ya gotta wanna be a battering ram

[headandhand]

WHO: The entire dang city.
WHAT: Dualis Days, a week-long summer celebration.
WHERE: Central Square Park and the rest of the city.
WHEN: June 17-23.
WARNINGS: Terrorist violence, likely some blood and injuries. Please warn in individual threads!

June 17; Central Square Park.

Every year for as far back as anyone can remember, the start of summer is heralded by the week-long festival known as Dualis Days. This celebration officially kicks off at midday in the middle of Central Square Park with a commencement speech by the current mayor. This year marks Marcelina Dubanowski's third term as mayor of Dualis; she is an average-sized, middle-aged human-presenting woman with blonde hair styled in a short bob and a plastic, toothy smile that never seems to turn entirely off.

"Welcome, one and all!" she begins, with the practiced cadence of someone who is quite comfortable with public speaking. She invites all citizens, new and old, to spend the next week indulging in festivities in all districts of the city and getting to know their neighbors a little better. This is a joyous time of celebration, and the crowd responds with enthusiastic applause as the mayor finishes her speech and introduces this year's parade marshall, Peshtigo Tengfei.

Tengfei blows a whistle six times to signal the start of the parade - and this is where the celebration goes sideways.

A loud explosion tears through the air, and it's followed by panicked screams and the sharp screech of microphone feedback. A bomb has gone off at the platform where the mayor was standing, collapsing the wood and tearing it to splinters and dust. Chaos erupts in the gathered crowd, and as the people shift in all directions to get clear of any possible additional bombs, a loud siren cuts through the cacophony, calling attention to the sudden crackle of video feed present on all television screens throughout the city, including those set up in the park to broadcast the mayor's speech for those standing far from the stage. The picture is plain, a black background and bold white block letters filling the screen:

WAKE UP
WAKE UP
DON'T BELIEVE THE LIES

The final image is an anatomical graphic of a human heart, displayed for about three seconds, and then the feed goes black again.

Confused murmurs sweep through the crowd as citizens resume tending to the injured and evacuating the area until official first responders arrive.

June 17-23; aftermath around the city.

Dualis Days continues as scheduled, though Mayor Dubanowski is unable to enjoy the festival, as she is spending the week in the hospital recovering from her injuries. A team of Iterations guard her door - no visitors allowed - but the news media frequently report updates on her condition. Nothing to worry about, folks! Return to your celebrations, and don't mind the increased visible presence of the Hand as Iterations are stationed every few blocks throughout the city. It's only for your protection, after all.

Comments

[aleifr]

No shortage of those. Aleifr almost feels spoiled for options until he sees someone buying a beer from one of the nearer stalls receive a plastic cup that can only be described as insultingly small.

"Are they asking for coin to sample their ale, or do Upplanders just not drink?"

[cadiastands]

Mira chuckles at his disgust. "It's just festival pricing. Captive audience and all that. If we go a few blocks out we can probably find a real bar that isn't watering down the drinks."

[aleifr]

"They're watering down the drinks too?" Aleifr scoffs, shaking his head with undisguided contempt. "Some fucking celebration.

[cadiastands]

"Come on, then," Mira says with another laugh, setting off towards a cross street that will take them outside the festival proper. "We'll find somewhere that doesn't offend your delicate sensibilities."

[aleifr]

This time, Aleifr laughs. More of a short, really, but it's the best you'll get out of him.

"Call it whatever you like." He replies as he starts to follow. "When I ask for a drink, I want a proper fucking drink."

[cadiastands]

"A man with standards." Mira's voice still ripples with amusement. She turns at the street corner, taking them away from the park, and as they walk, the crowds begin to thin out until it's only the normally bustling sidewalks of a popular tourist destination.

"Ah, that looks promising." She points at an A-frame sign standing outside a restaurant's door, its simple electronic screen displaying SOUP OF THE DAY: WHISKEY in a bold font above a hand-drawn glass filled with brownish scribbles representing the whiskey in question.

[aleifr]

He'll take her word on how promising it looks. Considering this is the first bar he's been to, he's clueless as to what makes a good one.

"Whiskey?"

And about a few other things as well, apparently.

[cadiastands]

She shrugs. "I've never heard of it, but it's some kind of alcohol. Every city in the Imperium has a tavern that makes that joke."

Inside, it has the requisite dim lighting and bottles arrayed across one mirrored wall, various glasses hanging from specialized racks above the bar. The chairs and booths are plusher and in better repair than average--this is a nice section of town. Spillover custom from the festival has the place comfortably full, but there are still open stools at the bar, and Mira makes her way over to a pair, setting her unicorn on the bar top as if daring someone to comment on it.

[aleifr]

"Ah."

He's beginning to understand why this one looked promising.

Inside ... well, first and foremost, anyone who might have felt inclined to comment on her unicorn is more concerned with the scowling, heavily-tattooed giant following on her heels - though all of them decide to busy themselves with their drinks as his eyes scan around the room.

He settles onto the stool next to Mira's. It ... it isn't very comfortable for him. It was clearly made with a much smaller man in mind, and it groans under his weight. Once it's clear that it isn't going to break, though, his attention turns to the shelves behind the bartender, packed with dozens of bottles of varying shapes, sizes, and colors.

"Fucking hell ..."

It's more alcohol than most jerks would have in their personal store.