Unexpected Address
|
A RolePlay Log by | |
|
Title |
Unexpected Address |
|
Date |
2012 September 27 |
|
IC Date |
2531 July 25 |
|
Location |
Parliament house - Londinium |
|
Appearing |
Director Calira Dumont Director Brennart Henderson Attorney Rhonwen O'Neil-McCoy Captain Malchior Havoc Lt. Heather Jacy Dakota Cathcart |
No battle plan, or carefully scheduled flow of events, ever survives the first engagement with the enemy. Plan for the worst, hope for the best, maybe be pleasantly surprised soemday. That day, however, was not this day.
Continued from To Parliament
In light of the recent outbreak of the virus now dubbed 'Caveman flu' by man in the non-medical community, and certain aggressive hostage negotiation tactics employed on Persephone, the current session of Parliament has called the directors of ACI and Interpol to testify before a open session of its deliberating body. Director Dumont (Calira), Director Henderson (Brenn), their respective aides, two of the officers who participated in the hostage negotiation and a handful of other junior officers were tapped as well (for a variety of reasons) to be on hand for this session. Having just been 'invited' to take their place on the Parliament floor Calira is leading the way into the large, ostentatious, and fiscally extravagant hall where Parliament holds it's sessions. Attorney Rhonwen is making her way along at her own pace, her aides at her side.
Jacy cleans up well, you can say that for her. A session in a medbed has dealt with the ruptured eardrum, and she's been cleared as being fit for duty by the MO. Her uniform is perfectly turned out, shoes polished to a mirror sheen, and she advances down the passageway behind Calira and Brenn, keeping at a respectful distance. She glances occasionally at the newcomer, Dakota, dredging up what she knows of the woman. Jacy was at the military academy too; a go-getter, determined to get the job done whatever it takes. The ends justify the means. This last hostage operation, though, shook her up, and it's no secret that the MO recommended, and Jacy accepted and took, a session with a shrink to work the demons out of her system.
Dakota follows up the rear, her head held high. She seems a bit apart from the rest. At least she doesn't walk right along side the rest of the members that are to be testifying this day. No rank, nor branch of service is on her uniform. Just a simple name of Cathcart. There are no ribbons nor any decorations of any kind on her. As if sensing that Lieutenant Jacy glances at her, she does the same to the woman. When their eyes do happen to meet she only gives just the hint of a nod to her.
Calira takes her sweet time making her way to the seating section that they are being directed toward. A deliberate bid to annoy the fussy Parliament page that has a officious superscillious attitude that grates on Calira's nerves, and because she greatly enjoys twisting the tail of those who annoy her, she pauses to greet any of the Parliament members that she know the name of. As a result it takes several minutes for the DAS Entourage to reach their seating section. Upon arrival Calira takes the time to examine the chairs arranged - her previous experience with the torture devices employed by Parliament in the form of adequate seating arrangements inspires her to turn the chair around carefully, check for lose bolts or stray slivers of wood. It pays to be prudent. The fussy page assigned to the DAS contingent is slowly turning a creative shade of eggplant while trying to keep from making any imprudent remarks. She even checked over the chair that Rhonwen is given, just because she can. "This will do, son,"
Calira remarks after a moment, already on offensive footing - it pays to be ready to attack, especially when summoned to these things. The other members of Parliament, their aides, flunkies and the rest are sorting out into the seats, waiting for the call to order. The large doors positioned at four points of entry around the hall are closing now, the screens along the ceiling flashing with a time index counting down to the formal start of session.
In a quiet voice Calira address her fellow Alliance officers. "The rule of the game, ladies and gentlemen, is to hold on to your temper and your expressions no matter what happens. Don't react. Don't speak without thinking. If the question you are asked is objectionable or is leading to a trap of some sort, refuse the premise of the question. When in doubt, use the phrase "Lord or Lady - insert title here - I can't speak to that with any degree of certainty, and I am unable to speculate.' " she says this with careful precision. "Any questions?"
"No questions, m'am," Jacy replies smoothly. She's gazing about her, and even though she's curious as all hell since she's never been to Parliament before, let alone been called to testify, she's managing to look as bored as Calira, taking the lead from her Colonel. She, too, doesn't ask why but checks her chair and sits down upon it, squeaking it against the polished floor. She adjusts the set of her pants legs fractionally so it's not pulling so tightly, and glances again at Dakota. Seeing as there's no rank insignia on the other woman's shoulders, she opens with a polite, "I don't think we've met, m'am. Lieutenant Jacy, Chief of Security on the Temperance."
Rhonwen's is now wearing her court face as her underlings and fellow collegues like to call it. Her expression is pleasantly neutral and not a hit of emotion can be seen in those green eyes of hers. She takes her time making her way to the chair that Calira has checked over for her. Her green eyes scan the room and mental notes are made on who is there and who is not and whose lackey is doing what. Her old briefcase that looks like it has seen better days is held in one hand in the other she holds a cane that she uses to help her walk. She is impressive figure who is dressed to the nines in a suit and despite her height and apparent infirmity she wears heels. Her silver hair has been fashionably styled and once she gets to the chair she takes a seat. The briefcase is set underneath her chair and she takes out a PDA from her jacket pocket.
Dakota gives a simple nod "Got it, Ma-am," she tells Calira and takes a seat down the line and finds she is next to Jacy. Unlike the others she gives the chair a quick glance before sitting and looks at the members of parliament that are gathered. When Jacy speaks to her a hint of a smile is shown "Good to meet you, Lieutenant Jacy. I'm Agent Dakota Cathcart. Most just call me Dakota though." Her voice is soft so that only those close by may hear her. Where she is assigned is not mentioned.
"Excellent," Calira says as she gives her uniform jacket another small tug, adjusts the sash (which she still views as more than a bit ridiculous) and folds her hands in her lap and waits through the closing of the doors and the general milling around of people, flunkies, politicians, aides and the rest of the snappily dressed civilians who probably think that the shine from their manicures is enough to fend off any would-be assailant or orbital bombardment. Or.. maybe the reflective gleam from all those pearly white teeth. A small span of time elapses after the timer reaches zero, then another smaller measure, before the murmuring begins again, people turning this way and that, eyeing the empty seat where the current speaker (or ranking Noble) holds the highest office in Parliament should be seated. Calira hooks one ankle over the other, having long since acquired the requisite patience to deal with long stretches of insane amounts of boredom. It's only when she sees a number of security officers tasked with the honorable assignment of guarding all of these stuffed peacocks starting to move through the room toward the doors that she sits up and takes notice.
"Hmm," is mused, reaching for her smartcomm and idly hacking through the security network to try to find the comm freq that is being used in the Parliament house. The sound of one of the massive doors opening causes another murmur of sound to move through the cavernous hall and the Speaker appears in the doorway, accompanied by a pair of men dressed in dark suits who begin to escort the speaker to the center of the floor. "Curious," is mused by Calira next and she casually adjusts the angle of a number of weapons at her side, tucking the ear piece of her comm unit over her left ear.
"What's going on, m'am?" Jacy asks, leaning over to speak in an undertone. She isn't used to the elegant dance of the nobility, so she's unable to say positively whether anything is wrong, but something is nagging at her spidey-sense, and she wants clarification from the Colonel. She glances down at her holstered sidearm, wondering if it's even legal to draw it inside the Parliament, then adjusts her earpiece to better pick up the confused traffic she's hearing. "Is that the Speaker?"
(Alliance-Comm) Rhonwen says, "Be on your alert, those are not the speakers guards. He never has them in here."
A tilt of her head and Rhonwen moves to rise from where she was seated she presses a button on her icom and mutters something softly so that only those on this frequency of would hear.
She then clears her throat. "Mr. Speaker it would appear that you have forgotten that I have some paper for you. May I approach and give them to you?" Her accent would place from the educated and upper class of Londinium. She moves to pick up her briefcase and she waits to move towards him as she holds it in one hand and her cane in the other. She looks like she is the most unarmed least likely of a threat in the room. A side glance is cast at the DSA and people from SAD whom she is with.
Dakota, not being used to all this fluff is mostly just keeping her head straight forward. It could be something in the air, or just a feeling or the recent training that she has had but she does notice things don't seem ordinary. She doesn't show any outward emotion, not even when the Speaker arrives her eyes fall to him. Not exactly on him but those that escort him in. When Jacy asks Calira the quetions she 'leans' an ear to hear the answer. Again in that same soft voice "Something doesn't seem exactly right," she says as she leans a bit closer to Jacy.
"That is the Speaker," Calira confirms in a quiet voice, her hands now curled at her sides within easy reach of any number of interesting pieces of choice weaponry. "But," and she nods to Rhonwen's assessment, one ear listening to the comm chatter, "those are not the speaker's usual guards," she confirms, her words supporting Rhonwen's over the comm channel that they share. "There appears to be.." and she pauses, leaning slightly forward now, glancing up at one of the huge screens that drop from the ceiling that is angled toward this seating section, "something on the cortex," she adds as the screen goes from gray to a sudden burst of sound and light. "Wait," Calira says to Rhonwen, her tone quiet but urgent as the Speaker has now assumed his usual place, his dark clad escorts flanking him every step of the way. More commotion in the form of conversation, nervous words, chairs being moved about, parliament members rising to the feet only to be startled into silence by the sheer volume coming from the screens and speakers arranged around the room. Just goes to show that when they paid for the deluxe package surround sound system, by golly, they got what they paid for.
"Members of Parliament," booms a voice from the Cortex screen, the image forming of a profile of a man, his face cast in shadow, voice carefully modified to be indistinguishable by easy digital dissection methods, "to long have you been lining your pockets and bank accounts with the taxes and fines that are levied upon the citizens of the Alliance worlds. To long have your homes been built more and more opulent, your families showered with all the benefits of wealth and education and access to doctors and medicines that are needed on the border worlds. To long have you been feeding from the trough, like pigs that you are, at the expense of the public. This ends today." The screen suddenly cycles through a series of pictures, displaying one house after another of choice members of parliament. "We know where you live. We know where the things - the people - that you value the most, are kept.." and a small pause, a low chuckle, "safe, and secure. Away from the dirty poor and the unemployed, the criminals, the bandits, the pirates, the.. undesirables. You build walls, and fancy homes, and you feel safe. Don't you?" the question is asked of the room at large, a room that has gone largely quiet, in fact the Speaker seems to have collapsed into his chair, one hand - trembling - passes over his yes. "How safe are you really?" is challenged before the image of one home is suddenly large on the screen. The speaker lurches to his feet only to be hauled back into his chair by the men flanking him.
Jacy's gaze flickered just once to the Cortex screen, but like the well-trained soldier she is, she looked back immediately to the Speaker. And as she spots the two brutes manhandling that worthy noble, she stands, chair squeaking back on the polished floor, and draws her Walther. There's a flush on her face, that same flush she had when riding the hoverMULE into action after the sniper attack on Admiral Thompson, and her eyes are bright with anticipation. But, ready as she is for action, she still waits for an order from Colonel Dumont.
Her attention divided between the screen and the 'security' men around the Speaker. Scooting her chair back a bit and standing Dakota says softly so that those sitting nearby can hear "Bomb," is all she utters. She reaches instinctively to her side but find's it with out a weapon and grimaces. Looking around the room, and seeing the security against the back and doors "This isn't right at all," she points out.
"I cannot argue with him but fuck me sideways and call him the new Guy Fawkes." Rhonwen comments out loud for the whole floor to hear her. There goes her mask as her eyes go wide as she spots one of the images on the screen and she is now pale as a sheet. She starts to mutter into the iccom that hopefully has not been hacked. The good news is she has not moved from her spot just yet. She is leaning on her cane and holding her briefcase still.
(Alliance-Comm) Rhonwen says, "He has his kids get is kids out of there, the speakers kids, have them pulled out of school and get the fuck out of there. Check his house!"
Calira's dark eyes gleam with a brief flash of something that could be read as anger, but when she doesn't see her home on Sihnon flash through on the images, only her home on Londinium, she packs some of that anger carefully aside and eases to her feet alongside Rhonwen. "Wait for it," she murmurs, keeping her voice pitched low. "This part is the rally call, wait for the shoe to drop," is warned. She nods at Row and speaks sharply into her comm unit, "Operation Backpack initiated," is ordered in a clipped tone of voice. This one phrases opening a series of files at DAS to initiate emergency protocol to locate and extract all family members of the lords and ladies of parliament to a secure fall back facility. Calira glances abruptly side-long at Dakota at the word 'Bomb', "Bring us into the loop, Agent Cathcart," she adds before nodding at Rhonwen again and staring up at the screen while while keying in a back-up request for the entire DAS force parked just across the green.
Meanwhile the voice on the cortex address continues, "The Speaker, like all of you, will be given the option. Resign from your posts. Renounce the Alliance, it's so called laws, it's military agenda, it's work in the last decade and more. Make a public apology for all of your actions. Confess," the word is said in a harsh tone of voice, "on the cortex, confess to every dirty little money making thing you've done in your careers. Confess, and this will not be your fate." Again the image cuts back to the house owned by the Speaker, the gray haired man struggling against the dark clad men flanking him, staring up at the screen in front of him with a look of horror, his words coming in a rapid fire torrent that cannot be heard over the commotion rising from the crowd. The sudden shock wave of sound and light blanks out the cortex feed for a moment, the screen briefly awash with brilliant color and flame as the Speaker's house explodes in a burst of violence.
Where's Lord Mire, the bastard, when you really want him? Jacy spots that Dakota is weaponless, and rapidly drops a hand to draw and pass across the DAS .41 Autoshot that's in her /other/ waist holster. "Take this," she says curtly, and raises her Walther to aim at the right-most of the two goons holding the Speaker. Of course, from a distance it might look like she's aiming at the Speaker, but those are the risks you have to take. Mentally she's cursing the crowds, wishing she had her crew with her, and she's listening only for Calira's orders to come through. (Of course, should Calira fall, she'll be on her own, and she's prepared for that, too, the callous little wretch.)
"Same type of thing occurred just recently at the Academy. Same kind of speech right before bombs went off. And I mean *right* before." Dakota is about to continue but the voice on the screen seems to be reaching what she was about to warn about "There it goes," she says just a split second before the house disintegrates right before their eyes. She looks to the others "I'd suggest getting family members away from your homes right away, if things go on as I think they will." Again she glances at the doors and the men that line the walls. But her attention is jerked back to Jacy as the weapon is offered. A hint of a smile "I owe you one," And she also takes aim, the left goon is in her sights.
Tears well up in Rhonwen's green eyes as the shock wave feels like it is rippling through the cortex itself, she is sick to her stomach. Reaching into her pocket she takes out her icom she switches the frequency, most likely she is one of the few who has a phone in here like this that is not military or a high government official. "Get to Aunty L's. " That is all she says. She is trembling. "Do not argue with me go." Then she turns off her icom and switches it to a different feed for DSA and ACI. Her hands are shaking. She takes a deep breath and raises her voice to be heard and hopefully if they are smart they will have a live feed to gain their reactions from what they are hearing and seeing on the cortex. "You think violence will solve your issues. You think this will work your terror tactics will work. Really, then you have learned nothing from history. This is a different beast. I for one will not renounce the law as it is anarchy. I am hoping you have the sense and have not done this. I am hoping that you using computer imaging."
She then lowers her voice and looks at the others. She takes a deep breath and with a will of iron tucks away her emotions and looks at the others. Her hands still tremble. "The Academy you say and where is the bomb was in the image you saw or is it here in the building." She then moves a few steps back because she does not want to be in the middle of what might be happening.
"We need this men alive," Calira says as she draws her favorite gun from her side, NOT a DAS approved weapon, but then she never did feel the need to toe the line with regard to department assigned gear. She is speaking in a quiet but brisk tone of voice, having both ACI and Interpol working in tandem to identify, locate and start extracting family members and getting alarms going up at one home after another. "Display," she mutters in a low voice, pulling her SmartComm out of one deep pocket to eye the data that is streaming across the small screen. "We're getting a hit ratio of les than 50% on location family members, security details are turning up empty sweeps and evidence of intense fighting, bodies being identified of detail members," she says in a low voice.
The crowded parliament floor is a sea of motion and a uproar of sound. The image displayed continues to rumble, fire belching upward, the sky over head full of smoke and debris continuing to rain downward as smaller explosions continue to rock the neighboring estates. The image pans slightly to display the house from another angle, the remains of the house, and the damage done to adjacent walls and, most especially, the approach of emergency vehicles and fire teams, negating the idea that this is a computer image only. The speaker has collapsed in his chair again, one hand covering his face, elbow propped on the desk in front of him, shoulders shaking. It's one thing, after all, to stand in the face of screaming opposition year after year - politically. It's another thing to have his house blown up, and worse.
"Enough," the voice says in a harsh edged tone, booming outward into the crowd and startling a good number of the more faint at heart into doing precisely that: fainting. "You have been warned. I give you no time line. No dead line. Do as you are bid. Or the next house that goes up will be the one that any of you call home." The image on the screen changes and this time to that of a middle-aged woman with sleekly styled hair, a tailored blouse, expensive looking jewelry, her makeup smudged and tears having traced down her face to such a degree that the fine makeup is ruined. The woman starts to speak, clearly able to see the display of the Parliament floor as well as she is able to be seen. The woman is casually back-handed by someone who is not seen on the display. "Mister Speaker, you have been warned. You have been given the only choice that is yours to make. Decide. Your life, or hers. Your career, or the life of your family. Decide." <English>
The two dark clad men flanking the speaker haul the gray haired man to his feet, roughly jerking his suit jacket off to reveal that the speaker is wired with a vest lined with explosives.
"Oh shit," is muttered by Calira as she begins to see the shape of this play. Equally important, she sees the device that is taped to the Speaker's other hand.
Jacy hesitates, seeing the suicide vest adorning the Speaker's body, and then she aims at the rightmost goon. "Permission to take the shot, m'am!" she snaps out in a low tone. "I got a clear shot." Whatever happens with the Speaker is beyond her pay grade, but this thug, this she can do something about. She's braced in a two-handed grip, forefinger caressing the trigger, just starting to apply pressure. It's a long range shot for a pistol, but she's ready to take it...and then she's jostled by a young aide struggling to make it to the door. Cursing the clumsy girl, Jacy retakes her aim, awaiting the order.
All the time that Rhonwen talks Dakota doesn't take her eyes from her target. There is even a bit of a smile resting on her features as the man is kept in her sights. She doesn't move a muscle when she is asked "We just got the same kind of warning at the Academy. We got lucky as a group of us just happened to stumble on one on the training grounds right before it was set to blow. There ain't no telling where they have them." The voice on the screen only confirms what she has been saying. And when the bomb on the speaker is seen a near silent curse is let out. Keeping her weapon trained on the man she has selected she moves to cover Rhonwen "Ma-am, just stay right behind me, where ever I go, yes?" Said as a question it probably sounds more like an order. As Jacy calls for permission to fire, Dakota's finger slips from the guard and rests lightly on the trigger of the borowed weapon.
Rhonwen nods to Dakota. "I move slow." She tells her. "But I am wearing good armor." She the goes pale as the woman on the cortex screen appears. She licks her lips as she looks back to Robert Parker the speaker and she starts to talk again. "Bobbi, do not do it. You will kill more than you want. Do not press the switch, please you know me and you know what I stand for. Listen to me do not focus on them. Focus on me. Please, my dear friend. Focus on me and not the images on the cortex you need to do this for both your wife and your family. You are a good man, you have done much. They do not understand this beast or the machine that is our government." There is spark in her voice. She is not commanding but she as presence and even though she is behind Dakota, she is weaving a spell of words and emotion but it is only focused on the speaker. "Have hope Bobbi, please have hope. They are opening Pandora's box but hope still lives and thrives. She has wings and she will live. Have hope do not press that switch."
Calira tilts her head slightly as she carefully sets her sights on the man to the other side of the Speaker, leaving Jacy's shot alone so as to not mess up her line of fire. "Permission granted," she says in a low voice. Calira exhales then, letting her body go still and quiet, letting the sounds and chaos in the room fall away and fade into the quiet that means nothing. The white noise in her head allows for only the man she's drawing on, the gun in her hands, and the shot that needs to be taken. Small adjustments are made, one shoulder rolled subtly back to brace for the kick and she fires her round as soon as Jacy takes her shot, both aiming to take down the dark suited men that are struggling with the speaker.
Rhonwen's words make the Speaker stop struggling for a moment - and it's precisely this cessation of struggling and movement that will prove to save his life in this instant. Both shots fire true, both men staggering backward. Jacy's man is wounded and slams to the floor, rapping his skull hard on the edge of the desk on his way down and slumping into unconscious heap of flesh. Calira's target doesn't fare so well, but then she doesn't typically carry non lethal rounds, and her bullet slams into his shoulder, spins him part way around and staggers him backward. She rushes forward now, signaling for Jacy to accompany her and for Dakota to remain and protect Rhonwen.
The speaker, Robert, is visibly shaken, so ashen in color that he is almost devoid of all color entirely. His eyes jerk from the image of his wife to where Rhonwen is standing, back and forth again. The switch he is holding blinks in a steady light, tempting him, the pulse if if echoing that of his heart beat - or hers. "If I don't do this, Rhonnie," the voice of the speaker - usually so urbane and cultured - is rough and hoarse, "they'll take her life instead of mine." Again his eyes lift, "All these years she's stood beside me, taken a side seat to my career, to our lives together. They'll kill her, as surely as I'm standing here, they'll kill her."
The rough voice of the shadow cast figure on the screen barks the word again: "Decide."
"Bobbi, they will kill her anyways if they are going to, you know in my heart I am right and but you also know there is a chance that she will be saved. Please listen to me. I know she has been with you through thick and thin, but if you die she dies still. We also do not know if that switch you are holding is the one that will chose her death along with everyone else in there. Please listen to me. Your little ones need you. She needs you. We need you. I know the sacrifices that we have to make. But focus on hope and not this destruction. Please my friend." Rhonwen's voice continues to weave her spell. "Please I beg you. You know what this is going to do. Anarchy is not the answer, focus on me and hope." She takes a small step forward, now that she does not have to worry about the goons. Her voice somehow remains steady as she talks to him even though the shots has been fired.
Jacy dances through the crowd, dodging adroitly through the panicking lackeys and hangers-on, hurdling over a fallen member of Parliament, generally keeping up with Calira as she sprints across the room. Her first priority is to reach the weapon of the goon she shot, since she's not convinced she's killed him (and even cold-hearted Jacy isn't about to finish him off in cold blood; not that she'd object to executing the man, but she wants a suspect alive for interrogation).
While Rhonwen is talking earnestly to the Speaker, there is subtle movement along one of the aisles that leads to where the DAS contingent is holding forth. One of the parliament guards is easing his way through the crowd, a gun held in his hand and a look of intense focus upon his face, evident in every line of his body posture. He doesn't slow so much as a second as he sights upon the DA, drawing the target upon Rhonwen and squeezing the trigger.
The goon that Jacy shot is knocked out good and cold, knocked out in fact with a goose egg sized lump forming on the back of his skull and his legs are tangled in one of the chairs, one leg bent at an angle that bone simply should not bend at. That's so going to hurt when he wakes up. but the other one, the one that Calira shot, is struggling to his feet, one arm hanging uselessly at his side, the weapon dropping to the floor from numbed fingers. He bares his teeth suddenly in a snarl of hatred and, as Jacy approaches, he launches himself at the younger officer, hatred - irrational hatred at that - gleaming madly in his eyes.
Movement catches the corner of Dakota's eye and she cuts to it. "Gun!" she yells out and with her free hand pushes Rhonwen from the path of the weapon's aim and to cover her with her own body. All the while she shifts her weapon so that it's aim begins to go to the attacker. Time and space seems to slow to a crawl, everything in slow motion while her head srcreams to bring her weapon up faster.
If the goon has hatred in his eyes, Jacy has cold calculation. While she took the unarmed combat course at the Academy and has a fine working knowledge of the dirty arts of crotch-shots, eye-gouging, and windpipe crushing, there's no telling what he's trained in. He could be one of those who could kill Jacy by stabbing his fingers through her eyeballs and ripping out her brain. Plus, he's bigger than she is. All these thoughts flash through her mind, coldly calculating the odds of success, and the calculation finishes in far less time than it takes to read the thoughts set out on the page.
Jacy brings the Walther up and pumps two rounds into his face at point-blank range.
The wife of the speaker is shaking her head slowly, her eyes locked on those of her husband, the man she has been married to for more than half of her life. "Bobbi, it's going to be alright," she says in a quiet voice, her words barely carrying. She flinches back again as the same hand that had struck her before descends for another blow. Her head rocks back, lip bleeding, eyes swollen from tears, but she keeps her composure, letting a life time of silent conversation and unspoken understanding pass between herself and her husband. This decision they had made, long ago, when their children were but the impression of shadow on a monitor, heartbeats fluttering so fast, so new so fresh that it seemed as though the touch of a fingertip might imprint the soft skin forever. Mary Parker gives a small nod, a brief touch of a smile, her lips moving, speaking silently to her husband for the last time.
For a small woman of middle years and exquisite breeding and social standing, she is a mother. And a mother, as all who are smart enough to know that few things in this 'verse are more dangerous than a mother protecting her child or children, is more dangerous when cornered than any other threat most are lucky to face. Mary rises to her feet and lurches forward, grappling abruptly off screen, the brief altercation surging back and forth before the sound of a shot fired stuns the crowd again. Silence.
"It would seem, Mister Speaker, that your wife is - was - the braver of the two. She has bought your life, with hers. It is noon, mister speaker. Do you know where your children are?" the voice remains harsh, though now there is a threat - a cold chill of malice - that lends the words inflection that simple recitation would not have been so graced. The screen goes blank. The speaker is shaken, visibly, devastated into a state of shock, staggering and nearly falling to his knees.
Time indeed has slowed for Rhonwen she is not even aware of what is going on around her. Her focus and entire being was at that moment on the speaker. Not even the word Gun brings her attention; after all there is nothing but guns being fired at the moment. Then she feels impact as she hits the ground after all she was not prepared to be pushed. The cane clatters to the ground and she loses her grip on the briefcase. The air rushes from her lungs and she is now at the moment concentrating on breathing and getting the briefcase back.
Return to RP Logs
Return to To Parliament
Continue to
Would you like to know more? See Alliance for more info!
