The spirit tilts its head to the side with an gesture that almost projects attitude, perhaps a "Isn't it obvious."
The image shifts again and both Stacia and the spirit are standing on the roof of a building, looking down on a street that leads to what may be the capitol building of a country or planet. There are an abundance of flags waving in front of the capitol building.
The spirit points down.
A funeral procession is passing through. Its moving slowly. Carolina and the others are acting as pallbearers, each of them with a hand on the hovering platform carrying the casket, the work of lifting it taken care of for them. The procession is going at the speed they can actually move.
Thousands of people are filling the streets. The outside walls of the building have had countless flowers and wreathes heaped against them, so much they might have to be bull-dozed later. His casket is draped with three flags, one red, one blue, and one that matches the flag on the capitol building, the official flag of Chorus.
When they reach what is very obviously some kind of capitol building, the flags are taken off the casket by an honor guard and folded with great ceremony, taken away to be preserved. His friends will receive the red and blue flags. The other will be stored in the Capitol building and someday be kept in Chorus' history museum.
The casket is lifted to a place of great honor on a dais covered with yet more flowers. A holographic projection of Wash's face the size of a billboard plays over her head, shifting through pictures. Some are goofy, some are candid, caught during times he was laughing with his friends. In others, he's wearing his armor, pondering over maps with a woman in grey and blue-striped armor.
The older woman that steps up to the podium to speak is wearing sharp, dark clothes that look like you'd expect a politician to wear.
A man introduces her, "First to speak will be former president, Ms. Kimball."
She is handed the mic. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself. Clearly this is hard for her, actually personal, like she knew him.
"We are gathered here today to honor the passing of a great man," Kimball says. "He had another name, but on Chorus, we all knew him as Washington, and he...never asked for anything else over the years. A long time ago, as the general of the New Republic, I wouldn't have been caught dead without my armor, due to fear of snipers. On Chorus, during the Civil War everyone wore armor, because those who didn't quickly found themselves killed."
"Today, I stand before you armorless as your ex-president instead of only an ex-general. Today, the people of Chorus go armorless too. Today, this funeral procession passed through a city and a world that has rebuilt itself, instead of one that destroyed itself."
"We were able to survive the Civil War we had been tricked into by selfish and greedy individuals trying to drive us to destruction for their own personal gain thanks to the heroes that helped us save our world: the Reds and Blues."
"While they were all heroes to the core, Wash always stood out as a leader. After the Reds and Blues helped us realize we had been duped, I was officially in charge of our combined armies with the late General Doyle. But to pretend we weren't in over our heads would be wholly dishonest."
"We had, as a people, spent years at each other's throats. We had just learned that the mercenaries we thought were aiding a lost cause had been the ones to cause us to fight in the first place. Doyle and I were the only leadership that was left, after all our superiors were killed, one by one by a war that was meant to tear us apart."
"Washington stepped in, and helped us plan our battles. He adapted in the field, helping us survive when everything went wrong. He trained our troops, never ceasing in his efforts to help us join together as a cohesive whole. But it wasn't just tactics that he helped us with, or team-building. When the Reds and Blues came, they gave us hope, but it was Washington that gave us inspiration. He made the people of Chorus - and his friends - believe in ourselves, at a time we needed it the most."
"It meant something when he believed in you because he was effortlessly selfless, thoughtlessly brave -" A slight shadow of a smile, like they're all in on the same joke - like they all knew that all of them were a handful. "- and infinitely patient, with friends who were learning to be heroes, and two factions of people who were learning to stop being enemies."
A pause.
"Okay, that's not entirely true. He was patient up until you messed up a drill for the sixth or seventh time because you were too busy slap-fighting with the soldier next to you because they used to be in the opposing faction. And I say this as someone who used to slap-fight General Doyle."
There is a light murmur of amusement from the crowd.
"Then Wash could be a tyrant, only because you deserved it, because you needed it. But when we weren't driving him crazy, he was encouraging and kind. He was relentless when trying to protect others, something that allowed himself and Agent Carolina to prevent a genocide by keeping the temple of the Purge from being activated."
"He refused to turn his back on a world that the rest of humanity had forgotten. There were many heroes during the battle against Malcom Hargrove's forces, but without Wash, it all would've fallen apart, and we would not be standing here today. Chorus would've just been rust and dust, its people long forgotten."
"So let us take three minutes of silence to say goodbye to a great hero, a respected leader, and a good friend. One minute for each group he inspired during the war: a minute for the Federal Army, a minute for the New Republic, and a minute for his friends, the Reds and Blues."
The silence makes room for the crying, from a people that have let themselves feel things again, thanks to the battering machine of war having been stopped. The older people seem most affected.
After the silence, others step up to the podium but the vision flashes to evening, a setting sun. Only after the long day is through has his funeral run out of speakers apparently. The casket is borne by the Reds and Blues into the capitol building and set on another dais there, to temporarily rest in state. Kimball keeps talking to her people.
"For those who want to show their gratitude, flowers have been brought in from the farms in the countryside." Though she remained composed for the speech, a few tears finally drip down President Kimball's face. "Let this be our last token of gratitude to Wash. We were a people that were facing doom and near starvation - and now we've become a people that grows flowers again."
Massive trucks filled with them are near the dais. His friends are given time at the casket first, Carolina linger first and the longest, her head pressed for a long time against the closed casket.
After his friends, the former president places her flower down next, with quiet words meant for Wash alone. Then other mourners stream by in neat lines curling around the dais, paying their respects. Many of the first to do it are survivors of the war, like some of the lieutenants.
Young children are lifted up to place their flowers. Families fell apart during the civil war. Children and teens lived long enough to either become adults with guns in their hands or didn't survive at all. No children came after them until the war was over. Just like the flowers, Chorus is a world that got to have children again, too.
Even after the trucks run out of flowers, the line doesn't stop. It stretches off down the streets, around a corner and out of sight.
The spirit gives Stacia a long and significant look. If it has eyebrows it might be raising one under there.
This is all she needs now, to know for sure. The man on the rig is not kind, not encouraging, and certainly not inspirational. He is not the kind of person who would have a state funeral. He is the kind of man that might get killed for being a traitor because he did something shady. And it is important that someone can see that things really have gone terribly wrong.
no subject
The image shifts again and both Stacia and the spirit are standing on the roof of a building, looking down on a street that leads to what may be the capitol building of a country or planet. There are an abundance of flags waving in front of the capitol building.
The spirit points down.
A funeral procession is passing through. Its moving slowly. Carolina and the others are acting as pallbearers, each of them with a hand on the hovering platform carrying the casket, the work of lifting it taken care of for them. The procession is going at the speed they can actually move.
Thousands of people are filling the streets. The outside walls of the building have had countless flowers and wreathes heaped against them, so much they might have to be bull-dozed later. His casket is draped with three flags, one red, one blue, and one that matches the flag on the capitol building, the official flag of Chorus.
When they reach what is very obviously some kind of capitol building, the flags are taken off the casket by an honor guard and folded with great ceremony, taken away to be preserved. His friends will receive the red and blue flags. The other will be stored in the Capitol building and someday be kept in Chorus' history museum.
The casket is lifted to a place of great honor on a dais covered with yet more flowers. A holographic projection of Wash's face the size of a billboard plays over her head, shifting through pictures. Some are goofy, some are candid, caught during times he was laughing with his friends. In others, he's wearing his armor, pondering over maps with a woman in grey and blue-striped armor.
The older woman that steps up to the podium to speak is wearing sharp, dark clothes that look like you'd expect a politician to wear.
A man introduces her, "First to speak will be former president, Ms. Kimball."
She is handed the mic. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself. Clearly this is hard for her, actually personal, like she knew him.
"We are gathered here today to honor the passing of a great man," Kimball says. "He had another name, but on Chorus, we all knew him as Washington, and he...never asked for anything else over the years. A long time ago, as the general of the New Republic, I wouldn't have been caught dead without my armor, due to fear of snipers. On Chorus, during the Civil War everyone wore armor, because those who didn't quickly found themselves killed."
"Today, I stand before you armorless as your ex-president instead of only an ex-general. Today, the people of Chorus go armorless too. Today, this funeral procession passed through a city and a world that has rebuilt itself, instead of one that destroyed itself."
"We were able to survive the Civil War we had been tricked into by selfish and greedy individuals trying to drive us to destruction for their own personal gain thanks to the heroes that helped us save our world: the Reds and Blues."
"While they were all heroes to the core, Wash always stood out as a leader. After the Reds and Blues helped us realize we had been duped, I was officially in charge of our combined armies with the late General Doyle. But to pretend we weren't in over our heads would be wholly dishonest."
"We had, as a people, spent years at each other's throats. We had just learned that the mercenaries we thought were aiding a lost cause had been the ones to cause us to fight in the first place. Doyle and I were the only leadership that was left, after all our superiors were killed, one by one by a war that was meant to tear us apart."
"Washington stepped in, and helped us plan our battles. He adapted in the field, helping us survive when everything went wrong. He trained our troops, never ceasing in his efforts to help us join together as a cohesive whole. But it wasn't just tactics that he helped us with, or team-building. When the Reds and Blues came, they gave us hope, but it was Washington that gave us inspiration. He made the people of Chorus - and his friends - believe in ourselves, at a time we needed it the most."
"It meant something when he believed in you because he was effortlessly selfless, thoughtlessly brave -" A slight shadow of a smile, like they're all in on the same joke - like they all knew that all of them were a handful. "- and infinitely patient, with friends who were learning to be heroes, and two factions of people who were learning to stop being enemies."
A pause.
"Okay, that's not entirely true. He was patient up until you messed up a drill for the sixth or seventh time because you were too busy slap-fighting with the soldier next to you because they used to be in the opposing faction. And I say this as someone who used to slap-fight General Doyle."
There is a light murmur of amusement from the crowd.
"Then Wash could be a tyrant, only because you deserved it, because you needed it. But when we weren't driving him crazy, he was encouraging and kind. He was relentless when trying to protect others, something that allowed himself and Agent Carolina to prevent a genocide by keeping the temple of the Purge from being activated."
"He refused to turn his back on a world that the rest of humanity had forgotten. There were many heroes during the battle against Malcom Hargrove's forces, but without Wash, it all would've fallen apart, and we would not be standing here today. Chorus would've just been rust and dust, its people long forgotten."
"So let us take three minutes of silence to say goodbye to a great hero, a respected leader, and a good friend. One minute for each group he inspired during the war: a minute for the Federal Army, a minute for the New Republic, and a minute for his friends, the Reds and Blues."
The silence makes room for the crying, from a people that have let themselves feel things again, thanks to the battering machine of war having been stopped. The older people seem most affected.
After the silence, others step up to the podium but the vision flashes to evening, a setting sun. Only after the long day is through has his funeral run out of speakers apparently. The casket is borne by the Reds and Blues into the capitol building and set on another dais there, to temporarily rest in state. Kimball keeps talking to her people.
"For those who want to show their gratitude, flowers have been brought in from the farms in the countryside." Though she remained composed for the speech, a few tears finally drip down President Kimball's face. "Let this be our last token of gratitude to Wash. We were a people that were facing doom and near starvation - and now we've become a people that grows flowers again."
Massive trucks filled with them are near the dais. His friends are given time at the casket first, Carolina linger first and the longest, her head pressed for a long time against the closed casket.
After his friends, the former president places her flower down next, with quiet words meant for Wash alone. Then other mourners stream by in neat lines curling around the dais, paying their respects. Many of the first to do it are survivors of the war, like some of the lieutenants.
Young children are lifted up to place their flowers. Families fell apart during the civil war. Children and teens lived long enough to either become adults with guns in their hands or didn't survive at all. No children came after them until the war was over. Just like the flowers, Chorus is a world that got to have children again, too.
Even after the trucks run out of flowers, the line doesn't stop. It stretches off down the streets, around a corner and out of sight.
The spirit gives Stacia a long and significant look. If it has eyebrows it might be raising one under there.
This is all she needs now, to know for sure. The man on the rig is not kind, not encouraging, and certainly not inspirational. He is not the kind of person who would have a state funeral. He is the kind of man that might get killed for being a traitor because he did something shady. And it is important that someone can see that things really have gone terribly wrong.