let fury have the hour,

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's third TDM! And the death of an important guy. And some very upset royalty.
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 new recruits

(Note: If you were one of the people who used the previous TDM and want to use that as canon while still participating in this one, feel free! The following will still happen, though the guide will apologize for a malfunction in your BCE causing you to zap through the intervening month instead of joining your comrades like you should have. You'll be assured the glitch is fixed now, and it probably is. Probably.)

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.

KILL THE KING

It doesn't matter if you're new, or if you've been here a while. You'll hear about the execution going on today. It's as though the barely restrained urban chaos of Paris has ground to a halt. Everything is about the king. Is it really going to happen? Are they really going to do it? Can they do it? Is it even possible?

Anyone out of the loop will be filled in, but with no small amount of ridicule: Today is the day of the king's execution. His trial has wrapped up, and the National Convention voted to execute him for treason and tyranny.

The crowd at the execution is enormous, a riotous mob of passion barely restrained. Everyone is jockeying for a better view, with children and adults climbing up on nearby statues, lampposts, the sides of houses, rooves, some even hang from windows. Everyone watches the scaffold.

The prison cart arrives with no fanfare save the yells of the crowd. Within it sits a small, fat little man, looking like he's doing his best to remain composed. He's brought to the scaffold, and his crimes are read out: colluding with foreign powers, and the crime of royalty, which is anathema to the republic of France.

When asked for his final words, Louis Capet, known to some as King Louis XVI, speaks in a quiet voice. "I forgive my enemies."

When the blade comes down, the crowd errupts into cheers. Many rush forward to touch the blood of a king, dipping bits of cloth in it in an attempt to save it.

I PREDICT A RIOT

It's as though all the built up tension in Paris exploded when the king was killed.

Who knows what started it. Rumors spread like wildfire, and it doesn't matter, does it? In the end, most of Paris is swarmed with chaos, especially in the areas nearest to where the king was executed. There's no doubt that the riot and the king's death are directly related; no peasant currently throwing stones and breaking windows will deny it.

Fights are happening with great frequency. It only takes a word, a half sentence, for someone to decide you're some kind of counter-revolutionary. There is a current of anxiety in Paris that hasn't gone away; after reaching a fever pitch, it has expressed itself with violence and chaos.

let's visit the tuileries

The Tuileries was the royal palace in Paris, the last residence of the king before his death. Of course the people of France end up clamoring at its gates, screaming profanities and attempting to scale them.

The majority of the guard let them do this, making only the most token of efforts to keep the peasantry back. But one guard, a man by the name of Antoine Colin, seems to become spooked and shoots repeatedly into the crowd before someone knocks him out.

By then, though, it's too late. The crowd was rambunctious, but not murderous. Now it's bloodthirsty, and the gates are stormed. It isn't long before the common people of France are trampling through the corridors of power. Inside, they'll mostly find servants running and hiding, and lots of valuables to steal.

Most are content with that, but not all. Some clamor for the deaths of the queen and the royal children-- per the laws of inheritance, Marie Capet's remaining son is now King of France. Should he not die as well?

The queen is hidden in a safe room, a hollow wall inside her apartments. Do you try to find her? Try to save her? Try to kill her yourself?

...And what about those kids hiding in there with her?

BRING IN THE TROOPS

The riot in the Tuileries lasts several hours, well past nightfall. It's beginning to peter off, people loosing their energy or vigor, when the sound of gunfire echoes from the front courtyard.

General Lafayette has arrived to save the queen, and brought with him a retinue of personal soldiers. All on horseback, brandishing firearms and sabers, they stream through the expansive halls of the Tuileries and attack anyone who looks out of place. They're here to clean up this mess with no concern for more filthy peasants getting in the way.

Aftermath

The night is a long one. Several fires break out in various parts of Paris, shops are looted, and several die in the Tuileries. The queen has disappeared, along with Lafayette. Some say she and Lafayette died, and they'll show you the bodies for a couple sou. Others claim they saw them riding off into safety just before sunrise. There are already talks of hunting them down, trying to find the traitors.

Only one thing is known for sure: It may be advisable to stay inside for the foreseeable future.

read the France setting infopages

NAV NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Comments

hei, darker than black... i need icons...

[dipolar]

1. RIOTS

(even death’s been stolen from him. that’s poetic in its own way, he realizes as he stands statue-still in a foreign square while looking impressively… poor. he’ll allow the woman who greeted him some credit for the gifted clothing’s selling prices; he’d never make it as royalty. so, donning the role of a beggar or thief in two unlaced collars of an off-white blouse and dark jacket, the only thing on him worth half a french livre now is the bright red sash hugging a billhook to his waist.

stripped down to his unmentionables, robbed of catharsis and virtually everything else? this kind of luck is the luck he’s used to, so familiar it’d almost be nostalgic if he wasn’t staring at a freshly-invented guillotine.

the fat man he doesn’t recognize, unversed in world history and its politics. hei does rediscover his obnoxious curiosity, however, then finds it unpalatable and feels an urge to get rid of it as quickly as possible. which is the only reason why he’s skirting the edge of the rampaging crowd, intent on the mess in the front rows. thankfully they’re getting the hell out of his way — off to pillage the castle or its gates or the village’s shoppes or its unprotected people — and he’s ushered to the executioner’s staging, eyes narrowing at the soaking of tacky blood into splintered wood.

numbness is all he feels. until he’s bumped at each shoulder and staggered forward hard enough for him to reach out.)

…

(hei tips a cold expression forward, staring beyond the brim of a wide hat. they shoudn’t look “out of place”, that’s what he’s been told by the mademoiselle in his door when he woke, and his chinese heritage won’t exactly scream normal to anyone but his fellow cost members. something he is now. something he can’t argue with when there’s no more meaning to his life than there ever was. especially after getting shoved into a puddle of the beheaded king’s myriad juices.

no. fuck.

raising the offending hand with a visceral reaction, he does the only thing his instincts force the rest of his arm to followthrough with:

he smacks a royally blood-soaked palm against the back of the shirt of the next passerby, dragging the stain down very vintage clothing. and he doesn’t even look apologetic about it, shadowed brow pinched in some muted disgust. wasn’t the bubonic plague a big deal here a few decades ago?)

2. TROOPS

(well after that fiasco, lying low sounds like a far better idea. he owes it to no one to help in the assassination or protection of a queen he doesn’t know and her children who’ll blubber and give away his position. some have a knack for being quiet and some are meant to whimper under floorboards until a far more chivalrous soul happens to hear them.

hei finds a perfectly comfortable spot on one of the castles lower roofs, shoving his back against aging parapets carved out of some kind of glorious marble. it’s quiet, despite the aggressions happening inside and below; he’d try for a fire if he didn’t think someone would spot him and yell bloody murder. so in the meantime, his billhook is drawn and repeatedly flipped. once, twice, ten times, twenty—

it’s hard to say how long he’s up there before sleep-bruised eyelids sink enough for it to be such a fucking shock when footsteps jerk him awake.)

Tch! (spat at the immediate volley of arrows that wrench him from his spot and crack the old marble fascinations he’d been resting against.

a roll out of the way, he’s up on his feet in less than a second with his hat wheeling into a sad stop against his boot’s toe. ascertains that there are two men, soldiers attempting crowd control by the looks of them, spouting the angriest french he’s never heard. he can understand it and he didn’t need to be able to do that to catch its hostility. “hands away from the blade,” is cried, “do not resist, or we’ll have you hung in the queen’s name!”

time to make a fast exit, but for that he’d need one to run to and the longer he stays up here the higher the chance of him getting surrounded. too bad he doesn’t have his wires; he’d settle for a helping hand.)

3. JUNK

(obligatory wildcard option, hit me up with absolutely anything!)

1. hei you really should carry a towel or something

[pointedlook]

[ It stings, of course, that he and 76 hadn't succeeded in winning Robespierre over. Arthur's hard on everyone, but most especially himself, and failure is not something he takes lightly. In serious circumstances like this, even less so. It feels a bit like the Fischer job all over again, when he'd missed the militarized projections and put the entire team in jeopardy.

Part of him wants to make excuses for the failure– he's not the most personable and honestly, neither is 76. They're both more suited to a rough and tumble life. Arthur would've given anything to have Cobb or Eames in on that conversation. He has a sneaking feeling it would've at least delayed the riot that was occurring in the city now. The press of people is near unbearable; he really should just hole up somewhere until the worst of it is over. Unfortunately it's a bit late to back out now, because he'll have to navigate the crowd just to leave it.

As he winds his way through the throngs, he hears a deafening roar of cheers and general noises of chaos. The king is dead, history is rewritten. What this means for their future, he isn't sure. Instead of spinning out theories, he just keeps going, only stopping to whirl on someone when they shove their hand against his back. Arthur aims to catch their wrist, not wanting to get pick pocketed or pushed into some kind of street fight. ]

...Seriously?

[ And that's when he notices the mess on the palm of their hand. Nice. ]

a towel soaked in the king's blood? in THIS economy?

[dipolar]

(hei remains "blissfully" unaware of the trials that have been presented to "comrades" who've came before him, the choices they've made to make things come to this, the lamentable blood that's been spilled.

if he knew? even then, it's hard to say if he'd care. empathy's a hell of a drug, these days.

damn, he needs a drink.

that's the quality of the stare hei pins on arthur from beneath the rim of the beat-to-shit hat he traded for half a baguette, lack of understanding and confusion buried under a willingness to bury himself. his hand stays raised because of it; he's been caught. no skin off his nose, when he's faced with exasperation instead of an ill-gotten violent reaction. knows well, in this second, that this man isn't going to attack him unprovoked — maybe, then, some questions are in order.)

Yeah.

...

COST or Regency? ("do i or don't i have to kill you?")

[pointedlook]

I don't think so, you first. You owe me for a ruined jacket.

[ Arthur's not really that irritated by his coat being used a towel. But. Ok maybe he's a little annoyed. Getting the stain out is going to be impossible in this era, because tide sticks don't fucking exist and that's a crime.

So he's going to have to acquire a new jacket. Which. Is aggravating. He likes this one.

As for the stare, he holds the contact, unbothered. Too many people have tried to sway him with such a look and he won't fall for it now. ]

[dipolar]

COST.

(look how easy that was, arthur. in the man's defence, if hei was slapped with blood he wouldn't be so willing to answer questions either. he can be amenable, however, if it's someone on his team and now he's starting to consider how many there actually are. their numbers are growing by every hour he spends in this place.

the only thing that sways the unblinking stare is the fact that arthur's hand is still on his wrist and he wants it gone, eyes dropping and hand wrenching back with a quick jerk meant to disengage him.)

Is that what you should be concerned about?

2

[horsepowered]

[Paris being metaphorically ablaze suggested that it might be literally ablaze soon. With no desire to witness an execution, Chiron had instead focused on observing the city from rooftop after rooftop, trying to note any signs of trouble.

Riots, of course, drew his attention. But the wave of them always seemed to break before things settled. Not so at the Tuileries. What was en route there was nothing good. What was likely to happen was that a lot of people were going to get stampeeded, and he was in a good position to try and minimize that damage.

There was precious little else one could do. The emotions of the crowd would be impossible to control.

Which brings Chiron to here and now. He saw movement on high, and....that was bad. Regardless of who it was up there, it was likely to be bad. As far as he was concernred, the order of the day was to focus on preservation of civilian life.

He arrives just in time to see the flurry of arrows embed themselves in marble, and a young man get away from them with remarkable speed. There's no doubt that the guards are furious, but Chiron's apperance (from no where, because there are some advantages to being a spirit) gives them a moment's scare.

There was no good introduction or anything else to offer, and Chiron was not the kind to make dry, scathing comments. So Chiron looked to the guards and frowned.]

With all due respect, I think that your energies are better spent on protecting something that isn't the roof.

it's the thought that counts, chiron!

[dipolar]

(chiron's sudden appearance is far more worrisome in that moment than the slow approach of wary and weary soldiers. teleportation. hei finds himself taking another skid back across layered shingles on the shallowly peaked roof, dropping into a low crouch with a palm down to steady the stance.

the men chiron addresses would've likely been receptive if not for this, getting another warning shot from a guard's yew bow and a colourful cussing. its arrow strikes between them and the men speak with far less confident explanations. a puzzled, "we're told to look for shady types and here's one now, take a good look at him — he isn't even from here!" from the left; a frustrated, "sitting on a roof and for what? biding time till the castle's ready to loot, ah?" from the right.

racist or dimwitted, if there's much of a difference.)

Move. I'll leave. (hei's voice is quiet, but carries surprisingly well despite the lacklustre delivery.

eyes don't leave the hostile duo but the spirit who joins the fray is spoken to with the same monotony, making it obvious that they're all being placed on the same level in this dubious mind. oh, to loathe having faith in people at the best of times, paranoia no longer a perception but a personality trait. the man did hocus-pocus himself into simply appearing.)

... All of you.

and therefore no one can criticize him!

[horsepowered]

[Chiron's immediate reaction is to frown at the complete idiot who's wasting arrows on nothing at all. While it is actually a net good: one less arrow to injure the general populace storming the place, it also is a poor reflection on the guards themselves.

Hei's reaction provokes a similar sort of response. The expectation Chiron had was that the distraction would be enough time and enough of a signal for him to get away. But if this was how it was going to be, then he was not going to argue with it.

Instead, Chiron holds up both of his hands, placating.]

Very well.

;)

[dipolar]

(asking actually worked?

... it never works.

aims a sidelong stare at chiron, brow pinched in a bare look of skepticism. he won't deny the possibility of this all being some kind of lie in order to lay into him with a pincer-attack, but with the two frenchmen still deliberating their own course of action— well. hei's never been one to stick around.

or spare much mercy for those who cross him.

it's obvious, then, where hei's going with the billhook he holds out by his side, off like a shot towards the soldiers who bark in surprise at the unforeseen rush and scramble to grab for weapons far more closely matched in range. impossible, with the speed he bolts forward at with all intents to kill them and find a more practical way off of the roof that doesn't involve jumping. or getting anywhere near the one capable of teleportation.)

You're in my way.

(sorry, chiron, chaos is in his blood.)

JUNK - reign of terror

[chariotry]

[ The streets are rampant with violence and terror.

From the richer areas of Paris, extending all the way to the palace itself, riots have broken out and chaos has ensued since the day of the execution. For a time where there should be celebration, there are those taking advantage of the state of panic and exploiting the commotion for all it is worth.

The Reign of Terror had been scheduled to happen in the following year, following the events of the execution, but with history changing, so does the response. With the early commencement of the riots, things quickly get out of hand. There are peasants protesting on the streets, demanding the head of the queen and the destruction of the monarch's bloodline in its entirety, and rebellions invading the households of aristocrats. Men, women, and children alike have been dragged from their homes, intended to be put on trial as traitors to their country as their estates are destroyed and set ablaze.

Achilles had been away for some time, missing the execution of the king, and has come back just in time for the aftermath. With the BCE as his point of reference, he's able to get a handle on the situation and acts accordingly. He's a hero before he's a soldier, so he can't just stay idle, waiting for his orders.

He takes his horse, Keraunos, through the city, finding points of congestion and breaking up the fights and saving innocents. His horse is left outside as he moves inside a house where a woman's screams come from, fending for itself and hoofing anyone in the face if they get too close. ]

sorry about your bum, horsey :(

[dipolar]

(hei doesn't hear the screams. even if he does in his fast approach, they're unlikely to rouse any sympathy from him as a runaway. everyone suffers sooner or later, this life is full of injustices and people screaming "unfair!" — where, then, is the sense in putting himself into a dangerous situation in order to save some stranger from a time unknown? pointless. irrational.

recent events in his life have made him respect the term all the more.

and his luck seems to have followed him well into the past, frenchmen on his tail and shouting at a suspicious, fast-retreating back. he catches terms from them and they go ignored, un homme chinois, un étranger; a phrase that follows them, attrapper cet imbécile, allons-y vous tous! it's still jarring how easy the understanding of this rapidly spoken french comes to him, like he's known it all his years. the piercing along his collar is a fascinating piece of technology — and a worrisome one, knowing full well he's being tracked by whoever COST sees as a high power —, but he doesn't have time to admire another language added to the large bank of them he's acquired through hard work and immersion.

he needs a distraction, he's weary from the day and needs a break. he's been fought countless times and lives have been destroyed with his hands and a cold, calculating disregard. his run is quick, light, and weaving as he clears wagons with bales of hay, sacks of produce, and old brandy barrels. what he spots up ahead is what he's beelining for, improvised plan already being carried out.

that is a big fucking horse. an aggressive one. a musket is fired and the impressive animal rears and snorts angrily and stomps its hooves, forcing him to give it a very wide berth as he skirts around to its backside.)

Hey, steady—

(says that, but acts contrarily:

he times a kick-back from powerful hind-legs and activates his ability with a red blaze of pupils from beneath a wide-brimmed hat. blue light is shed from his outline, a glowing radiation that fuels the aim of a very hard, open-palmed, electrified smack against the horse's rear. almost immediately, air crackling with the shock the beast takes horribly, it's chaos. keraunos brays its final warning before charging the narrow alley the soldiers tailing him were filtering into. the word "trample" wouldn't do the result justice.

hei doesn't stick around to watch, tugging at the rim of his hat low over dimming eyes. it's high time he sinks silently back into the crowd.)

no you aren't

[chariotry]

[ Achilles trusts his horse to take care of herself. Being a valuable commodity, people are more likely to try to steal the horse than actually attack her, and experienced handlers know better than to approach an aggravated animal of her size. With so much noise surrounding the area, there would be no way for anyone but her rider to calm her down, so she's left to her own devices, patiently waiting for Achilles' return.

Hearing her reverberating cry, Achilles drags one of the assailants who had invaded the house by an arm around his throat to the entrance. ]

Keraunos?! [ He has to watch incredulously as the horse tears through the streets, mowing down rebels and guards alike. ]

What the hell... [ He lets go of his prey, who scrambles to run from the scene. Fortunately, he has a keen eye... so he does catch sight of the only person not currently gawking at the animal on the loose. ] Hey!

[ He's going to march right for you, Hei. Better run. ]

;)

[dipolar]

(a pause, hearing the shout. doesn't turn to look, but does reply to it however mutedly:)

Give chase, or protect your horse; it's going to get shot.

(then he's off, whipping away and weaving through throngs of startled civilians. he's practiced in this, that much is clear. escaping is an art, whether from soldiers or his own thoughts and running helps with both.)

1, no one man should have all that poooower

[masque]

[at least hei isn't alone, and given the confusion and stress of the situation, akira's amazed he even remembers what the man looks like. he left his own hotel room just in time to see him turn down the hall, sure to never see him again, but he looked just out of place as akira did. the clothes only help to an extent— he still has a japanese face.

he didn't mean to follow him (there is a possibility they've been told the same thing) but it looks like the crowds brought them to the same place anyway. he can understand everyone: there's an event, the death of the king, move you're too tall, don't get lost, papa i want to see!

his attention's on filing through the crowd, and by the time he reaches hei he looks up just in time to see the king lose his head.

...

the cheers are deafening, and even moreso, the man is taking this in complete stride.]

Incredible. [incredibly dickish]

the clock's tickin i just count the hoouuuurs

[dipolar]

(the sudden stress of the situation threw him into an inattentiveness that's kept him from recognizing the boy or even noticing his accidental tailing. he has the information about what's happened, but wrapping his head around it... that's another peak to climb and hei's unprepared for the journey. on top of everything, this is the last thing he needed.

thankfully his current state of mind is: what does it matter?

so when he spies the king lose his head in an event that's sure to shift the fragile tides of history and shortly after he's guided forward to the blood, hei finds himself listless when akira voices his opinion. sarcasm drips from the word like french blood off of the tips of his fingers when his palm's lowered and his head turns to take a look. similar height, lean, mid-teens maybe sixteen to eighteen with a heavy leaning towards the former. he hasn't seemed to realize the gravity of the riot they've just been swept up in and he wonders if akira realizes what's bound to happen next.)

You'll die if you just stand there.

(is it a threat, or a statement of the obvious?

exempting those two, it could be smart advice for him to get the hell out of the way.)

[masque]

[akira has slashed down enemies, none of them humans, none of them showing blood and bone and whatever tissue is left from the king's head in the execution. it's... disgusting.

that doesn't stop people, unsurprisingly— blood is suddenly everywhere. it's on people's hands, clothes, soaking whatever rags they use, and it doesn't take long to understand what hei means. the crowds are closing in, rapidly, getting violent, and he now he knows he has to move.]

And what about you? Come on.

[quick on his feet, he turns to wherever he finds gaps in the flow of people— there's thousands and it'll take forever to find a spot that isn't dense and excited but there aren't options. snakes through the crowd, distantly thinking it's easier for him than usual, and he's not sure if he lost hei already or not. not much he can do about that]

[dipolar]

(what about him.

surely the boy doesn't mean that he's a factor in this. if someone tried to assault him nothing healthy would come of it, so akira's point make no logical sense. the idea of it sits, defunct, at the back of his skull while he numbly watches the not-so-familiar back slip through the angry crowd. it could be that he wants to assist or repay hei for the tip he gave him — that sounds far more appealing than the bitter question on his mind: why follow a child anywhere?

yet he does, lifting his arms just enough to viciously elbow civilians away from him which would earn him cuffs to the side of the head if he wasn't so used to ducking and weaving and applying enough weight to a push to send a local staggering feet back into another. he can agree with the fact that due to their very dissimilar appearances to virtually every single person around them, they're at a high risk of suspicion. whatever happens now is going to change the course of history and hei doesn't want to be a fucking part of it any more than he already is in his own time. keeping their heads down is crucial, that much is certain.

he just hopes that participation in these missions is traded for this COST group's protection. he's keeping his expectations low, lower than the hat he keeps firmly planted on his head to ward off curious stares.

at the edge of chaos, hei pauses a short distance from akira. narrow eyes lift from whatever clothing the boy's had foisted off on him by the same woman he could've throttled in his doorway, not too impressed with the situation or the explanations they've been given. his expression, always frozen in some coldly grim skepticism of events unfolding, shifts only once; his brow pinches when he's willing to speak.)

They're searching for the Queen. Once she's dead, it'll end.

2 ... i hope... this is ok...

[handsomefoil]

[ Trying to find a quiet place to collect himself and plan a cursory plan of action is far and few, so when he finally thinks he hit a small jackpot, some noise from a couple of guards has him hanging back for a moment.

Arrows fly, curse words slung around, and he feels it would be so much easier to just kill them and get it over with but... that would just draw way too much attention to them. Would he be willing to make things worse not only for himself but for the person that they're chasing? Maybe... maybe not... he always was a bit of a thrill junkie.

Not above attacking from behind, he takes up a long knife that he'd been hiding in his jacket and flattens himself along the wall. Poised to stab the closest guard to him, he flips the knife easily in his hand and tries to find the most vulnerable chink in his armor (if wearing much of it at all). When the guard draws his arrow again, his clothing shifts and reveals a thinly-guarded spot just under his arm— and he lunges. ]

[dipolar]

(an arc of fluid, near-black in the blanket of night, paints the shingles. one soldier staggers and hei's reaction is immediate, taking advantage of the opening with a skirting of one arrow and a powerful run straight — at the second soldier, eyelids sinking into an expression narrowed and chilled and purposeful.

the billhook does what it's best at and hooks beneath thick leather of the archer's glove, parting skin and radial artery with startling ease. polishing such a rusty weapon had been almost a privilege, shaving it down on a conveniently uneven stone upended from the street, dull shine streaked by rivulets of blood. there's a short cry that's interrupted and ended wetly as the followthrough comes savagely, blade whipped up and across a bobbing throat.

what's left is a crumple of still bodies and the assassins left standing in the wake of things.

the threat remains, however, and hei's reorganizing his footing with a sliding step back and an oppressive stare.)

Stay there.

[handsomefoil]

[ Henry is surprised but not staggered by the turn of events, as the figure turns on the remaining soldier in a whipping blur. Elegant and bit showy, Henry can't help but feel a competetive twang in his bones. The soldier crumples in his arms, slowly choking on his own blood as Henry finished him off quickly with a swipe of the blade across his neck as well. He's already been upstaged, might as well get it over with.

Heeding the warning, he stays in his spot. His expression is almost pleasant, as if trying to ease the tension between them even if there is no such luck. The weight of the stare bores into him and the air is thick with it but slowly raises his hands. The knife clatters to the floor, though he is still armed with a device he doesn't dare bring out into the open air lest it boggle some poor local's brains so much that COST is forced to do damage control and possibly reprimand him for it. ]

Staying. [ Then after a beat:] That was quite impressive.

[dipolar]

(the compliment goes ignored. the knife that's dropped, however, is a rather respectful gesture that has him parting with one of his own. not the billhook, no, but a simple reassurance the man might value far more: he straightens slowly out of his ready coil and stashes his weapon with a plying of a red sash.

henry's stealth won't be something to underestimate — and how could he when he didn't spot him before blood bubbled from the gaps of the frenchman's teeth.)

They're dead, we're not. (that's all there is to it and he's thankful for the help, all things considered, frankly fucking tuckered from the events of the day.) Fools; the Queen's long gone.

(not something he knows to be fact, but he's heard rumours and he's been watching soldiers come up empty-handed for a long while now. she's either filling a gutter somewhere like her husband or in their care. somehow he knows to willingly place his bets on COST and their commanding officer, despite extraction being hours away.)

1.

[mercurialize]

[He's usually faster than this, but the crowd and waves are pushing him in places that make voluntary movement impossible, let alone quick. When the hand wipe goes down his back he promptly spins around without letting anyone else push him. Why did he bother coming down here again? He should've stayed on his perch. He takes off his waistcoat, which is terribly awkward when one only has one good arm and a stump to work with. He grimaces at the handprint. Sloppy.

But when he looks up to the culprit he grins.]

Lost your balance there? Can't say I was looking for a souvenir. But, uh. Thanks, I guess.

[dipolar]

(his bad, kylar. his bad.

right, actions have consequences. it's not even the blood that made him move against his own better judgement but the promise of possible disease in a world and time so separate from his. makes him skeptical of every fluid, even the water. especially the water.)

I didn't. (... tries again.) I didn't lose my balance.

(that said, hei's eyes drop to the grin on kylar's face and decides that it's a favourable reaction with no ill will -- so he points amenably at the waistcoat with a finger still painted red by the smear.)

I'd get rid of that.

[mercurialize]

[He throws the waistcoat over his shoulder. People seem crazy here, maybe they'll even buy it off of him. Everyone seems happy to preserve these blood stains, for whatever reason.]

Aren't you supposed to keep souvenirs?

[Now he's just being facetious.]

[dipolar]

...

(WELL, this works out just fine for him in the end. got it off his hand and the guy's not even irritated at him. two birds, one stone.)

Ah. I suppose. (a pause, checking back over his shoulder through the throng of people.) They seem fixated on that blood. Symbolism?