Café de Nuit

"And a good evening to you, as well, gentlemen," Lia replies, her voice chill music.

The Mage saunters into the room, staff leaning against her shoulder, and comes to a stop at professor Devereux' side. She is smiling behind her veil, but there is something stony about the expression, and she is not showing any teeth.

"Is there some problem?" the Mage asks, her voice polite enough for all of its chill. With a dull thump, she grounds her staff and looks from gendarme ... to gendarme ... to the man without irises.

Nicholas joins the commotion in the dining room, an irritated expression on his face, but then he catches sight of the man in black, his step falters, his countenance turns a decidely paler shade and two words drop form his lips in a shudder of recognition.

"Oh crap."

"Speak, then," Darius recommends, shutting the door firmly to keep the night air out. If the appearance of policemen in the house has disquieted him, he hides it well, although their other visitor seems to have him very slightly uncomfortable; after a first glance in his direction Darius looks at the gendarmes rather than the man in black as he continues. "How may we be of assistance, monsieurs?"

Tired, grim looking, and cranky, Tomas seems more like the man-bear that first shuffled back into town than the cheerful, eccentric groundskeeper he'd been playing the part of for the past few weeks. He had been powerfully looking forward to a bath and a shave, hoping to clean the filthy evening out of his hair and fill Lia in on the interesting thing he found today-the one that wasn't a corpse, that is. And then...visitors!

Red caps, Tomas is quickly learning, are even more trouble than the usual secret police the domain produced. But what really worried him was Nicolas's reaction-the man was a hard core traveler, which means his gut reactions were usually a good sign of how much trouble they're in.

Forcing a grin, Tomas ignores his better instincts and extends a hand to shake. "Hallo! Good evening, gentlemen? What may I be doing for you?"

Cyrus gently nudged Darius in the ribs and gave his brother a subtle look.

Be respectful, the look advised.

Nerit straightened, as if an ice-cold rod had been placed against her spine. "My, but what is this?" she said in a particularly lilting accent. "Lady, I hope Monsieur is all right!" The nun looked innocently toward Devereux.

Her previous fluster had, miraculously, dissipated. However, she glanced Nicolas' way before settling on the man in black.


Arcana on Mr. White Eyes: 12
Insight on Mr. White Eyes: 28

Nicholas takes a gulp of air and licks his suddenly parched lips, his gaze never wavering from the man in black. Yet perhaps aware of eyes on him he visibly steels himself and ignoring the Gendarmes completely, addresses someone he hadnt wanted to meet again anytime soon.

"Bonsoir Monsieur le Marquis, how can we assist you this evening?"

There was only so much that hand-wringing and a handkerchief could accomplish. By the time they had returned to the manor house, Mr. Agale's suit had stopped dripping blood on its own, but still possessed deep red stains throughout. A quick survey of the new visitors sharpened his demeanor considerably.

He responds in an even tone, almost hypnotic, as though he were arguing a technical point of estate law. "Good evening Sir. You no doubt have us at a disadvantage. If you are with the gendarme, then I feel it my civic responsibility to report a murder."

"Now then," he said, weariness creeping into his voice, "If the details can be delayed for a quarter of an hour, we really should get cleaned up."

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Late Evening of March 24th, 770
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The gendarme apparently had deemed their initial greeting sufficient - once it had been given, they did not deign to return any of the pleasantries you offered. The gendarme gave the barest of acknowledgement to your questions, turning to look at those of you who spoke, but otherwise did not respond. They seemed to be looking for something in particular, and had little interest in anything else.

Nicolas wrote:"Bonsoir Monsieur le Marquis, how can we assist you this evening?"

"M. de Castaigne," one of the gendarme replied, completely flat. "Is that blood on your coat? I do hope you haven't gotten into any trouble."

"Could we see your yellow parole ticket, M. de Castaigne?" the other gendarme asked. He didn't even have the decency to sound smug, or mocking, just down-to-business. "Just to double check."

Agale wrote:"Now then," he said, weariness creeping into his voice, "If the details can be delayed for a quarter of an hour, we really should get cleaned up."

"They can not," the white-eyed man replied, his full attention snapping to Mr. Agale and staying there. His voice was deep and soft, his pale fingers running across the razor-sharp edge of the raven's beak.

"The gendarme appreciates your civic mindedness and candor," the gendarme to the left of Devereux said, offering a seat at the dining room table. "If you can just bear with us for a few minutes longer, we can have this all sorted out. Please, describe the murder."

“Why, M. Gauvain!”

Apparently, Celeste knew the gentleman in the black cloak.

Oh, heavens.

“What a singularly fortuitous surprise!” The young noblewoman scurried up to the investigator-in-charge with the level of unmitigated glee that suggested (for Celeste) that she had met this person at least twice. Possibly at intervals. “Why, just this morning, I chanced to reflect upon the uniquely hospitable atmosphere which my dear Uncle engendered in his own home, during my residence there—and not half a day later, whom do I chance upon but one of his most treasured visitors! I do so fondly remember our conversations upon the topic of local politics, M. Gauvain—such grace you show at the art of debate!”

You somehow gathered that any “debates” between Celeste and this man must have been rather…one-sided.

“Oh, you must excuse our collective state of dishabille, dear M. Gauvain. Had we been apprised of your coming, we would surely have prepared a suitable refreshment for you and your company…the Chateau’s stores are most capacious!”

M. Gendarme wrote:If you can just bear with us for a few minutes longer, we can have this all sorted out. Please, describe the murder."

She looked around at the gendarmerie, as if noticing them for the first time. “Ah, but I see that you are on official business! And still aiming the keen edge of the Law at the treacherous assailant of Mme. Chastel…how refreshingly thorough your investigation! At any rate, I should declare myself utterly unequal to the task of describing the passing of the poor Curatoress—it being a singularly distressing event to contemplate. Nonetheless, I am entirely certain that one of my comrades will be able to outmatch me in that sober respect.”

Tomas lets out a breath; say what you want about Celeste, her knowledge of, well, everyone important in the city combined with her indomitable attitude had a certain disarming effect on the room. The milk-eyed man was no longer a vampiric wraith waiting to suck their souls dry, just an old, rich, powerful man backed up by angry police. Also he looks a fool with his hand sticking out.

Wait, what was that?

Tomas looks at the others, rubs the back of his head, and shrugs, "A sailor exploded." Eisenwald concludes in a blunter style than usual, "I," There's a pause to imply, 'Don't get arrested if you can avoid it.' to the others, "almost had whatever did it, but misjudged where to hit. Der Sister preformed last rites and we buried him at sea, seeing as walking around with a body in that condition seemed a great way to get lynched."

"If you think I did anything illegal, charge me. I won't resist." Tomas concludes coldly, "But all the others with me did was help give a body some shred of dignity."

"So quick to assume you are being blamed, Eisenwald," Cyrus said smoothly, "It's as though you have something to hide. Or fear." The dommer smiled pleasantly enough.

"These are nervous times," Lia remarks, apparently engrossed in studying the tip of her staff. "Even a foreigner like yourself must be aware of that, dommer. In nervous times, the wise understand that the authorities require a deeper understanding of all that is done."

Tomas shrugs with a barely suppressed tension, figuring that Cyrus is playing the heel out of habit more than anything else. "They asked for the truth. I drew steel and swung it, I'd be the logical suspect if you did not know that the victim was obviously killed through magic."

Darius lets his eyes roll behind his dark glasses. Of course they want to make a good impression, but Cyrus does tend to equate smart remarks with genuine cleverness.

"He's just putting himself forward as a martyr, brother," he mutters in Vaasi. "You are very wise, madame," he says to Lia, bowing ironically. "By all means, let us ensure that the authorities acquire a deeper understanding of what was done. Monsieur Eisenwald's account is very...striking, but perhaps a more complete description of events would throw additional light on what happened?"