Posted 01 December 2008 - 10:50 PM
Possible morning scene (only useful after tonight, I guess), due to the Venge and D'riss mentions:
Morning has broken over Ambergris. Nothing strange happened, which is a strange thing, indeed.
As the regent rises for the fourth day, he notices how his morning choir is once again firmly in place. A peek out of the window show their numbers are diminished, which is not a real surprise, seeing how his agents have been diligilently reducing their numbers. "Good morning my lovely minions," the regent shouts, upending the chamber pot from his window. The outrage is very visible, but quiet, as ever living member in the AFP is too busy closing their eyes, mouth and nose and averting their faces. At the least, his assassins can now track the resistance by its smell.
But will it even be necessary? Two shady figures watch from the shadows, crossbows in their hands, a scattering of bolts, throwing knives and squid at their feet. "Who do we shoot today, mate?"
"No clue. Look, that guy over there is painting a target on that other guy's back."
"Should we shoot that one? Regent said there was an insider on the job..."
"Might be a trap. I mean, maybe it is a sign of rank, or sumthin, maybe he got a field promotion."
"I think you made a slip there, it's something in proper Ambergris."
"My ambergris is pretty good, go back through anything I ever said and you'll notice not one other slip. Besides, who are you to point out my flaws? You are not ever even here, all the time holing up eating kiwi's."
"Vitamins are vital, dear chap. Now, who do we shoot?"
"too late, they saw you. They're coming this way. Draw swords, and let's take out as many as we can."
"That guy with the paint is now writing SCuM on another guy's jerkin."
"Yeah, wonder what he mains by it..."
As the assassins bicker on, the poor AFP member who has been scribbled on, throws a hissy fit. "I'm telling you, I don't care who we tear apart, as everyone could be scum! Those two in the corner there, with all the weapons, but also you, you or you!"
"But neither of us has scum on their shirt", a helpful underling points out, hoping for a promotion, nudging the Soldier as his side, the one hero with weapon expertise left, and duely promoted to Captain of the armed divisions.
"Who cares what my shirt says, it's about whether or not I show up as scum once I'm torn apart! And I will not!"
"Only one way to find out," the soldier says, rolling up his sleeves. The grafiti-ed AFP member cries as his fellow members of the resistance produce various pocket squids, known as Saturday Night Specialities, raised and fed on noxious diets by the firm Squid & Poisson, and sold with a label saying: "Do not digest".
This advice is religiously followed by all the people forcing their Specialties down the poor rebels throat. After all, they aren't the ones doing the digesting...
"Look, they're fighting with one another, this is our chance!"
Soon, the air is filled with bolts, squid and ink, and in the end, only one man stands, a regent's badge on his coat.
"Well done guys, but then, the hints and aid I gave you chaps practically made this a roll-over."
"Hints? Aid? You accused us, you silly bugger! I was THIS close to getting squided for it! We almost had you murdered, you idiot!"
The traitor threw his arms up, eyes on the heavens. "Some people just can't appreciate a true artiste as work..."
Everyone is entitled to his own wrong opinion. - Lizrad