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ne t'en fais pas, mon chou.
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.
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.coffee break
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.
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.WITNESS A BEHEADING
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.
But neither the riot nor the celebration overtakes all of Paris. There are other things going on. Like a beheading.PLANT A LIBERTY TREE
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.
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
locked to labeled characters
[ If there's one thing that he's glad for in this godforsaken city, it's that there's coffee.
Ok, the happiness lasts for about thirty seconds until he realizes it's going to be almost literal hell to get a cup of the damn stuff. Because just like everything else in 1700s Paris, it's a hot mess. The lines are long, people squabble and argue and even break out into some truly spectacular fist fights.
He thought waiting in line for Starbucks in the morning and having to listen to some self important businessman yell at the barista was an awful time. Clearly, he was wrong. Arthur amends his wrongness and adds this to the list of things he never wants to have to deal with again, the length of which is getting longer by the day.
Through some serendipity (or rather, quick hands, quick thinking, and even quicker feet), he manages to snag two cups of coffee from some unsuspecting people. He doesn't feel too bad about it, since they sounded like assholes and also he's a heartless bastard. Coffee is his now, not theirs.
But maybe he'd gotten carried away with getting two cups, because after days and days without caffeine, the first cup hits his system like a bomb. Feeling extremely awake for the first time in a while, he tracks down a very specific person, since this seems like the kind of thing she'd be into. ]
Hey. [ Is all he says at first, as he drops into step next to Dany on the street. ] Got you a present.
drop it like it's hot (all down someone's shirt)– achilles
[ With his first coffee experience having gone exceptionally well, he tries his hand again. It's risky and crazy and he's possibly an idiot, but he's made his peace with his coffee addiction. And also his idiocy with the matter.
This time, there aren't two bystanders with loose hands around their cups. Every patron seems to have their fingers curled in the loops of their cup handles, something that irritates him to no end. Still, he does his best to remain unobtrusive, keeps his posture more on the slouched end. At some point, he gets lucky and a delivery boy leaves the back door to a shop open just enough. Arthur sneaks in, feeling like a pre-teen trying to shoplift for the first time.
When he emerges, he's got a small bag of coffee beans tucked away and a fresh cup of coffee in hand. He avoids the main road, intent on looping back around after he drinks and depositing the cup onto a table waiting to be bussed.
Except as he's looking in one direction, he misses the sound of someone nearby, who he collides with when he turns sharply. Coffee sloshes out of the cup, now unfortunately caught between, spilling out in a spray onto their clothes. ]
Fuck!
no subject
It also reveals that she cannot remain fully objective in this place. Her speeches to the smallfolk in the countryside already revealed that she was growing somewhat attached. Attachment when she hadn't the faintest inkling of how long they would remain in this place would prove nothing more than a distraction.
Dany's in the process of mulling these things over when a familiar figure falls into step beside her. The inhabitants of this city cast them both with apathetic glances, swerving to the side before being barreled into. ]
Well met, Arthur. [ His words earn a curious glance, a tilt of the head. None have thought to get her anything, not when they were preoccupied with this place. ] A present?
no subject
Hopefully they won't be caught directly in the middle of it.
Still, that's something to think about after the caffeine kicks in. Avoiding the bypassers, he holds the stolen cafe mug out to her with a steady hand as they walk. ]
Coffee, freshly brewed. Managed to snag some out from under the crowd that was at the cafe.
no subject
It smells... [ Her eyes fall shut as she inhales deeply, humming. ] Slightly earthy?
[ No, there's more to it than that, but it's difficult to pinpoint one exact scent. In some ways, the scent reminds her of Essos. Of the Great Grass Sea . That he thought to bring her a cup to sample is sweet, filling her with a warmth for the man. So, she takes a sip--
--and instantly makes a face, clearing her throat as the taste of bitterness and something richer, deeper, dances on her tongue. ]
Ah. [ Her tongue darts out to dampen her lips, and she glances over at Arthur. ] You drink this normally?
no subject
In the morning, with breakfast. [ Sometimes with food and sometimes not, depending on how much he's running around. Here, he's been able to have it croissants. ] Some people take it with sugar and cream, though, which makes it more palatable. It's for energy, since there's caffeine in it.
come on and slam and welcome to the jam
Maybe if Arthur had caught his eye, Achilles might have even let him do it on purpose.
But that's not the case this time around.
What Arthur crashes into is not a tall, well-built man, but a massive, pristine-white horse.
Being bumped into had been startling enough, but having hot coffee splashing her chest sets the poor horse off. With an aggravated snort and a sharp cry, the horse moves onto her hind legs, preparing to hoof the poor boy in the face.
Achilles acts quickly, basically shoving Arthur into the wall next to him to get him out of harm's way, probably spilling the rest of the coffee out from the mug in the process.
Meanwhile, the horse's hooves drop to the cobblestoned road with a thunderous clatter. ]
space jam is not sex music????
Normally, Arthur is more alert than this. He's a point man for godsakes, it was his whole job to be the one with the sharp eye and ear to the ground just in case trouble started sniffing around. Here, he's mistakenly let his guard down, a sense of ease settling in. People aren't as high tech, it's easier to get away with things.
But it's also just as easy to crash into things. And people. And horses.
Arthur connects bodily with the front of the horse, manages to catch his footing before he ends up flat on his back. There's a split second where the wind squeezes out of his lungs as the horse rears up and all he can think is I'm dead.
A strong hand sweeps out and shoves him out of the way at the last second and he hits the nearby wall, coffee cup shattering on the ground. He doubles over for a second, coughs, wheezes unattractively while he regains his breath and blinks tears out of his eyes. ]
Shit, sorry. I mean thanks. [ It takes a minute, but he croaks the words out, squinting up at his literal savior on horseback. ]
It is when a LA and an anime are interacting :/
By the time Arthur recovers from his coughing fit, Achilles is turned away from him and taking hold of the horse's muzzle soothing it with long strokes of his hand down the length of its snout. For all of the fuss that scene had been worth, it seems like he calmed the beast down way too easily and quickly, but that could be explained by a strong bond between rider and stead.
After shushing the horse, Achilles is turning his attention back to Arthur, staring down at him with little concern creasing his features. He's pretty calm, all things considered.
He at least holds his hand out to help him back up to his feet, proper. ]
You're lucky you didn't lose your head. What were you in such a hurry for? [ Realizing that all the excitement had died own, the onlookers have decided to carry on with their business. Only a few stragglers are left staring, but most of them happen to be young "street urchins" loitering around anyway. ]
does this make achilles lola bunny then
There's. Green? Hair. Peeking out from under his helmet. Arthur keeps his frown to himself, puzzling over the oddity of that hair color amidst everything else. The man is tall, strong, definitely has the bearing of a fighter of some sort.
And apparently is an animal whisperer, since his horse has calmed down in a spectacularly short time. He wants to be more weirded out by that but at this point, he's just glad he's untrampled and that the horse hasn't decided to pick another victim out of shock.
Gratefully, he takes the stranger's hand to haul himself back up to his feet. Sighing, he peels the front of his shirt away from his chest, frowning at the spill and subsequent sticky, tacky feeling. Well, if he wanted to look more urchin-like, he's certainly succeeded. ]
Wasn't. Took a corner too fast and wasn't looking. [ He dusts off his trousers and the back of his coat with his hands. A simple pat down. Later, he'll try and make them look more presentable. ]
To whom do I owe a life debt and firstborn to now? [ Arthur cocks an eyebrow at the man, sarcasm slipping through on habit. ]
yes but only not as sexy.......
Either way, Achilles is grinning down at him, eyes creasing in mild amusement as he considers his question and offer. ]
Regrettably, I'm unable to give you my name, but you can call me Rider.
You can keep the firstborn, though; I've no need for something like that. [ He cranes his neck, shifting the angle of his head to regard him with thoughtfully. ]
Did you burn yourself? [ He's been in Paris long enough to know the smell of coffee, and that coffee is served piping hot. Reaching out, he pretty much... grabs the front of his shirt and rucks it up high over his abdomen and chest. ]
its the green hair sorry bud
Rider, huh? I'm Arthur.
[ His greeting is nonchalant, at least until Rider is rucking up his shirt in public. Arthur coughs, grabs the other man's wrist to pull it away. Being groped isn't always a displeasing thing but normally people ask first. ]
No. Cut that out. If you wanted an excuse to get my shirt off, you could've asked nicely.