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Post by Tiger on Jul 21, 2015 11:13:36 GMT -5
There was a lot going wrong, to say the least. Not just for Aerona, but certainly all her current problems were demanding a lot of the lampmaker’s attention. There were ghosts, or super-powered beings who looked like ghosts, for one. The power had all gone out, for another. That wasn’t really a huge problem for someone like Aerona, or at least, it hadn’t been until the guards decided the next day that they needed to keep everyone shepherded to their places of business. And then there was the nagging. The ever-present nagging, but stronger than she’d ever felt it - her Price needed to be paid and considering what had happened the other day, Aerona could hazard what she judged a fairly accurate guess as to why it might be so intense and that made her stomach just ache, constantly. That was unrelated to the Price directly; that was more of a lingering feeling of having forgotten something that made it nearly-impossible to focus - it was all mental, essentially. No, the stomachache was definitely a side-effect of waiting to hear screams and the unearthly noises of Outside beasts. But she couldn’t get to the river to do anything about it - a Council-employed guard was probably not the best person to take on an excursion to catch one of the invisible but reflective fish from Outside. All she could do was worry at the frame of a lantern, carving excessive branched corals until the frame was not anything close to structurally sound. Aerona had never seen a coral reef before. Of course she hadn’t; Melville didn’t border an ocean, and even in those distant oceans, the only remaining reefs were twisting, knotted forests of coral. Fish and other sea creatures of the Outside hid from predators there - only because sometimes the coral would let a small fish go free in favor of closing its narrow tunnels around a barracuda or trevally or piranha or shark, taking the carnivore as a meal instead. And people were being murdered. That was another thing that was not going well.But gradually something drew Aerona out of her fog - the smell of smoke, far too strong to be any of the local business’ regular activity. Setting aside the coral lantern - she heard a branch of coral break off - she wiped a film of fine woodshavings and ash from a window of her workshop with her sleeve. Through the still-smeared but somewhat less-opaque glass, the lampmaker saw a familiar sort of red-orange flickering. It reminded her of the furnace where she melted old bottles for glass. And a fire that reminded Aerona of her furnace but was visible over the crest of buildings? That was anything but good. The guards were attempting to keep citizens back from what Aerona quickly learned was the burning clocktower. Unsurprisingly, this was not exactly a difficult task for them, as very few people wanted to approach a blazing inferno. Keeping the crowd calm, however, was a much more difficult thing, and Aerona played at being much more cooperative in order to get out of their line of sight just long enough to...yes, the coast was clear - her heart hammering, Aerona bolted for the river. Not since she was a child had Aerona actually stepped into River Abill, but with the smell of smoke thick in her throat and hands empty of a lantern or lantern hook, she had no choice. She hesitated, remembering the darkness and the tumbling and the river’s bitter taste and the impossibility of breathing. But she Aerona stepped into the river. Her feet were steadier against the current; it tugged at her pant legs, but didn’t pull at the lampmaker so strongly. She was a lot stronger now, of course - and it wasn’t as if the river was going to let her drown now. She had no lantern, and a match was not going to provide the light she needed, and so Aerona checked for guards or observers, wrested up a little more courage, and pointed her palms at the water. With a flicker like lightning, a sphere of gold light appeared between her hands. The reflection of light was harder to see, but still there, and after a moment, something flicked a scaly tail against Aerona’s leg. There was another strike, a few bumps, the brushing of scaly but smooth hides, and the water’s surface rippled with the shape of the school’s movement. Aerona lifted one hand from her orb of light and instead held it low over the water. When a ripple appeared nearby, Aerona shot her hand out and closed it around a fish even as the light glossed over the water on its invisible back. The fish squirmed in her grasp for a moment, fighting to get back into the water, but Aerona held fast. After a few seconds, she felt it flip toward her. ”Very well, lampmaker - you’ve caught me. What am I to give you for my freedom?”Aerona glanced up at the fire burning in the clocktower. There were a lot of things that would help, actually - but some of them were out of the Outside fish’s power, others would only be useful for a short time, others would draw too much notice… The river was starting to grow yellow-green at her feet, where the fish still churned the water. She needed to decide quickly. I need a light that heals wounds. Subtly. And only for a short time."This is not for repaying your Price?” the fish guessed. "Then this will add to it.”I know.”Go, then - your lantern will carry the light of healing.”Aerona released the fish and let the light at her hands flicker out. Increased Price...well, if her hunch was right she could help repay an unusually large chunk. Maybe. But later - right now she had to see about this fire, before it spread anywhere else in the city. The lampmaker had just left her workshop with her lantern, the special one without glass and not meant for candle-flames and decorated with swimming fish and swaying water-plants, when there was a terrific rumbling and the clocktower came down with a cacophony of bells. It suddenly seemed a bit darker when the walls loomed over them. Aerona gets a magic wish from a fish (yes you read that correctly), and heads to help out with the clock tower situation, just as the whole structure collapses. Little late to the party, Aerona, for shame.
I will try to post again later and possibly actually *gasp* do something useful and interactive this game =O
(Also if I messed up any details, feel free to correct me, I did some hasty catching-up and quite likely missed some fine details, sorry D= |
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Post by Pixie on Jul 21, 2015 22:42:36 GMT -5
The town was terminal. It was all far too much for Pansy to comprehend constructively, so she carried on like an empty automaton set to “mend”. She carried on after the interrogations left many dead who could not have all been the terrorists. And though Cat and Pansy made it through that day alive, it had only been a temporary salvation. While Dr. Livington had been at her clinic, Ms. Livington had been out in the streets in harm's way. Now, her wife was dead. Catalina had perished- at a protest Pansy had wanted nothing part of. Soon they were all in the streets for another public execution. It was Cat this time. It was Cat. Pansy had choked back screams as she saw her Cat’s life end before her very eyes, in an instant. Something had told her if she screamed with the emotional agony she felt, she would be next. Whatever choices had led to her wife’s horrid demise, she doubted that Cat would have wanted her to follow. She felt like she must have been having a nightmare. This couldn’t be life, or a death, because life was good. This was very, very bad. Was it trickery? Had her beloved been innocent, claimed as another scapegoat? Or had Pansy herself been blind to the real problems around? If someone like Catalina was involved… She couldn’t imagine anyone as sweet as Cat blatantly betraying her. The thoughts were searing and nauseating and making it hard to function, but she forced herself onwards despite feeling bereft and hollow. Dr. Livington had left a tortuously quiet and cold house that sleepless night to find the town was burning like a living hell. The message was in the sky, an infernal eye, in the blaze of a clocktower arson, and crumbling burning buildings that had just had taken more lives. The message was around her too. Everywhere, people were dying nonstop. They were destroying each other and themselves. Nobody could be trusted, everyone could be feared, and everyone as in fear. This was not much of a life, she felt. So she did not let herself feel anymore. She acted calm. She acted like a machine, trying to reach those who inhaled the smoke, those caught and burnt by the wreckage. With an empty reassuring smile and some first aid, she pretended that Melville’s condition was anything but necrotic. The tears traced slow paths down her soot-smeared face. Pansy finally broke, over Catalina's ( ♥ Lulu) death. Those nearby might find her administering first aid to fire victims, and also crying. |
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jul 21, 2015 23:34:26 GMT -5
Chaos. The world was chaos. They had failed to save the clock toward, they had failed to save the barracks. Guards were yelling, there was discussion of where the guards would stay now. Those who had families could stay with them, but what about those who didn’t? What about those whose families weren’t on speaking terms with them after the abuses the council had been committing? Drale rubbed his ash-covered forehead and looked around. Out of the crowd his eyes were drawn to a woman tending to victims. He was tired, it took a moment to register she was Dr. Livington. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and he recalled what had happened to her wife, which he’d heard about from his angry assistant who had attended the protest despite promising him she wouldn’t. He knelt beside Dr. Livington, and spoke softly to her. “Do you need anything?” Guards need new places to stay, Drale sees Dr. Pansy Livington ( pixie) and goes to comfort her. |
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Post by Lizica on Jul 21, 2015 23:56:46 GMT -5
The woman from the head of the crowd from yesterday had, at some point, clapped a hand on Joan’s shoulder and directed her attention towards the burning guard barracks. Although she dimly followed her to help, to say that Joan responded verbally might have been true but was something of a stretch. Joan’s usual speech pattern—ever incessant and ever advertising and ever blathering—this time did not create coherent words and instead formed themselves into an unintelligible garbled string of almost-phrases. Because really. The clock tower was on fire. The fire had spread. Her fire extinguisher was extremely heavy.Her fire extinguisher had stopped working, what a heap of junk--The clock tower had COLLAPSED. There was talk of civilians being forced to host guards.There was a giant... something in the sky where the tower had been. (Maybe Joan would be a little more on board with the potentially interesting flaming things in the sky if they weren’t hovering in the horrifying remnants of the historic clock tower’s shadow and declaring potentially threatening things? And the weird...eye...thing? Honestly, it sort of made her miss the clock tower even more, gads, as if she was supposed to climb endless stairs or a mountain, or something. And anyway, it must have been visible for miles, so no one would want to come see it, and--) And then apparently the guards had seized the yoga instructor and shoved her into the wreckage and then struck the radio host and then continued to squabble amongst themselves, and Joan was exhausted and incredulous and frantic and horrified, and while bent double to catch her breath from moving debris, she noticed that her slippers were black and charred and covered in ash and extinguisher foam and were in generally terrible shape like the rest of her probably was, and she couldn’t help the thought as it skipped across her mind and she wondered if she had a coupon for replacement slippers from the veterinary clinic, except then it hit her all at once: There would be NO MORE Melville Veterinary Clinic Annual Picnics. There would be NO MORE yoga classes. There would be NO MORE BOOKED EXCURSIONS TO THE CLOCK TOWER BECAUSE THE CLOCK TOWER WAS NOW A SMOKING, STEAMING PILE OF TOOTHPICK-LIKE SUPPORT BEAMS AND CRACKED BELLS AND SHATTERED CLOCK FACES AT HER FEET. ...So, whatever gibberish it was that Joan managed to sputter aloud, it was probably rather emphatic. Joan helps where she can (somewhat in a daze) and generally responds to generally everything by spouting upset, unintelligible gibberish. |
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Post by PFA on Jul 22, 2015 2:53:35 GMT -5
Fortune heard it live on air. "Hello ladies and gentlemen, this is Sampson Thorpe of KMLV, live from the clock tower disaster, where the City Guards have just apprehended and executed an innocent citizen. I'm speaking to the guard that made the arrest now. Sir, can you tell me why this woman did not go before the council?"Fortune's horror only increased as the segment went on. First, that the guards would apparently make executions without permission from the Council was a horrible thought. Second, that the guard did not take kindly to being confronted, and was shouting warnings at Sampson to stop immediately or face punishment. Third, that Sampson did not stop. "Don't hurt him," Fortune muttered, though there was no way the guard would be able to hear her. But Sampson, they couldn't punish him; he was the most beloved figure in all of town! He was kind to her, a simple woman living all alone, who he had no obligation to help—but he did. And he wasn't even wrong, either! Who was this guard to capture and kill innocent people without the Council's approval? And then, the sudden, sharp sound of something striking the microphone. "NO!" she shrieked, nearly choking on her toast. Did... did the guard just hit Sampson, live on air?! What if he was hurt?! Or worse, what if... This couldn't happen. Not after Sampson had been so kind to her. Not after Arlie. Before she could reason with herself, Fortune had scooped up her radio and darted out the door, toward the clock tower. She didn't even care if it was dangerous, or that she hadn't finished her breakfast, or that she had no idea what she was going to do when she got there. She just didn't want Sampson or anyone else to be hurt. --- The scene was horrible. The clock tower had been reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble, and now the guard barracks was on fire, there was a giant flaming eye in the sky for some reason, people were covered in ash and carrying huge fire hoses... And one of them was Sampson. Amid the chaos, Fortune could have exploded with relief. At least he was okay, at least for the moment. ...And then reality caught up to her. Here she was, outside of her house, surrounded by the chaos and confusion of a burning clock tower. This was horrifying, this was dangerous, why did she ever think it was a good idea to leave— But she had to do something. Mustering up her courage, she scurried over to where Sampson and the others were. Still clutching her radio, she asked, "I-is there some way I can help?" Fortune hears Thundy's disastrous broadcast, which sends her into enough of a panic that she actually leaves her house again to see if he's okay. She arrives at the clocktower, relieved that Sampson is indeed not dead, then runs over and asks if there's anything she can do to help. (I think Fraze and probably some other people are nearby) |
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Post by Liou on Jul 22, 2015 14:13:02 GMT -5
The flames had been gorgeous in the night sky, but as they dimmed and were replaced by a dim grey morning, the scene gradually lost all of its beauty. The sounds of people panicking and loud bangs and crashes of rubble -sounds that Victoria had definitely not missed after dying- finished ruining the moment. Victoria wished that she'd had some sort of camera to immortalise the fire at its best, even before that ghastly eye appeared. How had they even managed to keep it afloat in midair? She averted her eyes. It was much easier to detach herself from the chaos with Ene's arms around her; they were ghostly, but so stable, and full of life in their way, vibrating with a subtle energy. Surprised at first, Victoria closed her eyes to enjoy the moment - too brief, of course. It was nothing like Ranumgen's touch, or even a living person's hug. It was exactly what she needed. "Well, we are in this together," she mumbled. It was true. Victoria wasn't sure why Ene had stayed with her for so long, but she couldn't even consider separating from the woman at that point. And Coriander was back at last. No sooner had the reckless ghost descended from the giant eye of fiery wrath that she wandered away once again to chat with a plain young guy not unlike the one who had killed her. Victoria rolled her eyes and groaned under her breath. "Concerned, no one's concerned, who'd be concerned about you anyway, just go throw yourself right into danger whenever you like, nobody cares, seriously." Some people were just incorrigible. After Ene asked about Ivan, Victoria listened to Cori's hasty explanation with an eyebrow raise that would not have looked out of place above the giant fiery eye. "That Ivan," she commented, "he was always an odd sort of fellow, you know... nothing outwardly wrong, but there was something just... off about him. Kept lurking around the girls, acting strange. The kind of guy to be wary of. Somehow I'm not that surprised he met a sticky end - but to take so many others with him, really dreadful." Cori mentioned the voice in Ivan's head and something around him, and Victoria clicked. The dormant craving she thought she'd got rid of suddenly raised its head, listening out hopefully. "Wait, do you mean that... that shapeshifting guy?" Victoria asked, sounding more eager than she meant, because if Cori knew where Ranumgen was, she might have a chance of finding him and meeting him again and going on that incredible roller coaster ride again. "You met him as well, didn't you?" Ene was the better magic-powered potential-shapeshifter, obviously. It still couldn't hurt to keep track of the other one. GhostVic reacts to more destruction and Huntress's mentor cuteness and doesn't speak -too- meanly of Ivan in front of Ene, how strange, and asks Gelquie if she knows Ranumgen, because deity-craving =D |
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Post by Fraze on Jul 22, 2015 17:58:38 GMT -5
Jensa cringed, seeing Sampson get outright beaten by the same guard who had just killed Laurie. When he returned, she gave him a quick hug, before realizing that might just throw him off balance. "Thank you," she said quietly. "You should be proud. Both of you," she added, looking to Reuben and hugging him as well. "If you need somewhere to stay or work, I, uh, I have a house. But it's a bit messy." She told them the address. She would need to cover up her conspiracy wall, but at this point she should really just take it down entirely. She returned to her task, scouring the fallen tower for more trapped people. "I-is there some way I can help?"Jensa turned to see a woman hovering near the group. She seemed...very small, but not necessarily in stature. "There's still a lot of debris. We need to find out if there are any other people trapped inside here. Can you climb up onto the tower to get a better look? There are probably some intact windows still." After a while, a thought crossed Jensa's mind. There was something she had promised yesterday. "Um," she proclaimed to the throng of people in the square. Or rather, she yelled it at the ground, still carefully picking through rubble. "Yesterday, I led a protest. And I said that today we would meet in front of Town Hall to present our complaints to the Council at 8:00. Well, with everything that's happening, I don't think that's possible. I don't even know what time it is because the clock tower just fell down." She paused, realizing that proooobably wasn't the best thing to say. "But I know that a lot of people still have complaints. And I know the guards won't want us to do this –" she glanced at the nearby guards, who were watching her intently "- but if they try to silence us, then there will be fewer people helping to clean this up." She took a deep breath. "I'll start. I want to speak for someone who can't speak any longer. Her name was Laurie Blackwell. She was engaged to be married, but the Council suspected her fiancée to be a Resistance member. He was killed without a trial. And then, just today, just now, she was killed as well under the same suspicion. I only just got to meet her." She paused. "So, uh, if anyone else has anything to say, I guess go ahead and say it." There was silence. For a moment, it looked like nobody else would speak up. Jensa's cheeks began to warm with embarrassment, and dread pooled in her stomach. Was everyone still too afraid to speak up? What would that mean for the town? What would it mean for her in the eyes of the Council? But then, a voice from across the square piped up. "I own a general store. Half of my profits go to the Council and we never get anything back. My kids go to bed hungry twice a week." Another voice, from just on the other side of the fallen tower. "I live in the western district. The road to my apartment building is so steep and muddy, I've broken my wrist twice falling over while walking home. The Council won't put in stairs or even a railing, and they refuse to let me do it either because that would mean that I'm unhappy with what they provide." "I -" came a voice near the barracks. "My -" came another voice at the end of the clock tower. "I'm sorry, you go," said the first voice. "No, please, after you," said the second one. "I have 20 acres of farmland," the first voice continued after a pause. "I used to have 40, but the Council annexed half of it. All of what grows there goes directly to the Council members and their families, but I still have to do all the work to grow the crops on that land." "My husband got taken by the guards one night," the second voice said. "The only explanation I got was that he 'displayed an inadequate level of satisfaction' with life here. He was gone for two weeks, and when he came back he smiled brightly all the time and praised the Council every day. Then after half a year of that, he –" the voice cracked. "- he killed himself." "My gods...that’s horrible," the first voice said. "I still wonder what they did to him, but I'm not sure I want to know." "Come over for tea sometime if you want to talk about it. There isn't much, but I'll keep a pot ready." "Thank you." The second voice was shaky. "I think I will." Somewhere by the WallOld Ghost Guy went searching for more ghosts to bother. The first seed he'd tried to plant didn't really take. As he meandered toward the Wall, though, he came across someone else. "Tell me what you're all about, said Quentin softly. What are you, said Quentin."Riiight, this one. A bit pleasantly off his rocker, but so was half the town. "There's a lot of magic mixed up in that wall," Old Ghost Guy began, floating up behind Quentin. "There had to be, to protect the town. You're the teacher, right? Fascinated with the Outside? Well consider this: If the Outside is full of all sorts of dangerous beasties, why don't any of them ever fly over the Wall? Some of 'em must have wings of some sort. But you hardly ever get creatures coming in over the Wall, either climbing or flying. "We knew when we built it that there'd need to be more than just bricks and mortar to keep the Outside out," Old Ghost Guy continued, patting a stone on the wall almost affectionately. "So we loaded it up with magical protection. I reckon that at some point, all that magic started to think." Jensa thankhugs Sampson and Reuben ( Thundy) and tells them they can stay at her place if they need to hide out. Then she tells Fortune ( PFA) to climb on top of the fallen tower to look for trapped people. Finally, she starts the second day of protesting that she had planned the day before, with people saying their complaints to the Council out loud while working to clean up the disaster. Meanwhile-ish, Old Ghost Guy goes and bothers Quentin ( Draco) and answers questions that weren't directed at him. |
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Post by Huntress on Jul 22, 2015 18:14:28 GMT -5
(Collab with Gelquie, textwall warning continues to apply.) Cori briefly turned to Victoria, who commented on Ivan's strangeness, but also seemed to have met Ranumgen? Cori could vaguely feel her death wound throb as she listened. Not good.“You saw him?" Cori wondered aloud. "I... Yes, I've met him, and I don't think it's a good idea to go after him again.” Ene digested the information with a deepening scowl. The names involved in the messy murder-suicide case were familiar enough to her - one of the four dead was Ronan, making this freshly chewed-out fella standing here Ezekiel someone-or-other, but this is where logic ran out. Voices in Ivan's head? It happened, of course. Sometimes people just heard voices in their heads. And sometimes candles just fell over on top of important papers. "Let me see if I got that right," Ene said, with a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. "For these past months, everyone in this town has been told that the Resistance is the worst thing that could ever possibly happen to them, they're probably hiding under your beds as we speak - and now you tell me that something's gone and teamed up with Ivan that's even worse than that. That, to me, sounds like something people should possibly know more about before they accidentally run into it on the street." Cori wrung her hands together, anxious over the fact that this was not going the way she wanted. “Well, it could be dangerous... or it could not be. ...I mean, it's... Look, it acts by whim and fancy, as it desires, there's no... There's no pattern. Besides it being completely callous to its own--” she interrupted herself. “Nothing's happened with them since that night, so as much as I want to throttle them and can't, I wouldn't say they're more dangerous than the Resistance right now.” Ene tilted her head sideways. "Well, the Resistance is currently roughly this dangerous," she said, nodding at the enormous smouldering wreck behind them. By this point, it was mostly put out, with the occasional tiny fire still burning here and there. A chunk of debris chose that moment to collapse on itself, because every dramatic wreck contains some chunks of debris which'll hold up right until someone is looking at it in a pensive and possibly emotionally agitated manner. "And I did that for a reason - you should've seen the place, it had information on absolutely everyone, me, you, your sisters..." Cori blinked. “ You did that? But... But you're a ghost. Ghosts can't do anything, how could you...” She shook her head. “Well, I figured they'd have something to keep track of us, it's supposed to be a town keeping everything good for everyone, which is fine by me.” ...Supposed to be, Cori thought as she thought back to the previous executions, the ones following stern interrogations, uncertain of how many of them were actually Resistance. ...But then she didn't know the whole story, did she? ...Just the one involving her death. “But this can't be less dangerous than Ranumgen-- or maybe it could be, I-I don't know anymore. They're... Insane, just like everything else going on.” "Eh, girlie," Ene said, sitting down on the edge of the platform. "Ghosts can do very small things, and small things can lead to big things. It's the same with living people." She nodded at the crowd on the edge of the clock tower's wreck. "See them? If each of them moves a brick, this place gets cleared up soon. But then there are those who never get started on the bricks because the task of clearing up everything looks so scary. I got involved with the Resistance because I figured that I could at the very least do small things, take a few bricks out from the injustice and the censorship and the mock trials and the Council telling me that my husband was a criminal and therefore I should be glad he was killed, and who by the way is Ranumgen?" Cori bit her lip at the final question, trying to simultaneously find an adequate answer to that while still pondering Ene's words, and everything behind it. She looked around her, at the ghosts around her, the ones who had probably never met Ranumgen, never knew what they were like... Just like Cori didn't. “Ranumgen is a... A being,” she started. “A being of pure randomness, of whims and fancy, the unexpected sides of life, bringing the strange and new to all walks of life, and--” she shook her head. No. Not like that. “He's around, and he convinced Ivan to kill me and himself, which Ivan was stupid enough to do. As if that solved anything. But Ranumgen didn't care if it didn't solve anything.” She then turned to Ene. “But you're Resistance. I thought you looked familiar. What's all the deaths have to do with your moves against the Council?” "Why yes, I'll reveal to you our agenda which my as-yet-living fellow members are still trying to execute," Ene said brightly. "Well, fair's fair, a lot of those deaths had no business happening, Victoria's," she nodded at the other girl, "was essentially a stupid accident. Yours just puzzled me, and right now it's sounding a whole lot like my perfectly good assistant went and made a deal with the devil, in which case someone should really have a word with his mother." “Good luck with that; no parents in sight,” Cori muttered, self-consciously glancing away. “But I already tried yelling at him and Ranumgen after he killed me; not much came of that, as usual.” She then folded her arms. “That's still a lot of deaths on your side to happen by accident,” she said bluntly. "We had nothing to do with your death or Ivan's, much as the Council tried to conveniently shuffle that on us," Ene pointed out, lifting one leg over the other and leaning back comfortably. "But if it's a game of sides you want to play then I'll have some awkward questions to ask about the Council hanging that kid - Rusty, was it? No trial, no evidence, no reason - dead." She jerked a thumb at the noose of the gallows above her head. "Carlos Allende? Same. Dead. Innocent. Left a grieving fiancee. Oh, they got me and Catalina, but it was their luck that we so happened to be Resistance - we would've hanged either way. That's a lovely 50% track record to entrust your justice system to. Moreso with a devil of some sort running around offing people willy-nilly and making the guards all nervous and eager to pin the blame on the donkey blindfolded, which is why they killed Carlos, you'll be interested to learn. What did he promise?" Cori gulped. So, they were innocents hung... Unless, of course, the woman was lying about the fact that some of the people hung were innocent, but then she doubted she had yet. She was pensive for a moment. “...He wanted the guard to promise that his family wouldn't be hurt...” she filled in. “...But that's exactly what my Uncle May wants too. Both the safety of the town and my family. A lot of this is because... because of what happened, both my death and the deaths that happened before then. Which... I know, it's far, I know it's terrible how this is all being handled. I tried talking to him, to tell him my killer—when it comes down to it—is already dead. But I'm a ghost, I don't think he can see or hear me at all.” "Could've tried leaving a message on a bathroom mirror," Ene suggested idly. "Seems to be universal ghost-communication currency. How did you and my lovely assistant get involved with Ranumgen the Vague and Mighty, anyway?" Cori went silent at the question she hoped the woman wouldn't ask. Her mind filled with excuses, and for a moment, she even thought about lying for Ivan before deciding that after he killed her, he didn't deserve her cover. Besides, he'd probably be the type to say so anyway, especially if Ranumgen is still hanging around him. “I... I don't know how Ivan started, but he's a follower of Ranumgen. Me, I was... I was wandering that night, and I stumbled upon the scene. Then he shot me, and... Then we met Ranumgen in the afterlife.” "That's a heck of a skill, stumbling into our perfectly good hidden shack," Ene scoffed. "We had to start rotating our hideouts after that night. Months of a safe gathering point, out the window because-" she trailed off as the word follower stuck itself neatly into her brain. "You kids joined a cult," she said flatly. Cori visibly flinched, and she couldn't help but stammer. “I-- No, Ivan did. I-I was just there. I-I was just unlucky enough to find it.” "You joined a cult." “I—Yes, there's a cult, but you can't prove I was part of it,” Cori tried to argue, then wincing in pain as her death wound began to twinge. "You. Joined. A cult." Ene threw herself on her back with the particular brand of uuuurgh known to every teenage girl who's ever said anything thoroughly stupid to her crush. "Kids these days," she groaned through her hands. "Couldn't you have picked up nighttime racing or some such stuff? But nooo, they have to meddle with dark forces and call in some sort of abomination that incites murder-suicides in a shack. Excellent." “I-I didn't know it was all that at first!” Cori retorted before she could stop herself. She put her face in her hands and sighed. “I-I know, I know. I just, it was before I met him, before I realized he didn't care about us. I-I just thought that it'd be something new to bring to Melville, a way to spice up life from the usual, something I could finally have fun with without too much hurt, it was so convincing at the time, I...” Her voice cracked for a moment before she threw her hands down. “I was wrong, okay? I know that now.” Ene grunted through her hands and remained laying on the platform of the gallows for a moment, gathering her thoughts, then drew herself up again and shook her hair back. "Well, there are those who learn from their mistakes," she said glumly, "and those who learn from them post-mortem. Could be worse. My great-grandpa meddled with various dark forces - that's where this skillbrewing skill came from, it gets handed down - and it got him killed in the end, of course, but then an entire city block went down with him so I think he counts that as a win." She cracked a smile. "Well, cheer up. Life is what you make of it, and so is death, I've found." Cori only frowned. “Maybe so. But I've left too much behind by dying. My sisters need me, even if they're with my Uncle May. But I haven't been able to do anything...” Her gaze passed over to the clocktower. “But if you started that... Maybe there is more I can do. ...I just need to figure out how. ...Without causing this much destruction, that is.” "To each their own," Ene said with the air of someone who thinks that a little bit of destruction before breakfast builds character. "Stay away from sources of fire, then. Also, cats can probably see you. And you might be able to pick up small things, if you focus. And if you want to experiment with writing messages on Mayhitch' bathroom mirror, I can give you a few ideas." “If you mean ideas for messages, I can already think of some,” Cori said. “Unless you mean how to do it, in which case... I don't know how to begin on interacting with small things.” She shook her head. “I guess I have a lot of time to work it out. But I'd better get started, if I'm going to get through to Uncle May or my sisters at all.” She turned to Victoria. “Just... stay away from Ranumgen, alright? It didn't work out well for me.” With that, she set her sights towards a different part of town, in the direction of Uncle May's house. Besides needing to practice with physical objects, she needed time away to think about what had been said to her. Ene pondered otherworldly abominations and impressionable assistants for another brief moment, then scowled, got back up and stretched. "You know, those rooms we found," she told Victoria absentmindedly. "People should probably know about those." Ene squeezes Cori for uncomfortable cult-joining god-related information and isn't best pleased with what she finds out. Cori decides to go and find ways to make something of her new ghostly life or lack thereof. Liou and Doormat ( Thorn) have probably witnessed the whole exchange. |
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Post by Gelquie on Jul 22, 2015 18:49:30 GMT -5
Chapter Seven: The Stoked Embers The whole town was hard at work putting out the fires, and even the guards had become more lax in their watch in order to save their barracks. But even they noticed when the aid of the crowd had lessened, as many members of the crowd instead turned their attention on one particular person.
It was the same woman who had been spearheading protests, resuming her shouts and staging a protest anew amidst the embers from the remains of the tower. All eyes were on her, the clearing of the rubble interrupted as people spoke their ill wills towards the Council.
It was going well, a clamour was being created. Voices were being raised. But it was all peaceful and non-violent, just as Jensa wanted.
And then.
A gunshot rang through the air. No one was sure where it came from, or where it had gone. But it soon became clear when they looked to the woman who had begun the protest and found her staggering, her hand to her bloodied chest as she gasped desperately for air.
“Jensa!” a member of the crowd cried.
“Get her down!”
“Someone stop the bleeding!”
“Is someone here a doctor?! ANYONE?!”
“I am!”
“Well, HELP HER!”
The crowd moved in, doing their best to try to help Jensa, but it was of no use. She was losing blood rapidly, and it wasn’t long before she had taken her last breath, going pale and stiff amongst the shocked and gaping crowd.
Soon, the crowd’s attention turned to the guards. “You did this, didn’t you?” they accused, an edge to every one of their words.
But the guards denied it, looking confused as any other. But the crowd either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Their leader, the one who’d inspired confidence in them all to speak up, was dead.
“I bet you wanted her dead!” a member of the town accused. “And why? Because she dared to speak her mind, even if she wasn’t fighting you about it!”
“That’s all you’ve been doing, silencing those who you think are against you!”
“Well I’ve had it!”
“Me too!”
“For Jensa!”
“For Jensa!!”
The crowd had become chaotic, and they began pushing the guards back, trying to take their weapons away to prevent anyone else from being hurt by them. It was an uproar, a riot against the guards.
For Jensa’s death had pushed them one step too far.Jensa Noberry was an Innocent Townsperson.
((Time of day is early but close to mid-morning.)) |
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Post by Thorn on Jul 23, 2015 4:17:25 GMT -5
"It started with him," Cori gestured behind her back to Doormat, "Cause he's the one who killed Ronan."Doormat didn't stick around long after that. He wasn't going to be much use at all where he was. And he wasn't feeling good in any case, and if he could find who started the fire or catch some member of the Resistance in the act, then both he and the town would be feeling less tense-unhappy-conflicted-angry-negative, and surely these were both things to be desired? But the feeling-not-good also lent itself well to thinking-not-very-clearly. As he walked the streets, he thought about the fiery words-in-the-air a lot. And that conversation with Coriander Nix- and Ronan and Ivan, whose faces would not go away, until he eventually gave up on his search and sat down cross-legged on the river bank and started scratching his initials into the dirt with a small stick. He was powerless. Yes, he could write things- "let people know that way, yes", as he'd so eloquently put it- if he could even find things out which would actually be of any real use. So far, he'd shot one guy (who might not have actually been Resistance, maybe), been shot by another, and indirectly gotten the Chair of the Council's niece killed. He'd determined that a few people were most likely good, sure- but what did that matter? They needed to find the ones who weren't, to end it all. Make sure those good people didn't get hurt. Doormat lay down on his side, closed his eyes, and pretended to be asleep. He could still hear the water running, which didn't help. And now everything felt like it was spinning-and-also-tilting. Even in the dark. But after a while of lying still-and-spinning, he felt a familiar presence. The spirit opened his eyes a crack to see a figure moving towards the bridge, just a little downstream from him. What was Gwen doing on the island? Oh...of course, she worked there! Was she...going to the clock tower? Hmm. Doormat climbed to his feet, glad to see that the world had returned more-or-less to normal, and followed his sister as she crossed the bridge and made her way towards the burning wreckage. She looked more grim than usual, and more tired as well; but sometimes she had difficulty sleeping for no real reason at all, and that could go on for weeks...so maybe that wasn't related to recent events? Coriander seemed to have disappeared by the time they got there, which was a blessing, Doormat supposed. But the crowd was getting louder and one woman...Jensa, he remembered...seemed to be the centre of attention. She wasn't a member of the Resistance, he was fairly confident of that at least...so this was okay, then? Just like the other protest. Weird, but okay. Nothing to worry too much about. The people needed to voice their concerns, he supposed, and then the Council and their officials could clear them up and things would go back to normal. (he was getting worse and worse at telling himself this and actually believing it, and that too was troubling). In any case, people kept walking through him, so he shied away and shuffled towards the rear of the crowd, keeping Gwen in sight the whole time. She was wearing a hat he liked, the one with the ring of dolphins on it. He'd tried it on once, but it didn't fit properly and he couldn't keep the brim from falling down over his eyes...anyway, a name was mentioned which sounded vaguely familiar- or, maybe not so much the name itself as something about the name- belonging to somebody who had recently died. But before Doormat could work out exactly what this meant, a familiar voice piped up: "I have 20 acres of farmland...""Agnes?" he whispered disbelievingly, as she went on. He'd heard some things...maybe a year back, not too long after she'd moved in with Jerry...but he hadn't thought she got nothing for it. That was...this was... Why would they do that? Bureaucratic issues, surely. Don't fixate on it just because she's your sister.You never get to see her! The Resistance are a bigger concern. They kill people. These things can be addressed once they're gone.Then, a gunshot. Doormat yelped and ducked instinctively, throwing both arms over his head, but then there was movement and yelling and the crowd surged forward and- and- There was chaos-pushing-yelling-someone was bleeding out- and there was a doctor but not quick enough (probably Livington, the other guy was a right quack...) and he ducked under people and moved forward-and-looked-for-Gwen and she was there at the front, her mask slipping as she confronted a guard, tried to wrestle his gun free of his grasp, all the while snarling something Doormat couldn't hear from his position (oh gods if they shot her then...) and he got a good look at the body, pale-and-bloodstained, and he knew her- sort of, not really- he'd bumped into her in the street and researched her and gone by her house and that was really creepy he knew that, but it had all been to establish that she wasn't Resistance, wasn't a threat, wasn't anything but an ordinary person who didn't want this madness to continue... "Jensa?" he squeaked, pushing himself back against the rubble and looking down at her still form, attended even now by a collection of distressed civilians. What's even happening?In which Doormat tries really really hard to keep telling himself that the Resistance are bad, nasty ogres. (alternately; in which Thorn spends three hours trying to work out what to do with this situation- aaaand is still not satisfied with the results but OH WELL). Also in which Thorn was REALLY REALLY happy to be tagged by Huntress but came in too late to do much, and so decided to remove her character from the area temporarily to reduce the number of his characteristically overemotional reactions, sorry guys. ACTUAL SUMMARY: Shaken by Coriander's words, Doormat attempts to find any evidence of the Resistance and/or the arsonist, but he is so consumed by Thoughts and Feelings that he eventually just goes and scratches his initials into the riverbank, before lying down awhile. Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)'s death probably occurs sometime during this timeframe. Then his sister turns up, and he follows her to the clock tower, just in time to hear of the Council related problems of various people, including his sister Agnes ( Fraze- stole one of your NPCs, hope you don't mind, I enjoy making little connections between posts). He is, naturally, somewhat conflicted about this- especially since he still really feels like it's his duty to track down teh eeebil Resistance. He witnesses Jensa's death and the ensuing chaos, and is mainly here because Jensa was his first ever interaction, and so no way am I letting him miss out on her death. EDIT: Should probably make it clear he's just talking to himself during that dialogue exchange bit near the end. For some reason I use "you" rather than "I" when characters are talking to themselves but...eh...*shrug*. |
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Post by RielCZ on Jul 23, 2015 11:17:30 GMT -5
Carlos held Laurie in warm embrace, keeping one eye on her, his other on everyone. The two watched the events unfold together. "I'll start. I want to speak for someone who can't speak any longer. Her name was Laurie Blackwell. She was engaged to be married, but the Council suspected her fiancée to be a Resistance member. He was killed without a trial. And then, just today, just now, she was killed as well under the same suspicion. I only just got to meet her."Carlos kissed Laurie then, the familiar twinkle in his right eye as the couple stared into each other. What's to say we can't still be married? To Laurie, his voice sounded again like it always had. Rich. Perfect. like it had before his... death. But then a gunshot rang out. Carlos, his hand in Laurie's, fled to the scene and saw the one he had admired, the one that had started the peaceful protest, was on her dying breaths. "Shoot," he started, bewildered, processing. "I didn't expect that to happen!" And before he was completely aware of the situation the guards and protestors had become involved in a violent clash. This was FAR from good... but a strangely satisfying turn of events to Carlos and his fiancée, both of whom murdered by the guards. Still, the guards wouldn't have done this. Couldn't have done this. After all, they hadn't shot Jensa yesterday when she staged a demonstration; and they especially wouldn't have killed someone else in such a short time frame LEST they want a total uproar against them. No, this had to be the work of the resistance. Perhaps it was jealousy, having killed one far more successful than them at riling dissent. But more likely it was strategic; they killed the one person they KNEW would drive everyone over the edge, cause the massive bloody uproar they'd been promising from the outset. ...Dear whatever existed in the great beyond. "Jensa!" he called out. Her ghost must be around somewhere... Out of the corner of his eye Carlos saw Thorpe, a man he had despised but who recently showed a willingness to atone for his misdeeds. Laurie also liked him and always had a profound respect for him. The two ran up to him. "Mr. Thorpe," Carlos started, not even knowing if the radio host could hear the calls of the living ethereals, "if you need any assistance with the configuration or construction of broadcasting equipment or power sources, let me -- I'm an engineer." Carlos kisses Laurie ( Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)) and reminds her the two maybe could, now, marry, as Jensa ( Fraze) talked about. Carlos comes up with some theories regarding why and how Jensa was murdered, citing it must have been on the part of the resistance. He calls out to her, as she probably has a ghost kicking around but maybe not here yet. And then he and Laurie approaches Thorpe ( Thundy) as Carlos, seeing his want to atone for his misdeeds, could offer help to him because he knows the system very well. (Thorpe may not be able to hear/see the ghosts, however.) |
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jul 23, 2015 11:25:08 GMT -5
((Written with guidance from Pixie)) There was yelling, and Drale realized that, like it or not, he was at a protest. Just like his father. Then there was the sound of a gun firing, and he worried he would die in a protest, just like his father. Drale followed Dr. Livington when the gunshot was heard and people called for a doctor. He watched as Jensa bled her life away in the arms of Livington, and when the crowd grew violent he picked up Jensa’s body and pushed through them, allowing Dr. Livington to follow in his wake. He placed Jensa’s body on a wagon, borrowing it to take her to the undertaker and cremator, a married couple. When he entered the morgue/crematory, a building with two sides that shared a parlor, he was greeted by the cremator, Claire Ficcio, who was also his cousin. She was sitting next to her daughter, Sammy, who was clutching a radio and crying. Sammy jumped up when he entered. “Uncle Drale! They beat Sampson! They hurt him after they killed a messenger! WHY DO YOU HAVE A DEAD BODY.” “A messenger?” he asked, his mind going to Laurie. A catch-up later, Drale felt furious. He took Jensa’s body to the back, lead by Claire. She shut the door behind him and he looked around, not finding the right words for the scene before him. The crematory was never this full. “Put her on this table,” his cousin instructed him, pointing. “All these deaths would be overwhelming on their own, but the furnace broke down and then the power went out and there’s just too many. This shouldn’t be happening, Drale. Only the old, the dumb, and the unlucky are supposed to come to me.” He nodded quietly, positioning Jensa on the table to look a little more peaceful. He frowned as he pulled away. “There’s rioting going on out there, so soon more will come. We need to board up the windows so we don’t end up dead too.” Drale helps Dr. Pansy Livington ( pixie) and Jensa’s body ( Fraze) escape the riot. He takes Jensa to the morgue/crematory, which his cousin runs with her daughter and husband. They catch him up on what happened to "a messenger" (Laurie Blackwell Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)), Sampson Thorpe ( Thundy), and what else they heard on the radio. |
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Post by icon on Jul 23, 2015 12:49:47 GMT -5
The snow continued to fall. Gale Foxfire saw the shot. She watched Jensa (the catalyst, the leader, our leader) fall from her perch, watched the mob get riled up. “Head home,” she whispered to her pet foxes, who skittered away unleashed. “For Jensa!” Gale cried, taking up the protesters’ rally, and as she pushed with the mob she could have sworn that the streetsign flashed a little bit brighter—if only for half a moment. • • • In the Harbinger main office, Hermione Ferrer fought with the radio. Why was KMLV off the air, what was happening, what was happening? Grayson Aves burst in the door, still panting for breath. “They shot Noberry, the protest leader. There’s chaos, rioting, we need Island coverage now—” his sentence was cut off and his body knocked aside as Hermione Ferrer pushed out the door, coat already halfway on. • • • In the Melville Museum of Cultural History’s basement, a half-asleep bureaucrat named Penn Jennings ran his fingers over bleary eyes before sifting again. He’d pulled two all-nighters down here, to no avail. Melville’s citizens were hardly religious; what was he supposed to be looking for? He banged his head against a cabinet in defeat, and then watched as a concealed file labeled “CONFIDENTIAL” fell out. Gingerly, he picked up the file and read. • • • Stanford Hathershaw looked out the window to see the two apothecaries staring at his door again. Artemis had been rather sweet, taking the time out of her research work to call the Shamanire brothers, but he already knew the meaning behind the glowing streetsign. “She thought it was a vandal, poor dear,” he chuckled as he delicately placed several lanterns around the elaborate chalk map of Melville scrawled on his floor, clock tower already smudged away. • • • Rosia Ciccat struck a match and held it to the single candle in her small birthday pastry. It wasn’t much, but her mother had spent two extra meal tickets to buy it. Rosia glanced at Cen in the chair on her left, her mother at her right, and took in a breath to blow out the candle, the only light in the room—but before she could exhale, it winked out of sight on its own, snuffed away by an invisible breath, leaving only the darkness of closed shutters and the sound of footsteps making their way down the street. • • • In the basement of Tess Hirundo’s apartment-slash-storage unit off the street known as the Meander, Escillate Soroban-Finch lay silently dreaming of a figure whose circle-brimmed hawk-hat watched, a figure who waited and wandered and walked, even as all others were asleep. She rolled over in her hammock, sending the wooden support braces into a creaking fit—and when her eyes opened in her sleep for a brief second, they flashed the color of the midday sun, the color the text on the walls outside was beginning to glow. • • • Colin Nearbrook slinked out of the Hawk and Key. Even though Archipelagus McIntyre’s establishment had technically been closed for days now because of the curfew, he was on good terms with her and would occasionally pop in to help her take stock in exchange for an extra drink or two. There was the muted sound of a zipper opening. And while Colin Nearbrook was attending to his business, he was facing toward the wall, which meant he did not see the figure approaching down Wester street. However, as he was attending to his… business, his eyes were glancing anywhere but down, which meant that he noticed the latest Streetsign as it skittered across the wall. Now, Colin was not in the most sober of minds when he saw this turn of events. However, he at least had the common decency to adjust his trousers up before backing away from the wall of glowing text and stumbling out of Wester street as quickly as he could. The snow continued to fall. The drainpipe drip, dripped. • • • And a figure walked the streets; one who was rarely seen, but always present, one who was always known, but never believed, not truly: nothing but a myth, the Guards said, merely a fairy story made up so that wastrels could sleep easier at night, nothing but a folk tale. Of course, the funny thing about folk tales is that sometimes they’re true whether you believe in them or not. The corporealization didn't happen with a burst of light, no flashy transformations; one moment there was an empty street, the next moment someone was there, and always had been. Nobody thought to see the figure meandering through the city, which suited her just fine—she would make her presence known, all in good time. A messenger-yellow muffler trailed over their left shoulder, tapering into a fine point. Occasionally, the end flicked itself in the direction nearest the River Abill, but the figure held his hands out to calm the snake-tailed scarf before running them across the brim of his hat—perfectly circular, with a point that, from just the right angle, looked like the head of a hawk. The snow continued to fall, and as it fell light gleamed off it even more, ever brighter—glimmerings of light from messages across the walls. Not just names, now, but hopes, secrets, images, dreams—as if that steady-paced figure was calling forth every piece of streetsign that had ever been scrawled on the walls of the town. Pulling on every hope, every dream, that the people had ever dared to pin down. Saint of Ways. Chalk-Dancer. Pulse of Melville. Ciseon Ra was awake. The Eastern District. Right up against the Wall, in the alcove of a small scrapyard, two stone sculptures sat atop a pile of old rubble and bricks. One, a slender statue; the other, a squat wall carving; both, littered with streetsign. As the Breeder of Crossroads passed, the mound of rubble shifted, as if by sheer coincidence, so that the statue turned toward the carving. The streetsign that caked the stones appeared to change, without really changing. HAIL, WALLHANG
WHAT NEWS, STATUE
WHAT THINK YOU OF THIS “CISEON RA” CHARACTER
SUCH AN AVATAR OF THE WANDERERS’ BELAMY WILL BE A FRIEND TO THESE RACONTEURS
HOW DO YOU MEAN
TRULY, THEIR STORYTELLING TRAVELS ALL OVER THE PLACE
PFFFHHAHAHAHOHOHOHOBetter known as the post in which Icon finally gets to put up the post he's been slowly chipping away at since day one, all that planning does pay off kids
As far as actually summarizing the events that happen here: we see a series of flash vignettes focusing on a few familiar faces, a few familiar places, a few folks that have been briefly mentioned by name, and what they're all doing right about the time that Ciseon manifests in a corporeal form.
Oh yeah, and, uh, Ciseon manifests into a corporeal form. That's a thing that happens too. |
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Post by Fraze on Jul 23, 2015 13:15:57 GMT -5
Jensa awoke in her home. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, stretched, and got up. She noticed light coming in through the drawn curtains - had she really slept in past dawn? She didn't, however, notice that her feet weren't touching the ground. She went over to the small sink and started the usual motions of brushing her teeth. Examining herself in the mirror, she reached for the toothbrush and missed. Not thinking much of it, she reached again, and missed. Now slightly annoyed, she looked down so she could see what she was doing... As her hand went through the toothbrush, she remembered. She had just died. She had predicted this might happen. Leading two protests against the Council meant putting her life on the line. But no amount of prediction could have prepared her for actually dying. She was going to - what was she going to do? Maybe she could keep performing for the rest of her life. Fifty years down the line she would be grizzled and wrinkly and still doing backflips and it would look absolutely AMAZING. Or maybe she could eventually finish her wall of conspiracies and then write books about it, where the fearless investigator unravels the web of mystery and shady dealings in a corrupt city. Or maybe she would find a good man, settle down and start a family, and live the rest of her days as a housewife. But none of them would happen now. All she could do now was float around like a - a ghost. And it would be lonely and desolate and she would never be able to perform again and she couldn't help anyone anymore and the town would fall apart under the Council, or under the Resistance, or... Jensa sank to her knees and put her head in her arms. She spent several minutes making whimpering noises, but couldn't cry. Once she could bear to look at anything, she lifted her head. On her front door, she saw something glowing. Moving closer, she realized it was a written message. She briefly wondered if it was more Streetsign, but then she read it. Dearest Jensa,
We're moving on to whatever is after this world.
Come find us when you're ready.
We're so proud of you.
We wish you a long and happy life.
All of our love,
Mom and DadShe did cry then. But there was still work to be done. Jensa had started this protest, and wanted to see it to its completion, however it ended. She floated through the door, through her parents' last message that had been watching over her for years. When she got back to the clock tower, she saw chaos. An actual riot had erupted. Because of her death? It seemed likely. Her body wasn't there anymore, but she found she didn't care. But this riot was getting violent, and while she liked the idea of a riot, she didn't actually want it to lead to blood. Or more blood, anyway. "Stop!" she cried at someone who was chasing after a guard. The person flinched a bit when she yelled, but kept moving and ran straight through her. Apparently she wasn't very good at being solid...if that was a thing that ghosts could actually do. Her shoulders slumped as she tried to figure out what to do next. Looking around, she realized with a start that several dead people were hanging around the gallows, and after a moment realized they were ghosts as well. Well, either that or zombies that none of the living could see. She floated over to them, and with a tiny leap of happiness realized that Ene was among them. "Um, are you ghosts too?" she asked. Looking up, she saw Laurie and Carlos. "Oh, you found each other again!" She smiled broadly and her eyes pricked. "I'm glad." Jensa dies and has feeeels. Then she goes back to the square and wanders over to the ghosts hanging out by the gallows. Since she was away for a while, she didn't hear Carlos ( RielCZ) call her name, but she remarks on his reunion with Laurie ( Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)). She's open to any sort of ghostly interaction and all that. |
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Post by Thundy on Jul 23, 2015 16:17:11 GMT -5
The gunshot rang out clear against the background noise, followed by the shouts of people, first pleading for help, and then rising into anger against the guards. Sampson and Reuben had whirled round to witness the scene unfolding before them. Jensa, lying dead on the ground among a crowd of people, and others trying to overwhelm the guards and seize their weapons. Some citizens were successful, others were not, and more shots rang out. Some guards fired into the air, yelling at the crowd, but all semblance of order was gone. "Reuben, Reuben, forget the mobile transmitter, we have to get out of here right now, before the rest of the guards show up to put a stop to this," He said, looking for the quickest way to leave the square. "Did you see who fired the shot?" Reuben shook his head, "I didn't see it, but it's easy to see who's being blamed." "Well, we can't broadcast if we're dead, let's be scarce." The two weaved through the crowd to a side street that lead away from the square, heading east. As they cleared the square Sampson heard a spooky sounding voice, not of this world address him. "...if you need any assistance with the configuration or construction of broadcasting equipment or power sources, let me -- I'm an engineer"Reuben agreed with the ghostly voice "Whoever that was, he's got a point, the mobile transmitter is on fire on its side in there, last I saw it." "No, no, there's another way, remember the floods in the east side a few years ago? Well as a result of the huge damage that resulted, the Council built a sort of back-door emergency broadcast system. It can be activated by telephone and overrides whatever is being broadcast from the main station." Sampson said. The system had never been used, and it was doubtful the Council suspected he might take advantage of it, being distracted by other things. "How can we use it?" Reuben asked. "We can broadcast wherever there is a telephone, the quality will be abysmal, but when the system is activated, it calls everyone listening to attention, it'll work." "Then let's get going, Jensa offered us the use of her place, I say we hide out there first, guards or Resistance could come looking for us if we hang around here." Sampson nodded, and the two headed down the street. After several minutes of walking they reached the darkened home of Jensa. Noiselessly they went in and sat down, tired from lack of sleep over the last night and the endless late night interrogations. Sampson's leg ached painfully and flexed it to work some of it off. Everything was so messed up, his good life in tatters, the clock tower ruined, Council up against Resistance, dozens dead or injured. It was almost all too much, but sooner or later, he was going to have to go on the air, for what might possibly be the last time. Sampson flees the scene to Fraze 's apartment, where he plans his next broadcast with Reuben. |
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