The ceremonies are coming to a conclusion when there is a ripple of unease detectable in one section of the vast Temple.
Having stayed for the speech, Brutus is on his way out. He is a tall man, prone to wearing military cuts of clothing rather than the traditional, floatier robes of the typical politician, prone also to staring straight ahead to cut his path, even through the milling crowds. Two aides that double as security trail after him, and two more ahead, and they are looking around. And they are noticing the harder stares being given Brutus from the public as they go.
It would be good to walk faster.
Suddenly, a break of motion. The woman that emerges to interrupt his path is going grey at her temples, and there is a greyer quality to her face, sick with grief. She lunges, her hands open, to land her palms on his chest in a sudden shove.
Immediately, one of the aides springs in to grab her by the arm, hauling her backwards, pushing her back into the crowd, but she's made her mark -- her dark hands are covered in vibrant red, a powdered dye, and it is stamped bright and vivid on the green-grey of Brutus' jacket and shirt.
"What did you do!" is shrill from the woman, calling more attention. "Tell me! Tell us! How dare you--"
One of his aides goes to usher Brutus faster along the path set to leave, but it doesn't have any effect. Shoved into the crowd and the crowd surges back, they seem to collectively agree to block his path in a sudden walling of people, and Brutus himself stops as steady as a Temple stalagmite, his countenance grave and unyielding after a glance down at the smearing red.
BRUTUS ♞ TEMPLE; OTA.
Having stayed for the speech, Brutus is on his way out. He is a tall man, prone to wearing military cuts of clothing rather than the traditional, floatier robes of the typical politician, prone also to staring straight ahead to cut his path, even through the milling crowds. Two aides that double as security trail after him, and two more ahead, and they are looking around. And they are noticing the harder stares being given Brutus from the public as they go.
It would be good to walk faster.
Suddenly, a break of motion. The woman that emerges to interrupt his path is going grey at her temples, and there is a greyer quality to her face, sick with grief. She lunges, her hands open, to land her palms on his chest in a sudden shove.
Immediately, one of the aides springs in to grab her by the arm, hauling her backwards, pushing her back into the crowd, but she's made her mark -- her dark hands are covered in vibrant red, a powdered dye, and it is stamped bright and vivid on the green-grey of Brutus' jacket and shirt.
"What did you do!" is shrill from the woman, calling more attention. "Tell me! Tell us! How dare you--"
One of his aides goes to usher Brutus faster along the path set to leave, but it doesn't have any effect. Shoved into the crowd and the crowd surges back, they seem to collectively agree to block his path in a sudden walling of people, and Brutus himself stops as steady as a Temple stalagmite, his countenance grave and unyielding after a glance down at the smearing red.