“Teresa La Coil. I usually just go by Tess though,” Tess introduced herself, quickly moving Toby’s leash to her other hand so she could offer hers to her greeter. Her hound was already at his usual business, nose pressed close to the ground as he tried to circle Sherman. It was a bit of a ballet to keep the eager hound from completely tangling him in the leash. “Would you be our intrepid host, Mr. Jones? No, of course not. Silly of me to even ask.” Something about slightly singed gentleman told her he was barely even comfortable in his own skin, much less this well kept flat. She scanned the room, eyes eventually settling on the relaxed Mr. Pincetich. That was a man who was in his domain if her judgement was correct, and she liked to think it usually was with these sorts of things. “I hope you have no objections to hounds, Sir.” She addressed him from across the room. “I find it rather unseemly to go anywhere without some manner of escort, and Toby is just about the most faithful guardian on four legs a woman could ask for. He’s very well trained, I assure you.” Almost in an attempt to undermine her own assurances, the hound began barking wildly as another guest burst through the window. “Hush Laddy!” she admonished repeatedly, brow furrowed as she tried to calm the startled canine. There was an unexpected cadence to her exclamations, revealing an old Surface accent that was normally suppressed in company.
Seth turned back to the woman, Tess she said her name was. He gave her a small bow, smiling, taking her hand not holding the leash in his own gloved hand and giving the tops of her fingers a light kiss.
“Not at all, my dear lady. Why, I have a certain menagerie of animals myself. Nothing on the gallant Mr. Inches, but a fine assortment. Perhaps I can introduce your fair hound to my two Hounds?” He was not referring to canines in the strictest sense, but rather the large, glowing white serpent, the Hound of Heaven, as well as the tentacled Rubbery Hound he had recently acquired. He had many other creatures, of course, which was one of the reasons the Manager had given him such a large suite. Seth was a man who was always prepared.
Seth spread his arms wide, facing all of his guests. “Ah, my friends, is this not a fine day? Or perhaps it is evening? It matters not, for this is Fallen London, the Fifth City bought by the Bazaar, and a place where friends and enemies of all shapes, sorts, and sizes may meet and make something of ourselves, in the place where eventually, everything comes. Please, help yourselves to refreshments, share what you have brought, whether it be fine tastes, gossip, or something more, it matters not, for tonight, or perhaps today, we are all the dearest of friends who have our own secrets and stories and mysteries to tell. Make yourself at home.”
He smiled broadly, his eyes glinting unnaturally once again.
Sherman Jones looked around the room, now with filled with guests, grinning wildly. Oh, this looked like it was going to be an enjoyable evening. Where to start? Should he grab something to eat, or introduce himself to the new guests, or browse some of the various exotic items scattered around the flat? Or he could- Wait, the Iron Republic. That was what he wanted to speak about. Needed to speak about. So, in a rare mood of semi-seriousness, Jones made his way over to their beloved host. “My good man, what was that you mentioned earlier, about the Iron Republic? Something about it being the destination for the Soulless?” He asked nervously, chuckling oddly and uncconciously reaching towards a faint scar on his wrist.
Glancing at Jones, Seth smiled slightly, speaking quietly so as eavesdropping would be something of an effort, leaning forward a bit.
“Ah, now that’s the question, isn’t it? You see, the Iron Republic is a colony of Hell. Hell is, of course, where the Soulless go when they die, permanently, or else those whose souls are filled with overwhelming amount of sin, if you believe the churches. And, as the Iron Republic is a colony, and therefore an extension, of Hell, it is actually possible that, one day, a Soulless may be trapped in that place. Forever.”
He stood up straight again, adjusting his suit jacket. “It is only a theory of mine, the devils there neither confirmed, nor denied my speculation. A tricky bunch they are, by nature. Nonetheless, after I went there, I took it upon myself to get my own soul back. Both contracts are mere ashes now, naturally. Don’t even know why I gave the damned thing away in the first place. Oh, but I was young then, and that charming deviless…” He paused, then cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Forgive me, I am woolgathering. When one is experienced, one tends to look back at their own past with, if not a fondness, then a curiosity.”
“One Exiled Lord, sorry but he has been awfully hard to find of late.”, said before chiming in on topic, “Iron Republic, colony, outpost, experiment… Hmm? Fantastic place as long as you don’t mind a more ‘lively’ atmosphere. I’m personally more of the favourable opinion that one day the Iron Republic will empty when the hosts of hell play games in contest of the 6th. Said charming deviless has been seen around with quite a few men of power before their rise… Maybe our Souls have value with respect to what we are GOING to do, instead of what we have done… Once again only an opinion.”
A glove out of one of it’s pockets raced across the table to pat all three hounds before racing back into the depths of the rags.
“But that wouldn’t explain why the most valuable souls only seem to show up at the owner’s True death!” Tess exclaimed, piping up at the Exiled Lord’s theory. She didn’t like to admit any interest in the soul trade, but the conversation was too interesting to resist. She was thinking of a glimmering jewel of a specimen she kept at home under lock and key, in a safe not even her dear Companion knew about. A trinket she’d held onto from a particularly interesting incident involving an almost unknown writer of unusual vision. His soul had proven to be the most valuable she’d ever seen, but she couldn’t imagine it being worth nearly so much if he hadn’t gone through the tribulations that ending up killing him. “But I do like the idea of a connection between power and the soulless. If you ask me, I don’t think the souls that we see circulating around are really souls at all -at least not whole ones. Rather, I suspect they’re sort of I.O.U’s for whatever part of the rest of it is left in us. After all, even the soulless need something to keep the blood pumping and the mind awake. What the sprifters take may only be the unnecessary bits, held on to until the rest of it is no longer needed.” A clay man held out a drink to her as she finished saying this, which she gratefully accepted. First Sporing, how lovely. She took a generous sip and glanced around sheepishly. “Of course, this is only a speculation I toy with as an outsider in the soul trade. I’d be just as surprised to be right as I would if the Captivating Princess were to walk in here right this second and ask for a cigar!”
Sherman’s mind was whirling with this information. Would he really be forced to spend an eternity in Hell? He never really thought of himself as a bad person, but he did lose his soul… Now in an even rarer mood of grimness, he looked up to Miss LaCoil. “Oh, but you haven’t seen the look in someone’s eyes as they lose their soul. How their very life itself seems to leave them. Of course, some take it better than others. But, I would argue that what we Spirifers take is actually the most important part of the person. Sure, they may still be living, but is life without a soul truly worth living?” And with that, Sherman Jones walked back over to his chair, slumped down in it, and mournfully reached for his abandoned wine glass. Forgetting what was in it, he drained it all in a single gulp. The glass fell from his hands and shattered on the floor. After a moment of silence, he looked up, grinning wildly once more. “Oh, but let me not kill the mood! Duncan, fetch me my black cloak! I feel the need to prowl the night!”
edited by Sherman Jones on 8/4/2012
Seth pondered this new information, or theory, what have you. He supposed that the Iron Republic, being an ever changing example of laws, even the laws of nature, would result in such varied opinions of its, for lack of a better term, reason. But he shrugged, turning back to Sherman. This opportunity was too good to pass up.
“Mister Jones, my dear friend, unless I am very much mistaken, and if I am may my hair burst into violet flames and my ears bleed, but you are currently studying the Correspondence, yes?”
Name: Nathan Gerimi
Age: Rather hard to tell, honestly, under that feathered… mask?
Sex: Really would prefer not to at this moment. Nathan politely thanks you for the rather abrupt offer, though.
Profile Page: Fallen London
Strongest Connection: Society (90), the second strongest being the Church (81)
Favorite Connection: Urchins (12). Useful or not, Nathan has a certain fondness for young ones.
Favorite Attribute: Approaching the Gates of the Garden.
Information That May or Not May Be Important: Nathan has a Membership to God’s Editors, has a significant other who is a Comfortable Intriguer by the name of Anansa, four vehicles of which are a Velocipede, Ratwork Velocipede, Clay Sedan Chair and Obdurate Stallion, a Submarine, and many different pets- which includes Nathan’s Adopted-ish Daughter. He lives in a guest room at the Brass Embassy, and is Soulless- even while working with the CVR where there is largest chance of gaining souls back. Also, a new rumor has started spreading about in concerns to this individual. It seems like it was something on the subject of Hesperidean Cider…?
How You Acquired This Month’s Invitation: It was found while talking with Phoebe in Hunter’s Keep. No one made a fuss, and so Nathan took it out of curiosity.
Any Other Relevant Or Irrelevant Information You Wish To Provide: Nathan is what you might call a reserved extrovert. While feeling most at ease in the company of others, it is quite a rare occasion that he will be the one to start up a conversation or divulge much information about current endeavors or the goings-on without being pressured into it. Many rumors circulate about this individual, none of which others can concretely accept or deny, for very few are close enough to know. Even so, many people enjoy use the socialite as a confidante, as for some reason his solemnly calm demeanor causes a feeling of trust. Most don’t go out of their way to ask anything of Nathan, being a reserved individual respected in both high society and the church. Even with the strong connections with those two groups though, Nathan is actually rather neutral when it comes to opinions unless you’re able to pick just the right topic.
~
Nathan walked softly through the Royal Bethlehem Hotel, feet soundless against the carpeted floor. After listening to one of the hotel’s guests tell stories for a few hours- they were always interesting if illogical. And besides, it would be quite rude to interrupt!- he was able to pull away after the other fellow starting screaming and shaking after a loud crash came from another part of the hotel. The socialite couldn’t help but be glad that Anansa had decided to stay at the Foreign Office. Companion or not, the Snuffer always did dislike when Nathan was pulled away from predecided plans.
Looking at the invitation one last time, the feathered figure scanned the hallway for the correctly numbered door. Even as he located it, a thought couldn’t help but pass through that this was the general area where the crash had come from earlier. Other guests from the Bethlehem would most likely be at the party as well then. It was hard to tell whether the thought was surprising or expected. As Nathan stopped in front of the door, one hand went down to gently pet the Corresponding Ocelot beside their figure- making sure to to keep from touching potentially dangerous runes- while the other went towards the door and knocked twice, making to sure to keep the knocks gentle yet succinct.
edited by NathanGerimi on 8/4/2012
“The Exiled Lord? I say sir were you not the one to write that astounding paper on Moon-Misers? I must admit I am pleasantly surprised to see that those Unfinished brutes haven’t gotten to you. Also, I find your theories on the Second City rather enlightening. I might need an autograph at some point.”
My, this party is much more interesting than the ones in Veilgarden. While the other guests went on about the Iron Republic Daniel was close enough to the door to hear the faint knocking. After seeing two guests arrive in Clothes-Colonies, exotic pets, and a scholar of the correspondence Daniel was wondering what this next invite might bring. He opened the door to see the man in the feathered mask and his corresponding ocelot.
“A fellow wearer of masks! Please come in. I am the Masked Gentleman, though you might want to introduce yourself to the rest of the guests.” I’ve seen that mask, Daniel thought, now what was it that gossip told me? By the Neath, isn’t he the one with the Cider!?
“Why yes I was… my interest with them started in my younger years when I was naught but a petty jewel thief… And you are most welcome Mr. Gerimi, is it true what they say? What wonders does the flask bring?”
The quivering mass of clothes seemed to stop writhing waiting with anticipation to hear everything about the legendary drink of drinks.
“A life is worth living with or without a soul, it’s affect on you depends entirely on your belief of it’s necessity. Many great men are now souless without as far as I can see any great loss… Unless maybe the I.O.U theory is right, in which case maybe the more empowered souls suffer less greatly when losing part of there former glory, I mean a hundred deaths in a village is a calamity but in a city every day life.”
“What value is a soul?! What value is the ability to dream? Or to write feel beauty? To feel joy that does not come from a bottle? While some of the folk of London may not miss theirs I cannot help but wonder why so many see a soul as a commodity when they would not view, say, their foot or hand that way. I know many a man missing an eye whose’s life is is no way impaired. Why should we not sell those to the devils?”
The Masked Gentleman gravitates towards the center of the conversation as he makes these points, and pours himself a glass of First Sporing to calm himself down. While speaking his hands have been gesturing wildly and waves of heat are coming off him. After draining his glass he places his hand upon his brow and continues.
“I cannot help but feel the soul contains some primal part of our existence that we cannot yet understand, but that the devils do. Why do they want souls so bad if they have no meaning?. If anything the fiend’s desire only strengthens the argument of their importance. After seeing a devil hunt a man for pleasure, and then see it drag take the corpse to Dante’s Grill, I believe that after eating the flesh of men that they desire the rest of the meal; the delicious soul. I view selling souls like selling a man’s heart to Mr. Hearts.”
“Thank you. I am known as Nathan Gerimi. I hope no one minds I brought one of my pets with me. He wanted to go for a ride.”
Nathan nodded politely to the Masked Gentleman then stepped inside, folding the invitation and putting it in a pocket. After moving out of the way for the Corresponding Ocelot- to which the pet immediately sniffed haughtily and walked inside, curling up in a corner with it’s ears perked for anything of potential interest to discuss- the socialite turn too look at The Exiled Lord, blinking calmly behind the beak. Seeing the ragged form, it was rather easy to deduce that this was resident of Bethlehem. In fact, wasn’t he the one who wrote that paper that has so many people in a tiff? Many people had come to complain to him on the subject of that, the figure recalled, not understanding what the big fuss was about.
“It depends. People say and have said many things. You have to be more specific. Ditto about the flask.”
Walking past The Exiled Lord, Nathan skimmed an interested eye to the other members of the room, then tuned back into the conversation. Souls were always quite a controversial and fascinating topic to listen to others discuss, after all.
edited by NathanGerimi on 8/5/2012
edited by NathanGerimi on 8/5/2012
“What do you think lights the furnaces of hell my masked friend? Or bends the very laws of nature in the Iron Republic? Devils do not have the powers to do either for that they need souls. Not necessarily the souls they possess but souls are definitely needed they are the power behind the Brass. Don’t you forget it.”, said the voice.
The rags of silk and and mass of clothing slowly tipped towards Nathan, a pocket watch slipping slowly out of one of the pockets before being sucked back into the folds. The briefest flash of something not quite skin or silk with what would seem to be a burning tattoo before being hidden in a flurry of movement. “Nathan you know full well of what I speak, can you travel through fields of green with the sun on your back? Have your lips touched the liquid brought from the Hesperides garden of Tartessos? Is death now nothing but a fear that is nothing but habit?”, with pressing urgency the mass asked, “Have your lips touched the elixir of the gods?”
“Although I can’t particularly say I enjoy the soul trade, I suppose one could argue a certain poetic aspect in the collection of already extracted souls. Could you imagine? A pair of lovers giving one another the utmost representation of themselves to be kept safe! It’s the ultimate show of trust, which would make the inevitable betrayal that comes with it all the more enthralling!” Tess mused, a romantic glint in her eye as she composed the scene. It was just the sort of thing she’d want to put in a play or an opera, if only -but no. She was quite through with the play-writing business, and would be for a long time if the Empress had anything to say about it. Still, maybe she could work it into some sort of short story. Her own small newspaper, little more than a vehicle for her to openly share her thoughts and findings, would publish it if no one else would. She sank into a plush chair deep in thought, eventually being roused again by Toby begging to be let off leash so he could investigate the room properly. “Look at me going on about that sort of fantasy, though. There’s really no place for it in such lively debate,” she chided, releasing the hound before taking another long sip of her wine, this time nearly draining the cup.
Sherman grinned wickedly. “Why yes, I am quite the scholar concerning that most dangerous of fields! And it is funny you should mention losing an eye, because I have a most wonderful experiment I’d like to attempt, if you fine folks would like to hear me out! But, what is the about the Cider? If we should have someone here who is an owner of it, I would like to know! Just think, that stuff would help my research astronomically! No longer would I visit the Boatman for something as petty as a burnt skull! And where are my manners? It is a pleasure to meet you, my friend!” And with that, Sherman reached his hand out to the newcomer.
Nathan inwardly smiled at The Exiled Lord’s questions. Ah, long-winded and roundabout. Just as preferred. The ocelot already started glaring at him from it’s spot, already knowing what was coming next.
“I can make my way through sun-soaked greenery as much as any Surface fish can easily make it’s way across a stretch of land, my lips have not touched either such thing as you had mentioned, and my fear of death is as it has been since I first came down from the Surface. I hope that answers your questions well enough.”
Even while responding, the socialite couldn’t help but think of what had been noticed of the wrapped in individual in front of him. It seemed the other was a fellow member of the CVR, if the pocket watch was anything to go by. Still, talk of souls and talk of immortality were not the same thing, so no need to express straightforward what the truth actually was went through the figure. The shown mark, on the other hand, was best to be kept in mind for later. Taking a quick look over at Correspondence Scholar, hope couldn’t help but come through that what was said would be enough to sate the man.
Meanwhile, the Ocelot sighed, standing up and padding further into the foray as Correspondence Sigils morphed, appeared, and vanished on his fur. “Really, I was expecting better conversation from some here when I saw them,” he said.
The feline turned it’s head to look at Tess at that moment. “You have your own statue of yourself, and are infamous for always having to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong in order to find actual evidence… And here you are going on about romanticized ideas? I have to say I’m rather underwhelmed.” If was obvious that if the cat had the ability to raise his eyebrow, he would have done so already.
After that, the ocelot turned to look at the Masked Gentlemen. “And you should be rather more careful what topics you discuss in front of whom, as it has been neither confirmed nor denied if creatures other than humans have souls at all. Honestly, with the downfalls that come with having a soul, I don’t understand why it occurs more often.” While talking, he had moved to sit on his hind legs. The sight would actually be quite statuesque if it weren’t for the continued dialogue.
“After all, with dreams come nightmares; with beauty comes ugliness; with good comes evil, and with souls comes the corruption of them. Very few people have have souls that could be considered bright these days- why would keep something that so many seem to consider a potential resource in a body where it can end up dimming because of any of your actions? It seems to me like the most logical thing would be to lock it away, or give it to someone else for keeping so there would not be any temptation to have that ‘brightness’ back in your life during a time when you’re feeling especially depressed or melancholy, which could in fact be one of the things that causes a soul to dim in the first place. And, if souls were in fact a primal thing, would it not be obvious to researchers if other creatures, such as myself, have souls to begin with?”
After a beat of silence, Nathan chipped in from a comfortable stance near the table, “My pet can speak. I may have forgotten to mention that.”
“Hahahahahaha”, Daniel boomed out, “an interesting viewpoint. Though I doubt I would cut off my skin just because it one day might be wrinkled, or occasionally itches. I wonder what a Clayman or a Rubbery would have to say on the soul trade. Would you gentlemen care to chime in? Seeing as you share a soul I wonder how that would work.”
Daniel then drops to one knee to look eye to eye to the Corresponding Ocelot.
"Quite the magnificent specimen you are. But is that the correspondence symbol for “a stomach in gluttonous desire for vigorous stroking?” Daniel grins at the cat. “Perhaps I can help?”
The Insatiable Detective visibly bristled at the ocelot’s curt words. One could almost see the individual hairs standing on edge as she pulled her shoulders back and arched her back, ironically looking much like a cat claiming its territory against another feline. “Some people prefer not to share every little opinion they have about others. I find it useful for dazzling them with my unexpected intellect once they’ve mistakenly underestimated me.” As put off by the corresponding animals words as she was however, she was more upset with herself for the truth behind them. She was being far too sentimental for her normal pursuits. Blame it on the wine or the atmosphere, but she was having too good a time enjoying the lively conversation to be inquisitive. This is why I prefer rats to cats. She’d need something of interest to focus on for the evening to keep herself from slipping into anymore romantic notions. Perhaps finding out more about their esteemed host? She still would like to know more about how and why this evening was arranged. And why I prefer scent hounds to ocelots for that matter. Speaking of Toby, the bloodhound had found his way behind the feline, and had decided to investigate it thoroughly, starting by sticking his cold wet nose on the dignified creature’s hind and giving it a good sniffing over.
“The Bazaar itself is quite a romantic it the nature of the neath to try and shape romantic ideals in even the most ruthless of us… Ever read any of the works of Silas? I wouldn’t be so harsh on Tess for her romanticism. I do however agree that souls are best dispensed of unless needed, which in my own experience is very very rarely. It can be quite a boon to be souless, though I typically bring mine out only to get it stained. Anyway what have the Masters and slaves of this city both want with romanticism? Is love like souls something that is able to be extracted? I wonder what chains and strings guide the Masters in their actions… Ever since I found the Masters value of love, I have started to treasure it more dearly… Anyway our most Esteemed Host what have you got to say about your most impressive history don’t be shy.”, said the ragged figure with much more enthusiasm than had been displayed tonight, except for it’s momentary interest in the cider.
As it finished it’s rant a salt weasel popped it’s way out of his hat and bolted towards Tess’s wine.