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[Aimee Fabron]

6th of Spring, 516
Early Afternoon
The Basilika

Tenten Peak, that’s where Aimèe was on this day. Just a few days ago she had arrived in Lhavit, and though she was barely settled in, she was finding breaths of life in the enlightened city, her new home. Lhavit was a place teeming with interesting finds. She had met few people, but the few she did meet were well-spoken and kind. She felt almost out of place here, being a Zeltivan born girl. She grew up in an nearly rough-and-tumble type place, but thankfully she was able to steer clear of East Street for most of her life, only going there to accompany her father when he had house-calls to attend to.

She strode through a place, a peak, that looked like something she had never seen before. Growing up in Zeltiva, growing up moderately wealthy, meant that she was rather sheltered. Aimèe could boast about her experiences, the people she met, the places she had been in Zeltiva, but nothing prepared her for the jewel of a city on a bluff that Lhavit was. The Zeltivan born girl managed to find her way to Tenten Peak that morning, and from there found herself within the place deemed the Basilika, as overheard by those who spoke quietly.

It was an interesting place, one brimming with the knowledge of the seemingly wise lecturers. She spent that entire morning shuffling herself between lecture and lecture; some were small, some were big, some were interesting, and some were very, very dull. She didn’t discount the dull ones though, knowing that it was often the speaker’s presentation, not the content being presented itself. In fact, she often thought the content was intriguing, forcing herself to persevere through the monotone voiced men who often spoke them. To her surprise, though, there were also women lecturers, and they were just as interesting, if not moreso, than the men.

The hours passed seamlessly, and her time was spent there, shuffling with the crowds to new lecturers as the old packed up, having said their piece. Aimèe stood before one of them now, this woman particularly interesting. She had garnered a crowd that filled the stools that surrounded her booth so Aimèe had no choice but to stand in the backing, having had arrived late to the speech. She was caught up to speed quickly though, a young man with a blond head of hair informing her on the subject at hand. Apparently it was a controversial one, and a part of Aimèe wondered if it was controversial because the speaker was a woman. The Zeltivan had no problem with what she was hearing, but could tell that many others in the stool-seated crowd were showing their rejection and misunderstanding.

There was sudden in ease in the air as one of the stools squealed, the sitter standing up to shout his disapproval. Those men seated in approval of what the woman was saying, or just not wanting to see a woman disrespected, stood up as well. The offender was immediately repelled, the defenders meeting him in the middle of the sea of stools. Already many of the seated were rising to remove themselves from the area, and those standing were backing up. Aimèe was among those retreating, her hand clutched into a fist placed over her heart, a heart that was beating quickly. Her honey eyes shot across the scene, trying to truly understand what was happening. Was what the lecturer said that offending?

Apparently it was because the first punch was thrown, the sickening sound of fist slamming into jaw echoing throughout the hall. The punch was enough to inspire the others who thought the lecturer’s words were repulsive to jump up and join the fray. In the blink of an eye the booth was in an uproar and many of the spectators were dispersing because the fight was quickly spiraling out of control. Yelling was happening and Aimèe was caught in a haze of hurried bodies. She lost sight of the blond haired boy and was on her own attempting to make her way out of the Basilika.

The fight turned into a small scale riot, and the Zeltivan was stuck in the middle of it. People were rushing around her like raging rapids and she was dizzy, lost in the torrential current of the people. She was being jostled, and eventually she ended up on the floor, scrambling to nowhere at all. She had come to Lhavit in order to escape the would be wilds of Zeltiva, and here she was, about to die of trampling because she couldn’t find her footing under the stampeding legs.

Special thanks to Marion Kay

[Eithne]

When her father first brought her to Lhavit, he took her to the Basilika. "This is where man tradess the most valuable of commoditiess, Eithne: Knowledge." She could still remember his voice and his sibilant speech he had long trained to keep in check. But with her... he'd always let himself be.. himself. She'd been young, inexperienced with a world of wonders that she'd never thought she'd ever witness before; a world cast in the shade of Zintila's reign, glimmering like a sea of stars. But with her father's guiding hand, she took it all in. And she learned, and she grew.

When he'd finally left, Eithne felt a piece of her leave with him too. To this day, she missed her father more than anything in this world, but she also understood that it was in his nature to wander, to seek things that only he understood. She had only been twenty-one years old. And as an homage to him, and to Eyris, Eithne always made time for the Basilika. And it was here where she found herself, when the debates were well under way. The half-breed wandered through the halls and between the statues that acted as the walls to each "room" that divided the philosophers from the scientists and the politicians, and whatever manner of discussion that sparked a heated debate.

She was no longer awestruck by the display, as she'd once been. Her father once told her stories of Zeltiva's universities, and its libraries that held answers to things that she would never had even thought to question. But instead of reading the pages of a book, alone and isolated, she could engage her mind more thoroughly and have her ideas challenged in a way that would make her think. "Pity the man that thinkss himself the answer to all thingss." Her father's voice felt like a cello in her thoughts, always strung.

But although she'd become familiar with the Basilika and it's often passionate displays of rhetoric during the daytime, she'd never witnessed what she could only perceive as a riot. It happened a lot faster than she'd ever assume possible. One second she was watching an elder gentleman with a long, bushy beard, and the next, there were hollers and shouts from her left. Her eyes snapped toward the source of the disturbance, as everyone else's had, before the first punch was thrown.

Oh.. shyke. Her eyes were wide as she watched while the crowd jostled and collided internally. There were fists flying, insults thrown into the air, and the people that could, scattered. Eithne had taken a step back, intending to do the same... until her eyes caught the sight of a woman fall between the frantic bodies. Every inch of her instincts told her to run. Riots such as these had been common where she'd been from, and it always brought threats of violence, death and dismemberment. Would this really be any different?

But if Eithne left... knowing that the woman had fallen, knowing that she would likely be trampled to death, made the maledictor's heart skip a beat. She might have honored Dira and her realm but she would never willingly want to watch anyone die such a senseless death. That was not in her nature.

Adrenaline drove her legs forward, one step at a time, until she broke out into a run, reaching the crowd that had surged into a small riot and slammed a fist into the first person's face. Pain shot up her hand from the impact, but she struggled still, pushing men and women aside until her hand reached to grasp the woman's on the ground, pulling her with her.

"Stay close," she shouted at her, above the heavy noise. And like a snake, Eithne wove through the bodies as they were jostled and tossed around, her grip on the woman's hand vise-like. A hand nearly slammed into her head before she managed to duck. This is insane. What is happening? And where were the Shinya? She couldn't dwell on such things, however, as the riot grew larger as more people were compelled to react with fists rather than with words.

Finally, with a push, they reached the fringe of the crowd, where the people watched on the sidelines, their faces frantic. Eithne breathed heavily, releasing the woman's hand and bending over. Someone had struck her on her side. She'd feel that bruise in the morning, she thought bitterly. "How badly are you hurt?" Eithne asked the lady, glancing at her warily. "Do you need a healer?"

Boxcode by Marion Kay.

[Aimee Fabron]

Aimèe tumbled to the ground and scampered for a sense of direction. There was light all around her and the feet were traveling every which way. Some people were going to join the brawl, others were capitalizing on the chaos, but most were just trying to save their own skins without a regard for the skin they were about to crush beneath their soles. Frightened, Aimèe wanted to get out of their as soon as possible, but each piece of fabric she grabbed onto ripped away from her, each hand she sought for snatched away, and each time she tried to wobble to a stand she was thrown back down.

She tried to resolve herself to stand once more in confidence. She found her footing, some people giving her a small window in which to get up with. The window closed just as swiftly as it opened; her abdomen sent sharp pangs of pain up and through her, throwing her back to the ground. The wind whooshed from her lungs as her diaphragm spasmed from the toe end of a boot lunged sharply into her soft belly. Aimèe inhaled only to exhale in a cry of astonished pain.

The pain bothered her as long as she would let it, but she couldn’t let it last long. The feet were still stampeding around her and she would be in more pain if she didn’t get up. Something told her to look right and she did, following through with the motion as another foot came for her head. She braced herself for the impact, bringing her arms up to lessen the damage to her features. However, just as suddenly as the foot was coming, it was faltering backwards as the person above her cried out suddenly after a sickening slap of skin was heard.

The brawl was going to be directly over her body, she thought. She was going to die because some man three times her size was going to fall on top of her, she panicked. Aimèe looked up to face her fate with open eyes, yet the honey colored irises locked with green slit-pupiled ones. A hand reached for her and she instinctually grabbed it not knowing who it really belonged to. To her relief it was the young woman whom she locked eyes with. The Zeltiva was heaved up by her hero and then shouted at to stay close. Whomever his heroine was, she didn’t need to tell Aimèe twice.

She followed her out of the thick of the man-made rapids, somehow carving a path through the flow. She gripped the woman’s hand in kind, both of their grips locked to keep the other from drowning beneath the angry waves of people. The hero ducked, Aimèe did too, narrowly dodging the fist that was flying her way. Her stomach ached already, quietly, and she couldn’t afford another injury, not here of all places. Perhaps she had been deceived by Lhavit’s calm exterior, maybe what lay inside was something more resembling of Zeltiva’s East Street.

They found an isle on the outskirts of the sea and breathed finally. Her hero huffed for air, releasing her hold of the Zeltivan as she doubled over. Aimèe was envious; it hurt to breathe too deeply. Her hand was in a loose fist over her stomach. Nothing could be done but to wait the pain out so she tried not to focus on it, instead shifting it to the woman who saved her.

“It’s just my stomach,” Aimèe half-yelled over the raging riot, meeting the woman’s wary glance. “I am a healer,” she finished.

She distanced herself a little more from the crowd, not wanting to be swept away by a grasping arm. “Thank you,” she expressed in the same volume of voice. “Why is this happening?”

This whole ordeal was preposterous. Just a handful of moments earlier she was observing a presentation that was well put together, a presentation that was progressive, and a presentation that was controversial. That was what the problem was, she deduced.

There was pure fright in her eyes as she watched the people continue to maul at one another as yelling and shouting happened. Suddenly, there was a person breaking into their island of rest and observation, hungry eyes searching for something. They caught the glint of Aimèe’s bracelet peeking out from the sleeve of her dress’s mouth. The hungry eyes gave motive to the body to move and it marched hurriedly for Aimèe. The Zeltivan didn’t cower though, she reacted when the man’s hand reached for her. In one movement she pulled her arm away, causing the man to falter as he grasped for nothingness. In the next movement she pushed up, putting all her lightweight into her forward shove as her hands met the man’s fatty pecs.

The man didn’t relent, going again for Aimèe and the bracelet, probably seeing a fiery wench instead. As he came in she raised her hand and opened her palm, bringing the paleness of her hand’s flesh to strike the man’s chubby cheek. The clap was resounding in the small area, but it wasn’t what gave the man pause.

“Fire!” someone shouted. “Fire! Fire!” The chorus was joined by other voices, and sure enough flames were smelt in the air. Shooting up from the center of the crowd was a fountain of the orange heat that only added to the chaos.

The blaze reflected in her golden eyes and fear struck her even harder than before. The man who had assaulted her was now a non-concern; fire was the enemy now and whomever produced it.

Special thanks to Marion Kay

[Eithne]

The half breed breathed raggedly from exertion, but it seemed the crowd wasn't about to relent. In all her years she'd spent in Lhavit, she couldn't recall having seen a riot as spontaneous as this one. Something obviously instigated it, but to cause such a surge of emotion? It felt irrational to the maledictor. Something or someone must have been the true cause, if anything.

When the rotund man lurched toward them, Eithne watched as the woman retaliated defensively. Well at least I know now she doesn't just lay down, Eithne thought admiringly. But the man, as would be expected, did not relent. Djed pooled into her eyes and ignited a spark of colours all around her, but it was the assailant that she trained on, his color a sickly green that tasted of alcohol. Drunk.

The maledictor wasn't surprised. It seemed the commotion attracted the opportunistic, and the stupid. She was just about to swing a fist under the man's jaw when the chorus of "fire!" broke out in the Basilika. Eithne's head whipped around and caught the smoke curling into the sky, and the flames of red and orange and yellow that licked at the pillars. People were scrambling, some heading toward their direction.

The auras seeped back into nothingness as the magic died in her veins, and she grasped the woman's hand just as new voices joined the fray. People were sent flying, and from the corner of her eyes, Eithne could see the characteristic uniform of the Shinya. "About time," she murmured under her breath. "Come, let's get out of here before we get trampled."

Squeezing between two groups closing in at the entrance, they were finally free of the smoke and ash and claustrophobia of the famed Basilika. When they were settled at a distance, Eithne paused and turned to look back at it, a sad look in her eyes.

"I used to love coming here," She said idly. "Saw plenty of debates but never a travesty like this. It's a shame that people cannot accept ideals that are not their own." She let out a heavy sigh, turning back to the dark haired woman. Without the chaos of the riot to distract her, she could really look at her, and what she saw was a woman that looked too... familiar. Eithne furrowed her brows, but dismissed the idle thought.

"My name is Eithne," She introduced herself after a pause. "I hope the fat man didn't land a hit on you, though I recall you mentioned you were a healer?" [/color]

Boxcode by Marion Kay.

Common | Ancient tongue | Snake Tongue