![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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
isha devan // oc // new
[She could be hallucinating.
She should be hallucinating. Nothing makes sense as to how she got here, or even why. How the hell was she supposed to hide a prosthetic arm in Revolutionary Era France?]
This is ridiculous.
[Isha knows something or other about the time period, but not enough to blend in. As she walks out the room, she starts to mess with the device, scanning every bit of information possible before returning to her original thought: this can't be real.]
You! Fastest route to the palace, now!
can't beat 'em
[There was nothing to be done here. Death came in spades, and she's not even sure that she's in anyway free of this mess herself. The rioters have started to come up to the walls, to tear it all down.
It's unfortunate she has her eyes on what's inside. Deftly, she darts through and between people. Isha doesn't know the layout, but she follows her eyes and ears to secluded areas. Almost a curiosity to see someone who seems to know what they're doing with all that sneaking around...
Finally, she does break free of the masses. It's almost an overwhelming burst of air. Except the question becomes...]
Where the hell is this place?
[Perhaps she should've studied more historical architecture and not only its events...]
dress down
[She is suffocating in the fashions of today. She's been hardly able to move as much as she would like. In some truly abandoned home, looking charred and destroyed, barely habitable, Isha has taken refuge. She strips the gloves off her hands, lets both the skin and the metal breathe freely.]
This is the longest hallucination I've ever had.
[Her robotic fingers flex. In the low light, the black metal, the diamonds, the gold glints softly. She had to be careful, otherwise, she might find herself losing an arm again.]
wildcard
[it's whatever man]
dress down
His first plan of action is to check it out. If it's simply a shiny material, to collect it for trade. Or if it's a person, to see who's in there- friend or foe, local or COST or perhaps even Regency. He jumps off the roof as quietly as possible, dirt and pebbles crunching under his boots, skirting his way around the building to find his way inside without being spotted by any other passerbyers. ]
no subject
Well.
If she wasn't already on edge, she certainly is now. Whoever it is, she'd rather not have to kill, but what was she to do if it were a local? The knife in her prosthetic left arm doesn't slip out.
Instead, electricity crackles between her outstretched fingers. It's blessedly silent, but still packs a heavy punch.]
You know, it's bad manners not to introduce yourself.
[She too starts to move here, deliberately.]
I don't want to have a bad reputation for being a poor host by not addressing you by name.
no subject
You're absolutely right, mademoiselle. Where are my manners?
[ He has his own modern tech on him as well, a... uh, lightsaber, but for obvious reasons he doesn't have that out in the open. It's attached to his person, hidden beneath his shirt and jacket. Still not moving, he listens for any obvious footfalls on her end. ]
My name is Henry. I'm sorry that I nearly sullied your reputation.
no subject
[She would rather not come across the famed executioner, or an executioner at all.
If it were up to her, she would've already been gone, climbed up and out. It may still be an option. If only she could disappear entirely, but alas, she's down one stealth suit and up one ludicrous period costume.]
Not afraid of the dark, are you?
no subject
[ Might as well get that in the open while he's at it. The second question has him curious though. Is she trying to pull a fast one on him?
Unfortunately(?) for her, he's now quite intent on meeting her face to face. ]
Not at all. Why?
no subject
[Then again, every footstep has become amplified, out of paranoia, out of being solely used to her own noise-canceling boots.]
Makes me wonder if you want company, or trying to make a statement.
[Her fingers curl back into a fist. The electricity turns off on command.]
no subject
Can't it be both?
[ He stands now, at least, making no attempts to hide the noise from his feet now as he turns the corner of the ramshackle house to where she could probably clearly see his silhouette. ]
no subject
She can see him, or as best as she could. Without her glasses, she couldn't make anything clear or visible in the dark. Yet another annoyance of having tech far too good for the time.]
Possibly.
[And as she sees him, so too should he see a statuesque woman with her own small miracle of perfectly styled hair.]
no subject
She has no reason to trust him, and she exercises enough caution to tell Henry that she's had some form of training. From here, he can see her too and he would also admit that her hair does look perfect. ]
So, do I get to learn the name of my host?
no subject
[Evidently a surname, but not quite the one she's taken for herself. She has no problem admitting that it's not even her own name, a clear and overt sign of the distrust she currently has.]
Welcome to my humble abode.
[She even puts on a courteous smile.]
no subject
You have a lovely home, Gelson. A bit of a rustic, smokey charm it's got.
no subject
[Said as absolutely cheeky as possible.]
Now, since we're on the same side, you can drop the sneaking around part, right? [Except it sounds less of a request and more of a command...]
no subject
I don't know, if we're on the same side, wouldn't you want me to keep sneaking around? For our side's benefit?
no subject
[Besides, her arrogance dictates that she had to be the best one here anyway and her arrogance dictates that he wouldn't be very successful.]
no subject
I'll try my best to refrain. Old habits die hard and all that.
[ He shifts over a few steps, leaning against a part of the crumbled wall as gingerly as possible as he peers into the place at her. ]
So Gelson, what's a lass like you doing with a rogue lot like COST?
no subject
It cost her dearly, and yet remnants of her hubris persist.]
Doing what rogues do best, I suppose. [Isha is not actually quite sure how she, a hacker, thief, engineer, and now cop ended up running with the likes of literal time saviors. She's sure some soft part of her was appealed to join.] Though I'm no use for anyone here unless they needed something stolen.
no subject
I wouldn't rule that out. Never know if something needs to stolen to try and divert the path of history. You believe their story?
[ A part of him is very skeptical, of course. There's no way to tell if what he's doing is legit or a part of some weird futuristic scam. Time travelling, though, he can see with his own eyes so that's not the part that bugs him... ]
no subject
[Said simply. The past would alter the future, but then what? Could anyone really predict that sort of outcome?]
I have no reason to believe anything at all, really.
no subject
[ He'll go along with a plan, especially if he has no memory of agreeing to it in the first place, just to try and formulate the best course of action as he goes. ]
Now if only I could remember why I joined such a cause...
no subject
And the worst would certainly get in the way of her usual lifestyle.
Isha cocks her head, hands on her hips. She chooses to not move closer, despite her curiosity. He could come to her for all she cared.]
Hit your head too hard on a Frenchman?
no subject
The posture doesn't go unnoticed, seeing as she seems more open to him approaching instead of just awkwardly talking through the rubble. He takes a few steps to the side, edging around the wall until he gets to the doorway (now void of a door) and leans his arm slightly against it. He imitates the cant of her head, arms folded comfortably across his chest. ]
Actually, I was in Jerusalem. Much further back in time. Woke up in my underwear just like how I did in France.
no subject
[Clearly she doesn't believe that, and clearly she has a hard time believing even this is real in the fist place, though the absolute stench of death says otherwise.]
Let me guess, you witnessed the crucifixion personally.
no subject
Oh, if only. Unfortunately, I just ended up on the battlefield. Gruesome, really.
no subject
[As if that were ever so normal. Perhaps to some, but not to her, not at all. She stole things from rich people and knew the darkest places of London and Paris, the one of her time.]
As if that were so normal.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)