The Tooth Fairy

“Te’ Trampled Tramp only 5 pence each! Read all about the killin’s throughou’ tha Flit and Ladybones! Permanently Dead and Toothless! They won’t be biting anyone no more! Implacable Detective dumbfounded! Velocipede Squad Called in! Fife Hun’red Echo Ree-ward offered! Read all about it!”, chorused one of the dozen urchins on the corner fighting for a place at the front of the pack.
Meanwhile in a shabby apartment near the Hangman’s Arch a private contractor had spread the word that he was offering double what the constables were offering. However he wants to gather a select team, if you join up you have to play with others.
[Attempt two to make a roleplaying storylet that people might be interested in. ]

I’d be interested to give this a try.

I would be interested as well. This seems a good way to develop my character beyond the game itself, and begin to give him a life of his own.

Come to think of it, I’m pretty curious about this myself. Any idea how we start?

I suppose we should wait for Miss Goodall to continue this.

My apologies, I mean Mister Goodall. All of these persons of indistinct gender in our fair city begin to wear off on one after awhile.

It’s true, Jones, after a while, gender seems to blur into a big… rubbery blur…

… I’ve been spending too much time in Flute Street…

Well considering we now have some people I’m quite willing to go. Basic roleplaying rules, generally don’t be an arse to others and you won’t be crushed under a horde of pianos… :P You can make your character anything including a Devil or Rattus Faber if you want. And we should probably roulette this so that one person doesn’t burn through the plot. :D Introduce your character into the scene and decide how you want to start on this. On entering either the constables office or the private contractors den stop for description time. Sorry been busy in the lab so I’ve been away for a bit. Will be regularly here at the very very worst twice a week. :)

I will join, if it is okay.

((I’m glad this is getting to go now!))
Sherman Jones stepped out of his hansom, before an awful-looking building in Hangman’s Arch. He never liked the place. The cozy aisles of the University were more to his liking. Without wasting any more time, he strode confidently into the apartment. The inside smelled a small bit like rat, and a large bit like unwashed bodies. Checking his notebook, he confirmed that this was the right place. He lingered outside the doorway, waiting. He wasn’t quite sure he liked this idea entirely. He decided that he’d wait for someone else to enter the office before him, as to make sure it wasn’t some ploy to press him into pirating or whatever the lower-class were doing these days. So, pulling up a poor excuse for a chair, he withdrew an unlabeled book from his rather dashing suit, put on his radium-enhanced goggles (a marvelous invention, really), and began his wait.

Heavy Clay footsteps echoed through Ladybones Road as two large Clay Men carried a Sedan Chair, their faces set as they strode, quickly and confidently, towards their destination. Behind the thick curtains, black gloves pushed them aside, and a man whose face was hidden in the shadow of his bowler hat glanced out of it. The curtain was pulled back over and a loud thumping sound was heard inside the Sedan Chair. The two Clay Men marched faster.

At Hangman Arch, the Clay Men stopped and stood at attention. Seth stepped out of his vehicle, brushing his gloves over his black suit, a gift from the Affluent Photographer. He adjusted his bowler hat as the two Clay Men left, to return at a later time. Dressed all in black, Seth approached a certain building. A few of his “associates” had told him about this contractor, and he chose to spend as little time with those constable as possible while still solving this admittedly intriguing mystery. It seemed only yesterday he had set off to investigate Jack of Smiles. He reached into his suit and pulled out a book bound in black leather. At least, it looked like leather. He pulled a piece of paper out of the book without opening it, investigating the address. Nodding, he looked around and tucked the book back into his suit, heading toward the address of a certain contractor, his shoes silent.

His outer pocket rustled quietly.

The more the merrier Timotheus. I’ll just wait on you.

((You know, I am actually solely tempted to play as someone other than my Fallen London Persona, just for the novelty of it. What do you lads say? Would you rather have a normal player character or an Orphaned Rapscallion join this crew?))

Me personally? I’d prefer you to be anything your mind can think up. That’s part of the idea behind roleplaying, that you don’t have to be limited by the reality of the world you are enmeshed in. I’ve personally loved reading through some of the less ‘lively’ roleplayings of yesteryear which involved a Clay Photographer amongst other things. :)

Thomas Fuchs has not always been a professional detective. This decision came just this very morning, when he bought candied mushrooms from an urchin. The boy told him about these terrible incidents and this terribly high reward by a private contractor (Urchins usually tell Thomas quite a lot of things, as he was their best customer, whenever they sold sweets)
So he made his way to Hangman’s Arch. He was a young man, smaller in height, but wider in girth than the average. He came from the Surface – Austria - a few years ago to accompany his rich, ill aunt, who evaded death by going down here. With free lodging from his aunt, there was no pressure to earn money, so he started trading secrets as a hobby and to earn some extra money. But the prospect of a thousand Echos made him change his path of carreer instantaneously. Logic, deduction and keen eyes – He considered himself of already having the qualities of a good detective. Also with all the police and other detectives around him, there was no way he would fall victim to whoever or whatever did this (at least that was what he thought).
Armed with his aunt’s lorgnette to make up for a real scrutinizer, his notebook, some pens and the pockets of his trousers filled with candied mushrooms he arrived at the address and entered carelessly.

Waiting inside the apartment house was a large man/being/thing? Anyway It was at least 2 metres in height if not more with long arms covered in a dark cloak and hood. It had green glowing eyes staring the crowd down as they entered before ushering them to a set of seats in lounge. It was tapping it’s dark nails/talons/claws? against the desk methodically scratching the occasional symbol into the desk.
“There are more… they will have to catch up.”, the creature said from beneath it’s hood.
“As you will have heard there is a new killer on the prowl. If he is not found before long I have reason to believe that I will be persecuted for his crimes. Thus I am willing to assemble a most excellent force to ensure my… freedom. I have gathered that the killers victims are typically found near buildings or sewer gratings. I think you should start with recovering some of the victims for examination.”, it said before staring through the window at a set of mirrors focused on a one Sherman Jones.

Sherman Jones couldn’t help but be unnerved by the thing before him. This was a man whose mind had been thoroughly ravaged by the Correspondence, yet he was acutely aware that the thing before him wasn’t natural. Even by Fallen London’s standards. Was it a Master? No, there weren’t any Special Constables about. And he doubted one of their lot would be concerned about be charged with something as petty as murder. He’d have time to dwell on this later. For now, he had a murder to solve. And a reward to collect. Turning away from that thing, he looked at the other two men he shared the room with. “An odd assortment we are! But, that is nothing new to me! You know, I once shared a dinner with a clergyman, a devil, a rubbery, and a cat! Oh, you should’ve been there, we- Oh, but I can regale you with my tales on the way to gather the body! Which reminds me: Where would you fellows like to begin our search? I imagine Spite would be a good place to start, what with murder being almost commonplace over there. Or the Wolfstack Docks. They have quite an extensive sewer system there, so that could also be a possibility. Where would you two like to begin?”
edited by Sherman Jones on 8/4/2012

Seth rubbed his hands together, thinking. A case of possible mistaken identity. However, something didn’t fit quite right… He held up a black gloved hand to Sherman Jones, looking at their “host”.

“Tell me, friend. Why would you be mistaken for this killer? Surely the only ones of suspect are ones who have a… reputation among the constables, or even clues and secrets whispering possible identities. One does not simply be accused of being a Permanent Killer. Even the identity of Jack of Smiles is not common knowledge.”

“Well as Mr. Jones has mentioned himself I am not quite natural. And I escaped a place where I was both more welcome and more restrained as it were. People are already looking for me, this recent batch of killings could easily give them enough cover to follow my trail a bit less constrained?”, grumbled the host quite demurely.

With an agility quite surprising for someone or something of it’s size it bolted through the house and returned with a collection of scrolls and letters. “These letters have some of the names of the Investigators on the case, if you want to look for victims they might be most helpful.”

The host appeared to be non-human. A tall figure in a dark cloak. But Thomas saw the tips of the claws, when it scratched the desk. So the employer was the authorities’ main suspect and it would spread its wealth to clear its name (that the detectives were not told so far).
Thomas thought about that as the first clue. There had to be a resemblence, physical or mental, between this person and the real murderer (assuming they are not the same).
Discreetly he took out his notebok and scribbled down: „Place, more welc. & restr.“ That was when it left the room. Thomas’ instincts of putting his nose in othere people’s business ringed and he stood up, dashed in front of the room, tearing out a single page of his notebook and grabbing a big coalpencil. He put the sheet on the desk, drove a few times with the pencil on it and then went back to his place. Of course everyone in the room has seen him doing this, but he hoped they would not understand Thomas’ intention or at least stay silent about it.
He sat down right the moment, the host reappeared. On the sheet there now was a rough negative of one of the symbols the Hooded One has carved into the wood of the desk. However it was not the time to examine them. Instead he stood up for the second time and asked: „Well, might I have a look at one of them?“