Devlin’s Woes

Posted: March 5, 2008 in Brawl, Dark, Fiction, Sci-Fi

Brawl is back after a small hiatus. Welcome to the city of Da Vinci…

The path begins where the tents end, a long, winding road with smooth river stones set into it. Our weary feet drag heavily across the rocks in our march up to the city gates as they slowly swing open to admit us.
“Identify yourselves!”
A cry comes from high up on top of the wall separating us and Da Vinci. I can vaguely see a guard of some sort, waving frantically at us.
“Curtain Moon and Phoenix Flame reporting in!” Sol calls back to the sentry.
“Sir!”
I turn to Cat, asking, “What the hell are Curtain Moon and Phoenix Flame?”
“My regiment and Sol’s. I’m captain of Curtain Moon and he presides over Phoenix Flame.”
“So Adam, Diana and Squire are all in Curtain Moon with you?”
“Yes. Moon and Flame are the two most experienced companies in the Saints Army.”
We continue through the gates, into the city and I stop in my tracks, struck dumb by what I see in front of me.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Zariah sighs into my ear.
What I see is beyond beautiful; it’s majestic, proud and overwhelming to me.
On both of my sides guard towers shoot up into the sky, both constructed from a pale green sandstone and topped with a clear roof through which I can see several guards on patrol. A short bridge from each extends to the walls, and a small flag bearing the sun-and-moon symbol of the Saints flaps easily in the breeze.
Aside from the towers, the general buildings around me are even more fantastic. At first glance they each seem to be a uniform color, yet upon closer inspection I can see that each one is composed of a mosaic of different rocks or even metals, all blended together to produce even more attractive shades.
The buildings are constructed in a peculiar style, almost like urban apartments and yet strangely not. Many fixtures jut out from the structure with no apparent purpose; brass poles that look worn from use, narrow platforms, and even what appear to be handholds sunk into the building.
Sasha sees my wonderment and confusion, and leans over to me. “Those random pieces on the building are for freerunning couriers. You’ll see them around.”
Little shops and restaurants sprinkle the avenue before me; cozy alleyways and streets spiral off in different directions deeper into the city. Three symbols keep cropping up; a crescent moon, a hawk and a caduceus are all inscribed on the various signs depicting businesses.
The streets are bustling with dozens of people threading their way through the crowds, giving the plaza before me an image of a busy hive.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something soaring through the air and I jump back as a man dressed in loose gray clothing decorated with a white caduceus on the arm lands on the ground and rolls into a loping run. He hurries to a building and quickly scurries up the side, using the handholds and jutting structures to easily bound up to the rooftops. I blink and he disappears.
“Who the hell was that?” I ask confusedly, glancing at my companions.
“A courier,” says Zariah, smiling at me with patience. “They deliver messages by foot around the city. That’s the purpose of all those add-ons on the sides of the buildings.”
“Sol!” A cry from the center of the plaza draws my eyes to a tall, lively-looking man with dark brown hair spiked into a thick mohawk and deep green eyes. His smile is wide and white, his face gleeful.
Sol inclines his head and smiles benevolently at the vibrant individual before him. “Hello, Devlin. How are your Brawlers faring?”
The brilliant grin fades and darkens, the bright teeth disappear behind a hard-set line of a mouth. “They’d be doing a damn sight better if you would send more supplies each week! My people are trying to escape from a genocide and all you can muster up for us is blankets and some fucking rice! We need weapons, Sol, and we needed them yesterday!” Devlin’s voice is flavored with Irish tones and rich anger.
Sol draws himself up and steps closer to the tall Pavee; to his credit, Devlin doesn’t give an inch. “We are doing all we can to develop arms for you, you ungrateful bastard. Maybe if you would pick up a goddamned gun and learn to shoot then you wouldn’t have as many problems!”
Devlin’s eyes are glinting with dangerous fury. “After the Officers slaughtered so many of us? Who do you think I can get to even touch one of the blasted things?” He points an accusing finger at Sol. “Every day your hands are soaked with the blood of my kin! You have the power to stop it, now fucking DO IT!”
The plaza crowd slows, watching the exchange as it flares up.
Sol’s face is livid, a crimson imitation of his normally controlled features. “How dare you speak to me like this? How dare you question my motives! What the hell are you without me? Just a fucking Pikey dog ready to be gunned down!”
Devlin throws a punch at Sol, cracking into his right cheek with deadly intent. Instantly every Saint around me except for Cat draws their weapon. Devlin still holds his fists in the air, an empty threat as he dares not to move.
Cat glides over to Devlin and tugs him off into the city; the two quickly disappear into a shadowy alleyway and the crowd drifts back into routine.
Sol’s face is darkening with both a bruise and cold anger. He motions to Zariah, who takes me by the arm and hustles me into the crowd.
Apparently, all was not well.

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Comments
  1. larkie says:

    I like this. fascinating discriptions, very vivid stuff. good job.

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