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

[inkdamage]

"Presumably."

Something in his tone says that he's not actually close enough to Vanessza to know for sure, but that even if he wasn't, that Amberdrake has now lucked out by getting him and not some other alchemist. (And he has, let's face it.)

It's an interesting thing, watching someone mix magic and modern medicine. Severus isn't a mediwizard, but functions as one close enough when he has to, and he's done enough research about non-magical healing to get by there, too. It's helped, in being a teacher. The number of sucker-punched noses he's had to fix...

"I can refill anything you're working with, or give you substitutes for now." He does not volunteer to assist with the hands-on healing; Severus won't be staying for long enough to get fully involved, though if someone truly a heartbeat from death stumbles through the door, he'll throw his hat in on grounds of not being completely soulless.

[amberdrake]

"It seems fortunate we've met, then, as I will undoubtedly need such things in the future," but not tonight. He was prepared for the ever hungry, ever unpredictable beast that is the War to come slinking out of the shadows and feed.

He's always ready for that. Nearly sixty year old Amberdrake will, in that future, still be waiting for it. When his daughter heads off on her first mission for the Silvers, armed and armored and trained, accompanied by her gryphon partner Tadrith, Amberdrake will be expecting the War to lunge after them.

And he'll be right.

It's always out there, waiting. Always. Urtho's people have learned this lesson well.

"My name is Amberdrake," he offers once he's done applying expert bandages over his stitches. He hasn't ignored his patient, speaking to her in quiet tones during the procedure. But it's obvious when he's talking to Severus, because his tone has been trained to carry as well. He's no teacher, but kestra'chern are performers in many ways, and now that he's a King... well. It comes in handy.

He doesn't quite prompt the younger man for his name, curious to see if he'll simply give it or not. You can learn a lot about someone by how they respond to you giving them your name.

[inkdamage]

He does give it, but perhaps not in the most polite of ways. Behind him still, Severus conjures a small card - his name and CiD number written on it in slanted handwriting - and sticks it in the bag he cleaned a moment ago. Then he leaves the room, walking with one hand out as he passes, and any gore and grime left from blood or sickness vanishes.

In his wake, there's a number of useful odds and ends left with Vanessza, ranging from hyper-effective bandages to topical painkillers to ever-smoking potions in glass jars meant to revive anyone who drinks it. But as he's not participating in the triage itself, that's about as much help as he's going to be, and lingering any longer will just put him underfoot. Outside the apartment, he turns on his heel and disappears, off to investigate the situation from some other angle - or perhaps, merely return home.

[amberdrake]

Amberdrake would make a poor kestra'chern indeed if he was easily offended or ruffled, so he just continues on with his work until this latest wave of incoming injured are dealt with.

When he goes to leave shortly after, he's pleased to find the card when he goes to dose himself from the thermos again... and he's intrigued to find the state said tea is in. Yes, he'll definitely be contacting this 'Severus Snape' once things have calmed down.

For a variety of reasons, perhaps. Drake is, under all his present exhaustion, curious.