Zeel
Posts: 257
3/25/2014
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Zeel paced back and forward in front of the Cathedral, awaiting a response. Once he heard it, his mind was set.
"My friend. Attack" he said in a low tone. The Overgoat roared again, viciously tearing at the door. It didn't take long for the goat to rip through, as ornate as the doors were. Looking at the congregation, he realized he knew a fair few of the people present, but his eyes rested on one. "What are you doing here?" he asked her.
Jass stared back at Zeel impassively, being careful to prepare an answer that would't reveal her other side.
"Proper Christian Lady, I am" she responded sarcastically. She knew that the entire congregation, and the Bishop himself, were all in danger. This was not something she could allow. "Now, I'm going to tell you once. This Cathedral is my dominion. It is off-limits. By the authority of God himself, I am telling you to take your hellspawn and leave". She knew he wouldn't leave, she knew she would likely die here if the Overgoat attacked, but that wasn't the point. To quote Edmund Burke himself "When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall on by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle". She wasn't generally the type to study such things, but being a member of God's Editors required the occasional delving into philosophy. She grabbed one of the silver candlesticks and wielded it as a staff. She may fall, but she would not allow the innocent to come to harm.
"Stranger" she called commandingly to the Foolsman. "Either stand by my side or escort these people out. I do not care which, both will be of aid. Your Holiness, the same goes to you". She paused a moment, then added "Unless you're planning to wrestle the demon".
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/25/2014
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God? Where? The Foolsman looked about and saw nothing but expensive stone and newly opened doors. It was a Church metaphor, they concluded, for someone to claim such a lofty position in the ‘Neath. Needless to say, Zeel seemed none too fond of her; also she knew Burke, which at the very least made her a bearable ally, if a poor drinker. Of greater concern was the stalemate they’d so innocently contrived. The Foolsman had neither the want nor the use for any pitched battle at the moment. They’d already taken note of familiar faces among the congregation. Future clients were more or less assured.
“Righto” they said, speaking through the pain. “I think we’ve gotten off on a bad foot here. Now, you have an almost unstoppable beast of infernal terror. I have an animal bred solely for the purpose of killing almost-unstoppable-beasts-of-infernal-terror. If we include the devil-loathing Bishop of Southwark and this lovely lady who claims to know Jehovah the whole thing becomes most entertaining.” The summary actually did made the whole thing seem rather fun. However… “In this case one has to temper ‘entertainment’ with the certainty that if you let your hairy beast attack, my snakish-hound is going to go on a rampage of its own and we’ll be left with such a mess…”
They looked about at the congregation, “Take the hint!” they whispered from the corner of their mouth. The witnesses scattered for the doors.
“You and I are creatures of business” The Foolsman said to Zeel, “We may not understand morality or ethics, but our comprehension of gain and loss runs to the bone. I choose to believe you aren’t moronic enough to engage in a random act of violence that gains naught but Pyrrhic satisfaction. Frankly I want a hot bath and a glass of bottled oblivion after today, myself. So, I suggest I put down my Hound of Heaven, and you put down your Overgoat, and we’ll wait for a more civilised day to kill each other, yes?”
edited by The Foolsman on 3/25/2014
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/25/2014
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Zeel smirked, hiding the fact he knew the Foolsman was correct. He wasn't going to come out of this empty handed however.
"I propose a counter-offer. It is near identical to yours, but it includes one little addition. We each answer one question of the other's choosing. No lies or misdirection will be involved. Then we may both walk away, having lost nothing, or at least nothing worth worrying about. And do not worry, we may go somewhere much more private to discuss this, I would not have you answer something so personal in front of a man of God, he may not like the answer. Lady Jasmine may come or go as she wishes". The last sentence was said with yet another smirk. He was toying with her, playing with the fact she led a double life.
Jass scowled at him. Of course there were people who knew, but most people didn't mix in both circles at once. Those who did were either her allies or dead, with the rare exception. "Well Stranger, I guess you know now I live two sides of the world. His Holiness already did, I'm quite a figure in the Church for...personal reasons" she said. Not even Zeel, who'd once been a close confidante of hers, knew that she was a member of the C.V.R. It was best that way. She wouldn't want her family in danger. Not her real family, of course, they'd turned their backs on her long ago; but a family nonetheless. "Stranger, I would suggest you be careful if accepting his deal. The thing you need to understand is he has no regard for life, not even his own, so long as his goals are met". Jass stepped back after saying that, watching the events occurring before her.
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/25/2014
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Given all considered, The Foolsman laid some confidence in their ability to break a promise. Perhaps they couldn’t sneak as best as some, but they had a talent at lying. Yet this man was a different affair. He was smart. Possibly savant. He bore the right personality for it. There was a small chance he could tell if they were lying, even with the inability to distinguish any physical signs. A measured risk was required; Zeel looked just demented enough to damage something. Besides, there was more that could be learned. The Hound of Heaven was becoming unmanageable at any rate.
Jass was well meaning. Hopefully their ignoring her wouldn’t cause any further ill will. Nothing could be done about the Bishop, save to throw the next seven or so matches he would invariably challenge them to. “Your place? Or mine?”
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/27/2014
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Zeel smiled toyingly. He had won, at least as far as he was concerned. He may have died and done considerable damage to his reputation with the Church but, hell, he was already whispered about as being Part-Devil. This would do his reputation no long-term damage, and he was going to get some information. "I believe I will allow your residence to be where we meet. It will allow you a sense of security, and beside, going to mine would just be ending this where it began. Rather too cliche for my tastes. Lead the way, good sir". After saying this, Zeel whispered within the ear of the Overgoat. If one could have heard his words, in a tongue known only to the most infernal, or seen his face, displaying a moment of tenderness, they would not have known what to make of it. Luckily for Zeel, his face was buried deep within the hair of the goat. When he pulled it back out, the Overgoat slowly lumbered back towards it's home, clearly no longer a threat. "I've disarmed, you do the same" he said, motioning towards the white serpent. He then brought a small doll out of his clothing...was it glaring at the Foolsman? "This is merely a scribe, in case my irrigo adventures adversely affect me" he explained.
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/27/2014
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“Oh! I have one of those!” The Foolsman seemed neither daunted nor set aback. Indeed they seemed almost excited by the comparison. They loosened their grip upon the Hound of Heaven, and it vanished up one sleeve, “No Inferium, no Hound. That’s the basic principle, at least. I’ll bring it back, pastor!” they said in passing out of the ruined doors.
Outside, the crowds had gathered around the ruins of the carriage. A detachment of the Special Constabulary had already arrived. “Mornin’ Foolsy!” one of them cried by way of greeting, “’nother day?”
“Precisely! Is that my carriage?” the constables seemed less interested in having someone answer for the devastation, and more toward press-ganging some of the crowd to shift the wreckage. None of them had blinked when a handful of stunned bandaged-folk helped themselves to a passing phaeton, and tethered the black stallions in place. The valet was standing by to open the door, recovered enough to remain stoic when The Foolsman passed with Zeel. The former tucked the key to the liquor cabinet in his pocket.
The ‘residence’ of The Foolsman was a shack by any other name. The phaeton stopped in a rookery at the base of a dizzying flight of stairs. At the zenith, hidden amongst the jagged monuments of poverty known as the Flit, was a structure more lean-to than home. A single light glowed in the only window, barely a hairline crack in its wooden wall. It illuminated the roof-tile balcony, upon which perched a small gang of bandaged-guards, each well armed; somehow word had been taken to them in advance. With a nod to them The Foolsman unlocked the door. Inside was a tiny room, padded from floor to ceiling; at the centre stood a table and two chairs, upon which rested a typewriter, a bottle, and two glasses.
In this unremarkable setting The Foolsman sat, taking their ease in front of the typewriter. “I have longed for a soft chair all day” they said, leaning forward to fill the two glasses. A deep amber liquid issued from the lip of the bottle. “Brandy. Special kind. You may find your hurts eased.”
The valet shut the door, taking a stance by his charge. It became quite clear that the two would not be so easily parted. The Foolsman took a sip from their glass. “So. Since you made the offer, you may ask your question first”
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/27/2014
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Zeel inspected the room before sitting, making sure that were no traps of any kind laid within the room. He found none. He sat down, his usual false smile or smirk replaced by a neutral face. Taking a sip of the brandy, he turned to the valet and said "Excuse earlier, I assure you the threat of death is rarely personal from me". Zeel was trying to delay asking, he already had an idea what the Foolsman would ask him about, and he hadn't decided which question to ask the Foolsman. It wasn't that he had no good question, but that too many were pervading his mind simultaneously.
'Why can't I see you?'
'Who is your Master?'
'Why is your valet so unswervingly loyal to you?'
'What is your name?'
'What are the memories used for?'
To the last one, he realized he still wasn't completely sure what Devils used souls for. The common theory was consumption but that seemed rather...banal, especially when Devils had a quota. Did not enough come from the wickedness of man anyway? His thoughts followed this line for a moment, before returning to the situation at hand. Finally, he chose one.
"Who is it you serve? I do not mean the intermediary who may accept the memories from you, but I mean the top tier. Who is the consumer of the product you sell, basically. Who wants memories?"
He believed he'd eliminated room for loopholes. Even if he hadn't, if the Foolsman attempted to use one, he would merely use one in the following question in return. He picked up his doll from his shoulder and started stroking it's hair, comforting it while he waited for the Foolsman's response.
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/27/2014
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The valet seemed to relax just slightly, as if he was expecting a different question. If The Foolsman was surprised, they made no sign of it; indeed, they had to admit to being a little flattered. Nobody ever asked about their business, not so politely at least. Normally things just ended after the standoff.
They spoke candidly, “Everyone. Everyone wants them” they said with a grandiose sweep of some metaphorical audience, “Perhaps you’ve seen my handiwork, or indeed the handiwork of those like me: zee-stories; memories of light; memories of distant shores, et cetera. They’re very useful, if you know how to employ them. Everyone from lawyers to certain gamblers will buy. Chances are even you’ve been in possession of a few” they absently fiddled with a hole in their sleeve, “I suppose, then, I work for the Bazaar, though my licence tax goes to Mr. Pages in the end. What interest they have…you should ask them, for I can’t say I know.” They drained their glass at the conclusion. “That already feels better. The peach brandy, that is. The confession feels like most confessions. Sordid, if a little bit thrilling…”
They began to wind the typewriter, feeding in a single piece of paper. “I hope that was satisfactory.” they said,
“Now, don’t be alarmed, but this thing writes by itself. Wonderful invention. Absolutely useless compared to a real scribe, of course, but the aesthetic touch pays for itself. If you would do me a kindness and say ‘which is why I’m here this evening’ at the conclusion of your answer, I would be very grateful; it won’t write the date unless you tell it to, which is a nightmare when I have to look for it, you understand.” The valet stifled a sigh, as if this was a problem borne of willfulness rather than any tool.
Satisfied that the paper was set, they refilled their glass and straightened up. “Now-” they stopped abruptly when the valet leaned in upon one shoulder and whispered something. They paused as if in some thought.
“Now” they began again, “My question. When last you visited the slow boat passing a dark beach on a silent river, the Boatman spoke a part of your name, before you stopped him. It began with c-o-r, ‘Cor-’ something. ‘You need to wake up Cor-’” They quoted by way of clarification, “What is your full and true name, as it was upon the surface, as it is known to the Boatman, as you have forbidden him to say it?”
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/27/2014
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Zeel looked at the Foolsman seriously. Even his usual manipulative self was gone, his true self showing. At least, the few threads of it that remained. He was expecting this question, but it still hurt.
"My name was Corentin. Don't bother asking a last name, I never had one. I was brought up in an orphanage, until the labour became too much and I ran away. A couple, seeing my distress, picked me up from the streets. I don't think they were originally going to, but after I proved myself better at calculating in my head than this man who owned many industries, at twelve years might I add, he decided to make me apprentice to his fortune. They couldn't have children, so they adopted me. Believe it or not, being a parent is a very rewarding experience".
Zeel's eyes began to leak blood. He wiped it aside with a handkerchief and said
"Don't worry about that, just a side effect of reading the Correspondence too often. Anyway, enough about that, I've had enough of talking about my past. I wasn't incorrect when I said that Corentin is dead, he died long ago. His original death was bathed in blood, and his ghost has slowly faded from my life ever since. That is why I would not sell you my sacred memory, Foolsman. Without it, I would have no purpose in life. Without it, I would fall and die".
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/27/2014
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A faint aroma rose in the stilled room. Lavender…tinged with myrrh. The Foolsman listened in total silence, free from any of the usual fiddling and shifting in place that so defined their character. The typewriter hammered away without such subjectivity, the keys moving in rhythmic succession to every word uttered by Zeel. When at last the two stopped, The Foolsman spoke again.
“I see…” something was stirring in the back of their mind. If such trouble passed over their face, it was lost to all others through the oblivion of their identity. “I understand. I think I do.”
They sighed, as if they wanted to say something more. The phrasing seemed to twist and turn between lips and tongue, before changing altogether. “Could you…um…could you speak the date? Just ‘which is why we speak this evening’ will do. The typewriter will fill the rest. It’s not entirely necessary, but I feel I should complete some sort of administration, at least…then you can feel free to depart. I’ll have someone drive you home.”
They stood, and drained their second glass, “Please, I should say.” They never said please. They couldn't tell why now was different. Perhaps the scent of his memories was affecting them.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/29/2014
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Zeel spoke as the Foolsman requested. "Creating a file on me. Memories fade, words remain. Unless you're a doll, then they're pretty permanent". The Doll on Zeel's shoulder smiled, a toothy and slightly terrifying grin. "Despite what you think of me, my doll here stands as a testament. A small act of kindness can take one a long way, so long as you choose the correct act of kindness". He picked the doll up tenderly, placing it within his front pocket as he stood.
"Do not worry about driving me, I am more than happy to walk. It helps remove the Rigor Mortis, and besides, it has been a while since I was last in this area. Secrets always lay where you will never expect them". Zeel started to walk, his mind once again lost, before remembering something. "Take this" he said, handing over one of his Bombazine Calling Cards. "You won't even get into the area of my Sanctum without one. However, in case you have nefarious purposes in visiting, remember my menagerie is rather large, my sense of mercy less so". With that, Zeel walked out the door, his mind once again pondering many things at the same time.
--
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/29/2014
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In the shadowed quarter of Wolfstack, bathed in the afterglow of the Bazaar, there stood a palace of the misbegotten. It was once a graveyard for old steamers, a place of rest for the rusting hulks as they awaited journey’s end in the scrap furnaces, never again to feel the cool waves glide beneath. Time, and the tides, and the ever-creeping black coral soon stifled the industry. As the legitimate moved on, the illegitimate moved in. Now the place is called the Witching Pier. Here a shop, whose keeper speaks only Loamsprach, does a roaring trade in tortoises. Here are gambling dens that deal in whispered secrets. A pub called ‘North’ is nightly filled with madmen. Counterfeiters work in shifts to meet demand. Marble is sold and bought in prodigious amounts. Spirifers ply a trade in dusty corners. Off-duty constables fall in and out of pleasure houses.
Great rope bridges and covered boardwalks connect the market to each ruined ship. These are residences, special markets; sanctums for those who find the midst of illegality a retreat from London.
One lies farther out than the others, stuck deep in the mudflats. Bandaged men and women patrol across boards set into the coral. Their shadows haunt the deck. Atop the ruined mast, a tattered raven perches, never sleeping, ever watchful of all things. Within, the dereliction lies buried beneath luxury: every inch is covered by rugs, tapestries, paintings, sculptures, inordinate riches by comparison to the world outside. The study lies at the manor core. The beating heart. The Foolsman’s home. Forbidden books and secret records line one long wall. By the lonely window stands a table buried under strange blueprints. A fire roars in the hearth of a converted chimney stack, and sunk into the sea of pillows before it, a great chair.
The Foolsman reclined and looked to the page before them. It was blank. They had played the game well tonight. What rested on the table beside them was true brandy. What had been imbibed in the rooftop shack was a binding formula. It tasted of the same liquid by design. Its mixture, and true purpose when combined with the typewriter was to fix in written form the memories of the one who drank it. Strangely it had never affected The Foolsman, which was all the better; the moment Zeel spoke, the typewriter had affixed its mark to his words alone. At an action, they could complete the procedure. The writing would become visible as memories formed upon the page. And so Zeel would forget.
Yet in the act of completion The Foolsman was plagued by doubt. They could not bring themselves to do it, nor could they say why. Conscience had never easily swayed them, but that evening it seemed almost overpowering. Zeel was evil. So what part of them resisted to the taking of his memories?
A door opened up, and the valet wandered in. “Madam, your bath is ready.”
“Hm? Oh, thank you. I should finish this drink first.”
The valet peered over their shoulder, “Ma’am, have you not finished?” Beneath the bandages, his frown deepened. Something was wrong.
“No…no…I-I thought I’d wait. Look about for buyers, you know. It’s not every day you get the memories of a man like Zeel. I think a great many parties would buy. I could probably start a bidding war…” Doubt had crept into their voice. There was an accent.
“Indeed, ma’am…only, perhaps you should fix it now, just in case.”
“In case of what? This could remain blank for a hundred years and still the binding would last.”
“Yes, ma’am. But we wouldn’t want to lose it-”
“-I won’t. I’m worried. Perhaps he’ll find out when I bind it.”
“Ma’am, absence of memory is not memory. You were very complete. With what he’s told you, you can take his childhood memory, and with your…gift…he would never recall anything after dancing with an unremarkable stranger. Not even the conversation you had in the shack.”
“Then, perhaps I worry. For him. He said he would fail and die without it.”
“Words that he bound to the page. That memory, the memory of why he kept such memories would vanish too. You may even make a better man of him.”
The Foolsman shook their head. “Yes, all the same…not yet. I need to reason it all out…”
“Then, perhaps your bath first. Then you can finish.” His fingers touched at a bottle tucked into his belt.
The Foolsman looked up at the valet. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Uh…” the valet was at a loss, “Want to…?”
“Bathe. Or bind this. I can wait.” Was that an accent? Since when had they had an accent? It was pretty. Mixed. The valet heard it too.
“Your arm, ma’am…the bath will help.”
“It can wait. I’d rather not right now…”
The valet started forward, placing a hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight, “Ma’am…”
“I said no, Robbie!”
The Foolsman leapt to their feet, rounding on the valet, throwing his grip aside easily. The room shook at the roar. For the briefest moment, the valet saw The Foolsman clearly. The oblivion wavered about them, shuddering like heat in the air, parting like a wave. Eyes of a cool blue, almost grey, hidden beneath a knitted brow overarched with tangled dark hair. Then, as quickly as this glance had been given, oblivion closed over them again. The Foolsman returned.
Their voice grew gentle again, “Was I shouting? I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to…this brandy, you know…”
“You weren’t shouting, ma’am” the valet could lie easily.
“Oh, good…good, good. What was I saying? Why am I standing?”
“You were about to bathe, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes. Quite right” The Foolsman began to walk towards the door, “You know, I should like to learn French. What is the French word for bath, do you think?”
The valet held the door for them. “Shall I?”
He held his hand out for the paper. The Foolsman genially handed it over. “Oh, yes, please! Nobody wants a wet memory…”
“Bain, madam. I believe that’s the word.” The valet said.
“Oh? Bain...marvellous.”
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/29/2014
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(tl;dr. Random mysterious pang of conscience for The Foolsman :P)
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/29/2014
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(Did you want to add anything Zeek?)
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/30/2014
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(No, I am quite happy with what I've put. Good roleplay though, thanks for coming along, Foolsman).
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http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/30/2014
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(You're welcome!)
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Snowskeeper
Posts: 575
3/31/2014
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((Just thought I'd pop in again, briefly, to say "That was wonderful oh my god you two *squeeeeee*.")
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S.F., a midnight midnighter and invisible eminence. Impossible to locate them, personally, but there are dead drops and agents.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/31/2014
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(Hahaha, thank you!)
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Zeel
Posts: 257
4/1/2014
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(I too must thank you for that compliment.  )
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http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Zeel - Zeel, also known as the Hollow Hellion. A soulless, heartless, empty individual who will only deal with those who are advantageous to him.
http://www.fallenlondon.com/Profile/Jass The Sly Socialite, or the Devious Rogue, depending where you see her. Jass lives a double life, alternating between the God-fearing, popular socialite and one of the many crime-lords of London.
IF YOU WANT A PARABOLAN KITTEN please send me a social engagement or menace reduction to either account, preferably not Coffee at Caligula's.
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