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padam, padam, padam
WHO? Travis ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crownless and Henry handsomefoil
WHAT? let's be real, they weren't gonna not meet in the midst of total chaos.
WHEN? à Paris, 1792
ANYTHING ELSE? did you know that a people stampede involving fatalities is known as a "crush"? cause uhhh warning for a crush, other extraneous violence, and these guys' foul mouths.
crownless and Henry handsomefoilWHAT? let's be real, they weren't gonna not meet in the midst of total chaos.
WHEN? à Paris, 1792
ANYTHING ELSE? did you know that a people stampede involving fatalities is known as a "crush"? cause uhhh warning for a crush, other extraneous violence, and these guys' foul mouths.
[In hindsight? Agreeing to this gig was a stupid idea.
Hell, he can barely remember his recruitment to begin with. (He does, however, remember the bite of cheap liquor and sour bile in the back of his throat; he hears the field operative's voice in a hazy corner of his mind, as tempting and sing-song as hers had been, the night he'd signed his life away to the UAA.) But that was just what these last few years of his life had been like, right? One after the other, every exciting chapter in the messed up story of his life had simply picked up in media res. Hardly any time to make sense of it. Never any time to breathe.
It just hadn't been literal until now.
Pathetic. The Crownless King, the assassin whose name was urban legend-- trampled to death by a bunch of dirty French rioters a couple hundred-odd years away from home. Buffeted by the crowd, Travis is bounced back and forth as he shoves limbs and elbows firmly outward, fighting his way to the edge of the mass of bodies.]
Get out of my way!
[--he shouts, but it's met by a wayward fist in his face... and without the anachronistic shades in the way it smashes him square in the eyes. Travis curses again, and teeters. If he loses his footing, stops the perpetual motion that's keeping him afloat in this sea, he's a goner.]
Just let me get to the stupid-- [he's elbowed in the stomach, and he wheezes] -- ffffucking buildings n' I can climb out!
*hover over french words for alt text
Of all places Henry could've stationed himself, looking over the streets of a country he used to visit quite often when he was younger, it just happens to be this one. He watches the crowd mash against each other like a turbulent wave and this is such poetry, really. This is something he could watch all day should Travis be able to survive it. ]
What's a story without its main character, eh?
[ Something tells him that they wouldn't survive the normal aches and pains that they would normally get away with back home, so he doesn't let the crowd get too rough with son frère. That's his job. Might be a little late for that though, when he sees Travis doubling over and grabbing his face in pain. He sighs and shakes his head slowly, as if he'd only witnessed Travis tripping on his shoelaces.
Now, how to rescue him without attracting too much attention with his acrobatics? He looks around and finds a large crate next to him on the rooftop of a small building. Inside, there seems to just be random tools and supplies, making it relatively heavy but not enough to stop him from lifting it up comfortably.]
Oy, Travis!
[ Whether the folks down below hear him over the noise or not, Henry doesn't really care. With a grunt, he heaves the entire crate out into the crowd down below, blunt and sharp contents inside the crate and all. His aim was as close to Travis as possible: the idea was to create something of an opening so Travis can move closer towards the building, so he hopes his baby brother gets the idea. ]
no subject
[At the sound of his own name-- no, no one stationed here should know him, there is no way-- Travis looks up, and it's just in time to avoid getting nailed by a hammer (ha) hurtling down from the building above. Even if his nose is still smarting with pain, he ducks and weaves away as the people scatter in all directions. Or most of them, anyway: a single figure goes down, bleeding from the forehead, as Travis maneuvers through empty space to at last emerge at the edge of the worst rioting.
Maybe a thank you is in order?]
Nuh uh. No way.
[no lmao of course it isn't in order.]
You followed me all the way to the French Revolution?! [Travis throws up his hands in defeat, seething in frustration--] Quit hogging my fuckin' screentime!!
[a beat. a small family hurrying by to safety casts him a suspicious look and leaves, mumbling something about an asylum.]
And don't go saying some shit about being my big brother, either! We're twins, asshole!
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Mm, certainly not the grateful type. I figured as much.
[ He watches Travis make his way towards the building, finally away from the frenzy of it all. Obviously, the people down below have noticed the man sitting comfortably on the roof and start chucking things at him. Notably, stuff that he'd just thrown down at them, which doesn't surprise him. Fortunately they can't hurl the heavier things far enough to reach him, and the things that do reach him he can see coming from a mile away.
Leaning his head to the side, he grins. ]
This isn't your screentime anymore, Travis. This world doesn't revolve around you.
[ He sounds so awfully smug. The part about being twins and not saying shit about being his big brother is deftly ignored, only leaving that same smug look punctuated by a brief roll of his eyes.]
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So what?! I'm still the protag, you Irish ass, even if you technically apped in f-- shit!
[They might not be able to reach Henry very well, but they can sure reach Travis. One of the rioters has lobbed a spade that just misses him, instead splintering a hole in the door of the building; he yelps, dodging almost-expertly, and hurries to the rear of the building, well away from any of the other people on the street.
He mutters treacherously, circling the building for a way to ascend before he's sucked back into the riot.]
I better get to see Kirsten Dunst's tits for all this trouble. [jfc travis]
How'd you even get up there? There a ladder or anything? Make yourself useful.
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I won't fight you for the spotlight, if that's what you're truly worried about.
[ He ducks abruptly, narrowly missing a small rock aimed for his face. Close one. Backing away from the front of the crowd, he moves towards the back where Travis is trying to find his way up. With some fancy footwork and using a bunch of barrels to give himself some height, Henry found little trouble getting up here. ]
It's called using your head, and your feet. Stand on that barrel and figure it out, yeah?
[ The crowd starts to spill into the smaller areas, some unknowingly making their way towards Travis. ]
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I don't even have a jump button.
[Luckily, he spots the barrels Henry'd scaled right away. Travis is scrambling up right away; met with a hand on his ankle, he drives his heel back into the perpetrator's nose and continues his ascent.
It's a climb, of course. But with a final grunt of effort, Travis hoists himself up the edge of the roof and to Henry's side. Just. Give him a minute to stand.]
I dunno how you do this shit so quickly.
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Mm, called practice. Lots of off-screen practice. Been doing this since I was just a wee lad, you know.
[ Taking a hold of one of the tools that the crowd threw at him, just laying on the ground, he tosses it back into the sea. ]
What were you doing down there, anyway?
no subject
What else? Tryin' to get through. Do I look like some kinda French revolutionary?
[He gestures down at himself... but... based off the commoner's clothes that his hostess had lent him? He totally does.]
I just arrived. Woke up in some hotel only kinda knowing about COST. [He scoffs.] Guess I'm graduating from one shady organization to the next.
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Seems you're just attracted to the intrigue. Think you've learned your lesson yet?
[ He smirks, not like he's in any better of a situation himself here. ]
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[you know the exact indignant intonation he's givin rn.]
You're stuck tagging along, anyway. And speaking of...
[With a nudge of his head, Travis gestures to a rooftop near them.]
If you got stuck in the same hotel as me, I know how to get back to it. No use staying here and fighting off a bunch of angry rioters.
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[ That last bit gets a very obvious head-turn from Henry. He tries so very hard not to raise an eyebrow at him. ]
Guess you're right about that. Lead the way, then.
[ Now, would he navigate the crowds? Or try to find a path around them? ]