Occasion of Polite Intrigue and Unusual Invitation

A knock. Excellent, the first guest had arrived. Snapping his Iron Republic Journal shut and tucking it back into his jacket, Seth stood up, brushing his pitch black suit with his pitch black gloves. He strode over to the front door, then paused. Voices. Ah, so there was more than one guest here. In fact, it seemed there was three. Perfect. He adjusted his gloves for a few seconds, giving them time to acquaint themselves. He reached for the doorknob, but stopped as his outer suit pocket wriggled. He sighed, pulling out the Subtle Mole that resided in there.
“Toph, please, we have guests. And that means you will need to remain hidden, to find any lingering secrets and clues.” The little mole snuffled, then dug itself back into the pocket she resided in. Seth, adjusted his Master Theif’s gloves before opening the door.

“Greetings my fine guests. Welcome to my humble abode. May I please have your names?” He smiled warmly at his guests, glancing at one of them. Other than his other… intriguing qualities, his eyes were bleeding. “My good man, are you aware your eyes are leaking?”

“What? Leaking? Goodness, have I been shot?” Sherman replied, becoming flustered and dabbing at his cheeks with the soiled silk scrap. Sighing, Duncan replied “You’ve haven’t been shot, you buffoon. I told you not to try and decipher that sigil on the way over. You’re lucky that is wasn’t your hair this time.” Quickly losing his disrespectful tone, Duncan bowed to the man in the doorway. “Greetings, your lordliness. I am Duncan Bennet, humble servant to this bleeding fool, Sherman Jones. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Finished cleaning himself, Sherman looked up at the figure in the doorway. “Yes, a pleasure to meet you! My assistant here has brought some fine delicacies for the evening.” Sherman said, gesturing towards one of the trunks. “Wine, honey, absinthe, and even some souls. I didn’t know if we’d have any infernal types over or not. Better safe than sorry with their lot. You know, I once met a devil who claimed-” Another grunt from Duncan interrupted him once again. “Oh, but we can save this chat for once we are inside! I would like nothing more than a nice glass of First Sporing right now. Oh, and Mister Mask? Would you like your handkerchief back?”

Daniel was about to respond to Duncan as the door opened. Regarding his host, he looked quite similar to man he had met at the Iron Republic. Of course, at that time Daniel was too busy running from an angry mob to make small talk but amazing how small the Neath is.
“No thank you Mr. Jones, or should I call you Sherman? Please keep it in case you have a new break through.” Going to see about getting those souls off you. Perhaps poker. Or a look at my new manuscript.
He reached into his coat to pull out the invitation he had “discovered” and showed it to his host, placing the bottle under his other arm.

“Mr. Pincetich I assume? I assure my name is the least interesting I brought. May we come in?”

Seth smiled and nodded at Sherman Jones. Ah yes, the Correspondence. He made a mental note to discuss the subject further, perhaps help him out a bit, or maybe watch his hair burst into violet flames, whichever seems more appropriate later. He turned to the man in the handsome mask, before stepping back, raising an arm in welcome into his home.

“Of course, my good man. Welcome, welcome, all of you. Please, make yourself at home, and mind the Rats, they are not actually pests. Nor is the giant glowing white snake. And Duncan, my friend, you may relieve the trunks right by the door, a few of my employees will take care of them.”

Daniel strode into the room and took note of the extraordinary surroundings. “I say sir, the Museum of Mistakes might need to create a new wing for your collections. Is this a rubbery skull?”
Moving towards the mantelpiece, he pulled out an unusual monocle and begin to examine it. “Most complete specimen I’ve ever seen. Lovely fellows but they can be rather” he paused and placed his hand on his chin thinking, “peculiar.”

“Wonderful! I do tend to forget to keep those on hand! Oh, and you may simply call me Jones. Or Sherman. Or whatever you prefer, really. I’m not a picky man. Except when it comes to my selection of cheese. Oh, the stories I could tell about getting cut out of- Oh, another story for another time. Duncan, please get Margret from her cage. I’m sure she is in quite a foul mood from being in there so long.” With that, Jones strode into the room, Duncan unlatching one of the trunks behind him. With a grinding of metal, a small cage within the trunk burst open, and a sorrow-spider scuttled across the floor, up Sherman’s pants leg. “Now,” Jones said, not missing a beat “what is this about rubbery skulls? I thought those things were entirely made of, well, rubber!”

Seth clapped his hands together once, though the sound itself was oddly muffled.

“Ah yes! A souvenir from my time in Flute Street! I discovered quite a bit about our Rubbery friends down in those depths. In fact, from what I’ve seen, I believe they have been down here since before even the First City! Remind me later to show you the Fossil I found. It is, as they say, not from these parts.” He opened the Mantelpiece and pulled out the skull. “And you are right, Mister Jones, the Rubbery Folk are, in fact, rubber. Completely rubber.” He bounced the skull on the ground a few times, demonstrating. “Incredible creatures, really.”

He grinned, replacing the skull.

A foul taste danced across Daniel’s tongue as Sherman talked about Cheese. Too many sour memories there.
“What an adorable little sorrow-spider.” Hopefully it doesn’t consider you a marked apple. “Truthfully I’m surprised the Rubberies haven’t been hunted down for commerce’s sake. Though I wonder which Master would claim rights to that title. Hearts seem to be focused on meat mostly.”

Walking away from the mantel, and the spider, Daniel easies into the most comfortable looking chair and places his wine on the table.

“While cryptozoology is an interesting, though sometimes unappetizing, field; I’ve developed a new theory about the Iron Republic that I was wondering if you fine gentleman mind be interested in hearing? A little appetizer before we dig into the deep meta-physical discussions. Or at least the wine.”
edited by MaskedGentleman on 8/3/2012

Sherman watched in a state resembling glee as the skull bounced upon the ground. “That is truly incredible, my good man!” Jones exclaimed. “Imagine the possibilities we could harness with springy bones like that! I am imagining a new sport, based entirely off of the various bouncy bones of the rubbery body! But, I shan’t get ahead of myself here. And I’d like to hear these theories about the Iron Republic. And a spot to eat couldn’t hurt.” With that, Sherman sat in a chair across from the Masked Gentleman as Duncan brought him a glass of wine and a plate with various shapes of cheese on it. The sorrow-spider that resided in his pants quickly came out to snatch a piece of cheese before receding back into the safety of Sherman’s trousers. Leaning back, he produced an odd looking fork from his coat, with which he began to eat with. A Spirifer’s fork. “So, let us hear what you have to say about the Iron Republic.”

Sitting himself down in his favorite chair, Seth sat back, knitting his fingers together, as the door opened loudly. Turning his head, Seth smiled at Gregory and Lincoln, his Clay Men employees, carrying two large crates and a smaller black crate between them.

“Ah yes, very good. And help Duncan with Mister Jones’ trunks please.” The Clay Men nodded, opening the crates before going about their next assignment. Seth leaned over and took a wine from the black crate, pulling out a large bottle of something that no one should drink. The bottle shook slightly as he uncorked it, a slight fragrance of wormwood and leather wafting from it.

“There, the perfect drink for discussing the Iron Republic. Fire away, my good man.” Seth said, raising the bottle, chuckling slightly at his own, albeit subtle, joke.

Seeming to freeze for a moment, Daniel regains his composure leans back into the chair. Spritfer. That reminds me of a few more theories I’ll need to bring up this evening.


"Mostly I believe that the Iron Republic is not quite the anarchists paradise it proposes itself to be. Let us consider firstly what it means to be an anarchist. One who believes in a society without any form of law or government. The Iron Republic is in direct contradiction of this. Rather than no laws it is a series of constantly changing abstract rules. They claim to have no tyrant last more than a day, but would an anarchist state ever have that tyrant to begin with?

No. Rather I believe that the Iron Republic is not the anarchist’s paradise, but instead the revolutionaries. A land were you can constantly snub the law, and in fact are expected to. A constant state of change and upheaval. What is a revoltion without a tyrant to overthrow? The Iron Republic gives the more radical sections the chance to constantly feel like they have succeeded without actually having achieved anything.

In fact I can’t help but feel it is more of a ploy by the devils for easy soul abstracting. I also feel that it while it distracts the bombers and arsonists, what of the free thinkers who might take a more rational approach and bring a little social justice?"

This conversation is also filled with several hand gestures, and when he is done he begins to sip on a glass of wine.
“What do you think? Have either of you been there?”

"Claymen, the most loyal of all. Though I must pass on the absinthe. Mainly because, as I’ve heard from a very respectable women, Mr. Wine’s absinthe is not absinthe. Rather, that is just the code for any drink that would harm the user.’
(Probably my last post for the next 8 hours. Looking forward to your replies.)

Sherman looked up from his drink and smiled. “Me? No. I’ve never been there, but it sounds quite lovely. A place where we are free to do as we please, with little order? Sign me up. As for the devils, as long as they don’t distract my trade over here” at this point, Jones waved his fork slightly, “then I am fine with what they are doing. Now, may I ask what your stance on the Revolution is? You seem to regard the anarchists as those who would bring us justice. Talk about politics always brings some heated debate, and that is next to honey in the amount of excitement that it brings.” With that, Jones shifted more comfortably in his chair. “And what is that about absinthe being harmful? It must be nonsense! I drink it all the time, and I’ve never felt better!”
((I also shall be inactive for some hours. I eagerly await to continue this further.))

Seth nodded, sipping the Black Wings Absinthe straight from the bottle and shuddering slightly, his eyes glinting unnaturally for a second.

“Mmm, revolutionaries, though entertaining to watch, are not, in my opinion, people to follow. Change in policy is never made through loud and obvious action, but through the unseen hands and subtle changes of those never heard of. And as for the Iron Republic, I have been there several times, in fact. I was never under the impression it was meant as a paradise for anyone, anarchists or revolutionaries included, but a colony for Hell itself. The devils have decided that it would be infernally prudent to invest in expanded real estate. The utter chaos and unpredictability of it is the interesting and hellish promise of the devils, and what awaits the Souless.”

The inner pocket of his jacket felt heavy as he spoke, and remembered the time he spent in that place. It was what prompted him to recover his soul after it had been seduced from him by a deviless. “That place changes a man, in ways impossible to predict, as is its very nature, something no mere paradise, anarchists or otherwise, could hope to accomplish.” He took a swig from his bottle. He had acquired all ten of these bottles almost a year ago. Before he went to the Iron Republic. He held out the bottle to Sherman, the “liquid” inside sloshing moreso than a normal wine.

“This is no ordinary absinthe, my friend. Mr Wines himself made it. His Amused Lordship tells me this particular batch was made as part of a pact, and is… different from what he traditionally makes. Have a drink, but know that it is unwise to ever drink it alone.”

Checking herself over again with a compact as their landau sped across the city, Tess sighed with frustration. “You know, I really think I should have dressed differently, don’t you agree? Any event being thrown at The Bethlehem is sure to be filled with the sort of folks who would appreciate a well-dressed clothes colony, and you know Topsy’s so irritable lately I’m sure it’d enjoy a nice evening out-” Her dashing companion cut her off, stopping short what he was sure to be a long-winded babble. “Topsy’s always irritable, you were the one who said you wanted to put your best foot forward, and we’re already late enough that you’d miss most of the evening if we were to turn around so you can change. Are YOU sure you don’t want me to come along? Not knowing the guest list, who knows what sort of scoundrels could be there.” Smiling teasingly, Tess shook her head. “The invitation was rather vague about plus-ones, best not do anything they’d find impolite. Besides, with Toby at my side and this-” a glint of steel as she flashed a ratwork derringer, “in my pocket, I think I should be able to handle any mischief that comes my way. But bringing up scoundrels, don’t tell me you’re worried one of them might lure me away from you?” She was practically purring, leaning forward in the cramped cabin to show off her admirable cleavage. His answer was a sudden but lingering kiss, lasting until their transport pulled up in front of the hotel. “Not unless you manage to find someone who could beat that.” He told her in a private whisper, helping her out of the landau with a gentlemanly air.

Tess strode into the hotel with her head held high, a generously sized box of honey-spore truffles from her favorite confectioners under one arm, the leash of a drooping but keen-eyed old hound held tightly in the other. Her normally unruly head of curls was relatively tame, her dress clean and stylish (Though a little tighter in places than she’d care to admit. It may be time to invest in a new corset. Either that or restrain herself during the dining portion of tonight’s festivities.) and her entire manner one that set her composure miles above than of the hotels usual patrons. She smiled politely to the Manager and found her way to the suite she’d been summoned to. With a resounding rap on the door her host was informed that the third guest of the evening had arrived.

“Well, I don’t mind if I do!” Sherman said graciously, draining what remained in his glass and replacing it with the black substance that was sloshing alarmingly. “Sir” Duncan began, “Do you really think that is wise?” Scoffing, Sherman prepared a snappy comment, but was interrupted by a rap on the door. “Oooh, I hope you don’t mind if I answer that Seth? I just do love meeting new people!” Not waiting for a reply, as one who manners matter little to, Jones strode across the room and opened the door for the third guest of the evening. The woman who stood before him captured his gaze for a moment. The Correspondence sigil for ‘beauty’ danced before his eyes. Shaking his hand, he put on his best smile and said “Sherman Jones, a real pleasure to meet you!”

Taking the of the Black Wings Absinthe back, Seth smiled as Sherman got up to answer the door. He was a funny little man, Jones. The Correspondence, it seemed, had ravaged his mind. He remembered his own study on that subject. And the opera he made from using its notes, as well as the circumstances those glass instruments caused. He wondered vaguely if it had caused him to be as eccentric as Jones here. But, that was the past, and the only thing the past was good for was making old secrets and mysteries.
He stood up, placing the bottle on a nearby table, and faced the doorway, to greet the newest guest.

“Truthfully I think the revolution is similar to a doctor trying to mend a broken bone by removing the entire skeleton. London is not perfect but-” he stops as he hears the knocking and watches Sherman open the door for a most magnificent women. The last to approach the door, he walks over smiling while standing behind the other gentleman.

I recognize that…face, yes, that’s what I was looking at. She’s the renowned detective, now what does she call herself? The Unsociable Detective? Unstoppable? Impervious? Insatiable, that’s it.


“The Insatiable Detective herself. It’s quite an honor. Your statue doesn’t do you justice.”

A loud trudging was heard from above followed by a few mumblings then swiftly after a mass covered in a multitude of silks crashed through the window with books in either hand. It slowly rose to it’s feet making cracking and popping noises as it did to look at the gathering throughout it’s luminous flaming goggles. The mass took a slightly slouched apologetically before a voice as if very far away emitted itself from the depths of it’s form, “Hello, I’m most sorry for all this lateness, I couldn’t find the door. Shameful I must admit considering I live in this very Hotel.”
Looking around the room he quickly shambles to the table dropping a sack to his side as he collapses into a chair.

Seth turned quickly, squinting his eyes and raising his arm to his face for a second before sighing and lowering his arm. If it wasn’t for his… empathic connection for this place (he had spent a much larger amount of time here, before he owned this room, and had developed a likening to the place) he would begin living at one of his other abodes. The neighbors were just unnecessarily eccentric.

“My guest, please, could you not have simply asked the Manager? He is not an unreasonable man. Now, if I may, can you tell me your name, or the alias you go by?”