Both Jack and James put their weapons into a two-handed grip, pointing them at the mobsters in a slight crouch-walk. "Hey!" Jack called out. The first of the two, armed with the AK, turned in curiosity, and prepared to aim his rifle at Jack. "Don't even think about it, dick'ead!" Jack kept his gun pointed at the gangster as the second man tried to bring his shotgun to bear. James already had it covered.
"Don't try it: I'll hit you first!" yelled the Welshman. The two gangsters had their guns in relatively the same positions, pointing 45° towards the ground but just tense enough that they could bring them up and gun down Jack and James. There was a pause, and Jack could hear a few women whispering things down their phones nearby. Jack kept his Skorpion aimed dead at the forehead of the bald, middle-aged man with the AK.
"Drop your guns, and get down on the ground!" he ordered. The mobsters just cast brief glances to each other and laughed.
"What are you?" the bald one asked in a thick Russian accent, "Fucking teenagers?"
"Oi!" Jack shot back. "That's our shtick for this story! We're the ones that swear most of the fuckin' time! Shut your dirty Commie mouth, drop your gun, and get on the fuckin' ground!" The Russian didn't make any moves, instead keeping up a shit-eating smirk.
"What, you going to tell your Momma?" he laughed. "Get her to come and tell me off? I've already fucked your mother, asshole!"
"Didn't know she went for the mentally and facially challenged," Jack replied sharply. "Final warning, drop your guns, get on the floor!" The other man laughed.
"Or what, you little fuck?" he snorted, once again in a Russian accent. "You won't do shit! We trained like you did, and we did it better!" The man with the AK nodded.
"These little bastards don't have the balls to shoot us!" he said suddenly, jabbing the other Russian as they both laughed. He then looked back at Jack and James...but seemed to be looking through them.
More accurately, past them, at MAGES. and 5pb..
"Those are your ladies, no?" asked the first robber, shifting his AK barrel up slightly to gesture to the women. "I will shoot them, and you can't do shit about it, because you are only a child."
"You wanna test that fuckin' theory?" Jack growled, nudging James. "Moment I pull the trigger, kill yours. Not sooner." James, cautiously, nodded. The Russian relaxed slightly, and stood up.
"Vlasky, watch," he grinned, bumping his fellow Communist on the shoulder and prompting him to relax as well. "I will hit the girl with the stupid hat through the big asshole's leg."
"Try it, cunt."
The white-suited Russian laughed, before raising his AK and taking his time in careful aim. Finally, he rested on one position, closed his left eye, and-
His head snapped back with the impact of several point thirty-two caliber bullets, his finger pulling the trigger on the AK in reflex and causing a shot to fire straight into Jack's shin. Had he not have been wearing a ballistic shin-guard, his leg would have broken, so instead his foot was swept from under him and threw him to the floor with a grunt of surprise. A half second later, before the other Soviet could react, James had already held down his Uzi's trigger and put five rounds into the shotgun-wielding thug's chest, knocking him straight off his feet and onto his back. He dropped his gun and began clutching his injured chest, rolling around. The hoodlum with the AK that was still staggering and rubbing his forehead from the repeated shots shook his head a few times, barely noticing that his friend was down. How he survived the bullets, Jack didn't know, but he took his chance: He got up and began to sprint straight over to the man, throwing his Skorpion into his left hand as he went, before jumping up and delivering a roundhouse kick to the man's face. The satisfying crack of the gangster's jaw, coupled with his grunt of pain, made Jack feel like it would be kickass in slow motion, especially the bit where the mobster span, fell, and landed on his face on the tiles. James had followed suit, running straight over to the other gangster and kicking his shotgun away, keeping the Uzi pointed at him.
Jack breathed heavily for a moment, slipping his Skorpion away. Then, he started shaking his right foot, wiping the spatter of blood onto the back of his jeans. "Didn't matter that I'm a fuckin' teenager, eh?" he grinned down at the unconscious suited thug. Then, he turned to James. "Holy shit, did you see that? I was fuckin' awesome." James looked up and smirked.
"Yeah, you were like a...uh, what're they called? Fuckin'...Sam Fisher blokes from PAYDAY..."
"A Cloaker? Yeah, I fuckin' WAS! I had his DLC right fuckin' here!" Jack whooped, gesturing to his boot. It was then that a woman let out a small cheer, and clapped. On her own, at first: But then it got to the point where the crowds of women stood up and started to applaud the justice they'd just watched getting dished out in size eleven portions. Jack and James, not knowing what to do, looked at each other and shrugged. "At least we're gettin' recognized," he mused. "C'mon, let's take these guys' shit."
As the first sets of police cars rolled in to deal with the bank robbery, Jack and James began to walk back to the basilicom. Jack was clutching the double-barrel that he'd taken from the second mobster, and in a new holster he had strapped to his leg was nothing else but a shiny silver Desert Eagle handgun. James narrowed his eyes at them, still fiddling with the AK's sights. "Why'd you get the cool stuff?" he muttered.
"Well, when we were trainin'," Jack began, "I think I remember that you called the Desert Eagle a 'heavy, impractical, massive lump of shite that doesn't fuckin' work'. I was just takin' somethin' I knew you wouldn't want."
"You could have fuckin' asked, at least."
"You're one to talk: Now you've got a pair of Berettas. Who are you, fuckin' Max Payne?"
"Might as well be," James smirked as they approached the back gate of the basilicom. The gate guard, after a moment, opened it and let the two into the garden. "Hey, what time is it?" Jack checked his watch.
"Half nine," he said calmly. "We didn't miss our curfew."
"We had a curfew?"
"Probably."
"Heh. We also missed out on gettin' somethin' to eat." Jack paused as they stood on the patio at the back of the basilicom.
"You're fuckin' right." He sighed and rubbed his forehead, before stomping his foot. "Bollocks."
"My, my," a sudden, familiar voice piped up. "That isn't the behaviour I expected to see from a national treasure." Jack and James looked up to see Chika sat at a table with a glass of wine, wearing her rather stunning dress. She was smiling at the both of them. James looked at her, then at Jack.
"Uh..." he began, scratching his head. "I'll...leave you two to do whatever it is you two do." With that, the greasy-haired sniper walked through the double doors into the basilicom, and headed upstairs to his assigned guest room. However, rather than understanding that Chika was trying to be charming, Jack listened to the strange voice in his head telling him to be awkward.
"What're you goin' on about, 'national treasure'?" he asked flatly. Chika kept her grin, and kicked a chair out from under the table towards him. "I booted some knob'ead straight in the teeth and he dropped like a fuckin' stone, so if what you've got to say sounds better than that Soviet cunt groaning as his teeth flew out, go on ahead." Chika, sipping some wine, let out a small giggle.
"Have a seat. I'm sure you'll like what I've got to say," she purred. After a moment of Jack looking at her alarmingly crimson irises, he reached down and put his new double-barrelled shotgun against the table edge, and unslung his Mossberg and leaned that beside the other shotgun. Then, he sat in the chair, causing it to creak loudly, before exhaling and looking at Chika once more. He was still looking down on her, even when she was sat on a chair that was on a step. "So: From what the news is saying, as well as a number of eyewitness reports, you helped to stop a bank robbery."
"Me and James did, yeah," he corrected. "So?"
"As far as the public is concerned, you two are heroes," Chika continued, pouring out another glass of wine and pushing it towards him. "And to consider that you work for Lady Green Heart, well! I'd say that's a healthy boost to our shares, wouldn't you?" Jack kept looking at her with narrowed eyes and a frown, before looking down at the table.
"I wouldn't know," he replied. "I don't know what 'Shares' are. I don't know why you lot were at war in the first place. I don't know how that Russian twat survived some bullets to the face. I don't even know if I was supposed to get involved in all of this shite. All James and I were meant to do was collect plants and samples of life from this place, then fuck off back home to show the government. Same goes for that gang of Eastern European thugs. They just managed to get into crime within a few days of arrivin'."
"So the people who sent you here let you wear casual clothes, and bring random weapons with you?" Chika asked calmly, sipping her wine with an unreadable expression. "Certainly, plant collecting seems to be all there is to your mission." Jack shook his head.
"Like I said: I don't know. As far as I know, you, the goddesses, my trainin', all this, it's a dream. Could easily be just me sleepin', and I'll wake up and go to work like nothin' ever happened. But it might not be."
"Then why continue if it were real?" Chika didn't even raise a brow. She kept her unreadable poker face on. "Your government must have wanted you here for a reason. Perhaps because they wanted to be rid of you. So why continue? When you arrived, why did you not simply let yourself fall from Celestia?" Jack looked dead at her.
"Are you sayin' you want me to kill myself?" Chika suddenly realised exactly what she had said, and her eyes went wide.
"Oh, goodness, I apologize," she sputtered, flushing red and putting a hand to her chest, "That must be the alcohol talking! Of course, that's not what I'm suggesting. What I'm asking is why you carry on...doing what it is you're doing."
"It's an adventure. Back on Earth, nothin' happened. The excitin' stuff happened overseas, or to everyone else. I lived in a washed up old town outside London, where everyone was too old to do anythin' interestin'. So when I saw the chance to go somewhere else...somewhere excitin'...it may not have seemed like a real deal, but it was. It was an adventure. And now here I am, in a far-off kingdom, watchin' over peace talks between the four female versions of Jesus, stoppin' bank robberies, fightin' monsters, and now I'm tellin' my life story to some exotic woman that faints all the time." Jack leaned back, breathed in, and smiled. "Fuck me, I never thought my life'd get to be this interestin'." Chika looked at him, nodding and smiling.
"Fair enough," she mused, before pouting. "And why haven't you had any of that wine yet? I poured it especially for you." Jack waved a dismissive hand, looking over the city behind them as the moon began to rise over it, illuminating Leanbox in a bright silver glow.
"Nah, I don't drink," he said calmly. "I've heard enough of people's exploits under alcohol to know I'm not fuckin' touchin' it. No offense, of course." Chika frowned, and rolled her eyes.
"More for me, then..." she muttered. For a few minutes, the two sat in silence, simply looking over the city. "It certainly is a beautiful sight, would you agree?" Jack nodded.
"I bet you any money that I could blow up that cat from here if I had a fifty caliber sniper rifle," he quipped, pointing out to the city. Chika could hardly make out individual people, let alone an animal, so she simply looked at her taller, male companion in confusion.
"How did you even see there was a ca-?"
"Apologies if I'm interrupting anything," came a sudden, softly spoken voice. At the sound of it, Chika immediately stood up, smiled, and curtseyed, before glaring daggers at Jack until he did the same. Grinding his bones into an upright position, Jack stood up from the small chair and finally managed to get off a bow.
"L-Lady Vert!" Chika said suddenly. "Y-You're not interrupting anything! W-We were just talking about Mr. LANdumb's recent exploits in stopping the bank robbery downtown. Y-You're m-more than welcome to join, my Lady! If you want to, that is!"
"For fuck's sakes, how many times do I need to say that it's pronounced 'London'?!" he cried. "Christ, I miss MAGES. already." He decided to take a look at Lady Vert, since he hadn't really seen too much of her since moving into the basilicom.
And, as with most who met Lady Green Heart, the first things he noticed were her sad-looking, but friendly, blue eyes.
Also, the fact that she had stonking massive tits. They were bigger than her bloody head. They were even more inviting than her eyes, if Jack was being honest with himself.
Perverted thoughts aside, Jack had to say she didn't look too unfriendly. Not like Lady Noire did, with her gothic black clothes and 'I'm gonna fucking eat you' face. On the contrary; Lady Vert didn't look too different from a regular twenty year old woman, with braided blonde hair, warm facial features and elegant green dress. However, the dress was rather revealing in places, so Jack was making sure his eyes didn't wander. Her white-gloved hands were clasped together in front of her as she calmly walked towards Chika and Jack, before gently smiling at the two. "Thank you for your mannerisms, as always, Oracle Hakozaki," came Vert's calm voice. She turned to face Jack. "And I appreciate yours all the more, considering you're soon to be a national hero." Jack resisted the urge to groan, before shifting from his chair.
"No worries," he replied flatly, "Oh, you can have my chair, I'll get another one." Vert paused, before smiling as Jack went over to another table and took one of the spare chairs, bringing it back to sit next to Chika.
"Thank you, Mr. Lonesome," she said gently. "And you have my undying gratitude for stopping those robbers earlier."
"That was both me and James who did that," Jack pointed out, sitting himself down. "Plus, we only stopped two. What happened to the rest?"
"Police showed up, and an agent of Leanbox's SMD brought them down," Chika replied coolly, before sliding Jack's glass of wine over to Lady Vert. "He doesn't drink."
"Oh...I hope you don't mind...?" Vert trailed off, looking up at Jack's more imposing figure.
"Not at all," he said, giving the universal 'go ahead' gesture. "Never touched alcohol, never will. Anyway, if you don't mind me askin', what's the SMD?"
"Special Missions Department," Chika replied. "They carry out missions that we don't want to risk police or guild involvement in."
"So like MI6 and the CIA?"
"...I'm afraid I don't follow," Vert said calmly.
"They sort out things that the public shouldn't know about. Arms dealin', terrorism, that sort of thing." Vert nodded calmly.
"Oh." There was silence. Vert and Chika had some wine. Jack scratched his face a bit. "So...I'm certain you'll be popular around Leanbox for the time you're here."
"Will I?" Jack asked.
"Certain of it," Vert smiled. "Those two robbers attacked a policewoman and tried to steal from a public bank. Furthermore, people have made claims that you two stepped up to defend the idol 5pb. and her sister. Since she's so well loved in the public eye, anybody who looks after 5pb. is certain to be popular with the people."
"Huh." Jack rubbed a bit of dirt off his right forearm's ballistic guard. "But what're these 'Shares' that people kept saying would go up?" Vert sipped some wine and smiled.
"Certainly, let me explain," she began. "As goddesses, our power comes from Shares. Shares are the energy of our people's belief and appreciation towards each of us as goddesses, and each goddess has a constantly fluctuating amount of Shares."
"And it fluctuates because people start givin' a shit or stop givin' a shit about a goddess?" Jack asked. Vert considered this, then nodded.
"If...you put it so crudely, sure. That's a basic explanation of how Shares work." She paused. "If...you don't mind me asking, which goddess do you believe in?" Jack, suddenly caught in the headlights, thought quickly.
"Eh..." he mused, scratching his chin, "I'd...probably say...all of you, I guess?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," Vert giggled. "Were you to pick out one goddess to be your favourite, who would it be?"
"Well...I haven't really got to know all of you, yet. I know that Lady Blanc is small, angry, and swears a lot, but we get on fairly well. Then there's Lady Noire, who doesn't exactly like people, but had some weird interest in the ammunition for my shotgun, plus her sister seemed to like me for some reason. Then there's you, Lady Vert. All I can gather about you is that you deeply care about your people, and never look genuinely upset." He paused. "And I don't know shit about Purple Heart."
"Oh..." Vert frowned, looking out over the city with a troubled expression. Jack looked at this.
"Tell you what, Lady Vert," he smirked, "Ask me that again once I've spent proper time with each of you goddesses. Then I can give you a good answer." Vert and Chika cast glances to him.
"Are you certain that's a good plan?" Chika inquired, raising a brow.
"Yeah, it is. By then, I'd've gotten to know you all better, and I'd be able to have a less biased view."
"Biased? Are you biased as of now?" Vert frowned.
"Depends. Lady Black Heart did bring me down first-"
"She elbowed me in the ribs." Vert pouted.
"-and looking after Uni was pretty fun-"
"You realise she's only about seventeen, right?" Chika said flatly.
"-plus there was also the added point that she's actually an alright lass once you get to know her, so as of right now I owe her one."
"For what?"
"Pullin' me away from you lot, of course!" Jack laughed. "You, Purple Heart, and White Heart were practically tryin' to pull my arms off to get me to go with you, all for your own purposes, so Black Heart swoopin' in and rescuin' me from your metal claw fingers was genuinely great." Vert, awkwardly, scratched the back of her head and chuckled.
"Yes...I rather was set on having you make some speeches around the country," she smiled, before looking back at her taller male companion. "Speaking of which, would you be available, within the next few days, to make one of the speeches I asked of you?"
"Sure," Jack shrugged. "Why, you got anythin' particular you want me to yell about?" He paused. "I'm not too knowledgeable about Gamindustri's politics, unless you want me to compare Lady Purple Heart to Nigel Farage, and that'd be annoyin', because she's not racist and doesn't go to the pub all the time." Jack raised a mock glass of what Vert assumed was alcohol, and put on a serious expression. "Ban the burka; Bring back Freddo Frogs," he said in a strange, slightly deep voice, before grinning and mock sipping a pint, then dropping his facade. "What a fuckin' twat." Chika sat up, and shifted in her seat a bit.
"I have no idea what you're going on about."
"Didn't expect you to, sorry," Jack smirked. "But, sure, I can do a speech. Just not doin' well in the politics department." Vert smiled and nodded.
"Indeed! Sometimes I don't do well in that field myself: So many parties, trade unions, and such like. So all I'd be looking for is for you to make a speech to...raise spirits."
"Raise spirits?"
"Yes."
"How do I raise fuckin' spirits? You're askin' an English lad to raise spirits. You're tellin' one of the most misogynistic bastards for miles around to give a speech to lighten the mood."
"Ouch," Vert winced. "Don't put yourself down like that, I'm sure you'll do fine."
"Well, Churchill did OK. I think. And...so did Hitler, but he's not the best role model for what he did outside public speaking. Anyway, sure, I'll give it a shot."
Vert was now reconsidering her plan.
Two days later...
"Jesus soddin' Christ!" Jack cried, peeking out from behind the curtains at the side of the stadium that overlooked one hundred, maybe two hundred thousand people. He turned to face Vert who was standing beside him, calm as ever, gently smiling and watching the backstage staff running around sorting things out. Finally, Jack turned to her. "How the fuck did you sort this out so quick?"
"As a goddess, I have ways," she smiled back. "And that doesn't bring into account that this counts as part of a campaign for Shares-boosting. Jack looked at her blankly.
"...right. So...what do I say? Is there somethin' bad goin' on that I need to cheer them up about?" Vert thought for a moment.
"The recent crime wave by those mobsters could be a good thing to touch upon," she noted. "They have been terrorizing the public for a few days now."
"I thought you'd arrested all of those twats?"
"Turns out that wasn't all of them. The ones we caught made it quite clear to us that they had friends willing to help them out."
"I'm sure they did," Jack whistled, stepping back behind stage and patting the handgun strapped to his right thigh. "But their friends can't resurrect the fuckin' dead, now, can they?" His Mossberg, double-barrel and Skorpion were on a table nearby, with a guard under strict orders to make sure nobody even touched them. However, the Desert Eagle remained strapped to his leg, mostly because he liked the extra weight in his steps that body armour plates just couldn't provide. Vert shifted uncomfortably.
"I'm...not sure we'll need to take such drastic measures..." she trailed off, before shaking her head and looking at a nearby clock. "You're almost up." Jack raised his brows briefly and scratched at his stubble again.
"Well, this'll be fun," he muttered. "Say, where's James gone to?"
"He said he was going for a walk," Chika replied from just over the room, checking over a clipboard with a rather dull expression. "Didn't say where, though, but his curfew is still in effect."
For some reason, Jack wasn't exactly comforted by her words. "I'm sure it is." He wasn't exactly too fond when it came to remembering a disastrous trip to Camden Market with Josh, Luke, James, and a few others: By the end of it, Luke was high, Josh was in the process of getting high after eating a 'brownie', James was using the money they'd paid him for the 'stuff' to pay for train tickets, and Jack could remember that there was an overwhelming smell of marijuana that day.
Camden was a fun place, but not really fun when one of your friends drugs the rest of your friends.
Nevertheless, Vert began to usher him to the edge of the stage again, standing him next to the green curtains and then, after retrieving it from a passing technician, turned him to face her, clipped a microphone receiver to the back of his belt, and an earpiece to his head. Jack stared blankly at all of it for a second or two, then looked down at Vert as lighting and music began blaring to the crowds. "Now, remember what I said;" she said in a way that seemed remarkably similar to a mother telling her child what to do on a school sports event. "You just need to fill ten minutes of their time with some public speaking. We've made sure that any younger minds in the audience are OK with your...vulgarities, but don't go overboard with them. Just tell them how you, an outsider, view Leanbox. And keep it positive. Please." Jack nodded with his usual disinterested expression.
"Alright, let's get this shit rollin'," he said calmly. A technician quickly came over, flicked the switch on his microphone receiver, and the headset in his ear buzzed into life.
"Alright, you're on, Mr. Loafbun," a voice crackled, "Head out in three; two; one." Ignoring the blatantly half-arsed attempt at pronouncing his name, Jack put both his hands free of his pockets, and proudly marched out onto the stage. The reaction was instant: The crowd's cheering raised up as he stepped into their view, a few banners and such like waving in the audience with the Leanbox flag on them. Giving a few waves and flashing grins to the thousands awaiting his address, Jack stepped right up to the microphone stand in the center of the stage, disconnecting it from the stand and flicking it on. This was the prompt that the audience needed to start dying down with the cheering. He smiled, placed his left hand in his pocket, and began pacing with the wireless microphone.
"Well, well, WELL!" he chuckled into the mic, his voice exploding around the arena. "Certainly didn't expect this great of a turnout, I'll tell you that much! I was expectin'...maybe one or two thousand, I'll give it that, but this?" He gestured to the seats full of people all around the stadium. "This is bloody ridiculous! Didn't think you could fit this many people into one stadium 'til I came here." He paused, and smiled again, before stepping back to cross the stage again. "But do you lot know where you stand right now?" There was a murmur amongst the audience. "You stand in the Leanbox Grand Stadium. Not just any of the 'Grand Stadiums' that're kickin' about Gamindustri! This, lads, is the Leanbox Grand Stadium!" A cheer arose. "And I'm thinkin' that's why it's called THE Grand Stadium, all over Gamindustri! This is one of the talkin' points of Leanbox! A pinnacle in advanced architecture and plannin'! And dare I even say this is a complete counter to the common misconception that Planeptune and Lastation are Gamindustri's centres of advancement!" The cheering increased again. "Not pointin' any fingers, or namin' any names, but we know exactly who we can thank for givin' the authority needed to build this bloody great big 'Screw You' to Lastation and Planeptune, don't we?" The audience let out a simultaneous cry.
"Lady Green Heart!"
"Lady goddamn Green Heart, that's who!" Jack cried, punching the air to the audience. "In-friggin'-deed! She's the top dog of this place; The one who puts her ass on the line, into the firin' range of modern politics, so that we can all enjoy our lives to the fullest extent that we can squeeze from our years! Without her, where'd we be now? Still livin' in some half-arsed industrial revolution like Lastation? Some Big Brother state like Planeptune? Some blizzard-ravaged array of fields and mountains like Lowee? Dare I say that Leanbox would be a shithole?"
"No!"
"Exactly! And you know why I can't say that?"
"Why?"
"Because regardless of who's in charge, Leanbox is made for the people, by the people, and you are all goddamned fantastic people, if I can give an outsiders' opinion!" A cheer arose yet again. "Just as proof of how fantastic Leanbox is, let's bring it about to those...'gangsters' that had the balls to try and rob the Leanbox Downtown Bank!" A series of booing and hisses came from the captivated audience, as a screen behind Jack flashed with the mug shot images of the Russian mobsters that had attacked the bank a few days before. Jack gave his own input, pointing a downward thumb to the audience and jabbing the mic towards the scrolling images, a mock look of disapproval on his face. "Yeah, load of ugly bastards, am I right in sayin' that?" he asked. A loud chorus of approval came from the thousands present. Just then, Jack looked back at the images, quickly bringing his mic up again. "Stop! Image bloke, stop scrollin', hold it on that one!" The technician behind stage, not knowing what else to do, stopped scrolling through the mug shots and stopped on the image of a bald man with a massive gash on the left side of his face and a group of three large red dots on his forehead. Jack walked to the back of the stage and pointed to the bloodied side of the man's face. "You see that gash?" he asked the audience, who yelled out their acknowledgement. "I gave him that gash, as a permanent reminder that you screw with a small bit of Leanbox, you screw with ALL of Leanbox, and Leanbox comes in a pair of size elevens!" To punctuate, Jack ran forward, and gave a rapid airborne spin-kick, much to the audience's delight. Standing up, Jack gestured his thanks, giving a small bow. "Now it's pretty bloody clear: I'm gonna have a few of this bloke's mates comin' after me." Jack paused, gesturing a hand to his face. "After all, who could resist this handsome mug?" The audience laughed as Jack continued to pace. "And sure, they'll come in full force to try and get me back for kickin' his arse to the tiles. But y'know why they're gonna fail?" He stepped to the front of the stage. "Because these stupid blokes with a few guns goin' against Leanbox is like attackin' a dragon with a stick! We're the bloody dragon, and we can roast whatever the hell comes our way, am I right in sayin' that?"
Once again, the audience cheered in approval of the constant praising of Leanbox. "Indeed I would be, because as an outsider to Leanbox...no, Gamindustri as a whole! I'm an Englishman, but born as a Scot, I look at you all as a Scotsman would, and you know what I see? I see a proud army of a great people; Immovable objects alone, and an unrelentin' force together! Now THAT is what makes Leanbox the glitterin' pinnacle of progress!" The crowd's cheers exploded into a deafening roar as Jack spread his arms wide to the people, mock saluting the thousands of camera flashes. As he did so, he flicked his eyes to his watch.
'Ten minutes? Fuckin' hell, that was rapid. Think it worked, though.'
Keeping his smile up, Jack clipped the microphone back onto its stand, and continued waving to people as he made his way off the stage.
And the moment he stepped into the dark backstage, he went right over to Vert, who was smiling, and Chika, who was staring at him in disbelief. "There: That wasn't too bad, was it?" he asked calmly, face not showing a hint of emotion. But before he could react, Vert had already stepped forward and started hugging him so tight that even his kevlar was starting to crush him.
"Th-Thank you..." she whispered, shifting against his torso with a dampness soaking across his shirt. Great. Now she was crying. "Thank you so much...my Share energy hasn't felt this great for years..." Jack, not knowing what else to do, reached a hand behind Vert and steadily patted her on the back.
"It's...uh, OK, I suppose?" he said in as calming a way as he could muster, using his other hand to give thumbs up to the crowd of technicians and backstage staff that were rushing over to congratulate him. "Oh...uh...Lady Vert?"
"Yes?"
"Not being perverted or anythin', but my arm's kind of stuck in your boobs."