multiversallogs | The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

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The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

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.

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Raylan nods, to show he's understood, and starts trying to change the direction of the flow. Easier said than done, though, and it's hard for him to get more than one person's attention at a time by shouting. There's just too much noise.

He takes his hat off to start waving people in the right direction. However, unfortunately, "Civilians move this way" apparently looks a lot like "People with guns, please shoot this direction." It does get people to move, but not (presumably) the way Raylan intended, and he's briefly lost to Jim's sight.

A moment or two later, the hat's back on his head, presumably because Raylan needs a hand to press to his shoulder.

Jim nods, and sets about trying to herd people in that direction from his perch. It's hard to divert them when they're trying to press in a bunch of different directions and many of them are scared, panicking.

He catches sight of the waving white hat, and he glances up. It's a good tactic, it's attention-getting. He's on the verge of directing people toward it when shots ring out. He tracks the people scattering, trying to get a bead on where the shots were aimed.

...Oh.

The man in the white hat that he's seen around Mog Hill comes back into view, holding his shoulder.

"...Shit," Jim mutters, running along the backs of seats because it's faster than trying to push his way through the crowd. It still takes him a minute to reach the other man's side.

"You all right? Are you hit?"

Raylan nods, face more determined than pained. "Think it's just a graze - doesn't feel like a bullet went in."

Suggesting he's felt both and knows the difference.

"If we don't keep these people moving, I suspect I'll have a lot more to worry about than a superficial wound, though. Got a better attention-getting idea?" With his free hands, he's giving people small pushes on the shoulder, here and there, but only when they get in reach, like kicking a ball back into play.

Jim grimaces; the whole idea of projectile weapons and bits of metal penetrating bodies is uncomfortably new to him, even after a year in the city. They trained him to withstand and treat the odd phaser burn, nothing like this.

For a moment, he can't help thinking of McCoy, and how much hell the doctor raised over both the state of weaponry in this city and the state of medical technology available to try to treat the damage they did. He's glad Bones is home and doesn't have to see this or deal with it anymore.

"Most of my crowd control training assumed I'd have a security team backing me, not just one other guy. But I can improvise." He hops up on a seat again, raising his voice. "Citizens! Attention please! The exits in these few sections are either blocked or jammed due to many people trying to use them at once. Please move in that direction, there's an exit available there."

He's polite, but firm and authoritative; Starfleet taught him to be nice so he doesn't escalate a situation but to maintain authority so it doesn't get out of his grasp, either.

He opens his mouth to repeat the announcement, but the firing starts again, projectiles ricocheting off the stone wall above. "The hell?" Jim scrambles off his perch, ducking slightly as he scans the Arena floor below. "Jesus, they're not even paying attention to who they're shooting at."

He keeps his head down, and an eye on the Arena floor beyond the railing, in case gunfire breaks out again. "Okay, so the best ways for getting the crowd's attention also seem to get us shot at. If you've got some ideas, I'm all ears."

Edited 2012-10-09 03:03 (UTC)

"Alright, while I'm busy not bleeding everywhere and you're busy making sure we don't get trampled..." Raylan finds a wall to get his back up against. "Alright. I got a gun, but firing into the air's not gonna do shit in this kind of noise." He's not quite shouting, but his voice is loud to be heard above the din.

He keeps the pressure on his arm steady and shoots a quick prayer to the god he doesn't believe in that he isn't wrong about how serious it is. Be kind of a humiliatingly stupid way to die.

"I think we're gonna have to get ourselves to a viable exit, then draw people's attention to it. Unless you've got any better ideas." It was clear that the Militia, either due to orders or training, were ready to kill civilians before they'd let vigilantes get away, which was sobering but not as surprising as Raylan wished it were. Still, that meant they couldn't count on any help from anyone official. And they'd told the sheriffs to stay home, as Norrington had texted him later. Oops.

"You think the two of us can make it through this mess that far?"

Jim nods, grimly surveying the crowd. "It's crazy," he says back, voice raised just as Raylan's was. "That sounds like the best plan. I think we need to get to the exit and then figure out what to do from there. Maybe something will present itself for attention-getting when we find it."

He'd like to avoid drawing fire again, thanks. He's fortunate he wasn't hit at all; his new colleague here is fortunate it was just a flesh wound. (Which they should really get looked at, but first things first.)

"I think we stand a better chance if we stick close to the walls as we move. Less chance of being trampled."

"I agree. I can draw my weapon if I have to for show, but I'd rather not give anyone more temptation to make me a target." He was averse to getting shot again. "Stick close to the wall and each other and move as fast as the crowd allows?"

"Sounds good to me."

A pause, before he starts moving. "I'm Jim, by the way. Jim Kirk. Occasionally of Hellsing, but it's my day off."

Which is a shame; had he been prepared for field work, he might've had more useful items on him. But he didn't dare come down here with his gear on his person.

"Raylan Givens. Deputy Sheriff of Mog Hill, at least last I checked." After today, he supposes he'll see. "It's been a hell of a day off for both of us, it seems."

They inch along, two steps forward and one step back, and at least his bleeding doesn't seem to be getting worse, so he's probably right that it's superficial.

Jim glances at Raylan's shoulder as they advance along the wall. "Once we get out of here I'll see you to a medic," he offers. "You got one you prefer? I know a few, otherwise."

But first things first. They have to get out in order to get him help, and they have to get the other people out of here before they get shot too. "Keep an eye out for anything we might use to either get people's attention, or to shield ourselves from gunfire while we do it."

"Got a doctor in mind, but thanks. Unfortunately, shields tend to be harder to improvise than weapons." At least effective shields. But he keeps an eye out all the same - loose chair backs, made. The trash bins aren't in the Arena proper, so no helpful lids to nab.

The crowd has gone back, generally, to ignoring Raylan and Jim, which is a mixed blessing. Raylan hates to hold his tongue, but until they get to a door, there's not much sense drawing attention back to themselves.

They finally reach the doorway. People are filtering out, but most of them are milling aimlessly, too confused or packed in too tightly and far away from the door to realize it's a good exit.

"Okay, so we--" Jim vanishes from sight, toppling forward. When he rolls, trying to right himself, it becomes apparent he tripped over the body of a militia agent that lies in the aisle. "Jesus." He gets to his feet, is about to voice a request for a hand moving this guy, when he remembers--Raylan's only got the one good arm right now, he's occupied.

So Jim drags the guy by his arms back into the aisle, and then hooks his arms under the fallen agent's armpits, hauling him up and dumping him across several seats. "Exit's clear," he announces. "Now we've gotta figure out how to get people to it without getting ourselves shot."

Raylan smiles crookedly. "Easy as pie, right?" He sighs, thinking as best he can between injury and the cacophony of the riot. "Guess we can start grabbing people one at a time until enough notice? Not much else that will only attract the right kind of attention, 'les you've got any ideas."

Jim studies the fallen Militia officer And then he leans over the body, prying free the body armor's breastplate.

"I've got an idea."

Starfleet produces great big heroes, men and women ready to make grand gestures for the greater good. And Jim's something of a daredevil to begin with. So, fair warning: this is probably a terrible idea.

"We know the Militia is shooting at anyone that gets their attention, right? And people will scatter from it. Well." He pulls the breastplate on, trying to secure it. "I'm gonna go down there and shout at people to head this way. If they listen, great. If the Militia takes a few shots at me, they ought to run this way to get away from the gunfire. Right?"

Raylan gives him a truly incredulous look. "You do realize that the guy wearing that armor before you got shot, right?" He reached out with his good hand, though, to keep it from slipping down as Jim turns to try and get a strap.

"I think it's a lot of risk for a lot of maybes. But riots tend to get uglier before they stop, and I haven't got any better ideas. You want me to come down and watch you back?" Because it's crazy, but Raylan's drawing a blank, and Jim doesn't seem like he'll let a bit of risk to life and limb stop him.

(At Jim's age, Raylan probably wouldn't have either. It's debatable whether he will now.)

Jim thinks this over for a moment as he checks that the breastplate is as secure as he can get it.

"Maybe come down part of the way. We should keep one of us nearer the door to direct people. I think if we can get the flow of traffic going that way, it'll take care of itself once it gets started. It's just getting people that direction that we need right now."

He glances up, a hint of a sly smile tugging at his mouth. "And you already got shot once. No point letting them have seconds with you if we can help it."

Raylan's smile is a bit of a grimace. "Not exactly angling for more gunshot wounds myself, but not much to be done about it." They could, theoretically, leave, but perhaps its telling that neither of them have seemed to consider it, much less suggested it, so far.

"Once people get moving, I'll try to keep the flow heading this direction. You be careful."

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The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

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Augh, so much later - if you want to handwave from here, we can