agogelogs | let fury have the hour,

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let fury have the hour,

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.

oops papercut.

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.

and then everyone went home peacefully

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

oops you might have saved the life of a woman famous for dying???

NAV NETWORK LOGS OOC PLURK DISCORD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I. DEATH OF A KING ( THIS IS FINE )

[ The hours from arrival to the death of the King pass a blur to Angel's barely coping mind that thrusts her from her control chambers to this-this great, broad outside. Unfathomable, unexplainable. She cannot comprehend it in its entirety, not straight away. The sight, smell, sound, the feeling that as she crams her cap on tight over her ears, passing for no more than a barefaced boy and gets swept up in the crush of people, that press in at all sides, it doesn't feel real to her.

It still keeps not feeling real.

Until Louis loses his head.

Then the world snaps into a focus that cannot be mistaken ever again.

It's not that the death - is too much. It isn't. She's seen worse, she's caused worse, or that the people aren't in some way predictable in their volatile nature, when Angel stumbles in her - new old clothes, towards the side street. The uneven cobblestones make her stumble where legs so unused to walk find a wall to lean against to guide her. Hard to push her way against the teeming current of people.

Which is less of a problem of course, when she gets as far as her body will let her. She sinks down, slipping the length of the wall, onto her hands and knees and begins to throw up in heaving gasps the cheese and coffee paste come up in an acrid spatter on the already filthy streets. A running nose and a ugly catch of spittle in her mouth. She's just one more piece of discarded mess on the edge of the busying street, kicked out of the way no different to the child she looks the approximate height of.

It's not even the smell of blood and unwashed bodies that she isn't familiar with. It's one simple clear thought, that feels like the earth splitting apart underneath her into a sea of purple and underneath her clothes, the markings pulse:

It's real, this is really happening, I never have to go back. ]

II. OR MAYBE JUST THROW A ROCK ( STILL, TOTALLY FINE. )

[ She's too slow, when the crowd picks her up and drops her off again, at the edge of the riot that comes to the steps of Tuileries. The orders were clear, right? The Queen was going to die at some point and that the Regency was trying to make that not happen.

So throwing the stone had to be first.

But she's too slow, fumbling with the rock she finds at her feet and gets a heavy shove at her back. It sends her sprawling - the accusation immediate to the mouth of the one that pushed her. ]

' What's taking you so long - ? You aren't a monarchist, are you? '

[ She shakes her head, pushing herself back as fast as she can, feet scrambling underneath her to push herself the rest of the way up before she can get trampled. ]

No, no, for - the, uhm, for the people of France! [ She takes a deeper, longer breath as they stare and stare and stare - oh this is so much easier when they were a screen away. ] I just did not think I was as brave as the monsieurs who took the King's head!

[ Her voice positively squeaks out the words,and maybe that is enough to lend to the humility she tries to push into her words, before she hastily throws the rock, miserably. Missing the window but at least it hits the wall with a satisfying thunk enough to look like she tried, and her head hangs, defeated and maybe that isn't fake. Seriously, Angel, you call that a throw - you couldn't hit the side of a barn wall. What the hell, kiddo?

But the men, assuming that the high pitch of a problem, take as instant a turn as they did when shoving her, instead this time, she gets a big old pat on the back. ] Fighting for our liberty will put the hairs on your chest. Come!

[ It doesn't seem to make much of a difference, she still goes stumbling straight into the ground again and the men laugh, the riot halting after all, for no man. She says nothing as they pass, taking out a deeper breath before she tries to push herself up on wobbly legs. ]

That was close...

III. JUST SETTLE FOR SITTING STILL ( OKAY MAYBE NOT SO FINE )

[ It's only have it has all been dispersed that Angel finally finds time to sit, - keep your cap on, don't take the glove off, they can't see the markings - and she finally notices that she has own prices to pay for the day.

Oh she knew that she was hurting, but that was - it felt so strange, so not right. So much of her still taken up in a feeling of utter emptiness of the eridium, her control collar, the sturdy walls of her chamber that made even the weak sun here feel so bright to her eyes. She hurts, she hurts in a way she has forgotten. Thinks she might be hungry and her hair is itchy - don't scratch, even if it's... fleas, or whatever it was that she saw the others have.

But it's when she finally sits still long enough to look down at herself and sees that somewhere along the day, she's skinned the palm of her exposed hand - and there was, stuck, just under the skin, a bit of gravel. ] Right, that's okay Angel. It's okay. It's just some dirt. It's just a cut. We've... had those before.

[ Deep, deep breath, her fingers lift to try for the first time to clean her own wound.

The tears well in the sharp sting of pain almost immediately. ] Lillith wouldn't cry. Athena wouldn't cry. Maya wouldn't cry. [ It's hitched as she uses her littlest nail to try and free the tiny stone, moving it out from under the surface. She swallows, forcing the pain response down - it's okay, think about the others. Sirens, sirens were more than this, they don't get hurt like this and if they do they just, they just. ] Stop it. It's just a cut.

TO:@ALL

Hey - so what's so bad about this King and Queen? Do they eat people or something like that? I've heard some really... different things about earth's history, just want to make sure I've got it right before I say anything... dumb to someone on the street.

Edited 2017-12-01 17:17 (UTC)

[ It's strange being back, not for returning (or even for having somewhere to go to), but just to see how much changed in the time she was gone. Things had been chaotic before she left, but clearly, that had increased quickly. It feels foreign to her as so much about this job (or whatever she'd call it) does. It gives her the sense that maybe things move much more slowly where she's from, and as a result, she's content to hang back and not get involved in the action. It's the sort of politics she's impatient with, and so she'd rather hang back and wait until there's something more suited for her skills. For example, she's considering taking the time to head into the wooded areas and get away from all these people and gather supplies to make things she might need. Branches for arrows, maybe even pelts for making some belts and pouches.

She wouldn't have stopped, if not for the girl talking to herself. Aloy pauses, thoughtful at first, since she thinks that she might be speaking to her, but— No, clearly not. It gets her brow to knit together in light confusion instead, and she watches, but not for long before she understands what's happening. Or at least enough. There's a part of Aloy that just wants to continue on, since it's really none of her business, but at the same time, for how abrasive she could be, she always has the urge to help people who need it. And though she'll keep the thought to herself, since she realizes it probably wouldn't go over well, she'd guess that a girl that's crying over a cut probably does.

Aloy steps closer from behind Angel, and she speaks up casually as she starts to reach into one of the bags at her side. ]

Splinter?

[ Aloy asks what it is before asking if she can help, since she's decided to herself that she will regardless... Out of her bag she pulls out a smaller one that has rough, torn scraps of cloth peeking out. It's an easy guess that this is her equivalent of a first aid kit, though definitely a roughly put together one. ]

I have things to help, if you need it.

I'm okay, really, I just -

[ She sniffles a bit more, curling her fingers into herself. Her hands are as little as the rest of her. She does a marvellous effort that way, of being out of the way, little and pale. ]

I got pushed. When they were in the palace. I did it then, I think.

[ She still isn't sure, as she looks up at the red-haired woman, nothing at all like herself. Sure and broad set, she looks ready to do just about anything impressive. They couldn't be more different that way. ]

[ Aloy shrugs, but it comes with a mildly disapproving shake of her head. It's not for Angel, though, since she's not impressed for different reasons. ]

Figures. Maybe it's always like this, but it seems like half of these people can't keep any kind of wits with them.

[ She takes a moment to take a better look at the cut on Angel's hand, and there's definitely a moment of quiet, but easy to miss judgement there. It doesn't look like a big deal to her, but she also has a habit of hunting machines, she guesses. One of those strips of cloth is pulled out of the bag, and after checking the length, easily tears it to be shorter. ]

You can at least have some of this to bandage it. There's plenty of cloth here, so it's not a big deal.

They're people who are hurting. That doesn't make them kind.

[ Her eyes are wet still, red-rimmed that is stark against her white sickly skin. The full sulk of her lip that she sets her teeth into it, worrying back and forth in a gnawing little uncertainty. ]

I'm sorry I've,... never really had a cut? How do I... how do I... fix it? Is there instahealth or... ?

angel | borderlands | newbie!

iii

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@gladiator

GOD I AM SORRY FOR THAT STUPID POP UP BUTTON ACCIDENTAL CLICK

LMAO it happens to the best of us

huffhuffhuff

@MAMABEARCLAW

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@lefay

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i, j'arrive

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