Monica found the morning's events to be a bit too kind. Hundreds of them had risen up in opposition, yet they were only hanging three. A message to all the others, she knew, but she would've taken more... drastic actions, herself. She knew a lot of others had to feel the same, as she stood surrounded by a crowd of onlookers.
An officer of the Seventen, she was mostly there to keep the peace during the hanging, but of course was pleased to be there for more personal reasons. Even if she had been a regular citizen she surely would have arisen early in the morning to come down and see justice brought to light. There was a note of pride in the Inspector's blue gaze as she stared up at the platformed gallows; flicking across each person standing up there and taking note of their expressions.
That blasphemous sympathizer Headmistress looked displeased, as usual.
The Inspector kept to herself as the events of the hanging transpired; the three criminals finally falling to their broken-necked deaths and dragging reactions of all kinds from the crowd. The human woman beside her cried out as the purple-haired witch struggled against her rope, fighting for air and not finding it's salvation in her lungs any longer. It earned the woman, and her little child, she noticed then, a good glare from the Seventen, but no further reaction. As much as she would love to drag every filthy pest from the crowd and send them up to the gallows, she was still a righteous officer, and wouldn't dare go against the orders of her superiors.
Then the High Judge made his announcement. Monica was sure she'd get a chance to arrest at least a few ratty wicks, those damned things that clung to the back end of the crowd, but despite their cries of protest none went to move against the Seventen or the galdori. What a shame. Still, she moved, finding herself towards the back in order to quiet down a few particularly loud.
"Quiet down, wick," the galdor hissed, a dark-haired witch's sobs ringing loud in her ears, and the woman raised her head to look upon the taller Seventen.
"Dze," the woman muttered between her sobs, "havakda, tsuter brigk."
"By the gods, have you heard of Estuan?"
"Aye, I have, and it's a lot of spitch, like ye and ye cruel city."
The witch, forcing herself to stand fully upright, spit into the face of the Seventen before turning abruptly to slink away, disappearing in the crowd of unrest. Monica, now quite clearly steaming, wiped the spit from her face with disgust, and turned to the mix of other humans and wicks around her. She could see her fellow officers now dealing with the crowd, some of them starting to dissipate now that the hanging was done and the High Judge was finished speaking. His decision had been completely justified, in her opinion, but the reaction of the now-homeless wicks was no surprise.
Still. Weren't they a naturally nomadic people? Homelessness couldn't be too difficult, then, for the little rats.
"Savages," growled Monica, earning the glares of the remaining wicks and humans around her.