Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/8/2014
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Just curious if anybody wanted to do a little roleplay here on the forum! Anyone up for it?
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Snowskeeper
Posts: 575
3/9/2014
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"Harold Bertram," he replied, turning his head silghtly to watch the Foolsman. The creature's touch was like fire--and not in the way most penny-dreadfuls thought of it. He despised close physical contact, but this wasn't the first time he'd been made to put up with it, and it wouldn't be the last. He was tense, and the Foolsman could feel it--though they might mistake it for anticipation or some similarly vulgar emotion--but his face remained calm, relaxed, polite, sarcastic.
He occupied himself with considerations regarding the Foolsman's inevitable attempt to murder him. The creature might have a knife. That would be unfortunate. He'd almost certainly be injured if a knife was involved. If it was using a gun, well. It was easy enough to disarm an opponent at this range. It would know better. An assassin would be worse. Possibly that Valet with a knife, likely poisoned. Or a gunman on a roof. Or that infernal woman in emerald; how many times had she attempted to take his life? Surely she should be bandaged up as tightly as a Tomb Colonist by now. A gun would make a lot of noise. With any luck, Adrian would remember to kill the Foolsman before going after the gunman. He'd spend a few hours--perhaps a day--on the slow boat, but nothing too unfortunate. A knife in the back could be worse, but Adrian would almost certainly notice such an approach long before the fatal blade struck home, and if the assassin dealt with Ferenczy's employee first, there'd be fuss enough for him to make his own escape.
He kept walking, in step with the Foolsman. Veilgarden was close.
---
Adrian was keeping well back of the pair. That wouldn't hide him from anyone actually looking for a threat--he was well aware of that--but with any luck it would make him seem as if he was nothing more than a body-guard--that he meant no harm. That might even be the case--it looked like the boss was putting up with his companion remarkably well. They probably knew something he wanted to know. That was usually how it was. Sometimes that meant torture, which was Adrian's job, but more usually it meant talking, bribing, co-operating, seducing, blackmailing; all sorts of dirty tricks. This might be one of those rare days when he had to go off on his own to find something to kill. Shame.
He'd noticed the Valet, but he'd also noticed how far he was from Ferenczy. Perhaps another body-guard. Maybe for the boss' companion; maybe for someone else in the crowd. Not a run-of-the-mill pickpocket, certainly. Or else he was wasting his talent.
((Sorry about the quality of this one. Been tired and sick most of the week, but putting this off any longer wasn't fair for anyone involved.))
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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
3/29/2014
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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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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
3/9/2014
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(I’m unofficially banning the apology from this forum. It’s all good, people :P I hope you both feel better soon, though)
The man – the assassin, most likely – had seen him. This was to be expected. The valet had made no overtures of remaining hidden, and better still his target did not seem to consider him a threat. More concerning was the thought that there were reinforcements. Somewhere along the route he began to notice them in the shadows, the reflections of storefront windows: two women, one man. All bandaged. The latter had replaced him at the party. If he had left, and summoned the two others to join him…
The valet forced himself to relax. Maintain composure. There was nothing he hadn’t prepared for. One rogue for the principal, one for himself. The Foolsman’s companion was of unknown intent. He could assume all parties were armed with ranged weapons. The order of action had to favour the principal. His own health was secondary; for years he had slowly moved in the realm of one who should long be dead. Ordinary attempts would not kill him. If something greater did, he could take a small vacation trailing his fingers in the silent waters. But The Foolsman could not go that way. They could never see what stood on the shore. That much the valet had signed for.
By his side he made a gesture. Two fingers. One. He closed his fist and opened it again. Two opponents. On action, form up. Protect the principal.
He was prepared.
****
‘Harold Bertram’ was what he said. He didn’t believe it, though. His pulse picked up with…anxiety…discomfort…he was lying about the name. What an expected surprise. The Foolsman was prepared to push this as far as they could go. They couldn’t see a client in the man, but perhaps he was connected enough to the right sort of people to have some use nonetheless. Or better still, if he had the right kind of enemies...
“It’s such a dull pair of names. Bertram. Harold. Frightfully dull” delivered in a tone bordering on the harlequin. Youthful arrogance. “Perhaps I’m being obtuse, but it just strikes me as odd that even a minor poet should keep such a name. I’ve written a bit myself, you know. I don’t quite think it would all be the same without ‘The Foolsman’ printed just under the title”
How many eyes could they feel burning into them?
edited by The Foolsman on 3/9/2014
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/10/2014
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(I am sorry for what has to come next  )
Alas. There was a prophetic word. It had been a long time since he’d used it.
Every other field of fire was covered, except the eighty degrees at his back. A knife placed there was the predicted outcome. But there was always a small chance that his opponent would make a tactical error. Hence why he’d pressed the Adams revolver to his chest. It could punch through anything. This he had prepared for. Anything else was a risk. Capture was not something he could afford. There were too many secrets. At least this way he could rest, if only for a little while. That slow boat passing the silent beach on a dark river…it was not so cold as others claimed.
Alas.
The bandaged valet gave a deep laugh that might have simply been a hacking cough. It rattled the tired, heavy motes of dust in his veins and trembled across Zeel’s blade. “It was a devil who killed me first, soulless one. She unhorsed me in the charge. As I lay broken on that godless plain she stood over me and wept, for she knew I did not” He broke from his reverie, and seized Zeel’s hand, not pushing him away, but pulling him in, holding him fast. “If you are going to slit my throat, know that greater creatures than you have tried. I’ll see you on the boat”
He cocked the Adams. He fired. From his cracked lips issued a piercing whistle.
Seconds transpired. The bandaged-folk appeared from all sides, surrounding The Foolsman. One woman shoved ‘Bertram’ away, leveling her pistol at his head “Move on!” The other two levelled their pieces at the valet and Zeek. The Foolsman moved last; by countless days amongst the dusty columns, where their servant had by rote schooled them in maneuvers, all summoned at a signal. The Foolsman did not need to think, therefore, in spinning on their heel. With a musical rattle, a Rattus Faber rifle – the size of a large pistol – sprang out from where it hid at their wrist. They fired. Them, and two of their guards, firing shot after shot into the valet, through him, to land each into Zeel with a callous smack and the stink of lead.
The Foolsman shut their eyes, and kept shooting.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/11/2014
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Zeel ducked back the moments shot were fired, attempting to avoid being hit. Not he cared if he was, it would simply be inconvenient. Then he noticed he had been hit once, by the original shot through the valet. It seemed as though it had gone straight through the tomb colonist and into him. Not fatally, although he was bleeding quite profusely. He placed the knife within his right sleeve, also willing to ignore any pain that may result from that. He was crouching, ready to leave into action for his next move. Would he die soon? It mattered not. Looking at the madness before him, he decided retreat was the best option, but not too far. He decided to make his own whistle, before realizing his lung was punctured. So he would die soon. No matter, he'd be back. This wasn't anything permanent. In fact, he could call it a vacation. His friend would be here soon anyway, but there was one thing he could do to bring their arrival quicker. With his blood, he signed into the wall a correspondence sigil. A particularly dangerous one, that would cause the wall to explode...any moment...there it was. He collapsed then, hearing the blood-curdling scream of his companion...if you could call the Overgoat such a thing.
Jass heard the scream, recognizing it as infernal but nothing more. Obviously there was somebody in trouble. She moved instantly, unburdened by reasons or caution. Interesting behaviour for a Master Thief, but she wasn't your typical criminal. With luck nobody would recognize her or her apprentice anyway, with both having their faces coated in Gloam-Foam. A few moments later, she was there, and the scene before her was amazing. Tomb Colonists everywhere, nearly every individual here armed with a gun. She wasn't, of course, that wasn't why she had been near here, her most lethal item would be her custom-made kifers. A small knife was contained, but that wouldn't do her much good in the fire-fight. No sign of the infernal presence yet, but it would be here soon. She stayed by the edges of the conflict, waiting for the next move to occur. She did notice, however, that there was one individual that she couldn't seem to get a visual fix on. Was he originally Parabolan? She'd have to ask once this was finished.
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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
3/11/2014
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(I'll wait for the others before I post anything, but props on the Overgoat Zeek. Also, touché)
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/15/2014
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The maelstrom ended in a shower of blasted masonry. There, amongst the newly-founded ruins of what might have been a perfume shop lay two prone bodies; one was speckled with dozens of tiny holes which through the dust seemed like stars in a white sky; the other, partially buried, was stilled at the centre of a crimson circle.
The Foolsman knelt over the former. Stroking aside the fallen stones – whose burnt remains stank of the Correspondence – they quickly examined his wounds. Terrible, but not irredeemable. The valet would live, though the fact was a cold comfort.
“I’m sorry…”
A bandaged-woman came closer. “Ma’am”
“What?”
“…do you hear that?”
They paused. Beyond the echoes of the explosion another noise could be heard. A scream, like a thousand maddened voices cursing at heaven.
“Overgoat…” they whispered.
“Ma’am?”
“Overgoat” The Foolsman was more certain. Once, once only had they heard it before, and then they had the distraction of fifty armed men and women. Even then it had been something terrible to behold. Doubtless this creature would not be so aimless in its target, especially if Zeel had summoned it. Heaven take his hollow corpse. After they were finished.
“Move! Take them both!”
The carriage hove into view, spurred to action by the sounds of chaos. The beasts that pulled it were a special breed, raised during The Foolsman’s time in the Labyrinth; dreadful, dark steeds with eyes black as hell, fast as death, chewing dents into their bits and straining at the reins. The Foolsman jumped aboard, pulling up a seat, drawing out a rifle and a little black box. Both bodies were thrown aboard, and the bandaged coterie scattered to their places.
They spoke to the two inside, “Bind that one up” they pointed to Zeel, “Then divest him of everything but his undergarments. If he wakes up, kill him again. If he fights back, cut his head off” They hammered on the roof. “Drive on! To Southwark!”
The carriage shot away at great speed, their early pace still faster than most carriages at a gallop. As it passed Bertram The Foolsman flicked out a card, “My apologies! Do write!”
The rifle was of devil make, all brass and black-wood, a relic from the invasion of Hell. The Foolsman flicked the lever-action to, and reached for the box. Inside were a score of bluish bullets, swimming in a sea of oily liquid that smelt of mistletoe and gin. These they began to load, under no illusions that against a maddened Overgoat it would not be enough. Even to strike one in the heart was to make it run for days in pursuit until its veins were empty. But perhaps it could be stilled until they reached the true weapon, kept in good conscience at the Church in Southwark…
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/17/2014
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Jass shook her head, sighing slightly. Zeel had done it again. Somehow, he'd managed to displease people with some power, in a way that he wouldn't recover from too quickly. Was that his goal? She often wondered why he acted as he did. She'd met him long ago, after his soul was lost, but before Seeking conquered him. He was a better man when she first knew him, not a good man at that point, but a better one. She stepped forward, hearing once again the roar that made her think the threads of reality were being torn apart.
"You're going to save him, aren't you?" Hazel asked despondently. Jass responded with merely a nod. Hazel grumbled to herself but didn't bother to interject. Jass may act reasonable and kind, but when she set her mind something she was beyond stubbornness. Jass continued walking forward slowly, knowing she had no chance of beating a carriage in a race. She also had no chance of fleeing from an Overgoat, but chasing one that was tracking might be at least possible. There...it leaped around the corner, mad, desperate, and looking at it she was surprised to see...loyal. Zeel had somehow managed to make the Overgoat WANT to see him returned safely. She knew she couldn't reason with it, but if they were all together, perhaps he would keep her safe from it. As the Overgoat continued its case, focused completely and solely on its goal, Jass followed at a sprint, able, but barely, to keep pace.
Zeel sat with the Boatman, playing chess as was their past-time.
"What killed you this time?" he asked.
"Bullets" Zeel responded.
"How very plain. Not as interesting as when you drowned yourself in beer, or when you tried talking Correspondence with a Spider-Council".
"Unfortunately, the council wasn't very enlightening on that subject either. Still, I know enough of it. Helped me summon the Overgoat" he said with a slight smirk. "The tomb colonist will regret pulling that move, when he wakes up without a master...if he wakes up at all. How is he faring?"
"Same as most of his kind. A slow and eventual withdrawal".
Zeel watched as the Boatman's Knight took another of his pawns.
"Why do you always battle me to return? I see the look of disgust on your face every time I tell you it's time".
Zeel thought about an appropriate answer for a moment, before looking the Boatman straight in the eye and saying
"Because every time I wake up, I know what's waiting for me. More importantly, I know what I'm leaving behind"
--
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
3/18/2014
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The valet was lying back, staring at the imperceptible features of the misty grey sky as his fingers trailed in the waters both icy and warm. The dearest feature about the slow boat was that it never seemed to get cramped, despite the amount of people taking the journey there. It gave a man the excuse to stretch his feet out and listen to the chatter.
“You need to wake up Cor-“
“Don’t ever call me that! That is not a name I will allow to be heard or spoken by anyone. That man is dead.”
“Yes, he is”
What an outburst. Without shifting his position the valet peeked over toward the Boatman. He’d set out his usual chessboard. Not really the valet’s game. He preferred idle chatter – at the very least the weary oarsman seemed to appreciate a change in pace. The two had naturally built up quite a rapport during his visits. But who was this with such audacity as to command something of the creature? The gloaming fell as such to give the faintest silhouette. The voice seemed familiar…
***
The last of Zeel’s possessions lay piled up in a stow-space under the seat. “Done!” the bandaged woman shouted, slamming the lid shut, tightening the knots at her captive’s wrists and feet. The Foolsman barely heard her over the roar, so close it sent the horses into frenzy. With a violent jolt the carriage picked up speed; only the skill of the driver kept it from flipping over altogether. Even then there were times when only two wheels were meeting the cobblestones. No guarantees could made as to how many people they were mowing down in passing, so gratitude could be found in that they were moving too fast to be sued.
Another roar. Very close. Close enough that they could hear the breathing of the beast, a rumble akin to the sound of a furnace. One shot. Two. The escorts were firing. It was just out of range for their rifles, if the sound of hooves striking the road was anything to go by. It was fast. Each step was half a second behind the other; it was taking tremendous strides. There. The rumble was changing. It was the opening note of a roar, yet stifled, almost as if the beast was laughing. It was the noise they had longed to hear. The Foolsman took a deep breath and cocked the gun. With a smooth ringing the brass lever set the bullet.
“Throw him out” they said to the bandaged-woman.
“Ma’am?”
“Throw him out! Now!”
***
The bullets were purchased at great expense, and great risk. As contraband went, to be found in possession of a single cartridge, without a half-decent lawyer at hand, would mean an expedient death at the hands of the Masters. With good reason. These had been made in Polythreme. They had been in a deep sleep, floating in the solution of gin and mistletoe that passed for a magazine box, and resting in silence even as each found itself loaded into the infernal gun.
One dreamed peacefully as it fell into the barrel.
***
Eyes open. The butt came to rest in The Foolsman’s shoulder. They swung the barrel around toward the sound of the noise, and the brass sights came to rest square between the black and twisted horns of the Overgoat, aimed at the small of its neck.
The Foolsman fired. The bullet awoke to a world ablaze. It was burning, scorched in a terrible inferno that seemed to hurtle it towards a thin point of light, towards eyes that could only be of Hell itself. The nose of the rifle erupted like the mouth of a dragon, and suspended in the terrible freedom of flight the bullet screamed. Windows shattered at the passing of the tortured missile, and the report was heard clear back to Polythreme.
“Damn the expense!” The Foolsman cried, and they pulled the lever again.
edited by The Foolsman on 3/18/2014
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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
3/29/2014
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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.
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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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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/8/2014
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I'm game. Got a scenario in mind?
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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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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/8/2014
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I'm afraid not. (I haven't done that much RP in the past) You?
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Alexx R. Norton
Posts: 9
1/8/2014
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Pray tell my good sir!, what exactly would you have in mind? I would be most delighted to participate in such a deliciously ludicrous activity. In fact, it was the most pressing of reasons for my adherence to this "online congregation" of sorts.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/8/2014
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I suppose we should start by describing who our characters are, so we know what sort've thing would bring them all together.
Mine is named Zeel. Having lost his daughter on the surface, he came down to the Neath, burning with a desire for revenge. Originally when he came to the Neath, he was still a good person. He sought to help people, even had nightmares from those he was unable to save. However, slowly, he was corrupted by his surroundings. He adapted to his home, became like it, ruthless and manipulative. He's not cruel if it does not serve his purposes, however in general humans hold less and less value in his eyes, besides the few he still cares for. He seeks the Name, partially out of a desire for knowledge but primarily to punish himself for not saving his daughter. His soul has been stained 7 times, and he knows it's at the carnival, but he has left it there out of sheer disgust. He is an alcoholic, but as time in London has continued, he's had less desire to numb any pain, embracing every scrap that finds him as well-deserved. He is also an extremely intelligent individual, his mind working at any incredibly fast rate. In fact, that's where most of his skills come from. His skill in fighting is primarily down to fast reflexes and studied moves, rather than any natural ability. Even the books he has written while in the Empress' Court are merely a reconstruction of what has appealed in the past, rather than any creative thought. His voice rarely shows what he's actually thinking and his face is not much better. That, mixed in with his morals and interest in souls (both as a spirifer and a researcher) have led some of the common folk to wonder whether he is the child of a Devil himself. Zeel tries to become close with many factions in London, but only so he can use them to his advantage. Recently, he moved in a Sanctum at the Brass Embassy where he lives alone.
TL: DR: Good person topside, turned pretty evil since (but only selfishly), uses people, punishes himself for the loss of his daughter.
Sorry if that was a bit much, I've spent a fair amount of time developing him. You don't have to write as much, I'm just interested so I know how they would ever meet.
EDIT: TLDR was turning into a smiley.
edited by Zeek on 1/8/2014
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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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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/8/2014
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Alright, mine is known as the Devious Princess. A thief and assassin, she works hard to make sure not too much is known about her. There are rumours that she used to be an urchin, although she will fervently deny it when asked, insisting "All you need to know when you're in London is I am royalty." Although she does seem to have many connections among them, and is quite young for someone as successful as herfself. She is determined to live life as happily as possible, and for her that means a lot of adventure and even more luxury. She helps other people quite often, but only if they seem interesting, as she's "just along for the ride." She's willing to do anything so long as there are no negative consequences for her.
edited by Zephyr15 on 1/9/2014
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Alexx R. Norton
Posts: 9
1/8/2014
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Ah, seems like a jolly plan, and it will be much more of a pleasure to write lengthily on my character as well.
Alexxander R. Norton. Despite the highly aristocratic name, he's of the penniless type, spending all his incomes lavishly on impulse buys which amass him a vast wealth of both knowledge and attire, but little to pay the bills. He is of the recent dandy type already born in the Neath, though he finds it extremely fashionable to tell people he left all sorts of unfinished business in the surface - lost loves, crushed foes, old enemies, brought up in a family of revolutionary academics which were fascinated by the Neath's characteristics and its uses to return London to it's original seating place as the glory of the Empire, and free it from the tyranny of the masters and the bazaar - words he memorized by heart, but found more of a nuisance than of any use. He fathoms himself as a virulent pragmatist - whatever works in a situation is his best option, making sure his charm is put to the use most profitable. Ridding himself from the stigma of being the son of a man who is now a permanent resident of the R.B. for trying to solve an Impossible Theorem, and of a certain professor who was exiled from her position, he has recreated his own backstory, filled with mystique and intrigue, as a society glitterati with a particular fondness for the Masters. Being such a volatile individual has manifested some...problems over time though. He can hardly maintain connections with various factions, since he'll willingly turn his back on them for profit (is it really profit? does he not at the moment truly believe his intentions are convict and moral?), and it has earned him quite a reputation for shifting sides on the brink of defeat (I recall a particular battle you may well have participated in, in which the poor fellow, seeing as his ragged army of dockers was failing to conquer Mr.Fires' savagery, betrayed them to the neddy men), or using some more devious means to win duels or battles. The Revolutionaries call him "The Sepia Phoenix" - a title he uses proudly, while titling himself as the sun god of the fashionable egypt, simply by rearranging his initials. After a little trouble involving the Monsignor of Tower Hamlets, a rather Senior Demon and a Spirifier (all of which were definitely not ready for THAT joke), he's spending a leisurely time in the Tomb-Colonies, though he has taken recent lodging in Old Newgate - saying it's terribly decadent - not having way to pay the fees of higher quality homes.
TLDR: His a sort of pathological liar with a showoff attitude who is in general full of bologni.
Zeek, do you reckon our two characters could ever meet? I can see them hitting off quite fine. If you do mean in the literal, brutal, bloodspilling sense, of course.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/9/2014
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Well Alex, I can see him engaging in violence in defence, but he doesn't attack people for no reason. There's always something behind it. I can see him offering to buy your soul, having heard about your constant financial issues (presuming you still have it). Or perhaps even making a trade, but requiring some of your knowledge (or a rare book, Zeel's a collector) in return. As for you, Zephyr, perhaps your character finds one of ours interesting and approaches. Would the Princess? frequent one of the Brass Embassy's parties? If so, you might find it interesting that Zeel's the only human to drink Muscuria Brandy. Or that even some of the Devils seem to fear him? They'd be underlings in the Embassy of course, but Devils and fear don't normally mix.
Just so you all know, I'm not trying to railroad anything and would appreciate your input. I just want to try and help get this show on the road.
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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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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/9/2014
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Oh, she could most definitely be found at one of the Brass Embassies party. And it probably wouldn't be too hard to find her either, she tends to get a lot of attention. And if she were to notice that some devils seemed to fear him, well, she'd try to get as close as she possibly could. Even if they were lowly, it's generally people who are afraid of devils not the other way around. And if Alexxander spends as lavishly as he claims, she might want him to spend some of that on her. Either for services or just as a gift. I don't really think there's any other way she'd run into him though.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/9/2014
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Well, I may as well try and get something started. I'll write a bit about the Embassy, and you can respond. Alex, if you think your character has reason to be there too, please join in. If not, let us know how we could easily meet you as we can all know each other and then move from there. Also, while I remember, I'll let you know what Zeel looks like.
His eyes are grey from hearing what the thunder said, the colour of clouds moments before the storm. Often when he looks at you it seems as though he's looking deep into your soul. He has black hair that's of average length, and is only addressed for an important occasion. He's rather pale compared to others which, in a land where none see sunlight, is quite a feat. He's a bit taller than average, but not overwhelmingly so. Medium build, not very muscular; as I said before, his skill in combat is more down to reflexes than strength. In the Brass Embassy, he'll be wearing the Night-Trimmed Frock Coat, along with a diamond ring and some very shiny shoes. Leaving the actual story to my next comment (since this one's already a bit long),
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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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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/9/2014
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Zeel took her hand, preparing himself for the next dance. The Brass Embassy's events were renowned across London, and there was yet to be one Zeel did not receive a personal invitation to. Of course, the fact he called the Embassy home meant it was never inconvenient, but humans were more often tools to the Devils than allies. And who was the woman he was about to dance with? Why, none other than the Deviless this event was set to honour. The dance began and Zeel moved in a way that was elegant and perfect, at least to the untrained eye. Anyone who was experienced in such matters would notice that despite the fact each move was technically correct, there was a stiffness to them, as though each move was learned rather than lived. The music continued, becoming more powerful and frantic, Zeel's moves melding into the music. On the final note, he kissed her. It was not a matter of attraction, although she was rather attractive, it was more him continuing to cement himself within the Infernal Hierarchy. By this point, he'd even surpassed some Devils. After the dance he left her for a moment, allowing both her and him to mingle.
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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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Alexx R. Norton
Posts: 9
1/10/2014
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As the serf tremblingly announced his name, Alexx grinned triumphantly - yes, this was the life. Why no, of course he wasn't invited - who needs invites when you're already half-expected half-prayed. Was he not the life of any party? Might as well fancy himself that, since there were no plans to be anywhere else tonight. He walked among the crowd of devils - apparently this was an homage to some Deviless who had recently done something or another, honestly, he couldn't care less - making his way to the beverages on the far corner where a sommelier was discussing the rare vintages of 57, displaying them with great care. He listened, smirking, hoping for the right time to snatch a glass and drain it. Shock, scorn, a lady fainting, and the work was done - also the wine wasn't that bad I'd reckon, since he felt a tingling of the stomach like little had ever. The host was called shortly after, as predictably the oenologist would be some close friend, and confronted the fellow - the mechanics of the operation going as smoothly as ever, a kiss by the hand, some flawless flattery, and the right compliments to the fellow's daughter. Now all he had to do was enjoy the evening knowing full well he had all eyes on him. Perfect.
After the first dance was through, he took out of his ever present briefcase a leather notebook - crossing out the names of the individuals he saw there, with meticulous brevity, making sure to keep count...until he noticed a fellow making his way to a certain notable deviless he had been intending to take for a spin. How terribly tedious, he thought, and noticed for whatever reason he did not know just who that person was. He had vague recollections of his grim looks from parties at this very salon, but hadn't been acquainted to him - something he would rectify as soon as he was done making small talk to a broke aristocrat asking for some monetary help to sustain his properties and hire a new and more muscular group of bodyguards, since clearly blah blah blah, of course, a promissory note which will never amount to nothing and the man will stop making such a fuss.
Alexx makes his way to the pale-eyed individual, showing the lightly irrigoed suit which dashed and glowed with every new look - quite literally too - using a truly outrageous saphire necklace, hair trimly cut, the beard fiercely pointed, his arms as he drank in how marvelously menacing he felt, his words sharp as silver, his,
-Do pardon me, I do not mean to disturb, but I seem to recall meeting you somewhere. Last month in the Duchess' soirèe? I can't seem to remember, do excuse it, and where are my manners, Alexxander Norton.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/10/2014
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Zeel looked at the man before him. "A social climber" was his first thought, studying the man closely. "Means to impress. Possibly trying to climb the social ladder. Still, could present something of interest". Zeel smiled, showing all of his gleaming white teeth, and shook the man's hand. "I am known as Zeel" he said. "No, no last name and no, I do not use the titles that are so popular among most sorts although, if you wish for one, I have been labelled the Hollow Hellion, thanks to my friends around here". Zeel gestured slightly to show that many of the Devil's eyes were currently watching him and his interactions. "There are even rumours that I'm the child of a Rubbery Man and a Deviless" he said, laughing at the thought of it, watching this man's every movement, trying to read his expressions and all. Was he just another climber, or was there something else to this man behind such behaviours? Perhaps his instincts were wrong? After all, most did not approach him without being at least slightly intimidated. Or perhaps he was over-thinking this? "Of course, you're not the type to believe such fripperies, are you?"
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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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Alexx R. Norton
Posts: 9
1/10/2014
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"Who is this man? Is he even a man?" the thought came rushing as the man made his gesture, and Alexx realized that he was facing a friend of the top-tier members of Hell. Not that he had none - he relished a bit in the fact that he had quite a few powerful acquaintances in the old place - but this fellow was recognized by every Devil who was at the time at the Embassy. Yet his features didn't show any of that oh-so-charming devil tainted individual - Alexx had always thought that society types had a certain charm to them which emanated from every pore, he was a simple, rather forward individual. Which only made his acquisition all the more pressing.
-Oh, quite not, quite not. Even if you were to have been spawned by such creatures - he leaned in closer to Zeel as if to whisper, though rather audibly - I'm quite sure the result would be no less spectacular. I think I remember you, weren't you the one who caught the Spider Council down at the docks with just a sickle and a group of frigthened bandits? Yes, quite so, it was the talk of the town for a few days. - Yes, this was his way of dancing. You needn't move the body less than an inch, and yet the movements were so delightfully delicate - Tell Mr.Zeel, have you ever drank any of the 54'? I seem to have acquired a very particular bottle from our delightful host, and would be happy to share it with you. Maybe we can get, hum, properly acquainted, wouldn't you say? Men of our stature need others like us - This last phrase had been uttered as a murmur, and Alexx shivered in delight. Shared megalomany is like paraffin, slowly bonding the liquid matters of society.
-I'm actually a recent frequenter of these events dear sir. Didn't use to have many acquaintances down at the embassy, but my business has made certain parties rather interested. Oh, and if I may be so indiscreet, what is it you do for a living Mr.Zeel?
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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/11/2014
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The Devious Princess had watched as a very pale man danced in the center with the deviless the event had been thrown for. Now that they were done she considered going for a spin herself, but she could still feel the blisters from a certain slip-up she'd made the last time she crashed a gala at the brass embassy. As agile as she is, she was simply frightful at dancing. Well, if at first you don't succeed, you probably did something wrong and you better figure it out, so she ought to try again. She spots the pale man she had been watching in a conversation, and decided she should go introduce herself.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/11/2014
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Zeel gave a slight smile at the man's compliments, seeing them for what they were yet at least finding amusement in them. "Ahhh, that story. It is true I have faced Spider-councils before, but the sickles and bandits aspect are both nonsense. I had a rather nice Ratting Piece. Yes, for a brief period of time I was such an individual. As for bandits, I had no-one with me but my own self. Others are unreliable". Zeel paused for a moment, taking the time to glare at some lower level Devils who just so happened to be harassing his date. They very quickly made their excuses and moved on. Zeel watched Alexx, working out from his movements that this was a man used to getting under people's defences. Did that make this man a scam artist? He was more than a standard social climber, that was for sure. This man was probably as fake, but far more skilled. Out of the corner of his eye, Zeel noticed a woman he'd not seen before approaching them. Immediately, he changed his face, oozing charm as the situation called for. He bowed deeply, then kissed her hand, after which he asked "And who might this lovely lady be?"
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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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Alexx R. Norton
Posts: 9
1/12/2014
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A treat this one. Alexx wasn't quite sure what to do with him, but the man's sheer power exhaled from every pore. Ah - yes, a thing came to mind. Surely he could help with THAT matter. And he wouldn't even have to notice it, a shower of brass and a few trips to the honey-dens in secret, a rather indiscreet taking to the Parlour, and it would all be...
As he turned around, to see just who is guest was greeting, Alexx recognized an all too familiar face. The queen of the raggedy gangs. The empress of urchins. That bloody bore of a woman who seemed to haunt him these days. Alexx and the Princess had met when they were both quite young, and he made his pride and joy to indulge her in the more...debauched pleasures of the Neath - not like she didn't know some already by heart - giving her jewels, and baths, a home, only to find her as a kingpin of criminal organizations. A shame this. Alexx treasured his connections with the more lowly individuals, but he'd be damned if that would tarnish his reputation among the more conservative sorts. What was he supposed to tell her now? She was making a name, should he acknowledge their recognition? Or should he just pretend to meet her again?
-Glad to see you milady. How do you do? Mr.Zeel, might I present to you the charming lady known as the Devious Princess?
Well, guess that choice was done. On the other hand, turning to the entry, there seemed to be an amalgamation of...wait, was that the sound of zee-captains? Such a faint sound. Nothing important surely.
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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/13/2014
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"Your Grace works just fine" The Devious Princess said with a wink. "In case you're curious, this really is my name. Picked it myself. And Alexx! Why, I haven't seen you in ages! And such a bitter parting... I still think of you in my honey dreams sometimes, if you would like to accompany me again sometime?" As she said this, she moved closer to Zeel, trying to reveal enough of her past to make him curious. People did tend to be curious when it came to her history. "And besides, I wouldn't exactly say I rule the urchin gangs, they just happen to respect me, for reasons that should not be mentioned at a social function such as this. But enough about me," she said, turning her attention back to Alexxander, "How have you been these past couple years? And you, Mr. Zeel, was it? What brings you to this no good gathering of soul thieves, soulless, and whatever those devils use the souls for?" Leaning in for the last part.
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Zeel
Posts: 257
1/14/2014
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Zeel smiled, for a moment perfectly resembling those he associated with. "My dear, I'm invited to every soiree the Devils host. In fact, my Sanctum is just upstairs" he said, with a barely perceptible wink that could have been mistaken for an eye twitch. "I'd be happy to allow you both to...explore...later of course, one must enjoy their parties. Anyway, Devious Princess, to answer your question about souls, I'm not quite sure but I do know exactly where mine is if that's what you're implying. I just don't want it". Zeel paused a moment before saying "Enough standing around, allow me to escort you to my personal table. Nothing huge of course, I am only human, but enough to seat us all". Without another moment, Zeel turned and began walking, seating himself at a small corner table.
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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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Zephyr15
Posts: 58
1/21/2014
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(Sorry, I wasn't entirely sure what had just happened so I was sort of waiting for it to continue, didn't want to misinterpret an Alexx's ideas.)
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dismallyOriented
Posts: 215
3/2/2014
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("Somewhat more benign, since the girl looked ready to self-defenestrate"
I laughed out loud at this. Good one.)
Teresa muttered something very unprintable. She did not trust The Foolsman. He'd very loudly gone after that Zeel fellow, and had left equally loudly. Mr. Bertram had mentioned something to her about memories. The Foolsman apparently "wanted memories," and whatever that meant, it couldn't be something good. Normally, being in a shaky financial position, she'd be willing to do business with people who bought things. But memories? She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself close. No. Not even the hazy, honey and smoke dreams from the den. As painful as her addiction had been, and as much as she hated any reminder of those times, those memories featured someone too precious to ever let go.
Supposedly, the dead here could get up and walk again. But until she could actually see her mother again, Teresa would keep those memories close.
In the meantime, she had to deal with The Foolsman. Perhaps, if she got loud with him too, they'd both be kicked out--hopefully only to the street and not to the Colonies.
"I'm Teresa," she said, refining her accent and sitting up straighter, doing her best to look down at him. She knew from previous experience that undeserved snootiness could be extremely offensive.
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/3/2014
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((Thanks dismally. Don’t worry about the report. I just used up my Connected: the Masters))
The girl muttered something very unprintable. Well, it had been printed once. The author was a drownie now. Maybe she knew that drownie. Hopefully not. The woman had wanted a bigger cut. But Teresa stung of wit drenched – heh – in youthful petulance. She suspected him, no doubt. She had a very hungry look. Like an urchin. They wouldn’t put it past an urchin to make a scene if pushed too hard. So a softer touch, perhaps. After they’d turned a blade or two from this ‘Bertram’. He didn’t need to know they’d met before at a certain wharf. He needed to know very little.
Demure. A pleasant, flattered sort of smile. “Oh, sir, you shouldn’t tease”
They turned to the girl. Cue expression change, “Madam, you look positively blanched! I didn’t chance to think I looked so fearsome, not in velvet…or perhaps you concern yourself with my occupation – quite passive I assure you. Unless I forget to pay my tariffs, of course...you aren't a Constable, are you?” End speech. Genteel laughter, light and harmless.
edited by The Foolsman on 3/3/2014
edited by The Foolsman on 3/3/2014
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/3/2014
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The bandaged valet had lived long and cruel. But his memory had never been touched. With good reason. He had been with The Foolsman from the very beginning. His was not merely the part of a servant. Companion, yes, duelling second, confessor, wound dresser, gossiper, spy, but much more still. It might be argued he was in fact more of a watchman. Contracts had been signed, hands shaken. An arrangement had been made and he was obliged to fulfill it. London would not see what lay beyond the mockery.
So what came next arose from a mixture of loyalty and selfishness. The valet was paid to watch, even if The Foolsman ordered otherwise. Given the outburst, it came as no surprise that he had been watching Zeel intently. The man was glaring holes into his master, and into eyes beyond. The girl. He saw the card produced, furiously scribbled upon. As a devilish footman swooped past with the strangely formed – if admittedly quite fetching – calling card, he plucked it away.
“No need. I shall carry it from here”
The devil thought to object. His mouth opened to do so as the valet swooped away. But a pair of green eyes silenced him.
The bandaged-valet appeared behind Teresa, laying the card on its silver tray before her.
“My master wishes your company” he said, and gestured towards the table where Zeel sat. The Foolsman, deep in their glass to sate the thirst of contradiction, managed to hide any sign of knowing otherwise.
edited by The Foolsman on 3/3/2014
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dismallyOriented
Posts: 215
3/4/2014
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(I'm not wicked. What did I do to deserve this. What did my character do to deserve this. Why.
Ah, who am I kidding. This is fun.)
With shaking hands and forcibly calmed breaths, Teresa stood before the table and wondered what in God's name she'd gotten herself into.
A devil! A devil had invited her over! Well, of course. Who else would employ a tomb colonist for a valet? She cursed her stupidity. Of course Zeel wouldn't actually be interested. Hell--er. they were probably all in cahoots with each other, scheming to take her soul.
Well. They wouldn't have it.
Despite her fuming, and burning desire to tell them exactly what she thought about this underhanded scheming, she was still terrified. And rightly so. Devils. Devils! Now she wondered if she should've stayed with her church. This was more dangerous than almost anything she'd done before. Now more than ever, she realized the folly of coming to an Embassy party.
She mumbled something in reply to the hearty greeting and sat down demurely, as far away as was permissible. If the floor had been hot, this table was positively burning.
(Disclaimer: Teresa's views on the tomb colonists do not reflect my own)
(Also, just got the Wisemanman joke. Very good)
edited by dismallyOriented on 3/4/2014
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/4/2014
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(I'll wait for the other two to reply before I add anything to the story, but I just wanted to say how fun this has been so far; it's nice to work with such good writers)
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/4/2014
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The green-eyed devil might have ripped Zeel’s heart from his chest. But that would be playing sides. Instead, he sought the path of best resistance. He would keep to the deal, and no more. The Foolsman would most certainly receive a visit tomorrow. Though cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, he stood to his full seven feet, and laid a pale hand upon a cane, gripping it tightly.
“I have been mistaken. When The Foolsman warned me of your appearance tonight, I thought you were merely his unqualified, unlicensed rival. To be frank I did not care for his desire to protect this young woman by making her a client. If she had gone with you, and had the breadth of her memory, and her soul, torn away, it would not have mattered”
The other devils were paying attention now. A coterie of burly goat demons had made their appearance just out of arms-reach. Somewhere in the crowd a presence had made itself known.
The green-eyed devil spoke on. “I will not remind you of your perilous position. I will not question the rationale of my betters in allowing you to live here. Nor will I tell you precisely who you’ve threatened. Instead I shall point out precisely where you stand, since you lack the common sense to see it yourself. You have attempted to intimidate a loyal servant of Hell, sir, in the Brass Embassy. It has failed. Anyone less would have suffered for such impudence” he pointed to the goat demons, “You should retire to your chamber. Or these fellows will have you thrown on to the street”
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The Foolsman
Posts: 88
3/7/2014
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(I think things are coming to a head at any rate. If it does, it'd be great to see all these characters again someday. But as I said, there's no rush for anything)
edited by The Foolsman on 3/8/2014
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Zeel
Posts: 257
3/8/2014
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Zeel stood in the shadows the opposite side of the Foolsman to the valet, watching both individuals at the same time. His thoughts had entered his analytical stage, where they were direct and to the point. "Tomb colonist follows individual. Either servant or assassin. Definitely servant. Stance is not predatorial. Recognized from party. Foolsman's companion is unknown, possibly also from party. Perhaps more can be learned from valet". Zeel reached inside his other pocket, finding within it the one thing he never kept far from his heart, a blood-stained knife. Meaningless to most, his very existence today was because of it. If items were memories, this would be his item. He twirled it within his hand, preparing for what came next. He was not alone, but as far as anybody else knew, he was. Zeel knew the value of subtlety however, so he ended up spending an extra five minutes crossing to get close to the valet, knife still in hand.
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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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