BELTAINERemember the FallenRemember Who MURDERED Them
Clayton stops dead the first time he sees one of these posters, and turns white. "This is bad," he says. Even though he's dedicated to increasing political power for commoners, this type of thing might cause a bit of trouble.He bites his lip, and takes the poster down. Maybe there's a way to use this without getting anyone's anger turned up... he thinks, as he starts to walk towards Rowan. By the time he gets to the building, he's already made a tentitive plan.He knocks on Collin's door.
Collin reaches for the doorknob and yanks the door open. "Yeah? What's- oh, hey Clay-foot."Looking over Clay's shoulder into the hall for potential listeners, Collin asks, "You wanna jabber for a bit, or is something going on?"
"Something could be bad Jinkies," Clay said, handing Collin the paper to look over. "I don't know how many political hot-heads there are on campus... aside from myself of course." He shrugs. "But this could spell trouble if someone takes it the wrong way. And no, I don't know how many there are around campus. I just found this one. But I do have an idea: we can't have fires inside the buildings. Do you know where a place we can have one outside is on or near campus?"
Collin takes the paper from Clay and steps backwards into his room while reading it. "You think there's a right way to take this that won't cause trouble?" Looking up and at Clay, Collin continues, "I might know something. Step inside and tell me your plan."
He steps inside and closes the door."I'm thinking of doing exactly what this says: remembering the fallen on both sides, remembering what they died for, and appreciating what we have now. A candle light vigual for continued peace at the end of the week. Music. Poems. Silence. Maybe even praying. I don't know. Anythiing that's solom, but celebratory too. You know what I mean?"
"Maybe." Janko utters non-commitally."What gets me is that Beltaine isn't until May. Why are these going up now?"
Clay shrugs. "Stiring up trouble?"He's quiet for a moment. "Anyways, if you're able to get the spot, I can take care of everything else." I hope, he thinks.
Almost as Clayton finishes speaking, there's another knock on the door. This time, it's Kellin. He holds up a sheet of red paper. "Any idea what to do about these?" he asks. "I don't know if I should tell my folks yet - I figured I'd check with you first."
Nathan glanced at the poster in the Rowan common room and lets out a sigh. "Mental note, don't even think about it." He tore the poster off, threw it away, and left the room with a dark frown on his face.
Thomas wanders along the hallways of the student union, his overstuffed haversack bouncing just behind his left hip. A banjo case dangles from his right hand. Man, what a week, he thinks wearily, It feels like I've been mentally shaken and thrown up against a wall several times.One of the red flyers catch his eye. What the...Thomas ponders it for several moments, trying to wrack his brain for some sort of meaning behind the words.Is this an Irish/St. Patrick's Day thing?? All the other decorations are green, so why is this red? "Remember the Fallen"? Great. Which fallen? Molly MgGuires? IRA? The men behind the wire? Or... maybe it's about Russia? Betaine... May Day, maybe? No, Beltaine is a Celtic word, p-Celtic I think. Or is that Welsh and Irish is q-Celtic? I can never remember which. So something Irish or Scottish maybe. Red is a color normally associated with Scotland... No, wait! Maybe it's one of those neo-pagan things! Isn't there something like a national witchcraft day? Is that this week? I thought that was in October. Or is that Talk Like A Pirate Day?Sighing, Thomas realizes he has no clue and will have to pay a visit to the library. Before continuing on his way, he looks about to see if anyone else is reading any of the flyers.
Morag sees a flyer, and stops in her tracks. ** What the fuck? ** She feels a slight cold chill before her mind even makes the connection. ** Oh god, isn't that one of the things that they used to go on about? All that wanting revenge for crap that happened before any of them were born... Does this mean -- no, calm down, I'm sure they're not the only ones who we're obsessed with that stuff. Even Miss Amarshi mentioned it. Maybe this is is just something like the fae equivalent of Holocaust Awareness Week and I shouldn't be worried... Yeah, that's probably all it is. **Still, as she quickly turns away from the flier and continues on her way, she can't quite stop herself from glancing around warily, scanning the shadows for hidden observers. ** At least, I hope that's all it is... **
Scarcely hidden, Sir Quiran stands down the hallway from her. One of the flyers is held lightly in his fine-fingered hand. He stands there for several moments, lost in thought, expressionless. Then, almost reverently, he places it back up onto the wall. Turning, he catches sight of Morag looking around. There is something incredibly sad about the Sidhe's eyes, something... Sir Quiran holds her eyes, unflinching and poignant. He then continues onwards away from the scene.
Morag gazes after the departing sidhe, trying to understand what she just saw. ** That's weird... I don't know that much about this, but I would have thought the sidhe might be pissed and wanting the posters taken down. Then again, someone once told me that a lot of people in Germany are more militant about opposing neo-Nazis than anyone. They know their past and they're bound and determined never to repeat it. Maybe it's kind of like that with this...I don't know why people are so determined to rub salt in old wounds anyway. People here mostly seem to all get along OK, so why fuck that up by trying to hold people responsible for stuff that happened before they were born? Like I want to be held personally responsible for everything every redcap in history ever did? THAT'd be a nightmare, to be sure... **She turns to the flyer nearest her, and puts out a hand, thinking of ripping it down -- but then stops, remembering how Sir Quiran put it back up after reading it. ** Then again, maybe it's serving a good purpose. Maybe it's remembering the past that keeps people from repeating it. Guess it all depends what they do with those memories... Learn something from'em, or just wallow in'em using the past as an excuse to obsess on revenge against whoever's handy, like... No. We're not going to start thinking about them. Not now. Not here. **
Geain stands in front of one of the fliers, reading it over and over again judging from the length of time she stays in that position. After a while she reaches out and runs one trembling finger over the surface of it as though tracing ripples in a pond.
Garm watches the pooka for a moment and walks over. He appears to read the flyer."Does it feel like paper?" He finally asks.
Geain shakes her head, still not taking her fingers from the paper. Her lips move, silently forming answers she cannot voice, glib come-backs that taste of ashes. Finally she turns to look at the Redcap and speaks with a broken voice."It feels like skin and I don't know why."
Garm runs a finger over the top of the paper and then one down the sharp edge. He frowns.**Time for everyone's favorite game show 'Is the Pooka Fucking with Me'. She might not be. Be polite and play the game their way, Garm.**He shakes his head and sighs. "Come on, you look like a bird in serious need of coffee. What say I buy you some?"
Geain smiles a little, her tone lighter as she speaks. "I never drink coffee, but I'll take a hot chocolate if that's okay with you?"Looking back at the board, she carefully untacks the poster and slips it into her notebook.
"Sounds fine." Garm shrugs.He begins to move away from the bulletin board and gives her a closed mouth smile."Shit," mutters Garm mentally slapping himself. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Carver, and what do you go by?"
Geain holds out her hand tentatively, clearly not sure if this is a good idea around a Redcap but not willing to risk being impolite either"Geain, that's what my mother calls me."
On her way to drop off her books from morning classes and pick up the ones for her afternoon ones, Ciara scans the flier on the way to her and Heather's room. The words hit her like a blow, as memories that aren't from this lifetime cascade behind her eyes...Blood sprays as her sword bites into the flesh of the other sidhe's throat, the incredibly beautiful face of her kithmate forever frozen in agony, the screams of the dead and dying in her ears, the smell of blood and excrement filling her nostrils....Anyone passing by may see her standing there, head bowed, the wet trails of tears making their way down her cheeks.
Jonathan is hauling some groceries through the main hall before bringing them up to his and Nathan's room when he spots Ciara for the first time since that inaugural court session, crying, and heads over.Since she's standing by the corkboard and facing it, Jon tkaes a quick look to see what might have got her crying and spots the flier.Oh, man, even I know about that one.Jonathan's normally sunny disposition takes a turn for the serious as he puts a hand on Ciara's shoulder."You going to be alright?" he asks her.
The hand on her shoulder startles Ciara out of her recollections. Swallowing, she turns around and sees Jonathan.She wipes at her eyes with the back of a hand. "Yeah. Just give me a minute." **There's plenty of us who remember it already - and not just in this lifetime.**
Jonathan waits next to her until either she recomposes herself or heads off, thinking about this situation a bit and drawing entirely the wrong inferences. What's her deal with this? She doesn't look angry, so it's probably mourning or guilt. But neither of those fits - she couldn't have been there when it happened, and the Sidhe don't come back. Someone she knew, maybe - but she wasn't around to know anyone. This makes no sense.Ciara might catch on to Jonathan's confusion from looking at him, but the visible cues are short-lived as his thoughts change gears.Do I even care? She's crying and I'm trying to judge her instead of, well, helping her, as if I could. That's totally weak.Tentatively, Jonathan pipes up, offering; "If you want to talk or something, I'm up in 217."And, impressively for him, his emphasis was NOT on the 'or something' for once.She's never going to take me up on it, but it was a nice gesture.
Derek sees the first flier and does the equivalent of a spittake. ** What the... ** He immediately takes it down. He does the same with the second and third he finds. ** Just great. I'm going to look like a stoolie, but it's that or let some moron break the Escheat. **After making a pit stop at his room to drop off his stuff, he heads out to pull down every poster he can. He places each into a backpack. ** Hopefully I can get in to see them. I'd hate to have to do this at Court. **((OOC: This is going to take a while to complete, so reactions to The huge troll taking them down is possible, welcome, and almost expected *g*))