http://baedalites.livejournal.com/ (
baedalites.livejournal.com) wrote in
multiversallogs2011-09-17 10:30 pm
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Entry tags:
- # operation: bad blood,
- @ aspic,
- @ aspic: bazaar,
- charles xavier,
- clarice "blink" ferguson,
- ilde decima,
- john allerdyce,
- npc,
- } aimery le gode,
- } alec mcdowell,
- } asbjørn strand,
- } billy kaplan,
- } brie cormac,
- } buffy summers,
- } don draper,
- } erik lehnsherr,
- } hamilton fish,
- } njoki rainmaker,
- } pickman,
- } remy lebeau,
- } sam winchester,
- } xenophilius lovegood
A Rally in Support of the Hungry Few
Who: The City
What: A Rally in Support of Cruorvores.
Where: Mercer's Square, Aspic
When: AT A CLEVER TIME
Notes: Everyone is welcome, including curious neutrals. NPCs available on request. OOC post.
Warnings: A general spirit of solidarity may be present.
Word has been spreading over the network and on the street. Leaflets have been available at open minded public houses and restaurants. A few of the city's more prominent inhabitants have organized a rally to show support for cruorvore citizens. It is going to be a public event; sanctioned, the leaflet assures, by the state. Speeches will be made, the true colours of the city will be shown. There is a lot of talk about standing up to the sowers of discord.
As the evening of the rally approaches, more and more people gather in the square. All sorts have come out for the event, xenians, humans and people who defy categorization mingle peacefully. A cat watches the proceedings from on top the stage has been erected to one end. The stage has been draped in banners promoting tolerance and acceptance, and small sign near the bottom proclaims it was built with the kind donations from Bloody Sunday, The Zygoda, Howl's Market and certain private citizens, of which there is a list. Some attendees have brought instruments and casually strike up a tune every now and then. Others have brought food, signs or torches as the rally promises to continue well into the night.
[Early Evening]
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And Xeno is holding one as he drifts into Mercer's Square, a lanky figure in the shifting crowd. The toes of leather boots poke out from beneath the hems of a light woolen robe, long swaths of yellow to gold to brown fabric that are tattered and frayed not from misuse, but simply age and being well worn. A tweed jacket is tugged over the ensemble, Hallows pendant a-glint in silver hanging from his neck, and if he has anything else, besides the promotional piece of paper he holds in his hands, its hidden in deep pockets -- save for his wand, the twisted handle of which slightly too visible for safekeeping.
Xenophilius is the kind of person one would expect to have no idea what's going on but he's read enough to understand the context of things. People are still gathering, too, which lends him some time to get his bearings, having basically followed the pamphlet he'd been handed, and then the trickling crowd.
The pamphlets is shoved into a pocket, and a notepad is extracted. He isn't the mass media. Not here, anyway. But that doesn't mean much.
Which means he probably isn't what she is looking for, but it is what Ilde gets when he appears nearby -- not literally, or anything, but his vaguely butterfly-esque wander kind of just takes him there at the shapes of instruments and things. "Is there to be music?" he asks, diction telling of rural England and inconsequentially benign.
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The nearer he gets, the clearer it might be that Ilde isn't exactly what she appears to be - her illusion is good, but it's almost too good. She's like an oil painting of a woman, a little too richly realized to be reality, and in that way it's clear to some observers that whatever the purpose of it, it isn't about hiding, per se.
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This could backfire horrendously later, but -- for now, he's just enjoying the experience.
Personally, he didn't see what the big deal was. Vampires are people, and like people they need to eat. Yes, killing people is wrong, but those that feed responsibly shouldn't be judged for it. Then again, he could be projecting a bit, given his own home situation, but he's never really been one to put much stock in psychology.
As he rounds the corner, he smirks, amused, at some of the vendors, and pauses to look over their wares for a moment.
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"Barf," he interjects, a little louder than is strictly necessary, while abruptly positioning himself between Asbjørn and this intrepid peddler of legumes. He's smeared on a bunch of eyeliner tonight because it makes him look even more like a wanna-be leech than usual. Well, that and he hasn't gotten dolled up in a while...but mostly he wants to be disregarded by people in general.
"Sup, buddy?"
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She's trying to get the lay of the land, keeping her ears and eyes open. She doesn't look hostile or sympathetic per se, but she's observing.
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He sees an opening where he can observe the rally as well and when he shuffles next to the covered figure he speaks to his temporary companion. "I hope I'm not taking anyone's place."
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words :Ia
I like words. @_@
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"Not a bad night," he says to the young man walking alongside him. "You old enough to remember stuff like this for us at home?"
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"Yeah, I've seen things like this once or twice." Before he'd known he was a mutant (demon soul baby), even. "Actually, there were even support protests for the Skrulls when they invaded, since they framed it as a benign take over, but that didn't end so well. Maybe not such a good propganda move to kill your supporters."
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... damnit one day I will properly edit a sentence and TAKE OUT THE PARTS THAT SHOULD BE TAKEN OUT
IT'S NOT LIKE I'M GETTING NOTIFS
well good then no one knows about that mistake, except... everyone I told about it
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[Past Sundown]
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Vampires have always been a sore subject for him. Where he's from, they're so few and far between that he never knows who he's supposed to trust, and as far as he can see -- there's only been one group that's actively made the choice to feed safely on animals and not on people. Vampires like Lenore don't come around all that often, and from what he knows of Baedal, he doubts there are many here.
That being said, Sam is not here for support. Sam is here to try and make some of them without them making him. He doesn't plan on hunting them. That's not what this is about. But he's nearly had his blood drained before, and he's not looking for it to happen again. He wants to know who to avoid, and for all intents and purposes, this is doing that.
Whatever kind of freak Sam may be -- and trust him on the fact that he is definitely several levels of freak -- he's still a hunter first, and this is the perfect opportunity for recon.
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None of that was why he stayed after the sunset. As he stood near the outskirts of the rally and listened to the speeches —didn't cheer along, just listened and sympathized despite himself— he watched the crowd, hoping to spot familiar faces. Aimery had vague memories of vampires he'd known before, most of them pleasant, and he knew others had come to Baedal from Bete Noire. Maybe, if he were lucky, he'd see someone he knew and fill in a few blanks.
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Thanks to a combination of crowd cover and drunkenness, Fish is feeling socially brave tonight—this is why he's actually been approaching people, when his usual habit is more reserved. A cigarette hangs from his lips and there's a cup of water in his hand (yes, it's actually water). Behold his smudgy eyeliner, also, for he is wearing some.
"You're from CB523, right? You were stayin at the inn."
wow that didnt even make sense
:V
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As the speech comes to an end he slips away from the throng. He's heard enough; he'll finish his cigarette and leave. "Hell of a way to spend a Saturday night," he says half to himself, letting out a ragged breath and remembering too late that's not what it's called anymore.
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[Trouble Brewing]
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She hadn't been planning on attending the rally -- she is just trying to get back to her place -- but when she sees what it's about, and for who she sticks around. And she doesn't necessarily like what she sees.
Vampire support. Right. Because supporting violent killing machines never lead to any kind of trouble. She doesn't know why she sticks around, she's sure she has a reason, but by the time she is frustrated enough to leave, the anti-group is making their appearance and starting to cause their own amount of trouble. And Buffy can't really say she's happy about that fact.
Block her way out, and she will go through you, if necessary. Or attack someone, and hero instincts might kick in. Either way, she has a feeling things are going to get violent -- and here she was looking forward to a quiet evening alone.
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Soon, there is pushing and shoving. A bottle flies through the air and connects with a young man's head, knocking him down. No one seems claim immediate responsibility for the poor fellow as the crowd pushes ever on, angrier and angrier as more improvised missiles fly through the air.
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Spy mode is a-go!
Brie had perched herself on the roof of a nearby building, not intending to get involved with the rally, and completely content with keeping herself obfuscated to not draw attention.
"Just like old times huh?" she whispered to Rosa. The two of them had creeped around Chicago more silent and stealthy than flies on a wall, and it felt good to be doing this again.
[ ooc: For all intents and purposes, Brie is invisible right now to everyone except for Rosa. This is not unbreakable, just talk to me first if you'd like to see her. You'll need very keen senses as she is super extra good at hiding. ]
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Inevitably, his eye and ear is caught by the counter-protest, and in due time, he ends up over that way. Just watching, at first. Until a particularly hard-hitting insult has him throwing a rude gesture back, and baring his mismatched teeth at the shouting group. This doesn't seem to calm any of them down.
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Egged on by this display (and others), some of the counter-protesters band together and begin to chant. Be alert, be aware, scary fangs are everywhere. Not the most inventive perhaps, but they are getting into it.
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