A hulking figure squeeze themselves around the table. The first one here, the clock hands on their mask tick towards the appointed time.Green glass eyes patiently wait behind the clock face mask. They rearrange their outfit, pushing the chimes back inside and brushing off their wood paneled dress.
edited by Shadowcthuhlu on 11/1/2016
edited by Shadowcthuhlu on 11/1/2016
A frantic ferret flees the fevor after the food fight and finds itself run afowl of a cashmere skirt.
edited by pillbox on 11/1/2016
A short lady in brightest blue and a coyote mask takes her seat.
“Ms. Dynamo! What a coincidence!” she announces, then remembers her obscured features. “Er, it’s me. Florence. From the boat?”
A lanky fellow in a night-trimmed frock coat and a meticulously accurate clay man mask wanders over, checking a pocket-watch in a gloved hand. “Table 6, yes? I hope I’m not terribly late.”
A Harried Maître D’ gracefully swings by the table with a tray of glasses and a tall bottle of something very old. He uncorks it in an instant - the bouquet that greets you smells of spice and dark berries. “From Table Eight - compliments of Professor Ginneon Thursday. He also sends his regards to your brother, Ms. Dynamo.” He pours with speed and precision, leaving the tablecloth spotless. His poise is such that you hardly notice the cage of struggling ferrets under his arm.
"No, I don’t believe we’ve meet."Dirae Erinyes tends a hand to Emma. “Dirae Erinyes, correspondent, jack of all trades, and professional busybody. What about the rest of you?”
“Dr. Kaigen” the clay-masked man responds, bowing slightly, “explorer and publisher. I only just returned from Polythreme in time to catch the opening festivities, but I have confirmed that none of my possessions are still animate.” He pauses a moment to think. “Or at least, none which aren’t supposed to be.”
“Too bad. A clothes colony costume would be a novel touch.”
“Ah, right on time.”
A tall man wearing an immaculately carved bat mask takes a seat at the table-- is that a bullet hole in the forehead?
“Loiathal, Professor and professional skulker. Pleasure to meet you all. Anyone know where I can find a drink around here?”
A toothy green jaw emerges from the shadows at the corner of the room. The lurker, swathed in a profoundly black cloak, takes a seat at the table, his eyes glittering beneath a crocodile mask.
"Gideon Stormstrider. Charmed, I’m sure."
After a moment of contemplation, he pulls a bottle of fine whiskey from the folds of his silks. A silver cross necklace glints in the light as he leans forward to place it in the centre of the table.
"I don’t partake myself, but you’re welcome to a glass of this stuff. My local cleric was a bit too fond of his drink, and I liberated this from his stash after his… unfortunate exile."
edited by JimmyTMalice on 11/2/2016
“Whiskey and wine, and whatever I have this flask here. So, what are you a professor of?”
"Whiskey please; perhaps whatever is in the flask later.
As to the professorship, I maintain the title, even though I was involved in that…unfortunate business with the office of Correspondence. I have no doubts the department will open shortly.
In the meantime, I’ve taken to giving lectures about the Fourth City. Fascinating people-- I hope to take a trip out to Khan’s Glory next year.
Yourself?"
edited by Loiathal on 11/2/2016
“Whiskey for me as well, thank you,” Kaigen says, finally taking a seat.
“I also find the Khaganians fascinating,” he says, inclining his head slightly towards the bat mask, “though more so for their history with the tigers. The politics in Port Carnelian are positively dizzying.”
“Ah, what lovely place Port Carnelian is - and the Forgotten Quarter does have their own charms. Though I am a bit surprised by how hard it is to find remains of the previous cities before then. You would think they also would’ve crossed the zee.”
You hear the sound of a gong, seemingly emanating from everywhere (you suspect a clever cook with a very large soup pot). A space on the floor has been cleared, and a nervous looking string quartet begins to play.
(The dance floor is now open in a separate thread to anyone who wishes to dance)
edited by pillbox on 11/2/2016
Glancing over at the string quartet, he remarks, “I don’t think I’ve seen a cellist that apprehensive since Bagley’s Opus.”
Turning back to the table, he picks up the threads of the conversation, “Well, it would seem that power does not travel well in the Neath, a lesson our fair city is still learning on the Carnelian Coast. The Unterzee is a formidable obstacle, and there is precious little land not already occupied.”
“True, but must have been emptier when they other cities fell down. Granted, that’s probably relying on time being more linear then it actually is. . .”
"I don’t know if it’s a matter of linearity so much as depth. Unless I’ve missed my guess, the Neath was here before the Bazaar. That’s a lot of time to fill and be filled."
“How much longer really is the question then. Any guess on to that?”
Julias Stokes walks in. “A party? I’ll just let myself in.”