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

CW: Referenced Blood/Injury, PTSD triggers, Panic Attack, Death

[helpdesk_hero]

Running Into Danger Is Always Step One CW: Blood, threads from this may involve injuries

Most people, when a bomb goes off, are intelligent. Well, vaguely intelligent. First lizard brain reaction is to run away from danger until things are certain enough. Come back after to check on the injured, to offer what help you can. Most people think about their own safety first. It's the ones that run head first into danger, immediately and while knowing it's dangerous that are something a bit more. Whether that more is brave or reckless or just desensitized is up for debate. David Alleyne, former member of the X-Men more or less, it's complicated, is perhaps all of those things. He's been through, arguably, worse than this. He's been through explosions and terrorist attacks and people getting hurt. Helps, of course, to have other people's skills to draw on, other people's experience, other people's medical degrees too. Stack that all on top of being used to rapid response in these sorts of situations, and David runs toward when everyone else is running away.

Even knows how to direct people away from him so that he can cut more easily toward the front of the crowds. This wasn't how he'd expected his second day in this strange place to go down, not by half, but there he is anyway, pushing through toward the front. He doesn't care about the picture, he doesn't care about the broadcast, he cares about something more pressing. The injured.

Never going to stop thanking you, am I Hank? he thinks to himself as he goes down by the first badly injured person, tearing his white suit-coat off and immediately starting to rip it apart to serve as bandages.

Advantages of what and who he used to be? Fully qualified ER and trauma doctor, all in the convenient package of a twenty-year old man with a charming smile and a perfectly calm demeanor. Because compared to a few of the things he's seen up until this point including near death by the Hulk, this is nothing.

"Hey, I'm David. Don't worry, I'm gonna help you out here. Just tell me where it hurts."

A hero's work is never done.



Time for Breakdowns Later CW: Panic Attack, Past Death of Teens. Please don't read further if this could be bad for you

At least, it's never done until it actually is done. Until the sirens are lower, more a background noise that your brain has filtered out, crying only as they carry victims away from the scene. Except the work is done when the police are crunching down and people aren't exactly taking the charming smiles and young man with blood on his shirt and a little bit spattered on his glasses seriously anymore. Except it is now and fuck, he wishes it wasn't over just yet.

It's always in the aftermath that it's worst for him. Usually in the field it hadn't been this bad, not even when the Skrull hit San Francisco or when Utopia... Usually it wasn't this bad. Usually there weren't so many non-combatants involved. Usually there wasn't so much blood and the smell of blood and explosive residue in the air. Normally the sobbing doesn't involve so many young voices. Normally there isn't a touch of the scent of burned flesh in the air.

That's what gets to him the worst. That's what makes a man who's been through the worst that the X-Men could dole out sometimes, a man who has fought an interdimensional parasite and lost more people than he cares to count, fall apart. It's the memories, the scent of explosives and the voices of children raised in pain and fear and grief, and the smell of burning flesh. Driven as he'd been by helping it had been impossible for David to really let the details get to him. To break through years of defenses and a pretty great talent for just ignoring what hurts him.

Now, though, David's useless. Now it's overwhelming, and he's left stumbling away from the front lines. Home is so far away, and he just needs a moment. Just needs the noise to stop. Just needs clean air. Instead he finds a brief bit of wall, some business or other along the street, and David puts his back to it, sinking down to sit on the ground. There's enough left of rational thinking for him to take his glasses off and tuck them into his pocket before the shaking really starts. His heart is racing, his breath short, and some tiny voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like Charles Xavier calmly informs him that this is a panic attack and he really will be okay, even though his body is working really hard at telling him this is the end of the world. No, not even kidding, this one little moment here, with the noises and the smells and the memories of one dark night that haunts him still, this is what the world for him is made of.

Fuck. Fuck he didn't sign up for this today, okay? This was supposed to be some sort of party. He didn't need this. He didn't...

Just needed to deal with the shaking, he told himself. If he could just stay here until he stopped shaking and he could catch his breath and the world maybe stopped spinning some, he'd be okay. Had to be okay. What other choice did he have?

[sociallychallenged]

June 17; Central Square Park - Bomb Time

"We need to keep the parade route cleared, place hard barriers for the attendees. Every year we end up with at least one kid trying to jump the fence and run at a float," an older veteren of the force is saying.

"Sounds about right for kids," Hank says. He's the oldest one in this batch of cops. All of them rookies. Hank's the only vet from somewhere else. Back home that would have gotten him a better job right off the bat. Here? He's gotta get used to some of the different species available. Hell, some of the rookies here are species here that don't even look near human. He was still getting use to the idea of fuckin' androids on the force. This completely kicks it to the curb.

He looks over the map of the parade route, drawing a red line on the screen. Makes X's on the places he already knows to be high traffic areas. The ones where people have probably been waiting for hours. He wrings his mouth to the side, quirking it into a hard frown. Alright, so the're giving him from the start to the first few blocks as escort. Sounds easy enough. He'll relay and take over after the next guys. Looks like a lazy job.

Guess it's better than finding two week old bodies rotting in houses. He'll look at the menial bullshit work like that.

"You'll be using these," the veteren says, leading them over to metal... fuckin' horses or something? His heart immediately cries in pity for the pain his ass is going to be subjected to after riding that for a while. Great. He at least gets on the thing without being seated backwards. "Please listen to me more than fuckin' Connor did," he leans in and whispers to it, pats its metal neck, walks it over near one of the middle floats and relaxes.

The whistle blows, he's ready to go, and then there's an explosion and a plume of debris.

"Aw hell!" Hank yells as a tide of people flee. "Come on, get off your floats." He shouts up at some of the wranglers. Who knows if that's the only thing that had a bomb on it. "Get to a safe distance. In an orderly fashion! Fucking orderly!" He yells at a man that shoves two smaller women out of the way, then rides with them a few steps until they've righted themselves. "They'll be setting up barricades that way! Get down there."

As it's not a real horse, and knows better than to kick and step on people, the moment he sees someone knocked down he walks it over to stand in the way of the moving crowd to keep them from getting trampled. Until everyone is out of the way, this is all he can do. Give the guy time to get up with a giant obstacle in the way.

June 17; Central Square Park - Post-Bomb

Later, when the area is cleared and there are paramedics on the scene and other assessors, he rides the 'horse' over near to the stage, clammors off its back, and intends to speak with his supervisor. Supervisor is talking with a couple of other cops. He doesn't interrupt, but he catches bits here and there.

Right off he can tell this was a small stakes deal. Either they didn't want to buy enough materials to set off attention or they only wanted something on a small scale. He can't get too close yet, though. All he can do is go back to the nearest taped border and fend off rubber-neckers.

June 17-23; aftermath around the city - Looking for a snack on 'horseback'

A few days later he's back up on his robot steed, doing the rounds at the celebrations. Everyone seems to have calmed down, which is creepy as fuck. Everyone sort of has this fucking attitude that's way too familiar. A bombing in one place, and a few days later there are other people ignoring it in an unhealthy way or dramatically exaggerating their fears for attention.

Mostly Hank's just dropping the occasional parking ticket, issuing warnings, and smiling down at various kids excited to see either him or the robot. Which snorts sometimes and shakes out its wires like it has a mane, and that's strange. He's gonna be pissed off if he actually starts liking this fucking thing.

He's also hungry as fuck, and looking out at the first decent place to eat.

Time for Breakdowns Later

[yondu]

It's pretty pitiful when your first reaction to an explosion is "well that wasn't so bad." But that's Yondu's. He doesn't care about the festivities. He's just watching from a perch on a banister, at no respectable distance to actually enjoy any of the festivities.

The sound of the explosion does provoke something Pavlovian, near post-traumatic. It goes off, there are sirens, and Yondu is on his feet like a man prepped to handle an invasion. But then it's... what is that? That's barely anything. And watch these people panic.

He doesn't involve himself in the recovery efforts. They seem to be moderate in comparison to what he's used to, and Yondu himself, a man covered in scars, has a sliding scale fee on the number of fucks he gives versus the number of scars he has. In fact that one kid is down there helping people. He just catches a glimpse of David, but doesn't go after him as he pushes through the fleeing crowd.

Not until that time after, anyway. When Yondu shows up with two beers and taps the cold bottle against David's shoulder. Whether he got them for himself and then saw David sulking, or whether he actually went and grabbed a couple of cheapies when he saw the boy nigh on ready to sob.

"Looks like you need one of these."

Yondu's leather coat crinkles as he sinks down and pushes off the metal cap of his beer with his thumb, staring at the bottle with red eyes. "People talkin' about startin' out parties with a bang never meet it. They'll be fine. Even the mayor got dragged out of her with her brain still in her head."

Some Heroes Carry Cold Brews I See

[helpdesk_hero]

The nearby footsteps register in his head, but really, David didn't put much thought to them. His brain is on a little bit of a panic spiral, his brain feeding back old memories over and over, each time amplifying the smells, the sights, the powerlessness. The cold, though? The cold and firm and slightly damp press of the beer bottle against his shoulder? That at least gets a reaction, gets David looking up. Doesn't answer at first, just reaches up for the bottle. He's more than earned the right to drink with all he's gone through, American legal system be damned. Hell, this legal system be damned. He twists the cap off easily on his own and takes a quick sip as he listens.

"Definitely not what they meant, but I've been to worse parties," David admits with a brief shrug. "Better too. Including one thrown by Loki. Pretty understated for an Asgardian financed bash."

Another pull, this time longer. Beer really isn't the best medicine for a lot of things. The medical and psychological degrees rattling around in his head say this is absolutely the worst form of medication for this. Frankly? David doesn't care. He wants to taste something else in his mouth, and the depressant affect the stuff has on the human body is important.

"Seen worse than this. A lot worse than this. But sometimes things strike a nerve, you know?"

The forcing himself to talk does mean that he's slowing down his breathing some, so there's a plus.

where did my letters go?

[yondu]

He pulls his legs up so he can rest his elbows on his knees. "That feelin' ain't gonna go away fully. Fair warnin'." Yondu is a master of pep talks. "S'alright to talk about it an' get a li'l bit of it out, though if you find the right asshole that'll listen. You got one here at the moment."

Yondu listens, and Yondu drinks, and Yondu doesn't care much about David's age because he's earned his alcohol by now. It's just one beer and besides, he's legal somewhere.

"Them Asgardians always know how to throw a good time. Guess that's in any universe." He watches a few people walk by, gossiping about what might have happened, formulating their own theories, calling up suspicions as people tend to do.

Then David draws his attention back, and he takes another drink.

"Been a part of a lot worse than this. I reckoned when we got here there'd be some sorta rebels out there. Hope they ain't all the sort to talk with bombs. Them are the hardest to get along with, more likely to do their own version of overlord and go nuts in the end rather than do anything useful."

[helpdesk_hero]

"They actually gods in yours? They are in mine," David sighs. Because he needs to talk about something, anything, other than the memories right at this second. Needs time to parse them out, to figure out just what he's doing, how he's going to talk about it. But he knows Yondu's right. Has fancy letters that go after other people's names that tell him that.

Rebels with bombs. David hates those kinds the worst. Rebels that hurt innocents on the way? They're disgusting to him. He's seen so much needless pain already, and he doesn't know what to do about it being here as well. Sure he doesn't trust the AI, sure he knows things aren't perfect, sure he intends to poke and pry and tear this place apart in what ways he can. But this?

Another sip to try and stop the shaking in his hands.

"There are always some sort of rebels everywhere. Or people who use violence to be heard. It's when they use it against innocents that it gets bad. I was a mutant. Some assholes decided that after me and my classmates, and yes, that is meant to imply young, pre-adult little people whose biggest concerns are being popular and passing classes and fitting in, they decided we were a danger. That us being human suddenly was a danger. If we got out among the general population then we could breed with normal people and spread the 'cancerous' idea that mutants aren't bad."

Nope, there's the shaking again, his hand having trouble staying stable. His free hand comes up to grip the bottle as well, to hold it still.

"You got RPGs out where you're from, Yondu?"

[yondu]

"Eh, sorta. The got real high opinions of themselves an' lots o' magic an' are nigh on immortal." Yondu says. "Not as much as Celestials." Boy, what an asshole he was. He works the fingers of one hand, the one not holding the bottle, reminding himself they can still move.

Not all rebels are crazy enough to make a stink. Not a stink like this. He's sure of it. People don't wanna revolution without dragging normal people into acceptance. So there's gotta be some stupid assholes that like the idea of freedom but aren't stupid enough to wave their dicks around in public. But right now? They're gonna be quite a mess and being good responsible folk means they'll keep their mouths shut.

"I know about a lotta weapons." About half his beer is gone after the nest drink. "I reckon your school full o' kids was an easy target for people hatin' all the big dangerous ones?" Sounds like a fringe Kree thing to do. Planets used for resources and people are move valuable intact. Then you got people like Ronan the Accuser and who the hell knows what's wrong with guys like that.

"Yeah. Yeah. I know about stuff like that, too. How many of 'em died? Steady your hands an' count your fingers, before you tell me." Another drink. "Look at 'em as they are right now, right here. Count 'em."

[helpdesk_hero]

“They were following information from the memory banks of something that came back from the future to destroy mutants,” he answers and his voice is distracted. Hates to think about it, always has, and this just makes it even worse. Nimble fingers twist the bottle round and round. Later he is going to thank Yondu, because the man is pretty good at this. Probably has years of experience with talking people down from this.

Frankly, David appreciates it. Takes the time to count his fingers and his toes and sets the bottle aside. The rolling in his stomach is getting worse and he closes his eyes to try and not see it.

“They were loaded onto buses. They were going home. Around a hundred and fifty dead. More. Children to teens. I can...”

Still see their faces. Hear their voices. Know their names. Remember their powers. How much of their skills and knowledge still linger in his mind?

“I can smell them burning.”

[yondu]

"Naw, you can't... You smell a wood platform burnin'." He points loosely off in the direction of the park.

"I don't mean what happened to you ain't important. Someone ruins your life? Lives around you? Turns you into a threat when you ain't done shit? Yeah, that's important. Not ten hours before I come here, I watched half my crew tossed out into space. I couldn't rescue 'em."

At least, in some miserable way, he's pretty sure he ended up with them.

"It's important. That's a helluva lot of young'uns dead. But it ain't here, not right now. Right now you got your back against a brick wall, your hand is probably just warmin' up, an' you got blood on you. Now is that your blood, a dead person's blood, or does it belong to someone who's still breathin'? Because they're what's happenin' now, where you're sittin'. Speakin' of which-"

Yondu steals David's glasses his condensation wet thumb rub off the spot of blood his glasses, expecting David to take care of the rest. He figures the kid'll take some notice.

[helpdesk_hero]

He can smell it. Psychological. But yeah, he knows he rest of it is true. Here and now. That’s what he needs to focus on. He sighs and breathes and tries to focus. Which is easier when Yondu takes his glasses and cleans them. Not that he needs them to see. It’s just comforting.

“Thanks. It’s not mine. I have a few medical degrees rattling around in my head. I had to help. Been through this a good number of times. This just... this is harder. Seem so much worse than this. Why does this hurt so bad?”

[cadiastands]

OOC: I'll match format if you prefer brackets.

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?"

[yondu]

"Reckon the difference is that then was a case where you didn't ask for none of this fight, an' this is a case where you didn't ask for none of this fight?" Yondu offers. 'Cause that's the best he can work up in his head.

"Still figure we oughta find some of 'em an' figure out what the fuck they're talkin' about. One of 'em was smart enough to hack into some big network, too."

That makes Yondu knit his brow. He's not much of an investigator, but he's all about resistance when it comes down to the wire. "An then figure out what to do with 'em. The bottle is emptied then, and he puts it down between them.

Midway Games

[aleifr]

Aleifr had been browsing the games on the midway - lingering alongside each booth long enough to learn the rules before moving on - when his ear had pricked up at the familiar voice.

Nero. Annoyed, too.

He followed the sound of the brief argument, curious as to what sort of fool had decided to get on her nerves, until he arrived at the ...

He's not sure what it is she's doing, really. She'd called it 'shooting' but the little thing in her hand didn't look like a bow. Didn't fire like a bow either. All she did was lift it up and point it towards the little birds fluttering around the other end of the booth. He finger flexed and one of the birds popped into a swarm of multi-colored motes of light.

Her finger flexed nine more times, and all nine of the remaining little birds disintegrated similarly. It looked easy to her, natural as breathing, and judging by the face of the man running the stand, her aptitude for it came as a bit of a surprise.

Whenever she turns around after making her selection, she'll find Aleifr looking on, leaning against a nearby lightpost with his arms folded across his chest. He looks ... impressed. Intrigued. Little bit of both, really.

"Well done."

CW: the stuff that happens around bombings

[firacrux]

Central Square

Come to the celebration, they said. It'll be fun, they said. It's tradition, they said!

New as he was to the city, Seifer had taken the time to pause somewhere to watch the mayor's broadcast. It was generally a good idea to get a feel for the climate for anywhere you lived, and new science experiment or not that still held true. This place was significantly different than the Iteration he'd just come from, leaving him to wonder what exactly the point of this experiment would be. Maybe the mayor's speech would shed some light on things. Or just be an attempt to pull the wool over their eyes so their reactions would be more "genuine." His opinion leaned toward the latter, judging by that incredibly plastic smile of hers.

Just when he was about to write the whole speech off as boring and find himself some food all hell broke loose. An explosion, a siren, panic erupting in the streets and above it all that strange broadcast.

"The hell?" He asked of no on in particular, gawping for a few moments too long at the message and its beating heart. To say it was weird and alarming would be putting it mildly. However, now wasn't the time to dwell on such things, now was the time to act. While others ran in panic from the point of the explosion Seifer moved toward it, trying to keep to barriers and walls in case a shooter decided the bomb alone didn't get the point across.

Here was where training kicked in. Seifer went to work doing what he could to help direct people fleeing the area to clear streets with law enforcement in an effort to keep them from trampling each other. While without Cures or Potions he was severely lacking in the emergency medical aid department he did have some training there as well, and quickly made a rush to secure wounded and patch what he could before medical teams arrived. Mostly it was a matter of keeping them from bleeding out or being trampled in the process. "Hey, you! Yeah, c'mere and put your hand here. Don't just stand there, move." He barked at someone who didn't look too panicked to be put to use. Directing them to help staunch the blood on one of many injured in the blast.

There were better ways than this to make yourself heard damn it.



Aftermath

Eerie how things just... went back to normal. No one called off the celebration. The alarm of the day seemed almost nothing more than rumor and nightmares, not an event that actually happened just a few days prior. The most solid reminder the almost disturbingly cheerful way the news covered the mayor's recovery. Great, she's well, but there was something decidedly off about the whole thing. Well, her, and the significantly increased police presence. That was a good clue they were taking it seriously.

One would think all the robots would put a damper on the mood. They sure did his. It was probably stupid still being out there at all, yet he'd been mulling on that message for a while. Wake up. Wake up to what? What lies were they telling that someone felt their message had to be painted in blood? Frowning to himself he moved, not exactly partaking in the celebrations but instead listening. Seeking gossip, watching for anyone looking more suspicious than himself, anything.

Although he totally had to stop and get something to snack on because come on, how can you pass up carnival food?

Wildcard

[Got something else in mind? Go for it!]

[cadiastands]

This just in: Mira doesn't know what a unicorn or an elephant is.

"Unicorn," she says without looking, earning herself a surprised blink from the carnie and a pink plush horse with a purple mane and tail and a gold lamé horn on its forehead. It's the size of a toddler, which is coincidentally about the oldest she could have been and still appreciated her prize, but like hell is she backing down now. Mira tucks the ludicrous horse under her arm and turns from the booth to see she has an audience.

"I should hope so," she says, responding to the compliment with a chuckle. "My small arms instructor would have my hide if I'd missed at that range."

[aleifr]

It's alright. He doesn't either.

"You use them back home, then?" He nods towards the light gun on the booth's countertop.

It was a rhetorical question. She was obviously familiar with the thing, and he wanted to know what the hell it was.

[cadiastands]

"The pistol?" Mira says, following his gaze, surprised until she remembers he's feral. His Gothic is so good it's easy to forget. "Yes. It's standard equipment for officers."

Her right hand reflexively moves to rest on the butt of her own, but it didn't arrive with her and she's removed the empty holster--she doesn't think anyone's likely to ding her for being out of uniform in the near future. She hooks her thumb into her belt instead.

[aleifr]

[Central Park Square]

Considering, he'd been dragged here against his will, Aleifr didn't have much of a desire to celebrate Dualis. Nonetheless, he'd decided to attend whatever festivities these feast days had to offer. They gave him an opportunity to see more of this place, speak to others who'd been brought here, maybe even find someone who understood this whole fucking mess better than he did.

If he found something worth drinking, all the better.

So he made his way to the Central Square through the forest of impossibly tall metal buildings - the sight of which still left him awed and deeply anxious in near equal measure. On Fenris, only the tribes that settled on the shores of Asaheim built more than one story off the ground, and yet they built so high here that he couldn't see the tops of their dwellings without craning his neck. On Fenris, knives made of iron were so valuable that people would kill for them, and yet the stuff was so plentiful here they could build mountains of it. However, on Fenris, the island tribes lived in tents by partly by choice, because anything more permanent was shaken to pieces by the quakes that came during the summer months.

Looking up at the mile-high buildings around him, all he could think about is the damage they’d do when they came crashing down, and that … that made him all the more grateful for the relatively open space around the square.

Of course, that peace of mind didn't last all that long.

[A Brief Introduction To Explosives]

He stayed near the back, both because of the sheer number of people was somewhat uncomfortable, and because he saw no need to get any closer once he’d decided that the mayor’s speech was more fluff than substance. He’d just about given up on learning anything from it when the stage, with a roar like a peal of thunder, disintegrated into fire and smoke.

It became utter fucking chaos in an instant.

Suddenly, thousands of people were screaming, stampeding away from the crater where the stage used to be in sheer terror.

Alefir started to shoulder his way through the crush of people. It was like swimming against the tide. Every few steps he had to shove someone out of his way - get them behind him and away from the blast. Whatever the hell caused it might not be done.

“Get back!” He shouted. “Away from the square! Out of the damned way!”

At first, despite how loud he could be, his voice was swallowed up by the noise from the crowd. He could put more bass in his voice than most men, but one voice is nothing against thousands and so they kicked and pushed against him as he tried to fight his way through the current. Eventually though, as the blind panic started to dull in the absence of a second blast, they started to react to what he was saying. Instead of running straight into him, they began to part in front of him rather than get forced out of his path.

He was able to force himself free of the pack soon enough, but he still lingered a little way away from the stage itself. He didn’t know what caused it - what sort of magic, or weaponry, or freak act of nature - and that made him very uneasy considering that ignorance could be as lethal as an arrow through the heart.

But the only things shifting were bits of debris and ash, or people left wounded by the explosion, and he couldn’t leave them there.

If he saw any injured, he stopped to pull them away from the blast radius. If he knew how, he’d help them more than that, but the best he could do as a healer were tourniquets and rudimentary stitches. Anything more than that, they’d need someone more skilled than him.

From there, he moves towards the stage itself ...

[The Hell is a “Carnival”?]

The sign above the stall reads ‘axe throwing’ but calling the thing in his hand an axe was … a generous assessment of it.


It was a solid piece of what appeared to be iron, which would have made it a finer thing than most axes he’s ever held all on it’s own, but it looked and felt like a toy - and not just because of how small it was in his hand. It’s cutting edge was unacceptably dull, and a few long, ugly scratches ran nearly the length of its entire head. The handle was covered in some rubbery green material that was too smooth and slick to get a proper grip on it and, on top of that, it was balanced as poorly as any throwing axe he’d ever held.

Still … he was confident. He swung his arm in a few short, experimental swings. By the third, he had a good enough feel for the axe to let it fly, so he gave it a proper swing and let it go.

The axe didn’t quite find the center of the target. It struck just above and left of the bullseye, but landed with enough force to bury its head deep into the wooden target with a resounding thump - loud enough that the man running the booth looked a little concerned at just how hard Aleifr’d managed to throw it.

Aleifr, for his part, is grinning.

“Give me another.”

[Option The Fourth: Choose your own.]


[Feel free to have your characters just randomly run into him somewhere on the fairgrounds or the surrounding area, before or after the bombing.]

[aleifr]

"Pistol." He echoes, trying out the unfamiliar word as he walks past her and picks up the light gun. He turns it back and forth, inspecting it as best he can given the little cord tying it to the counter.

Aleifr glances at her over his shoulder. "How's it work?"

He isn't paying much attention to the guy running the booth. Doesn't know him, but he knows Mira - at least well enough to get the sense that she knows what she's talking about.

[cadiastands]

In what should come as a surprise to no one, the man in charge of the shooting gallery proves entirely uninterested in picking a fight with a seven-foot Viking covered in tribal tattoos or with the cranky woman who can out-aim a slightly rigged carnival game, and he finds something very absorbing to do with the more minor prize inventory on one side of the booth.

"It's...hmm." Needing to explain the function of a gun is a surreal experience for a Cadian. It's as fundamental a part of her understanding of the universe as gravity or the Eye of Terror. Mira sets down her unicorn and reaches out to settle the toy gun into Aleifr's hand properly. "When you squeeze the trigger," she taps the component in question, "it causes something to fly out of the muzzle," another tap, "and into whatever you're aiming at. It's like a bow, but easier to use."

[aleifr]

Aleifr allows her to adjust his hands, briefly glancing up to ensure he's doing it right before following along with her brief lesson.

Once she finishes, he looks up again. She's got his attention so far and he's very keen to familiarize himself with this thing, but he does have one more pressing question.

"What's it shoot?"

Because he didn't see any projectile fly out of the muzzle when she was shooting at the little ducks.

[cadiastands]

"This one's a training weapon, so just light," Mira says, not realizing that if she has barely any idea what infrared is, Aleifr has no chance. "Real guns shoot bullets, or--" She stops short when she does realize that lasers and bolter rounds are going to take a lot of explanation. "Let's stick to bullets for the moment."

[aleifr]

He doesn't know what a 'bullet' is, but he's still stuck on that first bit.

"This uses light for arrows?"

He glances down at the little hunk of plastic and metal in his hands, and then at Mira. His eyes narrow slightly as he searches her face for any signs that she's fucking with him, and when he finds none ...?

His eyes widen. His seemingly permanent scowl lifts for a brief moment as, once again, he finds himself wondering what sort of world he's come to where people can harness light like the fucking gods themselves.

[helpdesk_hero]

Perhaps he was right, except the fact of the matter was that David supposedly had asked for the fight because of what he'd been. Perhaps, more than anything, it was the survivor's guilt. Maybe. Hard to say, and he didn't want to pry deeply enough into it to really come up with answers.

"That's hard," he says, about the hacking as he takes the glasses and puts them back on. Really not needed, but his clothes are kind of fucked until he can get somewhere to wash the blood out. Good thing he knows tricks for that. Could really go for Billy right now to fix it with magic, but whatever. "Getting into the network. I've been trying, and I'm good. So whoever they are, they're putting a lot of resources there. As for what to do with them? How about knock them around a bit? There were kids here."

Aftermath

[skyward_eyes]

Robots? Definitely put a damper on the mood. Then again, Nida's fought more than his fair share of them and they make him almost more leery than the AI running this place. And that mostly has to do with not really knowing much about AI. They aren't an issue on his world. Yet. Frankly, he isn't sure he wants to be here, doesn't want to interact with this party, not even almost with his boyfriend. But Seifer?

After everything the last few days has revealed to him, after everything they've been through, after bombs and Jason and Squall and all the mess that was everything? Well, he had to just get out and do something, and watching Seifer's back was decidedly something.

"What in the world is even an 'elephant' and why are we supposed to eat its ear?"