Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/15/2018
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[Co-written with Shylarah and Lady Jen Black]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
Labyrinth of Tigers - Undisclosed Location
11:15 AM
The tigers who left to investigate the noises do not return. Then the little company is treated to the sight of a spotted feline sprinting past, followed by -- is that George’s sinuous bulk? And that laugh can only be Nikki. Oh dear.
Jen gapes for a moment when the stampede goes past. Nikki. On a rhino. With Anactoria behind her. And Caroline in pursuit. “... what in the Neath?” she mutters under her breath.
Thankfully, all the tigers seem equally flummoxed by the parade of creatures. The Judge is the first to recover her dignity. “What are you doing? Go after the stampede!”
Some of the tigers make to follow, but the one in the lead puts out a paw. “Stop! Walter's on the loose, it's dangerous!”
The Judge glares at the tiger. “What are you doing? Get back on your paws!”
“But there are so many of them! We've never had to contend with such a stampede before!”
The tigress snarls. “I'm sorry, is this not your speed? Then I'll take the lead!” She runs out, and the others follow with varying degrees of enthusiasm, or lack thereof.
Three of the largest and surliest tigers are left to guard the prisoners. The basalt-walled room suddenly seems much larger and quieter as the sounds of the stampede move past and on into the distance.
---
edited by Aberrant Eremite on 2/15/2018
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Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/15/2018
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[Co-written with Hubris Glamore and Lady Jen Black]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
Labyrinth of Tigers - Undisclosed Location
11:20 AM
Only three tigers left in the room. Jen frowns. Knives are not made for nonlethal incapacitation, and she's not sure if knocking it over the skull with her cane will be enough to take it down. Her gas bombs may not work either. This will be a challenge.
*****
Ah, good. I love a challenge. Telemachia Lee swaggers straight up to a tiger, grinning, wrapping one end of her anchor-chain around her left fist, leaving the other end to swing free from her right hand.
*****
A perfectly timed distraction. Hubris begins to move along with Lee and Tanner as they make to assail the remaining tigers. Selecting a tiger they've not yet turned towards, he starts towards it, removing his jacket and gripping it by the collar.
Quickening his pace before the tiger's attention is returned to the group, he twirls the jacket into a tight, makeshift cloth rope. Gripping the other end of it with his free hand to prevent it from unfurling, he breaks into a dead sprint before taking a running leap onto the tiger's back, swinging the jacket rope down over the surprised feline's head and pulling it taut against the throat. "So sorry about this." he says, gripping hard with his legs and pulling backwards as hard as possible, quietly thankful of his decision to spend the extra money on silk clothing and the tensile strength that goes with it.
Assuming he can manage to maintain his balance, this shouldn't be too much of a hassle. After all, riding a tiger is fine until you get off, unless of course you're able to stay mounted until it passes out from lack of oxygen. Until then, Mr. Glamore will remain atop the unwilling mount desperately trying to shake him free.
---
edited by Aberrant Eremite on 2/15/2018
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Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Tanner Price
Posts: 30
2/15/2018
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Look at that butler go!, Tanner thinks while keeping a spare eye glued to the snarling tiger stalking towards him; the very same arrogant brute that promised no thirst for his death now baring hideous fangs. It looks like that pact is expired. Tanner maintains his distance and circles the tiger, light on his feet, and works to unfasten the belt tie of his leather coat to reach his weapons. He should’ve planned this out better. This is no time to be a magazine model!
While his hands are occupied with the knot, the tiger pounces with unhinged ferocity. It barely misses the captain springing to the side. Its claws scrape the basalt floor as it skids to a stop, furiously spinning around to glare at its opponent. Tanner gets the knot out and throws open his coat while dashing in quick bursts. A hand plunges into a pocket and thrusts out a bundle of cylindrical stun grenades. The tiger sprints at him and leaps claws-forward into the air. Tanner pulls a pin and drops the bundle.
He dives headfirst in a desperate leap away, and the tiger crashes down with a foreclaw stuck inside one of the other unpulled pins. Before it can wheel itself around, three quick rounds of concussive bombs burst into the tiger’s face. It roars in enraged distress and claws at the air in front of its eyes, unable to see or hear anything besides a constant white ringing. Tanner quickly rises off the ground and barrels for the tiger.
In a savage pounce of his own, Tanner hurls himself onto the tiger’s back and grips gloved hands tightly to the thick patches of fur. He climbs on all fours closer to the thrashing beast’s neck and locks the toes of his boots around its belly. With a hand diving into another pocket, Tanner’s legs cling for dear life as he fishes out a small pouch of sleeping powder and pours it out into his other palm. He clenches his fist around it and lurches himself forward to hold the head steady and smear the yellow powder into the tiger’s nose.
It continues to thrash and howl and snort until one of its knees gives out, followed by another. Tanner slides off the tiger’s back and walks unhurriedly to stand in front of his immobilized foe’s face. His expression remains neutral, but his eyes stare into those of the heavily panting feline.
“You… lack a killer’s... instinct….” it sputters.
“I don’t need one.”
The tiger struggles for one last effort of defiance and twists its face into a labored snarl. Then its expression drops, and its head slumps to the ground.
Tanner watches the arrogant beast’s body settle quietly into unconsciousness, and he turns to walk away from his conquered foe. He smiles.
--
Captain Tanner Price: Legendary Charisma [SEEKING PROTEGES]; esteemed pirate and social butterfly; raised by the girls of Mr Wines.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/18/2018
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[Co-written with Lady Jen Black and Slyblue]
Jen watches with satisfaction. There’s no real need for her to stay. She’s chosen a strong team who can take care of themselves, and she doesn't want to get in the way of their tiger fighting. All the tigers are occupied, and her talents can be better occupied elsewhere. “Hubris, when you're done, go find Cosmo. I need someone I can trust to watch them. Tanner, go after Nikki. Try to get her off that rhino, she's far too memorable on it. Mike, with me, let's grab Lee and get to work.”
Wait … where is Mike? Jen hears the crack of a rifle echoing from down the hall. She slips off in that direction to investigate. Within a few steps she sees Michael rounding the corner. His clothes are a bit blood-spattered. He holds his rifle in one hand. He gently cradles a weasel in the crook of the other arm.
“Mike, what happened?” she demands.
“Ach, dinnae fash,” Michael replies cheerily. “Lil’ Buddy here,” he indicates the injured weasel with a nod, “will be right as rain in no time.”
“That wasn’t what I - wait, where is Lee going?!”
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/19/2018
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Friday, 27 December, 1895
Labyrinth of Tigers - Undisclosed Location
11:20 AM
Telemachia Lee is a very strong woman. She is often able to make easy money on bets in Wolfstack taverns, by performing unlikely feats of strength or hustling arm-wrestlers. But a very strong woman is still less strong than a very strong man, and a very strong man is still less strong than a healthy tiger. This is what the chain is for. It’s a weapon that favors skill over strength.
The tiger leaps. Lee dodges to the side and whips the chain around a hindleg, and pulls hard. Instead of landing gracefully on four paws, the tiger falls flat on its chin. While it’s stunned, Lee puts the boot in. Steel toes smash into its ribs and gut, over and over, until it whirls with a snarl and a slash of claw. Its claws slice through the tough leather and grate on the steel reinforcement beneath.
Lee faces the tiger, whirling her chain, and lashes out, multiple strikes from every direction. The chain lengthens or shortens to counter the great cat’s attempts to dodge it, and flexes around the paw it raises to defend its head. The tiger snarls and hisses as long red welts appear on its face.
Maddened by pain and rage, the creature no longer acts like a thinking being, but reverts to pure predator. When Lee steps back, onto the Judge’s stage, the tiger’s leap is swift, brutal … and predictable. Lee’s chain curls around its neck and she pulls, bracing her feet against the edge of the platform. The tiger’s head smacks into the wall with a shockingly loud thud. Tiger skulls may be harder than human skulls, but they’re not harder than solid basalt.
Again, Lee closes and puts her boots to work. The stunned beast gasps and hisses as she kicks the wind out of it. It rises again, slashes at her again, but it’s slow and weak and easily dodged.
The tiger roars - loud, furious, primal threat. Lee winces as the force of it hits her sensitive ears, and she barely dodges the next lunge. The rejuvenated tiger tears open her trousers, leaving fresh marks on thighs already heavily scored with claw-scars.
Lee is braced and ready for the second roar. As the tiger rears, raising its claws over her head, she steps inside its swing, whipping the chain around her right hand, and boxes its ears with short, hard, vicious jabs of her chain-wrapped fists. The tiger yowls with pain, rage, and fear - and turns tail and runs.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Lee’s chain snags a rear paw, momentarily arresting the tiger’s flight, but it shakes free and bounds for the door.
“Get back here!” Lee snarls, her normally-pale eyes dark with fury. “I’m not finished with you by a d----d sight!” She hurtles out of the room, hot on the tiger’s heels.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Cosmo Beck
Posts: 33
2/23/2018
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Cosmo runs. They were not unfamiliar with the Labyrinth, so they were able to make their way towards the exit of the Third Coil without issue. Apart from the tiger blocking their way.
It turns as Cosmo approaches the Second Coil and snarls. It immediately starts bounding over to attack.
“Oh… for the love of-”
Cosmo has to think quickly. They sink to their knees and scrabble around on the ground before they find what they were looking for. That would do: heavy, relatively round, and they could grasp it in the palm of their hand.
They stand up. One foot forward, elbow bent, with projectile clutched to their chest. They rapidly bring back their elbow and let their forearm flick out, straightening their arm. It swings round in an arc, as they spring towards the tiger, and at just the right moment, their hand opens.
The rock hits the tiger square on the forehead. Aim on point. Cosmo smiles: they still had it. They doubted the throw was fast enough to kill the beast, but it would certainly be concussed.
They make their way to the checkpoint. Nobody had seen that, had they? Typical.
--
Available for mutually beneficial SAs and RP.
Professor Evelyn 'Cosmo' Beck-Scholar of diverse interests. And dubious means.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/27/2018
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[Co-written by Shylarah, Tanner Price, and Anactoria St. James]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Labyrinth of Tigers: First Coil
11:30 AM
Nikki is in fine form, sitting astride the rhinoceros in the middle of chaos like an empress holding court. Of course the Shuttered Palace has nothing on the sounds here -- animals vocalizing, people shrieking and shouting, the various crashes of property damage. It’s a rush. The rampaging parade tromps past the expressive faces of her heist comrades and continues on, and the irrepressible thief tilts her head back and laughs as tigers try without much success to contain the disruption.
They head out into the First Coil proper, scattering visitors and a few cowed animals in their wake.
*****
After a significant amount of chasing down his criminal compatriots, Tanner catches sight of the screaming visitors skittering like beetles in the wake of Nikki’s rhinoceros mount. He laughs at the insane calamity. Who knew they’d be having this much fun so soon? So the distraction is in progress, Tanner thinks. Let’s see if I can take some of the heat off them in the Emporium.
*****
A flailing but utterly silent Tomb Colonist with bandages aflame staggers into view. Animals and people scatter to avoid becoming engulfed in the conflagration. With a sizzling splash, the Colonist crashes into Arthur’s pond. Steam billows up, and with it comes the nauseating scent of burned flesh and hair and moulder and death.
For a moment there is no sound at all.
Then a soaked and dripping monstrosity squishily clambers free of the pool …Anactoria gasps in horror and turns her face away and an Urchin collapses in a faint. It is no marvel that not even Arthur had an appetite for this … thing.
*****
Nikki squeals in what sounds like glee, and leaves Ana alone with the rhino. “Oh, you’re a cutie, aren’t you~?” she asks, stepping forward to pat the creature boldly on the head. She grimaces at the goo it leaves on her palm and quickly wipes her hand on a nearby urchin’s shoulder. “I’m naming you Guillaume,” she says with a chuckle, hitting hard on the first vowels.
*****
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
2/27/2018
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Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities
11:45 AM
The Bazaar’s Emporium of Educational Curiosities is a rambling warren of shops and stalls, most of them owned by the Masters themselves. The more open, better-frequented areas are full of tourists: milling about, purchasing overpriced gimcracks and tawdries, eating (or attempting to eat) Rubbery Lumps, avoiding (or attempting to avoid) the efforts of ingenious Urchins to part them from their money. Dim staircases, dusty courtyards, and suspicious-smelling alleys lead to stranger shops, less often visited.
When the ground begins to shake, and the air to fill with roars and cries and bellows, the visitors panic. “What’s going on?” “Earthquake?” “Is it the Stone Pigs?” “Stampede?”
This last guess, as improbable as it seems, proves to be correct. The steel-barred gates to the Labyrinth of Tigers burst asunder, thrown apart by an enraged (or at least highly exasperated) rhinoceros, a slender woman in a riding habit clinging precariously to its back. Surging forth with it come an astonishing variety of animals: panicked zebras, gazelles and hyraxes; snickering hyænas; confused crocodiles; a lizard large enough to eat a man, or at least a fat child; a smug leopard; a crab the size of a hansom, its carapace bedecked with glim-shards; a silver-eyed wolf that seems not to lope so much as to drift like smoke; a cave-snake of terrifying proportions. They are followed by a disorderly pack of tigers, all of them shouting orders that none of the rest obey. Behind come the stragglers: a pair of fat, fishy-smelling, but undeniably adorable penguins; an immense octopus that sidles along the walls, observing the proceedings with a curious eye; a humming cloud of fuschia beetles; a handful of wary, ragged-looking humans.
The shoppers of the Emporium run for their lives, fleeing in every possible direction, some of them trampling one another before the animals even get the chance. Their screams provide a counterpoint to the cacophony of animal noises that echo throughout the Emporium, creating a veritable symphony of chaos.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/1/2018
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[Co-written by Tanner Price, Shylarah and Anactoria St. James]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities
11:45 AM
A piercing shriek cuts through the air in a startlingly familiar voice. Tanner is running through a crowd near the storefronts with a terrified look in his eyes, shouting at people. “Everything’s lost!” he cries. “All these wild animals running loose, the Labyrinth is gonna collapse! Everyone take what you can and run for your lives!” He picks up a rock and hurls it as hard as he can through a store’s display window. The glass shatters in a violent crash and Tanner starts stuffing his pockets with whatever loot he can get his hands on.
The crowd breaks out into a frenzy, shoving the instigator out of the way and climbing through the window in droves to desperately raid the interior. The shopkeeper’s furious yelling and approach with a blunderbuss is quickly snuffed out by trampling thieves bum-rushing him to get to the cash-box. The sounds of broken glass, stamping feet, and aggressive shouting fill the air as Tanner rushes around, kicking a full garbage bin over and shooting the pane of a gas lamp with his pepperbox. With a riot like this breaking out during the stampede and robberies by his own teammates, whatever law enforcement may come should be spread way too thin to stop it. This is perfect. Tanner leaves the mob to its wanton destruction and sets out to catch up with Nikki and Anactoria.
*****
Lying prone and facing backwards on the still-charging rhinoceros’ back, Anactoria reaches for her rump-impaling sword … but the handle is too far away and the blade, bouncing with each thudding, running step, is too dangerous to grasp. Fortune, and physics, however, are on her side: the weapon begins to work free on its own!
Walter rounds another corner and the swords slips free, clattering to the ground. The rhinoceros trots to a standstill, placid once more. Nikki gives him a pat on the nose as she rejoins Ana, Guillaume in tow. “I think Walter will be fine here for now. I’m gonna go talk to some of the urchins -- I think I saw a couple I know. See you in a bit.”
Anactoria resheathes her sword and calls out a “Good luck!” to Nikki as the longshanks hurries off. She turns to the Tomb-Colonist beside her, “Um … hi there ...”
A long and grimly awkward silence follows.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/2/2018
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[Co-written with Jen Black and Slyblue]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities: Mr Stones’ Exquisite Gifts and Luxuries
12:00 Noon
With a crash, Telemachia Lee kicks open the door to Mr Stones’ Exquisite Gifts and Luxuries. The door smashes against the wall, shattering its ornamental glim surface. An unnecessary move, since the door was unlocked, but a dramatic one.
“Everyone remain calm! This is a robbery! Don’t cause us any trouble, and no one will be hurt!” Lee immediately undermines her words by pistol-whipping a burly gentleman who had been looking insufficiently cowed. Still unsatisfied with his pacification, she follows up by stomping on his head with her reinforced boots. He falls limp. Lee swings her pistol in an arc that covers the rest of the store, looking for any other sign of resistance.
She sees none. The two customers look properly terrified. A second burly gentleman, dressed identically to the first, raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. The girl behind the counter seems barely to have noticed the robbery in progress. Her gaze remains fixed on the neat rows of sapphires, arranged precisely on midnight-blue velvet trays. She seems mesmerized by the way they gleam in the candle-light.
*****
Something about the sound of the door being kicked makes Michael chuckle, even as he keeps his back to the team and his rifle trained on whoever steps too close to the entrance. The years of walking by a stall, whistling innocently and praying no one notices the apples you stole, it seems, are long gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a trembling man murmuring nonsense under his breath, only to stop as soon as their eyes meet.
Michael grins, bringing a bloodstained finger to his own lips. Ye heard the lady, guv.
Well, he assumes the man heard. Somewhere between the sounds of the stampede, the panic of the caretakers and the deafening sound of teeth being grinded together, an order can be certainly lost. The latter makes his eyebrow twitch in recognition, and while he's reluctant to turn his back on the door, he can't help but turn on his heel with a threat he never manages to voice.
The girl behind the counter. In the candlelight, her eyes glitter just like the emeralds do. Her hands, folded neatly on her lap, twitch with...anticipation. Barely contained restraint, he thinks. Or rather, he knows. It's not the first time he's seen it.
But no, it can't be. Not in this place.
“Oi. Hands where we can see 'em, quine.” He holds the rifle with practiced ease, its muzzle an inch away from the girl's temple as she gazes away from the would-be robbers. Nothing. A small voice in the back of his head tempts him to poke her with it, or just follow his teammate's solution for insufficiently cowed hostages.
And yet...If his hypothesis is right...
“...Knock those over for me, will ye?” Michael asks Lee. It's hard to motion towards the exact place where the vendor's glance lingers when your hands are occupied. There is a weasel on his sleeve, digging its tiny claws on his forearm, but it does not seem to understand where over there is. “An' keep an eye out fer--”
*****
Jen adjusts the hood on her coat before sweeping into the shop. She draws a knife and twirls it around her fingers, the slender metal flashing through the air with skill and grace, before sheathing it back at her thigh. Everyone seems properly unresistant. Good.
Her eyes dart around the room. Exits. Air vent high up, too high and small for an escape. A back door that probably leads to some kind of storeroom. The main door just behind her, where she came in. And a glass display she could probably smash if she needed to make a quick getaway. Threats. Two customers. One has a cravat on, perfect for choking him. The other looks like she might wet herself from sheer terror. One guard, hands in the air, cowed by the way his comrade was taken down. Lee did a fine job.
She looks towards the counter and the jewels, where Mike has a gun pointed at the salesgirl. That one seems peculiarly unaffected by anything going on. Is she daft? Something about the situation is making her hair stand on end. Something is not quite right here.
*****
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/3/2018
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[Co-written with Lady Jen Black and Slyblue]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities: Mr Stones’ Exquisite Gifts and Luxuries
12:00 Noon
“So pretty...” The moonstruck girl breathes in a thin, pin-pricked voice, eyes fixed on the sapphires. “I get to arrange them every morning, you know? Every morning. Like little soldiers in a row, falling in and out of love...” Her lips stretch thin as she smiles, eyes growing wider by the second. “Like smiling children, waiting for the right buyer. But who could ever afford such beauties? I'm sure--” A sharp intake of breath. “--I'm so sure you will like the diamonds better. I can offer you a discount if you buy them in bulk.” A trembling exhale. “Would you like to see them?”
*****
“...Knock those over for me, will ye?” Michael asks.
“Ahh… sure, I’ll be right there.” Lee glares at the second guard. His hand twitches towards his belt. She knees him in the groin, snatches his revolver out of his belt, and clubs him over the head with its butt. A pistol in each hand, she saunters over to the counter, ready to knock over whatever it is that needs knocking.
Michael seems to be staring at the neat ranks of sapphires on the velvet display case in front of the counter-girl. Lee stows one pistol and, with her free hand, sweeps the gems off onto the floor.
With an ear-splitting shriek, the counter-girl instantly transforms from a passive lump to a vengeful harpie. She leaps across the counter, nails aimed right for Lee’s eyes. The speed of her attack leaves Lee no time to think. Reacting by reflex, she steps just far enough to her right to protect her eyes from gouging. Grabbing the shop-girl by the back of her head, she slams her face into the countertop with an audible crunch and a visible spurt of blood. Lee steps back, raising her eyebrows in mild surprise. The counter-girl lifts her face, its lower half masked with the blood streaming out of her nose, and the fury of all Hell in her eyes. Lee levels her revolver. She cocks the hammer, an intimidating sound which notably fails to intimidate. It looks as though there will be no reasoning with this one.
*****
Jen drops the sack of jewels she was filling and draws her knife. Well. This is unexpected. She looks the girl in the eye, raising her blade and aiming no higher. If the wretched thing thinks she can interfere, she’s wrong.
“Handle her, ferret boy. By any means necessary,” she says to Mike, unwilling to say his name in front of so many. She turns aside, certain that he’ll stop the madwoman from any further acts of bravado, and thrusts a sack at Lee. “Captain. We have a job to do.”
“Does she look like a ferret t' ye?” Michael murmurs, reaching out to grab a sapphire from the floor. His eyes never quite leave the trembling woman.
A twitch of movement from one of the customers. Without looking, Jen throws the knife, hearing its solid thud into the wood-panelled wall above their heads. A faint gasp. “Any funny business from you, and a knife will land much lower, sir, and how do you plan to impress your lady fair if you have performance issues?”
With that done, she sweeps a tray of sapphires into her sack. The glittering cascade elicits another howl from the salesgirl.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Slyblue
Posts: 224
3/5/2018
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[Co-written with Aberrant Eremite]
Michael approaches the counter girl calmly, quietly, non-threateningly, much as an experienced animal-handler approaches a skittish beast. He’s using his Weaseler skills on her, Lee thinks sardonically. Well, he’s certainly doing a better job of calming the girl than she had. Lee leaves him to it. She fills her sack with diamonds, emeralds, venom-rubies - a good job she’s wearing gloves - and a few other precious stones, avoiding the sapphires. As she goes about her task - pausing regularly to check on the hostages - she’s vaguely aware that the counter-girl’s screams have subsided to sobs, then to whimpers, then to silence.
“Look what I got ye, quinie.” The blue glimmer in his right hand catches the girl's attention as she sways on her feet, trying—and failing-- to regain her footing. Bright, red blood trickles down her nose and past her trembling lips, hands reaching out for him but grasping empty air. The blow's done quite a number on her, clearly, but he might be able to keep her focused on him for a moment.
“Darn shame 'bout them fallin' off the rack, aye, but hey-- we get to fix 'em up now.” Holding the sapphire so close to his own eyes is a risky gamble, he reminds himself, as a jagged nail brushes past his eyelashes. “Don't ye wish ye could spend more time with 'em and less time, ye ken, dealin' with people like us?”
She groans weakly, violence draining from her features and replaced by sorrowful longing. “G-give it back...”
“This 'un? Why?” He closes his fist around it, and her eyes grow wide. “It dinna look tha' special t' me.”
The memories tug at the seams of his brain. The doctors of the Orphanage spent their days just like this, studying the effects of all-consuming love. Sometimes, it involved separating the test subjects from their passions until they were insane or dead (or 'avulsed', whatever that meant).
It makes for grim parallel, he thinks, given the circumstances.
He shakes his head. “How long 'ave ye been here?” No reply. “Months? Years?” Nothing. “D'ye even ken who ye are?”
The girl's hands drop to her lap, shoulders sagging, and he can't help but notice how young she might really be. She is not giving up -- no, he can tell there is still determination in those eyes, but maybe, just maybe, his words are getting through.
“I s'ppose it dinna matter. Ye see, there's a place far away from 'ere. Full o' shinies like this one – well, not like this one, ye understand, but ye could bring i' there. Pick some others and take 'em all away to this, eh, place, and never sell another 'un in yer life.” And he adds, carefully opening his hand to time the briefest hint of blue with his words. “I could take ye there.”
“I can't.” Her reply is almost too quick. “I—I need to stay here, I need to sell--They will take them away from me and—”
“An' the funny thin' is, we are takin' them away from ye. Right now. Give us some credit fer it, will ye?”
Judging from the small, pitiful sob he gets for a reply, he figures the implicit threat is not lost to her. Still, he smiles, the only way he knows how (“Four different -------.” She'd said, sweet and smiling and happy to see him. “They’re all me. But none of them is all of me.”) and reaches inside his coat, storing the sapphire safely away, and pulling out two innocuous pieces of fungal crackers. There is a small pause before he offers them to the weeping vendor, and an even longer one before she even considers looking at them.
“...I-I'm not hungry.”
“Well this ain't much of a meal now, ain't it? Jus'...think o' it as somethin' ta make the journey easier. Does that work fer ye?” It's hard to hear himself speak over the noise now, and there isn't much time left. The screams outside are getting closer, alongside the whistles, the barking orders and the inevitable feelings of deja vu from the old war at Wolfstack's. He thrusts his open hand towards her, insistent. “Let's get out o' here. Together. Ye've got t' trust me on this one.”
As she takes them gingerly into her own grasp, he exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Exactly two pieces were the recommended amount for a quick, painless trip to the Boatman's domain, and hopefully away from the Orphanage's effects for at least an hour. The fact she offers no resistance when he picks her up (Even as she nuzzles her face against the pocket containing her precious rock) and quietly nibbles on her snack gives him some peace of mind. It was the right thing to do. It still is.
That peace, however, is short-lived, as something damp hits and clings to the exposed part of his undershirt.
...Blood?
--
The Smiling Devil • The Curt Licentiate • The Keen-Eyed Captain
"For hearts of truest mettle, absence doth join and Time doth settle."
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/9/2018
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The collection of gems goes smoothly for the next few minutes. Lee and Jen sweep armfuls of precious stones into sacks, while Michael - talks to the counter girl? Offers her a hug and a snack? Whatever, it is, it seems to be working, and Lee focuses on her own job: gem-collecting, yes, but first and foremost vigilance.
So she’s not taken off-guard when an enraged Clay Man bursts in from the back room. Is he a guard? A laborer? That’s unclear. What is clear is that he’s strong enough and tough enough to require the attentions of both women. With Jen’s help, Lee delivers a thorough and enthusiastic drubbing to their argile assailant.
Wiping her hands clean on the suit-coat of a cowering customer, Lee secures her heavily-laden sacks to her harness, using clips to distribute the weight. Satisfied, she stands up and looks over at Jen Black. Jen nods, and they turn to Michael -
Who is gone. Along with the counter girl. From out in the street, Lee hears the girl’s wailing start up again. Glancing out the door, she sees Michael sprinting off down the street, with the girl slung over his shoulder.
“Bloody hell, Michelle, you were supposed to steal the stones, not the bloody employees!” Lee cries out in protest. This is going to be a problem. One that she and Jen need to deal with immediately. Without another word, they head after Mike.
On her way out, Lee pauses briefly to pocket a fistful of first-water sapphires. No more reason to leave them behind, after all.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Cosmo Beck
Posts: 33
3/10/2018
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Monday, 23 December, 1895
The Emporium
14:10
The Emporium was never disappointing. Among all the tat, the keen eye would always find something of particular value. That necklace: Hellenistic, Seleucid Empire. That jug: Mongol, Ilkhanate. One could buy them here, cheaply, and be proud to own a piece of history.
But to find a real antique behind the counter was another matter entirely.
The cup from which Mrs Plenty was drinking coffee struck a chord somewhere in Cosmo’s memory. They stopped in their tracks, their fingers fiddling with a ring, as their mind wandered to the surface. It was a particularly beautiful specimen, engraved with a cat, conveying images of the Duchess. And Egypt. Luxor, yes that was it.
“You gonna buy that, love?”
“Just browsing, Madam,” Cosmo murmured and dropped the ring.
Urchins nudged and jostled each other as Cosmo departed from the stall and traipsed towards the Emporium’s exit. Surely Mrs Plenty didn’t have the smallest trace of an idea of the value of that cup- bowl- the handle must have been a later addition, otherwise she wouldn’t be drinking from it. If Cosmo was right, it dated back to Egypt’s eighteenth dynasty, its creation maybe even coinciding with the fall of the Second City. That was a stretch, but possible.
They needed to get their hands on it. They had to get word to Jen.
The urchins had chosen their mediator. He now tentatively approached the Professor.
“Prof… you don’t happen to have…”
“Do you know a Lady Jen Black?” Cosmo demanded.
The urchin was taken aback. He stammered out the words “Y-yessir… er mad-”
“That will do,” Cosmo said sternly. “Will you take a message to her for me? I’ll pay you.”
The urchin glanced back at his comrades and then nodded.
“Good. Here…” Cosmo scribbled a time and a place on a scrap of paper and handed it to the urchin with some change they pulled from their pocket. They flashed a quick, reassuring smile a the urchin, before watching him scuttle away.
--
Available for mutually beneficial SAs and RP.
Professor Evelyn 'Cosmo' Beck-Scholar of diverse interests. And dubious means.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/14/2018
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[Co-Written by The Cosmopolitan and Hubris Glamore]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Emporium: Mrs. Plenty's Novelties and Assorted Sundries
12:00 Noon
As the assorted members of the crew begin to emerge into the relatively less complex expanse of the First Coil and begin to disperse towards their varied targets, Mr. Glamore falls in step beside the Cosmopolitan, smiling pleasantly.
“Lady Black has instructed me to provide you with any needed assistance with regards to your target, Dr. Beck. I am at your disposal for whatever you may require. Lead on.”
Cosmo smiles at the butler and bows their head slightly. “I’m sure I couldn’t ask for better service, but I’m afraid I can think of little use for it.” They continue on their way towards Mrs Plenty’s stand, their deliberate stride gathering pace as they went.
After a while Cosmo speaks again. “I suppose that when you see what exactly it is that I’m looking for, you’ll have questions. I assure you that we’re not wasting our time: the item in question is of great material and historical value.”
“Questions can wait until afterwards I’m sure.” Hubris replied, keeping pace with Cosmo as they pressed on. “You are the expert here, I defer to your judgement. As for assistance, if you are largely self sufficient on procurement , I shall do my best to occupy the attentions of the staff.”
A brief smirk crossed the butler’s lips. “I’m sure it can’t possibly be more disruptive than what just transpired in any case.”
Cosmo chuckles. “You know, I thought the point was to go unnoticed-ah. Kitschy isn’t it?” The stall, draped in canvas, looms over the pair. A panicked lizard scuttles past. “I know what I’m looking for, but as to the staff...yes, that is better left to your judgment.”
They push aside the flap. “Funny old day, isn’t it?” Hubris enquires cordially. The occupants turn, taken aback.
Cosmo smiles merrily. They nod to Hubris before making a show of browsing.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/15/2018
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[Co-Written by The Cosmopolitan and Hubris Glamore]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Emporium: Mrs. Plenty's Novelties and Assorted Sundries
12:00 Noon
Hubris gets straight to work as far as distraction goes, making his way directly to the counter as Cosmo peels off towards the shelves. No Mrs. Plenty today, but one of her lads from the carnival. “Good. That will make this a bit easier.” he thought, following through on Cosmo’s remark. “A funny old day, indeed.” The butler intoned, leaning on the counter in an almost conspiratorial fashion. “Have you heard what’s going on out there?” He asked, just loud enough to attract the attentions of the gangly stallholder and the milling urchins. “A stampede, of all things! What a surprise.”
“Listen mister,” replied the stallholder, “I’m not here to chinwag. If you’re buying something, brilliant. If you’re not, push off so’s I can work on being able to tell the boss we made money today.”
The butler smiled slyly. There’s his in. “My dear friend, that’s exactly why I’m here. I’m familiar with your employer. She’s never been one to pass up an opportunity to make some capital. So here’s what I propose, if you’d like to impress the boss.”
A long pause. “Alright guv. I’m listening.”
“Marvellous. Here’s what I propose. You have some paper back there surely, for wrapping gifts, yes? Fetch some of that and a pencil. It’ll make it easier.”
He grumbled, but the stallholder complied. “Good, good.” Hubris spread the paper across the counter and took up the pencil. “People love a show, yes? The folks out there, they’re staying out of the way of the hubbub certainly and I’ll grant you, some have left the Labyrinth.” He grinned at the lad. “But a lot of them are still out there, keeping out of the way and watching the show.”
“A week or two and this might all be forgotten, knowing our fair city,” he continued, the pencil beginning to move as he started scratching a very rudimentary scene onto the paper. A parade of animals, running left to right. Tigers among them, but in the minority. A shrouded figure atop a rhino. “But something like this, well, I daresay you’d get some solid traffic for about a fortnight out of it. Everyone who was there would want one and everyone who wasn’t would want one so they could approximate enough of the details to lie about being there. Isn’t keeping ahead in the social scene wonderful for business?”
The wheels were starting to turn in the stallholder’s head now. “Alright mister. Fair point, but what’s your game? What’s in it for you?”
The butler smiled. “Half a dozen of the finished product and 10% of the sales. I’ve given you the idea and to ensure this gets started today I’ll front 10 echoes in printing costs. If I don’t make that back on my cut, that’s my problem, yes?” He held out his hand. “My name is Hubris Glamore. Cheat me at your peril. Do we have a bargain?”
A few moments pass. “You’re on Mister Glamore. Let’s hope you’re right, eh?”
Hubris smirked. “Let’s hope indeed.” He counted out 10 echoes, pausing a moment to take an additional one from his pocket. “I’m sure we can do better than those chicken scratchings I’ve done.” Half turning to the urchins that frequent the shop. “Hello my young friends. Can you draw?” He makes a show of passing the stallholder the echo. “My friend here needs a design sketched out to be sent off for print this afternoon. I can’t dawdle here all day, so I’ll let him be the judge. Whoever can draw it best, gets the echo, yes?”
The resulting hubbub of the urchins clamouring for pencils and claiming to be the best artist was as noisy as expected. “Well don’t just stand there, man, get the lads and lasses some pencils.” He smiled and disentangled himself from the crowd around the counter, fervently hoping the urchins and stallholder fussing over poster design would be all the distraction Cosmo needed.
They had been ducked behind the counter rummaging through the draws, opening and closing cupboards, making as little noise as was humanly possible. Their efforts were coming to nothing.
Brushing themselves off, they stand up and offer their hand to the stallholder. “Good. I’m glad to hear you’ve come to an agreement. I’m Hubris’ partner in business matters you understand.”
The Stallholder takes their hand and shakes it. “Ah, yes…”
“I reckon we should have a little something to celebrate, don’t you? I’ve got a little flask of tea somewhere, nothing stronger I’m afraid.”
“Hm, well go on. Seems like a lot of fuss, but I suppose, if it’s nothing untoward.”
“Quite right, my good man. Now, do you happen to keep some cups about the place?”
“Erm, yeah, the boss keeps some in the cupboard over there. There’s a key in the draw where we keep the files.”
Cosmo follows the boy’s instructions. It was tucked away behind a porcelain tea-set etched with blue pigmentation. These the Professor set on a counter, before grasping their prize. They hold it up briefly to the candlelight, and observe it shine through the barely translucent ware. Glass, not ceramic, as Cosmo had hoped. They smile and tuck it into their jacket, taking care to wrap it into some cloth they had prepared.
“Well. Here we are,” they say. They pat their jacket theatrically. “Now what have I…? Ah, no my mistake. It seems I left my flask back at the office. Never mind, eh? Now, unless you have any more questions, I suppose we better be off. Be sure to find Mister Glamore, won’t you.”
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/23/2018
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[Co-Written with Slyblue and Lady Jen Black]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities
12:15 PM
Bloody Hell. All Longshanks are a little eccentric - it happens, when you’re an orphan growing up in an unstable gantry erected high above the city, in a gang/cult run by children. But Lee had Michael pegged as a relatively reliable one. Now here he is, sprinting down a city street in broad daylight with a long rifle in one hand and an unconscious woman in the other. This is not inconspicuous.
Most of the Constables who ordinarily provide security for the Emporium have been detailed to extra security at the Palace - that has been part of the team’s calculations all along. Today’s security force is a skeleton crew of Special Constables, relying on a large detachment of Neddy men for muscle. But even a skeleton crew is going to notice this.
Sure enough. A group of three men in black uniforms is sitting around a cast-iron table, enjoying a snack of sugared pastries and coffee al fresco. They snap to attention as Mike gallops by. They drop their pastries and coffee and reach for their sidearms.
Special Constables. The scum of the Constabulary - no interest in justice or protecting the ordinary citizens, just the iron fist of the Masters. None of Lee’s friends on the Velocipede Squad will be too bothered if she has to take some of them out. Easy enough to do. They haven’t even spotted her yet. Lee slips her Colt Navy revolver out of it soft, worn holster -
And then, reluctantly, reholsters the revolver. No killing, that was the rule. Not ordinary people who were just doing their jobs - and Special Constables, however much Lee despised them, fit that description.
No rule about how badly we can hurt them, though. Just as the Special Constables are drawing a bead on the fleeing Mike, Lee smashes into them at her top speed. The edge of her shoulder hits one of them in the floating ribs, and she feels them break. Her target hits the table, the table bowls over the other two Special Constables, and then all of them go down in a thrashing, shouting mass of flailing limbs and ironmongery.
A couple of minutes later, Telemachia Lee stands up. The Special Constables do not. Lee’s handsome face sports a couple of fresh bruises and abrasions. She spits out a mouthful of blood, and grins a red-toothed grin.
Farther down the street - too much farther - Michael continues to lug his burden. How can he possibly be running so fast while carrying an adult woman? He has her awkwardly cradled in one arm, while she screams and moans and vomits - is that blood? - all over his coat. The other arm holds his rifle, a magnificent weapon for long-range marksmanship, and completely unsuited to being used one-handed at close range.
Mike fires, and a lantern explodes. Is that even what he was aiming at? Hard to tell. But it’s a distraction, all right. Flaming oil sprays in all directions, making people scream and dive for cover. A second shot blows a hole in a wine-keg, causing a distraction of another sort as several of London’s thirstier citizens are presented with a fountain of free wine. A third, aimed into the pressing crowd in front of him, doesn’t seem to hit anyone directly, but the bullet makes an uncanny whining sound in flight, causing people to reel backwards, gasping and clutching their ears, opening a path in the crowd for him to dash through.
Lee will have to sprint to catch up. She brushes between lovers, vaults over barrels, growls Urchins out of her path. The crowd is dense around a Rubbery Lumps stall, so Lee simply jumps up onto the counter, runs along it, and hops back down onto the flagstones. She may have stepped on a few customers’ Rubbery Lumps, but the odds are decent that the dirt and tiger-fur from her boots may have actually improved the quality of their meal.
Lee is gaining on Michael now, catching up. She has lost track of Jen Black and just has to hope that the other woman is keeping up. Another good burst of speed and the daft Longshanks will be in arm's reach. What then, Lee hasn't figured out yet.
But there's another barrier to overcome - a knot of a dozen or so Neddy Men, milling about in a confused manner and trying to decide whether to pursue Michael. The sensible thing for Lee to do would be to somehow circumvent them. But the crowd of swaggering bravos is taking up most of the street. Besides, Lee still has a few hard feelings left over from the Battle of Wolfstack Docks.
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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Aberrant Eremite
Posts: 362
3/24/2018
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[Co-Written with Slyblue and Lady Jen Black]
Friday, 27 December, 1895
The Bazaar's Emporium of Educational Curiosities
12:15 PM
Telemachia Lee puts her head down and charges straight through the knot of Neddy Men, sending several of them sprawling, counting on her momentum to keep her ahead of them.
It’s a reasonable strategy - provided that she stop for nothing. However, before she can catch up with Michael, Lee sees the need for an urgent detour. Crouched on a street corner are a pair of Special Constables. One is standing, pointing at Michael’s retreating back. The other is kneeling, taking careful aim with a long, sleek rifle. A sharpshooter. A deadly threat at range.
Not so deadly when attacked by surprise at point-blank range. Lee’s fist, bedecked with brass knuckles, smashes the spotter’s mouth before he can give a warning. Then her heavy booted foot is crushing the head of the sniper. The spotter looks inclined to get back up, and so Lee gives him several good reasons to stay down.
But the delay has allowed the Neddy Men too much time to catch up, and now they’re too close. Time for the chain again. Lee whips it off her waist and begins to twirl it, gaining momentum, as her pursuers close in.
One fellow is a little bit fleeter of foot than the rest. Lee’s chain wraps around his ankle, snatches him off his feet, and sends him rolling back to trip up his comrades. Suddenly its heavy, oiled links are everywhere, snatching weapons out of hands, smashing faces, yanking men off their feet. Outnumbered a dozen to one, Lee engages in a complex, risky dance, using her weapon’s reach and deft footwork to keep from being overwhelmed by their weight and numbers.
It’s working. She’s actually doing it. None of them has managed to lay a hand on her more than momentarily, and she can see the doubt beginning to grow, their wills beginning to waver, but her performance has to be perfect. One mistake and they will have her.
Lee hears the click of a pistol’s hammer from somewhere behind her, she knows it’s bad, but she simply does not have enough attention left to spare for it. The three fiercest of the Neddy Men - the only ones who still seem to have much will left to fight - are closing in all at once, coordinating their rush. She has time to trip one of them with the chain, but then the other two are on her, swinging stout oaken cudgels at her head. She slips them, mostly; one grazes her scalp, the other lands painfully on her shoulder.
He hands are busy fending off their clubs, but her feet are free. She knees one man in the groin, then kicks the other one’s kneecap out of joint. She head-butts him as he doubles over in pain, then finishes off the first with a rabbit-punch from her chain-wrapped fist.
The rest of the gang draws back, hesitating. Lee whirls, back towards the place behind her where she has heard a pistol being cocked, knowing that she will be too late…
A Special Constable stands some ten paces behind her. His stance is oddly limp, and his pistol dangles from drooping fingers. With a sigh, he slides forward, falling onto his face. Behind him stands Jen Black, smiling grimly, holding a dagger stained to the hilt with blood.
“Consider the ‘no-kill’ rule suspended,” Jen says.
“Good,” replies Lee coolly. She reaches under her jacket, whips out her revolver, and empties its chambers, firing all six bullets towards Jen Black. To her credit, Jen barely flinches. She waits one long second, then turns to see two more Special Constables sprawled behind her, bleeding out onto the cobblestones.
Lee snaps open the cylinder of her revolver and turns back to the crowd of Neddy Men behind her. She empties the shell casings onto the cobbles and begins thumbing new cartridges into the cylinder, making eye contact with the men as she did so. Or trying to. The group is dispersing with the best combination of speed and dignity that its members can muster.
That’s law enforcement sorted, for the moment. More will be coming soon. But in the meantime, they have to …
Blast it! Where has Michael gone?
--
Hieronymus Drake: Gentleman scholar, big-game hunter, scar-faced aristocrat. Remarkably sane, all things considered.
Tanith Wyrmwood: Longshanks cat-burglar; Bohemian author; now, perhaps, something more. Bubbly, expressive, and affectionate. It’s not only still waters that run deep.
Telemachia Lee: Gentle lady by birth, brawling Docker by choice. Good company in the drunk tank.
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