Prof. Dr. Laszlo Jamf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
laszlo_jamf) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2013-06-04 02:00 pm
laszlo_jamf) wrote in tampered2013-06-04 02:00 pm
This Hath Not Offended the King
When; June 4th, Noon
Rating; PG-13
Characters;mechanicalmouse, rumblelina, intriplicate, & laszlo_jamf
Summary; The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they grind fine. (Please note that this narrative does include a character death. It's not really gory nor graphic, but it is, perhaps, weird. Just a fair warning.)
Log;
It's early morning. The summer sun is rising over the City, over Misery Square, over the glass spires of the deity offices. Strange: sometime in the night, a new glass and steel balcony (a wonder of engineering, these cables and glass plates) on a massive scale has appeared from the side of the deity offices.
Cameras are trained on this glass balcony. A Network feed is opened to broadcast and record what is to come.
Time passes, the sun rises higher.
At mid-morning, guards in black uniforms, armed with red chainsaws, file from the front doors and circle the deity offices. They stand guard. They do not speak. They do not move.
One hour later, a low horn sounds throughout the City: thunderous, more feeling than sound. The echoes fade. It blasts twice more.
A drum begins to beat, slowly, like the ticking of the Clock itself. It is faint at first. It grows louder.
It is just before noon on this summer day that, at last, another battalion of guards with chainsaws begins marching slowing and in time with the drum onto the balcony. Step by step, they come.
In their midst, walking with them, stand three figures--perhaps they are familiar. There's Lina, wearing a black veil. She's the one beating the drum. There's M. S. Fice, wearing his best black executioner's mask and bearing a great stack of papers and folders all stamped with red: URGENT, EXPEDITED, EMERGENCY. There's Prof. Dr. Laszlo Jamf in his white lab coat, bearing pages of his own. They move in time to the drum. It's a ceremony, a ritual.
The three deities come to the steel railing. Lina keeps up the same rhythm.
Now more of these guards in black uniforms come forward from the black maw of the doors into the building. They're bringing something with them up on their shoulders: a steel egg--a steel egg cut with portholes, or so it seems. And there's something, or someone, in it.
They, too, come with their load to the edge of the balcony.
Lina ceases her drumming.
The summer wind blows through uniforms, veils, the eyes of masks, chainsaw teeth, lab coats. Small sounds come from inside the egg. Silence holds for a moment.
Then, with all the necessary grinding of hydraulic tubes, a spiraling twist of machinery assembles itself from the side of the building.
The guards bearing the egg go to stand next to it. Now they open it. The blue glow of electricity emanates from inside it. But, between the sparks, one can see Mouse--the fourth and thusfar missing deity.
The guards now lift Mouse from the steel egg and set her in the coils of machinery. She is clamped, buckled, locked, pinned, clipped, plugged, and stuck with electrodes. An ironic end for one so fond of all things electric and mechanical.
The deities at the rail throw three great switches in unison and the machinery hums, glows, sparks, and rises to life. Now great charges of electricity surge through it--and through Mouse. The balcony itself shakes. The walls of the building hum. The glass of the windows vibrates.
But it is Mouse who undergoes the strangest changes. Her face shifts and melts. Now she seems herself, now like another, now like both together. Now her face seems like a doll's, then like herself again. Then it seems like a man's. Perhaps some of these faces, some of these forms, are familiar to some in the City. All these faces, melting from one to the other, or two or three together. She melts and reforms, like clay.
But, at last, the machine wins against whatever resistance she might put up against it (she being so mechanically inclined) and she is left faceless, bodiless, shapeless. All that now remains in the machine, clinging to it, is a massive human-sized pile of magnets.
The execution is complete.
The deities that remain turn and go back into the glass spires of their offices. The guards on the balcony follow after, bearing the steel egg.
The guards around the building remain for a few hours, watchful and threatening. But soon, they too march back inside.
The balcony remains.
So does the machinery.
So do the pile of magnets.
A reminder.
The video broadcast on the Network shows the nearly-empty balcony platform for some time after it is empty. But soon that feed too comes to a flickering end.
[ooc: For those keeping up with current events: the deities have now executed (in a somewhat fantastical way) one of their own, the deity named Mouse on the charge of treason and sympathizing with the mysterious political agitators/graffiti artists--that is The Enemy. Dun dun dun! The whole incident documented above can be witness in person and is also available as a live feed on the Network and as a recording after the fact. Please feel free to use this post as a mingle log for anyone present on the square after the execution took place]
Rating; PG-13
Characters;
mechanicalmouse, rumblelina, intriplicate, & laszlo_jamfSummary; The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they grind fine. (Please note that this narrative does include a character death. It's not really gory nor graphic, but it is, perhaps, weird. Just a fair warning.)
Log;
It's early morning. The summer sun is rising over the City, over Misery Square, over the glass spires of the deity offices. Strange: sometime in the night, a new glass and steel balcony (a wonder of engineering, these cables and glass plates) on a massive scale has appeared from the side of the deity offices.
Cameras are trained on this glass balcony. A Network feed is opened to broadcast and record what is to come.
Time passes, the sun rises higher.
At mid-morning, guards in black uniforms, armed with red chainsaws, file from the front doors and circle the deity offices. They stand guard. They do not speak. They do not move.
One hour later, a low horn sounds throughout the City: thunderous, more feeling than sound. The echoes fade. It blasts twice more.
A drum begins to beat, slowly, like the ticking of the Clock itself. It is faint at first. It grows louder.
It is just before noon on this summer day that, at last, another battalion of guards with chainsaws begins marching slowing and in time with the drum onto the balcony. Step by step, they come.
In their midst, walking with them, stand three figures--perhaps they are familiar. There's Lina, wearing a black veil. She's the one beating the drum. There's M. S. Fice, wearing his best black executioner's mask and bearing a great stack of papers and folders all stamped with red: URGENT, EXPEDITED, EMERGENCY. There's Prof. Dr. Laszlo Jamf in his white lab coat, bearing pages of his own. They move in time to the drum. It's a ceremony, a ritual.
The three deities come to the steel railing. Lina keeps up the same rhythm.
Now more of these guards in black uniforms come forward from the black maw of the doors into the building. They're bringing something with them up on their shoulders: a steel egg--a steel egg cut with portholes, or so it seems. And there's something, or someone, in it.
They, too, come with their load to the edge of the balcony.
Lina ceases her drumming.
The summer wind blows through uniforms, veils, the eyes of masks, chainsaw teeth, lab coats. Small sounds come from inside the egg. Silence holds for a moment.
Then, with all the necessary grinding of hydraulic tubes, a spiraling twist of machinery assembles itself from the side of the building.
The guards bearing the egg go to stand next to it. Now they open it. The blue glow of electricity emanates from inside it. But, between the sparks, one can see Mouse--the fourth and thusfar missing deity.
Jamf: (holding a sheet of paper; it flutters lightly in the wind) We, the Deities of the City, wish to make a formal statement regarding such events as have recently come to light. It has been made abundantly clear to us of late that there was and has been for some time a traitor in our midst. We, having given due consideration to such evidence as we have been able to procure, have eliminated all other such possibilities and determined that the one betraying our trust, our good works, and our responsibilities as caretakers and custodians of this City to be none other than the deity who is known as Mouse. Knowing full well the risks of such actions, she nonetheless undertook them and was found to have been sympathizing, fraternizing, aiding, and abetting the enemies of the City and of ourselves. We therefore can no longer permit her to carry on in such a way. Likewise, let it be known to all who would consider offering such aid and comfort to our enemies that so shall the same befall you. Hear me: so shall be the fates of all who give such succor, aid, comfort, and support to our enemies: that they shall be unmade.
Lina: (her voice carries farther than one might expect) The sentence is DEATH to traitors betrayers turncoats!
Jamf: Proceed.
The guards now lift Mouse from the steel egg and set her in the coils of machinery. She is clamped, buckled, locked, pinned, clipped, plugged, and stuck with electrodes. An ironic end for one so fond of all things electric and mechanical.
The deities at the rail throw three great switches in unison and the machinery hums, glows, sparks, and rises to life. Now great charges of electricity surge through it--and through Mouse. The balcony itself shakes. The walls of the building hum. The glass of the windows vibrates.
But it is Mouse who undergoes the strangest changes. Her face shifts and melts. Now she seems herself, now like another, now like both together. Now her face seems like a doll's, then like herself again. Then it seems like a man's. Perhaps some of these faces, some of these forms, are familiar to some in the City. All these faces, melting from one to the other, or two or three together. She melts and reforms, like clay.
But, at last, the machine wins against whatever resistance she might put up against it (she being so mechanically inclined) and she is left faceless, bodiless, shapeless. All that now remains in the machine, clinging to it, is a massive human-sized pile of magnets.
The execution is complete.
The deities that remain turn and go back into the glass spires of their offices. The guards on the balcony follow after, bearing the steel egg.
The guards around the building remain for a few hours, watchful and threatening. But soon, they too march back inside.
The balcony remains.
So does the machinery.
So do the pile of magnets.
A reminder.
The video broadcast on the Network shows the nearly-empty balcony platform for some time after it is empty. But soon that feed too comes to a flickering end.
[ooc: For those keeping up with current events: the deities have now executed (in a somewhat fantastical way) one of their own, the deity named Mouse on the charge of treason and sympathizing with the mysterious political agitators/graffiti artists--that is The Enemy. Dun dun dun! The whole incident documented above can be witness in person and is also available as a live feed on the Network and as a recording after the fact. Please feel free to use this post as a mingle log for anyone present on the square after the execution took place]
open to all!
[So there he was anyway at the scene of the crime - or rather, at the execution site, looking at the stuff that was left behind. Lots of paraphernalia, and a definite sense of warning in the air.]
[He smiled, scratching his head.]
Well, that's sad, isn't it . . . but nothing we can do about it except to move on, right?
no subject
He turns.]
Move on? Yeah, we can move on. Move on to something better, that's for sure.
[ooc: In case you are concerned and/or wondering, this is an event-related NPC as played by Caru. Hiya!]
no subject
[Nagito wasn't even concerned about the man's odd appearance. Where he came from, the dude in black was pretty normal-looking. What was more important was what he was truly like. Wolves in sheep's clothing were pretty easy to find, after all.]
[ooc; hi Caru! I missed RPing with you :3]
no subject
Anyway, I wouldn't say it too loudly, but I kind of think... [A conspiratorial whisper]
Good riddance.
[ooc: ♥]
no subject
That was quite a show, wasn't it?
[His eyes flicked back to the stranger.]
Wasn't she guilty of siding with the people? Why are you celebrating her demise if she was really a champion of the citizens?
no subject
no subject
Desperate times call for desperate measures, right? If you have to team up with your enemies to triumph over despair, wouldn't you do it?
no subject
Not honestly, anyway.
no subject
no subject
no subject
What about you?
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Just like I never left Tokyo.
no subject
open;
Justin watches the proceedings and stays after Mouse has been reduced to an artfully-stacked pile of magnets, waiting for something else to happen, listening to conversations around him.]
Re: open;
I wonder if that is what she was made of, in the end.
open;
Does it matter?
open;
Afterwards, she waits until the crowd has dispersed, then lands gently on the stones, watching the magnets sit quietly in their place.]
If only I had seen you, before your death. Perhaps I could have known what it was that drove you to your treason...and to help us.
...I cannot say if you were in the right or wrong, because I have no information on which to judge you. But in the end, you did not deserve such a death, one without trial or proper protocol. Certainly not one so drawn-out. Executions should be swift; they are not for the people's eye, but for protection.
I will do my best to learn why you died. That is all I can do to attempt to put some amount of honor into this event.