Participants:
| Scene Title | Awakening |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Sometimes, everything is not enough. |
| Date | November 8, 2010 |
Village Renaissance: Alia's Apartment
The simple apartment is kept oddly neat, almost showroom neat. The only signs that someone really lives here usually are the morning's dishes in the dishwasher, a TV near the very average couch, and a desktop computer hooked up to the TV much like some people would have a DVD player hooked to it. There are no pictures, no 'normal' touches of a person who has a past they want to keep. Beside the door is an umbrella stand… with a rapier sitting in one of the slots. There is a scattering of drawn on post-it notes near the table by the couch.
One corner of the living room area has been cleared out of all electronic devices, and blocked off by a fabric-and-metal woven screen. Behind it, sits a ring of copper wire, a small table covered with a cloth with some very odd symbols on it, a chalice, a pearl-handled dulled dagger, a small wooden circle with a pentagram burnt into it, and a small wooden wand.
Alia groaned as her body moved for the first time in hours. She touched her face, a thin dried bit of blood near her nose, and winced at the intense headache she had as she forced herself to her feet, and wobbled a bit. She moved slowly to the bathroom, to the medicine cabinet, and dug out the container of aspirin, taking two out, and swallowing both dry before finding a spot to lean.
The jammers worked. Too well. The cameras worked perfectly. The attempt to keep the trigger off of places like YouTube…she hadn't counted on so many copies being re-uploaded… until she finally had to take the brute force approach and just knock the site offline… which was an incredibly taxing feat. Alia moved to the fridge, blindly pulling out a soda, and an apple, leaden steps as she moved without her usual grace.
She felt like she could sleep for a week. She felt like she'd done something a bit maybe TOO much. Yet…the riots continued. Martial law had been declared. In the end, while her fate had changed… Fate had refused to yield for the city as a whole. Now, the many blades were held to many throats… and the dance of 'politics' and 'revolution' and 'rebellion' and 'freedom' had become a very, very dangerous bit of swordplay indeed.
And nobody could be certain, of what path to take from here. She leaned back in a chair, not even realizing as her media center PC woke itself up, and begain playing classical music, as she ate her snack, before drifting into a well needed nap.
