for i am born to be what i must be and i must be.

[obediences]

WHO: Luther Hargreeves & you!
WHAT: A government enforcer, obedient to the wrong people because at least they weren’t as bad as his last authority figure.
WHEN: Catch-all for throughout the plot, will add prompts as needed
WHERE: In the streets, at government facilities, with his team of fellow enforcers, at home, wherever.

[ RATIFICATION CELEBRATION | OTA ]

After a decade in the City, Luther Hargreeves knows how this dog-and-pony show goes.

The meta known as Space is a steady and reliable appearance at public events throughout the month: he smiles politely for photos, he haunts the Archangel Gabriel’s side as a bodyguard, and he parrots the right words, the PR lines he’s been drilled into saying, the party line. Order and stability is more important than ever these days, now that the Porter’s spewing chaos back into their well-ordered life.

Or so they say. Or so they tell him.

You can find him working security, most likely, or watching the celebrations with more hawk-like attention than cheer (probably keeping an eye open for trouble). Parades, parties both public and private, his schedule’s packed with them all.

[ GOVERNMENT TEAMBUILDING | OPEN TO OTHER ENFORCER PALS ]

The truth is, though, that they’re stretched thin. Pulling long hours, doing the usual work of hunting the resistance, but also trying to track down new metas now, all the ones who slipped through their net when the Porter started working in overdrive.

His teammates can start to sense the change in the air when Luther’s stomping around the government complex, glowering at their map on the wall with pins of known resistance activity, or throwing himself into obsessive training and punching the punching bags a bit too hard until they spill stuffing all over the floor. Even the Ratification streamers hung (in an obligatory sort of fashion) around the office don’t improve his mood much.

[ WILDCARD ]

get @ me! i'm on plurk at quadrille if u wanna plot or if you want me to add a personalised starter for you :> will match prose or brackets, too.
also of note: he’s still 6’5”, but looks human in this AU and doesn’t have his half-ape physiology!

Comments

got to get a bigger picture / closed to jane porter

[obediences]

And then, sometimes, Luther does manage to let his metaphorical hair down. Loosens his tie, and the skin of the strict, rigid government enforcer melts away when he’s not on the clock. It’s like he’s shedding a weight off his shoulders and he tries to let himself honestly enjoy some of the holiday, although part of him still has his attention half-craned listening for trouble.

It’s a barbeque in a public park, people milling over the grass, dull bass of music thrumming in the distance. For a moment, you can forget that the Porter’s acting up for the first time in years and the authorities are stretched thin. (And that the government has its boot on the neck of the people.)

Instead, Luther just glances over at his friend, an entirely different kind of Porter, and bites back a laugh.

“You have some ketchup on your chin,” he points out, pausing before taking another bite of his hot dog.

[cantgetanyworse]

"Oops." She fumbles the hot dog between her hands and uses the side of one finger to catch the drip of ketchup before it can fall onto her clothes. Clumsy, clumsy. Jane chuckles at herself and shakes her head, humming out a few soft notes of a song while she settles the hot dog bun more securely in her hands and checks the end of it to make sure nothing is going to escape.

"We can't all have a mouth big enough to fit the entire circumference of a hot dog," Jane says then, gently bumping her elbow against Luther's arm.

"Watch your privilege."

[obediences]

He can't help the laugh. (In this world, Luther's simultaneously sterner — his job asks much of him, demands a certain breed of ruthlessness — and somehow more relaxed. Quicker to wield that trained charm, the camera-ready smile. There's less weight on his shoulders, both literal and metaphorical.)

"You know, you're joking, but the government did actually have me enter an eating competition once. For publicity. Turns out I can eat a whole hot dog in a single bite. I was still pretty damned sick by the end of it, though, so never again."

A faint, nagging memory: he'd done the same as a kid, snuck out with his siblings, eaten himself ill on too many donuts in childish exuberance.

He ignores the memory. It's irrelevant. He hasn't seen them in a decade; never will again, unless the Porter decides to heave his siblings through now, and that seems unlikely.

Tech Upgrade;

[redcosmedic]

Luther receives a comm ping directing him to the large engineering bay at his earliest convenience. Knock Out has been a regular fixture in that space for the last six years (except for seven months in 2015 where he was conspicuously absent), churning out anti-resistance tech for the government such as pulse blasters (inducing weaponized, crippling vertigo that had become a favourite of enforcers), electrified capture nets, power nullifiers and inhibitor cuffs.

But their government overlords are always demanding something new, something better, something more effective. Especially with the Porter dumping a new load of Metas into the City without warning.

As one of the government's foremost enforcers and with such prominent placement at Gabriel's side, Knock Out's handler had decided that Luther was to receive the first working unit of the mech's newest invention, and now it was ready for him.

[obediences]

The massive mech is a familiar sight rounding out the bay, moving back and forth between various workbenches containing half-assembled or finished inventions. Much as Luther's visits down here are a matter of pure business, a re-fitting of newer and better ways to kill and incapacitate, each time also feels a bit like Christmas: he finds his steps lengthening, speeding up a bit as he strides down the metal walkways towards the distant gleam of a red chassis. As ever, intrigued to see what Knock Out's managed to cook up this time.

As strange as it is to say about this arrangement: it's also been Luther's closest thing to interacting with Reginald Hargreeves' own kind of mad science. His father's various inventions, crackpot tech turned into weaponry and Televators and aerial flotation devices.

"What's on the menu today?" the man asks as he approaches, as if he's strolling into a particularly strange restaurant.

[redcosmedic]

"Luther," Knock Out greets hospitably, turning to greet the enforcer. As always, his tone is carefully complaisant, never holding any inflection that could be construed as rebellious or disrespectful. Especially not around someone like Luther, who the mech knew wouldn't hesitate to report any insolence (real or perceived) as fast as a quantum blink.

The engineering bay is fitted with those metal walkways at various height levels, so people can converse with him without having to look up twenty feet. Once Luther's chosen his placement, Knock Out approaches, holding a metal disk about a human handspan across delicately in his claws.

"I was assigned to create prototypes for personal shield units," he notes. "It was decided that you would get the first functional model."

[afallon]

Askeladd tends not to do any of his own training when others are around. But he stops by the room to see how others are doing, finding, as now, a spot near the door where he can lean against the wall and watch. It's a good way to get an idea of who's slacking off, or of how morale is.

From the way Luther's attacking that punching bag, his morale isn't the best.

When the bag splits open, Askeladd waits a few moments before stepping forward with a theatrical sigh. "Now, how am I going to explain that expense?"

[obediences]

Luther's looking down at the grain as it spills messily across the training mats, flexing one of his hands contemplatively, scrutinising the pristine knuckles. It's been a long while since he lost control of his strength like this. It's such a lifelong habit: always reining himself in, rarely using the full extent of his powers.

"You can bill my next paycheck," he says, shaking his head. Luther doesn't buy much for himself anyway; he's a relentlessly practical colleague, thrifty and not fond of extravagances. He entertains himself with books, mostly, and those aren't expensive.

Then he glances back over his shoulder at his team leader. Clearly sounding a little annoyed at himself, mostly annoyed at the situation they find themselves in: "We need more of those augmented bags. I know they're pricier, but I'm not the only meta with superstrength in the facility."

[afallon]

Askeladd crosses his arms, appraising both the bag and Luther, then cocks his head to the side with a wry smile. "I'm sure I can come up with a reason." Heavy use these days, and all that. And surely his superiors want a safe way for metas to let off steam.

You have to let the dog's leash out a bit now and then.

"The regular bags aren't usually a problem." The for you goes unstated.

and the ending’s not the same, they changed it from the book / closed to allison hargreeves

[obediences]

God help him, he’d started to get comfortable. He had a job he liked, a well-honed team that gave him purpose (and that, after all these years, echoed what he remembered as the best days of the academy), and a government-funded house with Allison, and things were stable.

Of course, then came January 14th. More out-of-control powers exploding all over the city, the team mustering more often, more rebel activity than there had been in ages, more risky missions than they’ve tackled in a while. Tonight, there’s a flaming wreckage of a crash on the highway, a transport gone wrong, a battle breaking out on the street between enforcers and resistance metas.

The battle feels like home.

There’s a smooth grace to the way Allison fights, and even after so many years, Luther finds himself pausing to admire it; his attention slipping for a second, his head turning to watch her whirl and kick and a ferocious smirk spread across her face.

Then one of the fighters comes for him, but even as they start lunging for him, the tall blond man is simply… not there anymore.

Blink. And Luther’s gone, reappearing several feet behind the attacker, and there’s the easy pull of a trigger and another body hitting the ground.

Blink.

Number Five had been terrifying with this power, a tiny nimble whirling dervish of lethal energy — and his twin brother, handed the same ability, is no less. Luther’s a massive shadow falling across them, a pair of hands twisting and snapping bone, flinging bodies left and right. He doesn’t mouth off like Five once did in their missions; just sets himself silently, methodically, to ruthless work.

[numberthree]

Allison is good at the smooth, quiet, professionalism of her day job for Gabriel -- the interrogator who can't be lied to, the enforcer who can make you do anything she wants -- but she loves this. She's always loved this. The movement. The instinct. The connection. The sharpness in the crack that is serious damage to the jaw of the man she roundhoused. The way she comes back from that turn, while he's trying to hold his head and however many pieces it might be broken into, screaming through a mouthful of blood, and she's already punching right into that guarding hand over the impact spot, without a second's hesitation or mercy, until he's falling at her feet.

"You should stay down if you're still attached to breathing."

Honest to god, she really hopes he doesn't, even though she knows Gabriel will want some of them for answers.

For following the trails of the rebel mice back to wherever it is they're holed up now, to keep working on beheading their ringleaders.

[obediences]

Her other half had been clumsy with his new Porter-granted power, once upon a time — but Luther's long-since mastered the teleportation, the disorienting way he darts and blips across the battlefield. It made him a faster combatant, lent him speed to match that terrifying spine-snapping strength.

"On your left!" Luther shouts at one point, and Allison knows to duck under a flying volley of telepathically-flung knives (that, for a second, reminds him unnervingly of Diego, and he presses that memory down). They move with an easy synchronicity that came from so much time fighting together, knowing each others' limits, how far to trust each other to handle their own in the fight.

The Rumor's reputation as an interrogator has spread, over the past few years: some of the people they fight refuse to be taken alive by her, since they know they'll crack open and spill their secrets once her power gets to work on them. So some of the rebels fight until there's no choice but to put them down; they put themselves into comas; sometimes they bite down on poison.

The Hargreeves should be hauling their quarry in alive — it's more useful — but the Academy-trained soldiers don't often pull their punches. It's faster, easier, to just lay devastation in their wake. The Monocle had never taught them to have a gentle hand, and at the end of the day, with countless new metas now flooding the City and destabilising everything, their bosses have stopped caring quite so much about the collateral.

i've come to wish aloud among the overdressed crowd / closed to lilith

[obediences]

[ more often than not, luther is gabriel's shadow rather than his wife's. the man is more at ease around the archangel, more accustomed to his whims and tics — luther has trouble reading the inscrutable demoness, unsurprisingly — but his duties still sprawl and overlap with protecting both halves of the married couple.

so on this night, at this party, luther's watching over her late arrival (gabriel's already here, somewhere indoors, greasing palms and cutting a deal for another public appearance). standing outside the bulletproof car, holding the door for her as she climbs out, all well-turned elegance.

and there have been anti-government protestors pushing up against the barriers, which is nothing new, but suddenly one of them is swarming right past them and lunging for lilith—

and before he's even consciously thought about it, the bodyguard's already installed himself between them, one broad arm slamming the protestor back. ]

[sathan]

( though lilith isn't afraid of anyone here, even angry protestors, the lunge does take her by surprise, stepping back and finding luther already acting. she has her magic as a defence, something she's willingly and willfully used in the past though-- certain situations make it not go over well. and as much as she'd prefer to she has to keep her cover with gabriel, protecting his image by allowing luther to be her saviour.

which gives way to the very dry comment that comes from her, a scrutinising look at the man that's now fallen to the ground )

My hero.

( she's polite if preferring the whole thing to not happen )

I assume you know what to do with him.

Ratification

[onthe_threshold]

Even in a world of metahumans, six-foot-five is still tall. This might be one of the reasons Space always stuck in Matthew's mind - finally, somebody was the same height as himself. It helped, too, that the other had a reputation for the same near-mindless loyalty that Matthew had. They'd never been friends, but he knew of Space. Oh yes.

Not that he's seen him in quite some time. Luther, after all, is still with the enforcers whereas Matthew had gone off the grid after an extremely violent revolt. Still, when Matthew spots the other man at one of the (stupid, in his opinion) parade after-parties, he smiles.

Not pleasantly, but that's just because nothing about Matthew is pleasant.

He stays where he is, drink in hand, curious if he will be spotted. And if he is, what one of the best enforcers in the City will do when confronted with a traitor.

RUBS HANDS TOGETHER GLEEFULLY.... sorry this took so long, i was on a work trip!

[obediences]

They both stand head-and-shoulders above the rest of the crowd, and so it's easy enough for their attention to accidentally drift over to each other and note the other blond giant, both of them positioned along the outside of the room with clear views of the exits. And upon seeing him, Luther does a visible double-take, his gaze snapping back to the former enforcer, then his brow crinkling as he susses out whether it really is Callahan.

But there's really no mistaking the other blond man. Matthew is noticeable, just like how Luther is. Too alike for their own good. Both too devoted to the job to ever be properly friendly. But allies, of a kind, once. Before Matthew went and fucking turned.

You can practically watch the gears turning in Luther's head, before he sets off through the crowd towards the other man. Luther's shoulders are squared but he's still carrying his own cocktail glass; that, at least, is a sign that he's not set on creating a scene.

Not just yet, anyway.

"You," he says, once he's close enough.

ratification

[choosetruth]

Georgia doesn't enjoy the celebration. Too many people. Too loud. Too government sponsored. There are all sorts of reasons for her to avoid the area, and for the most part, she does.

But she's a reporter, and she has to go where the news is. The right story is worth the headache, especially if Anathema can come through with the magic migraine teas.

There is the problem that she's a known member of the resistance, but without her iconic black and white blazer, she's not quite as recognizable. A dark blue hoodie, nondescript jeans, and a hat keep her looking like just another member of the crowd. She's still wearing sunglasses of course, but so are lots of people. It's bright out. She's also wearing a lot of cameras, but most are too small to notice unless you know they're there.

She's being careful, keeping an eye out for enforcers and avoiding them. But even she can't think of everything. She only notices last moment when someone's hand darts into her bag and snags her wallet.

"Hey!" She turns, but there's too much crowd, and she's touch-averse enough that she doesn't want to shove her way through. "That's mine!"

[obediences]

The increased crowds for the ratification celebrations means that, on top of all the new arrivals and extra work trying to keep them all processed and in line and readjusting to this world, there's increased petty crime, too. The work never ends.

So the thief goes scurrying off through the crowds, jubilant in their successful grab, already speeding away before anyone can stop him—

Until he crashes facefirst into an immovable wall.

One second ago, the street had been empty air and a clear escape. Now, suddenly, that wall is Luther, teleported into place and a fist snaring the other man's collar and lifting him straight off the ground.

"We'll have that back, thanks," he says, with a brilliant smile that's cut right from the newspapers. Luther takes back the wallet while the other man's feet kick and windmill; he deposits him with the police along the parade route, like handing over a child throwing a tantrum, then starts working his way back through the crowd looking for the owner who shouted.

When Luther finds her, his smile's gone down a watt or two, down to blandly polite as he holds out the wallet. "I think this is yours, ma'am?"

government

[rebelarrow]

[Over the years Judd has become a familiar fixture in the main government complex, ostensibly as a trainer for various fields. Only a select few know his true purpose, and even fewer see it in action. Luckily for everyone, he's not on one of those missions right now as he seemingly glides through the halls--moving quicker than a normal person despite clearly not being in a hurry--dressed in his usual all-black uniform.

Finally finding the door he's looking for, he doesn't bother to knock as he instead barges right in.]

Luther. Are you quite done with your temper tantrum?

[As usual, his voice is cold as ice and his face icily emotionless to match.]

[obediences]

I'm not—

[ Actually, yes, he's throwing a temper tantrum. He stops, steadying the punching bag with one hand. The poor battered bag is proof enough of it, but at least Luther hasn't been taking out his ire on even more breakable human beings, like unleashing his irritation on any captured rebel agents.

Yet. ]

Okay. Yeah, sure. I was about done with my workout anyway. What is it?

Training

[rutilance]

Haru was technically on break. Unlike some of the others she wasn't training harder than usual, but then again she always trained as hard as she could - she wasn't good at moderation, always throwing herself full force into whatever she did be it work or pleasure. She wasn't blind, however, and noticed those she spent time with getting more and more frayed and more and more frustrated. That's why seeing Luther literally beat the stuffing out of the second punching bag that day didn't come as a shock.

She got up from her place seated along the side of the training room, bringing her lunch and water bottle with her, and made her way over to Luther. Once she'd come to his side she looked up at him and shook her head. "They still haven't managed to make a punching bag you can't destroy, huh? What are the people in charge of our training equipment even doing?"

In her experience, it had always been easier to get someone to relax a little when you made a comment about someone else's failings. It just put people at ease after making a mistake because you clearly don't blame them for whatever happened.

[obediences]

Once upon a time, he'd been the one always cautioning her to not overdo it: to pace herself, not wear out her muscles beyond their capacity, to get enough rest. She wouldn't be an efficient weapon for the government if she wore herself into the ground. None of them would.

But it's easy enough to be a hypocrite, and so of course Luther's overdoing it today. He stops hitting the bag as Haru approaches, mops some sweat off his brow, and glances over at her. His closest thing to a little sister, in this world, with almost all his family gone.

"Some of them hold up better than others, but they're pricy. I should probably just take it easier on them. Kind of a waste, though."

It means he's always holding back, and never really getting to test his strength in full. It's frustrating.

Ratification

[perfectlyhuman]

[ As one of Gabriel's bodyguards, Luther has surely heard about Adam. More than once, probably.

You'd think the smart ones would stay out of trouble, but they rarely do. No, the smart ones tend to get closed, a bit blind on their own hubris. But it's not like Adam's the only metahuman around. He, especially, has a knack for walking right in to trouble, though he usually slips out before he's ever caught. Granted he has his own personal advantages.

But, that day, there he is. Far too young to be any sort of donor. Not dressed anywhere as sharp as someone of relative importance. In fact, he's mostly watching the celebration, wild blonde curls almost covering his eyes. Dog sits by his feet, occasionally being tossed bits of whatever Adam's either.

He sees you, Luther. ]

[obediences]

[ On the other hand, Luther's never quite gotten to know Adam's face — government pictures of the teenaged Antichrist seem to warp and blur somehow, reality warping whenever they try to catch photos of him.

That dog, though. Descriptions of it have circulated. It's not every day you see a Jack Russell terrier in the City, particularly one with such a knowing gleam in its eye. Luther glances down at it, his brow furrowing. Then up at the boy. Who doesn't at all look like he belongs here.

Gears start turning. ]

Nice dog.

a cumbersome and heavy body / closed to barbara gordon

[obediences]

Over the years, they've compiled more and more sightings and records on the suit known as Aegis. It's been a persistent thorn in their side, constantly showing up to wreak havoc and muck with the enforcers' plans, throwing a spanner in the works. And it's a piece of irony, considering the name of the government team, Aegis Force, but Luther swallows that irony just like he swallows his orders.

The mech has a familiar silhouette that's been slowly altered over time: becoming larger, more fearsome, donning more gadgets and attachments. The government technicians and engineers have been hard-pressed to keep up with it.

And tonight, it's apparently hitting their research facilities again. Klaxons are lighting up the board, the enforcers are scrambling a team, deploying them into the field to defend the building.

But it'll take them some time to get there. And in the meantime, Space can teleport.

As a result, he's the first one on the scene, unwisely alone — he never mastered the skill of taking someone with him on a jump — when he hears the sound of humming servos, grinding metal, sees the sleek lines of Aegis simply ripping through one of the inner doors. There's the crack of displaced air when Luther teleports in; not all that noticeable to human ears, but then again, whoever's piloting the mech has the benefit of all those augmented systems.