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

[jericho941]

He keeps quiet, not mentioning how he has been through all this before. There's not a bone in his body that hasn't been broken at some point; but the difference is that he doesn't have anyone making sure he takes the right pills and helps change the bandages. Wherever Jet is, he has to at least be grateful that he got out of this one.

He'd rather talk about something else though. (Anything else.) He could ask how the riots ended, or if they're still going on, but he's finally aware enough to pick up on her accent. "Where are you from?"

[asklepios]

It'd probably be equal parts reassuring and not so much, but given the lack of utterly standardized medical options across the multiverse - and she's got to get especially creative in her private work - there'll probably be enough unfamiliar options involved in what she gives him for it that a note of directions won't go amiss. She's thorough, in that way.

After a beat, as she dresses his injury- “Paris, most recently, but Győr, originally.” And she's very good at matching her accent to the story she tells of herself; the wrong notes of unplaceable linguistic markers are so subtle as to be not there to all but the most sensitive and educated ear.

[jericho941]

This isn't the best time to be asking; he knows he may forget whatever her answer is if he takes whatever mysterious foreign prescription he sends him off with. More important, it makes it slightly less awkward than silence while she's patching him up. The only other trouble is that his mind is still feeling less sharp than usual.

"...Paris," he repeats it like he's trying to remember where he's heard it before. When hit comes to him, which it only does eventually, it's no wonder he doesn't recognize the other name. "Somewhere on Earth, then."

[asklepios]

“That is right,” she says, scrutinizing him briefly - you never can tell here, she supposes, and she spares a moment to wonder what it means for where he came from, exactly. “Paris is in France - very beautiful city, not always so beautiful people, but such are cities, yes?”

This one, too, for instance. Not always so beautiful. As here they are.

[jericho941]

It's still strange to hear anyone call something on Earth beautiful, although he's smart enough not to insult her. And she seemed so normal. It's also not the first time someone has called up the idea of alternate dimensions to him, but he's not the kind of person who would understand. He keeps talking.

"At least they know how to bring people together."