Fantasy Delicious Friend... | Fallen London Roleplay

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
The Governor sucked in the damp air through his bandages. The room smelled faintly of dirt but reminded him most of old wine cellars. Of cellars where meat was hung to dry. The candle flame in the middle of the table flickered playfully, making their shadows dance on the treasures behind them. A drip of water. Somewhere. The Bazaar crying? No. It does that in private, the Governor was sure. Not over them, playing their little games.

He leaned back on the old chair, forcing out a creak from it. The Governor, like the rest of the players, observed the newcomer. The charming, high society young lady. A lady the Governor heard of. More than heard of. He knew who the newcomer to the game would be in advance. He had enough time to do his research and prepare. To learn of the enemy he would be facing. To decide how he wanted the game to end.
There was something more to him. The Governor was far from an ordinary colonist. His bandages weren't worn scraps of fabric. His clothes didn't carry marks of previous battles. Most importantly, there wasn't a layer of dust under him. He was either a fresh colonist or a careful one.

"Airag?" The priest frowned at the bottle as another drop dripped somewhere. "Is it real?" He quickly turned his attention to the Governor.
The Governor smirked at the woman. His next words would have a lot of power. He was an authority when it came to wines. At least in that particular cellar. Regardless of whether her stake was real or not, his words would dictate the value of her offering.
Leaning on the table, interlocking his bandages fingers, the Governor scoffed. "Would anyone dare cheat in such distinct company?" His voice was hoarse and rough as any other colonist but it had something more. His voice might be unpleasant to listen to but it soaked into the listener's soul. Every word he spoke filled a person, turned their focus to him and only him. The Governor knew how to cast a spell over his audience.

"It is real." He gave a deep nod to the lady. What was the point in playing if it was easy to win? Might as well give himself a bit of a challenge and say the truth. He knew not only whether the bottles she brought were real but he knew exactly where she got them and how much it cost her. Information was his business, after all. Information was the most valuable commodity, after all.

"Play." The tiger growled. The priest dealt the tiles to each player and focused on examining his hand.
The Governor shifted his weight to the side closer to the newcomer and whispered. "Best of luck, Miss."

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

From his glances and demeanor, Viola knew for certain that the bandaged governor had learned of her. Both of them knew a single word of his could do worse than wasting her effort of searching the forbidden quarter, and condemn her a liar in front of the Master. Just one sentence, he could give her a literal sentence most troublesome. As of now, she gratefully glanced at him with a genuine smile, thanked him with a nodded, not forgetting to wished him luck too. This was not to say she put down her guard. For people like the governor, they always make sure they have better cards in their hands.

As for the priest, Viola didn't take it too harshly. In fact, the vicar who helped her to become PoSI would quite appreciate the story if she manage to return safely. If she does.

She would be very careful in this game, as she always with gambles. Examining her hand, she observed the other opponents too, albeit nervous when her eyes reached where Mr Hearts was. She assumed all four of them were more experienced gambler, with good reason.

It was Mr Hearts turn. Candle's light danced in those keen blue eyes, as lady Viola await their moves.

 

[0stinato]

Wolfstack Docks

Lest he turn red? And was "blue sod" his words or the Deluder's? Probably not the Deluder's, he tended to speak in a more... artificially dignified manner. So - yes - Carrellés knew he couldn't blame his idioms on his master.

But what was "lest he turn red?" Carrellés took a sideways jump to sway away from the heavy-sounding bag, and his eyes darted between the man's hand tucked in his pocket, and the man's eyes... eager to catch the rat. Or do something to him. Just like the Deluder would look at him on a bad morning. But the Deluder would frown sideways, which wasn't nearly as frightening as the stranger's gaze.

The rat shuffled backwards again, his back left leg aching more than usual. He didn't need other limbs attacked. He had to be choosy with his words... clearly.

"Naw, they're mine. My words," he didn't really know to continue. His natural reaction was to call the man a "Blue Sod" again but it seemed more dangerous than helpful at this point. As if it was ever helpful.

"Ehm," the rat murmured, rubbing his muzzle. "No, no, you're... Veilgarden, go to Veilgarden, Blu--" he caught his breath and decided to say the word "sod" in his head. "Go to Veilgarden. Veilgarden. That's all. Veilgarden. I'll go... I'll show you... if need be, eh. "

So Carrellés backed off once more, though didn't think he'd said anything to doffend the man crouched before him. Nothing at all. He'd told the man where to go, what he could do to help the man... that's what the man wanted. The aggressive man with the fire in his eyes, and the tongue like a razorblade... and the big heavy duffel bag.

DoughGuy

 

[DoughGuy]

Veilgarden – A Mystery Invitation
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

The rat looked rightfully nervous as it contemplated Mr Blue’s words. At least it was honest, the rodent didn’t even attempt to weasel its way out of the insult. It earned him a little respect. In Mr Blue’s book it was good to be cruel or indifferent to the honest. Mostly because the man never wrote down anything honest himself. Respect the honest, make them your friends. It makes it all the easier to pull the rug out from under them later and take everything they have. The only problem is getting to them before someone else does. And if someone who lied and cheated kept an honest worker on their side as more than a future target, well that was a fatal opening.

So he dropped a little of the menace from his eyes as a reward for the answer. From its following words he guessed the rat’s honesty came from its lack of intelligence. That was a lot of repeats of the same destination. “See, you’re a fast learner. And now you’ve got my name right. I imagine you have a name of your own?” He waited for the reply before continuing. “Lead on Carelles. I accept your invitation as a guide.” He recognised the name of Veilgarden as one of the city’s hot spots. While he was sure he could find it himself, there was no reason to risk getting lost and walking into an ambush he wasn’t expecting.

As Carelles led him into the city it occurred to Mr Blue the rat had failed to answer one of his questions. He thought of forcefully extracting the answer, but more likely the animal couldn’t handle more than one task at a time and had simply forgotten his other inquiry. For once he’d let it slide, it was a minor risk he could take.

Things got brighter and ‘merrier’, if that word could be applied to the city in any way, as they approached their destination. The barking orders of the docks or desperate questions over directions were replaced by genuine conversations and the occasional laugh. The rat led him directly towards a large building that seemed to be the main attraction of the area. Indeed even as they reached the doors a loud toast rumbled through the structure from within. The people within appeared to be, god forbid, happy.

“One final step Carelles, right to your master. I am eager to meet them.”

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
The first hand was won easily by Mr Hearts and everyone lost a fair portion of their treasure right off the start. None even flinched at it, though. The game was only beginning. Not ever Hearts is overjoyed about its winnings. They have been playing the game for long enough now to know that the start didn't dictate the end. As the winnings are shifted to Mr Hears' side of the room, a new hand was dealt.

"I am always seeking to expand my collection of Airag." The Governor swayed his head to the woman. The pause was long as everyone waited what exactly his point was. The Governor turned his head back to take a look at his own stacked bottles behind him. "Fifty Broken Giant '44." He offers finally, leaning back and giving the lady a smirk. "Would you kindly bet your Airag?" A demand masking as a request.

The rest of the gamblers knew the Governor's offer was barely matching his request. Not even that, if one took into account the connections needed to actually find Airag to trade. His offer wasn't fair but it was the first offer of the game. Anyone else would refuse or ask for something else but the request wasn't directed at them. The Governor gave the lady a short nod. A man exercising his power. Testing the waters. Seeing if the game will be played on calm seas or lashing waves.

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

Viola did not flinched at his demand. Afterall, she did bring a fair price in preparation of gambling it away, and more than anyone she knew how valuable Airag was. A slight pause, much longer than the time she needed to think, and she bet two bottles of Airag and ten Willow Absinthe. When she said that, her eyes greeted his, narrowed slightly in yet another smile.

The implication of an returning favour, and also if anything would go wrong, and he didn't get the bet... He would always have a second chance.

If you ask lady Viola again, before or after, whether it was a good choice, she wouldn't answer. But she would recount slightly her encounters with tomb colonies before, hinting at the reasons why she wouldn't regret it, nor trying to cheat the game. The only thing she was nervous about was what Mr Hearts think. The Master did won her two bottles of Greyfields 1868, with some other wines on the side. But the Airag had got to be the most priced collection.

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

With the thoughts of hernias and the pain they caused in his mind, the Deluder's eyes narrowed. Perhaps... he'd had a hernia once? Maybe. On the Surface, probably, because he couldn't remember any vast medical issues since he'd been down here. Only the gashes and slashes and bruises brought on by the fighting rings, various less-than-civil disagreements and simply walking down the street. It was amazing who was out to get you if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Aside from that, a mild chest infection had done battle with him once. Was there something about hernias he remembered or was it a scarce dream from years ago?

The Singing Mandrake was coming into view not far away at all, with a cheerful cry coming from it across the dark air, and the Deluder walked on at a steady pace, but confidently. As the doctor asked him a question, he turned his head slightly and stared at her out of the corner of his eye while he considered. The few simple words were rather powerful. A question like that had many answers, and so many different ones depending on the life. Some people would have one response, some would have none. Others might have five, six, twelve even?

"I'm a poet by occupation. Though I don't live my life by rhyme, I live it by rhythm. Poems rarely require rhyme, but rhythm... meter... dialect and lexicon, they all power a poem. Only problem is, I really don't enjoy poetry. But I learned quickly to do what I'm good at. Not what I want. It's the only way to make anything close to a living here, I suggest you heed my words... all of you," he was about to end his short reply there, though looking at the doctor... he decided to continue. "Doctor de Lorraine... you already have an occupation attached to your name. Tell me - is your job one you are good at, or one you enjoy? Or... maybe you're a lucky one and it's both?"

He paused to smooth his clothes before entering the Mandrake. It was by no means a place that required high fashion or even an acute eye for sophistication, but even so, the Deluder was a known face here. It was, by far, the function he'd racked up the biggest tab at, with the Blind Helmsman being second. Though that debt was by far much more manageable.

He held open the door for the three though wondered how Emory would fair here. As such, he made sure to sidle across to Valoire and check. After all, he was their protector. Or something like a protector. Soon, though, he'd mean very little to any of the three, he knew. He and his name would vanish and he'd be back on the street doing his true work, all to avoid any... professional mishaps.

"Miss Moore, if I could just be so bold, but is Emory going to be alright in here? I daresay it's certainly safer than elsewhere, especially tonight it seems, but you never know. I can watch too, though take care. But, for now, relax. After your stint on the steamer, I don't doubt you're in need of something to take the edge off the night."

He smiled at her, and stayed next to her while he looked around and took stock of the location. All heads at the bar were turned elsewhere. Of course, the Deluder's eyes followed theirs, and he was surprised to see a Clay Man at the front. How had he missed that? Though... that Clay Man wasn't unfamiliar at all. The Deluder didn't know him by name, but he'd seen him in here a good few times. The Clay-- no. Unfinished man with a tongue for poetry rather than crime.

"See. Look, a small festivity of the Neath already appears to us. Poetry. Sit, surely this is the perfect night to arrive," he said to Valoire, his voice a bit quieter. He wasn't about to interrupt any words he wanted to hear.

However, the Deluder's attention was, once again, drawn elsewhere as the door opened yet again. A small, furry creature slipped in, followed by a man the Deluder hadn't seen before. But - yes - this was good. He touched his cane lightly to the ground once and Carrellés rejoined him by his ankle. And the Deluder took in the new man, glancing at him quickly. But he remained at Valoire's side, a stark bit of loyalty as he kept to his word about watching.

Mr_DC StoneWolf18 DoughGuy ThaDruid

The M___t of London says...

The most positive of emotions spark nothing. But the endless negative ones spark miracles.​

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
The tiger had finally won a sizeable share after several little victories which did little more than annoy the priest who started betting more and more. The last hand caused the priest to drop out of the game much earlier than anyone expected and the prize got split between the tiger and the Governor. Carefully, the Governor placed aside the bottle of Airag he won and gave a pleased nod to the newcomer.

"You still have the chance to win it back." The Governor crossed his hands on his chest. The friendliness in his tone faded somewhat. He lost a fair share of his riches to the tiger as well. The game was getting serious and bets higher. The players wanted to trump the rest. To show their skill. To show that luck was on their side.

The Governor motioned his hand at the priest as he stood up and was about to leave. "You know you can take credit from me." The Governor offered with an almost teasing tone.
With a scoff, the priest departed, not wanting to owe anything to the Governor. He didn't want to become a part of the rich keychain of connections the Governor had. That keychain was impossible to leave.

"Three Airag." The Governor offered in a serious tone as the door closed. The rest of the players didn't go easy with their bets either. The tiger offered fifty antique mysteries while Mr Hearts offered the same amount of Bazaar permits. An eye-watering amount of wealth in the next hand. "I can help you out with your bet as well, if you need it." The Governor whispered to the newcomer.

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

"Thank you for the kind offer, but please allow me to do what I can for now." Viola politely replied him, and then turn towards the table again. Nothing she posessed could possibly match the value of their bet. So she bet all the wines leaving one and a half cellar, her two Airag and two Greyfields 1868. With some thinking, she bet the two Greyfields 1868 down as well.

And she added a touching love story, one that with weight and secret and oh, the scandal! It was a love story depicting a certain princess with her lover, she explained. One that she wished the receiver would not show it to public, but knew that they could simply disregard her wish.

But lastly, facing all of them, she stretched her hand behind her neck, with her slim fingers lightly touched the link of her jewelry. The necklace came off with a drop, heavy in weight, as she presented it to them in the light. "Please forgive me that I have nothing as worthy that I possess. I sincerely hope this necklace would suffice. It carries great meaning to me. "

The necklace chain itself reflected golden, and they firmly but gracefully embraced eight ostentatious diamonds, imitating vines and gold leaves. Then in the middle where it was supposed to fall on one's chest, a detailed golden rose, with petals one could mistaken as real, and in the middle sat a larger diamond. Clear, no visible impurity, and the light it shone.... No doubt, a truely Magnificent Diamond. The entire necklace was a precious piece in both craftmenship and worth.

She carefully sat it atop of the bet and a piece of velvet, slowly as she was indeed unwilling to part with it, and placed her two bracelets down beside it, each with one magnificent diamond.

Her smiled hinted a bit of sadness. Those diamonds were from her expedition before she entered the University, priced more sentimentally than its worth in Echo Bazaar. They carried memories of the most important and merry times of her london life.

That ended her betting time, as she return to her chair. Unwavered in her gaze and polite smile, she appeared seemingly a little stronger in spirit. Time to begin another game.

 

[Theflamre]

He walks through the docks his hard nobed boots throwing up sparks with his every step he was looking for someone. Likely the man had ran or maybe he was finally going to face down his pursuer he hoped so he had hunted the man for sometime. The man had taken his kill ran right out in front of him and stole the dead rats had it not been for his reloading the man would already be dead. He tightened his grip on his weapon his sorrow spider gloves letting off clicks like the massive spider walking feeding apon the sailors nightmares of the creatures taking their eyes while they sleep. He enjoyed the warry looks he gained from the noise. He follows the consitiles gaze toward a narrow ally he walked towards it he and man share a little bit of a stare before he turns and walks. The ally is quiet he not sure what he is looking for or to be more accurate what the constible had been looking for but he felt it could mean money or favors both of which he wanted
Devious Dilbert

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
The round was tense. Decisions were made carefully and skillfully. There was no clear winner until the end and even then the victory was bitter-sweet. The tiger puffer a cloud of smoke as most of its winning landed in Mr Heart's hands and a smaller share in the lady's hands. Mr Hearts lost its bet almost exclusively to the Governor while the young woman's bet got split between the Governor and the tiger. While the tiger gladly eyed its newly acquired bottles, the Governor leaned back with a sigh.

"Truly a marvelous diamond." He examined the necklace in his hands. "Absolutely beautiful. It is a shame most wouldn't see beyond the surface." He turned to face the woman. "I'm certain the story behind it is as interesting as the one I just won." The Governor laid down the necklace on the table. As the tiger exchanged a whispered comment with Mr Hearts, the Governor used an opportunity to whisper his piece to the woman by his side. "You'll get it back after the game." He smiled. "No fun in robbing someone." He added as the tiger returned its attention to him again.

Curving his eyebrows (if he still had them) upwards, the Governor clasped his hands. "Perhaps it's time to call it a night. It was fun. Shame I have to leave so soon." As the Governor stood up, Mr Heart's high-pitched voice interrupted. "A final game. The lady did come here for a reason."
The tiger scoffed. "Your ship."

The Governor paused, examining first Mr Hearts, then the tiger. Finally, his gaze fell on the woman by his side. The woman he was going easy on. The woman who was after his ship. "I'm afraid there is nothing the young lady has anymore which is worth such a gamble." The Governor explained hesitantly and paused. "Although... I did hear of your services as a detective." The Governor gave her a nod. "And I am in need of such services." He sat back down. "Your unquestionable services. For my yacht."

"Forever?" The tiger asked, pointing out what would be tiny letters in a contract.
"Forever can last too long in the Neath." The Governor chuckled. "Ten years." Almost as long as forever in the Neath. A lot can happen in ten years. However, his offer was the finest ship afloat. As Mr Hearts spread the tiles among the players again, the Governor gave the young lady a nod. "Sounds fair?"

 

[StoneWolf18]

Valoire Moore

With everything that had been said, most of it going over her head, she tugged Emory closer to her, the boy now forced to walk in front of his mother while she kept her hands on his shoulders. Despite his protest, Valoire didn't respond. Most likely due to the mixed expression upon her face.

After entering the establishment, the masked man asking if Emory was going to be alright, she nodded, her grip tightening although now the boy stared around wide-eyed, too distracted to say anything. "I'm sure he'll be fine." She responded, although not completely convinced of this.

0stinato Mr_DC DoughGuy ThaDruid

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

Pretty blue eyes looked at the bandaged man inquisitively. How much did he know? Did he knew of her meddling in the great game? The affair of cheesemonger? Did he knew of her dealing with people, widow and duchess among the many? Or did he simply regard to her work in the University and ladybones road? Though it wouldn't matter now. A decision must be made quickly, without challenging the other's patience.

Another thing was that, would this man be challenging her own morals? Would she have to go against the constables? How good is this governor a person to work for? The scoff of the priest when the governor offered to help already served as a warning to what may be the price of being remotely close to his influence.

Or perhaps, she didn't have a choice? He did actively offer help, and she knew what helping meant in Neath.

"I'll accept it as a fair bet." She answered. Again her blue eyes stared at him to see his reaction to what this implied.

I'll accept the deal, but without any other owing fortune or favours. It's an exchange, not debting.

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
The Governor gave her a deep nod before turning his focus to the tiles again. The last round seemed to stretch for days. It felt like it lasted for days instead of minutes. Or maybe even hours. The Governor even uncorked one of his remaining bottles of Broken Giant and offered it to the remaining players as the final hand was drawing to an end. It was time to finish it.

The Governor bowed his head, swallowed heavily, and turned to the woman. "Congratulations." He said bitterly, standing up. "We can discuss the details outside." The Governor said after clearing his throat. He looked at the other two. "Always a pleasure." He said, receiving a smirk from the tiger and a wave of the Master's gloved hand.

Before the Governor left, he slid his previously won prize - a necklace - closer to the woman. Returned, as promised. The rest of his winnings would be collected throughout the day. The Bazaar was the safest place to leave them at, after all.

The Governor stepped outside, onto the cobbled Bazaar sidestreets. His respectable landau was waiting just a couple steps away but the Governor didn't move. He waited. There was a yacht to discuss.

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

It was one of the most intense pressure she had experienced. The good wine helped her throat, but it almost immediately dried up again. The last time she was this tense, she was half dead and was playing chess with the boatman. But now, as the exchange of hand progressed, Viola barely noticed it was the end of the game, and when she did, she let out a breath of relieve. Following the governor who left the room, she curtsied to Mr Hearts and the tiger, one that combined the bowing of the head. "Thank you for allowing me to join the game, and in return allow me to leave the wines as a symbol of gratitude." With that, she left, whispering for Bennett to join the Clayman first. The charming companion walked out, lady Viola follow, joining the Governor on the street. It felt like the game had lasted a day, and london's time was hard to tell if it was true. The streetlamps were still lit, casting a warm light on her golden hair.

"Would you be sure to let me keep the necklace? It left my hand as a bet, and it was fair if you do keep it. " She speaked softly, and waited for the governor to speak on the matter of yacht. Comparing the strong-hearted lady in the game room, the lady Viola now felt like any delicate society woman. Almost too delicate in the centre of Neath.

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
"No, no." The Governor shook his head at the offer, facing away from the woman. "Material goods are simply a means to an end. Taking jewelry helps petty thieves advance their goals." The Governor finally looked at the woman, giving her a sharp nod. The friendliness and charm he had during the game all but withered away. He was serious. "I think of myself as a bit more than a petty thief."

"I will send a landau with my representative to collect you once I arrange all formalities. We want this transfer to be official, after all." The Governor dismissively motioned his hand. His respectable landau moving those few steps closer to stop in front of him. "You will know my representative when you see them." He said cryptically and climbed into his landau. With that, he was gone, leaving the lady alone.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

Veilgarden​

Here is a city of gold and red granite. The inhabitants walk gossiping in the streets, sipping dark wines. They are dressed for a warm day, but it is the night of the Neath here. There is an air of celebration. As with many languages spoken in dreams, Charles understood the meaning without understanding the words: a great disaster has been averted, the King's folly is ended by the Princess' cunning, the heralds of night are bound. Yes, the sun is gone, and no, the places below ground are not what had been taught, but perhaps that's for the best, considering. And the road to immortality is much eased. Therefore – they toast him – let us be remembered well.

Charles awoke with a start in the honeyden. Directly to the left of him, the honey-sipping heiress he had met hours before lay still, still deep in her own dreams. Probably something about frogs, judging by the croaking sounds she was making. Charles disliked frogs, the creepy little blighters. Suddenly, he felt a light tugging on his right sleeve. Looking down, he found his little mandrake MacGonald. "Come on, pal. Let's go get a drink," He said, the odd little plant hopping onto his shoulder as he would stagger to his feet. Heading towards the door, carefully trying to avoid stepping on his fellow honey sippers, before finally getting to the door.

As he opened the door, he'd spot a rather fetching fedora on the coat rack by the door. A quick switcheroo, and now the original owner had a surprisingly rude bowler hat(with teeth!) to look forward to when he came back to the lucid world, or as close to it as the poor sap could muster. With a quick shrug, the Honey-Soaked Writer would depart to the Singing Mandrake.

Outside, the street was mildly quiet, about as quiet as it could get in Veilgarden. But, he was a few blocks away from the Mandrake, so it was to be expected. After a couple minutes of walking, Charles would find himself before the doors of the finest drinking establishment in all of London. At least, that was his own not-so-modest opinion. Entering, he found the bar relativity busy, filled new faces and old. Ah, there was the Unfinished Poet, with that landslide of a voice he had. Off to his right was none other than the Masked Deluder, always with those rather damning scars on his forehead. And with him were... New faces. Quite a surprise, to see man like the Masked Deluder taking a liking to not only one, but four people.

But, that was none of his business. However, it would be best if he kept an ear sharp. Might provide a bit of entertainment at the very least. Inspiration if he was lucky. He needed something to be a muse for him. The honey just wasn't doing it for him like it used to. To much of a good thing, like they say.


Mr_DC StoneWolf18 0stinato DoughGuy ThaDruid

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden

And with that, lady Viola was back to her place. Georage and Garfield went back to their home, and Bennett needed her share of the rest. Viola was looking in her mirror while she was changing, and simply too restless to sleep. She sat and looked at the fire place, and let the victory sinked in. But it felt unreal. In the warmth of the fire, it felt like all that happened might just be a mere honey dream. And finally, she could not stand sitting alone in silence. "Join me." She held her Matriarch cat which hopped into her lap, "I need a drink."

She changed into a silvery dress (she thought about changing into an old dress but stopped herself), took a dark blue fan and headed out. There was no need for too luxurious clothing in the night of veilgarden, but a good dress would always fare well in the Bohemians. The cat quietly laid in her arms, and at mid way voluntarilly jumped down and walk with Viola. A queer cat, at that. But Viola love that about her. "Thank you , Nyx." She said, as they walk close to the Singing Mandrake. The cat looked up to her, its intelligent eyes stared at her as she entered the door.

Just as she expected, Singing Mandrakes was rarely empty. She had spent countless night here, and the moment she walked in, a table of writers cheered, but clearly wasted. In another direction came a man with hair neatly brushed, and dressed in a gray vest.

Oh no, not him again.

"Hello, Viola. Long time no see."

"Hello, Trevor. " She said in return, fan covering her face. "Haven't seen you in a while. I heard you had opened an art gallery, how did it go?"

"It was alright." He said, but his face clearly indicate it wasn't up to his expectation. "Listen, it's been too long. Will you be interested in joining me? We can talk about ... Well, past events."

Viola knew what he was hinting, and her stomach turn a bit. For a good two years this man had either disappeared or came asking to help with his loan in the name of past love. If that did not chipped away her patience, her tiredness certainly could not stand his offer.

"Sorry, I already had company." She said, instant regretting it. Her mental fatique was getting to her, and made a poor response. Scanning the room, she hope someone she knew would invite her, but the writers were too wasted to have notice. The bartender was not a good excuse to be rid of Trevor, and the rest of people consist of people she knew but never had chance to be acquainted, or faces she had never seen.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

Suddenly, Viola would feel a light touch on her right shoulder as, surprisingly, none other than the Honey-Soaked Writer would walk up. "She invited me to a few drinks here, you see. Wanted to talk business with me about my most recent writing project, about the Forgotten Quarter. Look forward to it soon," Charles would explain to the man before him, his breath smelling ever so faintly of honey and wines of all kinds. "By Jove, I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced before now, my good man. Lord Charles Mandrake, at your service." Charles said, extending his right hand towards the man, while his left would stay ever so slightly on Lady Viola's shoulder.

Osthavula

 

[Mr_DC]

The Singing Mandrake
"I wouldn't be a doctor if I didn't enjoy it." Fleur replied absent-mindedly, looking around the city. The darting shadows on the rooftops caught most of her attention. There was so much any the city that made it seem alive. Not exactly in a good way. The countless glances thrown her way made Fleur more than uncomfortable. It made her paranoid.
"I'm good at it." She added. It was a smaller reason for coming to the Neath. No respect for female doctors on the surface meant she could only have more luck in the Neath. It was a small reason. There was one thing that made her come. She had to find him.
She hesitated in front of the Singing Mandrake. Having heard of the place even of the surface made her question their guide. She wasn't drawn by that den of vice but she heard of much worse places in the Neath. It didn't take her long to decide it was better to be in a place of hedonism than cruelty. Watchmaker Hill… She hoped she would never have to visit that place.
"Do… They take currency from the surface as payment here?" Fleur asked in a hushed tone, instinctively grabbing her guide's forearm to stay close to him. A man branded "Liar" ended up being the devil she knew.

Another person entered the Mandrake. A person barely noticed, yet she had the eyes of someone who could turn the place into rubble. The Intriguer made it a habit of visiting bars in the evening. The secrets floating around, soaked in alcohol, were priceless. Amateurish pawns of the Game in Veilgarden, sneaky criminals of the Watchmaker's Hill, thuggish dockers of Wolfstack docks. They all had stories worth listening to. Whispered secrets could always be put together into something worth much more.
A glance was all she gave to what soaked up all her attention. A single thing which made her excursion to the Mandrake worth it got only a short look before she headed to a table. Her top hat was wrapped in her cloak and carried under one arm.
As she sat at a table, her eyes fixed on the empty chair opposite of her. How exactly to eliminate the Deluder from her nemeses' service for a while? Or, at the very least, inconvenience them both.
The Intriguer knew exactly what to say to the Constables but how? Walking in, out, and in would be too obvious even to someone like him. She would have to employ an agent to do the work for her. She would just have to spot an agent. An agent sober enough to follow instructions. She had no patience for such people. She had no patience for people. Exactly the reason she had yet to elevate herself. The position of a Midnighter required someone far more Persuasive.

Anyone in the Mandrake

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden

Trevor, with his plan failing, knew when to step down. Afterall, he may not be the best artist, but he was charming and smart enough to know that they gave way for him to exit with some dignity. "Trevor, pleasure to meet you." he said with a sullen face. " Allow me to excuse myself." He bowed to the Charles, and took Viola's hand, "Until next time."

Her polite smile only vaguely show how irritated she was of his statement, but she quietly watch him walking to his table, and raised his glass towards her. It wouldn't take another month to find him upon her doorstep.

But for now, she turn to the man who had help her from the situation. She thought she had seen this man somewhere, but again never had the chance to spoken to. There was the sweet smell of honey den, and his clothes weren't exactly ironed and straight, but it was only common in Veilgarden.

"Thank you, Lord Charles Mandrake. " She smiled and bow her head in gratitude, and whispered in a lower voice. " I don't believe we had acquaintence prior tis day. If you wouldn't mind, would you allow for me to pay for your drink? "

Seeing Viola sweetly whispering to a stranger, Trevor grumpily called the bartender for another pint.

Dalamus Ulom

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

Doctor de Lorraine wasn't even supposed to be accompanying him, though here she was, continuing her trend of being pushed and dragged places wherever the current of this particular society took her. And, clearly, she wasn't at all comfortable with being so soon pushed into a veritable mosh pit of a public house. The smell of alcohol, moulded wood varnish and tobacco was understated, and clearly the most obvious scent on the wind was... expectation. More people piled in, some taking their place at table, some meeting old or new acquaintances. The Unfinished Poet wasn't in everyone's immediate view, though it was likely he'd be the centre of most attention when he started reading.

Though, now, the Deluder was standing still beside Valoire, though his attention was very much on the Doctor. He looked at her, his head tilted slightly as she questioned him about "surface currency".

"Heavens, no, my dear. It's useful elsewhere, though not here. The money in your pocket will be practically useless, there is little point even looking on it as more than metal with ridges. But, as I said, it's useful elsewhere. However, don't assume you're out of luck or pocket - name your poison and I'll try to get the nearest thing to it. It's on my tab. I know someone who'll gladly pay off whatever you - either of you - have tonight," the explanation was vaguely focused, though the Deluder found himself being genuinely austere. Genuinely smiling as he led the women to the bar.

The selection was pretty pitiful, though the Deluder's palate had been disappointed so often that the night's first taste of mediocre mushroom wine (with a bit of dry citrus to zing) was nothing unpleasant. Even Carrellés seemed interested, though he was largely ignored. The liquid would be a shock to the newcomers, he knew that for sure. Disappointing, distasteful, drinkable only to get drunk off. Still, he gave them the choice, instructing the barman to lay the whole thing on his tab.

"Still waitin' on your pay though sir," the barman said, nonplussed. "Fifty-eight echoes and counting."

So blunt, so unfriendly, though truthful. "Yes... I'm saving up for the moment. After that though, every echo is yours. And, should my new anthology be received with vigor, I'll pay off the whole thing at once. In the meantime... you'll get something, though not from me," he paused, letting his glass - perhaps it was glass once - rest on his lower lip. "And I suggest you don't turn away that payment."

"Why would I, as long as I get me echoes, I don't give a toss."

And he moved on, his place being taken by a woman with lips that were practically purple. Whether her lips were painted or just bruised from the years was almost impossible to tell. The Deluder nodded politely at her, suggested to the women they could have what they wanted, and laughed.

"Not master Emory, of course. Nothing more than a cordial, I suggest," he said, beginning to enjoy his evening.

Mr_DC StoneWolf18 (Also, DoughGuy and ThaDruid because you're nearby!)

The M___t of London says...

"And so the world ran, once again, on the letter 3," so said a genius. Or perhaps not genius, perhaps... some deluded and drunk biped who fancied himself a lyricist. Or perhaps... it was I.​

 

[DoughGuy]

Veilgarden – A Mystery Invitation
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

The rat finished its thankless task as it returned to its master’s side. Blue was hurt, it hadn’t even bothered to say farewell. Had their time together meant so little? It was so hard to find victims who would consider you a real friend these days. He found himself a table and sat down, ensuring he had a good view of the master and the other members of the small group. He saw no urgency in the other man’s actions, no need to rush into the meeting. It was also a nice chance to rest his arms. The Rainbow’s equipment was not light. The sooner one of them found a location to base out of the better.

The patrons changed. A noble lady dressed quite finely took up her own spot at the bar and was soon joined a gentleman. And perhaps it was his lack of companionship that let his eye wander just at the right moment to catch another new arrival. She gave little away, apart from a glance towards the rat’s master. His patience paid off. A card had fallen into his lap. Yet as he turned it around the face was but a chip with a value unknown. A versatile piece of information.

He decided it was time to make a play before it was too late and the game began without him. There was only so long you could wait before the cards in hand became worthless. Returning the heavy sacks to his hands he made his way over to the small group. He placed the bags back down and pulled a chair of his own up rather than taking an empty one already there. A worried woman, a strong woman, a child, a rat and a mystery. He left his hands in the open, interlacing his fingers and placing the result upon the table.

“Good evening ladies. My apologies for interrupting but I must finally accept my invitation that was extended by our host earlier today.” Untangling his fingers he reached across towards the Deluder with a hand for a shake, “My name is Mr Blue. Though I must surmise you already knew that. I would like to inquire of your name, and how you learned I would be here in London today.”

Mr_DC StoneWolf18 0stinato

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

Upon being approached, the Deluder glanced down at the rat beside his chair. Carrellés had certainly done his job, bringing the correct newcomer to his attention, though the question posed to him was bigger than the man knew. Laying his glass on the bar gently, he stood and shook the man's hand. Mr. Blue. Certainly a name vaguely recognisable though not immediately. Still - even if the Deluder wasn't recognising his name, he certainly understood the connection with the colour. Overly well.

He took a step away from the ladies, and focused his attention on Mr. Blue. From the floor, Carrellés watched, clearly anxious by the way he rubbed his muzzle. Right paw... left paw... left paw again... the back of which smoothing along the nose.

"Humble apologies, it's certainly not the done thing to wear gloves indoors," the Deluder said slowly, removing both and revealing his bare hands. Almost pristine, yet there were the obvious signs of labour, especially on his fingers: the writer's callous on the side of his right middle finger, a few obvious and some less-than-obvious scars across his knuckles, nails cut short and practical... they could tell stories better than the Deluder's own mouth. The only problem was, no one asked hands for a story.

"And, in answer to your question... which I recall was a question also raised by you, Miss Moore... how I knew you were coming was down to someone else. Both Miss Moore and you were selectively picked out of the tens of new arrivals because you both present unique skills, skills that would be a tragedy to lose so soon. As such, I was instructed to provide to you both the best protection and introduction to London as I could, with all the generosity of a patron. There may well be no better start down here than what I will provide you with. So, when I say drink," the Deluder gave a smile, "I fully mean that. This evening is courtesy of the Deluder, so fill your minds with stories and experience before I show you the other delights of the Neath.

"Does that answer your question, Mr. Blue? Miss Moore?" he was aware he had completely ignored the Doctor. After all, she was not even supposed to be here. He'd merely helped her escape a potentially perilous situation down on the docks, but here she was.

"And Doctor de Lorraine, although you were not picked, I wish you to enjoy the evening as though you were. Merriment lends itself well to an evening. And, if my decision is wrong, it is I who will endure the punishment. As it stands though, I have no regret in taking you, alongside Miss Moore and Mr. Blue."

He gestured to the bar with one hand, and to the Unfinished Man, "Drink. Enjoy. Settle yourselves in. As for your futures down here, rostygold will be received by each of you before the morning comes."

For once, it seemed, Carrellés was paying attention. Perhaps paranoid he had done something wrong, the rat was on his haunches listening to and trying to understand every word that passed his master's lips. Rostygold will be received by each of you before the morning comes. Carrellés knew it was his cue. Sitting up, he saw his master's eyes dart to him, and that was the unspoken word to make his exit and to begin his next labour. Slipping quietly between both human legs and chairlegs, the rat slipped out of the door and into the night, his pace almost joyous in his success.

DoughGuy StoneWolf18 Mr_DC ThaDruid

The M___t of London says...

Why are we paid not in echoes, but in rostygold, glim, jade and moon-pearls? Because echoes are impossible to hold. At least rostygold can be hung on a string, glim and jade can be kept in a pouch, and moon-pearls bunched together inside a pocket. I find echoes slip through my fingers like secrets.​

 

[ThaDruid]

Making new acquaintaces in Veilgarden...

The toast seemed to be well recieved by everyone in the room. The Singing Mandrake's name began being muttered by many as they shared opinions both honest and fake alike. What was more important, however, was that The Unfinished Poet was at the centre of it all. Quite literally, as all those who heard his voice wanted to share at least a kind word with him (or possibly get their gossipy hands on the reason of his sudden appearance). He answered all with careful words, while successfully preventing his voice from shattering their fragile timpans.

After losing count of the number of conversations he had sustained, Clement felt a soft finger tapping his back.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come."
A voice too well known to him whispered. The clay giant turned, nodding and offering this... Charming acquaintace of his a hand that easily enveloped hers, even without fingers. The two seemed to disappear from the crowd, as they scurried to a more private location.
"YOU TEACHED ME TO NEVER LEAVE A LADY IN DISTRESS."

The woman before him let a smile play upon her lips. Her and the clay man had a particular relationship.
For it was The Bohemian Sculptress that freed him from the shackles of slavery. She saw his Unfinishedness, and used it to her advantage when offering freedom. A normal clay man wouldn't have thought of betraying his masters, but Clement was no normal clay man. The two snuck together in the night like forbidden lovers, if not for the fact that they had just met. In the following years, the woman occupied herself with his education, all the while keeping him completely hidden from the public eye. He was made into a work of art. Her Magnum Opus, she sometimes would say. Of course, the unfinished man was thankful for this beyond measure, and dedicated many of his poetic writings to The Sculptress' indescribable beauty and visionary thoughts. He became an exponent of her ideas: the freedom of all Clay People.

The two exchanged words and... Other pleasantries that shall not be mentioned, before a whisper from the Sculptress singaled the ending of their small meetup. Clement excused himself and departed, content and with the knowledge that there would be an open spot in the night for anyone who wished to occupy that spot. It had been some time since his last poetic exposition, too...
Food for thought, but not now. Later.

Back within the crowd of writhing artists, color-less painters and wordless writers, his eyes happened to drift on the door that opened this paradise of decadence. In came a known face. Or, well, a known mask. The Masked Deluder, with his dreadful scars, bloody gloves and exorbidant drinking tab. Rumors of how he had acquired the word "LIAR" etched upon his face traveled all around Veilgarden. Nonetheless, his works of poetry followed... An interesting philosophy. Words thumped instead of flowing, broke instead of curling. With him, no less than... Three newfound faces. Those were not from around London, or Veilgarden at least. Their faces spoke of fear, and their clothes were definitely wrong. Except for the Blue one. That one seemed to have more particular tastes.
Well, who else would be better indicated to welcome them to The Singing Mandrake than himself? Clement had made this place a second home, and the usual clients knew better than to bother his acquaintaces...

"NEWCOMERS!" The unfinished man boomed, causing only a few eyes to be turned his way. Some had managed to accustom themselves with his way of speaking, of course.
He opened his arms, giving a wide gesture of welcome to the three- no wait, there were four! The head of a child (or very small man) poked up behind what he suspected to be the mother. Oh, this made his intervent absolutely necessary. Who knows what would happen to that poor being...

"THE SINGING MANDRAKE WELCOMES ALL WITHIN ITS WALLS! PLEASURE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTACE." Clement stepped over to the group, avoiding a couple of society ladies that would have bumped into him were he not to move. "I SEE YOU HAVE MET A REGULAR OF THIS ESTABILISHMENT ALREADY." He regarded the Deluder with an inquisitive eye before extending a hand in his direction. A firm salute between colleagues.
From this angle, he also had a better sight of the surrounding men and women. A lady of nobility and some honey-soaked writer were making idle chatter nearby. Those were also known faces, yes. The lady in particular was known for attending many parties of a certain privateness. Interesting rumors spread about the writer. A former detective, now prisoner to Prisoner's Honey. A melanchonic soul. The Unfinished Poet would give both of them a small greeting, were they to look over his way.

0stinato Osthavula DoughGuy Mr_DC StoneWolf18 Dalamus Ulom