The Nausicaa Incident: Post-Script

[Arbiter]

When characters arrive back in the City of Hope or the next highly public place they go to, they will be greeted by a deluge of reporters. These reporters will ask them for a statement on the relief efforts, specifically:

1. The competence of the City of Hope
2. Whether the ARC influence was positive or a hindrance
3. Their speculation as to the whereabouts of Davy Jones

You have until Saturday, December 4th at midnight EST to respond to these reporters in this thread. Doesn’t have to be a full post, can just be your character’s statement. The content of your statement will determine which (if any) factions you get influence points with! Please note in a quote bracket if you have the Influential affinity.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Arthur Morgan—covered in seaweed, blood, and other unmentionables—looked up into the flash of cameras with a pained expression on his face. He hadn’t expected to be greeted by a gaggle of rabid reportin’ folks so soon upon arriving back on the main island, but, well… he hadn’t truly known what to expect.

He was here, he was alive. That was good enough for him, even if his ribs ached and his skull rang like the inside of an iron bell. With all his organs and limbs intact, there just weren’t any sense in lookin’ too much into the future, now was there?

With a low grunt, the man tugged the brim of his hat down over his eyes, shielding himself from the unpleasant brightness of the day and the scrutiny beaming down on the survivors. Being down in the dank, slimy depths of a half-submerged temple hadn’t done his body any favors, it would seem.

Figured he could probably scoot on out of here without much trouble, get Althaus and his friends looked at. Maybe that doctor feller could patch ‘em up. Then, he’d settle in with a nice, warm bottle of whiskey somewhere to drown out all those loose thoughts tangling about in his skull…

“Mr. Morgan, the Dante’s the Abyss Champion!” someone shouted, though he couldn’t rightly pinpoint exactly who had said it. “Do you know where the Arbiter might have disappeared to?”

Arthur sighed, stopping in his tracks. A congealed globule of blood and algae dripped from his cheek, splattering on the ground.

“Well, I reckon he’s gone somewhere to have a quick lie-down, like I’m about to do,” the outlaw said gruffly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Now, if’n you don’t mind...”

He was waylaid again by an intrepid kid darting into his path. “What do you think of the ARC’s actions in the defense effort?”

Arthur stared at the kid.

“The who?” the man shook his head, trying to clear the fog clouding his thoughts. “Well, if they helped out any, it’s better than nothin’, I s’pose.”

 

[Roy Mustang]

Mustang was intercepted by the press as he left his debriefing report with a panel of the higher-ups from the City of Hope. Partial explanations and vague assurances about the benign nature of the Markovian involvement over and done with, Mustang had been hoping to be away from this planet, but it seemed that even City of Hope’s infamously powerful police force could not contain the pressure of questions with this magnitude.

Mustang fell into parade rest, scowling faintly at the array of cameras and microphones. This could be a trap nearly as deadly as the one they’d just blundered their way through, and he was not falling for any more traps today.

“Listen up!” He spoke sharply, cutting out the chorus of unclear questions, “There’s undoubtedly a lot of questions people have about what happened today. I don’t know how much information has been released to the public, nor do I care to find out what I am allowed to say. I am not here to provide you with speculations nor gossip. You’re going to have to find someone else for those. I will answer precisely three questions, then I will be departing without further harassment. Understood?”

The crowd of reporters erupted immediately into noise once again. A variety of voices all beating around the bush as to the official response, likely aware of the police drones that orbited them from behind. And people think Markov is too strict…

“I want to make one thing clear. The City of Hope is only standing today because Darkseid was not interested in destroying it.” The hard stare that Mustang gave to the group of cameras was unrelenting, daring them to contest him on the matter. They were looking concerned he caught at least one glancing towards a nearby drone. It was true, but maybe not the best thing to state publicly. Perhaps he should soften the blow. “But that is hardly something that you can blame upon your people’s valor. Markov lives under constant threat and we were nearly overwhelmed by the Unmaking’s power. Underestimating the threat the Unmade pose has been a major factor in every conflict we have found ourselves in thus far, real or manufactured. We cannot afford to rely on old methods of deterrence. These are not normal events, these are not random assaults. This is a coordinated onslaught seeking to destroy everything we hold. We need an organized response in equal measure.”

“...Like the ARC, you mean, sir?” Hazarded one of the reporters, either unperturbed or ignoring the dire warning that Mustang had just given, “What are your thoughts on their involvement with the incident?”

They were involved? Mustang almost responded, but he bit back his retort, instead adopting a faint smirk.

“I can only commend those who would seek to battle such a joint threat, and ARC’s aerial forces were undeniably effective in securing the safe exodus of many of the Nausicaa’s residents… They might just try to be a little bit faster to mobilize next time, mmm? Maybe they’ll manage to keep up with Cevanti’s response time.”

A good natured boast, perhaps a bit tactless to some given the tragedy of the day, but it would serve to underscore Markov’s involvement as separate from ARC’s. It wouldn't be good to let their assistance be mothballed under ARC's scale.

“Last question!” Mustang refocused his gaze on the crowd, his eyes falling on one particularly concerned looking young woman. She vaguely reminded him of the young girl the cultists had been holding captive down in the temple. His look prompted her to raise her question above the rest of the reporters in the throng, and they fell silent, similarly curious.

“What happened to the Arbiter?”

Mustang’s mouth twitched. Just how much had rumors spread about Davy’s fall to the Unmaking? He was essentially this planet’s sovereign power…

“I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars of the encounter at this time.” Mustang said, though his words felt distant even to himself, “He did what he thought best. Though he was wrong and weak to do so, he was not the first Arbiter to misstep so.” None of us are exempt from straying…

“And… what happened to him?”

Mustang frowned, staring at the crowd with a distinct feeling that he didn’t have the response they were looking for. These people wanted hope, not answers… it was in the damn name of the town!

“I can say with confidence that he wasn’t killed. Hell, I’m not entirely convinced it’s possible to kill someone that strong.” He forced a brief laugh at his own non-joke, then glanced towards the ocean, “He’s out there somewhere, which means there’s still the possibility he’ll be back. In what manner or what form, I can’t say. I don’t even know what he’d be seeking anymore….” Yes I can, he’ll be seeking to destroy this planet and everything it stands for, the same as our Arbiter…

Mustang sighed, then rubbed the back of his head with a somewhat embarrassed smile, “I’m afraid you’ll need to find someone with a bit more expertise than this soldier if you want a glimpse into an Arbiter’s agenda, Ma’am. Ha hah ha!”

Still laughing, Mustang stepped sideways out of view for most of the cameras with a casual wave, shouldering aside the one or two reporters who decided not to listen to the terms he had set at the beginning of the little speech.

Not even entirely convinced it’s possible to kill someone that strong… He hadn’t been lying about that, and Davy had been certain that he couldn’t hold a candle to the power Darkseid wielded…. Mustang grit his teeth as he stalked towards the shuttle that would get him back to Markov. How were they supposed to fight something like that? And yet… Darkseid also seemed to need the Arbiters, at least he needed them out of the picture… The fact that Nausicaa had been a trap for Davy heavily implied that Darkseid could not simply conquer the Crossroads at whim, He was checked by the Arbiters to at least some degree, he needed to be tactical about his conquests… Damn… Mustang rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, trying to banish his fatigue through sheer force of will. He didn't know how all of this worked. Cevanti’s arbiter had been all but unheard of since The End, but Darkseid had been able to find them swiftly enough that no one on Cevanti had even known the attack had happened… No matter how he looked at it, he didn’t know enough about the Arbiters.

Mustang stepped onto the shuttle, nodding at the saluting soldier, then taking a seat next to Lieutenant Hawkeye. “Reach out to our contact with Lady Palaxia when we get back to Markov, I have some questions that I am suspecting she might be able to illuminate for me.”

#InfluentialBestAffinity

Also, I would like to request that Mustang send Ridley 2500 Coin for his work on the island.
The package will come with the following note:

"Excellent work on the island. Your payment as we agreed, along with a little something to help keep Darkseid out of your head long enough for us to solve this whole problem.
-Mustang"

The Markovian coin will arrive alongside a bag of Syntech-brand hot chocolate and as close as is possible to a pair of slippers for Ridley’s nightmarish bird feet.

 

[Jim Raynor]

The door to the evacuation vehicle hissed open and the turtles disembarked. They had been quiet the whole trip, even Raphael, as they processed what they just went through.

Mikey was usually the first one to break the silence.

"So... do we count that as a win or not?" Michelangelo asked, more subdued than usual.

"I don't know how many lives we saved," Leonardo said. "But we at least kept that... what was it, Arbiter?... busy for a while. If there were rescue crews still on the island before it sank, I hope we bought them enough time to get as many innocent people away."

Raphael walked with an uncharacteristically deep scowl, and spoke in a cold, quiet voice. "That Arbiter thing... how are we s'posed to fight somethin' like that? What if there's more of 'em?"

Leonardo had tried to put that out of his mind. Despite their mutations elevating their skills above regular humans, they broke against Davy Jones like a wave on the beach. And that dark skinned monster, Darkseid... he imparted some corruptive power into the Arbiter, aggravating him even more and creating a greater threat. If they couldn't handle the recipient of Darkseid's boon, how could they hope to stem the leader?

"In all the chaos, it didn't come to mind, but..." Donatello said. "I remember hearing about a fallen Arbiter on Cevanti too. A short time ago. I didn't pay it much mind - I was occupied, as you know - but now I wish I paid more attention to it."

Leonardo took a deep breath and pushed the hopeless fog from his mind. "That might be a good place to start, Donnie. We can look back over what happened, maybe pinpoint a similarity between the two. There might be some sort of shared weakness, or a linked behaviour that we can-"

Leonardo had been so occupied with his discussion that he hadn't noticed the gaggle of reporters standing outside the evacuation vehicles, interviewing anyone that came out for any juicy information. Before he knew it, several microphones had been stuck in his face and a cascade of flashes preceding photographs washed over him.

"Sir! Sir!" one of the reporters said forcefully, her voice climbing over the cacophony to claim Leonardo's attention. "Can you tell us what happened down there?"

Leonardo frowned and looked away. "It was hell. I'd rather not talk about it."

"Did you see the Arbiter?" another voice shouted. "What happened to it?"

Raphael pushed in and grabbed a few microphones, drawing them to his mouth. "That damn Davy Jones is a coward! He turned tail and ran! He ain't nothin' without Darkseid's power! If he wants to square off like a man - turtle - whatever, he can pick the time and place and I'll be there!"

"Raph!" Leonardo admonished, pushing his brother away. "We don't know what happened. All we really understand is that the island sank because of the Arbiter. He must wield a great power."

"But he ran?" a reporter asked. "Why would he do that if he was winning?"

"Because-" Raphael tried to interject, but Michelangelo and Donatello restrained him.

Leonardo shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"And what about the ARC? Did their efforts help in the campaign to stop the Arbiter?"

"The ARC?" Leonardo said. "Who are they?"

He heard a few murmurs in the crowd. Apparently that was worthy of note.

"To be fair, we weren't on the surface of the island very long. There was a set of caves that wound through the island, so there could have been people helping those trying to escape. I mean, that why we're here, I take it."

Michelangelo stepped forward, raising his hands. "Please, no more questions! We had a big day and we want to go home!"

When the crowd didn't disperse, Raphael barged in front of his brothers. "Didn't ya hear him? Get outta the way!"

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Carrie Crowley was having SO much trouble approaching the heroes. She was new to the job, and the other reporters probably could sense that - she was being jostled and pushed aside as she tried to get in closer to ask her questions.

Was that Roy Mustang? The hero of Cevanti? UGHHHH SHE COULDN’T GET CLOSER

Fine, Carrie thought to herself, I’ll get a perspective they’re missing.

On cue, Carrie noticed that a river of stretchers were being rushed out of one of the transports. Various injured characters were being moved on it (most of them seemingly protesting medical care). It didn’t take Carrie much time to notice that one of the medics transporting the injured survivors appeared to be about as injured as his patients. He was being accompanied by a humanoid triceratops, who seemed to be insisting that the medic rest. Carrie approached them, gesturing for Ricky the cameraman to follow her.

“Sir, were you in Nausicaa during the attack?”

The doctor smiled through his incredibly bloody ninja mask, which covered all of his facial wounds except his very swollen and bruised eye. “How’d you guess?”

Carrie was keeping pace with the doctors now. “The people at home watched the medical transports from Erde Nona crash in the city. Were you on those transports?”

The triceratops doctor approached Carrie, hands raised. “Dr. McNinja is very wounded, and we’re clearly moving the heavily injured. Please step out of the way-“

“I got this, Dr. Leon,” the ninja doctor responded, and gestured for Carrie to step aside. “You wanted me to stop moving the patients anyway, right?”

Dr. Leon gave his injured compatriot a wary stare, then continued moving the ninja’s patient - a blond ARC soldier who was curled into a fetal position on a stretcher. The ninja physician kept pace with the medics, staying to the side slightly.

“Can we get some confirmation as to the events?” Carrie continued, now keeping pace with the rushing doctor, “There’s some confusion as to what happened-“

“Darkseid’s forces attacked the city of New Hope,” Dr. McNinja replied tersely.“I don’t know otherwise. I wasn’t topside very long anyway. After our transport crashed, I joined the forces below-ground fighting Davy Jones-“

“Do you mean to say that you fought the Arbiter and survived?”

“There were like seventeen of us, but yeah,” Dr. McNinja explained, “I- You can see me, right?”

The doctor gestured to his shredded outfit. He was wearing a collared shirt that was torn in various places, and the tattered remains of a labcoat was slung over his shoulder. Blood leaked from a multitude of places on his body.

Carrie blinked. What a valuable interview! This man was not only there to fight the corrupted Arbiter, he was surprisingly frank with all his answers.

“Was the ARC with you?”

Dr. McNinja shrugged. “Didn’t see them. Oh, wait, they were setting up a checkpoint for the medics to gather at. Or something. I guess it worked, since Dr. Leon over there was pretty badly hurt when I last saw him. Like I said, I was underground for a lot of this. If I had to guess, they were probably top-side helping evacuate? I dunno, ma’a- What’s your name?”

“Carrie.”

“I dunno, Carrie, like I said, I wasn’t topside for very long.”

“How do you mean below-ground?” Carrie continued, “What was the Arbiter doing below New Hope?”

“There was a temple or something- listen, I really don’t know much,” Dr. McNinja panted, gripping his torn chest, “Oof, maybe I should be on one of the stretchers. Um, this is my first time in Opealon - I didn’t even know that squid dude was the Arbiter when I first saw him.”

“What was the response of New Hope?”

Dr. McNinja snickered. “I didn’t see any? The whole city was all sorts of messed up, so when we crashed… I dunno.”

“Do you mean to say there was little military response involved?”

“I dunno if I’d say that,” Dr. McNinja sighed, “Lot of independent hero-types underground, though. Makes sense. You’d have to be an independent type to be crazy enough to jump down those holes. Oh wait, Mustang was there, whatever army he’s in - him and that Hawkeye lady. Again, I have no idea what happened above-ground, but in my little warehouse neighborhood I was at, there were just four turtles and so many tentacles. No soldiers.”

Carrie frowned in confusion, but McNinja was apparently finished with his statement. The man pulled at his mask to spit out some blood. Now, Carrie’s cameraman would spend years protesting that his camera was pointed directly at Dr. McNinja, and there was no feasible way for the man to not have revealed his face in this process - and yet, the mask stayed on.

“Uh, as to what actually happened,” Dr. McNinja continued, “There were… so many of us down there, and then Davy Jones shook Darkseid’s hand, then… oh yeah, he became like a crab monster, there was a mouse with rocket armor and a cowboy angel, and then Davy Jones and his kraken basically tossed us around and his ship fell into the temple and then he tried to drown us but my unicorn and an android wizard teleported us out. Probably still down there, fighting Godzilla. That about sum it up for you?”

Carrie was stunned into a halt, and Dr. McNinja rushed off with the rest of the medics. Carrie jogged to catch up, but the doctor was nowhere to be found in the crowd of doctors.

“What, so he’s an actual ninja?” Carrie thought out loud.

 

[Lilith]

CW: excessive foulness​

If there's one thing Lilith hates, it's nonconsensual teleportation. Especially the instant transmission kind. Like come on, chuck her into a portal at least.

She could have blurted a thousand different expletives to express her contempt at the pigheaded Darkseid diehard, the forcible departure from her murder playground, or the vexatious effulgence that offended her retinas, but her attention was instead engrossed by her new sudden surroundings.

She trampled the chunk of stone that accompanied the warp, and flung the mangled, disheveled corpse onto the floor like a crumpled piece of trash that flopped over and snapped in two.

"Couldn't you bring me somewhere nicer than your mom's basement? I suppose that's expecting too much from you lowlifes." Feeling thoroughly miffed, she took out her frustration on the disarranged cultist, driving her heel into his skull as easily as stamping out a cigarette in an ashtray.

Evidently, this residential cave was the site of many blood sacrifices, and was littered with amateurly inscribed rituals. This place didn't hold a black candle to the occult incantations she used to perform. Speaking of which...

"God, I miss my old dungeon. So many of my favorite toys and tools, gone... I should ask my dearest Ridley about setting one up in his base."

Lilith took a moment to slip on her usual outfit, gotta be presentable after all.

"Wait, Ridley... What was that fuckface spouting on about? He was once on their side?" Now that she recalled the tyrannical dragon's dark vibes, there were hints of the Unmade within him. She'd assumed it was purely coincidental but... it'd certainly add up. Just thinking about it, though... It made her extraordinarily pissed off.

"I'm not gonna let that pompous prick or ANYONE take away MY Ridley." She grit her teeth with ferocious determination.

She walked past the main floor and bashed the front door in, launching it several meters into the open street, incidentally injuring an errant passerby.

"Especially not you!"

Lilith stormed out into the heart of the City of Hope, rather brazenly for being a wanted criminal, sticking out like a succubus in a church.

Police were already being dialed and civilians were scrambling to flee the area, but the pack of starved reporters remained on the prowl, so desperate in fact they'd hound a literal psychopath. Looks like this is the same here too. A cascade of cameras dazzled her with nauseating light from every angle, and she guessed they weren't just after what was above her shoulders. Any other day she might've soaked in the attention, but right now she was livid, and the barrage of discordant questions was doing little to help.

"Yeah I do a bit of war crimes, got a problem with that?"

"Yes I'm naturally this tall."

"No I dress like this because it's comfortable thank you very much."

Okay now this was getting on her nerves. She stomped the ground and shouted, "Everybody shut the FUCK up! One at a goddamn time!"

The reporters seemed to dial back their rabid energy. They were trying to interview an unhinged serial killer.

One brave man stepped forward from the crowd, although he didn't look like he was here for any actual journalism. "I just have one question. Will you please step on me?"

"Sure whatever, I'll get to it when I'm not busy. Next question." Must not be an unusual request for her.

The next lines of interrogation were a little more on topic. A woman barged her way to the front. "How competent was the City of Hope in leading the rescue?"

Lilith scoffed and gave a haughty flick of her hair. "How about not at all. They barely held me or the Unmade back, I mean I had no trouble slaughtering those soldiers!" She feverishly beamed, her lips curving into a sadistic grin. "I eviscerated so many survivors, I couldn't keep track! Ohh, it had to be at least a thousand!~" She fanned herself, unable to keep her composure as she recounted her recent inordinate bloodbath. "But don't worry, I'm totally over it now. My boss, the marvelous Lord Ridley, convinced me to stop culling you inferior rodents. By the way, him and I, we're like, a thing now."

The reporters were shocked, but pressed on nonetheless. "Did the ARC play a pivotal role in suppressing the Unmade?"

Lilith's expression was equal parts confusion and disgust. "The what?"

Someone else chimed in. "The Alliance to Restore the Crossroads."

"Seriously? An Alliance to Restore the Crossroads? Listen, I wanna kick Dickride’s ass as much as the next guy, but holding hands and sucking each other off isn’t gonna cut it," she spat, growing impatient. "Is that all? The police will be here any minute y'know."

"One last question! What do you know about the status of the Arbiter?"

"Uh, yeah, no fucking clue, probably busy blowing Darkseid. Oh, and to everyone watching--" Lilith smirked as she tugged on the straps narrowly covering her chest, giving any live broadcasts a generous show of public indecency, and two middle fingers.

After a round of gasps and whistles, she sent the crowd off with, "Anyways, I gotta bounce... Bounce on my boss's dick! Ayooo!"

After the trainwreck of an interview, Lilith made a mad dash in the general direction opposite the guard vehicles and drones pursuing her.

 

[Klarion]

“Yes, hello? Yes, it’s me again. You wanted an eyewitness report, didn’t you? Well, here I am!”

Liv twirled a strand of hair beside her ear, grinning in the quiet darkness of her lab. Even when wearing a fluffy robe and the most garish slippers possible—miniature pterodactyls, isn’t the Internet amazing?—she still managed to make it look intimidating. Of course, that may have just been the mechanized tentacles sprouting from her back, whirring as they piddled about the room, but still!

“I just— oh, it was just terrible. I’m so, so traumatized,” she whimpered pathetically, the smirk never fading as she spoke into the receiver. “I was trying to escape my apartment when the whole island began to sink! I thought it was an earthquake at first, or the elevation tech malfunctioning or something, but suddenly a whole gaggle of ugly pirates were trying to kill me in the street! Thankfully, a big dragon creature dropped out of nowhere and killed them! Isn’t that something?”

She paused, listening to the tinny voice prattling back to her for a moment. She spun in her chair idly. “What did he look like? Hmmm, let me think… big. Purple. Bony, like almost skeletal. Poor thing seemed half-starved… it’s likely why he dug into those Unmade creatures so viciously. But I’m getting ahead of myself, here. He looked like… a cross between a pterodactyl, your stereotypical depiction of a European dragon, and— oh, what’s Europe? Don’t worry about it.”

Completing another circuit with her spinning chair, Liv went quiet to listen again. She narrowed her eyes, now seeming almost bored with the conversation, despite her amusement. “What did I think of the City of Hope’s defense efforts? It was pathetic. What were those cretins doing, too busy playing three-dimensional chess in their cozy, fortified offices? If that dragon hadn’t been there, why, I think hundreds more might have perished horribly and in agonizing pain! Maybe even thousands. Really, they should cut him a nice, big paycheck for his troubles. What a terrible, horrifying disaster…”

The tinny voice rattled off a few more questions. Liv listened, trying to remain patient.

“The Alliance to Restore the Crossroads? Oh, I think I’ve heard of them. They’re a bit… slow to respond, aren’t they? I mean, I didn’t see them personally when I was evacuated. They must have waited until the last minute to show up. What a great help they were!” she sneered, unable to keep her obvious contempt from creeping into her voice. “Now, Ridley on the other hand—that’s the big purple dragon’s name, in case you didn’t know. He was there, large and in charge, cutting through waves of Unmade like butter. Goodness, if they don’t compensate him, I might need to open my pocketbook myself… if it wasn’t completely destroyed along with my entire neighborhood, anyway. You know how it is… oh, I’m so upset, I’ve lost everything, my entire livelihood…!”

Liv stopped abruptly as she was interrupted by some inane question on the other end, scowling. “No, not Ripley. Ridley. R-I-D-L-E-Y. Yes, I asked how to spell his name while escaping with my little rat terrier—“

 

[Amalia Eckern]

Amalia groaned. The doctor’s blessed lozenge coupled with the cowboy angel’s feather had actually done quite well in cleansing her body of malevolent geists. Still, the more stubborn ones remained, not to mention the mental trauma of being offered as a sacrifice to Darkseid by her own parents. She pulled her hood tighter and leaned against Juno as the extraction vehicle gently rocked back and forth. Erin was right, coming to Nausicaa was a mistake. Strangely, she didn’t feel like crying, instead she just felt dull and tired. Erin hadn’t made it on the evacuation vehicle, but she could feel the bird spirit flying overhead. She closed her eyes and could feel the wind rushing across her friend’s feathers. For a moment she could have fallen asleep.

But, it was only for a moment. The evacuation vehicle lurched to a stop and the door slid open. Outside the Desamparado wharf waited for her. The scent of seawater and freshly caught fish rushed into the hermetically sealed unit. A sense of relief washed over her. She was home. As she stepped outside with Juno, however, she became aware of a cluster of well-dressed people. They carried all sorts of cameras, sound equipment, and microphones and they all turned to look at her. Her eyes went wide and they descended upon her like piranhas to a piece of blood-soaked meat.

“Miss! Miss, what do you think of Father Comstock’s response to Darkseid’s attack?”

“Ma’am, there is footage of you arriving in Nausicaa with the wanted fugitive known as Lilith, what do you say to the accusations of your involvement with her massacre of innocent civilians?”

“What was your involvement with the rescue efforts?”

Amalia pulled away and looked for Juno, but found her friend being equally assaulted by reporters. Several microphones fought for dominance mere inches from her mouth. She backed up into a boom-carrying giant of a man. All the while the questions did not stop. Lilith had murdered people?

“Uhm… I, well,” Amalia began to speak and the pack of reporters grew anxiously quiet for her response, “I don't, sorry, no comment."

Wrong answer. As soon as her lips stopped moving the pack of dogs began barking.

"What do you think of A.R.C.s involvement with the relief effort?"

"Ma'am did you catch sight of Davy Jones? Where do you think he is currently?"

"Amalia, Amalia! What is your relationship to Lilith, The Butcher of Hope?!"

How did they know her name? She pulled her hood tighter and tried to shoulder through the crowd. Instead of resistance the crowd simply moved with her, flowing with her walk in a practice stride. She couldn't breath, she couldn't see past the mob. Where was her home? How did they learn her fucking name?

"Wait, Amalia! Footage shows you entering the tunnels where Darkseid's cultist's resided, what is your involvement with them?"

"Did you encounter any parademons, ma'am?"

"You're a Nausicaa native, what do you think could have prevented this tragedy?"

She had lost sight of Juno. She fell against the wall of a shanty house, catching her breath and looking for a way out. More microphones materialized from the mass of well-dressed body parts.

"Please, leave me alone," She whimpered, "I don't know the answers to any of this stuff."

"Why were you exiled from Nausicaa ma'am? Do you think that radicalized you against the City?"

"Where did you meet the Butcher of Hope?"

"PERISH YOU SERPENTS OF GAB!"

Erin's voice shrieked out overhead. The dog-sized raven swooped into the crowd, screeching loud enough to crack camera lenses and deafen ears. Reluctantly the mob peeled back, but did not disperse. A deaf reporter stepped forward, rapidly signing questions beneath a proud smile. Amalia scrambled for an escape, leaping over a supply crate and scampering off into the sea hulk.

 

[Ridley]

Ridley sneered in disgust at the crowd flocking around him. No sooner had he moved himself from the beachhead with a curt nod to the ‘good commander’ Mustang than he had been swarmed with paparazzi of some sort. If anything struck the bird off the top of his head, it was the sheer bravery of these creatures to walk directly toward the butcher of a thousand worlds and dare to barrage him with questions so insistently. In their own, foolish, greedy, small-minded ways these reporters were as brave in their own rights as the hell-divers of the Island war earlier.

It might have been their only outstanding quality.

Ridley had strode through the streets of the city of hope only in search, waiting for either Olivia’s recordings, or his own nose to sniff out his new subordinate. For the first time since he’d met her, the acid woman had made herself quiet and hard to find. Annoyingly, it was also the first time Ridley actually minded the behavior.

Whatever the reason, the flock of newsmen wouldn’t stop pelting the old bird with a barrage of questions, moving along with him like vermin begging for scraps as they scampered across his feet.

Well - his plans to find Lilith with this crowd were shot, short of him flying up and trying another bird’s eye view, so a different tactic would be necessary.

At once, Ridley stopped, gazing among the crowd with both eyes moving across the multitude of well dressed hopers. Once he’d sat, the titanic avian experimented with the reaction of these mammalians, unfurling his wings in one smooth motion.

As expected, the various humans and aliens in front of him backed away, moving away or being forced away by the wind buffeting them.

“...Which among you is the bravest?” Ridley snapped, Jutting his head forward as he removed any illusion of safety the crowd had by flashing a chilling grin.

The first to step forward was a blonde mammal - human, he thought, though the pointed ears stood to something different, and Ridley looked her over.

“I-I… have some questions.”

The Space pirate’s grin turned cruel as he snatched her up in one giant fist, holding her up to eye level.

The woman suppressed a scream, dropping her microphone, but the dragon’s tail lashed out quick as a flash, curling around it before it hit the ground.

Whatever bravery the human had seemed to mostly fade, as she turned white as a sheet. It certainly didn’t stop anyone from recording, however.

Ridley waited for a second, bringing her closer to his jaws, before lifting the microphone up between the two.

Tilting the Microphone to his side, he spoke clearly.

“Ask your questions then. You have the honor of interviewing me.” The space pirate taunted, an amused tone dancing behind his features.

The Dragon tilted the mic back to her, making it clear just who was in control of the interview, and to her credit, the woman found her voice to speak.

“Mister… Ridley-”

“Lord Ridley.” The Dragon snapped with poison dripping from his voice like a phazon meteor.

“Lord Ridley. Sir. We were hoping to get a comment on err… well, a few things. You were involved heavily in the evacuation efforts. Many of us saw your work. What brought you to work with the city of hope? And… what did you think of the people you worked with?”

Ridley tilted his head towards the reporter, showing a wry grin.

“You had the fortune of working with Mustang. We share a disgust for Darkseid, and an understanding of good business practices. I was hired as a contractor after being given an appropriate sum.”

Ridley was, of course, not aware of what sum he was actually going to be given at this point as Mustang hadn’t yet sent the coin his way, but he also knew Roy was not so petty a man as to pay him a small sum and risk retribution that would undermine what he had wrought here.

No, Mustang had been given the aid of a dragon that was a walking bio-weapon, and he wouldn’t risk such a useful tool. They used eachother far too well.

“A-and the, uhhh, markovians, did they work well?”

“They were the only ones I saw making significant headway on the surface. Other than your… city officials.”

“...Would you say the council did a good job evacuating, sir?”

Ridley’s response was a snort, one that exhaled smoke in the woman’s face.

“Your council provided the ships to move hundreds of people from the sinking island to higher ground. They lacked firepower, but responded quickly. Markov’s squad and I provided the rest. Does that answer your question?” Ridley noted with a growl. Reporters were already murmuring at what sort of impression the city of hope must have made with it’s people for such a defensive review of the City’s defenses.

Most, of course, would never connect Ridley’s grumbling to it’s true reasoning: The fact so many of these genetic rejects had left alive and intact.

The next question came up, and Ridley noticed from the breathing of the reporter that he’d need to ease his grip a little.

“What about ARC’s interference? Did you find them to be of considerable assistance?”

Ridley took a second to answer, thinking for a moment as though trying to remember a half-forgotten notion.

“I didn’t see a single ARC officer. By the time they chose to show up, I’d massacred hundreds of Para-demons and Slaughtered a great beast half the size of nausicaa below the waves. The ARC fighters likely held their assistance back until their potential losses were minimal and assisted after the real fighting was over, to save manpower, but maximize recognition and create optimal recruitment opportunities.”

at least, that’s what Ridley would’ve done from a perspective of statecraft.

“So you found them ineffective?”

“They’re effective at creating a private country among the stars in the name of vague ideals to further their own goals of power. They did nothing to stop Darkseid.” Ridley snapped.

“Next question.” the Dragon demanded, and the Reporter was forced to take a deep breath under Ridley’s gaze to compose herself before continuing.

“Where do you think the Arbiter, Davy Jones, has disappeared to?” The Reporter blurted out, clearly happy to keep the conversation going.

“Somewhere I can’t find him. Whatever power the arbiter had, he was thwarted by an overgrown iguana and a few mercenaries. Darkseid’s clearly diminished his power with his mental faculties. If he isn’t still Darkseid’s sock-puppet, he’s busy trying to rebuild himself. Assuming he hasn’t croaked already.” the Pirate noted.

“So you think he could come back from that?” she’d ask fearfully.

“I’ve come back from worse. Darkseid’s power is mutable, fallable, and ever waning in my presence.”

“...thank you, Lord Ridley.” The reporter would manage. “I have just one more question, before our… uhm, interview is done. Of a more personal nature.”

Ridleys eyes grew slightly less narrow at the statement, placing the reporter on the ground as he readied for this frustrating conversation to end.

“Speak.”

“Err… how long has the relationship between you and Lilith been going on, and does it pre-date her attack on nearby oil tankers.”

Ridley’s eyes turned from narrowed slits to wide orange orbs as he coughed a small bit of flame from his maw.

“....My what?!”

 

[Chara Dreemurr]

With the end of the conflict, Asriel looked to the gurney in front of him with a frown of sorts. Asriel had been cleared to get up on his feet and walk just as Chara lost her rights to stay standing. He’d seen Raphael put something in her body that had stopped her overdose.

“Hey… Chara. Remember when you used to do that on purpose? You know, to scare me? You’d turn around with the face?” Asriel asked.


“...Who says I didn’t do it just to scare you now?” Chara asked with a smile.

Asriel’s eyes quavered a little, looking down at Chara, and her face fell.

“You know, it’s… not fair, when you do that.” the goat spoke softly, “Not the… scaring me part.”

“...Sorry, Rei. I was always a bit of a bully, wasn’t I?” Chara managed, slowing down her speech as she looked up to him. “...I’m sorry. For what I said. I missed… I missed you.”

Asriel looked up to her, tears coming down his face. “...It’s not that I like seeing you sad, but sometimes I don’t like that smile. I-it’s… not that I don’t want you to smile. I just… I want to be able to make you mean them, you know? And I know a lot of the time you don’t mean them.”

Asriel gave a sigh, as he kept pushing, and Chara kept silent.

“Ha… but I ran off on you, didn’t I? I knew you… didn’t mean it like it came out. You were scared. You wanted to make sure our family was safe, and I just got it in my head… I just wanted to show you I was strong enough to do it on my own. I missed you every second you were gone.”

“I missed you too, Rei.” Chara responded. “...I just didn’t… I couldn’t lose you again. We’d finally gotten free and I’d gotten used to it and the fear gripped me in a way I wasn’t prepared for this time.

Asriel’s ears quirked, as he looked down. He really had been selfish, hadn’t he? And that selfishness…


The little monster closed his eyes and shivered. He’d just about lost his best friend because he needed to prove how capable he was of protecting her. What an idiot…

Wait.

“...Again?” The monster asked, looking into Chara’s eyes. Something looked back at him, something he’d only seen in flashes, and Chara’s eyes widened and flashed scarlet. He’d seen that before, from time to time… something very, very tired and very tucked away. It’d disappeared since they’d moved to Markov, and he thought it had been gone for good, so he’d never asked about it, but…

“Chara… maybe it’s time-”

The Goat was interrupted mid-speech by a microphone shoved directly in his face, the shock almost forcing him to stop as the eldest dreemurr took the point to abruptly close his eyes.

Asriel looked down with a slightly annoyed ‘hmph.’. She was using the old ‘pretend to be asleep so Asriel had to do the talking’ trick again.

The harrumph was quickly replaced by a smile as nostalgia filled the fluffy prince again.

He had his sister back.

The reporters were quick to wipe that off as they huddled around the cluster of patients, Microphones whipped in his face from every direction.

“You were seen helping rescue operations in the city of hope. Were you surprised at the competence of Opealon’s finest?”

“How about the ARC? Did they help you with the rescue operations, did you find? Or were they simply in the way of the real heroes-”

“Don’t just lead the question! Sir, how did you find the Markovian squad that had appeared-”

Asriel’s voice tightened as he looked to the rest of the reporters, brandishing weapons that were in some ways just as intimidating as anything he’d seen of the unmade, looking for resolution, answers… but Asriel hadn’t exactly researched the place before he came here. They were looking for something, and a hero’s job would be to say something that would unmask the true baddies of this venture, show the quality of the real heroes…

But he hadn’t come here as a hero. He came here to get some measure of peace and closure with his missing sister. He… he didn’t know how to answer any of this! He’d just come here as a lost kid, and he was lost in this political push.

A hand struck his shoulder, softly, and he was surprised as he looked back to see his sister…

He hadn’t seen that look on her in a long time, as a smile stretched broadly across her features.

“You’re looking for answers? Let me make them clear for you.” Chara’s voice cut across the reporters, as she leaned in and ripped one of their microphones away.

“Hey, that’s network property-”

“Don’t care.” Chara cut over, giving the woman a look as her eyes bled red. Asriel could tell from the black that filled in what should have been white beneath those glowing scarlet orbs that she was far from okay, but it seemed to have quieted that reporter down.

Honestly, it was a little intimidating for Asriel, too.

“The City of Hope lost Nausicaa so easily because it didn’t care to invest in it’s people’s safety when it’s leadership was busy doing what it does best: lining it’s own pockets and snubbing it’s trade partners. Those who responded late did so knowing that the city would take the opportunity to snub the rescuers at their own expense. Far easier to retain your voting percentage with the perfect scapegoats. And, of course, far cheaper to make your people feel invincible than invest in actual security. Any further questions?”

Chara’s smile grew broad as she looked over an intimidated crowd of reporters… well, mostly intimidated. One particular human, sporting blonde hair and yellow eyes stepped forward with a pitch-black suit and gloves.


“Ahh, yes, I actually do, miss Courtenay.”

Asriel’s ears twitched up as his mouth fell slightly. Courtenay… Was Chara’s last name. She’d never mentioned it to anyone during her time in the underground except Asriel himself. It had been something she’d found too difficult to admit to even Asgore and Toriel, and it had been…

Asriel’s fists tightened up as old connections came back to him and the stupidity of running off at Markov struck him. She’d trusted him with something no one else had and somehow he’d still felt she didn’t care...

A sigh from Chara brought Asriel back to life as he remembered they were standing in front of the reporters, and he realized he’d just told them everything without saying a word.

“Chara-”

“It’s fine, Rei.” Chara cut him off, looking back at him with a haggard smile that cut past the glow of her eyes and struck him with an honest forgiveness. Asriel wished he could just return the smile, but it made the guilt strike him twice as hard, and as Chara’s discouraged smile looked away, it was all Rei could do not to want to curl into a ball and die right there.

He closed his eyes for a moment, so he didn’t see Chara’s face when he responded to the reporter.

“You will find that is not my name, but ask your question, sir.” she replied.

“Our records are clear, as is my memory.” The reporter responded, giving a smug grin as she continued. “And as the last of a noble Opealon house, who likely mourns Nausicaa with us, I wanted to make sure we got your perspective.”

Asriel looked up as he tried to piece together what the slightly-built woman was talking about. Chara… as far as he understood it, didn’t have much connection with Nausicaa, or with the house. Asriel was more betting on the fact they must have still cared for her in some capacity, and was a bit surprised to see her there. Why would this journalist think…

Unless he didn’t. Asriel’s heart fell slightly as he realized they were just trying to discredit his sister. This wasn’t someone really interested in Chara’s past - they were using it as a weapon, something to hurt her, and the Goat’s hands balled into fists as he started shaking with helpless frustration.

Chara gave a soft groan. “...My speculation means little. I was not one of those present for that battle. I would guess they weakened the unmade arbiter. If he’s still under Darkseid’s control, he’s not up to much. That’s why we’re having this conversation instead of getting ready for another wave of Darkseid’s forces to crash against what’s left of the City’s defenses.” the Dreemurr volunteered.

“...is that your opinion as a volunteer, or as a seer?” the woman asked, and Chara’s face fell.

Chara’s face fell, as she looked to the blonde. “Who the hell-”

The hum of plasma cut off any more questions as Meng walked forward. The gun was strapped to her hip, but clearly just set to prime, the noise leaving everyone just off-balance enough.

“That’s enough! You’re interfering with our medical timetables, and literally putting lives at stake!” Meng snapped, parting the crowd as she moved forward. The intimidation factor of an andromedan at full height cut across the reporters and she wasted no time creating a space between the two Dreemurrs and the reporters.

“If you’d like interviews, you’ll have to find healthy people to interview.”

“You can’t keep us from doing our jobs-” one of the reporters began… before Meng locked eyes with him, the journalist’s finely tuned survival instincts warning him to stay quiet.

Meng turned to Asriel just as Chara’s feet gave out, scooping her up before she hit the ground. She didn’t turn to look directly at Asriel as she placed the sickened dreemurr back on the gurney.

“Asriel, I need you to push this gurney and not look back, no matter what. Can you do that for me?” She asked with a warm, calming tone. “Isra wants to be at the ship yesterday and I absolutely can’t blame him. You need to get moving right now.”

Asriel gave the best smile he could. She was trying to be kind to him right now, but there was something being delayed. Something painful, he was certain. And whatever it was left an icy criss-cross of worry in her speech. He was pretty sure of it, because...

...Well, because she was the sort of kind person that really made him miss his mom.

“I-I can do that! You can count on me!” Asriel managed to croak, trying to drive the painful memory from his head. Pushing Chara forward, the elder dreemurr’s hand brushed against his as she looked straight into his eyes, commanding his attention.

“Asriel… Remember the wheelchairs?” Chara asked, a grin slowly stretching across her face. “When Dad got the cold that one time?”

“I-I do…” Asriel warbled, pushing the gurney forward, as he got a sudden idea of what Chara was planning. “Oh! I do!”

Meng looked back to the two. ”You two be responsible with that thing. I’m serious-

Asriel gave a grin that matched his sister’s as the two locked eyes.

Absolutely dangerous.

Totally unnecessary.

Childish and inappropriate.

Asriel placed one foot on the cart as Chara lifted a hand and red magic blasted the Gurney forward at max acceleration, sending them back towards the rest of the medical evacuees.

“You’re the best, Rei.”

“Can Meng ground us?”

“Pfft. She wishes.”

 

[Ezrihel]

“Oh my gods, is that- that’s not Saerhaus, is it?” Meng’s high voice was tinged with shock, though she did her best to hide it. Ezrihel had arrived back at the main top-side recovery area, holding the death priestess like a porcelain doll or some grand reliquary, and clearly uncomfortable. They both somehow looked worse for wear, absolutely awful.

“What happened? You both look like-”

“The ocean ate us and spit us back out? Yes. I am very aware that I am unpresentable but there are bigger things to worry about. Where is my medic?”

“Isra? He’s just through-” she raised a hand to point through a set of doors and the General was moving before Meng could finish her sentence. She followed behind him with a curious but dreadfully worried expression painted on her face.

Raphael Isra was standing at the back of the room, looking over some young... girl? Human woman? The medic was looking over her patient charts. Ultimately unimportant, though it clearly was distracting his doctor.

“Wow, you look-” one of the patients, a younger white-goat boy started before being cut off.

“Rough, yes I get it! Can everyone stop commenting on my appearance for five gods damned minutes- Isra-”

Meng moved between the two of them, putting a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry Asriel, he's usually not-" she paused, grimacing slightly as she carefully chose her words, "normally General Althaus is not so poor-mannered to strangers. He was apparently down in the thick of it all, underground. Please understand he doesn't mean it personally."

The medic had already turned around, and the look on his face could tell an entire archival disc’s worth alone. The transparent screen he’d been holding tumbled from his normally stoically steady hands and clattered on the floor in a loud display of his utter shock. Seeing his darling Rue so crushed and damaged- his entire world seemed to freeze up, the air catching in his throat and fighting his dry attempts at swallowing. It was like someone had yanked his soul right out of his stomach, as well as his hearts.

His world fell silent as his body moved on autopilot, rushing his General to a gurney made proper for an Andromedan and helped to set the ruined priestess down. The doc’s shoulder injury was a long forgotten happenstance as he worked to rapidly get a read on her vitals. His skin prickled with cold as he laid his left hand on her forehead, but it didn’t really matter much. The cold wasn’t going to cause her discomfort because she was barely recognizable.

She was barely recognizable.

But Isra could feel the faintest pulse of her stubborn hearts. Ruedlen was alive, but just barely. He’d have to work fast, and he did, rushing around the room to prepare himself and his patient for a hasty return to the Phantom Blossom.

All twenty-six of her ribs suffered brutal breakages, burying shards of honeycomb bone deep into her vital organs. Her entire right shoulder girdle was destroyed, the attached arm was hardly doing any better, sporting several severe fractures. She was severely concussed, missing four teeth and the side of her tongue.

A particularly pushy reporter, a dusky-brown haired man with a clean shaven face and thin, plucked eyebrows, butted in between Ezrihel and his doctor. “Ma’am, I’m Theodore McKinley Key, here with Hope’s channel five broadcast- we heard you were-”

“Ma’am?” The Andromedan General interrupted, his voice was distinctively un-feminine in it’s depth and timbre as he turned to keep pace with Isra as he pushed Rue’s gurney.

“Oh- my goodness! I am so sorry Sir. Please- forgive me-” Holy shit, what was I thinking, of course that guy is way too tall to be a woman, but the ponytail and silk ribbon- dear god I’ve made such a fool of myself, were we already rolling?- Damnit, they always say never stop rolling so let’s just hope Paul in editing saves my ass before I get slammed for this social faux pas online. Ugh I mean- why the guyliner-

“Your lack of tact and finer manners are forgiven, for now. What do you want, reporter? I don’t like doing interviews before taking a shower. You’re on my time.” Ez again interrupted the man, though this time it was his train of thought. He’d wanted to say ’I don’t. Care.’ and ’Piss off! Can’t you see we’re busy dealing with a critical situation?’, but he refrained. It would do his image no good to let his snarling, stressed emotions lash out.

“You are General Althaus, right?” Theodore asked with a huff as he as his crew did their best to keep up with the long-legged and never-tiring aliens. Other journalists that recognized one of their work rivals joined into the fray, trying to jump in and take their stab at talking to the beautiful blonde noblethem. He ignored them easily.

“I am them, yes.” He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as the reporter from channel five’s internal monologue fumbled over which pronouns would be the most correct. “For the love of the gods, he and they are both valid. Now please get on with the question.”

“We heard reports that you were one of the last people to see Davy Jones before he disappeared, do you have any clue as to his whereabouts?” ’And what did he look like? Was he as gross and revolting as the rumors say?’ A wave of easily recognizable contempt and prejudice rippled through the man. ‘Good thing he was down there, with those disgusting, magic using surface dwellers.’

“I stabbed that damned monster straight through his slimey heart. There was a great show of divine light, and awful screaming as I purged him of his evils. Hopefully he and his rotting ship now rest deep at the bottom of this planet’s abyssal ocean.” Althaus scowled, though he avoided directing the look down on the reporter’s poor head.

“So you are confirming that you believe that the Arbiter, Davy Jones, is dead?” A young tanned skinned man shoved his microphone forward and adjusted his glasses on his nose.

Ez smirked, though it was clearly influenced by his waning patience. “For those of Andromedan blood, it is considered proper to start with an introduction. Get in line if you want a turn, youthling.”

Theodore McKinley Key piped up again, “Sir, sir, another question if I may? What is an ‘Andromedan’, exactly? Are your people alien, or fey?”

“We are children of technology and advancement like you Skylanders, not fel magicks. I believe ‘advanced alien’ is the more fitting term for my people than ’elven’.” He nearly spat the word. He was sick of being called a knife-eared elf, and he’d be damned if more people kept getting that information crossed.

“And, General Althaus- what is your opinion on the A-R-C, otherwise known as the Alliance to Restore the Crossroads? Do you believe that their assistance was a help, or a hindrance towards the joint rescue efforts?” There was a spiteful and proud discomfort from the man as he mentioned the Alliance. Disdain for an outsider government interfering, the reporter thought them greedy tragedy grifters trying to impress the Crossroads by butting into everyone’s affairs.

“Well, they certainly took their time getting down to the task forces down in the caves.” He glanced back down to Ruedlen’s unconscious form. “But they were at least there to assist in getting us back here, to the City of Hope. I am grateful for that much, otherwise who knows how long we would have been waiting on that beach.”

“And the Markovians?” The reporter ventured.

“You mean Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang and Sargent Swift?” The aristocrat continued when the reporter nodded, “they were competent, if not somewhat underprepared for all of the obstacles we came across. How could any of us outsider heroes have ever known the extent of decay present in your city?”

Theo reeled back a bit, clearly not expecting the pointed critique in the face of his next question. He grimaced, steeling himself to ask, “and what of your opinion towards our city’s brave and courageous first responders?”

“I think that your first responders were superb, truly. They were risking life and limb and many good people were lost today.”

“Ah, good- we were wondering-”

“However.” Key was cut short as Ez’s voice turned cold and sharp, and he felt his heart climb into his throat. “What I am not impressed with is the City of Hope’s management.”

“Uh, Sir- that’s not-”

“Address me by my proper title or not at all. General Althaus.”

“Well General Althaus that’s not exactly the point of-” the reporter staggered, falling behind for a moment as he scrunched his face up in pain. Why did he suddenly feel like he was having a migraine?

“I’m not entirely certain that I care what, exactly, your governor’s or mayor’s or council’s point is, my lovely Theodore McKinley Key. My point is that your precious city is run by vain, proud incompetents who would rather cushion the stock market of their investors and keep a silent peace than risk ruffling the sheepish populace. Everything that happened today was always preventable.” They were close to his ship now, Isra was far too busy pushing their injured peer to his true infirmary to care about the media hounds.

“But sir the City of-”

“Your City did little. Your officials saved their own and seek to cover their pathetic hides from backlash. Now I spent some time in your precious city of wonders and I was impressed, but not so impressed that I would willfully turn a blind eye to danger. Your Officials let Nausicaa get consumed by the waves, by corruption. I don’t think I can name a greater failure of a government than the utter disregard of its people’s safety. Your officials are wretched, and disgusting. They should be ashamed, and I pray that your populace holds them fully accountable for their beyond grievous incompetency.”

“I don’t think that-”

“I don’t care what you think, Mister Key. Thousands of people died today. It is gross negligence at best. Your officials did not save you from those dark depths or Davy, I did. Goodbye.” He hardly had to bark an order to P’thaeyl, the artificial assistant taking the programmed liberty of automatically opening any of the security bulkheads on his ship to let him and his doctor through. They were greeted by a very stoic looking Matron as they passed into The Phantom Blossom; her visor was down, covering her face but her posture and aura was unmistakable to the Psion.

The intimidating Blood Guardian let her crewmates pass, but stood firm in the face of the crowd of insatiable reporters. She’d dealt with far more threatening job details than just unruly journalists, ravenous for the next sensational scoop in a time of awful tragedy.





“What the hell happened, Althaus??!” The doctor hissed as he pulled his touch away from his partner’s face and moved to the cabinets. They'd gotten back to his full infirmary, and he honestly felt like he was going to throw up, and he hated every single second of that unbearable wrenching sensation as he fought to keep himself grounded in the moment.

“Oh well, we only went down into some sort of cursed pagan oceanic friendship temple the Hopers had built Nausicaa on top of, Opealon’s supposed god showed up to reclaim it-”

“Supposed God? You mean an Arbiter? Please, come wash your hands, I need you to hand me things until I can call someone more qualified in- in fact on your way over to the sink hit that red button on the wall next to it.”

Althaus nodded, sheading his tattered jet black inquisitor robes on the floor as if he had an invisible butler undressing him. Across the room, the red distress button clicked without any apparent physical hand to help. “Yes, a supposed god and Arbiter, though it seemed more like he was a decaying one.”

Isra dropped the metal traction bench down in preparation, cutting Ruedlen’s... well, the scraps of her once-robe, away from her body. “A decaying god- as in a corrupted one? Ka’shanti’s influence?” Rue now lay nude on the table as Isra tied a tourniquet around the upper portion of her functional arm.

“Yes. I even got the massive displeasure of meeting a forsaken aspect of the forbidden one, face-to-face.” The inquisitor prized himself free of his belt, tackling his red satin button-down shirt next in his quest to strip and obtain a bless’ed shower. “Called themselves “Darkseid’, and even the god of Opealon was struck with such intimidation that he turned coat against us.”

“Hm. It doesn’t bode well. Have you ever heard of that happening?” The doc asked idly as he threaded an intravenous drip of medicine into Saerhaus’ forearm, several bags hung heavy from the IV stand, each with a different flow rate. Ezrihel was hard pressed to understand the rhyme or reason of Israphael’s practices, though he had faith in the medic’s ability to fix things. Especially massively ruined people.

“No, I haven’t lived long enough to see entire deities succumb to the corruption.” He climbed into the shower station, growling quietly as the hot water stung at his wounds. His chest ached, it still hurt to breathe, several ‘somethings’ in his spinal column clicked with each inhale. The aristocrat did his best to pull in a deep breath to the tune of instant regret as his chest muscles violently rebelled against him, sending the man into a retching coughing fit. “With Ruedlen out of commission, we only have one other person as an alternative to that information.”

Israphael’s azure eyes darted up to the ceiling as he centered himself. That one person was someone who was probably going to be pretty damn unhappy to see either of them, for various reasons the doctor was too tired to think about or list. “Tzalel.”

“Yeah, Tzaale-” Ezrihel suddenly slurred as he leaned against the wall of the emergency shower, his vision tunneling as he struggled to stay standing through his pain and utter exhaustion.

’I can’t do all of this by my god-damned self.' “Shit. Meng! I need you in here now!” Isra called as the General hit the floor with a very audible and painful sounding thud.​

#InfluencialCrew

 

[Mickey Mouse]

Influence Bonuses/Negatives:

Arthur Morgan: +3 ARC

Roy Mustang: +2 ARC, +2 City of Hope, +6 Palatinus (Influential applied to original reward: +1 ARC, +1 City of Hope, +3 Palatinus)

Leonardo: +3 City of Hope

Dr. McNinja: Jar of Dirt Relic, +3 ARC, -3 City of Hope

Lilith: -3 ARC, -3 City of Hope, additional bounty (see bounty thread)

Doc Ock (NPC): -3 City of Hope

Ridley: 2000 Coin (event reward), 2500 Coin (from Roy Mustang), +3 City of Hope, +3 Palatinus, -3 ARC

Chara Dreemurr: -3 City of Hope, -3 ARC

Ezrihel: Anduril Relic, +6 ARC, +6 Palatinus, -1 City of Hope (Influential applied to original reward: +3 ARC, +3 Palatinus, -3 City of Hope)

Relic descriptions and Coin rewards will be processed momentarily. Feel free to list your influence yourself on your character profile.