Rubble
Tenebrae - Friday, November 15, 2013, 10:01 PM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A10: Temple District *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- The air of solemn, heavy divinity in the area is often broken by laughter. The dual presence of the deities Althea and Daeus, man and wife, stand towards the center, with their children and their children's temples positioned around them. The presence of the divine is felt not only by their temples, but also by the actions of their worshippers. The great plaza is as a social center, paved in brilliant, white flagestones and covered in benches and sitting areas. Priests, acolytes, and servicefolk of all stripes roam the plaza, going from one task to the other. At the front of the temples of Daeus and Althea, at the Plaza's centermost point, rests a great fountain, the cheerful waters reflecting the Sun during the day, and the Moon and Stars at night. The fountain is strategically centered, and is oft a place for wisdom and lesson-giving. It is not uncommon for a priest of some stripe or the other to stand there, surrounded by the curious and faithful, delivering messages of hope or contemplation. At other times, it and the plaza become a landscape of celebration of the holy holidays. Few vendors are seen in the plaza--the nearby temples provide most food or services. Towards the west, the great Bridge stretches across the river, and towards the east, the Redridge mountains. The plaza rests in the midst of it all, the temples massive and grand on the Alexandrian scale. A series of barricades has been erected by the Temple of Daeus.
Munch trundles into the plaza, pulling a large wagon behind him. Such vehicles are typically reserved for horse or ox, but vendors seem reluctant to sell the golem any living creatures. Understandable so. But the metal man doesn't seem to have any troubles with the weight, heading towards the Temple of Tarien, where a few Little Old Ladies (LOLs) can still be found.
Well, there's rubble. There's the temples? Then there's rubble. Some of the volunteers are taking a break. Some have laid out a sleeping bag, others are warming themselves nearby a fire, a fire that serves a double purpose--defense and utility. Svarshan's among this last. He stands very, very close to the fire, his eyes half-shut.
"Firsst time...warm since..." the rest is lost to a yawn that briefly flashes dragonfang. And then, "Did anyone bring the..." he focuses blearily on Munch's cart. Squint.
Garak has arrived.
Well, there's rubble. There's the temples? Then there's rubble. Some of the volunteers are taking a break. Some have laid out a sleeping bag, others are warming themselves nearby a fire, a fire that serves a double purpose--defense and utility. Svarshan's among this last. He stands very, very close to the fire, his eyes half-shut.
"Firsst time...warm since..." the rest is lost to a yawn that briefly flashes dragonfang. And then, "Did anyone bring the..." he focuses blearily on Munch's cart. Squint. (repose)
Garak moves in front of the temple of Serriel, slowing and narrowing his eyes slightly to peer at the fire. After a moment he changes course, moving over that way. "Good evening," he offers to those he sees there.
Jogging sowly into the Temple District is Sandy. She comes to a halt, wiping sweat from her brow and looking quite tired. She's been at this a while, clearly. Sh e stops when she spots those present, especially the Sith. Munch and Garak get an eyeing by her too.
Munch eyes back. Most at Svar, and taht mostly as that's the person he's heading towards, leaving his empty wagon parked off to the side. "I was told there's refuse in need of disposal. Which pile is which?" Apparently he's taken the BrightBlade as SomeOne In Charge.
Svarshan looks from the cart, then over towards Garak, then Sandy. He pauses a while, quiet and thinking. And then, one word: "Food." It's a good word, a solid word. He gestures with a sudden jerk of his chin towards the small pile of it, put aside for workers and volunteers. There are a few roasting sticks, and bits of vegetables and small bits of meat put aside for kabobs.
When Munch speaks up, he... words. Gods, speaking. It... "Ssaa. The...Sseriel over there," he says, pointing to an Officious-Looking Arvek wearing a crisp coat, despite the late hour. At being pointed out, the man snaps his heels together and begins walking towards them both.
Garak peers at the food and then holds up a hand. "No thank you," he glances around, then leans against his lance like a staff. "Have you been here long? With these brave volunteers," he elaborates.
Did someone say food? Sandy's attention goes towards Svarhsan ahd she dfinitely is making her way to the food. Because, you see, /food/. And she is working up quite an appetite.
Munch mmms, nodding his thanks to the Brightblade, and turning focus to the Officious-One. Simple information, to the point. The golem can only hope things continue so smoothly. "While pile of stuff do you want to disappear and never see again? Or piles, I'm not picky."
Click-walk. Click-walk. "Evening!" the arvek says, and snaps his heels together again. He wears the outfit of one of the Lancers. He salutes Garak in passing before turning to the oddgolem. And then /really/ looking at him.
"Hem. Hem, hem," he says.
Svarshan leans down and picks up one of the kabob sticks. He tosses it underhand to the sildanyari. "Yess," to Garak. Words.
Garak turns to look at the Arvek Nar, returning the salute and then watching curiously. He almost unconciously drifts over until he's standing near the other follower of Serriel.
Catching it, Sandy looks smugly pleased and takes a bite from it. "Hey, thanks," she says after she swallows. "This isn't too bad at all." She's gonna have another. So much for the benefits of exercise.
Munch is used to odd looks. It's about the only sort of look he gets. "'You don't ask where it's going, I don't ask where it's from.' Just point out whatever you want gone." The golem's magicite eyes blink, the typical blue-green shifting to a sickly yellow for a moment. "Erm, and don't point out the neighbor's annoying dog... I've had... 'issues'... with that sort of thing lately."
"Hem..." the Arvek officer in question rubs at one of his eyes. Takes a breath, then clicks his heels together. "Over this way," he says, evidently making a decision. "...keep an eye on him, Lancer," in a low, quiet voice to the other arvek. Then, the officer nods in a businesslike way and takes a few steps towards the Serrielite Temple. Nods.
A few yards from the temple? An organized, fenced-off area filled with leftover debris from the recent battles. Pieces too oddly damaged or shaped to be put back where they were. Dust. Bits of twisted iron from a bomb.
"We've been gathering it." The Serrielites, from the sound of it. They're Organized Like That. "Hem-hem. If possible," turning back to Munch, here. Don't Flinch at the Creepy Golem. "Hem-hem. If possible, we'd need a trip twice a day until the work is done, and then once after. The clean-up will take precisely 14 days, assuming Nothing Else Occurs." Hem-hem!
Svarshan watches the exchange a while...but more important, apparently, to a hungry sith? Is the food. He stabs a...his muzzle wrinkles. Onion? Onto his stick, and a potato after. These get held near the blazing fire.
Sandy is content to eat. SHe's actually finishing off her second one right now.Then she nods towrds Svarshan and says, "That works, I guess. They aren't bad. These were mad by Arveks?" She asks, warily. Worrieed for a moment.
Garak purses his lips thoughtfully. "I'm afraid I don't follow...what are you proposing. That this one eat the debris?" he gestures at Munch.
Munch blinks, glancing to Garak. "Seriously, don't ask. Experience has indicated that people who don't ask are happier than those who do." That said, the golem heads back towards his wagon, grabbing a shovel out of the hopper before hauling the vehicle closer to the junk pile.
"Healthy," is the sith's grumbled response. Of /course/ arveks. Healthy. Precision-cut cubes of meat. /Vegetables/. He lifts up one of the cubes, and...there's no grease dripping from it. No jiggling jobblies of fat...
The sith looks almost tragic as he transfers one to his kabob stick. So tragic.
"Sah. Like the Scary Golem says, we don't ask," to Garak. The officer in question shifts a look to the golem, then back to the Lancer that suggests /he/ doesn't really want to, either. The pile itself is rather large. Spread out, but at least a meter and a half tall by the end of a day's work or two. Nearest the small group is a set of twisted metal--the results of a bomb explosion.
He looks back at Garek, "We're having a drawing for naming the day's battles, though. You should enter it! The winner will go in the history books."
Garak's face breaks out in a smile. "Of course. I'd be honored..." he starts running through possible names in a lowered voice.
"A drawing," says Sandy. "You have a drwing. Really." She runs a hand through her hair and then mutters, "I need to cut this." Annoyed. Very. Then she eyes Garak aand adds, "Yeah. Honored. I bet." Then Munch. She just peers at Munch.
Munch nods. "It's 'TerrowMaw', actually." Not that he minds, but names are important. Nodding politely, Munch begins to shovel, weilding the tool like an axe. It's... actually rather effective. Driving the blade into the soft parts of the pile, lifting out large scoops to fling into the wagon; some of the larger, or heavier bits the shovel couldn't handel ripped out by hand. It's direct, it's simple, it's working.
The officer salutes Garak smartly. "Do us proud! ...and keep an eye on /him/." He nods towards Munch in that Secret Way military officers do which Isn't So Secret, before nodding smartly, turning--and then marching off towards the other volunteers. He likely has something else he--
Oh. There's a fight going on between one of the artists and an engineer.
This NEVER happens.
Garak watches fondly as the officer goes on his way - such a refreshing change from the vagabond outlaw adventurers Garak usually associates with these days - and then turns back towards Sandy and Svarshan. "Your work here is appreciated," he assures them. Then he glances at Munch. "All of you. It's inspiring to see Alexandrians of all faiths come together and defend places of worship."
"Wait. We're defending places of worship?" Sandy's /shocked/. Shocked! She looks down at her kabob. "I was just here for the free food," she says, in faux-morose tones.
Munch glances to Garak, glances to Sandy. He might agree, but he knows better than to voice it. "The gods made everywhere, and no place you can't pray. These stones are just symbols, and symbols are only as important as you think they are." So says the automation collecting junk.
Svarshan starts to nod to Garak. "It--" his face suddenly goes slack, and--"Excuse me," he says, voice sounding strangled. And he takes a brisk walk over towards there the artist and the engineer?
Appear to be getting into fisticuffs.
Well. One of them has a protractor and the other a paintbrush.
It's SORT OF a duel.
Sandy bursts out laughing after Svarshan's departure. "Engineers and artists. Never shall the two of /those/ get along." Still, she wavs her hand dismissively at Munch.
Garak shakes his head sadly. "They don't see the world the same way, do they?" He shrugs it off and then nods as Svarshan goes to sort them out. "And you. I shall think on your words," he nods to Munch. "It is an intriguing idea."
Munch shrugs, and shovels. "Everyone has their own viewpoint. Sometimes those views come into conflict. Sometimes those conflicts become violent. And that's why I have a steady day job." Shoveling junk is really more a hobby.
Garak chuckles and then goes back to the fire. "Have you been playing other parts in the excorcism?" he asks, warming his hands briefly.
"Not me," says Sandy, shaking her head. "Looking forward to when it's all done." She makes a face. "Hopefully, it'll go well."
Munch mmms. "Not directly. Some parts of the ritual are delicate." If you need ponder why Munch is kept away from delicate rituals, you havn't been paying attention.
After a while, Svarshan makes his way back. He moves slow, as slow as ever, and is rubbing at his muzzle. "Ssa. ...where did..." Oh. He bends down and scoops up the kabob he'd dropped in the sudden rush.
Garak gives Munch and Sandy a considering look, then nods in understanding. When Svarshan comes back Garak briefly looks in the direction he came from for signs of the earlier scuffle.
The artist is waving his hands about and shouting--and being dragged off. Whatever's going on, whatever went on? Just ended, and the two are being separated. The artist is being dragged away. The engineer is being given a listing of rules and regulations. This never happens.
Ever.
Usually it's the engineer who gets dragged off and the artist gets a list of rules.
Munch, for his part, is doing some dragging, shifting his wagon a few feet. The majority of the junk pile has been shovled inside, but there's still a fair bit left to go. There's a lot of rubble.
Garak nods in satisfaction as both artist and engineer are 'dealt' with. Then he turns to watch Munch for a bit. Finally something seems to occur to Garak, and he goes to help, leaning his lance against a wall.
FOr her part, Sandy is, you know, getting more food. Because food is good and it makes her happy, it seems. At least she's not throwing pies anymore.
The sith picks up the kabob, and holds it back near the fire. He nods to the Lancer as he passes, but seems to be content. To...just sit there, legs relaxed, tail acting as a support. And near a blazing, one-story fire.
Svarshan has left.
Munch hrmms softly, and shrugs. The pile of rubble and junk has been greatly diminished, but is not utterly gone. However, the golem's wagon is full. Quite full. Not overflowing full, but just shy. "I'll be back around dawn to get the rest and anything that's accumilated in the meantime." And then he's grabbing the harness. Yes, he means to haul a large wagon filled with rubble by hand. He's not built for looks, Munch is an industral strength build.
Garak goes to recollect his spear, then raises a hand in farewell. "Farewell. We'll save a spot at the--" he pauses, looks at the fire, then back at Munch. "We'll save some food for you," he finishes.
Finishing her kabob, Sandy burps in a most unlady like fashion and pulls out her knife. She peers into her reflection in the fountain, taking a lock of her hair in hand. "Hmm."