#personal plot

Wednesday 09 September 2020; Evening. The time has come. A few key members of the resistance join you in the back room of the Vega Gem to iron out their plans. They are planning on detonating the bomb on the morning of Thursday the 10th of September during Freshman Orientation at The Academy. The bomb shouldn’t kill anyone as everyone should be in the courtyard for the speech, but they are planning on detonating the bombs in the Academy’s main foyer.

You have been tasked with planting one of the additional bombs in a side hall and then meeting the group out front to detonate everything together just as the orientation starts.

The change of location from a Heart target to Diamond came as a surprise to Hyeonju. The leaders had seemed so adamant about an attack in his own district and the Ten of Heart was more than happy to provide a good portion of his funds and assistance to the plan. While he was wont to voice his disappointment at the last minute changes being made, he stayed silent this time, only providing nods of approval or acquiescence when needed.

Location didn’t matter to Hyeonju. To him, Kadeu was all the same—a mass of corruption, pain, and lowlifes passing themselves off as superior based on their number.

I want them all to burn.

His thoughts were always the same when it came to his reasons for helping the resistance. He would do anything to rid this place—himself—of the marks that granted or stripped them of privilege. He was tired of being a tool, a toy, one step away from being insignificant again because of some grumpy old geezer from thousands of years ago who couldn’t take criticism.

Hope that king is a lowranker in the afterlife.

The details, teams, and tasks were finalized. Hyeonju saw the leaders and colleagues out the back with a smile. The door closed softly behind the last person and the smile dropped from the Heart’s face. A dangerous light glittered behinds eyes. Tomorrow, Kadeu would start to burn.

And he would be the one to help fuel the flames of revolution.

Rose sat in the uncomfortable, high back chair in front of the large rosewood desk and she kept her gaze steadily on the surface of it. It was organized and pristine. Papers were neatly stacked and books were set to the side, there was no clutter at all on the large, polished surface. It was so unlike her own that her mind was having a hard time processing it. How in the hell was she related to this man?

She leaned back against the back of the chair, taking a deep and steadying breath. She wouldn’t have come here unless the situation called for it: protecting the teams searching for and retrieving Layla was worth it. She hated this. Every fiber of her being was screaming to get out, to run. Her demeanor was calm and collected, but inside it was a chaotic and destructive whirlwind. “Well, I didn’t expect to see you grace my door...for negotiations, no less.” Alistair’s honeyed voice came from behind her.  She didn’t turn around but straightened in her chair, feeling her pulse begin to race. His hand touched her shoulder and she flinched, unable to stop herself. “We may be at odds, brother, but we are both still business people. I see no reason why we can’t talk about a business deal.”

His hand tightened on her left shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully and Rosette grit her teeth. It was purposeful, a warning. She knew it for what is was and knew there would be bruises as a reminder of whom she dealt with. Pain and fear caused her pulse to pound in his neck...but the one who was in tune with it was nowhere near to know.

“Yet all of the business proposals that I’ve offered thus far were rejected...rather rudely.” Her elder sibling smiled down at her, showing his straight white teeth in a mocking smile. “That’s truly no way to do business, little sister. I thought Father taught you better. Perhaps you shoulder apologize?”

Rosette’s temper sparked, “Apologize for telling you to go to--” The grip tightened more and she broke off in a hiss. “Alright! Alright... I apologize for being rude in my rejection.” She whispered softly, pain making her voice tight.

The grip remained a moment and then left her shoulder entirely. Alistair moved to the other side of the desk and sat down, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. “Well then, Rosie, what has brought you to my door?”

She set the piece of paper on the desk, sliding it across the smooth, rosewood surface. “I need these items...delivered to the person on this list.” She watched her brother from over the rim of her glasses as he read through the paper, nodding slowly. “I know Miss Oktovia Dirgdottir...Miss Odd, as she prefers.” Alisters murmured as he stroked his bearded chin. “Aurum regis? Refined into sand?” He looked to Rosette, arching a brow at her. “Rare and expensive.”

She nodded, shifting in her chair and resting back against it, her hands folded demurely in her lap. “I know. I’d be willing to pay the market price for the amount, as well as cost your shipping costs. It would be gil in your pocket.” She met her brother’s gaze, his expression nonplussed. “...And I would owe you a favor.”

That certainly gained Alistair’s attention, a slow smile curving his lips and he leaned forward on the desk. It took every ounce of Rosette’s willpower not to recoil.

“Well, Rosie...” He spoke softly with barely restrained amusement and interest. “It seems we’ve some terms to negotiate.”

The night was quiet, all things considered. Kiran and Max had spent the day working and studying, and you were working on food in the kitchen. You hadn’t expected any patients. No one had called to warn you were coming, so there was a flicker of concern as there was a knock on the door.

The Barrow was freaking out.

{Ada ADA ADA You are not gonna believe who’s at the door.} “Who is it?” You can hear your voice shaking as you ask. {It’s Roman}

You can feel your heart stop. “Does he know I’m home? can i just not answer the door and maybe he’ll go away?”

{He knows, Ada, I’m sorry. I tried to get him to go away but he’s insisting.} “Alright, alright. I don’t know why the hell he’s here...” you grumble walking to the door and cracking it open to greet him.

“Ada, what a surprise, darling.” He purrs, pushing past you and into the Barrow, shutting the door behind him. “This sort of drab little life always did suit you, my dear. I imagine I still have a room?” You can hear the dirt and grease on his voice and it makes your skin crawl.

“No.”

“What was that, my dear little housewife?” His hand takes your chin and tips it to look up at him, all slicked back hair and stinking of bleach. All you want to do is throw him out.

You can hear the door opening, however. Maybe you have a hand.

TW: abuse, threats, Alistair the Epic Dick under the cut. Feel free to keep scrolling if it’s not for you. *hugs* You are still loved. Thank you for following me and sticking with me anyways.

Rosette stood in the center of her newly remodeled home, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot as she peered around. The entire walk through the Goblet, she felt the feeling of being watched -- of being followed. It had caused her to quicken her steps, damn near running for the door as she heard footsteps behind her. She had bolted through it and slammed it shut, thrusting the bolt home and peering out through the side window. There had been no one there.

She was uneasy here, the sense of exposure crawling along her skin and unrest seeping through her veins. Everything was new, the beeswax floor polish scent and fresh paint still lingered in the air, the new fish tank cast a comforting light across the dark wood floors. she double checked the locks on the door and the windows, double checking that throwing dagger was in place, strapped to the edge of her boot. Breathe, she reminded herself before walking through the room and descending the stairs to her more informal living quarters. The shadows aren’t that long, Valeria. If trouble knocks, you can reach out for help. 

Book cases greeted her, shelves of alcohol were restocked (thank, Nymeia), and a small set of stairs led up to where her desk was. There was a small, intimate sitting area for her family and guests. Across from her, a sliding door would reveal her bedroom and bathroom. She looked at the door quietly before moving to the cupboard that sat just beneath the raised loft and stairs. She had to make sure it worked; it had to work for her sanity’s sake.

Her hand slid underneath the second shelf, her fingers finding the switch that she subsequently pressed and pulled on the edge of the cupboard. It swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges as she stepped into the one thing she had requested to be put in place via her retainers.

A panic room.

Inside was well stocked with non-perishables, an emergency bag full of items that she would need, blankets and pillows. Her ‘red thread’ insanity that had once decorated Mafrea’s table now was on the wall with all the push-pins in place. She shut the cupboard behind her, hearing the latch fall into place before she did a slow turn of the small, quiet room.  She checked her supplies and checked them again before stepping out of the room and locking it behind her, then ascended the stairs to sit at her desk and begin going through her correspondence and trade requests. She eyed the packet from her brother, setting it aside for later before leafing through the higher priority items. 

The feeling of ‘safety’ didn’t settle over her. She jumped and tensed at every unfamiliar sound in the house -- twice, she got up and checked the locks on the doors and windows before returning to her desk. Her anxiety caused her blood pressure to rise and her head to pound, her heartbeat felt far too fast. She tried to concentrate on her work but found herself reading the same sentence over and over for nearly a bell before she gave up.

She fisted her fingers in her hair and bowed her head, reminding herself to breathe; this just wasn’t her home anymore.

Her high heeled shoes resounded against the stone path leading up to her home, reaching for her keys to let herself in. She let out a gust of a sigh, just wanting to sink into a hot bath with a glass of scotch and a cigarette to soak away the two weeks worth of stress that had built in her. It had just been insane with the amount of negotiating she had been having to do for contracts and to replace the amount of income she had been earning versus what she had lost from the contract in Ala Mhigo. Her brother had gotten wind that she was in Gridania and had been asking about Myrriah...and she still had the bruises from that confrontation on her arms and back.

Nearly a half dozen times she felt she had been watched in her travels or was being followed. She had taken multiple different ways home -- even tonight, she had taken the long way. A ward over was when the watchful, malevolent presence had disappeared and she still couldn’t pin point whom nor where it was coming from. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, considering she hadn’t seen enough of her friends lately to tell them.

Arik was in and out, busy with handling Vanguard missions and personal business. Saphyra was absent, off in the wilds of the Black Shroud and doing whatever it was that she did. She knew Emeline had enough of her own problems to handle at the moment and she seemed far to absorbed into whatever issues she and Jun were having to even broach. Mafrea seemed to be as embezzled in whatever was happening with Jun as well. The last thing he needed was yet another problem laid at his feet.

There was no need to hit the hornet’s nest, especially when they were already swarming over another crisis. She would handle her shit, as she always did. Rosette opened the door to her home and stood in the doorway, eyes widening and her mouth dropping open.

It looks like a hurricane had hit her apartment. Everything was upturned and tossed around, items broken and shard of glass all over the floor. The lights were out, only the light from the setting sun seeping in through the windows. She walked inward in a daze, looking at the broken furniture and drawers overturned on the floor. Her dining table was broken, her chairs and couches flipped, her plates were broken and shattered on the floor in the open kitchen. She winced as a glass shard pierced the bottom of her sandals and she looked down, seeing the vase shards and flower petals beneath her feet. She pulled out the shard and started down the stairs to her living area. 

Once more, books were scattered everywhere and shards of glass from her fish tank were on the ground. The fish lay dead on the soaked carpet where they had fallen, bottles of liquor and wine smashed on the floor. Her bookshelves were emptied, her desk flipped and drawers rifled through. A quick peek into her bedroom and bath saw her clothes strewn everywhere and feathers all over the place from her down pillows. Her make up was scattered, mirror cracked, and plants ripped to shreds.

She reached down, picking up the now headless stuffed Namazu she had kept on her bedside table from where it had been tossed. She hugged it to her chest and turned, speechless as she slowly sank to the floor in middle of the living room. Confusion, fear, and the feeling of being exposed ripped through her.