✨ XIMILIA TOWN HALL MEETING ✨ ( video/audio/action )

[farr]

[ some morning in the middle of the week, during their return to the station, an invitation will be taped on the door of every orber. though the calligraphy would suggest this must have been typed on a computer and printer, each invitation is actually very carefully hand-written and reads as follows: ]

[ the idea is for everyone to meet in the mess hall at the intended time, but if some choose not to attend, the meeting can still be accessed by the earpieces, allowing all orbers to watch or listen in and contribute however they wish, no matter where they are.

however, for those who do decide to attend, the mess hall features a full display of bagels and donuts, along with plenty of fresh coffee, all to help everyone wake up and feel refreshed for the meeting that's about to take place.

a makeshift little stage, arranged by stacking together a few metal boxes is at the center of the room, atop of it being the one and only rita farr herself, with a bright optimistic smile. when she sees enough people present and settled, she speaks up, loud and clear: ]

Hello, everyone! Welcome to our first Annual — or monthly, or however we decide to do it — Town Hall meeting! Thank you all for coming and please enjoy the food to your heart's content. For those who don't know me, I'm Rita Farr. Now— though my name does appear on the invitation, this is hardly about me. This is about all of us.

After our ... last mission, it became quite clear that our group could use a bit of improvement with how we approach our next missions moving forward. And I thought the best way to plan for that is to allow all of us an opportunity to discuss how we all feel about what we've done well and what we could do better. After all, everyone deserves a say in this, right?

[ she points behind her where a giant board is on display on an easel, once again, hand-written with careful and precise calligraphy in giant letters: ]


Here, I've written some sample questions we can all try to offer answers to, but the floor will also be open for any other questions and suggestions that anyone might have. Remember, there are no wrong answers! We're all here for an open forum discussion. But before that!

[ she reaches over to the board, pulling it off to reveal another one behind it. this one reads as follows: ]


Please consider the "Keys to Success", not only on our missions, but as we talk together in this room right now. We'll go ahead and take turns either stepping up here on the stage or speaking out from wherever you are. There are no microphones but the earpieces should get your voices out to everyone. Now, who would like to start?


( this post is open to all! the idea is that everyone is taking turns in each thread to speak out to the entire group (whether from within the room or from elsewhere), but thread-jacking and hopping around for discussion is the key here! feel free to run wild with ic suggestions or questions regarding mission layouts or planning or whatever floats your boat (ic complaining/protest is always an option too). though rita is organizing it, it's open to whatever people are inclined to discuss. )

Comments

[peasant]

[ in an impeccable demonstration of table manners, she swipes the back of her knuckles through the brown speckles on her chin first. accepting the napkin is a belated afterthought; much like a caveman seeing fire for the first time, alina turns it over her hand and stares, before using it to scrub at the excess dribble on her mouth.

she doesn't have the elegant bearing to look contrite. the closest she comes to shame is the self-conscious divot forming between her eyebrows. her eyes awkwardly dart from his to the soiled napkin, only to shove that in her (now equally glazed) pockets next. ]

I don't know. The taste of dirt might grow on me.

[ to sass or not to sass, that's the question. she seems to realize her desire for something mildly drinkable is a greater priority, a second too late; after that halting pause: ]

Where's the tea?

[blackfire]

（ the clone watches this with both eyebrows faintly raised, riveted by the spectacle of it all.

disgusting.

yet, he is reminded oddly of shinko's country manners, and endeared despite himself. his interactions with alina thus far have been strictly via the network and its texting feature — having the context of her body language added to their dynamic is... interesting, to say the least. ）

I am given to understand most people add cream and sugar to make it palpable.

（ couldn't be him. either your drink is consumable in its purest form or not at all, and yes he is absolutely a tea snob, thank u for attending his ted talk. ）

But the tea is there.

（ he points to a small pot set out on one of the tables, and then just sort of... stands out of her way. ）

[peasant]

[ being gawked at like a circus animal never stands to gain any appeal. alina's mouth furls, a defensive bracket on her face. it stays firmly locked in place as she skirts by to eye the still-steaming pot. ]

Sugar and cream is a luxury. I don't want to waste it on dirt water.

[ to have food portions in abundance here is just the same: a luxury. swill and crumbs pass for a balanced daily diet in ravka's border, but she's since learned the majority of the ship has never known the type of hunger that digs pits in your stomach. never had to go to bed hungry, with only a speck of hope for a better day to sustain you.

it's not worth retaining any bitterness. just a factual statement from the mouth of someone who has aged with that truth.

as she's filling a mug, she seems to come to a realization, squinting over in his direction. ]

How good can it really be if you're not having any?

[blackfire]

（ war may ravaged his country when he was a child, but in the armistice that followed konoha was a land of plenty — even orphans did not, by and large, starve in the streets. yet he is not unaccustomed to long missions with scant food, and he has walked through more than one village with emaciated bodies littering the streets. badrock had troubled him less than most, and she had been there, hadn't she?

so. he understands her sentiment, can guess at its origin. does she even realize what she gives so carelessly away? an open book with pages like knives, is alina. to be thumbed through at one's own peril. ）

Would you like me to prove it isn't poisoned?

（ a curl of dry, wan humour. it isn't as if clones cannot eat. they are full flesh-and-blood duplicates, with all the anatomy that entails. he has always found it jarring to, on the clone's dispersal, have the stomach contents transferred to the original body in an abrupt rush. simply put — it makes him nauseous.

nausea, however, is a survivable thing. he obligingly pours himself a cup — it is the shincha style of green tea, leaves harvested in early spring. a sweet, nuanced brew lacking the astringency of some heavier variants.

(local nerd has but one hobby, and that hobby is visiting tea houses.) ）

I cannot promise that it will be to your taste any more than coffee was, if you have no such prior experience with it. However — （ he lifts the cup, takes a delicate sip. see? no poison to speak of, even if his statement had been half a joke. ） — it is certainly less bitter.

[peasant]

I'm not important enough for you to bother with poison.

[ — factually untrue. but removed from ravka's saintly pedestal, perhaps it's a skewed version of a new truth. she's no more significant than the next orber among their numbers, bizarrely normal in this sea of unique powers and people. she sinks her teeth into that change like a famished animal, always in pursuit of that belonging, that removal of otherness from her existence.

perhaps she's merely playing pretend as kirigan would likely accuse, like a child inventing stories for her precious dolls. with all that ravka would take from her, she's more than earned the right to a little session of make-believe.

there's no need, then, to mention the tasters she'd had at the little palace. that the only ones who believe themselves important enough to be poisoned are those with ambitions or those with a paranoia to rival her own. her lips pinch, instead, an expression of begrudging good-humor.

with considerably less grace, she lifts her own cup to her lips. it is, by some stroke of fortune, considerably less of a messy affair this time — though there's a moment where her fingers tap her mouth, trying to soothe them from a scorching sip of tea. ]

Better. [ a beat ticks by. her eyebrows lift. ] We'll have to see if you drop dead from slow-moving poison in the next hour.

cw: vague medicinal drug use

[blackfire]

If that were my aim, don't you imagine I would have used one I am not likely to be affected by?

（ he may not have been an expert, but he worked alongside an aburame and troubled himself to learn appropriate measures and countermeasures, waiting for that inevitable betrayal that was instead directed against shisui. since he was in anbu, he has carried antidotes sewn into the hems of his clothing, immaculately labelled with a neat hand, and in his later years... kotarō gave him uncanny tolerance to a great many things, in the grip of its vile clouding of the mind. ）

But it is much likely to simply be tea.

[peasant]

[ a shrug signals her uncertainty. spycraft is far from her area of expertise, beyond genya's many faces — friend, soldier, devoted liar. perhaps she should have suspected a tailor would weave together alluring masks of her own with the same craftsmanship, if given the chance.

she washes away the rancid bitter grudge forming a lump in her throat with a scalding sip, nearly welcoming the burn of her tongue's nerve-endings. ]

Not if you had no access to one. What I imagine is you're dedicated to what you are.

[ this theoretical scenario, alina decides, has taken an unwelcome turn into the reality of her own opinions. her mouth screws to the side, a scrunching twist of lips. ]

I'm not actually worried it's anything more than tea. You've no reason to target me.

[ nothing to gain. everything to lose. bizarrely, that line of logic casts his motives in a less dubious light than it would for most that would approach her. funny that a professed liar warrants less skepticism, by comparison. ]

[blackfire]

（ his mouth quirks up at one side, amused at her assessment. ）

No. （ that is said agreeably, with a faint bow of his head. ） And in any case, I have no interest in poison.

（ that isn't to say it does not have its applications — but it took his best friend from him all those years ago, and while he is not so sentimental to entirely eschew its use entirely, he still detests it on principle. ）

It was kind of Rita to provide refreshments.

[peasant]

As kind as any bribe can be.

[ it's said with no shortage of amusement. surely itachi has gleaned that. the effectiveness of it is — well. alina's hands in the honeypot speak for itself, showcasing the same lack of self-discipline of hungry bears. if the metal hinges of a trap were waiting for her, she would have fumbled her way directly into its jaws.

fortunately for the both of them, rita's bait is harmless. the worst punishment alina can imagine is a headache throbbing at her temples for having to endure the voices that stack atop each other, determined to be heard over one another. ]

It's obviously worked. She's dragged us all here after our last disastrous attempt at discussing anything.

[blackfire]

I do not think there is a problem with trying to improve our interpersonal relationship. It is an important aspect of any teamwork.

（ teamwork is a curious thing to him. watching tenma die certainly had a formative effect on him, and in anbu he was too far gone to extend that trust to anyone. even kakashi he preferred to keep at arm's length.

trying to reclaim that lost concept has been... interesting, to say the least. ）

As to whether or not anything will come of it is difficult to say. Emotions are still high.

[peasant]

If that's what you want to call it.

[ interpersonal relationship. she has her own set of cynical terms she'd choose: interpersonal conflict signed at the top of the list, next to its neighbor of forced allianceship. the curve of her shoulders shrug, almost juvenilely dismissive. ]

We're too different to expect that we'll find common ground on every mission. [ the edge of her cup obscures the fold of her frown, steam billowing upward like a cloudy curtain at her behest. ] I doubt that's ever going to change.

[blackfire]

If you look for differences, it is all you will ever see. But we are all here, all driven by one commonality.

（ he is a child of such conflict, lost early to the rigors of those to whom those differences could not be overcome. but peace, its concept, its very essence, has been the prevailing drumbeat of his heart for nearly two decades now.

he regards the crowd a moment longer, and then — ）

If you will excuse me, Alina.

（ he gives her a respectful nod of his head, and then he vanishes into the crowd. ）