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“An archive of things that never happened”. An in-character forum for fanfiction and roleplaying. Beware - spoilers abound!

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Vivienne Thursday
Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 31

2/11/2018
Kylestien wrote:
an intriguing invitation.


Vivi squints at the Correspondence symbol for a moment before passing it off to her husband. (Whether she just holds little talent for unraveling those arcane sigils or if she's rarely too sober to try is really a matter up for debate. Thankfully, Ginneon is excellent at taking up the gap.)


The letter sets her to chirping cheerfully in short order though. "Ooh, look, darling. 'Secret performance'? 'Infamous ruckus at the Palace'?! Yes, yes, I very much DO want to see what all the fuss is about. Do you think he means infamous in the same way as my staging of 'The Petals'?" One ginger brow arches coyly. "Well, we are no doubt paragons of discretion, so that much is covered."



--
Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
+5 link
Vivienne Thursday
Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 31

2/11/2018
Johnny Felix wrote:
a double-date perfect in every way.



The messenger bat is given a nice cricket as a tip, which he takes as an invitation to stay a while. Oh look, there's a dribble of honey over there that no one seems to be making use of either. How lovely!


Vivi hurries into Ginneon's study, finding him, not unusually, in front of a cosy fire with a glass of port in one hand and a dusty tome into the other. "Darling, look, it's a letter from the Felixes! Oh, it's been so long since we've a chance to catch up with them. Did you know they've opened a school in that enormous mansion that faces Greenmoss Park? Mm, I'm not quite sure if Lady Taimi acquired it or 'acquired' it, and it seemed somewhat gauche to ask... but anyway, yes, a Free School, so that all of London's children may have access to education, no matter if they come from a townhouse or a gutter or anywhere in-between. I think it's just brilliant!"



--
Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
+5 link
Ginneon Thursday
Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 251

2/12/2018
Kylestein wrote:
You have been cordially invited to a secret performance of The Bell And The Candle
Johnny Felix wrote:
Out with afternoon tea at Beatrice's and the visit of the Imperial Opera, instead drinks in abundance at the Temple Club
By the fountain in the Temple Club, Taimi mimics a drunken Bishop Of Southwark and slurs the killing blow, “It's what I do!” The merry group doubles over in anarchic laughter. Vivi pours champagne into towering flutes, and by his fourth airag Ginneon is toasting everyone and everything. “Johnny! This may be my favourite place in the City.” He looks up at the ceiling, then to the floor. “Or Fourth City.” He prods a column. “Regardless - to our hosts!” Ginneon greets each fresh pour with laughter, and the fountain always flows.

“I know you said no operas tonight, but we've received an invitation from a friend - The Bell And Candle. It's short, highly unconventional, and, as I understand, there is a large degree of audience participation. Starts an hour 'til midnight. We all could make it to the Mandrake after just as it's coming to life. What do you say?”
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/12/2018

--
Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
+5 link
Lady Taimi Felix
Lady Taimi Felix
Posts: 199

2/12/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
"I know you said no operas tonight, but we've received an invitation from a friend - The Bell And Candle. It's short, highly unconventional, [...] What do you say?"

"Of course, we say YES!" Lady Taimi booms, momentarily forgetting her voice is capable of variable volume. "And 'short' is exactly how I like my opera! Besides Vivi has been claiming this one is supposed to be already notorious. At least as far as generating speculation about its content, thus far I must agree! So, let us see what delights the stage has in store for us all tonight, eh? And the theatre's just a dawdle from here. Come along! Let's go in already!"

"Just one thing I feel might be prudent," interjects Ginneon, taking mercy on the playhouse's poor coat-check girl. "I think it's best you leave her either the harpoon or the tigress.

Johnny agrees, employing that smile that makes his wife a little weak in the knees (his choice of words) or soft in the head (hers). "Surely you won't need both, my love, at least for the length of an opera."

"That's not how I recall the reception after the staging of Vivi's last ballet," Taimi counters, but with an amused smile. "Very well, as Coco just adores the theatre, she shall join us, and the harpoon will refrain for any unnecessary poking for the duration of the evening. Hunter's promise." The Lady takes a moment to centre the tigress' tiara just so (the stringent rules of catkind are more merciless than a gallows judge) and then takes her husband's arm, now ready to tackle most anything (sometimes literally).

Before she again bursts into motion, she adds a small caution, mumbled sotto voce. "Oh, no matter what she says, do NOT give the tiger any absinthe. I'm pretty sure they've just managed to put out all the fires on that block from the last time."

--
Lady Taimi Felix: Devoted Wife. Invisible Eminence. Patron of the Shadowy Arts. Monster Hunter. Lady of Adventure. Exceptionally Lethal. Loves a Good Chat over Coffee.
+5 link
Ginneon Thursday
Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 251

2/12/2018
Gemma Hawley wrote:
"Since neither of the pair of you much looks like you like to get your hands dirty, tell me a tale that will give me a shiver, and the next round is on me."
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"Sometimes, our heads can do as well as our fists at helping ourselves out of trouble"
Upon the completion of Vivi's tale, Ginneon furtively offers his wife a small, unidentifiable bottle, which she refuses, holding her gaze directly ahead.

"Vivi is braver than I, for my shiversome tale is one I cannot repeat." Back into his coat the bottle disappears.

His normally mirthful face falls, haunted. "I may appear a pretty professor..."

"You are a pretty professor," VIvi interjects.

"Mayhaps." The imprint of a smile in his eyes. "But I do not content myself with Benthic's ivory walls. I have occasion for long voyages across the wide Zee. No crossing is easy. None was chilling as my last." He clears a hoarseness from his throat.

"A Tyrant Moth in Port Carnelian was my aim. Subduing it proved simple. Returning it north, lashed to my ship's deck, was another matter. That is the tale I cannot tell."

"I will not tell you how, azee, the Moth fitfully awoke from its torpor and strained against its bonds. I will not whisper of the snapping lines that sent so many into the unforgiving depths."

"I will not give echo to the voices that cried. Nor to the chorus they formed that has never stopped singing."

"I cannot recount the stadium of teeth that bade them enter. I will speak neither of the one who kicked his fellow into the yawning abyss, nor of the one who swam towards it as though salvation lay within."

"I will say nothing of the curses and prayers bellowed to Jesus, Salt, and Storm. Of the carnival, cannibal beckoning of sulfur. Of the desperate defense against ships painted black. Of threadbare-sinew's apocalyptic struggle to raise a single flare..."

"The true story of these things, I cannot bear to repeat."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/12/2018

--
Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
+4 link
Gemma Hawley
Gemma Hawley
Posts: 49

2/12/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
a chilling tale as fitting as his wife's.



Miss Hawley's eyes are old far beyond her years, and she has seen—and done—many unpleasant things here in her native London. Still, they widen at the surprisingly macabre tales presented to meet her challenge. Funny what one says about books and their covers.


There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine. "My father may have had trouble admitting when he was wrong, but I don't make the same mistake. You have each earned this to be sure. As to its provenance, I can't say exactly—you know how Monster-Hunters tend to get with their boastful yarns—but the one who gave it to me called it the Mermaid's Song. Just that much is all you need, and tonight both your dreams will be of being set lazily adrift on a sun-filled sea. Only sweet ones, I promise."


Her wink is sly, but true.

--
Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, replacement daughter of the Cheery Man
+4 link
Ginneon Thursday
Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 251

2/13/2018
Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
The Debonair Sharpshooter is out as well, putting up a series of posters [...] "LET THE MARSHES BE YOUR PLAYGROUND!"
Gemma Hawley wrote:
There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine.
"A sun-filled sea," Ginneon sighs. "Sounds delightful. A Venetian toast seems fitting. As they say -" He bangs the glass on the table. "A la tua." Back the glass goes and down it comes once more.

"You," Vivienne addresses the publican, "must be able to recount a few good tales. I'll tell you what..." She leans in conspiratorially. "There is something of a fair in Bugsby's Marshes. Mushrooms waltzing to a Blemmigan band. Fungus-Column-hunting. Tours of the Century Exposition Ruins astride very tall crabs. Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."

"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."

"There was that Debonair chap who invited us," Vivi adds. "Perhaps he'll show us around."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/13/2018

--
Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
+4 link
Gemma Hawley
Gemma Hawley
Posts: 49

2/13/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."

"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."



Gemma's usual surly expression lightens by several degrees at the invitation, which she is eager to accept. "Just a moment, and I'll get things settled here."


First, she waves to a looming hulk of muscle by the door, then decides its probably best to put the blunderbuss back under the bar. (No need to remind Eight-Fingered Pete of his nine-fingered days any more than she had to.) She leaves behind her bar apron as well, revealing a sable suit as dark as her hair (all the better to remain unseen in the Neathy gloom) and boots fit for stomping whatever might dare to get in her way.


While the rest of the party gather their things, Kirsikka still nibbling at her leafy drink stirrer, Miss Hawley stops at the foot of the set of stairs that head up to the bar's second floor. She purses her lips and a frail, warbling whistle emanates from her mouth. As it continues, it gathers some strength, though her look of somewhat vexed concentration shows it still doesn't sound exactly like she thinks it should. Regardless, it found its mark, and from down the stairs emerged her target, a tall man in a verdant tailcoat and trousers, his own attire, in stark contrast to hers, quite obstinate in its right to be seen in the darkness. His note in reply is much more melodic, though the rest of the party give a sharp little twitch at the sound, as if their eardrums had been bitten by a marsh gnat.

"My... partner, Canon Ascolt," Gemma introduces. The fact that she recalls all their names shows just how closely she had been listening to the group's conversations, but such is life in London. Wherever one makes their toasts, there is always someone listening.

--
Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, replacement daughter of the Cheery Man
+4 link
Edric_Ascolt
Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3

2/13/2018
Gemma Hawley wrote:
"My... partner, Canon Ascolt," Gemma introduces. The fact that she recalls all their names shows just how closely she had been listening to the group's conversations, but such is life in London. Wherever one makes their toasts, there is always someone listening.



The Canon gives an imaginary tip of the hat to the fellow guests, his tastefully disheveled hair bouncing slightly as he does so. "A pleasure." Before turning towards Gemma. "I must thank you for the call. I was getting a little obsessed over a difficult issue with the docks. A personal feud is getting in the way of business, and you know I can't stand such a thing."

Gemma only shakes her head as she quickly arranges his hair. "The fact that tonight was so lively and you hadn't showed up suggested as much." She then quickly slips her arm around his, her larcenous dexterity entwining her own hands into his. He smiles back, and whispers, "You're improving. You'll have a basic working of it by the end of the feast at this rate." His grin hid pain as she deftly punched his gut, playfully but firmly.

He turns back to the attention of the crowd. "So! Horrid haunts and tantalizing tales by the Marsh, I hear? I dare say I can't imagine a more suitable evening for such an occasion!"

--
Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
+5 link
Rysiek
Rysiek
Posts: 681

2/13/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
The Debonair Sharpshooter is out as well, putting up a series of posters [...] "LET THE MARSHES BE YOUR PLAYGROUND!"
Gemma Hawley wrote:
There is a note of admiration in her voice as she places a very small glass before each of the couple, the luminous liquid a constant shifting of greens and gold, azure and ultramarine.
"A sun-filled sea," Ginneon sighs. "Sounds delightful. A Venetian toast seems fitting. As they say -" He bangs the glass on the table. "A la tua." Back the glass goes and down it comes once more.

"You," Vivienne addresses the publican, "must be able to recount a few good tales. I'll tell you what..." She leans in conspiratorially. "There is something of a fair in Bugsby's Marshes. Mushrooms waltzing to a Blemmigan band. Fungus-Column-hunting. Tours of the Century Exposition Ruins astride very tall crabs. Have someone take over for you tonight and join us."

"Splendid idea," Ginneon agrees. "Tell us a tale to make one shiver when we're out in the darkened bog. Perfect setting for it. Maria, Kirsikka - you as well."

"There was that Debonair chap who invited us," Vivi adds. "Perhaps he'll show us around."
edited by Ginneon Thursday on 2/13/2018


Maria blinks "Uhm... so, Cosette got me out to hunt this large, scary spider... it was bigger than the spider council!" she tries to explain

Kir's pupils dilate, after she glares at the bartender for waving the drink under her nose "Ooooh! How about that large, scary purple dog I am seeing now! It is baring it's teeth and threathens to bite your wife's head off, Mr. Thursday! The one above whose head that large, tasty bird is flying." she continues to nibble her leaf stirrer "Best watch out for dogs. Now, can someone shoot that bird down? I am getting hungry, so that could be a nice lunch, meow!"

--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym


I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.

Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
+2 link
Ginneon Thursday
Ginneon Thursday
Posts: 251

2/13/2018
Rysiek wrote:
"It was bigger than the spider council!"
"Well, Maria, I shall feel that much safer in the swamp with an accomplished spider-hunter at our side. And you, Kir...you are cut off."

In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"

--
Ginneon Thursday: Revelrous Professor of Benthic
Departments of Mycoenology, Lepidoptery
+5 link
Rysiek
Rysiek
Posts: 681

2/13/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
Rysiek wrote:
"It was bigger than the spider council!"
"Well, Maria, I shall feel that much safer in the swamp with an accomplished spider-hunter at our side. And you, Kir...you are cut off."

In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"


Kir giggles "Cut off? Cut off from what? Because it feels good! The world is so bright! And intense! NOTHING can defeat me! NOT even you, you stupid purple poodle! And the spiders can bite me!"
Maria smiles "Uhm... I would prefer to avoid spiders..."

--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym


I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.

Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
+4 link
Vivienne Thursday
Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 31

2/13/2018
Rysiek wrote:
Kir giggles "Cut off? Cut off from what? Because it feels good! The world is so bright! And intense! NOTHING can defeat me! NOT even you, you stupid purple poodle! And the spiders can bite me!"
Maria smiles "Uhm... I would prefer to avoid spiders..."


"Don't worry, ladies," Vivi says with a winsome smile. "Should Kir's poodle not frighten off any dreaded spidery beings, I think our loud carousing will give them all ample warning to get out of our way and find quieter, though no doubt less tasty, prey!"

The group finds a path only slightly squishy with marsh moss, following the sounds of a rather cheerful sounding ruckus just over the next swampy hill (or four.)

"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."

--
Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
+4 link
Edric_Ascolt
Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3

2/13/2018
Ginneon Thursday wrote:
In the carriage to Watchmaker Hill, Vivi turns to their newest companion. "What was that you said, Mr Ascolt, about trouble at the docks?"

Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."


He gave a slight wave. "An issue of egos is all. A contracted merchant is unable to unload his cargo as the dock workers have a grudge against him. The Neddy men won't help as it isn't an issue of the Union and the bribe I've granted the Captain to use for such a situation isn't enough. It isn't something I can't handle its only that such a problem should not be my concern except for what he holds in his ship."


An eyebrow lifts at a thought, and turns to Vivienne. "Speaking of the Docks, however, I may have heard a tale or two that might please you lot. And it does not have to do with spiders, fortunately."

"I have a captain that does plenty of runs to the Carnelian Coast. He was a useful source of help during my time as governor of the colony. Practically sage, and cautious to a T. Now I didn't listen to all his anecdotes, as some of them I knew to be completely wrong, but there was one that took my interest above all others. He spoke of an encounter with the Blue Prophets, those dreaded avians that haunt the seas around the place. Now encounter itself was nothing of note. He managed to whip out the flock and run the rest away. He didn't hear any names from their dying breaths, at least no one of import to himself. He managed to sell the feathers for a decent profit, keeping a single one to himself, pinned on his jacket." He leans forward. "He returns to London, and on his return, he finds himself a clever little dame to call his own, at least for that evening. After a pleasant evening, he decides to give her the feather, a token of his affections. She leans in, and whispers her name, a valuable secret in its own context."

"But for him, it was a moment of horror. For at that moment, stunned speechless, he remembered that name as the one spoken by the very bird he plucked that feather from. And before he could do anything, the woman ran off, as giddy as anyone would with a night such as that."

"She was found the next day ripped to shreds in a Jack murder." He leans back, content for the story to end there.

--
Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
+5 link
Gemma Hawley
Gemma Hawley
Posts: 49

2/14/2018
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."


Edric_Ascolt wrote:
wrote a fittingly-chilling tale.


*spoilers follow for the nature of the Foreign Office*

"I have a story as well," Gemma says, her hand gripping onto the Canon's arm just a little tighter, though for balance on the uneven path or to steel her nerve was unclear.


"As I've already dined on crow once this evening, I shan't assume that all of you come from the Surface," she said, glancing around at the group, "but I was born here in London and I was left in the care of an urchin gang as an infant, where I stayed until I was about 6 or 7. Then I was... adopted, you could say. My father- er, that is to say Mr Hawley, had been an art thief on the Surface, but down here, the pickings were much slimmer, so he branched out—confidence schemes mainly—soon finding that having a small trained accomplice would aid him both in sympathy and his success rate. It wasn't a perfect arrangement; he was a vain man who often had only the most passing acquaintance with telling the truth about anything, no matter how simple, and of course, I needed to steal to earn my keep, but overall, it was a good sight better than life with the urchins. At least there was always enough to eat and no one was swinging a sock-covered brick at me for being affiliated with a different gang. And he did teach me so many things, not just schemes and ploys, but useful things, like art, literature, history. Of course, he also told me that cheese is made of spiders and wells sing terrible songs that can ensnare people, so I may have a problem believing what I hear until I prove it myself." She flashes a small, tight smile.

"But Mr Hawley never really took to London life. He understood people so well, but monsters and devils and cowled creatures from beyond the stars were just entirely too much weirdness for him. The best technique he found was to ignore it, as completely as possible, preferring to spend his free time in endless pursuit of wine and women. Some years after we'd come to this arraignment, he came home from a salon practically walking on clouds after having met a silver-tongued lady who had done nothing but praise his baritone once the evening had devolved to the point of piano-side sing-alongs. 'The Intriguer wishes me to join their choir!' he'd practically shouted, and I almost laughed, thinking at first he'd meant a church choir, and the only reason Mr Hawley would ever cross the threshold of any church I'd ever heard of was to somehow walk off with the collection offerings. But no, he corrected me, rather this choir—this special choir—met at the Foreign Office... in small hours of the night, and he had every intention of showing them the boundless well of his talents right then."

"I never saw Hawley alive again. Later the following day, when he still hadn't returned, I started checking the pubs and social clubs he frequented, the parks and museums where we'd often run our short cons, but nothing. By the time I remembered about the Foreign Office, it was already past suppertime, the streets now clear of office workers but not yet filled again with those seeking their evening's entertainment. The courtyard in front of the building was mostly empty, but out of the corner of my eye I saw something—it looked at first to be a discarded bundle of clothes but as I got closer, I saw the blood. I knew it was him before I even reached the body, even without being able to see his face yet. Hawley was cold, his eyes glazed over and without a single spark of life remaining in them. But this was no ordinary murder. As soon as I touched him it was clear that his bones had all been broken, as if he'd been dropped from a great height, and then just tossed away, like an unwanted ragdoll. And h-his heart was gone, torn out by something with long claws and enough strength to make a hole that nearly went clean through him. As horrifying as it was, I couldn't stop looking at it, at the space where there used to be a beating heart, a person, and now all that was left was red, wet, stinking meat." Gemma swallows hard, her voice growing thick with emotion, but she pushes through it, determined to tell this tale once and for all.

"I don't know how long I sat there with him. The Special Constables showed up, no doubt summoned by someone over the spectacle I was making, and they wrapped the corpse in a shroud and moved it into the back of one of their black-windowed carriages. Another SC was tasked with cleaning the blood, but a quick scrub with a brush and bucket and all that was left of my father was a soapy pink smear on the pavement. And then they just piled back into their vehicle and went to leave without saying so much as a word to me. I grabbed one of them by the lapel before he could take his seat and shouted that they had to do something, that a man was dead, my father was dead, and the only thing to mark his passing was this sorry clean-up crew. The SC just looked at me, eyes nearly as lifeless as Hawley's had been and he said only this: "I suggest you forget what you saw here, miss. It's better for everyone that way." And then they were gone too, and I stood there, furious and miserable, covered in my father's blood and completely on my own for the first time, without a single idea of what to even try to do next.


"You know how swiftly gossip spreads down here. Word got around quickly of how my father had met his end, and there was no one who wanted to get involved with the sort of business that the Special Constables had to come to clean up. I got nowhere trying to look into the Foreign Office connection and no one else claimed to even know this Intriguer Hawley met at the salon. Even his so-called friends were no help at all, though a few of them tried to be kind, leaving covered dishes of food in the hall outside our flat, which sat untouched until they started to draw vermin. I couldn't do anything—sleep, eat, live—all I could do was remember just how sad he had looked in death, how very ordinary and pathetic. It was almost as if that SC's words had cursed me: the only thing I couldn't do was forget. How could I? If no one else would care about Hawley's murder, then I was going to have to be the one to avenge it.

"It didn't take much digging to become confident that this was the work of the Vake, but beyond that, all I had was a pile of half-arsed sightings of something with huge leathery wings and endless apocryphal stories of hunters who tried to take that beast down, only to lose their lives to it by the score. That didn't dissuade me. I didn't know what I had to live for anyway, so I vowed that from that point forth, my life had only one purpose: either I would kill the Vake, or it would kill me.

"That's why I never really made friends because I don't—I didn't—expect to have a future. How could I be someone's wife, or even worse, someone's mother, only to leave them alone and frightened and so damned angry, just like Hawley left me? No, I would have been even more to blame, because at least he didn't know what he was getting into, but I I knew from the start where I would find my end, and it all ties back to the Foreign Office."

For the first time since she began her story, she stopped their plodding stroll, turning to look at her companions, her green eyes bright with unshed tears. "They're doing something terrible there, I know it. I... I think they are responsible for feeding the Vake."

--
Gemma Hawley—Former urchin, recovering misanthrope, replacement daughter of the Cheery Man
+6 link
Hotshot Blackburn
Hotshot Blackburn
Posts: 92

2/14/2018
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
The group finds a path only slightly squishy with marsh moss, following the sounds of a rather cheerful sounding ruckus just over the next swampy hill (or four.)


A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes - in the same pale violet coloring, a caricature of a rat-catcher shouts in a rather large speech-bubble, "Only 900 METERS to the CRAB CARAVAN!" One hand points into the distance, while the other hand points to a simple map. A pathway through the marsh is marked on the map: ahead of the party, that same trail is denoted by pairs of gas lamps placed on stout wooden posts.

In the distance, beyond the winding lamp-lit trail, what appears like a subterranean rodeo awaits. A circular patch of land has been put up in the midst of the swamp through use of wooden platforms and clear cut fungal stalks. Strands of electric light, in cheerful yellows and greens and blues, create a bulwark of light against the darkness. The indistinct shapes of people can be seen flirting around the various pavilions. The smell of chocolate rats-on-a-string, glazed fungus toffee and rock candy lorn-flukes waft on the salty marsh breeze. But most notable of all-

Eremite Crabs! Monstrous cousin to the humble hermit crab! Seven hulking shapes shuffling quietly in the gloom, each one bigger than a full-grown elephant! Most wear discarded Zee-Znail Zhells, but the largest lumbers around in the hollowed-out stone head of an ancient pagan god. Enclosed howdahs perch precariously atop each Crab, affixed to zhell and stone with legions of rope harnesses and waterproof rugs. The names are painted in the side in colors as bold as the fonts: "PRICKFINGER PENNY" "WOLFSTACKS WANDA" "BARNET BELLE".

And in the midst of it all, the Debonair Sharpshooter.

At the moment, Hotshot is the calm in the eye of a storm. Occasionally he directs a string of lights to be placed just so, a sign to be angled right there. A conductor before the grand opening, with nothing to do but wait for the curtain to rise. The Feast of the Rose was always a great time of the year to meet new acquaintances and make new contacts. And what better way to build a mounted cavalry force under the eyes of the Masters than disguising it as a tourist attraction? He should have thought of this before.

The crabs are ready to go, the handlers geared up and the supplies stocked. Hotshot himself will take lead spotter from Cumaean Connie. Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.
edited by Hotshot Blackburn on 2/14/2018

--
Hotshot Blackburn: Hunter. Mercenary. Revolutionary. A firm believer in kindness, solidarity, and sufficient use of force.
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Vivienne Thursday
Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 31

2/14/2018
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."

Gemma Hawley wrote:
wrote a terrifying and possibly seditious tale.

Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes ... Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.


Even in the gloomy light, Vivienne's face has paled several shades as she listens to Gemma's tale, one hand covering her mouth to hold back a gasp, or worse. Without even thinking of how many people that rough fist may have pummeled, her first instinct is to grab at Gemma's hand with her other and squeeze it tightly in sympathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Miss Hawley, all of it. To bear witness to my own death was frankly almost more than I could stand, but someone you love..." Her eyes meet Ginneon's and hold them fast. To think of life without him would be.... just too much to bear.

Still, as the mood has grown somewhat sombre during these dark tales, she fishes out a flask of something encouragingly boozy, passing it around the group to bolster their nerve all a bit better (or at least to help them forget.) A cheer goes up from the crowd as the first sign for the Crab Caravan comes into sight and all begin to move a fair bit faster toward the brightly-lit scene.

Before they all rush away, Vivi pulls Gemma to the side for a quiet word. "You know what that stupid man said to you, to forget?" She shakes her head, the tight, angry movement causing her ginger curls to bounce askew. Vivi just impatiently shoves them out of the way. "I'm not one for blood debts—an eye for an eye will leave us all blind, or at least more at the mercy of passing sorrow spiders, but it is my advice that you should take all of that pain, all of that helpless and impotent fury you felt from that night, and learn to use it. Every time someone tells you that you can't do something, that you couldn't possibly manage, you take a piece of that pain, of that rage, and you shove it right back down their throats! To the Well with them all!"


Vivi's sudden ferocity causes Gemma to laugh, not her usual cynical bark, but a genuine and appreciative chuckle, and the two, still arm-in-arm, sped their steps to rejoin their paramours and friends beside. Kirsikka's nose twitches, having already detected the rather entrancing smell of chocolate and rodent wafting through the air.

While her usual cheerful smile has reappeared on her freckled face, Vivi whispers to Ginneon out of the side of her mouth, "There is not a chance in, on, or under this Earth that I will ride a crab of any variety, but I'm sure there's many other things here that would be quite fun."

--
Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
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Edric_Ascolt
Edric_Ascolt
Posts: 3

2/14/2018
Gemma Hawley wrote:
A heartbreaking tale of love and ambition


Vivienne Thursday wrote:
An earnest word of encouragement, both of liquid and whispered form, and disdain for crustaceanism



Edric did his best to lean in for her support. Such a personal tale does not leave one without an open heart. Unless you were soulless (and he would know a thing or two about soullessness). He did not say anything, but held her hand firmly in his. He did not say anything when the flask was passed, but he enjoyed the burn as he took a swig. He did not say anything, when Vivienne took her aside, though he was grateful, as her advice was certainly something he would give, if his mind was not occupied with resolving certain.....implications, that have now surfaced from her tale. When she returned from her pep talk, he did whisper to her as well.


"I'm sorry." His tinged eyes looked on in sincere sympathy. "I know that was hard for you to share." He passed her a handkerchief for her tears.

Gemma took it with a pained smile, clearly bittersweet after recounting her tale and receiving such honest support. "I'll live" she said, in a half hearted attempt to be irreverant. They both chuckled, clearly finding some humor in the jest.

He turns his attention towards Vivienne, overhearing her own whisper to her confidant. (A spy is relatively good at such a thing). "Mrs. Thursday, I did not expect you of all people to be afraid of crustaceans."

--
Canon Edric Ascolt, Extraordinary Mind, Eminence of London and the Bazaar over the Zee, Scholar of the Correspondance and Player of the Great Game. Dabbles in Zee Commerce and Bazaarine aesthetics.
+5 link
Vivienne Thursday
Vivienne Thursday
Posts: 31

2/14/2018
[[Hello everyone, and a very Happy Valentine's Day to you all! ♥

I am very much enjoying the ongoing RP, but wanted to take a moment to remind any newcomers or onlookers that they are welcome to start/offer a different Night on the Town at any time. Plus, while the Feast is still going on, I'd really love to send out some more treats to other players! (Mmm.... freshly-baked delicious words., you know you want some! ;D)

To fit the theme of the day, I offer a very Neathy love song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Br8S9j5rQPY

Have a lovely day of love, everyone! ]]

--
Vivienne Thursday:
Artist • Author • F̶l̶i̶r̶t̶ Wife
+4 link
Rysiek
Rysiek
Posts: 681

2/15/2018
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
Vivienne Thursday wrote:
"So now, who's next with a scary tale? It will keep us, or at least me, from leaping at every shadow as we walk."

Gemma Hawley wrote:
wrote a terrifying and possibly seditious tale.

Hotshot Blackburn wrote:
A jaunty sign illuminated by numerous Foxfire candles looms large in the marshes ... Everything is ready...all they need now are some actual visitors.


Even in the gloomy light, Vivienne's face has paled several shades as she listens to Gemma's tale, one hand covering her mouth to hold back a gasp, or worse. Without even thinking of how many people that rough fist may have pummeled, her first instinct is to grab at Gemma's hand with her other and squeeze it tightly in sympathy. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Miss Hawley, all of it. To bear witness to my own death was frankly almost more than I could stand, but someone you love..." Her eyes meet Ginneon's and hold them fast. To think of life without him would be.... just too much to bear.

Still, as the mood has grown somewhat sombre during these dark tales, she fishes out a flask of something encouragingly boozy, passing it around the group to bolster their nerve all a bit better (or at least to help them forget.) A cheer goes up from the crowd as the first sign for the Crab Caravan comes into sight and all begin to move a fair bit faster toward the brightly-lit scene.

Before they all rush away, Vivi pulls Gemma to the side for a quiet word. "You know what that stupid man said to you, to forget?" She shakes her head, the tight, angry movement causing her ginger curls to bounce askew. Vivi just impatiently shoves them out of the way. "I'm not one for blood debts—an eye for an eye will leave us all blind, or at least more at the mercy of passing sorrow spiders, but it is my advice that you should take all of that pain, all of that helpless and impotent fury you felt from that night, and learn to use it. Every time someone tells you that you can't do something, that you couldn't possibly manage, you take a piece of that pain, of that rage, and you shove it right back down their throats! To the Well with them all!"


Vivi's sudden ferocity causes Gemma to laugh, not her usual cynical bark, but a genuine and appreciative chuckle, and the two, still arm-in-arm, sped their steps to rejoin their paramours and friends beside. Kirsikka's nose twitches, having already detected the rather entrancing smell of chocolate and rodent wafting through the air.

While her usual cheerful smile has reappeared on her freckled face, Vivi whispers to Ginneon out of the side of her mouth, "There is not a chance in, on, or under this Earth that I will ride a crab of any variety, but I'm sure there's many other things here that would be quite fun."


Kir sniffs. Rats... mm... oooh! Chocolate! Even better! And there she goes! Running off towards the source of promising food!

Maria sighs. What can she say. Her own girlfriend is technically dead... "My condolences." she says, sighing "And.. the Vake?" her eyebrows furrow "I thought it was nothing but a legend told to scare people? Still... at least crabs are better than spiders. Though, knowing Kirsikka... who ate a fish raw.... guts and all, we might be thrown out due to her trying to eat her steed..."

--
The silesian Detective
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Rysiek
The incredible Warsovian. She certainly didn't steal your diamond necklace. That idea is RIDICULOUS...
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Maria~Konstantynopolska
The silesian vengeance seeker
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Agata~Grym


I apologize for any and all anachronisms. I am too lazy to check some facts if I am sure they are from the 1890s or sometimes think they are.

Oh, and by the way, I am not polish, I am GERMAN to clarify for heavens sake... tylko po polsku mowie. Um Himmelswillen...
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