Scene #2604: Fanatic Chat

Owner	Pose
Mirielle Edelweiss	The Murasame Zaibatsu has a number of small holding facilities, austere building or attachments to larger areas in sub-sub basements where undesireable elements are catered to until their usefulness runs out, or prisoners are held. It's where a certain Bard has been held, treated as if he was a police prisoner, but affored far less rights and priveleges and a startling lack of due process. He wakes up in a room, legs strapped to a chair, with small nodes pressed into bare ankles, but his hands are free to move, and he's not really restrained in any special way beyond his feet. The room is slate gray, with a large mirror on one end - obviously a one-way mirror - and a single reinforced door. Which swings open. Mirielle Edelweiss is plainly there, her hair drawn into one long braid rather than two pigtails, and her black school uniform with silver trim accenting the odd normalcy of her appearance. She comes as a simple schoolgirl, for Mirielle Edelweiss isn't much more than that, is she? Of course not. It's important to maintain appearances. With her is a hulking brute of a man wearing a white long-sleeve button-down collared shirt with the arms rolled up to his straining biceps. Every part of this guy reads 'trouble', but he's probably not terribly older than anyone else in the room. His face, however, is hidden behind an impassive mask. "Well, hello." Mirielle begins, laying a folder and a notebook down on the metal table between them, before sliding into her own seat. Her muscle takes a place at her flank, bringing his hands behind her. "My name is Mirielle." She continues, her tone utterly devoid of emotion. "Today we are going to be asking and answering some questions. My companion here is... Well, let's call him John. As a personal favor to some people, I brought him in to gain some hands-on experience in the art he will soon be engaged in." She explains, her even tone almost eerily conversational. "The people I represent require me to explain to you your position. It is as such: You are going to answer some questions. If I am not satisfied with your answers, John will be given leave to begin his work. If I am happy with them, I will file them down, and you will be free to go." She steeples her fingers, canting her head down, as her glasses catch the dim cieling light and reflectign back, giving her a practiced gendo impression, shiny eyewear and all. "Do you understand?" "Let's start with your name."
Kyra Hyral	The bard has been pretty quiet so far. Most of that could be attributed to having a Silencer of his own, provided by Audrey during his 'arrest', for the majority of the time. Pretty essential when dealing with a rogue bard that could Sing a lullaby and make the room fall asleep. The rest has just been pure stubborness, strange for a bard but maybe not for an Ifriti. A bit of background checking would have revealed that he was born in the Bonfire but eventually immigrated to Ramuh. He seems irritable when Mirielle arrives but the irritation slowly drains away as he stares at the enormous man with her. He's not even looking at Mirielle at this point, sheer terror clutching at his brain. Fight or flight response threatens to take over-but because he is a bard, it is the flight or flight response which amounts to quite a bit of squirming in that chair. "Sweet merciful Cosmos, don't let that guy near me." He does not stop squirming. "Nasir. Nasir Lau."
Mirielle Edelweiss	Mirielle's escort gives a low grunt, as he stands at a loose attention, his muscles heaving slowly in and out as he breathes. His movements are easy, practiced. He carries himself like a Monk, and is built like an all-star athlete. Behind the mask, he snorts lightly at the reaction, before nodding slowly at his instructions. Mirielle doesn't smile, but nods lightly at the name. She takes out a pen and writes it down under a small column. "Mister Lau." She places her pen down, re-weaving her fingers, and looking to 'John'. "First lesson. Intimidation is a powerful factor, and the threat of violence is almost as good if not better than the actual violence in most scenarios. Furthermore, shock or pain can impair your subject's ability to talk. It's important to remember that the point of interrogative is to interrogate, not cause undue pain." She explains, clinically, as if she was a doctor describing a freckle on someone's face. John nods thoughtfully. "I see." He grunts. "Now. Nasir Lau. You are a member of the Cosman faith. What sect do you belong to? Please be specific. Furthermore, please explain your and your sect's greivance with a one Kyra Hyral. Again, be specific." She opens her file, spreading out pictures of the club, the hoods, etc, to 'jog his memory'.
Kyra Hyral	A hint of that irritation returns as Nasir realizes he's being used as a teaching tool for some thug. "Wait, you aren't from Ramuh's police force. There were no judges in that club. Who /are/ you/?" he accuses, ceasing with the squirming since it becomes clear that it isn't getting him anywhere. As the questions continue, the bard lifts his head a little bit. Around his neck, which was definitely discovered during processing this guy, is a golden gorget-a piece of neck armor that looks a lot like a half-collar around his throat. To a Judge or Paladin, it's one small piece of a larger set of armor. "/I/ follow Cosma Naturalis. Our grievance is less personal than you might imagine. Kyra was declared Cherem. 'Suffer not the agents of the Enemy. Drive them from your homes, your cities, and your hearts.' Some of us..." despite his situation, he manages a grin, "...believe in being proactive in devotion."
Mirielle Edelweiss	"I told you. My name is Mirielle Edelweiss. My companion goes by the name 'John'. Please don't make me repeat myself." The Calculator replies coolly. "I never claimed to be part of the police force. I make no claims as to my affiliation, only that I am here to ask you questions. Have you not heard of me? I suppose you're not a student at Alexander Academy, which would explain many things." Mirielle stands up, slowly, her shortness not cutting an impressive figure, but there's something to her. A sort of hanging power that bleeds off of her. It's probably just magic she's using to make herself more impressive. "Cosma Naturalis. Declared Cherem. Proactive devotion. I understand. I have my own faith that I keep. A very close and personal one." She commisserates, leaning only slightly over to take her pen and notebook, noting down the answers to her question. "Your faith gives you pride, does it? I'm glad." She notes, something cold and slithering in her tone. And a very strong impression that she's not glad at all. "But you do not have leave to engage in that pride here. You are here to answer questions. Break a finger, John. Your choice." She orders, clipped and professional. The masked brute breaks his stance to begin walking around the table, and Mirielle moves around the table on the opposite side. "You see, there are parts of the Cosman faith that bother me. Those about the 'Enemy'. You believe you are doing good work, torturing and attacking a girl whose station you are far under, like a band of thugs. You believe you do the work of a benevolent and kind god, by visiting divine punishment upon those that stray from the flock." She ends her movement behind his chair, as 'John' leans in, aiming those meat-cleaver hands around Lau's left hand, a thumb aiming to work his pinky back in an unnatural angle. "I believe I asked you to be specific, Mister Lau. So, please detail to me either five members of your organization that were not involved with that attack, but share your views, or two high-ranking officers that encourage this behavior. You do still have nine fingers left, and don't need any of them to answer my questions."
Kyra Hyral	"No, I've never heard of you and no, I'm not a student at that school." Nasir sticks his chin up a little. It looks like he's about to make another comment about Mirielle or the school she attends but he stops suddenly, perhaps sensing that strange wrongness about the schoolgirl. Something felt sketchy and it wasn't just that he was in the middle of who knows where being interrogated by a sketchy calculator. He tries to maintain eye contact with Mirielle but fails, resuming his squirming when he is sentenced to breaking a finger. Heroically he tries to pry a hand free and only succeeds in exhausting himself. A yowl of discomfort follows as his finger is snapped backwards. Tears immediately start to well up at the corners of his eyes and right away, he starts naming names. In his haste he doesn't say which camp they belong to but since he keeps naming them over two people, it's likely that he's listening accomplices. Not a single Hyral is named. One person is listed by what sounds like a screen name.
Mirielle Edelweiss	Mirielle stands behind Nasir, taking notes. Dilligently recording notes about his reactions before and after pain was applied. John takes an easy step back and Mirielle returns to her lines of questioning. "I see you have have chosen to sell out your fellow Cosmans, over your proactive leaders. The sheep, rather than the shepherds. Rather than directing divine justice towards those responsible, those that have put you on this path, you choose to cast dispersions along your fellow faithful." She leans in, glasses reflecting light, as she hisses in his ear. "You have no discipline. And no principles. You are lower than scum, because scum have rules." She draws back, pacing around the table. "John, please note that when applying force, never attack the face, throat, eyes, or upper chest. Harming the ability to speak is wildly counterproductive. Rather, focus your attention on objects that are unrelated to speech." She moves back across the table, to her chair, and places her notebook down. "Let me be your Ragnarok, Nasir. I shall reveal the path before you, the fulcrum upon which you turn. I have, right here, your obituary. 'Witnessed' by a White Mage, where you died of your wounds in that brawl. You will cease to be, and will find your way to a morgue. It will be very neat, very simple." She pulls out a small key. "This is the key to that door." She gestures at the large door next to her. "A powerful symbol. Freedom. You will be, as I claimed, free to go. I have two simple requests." "One is that you will give unto me your direct superior." She extends her hands. "Or I will hunt down every single name on this list, and their testimony will be matched against yours, and someone, somewhere along the line, will break. Whether it's to the promise of gil, the promise of pain, or the promise of loss, someone will talk, and when that happens, after all that work I go through, I will get what I want." "If you furnish me with that name, well, I won't have to go through that." That darkness comes to a terrible head. "Which leads me to my second stipulation. If you or anyone even tangentially related to you ever lay a single hand on Kyra Hyral ever again I will find you first, and then I will remove all offenders from existance with extreme, scouring prejudice until I am /satisfied/ that it will never happen again." She seethes with a deep, horrible intensity. Then, with a drawn breath, she settles herself, and quirks a very thin smile. "So. What shall it be? May I have that name, Nasir? What is your faith worth to you?"
Kyra Hyral	For Nasir, it doesn't help that he isn't of a Job well known for high tolerances to pain. It doesn't help that he's a bard that needs those fingers, especially given that his chosen instrument is the keytar. To sit here and have every digit crippled would mean being disabled until he managed to fully cover his abilities with his voice alone. It wasn't a possibility he cound entertain and keep entertaining and remained a solid fear that keeps him from holding back. He shudders at Mirielle's voice. "But there..." His protests die off as Mirielle chooses to address 'John' again. "But there wasn't-" he starts again after swallowing deeply, only to be cut off a second time as his own obituary is waved in his face. He starts to look pale at that, as pale as the corpses they'd pull out of that morgue they're going to send him to. He falls quiet, staring at Mirielle, staring at the key. "...Robin Belvouve." he eventually says. The name might be slightly familiar. He doesn't place as nearly high in the Church Naturalis as Kyra's parents might but he is well known enough. Rumor has it that he may yet achieve that station but for now he is well known for his preaching. The bard surrenders this information even before the second stipulation is raised. When it is, though... "...I can only promise that on behalf of myself. I don't have any control over what other Adherants decide to do against the Cherem." he says quietly, then launches into a panicky, "Is that enough for you?"
Mirielle Edelweiss	"Excellent." Mirielle nods. "John, I'm sorry he was cooperative. I trust that this was informative?" 'John' grunts, shrugging. "It's fine, ma'am." He mumbles, and Mirielle nods. "... Robin Belvouve." She repeats, writing it down. "I think we're done here." She notes, not answering his question on if it was good enough. Someone will be by to fetch you and look at that finger." She notes, closing her book. "You know, there was some talk of killing you and interrogating the ghost. I think this was mutually beneficial in the end. Have a nice day." She notes, gathering up her papers in the folder and tucking them under an elbow. "John?" She murmurs, and the man looms towards Nasir, before Mirielle quite simply walks out of the room, the companion leaving shortly after. Some people will probably come by later with black bags and sleep spells. Souji has the last word on where the man goes. Mirielle has what she needs - and a full report besides.
Kyra Hyral	At that point, the bard looks frantically from Mirielle to 'John'. "Is that enough?" he repeats with that same worried intensity, "Is it? I can only promise myself...only myself.." he babbles nervously, now ignored as Mirielle and John hash out whatever details are needed. He continues to chatter up until Mirielle leaves him behind for those few minutes. In those moments before John leaves, he looks /terrified/. It's enough that the feeling lingers even after both have left and up until the next person comes into the room. Only when SpoonyMic realizes that Mirielle and John are not coming back does he experience any sort of semblence of relaxing.