ERode

Fey's Shoujo/Otome Trash Can -- A few ideas for 1x1 or Small Group Fantasy Romance RPs

Knights are my brainrot, but I've flatout written a story for a uni course with a general premise about otome saints too...so I guess my strike range is broad for your fistful of ideas, Fey.

Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa

_{EE 87, May 5 | Night}

And thus sounded the blasted bell once more, heralding the lightning that sealed the buildings, the incursion of that all-consuming mist. Ten chimes rang with cacophonous, metered rage, and this time, the sudden locking down of every exit point did not come to a surprise to any of the residents within the isolated island. Now was the time for the night, for clandestine encounters and the advancement of schemes. Within the muted light of the fog-shrouded streets, shadows stirred, pursuing disjointed goals.

_@banjoanjo
The dinner party had concluded, dishes scoured and discarded, the guests leaving to do whatever work they wished, or to seek the rest that they believed they deserved. In the end, Ryuuko, seeking adventure and excitement, had left the apartments with Nazca, searching for any sign of the rumoured manbat, leaving Bang to chaperone their fractious charge. Throughout their discussions and studies about what had transpired the night before, Jeanne remained largely mute, only watching them speak and intermittently picking at her food. The Frenchwoman affected once more a sense of uninvolved cool, and despite Franz’s request, she had not done more than flip through a few pages of the censored student register before tossing it to a couch.

Jeanne herself sat by the window, her eyes squinting against the blinding Formula that made alteration impossible, her gaze drawn to the fog that pressed up against the glass without clouding it over. Nothing was said between the two. It had been two hours now, of this awkward silence, in this suite with no possessions worth distracting one’s self with.

Perhaps Bang should have brought a book.

_@Vega7285
The operator was quick and efficient, with the sort of manic tone that sounded like someone who had caffeinated properly in preparations for a night shift at the telecommunications center. Within a couple of moments, the line connected to the famed ‘Angelo Beloco’, and a distorted voice sounded, some sort of device utilized to artificially crack what should be an otherwise stellar connection.

“Bermuda Triangle, Classified Section. Who’s this?”

In the background, opera music vibrated out of a gramophone, warbling tragic tones in a language Hana didn’t know.

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Xuan-Yu clicked his tongue as the monster twitched, leg spasming just in time to misalign the Stinger Blade. His fist, moving at speeds fast enough to overcome the sound barrier, clipped the side of the hilt instead, tearing a meaty gash out of the side of its leg, but not rupturing any deeper muscles or tendons, not shattering to bits any bone. Idiot beast with nothing but good senses, huh.

Kicking off the monster, the black-armored assassin rolled upon the corpses, snatching up and sheathing his blade once more. His other arm went up, shielding his face from the blast of hot air that emanated from the monster’s entirety. Flames consumed the liondog, hot vapours surging out from its wound, and immediately, Xuan-Yu leapt backwards, the first bite snapping at empty air only millimeters away from him. He could feel the scalding heat now, enough to redden his skin and dry out his eyes. It’d be hard to approach for a kill in closecombat. A bad match up if slaying the beast was his goal, but that wasn’t the winning condition here.

Bite, slash, slam. Earth turned to ash with the behemoth’s approach.

Retreat, retreat, retreat. Evading by the barest margins as his blade drank in more poison.

With quick steps, dodges, and an occasional look behind his back, Xuan-Yu drew his foe further and further away from the soldiers’ defensive lines, allowed the beast to expose its back to his comrade knight. If Faye took this as opportunity to ram her glaive up its flaming butt and drag its guts out from there, then good. If Faye took this as opportunity to rejoin the actual war efforts and leave Xuan-Yu to play with this pissed-off mutt, better.

Heh, if he kept this up long enough, maybe they’d be in range for him to call for an assist from Kim.

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Bronze Self + Slick] = 16 MP

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 118

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

There was a lot to be considered. Betty’s Notes, Timekeeper’s fraying sanity, Justin’s fairly sexy (probably artistic license though) body, and the emergence of the GEMINI agents. She recognized a couple of them. Breacher with the shield, Silhouette looking pretty well-cooked. A chick with a sniper rifle, and a buncha melees flanking an unfamiliar face that looked like she had been passed around a vampire buffet. Outnumbered, but if it came to injuries alone, the cops looked much more fucked up than the freelance Mavericks.
Indeed, at the moment eye contact was made, at the moment both sides began to size each other up, Klava was ready to go.

But thankfully, Billy and Binky were willing to talk. They exchanged a couple of words, finding some common grounds. Klava relaxed, just a little bit. Perhaps calmer heads would prevail, and they could at least agree to both go…

Ah, of course. Those two motherfuckers even had the gall to tell unrelated parties to start scrapping first. Timekeeper tried to reopen dialogue, but the writing was already in the wall the moment Klava saw the dragon girl with the riot shield bring her defensives up, bring her gun to bear. Of course they wouldn’t even have the fucking courtesy to try to talk first. Must be really feeling themselves, knowing that they could shoot to kill with no repercussions because their real-life identities were safe and secure. Fucking GEMINI. Should’ve Blinked out and watched them explode amidst the Cobra gang’s last ‘fuck you’ instead.

…

Klava breathed out. No, there wasn’t really a universe where she would do that, was there?

Outnumbered, outgunned. Timekeeper had to play it safe, Tetrad was providing covering fire, and it wasn’t even certain whether or not Apollo was going to play a role. Lightning surged through her veins, thrumming with her accelerated heartbeat, while staccato notes sounded from firearms, ugly beats with no sense and no meaning. She had enough mana left for a handful of murder-inducing melodies, maybe a Construction or two. More than enough, in conclusion.

She had worked with GEMINI before. Had burned for them before. Wasn’t even nearly as mad at them as she had made herself out to be. Was willing to even let bygones be bygones if they walked away from this alive and intact.

But right now, they were in Pax Septimus, and GEMINI shot first. There was no room for hesitation, and only a small bit of space for non-lethality, one that none of the enemy Espers were going to afford, with all the bullets whizzing by. So Klava, of course, was going to fucking kick their ass.

And if they lived, maybe they can all have a laugh over this another time.

“Apollo, toss a flash over the statue.”

She charged into the fray, lightning sparking off her skin as a Melody wove itself around her. Each step propelled her faster and faster as one hand brandished Moya-no-Yume and the other undoing a sash from her outfit. Speedster’d and Slick’d, Klava was a blur as she skated over the tiles, ducking and weaving past Breacher’s gunfire as she curved around the opposite end of the statue and spotted her enemies clearly. All lined up, and all of them some manner of wounded.

Didn’t matter. They shot first, and Klava had already crossed the threshold. With luck, Apollo would have answered her call, dropped his Melody and distracted them long enough for her to make her move.

Her sash flung out, intent on catching the monkey in the face and blind her.

Her blade whistled, swinging in for a gliding strike to slice open the knight’s leg.

Her feet collapsed, a textbook slide tackle to knock the alien off her feet.

Her tactics ignored Silhouette, for he had done good work before and was otherwise so fucked up it was a miracle they let him come along.

Her actions brought her to the sniper and, just as smoothly as she had fallen, she stood up.

“Hey, is it too late to call a ceasefire?”

A shit-eating grin formed.

But that, of course, was only in an ideal circumstance.

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Well now.

How did something that big make it out unscathed from Constantina’s bombardment and Kim’s detection? Halting his unimpeded little murder-jaunt, Xuan-Yu turned his gaze to the creature, raising his brows slightly at the appearance that the Warped had taken. Japanese ogres and Chinese guardian lions. Indescribable, incomprehensible organisms taking forms resembling mythological creatures…what would the white coats make of that? He tapped the Stinger Blade against his shoulder a couple times, then sheathed it into his forearm. Behind his back, tubes of viscous liquids began to churn and bubble, innocuous fluids synthesizing into a poison that, while not lethal, was still capable of affecting even beings of supernatural physiology.

And then, Constanza’s voice echoed through, speaking at a speed that could rival rappers in order to keep her messages brief without having to cut down on words. The dog headed for Grendel was obvious. The wraith stalking the backlines less so. He took a moment to think. Imagined, for a moment, what the goal was, what the problem was.

The goal was to break down the soldiers’ defenses.

The problem was the presence of the Chi-Mechframes.

The key was the lack of wide-range attacks from them.

Faye’s armor kept her alive, but her spear lacked enough killing force to down the truck-sized beast immediately. Drakos, their best skirmisher, charged for the defensive line in order to track down the invisible thing, giving the Warped horde time to gather their forces once more. Constanza, their fire support, aimed to root out that invisible foe as well, hunting for any traces of them. Xuan-Yu himself would be forced to act against the most obvious threat, lest they lose their mobile bulwark.

Like that, all four Frame Pilots would be forced away from the collective threat, one that the soldiers were already incapable of stalemating. And all it took was for an invisible assassin to reveal themselves, just a little bit.

Ah, it took one to know one, huh?

“Hey, Constanza,” Xuan-Yu drawled, speeding through the artillery-marred battlefield to convene with the team’s lancer, “Tide’s shifting in the Warped’s favour’s now. Keep your eyes peeled for the ghost, but keep your beams blasting the frontlines. Drakos, fucker’s probably aiming for either artillery or gun emplacements, if it has even a lick of brainpower. And Faye?”

His left leg bent, scarlet flexors flaring up with an incandescent energy.

“Your knight in cockroach armor’s here~”

Release.

The earth cracked beneath his step, and Xuan-Yu flew through the air, as true as an arrow, his optical camouflage peeling away to reveal the armored assassin beneath. The remaining distance between himself and the liondog was negligible, and Faye’s spear throw had stalled it enough for Xuan-Yu to slam blade first into the monster’s hindleg. Blood spurt out, steaming over his obsidian gauntlets.

There was a time where he couldn’t do this much damage even with a full clip of ammunition.

Deathstalker bared his teeth, drew his left fist back, and unleashed a second Burst Strike right into the flat pommel of his sword, aiming to punch it through the bone of one hindleg and pierce the meat of the other. If he could maim one leg and poison the other, the beast would be crippled enough that Faye could mount it from behind and slay it herself, leaving him to cover the front again.

But if that wasn’t enough?

He still had his right side raring to turn this mutt into a dogmeat hamburger.

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

There was much to be said about the sheer extravagant indulgence that was having an entire flying castle, while those below still toiled beneath the depths of ever-rising cities, skyscraper apartments designed to cope with population densities that would make Hong Kong look spacious. There was much to be said, as well, about how all his colleagues were girls younger than himself, a collection of pretty faces and high-pitched voices. Maybe six years ago, that’d be something to celebrate, but now, it just made things grossly awkward, especially when the youngest amongst them were undeniably still children.

Some sorta burning pile of garbage this was. Literal infinite amounts of money, and they’re still using kids as soldiers. Sure, the kiddos were motivated, and their Chi-Mechframes could wipe out a number of Warped that would make soldiers wonder why they’ve ever sacrificed so much, but still. More evidence that the world was shit and those in power were asshats.

Though that just added another small thing to the pile of many shitty things that smeared this war.

Xuan-Yu sighed. While those eager kids were diving into the fray, skydiving with nothing but the flight systems of their experimental warmachines to keep them alive, the airlift had landed, and the cargo-bay had opened up. Hot winds scoured his skin, the acrid smell of gunpowder and artillery blast mingling with the undercurrent of blood. Blood that seeped into ruins and fed coarse weeds. Weeds that would grow over unclaimed corpses, lost limbs and fetid organs. Had it only been three months?

Ah, he did not miss this fucking cesspool.

“Please.”

The click-clack of interlacing plates sounded as his body melted into the background.

.
..
…
[DEATHSTALKER ONLINE]

By nature, Xuan-Yu’s Chi-Mechframe was a headhunter. Instantaneous, explosive power combined with stealthing capabilities made him more than capable of ripping any individual Warped apart with his metallic hands. In the best case scenario, he would be allowed to stay off the battlefield, observing from a high angle in order to pick out high-value targets or react to assist any squadmates stuck in the quagmire. It was almost a mistake then, to put an assassin at the helm of a defensive measure, especially when their enemy lacked any sense of tactics or strategy beyond rushing forward as a biomass wave. Grendel was a defensive bulwark. K-01 was built around skirmishing. Supplice was a natural all-rounder. On paper, at least, they were well-fit to respond flexibly to the chaos that a large number of Warped brought.

But even at 60% operational capacity, Deathstalker could kill low-threat Warped.

A wraith strode through the lines of barbed wire and trenches, palisades and turrets, the only sign of his presence the crimson that traced his blade in the brief instance it entered and exited the bodies of the goblins that scrambled past the wreckage left by Infernus’s bombardment. What was that saying again?

Ah yes, artillery sowed, infantry reaped.

“Morning comrades,” Xuan-Yu’s voice sounded through intercoms, slipping into the Japanese that served as the common language between the Horizon’s occupants. “Constanza’s on overwatch today, right? I’ll be busy not doing my real job, so if you spot something with a fat head, toss me a ping and I’ll carve it up. And Faye, stick to the rear and pick up what trash I drop, could you? The distance between me and you should give plenty of time to get into position.”

And as for Drakos…

Naw, there was nothing he could really say that shouldn’t be obvious.

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Xuan-Yu Lang

Xuan-Yu Lang

_{5'8 | 139 lbs | 25 y/o | Male}

---

Personality

What was a Chi-Mechframe but a superweapon, to be turned against civilization once the Warped were wiped? What was a human, but a vessel to be fit into the cogs of the state? What was he, but a bastard adrift, sustained by directionless spite and anchored by burdens, obligations, and debts?

Xuan-Yu is anchored by a persistent, weary hollowness, one alleviated only by the emotions he draws out of others to fill in his cute, cynical mask. Unlike those who’ve managed to survive the ruination of the world with their psyche intact, the invasion of the Warped and the measures that nations took to preserve themselves had revealed to him the nature of power and humanity, pushing him into the quagmire that his psychology persists in today. The youth with dreams of independence after graduation had been shattered into glass, leaving naught more but an empty vessel ringed with sharp edges. He knows now his worth, the price of a pound of his flesh, the limits of what his efforts could bring. There were only so many people he could hold in his hands, and to overreach, to overestimate, would mean losing more and more. Pressure mounts incessantly, even as Xuan-Yu exudes a surface-level apathy, and the provocations that dance along his tongue exist as the hot vapors that shriek out from a rusted engine. Sarcastic wit and an acerbic outlook are both things he has plenty of, and he’s always poking and prodding, seeing how far he could go with verbalized stress relief, but in the end, Xuan-Yu is undoubtedly a professional.

He will get his work done, with the diligence and focus of a conscript, a volunteer, a Frame Pilot. If all it took was a pound of his flesh to make a place in the world for the few he cares for, then Xuan-Yu would do what he must. It was what was beaten into him for the last five years, after all.

History

Who cared for the story of an individual, when it is through the movement of governments that one’s fate was decided? The Warped apocalypse came like a tide, every soldier sent to stall them turned to flesh or host, every country scrambling to secure their own borders or sacrificing their sovereignty to obtain security from larger neighbours. And in the chaos of imminent extinction, so came opportunity for land grabs. Islands, once protected by legislation and convention, were devoured by continental superpowers, turned into fortresses and safehouses for the wealthy and influential, all while metropolises converted themselves into barracks, taking in refugees and sending out conscripts. All for the glory of the fatherland, all for the sanctity of the motherland.

And China, seeing opportunity while the States grappled with their domestic concerns, positioned themselves as the final line of defense for humanity’s hope, shielding the cloistered experimental facilities of Japan with the bodies of the millions that it could no longer feed. Mountainous terrain and massive river systems stalled the progress of both the Warped and civilians alike, while forward cities were set up solely as massive sarcophagi to distract the monstrous horde for days, months, perhaps even a year. They all fell though, as supplies concentrated on city-fortresses that “had value”. There was no space in humanity’s survival for humanity, and individual tragedies had no place in national triumphs. For humanity would triumph through the sacrifice of the masses, just as it always had.

But miscalculations remained, and in wartime, it was the generals, not the ministers, who held the greatest powers. Those conscripted to fight for their cities, for their families, gained a pride of their own. What did they care for the directives of Beijing, when it was their commanders who tolled for them, when it was their relatives who fought beside them? A sense of pride in their own army, in their own city, spawned the first of many military factions, as those who fought on the frontlines decided that it was best to position themselves for the next stage of the war. Alliances formed between the city-states on the frontlines of the Warped War, while fallen cities were subsumed by those still standing.

And what of those refugees, seeking shelter from the Warped, willing to do whatever necessary to ensure that they had a seat in a world with scarcer and scarcer resources?

They fought at the vanguard, obviously. Fought with the lowest pay, the fewest benefits, in the most dangerous scenarios, their will buoyed only by the promise that their families could live as second-class citizens in the militarized cities. Human generosity was in short supply, rations were in shorter supply. Whatever crime against humanity was at play here was simply accepted as a consequence of having to face down the apocalypse.

Xuan-Yu was one such refugee, one such conscript, one such volunteer. Filled with spite towards the army that he had signed his life away to, yet unable to do anything to resist whatever order was sent his way. He travelled where they wanted him to be, fought where they wanted him to fight, and bled where they wanted him to bleed. For fatherland, infertile and scorched? For motherland, broken and skeletal? No, just for a handful of lives, just a letter or two sent when his deployments coincided with the movements of the army’s messengers.

And when an operation in an isolated region of China went horribly wrong, causing mass Echnida infections amongst the soldiers, Xuan-Yu found himself alive where others died. Found himself a Frame Pilot, when the military distrusted his personality, his status, too much to invest anything in him. They were under no illusions of how they’ve abused those like him, and he had made no effort to hide his hatred of them either. Still, he was a collared, mangy beast, and when an international organization of great repute scouted him, the army was more than willing to let him go.

After all, losing a common soldier in exchange for a king’s ransom was no-brainer of a deal, and any potential betrayal was out of the question when they still had a firm grip on his leash.

Skills

Xuan-Yu, like most young men with all four of his limbs and no severe physical defects, has been conscripted during the beginning of the war to fight for the national security of his country. An infantryman, but one that hasn’t been offered much in the way of proper training, he knows his way around living in a warzone, maintaining his Type 81 AR, and applying emergency medical treatment in substandard environments.

He was an experienced gymnast, specializing in the physically demanding and artistically lacking Floor Exercise. He was a bright student who studied business, back when academics meant something for one’s success. He was a hobbyist violinist, as many youths were back then, but few luthiers of noteworthy skill survived, and his skills did not merit any particular attention from the associations that hoarded what instruments remained.

He speaks Mandarin with a Guangdong accent, can use Cantonese curses, and is proficient in Japanese and Korean.

Chi-Mechframe: Deathstalker
Appearance

A pitch-black armored body suit with fluid-filled tubing stretching out from its back and scarlet flexors peeking out where the human body’s joints are, Deathstalker was craft of a massive scorpion-based Warped hunted down within the plains of Inner Mongolia. While the monster itself possessed terrifyingly powerful melee strikes, could camouflage itself to appear invisible to the naked eye, and generated poisons so noxious that it could dissolve flesh like cotton candy, it was ultimately detected through radar systems and obliterated by wide-range bombardment. Such is the fate of all assassins. Against indiscriminate destruction, it mattered little whether they truly knew you were there or not.

Abilities

Deathstalker possesses above average physical capabilities in exchange for eschewing all ranged weapons, energy-based attacks, and defensive measures, with particularly exceptional strength and speed. While its Warped inspiration is that of a scorpion, the artificial flexors on the limbs operate more like that of a pistol shrimp’s, able to lock into place before snapping out at supersonic speeds. It is from this that the Chi-Mechframe’s destructive potential is manifested, allowing the Stinger Blade, a sturdy but otherwise unremarkable sword, to rip through hardened armor like its nothing at all. However, repeated usage of these ‘Burst Strikes’ will undoubtedly damage the human beneath, and while leg strikes are roughly three times as powerful as arm strikes, they take much longer to recover between each individual strike as well. Sustained combat is not the Deathstalker’s forte, and an opportunistic mind would make better use of this Chi-Mechframe than a true-blooded warrior.

The Deathstalker’s optical camouflage has seen some improvement compared to its Warped inspiration as well. Drawing in visuals of its surroundings, the Chi-Mechframe is able to project an illusory field over its surface, subsequently melting into the background and allowing it to operate undetected at roughly 60% of its physical capabilities. While this camouflage can be easily seen through with auditory or olfactory means, the small size of the Chi-Mechframe makes it nigh-undetectable on radar and the frame itself can synchronize with the environment’s temperatures, confounding infrared detection. Still, the performance of any physical attack would require optical camouflage be removed and energy reallocated towards more martial purposes, at least against the Warped.

Poison synthesis and generation, however, was the quality that suffered the most during the translation from Warped Core to Chi-Mechframe. While the original poisons could caused catastrophic damage to biological matter with a single drop, the poisons that Deathstalker cultivates are debilitating but rarely lethal. Rather, it would be more accurate to consider it an anesthetic when used against the Warped, numbing their sense of touch and perhaps reducing or even completely shutting down their fine motor control. In the very best case scenario, localized paralysis can set in, but even then, such paralysis does not last long. Officially speaking, this poison’s efficacy, dubbed Red Kiss, has not been confirmed upon human subjects.

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 134

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

If Klava didn't have a busted rib, perhaps she would have made it.

Naw, she didn't even feel her ribs after the adrenaline started kicking in again. The rush of having outraced an explosion by mere seconds and the sheer bullshit that Gunther was gave her the boost of violent aggression she needed to sprint down the corridors after Timekeeper, that stupid fucking kid. There was a difference between taking orders and mindlessly taking orders. The Freelancers were no GEMINI, after all. They could make what they wished out of what she shouted in battle. They certainly weren't supposed to use her order of 'scouting ahead' to subsequently go and face off three opponents alone while already having gotten beaten the fuck out of. That was the sort of gamer play that Klava would have done only when she had a Mark to Blink back to. For Timekeeper, perpetually chasing after that big sword bitch and perpetually getting his ass handed to him for that as well?

"Fucking shit!"

Sliding to a stop beside the injured child, Klava's eyes flickered up and down his body briefly, examining the injuries that he had sustained. Broken bones and second-degree burns, as well as cuts deep enough to have severed tendons and left limbs worthless. She had enough mana still. She could run over those fuckers with another one of her fuck-you spike-trains. But there was no escape left, and there was no way of knowing just how much more fighting had to be done. When she got out of this, after the requisite post-operation dine-out, Klava would have to do a lot of self-review.

That was neither here, nor now.

"You continuing, kid?" The Maiden spoke, pulling him up to his feet. He was light. The blood he lost made him lighter. "There's still a ways to go, but if you are coming, then leave Betty to the rest of us. You're too involved to handle her."

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Edited the CS up aboveeee.

Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa

_{@Zombehs@Psyker Landshark}
Valeriya ascended quickly, without hesitation, the tavern-style apartment’s staircase spacious enough that even the swaying of students who couldn’t hold their drink did not force her off her course. Within moments, she was before the door, a sturdy wooden thing, but one that had a brass knob. It would take only a simple Formulization to open it up…if it was indeed just a normal door.
But she didn’t have to test it out.

From within the suite, Kiran’s voice called out.

“It’s open.”

Did he expect her? Or did he think she was someone else? Calculations of risk and reward buzzed through her mind. What element of surprise she had with her entrance was gone now, but perhaps it was still worth pursuing. Would she act though? Or would she flee? Curfew was coming soon, which meant that Shou must be returning soon too.

If Valeriya did open the door, however, she would be greeted with the sight of Kiran Agnarsson, standing up from a window-side desk. His expression was a mixture of surprise and certainty, and while he made himself to appear relaxed, there was still a tension to his shoulders, an alertness to his gaze. For on his table laid the tracker she had planted on him the evening before, and his left hand rested within the pocket of his coat.

“Valeriya! I had only partly expected you to come,” he intoned. Footsteps sounded from the staircase to her right, accompanied by the scraping of a third appendage against wood. Perhaps she had a little less than ten seconds to act. “You’re here to discuss business, yes?”

And in another easy motion, he flipped a book over the tracker that he had been studying. Was he too, willing to keep her clandestine activities a secret from his roommate? Or was this merely a ruse, buying time and causing the instance of hesitation required for an Egoist to come into the scene?
_@Izurich
“You are as direct as tabloids report you to be,” Maximilien replied, meeting her gaze with his own. The statement rang in the air for a few moments as he partook in his own meal, chewing in contemplation. After what felt like an agonizing wait but was likely to have been only a minute at best, he spoke up once more. “Justice will run its course, so long as everything stays in the course.”

It made sense, of course. As improper as some may have believed his examination of Jeanne to be, the dark-haired Polymath had laid out all his evidence and arguments against the Frenchwoman, and subsequently gave her and those who supported her three days to come up with a counterargument. Such a trial may be swift compared to the legal battles waged by more mundane criminals, but for any with the misfortune of being a convicted Polymath, three days was an amount of time bordering upon grace, and the punishment of expulsion was extraordinarily kind, compared to the brutal methods espoused by Oriental law.

“But your concerns are valid as well, Mademoiselle Konigsmahne. Your family’s contributions to the betterment of society can be seen all around the globe, and public sentiment being turned against the Technologists’ craft due to the actions of outliers in our community is indeed something to be concerned of.” He neither leaned forward for emphasis, nor leaned back to allow her opportunity to speak. Instead, he simply reached for a bottle of wine, uncorked it with an elegance that only the French could muster, and poured himself a glass.

“You are an intelligent woman. What do you make of those who’ve volunteered to watch over her?”
_@Vega7285
It appeared that, despite obviously requiring offices of large enough size to contain the large printing presses that would enable the production of more than two thousand newspapers within a day, there was no addresses printed upon the classified sections of the paper. Instead, the staff seemed to be taking advantage of Bermuda's unique communications systems here, requesting all interested parties to contact an 'Angelo Beolco'. It was a name unfamiliar to Hana, a curious thing when considering that all Polymaths within Bermuda must be individuals of fame, but perhaps that individual came from a lesser-known portion of the Occidental world.

Or perhaps the operators of Bermuda's telephone system allows one to establish aliases connected to their identity as well. Regardless, it was unlikely that, this late into the evening, she would be able to stumble upon whatever building the Bermuda Triangle operated out of, unless she was willing to risk getting caught outside when curfew hit.

...then again, that may not be a terrible matter either.