Her newly discovered taste for funnel cake notwithstanding, Dualis Days is not having the desired effect on Mira. The Arbiters, or whatever they call their law enforcement here, are barely represented, the inadequate scattering of personnel she's picked out among the throng all in shirtsleeves at that, and not a single riot shield or gas grenade among them. It's shockingly negligent, making her tense and unhappy even before she reaches Central Square Park and almost turns on her heel to go back to the dormitory. The park is a tailor-made killzone--a handful of snipers on the surrounding rooftops could pick off anyone they liked, or a well-placed artillery volley could account for the entire crowd gathered on and around the stage...and yet everyone is relaxed. Smiling. Laughing. Taking pict-caps and paying no attention to their surroundings.
When you spend your life waiting for the other shoe to drop, people who don't think there is another shoe are equal parts baffling and infuriating, and Mira's broadcasting enough of her unease that others waiting to hear the mayor are leaving her more space than most. Fine by her. She hangs back just outside the park on the opposite side from the parade route--and without a single tank or even an infantry formation in dress uniforms, what kind of sad parade is it anyway? Keeping her options open in case she has to run, she's picked a street corner beneath an awning that blocks sight lines from all the imaginary snipers with which her paranoia has populated the surrounding buildings. The screens are good enough for a speech she doesn't really care about, anyway.
Then the stage explodes and Mira doesn't have anyone to address with the general sense of "I told you so" she's feeling, because all the civilians are running and screaming and not paying any more attention to their surroundings than they were before. She drops into cover behind a planter, scanning for the hostiles she fully expects and who don't appear. After a minute or two, when no one near the site of the explosion falls from gunfire or subsequent explosions, Mira decides the risk is acceptable and abandons her relatively safe spot to run towards ground zero. Dualis citizens might not recognize the Imperium yet, but they're still human--well, a lot of them are--and the wounded will need help.
She vaults the planter, sprints across the street, and is over the decorative fencing edging one section of the park in seconds, avoiding the press of bodies at the gate. When her boots start crunching on bits of what used to be the stage, she slows to a walk, not wanting to turn an ankle, and surveys the damage, a tall woman in military fatigues looking around her with narrowed eyes.
"Incompetent idiots. Whoever planned this ought to be shot."
She means the mayor's staff, but if it's any consolation, she thinks the bombers should be shot, too.
The Funny Prompt (midway games!)
"Oh, sorry, you missed those first two," the man running the shooting gallery tells her in what's a reasonably good facsimile of sympathy, of which Mira wants none.
"Because the gun is mis-sighted." Her tone would immediately set a civilian apologizing where she's from, but just gets a shrug from the carnie, helping her mood not at all.
"That's what they all say, lady." The sympathy is becoming harder to detect, but he unknowingly defuses the oncoming argument when he continues, "you wanna prove it with another round?"
"Yes." Someone should probably explain upselling to Mira eventually, but this time it's a matter of honor.
"You're on," he says amicably, and steps aside as the row of digitally-generated rubber ducks on the projection screen float back into view.
The gun's a training weapon--though she doesn't see what cartoon birds have to do with target practice--and lacks the reassuring kick of a bolt pistol, but it's still a gun. Now that Mira knows the sights are off, and more importantly, just how they're off, she can hit anything in range...and proceeds to do so. In less than ten seconds, all ten simulated ducks have exploded into simulated confetti amidst simulated cheers, and Mira sets the light gun down with a contemptuous sniff.
"Um," says the man in the booth as he looks from her only slightly smug expression to the row of prizes hanging above the screen. "Do you want the unicorn or the elephant?"
no subject
The Serious Prompt (explosion!)
Her newly discovered taste for funnel cake notwithstanding, Dualis Days is not having the desired effect on Mira. The Arbiters, or whatever they call their law enforcement here, are barely represented, the inadequate scattering of personnel she's picked out among the throng all in shirtsleeves at that, and not a single riot shield or gas grenade among them. It's shockingly negligent, making her tense and unhappy even before she reaches Central Square Park and almost turns on her heel to go back to the dormitory. The park is a tailor-made killzone--a handful of snipers on the surrounding rooftops could pick off anyone they liked, or a well-placed artillery volley could account for the entire crowd gathered on and around the stage...and yet everyone is relaxed. Smiling. Laughing. Taking pict-caps and paying no attention to their surroundings.
When you spend your life waiting for the other shoe to drop, people who don't think there is another shoe are equal parts baffling and infuriating, and Mira's broadcasting enough of her unease that others waiting to hear the mayor are leaving her more space than most. Fine by her. She hangs back just outside the park on the opposite side from the parade route--and without a single tank or even an infantry formation in dress uniforms, what kind of sad parade is it anyway? Keeping her options open in case she has to run, she's picked a street corner beneath an awning that blocks sight lines from all the imaginary snipers with which her paranoia has populated the surrounding buildings. The screens are good enough for a speech she doesn't really care about, anyway.
Then the stage explodes and Mira doesn't have anyone to address with the general sense of "I told you so" she's feeling, because all the civilians are running and screaming and not paying any more attention to their surroundings than they were before. She drops into cover behind a planter, scanning for the hostiles she fully expects and who don't appear. After a minute or two, when no one near the site of the explosion falls from gunfire or subsequent explosions, Mira decides the risk is acceptable and abandons her relatively safe spot to run towards ground zero. Dualis citizens might not recognize the Imperium yet, but they're still human--well, a lot of them are--and the wounded will need help.
She vaults the planter, sprints across the street, and is over the decorative fencing edging one section of the park in seconds, avoiding the press of bodies at the gate. When her boots start crunching on bits of what used to be the stage, she slows to a walk, not wanting to turn an ankle, and surveys the damage, a tall woman in military fatigues looking around her with narrowed eyes.
"Incompetent idiots. Whoever planned this ought to be shot."
She means the mayor's staff, but if it's any consolation, she thinks the bombers should be shot, too.
The Funny Prompt (midway games!)
"Oh, sorry, you missed those first two," the man running the shooting gallery tells her in what's a reasonably good facsimile of sympathy, of which Mira wants none.
"Because the gun is mis-sighted." Her tone would immediately set a civilian apologizing where she's from, but just gets a shrug from the carnie, helping her mood not at all.
"That's what they all say, lady." The sympathy is becoming harder to detect, but he unknowingly defuses the oncoming argument when he continues, "you wanna prove it with another round?"
"Yes." Someone should probably explain upselling to Mira eventually, but this time it's a matter of honor.
"You're on," he says amicably, and steps aside as the row of digitally-generated rubber ducks on the projection screen float back into view.
The gun's a training weapon--though she doesn't see what cartoon birds have to do with target practice--and lacks the reassuring kick of a bolt pistol, but it's still a gun. Now that Mira knows the sights are off, and more importantly, just how they're off, she can hit anything in range...and proceeds to do so. In less than ten seconds, all ten simulated ducks have exploded into simulated confetti amidst simulated cheers, and Mira sets the light gun down with a contemptuous sniff.
"Um," says the man in the booth as he looks from her only slightly smug expression to the row of prizes hanging above the screen. "Do you want the unicorn or the elephant?"