Realistic or Modern [SYN] Act I (1856-1867)

[Pilgrim59]

Lady Grimaldi
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Worthlessplebian Huntertabbysandshark3 Doctor Nope Soviet Panda
Sicarius koala Midrick Scarl3ttSavage

Ms. Summer
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Doctor Nope

Mr. Blacke
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
​

Just as Grimaldi wrapped up her talk with the Captain of the vessel, she was joined by Persley. Having been informed that the rest of their associates would congregate within the shared dining hall, the blonde woman followed the corridor towards their destination, where she and Persley caught wind of a multitude that glided past them. Tall men in matching outfits and pacing caught the fox and hare's attention, for they seemed too organized to be a part of the crew, or the common passengers. It was only when they were out of earshot, did Persley spoke up.

"Mistress."

"Indeed. Keep your wits about you. I suspect something's afoot. Before we are caught in a crossfire. I wish to discern our friends from foes. I'll be fine by myself, please keep me informed of any... developments."

"As you wish, milady." Persley complied, parting ways with her mistress to trail the men.

Taking some thoughts to herself, the woman pondered if it was a mere coincidence in regards to their encounter or was it a part of something far more sinister? Nevertheless, she was able to take a quick glance of the list of personnel aboard the vessel during her discussion with the captain in relations to their voyage timeline. While seemingly normal to some, Grimaldi was in fact taking precautions with their schedules and if such positions would exact delay upon their timeline. Of course, what she also accounted for was the plausibility of them being caught in an ambush at sea. Recalling the discreet details that she managed to get out of the manifest upon the captain's desk, Grimaldi concluded that she and her associates were not the intended target. With lunch being served, Grimaldi sat down with her associates. "Take little respite. For we may have ill intentions lurking about. The good news is that we're not their prize. But I would advise discretion, so do try to restrain yourselves. Upon Ms. Persley's return from her task, we shall further discuss our next course of actions." She mused, before locking gaze with a familiar visage that waved at her excitedly from across the shared room.

"Milady! How wonderful it is to chance upon you again! Oh. I'm not asserting myself over your congregation, am I?" The brunette with emerald optics announced her presence, tucking both her hands behind her back with intrigue. Her companion was in stark contrast with his reserved pair of ruby optics. His slovenly dark hair was apparent of his deterred vigilance, but nonetheless adhered to the etiquette of his dress code. His straight posture complemented his reservations, far from one that would easily broker words without a purpose. Of the two, it was clear that the young lady was a medium for which their conversations often commence. Despite their unlikely partnership, Grimaldi was fascinated enough to invite them.

"We meet again, my dear. Not at all. Please, join us. I insist" Grimaldi replied with an elegant smile, before turning her attention towards the dark-haired gentleman. "Your winsome fiance as well. Don't be shy, I won't bite. At least not yet." The dark-haired gentleman hummed to himself with a nonchalant expression, before raising his brow at the brittle creature beside him. "Oh, very well, milady. I would not da- ... husband? Him? N-not a chance, milady!" The brunette crossed her arms in total denial.

"The feeling is mutual, lass." He sighed, as they both turned away from one another. As he did, he also made sure to give the other gentlemen a quick glance.

"Forgive me, as we were just attending to ourselves. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Maria Grimaldi, head of the Grimaldi Company. These are my associates. Mr. Auditore, Mr. McKinley, Mr. Fairhurst, Mr. McGregor, Dr. Watson, Ms. Lenoir, Mr. Wilde, and my cousin Ms. Bonheur." With a gentle but proud smile, Grimaldi made sure to shed light on her august company of diversed agents.

"Pardon my rudeness! Allow us to introduce ourselves. I'm Summer. This is Mr. Blacke, my associate. A pleasure to meet you all!" The brunette spoke, bumping her elbow against Blacke's. The latter then added: "Just a wayfaring stranger aire. Fair beans to ye all."

The two then took their seat swiftly. Blacke gave an eyeful to those before them, sporting a certain jaded gaze of wariness, despite his relaxed pose. A few things fell out of the ordinary, but the blonde hostess stood out in particular for the studious Scot. Despite her amiable and accommodating gestures, her sharp azure eyes seemed more than what she let Summer on with. In silence, Blacke chose to observe them instead, while gauging the actions of others at the table.

"So what business have you in Alexandria?" A seemingly innocent question, in the presence of a shrouded company of wicked agents. But by now, it was hard to discern the light from the dark for those that frequents the blurred lines.

"My associates and I have certain... arrangements... with our business partners there. We were hoping to dispose our competitors in one fell-swoop. And yourself?" Grimaldi replied without hesitation.

"An accomplished business administrator? How wonderful! Mr. Blacke and I are bound for Chennai to review some business practices there on behalf of our clients. We'll be making transit in Alexandria, bound for Red Sea by land." Summer continued.

"Seems like the two of you have got quite the road ahead. Perhaps one day your trip will be swifter should one, say, necessitate the construction of a grand canal through the isthmus. Alas, such an ambition has its price." Grimaldi smiled to herself.

"Perhaps so. Truth be told, this is the first time I've been given a commission abroad, spare Mr. Blacke. As an experienced administrator such as yourself, what is it like to travel so frequently? Is it tiresome?"

Grimaldi paused to scan Summer's curious eyes, as she reflected on her past experiences.

"Only when one deems it so. It is best to make use of the beautiful moments that bereaves you of your worries. Alas, there is also beauty in misery. Given your circumstances, you will have ample opportunity to experience it yourself in due time." Grimaldi noted, while Summer trailed off to reflect on her words, but not before catching Blacke in the act.

Conjuring a flask from his jacket, Blacke poured a fraction of its content into his caffein cup, prompting Summer to shoot him a vexed glance. The man then took a long sip from his whisky-infused cup of coffee nonchalantly.

"Blacke can be as crude as he is blatant with words. Aren't you?" A thump followed, causing Blacke to shoot a deathly glare at Summer as he felt her boot's presence upon his own. He then gave her a soft hum, before finishing his cup. "Don't mind him, Lady Grimaldi." She shook her head in disbelief, having already bore witness to Blacke's brazenness prior.

"I appreciate an honest man. Perhaps you will let me take him off your hands and curate his qualities for the next few days? Spirits included." Grimaldi offered with a playful tone.

"As much as I would love to do so, I'll have to decline your kind offer. I would not want him to sully your image with his presence alone." Summer interjected with a genuine chortle. Sighing slightly, Blacke gave his adherence. "For once, I concur with your aims, Ms. Summer. I appreciate the offer, ma'am, but it is apparent that you've already taken on quite the pack." The statement made Grimaldi lean back with her left hand upon her cheeks. Despite his tranquil state, it was clear to the woman that the Scot was far from a mundane paper-shuffler. Alas, both he and Summer have yet to display any sign of aggression, and it was prudent for Grimaldi and her associates to abide by that courtesy. It was not long before Summer pressed on to assess the rest of the personnel present.

"Dr. Watson, was it? By legal consultance or physical care?" Summer inquired of the doctor's field of expertise.

 

[Doctor Nope]

Eryn C. Watson
DIning Hall, SS Seymour

Pilgrim59 Huntertabbysandshark3 Worthlessplebian Sicarius koala Midrick Soviet Panda Scarl3ttSavage

​

During lunch came news of potential trouble. Eryn wasn't one to be easily set on edge, but there was some temptation to take a closer hold of his cane which currently rested against the edge of the table. Fortunately, he was a quick eater and so he was able to direct his mind to choosing something from his candy box while two more acquaintances of Lady Grimaldi joined in on their group.

This time he was in a hard-candy mood, taking a green-wrapped candy stick and unwrapping that, holding it in his mouth as he listened to the two's amusing antics with each other. He was currently biased towards apple flavours. Though as much as he enjoyed the taste of this one, it also came with some frustration, at the fact that he hadn't figured out an appropriate method for food dyeing yet without the use of toxic elements. Everything in the small box, now set on the table for any present member to take from freely, was "default" coloured, flavours differentiated only by the wrappers or labels.

Still, the two were intriguing. It seemed the man referred to as Blacke had his own indulgences to prioritise. Perhaps Eryn would begin experimenting with coffee flavours soon. And-

-Oh. He was being spoken to.

In order to not disrupt his own words, he briefly held the candy stick in his hand and fixed up his posture.

"Physical care, Miss...Summer, was it? Honestly, legal matters would be too much for my attention span, I'm impressed by those that have the willpower for it. I mostly concern myself with the treatment of external injury, accidents and such that may be incurred on a long trip such as this, perhaps some potential sea-sickness."

 

[Soviet Panda]

Connor McKinley​

Connor could still taste the fine meal that Ms. Grimaldi had treated them all to before they had set out. He had even given his approval to that Matthew that was taking the place of his brother. High praise in deed, if he knew anything about Connor. Though that night, Edward just about had a conniption after being told he was to be left behind. "I am more than capable of handling myself, Edward," he had told the man after sitting him down and handing him the bottle that always seemed to refill itself when he left the Grimaldi manor. "You of all people should know this. God himself knows how many times I've knocked you on your arse." And that had seemed to do it. The rest of his men had a much easier time being told they were to be left behind. The Boss had a plan, he always had a plan, there were probably people waiting there for him as it was. And besides, if what the Boss says is true, this Alexandria is a right piece of work.

And so he had left in the company of the rest of the company Lady Grimaldi had gathered about herself. He had heard of a handful of them, probably even served alongside them in the battlefields of Crimea. So he was confident that they all knew what they were doing, and could handle themselves well enough. However, if simply handling oneself would be enough, then Connor wouldn't have had to have been involved. He was a tough old soul, and had proved it time and time again in service to Grimaldi and the Institution.

But for all of his supposed strength, the rocking of the boat did throw him off. He felt ever so slightly nauseous, and he didn't feel like he could ever quite get his feet under him. being within the ship helped somewhat for the queasy feeling, but the rocking quickly put him to sleep. Something he was not keen on doing while in polite company, especially since he's been told he's quite the snorer. And so, after having struggled to the dining room they were to meet at, he did everything in his power to stay awake. Biting his tongue and cheek, pinching his arms, anything he could do discreetly. Though how discreet he truly was he did not know, in fact he somewhat doubted it. He had never been a discreet man, the skullduggery left a foul taste in his mouth.

Hearing his name, he looks around and notices the two new arrivals. Raising a glass in greeting, he goes to take a drink, grimaces slightly, and thinks better of it before putting the untouched glass back down. He did, however, have to stifle a chuckle as he heard the boot hit home. Oh to be young and in love. And as the conversation started to pick up, he decided it was best to get to know those he had not heard the names of before last night. Chiefly, Lady Grimaldi's cousin.

"Ms. Bonheur, was it?" He asked, leaning towards the woman so he did not interrupts the other's conversations. "You'll have to forgive me, but I don't believe we have been properly acquainted. Colonel Connor McKinley of the Thirteenth Dragoons, at your service."
koala

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Conor Macgregor
interaction:​

Conor slept like a rock the Irishman snoring like he was possessed by something, maybe that's why he never found a girlfriend his sleeping habits were intolerable to anyone but a ruffian, frankly it wasn't something he was concerned about ever, anyway he'd spend the morning polishing his firearms, they'd grown somewhat dirty form overuse, powder fouling being an issue, and he was a bit too meticulous about it frankly you could almost think Conor was in love with the weapons but they'd kept him fed for a good while and they deserved his respect at least in his mind. thought by midday they had other guests being the somewhat thuggish nature Conor more or less remained observing the pair.. clearly by their banter between one another.. they where not exactly amazingly super friends, the sort of friendly jabbing sort of friendship he was used to. "well ya should make this trip lot more interesting eh? nothing like a bickering pair of pen pushers" conor commented

 

[Pilgrim59]

Lady Grimaldi
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Soviet Panda

Ms. Summer
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Doctor Nope Huntertabbysandshark3

Mr. Blacke
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Soviet Panda Scarl3ttSavage

Ms. Persley
Lower Deck, SS Seymour
Spiderverse ​

---DINING HALL---​

"Mhm! Neither a family to attach myself to, nor do I desire such a requirement to sustain myself." Summer remarked, untroubled by her orphanship. Her tone implied frequent rehearsal of the subject, one that she would not try to conceal in any conceivable way. Perhaps it mattered little to her, or she had grown indifferent to such truths that would otherwise be perceived as lacking in the eyes of many. "Indeed. I share your foremost thought with sincerity. At least now I know just who to look for should I find myself tossing over my feet." She chuckled.

Grimaldi's glimmering optics concealed itself beneath her radiant lashes, maintaining her brilliant visage as a calm figure. However, she was just as intrigued as Summer was with the topic, albeit more so on the topic of Summer's origins. For someone with nothing to lose to become a traveller begged the question of peculiar natures. Despite their vibrant personality, Grimaldi had reasons to confide her dubiety in the creature. A false facade, or perhaps something far more sinister? Between these two strangers and the suspicious personnel from earlier, Grimaldi could not help but be wary of their precarious situation. Alas, she have yet to place a connection between them. Perhaps with Persley's return from her perusal, Grimaldi could make sense of the situation.

"A sweet tooth, are you? I personally indulge myself with glazed almonds." Raising a finger to her soft lips, the contemplating lady nodded to herself before continuing. "Honey is superior to butterscotch in all regards. Do you concur? Of course you do!" She claimed confidently with a proud smirk upon her face.

"There's no shame in pen-pushing, Mr. McGregor. I can assure you that it will keep your balance in check. Knowing where to place your numbers, that's the game worth playing!" Summer turned to Conor, clasping her hands together. "Perhaps you would like to gamble with me?" She instigated, only to be met with Blacke's reprimanding glare. "I will permit you the indecency of ogling me, simply because I will sort it with my own stipends." Summer's brows furrowed.

"Good. I hope ye take the bummer end." Blacke sighed heavily.

"Scots." The brunette rolled her eyes.

"English." He retorted, averting his gaze with disbelief.

Meanwhile, Blacke's vigilant rubies gave the elder gentleman a brief but leery glance. Of all things he could have said, the Colonel chose to announce his rank and regiment blatantly, which prompted the Scot to consider his ties with Grimaldi. The Thirteenth was not particularly known by all, but they certainly held a reputation among those who were present. A kin of sort for the dark-haired gentleman, but one that was best kept at a saber's length. Killers often carried a pungent smell to them, had their eyes not already gave them away. A certain sense of weariness, infused with dormant excitement. But McKinley was not the only one that possessed such characteristics, despite his amiable demeanor. Even the particulars of the red-haired gentleman at the far end of the table seemed common to the observant eyes of the Scot. It was odd, for him to be reunited with those that have certainly shared the same cadence that he himself had grown attached to. The only exception being the gentleman with a studious look about him - a bank teller or manager of sorts, he assumed. If there was one thing that Blacke could conclude, it was the foible of the Grimaldi Company. Personally for the Scot, they reeked of guilt just as much as he did. He knew neither to be comforted by the fact that he was surrounded by those of his caliber, nor to be wary of their company. Alas, he had his reservations, for their presence did not require his immediate attention.

"And what arrangement with Lady Grimaldi have ye, Colonel? Ye dinna pose the semblance of a simple merchant." Blacke asked bluntly.

Grimaldi then shifted her sharp optics at the Scot with purpose. "Colonel McKinley's capacity as my attendant should suffice his ... particular ... adherence. Akin to your capacity, I dare to presume?"

Blacke paused slightly to confront Grimaldi's harrowing reply. Armed with those wintry eyes, she seemed more than capable of turning his question into an inquiry of her own. A vicious and deadly woman, it was clear to the Scot just how dangerous and influential this array of travelling business persons were. He finally let loose a defeated chuckle, knowing that he would have to give, in order to placate Grimaldi's question. Should he fail to comply, he could very much endanger Summer and himself. There were too many factors unknown and undeciphered.

"Only when it comes to the appropriate measures of hostile intentions, ma'am." The Scot spoke monotonously.

"This coming from your personal experience, Mr. Blacke? How long?" She raised a brow, albeit with the expected contentment.

"Aye. Five years, ma'am. Ninety-Third Sutherland."

"How quaint. Colonel, I believe you rode past Mr. Blacke at Balaclava, did you not? It really is a small world, after all!" Grimaldi smiled gracefully.

"So it is, ma'am. So it is, aye."

Shifting his attention towards the rosy creature across from him, Blacke displaced a small plate of roasted peanuts to offer the woman. "A bonnie lass such as yerself must find us men tae primitive by outward appearance, do you not?" He said to Cassandra.

---LOWER DECK---​

As Persley traversed the corridors with discretion, she gave heed to the personnel's intrigue with the various quarters that laid out before them. Whoever or whatever it was that was their utmost priority, it was reasonable for Persley to keep them away from it. With this in mind, the maid gently brushed off one of the nearby vase, before pacing herself calmly towards the nearest point of concealment. The men sought after the noise, steering away from the rooms. One of the men perused the unlit stairwell that led to the boiler room. As they made past the hissing noises of the steaming devices, a loud metallic clang on the other end of the cramped space caught their attention. Pacing themselves further towards the tendrils of pipes, a shrouded figure emerged from the floorboards, holding onto their own shoes. Before long, a few crewmen would appear and shouted towards the man.

"Oi mate! You lost? Aw, Christ. You've gone and done broke it. Back away! Lew, Duffy, get this bloke outta me sight!" One of them shouted, before attempting to escort them above. A few thumps and thuds could be heard, followed by heavy groans and collapsing shadows.

Pacing herself on barefeet towards the area that the suspicious men have abandoned in pursuit of her, Persley eventually tossed away the screw in her hand and began prying the quarters with haste. Room after room, she searched but to no avail. It was only after her a certain uneasy sentiment that crept upon the maid that she realized that someone was behind her. The maid's fingers slipped into position past the curtains of her dress, in an attempt to draw her weapons.

Hearing a distinctive voice that called out to her name, Persley's right hand navigated away from her armaments. She gradually turned around to the sight of a familiar visage.

"Mr. Dhawan." She addressed the bronze man, summoning his familiar name with a graceful curtsy. Gliding past him, she peaked out the door, before slamming the portal shut. With the enclosed realm reserved for their own purposes, Persley turned towards Grimaldi's unannounced associate. "Care to explain yourself, Mr. Dhawan?" She asked, curious as to the implication of his peculiar presence that coincided with the arrival of the mysterious assailants.

 

[Spiderverse]

Arjun Dhawan
Lower Deck, SS Seymour
Pilgrim59
​

There were many men and women who had a bone to pick with Arjun, from the policeman of Scotland Yard to the ladies of Knightsbridge. It was not for the tone of his skin or his country of origin, but his professions that brought him the greatest ire. A lawyer AND journalist, he was the type to ask questions and use those answers. And it was that particular trait of his that probably contributed to his most recent predicament: some unknown assailants.

Multiple questions had ran through Arjun's head when he had realized he was being followed: Who hired them? Why were they following him? Were they hostile to Lady Grimaldi as well? It seemed like the man couldn't catch a break, but he had a plan. If they were truly after him, bringing them below deck and out of the Lady's vicinity would be the best bet.

With haste, Arjun avoided Lady Grimaldi as best possible, hoping to deal with the danger prior to his late greeting with her. Slipping below deck, he wandered through the quarters, keeping mental notes of the corridors and mapping out the ship in his head until he heard pounding footsteps behind him. A smirk crept upon the man's face, as he turned the corner and hid in the darkness.

Regulating his breathing, Arjun kept quiet as the booming foosteps lulled into silence. Then, the distinctive crash of a vase caught his ear, and the thundering resumed. In the distance, he heard muffled thrashing and groans of pain. Taking the cue, Arjun ducked out of his hiding place and back into the corridor, silencing his footsteps as he so often learned to do.

There was a glint in Arjun's bronze eyes at the sudden surprise, the fiery Ms. Persley appearing in front of him, though unaware of him behind her. He called out to her, a slight relief in his voice despite his stone expression. As she pulled him inside a nearby quarters to question him, he finally had an opportunity to breathe freely. "Should your mind be as sharp as ever Ms. Persley, I am being followed. Though I'm not sure as to why.." His gloved hand rose to rub his chin, his eyes darting around the room as he contemplated. "Though I would be more than happy to have your assistance in clearing out these rats. I know you loathe filth just as much as I do."

 

[koala]

Joséphine Bonheur​

Location: SS Seymour, Dining Hall

Interactions: Pilgrim59 Soviet Panda Sicarius

The sun was setting along the horizon and darkness would soon envelop Joséphine’s place in the world. A crisp, cool breeze of sea salt swept by, taking strands of the woman’s golden hair along with it. Her hand tucked the loose locks behind an ear while her eyes watched the scene before her unfold. There was a melancholic ache in her chest that grew with each changing hue in the sky. Blue slowly bled into a crimson that challenged the waning sea before her. She could almost hear the water’s beckoning calls, begging for the warmth to return and for someone to appease its loneliness.

Had it not been for the sense of duty and guilt she felt towards her former beloved, perhaps she would’ve succumbed to the water’s allure. She had thoughts of the mythological sirens that lurked in the deepest parts of the ocean relishing in fresh meat, but a heart like hers—clouded with poisonous, archaic pain—would surely bring them to Death’s doorstep. Joséphine couldn’t help but laugh at how she assumed even one of man’s most vicious, fictional creatures wouldn’t dare claim her.

The assumption felt all too real, however. For who would lay claim to someone as lost as she? Her passions had sunken to the sandy floor below the large vessel that was on route to Egypt. When her cousin had requested a song the night before, she knew something was different about the way she performed. There was underlying sadness even while the song itself reeked of blind power and fortune; her only hope was that she covered her tracks well enough for no one to pay any mind.

That was the first time she’d sung since returning from Crimea. She hadn’t spoken of her experience with her cousin, nor anyone for that matter, but that brief period on the war front had broken a piece of her she hadn’t realized was still capable of breaking . The cruelty and despair she witnessed truly haunted her, and it was those months that made her begin questioning her multi-year quest for revenge.

Her cousin's words rang loudly in her head at that moment. “You won’t find satisfaction with revenge… you won’t find satisfaction with revenge…”

Everything around her began to swirl and her hand reached to grip the ship’s edge. Her glove-covered nails dug into the metal so roughly she could feel the vessel sing to her bones. An indescribable coldness enveloped her as she fought a shivering breath. All she could see was red. His blood. His body as he lay cold and lifeless with nothing but a poorly written letter in one hand and a gun in the other.

Someone spoke her name and Joséphine blinked. Her claws retracted and she noted the blackened material before frowning and tugging her gloves off. She hid them neatly in the pockets of her dress as a familiar figure approached, prompting a smile to swiftly appear in silent greeting.

The maid’s ash brown hair fell across her shoulders in waves that rivaled the blonde’s own. There was a sense of purpose in Persley’s gaze that led the woman to believe it was time for everyone to gather.

Good. She thought with a nod as she began the walk towards the ship’s dining hall while the maid wandered off to herd the others. It was truly time to play her full part as Joséphine Bonheur; Songstress; Actress; Seductress; Spy.

“Gentlemen.” Joséphine greeted once she’d arrived, noting two new guests in their midst. Immediately she could sense something strange about the brunette woman and her brooding male companion. She angled her head towards her cousin, and with a curiosity-filled tone she continued, “Ladies.”

Fighting the urge to raise her eyebrows in question, Joséphine found a seat beside the oldest gentleman within the company. She kept an ear on the conversation occurring with Ms. Summer and Mr. Black before finding an opportunity to politely introduce herself.

“Joséphine Bonheur.” Her French accent was thick but pleasantly soothing to the ear, a musical flow to the way she spoke that suggested her practice in vocal exercise. “I am but a simple actress taking time away from my work. It is a pleasure to make this journey to Egypt with you both.” Her eyes met Ms. Summer’s before meeting Mr. Black’s, the latter’s gaze being held the longest. There was something familiar about the way he held himself, as if his background were not too different from the hungry wolves that sat in their midst.

She smiled sweetly at him before pulling away from the main conversation and found herself quietly conversing with Colonel McKinley. It would have been a lie for her to say she wasn’t surprised by the Colonel’s presence in the company. Most gentlemen his age would have much preferred working from the comfort of their homes, dabbling in politics or other activities she’d never understand. To rise and meet Grimaldi’s request, however, was certainly worthy of commendation, especially when considering how the Crimean War had barely been laid to rest.

“Ah, yes. Colonel. I do apologize for excusing myself so early this previous night. The changing weather often makes me fall ill.” Joséphine responded, and while it seemed the older male had her entire attention, she was still listening to the other conversation very intently. “I will refrain from introducing myself again to prevent redundancy, so tell me, Colonel, have you journeyed to our destination before?”

She adjusted her dress in the seat, but the slight rock of the ship made her leg brush against something too soft to be a table’s extension. The woman glanced sideways, noting Lorenzo sitting on her other side and offered an apologetic nod. “Pardon, Monsieur. I have yet to adjust to walking on water, it seems.”

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Mr. Philips Fairhurst,
SS Seymour, Dining Hall
Pilgrim59 , Sicarius , koala​

With the fall of the terrible darkness, the lone man stirred in his cabin. The lids to his soul spring open, his mouth emits a silent gasp for air. Beads of salty sweat drip from his pores in laggard steps. In Philips' life of nocturnal activities, traveling on a ship had not been something he's done before. It requires a touch of adjustment, he admits. The waves are not tumultuous yet he feels them. The knuckle-calloused hand scraped the bed's side. A serpentine motion tickled the pads on his elongated fingers. An afferent sense of sickness crept from hand to stomach to mind. Oddly, the banker was licked by the cold tongue of nostalgia as it reminded him of the first time he felt this ill-state. It was when he first entered the ring of gentlemen boxers, the life of the pugilist. Their fists laid bare and then bloodied.

A net of fishermen hooks snick under the slayer's slick skin. At first, loose then taut. Dragged into an upright posture. His legs swing to the side, the floor under him melted as if feet touched naked, raw oysters or snails. Then solidifies into hot ice. The blackness of his room posed no obstacle for one so adjusted to operate in the night time. He garbed himself in formal attire. Until he reached for something. A single touch was all that Fairhurst need to know what was in front of him. His fingers coil around it, slipping into - under its contours. His lungs empty of breath. Hands turn it. The thing stirs, floats. A masterpiece of ceramic. A marque to the him that society would find morally repugnant. This owlish mask. Entices him. Fastening itself in an almost organic manner, yet he allows it.

He bites a cheek. His wants are superseded by his needs. His hands lift up, prying off the visage of the killer. Like a child clinging to a father's leg, it doesn't want to let go, but it must. For now. Relenting at last, he stores it away again and adjusts the tie around his neck. For a brief moment, the lights to his quarters illuminate. He sees himself in the room's antiquated mirror, a flash of self-satisfied smile before the lights went out again.

Departing the room, he knew without the assistance of Grimaldi's dutiful and humble maid, Ms. Persley, that they are gathering in the Seymour's dining hall. In spite of that knowledge, he continued to wander. His shoes wrapped in a dark grey spatterdashes bounced no sound from the deck, he glided seamlessly through the ship's pathways. Acclimatizing himself to not just the sea's drunken sway, but the ship's layout as well. After the second pass, Philips felt the footsteps of a crewman approaching. He stopped then melded into the corner of a shadow. He passed guilelessly; ignorant of the danger that lurked just out of sight.

Philips decided that it is now the time to join them. Grimaldi's assembly.

As it appears, the bank teller had arrived last except within time's courtesy to be included in Miss Grimaldi's introduction to two new arrivals. Philips could simply smile the smile that he gave to all people who entered his bank. A soft, understanding one. As if you could sit down and vocalize all your sorrows, mistakes, or otherwise unsightly affairs. He would understand, he would court silence. However, not even he is worthy of secrets. That he knows.

He noted their accents, their cadence. Countryman and woman so far away. He ponders on that question, whilst his thumb rubs the neck of his glass. His eyes met Summer's, then Blacke's with an unassuming, innocent stare. A stare that can be mistaken for orderly curiosity at the new arrivals. He is curious, but viciously so. He knows Blacke's soul, he has seen that archetype before in men from war and terror. Certainly an individual that knows his way around a weapon and an opponent's life.

Summer proved to be the bigger enigma of the two. A woman with an innocent heart, contracted for her eyes, ears, and analytical mind to investigate the innards of a business in Chennai. There is a note of truthfulness to her, perhaps she is not more than she appears. Philips plainly doubts that. He instead asks a question of his own.

"Ms. Summer, I ask has your bailiwick extended to London? Simply because my work at the bank ensures I cooperate with a multitude of representatives. Of individuals and businesses alike." Spoken with an austere ghost within him.

His seating placed him next to the common man's friend, the industrialist Lorenzo de Auditore. While he awaited his answer from the miss Summer, Philips turned to the ambassador. "In Lady Grimaldi's mansion, you informed of an aim to facilitate goods for every household. If you do not find it gainsay, signore, share an item or two." Beyond the Venetian, he saw the ample form of Miss Bonheur. His gaze, piercing oh so deeply, noted how she felt unlike herself. Herself confirmed it when she apologized to the industrialist. Except the undressing sight of his told him that she suffered from an even deeper ailment. Ah, the miseries of the soul. He could take it all away, whether she would want to or not. He drank from his glass.

 

[Scarl3ttSavage]

Cassandra Lenoir
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Doctor Nope Pilgrim59
​

Infamously deceitful eyes wandered about their surroundings in quiet observation of the conversations taking place within the room, the fierce colors of amber sporting a tango with discolored monotony. Feather-light and subtly executed, a small exhale bearing some exhaustion steadily eludes from glossy borders. The maiden slowly lifts one leg over the other as she straightens her posture. Her arms raised ever so slightly, Cassandra clasps her palms together underneath the able before resting them atop her knee, extending a finger to impatiently tap against her knuckle in an attempt in finding some sort of occupancy with her body. Though the fair enchantress was conscious that such a detached and disinterested manner may be judged as presumptuous—whilst graced by the company of new acquaintances especially—this lady dismissed any unspoken judgment that may have been present, as they lacked significance.

These sessions of exchanged inquiries veiled with proper etiquette were quite familiar to Cassandra, and admittedly, the repetition was distasteful. The grifter only cared to indulge in conversations with individuals who bear an appeal to their character. Such a sweet, dainty little jewel of the likes of newly introduced Ms. Summer aired far too much innocence for her tastes; the brunette seemed to lack signs to a conniving nature, unlike most people she toys with, therefore labeled as rather uninteresting. However, as time carried its progression, the woman began to find her attention drawn and succumbing to the striking young gentleman who was soon seating himself before her.

He was evidently of the cautious sort, his words and demeanor aired in an aloof detachment paired with wary and suspicion—a sharp and attractive mind to match a dashing appearance. She failed to mask a grin sprawling across her pretty lips in the short-lived banter between Ms. Summer and him; the lady should find herself to be lucky with her associate, companion or not. Observation between these new particular people and Lady Grimaldi carried itself forward, this time with genuine interest. The gentleman was quick to understand the potential dangers of this queen commanding the various pawns accompanying the room; Cassandra failed to restrain herself from feeling a sense of pleasure in seeing a glimpse of the male’s small surprise. It is always an amusing show when one realizes the true depths of the waters they are wading in.

The entirety of her attentiveness was at last finally caught by Mr. Blacke, brows raised in amusement to his comment. Directing her gaze to her own hands, Cassandra smoothly tugged at the end of one finger, eyes snapping back to the male as she gracefully slipped a glove away with a smile. Politely indulging in his generosity, the brunette respectfully placed one or two inside her mouth, her tongue noticeably grazing the tips of her fingers for just a brief moment.

“You make an interesting assumption, Mr. Blacke. I answer by saying that those pretty eyes of yours tell me more than you wish to share, and that in itself is enough to keep a lady of my nature enamored.” Intertwining fingers, the French woman placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the back of her hands, the lids of her eyes narrowing slightly as her words were preceded by a small chuckle.

"Enamored, and…longing to uncover more.”

Despite entertainment finally making its way to her, Cassandra failed to maintain mindfulness, finding herself distracted by the doctor and his treats. Whilst she kept the interest to herself, such sweet delicacies were more to her preference compared to the roasted nuts offered, and she soon found her secret desire growing beyond her comfort. Still, stubbornness was capable of enough endurance to hold her tongue. The foxy grifter allowed her piercing gaze directed at Eryn to express her request, as she waited for Mr. Blacke’s response.

 

[Doctor Nope]

Eryn C. Watson
DIning Hall, SS Seymour

Pilgrim59 Scarl3ttSavage

​

"Glazed almonds, certainly a respectable choice. Honey is definitely classic, though while I wouldn't say it's superior to butterscotch in every format, it definitely holds an edge over-" ..Over? Something in Eryn's eyes changed, the clockwork in his head spinning to work.

"Honey...over butterscotch.." he said, though he seemed to be saying it to himself more than to Summer.

"Putting honey on the butterscotch!" Now there was an idea. "I don't expect it to be a totally new idea, but it's definitely worth adding to my reper...toire?" His voice trailed off as he felt...something. Something ON him? No, something AT him.

Somebody is staring daggers into me.

He darted his eyes to the side, catching Cassandra's intense gaze, with his own subtely freezing up. Part of his initial instincts were telling him that he'd either inadvertendtly said something to offend her, that she was soon going to try and assassinate him, or perhaps both. As unpredictable as Lady Grimaldi's employees could be, he soon judged those ideas to be unrealistic for the present situation. So then what did Cassandra want?

I'm still holding my candy. But the box is already out on the table for everyone to-

-bollocks. I forgot to actually say so.

"O-oh, my apologies, I don't mean to hog all this for myself." His darted eye returned to Summer, as if continueing naturally from the conversation he was having with her. "You're all free to take from the box at your leisure. I've labelled the flavour divisions for convenience."

 

[Pilgrim59]

Ms. Summer
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Worthlessplebian Doctor Nope

Mr. Blacke
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Doctor Nope Scarl3ttSavage

Ms. Persley
Lower Deck, SS Seymour
Spiderverse ​

---DINING HALL---​

Summer was stunned by Philip's choice of word in regards to her work. Breaking away from the conventional thought that often materialized at the behest of an inquisitive initiation, Summer disclosed her trades sincerely. "London concerns only my seniors per their terms, as my capacity is only of recent nature. Though we are more than happy to provide our service once the dispatches are in order. As for Mr. Blacke and myself, we are currently given charge of the Indian theatre. Perhaps we shall share some tea and tidings some fine day there, Mr. Fairhurst?" The brunette nodded before raising a query of her own. "Though I am curious as to how London's order of operation is maintained in your absence. It is almost apparent to me that you are a foreign affairs representative than a direct administrator, am I wrong?" Coiling her fingers up to her chin in thought, Summer could only make sense of Fairhurst's capacity upon its surface, at least in relations to Grimaldi's practices. The only one missing from her band of merry gentlemen and elegant ladies was that of a legal practitioner. Curious, but nevertheless a story - and Summer was not sold on it entirely. A natural occurence, for a fraud to take notice of the peculiar similarities of their own semblance.

A nonchalant inexpression, maintained by a steeled visage of a man steady under fire. With steel as he is with words, nothing could deter him from his stern features - save a few discordance obligated between him and his brunette colleague. Oddly, he felt most familiar with Lenoir's presence, although unaware of its the recurrence origins. "Hm." He hummed monotonously to himself, with his deep rouge optics undressing her personality with great purpose. A most lethal waltz, unseen by the naked eye, ensued. The Scot was more or less familiar with the allusions, albeit with lesser affiliations in the past. After all, it was among the few distractions that kept him sane, besides the bottomless end of a bottle. More sober than he often was with the carefree damsels of the night, the Scot chose to play along.

"Only when Lady Liberty permits me so, lass. Conjure yer songs once a dreary moon, perhaps a mindful ear shall liberate yer window panes plenty soon?" A stern smile, followed by a devoted pair of crimson gems that peered into the amusements of the Francoise. "Yeux traitres. Yeux pécheurs." He added in French, before taking a sip from his cup. "I'm sure we will chance upon one another to entertain such notions in due time, Ms. Lenoir." Blacke concluded, leaned back against his seat, never once parting his gaze from Cassandra.

Despite his undivided attention for the sultry temptress across from him, his keen ears amidst the crossing of varied discourse caused him to take action. "Bless ye heart, Dr. Watson. I'm sure Ms. Summer 'ould appreciate a sample of yer hospitality." He cleverly passed his intrusion to Summer, of whom was quick to turn her conversation, along with her dainty fingers towards Watson's box of sweets. "Cheers, Dr. Watson." She said, consuming the piece gradually with a hand over her rouge lips. A long chirp exited the woman, as Summer savored its taste with enthusiasm. "I believe Dr. Watson has my heart. Truly scrumptious!" The girl claimed, fawning over the doctor's shared portions. She turned towards Fairhurst again, this time with a new bearing. "What do you think of Dr. Watson's treats, Mr. Fairhurst?


Darting his merlot pair of agates back towards Lenoir, the Scot took notice of her fixed sights on the Doctor. Absent of words, her silent gaze bespoke of her unsung desires. The man formed his own conclusions in regards to the congregation's associations. While unaware of the sentiments laid therein, he was able to discern the Dr. Watson's trepidation, save his recent offer to mitigate such Lenoi's portentous stare. With his own voice sheathed, Blacke secured a napkin within reach and procured a piece. Having done so, he would then offer the candy to the woman.

"Tender for swedgers, Ms. Lenoir?" He asked her.

---LOWER DECK---​

Forming her fingers over her lips in thought, Persley let out a heavy sigh as she fixed her sights upon the bronze gentleman. While their associations have yet to form a rehearsed note of personal familiarity, Arjun's services have been called upon by the Lady Grimaldi in the past. While the details of the anticipated participants remained undisclosed to Persley, the maid was at least given an overview of her immediate tasks. It became apparent for Persley to recognize, based on Arjun's accounts, that his well-being was either a coincidental occurrence or part of a plot that could jeopardize their journey. Whichever the case was, she was sure that all would come to light the sooner they acted. "Most curious, Mr. Dhawan. But I concur with yer proposal, and am at your service." Persley smiled softly.

Taking a steady stance, she swiftly performed a curtsy. "Apprehension and interrogation oughtta be our first order of business. What say ye, Mr. Dhawan?" The Head Maid proposed their first course of action.

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Conor Macgregor
interaction: Pilgrim59​

“Eh call me old fashioned then but ya lot can be awfully suspicious at times ya know?” he’d say leaning back giving a small smile. “i might be Irish but I didn’t make it ere by wasting me money, sides suspect ya are much better at it then I am“ he’d proceeded chuckle. “Ye know I feel like this is the start of a joke, a scot, an English and an Irish walk into a bar“ he’d chuckle to himself even more the rest of the joke being awful so he decided against it. “Na the jokes stupid anyway honestly I’d rather not start a brawl over some stupid gag“ he’d shake his head after commenting he’d probably just made the tension in the air worse but Conor didn’t mind he’d gotten a good chuckle out of it and that’s all that really mattered at the moment

 

[Soviet Panda]

Connor McKinley​

Connor gave a knowing smile as Josephine told him of her relationship with Mother Nature. "Nature does like to play merry hell with the body. I should know, the sea does not treat me to kindly, and neither does the rain. And with the changing of the seasons, comes the changing of the humors. Though, in this day and age, who believes something as silly as the humors? They are something that always sit in a corner of my mind that I touch on from time to time, but they are things of the past. Then again, so am I, and I am still here."

"As for our location, I've been there only a handful of times and I must say it was rather miserable. It is far to hot and far to dry for my tastes. You, however, might find it enjoyable. There is only one season, and that season is Summer."

He was given a bit of a surprise when that fellow Blacke spoke to him. He thought he was speaking quietly enough, and had hoped he would be written off as just some old man. But apparently not. And on top of it all, even Lady Grimaldi decided it would be for the best if she spoke up on his behalf. "Don't keep the young man guessing, we are simple creatures. Mr. Blacke, was it? I am a doctor, much like Dr. Watson. It never hurts to have a second opinion in this field."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Mr. Philips Fairhurst,
SS Seymour, Dining Hall
Pilgrim59 Doctor Nope Scarl3ttSavage​

The banker peered at the woman surnamed after the warmest season, his eyes sunk under the hoods of his eye. A cameo of amusement sashayed across the banker's lips, digesting the information that miss Summer divulged to him about their operation. The smile stretched when his operational query was turned onto himself. Philips sees her fastening her chin with those tender fingers, the clockwork machine inside her head contorting to divine the reality of his laudable lot in life. Instinctively, the banker knew that Summer had not allowed herself to be deceived by the honeyed words of Lady Grimaldi. A keen intuition resided within her, almost as keen as the edge of Philips' sword.

An ungloved duke, bruised on the knuckles and shaded claret palm, slid a utensil of silver from the sugar-white table cloth leaving a crease, a dent in the fold. A simple, silver knife used during and upon dessert. Practically weightless, unassuming in the banker's hands. Until he spun the blade, allowing it to dance across the banker's fingers. A lethal Ländler of glistening silver underscored by the pulseless tact of deathly intimacy. He could not help himself. The knife still danced, but the azures in his skull did not flinch from the brunette's emerald optics. "Miss Summer," Said Fairhurst with the grace of a man who peered the underpinnings of noble London's nauseating depths. "Your intuition is a shilling shy of the full pound. No, the purview of my obligations do not encompass foreign relations. Fortunate then, that my expertise is not bound sensu stricto to my responsibilities." The banker tongued the back of his teeth as a decrepit urge welled in the cyclonic void of his heart. "That which you almost presumed correctly was my station as a direct administrator. As for the absence in the bureaucracy, it is covered by my fellows. Only the tumultuous tides of life know where we will land, let it be so then that we meet in India one day."

With Summer's scrutinous probe sated, Philips turned his attention to the rest of the table whilst slowing down the blur in his hand to fathomable motions of knife twirling. One particular curio in the killer's optic had been the exchange between the soldier Scot and the amber-eyed temptress. It revealed plenty of the two, but whilst Philips had already discerned that man's modus operandii to life. The woman across him proved the greater mystery. He saw the figure, a porcelain. In sequestered awe, it gnawed the brain. A woman known, yes? No, a thing owned him. He thawed the knife like an old life 'way. Instead a stare different to the killer's wants. It lasted for several seconds before the bite of Summer's question wrung his bell as if he were in the ring. His blue optics returned to brunette's emeralds. "Oh, I have not the pleasure just yet." He says, a shake in the Leviathan's voice. He procured a napkin then selected a candied treat. Taking it in then whipping it around to spread the taste on his tongue.

"The doctor's formulations are palatable to the buds." Claimed Philips, finding them acceptable. Sweets are not his ultimate choice in flavours, but they go decidedly well with bitters.

 

[Pilgrim59]

Ms. Persley
Lower Deck, SS Seymour
Spiderverse

Mr. Blacke
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Huntertabbysandshark3 Soviet Panda

Lady Grimaldi
Dining Hall, SS Seymour​

---LOWER DECK---​

Armed with an answer and a lethal intention, Persley followed Arjun out of the dwelling and navigated the hallway with caution. Her amber optics shot fro and forth between each corner. Inaudible breath sheathed beneath her hearty chest, swelling with judicious vigor. Her steps matched Arjun's, as the two monitored the absence of personnel. The air grew dense, as the eerie silence caught them by surprise. Dead in their tracks, Persley kept her ears open, while she gradually shifted her arms towards a posture of readiness, unveiling her fair thighs that were strapped with sharpened armaments.

A black shadow jetted past them from around the corner, as the figure shot past Persley's features with a thrown fist. Displacing her current position, she banked left, and parried an arm swung at her right. As she tried to recover, the masked individual twirled back in a half-turn. A swift light shone past the maid, as the blade bore down upon her own weight, to which she finally drew her own pair of stilettos. Cold steel met with a heavy displacement of screeching and sparks, as the swordsman attempted to break the stalemate. The strained maid clicked her tongue, as she finally let her exhalation commence, before diverting her renewed strength to sweep the man's leg. Dark gaiter boots shifted to match their landing, evading the maid's attempt to immobilize him. Despite his heavier physiques, the swordsman was an agile match for Persley. The Scot's vexation was now undeniably full of frustration.

The exchange of blades came to an abrupt end as Persley reeled back from her assailant, as the latter shoved the maid's committed arms upwards, before swinging his steel wide. Before the maid could take advantage of his exposed shoulder, a peculiar glint from behind his partially concealed flank caused Persley to perform a swift side step. She reached out one of her hands and latched onto Arjun's collar, while hurling the other in their foe's direction with acute precision. Twisting her flexible form, she yanked the bronze gentleman out of the line of fire, as the knife exited her hand and flew forward.

A deafening bang echoed across the corridor, alerting many personnel. As the hazy screen of discharged gunpowder cleared, the aftermath was apparent to the belligerents involved. The swordsman's firelock failed its purpose, as Persley's knife managed to deflect his aim. Arjun remained unharmed, much to Persley's relief. Despite her skillful maneuver, she was far from a perfect combatant. A sharp and stinging sensation caught her by surprise, as her left arm began to burn. Her immaculate white sleeve began to seep red, bereaved of its tailored lines. The wall behind her had a tarred ball lodged into place, tainted with traces of the maid's outer flesh.

"Ye gone and wet me plates. Little wee bawbag!" Persley announced in a calm but angry voice, as she pointed her other knife towards the swordsman. She wrinkled her expression with enmity.

She readied herself, poised on getting back at her opponent for scraping her arm.

---DINING HALL---
Worthlessplebian Huntertabbysandshark3 Doctor Nope Soviet Panda Sicarius koala Scarl3ttSavage Midrick​

Blacke eyed the Irish gentleman, whose dialect gave way to a statement of jest, but nevertheless received with caution by the Scot. Rather, it was the way the man had blatantly said it in nonchalance, almost as if it was a routine for Grimaldi's personnel to scrutinize outsiders. It made the Scot wary of the implications, but sympathetical to his own cause with Summer, as they themselves were not particularly clear of such allusions.

"Had the three intended to do so on the occasion, they'd simply lose more what they bargained for." Blacke stated with a chortle. "Particularly so in this economy."

Blacke shifted his glance towards the older Redcoat, whose attentions were given in full for their own kind. Yet, unlike the Scot's selected words or perhaps lack thereof, the Colonel sported a placid demeanor. Neither bleak nor depraved, but apparently refined with age - akin to that of firewaters. His confession arrived with modesty, but blatant enough for the dull ears. A fine commander and among the honest ones in the room, contemplated the Scot as he leaned back into his seat. "Ye speak truth, Colonel. Though I am inclined to perceive ye anything but a physician. Often, books dinnae soak well with Her Majesty's soldiers. But I reckon 'tis a pleasure for officers." He mused, taking a sip from his cup.

The Scot's eyes narrowed, as a distinctive crack in the distance caught his ears. Having only wetted his lips with the coffee, the man swiftly lowered his cup and freed his hands from the confinement of any immediate objects. He shot his glance towards the end of the dining hall, where the other passengers began to turn their heads in anticipation of an explanation in regards to the obnoxious noise. A few gentlemen in black attires then made their entry. It was not until they began raising their concealed firelocks, did the occupants began to react in horror. Hysteria filled the crowd, while the men in black began to shout.

"REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE! ANY SUDDEN MOVES, AND YOU'LL CATCH OUR STEELS!" One of them announced, sporting a foreign pocket revolver.

Two more men were armed with longer bore lever-actions, and three carried infantry sabers. Within a matter of minutes, they took control of the dining hall.

"What should we do?!" Summer turned towards Blacke with a terrified look on her face, to which the Scot turned towards the hostess of their lunch for an answer. He gave Grimaldi a quizzical look, gauging her placid features, much to his disturbed intrigue. Despite the commotion, the blonde lady across from Blacke did not follow suit with their assailant's demands. Elegant and unfazed to a fault, Blacke contemplated whether it was hubris in false confidence that propelled such a tranquil facade. Or perhaps he was in the brilliant mind of a madwoman.

Grimaldi simply gave him a smile before raising her voice softly. "How uncivilized." She remarked, taking a piece of candy from Watson. "Any unprecedented act will simply conclude with grievous consequences. I say ... let us resign ourselves, my friends and acquaintances."

"Far from a pleasant conclusion. But I canna disprove your reasonings, Ma'am."

"YOU! STOP TALKING!" One of the gunmen yelled, as they made their way towards the table slowly.

"Ah, shite." The Scot sighed to himself.

 

[Sicarius]

Lorenzo de Auditore
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
koala Worthlessplebian Pilgrim59 ​

Lorenzo chuckled lightly at Philips' remarks but was not at all goaded by the Englishman's accusatory language. While he took pride in both his craft as well as his profession, Lorenzo was not one to concern himself with others' opinions unless it was beneficial to him politically. Given his position, the ambassador was accustomed to drawing the ire and disdain of countless individuals. Whether those feelings towards him held any sort of weight or level of validity, was a matter of debate and perspective. He was a man of integrity, and his intentions were straightforward and true. For the most part, anyways. There was no way to truly predict what Grimaldi would put him up to, and in the end, it could involve having to break away from his own held values and principles. Shaking his thoughts, Lorenzo responded to Philips coyly.

"Please, if you felt my words contained no semblance of honesty before, then what value would any more be to you? I surmise that anything I say would be deemed inconsequential, as you have already predetermined your judgement of my character. However, if you were to ever visit my homeland, I would be more than happy to guide you throughout my neighborhood so that you may see my products in full effect."

Satisfied with his own response, Lorenzo smiled to himself before feeling a sudden, tingly sensation that rapidly shot up his spine; causing a slight tinge of pink to appear on his cheeks in response to a series of events that were not perceivable to those in the room.

The Italian's eyes quickly shot downwards and confirmed that it was indeed the songstress' leg that had so abruptly pulled him from the moment as it brushed against his.

“Pardon, Monsieur. I have yet to adjust to walking on water, it seems.” Josephine apologized.

"Non c’è problema. The ocean is as unpredictable as it is alluring. If one does not travel by sea often, it can take some time to become fully acquainted with her... charms." Lorenzo accepted her apology, his last remark trailing slightly.

Normally given the circumstances, the short interaction would have been trivial. Yet, what had transpired the night before their departure still ran through the back of his mind, resulting in his more notable reaction.

* The Night Before *​

After the pleasantries and fanfare were over, Lorenzo retired to the room Grimaldi's servants had prepared for his brief stay before their early morning voyage. The Italian carefully removed his jacket and gently placed it on the coat hanger that stood by the doorway before removing both his vest and hat, setting them down on a nearby table. He pulled apart his necktie but allowed it to still rest on his shoulders and underneath the collar of his white dress shirt. Letting out a small sigh of both relief and exhaustion, Lorenzo walked up to the large window by his bedside and peered out towards the moonlight, arms held loosely behind his back as he stood in somber admiration. His eyes wandered the vastness of space, as if he was scouring the tortuous web of stars in search of the very heavens for an answer. What was he really here for? What future lied beyond that of Grimaldi and the Institution? Lorenzo was no fool. The line of work regarding anything tied to the Institution was treacherous, and life was almost never guaranteed. Would he die long before his dream is ever realized? Would he be left desolate without the means to reach his goals, to set in motion that in which he truly desires?

Has he even made any impact at all?

"Oh dreary, solemn night sky. How long before the very stars abandon you? Leaving you void of beauty and in isolation... in darkness. Shall the sun then overtake you?"

Once the ambassador finished reflecting upon the moments leading up to the present, he decided that it was time for him to head to sleep. Pulling the sheets of the bed to the side, Lorenzo laid on his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. He attempted to shut out his thoughts, and to empty his mind. He slowly let his eyelids close shut, seeing nothing but the darkness behind them. The room was silent and dim, save for the light of the moon that shown through the window and onto the floor. Some time passed, and suddenly... the Italian's eyes opened wide.

Lorenzo could not find it within himself to fall asleep. While his body was indeed tired, his thoughts were relentless, intrusive, and full of worry. He knew he needed the well-deserved rest, but it seemed as though his mind would not permit it. Sitting up straight and rubbing his eyes. the Italian mumbled to himself before swinging his legs over the side of the bed in an attempt to stand. His legs were a bit wobbly at first, but he quickly gained his composure and he stood for but a moment. He looked towards the door, debating on whether or not it would be inconsiderate for him to vacate his room at such an hour. However, he found his resolve and slowly opened the door before exiting the room. The hallway was as empty as it was vast, and Lorenzo was not too familiar with the outlay of the building. Still, he knew he needed to find a place to calm down and rejuvenate his mind before he could properly put himself to sleep.

The ambassador spent several minutes wandering around the estate. It was very well constructed and spoke volumes as to the large fortune of the Grimaldis. Its walls were grandiose, adorned with various intricate paintings and memorabilia the family had acquired over the years.

They certainly show no restraint in their choice of decor. Lorenzo mused.

Eventually during his considerable amount of time exploring, the Italian found the back porch that led to the gardens. Intrigued, Lorenzo made his way outside.

The arrangement of flowers and foliage were certainly impressive, fully bloomed and insistent on presenting their majesty. Their innumerable aromas filled the air, as the scene was further amplified by the late moonlight causing for the garden to glow in his presence. The Italian followed along the stone path which guided him towards the center, where a beautiful marble fountain lay as its centerpiece. The inside reflected the fullness of the moon, gently rippling as water flowed down and into the pool of the structure. The sight would have left him in awe alone, though one thing in particular stood out in the midst of it all:

There she was, engrossed by the midnight sky. Her light skin was radiant under the moon, her form delicate and tranquil in a way commonly depicted in that of fairytales. Josephine, the French Songstress. What was she doing here? Was she too plagued by thoughts of what is to come? Or was she simply drawn here like him?

Lorenzo was unsure of what to do next. He did not feel like explaining as to why he was here, and part of him did not want to interrupt whatever was going on. Instead, he waited to see if the woman was aware of his company.

Che coincidenza... he thought to himself.

The Present Time​

Lorenzo broke away from his thoughts as a group of armed men in black attire stormed into the room.

"REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE! ANY SUDDEN MOVES, AND YOU'LL CATCH OUR STEELS!"

The Italian turned and looked at Lady Grimaldi in anxiousness and confusion.

 

[Doctor Nope]

Eryn C. Watson
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Worthlessplebian

Mr. Philips Fairhurst
Dining Hall, SS Seymour
Pilgrim59 Soviet Panda

​

Eryn relaxed back into his chair, a small smile of satisfaction forming on him as those who tried the candy praised his handiwork.

“I’m glad it’s up to everybody’s standards.”

He listened to the other conversations going about. Blacke’s words to the Colonel had piqued him, specifically about books and soldiers not mixing well. With his own military origins, Eryn was initially surprised by the idea, but quickly realised that even by his own experiences, it really was true for most other soldiers.

A short-lived thought, abruptly interrupted by the loud crack. Eryn gripped the handle of his cane, watching the presumed pirates flood into the room and taking note of their numbers. Three swordsmen, but swordsmen were not a concern of his. What worried him were the firearms.

While the Doctor attentively listened to the adda betweenst the Colonel and the Auditor’s Agincourt escort, Philips moseyed in the dark, sere labyrinth of his mind. His eye had kept that charmante chestnut coquette in the periphery, not daring to look again lest he caught himself staring. The tempo of his heart’s thump hopped three paces ahead of him the first time, brought about by the accursed yet invaluable auspice in Philips’ sight. A contretemps emerged within Philips, one that died with the loud crack of kicked in doors.

His brow unfurled, elbows propped on the table as hands clasp in middling intrigue at the development. Sunken azures follow along the swordsmen and marksmen.

"Any unprecedented act will simply conclude with grievous consequences. I say ... let us resign ourselves, my friends and acquaintances."

No reason to argue there, Eryn thought. At least, until Grimaldi’s words gained the attention of the very pirates they sought to avoid.

Undoubtedly lackadaisical of you, and imprudent, Philips concluded.

Well. Eryn supposed that what constituted an “unprecedented act” in the first place could be called into question. Obviously he’d never dream of acting alone. As much as he had yet to learn about his current colleagues, things could always be inferred, even by the mere fact that Grimaldi had chosen to employ them.

Assailant will arrive in three seconds. They will likely level the rifle for intimidation. Strikes after that will be risky. Be quick about it.

Sitting just off to his side were Philips and Lorenzo. Philips in particular had some rather interesting developments on his fingers and knuckles. It wasn’t hard to make an educated guess about his talents given the circumstances.

In the split seconds between the assailant’s arrival, Philips honed onto Doctor Watson’s intentions by the mere exchange of looks. As if they communed telepathically.

Two Seconds.

Eryn’s grip on his cane shifted, turning it over subtly in his hands beneath the table. The pommel of the blade hidden within and secured by a mechanical stopper, was now at the side furthest from him.

One Second.

He slid his chair back a little, leaning forward and shifting his weight to his feet. The movements were soundless, and didn’t look like anything more than somebody trying to keep their head down to avoid attention.

Time.

With the pirate only having just arrived and starting to move the gun, Eryn in a single motion sprang up with the pommel of his cane smashing into the side of the assailant’s jaw, knocking them right towards Philips.

Fairhurst resiled from his chair, catching the stumbling buccaneer. His palm smacked the forehead while fingers clasp around tufts of hair. His rifle, deleterious from afar even more so close, pointed away to the topside with Philips’ steeled hand. The pirate’s throat spat gurgled words until Philips dashed the side of his head against the table. A smidgen of dark crimson pooled as the temple’s skin broke upon impact. Now mumbling and heaving, the buccaneer tried to break free. Bang, his head went again on the table’s edge. As Philips pried him away, spindles of blood streamed from his nose’s nostrils staining the fine cloth. His upper lip bled profusely as the head injuries finally relinquished the rifle in his hands. Philips tossed the weapon towards the Colonel.

He circled his new victim into his arms now facing these bold marauders. Left hand coiled sinisterly around the neck, fingers pressing one carotid while the thumb pressured the other and the palm threatened to collapse the larynx. Right hand restrains the victim by the wrist, threatening to twist it out of place.

Philips shuffled with the hostage forward, staring with unyielding neutrality at the pirates. “Consider carefully the preposterous idea of firing, gentlemen.” Philips struck the air with words of ashen steel. “The continuation of your colleague lies with you… And in the palm of my hand.” Philips’ grasp tightens. Exacerbation begets exacerbation, a clutch of their kind ne’er be fastidious. Philips thought.

 

[Soviet Panda]

Connor McKinley​

"No truer words have been spoken." Connor replied with a smile, imagining some of his boys trying to comprehend anything that was in his medical books. "But I haven't had a complaint yet. I'm quite accomplished in the surgical theater. If I had my apron with me I'd show you the proof my self." He was gearing up to launch into one of his long winded ramblings of his career change, but that would have to wait. For even he, with his aged hearing, heard the crack and had to look around for its source. Then came the thugs. Amateurs, really. This simple assessment was underlined by the fact that it was a gunman that came to halt Lady Grimaldi and co. from departing instead of one of the swordsman. If anything, it showed that they were averse to killing anyone, for if they had really wanted everyone to stay, what better way than to put a single shot in the first person that tried to do otherwise?

As the quick bout of violence broke out, Connor nonchalantly caught the rifle thrown to him by Fairhurst and pointed it towards the would be robbers. "I'd listen to him, gentlemen." Connor calmly said as he sighted on the one with the revolver, and from first impressions the leader. "I do not think my companion is bluffing." That, and Connor was fairly certain he could drop Mr. Revolver and at least one other if they believed otherwise. "Let at least the Ladies leave, their more delicate systems cannot handle the sight of blood shed as well as us."