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Post by RielCZ on Jun 16, 2015 10:20:23 GMT -5
“Well shoot, I didn’t expect that to happen,” Carlos quipped as the nut literally shot off the front of his latest creation. Weaponry wasn’t allowed to be possessed by the “labouring classes.” But a constructed-without-permission-of-the-council non-lethal-under-normal-conditions high-intensity water gun seemed perfectly within limits. “It must be too high-intensity for its own good.” Carols Allende was an inventor, a tinkerer. An “Engineer” so it read on his council-authorized profession card—and he was sent to a special school to hone his skill in the trade when he was younger, on recommendation from the council of course—but he never liked that term. He didn’t build engines. Every time he submitted a patent to the council for the council’s approval—and for the council to use however they saw fit and, but of course, take any subsequent credit for the device’s creation—he was given the necessary contracts and parts by the council to build his creation for prototyping. From there he could test whether the device worked and then write a report to the council. Good parts were otherwise tough to come by... and sometimes he needed to build things without the ever-present eye of the council. He really didn’t trust the council sometimes… “Papa, one day will I be one of the councilmen?”“Yeah, when the revolution comes.”And he started putting elements into his designs that had no purpose other than to give him a spare part. And then he started designing whole designs he knew would fail… but not fail him in his purpose to acquire pieces to work with. The council never checked up on the things that failed. This gun was a “spare parts” creation. So was the little radio he always kept on him that could monitor many more channels than the standard consumer one. Those were always fixed to KMLV. (Although he might distrust the council from time to time he had to admit the city-state’s often-played anthem was a really really good piece.) He planned to give the non-lethal-under-normal-conditions high-intensity water gun to Laurie, for her defense. Word was getting around of… unrest. And in case something happened to her and he couldn’t be there… Well, he didn’t want to think about that. There was a knock on the apartment door, then. He slid open the peephole. “From the jeweler—it’s ready,” the messenger on the other side said. Carlos thanked the man and was shortly on his way. *** Grinning widely, Carlos clutched the little box. Today was the day. The day he and Laurie had moved in as roommates, exactly 5 years ago. And it would be an extra special anniversary, this time around. But on his walk home… commotion. People gathered around something. The wall. There was something wrong with the wall… He looked at the wall and instantly saw what was wrong with the wall. “Well, shoot. I didn’t expect that to happen.” As much as he didn’t trust the council, he trusted the so-called resistance less. The council used fear of the unknown outside the wall to control. The resistance used the promise of bloodshed. Carlos considered himself, in general, a pacifist. He closed his eyes. “Come to the wall,” he thought, silently, mostly not to himself. And within a minute or two Laurie crashed into his arms with such force he almost let go of the box. Good thing he was well-built and strong… it must have came from tightening so many bolts. ”Carlos!”“Well hello there,” he replied smoothly as he slipped the box into the pocket of his light beige jacket. Beige. The standard color of the labourers. And then Laurie was in her turtleneck. Not uncommon an occurrence… He stroked her lower back. “It’s OK dearie.” “Now,” he thought to her, “Let’s go home. Or to Uncle May’s Bright Fellowship Park. There’s something I want to say to you and show you.”Carlos Allende is an Engineer who's suspicious of the council but trusts the resistance even less. He attempts to build a water gun but it backfires. And then he goes to the jeweler's after a messenger comes 'round. He sees the writing on the wall while out and telepathically summons his roommate and girlfriend Laurie ( Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)), and then he tries to comfort her.
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jun 16, 2015 11:48:56 GMT -5
Drale was already busy at work when the graffiti was discovered. He always got up before dawn to start. He’d filled the crucible with greenish pieces of broken glass and heated it in the kiln. This morning he was making window panes, the cheaper kind for customers who didn’t mind the tint and needed the discount. A customer showed up while he was working, wanting to talk. They told him about the graffiti, talked about the reaction and Chairman Mayhitch’s words. Drale listened along, keeping his eyes on his work and waiting for a break in the other person’s flow of words. When the silence came, he finally spoke. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be handled. Uncle May and Daniela will find the miscreants soon enough, and they’ll be thoroughly re-educated. Back when my grandfather was part of the council, these kinds of things never happened. It’s the kids these days, allowed far too much freedom! When I was a kid you weren’t even allowed to look at the wall, and just a few days ago I saw children daring each other to run and touch it! Nothing good comes of kids with too much freedom and spare time, except business for me when they break stuff.” He looked up at the customer, only to find they’d already gone. He wondered how long he’d been talking to himself. Drale is making real glass window panes! And accidentally talking to himself, not realizing the other person left.
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Post by Jayeee on Jun 16, 2015 11:50:48 GMT -5
Like oh em gee, shut the front door! I am just like having the totally weirdest day. As if the life of Sebastian McKenzie-Forbes-Thurlow-Thomas wasn’t crazy enough already, things just got major around here. And I mean freaking majorly major! It all started today – duuuhh!! – like, only a few minutes after I’d stepped out of my house. Things just felt seriously serious. I was like, excuse me, but am I missing something right now?! Because there's this tension in the air, like the new cabana backpack had just gone on sale – please, as if that would ever happen!! But anyway, so I was so busy wondering about all this tension floating around, when I realised something: isn’t tension just like, not even real? I gasped totally loudly, and made sure to write ‘#deep’ in my day planner. Did I mention that I was carrying around my day planner? Please, as if you didn’t already know. I AM a personal assistant after all. PERSONAL ASSITANT TO MELVILLE. That’s what it says on the front of my totally lush day planner. Because it’s so true. I don’t even ask for cash that often for my service, isn’t that like so charitable of me? Voluntary donations to my funding are totally mandatory though, OMG I’m so generous sometimes. From the goodness in my totally ginormous heart, I help the people of Melville to make their lives way improved. And I mean WAY improved. Just today I saw Chloe eating a sandwich. And that was like, SO MANY CALORIES. Do you know how many calories bread has?! Well it’s a lot. And there was stuff in it too! “Chloe, babes,” I called as I ran over, waving my totally lush day planner in the air as I reached her. “Let me give you some free advice, sweetie,” – laugh-out-loud, all my advice is free. CLASSIC Sebastian!! – “Calories will make you so ugly. Trust me, you wouldn’t look good fat.” Isn’t that just totally selfless of me?! I have an awesomely high metabolism so I ate the sandwich instead. So anyway, after I ASSISTED Chloe in that PERSONAL decision (DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?), I carried on to the outskirts of town. Sometimes it’s great to just like, wander about, you know? But there was still that tension. Weird, right? Totally bizzaro, because I heard somebody calling out, “It’s the chair.” I was like, PRAISE THE WALL, I totally needed to sit down. Except it wasn’t a chair, it was Uncle May. At first I SO wanted to be rebellious to my Uncle, but that is so two-thousand-and-nine. “Uncle May, you could totally use a moustache trimmer, I’ll find one for Christmas,” I called out as I approached the wall – isn’t that crazy generous of me?! I thought so, so I wrote it down in my lush day planner. It’s pink. He didn’t hear me though. Can someone say RUDE!!! Just as I was considering turning teenage rebellion into a totally retro craze, I saw something on the wall. I didn’t even get it. Was that supposed to be some kind of revelation? I stepped forward. “Can I like, make a statement here for just a tiny minute, please?” I waved my totally lush day planner over my head and waited for attention to turn to me. “Can I just say that that would have been way more powerful in green – that’s in right now. And like, writing on the wall isn’t talk, it’s text.” I literally wished that I had a microphone right then, because that was such a poignant time to drop it. Instead, I shouted, “HASHTAG TRUTH BOMB!” Can I just say that my daily walk to the wall in hopes of finding some totally outrageous people to PERSONALLY ASSIST was majorly interrupted by some writing on the wall. #Inconsiderate #IDontEvenCareThough
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Post by PFA on Jun 16, 2015 12:23:16 GMT -5
Once Fortune was finished dusting, she beamed, picking up her most prized possession of them all—an old radio. It had a few knobs missing, and the sound wasn't that great... but it still worked, and that was what mattered. After all, her favorite pastime was to sit in her favorite chair and listen to her favorite radio station. KMLV, of course, since that was the only radio station in town; but even if there were any others, she was sure it would still be her favorite. She would never tire of the town's anthem, and she could listen to Sampson Thorpe's wonderfully soothing voice all day. "Hi, lady! Are you my family?"Fortune jumped, startled out of her anthem-induced trance by the voice that was definitely not Sampson's. She whirled toward the source of the voice, startled to see that a bedraggled child was somehow in her house. "H-how did—" "Oh, and your door's broken," the child added. Well, that explained it, but it certainly didn't make the situation any better. That situation, of course, being that there was someone in her house. "Th... that's a shame, I should really get that fixed," Fortune stammered, clutching her radio to her chest. "Wh-what are you doing here?" Fortune is merrily listening to the radio when Arlie ( Coaster) barges in. Fortune panics.
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Post by Celestial on Jun 16, 2015 12:36:51 GMT -5
Ivan's heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the most wonderful Cara opening the door, gracefully, like an angel would open the gates of heaven, if the gates were shoddy and made of wood. But it did not matter. She lit up even the plainest place, with her halo of blonde hair and her freckles, each one a kiss from every single god in existence. For a moment he thought about how she would so light up his small farmer's cottage, but no girl as beautiful as Caraway should settle for a mere farmer. She was too perfect for all but the high Councillors. And then she began talking about going over the Wall. Oh, Cara, she was so brave. He did not have the courage to do half the things she did. So when she asked him if he wanted to go, his eyes widened. "Oh, no, Cara, I-I couldn't go over the wall with you. We'll get caught, and if that happens, who will look after the Children?" he stared at her in horror. "It's too dangerous, Cara. You should stop putting yourself in danger or the Council will catch on and capture you. Then what will Cori and Rose do without you?" What will I do without you?He smiled awkwardly as Cori came up and berated Cara. For a moment, he thought about stepping in, stopping the older sister from telling the younger off. After all, it was not Cara's fault she was so brave, so noble and self-sacrificing. She was simply doing the best she could for her family. Sometimes she even went hungry for them. Of if only he had that kind of fortitude! But the last time they had gone through tough times, during the winter, when he had sacrificed food for the family, Ivan had ended up collapsing. The Children had encouraged him to eat, giving up their rations for him, bless them. So alas, all he could do was work and provide for them, knowing he could never reach the same heights that Cara did for her beloved family. Just another reason why he was unworthy of her. She was even going to school, gaining an education, while he stayed behind and worked as a farmer. He'll always be a farmer, while Caraway might even one day be part of the Council. And he hoped that when that day came, she would remember her plain, childhood friend who loved her so. At the offer of food from Cori, however, Ivan shook his head. "No thank you, Coriander. I would not dare take precious supplies from you when I know you're already hard up. I have the farm, I'll manage, somehow," he swallowed, remembering the next part. "But the Resistance, they...they wrote on the Wall. I didn't get what it was but the Council seemed...displeased about it. They made a statement and everything," he sighed deeply. "I don't fear the Resistance, they can't do anything against the wisdom of the Council, but I just worry what it will mean for me and the Children...we're already hard up, we can't have the Council punishing all of us for the actions of a few fanatics." Ivan waxes poetically about Caraway ( Avery), about how brave and strong she is for going over the wall, and how he cannot follow her, before he tells Cori( Gelquie) about the Resistance, what they did and how worried he is.
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Post by Coaster on Jun 16, 2015 13:55:32 GMT -5
The lady didn't seem to know Arlie was coming. "Th... that's a shame, I should really get that fixed. Wh-what are you doing here?"Well, at least the house was nice, and the lady was nicer than some other folks that could have been Arlie's family. "I was at the Wallfare like usual, except Pup because he wasn't around today so I ate his food too, and then the man told me to come here to find a house and a family, and he gave me this!" Arlie took out the crumply paper and gave it to her, then grabbed the lady's hand really tight and shook it. "I'm Arlie--Arlie Brook--and we're gonna be great friends, and go on adventures, and you can do all those things the grown-ups do with their kids like buying ice cream and reading books! Except I don't want to go to school, they don't like me very much. Or Pup. Oh, wait, let's go get my stuff first!" Arlie kept holding the lady's hand and tried to pull her to the door but she didn't seem to want to go anywhere. Arlie attempts to explain the situation and make an introduction, but overall just keeps being a nuisance to Fortune ( PFA). (Fortune is also given Arlie's paper, which used to have a map of the neighborhood pointing out a shelter of some sort, but now is likely smudged beyond recognition.)
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Post by Huntress on Jun 16, 2015 14:57:44 GMT -5
The little radio on the stall counter crackled into life and started pouring out the town anthem. Ene leaned on the counter and hummed along appreciatively. She hardly ever actually listened to the radio, that would've required taking her attention away from her near-constant research, but she liked having background music and the anthem was jolly good background music. It was a sturdy little stall near the edge of the marketplace and Ene Allikhing had been running it on and off for the past ten-or-so years. The counter was stacked with delicate little glass bottles of all shapes and sizes, and on the ground next to the stall was a variety of gorgeous, exotic flowers, from huge frilly lily-like blossoms to tiny little white bundles that swayed in the gentlest breeze, all fragrant and glistening with dew and carelessly tucked into several big buckets every which way. There had been twice as many flowers in those buckets when she'd opened the stall a few hours earlier. Trade was, technically, going well. Technically. Ene was, for all accounts and purposes, a saleswoman of useless skills. She wasn't entirely sure if she resented that title or loved it - on one hand, it was terrible advertising rivaled only by the surprisingly long-lived Horsewater Pub a few streets over. On the other hand, Saleswoman of Small Skills Which'll Make You the Life of the Party and Will Totally Come in Handy Someday if You're Creative Enough may have been more apt but there's only so much you can do to fit that on a sign. (She'd in fact started her business with that sign on the stall and it'd worked wonders for a while: people had to stop long enough to read it, by which point she could peddle something off to them, but the novelty wore off eventually.) Still, she took pride in her little creations. Skill of knowing where you put your keys? Excellent at all times, I tell you! Skill of curling up your tongue? Researched that for weeks, thank you. Skill of always having your mouth empty when someone addresses you at a dinner table - she'd insisted that that was an awesome skill, and it'd in fact sold well for a while, except it turned out that the people who were high enough on the social ladder to care already had that skill somehow. The skill of always drawing the perfect circle had also sold great, especially when the town school got to geometry classes, and it'd got teachers in a tizzy. Ene had responded by developing a formula which made you draw a perfect circle with a slight lump to one side. She'd been massively proud of it and would tell everyone who stood still long enough to listen about the metamorphic properties of the common potato. She developed her little creations in a small greenhouse out of a variety of carefully bred plants and flowers, and she was very good at it. Problem was, it didn't exactly put bread on the table. Solution was, those same plants and flowers, strong and fragrant and so rare in the town in this cold October, were prized among the townspeople who took them home to brighten their days. Frankly, the only reason she wasn't called Ene the Flower Girl was because she was a dab hand at throwing flowerpots at your head. She was also a good thirty years late to being a girl, with short-cropped dark hair and the sort of permanent parchmenty tan acquired by people who spend their time getting up close and personal with the common potato in its natural environment. "Terrible business with the graffiti," a stocky farmer said conversationally, stopping at her stall and shaking Ene out of her usual happy early-morning anthem-induced lethargy. "Honestly, people are only talking about it because there's nothing else going on," said Ene, who'd already heard the news via the oldest and most reliable of information networks: word on the marketplace. "Topic of the day: the weather, someone's chicken laid a two-yolk egg, graffiti on the walls, take your pick. How's the wife?" "I um," said the farmer, who'd been eyeing the bucketful of flowers. Ene sighed and dragged a huge crimson flower out of the bucket. "You could also take the skill of building a card house, that'll cheer her up," she suggested hopefully. The farmer hesitated and then bought the little vial as well. Well, someone messed up bad, Ene thought, looking at his disappearing back with curiosity. The graffiti was already gone from her mind. Ene Allikhing sells flowers useless skills, but mostly flowers at the town marketplace, because life is cruel like that. She already knows about the graffiti and has a brief chat with a farmer about it before putting it out of her mind.
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Post by Lizzie on Jun 16, 2015 15:07:13 GMT -5
Tierney Potter shuffled through the store, staring off into space. Her fingertips, outstretched toward the shelves, grazed items as she passed. She touched it all, old plastic knick knacks and recycled metal cans littering the shelves. The textures felt calming beneath her fingers, and she smiled vacantly as she stumbled on through the winding aisle. Tierney smacked her gum loudly, mouth wide open. Nearby, though she didn’t know it, Tierney’s mom Faye Potter stood, the daughter a rival for her mother’s beauty, all the same save the sleek, straight, dark black hair that Tierney got from her father, Madigan. Tierney stumbled toward her mother, and the older Potter looked up swiftly, shaking her head when she noticed the vacant stare encapturing her daughter’s eyes. “Tierney June Potter! Pay attention to where you’re going!” Faye called to her daughter. “Mom!” Tierney yelped, jumping in surprise. She immediately stood bolt upright, her arms flailing out before pressing straight into her sides. In the same second, the sound of shattering glass filled the air, a piercing sound that Tierney knew all too well. She cringed, looking at the shattered glass ornament at her feet. An antique from before the Wall. Faye let out a sigh, eyeing her the girl’s ashamed face and the shards of glittering, colored glass that now littered the floor. “Can’t you be more careful?” Tierney’s mother scolded, immediately walking to her side. The younger girl shook her head, shifting awkwardly as she squatted down to take a closer look at what she just broke. “You, like, surprised me,” Tierney said quietly, going back to smacking her gum as she picked up a shard of red glass. She nodded a bit, placing it in her palm, and looked up at her mother, “You know not to do that, mom.” Faye rolled her eyes, stepping away a bit as her daughter continued to pick up the glass “I’m going to have to go find the manager. Stay here” -- she glared as her daughter dropped the glass and reached toward another ornament on the shelf with one hand, the other twirling the end of her long braid -- ” And don’t touch anything else!” Tierney nodded in response, sinking fully to the floor. She looked at the pile of glass, running her fingers gently over the jagged edges of the different pieces. Tierney glanced around, realizing she was alone in the aisle, though she could hear voices from other parts of the store, townspeople doing their errands and trying to buy and sell from the small antique store. “It’s okay,” Tierney whispered to the glass, her eyes the same shining green as some of the shards, “I’m sorry for hurting you, but I’ll take you to the Wall and make it all better. The Wall makes everything better.” Tierney breaks some glass after being stupid, and her mother has to go to management. She hears other people nearby ( Liou ?) and talks to the glass, promising to take it to the Wall.
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Post by Fraze on Jun 16, 2015 15:13:23 GMT -5
Jensa Noberry arranged and rearranged the thick sheafs of papers on her desk. She spent ten minutes sorting them carefully into five piles of varying heights, only to pick them all up at once, clear everything off the floor, and arrange them sheet by sheet in a grid that only existed in her mind. Tracing imaginary lines with one finger, she visualized the connections between the documents. After much deliberation, she picked up a single sheet. The paper's header read "LAUNDROMATS, STREET SWEEPERS: COALITION TO CREATE DIRTY CLOTHES?" Yes. This, this was surely the crux of it. The chosen paper got pinned to one of the few empty patches of the corkboard that took up most of one wall of her small, one-room house. She then wound red threads from that pin to half a dozen others, each one supporting its own sheet. That wasn't the crux of all of it, of course. Not even close. But the clandestine alliance in which street cleaners made sure to splash mud onto people in exchange for a cut of the laundromats' profits was definitely at the center of the mystery she had spent this last week unraveling. The other papers got picked up and set on a single pile on the small desk. They would all find their place on her wall, eventually. Not that Jensa believed a single bit of it, mind you. That was the thing about being a conspiracy hobbyist: conspiracies are fun to imagine, but if they existed in real life, they would just be a lot of trouble. She was glad she didn't live in a world of actual conspiracies. It was all quite a lot of work, but she didn't know why she did it, other than fun. Maybe she would write a book one day, or something. Her work done, Jensa checked the clock. It ticked at her accusingly, and she realized with a start that she was late for her real work. Rushing around the room, she pulled on colorful tights and a harlequin patterned form-fitting shirt, added a light jacket to keep from getting cold, stepped into her shoes, and grabbed a duffel bag with tools of her trade carefully arranged inside. She spared the briefest glance in the mirror to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything important. She saw short-cropped brown hair sticking at odd angles and a dancer's frame slender enough to fit through all but the narrowest Council-approved garden hoses. Everything in line, then. Leaving the house, she walked briskly toward the center of town. Halfway along her route, Jensa took a brief detour through the marketplace. She stopped at a stall surrounded by buckets of flowers. "Do you have anything new?" she asked the proprietor Ene, and was handed two small bottles. Jensa read the label on the first bottle and frowned. "'Identifying common birds from a distance.' I'll try it, but I'm not sure what I can do with it..." She checked the other bottle and her expression brightened. "'Balancing pencils on their tips?' This is awesome, it'll make plate spinning so much easier! Ooh, and I bet I can do some cool stuff with gymnastics!" She paid for the bottles and continued her trot into town, uncorking both and drinking the contents. A tiny thrill of enlightenment followed each one. Looking to her right, she saw a small patch of brown in a tree, and immediately recognized it as a green-toothed sparrow, which she hadn't known existed before that moment. Well, they couldn't all be winners. She finally arrived in the town square, taking her customary place on the side of a busy walking path. She got there just before the peak of rush hour, the perfect time to start. The town guard standing by the fountain gave a brief disapproving glance, but didn't try to make her leave. She pulled a cup out of her duffel bag and put a few coins in it. Never start with an empty cup. She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out several plates and some pencils - fortunate that she had those! Removing her jacket, she began her street performance for the day. Two hours later, Jensa's enthusiasm had worn down and she was ready for a break. She had done very well so far, already earning nearly enough for the day. The pencil balancing skill Ene sold her was a real winner; at one point, she had managed to keep five plates spinning. She would try balancing herself on them next. But first, breakfast. Packing everything up, she walked toward a sandwich shop near the Wall. Except a crowd had gathered, and - and Uncle May was there? This was certainly unusual. Then she read the message on the wall, and it became even more unusual. A dozen different conspiracies tacked to her wall flashed before her mind. Could it be that the sewer demons were finally making their move to reclaim the town? Was the Restaurant Elimination Society finally putting an end to the evil of menus? Or maybe even the laundromat/street cleaner coalition? No, those were all silly and made up. But a real conspiracy...was not the sort of thing Jensa wanted to get caught up in. Before she could think about it any further, something slammed into her. She took a quick step forward and planted one hand on the ground, embedding a few stray bits of gravel into her palm. "Oh! Are you all right?" she asked the nervous-looking young man who just collided with her. Jensa Noberry is an avid conspiracy hobbyist and up-and-coming street performer. She starts this fateful day by unraveling a dastardly plot to make everyone's clothes dirty, which is fun to think about precisely because it's entirely made up. She then dashes to her job, stopping by Ene's ( Huntress)'s stall to pick up some experimental supplies. During her lunch break, she finds the message that everyone's talking about, and gets run into by Doormat ( Thorn).
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Post by Liou on Jun 16, 2015 16:17:08 GMT -5
The crisp fallen leaves crackled under the wheels of a pristine scarlet bicycle, which swayed from side to side, propelled by a pair of long, toned legs. As perfect as it was, the town of Melville could never be quite as perfect as the most perfect part of it - Victoria Sheridan. The young woman was well aware of her allure as she cruised through the town, the wind rumpling the frills of her polka dotted dress. So many others wished that they could have a mere speck of her charm and good fortune in life. It was all Victoria's, though. She had it all, and she certainly wasn't going to refrain from flaunting it. The rumours of an inscription on the Wall only made her smirk. She, of all people, needn't worry. No one would let any harm befall Victoria Sheridan. She was far too important. Unlike others. For once, Victoria rode into the outskirts of town, wrinkling her nose delicately at the scenery. The inhabitants of this area must be so lazy, they had obviously not lifted a finger to send for home repairspeople in many years. The bicycle halted in front of a dwelling where several teenagers were already chattering on the doorstep. "Talking about the Wall?" Victoria called to them with a wide smile, stepping down from the bike on her shiny high heels and smoothing her skirt. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you. Didn't you hear what was written this morning? Of course not, people like you... Death comes next, Cara." (Victoria had only heard that sentence repeated by someone, but she thought it was the perfect thing to tell Caraway Nix.) She strutted over to them with her hands on her hips, eyed Cara critically from head to hem of threadbare nightgown, then pursed her lips. "Still wearing that old thing? Looks just as good as you. No wonder no one hangs out with you..." She turned to Ivan. "Except for you. Oh I see, you must talk about your matching terrible clothes together. Ivan sweetie, when will you stop hanging around these people." Victoria's fingers trailed up the front of the young man's shirt, her sharp red nails catching in the worn fabric. "I could buy you so much better than this..." She squeezed a little tighter, smirking at him with her pouty lips. "You know my condition." She released him abruptly. "I'd come in for breakfast, but I wouldn't want the smell of this place to stick to me, you know..." She flipped her short bob of gleaming chestnut hair. "So long, Cara," she practically spat. And with a shrill, cackling laugh, Victoria climbed back onto her bike and rode back towards the nicer part of town. Victoria stopped again at an antique shop, remembering an errand she had to run. It was a bother really, but she really needed to clear some room in her jewellery box, otherwise wherever would she keep her next birthday presents? As she walked into the shop, she pulled a few trinkets out of her purse and imperiously dropped them on the counter, a gesture far too generous for the shopkeeper who would surely feel indebted to her for life. "I didn't need these anymore," she said. "You can just pay My Father later, he'll come by." Victoria then strolled around the shop, glancing around for something interesting, without much hope. She was about to turn back and tell the shopkeeper all about how boring their shop was and what a terrible waste of her precious time it had been, when a great crash of glass was heard. Victoria started, gasped loudly and fanned herself with a delicate gloved hand. Her eyes fell on the perpetrator of the incident, a young black-haired girl. "You! You could have injured me! You're almost as clumsy as that stupid Cara! And I was thinking of buying that!" She hadn't yet started to think about buying the... glass item that had been broken, but she probably would have, had it not been broken so early. Victoria Sheridan is a perfect rich young lady who goes around kindly reminding people like Avery, Gelquie and Celestial that they're pathetic lol. She's also in the antique shop where Lizzie is at and witnesses the terrible murder of the glass thingy and gets upset about it.
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Post by Thorn on Jun 16, 2015 19:07:09 GMT -5
Even as Doormat's vision was still clearing, a voice broke through his hurriedly reassembling thoughts. Female, concerned...did he know this person? Probably not. He tended not to know people. Knowing people was hard. "Oh! Are you alright?" the unknown had said. Bright colours reeled before him, and he wondered at first if his vision was going to go all starry-spotty-flashy again, before the colours resolved themselves into a figure. Oh. Good."I'm fine!" he said, with a little nod. "Yes. Just a bruise, maybe." He touched his forehead gingerly. If it did bruise, Doormat could make up an exciting tale regarding how he got it! But...he would feel bad about doing that. Maybe he could try. I was rescuing a lady's bag from a pickpocket! Though he couldn't imagine saying that one with any real conviction, or anybody actually believing him... "Are you alright?" he echoed, backing up a little more. He'd knocked her over, that wasn't good! Well, half knocked her over. It still counted. "Again, I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going. I was in a hurry. I hope you're not hurt!" Doormat thought he recognised this person, but he didn't know her, if that made any sense at all. She entertained in the square sometimes, in the mornings. Maybe he'd given her coins once, or maybe he'd just thought about doing it. He'd probably just thought about doing it, come to think of it. Coins didn't grow on trees, and there were much more interesting things to spend them on. Like magicians and illustrations of animals dressed like people. I'll put Doormat's physical description in my journal to make it easier for people who are forced to interact with him, I'm not good at conveying appearances in roleplay without mutilating the fourth wall. Doormat realises that this woman Jensa ( Fraze) is a street performer, that he knocked her over; and he is subsequently very apologetic.
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Post by Tiger on Jun 16, 2015 21:03:01 GMT -5
Aerona Tolbert struck a final blow with the hammer, then set the instrument aside, wiping her the sweat from her forehead with a hand covered in a thick, nearly-black glove. Shards of dull-green glass sparkled in the bin on her workbench, covering the wooden bottom. But it still wasn’t enough, was it? Aerona considered, picking through the shards and letting them fall back into the bin with delicate chinks. No, it wasn’t enough. She looked over at the half-completed lantern on her second workbench. Elegant, beautiful, with a domed roof and a rough iron hanger ready to be attached to the top - as soon as she had enough glass to make the final pane. Glass was not cheap, and lanterns, unfortunately, were not exactly hot sellers. Each of her lanterns was a work of art, as far as Aerona was concerned - sturdy wooden frames in interesting shapes or twisting like vines or patterned like the bricks of the Wall, with smooth, hand-melted glass panes that came in all colors of the rainbow...or, rather, all colors of the glass bottles and discarded glass items, like vases and ornaments and light bulbs and jars. It all came down to the same thing, really - glass was not cheap, and also difficult to order in the precise shapes she sometimes wanted. The obvious solution, Aerona had decided, was shattering dozens of rescued discarded bottles, melting the shards into a single sheet of molten liquid, and pouring it into a mold to become new glass. The trouble with this strategy - besides the hazards of fire and flying shards of glass and pouring molten material into thin iron frames - was that it required a lot of reconnaissance. Old glass didn’t just show up on her doorstep. But that was all right - she’d go for a walk, and see the city by daylight. Maybe find some glass lying in a convenient place. Melville did give a person what they needed, after all, eventually. It just took a bit of effort,and knowing in your heart that life was good!Aerona took a minute to let her hair down and check the black strands for any hidden glass shards - back when she hadn’t checked, thinking surely no glass would fly that far, Aerona had discovered that such shrapnel was not been a pleasant thing to suddenly find sliding down one’s back. She checked her reflection in the mirror - a small, cracked thing; she would melt it down and recast the glass once she had found another broken mirror and tested to make certain the melted glass would stay reflective - and found the goggles she wore while smashing glass into pieces had left thick lines around her nose and forehead and eyes. Well, everyone would know she’d been hard at work, that she was not just taking a leisurely stroll! She headed, roughly, for the center of town, her eyes in search of the glimmer of reflection or the delicate curve of shadow that would mark glass, and whistling the town anthem. It really was a catchy tune. Tiger finally posts with Aerona Tolbert, a lampmaker. She makes her own glass out of smashed bottles and the like, but currently doesn't have enough and is on the hunt for more bottles. I’ll throw her at someone...uhm, soon 8D
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Post by Lizica on Jun 16, 2015 21:43:44 GMT -5
Joan Wrigley's job was the epitome of practicality. Because honestly! There was just so much to see in Melville! Geography--architecture--riverbanks--ideal sunset locations--good fields for picnicking--radio towers--stargazing--landmarks of all kinds! The whole of Melville was a veritable paradise for sightseers, a glorious tourist trap--and good thing, too, especially since no one was allowed to leave. And although the Melville Tourism Agency was never exactly lucrative, that never deterred Joan Wrigley, who was at the very least known for her ability to give customers more bang for their buck. "Have you been to see the giant ball of yarn in the eastern district?" she'd told a customer just the other day. "Not only is the ball over eight feet tall, but it's made from spun wool that was hand-dyed back fifty years ago, giving the giant ball of yarn its unique sun bleached blue color! Plus, if that's not enough for you and your family, the Serenity Inn right down the street has an amazing deal on a week-long stay if you mention the ball of yarn. I hear they have a great breakfast there, all locally grown foods. Do you have a road map? I can get you a road map, you'll love it out there!" Being a travel agent in Melville was the best job in the city. Of course, a couple times the Council had had to send her memos to remind her that some places in Melville were just best left alone. But...but the TOURISM! The fields in the southern quarter couldn't help that they had the most breathtaking view of fruit tree groves, in the same way that the giant ball of yarn couldn't help the fact that it had rolled right next to the Wall. It was all about promoting tourism in Melville! Nothing inspired pride in your hometown quite like booking a hotel right next to the famous Sunrise Street Split Rail Fence (painted white 14 years ago in honor of the achievements of the Melville track team!). In any case, on this particular day, Joan Wrigley was at the MTA office clipping coupons and advertisements from the Melville Harbinger when the dim sound of quiet gossip wafted inside. Graffiti on the Wall by City Hall? "What?" she cried, slamming her file down onto her desk (spilling out newspaper coupons) and throwing open the door to the small group of gossips passing by her office. "Reprobates! Do they have any idea what a cultural landmark the Wall is? It was erected hundreds of years ago for the citizens, and the stone at the City Hall area is solid granite carefully hewn together with Melvillian materials by Council ancestry, why, it practically has a life of its own! I've booked several trips out there this year already and they had a great time, but people don't go on vacation to look at vandalism of city-owned property--unless of course you mean that officially-sanctioned mural on the factory wall down on Fellowship Avenue-- that is a far cry from vandalism. Have you been there? It's gorgeous, I highly recommend spending a full five days in the area to properly appreciate all the brushstroke technique in the painting, I can get you a map there." A person from the small group of gossipers stared at Joan as she finished her spiel. "I--the graffiti on the Wall was about death. Maybe from the Resistance," he said rather blankly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Joan paused momentarily as this sunk in. If it was true, just what kind of idiots were in this so-called Resistance? She'd heard vague rumors here and there, and whether true or not, they made people scared. They made everyone upset. And a Melvillian who is scared and upset does not want to travel to see all the great things in Melville. "That's even worse!" Joan cried, before rushing back into the MTA office and then bursting out once more, her arms full of brochures. "Here!" she said, foisting coupons at the passing group of gossipers. "These are good for a round of mini-golf at Sunnyside Park. The third hole in particular has a really terrific paper mache sheep, made by the high school students and commissioned by--" The oldest of the group gathered the shoulders of the other gossipers and hustled them along the street, urging them to avoid eye contact. "Tell them Joan Wrigley from the Melville Tourism Agency sent you~!" Joan called after them. Joan Wrigley is a chatty travel agent who can plan your vacations to Melville. She can also give you lots of coupons! She hears about the graffiti and then hands out vouchers for mini-golf.
((Also--if at any point in this RP Joan's yammering infringes on any of your worldbuilding in any way, don't be afraid to let me know so I can fix it!))
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Post by Elcie on Jun 16, 2015 23:00:35 GMT -5
When the crowd of people gaping at the wall dispersed, one young man trailed away rather more slowly than the rest - not so slowly as to be reprimanded by the watchmen, but enough that he could get a good, long look at the ominous sentence written on the Wall, and enough that he could overhear a good amount of the townsfolk's hushed, nervous chatter. Idle fools, they had no idea what lay beyond that wall. The danger they were in. This so-called rebellion was not the real threat, far from it. Pulling his tattered dark clothes around him, Ronan Vudal stalked away from the Wall. Three days since he'd arrived here, and he was still no closer to fulfilling the task he'd come here to finish. And he didn't dare seek out help; he knew very well that no one here could be trusted. When he'd begged sanctuary from the Council, they had made him swear on his life not to discuss what had happened Outside, or even that he was an Outsider at all. That suited him just fine. Appearing just like any other townsperson was safer. Not that he exactly did look just like any other townsperson. When examined closely, Ronan was striking, with pitch-black hair and piercing dark eyes. The clothes he wore, dark for camouflage and badly worn by travel, only enhanced the impression that he was shrouded in a shadow. Striking as he was, he was somehow able to just as easily melt into the crowds and escape notice. Such was the sheer force of his mysteriousness. But staying in the shadows kept you safe. Staying in the shadows kept you alive, outside the Wall, and staying alive was exactly what Ronan meant to do. As he walked down one of the streets of the tame little town, he heard a girl talk about sneaking over the Wall. He tensed. So foolish, to talk so openly! And yet... intriguing. Perhaps such a person knew things that could interest him. But he'd have to be careful... Ronan edged closer to where Caraway and Ivan were talking outside her home, and then edged a little more, just for good measure. He had to hear more of this. Enter Ronan Vudal, the most mysterious and shadowy person ever to skulk in the mysterious shadows of the Town! He hears Cara ( Avery) and Ivan ( Celestial) talking about Outside the Wall, which piques his interest. He decides to listen in, which may or may not be as subtle as he thinks it is.
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Post by Gelquie on Jun 16, 2015 23:14:28 GMT -5
Cori listened intently as he described what happened to the Resistance, but didn't miss the looks he was giving to Cara. She'd known they were interested in each other for quite some time; it was fairly obvious. And it wasn't as if Cori really minded; if Cara was going to have someone interested in her, she could do worse than Ivan. Even if he was way too infatuated and accepting of her impetuousness for his own good. Cara was someone who needed to talk sense; not have her delusions encouraged. But if it did turn into something, well, Cori had better things to worry about than that. Maybe he'd keep her from getting into trouble anyway. She wrung her hands together, pressing them together tightly as Ivan spoke and finished. "I think as long as you're not involved or near any of that, and respect the Council and their rules, I think you'll be fine. They won't go after or punish someone who hasn't done anything wrong. Worst case scenario, they'll impose some restrictions, but I really doubt that'd be anything to worry about for us. Really, I think you're fine. And so are we." She grabbed a jacket from a nearby hook and slipped it on. "And we're not that hard up. Yes, Cara, I mean that. Sure, we're not rolling in riches, but we're fine. Just as always. But I still only made enough for Cara and Rose anyway." She turned to walk into another room of the house, wondering where her bag might be and if one of her sisters had misplaced it again. But before she could leave entirely, she heard another voice from the entryway, and she whipped her head around to see a girl on a bike, now in front of their dwelling. As the girl went on about the message on the wall and what it meant for Cara, Cori's hands clenched tighter together. Who did this girl think she was, threatening them like that in their own home? Before Cara could say anything, the girl continued, flirting with Ivan, and then making a snarky remark about the smell of their home, and then speeding off on her bike. "...The nerve of that girl. As if I was going to feed her anyway." Cori muttered before turning to Cara. "Don't listen to her. Even if that... was the jist of the message..." For a moment, Cori's hands clasped together tighter. "Doesn't mean it's going to happen to you. The Resistance probably won't do anything big like that. If they do, the Council will find them first. They're good at finding troublemakers." She walked further in the house. "That includes people trying to go over the Wall, Cara. So don't you dare try it." With that, she left them alone for a moment as she rummaged through the house for her bag. As she groaned, muttering comments about her sisters all the way, she eventually found the bag back in her bedroom. She slung it over her shoulder as she moved for the door. "I've got to go to work. ROSEMARY, GET UP AND EAT AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL. Cara, eat and get dressed and go with your sister to school. Ivan..." She clenched her hand around her fingers, an idea coming into her head. "If you have some time, could you make sure my sisters make it to school? I'd appreciate it. SEE YOU GIRLS TONIGHT, I'D BETTER NOT HEAR THAT YOU'VE CAUSED TROUBLE OR YOU'RE IN FOR IT." With that, Cori made her way out the door and plunged into the streets, soaking in the morning sun. She really, really hoped that she would get through their heads, at least enough so that they wouldn't get into trouble today. She stood by what she said; the Council wouldn't give them trouble if they didn't cause trouble. That was how they've gotten along so far. But if Cara went over the Wall... That was trouble. And not something they needed now, especially if she was wrong and the Council really was worried. Honestly Cara, do you have to make our lives more difficult? Do you enjoy it?But either way, she had to get to work. There, she could take out her stresses, enjoy her day. It wasn't like she could do much to keep watch over her sisters anyway. And if they indeed did make it to school today, she wouldn't need to do anything. Either way, it was useless to keep worrying about it too much. She would worry . ...But since she couldn't do anything about it till later, she logically knew it wouldn't matter if she spent her thoughts for that day either worrying or thinking of something happier. It wouldn't change anything. She stubbornly began to sing a quiet tune to herself as she strode down the street, heading towards the Island, where the bakery she worked at resided. Cori is certain that Ivan ( Celestial) and her family will be fine, since the Resistance hasn't really done anything. Though when Victoria ( Liou) comes along and gives a hint to what the message says, she's bothered, but still certain that the Council can handle it without too much trouble for those uninvolved. Speaking of Victoria, Cori is very much unamused by her antics and tries to dispel worries she conjured. Then she grabs her work things and barks commands at her sisters and asks Ivan to accompany her sisters to school before striding out of the house, heading to work at the bakery at the Island. Ronan Vudal ( Elcie) has probably watched this whole exchange, but Cori didn't see him. She's singing quietly as she goes through Melville; feel free to interact with her!
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