Ask to Join Eiropia: The Land of Peace

[Inkage]

https://forums.pokecharms.com/threads/eiropia-the-land-of-peace-discussion-thread.30294/ (Ask to Join - Eiropia: The Land Of Peace (Discussion Thread)) (Discussion Thread)

"Y'know, I believe that once there was life in the below. There can't just be nothing below us, after all."
He stood tall, staring up at the stars from his perch. The skyscraper they stood on was the tallest around for miles, the glittering city lights stretching into the horizon. It was a hotbed of pain and suffering, clothed in the robe of a utopia. It's prettiness was deceptive.

"How did this city come to be? Why is it flying, and how?" The man turned, his turquoise hair flapping in the wind.

"Being a Coatless makes you curious, sweetie. One day you'll learn to admit that."

Serenity rubbed the space between her eyes, a headache forming as she recalled the days when she was younger. Serenity longed for those days, since it meant no responsibilities on her part.

Now she was sitting at a round, grubby table, listening to her fellow Coatless mingle and complain about their varying conditions. Her attendant, whom she called Morsel for no particular reason, loomed by the wall, watching her. Sometimes, Serenity thought Morsel was there to keep her in line, rather than to keep others at bay.

Like now. Morsel had refused to let her leave, insisting that 'My lady needs to learn how to deal with her populace'. So here she was; at an underground 'party' of sorts for those who refused to be ground into the dirt. A rallying party, although Serenity wasn't exactly sure what they were rallying FOR.

The Rebels. While not all of them were there, a good amount were. The position of the basement they resided in was near the inner fringe of the Coatless section of the city, so as long as the gathering stayed there the police would be unlikely to find them.

Everybody in the room was a wanted criminal, of sorts. That's what being a Coatless meant. And that's what being a rebel meant, too.

And in a large office building away from the poverty of the Coatless menagerie sat another tired looking woman, who was taking a break from the intimidating pile of documents that rested upon her desk. She sighed, removing her gold glasses and letting them dangle from the chain that attached them to her neck.

Damn....First we get some missing person case, now we've got the usual requests to get cats out of trees...All this has been so draining.

And then there's this thing. I don't even know what to do about it.
The thing in question was a small file that looked unassuming, but bore an intimidating mark that had a certain sense of authority. It had the all important 'Important' label stamped on the front.
The entire desk space was cramped with papers, files, and pens in precarious stacks that were attempting to be neat but failing entirely. One was significantly taller than the other, and at the bottom was a tray labeled 'Inbox'.
Her name was Hana, and she wasn't exactly sure why her cases weren't emailed to her, because it could have been done easily enough. It would save her desk, for sure. As the Head of the Blindside Detective Agency, it was her job to make sure every paper in that inbox was read.
It was tiring. She wasn't even that qualified for the job!

Hana's eyes closed as she considered her predicament.

Hana had received the important file from the Council a while ago. In it, they explained to her that a government official had been kidnapped and was being used as a means to some ransom money. A concerning and rare thing to happen in those days. She didn't know what to do about it, as Blindside had rarely been required or told to do anything by the Council before.

In fact, if anything, the BDA had been discouraged to solve anything put to them. But Hana had been resolute; If she was going to do this job, Hana wanted it done right.
So she supposed the Council was swamping her with work so that she wouldn't have any actual time to do anything. Go figure.

And the hostage case? There were no hints. No clues left at the crime scene. Hana couldn't even get a name. All the Council told her was that, in finding the rebels, she'd find the hostage. Like that'd be easy.

Any snooping police were soon dealt with in the Coatless district. What she needed was someone who'd be willing and able to infiltrate the rebel circle to save the hostage...

...Or some smart detective who could negotiate with them. Hana was neither, and she was too tired to deal with all of it at the moment. She needed fresh air, so Hana got up and left her office. The halls of the BDA's main office building were nice and quaint, with a fairly friendly mood.
It was deceptive. Everyone there was busy, busy, busy.

And Hana was going to dump another job on them. Lucky her.


Here in the glittering city, everyone was eager to throw one another under the bus. Hana, and everyone else for that matter, needed to watch their back.

 

[GLITCHSKULL]

Rebellion.

He loved the word. He had rebeled since youth, and joined a little while back. It was his moment to shine. And so, he was going to.

His name? Scott Winchester.

*

​

The Coatless were criminals. He knew this. From the day he was born, he was. His parents were criminals, so they assumed he'd be the same way. He hated them because of it.

"They" were the government. Corrupt, evil and stealers of free will.

In fact, he was waiting for one of their agents. Intel suggested that an agent of the government knew the schedule of one of the targets. He chose to wait.

 

[=Nightshade=]

It was a slow day, Samira thought. The kiddos were at school, and it had been twenty minutes since her last fare, during which time she had simply sat, accompanied by her thoughts and the soft, crooning saxophone coming through the stereo. She was seriously considering leaving the cab for a few minutes to grab a coffee when her monitor gave an electronic chime. As she glanced over her prospective route, Sam nodded slightly. It was a decent commute, which would mean a good base rate and the potential for a good tip if she was cool about it.

The dark-haired girl shifted the cab into drive and pulled out, merging seamlessly with the light traffic. When she arrived at the pick-up location, in front of some odd church that Sam would swear was haunted every time she drove past it, there was a squirrelly man in a blue coat waiting by the road. Sam pulled over to the sidewalk and stopped, and the man scanned his ID under the green light by the backseat. Sam’s monitor gave another happy beep and zoomed in on the route. Without a word, she lifted her foot from the brake and rolled out.

They rode in silence for a few minutes, the man constantly fidgeting, before he opened his mouth. “You know, I killed a guy, a few days ago,” he mentioned conversationally.

Samira carefully eased her foot off the gas, not betraying the fact that she had nearly choked on her own tongue. “Did you, now?” she deadpanned, flicking her signal and making a right turn to follow the route.

The man nodded sagely in Sam’s periphery. “It had to be done. The Judgement required it. But don’t worry about me, my brother’s being framed for it.” He offered a reassuring smile.

“Is that so?” Sam kept her voice carefully emotionless, her face deliberately blank. The mention of The Judgement allowed her to relax marginally, though— as far as she was aware, they were a close-knit bunch of loonies who called their shared delusion a religion. But she wasn’t going to say that, now; she wanted a tip, after all.

The man sat forward in his seat, fingers drumming absentmindedly on his tapping leg. “I’m set to testify against him in half an hour,” he tossed out in a conspiratorial tone. “Think you could drive a little faster?”

Sam dipped her head slightly in acknowledgment of the crazy Bluecoat and pressed just slightly harder on the gas pedal. The fat number on the monitor began to increase, and the man sat back, satisfied but still restless.

There were a few more short exchanges between the squirrelly man and Sam, the latter’s responses always flat and noncommittal, as per usual, but within five minutes the cab had arrived outside the courthouse. Samira pulled over to let the man out. He paid—including a handsome tip, Sam noted with an internal grin—and left the cab, offering her some strange hand sign. “The Judgement appreciates your timely delivery of its servant!” the man crowed before turning sharply on his heel and departing.

Samira shook her head. This city never got any less nuts.

(hdhdjfjfjd made a bunch of stuff up, hope this is alright ^^)

 

[Cmeriwether]

Sir Fenrir "The Nothern Marauder" Knightley, Grand General of the Police

In an Office in Police Headquarters, Fenrir Knightley had been sitting, looking around various files and such, making sure those that were caught by Police were noted. As the Head of the Police, he made sure things were dealt with As soon as humanly possible.

"All available officers, we need to be ready for if the Rebels strike, we will be able to defend. Last I heard, there were issues all over the place."

Fenrir then looked at his desk, seeing about forty files for various people reported for crimes. He then had someone who did Office work have those sorted by the Crime reported. As he stepped away from his desk, he walked out into the main area, looking around the running around of Various Police, noting what various officers are doing.

"Officers, be ready, those that commit crimes may be about, for anyone, we need to keep up on as many as we spot. It's not been easy with everything going against us. We will need to make sure whatever happens, we keep things good and calm, and hopefully no Rebels."

Matilda Adrianne Knightley, Rookie Officer, Police Headquarters.

As Officer Knightley was preparing for various reports, she looked up to see her father, the Grand General giving a speech. As such, she listened to what he had to say. As she looked at the group, she then saw her training officer. As she looked, the officer called out to her, stating they were on patrol rounds today. She had her weapons on hand, making sure her Flamethrower was fueled as she headed off with her training officer.

Agent Nimrod, Blindside Detective Agency.

Kevin Polk had just returned from an undercover mission where he was tailing the guys that originally stole his weapon that he crafted, a longsword which had chainsaw blades running around it. He had heard it was recovered by the Police's Northern Marauder, a man that even he didn't want to mess with. As such he was weaving through the offices, making sure his reports were ready to make sure he got a good mission for his next one. He got through the offices and was now at the door to Director Bailey's office. Kevin "Nimrod" Polk knocked on the door.

"Agent Nimrod, reporting!"

 

[Cherry-Cake]

As he opened the door of the Dug-Out Dinner, Warren was hit with a wave of nostalgia. This quaint little restaurant in the city's lower levels was home to his fondest childhood memories. Perhaps, he figured, his only fond ones. The old and wrinkled face of Mr. Edward greeted him as it always had, signaling that no matter who he was outside of those doors he would always be safe here. Warren tried to believe it. Though, if Mr. Edward knew the life he led he might not offer the same hospitality.

"Good morning, Mr. Steel!" came the kind voice of Mr. Edward from behind the counter. "Could I get you anything to drink?"

Warren shifted into his booth. "Just some coffee please, Mr. Edward." The server reached for the coffee pot with his shaky hands and poured a cup with surprising smoothness. Warren grabbed it and took a long sip. "Mmmm, they don't make it like this at the agency."

"How is the agency, if you don't mind me asking? We don't get much news down here, suppose it's not worth the resources."

"Oh, nothing worth telling about; we only get busier every day. My desk is stacked about a mile high with paperwork, if anything interesting happens I won't get to it for about another month."

"Well, then what pulled you out of that stuffy old office?"

"Nothing important."

"But surely you didn't come down here for nothing," Mr. Edward turned to the griddle behind him, peaking his head back to speak to Warren. "Don't get me wrong, I love your visits. But like you've just said you're a busy man."

Warren shifted uncomfortably in his booth. "Came down here to visit... a friend"

"This early in the morning? The sun's not even out!" He let out a slight chuckle. "I'm not sure I approve of what kind of friends you're making, young man."

Warren laughed softly and took out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. "Don't worry, Mr. Edward, this guy just has a weird sleep schedule." He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. "Some kind of stock trader."

"Well, I guess I'll leave you to meet your friend in peace. You know where to find me if you need me." The old man hobbled away from the griddle and towards a tall wooden door. "And tell Mrs. Bailey I said hello!"

"Will do, Mr. Edward. You take care." The man gave Warren a nod and disappeared behind the door, with the sound of three clicking locks coming shortly after. The diner went dead quiet, only the sounds of the kitchen equipment breaking the peace. Warren took a long draw from his cigarette. Suddenly, the front door of the building swung open. A young man stood in it, tall and scrappy, holding a bundle of papers under his arm and a cap bearing the rebel insignia in his other hand. Warren pulled the smoke out of his mouth and let out a white puff, and muttered under his breath: "I'm going to need some stronger coffee."

High above the city skyline, on the roof of the tallest building, stood the mysterious robed figure. Henry double-checked the card in his hand, reading the words scrawled onto it telling him to be here. Re-reading it sent a chill down his spine, which he suppressed out of fear.

Suddenly the man spoke out: "I see The Judgement has blessed your passage. This is good news." Another chill went down Henry's spine, this time not so easily suppressible. "Do not be scared, my child, for there is cause for rejoice! The Great Light has shown itself to another lost and wicked." The man turned around, revealing his young yet gaunt face, with deep red eyes peering from under the brim of his hat. Henry almost found it amusing, the man looked almost like a wizard straight out of a storybook. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am The Herald, Last Scholar of Curie, the Mouthpiece of the Judgement. My job is to guide the wicked and ungodly to redemption, to prepare the way for the coming of the Light. The Judgement, in all his love and mercy, has guided me to you."

Henry shifted uncomfortably where he stood, not sure what to make of this man's words. Prophets were left behind along with all the other poisons of the old world, destined to burn in the rubble. This 'Herald' as he called himself should not be here. The Council would never allow it. Yet he stood across from him, arms wide open as if trying to coax Henry into his embrace. He felt deeply disturbed.

He hesitated before speaking. "What... the glob are you talking about?"

The Herald's expression was unchanged. "Simple, my child. You see, The Judgement brought retribution to the infidels of the world below, and now he gives an opportunity to turn to the light. All you must do is agree to come with me, to devote yourself to Chapterhouse, and follow the voice of The Judgement."

"So like a cult?" Henry took two steps back, suddenly realizing how close he was to the building's edge. "I-I don't mess stuff like that."

He matched Henry's steps. "No, nothing like a cult. We come to share the truth, not share confusion. Come, let me show you something." The Herald closed the gap between them, placing a hand on Henry's shoulder. "Past the buildings and the rabble sits the most evil building in this city, the Government Palace. Let me ask you something, dear Henry, who do you think is more evil? The one who suppressed the people, or the one who seeks to set them free?” Henry was caught off guard by the fact the man knew his name, though at this point he shouldn’t be surprised. The question lingered in his mind for longer than he would’ve liked. This prophet almost had a point. Henry hated the government as much as the next person, but he’d never been a rebel. But with numbers, with leadership, they could almost have a chance.

Henry turned towards The Herald, suddenly seeing the age behind his eyes. “I don’t mess with rebels, but… I don’t know, I feel like you got what it takes. I want to submit to The Judgement.”

A smile came to The Herald’s face. “Excellent, my child, The Judgement accepts your consecration with open arms.” He grabbed Henry and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Now, commit the ultimate service to your Lord!” Without warning a swift pain shot through Henry’s stomach, as he lurched down to the ground. Looking up through his foggy eyes, he saw the prophet standing above him, holstering an antique handgun. “Thank The Judgement for his blessings, may his light cleanse us, may he separate the chaff from the wheat.”

 

[Silver Storm]

Sable snickered at a joke someone around her had told. She was perched on a table top, surrounded by fellow rebels at the rallying party. His hood was down and his short red curls and bun bobbed slightly with every movement he made. He knew he had no place joining in on the complaints of the many Greencoats and Coatless around him, but he always had other things to say. When you worked at and practically co-owned a place like the Iron Root Tavern, you became quite rich in the currencies of rumors and gossip. And there was always people willing to pay.

So Sable parroted back the things she'd heard spoken by patrons at the bar and whispered on the streets. Something about a weird new religion or cult or whatever called Judging or something like that, not to mention the usual rumors. It was nice, being able to just sit here and speak his mind. While he was still a little alienated for being a higher class than the rest of the people around him, he'd earned a decent amount of respect in his couple of years working amongst the rebels. It felt freeing, even if what she was doing could easily get her arrested or killed. It was a risk one had to take to make a change, she supposed.

Raphael griped the strap of his well-worn satchel as he walked through the streets on his way home from work. No matter how much he fidgeted with the leather, he couldn't take his mind of what had happened in the past few hours. It had been one of the worse days for him, the kind that dragged on longer than it should have and left images stuck in his head, no matter how used to it he was.

As he walked along towards his usual bus stop, he kept his head down. He definitely didn't want to draw attention to himself, not today, not ever. But his head snapped up as he watched his bus drive right past him while he was just a few feet from his stop, leaving before he could reach it. "No, no no," they muttered under their breath as they tried and fail to chase after it. They nearly tripped in the process, and had to take a moment to plant their cane down and steady themselves. "Crap..." he said as he watched his bus drive off, knowing that the next one wouldn't come for another hour and that his home is halfway across the city. Now he either had to wait here or figure out another way back. Incredible.

 

[GLITCHSKULL]

The agent hadn't arrived, and Scott wondered if he were given false information.

No matter, he thought, let's check the ruckus

He traversed his way on the roofs, making it to the Coatless rally. He just watched. He was part of something on a larger scale. The Rebellion was much larger than what the Coatless even understood.

But he knew. A chance of freedom. His parents dreamed of it, and so did he.

 

[Void_Nugget]

Several Hours Ago
A dull metallic thud rang out from the alley behind a dingy bar called The Lost Wanderer, Detective Kenneth Fleetwood, referred to by his few friends and some of his co-workers as Kenny, stood holding the bar's owner, "Sam Westwick by his collar. Sam was out cold, a large mark on his face where Kenny had struck him with his trusty knuckle dusters, he sighed as he lowered Sam to the ground, "for god sake Sammy boy, I was just going to arrest the coatless you'd been helping and let you off with a warning, why'd you have to take a swing at me" he muttered as he turned to the back door of the bar where three coatless men and one woman stood wide eyed, as the sound of sirens drew near, his back up now arriving he approached the group, "please don't resist, while I enjoy a good fight, none of you are in a suitable position to put up much of a fight and I really can't be bothered with the paperwork, so please come with me" he turned as two police cars pulled up and he ushered the coatless over to them, he motioned to Sam on the ground, "that one is under arrest too, best to probably get him to the hospital first though" he stated before getting in his car and driving off to Police Headquarters.

Present
Kenny let out a loud sigh as he read through the paper work piled up on the desk in his office, "bloody Sam caused me more trouble than he's bloody worth" he said frustrated as he went to take a sip from his coffee to find it empty "god damnit" he muttered as he got up and made his way out of his office to the break room, as he walked he spotted Officer Knightley, daughter of the Grand General, and as he walked by towards the break room he decided to stop, "Going on patrol, Rook, makes sure to keep your wits about you" he said with a grin. He only really smiled when either very drunk or when talking to Matilda Knightly, he had a soft spot for the girl considering he'd known her and her father a long time and he liked the girls enthusiasm, even if he had all but lost his own.
@Cmeriwether

 

[GLITCHSKULL]

The rally bored him.

Rallies... a pointless way to battle The Government. He had something else he wanted to check out.

The Herald

A name he had heard on the streets. He shared beliefs with The Chapterhouse. Why couldn't he join in on the interests?

He ventured to the last known location of The Herald, and saw what he needed to see.

"I'd like to join, if you please"

 

[=Nightshade=]

After another period of boredom — during which Samira did in fact get that cup of coffee, this time — Sam was growing restless. She’d have to work overtime at the department store at this rate, if the twins were going to have a decent dinner by the time the weekend came around. Maybe looking for fares wouldn’t be a bad idea. Though it wasn’t in her contract, technically it wasn’t against it, and she would be grateful for any source of cash at this point. Sam pulled away from the curb and began to drive.

She supposed she’d make her way by the hotels first; if anyone was headed someplace the bus wouldn’t, maybe she could pick them up. But unfortunately, it seemed as though no one was going much of anywhere. Maybe it was the damn Rebel rally, thought Sam crabbily. Big groups of Coatless the next sector over was no good for business. Samira sighed and kept driving.

As a bus pulled out of its stop in front of her, Sam lightly pressed the brakes, slowing— but when it became apparent the bus was taking its sweet time, she shook her head and stopped, waiting for it to get its massive end into the road. She muttered a few choice words about the buses stealing all her business today, probably because it was safer to travel in groups when the Rebels were having their fun but that didn’t matter to Sam because the littles needed to eat.

Samira began to accelerate once more as the bus finally lugged its ass out of the stop, then slammed on her brakes again as some guy came hurtling out of nowhere and stumbled… chasing the bus? Sam couldn’t believe her luck. It was about time for a fare. She brought the car to a halt again.

The horn gave a short beep to grab his attention, then the window rolled down. “Need a cab?” Sam asked with a grin.

 

[Silver Storm]

Raphael jumps a little at the beep, his grip tightening on his cane for a moment. They turn towards the car, brushing a few loose dreads out of their face. It was a cab, with a grinning girl in the drivers seat. It seemed like his day was turning around, at least a little. He takes a deep breath, taking a minute before he speaks. "Oh, yes, that would be great. Thank you," They nod as they open the backseat door and hop in, closing the door behind them and positioning their cane across their lap. "4508 Fir street, please. It's in the eastern part of the city."

After who knows how long talking, Sable glances down at his watch. "Oop, gotta go boys. Da's expecting me for a shift in a bit. You know how it is, with him getting older and all," She gives a mock salute and gets off the table, pulling up her hood as she slips out of the rally and through the streets, careful to hide her face from the crowds on her way back to the bar.