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(no subject)

WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: Jeopardy -> Heropa
WHEN: Nov. 19
WHAT: A resolution and a swear-in
WARNINGS: Please label threads

Somewhere, in a place that is and is not Jeopardy, time has passed. To some, it may have felt like mere hours; to others, days. For time doesn't truly touch this place. Only fate exists here, for imPorts to change or allow to proceed as it will.

Somewhere, the sisters look into the hearts of those with the power to decide the fate of this entire world and know their choice. A blinding light grows, forcing even the strongest to close their eyes, and as they do so, a vision of what could have happened appears in their minds. A world wreathed in flames, fire and screams echoing ceaselessly as they depart; a peaceful world, healed and whole and well—and a certainty that another world has paid a heavy price.

And then there's the sensation of three powerful forces leaving, two taking an unwilling third with them to wherever they are going. This world will be left as it is now, and its future will be whatever the people here make of it.

MEANWHILE, IN HEROPA

One week into the mysterious storm that has enveloped much of Jeopardy, citizens across the nation are losing hope. The government continues to monitor the situation at a safe distance, but cannot enter the affected part of the city, though one SEAL team did make an attempt, only to become lost in the wind for hours before emerging without ever making it through. While the storm hasn't grown, neither has it shown any sign of changing.

The heroes who bravely charged into the storm have not officially been given up for lost, but with no news coming from Jeopardy, few believe they will emerge unscathed. To honor their sacrifice (?) and offer sorrowful natives a means of coping, a candlelight vigil kicks off outside Heropa City Hall at 4:30 PM EST.

Speeches are given. Commemorative t-shirts are sold. It is at this point that a large portal of light opens up in front of the building and deposits all imPorts who entered the storm, as well as a confused but unharmed Layla and Sally Clapp. A stunned silence falls over the crowd — followed shortly by an eruption of cheers.

Organized chaos quickly reigns over the occasion. Medical personnel are quickly called in to aid any imPorts who might need it, and government officials quickly descend, one thing on their mind: what the heck happened, heroes?! ImPorts are asked to state, for the record, exactly what they experienced — which leaves a lot of room open for the more creative among them. Just what each imPorts is willing to confess to or lie about is up to them, but there are other imPorts at hand to refute or support all statements.

While imPorts are technically free to go, all are encouraged to enter the building for a debriefing with government officials. Those who care to share their story begin to paint a picture of what happened, and a flurry of transportation begins to move between City Hall and the local porter outpost, as Jeopardy will certainly require some aid now that it is fully accessible. Reports begin to filter back that while there have been some casualties and collateral damage to the city, it is far less of a disaster than the government anticipated during the storm, no doubt due to imPorts' efforts. Additionally, news from other porter cities begins to arrive; with the dissipation of the Jeopardy storm, all dimensional anomalies elsewhere have ceased.

Following the briefings, ImPorts may go home and get some rest, although they may have trouble shaking off the crowds — which are largely ecstatic that the people who apparently saved the world are in front of them.

While imPorts were occupied with the post-disaster debriefings, locals have used the time to launch an impromptu celebration of their defense of this world. Local restaurants, breweries and nanas have hustled their finest wares over, and free food and drink are flowing for the homecoming heroes. A local party & events organizing company has strung up some lights and tents in the park across the street from City Hall, lending a festive atmosphere to the area. T-shirts being sold to honor the assumed-fallen heroes have been 'edited' with permanent marker, going from 'FALLED HEROES' (there was an error in the print run, given the notice of less than a week) to 'RISEN HEROES' and are, regretfully, being given away for free.

For those who stay, an impromptu party breaks out, and the occasion quickly becomes the latest swear-in, albeit with a more casual emphasis on the actual swearing-in than usual; a card table is set up with the usual seals and documents, but it's a bit haphazard.

Along with tasty libations, local musicians start jamming on acoustic guitars in the park's gazebo, setting up some cheerful background music—or maybe you're not too tired to dance? A local physical therapy school has rolled in multiple portable massage tables, with free sessions for sore heroes!

The locals who haven't dispersed yet are also around, likely to seek autographs from the world savers, while podcasters, BlueTubers and regular nosy nellies might lean in with a recording device, asking for the real story of what happened. For imPorts who become too intoxicated or exhausted to porter home, many locals are offering couches to crash on — although the pillows they use may later show up on ePay.

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Doing something petty because someone expressly doesn't want you to is the kind of game Victor has seen travel from school yards to prisons and it isn't something he has tolerated at any stage of his life. He's certainly not going to start now.

Once the threat has been leveled and heard though, Victor sees no reason to press the matter as long as it has been heard. He's also not stupid enough to do something more flashy in public and he's already set up something for Rupert to trip on to make his point.

"Define 'like this'? Do you mean less-than-thrilled about strangers touching me part, or generally standoffish part?"

Edited 2019-12-01 23:02 (UTC)

"You've clearly been touched by the wrong strangers," Rupert remarks, unable to resist such an open invitation for filth. Satisfied that his wrist is completely fine - it was the surprise of it that struck him most, he thinks - Rupert sips again at his drink, mercifully unspilled from the surprising turn of events. He shrugs a little.

"But yes, the generally standoffish part is what I was referring to."

The sweeping innuendo is entirely lost on Victor who has neither the appreciation nor the inclination toward flirting humour to play this game at all, so instead he just gives Rupert an intensely flat and unimpressed stare.

"Maybe so. The ones who were stupid enough to do it."

That's also not an invitation to get to know him better to remove the stranger title.

"And if that's what you mean then no, this is my celebration mood."

Thick, scathing sarcasm: far more Victor's speed for humour.

Rupert takes Victor's unimpressed demeanour in his stride, making up for his coolness with more careless warmth of his own. Slapping down Rupert's innuendo is just an invitation to do better that he mentally pockets away for another, greater opportunity; he lets the joke go for now.

"If this is your celebrating mood then you're not very good at it, sorry to say." He gestures at the makeshift bar with his cup. "Here's a tip, have you tried alcohol? It'll vastly improve your chances of cracking a smile. It might not even kill you."

"My talents lie elsewhere," Victor says smoothly, though he does shift his eyes toward the bar as Rupert indicates it.

There's no real shift in Victor's face, no impression that he's either interested or disinterested until he flicks a glance back at Rupert with a vague impression of humour in his eyes and maybe a twitch of his lip. It's not a warm kind of amusement though.

"Perish the thought of a near death experience," he comments dryly, the internal joke purely for himself before he nods at the cup, "And is that where you find your good spirit, or is this your default state? Touchy and overly cheerful?"

"I believe the words most commonly used are 'terrible' and 'menace'," Rupert informs him. Mindful now of not touching Victor, he does his best to shepherd him closer to the bar without making contact - it's more difficult than he realised but Rupert is persistent in his shepherding until they're within reaching distance of the makeshift bar.

"One never needs alcohol for high spirits, no, but in my experience it certainly helps lubricate matters," He explains as he selects a bottle of dark, smokey liquid and holds it up enticingly.

"Are you a scotch man? You're certainly enough of a bastard to be a scotch man."

"You seem suited to both of those words."

As it happens, it's not terribly hard to get Victor to the bar, mostly because people just seem to... move aside. Funny, that.

And while he maintains an unimpressed sideeye as Rupert produces the bottle, the accurate assessment does finally manage to draw a smile and a snort of amusement out of Victor, like he's been given some kind of compliment.

"Am I? And here I was being on my best behaviour and everything."

That is definitely an green light on the scotch.

A smile! An almost-laugh! These things are a reward in themselves, a triumphant little win. Hentzau smirks to himself in delight and pours an overly generous measure into a red plastic solo cup with a fiercely pleased expression.

"Oh no, I assure you, I absolutely know a bastard when I meet one," He promises as he hands over the cup. "It's my imPort power, you know. Bastard detection."

The plastic cups are an adorable nostalgic touch in Victor's mind. He hasn't had cause to touch one at all since his college days and even then a potted plant at the house party received the full pint of keg beer that Victor didn't even remotely care for. The cup had only even been a prop, after all.

"Is that so," he says it as a statement more than a question, mixing interest with disinterest smoothly, "And do you use that to try and instill a bit of cheer into our black bastard hearts, or are you just a bit of a masochist?"

"I'm of the opinion that bastards are the most useful category of humans," Rupert replies gravely. His solemn expression doesn't quite hide the amusement in his voice but there's truth behind his words: his colleagues and friends have nearly all been bastards to a man, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He raises his cup in silent toast, as if they were lifting fine crystal glassware, and adds:

"And coincidentally the most fun. Are you any fun, Vale?"

Bastards, in Victor's opinion, are far from the most useful of people. People he can manipulate are the most useful of people and bastards tend to not fall into that category for him. Bastards, by and large, aren't insecure enough or sensitive enough about lacking direction enough for Victor to insert himself or make an offer to fill a brand of that void.

Bastards, actually, are a pain.

"No. Completely dull, in fact," His answer to Rupert's question is, largely, for Victor's own amusement. He thinks he's a lot of fun, when he's in the mood for it, it's just that his brand of fun isn't likely what Rupert is into. "I suppose you'll have to track down a more entertaining bastard."

"Self-deprecation is boring, you're quite right," he replies in gentle accusation, amused by Victor's attempts to push him away and not having any of it. Angrier, more violent men have tried to dissuade Rupert from talking to them and failed; Rupert simply beams at the other man in response and 'clinks' his plastic cup against Victor's upper arm in lieu of anything else to clink it against.

"Prost. Do you know any entertaining bastards?"

In the din of the space, the irritated exhale that edges on a growl might be lost, though he makes a special effort to look at the spot where Rupert's cup touches his arm with a spectacular expression of contempt and disapproval.

"You mean so I can palm you off to them instead?"

Victor does actually give the question, rhetorical or otherwise, some thought as the takes a slow sip from his own ridiculous plastic cup. It feels a bit like having scotch in a sippy cup.

"Have you ever met a young man named Kaz Brekker?"

"Oh, no," Rupert laughs, the contempt and disapproval having very little affect on his good humour. "You don't get to escape so easily as that, I'm afraid."

But he can see that Victor is thinking about this, even if Rupert wasn't entirely serious in his question. At the name he shakes his head and tries his hardest to ignore the way his translation nanites trip and fall flat on their face over 'brekker'. Refract, brechen, brecher. It gives him a twinge in his temples.

"I have not. He sounds more painful than you, actually."

While Victor doesn’t say more’s the pity aloud, the expression on his face says as much, though that expression does shift to a rather sharpened look that leans rather on the smug side.

“I somehow doubt that, but he’s certainly no more soft. But he’s a relatively distinctive young man to find. Fine structured, dark hair, a warm, welcoming expression just like mine, and he uses a crow-handled cane. Maybe you can make a game of spotting him sometime.”

Despite being quite sure he's being condescended to, Hentzau's expression turns thoughtful as he scans the crowd, half expecting to see a man fitting exactly that description appear at that very second. Warm, welcoming expression just like Victor's and all.

"Perhaps I shall," He replies lightly, sipping at his drink as he surveys the throng. One detail catches his imagination in a predictable way as he adds thoughtfully:

"Why does he carry a cane? Is there a sword in it?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself when you find him."

It's not really about loyalty here, it's just that Victor can picture the expression upon Kaz's face when some energy-filled stubborn puppy of a man asks that question himself. For Victor, this should also drip-feed a sense of frustration, someone who provides tiny nuggets of something interesting without ever following through. That sort of thing is only enticing for so long, surely.

"I certainly will, yes," Rupert agrees with a bright nod. He can't see anyone here matching that description so he'll just have to redirect all of his curiosity back to Victor for now. Sorry, Victor.

"How did you come to make his acquaintance?"

"Oh, he'll love that, I'm sure."

Victor initially tires to hold his attention somewhere else, anywhere other than Rupert's stupid sunny face, it gives Victor a headache.

"We met at the technical university in De Chima. I was declining a public speaking request."

Well, he was forcing a persistent student to back off with a little shot of pain. Just a little. A little was enough.

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