The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

[civilobedience]

Who: The Militia, the city, and you.
What: The Arena Riots.
Where: The Arena, Griss Twist.
When: Newdi, Eliaderen 1. (Monday Oct 1st)
Notes: Companion post for questions and plotting is here.
Warnings: Violence, police brutality, disturbing content and imagery, graphic death.

It's apparent even before dawn that something out of the ordinary is happening. Canton sheriffs are roused from their sleep or pulled away from their work to be told that on no uncertain terms, today will be a day that they do not leave their neat lines on the map. That their individual offices will be responsible for all crime and unrest within their jurisdictions, with no help; the powers that be offer no details, but the creeping feeling in their presence suggests no questions would be tolerated anyway – the implication that they'll all be watched is a strong one. In Mog Hill, Sheriff Norrington proceeds as he always does under such orders. In Mafaton, leadership is stoic but one deputy laughs, sharp and bitter, while the Emissary of the Council merely checks his watch, unseen underground. Sir Hellsing is pulled away from her dinner in the Guild Hall, a Sobek Croix deputy anxiously relaying the news. The sound of shattered glass disturbs the pre-dawn silence in Flyside, a brick hurled by some faceless figure into the front window of Thames – and nothing else.

From the Spire, hooded Militiamen move quietly and uniformly south, to Griss Twist. They are followed by wagons, full of prisoners.

Comments

[deservesadaisy]

He's very well fed - more human than he generally looks in pallor, but less in every other way. He's covered in blood, yes, but no more than most of the people still standing at this point.

The upside is that he's had enough that, for the moment, his craving for more is in check, and he can look at her with something like a reasonable gaze. "Yes, though I'm rather intrigued about who may be asking." Fight or flight is still in gear beneath the perfect manners and formerly impeccable suit.

[agrat]

The corner of her mouth curves upwards. Nothing about this is really funny to her--unlike, say, Sonja, she is not the type of faqra who takes pleasure in bloodshed. Hunting is satisfying, and she quite fervently believes that her game deserves it, but it doesn't make her happy.

She pushes her mask up, for just a second, to flash the upper half of her face. It's dark, but, notably, her vision is perfectly fine. If Ilde has pointed her out on the network at all (which would be prudent, given their history, and Ilde's intimate awareness of what Lea is capable of doing to people), that will be identifying, but she'd really rather not say her name.

"I have a favor to ask you. I'll owe you one, and I mean that, but I think this is within your skill set."

[deservesadaisy]

"That sounds intriguing." He remembers her face - remembers that Ilde knows her, so she's (probably) not going to try and stake him in a moment. "What did you have in mind?"

[agrat]

"I need a human heart," she says, "and I need it brought to me."

The ritualistic aspects of this require it be someone else's work, not her own. Magic is particular that way, sometimes, at least when dealing with human body parts. Other pieces work, too, but the heart is--powerful. The most potent, in her opinion, at least for what she wants to accomplish.

"Do you feel like being a good Samaritan?"

[deservesadaisy]

He grins, wolfish and inhuman. "What is life but an opportunity to be find to one's fellow creatures?" ...Ivan. He says, "I can think of worse to be owed a favor by a friend of Ilde's. Where will I find you?"

As presumably, he's not going to hang about the riots with a human heart in hand. That's a bit harder to explain than being blood-spattered.

[agrat]

As far as reactions go, that one would probably unnerve most normal people. Lea doesn't take a lot of pleasure in carnage, as noted, but it isn't anything that really takes her aback without a lot of effort involved.

She steps forward and speaks into his ear, hand on his bloodied shirt in a bizarrely companionable kind of way (like she's giving him directions to a house party, not a safe house), and then moves backwards, eyebrows raised.

"Don't use CiDs."

Then she steps backward into the rioting crowd.