The great horn sounds as the the Reckoning Postponed slips silently into the zee surrounding Port Carnelian, leaving the bustling London colony behind. The expedition party had all returned, finished conducting their various businesses. The Reck is filled with the whispers of small and personal activity.
As the ghostly ship leaves the lights of the shore behind and cuts its path towards Adam’s Way, Barselaar leaves the wheel in the hands of the One-Eyed Sailor and goes to Drake Dynamo’s suite. There are matters to be discussed. He knocks on the door -
Tap-tap tap-tap-tap tap-
He pulls back from the last knock. Six will do, he thinks, as he waits for the expedition leader to answer.
edited by Barselaar on 7/17/2016
The Scorched Sailor appraises the golden liquid and waves it away reluctantly. "No thank you, at this point I’m not sure what it’d do…" Nonetheless, he looks at it longingly.
He sits in a chair in the corner of the room and loosens his scarves in a semblance of informality.
"All of these extra passengers," he begins heavily. "I recognise that one needs a sizeable expeditionary force for what we are attempting, but these people you have chosen… Well frankly, I don’t trust them. The Professor is too clever by half, and this new Tomb-Colonist and his lumbering guard seem downright shifty!" Not to mention to various vices and insanities of the rest, he added mentally. He shifts in his seat.
"To get to the point, Mr. Dynamo. I recognise that you are the leader of this party. But this is my ship, and while the Reck is at zee my Law is second only to that of the Judgements. If anyone poses a threat, or jeopardises this ship…" He trails off, unwilling to finish the threat, letting it hang in the air instead. "I respect you, and don’t want to resort to such melodramatics, but I hope you understand me, Drake."
edited by Barselaar on 7/17/2016
Vaustus stirs. The hold was not quite as comfy a sleeping location as he had hoped. Hopping up, he prepares for his gloves to continue their search. He waits. They do nothing. His new friend must have covered the scent. No matter, no matter, this is still the Reckoning. Time to see how Barselaar’s been doing. A few minutes of ambling bring him to Drake’s quarters. From inside, he hears conversation. The words cantigaster venom float out. Ah. He’s not seen that since the nasty business with the spy master. Well, no time like the present. Vaustus swings the door open. “Barselaar! I though you’d died, you old scamp! How’s Baphomet?”
"Ah well. The stuff isn’t useful anyway, we’re close enough to the mountain for even that to be ineffective." Vaustus extends his hand forward. "I’m Lord Vaustus Von Barstalyan Costarii Yethortis the Fifth. Pleasure to meet you." Without waiting for a reply, Vaustus snatches the firkin of cider and collapses against an armchair. "What is this stuff anyway? Surface wine?"
edited by Lord Vaustus on 7/17/2016
Barselaar leaps away from the shattered vial and rounds on the intruder, hand shooting to the inside of his coat. The only thing that prevents him from drawing the thin barbed blade he keeps there is the man’s mention of Baphomet.
“Who in the blazes are you? And how do you know that name?” his hand twitches inside his jacket and he grips the handle of the knife.
The venom snakes through the floorboards and disappears. The Scorched Sailor is vaguely cognisant of this being A Big Problem, but for now his rage was narrowed on the man that had startled himself and Drake.
Vaustus sits up suprised. “Barselaar? You are Barselaar, right? I’m Vaustus? Helped you out of the trouble with the Goat-Demon? Do you really not remember?”
"Bloomin’ 'ell!"
Sketch pauses as he walks down the hallway, turning his head to look at the door the sound had come from. A second later, the door in question is thrown open, the Plutonian Zailor bursting out and stomping off down the hall as dark mutters escape his lips.
The dandy watches the zailor walk away for a moment, then looks back into the open room. From within, a light dripping can be heard.
Sketch walks through the doorway, pausing as he spots the gant-colored liquid dripping from the floorboards above.
"Dear Lord," he mutters to himself, pulling out his flask.
edited by Professor Sketch on 7/17/2016
He frowns, a tight bundle of wrinkles lining the visible section of his forehead. He keeps tight grip of the knife. "No. I don’t know you. But you do know who Baphomet is, and you shouldn’t." He turns to Drake. "He’ll pay for the spillage, somehow, I swear it, but this man knows things that he couldn’t possibly know unless he was involved with me in some respect." He takes the vial from the man - Vaustus can apparently see that to keep hold of it would be suicide - and hands it back to the violently angry Drake. The knots in Barselaar’s forehead deepen. "This will sound hypocritical, after my complaining, but he stays here until I work out whether he is friend or foe. Then he will pay for your venom, before we either haul him into the deep dark below or welcome him as crew. Trust me with this, like I trusted you with the others."
He turns back to Vaustus, an edge in his eye. "You. You’re this close to dying. Follow me." He grabs him by the shoulder and takes him deeper into the ship. "Convince me," the Sailor growls.
edited by Barselaar on 9/4/2016
Ozymandias is making himself oriented with the ship and his fellow crewmembers, when suddenly, the sharp sound of splintered glass is heard from Drake`s suite. It seems that a blind passenger has snuck his way onto the vessel. judging from the shouting he has also managed to upset our usually jovial expedition leader something dreadfully. Ozymandias half expects the presumptuous intruder to be thrown overboard, but against expectation the situation ends with Barselaar escorting him somewhere. There is definitely some secret to be found here. But then again, the whole ship is brimming with them. It is a wonder the ship is not breaking apart under the sheer weight of hidden agendas. In these situations, it is generally best to remain the observer and not show one’s hand until one has grasped the rules of the game being played. He mustn’t get too complacent though or he might find himself the victim of another’s intrigue.
Ozymandias considers some of his shipmates. There is Drake Dynamo, a man who has achieved true immortality, what could he possibly hope to gain from this expedition? The matter of the tomb colonist seems simple enough, he seeks passage to Fallen London, but there are several unanswered questions surrounding the bandaged figure. The Genial Gambler remembers that they have not yet been properly introduced, he really should get around to that. Manners should be kept, even while on sea.
A man whom he is not quite as enthusiastic to meet is the Professor, sketch he is called. At first glance there seems to be nothing untoward about him, rather he strikes a quite magnificent figure, but at closer look there seems to be something dreadfully macabre about him. He is definitely very dangerous, but hopefully the danger will be turned towards a common foe.
There is also another one, Suinicide. Ozymandias has seen her before; she occasionally frequents the same gambling tables as he himself does. He has heard a rumor about her and Mr. Apples and from what he remembers of her he is inclined to believe it. The gambler finds himself getting a bit nostalgic, while he has never talked with Suinicide before they might find some common ground reminiscing about particularly interesting games. Maybe they could find the time for a game of their own.
The Genial Gambler sets off, half seeking this somewhat familiar face, and half being on watch for any other secrets that might reveal themselves here in the dark of the underzee.
edited by Ozymandias, on 7/17/2016
“Look. Barselaar. I know you. I know your revolutionary vim and vigor. I know your Ubergoat, I know your ship, I know your revolutionary connections. I have saved your life thrice, and your soul twice. I also know that I have my hand on a knife of lost sky, so would advise for all talk of violence to be put behind us.” Vaustus smiles.
“Besides, I’ve been waiting for a vacation.”
"If you know who I am, and who I used to be, you know about the bottommost hold. Just saying his name doesn’t prove anything." The Scorched Sailor pushed Vaustus roughly into an unoccupied suite and closed the door. "I could keep you in there for months and no one would know. Prove yourself." He removes his hand from the knife in his overcoat. "No need for any violence," he says. "Not yet. This is where you’ll be staying. I’d advise you to stay away from Mr. Dynamo until you’ve proven your worth, to him and to me."
Barselaar stalks out of the room, his head whirling. Vaustus’ words had troubled him greatly. Baphomet was an old friend, and one whose existence the Scorched Sailor had tried to keep secret for a long time. Vaustus was one to keep an eye on, and if he proved himself, could be very useful indeed.
He strides back to his quarters, head whirling too much to acknowledge the figures of Sketch or Ozymandias on his way. If there is other intrigue on his ship, he resolves, then it can wait.
edited by Barselaar on 9/4/2016
Vaustus sighs. Barselaar has changed so much.
"Prove myself…" He has an idea. Returning to the cabin, Vaustus crouches down were the venom spills. Ignoring Dynamo’s admonishments, he lets out his gloves. The venom is still on the ship. The hunt is back on. Vaustus descends into the bowels of the ship.
A few moments of wandering, and their it is. A man, the scent of the venom about him. Curious, he’d expected it to have sunk to the bilges by now. No matter. "Good sir! Pleasure to meet you, I am Lord Vaustus Bishilmothmer Calgiun Duska Barthemalew the ninth. Do you happen to have our gppd captain’s venom?"
edited by Lord Vaustus on 7/17/2016
Sketch pauses, looking the man over before him. He left the room dripping the venom a fair time ago, and since then had been wandering the halls, looking through the old ship’s memories. He made quite certain no one saw him.
He looks down at the gloves.
"Polytheme work, eh?" he asks, grinning.
He flashes his own gloved hands, shaking his fingers for effect.
"I have a pair myself," he says, "Fine work, but I’ve learned you can’t always trust them to reliably follow a scent. Good wolves, but shoddy bloodhounds. No, I’m afraid I don’t have any venoms. My name is Professor Sketch, by the way. Pleased to meet you."
The rake extends a hand and a charming smile.
edited by Professor Sketch on 7/17/2016
Vaustus returns the smile, but not the handshake.
“Not the gloves, actually. Me. I’ve smelled the venom enough to understand it rather…intimately. Its fine, I don’t mind. I’d just like to know what kind of person would find it necessary to gather up one of the most deadly toxins in the world. I’d also be interested in finding out who employs a devouring bag in any context. Who are you?”
Sketch is an athletic man.
He’s no circus strongman, but underneath the black clothing he’s donned for this voyage is muscle hardened from his years at zee and viciousness perfected from fights to the death with larger men than he. Despite the facade of a life of wine, honey, and decadence, the dandy carries arms that have snapped the necks of hounds.
He looks the man before him over and decides he could take him. He could bring him to the floor quickly and grab him by the neck, squeeze the Polythreme gloves around his throat hard until the cheeky bastard stopped breathing, and then he could bring him to a porthole and dump him in the cruel waters of the zee.
No. No, he was being mad. The rest of the ship would suspect something, and then there’d be an investigation. There would be ways they could tie it back to the dandy, and the last thing he needed was a crew of zailors descending on him and tying him to a pipe for the rest of the journey.
"I have no idea what you’re talking about, my good man," he insists, smiling again, "Venom? I’ve tasted some poisons in my time, but venom’s a bit too much for my liver, eh?"
The rake chuckles at his own joke and claps Vaustus on the shoulder.
"Get some sleep, eh, chap?" he says.
He squeezes, digging his fingers in.
"Really," he continues, dropping the smile, "You should rest."
Sketch lets go, smiles again, and walks past.
Vaustus saw the tension. He saw Sketch’s monster. He decided to poke it.
Grabbing Sketch’s arm with unexpected force, Vaustus restrains him. He wasn’t certain before, but, with Sketch’s reaction, he is now. "I know you understand me. I know what you did at port. I know you have the venom. And you know what?"
Vaustus leans in close.
"I understand."
With that, Vaustus lets go of Sketch, completes a 180 heel turn, and strolls away, humming an old french war song. He’s found his new friend.
edited by Lord Vaustus on 7/17/2016
edited by Lord Vaustus on 7/17/2016
He wakes from sleep on the boat with a sudden start of horror. he just realised something terrible. Somethin with great and awful horror.
HE LEFT THE HONEY AT THE PORT.
…This trip was gonna be hell untill they reached the isle of cats. He’d need to do something.
edited by Kylestien on 7/18/2016
((OOC — didn’t expect this to move this fast. I’ll try to catch up and join in Monday or Tuesday.))
(OOC) Back. And also, wow, you sure managed to type out a lot in such a short time.
“Humbug, what’s with all the fracas? I believe I should take measure of the situation. Tuff, keep everyone and anyone out of the room.”
The Mirthless Colonist was not remotely interested in the rest of the crew, secrets and mysteries were a-plenty in the Neath, and he really couldn’t do with being caught up in another adventure or somesuch at this time. That would be very inopportune. He was a very busy man, after all. He currently had a lot on his mind.
As he walks through the dilapidated hallway, the Mirthless Colonist nearly bumps into a new face…
(OOC) I’d rather someone else take the reins here, I’m more of a reactionary writer.
He stumbles out into the hallway desperatly, but straigtens himself up when he see the person in front of him. “Excuse me sir, I hate to ask, but do you happen to have any honey or wine you can share? I seem to have left my considerable sum at port by accident.”