Iwaku: Steam City

[Asmodeus]

"The people of the city, great and small, are not silent; they lift up the lament, all men of flesh and blood lift up the lament."

Commodore Exvind's reprieve on the veranda was soon disturbed. To his right was a gurgling voice, distorted by metal. He turned to see another gentleman at the railing, with a coat fashioned from rare feathers and a top hat which, along with his plague mask, hid the majority of his face.

"Fate has spoken; like a hooked fish he lies stretched on the bed, like a gazelle that is caught in a noose."

The man turned. And though the beak of his helm did not move, Exvind detected the warmth of a smile. "The Death of Gilgamesh. I always had a soft spot." His voice was a chorus of sucks and slurps, as if the mask was filled with some kind of fluid. But despite this he made the poise and motions of a gentlemen. Removed his hat in greeting, the man bowed low to show a head of greasy, greying hair. "Forgive my dramatics, Commodore. You may call me Mr October. I serve the League of Extraordinary Moderators, for my part."

They exchanged pleasantries and Mr October sidled up beside the Commodore, both hands resting on a cane as he surveyed the city. The sucking and gargling did not cease. It sounded like the man was having trouble breathing, but he did not show his discomfort in any other way. "I bring ill tidings, Commodore. Murder, I'm afraid. Murder most foul and enigmatic, sparing not the highest echelons."

His gloved hand produced a photograph, pocket-sized and framed in silver. It showed a middle-aged, sandy-haired man with dashing smile. "Ricarten Merilson, a personal friend of the Queen and late employee of Mayhem Industries. He was found dead of asphixiation an hour ago."

Exvind examined the picture then raised an eyebrow at Mr October - the kind of raised eyebrow that suggested the questions: Why does this concern me and not my chief inspector? And why have you disturbed a social gathering to tell me this?.

Mr October saw it, of course. "No rare thing, in this city, sadly, I'm sure you agree. But here the plot thickens, Commodore. The workers who discovered the body found it in the most perculiar of circumstances. Poor Ricarten had been restrained in a custom-built chair, his wrists, throat and ankles bound in metal. He was inside a sealed room - sealed, I might add, with an anaerobic acrylic substance that matches nothing in the League's scientific encyclopaedias. The airflow was cut off completely. He suffocated very quickly indeed."

He pocketed the photo again and looked out across the bustling city. "A murder requiring no murder weapon. Not unheard of, you might say. But here is the cherry on the cake, Commodore - the sugarlump in the tea. We know for a fact that no one went into or out of that room. Because, you see.... it was built around him before he died."

The sounds of the party seemed to fade, the air becoming numb with this revelation. If Exvind's eyebrow could have raised a little higher, it would have. The bizarreness of Mr October's words put flight to his earlier irritation with the party. It was as if the page of the storybook had just been turned. Some new game was afoot.

Mr October indicated one of the giant construction spiders that moved on the horizon, building new homes on the riverside. "One of Mayhem Industries' constructor spiders built the house at midnight last night. We believe the wall sections were pre-coated in the sealant. Someone must have sabotaged the materials beforehand. Whoever killed Ricarten knew exactly where to place that chair so that the room would be lowered around him by the spider. We're questioning the pilot of the construction machine, but it is unlikely he saw anything from so high up."

The man spluttered a little, as if choking on some of the fluid inside his plague mask. He hunched over, pausing for a second before straightening again. He dabbed at his beak with a handkerchief, despite it being dry. It was like a practiced mannerism. "Ricarten was a low-level employee of Mayhem Industries, but also a personal friend of the Queen. As such, the Crown would prefer if this matter were handled with some discretion, hence my visiting you, Commodore. We have informed Mayhem's CEO and asked him to attend the scene along with his top sealant researcher. Perhaps they will help you shed light on this matter." He placed his hat back on and then, as if in afterthought, said "Also... we have requested the services of a metal expert. She will help you with the metal restraints on the chair..."

He stepped a little closer, yellow eyes peering up at Exvind through the eyeplates of his mask. "The restraints were engraved, Commodore... engraved with a language that no one can decipher..."

 

[Cammeh]

Finished with breakfast, Camilla was dressed lightly in her day's undergarments with a simple work dress over them, not wanting to get too dirty before her meeting this afternoon. Nevertheless, she still had work to do. Pinning back her hair, she stepped back up to the bank of instruments on her work table, turning the burners back up from the warming setting from overnight. As the mixtures bubbled back up to temperature, Camilla spent some time flipping back and forth through her notes and doing some equations. Yes, everything seemed correct. This should work...

Carefully removing one beaker from its stand with tongs, she set it on a separate stand. This new stand was housed in a heavy metal box, with a molded looking glass in the top and gloved hand holes in the side. Locking the door to the box, she donned her goggles and peered through the glass as she pushed her hands into the gloves, so she could work inside the box.

Already in the box was a light grey, powdery substance; her catalyst. Camilla licked her lips nervously. This was delicate and dangerous work. Too much powder mixing at once would destabilize the whole reaction. Holding the beaker steady, she carefully picked up the test tube with the catalyst and tipped it slowly, the powdery crystals beginning their steady, measured tumble towards their goal. Easy, easy, alright, just enough...

There was a pounding on the door. "Camilla del Bosque! Open up in the name of the Queen!"

A jump. A gasp. A curse as she tried to stop her jerk! Too late!

The box's failsafes did not disappoint her, but the explosion was deafening, leaving her ears ringing, her chest heaving and coughing from the smoke, and her hands slightly burned from the leather of the gloves bursting into flames. Quickly pouring sand to quell the flames, Camilla let out a scream of frustration as she pushed up her goggles and stormed to the door. She threw it open, unloading a string of curses in several different languages before she even realized who was there.

Browncoats.

From ranting and raving to dumbfounded, Camilla stood in her doorway, frozen, until the smoke caught up with her again and she coughed once more.

"Uh, good morning, gentlemen. Forgive my tirade...you just, I was, ugh...a week's work ruined!" She rubbed her face, leaving a streak of soot across her cheek as she fought to maintain her tenuous sense of composure. "Please, come in. Pardon the smoke, the fans should be on momentarily..." she finally said with a defeated sigh, turning and admitting the men into the foyer. Just then, the sound of large fans did indeed begin, and a steady draught soon cleared the smoke, making it easier to see and breathe.

"Forgive the intrusion, Miss Bosque..."

"del Bosque," she corrected flatly as she went to the pedestal sink in the corner to clean her burnt hands and face.

"Miss del Bosque," he corrected before continuing. "But her majesty has requested us to escort you to your meeting this morning."

"Meeting? I don't have any meetings scheduled this morning, only a business meeting this afternoon; certainly not something that requires her Majesty's escort..." she said, eyeing them warily through the mirror as she dabbed ointment on her burns.

"Yourself, your business partner and a metals expert are this morning to attend the scene of a murder..."

"A murder?!" Camilla spun around in shock. "Why me? What kind of murder?" she wanted to know.

"We will explain on the way. Now, if you will come with us..."

"Let me get dressed first, I'm hardly decent for company, much less being out in public!" she protested, and hurried to her room before they could respond. She cast a sidelong glance at her worktable, sighing. On her way past she stopped to shut off the gas to the burners. Well, it would take a week to recover her lost work, so a few hours of delay in cleaning up would not hurt anything. She packed up her notes and headed to her room to dress.



Within the hour, Camilla was in the horseless carriage, heading towards the scene. She had on a practical, yet fashionable dress, with clips to get her skirt out of the way if needed, her hair in a severe bun covered by a sensible ladies' riding hat, and matching gloves with open fingertips to protect her burned hands and not hinder her working. At her feet was a small, sleek leather doctor bag filled with any equipment she might need, as well as her notebooks, pen and ink. She listened silently as the situation was explained to her. The victim was a personal friend of the queen, and killed in such a heinous and calculating manner. She drew in a breath when the sealant was mentioned.

 

[Selenite]

[DASH=green]Selenite sat at her worktable, polishing a small brass case with a cloth. Her work was all done- not many requests this week it seemed. Her last job of some importance had been a diamond necklace, comissioned by the Caranthacus Corporation. She had received her pay already. She liked fancy clients; they usually paid without bargaining, and in time. Thanks to that, Selenite was now able to replenish her food supplies... speaking of which, her stomach rumbled. With her filthy hands, covered in brass dust and polishing compound, she pushed aside the cluttered mess that was constant at her workspace, making space for her to write the groceries list. Now, if she only had some paper.... the silversmith started tossing around pieces of emery paper, pitch, chisels, old notes, wires, and who-knows-what-else, searching for one of her notebooks. During her search she found an old piece of bread, all stiff and dry.

No mould on this one.

Gnawing on the piece of bread, she kept searching. The brassy residue on her fingers stuck to the bread as well; she winced at the bitter flavour of the metal and the harsh texture of the old bread, but she kept gnawing nonetheless, and searching for her piece of paper. Of course. The drawers, she said to herself, as she opened the first drawer- and there it was, her notebook.

Now, if she only had something to write with...

She was absolutely sure she had just seen a pencil somewhere, during her search. She opened the drawers one by one, again; she tossed aside all the clutter she had just been through, and more, again without any luck. Not even a piece of bread this time.
Are you sure, girl, you have just seen that pencil? Yes! It was right here!...or... was that yesterday? Selenite resumed her search, nervously. No, yesterday I didn't use any pencil. Well, but you could have seen one, right? Wait- what are you doing? What makes you think you will find it there? You keep only paintbrushes there! No, not in there- why would you look inside the grease jar?

''Because I once found my tweezers in there?'' she answered to herself, out loud. She kept searching though. She had almost finished her piece of bread. The silversmith turned around, and looked at her bed. At the mess of sheets and covers where she slept, that is. The mattress was hard and old, just like her piece of bread; unlike her bread, the mattress had mould and holes in it.
She focused on the shape of the holes.

That's awesome. Look!
The mattress is staring back at us! At you, I mean!
At me!
And it's got teeth now! We should name it. Think of a name for a mattress...
The door.
That's an unusual name for a mattress, don't you think?
THERE IS SOMEONE KNOCKING AT THE DOOR, SELENITE.

Blinking twice, Selenite stood up, and made her way towards the door, jumping over several obstacles such as boxes, a stool, a bucket, her blowtorch hose, some blank canvas...

''Yes?'' she asked, peeking outside warily, keeping the door ajar. Two men wearing browncoats stood there.
Browncoats!?
''Can I help you?'' she added, opening the door completely.
The men exchanged a look with each other.

''We need you to come with us, Selenite'' one of them said. '' Her Majesty's orders''
'' Queen Dianers? ''

The men stepped inside. They trampled over most of the clutter that was around, carelessly.
''There has been a murder'', the first man said. The other didn't seem to be the chatty sort.
Murder?
''We need of your... expertise. We have some engravings we'd like you to see''

It took her three seconds to react.
Engravings?
ENGRAVINGS!
''Of course- just give me some seconds...''

Now. Where was my coat....

She started searching, again. Fortunately she had with her most of what she needed; her monocles, some tweezers, a clean cloth and some silver-handling gloves. She grabbed a pair of pliers, her green coat, and followed the men outside and into the car.

Selenite sat at the back seat, distractedly placing her hands in her coat's pockets.

The pencil!, she thought, happily taking out of her pocket a short wooden pencil.[/DASH]

 

[unanun]

Theodore would already be at the scene of the crime. He had been notified in tandem with the Browncoats, his own panicked employees sending smoke signals rapidly up the chain of command until it hit him like a lightning bolt. He recalled the moment as if it had just happened five minutes ago (and it had): him, not really doing anything, jolted out of his reverie by a deafening whistle as the mechanical stenographer sputtered to life and began to frantically scrawl over a scrolling sheet of paper. His exasperation quickly dissolved, his brows knitting into a frown as he read the message line by line. Before the machine had even finished, he had already thrown on a black trenchcoat, the tails fluttering past his knees and having no time to settle as he stormed out of the office on the n-th floor of Mayhem Ind.

Most of the city was connected via steam rail lines, a mass transit option for the rest of the people. Theodore rode a high speed line out of the headquarters, the steamcar sliding onto priority rails and depositing him near the site of the incident, the local construction office. Flanked by a pair of Pilkington agents (an offshoot of Mayhem providing contracted security and private eye services, Pilkington was incorporated to allow Mayhem employees the right to bear arms), he arrived at a rather orderly scene. Most of the workers were going about their business save for the few in the beginning that had spotted and reported the crime. Let it be known that Mayhem employed no fools.

The box lay on the ground, pulled out of the hole in the building from which it sat. It was already torn open, by request of the foreman. He was standing at attention, along with the spider operator and the plumbers who first noticed the problem. They had discovered it as they moved inside the buildings, laying the pipework that the spiders were not dexterous enough to accomplish.

The murder victim was still chained inside, his face blue and hands extended in the rigor of death. There was a pool of urine and faeces at the base of the chair. Lovely.

Theodore wrinkled his nose and turned to make customary inquiries. Normally, this would not have required his immediate attention. This quickly changed and he rounded on the plumber. The one responsible for calling the authorities. His downcast, submissive face told Theodore that he had already been admonished for his sudden lapse in judgement.

With nothing to do but wait now, he sat down on a wooden crate of piping, cupping his chin in his hand. Waiting.

 

[Exvind]

The League of Extraordinary Moderators. Now...that was an organization that always managed to raise a few eyebrows. The specialized agents of the Queen, the Mad Mods, were a matter of great controversy. Most of the populace and a number of lesser Browncoats could dismiss them as an urban myth. In League discussions, it was argued exactly what their position was. Some would say that the 'Mods' were entirely useless, while others would argue that without them all of Iwaku would simply crumble away into anarchy and madness. The Commodore had always been of the opinion that should he ever have the fortune (ill or beneficial) to garner their attention, that it would be a matter of great importance. His meeting with the bizarre Mr. October proved this. Exvind's decidedly grey eyes brightened somewhat, though he kept silent for the most part, and once the 'briefing' was concluded, he was away.

Sweeping out of the Estate, the Commodore was quickly flanked by two subordinates, one handing him his trusted cane, the other quickly winding the gyro that powered the short-wave radio communications that were becoming more and more popular. They were certainly more mobile than finding a Comm-Pipe or a Wire. As the trio marched toward the Rail System, the crowds - already a chaotic mass of personage - parted for them. Any group of Browncoats moving in a hurry warranted expediency - but the Commodore leading the pack? Hero help whoever stood in their way. After a good five minutes of their quickened pace, the gyro was wound, and the Commodore began barking orders into it, relaying information to the station ahead and the Central Forum of Justice and Legal Proceedings - the Forum, for short, to waylay all invitations, to prioritize a Rail toward the construction site, and to begin drawing up as much information as possible on the late Mr. Ricarten Merilson and have it in a report waiting for him upon arrival.

The Commodore boarded his Rail Car alone, the two Browncoats flanking him playing honor guard at the closing doors - there would be a separate pair waiting for him upon arrival. It was only during the transit that Exvind had time to close his eyes, and sigh, replaying the facts as he toyed with the varied switches and buttons adorning his Cane - the Deus ex Machina Brand All Utility Cane. Most of the functions were largely useless - he could always carry a spare corkscrew in a pocket if need be, and the ability to blast a small gout of fire had never once proven useful in any situation - but the mechanism that lengthened the metallic tool essentially into a harpoon/spear? That had always proven useful...if only to dissuade aggravating socialites from pestering him. He twirled his mustache, and thought over the details he had been given. One man. Friend of the Queen. Sabotaged Construction Spider. Asphyxiation. Unknown sealant. Unknown Language. Unknown motive. Anarchists - no, too planed. Too coordinated. Someone with access to the Spider in question...and a working knowledge of the above subjects. Educated - or operating for one such.

When his train arrived, the two Browncoats he had been expecting were indeed there, and escorted the Commodore toward his Veloci-Carriage: the swiftest model available. He removed his hat as he stepped inside, finding the dossier of thusfar-gathered information waiting for him. Given the short distance between the station and the crime scene, he could only thumb through it briefly before the clattering and clicking of the carriage came to a halt - punctuated by the heated release of steam as the hydraulics lowered the main body of the carriage toward the ground. Exvind donned his cap once more, and smoothed his coat as he stepped from the carriage, a cadre of Browncoats flanking the carriage and snapping into a salute, a Lieutenant among them barking, "Attention! Commodore Exvind Delacroix on scene!" Timed perfectly, like a well-oiled machine. He gave his nod of approval, and they relented, returning to their duties while one attache led him toward the gathered civilian experts. Two young women and the CEO...lovely. The Commodore did his best to not appear TOO imposing...but given his station, the uniform, and general air, that perhaps was asking too much as he cleared his throat.

"Ladies, sir, I am most grateful that you are lending your aid to this investigation. If all goes well, I should hope to have the culprit within the week, if not sooner. Once this business is concluded, you will all be rewarded accordingly. But until such a time, your involvement in this case is a matter of national security - to be handled with the utmost discretion. Now then, before we set about examining the late Mr. Merilson, I would request hastened introductions."

There was not a force that could force him to begin an investigation without knowing with whom he was working....well....aside from the Queen, of course....

 

[Cammeh]

"Good morning, Commodore," Camilla said with an easy formal air, dipping a quick, professional curtsy to him. It was clear to see that she was used to meeting people such as himself, and was at ease with his presence. "Camilla del Bosque at your service. From what your men have told me, I will be assisting as an expert on the sealant used in this matter."

Ready to go once the instructions were completed, she gingerly picked up her small bag, holding the handle carefully to avoid the weight touching any of the burns on her hand.

A sudden gust of steam sent a waft of air at them from the direction of the body. "Dios mio!" Camilla exclaimed at the putrid smell of offal and death. She immediately fished out her handkerchief and held it to her nose, casting a sidelong glance at the area where they would be working. It had been cordoned off, and one wall of the room was still standing, fortunately blocking their view. For now anyway.

 

[Selenite]

[DASH=green]It's so... unnatural. Inorganic. It has its beauty though. It's majestic, it bears an imposing air with it.
Perfection, guised as a cold precise machine. Look at those heavy legs. Those bolts.

Selenite shuddered, mentally at least, as she stared at one of the construction spiders. The machine was standing still, but others moved far at the distance. Her gaze was lost within them, leaving her face with a blank, odd expression. She paid no attention to the other lady that stood nearby, or to the man that sat waiting, or to any of the men in browncoats.

A mundane thing, anyway.
It's a spider. It's just a construction spider. Living spiders are much more interesting. In their organic unaccurate shapes lies perfection, too. Only much better disguised. You can't even describe the perfection of a natural spider. It's beyond your brain limits.

She enjoyed observing things. Things she found beautiful at least. It was only with her mind focused like that, that the silversmith had the chance to feel complete. Complete; the voices in her head, the noise, the echoes and repetitions silenced- and meld into one. One; in perfect communion with herself. A sensation beyond anything her brain could comprehend.
Her silences did not last for long however. They were simply short breaks in her constantly split, disordered existence; they lasted about a second, and soon she could hear herself again, as usual.

Selen, there is a man talking right here.
Look at that cane.

Silence overwhelmed her again, as she observed the cane the Commodore held in his hand. Soon she was brought back to earth, as she realized people were introducing themselves. Time to work, Selenite. Her face recovered her usual expression, and she folded her arms across her chest.

''Miss Selenite, silversmith'' she said, nodding, making an effort to make eye contact with the Commodore. She managed to, for some seconds, but soon her eyes were staring once again at the cane he held.'' I'm here for the engravings''.

------------------------
​

She patiently waited for the other lady to finish with her job outside of the room.

I think she said her name was Camilla. Was it? The one with careful movements? And the open gloves?
Yes, that one. Camilla.

She had plenty to observe and think about anyway; Selenite rarely got bored.

Heh. Hear that. She's got a sensitive nose.
...Remember when we found the dead rat inside the grease jar?
Selenite nodded.
Remember how it smelled?
It wasn't that bad. Actually I did not even notice until I opened the jar.
We still keep it right?
She nodded again.
A shame you can't remember where.

She won't stand that smell for long.
She will. She's a professional, just like you. She wouldn't be here otherwise.

Selenite sighed. Her fingers played with the pencil inside her pocket.

...Wait. Do YOU remember where the dead rat is?
Perhaps. Why. Would that make much of a difference?

[/DASH]

 

[unanun]

Theodore rose slightly after the rest, just a touch slower than the attention the Browncoats paid to their Commodore. After all, he was not under the authority of the Commodore, but was his own man instead. Never the less, he did not rise so slowly nor without posture to show disrespect; it was just a way to show that the Browncoats were not the only centers of power in the empire.

He placed one hand on his stomach and with the other mimed the action of taking a hat off, inclining his head but not his waist.

"I am Theodore. One half of Mayhem Industries."

A small smile flickered across his lips at the Camilla's reaction to the scene.

 

[XC]

A polite smile curled up the corners.of Xion's lips slightly as Lady Lycan asked for her servant to bring the orchids upstairs and put it in their finest vase. "I am glad you like the flowers, my Lady," Xion then paused for a moment, his face glazing over to form an impassive expression - Did Lady Lycan not know that he, as her fiancee was supposed to be the one to help her put on the necklace? Xion may just be paranoid, but you never know. People might start talking, about how their marriage was breaking apart and all that. Every retelling of a tale exaggerates it a little more, after all, "and the necklace, too." Xion added after a second or two, smiling politely at her once again. When asked about the matters of the wedding, Xion cleared his throat and bowed his head for a moment.

"Ah yes, the wedding. All is going smoothly. I am personally compiling the invitation list, so please do notify me if you want any specific person invited, in the event that I overlook their names." Xion ended off with a nod. Of course, he wasn't going to be personally compiling the guest list, nor was he planning the wedding by himself. He was far too busy with board meetings and business deals that demanded his attention. Things like weddings and guest lists could be left to the behest of his multiple secretaries and assistants. Of course, the plans would require his final okay before being carried out but he rarely had a problem. His staff was rather famous for their efficiency.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Zeon, and no, you are not. I am Xion Caranthacus," a hint of amusement crossed his face at how similar their names sounded, if not pronounced correctly, before he continued, "and I'm sure you undersell yourself. For someone to be so welcome in my fiancee's home, he must be quite extraordinary indeed." Xion bowed his body slightly in acknowledgement of the man, one hand placed on the pommel of the rapier at his side. "Oh, and. Call me Xion. Any friend of Lady Lycan is a friend of mine."

Turning back to his fiancee, he spoke in the same clear voice he used with Zeon before, although at a lower volume seeing as Lady Lycan was much closer to him physically. "I read about an .. Expedition you are organising, my Lady. I of course, pledge my services to my future wife's cause." The man placed an encouraging hand on Lady Lycan's shoulder - it was the perfect chance for him to enhance the facade of them being a loving couple. The President of a well-known corporation, diving into the unknown for his future wife? Perfect.

 

[Kitti]

Whether it was day or night anymore, Kitti could rarely tell. The false light bathed her in its glow but there were no windows to be found while she toiled away. Her little lab was built in the basement of Lord Kehvarl's expansive house, away from any prying eyes to see her research. Her findings were published, of course, and the results littered the room. She had delicate little flying machines and even a model of a mechanical bird that could really fly on its own. She'd heard that this design was especially popular. In front of her though was the true object of her interest, or at least the research leading up to it. Unfortunately, the experiment had failed again. These little flying nicknacks were nice, but not at all what she wanted. What she wanted was a little harder to achieve.

Scooping up the still warm corpse of a mouse, Kitti ran her index finger over the delicate little bronze wings protruding from its back. She would need to dissect the rodent to figure out what had gone wrong with this attempt to connect the muscles in the shoulders with the mechanical wings. She suspected that the body had rejected her attempts once again, causing the immune system to attack the muscle tissue that she had strung into the mechanics. She frowned at it and readied her scalpel. She knew now what she was looking for, after so many experiments, and confirming her suspicions would only take a couple of minutes.

Creating something that could fly was one thing, one such as herself might even call it easy. It was harder to work with something as fragile as a real body, however, and she hated that fragility. She could create a cunning little creature all out of little metal parts that could walk, run, even fly on its own. What she couldn't do was make something already alive work the same way as her little flying machines. Before Kitti could slice with the scalpel into the soft flesh of the mouse, she heard a knock at the top of the stairs. Frowning, she set the scalpel down next to the small body and quickly ascended the stairs to open the door. She assumed the knock came from one of the ladies who helped around the house, telling her that someone was at the door.

Not even needing to be told who it was, Kitti headed to the door with a smile on her face. "Just a moment, Jackie!" she called, pulling off her rubber gloves. Working with Jack was enjoyable and enlightening. His work with the human body was greatly helpful to her own research and his insights were incredibly helpful. In return, she helped him out with whatever he needed and offered her own input into what he was doing.
​

 

[Asmodeus]

The box had been intended as the dining room, placed as standard to the rear of the house beside the kitchen. Now, like some cancerous organ rejected by the host body, it lay torn open on the spider track. Browncoats and Mayhem Workers stood idle in the morning chill, exchanging cigarettes and murmuring. All eyes were on the Commodore and his trio of interviewees.

As sunlight pierced the dismantled front of the unit, it caught the discoloured flesh of Ricarten Merilson. He was sat with his head level, held back by the metal ring around his neck. There were matching ones on his wrists and ankles. With voided fluids soaking the chair and flesh decaying, these restraints were the only things that shone. The chair itself was a standard construction - like the ones used by barbers or dentists. But the rings themselves had been forged especially.

Forged to carry the strange engravings that adorned them.

The body had been placed here. A message had been sent. But a message none could read.

* * * * * *

Sebastian lowered the telescope. He licked his lips. He put the telescope back to his eye.

His stomach rumbled, scaring off some nearby birds. He flinched then looked again through the telescope.

"YOU, BOY!"

"Whuh-AAAAAAGH!!!" Sebastian fell out of the tree in a shower of leaves, backpack and bird nests, landing at the foot of the scowling groundskeeper. "OOPH!"

"What are you playin' at, spying over our wall?"

The boy scurried to his feet and found himself backed against the tree, wide-eyed with terror. "Er, nothing, Sir, sorry, I'm, er, sorry! I cake for the... CAME! I came for the tea party, Sir!"

The old groundskeeper, hardface and black-coated, scowled even deeper. "Yeah, and I'm the Gaian Ambassador. Bugger off, you li'l git!"

Sebastian grabbed at the man's coat as he turned away, trying to scoop up his telescope and backpack with the other hand. "No, Sir, please! I wanna join the Foundation! I'm good at stuff! Gimme a chance! Please!"

"The tea party's for grown-ups, boy. Be off with ya!"

Sebastian's stomach rumbled again. He pursued the man and hopped through the iron gates of the Dowrill Estate. He was trying to shove his telescope into his backpack. "I have an invention! It's a... OOPH!" He fell over then got up again. "It uses a crank-turned voltaic centrifuge to induce electric current in compact coils! Aagh!" He dodged off the road as a dirigible rattled past. "I've combined it with ferromagnetic projectiles, Sir!"

"I'll combine my boot with yer arse if you don't clear off!" The groundskeeper stalked across the lawns towards the rosebeds that encircled Dowrill House. Overhead, the second floor balcony cast a shadow. Sebastian peered upwards, trying to get sight of the cakes. Then he went back to pulling something from his backpack.

"I made a harpoon, Sir! It's early stages. I had to use a fishing rod and..."

"GET OUT OF IT!" the groundskeeper turned suddenly and shook a fist at the boy.

"AAAAAAAGH!" Sebastian ran off in the other direction, tripping on the porch steps and falling face-first into the hallway of Dowrill House. His telescope went rolling across the floor and nudged against the foot of Lady Lycan.

 

[Cammeh]

Camilla coughed once more and, still holding her handkerchief over her nose, she approached the torn open walls and the sealant in question. The handkerchief had a charcoal-based thread woven into it, which effectively cut the smell of the body. But nothing could spare her from the sight. After a brief glance at the unfortunate soul, she turned to her work, crouching to open her bag and pull out a scalpel and a microscope slide.

But now she had a problem. She didn't want to become ill smelling the foul air, but she needed both hands to get a sample. Digging into her bag, she actually found a ventilator at the bottom. It filtered smoke and dust but not smell. Well, not an issue. She simply strapped the ventilator to her face over the handkerchief. Now, she could work. She gathered part of her skirt up into the clips so it wouldn't get dirty.

How serendipitous, I completely forgot this was in there, she mused as she scraped some sealant onto the glass slide. That done, she applied a few drops of mineral oil, and then another thin slide atop the first. There, now they were ready for viewing. A portable microscope emerged from her bag, and she inserted the slide and adjusted the lenses. The moment she had the slide in focus, though, her eyes went wide. Madre de Dios!

Setting down the microscope, she immediately pulled out her notebooks, flipping through them frantically. There! There it was! Or rather, there it wasn't! She grabbed up the microscope and her notes and jumped back to her feet, scanning the area.

"Commodore! Commodore!" she cried out to him as soon as she spotted him, hurrying over to where he was overseeing the scene.

 

[Hydronine]

Juliette ran through the alleyways, the little white creature clinging to her shoulder as she moved.

First she went in one direction, then thought on where the estate might be, and second-guessed herself, and turned on her heel and ran the other way.

It didn't take long to figure out that she was lost.

Where was that estate? Where was this going down?!

She could hardly be bothered to look where she was going as she ran, growing more and more desperate- that's when she heard the call of voices. Calling... out... her... name.

She barreled through the alleys, the small fluffy creature clinging onto the fabric of the dress at her shoulder with its front paws, struggling to keep hold- it whimpered as she continued, her feet, now dirty, splashed through murky puddles and ran through mud and gravel. She looked almost frightening, and that was exactly the state that she was in when she accidentally ran into someone who had been standing at a doorway- she hadn't been looking where she was going, and seemed confused as to how she careened into someone.

Though, as the voices grew closer, her eyes widened and she looked around, desperate for a place to hide.

That was about the time when she started to cry.

(Kitti and Jackie meet Juliette.)

 

[Acquariana]

Whirring: It filled her ears as steam shot forth from pipes at the touch of a button by Aqua's dainty hand. Convoluted contraptions sounded and spun until they all converged upon performing a single task. Mechanical platforms emitted steam as they extended themselves from the outer walls of the building itself, taking the large delivery from Zeneba and placing it in a storage room with many other coffee beans. Oh, I always wanted to press the button!

Signing the clipboard, Zeneba's question made Acqua light up even more, if that were possible. The clock had just hit her time to leave, so she was actually going to see if she could somehow make it.

"This meeting with Lady Fiona, is it legitimate?"
​

"I'm not entirely sure, but there has been much talk of it this morning." Acqua responded to Zeneba after signing the specified areas on the clipboard. "Say, I was wondering if you could actually offer me a ride, paid, of course," Acqua mentioned, her rapidity in bringing up the proposition betraying her desire to seem casual as she nearly fluttered to a card machine that proceeded to buzz.

Acqua snatched the small sum of money dispensed from the machine, which proceeded her name in red to signal the end of her shift. Fortunately, this was her "off" day, for most days of the week she would work a solid eight hours minimum. Unfortunately, she was not aware how "off" it would come to be.

 

[Selenite]

[DASH=green]Seriously. You should tell me where the rat is. I just had this idea.
Perhaps.
Do..., do you feel it? We could do this great thing with it. Feels delicate.
Feels smooth. Feels like we could give it a try.
Hm. I see. But I don't remember really well where the rat is.
I'll search for it, first thing we do once we get back home.
I'll help you with that. Hey! It's your turn already!

Seeing Camilla was leaving the scene, Selenite straightened up, and made her way there. There was a pungent smell in the air; its origin was obvious, but she didn't mind it at all. Stepping carefully inside the room, making sure her bulky shoes did not step over any of the sealant, Selenite walked in, stopping, for some seconds, right in front of the corpse.

The light is beautiful.
The color is.
The pose. So peaceful, so relaxed...
So impossible; he's being held up to stay like that...

''The engravings,'' she muttered, leaning forwards. Her fingers almost touched the golden metal of the ring that was fastened at his neck; she hesitated. She didn't want to leave a fingerprint. The ring was wonderfully polished. You can't allow yourself to touch it, you know how disrespectful that is, do you. Someone spent time polishing that bronze.

Wincing, she stepped back and crouched beside the chair, her eyes leveled with the bronze ring that held Ricarten's left wrist in place. Squinting, she focused on the ring; the sunlight that filtered inside shone over it, and that was precisely what she needed to see. Slowly, Selenite started to move her head in circles; she saw how the light played and danced over the engraved patterns.

Too perfect. Too...inorganic. Like the spiders, outside.
Artificial, yes. We agree. It's obvious.
And shallow. And even- look at how well the depth of the cut is kept all over the pattern.

Selenite couldn't help pulling a face of disgust. There was something she disliked, and that was machine-made engravings. She observed the ring carefully, and then walked around to the other side to take a good look at the right wrist; same thing.

No; not exactly the same. Pattern is different.
Of course it is. It is meant to be different.
No. Yes, that bit is. But not the ornamental strips. Look, look carefully. Compare each loop...
Machine, yet hand operated.

She chuckled and nodded, and then crouched to look at those rings that held his feet. Some minutes elapsed.
Finally she stood up, and looked at the one at the neck again. She needed to touch it. There was a little bit of extra information she wanted. She hit the ring with her fingernail, so that the metal ringed, and listened at the sound.

Oh. Of course. Quality bronze, carefully spun.
''I think we've seen enough,'' she said, once she was sure.

Neat. Do you think whoever did this...?
''Absolutely,'' she answered out loud, smiling.


Who did she go after? The Commodore?, Selenite pondered, stepping once again outside.[/DASH]

Summary; Selenite observes the metal rings and seeks for Exvind to report.

 

[Zen]

The raven haired woman accepted the clipboard with a curt nod. She tucked it under her arm before returned her eyes back to Aqua. Zeneba blinked at the odd request.

"Can you not get yourself there?"

She shook her head, remembering that the woman offered to pay. Realizing that there was a bit of a sharpness to her words, the woman bit her lip...That would have been stupid to refuse money, especially from something so easy as flying her off somewhere. Glancing at the clock at the cafe, Zeneba noted that her shift was over as well. That was good; the meeting was about to start.

"Where do you need to go? You don't mean the meeting do you?"

 

[Acquariana]

"Where do you need to go? You don't mean the meeting do you?"

"Why, yes, I do mean the meeting, ma'am," Acqua responded. "If it inconveniences you, I guess could find someone else, but it would be really best if you took me since it will be starting soon,"