Edicts

[Rance]

Did he take her? Did he take my child, did he take my daughter? How?

"How long you knew what," she cries -- and the ingots of her eyes, now, are burning; they scald like bits of slag. Missiles continue to soar in parabolas above them, splatting and clapping against scaffold and street, sometimes against unsuspecting spine and skull.

The glimmer of a Constable's badge winks not so far away.

The one-eyed girl she assists stands, and Gloria hisses, "Go," at her, trying to push her into the devious safety of the masses; there, the half-blind woman could all but disappear, and whatever fists found her would not be fists truly meant for her. There, it was safer. There, if one was agile enough, they could find solace and escape--

"I want you to give me back my child, Catch. I demand she be returned to me!"

The crowd surges and pushes and bends and sways. Meaty hand strike out at anything they can find, extensions of fear and confusion that can alter the world the only way they know how: with rebellious force and destruction. Ailova's not far away, asking for help; a woman -- Constable Breve, a name she'd one day learn -- demands clearance of the square, as does Perilat. Here, they were the dictating authority, even as Catch sways and struggles atop Bruiser on the planks of the scaffold.

Ailova moves forward. So does Gloria. Silent eyes speak multitudes through the flashing, bestial crowd: Get your girl, and get him gone, Ailova!

Breve, a stalwart mass, is in front of her. Before she can hesitate, or even otherwise think, Gloria tightens her blistered hand into a battering fist and hacks her knuckles at the back of the Constable's head.

And Catch proclaims, The Forest is shut, or you will die!

[Treadwell]

Incoming constables. Gloria and Catch attempting escape. A mass of people starting to panic.

This is no place for the Lord Steward.

Backward into the toy store he waddles. Closing and barring the door for now, he retreats to his kitchen, there to begin assembling his next meal as quickly and deftly as he might one of his plush animal toys while his belly reminds him with grumpy gurgles that he hasn't eaten in such a long time. A few hours spent in woodcarving are much too long for Mr. Treadwell to go without!

[highawaywoman]

Ailova was a brawler. She had no problem diving headfirst into a fight. In fact, she preferred fists to swords. Fists were honest. In order to use them you had to get close to your target, face them and punch the shit out of them.

The problem with mobs was that there were so many targets, one was hard to secure. The highwaywoman tried desperately to keep panic at bay, but she feared for Bruiser. The black and white mare was starting to half-rear in defense. A well-trained horse, she'd been taught to strike out with her hooves when surrounded by people.

"HOLD ON, CATCH! She's gonna kick oot!"

Guards. Constables. Bright red and gold uniforms swirled into her vision. Feck! A one-eyed little whore scrambled to get up near Gloria, who in turn shouted to Catch across the din of the dissenters.

"I want you to give me back my child, Catch. I demand she be returned to me!"

The babe? Shocked green eyes sought out her friend, and their peepers locked between the shoving humanity. The unspoken message was given and Ailova jutted her chin towards Catch and Bruiser, I'll get them ooutta 'ere! Then her dear friend, the one that Ailova always thought to be down-trodden - went and smashed her good hand into the back of the lady constable's head.

Ailova grinned, nice one, Gloria! There wasn't time to applaud her friend's well-placed punch. Instead, the bandit shoved her way to the other guard - the one with the foxy face who was hollerin' at the top of his lungs. He stood not far from the spooking mare and the scrambling form of Catch. Another shrill whistle, this one elicited with fingers and mouth as she gestured for the two to RUN!

"Oi! Ye there! Aye - YE!" Ailova finally arrived in front of the other guard, giving him a wicked smile that flashed gold in the daylight. Quickly, the brigand leaned forward, drawing back her head and attempting to soundly thunk the hardest part of her forehead to Perilat's brow.

Bruiser finally caught sight of her mistress again, but the whistle was a strict command. It meant flee. Even if Ailova wasnae on board, the command meant the same. RUN! The mare spinned neatly on her hindquarters, finding a small hole between the masses and she took it - flying forward into the wave of people. Hooves flew with careless aggression as the mare fought to get out of the mob.

[Selestia]

So. Much. Chaos.

The Constable has a hard time pushing people back as they keep wanting to move forward. They were going to need more help. Finally, he brings his hands up, using both pinkies to whistle shrilly.

"Alright, folks! The Show. Is. OVER!" People were looking sourly, still trying to creep forward, and he whistles sharply again. "Disperse now or spend the night in the brig!" Prison. Gaol. Sort of gave a clue where the dashing Constable came from originally.

More pushing, more shoving, though many were being dragged back by more level-headed friends, those who did not want to spend a night in custody. Fees and fines went along with a visit to a cell, even if it was only for a night of disturbing the peace.

"Ought to bloody well arrest him and rest of the mad loons running around," he mutters to himself, looking backward briefly to see if he could catch sight of Catch--

Crash.

The highwaywoman's forehead introduces itself to his nose, making his eyes immediately water as he helps, hands coming to his face. "Holy Miss Nesbitt's knickers--YOU." His hazel eyes were on her before she could react, and he was on her, one hand--slightly bloodied from the busted fruit that was his fabulous nose--to grab her arm. A twist was in order--and he was promptly putting her in custody.

A smart example, actually, as it deters others just fine.

"You, little missy, are under arrest. Disturbing the peace, assault of a peace keeper, and ruining my shirt!"

[Jirai]

The matter of the crowd is in Perilat's foppish hands. Breve isn't sure if this is a good thing or not - nor does she have time to think about it. Neither does she have time to think about the Lord Steward, who looked at the chaos and quietly walked back into his shop (oh, that story would make the rounds later, no doubt). Catch is her concern, terrifying as that thought might be. Alla Breve was born in Myrken, has been a constable for years upon years. She knows Catch well enough to be properly nervous about accosting him. Arresting him? That would probably make matters wor...

A fist slammed into the back of her head, and Breve stumbled forward, eyes crossing.

"Damn it all to hell!" Constable Breve snarled, whirling around with a truncheon in one hand. Where in the hells had her partner gone? In this crowd, who could say?

"Girl!" She growled at Gloria (there were two of her. Or were there?). An irritable shake of her head, trying to clear it, and the Constable moved to grab the one-handed girl. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but a night in gaol might sort it out."

[Treadwell]

"There! Now, this needs to sit here a little bit before it needs eating, hm hm!"

Treadwell glances toward the front of the toy shop.

"Out we go, Aloisius! Perhaps the crowd is, hm, dying down a touch? I do hope so. The constables seemed to be getting everything under control, mmph."

A pause in speech as he grabs his cane and hat.

"Now, what in the world was Catch blathering about, mmph mmph?"

Thus, cane taken up and steps taken forward, Treadwell makes again for the entrance to the store, hefting the bar aside and, now that things are possibly starting to resolve, opening it and carefully stepping into the threshold. An effort is made to straighten himself up as much as he might, and out onto the street he goes, beady eyes hastily scouring the crowd and the madness for the constables.

[catch]

All of his attention is focused on keeping his seat, some dim and terror-filled instinct bringing up vague memories of well-dressed youths, their lead-filled canes dancing along some far and distant body of his. He was not afraid of death, for death was a distant and abstract, far too complicated a concept for him the closer it came to himself, his friends. But Gloria was very right, and she had gone to the very heart of it - he did not like pain. Not for what it was, but because pain - physical, mental, spiritual - brought the Wolf a little closer to thrusting itself out of his skull -

It brought the Song a little closer to his tongue.

Bruiser lashes out, and few are willing to risk the mare's hooves. Ailova's yells are distant in his ears; so are Gloria's, though he knew the words -

I told you, I told Mercy. But you wouldn't listen.

"I hate you -" Bitter, hurt-filled words, and they are entire lost in the yells of the Constables, the loudness of the crowd as they backed away, as they dragged, as they fought among themselves. Ailova's shrill whistle told the mare what she should do, even it did nothing but bounce around in Catch's ears. Before he could blink the Noise away from his eyes, Bruiser was obeying her mistress-love. He only kept his seat by falling forward, his snow-muddied hands clinging to her broad throat, his arms wrapped around her neck. He closes his eyes, doing everything he can to hold on - clinging with his knees, his arms, as Bruiser's mane whipped his bloodied face.

[Rance]

Breve snared the girl by collar and sleeve. The crisp, new fabric of her starched dress strained underneath the broad Constable's fist. Gloria could have swung again; she could have lifted that lone arm and struck at the other woman's face, but that would have gone beyond purpose and become something more like cathartic release. He has my child, her mind gasps, trying to chisel into herself a truth she couldn't explain. He has my child.

"You arrest him," Gloria breathlessly tells Breve, "that -- that beast in the woods for which he speaks might come. You've seen what it can do, haven't you," she asks. "The caravans?"

Her heels scrape across the ground, scuffing along cobbles and stones. While she's formidable for an adolescent girl, Breve is -- by trade, by practice, by circumstance itself -- much moreso. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Catch's retreat: he mouths something sharp and unforgivable, a word like hate, with a hard snap of the teeth at the end and a near-grin that portends a too-sharp consonant. He and Bruiser, like a shot arrow, dart away from the square. She wants, wants, to hammer her fist into Breve's nose and face until it pops like a blister. But doing that would merit no answer, no satisfaction--

She obeys the Constable's grip. She turns her cheek to try to find Ailova Smith in the tumult. He's gone; they're gone.

[highawaywoman]

Pain shot up her arm like fire as Perilat wrenched the limb behind her back; Ailova was well and truly nabbed by the constable. The dandy scowled at her, jerking her about as Catch and Bruiser fled. Green eyes followed the escape of her beloved mare and her odd friend, letting out a sigh of relief as they both cleared the square.

"Arrest me then, you wee hoorson! Ye should be thankin' me. I just made ye even prettier for the dockside doxies!"

Gloria Wynesse and Ailova Smith locked eyes over the dispersing crowd. Ailova grinned, wishing she had a hat to doff to the young girl, but a gold-toothed grin was all she could offer. We did it.

The problem that existed in being arrested was that there was no whiskey in jail. That darkening thought slapped the highwaywoman like a facer and she reflexively touched the inside pocket of her frockcoat - where her flask was safely stowed.

'I 'ope the bastard doesnae take it from me.'

[Selestia]

A few folk edged closer, as if they were going to jump the Constable and free Ailova, but Perilat looks at them with a fierce scowl. He was a good man, a charmer and a flirt and yes, even a dandy--but he was also a Constable. One did not get that position by being nice all the time.

"Iffen you wanna join her, by all means. We can quite a sleepover tonight."

His attention was back on the highwaywoman he has put into custody, glancing over and around toward Breve and her arrest. Gloria. Knew that one, he did. A shake of his head and he was muttering again. "Lock all the loons up for a bit and this place might not drive the others mad."

But Ailova's words drive his attention right back onto her, and the smile beneath the bloody nose and mouth was still, well...charming. "Sweetling, you might have done me a favor to keep them off me." What the poor highwaywoman might not have known was that this gave Perilat the opportunity to put her under a magnifying lens, even if temporarily.

While he had nothing to truly go on at that point, the close-head low-talk of she and her little ward at the Dagger while he was investigating a certain robbery had piqued his curiosity. At least now he gets to ask her questions without raising other suspicions. It was a win-win, as far as the charmer was concerned.

Another scowl at the crowd as he as he puts Ailova into custody. "Show's over. I meant it, people! Go home, go about your day, or we can all have a slumber party in the gaol."

[Jirai]

Catch was gone.

This was a relief for Constable Breve, who no longer had to figure out a way to drop the madman on the Lord Constable's doorstep. Something needed to be done about him, but that was above her paygrade.

Between Catch's departure and the Constables' actions, the crowd was settling down and people were leaving - except for those who, like Gloria and Ailova, had been taken into custody for their actions.

Of course, it was only as things were settling down that the Lord Steward ventured back out. Breve snagged another Constable and deposited Gloria into his care with directions to take the girl to gaol for the night with the rest of them. A glance assured her that Perilat seemed to have his end of things under control.

Constable Breve strode for the Lord Steward.

"Sir." She began, but quietly, not wishing to be overheard. "The madman ran off on the horse. We've got a few in custody for assault and inciting a riot - those I can take care of, a few hours cooling their heels should do it.

"But what about Catch? And this matter of the forest?"

[Treadwell]

"Constable. . . do step inside, hm? Better to talk in private, mmph."

Treadwell waves a hand into the toy store and opens the doorway wide to allow himself entrance, motioning for the Constable to follow. Assuming she follows, he will politely close the door behind and wave toward the two ample-sized rocking chairs by the fireplace. The carved wooden scepter still rests there in view atop the hearth.

"Catch will scurry off and likely stay away from everything for time enough to rest and heal, mmph. Leave him be for the time, but keep watch for when he returns. And I've spoken with the thing he's representing, Constable. It fears me, to an extent. Thus, I have won a few small concessions from it, hm hm, but it is hardly one to bargain with, mmph, being quite stubborn and quite vehement. What Catch said, and what the other thing said, mmph. . . they match up to each other, at least."

A whuff of breath as Tready stops, leaning against one of the many tables covered in stuffed toys.

"Constable, this is not a matter of Catch being a madman, for this one time. The creature he speaks. . . well, for, and against, I suppose, both. . . It is very serious and very dangerous, mmph. I fear we might have to do as we are asked, for the time, though not because of anything about Catch, mmph mmph."

A slight shake of his head.

"No, Constable, we do as we are asked for now because to act otherwise would lead to the deaths of many in this town, mmph, and worse. For now, we have little other choice until we can find a new course of action, mmph mmph."

[Jirai]

Inside Constable Breve would go, but there was no way she was taking a seat. No, she stood and listened to what the Lord Steward had to say.

"And what are we supposed to do when he returns, sir?" It wasn't like they could just toss him in gaol for a night, after all.

Alla listened to the rest of what the Lord Steward had to say before speaking up again.

"So you wish to close the forest? Sir, if you don't mind my sayin', such things would come better as an announcement from you, rather than from Catch starting a riot."

[Treadwell]

An energetic nod of agreement jiggles the Lord Steward's jowls.

"Quite right, mmph mmph. And I shall do just that within a day or two, once people calm themselves. If anything, I should hope it to be merely temporary, Constable."

A wheezed huff of breath escapes again as he still leans upon his chosen table.

"As for Catch. . . . He really is a hard one to deal with, is he not? It is a shame, mmph, that he is unable to be subdued peacefully, you know."

Eyes squint toward the fireplace.

"I don't approve of giving him a good knock to the head, mmph mmph. Another rattling of his brains won't fix him, of that I'm sure. I suppose keeping him under close watch and finding a way to restrain him, mmph, that won't leave him needing a bed in the Rememdium might be the best way to go for now. Is there not a cell, mmph, isolated and secure from the rest, where he might be put for a short while if needed? Or would he, hm hm, do too much harm to constables looking to arrest him and damage to the room he's put in? I can't say I've ever attended him, mmph, inside a prison. How has he been dealt with before?"

[Jirai]

"With all due respect, sir, if you'd like to try to throw Catch into a cell, you are more than welcome to. But I sure ain't asking any of my men to do anything like that. As far as I know, he hasn't ever been dealt with before, not successfully. Burnie tried some things, and we all saw how well THAT turned out."

Constable Breve shook her head. "If that's all, sir, I need to go and make sure the rest of that mess is taken care of."