Café de Nuit

1 Days, 17 Hours, 5 Minutes
Carnival Game Booths, The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Kerrian wrote:Kerrian shrugged " Sounds good to me."

"Fhantastic!" the boatman cheered, giving Kerrian a hearty clap on the shoulder. "I knew you'd be up fhor it! We'll make an adventurer of you. It'll be great fun."

"Remember, ten o' clock, no later," Finnsen reminded. "If you come earlier, we can have dinner. Nothing like hot food before adventure, yeah?"

1 Days, 17 Hours, 5 Minutes
The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nicolas wrote:"Business is business, but as we enter into this together, I would like to know more about my partner, talk to me, we have all night after all...." He says the last with a look that is definitely not all business...

Athene blushed.

It was one thing to be making sheep's eyes at an idol of your culture, the kind of person one worships from afar. It was perhaps one thing to be flirting with them for much of the night. It was something altogether different for them to actually notice, and more than that, return the attentions.

“Perhaps afterward...?” And so, a slow flush crept up Athene's cheeks. But Athene, in addition to being quite enamored of the idea of revolutionary romance, was also a professional. And she did have a job to do. “My patron was quite firm about the need to hurry...”

She didn't sound quite convinced, however. She met Nicolas's eyes, looking entirely too demure and shy for a hardened revolutionary. “But once we're finished. A victory celebration?” She smiled slightly. “I've a bottle of wine I was saving for a special occasion...”

Bluff, if you wish to continue your seduction efforts.

1 Days, 16 Hours, 17 Minutes
The Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Celeste wrote:With that, she glided off to the left, and the rest of the first floor.

Celeste wandered through the manor with the assisting Bergerons, occasionally encountering another member of the household, curiously looking to see what was going on. She found a lot of nice furniture, tasteful rugs, good silverware, paintings and other pieces of art. Compared to most of Dementlieu it was lavish; compared to what Celeste was used to, it was austere. The house didn't share the usual opulence of the nobility.

What she did not find was anything resembling what she was looking for. The Bergerons, as promised, tried to assist, but did not seem to be terribly well-versed in mystic portents.

Tomas wrote:Also, hey, when you get a chance to turn abruptly and move up the stairs to investigate a muffled sobbing noise, well, you take it. That's just how these things are done.

Tomas was not the stealthiest of persons, or even a person you could call stealthy with a straight face. Even so, if anyone saw him, no one moved to stop him.

The stairway lead you to a long corridor, typical of noble houses - indeed, matched by your own Chateau - with doors on each side leading off into their respective rooms. The sound came from the end of hall, a little place marked by three doors. One door was shut. The other two were cracked slightly open, enough for you to peek inside. To the right you could see a sparsely furnished room - Tomas could just make out the edge of a desk, a few indiscernible objects sitting on it.

To the left was a noblewoman's bedroom, and on the bed, the noblewoman, if she could even be recognized as such. Her face was ragged, her clothing unkempt, and her body horrifically neglected. Someone must have been taking care of her, for her to look so well as she did - but her hollow eyes told the story. There was little to be done when a person did not care if they lived or died.

She sat on the bed with tears streaming down her face, one hand clutched to her stomach, crying as though her heart would shatter. When she raised her head, you caught a glimpse of her face. It was Mlle. Bergeron. Or at least her mirror image. For you were dead certain that Mlle. Bergeron was still downstairs.

1 Days, 16 Hours, 17 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Agale wrote:"No, I invited the esteemed members of the constabulary to ward against the possibility of interdicting interference by our 'friend' or other potential obstacles." Agale answered.

Remy gestured to Agale as if to say Just so.

"Inspector Gauvain as well. But the Commissioner seems to have gone elsewhere," Lessard said neutrally. "Well, if we've been beaten to the room by either M. Boucher or our new 'friend', they're at least being quiet about it."

Breathe In, Breathe Out.

Freaking out is just going to put Celeste in danger. Hopefully the girl picked up on your warning. Tomas closes his fist until the knuckles are white regardless, because if this isn't a sign of something horribly wrong in this house, what is?

Steeling his nerve, Eisenwald steps forward gingerly, looking behind himself before waving his hand in front of the woman's face. "Hallo? Hallo? Ma'am, are you quite alright? Can you tell me what happened here? Are you the lady of the house's twin sister or something?"

Reine wrote:“You shouldn't be here...You two are in big trouble for coming here.”

"Reine--ah! La petite chou!" Nerit said, surprised. "Well, it is good to see a familiar face..." she smiled.

Nerit looked to Rex, a particular crease forming between her light brows. "We are here at Gauvain's command; if we are in trouble it shouldn't be by him."

"Mademoiselle," she smiled at Reine again, "I apologize for invading your space. We will leave soon. Gauvain sent us to search for something. Who keeps you here? M. Raven?"

Even as she spoke it, the image clicked into place: Gauvain's pale hands running over the raven's beak of his umbrella.

Insight 17. I'm completely useless.

"Well, isn't that lovely," Lia says. Her tone of voice is perfectly neutral. It really shouldn't be capable of raising the little hairs on the back of people's necks. "We still need to find the chamber," the Mage continues, her voice staying so painfully neutral. "Any of you gents have an idea where it might be? I've done some searching, but without success."

NeoTiamat wrote:"Remember, ten o' clock, no later," Finnsen reminded. "If you come earlier, we can have dinner. Nothing like hot food before adventure, yeah?"

"It sounds quite invigorating," Mercator says. It's not clear whether this is meant to be polite, ironic, or amusing. "This evening at ten, at the Pont du Tour. Very good. Until then." Bowing, he turns away.

In case this hadn't yet been made apparent, Celeste was not an altogether oblivious person. Yes, she lovingly maintained a selection of blind spots (negative character traits; potentially fatal situations; an understated yet significant swath of M. Mauganson's identity), but social innuendo was not one of them. M. Eisenwald's tap on the shoulder was received, interpreted as "Rather like that time where you had to talk with the Marchioness of St. Crecy in the conservatory so that the young and dashing Sir Alphonse might share a few precious moments with his otherwise-chaperoned lady-love", and put into action.

Celeste took a good deal of time going through the first floor--a good deal more than she might otherwise have done, often interrupting her "search" with pleasantries and decorating advice.

Let me know if there's anything in particular I have to do to stall, down here?

Nicolas notes the blush and responds with a wry smile, and not just at the mention of wine (although what a revolutionary considered as a fine vintage sent a vague shudder through his bones). This might actually work, and as long as she isn't off blowing up the damn place, at least until after we have what we need, then to hell with it he muses gazing at Athene with all the charm he can muster.

"Mademoiselle, we are both under no illusions that the aftermath of this endeavour will in all probability unleash the dogs of hell in our general direction. Victory celebrations are an unlikely option under such circumstances. No, if I have learnt anything it is to take ones chances when they present themselves. We both live violent, impassioned lives, yet too little is the option to step back for a moment and enjoy the company of a kindred spirit."

"Especially with as conducive company as you ma chere."

Nicolas was trying very, very hard not to let his mouth run away with him, and to keep the poetry under check, this raised the stakes hugely, but adventures of the amorous kind were not exactly alien to the poet, the only problem was this time he needed to keep his wits about him. Wine or no wine this woman would kill him if she knew the truth, still there were worse ways to go...

Bluff: 27 + whipping out Friendly deception for an extra +5 so 32

1 Days, 16 Hours, 9 Minutes
Orphelinat de Mont-Noir, Quartier-Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Rex wrote:"You are probably correct," the pharmacist murmured distantly, "We should not be here. And when we find what we need, we will be gone, trouble or no."

Nerit wrote:"Mademoiselle," she smiled at Reine again, "I apologize for invading your space. We will leave soon. Gauvain sent us to search for something. Who keeps you here? M. Raven?"

“No one keeps me here.” Reine said testily, tossing the ball again and catching it. It was now a brilliant, bloody crimson. “I live here. It's my home.”

“...though I guess if he said you could come, that's alright?” Reine said, frowning. She looked up at you on the off-chance that you might be lying. Rather suspiciously, she added. “What are you looking for?”

1 Days, 16 Hours, 9 Minutes
The Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Celeste wrote:Celeste took a good deal of time going through the first floor--a good deal more than she might otherwise have done, often interrupting her "search" with pleasantries and decorating advice.

The Bergerons were quite pleasant, actually. Which was to say, they were not visibly exasperated by long term exposure to Celeste, or visibly much of anything. They took the events of the morning completely in stride; they were attentive, did their best to be helpful, and at one point Mme. Bergeron even mildly agreed to bring the decorating advice up to her son.

Tomas wrote:"Hallo? Hallo? Ma'am, are you quite alright? Can you tell me what happened here? Are you the lady of the house's twin sister or something?"

The sobbing woman merely turned away, shrinking from human concern, tears streaming down her face. Tomas had seen a lot over the years, but he had yet to see someone more completely consumed by grief.

1 Days, 16 Hours, 9 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Lia wrote:"We still need to find the chamber," the Mage continues, her voice staying so painfully neutral. "Any of you gents have an idea where it might be? I've done some searching, but without success."

"I'm afraid not. Given it will supposedly kill us if we step foot in it, I'm finding my search a bit unmotivated." Remy sighed. "Perhaps we should have left 'our friend' to it. We were told to trust someone to help us. I think we can see just how well we're succeeding at that," the Professor added dryly, with a sardonic gesture to Lia and himself.

"We are slaves to our natures, I suppose. Whatever else, I don't trust that thing," Lessard said.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 1 Minutes
The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nicolas wrote:We both live violent, impassioned lives, yet too little is the option to step back for a moment and enjoy the company of a kindred spirit."

"Especially with as conducive company as you ma chere."

“When put that way...” Athene said, hesitating once more. Duty or pleasure, what had to be done, or what she very, very much wanted to do. It wasn't really much of a contest. Whatever his flaws, Nicolas was a handsome man, and he was trading on the reputation of one of Dementlieu's most famous people. Athene breathed out, her decision made. “...then we celebrate first, and my employer will just have to deal with it, won't he?”

She leaned into Nicolas, lifting her head to whisper into the poet's ear. “I live in a garret not far from here. Let's go celebrate.”


1 Days, 16 Hours, 32 Minutes
Athene's Garret, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Athene lived in the Quartier Ouvrier, in one of the tall tenements that abutted right to the northeast wall of the city. She lived on the fifth floor, so reaching her garret apartment entailed a long walk up some very narrow and very rickety stairs. The door wasn't locked. Whatever else, Athene didn't seem to worry about thieves.

“Make yourself comfortable...” Athene said, pushing open the door and lighting a few candles to supplement the watery sunlight coming in through the window. “I'll get the wine.”

The revolutionary from the Midnight Market lived in a tiny, one-room apartment, about the size of Nicolas's bedroom back at the Chateau Malchance. There was no kitchen or bathroom, though Athene had set up a curtain to divide off a corner from the rest. Despite the small size, her room was deluged with things. Spare clothing, old newspapers, revolutionary proclamations, broken furniture, thick blankets, everything was strewn about the floor with no rhyme or reason. It was clean, nothing moldy, no smells of stale food, but it was very haphazard. The walls were covered with papers and pamphlets hung up from crude hooks, and there was an old mirror in one part of the room.

At the same time, it felt an odd kind of homey. The air was thick with some sort of animal musk, not unpleasant, but definitely noticeable, mixed in with the smell of cigarette smoke. Athene didn't have a bed. Instead, piles of clothing and blankets had been arranged in the center of the room into something not wholly unlike a nest. It looked rather soft, all that said. There was also a large, open window at the end of the room, looking out across the wall and out to the King's Forest. It was a magnificent view, from five stories up.

There was a skull. It was on a shelf by the door, and there was a red gendarme's cap set jauntily at an angle on the gleaming bone.

“This is the last of four bottles, I got for a job a few years back.” Athene said in a voice as clear as a bell, emerging from behind the partition. She had thrown off the buttoned up coat she wore outside, and now wore just an artist's smock. She had a bottle in her hand, and two glasses. It was rather good wine, actually, a Borcan vintage from some decades back. Athene smiled, a little shyly. “I've been saving it for a special occasion.”

There wasn't really anywhere to sit in the tiny garret, so she merely lowered herself onto the nest of clothing and blankets, grinning up at Nicolas with the air of one who wasn't really sure what to say next. Athene was no one's idea of a classically beautiful woman. Muscular, broad-shouldered, a scar running down her face to one side of a broken nose, she was miles from the aristocratic beauties that flocked Dementlieu's halls. But she had energy in spades, and she moved with a kind of predatory grace that spoke of power.

“Wine?” Athene offered, pouring a glass. She smiled at Nicolas, and her eyes reflected the candle-light.

Nerit had the grace to look to apologetic. "I am sorry, Reine! I did not mean to imply you stayed anywhere against your will. Sometimes...you know, my words tangle. I mostly read Mordentish," the nun smiled ruefully, candidly.

"He did not say we could come here in so many words," she frowned again, "but the task he has assigned us pointed to this Orphanage--your home, I mean. We're not certain what we are looking for..." she trailed off, glancing to Rex, if he wasn't lurking in the shadows. "Did you know M. Thierri Boucher, Reine?"

Diplomacy 33

Wow, Tomas thinks, because he's seen cases this bad before but...in war zones. When people lose their whole families. Or are cursed or something. This...there's no context. He has to get more information.

Turning away, Eisenwald begins quickly rifiling through the drawers, looking for some sort of hint or bit of information that could explain the woman's condition. He finds a locket, and holds it up in the air in order to benefit from the light...

...and if the woman was strong enough, Tomas is sure she would have lunged for his throat. Its only then that Tomas really appreciates how starved the woman looks-her wedding ring wouldn't fit her finger. Well, Tomas assumes from glancing at said ring. Slowly, holding his hands up to show he is peaceful, Tomas puts the locket back.

He then steps forward, kneels down and, very careful not to hurt the fragile woman, takes her by her shoulders to force eye contact. "Listen to me." Tomas speaks clearly and firmly, as if trying to soothe an animal or small child. "Please. I am Tomas. I want to help. I know something is wrong, here. Wrong with the people downstairs. I think you know what, and if that is so, you need to tell me. I know you are hurt, and I know you are afraid, but I promise you, if you let me, I will do everything in my power to help."


((Insight: 33, Perception: 19, Diplomacy: 29))

"Hm," Lia says. "Trust is earned, not given. As for blundering into the room of death unawares..." She flutters her hand at the fly, which had settled on her skirts, and demonstrates its restricted movement. "If you like, I can arrange for similar... accompaniment for you."

Rex remained quiet. He had no more clues than Nerit on the nature of their quarry, and the nun knew this girl better than he.

So he kept his mouth shut.

Nicolas wasn't bothered by the slight strangeness of the surroundings, he had woken up in far worse (the excrement filled oubliette of an Invidian keep coming to mind as the top of list, although only marginally beating out the time he fell off the docks drunk and came to entangled in a fisherman's net out in Pernault Bay), and as he takes a sidelong look at Athene, with far worse.

Despite the odd odour, the skull, the impressive view and the fact the woman lives like some kind of bird, Nicolas almost relaxes as he accepts the wine and probably being very un-Benoit lights a cigarette and offers his hostess one in exchange for a glass of what he can sense is probably very good wine. "So what shall we drink to then? Libertie? Freedom from tyranny? A free Dementlieu? Or perhaps just to tonight, freedom from the cares of our cause for but a moment."

As he speaks he sheds his hat, overcoat, jacket and scarf, retaining his shirt for the moment but with the neck open displaying a livid burn under his chin and the hint of several other war wounds on his chest. Revolutionaries had scars after all and Nicolas was proud of his, at least the ones that weren't the result of drunken altercations with disgruntled husbands, still he hoped he at least looked the part, and she didn't notice he was not quite as well built as a professional soldier might be (although thankfully little food and lots of poison did keep him on the gaunt side).

"I suggest the latter, let us drink to here and now, to a moment we both have earned." So saying he takes a long swallow of the rather good wine and stubs out the cigarette. Taking a step forward he takes the bottle form her hand and pulls her toward him. "Time to forget the cares cherie, forget them with me..."

OOC: Perception: 15 on the place in general and particularly on the papers on the walls in the moment he gets whilst she's off fixing drinks

"Endurance" with Inspire competance and 1 re-roll (because I'm not taking a natural 1 on this ) 15, 14 ... god I'm crap in bed.

Neo I think you owe me some more RT for the 1st map of this book and I wouldn't mind rocking some of those right now, otherwise Nicolas will be making Athene a very disappointed lady (that bloody dice roller, one minute its loving me the next...)

1 Days, 16 Hours, 2 Minutes
Orphelinat de Mont-Noir, Quartier-Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nerit wrote:"He did not say we could come here in so many words," she frowned again, "but the task he has assigned us pointed to this Orphanage--your home, I mean. We're not certain what we are looking for..." she trailed off, glancing to Rex, if he wasn't lurking in the shadows. "Did you know M. Thierri Boucher, Reine?"

“Oh. Him.” Reine said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Mr. Raven would bring him in every few months. He'd poke me and give me nasty things to drink. He's... alright, I guess.”

It was at this point that door behind you opened, and quite a few people with very large guns entered the room. First among them was the bearded beggar whom you had spoken with earlier. He still looked old, but in his hands he had a very modern and very good pistol, and the barrel trembled not in the least. Immediately behind him were the two gendarmes from earlier, who leveled their rifles on you.

“Come with us.” Said one of the gendarmes in a flat, curiously affect-less voice. “Pardon the interruption Miss Reine.”

“Go away.” Reine said in a suddenly low and rather moody tone of voice. “Go away.”

The gendarmes and the armed beggar hesitated, even as Reine stood up and advanced at them, her voice rising, speaking in tones that would be familiar to anyone who had ever dealt extensively with a teenage girl. “Go away. Go away and leave us alone!”

The heavily armed trio retreated.

1 Days, 16 Hours, 2 Minutes
The Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Tomas wrote:"Please. I am Tomas. I want to help. I know something is wrong, here. Wrong with the people downstairs. I think you know what, and if that is so, you need to tell me. I know you are hurt, and I know you are afraid, but I promise you, if you let me, I will do everything in my power to help."

The woman managed to look up, her unkempt hair falling down in front of red-ringed eyes. Perhaps it was something about Tomas' earnest nature, but a glimmer of awareness seemed to pierce through the endless grief.

"My baby... died..." she managed to say, in a thick voice. The words were slow in coming, as if speech was unnatural to the woman, and Tomas had a sinking feeling that her mind wasn't all there. "They won't let me die... they stopped me... I tried..." She broke down again, putting her face in her hands. "My baby... my baby..."

She didn't look up when the door loudly slammed downstairs.

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Celeste had found herself in the downstairs study when the front door smashed open. The two Bergerons turned at the sound, seemly unfazed by the violent entry of someone into their house. They looked at each other, then to Celeste, and then as one left to walk back to the entryway.

The visitor was one familiar to Celeste. Standing in the doorway, his black overcoat still fluttering around him, was Le Marquis de Montmort.

Celeste was not the sharpest person at noting other people's emotions, especially when the person involved did not tend to show any. Even when Gauvain had torn into the Chateau to drag all who lived there into this affair, his stony expression had not changed, not beyond narrowing his eyes. But this time, it was impossible to mistake or ignore the look on Gauvain's face. This was anger. This was fury. Le Marquis had little enough blood left in him, but it could still boil.

Gauvain clutched his raven-skulled cane, shaking in rage, as his widened eyes fell upon the Bergerons. It was at this point Celeste realized what had seemed familiar about the pair. Standing face to face with Gauvain, the family resemblance between all three was unmistakable.

1 Days, 16 Hours, 2 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Lia wrote:"Hm," Lia says. "Trust is earned, not given. As for blundering into the room of death unawares..." She flutters her hand at the fly, which had settled on her skirts, and demonstrates its restricted movement. "If you like, I can arrange for similar... accompaniment for you."

"No need to trouble yourself. Since you're confident enough in your precautions, I'll simply walk behind you," Remy replied, with dark humor. More seriously, he continued, "If only because I have doubts we will succeed. Mlle. Blackwood works here, and even she claimed to have no idea where such a thing might be. Whether we like it or not, while we continue our search, it may behoove us to think if there's anyone that we can trust."


1 Days, 16 Hours, 30 Minutes
Athene's Garret, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nicolas wrote:”Let us drink to here and now, to a moment we both have earned." So saying he takes a long swallow of the rather good wine and stubs out the cigarette. Taking a step forward he takes the bottle form her hand and pulls her toward him. "Time to forget the cares cherie, forget them with me..."

“To the moment...” Athene whispered in Nicolas's ear. “To a moment I hope never end...”

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Several hours later

The sun was high in the sky by now. It was hard to tell just what time it was, since Athene's garret apartment had no clocks on the walls. Likely past noon, at any rate. The creeping light had found Nicolas curled in the nest of clothing and old blankets that served Athene as a bed. It was warm, a kind of deep warmth that went to the bones, and even the odd, musky smell seemed more pleasant now. There was an empty bottle of wine on the floor nearby, and two empty glasses.

Athene lay next to Nicolas, one arm thrown over the poet's chest, her eyes closed in sleep. It had been a quite charming morning, somewhat marred by the revelation that on occasion, some of Athene's locks of hair turn into dark-gray feathers. As she slept now, Nicolas could make out some of those feathers still. They looked almost as though they had been braided into Athene's hair, and they certainly gave her a touch of the exotic.

Athene shifted drowsily, and Nicolas could feel her warm breath on his shoulder.

Who would slam a door here? Tomas thinks.

Her baby died and they've locked her up. Tomas thinks, and makes what is likely his first great mistake of the evening by tuning out the door slam. He sits on the bed and gently takes the woman's hand.

"Okay." Tomas says, as calmly as he can manage. "Can you tell me the whole story, miss? I might be able to help, then."