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Post by ♥ Lulu on Jun 19, 2015 12:47:24 GMT -5
Catalina’s eyes lit up as soon as her wife walked in, and she accepted the kiss and hug eagerly. The smell of the food on the counter wafted towards her, and her stomach rumbled again in appreciation. “Thanks, love,” she said, trying to crane her neck to work out what was inside the bags. “There has been a new threat from the rebellion. It was written on the Wall. I think it will be safer if we stay away from the wall for a while. I don’t know what those hooligans are up too, but we don’t want to get caught in whatever insane crossfire may or may not take place.”That stopped her for a second. The Rebellion writing on the Wall? No wonder it had been so quiet out today. She was surprised she hadn’t heard anything about it, since those kinds of moves usually got the Town more bustling, as everyone rushed to gossip. But maybe everyone was still at the Wall, and grabbing whomever they could find to come and have a look too. That was probably it. She looked up at her wife’s worried eyes, and raised a hand to smooth back some of the hair which was in contrast to her own half-shaved head, which held a single streak of white. She could tell from the way her wife’s tone rarely wavered that she was trying not to overexcite Cat. “What was the message, Pansy? Are they threatening someone?” she asked, keeping her voice calm so her wife would not accuse her of worrying too much. She walked to the door and peered out. Not too many people in sight, and certainly it seemed Cat wouldn’t be getting any customers today. So closing for lunch would go unnoticed. She walked back to Pansy and put her hand on her arm. “Come on, hun, let’s go sit outside for lunch.” She grabbed the hot bags and started towards the door. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves, but if they spoke quietly, no one pay them attention, hopefully. These were not the kind of things you wanted to have your neighbours or shopkeepers overhearing in discussion, especially if it might have already been decreed as nothing to worry about, as these things often were. She strode out into the street, not waiting for Pansy to catch up to her. Catalina's wife Pansy ( Pixie) comes into the bookshop to see her. She delivers the news that the Resistance has been up to something by the Wall, but Cat doesn't know the details yet. They go outside to have lunch.
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Post by Ginz ❤ on Jun 19, 2015 13:10:50 GMT -5
Leira wanted to get to the school as fast as possible, walking with big strides and wearing a look of determination in her face. Although she wasn't technically a student, she went to the school nearly every day (far more often than some of the kids who were actually enrolled) so she knew the way there so well she could have walked there with her eyes closed. That was why she was often lost in thought and not really paying attention to where she was going. That day, her carelessness made her almost bump into a small old lady. "Ahhh, I'm sorry! I wasn't looking!" she apologized, her face going pink. The lady's head and face were covered with a hat and a veil, but the incident meant Leira had gotten close enough to get a look. The person she had nearly ran into wasn't an old lady, it was actually a girl! She didn't know her name, but she had definitely seen her before. She recognized her from the unusual mark on her cheek. When you lived somewhere as small as Melville, it was impossible not to remember peculiar looking people. The girl had continued on her way as Leira had the realization of who she was, but she couldn't pass up the chance to talk to her. "Hey! Wait up!" She chased her a short way down the street. "You're... you're from the school, right?" she asked once she caught up with her. She wondered where she was going. She was pretty sure school wasn't out for the day yet, but she had more important questions to ask. "I'm Leira," she held out her hand for the girl to shake. "Listen, do you... do they... ever teach you anything about, you know," she paused and fidgeted nervously, "the world outside the wall?" she finally added in a whisper. Leira nearly bumps into Stephanie (swordlilly) and recognizes her as someone from the school. She introduces herself and takes the chance to ask her if they ever teach her things about the outside world. (( Stephanie (swordlilly), sorry I took a while to reply, cause now the new round is coming soon, so I don't know what'll happen to our interaction. But I give you freedom to make my character follow yours somewhere or to shake her off if you prefer. XD))
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Post by Stephanie (swordlilly) on Jun 19, 2015 15:47:44 GMT -5
"Hey! Wait up!" She chased her a short way down the street. "You're... you're from the school, right?" she asked once she caught up with her. She wondered where she was going. She was pretty sure school wasn't out for the day yet, but she had more important questions to ask. "I'm Leira," she held out her hand for the girl to shake. "Listen, do you... do they... ever teach you anything about, you know," she paused and fidgeted nervously, "the world outside the wall?" she finally added in a whisper. For a moment, Rusty didn't know what to do. Nobody had ever caught her in disguise before. What would her parents say if word got out that she was playing truant? But this girl didn't look mean. She looked... friendly. Like she had a genuine question on her mind. Rusty decided to trust her. "I'm Rusty," she said, taking her hand. "Don't tell Mr. Nook I'm skipping class. My parents would be very upset if he told them." She glanced back at the school. Nobody seemed to be following. "Here, let's sit down on this bench and pretend to be waiting for somebody. I'll feed pigeons." "Okay," Leira said. They sat side-by-side, looking like a little old aunt and her redheaded niece. Few would have guessed that they were actually two girls. Rusty took a handful of stale breadcrumbs out of her pocket and scattered them. Pigeons came in a flurry of white around her long skirt. "Mr. Nook rarely teaches us anything interesting," she told Leira. "Most of his classes are the wall is great, the council is great, life is good." Leira looked at her. "Do you believe all of that?" Rusty threw another handful of breadcrumbs to the pigeons. "Life has been good to me, I guess," she said. "My mother is always telling me how lucky I am. I have enough to eat, and I have the chance to go to school. So, I ought to be grateful and obedient. But I don't know. I feel like there has got to be more to life than this." She looked up. "We ask Mr. Nook sometimes about writing that appears on the wall. He says it is called streetsign, and it is something that just happens from time to time. Nobody knows how it gets there or what it means. It's all very mysterious and I don't understand it one bit. But I do know that when adults say there's nothing to worry about, there always is. I just wish there was some way to help." She looked up. "Do you know anything about the writing on the wall? I only heard about it today on the radio." Rusty makes friends with Ginz ❤ and tells her that she has never done anything too risky, because she's afraid of causing trouble for her parents. However, she is dissatisfied with the lack of information she gets from school, and wishes there was some way she could help. (( No worries Ginz ❤, I'm just happy you decided to pick up on our interaction! We can certainly try to continue it next round, if we both survive, that is. xd I gave your char a few lines in this post, hope that's okay. Let me know if you'd prefer me to change anything.))
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jun 19, 2015 17:55:14 GMT -5
He left the store, buying nothing. Next he went to pick up groceries. He looked down at his ration tickets regretfully. Ration tickets weren’t necessary back when his grandfather was a council member. These days there were just too many mouths to feed. He collected his groceries and went home for a nap, waking up as the day cooled. He went back to his workshop; this time his creations were far removed from the practical, useful window glass panes he’d made in the morning. The figurine he now crafted was a man with an outstretched arm, his hand resting on a cane. Lining his arm sat happy, plump birds. Drale doesn't find what he's looking for at the antique and pawn store. He gets food and goes home for a nap, returning to the workshop as the day cools down. Here he unleashes his more artistic side on the glass.
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Post by icon on Jun 19, 2015 18:00:58 GMT -5
There were no true shrines to Ciseon in Melville.
To confine the Saint of Ways, Wanderers’ Belamy, to a fixed temple? To bless her with the blight of a single altar? It would have been… unfitting, to say the least. Besides, if the earnest members of the Council were to hear about such a turn of events, it might be seen as a lack of confidence in their civic capabilities!
Ciseon represented the voice of the town, his supporters said. But a town doesn’t have just one voice — its patrons each hold their thoughts to their hearts, rarely thinking to reveal the fears to others. It would not do to dislodge all these sentiments in one sudden cacophony.
So instead they wove a web of prayers across the town, entreaties to the one whose spirit (so they said) could look through any rendering of their sigil and leap through Melville’s walls, to the one who could bring the urban murals to life, to the one whose circle-brimmed cap was said to house the second sun. They buried their pleas and thanksgivings among the rest of the Streetsign—mere words among mere words; they blended in just fine.
It wouldn’t be long before that changed. But of course, that part doesn’t happen just yet.
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Post by Birdy on Jun 19, 2015 18:17:15 GMT -5
Miles Ellis stared at the contraption on the table before him. It was finished. It was finally finished."Well, guys," he said, looking at the expectant faces around him, "Let's see if this thing works." Taking it off the table, he strapped it to his leg. If this did, indeed, work, it had the potential to be life-changing. Finally finishing, he hesitated, then stood up. Taking a deep breath, he took a tentative step forward, then another. And another. And another.He grinned. It was working - it was actually working!
He turned to the faces behind him, to see their reactions - and that's when he felt it. Something was giving way beneath him. The contraption, it was quickly becoming clear, wasn't as ready as he had hoped. With a surge of fear, he lunged for the edge of the table he'd just left - but too late. With a cry of dismay, he plummeted to the floor as the contraption shattered. The faces scattered - not that Miles could blame them. Animals tended to be skittish, and domesticated ones were no different. Groaning, Miles pushed himself up and turned to remove the contraption from the stump that had once been his left leg. So much for that, he thought with a scowl, as he flung a piece of scrap metal to the side. All I want is to be normal again - is that REALLY so much to ask?Normal. What he had been up until a year ago, before he had dared to go past the Wall. Back when he still had both his legs, a good job, a girlfriend, a life... But then he had to go past the Wall - to the Outside. And that's where his troubles had begun. He didn't even remember why he'd done it - the doctors told him the amnesia was likely from the trauma. (After all, he had been found leaning against the Wall, his left leg shredded from the knee down, and gods only knew what other injuries he’d sustained at the time.) He didn’t remember even getting hurt. But what he did remember - and had told practically no one, as the first times he had, they’d dismissed it as a hallucination brought on by loss of blood - was the creature. He remembered - vaguely - dragging himself through the woods in the Outside, trying to get back to the Wall. He remembered finally slowing to a stop, too exhausted to keep moving. And then… he remembered the creature. He didn’t get a good look at it - of course, in the shaded woods, in the rain, without his glasses, everything looked foggy and blurry. But the creature… It just… stared at him. Looming over him, blocking the rain with its body. And that was when he’d blacked out. Next thing he knew, he was leaning against the Wall, next to the gate - with no memory of how he’d gotten there. They said he’d been lucky to survive. Lucky… he thought bitterly, still sitting on the floor. Sure. I feel “lucky” alright…Sighing, he started to push himself upwards, but was stopped by a soft whine and dull thud. Miles glanced over to the sound. His dog had brought over one of his crutches. He stared at it for a moment, then with another sigh, picked it up. “Thanks, boy,” he said softly, stroking the fur on the dog’s head for a moment, before finally pushing himself to a standing position. He swayed slightly for a moment, but was (with the help of the crutch) able to catch his balance. Hobbling back over to table, he retrieved the other crutch he’d propped there when he’d started working on the prosthetic leg. (In hindsight, cobbling something together from whatever scraps he could salvage probably wasn’t the best idea, but… what other choice did he have? It wasn't as if he could afford to buy all-new materials for his tinkerings.) Perhaps he could try again later. But for that… he’d need to restock a few supplies. And after this latest failure… he didn’t feel too much like going out. (Though it had been a year, people still would sometimes stare. They’d shake their heads and smile pityingly at the poor man who had gone Outside, and lost a leg because of his brashness. And after this… he didn’t know if he could take it without snapping at someone. So he felt it best to stay inside.) Hobbling over to the couch, he sat down, only to promptly have a dog in his lap, and a cat by his shoulders. He sighed and began to pet the dog, who promptly started thumping his tail against the couch. Yes, this was perfect. For now, the companionship of his animals was all Miles Ellis needed. However, had he chosen to venture out, he might have caught a glimpse of one Councilman Mayhitch giving a short speech - reassuring the people of Melville that Life Was Good, and a message written on the Wall in what appeared to be blood was nothing to worry about. One year ago, Miles Ellis ventured Outside the Wall, and paid for it dearly - he lost his left leg below the knee in an accident he can’t even remember.
In the present day, he’s trying to build a prosthetic leg. Results are… not too successful. So instead of venturing out in search of more supplies to try again, he decides to spend the day inside sulking resting, with his pets. As a result, he misses all the action.
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Post by Avery on Jun 19, 2015 18:18:39 GMT -5
Chapter One: Blood Upon the Stone In the nighttime, while most of Melville withered in an inky darkness only broken up here and there by the flicker of a wax candle or oil lantern set behind the drawn shades of a thin glass window, the Island district glowed.Electric lights spilled out from the wealthy households and storefronts, bright as the midday sun. Streetlamps flickered overhead, bathing the stone streets in pools of yellow light. The vague whir-thunk from the hydroelectric dams that studded the River Abill hummed like the bass of a stilted symphony, a droning accompaniment to the rest of the Island’s night orchestra: raucous laughter from a bustling pub; the barking of a dog behind a picket fence; somebody loudly singing Melville’s perpetual number one hit, “The Wall Loves Us All”.Whistling to herself as she threaded through a series of back alleys, Arlie Brook was rather thankful for all of the city sounds. Such noises made it easier for her to move about unnoticed, and staying under the radar tonight was essential to young Arlie’s plan. After all, even if what she was about to do was for the good of Melville, such a story would hardly sway the City Guard if they were to catch her in the act. No, the Guard had little patience for ad hoc justification, no matter how noble in intent, and particularly not from someone like her. Taking pains to avoid any puddles of light, Arlie stilled as she reached the alleyway behind Melville’s best—and only—comic book shop. This time of night, it was deserted, and that was precisely why she suspected the person whom she was meeting had picked it. Arlie wasn’t the only one who had a vested interest in not getting caught tonight.“Hallowed is thy Wall, to protect and hold us.”Arlie jumped as a voice slithered out from the shadows, and she squinted her eyes to make out the figure that spoke them. Even though they’d spoken the agreed upon code message, there still remained a part of Arlie that feared she’d not find the person she was expecting, anyway—that instead she’d find herself gazing at a member of the City Guard, this entire meeting set up to be nothing more than an elaborate trap, a feign, a ruse to catch the little street urchin red-handed. So it was with heavy relief that, upon a quick visual sweep, Arlie found herself looking at precisely who she’d been expecting. “Have you got it?” she asked, hardly able to restrain the pure excitement in her tone. “My—?”“Shh.” The figure took a step forward. “What if the wrong person were to overhear?”“But there’s not nobody here but you and me,” Arlie pointed out.“And that’s still no reason to speak carelessly.” They frowned. “What are you going to use it for anyway? You’re awfully young.”“To kill the Resistance!” Arlie beamed. “It’s a perfect plan, you see. If I singlehandedly find and take out the Resistance, then that’ll show the Council how good I am, and then the Wallfare Agency will send me to live with them—Misses McGill, maybe, or even Uncle May!—and I can have so many toys and so much money and—”“Quiet.” The figure winced. “And… let me get this straight. You’re buying an illegal gun to impress the Council? Isn’t that… isn’t that a little backwards, kid?”“Oh, but once I take out the Resistance, they won’t care about anything illegal!”“Have you ever thought,” the figure retorted, “that perchance it’s not the Resistance who’s the problem here?”Arlie frowned. “What’s that mean?”“… Nothing. But on second thought, kid, I’m not so sure you’re mature enough for a gun.”Arlie’s face fell at once, shattering like a glass dropped onto a hard floor. “But… we had an agreement!”“Had,” the figure agreed, before turning away from Arlie, as though to bring the conversation to a firm but sudden close. “Have a good night, kid.”“No!” Arlie took a step toward them. “I—we had a deal—”“Goodnight,” the figure repeated. “Go run on home.”“I won’t.” Arlie jutted her chin, defiant. “And—and—I bet you won’t sell it to me because… because… oh man, what if you’re Resistance.” Initially the girl seemed to say such a thing as merely the first irrational complaint of an impending tantrum, but then, on second thought, she sobered. “You are Resistance, aren’t you? Oh, man! That explains so much. How you have the gun at all—and why you’d want to sell it, because you thought that whoever would buy it would be all anti-Council too, and—”The figure spun back toward the girl. “These are very dangerous accusations.”“I’m right, aren’t I?”“No, you’re not. And I don’t much feel like listening to the crackpot theories of little law-breaking street urchins. So I’d suggest you shut your mouth and hurry on home.”“Oh, I’ll hurry alright!” Arlie grinned. “But not home! I’m reporting you to the Guard, and then I’ll be a hero without even having to shoot anyone!”“Fine.” The figure’s voice was suddenly flat. Calculating. “You do that. Go on now.”Arlie said nothing more, only nodded, before turning to flounce back out the alley. The shadowed figure watched her take only a few steps before, with a deep breath, they pulled something out from their waistband. I’m sorry, kid, they thought to themselves, as they pointed it squarely at Arlie’s receding form. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet up with you at all, and I’m sorry you got dragged into this. But this is bigger than either of us, now. And I can’t afford to go down like this.And with that, the figure used the gun Arlie Brook had meant to buy to the shoot the young girl in the back. ** “You shot a child?” a strangled voice hissed several hours later, as a dark midnight approached. “Just—lay this out for me again, so that I can begin to understand—”“Shh, not so loud.” The shooter winced.“Oh, who’s going to hear it?” a third voice scoffed. “I’d be surprised if ninety-nine percent of the people in this town even knew this place existed.”The place in question was a small, dilapidated shack in the southeastern part of town, nested amidst a sea of fruit-bearing trees already gone bare for winter. None of the five people presently sitting within it, fringed around a wobbly table that hadn’t just seen better days but decades, quite knew what it was initially built for, but since then it had clearly fallen into a state of mutual disrepair and disuse—it smelled like mold, was cold as the Councils’ hearts, and the one who’d shot the child earlier was half-convinced a colony of rats had taken up residence in the drafty walls.All of these factors, however, had combined to make it a very good spot for the Resistance to meet. There was nobody nearby to witness them all coming and going—not like if they’d met at one of their houses—and the Guard hardly patrolled this part of town on a regular basis. The ramshackle construction helped to solidify why they were fighting, too: because while the elite lived in electric-lit houses on the Island or around it, warm and content, half the bloody town starved in hovels. Working their hands bloody in the fields as the Council sat high and mighty, flogged if they dared speak a word out of line, run ragged into an early grave because they hadn’t the money for bread at the table, let alone proper medical care.And yet Mayhitch Frinkett still dared call himself uncle. And yet all the wealthy in the town still dared talk about how life was so very good.“She was a street kid,” the first speaker said now, voice laced with venom. “One of the people we’re trying to help.”“I know,” the shooter said miserably. “But she said she was going to report me to the Guard. I couldn’t risk it, I couldn’t.”“Why’d you agree to sell her a gun anyway?” demanded a fourth member. “She was a child! And how did she even know to contact you?”“As you said, she was a street urchin.” The shooter shrugged. “Street-wise. She knew how to use the system, how to access the black market network—”“We don’t sell weapons to children.”“And we certainly don’t shoot them.” The fifth and final member leaned forward across the unsteady table. “Do you want to bring change to this town, or do you want to just terrorize it? We need to target strategically, or else we’re just as bad as the Council is.”“I messed up. I know I messed up. But I can’t change it. The kid’s dead.”“Please tell me you didn’t leave any message by her body, claiming the kill?”“Of course not!” The shooter gawped, affronted. “I mean… they’ll probably vilify us anyway, especially because the writing on the Wall will make it fairly clear it was us, but…”“But nothing. This was a mistake. We can’t afford any more of those.”** In the dead of night, a knock on Mayhitch Frinkett’s bedroom door wrenched him out of a peaceful slumber. Bolting upright, he called out, “Yes?”“Sorry to disturb you, Uncle May.” One of the guardsmen who, since the rise of the Resistance, had been tasked with guarding the chair of the Council’s tony house at night, smiled apologetically as he opened the door. “But… there’s been… um… I don’t know how to say this but…”“Is it my family? Has the Resistance hurt them?”“No!” The guard rapidly shook his head. “Of course not. Sorry to frighten you. It’s just… there’s been a murder.”As the guard proceeded to explain the unfortunate death of young Arlie Brook—her facedown body found just an hour ago during a routine Guard sweep of the Island’s alleys and streets—the chair of the Council paled. “Why would they have killed a street kid?” he demanded. “How does that fit into their plans?”“We’ve no idea, Uncle May. Maybe she was just an easy target.”“Savages!” May stood. “I… I’ll need to address the town. Wake up Sampson Thorpe—I want to be on his radio show first thing in the morning so the town hears about this vile murder from me, not rumors. We can’t afford rumors. Can’t afford for the Resistance to somehow paint this as anything more than what it was: a brutal, senseless murder of an innocent child.” Crossing his arms, the ghost of a smile ticked at the councilman’s lips. “An innocent child! Yes. That’s how I’ll describe her. Sweet and pure, like… like… gossamer silk.”“Um…” The guard shifted hesitantly, but there was no stopping Uncle May.“Wake up the priests, too!” May prattled on, hurrying across his bedroom to change into his day-clothes. “I want a fully packed service at the Wall for her, after my radio appearance. Attendance is mandatory!”“Yes, Uncle May—of course,” the guard stammered.“… Send someone to check on my family, too. I want to make sure they’re okay. Especially after, well—” The chair of the Council waved a dismissive, knowing hand, before he continued: “But really, as sad as this is… I think we can use it to our advantage. The Resistance wants to play games with us? Wants to shoot children in the dark? Well, we’ll see how much support that garners them. Why, by the end of the day, I’d bet their own mothers will be dragging them to the gallows!”Arlie Brook was the Vigilante.
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Post by Tiger on Jun 19, 2015 20:20:37 GMT -5
The Previous Day…Aerona winced at the girl’s landing. The lampmaker’s intention really hadn’t been to get her down quite that fast. Apparently the girl’s upper-body strength really did need the work, even if it seemed like kind of a flimsy excuse for climbing the Wall. She did manage to get to her feet - wobbly, snatching arrows - why did she have those? Killing beasts? - but then.. "... My ankle. I think it's... sprained or..."The lampmaker had about four seconds to consider what to do - she should take the girl to the Guard, but did she do that before or after finding a doctor, she wasn’t clear on the rules there - there probably wouldn’t be a super-serious punishment for a teenager climbing the Wall, right? Maybe? It was just teenage stupidity, or poorly-planned teenage workouts - Then the wailing started. "Adults don't understaaaand! What it's like to be an average orphan in charge of everythiiiiing!"“I...didn’t even know you were an orphan?” Aerona offered. Well. Great. This was going to take all day - it was probably going to take a while just to calm the girl down. If she brought her to the Guard, that was a mound of reports and re-reports and filing paperwork… ...Resistance? But no - no, this girl did not seem like the sort of person who would write death threats on the Wall and cause mayhem in the good city. Well. Okay, maybe a little mayhem, but not the purposefully disruptive kind. If Aerona was going to get any more work done on her lantern, she needed to get this girl out of her hair. Abandoning her with a sprained ankle obviously wasn’t right, Aerona knew she couldn’t just leaver her there. But maybe - just this once - she could skip reporting to the Guard. It wasn’t as if the girl was going to tell on the lampmaker for her oversight. “Let’s...just...find someone to look at your ankle. Then I can let you get back to...being in charge of everything?” She hoped the girl had an older sibling, because she wasn’t so sure it was only the adults here who didn’t understand being in charge of everythiiiiiiiiing. Today…It was too late to go back to looking at the Wall vines by the time Aerona finished with taking the girl to get her ankle checked (She hesitated to say “took to the doctor’s”. Life was good, but there was not a lot to go around, and that included money, medical supplies, and training. Aerona just hoped she hadn’t inadvertently made things worse). She made a start on adding more detail to the lantern wood, anyway, and was fairly pleased with her progress by the time she’d gone to bed. That pleasure was now long, long gone. Aerona had been woken early, by City Officials. Her first panicked thought was that the girl with the sprained ankle had told on her, or been discovered, but no - no, they wanted Aerona to bring or craft or otherwise provide some kind of memorial lighting for the mandatory funeral service at the Wall. “Funeral service?” she’d repeated. “A funeral service,” one of the Officials confirmed. That was all the detail it seemed she was going to receive. Of course, even with a forest’s worth of wood, a lifetime’s creativity, and enough glass to add a fancy windowed top to the Wall, Aerona would not have been able to craft wooden lamps for a funeral that was in just a couple hours. Instead she had to settle for paper lamps, in as somber colors as she could manage. Luckily her training in lantern-making had been unusually thorough. The City Officials came back for the lanterns, and Aerona accompanied them to the Wall. This...could not be good. A death was bad enough - a death that came with a mandatory funeral service? That could not be good news at all.Aerona took Caraway ( Avery) to a “doctor” yesterday, and today has made a bunch of paper lanterns for the funeral, because nothing says somber like a sad candle in a sad paper lantern. :C
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Post by Gelquie on Jun 19, 2015 20:31:28 GMT -5
After Cori finally managed to separate herself from the man who flirted with her and finally got to work, her day went a lot better. Work wasn't completely free of stresses, but compared to what she usually dealt with, it was paradise by comparison. After a few hours into the job, she could feel her stress leaving her, ebbing away the more and more she baked. Of course, it all came rushing back when she learned that Cara had sprained her ankle after trying to go over the Wall. Exactly what she had told her not to do. After ensuring that Cara's ankle was okay and cared for, and getting the name of the person who took her to a nearby clinic, she proceeded to lecture Cara on how she should never have tried to go over the Wall, how she only hurt herself, and how she'd only hurt others doing it by putting so much risk to herself and how it was so annoying that Cara kept insisting that she had to do it for the sake of her family when it wasn't necessary. The argument went as it usually did; with Cara and Cori shouting back and forth about how the other was delusional, until Cori finally groaned and gave up, immersing herself in the rest of the chores for the night. As she did, in spite of her concern for Cara, a part of Cori couldn't help but feel... Happy at what happened. Not happy that Cara had sprained her ankle, but Cara spraining her ankle meant that she couldn't run off, couldn't avoid people, couldn't climb the Wall. And Cori was suddenly eased by the fact that the rest of her week might well be so much easier. And so it was with this thought in mind that Cori fell soundly asleep. When she woke up that morning, though, she knew she still had work to do, with her ensuring that her siblings were well taken care of and at school before walking to work. And so she stood in the kitchen making breakfast, the crackle of the radio in the background as she worked. There was an interview on, featuring the chair councilman, Uncle May. She was just finishing up and setting the table when the interview ended. Good timing too; as much as she enjoyed listening to the interview, she did have to get going if she didn't want to be late for work. ...But then as she was making the last finishing the touches, the radio continued to crackle on. Oh; Uncle May seemed to have something more to say. He went on about a young child named Arlie Brook, and how last night they were found... ...M- murdered?!Cori gasped, her eyes went wide with shock. A murder? In this town?! And a child too. It was at least good of the Council to give the kid a proper funeral; it was a wonderful way to respect them. Still, the fact that the Resistance went so far... It troubled her deeply. ...Well, Uncle May also mentioned that a memorial would be held for the child, and that attendance was mandatory. So she and her sisters would be expected at the memorial. She briefly worried about work and getting pay, but... Well, then her boss would be off work too. And so would Cara and Rose's schoolmates. And besides, they'd be fine, work-wise. There were much bigger things to worry about now that the Resistance was rearing it's head, like... this. ...But they still had to get going. She wrung her hands together, trying to collect herself before calling her sisters into the room and telling them what she heard, just in case they hadn't been listening to the radio at the time. Not too long later, the Nix siblings were talking towards the Wall, on their way to the memorial. She didn't know what to expect... But the Council would be there too, and all the guards. The Resistance would be stupid to try anything there. It'd be perfectly safe. And she and her siblings would be fine. Cori works for the day and comes back to see what happened after CARA'S ADVENTURE. She chews her out to no avail and ends up deciding it's a good thing, since it means Cara can't run off or go over the wall.
The following morning, Cori is making breakfast when the radio announces the murder and memorial. Cori is shocked at the news, but gathers her siblings together and walks with them to the memorial, hoping they'll be safe.
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Post by PFA on Jun 19, 2015 21:05:16 GMT -5
"...Arlie?" The day before had been surprisingly pleasant. Fortune was hesitant about leaving her house, but she'd eventually agreed to it. She and Arlie went and found a small ice cream shop, where Fortune bought two small cones for each of them. The two of them talked as they enjoyed their cold treats, and Arlie told so many interesting stories, mostly about Arlie's adventures with Pup. After they'd finished the ice cream, Arlie insisted on dragging Fortune all over town, taking her to some places the child had always wanted to go. It was all quite overwhelming to Fortune, but not as bad as she was expecting. Maybe she could get used to this, she thought, having a child to take care of and go places with. By the end of it all, it was surprisingly late—Fortune, exhausted from the day, decided to return home and get to bed, while Arlie ran off to get whatever "things" a street child would have. Fortune was assured that Arlie would return to the house immediately afterward. Except that when Fortune awoke the next morning, there was no sign of Arlie. The bedspread she'd laid out for the child was empty, with Arlie nowhere in sight. Fortune panicked. She'd never had a child go missing before—what was she supposed to do? Petition the Council for help? But the Council was surely busy keeping the town safe from that frightening Rebellion she'd heard about... Finally, she decided she had no choice but to go looking for the missing child. Arlie had mentioned a few favorite places to hang out, so perhaps the child had gone there? She had to check. It was a bold choice, Fortune had never gone out two days in a row, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Fortune nervously straightened her shawl as she made her way through the streets of Melville. There weren't as many people out and about this early in the day as there were yesterday, but it was still a bit overwhelming for her. Nonetheless, she put the people out of her mind, instead focusing all her attention on finding Arlie. The child was her responsibility now, and she would not rest until she knew Arlie was safe. It didn't take her long to notice. Murmurs spread through the town, about a funeral being held by the Council that everyone was expected to attend. Listening carefully for further details, it sounded like an innocent child had been murdered by the Resistance. Fortune's blood ran cold. What did the Resistance hope to prove by murdering a child? And then she heard the child's name. Arlie Brook. Arlie was dead. In the middle of the street, Fortune dropped to her knees and wailed. Arlie was dead. Fortune, who was just starting to like her unexpected new housemate, panics when she finds Arlie missing. In going out to search for the lost child, she learns that Arlie is dead. She does not take the news well.
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Post by Thorn on Jun 19, 2015 23:50:28 GMT -5
Doormat awoke to his brother shaking him gently by the shoulder. He looked at Willard blearily, thoughts still muddled by sleepy mists. He couldn't remember what day it was, and then he couldn't remember why there was a yellow scarf neatly folded on his bedside table...and then he remembered the still undelivered message, and the wall; and he saw the look in Will's eyes and his heart sank. "What happened?" he asked anxiously. "Were there more words? Did you find out who 'Morris' is? Did I...oh no, I slept in too late, didn't I?" "No Nezzie, just...a kid was murdered last night. By the Resistance, I think. There's going to be a service for them by the Wall, the whole town will be there." "A kid..." Doormat started. "Why would they want to kill a child?" "I don't know." "That's horrible...killing without motive, I mean, how old were they?" "Nezzie, I can't say I know. I'm sure we'll find out. Get ready, we're leaving in fifteen minutes. Gwen will meet us there." *** It wasn't a warm morning. Doormat supposed that was appropriate, given the circumstances, but he did wish he'd put on warmer clothes; or at least more layers, or even remembered socks. He balled his hands inside his pockets, tucking his chin in against his chest and watching his breath condense in little puffs before his eyes. He didn't like funerals. He liked all the flowers, and the nice things people said, but they were just so depressing. And he'd never been to one for a child. Children had always been more-or-less immortal, in his eyes. They had their whole lives ahead of them, they weren't supposed to end up shot and dead in dark alleys. City Officials passed carrying lanterns, accompanied by a sombre woman Doormat vaguely recognised as the lampmaker. The service must be about to start, then. He shivered, only half from the cold, and returned his attention to the bustle of activity at the front of the crowd. Any moment now, people were going to start saying things and sharing stories and crying a lot. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Agnes put her arm around him and squeezed his shoulders and murmured soothingly in his ear. Doormat's older brother Will is introduced. Doormat remembers that he never delivered Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)'s message to 'Morris' (sigh). They go to the funeral service for Coaster, and Ezekiel (because you can only write 'Doormat' so many times in one short summary) watches the officials and Tiger pass. Agnes tries to cheer up Doormat.
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Post by Kozma on Jun 20, 2015 4:15:23 GMT -5
The previous day..."No, no, no! That is not how you play The Game!" cried Laffz as he reached out and tweaked Jensa's nose. "Don't you know how to play The Game? How can you say you want to play The Game if you don't know how to play it?" Laffz still had the same creepy smile on his face. It never changed, not even when Jensa failed to play The Game. After the murder...News of Arlie's murder had reached the ears of Laffz. "A real shame," he lamented, "poor kid did not get a chance to play The Game." As he walked to the mandatory funeral, Laffz pondered if it would be a good opportunity to invite everyone to play The Game. While he was a fool, he knew about the melancholy nature of funerals and that no one likes to see a cheerful person at one. But this was a wonderful opportunity to meet new people; people who might just be able to play The Game properly. Laffz would continue to play The Game, nothing could stop him from doing so, not even a death or a funeral. The question was would he try and invite others to play with him. It seems Fraze does not know how to play The Game as she gets her nose tweaked by Laffz. After the murder, Laffz mourns the loss of Coaster and heads off to the funeral, trying to decide if he should invite others to play The Game while he's there.
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Post by Thundy on Jun 20, 2015 7:22:17 GMT -5
Sampson awoke with a start, his alarm clock still several hours from his planned awakening, and the telephone on his bedside table was ringing. This was unusual, he never really called anyone, and nobody ever really called him. Use of the telephone was supposedly for emergencies only. Perhaps this was one of them? He picked it up without hesitation. "Thorpe," "..." "What? When?" "..." "How barbaric, a kid?" "..." "Wait, you're serious? We're pushing it up to today?" "..." "This MORNING?" "..." "You're right, of course, it'll be the fastest way to reassure the public." "..." "We'll move some of the programs around, the Wall Ball game isn't until the afternoon, we will just adapt the breakfast show," "..." "No no, of course, you know me." "..." "Absolutely. I'll be at the station in hour, just gotta drag myself over there." "..." "Seriously? I've never required transport or protection before, but if you insist." "..." "Okay, understood. See you in a few minutes." The line went dead, as dead as the girl by the Wall. A car would be arriving to pick Sampson up in 10 minutes, the Council had never given him a ride before. He stared at the receiver for a few moments before replacing it on top of the phone. A pain flared up in his right leg making him wince. His pain seemed to act like a sixth sense, he had always surmised, the worse it hurt, the more likely something bad was about to happen. But he could not focus on pain now. He had to prepare himself for a snap discussion with Mayhitch on the radio. The resistance being back was of course, bad news for everyone, especially for himself. It was just like the war again, something he always tried to push to the back of his mind. After being woken suddenly in the middle of the night, Sampson has to hurry in to work for an important broadcast
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jun 20, 2015 10:02:20 GMT -5
Drale was in his workshop when his assistant burst in, babbling about a kid she vaguely knew. A kid that had been shot. Drale looked up, shocked. Arlie Brook? Mandatory funeral? With a heavy sigh he cleaned up the workshop and himself, his assistant going on ahead. He arrived at the funeral and looked for his assistant, spotting them and approving of the seat choice. She sat among a handful of business-owning members and craftspeople of the town, many of them good customers of Drale’s. But to get there he'd have to pass the town fool ( Kozma). He did not want his nose tweaked, ever, and certainly not today. But perhaps in this somber environment they would behave themselves? He decided to chance it. Drale's assistant tells him about the funeral, and leaves to save seats. Drale arrives at the funeral and walks by Laffz ( Kozma).
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Post by Huntress on Jun 20, 2015 11:03:16 GMT -5
Ene was a fairly early riser, since markets open early and you'd usually sell most of your stuff within the first few hours. So it wasn't often that someone else woke her up and it took her a while to realize that the loud banging noises in her rather interesting dream involving hedgehogs flying airplanes were not dissolving with the dream and instead translated into heavy hammering on her front door. She rolled out of bed, waddled downstairs, wrapping herself in a slightly tattered but oh-so-soft-and-comfortable bathrobe on the way, opened the door and her sleepy expression went through a series of transformations from surprised to baffled to disgusted, and eventually settled on the sort of grim half-sneer people tended to have on their faces when talking to Piggy. "Morning, sergeant," she said and stifled a yawn. "What's with this rare honor?" Percival Winglesworth was a sergeant of the Guard and one of those sadly common cases of a petty personality who's risen to a tiny position of power and uses it to bully everyone he considers inferior, which in Piggy's case was everyone who wasn't the higher Guard officers or the Council. He was a short, flabby young man with a bright pink face and puffy cheeks, and he also had tight curly blonde hair, one lock of which always stuck out at an angle from the forehead, which generally gave you the impression that you were talking to... well, an end of a pig. "You!" barked Piggy, trying and failing to tower over Ene, who was a head taller than him. "You are the woman who sells flowers!" "It's a living," Ene said cautiously, pulling the bathrobe tighter around her. It was a chilly morning, barely dawn. "What's the problem, did any of them break loose and bite someone?" "Don't you get smart with me!" Piggy stuck a furiously quivering little sausage-like finger under Ene's nose. "Your flowers are requested by the Council to decorate a memorial service tonight. Your best, most fragrant, prettiest flowers, and none of the shaggy second-rate ones, you hear? I know the tricks of you tradespeople!" "Ah, no expense spared, then," Ene grunted, letting the 'tricks of tradespeople' slide - it was frankly true that Piggy didn't generally get the most outstanding of goods from street food vendors. "What's the sad occasion?" "A child has been murdered by the vile Resistance and the Council has decided to pay her all due honors." Piggy peered closely at Ene to see her reaction to the news. The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed into grim slits. "Well, that's nasty business," she said. "We haven't had a murder since... goodness, decades now?" "The last one might've been your husband," Piggy pointed out cattily. Something flickered in Ene's eyes and then her face went completely blank. "Yeah, that'd be fifteen, eighteen years ago," she said, her voice now dull. "That was the brief time when the previous resistance cropped up. You wouldn't remember, young man, you would've been a few years old at best. It got crushed very fast." "And this one will too!" Piggy declared, puffing himself up. "Your flowers are expected by midday at the Council hall where you'll meet a clerk who will tell you how to organize them. Don't be late!" He spun on his heel and shouted at a gaggle of young harassed-looking guards, and the patrol marched off. Ene ambled into the kitchen and put some coffee on, figuring that it'd be a long day with an early start and therefore an acceptable occasion to use up some of the rations. She shot a sideways glance at a photo on a counter, in which a young black-haired girl and a tall bright-eyed man were laughing together. "Well, you old bugger," she said almost conversationally, "I don't know if it's true that ghosts watch over people or if you can still be bothered after all these years, but with all these recent news, I sure would appreciate a watchful eye... in addition to the Council's, that is." She had a hurried breakfast and then headed out to her greenhouse, which was on the edge of the town center a brisk half-hour's walk away. Ene gets kicked out of bed early by Hunty's budding NPC problem a nasty town guard sergeant named Piggy who tells her that her flowers are required for the memorial, pronto. She also gets reminded of her angsty backstory dead husband and hurries off to town where she might or might not run into someone on the way to her greenhouse.
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