The Shattered City: Chapter One

[The Whistler]

(upon entry to the offices of Mme. Chastel)

Celeste had been nigh-forcibly dragged away from a worshipful (and mostly one-sided) interview with George Pinot, centering around his extensive body of bronzework, his inspirations, his working habits, the especially natty cut of his jacket, and whether he was partial to signing autographs for adoring fans right in the middle of formal gallery openings. All in all, the scene before her rather suffered in comparison.

“…Catastrophe!” As it turned out, fans over the mouth were also good for hiding horrified expressions, as well as providing a useful spot of color when all of the blood drains from one’s face. “And…to a curator!

The moment of shock didn’t last long, though. Lia’s warning kept her from actually entering the room, but Celeste instinctively lowered the fan and leaned forward in silent commiseration with the deceased, her tone doleful. “And our fair Nation’s most enduring symbol employed to such dastardly ends—to such a one who by rights should be gladdest to see it! Oh, dear, dear Mme. Chastel…to know that you have been brought low in so horrible a circumstance… Oh, Sympathy!”

(upon the inception of Supernatural Occurrences)

Celeste…well, Celeste actually took the screaming corpse and malevolent whispering porcelain figurines better than you would have expected. Yes, there was shock on her face, and fear, but it was layered with a certain quantity of awe: you had the impression that she was focused on the sheer spectacle of the thing as much as that it was a murder victim screaming. Say what you would about Mlle. Viardot’s disposition, a short attention span apparently worked surprisingly well as a coping mechanism.

In the second of silence that followed, her expression was…nearly blank. Searching. Slightly confused, even. It is very difficult to come up with a proper rejoinder for this sort of thing.

Once Kerrian broke the silence, though, Celeste rose to the occasion.

"Mme Chastel has been killed.”

“Oh, through means most foul, Messieurs!”

Whomever did this has significant magical potency."

“—And the most dreadful sense of the Macabre! Why, the very Sword of Leon was employed in the foul deed!”

"Who put up the wards that are around the gallery? And would they respond to a breach from inside? If so, whomever put them up is probably going to get a response soon, unless that was all just an illusion.”

“…Yes! Productive questions all. Oh, M. Mauganson, you are singularly well-suited to— Dear M. Tessier, I insist that you render only your fullest explanation!”

"Someone who can actually talk to people...keep the guests calm."

This plunged Celeste into a full second-and-a-half of intensive soul-searching. “Shall I… But I must!” With one swift movement, she looked up at the group in general, assuming her most valorous attitude—which she clearly had not practiced with any frequency prior to that moment.

“Fear not that your entreaties fall upon unsympathetic ears, noble Mauganson—I, Celeste Mirielle Viardot, shall exert the very fullest of my becalming influences towards that very task!”

“…Should anyone wish to accompany me?”

[Rock of the Fraternity]

If anyone listens closely to Lia, they might hear her mutter: "A document that should be singular and undivided, become two and no longer unique with no one the wiser as to which is original and which is copy. The pristine sword of state soiled by grime and coated with the blood of a preserver of the art, which is the essence of that state ... Attacking the foundations of the land? Ritual desecration?"

The Mage shakes her head and turns to LaGrange and Kerrian: "I have seen the magic of the University. To my regret, I have been witness to the works of the Fey. I have seen magic as practised in Barovia, in Hazlan, Phiraz and Muhar. The works of fiends and the most evil cleric I ever met, I have witnessed, and even some of the ancient works of Har'Akir. But I have never seen anything of the sort of magic that was set up in this room. Just an impression of the kind of tension you get in the air before a thunderstorm is about to erupt.

Councilor, I must ask: was the curator herself a practitioner of the arts?"

[NeoTiamat]

The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:51 PM
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"Councilor, I must ask: was the curator herself a practitioner of the arts?"

"She is not." The charming-voiced wizard said, steel certainty belying his genial tone. "Were she a mage of any sort, she would have come to my attention. She has not."

Sir, is there a good reason for everyone to leave? I can announce it

"Not yet." The young Donatien Tessier spoke up, his voice uncertain. A nobleman and art specialist he may have been, but in murder he was untried. Nevertheless, at a curt nod from LaGrange, he continued. "We don't want to start a panic, or worse, a stampede. Deaths happen that way. First calm everyone down, and then we'll let them go home slowly."

"While not optimistic, I'm not terribly inclined to take the word of animated effigies at face value. Is there any hope of reviving her?"

"Not without entering the room," Katja said, warily. Her single eye flicked around the room a few times.

"No... she's dead," Thierri murmured, in an eerie echo of the child-like voices before. The magician leaned on the door frame, staring raptly at the curator's body.

“…Should anyone wish to accompany me?”

"Oooh! Me me me!" Cerise volunteered. "Let me help you out. I'm really good with people!" She smiled genuinely.

"If so, whomever put them up is probably going to get a response soon, unless that was all just an illusion." Kerrian frowned. "I..don't know enough about how those work..so I can't say if what that was could be reproduced with one."

"Sir, although I would find it highly unlikely that the guilty party yet remains on the premises, I would strongly recommend that departing revelers be discreetly analyzed for residual magic."

"The wards did not activate, and they should have." Councilor LaGrange said, brows knitting together. "Meaning either that the perpetrator is still on the premises, or something odder is at play here. I shall need to check the wards over, and to examine everyone present..."

LaGrange's voice trailed off into deep thought as he considered the sheer extent of the task before him. The Tessier Gallery was not a small building, and there had to be several hundred people present. Then his eyes fell upon you, and the solution suggested himself.

"I will need more arcanists if this task is to be done in time. I am going to ask several of you to make for the nearest gendarmerie station. Once there, tell them to dispatch aid as quickly as possible, particularly as many of the officers in the scarlet-trimmed caps as they have available. You have my authority on that. Scarlet-trimmed caps, remember." LaGrange's voice was still hypnotic, but now it took on a more business-like clip. "I warn you, this may be dangerous, but it is extremely urgent and important."

"I shall go." Katja said instantly, her own Lamordian accent stronger now.

"The nearest gendarmerie station is in the Quartier Ouvrier, just past Pere Villon cemetery." Donatien Tessier volunteered. "It... probably will be dangerous, yes." Katja just nodded brusquely to this.

"Thank you, Madamouselle. Some others should go with you." Councilor LaGrange said. "The rest of you, go with Donatien and keep the guests calm. We do not need a panic. In the meantime, I shall find some arcane colleagues of mine and return here with more trained mages."

"I can talk to the guards, if you like." Ambassador Vedarrak offered quietly. He cast a look at Katja, but he focused on LaGrange. Behind him, Lieutenant Jaeger waited like a loyal hound. "Examine the perimeter, see if anything strange has happened."

"Thank you Marcos, it will be appreciated." Claude LaGrange nodded, then looked at the rest of you. "Let us move quickly, ladies and gentlement. Some of you to the gendarmerie station, Marcos to the perimeter, I to my colleagues, and the rest of you to keep the situation calm. Time is wasting."

"And when I return." LaGrange added quietly, looking at you. "We shall have a long talk about this. Donatien, you have these peoples names? Excellent."

================================================

In truth, the situation outside was about as well as could be expected.

Which was to say, it was utter chaos. Nobles were pushing and shoving their way through the ballroom, seeking out someone who knew what was going on. The guards didn't seem to know whether they should let people leave or not; even if they had, it was being rendered a moot point, as a throng of nobles jammed the exit, the giant bustles of the female nobility getting caught on one another and forming a veritable blockade. It was about all that could be expected in the aftermath of unnatural, bloodcurdling screams - in fact, it was surprising that the commotion hadn't turned into a full-fledged riot. You could barely spot the throng of mice, holed up by the buffet, a tiny port of sanity in a brewing storm.

"'Scuse me, pardon me, coming through, oops! Sorry about the hat, madame." Cerise ducked and dodged her way through the crowd, trying to make her way toward one of the walls. She got caught on a clump of panicked nobles, who were rushing around a woman passed out on the floor. It seemed that the screams had been too much for Madame Loiseau's constitution, and she had fainted dead away.

"Do you mean to kill her? Move!" Thierri commanded. The magician was, perhaps unsurprisingly, agile, squeezing his way over to Loiseau without much trouble. He checked the woman over, producing a vial of vile smelling salts from his sleeves, but to no avail. "Out cold," he muttered.

"What happened?" It was Professor Petrik, her eyes blazing behind the growling wolf mask. Her fearsome visage said well enough to get out of her way, and she was plowing through anyone who didn't. The crowd scattered away from you as Professor Petrik stopped dead, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. "You! What caused that scream?" she demanded.

"Just a minute, professor, and if you could please stop being so scary..." Cerise grimaced. "You'd better start talking," she whispered aside to Celeste.

OOC: Cerise is assisting Celeste in her attempts to calm the crowd. Whistler, when you make your roll, roll twice and take the higher result.

Currently, Katja is heading off to try and reach the gendarme station. You can choose to accompany her, or stay at the Tessier to try and help with the crowd and investigation. As always, if you have another idea, feel free to bring it up with us.

[The Whistler]

Celeste was not actually behind Cerise at the moment.

At the moment, the assembled gallery-goers were treated to the sight of a slim brunette woman in a kimono, standing on a chair in the middle of the room, smiling graciously, and tapping a spoon against a Merlot glass. Apparently, Celeste knew how to give a toast better than she knew how to quiet a panicked crowd; what was surprising was how well it worked, as a gesture. There was something about the relative normality of it all that was comforting, somehow.

“Ehem…ehem! Ladies and gentlemen—a brief moment of your time, please, if you would be so kind!” She paused a moment to give the crowd time to pay attention, then lowered her glass and casting a pleasant gaze about the room. “Esteemed gallery patrons: it is with only the deepest regret that I interrupt your happy round, but I feel it is my bound duty to inform you that a minor inconvenience has befallen us this night.” Apologetic smiles all around. Her voice barely inflected the “minor inconvenience.”

“You have my most sincere assurances: there is nothing to cause you even the slightest concern! A few minutes’ further stay within these happy walls, followed by a brief and courteous encounter with our City’s talented gendarmerie, is all that is necessary for the matter to be entirely resolved. And then—why, think of the stories that you may tell!” She straightened her carriage a bit, looking off now into the realm of ideals. “As acquaintances to our dear M. Tessier, and fervent admirers of Dame Art’s manifold pleasures, the convivial grace of our friendship and the calm contemplation of the aesthetic rank among our noblest qualities. Let grace and calm reign tonight, as well! The gallant protectors of Port-a-Lucine will surely thank you all the more for your consideration. Thank you for your time!”

Smiling, she curtsied once to the crowd and stepped down.

30 on Diplomacy.

[Kaitou Kage]

Look at them, Cyrus thought in derision as he regarded the screaming nobles, A bunch of panicked, simpering fools who pretend at power but have none when they need it most. They flee in panic from the slightest fright and they cower like whimpering dogs when their petty games are disrupted. They are weak. Powerless. It is no wonder I despise this city.

"I shall go." Katja said instantly, her own Lamordian accent stronger now.

"The nearest gendarmerie station is in the Quartier Ouvrier, just past Pere Villon cemetery." Donatien Tessier volunteered. "It... probably will be dangerous, yes." Katja just nodded brusquely to this.

The Hazlani snapped out of his reverie and nodded. "I will go, also," he said darkly, "This would be a good time to exercise His divine guidance." The dommer rubbed his steel holy symbol meaningfully. And I am on excellent terms with the gendarme now, he added as an afterthought.

He turned to bid good-bye to his date for the evening but Cerise had already traipsed off after Celeste. Cyrus sighed inwardly and made a mental note to "make amends" later, time willing.

"Let's go," he turned to Katja, "Quickly."

[Cronax]

"Thank you, Madamouselle. Some others should go with you." Councilor LaGrange said. "The rest of you, go with Donatien and keep the guests calm. We do not need a panic. In the meantime, I shall find some arcane colleagues of mine and return here with more trained mages."

"Certainly Councilor" Mr. Agale quickly replied "I am at your service in this endeavor." He followed Cerise contingent most of the way back, but excused himself to freshen up just before entering the hall. He emerges a minute later. Even under the mask, he exudes focus and you get the impression that he is chomping at the bit, ready to take on the world, or at least a hall full of rambunctious nobles.

As Celeste's toast entranced the majority of the hall, Agale circled the crowds, darting in and out of the more belligerent throngs offering whispered explanations and hearsay, all carefully crafted to calm the unruly and promote a more genial gossipy mood. Each account he related was declared to be second hand at best and no two agreed on the particulars. He weaved in and out of the crowd meticulously focusing on the more troublesome groups like a fisherman mending his net at the end of the day. Some hear that a particularly scandalous tryst had been found out. Others get wind that one of the pieces had been damaged during an argument. Still others heard him gossip that someone's tea had spilled its scalding contents onto an unfortunate young lady.

"You! What caused that scream?" she demanded.

"A rather unfortunate turn of events madam." Agale answered in a low tone under his breath "It would be unwise to delve into specifics at this time, though I assure you I will do so in detail when our situation and location are more under control. Other than that created by these agitated aristocrats, it is my belief that there is no immediate danger."

Bluff 26

[DocBeard]

Tomas was going to try and take command of calming the crowd down, but between Celeste and Cerise, the sometimes awkward Lamordian didn't even have a chance to blink before a plan was already underway. Rubbing his face, Tomas wipes the makeup off-no one liked the costume anyway, Eisenwald reasons, shrugging his lab coat off and tossing it to Kerrian.

"Don't let the girls get too distracted with details." Tomas informs Kerrian, "They both seem like the types to spent so much time looking at a tree they don't notice the...rest of the forest is..." Tomas looks confused, "Look, there's a forest, and trees, and someone gets eaten! You know what I mean. And wear that, they'll take you more seriously if you look educated."

A look at Remy. "Don't get shot."

A look at Nerit. "When Remy gets shot, take care of him, hey?"

Finally, Tomas slows down long enough to breathe, finding himself grasping Lia's right hand with both of his. Cursing his clumsy tongue, Tomas juggles a thousand different things he wants to say, ultimately deciding on, "Lia, you're amazing, really. But I'd consider it a personal favor if you kept that whole arrogant, impulsive side of yours down to, like, a four." This is said with a quiet sort of tenderness, and Tomas finds his fingers brushing the cheek of that horrible jackal mask before he pulls away, nodding to Katja and Cyrus.

You might wonder, 'How did Eisenwald fit that big old hammer under his costume's lab coat.' but that is, unfortunately, classified information.

"It... probably will be dangerous, yes."

"Ja, Herr Tessier." Tomas winks at the man as he makes his way towards the side exit, looking positively giddy, "Maybe say another prayer for whatever's unlucky enough to have me happen to them, nicht war?"

[yalenusveler]

"Don't let the girls get too distracted with details." Tomas informs Kerrian, "They both seem like the types to spent so much time looking at a tree they don't notice the...rest of the forest is..." Tomas looks confused, "Look, there's a forest, and trees, and someone gets eaten! You know what I mean. And wear that, they'll take you more seriously if you look educated."

Getting a labcoat tossed to you, then a rather garbled version of "Can't see the forest for the trees" was the kind of thing that could momentarily throw just about anyone off. But it was a testament to Kerrian's mental fortitude that the green man was in mere moments, wearing a labcoat.

"Right. Don't let anyone get eaten." A nod, and then Kerrian turned to LaGrange "When the room gets cleared, I'd like a chance to take a look..I might notice something your arcanists might miss." After that statement of sublime confidence in the wizardly arts of Dementlieu, Kerrian was off with the others to the main hall.

Celeste and Mr.Agale seemed to have the crowd well in hand, so Kerrian instead focused on trying to spot disruptions...things out of place, and indicators that a panicked crowd might soon be the least of their worries.

OOC:Bleh, only a 13 on a perception

[Isabella]

A look at Remy. "Don't get shot."

A look at Nerit. "When Remy gets shot, take care of him, hey?"

"Thank you for that," Remy said, the porcelain white mask staring back at the Lamordian impassively. "You've been shot more often than I have, Eisenwald."

Smiling, she curtsied once to the crowd and stepped down.

"Well done, Mlle. Viardot, well done indeed," Donatien whispered to Celeste when she had finished. "I'll see about calming any servants that might have seen poor Madame Chastel. I'll tell them the Councilor is setting a trap for the perpetrator, and that they must not talk, lest it jeopardizes the plan. Ezra knows we can't afford to have them gossiping now."

M. Tessier began to pick his way back through the crowd, ostensibly to do just that.

"Other than that created by these agitated aristocrats, it is my belief that there is no immediate danger."

"That is your belief," Professor Petrik agreed. The muzzle of the wolf mask dipped in irritation, the ivory teeth clinking against the iron band she wore on her hand. She balefully snapped to look at Tomas as he wiped the makeup off, her stiletto heels clicking sharply as she pursued him.

The professor stooped, snatching a mask that had been laying on the floor, knocked off in the tumult. Someone must have stepped on it, as there was a series of patchwork cracks running through it. "There is something afoot. Keep your masks," she warned.

[DocBeard]

"....thanks." This is really the only thing you can say if you are handed a mostly broken mask by the angry old lady who's predicted horrible doom and has sort of shoved it in your hand. Tomas slips the mask on, feels damn silly, and decides to make up for it by standing at a particularly heroic angle when the next opportunity presents itself.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia raises an eyebrow at Tomas, though this fact remains hidden by virtue of her mask. "Why, Tomas," she says, "if you like, I shall certainly try. But in return ... do please try to curb your own impulsiveness as well, hmm?"

While everyone else goes running, Lia lingers a moment longer by the room in which Mme. Castell was found dead. "I will assist you if I may, monsieur Mauganson," she announces. "I don't fancy running around the street in my current apparrel, and I might be of use to you."

[yalenusveler]

While everyone else goes running, Lia lingers a moment longer by the room in which Mme. Castell was found dead. "I will assist you if I may, monsieur Mauganson," she announces. "I don't fancy running around the street in my current apparel, and I might be of use to you."

"Thanks" Kerrian said, offering as much of a smile as he could manage. "I'm..well, not that good at noticing magic. Spirits..yes..general magic, no." Kerrian then took a look around the ballroom. "Have you seen the Blackwoods?" It was a somewhat important question, but not one that was obviously so, and to elaborate, Kerrian dropped his voice to a hushed whisper, barely audible over the din of the crowd.

"Richard..was important in my vision. And..it wasn't a necessarily good outcome for him. And with the mirror shards...I worry he might be part of whatever ritual is going to be done to the Mirror Brilliant..."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I am sorry, no," Lia replies, shaking her head incrementally as she whispers. "I was talking with professors Lessard, Marchand-Renier and the latter's relatives in this city. But as long as the doors are closed to all egress, we should be able to find them. Come, let us make the attempt."

[NeoTiamat]

The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:59 PM
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“The gallant protectors of Port-a-Lucine will surely thank you all the more for your consideration. Thank you for your time!”

Smiling, Celeste curtsied once to the crowd and stepped down.

Agale weaved in and out of the crowd meticulously focusing on the more troublesome groups like a fisherman mending his net at the end of the day.

Slowly, but certainly, the panicked mass of aristocracy calmed down. People moved away from the doors, occasionally grinning sheepishly at each other as to their fear of only a few moments ago. It wasn't as though anything serious had happened, after all. Just a lover's tryst. Or was it a kitchen accident? No one was quite certain, but the feeling of amity returned to the art gallery. Most of the nobles chatted with one another, weaving conspiracy theories out of thin air. A few even opted to return to the original goal of the evening, the art show.

It was in the process of ensuring that this continued calmness that Mr. Agale felt a light hand come down on his left shoulder. It was followed a moment afterwards by a light hand coming down on his right shoulder. The one on his left was masculine, and had on a pale, white glove with a signet ring. The one on his right was feminine, also had a pale, white glove, and had a ring with an emerald.

"We saw what you were doing." A breezy, self-assured voice informed Mr. Agale, a male voice coming from his right. "Spreading such malicious slander and gossip."

"How rude, how gauche." An impish, seductive voice purred into Mr. Agale's left ear. "Really, we thought better of a nice Borcan gentleman."

"I'm afraid you've left us with no choice." The male voice said, leaning forward and letting Mr. Agale glimpse a mask like that of a white mouse, covering a tall, beautiful form with platinum blond hair.

"We have only one thing to say to you." The female voice said as well, also leaning in. Another white mouse mask, another beautiful form, with hair that was near white.

"Indeed, and that thing is..." Bertram began.

"...Need any help?" Bertriz finished.

================================================

"Let's go," he turned to Katja, "Quickly."

Katja just nodded, moving to stand next to Tomas in an attempt at a formation. "I do not have my armor or shield," she stated. "Let us avoid what trouble we can."

"Hey, Tomas." Lessard attempted to mimic one of Eisenwald's "friendly gestures" and punched the Lamordian in the arm. It was more of a tap to the shoulder and was far too stiff to look friendly at all, and more like the junior professor had read about it in a manual and was trying to imitate it while still looking at the instructions. But the spirit was probably still there. "Don't get shot either."

================================================

"Have you seen the Blackwoods?"

"Yes," Petrik answered succinctly. "Come with me."

It actually wasn't that hard to find the Blackwoods; Richard was a good deal taller than most of the attendees, and his black and silver ensemble stood out from the whirl of color on the gallery floor. The two of them were accompanied by Professor Lemercier, the two siblings hovering close to one another, while the professor sat pensively on a purloined chair. Richard had tossed Dementlieuse convention to the winds at some point, and the alabaster holy symbol of Ezra now sat prominently on his chest. Alice's glower didn't quite match up to Professor Petrik's, but it was obvious she was not happy with the current turn of events.

"If that scream was over spilled tea, there had better have been acid in the kettle instead of water," Alice said, in a dangerous tone of voice. "I don't believe it for a second."

"It was not," Professor Petrik said. She whirled on Kerrian, the wolf head staring unpleasantly at him. "Explain."

"What the eternally eloquent Seiglinde means is that we are having a hard time believing the various theories and conjectures being floated in the room. What occurred just now was some manner of thaumaturgical event of the highest degree." Evariste Lemercier said his overflow of words and charming appearance at odds with the intent look upon his face. "To wit, something happened, and I suspect you know what it was. If you would care to speak outside, it can be done. But, my dear young man, talk."


Quartier Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:59 PM
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Outside of the gallery, city life seemed to be going on as normal: carriages ferried their passengers to their destinations, servants emptied scraps out to dogs in the alleyways, passerbys greeted each other warmly on the streets. People watched you go with a fair amount of interest, and you recieved a fair number of waves and greetings of your own. Some people even followed you a few blocks, cheerfully asking where you were going and trying to strike up a conversation. One well-dressed couple even tossed Tomas five solars, the gentleman winking and telling him to take his friends out for a drink. Still, Katja brushed them off fairly easily, and you made quick time through the streets.

The transition between the two quartiers was a slow one, but it became more and more evident as you moved away from the Tessier. Many concerned bystanders tried to warn you off your course, proving a bit more difficult to dissuade than the friendly folk before. The buildings became narrower, closer together, and the streets were dirtier than the well-kept roads near the gallery. People were still out and about here, but harder to see; they lurked in the shadows and alleyways, crowding around to peer out and watch you go. The silhoutte of the Pere Villon cemetery loomed on the hill nearby.

Katja narrowed her single eye as she walked, keeping one step behind Tomas, on the side of his shield arm. "They're following us," she spoke in a very low voice, barely heard by the two of you. "We're being surrounded."

One of the shadows broke off from the alleyways: a hollow-eyed doxie, her frame ravaged by disease, her dress ravaged by an overeager customer. She favored the three of you with a smile, burned into her face by habit. "What handsome young gentlemen you are," she cooed, seemly unaware that Katja was nothing of the sort. "That's a lovely shirt you have there, monsieur..."

"Therese!" a voice hissed from the alleyway. Another woman inched out after her, only slightly healthier looking and obviously afraid. "Therese, leave them alone!"

The three of you seemed to be attracting the attention of the denizens here, you could almost feel the press as the shadows in the alleyway moved closer, forming into people, all watching with extreme interest. The doxie in the torn dress didn't seem to notice any of them. "I could get a whole solar for a shirt like that..." she said, trying to reach out to grab Katja's arm.

[DocBeard]

Tomas was a little worried that he had hurt Remy's feelings-the "punch on the arm" is thus met with a warm chuckle instead of the bear hug it would normally require, both because Tomas doesn't have the time to properly congratulate Lessard on remembering he had a personality, and because he's busy being relieved. "No promises, Professor."

---

One well-dressed couple even tossed Tomas five solars, the gentleman winking and telling him to take his friends out for a drink. Still, Katja brushed them off fairly easily, and you made quick time through the streets.

Tomas has been "on leave" long enough to know that dignity is a precious, valuable thing that is worth approximately as much as the filth that clings to the streets when you are starving or lost in a new city, so he catches the coins jauntily and does a silly little bow, "Ja, mine herr, ist gut ja!"

Not quite understanding why the old crone demanded they keep their masks on, Tomas sticks to it none the less as they enter the darker part of the city, remembering the last time someone didn't listen to the mysterious orders of an eccentric old woman. "The question is," Tomas murmurs in response to Katja, licking his lips and wishing he had his hat. "Who 'they' happen to be..."

Tomas lets out a breath when the doxie pops out of the shadows;(He was half expecting a pack of ghouls created by the starvation crisis, or the twisted remnants of University experiments that scavenge a living off of the possessions of unwary travelers.). This is merely to make way for new, even more worried breath at the odd behavior of the woman, and the fact that someone who knows her thinks it is odd. Damn.

"I could get a whole solar for a shirt like that..." she said, trying to reach out to grab Katja's arm.

And, lightly, the woman will feel a faint pressure on her shoulder. The problem with being a man of Tomas's strength is that even at the most gentle, any touch brings with it the unpleasant possibility of suddenly becoming not so gentle, and without his face Eisenwald is somehow less...harmless looking than usual, to the point where he uses his spare hand to hold out his palm in the direction of the name dropping woman, in what Tomas prays is an easily understood gesture of peace. "Excuse me." Tomas says, "Therese, is it? Only, I am being foreign and my Mordentish not so good..."