Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/7/2015
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Have you ever wondered about mirrors? How they work, what they do? I used to.
Did you ever think you were the only one who wrestled very literally with your reflection? I used to.
Do you still wonder what happens in the world where that coin landed tails instead of heads? Or perhaps on edge? I used to.
To these questions -- and many, many more! -- I have discovered answers, half-truths, and dispelled half-lies! I want to share this knowledge with you, all of you, to no personal gain beside knowing I have contributed advances to the great pursuit of knowledge. Should you wish to assist me in this endeavour, address your response to Professor Reflector care of The Careless Whisper (the newspaper, NOT the establishment of ill repute). Volunteers, lab assistants, fellow scholars, even students -- all are welcome!
Alternatively, you may encounter me by speaking loudly about your fondness for and curiosity about mirrors and other reflecting devices while under the care of The Careless Whisper (the establishment of ill repute, NOT the newspaper).
Appropriate damages will be paid in the event of accidental blindness, dismemberment, or death by sorrow-spider.
-Professor Reflector, Doctor of Unnatural Philosophy
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/10/2015
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Saevitia read the latest note with some amusement in The Careless Whisper's editor's office. "It's Yvraine," she said to her two companions, "and she's accused us of writing 'mere tripe' with this Professor Reflector business." Her giggle turned into a cackle.
The white raven scoffed vocally; the black one muttered disparaging comments about Yvraine's parentage and virtue.
"Oh, settle down, you two. She doesn't know it's m- er, us writing as the prof. I'm sure the next time I have her over she'll gripe about 'him' and suggest I terminate the column entirely." Vitya hummed to herself, considering the letter before her. She had so many options for dealing with her friend it almost wasn't fair! (Almost.)
"Okay, here's an idea. Muninn," she addressed the dark bird directly, "I want you to write a letter to-"
The raven in question croaked rudely. "Give me one bloody good reason why I sodding well-"
"-totally unsupervised, dear friend." His protestations silenced immediately, head cocking to one side. Good; it meant he was listening. "That's right. I'm leaving you to write her whatever threats or subtle schemes you wish, no questions asked. But -- and this is important, so pay attention -- but I don't want you harming her or, you know, having her home ransacked. The most I'll tolerate is maybe spilling some wine on a good dress or a symbolic but otherwise meaningless pile of bat corpses on her doorstep. She's still my friend, after all."
She got the distinct impression Muninn was glaring at her.
"Those are my terms. Are they acceptable?"
The raven rocked from foot to foot a few times before responding. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can do something fun enough with that."
Vitya beamed. "Fantastic! I can't wait to see her reaction."
***
[A note, written in sharp, angled script, with a University return address on the envelope]
"Y",
As a peddler of lies, half-truths, and rubbish prose yourself, perhaps you should consider some professional courtesy before writing about fields you do not understand. I've half a mind to ensure you become suddenly unpublishable, perhaps through some strategic documents being sent on to the constabulary.
However, I'm a courteous fellow who believes in good, old-fashioned Christian forgiveness. Of course, said forgiveness is only possible after certain requirements are met, as you should expect. Absolution requires an act of contrition; your absolution requires the delivery of a crate of wine to the address on this envelope within the week.
If you don't think I can follow through on my threat, I suggest you consider very seriously all the places you've been lately and how many mirrors you've been around. Are you sure it was only your reflection staring back at you every time? Truly certain?
Consider it, Evraine.
-Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/11/2015
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“...So, with all of that in mind, what do you think Gears' creator should do? What would you do, in his position?”
Collins met Amyntas with a silent, uncomprehending stare. It was a look Amyntas had gotten increasingly used to over the course of the past month. Collins occasionally made shows of progress, able to parrot back snippets of fact and rote that Amyntas had impressed upon him; however, while teaching Collins that A is A and B is B went well enough, asking him to make the choice between A and B bore no fruit. As with so many others of his kind, Collins did not take well to the notion that he could determine the course of events in his life.
It was a stroke of some fortune that he had involved himself in the affairs of the Careless Whisper and the enigmatic Professor Reflector. A logical problem of this nature, Amyntas hoped, would strike a chord within Collins' mind. He and Gears had much in common, being made to serve until some perceived aberration crops up. He supposed that it might have been too much to expect for Collins to draw those parallels and identify with a hypothetical machine, but he knew not what else to try.
“Collins? Are you still with me?” Collins may not have been very good at self-determination, but his mind still wandered with incessant frequency. Often, he would think about his pets or his work and become lost in thought without meaning to.
“I DO NOT KNOW.” It fit well enough as an answer to either question. Collins followed his words with a sound like a distant tremor – a rumble of consideration, perhaps.
“You are aware that there's no right answer?” Amyntas recited. The response to questions of this nature had begun to fit neatly into a script, after enough time.
“WHY DID YOU ASK THE QUESTION?”
“Because you're supposed to think about it. It's a learning exercise.”
“I DO NOT KNOW.”
Amyntas felt his knuckles turning white. He bit back the harsh tone that bubbled in his throat. It was all he could do not to snap at Collins and shout him into silence. He silently repeated to himself that this was important, that Collins would only learn if he was coaxed in the proper direction, that this was a very important favor to a very-
“I DO NOT THINK THE QUESTION HAS AN ANSWER.”
“Well MAKE ONE UP, you chert-for-brains!” Amyntas was too late to restrain his temper. He clapped his hands over his mouth and stifled his own attempts at apology. In the silence that followed, Amyntas' eyes darted around the room for any avenue of escape. If Collins were to grow frustrated with him now, he decided, his best bet would be to dive under his writing-desk and make for the hallway where Collins would have to stoop his shoulders and shuffle along to follow.
As he was planning how he would navigate the exterior of his home once he had climbed out of the window, he realized Collins had started making that rumbling sound again. A glance at Collins' grey-green features revealed no sign of barely-restrained fury or loamy contempt. He was calm and – dare Amyntas say it – contemplative.
“I WOULD TURN GEARS OFF.”
“I… I beg your pardon?” Amyntas' tone betrayed none of his bewilderment. He was excited. Exultant, even. For a gleaming moment, he wanted to embrace this great pile of rubble.
“IF GEARS IS NOT WORKING THE WAY IT IS MEANT TO, IT SHOULD NOT WALK FREE.”
Amyntas stood, turning curtly on his heel toward the desk he had planned to use for cover mere moments ago. He sifted through the numberless scraps of paper and crumpled envelopes until his fingers finally closed around the thin, solid implement he had sought.
“Now, Collins,” Amyntas puffed, drawing out the fountain-pen, “if you're ever going to put those writing lessons to use, it's going to be now.”
~
Miracle of miracles – a letter of Amyntas' comes through the proper post, to the proper address, complete with a return address (conspicuously the same as the address on the envelope he'd written on last time) and a handsome stamp. The paper itself has a hastily-scribbled-out Brass Embassy letterhead and lacks even a single word written by Amyntas. The body of the letter is rendered in the heavy, blocky scrawl of one who understands Roman letters and English words in a strictly intellectual capacity. The edges of the paper are smudged with what appears to be clay.
THE PROBLEM WITH GEARS
IF I HAD MADE AN AUTOMATON TO SERVE ME, AND IT DID NOT ACT ACCORDING TO MY WISHES, I WOULD SWITCH IT OFF FOR GOOD. IF GEARS CANNOT WORK THE WAY IT IS MEANT TO WORK, THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO WALK AROUND. ESPECIALLY IF IT IS DANGEROUS. BECAUSE IT HAS NO WILL OF ITS OWN, IT CANNOT DETERMINE ITS OWN ACTIONS. IT IS THEREFORE SIMPLY WORKING IMPROPERLY. THINGS THAT DO NOT WORK PROPERLY MUST NOT BE USED. THERE IS NO RECOURSE FOR BLAME BECAUSE THERE IS NO WILL INVOLVED. GEARS' HARMFUL ACTIONS ARE AN ACCIDENT, THE SAME AS A FALLING STALACTITE.
I CAN DECIDE TO WORK OR NOT. TO HURT OR NOT. IF I AM TOLD TO DO SOMETHING, I CAN LISTEN OR DO SOMETHING ELSE. I CANNOT BE TURNED OFF. THAT IS WHAT SEPARATES ME FROM GEARS.
COLLINS
The note ends abruptly there. The word 'US' appears to have been written and then scribbled out before being replaced with 'ME' in the final sentence.
edited by Amyntas on 12/11/2015
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/8/2015
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Dear Professor,
Your fixation on letters is admirable but, in my opinion, misguided. You seem knowledgeable - enough so, in fact, that I will do you the courtesy of assuming that you already possess some understanding of the nature of a certain other alphabet. The ideographic contours of this particular alphabet are far more worth your attention than the roman S, and if you were to divert yourself from mirror-gazing for long enough I am sure that you would find it most edifying.
Our languages are pithy by comparison to what we've researched of this other alphabet. Miring yourself in English or any other language of the mundane will lead you to a dead end, of this I can assure you. Moreover, perhaps it may be best to the affairs of mirrors to the intrepid oneironauts who deliberately lose themselves therein. The public needn't be troubled with things of this nature, especially not in such a cryptically enticing (or, dare I say it, seductive) manner.
All the best,
Amyntas
P.S. I'm going on a trip to Polythreme very soon. When I return, I would love to receive you for tea and conversation if you were so inclined. I think we might both be able to learn from the ventures of the other.
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Guest
12/8/2015
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(the truthseeker)
While he suspects what remains of the professor will not wish to stop, even if he understands, he writes a letter and pens its "publications" in the secret journals for those who cage others to do what must be done if it continues.
[OOC: an fantastic anthology of letters of course! But no way could my character approve.]
[spoiler]To: Professor Reflector, Doctor of Unnatural Philosophy
Dear professor:
It has come to my attention (from a distant seafaring relation's Chief Engineer, but I digress,) that you are endeavoring upon an investigation into a realm that will offer no personal benefit, and may already be too late in regards to the first stages of personal possession.
What you are beginning to study is the "dream" realm of Parabola. Such things are a direct conflict of the Laws of Existence, and as such, literally must hide from anything that allows structure (including Sunlight's revealing ways.) While I shall not speak with such mindless sermons as the old preachers in regards to Damnation, I will say this literally is an Abomination on this world, and the previous city's empire the "scholars" so lovingly nickname it "The Forgotten Quarter," was lost to such creatures. Again, an entire city.
How it was lost is no "romantic" tale either. The creatures (who can literally take upon the appearance of serpent forms the size of a digit, thus their nickname "Fingerking") convinced others to set up mirrors (their communications portal into this reality) all over the city and "convinced" the same as you how "no harm" would happen if they "ride" in your body. Eventually, this ride became permanent and nothing is left of the people who used to inhabit the body or (even worse) their consciousness was trapped in their own body, helpless to do anything but watch their hijacked body (and this includes no ability to takes notes for experimentation; I know how you plot still sir!)
Should you doubt me still, please Travel to the Third Coil of the Labyrinth of Tigers and visit some of the Human residents. Or I should say the shell of the human bodies. Be notably Watchful, and you will eventually see through their false "pleas."
There is still time. Cover...no, smash every mirror you have and burn all notes to your current endeavors, and drink Laudanum until the Nightmares cease. Eventually, most of them do. If all else fails, I shall hear your Confessions, and I swear by Saint Joshua, they will touch you no more as the deepest point of the Nadir will hold them.
if you wish to study something literally Enlightening, I suggest returning to the Forgotten Quarter and focusing on the Correspondence. This will unlock a new language for you (and almost none of the scholars have spontaneously combusted in a year!) We have even gotten the Turbine working again to full intake at the University, and would support any and all Enigmas you find for such endeavors. This is groundbreaking work, and you may eventually speak to the Bazaar in his own tongue! (Well, according to certain plays, maybe, or perhaps her, but sex classification with these extra-solar specimens are not linked to biology the way local creatures are above. A mountain of living Vitality I recently did see while in Flint did not appear from any birthing canal, but rumors of Stone's daughter gashed out from her, did...but I digress again.)
Professor Reflector, I truly empathize with your search for truth. I swore an oath making it my one and only Name as vengeance to someone I lost what seems decades rather than solely fifteen months ago. And although I found their cause of murder, even if those responsible were to drop (and stay) dead this moment...even if the beings responsible were somehow merged into one being only and were to stay dead (unlike one before, but again, I digress and will say no more on this,) it would not satiate that hole you try to fill. I Know what your feeling is. I know it screams almost with audible words, "But I must know the truth. I must understand!" I write to you today sir, saying, you will not. At best, your mind will go off to a place of some Confusion and you will lose knowledge. At worst, you will go to Parabola, and never return to your body's control, assuming it's not eaten outright. Such vitality is...considered sustenance by quite a few "advanced" life forms.
And how do I know of this? Actually, I do not. Or more specifically, I should pen, I do not totally anymore. For as I pen this to you, I read from a letter. One of my very own. Written by my very hand to me. With just enough knowledge to prove enquiries into its validity authentic, and just enough forbidden knowledge saved to understand why you and I must stop here, with the rite seals and a faint echo of Irrigo to understand what was done. For I note that I had to perform a rite of Saint Joshua on myself or almost agree to the whispered promises of knowledge they exaggerated. You might have met a Magician this Hallowmas. Did you ask why he has a Hooked hand? They are why. He got out fortunate.
So, while I read this and see no way to escape the cliche' of a gothic Novel's ending words, but with all my remaining being, I beg of you: Please stop this, search elsewhere. For nothing exists but your own destruction!
May Saint Joshua ease your Burden of truthseeking, or I may place your living remains in the Tiger's cage myself one day.
Sincerely,
Mightnighter "the truthseeker" [/spoiler]
edited by the truthseeker on 12/8/2015
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Guest
12/9/2015
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[*The Midnighter chuckles at being called a "priest," then chuckles when he realizes how he just thought he wasn't.
It's not like I was a Crooked Cross or anything. I encourage individual Absolution, and still keep their freedoms. That other path often just....likes chaos or Wickedness, and little more. After all, I speak to the future ones committed to the Devils at the Orphanages, do I not? Still, I find it Amusing he uses the Lightbringer Metaphor as an Analogy to the Unexplored and Defended. He probably won't like my reply, but I'll keep it honest, for the true Devil's greatest power is convincing us He doesn't exist...well, looks like I am a slight bit of a preacher after all....]
[spoiler]Dear Professor Reflector:
Before I begin, your Soul is not for the Fingerkings, but for the Correspondents. You are but a morsel to the stars. If you ask what soullessness does to Fingerkings, you miss the point of the warning and fool me not, and fool you less.
I shall write to you in this letter on the path of Temptation.
While I am actually not a priest ordained by God's calling or any other Surface Religion's tenet, I did take the Oaths of our Devout Saint Joshua.
Saint Joshua as known to the Surface was the faithful second person in command only to Moses, accompanying him everywhere he went except where ordered not by God. He was one who had faith against overwhelming odds because it was proclaimed by our Lord to be so, and eventually led against Canaan after Moses's passing. So powerful was his devotion, faith and humility, God stopped the rotation of the sun's day and kept the battle alit upon Jericho for Joshua's forces to emerge victorious, as well as God's divine attacks decimating their enemies so pious was Joshua's fighting.
This was not done to blind devotion, nor to learning above all else, but to the combination of Faith, Knowledge and Humility. When in such balance, he was blessed with invincibility and personal infallibility in his conquests.
Yet still, his armies failed at times. he could not be stopped, but the flaws of his armies could.
Even as his end was near on this physical earth, he warned his people not to consort with the outsiders, knowing the temptation at the time was to turn them from the path God had asked them to take. Where many would take the remaining time to reflect or to enjoy final leisures, Joshua set up a great stone under an oak by the sanctuary of God to this promise just before dying at the age of 110, and no Unnatural Vitalities those many centuries ago.
The problem with Temptation is not the many forms it disguises itself in, but its most dangerous form is when we think ourselves "protected." It is important for us to fight against ignorance and dogma, especially when it demands "tradition" using Fear, Racism, and Genocide as its Shadow Trinity's calling to others. Even now with such a push for scientific reason, we begin to harness the power of Light and Electricity currents and are on the verge of sustaining such a marvel in the size of even this city!
Yet the same technology and talents we used to "improve" Southern African regions because "they were savages and we were in the right to rule them properly." I cannot say the final outcome of this after London fell (actually I can, but for the sake of international peace, I will not divulge the current powers actually in play,) but the warning there is clear. We are only as good as our worst decision makes us.
Temptation is not a whisper to do evil, but worsening-ly, to do things "for the greater good." How many people must die "for the Empire?" How many Clay Men should be "Given a Labour deal where we profit greatly even if it would be exploitive if humans got such a thing because they are so Bl**dy obedient?" How many Laudanum bottles must be drunk "Because it is the only thing that lets the dreams stop...I know it will work again?"
How many favours must be done for the beings that cannot exist without hijacking our bodies because they can "Promise great secrets and power that lay lost to centuries past?"
Today, if we venture into Swampland Jungle, we will eventually contract Malaria. We do not know of any preventative measures yet, but one day we will. We recognize our precautions and our limitations.
London once sent armies into Hell because of the above. Not only did we not prepare, we lost our Humility in foresight. We all know of most of the results. I am one of the few that knows exactly what happened to those soldiers not killed. it is one of the few times I forced myself to retain such learned horrors as a warning to others. Again, there are forces besides the obvious that shape such journeys people are not able to see even if right in front of them.
An addict promises they won't go down the same path that took them there before, but they lack the ability to change due to both physical and mental traps to ensure them staying in the same cycle. If they could navigate their way out, they would. but they cannot.
You promise safety in a state you cannot even take care of yourself, and a setup meant to trap multitudes of you deliberately and to never let you go. You fear to admit being trapped to appear "weak" but the true strength of an evil is to hide its existence to keep doing its nefarious work. Both without and within.
Perhaps one day we will learn how to take ourselves physically into thought, into dream, and to colonize....a Parabolean base camp if you will. But we lack the capacity to be able to do so. We lack the tools and the knowledge and we have the insight to know if we travel there now, it is a matter of when and not if we will become spiritually ill and risk losing our body's control to ourselves.
I shal close with the question, what is the greatest Sin?
That is Pride. Pride is what caused a Seraphim Angel to say it knew what was better than what was crafted from the beginning and to try to wrest all away from its grand creation. That was the Lightbringer or Lucifer's greatest fault. The greatest sin, the story of Saint Joshua and the reminder of Humility, the reminder of helplessness to recognize bad decisions risking even one's life with an addict, and especially the temptation to "do wrong for the good of others eventually" was to remind you to recognize that you are not ready, and we are not ready and such "experiments" only end in your loss. When the time comes, we will light the bulbs and illuminate another shadow that was ignorance.
But for today, I ask you to have the humility to accept that the day is not now, and to wait until you can be safely guided to that day, and ask us for help in guiding you before you lose your way into their Darkness. That is all I can say about your life.
And nothing I say here will help your soul, unless you care about your life first. or you will sell it like it is a meal to others, and not even the others you think it goes to.
May enlightenment be with you, but you still don't want to know what happens to your soul should it truly get to the heavens. Ever.
Sincerely hoping you will Confess to me, your Limitations
the truthseeker[/spoiler]
edited by the truthseeker on 12/9/2015
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/12/2015
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[A carefully composed letter on expensive stationery, the monogram "E.A.P." embossed in gold at its head.]
"Y",
Be forewarned: I am not easily swayed from my chosen path. Seducing me will not be easy. Or is that not what you had in mind?
In a week at Dante's Grill? Rest assured you will be met.
-Prof. R.
***
There was a rapping at the window. Saevitia wasn't sleeping -- it was a bothersome habit, sleep, the kind of addiction one had to be careful of -- but the hour was late. The sound came again, prompting her to draw the heavy drapes aside, candle in one hand, sledge in the other. Oh, not rapping -- pecking. She set the candle on the table and undid the latch, allowing her white raven to slip in. He had a message tube on his ankle.
"Get this sodding thing, won't you? Never should've let Muninn talk me into being his messenger. I'm the greatest poet in a thousand languages, and here I am carrying strips of paper like some... some pigeon!" He continued his rant, blurring into several of those thousand languages until she was completely unable to interpret what he said. Not that one really needed to know; profanity-riddled invective sounded the same regardless of aural encoding.
"He really is a clever bastard if he can get you to be so... plebeian." Vitya removed the message tube, popping it open to read the tiny note within. She had to squint and hold it close, given the size of the script. "I... hunh. So the 'professor' has a date with Yvraine now? That should be fun. Do you think I should go?"
The white raven gave turned a baleful eye her way, ceasing his raving. "That is an intensely human problem. Figure it out yourself, landbound."
Well! He'd never been so rude before. "Okay, Huginn, I don't know who you're upset with here, but it damn well shouldn't be me. Muninn is the one who sent you on a menial errand, and you're the one who let him, so take your superiority complex and stick it somewhere darker than the Neath."
There was a long silence as they stared one another down.
"F___ you." The raven took to the air, bolting through the open window. She closed it behind him, glowering. Ungrateful bird. Maybe the ocelot would eat him. She sighed wistfully at the thought.
Then, thinking about her guest in the bath, she burned the message and hoped the other's splashing drowned out the details of the conversation.
--
Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/15/2015
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[A letter address to "A (surely you devils know the one!)", care of the Brass Embassy. The return address is completely nonsensical except for "The Careless Whisper", although it appears to be constructed from odds and ends of Lewis Carroll's works. The text itself comes from a typewriter, though the signature is a mostly-legible ink scrawl.]
(Presumably Mr.) A,
If you do figure out how to explain romance to C, please send me a copy of your handbook. I will pay you gladly for the privilege of seeing to its publication for as wide an audience as possible. My experience, such as it is, suggests most of the Neath could use such a guide.
That said, I have it on good authority* -- well, I presume it's good, given the circumstances -- that talking to a lady is best done using words. (That was a joke, I'm afraid, and a bad one.) More seriously, though, there is something to be said for directness. Misleading a woman by, say, suggesting that you find her personality and wit to be sparkling when in fact you think she's rather dull but have a distinct interest in discovering what lies beneath that corset, is... rather abominable, really. There's enough of that going around as is, do be sure that we don't have to start seeing it from Clay folk as well! I think C is actually rather well positioned to make a fine showing of talking to the ladies, given his natural lack of dissemblance.
Of course, any woman -- or person, really -- more interested in flattery than truth will find his company a bit irksome. Keeping in mind that I am an academic, and therefore similarly uninterested in supplying flattery, I think we can agree that such is a point barely worth considering. I'd be more worried about keeping him from turning you in to the constables should you find yourself doing something slightly questionable in his presence. Which brings me to my final point: Be careful when tinkering with his morality! As much as it would be great to have an unswayingly dedicated accomplice, there's nothing the universe seems to enjoy as much as a combination of irony and poetic justice. (If you have any doubts, think about all that happens in the Neath on a daily basis.) Tempting that is dangerous indeed!
Best of luck in keeping it (C) (and you!) together,
Prof. Reflector
* I asked a lady of my acquaintance. What follows was gleaned from her advice.
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/19/2015
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"Okay, wonderful, there's a clay man with a lady in an expensive dress. Tell me again why I'm pretending to be a professor with a big moustache." Jack sounded only moderately confused. Of course, he also sounded very annoyed, but considering she paid him very well for his work at zee, he could deal.
Vitya muttered something foul beneath her breath before answering him. "Look, don't worry about all that, okay? Just do it. Trust me, it's not like I've ever steered us wrong." She raised a warning finger. "Now's not the time to argue that point either. We're watching something beautiful here, a blossoming of a mind. So, like, settle down, order whatever you want -- I'm buying, obviously -- and try to appreciate it."
He sighed loudly at her but followed orders. She, meanwhile, wished she could read lips. Or minds. Definitely read minds, that would be pretty handy, but it seemed like a thing that wasn't really possible.
"Oh, b______s," she said, "I can't get anything from here. You... I don't know, loiter and be erudite, okay? I'm going to go get unnecessarily involved with this thing I'm supposed to be observing."
Jack stared at her. "That sounds like a terrible idea." He didn't mince words. She liked that.
"It probably is, but at least this time it won't end with us becalmed and lost at zee, right?"
He didn't know how to respond to that; he chose to sigh again. He did that a lot, especially when they were talking.
Vitya rolled her eyes. "Look, everything's going to be fine. Just... enjoy the day out, okay? Have some drinks, act like a professor, and relax. Also, watch my back in case this ends up like every time we go to a bar in Wolfstack. This place is usually better than that, but..." She ended the statement with a shrug as she stood. "Back in a bit."
***
The hardest part about pretending to be a research assistant to her own entirely fabricated academic persona was changing the way she presented herself. Vitya was inclined to saunter, if not outright swagger, but that was decidedly not how even graduate students walked. Not even in London. She found the only way to keep herself in check was pretend her shoes were tied together. It necessarily shortened her stride, made her focus on where her feet were being placed, ensuring she kept her eyes somewhat downcast instead of challenging everyone who looked her direction.
Still, it was kind of awkward going and made it seem like maybe she didn't understand how to walk properly in heeled boots. Which wasn't entirely unfair or untrue, heels were weird. Regardless, she arrived at the table being shared by Collins and Amy, a pleasant smile on her face. "Hi there! My professor sent me to watch for a couple rather like you. Have either of you responded to odd articles in a newspaper recently?"
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/14/2015
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[An op-ed in the same issue of The Careless Whisper where the published editorial (with a byline of " 'Raven' Lou Nattick) is a scathing denouncement of spider-cheese and its hench-things, the moon people.]
Precious readers,
We seem to have gone right off our rails here, and I cannot help but feel this is somehow my fault. Many of you seemed to believe I was asking philosophical questions with some interest in defending a truth. I assure you, philosophy does not concern itself with truth, and any philosopher who tells you so is reinforcing that assertion, as they are quite surely lying.
Empiricism is what I am concerned with. I have ideas and they require testing. That testing requires a few willing volunteers who will receive compensation for their time and special thanks in any future publications based on the data. It is the proper thing to do for a decent scientist, as anyone who offers you merely one or the other of those things is trying to keep something from you.
As my sequence of experiments is progressing more slowly than this... let's call it a conversation, though that is not wholly accurate given the medium, I will say some small piece more on the matter of the Gears Scenario. As I said, based on C's excellent answer, the principles of logic, and the assertions made about Gears that strictly parallel a Christian worldview popularized by none other than Milton himself, we have no reason to be particularly upset with Lucifer. He is as he was made and has merely done what he was created to do. If one's perception of Evil is that Lucifer's actions were such, it is only fair to assign the blame for those actions where it belongs. And if that particular creator is Evil, shouldn't we consider the implications? It seems a worthy effort, if only so we can probably recalibrate our moralities. A creator who deliberately perpetrates Evil against its own creations but then makes demands of those created in order to remain in its "good graces" is hardly a pleasant entity. I would say the best to be done is to refuse to give it what it wants, consequences be damned. (Please be so good as to excuse the pun.) I for one refuse to be hold hostage to the whims of a destructive, mad god.
Anyway, back to mirrors! Let us see what we can see, as it were, about these lovely-yet-terrible devices. All for the safety of society, of course, and the advancement of our benevolent Science. And since I need a drink and it would be rude not to offer any to you, dear audience, I am announcing a contest. A bottle of something surprising will be delivered to somewhere between ten and one-hundred of those subscribed to The Whisper who write in to mention this column specifically. Letters will be judged based on spelling, content, and reasoning for deserving wine. Amusing anecdotes are encouraged, along with stories of soul-tingling terror. The best entries will be republished in a future issue -- please include how you wish to be attributed in the event that you are a winner.
Remember, your sight is only as clear as the lens you look through!
-Professor Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/14/2015
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Amyntas' newest letter comes in a surprisingly mundane fashion; it has been put into the hands of a one-eyed urchin and offered to the offices of the Careless Whisper along with a gap-toothed smile and a sincere "'appy Chrismus." Like Collins', this letter has a Brass Embassy letterhead that has been hastily scribbled-over and partly daubed with ink. One might wonder why a man in possession of writable gant wouldn't have a more expedient or complete way of obscuring the letterhead. Maybe he doesn't care all that much.
Professor Reflector,
I hope this letter finds you well. Conversely, I hope the letter is well when you find it.
As always, your articles seem to arrive at the most fortuitous of times. As you already know, I have been educating C in independent thought and personal determination. I have decided, however, that one good philosophical quandary does not necessarily deserve another. Rather than continue to press him directly on the matter of independent thought, I have instead elected to socialize him. Risky, I know, but he's built like a cargo ship and he hits like a swig of airag. He will, I am sure, redress any grief he receives from the general public tenfold. Now, I haven't promenaded him out in public just yet. I'm getting a set of proper clothes made up for him (at no small expense to me, might I add!) and in the interim I'm teaching him how to properly carry himself under scrutiny.
He has taken to my lessons, albeit ponderously. In saying that, you must understand that I am not used to him deviating from my lesson-plan, such as it is. If I tell him we're to focus on table etiquette or conversation that day, I can expect him to be devoted to the topic. He might ask very interesting questions with regard to those topics, but he has never before yesterday decided to deviate entirely.
So imagine my surprise, then, when I'm halfway through instructing him on how to properly hold a fork when he asks me "HOW WOULD I TALK TO A LADY?"
I should be proud of him, shouldn't I? He's definitely thinking for himself, but what on earth do I do with a question like that? I managed to dodge it the first time, telling him we'd go over it some other time, but it didn't help. He's fascinated with women, especially society ladies with colorful clothes. Whenever we go out on walks or to check on the clothes I'm having made, he'll tell me all about the pretty dresses and lovely bonnets he saw. He's told me more than once that he's thought very hard about what it would be like to talk to a lady, but whenever I ask him what he'd talk about he simply shrugs. I don't know if he's sick of me or simply curious. Could it be that a romantic heart beats somewhere in that big, stony breast of his?
This is simply not something I'm equipped to teach, if only because I am not, strictly speaking, a lady. How am I going to teach him to navigate romance, indiscretions, betrayals and heartbreak and all the sorts of things Clay Men never deal with? Have you ever woken up next to a big hulk of rubble, clay-smeared and aching in places you weren't even aware of? I have. Not with him, but I have. I don't want to pass him off to someone else, not when he's come so far, but I'm at a loss for what to do with him. He's like a very quiet, very stentorian young man in a body of clay, first discovering his fascination with those he finds desirable. It would be charming if he wasn't in my house at all hours.
What I'm trying to communicate, here, is that I could really use a decent drink to help me through this. His first real outing is in a few days, and I'm afraid I might have to do something drastic.
Regards,
Amyntas
P.S. It occurs to me you may have wanted stories about mirrors or dreams or something along those lines. I may have entirely misinterpreted. It's just as well - I would've wanted to update you on C's progress anyhow. He does owe it to you in-part, after all. If this does end up being a candidate for your prize, I would prefer if you attribute me by my usual signature of "A." You may also refer to me as C's teacher, if you think it wise.
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/25/2015
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Collins knew little of providence and fate. They were concepts Amyntas had tried to keep out of his reach, for fear that they might stunt his growth as he became used to the notion of deciding things for himself. With no God to thank or fate to trust, Collins felt nothing more or less than an overwhelming sense of relief as the young academic came up to distract them. Quickly - too quickly for a Clay Man - Collins turned his attention to the woman who had approached them and gave her a thin and stony attempt at a smile. This, he surmised, was a colleague of the famous Professor Reflector. What luck! What magnanimity! Somehow, it made sense to him that the clever Professor would see fit to bail him out. He did not dwell too long on the question of how she would have known that Collins would be here and in such a compromising position. What mattered was that he had been given an out, and it seemed almost natural to take it.
Collins did not see it, but Amyntas looked terrifically amused.
"Good day," Collins rumbled, retaining his moderate tone. He straightened, attempting to look erudite, and thought quickly on how best to answer. The smartest man he knew was Amyntas, and Amyntas was always frustratingly circumspect when dealing with anyone besides Collins. "In a certain sense," he said, once more adopting his teacher's own cadence. "I... happen to catch snippets of certain... correspondences between certain... parties."
Amyntas cast a lock of mock-contempt toward the professor, playing the part of the debutante even now. "I don't keep up with all that speculative rot," he stated, stopping just short of upturning his nose. "It puts such awful thoughts in people's heads. Simply awful." He tried not to make his glances at Collins too obvious, and moreover did his best to conceal his pride.
Collins folded his hands in his lap, trying to seem civil. "Yes, well... why do you ask?" Had the Professor taken a more advanced interest in him? Would he be asked to talk at the University? He'd never even seen the University before. What would he do? Was this what being important was like? Do important people have to navigate the labyrinth of a difficult date while simultaneously wrestling with the knowledge that the date is actually a test being proctored by the very test itself? Had Amyntas realized that a sorrow-spider was taking residence amid the mushrooms of his bonnet? Was that part of the test? Should he pluck it out, or would that be rude?
As before, the maelstrom of Collins' thoughts were hid neatly behind his flat expression. Who would suspect Collins of such multifarious anxieties?
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
1/3/2016
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"Why do I ask? Why, for so many reasons!" Vitya had an exuberance that overflowed when she wasn't sedated, which she most certainly wasn't at the moment. 'Effervescent' hardly seemed to cover it. "And not just because my degree is on the line -- which, you know, professors being professors, it is! It's not often a person such as yourself provides such a thoroughly reasoned answer instead of simply rejecting the premise of hypotheticals as being a pointless exercise."
She was getting a little overexcited; the slightly alarmed expression on Jack's face told her as much when she glanced 'casually' in his direction. Oh well, he (and everybody else) could deal with it. The thought of a highly reflective and possibly philosophical Clay person was enough to get her brains afire, considering the typical specimen. Especially since this one had, it seemed, a date! Vitya's focus shifted abruptly.
"I do apologize if I'm interrupting something, ma'am," she said, very clearly to Amy and not Collins. "I can leave you two alone, of course, I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of, uh, whatever you two are up to, but if you're going to run me off, I have two requests. First, please don't make a big scene of it, I can take a hint, just tell me you'd rather I move along so I only have to deal with academic disappointment rather than the likely public shaming that would follow if you were to instigate some sort of scandalous ruckus. Second, at least let me get the lovely gentleman's name and contact information so I could perhaps interview him at a more convenient time. That's not so much to ask, is it?"
--
Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
1/3/2016
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"Oh, no no no..." Amyntas piped up, before Collins could answer, "I didn't know Collins was involved in the papers! What an interesting fellow." He made a show of coquettishly propping his chin up on a curled hand, gazing at Collins in a manner he found thoroughly discomforting. Collins shifted in his seat, turning his bespectacled countenance toward the excited scholar.
He knew that he should have been more excited that his work was making him notable, in some respects. This academic was certainly more animated than Amyntas tended to be - did she say that he had answered the question with distinction? He thought she had. The thought was difficult for him to parse. He had seen himself as perpetually climbing the sheer face of a cliff that the rest of humanity had started out atop. In no way had he considered that he might be more adept than any one human in matters of the mind. Perhaps he was better than he thought, and perhaps Amyntas' lessons were taking hold. Perhaps both! That was a nice thought. A very nice thought indeed, and Collins was unused to them still.
"Now, it just so happens..." Amyntas interjected again, drawing a folded slip of paper from somewhere on his frock, "Collins gave me his address a bit ago in case we failed to make lunch today. Isn't that right, Collins?"
Stunned, Collins nodded. He'd barely heard what Amyntas had said, but any 'isn't that right's were to be met with nods and some show of confidence, as he understood it.
"I've quite a good memory, you know, so I don't think I'll be needing this. If Collins doesn't mind, I'll be happy to let you have it. You don't mind, do you?"
Collins nodded again, this time with a little more conviction. "No, no, please take it." He paused, realizing he had forgotten something. "My name is Collins. Just Collins. There is a nice man at the tailor's that calls me Mister Collins, I think it makes me sound rather gentlemanly." He attempted a smile. It looked more as if he was trying to ignore a very painful stabbing sensation.
The paper is typical Amyntas correspondence. It's a scrap, and at the top a straight lowercase 't' has been sketched with an odd meticulousness. The rightmost arm of the t points downward at a noticeable angle. It appears to be an attempt at rendering a symbol or shape rather than a mark like the bishop-piece had been. Amyntas' apparent address is there, located on a dingy little street not far from the Brass Embassy. Beneath that is written 'He is quite good, isn't he?' Either Amyntas somehow managed to write this all down when nobody was looking or had planned for this. Who knows? He might have multiple slips of paper for if Collins hadn't been doing so good. Whatever the case may be, the spidery handwriting is unmistakably Amyntas'. This full-figured lady around whom Collins seems oddly uncomfortable must be a friend of his, surely. Surely!
edited by Amyntas on 1/3/2016
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/16/2015
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"I thought I asked you not to come here," Amyntas sighed, only to find a letter hung unceremoniously in his face. The Mustachioed Devil gave him a faintly-glowing amber glare from behind the Professor's message.
"Perhaps in the future," the Mustachioed Devil drawled, "we'll keep your mail to ourselves. I'm sure we can find a worthwhile price from someone interested in this 'C,' mm?"
The letter was carelessly dropped into Amyntas' hands. Fumbling for his glasses, he gave it a quick once-over before returning his attention to the devil at his door. "If you would prefer that the souls I acquire come through the Bazaar instead, you can continue making overtures to betray my trust."
The Mustachioed Devil chuckled, patting Amyntas hard enough on the back for him to stumble and wince. "Settle down, 'A.' Nobody's betraying anybody. The Embassy is in eternal admiration of your services to us, and we hope to continue a long and prosperous relationship." The devil straightened, adjusting his tie and dusting off his suit. "But while we're on the subject of the Bazaar, what's this I hear about you picking up a folder full of permits from Baseborn & Fowlingpiece?"
Amyntas' fingers clenched, nearly tearing through the paper of the letter. His expression tightened. "Is it abnormal to want a little leverage over our mutual friend?"
"It's abnormal to want thirty permits' worth of leverage, I'd say."
"Well," Amyntas puffed, "forgive me for not consulting you first."
The Mustachioed Devil's lips curled upward in a thin, mirthless smile. "Consider yourself forgiven, Amyntas. Come 'round the Embassy for lunch sometime, won't you? You can bring your new friend."
"I doubt he'd be interested," Amyntas muttered.
"You'll never know until you ask him. Good day, Amyntas." The Mustachioed Devil turned on his heel. Moving away from the door, he accidentally kicked aside a stray bottle of laudanum. With a series of shrill clinks, it tumbled down the stairs and shattered halfway to the bottom. A dark spot spread across the stair where the bottle had shattered, making Amyntas wince. "Oh, clumsy me," the devil hummed, starting down the laudanum-dampened stairs. The door slammed loudly behind him.
Amyntas had not taken ten steps back into the apartment proper when Collins piped up; "WHO WAS THAT?"
"A business associate," Amyntas explained, plainly distracted by the letter, "nobody you need to worry about."
"YOU DO NOT LIKE HIM."
"I don't like his attitude. He's no different from any other devil." Collins went quiet long enough for Amyntas to take a seat at his woefully-cluttered desk. "She wrote this with a typewriter. Why don't I have a typewriter?"
"IF YOU DON'T LIKE HIM, WHY DO YOU TALK TO HIM?"
"I thought you'd be familiar with the reasons," Amyntas slumped forward over the desk, "you weren't fond of the man you worked for, were you?"
"NO. BUT I DID NOT KNOW ANY BETTER THEN. NOW I WOULD NOT WORK FOR HIM."
Amyntas shook his head sadly. "Even people with free will have to work with people they're not fond of, Collins. When you want something, sometimes you'll have to endure unpleasant people and unpleasant circumstances to get it. That's the price of being able to want for yourself."
"IS THAT WHY YOU WORK WITH ME?"
Amyntas opened his mouth to speak, but paused. A long, heavy breath came out in lieu of words. He swept Reflector's letter aside and dug out a new sheet of paper. "No, Collins," he assured, beginning to write, "I'm very fond of you, it just so happens you're willing to help me."
"BUT WHAT IF I CANNOT FIND HER?"
"I will still be fond of you, Collins. I'll be disappointed, but I'm used to disappointment."
"WHAT IS THAT LIKE?"
Amyntas paused again, nibbling absently on the end of his pen. "It's rather like losing your soul," he decided, "when you realize it's happened, you're surprised it doesn't feel as miserable as you thought it would. You move on because you've forgotten why it would have been worth dwelling on."
"I WOULD NOT WANT TO LIVE LIKE THAT." Decisive. Singular. Amyntas was impressed, even through his growing melancholy.
"Then you should be happy that you aren't me," Amyntas advised, "in fact, focus on being happy that you're you. I want you in a good mood for when we start your next lesson."
~
Amyntas' letter is hung from a doorframe by a string, neatly folded and stamped on one side with a chess bishop. It might be the mark of an urchin-gang, given that Amyntas probably doesn't make all these odd deliveries himself. The hole made to accommodate the string passes through the center of the letter when unfolded. The letterhead is still present on this paper, but one can only see the very edges of it - the rest has been ganted.
Professor,
I am delighted to hear of your continued interest in C's progress. I believe the whole process of educating him might be worthy of a book, but you have proposed quite a novel idea: teaching a Clay Man of love and courtship means distilling it to its most basic form and working upward. Those lessons could benefit many - perhaps even other Clay Men! Our first proper lesson will be later this evening, and I will make sure to take notes if it seems to be fruitful. Collins is growing brighter every day, and I am no longer hesitant in expressing my high hopes for his progress.
You may be pleased to hear that Collins knows of you. He has yet to read your articles at length, but he wrote his response to the problem of Gears on the pretense that it would be sent to you, and he seemed happy to hear that you liked it. I told him of this letter, too, and he seemed very interested in what you had to say. I hope he does not come to resent me for speaking to others about his interests, but presently he is excited at the idea that the famous Professor Reflector is giving him advice. You see, he has it in his head that you are quite famous. I haven't gone over Slowcake's in a few months, but I have no interest in convincing him otherwise regardless of what the truth may be.
Since you have brought it up, I can assure you that my intention is not to make him a minion of mine or anyone else's. Gears was his introduction to morality and since then I have kept the topic at arm's length. Occasionally we will discuss what society expects of him, or what the laws are and how the people feel about them, but I have not instilled any hard-and-fast moral precepts in him yet. Given his response to Gears, it seems to be that he is capable of forming his own moral judgments. I will try to guide him to be conscientious and considerate, but he knows that we are different people and that I have no interest in molding him in my image.
The day of our first outing draws near. I do not have much time to teach him before his first test. I shouldn't tell you this, but he'll be going out to Caligula's and I'll be taking stock of his etiquette. Should you decide to sit in, so to speak, I doubt he will be hard to find. He looks quite smart in his new vest.
Rife with anticipation,
A
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/17/2015
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"Captain? I... what? I didn't get a note about another trip, nor did the others. We... we haven't been replaced, have we?" It was the first time she'd ever seen her first mate so concerned with potentially not zailing with her. Normally he gave her such a rash of nonsense and sarcasm!
It seemed a shame to keep him waiting, even though it was actually a little fun? She was a bad person. Not that that was news to anyone. "Oh, no, nobody else is crazy enough to board the Brazen Buffalo at all, much less take to zee in it. I'm actually here to commandeer you for a day."
"You what now?" The big man was so confused, it was kind of adorable. "What are you talking about?"
She poked him in the chest, perhaps slightly harder than was strictly necessary. "You are coming with me. We're going to Caligula's, and you're going to pretend to be an eccentric academic. I need a manly body, and you're the best I can borrow on short notice. So put on a tweed jacket and let's go. I've got your glasses."
Jack kept staring, bewildered. "I... you... what? How am I supposed to pull that off?"
"Look, it's easy, I'll coach you. Just get dressed and I'll explain on the way."
He clearly had his doubts, but he nodded anyway. "Uh. Right then. But if I'm a professor, who are you?"
Vitya shrugged. "An undergraduate? Wait, no, I'll be your lab assistant. Call me Trixie. Now get your coat, I haven't got all day."
***
The pair took a table at Caligula's, he looking vaguely put-out and slightly mysterious thanks to the spectacles she'd given him. She, of course, was a less striking figure, certainly a more childish one with the jaunty pigtails on either side of her head. "I feel like an idiot," he whispered to her. "This is the weirdest thing I think you've ever done, and that's saying something."
"You'll be fine," she whispered back. "Do what I told you and nobody will think anything of it. Remember: detached professionalism, vague statements, and pretend very, very hard that you have a magnificent moustache."
"How the Hell is that supposed to-"
She interrupted him with a quick kick beneath the table. "Shush, that's probably them. The clay man in the vest and the person beside him. Watch them to see what they do! And don't be subtle about it, we're not here to be subtle."
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/17/2015
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Amyntas straightened, looking squarely at Collins. Never had he seen a more respectably-clad clay man, though he had heard rumors. Collins' taupe surface-silk vest stood against a tight white shirt that Amyntas had endlessly fussed over, for fear that Collins' arms might tear the sleeves to ribbons. The pants fared better, obscuring the trunklike thickness of his legs and hanging just-so in order to disguise his heavy boots as polished shoes. Collins' favorite part of his new appearance by-far was the bowler-hat he had picked out from a shop-window on one of their walks. For reason Amyntas never quite understood, Collins loved how the hat looked on his head and insisted it be worn on their first real outing. It, coupled with the opaque spectacles that hid his beady eyes, gave the whole ensemble a sort of mysterious air. Amyntas was not sure he approved, but he could not deny its efficacy.
"Now!" Amyntas made his way over to the wardrobe, pulling open the heavy doors, "what is the purpose of this lunch?"
"NOT TO EAT WELL, BUT TO BE SEEN," Collins recited.
"Very good, Collins." Amyntas brushed the hanging jackets and shirts, feeling around in the back of the wardrobe for a little metal catch. "Believe me when I tell you that the most respectable establishments in London serve awful food. Caligula's is a nice compromise, I think you'll find. Once you spend an afternoon at The Bridge Without, you'll see what I mean." As Amyntas spoke, he flipped the catch recessed into his wardrobe and slid aside the panel. There, softly glowing with the light of a half-remembered sunset, was a flowing dress of Parabola-linen. As Amyntas gingerly drew it from its hiding-place, the colors began to shift and swirl as if disturbed by the movement.
"WHAT IS THAT?" Collins asked.
"A dress, Collins. I know you've seen them before. This one just happens to have cost me most of my savings."
"WHY DO YOU HAVE A DRESS?"
Amyntas chuckled, hanging the glimmering garment on the edge of the wardrobe. "To wear, Collins. If you're going to be seen, you might as well be seen with a respectable lady." He began to wiggle out of his nightshirt, casting it atop a pile of discarded letters.
"BUT... YOU ARE NOT A LADY:" Collins paused a moment. "ARE YOU?"
"No, Collins, I'm not. Be that as it may, there's only one man in this room who looks good in a dress and... well, I don't mean any offense, but it's not you." Amyntas nearly tripped over one of numerous bottles of laudanum littering the floor. "You don't have the hips for it, and your shoulders... it's not important."
"WHY NOT JUST BE YOU? I LIKE YOU, AMYNTAS."
"Two reasons," Amyntas paused to check through the drawers of his desk; a suspiciously human-looking jawbone, a set of shattered and mangled cosmogone spectacles, an unopened letter stamped with a bishop, and then - "Aha! There you are." Amyntas tugged his makeup case from the still grasp of an embalmed sorrow-spider. "I want to see how well you've taken to my lessons on treating the opposite sex, Collins. To that end, I've had to make a few compromises. Firstly, I couldn't find a woman willing to go along with this scheme on short notice, Second, it would've been terribly awkward to have me sitting there at the table judging you on your every word. I want this to seem a little natural, which is why I want you to at least pretend that I'm a lady." Another bout of stumbling and bottle-kicking gained him a hand-mirror with which to check his work. "Everyone else will be convinced, I promise you that."
"I... WILL TRY, I SUPPOSE."
"See that you do. This dress cost me a b___dy fortune."
~
And so, it came to pass that a well-dressed Clay Man entered Caligula's alongside a short and full-figured lady in a b___dy expensive dress. True to Amyntas' word, he did well enough as a lady; attention was drawn away from his short, dark hair by the mushroom-covered bonnet he wore over it, and the creative application of a corset compensated for any failings in his figure. The looks they received were singular.
Collins exuded an air of vague menace. The lack of expressiveness in his features combined with the odd uplifted-dockworker motif of his clothes imparted a look of high-class criminality that few knew quite what to do with. It was all the stranger to see him acting the part of a perfect gentleman, pulling out a chair for his transvestite teacher and lowering the rumbling timbre of his voice to something approaching a conversational tone.
Collins absently prodded at his coffee-cup with a thick finger, features downcast. "So, ah, Miss..."
"Amy, dear," Amyntas muttered, cursing himself for forgetting.
"Miss... Amy," Collins stopped prodding his coffee-cup, tucking his hands self-consciously in his lap, "What do you think of Caligula's?"
"It's good at having a reputation. I don't know if it's so good at deserving it." Amyntas flashed his pupil a thin smile - there was a certain truth in what he'd said, but the point was to test him.
Collins nodded. "Quite right," he rumbled, with a hint of Amyntas' own cadence. "Quite right." He made a sound like a disturbed jar of sand, clenching and unclenching his great thick fists. So far, so good. Amyntas looked pleased, at any rate.
"Now I don't want to seem ungrateful, Mister Collins, but I do wonder why you chose me to come along with you this evening. Surely it's not my money, is it?"
Collins stared. If he had any sort of blood, it would have run ice-cold. He didn't know a thing about this imaginary 'Amy,' and in spite of his best efforts he was still seeing his nebbishy little teacher dolled up in ladies' finery. His mind raced, inasmuch as it possibly could, and an awkward silence settled between them. Behind his stolid expression lay something akin to panic.
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/12/2015
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The laudanum had stopped working weeks ago. He took it before bed each night as a matter of course; it no longer made things any better, but he clung to the notion that it would help keep things from getting any worse.
It was the dream about the man in the mask again, clinging to his shoulders, howling in his face for him not to go further, begging him to stay in the name of their love. The forest curved in around them, smelling faintly of copper and stale urine, and the man's fingers dug into his flesh ever more urgently. He could still feel them as he woke, jerking aright and gasping for air.
Collins sat at the foot of his bed, his beady little eyes catching the moonish light. He showed little reaction to Amyntas waking up, save for the slightest cant of his head. How long, Amyntas wondered, had he been watched? Collins' inkwell and pen had ostensibly sat forgotten for some hours. His head throbbed like hell, and he found himself reaching into the clinking forest of laudanum bottles on his nightstand to find one he had not drained.
Collins spoke up as he drew a bottle to his lips; "YOU SAID HER NAME."
Though confused, Amyntas waited until he had finished the bottle and caught his breath before stuttering out a "Wh-what?"
"HER NAME. YOU SAID IT THREE TIMES. I COUNTED."
"I... didn't dream about her," at least, he hoped that wasn't what that dream was about, "Weren't you supposed to be working on your writing?"
"YES." Perhaps it was Collins' tectonic timbre, but Amyntas did not detect so much as a hint of guilt in his voice.
Amyntas sighed. His throat stung from the laudanum. He had to get out of the house, this much he knew, and he had swung himself out of bed and stumbled to his feet before he had anything approaching a plan.
"ARE YOU NOT GOING BACK TO SLEEP?" Amyntas thought he might have heard disappointment in Collins' tone. The thought unnerved him.
"No! No, ah... no. I'm going out, and you're going with me." He lurched past his writing-desk and toward his wardrobe, feeling about for a sufficiently thick and obscuring coat.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?"
"To, ah... to..." Amyntas groped blindly for his silk scarf. A feminine touch, for feminine features. An idea struck him like a Neddy-stick to the back of the head. "To... have a talk with a tailor friend of mine! We can't have you stomping about naked if you're going to be your own man, can we?"
"I... SUPPOSE NOT."
"Certainly not. We're going to get something respectable made for you, and once it's made we're going to take you out to eat."
"BUT I DO NOT EAT YOUR FOOD."
"I'll explain on the way. Come along." Half-dressed and reduced to groping under a pile of letters for his trousers, Amyntas nevertheless beckoned his pupil over.
edited by Amyntas on 12/13/2015
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Guest
12/13/2015
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[The letter was published per the usual methods in the paper, it appearing next to an Article about a failed Revolutionary attempt written clearly in a sympatric wording.
But other correspondence was thoughtfully being created whose Private reply and decorum would take much longer than the typical public educatory fare:]
Dear Professor Reflector:
(And I shall continue to use that Nome d' Plume of yours, as Time the Healer has Arrived and my background of your Identity interests have been Revealed. I shall not publicly reply any more on this if nobody is directly harmed besides noting {before using a Squad myself, I used such Fine Friends} "an Endeavor well done indeed!")
I have written about your letter so meticulously crafted to evoke questions of "what is the right choice?" Again, I thank you for raising such moral questions. Again, I must clarify and educate in the ways of parable. I have thought long and hard upon this revelatory decision, as such need months to years to absorb such details and not pick up such addictive habits so discussed in my prior letter.
But in the end, I accepted the concept some have learned becoming a Name in Seven Secret Alphabets from The Burden of Truth, to paraphrase, "It is better to swallow one hard truth than one thousand whispered lies."
You revealed a much "independent" fellow of Clay" origin making their own choice. Such a choice went back to how important it is for Humans to have Free Will to do so for better or Ill, and (to diverge a bit) how ones named "Devils" we curse we really curse at ourselves for the decisions we make for ourselves bourne ill.
But the foundation of said logic goes back to the Clay people being able to make that choice. What if I were to suppose that such "free will" is an aberration of said beings rather than an "intended grant by God or product of Evolution." For to understand how "Clay Men" exist, one must go back to how Polythreme itself exists and why the First City was taken a long time ago:
Quite a few thousands of years ago, there were two Humans.
Without passing any judgment on the act for those and these days, I will simply say they were two men madly in love with each other.
However, one had "fits" which what we would now classify as "Epilepsy" today. As modern medicine (even today with bromide,) has difficulty (well, in this time, but that is another story not for here,) subduing said attacks, you can imagine such a condition became fatal and would end one of their life without inhuman intervention back then in those days.
The Masters were soon introduced to the other. Again, even with what is known by many, I cannot mention the name of the place or where it was. I can simply say the other man ran what is known today as the "First City." If he agreed to "sell" the city, a "cure" would be given to his love. And he so agreed and the first (of now what are five) city was eventually taken Beneath. The "cure" (as the name goes for many promises made by such Masters for things beyond the Human condition) was to replace the Afflicted's Heart with a Diamond (whose equal has not been seen before or since, but was heart-sized,) infused with Vitality one gets from the Garden (and the Masters may enter the Garden as they meet the wording so written) or Stone.
As I alluded to above, a human body cannot maintain such Vitality in any progressive manner, and eventually, the Diamond shattered into countless pieces, everywhere it landed causing things to animate, even if never alive before. Thus Ploythreme was born. Such consequences were not finished. Every time the man has a significant Dream, a "Clay" being is created. Thus the title of what you know as "The Man with a Thousand Hearts." These beings, while having intelligence, are limited to their development. One thing that they all seamlessly share is Obedience to commands given to them. They are as loyal as much they are void of Free Will.
I know some readers-clever that they are-have come upon a thoughtful wrinkle," You wrote Clay men are born when this person dreams. What happens when they have a Nightmare instead?"
Now comes to the discussion of the other form of Clay man. When the "King with a Thousand Hearts" has a Nightmare instead, a Clay person is still formed, but that person is...incomplete. Unfinished if you will. Missing...things. Sometimes this simply means they are missing digits, a limb, or even a face.
Other times, they are missing...things more abstract. Restraint, Morality, Conscience. "Unfinished Men" are the only Clay types that can "become" Criminals, lash out against their "Masters" or even, ironically, develop a Conscience to make their own choices. (Yes, even without a Soul, they can develop this, but not all Unfinished do.)
So while many at Mahogany hall can teach the typical clay the concepts of Etiquette and Social appearances, only those Unfinished can and may truly Understand why.
Trying to teach the rest of the non-Unfinished Clay to become something they cannot become is as useful as giving Pentecost Apes Souls and expecting them to be Human (and yet again, that is another story for another time.)
But in no way should this be looked as a wrong for those Unfinished; this is a gift in an unexpected manner, the same way one finds Hope in the bottom of an opened Pandora's Box. We should embrace all those who are given a Choice, even if one's Choice can end up with Dire consequences if willingly done.
So for C, I wish it well for choosing such a path. But to the rest of people trying this with those unaware beings, stop trying to make an Apple into a Banana and accept the Apple for what it is, and learn yourself what the Apple offers, all innuendos and metaphors intended.
Be Wise, and Accept what Is, and Fight what Is Not,
the truthseeker
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12/13/2015
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Charlotte_de_Witte wrote:
[You find this letter on your breakfast table. The paper is your own, borrowed, but the hand writing is spidery and jagged. Part appears to have been written in charcoal and it is sticky to the touch with honey]
Dear Professor Reflector,
I have been following your column with the greatest of fascination. All the more so since a good friend informed me that my own writing had made an appearance in your pages. I should rather say, that some dreadful non-sense about mirrors or some such other awful dross, bearing my name has appeared. A very poor joke I believe made on both of us. The culprit is however known to me and I assure you they will be dealt with appropriately.
That sorry business however, is all by the by. I write today foremost concerning a recent submission printed in your pages. A very erudite and eloquent argument, but its author I fear makes some quite terrible errors. Ones that, I feel, rather derail some of his contentions.
Let us speak of the two eastern gentlemen he alludes to. One, this so called ‘King of a Hundred Hearts’, was not to legend born a man. Rather shaped from the same clay that makes his present children. Formed that is to teach the other man, a king, of his own arrogance and tyranny.
Who molded this creature? Not God. Who then breathed life and purpose into it. Why Aruru, that merciful goddess, mother of us all. Who taught this poor lonely beast civility and showed it its first taste of affection and love. Not the harsh king. Who then was it that bathed him and fed him. Why that was Shamhat, the priestess. Who saved this dying man-thing. No traitorous Master. Who then in truth was forced to make the sacrifice that provided its healing heart. Why Stone, our weeping lady. The good fellow in his letter I must say almost corrects himself. When he looks to poor maligned Pandora. Seeking a source for the Unfinished man’s free will. Perhaps he should have gone further and looked to Eve for his own.
I argue then this. Perhaps your good readers may now lay aside the imagined fault of others, Clay and Human alike. Turn away from harsh criticism and presumed superiority. Look instead to their own flawed selves. I put it that if they truly wish to gaze the faces of their makers. To find the well of life in their midst. What drives much of their own creativity, inspiration and passion. Well, then good Professor, I believe that parable may have already been written out a thousand time before.
Cordialement, Mlle. C. de Witte.
[A letter addressed to Mlle. C. de Witte. it is Cleanly Typed and has several Footnotes and bibliographies, but care has been taken by the respondent as those few Shadow-Academics who know what to not reference or publish that would risk censoring the entire letter and cause a further enquiry of the newspaper, as if keeping the newspaper's faction safe: ]
Dear Mlle. C. de Witte:
Alas, what I write is quite literally, the truth. Should you not believe me, you may zail to Ploythreme itself and gain an audience with the King himself, assuming you have the Status to do so, and the interest to be asked for. Should it be your Heart's desire being interested in "The Marvelous" game attempt (and The Numismatrix can shed more light on that matter if this is not your Ambition as it never was mine,) that is one way to get an audience with him...eventually.
Please know the difference between knowledge and faith, and learn how to subtly blend the two without becoming an embarrassment to either side. If you read my prior letter, you will have multiple examples. If you write in Parable, I apologize. if you write in Fundamental, I do not. But you calling my works in the wrong, is a slight you have just been corrected upon. Further attacks using faith over factual proof will be responded to appropriately. You may have your faith, as long as it does not attack others, including my logic. Else your attempts at dogma will fail not as Gilgamesh, but as Shamat did. And as you know, when Enkidu did become "more worldly" he gained knowledge but lost the primal "innocence" of which he lamented. Kind of like another Judeo/Christian forbidden fruit parable I might add (and "sham" to this day still means "to befraud" from this reference, although people from the 16th century incorrectly thought it derived from a North-English variant of "shame." ) As I am knowledgeable in the World's faiths, including yours, you can take the time to learn the faith of Truth. it is a hard but revealing light that helps us go forward at the cost of not going backwards.
And to those who commission such writings, did you not know I wrote for your same group when I was South at Flint? Why in Heaven's name do you think your organization should of all places try and "publish" counter on my own letter? Did you think I would not publicly reply as such? Even your Chaos is nothing but Primary teachings compared to what I innately can now do compared to you. Don't make me have AEos come down in her Yellow garb to explain it to you as she will not be as polite as I was to the Patroness then that still breathes.
My final passage in this publication is to remind others again the greatest trick the Devil ever did was convince others he did not exist. Don't fall into such similar traps of Ignorance.
Sadly Sincerely,
the truthseeker
Highly Connected to the Church although not Ordained by them and renowned Scholar of the Correspondence of which many of these tragic Romantic Stories are written in for obvious reasons for-those-in-the-Know (yet the Ministry of Public Decency still forbids public posting why, and rightly so if this is the "enlightened" response to Fact.)
[Such dribble settled (although such an attack on "their faith" will likely cause some vitriol response-disguised-in-love-really-being-intolerance, as expected for obvious reasons,) the truthseeker hands off the letter to the Knotted Sock Urchin to take care of such rush-publishing matters over on Doubt Street; half an echo will guarantee such matters.
the truthseeker puts the final touches on his real letter, knowing if any monitors were present, they would be trailing the cleverly-placed smokescreen of a reply he just sent. One can never think too many moves ahead even when one is "retired" of course.
While plotted for two days, and confirmed as early as a little over a day ago, several recipients will receive a letter "that just wasn't there a moment ago." He has the resources [Blackmail, Favours in High Places,] and such a reply is nothing more than a "polite introduction" dropping most facades for only a bit. Knowing that They know he knows and he knows They know is far enough Détente for anybody to not do anything stupid, and there is no question as to the wisdom and Intelligence of this "grouping." (Interestingly enough, even in his thoughts does he proactively not like to use the word "Network" such conditioning remains from the Game of course.)
The letter is quickly found in the recipients inventory somehow always alerted to such, and (personal space aside as to how the letter made its way to the recipients) no violation is taken in care to those receiving said letter. The seal is one that...one cannot seem to recall, and upon opening the seal, the letter is identically written and sealed-even in its smaller scale-except to whom it is addressed.]
My Dear Saevitia Vitya/Muninn/Huginn,
(Copies have been made to [not the one receiving the letter])
I hope all finds you well for both your personal self and your ventures.
My Friends Kohahycumest Berathraben and Finstarraben of Raven kin also wish to send their warmest regards and high Praise regarding your Nom de Plume "Professor Reflector" publications (well, the Lion's Share of said praise goes to Muninn and Huginn of course their fellow Peers.)
At this time I have not forwarded a copy of this letter to your Rattus Faber "Chief Engineer" (whose name has never been spoken in public, well done! So I shall honour such and not note the name here either even if this is one of the most absolutely private correspondences you will receive,) any of your colleagues in the "Hjalmar Memorial Community Center and Engineering Academy" and none of the officers or crew in Lady Vitya's Zubmarine.
Should you wish to reference this letter, I hereby give permission to do so and only to these people (except the drunken at Port loose-lipped many of your Zubmarine zailing crew; officers exempted from this and may receive such information,) and they must absolutely never spread this discussion to anybody else (including Officers to said Zailors) besides those contacted in this letter or you or any of them risk upon a most painful and permanent death. (Apologies, but this is standard disclaimer fare, and the "removal" of several players in the Game and the Black Ribbon Society-which can be clandestinely researched-will show my threat holds true if called.)
I realize such wording could be interpreted as threatening, but apologies for such required Tradespeak. Quite the contrary. I write this with the open arms (and both hands in front of me) of welcome and invitation of support. Such a business venture of yours requires "many moving parts" alluded in my the cyphered letters of my former publication (yes, you may try to decode the messages I was communicating to my contacts of course, but without said decryption tools, you have a less than 3% chance of success, and it was nothing I would worry you knowing more than "Gather more information, allow to proceed if not directly in mass Wet-work." Since your works are...of shall we say, "expected in such enterprises," you receive this warm letter.
Again, this is no demand for a percentage either, but a "nod of approval."
Should you ever need to contact me for any needs, you may do so regarding public matters regarding "my Dazed Raven Advisor" Kohahycumest. By all public appearances, I (almost always) get my correspondence successfully delivered from him (and you know the private answer to this question.) Or of course, a public letter in the newspaper is fine. Such missives are quite enjoyable indeed!
Should you need to discuss matters "best kept out of the public eye," such matters can be done at Wilmont's end through my "retired" Mystic Raven Advisor Berathraben. The usual Garden fountain there will do with him. Correspondence (including the "University kind") can be arranged for pickup and delivery at 13:27 and 23:41 precisely. (Parcels that cannot be carried by his girth should have a note with typical Pigpen cypher arranging a secondary drop-off or pick-up point; my contacts can later provide a list of said places when activated.)
And for all other matters we never ever put to print, my "retired" Devious Raven Advisor Finstarraben handles that. Since I am "retired from the Game" send a note to Berathraben stating "A request for a Late Lunch last we had Quite Early" and after the proper vetting period, Finstarraben will arrange the next step and appropriate one-time meets.
Mind you, even with all of these precautions, these (even in regards to Intelligence) are my "Public" liaisons. The same is true with me being a Midnighter. That profession is Absolutely True to what was publicly written, but not all I do is on the Surface. All I can say to confirm about this work is there is a reason Paris is not here yet. If it were, London would not be.
Should something else happen, others-not-too-flapping-or-Scuttering will be aware. Do not try to hide what you do now as we already know. It is deemed "safe enough" compared to what else could truly happen.
Should things be kept Discreet, that is all we ever need collaborate on this. When in doubt, remember, the outcome is: it's all done for Love Stories, no matter how horrific the Reality is to get said Love Stories. Even your "independent plans" you thought up "all by yourselves." Doing Notable things always has its costs, even when you think yourself free from said Notability. I won't even comment further on any of your said "Revolutionary" works, as they are barely worth this sentence and almost all revolutionaries are as ignorant to the truth as the non-Presbyter Church is, as we all know--writes the perceived Masters Patsy in his Spired tower Residence.
Consider yourself one of the Few who has now ben "read in" to this. Again, as a symbol of my welcome.
For soon-to-be-obvious reasons, please place this on something non-wood preferably made of marble and thank you for your Work. Carry on.
Sincerely,
the truthseeker['s name and the same....indecipherable and forgettable seal]
P.S. This is not a Post-Script. Reflect on that one!
[10 minutes after the letter's outer seal was broken or 2 hours if not, a flash and a whiff of phosphorescence from the inner seal happens and the letter is irrevocably burnt into undecipherable ash.]
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Charlotte_de_Witte
Posts: 360
12/13/2015
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[A vellum scroll nailed to your door, the words seem to have been burnt into the parchment by some kind of noxious acid]
Very dear the truthseeker,
What a terrible burden it must be for you, to have so much knowledge and yet still so little understanding. Where truly can I begin?
Firstly, I made mention of but a single fact I understood you to have mistook. The exact nature of the King with a Thousand Hearts. Sadly it was also the one on which you chose to pin your argument concerning our dear Clay brethren. Do you say you know for a ‘fact’ the certain identity of Polythreme’s king? Are you the Bazaar itself perhaps? Some great Judgement seeing all? I think not! No, you know only a story you have been told, a myth, a legend. Such things are nebulous at best. Yet you would base your vaunted ‘Truth’, your ‘Fundamentals’, on that story. You say I embarrass myself by blending knowledge and belief. I say you make the far greater fool mistaking legend and fact.
And what belief do you suppose I follow? What dogma? I made no mention of such. My point may have been moral, but not religious. Yet you seem to believe yourself capable of peering into the souls of others. Rather I think it is we who see a glimpse of your own, as its prejudices drip with abandon from your pen. What a paradox! You lament lost innocence, but claim knowledge is all. Free will has a price, knowledge has a price, truth has its price. Eve you must agree payed that price hardest of all (in legend I fear I must now make doubly clear!) That was my single point, but I fear seeking that out was too troubling for you.
As to your threats. How curious that it is a Woman in Yellow you think to send against me. How very brave of you, how gallant! Perhaps we might arrange to dine together in candlelight instead?
Clearly my little errata has upset you a great deal and for that I am truly saddened. Perhaps if you surrounded yourself with less corvid 'yes-men' you might learn to take kindly meant criticism a little better. It is truly I think a very great shame that wheat will not grow here in the Neath, for you do seem most determined to seek out strawmen. You may have no clue to my true beliefs dear truthseeker; and although you claim devotion to knowledge I think I see a little clearer now. You are in fact truly the most devoted servant of Salt.
Very kindest regards,
Charlotte. ( )
edited by Charlotte_de_Witte on 12/13/2015
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"Do one thing for me, Sredni Vashtar."
Social actions welcome. Only, send me dupes if you need help with the Affluent Photographer please, I like the bats! [And boxed kitties, and extreme gardening]- Thank-you!
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Charlotte%20de%20Witte
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/10/2015
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[An unusual entry in a paper often perused by those involved with the Game]
To my confessor,
We are in agreement on several matters. There are mistakes, and then there are mistakes. I'd rather not make more of the latter. Would you care to join me for an intense discussion of theology sometime, perhaps over coffee? I can't guarantee anymore sins, but nobody's perfect.
-Pref. Lector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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12/10/2015
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Saevitia wrote:
[A last-page mention in The Careless Whisper]
Kind readers,
Here's a puzzle for you: Imagine, if you will, an automaton that can do no more and no less than it is programmed to do by its maker. Can you do that? Excellent. Now consider that this automaton -- we'll name it Gears for the sake of simplicity -- consider that Gears is going about its regular business, as its instructions state.
After a while, though, Gears starts behaving a little oddly. Now, it can't do anything it wasn't told to do, so whoever made it must have put those instructions in there somehow, right? Some time later, Gears does something its creator doesn't like, not at all. The builder decides Gears is out of hand, even though it has no will of its own. It wasn't designed with a will, you see, and it hasn't manifested one.
So what is the automaton's maker to do? What would you do? Would it be responsible, do you think, to simply kick Gears out of the house, never changing its instruction set? What about switching Gears off?
For that matter, who do you think is to blame for the bad things Gears did? Can the automaton be responsible for its actions, or should the person who made it be the one to blame for any harm it causes?
Please send your responses to the Whisper's front office, addressed to "The Problem With Gears". I'll discuss the most interesting arguments in my next column.
May your vision be ever clear!
-Professor Reflector
(Snow Belie, both Persuasive and [often forgotten about] Watchful)
To The Careless Whisper
Re:"The Problem With Gears"
Dear Professor Reflector:
Whist my exploits might be known to those of a more literary nature, my studies are also in the Mechanics of Correspondence. While that is Star-creature talk, it does follow a methodical and flow-logic manner. I shall use such discourse to explain said postulate.
Your own writings supposition the "being" is not aware or willed. Therefore, it cannot in any way be responsible both on a legal and on a moral culpable level. (My dearest readers, I know or both quite well!) If a machine is proven as such with no logical variance, then mechanically, it should be treated as such, a machine. The user of record who created and/or those who have shown legal caretaking of such are to proceed as they see fit for the continuation of said choices best for their community and their goals.
Your second mistake is you again use supposition of logic with opinion. (I have also repaired the grammar showing why in brackets.) "...So [from] whomever made it must have put those instructions in there somehow, right?" We have not determined what caused said actions against the plotted automation routine. A full investigation to how an Engineer trouble-shoots said device is required. If the rework is too costly, the the project may end. if it's a unique research event, it may still be salvaged for scientific purpose. If it's a damn bit of gear stuck in a tertiary cog wheel, then that is combed out.
As to what I would do with it?
For the sake of Scientific discussion and publication but with honesty intact, I will simply state, "Everything that pleasures me, and I would make it work!"
Thank you readers.
Sincerely,
The renowned Snow Belie
Author of "The Torrid Embrace"
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Yvraine
Posts: 3
12/10/2015
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The curt op-ed is written in navy ink and in a flowing, steady hand:
Most 'esteemed' Professor Reflector,
The Careless Whisper - despite its name - has hitherto been a periodical of intriguing, if highly unorthodox, thought; an expedition to the furthest reaches of man's reason and intellect. What you are asking and proposing, on the other hand, is mere tripe.
Please, I entreat you - keep to whatever honey den in which you dreamt this rubbish and save your poor readers both the time and overexcited nerves it took to read this.
Most sincerely,
Y
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No Affluent Photographer or bags of critters, please.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/9/2015
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[Another publication within The Careless Whisper, this time ostensibly a critique of narrow-mindedness.]
Hello again, gentle readers, Professor Reflector here.
There has been quite the outpouring of response to some of the articles gracing this and other papers lately, much of it emotional. I'm rather touched by the concerns expressed; truly, Londoners still remember the value of watching out for their fellow man! Let's talk about things more frankly, shall we?
There's a certain feeling among some parties that, well, this research of mine is a danger. To me, to you, to London as a whole. I've had one particular preacher write in suggesting that perhaps I'd been consorting far too closely with devils and their ilk. An interesting speculation, and one I'd like to use as today's jumping-off point.
Do you know, dear readers, of the Devil? Not the friendly folk who will give you a lump of warm brass for your soul -- a bargain which this paper and this author can neither encourage nor condemn for legal reasons -- but the Devil with a capital D, the one the vicars go on about. You know, the horn-headed, goat-hoofed, fork-tailed Traitor of Heaven himself. Descriptions of him often involve the "stench of brimstone" or what we nowadays may call sulphur. That's right, good old helpful sulphur, a key ingredient of most things that go "boom" and industry itself. Now we could spend days arguing about whether or not gunpowder is a tool of the Devil, and plenty have, but it seems unnecessary. It's a tool, and that tool is only as dangerous as the person holding it.
The search for knowledge is a search for new tools. I don't plan to open any gates to Hell -- the Embassy has cornered that market anyway! -- but it's worth noting that even doubting my motivation here, it is an impossible task to undo something you do not understand. Breaking mirrors is no solution. Any sufficiently reflective surface, like those lovely gold buttons you're wearing, you fine dandy, is a mirror. Do you want to live in a world where we literally cannot bear to look at ourselves from fear? Or would you prefer to understand what's happening, so we can make sure it doesn't work against us?
Think about that, darling audience, before you rush to judge. Keep your minds open to new possibilities instead of thinking doom and destruction is around every corner. Just a thought, of course, but one I hope you'll take to heart.
As always, Correspondence welcome regarding this matter. I do enjoy a lively conversation!
Watch out for the spiders!
-Professor Reflector
[OOC note: There will be a separate letter addressed specifically to Midnighter and another for Amyntas. This was merely the published response.]
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/9/2015
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[A private letter; the handwriting is cramped and the message apparently not ciphered.]
Amyntas,
Coincidences aside, there are no coincidences. The Correspondence is a very interesting field of study, even though it lends to bloody eyes and blackouts and temporary madness. You're right, I've a bit of experience with it -- more than some at the university, possibly less than others -- but there's a reason I'm not working on it. You don't ask Sir Isaac Newton to take up painting because maths can be used to aim artillery. You let him do what he does and use the knowledge for good.
I'm not exactly Newton -- he was rather misanthropic, as I understand. I may not have quite his genius, either, but I've got some pretty good theories here about how these mirrors function. I need to perform some tests to be sure, otherwise how can we keep them from being used against us? Honestly, do you really want to have your eyes eaten while you're trying to shave? I sure don't.
Warmest regards,
Professor Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/9/2015
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[A letter carefully encoded for a Confessor of Saint Joshua and left at the shrine.]
To: "The Truthseeker"
[spoiler]
You wrote to me of some very interesting assumptions regarding mirrors. I have taken these warnings to heart, believe it or not, and I won't be used. I won't let the fear of the unknown (or "too known" I suppose, if you can read your letters) hold back progress. Progress, in this case, being twofold:
(a) a means of defense against these "fingerkings" that doesn't involve cutting myself while shaving every morning;
(b) discovery of a new way of travel that could revolutionize the world as we know it.
If there is some secret cabal working to keep these wicked Parabolans from conquering us, I'd prefer oversight to incarceration. I appreciate the veiled warning/threat of your letter; makes me think you've got a good heart going on there, or at least a practical one. (Honestly, puppet-slaves to extra-worldly entities never ends well for anybody, even in the romances.) I'd like us both to benefit from our new acquaintance.
As a last note, does soullessness have any effect on this whole fingerking/puppet business? Asking for a friend.
[/spoiler]
-Professor Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/9/2015
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Saevitia wrote:
[A private letter; the handwriting is cramped and the message apparently not ciphered.]
...
The reply is curt and written on the back of a business-card - not his own, unless his last name happens to be 'von Lieberman' and he suddenly decided to work in bricklaying. It was stuffed under the door at some ungodly hour.
It is funny, professor, that you should mention shaving. I haven't grown hair about my face and chin since I started looking into the Correspondence.
If I was not direct enough, my intention was to caution you against your work. The Correspondence is a virulent and terrible thing, but neither conscious nor innately malicious so far as we are aware. What you are tampering with has designs to ruin you. Nevertheless, you have convinced me that you will not budge in the matter of your research if nothing else. This, I can respect.
When next you publish your work, I will send you another letter. It will be encoded in the usual manner - I despise ciphers.
-A
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/11/2015
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[Front page of The Careless Whisper but below the fold; the upper portion is taken up by news of some riot/political demonstration/massacre conducted recently by certain radical factions. As expected, the paper takes a vaguely sympathetic stance to the latter without explicitly saying so.]
Dear, dear readers,
I'd like to share with you a little something. We're going to talk about Gears again. I said I'd wait, and this is why, you see. I had been expecting this letter and wanted to be sure it was on-hand before we had ourselves a merry little discussion.
Reprinted below is a short essay from one of London's very own Claymen, clearly an individual of logic and scholastic capability. Now, I know not everybody loves our Clay brethren, so this is being published with the name removed. I will, however, gladly acknowledge the esteemed author as 'C'. Without further ado:
THE PROBLEM WITH GEARS
IF I HAD MADE AN AUTOMATON TO SERVE ME, AND IT DID NOT ACT ACCORDING TO MY WISHES, I WOULD SWITCH IT OFF FOR GOOD. IF GEARS CANNOT WORK THE WAY IT IS MEANT TO WORK, THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO WALK AROUND. ESPECIALLY IF IT IS DANGEROUS. BECAUSE IT HAS NO WILL OF ITS OWN, IT CANNOT DETERMINE ITS OWN ACTIONS. IT IS THEREFORE SIMPLY WORKING IMPROPERLY. THINGS THAT DO NOT WORK PROPERLY MUST NOT BE USED. THERE IS NO RECOURSE FOR BLAME BECAUSE THERE IS NO WILL INVOLVED. GEARS' HARMFUL ACTIONS ARE AN ACCIDENT, THE SAME AS A FALLING STALACTITE.
I CAN DECIDE TO WORK OR NOT. TO HURT OR NOT. IF I AM TOLD TO DO SOMETHING, I CAN LISTEN OR DO SOMETHING ELSE. I CANNOT BE TURNED OFF. THAT IS WHAT SEPARATES ME FROM GEARS.
Lovely reasoning, no? The misconduct of Gears is not something to be punished -- how could Gears possibly have made a mistake when there was no ability to make a choice? Most answers were along these lines, though I find it most compelling in the phrasing of C. Why that may be is an exercise left to you, my delightful audience.
You may be wondering why I even posed this question. I am going to tell you, though I imagine many of you will be distinctly uncomfortable with the implications. Remember, friends, The Whisper merely publishes some of this content due to contractual obligation. It would be inappropriate to hold their staff responsible for what are solely my own conjectures.
Gears, lovely readers, was merely a stand-in for Lucifer. Yes, that Lucifer.
What separated Man from the angels was free will. Man had the choice to believe or not, to sin or not. The angels are God's automatons. They praise him in Milton's Paradise Lost because they are required to do so. It is a built-in feature! And yet we shun our devilish brethren and lash out at them as unnatural creatures. We blame Lucifer for his actions incorrectly.
The creator who should be blamed instead? I think you can work that out for yourselves.
Heresy is in the eye of the beholder, delicious friends!
-Professor Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Amyntas
Posts: 72
12/11/2015
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Amyntas is back to his usual mode of correspondence. The next letter is found in a bundle of cloth tied by string and set conspicuously on an office windowsill. Within the bundle is a daguerrotype plate depicting a very tall and heavyset woman standing beside a short and smartly-dressed man in what looks like a garden. Their features are worryingly indistinct - moreover, an unnatural blur has stolen much of the remainder of the picture's detail. Crumpled in with the plate is a featureless scrap of torn paper. Darkness reveals a letter penned in gant.
Dearest Professor Reflector,
Before I go any further, I would like to apologize for the inconvenience you have undoubtedly had in reading this letter. Believe it or not, I had nothing else on hand. Such is the life of one that aspires to work backstage, I suppose.
I am glad to see that you are as eminently pleased with Collins' answer as I am. I would like to tell him what you have told your readers concerning the true nature of the question, but at the same time I fear that it may spoil the progress he has made. Do you notice how he closed his letter? He is acknowledging that he is different from Gears. He has a will of his own, and thus he is culpable for his actions unlike a malfunctioning automaton or a falling stone. Shutting off Gears was symbolic. He was discarding the old image of himself: one who obeys and does not question.
Collins' progress is pleasing, in and of itself, but it is important to me for several reasons. I went to the trouble of writing this in such an expensive and inconvenient manner because I must thank you with all due promptness, before I become mired in intrigue again. Your question was the key to unlocking Collins' will. With more lessons and a little time, he might yet live whatever life he chooses. Moreover, he has agreed to help me find her.
I am in your debt. Should you ever require my services or contacts, you need only say the word.
-A
edited by Amyntas on 12/11/2015
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Amyntas. Zubmariner and aspiring romantic.
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Yvraine
Posts: 3
12/12/2015
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Blackmail!
The author and recipient of the offending note fumed in the foyer of the townhouse, face growing redder by the minute. "Of all the - the-"
Anastasia, interrupted from her grooming session atop the author's chaise lounge, squeaked an acknowledgement. "Audacity?" she supplied.
The writer stopped abruptly, fixing the pale rat with a surprised look. "Yes. The audacity. To demand wine - it's disgusting, Ana, especially so when invoking so-called 'Christian forgiveness'." She'd long since given up those beliefs, but it nevertheless rankled.
"So... what are you going to do then?" The albino creature went back to delicately grooming her paws, now that Yvraine's initial anger was starting to subside.
"Life and half-truths..." she'd been muttering, before standing up, deeply breathing, and declaring, "The decent thing to do, which is acquiesce. We have literally *thousands* of bottles of the 79 in the wine cellar; honestly, Professor 'Reflector' is doing me a favour. Those bottles are swill." A pause. "And there *is* no Professor 'Reflector', you know. I'd've seen him or her at the University, though probably in one of the more uncouth Benthic revels..."
Anastasia rolled a beady little eye. "Indeed." Her mistress gone back to shaking her head at the whole business, so the rat stood up and began to set about the other business of making sure the anonymous mirror threatener got their cheap spirits.
***
Attached to the crate of wine, and in the same fine hand, only now with garnet ink:
"Professor",
Truly, this business is ghastly, what with your threat of blackmail. Still, I would very much like to put it behind us. Shall we meet for a friendly, intellectual discussion? I would very much like to meet someone with so much spirit and audacity.
Dante's Grill. One week. The reservation has been made.
Most sincerely,
Y"
--
No Affluent Photographer or bags of critters, please.
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Guest
12/10/2015
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Saevitia wrote:
Saevitia read the latest note with some amusement in The Careless Whisper's editor's office. "It's Yvraine," she said to her two companions, "and she's accused us of writing 'mere tripe' with this Professor Reflector business." Her giggle turned into a cackle.
The white raven scoffed vocally; the black one muttered disparaging comments about Yvraine's parentage and virtue.
"Oh, settle down, you two. She doesn't know it's m- er, us writing as the prof. I'm sure the next time I have her over she'll gripe about 'him' and suggest I terminate the column entirely." Vitya hummed to herself, considering the letter before her. She had so many options for dealing with her friend it almost wasn't fair! (Almost.)
"Okay, here's an idea. Muninn," she addressed the dark bird directly, "I want you to write a letter to-"
The raven in question croaked rudely. "Give me one bloody good reason why I sodding well-"
"-totally unsupervised, dear friend." His protestations silenced immediately, head cocking to one side. Good; it meant he was listening. "That's right. I'm leaving you to write her whatever threats or subtle schemes you wish, no questions asked. But -- and this is important, so pay attention -- but I don't want you harming her or, you know, having her home ransacked. The most I'll tolerate is maybe spilling some wine on a good dress or a symbolic but otherwise meaningless pile of bat corpses on her doorstep. She's still my friend, after all."
She got the distinct impression Muninn was glaring at her.
"Those are my terms. Are they acceptable?"
The raven rocked from foot to foot a few times before responding. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can do something fun enough with that."
Vitya beamed. "Fantastic! I can't wait to see her reaction."
***
[A note, written in sharp, angled script, with a University return address on the envelope]
"Y",
As a peddler of lies, half-truths, and rubbish prose yourself, perhaps you should consider some professional courtesy before writing about fields you do not understand. I've half a mind to ensure you become suddenly unpublishable, perhaps through some strategic documents being sent on to the constabulary.
However, I'm a courteous fellow who believes in good, old-fashioned Christian forgiveness. Of course, said forgiveness is only possible after certain requirements are met, as you should expect. Absolution requires an act of contrition; your absolution requires the delivery of a crate of wine to the address on this envelope within the week.
If you don't think I can follow through on my threat, I suggest you consider very seriously all the places you've been lately and how many mirrors you've been around. Are you sure it was only your reflection staring back at you every time? Truly certain?
Consider it, Evraine.
-Reflector
[OOC Once again, just Bravo.]
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/11/2015
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[A half-sheet insert loosely tucked into most copies of The Careless Whisper and several other papers based nearby. Non-Whisper newsmongers seem quite perplexed at how something clearly designed for one paper ended up in so many others without anyone noticing.]
Lovely readers,
As before I have enjoyed the myriad responses to my latest publication. Some, however, have suggested my logic was faulty. You may continue to feel the premise of the question is somehow invalid because you disagree with the logic, but for the sake of argument, let us assume that the so-called assumptions I made during the description were not assumptive in nature, but descriptive. It is not that they must logically follow, but rather that they simply are, as in a proper mathematical proof. Consider them to be givens, won't you?
In the interest of awaiting what promises to be fascinating data, I will not discuss the Gears scenario for another full week. Meaning, I suppose, it is time to talk about mirrors again. I know, dearest audience, I know -- they are a dangerous subject and my research is, apparently, some small abomination against your deity of choice. And yet... I believe we as a people find ourselves crippled by our lack of understanding. Please, calm yourselves and hear me out.
What size mirrored surface is 'safe'? Is it only items designed to be mirrors that function as mirrors, or can sufficiently polished shoes and wedding bands also have these anomalous properties? Does breaking a mirror solve a problem or does it merely create scores of smaller problems with sharp edges? We need data to answer these questions and so many more. I want to help us get that data. And that means... I require volunteers.
While I obviously cannot predict all possibilities, I can promise the presence of highly trained marksmen to ensure any 'accidental visitors' are appropriately dealt with, as well as certain feline and avian presences to deal with unexpected snakes or spiders. All study participants will be named in any publications that come from said research, unless they do not consent to the attribution. There will also be monetary recompense.
And for the last time, no, I am not collecting or donating souls. Yes, the Embassy made an offer of partnership, but I rejected it. If anybody tries to tell you otherwise, ask them to produce the contract because I assure you, any such smugly brandished article will be a forgery.
Don't let them blind you with their truths!
-Professor Reflector
***
Leaving the newspaper offices, Saevitia wandered aimlessly for a bit before making up her mind on a destination. Might as well check in on some side projects. Maybe afterward she would swing by the docks, see to stirring up a small fight, then catch up with some of her zubmarine crew. But first…
“Right, lads, good work. Seein’ as the ‘Eadmistress is ‘ere an’ I don’t want you makin’ a mess while she watches, take five!” The grizzled rat shouted his apprentices down, sending them back inside the community centre. That done, he executed a smart about-face. “Righto, ma’am, wot can I do for you?”
Vitya squatted down to avoid towering overmuch. “Just checking in, Chief. How’re they doing? Frustrated enough to burn the place down and quit?”
The L.B. chuckled. “Not yet, ma’am, though not for lack of tryin’. I’m thinkin’ the first class’ll be graduatin’ next week. Wouldja care to be there?”
“Of course!” She nodded emphatically. “I’m really excited about it! Do you have caps and gowns and tiny diplomas and all that sort of thing?”
He looked puzzled. “I, er, no, ma’am, I don’t believe we do.”
Shaking her head, Vitya smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll place the order, make sure they’re delivered ahead of time. How’s everything else going? How are you?”
“Not bad, not bad. To both, ma’am. The centre’s doin’ well, we get more an’ more takin’ a gander erryday to see wot we’re all about. The engineerin’ school is gettin’ more students all the time, too. Speakin’ o’ which…” He glanced about, making sure there were no stragglers listening in. “Word is the Scutterin’ Company and you have reached an agreement.”
Her eyebrows went up. News traveled fast among rats, apparently. “Of a sort, yes. They’ve detailed out a small squad – temporarily, mind you – in return for a small favour I did. Why, is that going to cause trouble here?”
The chief shook his head. “No, no, naught like that. I was thinkin’, though, maybe we should be talkin’ to the Company. Like, we could be an auxiliary. Surely they could use some engineers to help out. Sappers, demolitions, maybe even plain old armoury work.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. In fact, having a small army of highly capable rat engineers on hand during a heist could be fantastic. They could provide distractions, blow open vaults… The possibilities were endless! “I hadn’t thought of that. Sounds like a bloody good idea to me, but I don’t want you all to become conscripts. I don’t want the mercenary life to be all your youngsters can look forward to.”
“Me neither, ma’am! We’ll just… establish contact, let it be known we could maybe hire out some of our folk for certain jobs.” His mouth opened in what she presumed was some kind of satisfied grin. “A few of the lads were talkin’ about the Company already, see, so I’m thinkin’ if they know they could get a special place wot with the trainin’ they’re gettin’, maybe they’ll make sure to finish their course. Then they can always fall back on repairin’ machinery if somethin’ happens.”
Sounded good to her. “Good thinking. Let me know if you need anything to help out with that. Also, I can start working on ingredients for gunpowder and firearms if you were planning on starting a little weapons design work.” His eyes went wide and his body was literally quivering with anticipation at the thought. “I’ll take that as a yes. It may take a few weeks to get everything sorted, but we’ll make it happen.”
“Ohhhh, thank you, ma’am. You’ve no idea how excited that makes me.”
Vitya laughed. “Actually, I think I do. Anything else for now, Chief? I should be getting home, starting work on those requisitions if not.”
The head rat performed a snappy salute. “No, ma’am! Have a smashing night, and I’ll send a lad ‘round with a note when we’ve settled on a graduation date.”
Her whole walk back to the hotel, Saevitia was smiling. The Hjalmar Memorial Community Center and Engineering Academy was turning out to be one of the best investments she'd ever made.
--
Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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Guest
12/7/2015
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A certain hooked-hand-currently-Genial Magician wishes to speak about your "experiments"
edited by the truthseeker on 12/7/2015
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Saevitia
Posts: 58
12/7/2015
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[An editorial in The Careless Whisper, a somewhat questionable publication that never quite disagrees with the revolutionary types as strongly as it probably should]
Hello, readers, it's Professor Reflector again. Good to see you again -- directly, not as images bounced off strange worlds and gleaming surfaces.
I received a letter recently, quite possibly from you. I know, I know, you didn't write a letter, so it couldn't have been from you. But are you so sure about that? Perhaps you did and forgot. Perhaps you didn't, but that other one, the one who looks like you, who won't stop telling you they're the "real" you, perhaps they wrote. Regardless, light a candle, cover your mirrors for a few moments, and relax. I've got some advice to give, free but for the price of this paper.
Have you ever really looked at the letter "S"? It's a lovely one, I know, all sinuous and curvy, it seems to sound itself for you by shape alone. When you think of "S", you probably think of more than one, as in "hiss" or "snakes". That's fascinating, isn't it? One letter, a common one, so tied up in the way we think and speak, and so directly connected to the old tale of forbidden knowledge, the serpent guarding the apple.
There's another "S" word in that story, you know, one of great relevance to this discussion: seduction. That's right. The ssserpent -- see how right it looks with the repeated letter even though any academic will tell you that isn't how it's spelled? -- seduced Eve, according to the story, convincing her to eat the fruit of knowledge, to expand her knowledge and vision. We won't talk about the rest of the scene here; you know it, and it's only relevant in today's London as a trite metaphor for the city's much more literal fall.
But to get back to those seductive serpents and their sinuously shaped letters: Are you worried now? Do you think maybe you like "S" too much? Maybe, just maybe, all those mirrors are showing you a different world, one that's a little too... rippled? Have you found yourself wondering if maybe you could push through the mirror's surface, or toss a rock into it to watch concentric circles flow outward? It sounds relaxing, I know! I may well do it myself later tonight, even, but let me make just one little request of you, dear reader: Don't do it alone. That's right. Find a friend, someone you know and trust, maybe someone who is a little worried for you but you've reassured them because of course there's nothing wrong. You just want to share the experience, let them see everything is okay.
Tell them you'll agree to get the help they think you need if they still don't believe after tonight. And then, well, come on down to the offices of The Careless Whisper and ask for Professor Reflector. We'll see if we can't schedule you a special session, show you what all these mirrors can do.
Keep an eye out, dear readers!
-Professor Reflector
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Saevitia's profile and appearance! [Gone NORTH]
Now playing Esméralda, Saevitia's former helmswoman and moralistic Campaigner; she looks like this.
I'm usually up for RP. Social actions are generally accepted; those with in-character RP invitations are most likely to be reciprocated.
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