[@Silvan Haven][@Abillioncats][@Slime]

[b]Gratia Mindaro - Civil War[/b]

Like her Faunus teammate, Gratia Mindaro had chosen to help herself to the confectionery that their supervisor had so generously provided to them. Unlike the other girl, however, she wasn't some slovenly animal who spoke with their mouth full, instead preferring to focus entirely on the free food than respond. If the cat's father was willing to offer, then she would a fucking idiot to refuse. That was why the basket was quickly emptied, every trace of sweets inhaled with lightning speed.

Yet when she spoke, there was absolutely no sign that she had ever been eating. Her expression was cool as usual, having changed not a single iota. "[color=66cd00]Ask Haven for help? That would be as fucking good as singing '[i]Veillons au salut de l'empire[/i]' again. None of those independently-minded towns would ever dare open their arses for an insertion from a pillar of l'Ancien Régime.[/color]"

The Kingdom's authority was a fluid entity, and had been so even before the Great War severely crippled its hegemony over the polities outside of Mistral proper. Gratia could probably sketch a path between the increasing decentralisation and weakening of the state to the devastation of the Mistralese Civil War, but she had no interest in fucking around with historiography for a dying institution. She held no love for the ghoulish hedonists that made up the aristocracy of her city-state. They were nothing more than parasites in gaudy human clothing, merely rotting bags of lust and gluttony that sought to drain the citizenry dry for the sake of their useless, disgusting whims.

She despised them.

The [i]ever-benevolent[/i] heroes of the land of harsh winds was their claim. It was almost laughable, if it wasn't so disgusting. What bullshit. Even the prats in the Praetorians were in some way capable of exerting their authority; Tzimiskes' irksome brethren wouldn't have been able to tell the fucking difference between their impotent little balls and the many tumours that dotted their flabby wastes of flesh.

How [i]utterly surprising[/i] that Mistralese power was eroding. Even in their own orbit. Where were the Vigiles in her hometown? Where were the [i]glorious[/i] tendrils of imperial authority? When would they give her family their money back? Hah, the cancerous scum promised their nation so much, yet all the citizenry could see were criminal insects.

On the bright side, it promised foreign investment! Setting up an international crime ring was incredibly easy to do in Mistral.

Laughable.

She would rather their eyesockets crushed and powdered into the same drugs they loved to peddle.

But that was irrelevant.

In the end, Gideon Blue's domain had sought to isolate itself from the Capital. That was one obvious reason for why it would rather ask for assistance from a institution an entire ocean away than seek out Haven's complement of Hunters. How ironic that his request had instead landed in the hands of a Havenite transfer team.

Just once, she would allow herself to be like the unwashed lesser beings in Mistral.

When the purse-strings were opened so widely, they would be fucking retarded not to exploit him for as much as he was worth.

"[color=66cd00]But it's fortunate he [i]did[/i] find some local Hunters,[/color]" a tinge of sarcasm dripping into her monotone voice as she continued. "[color=66cd00]It will be easier for us to identify what fuckery they're up to and how to permanently resolve it.[/color]"