Introduction
This new nobility is composed of a collection of families possessing a wide variety of abilities, and a single man has emerged to take the status of High King in Northern America. Situated in the ruins of what used to be Washington D.C this group of Supremes rules over the United Province.
These seemingly supernatural and perfect human beings are resistant to disease and have heightened intelligence, but most of the Supreme lack basic moral and ethical standards. Their young lives and strong wills provide plenty of opportunities for corruption and theatrics.
On the other side of the coin stand the Commoners. Most of which are too dazed and desperate for stability to protest a virtual return to absolutism. But those who remember the days before the ruin of the free world are ready to take their lives back. But how can a handful of ragtag Rebels hope to overthrow the tightly woven group of royals in possession of both wealth and power?
Opulence and luxury beyond your wildest dreams⦠gilded halls and chambers composed completely of silver, beautiful women clad in diamonds, and handsome men with crystals in their eyes.
Enter into a world of corruption, intrigue and deception dark enough to make you look for the light switch.
THE TOP
The High King - AMBITIONS: Seeks world domination, starting with reclaiming the Western Coast which is currently under Japanese reign. Wants to quiet the commoners who have pointed out his corruption. PERSONALITY: Has no stability in his emotions and often acts out of rage. POWER: Blurred visions of other peopleβs thoughts. Occasional, usually through sheer rage, the ability to telepathically control someone. DOWNFALL: After telepathically controlling he is physically very weak, bed ridden even. Some people have a stronger resistance to his mind reading. FC: Gaspard Ulliel. TAKEN.
The High Queen β AMBITIONS: If she werenβt so intimidated by her husband she might think about taking the throne for herself. PERSONALITY: Hot tempered and manipulative by nature. Obsessed with herself and her king. Has the remarkable ability of getting the King to do whatever she wants. Has a deep rooted motherly instinct, though she doesnβt have any children. POWER: Has the ability to make others hallucinate. DOWNFALL: Has to be within 10 ft. to use her ability believably. FC: Sarah Gadon. TAKEN.
The Advisor - The Queens half brother, the kingβs number one man. AMBITIONS: Though he is heavy involved in the deception of the monarchy, he still thinks about the little man. He is an βadvisorβ by title, but his actual job is to deal with foreign and domestic policy and to encourage and support the king in other ways. POWER: Can detect lies. DOWNFALL: Sometimes misreads truths as lies. FC: Rami Malek. OPEN.
The Mistress - Works under an official title as councilwoman, seeing as she has a powerful mind and ability. She works directly with commoners and their concerns by day and directly with the king on personal matters by night. AMBITIONS: The Mistress believes that she deserves to be the High Queen and wants to get rid of the golden lady. POWER: Can absorb othersβ memories. With concentrated effort she can implant memories into othersβ minds, whether they be true or not. DOWNFALL: Needs a strong connection (physically or emotionally) with the person before her abilities are fully successful. FC: Jessica Kennedy Parker. OPEN.
The Double Agent - Under the royal house as another councilman but he deals directly with the foreign visitors. He developed his ability by chance while the rest of his family has remained in the ruins of the city. AMBITIONS: He works for the rebels, but has the royal family and staff convinced that he is working for them as a spy of the commoners. POWER: Has the Strength of two men. DOWNFALL: He often misjudges her strength and ends up hurting himself. FC: Michael Ealy. TAKEN.
The Foreign Queen β She reigns over the regions of Europe. She is old friends with the royal family, but has never been fully trusteed. She was called here by the High King to discuss an alliance to take over the Japanese rule of the Western coast in Northern America, but she plans to over stay her welcome. AMBITIONS: The foreign Queen seeks to take dominance over the Northern Americas. POWER: Has the ability to sense othersβ emotions and perceive their past by looking into their eyes. DOWNFALL: Must be looking into the personβs eyes. Sometimes it is too emotionally exhausting to see into anotherβs past. FC: Katie McGrath. TAKEN.
The Foreign Right Hand - AMBITIONS: All he wants is to protect the queen from harm. PERSONALITY: He is extremely neutral on all political matters and really just sees himself as lucky. He has a strong bond with the Foreign Queen. POWER: He has the ability to mentally knock someone unconscious. DOWNFALL: He gets increasingly dizzy as he knocks people out. He can only get through about four people before he loses his balance. FC: Aidan Turner. TAKEN.
The General - He is one of the few Champions of the United Province who is still living. AMBITIONS: Fighting for a cause is one thing, but war for the sake of expansion doesn't bode well with the General. Expanding the United Province land seems greedy and unlawful to the General and he seeks to stop such actions. PERSONALITY: He is strong willed and dedicated to standing up for what he believes is right. POWER: The General's power is unknown to most because Champion powers are protected by the United Province. That way their weaknesses are not revealed for the battlefield. However, it does appear that the General has some kind of enhanced speed. DOWNFALL: Protected information by the government. TAKEN.
THE MIDDLE
The Brother - The Kingβs younger brother. He is the only one in the family without a power but still has all the perks of being a Supreme. PERSONALITY: Heβs a bit of a playboy and often wanders the streets of the ruined city to toy with Commoner women. Has had recent contact with the Rebel Leader, and there are rumors of his allegiance. FC: Kevin Zegers. OPEN.
The Designer - Fashion is a vital part of dominance in this world and only the best get to create for the royal family. She is the personal designer for the High Queen and is also her best friend and confidant. She stands strong with the Supreme and thinks very poorly of the Commoners. However, she is obviously a key component to getting inside the royal family. FC: Willa Holland. OPEN.
THE BOTTOM
The Rebel Leader - AMBITIONS: He has been planning the demise of the royal family since the moment he was employed in their palace. He works as a basic security guard but has wide ranged ears. He spends most of his time in the palace collecting information from other house workers and comprising a plan. He is the true Rebel Leader while another "public face" Commoner is known to be the leader by the Supreme. FC: Bob Morley. TAKEN.
The Right Hand - Second in command of the Rebels. She works actively in the secret main office of the Rebels. Immensely intelligent and often does a lot of the work that the Rebel Leader gets credit for.She sometimes called upon by the High King as another mistress, as sort of a symbol of his dominance over commoners. She is a public (involuntary) call girl to him. FC: Zoe Kravitz. TAKEN.
The Spy - Another privileged man from an elite family who possesses no powers. He is close friends with the Kingβs Brother and is often invited to social gatherings and private parties. Her resides in the palace like many other Supremes and works as a manager of the help. AMBITIONS: He seeks to destroy the pedestal that the royal family and the rest of the elites created, so he spies for the commoners. FC: Aaron Tveit. TAKEN.
DISCLAIMER: This section also contains vital information.
- This is a literate RP. 400+ words, please. But of course, quality over quantity.
- This RP will contain adult content, I suggest 17+.
- The characters presented approve are general ideas. Their face claims can be changed and some of the information provided can be tweaked (with a approval first). Please build on them, they're there for a reason.
- There will be no reservations, every spot will be competitive unless we've already spoken. Let me know what character your going for in the OOC. You'll have two days to send a WIP and two more to complete it.
- We by no means need all of these characters to start. On the flip side, if none of these characters strike your fancy shoot me a PM with a character idea and we can chat.
- Character sheets are entirely up to you. Please make them pleasant to read and organized. Other than that all I ask is that you have: character title, age, background (we don't need to know their entire life story), likes and dislikes, passions, and personality.
- After your character has been accepted I'm requiring everyone to PM with some ideas for their characters major plot points and or goals.
- The RP will be event based. This means that there will be frequent time skips. Generally I'll post in the OOC saying when the time skip is going to happen so that business between characters can be taken care of. If something is unresolved for any reason it is your responsibly to either finish the scene via PM or have a chat between writers to decide what happened.
- As far as inactivity goes once your inactive for one week, with no prior notice, your character will either become an NPC or picked up by another writer. If you return, your character is all yours, pending nothing has majorly altered them... Or killed them. Hehe.
- For those who have been around the block a few times this is a remake of The Lovely Ones from a couple years ago.
- Creativity, cooperation, and dedication are key components to a successful RP. If you can't give, please don't join.
- And last but not least, of course, have fun!
- 18 posts here • Page 1 of 1
The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 6 authors
Damian Marciano
Damian was in his war tent hunched over a map of the North American wasteland. They were a lot closer to the Japanese Province than he would have liked but God forbid he went against a direct order from High King Giovanni. "Fucking moron is going to feed us to the Japanese," Damian has spent the last 2 hours staring at the war map trying to come up with a solution to their problem. His time, however, was just about depleted.
"Commander Marciano!" Henri Kurtis, a messenger from Bravo Squad staggered into Damian's tent, out of breath and falling over his feet. He stopped in front of Damian's desk, his entire upper body being supported by his hands that were digging trenches into his hips. He was not a day over fourteen and his red hair was frayed and in dismay. "I...have a....report," the Bravo messenger continued, taking huge gasps of air between every other word, "we saw...signs....of a RandoshΔku attack." Damian's initial emotion was excitement; he has heard stories of RandoshΔku but has never seen them up close. His next emotion was fear. Not for himself but for his platoon and for the same reason. The stories of RandoshΔku were always told by the small percentage of survivors who clawed their way back to D.C.
"Private, are you certain?"
"100%, sir."
"Alert Charlie and Delta squads. It's time."
"Yes, sir."
Damian and Henri walked outside his tent, the hot sun beating down on their heads like they insulted its entire family. Damian shielded his eyes from the sun so he could watch Henri do his thing. "See you on the battlefield, sir." And in a matter of seconds Henri was already 60 yards away from Damian's tent. Henri could run at the top speed of human capabilities but for nearly an infinite amount of time. He was one of Damian's favorite students from his gym but they have yet to fully push his abilities to their max. "God bless that Ginger," Damian smirked and looked out onto the dry desert land until he could no longer see his student and friend.
Once the battle would start Alpha squad, where Damian preferred to command the platoon from, would move up to the front lines, with Bravo and Charlie on its flanks, and Delta squad on the rear. This would be Commander Marciano's 37th battle. He returned to his tent to gather what he would need. In this prep stage he would always start to think of his past life before the Third World War. He was 10-0 as a boxer. Combined with his winning battles he was two wins away from tying his great grandfather's boxing record of 49-0. "I'm catching up to you, old man," he sighed and wrapped aluminum infused bandages around his fists.
The American Province Platoon were positioned and ready for battle. Each squad consisted of 3 champions and 300 commoners however, under the direct request of Damian, Alpha Squad had 3 champions only and no commoners. Damian grew weary of putting men in danger for the warmongering High King's purposes. He turned to his right and smiled at his combatants for the last 17 battles.
Henri's father, Kristopher Kurtis, a short man with a fat belly and wide eyes, stared out towards the battlefield, "I have a bad feeling about this, Dame." Kristopher didn't quite look prepared for a battle. He wore a grey double breasted suit with matching shoes and a fedora that would make any person look twice, and not for a good reason.
"You've had a 'bad feeling' for the last 6 battles, Kris," Emanuel Cortes scoffed, "maybe you're losing your touch. Look somewhere in one of your chins, might be hiding in their somewhere." Emanuel sat in an aluminium propeller plane in between Dame and Kris. He rarely fought from the ground anymore.
Manny scratched at his arm, "the rash is coming back, Dame. Let's make this battle quick so we can scrape off the metal."
"We'll try our hardest down here," Damian saluted his friend as Manny took to the sky.
"We should go, too," Kris motioned for Damian to come to him.
"Words don't describe how much I hate this part."
"Come here, my Damsel," Kris's belly gyrated as he laughed a loud booming laugh.
"Why did I choose you to be on this team?" Damian walked over to Kris and was picked up in his arms like a wife being carried over the threshold.
"Because you know I'm the best," Kris began to run as fast as any man on the planet even closer to Japanese territory. Damian didn't dare open his eyes anymore during this part. He slowed his breathing and mentally prepared for what would be a legendary battle between the famous American Champion Trio and the infamous Japanese RandoshΔku.
"Here they come," Manny's words sounded in Damian's and Kris's minds, "holy shit, they DO look like sharks from up here. There are at least a thousand of them, Damian." "Focus on keeping the commoners safe, Manny," Damian ordered, "Kris will alert you if I need help." The Champion Trio was a mile ahead of Bravo and Charlie and two in front of Delta. They've always been the first to engage the enemy so Kris could let the other Champions know how to fight the them. It was a great strategy...as long as none of the Trio died in the process.
What started off as a small tremor escalated until the ground beneath Damian's feet quaked uncontrollably; a scare tactic by one of Japan's Wokous. It subsided just as quickly as it came and in the horizon Damian could make out hundreds of fins racing towards him. They glided over the desert landscape effortlessly. The distance between the Trio and the Thousand Army RandoshΔku was closing. Damian assumed his fighter's stance, "Kris, do it now."
"MIND CONNECT," Kris spoke and instantly all three Champions could see and feel what the other two were experiencing.
"You guys see what I'm seeing?" Emmanuel said from high in the sky.
"Unfortunately," Damian cracked his knuckles, "this battle won't be as quick as you wanted, Manny."
"No," Manny knew the question before he asked it, "sorry, Commander."
"Well, how about we quit standing around like we're waiting for the bus," Kristopher took off his hat and flung it like a frisbee at the closes incoming RandoshΔku. It twirled ferociously, well as ferocious as a fedora could be, towards its target. "Manny," Kris called, "give me some love." Suddenly the aluminum fibers in the hat sprang out and became knives, the harmless hat now becoming a deadly enlarged shuriken. It connected with the fin of the head RandoshΔku and tore off the top of the car causing the car to lose control and crash into another and then the ground.
"Was that racist?" Manny laughed from his plane.
"Ha, because its a Japanese shuriken?!" Kris's fat man laugh began and his tummy dance followed soon after.
"Hold," Damian ordered and the joking ceased immediately.
All three could see what their Commander was witnessing.
Four men began to climb out of the crashed RandoshΔku. All four had claws instead of hands, sharp nails protruding 4-6 inches from their hands and wore no shoes, just skin tight khaki colored pants. The RandoshΔkus behind them all stopped and waited but Damian didn't know what for. The men opened their mouths, revealing razors for teeth, similar to sharks. Their mouths continued opening until their jaws dislocated with a loud crack, creating large gaping holes that could tear into any human easily. The four men wailed a high piercing sound as they raced toward Damian and Kris. All of the vehicles behind them roared and sprang forward as well. In that moment the Trio realized that the "Land Sharks" they heard of in the stories were not the metal cars with the fins...they were the man eating Japanese mutants that rode inside them. This wasn't the aftereffect of nuclear war, this was something else entirely.
Damian was right, "the fucking moron is going to feed us to the Japanese."
"Holy shit," the three champions all thought at the same time.
The setting changes from North American Wastelands to Modern Washington D.C
A certain buzz filled the air on this cold November afternoon. The season had been fairly dry and all signs of rain and snow were absent. The high overcast sky stretched over the Kingβs Square like a tired old cloak. It was almost as if the sky was purposely covering the sun, shielding its innocence. The air moved slyly about the Square and caused a chill for those who had come to see the affair.
Between the Assembly Buildings was a large platform. Atop of platform was a beautiful large cylinder with a woman inside as the centerpiece, surrounded by apples and wildflowers. Behind the cylinder was another platform with a collection of half a dozen chairs filled with some of the most powerful Supreme. Their seats had delicate arms and were covered with deep red velvet. Many of these elite were Senators and Congressmen dressed in the finest furs, gold, and wool. Their long coats spilled onto the ground and their silver slippers glistened in the light. They were a pure image of opulence, lounging in all their glory. Ahead of this crowd were three grander seats, a throne and two counter pieces. This is where the High King and Queen sat, along with their guest, the Queen of the European Province. The throne was tall and slender, made of fine metal and decorated with silk and diamonds. The other seats were less magnificent with shorter backs and only semi-precious gems used to hold the fabric down. The scene was certainly strange and handsome, with everything perfectly placed, but an aching in the air made the sight nauseating.
Helena Tobin sat with her hands fiddling in her lap and her back straight as board. A fan of long dark eyelashes guarded her green eyes from the angry stares of the commoners. Her raven hair was piled to one side of her face and the large fur coat that she was wearing concealed a slinky dark blue dress underneath. Her bare back rubbed against the fur of her coat, gaining its warmth as she regretted wearing something so thin as a silk dress. However, she was particularly proud of the way that she had coyly worn a dark color in protest. The Supreme were instructed to wear their most colorful daily garb, as if to mock the commoners and their dull grey lives. Helena didnβt support the commoners by any means, but she certainly didnβt support execution.
Inside the cylinder was a woman by the name of Valarie Townsend, the leader of the Rebels. From what Helena understood the Rebels were the equivalent to what was known as the Legion in Europe; a banded group of commoners devoted to the destruction of the hierarchy created by the elite. Helena subtly shook her head, thinking about how this social problem was plaguing all of the provinces.
With a sharp dinging sound her attention refocused. The ceremony was beginning.
Below the platform was a stretch of around ten feet, bordered off and protected by a slew of police officers, all of which eagerly wielded tasers and batons. Beyond this barricade was a sea of commoners. Helena, against her own preference had attended many executions, but never before had she seen so many commoners present. What was usually a hundred or so commoners had greatly expanded into at least five thousand.
Helenaβs bright eyes looked around at the scene while trying to avoid any and all eye contact. Her powers were well controlled when Helena was in her own element, but in emotional distress they worked at their own will. Water was now beginning to tease at Valarieβs ankles, slowly rising from the floor of the cylinder. Observing every small detail Helena began to see the symbols. The apples of Eve: punishment just for trying the forbidden fruit. Wildflowers: hardly a dignified way of respecting the dead. And water: a remarkable and uncontrollable source of power, a resource needed to survive but with an unforgiving way of taking life.
Soon the girl would have water up to her knees and the air inside her chamber would grow stale and hot with anxiety. Helena glanced at her hosts, they seemed to be filled with a bubbling pride for what they had found and how they were going killing it. Her eyes darted around once more, seeking Eric, but she wasnβt even sure he was present. When the crowd began their unruly protects Helena stopped her searching and readjusted her posture. Her head was held high; shoulders back, hands folded elegantly in her lap, and dominance glowing from her sharp features. She looked strong and certain, aside from the fact that her eyes were staring down.
It was then when she heard a shout. βQueen Helena!β She looked up quickly and found the eyes that matched the voice. A petite woman was holding a young boy staring directly at her, and in an instance Helena knew who they were to Valarie Townsend. They were Valarieβs little sister and only son. A rush of emotion flushed over her and a choke in her throat tugged at the water in her eyes. Red blotchiness traveled from her chest into her pale face. It took only a second for Helena to realize what had just happened to her and she quickly remedied the problem. Irritated and filled with someone elseβs emotions she ripped her eyes away from the woman. With her teeth clinched Helena took to looking at the city in the horizon and pushing out all of the feelings she had previously possessed.
Helena would not need to see the progress of the water, she would be able to tell just fine by the panicked and desperate hollering of the audience. Water was beginning to inch at Valerieβs waist and the weight of her body was starting to bob toward the glass ceiling, making the cylinder ever smaller.
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He lived for this - for the entire ordeal. Marcello Giovanni had overseen enough executions in his reign to know exactly how one went down. They waited in silence for the chosen method to begin. They would watch in silence as the rebel, the traitor, whoever it was, died before their eyes. And he would close with his own remarks. It was a process he usually kept around twenty-three minutes once it began. Sometimes longer.
Today, it had already exceeded that amount merely for preparation. There were thousands of people, gathered to watch their figurehead drown at his hands. It felt good, it felt symbolic, in a sense. Like he was God and this would be the flood that killed the infidels. A symbolic rebirth.
He looked about now, waiting for the water to begin pouring in. Helena sat to his right, Katelyn, to his left. His wife often took the former's seat, but they were hosts now, and he was merely following the etiquette of a world that was long dead.
In the midst of vivid blues and reds and whatever colors The Supremes had managed to acquire, he was dressed in a long overcoat of white fur, trimmed around his neck with an equally as captivating black fur. Underneath, he wore a blazer and trousers of a bright, vivid gold. His hair was coiffed, done up hours ago by a stylist who had similarly masked the light blue and purple of bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well recently, but, in all honesty, when had he slept well? It wasn't uncommon to find him wandering about his residence, sipping some heavily alcoholic beverage until he could, finally, fall asleep.
But that wasn't on his mind now. The bell rang to begin the ceremony, and his dark eyes flitted towards the cylinder as pipes opened and water began to pool at the girl's exposed feet. He smirked sadistically, looking at Katelyn to see her reaction. Marcello was proud of himself and of the designers who had put effort into designing the chamber. Most of the symbolism had been personally requested by him. He felt her thoughts coming to him now, anxiety-ridden things, they were. She wanted her family. Her friends. She wanted to get out. Could she find a weak point in the glass? She had it. And yet Marcello knew she wouldn't.
He looked over at Helena, and suddenly, it hit him. His vision went blurry for a moment, and he rubbed at his forehead as a vision of Helena's thoughts came to him, pulsing through his head like a migraine. She was overwhelmed. She'd seen someone, and it was causing her to panic.
"It's brilliant...isn't it?" he asked her redundantly, his question punctuated by a spasm of pain. "Truly...overdid themselves." And then it was gone. Helena had pulled herself away. Marcello looked away from her now, looking back out at the crowd as the water came to the woman's shoulders now. The crowd was shouting now, pushing against the guards on the floor, and Marcello knew they'd have trouble silencing them enough to give his address.
"If you will excuse me," he said softly, standing and wrapping his overcoat more tightly around him with white-gloved hands. He stepped forward, walking up to the cylinder as The Supremes behind him stood out of respect. He stopped before the cylinder, making eye contact with the woman as the water lapped at her chin.
"Bon voyage, my dear," he breathed, blowing her a kiss as she swam up to the edge of the cylinder. She slammed her fist into the glass, her tear-streaked face contorted with rage.
"Burn, you bastard," she spat, loud enough that it carried back to the other members of the elite. He looked away for a moment, a look of disgust in his face which he quickly tried to turn into a smirk before turning his attention back to her.
βNot until you do, love,β he returned in as much of a snarl as she had used to him. βThat is...only if you arenβt too soggy by the time they fish you out.β
He continued on his way, hands at his sides as he approached the podium. Any speech he had thought of had been thrown to the wind with Valerieβs remark. He coughed softly before leaning towards the microphone that had been preadjusted to his height.
βA house divided against itself cannot stand.β He spoke slowly, allowing each word to echo through the square until it was almost quiet. He moved back into for his next words before the clamor could begin again. βThere is a role we all hold in society and when certain members are threatened, society crumbles. The woman you see before you today is one such threat to society as a whole, a scourge that must be eliminated to consider the United Provinces, the world safe. Consider this a rebirth of peace. A rebirth of freedom.β
By the time heβd finished, shouting had started again. If he listened, he might have noticed they had begun chanting a variety of refrains. One of which was the name of the rebel leader. But he turned now and began walking back towards his seat, past the girl as she struggled less and less against the water, into the applause of The Supremes.
Sitting amongst the select Supreme was Camille. Third from the farthest seat on the left she was positioned diagonally behind Katelyn. The annoyance of literally being overshadowed by the Queen tugged at her jealous strings, but the ability to see all of Marcelloβs facial expressions made it worthwhile. Wrapped around her like a luxurious blanket was a large wool coat of a glittery canary yellow, and it was so large that it billowed onto the floor. While standing the coat had a long train, a stiff collar, and looked rather graceful. While sitting, it looked like magical yellow skin swallowing her up. Under this cumbersome coat Camille wore a bright red dress. It was made of spider silk, a rather strong fabric with a mild sheen, and had an low ββVβ neck that nearly touched her navel. Even for the most morbid of events she needed to draw some attention to herself. She found that dressing a little too well for an event and showing off a little too much skin usually did the trick.
Camille sat with her pointed golden heels crossed and her body leaning against her left arm. In this position she was able to gain just a few more inches of the sight of her beloved High King. Her brown eyes traced over the features of Marcelloβs face. As far as she was concerned he was constructed by the gods to become a god. The young Senator began to nibble at her pointer finger as her eyes wandered and devoured every inch of him. Never was she more attracted to Marcello than when he was in his element, addressing the people and standing up for his rightful place on the throne. Camille made a mental note to reward him for his gallantry the next time they were alone.
Lost in her thoughts Camille jumped at the sound of the execution bell. Realizing that she was daydreaming she quickly composed herself and regained the sleekness that she had possessed prior. A flush of red embarrassment powdered her face, but it was nearly impossible to recognize though the makeup she had on. The execution was beginning. Camille had a flutter of excitement course through her. She, unlike most humans, looked forward to execution days. They were a brilliant and edgy way of teaching everyone a lesson. The other Supreme who sat with her remained neutral in their body language and facial expressions, none of them wanted to have the High King or the commoners to notice their true feelings. These powerful individuals would only show expression when Camille prompted them with a smile. A pity, she thought, that they could not enjoy themselves as much as she did.
Multiple minutes had passed by before Marcello left his seat and made his way to the podium. When the High King rose she and the other Supreme also stood, it was a sign of respect and following. Camille wrapped her coat close to her and beamed at the High King as he spoke. He was truly a man of great inspiration and power. She admired him more than she had admired anyone in her entire life. Camille let his words wash over her and within moments she was consumed. She closed her eyes and faintly listened to Marcello's voice drone on. His voice danced her head and she began to manipulate it in her mind and imagine herself as the High Queen. She would have the power to do what she wanted, be praised by all, and be Marcelloβs wife. Then her life and her love would be secure. Being High Queen would mean that she would be the begin all and end all of Marcello, and there was nothing more in the world that she wanted.
When Camille opened her eyes she drew in a deep breath and saw that the girl in the tube was nearly finished. Valarieβs arms were over her head, pushing her body down to prevent from hitting the ceiling but also keeping herself afloat just enough so that her mouth and nose could receive air. Camille could see that Valarie was beginning to strain her neck in order to take one last breath before succumbing.
Marcelloβs speech was over. The girl was storing water in her lungs now, but still thrashing about and causing a stir. Soon Valarie would be drifting into an eternal sleep. Camille grinned and she smacked her hands together enthusiastically, showing the utmost pride she had in her people and her leader. It was common knowledge that Camille was a huge supporter of the king, but their affair was underwraps. Remembering this she moved her gaze from Marcello to those around her and nodded in approval.
Throughout the ceremony, Theodore remains silent. He sits among the more powerful of the influential, strong enough to snap many of their slender necks, hung heavy with bright and festive jewels. These are the times which test him the most, which tempt him to break the facade and escape to his family, to the ruins of DC beyond the homes of the nobility. A small genetic abnormality, a bit of chance, and he is up on this platform while his flesh and bone stand angry among the crowds below. Stand angry watching his execution- this performance. That is all this is, truly. The nobility dress in their finest garb, in bright fanciful colors that stand a cruel contrast to the draining flush of the day's victim. Of the day's act. There is a slight twitch in his jaw, the only giveaway of his resentment towards this. The king speaks, a peacock strutting proudly before common sparrows.
Only those watching Theo would see him look away, unable to watch any longer as this man mocks the death of a friend. He has a reputation for a soft-hearted nature that seems ironic against his inhuman strength, and thus any nobles who do see it may simply excuse it as him having little stomach for violence. Still, they may scoff at his weakness. He, a member of the elites, and yet sensitive to the death of rebel scum. But even in ancient Roman times, there must have been patricians who did not enjoy the gladiator sports.
"A well made tomb," murmurs a noble behind him, a fair young man with a rather loud silk tie that is reminiscent of a yellow canary. His blonde hair is pointed upwards in a way that only enhances this image, another bright and stupid bird on the perch. "But I do think a burning would have been more suitable," he is speaking to the young woman next to him, one with bright red hair and a cardinal-red blouse to match.
"But then we have have breathed her in or something- that's disgusting," she shoots back, nose wrinkling like a child faced with a plate of green vegetables. Theo turns in his seat to give them a silencing look, and immediately they are quiet once more. He may have a reputation for being easygoing and cheery, but it is still not desirable to be on the man's bad side. Not that the nobility even realize how large his bad side is or that they already maintain residency.
His eyes return to Valerie. From where he is seated, only her back is visible. Still, he doesn't need to see her facial expressions to observe the struggle- thrashing arms, lungs desperate for unavailable air. There should have been a rescue. Why was an arrow not piercing the glass and releasing her like in a movie from previous generations?
"We've already lost men trying to get her out when she was first captured. I've been through every possibility- it's hopeless. She knows that."
"We can't just let her die."
"There is nothing else we can do. Theo, you can't save everyone. Besides, at least with this they'll feel safe for a while. They'll relax. She won't die for nothing."
"Fuck you."
"I'm not going to try and reason with you when you're angry. Goodbye."
There would be no attempt to save Valerie. Not now that she is on the stage for all to see. Theo does not allow himself to look away again, save a brief glance at the European Queen. He wonders what she thinks of all this. If this is how they punish rebels in her kingdom. He prays otherwise.
He may be drowning her, but there is a flame around Valerie all the same. Mel is all too glad to fan it until it is a fire that will turn everything his people have and cherish to ashes. Until their opulent dresses and intricate hair styles are burnt away leaving blackened flesh, no stronger than those that they have stepped on for so long. Valerie tells the king to burn. Mel will ensure that it happens.
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It had grown difficult to concentrate with the hushed whispers he heard as he passed through the opulent halls in the wing of the United Province Palace. Whispers were insidious. Dangerous. Whispers undermined days, months, years of work with one pull of the tapestry thread. He willed himself to keep his eyes forward and march on into an agreed meeting chamber, though he instinctively listened to every single bit he could take as he went anyway.
To an extent, he understood why they did so. Much of the news from across the pond was not often relevant to members of their court unless it had a direct impact on their way of life or unless they were faced with the looming threat of yet another war between provinces, and vice versa. He was sure people had questions about this newcomer Helena, and speculated amongst themselves what she had in store for all of them. One particular rumour, however, was consistent to those in the European Province: stories of the High King of the United Province, Marcello Giovanni, and his notorious methods. Today, they would exact one of them on a woman named Valarie Townsend, the leader of the rebellionβthe leader whose name he heard chanted by the many thousands in the near distance. He wasn't there physically in favour of attending to a few loose ends with the United Province liaisons regarding Queen Helena's safety, and no matter how beautiful or sturdy the well-polished palatial floors beneath them were, he knew they were really standing on bloodstained and unsteady ground. It didn't take a genius to realise that it was only a matter of time before the people decided to act even if they didn't possess the capability for the Supremes's abilities.
All Eric could do was bide his time and try to hold it off for as long as he could.
Executions in the European Province were normally done as swiftly as possible. It was still kept in public to quell the possibility of rebellion through fear, though it didn't make as much of a blatant mockery of the person executed as the one taking place between the Assembly buildings. It was a recent development under Queen Helena's rule, mostly because to have the kin be present at the executions were detrimental to her ability to focus and properly lead. She knew who they were just by looking at them. Attachment led to bias, and that was the last thing anyone really needed.
Being in the United Province reminded him of his days as a teenager attempting to navigate the ups and downs of the selfsame society he had been thrust into. One would, perhaps, call it culture, but what kind of culture was this? He was currently sure about one thing: this was a culture in which the purposeful setting up of the chamber in the midst of fecundity, of plentyβan image of death in the midst of all the splendour and lavishnessβleft an unsettling feeling in his gut that he couldnβt quite shake off.
However, he hadn't allowed that gut feeling to overwhelm him. There simply was no time to waste on sentiment where his duty as Queen Helena's right hand was concerned.
Uneasy, he looked out at the window from the meeting chamber and listened to the echo of the remainder of the High King's speech.
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"... a scourge that must be eliminated to consider the United Provinces, the world safe. Consider this a rebirth of peace. A rebirth of freedom."
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To an extent, he understood why they did so. Much of the news from across the pond was not often relevant to members of their court unless it had a direct impact on their way of life or unless they were faced with the looming threat of yet another war between provinces, and vice versa. He was sure people had questions about this newcomer Helena, and speculated amongst themselves what she had in store for all of them. One particular rumour, however, was consistent to those in the European Province: stories of the High King of the United Province, Marcello Giovanni, and his notorious methods. Today, they would exact one of them on a woman named Valarie Townsend, the leader of the rebellionβthe leader whose name he heard chanted by the many thousands in the near distance. He wasn't there physically in favour of attending to a few loose ends with the United Province liaisons regarding Queen Helena's safety, and no matter how beautiful or sturdy the well-polished palatial floors beneath them were, he knew they were really standing on bloodstained and unsteady ground. It didn't take a genius to realise that it was only a matter of time before the people decided to act even if they didn't possess the capability for the Supremes's abilities.
All Eric could do was bide his time and try to hold it off for as long as he could.
Executions in the European Province were normally done as swiftly as possible. It was still kept in public to quell the possibility of rebellion through fear, though it didn't make as much of a blatant mockery of the person executed as the one taking place between the Assembly buildings. It was a recent development under Queen Helena's rule, mostly because to have the kin be present at the executions were detrimental to her ability to focus and properly lead. She knew who they were just by looking at them. Attachment led to bias, and that was the last thing anyone really needed.
Being in the United Province reminded him of his days as a teenager attempting to navigate the ups and downs of the selfsame society he had been thrust into. One would, perhaps, call it culture, but what kind of culture was this? He was currently sure about one thing: this was a culture in which the purposeful setting up of the chamber in the midst of fecundity, of plentyβan image of death in the midst of all the splendour and lavishnessβleft an unsettling feeling in his gut that he couldnβt quite shake off.
However, he hadn't allowed that gut feeling to overwhelm him. There simply was no time to waste on sentiment where his duty as Queen Helena's right hand was concerned.
Uneasy, he looked out at the window from the meeting chamber and listened to the echo of the remainder of the High King's speech.
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"... a scourge that must be eliminated to consider the United Provinces, the world safe. Consider this a rebirth of peace. A rebirth of freedom."
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By the time the crowds were dispersed and rounded up by the police, the meeting was adjourned. He immediately set off to find Queen Helena to provide a report on the proceedings. Once he found her, he presented himself and bowed his head in greeting.
"Your Majesty." He frowned slightly at her disquieted state but didn't remark on it. "I apologise for the non-attendance. I met with the High King's adviser and a few of the king's other men. You should be able to view the official minutes and full transcript by tomorrow. "
"Your Majesty." He frowned slightly at her disquieted state but didn't remark on it. "I apologise for the non-attendance. I met with the High King's adviser and a few of the king's other men. You should be able to view the official minutes and full transcript by tomorrow. "
Helenaβs hands struck together at a slow, but nonetheless respectable, rate. Her bold green eyes finally left the horizon of the ruined city and looked upon the pale body of Valarie. There was no tingling, no sense, no soul or emotion left in the poor girlβs body. Perhaps that was another skill Helena could attribute to her ability, she could tell when someone was truly dead inside. Her eyes fluttered to Marcello and the sensation returned, the tingling that Helena could transform into the ability to feel his emotions and sense his past. Helena was not sentimental of commoners, but she did feel deeply for all creatures that possessed emotion by default. She wondered briefly if her ancestors had felt the same way that she did while watching an execution, they had been lofted above the commonfolk like herself, but had they felt connected to these other humans? They were indeed the same species. Werenβt they? Helena didnβt know the answer to this. So much of human history had been βrevisedβ by Supreme scholars that she feared she would never know what the past was truly like.
Her pale hands dropped many beats before the rest of the elite quieted themselves. The border of the sea of commoners ebbed and flowed in rebellion. The police were shoving back desperate individuals who wanted to get their hands on the High King. The buzz of tasers grew present as one by one the policemen began to turn them on. Helena turned away from the scene, ready to leave it behind. If only she didnβt have to attend another political gathering. This wasnβt Helenaβs land though, and she had to follow to customs instilled by the High King. It was a tradition for the most powerful to have a small party after an execution, as a sort of celebration she presumed.
The weight of distraction was too heavy for Helena to strike up conversation with those around her, and she slyly moved through the chipper mob of her own people. A couple of Senators tried to stop and speak to her Highness but Helena ignored all attempts of communication. It wasnβt until she was burrowing her way down a crowded hall that she was stopped by Eric. βThere you are,β she said as an informal greeting. Listening to his words the weight lifted, her mind was able to focus on something substantial, something without emotional... business.
βThank you,β Helena said curtly, remembering where she was to be. The gathering would be starting soon and she would have to pretend to be fully supportive of the High King. Helena started walking again and gestured for Eric to follow. βEscort me to the gathering?β she asked gently, as if it were an invitation and not an order.
βYouβre proper enough,β she remarked at his attire while giving him a good pat on the shoulder. The slender brunette was well aware that her lanky footman had better things to do, but she was tired of being a constant orb of attention.βYou do remember what happened last time, donβt you?β Helena asked this with playful eyes and a small laugh, like she actually needed to convince him. Maybe if Eric came with her the men of the United Province would get the hint. Not that Eric was King material, nor was he the least bit interesting to her in that way, but rather that none of them were King materiel. Social gatherings were like a hunting ground and with the young European Queen in residence it was almost pathetic how forward the men were. It was expected that the European Queen get married expediently, seeing as it would affix her and her future family to the throne, but Helena had no such desire.
Tugging at Eric's arm to remind him that she was to be escorted like a proper lady Helena continued with a βcome along then,β and entered into the small hall made entirely of glass. The floor looked down into a deep tank that was filled with what Helena believed to the remainder of the rare and beautiful fish on this planet. The ceiling was curved and water gushed from the top, making the view of outside wavy and distorted. This was the only formal hall on the ground level and the water on the exterior of it was their best tactic at flushing out the other world. The furniture was also made of glass with accents of silver. It was as if Helena had stepped into a magnificent glass marble that held the world's most terrible people.
When she entered the beautiful hall she was handed a flute of champagne and her fur coat was removed. The High King or High Queen would surely toast about their success in finding the commoners leader and deflating their rebel cause. βWell, I think theyβre just barbaric,β said Justice Peter Daniels, a red faced man with a portly stomach and legs that bowed out to support his weight. Despite his failing body his genetically modified cells made his face look strong and appealing, young even. If Mr. Daniels had been a man of his size and unsavory personality before the war, only his wealth would have been worthy bargaining chips. Helena kept walking, leading Eric as far as he would dare go (without actually looking like she was leading him). A tall blond man, whose name she thought was Jess Coulson, greeted her with two kisses upon the cheek like a Parisian. βHelena,β he had said in the most deliciously languid tone. At first she was lost in his pearly white smile and cool brown eyes but only a moment passed before she retorted. βItβs your Highness to you.β Jess straightened up, no longer slowly swooping down on what he thought was his prey. Her green eyes dared him to say another suggestive word. Unsure how to recover, Jess Coulson left without so much as a goodbye to the European Queen.
Helena shook her head before continuing her aimless strolling. She glided effortlessly amongst the people and only offered short nods and remarks of greeting for conversation after that. It wasnβt until she was approached by the flocking young Senator by the name of Camille Van Bueren that Helena felt tired.
The setting changes from Modern Washington D.C to North American Wastelands
Damian Marciano
Damian assumed boxing position and waited for the RandoshΔku to reach him. His enemies flailed widely as if not able to fully control their enhanced bodies. Regardless of control the RandoshΔku moved just as fast as the vehicles they road in. They were practically falling over each other, all hungry and anxious for their taste. Damian stood firm, trying to anticipate which one would reach him first. "I'm definitely gonna need you for this, Manny," he thought. "I'm already on it, Commander," Emmanuel responded and in that moment Damian's bandages gained a mind of their own and unwrapped themselves from his fists. They danced around his body until finding a comfortable neutral slowly rotating around his arms. "Let's do this!" Damian yelled to his team. He chose his target and charged forward. "I'm with you, Commander," Kris sprinted forward to match his leader and carefully matched his pace. A gush of wind strong enough to knock over any normal man rushed passed our duo as the RandoshΔku ships sped towards Bravo and Charlie Squads.
Damian threw a hard punch at the gut of the first RandoshΔku he could get his hands on and it toppled over, clutching at where the blow struck. The Rando recovered quickly however and lunged at Damian, mouth first. Another Rando attacked from his right at the same time; the remaining two jumping towards Kristopher with mouths wide open as if they planned on eating him whole.
"MANNY!"
The bandages around Damian's arms sprang out and grabbed both RandoshΔku stopping them in their tracks by hardening in their extended form. Kristopher quickly took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around his body like a cloak. The aluminum in the jacket hardened and Kris's legendary shield was complete even though it was actually Manny doing all the work. Damian crossed his arms and both RandoshΔku's bodies crumpled as they smashed into each other. Kris spun his "shell" by rotating quickly underneath the cloak and his pursuers flung off on landed a few feet away from him.
Manny sighed from his plane, "the fact that you two doubt me after so many battles together makes me sad."
"We still have to figure out how to beat them so we can warn the others," Damian watched as his attackers got up, unscathed. He placed his fists together, cracking all of his knuckles. "I'm sure we just have to cut their heads off," Kris removed his cloak and wore his suit jacket normally once more. His dress shirt was a few sizes two small and his massive belly was close to bursting the buttons. "Kris, you ALWAYS suggest cutting off heads," Manny overlooked the battlefield from high above, "but this time you may actually have a point." The trio had nicknames to the rest of the army that outlined the dictionary definition of ironic. People called Kristopher "The Turtle" because of his shield technique and his weight even though he was the fastest man alive. Emmanuel was called "The Hawk" because he flew in his aluminum plane but the only reason he could overlook any battle was Kris's mind connection ability. And Damian was known as "The Snake" because of his bandages that seemed apart of him and slithered to his beckoning call but that was actually Manny's ability that controlled the aluminum. Their abilities highlighted each other's just like Damian planned when he chose his team.
"There is only one way to find out," Damian charged toward one of the RandoshΔku. His bandages shot up his arm, wrapped around each other and became a lance. "This is new, Manny," Damian's eyes grew, bewildered at his new weapon. He felt Manny's smile from the plane. Damian concentrated on the RandoshΔku in front of him and the world around him slowed down. He could see the RandoshΔku making the decision to claw at him with it's right hand and forced the lance into it's mouth before the RandoshΔku could complete the thought. Kris, hearing his commander's thoughts, yelled at Damian to duck. His shuriken flew right over Damian's head and through the RandoshΔku's. "Dude," Damian threw his hands up, "cutting it kind of close don't you think?" When the RandoshΔku didn't get back up Kris quickly connected to the squad leaders of Bravo, Charlie, and Delta, "today's the day we've been waiting for. You have to chop off their head to kill them. We can finally chop off heads!"
Twenty Nine. Damian felt the cold sting of a brand new ice pack to the side of his face however the chills traveling through his nervous system had nothing to do with the ice. He sighed as he scanned over the list of names on his desk. Twenty Nine. After Alpha's Trio took out as many RandoshΔku around them as they could find they doubled back to help the other squads. The "Hope" Platoon won this battle but not without casualties. Twenty Nine. Damian knew he would have to return to D.C and visit twenty nine homes and inform them that their child has died on the battlefield. He wished he could tell them it was for a good cause but he didn't know anymore. Manny and Kris bought into Giovanni's lies and loved fighting for him but they were honestly probably too damn smart, talented, and lucky to die in these wars. Twenty nine more god damn lives wasted for the mad king's war. Damian shot up, slamming his fists against the desk. He stared down at the new dent he put into it. His heart ached more and more every day he spent out in the wastelands but he knew he'd hurt more if he weren't the commander. Before he took over if half the platoon died it would be considered a good day. Out of the twenty nine only one of them was a champion. Damian looked at the other list on his desk of D.C. "royalty" that exhibited the talent to be in his army. There was one name not on the list that he wish was: Theodore Wilkins. The strongest man alive was offered a spot in Alpha but turned it down so could kiss ass in the capital. Damian didn't love the idea of war but new that an army was needed for protection and wasn't the biggest Theodore fan. If Theo was here today maybe the number of casualties would have been lower.
"Commander Marciano!" Henri Kurtis, winded as per usual, entered the tent, "a letter came for you."
"Thank you, Kurtis. You did great today. Looked like your dad out there," Damian rustled the hair of his favorite soldier.
"No, sir," Henri smiled wide and laughed just like his dad, "I'm better."
"You're excused, Henri," Damian saluted, "get some rest."
When Henri was out of the tent Damian sat in his seat and opened the letter. He immediately knew it was from the King because of the froo froo font of the words. The letter was short and to the point:
"We caught the rebel leader. Executing the tyrant in 2 days time. Need you here."
Damian stood outside of the fishbowl where the King liked to throw his parties. He changed out of his army gear while on the plane. He adjusted his navy blue tie and stretched his arms, hearing all of the bones in his body crack and pop during the process. His suit was so dark red it looked black from afar and, by the advice of Kristopher, wore a simple white dress shirt. Kris always took it upon himself to dress his commander and friend when he had to come back to D.C. Kris called this his "subtle USA" outfit. Damian felt the army would be able to handle things without him for a bit after the last battle. The Japanese Province would need a lot of time to recover from the defeat so Manny was in charge in his absence. Honestly though, Damian felt more in danger here in the capital than on the battlefield. Damian entered the glass fishbowl clenching and releasing his fists, a nervous habit he's been failing to break.
"Well, here we go."
The setting changes from North American Wastelands to Modern Washington D.C
{In collaboration with Scarlet Loup}
Katelyn wasn't in any rush to go to the execution ceremony, she stayed in her room, eyes peered down to everyone gathering below. She tugged slightly at a necklace wrapped around her neck, one that Marcello had given her the night before. A soft sigh escaped over her parted lips as she turned away from the sight that was seen outside of her window as she was fully dressed but debating in her mind whether she really wanted to go to this event, well execution or not. She sighed again as a knock came upon her door and entered a servant, who bowed before speaking. "Lady Katelyn, Your Majesty is requesting your presence."
'Of course he is.' She thought to herself while raising up to her feet, standing upright now as she straightened her clothing out by running her hands over the fabrics. Katelyn took a simple step forward then made her way down towards the ceremony. She had arrived and people bowed as she crossed their paths. A warm smile curved among her lips as she greeted her people then saw Marcello and she still had that smile but saw his smirk and rolled her eyes.
Once she was seated in her appropriate seat, to Marcello's left, the bell rang out as she gasped. It seemed as if they were waiting for her to get there before they began the ceremony, the execution. It was completely sickening to her but she wouldn't say that out loud especially to Marcello. Instead, she sat there with a smile as everyone else, watching, waiting and anticipating. Once the water started gushing out, Katelyn didn't bother to turn her head, knowing it would disappoint her husband, The High King, Marcello. She looked at him as he had looked at her then turned her head back towards the sight.
Katelyn stood up just as Marcello did as he excused himself as she nodded her head then sat back down. Her eyes followed him closely as she watched his actions and simply shook her head. Once he walked over towards the podium, the first words he had spoken moved her. Since it was true. She continued to listen to his speech then looked as Marcello started to walk back over towards them. Her eyes followed him as she didn't really have much to say right about now. Instead, her eyes looked back at the girl in the chamber that was filling up with water. The water had probably reached her lungs by now as it wasn't long until her fate was sealed right before their eyes.
Her eyes flashed over towards Camille as she looked at her throughout the ceremony once or twice. She only nodded her head towards her when she was to look her way. Katelyn stood then looked down at Marcello then back towards the people below that wanted to tear him apart. Katelyn knew something like this would happen as she looked back down at Marcello, as she reached her hand out for him to grab.
"I assume we must celebrate this execution, as well?" She asked innocently while awaiting his response as she started to smile a little.
He did not sit again as he returned to his throne. Instead, Marcello waited at the foot of the ornate chair and watched the girl's last death throes before she finally ceased struggling. The only movement now was the swirling of her hair and the decor beneath her bare feet. Marcello made eye contact again with Helena, but he looked away out of boredom and searched among the assembled Senators for her.
He found Camille quickly and smiled her way, but he knew not if she noticed his attention, for now the crowd was fighting against the police, and Marcello instinctively looked forward. The Supreme behind him began to scurry off, leaving the open and hurrying towards cover in either the reception hall or their own rooms if they were not fortunate enough to receive an invitation. And now he noticed Katelyn's proffered hand, hearing her question despite the clamor.
"Try to sound enthusiastic, dove," he said, taking her hand and placing his fingers between hers before giving her hand a light squeeze. He returned her smile with one of his own and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. The shouting began to grow louder, and he could see the mob surging, outraged by such a casual display of affection before a sight so gruesome. "Come on now." He tugged at her hand and pulled her after him as security filed in on either side of the couple. He'd be lying if he said he did not worry for himself at events such as these, but it wasn't worth worrying Katelyn.
The hall has already filled with Supreme by the time the couple entered. Conversation halted for a moment that was just long enough to ensure Marcello and Katelyn had been noticed but without detracting from the joyous atmosphere.
A servant came for his fur coat and Katelyn's before he extended his arm, bent slightly at the elbow.
"Shall we?" he asked.
Katelyn looked at Marcello as he took her hand, giving it a light squeeze. She couldn't help but blush when he place a kiss upon his forehead then looked at him while taking this as an opportunity to respond. "Sorry, my love. Just ready for this day to be over and done with." Katelyn bluntly said while following right beside him now as security piled up on their sides.
She was a little worried about how today's events were going to effect them going forward but she tried not to let her worry show as they entered the hall now. Everybody seized what they were and noticed them as they came in, bowing respectfully as they passed them. When the servant took her fur coat, she was taken by surprise and gasped softly before taking Marcello's hand again, smiling at him.
"Yes, we shall." She remarked while walking beside him again as they would take their respective places in their seats, overseeing everyone else before them. Once a servant poured them their drinks, she took the goblet and took a small sip before leaning back into her seat, occasionally glancing over at Marcello.
He had pulled her chair out for her and then pushed it in once she sat. In the same manner, he pulled his seat out and then slid it into the table by himself. Marcello reached for his goblet then and took a long sip of the wine within as he looked about. His people spoke in a lively manner, exchanging gossip and their opinions with an enthusiasm he had hoped they would share. It was good to see them like this, going along with his ideas, accepting his absolute rule. He needed to mill about, make sure they saw enough of him to keep them in this blissful sort of state.
"I'll be back," he whispered, reaching over the brush his fingers against Katelyn's arm. "I have a few people I ought to speak with. You could come with me if you'd like." He didn't give her enough time to come with him though, for he had already placed his goblet down and pushed his chair back out.
As he stood, he took note of Damian and nodded at the soldier. He would get to him in time, ask him about the front line. Marcello looked about now, searching out a target, and his gaze fell on Camille again. He couldn't approach her now though. Not in front of the rest of the Supreme. But the young woman approached Helena now, and he realized this was his opportunity. And so Marcello struck, picking up a flute of champagne as he walked over to the two women and Eric.
"Pardon my interruption," he began, clearing his throat gently. "Helena, have you met Miss Van Bueren yet? One of the finest young women in the Senate." He looked towards Camille now, taking her in just long enough to sate him for the moment but hopefully not long enough to look odd.
Katelyn eyes looked at Marcello just as he pulled his chair back and muttered that he'd be right back. He had offered her to come but his gestures didn't seem like she was really invited as he left without her. So, seated she stayed as people came over to greet her with a bow and such.
"Your Majesty, how do you feel about the execution?" Someone had asked her as she turned to look their way and shrugged her shoulders. She wasn't really going to comment as her eyes were peered on Marcello but she suddenly lost sight of him. "I'd rather not speak on today's events, or execution. It's in the past now and what happened, happened." She nodded her head firmly after speaking those words then rose up from her seated position.
She wanted to dance now and so she went over to the dance floor, everyone applauding as she picked the closest male and started dancing with him. This action might make Marcello a little bit jealous but he sort of did leave her alone so what was she suppose to do - Be bored? Katelyn despises being bored and she was definitely showing it now as more people joined in the dance with her.
As she danced, she was smiling and laughing, enjoying herself as everyone bounced from dance partner to another dance partner. Once that dance was over, she curtsied towards her partner and applauded everyone as she glided back over towards her seat, sitting down while catching her breath.
&
The ceremony was over way too soon for Camille. She would have liked to revel in glory of a little torture, but the High King had his reasons for each and every execution. God, Marcello was a brilliant man, she thought. Just thinking about his creative process when it came to planning executions made Camille excited.
The young European Queen brushed past Camille, she noted that the Queen was rather nervous and eager to flee the scene. Camille watched her for a moment before turning her attention back to Marcello. At this point he was fawning over Katelyn, loving her as a loyal husband ought to. If only the High Queen knew.
Bent out of shape, Camille surrendered to escorting herself to the gathering. Her large yellow coat was gracefully taken from her when she entered the large glass hall. Her curious eyes glanced around the small crowd that had gathered. There was no one that Camille found particularly interesting, so she resorted to standing with a flute of champagne and sipping at it while watching the door.
When the Queen Helena entered the hall there was a stirring. The painted lips of the Supreme flapped with rumors and truths, stimulating a low buzz of voices. There was plenty to speculate about the dear European Queen, but it was especially interesting that she should choose to have her right hand man escort her to such an event. Camilleβs vicious eyes scanned over the odd couple, gathering just enough information to create believable gossip. Camille was not acquainted with either of the two but she knew the manβs name was Eric. It was then that Camille decided to make herself known to them.
Helena clenched her jaw, starting to feel uncomfortable about Camilleβs unforgivable boldness. Just before an odd silence would have washed over them the High King Marcello joined their small band. He went on to introduce Camille, looking at her with respectable affection. A flash of a passionate past rushed through Helena as she made eye contact with Camille. Helena didnβt like to pry into such things so she gave them the benefit of the doubt and assumed they worked closely together and thus had a dear friendship.
βOh yes. Itβs a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Senator. Iβve heard good things about your work,β Helena said. This was a lie of course, Helena had never actually heard of Camille Van Bueran. But the Queenβs instincts told her that this woman needed positive attention in order to be a friendly ally. Pleased with the compliment, Camille bowed her head in thanks. βAnd this is Eric Orr, my right hand man,β Helena added in politely.
βA handy man he must be,β Camille said with a suggestive brow and a slight giggle. Helena ignored Camilleβs comment and stretched a hand out to rest on Marcelloβs elbow before sincerely saying βA grand ceremony, your Highness.β Helena didnβt want to go so far as to compliment the brutality of it, but she wasnβt lying when she said that it was grand.
From the other side of the room Helena heard the wailing sounds of the dance music begin. Soon the Supreme would be bubbled up and dancing with the gleeful heat of alcohol in their faces. Helena caught sight of the High Queen Katelyn and looked back at Marcello. βI suppose your wife doesnβt like being ill attended to,β Helena noted, seeing that the High Queen had taken the first dance with another Supreme. From what Helena could remember it was customary to give the first dance to your spouse or loved one, but she could have been mistaken.
βPerhaps you should take the lovely Camille out,β Helena suggested only so that the King wouldnβt ask her to dance. Helena truly enjoyed these events, including the dancing, but she was far too moody to be a pleasant dance partner. A prick of suspicion tapped Camille and she shook her head. "Oh, I beg to differ. The two royals are a much better match for this dance. I'm more suited for the handsome Eric here, or even that war hero Damian everyone keeps talking about."
No execution would be complete without champagne and finger foods to wash the blood down. It was an extravagant chaser suitable for the king, though not really agreeable to the stomach of the strongest man in the room. Following the execution, the man had gone gladly to change into a darker, more subtle suit. Bright colors are demanded at the main event, but for dessert people are free to dress in any way they please. If only there had been time for a shower- he feels a striking need for one that burns hot enough to sear skin. On days such as this, he almost regrets not taking up the offer to join the Alphas, to distance himself from this gilded zoo. At least on the battlefield the consequences of such a lifestyle are not hidden behind pretty baubles.
But he can be of little use there, not to the party that he swears genuine allegiance to. No matter how many times the king's general, the intimidating Damian Marciano, calls him a coward for remaining in the capitol and rubbing elbows with the pomp and circumstance crowd, Theo knows that running to the battlefields would be a greater act of cowardice. Here, he is surrounded by enemies. There, he'd at least have a few brothers in arm about him, and very few foes of actual consequence against his supernatural strength.
As he enters, Theo actually catches sight of the King's man, probably back from another bloody battle over another pointless square on the king's chessboard. How could he fail to notice him- muscles and a look of discomfort, the man sticks out like a sore thumb against the white-palmed patricians. Theodore may be the strongest man alive, but Damian does a much better job of looking the part. He even manages to look taller than Theo, who in reality stands two inches over him. It's not a man that anyone would do well to get on the bad side of- not that Theo isn't already a card carrying member of that lot. Without a doubt, he'll have one eye on Damian throughout the night with the intention of keeping him at a two yard radius. Theodore isn't in the mood for being called spineless yet again.
He's going to have to find a way to confront the champion eventually, of course. Mel is adamant that he is an important piece to her movement for equalization, and is somehow convinced that he may be convinced to join the rebellion against the king. Theo, less inclined towards the belief that people change, is certain that they could never engage Damian in yet another war. The general may not always be the king's biggest fan, and he may have a gym that unites royals and commoners alike, but these are different things entirely from taking part in the usurping of an empire.
Theo walks quickly away from Damian's line of sight, now on the lookout for Queen Helena and her guard. He's doing a rather shoddy job of liaison to foreign diplomats at the moment, given that he hasn't spoken to the foreigners all day. He finds her standing between Camille Van Bueren and the king- a very precarious place to be, if certain whispers he's heard around the palace are to be believed. The royals are inclined to forget that the staff are little more than moving furniture, making them fountains of information.
Putting on a large, easy smile, he walks up to the frightening trio (there is a notable gap of room allowed between them and the other patricians). "Your Majesty, Your Majesty, My good sir, My Lady" he greets them each respectfully, still smiling with all the sincerity in the world. To the outside eye, he may seem completely ignorant to the thin layer of tension simmering between some of the world's most powerful players. There will always be some when such people come together. "I realize I'm not very good at my job if I don't say hello at least once tonight- ah, am I interrupting something?"
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Eric had grown accustomed to Helena's way of forcing him out of the normally spartan lifestyle he kept. It hadn't been met with much pleasure when he had started out at the Palace, but there was not much he could do with him being passed onto her as her adviser.
She had done that with his living quarters back in the European Provincial Palace (he settled for her idea of austere) and the way he dressed (she won on three occasions, convincing him to have bespoke suits made that he could wear to royal functions). There was no coercion, no blackmail, and no threats in the way she did it. The both of them knew each other too well, worked together for too long for that. All protests he might have made, friendly or not, died on his lips and made his tongue their graveyard. Yet, the way she asked somehow eased the discomfort.
He let out a sigh and smirked at her, a mix of resignation and familiarity on his face that in lieu of its verbalisation behind closed doors.
"Of course, ma'am. But please give credit where it's due. Hayes was on your detail that day. You have him to thank for escorting him from your presence." He gave her a nod, swiftly took her arm as if he were the one to initiate, and reluctantly made their way into the grand hall.
As per his duty to protect her, he made it a point to do a more-than-once-over on anyone who interacted with his Queen. There were those among the well dressed crowd that were familiar, some of them people who had interacted with her more than once during her state visits. Others he had been acquainted with through his background checks. Members of the legislation, judiciary, and military were in attendance, all dressed in their gowns and suits and livery (or barely, in the case of the unfortunate inflated fellows who appeared to have underestimated their portliness). To help ease through the event, he ordered a snifter of whisky and a flute of champagne for him and his Queen respectively, thanking the waiter quietly after.
A particularly interesting character had come up to them. Not entirely unexpected at functions like these, he thought to himself, and took a brief sip from his glass to steel himself for this one. Camille Van Bueren, senator. There were (extremely faint) whispers in the palace about her questionable placement in the Senate, and about her much deeper connection to the High King. Scanning through the crowd, he had noticed her glancing in the direction of the High King and Queen, though didn't think it a particularly important detail unless he could confirm all speculation. Carefully, he readjusted his gentle hold on Helena, occasionally glancing towards her as Camille initiated conversation.
Helena was distant throughout, as she did when she had no patience for concealing the emotional burden, and didn't receive Senator Van Bueren's niceties with the same finesse as she normally would have. The public execution had worked its way into her skin even worse than he had anticipated.
He shifted his jaw slightly at Senator Van Bueren's too-blunt remarks about him. Whilst he could ignore them and enjoy his drink and mutually commiserate with Helena about not wanting to attend this farce of a victory party, it was the way the remarks were given, almost as if he merely existed as Helena's plaything. The masquerade-like interaction could only intensify with the arrival of the High King. He gave a polite bow in his direction and watched the exchanges with wary eyes.
"Thank you for the consideration. However, I'm sure there are..." He paused to better word his response and offered her a small smile. "I'm sure there are finer specimens for you among the guests, Senator." He lightly and discreetly tapped Helena on the wrist. "That, and I promised ma'am a dance."
Just then, a man who should have come to the meeting earlier that day during the execution joined themβone Theodore Wilkinsβ and he greeted him accordingly.
"Not at all. Mr McCarthy informed us you would not be coming to the meeting." He shook his hand. "Introductions were made. It seems there's room for one more. Ma'am, this is Theodore Wilkins. He works for the High King's council. Foreign liaison. I'm Eric Orr. Right hand man. I work mainly to prevent her from developing frown lines."
Before further conversation could be made, the ensemble were preparing for their next song.
"Excuse us. A dance was promised." He gave them all a polite nod, letting go of Helena's arm to proffer his hand to her, and led her to the dance floor. Just as she led him gracefully into the hall, he led her gracefully across the dance floor, exuding a sort of finesse of his own despite his status.
"You were bound to give yourself away. You needed a distraction," he said quietly, using the sound of the music to mask his comment. "Pleasant woman, Camille Van Bueren. I'm sure you'll be fast friends." He chuckled lowly. "That aside, did you see anything in her of note?"
She had done that with his living quarters back in the European Provincial Palace (he settled for her idea of austere) and the way he dressed (she won on three occasions, convincing him to have bespoke suits made that he could wear to royal functions). There was no coercion, no blackmail, and no threats in the way she did it. The both of them knew each other too well, worked together for too long for that. All protests he might have made, friendly or not, died on his lips and made his tongue their graveyard. Yet, the way she asked somehow eased the discomfort.
He let out a sigh and smirked at her, a mix of resignation and familiarity on his face that in lieu of its verbalisation behind closed doors.
"Of course, ma'am. But please give credit where it's due. Hayes was on your detail that day. You have him to thank for escorting him from your presence." He gave her a nod, swiftly took her arm as if he were the one to initiate, and reluctantly made their way into the grand hall.
As per his duty to protect her, he made it a point to do a more-than-once-over on anyone who interacted with his Queen. There were those among the well dressed crowd that were familiar, some of them people who had interacted with her more than once during her state visits. Others he had been acquainted with through his background checks. Members of the legislation, judiciary, and military were in attendance, all dressed in their gowns and suits and livery (or barely, in the case of the unfortunate inflated fellows who appeared to have underestimated their portliness). To help ease through the event, he ordered a snifter of whisky and a flute of champagne for him and his Queen respectively, thanking the waiter quietly after.
A particularly interesting character had come up to them. Not entirely unexpected at functions like these, he thought to himself, and took a brief sip from his glass to steel himself for this one. Camille Van Bueren, senator. There were (extremely faint) whispers in the palace about her questionable placement in the Senate, and about her much deeper connection to the High King. Scanning through the crowd, he had noticed her glancing in the direction of the High King and Queen, though didn't think it a particularly important detail unless he could confirm all speculation. Carefully, he readjusted his gentle hold on Helena, occasionally glancing towards her as Camille initiated conversation.
Helena was distant throughout, as she did when she had no patience for concealing the emotional burden, and didn't receive Senator Van Bueren's niceties with the same finesse as she normally would have. The public execution had worked its way into her skin even worse than he had anticipated.
He shifted his jaw slightly at Senator Van Bueren's too-blunt remarks about him. Whilst he could ignore them and enjoy his drink and mutually commiserate with Helena about not wanting to attend this farce of a victory party, it was the way the remarks were given, almost as if he merely existed as Helena's plaything. The masquerade-like interaction could only intensify with the arrival of the High King. He gave a polite bow in his direction and watched the exchanges with wary eyes.
"Thank you for the consideration. However, I'm sure there are..." He paused to better word his response and offered her a small smile. "I'm sure there are finer specimens for you among the guests, Senator." He lightly and discreetly tapped Helena on the wrist. "That, and I promised ma'am a dance."
Just then, a man who should have come to the meeting earlier that day during the execution joined themβone Theodore Wilkinsβ and he greeted him accordingly.
"Not at all. Mr McCarthy informed us you would not be coming to the meeting." He shook his hand. "Introductions were made. It seems there's room for one more. Ma'am, this is Theodore Wilkins. He works for the High King's council. Foreign liaison. I'm Eric Orr. Right hand man. I work mainly to prevent her from developing frown lines."
Before further conversation could be made, the ensemble were preparing for their next song.
"Excuse us. A dance was promised." He gave them all a polite nod, letting go of Helena's arm to proffer his hand to her, and led her to the dance floor. Just as she led him gracefully into the hall, he led her gracefully across the dance floor, exuding a sort of finesse of his own despite his status.
"You were bound to give yourself away. You needed a distraction," he said quietly, using the sound of the music to mask his comment. "Pleasant woman, Camille Van Bueren. I'm sure you'll be fast friends." He chuckled lowly. "That aside, did you see anything in her of note?"
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Each mission they carried out always carried the possibility of them never making it back out alive again. All of them in the resistanceβallβwere briefed, rigorously trained, and sent out onto missions with zero margin for error and the knowledge that every single commoner life in the United Province, richer or poorer, rested on them.
Diego had made damn sure that they were every bit as aware of realities like these as he was when he was first ushered into a world that he had allowed himself to feel complacent about for years he would never get backβyears he turning a blind eye to the wrongs that were committed every single day, and to every single one of their brothers and sisters. The treatment the commoners had to endure, especially under their sadistic 'king''s rule, didn't just extend to those who populated the shanties. It stretched as far as the wealthier parts of town. All socioeconomic nuances growing outside of the palace boundaries were readily scrapped by the Supremes. All of them were denigrated, regarded as scum. All of them were doomed to bear the mark of 'commoner' like the triangular badges he had heard of floating around the older folk of the Jewish circles, most of them only passing on the stories of horror their forefathers withstood in the former ruins of the European Province.
All this, and for what?, in trying times he would often ask himself.
Valarie had been one of his best. She had understood their cause, took it up with such zest. She had been ambitious. So much so even that she had volunteered to fill in his shoesβat least, in image. She had a mix of such joie de vivre that infected the camps and boosted morale. She had a mature understanding of her role and all it entailed of her. He had seen himself in her.
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"Another 'state visit', I see," Diego had joked with her as she prepared to leave to oversee an operation of theirs. She looked every bit the part of the idea of a 'rebel leader'βfierce, ruggedly dressed, stance firm and sure. They would be fooled. She had smiled at him.
"Of course. I have to see that my people are getting things done the way I want them to." Valarie straightened up, although what had meant to be a deimatic display looked, to them who knew better, like someone tired and forcing a lie. He could see it. The important thing, though, was that no one else knew the better of it. He offered for her to relax, to calm down until the storm in her mind passed, but she said no. She had insisted it would keep her focussed on the field.
"We all need this, sir. It's far too late for me to turn back now. Those Supremes are positive I'm just that. A leader. Our leader. They need a face to the name. They want a semblance of control over the Rebellion, but they won't have it. I won't let them.
"If I'm out there, there's a chance we might lull them into a false sense of security. They're good at pacifying themselves." She secured her utility belt and tied her dark hair back.
"I never doubted you understood what this meant for everybody." He stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. "But how do you feel?"
He wasn't sure if he was compromising himself by asking these sorts of questions, but they were both behind closed doors. Troops were being trained. They wouldn't come back into the barracks for a while.
"What I feel doesn't matter, sir."
"Diego."
"Diego." She smiled sadly at him. "It needs to be done."
It was a comfort, then, that she had known what she was getting into and wilfully gave herself up to the cause anyway. Such was the mark of a true hero. Even he had yet to live up to that.
Her name, chanted like a prayer, like a protest, in the massive throng of commoners during her execution was not simply of mourning. It was a reminder to every single gold-wrapped, hoity-toity aristocrat present that she was a person. It was a reminder that they had become self-important monsters that hunted them for sport.
He excused himself from work in time to watch her struggle as the water rose dangerously high. Though it was a remote hope, he wished she could see him from the throng. He clutched his cap close to his chest, an antiquated sign of respect for the woman in the chamber, and fought tears. He returned to his duties, fighting his way through the crowds, before the police could disperse them.
Valarie Townsend's death could not have come at a better time. With the Supremes left complacent, pacifying themselves with their self-congratulating parties, they were open. They hid under the cover of banditry, minor attacks, petty crime for years, but brewing under the surface they had amassed manpower, resources, hidden strongholds. Her death would ignite the anger in every commoner throughout the United Province, and stoke the fires of the revolution he had been planning for so long.
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He took Amelia aside the day after it was confirmed that Valarie had been captured, among others. There had been six in the team headed out to evaluate troops in Baltimore, including her. Three had been killed fighting to protect her. One died in interrogation. One offed himself before they could extract anything out of him. There was little hope of a successful rescueβhe couldn't come out yet, Amelia was simply not capable of defending herself, and any others as keen or capable as Valarie had been were not yet fully trained. It would have exposed them all before it was their time.
He had fought to keep his composure, but he had ended up upturning his desk and throwing things around in a fit of pent-up frustration.
"Sorry." It took him a few moments to gather himself before he began. "There's not much we can do about her now. We can't afford to expend resources with the search party. Not now. Right now, I need you to do this for me."
He had been tasked to guard the doors to the royal celebration. He guarded them well, monitoring all activity that could be deemed suspicious, Some of the Supremes would pass by and make comments at him and a fellow guard at their posts. People like him could never afford the luxuries they had, pity, they laughed quietly to themselves as they passed. Oh, they loved to talk.
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"Charges. They're having restorations done. It'll give one of ours a chance to plant them while he's working on the finishing touches. They'll be properly concealed behind the falling water."
He glanced down at the fishes below, watching them swim, oblivious to the fuss above in their aquatic world. He wished he had their ignorance.
"Really? Slacking off? How unprofessional," one of the painted ladies whispered to her friend within his earshot. His jaw set, his gaze turned back to the partygoers. "There you are. Give them a little push and they get right back to work."
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"Aesthetics have and always will be the first thing on their mind. They have a fish tank directly below them. I'll need to blow strategic parts of the ceiling to undermine its integrity."
He flexed his shoes on the steady bit of ground he stood stationed.
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"I need you to scope out the king and make sure he's engaged. Draw no attention. Stay in the crowd, but stay on steady ground. This will be your detonator." He gave her a fine bracelet to wear with a small button hidden on the wrist area.
There was no bracing himself for the impact of the blast. He heard multiple blasts from the ceiling, saw bits of it crumbling before a large chunk of it fell to the glass floor, shattering it and dragging several important ministers with it into the water. Another fell near one exit, shattering glass in the immediate area and injuring several. He and his fellow security guard raced to try and calm the people down enough to evacuate some, although he purposely took the injured and less important ones to safety. He had hoped that, with several other chunks of ceiling threatening to collapse, that it would do the High King and Queen in, taking them to the same watery grave they had put Valarie in.
"Remain calm!" He called out almost in unison with his fellow guard.
Diego had made damn sure that they were every bit as aware of realities like these as he was when he was first ushered into a world that he had allowed himself to feel complacent about for years he would never get backβyears he turning a blind eye to the wrongs that were committed every single day, and to every single one of their brothers and sisters. The treatment the commoners had to endure, especially under their sadistic 'king''s rule, didn't just extend to those who populated the shanties. It stretched as far as the wealthier parts of town. All socioeconomic nuances growing outside of the palace boundaries were readily scrapped by the Supremes. All of them were denigrated, regarded as scum. All of them were doomed to bear the mark of 'commoner' like the triangular badges he had heard of floating around the older folk of the Jewish circles, most of them only passing on the stories of horror their forefathers withstood in the former ruins of the European Province.
All this, and for what?, in trying times he would often ask himself.
Valarie had been one of his best. She had understood their cause, took it up with such zest. She had been ambitious. So much so even that she had volunteered to fill in his shoesβat least, in image. She had a mix of such joie de vivre that infected the camps and boosted morale. She had a mature understanding of her role and all it entailed of her. He had seen himself in her.
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"Another 'state visit', I see," Diego had joked with her as she prepared to leave to oversee an operation of theirs. She looked every bit the part of the idea of a 'rebel leader'βfierce, ruggedly dressed, stance firm and sure. They would be fooled. She had smiled at him.
"Of course. I have to see that my people are getting things done the way I want them to." Valarie straightened up, although what had meant to be a deimatic display looked, to them who knew better, like someone tired and forcing a lie. He could see it. The important thing, though, was that no one else knew the better of it. He offered for her to relax, to calm down until the storm in her mind passed, but she said no. She had insisted it would keep her focussed on the field.
"We all need this, sir. It's far too late for me to turn back now. Those Supremes are positive I'm just that. A leader. Our leader. They need a face to the name. They want a semblance of control over the Rebellion, but they won't have it. I won't let them.
"If I'm out there, there's a chance we might lull them into a false sense of security. They're good at pacifying themselves." She secured her utility belt and tied her dark hair back.
"I never doubted you understood what this meant for everybody." He stepped forward and placed both hands on her shoulders. "But how do you feel?"
He wasn't sure if he was compromising himself by asking these sorts of questions, but they were both behind closed doors. Troops were being trained. They wouldn't come back into the barracks for a while.
"What I feel doesn't matter, sir."
"Diego."
"Diego." She smiled sadly at him. "It needs to be done."
It was a comfort, then, that she had known what she was getting into and wilfully gave herself up to the cause anyway. Such was the mark of a true hero. Even he had yet to live up to that.
Her name, chanted like a prayer, like a protest, in the massive throng of commoners during her execution was not simply of mourning. It was a reminder to every single gold-wrapped, hoity-toity aristocrat present that she was a person. It was a reminder that they had become self-important monsters that hunted them for sport.
He excused himself from work in time to watch her struggle as the water rose dangerously high. Though it was a remote hope, he wished she could see him from the throng. He clutched his cap close to his chest, an antiquated sign of respect for the woman in the chamber, and fought tears. He returned to his duties, fighting his way through the crowds, before the police could disperse them.
Valarie Townsend's death could not have come at a better time. With the Supremes left complacent, pacifying themselves with their self-congratulating parties, they were open. They hid under the cover of banditry, minor attacks, petty crime for years, but brewing under the surface they had amassed manpower, resources, hidden strongholds. Her death would ignite the anger in every commoner throughout the United Province, and stoke the fires of the revolution he had been planning for so long.
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He took Amelia aside the day after it was confirmed that Valarie had been captured, among others. There had been six in the team headed out to evaluate troops in Baltimore, including her. Three had been killed fighting to protect her. One died in interrogation. One offed himself before they could extract anything out of him. There was little hope of a successful rescueβhe couldn't come out yet, Amelia was simply not capable of defending herself, and any others as keen or capable as Valarie had been were not yet fully trained. It would have exposed them all before it was their time.
He had fought to keep his composure, but he had ended up upturning his desk and throwing things around in a fit of pent-up frustration.
"Sorry." It took him a few moments to gather himself before he began. "There's not much we can do about her now. We can't afford to expend resources with the search party. Not now. Right now, I need you to do this for me."
He had been tasked to guard the doors to the royal celebration. He guarded them well, monitoring all activity that could be deemed suspicious, Some of the Supremes would pass by and make comments at him and a fellow guard at their posts. People like him could never afford the luxuries they had, pity, they laughed quietly to themselves as they passed. Oh, they loved to talk.
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"Charges. They're having restorations done. It'll give one of ours a chance to plant them while he's working on the finishing touches. They'll be properly concealed behind the falling water."
He glanced down at the fishes below, watching them swim, oblivious to the fuss above in their aquatic world. He wished he had their ignorance.
"Really? Slacking off? How unprofessional," one of the painted ladies whispered to her friend within his earshot. His jaw set, his gaze turned back to the partygoers. "There you are. Give them a little push and they get right back to work."
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"Aesthetics have and always will be the first thing on their mind. They have a fish tank directly below them. I'll need to blow strategic parts of the ceiling to undermine its integrity."
He flexed his shoes on the steady bit of ground he stood stationed.
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"I need you to scope out the king and make sure he's engaged. Draw no attention. Stay in the crowd, but stay on steady ground. This will be your detonator." He gave her a fine bracelet to wear with a small button hidden on the wrist area.
There was no bracing himself for the impact of the blast. He heard multiple blasts from the ceiling, saw bits of it crumbling before a large chunk of it fell to the glass floor, shattering it and dragging several important ministers with it into the water. Another fell near one exit, shattering glass in the immediate area and injuring several. He and his fellow security guard raced to try and calm the people down enough to evacuate some, although he purposely took the injured and less important ones to safety. He had hoped that, with several other chunks of ceiling threatening to collapse, that it would do the High King and Queen in, taking them to the same watery grave they had put Valarie in.
"Remain calm!" He called out almost in unison with his fellow guard.
He smiled to himself, watching as the two women exchanged pleasantries before him. Marcello slipped his right hand into his pocket as he sipped at the champagne in his left, keeping himself out of the conversation so that he had a moment to let his eyes wander over Camille once more. He wished for, longed for, her in that moment perhaps more so than ever before. He could have closed the gaps between them in just a few steps, taken her in his arms and --
Marcello cut himself off now, blinking quickly for a moment as he refocused himself. He needed to stay focused, damn it. No one else would do it for him. In fact, he knew that many were just waiting for him to lose his focus, to give them the opportunity to strike. Marcello couldn't, wouldn't, give it to them.
He came back into the conversation suddenly at Camille's remark as he nearly choked on the champagne in his throat. A soft cough cleared his throat, and he looked away now from his mistress, focusing instead on Helena as the woman touched his elbow.
"Thank you very much," he returned, placing his right hand over her hand now, smiling back. "I am glad you could be here for something so...significant to the people of the United Province." Marcello's expression soured quickly, however, as she spoke of his wife, and he pulled his hand away while a harsh frown crossed his lips.
"I had no idea you were familiar with married life," retorted Marcello. "My wife knows how to care for herself. I trust she will approach me if she requires me." He looked over his shoulder now, following her gaze. "And it appears she is quite content with her dance partner."
After her remark, he hadn't even considered asking her, but now he wondered if he ought to.
He heard another voice now, that of Theodore Wilkins. "Oh no, not at all," he replied, his tone changing very quickly as he let his hand fall once more to his side. He voided his face of expression, and instead, Marcello smiled quickly with a corner of his mouth. "It is a pleasure to see you here."
Marcello gave an obligatory chuff of laughter at Orr's remark, but otherwise, he showed little sign that he had noticed anything Helena's right hand man said. Instead, he finished his champagne and placed it on a passing tray. He didn't insert himself into the conversation until Eric whisked Helena away. And now he, Theodore, and Camille were left. "Well, again, it is always a pleasure to see you, Theodore." He took Theodore's hand in his and shook it firmly, clasping over the back of his hand with his left hand in a showy, overly-friendly manner.
"I, however, am ever obligated elsewhere." Marcello looked to Camille now, dropping Theodore's hand as he stepped towards the woman, keeping his expression one of civility rather than the love and passion he wanted to show. "Would you give me this dance, Senator?" He had already seized her hand and placed his left hand on her waist, finding the curve of her waist almost too quickly, too familiarly.
But he didn't care now, he couldn't care. Marcello busied himself in leading her on to the dance floor, spinning her about gracefully. "How did it look?" he asked, referring to the day's display of power. He used the opportunity to look at her again, hoping he would meet her eyes. And now he pulled her in, moving in a way that seemed natural with the music. "I want to see you tonight, my dearest." Almost as quickly as they had pressed together, they now drew apart again. An outsider wouldn't have noticed any change. They would have been too busy reacting to the sudden blasts.
"Fuck!" he cried as a chunk of ceiling fell next to him and the glass at his feet began to crack. The crack spread now, and the sound of it must have been deafening, but it was drowned out but the sound of water cascading on to the floor and the assembled Supreme screeching. He gripped Camille and pulled her away from the cracked floor, but Marcello began to slide on the wet glass. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes now, and he brushed it back, giving him an almost crazed look as he moved towards the walls.
But then he stopped, standing in a slight crouch as he looked about the Supreme, searching in particular for his wife. "Katelyn!" Marcello skirted around the edge of the room now, calling for his wife until he found her. And then he moved quickly off of the wall and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her far-too-forcefully towards him.
Camille was too enchanted by Marcelloβs finessing hands to care about any other inappropriate body language. He, the High King, the most powerful man in the world, was finally touching her. Then he began to lead the dance, signalling only with his fingertips where he wanted her to follow. Given the opportunity, Camille would have followed Marcello wherever he dared take her. Even if that meant she had to live in squaller, below the palace and without luxury.
Their bodies moved smoothly across the dance floor, almost too gracefully, almost as if they had done this very dance a hundred times before. Camilleβs pride filled eyes were glued to his magnificent face when he asked of her opinion. βIt was simply perfect, your Highness.β she said politely, trying to keep up appearances. In actuality, there were endless amounts of details that she wished to praise him for, but she knew that those words and rewards were meant for another time. The swift movement that brought them closer had Camille ducking her head under his chin, touching chests together in the typical fashion of the dance. His scandalous words had led to Camilleβs head popping up as they parted. Those were the words that she had been searching for all of today and day before. Excited by the prospect Camille grinned suspiciously at him, βNothing would plea-β
Horrifying noises interrupted Camille, a large shard of glass fell from above and crashed just inches away from her as she screamed. The initial shock sent Camille forward to find comfort in Marcelloβs embrace. Marcelloβs reactions were too quick though and Camille found herself being dragged to the edge of the madness by his force. With huge eyes she watched as Marcello transformed from High King into a crazed beast.
The deafening screeching distracted Camilleβs gaze, letting her witness even more destruction. Several of her peers were injured, seeping scarlet red blood and displaying fear for the first time in years. The sheer terror that echoed from wall to wall was enough to make Camille lose her head.
The floor continued to crack until the weight on some of the glass was too much to bear. Both the injured and the unafflicted were beginning to sink, joining the fishes below. Those who were trying to hoist themselves up from the water were doing nothing more than slicing at their torsos. Blood began to run in the water like a decorative display. Camille watched the streamers of red twist below her feet. It was then that she realized there were sharks in the tank.
Aghast, Camille brought her left hand up to her mouth as she watched the chaos. Miss Van Bueren was both too terrified and inthralled to ensure her own safety and remained in her position. Her back was pressed against the glass wall that had been shattered. It was perfectly planned so that the explosions would affect the floor while keeping the height of the walls to prevent climbing. Her eyes darted around the room, Marcello had already moved on to find his wife. A pang of jealously, despite all of the situation around her, swept over Camille. She half hoped that the High Queen would find her grave in this water. Then Camille realized that wouldnβt be quite as fun.
Shards were still falling from above but Camille paid little mind to them. Her concentration was back to the poor souls in the water, bloodied either by the floor or the fallen glass. Cringe worthy screams came from those realized their fate was in the hands of the sharks. Pathetic sobbing and frantic swimming became the way, and many of the βlandβ Supremes who were finding their exits were too afraid to help. Accidentally killing yourself in pursuit of saving another didnβt quite ring heroic to the Supreme. Camille herself felt no desire to help the ill fated ones, after all she had a life to accomplish.
Another large crack trailed across the glass floor, making travel across the hall even more vulnerable. A wave of sheer panic came over Camille. She was going to die. Camille Van Bueren was going to die without having accomplished any of her dreams, without the approval that she so desperately seeked, and without the comfort and true love of Marcello. Intensity was rising in her as she searched for a exit. Everyone was pushing through to the only exit available, and soon there would be no floor there at all. A brazen fire of emotion came over her and Camille could no longer control herself.
Swiftly she grabbed a small chair and began swinging it with all her strength against the glass wall. Unbeknownst to her the glass she was trying to break was bullet proof and the wits that she normally possessed had completely vanished. While the High King and his wife would be ushered forward she was nothing more than a pawn in Marcelloβs palace. Perhaps thatβs all she had even been. A simple toy.
Infuriated by her own thoughts Camille began to pound with all her strength. Tears, mixed with hatred and jealousy and sadness, began to stream down her face. Like an animal, she was recklessly and stubbornly attacking something that would never become.
Her tantrum ended with blackness. Unconscious, Camille Van Bueren lay with a head wound and complete susceptibility to the terrors around her.
xxxx"We can't just let her die."
xxxxThe nobility are preparing their dresses. Donning their fine suits and jewels, putting up their hair and makeup in a manner even more complex than the styles worn to the execution. Only a short distance from all of this fuss, a slight girl meets with a young man wearing a uniform that marks him as part of the construction team working on renovations. He's hardly more than eighteen, not a soldier. If he had been found planting explosives along the the delicate bubble that is to hold the glittering birds, his life would end at that young age- not really that much shorter a life than Mel's own. Still, he looks down at the young woman as a leader, communicator of plans to be followed without question.
xxxxHer stone expression hides exhaustion, though passion and belief in the cause keeps her going without fail.
xxxx"Fuck you." As if she hadn't tried to save Valerie. As if she hadn't offered to go on her own if necessary. When it comes down to it, Mel follows Diego. She may be brilliant, she may be competent. She is not a leader. The young man looks at her like a foot soldier at a general.
xxxx"Everything is in place."
xxxx"Thank you. Go home- sleep." And he is gone. Mel leaves soon after. She needs to get dressed for the dance, after all.
xxxxAmelia is no stranger to the palace events. Certainly, she is hardly a regular, but occasionally she slips in among the servants, extra hands to bear the weight of the patricians' ambitions. She is one with the crowd, though one or two may whisper with some recognition- "Isn't that the King's commoner whore?"
xxxxTonight the excitement is too high for such comments. No one notices the young woman gliding about as though she belongs there, as though she doesn't feel the urge to pace like a beast kept in a cage. She is never too far from the King, an easy man to spot by the way people simultaneously move towards him and maintain a respectful distance. It is a strange pulsing ring. He speaks to his wife, to the Senator, to the foreign queen. The picture of a young king, charm and grace. Mel, despite her reputation for being cold when it comes to rebel missions, takes no pleasure in killing. But his is a head she is certain would look lovely on a spike.
xxxxThe first dance begins, and the nobility sweep to the center, twirling about in blurs of beautiful color. Everyone is light on their feet, no caution weighing on their minds. The rebel leader is dead- it is cause for celebration. A lightweight bracelet hangs against Mel's somewhat bony wrist. Across the room, she makes eye contact very briefly with Theo, who quickly disconnects and turns to make animated conversation with two women beside him, hands moving about excitedly.
xxxxAmelia sets off the detonators, and the sky seems to fall. Shards fall heavy against the glass floor, dragging ladies down by their fine dresses. Amelia plays the part of a frightened onlooker until she reaches the edges, and slips away unnoticed, with little more than a slight tear in the hem of her dress.
xxxxOn a still partially standing slab of glass, part of the original walls, figures clothed entirely in black spray large red words. They are gone before any guards can get to the other side- before most anyone even notices they were there. Chaos is more effective than the night in keeping Mel's people safe.
PANEM ET CIRCENSES
xxxxBread and circuses. The Roman Empire once grew too complacent, distracted by entertainment and food, the appeasement of the governing. But all empires, long and brief, must fall.
xxxxMel may slip away, but Theo is left in the fray. A large chunk of glass falls directly towards him and the women he had been speaking with. His arms shoot up and catch it, muscles tensing to stop it at the speed. His hands are bloody from being sliced by the jagged edges. For his trouble, he is thanked profusely before the two ladies run to the guards for aid. He stays on the fringes, watching- conspicuously offering help where it is needed, assuring those who ask that his hands are fine, it is simply a small cut.
xxxxOf course in these efforts to help in the pandemonium, he finds the Senator fainted on the ground. Others run past or around her, not interested in the woman. Theo would just as soon leave her, in different circumstances. But instead, he lifts up the dark-haired woman and rushes back to the edge of the still crumbling hall. He brings her to safety, passing Diego as he does so. He makes no sign of seeing the security guards- even in this chaos, his facade holds. With little care for her comfort, Theo drops Camille on the ground and takes a moment to breathe.
xxxxMel is nowhere to be seen.
If Eric Orr wasnβt a God sent Helena wasnβt sure what was.. Eric spent the time to really understand Helena and thatβs what she appreciated about him. Friendship is what Helena would have liked to call their relationship, but Eric was far too professional to blur those lines. This was another trait in him that Helena respected. He was just gentle and wise enough to attend to her needs without groveling at her feet. Mr. Orr was a rare find in these days and Helena intended on keeping him.
Helena left without so much as word to the small group. A simple tired nod is all that she could offer as Eric whisked her away, whispering concerns. Finding a comfortable dancing position Helena was distracted by the roaring laughter and blaring music. Her eyes wandered like a lost puppy, searching for something she was afraid she would never find. Her attention was refocused when Eric began to speak again.
A smirk appeared on Helenaβs mouth as she regained the humor she normally wielded. As far as she was concerned Camille Van Bueren was the last woman she wanted to make alliances with. The woman seemed shallow and twisted beyond repair. Helena could tell that Camille had a good upbringing but the woman was never entirely taught right from wrong. There was something dark and perverted about Camille, but it was masked by a pretty face and a willingness to be the center of attention. Helena eased into the familiar conversation with Eric and allowed herself to chuckle at his remark.
βWell,β she began, acutely aware of those around her, βI think she may be in love with the High-β
Her words were cut short by the sounds of a bomb blast. A couple of medium sized glass chucks hurdled down and hit the Queenβs shoulder. A moment of confusion lead to anger, then it transformed into dread. It was only a matter of time before something like this would happen. Helena knew the stories well, but she had refused to believe them.
It was like a nightmare had materialized before her very eyes. Blood stained guests panicked toward the only available exit while the floor began to sink. Helena clutched Ericβs forearms and looked down at the crack in the floor between her legs. She was so overwhelmed by the chaos that she thought she might vomit. Just behind her the floor was beginning to seep into the water. The cracked pieces glass giving up strength and betraying those who were standing on them. After Helena was stabilized she realized that she needed to move. Like a mechanism that was forced open she unclenched her hands and looked up. There was only one way out and floor was disappearing, one wrong move and you would be swimming with the fishes. Helena made eye contact with Eric before signalling that she was going to move.
Her green eyes dated back and forth, collecting enough information to make the next step a successful one. Pieces of the floor were now beginning to drop in like rocks. Sudden splashes of entire bodies were plummeting into the water below. At this point she had no idea where Eric was. She assumed that he would be close enough to intervene, but far enough to get himself out safely. Helena caught the an eye of Camilleβs madness, plowing a chair recklessly into the glass wall. The sight made her stop. Helena pushed the stray hairs that were clinging to her eyelashes away.
βCamille!β Helena bellowed against her better judgement. Helena knew that her life was more valuable than Camilleβs but she also couldnβt let the fool kill herself in good conscious. Helena stepped forward, trying to get Camilleβs attention once more.
When she opened in her mouth again it was filled with water. Panic set in as Helena realized she was enveloped in salt water. She gasped for air, startled by the sudden change in temperature and surroundings. Helenaβs dark head of hair bobbed up and down in the water as her blue dress swayed in the commotion of the fish and folk.
Aware of what she needed to do to get out of the water Helena tried to approach a sturdy edge. There was no way to get out of the water by herself. Even the most promising bit of flooring was jagged, more damage would be done then saved, and the possibility of recovering from the water was slim. In a blitz of confusion Helena tried to find the only person in the room who was sworn to protect her. Had she lost him? Every face looked the same, shadowed and full of contempt. Hundreds of feet trampled past her face making it impossible to see any farther than the people directly in front of her. Helena felt as small as an ant, unnoticed and literally below the feet of her subordinates.
The feeling of gills and scales skim across her bare skin Helena looked down. The fish were fleeing upon the approach of sharks. Looking around her Helena noticed that many of the Supreme in the water had injuries. Helena suddenly hated every person who was less astute than she. Her green eyes were glued on the pack of sharks that were emerging from the deepest parts of the tank. Of course it had been past the High kingβs mental ability to think that the floor might give. No, he needed the biggest and the best, anything to feed his insecure egomania.
Helena could barely stabilize her swimming because of the frantic splashing and waves, she looked around quickly trying to find anything or anyone that could help her. A wrong glance and Helena was witnessing the fatal blow of young Jess Coulson. A shark had attacked from behind, first removing the poor manβs arm and then chomping into the his side. Helena knew what that certain fear of dying was like by tuning into those around her, but she herself had never had produced that same feeling until now. In a flash she worried about what would become of the European Province and its unstable throne. Surely the High King, a feeble ally, would take such an opportunity of conquest.
Helena caught sight of shark that was weaving its way toward her. It's long grey back swept back and forth as it accelerated toward her. Overwhelmed with adrenaline Helena kicked at the water beast. It's mouth was wide open and coming a speed unfathomable. It was a sheer miracle that Helena just swiftly enough to avoid contact. The sharked sped past her and curved back around, ready to finish the business it had started. Knowing that there was certain points of weakness in a shark, Helena quickly planned to harm the animal. She aimed her golden heel into the creatureβs bulging eye as it attacked her a second time. The shark withered back, but didnβt give up the fight. However, Helena's efforts were not in vain. What would have been her leg torn off turned out to be the lower half of her silk dress.
Predictable. That was the word to describe every last one of these occasions Damian was commanded...er...invited to attend. Every time the High King would find himself surrounded by the prettiest women in the room and every time his Queen would show that she was not jealous by finding a horny soul to fuck with until her King came back. It was worse than a novella. Damian stood with his back to the cold glass wall with the even colder aquarium thriving beneath him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the night but assumed the guards did their rounds and everything was fine. If Kristopher were here and this was war he would be saying, "I have a bad feeling about this battle." Honestly, Damian would have probably listened to him this time around. He felt so naked without his two comrades. Without them he was still a guy you didn't want to piss off but he wasn't "The Snake" without Manny's abilities. Damian knew that if anything happened while he was in DC he would have to rely on himself, like the old days. But odds are this party would begin, middle, and end just like the others he's been too. DC, land of predictability.
Damian noticed a shift in music which could only mean that Queen Kate has latched on to a new victim which also meant...Damian's eyes scanned the room for pretty women because he knew that's where he would find Marcello. And just like clockwork that's where he was, chatting it up with a newly appointed Senator and The European High Queen, arguably the two most attractive beings in the room. Damian eyes stopped on Queen Helena and her silk dress that just begged for men to fantasize what was underneath. Her jet black hair falling over her shoulders and onto the dress contrasted so well and was soothing to look at and Damian didn't mind looking. An abrupt and awkward looking motion by the Senator took him off guard and Damian chuckled to himself. Whatever she just said looked like it failed. Speaking of failing, the Senator looked like a commoner whore and not like her usual; a Supreme whore. Kris explained the difference to Damian months ago:
"You just know when someone is a whore. You have to stay away from the commoners though because they'll take your money. Actually, stay away from all of them because the supreme whores can easily find eloquent ways to royally screw with your life."
"I didn't know there was a difference between the two."
"The difference? Oh, that's easy, Damian. Commoners hide the fact that they get around for their reputation is all they have left. Supremes could lose all the respect in the world and still have abilities, money, and power. I tell my son the same thing."
"Kris, your son is 13!"
"Yeah, but he has his old man's looks. Those sluts will be all over him."
"You should really stop calling women that, Kris."
"I will stop calling them sluts when they stop acting like sluts"
"I don't know why I picked you to be in Alpha."
"Because I'm the best and you know it."
Damian truly missed his friends and quickly mumbled a prayer that they were okay. He was expecting to receive a status letter from them tomorrow. Damian's smile dwindled as Theodore entered the conversation. So this is what he did instead of fight with Alpha? Drank wine and champagne with foreigners? What a waste of talent. While Theo stands there licking the boot of Queen Helena (and whoever that other guy next to her was) there were hundreds of commoner soldiers dying on the battlefield. But seriously who the hell was the other dude with Queen Helena? The European Queen's male maid that she brought around with her was essentially attached to her side.
And just like that, she was off. Helena and her sidekick walked over to the dance floor which was a few meters closer to Damian's solitude corner. Theo, who's hunger for whatever was under Helena's boot quenched, disappeared to talk to other Supremes. Damian watched as the King and the Senator took each other in their arms and began to dance as well. In that moment nearly every human in the room was dancing or conversing with someone...except for Damian. He knew he was being antisocial but having people marvel over him being a war hero wasn't really his cup of tea. He would much rather be at his gym helping all of the-
"You have to be kidding me," Damian shot up from his relaxed leaning position to avoid a shard of glass impaling him. The glass ceiling above him started crashing down all around him. He sprang into action, removing his suit jacket, and running toward the dance floor. He could overhear guards urging people to stay calm but didn't actually see them doing more than the bare minimum to help. Damian almost lost his footing as the ground beneath him began to crack and separate, "you have to be kidding me," he said again. He was really missing his team now. Kris's speed could have saved a ton of people and Manny could have held parts of the floor together with aluminum. But what could he do? He couldn't stop time. The people closest to the exit were making it out fine but a few were in deep shit...actually deep water. Blood tainted the clear water red and screams grew louder by the second. The attractive Senator was off in a corner playing a dreadful combination of musical chairs and wack a mole at the same time and a douchey blonde character was floating on top of the water chopped in two.
It was then that Damian noticed Helena in the water frantically swimming. She was staring at something but he couldn't make out what. "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME!" Damian noticed the shark racing towards Helena. He stood on the last bit of stable glass floor and focused his attention on the shark. He took a deep breath and sent a signal towards the shark that slowed down its ability to bite and Helena was able to dodge the hit. It quickly doubled back and tried again. Damian watched and timed another signal to slow its bite and Helena ninja kicked the living hell out of it. Damian in that moment was equally terrified and attracted to his soon to be new best friend. The shark swam away but all knew it would be back. Damian jumped into the fish tank and swam towards the Queen.
"You're gonna be fine, Helena," Damian took a hold of her waist, not giving a damn about courtesies about touching royalty. It wasn't the time to bow and ask permission, "I've been fighting sharks all month." He sent a strong signal to every shark in the tank to slow their processing of heat which would give him a few more seconds to get out. He never had to send so many signals at once to animals so huge and his head was beginning to pound. He ignored it and kept swimming towards the jagged edges of the floor next to the exit with Helena in his right arm, probably kicking with all her might. When they reached the edge Damian grabbed onto it tightly with both hands, "use me as a ladder," he commanded the European Queen. Blood exited newly made slits on his hand, running down his arm and into the water. That meant soon the sharks would be on their way. He could feel the approach of the sharks and knew he had to send a huge signal to get out of this one which would definitely reveal his power to Helena, a chick he knows nothing about. Once Helena was on the platform he turned so he could face the sharks coming at him. Damian had just about had it with sharks for one lifetime. Once the sharks were in attacking range he sent his strongest signal which blocked all communication between muscles and the brain for a few seconds. The sharks stopped dead in their tracks, dumbfounded. Damian hoisted himself onto the glass floor as the sharks regained themselves, chomping at his leg as he barely escaped their grasp.
Damian had a feeling Helena wasn't the type to like being saved so he decided not to pick her up. Instead he stood in front of her, back towards her, and knelt down. "Piggy back time," Damian gestured to his back for the Queen to hop on so they could get the hell out of dodge. He then carefully jogged the remaining 20 yards to the exit, avoiding precarious looking cracks in the floor. The sharks followed underneath, hoping that their food would make a mistake. As Damian exited he made eye contact with Diego Torres, a commoner he trained a few years back at his gym. "Glad that Marcello and Katelyn have someone like you protecting them," Damian smiled at his old student, "thank you for getting them out safe, Diego. Don't know what would have happened to them if you weren't here." Damian turned to look at Helena to make sure she was okay before heading off to find that other guy, "where is your man maid?"
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Collectibles
By creating Collectibles, you can reward your players with unique items that accentuate their character sheets.
Once an Item has been created, it can be spawned in the IC using /spawn Item Name (case-sensitive, as usual) — this can be followed with /take Item Name to retrieve the item into the current character's inventory.
Mobs
Give your Universe life by adding a Mob, which are auto-replenishing NPCs your players can interact with. Useful for some quick hack-and-slash fun!
Mobs can be automated spawns, like rats and bats, or full-on NPCs complete with conversation menus. Use them to enhance your player experience!
Current Mobs
No mobs have been created yet.
Spawns
Locations where Mobs and Items might appear.
Events
You can schedule events for your players to create notifications and schedule times for everyone to plan around.
The Forge
Use your INK to craft new artifacts in The Supreme. Once created, Items cannot be changed, but they can be bought and sold in the marketplace.
Notable Items
No items have been created yet!
The Market
Buy, sell, and even craft your own items in this universe.
Market DataMarket conditions are Quick Buy (Items Most Recently Listed for Sale) |
Open Stores
View All » Add Character » 10 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Camille Van Bueren
"If she can do it so can I."
Amelia Parrish
"A government should fear its people." wip
Damian Marciano
"When hope is not enough, action must follow."
Diego Silva Torres
"They've had enough of it all! They deserve their share for all the trouble you've put them through."
Marcello Giovanni
"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."
Theodore Wilkins
"The tyrant is a child of pride." wip
Katelyn Giovanni
"I am the High Queen - Cross me and it'll end badly for you."
Helena Tobin
"I find it hard to trust anyone but myself."
Eric Orr
"Yes, Ma'am."
Trending
Eric Orr
"Yes, Ma'am."
Camille Van Bueren
"If she can do it so can I."
Katelyn Giovanni
"I am the High Queen - Cross me and it'll end badly for you."
Damian Marciano
"When hope is not enough, action must follow."
Helena Tobin
"I find it hard to trust anyone but myself."
Diego Silva Torres
"They've had enough of it all! They deserve their share for all the trouble you've put them through."
Amelia Parrish
"A government should fear its people." wip
Marcello Giovanni
"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."
Theodore Wilkins
"The tyrant is a child of pride." wip
Most Followed
Katelyn Giovanni
"I am the High Queen - Cross me and it'll end badly for you."
Diego Silva Torres
"They've had enough of it all! They deserve their share for all the trouble you've put them through."
Eric Orr
"Yes, Ma'am."
Damian Marciano
"When hope is not enough, action must follow."
Theodore Wilkins
"The tyrant is a child of pride." wip
Marcello Giovanni
"Never let anyone know what you are thinking."
Amelia Parrish
"A government should fear its people." wip
Camille Van Bueren
"If she can do it so can I."
Helena Tobin
"I find it hard to trust anyone but myself."
View All » Places
2 posts · 0 characters present · last post 2016-07-03 09:17:53 »
The Wastelands of Northern America.
Fullscreen Chat » Create Topic » The Supreme: Out of Character
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The Supreme
1, 2by supertoastgirl on Tue May 31, 2016 7:05 pm
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on Mon Aug 08, 2016 9:56 am
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The Supreme
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The Supreme // NPCs
by supertoastgirl on Mon Jun 20, 2016 5:44 pm
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on Mon Jun 20, 2016 5:44 pm
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The Supreme // NPCs
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The Supreme // Information
by supertoastgirl on Thu Jun 16, 2016 6:25 pm
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- Last post by supertoastgirl
on Thu Jun 16, 2016 6:25 pm
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The Supreme // Information
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