[quote=Drake Dynamo]Upon hearing Julias’s claim, Emma lets out a snort of disbelief.
"And why should any of us trust you with fixing the Neath, eh? I’m certain the Revolutionaries believe they’re the best suited, and the same can be said of all the other myriad factions down here. No, immortality should be distributed amongst a select few, and certainly not to a man who is so vain as to think he alone can fix the Neath." Emma declares.
Emma now turns to the new arrival, this ‘Rory’ fellow.
"Did you say your name was Sketch? I believe my brother knew a Charles Sketch, back on his grand voyage. Are you perchance related? I’m Emma Dynamo, by the way." Emma says, scandalously resting her hand on the young man’s hand.[/quote]
"Vain, am I? I never said I’d do it alone. Just that in the end, I’m the only one I trust to finish the job. I have plenty of companions." At his comment, a fair-haired boy with fine clothing sits down next to him.
"Oliver, I thought you were playing dice with that zailor at the docks." Julias says, slightly annoyed.
"I was, lieutenant, but he was called off on a voyage to Mutton Island." The boy replies.
edited by Julias Stokes on 11/4/2016
[quote=Julias Stokes][quote=Drake Dynamo]Upon hearing Julias’s claim, Emma lets out a snort of disbelief.
"And why should any of us trust you with fixing the Neath, eh? I’m certain the Revolutionaries believe they’re the best suited, and the same can be said of all the other myriad factions down here. No, immortality should be distributed amongst a select few, and certainly not to a man who is so vain as to think he alone can fix the Neath." Emma declares.
Emma now turns to the new arrival, this ‘Rory’ fellow.
"Did you say your name was Sketch? I believe my brother knew a Charles Sketch, back on his grand voyage. Are you perchance related? I’m Emma Dynamo, by the way." Emma says, scandalously resting her hand on the young man’s hand.[/quote]
"Vain, am I? I never said I’d do it alone. Just that in the end, I’m the only one I trust to finish the job. I have plenty of companions." At his comment, a fair-haired boy with fine clothing sits down next to him.
"Oliver, I thought you were playing dice with that zailor at the docks." Julias says, slightly annoyed.
"I was, lieutenant, but he was called off on a voyage to Mutton Island." The boy replies.
edited by Julias Stokes on 11/4/2016[/quote]
"And who are you, laddie?"
Rory Sketch. The son of Charles Sketch, a man who had tried to kill her, and very nearly succeeded.
And now they’ve been seated together at this lovely dinner.
Florence takes a sip of wine before turning to Sketch. He isn’t his father, he’s not to blame, she reminds herself.
"Rory, was it? Doctor Florence Garrison at your service. I travelled with your father on that voyage as well."
"It’s quite delightful in some ways. Rather like a giant pit of all the Surface’s most fascinating outcasts. Fantastic place for poetry," the youth replies, "Very uninhibited, as well. This is my third party in this last week, and scarce few from years on the Surface compare. But that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s the people here that are so delightful - the people are the attraction. But there’s hardly any natural beauty down here. Or perhaps I just haven’t learned to appreciate it yet. But yes, I do miss the sun. Miss it terribly. It’s an odd feeling to not wake to be greeted by the sun, and an odder feeling yet to go to sleep without ever having seen it descend."
The phoenix mask pauses again, tilting his head sideways and letting his bird eyes stare for a long moment at the tablecloth.
He looks up again at Florence’s remark, and straightens up.
"Doctor Florence Garrison!" he exclaims, hands disappearing from Emma’s as he is, once again, drawn from one point of interest to another, "My father always said he used to be a doctor! I suppose the two of you worked together? Or, oh, forgive me - are you a professor? My father was of the medical craft."
edited by The Atumian Sputum on 11/4/2016
"A professor of physics, actually," and she cannot prevent a hint of pride from creeping into her voice. "I met your father at a dinner party on board, though this one has much better refreshments. We were acquainted for only a short time, but he left quite the impression."
"Ah," the youth replies, disappointment evident in his voice.
After a brief pause, however, he visibly perks up and returns to his eager stature.
"What is he like? Does he still have his beard?" the phoenix asks, voice mirthful and tinged with happy memories, gesturing towards their feathered chin, "Or his accent? What did the two of you talk about? How is he?"
Dirae Erinyes wonders if they are the only person at this table not somehow related to the Charles Sketch.
The young man turns his head to Drake.
Rory Sketch does not share his father’s wit, nor his brother’s temper.
He shares his grandmother’s calm.
"Oh," speaks the beak, "I see."
He glances around, pops out of his seat, and picks up a chair from a nearby empty table.
"Please, sit down," he encourages, setting the chair down next to his own and gesturing to it with an absentminded, small flourish, "I’m sure we can talk about this like gentlemen. You said my father tried to kill you. How about we start with elaborating on that?"
edited by The Atumian Sputum on 11/4/2016
The boy pauses, mask unreadable.
A slight nod.
"You said you rather deserved it," he continues, adjusting his mask and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear again, "The, uh- him throwing you off the boat, that is. How’s that, then? The Charles Sketch I knew was an adventurous man, but not violent without a cause. What did you do to make my father want to fling you off a boat, and more importantly, what did Ms. Garrison do to warrant an attack?"
The boy nods again.
He thinks.
Resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, the youth tilts his head onto his fingertips and says, "So, you murdered a Drownie and Professor Sketch attacked you for it?"
Drake mumbles an affirmative.
"And the reason for Professor Sketch attacking Doctor Garrison is unknown?" the youth asks.
"Right," the scholar replies.
"To you, anyway," the phoenix mask continues.
The beak turns to Florence.
"But how about you, Doctor Garrison? I don’t suppose you have any idea why Sketch would decide to attack you? Or, better yet, any proof it was, indeed, Professor Sketch, himself?"
[quote=Shadowcthuhlu][quote=Julias Stokes][quote=Drake Dynamo]Upon hearing Julias’s claim, Emma lets out a snort of disbelief.
"And why should any of us trust you with fixing the Neath, eh? I’m certain the Revolutionaries believe they’re the best suited, and the same can be said of all the other myriad factions down here. No, immortality should be distributed amongst a select few, and certainly not to a man who is so vain as to think he alone can fix the Neath." Emma declares.
Emma now turns to the new arrival, this ‘Rory’ fellow.
"Did you say your name was Sketch? I believe my brother knew a Charles Sketch, back on his grand voyage. Are you perchance related? I’m Emma Dynamo, by the way." Emma says, scandalously resting her hand on the young man’s hand.[/quote]
"Vain, am I? I never said I’d do it alone. Just that in the end, I’m the only one I trust to finish the job. I have plenty of companions." At his comment, a fair-haired boy with fine clothing sits down next to him.
"Oliver, I thought you were playing dice with that zailor at the docks." Julias says, slightly annoyed.
"I was, lieutenant, but he was called off on a voyage to Mutton Island." The boy replies.
edited by Julias Stokes on 11/4/2016[/quote]
"And who are you, laddie?"[/quote]
"My name is Oliver, sir. I am a… friend, I guess, of Julias."
Florence nods in greeting to Drake; his appearance is welcome. She could not have discussed the senior Sketch for long without having to break the unfortunate information to this innocent-seeming youth, a task that she was glad to be relieved from.
The more Rory talks, the less he seems like his father. None of the calculated little shifts in his voice, and certainly none of the sheer insanity that marked his later days.
"As to why he wanted me dead, I haven’t the foggiest; in fact I rather liked him before all that. But it was him. When he attacked me, I very distinctly smelled his cologne. Sandalwood. There was quite a fine bottle of it housed in his cabin when we investigated."
[quote=Julias Stokes][quote=Shadowcthuhlu][quote=Julias Stokes][quote=Drake Dynamo]Upon hearing Julias’s claim, Emma lets out a snort of disbelief.
"And why should any of us trust you with fixing the Neath, eh? I’m certain the Revolutionaries believe they’re the best suited, and the same can be said of all the other myriad factions down here. No, immortality should be distributed amongst a select few, and certainly not to a man who is so vain as to think he alone can fix the Neath." Emma declares.
Emma now turns to the new arrival, this ‘Rory’ fellow.
"Did you say your name was Sketch? I believe my brother knew a Charles Sketch, back on his grand voyage. Are you perchance related? I’m Emma Dynamo, by the way." Emma says, scandalously resting her hand on the young man’s hand.[/quote]
"Vain, am I? I never said I’d do it alone. Just that in the end, I’m the only one I trust to finish the job. I have plenty of companions." At his comment, a fair-haired boy with fine clothing sits down next to him.
"Oliver, I thought you were playing dice with that zailor at the docks." Julias says, slightly annoyed.
"I was, lieutenant, but he was called off on a voyage to Mutton Island." The boy replies.
edited by Julias Stokes on 11/4/2016[/quote]
"And who are you, laddie?"[/quote]
"My name is Oliver, sir. I am a… friend, I guess, of Julias."[/quote]
"So, lad what did you spend your days when not gambling with fine sailors and enjoying the less then fine company of people like us. Also, do you want a toffee while waiting for dinner?"
The youth is quiet for a moment.
He knows all he needs to know, and his tutor will take care of the rest.
"But these are depressing topics," he exhales, clapping his hands together, "And of the sort fit for private meditation. These are festivities! Tell me more of your journey, Doctor Garrison. I must confess, the voyage you speak of is not entirely strange to me - my brother is a zailor, and has told me how he has been hearing endless chatter down at the docks about the magnificent travel through time of Dynamo and the crew of the Reck, so I went down to the university library and picked up some books on the subject of theoretical time travel. From what the text implies, and what the rumors of your journey state, a trip to the Mountain of Light is necessary, and to sail the river leading to the Mountain, a living ship is needed. Quite poetic, isn’t it? Wherever did you manage to get one of those?"
The youth pauses yet again, but this time the moment of silence carries more of a stunned surprise than any emotional gravitas.
He breaks the pause with an abrupt laugh.
"Well, then!" he exclaims, "A stolen ship, a murdered Drownie, a slain Gracious, and Cantigaster venom. Any other terribly illegal activities of the crew of the Reck I should know about before letting my future children hang around your sort?"
"Wait. Wait. ‘My future children’? How old are you, anyway?"
“And evidently it’s too late for his current children.”
"Quite young," the youth chirps.
He grunts, resting his head in his hand once more.
"Excuse me," he replies, "I’ve a terrible headache. I always get them on nights like these."
A delicate hand reaches up, pushing back his mask.
Blood trickles down from the nose of a pale, thin face of aristocratic features and dark eyebrows that fail to match the color of the youth’s head of persimmon hair.
The boy reaches into a pocket, pulling out a napkin and dabbing at his upper lip.
"Excuse me," he repeats.
The voice is markedly different, changing quickly from the light airiness of Rory Sketch’s particularly feminine tone to a much smoother, soothing, masculine voice. The words that escape the young man’s thin, blood-striped lips still carry the tinge of youth to them, but sound much more likely to make the listener blush than fawn.
"I suppose I should mention at this point that I’m not Rory, hmm?" he asks, turning smoldering eyes, in a gaze permanently and uncomfortably full of imagined future lewdness, towards Drake, and then down the span of the scholar’s body, "And that the three of you, Drake and Emma Dynamo and Doctor Florence Garrison, are all under arrest."
He dabs his lip again, turns the lusty gaze towards Emma, and smirks.
The detective signals over his shoulder to the mute constable by the name of Oliver Johnson sitting alone at Table 13 with a busy notepad, and nods briefly due to the nearby ‘waiter’ who’s been on a suspiciously long break with that sketchbook of his.
The waiter comes up to the table, offering no hospitable smile, while the plainclothes constable moves to the door.
The detective stands up, unslinging his mask completely and tucking it under his arm.
"Out of respect for the fine host of this party, I’d like to continue our business outside," he says to the guilty parties, looking them all over as he does so.
His eyes stop on Florence, and move down to her chest for a long moment lasting into the first few words of his next sentence.
"I trust that’s alright with all of you?"
“Godd–m-it this happens every time I try to go a party. Could you at least put off this business until after the dessert course?”
Dirae Erinyes addresses the rest of the table with an imploring tone. “Can the rest of you avoid arrest for at least this evening?”