#halst

*The ambiance on Level One will never sit well with Chase. As large and lively as the area is the hallways during the day sound… off to her. Perhaps it's the muted sounds of gossiping clerks bleeding through the walls, stipulated by the metrical taps of heavy keyboards and the occasional supporting clack of an old-fashioned typewriter.

*Perhaps it's the fact that she doesn't visit this Level as frequently; only passing through when visiting Laurence. Perhaps the knowledge that this is indeed C_C’s floor as much as Level 6 is hers. She suppresses a shudder forming at the base of her spine as she passes over the threshold of Level 1, for once not turning towards the den of the painted weasels but the offices of the bipedal dogs, and C_K.

*Chase is still remarkably presentable for just another day in the week. Whispers of jealousy regarding a newest Fairco-employee do little but clarify the sudden change of appearance for the woman even if she'd starkly deny it upon confrontation.

*She carries with her a box, neatly tucked under one arm and a clipboard hanging limply from the other. The box is beautifully presented with a garish bow and crinkling, silver paper neatly wrapped around it, all blatantly salvaged from other packaged goods prior to this one.

*With a final sigh the woman drags herself over to the narrow corridor holding the meeting room and the Mothermen offices. A hardened knuckle taps on the shining stone of the portal, the only warning prior to her walking into the room.

*The inside of the Mothermen’s office is - to put it bluntly - chaotic.  Lockers are open on the far side of the room, expedition packs and their disassembled contents strewn over every surface, and the large whiteboard that hangs between the main desks is a tangled, drunken-spiderweb mess of crossed-out wrong-hand writing.

*S_R is perfectly aware that this level of repeatedly reviewing, rethinking and repacking all the field kits is bordering on paranoia.  It’s also bloody difficult with his arm still in a sling, but as much as he might want to take the damn thing off, there is still a core of scarlet humiliation burning in his brain; a constant hyper-awareness that it is his own fucking bravado that has gotten him into this mess in the first place.

*It can’t happen again.  It won’t happen again.  And if the only way he can be sure of that is to spend three days untangling every conceivable thread of packing possibility, then that is what he will do.

*This does mean, however, that he is rather unfortunately positioned - bending down over the back of a desk to grab at a stack of canteens that has rolled away from his single functional grip - when Halstead enters the room.

*She inhales sharply, head whipping to the side. Only the sound of the clattering clipboard might have muffled her alerted cry. She sucks in another wavering, almost simpering breath before she finds her voice again.

[Halstead] It's fine, Essar! I'm not the new alpha-pup… You don't have to present yourself like an omega-bitch to me.

* She puts a step forward, visibly putting her eyes on everything but the… sight before her. Turning half on her heel she bends down to pick up her clipboard, moving agonizingly slow before neatly putting it on top of the box for safe-keeping.  

[Halstead] Put it away… It's about time I saved you from irrelevance, it seems.

*The woman moves hastily past Essar and towards the desk of R_V. She places the cheerfully wrapped box on the edge of a table and briskly pushes some equipment out of the way. She picks up a small bag and examines it as she waits for Essar to put himself in a less… compromisable position.

*S_R freezes, as the eternally-unwelcome sound of Halstead’s voice breaks into his thoughts, even before he registers the content of the words and his breath locks.

*...really?  Really - you couldn’t have turned up five fucking minutes later?

Of course she couldn’t.  That isn’t how anything ever worked, is it?

[S_R] Got nothing better to do than ogle my ass, Halstead? *He straightens up slowly, biting down on the urge to jerk around - because he is not going to give the exhumed-wreckage behind him the satisfaction of seeing him react to her barbs - and glares at the unwelcome visitor, faffing around with R_V’s desk.  His lip curls.

[S_R] ...if you’re thinking of joining space-boy’s little fanclub fuckfest, for the love of Mother do it in your own room.

*Chase slowly puts the piece of equipment back down again, her hand reaches out to the wrapped package, pushing it so it almost topples on its side. Her face is neutral before it breaks in a brief moment of disgust, the majority of her expression still hidden behind the surgical mask.

[Halstead] This… This isn't… Chargehand—… I'm not vain enough to partner myself up with a portable mirror… And I require a bit more personality than a rehashing of the State Anthem. Which is strangely enough exactly what keeps the chalk-faced weasels happy... It's from one of them.

*She twists on her heels, her rubberized soles squeak briefly on the floor.

[Halstead] The main reason why I'm here is that I finally heard you're going to the Silo. Good, only took you a few months to get that sorted out. You're improving but hey better late than never. I'm here so you won't go into that Silo and mistake an unplugged toaster for the possible culprit.

[S_R] Playing delivery-brat now?  Envy of the glamourous Unward lifestyle just got too much to bear?  *He sneers, settling himself back on the desk.  He folds his free arm across the immobilised one, and lets out a sharp breath.  Hackles dropping, slightly.*

[S_R] Given that flashing the Facilitator an ankle isn’t one of my strategies, yeah.  It’s taken a while. *He snorts.* Since apparently ‘possible imminent risk of getting your FAC cored like a fucking apple’ doesn’t rank all that high on our glorious leader’s personal motivations.

[Halstead] He's never been particularly creative or imaginative when it comes to bad scenarios… Luckily that's where I can step in. I do more for him than flash my ankle and call him 'sweetheart', Essarr.

*She moves over to the clipboard and with a rustle plucks a few papers from under the iron clamp. Her eyes briefly glance over the information. It's a copy of a handwritten notebook detailing specialized wiring, machinery and cooling systems, accompanied by vague illustrations hastily implemented in what few open spaces remain.

*Chase rises from her position and walks over to Essarr, nonchalantly throwing the copies over to his desk.

[Halstead] Welcome to Dreggie Engineering 101. This'll come in handy if it's Dreglands interference we've experienced. These models might be slightly outdated but the principle should be similar. Anything that looks like it's hydraulic or pneumatic in nature is already a sign to be cautious. Pistons are your best bet here. Manganese steel — railroad track-metal is another thing to note. It's recognizable by its brown color and less than precise form in a finished product. And there's this—

*She shows her bionic once again, tapping a finger to the manganese used as the skeleton for the prosthetic. Her fingers dip deeper under the vinyl. The sound of metal and plastic twisting is briefly audible before she digs out a small metal cylinder about the size of the palm of her hand. With various iron nodules and hastily welded parts it resembles the wrong way a battery could be cobbled together. It leaks a dark brown fluid that reeks of rusted copper.

*S_R nods, half-idly, as she lists off the more recognisable engineering components, scanning down the list as he does so.  It is only when she stops that he actually looks up - and visibly recoils for a moment as she withdraws the cylinder from inside her arm.  His gaze follows the drips of fluid, distaste clear on his face.

[S_R] ...delightful.

*Chase scoffs at S_R's reaction, a deep sigh forcing itself through her nostrils as she lightly shakes the item in her hands before throwing it down on his table.

[Halstead] That's a bionic battery. Dreglands-make. Raiders or Trackers tend to chuck those away when they're drained. I doubt they could've attacked Fairco just like that so they must've stuck around for a few days to set everything up. If they are behind it someone must've left one behind. Don't get alarmed by the goop, it's dross — waste. It doesn't do anything but stain horribly. As long as you don't get that in your bloodstream you're not likely to fall dead because of it. I’ll be requiring that one back when you return.

*She pauses a moment, her one hand readjusting the wiring in her bionic as she thinks.

[Halstead] Most of our machines tend to run hot, reason why hydraulics and pneumatics are popular with us. It's doubtful that it'll be traceable this long after the incident but you've been to Level Six… Be sure to check the computers there as well for any sign of interloping.

*The woman pauses, finally readjusting her glove, reassuring the Captain of her normalcy once more.  

*S_R arches an eyebrow as he looks down at the leaking battery.  He reaches across to one of the opened-out field packs as Halstead talks, plucking a screw-topped plastic jar from a pile of general environmental sampling equipment.  Unscrewing it one-handed is a little awkward, and it takes him a few tries to herd the little cylinder into the jar, leaving a thin trail of gunk where it scrapes across the desk.

[S_R] I have searched a Facility before.  *He taps one gloved finger against the jar, rolling the safely-cased battery within, and frowned thoughtfully.* Don’t hold out much hope for the computers; they were pretty much fried when I did the initial sweep, and the whole thing had been cut off for years.

He rolls the jar around again, his lips thinning, and his gaze flicks across to R_V’s desk again.  Glancing across the package - but mostly just at the space itself.

[S_R] ...tell me.  In your interactions with the ‘portable mirror’ - whatever the fuck they are - has he mentioned seeing anything strange, at the Ball?

*S_R's antics are only rewarded with Chase raising an uninterested brow as he pathetically attempts to fit the piece of hardware into a container without touching it. Doing it with one hand results in little more than the resemblance of a squirrel or mouse battling with plastic.

[Halstead] And you did such a good job of it you're gonna have to go back.

*Her eyes follow those of S_R, back to the place she'd been lingering around mere minutes before. She looks back at the captain, her face blank with just a hint of confusion.

[Halstead] There have been no interactions between me and Dazzle. I tend not to tread on what Sees's clique claims as their own. Makes my life slightly easier and my paperwork that much cleaner.

[S_R] If the useless idiots we yanked out of there had had the decency to die during extraction, I’d have have more time for sightseeing.

*He frowns slightly at her other comment, looking at her sharply.

[S_R] Nothing you saw?  Nothing out of place in the simpering horde?  It’s not an opportunity I would have missed…

[Halstead] What are you on about? 'Out of place'… Were you around during this Ball? We've never met our quota of weird like that.

*She groans, looking down to the floor and then the ceiling, scratching her mind for anything of use. Her bionic crackles as she raises it, using spread fingers as an impromptu calculus device. Two digits are touched before she lowers her hand again, sighing in defeat.

[Halstead] You're gonna need to be more specific if you want something out of me.

*S_R sighed.  Of course a fucking Dreglander wouldn’t know anything.  Even a whispered hint of ‘Praetorian’ would leave anyone half-sensible with a shiver down their spine, but as far as he could tell, the only word that’d set a Dreggie’s hair on end was ‘soap’.

[S_R] Helpful as ever.

*He folds his arms again, awkwardly against the sling.

*Chase holds the silence, slowly looking away and shaking her head. Her glare hardens.

[Halstead] Perhaps come down from that little table, Rosewood. Before you break your face when you're pulled off of it. Either you explain or you shut up.

...rosewood?

*S_R’s teeth grind together.  He wants her to leave.  Halstead’s presence at the best of time is the personal equivalent of toothache, but something about her is really grating on his nerves today.  His heartbeat is all over the place, like there’s an angry insect in his chest, and she’s making his skin crawl.  Focus.  Fucking focus.

[S_R] I take it He hasn’t bothered to actually tell you…?  *He stops, shaking his head.* Look.  I’m not… sure.  But I have to be, and there have been too many things - just - off-

*It’s not a tightness, not a pressure, but the opposite: a shivering, sucking hollowness that seems to pull at his rising heartbeat and-

*S_R lets out a sharp breath, pressing his bound arm closer to his chest.  It aches, up and down and around his shoulder, but he can feel that.  Properly.  Enough to focus a bit more - and enough for angry embarrassment to flare as he blinks himself back to reality.

*The tense silence continues, she ends it with a roll of her eyes. The woman is getting curt, she is getting annoyed at the useless attempt at a back-and-forth that won't go anywhere. It didn't go anywhere on their first meeting and it won't go anywhere at their last.

[Halstead] I'm supposed to cry now? Because the Blue-Eyed-Bastard doesn't tell me everything?

*As S_R's tangent withers off like a wilting flower the annoyance on her face falls away for panicked bafflement. A delicate brow raising once more. She eyes his arm, his face, her voice wavers, uncertain.

[Halstead] Look… Essar. You can get painkillers for that thing…

*She takes a delicate step forward, fingers close to her chest, not knowing what to do exactly.

[Halstead] … You having a fit? You're not up to this. I can explain it to Seekay just as well… Maybe I just convince Laurence somehow that I need to go along…

*S_R jerks back from her half-approach, clarity returning to his expression, and he seeks balance in a scowl.

[S_R] I’m fine.  *He hesitates again, eyes flicking back towards R_V’s desk again, and he snorts dismissively.* The metalmouthed asshole’s about as restful a roommate as you might imagine.  And yet, if I throttled him in his sleep, I would be the bad guy.

*Chase stops in her tracks at the snarl. She is silent, judging eyes pinned on the garbled mess that would be the Captain. The person in charge of her safety… The muscles around her nose twitch with apathetic disgust.

[Halstead] You better be fine, Captain. FAIRCO doesn’t keep you alive to perform an adequate job no matter the consequences. Like anything in this sinkhole you are as interchangeable as the next… The new tool might be just around the corner… Perhaps it can even be considered an upgrade. It does come less scuffed and with a nice chrome finish.

*S_R’s lip curls.

[S_R] I am very. Aware. Of my requirement here. *He straightens up, abruptly, and stalks back around the desk; putting the furniture between them like a physical punctuation.  Gloved fingers tighten around the battery jar again, as he glares back at Halstead.

[S_R] And if you’d really prefer to leave your security in R_V’s hands than mine?  Good. Fucking. Luck.  Now, do you have anything else useful for me - ideally not yanked out of any even-less savory areas - or are we fucking done?

*She makes a point of striding to the door, heel noisily tapping with each step. She turns just at the frame, one hand gripping onto the sleek, black quartz.

[Halstead] Like you have somehow revolutionized our security since you crawled in… * She scoffs lowly, eyes rolling in their sockets. Her face twists with loathing and a touch of dread as she lingers on the comment. * What few qualities you didn't share with the great ape we're not likely to find in someone else either.  

*The woman's skin crawls with enough force that it slightly dislodges her hand. She stares at it for a brief moment before pinning her eyes back onto S_R, light eyes swallowed by the darkened brow.

[Halstead] Get results or get used to the pangs of nagging starvation. Unlike your recent track record… Ne déçoit pas, mon Capitaine. Bonsoir.

*She throws off her finely-crafted mask of articulated speech for just a brief moment. Her tongue speaks with the typical drawl of a Dreglands accent, thick but that hint of refinement somehow snuck in there. Eyes glinting with spite she turns the corner.

*S_R’s shoulders slump a little; a fragment of the tension in his body unhooking as he hears Halstead’s primped-point step vanishing away back down the corridor.  He looks back at the battery, and again at the sprawled-out mess of the opened field kits.  

*It is mid-day in Laurence’s office, and he is seated at his desk. His ledger is open; as it always is, with names and calculations written in pencil to allow for adjustments. His fingers rest there, as he reads aloud from a damp sheaf of loosely bound papers. Before him, in the office, a rain-slicked, black-eyed Breather stands without reaction. Her mask mists with every ragged breath.

[Fairfax] - there we lay, awaiting fetter, with each breath liquid, in that breathless drowning dark - I am Unmade and scattered and Mother - how tiresome - Mother does not answer - etcetera, etcetera. Well. I don’t understand, darling. 

*He throws the loose papers on the desk.



[Fairfax] You’ve made no official complaint, according to our records, nor self-reported for Misconduct. Your behaviour was not thought to have been aberrated. I presumed you quite content and in possession of all proper and prescribed opinions. This - poetry - was found in the cistern of the Level Five toilets in plastic wrapping. Your handwriting was identified by my Clerks. You know if you absolutely must write prohibited material in this form you might endeavour to ensure it rhymes. This was dreadfully dreary.

*There is no response from the Breather. She keeps her eyes on the floor.

[Fairfax] First offence, isn’t it?



[Breather] Yes ---- Sir.

*He picks up the bundle of writing, and offers it to the woman.

[Fairfax] Rip it up and run along then.

*She comes forward, taking the papers in her gloved hand. She holds the work tenderly. Laurence takes up his shining black phone and holds it between his ear and shoulder.



[Fairfax] Line to the Waiting Room please. Yes. Send in Miss Halstead. I said rip it up, darling. No. Not you.

*He replaces the heavy telephone in its cradle and threads together his fingers under his chin, patiently. The Ward meets his eyes regretfully as he watches.

[Fairfax] Don’t hurry. Take your time.

*She tenses, and wrenches the bundle of paper apart. She rests the two halves on Laurence’s desk with head hung.

[Fairfax] There we are. Keep to your Mandated Leisure activities from now on.

*He dismisses her with a flick of his fingers.



[Fairfax] Off you go.

* The ratty engineer clad in baggy working clothes was a sight seldom seen above the Fifth floor. With hair now carefully combed and folded into a tidy bun along with enough adjustments to the otherwise ill-fitting working attire Chastity had made an effort to oblige, to entertain certain humours.

* Vinyl-clad finger knock on the door, there is a pause before Chase allows herself in, carrying herself with an attitude not seen on her for a long while. As soon as she sees the Breather she stops, head moving over to Laurence, a tinge of panic bleeding into her eyes.

[Halstead] Laurence, dear… I'm not interrupting something, am I?

*He laughs, and smiles handsomely.



[Fairfax] Oh, hardly, my dear.



*The Breather passes the other woman without a glance, and Laurence rises from his desk. He approaches Chase and regards her for a moment before placing both hands on her shoulders and kissing her fondly on the cheek.



[Fairfax] Come to my desk. I’ve a surprise for you.

*Chase moves into his gesture, presenting her cheek and affectionately laying her hand upon his shoulder, accepting the rather sudden kiss gladly. She doesn't retreat from him in the slightest.

[Halstead] Whatever put you in such a good mood? Did someone pay their debts or has someone send you a gift?

*She pets his arm delicately, using it as a support when she peeks her head beyond his frame in curiosity.

[Halstead] You've certainly got me intrigued. Go on, sweet. I'm all ears.

*He leads her to the desk, turning his ledger to face her.



[Fairfax] I’ve been doing my sums, darling. The last two names are yours. And don’t say I never give you anything.

*He leans back on the desk, and smilingly awaits her reaction.

*She follows his lead, eyeing the ledger, one brow furrowing in slight confusion before she hears him. Her expression immediately brightens, a satisfied smile on her face.

[Halstead] Don't sell yourself short, Laurence. You've given me so much already!

*She turns towards him, ensuring he sees her expression.

[Halstead] But yes, they'll come in handy, certainly! You've done a marvelous job separating the wheat from the chaff.

*She leans forwards, a single finger landing on a name with an underscore in hesitation. She draws it back after a moment.

[Halstead] Two will last for a while now. Thank you, Laurence!

[Fairfax] Pleasure.

*Chase looks away from the ledger presented to her, eyes falling to the shredded papers, an eyebrow raises before her attention is drawn back to the ledger.

[Halstead] Can I presume you've compiled the information of the Ball?

*It is a gentle question, inquisitive but not nosy.

[Fairfax] … All that we need for another good year my darling. I telephoned dear Darcey Graves and she can’t make Saturday at quarter to three.



*He smiles ruefully.



[Fairfax] I’m afraid I was terribly uncivilised. I suspended her electricity. Tell me honestly, darling, am I an awful rascal?

*There is a moment of silence, Chase's eyes flit upwards. It takes a second before she connects the name to a face.

[Halstead] Miss Graves? A pity… I looked forward to meeting her again.

*There is no trace of irritation in her voice. She looks over to Laurence, noting his expression and softening hers in response. Her one hand moves over to his, squeezing it gently.

[Halstead] Only when you need to be, Laurence. Perhaps we should reschedule her appointment a bit sooner? Have her escorted here. I'm sure she's regretting the awful things she fabricated about you. She— and you—  might feel better if she were to apologize to you… in person.

[Fairfax] Darling, you always know the correct medicine to prescribe a man.

[Halstead] Your wellbeing is my second-greatest concern, Laurence. You know that. Besides, you're having a great day, a shame to let something as trivial as a slight dispute ruin that.

[Fairfax] The boys are going for a jaunt back to our mysterious ADEF-FAC, did I mention? The dear Captain is determined to pick over the bones of it a final time. Utterly ruthless. Are we absolutely certain he isn’t half Dreglander?

*Chase makes a small noise as she sucks the inside of her lip, a soft sigh following suit.

[Halstead] I'd doubt it… But there have been weirder occurrences. If he wants to dig some more in an abandoned silo let him do so. I'll be sure to give one of them a list of things to retrieve. Copper will always remain high in value. And stripping wires might give the Unwards something useful to do.

*Her expression becomes lighter again.

[Halstead] Waste not, want not. There's much to be gained from the rejections of others.

[Fairfax] Well, being dead, they’re hardly in a position to object. But I’m afraid I have rejections rather closer to home to fret about. C_C is being a little devil. He’ll hardly give me the time of day. He can’t bear me having friends you know. Says that dear Echo is a criminal… But she’s far too delicate to have done anything truly horrid. Not like you, darling. But I forgive you everything. Haven’t I always?

*Fairfax flicks his wrist and regards his heavy timepiece.

[Fairfax] Ten minutes until my next scheduled. Put something on the record player and dance with me.

[Halstead] Oh, Laurence-sweetie. You want me to be a horrid little varlet. And you know I can't say 'no' to you. I do what has to be done. Whatever's best for business!

*She steps away from him, eyeing the stack of vinyls hidden in the corner of the room. With a last squeeze in Laurence's hand she parts ways with him, taking her time in seeking something suitable.

[Halstead] You might wish to educate Seesee on what is appropriate behaviour within Fairco. He is obviously upset, or that's as much as I can garner from his rather catty behaviour. Wasting precious ink for his little ceremonial acts of dominance in his clique... Assure me that he's at least updated the due Documents regarding that grievance?

*Delicate fingers slip one of the vinyl records from it's sleeve and she gently lays it on the top, adjusting the needle and the pitch to the precision needed. Gentle notes of a slow number whisper from the device, she turns the knob.

[Halstead] Otherwise I'd love to make sure your personal toy knows how he's supposed to carry himself. I think I finally know him better. Perhaps even got through to him.

*Her smile is sharp as she returns to the desk, head lowering and stretching out one arm towards Laurence.

*He takes her hand and gracefully enfolds the woman in his arms with a growl of fervour. They sway gently and informally. His body and clothes are richly fragranced with musk and aftershave.

[Fairfax] What would I do without you to take care of me, hmmm? My faithful friend. C_C has his Level, you have yours. Let him govern those little Clerks how he pleases. A touch of fear never hurt productivity. Besides, if I tell him off he gives me the most heart-breaking look.

*Chase gasps slightly as Laurence pulls her in closer but follows his lead soon enough. Her eyes are focussed on his face, her body language breathes serenity.

[Halstead] He's still a Ward, dear. Give him a hand and he'll take your arm next time. You've got to be quite clear with them. Black and white. You'll spoil him rotten.

*She chuckles lightly as he guides her over the impromptu dance floor, fingers entangled with his.

[Halstead] What would I do with my time without having to take care of something? Grow old, stiff and useless.

[Fairfax] Nonsense darling. I’d never allow it.

*He sighs against her, spinning idly.

[Halstead] Don't I know it, dear.

*Enraptured by music and a merry mood the two carry on with their merry dance only slowly winding down as the needle skips from the plate, the melody having come to an end.

*Chase creates some space between the two, her one hand still in his. She glows, the blithe, wide smile never having ceased to flow into her eyes.  She pays no mind to impatient feet pitter-patting just beyond the threshold of the door. Her head only tilts a few degrees.

[Halstead] I've taken enough of your time, dear. We can continue this another time. I'll go collect my gifts.

*The contact is broken by her, she walks past the ledger once more, looking at the last two entries a final time. She takes a few more steps towards the door, turning around a final time.

[Halstead] Thank you, again. And do notify me when Miss Graves is around. I feel like last time we ended on a… bad note. It would be a shame if she'd keep a wrong first impression of me.

*Laurence curls around her, and assumes the seat at his desk. He turns the ledger to face him and regards Chastity with cold eyes.

*By the time her thin, trembling legs sneak over the threshold of the Mothermen Quarters it is well past association, the hour of curfew draws closer but this is something she has to do. If only to curry favour, if only because the hierarchy of Fairco demands it.

*She holds the sealed envelope in a hand marked with an 'X', her arm stretches out to the door which knowingly contains two of the three Mothermen. There is a single, weak rap. With a squeak and a swallowed yelp the Unward jumps back. Her eyes glance down to the envelope that had been thrown at her feet. In a scratchy handwriting only the Ward's name was written: 'R_V'. She holds out the scrap of paper towards the door, hoping the right Mothermen would answer.

*Its contents are only a slither of pink continuous stationary, one side vaguely printed with statistics and snippets of random information, ghosts of imprinted remarks dotted along the margins. The other side blank, save for a few words in the same handwriting as the envelope.

Commander,

We have something to discuss. Meet me in the morgue. Come alone and make sure you aren't followed. This will be lucrative for both of us, I assure you.

Holding you in high regard,

C. Halstead.

*The sound of a chair screeching against the floor emanates from the room, followed by hurried bootfall, the door swings open and the Commander answers, followed by the blur of a clerk rushing out of the room.

[R_V] It is well beyond association hours now, Unsister, I’m not going to sign anything els- a letter? I suppose you are the replacement for the trembling runt they usually send.

*R_V snatches the letter from her and skims over it quickly before crunching the paper into a ball, giving it back to her with a grin on his face.

[R_V] Destroy this, do not read it and do not tell anyone you delivered it - and I might just sign something for you after all, Unsister - Wouldn’t you like that?

*The little Unward cannot contain her fear at the sight of the Commander. She doesn't hide the panicked mewl escaping her lips. Both her hands clasp in front of her chest, eyes lowering she cowers into herself hoping to avoid a physical confrontation.

*The crumpled file lands in the palm of her hand, she closes it weakly but nods vigorously.

[Unward] It is as you want, Brother. I'll do as you ask!

*To stipulate her words her one hand joins the other already shredding the crumpled ball into illegible scraps. She looks to the side, to her escape.

[Unward] With your permission I'll complete this task for you immediately, Brother, Sir!

[R_V] Smart girl, now move out of my way.

*R_V slams the door loudly behind him, grinning to himself at the thought of it disturbing the captain’s sleep, he barges passed the unward and makes his way towards the morgue.

*Level 5, reserved for laboratories, research equipment - and the morgue. It is cold in the morgue, its temperature further reflected by the icy sheen of thoroughly cleaned metal and ceramics - after all diseases start with death. There is no sound aside from the soft hum of the cooling system barring all heat from the room and the lazy trickle of some liquid.

*The room is disquieting with a large wall of cold chambers stacked like body-sized filing cabinets, each one identical to the next save for two of which the handles are marked with a label. In front of those are two metal morgue slabs, slightly concave and complete with a drainage system.

*Only one of them is occupied with a body, neatly covered under a nigh on clean, white cloth. Only a few specks of red blotch the fabric around the wrists.

*Chase stands near the sink, washing several tools, drying them and neatly organizing them on a wheeled table. Perceptible breath filters through her medical mask, it dissipates almost instantaneously. With her hair done up in a presentable bun and uniform clean of noticeable stains it’s clear that she is expecting someone to drop in.

*R_V stands at the doorway, studying the room, his eyes drawn to the bloodied cloth covering the body in the middle of the room, slowly he steps in with his arms folded behind his back.

[R_V] It’s far beyond the time for association, Miss Halstead, however I don’t quite think that applies to people in our position.

*Chase looks up at the sound of the thick, insulated door opening, her shoulders stiffen as a reflex but when it is only R_V who enters she relaxes again, flicking her gloved hands towards the sink before drying them. She turns back, noting the reaction of the Motherman for a few moments.

[Halstead] Evening, Commander. I figured it was time we finally met — officially. The locale doesn't bother you, I presume?

*R_V makes his way towards the table, lifting the cloth from the upper part of the table, revealing a deceased unward, he tilts the lifeless head from side to side with his hand before pulling the sheet over it again.

[R_V] Hum, not at all Miss Halstead, It is my understanding from the letter you had delivered you have something for me?

*She follows his movements with interest, showing little emotion in the meantime.

[Halstead] Aren't we impatient ones? Good things come to those who wait, Commander. Or was that a lesson you never learned as a babe?

*She waves the comment away quickly.

[Halstead] But yes, we have something to discuss. Namely my safety. A lot of things have changed since you and your lot arrived here, even more with the Ball. I feel… unsafe in Fairco. As one of the few capable people in charge of my security I figured I give talking to you a shot. We both know the two-toned disaster is really just a gerbil behind a megaphone and Seekay… turn the situation however you want he'll never get any say in what'll go on around here, leaving me with you and a few wheezy urchins.

*He chuckles at her comments and turns to her with a smile.

[R_V] Two-toned disaster… I like that.

*R_V begins to pace around the room slowly again, idly glancing and prodding at cabinets, documents and tags.

[R_V] It is my duty to ensure that this facility and its staff come to no… unnatural harm, Miss Halstead

*R_V glances to the wrist injury on the arm poking out of the sheet, and raises an eyebrow*

[R_V] You seem to have the Facilitators favour, and so long as you are not a threat to this facility I can’t think why you might come to any harm - under MY protection.

*Chase leans back against the wall, eyes following the pacing man. She scoffs lightly. Her voice drops into monotone, she seeks his eyes.

[Halstead] What if it's Laurence I have to be protected from?

*R_V stops, he turns his head and his gaze meets her, there is a brief pause of silence.

[R_V] Given any direct order from the Facilitator would mean I must comply - perhaps all of your time spent around corpses is making you paranoid, Miss Halstead. Now why did you send for me?

[Halstead] I'll let your remark slip by because of ignorance, Commander. I can assure you considering my situation my psych profile is remarkably positive.

*Her voice softens again, she leans away from the wall, pulling the table closer towards herself, fingers delicately stroking metal instruments.

[Halstead] It doesn't mean you should comply to his orders, Commander. I recognize your situation. Once revered and admired for your own self-earned greatness… First chance he got he equalized you. After all isn't your job now basically herding sheep? Isn't it your job to listen to an even bigger sheep? I wonder… Does he refer to you as 'Commander' or 'Essar's bitch' when you're not around? You deserve so much more…

*R_V turns his back to her to hide his annoyance in the form of a scowl, still staring at the wall he speaks through gritted teeth.

[R_V] And what exactly is it you have in mind…

[Halstead] Our Facilitator is a good- … He can be a decent man but he has too much confidence in his own abilities and is blind to his own shortcomings. He has his vices and his issues, you are aware of these. You could snap into a salute and comply to his every whim but why would you? He is a fickle man, Commander. One moment he'll praise you to the stars and back, the next you're suffocating in a pool of your own blood on the floor, begging for his mercy.

*She looks up from her instruments, holding a scalpel and inspecting the tip of the tool.

[Halstead] I'm not asking much, I'm not even asking you do anything. Perhaps only that you realize who would treat you best… A man who took everything from you. Or me — a friend who only looks out for everyone's best interests.

[R_V] And what exactly IS our best interests, Miss Halstead? Do you understand just how much of a risk you have taken by having this conversation?

*R_V makes his way towards the door, pausing as he passes the table to eye the corpse once again, he stops at the doorway and leans against the wall.

[R_V] Tell me Miss Halstead, the purpose of summoning me at this hour with nothing to offer other than an attempt to make me conspire against my Facilitator.

[Halstead] Our own safety from the Facilitator's whims is our best benefit, Commander. We have few rights but the few we have you should hold onto… Health, privacy, freedom… Are you ready to throw all of that into the hands of a 15 year old love-sick pup with a temper to match?

*She moves from her spot, careful to avoid the path of R_V. She stops at one of the cold chambers, fingers hooking behind the handle.  

[Halstead] The game I want you to play isn't called 'insubordination' nor 'conspiracy'. He nor I won't stand for that. He may keep his throne and his authority.  We both owe Laurence a lot… Just not everything. The game I want you to play is to think with your own head. See what the outcome would be and if it would negatively influence something… Yourself, perhaps me? And of course to keep ‘disaster’ from any path. I don't believe in pro-bono so there will be enough in it for you.

*She pulls the drawer open completely. A cloud of cold rolls into the room. She doesn't stop until the entire slab has folded out, showing a small cardboard box at the end of the slab. A gloved finger pushes the box open, just enough for her to see. At the sight of the wine, the box of candied fruit and delicately engraved silver folding comb she turns away from the cold chamber, returning to her spot with her tools.

[Halstead] Don't underestimate my power within this facility. Like the wires in these walls my influence is hidden but it is deep and well-spread. I don't need anything from you, Commander. Only for you to know who'd think of your best interests. Allies are scarce, friends even more so… Capable friends…

*Her voice trails off. Her eyes set themselves on the box and then R_V. Her eyebrows raise momentarily before turning back to the tools on the table.

[Halstead] Is that such a Deadly Sin, Commander Arrvee? To look out for oneself?

*R_V’s eyes follow her around the room and fixate on the box, standing at guard as she opens it, assessing potential threats.

[R_V] Believe me Miss Halstead, I do know a thing or two about self preservation and of its importance.

*He relaxes his body again and turns to place a hand on the handle of the morgues door, he glances over his shoulder at her and then to the box once more.

[R_V] I will bear your warnings in mind, Chastity Halstead - and as for the gift… have the Unward girl bring it to me - If that little Unbrother delivers me another creased letter It’ll be the end of him.

* Chase regards him for a moment, one brow raising in slight confusion. [Halstead] Aren't you one for theatrics… Shall I wrap it in sprightly paper and attach a note from a secret admirer?

*She lowers the mask briefly, if only to showcase a jesting smirk. Her hand moves back towards the table, a light shove rolls it over to the occupied slab where it comes to a halt, carefully placed instruments jumble.

[Halstead] I suggest to you we keep our meetings out of the public eye. I need to keep my reputation of loathing everything Essarr touches… And you need to keep your reputation of a good soldier — at least for now.

*Chase nears the body, a careless gesture of her hand uncovering the upper body of the Unward, showcasing an scraggy Unward staring with glassy eyes up at the ceiling. Pale-grey body covered in angry bruises forming a pattern of restraints upon his limbs, neck and torso. Chase's fingers trail over the handle of the bone saw.

[Halstead] Thank you for your time, Commander. It was a pleasure meeting a remarkable man such as yourself. I hope the significance of our meeting isn't lost…

*R_V raises his brow, curiously looking over the body and the wounds, he nods at Chase before turning the handle.

[R_V] Agreed, appearances and reputations must be maintained - I’ll take this conversation into consideration, be thankful I do not inform the facilitator of this immediately.

*R_V opens it and steps through, he pauses as the door is about to close.

[R_V] And yes, Gift wrapped and ribboned, tagged from a random member of the facility - I cannot have the Captain know we spoke. Good evening, Chastity Halstead.

*Chase watches him with a curious look, the dimple in her one cheek not visible behind the mask. She feigns a weak salute, putting her attention back on the task at hand.

Her footsteps on the bridge sound hollow in the near silent Facility, as she crosses the threshold into Level 1 she is met with empty desks and clerk-posts. The oddity occupies her mind briefly, if anything she welcomes the lack of talc-faced weasels outlined with darkly pigmented castor oil or beeswax following her every move or interfering with the remainder of her evening.

*It’s almost time for Association, and it feels empty in the facility. The ones who have returned from their duties spend the last few minutes in comfort in their dorms before relocating for the mandated hours of social activity.

*The silence echoes a small noise, it sounds strangled, muffled but unmistakably human. The noise stops just as she does, she looks around in the hall to find the source, a source. A hesitant step forward, another… the noise returns. Without a doubt coming from the Meeting Room, just behind the Mothermen offices.

*Chase stops again, her eyes flicking from the empty hallway to the stairs. Yes. No… There are other noises, people talking. Her teeth scrape the inside of her mouth as she turns into the hallway, walking past the empty office and into the Meeting Room, expression darkened with ire.

*In the meeting room a handful of Clerks stand idly. Others, at the head of the table, hold down by the shoulders a softly crying young man in the chair. All of the assembly wear clinically sterile masks apart from the Clerk in the chair.

*He is approached by C_C; unmistakable for his height and colourless, rigid hair. Insectile fingers flex gently around a full bottle of ink. He speaks through the paper mask.

[C_C] You’re crying on the outside, Brother. Go to the Place Without Pain. Sir doesn’t like to see a Ward unduly stressed.

*He undoes the bottle top with a twist of his fingers.

[C_C] And Mother does not listen to the unclean.

*He leans over the crying young man, carefully and neutrally inspecting the pain and sorrow in his eyes.

*A shudder crawls slowly over Chase's spine, flaring out just beneath her neck as it raises the hairs on her body.  Her head jerks to the side, allowing the spasm of nerves to complete their action. She closes her eyes. Seconds pass. Upon opening the scene hasn't progressed. Her eye falls upon the person she can only identify as the puppeteer… C_C.

*She looks at him, without words. Eyes pinned on his face before moving towards the bottle and onto the victim rolling them away from the display, intent on leaving the mimics to their play of torment and misery.

*Her foot shuffles back to the main hall, suppressing a last shudder, unsure feet inch from the disturbing scene, fingers lightly dragging along the sleek marble wall like a rein. Curiosity and self-preservation snaking through her thoughts and limbs.

*There is a pained gargling cry from the room and hissing laughter. A few more words are murmured closely, heard only in snatches.

[C_C] - wash your throat from the inside -

*A watery sob rises and is silenced with the crack of a hand. A moment passes. With crisp footsteps C_C rounds the corner. He is spattered with ink. The man pauses, looking back to the room, indicating to his cadre of masked Clerks to remain where they are.  

[C_C] Miss. Chastity Halstead. Are you here for a Therapeutic Intervention?

*He catches up with her, lean and swift. There is pleasure in his eyes, remote.

[C_C] Fully sanctioned by Sir. More economical than medicalising the Non-Conformer. There is supporting data.

*She hears it, clearer than the pained noises of the victim, clearer than the serpentine voice of the puppeteer, clearer than the pitch of her breath trapped in her throat. The soft guzzle of ink wasted. It's a switch that has flipped, a mentality drilled into her that does not allow for lavish nonsense like this. Her hand catches onto the wall. She stops, turning just in time to stagger backwards at the sudden appearance of the man in white, blemished with spots of vein-blue ink.

*Chase inhales silently, the air is trapped in her lungs. Only when she looks up does she allow herself to breathe out. When she speaks it is a low, guttural snarl.

[Halstead] In that case I am severely disappointed in both 'Sir' as in you. I had imagined him to have more faith in you regarding creativity and squandering of valuable resources over something as petty as corrections of your team. You could've just as easily excluded him from your little hair-braiding sessions or water-boarded him with water if you're really aching to release your inner sadist.

*Her fingers clamp into each other, finger bones pressing against her flesh, the pink hue whitening behind black gloves, power crackling through the other palm. Her one hand stretches out, connecting with C_C, three fingers covering three stains on his shirt.

[Halstead] Ink. Mouth masks. Linen, at least two pairs. Time that Unwards will have to put in correcting this mess instead of doing something actually useful. Products that will have to be wasted to cover the damages for the clothing, the furniture and the floor. Time Nix has to spend looking over the result of your spiteful actions… Do you seriously think the ink-fountain's gonna be right as rain when you pull your muppets off of him and send him to bed? He chokes on his own spit and the costs will only rise.  

*The fingers on her other hand spring up as she lists the full extend of the uneconomical display just before her.  

[Halstead] Somehow I had taken you for a much more intelligent and resourceful individual.

*He approaches her. His stare is unbroken, unblinking. C_C is the taller by far and he leans over her, speaking in a slow, sterile tone.

[C_C] What should Your Functionary have done, Miss Chastity Halstead?

*Chase's heel moves back as the lanky man looms over her. She removes her hand from his shirt, choosing to fold them in front of her instead.

[Halstead] Not make a costly mess of things, Seesee.

*C_C leans closer. He stares at her for a moment. [C_C] Your presence here is impermissable at this time.

*He touches the edge of his paper mask, pulling it below his chin.

[C_C] Backland whore.

*She mimics his speech. Her voice is cold and flat. Her eyes pierce through him.

[Halstead] Your actions at this time are deplorable. You are paid by Laurence to fulfill either a single or an array of purposes under this roof… Something you currently aren't occupying yourself with.

*Her head cocks to the side, a wicked grin bleeds past her own medical mask. It flattens immediately, her eyes narrow dangerously.

[Halstead] You're hardly in a position to fault me for that, Sees. Without me you'd be entirely obsolete. Afterall...

*Her eyes dip down to his marked arm, under the crossed out Applied Arts it's there; C A / S I R E.

[Halstead] Your blood has proven to be inadequate to 'Sir's needs. Unsire.

*C_C takes a sharp inward breath through his nostrils. He does not exhale. Seconds pass, then half a minute, with the Ward rigid and unbreathing. He snaps up his arm to point beyond her, down the corridor.

[C_C] … You are advised that Mandated Leisure Hours have begun. Proceed as instructed to your place of Association.

*She hums a soft, victorious laugh, her grin is visible even through the flimsy mask upon her face.

[Halstead] I suggest you don't waste time with me. You've got some Documents of Due Sum to update, Sees. I'll have you divide the cost of the damages between everyone responsible. Every cost. From the ink to the shirts to the time others have to spend on this… This includes the Unwards. Anyone with insufficient funds will forgo meals or above basic necessities until the debt is fulfilled. You'll make a carbon copy of this directed to me just so I can make sure you're capable of your current job, you'll be responsible for that cost as well.

*C_C lowers his arm. He regards her with jealous, hooded eyes.

[C_C] Of course, Miss Chastity Halstead. Your Functionary serves.

*He watches her, flicking his stare down the corridor, and back.

[C_C] You care so much. Don’t you. About Sir. About his Facility. You are responsible.

*His voice is like smoke; soft and fluid.

[C_C] … For his success.

*Two pairs of venomous green eyes stare at each other. Chase hears the words, soft yet sharp. She only barely suppresses another shudder.

*The mask around her lower face tightens because of an opening mandible. She speaks but the sound is cut off by shattered pride.

*She breaks the stare.

[Halstead] Oh…Insufferable… I-… Chalk-faced, brain-washed freak!

[C_C] The freaks... *He replaces his paper mask over unsmiling lips. [C_C] Are downstairs. *With that, he turns from her, back to the wet cries of the Meeting room. At the doorway he lingers, with a final glance, long fingers on the bare concrete. There is a gargling scream from within. His expression is neutral and distant.

*Her pale face is darkened with outrage, her eyes drown in the shadow of her brow.

[Halstead] … Get this mess fixed, you piece of pigeon-shit. Any tracks outside of that room I'll personally have you clean, sitting on your knees, along with your unward-brethren.

*There is nothing like the scene of a respectable and high-profile Facility after a thinly-veiled festive advertisement showcasing its power. Association hadn't been this quiet or boring in a while. Perhaps for the better as even Chase was nurturing some lingering effects of liquor and wine. It seemed she wasn't the only one. Quite a few people hadn't shown up for association, either recovering in the med-bay or simply forgoing this one session in favour of their beds, a foolish action they'd have to make up for on a later date. All save one, naturally. Laurence Fairfax hadn't been seen in the facility since last night and Chase had an inkling as to why that might be.

*She heads for the stairs and she climbs up to Level 2 at a leisurely pace, not slowing down as she walks past the Mothermen quarters, and steers for the extravagant door at the end of the hallway. A door feared by many. A twist of the handle and she enters the room, Fairfax's private quarters.

*'Extravagant' wouldn't do this room justice. The entire room breathes an air of antique with pricey, polished and hand-made pieces sitting comfortably besides equally breathtaking pieces of artwork. An underground vault made to function.

*The door falls back into its lock. Chase moves towards the record player, gloved fingers turning the vinyl for her to read, she removes it from the plate, slipping it back into its cover before uncovering her favourite one. She raises her head, eyes briefly moving towards the closed door of the bedroom before calling out.

[Halstead] Laurence, dear? You haven't died on me, have you? I haven't seen you since last night. You well enough to function or want me to call Nix?

*With the gentle tones of a lazy jazz number accompanying her actions the woman moves to a formidable desk with dark wood gently accented with intricate finishings of gold leaf and fine leather. She pulls at a drawer, nosing around until she takes out a small clip of cigarettes and a delicate, black cigarette holder. She takes out two cigarettes, stuffing them gently in one of the pockets on her apron. Already she eyes the liquor cabinet only a few steps removed from her before calling out again.

[Halstead] You feeling well enough for a drink and a smoke?

*On the sumptuous chesterfield, unnoticed, a pale Ward with limp, beige-blond hair watches the woman. She is grey-banded, Reclaimed, and wears a white plastic medical muzzle over her face. Her wrists are chained at both hips to a locking, clinical belt and there is a book in her lap. Her eyes are wide and unafraid.

*Unbothered Chase stacks two tumblers into each other, the chime of the glass light enough to differentiate it from any average glasswork and rather alluding to expensive crystal. A reaching hand lingers over various bottles of liquors and wines before going with the standard finely-cut canter with a delicately crafted top, its amber contents shimmering through the intricate cut details. She turns on her heels. Her eyes widen and she gasps upon finally seeing the silent Ward sitting on the couch. The tumblers clatter gently but remain undamaged through her surprise.

[Halstead] Gods… This is where it ended up? It hasn't even had a lesson from Essar or Seekay yet… Doe-eyed bastard…

*Her voice is low and growls deeply before shaking her hair out of her face with a sharp movement of her head.

[Halstead] Laurence?! Tell me you're not laying facedown in a pool of your own blood on your bed!

*There is a slight shrill to her voice confirming her lack of trust regarding the woman before her. The tumbler and bottle are put aside on the desk as she walks briskly towards the bedroom door, her eyes are focussed on the Ward.

[Halstead] You stay put, understand?

*Her hand hesitantly moves towards the doorknob, she swallows trying to will the growing fear back under control.

*Laurence pads through from the bathroom. He is dressed in a paisley house coat and pinstripe pajamas. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sits languidly next to the chained girl, picking up the book from her lap. [Fairfax] You didn’t keep my place, darling.

*His eyes flicker to Chase. [Fairfax] We’ve a guest, my dear. Chastity, you’ve met Echo? Isn’t she charming? Discreet. Modest… Quite companionable. Tell me the truth. Was I utterly dreadful last night?

*Chase's shoulders drop as she sighs, slowly turning to face him, her fingers lingering over her mouth to ensure the mask is still in place.

[Halstead] You didn't exactly waste time in getting her settled in… Yes… We met. I don't think you shut up about it last night… Get those chains shortened in and don't sit it so close to…

*Her eyes sweep the room in a non too subtle motion.

[Halstead] At least five lethal weapons within arm's reach…

*Silently she moves back to the desk, picking up the tumblers and whiskey only to place them on the dark coffee table in front of the masterpiece chesterfield. His cigarette joins his glass as she slides it over to him.

[Halstead] But I didn’t hear any complaints. In fact Lady Stamford was absolutely delighted with your handsome looks at the ball.

*She takes a seat on a smaller couch opposite the pair, in a fluid motion she crosses her one leg over the other, fingers coiling around the cigarette holder, putting a cigarette in place and lighting it.

[Halstead] Do me a favour and don't let Seekay see that thing muzzled. He doesn't need to be reminded.

*Laurence threads his little finger into the link of a chain, regarding the girl beside him with a soft smile. Echo faces forward. [Fairfax] Of what? That he isn’t unique? He’ll be jealous, won’t he?

*Chase drags briefly from her cigarette, careful to face away from him whilst doing so. As the smoke slowly trails out of her nostrils she takes a hold of the whiskey and pours a splash in each glass.

[Halstead] … He shouldn't get distracted over something like this. And you've trained him well enough to ensure he's the only protection you need if he's around. So more reasons not to let… emotions confuse matters.

[Fairfax] Quite right. C_K is emotionally inexperienced, Chastity. It’s so very difficult for children of the State - so few years outside of the PRI-FAC system in which to develop expressive behaviours, and control over them. It’s better left to men like myself to manage these sort of individuals, though you know I object to that term.

*He opens the book, and licks his fingers to flick through pages. Laurence looks up with a sharp smile. His undereyes are bruised with sleeplessness.

[Fairfax] I was coaching this dear girl on etiquette when you arrived. Shall I test you both? We’ll see who makes the better Citizen… Or Companion to a Citizen, hmmmn? Let’s begin at dinner parties -

*Chase smiles sweetly at Laurence, eyeing the book briefly.

[Halstead] Laurence, dear… I'm afraid you know perfectly how to trap me… After all you taught me how to act civilized… It wouldn't be fair for me, now would it?

[Fairfax] No job is more important than taking care not to embarrass one’s husband, Chastity. I think you really ought to learn that. Wouldn’t want to aggrieve any future prospects, would you?

*He looks at them both, languidly, pleased. [Fairfax] Your host serves you raw oysters on a bed of ice. They are filled with seawater and garnished with a red-wine vinegar sauce. What do you do?

*She stares at the book for a while, blank look only batted away as she blinks rapidly.

[Halstead] …Preferably wait for the lemon-water to arrive which you use to clean your fingers with?

*She draws out the question, a meek smile the only other tool to potentially win Laurence over.

*He watches her passively, lip curling, and turns coaxingly to the girl at his side.

[Fairfax] No. What would you do, darling?

*Echo makes no response. Her wide, wild eyes do not flicker from Chastity. Laurence smiles slowly, admiringly. [Fairfax] Yes, that’s absolutely right. You don’t eat them. Oysters are much better served ungarnished. How clever you are! And Ashwood wanted rid of you? The damnable old fool!

*There is a long silence as Chase focusses her attention to her breath, attempting to remain calm under the circumstances. She finds her rest and even a sweet smile to present to Laurence again.

[Halstead] Indeed, how very silly of me…

*Her eyes cross those of Echo's, she feels a shiver crawling down her spine just looking at the unmistakably faulty Ward.

[Halstead] It was a pianist, wasn't it? Does it come double-blessed? Say with the ability to sing? Wouldn't that be something. Have it play you a nice tune in the evening whilst a gentle, lulling voice sings you to sleep?

*Laurence looks at Chastity earnestly. [Fairfax] I don’t know, my dear. But I am quite certain she can be taught.

*He looks at the girl longingly. [Fairfax] She hasn’t spoken. It’s rather like a fairytale.

[Halstead] If someone could teach a Ward something it'd be you, Laurence.

*Her eyes flit towards Laurence, that sheepish look of pure innocence and wonder doesn't suit him… Not now and not with… that. She bites the inside of her lip, only releasing when she speaks again.

[Halstead] Has it visited Nix yet? Ensured it's not suffering from any negative effects brought on either in its previous FAC or its relocation? Wards can be very fragile when change is involved.

*Laurence frowns. He shifts away from Echo. [Fairfax] No…. No, quite right. She ought to be checked for tuberculosis, at the very minimum…

[Halstead] Might be time to get her near Nix, then… It's such a pesky disease… Quite… easily transferred to another person.

*There is a brief gleeful smirk on her face before she purses her lips and kisses the air in the direction of Laurence, eyes knowingly moving to Echo.

*Laurence watches her, troubled. He stands up, taking the glass of whiskey, and sipping nauseously, his expression one of distaste.

[Halstead] At any rate the Ball's finished and we need to evaluate what we now know, Laurence. Do you have time to go over the files and possible changes or…

*Laurence puts the glass down firmly. He stalks to the record player, wrenching up the needle. The music stops, with the murmur of the vinyl still spinning on the plate. He turns around, glowering.

[Fairfax] I am unwell Miss Halstead. It must be the air down here. It’s terribly enervating. Neither you or the girl are scintillating company. Take her to the Physician and for Mother’s Sake have C_C draw up her Document of Due Sum. I’m not a blasted charity. *He pinches the bridge of his nose. [Fairfax] Can’t you see I have a headache?

*Chase rises from her seat, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray and gently laying her holder next to it.

[Halstead] I'm sorry for having been such poor company this evening… I'll try better next time.

*She looks over to Echo, her upper lip raises briefly but lowers as she looks back to Laurence.

[Halstead] It'll be arranged before you head to bed. Want me to give Echo some pills for your headache when it returns?

[Fairfax] No - just, see to it that she’s put next to Kirkwye after she sees the Physician. Muzzle on.

*Chase looks back at the pale girl and sharply moves her head towards the door, mouth gently pronouncing 'move' without making a sound, the mask slipping back over her lower face again.

[Halstead] Take good care of yourself, Laurence.

*It is growing crowded as people flock together like animals at a watering hole, sometimes switching one for another. With Laurence temporarily lost in the rabble of fancy Chase does not feel as pressured to keep up the facade of a social butterfly. She is standing to the side, one hand draped over her stomach acknowledging the slight nagging with a gentle pat. It's not too difficult to spot the multitude of tables spread out with delicacies and treats, especially not when following the olfactory organ. Weaving through the crowd the musty smell of cologne, perfumes and just blatantly people is swiftly diluted with nicer and more appetizing scents.

*A harsh snap of her fingers alerts a passing Unward, equipped with a platter full of appetizers. He comes to an immediate halt, only just masking the glimmer of fear in his eyes as he recognizes Chase.

*The Unward lowers the platter for her to examine. There is little to nothing she immediately recognizes.

[Unward] These are cold-roasted Southern spiced salmon satays, some roasted sweet potatos with a smokey eggplant dip and a dollop of cherry chutney along with some-…

[Halstead] Bland.

[Unward] Excuse me, madam?

[Halstead] Do you have anything bland? Not too overwhelming in taste?

*The long pause of the Unward explains the poor thing did nothing but memorize a long list of adjectives and ingredients. A rough gesture and angered breeze of Halstead is all the Unward needs to hurry along.

[Halstead] Useless. Every single one of them.

*She turns back to the tables, expecting to find some bread before she is roughly pushed from her path by a stray elbow not too delicately jabbing into her shoulder. Turning on her feet she finds something she had not quite expected.

*The figure in front of her also was in the middle of turning around to see who his flailing appendage had caught, but was much slower in the manoeuvre than Chase due to the twin handicaps of an evidently bodily inelegance, and the fact his other arm was still in the process of stuffing the hors d'oeuvres, pilfered from the tray of a rapidly retreating Unward, into his face

*He was dressed in what appeared at first glance to be a State Military dress uniform, but… off somehow, like pieces of it didn’t match each other. His hair had clearly been slicked back at an earlier point in the evening but was beginning to become more frayed an unruly as time progressed. Egregiously, four shiny medals on the jacket breast completed the shabby ensemble, and as the man completed his rudimentary spin and spoke flecks of pastry rained onto the FAC floor.

[D_N] *muffled* Thowwy!

*He swallowed quickly and smacked his lips before holding out a hand.

*There is no disgust or even revulsion only a slight moment of silence and inability to move as Chase looks upon the man before her. Not until the man thrusts his arm at her does she react.

[Halstead] It's fine, I wasn't looking where I was going.

*Chase accepts the hand, limply shaking it.

[Halstead] Don't be alarmed. It's a prosthetic… I'm sorry but I'm afraid I've forgotten your name, sir.

*D_N returns the shake, slightly more heartily before frowning slightly as his fingers sink slightly into the soft material of the glove into the hardness of the skeletal metallic frame beneath.

[D_N] It’s D_N, the underscore is… ah well I guess you already know about all that. Don’t think we’ve met though I’ve… been outta town for a while.

*D_N looks around distractedly as if idly scanning for threats, before remembering himself and snapping his attention back to Chase.

[D_N] ... and don’t worry ‘bout the hand, had a buddy with a pretty extensive one and…

*D_N looks slightly pained at a memory before shaking his head as if to shimmy it loose while his mouth keeps running, mostly unattended by his higher cognitive functions.

[D_N] … that feels more like a Dreggie one anyway. Shame ya gotta cover it up, I always thought they looked kinda cool with all the bits exposed and all that...

*D_N casts an idle gaze over a far crowd of well dressed partygoers.

[D_N] ...this is kind of a Civvie party though I guess, and they always had kinda different tastes to me...

*D_N ruminates on this further before realising he has been kind of talking to himself and comes to with a jolt.

[D_N] Ah.. sorry, and.. uh.. you are?

*Chase's eyebrows shoot up in slight confusion as the man rambles in a seemingly unfocused manner.

[Halstead] Good, I can drop the pretense since you've figured it out. Facilitator doesn't like people knowing I'm a Dreggie… Thinks it's got a cheap, low-quality vibe to it. Shows what he knows. Rather has me portrayed as 'foreigner', if he mentions it.

*She curls the fingers of her prosthetic whilst looking at them, snapping her eyes back to D_N seconds later.

[Halstead] Chastity Halstead, Fairfax's 'foreign' business partner… Hence the whole 'hush-hush I'm a swamp-child'-thing.

*Her eyes wander over the multitude of people in stiff costumes with equally stiff postures, she nods sluggishly.

[Halstead] It's peacock-behavior. Showing off even if you don't have the 'feathers' to back it up… What would your tastes be, then? As a Ward I'd figured you'd feel right at home. Most others do. But you didn't give off that 'ward'-vibe immediately, I must say.

*D_N chuckles under his breath.

[D_N] Yeah... I get that a lot, guess it’s cuz I grew up pretty far from the City. Really ruffled them Triangle assholes the wrong way I can tell ya...

*D_N shrugs.

[D_N] I kinda like things simple to be honest. None of this fancy shindig stuff. A nutritional syrup pack and a couple of episode of Zeus Mercury usually see’s me right...

*D_N’s eyes light up as he’s discusses his favourite piece of State ‘cinema’.

[D_N] You ever see that show? I guess ‘Trogg Ironjaw’ musta been your favourite, him and his Dreggie bandits were prolly the best guest characters to be fair…

*D_N looks wistful…

[D_N] Now ya mention it I always kinda got on better with people when I was in the Dreglands. Boss always said it was part of my ‘Unique Skillset’...

*Chase sniggers softly at the child-like glimmer of excitement in D_N's posture as he discusses evidently his favorite piece of entertainment in the world.

[Halstead] Ooh bother… You would've been great friends with my mate back home… We don't have a lot of television but the thing we did watch were those parts of Zeus Mercury!

*Her laugh grows a little louder, she curls her hand around her mouth to stifle it.

[Halstead] He liked to sleep around. Normally not an issue but his latest missus did take offense to it. Shot his lower jaw clean off, tongue dangling and all. A mess! I had to fix him back up. He forced me to make it look as much as that of Trogg Ironjaw and ever since he's been taking on 'Ironjaw' as this little intimidating side of him. 'Ironjaw makes things right!' or whatever nonsense he used to spew when he tried to be intimidating. He wasn't that pleased when Ironjaw ended up becoming a turncoat for the State…

*She emits a reflective sigh, a slow smile reaching her eyes as she looks at D_N. Her eyes catch sight of something else, the sour-looking mouse Laurence named 'Echo'. The Reclaimed pianist.

[Halstead] I like you, Dean, I really do. You wouldn't happen to be a pianist, would you?

*D_N looks confused for a second as his mind, still distracted by the party atmosphere tries to come up with an answer to the misheard question.

[D_N] Uh.. well…a lot of people have called me a dick before, if that’s what you mean? Never that polite about it though...

*As confused as Chase had been during the entire conversation this is the point where she falls completely still. She blinks, several times as her head shakes trying to jumble a glimmer of meaning into the sentence. Finally, realising what the combination of her accent and the wards inattentiveness would have on her question she takes a breath, before slowly degenerating into a gentle laugh.

[Halstead] No no, I meant a -piano player-... I think I'd use slightly stronger language to express my disgust for you, should it be the case. Which it totally isn't… You're the first person who doesn't have a stick up his ass for me to beat them with. Or in some cases entire poles or trees… As you'd have with stiff-lipped, pucker-faced, pulp-brained maniacs thinking their thoughts somehow interest me.

*She closes the slight gap between herself and D_N, her hand reaching up to his shoulder, her fingers putting a slight pressure on it, more for assurance than harm. Her other hand absentmindedly wipes some crumbs from the front of his jacket. She scans the crowd, she sees the eyes around her.

[Halstead] You stand out now, Dean. You don't want to stand out… Not now.

*She puts a slight amount of force on his shoulder, leveling his ear with her mouth.

[Halstead] I don't know from where you are or who you serve… But watch out. If the power fails and three men in white come for you, don't fight. Go along peacefully.