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

[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.

[obediences]

There's a gravelly noise in the back of Luther's throat, a sort of harrumph at having been called-out so easily. But he's obvious. He's always been obvious: the man's whole bearing like a blunt fist rather than a subtle knife, all his emotions painted across his face, all tension carried in his broad shoulders.

"The Porter isn't letting up," Luther says after a pause, sifting through exactly how much to say. How to put a finger on what's bothering him and identify it. "We had... Things were stable. For a really, really long time."

And it had been good. It had been like the best of the academy days and with none of the stewing problems, none of the complication of his father. He hadn't had to hold a crumbling, dysfunctional team together with his bare hands. Luther had given up his authority and he had been all the better for it.

"And now we have god-knows-what pouring through, at a rate we've never seen, and we can't contain it."

[afallon]

"If things were stable, we'd be out of a job." But Luther's one of the ones who believes in the government. If they say the City is stable, that their order is keeping it that way, then it is. The exceptions only prove the rule, they say.

It's a stupid saying.

Still, Luther's right about the state of things right now. It's a torch thrown onto a pile of kindling. Askeladd sighs, sitting down on a weight bench. "Nothing lasts, you know." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Whether this blows over or we get taken out, we'll just keep going until then."

[obediences]

"That's a pretty fatalistic way of looking at it." The corner of his mouth twitches, a rueful smile. He flexes his fingers again and then goes to grab a broom, meticulously sweeping up the mess he caused while they talk. To his credit, he doesn't just leave it for the janitorial staff to deal with later.

"Nothing lasts, yeah, but this part had lasted a really long damn time. I've been here..." His blue eyes glance to the ceiling while he counts. "Jesus. Ten years. A whole third of my life's been in the City."

And Luther had gotten comfortable. Complacent. Too satisfied, really: happy with his job, his duty, his purpose, this niche he'd carved out for himself, the brutal work and unquestioning loyalty so long as they gave him a home and a team and a place to live with Allison. It took so little.

[afallon]

Askeladd watches with some amusement as Luther sweeps up. So conscientious.

Fatalistic? Maybe. But if he is, that's simply because it's the way of the world. You act, of course. Try to survive, try to protect the things you value. But you act with what you're given, and what they've been given right now is uncertainty. Disruption is opportunity, far more often than not, but you need to size it up first. The way things are now, it's difficult to suss things out.

Ten years. What a waste of time it's been.

"Well, if you're looking for something to do about it, I can certainly use more men on the streets right now."

[obediences]

"Please." It's a flat request, more weary than pleading. Luther's a weapon looking for a hand to wield him; another purpose to drive him back out into the trenches. Something to do. Something to keep him busy.

"Anywhere in particular you want to send me?"

[afallon]

"We're supposed to show up at all the Ratification Day celebrations." He arches an eyebrow at Luther; that won't do for the man's current state, and they both know it. "But we've also tracked some of the resistance activity lately back to the warehouse district."

Cut it off at the source. And, maybe, Askeladd thinks, find sources of his own in the process. That he will lead the team dispatched to wherever is most useful is never a question.

wrap!

[obediences]

Askeladd's given Luther a gift, of sorts. The best and most productive way to channel his restless furious energy, in a place where he can safely do so: where he can cut loose and stop reining in that strength, stop wearing those kid gloves, not watch his public image the way he'd have to at the Ratification Day celebrations.

"Good," he says, and gets to work unwrapping his knuckles, half an eye already on the door to the showers, where he can clean up and then get ready for the mission later. Yearning. Like a hunting hound with its nose pointed north.

"I'll hit the showers and then report back in with you later, for the brief."

As much as Luther knows Askeladd steers his team well, he's also well-aware that there's a cold, self-serving edge to the other man. But truth be told, Luther's never minded it.

It reminds him of his father.