ne t'en fais pas, mon chou.

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's second TDM! And welcome to Paris, everybody.
WHEN? Late 1792, Paris.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

IT'LL BE FINE;

Paris, 1792: revolutionary france.

read the France setting infopages

arrival for veterans

For those who broke off from the army that fought at Valmy and returned to Paris, they come to a city bustling with life. Not only that, but they are greeted with nothing short of a hero's welcome. The tricolor is flown from every possible spot that can hold a flag, cockades are everywhere, and people cheer the names of the generals Dumouriez and Kellermann.

Simply saying you fought at Valmy is liable to get someone to buy you a drink, do you a favor, congradulate you, shake your hand. It's a great way to get shopkeepers to lower their prices, to get a low cost room, or just get someone to smile. Children will ask for stories of the fight. Grown men and women will ask to know what the generals were like.

Yes, you are undercover, yes, you are in the wrong time, and possibly the wrong universe, but for today? You are heroes.

arrival for new recruits

If you didn't fight at Valmy, it means you're new to COST. Maybe you agreed to work with them, maybe you don't remember. It doesn't matter. You wake up in a Parisian hotel room with a kind woman standing near the door, waiting for you to awaken.

You have none of your clothing, just black military-issued underwear, and none of your previous possessions beyond the one you chose (if you remember choosing) to bring with you.

The woman by the door speaks French, and if you didn't understand the language before, you do now. If you have questions as to what's going on, she'll answer: you are a member of COST, a paramilitary organization of time travelers fighting against the Regency, a tyrannous kingdom of the future who are trying to stamp out freedom and individuality in the name of peace.

She will provide you with the clothing necessary to fit in at this time, and show you how to use your BCE implant to look up information on this time period and its social and political mores. She won't let you leave until you're properly dressed to fit in, but once you are, she'll wish you luck.



MISSION OBJECTIVE

Unlike the last two missions you may have faced with COST, this one isn't as straight forward as a battle. This is about information-gathering, keeping your ear to the ground, and watching.

Paris during the revolution, even early days like this, is rife with paranoia. Though the heroes of Valmy are treated with huge respect and admiration, that is a huge exception to the rule, one that will fade with time.

As it stands, everyone expects counter-revolutionary spies sent from Prussia and the Holy Roman Empire, or simply French monarchists, to take what freedoms the people of Paris have wrested for themselves. Whispers abound. Suspicions mount.

It's in the midst of this that COST has received information that the Regency has placed its spies within Paris. Their aims are currently unknown, but it's suspected they have some sort of machinations for the King and Queen. Paris has declared itself a republic, free of monarchial control, but the Regency may have other aims. It's imperative that COST operatives keep an eye open for any and all signs of suspicion.

It's just difficult, because so is everyone else in Paris.



CELEBRATE

Paris is in an uproar, excited by the return of some of its great heroes, the fighters at Valmy. Even if you didn't actively participate in the battle, if you were there, if you contributed at all, someone will want to shake your hand.

Of course, there's always rumors, and there's little way to prove one was actually at Valmy in this premodern era. Accusing, or being accused, of lying about this tremendous day is an excellent way to get into a fight. Be careful.

coffee break

At this time, high spirits in Paris are a dangerous thing. So many people on the streets inevitably leads to trouble: a riot breaks out.

You see, the shipment of more coffee from San Domingo is late, and this increases the price of the coffee already on the market. This may not seem like much, but the average citizen in Paris is very poor, and works upwards of twelve hours daily, often doing back-breaking or repetitive labor. Coffee is an essential ingredient to get them through the day, a stimulant to keep them from dropping flat. Price increases are even worse, then, because of certain laws put in place to stop this from happening. In an attempt to aid the poor, the National Convention has put price laws in place, decreeing that goods such as food and coffee cannot rise above a certain price. In view of the shortages, merchants have ignored these laws.

So a riot breaks out. People break shop windows, attack businesses, and fights break out left and right. In the chaos, it's difficult to tell friend from foe, and you may be attacked by someone who, hours ago, was shaking your hand and congratulating you. You may get swept up in the riot without meaning to. Or, hell, maybe you want to cause a little chaos and break some windows yourself.

Regardless, a riot is a calamitous thing; be careful. While it doesn't cease all of Paris-- Paris is a big place, after all-- it certainly takes a fair percentage of the streets, especially near markets.

One thing, though. It's very odd. Often, when these shops are broken into and goods are stolen, money is left behind. Generally, it's not the amount the shopkeeper was asking-- often, it's exactly the lower amount decreed by the National Convention's ignored law.

WITNESS A BEHEADING

But neither the riot nor the celebration overtakes all of Paris. There are other things going on. Like a beheading.

Jacques Cazotte is one of the first victims of the Terror that will sweep France in a couple months, though he didn't know it at the time. He is a monarchist, though, the very definition of the feared 'counter-revolutionaries' everyone believes live in secret throughout France, seeking to undermine the Revolution at any cost. (Convenient, considering the definition of what precisely a 'counter-revolutionary' is constantly shifting).

Many gather to watch his death, and cheer when the guillotine falls. The executioner holds up his head for all to see when the act is completed, and some may notice the eyes still blink and roll in their sockets. The crowd gasps and jostles closer to see more, but after that, there isn't much fanfare. The body and its head are shoved into a cart and taken away to be buried. The event is over.

Still, the people discuss with great excitement, happy the filthy monarchist, the counter-revolutionary, is dead and gone, and France is that much safer.

PLANT A LIBERTY TREE

Liberty trees are popping up all over Paris, and everyone wants to plant one (if only to say they have). They're any kind of tree, and people are plopping them down in any bit of soil they can find. It's a symbol of the revolution, of patriotism, of loyalty, of whatever the planter wants it to be. Join in, or you'll inevitably be invited to the activity. It's a great way to get an ear to the ground for gossip, or just an idea of how things are going in the city.

LISTEN TO A SPEECH

France was just recently declared a republic after literally hundreds of years of unbroken absolutist monarchism. People are a little excited. Attend political clubs to listen to the speeches on the subject, all with their own perspective (but nearly all very much in favor of the republic). Or maybe you'll see someone speechifying on a street corner, throwing their ideas out to the masses. People are forthright about their political opinions, because they feel like, for the first time in history, their political opinions actually matter. It's pretty exciting, if you're into that sort of thing.

If not, feel free to let people know. Giving public speeches is an active process, and the speech makers are expected to be able to keep up with the crowd. Heckle, argue back, debate, start a fight, whatever.

The major things being debated are what, exactly, to do with the king and queen now that France is a republic. Should they be executed? Should they be brought down to normal citizenship? Should they serve as figureheads, like in England, making France a constitutional monarchy? Is that a step backward or forward? Everyone has an opinion, and everyone wants to hear it.

However, if you're lucky, you might catch the rare debate on other subjects: women's suffrage (still unheard of), the correct price for bread and coffee, what to do about the slaves in San Domingo, and which countries to invade in the upcoming war. It's all on the table.

read the France setting infopages

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

mordred | fate/ | newcomer, ota | any format is cool!

[bloodings]

everybody was riot-fu-fightin' | anywhere

Try that again, you stupid hag!

[ The out of place language is enough of a giveaway that something isn't right here. That something is Mordred, fresh from her arrival and already getting into fights. As a newcomer, she doesn't earn the immediate reverence that the Valmy veterans enjoy, and the first time someone pushes her, she knocks them into some scaffolding that crashes down with a loud bang.

There's a crowd gathering around her now, angry and shouting. Mordred doesn't know which side they're on, and she doesn't care. They're not on hers. She smirks, and raises her fists. ]

don't lose your head | execution

[ Whatever's going on here, she wants to know. At 5'1, Mordred can barely see above the crowd at all: eventually, she pushes and jostles her way to a spot to see the execution, only realizing what's happening at the last second. But when the blade falls, the bloodshed doesn't seem to bother her. In fact, she just looks bored. ]

Why don't they just use a sword? Or an axe? Jeez, talk about excessive.

[ Inside, she feels some disgust at the cheering crowd around her, but that's just humanity. She hates them for a reason. ]

think outside the box | on the streets

[ For all that she was involved in the politics of her own era, she couldn't care less about all of this. Good or bad, the king doesn't sound anywhere near as good as her father, and that's what it takes her earn her respect. Besides, France is — or was — Lancelot's homeland. That alone drops her interest level down into the basement.

So given the choice between planting some stupid tree or hauling boxes for food, of course she chooses the latter. Given the riots, walking down the street with crates piled higher than her own head doesn't sound like a wise idea, but strangely, people seem to give her a wide berth. Maybe it's the fight from earlier. Maybe it's the sense of brutality she seems to radiate. Maybe it's the— ]

Get out of the way, you idiot.

[ —whenever anyone blocks her path. ]

keep those boxes movin'

[horsepowered]

My apologies.

[That was the initial reaction at any rate as Chiron side stepped a moving herd of boxes who clearly dwarfed the person carrying them. But then the voice of said person clicked, and Chiron turned his head.

Well.

This was a surprise.]

[bloodings]

Archer?!

[ Likewise, it's his voice that tips Mordred off first. She was half-expecting another Servant to show up, given her own presence, but it's still a surprise. For a moment, she wonders if his Master is here too, before putting the thought aside.

They were allies before, but things might be different now. Only one way to find out. ]

Are you looking for a fight? Heh, I'll take you on right here! [ She shakes the boxes at him menacingly... or at least, a spot about ten centimeters to the right of him, because she can't see properly. Very threatening. ]

[horsepowered]

(this is flat out silly. Chiron immediately holds both of his hands up in supplication. With Achilles, declaring the matter of the grail to be something placed on hold was simple. Nothing about the other faction's saber implied that that would also be the case.)

I am not. I don't doubt you'd put those boxes aside in a heartbeat, but this is not the appropriate time or place.

[bloodings]

[ She turns side on so she can see him, and — oh. He has his hands up. For a moment, she looks almost disappointed, but then she just grumbles quietly. ]

Of course not. I'd rather not fight amongst common folk. [ Which is in stark contrast to her 'who gives a shit about people' attitude, but she sounds honest. ] But if you challenged me, I'd answer.

... Well, it doesn't seem like the Holy Grail is here, though. So I guess that's one less thing to fight over. [ The Grail should be the only thing they need to fight over. But Mordred doesn't really need an incentive. ] I'll let you off this time.

[horsepowered]

I'm obliged.

[It seemed that handling Saber would be best done with utmost politeness and respect. This entire exchange was a contrast to their previous encounter, and that meant Chiron wanted to come to a much better and nuanced understanding of his supposed opponent.]

Would you like assistance with those boxes?

[bloodings]

Why, are you offering?

[ After a moment, she grins, and... holds out the entire stack for him to take. Let it never be said that Mordred is good at moderation. ]

The reward is still mine, though. A king doesn't sleep just anywhere, and this should be enough for a good bed.

execution.

[trample]

Believe it or not, this is the more humane option. [ His brow furrowed. ] It's not so much the execution of it that's excessive, but the fact that it's being turned into a spectacle.

[ For a moment, he wonders if the girl's boredom comes from expecting too much or too little of the display. He figures it's the latter, and takes her for someone that's doled out enough capital punishment herself to be disappointed by what was otherwise the greatest excitement to commonfolk. ]

Where I come from, most would find their ends on The gallows. The guillotine was sparingly, if ever, used. [ He paused and considered the risk of being just a touch anachronistic before shrugging it off and continuing. ] Though if one were in the military, they would have the luxury of their own personal firing squad.

[bloodings]

Death should be on the battlefield. ... Well, public executions are fine for criminals and the like. But this is just cowardice.

[ It's strange, because she doesn't look like an adult, but she also doesn't sound like she's talking shit. She's offended by the clinical nature of it all, the attempt to act like killing isn't killing. ]

It's annoying. Like you said, they're trying to call it humane, but then turning it into a show. [ She gestures with a hand at the crowd. ] How many people here could actually do the deed themselves? [ She doubts many would be willing to be the executioner on the platform. ]

[trample]

More than you would think. Human cruelty goes quite far. [ His arms are brought up in a shrug. ] Though as far as actually playing the role of an executioner...that's a different matter entirely.

[ An interesting little girl, that was his first impression. There weren't many who could talk so easily and plainly about these kinds of things, and though he wasn't going to press as to why, it was well worth noting. ]

The victim here seems to be free thought. From what I can tell, he was simply a writer who happened to have different ideas from the rest. Though I will say, it's not often that counter-revolutionaries are being put to death. In my experience, it's those that go against the state. Guess you see something new every day.

[bloodings]

[ Mordred gives him a thoughtful, sideways glance. That's more than she knew — which isn't hard, when she's only just arrived, but it still puts things into context. A writer doesn't exactly seem like a dangerous criminal. Capable of spreading dangerous ideas, sure, but it's the people who have to believe in those ideas.

She hadn't executed commoners opposed to her rebellion, but she had killed thousands on the battlefield who stood against her at Arthur's side. King Arthur himself had only struck down those who endangered others, or who rose against him directly. Being killed for simple discontent seems mad. ]

I can't tell if the king is truly that incompetent, or the people are just ungrateful.

[ She wonders how many in the crowd actually believe in what's being done here, and how many are keeping up appearances, looking to save their own skin or further their own cause. Would they die for their beliefs? Or would they blow along with the most powerful wind? ]

... It's probably both. A king steals from the people, so the people steal in turn. [ She shrugs. ] Besides, humans are just stupid livestock. Put on a show, and they'll cheer no matter what it is.

[trample]

Livestock. [ He couldn't bring himself to admit how right she was, so his agreement dies before it leaves his mouth. ] Now there's a word.

[ For all the disdainful talk she made, Eren found himself begrudgingly aligning with her in more ways than one. Despite that, there was some part of him that couldn't help wanting to deny that very same feeling. It was all he could do to posit a question to her that didn't account for such a negative perception of people. ]

And if it were up to you? What would you do in either of their positions? If you were any different at all, that is. [ His hand went to cover his mouth, making him look rather thoughtful. ] Me, I...well, I'm not too sure, myself. There's plenty of issues here that are far beyond the pale for someone like me to handle.

[bloodings]

[ She shrugs. ]

Who knows? I wouldn't behave like this lot. [ She indicates the crowd around them. There's an answer at the back of her throat, as there always is when kingship is involved... but she keeps it there, for once, opting for something more neutral. ] But it's something for a future king like me to think about. What makes a good ruler, and what people expect.

[ Her father didn't have a greedy bone in his body, and it destroyed him — the people couldn't cope with someone so unlike th rest of them. Mordred really doesn't know which is right anymore, only that she wants to be a good king... whatever that means. Maybe there's some middle ground to be found, one that isn't as isolated and lonely as the path King Arthur walked down.

She watches the body being loaded into the cart with disinterest, as the crowd around them seems to calm. Furious cheering fades into discussion — still heated, but without the bloodthirsty vigor of a moment ago. ]

... I guess it's over. What a worthless event.

Execution

[gotobed]

[Chris has seen a lot. Even in terms of people dying, there's bullets and falling debris and burning. But this - the guillotine, the clean separation of head from body. It's new to her, and it's enough to make her wince, look away from the sight. The cheering crowd doesn't help. Are people really like this?

... Well, of course they are. She just likes to forget sometimes.]

Yeah, this really needs to last even longer. That'd make this so much better. Dumbass. [She's uncomfortable, so she does the 'natural' thing - snipe at someone who really hasn't done much.]

I'll give you the thing's creepy as hell, though.

[bloodings]

Shut up. That's not what I meant.

[ But she's not wrong — death by a sword relies on the skill of the wielder, as much on strength as precision. This tool leaves no room for error, and even though there's only one execution right now, Mordred can easily see how fast they could work through dozens, even hundreds. A machine doesn't tire, and even a weak man can use it. It's undoubtedly faster.

It still makes her skin crawl. ]

They turned it into a show. Not even animals act this way. [ Maybe a traitor like her would deserve a death so extravagant, so filled with encroaching dread, but this? ] What's there to be so relieved about? The man hardly looked like a threat.

[gotobed]

[Chris isn't exactly a medieval knight, despite the fact that she's actually seen swordfights, or the fact that she uses a crossbow. She knows her history well enough, though - the guillotine was invented to execute as many as possible, as quickly as possible. Way more efficient than an axe or a noose.

But despite her past, she's never seen an execution. She'd imagined it being a clinical thing, a silent crowd, the sharp thunk of the blade. Instead it's almost like a party. She can't imagine the atmosphere on days where there were dozens, even hundreds of executions.]

That's people. They need something to blame. [It's the cynical kind of thought she hasn't allowed herself in a while, but it's not like she was ever rid of that kind of thinking. Besides, she's speaking from experience. Blaming something sure made her feel better. ]

Animals are pretty messed up too, though. Lots of them play with their food. [Yeah, that's the part worth contradicting.]

[bloodings]

[ Dryly: ] Well, I don't see anyone eating him.

[ Though that would be even more disturbing... Jack the Ripper's penchant for eating hearts was bad enough. As the body is loaded into a cart, the crowd begins to disperse, having gathered for one thing and one thing alone; many singing pro-revolutionary songs as they leave. Mordred doesn't follow them. ]

And if an enemy is easy to defeat, why not have some fun? [ She shrugs. ] But this isn't a fight. It's not even a slaughter. It's entertainment for weak fools who can't even hold a sword.

[gotobed]

Shut up, you know what I meant. [Chris is a master of diplomacy. She watches the crowd go with a silent glance, visibly annoyed when some of them start singing. Singing is an expression of pure emotion, in her mind, and usually positive ones. Or at least things you truly believe in. Watching that and then singing a tune about how great it all is - it's messed up.]

Why not have some... [She's so annoyed by that, she almost misses what Mordred said.] Because it's a war crime, genius. And fucked up besides. Or what, is the problem here that they didn't beat that guy in a fight first?

mordred no

[triplebuster]

[There's Mordred, ready to kick ass and take names.

And there's her stupidly handsome half-brother, ready to clean up her mess. Grudges aside, he's certain picking fights with the crowd is outside Mordred's scope of responsibilities. He has to take action. She's not too hard to spot, so when Gawain hears the familiar vulgarity (and oh, how unpleasant it is to his ears) he makes a beeline for the center of the crowd. He steps in front of her, placing a hand over her fist, prepared to force it down if need be.]

I apologize for the commotion my comrade has caused. The journey to Paris has not been kind to her. If you would have it in your heart to forgive her, I would be most grateful. We promise it won't happen again.

[Although he gives the crowd his trademark smile, he gives Mordred a pointed look.]

mordred yes

[bloodings]

Don't make promises for other people, idiot Gorilla!

[ Wait. He's giving her an out — and while she could easily take on the whole crowd, that's not what she's supposed to be doing.

Grumbling, she lowers her fist under his hand, shaking it out like she might have caught something from touching him. Then, she tries to force a more agreeable expression onto her face. It ends up looking like a scowl, or just a very unfortunate smile. It's hard to tell with Mordred. ]

Uh, I mean, yeah. What he said. [ It's not like she's grateful for your help or anything though, Gawain. ] I had to put up with this sunny idiot the whole time. Wouldn't you be pissed off too?

[ Nailed it. ]

[triplebuster]

It was truly an endeavour...

[Translation: Goddammit, Mordred.

It's time to change the topic. His refreshing expression is now stern, eyeing the collateral damage of her... scuffle. Wow. He knows he shouldn't be surprised, but Mordred is astonishingly consistent in living up to his low expectations.]

But such matters are irrelevant. I am aware that my colleague and I have wronged you. It's only right that we take responsibility. We will repair the scaffolding and see to it that the man is treated immediately. Isn't that right, Mordred?

[He namedropped her, so now she can be held accountable for all her offenses. Now be a good knight and say yes.]

[bloodings]

Don't waste my name like that. [ ... ] Fine, whatever. I'll clean this crap up a little.

[ She's not helping the guy, though: he deserved what he got. Probably. Gawain's... Gawain-ness helps calm the crowd, which only annoys Mordred more. They don't know what he's really like.

She grumbles as the people start to leave, and lifts a plank of the scaffolding off the ground; halfheartedly tossing it into a pile. Not exactly doing much good, but at least it's keeping her out of trouble. ]

Why did you have to interfere? I was doing fine on my own. [ Totally. ]

[triplebuster]

Depending on your definition of the word, I find that you do many things just "fine" when left to your own devices. [ Incite a rebellion, for example. But that's neither here nor there; his words are merely the remains of a grudge from ages past. It's the eighteenth century and they have their duties to fulfill. ]

Violence is part of our occupation but isn't always the answer. Blending in is part of our mission, is it not? You ought to stay out of trouble lest it finds you first.

[ He asks for some rope, which some women and men fight over before giving it to him, and he flashes them a radiant smile because dammit Gawain, focus. ]

that brit was fast as lightning? idek /o/

[iaidou]

[ ...Hey, was that--?

What a pain. This was Baiken's first mission as well, but the reception had been a bit different. Rumors began spreading due to her lack of an arm and eye that she was a veteran to be lauded which is why she had a bit of a posse following her around. When she spots the group of people all swarming around one person, something sparks in her. She's not exactly a good person per se, but she couldn't just leave the small woman by herself.

Plus she needed something to beat up on, given how frustrated the aforementioned rumors were making her.

One by one different members of the crowd get punched, kicked, and headbutted until their fists don't become good enough. Once the crowd begins picking up rocks, sickles, and even mattocks, Baiken downs one of them and chucks their billhook Mordred's way. Soon after, her own military saber is drawn and she moves to position herself at the other woman's side. ]

Try not to murder any of them if you can help it. It won't be my ass on the chopping block if you screw up.

[bloodings]

[ The thing is, Mordred doesn't need to be here. Even if she shouldn't do something as obvious as jumping to the top of a building, she could easily carve herself a path to freedom; running just fast enough to ensure she couldn't be caught. But she wants to fight. She's pent up, and any excuse is a good one, any challenge something to be embraced.

Even she has limits, though. She catches the hook, but snorts and drops it at her side. ]

Yeah, yeah. I'm not the kind of knight that murders random people.

[ There's an implicit threat in her words, that anyone who is the sort to kill at random would paint a target on themselves. She doesn't know her mysterious ally, after all, or her reasons for helping.

Mordred grabs a sickle swung at her head as she's talking, seemingly unbothered by the way it cuts into her bare skin. Her other hand grabs the wrist of the person wielding it, and she throws him into the crowd, even though she's barely half his size. A few, more sensible people take the chance to run. Mordred's grin just grows. ]