Chapter 0: Pioneer's Jubilee

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Chapter 0


Pioneer’s Jubilee
It is a day of festivities in Golden City. Pioneer’s Jubilee that celebrates the start of Golden City, when the first piece of coal was mined and the success of Golden City started. Most of the citizens are free, except from the Inquisition who are about to face their busiest day of the year. With so much to do it is easy to lose track of the crowd and who mingles within. Extra caution is needed and all Cloaks are summoned and stationed all over the city.

The Land celebrates this with a rare day off for the miners and for most of the human factory workers. A fanfare can be heard and seen through the streets of Golden City and the day seems all the more brighter. At the Center the tinkerers come together to show off their latest developments, advertising what their little shops holds and presenting the progress of their harsh labour and research.

With the festival the Pioneer’s house in The Sky is free to visit for all as well. This also means by extension that the citizens can get an elevator ride up for free. It is one of the reasons why special attention is given to the upper layer of the city.

Another reason, and the most important of all, regards the Council. With Pioneer’s Jubilee the Council makes a rare public appearance together. Every year they announce and introduce their newly appointed president and vice-president to the public. However, the appointments of these positions is never a surprise as the Council tends to stick to their choices of the previous year. What is more exciting, however is how the Council is planning to fill up the seat of the lost McAllister family. Last year they could excuse themselves with the story that the McAllister heiress was unable to make an appearance yet. However, with years passed since the incident the public is demanding for the seat to be finally filled proper. The hope is that they will elect someone from the Land. The question is, how and who?

Despite all the happiness and celebration there are also dark clouds ahead. The Pioneer’s Jubilee is also the day in which the cults make their rise again. These who worship the Pioneer as some sort of deity and these who have become obsessed with the mystery surrounding the founder of the city all rear their heads today. Another headache for the Inquisition to deal with, it seems.

Weather
The weather seems to favour Pioneer’s Jubilee well. The smog rate in the city is low, enabling the people to see rare patches of the blue air as well as a glimpse of The Sky. Though, it is still advisable to wear a mask when going out. As far as warmth goes, citizens don’t necessarily have to wrap themselves up, but it isn’t the weather to go out in shorts either. The smog rate is expected to rise up in the night when the temperature drops and the houses need heating again to keep warm.

Chapter Aim
No big plots are happening as of yet, but there are hints of it for the careful reader. This is your chance to explore Golden City and get acquainted with the layers. I hope to set up a solid base for all on what sort of place Golden City is and to get to know the citizens living within. Since this starting point only has one thread I advise all to indicate their character’s location within the post as to avoid confusion. I hope that with future expansions of the plot we will be able to organise it over several threads to replicate the layers of the city.

Do you have any questions regarding the event? Please ask them in the
Bulletin Board
belonging to this chapter. If it is about Golden City in general head off to the
Inquiries thread
. The DM’s and PM’s are welcomed as well, but try to avoid doing so as much as possible.
 
Aisling Grey - Sky - Centre Elevator Terminus

"Everybody out, everybody out," the man in the trim blue suit snarled as the wire-framed doors ground open. Typically the visitors to the Sky travelled in airy green-velvet comfort, greeted by impeccable manners and a portal that opened with scarcely a whisper of sound. On the Pioneer's Jubilee, all the usual rules went out the window. The elevator cars bore every last man, woman and child they could physically heave into the sky, while the Council's mandate that all citizens be able to visit the Pioneer's Cottage free of charge meant that the operators weren't even able to gouge those travelling above their station. Predictably, they were getting grumpy about the whole thing.

Two families erupted through the doors, the children in their Jubilee best with their parents in hot pursuit. Next came a tinker carrying his latest, greatest invention which he hoped would buy him a permanent ascension to the Embryo. Then a shabby couple from the poorer districts of the Land, and a school group; the children immediately running in different directions as different points of interest catch their eye. The limited security at the top of the Elevator moved to help the teacher to get the children in line, visions of stray urchins invading the homes of the mighty dancing in their head. The operator made a swift escape, beginning his descent before anyone could suggest he help herd the little brats. In all the chaos the shabby couple passed through with scarcely a glance, the thin woman in a neat white day dress while her chestnut locks were bound in a tight bun; possibly some kind of governess by the look of her, or an artisan's wife.

The shabby couple of course was Aisling and her semi-willing protector, taking advantage of the day's high traffic to visit the Sky neither of them were strictly supposed to visit. Though it was only Aisling Grey who was formally banished from it. She led the way up the path toward the Pioneer's Cottage and into the crowd at the end of the queue to enter. Owing to high traffic, each visitor was only permitted thirty minutes within the Cottage and its immediate grounds before being politely evicted for new visitors and forced to rejoin the queue. To this end each visitor received a stamp and had their name taken down, but it was no part of her plan to make it that far up the queue.

She turned to her right and gave Corbett a simple - if artificial - smile wholly out of character for her. "Keep your eyes peeled Mr Baines. We need to wait until they're distracted, then quickly and directly off to the north. There are servants quarters up there beyond the trees, and once we're away from the queue I think we can get to my lab."

Aisling seemed fixed on the idea that her laboratory would be exactly as it was when she last saw it two and a half years ago, and that she'd be able to find some clues about what had happened once they were there. She'd been a little vague about how they would make their way across the Sky to get there, and Corbett's experience with her plans suggested she wasn't playing coy. She genuinely seemed to assume everything would just work out at that point."

@Shizuochan
 
The Underground - Lucius "The Maggot" King

The steady beat of boots against stone filled the rough-hewn corridor with constant noise. One man, yet the reverberations made him sound like a legion marching off to war. Lucius quite liked the mental imagery, for it was a precursor to the truth. The single rhythm was soon joined by the slap of bare feet on stone, then another pair of boots, more and more as those waiting in the shadows and down side corridors joined the procession. It all came to an abrupt and discordant stop when Lucius reached his destination, a dead end cavern that sometimes saw use for gatherings in the Underground, and turned round to face his crowd of followers.

"My friends." The words rang hollow, thanks both to insincerity and the mask worn over the lower half of his face to protect from the smog. It also covered his cheeks and throat, and combined with the hood of his cloak that left those gathered able to see only a bit of grey hair, a little pale flesh, and the icy blue eyes filled with piercing intensity. Lucius growled under his breath and started over.

"My fellow vermin." That felt much better. He spoke with fire in his voice, letting it build from hot embers to a swirling inferno as he preached to his audience. "Today is a day of hope and vision for those who stand atop us. Today they will cheer and celebrate a legacy of success for the few built on the broken backs of the many. Today will mark another milestone on a road paved with blood and bones." Lucius looked around to those gathered, catching their eyes one by one. "Unless we do something to make a statement, of course." He reached up and started unclasping the buckles holding his mask in place, ignoring the concerned mutters of the crowd. The reaper's hourglass that marked his life was already running short, short enough that sickness from the foul air would never win the race to claim his final breath. Lucius pulled the mask free and pushed his hood back, letting them all see the ghastly, diseased flesh of his cheek and neck.

"I have been marked for death. Staring the end in the face has opened my eyes wide. The Pioneer's dream is a farce, and we vermin know this to be true. Today we must make sure those standing above us know it as well. I mean to strangle the hope and joy out of them before I die, to force them down to our level so that they will understand the truth of this city. Only then will the revolution come and see you all lifted from this life of suffering." The men and women watching him were mostly staring with rapt attention, and a few seemed even to be crying. Some were disinterested, but that was to be expected. Not everyone had the capacity to understand his grand vision. They would still do their part out of spite, which was good enough for his purposes.

"Go, spread the word. Tell the other vermin that we rise today. Tell them that the Maggot will bring the Sky to its knees today. Tell them that, with their help, the revolution begins today." The cave filled once more with the echos of legions, each charging off to recruit more soldiers, and Lucius watched them go with a smile that he knew must look hideous with his mangled face.

One man, a lanky fellow with messy dark hair and familiar face, remained behind. "You actually believe the shit that comes out of your mouth, or what? Maybe that rot on your face got to your brain." Tobin was one of Lucius' oldest companions, one of those for whom the term 'friend' might actually apply. They'd known each other since before this disease had claimed his face and set him on this new path of violence.

"Who knows?" The zealous fire had left Lucius' voice and a smile tugged at his lips as he replaced his mask. "Let's just agree I'm a madman and not bother with questions of belief. Are you in?"

"Aye. Should make for a good show, at least." Tobin gave him a nod and a grin, then trotted off to follow the others in spreading the Maggot's call to arms.

Lucius found an agreeable section of rock to sit down on and leaned back against the wall. He'd never really intended to start his own cult of sorts, but then he also hadn't ever expected to be a walking dead man with nothing to lose. It was interesting what such unexpected developments could do for one's life. Other disaffected rats of the Underground had made a folk hero of him after he killed that oxygen tank merchant, and it seemed a natural progression to build them into a loosely united force. Now it was time to actually see if these vagabonds could make a real statement and get the attention of the elites of Golden City. It was an appropriate venture for the day: each and every one of these poor bastards stuck in the hellish life of the Underground had once dreamed of doing something big and changing the world, and now they would have their chance.

That, or they would all die horribly in the attempt. Lucius would be content with either outcome.


The Sky - Lady Almyra Grace Overton

The maids looked rather confused and worried this morning as they stood in the bedroom doorway, staring as if they'd never seen a lady up and dressed before they arrived at the crack of dawn. Almyra laughed at their awkwardness as she realized that they probably hadn't ever seen such a thing. "Nothing's wrong girls, today is just a special day. Go fetch some breakfast if you'd like something to do." The maids exchanged a look that seemed equal parts consternation and annoyance before heading away. To be fair, they were both about her same age and couldn't enjoy being called girls, but they were just going to have to put up it.

Their irritation also probably had something to do with Almyra's attire, she supposed. They seemed fond of stuffing her into corsets and dresses and other devices of feminine torture and doing her hair in large and fashionable and horribly inconvenient styles, but today she had chosen a far more utilitarian look for herself. Sturdy leather boots and gloves, both brown, went well with her working trousers and the white buttoned shirt with a leather vest over top of it. Every piece of the outfit was purchased from a men's clothing boutique here in the Sky, and she would doubtlessly look horribly out of place with her peers. She would, however, fit in with the crowds of folks coming up from the Land. Today she had opted not to strap on the belts of tools that she usually wore with the outfit when she was tinkering in her workshop, and she'd left her hair down since there was worry about it getting in the way of her work. All in all Almyra looked like a commoner, which she quite liked for the Pioneer's Jubilee, and she wasn't particularly bothered by the knowledge that it would likely earn her dirty looks and mockery from those in the Sky who knew her face and thus her station.

By the time she got down to the small dining hall, once a room meant only for the servants while the Overtons always ate in the outrageously large dining hall regardless of practicality, Almyra was only a little peeved to find that the maids had taken it upon themselves to summon some of the guards, though they were wearing only simple leathers and such rather than their bulky metal armor. A small part of her had hoped to be able to slip away without them for a day, but clearly she would have had to be out of the manor while they were still asleep to manage that feat. Someone, or perhaps many someones, had clearly talked to the Overton servants and staff and told them to look out for their Lady's safety even against her own wishes, and whether due to loyalty to her or fear of the mystery order-givers or some combination of both they most certainly did exactly that. Almyra had long ago stopped trying to order the guards not to follow her around everywhere, but she had managed to whittle their protectiveness down enough to not be overbearing. She gave them each a pleasant smile and nod before sitting down to quickly devour a heaping plate of eggs and sausage.

"Alright then." When Almyra was finished, she pushed away from the table and stood. The four guards around the table followed suit immediately. "I'm going to visit the Pioneer's house this morning. And you lot," she cast her eyes around to the guards, "will be joining me in a relaxed manner. None of that keeping a perimeter nonsense and trying to keep everyone who doesn't look wealthy away from me. It's the Pioneer's Jubilee, and that would be against the spirit of the day. If any day should get you men to relax a bit and let me mingle with the common people of the city, today ought to be the one. Don't go shoving people away unless they look like they're actively trying to kill me, alright?"

The guards looked dubious about the whole thing, but perhaps they could tell she wouldn't relent. Almyra had been told that her stubborn voice was very obvious, so maybe they'd learned to recognize it. Whatever the case, they nodded and readied themselves to leave. Almyra glanced over to the rest of the folks seated around the long table. "You're welcome to join me if you'd like." They wouldn't, of course, because apparently servants socializing with a Lady was terribly inappropriate, but she thought that was silly and hoped that she would be able to break them of that foolishness one day. None of them seemed willing to make today that day. "Alright then. Gilbert, I've a job for you." the elderly castellan looked up from his bowl of oatmeal with wary eyes, probably because every 'job' she gave him was something that made him squawk about the expense and how she was going to waste the Overton fortune if she didn't heed his advice. "Once you're done with your meal, see that everyone gets a bonus for today, in the Pioneer's honor. A week's pay should do it. Then everyone has the rest of the day off to do as they please." Almyra didn't bother to wait around to hear the objections before she made her way to the door, and any that might have come where drowned out by the sudden excited chatter from the maids and other servants around the table.

They made their way through the already crowded streets and headed to the Pioneer's house. Despite her orders, the guards did subtly try to keep people away from Almyra, but there were enough people that it was a futile effort. A couple folks seemed to recognize the guards for what they were, even without their fancy armor with the Overton family crest on it, and followed along in their wake to get through the milling crowds more quickly. They gave her some questioning looks as well, but Almyra simply smiled at them and didn't give an explanation for her escort. When they finally got to the Pioneer's house, she horrified the guards with a declaration that they would be standing in line, not cutting ahead by use of her name and its attendant power. They raised a fuss that drew a lot of eyes, but her stubborn voice was enough to get them to back down into just grumbling and bunching up behind her in the line. That was good enough for Almyra. She'd made this little trip every year since she was old enough to sneak out on her own, and standing in line with the masses from below was part of the tradition. It was a shame that the guards made her so damned conspicuous, but she wasn't going to let them ruin it. Today was the Pioneer's Jubilee, and until she had to join the rest of the Council in making their yearly announcements she planned to have as much fun as she could, and neither guards nor curious strangers were going to stop her.
 
Corbett Baines - Sky - Centre Elevator Terminus

Beside the thin woman in the white day dress was a man in a navy suit jacket, hands sunken so deep into the pockets they may as well have been lost to the abyss. From behind lenses fogged over with the - admittedly slight - dustings of smog, the eyes of Corbett Baines wearily shifted from visitor to visitor, and then to the Security, which, if Aisling insisted, would pose quite some problem.

At the very least, the smell was blissfully neutral, even when diluted with the stench of the unwashed and the poor. Already, Corbett could feel a blissful clearing of the lungs. The Sky was, as ever, pristine save for the intrusive amoeba that flooded in from the Land and the Underground; virulent invaders that included - with none of the irony lost on him - Corbett Baines and Aisling Grey alike.

Mr. Baines was grimacing, a surprise in and of itself; few things could inspire a reaction to betray itself upon his leathery visage. The ‘best-laid’ plans of Aisling Grey - and the faux-smile that accompanied it - found themselves in highly exclusive company. One simple glance upon that smile of hers had been enough for Corbett to turn away and brace himself for what followed.

“Is there a world, perhaps, where your trip into the past could last for a period of time under thirty minutes?” Corbett was unsure, after all these years, if words spoken as such were genuine attempts to dissuade his ward, or simply subtle scorn that he had grown fond of. Perhaps the latter was simply a product of his resignation, a method of listlessly railing against the inevitable whims of his charge.

He tracked the medley of security that guarded the final layers of the permeable Sky. Well-meaning grafters, vigilant, but not without shortcoming. Some had their own innate biases and tendencies - perhaps they’d turn a lazy eye to children, or couples, or the elderly. Others would have no such shortcoming - the trick, then, was to gauge their line of sight, their area of influence, to work around rather than through it. Corbett had been a Cloak - not a particularly honest one, but then honesty had never been a measure of skill.

“The richfolk amidst the Sky exploit to no end, and sometimes without even the vaguest idea of any particular end. You’ve discarded the idea that your laboratory is no longer your laboratory, I suppose?” Corbett continued as he scanned through the crowds and the overseers that stood above them.

There. A guard with a softness beneath his hardened visage, regarding the teacher’s children with a wholesome joy. A newlywed hopeful for fatherhood, perhaps, it made no difference - it was a vulnerability. Elsewhere, a guard whose gaze was far too fixed, too rigid. A vulnerability as well.

“I have a gun, tucked away nearabouts my nethers, Miss. Are you aware that if we are to be accosted, and the gun discovered, I will be treated, with some prejudice, as a lowly, hateful assassin of some sort, with you as my accomplice?”

A lingering pause, before Corbett made to take Aisling by the waist.

“Go now, briskly.”

@Anguissette
 
Sparrow's Corner - The Underground - Spout

"The revolution begins today! The Maggot knows your troubles, your suffering, your plight! Pioneer's Jublilee?" the speaker spat an unidentifiable glob of white on the ground, leaving the grimy roadway slightly cleaner. "The Pioneer's dream is a farce, a nightmare we vermin are only beginning to wake up from!" The man in the ragged grey shirt bore all the usual traits of a Rat in his home habitat. The smoke-grime on his features. The matted hair slicked back untidily. The wild eyes and the air of desperation. What was different was the hope that lay over it all. Hope was a rare commodity in the Sewers. "Come out, come out! We rise today - with our help, the Maggot will bring the Sky to its knees!"

Brulow's hideout wasn't far from the Black Market, a secret sanctuary where he and all the Chattering Choughs could disappear in times of trouble, such as when their mischief infuriated the local villains into hiring thugs to go after them. No one knew his ambitions for sure, but though Brulow sent his little Choughs all over the Underground and up into the Land there were still areas where his boys and girls could be found more often than not. Places like Sparrow's Corner, an intersection between a road that fed into the heart of the Market, a narrow alley and a ladder up to a fat ventilation duct that hadn't carried fresh air in living memory.

Today Spout was there with a few of his friends, sharing a few fried sausages and a solid hunk of bread as they watched the world go by. The smog wasn't that bad today, but there were other things drifting on the Sewer wind this Pioneer’s Jubilee, a peculiar melange of religious fervour and violence that only a trained nose could detect. A nose not yet numbed by a lifetime spent below the Last Elevator. A nose like Spout’s, an unpreposessing little snub presently glistening with meat juices. Best not to ask what kind.

“What do you think?” he asked, wiping a sleeve across his nose. “Th’ Pioneer’s dream. I heard he wanted us all to live the way the Floaters do, wiv automata to bring us food and wash us while we sit and praise him. ‘Cept the Floaters, they wanted it all for themselves so they killed him and made the poor mine and threw anyone who complained down here.” He coughed and wiped the sleeve back across his face, moving a smudge from his forehead to a cheek. “Only, some folk as say he’s a god now and if we’re good and patient he’ll bring us all into the Sky.” A scowl showed what he thought of that idea. “Only thing waiting patiently ever got me was hungry,” he asserted. Well that, and access to the homes of any number of deserving targets but he ignored that with the blithe certainty of the young.

“You think loudmouth over there is right? Think this Maggot will make the toffs come to terms and see they have to treat us square?” As the firebrand made to leave he handed his bread to an older girl and hurried after him. “Scuse sir,” he began. “This Maggot man, I heard he was a killer. How come he’s suddenly a revolutee-onee-weary?” Spout mangled the word, but understood the concept well enough. Sort of.

The man turned back quickly, eager to make at least one recruit on his rounds rather than face up to the boss empty handed. “He only kills when he needs to, he wants to change the world but he needs our numbers and support for that. Will your dad-“ “Haven’t got a dad.” “Oh, well then will your mum-“ “Haven’t got a mum eivva. How ‘bout me?” The matte-haired man looked down at him and began to laugh as Spout’s face grew increasingly red and he stalked off back to the upturned crates by the wall where his friends were. “Butthead,” he muttered under his breath.

@Kat @Pahn @Nemopedia
 
Phineas Abbess; The Underground
His mother always claimed that children have no awareness of hot or cold. Phineas had believed her, as the smoldering heat of the Underground never bothered him as much as it did the rest. However, when he went to the Land in the early morning he had found himself hit with an unfamiliar bite and tinge. His skin prickled and the hairs stood straight, he had started to shiver and his nose started to run. Cold, he believed was the sensation, and it was the first time he ever sensed, felt or experienced it. His mother’s words were a lie, but what else was to be expected of a whore?

It was quite an adventure, though. His morning on the Land. There were already a bunch of people out, filling the streets and keeping it busy. Preparations were made for the day and his little figure from the stairs of the Underground went largely unnoticed and ignored.

Except from one figure. Tall and fancy with a dandy top hat like most gentlemen wore them above. The person had offered him some powdered candy, something Phineas eagerly wanted. Of course it didn’t come for free, but the favour was easy enough. Just a little package thrown into a box. That was all he had to do. A small package into a fancy box. Phineas did as told and pocketed his goods, to share with the rest later. It was a good exchange and sweets were a rarity for kids like him.

Back in the Underground Phineas was with his friends again, listening to the Maggot’s preach. The man certainly knew how to rile up a crowd, promising all sorts of pretty words. They didn't speak to the Ant, however. Phineas did better with clear plans of actions over long drawled on speeches of ideals and dreams. His mind was geared for excitement and adventure, not for the long term planning and hyping. It did sound fun, though. Whatever the Maggot was planning was bound to be exciting, or that was the vibe the boy got, and fun was all the promise he needed.

“The Pioneer needs people to fuck,” Phineas responded to Spout. “Little boys and girls and women and men, like my mum,” he shrugged, chewing loudly on the questionable meat they shared, the sweets still in his pocket. “That’s why we are here. For a quick and cheap fuck,” the boy made a few motions to demonstrate what he meant, a grin spreading over his face.

He watched the sweat roll down the forehead of the Maggot, watched the sweat and grime that covered all the rest. There was always so much sweat in the Underground. But he was glad for it, he preferred the heat and the ever lingering smell of sweat over the cool air on the Land. It was where he had the Coughs and it was where he belonged as his mother’s son. There was nowhere else that he could imagine himself to belong.

“Want some?” Phineas pulled out the substance he had acquired earlier, deciding that he was bored with listening to the adults. The white powder didn’t look like any of the sweets Phineas ever had and had seen, but he believed it to be one of these fancy things only the brats in the upper layers ever got. Something he had gotten for the rest today through a little luck.

Dipping a finger into the powder he took a sample of the substance, eyes closing for the sweet sugary delight to hit him. Instead he was met with a bland and salty flavour, vaguely reminding him of the flavoured bark his mother sometimes gave him as a treat. Pulling a face the boy sniffed the powder, feeling the substance tingle his nostrils.

“Must be a sad life up there,” he mumbled.
 
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Aisling Grey - Sky - Pioneer's Cottage (Approach)

“Is there a world, perhaps, where your trip into the past could last for a period of time under thirty minutes?”

Aisling gave Mr Baines the withering look his dry attempt at wit deserved. They had worked two years in one another's company and save for in her deepest frustration she freely admitted they had been better for her than her attempts at independence in the Land before. While she remained in Pioneer's Bay, she had moved to a better address and with Corbett's loaned expertise and her own ethically neutral genius had even established a measure of security for her workshop and the place where she slept.

She had moved beyond a simple hand-to-mouth existence and begun her true experiments again, but bereft of her original results (or even her notes) it would be a long path to even replicate her original progress let alone complete her life's work. Unless she could find some clues today, it could take her years - a decade even - to get back to where she had been on the night of the attack. Then she had her family's resources at her disposal. While somewhat constrained by her position, her influence and borrowed wealth had seen her able to acquire anything her mind set itself to. She inhaled deeply, savouring the purity of The Sky's air with the faint aroma of the panacea that lay beneath it. Now her assets were sharply constrained, only partly offset by her ability to go after her desires personally. Or at least so much as her bossy watchdog would permit.

“I have a gun, tucked away nearabouts my nethers, Miss. Are you aware that if we are to be accosted, and the gun discovered, I will be treated, with some prejudice, as a lowly, hateful assassin of some sort, with you as my accomplice?”

The white-gowned woman's head snapped around to stare at the man beside her as though he'd suddenly sprouted fangs; a kind of horrified disbelief. "What? Why would you-" But it was too late as he slipped his arm around her waist and she followed his lead as smoothly as she could. Her notion had them dressed in garb that could pass as a poor couple's best or the comfortable old wear Skyborn servants might reserve for their days off in place of livery. They strolled briskly from the queue towards the trees, and just as she'd known the security in place didn't so much as bat an eyelash. Aisling had known this was possible, although for a few unworthy seconds she'd feared one or more would turn and point, denouncing her as The Murderous Exile. She grimaced as they slipped into the treeline then shook her head. She would show them. She'd show all of them, and avenge herself on the people responsible for this whole situation.

"You see? I told you it would be simple," she said with blithe oblivousness to the timing involved. She threw a glance over her shoulder as they walked, "a bit farther. Alright, here."

This time she pointed to the left and ahead where an onion dome loomed above the trees. "There. That's where my lab is." With security less of a concern and her own clear mental map of the Sky proven an advantage, she made to take him by the hand and led him through the denser parts of the forest with the clear assurance of someone who had been here before and remembered (at least distantly) the way. Unlike most people she knew, she didn't feel the need to fill the silence with incessant chatter and it wasn't until they were splashing their way across a perfect rippling stream that she turned and asked, "Have you been to the Sky before, Mr Baines? The real Sky I mean, not the packaged visit to the Pioneer's Cottage?" Sometimes it felt as though everything between the Elevator and the new Pioneer's Cottage was devoted to the impression of the Floaters as benevolent quasi-deities who deigned to share the City with the less fortunate, more propaganda than fact.

With that they reached the wrought iron fence that sliced off a lip of the woodland into the grounds of the Floater family, and Aisling found herself looking through the bars in disbelief. Where her laboratory had been, where she had done so much of her work, where her family had been murdered now stood a small orchard. Two servants in green and white livery were tending to a young tree bearing apples of an exquisite blood red. Behind it on the patio overlooking the gardens sat an elegantly clad family at their luncheon, parents and three younger children. The sound of an overboiling teakettle could be heard, and when Corbett looked around he would likely be able to discern Aisling in a state of some distress and trying to squeeze between the bars.

"There are strangers in my family's home!"

@Shizuochan
 
Corbett Baines - Sky - Pioneer's Cottage

”Have you ever been to the Sky before, Mr Baines?”

The ‘real’ Sky: Corbett wondered how long it had been since he had glimpsed upon its true face. His time amidst the Floaters had always been of some convoluted pretense, ever the loyal, hapless Cloak, pulled at the strings by his betters. Still, he had always known the visage of the Sky as a beautiful one, powdered and pure. Its hands, gloved in all their poisoned finery and draped over with sinister silhouette, were a different story, manipulating the joints of their lessers like a tinker working away at an automaton. He was keenly aware, intimately acquainted, with those beautiful hands.

“Yes, Miss Grey.”

Corbett had allowed his hand to rest wearily within Aisling’s own. His charge felt no small degree of excitement, which could only prove troublesome. He had remembered his first encounter with the Tinker-Lady, paranoid and wary. Those were qualities that could be leveraged, easily enough, towards her safety. Whatever this endeavor lead to could only be detrimental, whether it be bitter disappointment, or the spawn of a new obsession. In truth, he hoped for the former.

All his pessimistic hopes, however, could not contain his surprise. Perhaps he had expected something that adhered to his perceptions of Aisling Grey; some esoteric establishment upon the Sky, founded by a lady of similar ilk to Miss Grey, possessed of the same, strange passions and strength of compulsion. What presented itself before him were the fine, formulaic trimmings of wealth; a family dressed in their pristine best, servants of noble visage and stature at their beck and call. The images of a dream.

And Aisling Grey, desperately contorting herself to fit through the barrier.

He strode forward with pantherine grace, silent and quick, a soundless explosion of impetus. He made to grasp at his charge, making no effort to lighten his firm, harsh grip, “It’s their home, Miss Grey, it’s their home now. Let us go.”
 
Minerva Eliza Gifford - The Land

"It's a revolution in personal domestic comfort! Don't spend your life trying to get to the Sky, bring the Sky to you! Not in forty years, not in twenty years - next year! Come and meet the future," the wild-eyed man enthused, gesturing to his display.

There might be a dozen marvels here, but with every aspiring tinker with a pitch to make and a few coppers for publicity all packed in together the Center of the Land was a haze of sound and excitement rich in confusion and poor in coherent message. A dingy tent with a legless automata that brewed and served tea was jammed in beside a candy stripe pavilion sporting a dozen glittering metal dancers scarcely a foot tall, performing the Can-Can with linked arms. There were less anthropomorphic constructs as well, a clockwork laundry device at the stall beside a brass box with a friendly dog-face painted on its top; the latter presently appeared to have enveloped a man's foot and was belching out clouds of steam.

The tinker with the revolution in personal domestic comfort's invention appeared to be one of the second breed. Though not a revolution in beauty, Minerva thought snidely. The flaming redhead's features showed all the wide-eyed fascination in the world in the man's rantings as she obligingly took down notes on her bracer. Mostly she pantomimed taking down the technical details and grandiose claims, recording instead her own commentary and a few useful-sounding quotes she could use later if she needed to. The device itself was a ponderous metal construct with a barrel on the top built into the centre of his tent, while the fluttering flap on its left appeared to lead into the back and drew more of her attention.

"Excuse me," she cut in when the tinker's growing efforts to impress her were nearing the ridiculous. "Mark," she cooed, drawing closer, "this all sounds perfectly splendid, but I wonder if you could show me? I know our readers would be keen to hear all about my own experiences with your marvel." She lifted her hand to smother a smile as the young man blushed, mentally revising his age down from the twenty eight years he claimed.

"Of, of course!" he said effusively and ushered her towards the curtain. Minerva stepped forward eagerly, then paused as she felt the air flutter against her face. "Go on," he urged, and she stepped boldly into the flickering shadows cast by the electric light. It wasn't that impressive a display, and she yawned while no one could see her face. How had it come to this? The amazing fanfare around the Falcon's capture had splashed her byline around Golden City's professional media and given her the opportunity to move up to the Times, leaving her friends behind. Two years later though, and she was still the little fish in a more prestigious pond, waiting for her break.

"Go and cover the tinker displays," the editor had said. "Put together a nice piece, not too many names unless they have something really newsworthy." As though she didn't know her craft. She bristled, then sighed - and looked up as she noticed. The vent in the tent wall was pumping in air. Pure smog-free air. She hadn't noticed an oxygen tank out there; she didn't know her tinkercraft, but that was unusual. Maybe Mark Whatsisname had something here.
 
Amos Fleming; The Sky - The Centre
Amos was a man of punctuality, of strict routine and careful movements. It was a remainder of his past days as a youth. One where he was eager to please and to impress. A young idealist with the urge to show that the inhabitants of Pariah Bay weren’t all scum. Traits that never left his side and forever marked his character. Physically he was part of the elite, but his mind and heart forever remained on The Land.

“None have arrived, yet?” the Council member was the first to arrive in the Townhouse, never one to leave others waiting. The steward responded negatively, apologising for something that the lad couldn’t help. The Council members knew that they were expected to gather here, preparing for their duty of today and as such it was their own responsibility to arrive. It showed the rigid etiquette that The Sky forced upon its people and the steward. Pretentiousness and eccentricities that Amos never grew used to. “Very well then,” he sighed, letting the steward go. There was no need to agonise the boy any longer, especially not on a day as busy as the Jubilee.

Alone in the finely decorated room Amos made a turn around the long table. Two rows of five seats at each side and two bigger chairs at the ends, representing all of the members in the Council. The notulist and the clerk had a small table in the corner, tucked away inconspicuously and easily forgotten by the rest, but with the grave duty for which they were sworn into secrecy for. Every whisper uttered here would never leave the room, unless a formal statement of one Council was made as a whole.

The room was everything one imagined of Golden City. Most of the furniture were made of gold, or at least gold in colour only befitting to the name it honoured. The table was made of high quality hardwood with golden accents in it, while the floor of dark wood held a thick carpet of the finest quality.

The regular councils and the vice all had a deep blue for their seats, but the head had a seat of royal red, matching the heavy curtains behind. These heavy fabrics were closed most of the time to ensure the safety of these inside. However, for the Jubilee the curtains were bound together with golden tassels and tucked to the sides. Rare rays of daylight entered the room, making the colours in the room seem so much more vivid. A repetition of colours that represented the rich and The Sky so well.

Positioning himself in front of the window Amos overlooked the crowd bustling about. The Sky was particularly busy today with everyone making their annual ‘visit’ to the Pioneer’s lodging. Which would be the case ideally, but everyone knew that most of the visitors coming up just came up to sight-see, or with other intentions in mind. Not all pure, and some silly as they were based on rumours that for some reason never died.

The council member was met with a banner held up high in front of the window. The protesters to whom the banner belonged were jumping and waving around, trying to drill their point across to Amos and the rest. It was an usual sight for the Jubilee. The Centre in The Sky attracted a great deal of groups that had something to march for. Whether it was to advocate the rights of automatons, or the reopening of the McAlister case, they all came and gathered here, trying to overrule the other with their voices.

It was all quite pointless, just like the banner was. By just protesting once a year they didn’t achieve the needed attention to make a change. However, by doing more than protest they would receive the special interference of the Inquisition that were positioned everywhere in the city. Neither had the outcome the true fanatics were hoping for, but it occupied them and it moved the crowd sufficiently to satisfy themselves for another year.

There was nothing one could achieve on a day like the Jubilee. Security was too tight and there was too much to distract. While some may believe that they could impact the crowd through shock, or emotion, Amos had faith that they would not. As busy the streets may be and as dense the crowds were, to succeed was a an entirely different task, one Amos almost expected to be a failure. None of these protesters or rebels would find the change they wanted. Not today.

He would, however and he would be the change he needed.
 
Aisling Grey - Sky - Ebernett Estate (ext.)

“It’s their home, Miss Grey, it’s their home now. Let us go.”

Aisling acknowledged no such thing, and had one leg slid between the curving wrought iron bars before Corbett could lay hands on her. Attempting to compel her to withdraw only started her fighting like a cat trapped in a sack, one leg curled back around the ridged spire to anchor herself while she slapped and clawed at the titan's grip on her upper arms. "Letmego, letmego, letmeGO, damn you" she muttered harshly as they fought, some vestige of sense keeping her voice low. Flailing wildly, she lacked the training or experience to inflict any real damage on her erstwhile protector, though her convolutions would compel the man to shift at least one of his hands to a less appropriate locale in order to detach her from her iron anchor. To her this whole picture of dreamlike serenity was a nightmare, her family's presence in the Sky erased as though they were just another wraith of her fevered mind.

When she finally broke (or was broken) free of the fence, the family inside remained utterly oblivious to the chaos that had so nearly interrupted their morning. The tinker's fighting spirit slipped away, and she followed listlessly as she was led back out of sight of the garden. Into the mint-scented woods and close by the stream. There the gurgle of rushing waters forced open a door whose timbers were already battered by the theft of her childhood home. The limp complaisance he could feel in her frame tensed, his only warning. Then the legs went out from under her and she sat suddenly on the soft grass, long-lost tears dewing her lashes and making their break for freedom as she wept silently. Short of physically lifting and hauling her away - certainly possible given their relative sizes and strengths - Mr Baines was left with no recourse to make her move; though she was not concerned with him right now.

In her mind, she was staring at her lab, at her experiments, at the faces of the family she loved but had always taken for granted. At the concern and dismay clear on the face of her mother and brothers, at the gleeful condemnation on the face of Aunt Millicent and the grief and betrayal on the face of her father. She heard again the stammered, impassioned pleas fall from her own lips like so many lead balloons and the faces close against her. The heated argument, the moment when she tried to show them the golden orb, the ticking heart she'd poured her life and her energies into and the look of rage on her father's face, as he slapped it from her grasp. Daddy, she thought, her tears flowing freely now. And then... the explosion, that tore everyone away and brought the roof of the lab down on top of her. Her arms ached to reach out to them and to be held and forgiven by her father again, one last time.

"...just one last time," she murmured, only half to herself.

When she looked up some minutes had passed - she couldn't say how many exactly - but she looked at this spot with a different expression, a determined focus wholly separate from her tear-stained cheeks. Indeed, the latter appeared to slip her mind entirely as she looked up along the river until she saw a small swell in the earth half-covered by mossy stones. When she spoke her voice was still hoarse, but was far more the honed instrument he was used to from their time together.

"Mr Baines," she began, "Might you happen to have a shovel about your person?"

Belatedly she looked around to see where he was now - and how he appeared.
 
Mallory Devlin; The Sky - Pioneer’s Lodging
Perfumed laces and too much aftershave. It all walked past Mallory, annoyed and groggy as she welcomed the visitors to the Pioneer’s Lodging. None of them pleasant, all of them working on her nerves. However, it was a job and it paid.

'Welcome, enjoy!' Mallory tried to be excited, forcing a grimace that resembled the smile of a murderer. Mentally she made snide remarks, but outwardly she was like the rest of today’s working population: desperate.

Today the population of Golden City came out in their best clothes. Hoping to present themselves to be better than they were. Mallory could see it in their faces. The uncomfortable royal smiles, the mimicking of the language the Floaters fancied themselves with. Everyone was wearing a mask.

And so should she, if Mallory wasn’t the snide creature she was.

“Listen, if you have a complaint you may see that buddy behind me,” Mallory impatiently pointed towards the Muscle. Big and intimidating who was in charge of just that; to be big and intimidating. Usually Mallory hated his presence, the rancid smell of dirt and sweat on him seemed to grow exponentially with his size, but today she could appreciate it. It shut up the idiots that tried to argue with her. Most of the time.

The man in front of her paled up, especially so when Muscles accompanied her words with a pop of his joints. He stood his ground, however. Puffing up his chest he presented himself to be unafraid. Whether it was because he knew Muscles couldn't hurt him (legally) or because he truly was a fool Mallory didn't care. He annoyed her and she didn't care much about legalities if she had been Muscles.

“It is discrimination, you are discriminating me!” he argued, repeating his earlier statement, and his many claims before. Always the same old discussion. Always the same old sensitivities. He was standing in line to enter the Pioneer's Lodging. She happened to supervise. The stupid randomizer decided to pick out the one with the temper (not that she was one to talk about a temper). Argument ensured, with no way of calming down because 'chill' was not in Mallory's personal dictionary.

Sighing the female rolled her eyes, prodding the randomizer at him. “Listen, you were picked by this piece of fine science,” she started, eyes narrowing. “Perhaps that your bald little head can’t wrap around it, but it picks people. At random," she bristled, adding a condescending; "Buzz, buzz," behind all of it. She knew that she was only making it worse for herself, but she couldn't help it. She would screw the randomizer up his arse, if need to be.

“There is no di—“ the randomizer started to bleep and vibrate again, this time pointing itself towards a fancy lady dressed in pants. While the style resembled that of the fashion on The Land Mallory just knew that the quality of the fabrics was too fine for anyone down there to afford. No, this was a Fetus through and through.

“Halt, lady!” the brunette gave the troublemaker a look of triumph before running off. Another flash of anger on his face, but she didn't care. She had won. Petty, but true.

“Nothing personal, just procedure,” she announced, approaching the female. The randomizer in hand calming down in its signal as she cut through the row.

"Now arms spread and legs apart, this will be over real soon."


@Jorick
 
Mara Vaine || The Sky || The Pioneer's Cottage
"Look at you both, all grown up!" Mara gushed, a rare smile lighting up her features. Her two children, Henry and Lillian, were once again dressed for the Pioneer's Jubilee, looking as dashing as she hoped them to be. At least, in her mind. She hardly seemed to notice the uncomfortable look on her son's face as he buttoned up his shirt. Today was the one day that she could indulge them freely--a day that she saved up all year in anticipation for. Her children were her whole world, and she would give them the best that she could. And they would hopefully never know that their mother was a criminal.

"Mama, do we get to see the Sky today?" Lillian asked. Mara ruffled her daughter's dark curls, nodding. The young girl beamed, but her older brother seemed far less enthusiastic. This was the first time they were going to the Pioneer's Cottage without their father, after all. While his sister seemed blissfully ignorant of the fact, he was very well aware. He remembered his father's last words to him so clearly. "I'll be back soon." Such a lie. His mother never mentioned him now, and they had avoided celebrating the Pioneer's Jubilee for the past several years.

Something had changed. He wasn't sure what it was, but for whatever reason his mother suddenly decided that they were finally going to celebrate the day as a family again. She'd neglected to buy them new clothes despite her sudden decision, and it was more than noticeable. Lillian's knee-length dress was to the top of her skinny little thighs, and her hosiery was worn in several places. Henry's clothes were even worse; his shirt was too tight, and his pants rode up above his ankles. Whatever was going on with his mother, even his 12-year-old mind was certain that it was not good. But for her sake, he decided to ignore it. After all, what could he possibly do to help?

He remembered the first few weeks after his father left. His little sister was too young to understand what was going on, but he figured it out soon enough. At first, he kept asking his mother. "Where's Papa? Why hasn't he come back?" She never answered during those weeks; she didn't even look at him. It was like she didn't see him or Lillian anymore, except in rare moments where they hurt themselves as children do. Henry took care of his sister those first weeks, until his mother finally came back to them. It was the most relieving moment of his life when he woke up to the sound of his mother cooking breakfast again, humming a sweet little song. But soon after that, she started leaving in the middle of the night, waiting until she thought her children were both asleep. Lillian always was; Henry wasn't. She hardly ever returned until an hour before dawn, sweaty and exhausted.

His childhood imagination had come up with a million and one possible explanations for her nightly disappearances. He fancied his mother a vigilante of the night at some points, an Inquisitor on some others. Eventually, however, the fantasy faded, and reality set in. Whatever his mother did late at night, it wasn't anything to be proud of. At one point or another, he'd figured out that his mother was probably a criminal. He didn't want to know what kind.

"Alright, let's go. We don't want to be stuck in line forever, so let's try to get there a little early!" The Vaine family was off, little Lillian gasping in delight at all the sights and sounds. Mara smiled indulgently at her precious daughter, and Henry pretended not to notice the pain in her eyes. By the time they finally made it up the elevators and to the Sky, the line was already terribly long. It hardly fazed Lillian, but the rest of the family seemed entirely uncomfortable with the prospect of the crowd. It was too late, however, and they were now trudging along with everyone else. Everyone was dressed in their Jubilee best, including the Vaine family. Most people pretended not to notice that the clothes were two-sizes too small on Mara's precious children.
 
PIETRO MARROW THE SKYPIONEER'S HOUSE (APPROACH)
Letting a sigh escape his lips, Pietro finally let the latch drop to the front door of his family's estate. He would now begin to spend the next several hours regretting he'd ever accepted their invitation to spend the night, that eve of the Pioneer's Jubilee which already was beginning to fill the roads with life.

"Fiddlesticks. I'm going to miss the opening ceremonies."

Muttering under his breath, and not daring to look back lest some tardy child began to bawl out a balcony's window, Pietro hastened forth on his way back to the main road. It was trouble enough to have to contend with his family's overbearing Council attitudes they'd acquired over the years, but to have him babysit the offspring of the neighboring families who'd also been invited to share a pre-Jubilee meal was absolute balderdash. How completely and utterly rubbish, Pietro recalled, inconveniently forgetting the very nice time they had all spent reading bedtime stories in the dim midnight moonlight.

Reaching the main road, Pietro half-turned to check for oncoming hordes, but there were none to be seen. Curious. From there, he wished to first stop back at his library. Well, he thought of it as his own, even though it was more or less public property as well as an inheritance. But to Pietro, it was his home. And he'd be very sure indeed that nobody tried to wrest it from him.

Perhaps the need for constant vigilance on that front was overestimated. Then again, land was at a premium here where the Sky abounded. If only more people could fall in love with the oh-so romantic sights and sounds of the Land...! Then Pietro could feel safe. As it was, there was trouble enough with the dastardly criminals and ne'er-do-wells who already made their way around, selling stimulants and whatnot illegally. Pietro shuddered involuntarily, and then voluntarily after that, to think of what might happen if he ever ran into one such person.

After about a half-hour's trot, he had arrived. Turning the key in the lock, Pietro slipped quietly into his home, moving to adjust the curtains hanging from a side window and letting the morning light flow in. Moving to a side door in the now warmly-illuminated foyer, he unlocked the passage to the more homely area of this building. Stroking the sleeping bundle of fur that was his house-cat, Omen, upon a nearby potted plant, he then took a moment to put a kettle of water on to boil. Heading into the bedroom, Pietro took a moment to exchange his tousled black robes for nearly-identical but less tousled black robes; the only difference was a line of silver embroidery across the collar. Presumably, these robes were specially meant for special days, such as this one, especially.

In another half-hour, Pietro embarked once again, having sipped his tea to the tune of ruffling pages and a slight morning breeze. For once, the hustle and bustle of the Sky was not echoing in his ears the entire time, and it seemed many of the inhabitants had already long gathered for their chance to visit the Pioneer's House. Resolutely, Pietro was heading to join them, if for no other reason than to prevent his family for fussing at him for not having attended the Council's announcement this year most of all.

Pleasantly, Pietro met nobody he knew along the way, at least immediately. He still had not mentally prepared himself to string together any sort of coherent reply to... well, most anything or anyone at all. At least he still had his dignity, and hopefully that would get him a long way forward while his mind still woke up.

Having left later than he'd originally planned, Pietro hoped the throngs of people would have at least begun to subside, but as he neared the region of the Pioneer's Cottage it seemed as if the entire populace had gathered outside regardless of the time. Pietro sighed internally and began to weave and push his way through to get nearer the place. This would take some effort. With any luck, he wouldn't accidentally stub a toe or bash an elbow.
 

Idina Jorane
The Land | | Centre


Opportunities like this only happened once a year. The young woman stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching her brows furrow deeper and deeper until it looked like she had a single eyebrow line. She sighed and slapped her cheeks pink, a nervous giggle bubbling in her throat but refusing to surface. The embers of excitement in her eyes finally overtook the anxiety that had been dominating her features and soon enough her mouth was stretched in a confident smile. The kind of a smile, she hoped, would attract the attention of a financier.

The Pioneer's Jubilee happened once a year, and for the first time in five years, Idina Jorane was ready for it. In fact, she had been looking forward to it so much that she'd barely slept at all in the last week. Her tinker shop had had the Open sign turned only half of the day, while she spent the other half perfecting her inventions and polishing her instruments. The piano keys had to be a pristine white, she could only bring one to the Centre so of course it had to be the one that was both sublime and functional.

Her little corner of the tinkerers marketplace was ready and a girl she had hired part-time was tending to it while she was in the back-store, slapping herself silly. "Get back out there, and BECOME somebody! Madam Keys means nothing if you can't sell your best items." Idina wiped a small bead of sweat from her temple and fiddled with her light brown curls. Everything was on point, from her lipstick to the additional makeup she had saved money for, to the barrette in shape of a wrench and hammer that held back her bangs. Idina never bothered with such fluff on herself usually, but today she had to sell both herself and her tinkered instruments.

"Kinaro, you can go have a look around if you like. Have fun!" The woman known as Madam Keys waved off the part-time girl and watched her skitter off excitedly. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a lady whom she knew was a journalist. Her heart skipped a beat and she patted down her blouse and fixed the waistline of her trousers; even the best outfit would look like trash if it was ruffled or dirty. Unfortunately, the journalist disappeared in a tent she was dragged in by some salesman. Those damned men and their crazy inventions.

Idina was pulled away from her annoyed thoughts when a few rich-looking couple stopped by to admire a hand-crafted guitar with additional tin strings meant to create sound effects while finger-picking. Their child pointed at a polished flute with tiny gears that enhanced the notes to create nearly flawless tunes.

"Aspiring musician, are we? Welcome to Madam Keys' shop of musical delights!" The tinkerer's warm and confident smile made the child blush and she knew this sale would not be a difficult one.


@Anguissette

 
Corbett Baines - Sky - Ebernett Estate (ext.)

Corbett was eminently unimaginative.

Yet, standing there stone-faced, he admitted that he had always imagined this day coming to pass.

He had imagined it ever since the first day of their particular arrangement, when he heard the tinkerer at work, laughing mad in her solitude. He had visualized her against a backdrop of fire, screaming in reverent joy before the inferno. The tinkerer’s mind, Corbett had always postulated, was some concoction of gears, pulley-work and an agitated mire of some mind-altering smoke. One day, the smoke would rot the gears, until the rope and weights of the system would unravel.

He had imagined the tinkerer to one day come apart in ways that were inhuman. At some set of mechanical seams, perhaps, machina dismantled.

But this, this was not the Tinkerer. This was the Daughter.

It brought a frown to his face, and a momentary weakness about the eyes. Sympathy.

He drew the hand-shovel from the linings of his jacket as if a blade. In some ways, Aisling and Corbett were the same. Here now, parts of them both reached for the past. Years, decades ago, he had come to the Sky with shovel in hand, to bring a piece of the hallowed ground back to his family, as so many foolhardy aspirants were apt to do. A piece of hope. A piece of the dream. They had called him a fool then, and - in most respects - perhaps they had been vindicated.

Why had he even brought the shovel? He had reasoned it to be a part of the deception, the guise, yet the sounds of that convoluted conceit rang hollow to him.

“The past is the past, Miss Grey.”

@Anguissette
 
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Brulow Charldin
The Underground | | (En route to) Chattering Choughs Lair

Among his arsenal of skills, staying hidden in plain sight was one of them. The young man had his brown shoulder-length hair covering most of his face and his tattered cloak made him look decades older. He didn't typically hide his identity in the Underground, but today wasn't a normal day. The Pioneer's Jubilee was the one day in the year where even the scummiest rat of the Underground felt like the City owed him a piece of heaven. Brulow Charldin knew that the Sky was anything but heaven.

He had infiltrated the crowd surrounding the Maggot and listened to his poisoned words. Brulow couldn't deny that the man had some fucked up kind of charisma, especially when his words seemed to touch those around them as though they had suddenly been illuminated towards their destiny. The Chough hated those types of men. They wanted others to bow before them, to follow instructions unquestioned and with a feverish passion. The Maggot was a filthy degenerate, a pervert who wanted nothing more than more blood on his hands.

Gritting his teeth, Brulow left the crowd as those around him began cheering and discussing plans. He wanted not part of it. On his way to the Chattering Choughs' lair, he spotted Spout and Phineas not too far from the small assembly. The look on their faces told him they'd been listening to the speech and didn't quite think much of it either.

"Afternoon, boys. Hey, where'd ya get that? I told ya, those men upstairs have nasty sweets. Like they 'fraid of rotting their teeth." Brulow climbed to sit beside them. The two boys had been in the gang for about five years already, they were probably his most trusted friends along with Priss, Jeong, and Pickle. The six of them were somewhat the foundation that held the ragtag group together, especially with what had happened two years ago... With a shiver, Brulow pulled out a small mask from his cloak and placed it over the lower part of his face, eyes closed and deep breaths making his chest heave up and down. It wasn't a real medical mask, it didn't quite filter the air properly, but goodness above it filtered the sulfur that permeated the air. Once the light-headedness from bad oxygen faded, he passed the mask to the younger boys.

"Listen, I know today is the Pioneer's Jubilee and everyone probably wants to go see the fake cottage up in the Sky, but I have some better plans. I got word that some of the snatchers will be up there and on the look-out for kids. Ya hear? They gonna be snatching girls from the crowds and bringing them down on the Land or, fuck, down here." Brulow coughed and spat to the side, his hand rubbing his throat absentmindedly. "Shits like the Maggot want to burn everything and everyone, destroy it all. Can't say I haven't wanted to do the same, but it's not the smart thing to do. We gotta save those kids. There's no way I'mma let them get a taste of this messed up life."

He gave the two boys a sideways glance and nodded towards the general direction of their lair. Without waiting to see if they'd follow him, the young man pulled the hood of the tattered cloak and jumped down in the dingy street. The smell of piss and sewage assaulted him immediately, but he ignored it with a grimace and stalked the shadows until he arrived home. There was work to do and bastards to trap.

@Anguissette @Nemopedia


 
Aisling Grey - Sky - Forest nr Ebernett Estate

As a child once, Aisling and her class had followed their teacher to a historical exhibition of the blacksmith's arts. One of a handful of workshops who still crafted ornamental and custom-designed weapons, tools and artefacts by hand, the children had watched with some variation on open-mouthed interest as the man in the leather apron had hammered and rolled wrought iron rods into new fence palings. With every blow to and every twist in the metal, their teacher explained, dross was removed from the raw mass leaving a purer, harder, stronger whole.

Even all these years later that memory from her school days remained clear in her troubled mind and now some semblance of it resonated within her. She lost her family. She was exiled, cast down from the Sky. Separate from everyone she knew, she was forced and twisted into a new form that could survive the shark tank of the Golden City's seamy underbelly. And now her family was simply replaced like a worn cog in an automata, to be discarded for scrap? No. No more. No more. The chestnut-haired woman rose to her feet, an eerie stillness keening in the shadows of her mind.

"The new owners appear to have dispensed with the ruins of my laboratory," she said dispassionately. "However unless they know the estate intimately I daresay they missed a collapsed service entrance." She knew they couldn't know the estate that intimately. Most of those who did had their deaths laid at her door, and the rest were staff. She had hoped she could even speak with one or two of them while she was here, but if a new family was in residence they doubtless had their own people.

Aisling led the way along the bank of the chattering brook through a veil of trailing vines to where a heap of mossy stones packed a dip in the side of a knoll. This had obviously been here some years and some of the cracks were filled by soil and greenery now. “There is a door behind this,” she began with cool certitude. “That feeds into a tunnel to the sublevel beneath my old workshop. Decades ago when it was a dining hall, this was used by servants bearing hot food. When it became mine I had no need for such a thing and used an early working to close it up.”

Her feelings on the matter appeared to have changed; she held out an imperious hand for the shovel her companion bore, still half-expecting him to strike at her with it.

@Shizuochan
 
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The Sky - Pioneer's Cottage - Lady Almyra Grace Overton

The four guards around Almyra instantly tried to close ranks as they spotted the woman rushing toward her. She wasn't sure what all the fuss was about, but she flapped her hands at the burly men and grumbled at them to get out of the way. They reluctantly did as they were told and made way for the woman, who had some strange device in her hand. It was vaguely familiar now that Almyra got a closer look at it, but she'd never had this happen to her before so she wasn't sure what its purpose was, though judging from the angry man this woman had left behind she had to suspect it was't going to be pleasant.

"May I ask the purpose of this... inspection?" Almyra figured that was the best word for whatever this was. She'd expected her morning to pass without any trouble, but now she was apparently going to be inspected. Part of her was tempted to casually name herself, to set this minor functionary scurrying away with an apology, but the greater part scowled at that impulse and shoved it into a hole where it belonged. The woman was clearly just doing a job, and little would be served by making a scene. After asking the question, Almyra obliged the request and spread her feet apart and held her hands out to her sides, giving the woman with the device room to do whatever it was she intended to do.

@Nemopedia
 
Minerva Eliza Gifford - The Land

And then again, maybe he didn't. Seeing Minerva on the verge of leaving, Mark had made a nuisance of himself again. Every step of the way away from his stall was contested as he promised to show her any number of marvels if she would spend the Jubilee with him and come back to see his shop. Finally she got free of him by the simple expedient of asking who that was trying to open the panel of his premier filtration device. In the face of her aggressive indifference to his blandishments, the threat to his creative genius was enough to send him scampering back to his exhibit. The redhead made her escape with all the subtlety of a well-dressed young professional with perfect taste. Which is to say not much.

The more time she spent among the Tinkers at Land's Centre, the more Minerva's instincts picked up a shimmering undercurrent of desperation. Not every would-be artisan was teetering on the very brink of ruin, but every man, woman and inhuman of them was keen to Ascend. There were two ways into the Sky - no, three. Those with blood relations into the Sky, personal success and wealth could simply go to visit their kin and never leave. For those without a drop of golden ichor in their veins the options were rather more straitened; the long hard trek up to the point of having a small residence at the top of the Elevator, or taking the whole in one enormous leap. The golden fruit, the brass ring.

Everyone with the chops had a plan for how they would reach the Sky before they died, and for those of true ambition this often orbited around securing sponsorship, a helping hand from someone with their feet firmly planted in the heavens. Even Minerva had a similar plan, although hers was less mechanical in nature. For the tinkers though, the matter was even harder. Golden City was famed for its tinkers, an oasis of technology ahead of its time. The most successful already had a place in The Sky and received most of the Floaters' patronage, which meant that the rest tended to have only a rare opportunity to impress. On Pioneer's Jubilee all the City liked to pretend that they lived Upshaft, dressing in their finest and making believe that they truly belonged there. The Floaters felt the same way; today was the one day each year that they were most likely to mingle with the lesser folk both above and below, dressing down and letting themselves believe they were just another citizen for the day.

Some people were fooled, some folk simply played along while looking for the main chance. Minerva fancied she had a trained eye for this sort of thing, and adjusted the spectacles on the end of her nose as she watched a thinly disguised Uptown couple lead their little boy toward the Tinker's shop nearby. Some manner of house of musical instruments with the amusing name of Madam Keys. The reporter watched with interest as the trousered saleswoman engaged them in brisk engaging banter that soon had them leaving smiling, with their purchases under the man's arm and the boy skipping alongside with glee.

That was when the smartly dressed reporter swept in, radiating smiles and bright-eyed curiosity as she approached the successful brunette. "Hello! Madam Keys I assume?" She touched her fingertips to the medallion at her throat, then extended her hand toward the other woman. "Minerva Gifford, Golden City Times. What would you say is the key to the success that brought you here today?" She looked around at the instruments on display with interest. "And tell me, what exactly am I looking at here? These don't look like just any instruments."

@Pahn