[open] we could strike the chord

[headinjuries]

CHARACTERS: Anyone who wanted to go to the vigil!
WHERE: Royal Street Gaming Parlor.
WHEN: DAY :031
SUMMARY: Concordia honors the dead. Hosts honor the dead, or maybe just do a little 007ing. As in snooping, not macking on hot ladies. We hope.
WARNINGS: TBA.

This is here for any and all of your mingling needs. Start your own top-levels, harass each other, etc etc.

Here is what we know is happening, courtesy of our fearless mods:

The hosts will be few in a throng of relatively peaceful people. Most people in attendance are younger (30s and below) and a proportionally large number of them have some kind of physical modification, though most are relatively low-profile mods. There's also a small contingent of androids in attendance.

A low platform has been erected in front of the Royal Street Gaming Parlor and the speakers for the vigil either stand on it or, as is the case with some more high profile appearances, they speak across an extranet connection via a holoscreen projected onto the Parlor itself. For the most part the speakers are small time: a few workers from a small local chapter of Mind Life (accompanied by a few skittish looking androids), a beta block councilwoman, a Mother and Sister from a nearby Church of Lirinity. Most of them have nothing more than words of support and condolence.

Somewhere close to the middle of the vigil, Seong-Hye Ngazi, the Public Security Commissioner for Concordia, speaks via extranet connection. She seems somber, competent, but also confident, and speaks about condolences for the losses, regret for the circumstances of the attack, and Public Security's dedication to finding the party responsible for the attack.

Otherwise: it's your fairly standard memorial gathering. Poems are read, some tears are shed, there are some people with signs and a small contingent of rabble rousers on the fringe of the gathering that quickly get chased off by Public Security, etc. You're welcome to create and interact with your own NPCs if you feel so inclined!

Comments

[headinjuries]

i. we don't need no revolution
[ You'd hope nobody would be crass enough to mess with a remembrance for the dead.

You'd hope, but Sam is completely unsurprised to see the people with signs hanging at the edge of the gathering. There are all the kinds of slogans he'd expect: HUMANS FOR HUMANS, YOU WOULDN'T CRY FOR YOUR MICROWAVE, and whatnot - but there are a couple he's not quite sure how to parse, and he squints at them, frowning.

To the eyes of anyone around, he looks like he's simply disapproving - which he is - but there's also a very important question to be answered here. ]

( So, is "krutz" like the Concordian equivalent of the f-bomb? )

[ Priorities. ]


ii. i see your lips moving but all i hear is bullshit
[ The speeches are actually the biggest reason Sam thought it was worth coming, even if he does also agree with what's happening on a purely emotional level. Honoring the dead is good. But figuring out how to keep Concordia from having to honor more of them? Even better.

So while the absolute sincerity of most of the speakers is a good thing, objectively, it's also kind of a letdown, from the perspective of "important people usually run their mouths at these things and maybe some of them are just trying to talk the talk and divert suspicion." Which might have been kind of a long shot anyway, but if you throw enough things at the wall, eventually one of them has got to stick, and Sam's still trying to come up with more things to throw.

He's been paying attention through all of it - much better attention than you'd expect a fifteen-year-old boy to have for this kind of thing - but it's wearing on him, and by the time Seong-Hye Ngazi is speaking, his posture's starting to slouch and it takes him active effort to keep his eyes on the screen -

- until halfway through her speech, he tenses up, and practically snaps back to attention.

He's got a feeling about this one. ]

2.

[snaphiss]

[Mara has refused to let herself do anything but hit the ground flat footed. There are some serious questions she wants answered, but she doubts anything will go her way if she doesn't prove herself useful to this organization. As soon as she's arrived, she's been furiously researching the planet, its people, their culture. All of that has lead her to this memorial.]

[She feels something twitch in the crowd, and realizes belatedly that it's not the Force, but this new alternate, the mental invasion. But it goes both ways. It can be useful.]

[In the crowd, Mara is fairly camouflaged, dressed conservatively in muted colors. But to the Nest, she may stand out like a livewire, burning brightly with her own anger and frustration. She's noticed the boy she's apparently connected to, and uses the connection to redirect her frustration into an arrow pointing at her. Notice me.]

[She looks toward him and cocks her head to the side, slightly raising her eyebrow.]

[headinjuries]

[ He feels it before he sees her - and there's just a tinge of relief when he does, because Sam's control is horrible and he's been feeling at least a little self-conscious about radiating angry, frustrated teenage angst all over the Nest. But if someone else is doing it, then hey - makes him look a little better right?

Or at least a little less bad.

A moment later, he's able to pick her out, and...well, maybe that's a subtle signal to break off so they can talk and maybe it isn't, but he's glad for any excuse to get out of the crowd anyway, because Seong-Hye Ngazi's speech is giving him that same weird seasick feeling that he's been coming to realize means his bullshit detector is kicking into high gear.

(B-movies and comic books never warned him that the weird alien slug in your head might make you want to puke every time someone around you lies. He would really have liked to know about that part up front.)

So he starts picking his way through, muttering a few apologies under his breath when he steps on people's toes, ducking under tall people's arms, until he's at the edge of the crowd. ]

2

[tropism]

[ the relative feeling amongst them wasn't just something that was produced because of the tragedy. there was a name that hung in the air that giorno didn't know (anakin) that was whispered in the connections he has amongst them. he catches strains of private anger and sadness.

giorno himself is not a praying man, and had never seen the use of it ever since he was a child, but he'd like to hope that a repeat of this wouldn't be necessary.

he is scanning the crowd in muted fascination, blue eyes eyeing them quietly as he follows the lights and listens to the low buzz coming from the modifications in the crowd. he sees a few familiar faces but keeps his distance for the most part, preferring to observe in silence. when he sees sam snap in attention at the sight of the public security commission, he frowns in thought. ]

( Are you alright? )

[headinjuries]

[ God, that was probably more obvious than he should've been, wasn't it? Or is that only within the Nest? Maybe he wasn't...too abrupt, for someone who couldn't feel the mental snap and could only go by his posture.

He hazards a quick glance in either direction, and is relieved to find that none of the locals seem to have noticed his sudden discomfort, or if they have, they don't seem to care. ]

( Yeah, I just... )

[ Too bad this power doesn't come with an instruction manual. Or Cliff Notes, for everyone else. ]

( Something's off. With what she's saying. )

2

[batmotif]

[Bruce had told Sam that he would be attending the vigil, and anyone who casts a cursory glance over the gathered crowd would spot him easily enough. He's spent a majority of the time people-watching, occasionally putting on a courteous face for conversation towards anyone who may approach; but reliably, Bruce's seriousness seems proper for such a somber occasion. A vigil, he thinks, at times feels an awful lot like a funeral, and the grief wrought from many of the attendee's expressions makes empathy churn in the pit of his stomach.

The fact that they had lost one of their own as well made it impossible to completely detach himself from the pull of ambient sorrow, but he doesn't try to. He uses it to propel him forward, as further motivation to see if there's any information to be gleaned here -- and if not, then at least he's paid his respects.

When Seong-Hye Ngazi is making her speech, he feels a twinge of something, and his focus is pulled from the screen to the crowd. He catches a familiar face, and how Sam's body language drastically changes is clearly noticed.

Bruce pauses only briefly, then tugs at the thread of their connection. Though, he lacks subtlety -- it's more of a jolt trying to get the young man's attention, rather than a polite knock. If Sam glances over, Bruce will be a bit in the back, arms crossed against his chest. His creased brow should betray his question well enough. Basically, What is it?]

[headinjuries]

[ That gets another twitch, another shot of tension, and Sam's head snaps around to look -

...ah. Bruce really blends in, doesn't he? The implied question is obvious, but he doesn't look out of place at all. He's subtle.

Subtle. Really not Sam's strong point.

He shifts his gaze forward, back to the screen, and tries to ignore the churning in his stomach. Be cool. You're just another sad person who's eating up everything she's saying. (As if.) ]

( She's lying. )

II

[greentech]

[ Katie has mostly the same feeling about these proceedings as Sam does. She feels sorry for the people that were apparently lost when someone decided to set off a bomb, but this still isn't her planet. She does want to help, though. Aside from being a purely practical matter, she was (is) a paladin because helping people is something she finds important. This is all brand new to her, though, so she doesn't quite pick up on some of the more interesting facts and differences. It's her first time mingling. Give her a break.

She still picks up on his emotional change from halfway across the crowd. She turns to scan in his general direction, frowning. Pidge doesn't want this in her head. That doesn't mean she won't react to it. ]

( What's wrong? )

[headinjuries]

( Sorry. Not too good at, uh. Not thinking loud? )

[ Even with Angel having shown him her tricks for turning down the mental volume, he hasn't gotten too good at keeping it there when he's not really focused on it. ]

( But something's fishy. )

1

[inflori]

[ Petre doesn't go. One could argue it's just because he doesn't care, but there's the risk of someone making it religious in ways that Petre can't handle. The only thing worse than people standing around with offensive signs protesting against a memorial would be a demon vomiting everywhere.

And so, like the creepy, bored actual child he is, though, he tunes in to whichever of the hosts' thoughts get passed around. Soon as he catches a hold of Sam's question, that's what he immediately zooms in to. ]

( If it is, it sounds stupid as fuck. )

[ thus i have contributed to society and the universe once more ]

Ilde 'Saffron' Things | Wildcard OTA

[erbier]

[ Some of the spectators at the Royal Street Gaming Parlor had been there only to see her. It is a strange position to find herself in. She does not quite mourn them, that emotion is a thing of her distant past. She has seen too many die, and far more gruesomely. Indeed, when the explosion had first rung her loose, when the awareness of Anakin's death had been there viscerally but not quite understood... she had been disappointed not to die. She has been waiting for that fiery ending all of her life. With her wounds tended to and her mind better at ease, she has shaken off that fatalism.

But while she has recovered, she has a certain understanding that the people of Concordia will not have. That is why the act was meaningful, and if she is to carry on pretending to be one of them, she knows she will have to express some kind despair for them.

As she prepares to go to the vigil, she spends a long time staring at herself in the mirror. It is an unusual experience, she had spent most of her life with no concept or care for her looks beyond the fact that she was told she was beautiful. Here she spends time on the farce of it all, brushing hair hair into a fountain of silk, darkening her lips and lashes, pulling on another of her white dresses. Her awareness of the manipulativeness of her pretty face and her pretty voice is strong. Fascinating in its power, repugnant in its falseness.

She goes to the vigil, and even without trying shows a somber expression. Though if any of these people knew her well, they would that she carries her tired sadness with her always. She answers with meaningless platitudes when asked about her views on the bombing, gives her condolences to the families. She has grown very good at saying nothing at all in her time amongst the Concordians, truly only furthering her belief that they are a petty, shallow breed.

She cannot wait to be away from her. She dreams of the circle gardens back on the Station.

Finally, when asked to give a short tribute to the dead, she is... unsurprisingly prepared. She knows just such a tune, and she sings it softly into a microphone, ]

My cruel friend is a funeral bell...

[ Somewhere in the middle she realizes she is genuinely moved. It rushes up on her like a wave, her cheeks flushing with the emotion. It looks good to the journalists, who hear it in her voice and snap their pictures. When it is done she hurries away from the crowd to be alone. Quite a performance, though she wishes it were only that. ]

[tropism]

[ she is more popular than he expected. he keeps his distance from her as she talks to the press and gives her well-wishes to anyone who seems to need it; though he remembers what she'd said about concordia and its people back in the station. giorno's face is rather somber as he watches the crowd, and watches her sing. her voice is pretty good. ]

( That was lovely. ) [ he reaches out to her when she is done and she is mostly left alone by the press or some of the ones in the crowd who are familiar with her name. ] ( For a place you certainly don't care much for, you carry yourself well in a crowd. )

[shiro2hero]

[She's one of them. He's not entirely sure how he knows it. Maybe the same way he knows everyone else is. That odd sensation in his head he still can't fully tolerate. But... It's hard to ignore, because she really does seem upset. He's not the kind of person who can just ignore someone in a sort of distress.]

[He's hesitant to try it, but eventually, he reaches out.]

( I'm sorry. That didn't sound easy to do. )

[decommission]

Mind if I join you?

[ He finds her alone, some time after she escaped the spotlight. The service has his mind cloudy and somber, his disinterest in the lip service from the train of public figures leading him to the pull of Ilde's familiar presence. Like with Ren, he's opted to give her space in the aftermath of the fight, and the question in his tone is genuine. ]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Honestly, Sam's still not sure what to make of this mission. If he had to pick a side, yeah, hands down he'd be in favor of AI rights. Even after everything with Vision and Rhodes - well, Sam still thinks of the guy as a friend. More importantly, he thinks of the guy as a guy. As human as you can be when you're an AI put in a body made by another, more murderous AI along with a super genius and a Norse god.

Sometimes Sam misses the days where that didn't make sense to him.

But that's not the point. The point is that Sam doesn't know why they're here on some planet he hadn't even known existed, interfering with politics and whatever the hell else. It doesn't seem so much trying to stop this ultimate evil enemy as acting on someone's agenda, and Sam's had more than enough of other people's agendas.

And yet he's here anyway, out of respect for Skywalker and what his loss meant to his brood, to the rest of them - and because he knows at least a couple of his own broodmates will be here.

Sam can admit that he's maybe a little bit protective.

So he's keeping an eye out, both for them, and for any sign of something out of place. ]

( The perpetrators are always supposed to go back to the scene and show up at memorials, aren't they? See anyone that looks suspicious? )

[tropism]

( Sometimes. But something this big can be easily made impersonal, for any mercenary.

On the other hand, it is also an occasion to observe the ones who were willing to go in the first place. )

[ it is awkward to be in a vigil where neither of the politics made sense to him, but a life lost is a life lost, no matter what; and there have been plenty of them lost in the crossfire here. he feels a righteous, helpless sort of anger surge into him that he caps ruthlessly and squashes to the back of his mind. this is not his war, he has to remind himself. he cannot save everyone. ]

[headinjuries]

( Are they? You'd think they'd know better than to hang around... )

[ Coming back to the scene of the crime sounds like the stupidest idea ever, to Sam.

Then again, maybe that's why he's a space cop and not a space criminal, even if he doesn't always think much like a cop either. ]

Kyle Ron | OTA | local* man stands around and looks unhappy news at 11

[narcissithstic]

[Memorials are such feeble affairs. Pale gestures made to satisfy the living, not the dead. In the early years of the New Republic he'd attended more than a handful at his mother's side, another disconnected spectator that— like nearly everyone else in attendance— couldn't truly relate to the solemn sorrow sweeping through a select, sorry few.

In spite everything that he's lost, this feels no different.

Too many pay placid respects, scraping up some stored amount of empathy as electronic slivers of glass are lit, gifts left beside them while public figureheads put a voice to the tragedy. It's unsatisfying, to say the least. If not for the fact that he feels the weight of foreign eyes on him (less now than there were before), he'd likely keep to the fringe and hunt for a viable mental thread amongst the crowds. A glimpse of something malignant needing his attention before it festers, as it had during the finals. Instead, he's forced to seek some semblance of anonymity within the herd— a feat that's less than easy when Ren's well over six feet tall with a scar that runs across almost the entirety of his gigantic, dumb face.

Anakin's saber is kept at his hip throughout. Secured with a clip and gripped tightly by his right hand as insurance against either curiosity or greed. It lives with him now, and he doesn't so much as lie down to find sleep without ensuring that it still remains in his possession.

Unlike its twin, the double left to Ahsoka after Anakin's death, this one feels right. The more time spent in its company, the more certain he is of it. Of everything.]

man is kind of generous don't you think

[headinjuries]

[ Sam picked a spot right in the middle of things - right in the middle of the crowd, with a good view of the speakers. And for a while, that works out just fine, even if he hasn't really heard anything worth worrying about. A lot of condolences and a lot of talk about how to honor the memory of the dead and a lot of stuff that runs together after a while, and all of it sincere.

All of it until the Public Safety Commission speaks, at least.

Even the first part of that doesn't really stick out in his mind, but when she starts talking about the investigation, he feels that weird tinge of nausea that he's really starting to hate, the one that he's pieced together means there's something rotten in the state of Denmark.

And try as he might to keep listening, get as much as he can out of it - he also doesn't really want to lose his lunch on the person in front of him, so he starts weaving between the people blocking his way to the edge of the crowd. Maybe he shouldn't have planted himself so close to the middle.

Maybe he shouldn't have been trying to look at the screen even while he makes his retreat, because that might've kept him from running smack into Kylo Ren facefirst. (Which puts his face somewhere in the vicinity of Ren's chest. Sam is not a tall kid.) ]

'local thief stands around feeling smug when he should be guilty' - ftfy

[sensitively]

[ As she makes her way into the area cordoned off for the vigil, on the platform raised in front of the gaming parlour, Rey finds herself wondering what she’s doing by coming here. She knows some of the other hosts will be in attendance, both her Nestmates and some Broodmates, the latter being some consolation in the wake of her newly-healed injury. Perhaps it will distract her from her own concerns. In her efforts to fit in she's donned the airy, loose-fitting white clothing given to her upon her awakening, left her dark hair unbound and unrecognizable, loose about her shoulders; the last thing she wants at the moment is to call unnecessary attention to herself.

Perhaps, also, she will use the time and place to write her own eulogies in her head for those she’s recently lost.

Most of the speakers giving platitudes to the dead, though, do so over holographic projection — an extranet connection, she deduces — and to Rey this is surprising. How meaningful are their eulogies to the deceased and their families, if they aren’t even present in person? From what she can glean of the spoken words there’d been an explosion, and several deaths, and judging by the group of protesters on the fringe of the gathering there is more than bad blood after the fact.

She straightens her spine, feeling another pull of the scar and answering flare of pain along her spinal column. Rey tries to concentrate fully on the vigil before her, but there’s a keen sense of misplacement, mainly for the lightsaber she no longer possesses. She feels naked without it, despite only having owned it a short few days.

It’s then that she opens her senses fully and feels the hackles on the back of her neck raising, needles along the length of the puckered scar along her spine. She turns and sees Ren on the opposite end of the outskirts of the crowd, staring at her intently — how long he'd caught on to her presence, she has no idea — and at his hip, clipped to his belt, the hilt of a very familiar weapon.

Unable to help herself, she bristles along the unintentional connection. ]

( That’s mine. )

[erbier]

[ A brush from afar. Unobtrusive, but inquisitive. ]

[snaphiss]

[Mara is flitting through the crowd, taking great pains to appear idle and disinterested. She's no one of circumstance, of no import, just taking in the scene. Occasionally, she'll take notes in her datapad, but the press badge she's wearing explains that perfectly. There's nothing worth noticing about her.]

[There's something worth noticing about this tall, scarred man, though. Her eyes slide over it at first, barely registering what's in his hand, but her memory catches it. She's spent enough time lately staring at her lightsaber, thinking of what it means, what Skywalker meant in giving it to her. It's the only possession here she won't willingly part with, if push comes to shove.]

[And it appears this man has an exact replicate. Nothing she can think of explains it. She gapes, openly awestruck. Years of training enable her to keep her cool in the worst of times, but all of that training is meant for explicable events, not... this. Nothing explains this. She checks her side, under her jacket, where her saber still rests. Yes, it's still there. Then what is...]

[If her staring weren't enough, unprotected through the link, Mara sends off unsubtle bursts of confusion and panic, bordering on awe. And, as always, burning anger at the ridiculous scenario fate has felt it necessary to throw her in once again.]

[shiro2hero]

[He's not sure what's going on here. Being tossed into this whole thing blind, he hasn't had much of a chance to figure out where is where and what is what. Something dire happened at this place. Death -- because what else would a vigil be for?]

[Information is mostly why he's here. There was an attack -- he's gathered that. But why? How come there are so many robots here? Those... he's not sure what to make of those. The only robots he'd ever run across were the Gladiator in the castle, Pidge's late Rover, and, well... half the Galra sentries. Needless to say, they put him a little on edge.]

[So he keeps his distance. Hanging on the fringes of the crowd, and just watching. Quietly. Trying to blend into the background by virtue of sticking with black clothing. Once you had a motif to go with, it was sort of hard to break.]

[Of course, being on the edges means when said rabble rousers show up, they're going to inevitably jostle him.]

[One hopes matters are sorted before Public Security arrives.]

Ahsoka Tano | ota

[snippycup]

[The vigil isn't helping like Ahsoka had expected it to, but it was better than locking herself in the Bearings. She had seen the importance in the ceremonies when she had been among the Jedi order -- a chance for those who were not Force sensitive to feel connected to those they had lost, and a chance for those who were to say goodbye.

She hasn't felt Anakin's presence since the bombing. His light had been snuffed out in an instant, and by now she had accepted that it wasn't coming back. With the Force so weak, it came as no surprise, but the weight of his lightsaber on her belt is heavy -- almost as heavy as the small, ornate little box that she clasps between her hands.

Over and over, different voices in her head remind her of the dangers of attachment as someone who is Force-sensitive, and she can't help but wonder if she had done the right thing by her old Master. Since he isn't there to ask for guidance, she finds herself forced to accept that the alternatives were not acceptable.

So she would carry what was left the best she could, until she found somewhere more suitable. Meanwhile, she had found herself a ledge that gave her a small vantage point over the crowd, enough to allow her to hear and see what was going on around her. The vigil might not be doing anything for her, but the noise kept her distracted enough that she could allow her mind to go blank.

For now, she allowed her eyes to close, keeping her attention on the noise of the Nest, and what little she felt from the Force flow in the area.]

[greentech]

[ The crowd doesn't exactly make Pidge uncomfortable, but she's become oddly used to the vast emptiness of the castle. It's like mood whiplash. So she skirts the edges, trying to keep her eyes and ears open. There's a lot to learn about this planet and her new "friends". She can't afford to just shut herself in her room, as much as a part of her would like to do that. Ahsoka catches her eye (and there's a bit of a tug from her symbiote), so she detours slightly, leaning against the wall and peering up at her with a curious expression. ]

Kind of a weird place to take a nap.