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Author Topic: Dining, Dancing...  (Read 604 times)

Dining, Dancing...
« on: March 24, 2019, 08:10:00 PM »
Spring 846, a few months after the fall of Shiganshina.

Humans are, by and large, creatures of habit. This is reflected in our own attachment to traditions. In a time of great crisis, even some traditions remain upheld. Whether it was for ignorance or for the sake of tradition itself, will ultimately be for historians to decide.
This calm, almost blissful spring evening, is perhaps one of those traditions.

Tonight, at a noble’s villa just outside of Wall Sina, Nobles from throughout the remaining land of humanity pour in to be courted by military officers seeking financial and popular support for their various branches.  The Military Police always makes a strong showing at these events, and has an easier time garnering support of the wealthy. After all, who better to protect the nobles than the best soldiers that humanity has to offer?

And so, under the watchful and ever vigilant eyes of the Military Police, nobles young and old mingle amongst one another in glorious gardens filled with music and laughter, as others dance in the ballroom in the villa. All of them almost blissfully immune to the struggles of the common man.

It is on this backdrop that the main act is about to begin…

(No post order here, whoever is ready, feel free to post first!)

Re: Dining, Dancing...
« Reply #1 on: September 18, 2019, 12:18:09 PM »
The towering balcony doors hung open, cool evening air ghosting over Jarek’s skin.  Somewhere in the colourful, immaculate gardens below, a quartet was playing melodiously.  It was a peaceful counterpoint to the more exuberant celebrations taking place indoors, where the music was louder, conversation thrummed and silverware clinked cheerfully.

With a crystal glass of wine in hand, Jarek was an image of calm, completely in his element, relishing formal settings such as these.  Whenever anyone he knew passed by, the dark-haired man would flash a gregarious smile, or raise his drink in greeting.  In between times, he allowed his gaze to rove over the attendants, watching the interactions with interest.  Most were known to him, whether they had ever been formally introduced or not.  It was the duty of the Valdeze siblings to be familiar with figures of power and influence, to consider them in terms of their connections, to learn their deepest desires and sniff out their darkest secrets.  It was vital work, in their eternal quest for power and security.

But pleasure was the playmate of business, and Jarek fully intended to enjoy the event.  The host’s villa was sumptuous, though he felt - rather uncharitably - that it paled in comparison to his family’s own sprawling homestead.  Tonight’s attendants were beautifully turned out, for the most part, though fear lay behind their tight smiles and gracious manners.  Wall Maria had failed, resulting in almost innumerable casualties and refugees.

Yet Jarek was unafraid.

Mankind’s nobility still had Wall Rose and Wall Sina between them and the Titan horde they so feared.  The loss of Wall Maria was, for most of them, a faraway catastrophe, affecting them primarily in lost business opportunities and raised food prices.  And with coffers stacked high with gold, what did it matter if a sack of flour cost a few more pennies?  Their generous host was a prime example of this, having managed to source the finest food and beverages for the evening’s banquet - including wines from the fallen district, the value of which had skyrocketed.

Jarek indulgently swirled the liquid gold in his glass.  He would likely be in high demand, the Valdeze family having long been patrons to the military.  Most often they endorsed and supported the Military Police, of course, though the Survey Corps and Garrison had both had their respective palms crossed with silver in the past.  But not this time… Jarek smirked to himself, enjoying a sip of the crisp, rare white he held in hand, breathing deep the scent of night-blooming jasmine and quiet desperation.

Re: Dining, Dancing...
« Reply #2 on: December 19, 2019, 03:33:15 AM »
There was one place he felt vaguely appreciative of the Survey Corps' existence - Quirin felt quite honestly repulsed by the idea of their supposed sacrifice, envied their idiocy for blinding themselves to the truth of the matter. With Wall Maria fallen, his beliefs had not changed. Yes, they may well have lost the outer ring, a staggering part of humanity, and indeed a decent part of their buffer against the titans. It was quite obvious to him why - slackers and scouts alike had endangered the Wall in such a manner that they'd brought it upon themselves.

Sina, he sounded like the fucking minister.

His attendance at such an event was, for once, though it had been before, not in the capacity of an extra guard. He had contacts abound, most of which he'd escorted or guarded at some point over the decade (very almost, at least) of serving in the Military Police Brigade. Smooth words and practiced smiles to win over the rich bastards who thought this was charity. He knew very well how much the Survey Corps would love the money thrown their way. That was precisely what he loved to see. The twitch of an eye, the straight lips, the suffering in the iris.

And that was why his gaze swept around as he moved between contacts, seeking out those who would be so surely disappointed. It would take a great amount to convince more than the smallest minority to provide money for them, and he was oh, so pleased with himself. He didn't need to persuade; he simply needed to be there, to remind people of how proper, how educated, how elite the Military Police were.

After all, half the Scouts his age were dead. They had far less experienced, capable soldiers to retain contacts for each of these events. A point he easily made to the brother of one of his former comrades in the 92nd Cadet Corps.

Really, why did the Survey Corps even bother continuing to show?

Re: Dining, Dancing...
« Reply #3 on: June 29, 2020, 12:01:02 PM »
By the Walls, Laria despised functions like these.  All gold and marble, the setting was undeniably beautiful; a glittering filter for an ugly underbelly, one that reeked of corruption and favouritism.

When it came to fundraisers, the Military Police Brigade held centre stage, with the Garrison and Survey Corps lingering in the wings.  By comparison, the Training Corps was largely overlooked and forgotten.  Despite the quality of new recruits and fully-fledged soldiers relying - in no insignificant way - on the standard of instruction and schooling they received, the regiment was one of the least likely to receive investment.  Funding equipment and improved training facilities was considerably less glamorous to the wealthy and powerful, after all, and reaped no immediate reward.

Nursing a crystal tumbler full of amber liquor, the instructor lingered on the periphery, quietly disgusted by the show of conspicuous consumption on display, the coarseness of her country accent standing stark against the clipped, enunciated tones of Wall Sina.  Her body was draped in a floor-length teal gown that was trotted out time and again for events such as these, the colour complementing her red hair, while its cut disguised the brace supporting her leg.  Conscious of her limp, she moved and mingled as little as possible, and even now eyed the banquet wistfully from a distance.

Tonight would be an uphill battle.  Already Laria was itching for a cigarette and, before the evening was through, she would surely sneak off into the depths of the perfumed gardens for a sly drag.


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