The Shattered City: Chapter Four

[yalenusveler]

"Yes, Later" Kerrian said, trying to not look quite so...well, completely and utterly surprised by the sudden revelation of Tomas' nature. It appeared just about everyone had some secret or another. Kerrian paused a moment, regarding the situation between Cerise, Tomas, and the gentleman on the island.

"We've..been really rude. I'm Kerrian..what's your name?" He asked, trying to take some of the tension out of his voice, as Cerise appeared to be on to something.

[Cronax]

"That would be most helpful Professor. It seems that circumstance dictates that we engage in less than prudent activities these days." Mr. Agale said with a sigh of exasperation. "If your personal knowledge on the subject is exhausted, then we will delay you no longer, though should you require assistance with budgetary negotiations, we should be happy to oblige."

Once out of earshot of the Renier, Agale turned to his companions. "It seems we at least have a solid lead now. While it would be prudent to pursue other lines of inquiry in contingency, there is another matter I feel I must broach.

I have taken the liberty to do some research regarding our ill-tempered overseer. For all intents and purposes, the man was conjured from thin air about five years ago. No family, no history, not a single solitary record. Now, I will grant that it is not unusual for individuals in his sort of position to take precautions against personal revenges, but the sheer meticulousness of his whitewashing borders on the absurd. In fact, the only other individual I have encountered with this kind of missing past was the late M. Chastel. Though unproven, this lends credence to the theory that our dear 'Marquis' is in fact some sort of occult entity, and places my allegory of him being conjured perhaps closer to the truth.

But I digress. I fear the commissioner's intentions are not entirely sanguine and there is a distinct likelihood we will come to loggerheads in the future. I for one do not intend to be caught flat footed when that day arrives. Miss Viardot, when we first encountered Commissioner Gauvin, you expressed familiarity. If you would share what you know about the man and perhaps dispel my paranoia, I should be grateful."

[Nerit]

Nerit met Nicolas' gaze, then glanced away. She looked back. "What?...Oh, really, Monsieur! If you think I am going to strip bare in the middle of Vervain Rookery, you've got another thing coming!"

She pursed her lips and thought through the crazed, whiskey-soaked plan of the poet while Katja had her say. Her angry say. Something clicked.

"Katja, you will hold out your coat." This was not a request, or even a command. It was a statement of fact. Inflective languages had that sort of distinction, you know.

Standing around the corner from the bar, or merely out of sight in an alleyway, Nerit threw off the habit behind Katja, folded it, and stuffed it in one of the woman's large pockets.
"I believe we might die, Katja, but if you somehow survive, you can keep my prayer beads. I know it's just what you wanted," Nerit jested with a wry smile and passed her a sturdy string that ended in beads. A shadow passed under her feet.

"Now, without a corset, I really don't know how..." she trailed off and looked down at herself. She had a plain chemise and skirt to just below her ankles. "It looks like I will have to do penance again," she laughed, thinking of Celeste's ball gown. "But the world is about more than necklines, don't you think?"

She lifted her hands to tousle her hair, just visible over Katja's coat, being that they were very nearly the same height. With her hair disheveled in its bun, she looked like a half-dressed...something. Nerit drew her knife up from the folds in her underskirt and winked at Katja before stepping out from behind the greatcoat. She roughly rubbed her nose and rolled her neck.

"Guy, Guy, l'homme de l'heure!" Nerit swayed and sang hoarsely, looking to Nicolas.


I was trying for man of the hour, eh.

[lostboy]

"And you are not a soldier! You are a soft, drunken, slovenly, Dementlieuse... fop!"

“Actually I’m only four out of the five, but I do also happen to have acted some in my youth ma chere. True in a fight you could cut me down in a second, but if we never come to blows then it is all about posture and attitude n’est pas?”

"What?...Oh, really, Monsieur! If you think I am going to strip bare in the middle of Vervain Rookery, you've got another thing coming!"

“Would that I could spare you this travail mademoiselle, I would, but right now you cannot walk in there as you are. Your life is too precious by far” he adds with a slightly intense gaze, before being distracted by Katja’s advice and supply of sharp weapons.

“Now, how to look like a revolutionary leader who lives in the woods?” He muses before abruptly falling on the floor and rolling in the dust and dirt for several moments. “There, somewhat more world weary I would say” he says looking down at his now mottled and stained clothes, which actually were a fair approximation of Guy’s. Reaching into his satchel he retrieves a flask of oil, spilling some onto his hands and rubbing the grease through his hair, teasing out the foppish curls and leaving behind a mop of grizzled locks, that hang lankly over his face. Next he finds a small piece of chalk, crushing a little he rubs his face, the white powder sticking to his stubble giving it a greyish tinge. Finally he winds a black scarf around his neck and lower face and pulls up his collar, topping the whole ensemble with a beaten up tricorn hat.

“Passable?” He asks in a deeper voice, although not the voice you heard in the clearing, it was a fair attempt, and that along with the jut of his jaw, the hard look in the eye, and his straight rigid posture made Nicolas look entirely different. “I cannot change the colour of my eyes, but let’s hope no-one notices.” He fumbles the axe into his belt, along with his own blade (Guy seemed partial to the Rapier afterall), and ensures both pistols are easy to hand.

"Guy, Guy, l'homme de l'heure!" Nerit swayed and sang hoarsely, looking to Nicolas.

“Guy” smiles almost wolfishly at Nerit, trying not to let his gaze linger where it shouldn’t. “Ma chere you go first with Monsieur Prescott, act like you are drunk and slightly unhinged, stab anything that comes near you, when we arrive stay close. Monsieur” He says turning to Rex, “can you insinuate yourself into their midst, see if you can spot our quarry, and influence the crowd from within. My dear Katja, remain at my side and look like you want to kill everyone, and not just me.”

“You two go” He says pointing forwards for Rex and Nerit, “the quicker this is over the better.”

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia's hand darts forward and she snaps words of power: "Cogitatio meus manus meus est." A ghostly hand darts into the ater and retrieves the bolt. "Demutatio," Lia says, causing at least some of the sewer filth to fall off. "Here," she says, presenting the item to Tomas. "If you have any medical alcohol to scour it with..." She lets the sentence trail off and glares at the vampire with murder in her eyes.

It takes Lia an effort to stop glaring, but she does. "We know at least that this one does -- did not work for Gauvain," she whispers to Tomas. "Whoever his master was, he sounds like an old man with a lot of chatter. Neither of those are traits shared by the Marquis of Montmort. Now. Do you need a mirror to affect repairs, or...?"

(OOC: Using Mage Hand and Prestidigitation to retrieve Tomas' spare part.)

[Kaitou Kage]

"A moment."

Rex was gone.

When he returned, it was harder to recognize him. He'd smudged himself with dirt. His hair looked partly disheveled, but something about it refused to yield shape. He managed to dull his sharp green eyes, and roughen his sharp jawline a little. The pharmacist still kept his sleeves rolled down but he'd done something with his jacket and pants to make them less nice-looking.

"I shall support you from the crowd."

And then he was gone again.

Bluff of 20 for my disguise. Not the best, but good enough to pass most people's passive perceptions.

Stealth of 30 to disappear into the crowd and not be noticed anyway.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator bows again as Marchand-Renier takes his leave. "Thank you for your assistance, Professor."

As the linguist departs and the subject changes, he gives his full attention to Monsieur Agale, frowning slightly as the lawyer unfolds his findings to the group. "If he were...of unnatural origin, the question would then become, whose tool is he? Or, put another way, which does not rely on the hypothesis of conjuration, whose backing raised him to his present exalted position?" Turning to Celeste, he continues, "Has he any friends at all, mademoiselle? Or known patrons, at least?"

[Nerit]

Nerit frowned at Rex as he disappeared, leaving her to her own devices. She said aside to the other two, "Pretty slinky for a pharmacist, n'est ce pas?" In the same breath she grabbed "Guy's" rough, grizzled chin and told him, "Eyes up here, ami." She pointed to her eyes with her own dagger before letting Nicolas go with a smirk.

The nun sauntered in the direction of the bar, waving her dagger. A light tune played on her lips, distorted by a wretched hoarseness in her throat.

"Come all you fair and tender girls
That flourish in your prime, prime
Beware, beware if your garden's fair
Let no man steal your thyme, thyme
Let no man steal your thyme!"


Bluff Assist Nicolas: 26
28 Perception, Rex just skitters out of Nerit's vision.

[lostboy]

"Eyes up here, ami."

Nicolas blows Nerit a kiss and graces her with a wink "that they would by anywhere else Cherie..."

Then the humour is gone, the mask is down, "time to shine" he grunts to Katja, before stalking forward as a man with purpose. A purpose that brings him past the screeching harridan on the threshold, to whom he gives barely a cursory scowl, yet somehow drags her along in his wake, and straight into the den of thieves. His long dark form pauses on the threshold, eyes brightly gazing at the denizens of the place for moment, as if asking one to challenge his passage. Then easing forward with the practised gait of one who is at home in battle, he makes his way to what passes as a bar, heedlessly knocking a few wastrels aside.

Knocking his fist lightly but firmly to get the barkeeps attention, he grunts in short clipped tones, "Tea.... and the whereabouts of Athene", before tossing a few coins as payment.

"Tell her Benoit is looking for her " he snarls in a low voice at the barkeep's momentary hesitation. Its a statement nothing more, no bragging, no show boating, nothing that would seem out of the ordinary for anyone who might know the real Guy Benoit and his character.

OOC: bluff for 18 + 14 + 6 = 38

[The Whistler]

"Miss Viardot, when we first encountered Commissioner Gauvin, you expressed familiarity. If you would share what you know about the man and perhaps dispel my paranoia, I should be grateful."

"Has he any friends at all, mademoiselle? Or known patrons, at least?"

Celeste pondered for a moment. "I am afraid that I may be precious little assistance on that score, gentle sirs...I am only acquainted with the Commissioner through my dear Uncle Hughes. You are familiar with the Hon. Hughes d’Alençon, of the Second Court of Appeals? Oh, it may be a small thing to speak well of a family member, but I should do it for hours if pressed—such a considerate justice, entirely apart from welcoming me into his home… Ah, but I digress, messieurs! Uncle Hughes dealt with M. Gauvain in a professional capacity, and so, then, did I, in a social one—but I had met him only once or twice prior to my arrival at the Chateau, and that merely over tea in Uncle’s sitting room. Given the Commissioner’s admirable predilection for reticence, I should be hard-pressed to furnish you with aught more useful than his opinions about the weather!”

You imagined Gauvain talking animatedly about cold fronts, and concluded that Celeste was probably projecting even this portion of his personality. Besides, any conversation that the two of them might have had would likely have been rather…one-sided.

“Of course, Sirs, I am quite well-apprised as to the good Commissioner’s reputation, though I may do little to add to your own summary, M. Agale! He remains rather an isolated person, sad though it is to say…I know of no patrons or close acquaintances to which he lays claim, though he is quite well-appointed in his finances all the same. Indeed, I should only disagree with you—respectfully, sir—as regards your opinion of his origins. Why, I should attribute his rapid advancement to the public eye as nothing more than fortuitous circumstance!”

This last statement had the buoyant air and pleasant undertones of the totally unsubstantiated. If Celeste believed that Gauvain was not in fact a supernatural horror of some kind, she was perfectly happy to do so without a shred of supporting evidence.

28 on a History check

[Cronax]

Agale pondered the socialite's words carefully before responding. He half a mind to ask if the commissioner's meteorological musings included clear skies and sunshine to assuage any hypothesis of vampirism. Come to think of it, had they every encountered Gauvin outside during the day?

"I humbly retract any implication of the Commissioner's origins being untoward. But you must admit, that even within the enlightened egalitarianism of this fair nation, it remains peculiar there being no record of either a genealogy nor commendations accompanying his rise to authority and wealth. Fortuitous or not, one does not simply rise to a position such as his without impetus."

"In any case, with the Renier lead as followed as it can be for the time being, shall we seek out others? Though it is a long shot, we could perhaps look up the professors Lemercier and Petrik next to see if either possesses insights concerning the market?"

[NeoTiamat]

2 Days, 11 Hours, 53 Minutes
University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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"In any case, with the Renier lead as followed as it can be for the time being, shall we seek out others? Though it is a long shot, we could perhaps look up the professors Lemercier and Petrik next to see if either possesses insights concerning the market?"

"The Arcane Science building is at the far end of the campus, and the conservatory is just across the quad," Remy informed, stroking at his cravat with his pale fingers. "If you don't mind, I'll rejoin you later. I think I had better see what's eating Professor M. Wouldn't want him shooting any other University employees."

To all three of you, the statement undoubtedly sounded like a joke, if a rather callous one. Nevertheless, the Professor bowed and took his leave.

Pick a building and head that way!

2 Days, 11 Hours, 23 Minutes
Vervain Rookery, Quartier Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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From the inside, the Cafe de Montagne was about as unpleasant as from the outside. It was dimly lit, dark and quiet. This was not a sailor's bar, and these were not rowdy brawlers. It was almost casual, in a bizarre kind of way. This was a den of predators, every one of whom was ready to pounce on any weakness, but like predators, they respected one another. They had nothing to prove, and so they kept a wary distance from each other, drinking wine or ordering cheap meals at tables, while a handful of serving staff ran about.

The nun sauntered in the direction of the bar, waving her dagger. A light tune played on her lips, distorted by a wretched hoarseness in her throat.

"Come all you fair and tender girls
That flourish in your prime, prime
Beware, beware if your garden's fair
Let no man steal your thyme, thyme
Let no man steal your thyme!"

Eyes turned to follow Nerit as she entered, and at least a few voices turned to appreciative murmurs. But in their own peculiar way, the revolutionaries had honor. They may have been willing to kill gendarmes and burn down buildings, but no one went to bother Nerit. Likewise, regardless of whether or not they had honor, few of them likely wanted to risk contracting syphilis.

In a few moments after Nerit entered, a serving girl came by, regarding Nerit's scantily clad appearance critically. Then she spoke, her voice low and cold. “This is an honest cafe, no place for the likes of you. Best you head on out quietly.”

Knocking his fist lightly but firmly to get the barkeeps attention, he grunts in short clipped tones, "Tea.... and the whereabouts of Athene", before tossing a few coins as payment.

"Tell her Benoit is looking for her " he snarls in a low voice at the barkeep's momentary hesitation. Its a statement nothing more, no bragging, no show boating, nothing that would seem out of the ordinary for anyone who might know the real Guy Benoit and his character.

In moments, a hushed whisper passed through the room, and all eyes were upon Nicolas. The serving maid who'd been about to evict Nerit from the cafe forgot all about her, gazing upon Nicolas as though he were something quite she'd never expected to see.

From the far end of the cafe, a woman stood. She was a large woman, broad-shouldered and muscular, not tall, but solidly built. A vicious scar ran along her face, and her nose looked as though it had been broken at some point. She was not a handsome woman, but she moved with the grace of a bird of prey.

Without any particular hurry, she strode across the Cafe de Montagne, even as the denizens of the cafe pulled their chairs away and cleared a path to her. By the time she reached the bar, a stool had been vacated for her. In fact, there was a bubble of free space all around Nicolas, only two women inside it. Katja, who was being her usual, militaristic self, and this woman, who regarded Nicolas oddly.

“I thought you'd be older.” Was the first thing she said. She had a surprisingly high, clear voice for someone of her build. “What does Benoit want with Athene?”



2 Days, 11 Hours, 23 Minutes
Sewers, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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"We've..been really rude. I'm Kerrian..what's your name?" He asked, trying to take some of the tension out of his voice, as Cerise appeared to be on to something.

“Hy. Hyacin.” The young man stopped, staring blankly ahead, before continuing. "Hyacinthe," he said mechanically, his face drawn, staring off into the distance. “Hyacinthe. It is hard. To remember. I think it is. Hyacinthe. Hyacinthe... Tirmont. From Chateaufaux.”

A grateful and terrified look is sent at Cerise. "How did you-" Why are you not flipping out. "-no, we don't have much time. This is the closest we've gotten to the thing listening to us. Keep going. See if you can get it to talk. I've got something to see hidden passages if we can find out where it is supposed to be."

“Be nice, M. Eisenwald. Hyacinthe isn't a thing, he's a person.” Cerise chided gently, turning her cherubic face towards Tomas briefly. Then she returned to looking at the young man, who hadn't moved since he was last spoken to. “Sorry, M. Tirmont, that wasn't very polite. He's edgy because you bit him, which wasn't very nice of you, was it? But that's okay, M. Eisenwald is a great hero, so he'll be alright. If you ever need a monster killed, he's the best person to do it.”

The irony of this was lost upon the vampire.

“Could you tell us a bit about the mistake?” Cerise asked, still speaking in the same relentlessly cheerful voice. “How'd you end up down here?”

“It was. It was Annette. I killed her.” Hyacinthe said dully. “I don't recall what she was to me. She might have been my wife. My mistress. My sister. I loved her. The old man forbade us. He said the dead are corpses. He said we must serve the living. I wasn't allowed. To meet her. He forbade it. I have forgotten why.”

“I couldn't. I loved Annette. I thought she could live forever. With me. I thought I could make her like me. Then she would never age. Or die. I, I...” Even beneath whatever it was Cerise had done to him, Hyacinthe's voice caught. The moment passed, and the young man continued, his voice sounding like a man reading from a book, flat and emotionless. “I came to her at night. She was frightened of me. She thought I was dead. She wouldn't listen. I became angry with her because she was afraid of me. I grabbed her. I never meant to hurt her. I just wanted her to listen to me. I wanted to tell her. How we could have been together forever. But I was angry. So I grabbed too hard. It was an accident.”

“I forget what happened next. I think the old man found me before dawn.” Hyacinthe continued, still in that same, inflection-less voice. “He put me here.”

“Aww... That's horrible!” Cerise said, in obvious sympathy. After a moment, she remembered the original reason you'd come here, however. “Oh, do you know anything about the Midnight Market?”

“You need a guide. If you free me, I could take you there.” Hyacinthe said flatly. He wasn't bargaining. It was just a flat, emotionless statement of fact, made even as the young man still stared ahead, without inflection, without change. “It can't be found otherwise.”

Then, Hyacinthe sunk to both knees and put his head in his arms. He began to cry, great, wracking sobs that shook his whole body. Tears of strange, green-black blood flowed between his fingers.

“Sorry everyone. They don't usually stay lucid for very long.” Cerise said, spreading her hands regretfully. “We usually put them back into their cells by now. You better hurry if you want to ask him anything else.”

[DocBeard]

Tomas exhales, slowly. "I'll need to boil it." His voice is slurred on account of his injured jaw, but we'll spare you attempts at imitating that. He does take the bolt with something resembling gratitude. Sympathetic magic's a pain.

It is hard not to sympathize. He's had nightmares of crushing a lover with unnatural strength before. On the other hand this is a vampire who tried to eat him.

"The old man." Tomas says to the vampire, after a moment. "What was his name?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

"I would imagine not," Mercator says, giving Professor Lessard a puzzled look. "Until this afternoon, then, Professor."

Then, looking at Agale and Celeste, "I have hardly passed a word with either of our housemates...which of them do you believe we should ask first?"

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I have a question, also," Lia says. The look she gives is an uneasy mixture of pity and disgust. "Are you... Who and what else could guide us to the Midnight Market?"

'And are you tired of this trapped existence? Do you crave death?' she thinks, one hand grabbing a wand stuck under her belt like a dagger.