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

"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."

The Arena Riots ( open, gamewide )

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