Café de Nuit

"'Market' must be some sort of misnomer then as I've never heard of such a commodities trading venue." Agale mused. "In any case, I've no idea how to find such a meeting, though if the other half of its description is accurate, that would mean we've at least the day to prepare and tend our wounds."

20 Insight vs Nerit
25 Insight vs Gauvin

"Do we really have an option other than to find it?" Kerrian said quietly, the discussion of Night Markets going a bit over his head for the moment.

"Right now, our priorities should be to find what we need to sunder Thanatos into his component parts, freeing Thierri and preventing another magical catastrophe. Assuming nothing else comes up that threatens to destroy the city, then our priority becomes finding out who was responsible for this mess in the first place, because it likely wasn't Dr.Poincare. She was an opportunist most likely."

Kerrian then turned his gaze to Mr.Gauvain "Mr.Gauvain, do you have anything to add that should be on the list of priorities? Any real legitimacy we have in investigation comes through you, after all."

"So you either have another replacement in mind, or think none is fine. Okay. I don't know why its so hard to SAY that." The relentless pace of the past few days is finally starting to get to Tomas as most of his questions are brushed off.

Remembering the men in white dragging Devereaux into the Chateau, Tomas takes a deep breath, forcing his temper back down. He does, however, let his eyes linger on the Marquis's scarf. "If you have a rash, Mssr the Marquis, I can recommend an ointment that you may find helpful."

Dropping the aside, Tomas continues. "You need time to have your red-caps figure out what that book does. We can follow up leads on this 'Midnight Market' and the Woman in Yellow. There are two and a half days before this 'Ascension' happens, which should give us all enough time for a catnap and to pull something together. Because I think we'll all feel like fools if, in saving Thierri, we allow whomever started this whole mess the opportunity he originally wanted." The subtext, the astute may notice, is pretty clear; Tomas is swallowing his pride in the hopes that the Marquis will do the same.

"I have not heard of this 'midnight market' before," Lia mutters. She shrugs. "But there will be ways of finding it, this I know."

"If you can tell us where to find this "Midnight Market" .we would be very grateful, Monsieur Gauvain," Mercator says quietly. "If not, we will see what can be learned from other sources."

At this point Nicolas strikes three ominous sounding chords, before getting to his feet and dusting off his coat.

"Well it would seem we have a direction then mes amis, La Marché de Minuit beckons. Right of this moment we have absolutley no idea where to find the damn place, but.... being a resourceful lot I'm sure it shall not remain hidden for long." He actually winks at the Marquis here.

"Still you appear to know somethign of the place so if you would like to give us any kind of starting clue, it would be much appreciated."

Insight - too pitiful to bother with on either Nerit or Gauvain

2 Days, 22 Hours, 21 Minutes
On the River-Front, Quartier Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine, Early Morning on April 22nd, 770
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Mercator wrote:"If you can tell us where to find this "Midnight Market" we would be very grateful, Monsieur Gauvain," Mercator says quietly.

Le Marquis simply shook his head.

"Do not mention me there," he warned.

Kerrian wrote:Kerrian then turned his gaze to Mr.Gauvain "Mr.Gauvain, do you have anything to add that should be on the list of priorities? Any real legitimacy we have in investigation comes through you, after all."

Gauvain said nothing, or perhaps he had nothing to add. But he did withdraw a hand into his greatcoat, searching and eventually pulling forth a piece of parchment: Search and Enter papers, signed and sealed by the Marquis himself. He coolly gave it to Lessard, who raised his eyebrows and glanced at all of you before gingerly taking it, much like one might pick up a venomous scorpion.

Tomas wrote:The subtext, the astute may notice, is pretty clear; Tomas is swallowing his pride in the hopes that the Marquis will do the same.

Gauvain regarded Tomas unemotionally, then inclined his head.

"18:00 sharp. I will be at the Chateau," he said, in a voice that said you will be there as well. "Inform the gendarme if something else arises."

With that he turned, cloak billowing behind him, and stalked off. A few minutes later a black carriage rode up to you, ready to take you out of the Quartier Ouvrier and home.


2 Days, 14 Hours, 5 Minutes
Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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It was a somewhat subdued breakfast that occurred the next morning. On the one hand, sleep was always considered the great healer, and your minds certainly felt a bit fresher than they had the previous night. Granted, not everyone was going to be sleeping very soundly after the previous night, but some sleep was better than none. It was still a rather bleary-eyed company that gathered around the dinner table this morning.

Charles Devereux, your landlord, had left at the first crack of dawn to find his family and tell them that he was, if not alright, then at least in no immediate danger. Should the Marquis of Montmort decide otherwise then this safety was likely to be rather temporary. In this however, Devereux was no different from any others. The two academics, Prof. Petrik and Prof. Lemercier, were likewise absent from this faux-domestic scene, albeit for less unusual reasons. Evariste Lemercier had a class in arcane phantasms to teach at this time of day, while Seiglinde Petrik gave music lessons in the early morning. Given that Thierri was also gone, and for reasons more severe than music lessons, this left a much-reduced household at the breakfast table.

Richard Blackwood sat at the far end of the table, eating an oatmeal porridge with hands that shook just a little. He'd likely had the least pleasant night of anyone, but he bore up with it uncomplaining. Instead, he just quietly ate the porridge, holding the spoon in a hand that was covered with lightly raised scars, taking the shape of a symbol of Ezra surrounded by twirling belladona.

Alice, meanwhile, was markedly less sanguine about affairs. She looked over regularly at Richard, even as she ate her own breakfast, and periodically prodded her brother into eating a bit more, something which Richard bore with long-suffering patience. Otherwise Alice Blackwood seemed somber, regularly readjusting the rose-flower that she had pinned to her sleeve.

Katja did not have breakfast. She sat in a distant corner, and was sharpening a knife. It made a queer little counterpoint to the subdued conversation at the breakfast table. The knife, a long, slightly bent blade that could have likely qualified for the status of 'small sword', was already more than sharp enough, but Katharina Zweibach continued to run it along the grindstone, holding it up every so often to examine it in the morning light.

Remy ate breakfast quietly and calmly. You could see the signed papers from M. Gauvain poking out of his jacket pocket, but Remy Lessard paid absolutely minimal attention to them, instead daintily cutting up and eating breakfast, more fueling the body than deriving any pleasure from the meal.

Cerise Rondelet, at least, was talkative. She was always talkative, but with the others being quiet, it showed more. She ate her breakfast quickly, despite pausing every few minutes to offer commentary of one sort or another on current events. 'Thierri's still alive, right? Mean's we're rescuing him.' or 'So we're working for M'sieur Gauvain, directly?' In any case, she was the very first to finish breakfast, pushing her plate away and looking around at the gathered group.

“So! Your troops are assembled.” Rondelet said with a perky grin. “We're ready to help!”

There was a general round of nods to this, with greater or lesser enthusiasm as the case may be.

"That is kind of you all," Lia says, her tone of voice... even. Very even. The Mage has eaten a sensible breakfast, and shown not even the least sign of enjoyment. "Does any of you know where we might find the Midnight Market, or know anyone who has ever been there?"

For a change Nicolas wasn't drunk this morning, not even vaguely hung over, although he still looked as dishevelled as ever at this hour. The poet sat with his feet on a chair, sipping on his coffee, rolling a cigarette thoughtfully between ink-stained fingers, and occasionally taking a half hearted bite of his breakfast. He would have been the poster boy for melancholic introspection if he wasn't wearing the most garish, highly patterned Rajian silk robe over the clothes from last night. Oblivious to his crimes against visual sensibilities he looks up as Cerise speaks.

"You know our protective White Knight is not going to be happy with that pronouncement don't you? We don't know where we are going or what we will find there, although I'm guessing it won't be tea and cakes. I'd get your best arguing hat on before he joins us" he says with a conspiratorial wink.

Lia shoots Nicholas a look as sudden as it is baleful. For a moment, she just glares at him, then speaks, her voice still so carefully even: "A bit of respect for Tomas' position might behoove you, poet. Leading people into danger is not something to do with a carefree heart and a song on one's lips."

It was too early to argue, and Nicolas was entirely certain it wasn't worth fighting for such a throw away coment anyway. As it is he simply returns the glare with a warm smile and waves a hand in acquiesence.

Mercator--as somber and as formally attired this morning as he had been last night--looks up from where he has been working away with no great enthusiasm on a soft roll, rather stingily supplemented with butter and bitter orange marmalade.

"Before we begin any adventures, I wouid be very glad of a moment with you, monsieur Blackwood, mademoiselle," he says. "Given your recent exertions, I would like to satisfy myself that there will be no long-term effects resulting from your unfortunate experience of last night. Beyond that...as Professor Mourneswaith has said, a...place?...known as the Midnight Market has been recommended to us for investigation. If you have heard of such a place, it would be very helpful to learn what you know of it. If you have been there, or know how to get there, that would, of course, be even better."

It was hard to tell exactly when Rex arrived at breakfast. But at some point he was sitting at one end of the table with a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage. He quietly read a biology journal while eating. The only sounds were the gentle clink of his fork on his plate and the soft crinkle of his pages turning. He looked up for a moment at the little spat between Nicolas and Lia, but said nothing.

At Mercator's suggestion, the pharmacist set his fork down.

"That sounds wise," he murmured, "Shall I come along? I can provide medicine that will help ward off further complications."

"It's probably a good thing if you did" Kerrian said, looking up from his own breakfast to Rex. "And what are you reading?" He asked, with the sort of curiosity that only comes when one is trying desperately to be distracted from the severity of the situation at hand.
Because a potential spiritual apocalypse coming in a little over two days? Certainly a desperate situation.

"And Lia's right. Anyone with any information on this Market, even rumor...more than what we have right now."

Celeste, as per usual, kept up more than her share of the conversation, getting Cerise up to speed on last night’s events in typically effusive manner. The account was larded with not a little poetic license, perhaps because Celeste had been paying attention to only a very localized portion of the scene, at the time.

For that matter, Celeste’s walking-dress this morning was coral (about as close as she got to crimson, before noon), there were more ruffles about her person than was customary, and she had been pleasantly humming a Valacani bolero as she came down the stairs. Hey: at least it was better than her amateur violinist phase.

She perked up at this particular topic of conversation—well, perked further up than usual. “I, too, am duly curious! If I may overestimate my own abilities, gentle lodgers, I fancy that I know the larger portion of the markets in our fair city: one does range rather widely, when one is a seeker of collectibles! But, I confess, this particular location has quite escaped my notice, thus far.”