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Hanako Hirano      Zhuanshu.

     From above, the Imperial Capital of the nation of Zhenga looks distinctly similar to an artist's palette. It sits astride the great river that divides the island nation's southern portion, an island smack dab in the middle of the flowing waters. Great bridges arc across the river with hanging banners and stalls. The buildings are short, but beautiful, made not only of paper but of wood and brick and cloth of all variety of colors, with sweeping roofs that taper downwards to catch the rainwater and spill it into nearby barrels. Indeed there is a light rain sprinkling across the capital tonight - a gentle kiss of a sunshower that has brought out paper umbrellas of primarily floral designs. The streets are thus a sea of colors and flowers.

     The warpgate, in a fit of coincidence, opens upon the Foreigner's District.

     If one were to look down from on high at the artist's palette, they would find the Foreigner's District to be the open hole at the bottom. The people here are dark-skinned, with hair of deep metallic bronze. Amidst the darkness of their skin is woven metal. Not implantations; metal, natural, organic, grown into their very flesh as if part of it. Most of them have what can easily be identified as lead. Some of them have tin. Their eyes match their metals. Their buildings are tall brick and stone and steel, with roofs that sweep upwards to catch the water and drag it into the center. The sound of the docks echoes nearby, rowdy and living.

     This is a nation that has lost a war in living memory.

     The Foreigner's District speaks of that. There are too many missionaries wearing metal beads and shining robes, too many foreign goods moving through the quarter, too many local goods moving out. The Foreigner's District is too...new. It feels too new. It feels like a blight, a pimple, that does not belong in this city of colors - that does not belong in view of the arcing Imperial Castle and its mountain in the center of the city, does not belong in view of those streaming waterfalls that roll down from the castle, does not belong in view of such brilliance. This place is new. This place is distant.

     This place is filled with tension, a tension that spills over into the streets of the Blue District, the nearest part of Zhuanshu proper. The smell of warm and foreign food spills out of Blue District just like the men who squat near the edge of the Foreigner's District. But where the food is inviting, the men are not; they have tattoos that coat their flesh, pale skin and sharp dark eyes, blonde hair and deep scowls. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife.

     This is Zhuanshu, the Imperial Capital of Zhenga.
Inga Freyjasdottir Among the foreigners of the Foreigners District, walks a lady presumably even more foreign. The hood of a blue-grey cloak is pulled up over her head, hiding the long white plait of her hair and the long dress she wears beneath. She leans on a carved oak staff as she moves slowly and cautiously away from the warp gate. She stops to look around, clicking her tongue.

She hasn't the faintest idea where she is, but something smells intriguing. The tension in the air, however, is off putting. Her skin prickles, her lips turning to a frown as she observes the way people move through the streets, the men that stand watchful. "Hmm. Maybe not the best lunch spot," she comments to herself, clicking a fingernail against her walking stick as she tries to decide wether or not she should just turn around or brave the rainy streets.
Utsuho Reiuji Utsuho Reiuji has meant to come here more than once to meet someone she's heard, but never seen in person: Hanako Hirano.

She was going to a few days ago, but she ended up having a thoroughly unnecessary fight and then invited to a spa, which made her forget about it for a while. Then she was going to yesterday, but she instead ran into a television show that made her get into a fight with a giant crab and then have as much BBQ as she could reasonably take away.

But she's finally remembered to do it *and* had time to do it in. And that's why Utsuho Reiuji is here, right now.

Utsuho stands out even in the foreigner's district - a tall woman with wings, one arm half-replaced by a strangely carved rod longer than the arm would normally be, one foot encased in melted stone or concrete, and a third 'eye' the size of her fist set in her breastbone.

Also, she practically screams 'newbie' (or 'tourist', if you feel polite) because she keeps looking around at everything from the mundane to the impressive. She has not really walked into anyone yet, but given her wingspread (she keeps them a little spread so she can hang her dramatic cloak off them instead of her shoulders) and her complete lack of focus it's really only a matter of time.

Also also, she forgot to ask Hanako if he was able to meet her, or even present. It's a wonder she found the right world, but maybe she actually remembered the name of the city for a change.
Gawain One of the many foreigners is walking through the rain with an umbrella, blocking his blonde hair from getting soaked. He's *absolutely* a foreigner - blonde, European, and smiling while he passes by the squatting men. As he does so, he notices Inga, and...

"Ah, Inga, is that you?"

Gawain speaks up, with a wave, and moves over to her. "It's been a while! How are you faring? I was just about to head to a place in the 'Blue District' I heard about for food. Do you want to join me?"

And then, as Inga seems to be cautious about the watchful men, Gawain turns towards one of them, waves, and turns back to her. "They're not going to hurt us, don't worry! They're probably just doing calisthenics."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Another offworld Warpgate activation. Green, thick metal plates pass through the ring. There are no wheels which carry this heavy vehicle, which floats through some mechanism contained behind those plates. Perhaps it's that slight whine, working in tandem with roaring chemical thrusters. The sides of the hoverbike are painted with golden motifs of hounds, chasing alien prey animals.

     Sat astride it is a man with skin and hair just as green as the armor plating on that undoubtedly mil-surp bike. He's massive, both in the sense of being easily seven and a half feet tall, and in the sense of being a study in brawn--thickly made from his head to his feet, and in the 'yeah I like to fight' kind of way, not the 'these guns are for show' bodybuilder kind of way.

     His sense of dress is very contemporary compared to the architecture of this place--if there are biker gangs in whatever far future he hails from, this man is likely in one of them. Rain mats his mohawk to one side of his otherwise mostly shorn head, though his bushy beard resists the water staunchly. The bike, it should be noted, is large--it would have to be, to hold all that biker.

     Gawain and Inga will likely hear the bike coasting along the streets before they see it. The Sun Knight, at least, will recognize the sound as that of the Green Knight's mechanical steed. He banks slowly around a corner, at a speed one might compare to a horse's trot. "Sun Knight!" Bercilak points a beefy finger in Gawain's direction, dismounting.

     The bike disappears as he walks towards Gawain and Inga, enveloped in a blue light. "Gretinges," he says to Inga. "I am Bercilak of the High Wasteland, so als the Green Knight." His head is bowed in greeting. Casting a long shadow, the musclebound biker turns his attention to the men doing 'calisthenics.'

     "I knoue that loke," he says of the hostile, sharp-eyed men. "'Tis despect. The despect of theim that subjugated are."
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga looks up as she hears her name called, turning her gaze toward Gawain, pleasant surprise lighting her features. "Sir Gawain!" she remarks, plainly glad to see a familiar face where she did not expect one. "Yes, I have been quite busy--took a rather long sea journey which I fear I would not recommend to anyone with better options. Nostalgia, tch," she shakes her head.

She follows his gaze, raising her eyebrows slightly. "Can you not feel it in the air? There's a potential for violence here. Hopefully that can be avoided...I hate having to heal people on an empty stomach," she grouses, "but yes, lunch sounds like just the thing," she agrees.

Then there is a...noise. It's a puzzling noise, and as Inga looks over her shoulder toward Bercilak, she blinks in mild surprise. "Greetings," she replies. "A pleasure to meet you Sir Bercilak. I am Inga Freyjasdottir of...well, a lot of places," she replies, making a vaguely 'around' gesture. Obviously, no where close to here by her dress.

It takes her a moment to parse out the man's words, but she eventually nods, lips pressed tightly together. "Ja, that feels about right. I'm afraid I do not know much about this place...and must confess I came because I heard there was good tea."
Hanako Hirano      The rain is, at least, pleasant and warm, light and gentle. It's not enough to soak clothes for long in the slightest. There's also umbrella stands *everywhere* - people apparently sell them frequently. Zhuanshu must be reasonably rainy. It gives the impression of an artist cleaning off a brush from on high, though on high is only the bright, warm sun through the shimmering mist.

     The foreigners pay them no mind. In fact, they get no strange looks from the dark-skinned people with tin woven into skin. The only person who stops them is a preacher - "Greetings, you who are lost; have you time to hear the Rosenkreuz?" - in his beads and tin clothes. The beads, upon closer inspection, are roses.

     Other than Utsuho. One of the foreigners does stop her. He doesn't touch her, but he does sort of move up alongside her into a walk. "That's a unique technique," he says, peeking around at her arm, "What's your Enlightenment? You must be at least Bronze, right?"

     The tattooed men keep their eyes fixed on the party as they pass into the Blue District. They do, indeed, have the look of the occupied - but, strangely, nobody else does. Most of the rest of the native Zhengan are smiling and laughing. They're examining food stalls. They're entering restaurants, some of which are clearly new cuisines from the West ('tinpot' appears to be a selling point, and outside the restaurant, indeed, a tin-pot stew with fresh vegetables stirs), some of which are clearly native.

     But the tension is still present as they wind their way into the quarter. Gawain and Inga get almost no glances - they don't really look foreign here, after all, other than slight differences in the face! This place has 'Anime Japanese' written all over it.

     As Bercilak walks, however, they can feel the group of men stand up and start following him. And every so often, there's men in coats with similar tattoos who bump into the group, stop, and stare at Bercilak like he doesn't belong.

     A woman in a bright dress spits at his feet.
Utsuho Reiuji Utsuho is not hard to spot or catch up with. Her meandering path seems to be designed to take her past as many interesting things as possible rather than travelling in any sort of hurry. It is anything but direct. Also, she is not enjoying the rain very much, but she also doesn't seem to stay damp for very long either - her clothes dry remarkably quickly.

She actually saw Bercilak too, but has not made up her mind whether or not to talk to him yet. And now she is being spoken to by someone else, so she doesn't have to make up her mind! Convenient, that.

"I'm very enlightened," Utsuho says, proudly. "My whole name means emptiness and my master is a satori! But, uh, bronze?" Utsuho considers this for a moment, and then decides, "I'm gold. At least! Gold is best, right?"

She definitely did not really understand the question. Nor does she seem inclined to do better, given she stands on tiptoes to look past the person asking her at one of those restaurants. She is still pretty sure she saw Bercilak and some people he was talking to - he's hard to miss. "Are all human cities this busy?" she asks the man, instead.
Gawain Gawain is ignored! Apparently not that much of a foreigner. But as they walk towards the restaurant, and men follow Bercilak and women spit at his feet, the knight frowns sharply.

The next time someone does something rude, Gawain intercedes. "Please be nice to my friend. He's done nothing to earn your ire. He's as good a man as there is."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      "An other time," says Bercilak--but the preacher may note there's a shade more sincerity in that phrase, uttered by Bercilak, than by most. When the Green Knight says something, he means it. He will, at the very least, listen, another time. But today, his mind is on the group of men following him.

     After spitting at the woman in the bright dress--turnabout is fair play, after all--he turns around. Inga and Gawain get a 'I'll catch up with you guys later' gesture; a raised hand, a casual wave-off. "Wori not, Gawain. 'Tis not me thei art wrothli at. Not treuli." As he turns, he cracks his neck. Utsuho is spied, a ways down the street. He offers a friendly smile. And... a wink? But when his eyes turn on those men, following him, his expression isn't friendly. Red irises bore into each of them in turn. They're being studied; sized up.

     "What?" The question is blunt. It is uttered in a rude tone. It is meant to be. He crosses his arms and poses a second question. "Dost thou lest to shame me for my othernes?" He chuckles. Mirthlessly. "If so, thou labor aboute naughte. I do not hath shame within me, and I am othered where-sum-ever I wend."

     "If thou lest to see me sware for the sins of theim that dight the Foreigner's Quarter, thanne bi all menes, take thy wrakedom, if thou durst. I shalt allow thee the first smite--but knoue I yeve as wel as I gate." Yes--*that* is definitely the Bercilak Gawain will remember. He leans forward and offers his chin to them.

     "Be aboute hit," he further goads. "Smite me, if thou cannst smite not theim that subjugated thee. Sheu me thy strength."
Inga Freyjasdottir The preacher gets a look of curiosity, but Inga reaches up to touch a hammer-shaped pendant around her neck, shaking her head. "I keep my oown gods, but good day to you," she responds politely, moving away with Gawain and Bercilak.

Despite how pretty they are, Inga resists buying a colorful umbrella. Trying to walk with a walking stick and holding an umbrella is more coordination that she possesses. The people don't seem to make anything of Inga or Gawain, they appear just normal foreigners, so no need to draw attention to herself. Their larger companion however, seems to be drawing some ire. Inga wonders why. Is it the beard? Not nearly enough beards in the multi-verse, very underappreciated she thinks. She notes that they are being followed, or at least Bercilak is, and her free hand moves within her cloak to rest closer to her knife.

Gawain, in typical knightly fashion calls out this bad behavior, while Bercilak turns to confront them. "Been a while since I've been embroiled in a street fight. At least a month," she comments mildly, still hoping nothing will come of it. With Bercilak confronting them, she thinks they will likely back down. They have numbers but no visible weapons. She turns to give the men following them her best withering glare, as if two knights aren't enough to scare them off, they might just need a bit of the ol 'mom look'.
Hanako Hirano      "Gold...? Seriously?"

     The man looks at her eyes. He looks at the arm. He looks at her eyes. He looks at her arm. "Jeez...I've never seen a Gold before. How long did it take you to get there? How many fights did you go through to refine your flame?"

     "Oh. I'm Abdoul." He holds out his hand. Even the metal is warm. "If you need anything, Miss Gold, let me know before you go to anyone else, okay? I'd love to have a Gold patronize my inn."

     "Honestly, I didn't even think Golds came outside the homeland."

     Gawain gets a hand on his shoulder from someone. There's a bright smile from a young woman with blonde hair and purple eyes. "It's kind of you to try, but foreigners aren't well-liked here, not after the Imperial Revolution," she says as they walk away from Bercilak. "You must be new, here. I've never seen armor like that except in Western stories."

     She smiles at Inga. "Your wife's cloak is beautiful, too. You're a lucky man. You must be very wealthy."

     Bercilak, meanwhile, is now surrounded. The street is clearing out - people know what this means. One of the men steps forward, giving Bercilak a look. His eyes are the color of blood. His tattoos are the same. He spits at Bercilak's feet. "Are you pitying me? Huh? Western fuck!" His hand pushes at Bercilak's chest. He's not weak. "This government is your fault! The Revolution was your fault! You and your fucking iron ships! You and your fucking Rosenkreuz ideals!"

     "I was Heian of the Forest Third Dragon Spear Art!" He stabs his finger at Bercilak's face. "I was a Kinshonate Keima! My father was a Kinshonate Keima! His father! And his father!"

     He grabs at Bercilak's collar. "I don't need your fucking pity!"

     Oh. They're not occupied. This city isn't occupied.

     This city is in the aftermath of a *revolution*.

     Men start closing around the party. The woman with purple eyes purses her lips and steps out of the way. There's daggers being drawn. Heian kicks a broom off a wall. "You want to see the pride of a Keima? You and your foreigner-loving Imperialist friends will get to experience it firsthand!"
Gawain As the woman approaches them, Gawain nods. "I have similar armor - if I was wearing it, I'd also be singled out, I believe. We're not from here." But as he hopes for it to calm down, the woman leaves and the men circle with daggers and a broom. Bercilak can handle Heian. Gawain will scare the others off, as the sun shines through the rain on his face, showing a bright smile. "Gentlemen, please! We don't need violence! We're all people, aren't we?" He moves to take a step...

And his footfall creates a vibration. Not anything that really affects anyone, but it easily cracks the stone underneath, in a purposeful show of strength. "Let's all behave, please." That's clearly a *basic usage* in this light, and he's basically trying to show them not to tempt fate. He hasn't even summoned his sword or armor.
Utsuho Reiuji Utsuho *really* does not understand what she is claiming. She does not understand the depths of the question, but she feels she can answer at least the surface reading: "I've only been in a few fights. But you have to be willing to sacrifice, that's how you get power. And my flame is the best!"

Utsuho stares at the hand for a few moments before her brain spits out the appropriate response, and she shakes it. Left-handed, of course, so there might be a moment of awkwardness, but she tried. "My name is Utsuho Reiuji!" Which is one hell of an extended allusion, given everything from her crow wings to ... well, everything else. "I've never been to a city this big, so if I need anything I will! Which one is yours? And..."

She pauses. There is a faint tremble in the earth that she feels through her stone-encased foot more than the other one - she's only down the street - and she looks over in that direction of the clearing-out section. "Is there going to be a fight?" She sounds almost hopeful as she looks over Bercilak, Gawain, and Inga (who is admittedly the least likely of the three to get into a fight).

Utsuho then raises her voice and calls, rudely, "ARE YOU FIGHTING?"
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Bercilak is still leaned forward when his collar is grabbed, when his chest is pushed. "Verily, Gawain, we art! And we shalt hath sporte as al ifolke bilove." He is now smiling. "Come, Heian," he says, nodding as that broom is retrieved. "Come, thy felaues als, if thei durst! Sheu me thy hatinge of the Westerners," he says, standing up straight with a gleeful belly laugh. He extends an arm. Into it, there appears, in a wave of blue light, a massive greataxe. It is a thing borne of a future far from this place; an unknown, shining green alloy forming its heavy edge, set into a head comprised of terraced black alloyed metal which undoubtedly conceals technology belied by the otherwise anachronistic choice of weapon.

     True to his word, he'll allow each man who dares strike him the first blow. His skin is like the tanned and treated hide of some terrible wilderness beast, resistant to blunt force and laceration alike--even should something pierce him or draw blood, the wound heals rapidly. He bears it all with the raucous laughter of a man who didn't expect to have this kind of fun today.

     "VERILY!" he calls back to Utsuho, when the last man not cowed by Gawain has gotten his strike in. It is then that he begins fighting back. Heian, the strongest among them, whose blows are most likely to break past his natural fortitude, is given the lion's share of attention. Bercilak's use of the axe is masterful--he does not fight to kill whatsoever, but neither does he hold back. What does this look like?

     Haft strikes at full strength, thrusts at the abdomen with the blunt eye of the axe. Using the cheek, the hook, and the haft alike to turn aside Heian's blows. Stepping inside of the broom's reach to try and hook his opponent's leg with the butt end of the haft, even if it means having blows rained down on him from those men who still remain, assuming any do.
Inga Freyjasdottir Inga smiles to the woman, accepting her compliment on the cloak. "Thank you, spun and woven myself. Dyed with indigo," she replies. "But I'm not his wife, merely a friend," she says, unruffled. She's watching the woman though, less her pretty compliments are meant to distract them while she robs them.

Little cynical, is Inga.

A sigh, as she hears the words of one of the men. It seems there may just be a fight afterall. Still, worth a shot trying to disarm them. "There is no need for violence here, we are newcomers to your city and had nothing to do with this revolution. We are not allied with the people who wronged you," she says, though she is fairly certain how this is going to go down. These kinds of things have a certain momentum she isn't sure she can reverse. "Let me buy you all a drink. I think perhaps these streets have seen enough blood."

Gawain does a bit of a power move. It may scare them off or egg them on. Time will tell.

A winged-woman shouts over toward them and Inga winces. She thinks it depends largely on what Bercilak does.

A long suffering sigh. Fighting on an empty stomach. Not even a cup of tea in her yet. "IT WOULD SEEM SO!" she calls back to the woman, grumbling as she draws her knife. It's a small thing, not very intimidating. But that's alright, it's generally not for stabbing other people.

She draws up the sleeve of her underdress and slices vertically down the white flesh of her arm. Red collects immediately, but rises from the wound immediately, flicking it outward to form a fine mist around Gawain that shimmers into a ward that glimmers red-gold in the sunlight. "Well, have fun," she sighs.
Hanako Hirano      "Utsuho...Reiuji?"

     The man blinks at her. He looks at her arm. He looks at her eyes. He looks at her arm. He hears her say 'she's only been in a few fights.' And then it seems to click. He's about to say something when the stones shake and Utsuho's attention is drawn away; surreptitiously, Abdoul slips away into the crowd of foreigners that's now starting to part. She can probably get over there really quick if she wants to.

     The stones crack under Gawain's strength. He walks forward towards the group. A bunch of the men drawing daggers swallow, the swallow of men who realize how massively outclassed they are but who have too much pride to back down so easily. Shaking hands turn daggers at Gawain. They don't want this fight. He can see it in their eyes. When it was one foreigner and they were backed by their boss - probably their lord, before the revolution - they were brave and bold. But now here comes a man who walks like a keima with a keima's power behind him. What kind of retainer would want a fight like this? But what kind of man could afford to back down from a show of power, when their pride is already broken? One of them, bolder than bold, comes forward to stab Gawain.

     The dagger will not even pierce his skin. When the others see this, and hear Inga's words, they see a way out that salves their pride. One of them stows his dagger and says something about, "drawing blood in a beautiful woman's presence wouldn't bring pride back to our lords anyway." They start heading away from the fight. They probably weren't Heian's retainers.

     Meanwhile, Bercilak dares them. As Gawain tries to calm the fight down, Bercilak stirs it back up. Heian's face contorts. The broken broom he thumps on the ground as his eyes slit like lizard pupils. His lips twist into a snarl. "I'll show you the pride of a keima still lives in this cowardly era, then, Westerner!"

     Three steps. Three steps forward. By the first step, Bercilak can sense something is wrong. By the second step, he can tell this is not a mere streetfighter raging over his poor luck. By the third step-

     By the third step, the broom whirls, and Bercilak can tell that there is more punch behind that weapon than any of the knives on the street.

     It is like a roaring dragon. It does not conjure an image of such a beast, nor summon such a beast, but the impression is there as the broom swings for Bercilak's head. What may surprise him, though, more than the raging dragon that lurks in the spear's strike, is the sudden twist of the haft, and the sudden growth of branches that burst sideways from one side of the broom, twisting directly for Bercilak's eye.

     Forest Third Dragon, indeed.
Gawain The dagger strikes Gawain. It rips through his jacket, umbrella still held at the side. But it bounces off his steel-like skin, not broken, but useless. As they flee, Gawain allows them to go, and turns towards Heian. He ripples his senses out, looking for the magic in his work...and finds none. Interesting.

Closing up the umbrella, finally allowing the rain to touch his hair, he calls out. A warning. "I'll join in, Bercilak." He allows Bercilak the first hit, to see if Heian goes down. If he doesn't...

Gawain moves to bonk him on the head with the umbrella, twisting his wrist as it swings straight out overhead, plastic bashing down. There's force behind it, but not enough to kill. He's hoping to daze the man into a surrender. "Your art isn't magic? Most impressive!" He says, at the same time. Encouraging his foe!
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Have fun? Oh, absolutely. "We shalt, Inga! Bahaha!" The loss of his eye is sudden. The regrowth of one to replace it, just as much so. And his spirit isn't wounded at all. If anything, the surprise is a pleasant one. "Rare is the adversaunt which might mete mine strength co-equal!"

     Of course, the axe is touching the wooden broom handle. He grins wildly, as his own power of greenery is revealed to match Heian's. A cattail grows from Heian's end of the improvised staff, promptly exploding into a cloud of fibrous spores which briefly obstruct his vision. Gawain joining in is not met with any objections from Bercilak, and if anyone else here objects to it, they may freely join. He isn't fighting to coax a surrender like Gawain is, however. Lifting the axe to capitalize on that brief trick, he sends the butt end of the haft outwards in a strike aimed at Heian's collarbone.

     "Is this not mo sportli than mereli foloueinge me with hatinge in thine countenance?!" He's fighting because it's fun. Choking all the way up on the haft, he changes from two to one hand, his grip now firmly behind the beard. It's gone from a polearm to a one-handed punching weapon, and he makes use of the edge to try and break past Heian's guard, aiming to split the broom with the edge of the axe.
Utsuho Reiuji Utsuho Reiuji's eyes are red-brown in a way that would be faintly unsettling on a normal human being but look perfectly fine for *her*. Except for the third one, in her chest; that one is red-orange, like banked flames, with a vertically slit pupil. She doesn't seem to recognize that Abdoul finds them unusual.

Actually, she's not entirely sure why he's bailing on her. When she looks back, he's already gone, and Utsuho is not used to big crowds. She's probably not going to be able to track him down... unless she looks for his inn later, which she very well might.

But that is a problem for Future Utsuho. Current Utsuho is more interested in seeing what Bercilak, Inga, and Gawain are up to, because that's now the loudest and most obvious thing around here.

Utsuho pushes her away through the crowd the other way. It takes her a few moments but it's not exactly hard (and if it was she'd just fly), but she does not immediately start bullying anyone as soon as she arrives. She just kind of skids in, and...

"What did he say?" Utsuho asks the closest person who isn't involved, which happens to be Inga. She does not have experience to be fluent in Bercilak-ese, apparently.
Inga Freyjasdottir "Well, go on then, I'll be standing by the put the pieces back together per usual," she says to Gawain as he goes to join in the fight. Seems the man that challenged Bercilak is no mere street tough. They will all likely fight for a while, then decide they want to get drinks and become the best of friends. Maybe.

At least she seems to have convinced the men with knives not to join in. They seemed to realize it wouldn't end well for them.

Inga turns toward the woman with the violet eyes that is still hovering nearby, and hasn't tried to rob her while she was distracted. She smiles and offers a shrug. "They'll be fine, I'm sure," she says, though she'll remain nearby in case anyone needs to be healed.

"My name is Inga Freyjasdottir," she introduces to the woman, holding out her hand after putting her knife back in it's sheith. The wound she'd opened on her arm already appears to be closing, and she seems not at all bothered about it.

To Utsuho, she offers, "Oh, he says it is rare to find an adversary that is equal to his strength, and is it not more sporting to fight than to just follow him around and glare hatefully, more or less."
Hanako Hirano      The end of the spear changes instantly. The cloud of spores erupts in Heian's face. His eyes are forced shut by the spores, a string of swears erupting from his lips as the butt of the axe hits his chest. He stumbles.

     Gawain comes swinging in with the plastic umbrella. Bercilak comes swinging for the broom.

     They're both met with the two ends of the broom exploding into roots and bark. The roots burst around the axe, growing to hold it. They grab the end of the umbrella and squeeze it. Though the man is not as strong as either of them (indeed, he's almost touching the ground with his knee), his pride and defiance is enormous. Even blinded by the spores he's still capable of something like this. "You...mocking me...foreigner?! I'll make you swallow that weird tongue of yours!"

     His foot sweeps around to catch theirs. He launches himself upwards along the broom. It cracks in half. Both halves go upwards with him, swinging in his palms, dancing like falling leaves.

     Both sharp broom hafts come smashing down. There is a sense of great age to the attack, a weight of ages in that blow. It is the weight of something that once held even greater power, the weight of something that was used to make some small piece of this world. It is the weight of a tree being planted, growing tall, growing proud, flung down at them.

     When the two hunks of wood hit either the ground or their targets, they erupt into full-bore trees that punch straight upwards for Gawain's and Bercilak's stomachs. The trees grow tall - and, as people start scrambling backwards, a sharp whistle blows somewhere in the winding streets nearby. It's safe to say that that probably drew the attention of the authorities.

     Heian falls, snapping a branch off the tree and sliding down it onto the roots as naturally as a coiling serpent.
Gawain Heian still wants to fight, to Gawain's regret. As the knight watches him launch upwards, sending down wooden halves, and creating trees, one of which comes at the knight, he's shocked. The tree knocks him into the air, even if physically he's fine (if sore in the stomach). The umbrella is sent harmlessly clattering away, as Gawain grabs a branch coming down, and...

Swings off it, towards Heian, ripping it off and moving to land in front of him. If Heian tries to strike again, he uses the branch as an improvised sword to block. It doesn't have the right weight, so his skill is off, but his goal is to subdue Heian afterwards with a strong strike to the stomach, and when the authorities arrive, explain his side of the story. Running away?

That's not what a knight does.
Hanako Hirano      The violet-eyed woman smiles at Inga. "I'm sure they will. They look like they can hold their own."

     Utsuho comes over. "Neiko," the woman introduces herself, her hands disappearing in her flowing sleeves. "A pleasure to meet you, miss Freyjadosttir, miss...?"

     She looks back at the fight, and her smile turns sad. "It's unfortunate. That strength, that pride, that your friend is lauding...the Keima are a dying class. Twenty years ago, they ruled this land, but now...now they've been reduced to people like Heian. Proud, stubborn, broken men, unable to find a place in the new order. Most of them are bandits and thugs. Criminals."

     She sighs and brushes her fingers behind her hair. "I can't imagine what it must be like, to carry a Divine Art for so long, across so many generations, only to find yourself left behind in a world that no longer wants you."

     Neiko smiles at Inga and Utsuho. "The world's changing fast these days. Sometimes it feels like no one can keep up at all."
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      The wind is briefly knocked out of the Green Knight--but spot-synthesized muscle stimulants quickly see to that, as he's raised high into the air following a surprise entanglement of his weapon. As he tumbles back down the massive tree, he hits every branch it's possible to hit on the way down, snapping them with his bulk and laughing all the way until he hits the hard stone below. Even then, his weight draws a crack into the stone, and another crack as something of his--his right arm--breaks. He's very stubborn about holding onto that axe, even when it means injurt.

     Getting to his feet, the sound of the whistle draws a chuckle. He, too, is a knight--but unlike Gawain, he is equal parts knight and churl. He won't run from the authorities. But his presence nearby is not necessarily a good thing. He does, however, following Gawain's strike, tap his axe into that tree which lifted him up. It flowers and bears fruit--oranges. One shakes loose into his waiting palm, and is offered to Heian.

     "Nay," he says. "I skelk thee not, Heian, for thou hath oferned mine veneracioun. I am not the Westerner thou awene me to be, ne is Gawain, ne Inga. Knoue thee that this era cannst ne'er quell the last, as long as hit still burns withinne thy brest."
Utsuho Reiuji "Oh," Utsuho says, because one day she'll figure out archaic words but today is not that day. "He is pretty strong, so I guess that's true."

Seeing someone control trees and plants is not the surprising part for Utsuho. She's used to most people she knows being able to do *something*, however limited or bizarre, and frankly that kind of bullshit is pretty in line. But it's interesting. It makes her want to join in, but she doesn't. She does understand duels, at least, or small skirmishes. Sometimes it's more appropriate to watch and admire. The trick with the oranges was particularly impressive even if she didn't entirely understand why.

Which she is definitely doing, with a glitter in her eyes that isn't entirely excitement. But she does actually look away when she's spoken to by someone new, the woman with purple eyes. "If they're so powerful," she says, "why don't they have a place? They could make a place. Then they'd be happy, right?" Utsuho never studied history, either. "There's so many people here that there must be somewhere they can be."
Inga Freyjasdottir "A pleasure to meet you Neiko," she responds. She pulls back her cloak to open a leather satchel at her waist, from which she pulls out an entire stool. She sets it down then takes a seat on it, resting her walking stick against her knee. She listens attentively to the woman, nodding along. "Yes, it is a common problem the multi-verse over. A warrior raises as I imagine these men were, and with such obvious gifts find themselves adrift when war is no longer needed.

She nods to Utsuho. Indeed, the multi-verse is very large, and there is always a cause somewhere. Maybe Gawain and Bercilak will try to recruit him."

"I do not know what took place here, but it seems the new government should be made aware that they have made an error in allowing a man like that one to be forgotten. It will likely come back to bite them."

"I sense no spellwork in his technique. Divine Arts, you mentioned?"
Hanako Hirano      Heian gets a hammer-blow to the stomach from Gawain as Bercilak turns the tree to oranges. Heian eyes it suspiciously. There's a moment when it seems like he might keep fighting, but he just snatches the orange, bites into it, and snorts. His hand goes into his pockets, and he and his goons walk away around the corner.

     The guards are dressed distinctly differently from the layfolk. The buttons down their white cloth jackets are all seven colors, with red sitting at the top. Their shoulders bear black patches with unknown white characters on them, though a few moments and the translation effect kicks in. The characters read ZHUANSHU IMPERIAL POLICE SWORDSMEN.

     Indeed these police swordsmen appear to be the only people carrying any kind of weapon in the open. Their swords are long and thin and straight, though they have only one edge, and no hilt. They aren't katanas, exactly, nor are they sabers, nor longswords - some unique sort of weapon that's good for both wide swings and deep thrusts, thicker than a rapier but thinner than a proper longsword.

     "Damn," the lead officer says, adjusting his hat, "Let me guess. Your foreigner friend got ambushed by an angry Kinshonate loyalist."

     He sighs. "Not an uncommon story these days. Sorry for the trouble." The officer tilts his head at some of the ones behind him. "Get some specialists to get these trees down. We'll probably need them to fix the damage to the local restaurants anyhow." They're clearly used to This Kind Of Thing.

     With the fight largely over, people start milling about through the streets again, weaving between the trees carefully. Neiko sighs at Utsuho and Inga.

     "I'm afraid that in a world of peaceful democracy, those with the power to fight can only struggle against the tide of history." She smiles at Utsuho. "It's a shame, but what can you do? They have their pride, and no one to lead them. A nation of warriors might sound appealing to them, I suppose, but then they'd only use that power to get revenge, don't you think?"

     Neiko nods at Inga. "The Divine Arts...the legacy of the Six Million Gods. A long time ago, the world was made by the gods for humans. Some of the gods revolted out of jealousy and became demons. After a long-fought struggle, humans made a deal with the gods - that the gods would leave and take the demons with them, and leave stewardship of the world to us."

     "So the gods left their powers in the hands of the First Empress, who gave their powers out to her retainers. The Empress kept only the Divine Brush Arts, the power to paint the world into being."

     "But," she sighs, "The arts of the Blade are no longer wanted here. They serve no purpose but fighting and killing, and, like I said, this is an era of peace and prosperity. So the families who stewarded them wilt away and find themselves reduced to nothing."
Gawain As Heian walks away with an orange, Gawain drops his branch, picks up his umbrella, and twirls it around. As the police appear, he nods to their question about the story. "Yes! It's fine. We dealt with it." He pauses, and then moves over to the lead officer. "Sir Gawain, Knight of the Sun, Warden of the Paladins. As I assisted in the damage, if you need any help in fixing the restaurants, I'd be happy to help however I can." He can't offer much in the way of money, but manpower is a strength. "I do have a question, though I know you're not tour guides, of course. If I was to seek more information on this situation, such as a library or a scholar, where or who should I turn to?"
Hanako Hirano      "Anybody on the street could tell you the story," the officer tells Gawain, "This is the Imperial Capital, after all. It's here the ships of dark iron and flame pulled in and demanded we open the gates. It's here the people of Rose Cross came from across the sea and brought their missionaries from Verzueckt to speak of the power of man instead of gods."

     "If you really want a scholar of history, the Imperial Palace has plenty, or you can try the Green District. But most people here will tell you the same. The revolution brought Equality, and there were plenty of people who didn't like it."
Inga Freyjasdottir The witch listens to the story with interest, watching as the fight comes to an end, the authorities having arrived. Apparently, this is a common problem. "I see. I would bristle too, if the world tried to tell me there was no place for me," she replies. And indeed, she had, from the very beginning. "Sadly, all periods of peace eventually come to and end. It is good to be prepared to defend that peace. I see a very valuable resource wasting away...a thorn in the side of the governement that could be put to good use. Or perhaps they can make a life elsewhere. As I say, the multi-verse is large. There's always a battle somewhere."

Inga give Gawain and Bercilak the once over with her healer's eye, shrugging one shoulder as if to say they'll be fine. "May we get lunch now?" she calls. They have to have worked up an appetite. "Let me treat you to lunch as well, Neiko," she offers.
Rubi-Kan Vagrants      Bercilak blows a raspberry at Gawain. "Bicche," he utters at the Knight of Talking to Cops, giving him a light (for the two of them) shove.

     At least they're not *aggressively* being cops. He shoulders the axe, and then it disappears in a wave of blue light. He does, at least, stick around for long enough to hear the Details on where to look for more information. The Green District, for obvious reasons, sounds like his speed. Maybe the next time he's in town he can head over and see how much of that Equality business is true, and how much is the winning side's victory lap. For now, yes. Fighting is hungry work.

     "Verily, Inga, and glathe wouldst I be if Utsuho wert to join us als."
Hanako Hirano      Neiko smiles. "That's not necessary. I run a restaurant. I'd be happy to treat you myself, as an apology for your violent first encounter with one of our unfortunate."
Inga Freyjasdottir "Of course, do join us," she says to Utsuho. Then a smile to Neiko. "I would be delighted to accept your hospitality," she replies, standing again and dropping her stool back into her leather bag. "Lead the way."
Utsuho Reiuji "You can make a place for yourself, that's what!" Utsuho waves her rod-arm around with enthusiasm; nobody gets hit but it always seems like she's about to bonk somebody or something. "You don't have to do revenge, though you can if you want, but mostly you need to make people happy, I think. And if everybody else doesn't want them, then..."

She trails off, because there is no good follow-up to that. Her shoulders slump a little. But: "So they all have fragments of a god's power? Well..." Utsuho is getting some thoughts. They may not be the best thoughts to have, but she keeps them to herself, for a minute.

"Do you want me to help get rid of the trees?" she says, instead, before: "Oh, wait, no! Lunch. I'd like lunch. Thank you!" Utsuho cannot pay, but she is happy to be paid for.