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

[sayyad]

Hassan has a lot more belief in his senses that Wolfgang does, when the extenuating circumstances aren't this extraordinary. When his hands make contact with Wolfgang, he can already feel his lips wavering into that open-mouthed smile, that mad bastard smile, only for once it's not directed towards the world in mocking determination. And then Uri is hugging him and, looking past his shoulder, the reality of the situation hits Hassan again and something balls fierce in his stomach, fists curling into Uri's clothes. No, no, not here, how is he here, don't be here— and the guilt of that overwhelms him, because he's alive. Alive, when they're all about to be sent to their deaths.

It feels as though he's being winded and there is a weird sort of exhalation to accompany the sensation as he says, "I'm tall?" He thinks of Uri, five-years-old, button childish face and that same long hair. Or even Uri the last time he had seen him, gangly and pre-adolescent. And now there is --twenties? Mid to early twenties Uri, pale and skinny, but still Uri, still the same person he'd steadfastly decided at seven-years-old yes, you, you're one of us now.

There are people watching them. The guards are looking at the two of them with interest, whispering to one another and he hasn't felt this level of anger in a long, long time. In his own world he is on the move as much as possible, treading a fine balance of keeping his family at a distance but not too distant (losing one child is enough) and now there is something, someone they can use against him.

He huddles them both into a corner. It's a useless gesture but he feels the need to create the illusion of privacy anyway.

"So. What --where do we start?"

[gramarye]

He huffs a laugh, slightly choked because dammit he's crying. "Yeah, you're tall." And it's so weird to not have to look up at him; Uri has always been tall for his age, but roughly two and a half years and puberty separated them towards the end, and he didn't really hit his growth spurt until he was thirteen. And he doesn't remember Hassan being this tall, either; he remembers a gangly teenager trying to look older and cooler than he was. If he succeeded it was probably because Uri was younger and dorkier than he was.

Uri allows himself to be herded into a corner and wipes at his face, trying to get himself under control because it's embarrassing to be seen like this, as if no one here has good reason to get emotional right now. Of course everyone else does, but he holds himself to a different standard where he has to be a robot who has no feelings and does everything by himself, not that he's paying any attention to anything else around them right now. Even the guards are completely forgotten.

He switches to Arabic because, like a lot of first-gen immigrants, he resents how the city more or less forces everyone to speak English or learn Ragamoll. He's not bad at English and in fact has gotten much better since coming here, but he still doesn't like feeling cut off from what he grew up speaking.

Also because it's likely no one else here will understand them.

"How long have you been here? I mean in the city." He has to have come here recently, or they would have seen each other by now, if not in person then on the Network. "And how long exactly did it take you to get into trouble? What on Earth happened?" He suspects that Hassan didn't do anything to land himself in here, that makes sense with what Uri knows of the Militia — and he knows a lot of the Militia — but he is sort of afraid the answer might be so I punched a cop in the face... or something.