09-04-2016, 08:28 PM
The news spread quickly through the bar. Everyone present was aware of the climate at street level. The revelation that magic was real, that wizards walked the street, that the Ascendancy himself was going to making some big public display.
Hood had found his way to The Brewery because, at the end of the day, he had no fucks to give about that sort of thing. Well, not entirely true. It would make for some degree of difficulty for folks in his line of work; magic users would certainly make for some very qualified bodyguards, after all.
But the young'un upstarts weren't much of a threat to his way of living, yet. They didn't have what he did. A life of experience. They were young, inexperienced, and with the way things were going, many would grow up in a world where they weren't challenged. They would not develop the skills needed to excel in his world. And so, he had nothing to worry about.
A fresh uproar in the bar; declarations to pull up the news on the displays. A live stream of the Red Square, of the crowds that had gathered there in protest, in devotion, in uncertainty. He didn't pay it much mind, instead sipping his scotch and reading an article on advances in conventional propellant technologies. The science of the chemistry was lost on him, but he could appreciate the end result. With the CCD military having embraced caseless ammunition, conventional arms manufacturers had been forced to step up their game, to keep competitive.
Odorless, reduced sound, reduced weight, improved quality control for grain count and propellant load. Lighter ammunition meant more could be carried. Especially important for heavy or support weapon systems. And of course...
He raised an eyebrow as a skittering of dust fell from the ceiling, a few flecks of dust landing in his drink. The walls shook, and Hood laid a hand over his snifter of scotch until it settled. A glance to the displays showed the end of Lenin's tomb. "Inconsiderate prick."
The politics behind the display were evident. Broadcast live, internationally, the removal of an icon of a previous failed administration that some still managed to see through rose-tinted glasses (even in the '40s people still lamented to the 'glory days' of the USSR). With the seemingly impossible feat, anything could then seem entirely possible.
The dust settled, the camera displayed roaring crowds of supporters. They had all been swayed by the display, or at least by the crowd psyche at least. Humans in groups tended to be stupid, gullible, and easily swayed by the majority.
His attention diverted back to the glass in front of him, and a few dabs of his finger into the drink gathered most of the offending particles. The world was changing every day, but at the root of it all, they were all still human. And human motivation, greed, corruption, and ever so rarely hope, never changed.
Hood had found his way to The Brewery because, at the end of the day, he had no fucks to give about that sort of thing. Well, not entirely true. It would make for some degree of difficulty for folks in his line of work; magic users would certainly make for some very qualified bodyguards, after all.
But the young'un upstarts weren't much of a threat to his way of living, yet. They didn't have what he did. A life of experience. They were young, inexperienced, and with the way things were going, many would grow up in a world where they weren't challenged. They would not develop the skills needed to excel in his world. And so, he had nothing to worry about.
A fresh uproar in the bar; declarations to pull up the news on the displays. A live stream of the Red Square, of the crowds that had gathered there in protest, in devotion, in uncertainty. He didn't pay it much mind, instead sipping his scotch and reading an article on advances in conventional propellant technologies. The science of the chemistry was lost on him, but he could appreciate the end result. With the CCD military having embraced caseless ammunition, conventional arms manufacturers had been forced to step up their game, to keep competitive.
Odorless, reduced sound, reduced weight, improved quality control for grain count and propellant load. Lighter ammunition meant more could be carried. Especially important for heavy or support weapon systems. And of course...
He raised an eyebrow as a skittering of dust fell from the ceiling, a few flecks of dust landing in his drink. The walls shook, and Hood laid a hand over his snifter of scotch until it settled. A glance to the displays showed the end of Lenin's tomb. "Inconsiderate prick."
The politics behind the display were evident. Broadcast live, internationally, the removal of an icon of a previous failed administration that some still managed to see through rose-tinted glasses (even in the '40s people still lamented to the 'glory days' of the USSR). With the seemingly impossible feat, anything could then seem entirely possible.
The dust settled, the camera displayed roaring crowds of supporters. They had all been swayed by the display, or at least by the crowd psyche at least. Humans in groups tended to be stupid, gullible, and easily swayed by the majority.
His attention diverted back to the glass in front of him, and a few dabs of his finger into the drink gathered most of the offending particles. The world was changing every day, but at the root of it all, they were all still human. And human motivation, greed, corruption, and ever so rarely hope, never changed.