View source for 2023-01-29: I care no more for the structural integrity of the Federation, so I'll air my wild suspicions with no regard for the consequences

*'''Log:''' I care no more for the structural integrity of the Federation, so I'll air my wild suspicions with no regard for the consequences
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuliana Kafim]], [[Character :: Artemisia ka Britannia]]
*'''Where:''' California Justice Facility, Britannia
*'''Date:''' 2023-01-29
*'''Summary''': ''Yuliana plays a dangerous game with Artemisia and her little brother, Dionysus. She's able to distract Artemisia from her crimes with the crimes of another -- the people ''she'' suspects detonated MIDAS at JOSH-A. Her brazen accusations of Britannia almost go very poorly for her.''
----

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 1, Turn 2]]


 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        The cell is nine feet by nine feet, and there's nowhere to shelter for privacy, but Yuliana's showered anyway. She is ''trying'' to take care of herself, even in this place, even with the hopelessness which has settled over her soul like a whole second layer of restraints. There's a fresh frock pulled over her head, now, still that same drab and ugly light blue; her short teal hair is still a touch damp, but it won't be for long, since the temperature is kept on the warmer side in here.

        She couldn't scrub the scars off of her bare arms. More's the pity.

        Nor the one running long down her left eye, and she puts a hand to the rounded, transparent walls of the cell, not so unlike looking to her reflection in glass. (This is much stronger than glass, of course. She's tried punching it. It didn't work. The sniper watching her from above, she supposes, could fire a bullet in; even with her enhancements, she is not as strong as a sniper's bullet.) Her fingers trace down the glass, looking somewhere closer than outside, and in this moment her gaze is tender.

        "My wife thinks me so beautiful," she murmurs, wistful and yearning, as if she speaks to the guards.

        "Would that I..."

        Her hand falls away, and lifts, to brush down her left cheek instead. She is... upset. She is without her protector, without her beloved wife, and Elisa is not HERE, and Elisa has not SAVED HER. It is enough to set her to trembling, turning away from one set of eyes to wipe her own. She can never slip from their view entirely, of course. She is being carefully, ''carefully'' watched.

        "The prisoner will proceed to her restraints," the warden's voice cuts in, eventually, and Yuliana scowls.

        "Now?" She issues, to him, turning with a dark scowl.

        "Proceed," the warden insists.

        "Oh... oh, very well," Yuliana scrubs at her face to erase the evidence, and goes to place herself in that wretched audience chair, again. Click!, go the restraints, about her arms and legs, binding her below the elbow and the knee.

        She takes a breath to steady herself; she lifts her chin. She does not bother to fix a smile to her face, as she waits, watching.

        Meanwhile, outside that circular cell, the warden turns to Artemisia. "The prisoner is secured," he reports to her, with a deferent little bow of his head. He ''is'' Britannian. "There should be no danger to you now, Princess. She can't escape from those bindings on her own. Take your time."

        (One may get the impression he'd be happy to make sure Artemisia gets everything she wishes from this interrogation; because, after all, it always pays to impress the royal family.)


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

"Thank you so much," says DIONSYSUS KA BRITANNIA, who is wearing a formal uniform for the Area 4 Shore Guards, because that is something appropriate to wear for a military prison. His hands are clasped together. He is standing a pace behind

ARTEMISIA KA BRITANNIA

Who is wearing her everyday sort of uniform, which seems to be her day wear for moments like this. "Hn," she says, before walking forwards, into the room. And so it is she who is the first one that Yuliana would see.

Dionysus hesitates on the threshold for a moment, but then comes in. He has a polite smile on his face.

Artemisia approaches the chairs. She throws a leg over one and slides down into it and a cross-legged posture while crossing her arms beneath her bust and gazing at Yuliana with her one eye as Dionysus approaches and sits down like a normal person. Hands resting on his knee. He settles back; not relaxed, exactly, but alert, not terrified.

Artemisia is harder to read.

Silence rests for a few seconds.

Artemisia speaks first. "Why did you do it?"

Dionysus looks subtly aghast.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Ah, Yuliana thinks, to herself. Yet more siblings of the Empire.

        She can't immediately recall their details off-hand, though she recognises them, vaguely; she is apprised of the royal family. (They're high-profile targets.) She is left to wonder who is using whom.

        There are two equally valid interpretations, to a display like this.

        Yuliana has no particular shift to her posture -- cannot ''have'' a particular shift to her posture -- but she lifts her chin, and it is proud enough.

        "Why?" She echoes, teal lashes veiling over her eyes. (Her left is scarred, but her gaze isn't made singular, the way Artemisia is. The wonders of surgery.) "Because not even the wretches of your country deserve a Macross-class ship rampaging about their homes. Just as I decried those Mycenae monsters descending on civilian homes, so too do I decry this."

        (It's the beginning of her service record. She defied her position as a mechanic instead of a pilot to take a Tendus out and fight, anyway.)

        It's an answer to why... she was there to fight against the Macross, anyway.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

"How kind of you," Artemisia says, gazing at Yuliana. Is she trying to go for a staring contest? Her hands come up, folding together. She rests her chin on her hands, looking at Yuliana.

Which is where Dionysus speaks up.

"I believe that my dear sister intended the question in... the sense of, requesting more information regarding the accusations levied against you," Dionysus says, with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "They're quite serious, and I can tell that they are, indeed, being taken seriously in their turn." What was your hint, kid, the sniper?

"It must be very difficult for you in this sort of an environment," Dionysus says, looking up, around, away from Yuliana. "Are the conditions adequate, beyond... the obvious?"

Artemisia says, "You were at JOSH-A, weren't you?"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Artemisia looks at Yuliana, and Yuliana looks back. Her eyes are a little red; she's been crying, recently. Her eyes are dry now. "I'm not surprised to hear the honourable Eleventh Princess regard the defence of her own citizens as a kindness," Yuliana replies, dryly. "I suppose even in Pendragon, protection of the vulnerable is considered... well, I'd hate to be unkind." Her smile, for what it is, is grim.

        "The information about my charges should all be in my file," she informs the younger of them. A shade mechanically, she repeats, for Dionysus, just as she did to Treize: "My treatment has met the requirements of humane captivity with regards to hostile combatants, vis-a-vis Chapter 7, Article 13." She's memorised the regulations. Styling on a child with them is a little brutal, but she's sure it's not the worst he's endured, in a suit like that.

        Whoever he is. Artemisia's little brother, presumably. There is the resemblance. He ''is'' certainly one of Charles's brats, but there are so ''many'' of them...

        Yuliana is, of course, an only child.

        "I was at JOSH-A many times," Yuliana says, raising a brow. "Including when it was destroyed. My team and I barely survived, back then... what a pity Letda was not able to get to the bottom of it." Second Lieutenant -- Letda, in Indonesian slang -- Parminder Chaudhri ''was'' part of the task force created to try and get to the bottom of who caused the crisis at JOSH-A. Certainly, ''he'' suspected Britannia.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

The snapback!

Dionysus chuckles a little. "Indeed, our defenses did not take this situation into account... though as we all must admit," and he claps his hands on his knees, "No one plan can be perfect, yes?" (Artemisia for her part rolled her eye a little.)

"I'm so glad to hear that. You have fought many battles for the Federation, and I feel that you deserve your hearing, and all reasonable comfort until that hearing," Dionysus says, heartfelt. Artemisia shifts in her seat. Her legs uncross, and then cross in the other direction.

"I was at JOSH-A three times," Artemisia says. "Once when I was about Dion's age, as part of the retinue. I misremember if the base was opening at that time or simply expanding. I was still in school at the time. The second time, about two years ago. Hunting trip." A pause. "Good trip. Two moose and a brown bear."

"The third time was the last, it seems," Artemisia continues.

"Your second lieutenant... you say he was investigating the cause? I think that I may be the last person to see the base's inmost depths. It isn't an honor I much cherish."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "True enough," Yuliana allows Dionysus, and she's being awfully gracious considering all the cards she... isn't holding. Right, she still isn't holding a single card.

        But at least she's clean! Look at her nice clean (horrible ugly) prison frock. She is ''such'' a well-groomed caged bird. That's ''like'' holding a card.

        "Sorry, son," Yuliana shrugs a shoulder, looking over to the younger Britannia, "but it's difficult for any room to be comfortable when there's a gun trained on your head at all times. Now, if you'd like to rearrange that..."

        She is, of course, blatantly putting the screws into the child. Maybe it's a ''good'' thing Artemisia, bluntest object in the room, is sitting beside him.

        "''Two'' moose?" She remarks, in passing, and has the grace to sound impressed. But she listens, by and large, as the elder Britannian speaks.

        "Yes," she confirms, finally. "Letda was part of the support team at the time -- manning communications in the base. I've no clue how he got out of the facility in time... but he's been doing this a while, himself, so I suppose he ran as soon as he realised something was wrong." There are certain implications, there, about how little he tried to convince everyone ''else'' to desert their posts before he did so.

        Survivalism is an important trait in an operative.

        "I and the rest of my team were fighting ZAFT's soldiers, outside... I ended up fighting beside a civilian attache, myself. It's shameful the Federation would put its scientific advisors in such peril..." Yuliana sighs, and it doesn't ''seem'' like feigned concern. "Fortunately, she escaped, as we did."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

Dionysus smiles, a little tensely, but remains silent, as Artemisia leans forwards slightly.

"Yes! They're deceptive creatures, you know. I suppose you don't have them in REA territory, unless it's in zoos, but they're quite ungainly looking. That's the first thing you think: Oh, it's a stupid looking elk with a silly face. That's your first mistake - the royal you, you understand. They stand three meters high at the shank."

Artemisia settles back. "It's the legs, you see. They live in wetlands. Those long, ridiculous legs of theirs are rather ridiciulous when they're walking on dry land, but they tend not to do that terribly often. And they, of course, know the wetlands better than you do - in the general sense."

"That's very interesting to hear," Artemisia continues. "I recall that there were messages on that system that were encouraging a certain route of behavior. One that seemed calculated to maximize the casualty count from the event; as if an extra hundred or so technical workers, or a squad or a platoon here or there, would be some sort of decisive battle."

Artemisia puts an elbow on the table. "If it weren't for the fact that I was in there purely by chance," she continues, "I would wonder if ''I'' hadn't been the target-- but I don't think a weapon like that is well suited to assassinations. Do you?"

"It's strange, though," Artemisia muses. "There were warnings -- I saw the one who issued them. A last moment call to evacuate. Isn't that rather strange?"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "We have them in Zaftra," Yuliana comments, "though we call them elk, up our way. Half of my childhood is Chukotka, and we've the largest elk on the planet in our peninsula, in fact." It's a regional and less-inhabited part of Zaftra, far up north.

        So she's not a city girl.

        She accepts these moose facts readily enough, though -- and the facts about JOSH-A. A coincidence... her eyes narrow, as Artemisia talks.

        "If you mean to implicate ZAFT as the aggressors... well, normally I'd agree, even with someone like you." Yuliana doesn't precisely have ''love'' for the royal family. "But in this situation, there's no logical reason for ZAFT to have caused that explosion. If that woman hadn't issued her warning, we would all be dead. As psychological tactics go, there's no rhyme or reason to them, either."

        She doesn't go so far as to say who she ''does'' suspect.

        "Frankly," she adds, instead, "''as'' an assassin, MIDAS is the last weapon I'd choose to eradicate anyone."

        Which sure is a thing to just drop on a conversation.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

Artemisia raises an eyebrow. "Do you," she says, about the moose.

"That's a peculiar sort of statement," Dionysus says. "ZAFT is the obvious source of aggression. Breaking down JOSH-A in such a... comprehensive, I understand, molecular? sense would kill a significant amount of Federation resources, even if Arte's quite right that a few engineers or Mobile Suit pilots, on the face of things, wouldn't make a key difference."

"But they said that about Amuro Ray, didn't they?" he says to Yuliana with a smile. He is younger than the One Year War. Perhaps even conceived during it. Surely Charles had to do something with his days off.

"Of course, if you were to overlook ZAFT," Dionysus continues, "we are left with a smaller list of suspects. And peculiarly enough, the ones who gain the most regional advantage - if we were to look at things in a manner more geospatial than"

"He's implying the REA did it," Artemisia cuts off, possibly because she was getting bored.

"But what you're saying either suggests otherwise or you're gloating," Artemisia continues, "and while it's hard for me to tell, I'd expect you to be smirking and you don't seem to be. It also wouldn't make any sense for you yourself to share your own theory of the crime, if you will; nor would you have put yourself in the area."

"Your Letda; he escaped? Has he given a statement?"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "We do," is Yuliana's official statement on the moose.

        And to Dionysus, she allows: "The obvious source is not always the correct one." She plays the game, for a time, like this, though much of her end is nodding and humming at particular points. But to add, "... they say much of Amuro, these days."

        She doesn't look particularly impressed about Amuro Ray.

        "Oh, I know," she tells Artemisia, finally, when she loses patience. She does smile, here, at least. "But he's trying so ''hard!'' You should humour the youth more often, Princess. They'll be fighting our wars soon enough."

        She shakes her head, smile fading. "We've all given our statements regarding the event," Yuliana replies. "Though I doubt any one of us were fool enough to put our true suspicions in writing. Well, the Federation has frankly alienated me for the last time, so I'll tell you with frank disregard now..."

        Yuliana's eyes narrow, and her lips thin.

        "I've been an international saboteur for a good six years at least, Princess. I've dealt with the habits of the AEU, the OAC, the OCU, your Union... and, yes, the Republic which made me. And I'm telling you this quite honestly..."

        She tilts her head, but there are no bangs to scatter over her face, now. "... that whole event has the stink of Britannia's subterfuge all over it."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

Dionysus laughs a little. If Yuliana can read people one way or another, it is not hard to perceive a depth of bitterness here. It is somehow moderated. He is out of his depth but perhaps less so than it might seem. Perhaps he expected to do more.

But this isn't a complete shock. If anything, he was stung at *being interrupted*.

But! Look at the taller lady! Artemisia is taking this so casually that she actually scrapes at one of her teeth with a thumbnail. Perhaps on purpose? Hard to say. The outdoorsiness is not a feint. "Huh," she says.

"I've had similar thoughts. More often early on. What's your reasoning?"

Dionysus seems about to say something and Artemisia looks at him. There is a silent moment. And perhaps peculiarly, she reaches over to pat his knee once, as if in encouragement. Back to Yuliana. "You know, perhaps from experience, I from observation, the routines here, and so I will not insult you with any promises regarding release, fair treatment, conjugal visits, complimentary towel services, and so on. But I have a fair guess that even if you hold no love for our Empire and our Union, you're not a fan of the parties responsible for this, or for the Macross incident."

She raises her eyebrow afterwards.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana can't read people ''one way,'' but that means she's gotten rather very good at the other. She's not surprised to see Dionysus labouring, a little. (Perhaps not as much as he could be.)

        It's not really fair, but she's having a ''really'' bad week.

        She ''does'' have a wedding ring -- it's on her ''right'' ring finger, two bands of rich gold, emerald and onyx and diamond. Far too nice for a socialist, which might raise questions of just who she married. Anyway.

        "No," she agrees, "I'm not, though you're quite right -- I don't." Have any love for their Empire, that is, or the instigators of the Macross incident.

        "Your little brother's not wrong to notice this is the REA's style," Yuliana allows, with a glance to him. "But I advance to you that our nations are ''ideological'' opposites. Not, strictly speaking, ''operational'' opposites. But Britannia has always been more willing to be... loud, in its shifting of the status quo. Your Empire suffers being seen to move."

        A light pause: "The Republic does not. For this reason, I do not suspect them. They would not... disrupt JOSH-A in such a ''dramatic'' way. Were my team set to subvert the symbol of our union, we would set upon a long-term replacement strategy." Her fingers drum, on the armrest of her binding-chair. "A key figure would have an... accident. We would ensure someone compliant was in place to succeed them. Months would pass before we would arrange for another to be promoted, or retire. The next year, another unfortunate accident... a slip into the ice, perhaps, or an unfortunate encounter with what you call a moose. In time, we would control JOSH-A, for all intents and purposes."

        Yuliana lifts a brow. "... and you would never know."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

In the Britannian system, it's man against man. In the REA, it's just the opposite!

"So you suggest that this plan has been a very long time in its preparation," Artemisia says. "It seems bloody strange to me to set up an infiltration project of this scale just to remove JOSH-A from the map."

Dionysus almost speaks - and then stops and looks at Artemisia.

Artemisia looks back. "What?"

He tilts his head slightly.

Artemisia's brow furrows.

Dionysus leans forwards and Artemisia finally 'gets it' and leans in. Her expression is briefly consternated. And then they settle back, Artemisia folding her arms.

It is the boy who says, "Until, of course, we did." His hands come together in a clap. "It's quite a theory, and it does present quite the wild story. It has two flaws that I can see. One is the, how would you say it, the entropy of systems. The fact that such a conspiracy would be complex, thorny, threaded throughout the system of our nation."

"Blue Cosmos," Artemisia says.

"Indeed, but this was corruption," Dionysus says. "Cupidity! What possible percentage or profit would Blue Cosmos gain from destroying JOSH-A?"

Artemisia tilts her head to the side. "It is something to consider," she states.

Artemisia's eye returns to Yuliana. "This is, of course, exactly calculated to turn our gaze inwards and to distract my father and his loyal hands at such a time." It's not really an accusation so much as an inference.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana just ''laughs'' at Artemisia. "Hahahaha..." It's a pleasant, chiming sound, with just a ''hint'' of mockery behind it to give it an extra edge.

        It's fine, though. The kid's got it.

        "What ''would'' they gain from destroying the symbol of the Federation's unity, as it stands today?" Yuliana answers his question with a question, Socratic. It isn't even entirely a mockery.

        Yuliana prefers to lie with half-truths, and it ''is'' true she values the mentorship of the young.

        She shrugs a shoulder, then, at Artemisia. "If you can only focus on one thing at a time, that's neither my business nor problem," she points out, lightly. "But I would think ''you'' have enough hands to cover much work, given your father's... expansive lineage." Artemisia does have an ''awful'' lot of half-siblings.

        "Or are you too ''important'' to hunt down the cosmic perpetrators of this crime?" Yuliana smiles. "You'll forgive me. I'm not quite familiar with how esteemed being eleventh in line ''is,'' really. Perhaps you'd prefer work which has been more... thoughtfully prepared for your success."

        Yuliana looks up, then, to the sniper nesting high above her circular cell.

        "Like shooting fish in a barrel."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Artemisia ka Britannia has posed.
<poem>

The laughter affects Dionysus. Subtly, but it's there. He looks at Yuliana with incredulity, and perhaps with growing discomfort. His posture grows tenser at what she relays. What she says. His teeth set. He takes a deep steadying breath. His face tightens.

He is trying to control it but the prod has hit home. "Know your place," he says, at the point when Yuliana glances to the sniper. Before he can say more, though -

Artemisia bursts into laughter!

It isn't anything that can be easily put into words. It's certainly authentic, genuine bubbling laughter from deep inside of her chest. It might seem delighted, even ripplingly wonderful, even with a note of childlike wonder despite a voice in the higher ranges of the alto space. Artemisia slaps her thigh, throwing her head back and continuing for several seconds, even as Dionysus starts to get up -

Artemisia grasps him by the wrist. He stops.

"Now now," she says, with a little snort and sniffle of re-centering, "Let's not be UNMANNERLY about it, Dion, dear heart. Put yourself - hehh - put yourself in HER position! A career of such length, and all the sufferings, and Captain Kafim ends up here! It must be MADDENING. You can't blame that position for evoking a certain willingness to SNAP."

Artemisia looks up now. Her grin is something like a slash across her face. "My dear lady," she says, straightening up and resting her hands on her knees as her legs unfold. "My dear brothers and sisters are precious to me, every one, but I understand your implication as clear as deer shit in the middle of a meadow. You think we are useless appendices, nothing more than an effete meta-capitalist class reaping the privilege of their station - am I in the right neighborhood?" she asks, canting her head to the side. "I'm not sure what the REA say, *exactly*."

"And do you know, in a lot of ways you're quite right," Artemisia says. "I'll say it because someone has to. Oh, I loved Clovis but I can understand that if the world's just move and countermove and figuring how best you can murder space-men or earth-men by the cartload, as it so lately seems to be, he would have seemed like a prig at best."

"But not all of us are, you know. For myself, I am a hunter. It's my passion, you see, though it is not something I am able to pursue as much as I might like. The groundsmen in Havana threw some clay targets for me, one day, just for something to do; beyond that, I can tell you, no animal I have encountered in the beautiful wild lands of Britannia, or Africa, or Asia, or Europe, has been in touch with my father. Although," and here she does another of those little giggles again, "I could be wrong! We didn't exactly have time to *chat.*"

"Ahhh, this really is too much," Artemisia continues. "Ambition! Ha!"

Artemisia leans forwards and puts her hands on the table, pushing herself partially upright. (A look of vicarious sadism crosses Dionysus's face.) But all that comes of it is a leaning in.

"You've been very helpful, and if you're still with us when I have the relevant heads, I'll do you a favor - I'll bring them in, and we'll have lunch," she continues, with demoniac geniality. "And if you aren't - well," Artemisia says, "I imagine you'll see them coming down to join you, won't you?"

She pushes herself the rest of the way up and slaps her hips. "Ahhh. I know this is necessary, but it really isn't a very sporting room, is it?" Her gaze is turning around the space.

"I believe that our interview is at an end, madame," Dionysus says to Yuliana, with some bitterness. "I hope that you will receive justice, tempered by mercy, without long delay."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "My apolo--" gies, Yuliana might have said, smoothly, if not for the way Artemisia interrupts both her brother and her mark with that laughter. The insincere words fall from her lips, trailing to silence, though her smile remains. (She can smile, even though things are growing so tense. She's a fine actor.)

        That is -- until Artemisia stops Dionysus from rising. As Artemisia illustrates her own position, a frown creases Yuliana's face, instead. "You know nothing of what I've been through, to end up here," she insists, and perhaps it's the first wound she's scored today.

        "Hmph," is her subsequent reply, as Artemisia presses on what the REA says about them. (She's right, of course, but Yuliana is angry.)

        She sees the look in Dionysus's eyes -- and Artemisia's, as she leans forward. Yuliana can't very much answer with her own movement. She is, in the end, the fish in the barrel.

        She really shouldn't have pointed it out.

        Maybe she's just not the sort of person who thinks things through.

        "I'm so glad to hear you'll take up the hunt," she tells her, as if she were unflapped. There may be a small edge to her voice, a little tension in her shoulders, which betrays the lie. Don't judge her too harshly. She's been in here for over a week, and it's wearing on her.

        And maybe that explains her little wince, as Artemisia draws attention to her cell.

        But Dionysus calls the meeting to an end, and Yuliana shrugs. "I'm sure that you want nothing more than a merciful verdict," she allows him, with just a hint of dryness. "Be well, Britannians."

        She doesn't really wish them well.
</poem>