It was dusk when the librarians arrived in Kyo-shi. The village was integrated with it's farmlands; houses were scattered all over the horizon, with the only orderly fashion being the main road that lead in and out of the village. From far and away, locals had called the news the librarians were coming and many had risen their heads out of their fields to curiously follow the foreigners. Although it was clear from some of the expressions, that not all of them enjoyed the idea of coming to these foreigners for help.
Much unlike the Hub, Shima had always held strongly onto it's own culture and values, and as such was less tolerant of foreign practices. Shima had always been self-sufficient and had, a small ten years ago, began to open trade with the outside world. In the Library's relation branches, agents were specifically taught how to address the people of Shima. Very few in other branches, however, enjoyed such training.
Kyo-shi was one of many lands under the control of the region's daimyō; a landlord. However, they had acted independently in requesting help from the Library, and the request was posted under the name of the Fusokuso clan. To meet their contractor, the librarians found their selves at one of the larger houses amidst the fields of Kyo-shi. Outside, there were already people waiting for them. It was more like a family gathering than a welcome committee, however, as the group was composed out of all ages and genders. Nearly each and every single one of them eyed them like the other villagers before them; very closely with a mix of curiousity and anxiety. Although all avoided eye-contact.
One man stepped forward, he was around five feet tall and was at the very least in his sixties. “Konbanwa. Welcome to our village, esteem librarians.” He greeted the team with a bow. “I am Asoki Morokovo of the Fusokuso clan. We are the ones who have posted the request.” He spoke carefully, but unsure as to how to compose himself in front of the librarians.
“We ask you to take watch over our humble village. Our beloved children are being lead away from us, but we do not know how or why. We have sent villagers of our own, but they have not returned alive. We ask of you to save us from this unfortunate fate. Please investigate the situation.”
“Let us PR guys handle damage control, no unprovoked stabbing things, alright?” Was about the first thing the librarians heard on the mission. Simon Getskilled, a young and ambitious, but arrogant spokesperson for the library had gone out of his way to talk down to the mission participants. He was clearly not too keen on having the mercenary branch (what he'd behind their backs call brawn for brains) around. It was hard to blame him, however, as with recent events Public Relations had to deal with a lot of aftermath from said branch's actions. They'd been living on coffee after events like those in Home Alone, where an entire city had been poisoned, Looking for Mister Bond, which had caused Paggio to restrain the Library access to their town, and Mother of the Dunes where literally dozens had been killed. Not to even mention Monster's Ball having shaken a lot of the public's faith in the library. And now, Simon had to mop up for their research branch, whose recent experiments and issued capture missions had attracted the attention of environmentalist activists...
“I'm sure you're all itching to seek out the relation between the break-in last night, but you're just here for the crowd control in case it gets out of hand.” Simon reminded the mercenaries. The break-in he referred to had been in an aquatic lab of the research branch where they had kept a young captive that librarians had retrieved from the sea. How the thieves had escaped with a 25 feet tall sea-monster on their backs remained a mystery, but it was the talk of the town. And with this environmental rally, it seemed more than just a random coincidence...
Nonetheless, their mercenaries job was to keep peace and, frankly, protect Simon Getskilled and his colleagues when the crowd would get too riled up. Though their very presence likely already rallied the rally against them. It was a hot day and the protest was at the beach, and the most either protesters or on-lookers wore were mere shirts. Many were, in fact, donned in bathing suits, in sharp contrast to the PR's business-attire (which made them more than just stand out.) Tons of eyes already were following Simon around, and the same fate was waiting for the mercenaries.
The rally itself however, was still a good hour away from officially starting. For now people slowly amassed near the stages where speeches would be held, preparing their protest boards and spreading their slogans. Though, pumped as the crowd would seem to become, for the librarians, both PR and mercenary, it was simply silence before the storm.