Roleplay Anyone?

Fallen London
61

With the Foolsman now on the dance floor, the way out was open. Teresa practically skipped her way out–only to run smack into a valet.

“Good evening, miss,” he said, pulling into a shallow bow. “My name is Tarquin.” He muttered something sarcastic, but she couldn’t quite hear him.

“Er, evening,” Teresa replied, a little flustered by the valet’s behavior. She always felt obligated to bow in return, but that would be a very gauche response. It still demanded some sort of response, so she awkwardly dipped her head by way of greeting. “I apologize. Was I in your way?”

“No, actually. I was looking for you.”

The door might as well had slammed shut. She couldn’t have expected to leave this easily. In a panic, she stared at the valet’s face. His eyes were human, but what about the person he worked for? Were they here right now? She tried to scan the room, but there was too much movement, too many distractions.

“You seem nervous miss. What’s troubling you?” The valet gestured at the dance floor. “It’s a party. You should be out there.”

“I can’t dance,” she said, lamely. “It–the party–”

“And what have you to fear? Stepping on your partner’s feet?”

“Yes.” Her face began heating up, and it wasn’t because of the dance floor. The Urchins hadn’t kept her for her stunning alibis.

For a moment, the valet winced. But then he smiled again and pointed at his shoes. “Any shoes that can stand on the Embassy’s dance floors can certainly handle an errant foot. It will be no problem for me, If you would do me the honor of taking the next dance.”

The current song still had a ways to go, but Teresa was paralyzed with indecision. Fleeing a party was bad enough socially. Turning a dance offer down was make things worse. The repercussions of dancing with a valet never occurred to her, not when a two pronged quandry left her more than enough to ponder. And she still had no idea why the valet wanted to talk to get so badly. She looked to the side tables. If she could just excuse herself and find a spot to sit, she’d have a place to catch her breath and clear her head. Unfortunately, her old spot had been taken, and all the rest were filled with partygoers who actually wanted to socialize.

There was one table nearby, occupied by a lonely man who looked very much like he did not want to be disturbed. Good. Hopefully she could sit there and they could mutually ignore each other in awkward silence.

And hopefully she’d also suddenly inherit a fortune from some recently deceased uncle.

She looked at the table, crying, “Oh!” in false recognition. Excusing herself, she left the valet and seated herself at the table, across from the gentleman. “Hello,” she said, plastering on a smile. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you last!”

62

What. He scanned her face, briefly. A little older than most urchins; he certainly wouldn’t have hired her as an agent among them. No other reason why he’d hire her over one of his own; certainly no reason he wouldn’t remember her face having done so. Not that she’d remember his in any case. He wasn’t one to socialize idly. Perhaps she knew him from another party? Unlikely. Was she anyone interesting? He’d know something about her if she was. Nothing for it, then; time to narrow things down.[li]

By the time she was close enough to get a good look at his face, it had softened visibly. You couldn’t have mistaken what was there for warmth, but it wasn’t cold, either. It was simply bored and dispassionate. The face changed as she sat down–now it was amused.

&quotHello,&quot he replied, his tone matching his mask. &quotYou’ll have to forgive me; I don’t quite recall your face. Where was it that we met?&quot She might lie. That was alright. Lies had truth to them, same as anything.

63

Zeel had thought himself beyond emotion. There were few things he felt besides pain anymore. However, the audacity this man had to rob him of his sentence, the one thing that defined him?! Zeel attempted to control his anger, however, one who does not often feel is not good at handling the rare occasions emotions appear.[li]
&quotFoolsman is an accurate name for you, Sir. I will tell you this once, and only once. Every man has memories he cannot lose, or he will lose himself completely. There is only one thing I would ever want from you and, unless you are more powerful than the Bazaar itself, I doubt you could give it to me. Now, I have decided your mystery is not one worth uncovering, instead my warning is one worth heeding. Stay away. If you attempt to take what is mine again, you will suffer a fate that would make you wish you were burning in Hell for all eternity. Now, if you will excuse me, I plan to dance with my date again&quot

64

The Foolsman caught a flicker from their valet. The girl would stay. Excellent. Society was it’s own worst enemy; if they were truly hairless apes, as Southwark’s Bishop often claimed, they would be above such scruples as that of trifling ‘culture’. Hell existed for a reason. The poor child could not be entirely blamed, however. Where it concerned word association ‘bandaged’, ‘valet’ and ‘dance’ came somewhere near ‘clay’, ‘man’ and ‘tango’ in nature, a mistake one made only once. Well, twice, but only because one was very drunk the first time. More troubling was the company she sought…he looked familiar. Wolfstack? Yes, though they could not recall which side the fellow was on. Hopefully he didn’t know the landlord…

Awash in their reverie The Foolsman barely noticed that Zeel had moved away. It was only when they heard his voice shaking the rafters that they paid any attention. He was angry. Predictable, but not incomprehensible – few received the offer with happiness – and it was impossible to avoid when one trod on such delicate memories. Their best clients started off in anger.

“…my warning is one worth heeding. Stay away. If you attempt to take what is mine again, you will suffer a fate that would make you wish you were burning in Hell for all eternity…”

A threat of hell? Marvelous! Would that they could. If only he’d called their name into question…perhaps he had…hopefully he had.

The Foolsman matched pace with the furious gentleman. “‘The’ Foolsman. Capital ‘T’. ‘Man’ as in ‘mankind’. You confuse me for a monster, Sir” they whispered, “And yourself to that end. I do not remove entire memories, not unless they are offered. I seek only moments in time. In your case the memory of a terrible pain, a realisation that lasted approximately two to three seconds if my calculations are correct. All else remains, but that…stain…if you will. But, no, I do understand. All too well. Good evening…”

‘There. A scent. A glimpse. They could see it clearly. Eyes set a thousand miles, back straight, teeth grinding beneath paled lips…’

Away from the crowd, the bandaged-valet drew out a leather case, and found a list. Beside ‘Zeel’ he made a tick.[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 3/1/2014

65

&quotAre you aware that two or three seconds can forge a man?&quot Zeel asked, his anger once again muffled under one of his personae. &quotIt can take a moment to die…or to kill. Although, to be fair, my first kill was a rather…extended experience&quot. Zeel smiled slightly, as one smile at their pet snuggling up to them. &quotAs for my soul, you must understand, that is a tatty thing which is damaged beyond all repair. You can thank the Starveling Cat for that one. You might be interested to know that if an individual comes near their soul, they will be overwhelmed with an urge to reattain it, even if it is damaged so. Why that is, I can’t tell you. It is rather hard to connect a soul to its owner, getting a soul and contract that match is quite the rare occurrence. Happened once, but the owner was long since dead. But I’m prevaricating. I want to know something of you before I let you go. Devils seek souls, who do you seek memories for?&quot[li]

66

It was a small change in attitude. Unexpected, too. The Foolsman could still sense the anger bubbling away beneath Zeel’s pretty façade, but other emotions were seeping through. It was…unusual for potential clients to change in temperament so quickly. But if this was an olive branch, far be it from them to refuse it.

The Foolsman drew a card from beneath their coat, “acta deos numquam mortalia fallunt, dear sir&quot they paused for a moment to enjoy the wave of brief shivers that passed through the eavesdropping devils, &quotConsider me, and I shall answer your question” They matched the tone of Zeel, pleasantly abstract but careful enough.
[li]

67

Teresa started to pull together some bizarre cover story, but then stopped once she realized that it was a remarkably bad one. Who’d fall for the &quotlong-lost relative&quot story anymore? It was horribly cliche and unconvincing. All her little deceptions over the course of the party had gotten her nothing but trouble. It wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth this once. He seemed kind enough.

She sighed, trying her best to sound exhausted and helpless. Which wasn’t so much a credit to her acting skills as to her desperation. &quotTo be honest…you haven’t met me before. I’m just trying to get away from someone who’s been bothering me. I’m sorry for intruding like this. Coming to this party was a mistake. All I want to do now is leave, but I can’t seem to get out.&quot He was looking at her strangely–had she made another mistake? &quotI…I feel like someone’s after me. I feel like someone’s trying to keep me in here.&quot

68

Honesty. Definitely not one of his, then. Or perhaps she was better than he thought, and this little truth was part of the larger deception. The desperation seemed real, but then, liars were often desperate.

His face had a little smile, now. Wry, though. Not I’m happy, but Is that so? &quotIf you think that someone is trying to keep you here, they almost certainly are. Especially here.&quot He lowered his voice, though he made sure the nearest Devil could still hear. No need to antagonize them. &quotDevils aren’t above performing the Abstraction upon youth.&quot His voice, however, was still light and amused–conspiratorial, even.

It wouldn’t be the Devils. Rather too obvious for them. And using a Tomb Colonist? Hardly. He’d seen her walking away from the valet; using someone so unfashionable as a means of entrapment was entirely unlike them. There were a few people present who would be willing to hire a Colonist in such a visible position–most of them socialites trying to look egalitarian–but Zeel’s shouts gave him all the information he needed to figure out who exactly it was that was trying to keep her in attendance.

&quotThat Valet doesn’t seem Devilish, though. And look: The Foolsman’s causing quite a stir. It said something about the value of memories–that is, the man talking to it did,&quot he corrected himself, making a self-deprecating motion with one of his arms. Silly me. His voice was still low, but now there was a reason for it–with luck, the half-hearted conversations going on around them would be enough to conceal their conversation from the Foolsman and his conversation partner. Even the Devils weren’t really paying attention. Were they interested in the Foolsman, or in Zeel’s reaction to it? &quotDo you have any memories it might be interested in?&quot
[li]

69

Zeel took the card and, after glancing at it for a moment, placed it within his pocket. &quotI will consider, but I will offer no commitment. I will, however, tell you that had you offered me this deal a year ago, I would likely accept. For some people, a moment can turn them to steel, and all you need do is remove that one pin for them to return to their previous jellied state. I am not like them. I will never be as I was. That is something you must understand. Do not seek me out again. I will find you when the time is right for you to answer what I ask&quot. With that, Zeel turned and sat at a table with some rather high-ranking Devils. He didn’t join in the conversation, but only a fool or one very close to Hell would disturb him here.[li]

70

A perverse sort of tremble passed through The Foolsman. Confrontation was bliss. Attention was immortality. The trick was in rattling the chains just enough to attract a second glance; the sort of moron who fell for them first time had no memory of value to the Bazaar. Zeel would return on his terms – to his mind – and that was as good as any promissory note. The Foolsman now knew that the gentleman was evil by circumstance, wounded by fate and practically dying to escape into the chaos of Fallen London; highly intelligent; ironically hubristic, considering the location. They knew at least a prologue. In return Zeel had learned…The Foolsman was greedy. And bizarre. And pretty. No. Not bizarre. That came later.
Their next conversation came in passing, when the crowd comfortably obscured the view from the tables.
“Cicero”
“Uh…sir”
[li][/li][li]
edited by The Foolsman on 3/2/2014

71

“Send a bottle of the ‘94 to his room”
“Yes sir. The next one is ‘Teresa’”
“Very good. I’ll be ‘ma’am’ for this one”
“Yes ma’am”
The girl was sitting by the stranger, who had been burning an appraisal in the back of their head since they’d come in. It was like being around Mr. Pages all over again. It necessitated a slight change in character. Madman to foolish youth. Less shudder in the limbs, more of a excited tremble. A self-satisfied grin like an actor drunk on absinthe. Somewhat more benign, since the girl looked ready to self-defenestrate, and they didn’t need the other fellow guessing too much.
The Foolsman flopped down at the table. “What a dance! Shame about the partner, eh? Oh, is that the ’72? Rather!” They plucked a glass from a passing tray, and took a delicate sip. “Oh, dear, how utterly tactless of me. I haven’t interrupted, have I?”

72

((Sorry, no idea why that happened))

73

A grin from Bertram, directed at both the adolescent and the shade. &quotNo, no. Your entrance was beautifully timed. We were gossiping, I’m afraid, but that was quite the confrontation–especially for a ball. They’ll be talking about it for weeks.&quot The grin became a smile–sardonic, languid. His eyes fixed on the Foolsman’s face. He doubted he’d be fooling this creature much, but he didn’t think he’d be found out for who he truly was, either. Perhaps the Foolsman would see through this mask to another mask, or perhaps he’d realize that somewhere behind the masks, there was a face–so long as he didn’t know the face, it mattered little. &quotPerhaps you could explain your business to us–give us a head start.&quot
[li]

74

This was a funny creature, all half-spoken pretence and human-play. The smile was beautifully timed, harmonizing opinion with sarcasm; he was a professional, no doubt, and one of those men for whom outspoken curiosity hid an ulterior motive. They doubted he could be sent on with any success. Any discussion with Teresa would require constant deflection from him. Perhaps something could even be gained? Perhaps…

The Foolsman paused halfway through a sip, “Psychotherapeutic antiquing” they replied. Prevarication. Telling a lie by telling the truth. Let a fact slip. “Not nearly so fascinating as it sounds” they extended a hand with a non-committal smile, “The Foolsman. Capital ‘T’. And yourselves?”

75

(“Somewhat more benign, since the girl looked ready to self-defenestrate”

I laughed out loud at this. Good one.)

Teresa muttered something very unprintable. She did not trust The Foolsman. He’d very loudly gone after that Zeel fellow, and had left equally loudly. Mr. Bertram had mentioned something to her about memories. The Foolsman apparently “wanted memories,” and whatever that meant, it couldn’t be something good. Normally, being in a shaky financial position, she’d be willing to do business with people who bought things. But memories? She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself close. No. Not even the hazy, honey and smoke dreams from the den. As painful as her addiction had been, and as much as she hated any reminder of those times, those memories featured someone too precious to ever let go.

Supposedly, the dead here could get up and walk again. But until she could actually see her mother again, Teresa would keep those memories close.

In the meantime, she had to deal with The Foolsman. Perhaps, if she got loud with him too, they’d both be kicked out–hopefully only to the street and not to the Colonies.

“I’m Teresa,” she said, refining her accent and sitting up straighter, doing her best to look down at him. She knew from previous experience that undeserved snootiness could be extremely offensive.

76

(Gah; was scrolling through this thread on my iPod and accidentally hit the ‘report to moderator’ button; that was entirely unintentional. Is there any way I can undo that?)

77

(I hope so, but generally it’s not possible. Don’t the moderators have to look through the thread before exercising their modly authority, though? If so, I think we’ll be fine. Unless they send the neddy men in because of The Foolsman and his unlicensed trade.)

78

[li]
((Alright; again, sorry about that. =( ))

Psychotherapeutic antiquing. That might have brought a smile to even Ferenczy’s cold face; instead, his mask developed a new smile–amused, mostly, though still with a touch of irony.

&quotIt’d have to be; I doubt there are many professions could live up to a name like that. My name is Harold Bertram. I’m an author, though I doubt you’ve heard of my work. Still living off of poetic commissions in Veilgarden. I’m surprised they let me in.&quot A non-committal shrug. &quotDid some time as a Neddy Man, but that line of work didn’t agree with me. Too much bloodshed; not enough reason for it.&quot A group of sentences spoken with disinterest–My past is boring; let’s get back to yours.

79

((Thanks dismally. Don’t worry about the report. I just used up my Connected: the Masters))

The girl muttered something very unprintable. Well, it had been printed once. The author was a drownie now. Maybe she knew that drownie. Hopefully not. The woman had wanted a bigger cut. But Teresa stung of wit drenched – heh – in youthful petulance. She suspected him, no doubt. She had a very hungry look. Like an urchin. They wouldn’t put it past an urchin to make a scene if pushed too hard. So a softer touch, perhaps. After they’d turned a blade or two from this ‘Bertram’. He didn’t need to know they’d met before at a certain wharf. He needed to know very little.

Demure. A pleasant, flattered sort of smile. “Oh, sir, you shouldn’t tease”

They turned to the girl. Cue expression change, “Madam, you look positively blanched! I didn’t chance to think I looked so fearsome, not in velvet…or perhaps you concern yourself with my occupation – quite passive I assure you. Unless I forget to pay my tariffs, of course…you aren’t a Constable, are you?” End speech. Genteel laughter, light and harmless.[li]
edited by The Foolsman on 3/3/2014[/li][li]
edited by The Foolsman on 3/3/2014

80

Despite Zeel’s rather safe position at the table, he had not stopped observing the Foolsman since he’d sat down. Not so often as to be obvious but not too seldom to miss any important details. From what he could tell, the Foolsman’s next target was the girl. He didn’t know her name and frankly he didn’t care. Despite the fact Zeel had manipulated many a person, hurt countless others, he had a soft spot for children. Not that he’d generally bother to help children, he wasn’t some sort of pathetic philanthropist or anything,but the girl did look an awful lot like…He stopped himself, refusing to let those memories bubble to the surface. Not here. Not with the memory thief nearby. He decided to choose a more indirect method of intervention. She looked older than she was, and nobody would dare question his judgement anyway. He removed from his pocket one of his own calling cards, an item which sucked in light quicker than Bombazine. On the back, in gold ink from a custom built pen, he wrote &quotMy dear, I have been admiring you greatly on this night. I understand if your current company is sufficient; however, if you would indulge me, please walk over to the table of honour&quot.[li]