Mystery on the Ahab's Revenge...

Fallen London
21

((Really sorry guys, storm-related chaos left me without internet for a few days :S))

Now gathered in the atrium, within the heart of the great steel beast itself, the guests begin to mingle. You quickly realise that the list of those fortunate enough to have gained a place resembles an almost eclectic spectrum of the ‘Neath’s inhabitants; nobody here possesses any great political or social renown, and yet everyone seems to be of some strange significance. The guests are a clash of cultures, everything from ordinary Londoners, to a Deviless of the Embassy, from the Myrrh-Scented Trader to an Oriental Celebutante. Throughout, the masque-servants continue their rounds, never missing an important individual, while paying close attention to those who stand-out less: it is difficult to be innocuous here when so many unseen eyes are upon you.

Suddenly, the clock strikes the twelfth hour, dim bells ringing somewhere in the depths of the ship. As if of one mind, the servants move simultaneously towards an as-yet unnoticed door on the ‘Eye’ wall…from it steps the Captain Ismarck. He has all the bearing of a well-travelled Zailor, with a set of deep green eyes glinting out from amongst the greying hairs and grizzled features. Upon his breast gleam Imperial medals of a dozen clandestine engagements seldom mentioned even in Palace circles, and the long sabre at his hip speaks of a well-placed vigilance. In his wake follow the other officers, among them a young woman dressed immaculately in the stoic greys of a First-Mate, and a willow-thin accomplice, an almost emaciated fellow in haphazard garb who would be of no consequence, had the Captain not motioned for the man to walk alongside him as an equal…

But in spite of the fearsome appearance, the disarming confidence and excited grins of the newly-appointed men and women who would sail the Revenge puts you at ease. Captain Ismarck shakes hands with several of the guests, conversing briefly with some of the more forward among them as he makes for the viewing platform before the Eye. There, flanked by his officers and the armed sevantry, he addresses the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentlemen…” he begins, “On behalf of myself and the crew, I welcome you aboard the Ahab’s Revenge!”

To the thunderous applause of his audience, the stell-plate whorls of the Eye slide back with barely a sound. Before you, the massive viewing port opens up, the glass illuminated from within by some strange phosphorous light. To the surprise of all but the officers, the Zubmarine has already left it’s dock. Outside the glass, crowds mill along the Docks, swarming after the ship like a flock of zee-birds. The effervescent glare of a hundred flash bulbs illuminate the parting water. …

“We depart this moment on a voyage that will define the new era, a mechanical revolution that will render all its predecessors obsolete” Ismarck continues, “You will be witness to the power of this craft, as it cuts through the waves of the zee, where before even the best designs could struggle. Where storms once terrorised the ships of trader and traveller alike, we can run quiet beneath its dangers, safe in the wondrous embrace of the deep. You fortunate few will see history in the making…”

The last lights of London pass the Eye.

“As we make this navigation through the waters of the archipelago, I can only hope that you will enjoy the journey. For our part, if you have any questions we are always happy to assist you. Feel free to explore the guest areas of the shop at your leisure. These servants will otherwise attend to your every need. For luxury, for science and for Britannia, I welcome you once more aboard…”

With that, the Captain departs, moving swiftly with his entourage up the staircase and out into the corridor, leaving all the guests to their own devices…
edited by Dorian Sharpe on 3/18/2012

22

((A question - are we to decide a posting order now, or for the moment it’s free interaction?))

23

((good question: for the moment it is free interaction))

24

Gneiss was confused. The journey had already started. The captain talked about things, but Gneiss couldn’t follow him in detail. The way the crew was standing there with the captain was the perfect motif. Gneiss wanted to capture this moment, but he needed to get closer. He waded through the crowd and when he was in the front he set up his camera with fast, trained hands.

And then: FLASH. That was the second picture – showing the captain with his officers.
For every photo Gneiss needed a dry plate – it’s a glass plate covered with a mix of gelatine and lightsensitive chemicals. These plates he needed to prepare in advance, so it was thoughtful to use the camera sparingly or else he would run out of plates. In that case he would have to bring some pictures onto paper, so he could clean the glass plates and reapply the chemicals.

The clayman looked around. All these remarkable people. Would he get along with them? Would they accept him? And then he realised one important thing. He represented London’s journalism on this boat. Of course that meant something. And even though his boss didn’t order him to do so, Gneiss wanted to ask questions and write down answers like a normal journalist.
But first he needed something to write on. And something to write with. Paper was torn easily and fountainpens were so fragile. But the captain mentioned they could ask the servants for things they needed. So he approached one of them while trying to look friendly.
„HELLO. NEED CLAY TABLETS AND CHISEL. PLEASE.“, he said with his monotonous, loud voice.

25

The servant looks up towards Gniess with barely a movement out of place. As if a clay man asking her for a tablet and chisel was merely an everyday task. Behind him, someone shifts, just for a moment, and the young woman’s masque tilts slightly in recognition.

“I apologise sir, but we do not keep materials of that nature aboard” she whispers in reply, “If you require assistance with your writing, we will be happy to arrange someone to be a scribe for you…”

“Oh…how amusingly exotic…a clay man aboard a luxury vessel. Do you think you’re people?” coos the Deviless to a companion in earshot, with a cruel edge to her voice.

26

For luxury, for science, and for Britannia indeed! These were all good causes, if vague ones. Then there were two great flashes of light, and Miriam saw, nearer the front of the crowd, the spectacle of a camera-wielding Clay Man. Making her way closer, she caught the Deviless’ cutting remark, and frowned a bit, but then, what else could one expect of Devils, really? They were charming, they were funny, but they were often extremely cruel.

“An interesting philosophical dilemma, that; can something that is not a person think itself to be a person? Are objects capable of self-delusion?” she asked. To the Clay Man, she added, “What is it that you need written down?” Because, person or not, a well-dressed Clay Man with a camera was exotic indeed; one couldn’t help wondering, and when Miriam wondered, it was difficult not to ask. She did hope he wasn’t Unfinished, though. That could be very dangerous.

27

The speech came at the right time as the only noticeable movements were those of the crew. Masked servants moved seemed to flow unnoticed by the edges of the crowd , attending to the needs of the passangers while the latter were dazzled at the wonders of the modern world. I could not allow to seem uninterested in the captain’s rethoric for the moment so my eyes darted from captain to crew to eye.
It would worry me less if the group I’m travelling with should be more homogeneous. Such a bizarre combination of the Fallen City circles. And even clay men .
For several seconds the search continued until the sudden realization hit him : “You’re looking at their faces”. Faces or masks? It didn’t matter, their movement was hypnotic and confusing . The porcelain white was a distraction if he had ever seen one.
(“I need to look lower”) - he said to himself. And there it was sticking like a sore thumb. A Maître D’ with small piece of paper tuckd into his belt on the left side from his derringer with a crimson surface flower scrawled on his face was holding a tray of canapés perfectly still, waiting for the captain to finish adressing the crowd. Now it was only a matter of creating a distraction. My hand begins to shake but I have to keep my focus. The champagne is counter-productive .

The low, cavernous voice made sure to attract the gazes of all guests and the theological debate that will soon follow will buy me enough time . ("You will be receiving a present from me, kind clayman ").
He moved in the direction of the canapé tray as it purposefully made it’s rounds while all of a sudden a severe coughing fit makes him hunch over and profusely thank the passing crew member for being allowed to lean on him to reccuperate despite carrying a tray of fungal goodness.
(“He didn’t even topple? They appear to be better trained than I thought”).

As he felt the piece of paper tucked under his cuff , he gave an reassuring nod to the aged socialité showing concern for him right now (“I need to dissappear”) :
-It’s mainly my lack of habbit , madam. I assure you that I’m as healthy as a horse.
After a brief exchange of words she politely excused herself :
-…it has been a pleasure Mr. Renwick.
And she left him towards the now distinguished guest , that had unexpectedly become the darling of the ball.

28

“He’s very proud,” said Martin.

“I agree.”, said Yana. “I would have written it off as Monague and Cristoph pulling a publicity stunt, but no one would risk an urchin or devil disrupting such an event. And I’m sure I’ve seen one or two of these guests on wanted posters.”

“Well, he’s probably just a nutter, then. Still, the crew’s armed and the guests ain’t, so there’s no point in worrying about them. They’re not going to cause any trouble.”

As if on cue, an argument broke out near the front of the ship. Between a deviless and a clay man, from the sound of it.

“Violent trouble,” clarified Martin, cutting off Yana’s smirk. “Still nothing you should be running around trying to fix. Remember, we’re here to relax.”

“You’re right, Martin. Perhaps a drink would take my…”

Wordlessly, almost out of nowhere, a masked attendant pressed a glass into Yana’s hand. They turned to thank the server, but he was already gone, blended into the crowd. Yana sniffed the drink.

“Scotch whisky. Single malt. From real malt barley too, not some fungal substitute. It’s my favourite brand too. So how did they…”

“Probably by reputation,” shrugged Martin. “Someone’s probably just trying to impress you. No reason to be paranoid.”

Yana was not convinced. Something was wrong here, even if they couldn’t put their finger on it. Or perhaps Martin was right, and they were overthinking things. They took a sip of scotch.

“Are you all right, Yana?”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s just a little crowded here. We haven’t submerged yet, so why don’t we head to the top deck for some fresh air. Clear my head.”

So they left the party, not noticing someone else decided to follow.

29

„WHAT A PITY.“, Gneiss said wearily, when he was told he couldn’t get proper writing equipment. Then he heard a woman talking about him. He looked at her. Yellow eyes, fangs – he could see them when she talked – definitely a devil. Gneiss didn’t like her making fun of him. But what should he do? Talk back of course. After all he was a journalist, so words, pictures and truth were his weapons of choice.

He went over to her. „JUST BECAUSE YOU CAN’T SNITCH A SOUL FROM US DOESN’T MEAN WE ARE THINGS.“ That was the best Gneiss could think of. He hoped to embarrass her moderately, not enough to make an enemy.

He went back to the servant. „SOME PAPER AND ANY KIND OF ROBUST PENCIL WILL DO IT, TOO.“ He hoped so, because he didn’t want to show his clumsines with small things. People were staring at him. He let them stare – he did what claymen could do best, the stoneface.

30

“It is a marvellous product of modern technology, that you hold in your hand, sir.”

Blue was holding a glass of wine in his hand, courtesy of the ever-present, long-eyed servantry. Discarding his well engineered façade of polite boredom for a blatant interest for the camera, he approached the Clay Man, without a single glimpse to the Deviless nearby.

“I dabbled in photography too, a while ago, but the results were far from flawless, I’m afraid. On the other hand, you - you seem to be quite the professional. Now; it seems that you find yourself in a bit of a predicament.”

With his free hand, he reached for his waistcoat pockets, producing a notepad and a slender pencil.

“I could easily provide with writing equipment. But I’m not sure my gear would be suitable for your writing style. So, an alternative could prove more viable, maybe.”

He was now smiling politely, without showing teeth.

“What do you think of a collaboration? You could keep your hands free for your wondrous instrument; and my writing skills aren’t nonexistent, as madame K*** could confirm - if she was here.”

31

The Revenge sails on, gliding through the waves as if it were a part of the black Unterzee depths istelf. From the deck, you can see the lights of Fallen London steadily fading in the distance, to the ever-present parting call of the throbbing engines that seem to gently part the waters with barely more than a whisper, though the steel beneath your feet vibrates with the life of it. A cool breeze wafts across you, bearing with it the tang of salt mixed with the metallic scent of steam rising from the grates above the engine deck. There are a few of the servants on deck with you, but here they seem less focussed upon the guests, and more upon the growing horizon of the wide Zee…

Back beneath the hull, the Grand Atrium teems with the sort of intrigue that would make even the most scandalous party seem politically correct. Most of the talk appears to be on the identity of its owner, but a few are discussing the true intention behind this cruise. For the most part, however, it appears to go on smoothly, even as a far louder discussion strains the proceedings. The ever-diplomatic Deviless is engaged in a debate with the Liberal Pontificator.

“Priests…radical scholars…Clay Men…I simply have no idea what this cruise is coming to. I would have felt that a gentleman capable of affording such a spectacular vessel could also screen his passengers…” remarks the Deviless

“Madam, it is not a matter of appearance, or of any choice. Clearly the owner was willing to include a variable cross-section of society, with any selection based purely on chance. If anything we should be celebrating the happenstance, not making a scene” he replies

“Oh hush. Devils and humans are capable of being offended. The same cannot be said of such amalgams, or foreigners who so well taint our exhibition of conscience…”

There is a stirring among the crowd as more and more people stop their conversations to listen to the debate. Several guests seem rebellious, and the servants have stopped in their tracks, heads all slightly inclined towards an unseen source…

32

Nora made her way over to the debate, standing among a few of the other guests as she listened. Of course, she was more likely than not considered one of the “radical scholars” the Deviless was speaking of, but she’d been called far worse than that. What use was getting offended when it would only give them more to talk about? Brushing away a few strands of hair, she stepped a bit closer, getting a better look at a few of her fellow passengers as she did so. The Clay Man they were speaking of was the one who had been taking photographs, which was interesting, and it looked as if quite a few people had chosen to speak with him rather than joining in the Deviless’ mocking.

Part of her wanted to cut in immediately and offer her point of view, but she spent a few moments studying the people surrounding the Clay Man instead. Two people had offered to help him write, a man and a a woman. The man was simply complimenting the photographer’s skill, but the woman had made a remark concerning the subject of the debate. With that in mind, she felt she could at least pose another question or two for those involved.

“Is it being sentient enough to take offense to an insult that makes one a person? If so, the definition of person could arguably be stretched to include many other living things that express similar emotions. If not, how does one define people?” Nora knew that some biting retort was likely to be thrown her way (if not more than one), but that hardly bothered her. Here was a conversation worth getting involved in.

33

Suddenly, a bellowing laughter. A single burst, then Blue regained his composure.

“Oh, my - please pardon me”, he explained. “But hearing a devil speaking about ‘their’ conscience… A devil with a conscience! It would be even weirder than a Clay man with a soul.”

34

There was a lot of commotion going on around Gneiss. Helplessly he looked around. So many people discussing. He heard the word „clay“a lot. The servant didn’t react to Gneiss asking for a robust pencil. One man did talk to Gneiss directly, but Gneiss didn’t understand at first this was an offer to write down things for him.
They just didn’t understand. He wanted to write himself. Nobody understood. And then people started talking about abstract things, like conscience and what made one a person or not. And while everyone wanted to join the discussion, Gneiss wanted to leave it right now.

He shouldered his camera with his right and took the rest of his luggage – unlike others he didn’t leave it for the sevantry to carry - with his left hand, before he left the crowd. He headed for the area of the atrium where there were fewest people. It was the library. The clayman didn’t care for the books, but for the calmness these shelves offered. He even could take a seat.
The next minutes Gneiss was wondering about what had happened back there. A hot-tempered debate, not quite what you would expect at the maiden voyage of a ship. Slowly Gneiss figured out this was because of all the different kinds of people here.

Addendum:
Gneiss stood up and entered a door leadin away from the atrium. Some time later he came back, but from another door. He sat down at the same place. Now he had a clay tablet and a chisel.
edited by Timotheus on 3/28/2012

35

((Uhm, will this go on? It has an interesting plot and fascinating characters. Please answer, if you want to continue this rp, because stopping here would be a pity.))

36

((Got no clue, but if we wanna just RP between ourselves waiting for news, fine for me, though I’m at a bit of a loss as to how to continue :) ))

37

((Please excuse me everyone, and thankyou for your patience. It has been a very hard few weeks for me, so writing has taken a backseat. I will be continuing this, however, if everyone still wants))

38

I’d love to play more of this. Exams are over, and I really need to work on my writing anyway.
edited by Patrick Reding on 4/23/2012

39

I’m in no hurry too. No problem for me in waiting until Dorian will have more spare time ^^