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Post by Huntress on Jun 21, 2015 17:25:46 GMT -5
Ene found that she was rather enjoying herself. She'd clipped off all white flowers in the greenhouse, plus a few of the more spectacular black ones, minus a few of the black ones which could bite, because that right there would be bad PR. The clerk she'd delivered them to turned out to be a pudgy woman who liked to gossip so they'd hit it off quite well when setting up the arrangements. And once this was set up, Ene was almost immediately forgotten in the hubbub, which suited her nicely: she'd already shown her face so everyone vaguely knew that she was part of staff or something, but she wasn't part of staff so the staff's supervisors didn't give her anything to do, so the woman sidled along to the snacks table and did some generous sampling. The funeral itself was a sad affair, of course. Who was this kid? Ene wondered to herself, idly spearing a little weenie on a cocktail stick with expert precision from the tray of a passing waiter. Melville was a small town and if there were any grieving relatives, they would probably have made some sort of public appearance: roped into the memorial with the Council, quoted on the radio, anything to that effect. If there was a second aunt by marriage, the Council would've found her and gotten a quote. How could someone be so alone in this town? She remained in her happy no-man's-land of social obligations with her canape entourage until a young woman addressed her. "So you're the one who brought in all the flowers, right? That's very impressive! And you do all that yourself, wow, all that exercise at your age, that's great. I'm glad that they called you here, I'm all for encouraging people who, you know, work with dirt. I mean, someone has to.""Yeah, it's not an easy job for sure," Ene said, breaking into a slow grin. "Carrying all these flowers and my cane and my flask of prune juice all at once. But, you know, anything for the Council. The flowers are incidental to my work, anyway. They just grow out plants. It's the roots and the leaves and the juice inside them that get you the interesting stuff. Although I do rather like this one here, check it." She reached out and grasped the stem of a flower that looked like a dark purple gloriosa lily, giving it a quick spin. The flower emitted a quiet low hum that became more high-pitched as it spun faster. "I use its infusion to brew the skill of spinning around on spot without getting dizzy," Ene said brightly, patting her pockets, "except I don't have that on me right now, I think. I do have," she withdrew a flask and inspected it critically, then glanced at Victoria just as critically, "hm, the skill of fitting everything you need for an overnight trip in your handbag, but you were probably born with this one anyway. My grandfather developed this one for himself because it drove him up the wall how my grandmama always had a toothbrush and a clean pair of underwear in her purse at any time, and lemme tell you, girlie, that was a whole lotta fabric to fold up in those days." Ene produced another few bottles, scowled at them and held one against the light. "It's not my whole selection by far, of course, but this one looks to be the skill of saying things that make you sound sympathetic to people's problems." She tilted it sideways and shook it a little. "That, or it might be the skill of brewing every kind of tea at the right temperature. Kinda hard to tell right now, the way the layers have settled. Well, and this other one is the skill of walking on a tightrope. Useful little thing, cos it takes away your fear of heights." Ene makes use of her almost-staff status at the funeral and helps herself to refreshments while wondering who Coaster actually was. She's approached by Liou and Ene happily offers her a variety of skills to buy.
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Post by Stephanie (swordlilly) on Jun 21, 2015 18:34:00 GMT -5
The previous day...After Rusty got home (dressed once again in her schoolgirl clothes), she cooked some macaroni and cheese, squealed when she burned some of it, got rid of the burnt part, put the macaroni into a covered bowl, washed the pan, and then sat on the couch fiddling with her old radio until it worked. She spent half an hour listening to the radio. Then her parents came home from work, they had dinner together, washed the dishes, and went to sleep. Rusty thought about Leira before she drifted off. It had been nice to daydream together about the unknown world beyond the wall. She wished her schoolwork had room for more dreaming and creativity, than just getting the right answers for tests. Today...There came the familiar sensation of her mother gently shaking her by the shoulder. "Mm-mmm," Rusty murmured. "Wake up," her mother said. "School is cancelled today." "Wh-what? Then why do I have to wake up?" "A citizen was killed. There's a funeral being held that we must go to. Rusty, it's terrible. She was only about your age." Her mother sounded tearful. Rusty blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked up. "How did she die?" "Shot in the back, Thundy said. She seems to have been wandering about alone. In the wrong place at the wrong time." Rusty opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The lyrics of "Safe Behind The Wall" looped like an eerie echo through Rusty's mind as she ate her cereal and milk. She couldn't believe it. The town was supposed to be a safe place. Life was supposed to be good. She felt as though everything she had known was being ripped into shreds. She thought suddenly, with a chill, of her disguise-clothes, still under the carpet in her secret corner in the school. She mustn't wander about anymore. The safety drills, boring though they were, now seemed incredibly important. Neither of her parents said much on the way to the funeral. Rusty walked between them, holding their hands, and looked around her. She had never seen so many people in one place. Everyone was wearing black and looking sombre. Some people even brought roses. In front of the little wooden coffin, Uncle May looked quite impressive in his suit. After he finished his speech in memory of Arlie Brook, everyone wiped their eyes. An old lady sitting in the front row was bawling the loudest. Rusty wondered if she was Arlie's grandmother. As she stared at the coffin, a strange thought popped into her mind. If she, Rusty, died, would such a big crowd of people gather to mourn her? Then she felt guilty for thinking such a vain and selfish thought. She wondered who Arlie had been. "Sweet and innocent," Uncle May said. But that didn't tell her anything. Did Arlie have a loud laugh? Was she nice? Did she like to play hopscotch? Rusty realized that she had never seen Arlie at school. Did Arlie not go to school? Maybe she skipped class a lot, even on exam days. Or maybe she was like Leira, whose dad didn't allow her to go to school. Suddenly she caught sight of Leira in the crowd. The redheaded teen was talking to another girl, who was on crutches. Rusty's heart broke a little bit. She knew Caraway Nix. Caraway was one of the cool kids. On closer look, though, Caraway seemed to be crying. That changed Rusty's perception immediately. It was good of Leira to comfort somebody who was crying. Rusty wondered if she would ever get to hang out with Leira again, now that she had resolved not to wander about anymore. Rusty hears about the death of Coaster, who had apparently been "in the wrong place at the wrong time." This makes Rusty afraid. She decides not to wander about anymore, and to participate more diligently in the school's safety drills. She goes to the funeral with her parents, where she catches sight of PFA crying. Rusty wonders about who Arlie Brook had been. She has some morbid thoughts about her own death and who would be sad for her if she died. In the crowd, she notices Ginz ❤ talking to Avery, and decides that it is good of Leira to comfort a crying girl.
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Post by icon on Jun 21, 2015 20:09:08 GMT -5
It was just a little corner, a bend in an alleyway right off Wester Street. The alley’s entrance led right to the side door of the Hawk and Key; the intersecting wall belonged to a room previously rented by a civil electrician. The back wall housed a candlemaker’s store. The streetsign littering the stonework was trivial; names, tally marks, drunken scribbles, tiny pictures drawn by children. It was, for all intents and purposes, just another corner on another street. Just like any in Melville. A cat slunk past, not particularly deigning to acknowledge the scribbles on the wall, or the soft glow coming from the candlemaker’s window. Cats are wont to ignore these kinds of things. The cat made its way toward a particularly comfortable spot on the cobbles, sitting square between a rotting crate and the drainpipe drip, dripping old gutter water into a puddle. The cat sat down. For a while, the cat stared listlessly at the wall. Eventually a latch clicked, and a door creaked open. Archipelagus McIntyre, proprietor and bartender of the Hawk and Key, stepped out and turned down a small step. McIntyre glanced at the cat. The cat glanced at McIntyre. The drainpipe continued its rhythmic drip, drip. After a moment of comparative silence, McIntyre shook her head, muttered something about being late for the funeral, and hurried off. The cat stayed sitting, between the crate and the step and the puddle and the drip, drip of the drainpipe. The sounds of the funeral carried faintly from across the Abill River. Eventually, the cat took interest in something else it deemed more important and wandered off, possibly to sit in some other place and look listlessly at some other wall. The corner remained where it was. Corners don’t generally move. The drainpipe drip, dripped. Nobody paid particularly close attention to the streetsign here, but anyone who might have would have noticed an unusually relevant name on the wall. Perhaps it was written after the cat wandered away. Perhaps it was written after Archipelagus McIntyre left for the funeral. Perhaps it was written before the cat even arrived. Perhaps it wasn’t written at all. But however it appeared, the name was now written on the wall. White chalk, eye level, right where anyone could see. ARLIE BROOK
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Post by Avery on Jun 21, 2015 20:12:08 GMT -5
((Please remember to get your Execution votes in by tomorrow's deadline!))
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Post by Celestial on Jun 22, 2015 8:24:30 GMT -5
Ivan's eyes widened as he listened to the crying older woman explain, with a lot of wailing, exactly why she was crying; she had been the caretaker to Arlie, the girl who died. As somebody who also had to look after childen, his heart clenched in sympathy. If anything happened to any of his siblings, he would have probably wailed tenderly in the street as well, tears rolling down his tanned cheeks from his plain brown eyes. He resisted an urge to let out a single perfect tear for her plight already. "I'm sorry, let me-" he reached over to the woman but was immediately distracted by a strange man throwing himself on his knees beside them and crying about...his cat? Well, Ivan thought it was his cat. His sentences were so garbled and he was throwing out random things, like that device he saw once in school which kept skipping. A record player? He was not sure exactly, he had been too busy gazing at Caraway and her perfect hair, imagining that it would feel like the finest silks that only the Council ever got to wear but never daring to touch it. Just like Cara herself. "Umm, I'm sorry, could you...maybe..." he winced as the stranger- Sebastian was it?- leaned on the shoulder of the crying woman. "Look, I'm really sorry about your cat. Losing a cat is almost as bad as losing a child but..." Ivan had no idea what to say. If Sebastian was just crying over the loss of his beloved pet, he would have comforted him, but everything else threw him off. What did he mean by "long walks along the Wall"? Surely nobody could walk on the wall. Was he...flirting with him?! Oh no, what would Cara think if she found out he was flirting with other people? Well, she would not think anything. Of course, Cara would not even pay attention that other people were interested in him. She was simply too perfect to care. She might even be happy for Ivan...but Ivan would not be happy, not without her, even though he would never pursue her or be able to have her. She belonged in Ronan's perfect, muscular arms which rippled with strength and manliness. Thankfully, when the woman said she had to go to the funeral, Ivan saw his chance. When another person approached, Quentin, the local schoolteacher, he smiled awkwardly. "Uhhh, nothing is wrong. I'm going to escort this lady to the funeral. I need to catch up with my siblings anyway. And mother and father always said I should help the elderly whenever I can," he said and pointed to Sebastian. "Maybe you could help this gentleman over here, sir?" With that, he took Fortune by the shoulder and began to lead her towards the funeral, in the direction the Children had gone. "I'm...I'm really sorry about your child. I'm worried that something will happen to my siblings, or to my...friends, yes. Totally just friends," he blushed, thinking about Cara. Only friends, as she would say. Ivan expresses sympathy for Fortune( PFA) and tries to be sympathetic towards Sebastian( Jayeee) but is thrown off by the flirting, because what would Cara say? He offers to escort the nice old lady to the funeral and tells Quentin( Draco) to help Sebastian before leading Fortune away towards the funeral.
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Post by The Scrac that Smiles Back on Jun 22, 2015 11:42:27 GMT -5
He'd made it past the fool without getting his nose tweaked, and took his place beside his assistant. Through the funeral they and the group they sat with remained stoic, but near the end Drale’s assistant began crying. He'd wondered how he could comfort her, but nothing very good came to mind. Thus he sat. As people dispersed he told her she could have the rest of the day off. Before she'd gone too far he added on a “Be safe!” He walked back to the workshop, passing Miles Ellis ( Birdy), his thoughts on the dead girl turning into thoughts of the previous rebellion. Entering the workshop, he kept the “closed” sign up. Several minutes later he emerged outdoors with a table, a chair, an umbrella with an extra long handle, several colored glass rods, and a handheld electric torch. He had changed his clothing, now sporting a loose t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He sat down, contemplating what to make. A little girl? He picked up a rod and turned on the torch, bringing the two together to make the glass malleable. As he worked a number of people stopped to watch. The little glass girl took shape, bent over with one foot in front of the other, like a crane inspecting the waters before it. Instead of arms he gave her white wings, folded at her sides, and a beak. Drale’s assistant cries at the funeral, and he gives them the day off after the service. He returns to his workshop, passing Miles Ellis ( Birdy), where he sets up outside and sculpts glass figurines while people watch.
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Post by PFA on Jun 22, 2015 13:14:08 GMT -5
"Th-thank you," Fortune said, as the young man started leading her toward the funeral. She was slightly baffled by the 'elderly' comment, though. She didn't think she was that old. Was she that old? But there were other, more pressing matters on her mind at the moment, so she didn't question it. "I just... I wish I could have prevented this," she whimpered, wiping some tears from her eye. "I shouldn't have let Arlie wander off alone..." Before long, they arrived at the funeral. Fortune had been expecting to take a quiet seat in the back, but to her surprise, when the guards caught wind that she was Arlie's caretaker, Fortune was escorted to a seat on the front row. She hunched in her seat nervously, realizing she was surrounded by so many important people—including the whole Council. Were they looking at her? Would they judge her for not taking better care of Arlie? ...Arlie. Fortune also realized that she got a perfect view of the coffin from here, and she shivered as another wave of tears came on. Arlie, I'm so sorry, she thought to herself, head bowed. I was a terrible family.Fortune thanks Celestial for his help. When they get to the funeral, she is surprised when she is taken to a seat on the front row. She is nervous to be surrounded by so many Council members, but her nervousness is overtaken by grief.
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Post by Birdy on Jun 22, 2015 13:40:14 GMT -5
Like most, he’d heard the news from the radio that morning. Someone had died - a child, no less. They claimed she had been murdered by the Resistance. The Council had scheduled a funeral for later that day - attendance was mandatory. Miles did not particularly want to go. But then again, he did not wish to draw the eye of the Council towards himself for not attending, either. So to the funeral he would go. And so it was, that after dressing in the nicest drab clothes he owned, he set out. He finally reached the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered to mourn the young Arlie Brook, and chose to stay there. Maneuvering around on crutches was hard enough, but trying to maneuver around in crutches in the middle of a packed crowd? Please. The last thing he wanted to do was trip someone or end up tripping himself. (Not to mention that staying on the outskirts meant he could get a better head start once the service was over, and try and avoid the middle of the crowd then, too.) Glancing around self-consciously, he tried to remind himself that most here would be focused on the service and talking with their friends, not the man on crutches with a missing leg. Yes… For now, avoiding contact suited him just fine. Miles doesn’t wanna go the funeral, but does anyway - deciding that not drawing the questioning eye of the Council is a better alternative.
So he lurks on the outskirts of the crown, and continues to be anti-social. Maybe someone would break him of that habit?
(Anyone who is around the outskirts, feel free to interact. =D (Even if not now, then later.))
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Post by Thundy on Jun 22, 2015 15:19:07 GMT -5
Sampson, having changed, soon arrived at the state funeral for Arlie Brook. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, with some of his old medals pinned to his left shoulder; The Blood of the Wall and the Guard Service Medal, relics from a time long gone that seemed as if to belong to a different life. He was seated in the second row, with many of the council's officials and a member of the deceased family occupying the front row. He had arrived about 30 minutes before the service started in the truck owned by the radio station. The truck as equipped with a small office and a transmitter that linked into the main tower at the KMLV station. Because the microphones were installed on the oratory and would be broadcasting the service live, Sampson himself could afford to sit and take a break and mingle with some of the citizens at the funeral. Sampson had to admit, it was a beautiful service, Arlie Brook's coffin was displayed near the altar while the bishop of Melville orated. But at the same time the sense of worry he began feeling during the interview with Mayhitch was making itself known in his mind. Sampson wasn't particularly afraid of his own death, he had dodged it once before and had always expected it to rear its ugly head again. In front of him and diagonally was sat a distraught and upset lady “That must be Brook's caretaker,” he surmised. When the service drew to a conclusion with Arlie Brook's casket being lowered into its plot up against the Wall, in the words of the priest “To shore up Wall and to shore up all of our hearts in remembrance of such a brave young girl.” and all the guests were beginning to make their way back from the service, Sampson tapped Fortune Hart on the shoulder. “Hi there, you must be Arlie's guardian? I'm Sampson Thorpe, you probably know me from the radio. I'm so sorry for your loss, please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you in this troubled time. I know first hand just how ruthless the resistance can be, I still pay for it to this day,” he said, tapping his cane a few times on the ground. Sampson attends the funeral and pays his respects to PFA for the loss of Coaster
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Post by RielCZ on Jun 22, 2015 17:23:49 GMT -5
Carlos observed Laurie talking to a small girl on crutches and try to give her tea. Laurie’s special brew was highly medicinal—bitter, in his opinion, but highly medicinal—and giving it to a small girl on crutches seemed like a wonderful thing to do, especially considering her impairment and the fact she was younger would make her an easier target for the murderous resistance. "I tripped and fell," the girl stammered, refusing the offer. "And um. Thanks for the tea but... I cannot pay you, madam. I am poor, you see. An orphan! It's very tragic, I know." “The fact you’re an orphan makes it even more imperative you take this tea,” he replied matter-of-factly and with enough charismatic overtones she couldn’t possibly refuse. He took the mug from his fiancée and placed it in the girl’s hands. “You certainly can’t trust everyone in this town, that’s now apparent… But you need to accept the fact that sometimes you need to accept help from others.” He nodded to her and took Laurie’s soft hand gently in his. Now then, he thought to her as he petted her back through her turtleneck, what do I think? If you lose your job for this I’ll approach the messaging division of the council myself and ask for them to reverse such a ridiculous decision. You delivered your message, you just misplaced your scarf. And if they claim the message was delivered late, your alibi is that you were with just proposed to by your roommate, mind twin, and the man who loves you—if word gets out they fired you for that the council would have SO MUCH bad PR and subsequent backlash… Frankly I’d say it’s more likely the council would throw our wedding for us than fire you—‘Showing solidarity with our families both existing and brand new!’ kind of thing.And still holding her hand, they took seats nearer the absolute middle of the mass of chairs. The service started with the bishop presiding; there was a massive fanfare and the engineer knew there was going to be no expense spared in what was going to be a wonderful (and wonderfully extravagant) service. Carlos’s mind, as it tended to, wandered, and he began to wonder whose job it was to set all those up… Haha. Maybe Doormat’s. Speaking of him, he gazed around inconspicuously for someone wearing a yellow scarf. Carlos sees Laurie ( Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)) talking with Caraway ( Avery) and demands she take the tea Laurie is offering. After reassuring Laurie she isn't going to lose her messenger job, and that it would be more likely for the council to throw their wedding if they knew what she was doing instead. They sit down and the service begins; meanwhile, he scans the crowds a little for Doormat ( Thorn).
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Post by Pixie on Jun 22, 2015 18:05:53 GMT -5
Pansy began to stir groggily as she heard Cat's voice and saw her hurried motions through half-open green eyes. The bed was a little less warm than when she usually left it, so before the words began to pierce the early morning fog, she knew Cat had already awakened. The amount of light coming through the window was telling her she still had a few more lazy moments before another hectic day, but she pulled herself upright once her wife’s words registered. “Oh no!” Pansy exclaimed. She had terminal patients sometimes and death was far from foreign. Her own parents had died a few years ago, one of a cardiac condition and the other of a broken heart. This wasn’t someone so close to her as to bring her to tears, but it was saddening on principle. This wasn’t the death of someone who had spent all their potential. It was a child. The situation must have been overwhelmingly tragic if the funeral was public and mandatory- or related to the Wall’s nasty threat yesterday. Pansy changed from her pajamas into slacks and a blouse, loose-fitting as she prefered and black as was appropriate for a funeral. She didn’t apply any makeup, but she pulled up her hair into a high ponytail. If she wouldn’t be going to work with the funeral taking place, a finicky bun was unnecessary, but the ponytail it still would keep her hair out of her eyes and off her neck. She went downstairs after she dressed, and as she scarfed down the delicious pancakes her wife had cooked, she listened the the radio broadcast. The message that Cat heard repeated, and Pansy heard the story in all its details. The funeral was on the resistance’s hands. It was not a familiar name, not one of Dr. Livington’s clients, but it was somebody. They had shot a child.The resistance had murdered an innocent girl. And worse, they shot her from behind, like cowards.If a little girl wasn’t safe from the resistance, nobody was. The idea that Cat was safe because she was merely a bookstore owner. or that as someone who helped people for a living, Pansy had nothing to fear, was simply not true. This resistance were terrorists, preying on innocents to make some twisted point. The last thing Pansy wanted was for her or her beloved wife to be next - or any of her patients She did care about her patients, even if sometimes their ailments were entirely preventable. Avoiding needless risks generally kept her smarter patients out of her office. Still, there were some risks people had to take. Some risks that were mandatory, like crowding together like a herd for a mandatory funeral when there were violent criminals afoot. It was still an occasion to mourn, even if Arlie Brooks was not her child. Arlie could have been her child. Pansy had spent almost a decade with her wife, with the topic of adoption at a quiet standstill. She knew that Cat wanted to have children, but Pansy didn’t want to bare that burden in addition to her hippocratic duties. She would be willing to adopt so Cat would be happy, but Cat was willing to remain just the two of them so Pansy would be happy- so they danced around the topic passively. They had no child and no decision. Pansy realized it wasn’t exactly fair to Cat, putting off the hypothetical adoption until they became too old to promise a kid mothers for an entire childhood.. She left for the funeral with her wife and promised that when the danger had subsided, they could adopt like Cat had always wanted. Older children needed homes too. Dr. Livington wakes up, learns about the horrible news, and goes to the funeral with Cat ( ♥ Lulu).
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Post by Tiger on Jun 22, 2015 20:15:02 GMT -5
Aerona had brought one real, non-paper lantern to the funeral. She’d plucked it from a high shelf with the elongated bar with its hooked tip, polished the wood - well, washed it with water, furniture polish was not precisely in high supply - and made sure none of the six fogged-glass panes had chipped or cracked, while listening to the combination report-and-interview with Uncle May on KMLV. A child...she felt sick, but her hands kept steady at their work. The lantern's frame was made of a very dark cherry wood; very costly, but worth it to make something that looked so stately and noble. The only problem, Aerona had found, was making anything cheery out of it. The wood lent itself far more easily to somber scenes - a row of perched birds on the bottom frame of one side seemed to be waiting for something. A deer, recreated as best she could manage from scraps of old images and drawings, didn’t seem to be lowering its head to drink from a cattail-forested pond, but just bowing its head. The flowers coming from the vines on a third side seemed to be drooping. Some wood was just like that. Some lanterns were just like that. The fogged glass had been a deliberate choice. Putting it on the high shelf had been one, too. People didn’t buy somber lanterns - life was good, after all. But, Aerona reflected as, at the side of the coffin, she lifted the tiny latch of the lantern door, opened it, and lit the lamp. Not every day is good. A dull yellow glow poked through the frosted glass like a sunset through clouds. She coaxed away the thought. It would be all right; life would be good again. The Resistance would be caught, there would be no more murder of innocents, the writing on the Wall would fade from everyone’s mind until it was just a distant, if grim, memory. Leaving the lanterns at their places, Aerona filtered into the crowd. Maybe there were people here she could talk to and get her mind off this. Well, there were definitely people here. Mandatory attendance and all. The whole town was there, or just about - from the radio host to the girl Aerona had caught trying to climb the wall to Council members and their families, to the seller-of-skills who Aerona could sometimes haggle to buy a broken vase or vial from for a discount, to the strange smiling man with his mysterious game… She sat at the edge of the crowd, pulling a bit of paper from her pocket. As she watched the ceremony, her hands worked the paper, folding and creasing and tearing and unfolding until she had a tiny paper lantern balanced on her fingertips. Funerals are sad. Lanterns are philosophical. Tiger needs to pick up her pace at writing posts. Aerona is hanging around the edge of the group \ o /
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Post by Thorn on Jun 22, 2015 20:40:08 GMT -5
Doormat spent a good portion of the service alternating between looking at his feet and looking at the sky. He didn't much like the Tear-of-Strangers, they were all the more bitter for their unfamiliarity. He was, however, listening. It would have been unkind not to afford the child that much- a girl, apparently, named 'Arlie Brook'. And an orphan. He wondered if he'd ever passed her in the street; or spoken to her, even. Maybe, maybe not. But she was dead now, murdered, and his stomach twisted even to think of it. As the crowd at last began to disperse, Doormat caught sight of somebody vaguely familiar through the sea of faces. He did a double-take, freezing in place momentarily. It was the lady who'd given him the scarf! Maybe? He thought so, anyway...he couldn't be sure, the whole thing had been very confusing and it was possible he was getting confused again now. Maybe it was some other face he'd passed in the street. But she had a man with her, and maybe he was like the man who'd been with scarf-lady? Maybe. Doormat thought he looked a bit like him- but again, he couldn't be sure, and he was far too nervous to just go up and ask. What if he was wrong? And in any case, he didn't have the scarf with him and he hadn't delivered the message...what if it was them, but they got angry? "Nezzie?" Agnes frowned at him. "Are you alright?" "Just...saw someone I recognise," he murmured. She chuckled slightly, though it sounded forced and lacked genuine mirth. "Hardly surprising- the whole town is here, after all." A filler post for RielCZ and Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff). I am aware that I probably should have had Doormat confront them directly, but couldn't think of how to do that while keeping in character, sorry. =P The funeral service for Arlie Brook winds down, and as people start to leave, Doormat catches sight of a pair of familiar faces within the crowd ( RielCZ and Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)). Could it be the mysterious Bestowers of the Scarf?
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Post by PFA on Jun 22, 2015 21:17:03 GMT -5
Fortune was silently listening to the service, when she was startled out of her thoughts by a tap on the shoulder—and perhaps more importantly, the voice that immediately followed. "Hi there, you must be Arlie's guardian?"He didn't even need to introduce himself; she would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Sampson Thorpe—THE Sampson Thorpe—in the flesh. Despite her otherwise somber mood, Fortune's heart started beating faster in a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She had never expected to meet Sampson in person—he looked different from what she had imagined, but not in a bad way, per se—he was actually talking directly to her— "I-I... thank you," she stammered, in response to what he actually said. "You don't need to do anything, I mean, I don't think there's much you can do, but..." She absentmindedly fiddled with the knot of her shawl. What was she supposed to say? "I-it's, um... it's nice meeting you. I listen to your show every day." She probably sounded so foolish. She sure felt it. Fortune gets to meet Thundy in person and gets totally tongue-tied. She might have a bit of a celebrity crush.
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Post by Draco on Jun 22, 2015 22:00:03 GMT -5
Almost no sooner as Quentin arrived at the scene of, whatever the heck was going on, Ivan also leaves. Quentin stands there, a bit dumbfounded watching the two people he wanted to help leave. He looks back at Sebastian, then looks at the walking away Ivan, giving a look of, "How do I help this?!" He didn't say it out loud, but it was something he was totally thinking! "Sooo, said Quentin awkwardly." Quentin was only sort of familiar with the man, but he tended to avoid him. He was a bit odd, even for a town who a large number of people worshiped a wall... "Is there some sort of problem you need helping with, asked Quentin in a sort of confused fashion." He was really going to regret this, wasn't he? "I might not be able to help you exactly.... But there is a funeral we need to get to, so maybe we can go together, asked Quentin a bit afraid." He scratches the back of his head a bit, he was better at talking with kids..... "After all, if we don't show up, it would look weird. We're all supposed to go after all. And... Uhhh... Maybe you'll run into some of your friends there, asked Quentin about to give up on this." He waits for a reply for a few moments before slowly scooting away towards the funeral... Quentin talks to Sebastian ( Jayeee) very awkwardly... Before he slowly scoots away.
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