multiversallogs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Amberdrake. What a lovely name."

Her concern only grows as they descend the stairs; he doesn't seem entirely steady but she doesn't want to call him out in front of the people taking refuge here, doesn't want them to be afraid or worried.

"Tell me what I can do to help," she says, and of course she means with the people who need healing, but her gaze is a bit pointed, too, as she makes the offer. "I'll give you whatever support you need."

Drake can feel that concern bouncing off his shields, of course. As well as all the panic and fear and worry of everyone here. But kestra'chern are nothing if not performers, so he simply straightens his spine a bit more as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and affixes a pleasant smile on his face.

"Not to worry," he says in general, "it has simply been a very long, tiring time." To put it lightly. His energy is not infinite, and since the Gift uses his body's natural resources, he's feeling like he's been running a marathon all day long. Not to mention what his Empathy has been doing to him with all the horrible crap going down all around him.

"Now," he says to the room at large, "I've heard there may be a concussion here, and... ah, that is you, isn't it?" Drake offers the person in question a reassuring smile, and approaches to place his fingers on their forehead, his eyes going unfocused as the Healing Gift overlays his other senses.

Ava trails in his wake, staying near enough that she can easily move to help if Drake requires it, but not so close that she's underfoot. She busies herself checking on the lamps, the people nearby, the water supplies.

He's working, so she won't ask how he knew who had the concussion. But she suspects that healer isn't merely a profession, but some sort of gift, like her sight. And so she understands to allow time and space for things to unfold, to let him do what he needs to do without getting in the way.

Drake finishes tending to people a while later; bones have been splinted with energy and makeshift materials alike, a few deeper-than-expected cuts have been cleaned and stitched, and the concussion is just a bruised head and a memory.

When it's all done, he sits back on whatever he found to perch on -- a box, a crate, maybe a large rock and rubs at his eyes.

"I apologize," he says to Ava, "I've been at this all day, I fear I'm a bit tunnel-visioned around injuries at present."

She shakes her head, sympathetic. "You needn't apologize," she assures him, gently. "Today's kept you busy, I'm sure. I'm grateful you were able to come out here and help these people, even after all that."

Ava gestures toward the stairs. "Why don't you come back up to the house with me? If some food or water or tea would help I'm happy to set you up. Even getting some fresh air might make you feel better, maybe."

"That would be lovely, thank you," Amberdrake stands up, sucking in a breath as his sight briefly dims. When it returns, he finds his peripheral vision has essentially gone on strike. "...I think this will be my last safe-house for the night. Which leaves me free to recover, a little, before I try to head home."

And he pauses at the bottom of the stairs, tilting his head a little as he assesses his abilities. He's not terribly confident in making it up there in one shot. "You should go up ahead of me, I think."

Because if he falls and she's behind him, he can't see it ending well. He's quite heavy!

That's concerning. Ava nods, a hint of a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth and the space between her brows. "If you insist. Follow me."

She starts up the stairs, turning back just enough once she's partway up to address Drake over her shoulder. "If you want to stay the night I can arrange something for you. If you'd rather rest before heading home. Just let me know." She's too polite to send anyone packing anyway, but he seems tired, it's been a long day, she'd rather not send someone back out into the streets if they aren't at full strength.

"I think just sitting for a while before I head out will be fine," he says, "and maybe some hot water for my thermos," since she offered food or drink already. Amberdrake makes his way up the stairs like an old, old, old man, clutching at the rail if there is one and touching the wall for balance if there isn't.

He just doesn't have the power to pretend to be serene in any way but a very weary fashion, nor to bother hiding his tiredness. His exhausted Healer state is one of the only times he drops the kestra'chern unflappable calm around others, mostly because there's just no helping it.

"But that is quite kind of you to offer," he adds after a few more steps up. Drake's being a little self-destructive, he knows, but he's much too tired to fight it.

She reaches the top of the stairs well before he does, waiting until he's joined her to continue the conversation. "I will gladly get you some hot water. And somewhere to sit comfortably, for as long as you need."

In the house--it's not that she doesn't want everyone to come up to the house, she'd love nothing more. But she isn't sure how hard the Militia is working to find rioters, what lengths they're going to. Two dozen extra people in the house itself would be difficult to hide. But Drake's just one more, that shouldn't draw unwanted attention.

"Please, follow me inside, let's go to the kitchen to get your water first."

By the time Amberdrake reaches the top, his vision has grayed out in that familiar way that means that he really shouldn't be climbing any more stairs or extending his Gift anymore tonight if he doesn't want to end up face-down in a ditch somewhere.

And face-down in a ditch would be mildly inconvenient, to say the least.

He waits until they're inside the house before shrugging his backpack off his shoulder and producing the thermos in question, which he'll hand over with a minimum of swaying in place. The tea inside is low, but the herbs are blessedly potent and can stand to have more hot water added to let them steep again.

And they smell like they could melt a fork.

"If you can just add to that, it would be quite helpful," Drake says with a very weary smile.

"I'll see to it." She waves him toward a table in the dining area just beyond. "Please, go sit. I'll be out when this is ready."

He needn't stay there to supervise--and honestly, he needn't stay on his feet at all, the sooner he sits, to her thinking, the better.

The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

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My apologies for such sporadic tagging, work/school have been all in my face this week

Not the face!

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