Fantasy Delicious Friend... | Fallen London Roleplay

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden


Once the ordeal of Trevor was taken care of, she could take a look at the people in the same room with her now. The first that drew her attention was the big group sitting there, with different people gathered together around the table. It didn't take her long to recognized the person in mask. The Masked Deluder, not a hard name to think of. They had never cross path before, however. Viola spent a lot of time in Forgotten Quarters and University, and before she was quite occupied with becoming a Person of Significant Importance. She was still familiar with the names, certainly. But she was a bit behind on people who didn't join much social events.

Around him, which Viola knew for certain, was largely people who had just came to London. One glance and she knew just how out of place they were. Like she once was. Still getting used to the Fallen world, still learning and understanding that everything down here can ruin you. Like that mother who was protecting her child, or that doctor who was probably wondering how she would make it down here. But that man in blue ... He smelled more dangerous than the other ones, but still a guest to the table. From his gaze towards the deluder, his demeanor, he was at least calculating something. If only the others could learn that from him.

The others... Ah, yes. That lady with the top hat. Viola knew she was in the Great Game. How so? That's a hidden secret, for now.

And then there was the table of wasted writers, another groups that frequent Veilgarden and was seemingly anticipating for something, Trevor who she didn't bother to see sitting with his bottles, and the honey-soaked writer before her.

What a charming bunch. She thought to herself, and was going to call the bartender over.

But someone else captured her attention. An unfinished clayman walked in, and from her encounter with clayman, this one was beaming and walking with joyful steps. She recognized him, not only by the list of PoSI this time, but because she had read a recorded work of his, that and how could she possibly not know an unfinished-poet in Veilgarden? And now, he gave an even stronger impression, greeting the new comers in his booming voice. Poor drunk writers over that desk was waken from their dumbness and pressed their head in agony.

She opened her fan to cover her smiling at them, and felt that attention was given from the poet's direction. A nod and a light curtsy was given back, and the blue eyes narrowed in grin.

This might be an interesting night. Her tired soul was calmed by a new found curiousity.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

Charles would smile wanly to Lady Viola's offer. "That would be splendid, my Lady. Shall we proceed to the bar then?" He would ask, before he would begin towards it. Nearby, He could see the Unfinished Poet greeting the Deluder's guests, before giving Charles and the Lady Viola a slight greeting, to which Charles would reply in kind.

Why did I help her? He wondered to himself. Instinct? No, Charles first instinct would normally be to ignore it. Lust? No no. She was beautiful, but she simply wasn't his type. Could it be that they had compatible souls? The snort had come out before he even finished thinking the sentence. Then what was it? Charles wasn't the White Knight sort of fellow, at least not anymore. Not since he used to live on Ladybones Road. Those were the days. Catching criminals, hanging men, working hand in hand with the constables. That is, until he found the cat. No no no. Stop. You promised not to think of those paths and stories. Stop now. Charles thought to himself, rubbing his head slightly as the mandrake on his shoulder would seem to grow worried for him. "I'm fine, pal. Don't worry about me," He whispered to the plant creature.

Charles reached the bar, still thinking about his own motivations for helping, when it would seem to hit him like a sledgehammer wielding clayman. Looking back now, it was obvious. It was all part of his honey dream from earlier. It had been but one in a series strangely intertwined dreams he had been having, all revolving around a princess. And looking back at her now, Charles realized, quite surprisingly, that Viola was the spitting image of that imagined princess. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Whatever the case, it was unsettling for him to realize this, as he had never experienced a real person appearing in his dreams before.

Was this a sign, a message, or something far more sinister? The idea of it being nothing but a coincidence never went across his mind. There was no such thing as coincidence. Especially when it came to the Neath.

"I've heard many a thing about you, milady." Charles would say to Viola from his bar seat. "While the set meeting between us was false, the reason behind it is, actually, quite true. As of late, I have become, how shall we say, morbidly curious about the cities that came before London, and just what exactly might lay hidden with them." Charles would explain bluntly. He cared not if others overheard him speak, as not even half the things he knew would ever escape from between his lips. "Now, if the rumors are to be believed, you are just the person I'd want to talk to. Someone willing to both dive into dusty tomes bound in god knows what, and explore ruins that would make just about any normal scholar go mad." As he spoke, the bartender would pass him a mug of beer, from which Charles would take a sip. "I will of course, pay you well,"

Osthavula ThaDruid 0stinato (you might just overhear him)

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden


Hearing the writer speak of the ruins, something emerged in Viola's eyes. Whether it was the warm lit of light, or the shadow of a passionity, it didn't matter. If before Viola was distracted, her attention came back entirely to the honey-soaked writer in front of her. She too got a mug of beer (oddly did not seem out of place) and took a sip after him, her fan now being placed on the table.

"How could I refuse, kind sir? First you offer me help ..." She didn't ask for motives, it matters little. "And then you talk about the ruins and the cities before london had fallen. If you indeed had heard of me, which I'm flattered, you would have heard of my publication on the matter then?"

But then something bittered her smile, "Of course, it was under the university's name, and now it's difficult to find a copy. "

Too relaxed to bother hiding her melanchony, she again took a sip of the beer. The stain of her purple lipstick now visible on the glass rim.

Was it all worth it? Being out of university, and losing her publication, as well as losing all her fundings. But she knew, no matter how many times she return to that spot, she would make the same choices over again. Damn her justice and her sense of responsibility, and her curiousity and pride. It forced her to take the harder route, sometimes too big a prize. Today, she was lucky. Yesterday, and the days before, she was like a husk of her former memory.

"Pardon me. " She broke out of her reminiscing. "What is it you are offering? I'd be more than glad to visit the lovely ruins again. And tell me you won't lose your lovely head over reading the older scripts. Surely someone in Veilgarden would miss you?"

She tilted her head so only the writer and the bartender could see her mischievious smirk.

 

[DoughGuy]

Veilgarden – A Sober Night
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

His mysterious companion’s first act was to make things even more complex than they already were. And put a little extra fear in Blue. The man’s words implied whatever individual had selected him had done a close analysis. What had they uncovered about the Rainbow’s plans? And had it only been him? Or had each member received a similar invitation? He kept his mouth shut, unwilling to expose his own thoughts so carelessly. At the very least he appeared safe for the moment. He doubted the masters would need to go through a charade of protecting the Rainbow prior to shutting it down.

The answer was not enough for Blue, but he doubted he could get more out of the man. Judging by the man’s words he was no run of the mill goon and wouldn’t be parting with anything that wasn’t required. He looked over at the woman called Miss Moore. A startlingly obvious weakness on show. She would no doubt be glad of their benefactor’s protection. His eyes slid to the second woman, who was separated from the group by the man’s words. Unplanned and unexpected, a wild card thrown into the night.

He perked up a little at the mention of Rostygold. One of the currencies of the Neath. His eyes flashed with greed. His hands had been aching, too long without physically holding a card. He had money from the surface but wasn’t sure how he could use it yet. He could bear some time with the Deluder for that reward. Yet even then, he felt the information in his mind tumble, fall, and settle in the shape of a chip. It was time to gamble on what the Deluder was capable of on his own, and measure what he was up against.

He turned as a booming voice cried out, judging there was little risk at another group of newcomers having arrived in the same day. One of the ‘Clay men’ was making its way over to the group, loudly welcoming them all. Another ‘friend’, one with a good sense of fashion if as little lacking in the colour department. After they shook the deluder’s hand he held out his own hand. Having no interest in drinking, a drunk mind made mistakes, mistakes he wouldn’t allow, his only other recourse for now would be too collect what information he could while the others made the mistakes. “Mr Blue. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. It’s good to find so many welcoming people here already.”

With a smile he turned to Miss Moore. She looked vulnerable, an easy target, and someone labelled as important as he. He had his suspicion that value was not within her but in how she was connected. “So Miss Moore, it appears we are both quite special. Any idea what your own skill might be?”

0stinato ThaDruid Mr_DC StoneWolf18

 

[0stinato]

Watchmaker's Hill

As it stood, the rat found himself rather thankful the Deluder had yet to move from his place near the Observatory. The man was aiming high, looking at all sorts of up-and-coming accommodation, as well as the more refined areas he'd only be able to afford in some gracious honey-dream, but aiming high meant a lot of preparation. And if there was one thing Carrellés knew the Deluder wasn't worried about...

Still, him living where he did made Carrellés' duty much easier. When he'd left the Singing Mandrake, he'd become concerned with how exactly he was supposed to get rostygold into the hands of the newcomers - three of them at that. The nun that had passed the Deluder had mentioned all the deft currency would be in a chest, and how exactly was a Rattus-Faber supposed to move a whole chest?

However, on his scampering way across the bridge, he'd been relieved to remember the recent... dealings the Deluder had made down in Watchmaker's Hill. Unlike a lot of the masked man's business, Carrellés had been explicitly told to come along, though to keep "silent, but formidable". Silent but formidable. Neither were things Carrellés was particularly good at anymore; his dealings with his new master had knocked his pride so badly he felt like a ragged jigsaw piece. Either he'd not fit anywhere, or he'd be too knocked about to make a difference. But still, he'd done as he was told, remaining "silent, but formidable" by the Deluder's right ankle as the man spoke into darkness. A contract, an agreement, more echoes than Carrellés had ever seen, all of these were swapped for the pleasure to see hundreds of eyes winking out of the darkness.

So Carrellés remembered the smells and rubble of the location in Watchmaker's Hill and headed there on his four paws, stopping only briefly to smarten himself up under some gleaming water in the lamplight. The rare drips, influenced by gravity, splashed upon the rat's muzzle, his paws and his ears, and the little creature shook himself a few times before preening, untangling and smoothing out his rough fur. He had to bring the look of "silent, but formidable". And if he'd learned anything at all from the Deluder, it was that looking smart had its advantages.

A few minutes later, the rat was striding slowly down the side of a large-looking three-storey house. The railings up to the front door weren't rusted, and the windows had transparent glass in them. Nothing soot-covered and translucent; with these, Carrellés could see in, and he knew the occupants could see out. But why would they ever look out? Upon these streets?

Eyes, a fair few. More than the highest number Carrellés could count to, not that he would attempt to number each. He sat himself up on his haunches with his chin up, and remained quiet for a few seconds. Gauging the situation, bringing the "silence" before the formidable.

Slinking out of the shadows came a huge brown rat. It didn't look like anything special, but it was almost as tall as Carrellés, despite not being a Rattus-Faber. Although a little chilled by the sight of it and off-put by its confidence, Carrellés knew - or hoped - that he was holding all the cards.

"Whaddayawant?" it said, shortly.

"Contract, the Deluder," replied the Rattus-Faber. "The Liar. You's needed. Some of yous."

"Some uv us, why not all?"

Silence.

"Aww 'ow many."

"I said some," Carrellés muttered. "I 'ardly care. Jus' follow me. Liar's orders."

"Liah's orduhs, yah. Fine."

So Carrellés sat while the brown rat - who would introduce herself later under the name of Trick-A-Me - employed only her finest scraggly brethren. They were less than tidy, though each one looked strong, each one was raring to go in its own way, the skin of its tail a healthy pink and its whiskers fresh. The hierarchy was clear as soon as Carrellés began leading the way towards the Deluder's lodgings: with the Rattus-Faber up front, despite his limp, he was fulfilling the "formidable" side. And behind him, Trick-A-Me sauntered, she in turn being followed by six rats. They knew the Deluder's - the Liar's - contract was good. They'd received the man's word, they'd received the man's payment. It was fair they respected their end of the deal.

Glancing behind him very slightly, Carrellés suspected Trick-A-Me wasn't the most happy about being bossed around, but as far as he understood, they stood as equals somehow, one by the left ankle of the Deluder and one by the right.

The M___t of London says...

The relics of men whisper and the relics of cities don't. Unless you have more than two ears.​

 

[Mr_DC]

0stinato Dalamus Ulom Osthavula ThaDruid StoneWolf18 DoughGuy

Silence slowly spread through the Mandrake. Laughter turned into cautious whispers. Sprays of wine turned into cautious sips. The silence didn't last long though. It wasn't allowed to last long. It would be disrespectful to listen to whatever business they had in the Mandrake. No one really dared to disrespect them.
As the silence was nervously lifted, the group at the door started moving further in. The group wasn't large, six people at most, but everyone knew what their purpose was.

The Selection. The Governor's Selection. Everyone knew who their master was but no one dared whisper it. They were brutal thugs equipped with the finest gear echoes and favors can buy. A paradox in human form. Wild, merciless, and strong but could be contained by a single word - from the right person.
The Selection parted the crowd as they made their way to their target. People ran to get out of their way. Shoved aside whoever they were talking to just to get away.

"Deluder." The leading man grumbled like he was chewing his own teeth. A short man built like a cannon with a bald head much like a cannon ball. He paused as silence around them grew again. The people quickly got the point and returned to their conversations, trying not to seem curious. "The canon wants results. If you fail to be persuasive, we take over." The man seemed like he hated the words coming out of his mouth. Like he simply hated words. Let his anvil-like fists do the talking. As he raised one finger which resembled a cudgel on its own at Deluder, the door opened again.


"You." The constable pointed his baton at the man. Or Deluder. Or the rest of the gang. The constable himself didn't seem to know who he was pointing to once he took a better look at the group of people. The constable - and the small army of constables behind him - didn't seem afraid, though. They seemed challenged, a fire burning in their eyes. They weren't regular constables who had a tendency to not get too involved with the Selection. They weren't like the special constables who could clear the Mandrake simply by entering it. No, they were the velocipede squad. Almost as thuggish as the Selection.

"You!" The man waved the baton, hitting one well-dressed bohemian in the ribs. They marched over to the Selection but stopped at a safe enough distance. "You..." He pointed at Deluder. " You are arrested for murder, arson, and treason!" He shouted, spitting over the ratskin boots the cannon-like man wore. "And all of you!" He waved his baton at the Selection. "Are arrested for extortion, murder..." He was interrupted. Before the constable got the chance to list the rest of the crimes his targets were charged with, the windows of the Mandrake shattered inwards.


Everyone only managed to gasp as they realized what rolled in through the windows and the door. In a moment, a large number of patrons and constables were blown to bits - most of them too badly destroyed to return. As the Selection started beating the remaining constables and as the constables started beating anyone they could get their hands on, another volley of bombs got thrown through the windows. These, though, didn't have their fuses burning for as long. The Bohemians who were having fun until minutes prior were running for their lives from the live explosives rolling around on the floor.

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

Barely had the Deluder laid his glass to rest on the bar before the room was flooded by men the masked man vaguely recognised. And not only that, but those men were choosing to - no, they had been instructed to - threaten the Deluder. Upon hearing the self-proclaimed 'Leader' of this practiced Selection spit out the Governor's wishes, the Deluder's eyes narrowed, his hand tightened around his cane a little.

Of course, he'd not draw upon the men, nor would he argue back. How could he? He had no power to argue... at least not verbally. In his head though, the insult of being checked up on yet again was sending sparks of frustration through his muscles. The canon would get his results, and these men could leave with the same lack of decorum as they entered wi--

But nary a word the Deluder managed to utter before the boys in blue came knocking. However, these boys had little more finesse than the Selection - their fists and faces were stained with scars, and perhaps the Deluder respected them at one point in his life. But that respect didn't stay long; their cowardice at not wanting to approach the Selection, their impolite treatment of the other patrons of the bar... and then the threat of arrest?

"Murder, arson and treason?" queried the Deluder, standing himself upright. "Two of those I certainly haven't done lately, if ever..."

But the man turned to the Selection, more crimes being spat, electing to ignore the Deluder. And for a second the Deluder's world hesitated... because he suddenly remembered the quartet of Newcomers gathered around him. Their safe night at the Mandrake was interrupted by true threat, a threat not even their host was taking seriously. And how would they see it... certainly they'd take the constable's word for it, as well as the Deluder's quip, and suddenly their world would become something else. No longer would they trust the masked man, as they should, and the Deluder would have failed.

So the Deluder's right hand flicked, the cane landing safely in his left, and he took a step towards the constable, stretching his arm out, forming a wall between the Selection and the constables, and his flock of four. Fail? In front of the Selection? He'd try to avoid that. And fail the Governor? Well, he'd not let that happen, despite the offence he'd taken tonight.

Just as the Deluder's stride ended, the windows seemed to explode. The crescendo of noise was practically unbearable - to jump from the silence as the Selection made their threats, to the louder and more clumsy constable's ramblings, to the shattering, to the screaming, to the explosions...

The Deluder's back had struck a chair as he'd... fallen? He could hardly even remember, but as he rolled to his feet, his cane up in his left hand in a cross-block across his body, he took notice of the glass he had been drinking - shattered to pieces, the base only left sadly on the wooden counter, alcohol splashed onto the varnish.

He'd suffered worse, though being too close to one of those - more! - bombs wasn't exactly what he had planned for the evening. But at least he and his companions were at the bar. With its big backboard filled with plonk, it was an effortless hiding place. A mediocre throw could get the bombs behind it, but if reactions were quick enough...

"Doctor de Lorraine!" he shouted, then cursed and dropped down. No use being upright now. "Get behind the bar, you... you'll be safe there, I doubt I have to tell you how to tend to a wound..." he saw her moving, knew she wan't dead, or too badly injured. At this point, even being unconscious would be bad.

But he had to get to Emory first, before Valoire or Mr. Blue. Now he knew the Doctor was alive, he hoped she would be magnanimous enough to lend the rest of his quartet a kind hand. He remained crouched before the bar, his eyes narrowed and his ears filled with the sounds of battle... The Deluder slid his hand clockwise across his cane's handle, felt it click, and separated the cane in two.

StoneWolf18 DoughGuy Mr_DC

The M___t of London says...

REMOVE MY EYELIDS. I CAN'T SLEEP.​

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden

As soon as those man threatening the deluder waded in, lady Viola use the fan to cover her face, and when everyone else was pretending to be in their own business, she gave a meaningful glance to Charles, and then gestured for the bartender to come over. Like ordering a special drink, Viola whispered lowly in his ears. Bartender in turn nodded, and when everyone was not looking, opened the side wooden flap of the bar and the back door beside it.

Trevor who was always a smart man (which annoyed Viola much) saw it too, and sneakily change to the table close to the bar. When the bartender pretended he was reaching for something under the table, Viola reached for the writer's hand, seemingly like how one would invite another to the back alley for private matter, pulled his hand lightly so he would know where to go.

And how right she was to observed the situation was less than good to stay in. With the constables watching, she couldn't make her escape. But when the window exploded and her glass shattered, she was in time to hid under the bar table for the major impact. The bartender didn't even look at her, and was the first to leave the backdoor without looking back. Following was Trevor, running like his feet was oiled.

And Viola would be making her escape too.

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

"Trust me, my lady, I've read your work multiple times." Charles smiled at her, before continuing. "I'm willing to pay you in-" Before he could finish telling her about the payment, the Selection. Charles really hated those bloody bastards, almost as much as he hated the damn Velocipede Squad, the damn brutes. Charles would then notice Viola tugging on his hand, leading him towards the backdoor. Following her, he would quickly grab a nice bottle of Broken Giant 1844, with a quickly muttered mention of his tab that clearly went unheard as none other than the bumbling oafs of the Velocipede Squad would enter, to simply scream charges at the Deluder.

"YER SUPPOSED TO SAY 'IN THE NAME OF THE EMPERESS', YOU STUPID BLOODY BASTARDS!" Charles would turn and shout at them, just as the first bombs would fly in, and would send him flying into the shelves of liquor behind the bar. "Oh, bugger. Put it on my tab, Monty!" The Honey-Soaked Writer would call to the fleeing bartender as all hell broke loose in the Singing Mandrake. Extracting himself from the new writer shaped indention in the wall, he would quickly make his, rather staggering way, out of the bar behind the Lady Viola.

And of course, he took a swig from the bottle of Broken Giant 1844. He needed something to help with the damn headache.

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden

Following Charles, lady Viola made a quick escape too. Her heels were sounding loud , but not loud enough to be detected in this chaos. And for someone who looked so delicate, she ran surprisingly fast. As if she had run in those dress and heels all the time.

But once they ran far enough, Viola called Charles, and though she was breathless she was also collected. Knowing her hair would be messy in the run, she pulled her hair pin and let her hair fall, looking quite young in this style. Her eyes wasn't tired, and in fact, she almost look excited.

"I'm so sorry that we couldn't have our conversation in peace." She smiled. "Do you feel like continuing? Perhaps we can find another place to chat, or just a stroll?"

"We might hear something interesting, too." She added, presented her real thoughts. If something on a scale like this happen, somewhere people must be gossiping about it later. Not somewhere too near, of course.

 

[DoughGuy]

Veilgarden – A Sober Night
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

Before his companion could answer things started heating up. First a group of ruffians joined them, threatening the Deluder but clearly on his ‘side’ for the time being. It shed a little more light of their situation. Their mysterious benefactor was some form of ‘gang’ leader, one influential enough to move around in public. One of the masters perhaps? But that idea was scrapped as moment later a group of the feared constables arrived. Suddenly everyone was under arrest and Blue suspected none of the seven fugitives were in the mood to go kindly. So many cards on the table it was certainly not somewhere he wanted his chips to be. He shifted his chair away from the Deluder just in case.

As if that wasn’t enough action for the one minute the world threw the biggest wildcard it could into the mix. The windows shattered and the front half of the bar exploded. With a nice bulk of clay and meat in front of him Blue was spared the worst of the blast. A stray chip of wood cut open his cheek and he was knocked to the floor. His hat disappeared somewhere and he cursed. He looked around. The wave of humanity was heaving backwards as more bombs came sailing in. He’d lost sight of the Deluder briefly before locating him via his voice.

Perhaps in a move that would be surprising to his host Blue moved away from him. He trusted Yellow enough to know he would have included frequent terrorist attacks in his briefing. Which meant this was targeted. And the Deluder was a likely target given the information he’d learned in the last two minutes. And that was a risk Blue wasn’t going to take. “Options Blue.” he demanded on himself.

The front exit was a 0% chance. The side and back walls were solid, with no windows. The bar was protection but a single bomb behind it would kill everyone. Call it 50%. A back entrance was an unknown, he couldn’t see one, but he’d call it 75% with the possibility of a cellar. Staying where he was after finding some cover, that got a 50% as well. Nothing certain, he had to improve his odds. Which meant taking an acceptable risk.

He grabbed his bags off the floor, turned and leapt over the bar. As he landed he dropped the bags and his hands went into his pockets, coming out with two knives. He located the bartender and grabbed the man by the collar, keeping the sharp part of the knife away from their neck. “You got a back entranced or a cellar? Find us a way out now.”

 

[ThaDruid]

Fighting tooth and nail for survival in Veilgarden...

The night was, indeed, beautiful. New guests, possibly surfacers, would be fully welcomed to the beauty of the Neath...
As he shook the Blue one's hand, Clement would happen to watch the front door, as it was kicked open by a group of rather unsavoury fellows... Dangerous business was that where the goons of a certain merchant of wine were involved. Oh, they would certainly ruin this wonderful night.
And so, an altercation between them and the Deluder started. For a moment, Clement wished to step in and calm these firey spirits, but the situation seemed to only get worse...

Constables showed themselves, waving batons and shouting accusations at the squadron of thugs. Brutish fools they were, to start a fight right here and now... How could the situation get so much worse?

Quite simple, in fact. Soon, everyone in the room would find themselves bombarded by shards of glass, when the various windows of the Mandrake suddently bursted inwards. Following those shards, charges of active explosives. Patrons and intruders alike blown to bits as flying shards of wood caused even more blood to be spilt. A slaughter in cold blood. This was madness, not even Jack-of-Smiles would go so far!

The clay man's petrificated surprise was interrupted by the crack of one such explosion as it sent various shards of wood impacting upon his back. One of them, particulairly sharp, dug istelf within his shoulder. His grey coat was ruined.
However, The Unfinished Poet would not be so selfish as to place his attention on his own problems. Oh no, friends and enemies were falling down in droves by his side. It was basic etiquette to give a hand to ladies and gentlemen in danger. And as any respectable man should, he followed a proper code.

A fallen lady, writhing on the floor in pain. A gash along her forehead, red blood marking her face. One of the surfacers, she was. To end up like this after having just arrived... Dreadful.
Clement put one hand behind her head, the other holding her up by the waist. Placing her over his shoulder, he made sure that the lady was safe, before throwing his weight over the bar counter. A spot definitely more secure than standing in the open.

Placing the wounded woman dwon so that she would be leaning on the counter without hurting her too much, the unfinished man tried to assess this situation. The Masked Deluder, he who happened to be the reason of all this, stood by his side. Better him than some furious constable... And the Blue fellow from before was holding a knife at the bartender's throat! Far too dangerous to reason with that armed fellow, especially at this moment. A way out, it was what they all needed... Maybe that open door? A door to the back, yes, but who knows where it would lead? And even then, Clement would hardly fit in there. Too exposed. Another option, there had to be one. And then, when hope was lost, a swinging chandelier caught his eye. Of terrible making, rumor was that the owners wished to replace it... It would serve as a perfect way to part the crowd, or, at least, as a distraction...
He placed a cold hand on the Masked Deluder's shoulder, attracting his attention.
"THE CHANDELIER. BREAK IT. FALLING, IT WILL PART THE CROWD."

0stinato Mr_DC DoughGuy

 

[Mr_DC]

0stinato Dalamus Ulom Osthavula ThaDruid StoneWolf18 DoughGuy

The back door of the Mandrake lead to a dark alley - a place of London where rarely something good goes down. As such, the alley held the remainder of the Velocipede Squad. A dozen or so brutes, their batons at the ready and savage grins on their faces. They were already on their way in but, seeing how a pair ran out, the constables stopped. With a yell resembling a battle cry, the constables ran towards the pair, batons at the ready.

The bartender frowned at the threat. He definitely wasn't about to leave the safety of the bar but the knife at his throat was more than convincing. "The back door!" He yelled, covering his head as shards of wood and bits of limbs flew across the bar following an explosion. "The back door is open! Go there!" He yelled, waving his hand at the door right by the bar and trying to inch away from the blade.

Seeing the clay men pick up a woman and then lay a hand on a patron made it clear to the constables that they had a threat on their hands. A pair of constables quickly dropped the well-beaten pair of poets and rushed to the unfinished man with batons waving. The yelling about breaking the chandelier only made them more certain in their decision that that particular clay man was unfinished. Not that they needed any proof.


Fleur moaned, coming through on the floor, her head throbbing. Her body wasn't responding to what she wanted to do. Legs not moving, hands missing her head as she tried to examine what exactly hurt her. She heard someone mention a doctor before fading away again and blacking out. She came through on top of something large carrying her. Something the size of a wardrobe. She gave one look off at the grey skin before she felt something run down her right eye. Before she could gather her thoughts, Fleur blacked out again.

The Intriguer was more than ready for the events which unfolded. When the Selection walked in, her body tensed and she stared at her table, trying to hear what exactly was their business at the Mandrake. She let out a relieved smirk when she heard that they weren't in the Mandrake for her. Their leader was still blind to her involvement in most of his recent failures.

The relief turned into further satisfaction when the Velocipede Squad walked in. Her plan worked out well. Either blood will be spilt or the same amount of favors. The Intriguer paid for her relaxation, though, when the windows burst in. She only managed to turn over a table before the first blast and ended getting thrown over the table, a shard of glass getting stuck in her thigh. In relative safety behind the table with a lot of moaning corpses around her, the Intriguer examined the scene. An open back door which would be the safest way out - someone of her skill could simply dash out and climb up to the roof. Hiding behind the bar would be the second best solution if she was to stay. The third option would be the most dangerous one. Run up to the windows and hide under them. Whatever her decision would be, staying behind a table wasn't an option.

Fleur moaned again, her face wet. For a moment, she thought it was sweat from the sudden stress or liquor from the bottles which simply burst with the initial explosions. It didn't take a doctor to deduce it was blood. Her blood, pouring freely from the open wound on her forehead. She wasn't about to stay behind the bar and wait it out. She had a job. A moral obligation. Sucking in a breath through her teeth, Fleur leapt back over the bar and knelt by the first wounded person she found. An older woman with more makeup than Fleur would ever consider putting on. Most of her stomach was split open but Fleur dove in, in spite of lacking any proper equipment for help. Ripping most of the sleeve from her white shirt, Fleur attempted to bandage the open wound to the best of her ability. Her mind was always focused on one thing, though. Three more bombs being thrown through the windows.

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Veilgarden

A lot of thoughts were in Viola's head when a dozen steps were closing in on her. The first one being annoyance at the constables, as close as they were to her. The second being her not bringing Bennett, that admirably dangerous girl. The third she letting her guard down. Too soon, Viola. Too soon.

But more reflection can be done later. For now, they have the explosive-rich room at their back, and those brute constables up front with their batons. Explosive death was not a joke, and to go to jail ... she knew how useless her own lawyer was. Looking at them with their batons, she wasn't even sure if she could make it to jail.

And she had someone with her. She could use him as a distraction. Should she, though?

She had to make a swift decision.

.......

"Back!" She pulled her companion over, took of his hat, and threw it at the face of the first constable who was closest to them in the narrow alley. Hopefully it would stagger him and others behind him. She gently pushed Charles to run inwards before her, and she followed after.

Such a not london thing to do, to let some stranger be safer than you do. Viola cursed whatever ideal that made her so. Still, she tore her dress, untied her petticoat, and threw that towards the constables as well.

Take that, colleagues. She thought in her head. I caught Jack faster even in that heavy thing, you senseless brute.

 

[DoughGuy]

Veilgarden – A Sober Night
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

The front of the room was getting louder but it didn’t bother Blue, he had his way out. “Good man.” he replied, slipping the knives away and returning his hands to his luggage. Unfortunately his normally incredible luck was not with him. A well-dressed gentleman came running through the back door and slammed it shut behind him, before slamming the bolts in. Blue mentally chastised himself, of course the police would have men at the back entrance. Revised total, 0% chance of a rear escape. It also reduced the safety of the bar, as he doubted that door would hold up forever.

An odd idea occurred to him, one that would result in an unfortunate casualty but would likely put him in an opportune position. All depending on how Watchful the constables and Selection were. Which given the situation wasn’t likely to be very much. Leaning down he gave his lovely blue suit a sweet kiss, “Sorry my dear.”

He jumped out from behind the bar, onto the battlefield, and dropped down. What a coincidence, it was hit hat. He put it on and looked around. Nearby a woman bleeding from her head was working on a woman who had half been torn in two. Perfect. He crawled over to them and gave a respectful nod. “Excuse ma’am, I need to borrow some of that. And then he stuck his hands in the spilt blood and wiped it over the front of his suit and pants, adding some dashes to his face.

He found a place that was covered by an overturned table, near the wall but not pushed up against it, and dropped down behind it. He lay the bags in front of him as if they’d dropped from senseless hands and fell onto his side. His eyes opened into a vacant stare. He could feel the warmth of the blood against his body. Yellow was going to clean it for him if he ever wanted another payment. It was his damn idea that had put him in this mess. Now all he could do is wait for things to calm down.

Mr_DC

 

[Dalamus Ulom]

Charles had no choice. He kept telling himself that as he had bolted back into the building and locking the door behind him. But that didn't stop the wrenching feeling of betrayal he felt in his gut. Absolutley worthless. The worst part of it all was that he didn't even say anything to her. Not a word of thanks, a warning, or even an apology. But it was to late now. He didn't doubt the Velocipede squad would kill her, or worse, so all he could really do was wait for her to return. Till then, he'd have to avoid the same fate.

Wait. Where was that Trevor fellow? Didn't he go out before either him or Viola? Yet there wasn't a sign of him at all when they got outside, and looking around now, he couldn't spot him anywhere. But he did see the Deluder, along with the gaggle of people surrounding him. By the looks of it, the newcomers were all fine, if a little battered. The clayman, however, seemed to have a large quantity of wood shrapnel stuck into his back and through his now clearly ruined coat. More bombs were coming through the windows now, three by the looks. Who was throwing the damn bombs? Not the velocipede squad, as a good amount of them had been killed by the bombs. Neither was it the Governor's men, as the same happaned to them. Revolutionaries? But why would they attack now, and here of all places? This was a bar for drug addicts, artist, and spies if they wanted to get drunk. Not only that, but why did the velocipede Squad not attack them, the ones who were outside the back door? Surely they saw who we're throwing the bombs inside?

It all made his head spin just thinking about it. After a second, the strength would leave his legs, and he would slowly slide down the newly secured door, before finally coming to rest on the debris strewn floor and taking a swig from the bottle in his hands. Damn that was good wine.

Another moment would pass, before he decided to shout towards the Unfinished Poet hiding behind the bar. "There are more constables coming about shortly, so whatever you plan on doing, my good clay man, I would do it before they finish with their current activity of beating someone to death with billy clubs! I'd say that'll give us about five minutes, maximum. It all really depends on how mad they are, and whether or not they decide to use the cobbles as well."

Reaching up for his hat, and the little mandrake that had been hiding within it, it would take Charles a moment to realize that his hat was gone, only to remember that Viola had thrown it, and apparently his little mandrake along with it, at the velocipede members. He laughed aloud at the thought of it, looking to all the world like a madman.

Osthavula Mr_DC ThaDruid

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Slow Boat on Silent River

Hearing the door closing and the sound of locking, Viola felt a sense of relieve. At least Charles understood her intention somewhat, and now those men cannot pour in the room to injure the others. Underneath all that sense of emotion was a bit of dissapointment that she couldn't survive a bit longer. Her arms were grabbed and pulled backwards, her body being tripped and dragged on the cobblestones faced down, and she saw a couple of men trying to shake and open the door. It didn't. She would laugh at them, had the batons not rained on her, or their feet didn't kick her nonstop. She felt something harder, perhaps a stone, hitting her head. She rolled her tongue so she wouldn't bite on it, prayed that they would send her off sooner than they break all her ribs, but she couldn't tell really. Cold liquid flowed down her head and drenched the honey smelling stone road, making it even stickier if possible.

And after some intense pain and agony, her conscious finally drifted away.

All was dark. Then she darted up, looking at a dozen other men and water, dazed. Amongst all of them, only one wasn't sulking or pondering. The boatman, she recognized the familar hooded figure. He too recognized her, apparently.

"You again!" She wasn't sure how his voice would came, but he greeted her. "About time you visit. How about another chess game, huh?"

Lady viola, in her lifeless form, smiled at the boatman as the waves splashed and rocked them. How did she got here? Ah yes, the constables. Veilgarden. In the back alley she fell quite tragically. She hope her companion would find her body soon. What was her name? B_nn___, perhaps.

"Why not?" She answered and walked close to him. "Just one game this time though."

The boatman had a grin. Perhaps a grin, she couldn't be sure. His mouth always looked like that, afterall. They sat there, battling with little pieces of statues across a wooden board. Slender fingers slided and knocked the pieces over, until eventually a king tumbled down.

"Congratulation. But not for long." The boatman's teeth knocked against each other. "Again?"

The lady chuckled. "Just one moment please." Ladybones Road, Veilgarden, Forgotten Quarters... The boatman seemed to know what she was thinking and grew impatient.

"Again?"

"...... Again."

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

Chandelier?

What insanity was that? To part the crowd? The Deluder saw a degree of sense in the matter, but it would work much better just to stab and parry, stab and parry. Besides - that wasn't on his mind right now.

"Later, later," he assured the Poet, "if there's time." He wasn't about to completely brush off the Unfinished Poet's idea - the Poet was one of the regulars to the bar he enjoyed being around. But right now he had to get to Emory and Valoire. He hadn't seen either of them and the dust was clearing.

But there was no time to breathe. Over the wreckage of a chair and what used to be a table came constables, and at first the Deluder thought they were going for him. After all, they had tried to arrest him. However, he caught sight of their eyes, and each open orb was locked onto their target - the Unfinished man.

Hardly surprising. But this was at least a chance. The Unfinished man, big as he was, had a chance on his own, and the Deluder wasn't going to be stupid with his life. Quickly dodging to one side to avoid the constables, gripping the now-empty shaft of his cane with his left hand as a makeshift block - something he'd done many a time, as proved by the various nicks and slices across its curved edge - he attempted his best escape of the situation.

Valoire seemed to be on the floor, and at first the Deluder couldn't see if she was hurt. Or unconscious. Or dead. But there was nothing bad about getting her form to safety.

A bomb sailed in through the window, far too near for comfort. The Deluder, his reactions honed by years in fighting rings - as well as close calls elsewhere - twisted his body to the left as he tried to come to a stop.

The explosion shot him backwards, upturning a table nearby. Its leg barely missed his face, and at least he felt the pain in his left arm as he landed. At least there was that. He cursed as he landed, kicking at the floor in an effort to keep his body conscious.

The sleeve of his coat was ripped through, caused by both shrapnel and the force of the explosion. But - and this was horrifyingly worse - his left arm was... well, the Deluder couldn't tell the extent of the damage yet. The blood told all he needed to know, as did the fact that any movement was agony.

He rolled to his feet, teeth gritted and forehead shining with sweat. With one hand, he put his cane back together, before making his dash towards Valoire. If she was alright a while ago, she probably wasn't alright now. Plus, he only had one hand to move her though.

His left was next to useless, though he could still clench his fist... however, he resigned himself to only using one arm. Crouching down by Valoire, he cursed at her under his breath, Why can you newcomers never look after yourselves, you're all shit waiting to die.

It hardly mattered though - she was a part of his flock and that's all there was to it. He'd grab her, make a run back to the bar, but not yet. He had to bide his time for that, he knew. Hastiness had got his arm ruined, and he wasn't about to take another chance like that. So, in the meantime, he pulled Valoire closer to the wall and set his back to it, keeping low as before. His left hand rested on his leg, leaking fluid and sapping the Deluder's strength, while his right trembled with the trepidation of a potential assault. The cane trembled with it.

The door near the bar slammed, a timbre the Deluder heard over the yells of various Velocipede Squad members and probably some of the Selection. No matter. The Squad seemed hellbent on going for the Unfinished man... which was helpful. The Deluder's eyes narrowed, and he hated.

He hated nothing specific. But nevertheless, he hated.

StoneWolf18 DoughGuy ThaDruid

The M___t of London says...

Never bring a gun to a fight. Bring a knife to take the life, and a fork to take the soul.​

 

[Mr_DC]

0stinato Dalamus Ulom Osthavula ThaDruid StoneWolf18 DoughGuy

Fleur noticed it as yet another mortally wounded person in her hands gave up. It wasn't a bomb or an explosion or the sound of another skull cracking open. It was something else. The exact opposite. The silence was heavy in her throbbing head. No bombs hitting the ground. No explosions sending shattered furniture her way while creating another handful of patients. Just the moans and swears as the Constables assaulted the clay man, a few patrons who were still alive, and the Selection.

The sudden silence was noticed by everyone. It wasn't even a minute of silence before people started running out the door and jumping through windows, ripping open their blood-soaked outfits on the shards of glass sticking through the window panes. The Selection saw an opportunity to leave as well in the rush. They all, as one, jumped out whatever was the closest window and spread out, each being hunted by a couple constables.

Other than a few corpses and wounded, the bar was populated by about a dozen constables and the more notable patrons. Seeing the situation calm, the constables decided to try and make their arrest again. A pair approached Deluder, ready to attack rather than negotiate an arrest, and shouted. "Drop the cane! You are..." The constable didn't get to finish her thought as a voice thundered from the outside.
"Shoot them all!" The strong voice sounding like a building collapsing in on itself shouted at something outside.

"Your arm." Fleur hopped over to Deluder, careful not to slip on the blood-covered planks of the floor. She reached out to touch but stopped upon seeing the constables so close by. She wasn't about to interrupt their brutality. Fleur paused, letting her mind process everything. Letting her thoughts flow freely. The man was clearly wanted by law but he was wanted by people who law authorized to beat innocents to death. While the man offered help, he was wanted for murder.
Fleur frowned at the Deluder. She wasn't about to leave his side but she had no intention of helping him with the constables. She needed help.

The Intriguer hopped over the bar, stumbling when landing on her wounded leg. She smirked and grabbed a bottle of the strongest alcohol she could find. It was her opportunity to escape or, at the very least, see what exactly was going on outside. Uncorking the bottle, the Intriguer glanced around to see if anyone would complain at her stealing the wine. She sucked in a breath through her teeth as she poured the liquid over her leg, the shard of glass still inside and uncomfortably ripping the hole even more with every move. She let the bottle slip out of her hand when she simply couldn't handle anymore and looked around. The clay man needed help. Perhaps it was help she could provide. Help and get a favor in return.

 

[StoneWolf18]

Valoire Moore

The phrase 'what the hell is going on' seemed like it could've had rather ample use here...

If it wasn't such an understatement.

She hadn't had time to respond to everything being directed her way, mind a bit confused as to why she was needed for an apparent 'skill' when literal hell broke loose within the building they were in. Mostly terrified at the implication of this, she grabbed the confused and frightened Emory and had been about to pull him towards her before trying to get to Deluder when the fog of war grew a bit too thick, nothing about to be seen although the sounds were enough to tell her that she didn't want too. Moving was all but impossible due to the flying bombs, debris, and mass of bodies fighting and trying to escape, the woman trying to force herself to find a way to get out when something took her too the floor roughly. Her boy's screams were barely heard over the chaos as whatever it had been rolled off and disappeared, leaving Val in a hefty daze, teetering on the edge consciousness.

Emory couldn't do much but stare wide eyed, moving to get on his knees to try and force her up when the masked man came into view, quickly picking her up and moving to further into the building. Using his small, thin size as an advantage, he followed, slipping between the crowed and following back behind the bar eyes wide in a mute terror as he hid alongside the few that were there, shaken but appearing unscathed. How unfortunately lucky.

DoughGuy ThaDruid Mr_DC 0stinato

 

[ThaDruid]

Postponing an encounter with death In Veilgarden...

All around him, men and women died. Some gasping for air, others clutching at bleeding wounds. The Deluder broke an arm. The woman he had helped before dove over the bar to help, in turn, someone else. A blue man faked his death. A writer leaned on the back door, eyes hazy, laughing like a madman.
It seemed that The Singing Mandrake had become Hell itself.

Two constables rushing in his direction. No way to reason with them. Rage, and no small amount of blood, painted their faces. If he hurt them, they would call more constables to their aid. If they hurted him, his life would be in danger.
Clement began retreating, so to speak. Taking a couple of steps behind him, two arms held close to his body, defensively. Too dangerous for any sudden moves, there were still a dozen of these thuggish policemen around.

The unfinished man decided on another course of action. He took a swing, and another one, in the direction of his two assaulters. His attacks were obviously not meant to kill. No, they were just meant to keep them away. They were just meant to buy him more time. Perhaps the Deluder could see his predicament, or someone else would come to his aid...

In that exact moment, Clement noticed a sort of eerie silence. No more explosions, no more shrapnel flying. The moans of the dead or dying. The huffs of the Velocipede Squad, still beating some patrons with bloody batons. The wet sound of wood on flesh and breaking bones.
He did not want to join those people on the ground.

He even considered to yell for help, only to realize that it would just attract more attention on his person.
He felt fear? No, Clement could not fear. He felt the impending doom.
Mr_DC

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden - though anywhere else would be marginally preferable right about now.

So many things seemed useless now. His attempt to get Valoire to safety - that seemed useless. His left arm - that was obviously useless, and he'd essentially tucked it away into his coat, as some sort of a makeshift sling, the strong faux-brass button of which was keeping it from moving. And even living - that seemed useless. Because, faced with constables shouting at him yet again, a doctor who wasn't too keen on even being near him and then the oh-so-wonderful stranger's voice instructing death upon all inside...

"Shit, move, you stupid girl," the Deluder risked the pain of his shoulder by shoving the doctor to one side. There was a flimsy barricade of broken furniture, most likely pushed to the sides of the room by the numerous bomb blasts, but it made a decent screen for the doctor at least. She could collapse behind it, while he would be much more open. Emory might be safe enough too, and no one seemed too interested in him. He glanced at the boy as he fell back, the boy's mother's weight in his arms.

Though who was he calling a "stupid girl"? Was it the doctor? Or was he cussing the unconscious Miss Moore as he put his arms under more unwanted strain by dragging her across to the wall too? Honestly, the Deluder couldn't tell anymore. There wasn't time to think about that though - nor time to think much at all.

The two constables, both looking as battered as the Deluder at least, were still closing in, and he really only had one option. Plus, given there were more living constables in the remains of the Mandrake, seemingly ganging up on the Poet, he suspected whatever he did would be the incorrect move.

Now the two women and the boy were... somewhat safe, though probably not safe enough. Still, that was all he had. So, grasping his cane, he climbed proudly to his feet, his chin up despite the headrush, and his most challenging grimace on his lips.

He raised the cane, "You can be beaten and shot, or just shot. Make your mind up, and scatter."

And, despite knowing he was simply defending himself, he knew what he was doing was for the good of the three behind him too. He'd got them to safety yes, but he was defending his honour, not their lives. But it seemed to double up; it wasn't like they'd go for the doctor, Miss Moore or Emory, was it? They seemed obsessed with the Deluder, just as the Deluder seemed obsessed with his flock.

Only problem was, you didn't always get what you wanted.

As the masked man stood, he knew he was opening himself up for attack. From both the constables and the firing squad outside the building. But, again, they'd go for him first. They'd not go for his flock.

Mr_DC StoneWolf18

The M___t of London says...

Never play an ace when a knife will do better.​

 

[Mr_DC]

0stinato Dalamus Ulom ThaDruid StoneWolf18 DoughGuy Osthavula
The Intriguer's mind rushed through a scenario. Grab the hardest bottle she can find, smash it on the head of one constable and slit up the other one with the broken bottle. The clay man would be freed from a bad situation without bringing even more heat on himself. The heat would be on the Intriguer, though, who was ignored by the constables for the entire fight. Perhaps it was luck she managed to bypass all the fighting. Perhaps it was more than luck.

Settling that her way out would simply have to be the window once the constables were disposed of, the Intriguer grabbed a bottle of Strangling Willow and hopped over the bar, almost falling to her knees as the shard in her leg tore open the wound even more from the demanding motion.
She approached unnoticed, the constables focused on the clay man, and swept a kick to the back of one constable's knees. Most of her weight through the kick was on her wounded leg but she stood through the pain. It wasn't pleasant, though. She could feel the blood gushing out around the shard of glass which simply burrowed through her flesh like it had some malicious sentience to it. A feeling which would come to her in a nightmare.

As the constable fell to his knees, the Intriguer swung the bottle, holding it by the neck, and slammed it on the back of the constable's head. The plan was a partial success - the constable fell over, unconscious, but the bottle didn't crack. What was meant to be a sharp weapon which could quickly dispose of the remaining constable remained blunt. She didn't wait, though. Following back on her first swing, the bottle crashed right into the teeth of the surprised constable. He wasn't expecting anyone to attack him from the side. Not while he was fighting the clay man. Instinctively, she threw a lightning-quick kick to the man's stomach. Her instincts ignored the fact that she was wounded. The agony she felt as she made the kick with her wounded leg made the Intriguer want to roll her eyes back and howl. She didn't, though. She proceeded with her act.

When the constable bent forward, the Intriguer finished him off with an axe chopping motion down on the back of his head. "You owe me." She pointed at the clay man, her voice trembling from the torment she put herself through. At least, she noted, the shard of glass slipped out of her wound from that kick. The wound probably opened too much. She turned, about to make her escape when she heard the thunderous sound.


Fleur stumbled back as the Deluder shoved her back. She felt insulted, even angry for a moment but she quickly calmed. Her mind simply wouldn't allow her to be irrational. The Deluder seemed to be focused on keeping them safe throughout the ordeal. She didn't need to be kept safe, though. What she needed was to help people. And right there and then, the Deluder needed her help. "Just let me help..." She started but the last word came out as an involuntary moan. A squeal resembling the cry of a dog in pain. It came right after the thunderous sound from outside.

Finding it difficult to take a breath, Fleur didn't even notice she fell to her knees. She frowned, her bright green eyes blinking confused like two gleaming gems on the red velvet of her blood coated face. She finally gulped and looked down. Her white shirt, ripped in places from making makeshift bandages, was turning red around the hole in the center. With a terrified expression on her face, Fleur raised a hand towards the Deluder who was too far to reach now. Falling onto her side and then turning onto her back, Fleur stared at the ceiling. The expression of pain, confusion, and fear relaxed as her eyes went blank. The blood which was reliably streaming down her forehead stopped.


The Intriguer stopped in her tracks when a bullet whizzed by her. A step to the side and she would be hit. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a woman go down, probably hit by a stray bullet from the outside. Same happened to one of the constables threatening her quarry, the Deluder. The other constable and the other few who were still alive in the Mandrake seemed to realize what the greater threat was and started making their way outside. Revenge would be sweeter than duty. The bullets didn't seem aimed though as of the few that made their way inside, only some hit their targets with no particular connection. The Intriguer felt a chill as she realized. The bullet went straight past her. Right for the clay man.


"Wh..." Fleur flinched. Her eyes were rapidly blinking and mouth trembling, forming words but no sounds were coming out. Her breaths were sharp and short. There was darkness around her. But where was she? A boat. On a dark river. Shrouded in silence.
Feeling tears swell up in her eyes, Fleur finally cried out. "Help!" She yelled, her lower lip trembling. "Help!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Help!" She yelled one more time, her scream getting swallowed up by the deafening silence around them.

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Slow Boat on Silent River

The king statue knocked on its ground with a wooden thud. Viola sighed out of relieve, for even without her body she felt tense from the chess game. The boatman stared at her with hollowed eyes, almost gleaming under his hood. Anyhow, she felt her life was drained a little, but she didn't lose a lot since she saved enough to risk on his checker board. After they halted their moves, the river resumed its peace.

Or not.

A voice screaming for help sounded, protruding her unexisting eardrums. Lady Viola raised her hands to her ears, frowning that the action could not block out the screaming. The boatman's jaw cackled. "First time guest." He said.

But Viola was not amused. The cry was too loud comparing to the silence river, and it was a heartbreaking cry. She never did cry herself when she was on the boat the first time, but dazed and curious. This was, however, understandable. Leaving the chess table, the lady sat beside the newcomer, recognizing her face. It was a fresh memory, right before she fell that she saw this face in veilgarden.

"Calm down, dear. This is not the end if you choose not to." She held both her shoulder gently. "Close your eyes, and remember places you have been to. People you have met. Things dear to you. "

The boatman took his oar, lightly splashed the river water with it. Viola ignored him, knowing it was just his pretentious joke. He was not moving the boat anywhere.

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
Fleur watched the young woman, her eyebrows arched up and tears streaming down her cheeks. Still, there was something about the woman - the calmness perhaps - that made Fleur calm down for a moment. "I think I'm going to throw up." Fleur moaned, shaking her head. Her head was spinning, her thoughts were all over the place but there was something the woman said. Something which made her calm down.

Fleur remembered his face. His blue eyes, always looking for a new thrill. Faint smile radiating unstoppable confidence. Then, there was his charm. Just that something about him which could change a person's strongest convictions with a few careful words. Sure, he could say the wrong thing at the wrong time occasionally but he could always bring it back with the flash of his confident smile. The thought of him made Fleur calm. It slowed her heartbeat.

"I got shot." Fleur placed a hand on her chest, still trying to understand how there's not a wound there. She looked at the person by her side. The woman trying to comfort her. She felt more and more like a damsel in distress. First, the criminal helping her out at the docks and then that woman helping her... Where ever they were. "I thought people don't die here. What happened?" She held her hands clasped together between her knees as she watched the woman, searching for an answer.