Castles of Steel - Lesbians Good, Imperialism Bad

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Lieutenant Arisukawa Haruna

Balance Stats
❁ • ❁ Work / Life ❁ • ❁
❁ • ❁ Warrior / Princess ❁ • ❁
❁ • ❁ Radical / Respectable ❁ • ❁

Tactical Stats
Gunnery 0, Navigation +2, Command +2, Technology -4, Personal -2, Strategy +3

Stress: 3​


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PLEASE READ THE QUEST RULES BELOW

You collectively vote on the actions of Arisukawa Haruna, the first woman to serve openly in the Imperial Akitsukuni Navy.

This quest is set in a universe which is much like our own circa 1910, but with different politics, cultural norms, and ideas about gender and sexuality, as well as some unusual and advanced technology in places.

We are using this quest to explore themes like breaking the glass ceiling, divergent outlooks on gender and sexuality, colonialism and imperialism, and the place of royalty.

Content Warning
This quest goes some dark places.

There is violence, often explicit, often unfair, often against undeserving targets.

There are not always good options forward. The protagonist is not necessarily a good person.

There is implied content and discussion of sexual harassment and assault.

This is a world where people are often racist, sexist, queerphobic bigots. Sometimes, even the PC and the people they are friends with.

Voting Rules

We will tell you if write-in votes are allowed. If we do not say that write-ins are allowed, they are not. This is to prevent people from unrealistically hedging their bets.

You may proposal other options in a non-vote format, subject to approval, on non write-in votes.

We will tell you when a vote allows approved voting. If we don't say the answer is no, pick an option. We like making people commit.

Discussions makes the GM feel fuzzy.

Game Rules
When we ask you for a roll, roll 3d6. You are aiming to roll equal or under the value of your stat. If you succeed, Haruna gets through the situation with no real difficulties. If you roll above the target value, Haruna will still succeed, but this success will cost her something or add a complication.

Whenever Haruna loses something or faces hardship from a botched roll, she takes Stress. The more Stress Haruna has, the more the job and the circumstances she's in will get to her, and it'll be reflected in the narrative. Haruna must be kept under 10 Stress: if she reaches 10 Stress, she will suffer a breakdown and the results will not be great for her.

Haruna loses stress by taking time for herself, by making meaningful progress on her dreams, and by kissing tall, beautiful women.

Meta Rules
Author commentary is in italics so you know it's not story stuff.

Please don't complain about the system or the fact we have to roll dice. We've heard it before, we've heard it a thousand times across multiple quests. We're not going to change it, and it wears at our fucking souls.

Just going "oh noooo" or "Fish RNGesus Why!" is fun and fine. Complaining at length because you didn't get what you want less so.

If you have a question, tag both @open_sketchbook and @Artificial Girl. If you only tag one of us, you will be ignored. Seriously, we both write this quest.

And yes this is an alt-history type setting with openly gay and trans people, ahistoric medicine, and weird politics. Just... deal, please?

This quest employs a special system called Snippet Votes. Please read this post for more information.
 
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Hazard said:
Those are not civilians. Those are enemy combatants, or enemy spies. Combatants get some protections under the Geneva Conventions, especially after surrender or otherwise rendered incapable of combat. Spies get none at all.
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They're protestors. At the absolute worst they're rioters. These people are not fucking combatants, jesus christ, because if we used your absurd as shit definitions the Kent State Shootings were justified.

Which, for the record, they weren't.
 
I'm just gonna say it. They're not suicidal, or homicidal.

They're also definitely not thinking rationally. Mob mentality is a very real thing. In a riot, the individual person isn't thinking for themselves. They know that the soldier in front of them has a bayonet, and that attacking means somebody gets stabbed, but the mob sees the soldier's scared face and sees weakness to capitalize on.

 
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Regardless of what happens we need to find a way to heap as much responsibility as we can on those Purity fucks. This entire incident was instigated by them and they need to take the fall, both to avoid the inevitable criticism we're going to take and to damage the movement (and our erstwhile cousin).
 
Ramble said:
I'm just gonna say it. They're not suicidal, or homicidal.

They're also definitely not thinking rationally. Mob mentality is a very real thing. In a riot, the individual person isn't thinking for themselves. They know that the soldier in front of them has a bayonet, and that attacking means somebody gets stabbed, but the mob sees the soldier's scared face and sees weakness to capitalize on.

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I regard that as a sort of temporal insanity. Just being in a mob influences the person's mindset, gets them to do things they'd probably never do alone. Things like attacking someone with all they have, obviously to kill, heedless of the fact that person can kill them easily because they have a gun.
 
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065tdsa said:
It's not all their fault. But they are more culpable than the unrelated people who are more likely to die in a later crackdown which will be more severe if our soldiers die here.

So you see, their fault in this is very small, but it's larger than that of other people who are put in danger because of their actions.
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It's fascinating that you've turned "kill the civilians" into the moral choice that results in less dead civilians.
 
veteranMortal said:
It's fascinating that you've turned "kill the civilians" into the moral choice that results in less dead civilians.
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It's actually pretty obvious when you think about it: killing a few civilians here makes it less likely that our crazy fascist superiors get bloodlusted and start shooting them in job lots, because they'll feel the crowd has already been punished, that we've won the fight as it were.

If soldiers die that's an attack on the Army. And if we, a member of the imperial family, are wounded under the protection of the Army, well that's an insult to the Honor of the Army. That demands retribution.

If the captain lives, and we're wounded, he might have to kill himself over this, by the way.
 
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veteranMortal said:
It's fascinating that you've turned "kill the civilians" into the moral choice that results in less dead civilians.
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It is absolutely not the "moral choice."

It is the "least bad" choice. It's finding the shiniest turd in an ocean of turds and polishing it with all our might in some kind of attempt to make it not as absolutely horrible.
 
HMS Sophia said:
I'm very aware of what the conventions say, but it's 1911 and the Hague conventions were not exactly well regarded.
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That's even worse, because now it's up to the local commander and the ROE they operate under. And an occupying army's ROE? Shoot and count your own dead. Fuck theirs.

Estro said:
They're protestors. At the absolute worst they're rioters. These people are not fucking combatants, jesus christ, because if we used your absurd as shit definitions the Kent State Shootings were justified.

Which, for the record, they weren't.
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That's a rather disingenuous argument, given the sizable differences between the events at Kent State and what we're dealing with here.

Most importantly of which is that the students at Kent State do not appear to have been in the situation were they could nor attempted to throw a lethal weapon at the National Guard troops opposing them at the time of the shooting, looking quickly through the Wikipedia article. They had done so previously but with no reply.

However, right now? The protest has struck, potentially fatally, one of the members of the imperial escort unit. It would be regrettable but within the bounds of the law, AFAIK and IANAL and all that, for the response of the remainder of the escort to be to disperse the crowd by any and all means up to and including killing every single one of them if they don't run fast enough.
 
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Shebe Zuu said:
Regardless of what happens we need to find a way to heap as much responsibility as we can on those Purity fucks. This entire incident was instigated by them and they need to take the fall, both to avoid the inevitable criticism we're going to take and to damage the movement (and our erstwhile cousin).
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Can't see a viable way to do this. As far as the mainland is concerned, all Purity Club did was ask for a picture, one out of many taken that day.
 
Estro said:
Ah yes, it's all their fault.
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That is not at all what I said. They are totally justified in being pissed at us and the regime we represent. However, mob mentality does not absolve them of personal responsibility. Whether they realized it or not, each individual protestor chose to stick around when things turned violent. Collectively, they have backed us into a corner.

Estro said:
They're protestors. At the absolute worst they're rioters. These people are not fucking combatants, jesus christ, because if we used your absurd as shit definitions the Kent State Shootings were justified.
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Except in this situation, we are attempting to use the minimum force necessary to leave and are being blocked by the crowd and attacked with bricks. We aren't being harassed from a distance after dispersing a crowd.
 
2-7: The Press
  • Threadmarks
    • You needed to organize the men and get back to the vehicles so you could beat a retreat out of this place. You placed your hand on your sword and found that you were trembling a little. Spirits. This wasn't what the stories were like. It was always honorable battle between warriors and hordes of barbarians, not crowds of angry people yelling at you to go home and throwing things (a head of cabbage sailed out of the crowd and struck you in the chest, leaving a green smear on your uniform). You took a breath--the thought seemed to last forever and then you drew your sword and spoke. Tried to speak.

    "Fix bayonets." Your voice comes out too quiet. Your mouth is dry, like you've been chewing on cotton. You swallow. Spit.

    "Fix bayonets!" You yelled it this time. One of the non-commissioned officers glanced back at you, seeming almost grateful that someone else had made the decision, then the order is barked out, echoed down the line of soldiers and sailors.

    The Army soldiers snap their bayonets on in a single practiced motion, so fast you didn't even see it happen. The Naval guard are a second behind. With nearly two feet of sharpened steel between them and the crowd, their confidence comes back.

    You realized your voice just wasn't carrying right now, but that's what non-coms were for. You stepped up near one and instruct him.

    "Landing party!" That actually made the Army sergeant you were next to smile. You tried to smile back. "To the trucks, orderly now! Keep formation!" Out of the corner of your eye you saw two soldiers sling their rifles and stoop to grab up the still unconscious captain. At least he wasn't getting left behind.

    You hadn't ordered them to attack, just to move. The hope was that the point of their weapons was sufficient deterrent. It sure seemed like it: the members of the crowd shrunk back, fear etched on their faces. The shift in the crowd slowed the flow of new projectiles. Those in the first few rows dropped their signs and rocks and started backing away.

    And stopped. Nowhere left to go. The press of the crowd was too much. Not everyone could see what was happening. Bodies behind pushing forward, a blind press.

    There was still twenty meters to the trucks, and the crowd had no more give.

    To the credit of your men, they did not simply plunge bayonet-first into them. You had the feeling that the farm boys and factory workers in uniform no more wanted to stick something sharp into someone than these students wanted to have something sharp stuck into them. Weapons were reversed and rifle butts were used to try to part the sea of bodies, and the disjointed, inconsistent panic rippled through the people in waves. In some places, people ran so fast that those pressed at front fell over. In others, people were forced forward as the crowd shoved from behind.

    That's when things started getting ugly. One soldier, trying to ward off people with his rifle butt, was knocked over by staggering protestors, falling in a tangle of bodies. His comrades turned, clearing the space around him with sweeps of their rifles so that he could clamber back to his feet. People in the crowd tried to stumble back and away from the sharp tips of the bayonets, but there wasn't room for all of them to retreat.

    Once the first blood was drawn, once the screaming started, order broke down almost completely. To the men on either side of the incident, it looked like their formation had been breached, that a brawl had broken out. You tried to call a halt, but nobody could hear you. A cobblestone struck a soldier, and the one next to him thrust his rifle forward to cover the gap, catching a man through the gut with his blade. His comrades reversed their weapons as well, convinced the fighting had turned deadly, and simply pressed into the crowd blades-first. The screaming got louder as people tried to scramble away and others fell to the ground to be trampled in the panic.

    It worked. They were moving, now. The trucks were almost in reach. You stepped over a body as you moved, a student holding a sign in a death grip. You realized he wasn't dead yet when his hand closed on your boot. You managed not to shriek in surprise and hurriedly tried to shake him off only to stumble over another body on the cobbles. A woman clutching her belly and groaning as she tried to staunch the blood pooling on the cobblestones around her. The blood that was staining the pretty dress in Akitsukuni white and blue that she wore. She looked up at you for a moment, and you wondered what she thought of you.

    A gunshot echoed out. Everyone looked for a culprit. Not one of your men: their chambers were empty, shots only in the magazine. It didn't look like anyone was hit. It had just happened and you weren't sure why. Two more shots after that.

    Finally, the crowd was clear. It was like one second there were a hundred people between you and the trucks, and then the square was deserted, except for the wounded and bodies. About maybe a dozen between the stage and the trucks felled by rifle butts and bayonets, a score or two more trampled in the attempt to escape. One more lying beside the car, and Kenshin with his revolver in his hand looking pale, blood smeared across his perfect face.

    "You're alright. Thank the Spirits," he said, almost like he was reciting a line for some stage play. It was mechanical.

    You got in the car without comment, realizing only once you had that you still had your sword in a white-knuckle grip. You couldn't figure out how to get it around the dashboard and back into the scabbard, and eventually you simply put it point-down between your legs. Ken was driving now--the driver had clambered into the back with the injured captain, who was finally starting to come around.

    You finally found the words. "Go."

    You didn't make it back to the boats. Instead, you drove to the nearby Army outpost, a commandeered former manor overlooking the palace. Soldiers lined the walls, bayonets fixed and guns pointed outward in all directions, and there was a machine-gunner in the middle of the road.

    You drove by a single body in the street as they opened the checkpoint. Nobody said anything.

    ---

    "Nasty business. Frightful. Good thing you kept your head about you, cousin."

    Three days later, you were back aboard the Hachinosu, at dinner with the captain and senior officers. Kenshin was there too, a first for him in over a year. Pork and wine pilfered from a smuggling boat.

    Neither of you said much. You'd given your initial reports as best you could, and hadn't spoken of it since, even to each other. The shame was too much. Your escort had gotten off lightly. No one had been killed, though a few soldiers and sailors had head injuries or other scrapes and bruises. One had a broken finger from being hit in the hand with a rock, another had gotten a bad cut because his comrade had been waving his bayonet around so indiscriminately. Even Captain Ienaga was expected to make a recovery, eventually, though you worried for his health.

    It actually took a while, and some active digging, to find out how many civilians had died. The best guess was somewhere north of 30, with the same number showing up in hospital and presumably more who were treated at home.

    You'd already seen the newspapers. Bloodthirsty crowd of ungrateful savages accosting the princess. Suicidal attack by desperate, insane animals on Imperial family. So on and so forth. You'd received an outpouring of sympathy and commendation alike from fellow officers and concerned subjects back home. Your cousin, Empress Mitsuko, had even sent a telegram asking after your health and worrying about you. All of the attention just made you feel sick. You remembered when you had finally gotten into the Army outpost and you had gone to the washroom, there had been blood on your boots. You'd been sick there, alone, where no one could see your weakness. This wasn't what it was supposed to be like. You were supposed to stand on the bridge of a steel castle and exchange blows with an equal opponent seeking to do harm to your nation, not tell scared young men to stab angry students.

    The only solace you had was that the Our Way reporters had apparently been jostled badly enough in the fray to have dropped their camera: the paper had run one of the earlier shots instead of the one of you and Ienaga with the flag.

    "It was nothing, really." You replied. No emotion. Just get through this.

    "Nothing? You managed to repel that crowd of bloodthirsty savages when the Army failed to do its duty and keep you safe. I'd say that's quite commendable, ensign." He emphasized your rank and you felt your skin crawl. If this is what it took to get his respect, you didn't want it.

    "I did my duty, nothing more," you insisted and he laughed.

    "So humble, isn't she? Well, here's to Her Highness Haruna. Showing the Army how it's done. If they'd been willing to get their hands as dirty as their boots this wouldn't have happened." He raised his glass and you followed suit numbly.

    ---

    Dinner finished, finally, you retreated to your cabin. You'd given your preliminary report, but it was little more than a brief description of what had happened. Now was the time for the final, formal report, the one where through the benefit of hindsight the military hoped to learn something. The one that was more than twenty words long.

    In a situation like this, it was the one where somebody got blamed.

    It was mostly finished when you'd been called to dinner. All that was left was to write up closing observations and sign it, and commit to what was essentially a formalized accusation of guilt.

    At whose feet did you place the blame for this incident?

    [ ] The protestors: They were like wild animals. There was nothing to be done.
    [ ] The press: They delayed our exit when tensions were high. They must be curtailed.
    [ ] Captain Ienaga: His acquiescence to a foolish request for political gain caused the riot.
    [ ] Yourself: For who else is there? You could have made your objection more stringent or insisted that the schedule be kept or found a way to avoid this becoming the bloodbath that it had.     ​
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • 10ebbor10 said:
    Can't see a viable way to do this. As far as the mainland is concerned, all Purity Club did was ask for a picture, one out of many taken that day.
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    Well, they actually asked us to plant a flag, which with some proper spin could maybe get worked into a narrative of Our Way deliberately provoking a riot. We may need to embellish the truth a little but the path is there I think.
     
    Shebe Zuu said:
    Well, they actually asked us to plant a flag, which with some proper spin could maybe get worked into a narrative of Our Way deliberately provoking a riot. We may need to embellish the truth a little but the path is there I think.
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    They asked us to plant a flag at the annexation. Given that said annexation is widely supported, I can't see condemning the flagplanting as being a viable strategy.
     
    There's also the issue that if we condemn the media, the government is likely to crack down on all media and since the Purity Club has friends in law enforcement and the military, their newspaper is probably the least likely to be affected by it.
     
    I guess the question we need to ask ourselves then is how likely are our superiors to buy it if we try and blame the Captain.
     
    [X] Yourself: For who else is there? You could have made your objection more stringent or insisted that the schedule be kept or found a way to avoid this becoming the bloodbath that it had.
     
    Look man, there's a reason why actual proper press conferences are a thing these days. It's so shit like this doesn't happen. Freedom of speech is one thing, but actual security is quite another. It's not as if tightened security is mutually exclusive with freedom of speech -- it's not a binary condition, it's a spectrum. Healthy freedom of speech can exist with adequate security for members of the royal family.

    And this incident was not adequate security for a member of the royal family.

    [x] The press: They delayed our exit when tensions were high. They must be curtailed.
     
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    [X] Yourself: For who else is there? You could have made your objection more stringent or insisted that the schedule be kept or found a way to avoid this becoming the bloodbath that it had.

    This is the only option I can take. Any other one is just excuses.
     
    Shebe Zuu said:
    I guess the question we need to ask ourselves then is how likely are our superiors to buy it if we try and blame the Captain.
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    You also have to take into account what exactly blaming the captain means.

    It means we're saying the captain was irresponsible because he allowed us to go on a photo op. Not exactly the kind of idea you want to promote if you intend to be a combat officer.
     
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