[Mini Event] your red eye sees no blame

Amalia

she was afraid of heights

Revolution. It feels too early to call it that, as though by naming the thing they are doing they give more power to the thing they resist. Instead she thinks of it as resistance, or if she truly feels like deceiving herself, a gathering of minds. Anxiety pulls like leeches at her blood, tears against her sinew, flounders through her mind, and if she looks too close she will fall apart, dissolve into a million pieces of terror and doubt and fury and dismay.

The girl was not built for a world like this: wide and wily, betrayals and sedition, where friendship may change at a moment's note. So for now she ignores it and goes about her day, tries to play at normalcy while waiting for the night. Start the bake; change the loaves; make deliveries; clean the shop. If she follows the rituals she will not fall apart, will not fray at the seams and come entirely undone.

And then, at last, it is night, and she can no longer ignore the danger she faces, the thing that she has built. So she descends to the cellar, the little door half-hidden behind a bush of lavender, and begins to set up for their revolution gathering of the minds. In true Chandrakant fashion this somehow entails cutting up four loaves of bread, setting out two jars of jams, pulling a bag of jerky from from storage, and boiling a pot of tea.

And then she sits, the mug in her fists, alone in a corner, waiting.

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Welcome to the Resistance! You have 48 hours from the time this thread went up to reply with your character arriving. After that Amalia will call the meeting to order. If your character has anything in particular they want on the agenda please have them mention it to her as they arrive. You're welcome to join in after Amalia's second post, I just want to get the ball rolling!

but she was much more afraid

of never flying

DEIMOS

Defiance was a ready tattoo in his chest, pulsing and pounding with the beat of his molten, seditious heart: resist, resist, resist. It was a seed planted in his brain the day he was born, growing its nefarious thorns and irreverent entanglements day by day, month by month, year by year, until his experiences combined into muted stories from other worlds, until glacial walls became all the more familiar, home, until the godless manifestations crooned and crawled their way into his existence. It bloomed and blossomed here too, feral and savage, wild and untamed, a bough, a bramble, sticking its nettles through his mind, sweeping the turns and centuries away from ancient wars and destitute miseries, shaping, creating, manifesting. He’d kept his head down long enough, intonated repose and composure in the fire and flames, until finally, they seemed to relish restlessly down the length of his form, and the shambles of swordplay rang and beat against his brain.

The hollowed, midnight oils and shadows covered his figure, required no cloak on the memorized path, roaming the streets as if it were a customary procedure: wander, wander, wander, until he saw the bakery’s lights, little beacons and drawbridges, coaxing them in from the dusk and twilight. The beast made no hesitation in his steps, just as nefarious, just as seditious, as the molten creeds stored within his undying wake: lingering along the threshold until he came to the half-door hidden by clumps of lavender (stifled his chuckle; the flowers of revolution had apparently already started with him), before bending, crawling through the makeshift aperture. He was silent and certain, and ensured both opening and closing of the entry was quiet, hushed, and when he glanced into the familiar basement (only before it had been littered with debris and stone golems), he raised his piercing gaze to the baker, in the corner, mug in hand.

“Amalia,” he presided, straightening out to his full height, glancing over at her, measures of minatory, but likely anxious, prowess, tilting his head at the rest of the wares she’d laden. “Do you need help with anything?” Are you ready? was the next inquiry on his lips, but kept it to himself, assisting with whatever she required, stalwart and disastrous, hand clenching over one of hers in a tight squeeze, before grabbing a seat, claiming his position at her side. They would come, and then the world would fall together. Or they’d crumble amongst themselves, too irreverent with one another to ever impart more than petty games and schemes.

But they had to try.

i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky

After the gathering at the notice board Jigano had gone home. Not to a place, to four walls and a roof and a door, no. Nowhere that could have an address or a number, no building or structure locked in position, unmoved and unmoving. No, the fox's home was warm blue eyes and gentle hands, fierce lips and strong arms that laced around him, giving his universe a center, giving him a place to belong.

Giving him a place to return to, like a lodestone always finding north again.

He had shared the day's events with a quiet intensity, worry in his eyes and tension in his hands as Isuma had curled up quietly in his lap and purred to calm him. He had shared, too, Amalia's invitation to a little... chat between friends. An evening of Chandrakant hospitality. A seditious act against an unwanted tyrant.

And that night he had stayed at the farm, knowing better than to leave either of them alone to the mercies of their own minds.

He didn't return to the settlement until afternoon of the next day, hardly unusual, and he had stopped by the Guild to look through more of the oldest records for signs of the Blight in the Greatwood... and to drop a quiet invitation in the mind of his Attuned colleague there. And there he had waited, until Rory came to fetch him so the pair could stroll over to the bakery for dinner, and to tease their little sister over a cup or two of tea.

Only instead of sitting down inside the bakery itself they passed through it, into the garden behind, through a little door behind the lavender, and down the steps. For a moment it was, in fact, just a family chat; their odd little, wonderful little found family, coming together for a few moments of comfort. Jigano nodded to both of their hosts with a wry smile, leaving the seat beside Amalia free for Rory, if the hunter wanted it, and instead taking the next one over. "The bread smells delicious," he murmured politely as he fixed himself a small meal from the proffered victuals.