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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.
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 KINGIt 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 RIOTIt'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 tuileriesThe 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 TROOPSThe 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.
AftermathThe 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
sorry about your bum, horsey :(
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
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. ]
;)
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.)
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He does take off after his horse, though, prioritizing the safety of his steed over vengeance (although Hei, not knowing Achilles and how petty he can be, won't appreciate it). It takes a few bounds before he manages to catch up with the animal, but he finds her before she goes completely off the rails and gets herself killed by one of the armed revolutionaries. He accordingly makes a leap for the wall next to her as she's galloping through a-now-evacuated-alleyway, briefly running down the length of it before kicking off and landing in a way where his foot is hooking into one of the stirrups and using the momentum of his jump to swing his opposite leg over her back. This means she won't have to be jostled by his big, bara body. Honestly, it's a smooth transition from ground to horse. If Hei were around, would he be impressed?
Anyway, he makes a communicative noise to the horse, clicking his tongue against his teeth as his foot nudges her side. The horse is effectively taken control over and she veers into a wide turn so they can head for the direction Hei ran off in. ]
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ducks in, refusing to remove his hat. not right now, at least, while the spare few folks trying to escape the hell outside peer worriedly at him. a brief raise of hand, palm out; it's a bid to keep quiet. he's not here to pillage, he's here to lie low, get some rest, just the same as them.
unfortunately, a sharp whistle from the opposite side of the pub makes dark eyes drift to the source — a french soldier, not lafayette's but a local one shirking his duties, just waiting for someone out of place like him. walked straight into a trap the frenchman didn't even know he'd set up, showing his steadily and silently rising temper with a curl of gloved fingers. the leather creaks under the strain, watching with rapt attention as the reactionary shouting begins: "c'est toi!", "il était sur le toit!"
toit— roof? shit. he thought the four separate men dispatched on the roof during the course of the day had been sufficiently hidden, but nothing stays a secret. dubbed murderer, now he's flanked by a guard and angry patrons to his front and enough of a ruckus from the doorway of the pub to draw in that great green idiot on horseback.)
Be quiet.
(easily dodges a thrown beer stein, eyebrows lifting a fraction. before yanking his billhook from his belt with a grit of teeth. time to join a bar brawl.)
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With all of the soldiers surrounding him, it seems like an ill-opportune time to intervene, but Achilles is selfish and an asshole.
He just barges right through, shoving various patrons aside to make room for a grand entrance. ]
Found you. [ A soldier tries to stop him from getting involved in the scene, stepping in front to warn him of the danger that was about to happen. ]
My fight's not with you, so stand aside. [ Cue.... a confused frenchman. ]
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this persistent—
flips the blade out of his folds of clothing, tilting his head lower to purposely obscure his face with the hat. if this bastard has every intention of hunting him until he's had an honest fight, so be it. he'll give him a fight. but it sure as hell won't be honest, the sharp edge of his weapon shoved at the throat of a distracted frenchman. it nestles between the leather brace worn strapped beneath the chin, shaving a clean strip up the length of his neck, biting into an adam's apple and startling the man into a gasp.
cut off by a sudden and heavy boot-kick to the middle.
blood spills onto the floor as the fresh corpse staggers back towards achilles, nerve-endings keeping it upright for as long as it takes a wide-eyed hei to lunge out of its shadow with his knife poised high.)
Die.
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The corpse comes barreling towards him, and the man is large and obstructs his view of where his opponent is coming from.
He uses the body as a shield, grabbing a hold of the cloth of the guard's jacket to hold it up high and catch the point of that blade.
Achilles laughs, like this has turned into a funny turn of events. The other guards are reacting too slow, gawking at the show before them. ]
Don't go insulting me thinking you can use tricks to beat me! [ From over the shoulder of the deceased man. ] Fight like a child and I'll treat you like one.
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tricks? whatever helps him win.
they're eye to eye, so close he could spit in his face, but he's never been the boisterous kind of fighter that needs to make jibes. no pep talk -- self-given or by proxy -- has ever helped him in battle, only sheer force of will and a wicked speed. so what he does instead of indulging in senseless banter is flip the knife at the handle and catch it point-down.
aiming for the side of achilles' neck in an arc of a jab.)
1/2
The body is chucked to the side once Achilles realizes that Hei reacted too fast for him to take advantage of the blade needing to be dislodged from the flesh. Maybe if he hadn't spent all that time talking, he would have taken the opportunity to snap his arm in two.
But he wants to prolong this, maybe even enjoy it.
He'll catch the knife before it can plunge into his neck, gripping it in such a vicelike lock within his fist that the metal starts to compress.
Now he can get a good look at his face. ]
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With a yank, he's trying to throw the other man off balance, dragging a leg between his and hooking it over the bow at the back of his knee. ]
You're pretty, but I have to put you in your place. What a shame.
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on the blade. no breaking skin, no severing tendons, not a single drop of blood. an ability user, a confident one by the flirtations that go ignored in favour of a far more interesting quality: invulnerability. whether by stone skin or a barrier, he's not sure but it doesn't matter. being this close to him is now far too dangerous and hei's eyes widen when the corpse is dropped and his balance is threatened.
the leg hooks his and hei doesn't even attempt to put weight in his step. achilles is far larger than him and, in this close a proximity, heavy, corded muscle like that is enough to spook him into going with the flow.
held up only by his own grip on the handle of the billhook, hei's body bends back in a deep arch, unimpeded foot pushing off of the ground with a point of a his boot's toe. the blade, bent by powerful fingers, splits from the wooden grip without much stress on the joint and hei pitches back into a bridge with hands meeting the wood floorboards of the bar. he'd try to slam a kick in an uppercut to achilles' chin if he didn't sense it'd do nothing if his blade didn't--
so the follow-through flips him away and that's what he needs. distance. enough to pitch the handle of the billhook at the stunned guards who scrabble before it hits anywhere near them. they're beating a quick retreat upstairs, frightened into flight by a battle of supermen.
hei lowers his centre of gravity, but his heel slides back into the start of the bar counter. trapped, quickly glancing back at it before his eyes narrow at achilles.)
You're in my way.
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It's quite clear that these two are out of everyone else's league. The crowd that had gathered begins to back away or flee from the scene completely, leaving them a wide circle to use as their battlefield.
It's too tightly confined, but Achilles specializes in close quarters combat. ]
Trying to run away so soon? [ He'd just been so eager to engage in combat, but with the distance in between them, his adrenaline has dulled enough that he can think with a clearer head.
This is his ally. They shouldn't be fighting, but he deserved the fright. At least he can see he's easily outmatched. ]
You know we'll be seeing each other again. I intend to collect on repayment for what you did to my horse.
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achilles should understand getting distance in a fight. reorienting himself before going in for another attack. analyzing the playing field he didn't have time to before. he doesn't have to explain himself to him, when he knows it's meant to rile him — someone who rarely gets worked up to the point of making mistakes in battle. with a chilly, silent stare, this is conveyed well enough across the divide.
his own adrenaline? still present, making his heart pound in his ears.
and finally, there's a low jibe back.) You can try. Leave now, or fight me here.
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He lifts his chin, appraising Hei with an expression that looks more like a leer than anything else. ]
Fight you? Don't make me laugh. Nothing so one-sided could be considered an honourable fight. [ He's such an asshole... ]
Make things easier for yourself and apologize.
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that pride, the pride he has in his ability, sits high in his chest where his poisonous self-hated can never reach it.
because it's not his power to hate and it crackles off of his gloves, rolls off of him in a glow of radiation, red pupils like laser lights behind wide, dark eyes. this power is loaned to him, something he has to protect in order to preserve a memory of someone he should've been able to keep alive.)
Then I'll go through you.
(gone from the spot before he's through with his own sentence, leaning to the left of him, aiming to rush him, surprise him with a head-on blitz, slap a hand against brilliant armour.)