[She’s no more comfortable than she can sense Clove is – or, isn’t. She’s more transparent than she thinks she is when there’s alcohol on her breath, even if it’s just a tiny bit. Maybe a sip or two more of wine than she should’ve had. Not like she can judge. Andee’s had a few herself, and her thoughts are warm and dull. It makes it more difficult to piece together the right thing to do when Clove snaps at her, trying to implicate that she should go away instead of just telling her.

Until she does. Out of nowhere, with a stutter step in between, she tells her to scram. Andee lifts her head to examine her eyes, to see if the command comes from a place of sincerity, inebriation, or both. The situation might not call for two sets of hands, but she can’t bring herself to step away. She doesn’t want to disobey… Yet, somehow, the idea of rebelling when she’s been ordered to keep her distance is a little vindicating.

She picks her head up now, resting her arm on her knee, staying crouched to keep their eye lines level. If Clove wants to be treated like Imperial Elite Highness, that’s what she’ll get.] That an order, ma’am?

[Is it? She can’t meet her eyes for long, casts her gaze down at the shards on the frozen ground instead.]

[On the one hand, she finds Andreya’s presence absolutely infuriating. She hates how vulnerable she’s become, because of her anger and the sharp barbs of humiliation.]

[And on the other... she’s sitting on a political pedestal that feels like it’s crumbling with every shot someone takes, and there’s absolutely nothing she can do to hold her ground against that. She’s on the losing side---where she might have been comfortable and secure back at her old Col, here they’re the sole target. The NWRF is smoke and mirrors, and there’s no support left if she fails. Her best friend might be killed, any day, for deciding to try and lead this tiny Colony alone on the Atlantic. Super powered radicals are closing in, making speeches, hooking into the minds of anyone who is dissatisfied, and she can feel the attitudes of everyone around her shifting to something dark, something that could burn them all into ash. All because they see her as the enemy. When all she wants is to live.]

[And... she’s cold. She’s a bit drunk. Her feet hurt. And she doesn’t want to be cleaning up this mess alone. She raises her eyes finally.]

...No. 

[Stay, please. Help me. She could never bring herself to say those thoughts aloud, but in that moment she wants to.]

alexander-donovan‌:

Clove made a good argument, and it was both one Alex had expected and one he had heard before. Not necessarily here, or exclusively concerning the current government, or even the colonies of the apocalypse—but rather, in a past life, when working under supervisors and sergeants whose jobs were to oversee the disciplines and objectives that they had not set themselves. They were assigned to track them, to care for them, like a hired gardener is tasked with tending to a plant on someone else’s property. They did not plant the seed—but they were there for the purpose of nurturing it, tending to it—seeing to it that it took shape, flowered into what its original intention had been. 

So he got it, understood where she was coming from—but while what she said of the misconception the non-aligned civilians seemed to carry concerning the roles of the Reformist Reps had value, her argument was also built on a perspective that had its own set of blinders—ones that were perhaps of a very similar nature as those of the Infected. Tunnel visioning everything in a way that made sense from one angle, but was equally as unhelpful in the bigger picture. The point was that everyone needed to make adjustments if this was going to work—and that included thinking outside the box. Because that was what compromise meant. They already knew that these two opposing ideals did not see eye to eye based on the fundamentals of their standing positions. So in order to accomplish anything, they’d all need to be willing to set that aside, and come up with new avenues to explore. Not just… keep rehashing the old ones over and over again. That would only lead to more rebellion, more frustration, and zero progress. 

Still, he was pleased with how diplomatically Dante had explained the proposition—it was almost good that it had come from him, too, being that he was Uninfected, and of an NWRF alignment. He was holding up his end of the bargain by acting as the middle man between Alex’s quiet plea and Clove’s position of official Representative—directly under the chancellor. 

He cleared his throat, nodding calmly. “I think what you’ve described is definitely a crucial thing to take into consideration. We would most definitely need to come up with a…tactic. An approach, when it comes to what the objective of this… so called ‘council’ would be. And how we present it to citizens. Because while we wouldn’t want to make any promises we couldn’t fulfil, it’d also be essential to have a little transparency—because… whatever we do decide, announcing it to the general public, at least in some way, even if it’s filtered—will hold both parties accountable.” He paused briefly, catching both their gazes. “And unfortunately I think that’s pretty imperative here, because so much is at stake and, unquestionably, both sides of this thing have their own prerogative, their own values. The only way to give any… assembly, a hope in hell at success, is there are other eyes watching. Who have been given at least some kind of expectations they can have of us. Because alternatively, if it’s all kept a secret, and we make no promises at all, then neither party will have any reason to hold up their end of the bargain. It’s a lose-lose.” 

But there was something else he wanted to address. Something he was fairly sure lied at the heart of getting any ‘dialogue’ to have any kind of footing whatsoever. 

“Now, the other thing I’d like to throw out there is…” He looked towards Clove, gaze steady, calm, expression relatively placid. “I understand the position you feel you’re in, in terms of lack of power, and I mean no disrespect whatsoever—truly I don’t. I can at least relate on some level to being in a position of authority where I do not make the rules, only enforce them. Trust me. But… I do think that it’s this issue that may need to be… reconsidered? Slightly?

“Because the reality is…” he took a breath, gaze falling to the table as he tried to find the right words, the right approach. A light shake of his head, before he looked back up. “The NWRF are outnumbered. And not as strong as they would like to be, at the moment. There is a lot they still don’t know—to know fault of their own, of course, as no one knows much of anything at this point.” It was important to him to be as diplomatic as possible. Because regardless of his personal opinion on the NWRF’s position on the Infected, carving them out as enemies was going to get him nowhere. He believed he was in a position to make a difference, and so he had a duty to treat that position with utmost care. Being reckless with it would only result in losing what little influence he had, and then he would have nothing left to offer these people he had so come to care about. These people who looked to him for hope. 

“So, I think the truth is… you have more power than you realize? Because they send representatives to do what they can not. They are counting on you to find a way to make… all of this work. Because if they had unlimited power, unlimited numbers—if they were invincible as of now, they’d have incarcerated us all, already. There would be no… patient infiltration of Colonies with ‘mandates’ and ‘representatives’ and a friendly impression to uphold. But the truth is they are vulnerable, still. Just like everyone else. And so they are looking to you, and to Quinn and to all the other reformist aligned individuals here to… make sure this whole thing doesn’t implode. Because it could. And I hate to say it, but I think that… throwing up your hands and saying you have no power, is a cop out. It’s a way to make it easier on yourselves, a way to not have to make the tough decisions.” 

He didn’t wait for hackles to rise, or for brows to lower, before clarifying—because he didn’t want to be misunderstood. He truly meant no offence—at least not to these two individuals meeting with him now—and he did believe that anyone in their position would feel the same way. It only made sense. “And I want to be clear—I don’t blame you for that. It’s not a criticism. It’s an… easy default position to take. And I’m sure that’s how it feels to be in your shoes. But the reality is you do have influence. You have a voice. And if you are passionate enough about this New Wave and the… safety of our future, as much as you preach, then it’s your responsibility to take responsibility. And no, it won’t be easy, and yes, you will meet resistance. But the NWRF… what, headquarters? Board of shadowy figures? They’re not here. You are. You are the only ones who are here, seeing what it happening, and have been put in charge of running an entire Colony of real people, under the district of the NWRF.  This is no.. hypothetical set of ideals. This is real, and the colony reps would no better than anyone else hiding out in Headquarters. 

“So, if anything, they have to listen to you. They don’t know what’s going on here. You do. So if you find a system you think is proving better, safer, more valuable—with a better long term projection for the NWRF objective as a whole… they will listen. They’ll have to. Because they need you. And I think that’s what is easy to forget on your end of things, because maybe they want you to feel like powerless sock puppets. But you aren’t. You wouldn’t be here, were that the case.” 

Far from pointless is higher praise than Dante had been anticipating. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Clove had rolled her eyes, said the endeavour was foolish, and left. But then, he didn’t really know Clove. Few of them really knew each other. It seemed to be a common theme among Reformist aligned individuals - a sense of personal privacy and isolation.

Maybe that was a deliberate choice on the part of the recruiters, because isolated individuals don’t ask questions or threaten the status quo. Maybe it was simply that the quiet, stoic types were the people more likely to find themselves agreeing with this culture of intolerance they seem to have built.

Either way, it never sat well with Dante. He preferred to repress those intrusive thoughts, tamping them down when they began to stir; but he knew the more thought he gave it, the more he would question his standpoint. On the one hand, he had already proven to himself that he was capable of great acts of cruelty. If there was a hell, he was going to it anyway, so he might as well commit to that course.

On the other hand, didn’t everyone want redemption? As several people had pointed out after sensing Dante’s apathy towards the situation, he was in a strong position. Uninfected, trusted, NWRF. He could make a difference, should he choose to. And Alex was right, even if the content of his words almost frightened Dante with their frankness: they weren’t puppets. They were here to enact an agenda, but they were also here to listen, to observe, to report back. Any feedback they had would at least be acknowledged and heard, and if enough Colonies gave similar feedback, change wasn’t so hard to believe might be on the horizon.

What it kept coming down to for Dante, was that however much he supported change, he didn’t want to be the one to enact it. He was a coward. Andreya had suggested it. Alex was suggesting it now. Dante wasn’t denying it, either. He felt as though he had been through enough for his lifetime; he’d never wanted to change the world. He became a doctor because he liked the challenge, he liked the precision, and yes, he liked the idea of helping people. Or, he had. But he’d never looked to cure cancer or explore immortality. He didn’t want worldwide renown, although a certain amount of renown had come to him by virtue of his success.

It all seemed very rapidly to be becoming his problem, unfortunately. His apathy towards the Reformist agenda was being read as support for the fight for freedom. His head was stuck in the sand, but people were determinedly tapping his shoulder to draw him out. He was beginning to feel like a middleman - which was what he had offered to be, he supposed - with Clove naturally siding with the NWRF and its mandates, and Alex speaking out for change.

Alex’s words were… not threatening, but certainly dangerous. The NWRF didn’t need to be reminded of how little its power really meant. They only held that power for as long as the population allowed it, and one day there would be an uprising if nothing changed. But, therein lay the rock and the hard place that they lived in. Keep the status quo, and they faced the wrath of most Colonists. Advocate for change, and they risked losing their position, which made the whole endeavour pointless.

It was a thin knife’s edge on which they walked, and Dante knew he lacked the tact to navigate it. Most of the NWRF did; they weren’t a diplomatic lot. They were cold, distant, aloof, and any niceties were seen as manipulation. 

“I think,” Dante said, voice smooth and calm - although he spoke quickly, because he was worried that Alex’s words might have ruffled Clove - “Perhaps as an interim step, we ought to look to improving communication with the network of other Colonies. We are not powerless puppets, as you say, Alex, but Clove is right. We can’t just go around making new rules at our own will. If we open up lines with other Colonies and get more of an understanding of the lay of the land in other locations, we would have a better idea of how to proceed.

“If we report back to HQ that Twenty Two is in a state of unrest, they’re more likely to tell us simply to do better. If a dozen Colonies came forward with similar issues, they may be more willing to listen.”

It wouldn’t be a popular idea, on the basis that it seemed like prolonging an already painfully long process. Everyone was sick of the bureaucratic red tape argument, but that didn’t make it any easier to navigate. The Reformists had more power than they assumed individually, but less than most Colonists thought. Change wouldn’t be enacted overnight, and Dante hoped people would understand that. They weren’t going to wake up tomorrow and see that everyone will be contributing to chores, or that infection testing will be purely voluntary.

When power was seized as abruptly as the NWRF had, it was fragile, with shallow roots. Change had to be made in the barest increments, or else the whole thing risked falling.

Donovan's initial point confirmed what Clove had suspected---they wished for some kind of council, and the question of whether it would be totally impotent was beside the point. She could feel her interest waning, the longer he talked. Accountability on both sides didn't matter, because the scales were inherently imbalanced in this situation. Holding the NWRF accountable, as pretty a notion as it sounded, wasn't plausible, for the reason she'd just outlined---the real NWRF was out of their reach. Meaning what he was actually asking was for people like her and Dante, and Quinn as well, to put their own stability in jeopardy by making sacrifices the NWRF wanted them to be uncompromising on. For the sake of the Infected, because they were displeased. It wasn't going to work, she thought. Even if she backed it, Quinn certainly wouldn't. She wasn't sure even she could convince him to---or that she had an inclination towards doing so.

She bit her tongue as he shifted gears, focusing instead on what she'd just been thinking. Confirming every suspicion.

"You're asking me to exploit the vulnerabilities of the party that I support." She spoke flatly, without shielding her anger as it rose, however cool her tone remained. "You're asking us to compromise, and see that as reasonable. But this is what we've chosen---and been chosen---to represent." It was literally in her title, inescapable and undeniable. "What you so generously call a cop out, I call holding my ground, Donovan. Keeping my word. If I'm to break it," she paused, allowing that this wasn't a total impossibility, "then I won't be doing that lightly, or if I think it will have no real impact in the long run."

"And as for the others..." Her thoughts drifted back to Quinn, to think of what should be considered for him personally, though he would never say as much. "The heads of the NWRF may not physically be here, but you should understand that neither is everything that we care about. Those of us who transferred here left behind friends, spouses. Lives. We also are 'real people', and have real people. Some of whom we actually might want to be proud of us, when or if we return."

She'd made promises to Ceres, to Quinn, and to others when she left. Certainly she could change, and make new connections without too much heartache, but she wasn't like the others---what would Ceres think of them, if she heard Quinn allowed himself to be strong-armed, in a situation like this? The NWRF were distant, but at the same time they still had control in multiple ways over them, no matter what Donovan thought, or how easy he considered it should be for their representatives to go rogue out here on this chilly British rock.

But she'd pushed the point far enough. If Donovan didn't understand it even when she'd provided an emotional context, then she'd at least done what she felt she owed to those who clung to the NWRF for support, here. She'd spoken a little for them. Clove herself was more... malleable in her beliefs. Though she was tied to the people she'd met, she was willing to adapt, or seem adaptable was probably more accurate.

Telling herself to be patient, and with the reminder that it was important this meeting seem casual to onlookers, she gave Dante a small incline of her head, honestly quite grateful for his suggestion that there were possibilities if they talked to

[Lordy lord, she loves parties.

It’s a welcome distraction from the dramatics of the last few weeks. Even the last party, the one with the art show and the opening of the tower, blah blah blah, only added to the stressful environment they all seemed to be marinating in. Mitch and Alex’s reorganization of the awards event was a heaping success, and all the pressure seemed to release from the walls around them in just a few hours. Andee had found it too easy to lean into the frivolity of the night, and was happily buzzed on a few drinks when she and a few of the mates stepped outside for a very quick smoke.

Surely no one would penalize them tonight, they figured, passing around the cigarette and taking conservative drags so it could make the rounds more than once. After a few passes, it fizzled out at the end, and the rest of them went back inside while the party turned to its page to the naughtier half of the night. Less propriety, more drinking. Andee opted for a few extra minutes of fresh air, and stayed outside watching the cold turn her breath to white until a crash made her jump.

A very irritated voice followed. Curious, always, she rounded the corner of Catch to find a pair of feet sprinting back into the back door, and Clove Modius, on hands and knees (woof), picking up shards of glass.

Recklessly, she might add – clearly, tonight had been a disappointment for one of them.

The reminder of Clove’s warning flashed briefly in her mind – stay away. But there was so much glass, and someone was bound to get hurt, and Andee is nothing if not a glutton for assisting whenever she can. The Helping Hand medal almost burns through the pocket of her leather jacket.

She kneels beside the disaster and starts collecting the pieces of glass and putting them on the tray. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up. Just orderly sets the mess on the tray, head down, unsure if she should pray for silence or something to break the tension.]

[And then, Andreya’s here to help.] 

[Why? Because of course she is.] 

[She only glances at her for a second, before she zeroes in on her task with a more fixated determination. Despite the attempts at a wall of ice that Clove placed between them socially---and entirely rationally, in her opinion---it’s not a large Colony. There are no hidden retreats, or not for long anyway.]

You don’t have to do this---I’ve got it covered, Miss Roche. [She says, the words quiet and clipped, but some of her exhaustion with the situation probably shows. The way she forces syllables from her mouth methodically. And she has no one to blame but herself---if she hadn’t gotten so... so concerned with whatever it was between them, she’d never have ended up here. On her knees, frozen ground seeping cold uncomfortably against her shins, but wanting to lunge away and run from a challenge for the first time in her life.] Go--- [Her voice falters, unexpectedly.] 

Go back inside. [That most definitely sounds somewhere between a plea and an order, and even Clove can’t quite determine which she meant it to be. Like she can’t determine why her hands are shaking, why she suddenly feels the chill of the night slicing through the alcohol in her bloodstream, leaving her tired and... sad, almost? It’s pathetic. She clears her throat abruptly, determined not to feel that, of all things. Not tonight, not in front of her. Clove’s done feeling sorry for herself---she’s done feeling anything about anything or anyone---she’s a goddamned killer robot from now on and---] 

[Oh... She might be slightly worse for wine, yes...]

[Satisfaction.

It was raw and vicious in the way it sank it’s fangs into him and that much was clear from the moment Kaiser stepped off of the makeshift stage. Dangerous, crocodile grin curved from ear to ear as his shoulders broadened and he walked arrogantly and easily through the crowd back toward the bar. He knew nearly every eye was following him.. including those of people that were so high on the chain they could make life hell for him for what he just did. And he sure as shit knew the low murmur that he could hear spreading around him like wild-fire was a result of him as well. Something that gloriously only served to stoke his arrogance more.

Something that was painfully visible in the swagger alone as Kaiser fluidly pushed past those that didn’t move out of his way. Bee-lining it toward the bar with one intention in mind. To celebrate.

His large frame approached the bar and he rapped his knuckles on it in request for another drink as his gaze flitted about. He’d seen the way they’d been looking at him, but something that had caught his attention was the way Miss Modius had looked at him. Was she feigning that cold disinterest that he’d seen flicker over her features? Was she truly so arrogant to think she shouldn’t take him seriously? Something in the back of his mind made a point.. was she truly that well prepared? Was there something Kaiser didn’t know? …The girl was a puzzle, her cool demeanor and blatantly clear grasp on what seemed to be at stake at every given moment. He knew better than to underestimate her… but he wasn’t certain quite yet of the depths of her capabilities.

Just as Kaiser had begun to take a bite of his food, he caught the chilled tone of Clove’s voice. Closer than he’d realized, and after casting her a ‘dismissive’ glance, he finished what he’d been eating and turned to face her. His response took a moment as he cleaned the tip of each finger, before casting Clove another, more amused look and his low voice growled an almost playful.]

Uh oh. [He grunted, wiping his hands on a napkin and tossing it to the floor to his side, he leaned on his elbow against the bar.] Slumming it, are we..? Or am I in trouble? [He asked, lifting a hand to the tender and gesturing toward Clove to order her another drink.]

[One lesson has that has always stuck with Clove is that if two wolves fight over a single scrap of meat, the wisest place to be is far away off hunting by yourself. Certainly, given the Reformists have common beliefs to her, and she’ll protect Quinn as best she can, she definitely has allegiances now. But that doesn’t mean she is unwilling to look for... better alternatives, aside from holding strictly to the party line, if her current position becomes untenable.]

[Kaiser, it seems, has no such malleability. Or at least, he hasn’t been given reason to show it yet. Surprising, really, because he seems intelligent. He still seems convinced, despite his record and the firm hold they have on him, that he can rouse support and turn the place in his favour. Tear the scrap of meat from the NWRF’s jaws, as it were.]

[He tosses a napkin to the floor and she ignores it, her face barely showing her disdain for his sloppy manners. The Colonists are certainly in for a treat if they decide he’s worth sacrificing order for---the Chancellor at least has respect for keeping the place clean. He would never do something so uncouth for the sake of drama.]

[His tone is teasing, casual. She matches it, and orders them both a neat scotch.] It’s my night off from enforcing rules. You’re free to rant to your heart’s content. I should be thanking you, actually---it made for a refreshing break from the singing.

[When their drinks are delivered, she picks up her glass, but doesn’t touch the contents yet, just peers over the edge of the glass at him.] I am curious---now that you’ve gotten people’s attention, do you really intend to do anything interesting with it? Not that I require you to give me warning ahead of time... [No doubt some heavily worded threat will be issued, in due course. But she likes talking to him as though he has a chance. She finds his ambition... endearing, almost. If it wasn’t so bold as to seem clumsy. He certainly lacks grace, but that’s hardly a prerequisite to wielding power.]