event: a gentle explosion

[thestewards]

I see a world just out of reach
With shoulders of giants at my feet
There’s not a challenge I’m afraid to meet

► The OOC plotting post for this event can be found here.

► Direct all questions to the mods at this link.

STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND
You wake, warm and comfortable, and realize that you’re no longer where you were when you went to sleep. The dream was real. As you clamber out of bed and open your door, an impassive footman greets you and leads you to breakfast in a large hall filled with many, many people. They sit around a hodgepodge of tables in a mishmash of furniture—nothing matches anything else, and no two chairs are the same.

The woman from your dream catches your eyes. She stares at you with open shock. “Well,” she says, as a number of males turn to her with withering looks. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She smiles at you. “Welcome to Draega, Stranger. Please, join us.”

Join them at the table and have your breakfast, Stranger. There isn’t much to offer: porridge, water, a bit of milk, some wrinkled fruits, and bread. Coffee, thankfully, is not in short supply. Meet your fellow Strangers, both the ones choosing to live at the Queen’s Residence and those who arrived in the night with you.

As breakfast draws to a close, the Queen’s Steward, Prince Loren Sorey, explains that you may choose to find your own home or stay in the residence for as long as you please. Those who stay will receive a modest stipend but are required to participate in Allairavar’s morning trainings every day. At dawn. Before breakfast. Those who go will need to find their own homes among the ruined buildings of the city and make their own money.

The court begins filtering out of the Great Hall, dispersing to attend their many duties. Linger, Stranger, and overhear…

“What did you mean?” The man leaning over the Queen is Prince Allairavar. His membranous wings flare around him, and his expression is menacing. “This wasn’t supposed to happen?”

Queen Fayura doesn’t look at all alarmed by the massive man caging her against a wall. “It was a one-time spell,” she says. “The web was—” Her eyes go wide. “I need to go look at the web.” She ducks under Allairavar’s arm, which could put a tree trunk to shame, really, grabs Prince Verim, and drags him from the hall.

Allairavar bares his teeth at the wall and snarls. The sound rumbles through the room, and dark temper washes briefly through the residence before all the tangled webs tucked in corners absorb it, leaving the building peaceful and clean of psychic feeling once more.

A TALE OF TWO IDEALS
At exactly 5:46pm, an explosion rocks the city of Draega. Black clouds belch fire to the northwest of the city. Concurrently, in Old Town, a mob of landens armed with Breakers and Muters descends on The Last Meal. They surround an older, Blood woman.

i. Black Out
The power plant maintained by the Tinkers and the Elektrics has exploded. Across Draega, e-line appliances shut down and the city plunges into darkness—the sun set some 45 minutes ago.

Prince Loren reaches out to approximately half the Strangers, asking them to go to the power plant. He shares a mental map with them so they know how to reach the building, as well as the Craft used for air-walking. The tutorial is quick and hardly complete, but now you’ll be able to run above the city to reach your destination.

The power plant burns. Black smoke pours into the air. Master Elektric Doriah organizes the Tinkers and Elektrics who were able to escape on their own. A quick glance reveals how absolutely exhausted she is. When Strangers approach, she sneers but isn’t about to turn away good help.

“There are still people inside. The Blood who did this trapped us in shields.” She hesitates only a moment before collecting Breakers from guildmembers carrying them. “Take these. Your Jewel may not be able to break through the shields.”

Inside, well-ordered building is a mess of fire and melting steel. Airwalking protects your feet, and shields can keep out the heat, but you’ll need something more to protect your lungs. Put out fires, stop systems from overloading, save the machines from complete destruction, and rescue missing workers who are suffocating and cooking inside shields. The guildmembers trapped in the power plant will assist the Strangers who free them, helping mitigate the damage done to the plant and keep it from exploding the rest of the way.

ii. Death of a Councilwoman
Councilwoman Vera enjoys dinners at The Last Meal, and this is well known by everyone in the city. Today, public knowledge of her schedule doesn’t work so well in her favor.

As she approaches the restaurant with her family, a group of landens descends on them. Muters prevent the Blood from taking any action that isn’t purely physical, and this is enough to throw most of them off their stride; they’re used to relying on Craft to fight. The landens separate Vera from her family in a short-lived brawl. She shouts and screams—“Let me go! Don’t you know who I am? The Queen will have you executed for this! Your families will be thrown out of the city! You’re making a mis—”

A shot rings through the air.

The landens peel away from one of their own, a young man gripping a Breaker in both hands. He trembles as he stands over Councilwoman Vera, whose expression is frozen forever in shocked disbelief. Her body crumples to the ground, blood from a gunshot wound on her chest staining the white fabric of her blouse.

In the silence that follows the shot, Allairavar shoves free of the crowd. “Go home!” he snarled, Craft powering his voice.

No one moves.

Except the young landen man. He takes off at a run, and the crowd is still too horrified to do much to stop him. Allairavar wastes no time. He plunges after the young man. At the same time, he reaches out to the minds of the Strangers closest to Old Town. *The Ebon Council is, collectively, a sack of reeking shit, and Lady Vera was a bitch,* Allairavar tells the Strangers. *But if we don’t get between the Blood and the landens, we’ll have another war. We can’t afford another war. Keep them from killing each other while I deal with this idiot.*


AIR TIME
Whether you catch the news on a Far-caster in the city or you’re spinning the dial on your own device, you’ll hear…

the news
…angered local landen families by her hard-line position that Blood homes should receive priority as the city continues to recover from the fires set by the Hunter Guild last month. [The man speaks at a brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.]

Councilwoman Vera is known for her vocal disdain for the landen Guilds, isn’t that right, Garret? [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn’t sound rushed so much as put upon.]

[Garret:] Correct, Wilt. She—excuse the interruption, but we are just now hearing— [The feed abruptly cuts off. Static pours from the Far-caster regardless of what local channel it is tuned to.]

Comments

[midship]

i. science fiction double feature

[There's nothing quite so disorienting as having slept enough to dream. Or, well-- perhaps that's unfair. It's very slightly more disorienting to wake up from having slept enough to dream to discover oneself somehow waking into the dream as much as anything else.

Still, at least there's coffee.

More than that, there's the faint comfort of not being entirely alone in his confusion. Other faces look as groggy and baffled as Horatio feels. Other voices murmuring over breakfast have that lost edge to their tone that echoes in Horatio's own thoughts.

And, best of all, no one seems to mind when he takes a second cup of coffee. They might not even stop him from taking a third. That's enough to brighten anyone's mood. By the time they're told there will be training? First thing in the morning? Horatio is positively contented enough to actually murmur to the person next to him:] Rather wonderful, isn't it.

ii. your scalding face

[One of his fellow Strangers had all but physically dragged him to the blackout despite a long stretch of unsure footing. The mass of them had swarmed into the inferno, falling into an odd tangle of half-coordinated rescue efforts. Another Stranger had dragged him from the flames when the dizziness of the smoke had begun to seep too deeply into his lungs and the ache of his burns had become difficult to ignore.

But, now he's been dragged out, someone really ought to stop him from stumbling his way back in. Physically, most likely. It won't take much, the way he's already staggering. Gentle shove on the back probably ought to do it.]

iii. time enough for countin'

[All in all, it's been an interesting beginning to a new life. Not quite as undignified as Spithead had been, if one had to make a tally of all the points of absolute mortification that had occurred in each instance.

It's still all a bit addling. It still helps to have something familiar to fall back on, if only for a few little quiet moments stolen here and there throughout the day.

The world still hasn't quite settled back down into itself since the explosion and assassination. The tension is distinct from the previous unease; less like the strange quiet moments at home and more like the exhausted quiet of Muzillac or Ferrol. It almost seems to be buzzing in his ears, needing to be drowned out to stop it from echoing in his own mind.

Thank goodness for being able to scrounge up a deck of cards. Shuffling them is wonderfully familiar, the motions coming as quickly and easily now as they had back in the Marquis's rooms. It's hardly as satisfying as playing an actual game, but the rhythmic flow of cards back and forth between his hands is enough of a focal point to properly clear some small portions of his mind.]

iv. wildcard

[You can catch Horatio up before training, devoting himself wholeheartedly to training, or attempting to avoid becoming caught in any social situations during most of the rest of the day--or whatever else we've discussed and I've forgotten in a fit of sleepiness! Feel free to hit me up on the plotting thread or pm or plurk!]

iii. c a r d s

[theladyofwinterfell]

( Sansa is familiar enough with Horatio, after having assisted him with the Craft class and seeing him at breakfasts in the Queen's residence. She isn't familiar with this sort of card game, she doesn't think, but she's played enough parlor games in her day. She settles in a chair across from him. )

Which game are you setting up for, my lord?

y e s !

[midship]

[In the absolute riot of new names and faces (and core concepts underlying the basics of the very reality around them), it's always a genuine comfort to see an even half-familiar face. Sansa's face is a relief to have settling down across from him, although the impulse to stand until she's settled does briefly interrupt the flow of cards between his fingers.]

None as of yet, Lady Sansa. [There's something of an apology in the admission. Then again, there's usually something of an apology in Horatio.] The lack of partners is-- limiting.

Re: y e s !

[theladyofwinterfell]

Oh, I suppose not having partners for a card game would limit your ability to play quite a bit. I don’t know these cards, though. We have different ones in Westeros.

( Margaery had a set with Targaryen Kings and Queens on them. Sansa remembers touching them, admiring how finely they were painted. )

How do these work?

[midship]

--work?

[In fairness, that's a question Horatio has spent a good deal of time asking lately. How an infinite number of things around him work has been a matter of absolute fascination. It's quite something to have the thought turned back around.

But surely the best thing to do, as he sits again, is to begin spreading the deck face-up across the table. The designs aren't entirely familiar, but the numbers are an easy comfort.]

[theladyofwinterfell]

( The numbers match what Sansa is used to even if the faces are different. She touches a few cards and gives Horatio a bit of a smile; he's so kind that she cannot really help herself. )

If you'd like, you can teach me one of your games and I can teach you one of mine? Then we have two to play together instead of simply one.

[midship]

[Human kindness remains... well. "Startling" isn't quite the word.

The ease of Sansa's half-request, half-offer is nonetheless the sort of easy gentleness that Horatio can't help blinking at. Kindness lived somewhere in the far reaches of his earliest childhood, far off and well-removed from his general expectation of the life he lives now.]

--would you?

[With any luck, the faintly overwhelmed edge in his tone will sound earnestly pleased rather than confusedly incredulous. (Not that it isn't just the faintest bit of both.)]

i

[retrorsum]

The coffee?

( river doesn't strictly need it, nor the strange sleep that she seems to have wakened from but--

well, with the last thing in her memories she's not certain if she was sleeping or not. she couldn't have been and yet with what was explained to her--

it's easier to focus on the coffee, particularly with someone unknown in front of her. she can sort out her experiences after )

[midship]

[It's a strange morning. It's a strange thing to have actually eaten first thing. It's strange to have had real, proper coffee without the immense guilt of feeling he's cheated Mrs. Mason out of a scarce resource.

It's enough to startle a soft noise almost like a laugh to his lips as the woman beside him speaks.] --well. Yes.

[His second cup is warm in his hands, perfectly pleasant to focus on. Maybe that's all that needs to be worried after for the moment.]

[retrorsum]

It's coffee.

( though river did know the difference between a good cup of coffee and a bad cup -- she'd had many, many years of sampling both to know how she preferred it. perhaps he had never had anything like it (it certainly wasn't the finest she'd had) or he'd never had it before. some species-- )

Though between us it's missing a little kick.

[midship]

[Horatio, for his own part, couldn't begin to tell a good cup of coffee from a bad one. He can, however, tell actual coffee from burned breadcrumbs in boiling water--and coffee is decidedly better.]

A little-- kick, ma'am?

[What's peppier than actual coffee first thing in the morning?]

[retrorsum]

( oh, he was very polite. how sweet )

A little something more to the taste. Or, for some, to really wake you.

( or alcohol for the others but hush, no one needed to know that )

[midship]

...hm.

[There must be some terribly posh secret about coffee. There must be some strange alteration which Horaito's betters had imagined long ago and kept secret for themselves. It's really the only explanation.

The thought does temporarily dampen the taste of his next sip--but the sensation doesn't last long. Having a full hit of caffeine is impossible not to appreciate.] Better than nothing, all the same.

iii

[thequitecontrary]

[ Between the explosion at the power plant and the murder of the councilwoman, the Strangers' lives in Draega have been a whirlwind lately. There's still so much that Mary needs to learn about the politics of this world, not to mention learning about how to control the power of her jewel. It doesn't leave a lot of time for leisure or socializing.

Sometimes she has to make time though. That's what she's doing when she comes across Horatio shuffling cards. She remembers meeting him the day he was listening to the farcaster program about flirting and seemed so embarrassed at the discussion. ]

I don't think I got to introduce myself when we met the first time. I am Lady Mary Crawley. [ She holds out her hand to him. ]

[midship]

[It feels right to balance out the mornings of exhausting training with something else half-familiar. It feels right to let his fingers move brightly over the familiar bend and give of playing cards, as hypnotically comforting here as it had ever been at home.

There's a stutter in the movement as he catches sight of this particular woman approaching. There's already colour in his ears as he stumbles his way to his feet, abandoning the cards to catch and bow awkwardly over the offered hand.]

Lady Mary. [There's no room to fold as dramatically as he had when he first met the Duchess, but it's a valiant effort all the same.]

[thequitecontrary]

I'm pleased to meet you officially. [ The two of them stand there clasping hands awkwardly for a moment. Mary raises her eyebrows slightly as she waits for him to continue. ] And... your name?

[midship]

[In an ideal world, of course, a brief greeting would have been sufficient. In a slightly less ideal but better than nothing world, Horatio would be able to sink through the floor whenever a posh voice and arched brow were this close at hand.

But this is the world they're in, and all there is to do is clear his throat.]

Lieutenant Hornblower, ma'am. I'm-- sure the pleasure is mine.

[thequitecontrary]

Indeed it is. [ She replies with a teasing smile. Mary is pleased to meet him as well, however. He seems sweet, if not a bit clueless.

Glancing down, she notices the cards on the table. ]

Were you planning to start a game?

[midship]

[Well. As long as they both know that went terribly.

Still, it's a comfort to see the conversation already veering toward something Horatio feels infinitely more at ease with than social niceties. His hand releases Mary's to drop to the cards again, shuffling them from the disarray of being dropped into something closer to their natural order.]

I had-- hoped to, ma'am. [For all his usual flat affect, there's a clear apology somewhere in the stutter between words.] Not many takers for whist, I'm afraid.

ii

[illequipped]

[The chaos and quickly setting sun do absolutely nothing to help with quick recognition, but somehow, Emil catches a glimpse of someone else being pulled out of the fray and thinks, radio guy?— which is enough to get his attention. The fact that Radio Guy seems to be more than a little singed and looking generally unwell keeps his attention, and a hasty glance at the number of people pulled out of the wreckage so far is all the time he sets aside for decision-making, before hurrying in Horatio's direction. The others can get the rest of the people out, right? So he'll do this.

Whatever "this" is. Why his fellow Strangers keep trying to get set on fire, he'll never know.]

Hey— you! [Ah, there he goes- Emil reaches out with both hands to grab the back of his coat and pull. Come back here!!] What are you doing?

[midship]

[Both hands is probably overkill for stopping Horatio, with the state he's in. Both hands will be helpful, all the same, for the imminent collapse of his legs--it hasn't happened yet, but it can't be far off.

The attempt to free himself is almost more of a shudder than anything else. His breath has come back to him, but the pause has brought all the pain in his limbs rushing to the fore.]

There's-- more. Inside.

[It's their job, isn't it?

And just the right thing to do?]

[illequipped]

[Horatio, jesus— just hold still a moment. Emil doesn't let go of him; he plainly can't shake himself out of this incredible hold, but what if he tries harder??]

I know! But you are going to pass out any second now!

[He can tell! Sit down, Horatio!!]

There are— there are plenty of people helping without you trying to get yourself burned half to death. Come on.

[midship]

[Sitting-- well. It doesn't sound good, but it does seem to be what's happening. Horatio's legs don't seem to be responding well to his mind's insistence that they continue to struggle him forward.

There aren't quite words for a moment like this. There's just a rough, guttural snarl of frustration to accompany the last ineffectual tug of not-quite-escaping.

Emil hasn't won. Horatio just needs to... sit for a few seconds before his next reckless attempt. Tactically speaking.]

[illequipped]

[Emil might be the smaller one here, but he's got a stronger grip than he looks like he has, so if he has to physically lift Horatio and toss him somewhere safer, he will do that. Don't test him!]

Stop that, you look like a dolt. I'm making you sit down and at least get some water whether you like it or not!

[midship]

[His legs are certainly on Team Emil. Frankly, his lungs seem to be as well. Really, the number of votes against rushing back into the burning building far outweigh the shouting in Horatio's brain.

It helps bring a certain stillness, but it doesn't stop Horatio from keeping his attention fixed on the bodies still rushing past.]

And-- then?

[Maybe it will just be a minute. Maybe it will just be sitting for a few heartbeats to gulp down some water and then he'll be allowed on his feet again.

It's doubtful, but it's a good lie to tell himself.]