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 Posted: Tue Jan 24, 2012 11:38 pm
He was almost – almost – there. Just two more steps, maybe three and he would have his pumpkin in hand comfortably, he could go, he could leave and be done with all this terrible, terrible nonsense. Toshua was tired. He was tired and disappointed and absolutely horrified by the Emperor's acts. He had never paid much attention to the Emperor, because he had always been a step higher in society – Toshua had always registered him as just there. Now, though, everything was real. The Emperor was just a boy, the same age as him and garbed in a ridiculously complex ensemble of clothing. If it had been any other boy on the road, Tosh would've beaten the s**t out of him. Instead, he glared. How was a teenager supposed to make decisions like this? It wasn't right.
He had had a good running start, and he'd almost reached his pumpkin. But Tosh had forgotten about the people around his Putesco in his haste to get there and he soon enough found himself surrounded by members of the Imperial Guard. He glanced around a few of them, making sure the pumpkin still sat there – strangely enough, it hadn't been snatched away like the others. His Plague just sat there, as ominous as always. Tosh breathed in a sigh of relief and then turned to the other matter at hand, his hands immediately coming to his hips defiantly. The Guardsmen that surrounded him were nothing but stony-faced; they pointed rifles at him. Boys his age, and they would kill for another boy their age, dressed in the garb of an Emperor, a saint, but truly nothing. In what kind of twisted world did this make sense? Tosh breathed, his nostrils flaring. One of them whispered at him, "Please, go back to your seat. Killing is not the Imperial Guard's intention." Toshua's pale eyes flashed, and he grit his teeth in frustration.
"What's wrong with all of you?" He demanded, jabbing a finger at the boy's chest. "You'd kill a boy for him?" He spat, his eyes turning abruptly to the terrible and frankly disgusting Emperor, who still stood in his place. Tosh didn't understand what he was saying; he only knew that that boy held all their fates in his hands and that was wrong in every way. With a last burst of adrenaline, he stepped closer, almost menacing as he faced one of the rifles almost head-on. Dear lord, but he was scared. "Kill me then. Live with the fact that you condemned an innocent to death – I've done nothing wrong, you know it. Kill me, or let me through." He looked at the boy who had warned him before, speaking exclusively to him. His heart hammered in his chest. What the hell was he doing?
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Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2012 12:50 am
((s**t lets play catch up, all da wey bak 2 page three cuz we kickin it old skoool))
Coyotl had made no attempt to disguise his reflexive backward jerk at the sight of the Obscuvan, but to his surprise, the man didn't appear bothered or annoyed, or... well, anything that Coyotl imagined he would be, if their roles were reversed. He seemed almost apologetic, in fact, and as cordial as could be expected given the circumstances. What was his game? Coyotl frowned as the other man spoke, though in theory, what he was hearing should have been a positive thing, assuming it was the truth. That the fair-haired man wasn't proud to call himself a Cultist was a good thing, wasn't it? Yet a Cultist he was, and the postman found himself unwilling to take those words at face value. Moreover, he was an enemy. All Obscuvans were. Yet his words (and status as a fellow Grimm) were making him seem like something closer to an ally than a foe. It was frustrating, somehow, and irritated Coyotl more than even a hostile response might have.
He was about to say something, no doubt something stupid and poorly-thought-out, when the dissenting voice rang out from the back of the room once more, prompting the silver Quietus to reply. Still scowling, Coyotl felt around until his hand grasped the seat of an empty chair behind him, then backed awkwardly into it, as if not wanting to turn his back on either Dorian or the proceedings on the stage in front of them. It would do him well to at least attempt to follow along with what was being said, and he couldn't do that and have a one-sided spat with an Obscuvan at the same time.
The Dean of Sciences took to the stage shortly once the Anhelo finished speaking, and after he had said his piece, the postman understood just about as much as he had beforehand about the Grimms' current situation-- which was nothing at all. The only thing he was able to take away from the speech was that the Emperor would soon be making an appearance. The audience was bidden to rise, and Coyotl did so willingly, craning his neck in hopes of getting a better look at the stage. But instead of the Emperor, the figure that was dragged- rather than escorted- into the light of the auditorium was a Plague, dressed in red, and with bloodied hands.
That was the tipping point, it seemed. Words were exchanged, shouts, both calm and heated, rang from several directions in turn, and Coyotl could barely keep up with who was speaking, let alone what was being said. The woman in red was further hauled down from the stage, deposited among the audience, in the care of a young lord, where she dissolved into near-hysterics. More shouting from above- a young boy's words, from the sound of them- and then the Dean spoke again:
"Intend no harm to Lady Sanguine, but keep your point steady. Continue the precession-- the hymnals have been completed and the audience politely requests His Majesty's presence."
That much, at least, was easy to understand. A hush fell over the assembly, and Coyotl returned his attention to the stage, the sudden flurry of outbursts creating a buzz of confusion in his skull. It seemed a very unlikely setting to be ushering royalty into, but nevertheless, it seemed that that was exactly what was to be done..
"Sit," came the quiet command.
... This? This was Emperor Rine VIII? Coyotl stared in open confusion at the wispy-looking boy- for he was a boy, no mistake- who had taken the stage. He'd known the Emperor was young, yes, but he hadn't expected Panymium's Holy Eye to be little more than a babe in arms. All the same, the postman did as he was told, not wishing to draw undue attention to himself. Now that the Emperor had emerged, the Grimms would, he imagined, be given an explanation as to why they were there.
They were, but not from the Emperor.
"Emperor Rine-- tell this audience what you've done!"
The boy in the balcony was shouting again. Coyotl's fingers gripped the edge of his chair as words flew back and forth. The tension in the room was practically audible, like the strain and creak of a rope being pulled far too taut, its fibers groaning--
And then, finally, the accusation.
"He will make you decide-- abandon your Plague to the care of the Empire or brand yourself a traitor! What will it be?"
---
Lucky was frightened.
He'd long given up on trying to follow along with what his fellow Plagues were saying. They were speaking much too quickly, using far too many words, and he simply couldn't keep up. What he did understand, however, was body language-- through his own rather peculiar lens, at least. Little by little, his fellow Plagues were grouping into a cluster, forming a loose flock of tiny Excito and taller Anhelo forms. They were all different in size and shape, yet they were united by something greater than their appearance, and Lucky couldn't ignore the instinctual desire to be among his own kind. With some difficulty, he stood, and with small, wobbly steps, he began straggling toward the group.
That was when the human voices in the auditorium began to grow louder. Steadily, they escalated in intensity, many of them sounding upset, angry-- what was happening? The Plagues on the stage moved closer together in response, and Lucky continued toward them as fast as his legs would take them. Safety in numbers: that was a basic survival tactic. But just as he'd managed to totter his way into the gathering of Excitos, other Plagues in the group began to break away. They were being taken away, he realized, by the humans, forcibly removed in some cases.
To him, it looked for all the world like a feeding frenzy. It was so easy to imagine those humans' hands replaced with the eager claws of bears and birds that Lucky couldn't help whimpering along with the more easily affected of the Plagues. As they shook and cowered, he stumbled the last few steps to join them, nearly losing his balance as he wormed his way into the dwindling crowd.
"No, no," he blubbered softly, half to himself, shaking his hands free from his sleeves to grab at the clothing of several of the taller Excitos. He put his head down as if to hide from the humans' sight, or perhaps to hide them from his own, hoping that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him either.
He didn't know where the other Plagues were being taken, and he wanted nothing less at that moment than to find out.
---
"s**t. Oh, s**t. Oh, s**t. s**t. s**t."
Sitting be damned. Coyotl took to his feet the moment the Emperor's ultimatum was revealed, nearly crashing into the row of chairs in front of him in doing so. The knuckles of his hands paled slightly as he gripped one of the seat backs tightly, leaning over it as if it were the railing of a ship, and the auditorium itself an ocean separating him from his Plague. A steady stream of muttered expletives, intended only for his own ears, flowed from his mouth as he stared, wide-eyed and unblinking, at the stage.
It had been a mistake to come here. As he stood stiff-limbed, his mind raced in all the most unhelpful directions possible, inventing clues, signs, warnings he should have seen that this "meeting" would mean nothing other than disaster-- the offer of shillings, a bribe? Something in the wording of the invitation itself? The state of the weather that morning? It was a mistake, a bad mistake, he never should have agreed to attend, he should have known better...
By then, the room had begun to erupt in earnest, and it took a teenaged boy racing toward the stage hollering at the top of his lungs to jolt the postman back to reality. He loosened his grip on the chair slightly, fingers aching, and surveyed the auditorium through a haze of panic. A number of the Grimms were outraged, though not all were foolish (or mad) enough to charge the stage as that boy had done. Part of Coyotl wanted to do the same, but the fear of what might happen if he did, to himself and to his Plague, kept him from doing so; if such a stunt was bravery, then there was a great deal to be said for being a coward.
Then, as he watched, one of the guardsmen approached the collection of plagued items. Two more followed, and each picked up one of the objects, removing them from stage. It took several moments' frantic searching for his own Plague in the cluster of Excitos before Coyotl realized that the retrieval of those three items was not arbitrary-- and as more were taken away, in ones and twos, he began to actually listen to some of the calmer voices in the crowd.
One by one, here and there, more and more Grimms were willingly giving up their Plagues.
Of course. That was an option, wasn't it? Coyotl leaned back, hands still resting on the chair in front of him, eyes still fixed on the stage below. This was the second time he'd been offered that choice: Relinquish your Plague or suffer the consequences. This time, of course, there was no option to flee; he'd been trapped by the promise of civility the same as all of his fellow Grimms, and now many of them were making the easy choice. The obvious choice. By all rights, it should have been easy and obvious.
But it wasn't. Not for Coyotl. Giving up his Plague, strange and seemingly useless as the creature was, was simply not an option. Not after all he'd gone through to keep Lucky safe, all the troubles, the risks, the near-death experiences. He hadn't gone through all of that just to sell off the little Phasmas for a few shillings and the thrill of being teleported halfway across the continent.
Unfortunately, the alternative- being branded a traitor- was just as unpalatable. And he knew without having to really ask himself that he was nowhere near clever enough to come up with a way out, a third option, on his own. He mumbled something under his breath; then, finally tearing his eyes away from the Plagues huddled on the stage, he turned to the nearby Cultist once more, repeating himself loudly enough for the other man to hear.
"What do we do?!" he hissed urgently.
He hadn't planned on addressing the Obscuvan again anytime soon, and certainly not to ask him for advice. But two heads were better than one, and "not quite an enemy" was better than nothing.
In this case, he'd take what he could get.
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Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2012 4:12 am
Dragomir did the stand and sit; he would respect the Emperor, at least would not offend him, and he sat stock silent as the young boy in the balcony yelled at them, that their choices were to be a traitor or give the plague up - he watched in abstract horror as others stood up and gave up what was theirs, the life that belonged to them, as though it were nothing.
He knew instantly that he would not stand up. Chayele was his; she was no one else's, she was his and he would not let her go. He remained planted firmly in his chair, his legs crossed. He would not have ordinarily been so brave, but he was still convinced that he was going to die anyway, so becoming a traitor to the continent seemed as though it was insignificant next to the permanent nothingness that was death. If he was going to die, he would do it clutching madly to what was his; Chayele would remain in his care.
He loved her, yes, he supposed he did just as he always did when confronted with losing her or harming her grievously, but he did not care for her nearly so much as those rushing to the stage or screaming did for their plagues; he remained, quiet, stolid, immovable. He would not encourage his death but he would not take the coward's way out either.
---
Though Chayele knew nothing of his intentions or reasons, Chayele was greatly soothed by the fact that Dragomir remained sitting even as other plagues were hauled off and the stage became quite empty. Her forehead wrinkled further as her lips tugged downward and she crossed her arms over her chest. She was alone and lonely and her own arms gave her comfort - she had not left Armaud's side yet.
She had considered going back to Hopkin; she had, she really had, but then the emperor said they were traitors and Chayele stubbornly sat back down at Armaud's feet. The emperor did not like them; he was quite a mean man, though, even though he was small. Dragomir was small too, but he was not mean like the emperor. Chayele whimpered softly, fearing for those who were being taken away; she understood death and she feared that that was what was happening to the others. She would not let it happen to herself; she would get out of here. Armaud was that hope. She shuffled closer to Armaud, shaking her head at Hopkin. She wanted her Dragomir, she wanted to sleep, she wanted to cry. She did not like it here, did not like these people. She wanted to be in her Dragomir's pocket, sleeping peacefully, her only care being worries of when she would next be yanked out.
Then Clurie asked Armaud for help and Chayele found a faint smile, surprisingly bitter for her innocent simplicity, as she moved closer still to Armaud. She had known Armaud was the answer, the only way out, because things that were well loved were not caged - and the plagues had been caged. She looked up to Armaud, oddly silent throughout this whole thing, and nodded a little. She wanted to hear more; she wanted to go now.
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Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2012 10:28 am
Shati stood at the order, unused to such formality but knowing that it was required at this stage. She watched the procession with a somewhat accusing glare, untrusting of those that had called them all together, and like this. She listened politely for a time, until an accusation rang through the rafters.
"He will make you decide-- abandon your Plague to the care of the Empire or brand yourself a traitor! What will it be?"
The young woman's eyes turned first to the boy who had shouted, and then to those that had gathered before them. Relinquish her Plague?! Never! her eyes darted to Fillin upon the stage, and they seemed to be up to something. What it might be was lost on her as the shouting began, demands and denials and deplorable acts of abandonment.
"All the money in the world could not have me abandon my Fillin! Consider me a traitor, then, all I have to lose is in this room!" Was she heard above the din? Most likely not. Still, it soothed her soul to say something on the matter. She refused to be heard amongst those gladly giving up what they had been given by fate or the spirits or who ever controlled the course of a life. Never!
- - -
Fillin had only been standing by, watching those arriving with a keen eye. Were these the people they had been waiting for? He looked to the trickster Plague questioningly. Then a great shouting began, and Fillin fluttered away as an Excito beside him was pulled away. What was going on?! They wouldn't take him! He ran to take cover behind one of the fully-grown Plagues, waiting now for some signal to take action. Any doubt he had about interrupting this meeting left at hearing he may be forced to leave.
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Friendly Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Jan 25, 2012 9:48 pm
The tension in the room when the Emperor had entered and the shouting match had begun between him and the boy in the balcony with the Grand Magus was smothering, even from Theo's location in the audience seats. The appearance and degeneration into mad laughter of the Infitialis in red was a disturbing enough sight to see and he found himself edging back just the slightest in his chair, the flight part of "fight or flight" activated. Like others around him, he now harbored no doubts about this meeting having been a terrible idea. The thin line that held any last scraps of civility within the crowd collective snapped with the revelation from the boy in the balcony. There it was, the underlying ambition of the Emperor laid bare for all given in the form of an ultimatum.
Theo's face remained outwardly placid as ever, but his arms were trembling and aching as his gloved fingers tightly gripped the legs of his trousers. He was being pressed to either give up his ring - give up his Ophelia - or be branded a traitor. Immediately his eyes flicked towards the huddle of Plagues on the stage and sought out the golden, glowing form of his Plague, and there his gaze remained.
The ring had brought nothing but instability into his life, quickly demolishing the safe haven he had built for himself over the course of his adolescent and young adult life. Had the deacon's ring melted with the rest of his remains, then perhaps he might be in that same Colwe church, kowtowing to the high priest and the bishop but he would have earned the position he had coveted.. or so he thought. Ophelia had only thrown him into the streets, and indirectly (or possibly, rather) killed one of the few people who had been kind to him, however begrudgingly. A dull ache settled in his stomach as he thought of Rosalie and her daughter, and the ramshackle house in the back alleys of Colwe that likely had a new family calling it home. Ophelia had brought him into the turmoil of the Fellowship and sent Cultists to tempt him. Ophelia had also been the cause for his month and a half incarceration. By all rights, he should hand her over to the Empire. Many around him stood and relinquished their claim on their Plagues - some more cheerfully than others. There were Plagues who volunteered themselves in order to save their Grimms, and were carted away by the guardsmen for their troubles. Theo remained firmly seated and unlocked his clenched fingers from his knees and folded his arms across his chest. The muscles still burned angrily and he absentmindedly rubbed his right forearm. It had also been Ophelia who had saved him from doing something terribly stupid.
His fist clenched.
-------
Ophelia's heavy gaze did not flinch at the strange boy's declaration. It was a wild accusation, but as the scene deteriorated before them with the blood Plague's descent into madness, her earlier questions sounded ever more useless to the present situation. Armaud had been right - they were in danger. Their Grimms were in danger. The forced amnesty was crumbling.
What was her Theo going to do about this? Hers.. Theo was hers, yes, this was true.. or so she believed. But as she watched other Plagues sacrificing themselves for the safety of their Grimms, or Grimms giving up their Plagues out of fear for their own lives, it occurred to her how isolating the titles "Grimm" and "Plague" were. The room consisted of both, and yet the decisions came purely from one party, thinking they were doing what was best for the other. There was no real consent, no unity.. the place was a madhouse. Eyes traveling down to her long-fingered hands, she was surprised to see them quaking softly. A quick clench of her fingers and an intake of breath cured them of that, but her eyes had widened. The fingers of doubt crept into her mind and held her in a vice grip.
Ophelia could say that Theo was hers, that she was indispensible to his life, but the reality was that she could not say what he really thought. That realization terrified her. She had allowed acquaintances to occur but she always kept others at a distance in order to keep her Grimm to herself. The slightest flare of jealousy within was firmly masked, and she endeavored to make whatever bonds she forged work for her. Now, more keenly than any other time in her short life, she felt like a fool. Bonds were not something to be avoided entirely, and doing so had been a mistake. The ring liked to think that she was far-thinking enough to work others into the roles she wanted, but the truth was her execution was a little to be desired. She and her Grimm, whether she fully realized it or not, were entirely too similar in their inability to maintain connections.
But now, the times were desperate. And in order to strengthen her own resolve, her own ability to handle whatever decision Theo came to, she needed to try. The ring meandered slowly back towards the ashen Anhelo, who was now swarmed with a number of Excitos - the feathered Plague, the paper-wrapped one, the Plague in brown petticoats. Quietly, she reached a hand over and gently gripped his leg. A subtle, quiet movement, so as not to draw too much attention - she was too proud to speak for reassurance. Normally heavy-lidded eyes were now wide open and she stared at Theo in the audience with a pleading gaze.
'Do not let them take me. Please.'
-------
As the toned woman who called for a "fill-in" or something made her angry declaration, Theo finally got to his feet. For a man who had banked his survival off of clever turn-of-phrase and his ability to mask his deeper self, he found himself struck wordless. He swallowed thickly and, eyebrows quirking in a downward, agitated slant, finally opened his mouth.
"My ring.. is my business." He would never admit it out loud, but he felt bolstered by so many others taking their stand against the Empire's ultimatum, although none more encouraging than the Lady Estratus herself. "Ophelia is not a thing to be disposed of by anyone, the Empire included. Her care is solely my responsibility and I will not relinquish that, traitor status or no." Deep inside he knew he was likely making a grave mistake - what hope could a crippled man with a three-inch tall creature possibly have against the Empire? Whatever happened though, he had made his bed. All he could do was wait for what happened next.
Again, his arms trembled.
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Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 12:48 am
"Oh.
Oh, Panyma.
Oh, Panyma, please, help us all."
Before her very eyes, the madness first isolated in the woman in red spread like the plague itself all throughout the audience; voices called out, far too many voices. There was noise, so much noise. It hurt Aysel's ears, and she whimpered, holding her hands tight to the sides of her head and sealing her eyes shut. "No!" She didn't want to hear it! She couldn't bear to see it! However, despite her best efforts, sounds and words leaked through:
"He's all I have left!"
"Emperor Rine, take our's-- please. We've no need for them."
"...will be snuffed in time by the Empire's hand!"
"NO, you can't! It's mine!"
This final denial, this simple shout, tore her eyes open again. Others had offered arguments, but with one simple, childish word, he had voiced the underlying message they all held. She looked up to see guards swarming the stage, and a boy, braver than all, running towards it. He was met with rifles. She gave a strangled cry; how could they! Any hope she held for a shred of mercy immediately burned way at that moment.
"Oh, Panyma..." she breathed, eyes darting around wildly at the Grimms standing around her. She could understand their sentiments: Once, too long ago, she too had felt that way about her own Plague. Uncaring, unfeeling, he was nothing more than an object for her study. His discovery had changed all of that. Seeing how quickly the Plagues of those who stood were taken, she sunk down in her seat; oh, how she would hate to be mistaken for one who no longer desired the presence of their Plague.
As she witnessed the argument between Plague and Grimm--so noble, one wanting to protect the other, no matter the cost--she could have cried. Instead, she coughed, and with a start realized the state her body was in. The motion hurt: Every one of her muscles was absolutely rigid, and as she tried to relax, she instead began to tremble. A few of her tears had already fallen, and more were quickly beginning to take their place. She hastily rubbed them away with the back of her hand. She swallowed, and realized one last thing: She was choking! Not on anything physical, but on words. Words that she desperately wanted to scream instead died away in her throat, creating a blockage that made it hard to breathe. If she opened her mouth now, she could not be entirely sure of what she would do and exactly how far she would go to have her Plague returned safely to her arms; the lunacy possessing all the others desperately pushed at the boundaries of her mind. Fear froze her to the core.
Upon the stage, amid the chaos, the taint around the dead rabbit began to writhe, mirroring the internal struggle of its Grimm. This sudden burst of activity from what was supposedly an inanimate Plague made the nearest of the guards just ever so slightly nervous, and they made a slightly greater effort to not disturb it--at least, not by their own touch--as they went about their business of collecting. When all was said and done, the corpse had a good foot of free space all around it. It was alone.
At last, the madness began to die down. No others stood, and only half the stage remained. Aysel noticed nothing but the silence. Her mind began to clear, and a vague feeling of self-control returned to her. Perhaps now she could be heard. Under normal circumstances, she would never dare speak the words that pushed and pulled at her tongue, begging like the tide, but these were far from normal circumstances. The others who had spoken gave her courage, and now that there existed a chance for her to be heard, it would no longer be as if she shouted into the void. On shaking, jelly legs, she climbed atop her chair and, staring straight at the emperor--even a single distraction would cause her to crumble--began to speak.
"Puh-please..." Her voice quivered with emotion, thick with the tears she held back.
Down below, the taint about the rabbit began to thicken and spread, encompassing the small, furry body. The scent of death grew stronger around it.
"I know that our Plagues may just be more trouble for you..." She took a deep breath.
The taint around the rabbit's corpse began to clear away, tightening and solidifying into the form of a Caedos. His black and red features twisted the otherwise cheery and pleasant pastels of the jester outfit he wore. Slowly, he pulled himself up onto his knees and looked out into the audience, seeking out the source of the voice.
"But for some of us..." Her voice wavered slightly as she felt the tug of a pair of eyes on her. Something demanded her attention.
The Caedos stood.
"They're so much more..." No longer could she resist the pull; her eyes shot away from the Emperor and fell upon her newborn Plague. She didn't need to be close to him to know that he was smiling at her. Tears of joy began to flow freely down her face, and her voice became imbued with all of a new mother's joy. "They're family." She had done it.
The Caedos took a couple of steps back, clearly intending to leap from the stage. His Grimm was waiting.
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Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 12:27 pm
Things were swiftly getting out of hand. It started as a trickle, and then a flood as putescos and excitos and even anhelos were escorted from the stage... some willingly and some significantly less so. The shouting and pleading of the Grimms seemed almost deafening to Drustan's ears and he was hard pressed to make out each individual plea. What would his mother want him to do? That was really the crux of the matter for Drustan. He was a Carmody, and family came first.
Ever since their existence had been made public, Drustan had been taught that the Plagues, as the embodiment of chaos and destruction and disease, were sacred to Obscuvos and therefore were to be protected and cared for. His faith shaped him, made him the man he was. But then there was the family. And the family business. And the family business had to be preserved. Letting people in on the deeply hidden secret that the Carmody family were Obscuvians was taboo. It was not to be done. They relied on a carefully crafted public image that had stood them in good stead long before Drustan had been born.
Faith or family? Was there even a chance of getting out of this hellish situation without betraying one or the other? If he stood up and spoke out against these monstrous events he risked plunging the family into disorder and ruin by being branded a traitor. If he didn't do something though... well, people would die either way. Of that he was sure. But would the God ever forgive him for remaining quiet? What would his mother do if she were here? Young and largely naive when it came to the workings of the world outside his privileged existence, Drustan knew that either of his parents would find a way to get whatever it was they wanted quietly. Coins would exchange hands perhaps. They would quietly and subtly trade on the Carmody name. But Drustan, being young and green, was not as well known a member of the family yet. His personal reputation was only just beginning to bud and he doubted that if he stood up and tried to use the Carmody name as a weapon he would surely fail. But perhaps there was something else he could do. Perhaps...
It was then that he noticed the renewed activity on the stage. All the Plagues seemed to be gathering about one specific excitos. And then, to the side, the rotting corpse of a rabbit that had been laying near his own precious, festering glass of wine began to change. As he watched the caedos being born it was made clear to Drustan what the choice had to be. His eyes traveled to the pretty girl whose gaze was fastened on the new caedos, joyful tears streaming down her cheeks.
Oh great devouring Obscuvos... Drustan whispered the prayer silently in his mind. Get us all out of this somehow and I swear I will find a way to protect as many of them as I can. I will bleed my bank accounts dry to protect them if I must.
The young man stood, finally. His shaking nerves somehow didn't translate and his countenance was calm and collected. There was no indication of his relentless inner turmoil. "My name is Drustan Carmody. My family has served this empire well. I am no traitor. But I will not give up my plague." He added his quiet voice to the cacophony of protests sounding around him and took the first real stand he'd ever taken on anything. His parents would not be happy if they found out about this. Please, please be worth it... he thought, staring at the near-empty wineglass as the newborn caedos nearby prepared to make it's leap.
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Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 1:11 pm
The room reminded him of a crowd he'd seen once in Edgecrest, uneasiness, turmoil fluttering through the faces within in before it broke into riot. Already, tempers were rising and resolves were beginning to fray.
Kalends saw the young boy rush the stage, demanding his item back. That was something that he had wanted to see, someone unafraid to act out and demand what was theirs. Rash, sure, but not to be unexpected from a young boy.
He almost chuckled to himself; he sounded old, much older than his twenty or so years. Thieves could not be rash. It was a lesson that had been hard for him to learn when he was a child who just as impetuous as the boy in the blue hat, but his mentor had made it quite clear that thieves who acted without thought often had no more opportunity to think in the future.
He swallowed. One misstep, and it was all over. The Imperial Guard might be ordered to return him safely, but would they really do that when his refusal of the Emperor was made known? Kalends was running out of time. If he was arrested, that was it. He looked around, trying to find something that would inspire him, something that he could use...
On the stage, a dead rabbit corpse come to life, covered in black soot. Though he lived in a city of mages and magic wasn't an uncommon sight on street corners, Kalends had never seen something like this before. He caught himself mid-vowel, and only a low but strangled exclamation of surprise left his mouth. He berated himself. He had to be more careful. Above all, he couldn't draw attention to himself before he was ready to act.
But then the woman he'd spoken with earlier stood up.
Kalends was furious. Not that this woman was giving up her item-- that was something that was an effect, not a cause, and now that the question of treason had been settled in his mind, he had watched the procession of items out with cool detachment. He was furious because this woman was standing up and that meant that a member of the Imperial Guard would come over to her and talk to her about what she wanted to give up.
That meant a Guardsmen coming to the rows of seats where Kalends was.
He could have throttled her. She had been so calm, as collected as he had been, and now she was breaking down. Kalends had remained incognito, spoken as a collected but concerned member of the audience, done his best not to draw attention to himself, and here this woman who he'd been stupid enough to talk to earlier was dragging him one-armedly into danger. For a moment, he debated pulling out his dagger right there and either taking her hostage or making a break for it.
But he had to be ice. He felt the dagger press against his skin in his boot, reassuring, tempting, but he did not take it. There had to be a better opportunity than this to act. He didn't even know if the Guardsman would recognize him, much less break their agreement with the Council not to arrest him. Guards weren't people he could trust. And-- a thought hit him-- maybe he could avoid being found out before it happened.
He fixed the woman with a glare, not having to fake the flash of anger in his eyes. His voice dripped with casual malice, a loosely controlled fury. Just enough to rankle her, he hoped.
"I would have expected better from you. But I suppose it was only a matter of time until they broke you down." He lowered his voice, not even deigning to look at her anymore. "You coward."
There, if that didn't do it, he didn't know what would. If he could just get her to sit the hell back down, he might last longer in this place.
Like fifteen minutes. Maybe even an hour. Hell, why not dream big?
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Posted: Thu Jan 26, 2012 2:01 pm
"You coward."
Those words grabbed Maeve forcefully from her daze and planted her firmly back into reality. The intent glare fell from her face as she shut her eyes tightly. Her fist slowly uncurled and she closed and opened her palm lightly to return the blood to her hand. Turning her head, she opened her eyes to face the boy speaking to her. He was not really speaking, though, he was flat-out insulting her. The woman did not speak, but did not appear angry as she looked down at the boy. With the madness cropping up around her, she did not have time to fathom what his words were trying to accomplish.
Was he trying to make her angry? She clearly was already that before. Upset with the turn events, enraged at the fate of the others' Plagues, Maeve was nothing but infuriated. His goals were unclear, but the mercenary was compelled to speak. "It's no act of cowardice," she told through a sigh. Her hand wandered idly to her sword's sheath as she spoke, only to find it empty. Of course they would take such an obvious weapon from her when a stunt like this was planned.
"I am going to get my Plague," Maeve stated in a hushed tone. "And the others'," she added quickly. Her focus returned to the stage briefly, analyzing her surroundings. So many guards-- she wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe if there were a distraction or a large group of people they could try to overwhelm the guards, but these thoughts were nothing more than fantastical wishes. Maeve knew the risks were too great to act on such frivolous desires; she knew it was too lofty to become real. A quick glance back to the boy beside her made her stop and ponder further. "You want to keep your Plague, I know." She exhaled slowly and remained standing. "What is your plan, then?" A serious inquiry.
So much for the idea of allies.
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Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2012 5:22 pm
Kalends watched as the woman's hand drifted to the empty sheath at her side. If he had the capacity to feel compassion at the time-- right now, it was taking considerable effort to hold back his desperation and keep calm-- he might have expressed sympathy with her. All he could think was that he felt as helpless as she did, unable to move, unable to act. And even if he got into a position where he could fight, what of it? The Guard outnumbered him many-to-one; he'd be gone in an instant.
"It's no act of cowardice." Kalends doubted it. Fear motivated a lot more of people's actions than they cared to admit. Locking your doors at night? Fear. Trying to escape than sit it out, as he had been contemplating just now himself?
He swallowed. Fear. Oh, it was fear alright. The first step to overcoming it was admitting that it was there.
What she said next intrigued him, though.
"I am going to get my Plague, and the others'. You want to keep your Plague, I know." She exhaled slowly and remained standing. "What is your plan, then?"
Plan? Oh gods, like he knew what to do. Kalends would never say it out loud, but a moment of admiration flicked over his features. A plan. This woman had had a plan. Not used to getting caught, he had to admit that his repertoire of escape plans was sadly lacking. But he wasn't a thief for nothing.
"So you noticed." He crossed his arms. Damn, had he been so careless to let how much he wanted that satchel back slip? Probably, but this kind of proximity to death didn't help his concentration. "What would you have done?" He shook his head, frowning at the stage. "Made a break for it? Beat them down, take his Holy Slightliness--" neither politics nor politeness was Kalends' forte "--hostage? No, we need either a mass or a moment. A single man gets arrested," he mused, thinking back to those crowds in Edgecrest, "but a crowd can beat back trained men by sheer volume. And all we need is something to set it off, something to distract the guards or stir this place into motion or both, but still a bit more than what we have now."
He shrugged. "Do you have a better plan? If you can convince me," here he leered--like she could, "maybe I can be of use."
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Posted: Sat Jan 28, 2012 6:54 am
It had seemed, for just a moment, as if things would go well. The Grand Magus had spoken for him, and Eramus had deemed it enough [as he should] to released the Lady Sanguine into his custody. Yizhaq could tell, then, that she was not right, even before her sordid whispers reached his ears, and her bloodied hands his finery. Still, he did not pull away from her, her shaking, twisted laughter burning far more than any attention that may have been brought upon them by her display.
"My lady..."
The serious lord reached for her as she did he, and almost had her secured before a cry went out. The order came then, with the sharp sting of betrayal, as the General ordered her taken away, and resecured. His hand fell immediately, instinctually, to his hip, where a blade usually was to be found, but not today. It was then, this moment, that he knew better than to speak, his jaw tightening with anger and confusion as his pale gaze jumped from her shrieking form to the balcony above and behind.
He was many things, and one of them was an officer of the guard. The General, for better or worse, was at current his superior, despite the disparity in their bloodlines, and it would not do to act out of orders. Yizhaq's gaze, however, found Treatise, the furrow in his brow a question only for her, a trust born of deeper loyalties and secrets than that of officer to general, or seer to magus.
A movement, then, and he caught sight of a boy as he began to shout, to challenge their boy-Emperor.
Georgie Malt.
Quickly, green eyes found Chauhn, and the horror etched on his young, familiar features, before leaping to the stage.
Abandon your Plague to the care of the Empire or brand yourself a traitor.
The words made his blood run cold. His decision to hold his tongue had been reaffirmed, though his mind raced even as his words stilled. Men and women, boys and girls, stood to abandon their charges. He knew that he, too, should stand. His family had always put their country first, their duty. Nothing in Yizhaq's life had been something taken purely for himself, even the discovery of Hayat had been a continuation of the responsibilities left by his father. He had served faithfully, loyally, and was loathe to betray his mission to both nation and faction.
Yet, he was a protector. He had always used his power to shield others. Hayat, Chauhn, Clurie, Audrey, Miss Shati and her Filin, the brothers Malt, the countless that had hid within his estate during the riots, and his own wife and son, who had already been torn away by the efforts of the cult. Would Hayat be taken too?
He could not make himself rise, then, eyes closing as the uproar grew, and above it all, that familiar, strong Estratus tone, now shaking with emotion. Would it not be wise to stand? To be one ally whom the empire trusted? To continue his mission?
He could not make himself rise.
---------------
"Release me, Clurie, less they handle you roughly when they come for me." Hayat's cool tone lacked inflection as she sought to be set apart, rather than cradled as the others. She was as true in name as she was able, despite her lack of empathy, and would act the role of a Servos.
"Mi'lord shall not be tarnished on my behalf." Her small head tilted, chin up in what could only be interpreted as a determined, proud gesture. "I hope you shall find some other venue for escape," and here her dark eyes found the trickster, "But, I will give myself to the care of the empire." She had no doubt that Yizhaq would do all he could to reclaim her, and if he could not? Hayat would wait. She was patient, calculated, and she would find some way to make the most of her circumstance.
When Yizhaq did not stand, her demanding voice rose above the cacophany, directed to a guard whom she clearly viewed as below her station. "Move quickly, now! I would be claimed, in name of Lord Yizhaq bin Saleh. His estate has served this empire faithfully, and you would do to remember that." Next time, she was certain, her allies would possess the rifles and blades.
--------
Those green eyes snapped open, violently, as he heard the voice that had whispered at his side for years, now. She was doing what he could not, ever more loyal, ever more firm. Bile rose in his throat at the image of Sanguine, and how much less protection his small, fierce falcon would have without him.
And what of the Plague-General? Would she accept this betrayal of her kind? Would the General, who had so cruelly ordered the retrieval of Sanguine send his own Plague to the death march? Would she stand for it?
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Posted: Sat Jan 28, 2012 5:37 pm
Scarlet’s muscles stiffened at the question the young boy posed. Give up her Plague? In any other circumstance the dusty-haired woman would have relinquished her so-called Plague; she did not particularly enjoy the presence of dead and she was loyal to the Emperor and the Imperial Guard. But the “plague” in question was her bow. She clenched her jaw, teeth gritted together as she remained mute while a number of Grimms rose up to give up their precious Plagues. A hand tugged the hood over her face even more, narrowed, gleaming eyes peering beneath the dark red cloak to watch the guards take away items and excitos, one-by-one the sea of plagues shrunk to only a pitiful, lonely handful. Firmly rooted in her seat, Scarlet perused around until she identified her bow within seconds. Lips twisted into a sneer as she turned to eye the nearby Grimms who hastily abandoned their Plagues. “They hold no value to you? Nothing at all?”
Her arms remained crossed when Toshua ran to the stage and found himself threatened by the guards. She smiled, reluctantly leaving her seat as she called out to him, “Save your breath, boy. Big kids don’t always play nice.” Scarlet held no interest for politics or of the like. The woman cared more about how to survive to see tomorrow and how she wanted to live her life, but if there was one thing she had gleaned from her twenty years of living within the country, it was that people weren’t always as moral as one would have preferred. The invention of firearms only made it so much easier for the guards to dispose of people with the click of a trigger.
A pause before Scarlet spoke again, “As much as I respect you, Emperor, I’m afraid your request is impossible for me to obey.” Both arms reached up to gently take down her hood and smooth out the tangles in her hair. “My bow holds a lot of value to me, and you’ll have to do more than just asking for it to even make me consider giving it up.”
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 4:30 am
ORP Update
(Last one (before wrap-up) will be February 2nd!) PLAGUES
Plagues exit the back sanctum of the stage within moments, and Armaud looks at the few that are left with a crass frown. There is no longer a quick, elated smile about her, and it seems as though her final act, the last driblets of syllables she would cackle, had run dry. In the eyes of a few, the Caedos could see fear; others, bitter anger. Armaud waits, at first, until the word-- that word-- "help" resonated throughout the remaining Plagues in scattered numbers.
Even then, Armaud's face did not regress into its smile once again, and she stared up at the ashen Anhelo with an otherwise deterred tone. "Of course. I've offered help and you reject it until the time is right-- I would think you're a trickster yourself, Mr. Clurie!" She places her hands on her hips and looks at the Guardsmen fazing in and out of sight from the Plagues, most being the younger Guardsmen that trailed near the trail of the Emperor's precession. Armaud turns her head back to the group only at the slight utterance of another Plague, a fellow Caedos like her, wrapped in gold-- to her, she only responds, "...Of course, of course, you want no one to take you-- I will tell you a way, my demanding friends. Watch here--"
Armaud digs through her pocket and takes out but the smallest pebble from it, testing its weight with her hands. "Believe my words when I say that this rock you see here, marked by a Mage itself," she studies it with her hands, until one corner shines against the refracted light of the stage, revealing a gently carved symbol at the front, "Was given to me by none other than the brother of Lady Waldgrave himself. It corresponds with the words of my Grimm and I can hear all he says, even his whispers, through this, and through this he has told me through my ventures to this unfortunate, unfortunate place that all of you are doomed to disappear. Does he know I say this now? Of course. And when the cue is right, he would give us a method of escape... but this is my job no longer!"
She turns towards Chayele, and her face soothes. Armaud offers the strange pebble to Chayele, then turns to the rest of the Plagues, Armaud glances towards the last of the Guardsmen, smiling as she notices the otherwise small blond walk towards the premise, rifle tucked to his side. "This Plague, shall she be willing, will tell you my master's plans and how the rest of you and your Grimm can escape this imprisoned life."
The Guardsman kneels in front of Armaud, placing an arm towards her. "Armaud."
The Caedos, smiling, scampers up to the Guardsman's shoulder an smiles at the rest of the crowd. "My time here is done-- I bid all of you good fortune!"
Adal glances at the Plagues and furrows his brows at them. The dull white of his corneas start to fade away with every blink and resonates a strange, comforting glow, until at last a swirl of gold replaces his pupils. He says in a low voice, glancing at the array of Plagues and, more specifically, the falcon Servos, "If you've any intention of remaining alive, be still. The collection of the noble Hayat bin Saleh, and all others, are halted until further notice," before standing upright and exiting towards the side, away from the Plagues.
His hands rest steadily on the rifle to his side.
GRIMMS
The Emperor is overwhelmed by shouting.
Yet, his focus remains on the boy in the balcony, his eyes straying for mere moments at the accusations to him. Though he looks at his subjects he, unlike Erasmus, does not notice the subtleties of this crowd, and remains quiet, numb to the feelings of betrayal, hatred, and confusion that has otherwise overridden many of his people's fealty to the Empire. The freckled boy does not speak further, and, though he stands at the back of the stage, Rine reaches towards him as if he is within arm's distance.
Rine shivers. "How many of you are there, people like you? How do you know my will, boy, and why do you stand opposed?" he scans the audience, frowning, "Why would any human stand opposed? Tens of thousands of your people will die lest we rid of these Plagues. The Black Death ravages on because of their existence-- and the Empire has responded thus. The Plague Doctor shall not give us a potion to aid us, and so, we shall take matters into our own hands. The Audience dictates as such, and so it shall be.
"The power given to the Doctor," the Emperor starts, slowly, "Does not override the power of those that have stood by this cause."
Advisers to the sides of Emperor Rine remain neutral, eyes dull to surprise. Just as one makes to speak, however, the blistering sound of rifle fire blares through the audience. The man from earlier has risen, and the Imperial Guard focuses their aim on him, pointedly. He raises his hands and announces, "Merely magic, my good fellows."
"Distracted, Mister Rine?"
The Emperor looks back, as do the advisers, and the Guardsman mutters, smiling, "Of course, what better way to taint your impression of Plagues further than to murder you, My Highness?"
The Imperial Guard hesitates.
SAGE & SLOANE
Time slows at the balcony, and no orders are issued from neither Plague General nor General. Treatise glares at General Kunze, hands gripping against the edge of the balcony. Kunze glances back, stone-faced, and in a flustered confusion she hisses, "Lady Sanguine means no harm, let her be."
"Tainting the Lord's presence with a demented Infitialis will do us no further harm," The General replies, "There are more pressing concerns to be tended to at the moment. The Emperor--"
"--Is to be murdered by a Plague's hands if we do not say anything," Treatise hisses, "And so it shall be, lest answers are given. This is not something within the Imperial Guard's power. Lady Estratus stirs-- Sir Sloane shall give up his life. I refuse to do the same until the Emperor decrees this to be his will, and his will absolutely, and not issued by some freckled boy otherwise strange to our company."
Treatise glances to Georgie, who, until this moment, was concentrated on the stage. The brunette pulls him towards her, and, leaning in, whispers one thing-- "Surrender your efforts to the Emperor, and explain to the Grand Magus what you've said."
Once the Locos unravels her hands from around the boy's collar, and the boy regresses towards the ledge of the balcony towards the Grand Magus, Treatise presents herself to the audience. "My Highness, the Imperial Guard's Plague division does not understand the reasons for this treaty and shall not issue demands until further explanations are given. This decree betrays beyond reason the laws imposed on protecting the Plagues within this Empire-- including those who serve under the Holy Eye."
Treatise stands upright, and looks down at the audience, "If this is the case, then any under the word of the Plague General and her Army shall hold themselves unwilling until this decree is altered; as such, the Plague Guardsmen and Grimm Guardsmen stands as one faction opposing this action, a separate entity divided the Imperial Guard until further discussion is issued. I was never noted of this decree, and neither was Sir Erasmus-- if Sir Erasmus and the Council stand in agreement, I request their presence on this stage."
Erasmus and Kirkaldy are followed in by a charade of Guardsmen and stand at the ledge of the stage, several arms' distance away from the Emperor and the Plague rifleman behind him. Kirkaldy, clearly appalled, his skin pale, hesitates to speak, and the silver Quietus replies in his stead.
"What the Plague General says is true. I, Sir Erasmus, was never told the specifications of this meeting, nor was Sir Kirkaldy. The Council of Scientists and its members' representatives, Dean Sedgwyck Kirkaldy, and his Plague, Sir Erasmus, request further information before marking its opinion on the claim within neutral ground. The law issues, in its first sentence, understanding of all Advisers before instigating a decree; the Council, having been declared Adviser under the Emperor's law since its founding, does not understand, and stands under this law."
"This declaration wholly effects the Council of Sciences and the branch of Plagueology," Kirkaldy states, "The removal of Plagues would issue removal of the field within the Council, and would require review from its masters in Trisica. If anything, the Council pleads the Emperor to reconsider and revise this request and announce it at a further date."
GRIMMS
Moments pass without further word and, Rine, staring at Adal, shakes his head. "That is no decision of mine."
"No decision of yours, indeed," Adal replies, indignant, "There is nothing you can spare to the audience, can you? The Plague Doctor understands how the Empire works, and it's not under you. Everyone here is controlled by the Advisers, willingly coaxing themselves to your sides, correct? The Audience of Advisers shall impose your laws; there are five Emperors, and all of them remain quite daft in this situation. Now, if I were to aim my rifle elsewhere..."
He points it towards an adviser next to Rine, and with a sharp "Do not move," the Imperial Guard drops its attention on the old man and struggles to point its rifles towards the Locos.
"An entirely different situation arises."
PLAGUES
The two Anhelos who have frozen still in the stage's shadows presses their attention towards the Guardsmen. They rise, slowly, restricting their movements to the Imperial Guard's brief moments of abandon. One of them moves to where Clurie is quicker than the other and whispers, "The last of the Guardsmen have come to collect us-- doesn't that mean something? That our Grimms are loyal?"
"Nothing could make me any happier," the other says; he is an Infitialis, and small. "If you will excuse us-- if Armaud and her lackey won't help, we will. If what that boy up there is sayin's right..."
"...There's more than one target."
Cackling radiates around the group of Plagues until the two Anhelos walk towards the Guardsmen, slowly, and wrangle them to the ground-- one ceases the soldiers' breathing with an inhale of its breath, while the other skirts around the edge and attacks one of the Advisers, tackling him off of the edge of the stage and onto a crowd of tainted items below. Smiling, the Infitialis swiftly incises the edge of the Adviser's throat.
The Guardsmen surrounds the Plague nearly instantly; just as the Infitialis reaches in for the Adviser's throat with his pointed mouth, gunfire sounds, and dark blood gushes from the Plague's broken face. It falls on top of the Adviser, limp.
The other Plague maneuvers through the edge of the stage, tackling down and sucking the breaths of those Guardsmen near, until he reveals himself to the Councilmen just in front. Erasmus turns around and extends the sharp points of his fingers, strangely long, to jab into the eyes of the leering Anhelo, twisting his metallic nails until the Anhelo unwinds with a pitched, wailing screaming.
As if it were a catalyst, Excitos stare at the onslaught of Anhelo deaths. In a flurry, a few start to run off from their spot in the stage; some are spilling in from the exit, where they were taken away. Yelling, many make their way through the stage, between the feet of clumsier, taller folk. Many have similar destinations-- their Grimms, but others have a different target, and scamper over towards the Advisers and Emperor.
SAGE & SLOANE
Georgie jerks his attention back towards the stage and stares in eminent horror was guns are shot in multiple directions-- his first instinct is to check on his Plague who, at this moment, has locked himself and the Emperor into a strange standstill. General Kunze glares scathingly at Treatise, who remains silent, and pushes his way towards the exit of the balcony, rushing towards a flight of stairs into the fray below.
"Oh, no," Georgie murmurs, glancing at Sage, "Oh no, no-- we need to get the rest of those Plagues!" He fidgets from his place and rushes after General Kunze, quickly fumbling over his feet to head towards the other flight of stairs.
Treatise looks at Sir Sloane and the Grand Magus, frowns, and trails after Georgie.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 2:42 pm
The auditorium dissolved into chaos. Several people in the row in front of Nicholas stood up, obscuring his view of the Putescos onstage. He only caught a glimpse of the first of the two Anhelos moving before a gunshot rang out, and he rose from his seat in time to see the second skewered through the eyes by Erasmus. A broken, bleeding body had collapsed onto some of the Putescos; Nicholas couldn't tell whether his fragile violin was one of them.
He glanced between the stage and the balcony until he found that remaining still any longer was impossible. He stood up and stole down the nearest aisle toward the front rows, hopeful that his movement would go unnoticed in the general pandemonium. People were standing, shouting. Many of the guards seemed distracted by either the threat to the emperor and his adviser (especially his adviser, Nicholas observed grimly) or the explosion of violence onstage. Even so he remained mindful of their vigilant reaction to the boy who had tried to reclaim his Plague earlier, and only ducked into a vacant seat in the second row where he could better watch things unfold. He sat, with the tense air of a person prepared to spring back up again at a moment's notice, and intently scanned the stage. His hand on the seat back in front of him was white-knuckled but steady. There: a glimmer of white. From what little he could see, the violin appeared undamaged.
Nicholas had no intention of seizing his Plague and fleeing, if such an act were even possible, but the protests of the crowd had swayed him: he would keep the violin unless it was taken from him directly, with no reasonable alternative. Having only known it was tainted for a handful of days, he couldn't fathom the depth of feeling that led many of these Grimms to declare their Plague family -- he was still struggling with the idea of it as a potential person, not a thing -- but he had abandoned the violin once already, and had then decided to keep it, and if it were in any capacity a living being, Nicholas owed it at least a small measure of integrity.
The violin's peeling paint shone coyly amidst the spreading pool of Plague blood, and Nicholas hoped his decision was the right one.
The next thing his eyes sought out were the wounded Guardsmen, a physician's automatic habit, but the ones the second rogue Anhelo had attacked didn't appear to be breathing. Unless some magic was at work, or they were so deeply unconscious that their respiration had slowed to a trickle, undetectable but for a pulse and puffs of condensation against a mirror, Nicholas could only assume that they were dead. He tried to avoid thinking about what the Anhelo might have done to them (what his own Plague might be capable of doing to people one day) and instead split his focus between Erasmus and the emperor. However this meeting ended, their fates would surely be decided within the next few moments.
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Posted: Sun Jan 29, 2012 6:31 pm
"Dorian! Dorian Arelgren!" Evan hissed, leaning forward and cupping his mouth.
With the addition of someone he knew, Evan felt more confident in his actions and less inclined to sink into seat. Aside from the established gratitude for the pay he received, there was also a small (very small) sense of camaraderie that existed from traveling the short distance that they did. He hadn't noticed the man earlier despite that he was wearing his signature purple jacket, but supposed that he was too distracted by the silver-man on stage. As was everyone, he supposed.
"All rise"
Out of the corner of his ear, Evan could still hear bits and pieces of what was happening on stage, at least enough to stand when he needed to and, of course, see the sickly emperor before him. He was not how Evan imagined, much too young and too frail. In truth, he reminded Evan more of a young prince as opposed to a large, bearded, older man of fairy tale. Where was the grandiose? He knitted his brows, sitting down to pay attention to the frail man's words nonetheless.
Beside the emperor, there was also another man, restrained by several guards who dared to speak out against Rhine and the people running the meeting.
"He will make you decide-- abandon your Plague to the care of the Empire or brand yourself a traitor! What will it be?"
Thinking back to Lander once more, Evan was overwhelmed. Was this the man that Lander was serving under? He found it hard to believe that Lander would be fine with this? He was at odds with himself, both for the man he admired so much and the man who was commanding his brother.
"No, you can't do that!" Before he could stop himself the words flew out of his mouth, too loudly to be dismissed as a simple mutter.
Are you going to give up the army for a broken weather vane? Evan bit his lip.
Are you going to give up trying to fix that weather vane? He wondered how his grandfather would feel if he gave up just because the emperor wanted him to.
Are you going to betray your ruler? It wasn't what the Imperial Guard was supposed to do. They served their emperor in thick and in thin and they would surely kill Evan for defiance would they not? Heroes never died as far as he knew, not always anyway unless they were tragic heroes.
"You can't kill him or you kill me too."
But perhaps he was one of those heroes.
His hands were balled into fists and suddenly he found himself standing, unable to contain himself. There before him was a boy much braver than he was, willing to die in order to get back what he needed and yet Evan stood there. No, he couldn't simply do that.
"That vane isn't yours. None 'f these things are."
Looking over at Dorian he waited for some reaction to come about and it seemed that everyone else was starting to act up in defiance to the emperor's words. It was empowering to hear that he wasn't the only one, but it didn't change the fact that the Grimms were at a standstill...at least until two plagues tackled the guardsman to the ground.
Chaos erupted from all sides as army-men started to retaliate, causing others to scramble away to avoid the gunfire. Others used it as their chance to attack the advisers. Evan's own legs broke into a sprint, not toward the door, but rather the pile of putescos beneath the stage. Being a farm boy, he was used to running around for long periods of time, but bursts of speed were something else entirely. he wanted to go faster, to weave in between the advancing guardsmen. He ignored the wiry man in his peripheral, his breath becoming caught in his throat. Before him was a sea of odious smoke, caused by the mass of infected objects sprawled along the floor. Though the number was large Evan could identify the weather vane near-immediately by its red and flag and grabbed it, turning heel to flee. In his fervor he had no room to think about where other people might be in the mess be it caught by the guard or looking for their plague. He only wanted to leave.
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