#c. modius.

Alois: Hey. I saw the announcement this morning.

@clove-modius​

[[ Imara had breezed in off the sea like a stiff, foreboding wind, waltzing through the gates looking every inch the textbook villain such that even Charlie's imperturbable blood chilled at the sight of her. It was with a heady mixture of dread and adrenaline that he answered the subsequent summons to the hall outside Quinn’s office, accepting his orders from the Chancellor without question -- the exact reason, perhaps, why they’d singled him out for the job.

The minutes felt like hours as he caught snippets of conversation, sometimes indistinguishable except in severity of tone, sometimes bitingly sharp and clear even through the thick, sturdy wood of Quinn’s office door. The other HQ representatives that lingered down the hall murmured softly amongst themselves, shooting the occasional glance in Charlie’s direction while he paced the hall and redirected the curious. Charlie either didn’t notice their looks or he didn’t care -- every ounce of his focus was on what he could catch of the conversation within.

That it’s about the parasite and the lab’s eventual discovery doesn’t surprise him. What does surprise him is the sheer acerbity of the visiting representative’s tone, taking the Chancellor to task in a way no one else would ever even dream of doing. The fact that there’s a leak within their ranks… that one of their own reported up the chain what they were intending to do? It’s all too real and too terrifying for Charlie to appreciate the fact this is a clear advancement of the plot and, indeed, one look at Quinn and Clove’s expressions when the meeting finally grinds to a close and they emerge is enough to replace any hint of excitement with a dark, uncomfortable apprehension.

None of the group looks at Charlie as they pass, even as he sidesteps to stand at diligent attention with his back pressed to the stone beside Quinn’s door. The Chancellor moves with Imara as she returns to her ominous flock, leaving Clove behind with an inscrutable expression. Charlie tries to get a word in before he receives what will presumably be a swift dismissal. ]]

Representative Modius, I-- [[ Charlie stammers out, purposefully formal, but the thought dies there. He doesn’t want to step out of line, but the sheer desperate need to know more about the situation -- or, more importantly, what they intend to do about the situation -- should come as no surprise. ]]

@clove-modius

[[ It’s the first time Mitch has left Calyset since the storm set in and it is, of course, because he’s worrying. He’s worried about his classroom and he’s worried about his students’ projects, and while he recognizes these are just things, and things should be more replaceable than people and thus not worth putting himself in danger, he ventures out anyhow. Mitch’s classroom is a sanctuary not only to a number of his students but also to him, almost to the point of it feeling more like a home than his own Elite suite or Calyset itself. It’s a shred of comfort he can cling to, a nostalgic remnant of who he was before the sky came crashing down.

The building, like all the others, is old and showing a lot of its infirmity in the face of the extreme weather. Mitch had brought an armful of towels that he’s now using to sop up puddles on the floor or stuff onto window sills to stem the tide of encroaching rainwater. It’s not a disaster by any means, but he’s certainly relieved he checked on the room when he did.

The most difficult spot is proving to be a persistent leak from the ceiling, drip-dripping a widening puddle into the middle of the floor. Mitch has dumped the rest of the towels into a pile underneath it and subsequently clambers his way onto one of the desks, balancing carefully as he inspects the leak, nose wrinkling with the discomfort of the streams of water sneaking up his forearms to dampen his rolled-up sleeves.

Movement in the hallway catches his eye, and without looking, Mitch raises his voice. He doesn’t know who it might be or their reasons for wandering, but he’s still grateful someone else is about. ]] Hey! Sorry, excuse me-- could you do me an enormous favor and pass that bucket? [[ Mitch points blindly behind him and to the left, still trying to hold back the leak with an already-soaked rag. ]]

@clove-modius​​

[[ Maybe in a few hours, Alois will have the capacity to wonder where the fuck some shit kid got bang snaps to begin with. He might even complain about the waste of resources, as if it was remotely worth extracting the modicum of silver fulminate for literally any other purpose. Or cigarette paper, like some tiny square of it would be good for something.

For now, though, thoroughly startled and in excruciating pain, all he really has the wherewithal to do is panic.

The sharp, percussive snaps! still rattle through Alois’ skull as he escapes around the nearest corner with a grimace, hands clapped uselessly over his ringing ears. He can hear the muffled yell of an adult, presumably someone who noticed his overexaggerated reaction. He can’t tell if they’re yelling at the kid or at him, so he keeps moving in the only logical direction he can think of: the nearby wing of Elite offices.

Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, Angel’s door is locked shut and Alois’ weak knock goes unanswered. He must be down at the docks. Alois’ throat tightens at the realization that he doesn’t know what to do next; Angel really has become a crutch he can’t function without, even -- maybe especially -- in terms of extremes. A quick, darted glance settles on Clove’s door across the hall instead. After only the briefest moment of hesitation, Alois crosses to try the door without knocking. Thankfully, it opens, and even more thankfully, only Clove is inside. Alois pushes the door shut again with the weight of his back, leaning heavily into it and trying to catch his breath.

Lise used to get panic attacks, he remembers, and has to wonder if this is what they felt like. ]]

[ sometime after midnight ]

Alois: Hey

Alois: You too salty about torren losing to come to this party or what

[[ Alois couldn’t be sure what it was he saw in Clove’s expression earlier, flanking a small but imposing group of NWRF representatives with lips pressed thin, but it was enough that he couldn’t get it off of his mind until he’d messaged. When last he’d seen him in the games, the head of Torren had a more exasperated or disheveled energy; today, though, in the hall, Clove had looked something more akin to shaken.

Alois doesn’t care about politics. The furthest he’s progressed to entering the fray is agreeing to stand by Teilo’s side with the NAR, but more out of a sense of solidarity with his closest friend than an actual desire to enact change. He likely doesn’t care what business the visiting NWRF have with the colony, either, so he similarly doesn’t care whether Clove can talk about it or not. What he does care about is Clove’s admission to wanting company, and whatever the reason or intent, Alois finds it easy to comply.

He leaves the dining hall with at least forty-five minutes left in the meal; it’s his hope that enough people are keen to keep their gossip to the dinner table, and few to none will occupy Torren’s common room to wonder what business it is that Alois has with Clove. The hall is empty when he approaches the door and, with deft fingertips and little hesitation, he pings up to Clove that he’s waiting. ]]

@clove-modius​

[[ At this point in time -- just in general, not even necessarily during the games -- Alois anticipates bad luck. It’s easy to chalk up to karma, for how charmed his life had been before D-Day. It’s easy to chalk up to karma for how poorly he’s related to most people since.

So of course, as he marches himself that last distance back to the Torren camp as captive, Clove is there. Why wouldn’t he be? Alois should never be so lucky as to expect Lorenzo or Mouse; the only surprise in Clove being there is that it's only Clove. Might as well have thrown in Kaiser, too, or that idiot Essex.

Alois sighs, stepping over the border into the enemy base and momentarily pausing as he looks at Clove. He raises his pistol, stance lazy as he aims for the dead center of the Torren’s chest, and pulls the trigger. It clicks audibly once, twice; not empty, simply dormant for the course of Alois' walk of shame. ]]

Worth a shot. [[ No pun intended. The deactivated pistol finds its home in the holster at Alois’ thigh, and without further fanfare or altercation, he walks past Clove to the plot of the base designated for captives. He’s not the only one but he’s also not here to make conversation, so he situates himself away from the group, arms folded over his chest as he stands and frowns into the dimness of the forest. ]]