The Great Catch

“Are you sure about this?”

That had been a question that rang in Amelia’s ears a few times. It’s argued that there is never a good time. The only time she has down here is the one she’s managed so far with luck. But it seems something new has arisen. One she can take advantage over.

With Neddy men and shouts in the streets, there’s a chance that one abode would be empty. A usually high security place that she wouldn’t dare enter before.

“You’ll be the next they want,” a squeak reminds her. “Be a shame if you strike too fast and end up the next publicly executed.”

There’s a pause as she looks away. The streets are still pouring out with cries. Urchins have taken the roofs with loud patters above. So many different searches as the tension rumbles about in the air. It’s hard to ignore even from closed doors and shuttered windows.

“Thar won’t be ‘nother opportunity like tis. Better now than never.” She looks to the Rattus Faber, his beady eyes full of concern.

“What about the lad?” He asks her.

“He’ll live.” There’s a pungent gasp like squeak that causes her to chuckle. “Lots o’ theatrics bout yet no clear execution. If tha lad were supposed ta be dead, thay would haff killed ‘em long fer I knew ‘em.”

“Than what is this-”

“Sniffing supporters out,” she interrupts the rat. “I guess… could be somefing more than tha. But I won’t be ta first too test tha out. Got a ghost ta bag, remember?”

There’s a twitch of a whisker and a sigh but the rat nods. “If this doesn’t work, you’ll have nothing left but the breadcrumbs to work with.” He climbs up her right shoulder and gives it a gentle pat.

“If’n fings get chaotic thar be nofing else. It’ll be over.” There’s a wince but she allows him to stay there. “Just do yer end o’ it ‘n fings should go well.”

The two set off in the opposite direction of the crowd and supporters. Their target is nothing more than a strange sort of abode. A mysterious place, always with shuttered windows and a few constables by the door. But tonight is different. Tonight there would be no constables in front or any security known.

Tonight they strike.

It’s easy to break inside. Combing the house itself is harder. Darkened hallways, sleeping dogs, several strange noises that could keep a babe awake long past midnight. There’s a lot of waiting and watching before a door is found.

Five padlocks.

A kifer and another set of small hands help. It’s a slow process. One that takes more than a few minutes to break down. But when all the locks have been dealt with and handled, they are greeted with-

Nothing.

There is absolutely nothing here but a single box and a mirror. There’s a look shared between the bandit duo before they look to the box. All they find from it is a few moon pearls and scraps of silk. But it is nothing. Not the prize they sought after but a confirmation of a fake lead.

They leave like the way they came. But with disappointment and knowledge knotted in their throats.

[ My small contribution to the current storyline from here in drabble form. Alternative title: Jerk@ss goes back on search. Ends with disappointment. ]

[OOC: Now, the question. What were we searching for here?]

[OOC: Nicely written regardless!]

[ There’s two hints in the drabble. But essentially she’s not entirely right. ]

[Highly protected, talking about ‘the lad’, which I presume is Elias. The babbies are with Lamia, so not that either. 3rd objective?]
edited by Vavakx Nonexus on 7/10/2016

[quote=Vavakx Nonexus][Highly protected, talking about ‘the lad’, which I presume is Elias. The babbies are with Lamia, so not that either. 3rd objective?]
edited by Vavakx Nonexus on 7/10/2016[/quote]
[ The lad was referring to Elias. She’s using his arrest to her advantage. But yes, there’s a third objective. One she’s had for a while now. ]

[quote=Amelia Syrus][quote=Vavakx Nonexus][Highly protected, talking about ‘the lad’, which I presume is Elias. The babbies are with Lamia, so not that either. 3rd objective?]
edited by Vavakx Nonexus on 7/10/2016[/quote]
[ The lad was referring to Elias. She’s using his arrest to her advantage. But yes, there’s a third objective. One she’s had for a while now. ][/quote]

[OOC: Neato. I guess you won’t be around the mainland Elias RP for a while, then?]

[ Nope. Amelia is going to most likely lay low for a number of reasons. Though further down the road, I might make her objective an open rp at some point. That’s if anyone is interested. ]

[To get more Alcohol? Enough to last a lifetime or an hour in her case? Just joking. I like this drabble… I myself think about an AU where Maria was able to return to the surface in the 1990s… could be funny. Especially when she would meet the descendants of her brother.][li]

[Realized posting in separate threads would be bad for clutter in the forums. So I’m keeping every part of this series here and try to keep it on a weekly basis.]

It had been days since Amelia’s heist. Long enough that good news had already spread throughout the streets of London and quieted to a simple roar over the Election. In that time, Amelia had spent less with the public and more to herself. The only time she had been seen was a few days at the docks with some rather surly looking men.

But to her, it had been a part of her plans. Each night she spent it, combing through stolen documents and piecing together what she could from different locations. Tonight she has managed to piece it all together on a single map. She stares at it for hours, scanning and marking Xs as she goes. The candle burns into the hours, melting most of the wax and keeping her tired eyes fixed on her work.

It is when 3/4ths of the candle has burned away that a Rattus Faber climbs up the table with a solemn gaze. “Go to bed, lass. There’s nothing here.”

Amelia doesn’t look at him. Her tired eyes still focused on her work. “I’m tellin’ ya. Can’t be a coincidence tha place be empty. Worse when thar be no word o’ a break in.”

“Aye but that can’t be a bad thing. Maybe they moved-”

“Thay couldn’t haff,” she slams her hands down on the table and looks to her small compatriot. “Somefing like tis can’t be easily taken unnoticed. We combed frough Ladybones, Spite, The Marsh, Docks… it be like nofing was ever thar. But ye saw what was in thar weeks ago. We both kno what be in thar yet it’s gone.” She sighs deeply and looks to the backroom. Sleep is starting to sound promising yet she knows better.

“No one’s ‘eard a fing, not even the duchess’ own,” she continues. “Fought maybe-”

“You said they were dead though,” the rat interrupts. “There’s no ghosts down here.” There’s a twitch of a whisker before he looks down at the map. His tiny paws trace up a road in Spite before wandering over to Ladybones.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she looks back. Her voice soft and forlorn in sound.

The rat looks torn to say something but doesn’t. He stops tracing his paw over the map with a resigned sigh. “With a lot of luck,” he looks up. “But luck won’t be by your side forever. You’re getting known and there be many eyes watching. What if it’s not them? What will you do when all of this is for nothing?”

Amelia doesn’t answer him, her eyes fixed on the map of London. It’s a while before she turns to him. “I don’t haff many choices left ‘n ta Zee don seem like a grand idea. My choices are slime ta none now.”

“They are,” the rat admits. “But what other choices do you have? You’re starting to make a splash, you’ll need to quell the ripples or jump in.”

“Aye,” she looks to the map and traces his fingers downward. There’s a pattern here, she can feel it. But it’s alluding her terribly. She nudges her compatriot off the map before folding it. Then she looks to him seeming defeated. “Too many links ta tis web… Startin’ ta fink thay must haff some cover ina higher chain we haven’t looked yet.”

Her rat frowns at that suggestion. “The longer this goes the worst it’ll be, lass. You’re going to run yourself to the ground before you reach them this way. But I doubt that will change your mind…” He blows out the candle and hops off. The took look at each other in silence before both retire to sleep.

“Ma’m?” A voice pierces through Amelia’s hazed vision and she turns over. “Yer needed by docks.” The voice says and she rises feeling less than stellar.

How long had she downed nothing but bottle upon bottle? She can’t recall. But the young, timid voice keeps her awake and somewhat focused. “Blimey…” She huffs out as she stands. “Whas ta standin’s?”
“Be a bit o’ chuckle from ta boys but otherwise clear fer miles.” The young lad prattles uneased. “Words tha blue be lookin’ fer ya tho. Sure bout tis?”

She looks to the young, red-headed boy before looking to the door. “Where’s Chief?”
“By ta docks, ya sure-”

She gets up and starts grabbing a few bottles. There’s a shake here and there for some contents before she stops. Her gaze fixes to the closet for a moment before she pats her pockets. Her mouth opens and then closes for a second.
“If’n ya see a gent wiff a blue ribbon ‘round ‘is neck, let him inta any abode ye be stayin. Otherwise keep everyfing out thas not nailed down or a Rattus Faber,” she commands.

There’s a pause as the child looks to the closet perplexed before going to the door. “I’ll only be by shack.”
“Aye kno,” she responds. “Thas ta one I worry ‘bout ta most.” She nods as the lad leaves before grabbing a jacket and heading out as well.

She has a boat to catch.

Amelia is finally heading out to zee?

Yes and there’s going to be a drabble or more focused on what she finds.

[Since I have time and I’m ahead of schedule for once I’ll post the next part here earlier than usual. Also the next couple of entries are going into writer interpretation territory on FL lore as a warning.]

“So you’re traveling and got lost?” Asks a serene voice. “Well I don’t mind a couple guests. Please make yourself at home.”

“Aye madam,” Amelia bows. “We won’t be much trouble at all. On me word.” She places a hand to her chest before raising again.

Her word keeps for days. The crew only ventures out to restock on supplies and occasionally explore the island to pass time. Sometimes a handmaiden hands a crew member tea, other times they’re gathered for meals. But Amelia is always with the hostess. Always entertaining her and always by the dinner table with her sisters while the rest keep to themselves.

But one evening she ventures by herself. She combed the island, saw the well, and simply stayed by the shoreline. It seemed like hours had passed when she stayed by shore.

The soft footfalls break her gaze. She turns to greet the figure approaching. It’s simply one of the sisters. “Oi, I kno naught what ya need but-”

A kiss.

Amelia hesitates and a finger brushes lightly to her lips.

“You miss her dearly.” She smiles sweetly to her.

“What did you-” Amelia’s hand clamps on her throat for a moment and she stares on forlorn but tired.

“I did nothing,” she notes. “Your eyes always hang deeply on a desire you can never have. I wanted to see if your lips felt the same way but it seems your voice has caught up instead. Is that what you’re seeking?”

Eyes drift from the Zee to the soft, serene pools in front of her. There’s a memory that comes rushing forward. One she thought she had long forgotten and it nestles itself deeply in her chest.

“Answers.” Amelia’s voice carries a calm but shaken quality. There’s a silence that holds for a while as she turns outward to the Zee once more. How oddly calm the waves are here versus what she has seen. “I’m not sure I’m ready for it,” she adds.

“No one ever does,” the hostess replies. “But you have the ferocity and determination to see it end. You know what you need to do. Don’t waver.” She departs from her side.

When the footfalls become silent, a small squeak is heard from Amelia’s hat. “Tha were a close one,” a small voice breaks the silence. “Do you think she knows? ….lass?”

“Tell ta boys we leave at dawn,” she says slowly. “We head back ta London.”

“But the plan-”

“We still haff time, Chief. But we should make sure all precautions be set first.” Her voice wavers to a more smooth tone. She remains silent again as her gaze goes back to Zee.

A set of whiskers prod out from her hat before the Disgraced Bandit Chief slinks down to her shoulders. “Get some rest, lass. You’ll need it.” The rat gives her shoulder a gentle pat before departing and she’s left with her thoughts.

An interesting take on the sisters - a bit more menacing them I expected.

Day ??:

I don’t think I stayed in London long. I met with those that needed my service before I zailed out again. Which to my surprise had been far too many. Though in the back of my mind, continuously as I zailed out, I kept thinking back to hardships on the surface.


I cannot say friendship is what I felt. Kinship through shared hardships sounded right. There had been a term I knew and used long ago for that. One that seems oddly fitting now. But I did not think it would ever be possible in the Neath.


Maybe this is why I don’t feel inclined to follow through with the request. I need something to anchor me from going too far. I have that now.

Day ??:


I should establish a company for this. That’s if I wanted the attention of every life of Neath on my back. Maybe in time I’ll have someone else conduct my business for me while I’m out at Zee. One whose trustworthy. Though I’m not sure such a person exists down here.

Damn, did Amelia ever… do that thing Eli requested?

[ To be perfectly honest, the above is more something I wrote a week or so ago as a way to reconnect the series back to what is here in the forums. The series as a whole is finished for the most part and I’ve mostly been editing and adding as I go.

But to answer your question, now you know why I feel like this series is incredibly ironic now with what has happened lately. I may even have to re-write a few things unless you have different ideas. In which case, shoot me a PM. ]

Day XX:

A Paradise. That is what I heard on the street despite the screams and pitchforks about. It took some time to get used to but I see no difference here. My men have started to not pillage but rather keep close to the boat. I tried persuading them to join. There were many different reasons. But one struck out and I had left them thinking I would see them again in time.


I hope.

Day XX:

Met with an anarchist for tea. She seemed rather jovial with my company despite the more severe conversations we had. Most notably she told me where to seek whom I was searching. Though a prison had not been what I had envisioned of this encounter originally. When I asked she shrugged before focusing on what had enthralled us before.

Day XX:

Everyone wanted this man’s head. There were idle whispers on the street, several of them churning through many circles. An assassin, a hand, a Great Player. There had been so many names etched down in different ways and places. Too many descriptions at that.


Yellow marked and yellow crowned, I thought great troubles would beset my hunt. Instead I was greeted with a rather shallow sight. Stories are stories though and his was simply a title carried from one to the next in a strange succession.


He seemed ever jovial to my presence despite the rage that burned within me. Such a somber set of eyes, glazed over with a lack of desire. I’m not sure what subdued me then but I chose to listen to his tale. He had a life too before he was roped into the call. So many packages, couriers, and lost nights between.


I saw a broken man in front of me. I keep seeing broken men, here, the streets of London, all of which keep getting tied to different affairs. What I thought would be the end of the web seemed only the beginning.


My eyes caught the glint of a knife by his feet. It was simply nestled there, next to an envelope. I grabbed the knife and thought evermore of what had set me down this path. Of her sweet voice tinged with such beauty, I felt a tirade of doubt. Had they been here? Had they moved in secret? Or was I truly hunting nothing in the end?


Somehow he must have known what I was thinking. For in that moment he looked to me in despair and said “don’t falter now. Give me what I deserve.” He smiled at me and closed his eyes. I knew than what he had really wanted.


I hesitated no longer. I plunged the knife deep into his rib cage. A twist and the broken shell was released.


I longed for that release for a moment and melancholy brushed against my chest as if I had plunged the knife into my own rib cage. I took the knife with me. I didn’t feel as if it belonged here. Though I found it odd he held onto this knife for so long. Had he used it on others? Most likely. But I know one thing to be true.


A knife did not take my beloved’s life. But it may as well serve a grander purpose now. One of disposing the puppet master in this strange cycle.