Fantasy Brimstone Noir (FULL)

[avira]

Ashana, The Smoke of God's Anger

"It sounds like he's fairly well respected within the academic community," she mused, considering the circumstances in her head. She turned back around to face the front of the car. "So no big rivals who might want him dead, or enemies trying to postpone his new exhibition?" Ashana wanted to outline her talking points before she got to Crane and rule out any normal possibilities. There was still a slight chance that this was just an ordinary burglary attempt by an ordinary burglar. Crane's eccentricities were well known, and it would be easy to imagine how being around worldly curiosities all day might warp one's perceptions. Make them more paranoid than necessary.


"I suppose that's it. Unless Mal here has any input."


@_Line 213

 

[_Line 213]

"Not as far as I'm aware, no," Brandshaw replied, frowning at the very thought, "a small selection of the board-members may not appreciate him all that much, but they're also respectable individuals. They wouldn't be the sort to try anything this drastic, not at all. Not to mention that his exhibits tend to get a fair amount of good business for the museum, academic griping aside..."


Mal rapped his hands against the steering wheel in a Shave and a Haircut rhythm, before moving to turn up the radio. That was the entirety of his input, it seemed.


Save for any other potential questions, the rest of the ride passed along with minimal issue, the trio actually managing to make better time than they had expected, arriving just under fifteen minutes early to the museum. Mal swung the car toward the sidewalk, stopping in an always-clear area in front of the main steps, before pulling back the stick and looking over his shoulder. "Alright, so the two of you go ahead and have a grand old time in there. Meet up with the others, and I'll head on in as soon as a spot opens up. Which might be never." The disguised demon raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in slightly disingenuous apology, before waiting for Ashana and Mister Brandshaw to exit the vehicle.


@avira

 

[avira]

Ashana, The Smoke of God's Anger

Ashana clicked her tongue. Typical Mal, getting out of the leg work. "Don't dawdle," she warned him as she closed the car door. She had always wondered why Oremus had him as the Agency's unofficial second-in-command. He never seemed to be doing any work. Even that genie girl, whatever her name was, was already here investigating. She wasn't even a real part of the Agency yet.


"Alright Mister Brandshaw. I'm assuming they've cleaned the scene of the attack, since the museum is functioning and open to the public today." Ashana gestured towards the steps leading up to the entrance. Her walk was intentionally slow, giving her time to take in the full picture of the museum. This was her first time visiting it as she'd never had reason to come before. In truth, its grandness impressed her - even the entrance was decorated with imposing marble columns. The line for the metal detector was not to her liking, though. She always had problems passing through certain kinds of electrical scans, something about them not being able to properly read all of her. "Shall we visit Mister Crane's office first? Or do you have another suggestion?"

@_Line 213 
​

(Also @aniking if you want to come join us since we've finally arrived!)
​

 

[zCrookedz]

Lucas hummed to himself as he looked at the back of the woman's head. He thumped on the top of his cane ever so slightly as he pondered her words. She can't understand him? He had clearly heard her speak some form french to the guard, but her accent she had used with him had been a bit forced. She was trying to hide who she really was. With two different personas that Lucas had seen, she had made it quite hard to pinpoint exactly who she was.


Then there was the mention of her "interests". This actually made Lucas relax a bit, as he was fairly certain she was not working for the Guédé. He gave a slight glance downwards at Jimbo, who seemed to confirm his own suspicions with a shriveled up smile. 


Lucas stepped forward and around to her side to get a better look at this woman. Her pale skin almost seemed to glow with radiance, which was only interrupted by the rosy coloring of her cheeks. As he caught her eyes, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of red within them, possibly a fire deep within the woman that had yet to be extinguished. He couldn't help but feel slightly entranced by her as he smiled. 


"Excusez-moi Madame. I ment no offense to you. Merely, a slip of zhe tongue."


As he tipped his hat to her, he couldn't help but recall a verse from a ballade by Eustache Deschamps 








"Beauté ni valeur où se rencontrent toutes les perfections,





Aucun homme, ni femme, quoique son destin donne





Verrous brillants, peau blanche, joues qui ressemblent à des roses..."








Lucas felt Jimbo twitch back in forth in his pocket suddenly, cutting off his word. He looked down at the little head who looked as if he was in pain. 


"Boyo, she dun cast som'ting on us. It burns boyo!"


The loud whisper of Jimbo would have been audible to the woman, no hiding that now. But instead of Lucas jumping back and causing a scene, he simply looked at the woman. Her arm had dropped, so he followed it down, where he saw a small black feather resting on the edge of his pants leg. He smiled as he picked the feather off of him and held it in his palm. He could still feel Jimbo twitching, but he simply smiled and flicked his eyes at the woman. 








"Mais la mort féroce chasseur ne sera pas tenir affaire,





Et qui, quand vieux, le monde ne va pas réprimander:





La vieillesse finit toute, dans la jeunesse seule est la grâce."








Lucas held the feather gingerly in his finger tips and twirled it around for a moment, before made it disappear in a flourish of fingers. As he felt Jimbo settle, Lucas smiled at the woman, and sighed. The darkness of death, the way Jimbo could sense her, and now the feather; Lucas was fairly certain he knew what she was now. 


"Good day, Madame Reaper."


@Rhakun

 

[aniking]

For Ning, it certainly wasn't odd to spend the better part of an hour staring intently at one thing, but, for normalcy's sake, he did wander around a bit. He'd always had a soft spot for history, but he had a hard time focusing on the museum's attractions when there was apparently supernatural mischief afoot. Even in his half-state, he felt weird here. Spiritually uneasy, as it were. In any case, Ning made some rounds around the main hall, his eyes half-lidded and expression unchanging as he drifted from case to painting to bust. He probably looked like a creep, he thought, but that was singularly unimportant. What were they going to do, arrest him for being weird-looking? Every so often, he would glance at the entrance, and, after a time, he saw two familiar figures emerge through the metal detector (that he was tremendously satisfied he'd bypassed). Ning strode up to them at a calm pace, catching the last bit of Ashana's words, and figured he should actually say something for once. "How was the ride?" he asked, deadpan. Greetings never really were his strong suit.


@avira @_Line 213

 

[_Line 213]

"I can't say that I have any other ideas in particular, no. I'm sure that Mister Crane will be wanting to talk to you regardless of what you do, and he'll be here after closing hours as well, so I suppose you have the most time to meet him than anything else, should any alternatives come to mind," Mister Brandshaw said as the pair strode in through the entryway to the museum. He flashed his identification to one of the guards, expediting him and Ashana through the the majority of the incomers, sparse as they were, time of day considered, and into the museum proper. Stowing the item away, he looked up, seemingly about to say something else, only for Ning to make his way towards Ashana. He fell silent as the man spoke, pursing his lips in discomfort once again as they were joined by what he was sure was yet another strange someone-or-other.


"...Is this another one of your associates, or should I be worried?" he asked, leaning a little closer to Ashana.


@avira @aniking

 

[avira]

Ashana, The Smoke of God's Anger

Ashana cracked a small smile. "I guess you didn't get the chance to see him at the office. Mister Bradshaw, this is Ning," she said, gesturing between them. Ning had a way of being missed by many of their mortal clients, tucked away in his own corner.


"The ride was... uneventful. Thank you, Ning." Ashana was, perhaps uncharacteristically, cordial towards him. Ning was the only person in the office she felt a kind of kinship with. Her feelings towards Mal were obvious. Oremus was as much a mystery to them as anything in Heaven or Hell. Even towards their reaper companion, Ashana felt the need to keep her distance. Ning, though, had died. And despite the fact that his fate was ultimately different than Ashana's, dying was an ordeal indescribable to those that hadn't experienced it. They both knew what it was like to be tethered to the world against your will, lingering in the shadows.


"We were just about to interview Mister Crane in his office, unless you've seen anything around here we should check out first."

@_Line 213 @aniking
​

 

[aniking]

Ning openly stared down at the nervous man. If he were the witty type, he probably would have said something along the lines of "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!" and then laugh, but he was as far from that type as could be. So, he merely nodded at the man in greeting and said, simply, "It is nice to meet you, Mister Brandshaw." Then, he turned to Ashana, who he was actually sort of pleased to see. If he were the type to acknowledge that he had favorite anything, he probably would recognize Ashana as his favorite coworker, even if the only thing they had in common was death. It was a heavy thing, though, death. In any case. she was perhaps the one he showed the most emotion to (minuscule as it may be), so when he very subtly tensed in the shoulders and flicked his eyes elsewhere, he didn't feel as if he were overly expressing himself. "Not specifically. Though, the atmosphere in here is slightly troublesome. I am having difficulty determining if it stems from a certain artifact or visitor, but..." Ning paused briefly, internally chastising himself. He should have done more investigating. He met her eyes again. "Let us proceed to the office of Mister Crane, in any case." 


@_Line 213 @avira

 

[_Line 213]

Mister Brandshaw opened his mouth in slight surprise; it took a bit of time for words to form afterward.


"Ah, yes, of course, Mister Crane's office it is, then. I'm quite sure he'll be in," he stated briskly, his nervousness never quite fading as he immediately started off, more than prepared to lead the duo to the office in question. He brought the two down through the main hall, pausing in front of a set of elevator doors. One just so happened to arrive a few seconds after the group came to a halt, sparing all involved the necessity of awkward silence. That would, instead, be postponed to the trip in the elevator itself.


After a short slew of guests poured out of the elevator car, Mister Brandshaw stepped in, pulling out his ID a second time, before raising to tap it to a small black box just to the left of the elevator buttons. The box let out a quick, high-pitched beep, and Mister Brandshaw quickly tapped the button belonging to the fifth floor. Next to the numerical indication was a simply printed message: Staff Offices, Misc.


The lift ascended, and the doors opened soon enough. Mister Brandshaw quickly left the elevator, pace increasing as he made a sharp right turn, heading down a hallway lined with doors and names which, presumably, all belonged to members of the museum's caretakers and faculty. Passing three doors on each side as he made his way down the hallway, Marcus eventually came to a stop in front of the fourth on the left. C.Crane, this one read on the frosted glass, likely to no one's surprise. Raising his hand, Marcus rapped sharply four times against the door, pressing his ear against it as he called. "Mister Crane?"


A moment of silence, then, a somewhat nasally reply. "Yes, yes, I'm in here old boy, come in!"


Mister Brandshaw cleared his throat, flashing the pair a bit of an awkward smile, before turning the knob and striding in. The room behind the door was a cluttered one, full of shelves, each stocked with all manners of historical paraphernalia; it seemed that what they had walked into was less of an office, and more of a private collection, a museum all its own. Dim, yellowed light emanated from a collection of lights along the ceiling, and perhaps a little more primarily, from a set of lamps atop a cluttered, messy desk, strewn with all manners of papers and paperweights. Correlas Crane, however, was nowhere to be seen behind it.


"Correlas?" Marcus called out, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the investigators behind him.


"I'm by the left end stack!" returned the earlier voice, from several lines of shelves down, towards the upper left corner of the room. "You're back early! Did they turn you down?"


@avira @aniking

 

[Rhakun]

"Excusez-moi Madame. I ment no offense to you. Merely, a slip of zhe tongue."


After hearing his apology, Marina was bugged. She had thought that Eugene, having made such a direct advance, would have something in particular he wanted to talk about. This sudden retreat of intentions was something that took her by surprise and, when unprepared for them, she didn't take those all too well. Although mildly frustrated, she gave him a small smile and a quick nod; trying to communicate no offense was taken. As he walked around her, gazing at her face, she felt no need in reacting. Anyone dumb enough to assault someone in the open might get caught for any other thing in a few days and anyone smart enough would know that, to chase a target, such an explicit examination wouldn't be a very formal resource. Whichever the case, she did not feel a real, immediate threat her way.



It's not in his interests to come after me, it seems. Still...



She tried, reactively, to engage in the same process he was doing. She caught his image a little more in detail now; he easily stood 5 inches taller, his hair was long, somewhat curly and greasy. He didn't look like he rested all that much, giving him many traits (eyebags and a severe leanness amongst them) that added to his age. Said aspects aside, he didn't look old or limp enough to carry a cane which he oddly did. All things considered, he had a very particular type of charm; a dandy goth, as it seemed to her. Although not a choice of clothes she'd have for herself, she was certainly interested and sympathetic to the general impression he had made on her.


Switching to the feather, she had been successful. after it touched his pocket, she was pretty sure she heard an odd voice coming from it's landing place; a muffled, bewildered complaint. She acknowledged, without being aware of the format, that there was a dead spirit capable of speech in his pocket. A small shrunken head. How funny would that be? she thought. Further proceeding on that line, she gave the landing place a piercing look, ignoring how this man was fiddling with the feather he had now picked up.


"Good day, Madame Reaper."



A goosebump passed through her skin and, mildly, across the base of feathers in her spine. It wasn't the first time she was refered that way by someone (a brief glimpse of the face of Ashana crossed her mind), but it was never less of a bad trigger. The word, in some ways, made her think that she wasn't human anymore. Personal connotations aside, she now knew that both of them were aware, in some manner, of their respective ties to magic. A thing she had noticed was that both had the desire to leave the place and, without a tangible suspicion to hold him back (asides curiosity) she slid her engagement off. After all, she also needed to get out.


There was little need now, in turn, to keep a very concealed profile towards him.



"Bonne soirée a vous, Dr. Facilier."

 

[zCrookedz]

Lucas watched as the woman had the ever so slightest reaction to him calling her a Reaper. In truth, this wasn't the first reaper that Lucas had ever come across. One who is under the employment of the Guédé tends to spend a great deal of their time around death, and reapers go hand in hand with death. Usually under the employment of Papa Ghede, the keeper of the crossroads, on a few instances he had tussled with a reaper over a soul and nearly lost his own in the process. So provoking one was not something he wanted to do in the middle of this museum. 


Lucas raised an eyebrow to the woman, the name she had given him was one he had never heard before. 


"Dr. Facilier? I am afraid I do not no zis name Madame. My name is Enzo Dubois. It iz a pleasure."


Lucas finally turned to the woman and gave her a quant little smile as he he dipped his head a tad, watching for a reaction from her. 
He then balanced himself of his cane, slightly leaning on it as he continued to examine the woman. 


"Now zat you 'ave my name, would you be so kind az to provide your own?"


Lucas was very intrigued by this reaper being here. If she was not here from Ghede, than why was she in this museum? Was someone about to die? Or did she live in this city that Lucas himself had only been moved into for a few weeks now? 


@Rhakun

 

[SilverFlight]

Harian strolled casually through the Egyptian exhibits, taking her time examining the various artifacts entombed in their glass cases.


‘Clay and wood scepter, for ceremonial purposes’ One of the labels read. Harian gave a snort at that. The item in question wasn’t nearly so glamourous. In fact, the most regal thing it had to do was shove refuse through blocked water ways. ‘Ceremonial purposes’ seemed to come up a lot when the use of a particular item could not be guessed in an obvious manner. That was archaeology for you. Harian continued on. What next caught her eye was far more valuable.


The Staff of Anubis sat glittering in the hand of the God’s likeness in its own glass floor-to-ceiling case. Two gentlemen were in quiet discussion beside it. Then, a shadow flickered across the glass and peaked Harian’s interest. She looked at the staff again and then at the rather odd figure with the curly hair and the long coat. A raised eyebrow was all the indication she gave that she had seen anything. But, of course she hadn’t seen anything. Her magical experience however had led her to make a good guess as to what had just occurred and the thought made her smile. Good on him for pulling off a robbery in the middle of a well-lit museum. If he had looked in her direction at any moment he would have seen her wink at him knowingly. In the end however, it was none of her business. She smiled and gave a crisp little wave at Marina as she caught the woman's gaze (She'd read the agent's profile in the office files) and she turned on her heel and went to go find the rest of the Brimstone gang.


It didn’t take her long, the fire escape plan lead her to the back of house offices and she met the others sans Mal in the hall just before they got to Mr. Crane.


“Fun trip?” She asked, the satire thick in her voice.

 

[Rhakun]

So not Eugene, huh?... right. He didn't seem too keen into children's movies either.



"C'est un personnage d'un film, vous me rappelle un peu de lui." She said, hinting reference to the previous Docteur name she had mentioned "La famille m'apelle Tania."


[He's a character from a film, you remind me a little of him. The family calls me Tania.]



She hated direct and blunt lying, so she slipped a small bit of truth. Tania was a pet name she had been given by a cousin and, given the naturality with which she had learned to employ it, Marina could say it without going through the effort of trying to sound honest. Extra to the sentence, she wanted to see how far she would be able to push the whole Papa Ghédé gimmick. If there was a Papa, after all, there had to be some family surrounding him and implying association might help her blur her picture. Worst case scenario, she confered, he would just think that he was referring to her own family (She was convinced, after all, that half-truths didn't equate lies).


Marina had hit another grimacing look at his pocket, but the fact that he was fidgeting his cane caught her attention. Glaring at it and then to the one on the booth, she noticed huge similarities. Although willing to test the connection, she abstained from trying it. It was her interest to get out and any further chat just extended the possibility of a guard coming at their place of standing again. It wouldn't be something she wouldn't be able to handle, but awareness of her coat had brought her enough attention today and the idea of someone telling something to the people at the entrance was certainly going to be, if not alarming, an annoyance.


It was then that she thought of a plan to get out. It might or might not uncover more on this suspicious individual but it would certainly, she thought, get her out.


"C'est trop similaire, le modèle" She said after closing her line of thought. It would be dumb to think that he wouldn't notice her looking at the staves. "Êtes-vous un enthousiaste de le vieille Égypte?"


[The model is very similar. Are you an enthusiast of Antique Egypt?]


@zCrookedz

 

[Baconhands]

Fia was often thankful for the winter: the weather granted itself well to the clothing she often found necessary to wear. A grey woolen hat sat neatly, but loosely, on her head and a scarf of similar colour wrapped itself tightly around her neck. She had just left a somewhat cramped and, unsurprisingly, overcrowded coffee shop; she nursed a holiday-themed cup in her hands, occasionally sipping from it as she meandered along the sidewalk. Weaving in and out of the foot-traffic, the werewolf found herself opposite the entrance of the Wingworthy Natural History Museum after a few minutes of silent contemplation and aimless ambling: she'd seen it often enough, been in it once and hadn't ever really paid much attention to it since then; she'd a love of history and an interest in biology but combining them both together just seemed... odd.


There was something off, however, more than usual; a strange scent was the most prominent of which. Everything else seemed scrambled: the noise was a medley of chaos and impatience and everything else, as usual, confused her senses: she didn't know exactly what she was looking for. A moment's decision making passed before Fia decided to enter the museum.


The relative lack of sound that greeted her when she entered a quiet building was always a welcome sensation. Her ears had relaxed, her eyes had too; the entire building seemed to be a pocket of calm in a raging storm of chaos outside. It was much more likely to be the eye of that storm, Fia thought to herself.


A few moments passed; Fia was through security and into the museum proper, following this unusual scent she had found earlier. She found it not too long later.


@zCrookedz @Rhakun

 

[zCrookedz]

Lucas raised an eyebrow to the girl, she was acting very strange. Of course, this was only being based off of the last 10 minutes since her first said hello to the woman. It could very well be that she had a very abnormal personality and this was her "Normal". Lucas pretended to listen to the woman speak of some kind of movie reference, when his eyes caught a shape out of the corner of them. Short hair, sporting a very fashionable vest, the woman winked at Lucas and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch as she disappeared. 


Lucas snapped back to reality as the woman beside him uttered a name to him. Tania? He let the name slide into the safes within his mind and pinned it there. Whether it was her real name or not, it did not matter. Usually when someone picked a fake name, it held some sort of grain of truth to it. Mothers name, fathers name, even a best friend's name; it had some sort of connection. Lucas always had a list of names he used, names that were never associated with his own history. He very much liked his own secrets. 


"Tania? Quel beau nom ma chère." {Tania? What a beautiful name my dear.}


Lucas felt Jimbo shifting in his pocket once more. He had been very much surprised the little head voice hadn't provoked more of a stir from the woman, but Lucas wasn't about to bring the subject up if he could get away without much more conversation. Unfortunately, the woman seemed a little more intent on creating conversation, as he noticed her glancing at the staff. He cleared his throat a bit as he met her eyes again with a bit of a strained smile. 


"Dans un sens. Zhe Egyptians, zhey 'ad a very firm grasp of life and death in zhere beliefs. Anubis, i would say, iz a passionnant subject for myself."


@SilverFlight @Rhakun @Baconhands

 

[_Line 213]

Mister Brandshaw spun around quickly at the sound of a fourth voice, nearly falling to the floor in surprise. Instead, he stumbled towards one of the series of shelves, rattling the priceless items within. It was a miracle that nothing managed to fall.


Correlas Crane himself rounded the shelves, a rag in his hand and something shining within the cloth itself, seemingly in the midst of being polished. For an elderly man, he seemed remarkably healthy, neatly vested, walking nearly upright, and at an even pace, if the routine click of his leather dress shoes was any indication. His face, sagging lopsidedly with age, nonetheless managed to convey a certain amount of charming curiousness as he showed himself from around the bend. His peering expression quirked itself into something of a smile, and he rubbed the item in his hand a few more times before tucking it away in the right pocket of his vest, a small chain dangling from the pocket, before looping up towards one of the blue vest's buttons.


"I see you brought Brimstone," Correlas said to his associate, even as his eyes failed to leave the group proper. Even though he was the one that ultimately sent for them, it was hard to tell whether or not he knew, or was even capable of understanding, what they truly were. Their disguises were human enough, and their tells were hidden, yet he nonetheless seemed to have an undue amount of fascination with the small group.


"T-There were only two of them when I got here," Marcus Brandshaw stated, finally managing to pull himself up to his feet from his more prone position.


"Oh, of course there was," Mister Crane replied, seeming to find something about that rather funny. With that, he turned, heading towards the messy desk. A set of chairs, four and all, were, at the time, scattered haphazardly about the desk in order to be used as makeshift tables for papers and writings. With the motions of a man several decades younger than himself, Correlas Crane began shifting the various stacks onto the desk itself, setting as much as he could towards the sides of the tabletop in order to ensure that his face would not be needlessly obscured by his overdue documents. Once everything was more or less clear, he arranged the chairs in an array on one side of the desk, before moving to sit on the opposite side, by his lamps, all by himself.


He clasped his hands atop the table, his smile only growing, before sweeping a hand towards the set of chairs. "Welcome, Brimstone. Please, if you would be so kind."


@SilverFlight @avira @aniking

 

[Baconhands]

Fia's eyes drifted across the museum before they fixed on the oddity that had brought her here; there was a man, a skinny one at that, with long black hair strangely decorated in less than normal garments. Other than the dolls and skulls that adorned him, he appeared normal in practically all senses of the word. Fia was caught staring for a moment in slight bewilderment, then she realized she was following the scent of whatever was in his pocket: whatever it was smelled of dusty old leather, and dried meat, a curious combination to say the least; not something you would expect to be hanging around anyone in a city like this.


Whoever this was was conversing with a pale-skinned woman that wore square, rimless glasses. Something was off about her as well; maybe she was the cause of the abnormality Fia was following.


Curiousity, as it often did, got the better of her, and she approached them slowly. As she listened to them converse in French, she stopped a couple of metres away from them: it was only after the man had spoken English, albeit with an accent, did Fia realize that she could at least try to have a conversation with them. There was only one question she wanted answered, however.


"Pardon, I'm sorry for interrupting," Fia tried to excuse herself, "it's just that curiousity has gotten the best of me and I need to ask, what's in your pocket?"


@zCrookedz@Rhakun

 

[Rhakun]

Well! Isn't this convenient!


"Oh! You're not interrupting at all; in fact, we were just closing a topic." Marina said, much less tense than she had been. It had been clear that this man wasn't entirely engaged on talking, but she hadn't found a way to pause the chat until this very moment.


"Furthermore! I'll leave you two to talk for a bit. I have to make a call real quick." A certain relief, if not content, was turning evident in her voice. Half kiddingly, she switched her timbre  to the stretched movie accent she had used for the guard. Looking back at the man, she murmured " À bientôt! Ce fut un plaisir~~"


[See you later! It's been a pleasure.]


Marina had never been to this museum on a careful, tranquil visit, so the layout was a mystery to her on its own sense. However, it was noticeable that it had a chronological progression. She had gone from early hominids to Egypt and, were things to follow a logical order, further and anterior points in time would be found. Still, she was not sure. A Natural History Museum had no reason to host Egyptian gear and here she was, chatting about Anubis in front of a small shrine. Nevertheless, all museums held a posession they considered their particular prize piece; taking apart temporary exhibits. If she could only find it, she would be able to carry out her idea. She headed in direction to the window that she had previously opened, just a bit apart from the Egyptian room. As she walked, having given no more than five steps away of her two companions, she took her phone and dialled a number.



I hope Ashana can recieve a call at the moment.


@Baconhands @zCrookedz @avira

 

[avira]

Ashana, The Smoke of God's Anger
​

 
​

Ashana was unsurprised. Crane's office was exactly as she expected from her reports. Cluttered, messy, filled from floor to ceiling with all sorts of curiosities. She wondered how he could possibly find anything in such muddled chaos. Her desk at the office, in comparison, was perfectly arranged in a minimalist way. There was something about Crane's office that made her miss it. 


"Thank you, Mister Crane." Ashana greeted him professionally with a nod instead of a handshake. She found that for most people, touching her was a bit unsettling. It was difficult to describe, but her skin always felt a bit too dry to others. "I'm Ashleigh Atford, this is Harian Hart, and that is Ning Yao," she introduced them, gesturing to each person as she said their name. "Like you said, we are from Brimstone Private Inquiry. Mister Bradshaw here has led us to believe that your attack the other night was more than it seemed?"


Ashana reached into her purse to pull out her notebook as she sat in one of the strewn chairs. "We'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind," she asked as she dug through the pockets. Instead of her notebook, she found her phone glowing and vibrating. She half expected it to be Mal, lost on his way up to the office. Surprisingly, the screen said Marina. Under normal circumstances, Ashana would never consider answering a call while with a client. But, as she had two others from the Agency with her, and Marina was supposed to be in the museum as well, she decided against her better judgement. "Excuse me, I should take this." Ashana sighed and got up from the chair she'd just sat down in. "It'll be quick." She slipped out of the room quietly and slid the green button across the screen of her phone.


"Marina."

@_Line 213@aniking@SilverFlight@Rhakun
​

 

[aniking]

Ning warily followed Mister Brandshaw into the office of Mister Crane with Ashana and Harian, who had met them just outside. The sheer amount of clutter and apparent disorganization greatly put off the orderly ghost. Mister Crane himself might have had his own system for categorizing these shelves, but Ning felt as if he stood in the aftermath of a very small apocalypse. The principle of messiness and eccentricity itself wasn't the only reason Ning found himself uneasy, however. The more historical artifacts and papers and books were left lying around here and there, the more likely Ning was to accidentally touch one. He himself wasn't sure what specifically might happen, but Ning was always one to favor caution and, well, not botching things. 


But, he certainly couldn't let his distaste show on his face. That would have been an unnecessary affront to their good client. He gave a shallow nod of the head to said client as Ashana mentioned his name. He elected not to sit in one of the strewn-about chairs, as it would be just his luck to fall right through it and make an ass of himself. When Ashana left to take a phone call (it must have been urgent, he supposed), he pulled his own small notepad and pen out of one of his deep pockets, and looked pointedly to Mister Crane. "Perhaps it would be best," he began, "to start with what you yourself, Mister Crane, experienced just before and during the incident, if you can recall. Mister Brandshaw provided us with what he had seen of the aftermath. What were you doing just before the attack? Can you describe the attack for us? Any details would be helpful."


@_Line 213 @SilverFlight @avira

 

[_Line 213]

Correlas gave the group a warm smile, leaning back in his chair a bit as he attempted to recall the details they had asked of him. The elderly curator took in a short breath, before letting it out in the form of a long, drawn-out sigh. Smiling again, he proceeded.


"I off by the stacks on the right side, to begin with," Correlas began, gesturing to the side opposite that which he had appeared from, before returning his hand to his lap, "towards the front side. I was ordering a few of the items over there, preparing them for exhibition; I generally keep that area open for incoming pieces which have no place in my more permanent collection." He furrowed his brow, taking in a second, more hesitant breath, this one serving little purpose other than to fill the silence and buy him a bit of time as he thought.


"The floorboards tend to creak a little, and I heard them do so, thinking that it was our dear friend Mister Brandshaw. I called out to him once or twice, seeing as I was busy with the stacks, and didn't get it in my mind to head over to him. After the last call I made, I figured perhaps he had something else occupying his attention, so I left the rows and headed out to this main strip here." He paused for a moment, waving his hand up and down to indicate the space from the desk to the door. Seeing no one here, I stood for a moment, then turned to head back to my work, thinking that I had perhaps heard nothing at all. Around then, I felt something strike at my shoulder." Reaching his hand up, he gave the top of his arm a tap, the injury now covered by his white shirt and dark blue vest.


"I spun around, then, and by the time I had flashed my, ah, 'good luck charm,' so to speak, it had begun to retreat. I suppose that thing was good for something, at the end of the day." With that, Correlas smiled again, lightly patting the pocket concealing the metallic object he had been shining mere moments before.


@SilverFlight @aniking @avira

 

[Rhakun]

"Good evening, Ash. I hope you're having a pleasant day."



In normal circumstances, Marina would've been more eager for small talk. However, she was in a hurry with the issue. Talking in-between whispers, she continued to speak.


"I call you in relation to a matter of the case that Brimstone was given earlier today; I need to know, as soon as you're able to tell me, which would be considered Wingworthy's most valuable, musuem-owned exhibit." She gave a quick glance to the open window, the sun was beginning to set behind the foggy sky. "It might help with the investigation, but I'd need you to keep whatever happens later between us two. Let's call it... "Extraofficial research". May I leave you to it?"


She looked back at Lucas and Fia. It didn't seem like Lucas had yet answered the question, so Marina reasoned she might still be on time to play her scheme. She felt very happy with this girl who had come to talk in here; her arrival had been a favorable breeze. Hurries aside, she gave her a quick look; her hair was really uniform and shiny. She would not have thought it was a dye; looking at her tannish skin, Marina assumed she might just be a very healthy person.


"Just uh, friendly detail" she continued, having confirmed that "If you decide to give me a hand here, you might not want to be too direct with how you proceed. Be it that you browse a quick search on a computer or ask someone on the blue, you'd need to make sure nobody will come to you later on with the topic."


@Baconhands @zCrookedz @avira

 

[avira]

Ashana, The Smoke of God's Anger


Ashana impatiently sighed as Marina explained herself. All the while, her only thought was that she was missing out on the interview of a client for something as trivial as this?


The request for discrete information gathering was a bit bothersome and unexpected, but otherwise felt completely normal. Despite what mortals were made to believe, the world of the supernatural wasn't about some epic fight between good and evil. Heaven and Hell both had more gray than either were willing to admit. And, at least for now, they were both playing at the waiting game. Reminiscent of the Cold War, each side was waiting to stack their deck before shit hit the fan. There was a lot of smoke and mirrors invoked by both parties, secrets traded on all sides. In this world, especially Ashana's line of work, you got used to being asked to keep things quiet. The trick was knowing who to trust. This time, she'd choose to trust Marina.


"I'll see what I can do," she whispered and curtly hung up. Normally she'd ask a few counter questions, but she was on the clock. Quickly, she reentered the office, and caught the tail end of Crane's story. Hopefully she'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. "Sorry about that." Ashana took her seat again. "What, exactly, is your good luck charm, Mister Crane?"

@_Line 213@aniking@Rhakun@SilverFlight
​

 

[_Line 213]

"Oh, just a little...Trinket," Crane said, reaching slowly for his pocket. "I've had it since I was a young man, it used to belong to a mentor. Initially I thought it useless, but I've since been happy to switch to the opposite assessment." With a light smile on his face, he pulled on the chain, snapping up a small, pocket-watch like object into his hand. Glancing down, he fiddled with it for a time, turning it over with his fingers before unhooking the chain from his vest. Reaching forward, chair creaking, he placed the object on the desk, face-up, before leaning back to clasp his hands in his lap once more.


From the outside, it was nothing but a pocket-watch, however intricate the designs on the casings might have been. Yet, on the inside, there was no chronometer or clock-face of any sort. Instead, the myriad interlocking gears and mechanical parts seemed to work together to create a series of pictures, which shifted when a knob on the side, generally reserved for winding or correcting on a normal watch, was turned. The images that the object cycled through were strange, and from time to time, downright outlandish; crosses, pictures of certain plants, symbols, letters, sometimes scenes of people, or of places. To the knowledgeable, however, there was a chance that all the pictures within nonetheless managed to come together under a single header: Banes.


"Part silver, part gold," Correlas stated knowingly, a grin of sorts beginning to creep half-way onto his face again, "normally I would tell one of many stories as to how I believe that small thing managed to save my life, but Mister Brandshaw doesn't seem to take too kindly to such tales." He paused, still smiling as he glanced over to his still-silent partner. "So for his sake, I think I will save such things for another day, if none of you mind.


@avira @SilverFlight @aniking

 

[zCrookedz]

Lucas was caught a bit off guard when suddenly a new face approached the Tania and himself. She seemed to be much more interested with Lucas than with Tania, and Lucas smiled at her in acknowledgment of her departure, with the slightest twinge of envy. 


"De même, ma chère." {Likewise, my dear."}


As the Reaper walked away, he let his attention fall to the new individual.  A much younger girl, Lucas couldn't help but feel like there was more to this girl than met the eye. After all, she had just asked about the residence of his coat pocket, one shrunken head named Jimbo. Lucas examined her for a moment; the girl looked well kept and had a very normal set of attire. Her hair seemed a bit off, but the hat on her head made it difficult to tell if it was died or not. There was also something else, but Lucas just couldn't quite place his finger on it. 


Turning to face the young girl he smiled at her and leaned on his cane.


"Bonjor, you know, et iz a bit rude to approach a person and simply ask what zhey 'ave in zheir pocket."


Lucas felt the lining in his pocket move ever so slightly, but not wanting to risk a glance with the girl standing before him, he simply continued to smile at the girl. 


@SilverFlight @Rhakun @Baconhands