Soothing a community (Open) [Dorhaven Massacre]

Open for Play
A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

User avatar
Agatha Maplethorne
Posts: 29
Joined: Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:52 am
Topics: 7
Race: Human
Location: Vienda
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes, including thread history
Writer: Rachel/jadeowl
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Wed Jun 19, 2019 10:49 am

6th of Hamis 2719
Morning

Aggie had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had that feeling since the newspapers had stopped and the streets had started swirling with rumors that Dorhaven had been destroyed. Then the refugees started coming, and she knew it was true.

Adam had vaguely warned her about "something big coming", but she hadn't expected something this big.

As always during times of turmoil, Aggie went into full-blown community comforter mode. She had saved up money from Adam's payments for use of the mimeograph, so her two soup pots were on the stove, full of hot, piping soup. As soon as one pot was empty, she would order Brent to refill it. People she knew to be cooks were sent to the kitchen counter for a bit, where they worked on preparing the vegetables that filled each soup pot. She didn't want to tip people off that she had more money than she was known to have, so the meat was limited to ham bones for flavor. She had a local baker, who had closed her shop for the moment out of fear that the rumored destruction was going to hit Vienda, making bread when she was up to it. When Lou wasn't up to making bread, Aggie did it herself.

People swirled in and out, murmuring to each other as they ate meals of soup and bread, leaning against the walls or sitting on the floor. The seating itself was saved for the older people of the Dives or for the disabled or pregnant. Some left as soon as their stomachs were full, but quite a few hung around, taking comfort in the sense of community. They would get through this. They all had to believe that. When the sun was going down, though, Aggie's house emptied out, nobody wanting to be caught outside during such turbulent times. Aggie let some of the younger homeless people stay with her, sleeping on the floor.

Two of her burlier friends stayed with her all the time, ensuring that Aggie wouldn't be robbed or attacked. They had to kick a few people out when they lashed out and got violent, but most people were too scared to break Aggie's "no violence" rule.

Aggie made her rounds, spreading hugs and reassurances that everyone would be okay. When people got too upset, she quickly found her way to them and calmed them. The whole time, she listened to rumors, gathering information about what the crowd believed. The rock in the pit of her stomach only got bigger as she listened. The crowd consensus was that the Resistance had done whatever horrible thing had been done to Dorhaven. They were divided over what to do about it – some wanted to leave it to the Seventen, while other wanted to make a mob and root out the pestilence from their city. As the stories of refugees filtered into the rumor mill and it became known that Dorhaven was utterly destroyed, those who wanted to root out the Resistance became louder.

To say that Aggie was worried would be an understatement. She wasn't stupid. She knew that, regardless of who actually did the rumored destruction, the authorities would paint it as if the Resistance had done it. Just like they did with the Vienda riots the previous year.

And people would believe it.

Aggie's frustration grew, knowing that if Serro had actually clocking listened to her and tried to win over the commoners, they'd be less likely to listen to whatever bile and lies the authorities decided to throw out about this horrible event.

Even when everyone was gone, the elderly lady found it difficult to sleep. She had been with the Resistance from the start and she didn't want to see it die. But how was she going to save the Resistance when the authorities blame them for what happened in Dorhaven? That, she didn't know.

The morning of Hamis 6 found her up before dawn, making more bread as one of the soup pots reheated on the stove. The second had oatmeal bubbling away as the elderly lady waited for whoever would show up in need of comfort.

ABBC3_OFFTOPIC
This thread opens on the morning of Hamis 6. If you want to come in at a later time, please feel free to start another thread! Just tag me in Discord so I don't miss it!

Last edited by Agatha Maplethorne on Fri Aug 02, 2019 10:17 am, edited 2 times in total.

Tags:
User avatar
Oisin Ocasta
Posts: 69
Joined: Thu Jun 27, 2019 7:00 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Wick
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Amphion
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Sun Jul 14, 2019 2:43 pm

Morning - 6th of Hamis, 2719
Image
Oisin knew how he wanted to be seen: not at all. That was always his preference, to blend into the background, go unnoticed, and avoid the repercussions that came along with it. Back in Old Rose Harbor, those repercussions were a beating. As a mercenary, those repercussions could get you stabbed. Now?

The wick had a few theories about how he was likely to be seen here. A vulture. Predatory. A stray mongrel, there so sniff out and lap up whatever drips and scraps of news and intrigue fell off the proverbial table. It was almost how Oisin saw himself, given the circumstances. A muzzle had been placed on Vienda's newspapers to stifle any reporting on the incident that had taken place in Dorhaven, and Oisin was almost naive enough to believe the benevolent lie that had been sold. Situations such as this were delicate, not scandals for exploitation by the likes of the Kingsway Post. The compelling counter-argument, of course, was that when governments tried to write the narrative themselves rather than leaving it to the third party of the fourth estate, it seldom led to anything good. The words of Jonas Barnaby whispered annoyingly from the back of his mind. A wick like you knows more than anyone else how dangerous it is leaving the gollies to decide what the truth is on their own.

Being here hadn't been his idea. Not quite an assignment, but certainly a firm suggestion from the Editor-in-Chief. If the gollies didn't want them talking about Dorhaven, then fine: but that didn't mean the Kingsway Post couldn't be out there listening. Prudence. Diligence. Civic Duty. They were all good words, compelling angles, enticing perspectives. Too bad it was all spin. But then, that was what the Kingsway Post did. It was all spun sugar, something expansive made out of almost nothing at all. It reminded Oisin of a saying he'd heard back in his mercenary days: Pour enough honey on it, and even a turd will start looking shiny. At the time, it had been a playful jab at Oisin's expense, an urging from a fellow mercenary to read poetry and romantic fiction as a salve for Oisin's barren love life. Now, it was his job. For a moment, Oisin let himself wonder if it was fluke, or fate.

Of course, it wasn't just his motives for being here that plagued Oisin: it was his inaction once he had arrived. What kind of man are you? was a question that people asked when they were trying to be profound. It was supposed to be a profound concept, a true and enduring definition of self to serve as a footnote to one's True Name. Frankly, Oisin had encountered more compelling things emerging from the arse end of a horse. The man he was now was an entirely different person from who he had been at other times in his life. Built from some of the same pieces, perhaps, and to roughly the same specifications, but with an entirely different purpose and rationale behind them. The man he had been back in Old Rose Harbor, he wouldn't have been lurking here in a corner: he'd have been in amongst the people, quietly speaking to those in need, whispering stories of their recovery to the mona to help ease their pain and suffering. The man he had become in Thul Ka, however? He stood in the way of that. He'd relied upon the mona too much, to his own detriment and suffering. Magic had become all that mattered, about him, and to him. The man that Oisin had become since lived in terror of that, on tiptoes with his lips barely above the surface of a river trying to drown him. He watched a person wince in pain, struggling with an injury that turned their walking gait into a limp; he felt himself wince in a pain of his own making, knowing what he should and yet could not do.

The question asked itself of him once again. What kind of man are you now?
User avatar
Agatha Maplethorne
Posts: 29
Joined: Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:52 am
Topics: 7
Race: Human
Location: Vienda
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes, including thread history
Writer: Rachel/jadeowl
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Fri Aug 02, 2019 11:03 am

06 Hamis 2719
Morning

It was early enough that Brent hadn't left the house. Instead, the almost-teenager hurried around, cleaning up after Aggie as she cooked, trying to keep his rage from exploding as they prepared for the influx of scared people.

Adam's conversation with him in Intas had converted him completely to the Resistance practically overnight. The nightmares of the horrors he had seen in the factories were still seared into his mind and he still woke up screaming on occasion. But now he felt like he could do something and, to a boy who had felt so hopeless, it was a beacon of hope he had desperately needed. Aggie refused to talk to him about how to get more involved, saying he was too young for the Resistance. But he understood, even if it frustrated him. She was old and fragile and, really, he was the only family she had.

Really, it would have been best if the boy had to work. Unfortunately, the newspapers were shut down for the time being. So, while Aggie sent him on as many errands as humanly possible, he still got to hear a lot of the rumors about what was being called the Dorhaven Massacre.

The rumors that the Resistance had destroyed Dorhaven just stoked his rage to a slow boil. He was young and still unable to understand the power of fear and how tightly the galdori controlled the narratives of what happened in the world. It was only natural that the humans and wicks who showed up at Aggie's door would blame the Resistance. The group had already been blamed for much less serious attacks. But all Brent could think of was how stupid the people that were blaming the Resistance were. Didn't these idiots know that the Resistance wanted to help? They would never destroy a town of humans! Blaming the attack on the Resistance just didn't make sense to him.

Lost in angry thoughts, Brent stomped out of the house with the rubbish bin again, freezing as he saw a strange man skulking by the corner of Aggie's house. "Oi! What are you doing?" he said as he dropped the bin and picked up a nearby stone. He chucked it in the direction of the man. "We ain't got nothin' for you to steal, you clockstopper!" he yelled as he picked up another stone. "Get outta here!"
User avatar
Oisin Ocasta
Posts: 69
Joined: Thu Jun 27, 2019 7:00 pm
Topics: 9
Race: Wick
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Amphion
Writer Profile: Writer Profile
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Sat Aug 24, 2019 10:22 pm

Morning - 6th of Hamis, 2719
Image
Oisin had been so lost within his own reverie that the rock caught him completely by surrpise. The projectile flew wide, but Oisin flinched with his whole body none the less, eyes darting first towards where the stone had landed, and then towards the direction it had come from, and the angry shouting figure that had seemingly sent it on it's way.

"I'm not -"

Thoughts raced through Oisin's mind, faster than he could process. The mercenary in him begged to retaliate, a perfectly reasonable response to what was clearly an attack. He stifled that thought immediately. It was an impulse, a reflex, but one he'd been trained in, one he'd learned; one that wasn't reflective of who he was underneath, or who he chose to be now. The man he chose to be didn't resort to violence. He was a man of words, of truths and explanations. Accusations had been hurled as well as stones, and they were simply false. Violence wouldn't prove that. Violence wouldn't assure anyone of his non-threatening intent. Words were the solution here. Cooler heads would prevail.

And yet, the urge persisted. Worse, not just that urge, but other urges. He felt it nagging at him, like whispers where he couldn't quite make out the words. It would have been so easy, so simple, so effortless: a mere sentence of monite, and the stone could be sent hurtling back to where it came. How would that be unreasonable? Like with like. A perfectly justifiable reaction, equal and opposite. The muttering insistence cloyed at his thoughts, the relevant words tingling on the back of his tongue, poised and ready like pirates waiting to leap from one airship to another. The world around him drained of colour, vision tunnelling in on the simplicity of the task. Just do it, Oisin. His body felt like it wasn't his own, as if he was squirming around inside it, trapped in a suit of armor that that refused to move. Just one spell. Skin turned pearlescent white as it stretched across the knuckles of clenched fists. His jaw clamped closed in protest so tightly it hurt, a faint coppery taste in his mouth from some stray corner of flesh that hadn't managed to move aside in time. What would be the harm?

"I'm not here to steal anything."

The protest came out slightly more forceful than it needed to, but it was enough: and in a split second that had felt like an eternity to Oisin, the urges began to subside, resignation setting in as Oisin committed himself a particular path forward. Carefully, calmly, slowly, he raised his arms to his sides, hands held open, as non-threatening as he could manage to be. All things considered, it was actually quite effective: Oisin had never been a particularly imposing individual, and without the sword and the swagger from his days as a mercenary, it was a visage he had been able to settle back into fairly well, like slipping on an old pair of shoes. A hand strayed from his unarmed pose, touching gently against his chest, a gesture intended to add an extra facet of sincerity to his words.

"My name is Oisin. I came to see if I could help."
User avatar
Caina Rose
Posts: 59
Joined: Fri May 31, 2019 6:10 pm
Topics: 7
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
Writer: Bash
Post Templates: Post Templates
Contact:

Tue Sep 03, 2019 11:57 am

The Painted Ladies • Anaxas/Vienda
on the 6th of Hamis, 2719 • during the morning
W hen Serro had asked Caina to ‘check in on an old friend’, she’d expected… well. She didn’t know. He hadn’t actually elaborated much on that, besides giving Caina an address in the Painted Ladies, of all places. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too far from Ava Weaver’s shop. One had to wonder why he’d asked Caina to send his wishes, when Ava would have likely been much more capable- in terms of being in the neighborhood. Likely more emotionally available, as well.

Maybe this was an old ally from the AAF? An injured old war buddy, left with just enough pension to purchase this house and rot away in it. Caina pitied this imagined soul that she’d been sent to see.

As she approached the brightly colored building, Caina realized that she may have been in over her head. The porch seemed to be full of people- strangers, sitting and enjoying each other’s company. Most had bowls of soup or a drink in their hands. Caina tensed as she approached, too aware of the eyes that could be watching her from anywhere.

She was wearing loose-fitting shirt and pants, with a knife at her thigh and ankle. Caina wasn’t planning violence, but it never hurt to come prepared. And seeing this crowd, she was glad for her paranoia.

Caina continued up the porch, forcing herself to relax as she knocked on the door. “Jus’ go on in,” One of them called out to her. “Aggie don’t close her door to near anybody.”

“Then why are you sitting outside?” Caina remarked, her voice as tense as her body. But the person laughed, their left hand lifting from the wood of the porch and settling on their knee.

“That’s cause there’s no room inside, girlie!”

Whatever the joke was, Caina didn’t understand. But the person continued to chuckle, and soon turned away to continue their conversation with the others around them. She was tempted to stop and listen for a while, but duty beckoned her, and she opened the door to step inside.

The front door opened to a small living room, cramped and crowded with other lost souls, searching for a meal or a place to rest. There was one couch, and a couple dining room chairs that had been brought in from the kitchen, presumably. The room was laid out in a loose circle, chairs turned to face the couch.

Caina drew herself up, forcing her shoulders straight as she surveyed the room, searching for the owner and proprietor of this seeming homeless shelter. She didn’t have to wait long, as an older woman soon entered from the kitchen, holding a bowl of soup in each hand. The young assassin took three quick steps forward, dodging the various civvies resting on the floor. “Agatha Maplethorne?” She greeted, keeping her hands at her sides.

If the woman greeted her in return, and asked for her name, Caina would give it. Not her actual name, but a name nonetheless. “I am Marianna. I was sent here by a mutual friend and…” She paused, looking around the room to clarify her point. “I’ll be honest, this wasn’t what I expected when I was sent here.”
Post Reply Previous topicNext topic

Return to “Vienda”

  • Information
  • Who is online

    Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 8 guests