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[cowled]

[The image opens on Bruce Wayne at his finest. He's wearing (1) new suit designed by Favrielle, and he's looking pretty swank. Because Bruce Wayne. And Reasons.]

All right, Keeliai, I have a business opportunity to propose. As of right now, I'm relaunching Wayne Enterprises. For those of you who've never heard the name before, it's a multi-national business conglomerate with a focus on humanitarian aid and the like, based out of Gotham City back home.

Anyway. For the duration of my stay here, I'm looking to start in pharmaceuticals - I'm sure you've all noticed the kedan have never even heard of ibuprofen - and work our way up from there. Essentially, I'm looking to better the quality of life for everyone on Tu Vishan, foreigner and local alike.

If anyone's interested in working for me, or if you have experience in a pharmaceutical field, feel free to contact me over the network. We can arrange a meeting in person if you'd prefer. Confidentiality is guaranteed in either case. I'm paying twice the rates the kedan offer, and I've arranged it with the local authorities such that any time you work towards me counts towards your overall work 'obligation' [can you hear the finger quotes falling around that word] here in Keeliai.

Thanks for your time.




[ooc; tags will be sketchy, but I wanted to get this up and get the ball rolling on this plot before I poofed from the internet. <3]

Comments

[cowled]

[He watches her through all this. Making assessments. Running calculations. 'Cyborg' rings dangerously close to 'meta', but she's a child. He wouldn't just let her 'break own'.]

And what happens if I recreate it for you, and give it to you? What exactly are you programmed to do?

[daughterofelysium]

Protect. Obey. [It's wry, a veil of humor worn thin over anger. Her voice drops a little.] Fight, kill. What do you think something like me would be for?

[Though that almost makes her smile, thinking of Hilshire. His awkward determination to give her a life beyond protect, obey, fight, kill, his fantastic failure to communicate it.] There's no one to order me to do that, here. People will only get hurt if I don't have it.

[Unless she leaves the city, which is always a possibility. But not until she's really losing it, not until she hits the edge. Until then, she's going to hang on to hope.]

[cowled]

[... More scrutiny. And then,]

I'll manufacture your drug for you, in whatever quantity you need. And I'll teach you how to do it yourself, so you needn't rely on anyone for it. But I want something from you in return.

[daughterofelysium]

I figured you probably would. [She straightens, crossing her arms.] What? A bodyguard? I can take the kedan all right, if they're not in a mob. If you want me to kill someone here it won't do you any good anyway. [That does get her to smile.] They come back.

[cowled]

I want you to promise not to kill anyone.

[It always comes back to killing with Bruce, doesn't it.]

[daughterofelysium]

[She gives him a blank look. Because that was the opposite of what she expected.]

You're kidding, right? [Triela braces, plants her feet a little wider apart, squares her shoulders. It's a defensive posture, the one she using when picking or accepting a fight - she doesn't even realize she's doing it.] You said you're part of a multi-national conglomerate and you're telling me you don't want me to kill anyone.

[cowled]

Do you have a problem with that?

[He's adopted the manner of speaking he uses when giving speeches to a classroom of children in high-risk areas for delinquency. It's very much an alpha-male tone, even if he hasn't lost an octave off his voice and isn't snarling out his words.]

[daughterofelysium]

Well - no, but. [Her posture slackens, and now she looks slightly confused.] I don't get it. Why?

[In her experience, money and corruption don't only go hand in hand. They engage in the kind of affairs she'll never be old enough to read about.] You could ask for anything you want, pretty much. I'll die without the drug.

[cowled]

[Bruce crouches down in front of her. He's still quite a bit bigger than she is, but the gap's a little narrower, at least.]

When I was a bit younger than you are now, my parents were murdered in front of me in an alley much like this one. Since then, I've believed that no one should ever have to go through anything like that ever again. Life... doesn't always work out that way. But that doesn't mean we can't try. Do you agree?

[daughterofelysium]

[If things were slightly different - if the Agency took boys - he could have ended up one of them. Triela looks down.] When I go back, if they order me to, I might not have a choice. If I disobey, they could change my conditioning - take my memories, whatever they want. I might not even remember I promised you anything.

[But it isn't a no.] Signore Hilshire - my handler - he would understand, but they blackmailed him into joining in the first place. He won't be able to stop them.

[cowled]

No one knows what happens when we leave. That's all right. Swear to me here.

[He'll worry about the rest later.]

[daughterofelysium]

...I. [Promising not to kill. It's a little terrifying.] I swear.

[Hands into fists. She can do this. She can not kill. If it means staying alive long enough to get home.] But there's something else. Don't show me how to make it. It's addictive. It wears us down, makes us go kind of crazy after a while. Signore Hilshire told me never to take more than an emergency dosage with me into the field. Just in case. There's a man named Signore -

[She stops herself and tries again, like saying his first name is a struggle.] Clint Barton. Show him how to make it, or show someone he picks.

[cowled]

All right.

[He rocks back on his heels, but isn't quite ready to stand yet.]

I'll need tissue and blood samples. You'll have to meet one of my scientists. I'll be there the whole time, she won't hurt you.

[daughterofelysium]

[She grins ironically.] I'm used to blood and tissue samples.

[cowled]

Mmn.

[He straightens up, dusts off his pants.]

Tell me about Clint.

[More than what he's gleaned from the network, anyway.]

[daughterofelysium]

Signore Barton? Why? [Her tone is unmistakably protective.]

[cowled]

Because, indirectly or not, you're asking me to trust him too.

[His tone stays... reasonably gentle.]

[daughterofelysium]

I... can't.

[Well. That's a revelation. Triela ducks her head, hating the fact that cyborgs can blush like anyone else.] I can tell you what he did for me. I can ask him if he'll meet you. But that's all I can do.

[He's too much like her to like being talked about behind his back. Too similar in skill set for doing it to feel like anything but a betrayal.]

[cowled]

[... Interesting.]

That's sufficient.

[daughterofelysium]

[There's something weirdly reassuring in his brusqueness. He reminds her of her trainer with the Carabinieri a little bit.] He said he'd teach me the bow. Both of us got... we were...

[She can almost feel blood drooling into the cloth at her knees. Her pupils shutter wide - wider - and her focus slides off of Bruce.] The turtle's head. We got taken with the kedan. He got me to run before they killed him.

[Mechanical, a battered soldier's report. She blinks, then again, and forces herself not to shiver. She's not some sheltered Italian child. By rights she shouldn't feel much about what happened one way or the other - and she doesn't, for the kedan, really. But the thought of blood on turtle hide still makes her queasy.] I've been staying with him, since right after we helped clean out the Black Kirin.

[cowled]

[... It's not often that other people can say something in such a way that warrants Bruce respecting them on that alone, but this does it. He nods.]

Mm. Come with me. Are you all right to walk?

[daughterofelysium]

Of course. [She's chased fugitives through Milan during period cramps, Bruce. Gosh.] We're going to see your scientist?

[A pause.] Are you sure you don't need a bodyguard? Coming out here on your own was pretty stupid, even if I do just look like a kid.

[cowled]

[He nods to her first question, and then...

Welp. Then he laughs.]

I don't believe in body guards. It makes people think you feel your life is valuable enough to warrant trying to end it.

[daughterofelysium]

[She watches him sidelong as they walk, considering that.] I guess.

[That could be part of why the Agency uses kids instead of adult subjects, more than just the health risks involved.] You don't have any? The politicians and the business men in Rome use them as status symbols half the time, even if nobody wants them dead - which most people probably do, so it works out for them either way.

[cowled]

No.

[He returns that glance with the tiniest bit of a smile.]

I don't need a status symbol.