Dec 19 00:51:55 106 PA - Sebastien made a discovery
From Chronicles
This is the squalor and filth that is Dregtown. There are very few permenant buildings here wwith shacks made of whatever material they could salvage being the most common structure. People here live in general filth as there is no running water, no power, and none of the convieniences of modern day life. Here and there, drunk or drugged people can be seen sleeping on the streets themselves and the sounds of gunfire are sadly common. A few rusting signs are along the sidewalk are no longer legible, the streetlights here long broken and not active. A fire hydrant on the corner is open and spraying out water that attracts mangy children and dogs to play in. A few rusted vehicles, gutted and stripped of anything of value are pulled in close to he curb. The streets are trash filled and various people shamble about, begging, picking through the garbage and giving you looks as if they were sizing up your wallet. There is a large tent set up were people in white aprons are tending to the denizens of the area, either pouring out bowls of soup or tending wounds. What stands out worst of all among all of this hardship are the gang members. Wearing scavenged armor and carrying weapons in defiance of city rules, they are the law in this place that the KDPD never comes. Vehicles that come through these terrible streets for any reason have little choice but to pay a toll or be robbed. People go missing every night, and it is not uncommon to find a dead body slumped in an alleyway. Sometimes shot.... sometimes drained of blood. Life in Dregtown is awful, and by and large very short. The empty faces of some of the people here truly tell what little hope that they have. They are certainly not going to get any from the KDPD, who avoid this place like the plague. Sometimes, a raid of fifty or a hundred officers tears through the area on the pretense of 'cleaning it up' but really, they are only here because some bigwig has gotten in trouble. The peace is generally oddly kept here by the Vigilantes, a gang of juicer wannabes who take matters into their own hands. In many places, their symbol of a shield is found spraypainted into some random thing.
Weather at Mon Dec 19 00:51:55 106 PA (-7.51C, 18.49F): It is dark and bone-chilling. Small drifts of snow wander on display, in case the numbness of your skin allowed you to forget the cold.
Despite the chilling cold, the Dregs still has activity, and one such piece of activity roars into life in the middle of the night. Violence flares and the victims end up in the street, bruised, battered and bleeding. In one case, a tough looking lad seems to have acquired a good deal of damage in a short time, lacking the defensive wounds you might expect if he got to fight back. Here and there, the shadows darken and move, as people who would prefer not to be seen head away, and were never here, never saw nuffin. One such doorway shines a light into a nearby alley, as a couple take a moment to smoke, watching the scene in silence.
Snow drifts from the sky, black in the dark of night. Where a light shines a small snowglobe appears, a circle or a wedge of delicate flakes bowing about in an inconsistent wind. Faces are hard to make out, both for the dark and the heavy jackets individuals wear with their sock caps and scarves. One such wrapped individual wanders through the streets, eyes narrowing as he spies the aftermath of a struggle. A dozen jogged steps bring the blue-jacketed, capped individual to the side of the fallen man, and Sebastien unwraps his white scarf as he reaches down to place fingers lightly on the fallen one's shoulder. "Stay down," he utters, eyes rising momentarily to sweep the street. "Did not anyone tell you that fighting back is a good idea?"
The man merely groans and closes his eyes. All the others have fled the scene, leaving him alone in the snow, with only innocent bystanders to see. The sweep of the street might catch the image of the couple by the doorway, the man offering the woman his hand to shake and as she turns into the light to do so, her face is lit up enough for recognition. A rare sight down here, Aimee, but she is here, smiling as if she is concluding a business meeting in any bar in town, rather than the back alley in the Dregs with the signs of a battle lying around.
Snow falls around the pair, with Sebastien's breath fogging in the night air. He reaches to press a hand against the man's throat, before cursing and tearing the jacket back to get a better feel. "I hope you're human," he mutters softly, "or you will get a whole lot of the wrong care." No pointy ears at least. He's not the ugliest Elf in Kingsdale. "Aimee!" Sebastien yells from across the way. "Find a phone and call the hospital. Tell them we need an ambulance!" That scarred face looks concerned, but his eyes stay up as much as on his patient. Very much aware that he's alone out here.
Aimee moves slowly over, leaving her friend behind. Her green eyes are hard as she stares down at the fallen man, her expression almost blank. "Why? I believe he is dead." She stands near the man, staring down at the pair, unconcerned about the locality, then she shrugs, turning back towards the lit doorway and the man. She moves back, speaking to him in a low tone. He argues, and she shrugs, making a gesture towards Sebastien. The man turns his stare on him, before shrugging and turning back into the building. "He calls. For what it is worth."
Sebastien hardly notices the slow gait. He reaches for the man's neck again, and then places an ear over his mouth, cursing softly before tilting his neck back to ventilate, twice, then check again. "He's not dead," Sebastien replies angrily, "Until I say he is." Granted, he has no real idea the injuries sustained! Save for the crooked-looking eye socket, whose eyelid won't close. And the blood seeping from his ear to pool into the snow. Strange that it's not more red. Sebastien stares up at the bar owner, beginning compressions, and rolls his eyes up to look at Aimee as he counts out. "How long were you there watching?"
Aimee returns to near the pair, but not enough to help nor be reached. Her face is impassive as she considers the body on the floor, for it is a body now. "If he is not dead, then he pretends well." Aimee's voice is low, and they are alone once more, the man never returning and the door clearly closed. "It may be better not to be here when this ambulance of yours arrives, since we perhaps cannot explain." She draws her coat closer around herself, watching the compressions with hard green eyes. "Watching? Moi? Ma petite, I was inside."
"Cannot explain what?" Sebastien asks, dropping his ear to the man's mouth again, and reaching for a pulse, as he blinks and tries to think of how long it's been since he last felt a sign of life. "Merde de cochon," he mutters, staring down. "What did you hear, from inside?" he asks, peering down. "A name? Hey you? A laugh? This one is for Vinny?" Sebastien's eyes peer up, scanning the now remarkably empty street, up one way, then down the other, as he begins to shiver at kneeling in the snow so long. Or perhaps it's the adrenaline.
"Anything." The word is flatly spoken, a statement in itself. "I heard nothing. I saw nothing." Her voice is steady, no adrenaline here, no panic, just that flat calmness. "Ma petite, I have to go. This is not a scene I wish my name to be connected to. If you are wise, perhaps you should come with me." Indeed, the sirens are starting in the background, despite the locality. Aimee takes a step back, carefully into the shadows, her hands moving to lift up the hood on her coat.
Wise. Something nobody ever accused Sebastien of being. He just gazes up at Aimee, a level blue-eyed stare as his breath fogs before him, watching her explain herself before he replies as if speaking from rote, "All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. I will stay. I'm not your petit. I never was." The siren catches Sebastien's attention, and his eyes flick aside to catch the first lights against houses, waiting for the night to become a very long one.
"Sebastien, I am not sure what makes you think I am good." The soft comment is spoken as she stops there in the shadows, but then she sighs, shaking her head. "And non, you were never mine. You are never anyone's for long." She shrugs lightly, waiting for the lights to appear and when they do, she steps back, leaving them to manage the situation. The man is dead, clearly taken some time to die and the paramedics will know it was gangs. Aimee turns, walking away.
