Apotheosis: Shadows of a Bright Republic (IC)

[Elyrin]

Gabrielle Monet
March 11, 1000 AS
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown

Oh. Oh no.

Gabrielle hadn't noticed the little girl mixed in with the group, now staring up at the young woman with teary eyes. Her speech and the mention of food had worked on the liberated slaves well enough, thank the One, but for a lost and terrified little kid? Gabby kneeled down and took the tiny girl's hands in her own.

"I... I don't want to make you a promise I can't keep. You deserve to be home. Those people should never have taken you here. But..." Gabby gave the girl a sad smile, and her hands a careful squeeze. "You must be from somewhere really far away, right? Do you remember the name of the place you lived? Me and my friends have stuff to do here, so I don't think I can take you. We'll have to find someone else who can. Someone who isn't bad like those guys we beat up. So, you'll have to stay here for a while. Is that okay?"

[Plue]

Ad Astra
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown
March 11, 1000 AS (After Shattering)

The first impressions of the sword give her a bad vibe as she can feel the twinned energies that went into its construction. What a nasty piece of work... but then, it was a weapon was it not? Should a weapon try and pretend to be something other than dangerous? Euuhg, no one philosophical problem per... day? at the very least. Mentally shoving that issue aside for now. It certainty wasn't something important at the moment.

"Power should be used to make things better... even if we can only reach a local optimum, we should still strive towards a global optimum."

Astra rolls Dorothea's words around until they make sense in her head at least.

"But, well... the world is broken. You just need to look up at night to see it."

Didn't everyone know about the shattering? Or maybe did she think the world was supposed to be like this, and just the Republic was the weird place out?

[Mormarth]

Dorothea Ionescu
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown
March 11, 1000 AS (After Shattering)

What on earth is she talking about?

The dark-haired doctor glanced up at the sky, sun shining dimly against the haze of the city.

It looked the same as it always did.

"Let's say, for a moment, that I don't really know that much about something like 'The World', beyond it being where we all live. It's a big place, and I've only been to a few of the places in it. The Confederacy, Vissio, parts of Dulumbai, Patria," She paused, a shadow passing over her face, "Nezdohva, once."

"These are places that, to me, and probably a whole lot of other people out there in the world, have existed for thousands of years, beyond written memory, except for here, maybe a couple of places here and there across the continent. Nations, Empires, rising, and falling, like our new Ancalian friends' situation, poor souls."

She tapped her fingers on a leg, "But it is getting worse, that I know. Might even be obvious here, the wonderland. But it is much worse on the continent, I remembered the Curse-Eater's being bolder, larger groups, more frequent visits. Each season the caravans from the lowlands get sparser, guards more fearful, watchful. The night gets darker, more terrible. Even great Ancalia, with its brave knights, bastion of the north, ruined."

She frowned.

"Is it worse, I wonder, to hear screams in the night? Or to simply hear nothing at all? Not even insects, or the birds who feed on them."

She tilted her head, "I don't know anything about the sky, or much about the world being broken, besides a bunch of old men grumbling about once-great times millennia ago, but I do know the world grows worse."

A hum, "So even if I do think sometimes that you Republicans are disgustingly decadent and complacent, grown fat on your peaceful, prosperous islands and looking down in ignorance on the rest of the world as it tears at its own limbs..."

Then a smile, "I'll help you all anyway, because I don't turn away people in trouble."

"Though," She continues, frowning, "Using power to make things better is a strikingly broad statement, while I'm not some sophist who will hem and haw over true moral goods, I do know that I've got a very different idea about how to make things better than, say, some court scholar in Dulumbai, or some Howler on the plains."

Then a firm nod, "So we'll start at making sure people can live with needs met and opportunities opened."

[Plue]

Ad Astra
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown
March 11, 1000 AS (After Shattering)


"Oh um, no ah." Astra drums her fingers on the shell of the van? At what point does the classification of the vehicle change from just a van with the modifications she is making to it? Perhaps it would be best to just call it a vehicle?

Wait, no.

"Sorry, I don't mean broken in a way that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy, but practically so." The misunderstanding was really her own fault. Dorothea had been nice enough to try and help her sort out the morality of what they had done here and she had segued to a different category of problem.

"The world we are on shattered as it fell outside of the universe into a place that is hostile to humanity."

"That happened, well... about 1000 years ago. The specifics of how it happened... Fallen Angels? Maybe?" Shrugging her shoulders. The specifics of what caused it not really something that concerned her currently. After learning more it might be a point to return to still.

"So that is what I want to fix, and what I mean is broken. The Etheric nodes here are just Band-Aids on the symptoms, enough to stabilize the locality, sort of? But hardly enough, and well... not enough for everyone everywhere either."

A small grin as she flips a length of hair out of her face, "I don't have any idea how to do that now, so doing a little bit of good seems... good."

[Eru Erufu]

Gabrielle Monet
March 11, 1000 AS
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown


The little girl scrunches up her face, as though trying to remember it's name. "E-chow." She answers, though Gabby gets the feeling that even though she knows HOW it's pronounced, she'd never be able to spell it. Especially in those strange foreign alphabets of Arcem.

Rather than complaining or throwing a temper tantrum, like all girls her age might when denied something, the girl merely nods with vacant eyes. "OK." she says, though from her actions she seems determined not to leave Gabby's side. "Hungry..." she mutters, whispering as though expecting Gabby to scold her for even daring to ask for food.

The other Ren look to Gabby with approval at her handling of the child, and one of the few men, a Ren, steps forward. "I am Cao Shunyuan, formerly priest of ancestors in small village of Aoshang." He says in stilted Pelagic. "What we do to repay you for this... great deed, Lady Xian?" What did he just call her?

No matter: all of that can be resolved later. For now, these people need to be rehoused and fed. Something that is sure to be an easy task with someone such as Paul on their side!

---

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Everyone

And a day passes. Please describe how your handle the rest of the day in your next post IF you do off-screen activities.

The next day, in a NICE part of Harbortown (Lower Class as opposed to outright slum), our heroes find themselves... well, it certainly is a situation.

After meeting with the attractive 30-something secretary at the entrance, they're led to some kind of express elevator. Sitting in relative silence in the artificially freshened air, droll classical music playing, the doors eventually open to-

"Oi, bitch!" A familiar rusted sword is raised into the elevator as soon as the doors open. "You're a dogshit fighter, and I won't let the Realm think some dogshit fighter with sloppy style beat me! You're gonna learn to fight right whether you like it or not!" Hana stands grinning from ear to ear right in the exit of the elevator. Behind her is a hallway leading to another door, the violet-haired young lady that Paul met before leaning against it in her business suit.

"This one apologizes for Hana Yatsukahagi's behavior. She has been looking forward to this meeting for hours."

"Was not!" Hana shouts back, looking flustered. "I was just... makin' sure I had all my trainin' lessons in order! Yeah!"

"Regardless-" The 'Professor' bows. "This one is called the 'Professor' by her friends, and Other Pantheon may refer to me as such. Other Pantheon already knows Hana Yatsukahagi, and thus it is imperative we prepare you for the meeting with our Illustrious Leader."

"Jimbo is not our fucking leader." Hana shoots a glare at Professor. "He's an idiot!"

"James Kirkland's IQ has been measured at 160."

"You know what I mean! Fuck's sake, woman, see through the puppy love for a sec and you'll see Jimbo is bloody bonkers!"

Volcania feels someone elbowing her, and looking to her side he sees Tang with a sheepish grin. "Least yer mates ain't as discordant as these ol' broads, right?"

[Mormarth]

Dorothea
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown

"Oh really? Big talk from a loser."

This blithe response, complete with nonchalant cleaning of an ear, came from Dorothea, no longer clad in the white coat of her profession.

Instead, stepping into the hall, she wore a weather-worn hooded coat of dark navy, accented with red on the internal seams, accompanied with a simple collared shirt, tucked down into a short, sturdy pair of shorts.

In addition, though it went without saying, the enormous rusted blade of heavenly make still rested on her back, safely stored in the handmade sheathe.

Leather gloves creaked quietly as blue-clad arms folded, surveying the corridor, returning the 'Professor''s bow with an acknowledging nod, head tilting at the some-what strange diction, before returning her attention to the swaggering bravo in front of her.

"You can talk all the stink you want, I still beat you."

A challenging sneer came on, the drawling tones of an accent sidling around the edges.

"Didn't need no flourish 'n pirouettes like some city-slickin' stage-fighter neither."

Though she would privately admit to herself that an organized bit of flourish and swash and what-not would probably be useful against a person.

But the most dangerous things she'd fought typically weren't.

"Now would you git that letter-opener outta my face? It's rude. To everyone."

[Bloble]

Volcania
March 11, 1000 AS
1300 hours
Streets, Harbortown

Volcania spent the rest of the day in wanderlust.

After a nice meal, she tasked Tang and some of her more well-behaved boys to take care of her new disciples, and then she departed, wordlessly, to wander the streets of the slums by herself, leaving the rest of her Pantheon to their own devices. And wander she did, from one end to another, though curiously focused on one area in particular: that of Jong's territory. No, his former territory.

Gang graffiti is usually used to mark who is in control of what area. Volcania had learned that much in her few months away from the continent. So she simply looked for the tags left by Jong's crew, and even those of other gangs encroaching on the borders. And as she walked by those tags...



A coal-black hand print was seared over each and every one, staking a claim to the streets.

---

Volcania
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown

Unlike the club and the streets, it's clear as day that Volcania is not particularly suitable for any place that looks nice. She stands strangely among the other, exceedingly more well-dressed individuals, towering over them and sticking out like a sore thumb in too-tight and too-small white t-shirt with a silly mascot on it that she'd grabbed from the gift shop on the way in. Even Tang looks better. Why the hell does a goober like him actually look kinda good in a suit?

"I miss the boys already, Tang," she says, very very seriously, pulling at the neckline of her shirt. "These two are fun, but the rest of this place is like a prison. Feels like they'd kick us outta here if I showed a whiff of abs. That lady at the front desk looked like she was gonna murder me when I tried to light up a cigar earlier."

Certainly, it feels like whatever this 'office' place is, it's surely a mausoleum of the miserable, where those working become slaves to the almighty wage until their souls have been ground down to dust.

"It's more Paul's kinda place. Ain't that right, Paul?"

A massive hand descends on the salaryman's shoulders.

"I betcha!" Volcania declares. "I betcha our guy could take your guy! In a duel of uh, business or something!"

[MssrNeko]

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Paul Copperbell

Paul is shaken to reality as his spine cracks from Volcania's clap.

The previous night was spent feeding and clothing the group of former human contraband. Paul's newfound powers made the ordeal both simple and tiring as he pulled food and cloth from nothing. He felt uneasy as the slaves cried in happiness for him and his group. This along with him figuring out how shallow his knowledge of his abilities were kept him from sleeping easy. Paul could use a cup of coffee.

"Well," Paul starts as he corrects his back. "Lets get this meeting started. Where is this leader of yours?"

[Plue]

Ad Astra
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown


Following at the back of the group Astra stiffles a yawn as she had been working on the... well, their transportation. A bit of work had worked the new laptop she had into its structure, with some improvements as well. At the very least if they had to leave in a hurry they would have some kind of a base to work out from. More than enough -comfortable- seats for everyone, even for the giantess of Volcania. It was armored as well as she could with the materials on hand. She... wasn't -really- happy with it yet, but it was better than anything else they could eh, indefinitely borrow off the street.

Huh, maybe she had gotten a better than average group?

They certainly had a better start though, a quick internet search pulling up information about the company they were walking into so she wasn't completely unprepared. They already had a nice economic base, hmm the things she could do.

Well, no sense moping over that. Hopefully they will be friendly? Astra already completely ignoring the fight the two swordswomen had the other day.

[Elyrin]

Gabrielle Monet
March 11, 1000 AS
~1300 Hours
Jong's Hideout, Harbortown


Good enough.

The little girl was in a... well, not a good mood. Even better was kind of pushing it. "Less bad mood" would have to do. Gabby pat the child on the head, whispering a bit of encouragement before turning to respond to the Ren man.

"No repayment is necessary, Mister Priest. Just the opposite. You should consider my presence here the repayment to you all in exchange for the indignities you've all been through. I would like to hear all of your stories, if you don't mind - but later! We have more important things to deal with first!"

Well. In the end, Paul did most of the work. If you could really call that work, anyway. Gabby concerned herself first of all with keeping the men and women in a good mood - well, an acceptable mood - and second of all with finding somewhere for them to stay, at least temporarily. Once those two orders of business were dealt with, it was off to a very content night's sleep in preparation for the next day's meeting.

---

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown


Gabby couldn't speak for everyone else, but she was dressed for a meeting, at least. One light grey suit jacket with standard white undershirt, knee-length skirt, and not-too-tall heels. All properly tailored, of course.

I miss the boys already, Tang, she says, very very seriously, pulling at the neckline of her shirt. These two are fun, but the rest of this place is like a prison. Feels like they'd kick us outta here if I showed a whiff of abs.

"Hey, a suit has its own appeal too. You get yourself a nice jacket, look all serious and presentable, like you're a functional member of society or something. Then when the negotiations go sour, you stand up, do a little stretch, pull off your jacket all dramatically, and wham! The serious businesslady is covered in tattoos and built like a brick shithouse. Just like in the movies."

...maybe that wasn't a good thing to be talking about right before the meeting, actually.

"Uh, not that I'm hoping negotiations go sour. I think it would be best for everyone involved if everything went smoothly and we all ended up on the same page. Hana and Dorothea can rip each others' limbs off for fun later, right, ladies?"

[Eru Erufu]

March 11, 1000 AS

Feeding and finding the recently freed slaves shelter is an effortless effort for one bound to Wealth. Paul certainly received far too many "thank yous" than the old dodger was comfortable with, but such is life as a divine being.

Astra's work on the van goes swimmingly: top of the line AC, comfortable seats of dubiously-authentic leather, and a spacious interior fit for the fanciest of fops! The armored exterior is... well, it isn't pretty but it's certainly effective. Something for her to improve on in the future.

As for Volcania, those that had seen her leave her mark atop the gang tags of eld quickly spread the word. For better or for worse, everyone knew that this was now Volcania's turf.

"No repayment is necessary, Mister Priest. Just the opposite. You should consider my presence here the repayment to you all in exchange for the indignities you've all been through. I would like to hear all of your stories, if you don't mind - but later! We have more important things to deal with first!"

Helping Paul with distributing soup and homing the ex-slaves, Gabby gets a chance to hear tales of their homelands. Though their original homes are varied, most seem to have come from the shorelines of the Regency. From them, Gabby learns of the Confucian Li-magic that governs their lives. A fascinating topic to be sure: ritualized behavior to encourage conformity and a smooth, peaceful society.

All the while, the child from before rides on Gabby's back. None of the others seem to know her name, and the girl herself begins to panic whenever someone asks. For now, a nickname might be prudent.

---

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Everyone

"Now would you git that letter-opener outta my face? It's rude. To everyone."

"Letter opener?" A vein bulges on the rebellious young lady's forehead. Every other insult goes unheeded as she laser focuses in on that single one. "Daddy's sword is 100 times the blade your block of rust is! That's it: I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Yatsukahagai." The Professor shoots the young swordsman a dangerous look. Hana pales at whatever implication is behind those eyes, and quickly looks away. "...fine. You!" She sheathes her blade, pointing with her finger at Dorothy. "I'm gonna teach you my style!"

"I miss the boys already, Tang," she says, very very seriously, pulling at the neckline of her shirt. "These two are fun, but the rest of this place is like a prison. Feels like they'd kick us outta here if I showed a whiff of abs. That lady at the front desk looked like she was gonna murder me when I tried to light up a cigar earlier." ... "I betcha!" Volcania declares. "I betcha our guy could take your guy! In a duel of uh, business or something!"

"I dunno, gemenr, I'm kinda likin' the joint." Adjusting his brand new suit jacket (mended and cleaned of blood courtesy of Astra) he fingerguns at nobody in particular. "I feel like th' boss of one of those Republican pictures. Big Tang. The Tangfather. Scartang. Y'think Makda likes the 'suited gentleman' type?" In unison, he fires both finger guns at the wall.

Hana snorts as she shifts her gaze to Volcania. "I bet he could, too. Greg's the brains of the business: this moron just wastes all his allowance on stupid shit."

Professor seems to have far more faith in 'Jimbo.' "James Kirkland would win. This one has the utmost faith in him."

Hana gapes at her. "You don't really think that, do you?" Silence hangs in the air for several seconds before the Professor finally relents with a sigh, shaking her head.

"Uh, not that I'm hoping negotiations go sour. I think it would be best for everyone involved if everything went smoothly and we all ended up on the same page. Hana and Dorothea can rip each others' limbs off for fun later, right, ladies?"

"This one would request they do not." the Professor answers. "Plans would be hindered by needless injury. This one requests all sparring be kept to a minimum of violence in case emergency demands combat."

The Professor glances at Paul as he asks where exactly 'Jimbo' is. "Please follow Yatsukahagi."

---

Behind the double doors is another long hallway, but this one is different from the first: namely in that it's decked out to a T in books, artwork, and other such symbology. Occult symbols written into priceless paintings, ancient grimoires in glass display cases, and Astra even sees a theurgic staff brimming with the Word of Fire.

"This one recommends you keep your hands to yourselves. This one will not miss any mischief." Professor advises from the back of the group. They feel her eyes boring into them as they walk, scrutinizing their every move. It would be trivially easy for any one of them to bypass the countermeasures on the display cases, and the Professor knows it.

Finally they reach the end of the hallway, and moving beyond they arrive in a huge office, the entire back wall a glass window giving a fantastic view of Pinnacle's skyline! If the hall itself was decked out in display items, the office itself is next level! Stacks of ancient books, from the enigmatic Ars Goetia to the legendary epics of the First World, all carefully restored and lining the office's bookshelves. It's against this wall that they finally get their first view of Jimbo, a scrawny young man, perhaps nineteen, searching for something with the fervor of a treasure hunting on the prowl for relics.

"Christ woman, it's organized chaos! I knew where everything was, why did you have to get these damn shelves and-" Turning to address the 'Professor,' Jimmy freezes as he realizes that it isn't just Professor. Tripping over several tomes littering the floor, Jimmy crashes into the swiveling office chair with all the grace of a manatee on dry land. Turning it to face the window, he's silent for several seconds before the chair creaks and he turns to them, steeping his hands on the desk.

"Nailed it, Jimbo." Hana rolls her eyes.

"Shut it!" Jimmy's eye twitches. A switch seems to flip on him, and in the next moment his expression is all confident. "Sup, chumps! I'm Jimmy, and you know my crew! Any of ya want a biscotti? Prof. made some fresh earlier and they are-" He holds up his hand in an 'ok hand gesture.' "Fine! Love that woman."

"Anyways, uh," he clears his throat. "Who wants to kill feds?" He throws his arms out wide, grinning all the while.

"Jimbo..." Hana growls.

"Shit, fine fine! I meant 'may I interest all of you in a orderly and largely bloodless revolution as we overthrow the decadent elites?'" After a beat, he leans over the desk and stage whispers. "Don't tell Hana, but I've been calling in the Fedicide Homopocalypse. How 'bout it, toots." He winks at Astra, and the girl genius suddenly feels the eyes of a Godbound piercing the back of her head with hatred alone. "You do tech shit, I do tech shit, my girl does tech shit. I bet we'd make some wicked shit."

"Jimmy. This one reminds you that they are here about the heist."

"Oh yeah, sure sure. You guys wanna steal the heart of a fallen angel from a Republican warship?" Jimmy asks with an air of nonchalance. The atmosphere of the office radiates pure chaos as the seated young man dances from topic to topic, his train of thought less 'derailed' and more 'railess.' It's then that Dorthy finally connects two dots in her mind: she knows this voice and chaotic train of thought. One of her nurses is always listening to Radio-Head on her shortwave radio; a notorious conspiracy theorist always ranting about the federal government, immigration, and some crazy shit about fallen angels trying to poison the minds of the youth with atheism.

[Mormarth]

Dorothea Ionescu
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown

She dug at an ear, "Styles're for peacocks, but if you really want to learn at the feet of a real swordsman, I'll take some time out of my schedule."

She'd never met a single person who bragged about the keen storied styles of martial wisdom they held that didn't get themselves eaten.

Or worse.

But this was, she supposed, a good way to, ah...

'Network', was it?

She rolls her eyes at the chastisements.

She answers blatant posturing with the obligatory posturing in turn, naturally, this means people think she's going to flip out and murder someone.

What a couple of idiots.

She hasn't even twitched towards her companion on her back, so why does she get painted with the same brush as the brain-rotten weirdo in front of her?

She even got out of the way and tried to de-escalate!

She wondered, concernedly, if she was starting to get pigeon-holed.

She'd stuck around for a bit, after the scuffle at the gang's building, but she was on a timer, and needed to get back, even fixed up the giant's leavings for no charge to her, and fixed her and the preening second behind her up as well.

She sighed.

Why was she wasting her time with this?
-----
"Ah, you're that gentleman with the brain problems on the radio."

She can't say she cared for him, being one of the three things he incessantly shrieked about on a day-to-day basis, but Miss Louise was obsessed, endlessly entertained by his mad ramblings like some sort of long distance Fool.

She preferred the crime shows anyway, Miss Lina had tried to get her interested in some adventure series, but they only frustrated her.

There's only so much you can tolerate the insipid attempts of a Republican to depict what life was like on the mainland.

She peered at him, then at Hana.

"Do you happen to have an interest in these fallen angels, then?"

[Plue]

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Everyone

Lingering for a moment to eye the Word of Fire staff Astra quickly catches up with the rest of the group as they meet this Jimmy leader.

Oh. He's crazy. That's kinda problematic...

A warship?

"Mmm... what kind of warship?"

[MssrNeko]

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Paul Copperbell

Paul's mind sparks to attention with knowledge from his Word. It expands his previously capable mental capacities with deeper pools of wisdom; the past river of knowledge he has is now a vast ocean of untapped potential. Paul can only skim the surface of his Word like a child letting waves slam into his body on the beach. He pieces together data and trivia to form a rough estimate.

Comparing this haze of consciousness to James' dialogue, Paul clears his throat.

"Is there anything we should be aware of?" Paul cooly asks.

[Bloble]

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Volcania

"Yeah, sure thing, crazy guy. I'm in. So long as we get to keep it."

Volcania actually seems right at home in the mad office. She sniffs at the air and nods in approval.

"Smells like freedom in here."

[Elyrin]

Gabrielle Monet
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 Hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown


Maybe I didn't need to get dressed up for this after all.

Gabby had been expecting something resembling formality, but... well, they were already there. The deed was done. And as long as the two pantheons didn't all get killed, they could get shit done. Probably!

"Sounds like a terrible idea. What's the plan? You, uh, have some sort of plan, right? Anything at all?"

[BladeOfEden]

Markus Braun
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown

Markus watched the one called ‘Jimbo’ cautiously. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the young man rubbed him the wrong way.

It could be the fact that he was talking about “killing feds” in such a casual way.

Or, perhaps it was the rather rude manner in which he spoke.

His eyes trailed to the Professor. She seemed clever enough, but why would she bother consulting with a person like this?

Slowly moving across the room, he made his way next to Hana.

“What’s the deal with this one?” he asked her quietly.

[Eru Erufu]

March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown
Everyone

She dug at an ear, "Styles're for peacocks, but if you really want to learn at the feet of a real swordsman, I'll take some time out of my schedule."

"Sure, sure." Hana's expression is positively predatory as she grins back. "Last time was a fluke: I'm down 24/7 to kick your ass!" Cracking her knuckles, Hana steps forward as her katana inches ever so slightly out of its sheathe. Alas, a hand on Hana's shoulder, Professor's, stops her in her tracks.

"Spar later. This one does not wish to keep James Kirkland waiting."

"Tch." Hana spits onto the ground. "Fine! We settle this later! And you're gonna tell me where you got that sword from, too!"

---

"Ah, you're that gentleman with the brain problems on the radio."
"Do you happen to have an interest in these fallen angels, then?"

"I'm not crazy." Jimmy deflects with an aura of nonchalance. "I'm just a little unwell."

"And yeah, fucking fallen angels." Jimmy slams his fist onto the table, causing Tang to jump at the sudden noise, his hand freezing midway to his new runic revolver. "Bastards are spreading their demonic atheism in our beautiful nation! Goddamn fucking politicians are lettin' them do it with their AI pop stars and their pornographic video games! You know they're about to put out full dive VR? They're placating the masses so they can hook us up to their Satanic machines and use us as fuel for the Devil's designs! I talk about all of this in my book, and-"

"Lord have mercy." Hana groans, palming her face. "You just HAD to get him going."

Slowly moving across the room, he made his way next to Hana.

“What’s the deal with this one?” he asked her quietly.

"I've known this retard since we were yay high, and trust me: he's never changed." Hana says back. Lowering her voice so Jimmy can't hear, she speaks again: "Look, Gramps is the real brains behind our operation. We've kinda put on this floorshow to keep Prof happy, and Jimmy is... well, he's a moron, but he's our moron. Y'know?" After a second of silence, she adds. "Also he's loaded. Money helps when you're trying to overthrow the government and stop the fallen angels and their demonic atheism."

Hana's eyes glitter with unconcealed zeal. Good Lord, she might be just as bad as Jimmy.

"Mmm... what kind of warship?"

"Yeah, sure thing, crazy guy. I'm in. So long as we get to keep it."

Volcania actually seems right at home in the mad office. She sniffs at the air and nods in approval.

"Smells like freedom in here."

"Sounds like a terrible idea. What's the plan? You, uh, have some sort of plan, right? Anything at all?"

"Fuck yeah it smells like freedom in here!" Smiling broadly, Jimmy stands from his desk, walking right over to Volcania and throwing out his hand to be shook. "Holy shit you have some goddamn abs! What are you, some kind of Thousand Gods amazon? But uh, nah, you can't keep it. I need the Heart for something. How-ever!" He takes a step back, fingergunning the various bits and bobs around his office. "I'll let you lads have the pick of the litter from my treasury! Celestial shards? We got em! First World artifacts? You know it! Favors? Already paid! Money?" Jimmy points the fingerguns at Volcania, taking a shot with each as he flashes her a wink. "Ehhh? You know the answer, big guy!"

"And uh, yeah a plan." He scratches his chin, looking to Astra and Gabby now. "Well, uh, I know its being transported from Savona, Vissio, to Pinnacle on the RSS Abraham Alamos. It's leaving on April 15th, but won't get here until April 20th at around 10 AM. The best place to intercept it would be somewhere along its route. Outside of Node range, when its escorts are just Vissian sailing ships."

The name of the ship strikes an instant cord with all of the Republicans in the group. The pride of the Republic's fleet and named after the founder of the modern Republic, Abraham Alamos himself; it's a top of the line, fusion-powered aircraft carrier. Worse yet, the entire ship, and its attendant aircraft/armaments, have been hardened against the decay of physical law at great taxpayer expense.

"But uh, yeah I don't have a plan." Jimmy shrugs. "It's kind of a tough nut to crack, and the Prof and me are currently trying to set up an armed overthrow of the fed, Hana is inquisitioning atheists, and Gramps and Krum are off playing Crusader Negus III in the Raktines. We don't have time to do this ourselves, and that's where you beautiful people come in."

"Is there anything we should be aware of?" Paul cooly asks.

"Oh, uh... Yeah! Actually there is." Jimmy snaps his fingers. "I need you all to take care of Harbortown. Shit's fucked at the moment: cults and the like are everywhere, and just helping to keep everyone on the straight and narrow would be great. Hell, if it's a good enough business venture my stick-in-the-mud brother might even wanna invest in whatever ideas you have!"

[Mormarth]

Dorothea Ionescu
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown

The whip-cord thin, dark-haired mainlander remains quiet, observing the goings-on with a not small amount of unease. This talk of armed overthrow, 'near-bloodless' revolution sounds like a crock. People will live and die at the whims of this... person, talking all manner of inflammatory rhetoric.

Her eyes skirt to the side, to the other primary source of inflammatory rhetoric, standing more than twenty-hands tall.

"Yeah, okay. That means literally nothing to me."

It doesn't.

The job itself is slightly more interesting, particularly in the reward.

There's already been slight discussion of what to do with the shards found in the slaver's stash, cementing effects or powers on the land itself, forcing change on the world.

And, also...

The weight on her back 'thrums' with a particular, yearning resonance.

Astra was a bit vague, as she was most of the time, but whatever her old companion was, it was incomplete, and old, possibly older than the wars that shaped the world.

She muses at this, pausing only to nod in idle recognition of the Vissian port, where she had set-off from.

Questions to ask, perhaps.

"The Vissians, do we know anything of them? What company is heading the escort? From what family?"

A pause.

"And I would appreciate it if you would not inflict your decadent, imperialist ways upon my home," She responds flatly, "Adding a fourth mouth gnawing on the Confederacy to the triad of gluttonous foreigners does not precisely fill me with warmth."

[Elyrin]

Gabrielle Monet
March 12, 1000 AS
1200 Hours
Shujumi Tower, Harbortown


The Abraham. The Abraham. Gabrielle's confidence in Jimmy and his 'plans' could not deteriorate much faster.

"Uh, I know we're demigods and all, but the Abraham? Biggest, fanciest ship in the fleet? I don't think we could just hop on a rowboat and kick the door down when we get there..." Gabby frowned, but it was more of a thinking frown. Not that she was a military nut or anything, but she had a feeling the carrier itself would be more of an issue than its escorts. Surely the Republic would have some serious firepower on the icon of the entire fleet? The kind that could even give a pantheon of Godbound pause?

...yeah, we might need a bit of preparation for this...

Well, it was a good thing they had a month(ish). Plenty of time to get ready, hunt down some info, get those rescued slaves from the other day secured, maybe stamp out a few of these cults or whatever in Harbortown.

"Well, we have time to figure that out. Hey, Hana!" Gabrielle turned to the younger girl, brow furrowing slightly. "What exactly have you been doing to those poor atheists? The misguided need help, not punishment. Punishment is for the *evil*, not thelost."