring part.

[They're few and far between, but he's familiar with a few underground ranges and one that's even set up for urban-style combat training. The idiots that use it are worthless, but the facilities... well. Definitely worth it.]

[ofobedience]

[A sane person, yes. But such a term can hardly describe something like Giovanni, not if one were to judge him by normal human standards because how could he be perfectly right minded after the things he's endured what's been done to him, the conditioning and the experiments and the endless mindless killing day after day year after year from the very first moment he opened his eyes. The inside of his head-- it's a black hole where where inimical things click and whir and buzz, the sick panting sound that rises up in him whenever the potential for violence draws near, the thing in his Spine, almost felt, scrabbling and frantic and raw. And underneath all that, the bleak open space like a wound that bleeds and bleeds, endlessly. A deep pain that has been with him so long he barely notices anymore, writes it off as a standard state of being.

All of this, the death and the burning and the hours upon hours of standing about amid diseased corpses-- there's only boredom here. Infinite indifference. Nothing more.

But Kanda makes his offer and it interrupts the standard flow of the Dog's thoughts, has him tilting his head in that disconcertingly animal gesture of consideration, vague uncertainty. There's a moment of hesitation in him then, a brief glance back over his shoulder because his orders are to remain here, to keep burning the lifeless masses, not to go off on some jaunt, and with a killjoy no less. The discomfort in him, the way the idea of stepping outside of orders unsettles him-- it shows in the lines of his face, the slight defensive rise of his shoulders.

But no one's paying him any mind, no one would - he thinks - notice his temporary absence. And he is so terribly bored. There's something in the way it's said besides, get in, with such certainty, that it makes him feel marginally easier about doing so. Just a brief uncertain downwards twist of his mouth, an unconscious sign of trepidation, but then finally he shrugs. Smiles his crooked smile.]

Well, all right then.

[And he crosses around to the other side of the vehicle, hops up and in with fluid easy movements. Glances sly-eyed at Kanda and his continued dog jibes]

I'll do my best not to drool on the furnishings. Hahah.

[lotusmesenpai]

You do, and I'm sending the Company the cleaning bill.

[He waits, just long enough for Giovanni to settle into the seat, and then puts the rover into gear, takes off at a swift gait once again.

Never one for small talk, he keeps his gaze on the terrain before them as they start out because, in this, he can recognize his own boredom directing action, his own curiosity a goad to action with this man. Why though? It's not like he can really relate to the Dog - he's never been prone to losing control over his own actions. Never been one to give in to primal urges - not even on the battlefield.

Slaughter, he's been responsible for, but it had been mechanical, efficient. Not something he's ever sunk his consciousness into.

It's a dangerous thing, to do so, but it seems this one... someone forged Giovanni into this beast, by saturating him in that. He can't help but wonder, if he's so soaked through that he's beyond being able to draw himself out.

Cutting a sidelong glance at the man beside him, Kanda frowned at him.]

...you got an actual name, or should I just keep calling you mutt?

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni settles into easy silence, compartmentalising his concerns over breaking orders, closing them off and making them small as instead he turns to watch the rolling landscape outside the window (...he keeps his head inside...). It's a little dull, a little monotonous, black funeral pyre smoke still rising and the scent of death heavy on the air but there's something in it all the same, the greenery, the occasional evidence of flowers and he slides blank-minded into the view with a surprising ease.

He'd never say as much, but it's not unpleasant.

He's interrupted, though, by the question, and quickly he barks out a laugh.]

You can call me whatever you want. It's all the same to me.

[Mutt, dog, it, beast (worthless useless trash), it's nothing he hasn't heard before, something that slides off his skin like water from a slick surface. Still-- there's a further moment of silence where it seems he'll say nothing more, leave it at that, but then--]

Unit 68. It's more a serial number really, but close enough. Or if you're feeling particularly magnanimous, it's Giovanni.

[His voice is slippery-wry, but the concealed truth is that he likes to be called by his name.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Magnanimous my ass – it’s your fucking name. [A beat, before a smirk curls his lips and he directs the rover around a deep gouge in the dirt road.] Giovanni.

[Using a name isn’t actually something Kanda does – because, to him, a name means acknowledging the person that claims it. It’s becoming invested in someone else, even though their respective existences were both complex and fragile all at once.

But in this case?

Maybe he’s doing it to undermine the Company, just a little bit. Because what if a dog could learn to do more than fear its master? What if he could become more man than beast? The questions that seem to chase themselves across the landscape of his mind every time he runs into this man seem to be back, so rather than focus on those, he points to a datapad wedged between the center console and Giovanni’s seat.]

So you gonna actually tell me the quickest route or you just going to sit there like a moron?

[ofobedience]

[Giovanni's tongue clicks against his teeth just once, says nothing, and the shape of his smile is still something wry-- his fucking name. Well, maybe. But it's not as though it's often used. Frequently, he wonders why he'd ever been given one at all. A joke or a whim perhaps, or some special kind of torment, keeping the Dogs eternally pinned somewhere between mindless object and something real. The way Mother's mind works, it's too far beyond him. He can't fathom it.

His gaze goes to the data pad, though, when Kanda points it out, when he frames his rude question. Again, Giovanni laughs, a short shock of sound.]

My, you have a way with words. But since you asked so nicely--

[He leans over a little, gives the thing a quick once-over to ascertain how it works before beginning to key the coordinates in with smooth rapid movements of his fingers.]

I'll get you there. Keep calm, now.

[lotusmesenpai]

I'm a regular fucking wordsmith.

[Not even a little bit. He leaves the ability to turn a phrase and hide nuance within the twist of language to his partner. Kanda... is definitely more the blunt reaction and first to act sort instead.

He just assesses the situation and acts in such manner as would complete the warrant in the swiftest, most efficient way possible... much like Giovanni had, back when they'd first met, actually.

The only difference is that Kanda understands that violence is a necessary evil to complete the job. It's not something he's lost sleep over, not since the slaughter of the research vessel that had once housed them, but it's never been something to revel in either.

Someone seriously fucked in the head had to be the ones to think up the conditioning Giovanni has gone through, in his opinion.

Glancing to the side, he keeps these thoughts buried within his mind as he glares at the blond idiot beside him.]

This is calm, moron. Well?

[ofobedience]

[Someone seriously fucked in the head. Well, perhaps there's truth in it. What Angelika wants-- it's violence for the love of it, for the particular beauty she sees in carnage. To create and then consume, to devour, to watch with high-wheeling delight as her creations tear everything around them apart, to watch them come undone themselves.

That Giovanni is the most obedient of them, the easiest to control, the one to hold on to himself more firmly than most of the other Dogs-- these things, aspects any of his Handlers might consider virtues, a more usable tool than most, in her eyes, make him worthless useless weak. A deplorable. thing

Kanda's assessment, then. It's not wrong.

But Giovanni can't discern the shape of his thoughts, and so he only glances sly-eyed in Kanda's direction with the insult comes, that small show of impatience.]

You see that marker up ahead? Turn left. If your sense of direction is always this appalling, it's a wonder you manage to complete any warrants at all.

[The first time they'd met-- he still thinks Kanda would have been wandering those tunnels for hours, had he not run into him.]

[lotusmesenpai]

Fuck you.

[It's an automatic reaction, even as he adjusts course, but there's little heat in the words. Instead, he cuts a sidelong glance towards the other and reaches up to tap a light disk all but hidden behind his ear.]

Usually, I just have Noah triangulate my position. But Noah gets annoying as fuck most of the time. Not even you are quite that bad.

[Something of a backhanded compliment, isn't it?]

[ofobedience]

[He just barks out a laugh, and the sound of it, it's almost (almost) good natured. Perhaps under different circumstances he'd still rip out Kanda's throat, but right now he's alleviating his bone-deep boredom, if only in a small way. He'll take it for what it is.

He looks over at the taller man as he makes his last pronouncement, flashes a toothy smile.]

Give it some time. You only feel that way because you haven't got to know me, yet. Hahah.