The City at the Center of the Multiverse

Vizsla listened intently to Scratch, noting his excitement, for lack of a better word. It was almost contagious. Vizsla found himself smiling slightly as Scratch explained their plan. He kept his mouth shut when Scratch mentioned Athenians and Spartans; he could infer what they meant, and that was good enough.

"I like the sound of them," Vizsla said when Scratch explained the Taken. Good tools, though it sounded like they lacked the smarts that Vizsla tried to instill in his Death Watch members.

Vizsla nodded along when Scratch mentioned camping the Death Watch near the treatment plant. "I can get up to 25 men including me on short notice, more if needed, but this feels like a slightly smaller operation. Maybe fifteen to twenty? The men in my camp are the best of my best, so I'm not worried about picking out specifics, unless we'll be needing some specialization for this operation. As for witnesses... well, we're not in the habit of leaving things alive when we're on a hunt." Vizsla took another sip of his drink. "Besides the security in the building itself, do you know where they're keeping Envy?"

Vizsla seized Scratch's hand firmly. "We have a deal."

Western Quadrant Interrogation Room

Zemo nodded in understanding at Wolnee’s explanation, every bit the motion of someone asking a question they already knew the answer to. Were Wolnee to look close, however, he might be able to see Zemo’s raised eyebrow as his face momentarily bobbed into the light, to collect a folder lying in the shadowy recesses of the table next to him. Pulling out a standard Balder pen, he began writing notes while speaking with the forceful genteel patience of a teacher addressing the parent of a troubled child. “I don’t think you quite understand the severity of the situation,” Zemo said, the silhouette of his hand circling one section of his writings and sharply underlining another before turning his attention back to the Fusilier, setting the pen down at the document's top edge. “While under the influence of this episode, you made a threat that the General does not take lightly. Were he not sure that it was made in bad faith, you would be somewhere much less,” the pointed tip of the pen gleamed under the focused overhead lights, underlining the momentary ironic curl at the edge of the man’s mouth, “pleasant.”

After a moment to let the room stew, Zemo flipped to the folder’s next page, and began scanning the contents. "Do you remember anything unusual happening the previous night, at what I believe is called, The Cauldron?”

Edited by Uncandescent on Aug 2nd 2018 at 1:20:39 PM

Laeta Owari - Eastern Quadrant

The aroma of salt-cured meat danced tantalisingly around Laeta's nose as the Haina cart passed. She hadn't quite inherited her mother's voracious appetite for food, but she also hadn't eaten much that morning, and the promise of something salty to dig her teeth into made her stomach growl.

"Y'cracked the code, Cloud." she said, her falsely glib voice drowning out her gut. "I don't fit in anywhere." She then continued down the street, aiming to leave the conversation behind. She'd let her cracks show by accident, and the last thing she wanted was to dig into them.

"So! This shit wi' the Pincae." Laeta's voice was loud as she switched topic, tapping the Pincae claw against her shoulder. "Think we should leave 'em be for a few days? If they're gettin' that riled just cause we got close, maybe they're feelin' like their territory's threatened."

Akane Owari - Landing Field

Akane's head swung between the spot where the man had been versus where he was now, eyes wide and mouth agape before she remembered that such things weren't atypical of Balderites. Crazy how she could travel the galaxy and still not find anything as weird as the stuff that Balder considered commonplace.

"Never heard of a walk-and-talk, pal? Or whatever that is you're doing..." She rolled her eyes, semi-playfully, and made to walk around him again. This time she wasn't stopped by his body, but by his words instead. She rocked back on her heel, her wariness now clear as she scrutinised him with a frown.

A part of her- most of her, actually- would've followed the man to the end of the earth if there was a way home at the end of it. But her gut held her back, recoiled at the thought of accepting his offer so readily. And her gut knew best.

"There's smarter people ta find on that junker. My boss included. Why d'you think I'm fit for the job?" She put a hand on her hip, peering intently at his black visage as if it would let her see underneath it. "And who's askin', anyway?"

Guzma - Northern Quadrant Ranch

Guzma really had no-one but himself to blame for setting Anansi off on a tangent that could put a riled Thorsnap to sleep. To her credit, she managed to drag a faint snort out of him with her incredulous account of a regular feline. As she continued to talk, though (and talk, and talk...) he found his attention waning, only kept in one place by the strange inkling that he recognised parts of the story. Faint wisps that curled at the edge of his memory, more annoying than anything. Perhaps a result of Anansi or her father bringing up aspects of it some time previous.

Whatever the case, the bare bones of his interest weren't enough to stop him from noticing when Anansi's eyes turned to the clock- a generous designation for the mish-mash of gears with a numbered surface hammered onto the front. A familiar scowl returned to his face, and he pushed himself off the wall and moved towards the open window. Ignoring that Anansi was still talking, he hammered the wooden covering and yelled "Golly! Bring the cart out front!"

Once that was done, he hobbled over to the counter that Anansi was perched on. "I'm sure the rest of Slashslayer's story is just as riveting-" he slowly navigated himself down into a squat and, with a hefty ooph, brought himself back up with the crate now in hand, "-but some of us have better things to do than prattle on all day."

He hobbled over to the front door, struggling to keep his pace steady while holding the droning crate. He managed to get one foot out before he stopped, a thought he really didn't want to think buzzing around his head like a Cutiefly swarm. Had to be getting soft in his old years, to consider that he had said she could carry it for him...

With a resigned sigh, he spoke up. "So if you wanna keep babbling on rather than wait for the girls, then the least ya can do is take this from me."

Regardless of whether she did or not, he would continue moving until he was out in the road. Waiting for him there was his life-long partner, a Golisopod◊ wearing a leather harness that connected it to a wooden cart. The straps of the harness were designed such that the bulk of the weight was taken by its hefty upper body, rather than its thinner legs. In the cart itself were two large iron cages, each containing a Thorsnap that eyed Guzma as he limped over and gave Golisopod a hearty pat on the arm (or a nudge, should he still be encumbered with the crate). Golisopod, in turn, buzzed warmly, his feet lightly stomping the ground in anticipation for the journey.

If Xola was at all bothered by Ebby's closeness, it did not show at all. She just continued to softly smile at the somewhat excitable spider woman. All of her questions brought a light chuckle to Xola's lips. "A blessing indeed. I hope that I can help ease your transition into life here. As for how long I have been in this city, it would have to be 25 years now." she answered.

The mayor herself took it upon herself to deal with the confusion that the child in the blue shirt seemed to be having. He seemed to be yet another new addition to their little planet. Poor boy. The chimera ant nodded her head at the mayor's offer and condition. What she had to say did not need privacy exactly. There was potential for things to work in her favor actually. "It would be my pleasure." she said as she place her hand Cassiopeia's shoulder.

Edited by Oni-Lord on Aug 4th 2018 at 10:03:16 AM

Jo'on Yorigami - Construction Site

Ah, gold. Yes, that made the proposition seem far more sensible. For a moment she was glad her sister wasn't around, or the gold would have found a way to disappear faster than she could blink.

Who was Martin Hatch? She didn't really care either way.

"Yeah, sure. Clearance for examination? I don't see why not. Give me the briefcase and I'll take care of it when I get back to the shrine. Just tell me where I can contact you and I'll let you know when everything's in order."

"Xoladroskisce?" Ebby said perfectly, doing a little half-smile at Xola herself. "That's a pretty name. Can't quite place it, though, so maybe you can tell me where you're from?..." She noticed Cassiopeia holding out her arm and chuckled awkwardly. "... alright, later then."

Holding tightly onto her arm, Ebby kept staring at Xola and made sure to scoff loudly at her reply. "25 years? In this podunk? I wouldn't be able to deal with 25 hours, let alone 25 years." She glanced at Asriel again. "All offense intended. Your home doesn't compare to our home-" At this, she nodded at Xola. "-though I think even you could eventually find a place in it."

Captain Idias took a different approach: once N'Jadaka made himself known, she bowed, but made no attempts at changing her thoroughly neutral facial expression. A similar bow was given to the Mayor, and she quickly spoke up. "You're the last one, Miss Mayor. I think the Commander is ready to begin?"

"This makes no sense- Decapods aren't supposed to migrate for another year!" The vox-man said, finding time to sneer at Laura as she sped away. "I sure hope your friend doesn't think she'll deal with the entire invasion all by herself." He muttered to Sin, before rolling his eyes and going back to his duties.

"That's exactly what my brother wants." Cloudcrest grumbled for the first time, glancing offhandedly at a vendor that was looking up hopefully at them. "And I almost don't want to give it to him. Almost. But... Fourblossom doesn't like not getting things his way and... I suppose it would be wise for us to stay inside for a couple of days."

"But we won't like it!" A Naturalist piped up from the back, and Cloudcrest furrowed his brow. "Just wanted to point it out."

The man's mask shifted as if there was a smile behind it. "Ms. Owari..." He began again, as calm as ever. "The people you work with are intelligent. They aren't smart. If you stripped them of their weapons, their technology, and threw them into the dangerous part of town... they wouldn't survive a day."

"But you would. Wouldn't you? That's why I'm asking you."

With his hands on his hips, the man nodded at the streets leading into the city center. "My boss is asking, but she'd like to meet you in a more private environment... it's a brand new restaurant here in the city center. They serve expensive meat. She'll pay for the whole meal. All you have to do is grace her with your presence."

"Believe me... guy..." Wolnee squirmed in his seat, but he made sure to keep a defiant look in his face. "It's freaked me out too. I don't know what happened. My Mom died years ago. Died. I shouldn't be hearing her voice, okay— and, and, and before you say something... it's not like when you imagine them talking, it was like a memory! It felt real, alright, and I'm still trying to figure out just..."

He trailed off, enough for Zemo to get a word in and shut him up. The question about the Cauldron elicited a glance at Meiddus, and after a heavy sigh, he started talking- but this time, he couldn't muster up the courage to look Zemo in the eye. "I spent all night trying to get this woman to go out with me. I didn't do good, and she told me to get away, and I was down the whole night. Couldn't even muster up the energy to talk to this gorgeous lady with this dragon tattoo."

Wolnee finally looked up at Zemo and let out a single sniff. "I think she only wanted to talk to me cuz I was a Fusilier. I'm not into that kind of stuff."

Balder Capitol Building, Reception: Exit, Stage Right

Link turned to the woman with green hair (apparently the mayor, of all people!) with respectful silence, outlined with shades of doubt. Underestimating the Great Calamity's abilities was how Hyrule failed to stop it a hundred years ago. Besides that, just because the portal that warped Link here might have closed didn't mean another one might open at any time. He wasn't about to rule the possibility out.

...but maybe it was a little improbable, and maybe even a little selfish. Maybe part of Link wanted Ganon to appear on Balder, so he could get another chance to fulfill his destiny. He'd rather have the monster here, where there were powerful people like Mr. Dreemurr, rather than swarming an all-but-defenseless Hyrule.

Whatever he thought, none of it mattered right now. He'd come here to speak to someone about his message, and he'd done just that. No need to interrupt the Mayor's meetings.

So turning towards the door with a lighter expression than when he'd faced it last, Link went to depart.

"Mr. Dreemurr, do you have any business in the city you need help with?" the Champion asked his patron. "Or should I just meet you back at the orphanage?"

Balder City, Cauldron Penthouse: Sorry, No Ocean's Eleven Debriefing

Scratch waited for the agreement to be settled before explaining further.

"I've got a few leads, but it seems like the security and the location are part of the same problem. From what I hear, Sweet Ol' Mamma Cass prefers the really, really, really old school model of security: mazes. There's one tunnel that leads to the cell we're looking for, but that tunnel's one of dozens just like it. I can speed things up by sending Taken down them, but my guess is that it's not going to be a quick job.

"The good news is that apart from our 'grave robbers in a Pharaoh's tomb' predicament, there's not much to stand in our way. You need two keys to enter the cell, and I just so happen to have a copy of one of them. The other's on one of the handful of 'maintenance staff' working in the treatment plant."

Scratch paused, and invited the Mandalorian to ask any other questions he might have.

Balder City, Construction Site: Room for One More?

"Splendid." the CEO smiled. "Though if it does not matter to you, I would very much like to accompany you back to your shrine. Sad to say, this proposal is a tad time sensitive."

Martin leaned on his cane, exercising his etiquette and patience that could rival the aristocratic Job.

"I am happy to wait for your business here to conclude; truth be told, I have some light curiosity regarding this project. However, I must insist that I stay with you—if only because a certain tailor and his plentiful hired muscle are on the prowl."

Jo'on Yorigami - Construction Site

Balder's chancellor produced a fur-lined hand fan, using it to obscure the grin on her face.

"That's fine," said she to the CEO. "Just get over to the Chancellery right now, and I'll be ready with written permission for you."

She turned to the goron labourers.

"I'll be heading back to HQ for a bit. Just continue as planned, I'll be back in not too long."

She clapped her hands, and a burst of golden flames sprang forth from beneath her feet, engulfing her in an instant.

It died away just as quickly, with the Chancellor nowhere to be seen.

Her voice however, lingered in Martin's head for a brief moment.

"Remember to bring the briefcase."

Shion was still in the middle of enjoying some bacon on freshly baked bread when Jo'on reappeared beside her in the office.

"Great news! We just got bribed!"

Shion blinked, not sure what the correct response was.

"You should probably go and tell the others on the council," Jo'on continued, waving her hand dismissively. "I don't remember who'd care, but I don't want them to think we're going behind their backs. Oh, and get Satsuki to send me a detachment of her troops. People are poking around the construction site, I'd like some security."

"Hold on," said Shion, holding up a hand. "What are we getting bribed to do?"

Jo'on shrugged.

"A CEO named Martin Hatch wants to check out some tunnel connected to the god-killers I think. I was only half-listening."

Shion nodded, she knew the area. She suppressed a sigh. She was going hungry again, it seemed.

"Look, I'll take you out for a meal afterwards, fair?"

"... Fair."

The elder sister disappeared in flames, already moving towards the Capitol Building.

Yusuke nodded along as the woman explained. His head was still on what to paint that he only paid half a mind to what the woman was saying. Full murals. He has had practice these past couple years with street corners and alleys. But this would be a commission work. He suppose bringing someone else's vision to life could be a little stifling, especially with the freedom of expression he had been enjoying of late. But to be finally recognized, and paid, for his talents was its own set of refreshing.

To the question of his specialty, he had a whole list of answers. He was a diverse artist if he could so say him self. He could go on about his fine and deft brush strokes. Each line of paint placed with purpose and foresight. The eyes and mind of an artist to bring out the true image of a piece. His experience of walking with in the very dreamscape of the collective consciousness mankind and thus being able to truly understand what lies at the core of its being. Why an artist could not be reduced to single skills. When they create a art, they put all of them into creating that art.

As he pondered on how best to answer, the woman continued on until it became painfully obvious that there was a misconception. Extortion? Kidnap!? With words such as these this woman had made him her enemy in an instant. Such heinous acts is not something he could abide. As tempting as it was to draw his sword and drag this woman back to the Fusilier in yet another instance of him doing their job for them, the truth was that he knew very little of this woman and her organization. He could not rush to judgement. He would need proof and a better understanding of all in involved if he hoped to take down the organization in its entirety.

Besides the woman her self seems like she would be easy to apprehend. He never understood criminals fascination of marking themselves for easy identification. And organizations like hers tend to model it self after a Hydra. People like her are meant to be expendable in order to protect the core. To take down this beast he would have to get close and strike at its very heart. The slash and burn strategy of legend simply to barbaric, not his style at all.

Making up his mind, he would play along for the time being, if only to learn more on how to dismantle this organization. During this whole internal turmoil, his facial expression showed very little change. Like a porcelain doll, just as always. The only subtle shift the woman may notice was the a loss of a twinkle in his eye as he mentally shifted from the brush to the sword.

"To put simply, there is not a single thing on this dead god that can allude my grasp. Tell me the details, and you can consider it done."

War Room

Idias's quiet disrespect was quite a ways down Satsuki's priority list for the moment. She knew the woman resented her for Tsunemori's promotion, and Idias was intelligent enough to know she knew - and that she expected professionalism from her regardless.

At least Idias was relatively subtle with her insubordination. N'Jadaka was openly defiant as he sauntered inside. As Jengbish censured the western general, Satsuki's steely gaze parried his pointed glare, and she shifted her grip on her sword to plant the tip against the floor in front of her. The sharp rapport of the metal sheath against the concrete floor sliced through the tension in the room and cut off N'jadaka's retort, causing the chamber to fall into a brief hush.

"Indeed." She intoned, voice firm, responding to Idias' suggestion, and giving the Mayor a respectful nod as she took the place beside her. With the war council thus assembled, Satsuki stepped up to the table and spoke.

"Events are already in motion, so I will be brief. At 0800 hours this morning, the morning shift discovered a coded message in the reports of a missing member of my staff. This message ended with the phrase, 'The unmarked grave ends the reaping'. Examination of archived reports revealed that this was not the first instance of these words being spoken in our city."

Satsuki waved one hand to indicate the spread of red points dotting the map of the city before them. "Twenty-eight separate incidents, spread across all three quadrants. The earliest occurred five days ago. Three have already been recorded this morning. Outlaying stations are still reporting further unrecorded instances, and we have no idea how many have gone unreported among the population."

"The speakers appear random and unrelated. The contents of each message differ, besides the reoccurring Reaping key-phrase, and the sentiment that each individual was speaking 'with a voice not their own.'"

Satsuki folded her hands back over the hilt of her sword, her face set in a displeased frown. "This is beyond the scope of any single quadrant or general. The forces at work here have been operating under our noses for almost a week. I intend to retake the initiative before this escalates any further, and I will bend every asset the Fusiliers have to this task."

"If you're here around this table, it means you're an asset." She looked around the table, eyes lingering slightly on N'jadaka and Idias. The silent so start acting like it echoed around the chamber for a brief moment before the commander took a step back, opening the floor.

Sin Kiske, Eastern Gates

There was no time to ponder anymore, as the alarm was raised and troops were being scrambled.

Decapod migration. Shunts that wandered aimlessly and attempted to consume anything in its path, and barring that, simply try to barrel through them. Large, powerful masses of legs and armor that could seriously endanger Balder.

'Too many to count', huh? Sin welcomed that.

He turned to face the vox-man even as the grump returned to his own devices.

"Don't worry, she doesn't."

And he raced out the door after Laura.

Agnes Tristram; Balder Supreme Court — Courthouse Steps

"My job?"

It was like Toph had asked Agnes what she thought of bright pink lingerie. The ice-blue eyes, so cold and bright, fractured and swam like stars in water. Her lips parted from their disgusted curl and sprang open in outrage.

"I can't hear as well as you can, Ms. Beifong! He sent me down here to deal with you. And I'm just a secretary, not a bodyguard. I don't fight! If you expect me to do that kind of stuff in this disg..."

She cut off mid-sentence, placed a hand over her eyes, and breathed. When she took it away, the mask was as clear and hard as ever. Shaken, true, dangerously so, but not cracked.

"If you'd really like the reason, Ms. Beifong, it's quite simply because he doesn't want to see you. At all."

And then she smiled, because it wasn't a lie.

Matt Murdock; Balder Supreme Court - Judge's Office

In Matt's mind, the issue was surprisingly simple — simpler, in fact, than most of the issues that generally occupied him.

There was a girl pointing a gun at him. Nothing new, really. His ninja training had been much more complicated than his legal training, but it was also infinitely more direct. It would have been more than simple for him to split his cane, bounce one part off the light switch, then send the other spinning off the ceiling and into Madga's hands. Or head.

He didn't. Mostly because he didn't want to deal with Jengbish in full-on bloody father mode, but also because he rather liked Mags, for all her rough edges. She was a bit like one of those rebellious high-school delinquents, only deadly. And even if he did oppose people who killed other people on principle, he also had a soft spot for teens who had their heads on straight.

"Sit down?" he shrugged. "If you say so."

He folded his legs, turned around, and sat, very seriously, on the floor, cane laid across his legs in his best old sensei impression. Then he blinked.

"Now," he smiled, "you should probably take me to Jengbish."

And drag me past my wife. It'll make it more convincing.

"Mazes, hmm?" Pre Vizsla ran a hand through his shorn white hair. "Very old school. But considering the resources everyone here has on hand and the technology level of those resources, probably a sound decision. How many men do you think is appropriate for this operation? It might speed it up if I hav a few more men than strictly necessary."

"I also have a question regarding our dear old friend. Presumably he'll be weakened after all this time, weakened and imprisoned. The thing is is after breaking him out, what are we doing to ensure his cooperation and bring him back to health with speed? In fact, we should probably ensure his cooperation first.  After all, he is rather.... indiscriminatory in his violence."

Edited by Kepler-7 on Aug 12th 2018 at 6:37:57 AM

Toph's face wrinkled inwards, the look of someone who had just been defeated spreading through her eyes, her nose, before eventually giving up to an uncontrollable belly laugh trying to burst out of her mouth. And that it did, forcing her to lurch forward as an almost maniacal cackle rung forth from her throat, hands covering watering eyes as tears of joy pooled around them.

"I don't care if he wants to see me or not, Trystface. That's one of the great things about being divorced!" She wiped away a few tears before smoothly seguing into a hold on Agnes' shoulder, just so she could stare right into her eyes. "And just so you know..." She smirked widely. "That's not gonna stop him from ignoring you. Shades only has eyes for me. Get used to it."

And with that, she sashayed forward, practically bumping Agnes out of the way with her hips as she made her way towards Matt's office.

After the flames died down and Jo'on was gone, Martin would manage to see the Goron from before glaring right at him.

"You're not thinking of stealing our job, hm, brother?" He growled, taking a few menacing steps towards him before flexing his arms right up to his face. "Whatever you got in that briefcase can't hold up to Goron strength!"

"Damn, kid, you're intense!" The woman chuckled, throwing an arm around Yusuke's shoulders. "I like that, the kind of person who can take a job by the balls and just make a meal out of it. Alright. I think I might have something for you- the kind of job that can make or break a person."

"Putting things bluntly, my people are interested in... leveling the fields between us common folk and the people running things. Y'know, the generals, the original warriors, those people. See, they run the game here in Balder because they got here first, and that... that's just not fair, right! Makes no sense too. Life can't be a first come first serve game!"

"So here's the thing: there's a guy who's been here from the beginning, and he used that to build this big, ugly, just all around disgusting nightclub. The Cauldron, he calls it, which—" The woman wrinkled her nose in disgust. "-what kind of name is that, right? The Cauldron? Sounds like the kind of place where they try to steal your liver or something. Either way, the club's owner is making it real hard for newcomers to have a shot in this cutthroat business. So your job would be to go there and, uhm... make him realize that just because he got here first, that doesn't mean he has dibs."

The woman plucked a golden ring from her finger, smiling. "I'm gonna leave it up to you, but all I ask is that you leave this little gift with him-" She proudly displayed the green dragon insignia on the ring. "-so he knows you're working for us. And once you come back- maybe with a finger or somethin'- I'll give you anything you want, kid. And I mean anything. You'll be free to do your, ahem, 'art'... wherever you want. Sounds like a deal?"

All throughout the towers and battle stations dotting the eastern gate and its surrounding areas, Fusiliers (some of them still putting on their uniforms) got into position, wielding their rifles and making sure their swords clung tightly to their belt. Through a loudspeaker, the grizzly voice of a female commander came to the troops.

"They may not be on schedule, but it's nothing we haven't dealt with before." She spoke, an eery calmness to her voice despite the growing horde of Decapods in the distance (at first nothing more than a tiny series of dots in the horizon, and now close enough that one could see that there were far too many dots for it to be just a mirage). "At our sign, the first line of defense will move forward and stop the Decapods in their tracks. Get those explosives ready, and remember: it's not a matter of stopping them from getting to the gates... it's a matter of distracting these creatures and getting them to leave without causing any destruction to our city. "

There was a hearty chuckle from the commander as the previously mentioned first line grew and grew, squads of explosive-wielding Fusiliers joining the ranks. "First line, start moving! Second line, get ready to cover them! Deploy your explosives and aim them at the ground before the decapods. Don't harm them, harm the earth, curral them into going somewhere else!"

"It brings to mind the image of the reaper." Idias said, speaking up whilst keeping her head down and focused on the map. "The grim reaper that is- a common figure even in Balder's many cultures. Do any of these incidents end in death, self injury... do the victims harm others? If so, then this might be a presage to more death and destruction. If not, we should consider the possibility that maybe there is a different meaning to the word 'reaping'."

"... Commander Kiryuin." She hastily added at the end, finally looking said commander in the eye.

Edited by Stratofarius on Aug 24th 2018 at 11:18:21 AM

Balder Capitol War Room

N’Jadaka met Jengbish’s response with a side-eye and a twitch of his whiskers, lip curling up in true fashion of the creature he had once styled himself after. With a weapon-jostling shrug that set the point of his makeshift spear lolling in Jengbish’s general direction, he almost visibly gathered the words about him to the effect of exactly whose throat he was raring to point it at—a sentiment that was gradually stymied and dissipated under the force of the new arrival, and quenched by Satsuki’s call to order. Clenching his teeth over the fire between them, he set his brow to a single, promise-forging jounce in the Eastern General’s direction, before crossing his arms and settling in for Satsuki’s debriefing.

Halfway through the presentation, N’Jadaka’s feline ferocity having long given way to cat-like curiosity, the General promptly snatched up the clipboard at his station and began prowling in a slow circle while processing the information both in the air and on paper. He nodded his head with indiscernible intent once the primary message was disclosed, before moving closer to the table and flicking his eyes from the numbers listed to the dots displayed. After Satsuki finished, the Western General waited a moment for Captain Idias to get a word in before dropping his clipboard back to its station with an intention-announcing clatter.

“Aight,” He said, leaning forward again onto the console, this time with his eyes focused on scanning the contours of the simulated map of the city, “Imma let some candy out of this piñata.” Rapping the knuckles of one hand irrespectively against the matte black surface, he made his point: “Whatever this thing is, it gets its kicks by takin’ over yo’ people’s bodies and making them shell out threats. Now, why would it bother with that, if it could just zap you and take you for whatever it wanted?” With one final clack against the matte black surface, N’Jadaka took a step back, spreading his arms as if he could help encompass the breadth of his point. “All these people, and whoever else is bein’ used, is telephones, not puppets. Otherwise,” flashing a gold-tinted smile in Jengbish’s direction, “do y’all think we’d be havin’ this conversation right now?”

The momentary mirth drained from his face as he leaned inward, studying the map more intently, eyes flitting from dot to dot as if to suss out the pattern sitting right in front of their faces. “Yo, can you adjust the settings so it shows progress chronologically?” He swept a finger across to indicate the light show. “The first step to figuring any of this mess out, is knowing whatever happened five days ago to set it off in the first place.”

Northern Quadrant Ranch

Anansi held her position for what felt like a full minute, before she realized that her audience wasn’t paying attention anymore. Her eyes widened, redonning their grid-like style in her panic as the Devilman found her idol trotting away, before realizing her speed at the last minute to stick halfway out the door before it finished swinging closed, leaving her top half jutting out the threshold and her arm reaching forward imploringly. “No, wait!” She called, waggling her arm up and down as if it were the rudder on a desperate ship that would bring him back to her. “It’s Slayslasher! And you haven’t even heard the part about how she rescues Panther artifacts, or saves the beast with one claw from the old Panther leader’s son! There’s even a really dramatic part where she turns on the beast in order to… get to… the treetops, herself…”

Anansi’s arm drooped to the doorframe in turn with her enthusiasm, watching him gear up to leave the farm—and her—behind. Pulling back into the abode, she mussed up her locks with both hands in an indecisive tizzy, before catching sight of her basket of Wegs and deciding that she needed something to help her think. Sullenly stalking over and grabbing one by the leg, her face then segmented along contours that spread out across her cheeks like strategically-placed spiderweb cracks in a window, armored up with slats of white chitin that spread out and around her features like quicksilver, and opened up into four, spindly prongs that latched onto and shoved down the legged fish’s body into a tilted-upward gullet stretched wide enough to swallow the creature whole. Anansi’s oversized maw hummed nervously as she attempted to use the taste and texture to calm herself, chewing contemplatively on the creature while her mouth shrank back to its normal dimensions until only one of its legs was left bobbing steadily up and down out of the corner of her mouth. No matter how much she thought about it. Anansi couldn’t get over how choosing either half of the Owari family was like deciding which one of Vika-Vika’s prongs was her favorite.

The Devilman had a start as she realized that question was far from imaginary, as the electricity-generating creature was still in the room with her. Biting off the leg in her mouth determinedly before then snapping it whole out of midair with another brief explosion of white, Anansi grabbed another Weg by the leg and made to move over to the creature, swallowing her own meal as she crouched down to eye-level. “What do you think I should do, Vika-Vika?” She asked imploringly, laying out the animal to stretch sideways between them like a fleshy border, or like an offering to one of Balder’s many gods. She rested her hands on her knees as she attempted to meet the other creature’s static and static-charged eyes with her own slightly-faceted gaze, searching its depths for meaning, purpose, or maybe just a solution to this unsolvable problem.

Western Quadrant Interrogation Room

“Quite.” Zemo replied, the word aiming to place an artificial period on the tangent of the Fusilier’s love life, in a tone too indifferent to offer judgement. “I will need the names of everyone you spoke with that night, at least what you can remember. You cannot have been too inebriated, considering your shift was a mere—” He lifted a sheet on a clipboard to look underneath, momentarily blocking out his silhouette, “—few hours later.” The shadowy interrogator dropped the sheet back down to reveal his face was capturing the light once more, this time with a raised bent to his brow that may as well have spelled out the word correct? in its hair follicles.

“You may speak as well.” He continued, bringing his file back over and flipping over to a fresh page in order to write notes, aiming the words at Meiddus but not bothering to look back at the Fusilier in the corner as he grasped his quill made from the minor flight feathers of an outside-Balder bird. “You were out at this club together, correct? Did you spot anything that your friend’s… preoccupations, may have caused him to miss?” He said, with a tone that suggested that Meiddus keep his romantic speculations to a minimum, while the blade of his own quill hovered ready to take notes.

Edited by Uncandescent on Aug 17th 2018 at 1:32:01 PM

Magda Licht: Balder Supreme Court - Judge's Office

"Soon enough," said Magda, not lifting her sights from his chest. With her free hand she drew a long bayonet from its sheath against her boot, styled in the same unadorned and unassuming steel as every weapon the Warrior Lodge produced, and held it by the blade as she made a cautious advance.

Matthew Murdock was by reputation a womaniser, a moral coward, and a man beset by profoundly undisciplined thinking. In her experience he was a horny old goat with more ego than sense, but that worked to her advantage. The man had wrapped too much of himself up in this city for treachery on this kind of scale, and he was far and away too contrarian to make any kind of useful pawn - that only left one option to discount.

"Stay still," she said, kneeling down in front of him, muzzle unwavering. "If we can trust you, this won't hurt."

She pricked a finger against the bayonett's pointed tip, reached out slowly towards Murdock's forehead, and in her blood drew out a clumsy sigil - eight lines and triangle arranged in crude imitation of a human skull, the inviolable mark of Khorne.

Then she pulled her hand away as if it were about to bite her, and held her breath for a few seconds as she scrutinised his eyes.

Nothing happened. Magda exhaled, decocked and reholstered her pistol, and tossed Matt a handkerchief from somewhere in the inner recesses of her coat as she took to her feet.

"Wipe that off," she said, sheathing her bayonet and opening the door. "We're going to see the-"

Pale, blind eyes glared back at her. Somewhere in the deeper reaches of her soul, Magda screamed.

"Oh. Ms Beifong."

Wayne School Courtyard

Balder’s purple sun climbed higher in the sky, sprouting a sharp shadow from Miki's feet as she rested her hands back on her hips and leaned forward with a sharp, frustrated sigh, causing her (thankfully clean!) sports jacket to rustle in a sudden wind while she eyed the scene in front of her. The area allotted behind the school wasn’t big enough for more than one (approximately) four hundred meter track, so she had to make do with accommodations for those that had physical abilities wildly superior to their peers, of which she had a few. The outer two lanes (out of five) were free and open, for normal students who wanted to run their normal four-tenths of a kilometer in peace, or just as likely, those physically-inclined students who just wanted to chat the time away instead of properly stressing their limits. But from there inward, every lane gained a steadily denser congregation of waist-high hurdles, starting with a light smattering along the third, a denser congregation in the fourth, and peaking in the fifth with a veritable thicket that almost required more time in the air than on the ground. Despite not being every student’s favorite activity, the whole operation filled Miki with a sense of heady nostalgia; the smell of sweat in the air, the chittering of heavy breath through clenched teeth, the myopic tunnel vision experienced by hitting your stride so hard that the only thing you can see is the track stretching away before you—these were the things, more than any of her belongings and her abilities, that Miki had brought with her to Balder. It made her feel, just that tiny, infinitesimally bit better, that even if she’d arrived on this planet sporting a proper education lodged in her brain, her heart may very well have led her back here anyway.

Feeling a buzzing in her jacket pocket from the hodge-podge clockwork gizmo that passed for a stopwatch in this day and planet, Miki grasped the bone-carved whistle hanging from her neck and brought it to her lips for a deafening shriek to get the class’s attention. “One more lap! Then, after this warm-up is done, we’ll pair off for sprints—that means no slacking!” Sweeping her eyes across the expanse of her class for said slackers, she involuntarily found her gaze latching onto the horizon for the hundredth time as she watched for any sign of the arrival of Lísu’s parents—who had been about to arrive any minute for hours now. She also found her eyes straying further to the jeeps of the White Sashes, a churning in her gut reminding her how easily she’d dismissed the school’s designated medical professional in order to take the General’s orders to heart and support her own gut instinct in the process, possibly putting them in the path of the very danger they were all working so hard to prevent. Then, she looked to the school itself, looking at once imposing and impossibly fragile, that such a large building would need to be protected by someone as small as her.

Despite the high sun, Miki suppressed a shiver, and zipped her jacket up higher as she returned her attention to her class.

Eastern Gates Infirmary

"Hey, Loki, buddy. I hate to run, but I've got some Decapod ass to kick! Find me, I know you can!"

Okuyasu sped off to the gates.

Balder City, Construction Site: A Lady of Many Talents

Martin smiled as the Chancellor accepted the payment—specifically the request to meet her "right now"—but remained politely silent.

Far as Jo'on's dramatic exit went, it didn't leave much of an impression. He felt the spontaneous heat as if he'd opened the lid of a kiln, and stared into the lustrous blaze as one stares into a candle. He had no fear of heat or fire; after all, according to the dreams of Paul Serene, he was more akin to the Chancellor's flames than the girl herself. Unlike someone else he knew, the fire held no danger for him.

Now the whispering voice, that was something to note. Some sort of fantastic ventriloquism? Telepathy? As the Goron approached him, Martin briefly wondered if the rocky giant had heard the message too, then threw away the thought. Whatever the Chancellor thought of this purchase, he knew enough about her mannerisms to recognize that she'd keep this away from the rabble...at least till she got the rest of the gold.

He closed the briefcase and chuckled to himself. "What a convenient trick."

Before he could turn for the site's exit, the Goron's invasive "question" drew his attention.

"Not at all, 'brother.'" he replied. "In fact, should my business with the Chancellor run smoothly, you and your team may be up to your necks with potential contracts. Now: if you would please excuse me..."

Martin waited patiently for the creature to step aside, and made his way back to his carriage just down the road.

So far, so good.

Balder City, Cauldron Pent House: Envy Never Used His Phone Call

Surprisingly, Wake just laughed at Vizsla's concerns.

"Well if you wanna try to send him a text or something, be my guest! Far as I know, visiting hours aren't really a thing where Jelly's locked up, so judging his mood before we head in to break him out's gonna be a little tough. I'd bet that I can bring him round to our way of thinking, but you're right about one thing, Viz: that little fucker's gonna be pissed as hell. You'll probably want to give me and him some breathing room. Just in case we have a repeat performance of our beloved worm monster."

He mulled over the other point with a swish of his drink. "He might be hurt, you're right. You might remember that we didn't just toss the guy in a hole and call it a day; we took measures to keep him down there. Living with that shit for thirty-five year's bound to take it's toll. Even on something like Envy..."

Scratch fell silent, and turned his eyes back to his glass. As he studied the starved legs of the booze crawling back into the pool they emerged from, he reached a decision—a decision that Pre Vizsla would probably thank him for. Someday.

"My deal with the Death Watch will be to retrieve Envy, regardless of his condition. If he's onboard with the plan and bouncing with energy, that's great. If he's a half-dead mess, that's fine. If he still wants to be a pissy little bitch and lashes back at me, that's...well, that'd be a huge pain in the ass, but acceptable. No matter what happens after we break him out, the Death Watch have done their job and deserve their pay. Sound fair?"

Balder City, Shrine of Prosperity: Special Delivery!

Outside the Shrine of Prosperity, the sound of four wheels and twelve powerful legs tapered off to a halt. The hainas' burden, a dark closed carriage with a bright torch emblazoned on each side, opened on the side nearest the shrine's entrance. Out of it stepped Martin Hatch, briefcase in hand.

With a brief word to his chauffeur about waiting further down the road (no need to hog the shrine entrance, right?), the CEO took his first steps to meet Jo'on once more...

Edited by TheodoreHastings on Aug 25th 2018 at 4:30:29 AM

Eastern Gates - Laura

Laura had gone with the first line, having gotten the explosives before going to the gates. If worst comes to worst, she was the most likely to survive any shrapnel.

As she deploys her explosive, she was thankful that these models could be blown with a button press as opposed to last time where they had to be set to a timer and try to get lucky.

Then she stepped back with and waited until they came close, and...

.

.

... *BOOM*

The woman went and wrapped an arm around him, which made him slightly uncomfortable. Getting a bit too chummy aren't we? As a Japanese, he still got caught off guard how informal others on Baldur could be, even after being stuck here for years. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical considering he himself had been touching this woman's stomach but a moment before. But that was in the admiration of art. It was completely different, at least in his mind of no one else.

He nodded with the points of the job. It was of at least of some comfort that it was a case of a intergang dispute. So innocent souls were spared any trouble in this particular instance. He may even be able to complete the assignment in a way that helps bring down both organizations. The job gave a quite a bit of room for interpretation so he should be able to work something to his favor if nothing else. But he was perhaps getting ahead of himself, as he still needed to know more before he could make a move of any kind of sorts.

He had to admit, he concurred with the woman's assessment of the name of the place. A big black ugly pot known for containing disgusting ingredients, it was hardly appealing. Now Sukiyaki Hot Pot, that was a name that promised a good time.

In either case, he was surprised to hear that there was a night club on Baldur. Perhaps because the ones he was familiar with in Tokyo, with its strutting of the newest fashions, bright lights, and brand name drinks would just seem out of place here. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of establishment it was. If it was night club, that meant dancing. He wondered if he had time to take to the floor for a song or two. It had been so long that the prospect excited him some.

He took the ring and instantly began admiring its craftsmanship, holding it up and inspecting it under the purple sky.

"Sounds like a deal. However, while I would not demand anything so much as a down payment, I would like a demonstration of what is exactly on the table in terms of compensation for a job well done."

Admittedly, he had very little intention of actually seeking payment other then to get closer to the organization. But this much was standard in any transaction and he was hoping to see at least what criminal activities this organization may be dealing in. Perhaps he should ask for a person to see if they are engage in trafficking? Admittedly even if his intention was to help, the very idea disgusted him. Maybe illicit goods to check for smuggling? But what? He thought about it a moment before his eyes shot wide open. With an urgent tone, he turned to the woman.

"For example, could you get real Kobe Beef!"

Bruce Wayne High School, Entrance: How Long Till the Students Mistake Link for A Badass?

A growl carried on the breeze outside Bruce Wayne High School. No doubt Frankie would sense it first: two powerful wheels tearing through the unpaved roads, roaring like a giant pypran. Yet as the growling came closer and a figure rounded the curve at an impressive speed, perhaps only Miki knew exactly what the lad in a sky blue tunic rode like a panicked bipedal Haina.

A motorcycle...shaped like a unicorn?

The Divine Beast grew quieter as it made the last leg of its journey, giving the students on the track field a good glimpse of the machine and its rider; including the sword and shield on the young man's back. For his part, the driver only stared at the road, and his destination.

The Master Cycle Zero came to a halt just outside the front doors to Bruce Wayne High. As the Champion of Hyrule disembarked and approached the entrance, the machine dissolved in streams of blue light and disappeared, its tracks the only signs it had ever been there at all.

Link opened the doors and moved towards the first office he could find, completely oblivious to the idea that someone might mistake him for a student playing hooky.

Following Satsuki's instructions, a goggles-wearing officer used his chair on wheels to slide from his desk to the display at the center of the room, readjusting the device to display the lights in chronological order. At first, it seemed like N'Jadaka had hit the spot: the infection started off in the city center and spread in a straight line right through the city on the first two days.

But on the third day, a bunch of lights randomly placed across the city would light up, following by another sizable bunch, and finally ending with the remaining few lights. Whatever pattern the two days were creating (a straight line that was heading towards the mountains just outside the Eastern Gate), that pattern was thrown into the wind on the third day, with almost surgical precision.

"Anything else?" The officer asked with his high-pitched, squirrely voice, finger on the button in case of any more demands.

Toph wasn't just standing at the front door, no. She had a whole routine figured out, designed to press the buttons she wanted to press at that particular moment. Which meant that when Magda turned around, the blind bandit was halfway inbetween a slightly seductive lean against a door frame and a pissed off stance, complete with clenched fist and glaring eyes.

A glare that only got stronger and more focused once she sensed the smell of a few faint drops of blood in the air.

That focus, however, was worry. And worry wasn't a feeling Toph wanted to show at the moment. And so, only a few seconds later, she leaned to the side- on purpose- and looked past Magda and at her ex-husband. "I didn't know you were into that kinda stuff, Shades." She said, returning to her previous position and placing a hand on her hips. "You're bleeding, but you were also sheathing that blade of yours just a few seconds ago. Which means you're not here to hurt Shades."

Her eyes narrowed, her body leaned slightly forward. There was something familiar about the woman. Something Toph could recognize- if she only figured out what it actually was. "Who are you, anyways?" She asked, not letting go, still scrutinizing every inch of Magda's body for any other hints as to the origin of said familiarity.

The woman chuckled- perhaps far too much- at Yusuke's request, patting him in the shoulder with the arm that had already been flung over said shoulder. "Buddy, you do this for you, we'll get you any kind of beef. Our boss figured out a way of getting these kinds of things- so some random beef from Earth is not gonna be a problem." She looked at him over her dark glasses. "And don't worry about that little tidbit at the end- I'm from Earth too. California, to be more precise. And I miss those meats as much as you do... or at least, I did, before I started working for the boss. Now I have sushi- the good sushi- almost every night."

"I'm not going to do that."

Loki stared at the spot Okuyasu had previously occupied not five seconds ago. And he stood there. Staring. Waiting. His face slowly turning angrier and angrier, before he vanished in an overdramatic flurry of his cape.

The explosion caused a small quake that was strong enough to send the first few Decapods whirring to the side, the sounds of the stampede mixing with their primitive noises creating a chain reaction: one by one, the Decapods began making janky turns to the right, away from the gate and from the first line of Fusiliers, and towards a distant objective—

BRRRAM! The body of a Fusilier was sent soaring through the sky, towards the gate, falling down with the gentleness of a sack of potatoes. The culprit? A Decapod, angered beyond belief, roaring loudly (if the low-pitched squeal they produced could be called a roar) before launching themselves at another Fusilier, trampling the unexpectedly surprised first line of defense.

Four other Decapods followed, all of them possessing an objective and the necessary brain matter to accomplish said objective: destroy any Fusiliers in their path. Gone were the instinctive beasts incapable of coordinating an attack- in their place were rageful killers seeking out anyone who remotely seemed like a member of Balder's defense.

As they charged through the first line of defense, stepping on or mercilessly chewing anything in their path, their numbers grew... for every fifteen Decapods that had been successfully and harmlessly redirected, three would join the crowd of butchers eagerly seeking for prey. And the only thing in common behind these Decapods was an eery purple glint in their eyes as they made their way towards the gate...

"Just who are you supposed to be?"

Link might have been expecting a teacher, but it was a student who came to greet him. Wearing the tank and shorts that made up his track uniform, Luo Zhihao crossed the short space inbetween the courtyard and the entrance effortlessly, bearing the stance and the face of a grizzled detective (but none of the facial hair, possibly distorting the intended effect).

"You're not a student. I recognize students. I memorize their faces." He narrowed his eyes and shoved his hands into his shorts' pockets— in a manner much more befitting of a trenchcoat than a track uniform. "So you should tell me what's your plan, before I call the Fusiliers over there." He said, pointing not at the jeeps or the stationed White Sashes, but rather at one of the lanes of the track field.

"Ms. Vermillion?"

Whilst many of the students were out there, 'enjoying' Physical Education, there were some who remained inside, under the watchful eye of even more stationed White Sashes. One of these was Mayve, who was currently inside Noel's classroom, working on their own assignments and homeworks (one of the benefits of being under Fusilier control is that almost every class became homeroom— well, some of them thought that this was a benefit).

Ruffling a gloved hand through his pink hair, Mayve carefully scooted over to Noel's desk, sliding his two hands back into his pockets before looking down at his feet in childish shame. "Ms. Vermillion, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about... about the city?" He looked back at the other kids in the classroom. "It's... it's private stuff."

Whilst Lísu's parents were being retrieved, General Tsunemori was given free reign to explore the school and search for any other possible hints on her own. But during her own brief excursion into Wayne High, she might have noticed a green-haired figure following her... and making a very clear show of it. Eventually, Paragon sprouted from one of the corners as Akane and her Fusiliers were making their way down it, a big smile on their face.

"Hi! You're the General, right?" Paragon yelled, showing no interest in an 'inside voice'. "Well, my name is Paragon! And I'm suuuper smart." They tapped their finger against the side of their head, a tongue sticking out. "And I'm tired of school, and I want to be a Fusilier, so thank you very much for taking me on!" They exclaimed, holding out their hands for Akane.

Sarai was getting rather tired: not only did she have to keep an eye on her own track, she also occasionally had to redirect her friend Chaya Muñoz, who was busy making googly eyes and swooning at one kid in particular. "Chaya, look out!" She yelled, pushing her friend to the side before she tripped on a loose chunk of rock. "Come on, you can't expect me to do this for you forever!"

"Do what." Chaya mumbled under her breath, her face stuck on the dumbest smile possible as she 'subtly' craned her head to get a good look at Yui's back- because anytime the girl did look in her direction, Chaya would suddenly throw her face down, almost sticking it against the ground, to avoid any unwanted attention (AKA all possible attention).

But Yui wasn't the only one getting some rather obvious gazes directed at them: Virgil might also feel that funny tickle you only get when someone is staring right at the back of your neck. And the one responsible was none other than Gma, the school's designated 'weird kid', who had a placcid smile on his face and a look that spelt out both 'I know something you don't know~' and 'I'm so high' at the same time.

Amidst all of the goings on of a normal (despite the rough start) school day, Miki would hear the pitter-patter characteristic of a certain teacher with a preference for carefully tip-toeing his way around school. With his hands behind his back, Mr. Mauty walked up to the teacher, and slowly leaned in so as to not arouse suspicion.

"Lísu's parents have arrived... they're inside right now. But I was thinking maybe you could talk to them first? Before the General does it?" Mauty leaned back and glanced around, as if expecting Akane to pop out of a bush. "No offense to her, but that kind of authority can scare some people off... and away from our school."

The time gap threw a shade of guilt onto Wolnee's face, though Meiddus only facepalmed at the entire situation. "He might as well give you a two name list- preoccupation doesn't mean action." Meiddus looked up at Zemo, not paying attention to his friend's outraged expression. "Sorry. It was a club, you know? There was a lot of weird stuff going on, but that's what happens when one quarter of the dating pool doesn't have legs... or eyes... or even arms, really-"

"I'm sorry, can we go back to the whole preocuppation doesn't mean action?" Wolnee growled, looking past Zemo. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Wolnee, come on-"

"No, I wanna hear you say it. So say it!"

Meiddus rolled his own eyes and took a step forward, closer to the two. "You spent your entire night talking to one woman, one woman who you didn't even ask for a name, and when she turned you down, you just walked right out even though that other lady had been looking at your ass the entire night!"

"The lady with the dragon tattoo, no, she wasn't-" Wolnee added on a brief sidebar to Zemo. "-she was looking at your badge and wondering if I was a Fusilier too."

"For the love of— listen, I know asses, alright? And she was looking at yours. But you love to come up with reasons to avoid actual relationships, don't you? That Fusilier thing— it's just the excuse of month!"

Wolnee clenched his fist and leaned forward. "Just-" He bit his lip and leaned back, frowning. "-what does this have to do with... with him?!" He waved frantically at Zemo. "Or do you just really like to humiliate me in front of strangers? Is that why you always bring that kind of shit up every time we talk?! IS IT?"

"Don't you yell at me, Wolnee." Meiddus lowered his tone, raising a finger and taking another step forward. "And stop throwing shit-ass accusations at me just because you're angry, alright?!" He then spun on his heels and glared down at Zemo. "Listen, whoever you are— I get it. The General is worried and he wants to find out the truth. But... fuck that shit, alright?! Can't you see that he doesn't know why they picked him? He's probably as scared as the General is, but you're not helping, because you think he's the enemy! If he's the enemy, why the hell would he have stayed behind after threatening the General, huh?... HUH?!"

After a beat of silence, both Wolnee and Meiddus slumped their shoulders at almost the exact same time. "Holy shit." Meiddus raised his hands and took a step back. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you, okay?!" He said, his voice getting faster and more scared. "I just... I just... I just want this to end, alright?!"

Edited by Stratofarius on Aug 29th 2018 at 11:52:33 AM

Sin Kiske, Eastern Gates

"That's not supposed to happen."

The dark-tinted words left Sin quickly and concisely before he jumped into the fray.

Shunts were supposed to be brainless, more concerned with getting from point A to point B. These ones... roared in fury, targeted the Fusiliers and made mincemeat of their defences. And Sin noticed something in their eyes, that unnerving purple glow... everything about the creatures he was watching now was wholly unnatural...

Whatever the case, the explosives didn't do their job, and the second line of defence was being torn to shreds.

Sin leaped into the path of a rampaging Decapod, planting his feet on its chest and kicking, hopefully with enough force to stun it to some extent. As he fell through the air, his hand held onto his flag, still rolled up and formed into a simple staff, and channeled his lightning magic through it.

He'd need to put plenty of force into this attack if he wanted to pierce those shells.

Before landing, he extended his staff forwards, striking at the Decapod's face with a stabbing motion, while unleashing a small explosion of lightning magic directly into its nauseating purple eyes.

Whether that attack worked or not, there was still a pack of ferocious, purple-eyed Decapods out for blood, redirecting them somewhere else was no longer going to cut it, and Sin couldn't take them all out alone.

Noel Vermillion, Wayne High School, Homeroom

With everything that was going on, having the simple task of watching over the students in homeroom was a nice shot of stability to Noel's day.

To be honest, she did want to go through the next chapter of "Pleasantries and Peanuts" (as odd as the book's title sounded, it was surprisingly intriguing, the next chapter especially!), but that could wait for another day. Not everyone here was the right grade for it, and she simply reminded the students who were part of her class to work on those chapter reviews if they hadn't already, or to begin reading ahead if they had.

Other than that, it was a non-eventful homeroom, Noel letting the students in her charge go about their business while she busied herself with the very book her class was studying. This was her third or so time going through the book (be it for leisure or for class), and she was, once again, surprised to find meanings between the lines where she hadn't before. And not only that, this chapter had a poem in the middle of it, a treat more for her than for anyone else.

The Fusiliers keeping watch did worry her slightly (it reminded her of the mysterious, but dire situation Lísu was in), but she knew what it was like to be part of them, to do their jobs. And so she was also able to take some comfort in the security she provided.

Noel finally looked up from the book when Mayve sidled up to her. He seemed to be whispering, wanting to ask her some questions, private questions. About... the city?

Whatever they were, Noel figured she could handle them. Closing "Pleasantries and Peanuts" over its panda-decorated bookmark and putting it down onto her desk, she gave her full attention to Mayve, along with her best comforting smile.

"Sure, Mayve. What is it?"

Vigil Kiske, Wayne High School, Courtyard

Vigil had a certain dislike for physical education.

Not sports or exercise, track or otherwise, that was all fine. It was the class, his class that bothered him.

Vigil was a Gear, one-eighth of one from his Dad, three-eighths human, and half of whatever his Mom was. He didn't care whether he got the math right, point was that he had weird-ass blood, and that apparently meant that he aged differently than everyone else.

He had entered school when he was one. By that time, he had reached the maturity of a seven-year-old, and clearly inexperienced Noel had panicked and decided that it was better for him to start schooling as soon as possible. That was great and all, if not for the fact that his rapid development continued, causing him to overtake everyone else in his class in such a short span of time.

Wayne High was unreceptive to Noel's requests to bump him up a few grades. Too much paperwork, probably. The end result was that he shared a class with kids who were half his height, had half his attention span, and still thought that the word 'poop' was the funniest thing in the world.

Back to physical education, he consistently outperformed his classmates. It was like a joke. He even remembered being asked to hold back for them, even in a world like Balder where performance gaps were so common due to inherent racial traits. Seriously.

School was basically the worst, and Vigil only tolerated it for so long since his Mom was a teacher.

Thankfully, today, he was running track with students outside his class, and so he could finally compare himself with individuals on a similar level to him. Miki teaching was a bonus, it meant he didn't feel like he was being looked down upon the whole time.

Keeping up and even making good time was not an issue. What was an issue were the prying eyes on his back. Vigil could sense it, anyone with the bare minimum of a survival instinct could. Gma was watching him. Didn't even have to turn around to know it was him.

Vigil responded by beginning to sprint and lose him, stamina be damned.

Magda Licht: Balder Supreme Court - Judge's Office, Just Barely

Magda dug in her heels and held Beifong's eyes. Even if the woman couldn't see her face, she could still sense weakness, and had spent the last thirty-five years punishing it accordingly.

Her heart was still fluttering in her chest, but that was fading quick. She bit down on the impulse to swallow, holding her back straight and her eyes forward. Body language was this woman spoke.

There was no violent option here. She'd be dead before her fingers closed around the grip, shot through with woodscrews or lobotomised by the vox-line. Beifong could catch a lie at twenty feet and a move to draw at a hundred, and she enjoyed swatting flies.

The truth, then. That was fine. Magda knew how to make herself unappealing.

"We've met," she said, which was technically correct. "My name is Corporal Licht, seconded to the Long Knives. I'm escorting Mr Murdock to high command to assist in investigating a matter of Capitol security. This order was given by General Jengbish and seconded by Commander Kiryuin herself."

Brother Sergeant Salt Upon Wounds, and Company: Eastern Gate

The Cavalry.

A horn sounded. In the echo of explosives and the panic of routed men, it cut the air like a knife.

Brother-Sergeant Salt-Upon-Wounds rounded the far edge of the wall at full gallop, atop his chalk-white steed, and was followed by seven of his best men riding strange beasts of their own. He displayed the panoply of war◊ befitting the leader of expedition, clutching in his left hand a break-action he'd selected from the offerings of the armour, and cladding the right in the venomous steel of his mechanical gauntlet. His skin was chalked to a powdery white, cut through with sunbursts of red pigment, and the flag of the Old World billowed around his shoulders. The purple sunlight glinted from the bared teeth and drawn weapons of the riders behind him, illuminating the dust and sand thrown up by the hooves and talons of their mounts.

A portable vox-box hung securely from the saddle behind him, battered by years of service. He and his companions had received the call fifteen minutes ago, on the final leg of their journey homewards, and answered the challenge without delay.

The trophies and spent cartridges woven between his dreads clattered with his mount's quickening pace, and he let the song of it fill him, sharpen him, and steel him for the charge. Salt-Upon-Wounds saw the opening blows made, as the Shunts divided their herd in two. He saw the first blood drawn, and saw his enemy, and needed see nothing more.

"Render under Khaisur," he prayed, and dug in his heels. In unison the seven at his back did the same, couching explosive-tipped lances and shining blades, sighting firearms, and pulling grenades from their belts.

He was close enough to smell it now, the blood and shit and cordite. Brother-Lieutenant Ghale, chosen of his saviour, had gifted him eight of his custom-load shells to bless his expedition. He had three left. One in each chamber of his firearm, one yet to be loaded. They were works of cruelty and power, loaded hot and packed tight with magnesium shavings and twists of mono-filament imported from off-world, and each could in a single blast reduce a Haina to nothing but burning gore.

A Shunt caught the thundering of hooves and turned to face them, drawing two of its fellows by the osmosis of instinct. Salt-Upon-Wounds glared over his sights into their eyes, and at the moment before impact pulled the trigger.

Edited by OG-Sama on Aug 30th 2018 at 4:00:55 AM