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

[ryuji]

1. KILL THE KING (ACTION)
[This... is it.

This is the spoils of Ryuji had endeavored towards since the day he step foot into Paris, blinded by his own naivety. He had started riots, stopped an artist from taking a vote at the National Convention when the timing wasn't right, but the outcome was unchanged. The blond haired youth stands in the crowd as they cheer on the events of the day- the events of the era- because when do people feel finally more free than the moment of watching their usurper pay retribution for his deeds with his own life? The drums are blaring, he's getting pushed and shoved in directions he didn't want to go, but he stands there, one single dissenter in absolute paralysis. Eren's words ring in his ear, louder than the sounds of the crowd or the waning rhythmic beats of the sacrificial melancholy with which the snares ring out.

It's a cruel world out there. Your jaw might drop at something like that...

Jaw, and fists, clenched, he sees Sanson take the stage, watches the literal grim reaper prepare the ceremony for its climax as Louis Capet mutters his last words to a crowd that doesn't care for his legacy. And he's seen kings, groveled, brought down to mere personhood, stripped of their glory and their right to rule, but he can't stop imagining himself up there as the executioner. Would his resolve be the same? Could he carry out justice like this? He feels sick to his stomach- Louis is brought down to the hole where his head would soon be severed, and with it the monarchy from the rest of France. And yet, he still blesses this country, and the blade---

It's relentless in its cut.

Ryuji stares on, as the repercussions of his own actions sink into him. He stares until he can't any longer, and turns away from the crowd, a sore thumb in the mix of all the revelry around him. And in one, horrible moment, as the smell of today's murder makes itself apparent, he wonders if this was the right choice after all.]


2. AFTERMATH (TEXT/OR ACTION)
[Laying on the roof of the little bar that he had called home, he stares upward at the sky. It's a rare moment for Ryuji to look this somber, but there's a bottle of wine he stole from the kitchen downstairs next to him, opened, but untouched. He's thinking of friends from home, of seeing their faces again, crowded in the little shithole of a coffee shop called Leblanc, joking and crowding the booths, and making the environment more alive than its owner would like to see.

There's a lot to see tonight- riots are the sign of the times, again, and the palaces are being ransacked for every last scrap of luxury that had been built off the backs of hard working people. He thought it would've been cool to burst into Versailles at one point, absconding with some trinket to remind himself of Paris, or just for the thrill of breaking and entering into one of the world's most heavily revered places of his own time. But that's not the thought on his mind, now. He wants to see the soft, always smiling face of his mom. Pushing his hands into his eyes until the stars behind his lids match the ones above him, he sighs and tries to get himself together a little bit. He takes a swig- god, that shit is nasty.]

>@ENTERTHEDRAGON
To: @ALL

How're you guys winding down? paris-rooftop.jpg

[A picture of what he sees: the roof, followed by a view of the sky, captured relatively nicely, if not for a slight blur.]

un: @MINIMALCAT

[hakanai]

My partner is with me. That is all I need to wind down.

You are not used to war, are you?

[ryuji]

Nothin' like hearing "honey I'm home," right? Hah, yeah I dunno...

[Being around other people usually has an exciting effect on him, rather than calming. But he smiles at the text, learning a little bit more about Yoshitsugu as they go along.]

Not really, no. Does it always feel like this afterward? Like you just can't stop regretting some of the things you did?

[hakanai]

I am aware I am fortunate to have such companionship, so yes, I am grateful.

[More than he'll admit, really. But that's not the focus of this message. Being faced with someone who doesn't know what it's like to live in a land at war is... strange, and Yoshitsugu feels some kind of responsibility here, especially when considering Ryuji's youth.]

[The samurai is not a gentle kind of man, usually blunt and to the point, but he's also not a bad guy by any means.]

That's a question better answered in person. Tell me where to find you.

1

[gerechtigkeit]

[He wishes he could say the death of a king is something new to him.

War by itself is nothing unfamiliar, having spent so much time traveling and fighting against others in order to protect those who asked for his help. There's cries for violence, cries for justice, deplorable shouts of destroying the entire royal family- Siegfried's heart wrenches in anger and frustration, unable to do much other than watch.

This is history unfolding, and if this is what's supposed to happen, he isn't going to try and change fate.

It's still hard to watch the blade fall, to hear others jeer loudly for the death of someone who may or may not have deserved it. That the crowd scrambles like a horde of dragons towards prey does little to comfort him, but that's how things are to a people who have felt oppressed for far too long. People will rise in force if they feel they are in danger of losing something precious to them. It's a beautiful and deadly sense that humanity has, more often than not as blinding as it is brutal.

Siegfried is stagnant amongst the joy of the crowd, but he's not alone, at least. It's Ryuji who captures his eye, and he pushes his way through, making his way towards the other. He doesn't really know him, but he knows that look- the one soldiers wore when they killed someone with a blade for the first time, the one someone wears when they view death and all its horrors at once. A hand almost hesitantly reaches for Ryuji's elbow before finally grabbing it, Siegfried trying to grab his attention.]

Here. [His voice is firm enough that the other can hear it, but it isn't stern at all.] This way. Focus on me, if you have to.

[He's getting Ryuji out of this crazed crowd and somewhere where he can breathe, clear his head. They'll start there, and move forward where they can.]

[ryuji]

[He's always had this prevailing opinion about other people; an innate distrust of everything in the world around him, because other people sucked. They took, and took, and didn't stop taking until nothing was left, until there were only negative values of things in arrears. And looking around, he still shares the same feeling, albeit paralyzed by it momentarily. A few shouts, people scrambling to rush the stage, to touch the blood of a king. It hits him hard. They're more like shadows, remnants of the Metaverse made tangible- the lust, the greed, the desire of it all.

And he hates them.

And he hates himself a little too.

About to be eaten by the multiple celled organism of the mob, Ryuji's senses are blared out up until the moment Saber comes to grab onto him. The touch terrifies him, a stark contrast against the usual need and desire to be noticed and loved by others- he feels his heart drop down to his stomach, and he violently shrugs it off, not knowing that the figure behind him was a friend. One that he had never met before, but a friend nonetheless. The one he teased about not knowing what ramen was, jokingly calling him out for being so old fashioned and against the times. Startled, he looks up at him, ready to defend himself.

Ryuji's always on edge; his fists burn with ache to connect to something, impulse after impulse after impulse like his father's cursed blood had meandered through his own veins and poisoned him with this insufferable anger. When it's focused on something good, it's passion. When he's wild and reckless, hopeless, he bites back like a cornered dog. He never wants to be in that position again: powerless, as other people come and take more from him. More, and more, and more, until he's beaten down and breathless, and he's 12 years old again, skipping school because his face is fucked up and he doesn't want anyone to see him like this.

So when he grabs control of his elbow back, his other fist is raised, poised and ready to make terrible mistakes, but his face looks confused, all loosened rage and nowhere for it to actually go.]

Fuck no! Get off me!

[gerechtigkeit]

[Maybe it was foolish for him to grab for Ryuji- maybe it was a dumb idea to offer help. But Siegfried is a man who bleeds kindness, often to the point where he suffers for it in some way. So when the other jerks his elbow and immediately aims for his face, Siegfried doesn't bother stepping out of the way. Ryuji's fist connects with Siegfried's cheek and he lets go, staggering back just a little before making sure it's a good idea for him to speak again.

This isn't new to him either, sadly. He knows it's not personal- practically anyone would do the same in Ryuji's shoes.]

Sorry. [Of all the things in the world, he's apologizing for startling him. SIEGFRIED, STOP. He brushes his cheek with a thumb and shakes his head.] It wasn't my intent to startle you. [Some Frenchman to his right lets out a yell, and suddenly someone else is going for his head. This one, Siegfried easily puts up a hand to halt the incoming punch, pushing the person away and watching him swing towards someone else.]

We should get out of this crowd. ["We" instead of "you." Not that he fully expects Ryuji to agree with it, but the crowd is starting to grow more wild at this point.] It's not going to get any calmer now that the king is dead.

1

[horsepowered]

[There was no desire in Chiron to watch an execution. The action was a matter of history (plus or minus a month or so), and more than that, there was no need to add to the headcount of those watching the event. All of them doubtlessly turned out for it for their own reasons, all conciously or unconsciously aware of the fact that this was a historical event.

What came next was the important part.

There would doubtlessly be an explosion of riots. More, really, and Chiron had found that the true problem with them was those that got dragged along by the momentum by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or else people who took part got injured themselves.

Those were things he could actually help with.

From standing atop the roofs of Paris, he could make guesses about where riots might be likely to move. On the ground, he could try and redirect people before the madness started.

That was his intent when he saw Ryuji on the street ahead of him. Something was threatening to errupt only a few blocks away, and the area was a likely candidate for being overrun.]

Young man? You might wish to change course. I expect there to be a larger crowd in your wake.

[ryuji]

[Dumbfounded, he's caught, still looking on toward the origin of chaos being jolted alive from its nascent stages. There's kinetic energy rising up from every corner of the street, and Ryuji can feel it, but he's too caught up in his own head to make a forward movement in any direction. It's suspicious, a foreigner in the midst of rebels who would have fought and died for this very moment, to have his back turned to them. The mob had its own sentience, and that danger was looming right over the head of the youth as he hears a source of voice coming from a direction he can't immediately make out.

Eyes slowly rising upward, he catches glimpse of the figure of Chiron above him. Change course? Does he see something that Ryuji can't?

Either way, that warning is enough of a siren to make him snap out of it. There's no point in dissecting the merit of whether or not what he did was the right thing to do when there's about to be all out chaos. From his position below, he nods, and starts pushing through the crowd the get past.

He's having a rough time- going against the ebb and flow of people pushing forward only makes him stand out more. Shit- this is getting a little rough, but after enough effort, he manages to get his back up against the door of a nearby shop window.

Thanks, whoever you are]

[horsepowered]

[Chiron abandons the street, opting for a small arterial sidestreet that he sees out of the corner of his eye. There's nothing there of interest - only a place for those in the apartments above to dump waste and a quick bypass for those who need it - and that means the crowd passes it by entirely. He watches it go by, listens to the cheers and cries and chants and raw emotion. It isn't being a spectator, not in his opinion. It is accepting that in this moment, nothing can control the emotions of the populace.

The world has shifted. People must adjust.

When the crowd departs, detritus in it's wake, Chiron steps out again. His eyes move up the street, then down, curious as to who stayed behind. The young man included.]

text--

[fernbeleafer]

usually i meditate but that's not exactly working out for me this time
i'd stargaze too but i don't recognize any of these so it's actually kinda offputting
no offense, though! if they're you starts, i mean. they're great ones. really twinkly!

[ryuji]

You don't gotta recognize 'em to appreciate, yeah?

Sometimes just lookin' out there and realizing you're not even a speck of dust out there to them is kinda chill.

Also. Yeah, they wrote a song about this shit.

[fernbeleafer]

wait there's a song? what's the song? i love music!

un: @BOARING

[lonelywar]

[He actually ignores the question... rude, Ashitaka.]

What part of the city are you in?

[ryuji]

Huh? The rich part. It's called Pomme de Chien.

[lonelywar]

[He has a... vague idea of where that is.]

I will try to find you.

[It's moderately close, so he carefully picks his way through the streets, still pock-marked with destruction caused by the riots and small pockets of people continuing them. He had, within the last twenty-four hours, gotten rid of any features that marked him as royal guard, knowing that it would only bring ire to him (and his duty to the royal family was by this point finished).

Time passes. More time passes. He could probably send another message to Ryuji to ask where exactly, because the city is larger than anything he's imagined and difficult to navigate with the aftermath of the riots, but he doesn't. That would feel like admitting defeat....

But if Ryuji looked out from the rooftop he could probably see the a somewhat displaced-looking Japanese guy wandering down a nearby street, carefully observing store signage (or what remained of them).]

1.5.........somewhere in between bc i promised

[dipolar]

(seems to be a little too foreign for this climate, despite the franco-chinese relations being stable and polished chinoiserie ceramics sitting expensively in shop windows. it's why he's bolting away from a group of on-edge soldiers who've been searching for their queen since the beheading and losing their own over it, now prone to targeting whoever's the most out of place. at least it's dark enough for him to sink into shadows and take to the roofs, expecting no living soul like ryuji to have climbed up here to escape for a bit of rest.

hei's steps are featherlight even in boots that skirt his calves, hanging onto the rim of his hat as he jumps to clear a lump. it's something peculiar, a sandbag? surely not up here, which makes him consider the prone form a sorry sucker who met an untimely end above the architectural marvel of a town. and that's when he reaches it and skids, digging heels in hard—

a dead end. where he thought it wrapped around to the neighbouring roof.

can't catch a fucking break in either life he's leading, but the realization almost immediately has him turning on a dime. unlucky as he is, though, talent seems to make up for it and he manages to avoid not only breaking both legs from a would-be impressive fall off the end of the building, but the smoky bang of a musket fired from the opposite shore of the roof. far too close for comfort, lighting a proverbial fire under hei's ass as he double-times it back to the "corpse".)

...

(not a corpse anymore. an alert boy. japanese, bleach blond, young. nice red sash.

he'd work as a pretty decent distraction too, wouldn't he? not exactly the same build, but the height's there and they're in a similar enough outfit — an odd blessing. covering that bright hair would screw with anyone in this dim light, so: scapegoat him, tie the sash off on one of the parapets and rappel himself down and out of this situation. it's a good improvisation even for his towering standards, quickly pulling the hat off of his head and dropping it onto ryuji's without so much as a "hello".)

Hold onto that.

(it's a very quiet order as hei yanks the sharpened billhook from his waist, poised like a man ready to defend a teammate.)

this is great you're great please app asap

[ryuji]

[Tucked away in the rapture of his own napping prowess, Ryuji is... more or less dead the entire world around him. It's not the sleep that he'll wake up from fully rested, but it's enough. At least insofar as much to get him by for a little longer and stave off the rising storm of pure, grade A fuckfest broiling around in his head. He'd gotten used to sleeping on crates, and it was absolutely horrid for his back, but it was better than being out on the street- COST had provided just the bare minimum to anyone that joined its ranks: a sturdy handshake, a pair of scratchy ass black tightie whities, and a firm kick to the behind out the door. For honor.

Jolted, quite literally, by the sound of musket, he darts upward almost right away. The sounds of gunshots ringing through the streets of Paris was... well, unfortunately not that freaking uncommon as of late, but none of them are close enough where it made his own safety in peril. He ducks when he sees the soldiers from the other roof ready to curbstomp whoever the hell was up here.

What.

The fuck?

He doesn't quite understand what's going on (read: huge goddamn surprise), and is only about... 400% more confused when he feels the soft putt of a hat being placed squarely on his head. Okay. Okay? Who???

And putting two and two together, he quickly comes to terms with the fact that these soldiers are chasing whoever this guy is, and as his gaze changes from the rooftop to this guy---




Oh shit, this is a police chase?]

Dude! What the hell is going on!?

[Instinctively, he gropes around on the floor in an attempt to find his mask. I am thou, thou art I- yadda yadda. Fingertips wrapped around its edges, he hesitates for a moment--- fight or flight?]

Take it those ain't your friends.

I LIVE TO PLEASE and viva every resistance ;)

[dipolar]

(catches sight of the mask out of the corner of his eye and understands the urge to slap one on before a fight. he gets it. he has for years and, as it is, his own trademark — ironically inspired by the french — is gone. left behind in a savage world he can't say he's too choked up about leaving. now he's forced to expose it to the night air, strangers, and all of the dangers that come with them, stare an inky black in dim light.

it flicks away, the soldiers loading muskets hurriedly with long rods and sachets of gunpowder. he'll give them fifteen seconds. ample time to address ryuji, catch him up on the current situation (sparingly), and beat a quick retreat.)

No. They think I'm regicidal.

...

(—before making a dime-sharp turn, curving tip of his billhook held low between them.)

It is what it is.

(if you can't prove someone's suspicions wrong, don't try at all.

reaches for and aims a blurring swipe of the blade at the red sash wound tightly around ryuji's waist. the plan may not be clear to ryuji, the move looking very much like an unsolicited attack, but all he hopes to happen is a close tucking of the blade and a bloodless cutting of bright fabric. the rest of the plan is to bolt with it if he frees it, leaving the boy at the hands of adrenalized soldiers. the safety of others isn't his primary objective nor his responsibility in a time so divorced from his own.

which means that they're gonna be beeeeest friends.)

2, hi

[masque]

[the situation hasn't gotten more clear, he arrived just in time to see the cause of the chaos, take a look at the BCE to get a vague idea on how to use it, but for the most part he's been tossed around from one group to another in narrow misses of the chaos. a few times he's forced to defend himself, billhook out and an expert hit with the blunt of his weapon to a few necks is just enough to squeeze by— he has his mask, but he's not about to cause further panic.

a crowd eventually throws him into an alley, lined with grime and ruffled shaking animals running away from all of the noise. he needs to find shelter, and fast.

he's not scared of the alleyways, at this point. his only goal for whichever turns and twists he takes in the dark streets don't lead into another riot, and thankfully with how loud they are, it makes navigating much easier.

he finally rests against a wall to catch his breath, head pounding and brow prickling with sweat. from the looks of it, their "mission" is at its end. but that just raises more questions...

takes a moment to breathe and look up at the sky, wondering how everyone else is doing, and that's when he sees him. he can't mistake him, he can't mistake that bleached hair--]

—Ryuji? [quietly at first, stepping towards the bar but not going inside just yet]

Ryuji!

clutches chest. thank you satan, lucifer, and metatron for this

[ryuji]

[Just... casually chilling on the roof, avoiding all the hubbub down below, Ryuji's lost in between thoughts of better times. You know. Like being threatened to be kicked out of school. Roaming around in a trapped pyramid. Girls getting blackmailed with lewd pictures. An exclusive yacht club on the brink of the apocalypse. Akira's voice calling out to him.











Wait a fucking second.

One of those definitely doesn't fit the theme he was going for mentally. Was he that freaking desperate that he was starting to hear shit in his head already? It was too good to be true- he had been wandering around in COST like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to make the best judgment calls he could make, when he was absolutely the worst person in the entire universe to have to make them.

But, hark- what light upon yonder thief breaks? That's. Okay, that's weird. The voice rips through him like a pair of chopsticks to Ryuji's favorite beef bowl.]

Akira?

[He peers over the ledge of the roof- his current pillow for the half tipsy stupor he had built himself into. Pfft legal drinking ages in revolutionary Paris (literal 13 year olds had more tolerance than him). But he rubs his eyes. And rubs them again.

...

...

Okay then.]

Monsieur. [There's never not an opportunity for sass that he's going to turn down when it comes to Akira.] Care to like. Join me up here for some little French pastries or some shit?

the aftermath

[chariotry]

[ Achilles has been away for some time, having gone on an impromptu journey to the ocean with another member of COST in tow. Coming back to all the commotion had been jarring, but Achilles had leapt immediately into action, busting into riots and slapping around frenzied frenchmen and ensuring the safety of innocents.

With most of the commotion happening in the rich part of Paris, however, he did end up getting worried, wondering about Ryuji. He pays the bar a visit, only to find it ransacked inside.

He contacts Ryuji immediately.

Where are you, lagoudáki?

He waits, but receives no response.

And that gives him all the reason to be concerned. He starts thinking fo the worst case scenario, imagining Ryuji getting himself caught by the enemy and decapitated.

Though he hadn't known him well, he'd gotten attached. He'd be devastated if he were killed simply because he wasn't around to help.

Well, Achilles is going to be searching the immediate area, starting with the churches, for which those who'd been displaced had taken shelter in. ]

[ryuji]

[There are... a lot of churches in the area that have opened its doors and its kindness to refugees who were out of home and hearth due to the chaotic destruction of buildings all over Paris. But even those were proving not to be houses of safety: the old basilica of Saint-Germain-des-Prés had been taken during the revolution, and forced to store gunpowder, recently made into a show of fantastic fireworks when something had happened in the middle of the night to detonate them and take out the entire western wing, along with the Frenchmen inside.

When the riots had hit the bar he was residing in, he had been upstairs, terrified enough to climb up from the window and jump onto the roof to avoid notice.

They ransacked everything. Food, wine, stores. The owner was nowhere to be found when the dust settled, and maybe it was for the best. Ryuji would have to leave this place behind eventually anyway, and a missing person was easier than figuring out how to say thanks for the shitty accommodations and that he'd "try" to not leave a horrible yelp review of the place.

So he found his next home at a smaller abbey, one that had found its place in the more humble areas of town, far less a target than the larger ones sprinkled about the city. He's sitting down at a pew, staring at the stations of the cross, his back to Achilles when he enters.

It's nigh impossible to not notice that blond hair. It sticks out like a sore thumb.]

@MONSIGNOR

[frogfractions]

[There's a picture of a wine glass.

It's full of milk. There's no way that's white wine, it's actually milk.]

A drink tends to help.

[ryuji]

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

How much of a bad ass do you gotta be to pull that off and make it look good?