agentlelog | event: a gentle explosion

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event: a gentle explosion

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

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?

--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.]

( 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.

[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.)]

Of course I would. You are my friend, after all, and that's the sort of things friends do together aside from having a drink or having tea. Every time I've tried to drink ale, I've spat it out so I think cards and tea will go much better.

( Sansa is eager to learn the card game, truth be told, because anything to occupy her free time and make friends is time well-spent. )

[What a strange, lovely thing being someone's friend is.]

Hm.

[For a heartbeat, the soft sound is all Horatio has to offer. It's a blessing that he has the cards to drop his attention to, fingers falling back into a familiar shuffling pattern to help his mind find its rhythm again.]

Do you play much?

Not since I was at court, so that's been several years ago. I used to play with the queen and her handmaidens.

( Margaery had been kind to take her under her wing. Sansa knows now that it was likely a ploy to get information - Sansa's claim had been very important - but she likes to think that Margaery liked her all the same. )

I don't have the best head for it but perhaps I've learned a few things over the years.

That's nothing practice can't fix either.

[As, hopefully, was being a normal human person around another human person. It was much harder to tell whether skill as a tolerable person was improving--but if time with William Bush had taught Horatio anything, it was that barreling through the first fretful nervousness of connectivity was the only way to go.

Instinct has him cutting the deck for four, despite the fact that he and Sansa are ultimately only two people. He'll notice at some point, surely.]

Do we play with two decks each, then? I noticed you have four stacks of cards and not simply two.

( Sansa is nothing if not observant and she wants, very much, to learn Horatio's game and have something in common with him. )

[It takes a beat to work through the way his own hands have betrayed him. There's the faintest bit of a stutter before Horatio simply forces himself to keep manfully moving forward with the pile he's already making.

Best to just pretend he's done it on purpose and hope the pink tips of his ears are well-hidden under a few loose curls of dark hair.]

I confess myself most partial to a game of four players. I thought it might be-- easier to learn with all the hands up.

That's all right. I just wanted to be sure I was following, not that I thought you were doing anything wrong.

( Sansa touches his hand a bit, trying to reassure him. She's noticed in their few meetings that Horatio gets easily flustered and she doesn't want him to feel that way around her. )

I promise to keep my questions at a minimum.

[There may come a time, some piece of Horatio knows, when a glancing touch from a friendly hand will be utterly unremarkable. For now, it brings only the briefest stutter into the motion of his fingers--hopefully one which might well pass as a moment's enjoyment of contact rather than a flickering heartbeat of uncertainty.]

There's hardly any call for that. [Another moment settles the last of the cards. There isn't much of a hiccough in turning the stack before him over, beginning to sort the suits into order.] Questions have yet to ruin teaching.

No, I imagine they would help the process along a bit. Still, needless talking might impede you so I am here and ready to listen.

( Sansa gives him a smile and props her elbows on the table, trying to look more casual than the lady she is. )

I'll only ask questions when necessary.

[Is being listened to any less awkward?

No. Nothing in the world of Horatio Hornblower has ever qualified as "less awkward."

But there are cards to focus on--if cards bereft of the need to hold the entire deck in one's head. It might be enough to keep himself from becoming utterly flummoxed over his own tongue, with some luck.] Have you played many trick-taking games?

Yes and no. We have some that don't involve cards, exactly, but they do involve bluffs. I also know card games where you have to make points and add them - the dragons can be one or ten, the kings are nine, the queens are eight - and so forth.

( Sansa looks at the cards before her, trying to learn the symbols and faces of them. )

Is that how you mean?

It... might be. [It sounds a good deal more like the Spanish and Portuguese games the soldiers were always bringing back with them, but one can never be sure.] I expect you'll find this much easier.

[Or, at least, she probably would if Horatio could avoid explaining the probabilities behind each trick. He probably can. Probably.]

Just a matter of who has the highest card of every go 'round.

Oh, well, that shouldn't be so difficult so long as I know how much each one is worth. Of course, that does depend upon you being honest with me. Lord Horatio, are you going to be forthright and honest with me about how much these cards are worth?

( Sansa says it with the softest hint of a smile playing on her lips, eyes alight with amusement. )

I am at your mercy.

[A good deal of conversation with Horatio Hornblower turns out as a series of soft 'hm's and 'ha-hm's. It could take a person years to become properly acclimated to the variations in constricted sound.

This little exhale, at least, actually sounds just the faintest bit amused, even if his features stay largely wooden.]

I expect the numbers will keep me on the righteous path. [But he'll pluck at the ones he's fairly certain, despite their unfamiliar facings, represent the faces.] Knave beat tens, queens beat knaves, and kings beat queens.

( Horatio's gentle manner is a balm to her. He doesn't bother her, not really, because he's not forward and isn't the sort of man to crowd into her space and demand her attention. Horatio isn't the sort of man to do cruel things, either, and she thinks she can consider him a friend.

Sansa turns over the cards, looking at them, and commits the values to memory. )

All right, then. I shall try my best to learn the game so you have someone to truly compete with you.

--hm.

[Directed kindness will never cease to startle him. Wellard's quick attentive presence had been startling, as had William's steady presence; as even more recently had Maria's gentle friendship. It's startling now, another warm rush under his skin.

Dropping his attention to the cards doesn't stop the odd sensation, but it pulls some of the tension from his throat.] You're more than kind to indulge me but at all, Lady Sansa.

Well, I shall like to have something to do in the evenings when it is not advisable for a lady to go out on her own. I do have an escort, of course, but I wouldn't want to ask him to take me somewhere every night.

( Bucky is a godsend, of course, but she doesn't want to occupy his time completely. If she can learn cards and play with Horatio, that can be done within the safety of the residence any time she likes. )

[The soft noise in his throat is something akin to a chuckle as he deftly begins shuffling his second hand into order.]

Will your escort not object to the moral corruption of gambling?

[That's what escorts do, surely? Guardian the innocence of their delicate charges?]

I don't think he will mind that I am gambling. He's from a place very different from where you and I come from. It's not proper for a lady to gamble in Westeros - and it seems not from your home either. I know little about him, to be sure, but I think he's from a place where women do different things.

( It's only in talking to Horatio that she realizes she actually knows nothing about where Bucky comes from, that she'd trusted him based on his kindness and silent strength. It's not a bad thing to trust him on, her instinct, but it does make her wonder a bit about his world and what it's like. That's a conversation for later, though. Now, she's learning to gamble. )

If he doesn't like it, then I shall remind him that he can always come and supervise if he wishes.

[There were certainly Strangers here who seemed utterly at ease with the incredible mechanical improvements nestled though this world--and most of them seemed not to spare a second thought for the generally equitable treatment of women.

Frankly, the far-casters have been much harder to adjust to.]

Then we'd be most of the way to having a proper game of four.

event: a gentle explosion

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