Fantasy Delicious Friend... | Fallen London Roleplay

[Mr_DC]

The Affable Spy walked the cobbled roads of London. Her eyes darted around the street but never making eye contact. She didn't want to be noticed. She could always just blend into the crowd. It was one of her skills. A gift of sorts. An attribute which made her valuable to her employer. Her current employer. The Governor had many spies but there were few he directly interacted with. Even fewer who he truly trusted. That was why she was around. The Governor needed someone to handle the more... Trivial aspects of the Game. Things he couldn't be bothered with. A manager for his empire. In spite of the power, the Governor granted her, she knew he didn't trust her. Every now and then, she would hit a wall. A wall placed by her employer which kept her from going further. Just an endless hole from which she could extract no further information.

He was right not to trust her, though. The walls were in all the justified places. She bumped into them because she wasn't meant to be there. If she questioned him for hiding that information, she would be questioned right back about why she was looking for it. The Governor gave her power but he didn't trust her with his own secrets. To her, it was as if Port Carnelian never even existed. She wasn't allowed to ask about it.
When she first arrived under the Governor's wing, she didn't know it was a taboo. She didn't know the boundary. She soon learned, though. The Spy didn't require her great intellect to notice that everyone turned stiff when she mentioned the colony. She could feel the weight of the silence filling the room. The desperation of everyone to try and find a subject they could grasp on to. To change the topic.


It was one particularly drunk evening that she confronted the Governor. He had one too many bottles of Broken Giant and Mr Wines' girls just left. When she entered his lavish bedroom, an image instantly scarred itself into her mind.
She would never forget it. Seeing him sit on the edge of the bed, bottle in one hand... Several bandages loose enough that she could see his ghostly gray skin. It looked almost like fresh snow. Like a puff of air could blow off the top layer of his skin.
She was brave then. She didn't fear him as much as she did now. She asked about the colony. Why it was a subject not open to mention.
"Do I chop you apart and dig through your gore?" His voice was colder than the wind when she traveled... North that one time. She wasn't sure at which point her jaw fell open but she couldn't gather the will to shut it. "That is the price for digging through mine." She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rising. "I charge up front." He added after a short pause, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

That was the moment that broke her. When she turned from a curious, rising spy into a child afraid of punishment for doing the wrong thing. She never truly questioned the Governor about his forbidden subjects again. She didn't stop researching him, though. She was simply more cautious. More patient. The information came as rare as a Master's generosity. But it came. And she didn't mind. He couldn't see her making such moves. He had more important things to worry about. Like his protege.



There was a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she had to do anything concerning the Deluder. The Affable Spy disliked him as a person. The Deluder did nothing to cross her. He was even charming. Yet she believed he didn't deserve the attention of their employer. The Governor was a great - if cruel - man who kept all his knowledge and insights to himself. A lazy and ungrateful person like the Deluder didn't deserve such knowledge. A man who was more of a criminal than an intriguer getting to learn from the master instead of her... Insulting. It mattered little to her, though. The Spy could learn just by watching the Governor conduct his business through her.

The Affable Spy's stomach growled as she passed a bakery. The pastries weren't quite like those served at grand society balls she visited occasionally while Deluder had other priorities. Those were like food sent down from heaven while the goods offered to the general public on the streets... Not so much.
Still, her appetite wasn't for baked goods. What she really was in the mood for was mushroom stew at a small pub in Watchmaker's Hill.
It was a little gem of a place she discovered by visiting it with the Governor. The mushrooms were of amazing quality and they even had good wine in store for guests who knew to order it. It kept her returning even after the Governor got bored of the pub. A bowl of mushroom stew and half a glass of Broken Giant really made her day. She was more picky about her wine than the Governor. The deep red... The smooth taste dancing on her tongue...

A small urchin ran into her and kept on his way like nothing had happened. She tapped her pocket to check if he stole the invitation she carried for Deluder but no, it was still there. The boy must have simply been in a rush. He wouldn't get far with the invitation, of course. Two members of the Selection were a safe distance behind her, lumbering like two bears to protect their master's subject. And even if the little child got past the Selection, he would probably return the invitation once someone who can read explained to him what exactly he stole... And who he stole it from.



She reached her destination. A building not really worth noticing. A random passer-by took pity on the wretch and saved Deluder from an almost certain death. It took but a single inquiry for her to locate him. She knew there were spies tasked with observing them. All of the Governor's important associates had someone looking over their shoulder. The Spy got startled by that sight so many times now that she barely noticed it anymore - when she did notice it. the sight of a figure standing atop a roof, looking down on her. Like ravens searching the street for lost jewelry. It was used as the Governor's show of power as well. Her questions about Port Carnelian became too loud once. The morning she came out of her townhouse was the strongest message the Governor sent her without uttering a word. Countless people on roofs, looking down on her as she headed to the yacht to see the Governor. He was watching her.

And he was watching the Deluder. Most of the time, at least. That one got even more freedom. Too dumb to research the Governor... No. The Spy didn't underestimate him. She knew that Deluder was around longer than she was... The Deluder knew what others weren't allowed to know.

"Ministry of Public Decency!" The Spy banged on the door Deluder was supposed to be behind, putting on her harshest tone.
She had no idea if he was alone or not so an alternate reason behind her visit would be required. "Open the door!" She commanded.

 

[NorseChaos]

Spite

Stryx had to take a moment, maybe several, to catch his breath after the door fell shut behind his visitors as they left. He stared at the door, half expecting them to return. Of course, he was relieved when they didn't. He let out a deep sigh, and crossed the room to retrieve his small blade. He frowned at the dust that was clinging to the metal, and wiped it off quickly on the cuff of his sleeve before he tucked it safely away again in his back pocket. Such a loyal blade deserved to be treated with more respect than to be kicked across the floor. He looked around the room, just to make sure nothing had been taken or broken while he hadn't been watching, and then, he turned his eyes to the Deluder. He swore he had caught the man watching him while he had been talking with the woman. Of course, he couldn't read the man's expression. He seemed calm, as he had been during the preceding conversation, and that was all he could tell.

He frowned, and thought to himself. He couldn't make out what, or indeed who they had been talking about. All he could make out was reference to another woman they both knew, and that wasn't as specific as he would have liked. Of course he had no reason to know, but the fact that they had brought their business in to his own front room irked him somewhat. They couldn't have waited until the next morning, when hopefully the Deluder would have walked back on to the streets and out of his life?

"I hope you understand the questions I have now, friend." He said lowly, only hoping the Deluder was actually listening, "I can only pray you don't become too much trouble. I would hate to regret bringing you here."

He managed a small smile, more to reassure himself than anything else, and he was about to say something more, when a loud rapping at the door stole his attention. It was only a flimsy thing, and he was afraid whoever was on the other side might break it. According to a firm declaration from the opposite side, they were from the Ministry of Public Decency. Stryx couldn't imagine what they would want out here, but after the events of earlier, he should have already learned not to be surprised. With a deep breath, and the surprisingly reassuring weight of Fleck landing against his back and clinging to his coat, he approached the door.

It took a firm tug to get the old thing to open properly, and he offered the most polite smile he could muster. He was met with the sight of another woman. He gave her a cursory glance up and down before he greeted her, perhaps a little more curtly than he would have liked, but it had been a long day.

"Good evening, can I help you?"

0stinato Mr_DC

 

[0stinato]

Spite

Questions?

The Deluder stared up at his host and tried his best to keep the sharp glint from his eye; he'd been asked enough devastating questions tonight, surely the man knew that. But, admittedly, Stryx had more of a place to be asking questions than Viola's lady did.

But how frustrating. Why did people ask questions anyway? Let a mystery be a mystery. It's better for everyone if you keep your mouth closed. Of course, his attitude in this regard meant that no one in Ladybones Road was crying out for him to help solve a mystery, a whodunnit or even a riddle.

Look at him. He hadn't asked what Viola's lady's name was.

Questions were interesting. Answers were boring. So let them stay questions. So let them stay interesting.

But, admittedly, Stryx was owed answers much more than Viola's lady was. So the Deluder, tired again but still awake, bowed his head a little in submission, and opened his hands. A gesture that he welcomed the questions Stryx had... however bitterly he was welcoming them.

But! - another introduction, apparently. Much politer, despite the shouting voice through the wooden door, they hadn't forced their way in with lockpick and gritted teeth.

So Stryx walked to the door, he opened it, he addressed...

The Deluder's spine bent, his hands grasped the arms of the chair and, forcing his weight onto his legs again with a suppressed grunt, he managed - just about - to stand up. The throbbing returned as he straightened, the lightheadedness returned, the adrenaline... the adrenaline.

As he rose, he saw better who it was over Stryx's shoulder. Her face wasn't immediately obvious to his memory, not like Lydia's - God, Lydia's - but... that scowl was unforgettable.

His mouth felt lighter than air, he felt the corners of it rising like dirigibles on their way up to grant the Neath "sky" more lights... he could almost see those lights now, behind his eyes and, somewhere, far off, he could hear his own voice say, mockingly but with a tone of innocent surprise,"Ministry of Public Decency?"

What were his hands doing? Where were they? His left was resting on his back... his right was... He kept smiling, and didn't mind where his right hand was.

NorseChaos Mr_DC

The Maest of London says...

I listen to the Drownie song all night, and I can still not tell what the letters in the words in the sentence in the song are. I'll ask.​

 

[Theflamre]

The Ratter
Location: remains of the singing mandrake
He looked over the disastrous scene with a look of ... distaste to say the least the constant clicking gave away the small twitches of his hands. He walked towards one of the tables that remained ,it sat on its side the once hard wooden supports all but destroyed. he sat using it as a back support as he pulled a flask he kept filled with wine since the only brandy he had found a large amount of wasn't for mortal men. He put the flask to his lips throwing his head back and taking a swig as he thought. He could think of a lot of people who would destroy this place for a lot of reasons mostly fair ones ,but none of them were fool hardy enough to do it. This was a place of ratters and other men of danger blowing it up would bring them... no he had spent to much time in this bar to let the task fall to others. He walked back into the marsh to find his hideout it was a long and messy trek the marsh hiding his foot prints making it nigh impossible to follow him there ,as he finally found his home opening the door he walked passed his metal boots throwing up sparks dramatically as he walked inside. He walked to the living room finding his mantel piece handing there in a glass case. He swung his fist through the glass bringing the fine brass rifle out with his hand ,he slung it across his back walking to the kitchen and throwing an empty knife holder to the wall to revel the bullets that lay beneath. he filled his pockets, all of them with bullets before walking out again into the marsh. He didn't know what game was afoot he didn't care someone had destroyed the singing mandrake and someone would pay for their actions.

 

[Sir Knight]

REINOL VON LORICA
Wolfstack Docks

One step forward.

A stagger backwards.

Another step forward.

Which way lead to Veilgarden again?

Reinol von Lorica carried on his wayward path home. Nodules of Amber peaked over his pockets and the small handbag he carried with him. Along with the empty bottle of Greyfields.

Had he been drinking? Yes? No. He'd spent his time with the Rubbery Men if he could recall. Then what was he doing in Wolfstack? Ah yes, he had been gambling for even more Amber. He must've taken a few sips of wine.

The bottle slipped from his fingers and the broken glass spilled over his stained shoes. He carried on regardless.

He slipped and found himself leaning against the wall of an adjacent building. He was so awfully tired. Perhaps a short nap should be in order. Yes a nap would be nice.

Reinol sat down on the ground, alcohol tinted breath flying through parted lips. The bag was soon placed as a makeshift pillow. Time to sleep.

The Aspiring Author soon drifted off to a dreamless slumber.

 

[Mr_DC]

NorseChaos 0stinato
"You." The Spy stepped around the man, giving him barely more than a glance. She needed barely more than a glance. Just a short image to grasp the basics of the person. The most obvious of his facial features, his posture, and most importantly - seemingly unarmed. The Spy would keep most of her attention on the man she stepped past. If the man was swift, there was little she could do to defend herself but who would assault a person from the Ministry? Not to mention that the Selection would come up in... She blinked. Fifty-six seconds.

As the Spy took another step closer to the Deluder, her eyes flashed to the side where the other man was standing. Her eyebrow blinked upwards for a moment. The Deluder wasn't a moron. He should be able to tell she wanted to know the situation. The Spy was looking for any simple hint of what was going on and whether either of them was in any danger. The Deluder should understand. He wasn't a complete moron.

"You have been invited to appear before the court." She withdrew the envelope from inside her blue jacket. Sealed with one of the few dreaded seals. It wasn't as bone-chilling as the one from the Masters or the Empress but the seal had its own weight. She presented the envelope to Deluder. "I suggest you go and make your final confessions. She spoke in an almost disgusted tone but finished by giving him a blink with her large eyes. A blink that lasted just a moment longer than it was natural. "You best appear."

 

[ThaDruid]

Reconciliation, in Wolfstack Docks...

That playful smile on her lips was awfully infectious. As she began skipping to whatever destination she had decided on, Cromwell felt compelled to do the same. To run, jump and race as if he were a child once more. It was a vigorous feeling, one that brought excitement and made his heart beat faster. He contained himself, but still let a big, stupid grin play across his features. Pleasant memories wormed their way into his mind, quelling the troubling thoughts that had plagued him since then. It felt as of she was the same, young urchin girl. But at the same time, she was so different.

The Little Urchin lead him to a brewery in Wolfstack Docks. One that was rather frequented, too. She must've made some acquaintaces here to know of it. A Zailor with less teeth than a rubbery man tried to make some unfortunate advances on Bennett. With her not responding, and him staring the man down, he left rather rudely.
When questioned about his preference in sprits, Cromwell would answer that he always had preferred the good old Morelways 1872. A long time ago, he did not drink at all...
The Zee changes a man.

With enough drink to keep their spirits out, the two made their way a ways from the Docks, somewhere more secluded. Father Cromwell's lodgings. A respectable townhouse on two floors, quiet and by the zeeside. He occupied part of his time with always keeping it nice and presentable. It was certainly an improvement from his former lodgings, that cramped room above the Blind Helmsman.
From out of his pocket, he fished out a ring of long, iron keys. He quickly found the one for his front door, as it was marked with his initials "H.C"
Ushering Bennett inside, the man took another quick glance outside before shutting and locking the entrance to his home.

Inside, it was quaint. Unusual, but at the same time warm and homely. The exotic artifacts that adorned his walls, each with a different story, contrasted with the old-fashioned furniture that felt almost unused. Cromwell took a match and lit up some foxfire candles, bathing the living room in a green glow.
Exclusing himself, the priest stepped into his kitchen, searching through the half-empty pantries for something suitable for this occasion.
And Salt had decided to bless him, it seems. A plate of some sort of sirupy pastry with chestnuts. A gift from The Inconspicuous Turk, from when the man owed him a favour.
He set it on a plate and walked back to the living room, where he was met by an unexpected sight.
Bennett, undressing... Or no, a better word would be disarming herself. A small but steadily growing pile of weapons rested on one of the cabinets by the door. He averted his eyes when she lifted her skirt to relieve herself of a considerabile number of shortswords and spikes strapped to her leg. This amount of protection was smart, but he dreaded to know why she needed it so much.
"Impressive..." The man commented, meeting her smile with an arched eyebrow.

Moments later, the two sat with wineglasses in hand, toasting "To friendship, and to us!"

At Bennett's request. Cromwell began recounting Tales of his travels all over the zee. From the Tomb colony of Venderbight to Polythreme, from Polythreme where everything was alive to the hilarious squabbles between Rattus Faber and Cavies of Pigmote Isle. Taking out the more guresome details (he wouldn't even mention The Chelonate, or god forbid, The Iron Republic) and leaving in the most whimsical and comedic ones. From time to time, he would point out to one artifact or another and exclaim "That's where it comes from!". It was a safe bet. Zee Ztories were never boring.
It went on for several minutes, with small pauses for drinking or answering quick questions, and the priest was actually extasic in having someone to share his stories with that was not the stone-faced Admiral. He realized, though, that perhaps it was time for his guest to speak up too. And so, concluding his last ztory he learned back into the antique couch, looking at Bennett with expectant eyes and nursing his third glass of wine for the night.
"I've said my share now, but I see the years have been treating you well, Bennett. I'd like to know everything."

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid



Being that long with lady Viola, Bennett knew now not to only listen but also analyze when people talk. And throughout the enjoyment of excited zee stories, and the careful sipping of her glass, what she long waited for didn't come. Father Cromwell was being selective. Bennett knew, when a zailor collected so many whimsical tales, there would be only multiplying stories of the most horrifying and tragic matters. Whether it was of good or ill intention, she wanted to know how he turned out to be.... So dreading. Like something was to come for him. Like something would dawn on him, something bad.

But he had no intention of telling, and now it was her turn.

The wine turned smoothly in her cup as if it spawned wings and spiralled on the glass wall. Her lips curved, but her mind was organizing her speech material like papers on a table.

Should she keep the topic happy? It would make Father Cromwell happy too, yes, if she just says how fine the days were. But he is not someone she hoped to see one dinner only and disband, never to see again. It's been too long, having someone she trusted and wished to be in the same room together. She wanted more coming dinners and not-dinners with the old man. Lies won't do, they'd only wait around to be revealed, along with discarded trust.

Papers shuffled. This one should not be told, that one is alright, and that one should be shut in a locker.

If the tone turned too unpleasant, the dinner would be ruined, certainly. She had no intention to turn this into a confession table either. She treated him more than a priest, and at the same time, she was no maiden waiting for rescue. Not someone too weak to handle truths, should he burden her.

The base of wine glass clang on the table. The stack of papers thud on the table.

Time to begin.

The curve of the lips remained, and a released of air from her throat came singingly. The red haired maiden looked fondly at the zailor, only seemed like she was still immersed in his tales. "Ah, father, you have so many stories to tell. I wish I have that many. "

That many that can tell openly, that is. Not a lot had happy endings, and the rest debatable.

"Well... Remember our last meeting? When I was still urchin?" She grinned a rare but pretty grin, "After that, I was dispelled. Things weren't too easy at that time. "

Yes, turn it negative.... slightly. Slowly. Truthfully.

"Like how you advised me, I didn't quite turn to the docks, though the labour work there was reliable to get me some funds. When my urchin friend was negotiating and helping me to gain back Urchin's favour, I went to Veilgarden. The Bohemians accepted me to their table easily but didn't quite accept me as one. Like you said, I didn't drink much, nor did I ... Well, followed their advances. I didn't quite go the hedonist road. "

From the way she handled her glass, and how she picked out her spirits, she definitely wielded the alcohol well now.

"And turns out, I'm not really good with poetry. My creativity wasn't enough, so, I help gather information like how people do in Ladybones Road. "

What a way to put it. Information usually has a bidder. For Bennett, the bidder was the holder themselves. They pay to gain it back. In bulk.

"That got me enough income to survive for a while, and when I was on one of the assignments, I met this lady and started talking... Then we became friends of sorts. I hope you'll meet her one day, father. She was doing something similar, but a detective and scholar. A brilliant mind, she has. This lady employed me and provide me with a living place. And with a safe place to live, I went back, father. I was hoping to meet you. "

Cup tilted towards him, signing for cheer.

"You moved, and the new urchin boy didn't care. He was so rude..."

A rude someone who tasted her bitterness, surely. He was a mean thief after all. Was.

"But yes, then I just work for the lady alone. Not much happened then. My lady taught me many things, and I work as a secretary now. "

Pages flipped, revealing an empty page.

Her eyes looked at him, playful again, expecting him to ask questions. She hadn't explained why a mere secretary needed that many weapons yet. The pile of metal on his cabinet would serve a good enough bait.

And if he questions... Very well, she had some for him too.

 

[0stinato]

Spite

The Spy took no notice at all of the Deluder's few words, just advanced on him. The floaty feeling left his head slowly, but surely, and by the time the envelope was thrust onto his person - ah, so that's where his right hand was - it was just the nausea left. Nausea that increased with the blink.

How like him was she! Silky smooth movement, shallow footsteps even a cat would envy, and the eyes? These were eyes he could see, so the blink wasn't intimidating as such. However, intimidation wasn't exactly what was served up, not by him or now by her. No; her eyes weren't an intimidation. That blink was a forecast.

All he could do was give the envelope a cursory glance. Not that he needed to know who it was from; that information was obvious simply by the Spy's presence. Ministry of Public Decency. Yes, how laughable. Call it public decency when you strut around without skin, old man? What do you call that?

"I'd never miss a court date," the Deluder said. "They're such fun!"

But - time to open the little envelope. Perhaps best done in private, this affair, or at least not around the poor Stryx. Although that man's sharp eyes could be a problem potentially... no, there was nothing 'poor' about Stryx, the Deluder decided. He gave the man a smile as he ripped through the envelope with his pinky finger. Perhaps he ought to have used the rapier. That would have functioned as a vastly oversized letter opener, after all, and perhaps the tear would have even been neater. However, never mind.

So he angled his body in a defensive manner as he raised the paper inside. The first thing he noticed was that it was excellent paper. A poet always noticed paper, as did many in the bohemian occupations. The next thing he noticed was that this was no invite to court. Thrilling! Everything made more sense now.

A lot more sense. The Ministry of Public Decency thing. The final confessions thing. It was a shame he wasn't going to be taken to court, he thought, for he'd always wanted to practice his lies and rhetoric there. Though what sort of Liar was he if he didn't spot someone else doing it?

"Thank you for this, minister," he said, putting the paper back inside its envelope. "Now I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try to thank a lady properly, however. Let me take you somewhere, I know a lovely little honey-bar a few minutes' walk away."

Yes, a fine time to be flirting when standing not only in clothes stained by his own blood, but whilst holding an envelope whose contents could very well lead to glory or humiliation - and given that blink, it was unlikely to be the former. A fine time indeed. But what could she do about it? Reveal herself in front of a stranger?

The Deluder wouldn't care if she agreed to his proposal - which would be incredibly surprising - or rejected it. He smiled at her. In his right hand, held close to his torso, he could almost feel the envelope weigh him down, as if it was a mass resting casually on his mind.

Mr_DC NorseChaos

The Maest of London says...

Turns out the letters, when written, inspire cataclysmic nightmares. One more night, just one more, I'm not ready to check in again!​

 

[ThaDruid]

Not a confession, in Wolfstack Docks...

Father Cromwell felt regret. It ran up his spine, into his stomach like a slithering worm. The emptiness of uncertainty. Knowing he had not done the right thing. Bennett's words, they carried emotion. Sorrow, but also a steadfast determination. And that playful smile of hers, ever-present. He wanted to say something, but everything just felt so... Bleak, compared to what she had revealed. His mistake was telling her Tales when she wanted to hear something else. Tales selected for her happiness. He was trying to protect... No, he was trying to control her. But she was a friend, for God's sake. He did not want for her to leave. Just... Why had he done that?

The beginning of another train of thought, one of self loathing, was interrupted by another realization. Bennett had done the same. Her words were carefully studied. Her eyes were that of a predator. She was just waiting for him to take a bait, carefully placed in the mist of memories.
Their conversation was a dance, and she had just taken the lead.
A smile creeped onto Cromwell's face. Understanding and gentle. Not so innocent anymore, was the "little urchin". But he could turn the tables.
His advantage, experience. Her advantage, a silver tongue and a pile of weapons.
This dance would soon become a bout of boxing.

"I think... I made a mistake. Sorry, Bennett. We should start over."

The priest's smile widened, just slightly revealing a line of straight but greying teeth.
He reached up with one wrinkled hand, unlatching his cloak and shrugging it off of his shoulders. Another hand went to the back of his neck and removed the clerical collar, no longer as white as Bennett remembered. Moving again, he loosened two of the thirty three buttons of his cassock. Underneath, he wore absolutely nothing. Bare-chested dedication, or just routine. Lastly, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the scarred muscle underneath.

Cromwell brought the glass of wine, last one for the night, up to his lips. He swallowed the red vintage in throaty gulps that would have made any respectable connoisseur become red-faced. But it was what he wanted, to feel the burning sensation down his throat. Drops of wine stained his white beard, that he then wiped away with a handkerchief. The glass was set onto the table, and pushed away. Years of zailing had certainly made him more resistant to the Devil Drink.

Staring defiantly into Bennett's eyes, the Zeefarer finally spoke:

"This lady of yours... What is her name? I am sure it would be delightful to meet her."

The priest chuckled quietly, eager for Bennett's answer to... Everything.
All that he had done, it was a provocation. A "counter" to her bait, so to speak. The collar, now a faint shade of red, the cassock, lined with stitches from slashes and bullet holes, the cosmogone cross, resting proudly against his chest, the scarred forearms, the red knuckles, deliberately choosing to not make any questions about her concealed weapons. No more inhibitions. Be it good or bad, answers would be found.

Feeling like a child playing a game, he clasped his hands together.
Leaning forward, he winked.

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid




At first, the red haired maiden widened her eyes in surprise as the captain's cloak was peeled away. And then, when the realization hit her, the maiden too had a wide grin crept onto her face. In fact, when father Cromwell was done, her hand rose to cover her mouth, and she turned away to relieved her series of laughter crouching low, a series of bell like laughing that you never heard from her. When she came back to face him, a child-like smile was on her face, her cheek rosen.

"I'm... sorry, father. I'm just so happy to see you." She laughed again, not even bothering to cover it up.

Was the laugh calculated? A little. Was it genuine? Absolutely. The air was cleared of the tension existed a minute ago. The planning paper was all but thrown away, and now she too clasped her hands together, eye-to-eye with the bearded old man she so dearly missed.

"My lady's name was Viola, father." Bennett got back on track, her wide grin never ceased. "I'm not sure about the zee captains but, the dock workers would have heard somewhat of her. She is a Person of Significant Importance and has considerable connections, but most heard of in Ladybones Road. I'm sure she'd be glad to meet you too. My lady has quite the curiosity and should be ecstatic to hear all your tales I'm sure. "

"I don't hold much back from her. Actually, she had heard of you. I must have mentioned you several times. "

The maiden said, with a tone of proudness within her words. Indeed she had mentioned him to her lady before, if not a hundred times. She was grateful, since his counsel was the push of her being here of all places. An irreplaceable piece of her puzzle of growth.

"And mind I say, father, I see the years had treated you well." She placed her head gently on one open palm, the other hand pointed to the scarred muscle on his arm that he showed so openly. "All those hard earn marks are impressive. I know for a fact not all zee captains have it. Not the captains linger in London's docks at least."

"So, ah, dear father. Or should I say Captain Cromwell now?" Bold, too bold for the usual Bennett, but she was throwing away all restraints tonight in the presence of old acquaintance. It may be her lady's influence with all the recent courage unfound before. " Will you tell me their stories like how you tell me about the artefacts? Or, would you explain how you have also taken on the role of grim reaper? I'm talking about the man I talked to before. And, oh... It's a long night, father. "

She called him singsongy, a theatrical note of teasing that was pleasantly playful.

"We have no surface sun and all the nonsense to remind us daybreak now. Let us talk all night shall we?"

Yet not a word mentioning why she wield the weapons. She held the steering wheel and was not to let go yet. If he continued to hold back it might continue to be hers.

And behind the playful conversation, a new change subtly took over. Only now the pretty maiden understood her lady's smile when she talked, the thrill of dancing of words with the one you choose. The image of the golden hair lady now overlapped with her clasped hands, her forward-leaning body, her predator-like eyes. Only the fallen red hair painted in her deep eye's shadow told otherwise, a flaming showcase of Bennett's own reflection. It was not Viola, it's still Bennett. It's just Bennett looking at Father Cromwell, first time wanting to seek the answer, seeking the reason why he had become him.

But if the lady saw her, she must tease her. What a fine apprentice she had become.

 

[Sir Knight]

How long has it been since Reinol fell asleep? Minutes? Hours? Regardless a lone gentleman passed by. The man's face lights up with a sneer, whiskers quivering in disgust. Poets these days. The man's eyes caught the glint of amber poking through the pockets. A careless one at that. He scowled and walked away. But something strange happened. He tripped and fell down next the Author and hastily got up before fleeing the scene. Was it out of shame? Or was it because of the stolen amber held close to his breast? What a conundrum.

 

[ThaDruid]

A dance to be remembered, in Wolfstack Docks...

Cromwell's lips curled upwards at the prospect of everything he could tell. To have someone who cared enough to listen. Such a thing had never happened before.
Sure, he had friends and acquaintaces, but none that he knew so well and could be so intimate with. This ambient, it was filled to the brim with passion, with bright sparks that danced at the ends of vision. The passion of a bond forged in years, now livelier than ever. The man felt pride, hearing Bennett's kind words. Not pride for himself, but pride for her. She had grown up well.

Indeed, the two had a whole night at their disposal. A whole night to share secrets. A whole night to reveal eachother. There was time to waste, then.

Laughing, he began his tale. This time, not holding back.

"Grim reaper. I would not call it that. There is nothing to reap, after all."
His tone was somber. Serious. His eyes did not leave hers.
"The zee's bounty is only survival. From friend of foe."
The once peaceful man gestured to his scarred forearms.
"I am not a good man, Bennett. The zee brings out the worst of you. And no amount of echoes may cure savagery."
These words were grim, and Cromwell knew it quite well. Alas, she wanted to know what he had become. This was nothing but the truth.
"The captains you see at the Docks, they can hide it better than me. But I am sure... They have seen it as well."
Suddently, he assumed a lighter tone. Steering this monologue somwehere different. To a contradiction, but also a very important lesson.
"There is this island, far to the East..."
The priest leaned in closer.
"Aestival."
"The sun still shines there. It is nothing short of mesmerizing. I want you to see it one day."
His blue eyes were like glim in the hands of a skilled sculptor. Shining.
"That single patch of land... It is why I zail still. It is hope. And hope is eternal."

"This is what I have become, Bennett."
Only half of a man.
"But I also have a question."

Cromwell bared it all. If she had other questions, she would get answers that were just as dreadful. But would she seek them? If that gaze meant anything, she would. And he was ready to give his everything. He only hoped that she would do the same, for this was the only occasion they would have.

The pile of steel on his cabinet seemed to shine brighter and brighter. No reason to play around it now.

"Just who are you?"

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid


Bennett listened attentively, like never before. She never really was interested in anything for herself until this moment. But the last questioned was a little absurd to her that she couldn't press her giggles. It wasn't just a question of what she did, but who she was. She, of course, quit the thought of concealing any longer. Well, only one thing she'd not tell but, the rest she'd be honest with it.

"Well, first I have to apologize, father. For making things overly obscure before. " She said with a more serious tone. "After I try my life in Veilgarden, I discover that not only I'm not good at creating stories, but that I listen, and there are many things to be heard. So, when I just couldn't make it as a Bohemian... I earned my price for the things I've heard. Mostly earning fees for my silence. "

The past that was left behind, but still not the story Bennett wanted him to hear. She observed Father Cromwell with a hint of nervousness on her face, but she continued on.

"Collecting information became... Something I'm good at. Something I felt much more belonged than lifting cargos in the Docks or drinking with the Bohemians. I kept doing it until I met Lady Viola. Well, she was collecting information too when we met, and we got along. "

She had this smile on her face that indicated it was fond memories.

"She was a detective and scholar like I said. I can't say she is absolutely righteous but she knew what she wanted. Most of the time she was friendly and comprehensive. But she had an appetite for curios and secrets, more than anyone I've seen. Also, more determined than anyone I've seen. "

"So, I moved to her place and work as a companion. I am her secretary, yes. I organize her papers and everything. But I still collect information, but that means I have to tread dangerous places and deal with dangerous people. "

She used her head to point at the pile of weapons on the cabinet. That was still a considerable amount of weapons, but now it fitted her story better. Those were equipment preparing for the worse of time and worse of place.

"So, father. Now that you know my occupation... "Her smile now again playful. "May I ask... Hmm, start with the scar then? You were scratching it before, a colour I have never seen. It didn't seem like it would heal either. "

She said, eyes full of concern.

"What had happened to you, dear father? Please tell me truthfully now. "

 

[ThaDruid]

Smoke and mirrors, in Wolfstack Docks...

Cromwell brought a hand up to his bearded chin, gently pulling onto the white hair as he thinked. Bennett did not his lead. It seemed that she was still hiding. The words, the slight wrinkle of her features, a quick gesture of nervousness. What could she be nervous of? His judgement? Anything she could have possibly done, he would have done worse. Father Cromwell was in no position to judge.
He was... Disappointed by this.
Opening his heart only for her to keep it closed and locked.
The only thing one could do was persevere.
But again, the lingering sense of uncertainty set in...

"The scar... It was a long while ago."
He had lot of time to accept its presence
"Nightmares, were the reason. I couldn't sleep. The zee made me mad. I tried to run from them. Found a way. A ritual. Walls lined with sharp daggers. A well."
He took a breath, and rubbed his eyes. It also made him terribly hungry.
"It is all very hazy... Don't do my mistake. Don't run. But the colour, it is Gant. Part of the Neathbow. When all colours are gone, Gant is what remains."
The man recited, almost in a sing-song voice.
"It's painful. It itches. But I can't take it back. And the dreams still haunt me."
He scratched again at the bleeding flesh. A reminder of his failures.

Cromwell looked up, not staring directly at Bennett, but rather looking through her.
He couldn't help the slight tone of annoyace that his voice carried.
"You've got another answer. But I still don't have mine. I didn't ask for your job. Be an information broker, I am in no position to judge. But I want to know who the real Bennett is. What you have become, after all these years..."

Perhaps she had grown out of it. Perhaps she no longer wanted to be associated with the wizened zailor that he had become.

After a couple of moments, Cromwell sighed and put a hand over his tired eyes.
"I'm... Sorry if I sound brash. I don't want you to hide. Not from me."
Turning his face upwards, to look directly at Bennett, his expectant gaze spoke for itself.
"Please."

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid


But I want to know who the real Bennett is. What you have become, after all these years...

Bennett knew it would come, but not this quickly. It wasn't him that was not ready for the revelation, but her. Slowly, her hand clutched at each other, the knuckles turned white. Her lashes batted, trembled, like a leave against the wind. The maiden breath, deeply, slowly, then released. A grim, but determined expression settled down after her preparation.

The something on her mind, that something, ought to be revealed.

"I can't exactly say, father, all the names. Perhaps you will know or guess. But... Ah. "

A crack in her voice sent her hand towards the wine glass, and a sip down her throat only burn her heart. Looking at the man across her table, she nervously smiled, and asked to hold his hand. "I don't usually need this, but... I've never told, father. Not after the incident. That was the start though, of things. "

"After working for Viola for a while, I had become depressed after some time. I've never been that confident before, you must know. But my lady trust in my potential so much that I guess I started to hope, while I still like my low profile and intend to stay low. It bit me, the hope. I was... Bored, and wondered if my whole life I should just be how I was before."

"And... I guess, seeing my lady being brilliant at what she was doing made me sad. To others, she was near perfect. She always showed the best side of her to people, and was always compose and determined. She was titled 'The inescapable lady' and I know her mind only grew. To me, London was a birth place and for her... It was made for her. London was made for her. "

She needed another sip of wine, and once again she held on to his rugged hand, chilled by her own thoughts.

"I was... little. If my skills weren't good enough I couldn't be of any help, no matter how much she assured me I was a great help. So... One day, she came to me with... A request. From someone else. She said I could do it by myself. "

Which should be a turn of better event. She recovered slightly, but there was no joy in her tone.

"So I did. Threats, investigate... Everything. My first kill..."

She quickly looked in his eyes and looked away, hoping he wouldn't think too less of her.

"Well, I guess technically pushing an associate down to the drownies before that was the first.."

"But yes. It continued. And I befriended my employer... I should have known though. The task got so intensive that my lady had to join and help my request. Until we ... bloodied our hands, quite a lot of times for one single day. "

Was that why the tears formed in her eyes? No, something else, something else she was about to say but couldn't. She shaped her lips several times in an attempt to talk, but then something else escaped. Something she didn't attempt to. Tears flowed down her cheek as she pulled the zailor's hands closer.

"It... It was all for nothing really. I earned skills, I earned experience but....It's all for nothing. She...."

First time talking about the event again, and she felt like a scar was reopened, and it was unbelievably painful.

"Then I never touch the game again. I ... I only serve my lady now, be it blood or talk I'll do it all but..."

"That made me, father. Painfully but... I..."

She talked between her sobbing. To others, she was a blackmailer, a secretary, a lady's maid, an assassin... She looked into his eyes, eyes that coloured like the zee, and that made her wish the old she did remain, somehow. The girl who believed she was more than an urchin, more than a girl, more than all of that. And she hoped she still was someone he would accept as... A friend? Could that happen? Friendship was scarce in this dark world.

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Ladybones Road
Mr_DC


It took some time for Viola to wrung her long hair dry, but the flower scent on herself made her feel much comfort. In the time she waited for her hair to dry completely, she didn't rest at all. Took up the pen, she quickly made a note and call for the urchin to deliver it, and then she wrote her journal, made a few notes, organized the papers and mails by herself before boiling herself a cup of hot herbal tea, sipping it on the sofa with her eyelids half closed.

It has been a while for her to do all these on her own. It wasn't tiring but it felt out of place. Her fabulous companion had not been home, and she sincerely hoped that it was for a good reason. She hoped Bennett is alright...

One worry glance at the clock, and she hurried herself to bed. As much as time was different in London, it wouldn't pause. There were many things to come and she must be prepared. All sleep must be had for her to keep at her best state...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Up now. Quickly."

The tiny paw and familiar voice broke her freeze, as the blonde blinked a few times, turning her gaze at her Rattus standing next to her pillow, hat casting a tiny shadow on her cheek. She thanked him and pushed herself up, scanned her room to make sure it was no longer in the sandy white shade. She could vaguely remember her dream, something about a sandy shade room, just she and a tomb-colonist in armchairs, both reading a book. She didn't look at him, but she knew how he was like. The time --- if dreams have time --- froze, they were barely moving.

Another blink, and the thought of her dream halted, her mind back to work.

"Did she come?" She asked. The Rattus nodded. "Good. Ah, wait for my call before showing up to Fleur, she might still need some getting used to. How was... he?"

He didn't exactly answer her, not with words. But the slight dip of the hat rim was taken as a nod.

"Ah. I shall pay a visit soon. " Viola referred indirectly to A-Bound's grave, and without pushing Ezio under the bed, she got out, took one last scan at the room before hurrying to tidy herself. She knocked on the door where Fleur was resting and spoke before the door was open.

"I'm sorry to wake you up, Fleur, but I called the tailor to take your measurement. "

Then she waited for Fleur to answer. The tailor lady Candice was taking some sweets from her coffee table, making herself at home, with her large bag sitting tall on top of the tea table.

 

[ThaDruid]

Crescendo, in Wolfstack Docks...

Simply by looking at her, Cromwell could tell that he was treading on thin ice. Ice that was destined to crack and shatter.
But how could she be blamed? Bennett was young. Far too young than it would be right, if she had truly experienced what she was talking about. Blood stained not only the hands, but also the soul. He knew it perfectly.

But was he angry? No. How could he? A man in his position does not have any right to be. This revelation... He had dreaded that such thing would come true. But now, there was no reason to scorn or loathe it. All one could do was... Accept and come to peace with it.

For a priest hearing these words, Cromwell was unnervingly calm. His hands were relaxed, his eyes unflinching, his gaze understanding. He felt as if it was his purpose, to help a friend in need. And now, who had been most friendly, other than this former urchin girl?

Nobody.

And so, he did what a friend would. Slowly tightening his grip on Bennett's hands as to not hurt her, the grizzled old captain pulled her into an embrace.
His head rested on her shoulder.
His eyes closed.
He let himself go.

It was almost like comforting a child. Lost, scared, crying. But this was why he had become a priest. To bring light in the darkest hour. To bring reassurance when there is uncertainty. To bring forgiveness when there is repentance.
And through this, he was made whole.

Cromwell stood still, unmoving as he waited for her cries to subsist. He held Bennett tightly, as if she was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment.
Blinking away tears from his own eyes, the old priest's voice was no more than a faint whisper.

"It is all over, now."

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid


In all of her times, this was the only time Bennett ever needed an embrace. And she was offered one, given one. In the former priest's arms, she closed her eyes to see that long-missed shade of grey, and his quiet voice made it fade, distanced, into darkness. It was another farewell, to her dear friend. But for now, she was in presence of another. Her tear ceased, but not by her force. There was no need to cover it up now, he had seen the worst state of her.

She embraced the old priest, now a much wider and muscular figure than the one in her memory. "Thank you, father. " She said, the last drop of salt water fell from her chin. "I have given all now, my past, my lessons learned..."

She released her arms, pull a little bit back, so she could look into his eyes. Little was in between them now, and she was close enough to inspect all his details. The age, the empathy, but most importantly what the zee had carved into him. Teary brown eyes of her stared straight into him, in search of... Something.

"Now, if you still am willing to think of me as a friend, even if just a little... Will you tell me too, father? What rest in your eyes? What got hold of you?"

Her eyes walked from his brows, his cheek, his beard, his exposed neck, and chest, and the cross laid there with its bright colour.

"What burden you carry? What have you seen, father ..."

Eyes returned, as she looked into the eyes of blue, the ones who soaked the zee water and carried it back.

"What have you done?"

 

[ThaDruid]

Memories of light, in Wolfstack Docks...

"What have you done?"
The question was familiar. He never faced his deeds. He was afraid.
The words were spat out of his mouth. He did not want to speak them.
But... He had to.

"I... I killed them."

Cromwell spoke. Shame tainted his voice, like a heavy veil that shrouded all words. There was one thing that he had done. One thing that he could never forgive himself. It haunted him, this burden on the soul. Or rather, the lack thereof. Haunting day and night. This... This was not just the blood spilt. It was the animalistic side of it. A primal instict that he feared could resurge any moment. A slaughter... Never again.

He held tightly onto Bennett's hands, hoping, pleading that she would understand. Would she look at him the same way after this? Nobody would. She would be horrified too.
Perhaps he could comfort others, but the priest could not save himself. No reprievement, no forgiveness was to be found.

"T-Their corpses... Unrecognizable. They were men, before."
"My crew."

He felt sick. Like he would retch any moment. Red clouded his vision. Only dreams of disemboweled bodies. Sunken eyes. Rotting skin. One hand shot up to his head, the other clawed at his scar. Not again. NOTAGAIN.

In this sorry state, the zailor stares into Bennett's eyes. Searching for something. Forgiveness. He finds image of her head rolling onto the floor. Why...?

"Disemboweled. Slaughtered. All twenty. Sacrificed. Eaten."

A pressure at the front of his skull. Unbearable. In pain he howled, but briefly. Blurred sight, a hazy vision.
A long dagger stood between Bennett's lips. It exited her skull from the right eyeball. Surprisingly, the eye was still intact. Only then did he notice the lady's astounding beauty. Shaped to perfection. Fabulous. The eye moved.

The haunted man could not handle anything more. He broke down. Crying. Twitching. Gibbering. Surprisingly, the dagger that had pierced his friend's head from side to side was gone. A play of his very disturbed mind.
Between the sobs and senseless sounds of pain, one could almost make it out...

"I am sorry..."

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid


Even Father Cromwell broke down too. In his sorrowful, near insane state, he cried like a mad child in her arms. She held him a little forcefully so he won't happen to hurt both of them, but hand firmly on his back to calm his trembling lungs. She felt every tremble he had with his rib cage hitting against her fingers. And she laid her head down on his shoulder, with a sorrowful expression but also gentle. She wondered how, she wondered why he did what he did, but she did not think any less of him, no. It was still Father Cromwell in every essence of his word. He was good enough to guilt, good enough to let this torture him.

She knew the name.

She heard of it, from Viola of course. She came back from Valentino's banquet, so feverishly muttering that name, until one day she yelled out towards the air. It must stop, she said. The cost was too much.

The cost was too much.

But Viola was strong to resist. Bennett didn't think Father Cromwell had the same strength and lingering passion to pull himself out. No, it must be devouring him from inside. A perfect vessel for something dark... Bennett blinked. The priest now only whimpered, and he now laid on her with his entire weight. It seemed like whatever was on his mind worn him too much. Bennett felt the same herself too, that she could barely walk. With the remaining strength, she let down the torso of the passed out zailor, let his head lay on her laps and adjust him so he would be in a sleeping position, and she pulled his thick cape over to cover him.

Was it the alcohol making her eyelid fall and her arms weak? She hardly thought so, no. It had been long since she let her mental weight out. They didn't actually talk for that long... There are so much more to learn, so many...

She rested her head on the back of the sofa, whatever it was made of cushioned her like yet another embrace.

I wish you a pleasant sleep father...

She caressed his forehead in her wish. The final thing she did before she fell into a very dark but calm dream. In the dream, the zee water sang.

 

[ThaDruid]

A reckoning is not to be postponed indefinitely.

The man did not dream. Perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from madness. Possibly both. He fell into a black void that offered a thin veil of protection. But something inside was stirring. One could almost taste it on the tongue, feel it on the lips. How dreadful.

Waking hours, in Wolfstack Docks...

With a peaceful night of rest, comes a peaceful awakening. Cromwell opened his eyes, blinking twice as he stared up at the ceiling of his living room. Glancing around a little, he saw Bennett's figure, breathing slowly, peacefully asleep. Memories of last night, still fresh into his mind gave him a good supposition of what must have happened. After his... Breakdown, she must have cared after him. Because she accepted it? Because she felt pity? He hoped the former. He feared the latter.

Slowly, as to not awaken the lady, Cromwell pulled himself up. Wether he succeded or not at ensuring that Bennett's sleep had not been disturbed was uncertain. The man had never been very nimble.
Now sitting on the couch, he could note that the foxfire candles had long died out. The room was only bathed in the faint glow that came from a lamp post, outside.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, the priest rised and went to one of his drawers. After taking and lighting another candle, he walked off to the washroom without even bothering to check the time. Clocks were always wrong.

Cold water washed away the dried tears from his cheeks. Now he felt truly awake, having cast off the grogginess of sleep. Free of thoughts, the zailor looked at himself in the Mirror. Staring back, the same disheveled and deranged man. Soon, there would be a change to that. For better or worse.

He walked back to the living room, and again sat down. Sneaking a glance at Bennett every once in a while, the old priest put his hands together and brought them up to his lips. His prayer was silent, barely a whisper, but it was enough to feel a peaceful state of mind. He began.

"Saint Dymphna, martyr of purity, patroness of those who suffer in the mind, beloved child of Jesus and Mary, pray to Them for me and obtain my request..."

Osthavula

 

[Osthavula]

Fabulous Accomplice
Location: Wolfstack Docks
ThaDruid


Above the water, above the un normally calm zee waves, came a gentle voice of prayer. What was she sleeping on again? Was she sleeping on a boat? Was she floating in the air?

I should check. She thought. Before I fall.

And she did open her eyes. There was no dim sky with many false stars, only dimmed candles. The voice of prayer came just as gentle as in her dream, from the old man sitting nearby. The scene made the maiden smiled happily, but also winced short after feeling her neck a little stiff. It didn't seem nice to interrupt someone's prayer. Bennett looked at him, a little longer as if to confirm he was actually Father Cromwell, then she looked for the washroom herself. A brisk wash and untangling her hair with fingers, she examined herself in the mirror. Her eyes were a bit red, but all was fine. Still pretty enough to serve.

Then she asked herself in the same mirror, what she should do. Should she question the man a little more? Or should she give it more time? Well, the usual routine would be to investigate, to confirm, and give it time. Yes, that would do. She proceeded to clean herself before returning to the room and lit up some of the candles. Picking up her metal hair pin she started twirling her hair, and pinning it in place carefully so she won't poke herself. Father Cromwell's prayer should be done now. She looked at him, lips still curved. She always wanted to see him again, the one person that would treat her with honesty and kindness. The years had gone by, both of their hand --- or mouth --- was bloodied, but this world always gives the worst to its inhabitant.

Most importantly, he is here now. And it didn't seem like he wished to end the acquaintance. As long as he let her, she'll stay.

"Good morning, father." She said, only slightly louder than a whisper. "I hope you slept well last night."

Returning to the sofa, right beside Cromwell, she observed him closely again.

"I think I have to return to my lady but... Is it fine for me to visit you again? Soon?"

She hoped he will be fine with it. It would hurt her, surely, if he appeared reluctant or if he no longer wished for her company. All understandable, but she wished he'd let her stay.

For the friendship she thought she'd lost many years.

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula
"Hm?" Fleur jolted up on the bed, letting out a half-conscious moan. She slept like she hadn't in years. It was a mixture of exhaustion and the heavy darkness of the Neath that lulled Fleur into one of the best nights of sleep of her life. A sleep which could only be matched by that one evening with the Writer. When they laid under the willow tree at her family estate, by the river. The bird singing a soundtrack to their friendship as they fell asleep under the moonlight in each other's arms.

Fleur flinched as she felt sleep dragging her back to bed once more, filling her mind with romantic memories. "Tailor?" She asked, her brain processing the words only after a few seconds. The image of the Writer's smile was still floating around in her mind. His charming smile, bordering on condescending. His soft, sharp eyes... Tailor. Right. Fleur hopped off the bed.

"Tailor for what?" She walked over to the door, opening it to the sight of her mentor. Of her patron in the fallen city which felt strangely natural by now. A single night, a single death and Fleur already felt at home. She never felt like she belonged in lavish palaces on the surface anyway. All she would have been there was a trophy in a tight dress. Perhaps... Perhaps that was why she enjoyed her friend so much. She felt like something more when she was by his side. Like an equal.

 

[Osthavula]

Lady Viola
Location: Ladybones Road
Mr_DC


"Good morning, Fleur. Sorry to wake you up, I hope you have a good rest. "

Standing in the hallway, Viola greeted Fleur cheerfully. She didn't have time to get her hair done just yet, so she looked much younger with her hair fallen on the side of her face, collected behind her head in a braid that fell past her knees. In her floral dress, one could think she was just any ordinary young lady. But she was prepared, and she explained casually to her. "I messaged the tailor last night so we can prepare some clothes you can wear for different occasions. We are looking for someone in the Society, so it makes sense for you to be introduced to the circle. It will make the searching much easier, and hopefully, you can gain the status to confront him once we know his whereabout. I can gain you access to places by accompanying you of course, but I imagine you would like to talk to him alone?"

She purposely avoided naming who exactly Fleur was seeking, and briefly tilted her head towards Candice's back when she talked about it. Candice was a long associate of hers, but being a tailor she must have connections to many people. Anyone could give a fine price for a little information.

"But it is not only ball gown we need to prepare. I think something comfortable and flowy as a gown would suffice for a beginning dress, though we need to prepare another one for more formal occasions; then something dark and easy to manoeuvre in, a pair of trousers preferably; and another set copying your normal attire but with hidden compartments. You can tell Candice your preference, she is very skilled and should be fine with most requests. "

Then she chuckled and seemed a little apologetic. "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you in the early morning. It's just... I think we should prepare for anything. London can be surprising at times. Ah, yes?"

Nyx came circling around her skirt meowing, right before the knocker sounded.

"Well, speaking of surprises. " She petted the cat and smiled happily to Fleur. "I'll be right back. Though if you wish to wash first, there is the washroom. Should you need soap it's all in the cabinet near the door. "

She pointed at the door at the end of the hallway.

"I will be back when you are ready. If you need anything just call me, and I'll be there if you have any questions afterwards. "


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


When Viola opened the door, a dark-suited messenger with a dark moustache handed her an envelope. "You've been invited, Lady Viola. " He greeted her. "Your skill will be most valuable for the freshmen of Society."

He said that routinely, but his expression was warm. They were acquainted before. He waited for her to open the envelope, which she read the invitation card quickly but thoroughly. The scene was familiar from the times he had come, and just as everytime she smiled to him charmingly.

"Thank you, Morris. It says here on the invitation that I can invite a guest?"

"Yes. The event was intended to introduce them to the Society. You will be inviting a guest then?"

"I will."

"Will it be Miss Bennett again?"

"Oh, not this time. "

Morris was very surprised, and he looked at Viola inquisitively. The lady didn't satisfy his curiosity easily though, instead, she took out the other paper from the envelope and unfolded it. It was a guest list, a three-fold one but the actual guest number might double. At the first glance, Viola got what she wanted to know. It took her a little effort to not let her glee showed, but even if he did notice, Morris didn't say anything.

"Again, thank you dearly, Morris. Tell them it'll be my pleasure to attend. "

Morris took off his hat and bowed, and bid her to have a nice day before he left. Under the light next to her door, Viola took a few more seconds to appreciate the title on the top of the guest list, before reading the entire list once.

The bandaged governor is on the list.

Her heart jumped at the sight of the written name at first. On further thought, he might choose to not attend, but it gave hope. It gave chances. If she could get close to him, and talk to him... It might not be easy at all, and she could imagine all difficulties just to think of exactly how she should confront. Still, a chance is a chance, and this one was a swift one. With a brief wider grin no one could see, she returned inside, almost happy enough to prance around a little.

London can be so surprising at times. Today, Viola was thoroughly enjoying her delivered little surprise.