(Heh. I shouldn’t be happy about that. If my character knew the Princess was after her, she’d flip out. Her parting with the Urchins was not cordial or fair, to put it lightly.)
There, she’d finally gotten him to show signs of interest… Now to keep things going just a little longer. “If your price is a favour, I’d be willing to help you with anything in my power, but if you hope to get something from me, I’m afraid I don’t have much… And if it’s my soul you want, it’s worth a bit more than just a couple devils. And even so, I’m afraid it’s s bit stuck where it is at the moment.” The next had not started yet and it seemed they were the only ones left on the dance floor, luckily they were off to the side of it and so they didn’t draw too much attention. “Well, that was a lovely dance, but it truly wore me out. If we could return to the table now, or perhaps retire to your room?” She let the question linger, hoping we would agree to the former. She hoped to talk to Teresa before the girl tried to escape, although she did have a couple friends watching the roof just in case.
(No problem, just glad that we can start again :) We definitely need to bring Alexx back though, looks like he hasnt had a chance to do anything in almost a month)
(We have internet here, expect MUCH quicker replies)
Zeel chuckled at the soul comment. "Despite my infernal leanings, I do not seek souls. At least, not for personal reasons. They’re merely a source of income. Reasonable profit, but material goods are only a means to an end. However, I will aid you, we can discuss terms later. This dance is nearly over and as much as I would love to retire to my quarters with you immediately, I can tell from the look in your eye that you have unfinished business here. Perhaps you wish to speak with Alexx more, or another party. At any rate, I shall grant you your privacy".
Without another word, Zeel walked into the crowd and seemingly vanished.
(Hey, this looks like fun! Do you have room for one more? :) )
(The more the merrier, although I’m kind of waiting for Alexx to take a turn. You can pop in when you think you should. Where in these intrigues would your character fit in?)
(The Foolsman is a trader in memories, of sorts. Hell is neither intolerant or tolerant of them; the Embassy prefers to keep them close, as at least then they can see what they’re up to. I can put down their backstory if you like?)
(Yes. Backstory is good)
(Yes, welcome, join. Sorry it goes slow at times, but I think at least most of us are still interested. And yes, we’d love to hear your backstory)
“The Foolsman. With a capital ‘T’” whispers the valet to the doorman. The devil rolls his eyes. How one is supposed to pronounce a capital ‘T’? He pretends to ignore the fact that the valet is a Bandaged-Man, and that the carriage looks exactly like one that was stolen from the home of an elderly socialite, and turns to the ballroom.
“The…Foolsman!” he cries. A flurry of expensive velvet sweeps into the middle of the dancers, and tears away a green-eyed devil to shake his hand furiously. The bandaged-valet stands nearby with an air of apathy towards the whole event.
Zeel watched the scene before him impassively, allowing others to move past him like the shade he really was. He noticed it was hard to focus upon the Foolsman. He briefly contemplated the involvement of irrigo then dismissed it, knowing that irrigo had a far different effect on the mind. Irrigo is what causes one to forget, it is not something which disrupts the forming of memories.[li]
"This individual may be the most interesting being at this party" he thought to himself, further observing the man’s actions, or attempting to, in particular the way he dealt with this admirer. Friend or foe, Zeel would discover more about this man.
The Foolsman glanced at the dance card the green-eyed devil had palmed to them in the exchange. Intimacy had its advantages; it helped to have casual assignations in every corner of the 'neath when one dealt in terrible things. On the card were the four names of those the infernal had taken note of during the party - individuals who seemed to be mired in thoughts of some substantial nature. If all went according to plan, both would make off with a healthy stipend that would last them at least a few hours drinking unhealthily in the Bazaar.
The Foolsman was not one for subtlety. "Zeel! I am looking for a thing named Zeel! I should like to dance!" they shouted out in the middle of the dance floor.[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 2/27/2014
Oh. Good.
The arrival of the gentleman–at least, she thought he was a gentleman. Was he technically a Foolsman instead? She had no idea what that was, but it didn’t matter. The mysterious man had drawn the room’s attention to him. All the dancing, all the whispering had slowly petered out after his entrance and strange announcement. That meant that nobody would be looking at her anymore.
This also meant that her way out was blocked. But that was okay. The Foolsman would be on the dance floor soon, with Zeel (whoever Zeel was). She could slip out easily enough. Teresa allowed herself to smile, slightly. Praying for a distraction had been her modus operandi for a long, long time. She knew that it would work some day. She slowed down to a walk, feeling relief at the thought of the false stars that would soon be over her head.
The Foolsman saw a little smile cross the face of Teresa, as they assumed her name was. Perhaps it was evident in her manner. Her walk, her speech, the way she carried herself about these terrible folk in general bespoke of desperation, of a plot deeper than the banal sort those enamoured of devils usually had. She had a hungry walk, they decided. Moreover, she looked at them as if she had assumed something, which was more disturbing.
They looked to their bandaged valet, "Diogenes"
Diogenes pretended his name hadn’t been Tarquin less than an hour ago, "Sir?"
"Go and attend to that girl. Offer a dance, a drink. If all else fails offer to escort her home with my compliments. It’s too early to lose a customer"
"Sir, we are in the Brass Embassy…" whispered the valet.
"Oh come now. Nobody’s going to shoot me here. Outside, of course. But here it would just be rude"
"As you wish"[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 2/27/2014
How interesting. This character knew him, yet wanted his attention. Most people who knew of Zeel moved the other way. Zeel may not be able to make him out, but an absence can be just as noticeable as a presence, more so at times. The gap in his memory made this man the most distinctive in the room. Of course he would dance. A closer look may reveal more.
Zeel walked directly up to the Foolsman, trying to at least make out his eye colour. "I am the one you seek. We shall dance, and whatever business you have with me shall be stated". Before the Foolsman could reply, he had already been pulled onto the dance floor. Just as the Foolsman tried to speak, Zeel spoke over him. "And remember, everything has a price"
((I’d like to join this as well, though I can’t promise I’ll limit myself to one character. Is that okay?))
(Please, feel free to join. So long as your multiple characters aren’t in a massive conspiracy to defeat us, it’s all goods. :D )
They preferred a forward gentleman. And this ‘Zeel’ was very forward. As they swept around the dance floor in the practiced loops of a demonic waltz The Foolsman leant in close, their lips almost brushing Zeel’s cheek.
"Good. Then allow me to be frank at the commencement. I think you have no soul. I think it is because a part of it drives you away. This is a consequence of your memories, and these are what I seek. I do not offer a price: I will ask of you what I wish, and you will ask for what you wish in trade. We bargain. We sign. The rest, we can discuss when our business is made" Their mocking smile does not fade away, but only as a matter of appearance. But they whisper on. The Foolsman’s tone becomes gentle. Lavender and myrrh come sweet upon each word like a song in a honey-dream.
The devils watch the pair turn, silent as if in some admiration of their technique.
"So. I want your memories. I want those thoughts, the notions that drag you down. The reasons you are trying to distract yourself by committing me to mind. Name your price, and I’ll name mine"[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 2/28/2014
(I can’t promise Adrian won’t try anything–the man’s always enjoyed a good stabbing–but there certainly won’t be any unprovoked attempts on your lives. Unless you need an antagonist, that is.)
(Hey, as one charlatan to another, you’re welcome here :P)
[li]
((Excellent!
Er, I’ve given parts of his backstory in the other thread, but here’s a basic summary of the stuff I don’t mind confirming: he’s fully human, he’s a powerful criminal mastermind, and he’s obsessed with secrets. The Devils know who he is, as do the Masters, but otherwise he tends to avoid revealing his identity to anyone else. Both parties humour him, though he doesn’t trust the Devils to continue to do so. He’s ruthless, cold-hearted and occasionally vicious.))
"Harold Bertram." Blue eyes. They were staring at the devil over the faded yellow collar of his overcoat. Cold.
The Devil nodded and turned his eyes downward. A regretful twist of the lips: "I’m so sorry, sir, but you don’t appear to have received an invitation." He fully expected the man to insist. Devilish parties always had lists; they gave the appearance of exclusivity. But really, the more humans–mortals–who attended, the better. And the ones who were desperate to get in–the ones not important or interesting enough to receive an invitation–were the ones most vulnerable to the charms of the Abstraction. Why turn them away?
"Let me see the list," Bertram nodded slightly, not moving an inch. His voice was cold, too, though not impolite–it was detached. Like a chunk of steel, or a blade without a hilt. The Devil hesitated, then smiled and turned the paper sideways so that they could both see it.
He gestured at the h’s. "See? No Haro–"
Bertram tapped one of the names part of the way down the S’s. The Devil froze, briefly, examined the man’s features more closely, then beamed.
"Ah! I see it now; thank you, sir. I don’t know how I could have missed it!"
Bertram nodded. "Have I missed anything?"
"Nothing of note, sir. An intrusion earlier by a party of ruffians, but they’re gone, now." The Devil’s tone had changed. Before he’d been trying to imply a certain foolishness, in order to foster the belief that he could be outwitted; now he was polite and deferential. "Bertram’s" soul could still be won, but not with the usual tactics. He’d made that abundantly clear. "Shall I take your coat?"
"No need. Thank you." Bertram stepped around the Devil sharply–deferentially, though; what an odd combination–and into the ballroom.
Now then. Where–Ah. His eyes landed on the Foolsman, slid off him, and were forced back. How interesting. A creature who could not be identified. Perhaps this visit would be worthwhile after all.
He found a chair at an empty table and sat, observing the creature as best he could. Bertram didn’t seem particularly out of place–his overcoat was good make and superb quality; certainly not something one would be ashamed to wear, though perhaps not as fashionable as the garb of the more socially inclined attendees. And everyone else was staring at the creature, anyway (except the Devils, of course, though they knew better than to appear totally uninterested).
The thing was making quite a fuss over a pale man he vaguely recalled from one of his previous visits. A resident, if he was not mistaken. Perhaps he was more interesting than he’d assumed.
Elsewhere: a woman he certainly recognized; she was quite the trouble-maker. An assassin, too. Went by "the Devious Princess," if he recalled correctly. Most of her history unknown, despite the best efforts of some of his lesser spies. Hmm.
He scanned the crowd quickly. Alexx Norton he knew from one of the battles of Wolfstack Dock, a battle he’d participated in. They’d been on the same side for the last part of the fight, but Ferenczy doubted he’d have turned if his allies hadn’t been losing as badly as they were. There was no danger of recognition; Ferenczy’s face was clear of marks, today, but as a Neddy Man he’d been heavily bandaged and covered in false scars.
Now he just had to hope to go unnoticed until something truly interesting happened.[/li][li]
edited by Snowskeeper on 3/1/2014