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

[fledges]

[He's not doing well, not that he'll actually admit it. Sometimes she wonders if he knows how terrible he can be at faking it, and sometimes she wants to just yell at him to trust her. Right now, though, the expression on his face just makes her chest ache.

She tips some of the tablets into his palm, then reaches up to touch his shoulder, voice still soft.]

Thanks for bringing me with you to help, Lavi.

[inksplashes]

[ A wordless nod, acknowledgment offered with little else, his digits clasping around the pills like the close of a mouth.

Bookmen have no need of a heart, the voice echoes within his head, bouncing around the caverns of his heart, the beat almost louder than the room itself, but I'm not yet worthy of that title.

Lavi focuses on the staccato rhythm of his chest as he moves around the complex. He doesn't have her touch, her natural capacity to breathe relief in the suffering, but he's gentle. He's careful.

When the medicine runs out and the victims still remain, he digs his nails into his palm, controls his breath. Event proceed in a dizzying mirage, fast forwarding and loosing context from the situation. They're walking through the tunnels again, silent save for the clatter of their footfalls, and then they're at the surface once more, the light blinding and condemning.

All of this he experiences like an outsider in a foreign vessel, detached from the weak body, from the gritting teeth and the trembling hands.

He doesn't wake from the walking daydream (nightmare, all of it a nightmare--) until they're at her door again, and he's meant to say something, anything-- ]

I'll forward the credits when I get them. Isn't much of a payday, but..

[ He waves a hand, flashes a weak smile as he rubs his fingers across his brow. He needs to leave, get some place where he can divorce his tumultuous emotions in safety, but where is that?

He can't seem to remember just now. ]

[fledges]

[Kate follows, not bothering to push a conversation. He's upset, as much as he pretends not to be, and she wonders if he thinks he's actually good at hiding it. She wonders what he thinks the point is.

They get back to her place and the only reaction she can muster to his fake smile is a raised eyebrow as she crosses her arms.]

Don't worry about the money. It doesn't matter. Come inside for a little bit, okay?

[inksplashes]

[ Of course the money matters.

It's the only damn thing that ever does. Your status. Your wealth. It doesn't matter that others will suffer for having less, it's the nature of humans to exploit those differences--

He's so tired. Physically, emotionally, even if he can't truly remember or seem to place why for the second.

Rest would.. do him well, even if this isn't a safe place for him. Just a minute, then, to get his bearings, to don that mask without fail.

Lavi nods, tries for a light-hearted joke that falls a bit flat. ]

Sure. But you're not giving me enough credit for stamina, it shouldn't be that little of a bit.

[fledges]

[She shoots him a scathing look, pushing past him a bit rudely to unlock her door and push it open.]

Can you save it for two damn seconds? Cut the unflappable playboy act.

[inksplashes]

[ He doesn't flinch at that look, grin getting a little sharper, though he's decidedly more hesitant to follow her inside the door.

This must be how prisoners feel when they visit the infirmary, he thinks. Sure, he's probably going to feel better when it's all done, but first he's going to be poked by a lot of sharp things.

Hopefully, those are words and not arrows. ]

Uh, sure. You seem a little tense..maybe I should come back later..

[ Much. Muuuuch later.

Next year? ]

[fledges]

[Kate slams the door shut behind him, planting one hand on her hip and pointing at the couch with the other.]

Sit. You're not leaving until we talk.

[inksplashes]

[ Wait are the arrows still an option? He'd like to review that list again.

Lavi frowns faintly, grin disappearing for a straight-lined mouth. He's not really in the mood to be yelled at, but it hardly matters what mood he's in.

A soft sigh, yielding for now, he slinks to the couch as commanded. After checking the safety on his side arm, he sits, running a hand through his hair.

At least he sounds a lot more serious now. ]

Okay. What are we talking about?

[fledges]

[It's a good strategy on his part, because it mollifies Kate a bit. Her jaw is still set, but her shoulders relax enough to be noticeable. For a moment, she stays where she is, then she finally gives in and sits down beside him.]

You're trying to do this tough guy thing, push yourself through whatever's wrong, but I can tell there's something bothering you. What is it?

[inksplashes]

[ "I'm just a little tired."

Rehearsed, easy. The answer weighs at the tip of his tongue, green eye glinting from beneath a long hand as he scrubs down his face.

It's not untrue--he's more than exhausted--but it's not really what she's looking for, either. Lavi considers the young woman at his side heavily, debating his options.

(He's not supposed to be this transparent, but he's quickly becoming accustomed to failing even the basic tenets of his duties.)

The tension ebbs from his form, Lavi deflating into the couch fully and staring at the ceiling.

Easier to be honest when you're not looking at the other person. ]

You ever get the feeling that.. you know where you're supposed to stand, but you don't know if it's where you want to be any more?

It.. nevermind, sorry. [ A heaved breath. ] I'm just a little tired.

[fledges]

[The deflection at the end doesn't matter so much. For a brief moment, he's honest, and that's more than he's been giving her all day. Kate's expression softens and she reaches for his hand, scooting closer.]

Yes.

[Leaving Leith was simultaneously one of the hardest and easiest things she's ever done. Sometimes she still feels a little guilty.]

Are you talking about the RAC or something else?

[inksplashes]

[ He looks at her hand, the gentle splay of fingers reaching for his, and he's once again struck by the difference between them. His palm is longer, of course, wider, roughened with callouses and perpetually stained in bits of ink, but it's beyond that.

She uses touch to draw others in, to give comfort.

And Lavi?

He squeezes her hand briefly before letting it go, digits finding their way into his hair again as he closes his eye. ]

Maybe. Yes. No.

It's--complicated. I'm not who you think I am.

[ Deeper breaths, still trying to keep a rein on his emotions.

But he's human. Feeble, war-mongering, fragile. Flawed. Incapable of true objectivity. ]

I'm not who I'm supposed to be.

[fledges]

[She studies him for a long moment, silent, racking her brain for what he could possibly mean. Kate doesn't know much about his past, and she's never pried, so she has no point of reference. She can only imagine how any of the other members of the resistance would react to this—Lavi knows where her loyalties lie, and if he's hiding something from her, that would send most of the others into a paranoid tailspin, but Kate doesn't freak out. She trusts him.]

What are you talking about? Who are you supposed to be?

[inksplashes]

[ He's already said too much. He can feel her scrutiny like the burn of sunlight, though it occurs to him that it's not entirely unpleasant. Usually, he's hiding so far from Kate--from the world--that they're just looking at a second layer of the lie.

Rarely do they get the chance to look further than that.

Which is all the more reason that Lavi shouldn't be here. Shouldn't keep talking, but now he has to. Now he's risking his relationship not just with one of the few humans he can vaguely trust, but with the resistance as a whole.

Funny, that. He's backed himself into a corner where his prime directive requires violating itself. ]

An observer. A Bookman. We.. record the secret sides of history. This is my 49th log. My 49th name.

Like I said. [ Laughter, not entirely false and a little bit self-loathing. ] It's complicated.

[fledges]

[Kate is certainly scrutinizing, but she isn't judging, just trying to understand.]

Is that why you've been working with me?

[It's quiet, not accusatory. Not yet, at least.]

[inksplashes]

Yes.

[ Plainly said, albeit quietly to match her tone. Maybe it's better this way--better to show her just how cold his world really is. ]

It's my job to remember when the world forgets. I've been chronicling wars since I was six.

...The world always forgets.

[ But he doesn't--not even a second of it. The blood, the fires, the smiles, the laughter, the graves--all of it etched inside his mind, hallowed and protected. A secret keeper tasked with the memoirs of war. ]

[fledges]

Six.

[Kate leans back, mouth twisting. There's a part of her that's hurt, of course, but she can figure that out later once she parses this. She can't imagine being so young and being expected to record something like that, and she can't reconcile the near casual way he says it with the inherent horror of that concept.]

Lavi— [She hesitates for a second, at the oddity of using a name for him that she now knows is fake.] I'm sorry. That's terrible.

[inksplashes]

[ He shakes his head softly, finally looking away from the ceiling to shoot her a sidelong glance. Lavi offers a smile, small and subdued, sincere.

It's so like her to consider that rather than the anger she should rightly have. Still, he means it in his heart and soul when he gently denies her assessment-- ]

No, it's important. Someone has to remember. War is pointless, but it's endless. Someone has to keep score. Has to know everything and everyone we lose.

[ He swallows audibly, fighting against the lump building in his throat. ]

But to do that, we aren't supposed to get attached--and Kate, I don't know if I can keep doing that. If I can just stand by and watch. Again.

[ He doesn't know that he deserves to call himself Bookman anymore. ]

[fledges]

[She understands that this is hard for him, but Kate has never been someone who can just stand by and watch. She has the ability to help, and so she has to. Playing the neutral third party is utterly unthinkable to her, even if that means she's putting herself in harm's way.]

So don't. If you want to help, then help. You don't have to be whatever they made you, Lavi.

wails softly

[inksplashes]

[ What they made him? He chose this life, even if he was too young to fully understand the implications of it, to know how battered his faith in other people would become.

But he's older now. He has a choice, and the freedom of having it is paralyzing.

Lavi shakes his head again, a phantom echo of memory lingering at the edges of his thoughts. ]

Someone has to remember.

[ What he doesn't add to that is 'you'. Someone has to remember people like Kate and the other members of the resistance, because history at large, the galaxy itself--it won't.

His memories are the precious cargo that will carry them into future generations. That's worth more than any pantomime of free will to him. ]

You probably hate me now, huh?

i'm suffering

[fledges]

I don't... hate you.

[It's hard to know how to feel about this. A little betrayed, maybe. Hurt, definitely, but he told her, and that counts for something. It means that she'll match his honesty, too, her voice getting quieter.]

I don't know how to take it. I don't think I completely understand what it means.

good, same

[inksplashes]

[ He's not sure what answer he wanted out of her--maybe he hoped, for just a moment, that she'd say something cruel or vindictive, as was well her right, and Lavi could close the chapter on this relationship. Reestablish it as a business transaction, favors traded for favor.

But she doesn't, and whatever strange, self-defeating hope he'd harbored is replaced with a sense of relief. ]

It means I'll never interfere.

[ This time he holds his hand out, palm open, an invitation for hers. ]

Not as the villain and not as the hero. I'm not part of this story.

[ Or so he thinks. ]

[fledges]

[Kate stares at his hand for a long moment before finally taking it, her mouth twisting.]

You are. Just because you tell yourself you aren't doesn't mean anything. You tracked me down to lead you through the undercity when you could have just handed it out to anyone up here and fulfilled your warrant. You're helping, even if you're trying to convince yourself you're not.

[It's not cruel or vindictive, but her tone isn't exactly happy, either.]

And you lied to me. If I needed your help, would you just stand by and watch?

[inksplashes]

[ He winces slightly at the sting of it--not her tone, but the merciless way she turns the truth on him. It's one of the things he both fears and cherishes about their tenuous friendship.

Silent for a good moment, Lavi closes his eye, hand folding around hers warmly. He will never have her penchant for a soothing touch, but.. he hopes it brings her some measure of comfort, as it does for him. ]

I would help. I would be powerless not to. Any name, any life, I would help you.

[ Lavi tilts his head down, lashes parting to stare down at her hand in his. Softly-- ]

But if anyone ever found out, I would cease to exist. "Lavi" wouldn't be of this world anymore. Those are the rules.

[fledges]

[It's a relief to hear. She never would have believed him if he'd said otherwise, but he's being honest, and it takes some of the sting out of all this. Kate scoots forward to hug him, resting her chin on his shoulder.]

Those are stupid rules.

[But then, Kate's not one for following rules anyway.]

I won't tell anyone, I promise, but I don't think this is making you happy, Lavi.