Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Valentine Park

as written by Krysis

"You did this, because he was going to hit someone with that bottle? That bottle, right there?" Charlene asked incredulously, thrusting Jamie down next to Remy so the injured man could restrain their son.

Unless someone stopped her, she would scoop that bottle up and fling it at Camille. When it bounced off of whatever it hit, the sound of plastic was distinct.

"You put a man in the hospital, and perhaps disabled him for life, for waving around a plastic bottle. Without bothering to discover the facts of the incident, you chose to interfere. Despite knowing that your fellow proselyte could run circles around a drunk man, you attacked my husband." The skinny blonde glared at the three representatives of the Church, as if she found them all to be loathsome in her sight.

Remy muttered vaguely in correction, "Ex-husband." as he cuddled Jamie against his uninjured side, and enveloped the boy in a cloud of cheap bourbon vapors.

"If there had been less witnesses, I would not be surprised if you had killed him, like that poor werewolf. Maybe you would have claimed he was showing signs of being something more than he is, and you wouldn't have faced any consequences at all. This is why the Church is feared and hated." Charlene ranted more than a bit, venting frustrations that had been building for years. She didn't wave her hands around, but she did pace back and forth unless restrained, and pitched her accusations to be plainly heard by the crowd that had gathered.
 
as written by Script

Estelle cleared her throat, stepping forwards to interrupt Charlene's rant before it could go any further, and before Camille could reply and worsen his own position by firing back. "Ms Hogan, whilst it's clear that excessive force has been employed here, it's also plain that your husband-" Remy's correction had gone unnoticed in the wake of the louder rant, it seemed "-was taking aggressive action against the proselyte. Mr Lacroix was not to know the extent of your husband's inebriation, and evidently made a miscalculated judgement as to the potential danger in the situation. Disciplinary action will be taken, rest assured, but such baseless accusations of malice are unnecessary."

A few murmurs from the gathered onlookers seemed to indicate a divided crowd. Whilst the Aurellae typically played host to the kind of person who would biased in the church's favour, confidence in the institution was shaky after the events of the past weeks. Some were shaking their heads in disgust at what, to them, were flimsy excuses. Others seemed to be more inclined to agree with the monastery Master - after all, proselyte or not, both the boys were diminutive by comparison to the drunk man. It was easy for an observer to find sympathy for them feeling threatened.

"I am sorry to hear of your personal distrust of the Church, but I ought not need remind you that the 'poor werewolf' murdered two innocents prior to being neutralised. On the matter of the proselyte's misconduct, I can reassure that your husband's medical bills will of course be covered by the Church. He will also be compensated financially for the injury and potential loss of work that will result from it."

Estelle turned then to Cam and Inarin, nodding to the latter. "Mr Nuvellon, could you please assist Mr. Lacroix back to the Monastery, and to the infirmary? I will be along shortly, so remain there until I arrive."

Inarin nodded. "Y-yes, Master Dufort," he replied hastily, getting to his feet and helping Cam up with him. He hooked one arm under the other boy's in order to support him, starting off towards the Monastery.

Once they were on their way, Estelle returned her attention to the Hogans. "I can arrange transportation for your husband to the hospital, or if you prefer, simply have an ambulance called."
 
as written by Krysis

"An ambulance, if you please." Charlene answered coldly, lifting her chin. She was really too short to look down at anyone, but she managed well enough with her rage.

When Remy tried to protest, the blonde woman just made a noise that seemed to have no real purpose except to tell small children and misbehaving husbands that they had better cease and desist immediately. As such, almost everyone knows the sound, though it seemed to be only a province of motherhood that allowed it to be made.

That was how the belligerent drunk was transformed into a meek and docile lamb for the time being, though halfway to the hospital he would recall his resentment of the ex-wife.
 
as written by Script

The next day...

It was late morning on the Thursday of the Aurellae, and the day had kicked off with a decidedly slower start than the rest of the previous week. The first tournament of the day - the shooting - wasn't until one, with the drinking taking place well into the evening, and so the crowds were a little thinner for the time being. So far, things were going better than Elliot had expected.

René walked a few paces ahead of him, wearing a broad grin as he turned around to glance his way. "I told you this was a good idea," he called over the low hubbub of the crowd. "I haven't had this much fun in ages."

Elliot returned the smile, a touch more subdued than his friend. The young werewolf felt like he'd walked into the lion's den, and hadn't been able to relax since they'd arrived. But seeing René enjoying himself made it worth the discomfort. Gods knew he needed it. Elliot's mother was covering René's shift at the diner they worked at to give him a rare chance at a day off, and he'd wanted to spend it doing something. It wasn't a chance either of them got all that often.

Still, of all the places to pick... it had to be the church festival. Where a werewolf had been killed only two days ago? Come on, René. Surely even your optimism has to have its limits.

But no, here they were, after an abundance of reassurances that 'it would be fine' and 'nobody would even know'. Admittedly, Elliot hardly resembled what most people pictured when they thought of a werewolf. Although he was relatively broad-shouldered and muscular, he was undeniably baby-faced (and he'd never ridden a motorbike in his life). Hopefully, he could get through the whole day without any drama.

"Yeah, it's not so bad," he said, shrugging. "Glad you're having fun."

"Are you, though?" René paused, giving him a look of concern. "I know this wasn't your first choice, but it'd been years since I'd been and... you're not just putting up with it for my sake, right?"

"Nah," Elliot grinned, stepping forwards to ruffle his hair. "You were right, it's fine. Now I'm pretty sure I smell churros coming from that stall over there, and I could murder a bag of those right now. Wanna go halfsies?"

"You kidding? I'm not sharing with you," René gave a smirk. "You could eat two bags without noticing and have room for more. I saved up for today, so let's splurge and get a bag each, like real daredevils."

"I am a bit of a bottomless pit, fair's fair. But hey, if you're giving me an excuse to eat twice as many churros, then I'm sure as hell gonna take it."

The pair of teenagers made their way over to the stall, and before long were meandering away with two bags of sugary goodness.

"Sho where next?" Elliot asked through a mouthful of dough.

"Think we can convince the craft brew tent we're over eighteen?"

"I have my fake ID on me, sho," he paused to swallow, "yeah I'm pretty sure." Elliot grinned, and the two started to make their way in that direction.
 
as written by Krysis

Clothilde Deniau gave a disapproving sniff at the candy-floss vendor as she passed, oblivious to the resigned looks passed among her sons. All three of them were adults, and around 6' tall, but they still milled after their diminutive mother like the teenagers they had been a few short years ago. Of course, before they moved out, she wouldn't have disapproved of sweets. They would have been in line for churros instead of the marginally healthier roasted nuts and bags of popcorn that they were clutching instead.

Under the wide brim of her hat (purple, to match her glasses), the matron surveyed the church-sponsored event as if she found it lacking. Perhaps she was missing the excitement of the picket lines and protests she normally attended. More likely, it was the fact that the drinking contest would be held there in the evening.

"Beer. The devil's piss, if you ask me. Disgusting--" Cleo broke off and stared at two of her sons having joined the queue, then pointed at them and looked up at the third incredulously. "Get your brothers out of that line immediately! There will be no inebriation in My household!"

"But Mother, they aren't--"

"Immediately, I said! You don't stand around and argue with me when action is needed!" Her nostrils flared and her eyes went wide behind the (slightly magnifying) lens of her glasses.

"Yes, Mother." Joe (Josselin) reluctantly agreed, recognizing the signs of an impending explosion and wanting to be out of range when she found an acceptable target.
 
as written by Script

Nearby, René looked up from where he was perched on the edge of a park bench, raising an eyebrow at the exchange. The shrillness of the woman's voice cut through the crowd's buzz like nails on a chalkboard. Poor guys, he thought as he watched. She looked like the type of person who was in a constant state of outrage at something or other, thriving off of it.

His judgmental people-watching was interrupted by Elliot's return, bearing two plastic cups filled with beer. "Awesome, what'd you get?" he asked, hopping to his feet to take the one that was proffered to him.

"Honestly? I just picked a couple that had cool names and seemed to be popular with the crowd. You know I know shit all about beer. Think this one's called Holy Grouse, and the one you've got there is 'Brewing Darkness'." Elliot snorted. "You know, to match the darkness of your edgy soul."

"Oh, yeah. So edgy. What was it I was saying earlier? Gotta get home before too late to help grandma with dinner? So fucking edgy." René grinned, taking a sip of the drink. He pulled a face. "Huh, okay. That's ... different."

"No good?" Elliot took a sip of his. "Hm. Mine's not bad."

As the two started to chatter about the relative merits of the drinks, and their hopelessly unrefined tastebuds, they started to walk on a path that would take them right past Cleo.
 
as written by Krysis

The matron nodded in satisfaction at her boys behaving as she asked (demanded), and waited for the fruits of their efforts with her hands folded demurely over the handles of her bag. Her gaze wandered over the rest of the crowd then, seeking out flaws. A familiar face turned towards her, or rather towards his companion, but briefly Clothilde had a full view of Elliot's face.

She frowned in vexation, trying to recall exactly where she had seen that face before.
No. Not 'where. When.

So as Elliot and René drew close to the woman, Clothilde suddenly pointed at the blonde, baby-faced boy and shouted, "Wolf! Foul beast! Creature of the moon!"

She had a wild look herself as she continued in that vein, "How dare you besmirch this gathering with your presence, Wolf! Heretic! Do you know what you foul yourself with!?"
 
as written by Script

The first cry of 'Wolf!' had Elliot's heart sinking straight to his stomach. Someone had recognised him. He practically winced as the woman went on, spouting zealous drivel that had his face set into a defensive scowl by the time he'd turned to see who was talking.

He didn't immediately recognise her. After all, he'd only been eight when Clothilde and her daughter had been responsible for getting him kicked out of school. The young werewolf fixed her with a disbelieving stare, clenching his fist.

But he didn't have a chance to say anything, before René positioned himself between them. "What the fuck is your problem?" The smaller boy demanded, glaring venomously at the woman. "Leave us alone."

The woman's cries had already had their intended effect, however. Various members of the nearby crowd had paused to stare at the pair of teenagers, murmuring amongst themselves. A werewolf, here? After the other day? That wasn't right, was it? This was a place for the church's flock, not the wolves that would prey on it. The murmurs turned quickly to angry mutters and disapproving stares.

Elliot felt the mass of glares and turned his eyes down to the floor with a bitter grimace. "Let's just go, René," he muttered.

"What? No! Why should we? What's he doing wrong, huh? We're not bothering anyone!" René had drawn himself up to his full (albeit unimpressive) height and was bristling with indignant fury. If it hadn't been for the rest of the crowd's vitriol, it might have made Elliot smile that René had jumped to his defense so passionately.
 
as written by Krysis

"Diseased mongrel! Have you infected this boy too, with your blasphemy?" Clothilde asked in an accusing tone as she stared at Elliot, but gestured at René. Soon the diminutive woman was backed by her three sons though, drawn out of temptation of beer by the scene their mother was causing. One by one, the three tall men caught on to what was happening, and turned hard scowls on the two teenagers.

The squawking matron soon explained to the crowd around them, "This boy was inserted into a school by the werewolf gangs, in the hopes of finding new recruits among children! They deny it, of course, but why else would you expose their kind to a school? My daughter could have been killed or bitten!"

Red-faced and with a very carrying voice, the woman continued. "And rather than arrest the curs, they just expelled him, and let him walk free to spread that infection where he pleases! Now he is here! We've already suffered one werewolf attack, two dead and a proselyte bitten! Apparently, it was not enough for the dogs."

Perhaps Clothilde didn't really understand how it worked, but one thing she did know. People, particularly groups of people, were susceptible to fear, even if it was unreasonable. Fear could make sensible people do things they would never consider when calm. Fear could turn a crowd into a lynch mob.
 
as written by Script

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because he actually wanted to learn?" René snapped back, uncowed by the presence of Cleo's sons or by the steadily building crowd. "It's not some fucking conspiracy!"

"René, seriously..." Elliot put a hand on his friend's arm, looking around nervously at the onlookers.

The other boy continued to ignore him. "I'm not letting some trumped up ignorant bitch drive us off when we haven't done anything wrong."

"Why else would he be here except to piss on our dead?" A man's voice yelled from the crowd, to nods and mutters of agreement.

"Because I asked him to!" René retorted, glowering around to try and find the source of the voice. "Is that so hard for you to grasp?"
 
as written by Krysis

"He must also be a wolf!" Clothilde declared, retreating a step with an expression of disgust, as if René were coated in some noxious substance that she didn't want on her shoes. "We should get rid of these foul creatures! They do not belong here. Not with children around and the grace of the Wick upon this festival."

Her sons glowered at the two teenagers, but at least one of them seemed regretful and embarrassed about the situation. Right up until René used the 'b' word at least. Then his expression went from slightly ashamed to enraged and Joe and Gwenaël had to hold Calixte (Cal) back as he strained to grab at the teenager.

"Don't be a fool, man. Those wolves will tear you apart if you lay a hand on them." Joe growled in his older brother's ear, but it didn't stop Cal from making the attempt.

Clothilde frowned in vexation, though she was in her element and a fanatical glee shone in her eyes. "If they will not leave on their own, we should force the plague out! Out of our festival! Out of our churches and schools! Out of our city!"
 
as written by Script

René flinched momentarily away from the larger man's advance, but Elliot had been faster, stepping forwards to pointedly put himself between Cal and René. He said nothing, and his expression remained stoically neutral, but the defensiveness in his posture was clear.

The smaller boy glowered at the now-restrained man with disgust for a moment before looking back at Cleo. "Really? The only way I could possibly be defending my friend is if I'm a werewolf too? Fuck off. You can wail and scream all you like, but we have every right to be here."

"If you're smart, you'll exercise your right to be somewhere else," another man stated from near the front of the crowd, folding his arms and shaking his head. "It's not safe for you kids to be here. There's a lot of people with plenty of reason to want some revenge on wolves."

"Is that a threat?" René demanded.

"No, kid. It's advice. I'm not gonna hurt you, but nobody's going to step in if someone does."

"Just try it," Elliot snapped, finally speaking up. "Who here's little enough of a man to attack a pair of kids? Anyone got that little fucking shame? Huh?"
 
as written by Krysis

Clothilde gave a nasty, prim little smile and held up her cell phone to take a snapshot of Elliot and René. "I only see a pair of monsters. Beasts that are not welcome among decent folk. Why don't you two run back to your pack now and tell them that we're not putting up with your kind here."

She'd tap a few buttons and send that photo to her contacts in the Church, "And don't get any ideas about sneaking back in. I'm going to make sure that every vendor and every gate has your picture."

Her sons were busy. Cal had declared that he was going to beat the smirk off the brat that insulted his mother. The other two seemed to realize that he had missed the point and were physically restraining him from doing something truly stupid. After all, Clothilde had started the confrontation and had used inflammatory language first, in an attempt to provoke Elliot and René rather than get her own sons in an uproar.
 
as written by Script

"How about you go fuck yourself," René flipped Cleo off with a disdainful glare. "We're not leaving. There's no laws against us being here. Take a fucking picture, why should I care? Not everyone's as much of an ignorant cow as you." He let out an exasperated breath, turning and grabbing Elliot's arm to drag him off towards the center of the festival. "Come on, let's go find an arcade game or something."

Even as he was being tugged away, Elliot kept his eyes fixed on Cal, the one threatening violence. His fists were clenched at his sides, and he kept his teeth gritted.

It was clear that René at least had no intention of leaving the festival. The crowd reluctantly parted as they started to move, likely as much in response to Elliot's furious expression as to any willingness to cooperate.
 
as written by Krysis

Cal also stared at the boys, a challenging look directed at Elliot mostly. The confirmed werewolf might not have been the one that he had a beef with, but since René wasn't looking back, it was hard to express his anger.

Clothilde had her twisted little smile as she passed her phone to Joe, and opened her creaking old wallet to pull out some money to go with it. "Go get flyers made, there's a good lad." Though when he tried to walk off with her phone she made him stop. They had to put their heads together to teach the matron how to find the picture again, and send it to her son's phone.

Gwenaël stayed to watch, smiling behind his hand at how technologically un-savvy his mother was. So when the middle brother muttered something about wanting a bottle of water, no one stopped him from walking away.

Cal had no interest in water though. He moved through the crowd like a bull through a flock of geese, and somehow thought he was being discreet. He ducked into a walkway that was parallel to the way he thought Elliot and René had gone, and moved slow enough that he wouldn't catch up to them unexpectedly. At least, that was the plan. Then to lurk downwind and near the pair until they split up.

René was his true target, and as soon as that squawking cock left the protection of the bitter wolf, the patient hunter would make his move.
 
as written by Script

For all that the boys tried to put the confrontation behind them, there was no denying that it had killed the fun atmosphere of the festival for them both. Elliot's demeanor was positively stony, and René's half-hearted attempts to reignite the conversation they'd been having before fell unfortunately flat.

After a few minutes of grim silence, Elliot finally took a deep breath and broke it. "Thanks for sticking up for me back there, but you shouldn't have. You're not going to change any minds here. You'll just rile them up more, and make them target you."

René shot him a sidelong glare. "So? I wasn't about to just stand there quietly and let you take that kind of abuse as though you deserved it, or I was embarrassed to be with you." He huffed his disgust. "People like that need to see that other ordinary people aren't going to put up with their bullshit. Even if it doesn't change their mind."

Elliot smiled. "Thanks. I really do appreciate it. Just ... I don't wanna have to protect you from angry church thugs, 'cause you know how that'll get spun. I'll end up going down for it no matter who started it. They'd have no shortage of witnesses to lie for them, I'm sure."

"I guess." René frowned. "I didn't really think of that..."

"Eh, it's no problem. Didn't happen, so we're good. Let's just try to have fun with the rest of the day."

____

About half an hour later...

Although it quickly became apparent that Cleo's text had gone out, by the occasional glare from random stall vendors and passers-by, the pair of teens defiantly ignored them, sticking more to the carnival side of the festival than to the community-focused aspects. The people running the rides and games, by and large, couldn't have cared less who they served as long as they paid up.

Eventually, the beer that Elliot had drunk (and René hadn't) caught up to him, and they paused next to one of the ferris wheels so that he could nip to the nearby toilet.

René settled in to rest against the ride's fence with his phone out, playing snake while he waited.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

A somewhat towering figure coated in steel and white enamel marched through the crowd, resplendent despite, or perhaps because of, the various dents and scuffs in the armor. He cut a path with every stride, as by now, a good majority of the civilians who came to watch the contests and trials of the festival had learned his name, his face, and if none of those things were familiar enough, the left arm in a sling was a dead giveaway.

The goal of his venture outward was a simple one, rather, two simple reasons, one of which he was almost ashamed to go through with. With sword and plate and glaring injury, that Izaic had withdrawn from today's contests not even an hour prior. The second reason however, was far more complicated to the young soldier...

Despite how angry they all made him on a near constant basis, how utterly flabbergasted he was at their seemingly endless capacity to dive further into naivety and weakness and depravity, his...peers...still might need him. The fact that he hadn't been near enough to assist with the lycan incident had made him so furious with himself that he'd spent the following hours sulking and drinking protein shakes in his room. But more than the missed glory, it was the fact that, perhaps by not being there, Izaic had let a fellow Lutetian die...Perhaps he could've acted quick enough, saved one of the victims...The guilt tore him up inside, even upon reflection of it, even though deep down his knew he was faultless. It didn't help the rage however, nor the sorrow.

Not that he specifically blamed the creature for what it did. Yes, all were responsible for their own personal actions before almighty Justice, but he also wasn't ignorant. A great many garou go crazy when they turn, for the first time at least, if not for the first several transformations. Sometimes veteran beasts would snap, go feral, where before every other turning had been controlled, or even deliberate. The Church wasn't foolish enough to keep that truth from the Proselytes, so Izaic knew. Even sympathized. Keeping control when the urge to inflict violence is overpowering was something he struggled with himself, even with all his conscious capacities. A beast would have no better luck. And they were...citizens...Which meant, like everyone else in the crowd, Izaic was sworn to protect them, personal bias or no.

So, with lange schwert strung to his bad side's hip, zweihander slung over his shoulder, plate and chain gleaming in the sun, chocolate hair being tossed like silky smooth waves in the light breeze, Izaic would get in line for the restroom stalls.

He too now knew the repercussions of drinking beer too quickly.
 
as written by Krysis

Calixte couldn't believe his eyes. The situation was just too perfect. The dog had left his singular flock completely unguarded. That was no excuse to be sloppy though.

So the hulking male strolled along casually, along the walkway that passed along that fence where René lingered. When Cal came abreast of the teenager, he didn't bother to say a word, just drew back his fist and launched it at the distracted boy's face.

While the werewolf did seem to know his place, there was no point in giving him the chance to express displeasure. Which was why Cal just kept walking, whether he connected or not, sure that René would use his big mouth to cry for help. Part of him hoped that the boy would follow him to a more secluded corner for a more thorough beating-- Without Elliot, of course.
 
as written by Script

René never saw it coming. He was three pellets away from getting a new high score on snake - he wasn't about to glance up just because someone was walking past. So when Cal's fist struck him square in the face, he didn't even notice in time to flinch away.

The sixteen year old dropped like a dead weight, crumpling to the ground with a cry of pain. A few passers-by turned to look at the shriek, as René lay clutching at his jaw, but Cal's nonchalant stride away meant that most of the onlookers failed to immediately connect him to the fallen boy. Besides, teenagers would be teenagers, right?

Only one passer-by saw fit to actually do anything - a blonde girl with pink and purple highlights in her hair, wearing an excessive number of bracelets and a checkered purple shirt. She looked to be just a few years older than René. "Hey, are you okay? What the hell happened?" she exclaimed, hurrying over to the fallen teen, glancing around to try and figure out what happened as she knelt down next to him.

"That guy just decked me out of nowhere," René groaned through his hand, gesturing vaguely in the direction Cal had walked in.

The girl looked up and after the man, scowling. "Hey, jerkwad! What the fuck?"

____

Of course there'd been a line half a mile long. Elliot sighed, hands stuffed in his pockets. It was a festival, what had he been expecting? Adequate bathroom facilities? Yeah, and pigs would fly.

And of course he'd be stuck standing right next to a fricken paladin. The werewolf uncomfortably avoided looking in Izaic's direction, afraid that somehow the church warrior would have some means of figuring out he was a werewolf from sight. Or worse, that the crazy woman had already shown him a picture. Still, the fact that he hadn't given him any trouble yet was reassuring. The large zweihander on his shoulder? Not so much.

He was torn from his thoughts, though, by a loud yelp of pain coming from back in the direction he'd come from. Elliot's eyes snapped up from where he'd been staring at the ground. That was René's voice.

Without hesitation, he broke from the line of people waiting for the toilet, shoving past several (to a few angry mutters and irritated yells) and running back towards the nearby ferris wheel.

He arrived just in time to see the girl yelling after Cal's disappearing back. "You!" he roared, voice carrying over the crowd with a volume that seemed entirely out of place coming from the fresh-faced teen. "Cowardly piece of shit!"

Elliot stormed past the startled girl, making a beeline for Cal with fury in his eyes.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Izaic's first thought when he saw someone dart away from the line was one of joy, relief. It meant he'd get to use the restroom that much quicker. However, two things distracted him, one before and one after said marvelous realization. First, there had been a sharp cry of pain from off to the side, near the fences. And second, a short bark of rage from one young man he'd caught looking at his zweihander, the same individual who had shot away from position in queue to respond to the sound of anguish.

With a soft curse buried deep under his breath, Izaic too would step out of his place, removing his injured arm from its sling with it wince tp hang at his side while simultaneously resting the palm of his good arm's hand on the pommel of his lange schwert. He'd approach the scene, quickly enough to satisfy his own curiosity, but not too quickly. He noticed, of course, the fleeing backside a good majority of the onlookers were watching. The same that both the male and female who had shouted were locked on.

For some reason he couldn't quite touch on, Izaic slowed his stride even further, perhaps...waiting to see if things would escalate further yet...
 
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