hermyoninny
New Member
i miss the old kanye straight from the go kanye chop up the soul kanye set on his goals kanye
Posts: 22
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Post by hermyoninny on Mar 13, 2016 0:25:06 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Edith
Edith let Doctor Winchester's words sink in. Black magic-Myalo it was called-wasn't something to take lightly, and trying to swallow all of Doctor Winchester's words at once confused Edith. She sat in her seat, mauling over every little thing in her hand. One part of Edith wanted to do everything she could help Doctor Winchester, but the other side of her was screaming to just refuse to help and walk out. Chewing the bottom of her lip, Edith looked around the room. There weren't enough of the same facial expression for Edith to know the obvious choice. She sighed, tucking a flyaway piece of dark hair.
Edith raised her hand, catching Doctor Winchester's attention. She stood on her feet, clasping her thin hands together, letting them rest against her skirts. "I don't have any information at the time to offer, Doctor," Edith began. This was stupid, so stupid, her brain chanted, but Edith continued anyways. She let all the word vomit fly out. "But, I'd like to offer any and all support I can with these cases. You can count on me to be your ally through the entire process, ma'am."
Edith took a look around at everyone sitting and looking at her. Suddenly remembering what she was doing, her cheeks flamed a crimson color and she ducked her head. Edith retook her seat quickly, hoping Doctor Winchester got the message to move on and that someone else would cough up anything.
"Do you think you could stop a clockwork automaton?" a voice piped up. Edith turned her head to see the disabled blonde boy staring directly at her. Edith glanced around, seeing if he was mistaking her for someone else, but it felt like a hundred eyes were on her. She shook her head. "Then, I suppose you won't be much help to us." The boy said. His voice wasn't directed to be mean, it wasn't supposed to send dozens of arrows to shoot at Edith's heart. It was matter of fact; the truth. "Unless, of course, you can be any help to us with research, but seeing as you didn't immediately offer anything, I'm guessing you aren't."
Now that statement was meant to be mean. Edith felt her cheeks grow hotter with embarrassment. He's just doing it to piss you off, she reminded herself. "Then why don't you offer an information?" she asked, joining her fingers together.
"I haven't fought directly against a clockwork automaton, but I have gone up against something involving black magic. Which, might I add, is more than you have done."
Edith opened her mouth to reply, but closed it just as quick. Ducking her head, she coughed, hoping someone would get the hint. Edith was too busy, body buzzing with embarrassment and anger to pay attention enough to see if anyone did.
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Post by Dalton on Mar 13, 2016 15:21:45 GMT -5
Merriweather
"So what you're saying is we have sort of occult group of black magic users on our hands?" Merriweather questioned, this brought back memories of the Wasteland War, though he was only a kid during the conflict, he knew the horrors of it nearly firsthand. "It would explain how those wings were ripped off so easily..." he muttered, Katherine wrote something in a journal and passed it to Merriweather, he down and it read :A conspiracy about black magic? Merriweather looked at the young woman and nodded
The two realized they were involved in something that went over their heads, and most likely everyone in the room, but due to a string of events, lead them down this path of where they were. A fork in the road presented itself now, to turn back now and lay down everything they worked for OR to continue down this road and see how deep down this rabbit hole they can go, to see the casualties begin to stack up, each one more atrocious than the last. Everyone in this room had to make this choice from this point onward, Merriweather saw this could be an opportunity and decided to keep pushing forward. For Katherine, she believed this was the great event that she was born for, to be a part of something bigger than just herself.
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Post by skyparttimedemigod on Mar 13, 2016 15:53:02 GMT -5
"Why go to so much trouble to extract the human mind and not just replicate it?" John asked. After all that must've been what the people he worked for we're doing (lol). "Not that I know much about clockwork automatons 'course." He fiddled nervously with his brand new pocketwatch, a treat for himself after finally being able to sell an invention.
If they knew what he was doing, building automations, would they accuse of him being involved with whoever is behind the black magic? He shivered, not wanting to think of the thought. He was a good man, only building inventions to improve people's lives. Yet the thought that others were using this Myalo to fuse human with automation to bring them to life when he was doing all of the same things up to the Myalo bit did not sit comfortably within him. Yet why should he feel guilty when after all he was not actually engaging in evil.
"I am not sure what I can offer but this clockwork and Myalo...well I do know about technology and if there is anything you need to know just ask," John said. Here was, still not making the connection with the coincidence that he was selling clockwork automatons to a stranger and the recent events.
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bekka
New Member
Posts: 43
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Post by bekka on Mar 14, 2016 16:43:40 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Victoire
The people in the room started talking about automation and Myalo. That reminded her of the book the man took from her shop the other day. people released the information they knew about black magic, Victoire spoke up with a slight cough. "Since most of us have said what we know about this matter, I suppose to should as well." hse said and laced her fingers behind her back. "A man came into my shop looking for a book on that matter. It was a thick book I found and he asked for it. I hadn't read it yet, so I didn't know what it contained, but he did seem a bit out of it." she recalled. The tall blonde next to her scoffed.
"Good job. Giving a magic book to some random man off the street." he told her. "What did the fool look like. Tall and handsome?" she chuckled and Victoire almost slapped him. She was not as foolish as he may believed.
"No. He was tall and rather thin. Black hair and I think he might have had blue eyes. It was late, so they could have been any color. But that's what I remember." she said and looked down at her boots.
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Post by Aliswag on Mar 20, 2016 16:53:50 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Sebastian He could feel his throat constrict tightly with worry at the mere mention of Myalo... black magic had always been a subject that had unnerved him. Of course he had heard about it in snatches and whispers from the eldest Ravensford workers, but he never understood what they meant by black magic or what they said was far beyond his poetic comprehension of things. As he listened to the others, he started with discomfort as the girl spoke about giving a book to a stranger, recalling the vile thing that Philomena had in her satchel. He glanced over to her, seeing her pale face look nearly blue in the lighting as she blanched at the mention of books. His eyes trailed down to her fingers, which were oddly stroking the metallic spine of the evil book. Sebastian stood quickly as soon as the rest of the room quieted down. "All of the books in Ravensford pertaining to the subject of dark magic has been removed recently. I looked into the archives only to discover that we once housed at least a dozen books on the subject, but they have all mysteriously disappeared within what seems to be the last decade." He spoke with an air of authority and precise diction, not wanting to make a fool of himself. "I have been looking for other possible titles to help me understand this, but as of now, I have found nothing. But I do speak several other languages, and if we found any other tomes on the subject that needed translation, I would be willing to help. I would do nearly anything short of laying down my life-" he paused, his left hand landing on Philomena's shoulder, "or my dearest friend's life if that means solving this before it can become a true crisis." At that, he squeezed her shoulder, sending her a stern look that went towards her satchel. She avoided eye contact but nodded nearly imperceptibly. Philomena She had listened excitedly as the rest of them spoke of what they discovered, but the moment there was mention of a book, Philomena's hand flew to her satchel. She immediately relaxed as the cool metal made contact with her skin, but there was an odd feeling of anger building in her chest. It began to build as she listened to Sebastian speak, but then his hand rested on her shoulder and her fingers left the spine of the book. The combination of her friend's hand and the book no longer touching her sent a shock of relief through her body. It was in that moment that the bubbly young woman realized how truly sinister the book was becoming. Why had it made her angry? Why did she feel sick every time it was left open in the room? How had it kept her reading for nearly three straight days? When Philomena had looked up and seen the striking blue eyes of her friend staring down at her, then glaring at the book, she knew she had to tell them of it, even though a part of her did not want them to know. "It's your special book, your secret. Do not tell them, do not tell them. You should leave and never return, leave now before they take it away." a voice whispered in her ear. Philomena nodded, not sure if she was listening to the voice or to her friend. But she stood, throwing the satchel onto the table. The book slid out, falling open in front of her. She could feel the eyes of the others resting on her, but she could only stare at the book. In her mind she saw flashes of blood- her mother's body being wheeled from their house- her brother crying out for her as they were separated- her father's hanging form- then she was staring at the book once more, feeling faint. "Lo... are you alright?" Sebastian ventured, reaching out to her. Philomena nodded clumsily, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall and forcing herself to smile as she took a shuddering breath in. "I found this book on the shelf in my apartment. The book shelf had been nearly untouched- other than the romance novels and cookbooks that I read from time to time. But I had never seen this book until five days after the... event. It is called ' Dark Magic for the Curious Soul.' Immediately I began to read it after breaking the lock that kept it shut. Once that happened, I became entranced. I did not eat or drink or sleep for days, and- and it makes me see dark things, bad things. I do not understand the language it is written in, indeed I have no idea what I have been reading. But I have been too afraid to tell anyone. Please, Miss Winchester, take it from me, put it in the hands of someone more capable or understanding." At this, Philomena sat down heavily, taking a long drink of tea and leaning back in her chair, waiting to be reprimanded or scolded or told she was just as bad as anyone who used black magic.
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Post by alicia on Mar 20, 2016 21:55:54 GMT -5
Genevieve
October 24th, 1891
Edith was the first to speak up. She stood, clasping her hands. "I don't have any information at the time to offer, Doctor," she said. "But, I'd like to offer any and all support I can with these cases. You can count on me to be your ally through the entire process, ma'am."
Genevieve gave Edith a grateful smile and opened her mouth to reply. However, the young man with a limp beat her to it. "Do you think you could stop a clockwork automaton?" he asked abruptly. Genevieve could tell that Edith was flustered as the young woman shook her head. She frowned slightly. That was entirely uncalled for. Arguing amongst ourselves will get us nowhere, she thought. As the two conversed, a slight flush creeping up Edith's neck and the blonde's tone blunt and matter-of-fact, Genevieve made note of the fact that he mentioned he'd confronted something involving black magic.
Thankfully, the pirate captain interrupted before the blonde man could cause Edith to become any more embarrassed. "So what you're saying is we have some sort of occult group of black magic users on our hands?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.
Genevieve hesitated. "Yes. That seems to be the case here," she replied evenly. "I have no clue what their motives are other than creating more automatons at this point, but whatever their final plan involves, it most certainly will not be good for the people of this city." She sighed, mulling over this for a few moments. "I have reason to believe that whoever is behind all of this is familiar with the automatons from the Wasteland Wars and the science behind them. Like I said before, they stole many items from the hospital that are connected to creating clockwork automatons. If they are indeed replicating the procedures used by the scientists of Gearinggate Harbor, it could give us an advantage because we may be able to figure out where they will strike next, based on the information currently in our possession about the clockwork automatons of Gearinggate Harbor."
"Why go to so much trouble to extract the human mind and not just replicate it?" the disorganized-looking man interjected. "Not that I know much about clockwork automatons 'course," he went on, absentmindedly playing with a pocket watch. The man then admitted that he didn't know much about Myalo but that he did know about technology.
Genevieve raised an eyebrow. "I am no scientist myself, by any means, but simply replicating the human mind is probably a great deal more complex than what you make it out to be," she replied in a measured voice. "I do not believe that there is any way for pure machinery to think the way that you and I do. If I understand this correctly, it is Myalo that gives the automatons the capacity to think for themselves, which was why the Wasteland Cities were so keen on manufacturing as many automatons as they could to fight in their war."
"I actually do have a question for you, regarding the technology. Do you have any ideas as to what materials are used to create the clockwork automatons? If these people intend to mass produce them, they will surely need to acquire the resources to do so. Deducing where they get their materials from could lead us right to them," Genevieve said to him. His name is John, if I remember correctly, she thought. The one who sent a message with grease stains all over it. Yes, it must be him-nobody else in this room appears to be as spaced out as him.
A rather pretty young woman with a head of golden curls coughed softly. She is a member of the Craftsmen Guild. I remember her from the day behind the library. "Since most of us have said what we know about this matter, I suppose to should as well," she said. "A man came into my shop looking for a book on that matter. It was a thick book I found and he asked for it. I hadn't read it yet, so I didn't know what it contained, but he did seem a bit out of it."
Genevieve was alarmed to hear what the craftswoman had to say. That can't be pure coincidence. The man must somehow be involved with this. After all, nobody goes around casually looking for books about black magic. It just isn't done, not after the Wasteland Wars. Before she had a chance to respond, a man with the build of an Aeronaut replied.
"Good job. Giving a magic book to some random man off the street," he told the craftswoman. "What did the fool look like. Tall and handsome?" There was a hint of mockery in his voice that Genevieve disliked.
The craftswoman did not appear to be as flustered as Edith had been when someone challenged her. "No. He was tall and rather thin. Black hair and I think he might have had blue eyes. It was late, so they could have been any color. But that's what I remember," she said. Genevieve suddenly recalled the man she had seen in the fifth floor of the Raven's Watch library. He had been dark-haired, with blue-green eyes.
"Around what age did he look like? Was he young? Old? Middle-aged?" Genevieve questioned.
Next to speak was the bespectacled young man with an erudite air to him. "All of the books in Ravensford pertaining to the subject of dark magic have been removed recently. I looked into the archives only to discover that we once housed at least a dozen books on the subject, but they have all mysteriously disappeared within what seems to be the last decade." He sounded confident in himself, which was a change from some of the other people in the room. Sebastian. Is that his name? He is the only member of the Scholar Guild, I think. Yes, Sebastian. The young scholar went on to say that he could translate books and was very determined to get to the bottom of the entire situation-he would do "anything short of laying down his life", to be precise. Well, that's to be expected, I suppose. None of us want to die for this, that's for sure, Genevieve thought dryly to herself in an uncharacteristically cynical moment. Sebastian then gave his companion, the second member of the Craftsmen Guild in attendance, a meaningful glance.
The red-haired craftswoman seemed to be as skittish as a frightened horse, her naturally pale face totally colorless. She stood up abruptly and threw her satchel onto the table, revealing a decorated book. Genevieve was slightly startled by her explanation. Apparently, it was called "Dark Magic for the Curious Soul", and she had been inexplicably drawn to the book. Genevieve's sense of disquiet only grew stronger as the craftswoman continued. Finally, she begged Genevieve to give the book to somebody else, collapsing back into her seat.
The room was silent. Genevieve eyed the decorated book warily from her seat, standing up to get a better look. It did not seem to have anything wrong with it, besides the fact that it was about black magic...but no, Genevieve could indeed feel something sinister emanating from it. "Where did you say you found it again? In an old bookshelf? Do you know how it got there, or who the original owner of the book was? Do you know who wrote it?" Genevieve asked the distressed woman gently, turning away from the book for a second. She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Something was not...right with the book, that was for sure, and Genevieve was not going to risk touching it just yet.
Summary: Genevieve responded to everyone and is kind of creeped out by the book about black magic that Philomena brought. Your character(s) can do whatever, but just a heads up I'll be ending the meeting in the next post.
Added information to OOC Plot Info:
When the process of combining the Myalo with the clockwork body is terminated in the middle, "shadelings" are made. Shadelings are invisible and can be thought of as an extremely weak form of a Shade. They get energy from certain metals (especially bronze and copper), and if they are left with the metals for enough time, they can acquire enough energy to separate from the metal and take on a host. The shadeling cannot control the actions of a host, but they are capable of hearing their host's thoughts and responding to them similar to the way a Shade can carry a silent conversation with a host.
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Post by Aliswag on Mar 31, 2016 21:53:20 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Philomena"Truly I do not know how it came to be there!" she cried, her eyes wide and frightened. "As I have said, it was never on my shelf, not until recently! And even then it was dusty and rusting... I can hardly sleep, or eat, or think! Whenever I touch it, sinister voices whisper in my ear, telling me awful things. I want to help you all, truly, I do, but how can I help fight this dark evil when I cannot even fight a book? I am sorry, but I am too weak to be of any use; I have wasted your time. Please, take caution with the book, I would not have it hurt any of you." She stood and fled the room, not hearing the response to any of what she spoke. The tears blurred her eyes and she pushed out onto the street. The guilt overtook her, and she ran, pushing past throngs of the crowd. After a time, she came to a stop in front of her tenant building, and she began the long trek up the stairs. By the time she reached the top, her tears had calmed enough for her to think back on the situation that she had just fled from. It was not a good meeting, but it was not a horrid one either. She was thankful that the book was gone from her possession, as suddenly the room felt much lighter and less foreboding. Yes, this was a good thing. Smiling again in earnest, Philomena went to prepare tea and biscuits for herself. It had been too long since she had been able to calmly listen to her gramophone while sipping on a cup of calming tea. "This is just what I needed," she whispered to herself as she played soothing melodies and held the hot drink in her cold hands. "What you need is the book, my sweet darling Lo," the voice whispered seductively in her ear, making her freeze. "The book shall give you all that you require in life, trust me, why should I lie to you? I would never lie to the one that I love."Her eyes snapped open to her hands clutching her bread knife tightly, and she shrieked with shock and dropped it. "How truly awful!" she muttered to herself, preparing yet another cup of calming tea. At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Philomena started, seeing that it was quite late. She opened the door, revealing a rather harried looking Bash. "Bash!" she exclaimed, pulling him inside. "I am so terribly sorry that I ran out of the meeting. It was abhorrently rude of me." Lo apologized, holding his hand between her own. "I am just so happy that it is you at my side right now," she added, a pink blush rising on her porcelain cheeks. He just stared at her, eyes wide and breathing harder than she would have expected. And she also did not expect the next thing to happen, she did not expect him to kiss her. His lips were warm and soft, and she parted her mouth unconsciously in an attempt to deepen it. He readily accepted, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her close to his strong form. For so many years she had been afraid of ruining their friendship by revealing her truly tender feelings for him, but she was no longer afraid. She would never be afraid again. ( "How foolish you are." The voice whispered.) SebastianWhen she had fled, Sebastian stayed. He listened silently to their recrimination of her choices from a few, and he defended her loyally. He did not like to hear them talk of her like that. The dreaded book still sat on the table, and it peaked his interest as he saw it glimmer almost menacingly. Frowning, he reached his hand out to it, when he made contact with the metal, he was momentarily frozen as a voice entered his head, "Where is the girl!?" it had demanded, almost petulantly, like a child. Sebastian's eyebrows rose, he was not disturbed by it. It was merely another thing to study. It had hurt the girl he cared so deeply for, and he would not allow it to continue it's reign of terror. As the meeting dissolved with promises to meet once more and letters to exchange, Sebastian went out into the streets. The light was fading and his feet carried him towards Philomena's abode without rhyme or reason. He knew he had to see her though, all he wanted was to see her again. If such dark magic was becoming so prevalent in the city, their lives would be at risk and he would rather burn the city to the ground than see her get hurt. It was in that moment that he decided he would kiss her, admit his feelings, make her understand why he acted the way he did when he was around her, that it was all based on love and deep affection. He hurried up the stairs, his heart beating wildly from a mixture of anticipation and exercise. How odd it was, knowing that the decision he made would either make his life exponentially better, or ruin it completely. Sebastian's knock sounded desperate even in his own ears, but he ignored it, listening to the sound of her light footsteps on the rough hardwood. When she opened the door, he felt relieved that she seemed so happy to see him. "Bash!" she exclaimed, making his heart warm with affection. Lo apologized for missing the meeting. Sebastian did not care that she had left, did not care that she had made a scene. Usually those things drove him mad, but something was driving him to ignore those flaws, all he could see was her stunning beauty and kind eyes. "I am just so happy that it is you at my side right now," she had said, in that maddeningly sweet voice of hers. It drove him to the edge, and he could contain his desire and love no longer. He kissed her with all of his might, and he was deeply pleased that she responded in kind. Only once had he ever been with a woman, and it had been his fiance. It was different with Lo, who loved him as much as he loved her, who did not whisper another man's name. He had never been happier. (And he never would be again, but he did not know that). October 25th, 1891 PhilomenaShe awoke ensconced in the warm arms of her dearest friend. It had been so long since she had felt as safe, and she delighted in the sensation as she nuzzled her head into his chest. Faint morning light filtered into the room, bathing the lovers in a soft glow that seemed almost magical in it's origin. Lo giggled a bit to herself, giddy with joy as she traced the outline of his jaw and watched the way his eyelashes fluttered in reaction to her explorations. Although she had experienced some pain the night before, she found that it was worth it, that she would not trade anything for what had transpired. After all the evil from that book, it was lovely to have something so good. "Kill him. The dirty little bastard that took your purity, your innocence. Slit his throat and drain his wretched body of it's blood. He deserves nothing less. Do it." The insidious and angry voice that she recognized entered her head with a violent force that wracked her small body with pain. She let out a cry of shock and moved from his arms quickly. "Lo, you are stronger than this," she whispered to herself as she stood from the bed, feeling vulnerable without her clothing. "He is your friend, and you love him dearly..." "But what if he does not love you? You silly little girl, don't you know, those that love you always leave you in the end. Your entire family, gone in the wind, with you remaining. He will use you and leave just like all the others, but he cannot leave if you kill him. Take the knife from the kitchen and pull it across his pale throat, stain the sheets red and get that book back." As the voice spoke, Philomena drifted into the kitchen, her hands searching for the knife without consent from her heart. She struggled away from it, crying out as she did. She could not be near Bash, not if he was to be safe. Quickly she put on her clothing and prepared to leave. "Lo?" a bleary voice intoned from behind her. The young woman turned to see Bash sitting up in the bed, looking utterly confused as he tried to put his glasses on. "What are you doing? Lo?" "I'm sorry Sebastian, I have to go," she whispered brokenly, turning to the door. "Do not try to follow me." Sebastian The words she spoke registered with him after a moment of hesitation. With a shout he climbed from the bed, quickly putting his trousers and waistcoat back on as he rushed to follow her. While she was quick and energetic, his long legs allowed him to make the chase without losing sight of her. He frowned as she ran out the front door, he hated to cause a scene in the streets, but he cared far too much for her to let her go. If she were hurt, he would not be able to forgive himself. "Philomena!" he called out, running behind her. She looked over her shoulder for a moment's hesitation before going to jump onto a cart, using it to catapult herself onto the low ledge of a roof. A rare curse word escaped his lips as he sped up, attempting to keep up with her as she jumped from roof to roof, he had never known she was able to do such feats, but then again, she was an odd duck by all conventional standards. She took a turn into the part of the city that turned into Automahaven, and he frowned. He never liked this part of the city, it was dangerous and somewhat frightening, but for once he allowed his emotions to overtake his logic. He would always do that when it came to her.
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bekka
New Member
Posts: 43
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Post by bekka on Apr 2, 2016 21:41:18 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Charlie The bite coming from the girl was sharp. The way she described the man reminded him of the one who he had gotten into a fight with the other aeronauts. The blonde girl shook out her curls and turned to Genevive, looking at the doctor with wide eyes as she listened to everyone else tell what they knew. A petite brunette said something about a book of black magic she had brought. The silence in the room held all the feelings the people in the room felt. Charlie felt it in the pit of his stomach, a disturbing feeling turned his blood cold. The girl in question ran from the room with the scholar man rushing out after her. The blonde turned to Genevive
"I would say he's maybe late 20s, early 30s." she told Genevive as she stood up and followed the two out.
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Post by Dalton on Apr 3, 2016 15:14:07 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Merriweather
He dreamed of fleets of ships with automations at the crew under his command. He would no longer have to share his slice of profit with his crew, and he could command many ships, he would be the richest merchant in hourglass city. All he had to do was continue looking until he made contact with the black magic users and he could seize everything. He wrote a note and handed it to Katherine which read: "Pale and red with the book, she seems dreadfully nervous about something, it might be worth looking into".
Katherine
She sat quietly taking notes of what everyone was saying and doing, Katherine didn't want one detail left untouched. Merriweather handed her a piece of paper, it was about the girl who just a complete breakdown over a book. She felt uneasy herself, the magnetic field felt....off, and this was unsettling, normally this could be easily explained because a clock bird was flying by but this feeling was consistent and the disturbance was great.
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hermyoninny
New Member
i miss the old kanye straight from the go kanye chop up the soul kanye set on his goals kanye
Posts: 22
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Post by hermyoninny on Apr 4, 2016 0:26:40 GMT -5
October 24th, 1891
Edith
Edith stared at the jittery doll-like girl in sympathy. She wanted to speak up and comfort her, but she had no clue what to say, or if it would even mean anything to her. They were strangers after all, she didn't even know the red-haired women's name. Edith sat quietly as the women fled, adverting her eyes to her feet. She didn't know if she was supposed to call after her, run after her, ignore her; social ques were not her forte. Edith decided to focus on the book, anything better than worrying about someone she didn't even know.
The book sat gleaming on the table, and it was almost like they described in books. Evil aura seemed to emit from the hardback itself, like a warning in itself but enough to make the curious come closer. She dared not touch it, for fear of what would happen, but it did intrigue her. The woman did speak of not being able to read the words, so perhaps they should look into that. Edith was so caught up with her thoughts she did not notice the meeting was coming to a close.
Quickly, she stood, smoothing her skirts. She tucked black hair that fell out of her tight bun behind her hair and politely curtsied to Doctor Winchester. For a moment, her gaze slipped over to the boy holding a crutch under his arm pit and she fixed him with as fierce a look she could give. Which in all honesty, wasn't very menacing looking. As she walked to the door, she nodded politely in acknowledgement with whoever caught her eye.
It wasn't a particularly good meeting, but it wasn't bad. Very informative. Perhaps it would've been more enjoyable and less divided if everyone involved would try to get along, but that was hopeful nonsense. Like that boy! She'd most likely never be able to be anything more than politely friendly with him because of his attitude. Aeronauts always think they're the best because they can fight, don't they, she thought angrily to herself. Without us healers they'd have to suffer from all the dumb injuries they get.
Ansel
Ansel eyed the book on the table warily. He didn't want to touch it, but there was something about the book that told him the thrill of it would all be worth it in the end. His eyes flickered to the door where the porcelain girl who was dancing with anxiety ran out. Would the same thing happen to us if we touched it? Or does the book affect others in different ways? Do some not get affected at all? He'd have to go over these thoughts with the woman in charge, Doctor Winchester, to see if she thought these hypothesis were reasonable enough to test.
He was beginning to sound like a scholar.
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Post by skyparttimedemigod on Apr 4, 2016 17:23:35 GMT -5
October 24th, 1981
"If I were to take a guess of what these clockwork automation were made of I would have to say," John began before listing several metals. "Of course you probably need gears and a way to make joints so it bends and all. Also one would probably have to make sure that the metal can resist being overheated and durable enough that it won't bend easily..." He rambled on for a bit longer before stopping himself, realizing he was giving a bit too much information it might seem suspicious. "Well that's just my speculation."
When the book was brought out, John couldn't help but look at it. "For the curious soul", well he was indeed a curious soul. He thought back to what Genevieve said to him, how it would be difficult to replicate the human mind mechanically, and she was probably right. All of his attempts only lead to a machine that can sometimes raise a limb but if he could as an actual human mind...Looking at this book he pictured himself, wealthy and recognized, the greatest inventor of all time. Who would laugh at him when he had all these clockwork automatons to lead!
He shook his head, reminding himself to not be tempted by such evil. There was no way to do that morally since no one would be about to volunteer to be apart of this madness. But what about those people he worked for? What were they doing with the clockwork automatons he kept making? He didn't really have a clue what happened to them once they left shop but certainly it couldn't be for evil, no one else has ever given him such a fancy lab before and paid him for his efforts. But even if they were...John looked back at the book again. Just a peak, he thought. If only I could have just a small peak.
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Post by alicia on Apr 9, 2016 22:43:29 GMT -5
OOC: A note on Shades-since there are now multiple Shades that are relevant in terms of writing posts, we have decided to name them. So far "Sahade" is the dude inside Nathaniel's head, and "Sbhade" is the introduced in this post.
Lucius, Nathaniel, and Sebastian
October 25th, 1891
As Sebastian’s feet took him deeper into the alleyways and twisting back roads of Automahaven, he felt a greater sense of unease growing inside of him. Such feelings were usually incorrect in their origins, based off of unneeded anxiety and panic, but the nervousness practically twisted his guts with dread.
Still, Philomena was jumping from roof to roof, and soon she would run out of places to go, for she was not nearly tall enough to reach the next building that she was coming up too. A small smile of triumph was allowed for himself as he wiped the sweat from his brow. But her entire body seemed to freeze with sudden realization or worry of her own. In moments she was off the roof and standing in front of him with wide eyes and a drawn expression on her face.
“Sebastian, you have to leave,” she said silently, eyes lit with a nearly animalistic fear. “Please, go. Something is wrong here, I feel something- it’s not… oh please Bash, we must go.”
“Lo, nothing is wrong, we’re alone in an alleyway, it is a beautiful morning. Such feelings usually mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. But I do agree we should go, we could get breakfast and speak of what happened last night. If you-” he swallowed thickly, not wanting to finish the sentence- “regret it, then we can go back to being friends. But I wish for us to, to be more than that.”
“Bash! Don’t you understand, this has nothing to do with what happened! We must go, right now! Something is very wrong, the voice, the one in my head keeps whispering horrid things... It seems horribly happy right now, it feels as if one of it’s own is near, oh no, no, no, no.... It’s close now, so close, I can feel it watching us, please we must go!”
“Philomena, you’re scaring me.”
“I am not what you should be afraid of.”
Nathaniel was standing beside Shayde-who had regained control of his body again-when the Shade suddenly became hyper alert and tense. “One...one of our own is close,” the Shade said out loud using Nathaniel’s mouth. “Not the Shades from Gearinggate Harbor, but one of our own nonetheless.”
Shayde appeared to have sensed it as well. “Yes. I had not suspected that Shadelings would be present in this city. I suppose it would only be polite to go out and greet it.” He picked up a shadow jar thrumming with a dark, sinister energy before walking out the door.
The Shade followed Shayde outside into the streets of Automahaven. They quickly turned a corner into an alleyway, where to Nathaniel’s surprise, they found a pale young woman and a young man with glasses standing close together and whispering furiously to each other. “Hah! Would you look at this - a perfectly good cap seemingly abandoned on the ground!” Shayde bent over and picked it up, admiring the expensive tweed and fine craftsmanship. As he pulled it over his head, he noticed the pair standing before him. The girl, though less intimidating in appearance, was noticeably tense. The boy beside her seemed shaken, but not quite… a threat.
Shayde cocked an eyebrow, “A fine morning, isn’t it?” He abhorred chit-chatting, but desired information. He glanced at the Shade, wondering if Nathaniel recognized either of them. I’ve spent so long creating a foundation for my mission. Is a new stage? Typically I’d ignore the average passerby on the streets, but now I can’t help but wonder what each of them would bring to the table. A whole vessel of knowledge tucked away in a neat package. But can the system I’ve created withstand an increase of recruits? Rather than seeking out specific skillsets… perhaps I can allow them to come to me.
Sebastian heard the footsteps before he saw the man. “Oh please Bash, we have to go, this is not good! I do not like this one bit.” Beside him, Philomena was clutching her hands worriedly, but her eyes blazed fiercely. “Go Bash, please, go…” He ignored her worries, trying to calmly assess the situation. He turned to the man.
“Indeed sir! A lovely morning for a stroll. And how are you today?”
Nathaniel could see a subtle glint in Shayde’s eye that immediately set him on an edge. His thoughts flitted to the shadow jar in Shayde’s hand. He cannot mean to put a Shade inside their heads, can he? Nathaniel thought wildly to himself. The pale woman seemed very frightened to see Shayde and Nathaniel, but the man with glasses was unfazed, asking Shayde how he was doing.
Who are they? the Shade said silently, more to itself than to Nathaniel. Nathaniel had no reply to that; he did not recognize either of the pair, although the man seemed like he would fit right in with the Scholar Guild.
“Quite fine.” It was clear from how the boy spoke that he’d had the advantage of a decent education. He’s well-dressed and young. Glancing at the Shade in Nathaniel’s body, Shayde knew that he’d need more recruits with more… attractive appearances. Hmm. Might even be a scholar… that’d be useful. “My friend and I here are just taking a stroll before getting this antique here appraised.” Shayde gestured to the jar and gave a few slow taps. “Have you ever seen one before? It has quite interesting marks…” He turned the jar upside-down, pretending to point to an artist’s signature. “I can’t quite figure out who made the thing, though. My friends tell me the thing is worthless! Would you take a look?” Shayde took several steps forward, trying to contain a sly grin, as he held out the jar to the boy.
Sebastian reached out to grab the jar, interested in the strange markings on the bottom. As a scholar, he was always curious and ready to learn, and the jar seemed so tempting that he could not keep himself from going to grab it. “Stop!” Demanded Philomena, roughly shoving Sebastian against the wall of the alleyway. He grunted in pain as his head hit the stone wall. “Bash! We need to go now!” Her eyes were full of tears and anger, but all Sebastian could feel was the pain in his head, it overrode the respect and consideration he always had given to his small friend.
“Lo! You are being abominably rude! This man is asking for our help and we shall give it to him.” He snapped impatiently, rubbing his head and sending her a look of annoyance.
“But Bash, I feel-” she tried to speak but he cut her off before she could finish. “I do not care what you feel!” He regretted the words the moment he spoke them, as her face became a mask of hurt and fury. “Fine!” She retorted, looking as if she wanted to slap him. Shame welled in his chest, but he pushed it down. “If you feel so utterly nervous, Philomena, then you may go and hide in your little workshop until all the ‘bad things’ go away. But you will not tell me what to do.”
“I was so afraid that darkness would ruin you, Bash, but I see that you are already ruined.” She straightened her back and glared at the stranger even through her tears, before pushing past him as she travelled to go out of the alleyway. She did not look back.
“I am so sorry sir, she is not normally this emotional.” (Actually, she always was). “I shall take a look at your antique.” He grabbed for the jar, taking it into his pale hands.
Something dark and sinister came shooting from the glass prison, crawling up his arm like a spider from hell. He did not even have time to scream before it slid into his ear, cold and wet and slippery. Sebastian felt as if he was being shoved face first into a drum full of old oil, as if his entire being was becoming darker suddenly. His brain was enveloped in a choking cold that sent a shiver down his body as he seemed to suddenly disconnect from everything around him.
It seemed almost as if he was reading something from the pages of a book. The Shade, a dark, menacing thing stood as if it were waking up from a long sleep. Sebastian wondered at what was happening, wondering what Philomena would have done if she had witnessed this. Philomena! He had to get to her, he opened his mouth but… he didn’t? Why was he not moving? Why could he not control his feet to start running, his voice to start screaming? What was happening to him?
As the man reached for the jar, Nathaniel felt panic shoot through him. No! he thought frantically, and was unbelievably relieved when the woman shoved her friend aside. His relief turned into confusion as they began to argue.
Humans, the Shade in his head thought with disgust. So irrationally...emotional.
Nathaniel watched helplessly as the woman ran off and the man turned to Shayde again. No, no, no, he thought desperately. He tried to resist, to regain control of his own body for just a millisecond, but of course there was nothing in the world that he could do. And so his body simply remained motionless as the man’s fingers connected with the shadow jar and the Shade inside it shot into the man’s ear in a blur of black.
Shayde sighed, the sight of a Shade entering the body of a host was no longer particularly exciting. “Ready? Everything seem to be in order?” He smiled smugly to himself, “I do love when things go that easily. It seems we’ve finished early today, Sahade.”
The Shade in Sebastian’s body stood silently, awaiting information. “The most useful thing you can do at the moment is to become acquainted with your new living quarters, and the memories that came with them. As you can tell, the body you’ve entered doesn’t have quite as much brawn as the good man next to me, so I want your primary goal to be acquiring information, not getting into a brawl. Refrain from altering your appearance, and behave as your host would, because you’ll need his identity in order to access the places which I believe have valuable intel.”
Sebastian could say nothing, and do nothing but watch and listen. What is happening to me? he wondered, angry and somewhat frightened. In that moment, everything that Genevieve Winchester had told them seemed horribly real, the thing that he had tried to ignore the existence of was inside of him. He was under the control of a darker force that he had no hope of fighting.
Sebastian’s knowledge, the thing that he had carefully cultivated for his entire life, would be used against him and every person in the city. It would be used against his family and it would be used against his friends. If this thing in his head got it’s way, then he would be to blame for the death of thousands of people, or at least, enslaving them… he was still unsure about the whole general plot, but he really had no interest in learning more.
For once in his life, he wished he was foolish and ignorant. But if it would allow him to continue his normal existence in hopes of obtaining more useful facts and information, then perhaps he would be able to somehow alert Philomena of what was occurring. Yet the mere thought of putting her into danger was sickening, she had tried so desperately to protect him, and now it was his turn to protect her.
If the thing in his head intended on controlling him, they were mistaken. He would rather die than be used as a pawn in someone else's game.
Nathaniel felt sick to the stomach, although he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not since his stomach did not appear to be in his control anymore. The Shade in his head nodded at the other Shade. “What Shayde here has failed to mention is that there is...an alternate personality, of sorts, that is in control of his body for half of the time. His name is Lucius, and he can be a bit irritable if we keep too much information from him. He tends to be very suspicious if he senses that we are hiding something from him as well, but he is to be trusted. I am assuming that you will be going by the name ‘Sbhade’?” Nathaniel’s voice was bland and monotone, as usual.
Is that really its name? Nathaniel wondered incredulously. The Shade-or Sahade-did not deign to reply.
Sebastian could only feel as if he were cringing and watch this ‘Sbhade’ character nod. “Of course, I assume that since this Lucius is so deeply involved that he can only be trustworthy. Otherwise he would not be involved.” It made him feel as if he would faint, listening to his voice saying words that were not chosen to be said by himself. Never in his life had he felt so out of control, but in this moment he felt as if he was a child once again.
He curses his innate ability to remember every word that is spoken to him, the Shade picks up on his thoughts. “This body, this brain, was gifted with the ability to recall every word spoken to him. His memory for these things is impeccable. Although he is weak-” the Sbhade paused to flex his unimpressive bicep- “of body, his mind is magnificent. And the girl he was with, in his memories, she had a book that could be very useful in the war against us. We must get it back from this Genevieve Winchester woman, and since she trusts this ‘Sebastian’ we can use it to our advantage.”
Shayde immediately looked up with a piercing gaze. “Genevieve Winchester? And what about this book?” No. Not this soon. I knew it was impossible for my plans to be carried out without the involvement of those who know how I’ve been carrying them out, and I’d accounted for that… but not this soon… this is too soon. I need to contain this. Shayde frowned intensely, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at a blade of grass which had managed to grow through a crack of the cobblestone alleyway, waiting for more information.
The name Sbhade mentioned in Sebastian’s voice sent a jolt of recognition through both Nathaniel and Sahade. Genevieve Winchester. I remember her, and I remember feeling you remember her, Sahade muttered silently. Sahade frantically rifled through Nathaniel’s memories the way a scholar would flip through a dictionary to find a particularly obscure word. Ah, that’s right. She’s, what-a healer? That explains why she was behind the library… Sahade trailed off.
“According to my host’s memories, Genevieve Winchester is a member of the Apothecary Guild. She was present behind the Raven’s Watch library when one of the other Shades killed its own host body. So was a woman by the name of Victoria Seward, who is an influential Aeronaut, and if I remember correctly, Sbhade’s newly acquired host body was there as well,” Sahade told Shayde. Sahade was sure that both of them knew of the implications of this new information.
“Yes, my host was present as well, he was there with the girl who originally opened the book and now has the Shadeling in her mind. But her fear led her to give the book to Miss Winchester. Both women trust my host enough, the book will be in my hands shortly, especially considering that Sebastian had already offered to translate the ruins in the book into English. It will be easy, I am confident that I can do this,” Sbhade said.
“Good. Good.” Shayde took a few steps away from the two men. “We are at a pivotal point in this operation. I cannot emphasize how important it is that we secure this book and neutralize any remaining threats. I’ll leave you to do what you must - but remember not to draw any unwanted attention, and do not confront any individuals until we know the full extent of Genevieve’s influence.” Shayde motioned for Sahade to follow, and the pair departed, while Sbhade walked off in the way that Sebastian had initially came.
*****
October 27th, 1891
Nathaniel sensed that the Shade in his head, who evidently went by the name of “Sahade”, was pleased. Very pleased, in fact. Nathaniel assumed that it had something to do with the new lead that Sbhade-the Shade in Sebastian’s head-had provided them with.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since Sbhade had sent a clock-bird with a message written in a language unknown to Nathaniel. He guessed that it was what the people of Gearinggate Harbor had used to communicate, when the city was still standing. But he was able to get the jist of it from the Sahade’s silent musings.
A pirate who frequently trades with Brassham City, and is known to have dealt with some more….questionable characters in his time, Sahade had thought as it read with Nathaniel’s eyes. A pirate...hmm…goes by the name of Merriweather Raynor…
Nathaniel had felt Sahade searching through his memories for any mention of this Merriweather Raynor. It hadn’t come up with much besides a few miscellaneous occasions in which Nathaniel had heard some semi-irrelevant piece of news about Captain Raynor. Let’s see. You didn’t trust him, did you? Well, that’s probably a good sign. A bloody holier-than-thou self-righteous bastard like yourself would never trust any of the people that I am seeking out.
Nathaniel bristled slightly. There’s a reason that I don’t trust them, he thought pointedly.
Sahade laughed dryly. I’m sure there is, Nathaniel, it replied. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?
Nathaniel had nothing to say to that.
Sahade had decided to attempt to get in touch with Merriweather Raynor in hopes of getting access to some of the tools that Shayde and Lucius would need in order to create the clockwork automatons, so it set off one night and ventured into New Toppingham.
Nathaniel had spent a good deal of time flying above New Toppingham in his years, seeing as the crime rate was at its highest in the district. With access to Nathaniel’s memories, Sahade easily located where someone like Captain Merriweather Raynor was likely to be: in the lower levels of New Toppingham’s marketplace in the sky, where larger airships docked. All through New Toppingham, Nathaniel detected a feeling of uneasiness coming from the Sahade. It was on an edge, and for some peculiar reason, it felt like it was being followed. However, whenever it turned around to look for anybody who would have a reason to tail it, Sahade came up empty-handed. Nathaniel felt its unease go up a notch as it remembered how a trio of Aeronauts had intercepted them after they had stolen from the Cindergate Hospital. Sahade did not know how the Aeronauts had found them in the first place, and it was hoping that the same Aeronauts were not still looking for it and Shayde.
And so Sahade continued on, expertly navigating its way through the walkways and floating structures of New Toppingham, in search of a certain Merriweather Raynor, while Nathaniel tensely watched the hustle and bustle of the district. No matter what happened next, there was bound to be some sort of confrontation.
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Post by alicia on Apr 9, 2016 22:44:51 GMT -5
Genevieve
October 24th, 1891
John Smith, a member of the Automation Guild, began to ramble slightly about automatons. Genevieve raised an eyebrow at how much information he had. He might prove to be a valuable ally in this situation, she thought to herself. However, I do wonder how he came to know so much about the automatons. Perhaps there is a completely innocent explanation such as that he began to research them after I requested assistance; perhaps there is not. We shall have to wait and see.
When the pale, delicate-looking Craftswoman was questioned about the book, Genevieve watched in alarm as she fearfully told everyone of how the book caused "sinister voices" to whisper awful things to her. Then, Philomena Shoreditch fled the room. Her companion, Sebastian Bay, had remained, although he seemed mystified by the decorated book sitting in the middle of the table.
After Philomena had left, the meeting proceeded in a more strained and uneasy manner. Genevieve did not dare to touch the decorated book just yet, though she knew that she couldn't just stare at it forever if she wanted to find out why it had caused Philomena such distress.
The other Craftswoman-Victoire Porter-said that the man who had visited her shop with a decorated book similar to the one Philomena had abandoned was in his late twenties or early thirties. Genevieve noted that the man she had encountered in the top floor of the library had also been about the same age. She suspected that the two men were one and the same, but she had no way of knowing for sure.
The group lapsed into silence. Genevieve checked the time-almost ten thirty in the evening-and decided that it was time to end the meeting. It looked like everybody had contributed what they could. "Thank you all for attending," Genevieve said as the others began to stand up to leave. "As usual, I will be in touch."
When the room had emptied out, Genevieve sighed and rubbed her temples before glancing at the decorated book. She knew that she could not possibly just leave the book in the book store for all eternity-Genevieve did not want to get Elizabeth mixed up in any of the investigations-yet she was sorely tempted to walk out and never think about it again. How could a book possibly whisper to somebody? Genevieve wondered. Does it have anything to do with Myalo?
Genevieve clenched her jaw slightly and steeled her resolve. I need to get this out of Elizabeth's book store, at the very least, she told herself. Genevieve tentatively reached out and placed a hand on the smooth, intricately decorated cover of the book.
Where is she? Where is she? a voice that was everywhere and nowhere all at once whispered. Genevieve started.
Well, I suppose Philomena wasn't lying when she said that the book talked to her, Genevieve thought. She breathed in deeply, ignoring the voice and stashing the book into her handbag, then thanked Elizabeth for allowing her to make use of her book store before walking out into the streets of Ravensford.
October 25th, 1891
Genevieve woke up more weary than refreshed. Her mind had been much too preoccupied to sleep; and the added presence of the decorated book certainly had not helped matters. After a hurried breakfast of porridge and stale bread, Genevieve made her way to the Cindergate Hospital like she had for almost every day in the past thirty years. Genevieve knew Cindergate like the back of her hand, and there was a comfortable sense of familiarity to the tiled rooftops and the buildings styled like the pagodas of the Far East.
After attending to the usual matters, Genevieve settled down in her office, hoping for some time to think. She pulled out the decorated book-which she had decided to bring with her to the hospital, against her better judgement-and examined it from cover to cover. It was obviously an antique, and the patterns and designs formed from the metal of the cover was most likely the work of a skilled member of the Craftsmen Guild. As she studied the book, Genevieve did her best to ignore the ever-present whisper demanding to know where "she", presumably Philomena, was.
Inside the book itself, the pages were bound firmly together, though the yellowing parchment was showing signs of age. The indecipherable script was written in fanficul calligraphy and flowed smoothly across the page, and the text was supplemented by fantastical illustrations. What in the world could this be about? Genevieve thought, puzzled, trying to make heads and tails of the illustrations. Indeed, not a single one of them seemed to relate to the more scientific aspects of clockwork automatons and Myalo and the like. Instead, the illustrations portrayed sorcerers and runes and what Genevieve thought looked like shadow-spirits or something equally obscure. One illustration in particular caught her eye; there was a crude representation of a human screaming in anguish as one of the shadow-spirits wrapped itself around his head. Genevieve felt a chill run down her spine. It reminded her of the black substance coming out of the dead pirate's mouth behind the Raven's Watch library. Genevieve wrote down her thoughts about the decorated book and did her best to figure out what it was saying.
And throughout it all, the book just wouldn't shut up.
*****
The rest of the day progressed as usual, and at approximately six o'clock in the evening, Genevieve found herself back inside her office. She smoothed out the front of her skirts and sat down, contemplating what to do with the decorated book. Genevieve was no expert in matters concerning the arts. She supposed that if she truly wanted to know more about the book, she would have to find a member of the Craftsmen Guild. But who? If she simply waltzed into the first shop she came across in Gearsport asked the owner to examine the book, too many questions that hit too close to home would arise just because of the title and the content. Genevieve didn't even want to think about what people would say when the book began to talk to them.
Genevieve suddenly remembered the blonde-haired craftswoman who was present at the meeting. Her name was Victoire, Genevieve recalled. Yes, that's it. Victoire Porter, she thought to herself. Genevieve had always had a knack for remembering names and faces. She never had suspected that it would be a knack that she would be able to make use of. Well, if Philomena Shoreditch never wants to see the book again, I suppose it couldn't hurt to have Victoire Porter take a look at it. I do hope that the decorated book does not make Victoire completely lose her wits. It doesn't seem to be doing anything other than asking where Philomena is, so it should be fine. I hope.
Since the decorated book was much too large for a clock-bird (not that she would entrust a clock-bird with the book, anyway), Genevieve would have to deliver it in person. She frowned. Genevieve had no idea where in all of Gearsport Victoire would be staying; she would have to write Captain Seward again. Genevieve did so at once, quickly penning a letter to the severe Aeronaut captain and sending a clock-bird off to her office.
With that finished, Genevieve began to ponder who in the world had been responsible for breaking into the Cindergate Hospital and stealing some expensive equipment, including the spiral filters that were used in the process of centri-filtration. Genevieve's thoughts wandered back to the meeting that took place the night before. She remembered Edith Grainger's slight stammering and apprehension; she remembered Philomena and Sebastian and the book. She tried to recall if anybody had said anything about the theft. Genevieve took out her notebook and re-read everything she'd written down. Damn. Nothing here suggests that anyone even mentioned the incidents that occurred, Genevieve thought. She mulled over this for a while, staring at the first words on the page-"Edith w/ nothing, blonde Aeronaut w/ limp (Ansel Portsmouth?) responds rudely. Asks if Edith could stop a clockwork automaton, offers no information."
What were his exact words again? "I haven't gone directly against a clockwork automaton, but I've fought something involving black magic?" Genevieve wondered, a tad distracted. The words repeated themselves in her head: I haven't gone directly against a clockwork automaton, but I've fought something involving black magic....I haven't gone directly against a clockwork automaton, but I've fought something involving black magic....I haven't gone directly against a clockwork automaton, but I've fought something involving black magic... Genevieve's eyes widened. "I've fought something involving black magic." That's it!
If Ansel Portsmouth had fought something involving black magic, then what were the chances that he had been fighting the culprits behind the theft of the Cindergate Hospital? And, there was also the matter of the limp...how had he gotten that broken ankle? How did I miss it before? I must get in contact with him-and soon.
Genevieve scrambled around for a fresh piece of parchment before coming to an abrupt stop. Is sending a message to him safe? He most likely lives in barracks in Peripoint; there are plenty of curious young Aeronauts who could stumble upon this letter. What if I sent another clock-bird to Captain Seward? Genevieve mused to herself. By the way he was acting at the meeting, I do not feel that he will be entirely forthcoming with her. And if he had wanted to share the information with me, well, he would have done so last night. No, it cannot be me, and it cannot be Captain Seward either. We are both too harsh and mayhaps a bit too old as well. But if not us, then who? Edith?
Her frenzied thoughts were interrupted by the return of the clock-bird. Genevieve was slightly surprised by how quickly Captain Seward had gotten back to her. She extracted the parchment from the clock-bird and sent it back on its way. Captain Seward had included no context; only Victoire Porter's address printed neatly on a clean sheet of parchment. Genevieve memorized it before lighting a candle and burning the parchment. I have no time to contemplate whom Ansel may trust. It will have to be Edith, as much as she will loathe me for this, Genevieve said to herself as she hurriedly penned a short, succinct message to the nurse's aide asking her to approach Ansel Portsmouth and try to get him to tell her how he received the injury, as well as approaching Charles Granger too (if possible) and asking if he'd ever confronted anyone who could be suspected of being involved with the entire conspiracy. She included the address of the Peripoint barracks, which she thankfully had on file, and dropped off the missive with Edith's superior nurse on her way out.
With the book wrapped in layers of cloth to hopefully shut it up and then stuffed in her handbag, Genevieve set off in the direction of Gearsport on foot. Soon enough, the red-tiled roofs reminiscent of the Orient began fading into the brightly colored and artistically designed buildings of Gearsport. Genevieve crossed walkways and navigated through crowds and stopped to get her bearings straight, always aware of the dark, evil aura emanating from the decorated book in her handbag.
When Genevieve finally reached the small shop in Gearsport belonging to the Porter family, the sun had set and long shadows stretched across the cobblestone streets. Genevieve was not sure if the shop was still open or not, but she stepped up and tried the door anyway. To her surprise, the knob twisted easily in her hand. A small bell chimed as she pushed open the door, though nobody came out to greet her. Genevieve looked around at the cluttered shop before extricating the decorated book from her handbag-layers of cloth and all-and leaving it on the counter. She hastily scrawled "for Victoire Porter" on a scrap piece of parchment and placed it on top of the decorated book. Tucked inside the front cover of the decorated book was a short note asking her to take a look at it and write back with her findings. Genevieve took one last glance at the seemingly innocuous "package" before opening the door again and walking back outside into the darkening streets.
Summary: Genevieve ends the meeting and examines the decorated book. She leaves it with Victoire to look at after asking Edith to confront Ansel about his broken ankle and the fact that he said he'd gone up against something involving black magic at the meeting. You guys know what's up with your own characters, so yeah just post about that
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hermyoninny
New Member
i miss the old kanye straight from the go kanye chop up the soul kanye set on his goals kanye
Posts: 22
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Post by hermyoninny on Apr 23, 2016 20:32:07 GMT -5
October 26th, 1891
Edith
Edith just entered the door when an envelope was pushed into her hand. "Doctor Winchester left this for you," her superior nurse told her. Edith stood there, stunned, before nodding her head in understanding.
"T-thank you," she said, fumbling over her words. Edith walked over to her station and set down her bag under the table. She tore open the letter, reading the letter over a few times, trying to memorize it as best she could. Ansel? Edith thought, lines forming on her forehead as she tried to place a name to a face. It didn't occur to her who the name might belong to until she read over the part about his injury. Edith narrowed her eyes in disgust at the letter. Edith sighed. There's most likely a good reason Doctor Winchester left this to you, she chided herself. No need to get upset, it has to be done to help her and everyone involved out.
Edith folded the back up crisply, sticking it in her breast pocket for safe keeping. She'd just have to venture out towards the barracks in Peripoint after her shift was over.
It was way past the end of Edith's shift when she got to leave. The skies outside were turning a deep purple color and in the distance behind her she could see the forgotten pinks and oranges of the setting sun. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the letter from Doctor Winchester and read over the instructions on how to get to the barracks. It seemed that if she could, it would be helpful to speak with a man named Charles Granger, as well. As she couldn't put a face to the name, she would probably forget about it, but if she could remember, she'd go looking for him.
Edith walked a few blocks away before finally settling on just climbing to the roof of a building and making her way to the barracks from high up. She climbed the latter of a building in an alley and found herself standing on the roof, looking out over the city and breathing in much cleaner air than what was down below. Not by much, though. Edith found herself nearing what she hoped and assumed the barracks of Peripoint and climbed down the side of a building. She leaped from a window ledge to the one below, and then her feet hit solid ground once more. She walked out from the alley she found herself in and went to pull out the letter in her pocket to find it missing.
Her heart began racing, as she frantically patted herself down to find the letter Doctor Winchester left her. All she wanted to do was double check she was in the correct area, and it seems it must have fell out while she jumping from roof to roof. Edith pinched the bridge of her nose. "This cannot be happening right now," she sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. How could she have been so clumsy, so foolish? She should have stuck to the ground, like Doctor Winchester would have wanted, even if it took longer and was a bit unsafe from all the night crawlers that came out at this time.
Edith straightened her shoulders, and took a deep breath. It's fine, a simple mistake, now let's go find Ansel, she instructed herself. Mechanically her legs began moving, as she knew she knew where to go and what to do. Her legs lead her to where she needed to be, the place easy to fine as Peripoint was very uniform and easy to maneuver in. Edith entered the barracks, asking for an Ansel Portsmouth.
"What do ya need him for?" the man asked her, his eyes studying her suspiciously.
"I just wanted to speak with him on the behalf of my hospital. My superior nurse sent me to see if his ankle was doing well and if it needed to be mended again," Edith lied. It felt like her heart was drumming a loud beat that echoed off the wall, but the adrenaline in her stomach was undeniable. She rarely lied, always had a tell-tale sign when she did, but she assumed that taking her own path to the barracks the right thing to do instead of walking the whole way here with troubling thoughts filling her head. Suddenly guilt from losing the simple letter was being felt, and Edith did her best to push it down.
The man's face nodded, sighing. "Shame he got hurt, he'll be here shortly, little lamb." Edith tried to hide her discomfort at the nickname the man gave her and gave him a polite thank you instead.
She heard him before she saw him. His crutches clanked their way down the hallway. Edith saw how his eyes searched for whoever called him with curiosity before landing on her and turning to slight distaste. He hobbled over to her, stopping just in front of where Edith stood, clutching her bag as if her life depended on it. "So it was you," he said.
Edith nodded. "Yes, it was me. Doctor Winchester sent me to ask you and someone else a few questions."
"Who was the other person?" Ansel asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.
"A man by the name of Charles Granger," Edith told him. She figured she had no reason not to, it wasn't like they all haven't met beforehand. Ansel didn't say anything, but if it sudden silence was an indication, she assumed he knew or knew about the man in question. Edith cleared her throat, as if to change the subject. "Would you be as kind to answer a few questions of mine?"
"Not really," Ansel answered honestly. Edith pursued her lips, willing away the murderous thoughts in her head. "Not here at least." Ansel added. Edith gave him a questioning look before leaning to the side and saw the man she spoke with earlier eyeing them both. She suppose it was an odd sight, as she didn't seem to be doing anything a nursing aide would be doing.
"Yes, that would be alright, we can step outs-" Ansel cut her off, moving around her to the door. "I know of a bar where we can talk and eat," he said. The way he said it made it feel more like a command rather than a simple statement, and Edith couldn't help but follow him out the door.
"That doesn't seem like such a place for me," Edith pointed out, speeding to catch up with him. For a person with a broken ankle, he could really book it. Ansel did something that looked similar to a shimmy, and Edith took it as a shrug.
"Less likely to be overheard. And even if we were, who's going to believe some meat head drunk who can barely slur out their own name?" Edith gaped at Ansel, taken aback by his casual insult.
There was silence for a few moments before Edith spoke. "I suppose you're right." The rest of the walk to the place Ansel spoke about was silent, save for the crutches that slapped against the sidewalk. It felt like Edith's night was never going to end at this rate when they finally arrived at the-well, pub was a more appropriate word for it. They sat in a booth in the corner, and Ansel ordered some kind of beer and snack while Edith declined any sort of food.
Edith wrung her hands together in her lap, adverting her gaze from Ansel's hard stare. "Well, spit them out already." Edith flickered her eyes toward's Ansel's face, before having the fall back to her lap. She stood up straighter in her seat and cleared her throat.
"Well, Doctor Winchester-" Edith started when Ansel snorted. "What?" She asked, her voice rising an octave as she took on a defensive tone.
"It's always 'Doctor Winchester! Doctor Winchester!'" Ansel mocked, putting on a falsetto when he quoted how she spoke about her boss.
"She is my boss," Edith defended. "Of course I will speak about her in a respect and hold her in a high place. She's quite good at her job, or else I wouldn't be working under her."
Ansel rolled his eyes, a small smug smile on his lips. Edith counted to ten in her head before trying again. "So, she wanted to know about how you got your injury."
Ansel nodded. "I suppose she would, after my comment last night." Edith waited for him to continue, but he didn't. She sighed, resisting the urge to call the bar maiden over and order one herself.
"Then I guess it was an incident involving Myalo," Edith concluded. Ansel nodded, leaning back in his seat. He stretched his arms out in front of him before placing them behind his head.
"On the nose," Ansel told her. The bar maiden returned with Ansel's drink and food and moved to bring the jug of beer up to his lips. "Well, is that all you wanted to ask me, or can I finally eat my meal in peace?"
Edith balled her hands into fists in her lap and tried to keep the disgust from showing too much on her face. This boy! she thought. If I could just wring his neck I would. How does he manage to get on every single on of my nerves in a matter of minutes? It must be a super power of his. "Uh, can you describe the incident, please?" Suddenly she felt like a detective, dealing with a very unpleasant suspect.
Ansel was quiet for a moment, his face filled with thought. "Me and a couple of other guys were chasing after these things, things that most likely involved black magic. Basically as I was chasing after one, I stepped wrong and snap went my ankle." He made a breaking motion with hands and Edith cringed inwardly, just imagining the situation.
Figuring this was all the information she could get out of him before she killed him, she stood up to leave. "Thank you, that was very insightful. I will make sure to tell Doctor Winchester everything and if you happen to want to let us know more, please stop by her office. I'm sure she'll speak with you gladly." Edith gave Ansel the sweetest, most sickliest smile she could muster, and turned on her heel, leaving in a huff. She could feel her blood still boiling all the way home.
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Post by Dalton on Apr 24, 2016 12:11:48 GMT -5
October 26th 1891
Katherine
Fear. That book was the epitome of fear, in her dreams she would see the fear in the pale girl's eyes, as the pages turned and and a black smoke rose into the air engulfing everyone that was in the room, The Pale Girl, Genevieve, Captain Merriweather, and Katherine were the usual victims in these nightmares, but assorted witnesses from the meeting would sometimes be there as well.
In the dead of night, Katherine screamed as she awoke, gasping for air. "Another sleepless night" she muttered to herself, she then got out of bed and got dressed, she wanted to go for a walk to clear her mind.
OCTOBER 27TH 1891
Captain Raynor Merriweather
Raynor watched from the dock as his crew unloaded cargo from Brassham City, he had a pit in his stomach as he couldn't find Katherine anywhere, she was the only person he could trust due to everything that was going on. Raynor never had the time for a wife and a family, so in a weird way he felt responsible for Katherine, there relationship was always close, when Raynor found out that Katherine could sense magnetic fields, he originally saw the intrinsic value of having the worlds best compass under his command, but as Katherine showed her worth, she in a way became the closest thing Merriweather had to an apprentice.
He quickly abandoned his post, and went into the streets of new toppingham to go find her
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