Scene #7425: Getting the Band Back Together

Owner	Pose
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Rubi-Ka is a divided planet. Officially "owned" by the Omni-Tek corporation for nearly eight hundred years, control of the planet's surface has been split three ways for a little over two centuries. The corporation controls a portion, but so do a coalition of disparate factions known as the Clans which sprung up from a miners' union, as well as this galaxy's largest corporate organization, the ostensibly neutral "Interstellar Council of Corporations." Recently, the Watch received contact from a member of one such clan, a Bureaucrat (capital B!) by the name of Atticus Morgan, looking to drum up support for thwarting the Omni-Tek occupation of the neutral city of Borealis. Due to Phreak's fight with Sylvi in the Clan capital city of Tir (and probably also his statement that a prominent member of the governing body could, quote, 'gargle his balls'), this meeting is to take place away from prying eyes. Phreak can arrange travel to 'reasonably close to the meeting point,' through use of a legally grey fork of the public internet equivalent, known as the Fixer Grid (or F-Grid) for short. Like teleportation on the public Grid, it involves matter (you) being digitized and stored in a data container, through which you are able to navigate a directory of exits back into material space. Or, in short, you get turned into an inverted little blue pyramid and scoot across a constructed virtual tower looking for the right door. If you'd rather not, the nearest warpgate is in the neutral city of Last Ditch, a circular city flanked by walls of white stone, known for its abundance of manmade lakes, greenery, and laid-back air. It's a good bit longer reaching the meeting point this way, as the city sits in a natural canyon with only two exits. Either way... Planet Rubi-Ka Stret West Bank 11:00 This region of the planet's terraformed areas is known as "Stret West," so named because it makes up (most of) the western bank of the sprawling river Stret, which runs south-to-north through the majority of the planet's habitable regions. Early morning light from the planet's two suns filters through an intermittent patchwork of alien trees, casting the forest and the springy, stubborn grass in pale white-gold light. The river itself is not within sight, however--Phreak advises that it's at least an hour's drive east from your current location. The woods are teeming with life--colorful parrot-like birds that spout half-understood words at you ('gief mone,' 'boost pls,' etc.), territorial round rodents that roll across the ground, two-headed wolves the size of consumer vehicles, pale and slightly translucent unicorns, gangly camels grazing on stubborn grasses and fallen oblong leaves from the warped clusters of trees. The amount of sunlight reaching the forest floor leaves ample opportunity for hardy shrubs and tropical flowers, making the trek to the meeting point a visually interesting one.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	The meeting point itself is a shantytown of metal shacks, circa the 295th century. The little village sits against a towering cliff face to the west, at the top of a gradual incline, guaranteeing that its residents will see you coming from the treeline. Some of the shacks are set up with homemade energy sources that hum in various states of repair. All of them look prefab, built by numbers and maintained more or less by hand. Most have working pneumatic doors. The people here number enough for a very small village, and live off the grid (lowercase G). Most are adults. All of them are armed or at least ready to defend themselves, equipped with rugged, piecemeal hi-tech armor over simple clothes (oversized on the one or two kids), but none of them seem to mind your presence here. The fact that there's a Watch crescent stenciled above one of the doors should explain why. Some of them even wave, though most are busy with chores--skinning animals, maintaining their homes or gear, farming, tinkering or even programming. Sticking out like a sore thumb is your contact. Target Info Name: Atticus "Wolfowitz" Morgan Profession: Bureaucrat Faction: Clan Organization: Terra Firma He's a tall, gangly, unhealthily pale man with skin like paper that reveals, in places, his too-blue veins. He is bald, in the kind of way that calls into question whether he ever had hair, with a straight, narrow nose and thin, wide lips that seem too well suited to pensive frowns. He has no eyebrows to speak of, and his eyes (and ears) are totally obscured by an invasive cybernetic visor with a bright blue glow, wrapping around to the back of his skull. His height, his general Vibe, and the ruinously expensive-looking, sleek black bodyguard droid next to him would give off an intimidating air, if it weren't for his loose tie, partially unbuttoned business shirt, and his choice of opener. "How's the weather treatin' ya? It's not the heat down here, it's the humidity." He laughs nervously and tugs at his collar. Phreak's eyeroll carries tangible weight.
Remee Halcyon	Remee's attention during the last leg of the trip is immediately drawn to the various wildlife they pass. "Hey, sorry," she says. "We're on schedule to get there a few minutes before the meeting, right? I'll catch up." With that, she goes to hop out of whatever mode of transportation the rest of the group is using, and disappears off into the wilderness before anyone can stop her. She actually manages to rejoin the group just before they arrive, catching up at a run via wolf form. When she's back in a form that has a more readable facial expression, she can be observed to look somewhat disappointed, and also has a bit of blood on the side of her cheek that she clearly tried to clean off but missed. "... Humidity seems to be treating you worse than most," she observes. "We're pretty far out, aren't we?" "I know we're trying to stay unobserved, but this feels like a bit of over-paranoia, honestly." "... Also, what's with the unicorns here? They don't seem like normal unicorns." She pulls out a handkerchief and goes to wipe at her face subconsciously, again missing the blood stain.
Karlan Nobles	Of the two representatives from Kjerag coming to today's meeting, one of them is all too eager to be a funny little pyramid-shaped cube. The other is a lot better at hiding it. None of them are particularly good at hiding that they don't belong here. SilverAsh and Pramanix are decked out in (thankfully non-matching) safari gear with wide-brimmed hats, rough survival-esque vests with too many pockets for the no survival supplies they've actually packed in there, and backpacks with reflective coating that doesn't do a thing to keep any sunlight off of them while throwing it directly at whoever's unlucky enough to walk behind them. "Mister Morgan! You're looking well, friend. This weather is... " "Ah, Mister Morgan. A pleasure to see you in good health. The weather is certainly an interesting change from what we're used to." "... Can we go inside now?" Neither of them seem particularly fond of all this humidity, either. "Those unicorns... Are they supposed to that easy to see through?" "I would have expected the wolves to get your attention first."
Rita Ma	The F-Grid is nice. Some people might be unsettled by the temporary abandonment of their physical forms. Rita isn't. Even now, a year and a half after leaving her world, lush greenery has a power to awe her. There are a few long moments where she just takes in the Stret West's natural beauty, hands clasped over her chest. "Mr. Phreak! Look at those flowers!" A little furtively, as if it might be a crime, she adds: "Is it okay if I take one?" If given permission, it gets plucked and tucked behind her ear. Before the group can plod very far, though, Rita spots something through the trees and holds up a finger. "Oh- just a second!" And then she's off, sprinting through the woods until she disappears. She returns not thirty seconds later riding a giant two-headed wolf. There's a pinprick of blood welling from its flank, but you could be forgiven for not noticing. It seems perfectly docile under her command. "Okay! Get on. It's a lot more convenient than walking, right?" So it is, once you get used to the rocking motion and find something to hold onto.
Rita Ma	A tin-roofed shantytown is one of the other most comfortable places Rita can be. The two-headed wolf is abandoned at the treeline and scampers off wherever it may; that leaves her free to soak in the townsfolk's smiles and waves without any twinges of self-conscious embarrassment. She gets up on her tiptoes to wave back, even! In her simple taupe-and-white outfit she might just blend in with the townsfolk, if not for being unarmed. She wanders towards one of the farmers and looks about to ask if she can help, before the contact catches her eye and she falls back in with the group. "Pretty good!" she answers him, too naive to not give it her full sincerity. "I didn't really notice the humidity. It's really beautiful, though, isn't it? And the people here seem so sweet!" Rita gives the bodyguard droid a little nervous wave from waist level, too, just to be safe. "It's good to meet you, Mr. Morgan. I'm Rita. You just got here recently though, right? Or you wouldn't still be wearing clothes like that, I think. It's a good choice, but... why'd you move from the city?" She doesn't know of any particular cities, but men dressed like that are a native species only in The City.
Liza Grier	Liza Grier doesn't sweat the details of showing up as a matter of course, but she does consider them. She won't use the Grid, because her physical integrity being subject to net mechanics is an unacceptable operational risk. The site won't tolerate landing. Last Ditch is out of the way and Clan-owned; nobody will care. Hoofing it through the jungle is a long process. Better to shortcut. It'll be a busy day. Liza meets up with Rita halfway through the Wolf Trip, with the obvious expectations. Really, 'meet up' just means that Rita gets a short text message ahead of time, and four little green glows pierce the jungle shade up ahead. Red armour melts out of the shade, a thick-bladed industrially squared chopping sword freshly dripping with blood, fresher than the diagonal splatter streaked across her chestplate and helmet. Part of the front plate is scraped dull silver and cratered into a shallow pockmark. "Four minutes late." she says to Rita, with an implied apology crammed into the static from her helmet. "They were a pretty fast runner." Yes, she shows up to the meeting like that. Elite hardsuits are professional dress for Liza, and honestly the sanest way to beat a footpath most of the way from town at the same time (the boarding blade is at least stuck to a magnetic holster hardpoint). "It's okay." she crackles to Atticus, as if it mattered the slightest bit to her. "Why are you dressed like a target?" she asks, less conversationally than she thinks she is.
Nephra Tangent	The internet is scary, Nephra has decided. The prospect of being digitized for internet-mediated teleportation was attention-grabbing: it was both new and weird to her, amd her curiosity as to what it'd feel like, mixed with the appeal in scratching at the instinctual uncertainty of whether getting disassembled and put back together would even work right and spit her out on the other side, was significant in captivating her. So naturally, that's the transit option she went with. Caught up in the allure of novelty, she barely stopped to consider the real peril of it all. Navigation. Nephra is the kind of girl who struggles with reading an analog map and navigating even basic websites in their own right, so when doing what amounts to a long-derived mix of those things at once, it's down to a stroke of blind luck that her mostly-empty schedule let her set out early enough to ricochet between digital nodes in a trial-and-error mess until she did, in fact, find the mentioned exit. All that effort and it didn't even feel like anything much special... She's thankful, really, for the rest of the walk through forests and the outskirts of the shantytown, to re-adjust to the cacophany of neuroelectric datastreams existing with her actual body and the exo-suit stored within it comes with. She's careful- nervously so - to not even as much as brush shoulders against any of the residents, as she slips through alleyways towards the designated meeting place. It's nice, really, to see crowds that she wouldn't stand out much in, but this isn't her world, and there's work to do. Nephra almost snorts, when she sees who the contact is, as Watch members filter around him. But jobs are jobs, and it's not her place to sass the provider of one. "...Does it really matter which it is, if it's got you sweating, Mister?" One arm crosses in front of herself, to grab onto her other forearm as she speaks. "Hopefully whatever's getting your nerves all shaky comes out with the salt, though. Ain't a confidence booster for us, probably, y'know?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oWe're on schedule to get there a few minutes before the meeting, right? I'll catch up. Phreak shrugs. "Knock yourself out." As far as means of conveyance, it seems as though hoofing it is fairly common on Rubi-Ka, for a number of reasons. One of those seems to be that people like Phreak can partially digitize travelers with a variety of questionably legal nanoprograms to increase their speed. It's something to do with the Grid not having things like friction or air, and yanking the physical body along in the real world to keep up with the digitized portions. The 'GSFs' that Phreak refers to are the name of one such program--'Gridspace Freedom.' He seems to prefer this to riding on Rita's wolf. It should be noted that Rita's question about being 'allowed' to take flowers confuses him so much that he gets angry, for a moment. Not at Rita, but at the idea that there's some new mandate being discussed about taking flowers. His face flushed dark gray, he adds an armful of them to whatever she takes. oI know we're trying to stay unobserved, but this feels like a bit of over-paranoia, honestly. The bureaucrat swallows nervously, Adam's apple bobbing. "Uh... well, if someone finds out I talked to you guys, I could lose my job. It's kind of..." He clears his throat, his visor momentarily contemplating the dirt beneath his muddied dress shoes. "It's kind of shitting on the whole system we're trying to build here, if I go asking the Watch for help doing something that we'd never be allowed to do." oWhat about the unicorns? Morgan doesn't seem to know what Remee or Pramanix mean. He looks back up at each of them in turn, brow creased in attempted understanding. "They should be the same as anywhere else on the planet. I don't know, I'm not--animals aren't really my wheelhouse. You want a biologist, or a game warden, or an Adventurer..." "They're not gonna be like the ones on other planets," says Phreak, after letting Morgan flounder a bit. "Rubi-Ka was dead when OT staked the claim eight hundred years ago. Part of the terraforming means new wildlife to support the ecosystem. Everything here was designed by OT. Or a subsidiary," he says with mild disdain. He doesn't look any more suited to the humid village, with his red keyhole crop top, black tights, and the white keyboard-print jacket tied around his waist. He's certainly taking it better than the Bureaucrat, though. o... Can we go inside now? "Oh! Right," says Morgan. "Of course. Haha." He clears his throat awkwardly, thrn turns and heads inside the little shack he's secured for today. The pneumatic door hisses quietly, opening with his proximity to it. The inside is about the size of a very modest living room, with amenities laid out along the walls and metal screens providing privacy here or there. In the center of the room is a desk that he absolutely brought here himself. It looks cleaner and newer than anything else in the place. There are also a few uncomfortable, spartan chairs in place. He probably brought those, too, but he seems less proud of them than the glossy black modern-movement desk and the upholstered executive chair behind it. oYou just got here recently though, right? Or you wouldn't still be wearing clothes like that, I think. It's a good choice, but... why'd you move from the city? "Oh, no," Morgan chuckles nervously again. "No, I don't... live here. I know the desk and everything might have given that impression--I live in Tir. The, uh... recent events there wouldn't have made that a good meeting spot." oWhy are you dressed like a target? "He's a Bureaucrat. Capital B. Even the ones that aren't pieces of shit dress like that," says Phreak flatly. "Umm..."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	Morgan once again tugs at his collar. "Thanks for the glowing recommendation, I guess. Ha..." He dabs at his pale forehead with a handkerchief. "A lot of the nanoprograms that Bureaucrats use play on psychological phenomena. Authority and the relationship with it, boredom, anonymity, loyalty... Either creating those feelings, or manipulating them. We tend to wear things like this because they amplify the effectiveness of those programs, when they're used on human opponents. It's not going to protect me like tank armor would, but it'll stop consumer-grade stuff." oHopefully whatever's getting your nerves all shaky comes out with the salt, though. Ain't a confidence booster for us, probably, y'know? Morgan sighs, taking a seat at his desk. "To be honest," he explains, "I feel like I'm looking out the window of a gunship and being told to jump, here. Since Mr. Smith's... episode in Tir," His visor is emotionless, but the waver in his voice fades. "There have been questions about the reliability of the Watch--even though it was you guys that finally dealt with the Temple of Three Winds, and BIOMARE before it." "But some people don't even think those are good things," says Morgan, resting his head on one hand and rubbing his temple. "And... I feel like lots of people almost want you to fail. Because laughing or complaining about something bad is easier than wanting something good. I don't know. I don't know if they consciously realize it, but it sure seems that way. I see the same thing, with movements here planetside. With the Unionists, the Knights..." "I'm just... nervous, because, like I said, I could lose my job from talking to you guys. But the fact that's even a risk is... also kind of why I'm here. Apart from the occupation in Borealis, anyway."
Remee Halcyon	"Okay! Get on. It's a lot more convenient than walking, right?" "I'll pass, but thanks," says Remee, who opts to just remain in wolf form instead of going wolf riding. "It's not like I'm not used to long hikes." "They were a pretty fast runner." Remee resists the urge to go approach and sniff at the blood covered blade. That'd be impolite. If Liza feels like giving more details about her hunt, she'll give more details about her hunt. > "I would have expected the wolves to get your attention first." "I mean, we have wolves at home, but there's not too many places that have unicorns. I got excited." > "I could lose my job." > "I'm just... nervous, because, like I said, I could lose my job from talking to you guys." "... Just your job?" Remee narrows her eyes a bit. "Is that more important than your life, or is that really all you have at stake here- you know what, nevermind." She listens to the explanation of the unicorns, also. "Alright, makes sense... so not actually unicorn unicorns, just lookalikes. Explains why they taste different, at least." > "And... I feel like lots of people almost want you to fail. Because laughing or complaining about something bad is easier than wanting something good." "If I was worried about being popular, I'd go open another charity," quips Remee. "We're here to get done what we need to get done, not to make friends." She pauses, and glances across those present. No Kukuru. Okay, good, she doesn't have to amend her statement. "So we're here about the occupation, right?"
Karlan Nobles	"He's a bureaucrat, Miss Halcyon, not a warrior. Were he to cross the wrong parties, his chances at surviving an encounter in a dark alley would be slim at best." SilverAsh follows up on Morgan's response to Remee, pausing look off to the side. "Were we to need a more legitimate approach, though... Perhaps something could be arranged with Karlan Trade another day." Pramanix, meanwhile, gets a curious look on her face when Phreak explains where such animals had even come from. "How... Hm. I don't know if that's supposed to be inspiring or not." Indeed, she has a troubled look on her face, and she doesn't get a chance to get a good look at Rita's funny mount before it's already gone. "It's better than letting the planet die out, but if they have that kind of technology..." The snow leopard siblings exchange brief glances, but they don't say anything else on that topic before it's time to head in. As they take their seats, their tails curl up in the same way before laying neatly in their laps. It's eerily synchronized, although neither seems aware of it happening at all. Liza's question gets them some helpful answers about the reasons for the clothing styles they've seen so far, and both of them peer more closely at Phreak's and Morgan's clothes of the day. They might be getting ideas on what to wear with how long they're staring. Eventually, though, the topic shifts towards the public view towards the Watch's actions. Pramanix lets out a little indignant huff at hearing that people might want them to fail, and SilverAsh has his usual indifferent smile on. "Of course they want what's easier for them. We'll just have to keep making things harder, then, if it's going to fix things here." "Aren't you usually seeking the easy road yourself? Why the change of heart?" "That's different and you know it. These people need our help, or they would've gotten there themselves by now." Seeming satisfied with that answer, Pramanix shifts around in her chair to try and find a comfortable position in it while SilverAsh keeps his gaze fixed on Morgan like he's sitting in the most conventionally bland chair ever. "If that's settled, then... Speak to us, Mister Morgan, unless you're worried about the walls having ears." Only then does he finally bust out a little pocket-notebook and pass it over to Morgan. It's got the really good paper in it, and there's even a fancy little metal pen inside with the twisting cap instead of a clicky top.
Rita Ma	Earlier: "Don't worry about it, Ms. Grier," Rita says cheerfully, even though the apology wasn't said out loud. But her gaze keeps sliding back to that blood-slicked machete, even as they make their way into town. It's like her eyeballs are gravitationally drawn towards it. Not now, though. Not until we're home. I'm being so good. Now: "Oh. You don't? That's a shame," Rita says. "It really does seem like a nice place, doesn't it?" She squeezes between someone else and the doorframe to slip inside after him, instinctively making herself small. The chairs are probably less comfortable than standing, but after a moment's thought she decides to seat herself near the desk anyway, just to be polite. She pats the empty seat next to her while smiling up at Liza before turning her attention back to Morgan. "But the fact that's even a risk is... also kind of why I'm here." "You mean, you don't think it ought to be that way, Mr. Morgan? You think it's a bad thing that the people you work for are distancing themselves from people like the Watch," she guesses. It's a confident guess. "Who do you work for, exactly? And was Mr. Phreak really that bad?" Her gaze turns, uncertainly, to the idiot in the crop-top. How do you get thrown out of a whole city for a fight?
Nephra Tangent	She wouldn't admit it, but getting inside and out of the humid air is quite the relief for Nephra as well. Nylon raincoats aren't the most known for breathability. Glancing around, small talk dying out, she follows the group's flow inside, and quickly finds one of the utilitarian chairs to sit in, spinning it and setting herself down in it backwards. Her heavy duffel clatters to the floor behind her, and the chair's frame creaks under her sudden weight. >"I feel like I'm looking out the window of a gunship and being told to jump" "Jumping's not so scary, Mister, if what you're in is toppling and carreening on its own." She doesn't use his name, old habits rearing up. "...You are meeting with us, though, so.. why stress over it. Haha. You'll lose what you do anyways, but... we're here to make sure something's gained, right?" Nephra rummages in a clear pocket, and pulls out a wrapped blowpop, which winds up peeled and clenched between her teeth nearly immediately. She looks between a few of the others, as they come in, her one eye flitting between Rita's demeanor and the blood on Liza's gear. The latter's comment on how the Bureaucrat dressed himself makes quite a bit of sense, contextualized with how clearly she's making herself out to be a hunter. Molars pressing into hard candy, her own nervousness isn't hard to look for, even if that's not an unusual state for Nephra. She watches as the notebook gets passed to Atticus, the first clear sign of Talking Business. Time for her to shut up, sit down, and listen close- girls like her are just muscle, after all. She should be happy to just be along for the ride.
Liza Grier	Liza scans around the inside of the shack for a few seconds. Small. Not cluttered enough to disguise anything. Clear. A pulse with the meson vision filter anyways. Given that she barely needs to sweep her pupils to drink it all in though, this amounts to her just staring menacingly ahead with a helmet covering her face. So casual that anyone could miss it, she gently tosses something around the corner from her hand by her waist as she enters. A rock, or wadded up paper, or a cigarette or something, to not bring it inside in lieu of a garbage can. A teleporter beacon rolls into the overgrown brush. "You brought that desk down here but you couldn't get some better chairs?" says Liza, once they're actually through the door. She is clearly looking very pointedly at the single nice one in the room. "If you want to hide out, you show some respect, not make a power play. You're not in a board room." she follows. Her helmet turns slightly in Phreak's direction. "Which is good, or I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I doubt he could take even a stray forty-five." She turns back to give Morgan another look, when he mentions nanoprograms. "Oh. Psych specialist." Somehow, the low fizzle in her voice doesn't sound like she means 'psychiatry'. "That kind of capital B." A moment passes. She inclines her head faintly towards the spartan chair Rita enthusiastically pats, and then she slowly shakes her head. Liza remains standing, blocking the door behind Rita, power stanced like a slasher movie karate bugman. 'There have been questions about the reliability of the Watch--' "Then don't rely on the Watch." says Liza. The conspicuous hiss-pop of the vocalizer that never seems to work right rises to harsh radio static as if on cue. That kind of voice, that way of speaking, creeping in, always fizzes it up as if a ghost were speaking through the electronics. Channeling the dead and damned. "Rely on me. If you can't handle the uncertainty, just trust the only constant variable. You called the meeting. It gets done." The tonal shift is short-lived, but the swing in Liza's persona briefly makes it so much easier to remember why she introduces herself by name before every mission. Just for a second, her bulk filling the door frame is like only Morgan can see her. Like Death, come to talk. 'Who do you work for, exactly?' "Yeah, I'd like to know the answer to that one too." says Liza. "Not that it matters much. If you're here then you aren't getting paid enough to care. If you're hiding then you don't matter enough to be safe. Occupation by a corporate army is simple. I'm sticking around to hear if there's anything I should know before I get started."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oJust your job? Morgan takes his palm off of his face, laying both hands flat across his desk. The chair is silent, not even creaking when he sits up and scoots forward. "My job buys my life. It keeps me fed, clothed, sheltered, armed and armored. It pays my reclaim premium. Pays for my nanos, pays for my chrome, pays to keep me in one piece... I have some money saved, but actual independence is years away. And unlike Phreak, there, leaving the planet will literally kill me." His jaw clenches and unclenches, and he adds, after a swallow, "For good." oHe's a bureaucrat, Miss Halcyon, not a warrior. Were he to cross the wrong parties, his chances at surviving an encounter in a dark alley would be slim at best. "I can survive those just fine," says Morgan. It isn't defensive, his tone. More tired than anything. Like he's thought about this a lot. "I'm a good shot with a pistol, when I run into things I can't... you know." He puts two fingers to his temple, and vaguely waggles the other hand. "And I'm in the ninetieth percentile of program execution. I could make money doing the freelance thing right now. But that's inconsistent work, and there's a lot of info on me because..." He frowns, his glowing blue visor fixed on Rita. "Because I guess I thought everything was working the way it was supposed to. I didn't even realize there was a 'that way.' You know? Anyway... not many people would hire 'the collusion guy' for anything worth the effort of taking on."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oWho do you work for, exactly? And was Mr. Phreak really that bad? "I'm with Terra Firma. We--" He swells with subconscious pride, before he remembers where he is with a sigh. 'Where he is' here doesn't just mean location, but situation. "They are one of the most influential Clans on the planet, with a voice in how things are governed in Clan territories. I'm a liason of theirs, to the Clan governing body, the Council of Truth. Broadly speaking," he says, "Terra Firma wants a democratic Rubi-Ka, where the Clans, the neutral cities and Omni-Tek all have a seat at the table." "Morons," says Phreak. "They're a bunch of fucking idiots who think there's even one honest person in that company. And any time someone has an idea that won't take years to get off the ground, it's unrealistic or antagonistic or ahistoric. No offense, but fuck you guys." Morgan sighs. "Yeah. Well." A pale, veiny hand runs over his hairless head. "There are good people there. They just... they don't know any better. Or they don't have a reason to. As for Phreak here, he and a lady friend of his had a fight that damaged a lot of the city. He's also on record, that very night, of having told a very respected Clan leader to 'gargle his balls,' and witnessed on camera opening fire on Sentinels personnel who showed up to stop the fight. He's also a suspect in some other recent events, but I don't have clearance to even know what those are." oSo we're here about the occupation, right? "Right," says Morgan, sighing briskly and reaching into his desk. "The occupation. Borealis a neutral city. Like Last Ditch, a few miles from here," he explains. "That means it's not officially involved in the conflict between the Clans and Omni-Tek. For years, the Interstellar Council of Corporations provided peacekeepers there, over concerns about the subspace relay... here." Morgan produces a little circular paperweight. It isn't actually a paperweight! The surface slides open to reveal a holographic projector. It depicts what's surely a familiar sight for Liza--the giant satellite dish installation overlooking the forested city of Borealis. "Basically, that relay helps coordinate the satellites in low-orbit. The... orbital lasers. The concerns were well-founded, because the lasers were constructed without ICC oversight, in the name of planetary defense..." "But that was actually bullshit, like with everything Omni does. They were being used to attack Clan and neutral holdings. Shocker." "Right," says Morgan. "So, when the Watch blew the relay up, you actually did planetary peace a big favor-- oI'm sticking around to hear if there's anything I should know before I get started. Morgan goes pale, for a moment. Paler than usual, anyway. He swallows nervously. "Give me a second..." He's tracing something on the notebook Pramanix passed him, an image overlaid atop the notebook that only he can see. He tears a page off and passes it forward. It's a map of the city, with points along the streets circled. "These are Reclaim terminals. The city's crawling with Omni guys, but there's something they either haven't found or don't care about. I found it one day when I was there for work." Another page, detailing an overgrown cliff face. This one is a lot less quality because it's not obviously being traced. Morgan isn't confident in it, either--he draws an arrow to a certain part of the face. "There's a cave complex that runs under the city. If you could deal with the terminals from below, then you wouldn't have to wade through billions of credits of corpsec tech and muscle. And then you could... get rid of them, without them being able to come back."
Remee Halcyon	> "Occupation by a corporate army is simple. I'm sticking around to hear if there's anything I should know before I get started." ("So cool...") > "My job buys my life..." "Mmmh," says Remee noncommitally, with the sort of disdain only possessed by someone who A. is confident that they could not only survive but also thrive without their generational wealth and also B. is dead wrong about point A. Fortunately for her, she doesn't press the point. "Anyway, though. Caves are fine, but are the terminals entirely unapproachable from ground level?" "I mean they'd have to be at least... somewhat accessible, if people are using them, right?" she asks. "Just need to get close enough, then we can blow them up, hack them into uselessness, drop a building or two on them, that sort of thing." "... How long do we have before they can build new claim terminals, anyway?" she asks. "If they just need to hunker down for a week till they get replacements up and running this is going to be a lot harder."
Karlan Nobles	"You've thought about that possibility, then... My apologies for the assumption. You've done well hiding your strengths, then." "Sounds rather depressing, the way he puts it. Having to prepare for that sort of thing every day, just... Waiting." It takes a bit for Pramanix to get her mood back up while SilverAsh, as always, doesn't look bothered in the least even after finding out he's wrong about something. They still listen closely to what he says, though, nodding firmly as he details his other potential (lack of) employment prospects outside of Terra Firma. More importantly, though, there's new information on Terra Firma's goals and Phreak's own ousting from the city. Pramanix has to turn away for a moment to muffle some snickering into the back of her hand. SilverAsh just sits there, stone-faced and smiling as always. "Ahem.. It's probably better that you don't know, then. Fewer things anyone can pin on you later." "Assuming they wouldn't just fabricate evidence against Mister Morgan if they wanted to. But... We digress." Details about the occupation come forth, and the pair tilt heir heads slowly at the paperweight first, then lean back when it reveals the projection. Pramanix grimaces at what Morgan reveals about the satellites and lasers, and SilverAsh maintains that neutral look on his face, prompting Pramanix to elbow him in the ribs once. "You know it won't work." "Not yet." "Don't." With the drawing getting passed around, they take a long look at it before passing it over to the next person, committing the locations of those terminals and the cliff face mostly to memory. There's an uncertain look on Pramanix's face when Morgan mentions coming at the terminal from below, though, and even SilverAsh has to take some time to consider what they can do with that information. "Remee's got a good point. These terminals... Are they only for Omni's use, or can anyone from the city use them? If people need them to-oh! Can they be accessed through the little... Pyramid things?" "If only bombs could be transported into it so easily. No... We'll likely have to find a way to smuggle those in if we're not creating a scene on the way in." SilverAsh, pauses, then looks right at Liza. "Or... Would it send a stronger message if we made our presence known, to strike at that stability and tear it from Omni's grasp so brazenly?"
Nephra Tangent	Nephra tries her best to stifle a giggle at the story of how and why Phreak managed to accrue the heat he had. It doesn't do a particularly good job of tarnishing her view of him, at least. "The timeline's rushed, too, on... making sure they don't get the relay back up, yeah?" And, piggybacking off Remee's point, "Terminals get taken down, then it's... what, a firefight, with whatever's left? What do the Reclaim terminals... do, exactly?" Nephra's teeth crush through the outer shell of her blowpop, with an audible crunch. "Or is it a way to end stuff quieter? If.. avoidin' corpsec meatwalls is the goal. Haha. Sorry if that's supposed to be obvious intel, mate." She scratches her head with a gloved hand, her eye staring at the pad of paper instead of the Bureaucrat. "And. Um. What's got you so bloated-dead-sure those caves aren't a non-worry because it's a bad route..? I mean. Unless you're more leanin' on the 'they don't know because they're stupid, and don't care because they're stupid' side of it. Haha. If the answer's that you're not sure, though, all the merrier, ain't it?"
Liza Grier	Nobody can see it, but Liza is making a face at Morgan talking about leaving the planet. She looks to Phreak. "You wanna talk about that? What kind of jailbreak did you do?" In retrospect, it's obvious enough. She'd actually wondered about this same thing once. However, "Funny though. Most of us don't get Reclaim, and we do just fine." What was probably a snort turns into a snarl of static. "Going without a paycheque seems like the end of the world just until you realize how much they have to not teach you to make it stick. Once you start picking it up, that helplessness unravels around you. People thrived on their own with worse tools than we have now. There's definitely worse to fear. Maybe more for the fact you have that insurance." A sharp crackle spits through the mic precisely when Morgan includes 'and Omni-Tek' in that vision statement. "Then it's not democratic. It's just sharing. Letting the ruin elect itself to your fucking council just sets it all up to end this way all over again. Who gives a fuck about whether you vote for the bastards or not? Everything's gonna be better if you know at least someone cast a ballot for the heel stepping on your neck? Pathetic." "Everything they've ever made, every part of it we can destroy, we're doing everyone a favour." Liza takes the papers off Morgan's hands immediately. She doesn't ask, though she isn't violent about it either. The optics of her helmet blink asynchronously like router lights as she scans the data. "Yeah. Okay. I remember hating these things back at BIOMARE. If we take them all out without them knowing--" She looks at Phreak. "--Then they'll fight stupid thinking they're immortal. Anyone who gets in the way before we hit them . . ." She looks at Rita. "Alright. Good day." She hands the paper over. "If it's the Watch doing it on their own, that's a help to everyone, right? The radicals who're too weak, the cheerleaders who're too scared, the pissants who think they can be polite at pure evil, and the spineless losers who're afraid of hoping. It works for everyone but Omni-Tek. That's great. I'll be happy to give it my usual treatment." she says, meaning, 'loudly taking credit for it up front'. "That relay. Any use but the satellites? Because if not, it's gone for good." She brings up her wrist PDA, scrolling through something on a touchscreen wired to her glove contacts. Inventory? Past intel? "Anything else? Force composition? Weapons deployment? Comm lines to reinforcements? Escape routes? Holdouts and panic bunkers? I don't need an itemized list, but every bit of intel you have is another hundred dead soldiers, so really scrape your brains."
Rita Ma	Liza inclines her head faintly towards the spartan chair Rita enthusiastically pats, and then she slowly shakes her head. Rita frowns a little, but nods with firm understanding as she withdraws her hand. It's not like there's any shortage of that at home. She does scoot over to the seat next to Nephra, though. Being in the shadow of a taller woman is her natural habitat, and there's no reason to relinquish it. When Nephra asdks about the caves, she isn't slow to pipe up: "There probably is something living in them, Ms. Tangent. I mean, there has been every other time I've been on this planet. But if I can make friends with it, maybe that's a good thing?" "I didn't even realize there was a 'that way.' You know?" Rita's face scrunches as her eyes drift down from Morgan's eyes to his desk. Her hands squeeze together. There must have been some time she thought like that- when she just blindly assumed all's right with the world, and the people in charge were doing what's best. She feels like that's true. So why can't she remember when it was? She remembers men in uniform pointing guns at her at seven years old. It must have been before that. "Yeah. I think I do know," Rita says, still not sure if it tastes like a lie. When Morgan draws on the paper, Rita doesn't take a close look at it. Liza's already doing that. It's everyone else's faces she's more curious about. That means we'll have to be killing a whole lot of people, right? Is everyone here really okay with that? But nobody else seems to flinch. And when Liza looks at her meaningfully, Rita doesn't either. Liza gets a firm nod and the slight smile that says she's just happy to be trusted. "Thank you for trusting us, too, Mr. Morgan. We'll do our best not to let you down, okay?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oCaves are fine, but are the terminals entirely unapproachable from ground level? Morgan clicks a button on the not-paperweight. The hologram changes, with each press, a kind of 3-D slideshow. "For anyone who's not Rubi-Kan, they might as well be. The city isn't off-limits, but no one goes in or out without scrutiny. Did I mention it's lousy with Omnis?" The first image is some sort of mechanized weapons platform. It's twice as tall as a human--not hard to imagine it towering over the shacks here. Thick, sterile-white armor plates conceal the menacing outlines of concealed weapons systems, while a cyclopic eye sweeps across a visor. Rita and the Karlans in particular would recognize the model as the same kind that was stolen and appropriated by the Temple. "Two Juggernauts, with a third on the way. Rank-and-file on every street corner, and there's a contingent of Unicorns stationed there, too." Morgan clicks the device again. The Bureaucrat is not talking about 'unicorn, the animal.' An image is displayed with a man in advanced powered armor, easily as tall and built as Bercilak. "Technically, they're planetary defense forces, and you're not aliens--at least, not the kind they're paid to fight. But they are company men, they're not stupid, and they might be the most well-equipped guys in the company right now." oWhat do the reclaim terminals do, exactly? <X-Watch-Chatter> [4] Pramanix says, "Oh! I can answer that, Miss Tangent. They're used to return from the dead. At least, for the people from here." <X-Watch-Chatter> [4] Nephra Tangent says, "Haha. Yeah, that answers that. Haha." <X-Watch-Chatter> [4] Nephra Tangent says, "Oopsie." Morgan nods at Pramanix. "And if the terminal is down for any reason, then you're shunted back to the last one you used." In other words, he's suggesting the cave because he's almost sure the OT forces have used the terminals in Borealis, that they're under guard for just such a tactic, and that would make any kind of fight much more protracted.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oWhat's got you so bloated-dead-sure those caves aren't a non-worry because it's a bad route? "Well... I know there are mantises in there." He purses his lips, as if debating whether he should continue. "That's how I found it. I was taking my lunch, and looking for a quiet place to... have a smoke. I thought I'd found one--then I heard the screeching. Just barely. They're tough, but whatever you have to do down there won't be nearly as tough as trying to shut down the terminals in sight of the company. I could even help, if you want. Make it so that they don't notice you or anything else, until it's time to go." oYou wanna talk about that? Phreak shrugs his shoulders lightly. "We can. But in this case, it's not so much what I did, but what he is. Homo sapiens nanomage. Most of them need the notum in the atmosphere to survive." Morgan sighs and nods. "Unless you were born lucky enough to be born with hemonotoblasts. Transplants haven't really worked, in the history of the metabreed. There's talk of an exosuit, or a kind of rebreather. But notum is so sought after that there's not a lot of interest in pursuing that technology as fervently as something more directly, immediately profitable." Morgan doesn't shrink from Liza's condemnation of Terra Firma. At least not as much as he might have, once. He reaches a visibly veined palm up and rubs it across his pale face, fingertips lifting reflexively over the glossy surface of the visor. He doesn't have the energy to disagree--or maybe he doesn't even disagree entirely. "I guess maybe the gunship is acting demicky," he concedes to Nephra. oThat relay. Any use but the satellites? Because if not, it's gone for good. "No," says Morgan firmly, after a brief glance towards Rita. "The Battlestations, as they're called--they've been nothing but trouble. The best the ICC managed to do was make a... formalized bloodsport out of controlling them. It's cold comfort for people who don't know if they're going to be glassed at work or not on a given day." oAnything else? Force composition? Weapons deployment? Comm lines to reinforcements? Escape routes? Holdouts and panic bunkers? I don't need an itemized list, but every bit of intel you have is another hundred dead soldiers, so really scrape your brains. "Juggernauts are kind of built to stop exactly what you're trying to do, so they need to come down first. The Unicorns will have the most combat experience. They'll also have weapons reverse engineered from alien technology--I haven't volunteered for planetary defense, so I don't really know what that entails. Escape... there's the Whom-Pah, obviously--two exits, one in Stret West and the other in Newland. There's the Grid, too, if Phreak is good at covering his tracks. Other than that," he says, nodding towards the little traced map he'd drawn, "The only exit is 'up.' Or 'out,' through the one road into town." The city, according to the map he'd traced out, is surrounded by a forest nestled within a mountain range that'd be very difficult to traverse on foot. oThank you for trusting us, too, Mr. Morgan. We'll do our best not to let you down, okay? "Well, uh..." Morgan throws up his hands, leaning back in his chair, letting them fall to his lap. "Thanks for hearing me out, I guess. I wasn't... sure what to expect."
Remee Halcyon	<X-Watch-Chatter> 4 Rita Ma says, "You've changed a lot, haven't you, Ms. Remee?" <X-Watch-Chatter> 4 Remee Halcyon says, "I've - have I? ... For the better, I hope?" <X-Watch-Chatter> 4 Rita Ma says, "Mmm! I think so!" Remee, in human form, does not have a literal tail to wag, but she doesn't really need one anyway. She's standing up a bit straighter, acting a bit more attentive. Taking things a shade more seriously. Not making any comments about one of the obstacles being named 'Unicorns', even if that does make her stomach quietly rumble a little bit. (She can't help that part. She's still disappointed that the unicorns here are different.) "Alright... the caves, and dealing with the mantises, then."
Karlan Nobles	Nephra's question about Reclaim points gets an eager answer and friendly smile from Pramanix. She's rather pleased about retaining that much, especially when Morgan confirms the potential backups being so much further away than the points being targetted in this planning session. "There you have it. That means it's... Well, it's only a stopgap rather than a true deterrent towards working for Omni and their ilk, but you can fight without being too worried about... Er. The..." "Staining your hands with their blood? They went into these jobs knowing the risks." There's a bit of an uncomfortable silence between the two, but Liza's fervor eventually gets a firm nod from Pramanix. "That's right. We don't have any direct ties to those that might have targets painted on their backs for this-" She pauses, then glances over at Phreak. "-and didn't already. If we can manage this without blowing Mister Morgan's cover just getting inside through the caves, even better." SilverAsh's expression, as always, remains in that stony-neutral smile even though a lot of what's being said sounds like exactly the sort of thing he'd be on the hook for down the line. He opts not to say anything just yet that might risk bringing more attention towards that. Instead, he notices Rita looking at everyone's faces, and his smile shifts just a bit when he makes eye contact. Despite looking almost exactly the same as his usual smile, it's actually somehow more genuine than the usual, like he's trying to reassure her or something without breaking character. Morgan shows them a familiar-looking machine, and Pramanix groans almost immediately. "Those again? Lovely... We wouldn't happen to be able to commandeer one of those ourselves, would we?" "I doubt it, but it couldn't hurt to consider the option if it presents itself. A useful decoy, perhaps, or something to help us contend with the other larger threats." He gestures at the image of the unicorn. "Or... For the escape, even, if the Grier Special somehow isn't enough."
Nephra Tangent	"Mantises, Juggernauts, and Unicorns, oh my. Haha." Nephra's nervous flat laugh betrays the grin she's plastered on her face. "You were right, Miss Rita. Sounds like a lot of somethings are living in those caves. That.. does that sound like the kind of thing you can befriend..?" It'd be sad to have to fight animals.. "Well, haha. No matter. If it works better than surface-level, it works better. I'd really rather fight stupid soldiers than stupid soldiers who don't stay dead." By now, the blowpop is reduced to just gum and a wound paper stick, both of which she's chewing as she thinks. Her eye meets Morgan's, for a second, when he voices his acknowledgement, but she doesn't reply more than a small eyebrow-raise. "How, um.. are the city's precautions 'gainst collateral damage? Like, for the civilians, and all. This doesn't sound quiet or small, so.." She pauses, biting the inside of her cheek along with her gum. "Unless that won't really be a factor we're worried about?" She's worried about it.
Rita Ma	The shift in Silverash's smile might be subtle, but Rita is observant. Her eyes shut serenely as she bubbles over into a one-syllable laugh. It's a little embarrassing to be 'seen' like that, but he's being kind to her, isn't he? A moment later, Rita winces in time with Pramanix's groan. "Mmmm. The juggernaut the cult had was awful, wasn't it? But it's not like we'll be fighting three of them at once. And I'd like to think we've all grown since then!" That might be wishful thinking. Hard to say. But she has gotten a couple inches taller... "That.. does that sound like the kind of thing you can befriend..?" "Probably," Rita says, recovering enough to smile up at Nephra. "It's always hard to know beforehand, right? But I have a feeling like I'll get along with them." There's a little bit of guilt in her smile. Calling it 'befriending' tastes halfway like a lie, too. At last, Rita pushes herself up from the uncomfortable chair, steps forward, leans over Morgan's desk, and extends a hand for him to shake. The guilt bleeds out of her smile, leaving confidence behind. Some of that confidence is even genuine. "You've given us a chance to help a bunch of people, so of course we're going to take it, Mr. Morgan," she says. "And... I'm sorry to hear you don't have the option to leave. But that just means we have to make Rubi-Ka a better place for you, and everyone like you. Right?"
Liza Grier	The fact that Liza's mind jumped to extraplanetary kill switch in whatever makes the Reclaim system work is cynical, typical, and honestly still a little more intuitive than atmospheric dependency. She stares for a second, then says "Well now I'm feeling pretty good about leaving my helmet on." It was probably supposed to be a joke. 'No,' "Good." Liza crackles. "There won't be any chance of repairing it once I'm done. That's the only way to make them give up. They'll never, ever stop, until you scorch everything they have at the roots." 'kind of built to stop exactly what you're trying to do' "Noted." says Liza. "Good thing I'm built to kill everything built to stop me." She's tapping at her PDA again. Selecting entries. Drag-dropping into a folder. She mutters 'Mantises' under her breath, then says "We can use that." without elaboration. Rita knows how. "Stret West and Newland. We'll have to cover those before they can retreat. I'll have Phreak dump the Grid; can't let them get away as data. And then the cave . . ." She trails off with a throaty, crackling chuckle. "Yeah. Okay. That works." She tilts her head a little when Rita looks. Unprompted, she says, "Death isn't good, and it isn't fair. But taking it away as a possibility, as you'd expect, only serves the people who everyone wants to kill, in the end. Just like how they ban anything else."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants	oWe wouldn't happen to be able to commandeer one of those ourselves, would we? "SilverAsh is probably right. But put a pin in it. I heard from the Sm--" Phreak's golden eyes flick towards Morgan. "From some friends that there's one they lost track of. We could track it down later, have it in the back pocket for a rainy day." oHow, um.. are the city's precautions 'gainst collateral damage? Like, for the civilians, and all. Morgan pushes a breath through a tight-lipped frown. "I don't know," he admits. "I mean, I don't know anything about large scale combat, or architecture. I guess it's in a naturally defensible place, and it was built to last. I... I don't know." He swallows nervously. Given the unblinking, expressionless visor replacing his eyes, Morgan's brow, nose, and mouth do a lot of the work in conveying his expressions. His mouth hangs slightly agape at Rita, as if surprised to be thanked. He quickly stands up, reaches out and shakes her hand. It's a firm handshake, despite the pallor and the visible veins. oThey'll never, ever stop, until you scorch everything they have at the roots. "I don't..." Morgan trails off, hands resting on either side of his desk, as his head lowers and he contemplates his own reflection in the black glass. "I don't know enough, to know about that second part. But the first part sounds right, to me. On some level. I wish I'd felt that way before." "Yeah. Well. Bullshit times have a way of changing minds. Sometimes even jabronis come around into being halfway right." The Bureaucrat's reflection in the desk smiles weakly at Phreak's ribbing. Ting! "Oh." Morgan brought more than just chairs and a desk. He gestures to a coffee machine, sat on a countertop along the dull brown metal wall. Like the desk, it is starkly newer and more expensive than anything in this little shack. "Anyone want some, before you go?" "It's not mentholated, is it?" Morgan looks almost offended. "Of course not," he says, as his nanite cloud constructs a set of coffee mugs from memory. "I wouldn't even admit to having Carioso, much less offer it to anyone." Most of the mugs are nondescript. His says 'WORLD'S BEST LIASON' in proud, wide red letters. The coffee is delicious, for anyone who partakes. Atticus insists on at least trying a sip black, for any diehard cream-and-sugar likers. The fragrance has an air of fresh tobacco and wool. It may be the smoothest, less bitey cup of coffee one may ever have--so much that, were it not for the distinctive coffee taste and the caffeine kicking in, one might question if it wasn't just water. An almost sweet, oaky aftertaste gently settles, after each sip.