The government in the AoT universe is that of a monarchy, with social structures akin to medieval days with nobles, merchants, and peasants.
Due to humanity being forcibly driven into a limited space, resources themselves are more valuable. There's too many people using up too many things, but you need more people to do all the things that need to be done. It's a vicious circle.
Poverty is no stranger to our world. Your character, for whatever reason, ends up walking through the outer district's.. less desirable alleys. What are your thoughts? Why are you there? What is your status in comparison? Or perhaps it is that you live there yourself?
Give some consideration to the impact that this will have on your character, and what role such poverty stricken areas have in society, or if it even means anything at all.
There are no word limits, so use your best judgement to RP the experience and provide enough context and depth to convey the scene.
Winner will receive a semi-custom character and a tailor ticket.
Posted: Fri May 09, 2014 5:45 pm
Surrounded by run-down buildings, Lenore stopped walking for a moment and looked up from her book. "....Where am I...?"
She was in an area she'd never seen before, having probably taken a wrong turn somewhere while her attention was fixed on her book. Night had long since fallen, and the girl heard footsteps coming up from behind her. A man grabbed her hand and wrenched it behind her back causing her to wince in pain and drop the book she held. He clapped his other hand over her mouth. "Gimme yer money!" He whispered into her ear so as to not draw attention to them.
Lenore turned her head and gave the ragged man a blank stare. After a moment of silence, the man gave an aggravated grunt and released her mouth, only to pull out a knife and press it against her neck. "Yer money! Now!"
Lenore blinked a few times at the man's statement. "Are you.... robbing me?"
"Yes!"
"Oh." She'd never been robbed before but in the books, people usually scream for help at this point. Right? She decided to make sure. "Does this mean I'm supposed to scream for help...?"
"No! I'll slit your throat if you do and loot your corpse!"
Lenore tilted her head slightly, the knife cutting into her skin just a little, jarring the man. "But all I've got with me are books. I don't have any money." She paused. "...Can you even read?"
The insult went over the man's head. "No, I can't. Why ya carryin' so many books, then?"
"I like to read." The girl responded as if that would explain any questions the man had. And for a moment, it seemed like it would. But he quickly thought better of it.
"Bullshit. Everyone from Trost has money. Where's yers?"
Lenore sighed. "I spent it on books. I don't even live in Trost, I just work there. At the book store."
The man let go of her hand and quickly patted her down only to find that she was telling the truth - she had no money. He sighed, lowering the knife. "Why am I robbing ya, then?"
Lenore shrugged. "I was hoping you'd tell me." She leaned over to pick up her book, blind to the danger she had and still was in. But she stopped and turned her blank stare back to the man, who had begun to walk after her. "You know, you'd probably get more money if you went to Trost."
The man glared at her. "And how'm I supposed to do that, eh? I ain't got none of the skills ya need ta be a merchant!"
Lenore put on a look of confusion. "What? No. You're too dumb to be a merchant. And smelly. I'm saying if you robbed people in Trost you might actually make money. They're not going to come here - you have to go to them."
The man paused momentarily as he thought about what the girl said. "Tha's a good idea, right there. Thanks, little missy."
Lenore nodded as she picked up her book and left with a wave. "Best of luck."
Finding her way back to a district she recognized, the girl shook her head. Idiot. Trost would be crawling with guards. He'd never make it out alive.
Qixel
Adorable Trickster
Offline
Regal Renegade
Eloquent Elocutionist
Offline
Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 10:37 pm
Threadbare garments hung loosely from lean frames that were one step away from being classified as boney, and hollow faces painted with the dazed expression of hunger dotted the rotting alleyway as Nikolaus skirted stinking puddles of unknown substances. An elderly woman swaying down the street brushed past him, inspiring within him the desperate urge to remove and destroy his now tainted jacket. He had heard tales about the poverty present in some districts but had never paid them much attention because he was so far removed from it all; but now seeing it firsthand an unidentifiable lump swelled within his throat.
He was accustomed to lush parties of excess, women clad in expensive garments and rare jewels, fine food and beverages being readily available to him should he become thirsty or feel even the slightest pang of hunger, and of never having to pause to evaluate whether he should live or die before the day was through. The voice of a woman he had tried and failed to seduce washed over him once again with more significance than before. “You wouldn’t understand hardship so don’t even try to make me feel sympathy for you…” Though it had been nothing more than a jest at the time, the words accumulated a new definition as he stood amongst the poverty stricken people he had ignored for so long. Like insects beneath his richly made boots he had tread where he wanted, oblivious to their existence. Tucked safely away in his lavish ivory tower he kept a blind eye to the window, never feeling the need to look outside when everything he wanted was right before him.
A whisper to his right caught his attention and he found himself staring through the opening of a door that stood ajar. A man sat hunched over on a rickety bed pushed against the water stained walls of his humble home. At first Nikolaus thought he was clinging to a blanket until he heard a deep, raspy cough erupt in a woman’s tone. It was then that the image became clear to him. The man was holding a woman to his chest, a woman who obviously suffered from a malady of some kind. Her skin was pale, and every time she coughed he swore it would rip her frail form in two. “My Alison,” the man began in a quivering voice, “I'll find the money to help you. I promise, you'll get better.”
As if on autopilot Nikolaus reached for the purse stashed secretively away in the inside of his jacket, but just as he began to tug at it someone calling out to him interrupted the motion. “Niiiiiik!” A pouty female voice echoed across the alley. “Come onnnn, I want to get out of this filth! The guys said that you completed the challenge, now let’s go!” Looking from the desperate couple to the attractive blonde he stuffed his purse back into his jacket and sprinted over to her, offering his arm to her in a gentlemanly fashion.
Her white, clean hand reached up and dusted off the lapel of his jacket as she assailed him with her thoughts and opinions. “God only knows how terrible that must have been for you! I could smell it from where I was standing! No wonder why daddy was talking about sending them outside the walls, at least they could do some good there. The leeches…” Her words faded to nothingness and he turned his head over his shoulder, glancing in the direction of the hovel that would surely become a tomb before too long. The weight of the coins pressing against his chest grew ever heavier with each step they took back into the world of privilege. He had only come to this place in an effort to impress the woman currently going on about something or other and his friends, but it appeared he was the one coming away with an impression.
The next thing he knew rough hands gripped his shoulders and his hair was ruffled with an equal amount of force. “I didn’t think you had it in you! A God walking amongst swine!” Laughter erupted and, with the risk of losing his reputation hanging over his head he joined in the merrymaking. “And swine they were! I think I will need a new jacket after this misadventure. Luckily that drain on society hasn't curbed my appetite, shall we take lunch in the garden when we return?" Though the words dribbled with ease from his mouth, they stuck like pins in his heart. Concealing his true feelings and opinions he walked on with his friends, once more vanishing into his ivory tower but unable to shake the sensation that he had grown somehow, that the brief glimpse through the window had changed him forever.
Posted: Mon May 12, 2014 11:22 pm
(I'll leave this but don't judge me for a winners prize or anything. I still enjoyed responding)
Alec’s mother had been worried about him when he had to make his latest delivery to a less rich section of town. He hadn’t been afraid, and told her he’d be back before too long. The package its self he delivered fairly quickly, but it was the walk he went on after that led him to feeling a sense of despair unlike any he had felt in some time. A grim reminder of the reality everyone comes to at some time in point living in a society likes theirs. Humanity was in fact confounded to a giant Cage. It just happened to be a giant echo system, or rather a dome if you would. They were protected by a bunch of old walls from the looming threats of the outside world. His lungs felt tight as he glanced skyward. He was no Wallist, too superstitious to really believe in them as if they were mystical but the reality of what those high walls meant to their safety --- the pressure was damning. It was why he wanted to perhaps join those who helped maintain it.
Without it...surely they would be all scared terrified animals for real. Cattle. God they were all a concentrated heard. It was things like this that were on his mind as he walked aimlessly. It brought a shiver to his spine. He wanted to be brave, and hold his head high but deep down the sickening twisting knife in his chest made it impossible. Traveling down an old pathway for a time, Alec came upon a less desirable section of town. As a courier, he knew his way around the different districts.
The truth was it was too have a look-see. His life was fairly easy; while he never got to over eat he at least had food to put in his belly and a warm place to sleep at night. Some of these kids looked like they were too thin, and glared at him with suspicion. Alec could not imagine what it would be like to live day in and day out like this. He reasoned it was because it was his job to know the different routes around town, and what street leads which way. Yet his curiosity had led his feet this far.
Several buildings looked as if they were in ruins, mud all over the place. And here he complained not having a big enough room. The thought made him cringe internally. While he was no stranger to making varied trips to different parts of town both richer and poorer even Alec had to admit the state of affairs on this side of town were fairly decrepit. It haunted him to think their where people starving. Children who didn't have food, it was this thought that bothered him greatly; almost as much as the idea of the threat of Titans right outside the protective walls of the city.
His thoughts went to his young sister, what would he do to make sure he was fed? While he'd rather not linger on such thoughts he knew without question the lengths he was prepared to go were drastic. Thankfully his mother and step-father that he despised did alright for themselves. Their Mom ‘n Pop shop was usually fairly busy, and kept Alec busy running errands during the day. It was boring, and repetitive. Hardly would classify as a heroic deed of any kind. These people didn't have but a few worldly possessions. They were struggling, peasants who were forgotten by their government. The situation was bleak, and reminded him of exactly what he didn’t want in life.
Alec didn’t want to have to struggle every day of his life, or wonder where his next meal would come from. The idea of living that way was bleak. They had to rely on their own means to keep going. Frowning he realized staying here wouldn’t do anything, expect maybe attract the wrong kind of attention. Keeping his gaze to the road, he made his way back retreating from this section of town his heart heavy with doubt and questions he wasn’t sure how to begin too answer.
leon_a_darkangel
Dedicated Supporter
Offline
Lelouch Ri Britannia
Agile Noob
Offline
Posted: Sun May 18, 2014 5:47 pm
Cyril was tossing and turning in his bed this night. He just got into a bad argument with his mother about how his sister always follows her orders and made something of her life and how much better she is. Like a normal teenager, he feels a lot of guilt about how he can't make his mother proud. He thought about how his deceased father would look at him now. These emotions were to much for Cyril to deal with at the moment so he snagged his knife and snuck out of the house undetected.
He took a walk to the walls. Cyril often vandalized different parts of the walls at night when nobody was looking. He took out his knife and started viciously carving into the wall to let his stress out. "********... ********> he said as he kept digging into the walls. His final product ended up saying in nice big slanted letting. He even drew a small titan just for kicks. He never saw a real titan but he remembered seeing a titan doll when playing the game at Axel's booth. In his mind that's how titans looked. Cyril let out a small smirk. He felt rather satisfied about how his final product turned out. "Heh... stupid wallists won't even know it was me." His attention shifted to his work and the fight with his mother was the least of his worries at the moment. The night was still young so Cyril ended up walking around. It didn't matter where he ended up. He just didn't want to go back to his bed and be trapped with his emotions.
Eventually he found himself in an unfamilar place. There were many abandoned buildings. They were all grimy and had missing windows. It was dusty all around and was lurking with shady people of all sorts. Truly a dark place. It was not a pretty site to behold. "What is this godawful place?" Cyril said. Suddenly someone came out of nowhere and pickpocketed him. Cyril was fast enough to catch the thief by their colar and took out his knife. Ugh let go the pickpocketer said. He looked like he was at least twelve. "Give it back" he said giving a cold stare to the little boy. Intimidated, the scared boy put the money back in Cyril's hands. "Have a seat" Cyril said to the boy. He squated down "So why'd you try stealing from me?" as he poked the boy's face. The boy said "I'm sorry mister it's just... i'm really poor and times are tough here" Where are your parents? Cyril said. "They were killed protecting me from a thief when i was 8. I live in one of the abandoned house with two other boys." Cyril was in shock. He thought about his mother and how he would be living on the streets instead of his home if it wasn't for her. This boy has gone through way tougher times than he has. "I'm so sorry..." Cyril said. He thought to himself how this boy was forced into trouble and that he only caused trouble for laughs. He took the money out of his pocket and gave it to the boy. "Keep it" he said in a very serious tone. The boy took the money "Thank you sir!" He said in surprise. Cyril also took his prized knife out. He knew he could get another. "Here take this too. I hope you won't ever have to use it but in a place like this... You need it more than I do. Protect those dear to you and make sure they don't meet the same fate as your parents." As Cyril was walking off the boy shouted out "Wait mister! I didn't get your name!" He turned back. "Cyril.... Cyril Lor." He waved goodbye and exited the Outer district.
Although this experience didn't have an impact on future antics Cyril would pull, he realized that by stepping out of his comfort zone he didn't have a bad life and that his mother is the reason he can come home to a house and not live in the streets. He sneaked back into his house and the next morning he embraced his mother and whispered the words "I'm sorry mom."as he let out a tear.
Posted: Thu May 22, 2014 9:23 am
((This story takes place 5 years before current time.))
“Zinnia, why are you wearing such ugly clothes?” Zin’s mother, Jasmine Hayes, asked impatiently. “Wear one of the dresses I made for you; didn’t you see where I laid it out for you this morning?”
“I don’t wanna wear a dress,” the nine-year-old Zin retorted. “I wanna wear boy clothes.” She giggled impishly, knowing that referring to her shorts and T-shirt as boy clothes would only infuriate her mother further.
“And why would a little girl like you want to wear boy clothes?” Jasmine asked, clearly straining at the edge of her patience.
“Because then I can run away from you!” Zin shouted. She kicked up her heels and fled, though her mother hadn’t even bothered to begin the pursuit. She tore through the house, tripped on a rug, and fell headfirst into a small table. She bounced off the table and landed on her bottom, and the table wobbled dangerously. The (luckily unlit) lantern that had been resting atop it toppled over and crashed to the ground. Its glass windows shattered on impact.
“ZINNIA!” a male voice roared. Zin’s father was home already!
“Oops, oww…” the young girl groaned, rubbing her head where she’d hit it on the table. She bravely held back her tears, instead getting back to her feet and stumbling toward the front door. She didn’t want to deal with her father’s wrath yet. She hastily stuffed her feet into her shoes before running out of the house.
She didn’t get far before she slowed to a meandering walk. She rubbed her head where a large bump and bruise was already beginning to form. She would regret her recklessness even more, later, in the form of a splitting headache.
But until then, she tried to forget the pain and instead took in the wonders of the city. She wasn’t supposed to wander around by herself, and the adrenaline that accompanied mischief kept her moving forward. She quickly passed the houses of the other upper-middle class families and entered one of the market areas of Shiganshina. The smells of baking bread, fresh-caught fish, and horse manure filled her nostrils. Her eyes widened in delight. Everywhere, there was color and sound. Merchants hawking their wares beneath bright red, blue, and purple banners, stable hands brushing white and roan horses until their pelts gleamed, fishermen holding their prizes aloft so their scales sparkled rainbows in the sunlight, and so much more. She’d come to the market many times with her father, who was himself a merchant, but he’d never let her spend much time investigating the bits and bobs that were for sale.
Zin passed from stand to stand in awe. She scrunched up her nose at a lady who was selling dresses, and paused with interest at the next stand, which sold wooden figurines. There was a toy horse, and even a model soldier. She was quickly shooed away by the maker, however, who was wary of her young and penniless fingers. The next stand was selling meats, which made her mouth water; meat was a delicacy, and very expensive.
She was slowly shooed away from all of the stands that caught her interest, and began to wander aimlessly once more. Before she’d realized, she’d already passed the housing for the poorer district, and now found herself in a mud-covered alleyway. A small smile curved her lips; where was this? Her father had never let her wander this close to the wall before. Despite the dirty and litter-filled street, this alleyway looked like a fun place to play hide-and-seek.
She started when she turned a corner and made out the figure of a human sitting hunched over in the dark. It looked like a young girl, not much older than herself. Her hair was ratty and she was dressed in rags. Zin took a half-step forward, unsure whether she should introduce herself or run away. It looked like she needed help…
“You shuddn’t be ‘ere,” a gruff voice said over Zin’s shoulder.
The nine-year-old whipped around in surprise. “Wha—who are you?” she asked. A tall, elderly-looking man was standing over her, a bit too close for comfort. He had balding, iron-gray hair and a wiry salt-and-pepper beard. He was thin and wrinkly, but she could see through his patchy, dirty clothes that his muscles were still strong. “I—I mean, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“You lost?” the stranger barked. “You dun’t look like you belong ‘ere, wot wit’ yer fancy togs…” He looked Zin’s clean clothes up and down. “Oughter git lost,” he concluded croakily.
“I am lost, though,” Zin replied. “I guess I went too far by accident…”
“Aye?”
“Um… Yes?” Zin squinted at the ragged stranger, confused by his strange way of speaking.
“Kailey!” the old man barked, looking behind Zin. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the girl she had spotted had stood up and was walking toward her.
“Wot?” Kailey asked when she was standing only a foot away from Zin’s back. She looked disinterested; or maybe the light simply could not reach her eyes any more.
“Says she’s lost,” the old man grunted. “Oughter ‘elp ‘er, don’tchoo think?”
“She’s jus’ a kid,” the old man said, scratching his mangy head slowly.
“Oh, um… I don’t have any money…” Zin added nervously, “But my father does! I can ask him?”
The dirty girl’s eyes widened, finally displaying some sort of interest. “Grab ‘er, Paul!” she said hastily. “She got a rich daddy! We c’n hold 'er fer ra—rans—we c’n sell ‘er!”
“What??” Zin squeaked as surprisingly strong hands gripped her shoulders. The man’s hands were so large that his bony fingers reached past her armpits.
“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” a strong voice trumpeted. Three Stationary Guard soldiers hurried down the alleyway. The old man shoved Zin in their path. Before Zin could react, the girl and old man had turned and ran, but the Stationary Guard did not give up their pursuit. They quickly caught up to the malnourished duo and threw them face-first into the muddy pavement.
“You are under arrest under suspicion of kidnapping a minor!” one of the men shouted while two others pinned them down. Kailey struggled and bit viciously like a wild animal, so her captor kicked her hard in the gut.
“Stop!” Zin shouted in alarm, thinking quickly. “They—they didn’t kidnap me! I ran away on my own! They—they were helping me!”
“Is that true?” the unburdened soldier asked suspiciously. He looked back at his partners; the old man was lying limply with his face covered in gunk, and the girl was still struggling to regain the wind that had just been knocked out of her. “… Fine. Release them,” he snapped.
The old man hurried to the younger girl’s side and pulled her to her feet. She was still wheezing. “I don’t want to see your faces again,” the soldier snapped, then added in an undertone, “Street rats…” He turned his attention to Zin and scolded, “You are in serious trouble, young missy. If your father hadn’t contacted us as soon as he did, who knows when we’d have found you. You’re very lucky that we did find you. Many little girls who come wandering this way are never seen again.” He frowned, but young Zin looked confused, so he clarified, “You can’t trust street rats like them. If they can’t sell you on the black market, they’ll kill you without a second thought.”
The sun was beginning to set when Zin was lead back home with the three soldiers. Her mind was reeling; she’d had no idea that people could be as thin as Kailey and Paul had looked. She did not fully understand what the soldier had meant about selling and killing; could she really be sold like the horses in the market? It had all happened so fast...
When she got back home, her father whipped her bottom raw with his belt, and her mother gave her a hot bath. Afterward, with aching head and hind, Zin ate a warm supper of bread rolls, roasted vegetables, and salad. It was delicious, but while she was eating, Zin could not get Kailey’s dead eyes, nor Paul’s wiry muscles, out of her mind. What were those two eating for supper? Why had they looked so hungry and dirty? And why had the soldiers treated them so cruelly? She was too young to understand yet, but there was something about the scene she had just witnessed that she found deeply unsettling. She vowed that, if she ever became a soldier, she would find a way to help those people.
Renekai
Offline
The Semblance of Unity
Predestined Victim
Offline
Posted: Fri May 23, 2014 5:52 pm
"Going Back"
[This story takes place during Preacher's training]
Preacher slid her palm along the rough wood; the whorls and dips felt dull, a result of her own thickened skin. At one time, she supposed, her hands had been soft, callous-free, and the splintery wood would've pierced deeply. But that was when her hands were a child's: small, soft things, only useful for twisting around handfuls of a mother's hair. That had been many years ago, if ever. Maybe such memories of mothers and warmth were really only the wishful dreams of a child alone from the start. Preacher blinked and looked around. Even though not long ago, she had called these streets home, it was odd, almost discomfiting to come back here now. She had grown beyond this place. Preacher's uniform suddenly felt strange, constricting, as if the memories of years past had grasped the leather straps 'round her chest and pulled. A gasp tumbled from her lips and the echoes of long-avoided memories pushed into her ears. The hard crack of a slap, the thud of a kick, a twisted knife and anguished groan from some unlucky b*****d's gut: this had been the music of her childhood. Her boot scuffed on the worn street, the stone's original grey long since marred by unidentifiable stains. Straightening, she forced herself to stand still, at attention, and fought the urge to laugh: not a humorous laugh, but one born from an almost fatalistic certainty that she would, somehow or other, always end up back here. This alleyway even smelled like the same dried-up piss and pig guts as before. Preacher shivered. Without a doubt, this was the Eastern Alleyway, her home.
Or it was. She had managed, mainly by a stroke of good luck and one strangely intuitive man, to run far enough away to join the recruits. But, and the inevitability of it was oppressive, here she was again. The buildings, even the wall loomed over her like an oily cloud. It would be so easy to slip back into her life here, into the thieving, the fighting, the filthy day-to-day existence. It made her feel dirty. She remembered when they issued uniforms at the beginning of training - she had almost cried because they were the first clothes that were truly hers alone. And her eyes had blurred again when her commanding officer ordered her to take a scalding bath because she 'stunk like a rotting dog in summer'. Those words had seemed oddly kind. Finally, Preacher felt as though she had somewhere to belong. But now she was back here, among the refuse and disgusting mulch that made up life in the Eastern Alleyway of Shiganshina. Captain Grant had ordered her accompaniment on some unknown errand. Preacher knew she was chosen only for her origins. She could navigate this area with her eyes closed and her arms bound. Here, she was useful. Feeling a headache brewing, Preacher allowed herself to lean discreetly on the house at her back. A sturdy affair, it was one of the few buildings that stood whole in this rundown area. Grant was currently inside, conducting what he had jokingly called "strategic maneuverings". Preacher just hoped he'd finish before it became dark. Idly, she blew a strand of navy colored hair out of her face.
"Ay, whatchet!" With that useless warning, a thin body collided with hers. Pallid brown eyes glanced up at her before the boy whipped away from her, jerking as though she carried an infectious disease. He seemed to freeze for a moment, as if caught by a ghost, then he was gone, streaking off into one of the many maze-like offshoots of the alley. The patter of his feet faded quickly. Something about him had been familiar, like a half-forgotten dream. Suddenly, she knew. Dollface. He had been one of the younger kids in the old gang, often delegated to begging or collecting the spoils from the lifting lay. His pretty face had made him utterly suited to begging: limpid soulful eyes wrung coins from even the harshest of old matrons. And the boy who had collided with Preacher was him, beauty still apparent as he had aged. His face would make even titans think before devouring him. Preacher cracked her neck, irritated. Unfortunately, Dollface's appearance only meant one thing. Tinker.
Tinker was a bully, an underhanded slum lord of a gang of kids. A gang that, until a short while ago, Preacher had also run with. She had never been an 'official' member of the gang hierarchy, though she had been held to the same standards. In reality, it was simply easier to go through Tinker rather than find a fence who wouldn't royally rip off a child. Not that Tinker didn't rip off the children, he most assuredly did. But he also provided shelter and the occasional bit of food to orphans who had no other recourse. Orphans like Preacher. She gritted her teeth. Sure enough, the thud of feet approached and she steeled herself. He had put on weight since last she saw him, she thought dispassionately. But even so, he seemed smaller, less threatening. A gaggle of pre-teens followed in his wake. They must be looking for Dollface and that meant one thing: Tinker had not stopped his dabbling in prostitution and Dollface was next. Her stomach roiled. Thievery was one thing, but selling actual people was unacceptable. Clearly, she was lucky she had gotten out when she did. She held a brief hope that they would simply move on, leaving her alone and unrecognized. Preacher's luck was never that good.
"Whaaatttt? Is thata Preacha? I'da seen that blue hair anywheres." Tinker stepped closed to her, leaned in. He smelled of piss and destitution. Lazy blue eyes scanned her closely, but Preacher held her stance, moving not one whit. Suddenly, those eyes widened and he danced back a few steps.
"Ehhhh, m'boys, take a look! She were a girl afta all! No fair tah be keepin such a seeecret." Tinker raked his eyes over her body and hitched his trews up, drawling out the last word lewdly. Preacher ignored him. This was precisely why she had gotten out. She had known, in the end, there were only three choices for her. To be a doxy, be a recruit, or be dead. Funnily enough, all three had about an equal chance of survival. Silently, she cursed Captain Grant for dragging her out here. Narrowing her eyes at Tinker, she shot him a fierce, yellow glare.
"Lemme be, Tinker. I'm here on business. Be on your way." Her voice carefully held no inflection - Preacher really didn't need to be involved in another fight, not with last week's fiasco hanging over her head. Tinker scowled at her, his face clouding like the sky overhead.
"Lookit you, you think you're too high 'n' mighty for ol' Tinkah, now? Witchur fancy uniform and yer boots and yer self-righteous face. Even tryna drop th'accent. Dun look so smug, b***h. You'll be backa here, sure as sunshine. Mebbe you'll even come back lickin' my boots. Or lickin' summat else." His thick tongue swept outward and over his lips in a disgusting leer. Once again, he leaned in close, his fetid breath ghosting on her cheek. She almost choked. Her stint in the trainees had reactivated her nose, so to speak. It was... unfortunate. Had he always been this disgusting? A finger inched towards Preacher's face and slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged it down her dusky jawline and traced her collarbone. Preacher grit her teeth. Enough. In an instant, she moved, pushing off the wall with one booted foot. In the next, Tinker was slammed up against that same wall, arm twisted behind his back.
"Ger off me, you c**t!" he screeched shrilly. Her hands moved precisely and his cursing was cut short by a near-deafening wail of pain as Preacher deftly broke his ring finger.
"I toldja to leave me be, Tinker," she whispered into his ear, malice coating each syllable. Her accent always came back out when her temper flared.
"I ain't a part of your gang anymore and I've got no business witcha, ye ken?" On the last word, she twisted his broken finger slowly, relishing in his whimpers. The boys who had followed him on the hunt for Dollface stared, wide-eyed, afraid to move. A visceral grin stretched across Preacher's face as she turned her head and winked at them.
"Tell ya gang to run along now, or it's gon be anutha finga you'll be amissing. Up ta you." With a squeak, Tinker dismissed his gang, perhaps in the hopes that Preacher would let go of him. She chewed her lip for a second, debating the merits of releasing him or breaking just one more finger. Even this internal debate surprised her. Before, she would've broken his fingers and more, but she was changed from two years ago - her anger was a well-controlled beast instead of a raging fire. Unfortunately, the squeaking of a door interrupted her thoughts.
"Well, well, Trainee Preacher. Having a spot of fun, I see. Better finish with that; we've got other places to be. You have," He looked at his pocket watch, a gaudy affair of filigreed gold. "...two minutes." Captain Grant's voice boomed over her head. He was a big man, with a big voice, and apparently an equally large sense of justice. Boots clicking against the pavement, Grant winked and turned smartly around. With a quiet thud, the door closed behind him. And, once again, it was just Tinker and Preacher. It would be a lie to say that Preacher took no pleasure form his pain. Instead, she found she enjoyed the small whimpers and wheezing breaths of the man who used to beat her black and blue. She could still remember the feeling of his boot connecting with her stomach, the retching bouts that followed after and the dizziness that didn't fade for days. But more than that, she remembered Dollface's eyes. Preacher couldn't help it, she slammed him against the wall one more time, ignoring his cries for mercy. Mercy? When he had shown none? When he had sold Kasper one night and they had found his body the next: violated, mutilated, dead? A thousand years in a titan's stomach would be too little for Tinker.
"How 'bout wes strika a deal, Tinker. I kin letcha go iffin you promise me summat."
"Ya ********' guttersnipe b***h! Jus' lemme go; I'll give ya all the pretty words ya need," he sneered. Preacher made a tsking sound with her tongue. This clearly wouldn't be as easy as she wished. Not that she cared; it only gave her an excuse for more violence. And Preacher was, at heart, a rather violent person. It was probably equal parts temperament and upbringing, she mused. And right now, her temperament was displeased - being here had set her on edge and seeing Tinker and Dollface had pushed her over. A beast lurked behind her golden eyes. She heard the slow, heavy footsteps of Captain Grant. Her two minutes were over.
"This is fer Dollface," she hissed, and abruptly bent back his index finger, snapping it neatly. She whirled as Captain Grant opened the door and saluted him smartly, not bothering to watch Tinker slump downwards. He wailed pitiably, clutching his hand. Slowly, haltingly, he stood, assessing both Preacher and Captain Grant. Although Preacher's back was turned towards him, he could see the fire in Grant's cobalt eyes. Victory for Tinker was impossible. He spat at Preacher's feet.
"Ya dirty whore! Jus' you wait, Preacha, you''ll be backa here 'n' I''ll be waitin'." With that last threat, he scampered off. As the sound of his footsteps faded, Grant sighed. Shaking his head, he put one heavily muscled arm around Preacher, leaning in as if to impart a great secret.
"Listen, kid.... Next time, don't have so much fun, okay?" He winked. With one final squeeze of her shoulders, he let go and sauntered off, whistling merrily. Shaking her head, Preacher followed.Time to head back to the barracks.
Posted: Thu May 29, 2014 12:19 am
A New Beginning:
Lillian took a deep breath. She could smell the despair. She could hear the hunger. This place was no place a sane person would call home... if they had a choice in the matter. That was the thing though, she knew these people had no choice. The people here knew more of hardship than she ever would, and deep down she knew that. As much sorrow as she endured in life they had it worse. In fact.. the broken down homes, abandoned lots, ravished streets.. it all screamed to her. It cried out in agony. Lillian could only listen and not react. After all, she was one person.. what could she do to change the world? As only a watchmakers daughter she had not the power to do anything. Anything more than what she was here to do. She slowly made her way down the street letting that sink in.
Delilah Morrison was an old widow that lived on the outskirts of the poverty stricken district. She lost her husband years ago, and when she lost him she lost most if not all of her life. Her income, her rock to lean on, her only love. She could say her life ended the day he died. Still, she pushed on. She pushed on long enough to wander out into the Rose District just long enough to find a small watch shop. Her only hope was to have her husband's old watch fixed. Unfortunately she could not afford the price extended to such a task. She told her story and left the watch there along with whatever she had, promising to make a payment plan on it. Unfortunately.. her health started to decline over the years. Her payments kept getting smaller and smaller, and they were the smallest payments to begin with. There was no way for her to finish the payments on the watch. There was no way for her to even get up to come retrieve it. Normally in such conditions the shop would keep the watch to try and make up for time spent on the item, but Lillian had another idea. She would fix the watch on her own time and deliver it herself to the woman. It was the least she could do. While Lillian knew nothing of losing a lover, she knew what it was like to lose someone close to one's heart. She caught herself touching her pendant. She caught herself remembering her mother. Shrugging such thoughts off, she continued to walk down to her destination.
Lillian lost her mother at a very young age. While she was too young to remember a lot, she remembered what she had lost. Her mother. The person who was supposed to raise her. The person who was supposed to comfort her. While her father wasn't the worst of parents, there was just something about a mothers love that could never be replaced. Lillian knew that.. and she knew this woman had to have similar feelings about her husband. There were things in this world that when lost could never be replaced. It was a horrifying thought. Life was so fragile.. and that was seen greatly in this district. If it could be seen much more powerfully here than where she lived.. her troubles seemed much smaller to her as she thought about that. As much as she strived to ignore people, these people spoke to her. They had their own stories to tell. This woman.. Delilah .. spoke the loudest she had heard in ages. Lillian might have been good at shunning out the world, but the world was good at dragging her kicking and screaming to reality against her will.
She found herself at the address marked on the watch's receipt. The home seemed so cold, so alone. She walked up to the door getting ready to knock before she heard a neighbor call out to her. "Jus what you be 'knockin there fer?" The person asked. "I'm here to deliver something to the woman that lives here .." Lillian responded, stiffening up instinctively. She knew nothing about these streets was safe. "Lady there passed away not two days ago. Sad business. Been sick fer a while now." Lillian felt herself shiver. Did she really pass away before she could make it to her? She felt.. cold. Like she had failed. She stared at the door for a good long while before turning to the neighbor. "Well.. thank you. I guess I'll be on my way..."
On her way back home, she found herself clutching the package with her. She would never be able to return the watch to it's owner. She could ask around and find where the woman where had been buried, but sticking the watch on the grave would guarantee it would be stolen. Not only that, would she even have a marked grave? That thought caught Lillian tearing up, if only just a little. It was unlikely she was buried with her husband. After all the woman had went through...
She caught herself standing in the middle of the street. Without a word she opened the package and let herself feel the watch in her hands. It was cold, like her mood at this point. She was tearing up over someone she didn't even know. Then again.. it was the woman's story that moved her. It had too harsh of an ending. She held the watch close to her chest, and continued to make her way home. "Even if her story ended... I'll make sure this watch get's loved as much as it's two previous owners loved it. The watches story doesn't end here."
She put the watch in her pocket, and let that promise to herself sink in. She was so quick to ignore others, but perhaps it was not the right thing to always do. If she listened more, more stories would be able to continue. Her father had been trying to beat that lesson into her for years to no avail. Perhaps she would go home.. and thank him.
gracie loff
Naughty Kitten
Offline
chiickadee
Princess Hoarder
Offline
Posted: Thu May 29, 2014 8:30 pm
"Daniella Dean Fitzgerald return to the carriage this instant." Her father's wirey voice called to her from the street, ringing with annoyance and impatience. "You see, this is why I despise the outer districts. Full of vermin. How much longer?" They'd stopped for only a moment to fix a wedged wheel in the carriage, and Danny had taken to running down an alley in chase of a cat. You really couldn't pin the orange-haired girl down.
"Not sure sir, it could be an hour, maybe two."
Her father harumphed, but said nothing more.
"Here kitty, kitty," Danny cooed, pushing aside barrels and grimier bags to try and find that cat. The noises of the street and her father's pleas had long since faded into the silence of the alley.
On she wandered, having long since lost the cat. Instead of wandering, it was more like she'd jumped down a rabbit hole. Danny, at this point in time, was quite a bit younger, having not experienced much of the world outside of the wealthier quarters of Trost. She wasn't a noble, but her life had been charmed by bits and marks as far back as she could remember.
"I don't remember this part of town," she mused, staring at the walls in confusion. They were an ugly shade of marred grey, worn away by time and filth. Moss grew between the cracks, bricks were chipped and crumbling. One building had no door. Another had no roof, only pieces of wood shambled on top like a haystack. "Why don't they get that fixed?"
"Bits? Bits for a song?" a whiny voice croaked out from around the corner. His hand was outstretched, a piece of cloth littered on the ground. "Bits? Bits for a song?" When Danny discovered the source, she found a broken man, covered in the dirt and grime of the city. Oddly, the thing Danny remembered most about him was how hairy he was. She had never seen a man so poorly trimmed in her entire life.
From under his bushy eyebrows came a pair of eyes that fixated on Danny. "Ahh, there's a pretty girl. I'll play you a song for a few bits." His voice grated on her ears, an unpleasant cacophony of grumble and hiss.
"Why kind of song?"
He seemed surprised, almost taken aback for a moment. "Any song yer want, missy."
"Do you know the one about the walls?" she questioned. "It's my favorite, it goes like this." She then blathered out a nursery school ditty, one that everyone would knew.
The man laughed, and said, "I do indeed know somethin' like that one. But you can't hear it 'less you fork over some bits."
It might have seemed cruel to force a child to pay, but Danny was too young and too naive to understand the implications. She happily pulled out her brown sac of bits (her parents never let her leave the house without a bit of money, just in case), handing the entire thing over. It was more than a few bits- it might have even been a few copper.
The man's eyes widened, but he pulled out a small, brass instrument and began plucking away at it. He sang the childish song about the walls, and Danny joined him, happily sitting on the ground with him. A few onlookers stared in annoyance, some in bewilderment, but none of them cared enough to say something at the sight of a small girl singing with a street urchan. When the song ended, Danny patted the man on the head and said, "That was good! Do you know the song with the songbird that flies to th-"
"DANIELLA." This time it was her mother's voice. A fluttering of cloth and Danny was pulled away from the stranger, into the bosom of her mother's endless folds. "Oh Daniella we were SO worried. What were you doing here?"
She fought to escape her mother's grasp, but the cloth drowned her out. "I was singing songs with my friend!"
"Friend? Oh no, no, no, Daniella. We do not make friends with these people."
"Is it 'cause he's so hairy," Danny whispered. Had she discovered a new race of monkey people? Was she not supposed to communicate with animals?
"Awright, awright. I'm right here, lady. I didn't mean any-"
Danny's mother began shuffling away from the scene, wanting nothing to do with the vagrant man. With her went Danny, as the small girl didn't know to do anything else. The man grumbled, and pulled Danny's sack of coins closer, ignoring the women walking away. Danny smiled and waved at the man, saying, "Bye mister!!" She thought nothing of the peculiar incident.
A tiny detail did bother her though, years later. It was something she remembered fiercely. Such a minute detail seemed pointless to dwell on. Danny had always been confused as to why the man never waved back.
Posted: Fri May 30, 2014 7:07 pm
Rikki clutched the package in his hands tightly as he walked through the rougher alleyways of his city. There wasn't an individual quality that he could define as sinister, but the combination of dirty streets, boarded up windows, and lurking figures made him hunch his shoulders. He'd been taught not to make eye contact. Not to instigate any sort of interaction.
He was just trying to deliver an order for his dad, but the quickest, most efficient way to do that lead him through the parts of the city that had been hit the hardest by the constricting economy. He'd have preferred to bypass them, but his dad was a stickler for time management.
He wasn't rich. There was a very thin line separating him from the dirty, haggard looking residents here, but he was still clearly on the better-off side of that line. There were some people he passed that took it worse than other, spitting disgusting blobs towards his feet, or feinting a lunge at him. He managed not to flinch too much, but it was enough to make them sneer insultingly.
He walked quickly, and didn't slow his pace until he came across a man sitting slumped against a wall, looking thinner and sicker than anyone else he'd seen today. What struck him the most, though, was that the man was wearing the brown leather jacket of the military, with the badges clearly ripped off. Rikki nearly stopped, worried that the man was dead as he didn't move, but then his shoulders shuddered as he let out a rattling cough.
He'd never really considered that a soldier might end up on the streets. He supposed that's what happened when you were discharged and you didn't have any family to get back to. His grip on the package tightened angrily. He wanted to join, to help keep the walls titan-free, but at what cost?
That was the catch-22, probably. Either you joined and risked life, limb, and future, or you lived in fear of the inevitable day the titans came back and there was no one there to save you.
Rikki dug in his pockets for the few bits he'd brought with him and dropped the currency next to the man's hand silently. He continued on his way with heavier shoulders, and heavier thoughts. He had a long to consider about what he was going to do with his future.
DarkHeartedSorrow
Adorable Trash
Offline
Hitsuzen
Naughty Advisor
Offline
Posted: Fri May 30, 2014 7:49 pm
Deacon didn't particularly care for walking these alleys. Avoiding them was a poor but effective way to ignore the problem at hand. No matter how hard everyone worked, there was never enough to go around. There were always families that went without their most basic needs. It bothered him, but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but have one firm belief.
At least it isn't me... I won't ever be one of these people.
He sighed to himself. It was a frustrated sound, and he pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket and stared with annoyance at it. He looked up, noting imperfections in buildings and houses around him. It was sad that things like boarded windows or broken gutters would be used for landmarks, but that was just the easiest way to make it to the correct house.
He didn't want to knock on the wrong door here, and have to explain that the fruit he was carrying actually wasn't for them. Deacon had seen the hungry way they looked at a bag of apples, hopeful and then crushed. He couldn't give away something that had already been expected elsewhere, he'd always told himself. Their customers came first, and that was the end of it.
Though, no matter how indifferent he tried to be, it always made his heart ache to see the small, starving children. They didn't earn the life they had; they had been born into it without choice. Here, it wasn't easy to get out, and if they survived their youth at all it wasn't often a respectable one. Poverty ruined them for the civilized world. They didn't know what to do, if they had no experience with it.
When he slipped around a broken-down porch, Deacon nearly bumped into a pair of little girls that were running barefoot in the alley. He halted, startled, and they skidded to a stop as well. He'd frightened them, too, but they were curious. Silent, awkward, but staring up at this man who had mostly clean clothes with no rips or holes in them. Their dirty, ragged dresses were desperately in need of washing if not altogether replacement...
They didn't know, of course. They had nothing better and could only cover themselves with what they were given.
Small, bright and curious eyes gazed at the cloth bag slung over his shoulder. They could smell the fruit, and the taller of the two could likely see them, too.
Deacon noticed the way that they looked at him. Wordlessly requesting, yet too nervous to ask. It was polite, in a way, he thought. Seconds though it had been, he felt like it looked down at the two girls for a long time before he finally knelt down while reaching a hand into his bag.
He produced two of the ripe apples, considerable in size especially for their smaller hands. The way their eyes lit up at the sight of them was enough to justify his descision. He smiled softly, sadly, as he held them out. Both children grinned, swiping up the fruits and breaking away in a run in the direction he'd come from. They didn't even thank him, but that was alright.
As Deacon rose, he heard the girls giggling in delight at their good fortune. That was thanks enough. While two apples might not have been much, it was something more than they had. It might have been the only thing they ate today, and he knew that.
It just wasn't fair.
Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he readjusted the bag on his shoulder and continued to the destined house. Hopefully they'd be none the wiser, and his conscience would remain mostly clear.
Posted: Sat May 31, 2014 7:12 am
Thank you everyone for entering, I absolutely loved seeing each scenario come to life and how your characters interact with the world and the people in it <3 I really just want to give everyone hugs ;-;
My top pick was based on writing and character, and my staff picked their top two favs based on writing skill and story.
Without further ado, congratulations:
XBlind-DarknessX
The Semblance of Unity
Please confirm with me the quest chara that you want : >
Reply
