··· Steam & Ether: a Steampunk Adventure ··· (In-Progress)

[HystericalParoxysm]

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Dr. Abraham Essex, a rather controversial scientist who tended to dabble in the more uncouth areas of his field, was found dead on the morning of 12 June, 1886. His home had been thoroughly ransacked, and his daughter, Margaret, appeared to be missing. She had been last spotted the previous evening getting into an unidentified carriage, nervously clutching an oddly shaped parcel.

Around the estimated time of her father's murder, Miss Essex sent an urgent and rather cryptic telegram to her father's colleague and longtime family friend, Jack Prism. The telegram was short and terse, and simply read, "One is false. Find the others."

The next morning, only a short while after the discovery of her father's murder, Margaret's body was found floating in the Thames River. Her bloody and tattered shawl lay on the shore nearby, surrounded by the shredded remains of her parcel's wrapping paper. Whatever had been inside the parcel was long gone.

Mr. Prism was thoroughly unnerved by these developments, and, as could be expected, decided to take his troubles to the police.

Apparently, someone was expecting him to take that particular course of action: while en route to the police station, he was seized roughly from behind by a male figure that had been lurking in the shadows of darkened doorway. The figure produced a metal canister from his pockets and removed its lid, releasing a strange, heavy vapor into the air, drugging Jack. The figure dragged Jack into a nearby alley, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was strange-looking and apparently horseless carriage...

When Jack awoke, he found himself in a vast room with wooden walls hanging with strange devices, tools, tubes, and wires. Heavy gears and strange bits of machinery buzzed and whirred all around him, and an ominous-looking metal rod spat sparks into the air.

At the very center of this cacophony of technology, leaning against the back of a comfortable-looking armchair that seemed laughably out of place, stood Jack’s assailant. He was clad in a white lab coat speckled with holes and mysterious stains, and regarded Jack through a pair of gold-framed spectacles with green-tinted lenses.

“Oh good,” the man began with a small smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever get up. Thought I might have administered too high a dosage again.”

Jack’s vision was blurred, and he stared at the man for a long moment, not understanding what he was seeing. When he spoke his words were half mumbled and slow. It took great effort to form the sounds, and once they were spoken, he wasn’t completely sure they were the ones he meant to utter. "What the devil? Where am I?" Jack demanded through the haze. "And more importantly, who in God's name might you be?"

The man stepped around the side of the chair to sit, leaning back and steepling his fingers. He watched Jack from over his fingertips. “This is my lab, where I conduct my experiments and research. And my name is Raymond York. I am...” He paused a moment, looking up at the tin ceiling as if searching for the right word written there. “I am… an inventor.”

“An inventor?” Jack scoffed, shaking his head, then thought better of it as it began to throb, still spinning from the drugs. “I’ve never seen an inventor’s workshop that looked anything like this!”

York smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, well, I’m sure there are many things in this world beyond your understanding, Mr. Prism. But that really isn't important... your presence, however, is. I suppose I ought to explain."

"That'd be nice, yes."

“I’m sure you know all about the Essex murders, so I’ll skip over the gory details.” York reached to a side table and lifted the stub of a cigar, lit it, and brought it to his lips. He exhaled a ring of smoke into the air, then continued. “You see, Dr. Essex was a member of The Royal Society for the Advancement of Science, a rather ordinary group of scientists and researchers funded by Her Majesty’s coffers.”

“But what does that have to do with me? Dr. Essex never told me much about his work. We were just old friends back at university.”

”Ah, but let me finish. The Royal Society for the Advancement of Science is not well-known, but not a secret either. However, their inner circle is extremely guarded… they do a rather good job making sure that they remain unknown.” York paused, eyeing the end of his cigar as its glowing orange tip began to fade, and puffed on it a few times to get it restarted. A bit of burning tobacco fell onto his coat, and he brushed it onto the floor, stomping it out with one rubber-soled boot. He looked back up at Jack, almost confused to see him there, then nodded as if he suddenly remembered who he was and what they’d been discussing. “Anyway. There are six members of the Society’s inner circle, but I’m sure Dr. Essex is the only one you’ve ever heard of.”

“What exactly is the purpose of this inner circle?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked. Though it’s sort of pointless as they wouldn’t be a secret society if they went blabbing all their secrets, would they? From my research, I have gleaned that, among their many secrets is their most closely guarded one. Some bit of arcane knowledge not meant for the rest of the world, perhaps? I’m afraid I don’t know exactly what this secret entails, but I can tell you this: each member of their cabal holds a piece of… the key, for lack of a better word. Apparently this key will lead the way to their secret.”

York removed his glasses, rubbing at the lenses with a clean part of the edge of his coat before placing them back on his nose. “I’m almost certain that Dr. Essex’s piece of the key was in the parcel that Margaret had in her possession at the time of her demise.”

"But... I still don't understand what this has to do with me!" Jack complained.

York smiled knowingly. “Well, you see, membership in the Society’s inner circle is inherited. As Dr. Essex had no male heir, the membership fell to his daughter, Margaret. It was then her responsibility to carry his piece of the key. And then when she was killed…” he trailed off, waving his hand in a vague gesture.

“She needed someone to inherit her membership?” Jack had a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Precisely, Mr. Prism. And though it is a bit… outside the norm, Miss Essex has chosen you as her successor.”

Jack’s face whitened considerably, and he wrung his hands. “But why me? I was her godfather but we had only met on a few occasions. I had last seen her when she was just a child.”

“Well, that you would have to ask Miss Essex, though I believe that would prove rather difficult, considering. I can only assume that as a family friend and colleague of her father, Margaret assumed you already knew something about the Society and their inner workings.”

“But I don’t! This is all a horrible mistake.”

York puffed on his cigar and nodded slowly, the top of his bald head shining in the waning light filtering in through the boarded windows of the building. “Indeed, it very well may be, but life is a series of horrible mistakes. And for better or for worse, you are now in the thick of things.”

“I just want to go home and have a cup of tea and a hot bath,” Jack moaned miserably, looking up at the ceiling, shaking his head.

“Mr. Prism! Two people are dead – your friend, your colleague, Dr. Essex lies dead in the city morgue alongside the body of his daughter, your goddaughter, an innocent young woman caught up in something bigger than herself. You have a responsibility as a man, a friend, and a scholar to see this through!” York raised his voice, breathing hard through his nostrils as he stared through his spectacles at Jack.

Jack shrank back into the chair. “What must I do?”

“Dr. Essex was what the inner circle referred to as the Shepherd. With his death, his part of the key as well as this duty fell to Margaret… and now to you. In times of grave danger, it becomes the Shepherd’s responsibility to alert the other five members and gather them together. If this isn’t readily doable, then the Shepherd is charged with organizing a search party to locate the members.”

“Do we know who and where the other members are?”

“I know,” snorted York, “Or at least I have extremely educated guesses. But you don’t. I’ll give you the information you’ll need to track them down, but the rest is up to you. In the mean time, I would suggest that you begin forming your search party.”

“What?!” Jack cried incredulously. “How am I supposed to do that?”

York shrugged. “How should I know? I’m just an inventor.” He paused, then added with a chuckle, “I don’t know. Put up a flier or something.”


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Between the lines where magic and science blur… with coal smoke and steam, brass pipes, mechanical men, and fantastic flying machines, we embrace the concepts of SCIENCE!!! and ADVENTURE!!!

Historical and scientific accuracy shall not be uttered here! Excitement, drama, and pulp are the prime goals – quibbling details be damned!

This is a freeform roleplay – no dice, no rounds or competitive aspects… more a cooperatively-written story created by all participants. I will be conducting light duties as GM, pushing the story along here and there (with some NPCs and such) and keeping things on track – but major plot can and will be influenced by players, and I’ll generally be letting people go where they want with things. jhd will be co-GM, and his word counts just as much as mine when it comes to matters of plot and such – he wrote the original version of the prologue (which I butchered with my edits) – thanks jhd!

There is currently a post limit on this roleplay of three (3) in-character posts per day, subject to change.

Participants should consider their characters applicants to Mr. Prism. Your characters will likely know very little or nothing about the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science, and simply be talented people looking for a job. Your characters are not only applicants to Mr. Prism but also to this roleplay – in order to keep the game of a manageable size a pool of characters will be chosen from the applicants to begin the story. If and when additional characters become needed I may open the game to other applicants later. Those chosen will be selected based purely on discretion of your GMs. I do not currently have a time limit for the application period. When I see that we have a good pool of applicants we’ll do an initial period of evaluation, see who will be the most appropriate characters for what I have in mind, and go from there.

Applications should be submitted as a letter to Mr. Prism explaining your character's skills and background. While one does not necessarily know what sort of positions are available to be applied for, think about what would be useful skills to an expedition for a scientific establishment and go from there. Players are also strongly encouraged to add their characters to the S2C-RP-Characters Database (http://www.sims2wiki.info/wiki.php?title=S2CRPCharacters), as much of the information one might wish to have known about their character may not necessarily be covered in a job application. You can also include a character picture there - you'll need to register separately for the wiki to edit. PM me if you have any questions on how to edit and use the character template.

No meta-knowledge (stuff your character shouldn’t know, but you do because you’re playing them) when in-character, no godmodding or godmodeing unless you have been given permission from the GM(s) or the player you’re godmodding. We are playing in the third person perspective – please compose your applications and posts accordingly. Applications should be a single post - I'll let you know when actual play has begun.

This is not a beauty contest, and applicants should be interesting, unique characters… male and female, and not just those under 30. You may submit a character picture – sim pictures are only allowed if you go out of your way to really outfit the sim correctly for the style. Photographs are NOT allowed… sim pics or drawings/artwork only. I will likely be drawing character sketches for anyone who would like one later on, so if you can’t find just the right picture don’t worry too much about it.

If you have any questions please post in the thread rather than PMing so that myself or jhd can answer you and have everyone benefit from the answer.


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http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604022336-steamandether-inspiration.jpg
The following resources have been compiled to help participants better understand what steampunk is about, as well as provide inspirational themes, ideas, and images to help with play. If you have other good inspirational links they can be added to this list.

http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Steampunk at Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steampunk)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Journey to the Center of the Earth at Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journey_to_the_Center_of_the_Earth)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Sons of Ether at Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sons_of_Ether)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mad Scientists at Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mad_scientist)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Alternative Science at Keelynet (http://www.keelynet.com/files.html)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg The Steampunk Workshop (http://steampunkworkshop.com/)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Brass Goggles Steampunk Blog (http://www.brassgoggles.co.uk/brassgoggles/) (tons of great pics!)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Da Vinci Automata Steampunk Blog (http://davinciautomata.wordpress.com/)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Aether Emporium Steampunk Wiki (http://etheremporium.pbwiki.com/Wiki)
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Steampunk Name Generator (http://www.brassgoggles.co.uk/brassgoggles/?page_id=59)


http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604015908-steamandether-participants.jpg

GMs:
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg HystericalParoxysm
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg jhd1189

NPCs:
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Jack Prism - jhd1189
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Raymond York - HystericalParoxysm

Applicants:
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Ms. Edwina Artois (http://www.sims2wiki.info/wiki.php?title=S2CRPCharacters/E#Edwina_Artois) - Julieth (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=901985&postcount=2))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Lord Montgomery Mentmore (http://www.sims2wiki.info/wiki.php?title=S2CRPCharacters/L#Lord_Montgomery_Mentmore) - jhd1189 (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=902648&postcount=9))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Miss Sarah Stibbons - Lethe_s (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=903207&postcount=10))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Elijah Steel - Haylifer (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=903258&postcount=11))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Amos Muggeridge - Gerbera (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=903289&postcount=12))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Sohn Bon-Hwa - cherryp3 (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=904241&postcount=14))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Dr. Jennifer Whitmore - skylark (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=904252&postcount=15))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg "Dark Johnny" - Gallowsraven (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=907478&postcount=21))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Ms. Prudence Hudson - ~LadyAshe~ (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=908119&postcount=29))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Miss Lucinda Dickinson - devoshka (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=905696&postcount=19))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Ms. Maggie Farwine (http://www.sims2wiki.info/wiki.php?title=S2CRPCharacters/M#Maggie_Farwine) - Schellikins (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=910844&postcount=35))
http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070604021019-gearicon.jpg Mr. Jackson D. Foster - SpacemanHPSpiff (Application (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=915675&postcount=45))

[Julieth]

((OOC: YAY!!! I hope I'm doing my app correctly...I thought it'd be more fun to do as a letter. Picture coming later, I am going to draw it in a little while.))

Dear Mr. Prism,

I am writing in regard to the interesting position for which you have advertised. My name is Edwina Artois, an adventuress by trade, and I believe that I would be quite suitable for your needs.
You may be wondering about my credentials; after all, one cannot be too certain about one's business arrangements. I have recently returned from a voyage to Araby, where I was assisting several gentlemen with their inquiries into matters of a supernatural nature. To my knowledge, their mission was unsucessful, but then, I have never been particularly interested in the occult. My passion is adventure, the discovery of virgin territory and the thrill of danger, and I daresay I have become somewhat well known as a capable explorer. I can pilot a zeppelin, shoot a pistol, and hold my own in a swordfight, among other things. While I may not be the scientist you desire, I am more than able to ensure the safety of any expedition. In my proffession, there is a rather low life expectancy, and the fact that I am 34 years of age may be the best indicator of my skill.
In regards to my personal demeanor, I am afraid to say that I can be quite gruff at times, and there are those who would label me as one who does not know her place in society. I am not content to cower behind the men of this world, and I regard any woman who does so as a discredit to her gender. However, I will keep my own council and not threaten the expedition with my views, which are somewhat unorthodox I must admit. Nonetheless, I will not be pushed aside should danger threaten.
In conclusion, I would very much enjoy the opportunity to be a part of this society. Though your flier leaves the purpose of your expedition somewhat vague, the cause is immaterial. I have enclosed my current adress and other such information should you decide to enlist my services.

Obdt. yours,
Edwina Artois

[HystericalParoxysm]

Not exactly what I had been thinking with the letter concept but I like it, Julieth! Very creative. :)

[stylequeen_SC]

this looks interesting, I am thinking about joining...
what do you want in the application Hysterical? anything specific?

[jhd1189]

stylequeen- HP and I decided that Julieth's letter was probably the best way to apply, so we'd like people to try and use that format from now on. HP's going to edit the rules to make everything a littler clearer. :)

[HystericalParoxysm]

Okay, first post is edited with the new info on the application. I really like the letter thing, and if we need character pics or further bios (which might be nice) there's the RP Character Database linked up there so you can add more info on your applicant.

[Julieth]

good, I did not screw up!

[Derange]

This space reserved for an application. :D

[jhd1189]

Dear Mr. Prism,

Earlier this afternoon, as I was returning from a visit to the tailor, I stumbled across a most peculiar flier pasted unceremoniously upon a lampost on Savile Row. Although I rarely pay any attention to this sort of thing, something you had written caught my eye. Perhaps it was the ambiguous nature of whatever your mission may be, or the reference to the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science.

Either way, it became immediately clear to me that both science and danger would be involved--both of which, in my experience, have proven to be infinitely rewarding. However, if you truly are in league with a government-funded group of scientists, then I fear that you will not receive a penny more than Her Majesty sees fit to give: where science is concerned, that will translate to nowhere near enough money.

This is where I come in, Mr. Prism. I am a man of considerable means, and I am willing to fully furnish your endeavours with as much funding as necessary. I ask only that in return, you allow me to join your party on whatever your mission may be. I suppose you could say, Mr. Prism, that I have taken a special interest in your journey--whatever it is.

I am, of course, fully qualified to fill one of the positions you have advertised. I have studied the sciences independently for years, both orthodox and otherwise. In addition, I have a decent grasp of mathematics, and you will find that I am quite well-read. Furthermore, I am a skilled marksman, and can easily hit my target from over a hundred metres away.

I do hope that you will consider my offer, Mr. Prism--I doubt that there will be any others like it.

Most sincerely yours,
Lord Montgomery Mentmore

[Lethe_s]

Dear mister Prism,

I write to you on behalf of Miss Sarah Stibbons, aged 11, who has expressed an unhealthy interest in your undertaking.
The child is an Orphan, her parents both passed on to the Lord some years ago, and she has been in the care of the Church for several months. She is known to have several brothers who are Sinners Unto God. I believe I do not have to stress that it is our Duty as responsible members of Society to not let her stray onto the same path. To keep her out of trouble, it is imperative that she finds employment. Due to her enthusiasm, she may be of use to your organisation.
The child is fast en remarkably witty for a female of her age. She seems to have a knack at fixing clocks. Though her main accomplishment is surviving without a responsible Authority for at least two years, without significant effects on character. To be sure, she was caught once, while in my care, when stealing cakes from a local merchant. However, after a lecture on sin, a Severe Beating and a penance of fifty Hail Mary's, she has not been seen doing it since.
I must, of course, warn you of her negative traits, which are a dislike of cleaning and a complete inability to cook or behave in a manner stroking with etiquette. This makes her useless as a maid. Employment in a stable or mine seems more fitting. She certainly has no fear of the dark.
The child is of a usually gentle nature, but very stubborn. She was given a basic education in reading and writing, while in my care, but is neither very fluent nor diplomatic.
I do believe she has a good heart, and can be a hard worker. If you can find a use for her, please reply as soon as possible.



Highest regards,

Father Joseph MacKenzie,
Chapel of Saint Giles


((rubbish piccie))
http://i45.photobucket.com/albums/f56/Ebellens/sarahsmall.jpg

[Haylifer]

Mr. Elijah Steel,
5-2-1 Ginza, Chuo-ku,
Tokyo 170-3293,
Japan.

Mr Jack Prism,
112B Chesterton Street,
London,
England.

Mr. Prism,
I write to you from the Land of the Rising Sun, where I am currently in the charge of Matsukata-sama on a task of undisclosable nature. My squire informs me that you seek the assistance of 'able-bodied men and women who are willing to serve Her Majesty in the name of Progress'. I may assure you that you need continue this search no longer, for there is a possibility that the end of my assignment in the Orient is rapidly approaching. Should my duty here be amended, have no doubt that I shall be on the next airship back to my homeland to be of service to your Royal Society.
In response to your forthcoming request for an application of sorts - which my gifted foresight informs me of - I believe I am precisely the man you had in mind for whatever business it may be. I have spent the twenty-six years loaned to me on this planet following the sun around the world on the trail of every sort of adventure possible and necessary. From artefact-hunting in Peru, to ridding a Tibetan village of an unruly cult, my experience is broad and covers neigh everything you may have in mind. Ah - I see that your charge is for the interests of Science. In which case, I believe you may already have studied the works of my late father, Dr. Lucas Steel. Having spent my childhood investigating his tincatures, concoctions and instruments, I stand well-educated as to Science. I attach a portrait of my humble self for your benefit. I have deepest confidence that you will write back immediately confirming my successful application.
Keigu,
Mr. Elijah Steel


http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a332/liquidization/2-4.jpg

((OOC:I hope the he's in the right style? I've only just came across the term "Steampunk" even though it reminds me a lot of Final Fantasy. The drawing sucks as it's just a badly-photoshopped sketch. My graphics tablet pen broke when I threw it at my sister, so all I have is a pooey pencil sketch that I can't colour properly :( So I'll just upload the sketch for now. Oh, the rubber was appalling too, and my drawings are always a mess.))

[Gerbera]

Dear Mr. Prism,

It has come to my knowledge that you are requiring “persons to serve Queen and Country in the name of progress.”
I am more than willing to do this service to the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science and to travel to destinations around the world.

I have a natural interest for the sciences and am a skilled mechanic. Beeing this, I have already worked at various places here in London. I can repair every kind of mechanism, known or unknown to me. It may also be of interest to you that I have learned to not only repair machines but also to build new ones. In addition to that, I have acquainted myself with the lasted developments in technology.
I have no family whatsoever because my wife and children died in the past year from a mysterious disease. Thus I do not see a reason to stay in this city any longer, where I am constantly reminded of my past life with my family.

I do not doubt that you will find many fine men and women that will support your business, perhaps more noble then me. But let me assure you that I am a good and stable man one can always rely on.

If you require any further references I will be glad to give you the adress of my current employer.

Sincerely yours,

Amos Muggeridge
43 Shawclough Row
London

[Nora_SC]

Reserving this post for my letter application. :)

[cherryp3]

Sohn Bon-Hwa 82L Westerly Lane


Mr. Jack Prism
112B Chesterton Street



Mr. Prism:

Your flier was very robust. A small street urchin handed it to me this very morning, the print was great and bold, with dramatic statements about how I would have the chance to serve the queen herself and further the expansion of science. I must tell you, after reading the first few lines I was appalled, tempted to crumple it up and toss it into the nearby fountain. Blast the queen and her foolery, I had thought. But, as the paper began to crinkle at the force of my grip, I noticed another set of large words scrawled across: ‘Exotic Locales, Travel, and Adventure’. It was there that I found myself compelled to send this application.

My name, sir, is Sohn Bon-Hwa. I am son to the successful doctor, Sohn Dak-Ho who currently serves the city of Liverpool. I originate, however, further east in the Korean capital of Seoul and periodically travel to Hong Kong to visit my mother. Despite this, I am very articulate in the English language; in fact, I am multilingual, able to speak fluent English, Chinese, and Korean. I’ve also been instructed on German and French, though I am not quite as coherent in these areas. Furthermore, in all the time I spent in Seoul and Hong Kong, I went through rigorous training in order to learn the Korean tang soo do, and the Chinese kung fu. I am something of an unstoppable force, as I have not discovered a real challenge since reaching the age of eleven.

While I do not have much background knowledge when concerning science, the unknown both intrigues and fascinates me, and is that not the very route of science? The lust to bring fact and security into something once unfamiliar and bizarre? It is this nature that beckons me to this adventure. I want to help to fill in the blank pages of this map splayed before us.

Mr. Prism, I am young, not yet over the age of seventeen, but I am wise beyond my years. I am knowledgeable in art and literature and by watching my father I have picked up on a few natural medicinal cures for anything from curbing stomach pains to diminishing a fever. These things seem rather imperative for a long journey, do they not? All my life I have sought for an adventure. The world is such a tedious place, and I seek for something new and exotic that will chase excitement back into my lackluster being. I believe that this is just the sort of task I am in need of, and I am confident that I will hear back from you in the near future.


Sincerely,


Sohn Bon-Hwa

http://i13.photobucket.com/albums/a296/Meikomeia/SonBon.jpg

((OOC: Major edit. D: Sorry about that.))

[skylark]

Mr. X Chamberlain
British Society for Paranormal Investigation
13 Murray Street
London

Mr. J Prism
112B Chesterton Street
London

Dear Mr. Prism

It has come to my attention that you seek agents for what appears to be fieldwork for your society. Might I be so bold as to suggest the indefinite loan of one of our agents to aid your cause? While many scoff at our goals, I am certain that you will find our members as thoroughly scientific as yours.

The agent in question is one Dr. Jennifer Whitmoore. She has been with us in a purely administrative role for quite some time and we wish to further develop her training to fieldwork. But, alas, we have no suitable projects for her at the moment.

As I am not certain what tasks you require agents for, I shall explore her weaknesses as well as her strengths. Dr. Whitmoore suffered some major psychological trauma at University whilst dabbling in the occult and has suffered from poor nerves ever since. Unfortunatly she has never been able to communicate what this event was - we suspect a curse of some nature. I suspect that when put in danger she may appear to be a coward, but perhaps this is for the best - she does have the physical capabilities of small kitten when it comes to agressive or defensive action. Shooting is also not one of her strong points. She is fairly scrawny and struggles with heavy weights beyond her well-stocked medical kit. Socially, she is not known for her ability to make friends or influence people. I also do not suggest attempting to seperate her from her medical kit - it does rile her up quite severely.

While this may sound dire and awful for a man searching for those who are able-bodied, do not dismiss her until you have heard of her strengths. She has a keen mind and is an unparalleled surgeon - I do not suggest that you forget how neccessary a physician can be. You may also have read some of her recently published papers on the effects of modern medicine on the mind, something which she theorises could stabilize those of unbalanced mental nature. She has been improving socially over time (which is why we belive her to be ready for the introduction to fieldwork). Whilst not strong she can run like the blazes (when unencombered) and can be difficult to track if she disappears. You will also find her to be well-versed with some occult knowledge (although not all) and yet stick staunchly to the scientific desire to prove and test theories. She is very well suited to a support role that will aid other members of a fieldwork team, through her knowledge and skill.

I hope that you will consider this offer of our best doctor and see her strengths for what they are.

I wish you luck with your venture.

Yours sincerely,
Mr. X Chamberlain

[Julieth]

I have a question for HP...is this set in a world where steampunk things like robots, mechanical wings, etc. are commonplace, or rare? Just wanna know for my picture of Edwina...if it's the former, she might look a little more outlandish.

[jhd1189]

Julieth- This is supposed to be, more or less, England right around the turn of the century and during the Industrial Revolution. Although we aren't really going for historical accuracy, England is more or less the way it would have appeared in real life. All of the advanced steampunk stuff is sort of--esoteric. It's only known to a small handful of scientists and tinkerers and society's elite. So no, there aren't balloon-powered horses and mechanical winged people floating around everywhere. They exist, but they're uncommon.

[Julieth]

Ok, thanks for the quick response! That's what I thought, but I wanted to make sure.

[devoshka]

Dear Mr. Prism,

I am writing you in regards to your advertisement flier. I would like to express my interest in a position that you are offering. First I would like to introduce myself, I am Miss Lucinda Dickinson, of the Buckinghamshire Dickinsons. My father, Major Henry Dickinson, served his queen in British Raj during the years of 1858-1870, where I was born. There in India, Father discovered his passion for learning. He was befriended by the Subedar-Majors that he worked with and learned their ways. Upon coming home it was a great shock for him to be back in England and retreated into his study. I always admired my father and he always as a child would draw me onto his knee and tell me stories. My mother, Dame Edith Trenton Dickinson, had hated her time in India, and felt it was penance for marrying beneath her station. When returning to England she dived into the demi-monde and all it had to offer, dragging me in her wake. She had hopes to make me a fine match, where time and time again I turned down each suitor. Unfortunately according to her, I take more after my father than my mother, and regards me as an old maid at the age of 23.

Hearing my father's stories sparked an interest in learning. I devoured anything that I could get my hands on and one day while in my most treasured of places, the library, I met a most peculiar man. He was a follower of Nikola Tesla, whom he had met while in Paris. He shared with me the genius of Tesla, and I know that great things will become of him. It was this meeting that first sparked my interest in all things scientific. Science is the answer to this world's problems and I am eager to undertake any endeavor in the name of progress.


Faithfully yours,
Miss Lucinda Dickinson

PS. Forgive me of my digression, I tend to run on when I start speaking of a topic that I am passionate about.


http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g313/Devoshka/steampunk.jpg
((I hope this picture is ok, if not let me know and I'll remove it, and I hope my letter was good enough....she loves to talk and will if you let her ;)))

[cherryp3]

Guh. I love everyone's entries. The characters are all so diverse.

But mine seems to stand out like a knot on a log. u_u; I feel like it's too much of a personal bio than an actual application... do I need to edit it?

[Gallowsraven]

((OOC: Okay looked like too much fun, couldn't resist. If my character is completely unsuitable to enter then feel free to tell me. I know he's a bit different than everyone else so far. Edit: Picture finally finished!!.))


Mr. Jack Prism
112B Chesterton Street.
London.


Mr. Prism:


I ain’t got much of an education so I’m sorry if this letter sounds a bit like rubbish. Anyway, I was just walking back from a, uh, unmentionable job and I caught a glimpse of your flier. Well actually it kinda blew off of the window it was posted on and hit me in the face. Maybe you wanna think about fastening those fliers better? Well, guess that’s kinda beside the point. Fact is, it turns out I’m sorta in between jobs now. See, my boss kinda, y’know….disappeared. Kinda thing that happens in our business. Anyway, with him gone I got nothin’ to do, and I need to eat. I know I probably ain’t soundin’ like the best candidate, ‘specially for a science expedition, but hear me out. I can fire a straight shot with a variety of firearms and can be pretty much counted on to win a fist-fight. I’ve never been out of the country, but I’m open to the idea of exploration. I have basic medical knowledge and have been known to stay up 16 hours straight (provided there’s coffee available). I ain’t the most sentimental guy and I’m willing to go whatever extents needed to get a job done. I fix can most things that are gonna need fixin’ and I can cook food. Of the edible variety. I’m also 25 years of age, and overall very healthy…..if you’re willing to overlook my rare asthma attacks. Oh and uh, not sure how useful this’ll be, but I can make really interesting sculptures from pocket lint. Like I said, not sure how useful that’ll be but still. Could come in handy. You never know.

An’ that’s pretty much it. If you decide that you have some use for my services then look for me in one of the local pubs. Can’t really miss me, I’ll be the shortest guy in the place in a worn black trenchcoat, patched red hat and holding some kind of fighting implement in my hand.

Regards,
Dark Johnny------obviously not my real name. But I ain’t think it such a good idea to tell you my real one---------

P.S. Sorry ‘bout the bloody splatter on this letter…..was sorta bleedin’ all over when I was writing it
http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l228/Nahasiaelf/My%20J-rockish%20art/DarkJohnny--wounded--redhat.jpg

[skylark]

Oh and uh, not sure how useful this’ll be, but I can make really interesting sculptures from pocket lint. Like I said, not sure how useful that’ll be but still. Could come in handy. You never know.

:laugh: Wow! That cracked me up! LOVE your application!

Just a question for our DMs: Roughly when are you planning on starting this? Just curious. Also - are you accepting all applications, or whittling them down a bit? *bites nails at the though*

[HystericalParoxysm]

We'll be starting when we feel we have a solid crew. We don't have a solid time limit at the moment but won't let it go too long either way.

Whether we accept all applications depends on how many we get and who they are - we may do some light in-character suggestions using the NPCs (Prism and York) if something needs changing or there are particular roles that we might want filled we don't yet have. :)

[~LadyAshe~]

Can I join with like a Lara Croft like person? Like is it ok if they aren't mechanical? But they can do puzzles and stuff?

[jhd1189]

What do you mean by "mechanical"? Someone who's good with machines, you mean? It would actually probably be good if that weren't the case, because that seems to be just about every character's talent at the moment. We want variety. ;)

Hmm... and how would you make Lara Croft work in Victorian London?

[~LadyAshe~]

Well, I mean she no leonardo da vinci, but she can fix things. Moderate mechanical skills, so to speak. But she is excellent at puzzels (have the even been invented yet?) and riddles.

And to make her Victorian, tone down her physical abilities :)

[Gallowsraven]

Skylark:

Thank you very much! Glad you find Johnny amusing...hopefully Mr. Prism decides he has some use for him.

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

I'm working on getting an entry together at the moment (I have a basic outline for the character, who is basically my Durin Fulcwine from Hidden Palace III with quite a few changes to make him more victorian/steam punkish), but it may take a few more days, as I have a large number of tests, final exams, and papers comming up in the next week or two. Is it likely to be open for another week or so?

EDITS:

Oh, don't worry! He's just based on my Durin. His name is going to be Jackson, which I think is human soundingish. And he has a thoroughly normal life - he's a treaurer for a small glue company. He's a bit of a loser. :giggler:

EDIT: Is it likely this will be open until Friday at least? And should we make sure our person specifically has a talent that could be very useful for an adventure in the name of science?

[~LadyAshe~]

I decided not to do a Lara Croft person. my app will be here, with a sim picture (F in art...don't ask)
____________________________________________________________
App:

Mr. Jack Prism
112B Chesterton st.

Dear Mr. Prism,

I saw you flyer posted outside the school I worked in, and I immediatly expressed interest in the proposition. You see, at one time I worked as a physics teacher at a school here in London, but they let me go. Only because the children had told their parents the work I was giving was too advanced. All I wanted to do was give them a well rounded education, but the fact that sixteen year olds were complaining about advanced physics (they use the same textbook in Gutenburg, just translated) upset me. I was ready to quit myself, but they fired me before I had the chance. Well, I did not write this letter to you to complain, but I feel I am qualified for this expedition. You see, if somebody is about to fall off a cliff, I can detect the rate of speed and how long it will take for that person to fall instantly. Hoping that will not happen, of course. I hope you read this and consider this, before you throw it in with the rubbish.

Sincerly,
Prudence A. Hudson

Picture: ((Woot! I drew it!!! It sucks though, but I did it!! and sorry about the size.)

[jhd1189]

LadyAshe- Sim pictures are fine. :D

This is just a general heads up to everyone who is planning to enter: make sure your characters are more or less... erm... human. You've all been pretty good about that, but SpacemanHPSPiff's character's name (it sounded vaguely elvish ;)) reminded me about that little matter. So... normal humans. No mermaid werefishes with psychic powers. :)

[jhd1189]

Jack was sitting at one of the many long, wooden tables in York's laboratory, sifting through a stack of papers. After another moment of shuffling, he scooted his chair away from the table and leaned back, groaning to the ceiling in frustration.

York put down the flask that he had been examining, turning his attention to the perplexed young scientist. "You know," he began, "looking at my ceiling isn't going to make those papers sort themselves any faster."

Jack shot him a look of annoyance, and returned to his previous position at the table.

"That's better," York said with a satisified little chuckle. "Now... let's take a look at the applicants, shall we?"

"Thats' what I've been doing," Jack groaned, rubbing at his eyes with his hand. "Trust me; this isn't as easy as it looks."

"All right, then I'll give you a hand."

"Thank you, I--" before he could finish his sentence, York thrust a small jar containing a well-preserved human hand at Jack. He looked disgustedly at the jar before shooting an irritated glance back at York.

"Now, let's have those applications," York ordered, trying to hide his grin.

Jack arranged the papers into a neat stack and selected one from the top to read. "This first one is from a Ms. Edwina Artois--she claims to be an adventuress."

"A what?" York puffed skeptically at his cigar.

"An adventuress. She enjoys the exploration of 'virgin territory,' apparently, and appears to know how to use a variety of weapons." He paused, raising his eyebrow at a sentence he had missed in his first read-through. "And... she can fly a zeppelin."

York's eyebrow rose in a similar fashion. "I see..."

Jack produced another sheet of paper from the stack. "This next one's from... oh, you may have heard of him, actually: Lord Montgomery Mentmore."

"The name sounds familiar. What does he want?"

"He's offered to fund our expedition if we allow him to come along."

"Is he qualified?"

"What on earth difference does that make? He's offering us money!" Jack stopped, though, and read through the letter a second time. "For the record, though, he is qualified. He appears to more or less be an independent student of the sciences, and he says that he's a skilled marksman."

"Oh, that's where I remember his name from," York mused, speaking to no one in particular. "He led an expedition in Bombay a number of years ago." He shook the burnt ashes off of the end of his cigar before returning his attention to Jack. "Go on."

"Well... oh, this next one's highly unusual. It's a letter from a priest--"

"A priest?"

"--on behalf of one of the children in his orphanage."

Apparently, York hadn't prepared himself for this sort of surprise. "A child?" he spluttered. "Are we nannies now?"

"Now, now... no need to get your labcoat in a bundle. She's much younger than all of our other applicants, but youth has its uses, you know. If one of the pieces of the key is hidden in a hard to reach spot, she might be the only who can get at it."

York snorted. "All right, fine. I see your point."

Jack selected another paper from the pile. As his eyes skimmed the page, the grin on his face grew larger and larger. "I think you'll like this one: it's from another adventurer named Elijah Steel. He claims to have heard about our exploits from the Land of the Rising Sun."

"How the devil did he hear about this from all the way in Japan?!" York exclaimed. "Here, let me see that."

Jack chuckled under his breath. "Here you are; he's included a picture, by the way."

York pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and examined the application. Within a matter of seconds, he had been reduced to staring with an open-mouthed look of shock. "Is he... does... does this chap have wings?!" He began laughing audibly. "Did he get lost on his way to some sort of costume party?"

The two scientists indulged in a bout of laughter for a moment before resuming their arduous task.

"Oh... oh my," Jack whispered. He had pulled out the next application, and the smile had been instantly removed from his face. "Here... I think you'd better take a look at this one."

York was still sniggering quietly when he took the application from Jack. "Let's see here... oh, another one from the Orient, I see. Mhmm... son of a doctor, trained in the martial arts... Good heavens! Is that fellow wearing LIPSTICK?!?!" He spat his cigar out with alarm and dropped the paper on the floor. "Let's--ah--see who else we have. Oh good gravy, he has eyeshadow, too!"

From that point on, the two men opted to hurry as quickly as they could through the remaining letters.

"Mr. Muggeridge: a mechanic with no family."

"No ties. Perfect."

"A female surgeon who dabbles in the occult."

"Of the same breed, no doubt, as the fellow with wings."

"This one's intriguing--he goes by the name 'Dark Johnny.'"

York looked quizzically at the spatters of blood on that particular application. "Sounds... like a charming fellow."

"Durin Fulcwine?"

"A nice, British name."

"And here's our last one for now... one Ms. Prudence A. Hudson."

York sighed and rubbed his temples. "And what does she do?"

"She claims to be a... physics teacher?"

York snorted. "Please. Physics? That's an almost untouched territory, and hardly anyone knows a thing about it. I'm not even qualified to teach it. Actually, no one will be for a few decades to come, in my estimation."

The two scientists looked wearily at each other. "Well," Jack sighed, pushing the papers to one end of the table, "that's everyone."

York lit a fresh cigar, looking at Jack through the newly rising smoke. "Well, Mr. Prism; it seems we have our work cut out for us."

[cherryp3]

((xD Oh... my. I completely forgot about him having on lipgloss. Bahahaha. Oh well. Best picture I could find to fit him.

;]))

[HystericalParoxysm]

((Is it likely this will be open until Friday at least

I'm gonna try to get us started sometime this coming weekend - Saturday the 16thishly. Don't want to let it go too long, but a good character might be able to hop on at the last minute after we've gotten a couple posts in.

? And should we make sure our person specifically has a talent that could be very useful for an adventure in the name of science?

One should have some use to the expedition but it doesn't necessarily have to be something as grand as mastery of a weapon or anything extraordinary. It will be rather pulpy and over-the-top but... someone believable with some good skills... linguists, navigators, even something like a porter... having an interesting personality and a few good skills. Yeah. I'm rambling. :D ))

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

Ah, thanks so much, HP! Saturday works nicely for me, so I'm happy. I am very much hoping more people will join soon - it's such a fun topic, and there are many good writers here so far...
(Sorry for a slightly useless post. Just thanks for the response! This will help me plan when I need everything done by. I'm just have to color my drawing now, and finish up his background...)

[schellikins]

Dear Mr. Prism,

I am writing in response to your sign I saw posted out side the bakery shop. My name is Maggie Farwine. I am but a kitchen maid with a desire to be more. Since my childhood I have dreamt of seeing the world. I have few skills, mostly of the domestic sort, but I am young and willing to learn all I must in order to serve.
I do have two other skills that maybe of use to as well. The first is writing. Now I know that this is a skill that is quite common in today’s society, but I write what I see. I have row upon row of books, most dating back to my childhood, where I have meticulously recorded all that I have observed of the Lord’s house my mother served in. There are many family skeleton’s hidden among those pages. I do not write servant gossip, but the truth as I have observed it, although I will admit at times that gossip has urged me to discover the truth.
My last skill is my ability to be invisible. Now please, don’t through my letter away believing I lie. When I say invisible I do not mean that hocus pocus vanish into thin air nonsense, I just have no other word to describe it. I can be in a room and just blend in. I am there, people can see me if they choose to do so, but most don’t. I am a quiet girl, people either forget I am there, or think a kitchen maid is to brainless to understand. It is in this way I have learned and recorded my most accurate observing.
I do not know if either of these skills can be of use to you, but surely at the very least you will need someone to cook and clean for your group as you go about important business. I pray that you will honestly consider my application. My dear mum passed away a month ago, severing all ties I have to this place. Please help a poor kitchen maid to be a part of something as important as serving her Majesty in the name of progress.

Sincerely,
Maggie Farwine

http://i177.photobucket.com/albums/w219/schellikins/Maggie.jpg

I hope I did this right, let me know if I need to change anything.

[Haylifer]

Wings.. eheh.. well sir, the Japanese Empire have always been ahead on technology. *taps nose*

EDIT: My parents have decided we're changing ISPs. So I won't be able to get on as much while we're sorting it out. I'm not dropping out though, I'll just have to get on the college computers and thus be slightly less active :p

[Gerbera]

(( We don't have to have a picture now, do we?! I really suck at drawing humans ...
But maybe it helps when I saw that I imagined my character to look a little like the actor John C. Reilly (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000604/) ...
Maybe I can do something with a picture of him so it looks like a sketch, would that be allowed? ))

[~LadyAshe~]

Was it physics?? It was whatever Newton was doing, which I believe was physics..Ahh, brain hurts!! That was in Renassiance era right *scratches head*

[jhd1189]

Gerbera- As far as I know, you don't *need* a picture at all--although I believe HP has offered to make pictures for some of the characters.

LadyAshe- Yes, Newton worked with physics--but at this point in history, physics was a somewhat unexplored territory, and scientists who had any real grasp of it--much less people with enough mastery of it to act as teachers--were incredibly rare. Don't worry; we're not beating anyone over the head with the Historical Accuracy Stick. We're just having a little fun with the other characters before the actual story gets started. :D

[devoshka]

((pssst HP i sent you a PM asking a question in regards to my app....I know you are busy and must have tons..but in case it got lost in the shuffle :D Oh and please delete this :P))

[HystericalParoxysm]

((Yeah, as jhd said, don't worry too much about the pic right now. Once we get under way and get a better idea of who everyone's character is, I'll draw character pics. I hope to have ones for Prism and York finished by the time we get started... York is almost nearing done... (cropped so you can't see the unfinished parts)

http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070614080901-alchemist2.jpg

...))

[~LadyAshe~]

Do you think you can fix mine if Prue gets chosen?! (picture I mean).

[cherryp3]

((Um... I don't need anything drawn, but is it alright if I change my picture? I'm sorry-- but I found one that suits him much better... ))

[devoshka]

Ok I've updated with my application here (http://forums.sims2community.com/showpost.php?p=905696&postcount=19) . I hope it's good enough....*bites nails*

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

Mr. Jack Prism
112B Chesterton St.
London, England

Jackson D. Foster
505 Clifton St.
London, England


Mister J. Prism,

I am writing on account of your advert which I found nailed up in a small pub I frequent on occasion. Naturally I was rather suspicious of your offer at first, in view that it was in a pub, and that the pub was not one of particular respectability nor of quality. However, over the last week I have seen your flyer throughout the city, and have deemed it to be legitimate. Forgive me, but I could not help but have been skeptical for your advert is rather vague and has few specifics. Yet of course, the mystery is part of your expedition’s intrigue.

I work at Collins’ and Foster’s Glue. It’s a rather small company that produces the absolute finest quality glue, or at least as high quality as glue gets, which is admittedly not too much. My father is the man who originally started up and managed the business with my uncle, but after his recent death his position was handed over to my cousin. I have few grievances with this arrangement, as I never have been the type to lead easily. My official title is treasurer, which was perhaps too optimistic a job for my cousin to have created, considering the amount of business we catch. Nevertheless, it’s quite a good trade – fish glue, rubber glue, bones…

As part of my duties are to search out the various fishmongers, rubber traders, and other businesses with products that could be used in glue, I have a large set of the latest and most correct maps as well as an older collection from the family. I know my way around England well, which I suppose could be of use to this mysterious and ambitious endeavor of yours. I am also partially familiar with the Mediterranean. I unintentionally stowed away on a ship of a rival glue company some time last year after a meeting with their company’s manager of small importance; upon leaving I accidentally concussed myself after tripping down a hatch, and woke up to find I was passing by France and on my way to the Algiers. I ended up having a month to quietly promote my company along the coastal cities (though I made sure this was not apparent to the livid captain), and in that way have become familiar with the port cities of several countries of the Mediterranean.

I tell you this, for I will have to be perfectly frank. I am in rather a hurry to go on an expedition as such, for I have as of recent had a need for haste in leaving this particular area of London. There are several people in the area who do not understand our glue, though the strongest we have tested, cannot be used for holding together pieces of heavy machinery. While such people are settling the matter in court proceedings, some feel the need for personal revenge to their ailments. As I am the one to have searched out people willing to invest in our glue, many have taken issue with me personally, and it has been suggested by my uncle that I try to leave London for a while as long as the trial is still being played out. I feel as though I could have use in your expedition, and feel this would be personally gratifying as well as helpful to you. I thank you for your time, and hope you hold me in consideration.


Godspeed,

http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a60/SpacemanHPSpiff/DurinJacksonsignature.jpg



Post Script - I have inclosed a portrait of me for your purposes.




http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a60/SpacemanHPSpiff/DurinJacksonsmallerlove.jpg (http://i9.photobucket.com/albums/a60/SpacemanHPSpiff/DurinJacksonlove.jpg)

[HystericalParoxysm]

((Okay guys. Looks like everyone has some great characters and we've got a good crew. I'm going to post up the introduction to the first bit when I get up. If you haven't already, you can add your characters to the S2C RP Database: http://www.sims2wiki.info/wiki.php?title=S2CRPCharacters ... you'll need to register a separate wiki username, and copy the template on the M page that I did for Merun to make your own.

Especially because we're doing this in letter format, having a description of your character there (whether or not you have a picture) will be helpful as everyone gets to know one another. And yes, of course, you can change pics.

Yay, this is gonna be fun!))

[cherryp3]

((Thank you HP! : D

*runs off to change picture* Can't wait for this to get started...))

[jhd1189]

((I've added Lord Mentmore to the character database. I'll create a picture of him at some point, hopefully, but until then you'll all have to use your imaginations. :P

I wasn't sure whether to post him under M for Montgomery (or Mentmore) or L for Lord, so I just picked L because the page was empty and looked lonely.))

[Julieth]

((Okay, I added Edwina, but I don't think I did it right...there's no border around her entry. If somebody could either fix it or tell me what to do, I'd be quite happy.))

[jhd1189]

((I fixed it up as best as I could... you're still missing several important bits of data though, so you might want to go ahead and add those at some point.))

[HystericalParoxysm]

Jack rapped his knuckles on the heavy wood exterior door of York's laboratory, glancing down at his pocket watch as he adjusted the leather case under his right arm.

From inside the laboratory, he heard a clatter of something falling to the floor... then swearing... and then several smaller crashes. A long string of more swearing got louder, then stopped, and the door swung open.

York's hair stood out at all angles, his glasses askew on his face. Something... green, dripped from the bottom of his apron. He was breathing hard, and he glared at Jack as a few tendrils of smoke curled up from behind him.

"Err, pardon, Mr. York, but I believe you may be on fire," Jack said, spinning his finger in the air to indicate that York should turn around.

"Again?" Exasperated, York glanced over his shoulder, turning like a dog chasing its tail trying to see his own back. A small orange flame smoldered toward the middle of York's back, slowly consuming the heavy fabric of his stained "white" coat. Jack reached out and smacked at York's coat with his leather case, extinguishing the flame.

"Fourth time this week," York explained, straightening his glasses and coughing a bit. He stepped back from the doorway to let Jack inside. "I've been experimenting with some particularly volatile compounds lately and I just can't get the formulation stable!"

York turned back to look at Jack, who stood at the doorway clutching his leather case. "Wait, why are you here?"

Jack blinked. "We had a meeting arranged. I said I would meet you here at noon today to make sure we had everything in order for the applicants."

York furrowed his thick eyebrows at Jack, thinking hard. "And I believe I said that you could take care of it and that I didn't want to be bothered."

"Well, you are being bothered, Mr. York, as I won't be doing this alone. You have indispensible knowledge about it that will assist me, and the more assistance I have, the sooner I will be done with this dirty business!" Jack shook his case at York.

York merely smirked, stepping around a table covered with shallow metal trays filled with different colours and viscosities of liquid. He walked to an area at the back of the lab, next to a writing desk piled high with shifting towers of papers, and sat in his old leather chair, well worn and patched and bleeding stuffing at the bottom edge of the cushion.

He gestured for Jack to sit in the chair opposite him, rickety and wooden and currently containing a device that may or may not have been powered by ants. Jack gingerly lifted the glass domed device and placed it on the floor nearby, then sat. He leveled York with a serious stare and opened the leather case, removing a sheaf of papers.

"I've decided to invite them all on the expedition," Jack stated simply.

York blinked in surprise. "All of them? Even the child?"

Jack shrugged. "With Mentmore's funding we should be able to cover wages and expenses for everyone, and the more minds and bodies we have on the problem, perhaps the faster it will be solved."

York shook his head slowly but stayed silent. He began rummaging in his pockets. "I suppose that's your decision, Mr. Prism." Finding a stub of a cigar, he lit it and puffed on it quietly.

"I've already sent letters... and a messenger to that one... unsavoury fellow."

"Very well. When do we get under way?"

"In one week's time, noon next Monday... they are to meet with us here."

"Here?! I can't have them all in here. They'll touch my things! A child in my lab? No, no! Out of the question!" York gestured wildly with his cigar, puffing smoke from beneath his moustache.

"We'll push the tables together there, and shift those shelves and have room for everyone. Besides, it won't be for long. We'll be setting off soon enough."

York glowered, hunching into his chair. "I don't like the idea one bit."

"Where else do you propose I put them? I haven't room for it, and it's not like we're part of any reputable establishment."

York smirked. "But you are, Mr. Prism. You are. The Royal Society for the Advancement of Science is a reputable establishment, and as the Shepherd you are entitled to all of the rights and privledges of any member of the Society, and more."

"And, what, I should just walk into their offices, say, 'Hello there, I'm the Shepherd... you know, from the secret inner circle? Yes, can I have a room for the day please? Large one, thank you.'? I'm sure that'd go over well."

York chuckled. "Well, of course not. But..." He turned, leaning over and taking a sheet of paper from one of the piles on the desk. He turned it over, deemed it unnecessary, and found an inkwell and pen. On the empty side of the page, he quickly scrawled a symbol. He handed the paper to Jack. "Show them this. They'll know what it means."

Jack squinted at York curiously, looking down at the paper. "What does this mean?"

"It's your pass inside."

http://www.modyourpanties.com/hosting/070618052354-steamgear.jpg

((All right everyone! Sorry for a bit of a delay - been a bit of a rough weekend for me.

Your characters have all recieved correspondence from Mr. Prism inviting you to join him at York's laboratory. You have been issued a small amount of money to pay for your trip there, and been advised to pack lightly, but to bring clothing suitable for travel. You may not be returning for some time, so remember to tie up all your personal affairs. Those who are a bit far away may have to find some rush passage to make it there in time - perhaps aboard a dirigible.

It is now the following Monday morning, the day everyone is set to meet - your characters will be in town, readying themselves for the meeting with Mr. Prism. You should take at least your first few posts to explore your character and their feelings getting ready for this new adventure. You can give a little more back story and stuff for your characters and kind of get into the feeling of them before interacting with others. When you're ready, begin making your way to York's laboratory on the edge of town.

It is a wood building in the middle of a field, in an area on the outskirts of town devoted mostly to tanneries and fish processing. Those buildings are packed tightly together, creating an awful stink, but York's lab is isolated, and most of the trees on the small piece of property appear to have been burnt, or have otherwise lost their leaves. It is somewhat dilapidated, and there are several unlabeled metal drums sitting beside the front door. On that door is a note which will direct you instead down several blocks to a more official building. You will likely want to make the trip on foot, as it's not far. The door to the laboratory is locked, and if you chose to knock, there would be no answer or sound from within.

You will then begin to make your way toward the Royal Society's offices. You will likely run into other applicants along the way as you arrive at York's lab (assuming you do so on time), and can begin interacting with one another at that point.

Remember, we're using 3rd person perspective ("Jack said..." rather than "I said...") and we have a 3 post limit per day. Also, if you are interacting with someone else, please bold their character's name in the text, but please only bold it the first time it shows, not every time. If you have any questions or need a bit of guidance let me know - and have fun!))

[Lethe_s]

Two figures ran in the heavy after-work traffic rush, dodging billowing skirts and sprinting in between carts, scaring horses along the way.

The first figure was a boy, face stained in soot, hair thick with clumps of dirt and a wide grin on his face. He laughed as he pushed aside a group of seamstresses going home, making them squeal and curse. He giggled as he jumped over the cane of an old man, who tried to make him stop by tripping him up and yelled "Keep up you!" to the figure following him.

The second figure was, presumably, a girl. She wore a makeshift dress, made out of heavy rags, and a greenish shawl from which a few blonde tendrils peeked. She breathed heavily as she tried to keep up with the cackling boy. She dared a glance behind her and smiled to herself. Her pursuer was losing ground, he was nearly half a furlong away now, and she could only faintly hear his shoutings of "Stop! Thieves! The little rats got at me again!"

As she looked forward, the back of the boy was suddenly right in front of her. She shrieked, skidded and ran into him. He pulled her up and hissed:"Rozzers!" Ahead, two policemen were slowly coming their way, tipping their hats to passersby and twirling their batons. Behind them, the shouts of the baker's boy grew louder again. The boy stared at his companion. She frantically looked round and in an instant found her escape.

"They haven't seen us!" she whispered and pulled the boy into an alley by the back of his shirt. The little street was narrow and smelled heavily of urine. The girl shuffled over the unhardened floor, stepping over debris and what she hoped was a sleeping man, dragging the boy after her. "Do you even know where we are?" he wailed, "If it's a dead end we're trapped!"

He was right, of course, she thought to herself. By the sound of it, the baker's boy had met the rozzers and was making his complaint. "Of course I know where we are" she said dismissively, walking resolutely and flicking her eyes left and right, looking for a way out. There was always an alley splitting off, or a pipe, or a door, or *something*.

"Come on come on" she hissed under her breath, as she heard the rozzers starting down the alley. And then she saw it, a broken window halfway up the wall. It was small, and wouldn't fit big bulky men with batons. She pointed up silently. The boy routinely put his hands together to give her a lift up.

She scrambled head first through the window, cutting her hand on the frame, and fell into pitch blackness. She inhaled sharply, clutching her hand, and tried not to scream as something hairy and wet slid past her.

"Sarah!" The boy was still outside, scrabbling to get in. She got unsteadily to her feet and, finding his hand on the window frame, pulled him in. "Jeez, what took you" the boy started, but he was broken off by a hand thrust over his mouth. The children sat there, in the dank and warm darkness, waiting for the policemen to walk past.

After what seemed like an eternity, the grumbling sound of men talking faded away, and Sarah got up and peeked through the window. "All clear" she said, and the two of them climbed outside.

As they made their way through the city in the dimmening light, the boy opened his jacket and took out his prize loot for the night: a flaky pastry filled with meat. "You know, they say these are made of dead gegors and rats." He grinned and bit it. "Don't be gross, Jack" the girl said "Beggar meat wouldn't be worth a ha'penny for an ounce."

"But the rats are good eatin'" the boy chuckled, and stopped in the flickering amber streetlight. "This is your stop, m'lady" he said. He looked up at the large, looming building and shivered. In the chapel next to it, a mad, high-pitched bell started clanging. "Just in time" Sarah said, "when they leave mass I can sneak in with the rest of 'em."

Jack made a face. "They'll beat you anyway. Don't know why you keep up with it. You can come with me, you know. We have food, and we can walk up to the harbor and watch the sailors fight." Sarah sighed and looked at the massive stone building. Its small, barred windows made it look like a prison, which, in fact, it had been at some point. It still had the royal crest above the door and a latin phrase. One of the older girls had told her it meant 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here'. Sarah, who had never learnt latin, was inclined to believe her.

"I'll take a warm kife over a cold piece of stone anyday, Jack. Freedom isn't worth that much." she said. The boy looked at her wearily. "Have it your way" he whispered, and ran off. Sarah hid around a corner, waiting for the throng of children to leave chapel.

[cherryp3]

((OOC: Picture changed. I'll have my post up in one second.))

[Haylifer]

Tap tap tap.

A young street urchin stood outside Apartment 5-2-1. He'd been collared off the streets of Tokyo for pickpocketing, but managed to smart-talk his way out of having his hands chopped off by the furious police man. Thank the gods, a passing post-man had assured the sergeant that he would find the boy suitable work to keep him occupied. Handing him dozens of packages, letters and postcards, he had sent the urchin scurrying off to deliver them across the vast city. His current task was to deliver a letter written in English. He had hardly learnt basic hiragana and katakana of the Japanese alphabets - let alone a different language entirely. Having asked several wise, wealthy and snobby-looking men and women to translate the address, he had finally learnt the name and location of this letters addressee. Mr. Steel-san. He lived in a dismal little apartment, close to the Emperors palace. And now the boy had neared the place, he discovered that it reeked of some chemical. Almost like the rice-wine spirit sake, although the boy had only smelt sake when drunken men left their tea-houses and came to beat the boy for further entertainment when the Geishas failed to amuse them.

Inside Apartment 5-2-1, Elijah lay spread-eagle on the tatami mat, his head fogged up with chloroform. He vaguely wondered what he was doing here in Japan - and where the devil was his assist? He had sent the boy out nearly a week ago to post a letter back to England, and the squire still hadn't returned! Elijah groaned, trying once again to push himself up into a more comfortable position. He had retrieved the documents Matsukata-sama required yesterday, and was now dismissed from his services - not without a hefty wad of Yen in one pocket and a curious deep blue glass bottle in the other. And how did he come to inhale chloroform? Ah - it was inside the bottle. He had uncorked it, and soon after collapsed. No time to ponder why that was now, an important letter was expected. He pulled his numb body over to the dresser, and faced his reflection in the dusty, cracked mirror. That darn hair, short yet long enough to fall in front of his eyes in a most annoying manner. It was a dark blonde colour too, not the sharp black of the Japanese around here. In the short time he had been here, it had gained him many glances of fear or suspicion whilst walking the streets of Tokyo. He also had a peculiar look to him. He wasn't bad-looking at all - on the contrary, he was handsomely striking with those piercing blue eyes. But his face seemed too experienced, too wise for one of a mere twenty-six years. Perhaps it was the glint of courage and adventure in his eyes. Nevertheless, he looked quite groggy today, after that surprise fix of anaesthetic. Nothing a sharp inject of caffeine couldn't fix. Now, if only he could find the coffee..

Tap tap tap.

Forcing himself up on his feet, Elijah stumbled towards the door. He cursed the visitor, quietly. Why on Earth would somebody visit at this hour of the morning? He pushed back the strands of hair that hung in front of his face, and opened the door to find a small, filthy urchin. The boy looked no older than eleven, and held a letter in one hand, presumably addressed to Elijah. The boy bowed deeply, muttering an "ohayo gozaimasu"

"Good morning to you too, boy. That letter - is it for me?"
"Hai" The boy bowed again, this time holding the letter out at arms length. Elijah took the letter from his grubby hands, brushing the dirt off the envelope and opening it. He turned away from the grubby ragamuffin in the doorway and read the letter three times over. When he was eventually done, he turned back to the boy.
"Boy, what's your name?"
"Ryu" he stuttered in reply.
"Ryu-chan, want to earn yourself some extra pocket money?" Ryu looked at him eagerly. He had clearly never been given pocket money before, nor understood what it was - but the word 'money' stood out like a flag. Elijah frowned. Damned assist disappearing like that. I suppose I have no choice in this. "I need you to head down to the British Embassy here and inform them of my departure. Ask to pass this message on to a man named Featherstone" - he handed Ryu a slip of paper -"Then I must have an airship booking immediately to London. Here, take this and get me a ticket. And hurry, boy! I don't have all the time in the world!" He shooed the boy away, thrusting a wad of paper money into his hands.

Once Ryu had departed, Elijah gave the apartment a once-over for his posessions. He pulled up the mat and patted the floor for the loose floorboard. On finding it, he pulled it up and removed a brass pistol, an elaborate dagger made of some bluish metal and a string of multicoloured beads. He then crossed the room to the kitchen sink. With a single easy tug, he pulled the sink from its rotting frame and from the gaping hole, removed yet another set of daggers, a small leather bag, three more pistols and a strange pair of green-glass goggles. He strapped his various weapons and accessories to his person, with daggers in his boots, guns secured to his belt and even more hidden elsewhere. Finally, he opened a dusty cabinet and removed a black trilby hat and a bottle of absinthe. Elijah then took to pacing the floor, waiting for Ryu to return.

[cherryp3]

He didn’t care how much his father thought he needed this job. He didn’t care how much it ended up paying. He didn’t care that it would be a rewarding experience in the end. The blasted train was hot, and all Bon-Hwa knew was that he wanted off the bloody thing. Babies wailed in the arms of their mothers, not the soft, gurgling fuss, but the piercing screeches that made you want to take a gun to your head. This case applied particularly to the twins just beside him. They seemed to be in a contest with one another, their faces painted with a scarlet flush spawn from their consistent screams. When one let out a cry, the other one shrieked ever louder deepening that red until they looked like baby dolls whose heads were replaced with radishes. I’m going to kill myself before this train ride is over.

Bon-Hwa released a heavy sigh. His father insisted that he travel within the commoners section, and bought the second cheapest ticket he could find. ‘This is for you, son! To better your view on the people who mean so much to our work!’ Dak-Ho had cried, beaming. This did absolutely nothing to ‘better his view’ on the common folk. In fact, it made it much, much worse. He would give anything to be with his mother instead of on this stuffy train, where he had nothing to do but sit there listening to the symphony of screeching babes whose mothers did nothing to try to shut them up but bounce them a little in their arms.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice beside him called his attention. He looked up at the young woman with the twins for the first time. She had the appearance of someone around his age, with soft features and messy brown hair that managed to be charming around her kind face. “Could you reach in my bag and hand me a bottle?” She had a thick accent, perhaps French? Bon-Hwa glanced around at his feet, spotting a large, tattered brown bag nestled just under the seat. He dug around in the bag for a few seconds, and withdrew a slightly warm bottle.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “I’m sorry. My hands are just kind of full, as you can see.” She let out a light chuckle as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

As he handed the young woman the bottle, he cocked a brow and questioned, “Are these two yours?”

The girl laughed again, “No, no. These are my nieces. I have to keep up with them for my brother while he’s out of town. I see a lot of them,” she affectionately pinched one of the girl’s cheeks, “he’s a very busy man, isn’t he Layce?” The little girl just gurgled as she happily sucked on the bottle.

Bon-Hwa’s only response was to provide a curt nod. He wasn’t in to conversations with strangers. Their lives meant nothing to him, his life meant nothing to them. He glanced out the window. They were traveling through what appeared to be a dilapidated sector of the city. The edifices here stared with broken eyes upon the train, and some crumbled in on themselves—defeated. Many of the street lamps were rusted to the bone, some even distorted so far as to crumple over in a submissive stance. He didn’t like that the train was slowing in this area.

“Well, this is my stop,” the girl smiled, rising. She halted for a moment, and looked back with confusion at Bon-Hwa, “Are…you not coming?” Bon-Hwa wearily eyed the look of concern dancing in her features. He shook his head. “Oh. I see,” she muttered, her eyes held a strange new look, something of…sympathy? “Well..g-good luck!” Bon-Hwa watched with a bewildered expression stapled to his face. Why had the girl eyed him with distress as she had? He watched dejectedly as nearly all of the remaining riders began to clear out of the cart. Again, he groaned, burdened by the newfound distrust in his final destination.

To calm the nerves blossoming in his chest, Bon-Hwa rummaged about in his bag and retrieved a small, square box. He flicked the top open and eased out a hand rolled cigarette, placing the soothing beast to his lips. At the caress of the smoke, an instant comfort encased him and he felt a great deal more relaxed. He allowed his head to fall back against the leather of the seat and his eyes wandered across the landscape. He’d never seen so many street urchins scrambling about in one place. They were everywhere, like insects coating a discarded sugar lump. He noted the further the train scavenged, the more derelict the place looked. He wrinkled his nose disapprovingly at a horrid stench. Hurriedly, he puffed a breath of smoke, hoping to overcome the reek of fish melting across this area.

The train once again began to slow, and Bon-Hwa stood alert. This was the last stop for the train, and evidentially the very place he was meant to stop. As the conductor let out a final call, Bon-Hwa gathered his things and furrowed his brow. He had a bad feeling about all this that he couldn't shake.

[jhd1189]

The cramped little buggy made its way deftly through the streets, moving expertly around peddlers and clusters of pedestrians without losing speed. The driver very clearly new what he was doing, and his passenger was content to sit quietly in the cabin, watching the scenery fly past. After a few more sharp turns, the buggy lurched to a shuddering halt.

"That's about as far as I can take yer, guv," the driver declared. "Yer'll 'ave ter walk the rest."

"That's fine," the passenger replied after a moment, "I can manage."

"Whatever yer say, guv." The driver stepped down from his seat and walked to the side of the buggy. He opened the passenger door and a tall, powerful looking gentleman stepped out. The man had a full mane of silvery hair, and appeared to be getting on in years.

"There yer go, Mr. Mantlemoore."

Lord Mentmore cringed at the apparent slaughter of his name, but said nothing. "Thank you, Jasper," he responded, starting his short trek down the crowded boulevard.

"Oi! Me name's Jarvis, guv." He looked visibly offended, and seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Mine's Mentmore," the gentleman shrugged, continuing to walk. He rounded a corner, and found himself suddenly in the middle of a very crowded city street. People were everywhere, flowing across the cobblestones and surging powerfully onto the sidewalks. The few carriages foolish enough to enter the street were crawling along slowly, islands of slothfulness amidst the crowded sea of humanity.

This must be why the driver wouldn't take me any further, Mentmore mused. He hurried quickly down the road, diving headfirst into the swarming crowds. Mentmore enjoyed walking through the crowded London streets--it reminded him of his time in Bombay. The people in India very rarely bothered hiring a carriage: it was expensive, and uncomfortable to boot. Almost everyone preferred walking in the open air and taking in the sights and scents that can only be found on the Indian landscape.

A noisy merchant jarred Mentmore from his thoughts. "Hot-crossed buns! Get 'em while they're fresh!" A begger emerged from the shadows, jangling his tin cup loudly, and an angry governess chased after a filthy looking chimney sweep who was giggling wildly. Mentmore stepped expertly around a street-performer and his dancing monkey, all the while taking note of the city's varied inhabitants.

Within another minute or so, Mentmore slowed his pace and came to a stop. Before him loomed a heavy stone building, decorated with marble filigree that desperately needed a good scrubbing. He paused before the building's stairs, cooly observing the crowds bustling back and forth. After a long moment of expectant observation, a bespectacled, nearly bald man emerged from the crowd. His face had turned a deep shade of crimson, and he was panting slightly.

"Ah... Geoffrey! Punctual as always, I see." Mentmore made no attempt to hide his mirthful amusement at the man's sudden appearance.

His already flushed face reddened further, creating a strange combination of breathlessness and sheepishness. "And I--puff--see that you--wheeze--are as kind and understanding as ever," he managed between breaths.

Mentmore chuckled at Geoffrey's response. "A rapier wit indeed, my friend. Now... all friendly exchanges aside, I suppose you're wondering why I've asked you here."

An eyebrow lifted behind Geoffrey's glasses. "Another fool's errand, I suppose." Mentmore coughed in surprise. "But then again, I've learned it's best not to ask questions."

"Not that it's any of your business anyway," he barked gruffly. "All you have to do is manage my funds." He paused, and his expression became thoughtful. "Although in this case, I doubt I'd be able to answer any of your questions anyway..."

[skylark]

If anyone had looked into the office they would have thought that they gazed upon a painting. Sitting in the leather armchair at a large hardwood desk was a rather portly man dressed in suitable office attire. His left hand held a cigar - the smoke rising from it the only indication that there was movement in the room. His right hand was upon an envelope as if it had just pushed it accross the desk. Sitting rigidly in a wooden chair opposite the desk was a woman. She was a wraith of a figure, pale and small - her neatly starched dress and jacket seeming to accentuate her slightness even more. Her tawny brown hair was pulled back into a sensible bun, except for a couple of stubborn strands. And she was staring at the envelope as if it were about to devour her very soul.

A sigh echoed through the office as the portly man stirred. Raising his cigar to his lips he drew in a breathe before gruffly adressing the woman whilst exhaling smoke. "Well don't just sit there staring at it. It's not going to bite you Dr. Whitmore."

The woman started at the words and then began to inspect her hands, neatly folded in her lap. "Sir, have I done something wrong?" her thin, pale voice asked, "Is that why you are sending me away?"

"Nonsense, Dr. Whitmore! We wouldn't be sending you at all if that were the case," he bellowed.

Dr. Whitmore looked exasperated. "But sir, why? I thought I was one of your best researchers?"

The man held his forehead and started explaining as if to a child, "No Dr. Whitmore. You are possibly our best researcher. You have an uncanny knack for discovereing when something is a genuine case or when it's merely a hoax. And that is a skill which is far more useful out on the field than in an office. This way, we get you used to fieldwork before throwing you in the deep end. That, and of course you will be reporting to us if you find anything of particular interest to our organization."

"B-but what of my other re-research! I need sub-subjects, I n-need...," Dr. Whitmore started stammering.

"Nothing that you cannot find out there," interrupted the man. "I am certain that everything you require can be found during your journey. You can't pass up the oppertunity for adventure - don't you want excitement? At worst, you can use yourself as a subject - all the greats did. Look at Pasteur!"

But I already am, thought Dr. Whitmore to herself. And no, she didn't want adventure. She just wanted her nice quiet desk with her nice quiet paperwork.

He was wishing her well now, waving the envelope at her. And if that wasn't enough he was using a 'this discussion is over' voice.

Dr. Whitmore walked out of the office in a daze, clutching the envelope to her chest as if her very life depended on it. She wouldn't have been able to remember the walk back to her desk if she had tried. Blindly she started collecting her things together. How would she carry it all - there was little enough room in her doctor's bag. She chose the most important items - her notebook of results, the latest draft of a paper and a photograph, old and fading. She paused as she was about to put it on her bag and stared at it. The yellow tones showed six young girls, all very lively and exuberant - if you stretched your imagination you could believe that one of the laughing ones was Dr. Whitmore when she was younger.

The trance ended and reality came crashing back in. She was being sent on an adventure, she was leaving safety and she had no choice. Clicking the clasp of her doctor's bag shut she took what seemed to be endless corridors auntil she left the building. It was as if the crush of people on the street and the cacophony were trying to assault her.

Taking a deep breathe she started walking to where she may find transport home - she had to pack.

[Lethe_s]

The dormitory was alive with the twittering of young girls. Sarah quietly made her way through the large room, daintily stepping over piles of laundry and maneuvering round small groups of bustling children. Her bed was all the way at the end of the hall, right under the sloping edge of the roof. The plaster on the back wall had long gone, and the bare bricks were moist all year through, but the little corner bed gave Sarah more privacy than any other place in this musty attic.

"You weren't in mass," an accusing voice said, as she reached her cot. The girl on the bed next to her didn't look up from her book as she said it. "You weren't in class either, or in laundry duty."
"Don't be silly, Harriet, of course I was," Sarah replied dismissively, "You just didn't see me. You know how it is, working hard, paying attention in class, reading books upside down."
Sarah pulled back the covers of her bed and pealed off several layers of clothing as the now bright-red Harriet turned her book over. "You 're trouble, Sarah Stibbons." Harriet said, "You think you're so smart, but you're meant for the slums, just like those rat-arsed brothers of yours."
Sarah shot her a searing glance and opened her mouth to reply something nasty, when she heard loud whispers. It was the task of whoever was youngest in the dorm to sleep in the bed right next to the door and keep a lookout at all times. The current crow was a curly-haired and permanently scared looking kid that Sarah could never remember the name of. She did, however, do her job admirably, and the warning whispers of "Sister Magdalen!" rolled through the hall.

Within seconds, Sarah had jumped up and stood next to her bed. She kicked the wall at a point right next to the iron bedpost, three inches above the floor. A rotten brick fell out, revealing a black space that was soon stuffed with the parcel she had carried in the folds of her clothing. The moment Sister Magdalen entered the dormitory, Sarah had replaced the brick and stood to attention with the rest of the girls.

Sister Magdalen was a vast matron of a woman, whose posture and demeanor instilled fear in the hearts of all that had the misfortune of being in her care. She stomped through the dormitory, looking left and right at the rows of beds and shouting commands at girls to pick up their laundry. When she reached the end of the hall, she turned her iron glare to Sarah, who couldn't help but swallow hard. "You. Come with me."
"Yes ma'm" Sarah softly replied. She took a deep breath and followed the bulking black mass that was Sister Magdalen, taking care to keep her head up and look absolutely unaffected under the stares of several dozen girls and the malevolent grin of Harriet.

Sarah followed the little dangly light of Sister Magdalen's lamp down several flights of stairs and through the halls that led to the Sanctuary. This was where the 'grownups' slept and worked, and children were kept out by several locked doors and a few old barred gates, leftovers from the building's previous occupation. Sister Magdalen stopped in front of a carved wooden door, knocked two times and then silently ushered the child in.

"Miss Stibbons, do take a seat." A priest sat behind the single desk that occupied the room. He pointed to a simple wooden chair, adorned with an old cushion, in front of the desk. Sarah put on her most innocent face and carefully sat down. She quite liked father MacKenzie, who was much younger than the other caretakers. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, with pepper-and-salt coloured hair and tufts of fur on his cheeks that never seemed to grow into a full beard. He was considered different, strange, or even radical by his colleagues, because he actually seemed to like children and wanted to make these orphans part of Society. He'd spoken to Sarah many times, in a soft voice, usually with a hurt look on his face. He spoke of Duty, and the Purity of the Soul, and Sarah knew exactly where all those capitals went by the way he said it. This time he looked cheerful, and brandished a piece of paper.

"I have good news for you, Miss Stibbons." he said "It seems the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science has deigned you worthy for employment!" Sarah blinked. She'd seen the flyer, with it's exclamation marks and promises of far-away places, and had taken it with her to show the priest on one of their talks about her Future. She hadn't actually thought he'd go through with it, though.

"You are leaving tomorrow and will be gone for quite a while. I suggest you pack up your belongings before bed. Sister Dymphna will wake you early tomorrow to scrub you down and send you on your way. I have also asked her to find you some, um, Proper Clothes. We must make sure that you make a good impression with the Royal Society, as you will be representing our establishment there." He paused and looked at gritty, tattered child in front of him. He then passed her a note. "You're expected at this address. I'm afraid it's quite on the other side of town, so I have arranged a transport for you with the laundry carrier."
Sarah sat, still blinking. "I Believe in you, child" he said, softly, "You have strayed from the Path many times, but you are Bright and have a Future if you try hard enough. Please don't let these people down." The priest got up and gently nudged her towards the door, where Sister Magdalen waited. She gave her a gruff nod and walked off down the hall, skirts rustling, while the child ran to keep up.

Back in the dormitory, Sarah surveyed her personal belongings by the light of the single stump of candle Sister Magdalen had lit for her. The rough linen bag she'd been given was altogether too big. Sarah carefully folded her shawl and put it in, then paused. She took off the patched skirt she was wearing and put that in. She pulled three pairs of socks from her feet, leaving only two on, and stuffed them in the bag. She then reached into the depths of her baggy shirt and fished out a small pen knife and a medallion, that she hid in the folds of her shawl.

As an afterthought, she kicked the brick next to her bed and felt inside for her parcel. All she found was the rag she'd wrapped it in. She glanced to her left, where a smug looking Harriet was pretending to sleep. "Oh good" Sarah said to herself in a loud whisper "Looks like the mice got it. That'll teach the bastards." She crawled into bed and smiled at Harriet, who was now staring at her. "They put dead beggars in that meat" she told the frightened girl sagely, "The diseases those guys carry will kill anything, including the vermin in this place." Sarah smiled to herself and lay down, disregarding Harriet, who seemed to slowly turn green. In the dying light of the candle, she stared up at the rafters disappearing into the darkness, and thought about the Future.

[Julieth]

Edwina sat absentmindedly on the edge of the cliff, dangling her legs like a child. She stared out over the restless waters of the ocean, enjoying the cold spray on her face. She had always loved the town of Cherbourg.
There was a sound behind her, and she turned. A young boy stood there, uneasy, hesitant. Edwina stood. She could feel him taking her in: The breeches she wore instead of a dress, the light brown hair that tumbled free from it's bun to fall over her left eye, the thick boots on her feet. The scars on her hands and cheek.
"Oui?" She prompted him.
"Pardon, madame, mais...vous etes Madamoiselle Artois?" The boy stuttered. Edwina nodded.
"J'ai une lettre por vous, madamoiselle." He held out a clean white envelope in both hands. Edwina took it without comment, scanning the adress. It appeared to be a response to her inquiry about a job at the Royal Society for the Advancement of Science. She noticed that the boy was still standing there with an outstretched hand, sighed, and gave him a penny. He scampered off across the field to parts unknown.
Opening the letter, Edwina found that she'd been invited to a meeting, presumably to discuss her employment. It was to be held in a laboratory outside London. This had been a job she'd been looking forward to, and she was pleased that the letter had reached her in time.
The wind whipped around her as she strode back towards the cottage that she called home. There was much to do before she left, and though the wind was favorable, it could change at any moment.

((OOC:I think the french is pretty self evident, so I'm not going to translate. Cherbourg is a town on the northern coast of France, chosen because it's one of the closest to England.))

[Gerbera]

((Does our initial post have to have any certain length?

Psst, Julieth, sorry, but some of the french is wrong :anime: ))

[Julieth]

((Oh no, damn! I am really out of practice..I probably conjugated something wrong, huh?))

[Gerbera]

((A little, and some misspelling, as far as I can tell ^^))

---end of spam---

[Lethe_s]

The wheels skidded a little as the cart came to a halt. "There ya go, lass" the driver said to the girl next to him. "This is about as far round as I'm willing to go." Sarah picked up her satchel and jumped onto the wet cobbles. She turned round to say goodbye, but the man had already started up his oxen and moved slowly away, leaving a trail of heavy laundry scent behind, that hung still in the dead air.

As the sound of the cart faded away , Sarah suddenly felt very, very small. This part of the city was unfamiliar. Tall factory buildings loomed up around her, and she could hardly see ten feet ahead through the London Particular, the thick fog that rose up from the Thames and covered everything like a soft blanket, muffling all sound. The place looked deserted, and smelled like a cesspit. She opened her bag, pulled out her shawl and draped it over her face to block out the stench. She then looked down at the crumpled note in her mittened hand and set off into the mist.

She arrived at the wrought iron gate when the first factory bells started clanging, calling the workers. Sarah slowly pushed it open, expecting horrible creaky noises and rabid dogs, but heard nothing. The field in front of her lay perfectly still. The skeletal trees cast eerie shadows on the grass in the first rays of sunlight that pierced the foggy veil. She stood stock still and listened. Behind her, a low rumbling started, as the machines in the factories sparked into life in a whirr of cogs. In front of her, nothing.

Sarah looked again at the little note with the address, and up at the plaque by the gate. This was it, no doubt about it. Damn. She carefully started up the driveway, treading softly as if to wake any sleeping giants. As she reached the door she peered at the note, lips moving as she read it. This *wasn't* it. Sarah couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

She turned round and ran back through the fog, as fast as she dared.

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

The whirring and droning of the many machines downstairs did not quite reach the small office. A man sat lightly on the edge of his stool, one knee hopping in time to some unvoiced song. It had faded patterns and dimmed colors, and the dull wood legs creaked as he shifted slightly. A small, battered suitcase leaned against the desk in front of him. Taking his hand out of his hair, he rubbed his temples, and a moment later the hand found its way back into his hair. His previously closed eyes were now open and focused solely on the various pieces of parchment that were stacked neatly in front of him. He scanned them for the umpteenth time, and saw that they were, as to be expected, no different. He let out a heavy sigh.

“Mr. Foster?” Knuckles wrapped on the door timidly. “Ay, your cousin’s looking to see yeh. Could yeh spare a moment?” The man turned from his papers, and then put both hands to his temples. There was no cause to be nervous, he reasoned. It was only to be a temporary trip until Uncle settled the matters.

“Let Mr. Collins in then, Bert,” he said wearily. He wished he had put a slight note of reprimand on “Mr. Collins” as to remind Bert to speak more formally of the co-owner of Collins’ and Foster’s, but was simply too tired to. He gave the papers on his desk one more moment’s glance, then hurriedly stacked them in his hands. He strode over to the door, and quickly opened it for a surprised Mr. Collins.

“Jackson!” Mr. Collins exclaimed. “I was surprised when Bert said you were actually up in here. I assumed that you had already left! Yet clearly I was wrong.” He took a moment to rub his spectacles on his jacket, a movement Jackson envied for its professional and at ease look. Jackson cleared his throat, and fought the urge to scratch his head. If he was going off to another country of the blasted expedition that was becoming more and more complicated every passing hour, he felt he might need a check for nits. Common though they were, he detested traveling with them. Jackson cleared his throat again.

“I had some papers to sort out, Avery.” He gave a small smile, reminding him that this was not only his boss that he was speaking to, but his childhood playmate as well. Jackson gestured to an old chair next to his stool, and sat down. Avery, however, remained standing. Jackson jumped to his feet, and in his confusion, remembered the papers in his hands. He thrusted them at Avery. “The deeds to my house. I’ve left it completely to Eliza, as she has been staying with me for the last two years. She will be able to take care of it until the time comes when I may- that is, will, return.” Jackson jammed his hands in his pockets, and curled his fingers as tightly as possible. Blasted nits. Came from the factory, of course.

Avery gave a slow nod, still wiping at his glasses. Jackson noticed the intent look in Avery’s eye, and wondered if it was possible that his cousin was in any way anxious. Yet that made no sense. Avery was never worried or showed any signs of defeat or struggle. At least, he hadn’t since they all were very young. This was what made Avery the perfect businessman and Jackson… Not. Avery licked his lips, an action Jackson never saw him do. How very peculiar. “And Eliza is fine?” Avery inquired absentmindedly of his other cousin, and Jackson’s sister. Jackson nodded assent, very confused.

In attempt to steer back to normal conversation, Jackson said “I’ve left my position with Bert, if you don’t mind. He has after all been my assistant for three years, and though he’s a little…” Here Jackson paused, floundering for a word.

“Low class.” Avery gave Jackson a shared smile. It could hardly be said that any of the owners or management at Collins’ and Foster’s were upper class.

“Well, yes. But he does, well, clean up nicely, and he’s very good at selling our glue, he’s made quite a few contacts on his own. And I suppose I can teach him about the accounting for the company…”

“I will do that for you, Jackson.”

“But you are very busy-“

“It’s fine.” Avery smiled at Jackson again, reassuring him of one more duty taken care of, and startling him by another sign of friendship. The two men hadn’t been completely open with one another for several years, not since Avery had taken the position of co-proprietor with Avery’s father after the death of Mr. Foster, Jackson’s father. Though there had been no disagreement, for it was clear that Jackson was unsuitable for the job, the fact that Jackson had been shunted down to a faux “treasurer” for the small company, really a glorified advertiser that did the accounting as well, had remained on all their minds. Avery paused, and then said, “I’m sorry for assuming you’d left without taking care of all this, Jackson.” Pushing on and ignoring Jackson’s wide eyes, he said “I suppose I hoped in a way that you had left. You do realize the great danger you are in, don’t you?”

Jackson gave a weak laugh, and tried to say, “It’s only an upset customer, Avery,” but didn’t quite succeed, as only a raspy high pitched murmur resulted. He cleared his throat again. The small details in the room were looking brighter, and it seemed as if the sun had passed behind the next building for the room appeared darker than before. The dark and spindly desk that had not been dusted for a year and the assorted chairs and stools around it stood out. As did the broken rocking chair from his mother’s house, shunted in the corner, that was waiting for either of the boys (they were boys to Mrs. Foster, though her son and nephew had grown up to help manage and co-run her late husband and her brother’s business) to fix in the spare time she thought they had.

Aver gave him a piercing look and again removed his spectacles to be cleaned. He spoke in a low voice, causing Jackson to lean in. “You know I would only have bothered you for an important reason. I came up here in hopes that you’d already left for that expedition. Cousin, he is outside.” Jackson stepped back, and promptly trod into the desk behind him. He sat down heavily on the top, but made no move to get up. Instead, he leaned back further, and craned his head to peer out the room’s one window. He then sat bolt upright, and sprang off the chair.

“Good Lord, he is outside! What am I to do? You’ve heard him, what with the court case settled, he wants me dead!”

“Seriously hurt, actually.”

“Same idea, Avery!” Jackson paced around the room, and giving in to the tension of the situation, threw his hands up to his head and scratched. “Bloody nits! Good heavens, what am I to do?” Always the emotional one, weren’t you, Jackson? he thought angrily. “Look, have Bert distract him while I pack up my papers.”

Avery nodded slowly, then began to leave. He paused at the door, turning so that Jackson could barely make out his profile in the dark of the stairway. “Good luck on the expedition.”

Jackson grinned slightly. “Much appreciated.” He turned back to the desk, pushing aside papers until a small key attached to a silk ribbon came into view. Jackson walked to the door while twirling the key, ducking under the supporting hand Avery still had on the door frame. As he stooped down next to the heavy wooden crate next to the staircase, he stared pointedly at Avery. “Avery, he’s right outside. Please, tell Bert.”

Avery shifted slightly, and said “I wish there was some other way. I’m sure that we could find a way to keep you safe here. I do think it’s unnecessary for you to leave.”

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of it, right?” Jackson said, struggling with the key. “When I’m gone, he’ll have no reason to skulk by the store anymore. That leaves you and Bert,” he jiggled the key fiercely, “and your father, of course, to work without worrying about me, and the company to prosper. That’s meant in the loosest sense of the word, of course. There we go!” Jackson finally managed to turn the key; the crate opened, and a map of Celtic Sea slipped out. The crate was full of maps – hand drawn diagrams showing the streets of London, official maps of Europe updated since the Congress of Vienna…

“I still feel uncomfortable at the idea.”

“It’s for her Majesty, the Queen! Please, Avery, do go on.” Avery sighed deeply, and hurried downstairs. Jackson watched as he slipped out of sight. Sighing with relief, Jackson crossed back into the room to pack maps from a variety of countries, though most were from England and its surrounding areas. Checking the large clock in the display window of the store opposite Collins’ and Foster’s Glue through the dusty window above the desk, Jackson swore. If he didn’t get moving, he was going to be late.






.........
((I'm sorry it's so long, I got a bit caught up in writing it...))

[schellikins]

“Maggie, a letter has come for you.” Nellie called from the entry way to the kitchen, “Is it a response to that letter you wrote out?”
Maggie looked up at the girl in surprise, she hadn’t told anyone of her plans.
“What you thinks you be the only one to know the going ons of th’place?” Grace turned from the large pot she was stirring over the fire, “I don’t know where you got this ridiculous notion from.”
“No ma’am.” Maggie said softly as she took the letter. Nellie stayed in place staring expectantly at her.
“Well? Don’t you want to know what it says?”
Maggie held out the letter nervously, her entire future rested on this thin sheet of paper. She licked her lips, wishing she could do this in private.
“Don’t you be getting your hopes up girl.” Grace thrusted the stew covered spoon in her direction, “You a kitchen girl, not an adventurer. Who would hire a girl with no experience? Hmm?”
Maggie sighed, this was the reason she hadn’t told anyone of her plans.
“Now your poor Mama, she knew whats good for you, didn’t she get you this good job here? Now you throw that all away, and for what? I ask you.” Grace finally turned back to her stew, vigorously stirring it as she continued to mutter.
“Go ahead.” Nellie said softly, her eyes shinning in anticipation, “Tell us what it says.”
Maggie quickly scanned the letter.
“I’m in.” she said quietly, her heart thundering. She looked around at the large kitchen, her heart thundering loudly in her chest, “They hired me.”
Nellie squealed, hugging her, “I’m jealous of you Maggie, I wish I had had the courage to apply.” She whispered to her, “You be careful, alright. Don’t forget us here.”
Maggie nodded, to overcome by the news to speak.
“Well, since you be leaving us I suppose you had better gets packing.” Grace said roughly, striking a large onion with her knife. She sniffed, “Go on girl, get on out of here.” She waved the knife in the direction of the door, with the other hand she reached up to wipe the tear that rolled from her eye. If anyone saw they would assume it was from the fumes of the onion not the fact that her dearest friend’s baby was leaving the nest.

All that had been nearly a week ago. Now, two trains and a carriage ride later, she stood in front of rundown building in the middle of now where. The entire place appeared abandoned. And no wonder if you considered the awful stench surrounding the land.
Maggie noticed a small sheet of paper flapping in the wind on the door. Holding her skirt close to avoid the metal drums, Maggie read the directions on the note. With a sigh, Maggie stepped off the porch and flipped open a large book. After quickly jotting down the directions on the note she tucked the book back into her small bag and shifted the bag’s weight on her shoulder. She looked around, hoping a colleague would appear. She didn’t see anyone, but she was early. Maggie sighed again as she set off in direction of the office, praying this whole thing was not a hoax.

[jhd1189]

Mentmore had followed Geoffrey into the great stone building, hurrying past the lingering patrons in the lobby and through a set of heavy oaken doors. The two men were now seated in Geoffrey's cramped, wood-panelled office. Light filtered in weakly through the curtained window, giving the room a permanently dusky atmosphere.

Geoffrey produced a bottle of brandy from beneath his desk, pouring the amber liquid into two small glasses.

"You know," he began, regarding his glass thoughtfully, "I have this sneaking suspicion that you aren't being entirely honest with me."

Mentmore looked up from his own glass. His eyes flashed in aggravation, but his response was noncommital. "Oh?"

Geoffrey moved his finger in lazy, arching circles around the rim of his glass. "Yes. I do."

Mentmore was up from his chair in an instant, barely aware of the glass that fell and shattered at his feet.

"And what's more... I know you don't actually need me to make a withdrawal for you. I have it on good authority that you never spent any of the money you took out the last time you were here."

For a moment, Lord Mentmore looked very old and tired. That momentary lapse of weakness, however, vanished immediately. He stared suddenly at Geoffrey, scrutinizing him with a hard glint in his eyes.

"Shut the door, Geoffrey."

"Wha...?" The confused accountant's sentence trailed off. He rose from his seat, and did as he was told. "Now then, what's all this?"

Mentmore closed his eyes tightly and shook his head, collecting his thoughts. "Can you keep a secret?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Geoffrey. There are certain... people in this world, people who would do anything for themselves." He paused. "Selfish people. Thankfully, these people do not exist unchecked. There are others, though not as many, who go through great lengths to thwart these selfish people."

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Mentmore. "I don't follow."

Mentmore, who had walked across the room to the window, shook his head sadly. "No. I shouldn't expect that you would. I--hullo! What's that?" he interrupted himself with a start. Peering through the narrow gap between the curtains, Mentmore's entire body tensed. Quickly, he whipped his head around to face the confused accountant. "Geoffrey! Were you followed here?"

"What? I--" His sentence ended abruptly, cut off by a blunt blow to the back of his head. Mentmore had grabbed the first object he could reach--the half empty bottle of brandy--and slammed it into the poor accountant's skull. His unconscious body fell limply to the floor, landing in a puddle of liquor and glass shards.

"Sorry, old sport," the colonel muttered. He began sifting frantically through the fallen accountant's pockets, tossing unwanted objects across the room. Finally, his fingers closed around whatever it was he had been searching for.

With a triumphant expression on his face, the colonel lifted himself off the ground and sped hastily out of the dim office.

In his hand, he clutched a key. A big, heavy key.

The sort of key that might open a bank vault.

[Gallowsraven]

"Ugh."

Dark Johnny rolled over gingerly, head pounding and stomach throbbing. Sitting up he noticed there was quite a bit of dried blood adorning his head. Blinking slowly and rubbing a bruised hand across his scarred left eye, he managed to figure out he was in the corner of a very loud pub. He attempted the very difficult task of standing and found he wasn't quite up to it. After collapsing with a thud into the dusty corner again, he was quite certain he had been drinking. The taste of alcohol was thick in his mouth and the sight of his emptied flask (the one he always carried with him) confirmed this.


"Ow." he grumbled, brushing back a mass of shaggy black hair from his licorice colored eyes. He knew there was something important he had to do. Something he had to do today.....what was it? He tried to remember...somehow the thought just wouldn't stick in his mind. Just like that faucet he was trying to fix a while ago that wouldn't stay fixed.


"Oh! Bloody----what time is it????!!!" Dark Johnny's memory was suddenly kick-started and panic set in. He remembered the very uncomfortable looking messenger that had been sent to the pub and the shock at realizing his rather messy application had been accepted, blood spatters and all. And now it was occuring to Dark Johnny that he had better be getting his butt over to the place he was supposed to be instead of lying on the ground clutching his head. He scrambled to his feet very ungracefully and stumbled out the door. Even the slight sunlight that managed to peek through the clouds today made him want to run screaming but he forced himself forward. Where had they said it was??? Oh right, somewhere on the outskirts of town.


A few minutes later the stench of factory smoke and fish filled the air and Dark Johnny knew he was in the right place. A few more minutes of the insanely painful ordeal that was walking and he found the building he'd been given directions to. He didn't want to stop and ponder why so many of the trees looked burnt. I hope this run-down old dump has chairs, my blasted head's killing me. Oh great, what's this? Dark Johnny stared at a note taped up (feebly I might add) to the lab's front door. He let out an audible groan as he read that more walking was in order for him.
Thud! His legs gave out (again) and he landed hard on the ground. Attempting to stand was no use....
"Damn. Might as well wait to see who else arrives. Got nothin' else t'do."

[~LadyAshe~]

Prudence arrived, and immediatly headed torwards the lab. Her train left late, and knew she had to get there. She briefed herself on harder physics terms she had some trouble with. Prudence knows they will test her, but she wasn't sure. Better be prepared.

Prudence finally got there, after some directions from a weird looking man, in exchange for solving a math problem for him. The lab looked almost deserted from the outside. She pressed up against the side of the door that opened. She slighly opened it, and saw people inside. She walked in...

[skylark]

((OoC: Steam driven motor vehicles were around at the turn of the century - I checked - they just weren't mass produced. So in a steampunk world they'd definitely be around. Lady Ashe - your post confuzzled me a little - are you at the locked lab or where the note left there said to meet? At the very least Dark Johnny is seeing someone else approach, you too if you're there. ))

The motor vehicle started shuddering and lurching from side to side along the country road. Wide-eyed, Dr. Whitmore tried to steady herself from being thrown with the motion around the back seat. Internally she cursed at Mr. Chamberlain for having not thought of the difficulties that a country road would impose on such transport.

With a lurch and a groan and a little whine and hissing, the vehicle stopped and the driver turned to her. Whilst still chewing his tobacco, Dr. Whitmore noted with disgust, he informed her, "Don't go no farther than this Miss. You'll have to walk yourself the rest of the way."

"Bu-But Mr Chamberlain said you would drive me to the meeting," she said plaintifly. Her mind was racing - she didn't mind walking, but with her bag and her doctor's kit - which she had had to include basic surgical supplies with for once - she wasn't sure she could manage.

"Sorry ta say it dove, but the road aint gettin' any better an' if I takes you any further, the motor and you and me is going ta be stuck. So how's about you get your things and git goin'," he suggested, rather unhelpfully.

With a sigh, Dr. Whitmore gathered her bags and started walking, one in each hand. She noted, with disdain, that the lower level employees were getting more and more surly every day - he hadn't helped her with her bags or even waited for her to walk down to the wooden barn-thing she assumed was the meeting place.

She didn't notice the smell or general atmosphere initially, as she was too busy concentrating on each step and keeping the bag with her clothing from touching the road as it seemed to try to wriggle out of her grasp purely to get sullied. About half way down the path she stopped and set the bags down, switching which hands they were in - an old school trick to deal with uneven weights. It was then that she saw a rather large man sitting near the door to the decrepit establishment. It was then that she also noticed how charred the nearby trees looked and how dreadful the place smelt - worse, possibly than some sewers. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise and she started to get nervous. Looking around, she remembered that her driver had left already. It was just her.

Gulping air and trying to ignore her now racing heartbeat, she picked up her bags once more and started carefully walking forward. She tried consoling herself that she could always drop the bag of clothing and attempt to make a dash for it, but it wasn't working as well as she had hoped.

Setting her bags down again, still some distance from what she could now see was a brute of a man she tried to call to him. "You sir, are you with the Society?" Unfortunately it was not nearly as loud as she had intended - her voice catching in her throat, as if it were trying to hide there.

[Gerbera]

((Sorry for the not-so-longish initial post, but it is quite hard for me to write long and correct texts in a foreign language ^^ I hope I did not make too many mistakes in the text I have now :blink: ))

The man was standing in front of a small terraced house, staring at the shabby looking red-brick walls.
He was tall and full-figured, wearing simple clothes in shades of brown. With a loud sigh he turned and walked over to the neighbour house.
KNOCK KNOCK
An elderly woman opened. “Oh, Amos, come in, come in!” she said to the man and lead him into a tiny but well-organized kitchen.
“Have a seat. Tea?” “Yes, thanks, Betty, with sugar.”
“So, the day has come …” Betty said, pouring some black tea in a cup.
“Yes, indeed. I will leave now to meet this scientist and the other fellows.”
Amos took a big rusty key out of his pocket and laid it down on the table. “You will have a close watch on the house, won’t you? I don’t know when I will return but when I am back, I shall live there again.”
He drank the tea in one sip. “I have to hurry now, the laboratory is quite a way from here.”
Betty went to the door together with him. “Take care, Amos, and send me a letter if you find time.” “I will, I will,” the tall man replied and shook his neighbour’s hand.
“Good bye, and tell Annie that I am greeting her!”

He hurried down the street. At the market place there would be a carriage waiting for him, one of his many acquaintances had organized it.
“This will be the last time I see these houses for a while … But it will be good to be away from this place. This will make me stop thinking about them …” he thought.

---

Some time later, at the edge of the big town, he got out of the carriage. In the air lay a strong smell of fish but Amos did not care about it. He had once had repaired an instalment at the sewerage system, the smell there had been worse.

The driver handled him his bag and Amos gave him a few coins in return.
“Thank you John!”

“I hope the laboratory won’t be too far away from here …” he thought and started to walk.
In some distance before him he could see an other person, rather small and thin, probably a woman, and with some excitement he wondered if this figure was one of his future fellows.

Amos quickened his steps to catch up with the person.

[Gallowsraven]

Dark Johnny turned his head with some effort and noticed someone walking towards him. The person seemed to be struggling with a few rather heavy parcels.

He heard a faint whispered question escape from her but shook his head, trying to indicate he hadn't heard.

"Mind repeating that question? Oh and if there's anyone else with you, I need some help...uh....standin'..."

Dark Johnny slumped back against the building, worn out from the difficulties of moving.

[cherryp3]

Bon-Hwa had never been so horrified in his life. Oh, how the place reeked of fish! He thought he was going to pass out from the smell. Even the cigarette smoke couldn’t drown it out now. And those eyes—everywhere he walked, the filthy paupers gawked. It was as if they’d never seen an Asian before, or it could be his bizarre hair color, which he’d achieved when experimenting with shampoo solutions for greasy hair. He rather liked it himself, but his father didn’t seem to approve; evidentially, these people wouldn’t commend it either. He glanced down at the sheet of paper crumpled up in his hand. He was just a few blocks away from his goal.

“Won’t ya spah’ a halfpenneh, suh?” a soft whimper came from below. Bon-Hwa glanced down upon the hazel doe eyes of a young boy whose tiny hands, clothed in frayed brown mittens, tugged softly on his pants. Those already large eyes grew into saucers, lashes batting in earnest curiosity. “Why, you’re one of those Orientals! An’ wot odd hair ya ‘ave, ‘specially for your type!” Bon-Hwa dusted the boy off with a sigh. He didn’t appreciate such comments coming from a beggar. “I’m sorreh, suh! I didn’t mean to offend or nofin! I think tha’s amazing that you’re an Oriental. I’ve neva’ seen one before!” He latched tightly onto Bon-Hwa’s pants, yanking a little harder than before. ‘Suh, you’re rich, right?” the boy questioned, summing it up with a glance at Bon-Hwa’s neat attire. “Can’t ya help me and me mum? She works all day at a factory downtown, and brings ‘ome nothing but a meagah serving of bread, only… they’ve decreased her wage, and lately hasn’t had enough to even bri-”

Bon-Hwa crushed a small wrist at his side. A child behind him began to wail and scream as she struggled to get away from him. Effortlessly, he jerked her slender frame up into the air, allowing her to dangle by one arm. He laughed at the sight of her, kicking and squirming, vainly attempting to land a blow upon him. Her face and hair were caked with soot, and cuts and scratches lined her square jaw. She was nothing more than the average street urchin.

“I see,” Bon-Hwa gave her a cold sneer. “You thought…that…you would be able to snatch my wallet away, huh? Well,” he dug about in the breast pocket of his jacket, and with a smirk, withdrew a leather-bound wallet. “Looks like you took a look in the wrong place.” Bon-Hwa turned his gaze to the boy, lowering the girl, but still clutching her in a tight grip. He noted the boy’s look of pure terror for her. “Do you know this little lady?” He gulped, and enthusiastically shook his head no. “I see… Well. You should have no problem with me escorting her to the authorities, then, correct?” He smiled at the boy’s feeble nod.

As Bon-Hwa turned to leave, the boy choked out, “No! Mollie!” he stood, shaking and fearful—almost near tears. Bon-Hwa looked back, a leer painted on his snake-like face.

“Take her, I have no use for turning her in,” he scoffed, shoving her towards the boy. “Next time, think of a plan with some cunning. Only idiots would fall for that little charade.” The two children scampered off with a newfound fear in their eyes. The rest of the children watching passed about secretive glances. Bon-Hwa sighed. I better find this place before I’m mugged… Dusting off his jacket, he advances down the lane, keeping a keen eye on the children watching him like ravenous vultures.

Bon-Hwa took a quick glance at the address. It was a ways down, deep into the belly of this dingy abyss. He crumpled the message and stuffed it into his pocket whilst giving a glance about the place. The farther down he walked, the more weary he grew. This place was a breeding ground for thugs. Pushing his hands in his pockets, he slouched over a bit, hoping to seem more aggressive—for, even though he was highly skilled in fighting, he liked to avoid confrontation if at all possible.

As he delved deeper into the place, he noticed the bustle was slowly diminishing, and an eerie silence descended. Up ahead, he could see a lone property, which was apparently to be his destination. He bit his lip as he mounted the path, the dirt crunching under his boots. Bon-Hwa gave a nervous glance to the burnt trees that moaned softly in the wind, as if crying out in pain. Suddenly, he had his doubts about this place, and this job. If this was where they were to be working… he wanted out. His father hadn’t made him write that horrid letter for something so degrading.

Voices. Just up ahead, he could hear the voices of two people conversing. The other applicants, perhaps? He wanted sorely to break into a run and great them—the place was giving him the willies. But, his pride wouldn’t allow it, and he leisurely approached, scanning over the place with a disinterested gaze.

[jhd1189]

"Well, that certainly didn't go as I had planned," Mentmore spat, grumbling quietly to himself. He rapped his fist against the inner wall of the carriage in frustration. "Can't this confounded thing go any faster?!"

"Sir." His butler, Leigh, was speaking now from the opposite seat, his voice both stern and soothing. "You've been an absolute wreck since you returned home this afternoon. What happened?"

Mentmore sighed.

"Did your accountant fail to meet you?"

"No, he showed up on time, and I bloody well managed to snag the key and everything!"

Leigh closed his eyes and took a slow breath, the picture of saintly patience. "I don't understand, then. What seems to be the problem?"

There was a pause in the conversation, filled only by the noise of the horses' clattering hooves.

"Geoffrey was followed," Mentmore said at last.

"But you said you already had the key?"

"No, I said nothing of the sort. Had to smash a bottle of brandy over his bloody head."

"Over the follower's head?"

"No, Geoffrey's. Poor fellow... he'll be all right. Nothing a little more brandy couldn't fix, I'd imagine."

Leigh knitted his eyebrows together in concern. "But what happened after that?"

"Well, I snagged the key and all but flew into the back room--that's where the private vaults are, you know--and I opened up my vault."

"And?"

"And... nothing! That's the mystery of it--my vault was empty! Well, not empty, of course, but... the package was gone!"

"You mean... someone got to the vault before you could?"

Mentmore nodded solemnly. "It would seem that way, yes. And I'm almost certain that whoever followed Geoffrey wanted to be seen."

"But for what purpose?" Leigh's eyes widened in sudden surprise. "Was he... a decoy?"

"Yes. I believe he was." Outside, the sounds off the horses' clopping hooves diminished as their path became less road and more dirt. Mentmore looked out the window, and then glanced down at his pocket watch. "Driver!" he called suddenly. "That's far enough."

The driver reacted quickly, and the carriage lurched to a halt in a jumble of confused hoof-steps and indignant horse snorts. "There's no need for me to out do the others with a carriage," Mentmore added with a conspiratorial grin. "I can walk the rest of the way."

Leigh opened the passenger door and removed what little luggage his master had brought for the journey. "Are you sure that this will be sufficient?" he asked skeptically. "We still have time to turn around and fetch a few more things. I'm sure you cou--"

"Leigh," he interrupted with a chuckle, "I'm not going on holiday. I barely had half as much equipment when I served in Madhya Pradesh. Trust me; I'll be fine."

"All right, then. Best of luck!" he smiled as Mentmore patted him on the shoulder. Then, he stepped back into the carriage, which turned promptly around and sped off in a great cloud of dust.

Mentmore pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and examined it carefully. Then, he picked up his suitcases and proceeded down the dusty road.

In the distance, he could just make out what appeared to be his destination. A small, dilapidated building sat alone in the middle of a field, isolated from its neighbors. The field itself was littered with the charred remains of several trees, clawing at the sky like angry black hands.

"Perfectly dreadful place," Mentmore remarked. A slight breeze carried the smell of rotten fish past his nose.

All of a sudden, Mentmore stopped in his tracks. There were a few figures standing in the middle of the road, and an angry voice with a strange accent pierced the air. Mentmore moved a little closer, and the figures came into focus. There were three of them all together, two children and a man. The man appeared to be from somewhere in the Orient (Mentmore couldn't quite place where), and he was clad in decidedly outlandish clothing. The smallest of the children, a little girl, was whimpering in anguish as the man picked her up roughly by the wrist, and her companion meanwhile looked on in terror.

After a sickening moment that felt like an eternity, the man released his hold on the child. He laughed wickedly, and the children fled in fright. Then, much to Lord Mentmore's chagrin, the Oriental man turned off the road and approached the little building in the field.

Those poor children... Mentmore thought sadly. Pickpocketing isn't exactly a noble occupation, but I highly doubt that they're doing it for pleasure! It isn't as if they're poor by choice. He turned and scowled at the despicable man approaching the building.

"For your own sake, I truly hope that you aren't going to be a part of this expedition," Mentmore growled quietly.

He subconsciously fingered the revolver concealed within his jacket.

"I'm watching your every move."

[Lethe_s]

Sarah ran full out for two blocks and only then stopped to catch her breath, leaning against a lamp post. She cursed inwardly and involuntarily pulled on the thick navy-blue felt coat she was wearing.

Sister Dymphna had done her best to turn her into a picture-perfect little schoolgirl. The sister nearly squealed as she turned Sarah round, clapping her hands at so much properness. "You look like a perfect little angel" she'd told Sarah, smiling broadly and obviously forgetting that the child had never and and wouldn't, at any point, become an angel. The clothes weren't going to change that. Meanwhile, Sarah just felt awkward. Her shirt and coat were once made for someone four years younger and felt cramped round her torso, while the black lacquer shoes, rubbed till gleaming, pushed her toes uncomfortably together.

But put any dress on Sarah for half an hour, and it looked ragged.
Right now, her coat was heavy from the rain, her once-white stockings and shoes were littered with spatters of mud and water, while the hem of her skirt dripped from running through puddles.

But at least she was back on the street. Yes, the place stank of rotting fish and urine, and yes, it was full of thugs and beggars, but at least she knew where she was. She could feel the eyes of the local populace bore into her back, but they were only pickpockets and thieves. She knew how to handle those. Heck, she *was* one.
Though she didn't actually look like one at the moment, she noticed with a start. So she went back on her way, sticking to the bigger roads, holding a tight grip on her satchel and adopting a scowl that she knew would keep the smaller and more stupid ones at bay.

When the sun had finally broken through the fog and the clouds, Sarah found herself on a small square. The cobbles covering it looked slick and worn.
Round it were huddled, neat looking houses that were obviously old but well looked after. And in the middle of the little square, a single tree, and under it a small, white, marble bench.

On one end of the square was a tall, official looking building with the line 'Semper Scientiae' in gold capitals above the door. Stone steps led up to a massive oak door, with an equally massive brass knocker in the shape of a crow, pointy beak and all. To Sarah, it looked distinctly uninviting. It was the kind of door that no one under the age of 45 would be allowed to pass through.

Sarah paused. The square was empty, but safe looking. Above her, a woman leaned out and shook out a dust cloth. She could hear quiet chattering, mixed with the tinkling of cutlery on porcelain, coming from an open window, and the smell of coffee and toast wafted in little waves around the square, jolting Sarah's stomach. She hadn't eaten since the morning before and her tummy now let out a low, accusing roar.

It was early still, Sarah thought, and the big building in front of her looked sleepy and deserted, she might as well wait for other people to arrive and go in first, just in case there were traps, or ghosts, or worse. Sarah settled herself on the little bench and opened her satchel, carefully extracting a paper wrapped package. She set it on her lap and opened it slowly to reveal two thick slices of bread and a small chunk of cheese. Ignoring the urge to dig in, Sarah carefully broke off a piece of bread and daintily nibbled on it, pretending to be a princess.

[Haylifer]

After precisely twenty-three steps came another knock at the door. Back so soon? Elijah thought, wondering whether the urchin boy had perhaps left something behind. Perhaps one of his fleas. Elijah shuddered. Bugs were possibly the only thing on this Earth that the adventurer had a fear for - albeit a completely irrational fear. It had all stemmed from this terrible experience back in the jungle of Colombia that Elijah did not particularly want to recall ever again. Dismissing the phobia, he crossed the room to the door and opened it.

"Strauss!" he beamed, welcoming the dignified old man in. Strauss was dressed impeccably in a cream-pinstripe double breasted suit, his silver hair brushed over the visibly balding patch on his head. "My good man, what brings you here of all godforsaken places?" said Elijah, helping Strauss onto a stool.
"Elijah my boy," Strauss spoke with a slight German accent. "Something has arisen. A problem with the Technice de Internacionale Co." He glowered, as Elijah sighed in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air to express his agitation.
"TIC? And I did warn them! That incident back in Venice was too suspicious to overlook. What is it this time?"
Strauss went on to explain about how the French company had breached several strict laws laid down in the International Practise of Science Act by using prohibited gaseous elements of toxic and explosive nature.

Another tiny rap at the door informed Elijah of Ryuu's return. He turned to Strauss, having spent the past few minutes storming back and forth, waving his arms around animatedly. "Strauss, my good man. I apologise for this but I have business back in Great Britain to attend to. I understand you have-"
Strauss held up one hand to silence him, and looked at his watch.
"Your airship is due to arrive in ten minutes," said the man, grinning with that wise sparkle in his eyes. "And I assume you have no form of transport booked for your journey to the station?"
"Ah.. No, not exactly. I did plan on walking-"
"Nonsense, Elijah! Come, come with me. You too, boy." Strauss waved a lethargic hand at Ryuu.

The two men left with the small boy trailing at their heels like a well-trained yet mangy terrier. Outside the building, a rather strange and remarkable piece of engineering was waiting. It was a small locomotive engine - or something - yet there was no track for it to run on. And the engine itself was barely any higher than Elijah.
"Strauss, this is..?"
"My latest invention, boy. I like to call it a Strauss Carriage - perhaps a Strauss for short. It's a miniature steam locomotive designed for two passengers. Excellent engine, you must see the efficiency of this fellow. I believe someday they may even replace the carriage!" beamed the man, lighting a cigar. Elijah laughed increduously at the old man.
"You are expecting me to believe that this will replace a horse-drawn? And where are the rails?"
"You may laugh, boy, but you'll see one day in the near future. Well hop in, you don't have all day. I'll take you for a spin."

Strauss's Strauss had taken them to the airship station in a very short amount of time. The concept of the machine they travelled in was fascinating. A train of this proportion did not need a track to run - attach wheels with some turning capability on them and it became a nippy little vehicle. Efficient, too. Strauss had described how he had used a platinum catalyst to lessen the amount of fuel required. He had also replaced the traditional coal fuel with oil from Persia. It travelled at an astonishing twenty miles per hour, if it was ever needed to travel at such a speed. Now Elijah was aboard the airship, which was currently somewhere over India. The whole voyage was to take a day and a half; this was impressive for an airship even if it was a newly commisioned, cutting edge one. It even used an ultra-light isotope of Hydrogen gas, giving it double-speed over the regular variety. Ryuu, the little stowaway, was curled up somewhere with the luggage sharing his fleas around. Some first class travellers were going to get a nasty surprise when they landed in England. Elijah, having paid for a ticket, sat in the second-class area with his hat dipped, the brim casting shadow over his eyes lest anyone recognise him.

He really had no inkling as to what this forthcoming task would require. It was in the name of Science and Progress - that was clear enough. Probably some slight issue with some stolen blueprints to a new piece of engineering. Elijah laughed inwardly. Why was he wasting his time offering his highly sought-after services here, when he should be spending time on the case of TIC with Strauss, the most noble and respected professor in the modern world? Impulse applying, that's the word for it. He had a gut feeling about this case though. Maybe because it was in Britain? Or maybe because he'd actually had to apply to it. Most often, he was personally sought out by men like Strauss. It made a change to be his own dictator and travel where he wanted, and not where work took him. He had no thoughts on the upcoming proceedings. As far as he was concerned, it was just another job that required able-bodied persons, and he was much more than able. It likely pays pittance, too. You'd be better off staying in Japan, or even going to that job in Russia. He had recently been requested to go to Russia. Some fuel tycoon had built an unregistered building out on the vast expanses of tundra somewhere, and had failed to consult the Ministry beforehand. Elijah, being under the Ministrys employ to 'infiltrate and gather intelligence', had been called to do a spot of spying on the man.

But no, he had turned that exclusive job offer down in order to apply for this one. Cursed instinct, he was clearly getting homesick from all this travelling. Or just maybe his instinct would prove him correct, and this could be the most interesting case he'd ever worked on... His thoughts clouded into each other, encouraged by the soft whirring of the airships vast propellors, and soon he slept. Ryuu would awake him, or perhaps one of the other passengers when they finally arrived in London. But for now, he caught up on some rest before the day ahead.


((Jeeez travelling all the way from Japan is turning out to be hard-going. Massive RP, woah. And expect another one as he gets from London to wherever we're converging :p. And it really hurt because I've been playing guitar all day and my fingers are still raw! I deserve a certificate or medal or something :( This was wrote to Holst - Mars, Bringer of War! And also Prokofiev - March of the Capulets, seeing as it took longer than one song to write it. Therefore I'm surprised it didn't turn into a battle scene, actually))

[jhd1189]

((You know, I personally would have just hopped on a boat to mainland China and taken the Orient Express from there. An airship all the way out in Japan would have made me a little suspicious... ;)))

[Haylifer]

((I was contemplating getting a boat to Hong Kong then an airship to London, but god knows how many RPs that'd take xD I get artistic license. It's a speedy Japanese airship and I plan to have it make a few stops as it crosses Asia and Europe :D))

[Gallowsraven]

Dark Johnny sighed. It sure seemed like he was doing a lot of sighing today...he attempted to stand and to his shock, he managed to stay on his feet this time(admittedly his head was swirling like crazy, but it was an improvement from his previous state). Clutching his head and shoving some displaced lint back into his pocket, he staggered forward.

He took a few wobbly steps and stumbled over to the woman who had tried to ask him something earlier, noting an approaching figure who appeared to be male and of asian decent. Waving a hand wrapped in blood drenched gauze, he called out to the two people (though he spotted more in the distance) who had arrived. As he waved he realized how off-putting a blood soaked, bandaged hand was. I mean really, who wants to be greeted on a foggy morning by some guy in a trenchcoat with an extremely bloody hand?

"Mornin'. You guys part of the..um...science expedition....thingy?" trying to find the right words and failing, he tipped his tattered hat and tried to make himself look a little taller than the 5' 4" that he was.

[HystericalParoxysm]

((Hey guys - my computer asploded and I had to do a full reformat and reinstall of Windows. I'm still recovering from it and getting stuff fixed, so I probably won't be around a ton for a day or so. Just wanted to let y'all know.))

[devoshka]

A footman came into the study bearing a silver tray with a letter upon it. As he approached the figure sitting behind the desk, he couldn't help tsking quietly to himself. The petite blonde with pale pink cheeks and clear gray eyes was sitting behind a desk that was strewn with papers and books, hands covered in ink stains and hair in disarray. Coming to a halt beside her, he cleared his throat. Startled Lucy looked up from her writing to notice a footman standing beside her. "A letter has come for you Miss," holding out the tray in her direction. Lucy brushed a wayward strand to the side while her eyes grew large. Grasping the letter in her hand, she jumped up and ran to the window, panting anxiously. Tearing the letter open, she scanned the contents and let out a squeal. "What, what is it?" a man snorted as he was abruptly awoken, having fallen asleep by the grate reading. "Oh Papa, it has come! I am to go on an adventure!" Lucy exclaimed as she rushed to the side of the silver haired man. The Major looked up at his girl bewildered. "What are you going on about?" he asked gently. "Remember that advertisement that I replied to?" without waiting for an answer Lucy gushed on. "The one to apply for a position in The Royal Society for the Advancement of Science. Well they've responded and I am to be there Monday!" Lucy was shaking, eyes glowing with excitement. Placing a hand upon his daughter's arm to steady her, he responded "That's lovely my dear, but you must tell your mother and perhaps looking a bit more proper, wouldn't you say?" Lucy looked down at the pale gray silk day gown, it was crumpled and had ink blotches on the sleeves. She grinned. "You are right Papa, I will go and make myself presentable for Mama so that she would refuse me nothing!" The Major's steel gray eyes followed his daughter tenderly as she danced out of the room. He sighed with the knowledge that no matter what state his daughter presented herself to his wife would not detract from her ire, but if she were in an acceptable state it wouldn't add to it. With that consolation, the Major went back to his book, before his head started to nod again.


Lucy patted her hair and pushed in an escaping hairpin, as she made her way down the stairs to the drawing room. Throwing the door open, Lucy burst into the room, but quickly drew to a halt when she met the blue gaze of a handsome woman sitting erect on the settee embroidering. "Good morning, mama," Lucy said meekly as she went over to kiss the proffered cheek before sitting down on a chair adjacent. "I was having tea with Mrs. Wentworth yesterday, and she informed me that Lord Clinton's son will be joining the hunting party next weekend. I believe we have enough time to have a new gown made up." Looking at Lucy from lowered lashes she picked up her embroidery. Lucy grimaced. "Mama, you know I have no interest in going, and besides I will not be here next weekend." Dame Trenton Dickinson looked at her only child in alarm. Lucy had inherited her soft features and pale coloring but her full pink lips came from the Major and if things were different, if Lucy were different, she could have had the pick of any gentleman, and in fact still did, but continually refused any suitor. "And pray tell, what do you mean you won't be here next weekend?" Lucy knew that she had made a mistake, the softness with which her mother spoke belied the fact that her mother was very angry with her refusal. "I got a letter today informing me that I've been accepted into the Society and I must be there on Monday," she stammered. "This is the first I've heard of any Society," her voice growing softer and colder. Lucy, unable to hide her enthusiasm rushed on, not taking heed that she was treading on very dangerous ground, "Oh mama, it's a dream come true! It's a society for the advancement of science and I have been accepted and I need to arrive on Monday!" Watching as her daughter fidgeted in her seat like one of her dogs being trained to sit, Edith mentally sighed. She loved her daughter but was exasperated by her actions, as Lucy never understood what was truly important and that was to find a good husband to provide for her. This time, Edith decided that she would have her way, and Lucinda WOULD be at that hunting party next weekend. "You will have to send your regrets that you are unable to join them as you have a previous engagement." "But mama!" Lucy burst out. "No! Lucinda this is final, I will not have you running away from meeting a distinguished gentleman. You will NOT be going to join this society." Edith knew what was best for Lucinda and she was bound and determined to have her get it. Lucy sobbed and ran out of the drawing room, leaving her mother behind.



--------------------------------------

((sorry it's such crap, I'm not a writer, and have a hard time with details :P))

[skylark]

((OoC: Been very, very busy with Driver's License Test prep & can't post at work anymore. :( Have to go somewhere shortly so will try to post later tonight!))

[cherryp3]

((OOC: Um... :[ Feel free to GM Bon-Hwa a bit if you want to. My grandmother is very sick and I won't be able to get on much. I'm sorry, I hope it isn't too much trouble. I'll try to get on whenever I can and post though...))

[jhd1189]

((I'm very sorry to hear that, cherryp3! My grandma was very sick for a long time, so I understand how difficult that can be. I'll keep both of you in my thoughts and prayers!))

[skylark]

She stood in the pathway, transfixed. She could not help but stare at the man who had begun approaching her.

While not the tallest of men, he had a decidedly muscular build. but it was not that which was most worrying - it was his hand. It was wrapped in blood covered cloth.

Dr. Whitmore quickly contemplated her chances of making a dash for it. She could probably get quite a ways up the road if she dropped one of her bags. Her head darted to look back up the road and she yelped when she saw another figure approaching. For a moment her head began to swim with the anxious thought that she was surrounded.

The only way was sideways - off the road. She dropped her luggage and grasped her doctor's bag with both hands, when its latch came undone and something fell out. She looked at the photograph lying on the ground and began breathing heavily. Instead of running, she stooped down to pick it up and place it back in her bag.

Still trembling she turned to face the man with the bloodied hand. "S-s-s-s-sir, if you ar-re injured I could have a look at that ha-hand. Justpleasedon'thurtmesirplease,"she managed to force out.

Shaking like a leaf in the wind she awaited a response.

[Julieth]

I'm very sorry, but I'll have to drop out...I'm taking an extremely challenging summer school course and I have about an hour of free time per day now...I guess we can say that Edwina just didn't make it to the meeting for whatever reason. Sorry...

[Gallowsraven]

Dark Johnny snorted quietly as he watched the woman in front of him tremble, eyes wide as saucers.

"Don' look so scared. I ain't gonna hurt you." Dark Johnny smiled lopsidedly at the woman. She didn't look any less terrified.

Upon hearing her offer to look at his hand, he contemplated it. His hand was throbbing quite a bit...had been for almost a week.

"Here." he slowly unwrapped the bandages to reveal quite a large gash that spread across his whole palm, edges jagged.

"The name's Dark Johnny, by the way."

((Julieth, sorry to see you go! I was looking forward to hearing more from Edwina..:())

[skylark]

Dr. Whitmore was trembling. She had hoped he wouldn't take her up on her offer, she had hoped that somehow he would decide to leave her alone. But she had constantly been aware that she hoped in vain.

When the bandages had been pulled away she could clearly see the hand below. The angry, raw gash accross the hand spoke for itself - it had been there a while at least and yet still wept blood and pus. The sight was horrific and would have turned most people's stomachs. But Dr. Whitmore had a rather unusual constitution. Despite her aparent lack of will, this called to a vital and neccessary component of any doctor: the will to fix living things.

Her hands grabbed his and gently pulled it closer for inspection. Her fingers flitted over the wound and surrounding swollen, reddened area like maddened butterflies uncertain where to settle.

"Dark Johnny? That is an odd name - I supose you refer not to go by the one you were born with? But that doesn't matter. I'm Dr. Jennifer Whitmore. Your hand seems to have gotten infected - you should have had it stitched immediatly with a wound this deep, especialy on the hand - but leaving it open with nothing but a bandage. Never mind we'll see what we can do to fix it. I'll do something for the pain, but then I'll have to clean it quite thoroughly with gauze before I can see what I'm doing to stitch it up," she rattled off, seemingly without pausing for breathe.

She quickly snaped open her medical bag and almost immediatly after her head snapped up at Dark Johnny. "With a name like yours, I dare say that you understand neccessity. I cannot possibly stitch the wound like this," she stated almost clinically, while holding up a hand so that Johnny could see it shaking quite clearly. Bowing her head back down to her bag she continued speaking whilst withdrawing two different syringes and tapping them against her arm, "Neccessity states that I must calm my nerves before I can truly help you, but I would appreciate your discretion sir."

With the uncannily fluid grace of a well practised maneauver, her left arm lifted the sleeves of the right to above her elbow, then grabbed one of the syringes and injected a small amount. She breathed deeply before looking back up at him almost defiantly - which on her looked more like one would imagine a mouse would look at a cat when it realised it was cornered. "That should have set in by the time I'm ready to begin the stitching. This one is for you - to numb the pain." She reached for his hand again and injected the contents into his palm quick as a cat, before he could pull back - she had seen how some burly men acted around needles.

"Now, let us see about cleaning that mess up..."

((Medicine at the turn of the century, so crude... they didn't even have antibiotics!))

[Gallowsraven]

"OWWWW!" Dark Johnny yowled loudly as Dr. Whitmore sank a needle into his palm after injecting herself with something he'd rather not ask about. Upon hearing her request for discretion, his reply was:

"No need to worry, what use would I have blabbing about your---what do you call it---necessary squirting of chemical materials into your bloodstream."

Dr. Whitmore didn't look all too happy about his phrasing and judging by the way she was rather viciously jabbing his palm, he thought it wise to shut up.

"How long have you...ow..been practicing medicine?" he asked between gritted teeth as she wiped off the ugly gash with something that still stung despite the injection she'd given him and then began drawing a threaded needle in and out--painfully I might add--of the edges of the wound.

His head was starting to throb in rythm with his hand and his legs were a becoming a bit shaky (again).

Oh greaaat...he realized that a few stray pieces of precious lint were rolling down the street and disappearing in the fog. What a great start to the day. He uttered a loud sigh and bit his lip to keep from yelping again.

[jhd1189]

A sharp cry pierced the air, distracting Lord Mentmore from his prey--for the moment.

"What the devil...?" he wondered aloud. Perched in front of the dilapidated little building sat a rather odd-looking pair: a nervous, twittery woman and a decidedly shady gentleman. The latter appeared to be the cause of the ear-shattering howl.

Dr. Mentmore turned his attention to the couple now, the despicable villain forgotten. He strode purposefully toward the building, and harumphed loudly. "I hate to interrupt, but what in heaven's name is going on here? Who are you?" He paused, and examined the man more closely. A discarded strip of gauze lay on the ground, stained with coppery splotches of red. "I say... is he bleeding?"

The man only yelped in response.

[skylark]

Dr. Whitmore paused and looked up at Dark Johnny. Morphine, its called morphine she thought to herself - but decided that any explanation would be wasted on this fellow.

As she cleaned off the wound she continued staring at his hand as she answered, "I've been practising medicine for about... eight years, I think. there was a period where I... gave up for a while, so sometimes I forget how long I've been practising for. I must admit, I'm rather more involved in the chemical aspects of treatment than in day-to-day stitch-witchery and the like. I prefer to think of myself as a researcher than as a sawbones." Once the wound was clean enough for her liking she began stitching. She could have begun sooner but what little female vanity she had insisted that she wanted as little scarring as possible.

She barely noticed the interruption of the other gentleman. But by this point her pulse had steadied and slowed and her medication was beginning to take effect. Without raising her head from the deligtful rythm of stitching she answered, "Not for much longer I hope. It was a rather dreadful wound, but with any luck it'll finish healing up on its own. This fellow seems to have a rather staunch constitution." Looking up at Johnny she saw the look on his face, "Too good I daresay, it seems the numbing tonic I injected him with hasn't taken effect yet. But when it does, I daresay he'll be in a far cheerier mood. But just in case, I'll help it along."

She reached into her bag, her hand pushing past the photograph that was still in there and reached for a sachet. She tore it open and scattered the white powder on the wound before salvaging a bandage and trying up his hand as firmly as she could.

"Now, Dark Johnny - you keep that hand still and give the hand a chance to heal while everything is in the proper place, alright?" she smiled at him, feeling slightly light-headed herself. "Are either of you gentlemen here for the meeting?"

[cherryp3]

((Sorry, this is going to be short. I'm lacking inspiration and I have to get ready to go to a friend's house. >_>'' My room looks like a pigsty.))


English gentleman number one barged past Bon-Hwa in haste. A resolute determination set in his fiery gaze. Bon-Hwa looked on in confusion, and then caught sight of the two figures standing just in front of the dissipated edifice.

"I hate to interrupt, but what in heaven's name is going on here? Who are you?" He paused, and examined the man more closely. "I say... is he bleeding?"

Blood? Bon-Hwa drew closer to the group as well, looking with a newfound curiosity upon the people on the doorstep. The first was a short, rugged man presenting an infected wound to a slight and somewhat plain looking woman. The slightest signs of a smirk climbed over the boy's face, curled like a fox's grin after it's found its newest puppet. He liked the aspect of this odd assortment of people. Maybe things would be entertaining after all?

(Oh, and thank you Jhd. That means a lot.)

[Gallowsraven]

Dark Johnny sighed in relief as his hand finally began to feel a bit number and the piercing of the needle was less noticeable. Dr. Whitmore finished her stitching and after binding his hand rather tightly gave him a firm smile and told him:
"Now, Dark Johnny - you keep that hand still and give the hand a chance to heal while everything is in the proper place, alright?"

Dark Johnny snickered and tossed a few stray bangs from his cocoa eyes.
"I'll try. Thanks doc."

"Are either of you gentlemen here for the meeting?" Dr. Whitmore wanted to know, turning to the other gentleman in front of them. Dark Johnny smirked.

"Nah, I just like wandering out to the middle of nowhere with a wounded hand to go stare at old run-down factories---what do you think, of course I'm here for the meeting!" he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Dr. Whitmore looked less than amused and looked over her shoulder to hear the other gentleman's answer. Glancing around to see the new arrivals, Dark Johnny noticed a striking asian boy....by the looks of it still in his teens. Tipping his hat to the other gentleman near them, he gave the boy a smile. He did not smile back.

"What is an elegant young thing like you doing here? You can't possibly be here for the meeting.....?" Dark Johnny asked, shoving his hat back down onto his head and waiting for the boy to answer.

[cherryp3]

They all seemed to regard him differently, the gentleman eyeing him with a certain distaste, the short man looking on with intrigue. He wasn't sure if the woman had even noticed his presence yet.

"What is an elegant young thing like you doing here? You can't possibly be here for the meeting.....?" the odd little man inquired, giving him a slightly baffled gaze as he shoved his beaten hat back upon his crown.

Bon-Hwa cocked his head. He had expected this question from someone, eventually, but not from that man. He seemed to contradict his own questioning a bit. After all, he hardly seemed like one who would be found on a scientific expedition. Rather, he appeared to be a fellow one might meet with in a dark alley, in order to seal some shady transaction. Bon-Hwa was tempted to point this out, but his mind warned him of the suspicious look glinting from the eye of the gentleman.

Instead, he offered a sheepish grin and scratched the back of his head innocently, “Actually, yes, I am. My father sent me in order to broaden my horizons on the world, I suppose.” Really, Bon-Hwa had no idea what his father was expecting out of this. He really didn't see how this would lead him to interact with the common folk, but then again the flier hadn't given much information on anything... “I wasn’t exceptionally eager to apply, but he insisted it was for the greater good. Might I inquire the names of those I will be...working with?" He glanced about at the three. Certainly these weren't the only ones that would be present?

[Gallowsraven]

Dark Johnny smiled at the wave of expressions that ran across the boy's expression before he finally settled on innocent. After explaining that he was actually part of the expedition he said:
“My father sent me in order to broaden my horizons on the world, I suppose. I wasn’t exceptionally eager to apply, but he insisted it was for the greater good. Might I inquire the names of those I will be...working with?"

"I'm Dark Johnny....the good doctor over here is Dr.Whitmore....and...I have NO idea what this gentleman's name is." Dark Johnny told him, grinning crookedly for no apparent reason. The boy nodded.

"I uh...don't believe you ever gave me your name? I'd hate to go this whole expedition not being able to refer to you as anything but 'that boy'." Dark Johnny then proceded to reach into his pocket and pulled out.......

an insect.

Not just any insect. A peculiar lumpy gray one. Because it was made of lint. Dark Johnny smirked with satisfaction at the boy's expression. Something in Dark Johnny just delighted in shocking people.

"Here." Dark Johnny dropped the lint bug onto the boy's shoulder. "Oh, by the way everyone, there's a notice on the door....we gotta go to some other address to actually get to the meeting."

[jhd1189]

"I'm Dark Johnny....the good doctor over here is Dr.Whitmore....and...I have NO idea what this gentleman's name is." Dark Johnny told him, grinning crookedly for no apparent reason. The boy nodded.

The corners of Mentmore's mouth turned up in an amused smile. "This gentleman's name," he cut in, "is Montgomery Mentmore." His gaze shifted back to the Oriental boy, and his expression darkened slightly. "Lord Mentmore, if you don't mind."

He turned back to Dark Johnny, just in time to see him produce a repulsive grey lump from his pocket. He placed it on the Oriental boy's shoulder, and he shuddered slightly.

[cherryp3]

"I'm Dark Johnny....the good doctor over here is Dr. Whitmore....and...I have NO idea what this gentleman's name is." Dark Johnny told him, grinning crookedly for no apparent reason.

The corners of the gentleman's mouth turned up in an amused smile. "This gentleman's name," he cut in, "is Montgomery Mentmore." His gaze shifted back to Bon-Hwa, and his expression darkened slightly. "Lord Mentmore, if you don't mind."
Bon-Hwa nodded, and gave a returning smile to Dark Johnny but not before mentally noting that Mr. Mentmore had it out for him for reasons beyond his comprehension.

He grinned, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all, especially you Lord Mentmore.” Bon-Hwa produced a swooping bow to them all, glancing up at the Lord with a rather defiant look pressed in his gaze.

"I uh...don't believe you ever gave me your name? I'd hate to go this whole expedition not being able to refer to you as anything but 'that boy'." Dark Johnny then proceeded to reach into his pocket...

“My name is," Bon-Hwa began as Dark Johnny began to pull something from within his oversized coat, "Bon-H—wh-wha—what the devil is that thing?” he jerked back, stumbling slightly at the sight of the gray, lumpy creature placed delicately on his shoulder. Without hesitation he batted it away, thoroughly disgusted. He looked at the thing he'd just flicked away carefully. Upon impact, it had become somewhat misshapen and pieces of...what...looked to be lint tumbled from its body. Bon-Hwa shot Dark Johnny a smirk. "Oh, yes, clever joke," while he was quite embarrassed at the scene he'd caused over a lump of lint, he had to admit this Dark Johnny fellow was amusing. He'd definitely be the best source of entertainment to follow on this journey.

"But--you say that this isn't the correct place?" he questions with a thoughtful glance, quickly regaining his composure. "Well then, why were we directed here?"

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

((Sorry - just have to say that I'm starting my first job and I've been busy preparing for it. I'll try my best to have a post that finaly gets Jackson to the lab later today! I love the direction all of everyone's posts are going so far...))

[Gallowsraven]

“My name is," Bon-Hwa began as Dark Johnny began to pull something from within his oversized coat, "Bon-H—wh-wha—what the devil is that thing?” he jerked back, stumbling slightly at the sight of the gray, lumpy creature placed delicately on his shoulder

Dark Johnny burst out laughing, tears streaming from his eyes. Bon-Hwa's reaction was just what he had expected. The poor boy looked thoroughly embarrassed now that he realized that the disgusting creature that he'd swatted off his shoulder was made of lint.

"Well Bon-Hwa, it's very nice to meet you." Dark Johnny chuckled, reaching out a newly bandaged hand and shaking Bon-Hwa's. The boy shook his hand hesitantly.

"And I'm pleased to meet you as well, Lord Mentmore." Dark Johnny said, nodding at the gentleman who was watching the scene with a mix of disgust and amusement on his face.

"But--you say that this isn't the correct place?" Bon-Hwa questioned with a thoughtful glance, quickly regaining his composure. "Well then, why were we directed here?"

"No idea." Dark Johnny said shortly. "But I suppose we should be getting to the other address, eh? Unless of course you'd rather wait for everyone else to get here?"

((OOC:Cherryp3---or should I say Bon-Hwa---you reaction was PERFECT!!! I laughed when I read it....it was just...exactly what I expected in the best sense! Thanks for being so fun to place lumpy, lint bugs on!!))

[Haylifer]

London. As vile and polluted as ever, Elijah noted. There appeared to be a few more tramps dotted around the grim city than on his last visit, and the smog was ever so slightly thicker and harder to breathe in. Elijah unfolded his letter and checked the address. There was no map attached to find this location, so he would most likely have to ask for directions. This of course would draw attention to his mission. Most poorly organised.

He managed to hire a hackney-carriage on the corner of Bond Street, the hunchbacked driver of which appeared to be missing an eye and several teeth. He gave Elijah a crinkled, lop-sided grin as his passenger took the seat in the carriage, and muttered "Evenin', guvnah. Where can I take yeh?"
"I need to head to.. uh.. this place here." Elijah folded the letter so just the address of the laboratory was visible, then showed it to the hunchback.
"Blimey, 'aven't been out there in donkeys. You sure you wants that address?" said the hunchback, a tone of suspicion now coating his gravelly voice.
Elijah nodded. "It would appear so."
With a shrug, the hunchback set off with a shake of the reins. "Don' say I didn' warn yeh."

It only took around twenty minutes to reach the location. Elijah was knocked over by the stench even before the now-cringing driver could say "Ere yeh go, guv." One hand clamping a kerchief to his nose, Elijah used the other to fish out a leather pouch full of silver coins, tossing it to the hunchback whose one eye glittered with greed.

The smell was a thickly repulsive mixture of urine and rotting fishgut, enough to make ones eyes water uncontrollably. The low-lying smog had caused the odour to congeal somewhat, so it began to fill every available orifice with its putrid stink. Through the thick grey-green smog, Elijah made out several mismatched and crooked buildings scattered about the desolate land in no real order, some of which bore shop signs in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. He could just about make out the words "E. Grimwood Tanneries" on one antediluvrian factory, and "Fisheries" on its equally ramshackled neighbour.

No laboratory here. Elijah frowned, treading forward along the mossy path. It was then he heard mumbled, hushed voices discussing something. He began to head in their direction; perhaps these locals would be able to guide him to York's laboratory. It was only upon nearing the crowd of people (a young oriental boy, a dignified fellow, a female and a shady-looking character) that he noticed they were crowded outside the laboratory he was looking for.

"Excuse me, men - ladies." he said, with a nod to the plain-looking female present in the group. "I must ask you to allow me through, I have been requested to assist the owner of this here laboratory. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose the nature of these proceedings. Top-secret stuff." he grinned, striding through the group and up to the door, where he wrenched on the wrought-iron handle, nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process as he found it was firmly locked. He frowned and tried again, almost doing himself the same injury for the second time. "Ah.." A notice was pinned to the door, just above his line of sight.
"Excellent, I see they have maintained tip-top standards of security. Fantastic." he said, trying to cover up his error. "Not to worry, I know exactly where I'm heading. I trust your fish sales are going well, and good day to you all!"

((OOC: Elijah, being a stuck-up prat, assumes that you are all lowly fish-sellers and he alone is the only one worthy and experienced enough to actually have been contacted by Prism ;)))

[Gallowsraven]

"Fish sales....hey, wait a minute you!" Dark Johnny quickly made his way over to the man, not all too pleased to be taken for some lowly salesman. Glancing back over his shoulder, Lord Mentmore and Bon Hwa didn't seem to be too happy either.

""Scuse me, but I think you've the wrong idea! Seeing as how you deliberately came here----least I'm assuming you did---and now are headed off to that other address, I'd say you're part of the science-expedition....thingy. So are we. I'd appreciate it if you'd ask before you go wishing us a jolly good day and happy fish sales!" Dark Johnny finished his speech and tried to glare the mistaken man in the eye, but settled for giving his nose evil looks. Lord Mentmore and Bon Hwa had come up to the man and he had a feeling they were about to say something too.....even Dr. Whitmore was beginning to walk over, medical case clutched indignantly.

[jhd1189]

After a few more minutes of awkward conversation, a new figure emerged from the cluster of buildings outside the laboratory. He was a rather young looking fellow, trying valliantly to hide the fact that he had no idea where he was.

"Excuse me, men - ladies." he said, with a nod to Dr. Whitmore. "I must ask you to allow me through, I have been requested to assist the owner of this here laboratory. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose the nature of these proceedings. Top-secret stuff." The members of the group exhanged sideways glances, and Dark Johnny rolled his eyes at the newcomer. He pushed brusquely past the group with an air of self-appointed importance, and the group silently agreed to let him make a fool of himself for a few moments longer.

Sure enough, he nearly wrenched his shoulder in an attempt to open the door, and recovered by mumbling feebly about 'security standards' being up to snuff.

"Not to worry," he chuckled, his arrogant grin once again plastered across his face, "I know exactly where I'm heading. I trust your fish sales are going well, and good day to you all!"

Dark Johnny exploded at this point, and began ranting angrily at the presumptuous young man. The other members of the group didn't seem particularly happy, either, and Lord Mentmore very nearly choked in surprise.

"Young man," he spluttered, his indignant words blending in with Dark Johnny's, "I'll have you know that this sort of.... impudence will not be tolerated here! We certainly don't have room for anyone with a swelled head, and you seem to have enough ego for an entire expedition of people! Now, if you were as capable as you were egotistical, this might not be a problem--but you've proved thus far to be an absolute imbecile, and..." his stern lecture trailed off, melting into the boiling brew of wrathful words hissed by the other members of the group.

[cherryp3]

((Gallowsraven: Ah, yes, well that's kind of how I reacted to it. xD I wasn't expecting him to pull out a lint bug, of all things. >_>))

"Excuse me, men - ladies." a strange man said, with a nod to Dr. Whitmore "I must ask you to allow me through, I have been requested to assist the owner of this here laboratory. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose the nature of these proceedings. Top-secret stuff." Bon-Hwa opened his mouth to correct this strange man who had so rudely barged past them in mid-conversation. However, he shut it as the man proceeded to jerk the door anyway, seemingly oblivious to the note posted upon the rotting door. The others were standing about just as awkwardly as Bon-Hwa as the man jostled the door once more, seeing how he failed to learn his lesson the first time around.

"Ah.." the man glanced up with an expression of sudden understanding. "Excellent, I see they have maintained tip-top standards of security. Fantastic." he said, trying to cover up his error. "Not to worry, I know exactly where I'm heading. I trust your fish sales are going well, and good day to you all!"

Bon-Hwa’s mouth fell open. Yes, Bon-Hwa Sohn was in fact, gawking. He released a startled cough of sorts, too enraged to even speak. FISH SALESMAN? How the devil did he look like a FISH salesman? He could understand, perhaps, Dark Johnny (though even he was a bit shady looking to be a fish salesman) but as for the others, Lord Mentmore was clearly a respectable man and Dr. Whitmore was… quite obviously not a fish saleswoman, judging by the medical bag she clutched. Was the man just stupid? Or was he really so arrogant he could ignore all the other factors?

"Fish sales....hey, wait a minute you!" Dark Johnny quickly advanced towards the man, beating the rest of the shocked group to a lecturing. He shot a glance back at the others, and Bon-Hwa glowered at the man in return.
"Scuse me, but I think you've the wrong idea! Seeing as how you deliberately came here----least I'm assuming you did---and now are headed off to that other address, I'd say you're part of the science-expedition....thingy. So are we. I'd appreciate it if you'd ask before you go wishing us a jolly good day and happy fish sales!" Dark Johnny finished his speech and tried to glare the mistaken man in the eye, but settled for giving his nose evil looks.

Bon-Hwa and the others began to advance, Lord Mentmore, sometime, had begun to argue along with Dark Johnny, making it somewhat difficult to tell what the two were saying. Bon-Hwa could just distinguish that the lord was going on about the man’s arrogance. Bon-Hwa grew more and more livid just thinking about being mistaken as a salesman of FISH.

“Look here, you!” Bon-Hwa growled, pushing aside the others and grasping the man’s collar in his fist. “I’d like to know who the devil you think you are, marching up here and insulting your peers! Do I look like someone who sales fish for a living, sir?” without giving the man time to explain himself, Bon-Hwa rattled on, “Oh! I bet I know what it is, it’s my lineage isn’t it? You think just because I'm from Asian ties, you think I have to be poor and try to swindle people out of their money by selling rotting, stinking fish--because, yes, obviously if you're an Asian you have to sell fish. Well I’ll have you know, sir, that I am proud of my roots, and just because I come from a different background from you, doesn’t mean I have to live in these godforsaken slums and sell bloody fish for a living! I am the son of an esteemed doctor, I will have you know, and I, or any of the others for that matter, will not tolerate your utter nonsense.” FISH. FISH? He couldn’t understand it.

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

A flood of sparrows came from the breadcrumbs they had previously been pecking at, squawking fiercely at the two humans who had interrupted their meal. One was cursing loudly and moving quickly, though somewhat hindered by the bulky cast around his leg. The other was running.

Jackson looked behind himself worriedly, picking up the pace when he saw that the other man was catching up with him. (How was that possible?) Thank you, Bert, for your “effective” distracting techniques. He gasped slightly as he slowed to a jog, weighed down by a small suitcase. After running for twelve Oh heavens, has it really been twelve? blocks, Jackson was feeling tired. Unfortunately for him, the man who was chasing Jackson was on crutches, which though may have hindered another man, worked quite well for someone with arm muscles the size of bread loaves. This is it. I’m going to get beaten to death by a crippled man…

A passing carriage stopped; the couple inside had halted their driver when they noticed a tall lanky man weeping softly as he clutched at his coat. A muscular man on crutches glared at him from a block away, unable to move further. As Jackson gestured gratefully, the couple understandingly led him into a seat, muttering about how vagrants like that shouldn’t chase after the small type. Jackson, now thoroughly embarrassed, sat silently as his seatmates went on about protecting the weaker, “No offense to you, my dear man.” Finally the man ended his tirade, and asked Jackson politely, “Well, sir, is there any convenient location we could let you out at?”

“Ah, yes you could, if you would be so kind” Jackson replied in the strongest voice he could manage. “Could you possibly go to a Professor York’s laboratory?” The two stare blankly. “Near the edge of town, by the tanneries?”

“Ah, but of course. And after what you’ve been through - !” Jackson settled back in his seat, prepared for a long ride describing his “weakness.” The couple talked pleasantly with Jackson, occasionally adding more commentary on the ruffians of London and the lack of sportsmanship involved in fighting “the weak” (by the third time the man returned to the point, Jackson was embarrassed to the point of needing to fake a small coughing fit to account for his redness), and the woman cooed over the “frail condition you’ve been put in, poor man!” By the time they had neared the outskirts of town, Jackson had started to feel some pressure to pay the two for their troubles – it was obvious they had no business in this area, what with his frock coat and her fashionable bustle dress.

Jackson glanced at the couple under the brim of his hat, and was relieved to notice that though they were yet again engaged in a conversation about the vagrants of the city, they had seemingly forgotten Jackson. And thankfully ignoring me, at that. He slowly bent down, and peered into his bag, searching about the items as best he could with his mind, until he remembered the location of (“Ah!” he muttered softly) the stash of money provided by Mr. Prism. He reached slowly to the bag, and swooped down to grab a hold of the bulky leather bag in his half opened suitcase. After another quick glance at his two still-chattering saviors, he opened the bag, to find… A crumpled hat. Horrified, he remembered that earlier yesterday, he had found what at the time had appeared to be spare money, and to cheer himself up went into his favorite men’s’ wears shop… “A hat. Crikey, I can’t pay these two with a hat!” Unfortunately it was at this point that the couple remembered his presence.

“A hat? My dear man, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, dear, you don’t suppose he was hit on his head? That crippled man was pursuing his quite viciously…”

“No, no, goodness! I was just… Noticing that my good hat was… Rumpled.” I shall have to stiff him, Jackson thought. It’s terribly rude, but what else have I to do? With this resolutely stuck in his head, he was surprised when the man in the frock coat replied to his pathetic excuse for his outburst.

“Well, wouldn’t you know, that’s the very model hat I’ve been looking for! I am, you see,” he leaned forward confidentially on Jackson, who leaned back from the man’s breath as far as he could without appearing rude, “very picky about the styles I choose.” He smiled and gestured at his silvery hair, as if to exclaim that hair as godly as his was worth the effort. Jackson smiled grimly back, wishing he could pick out a large piece of dandruff spinning like an ornament on one of the light hairs. “Say we do a trade? Your hat for, ah…”

His wife (or, presumed wife, Jackson supposed she could have been some other sort of close relation) poked her head out from behind the man’s shoulder, saying in an imitation of a tactful voice “You know, dear sir, that we did travel rather out of our way to get to this… place. It’s the least you could do.” The couple eyed his hat with an amount of interest that seemed almost wrong.

Jackson felt hot, as if a light was shining on him; even the driver of the carriage had turned his head slightly to the side to hear the conversation better. “My hat.” Jackson paused, and with great feeling, turned to the group and said “No.”

A crow perched on top of a burnt looking tree stared coldly as yet another person appeared near the laboratory. Jackson stared back at the bird glumly, dusting himself off as he listened to the rumble of the carriage moving quickly away. Conversationally, he said “Well, at least I’ve still got my hat.” The bird ruffled its feathers with distaste. Jackson sighed dramatically, and walked over to the group crowded around the door.

“- and sell bloody fish for a living! I am the son of an esteemed doctor, I will have you know, and I, or any of the others for that matter, will not tolerate your utter nonsense.”

Jackson coughed politely, running his hands over one of the metal drums near the door. Ugh, wet. “I suppose you’re all here for the meeting.” And definitely not selling fish.

[skylark]

It suddenly seemed as if the world had hiccoughed and a multitude of men had appeared out of nowhere, at least that what it seemed to Dr. Whitmore. There had been three of them, including herself and now the number had doubled. Then she cursed herself silently; she must have taken slightly too large a dose. It calmed her, but she tended to become dreamy and distracted - the drifting thoughts sometimes had an effect not unlike having some time go missing.

And why was she thinking about fish?

The men seemed to have gotten into quite a state and seemed about to enter a bout of fisticuffs. One looked newly arrived. Listening to the comments she soon realised why she was thinking about fish, oh dear. She wasn't one for conflicts and still uner the influence somewhat, decided to try to stop it.

"Gentlemen, might I suggest that you all calm down. I have already had to render my services once today and would prefer not to have to do so again before we have even been to the meeting I am surmising we are ALL here to attend," she raised her voice above their shouts. It quavered slightly, but not as much as one would expect having listened to her earlier. Modern medicine was truly wonderful. Once she thought she had their attention she continued, back to her normal mousey speaking voice. "I cannot think of any other reason why we'd all be out on this forsaken stretch of land if not for the meeting - despite us being an odd assortment. But I suggest that we at least learn to tolerate each other as we may find ourselves working together. Some of us hadn't quite made it to the door yet, so could you kindly inform us what was on the note?"

And then she realised she was clutching her doctor's bag and her other one wasn't nearby. Had she walked without thinking? "And, ummmm," she added, slightly embarrassed and blushing, "has anybody seen what I did with my other bag?"

[Gallowsraven]

Now considerably calmer than he had been, Dark Johnny stopped giving the man who had thought they were fish salesmen/women the evil eye and turned to Dr. Whitmore who had, apparently, lost one of her bags.

"Has anybody seen what I did with my other bag?"

"Sorry Doc....I dunno. Maybe you left it...back there?" Dark Johnny gestured wildly with one hand. Bon Hwa still had the presumptuous man's collar is his fist, and was continuing his rant. Dark Johnny mulled over the idea of trying to pull Bon Hwa off the guy so he wouldn't kill him but decided it was better to leave things just as they were.

"Oh and by the way people, it seems we got a new guy over there." Dark Johnny pointed. "So let's pretend for the sake of appearance that we're actually civil humans."

[Gerbera]

((I am really sorry but I could not go online for the past few day, I was moving and don't have internet access at my new appartment so far. I hope to get it tomorrow or the day after. Then I can rolplay again. Sorry again :( ))

[Haylifer]

Elijah hadn't quite reached his third step away from the gaggle of fish-salesmen, when one of them called out to him.

"Fish sales....hey, wait a minute you!"

What is it now? Elijah mused, turning back to the group and raising an eyebrow. Is it now offensive to refer to them as fish-salesmen? Ah. I appear to have been in Japan for too long.

He was about to retort with an excuse for his apparently offensive choice of wording, when the short fellow cut him off.

"Scuse me, but I think you've the wrong idea! Seeing as how you deliberately came here----least I'm assuming you did---and now are headed off to that other address, I'd say you're part of the science-expedition....thingy. So are we. I'd appreciate it if you'd ask before you go wishing us a jolly good day and happy fish sales!"

It took a few moments for this to register in Elijah's thoughts. This mismatched gaggle..? Chosen for the Science Expedition..? Surely not. The co-ordinator certainly has been lax on security. Well, he'll have to deal with the stowaways himself. Noticing the rest of the group were glaring at him with equal contempt, he quickly retorted.

"In that case, men, it appears you are in entirely the wrong place" he pointed towards the note pinned to the door, with a nonchalent laugh. "The laboratory is clearly locked and unless any of you posess the key, you should head down to.. to.." - he strained to read the note - "To the Royal Society for the Avengence of Science! Being a literate gentleman myself, that is where I'm now heading. I bid you good day, and good luck with the note."

Once again, Elijah turned to leave. Unfortunately, he was stopped in his tracks again, this time by the upper-class gentleman who was now mid-flow in a passionate lecture about swollen heads and imbeciles. Elijah began to tap his foot impatiently; these common folk were trying his patience. The sooner he was at the place of meeting, the better. He was mid-way through an eye-roll, when he felt a sharp tug as that asian boy grabbed him by the collar.
"Nggh!"
“I’d like to know who the devil you think you are, marching up here and insulting your peers! Do I look like someone who sales fish for a living, sir? Oh! I bet I know what it is, it’s my lineage isn’t it? You think just because I'm from Asian ties, you think I have to be poor and try to swindle people out of their money by selling rotting, stinking fish--because, yes, obviously if you're an Asian you have to sell fish. Well I’ll have you know, sir, that I am proud of my roots, and just because I come from a different background from you, doesn’t mean I have to live in these godforsaken slums and sell bloody fish for a living! I am the son of an esteemed doctor, I will have you know, and I, or any of the others for that matter, will not tolerate your utter nonsense.”

Had he been in a better position, Elijah would have probably contended that he himself had a renowned doctor for a father and had recently spent time in the rather fish-preoccupied Japan. He swore if he ate sushi again... However, he couldn't well answer the boy as the only noise his vocal chords would permit was a funny croak.

If I could just reach my pistol.. He already had a grip on it, but it refused to move from its holster. That plan failing, he resorted to a well-placed kick to the boys crotch.

"As I said, if you would excuse me, I - Mr. Elijah Steel, you've undoubtedly heard the name before - has some professional business to be attending to. There doesn't appear to be anything remotely professional here, so I shall leave you men to figure out what you are actually doing here." Casting a final glare to each member of the group in turn, he turned on his heel and began towards the building, hoping it was third time lucky.

((Heheh, I got Elijah into a spot of trouble there xD I'm sure everyone will have a lovely time working with him.))

[jhd1189]

"As I said, if you would excuse me, I - Mr. Elijah Steel, you've undoubtedly heard the name before - has some professional business to be attending to. There doesn't appear to be anything remotely professional here, so I shall leave you men to figure out what you are actually doing here."

Lord Mentmore had heard just about enough from this arrogant young man's mouth. Then, summoning his inner reserves of patience, he attacked Mr. Steel with a weapon every bit as sharp as the finest sabre.

"Hmm... perhaps, then, you are not a part of our expedition, my literate friend," he said evenly. "Although I wish you the best of luck in finding the Royal Society for the "Avengence" of Science." He leaned in conspiratorially, and lowered his voice. "Now, just between you and I, I do believe that you might have your imaginary society confused for the one that my fishmonger associates and I will be journeying to presently. If you'd care to come along with us, I'm sure we could find a position for someone with your... delicate way of addressing others."

He paused, unsheathing his mental sabre for one final, cutting remark. "Oh yes, and I believe that I have, in fact, heard your name before--or your father's, rather. You are, no doubt, the son of the good Dr. Steel? The poor man responsible for giving an entire neighborhood a nasty bout of boils." He shook his head with mock gravity, his eyes looking at the young man with deep sympathy.

This was, of course, a complete fabrication. The story itself was true, but Mentmore had created the rest on the spot. There were hundreds, if not thousands of men who used Steel as their surname, and at least several dozen of them must have been doctors. Mentmore had no way of knowing if Mr. Steel was even related to any of them, much less their son. In fact, he really couldn't be sure if Elijah Steel was even his actual name.

Still, little details like that were immaterial. Mentmore knew from experience that people would believe anything negative that they heard about someone they disliked--regardless of whether or not it was actually true. This was a fact that Mentmore had made use of countless times during his career, and intended to use once more.

The young man opened his mouth to protest, but Mentmore silenced him with a pat on the shoulder and a grandfatherly smile. "Now, now, my boy: we don't have to talk about this until you're ready." He patted the young man's shoulder once more before rejoining the group.

Mr. Elijah Steel stood where Mentmore had left him, his mouth still hanging open in bewilderment. Lord Mentmore nodded to himself with satisfaction.

((Hmm... it looks like Lord Mentmore had a bit of fun at Elijah's expense. ;)

And Gerbera, I'm sorry to hear that! We're all looking forward to when you're able to come back. :)))

[Gallowsraven]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Bon Hwa! Holy..."
Dark Johnny gaped in shock. That man--Elijah Steel--had just kicked Bon Hwa in...eh...unmentionable areas. That was it!! Dark Johnny didn't give a good d*mn whether the man was a highly literate gentleman, son of a doctor or whatever the hell, he wasn't about to get away with insulting them AND then proceeding to assault Bon Hwa once his assumptions were corrected.

Dark Johnny marched forward, eyes looking more like the fires of hell than anything. Truth be told, he wasn't really seeing too well, eyes blurred with fury. He had this funny feeling that he was about to get into deep trouble....but he "smartly" ignored it.

He shoved past Lord Mentmore who had just finished verbally abusing Mr. Steel for the second time. Glancing down at a moaning Bon Hwa, Dark Johnny paused for a split second to think about whether he should be getting into a fight right then. Mr. Steel was considerably taller than him and seemed to have a pistol...

Let's just say I guess Dark Johnny wasn't gifted with wonderful judgement. Blinded with rage, he threw himself at Mr. Steel, both of them falling into a flailing pile. As soon as the fight began, Dark Johnny knew something was wrong. Very wrong. His chest felt heavy and his throat felt...well...funny.

Dark Johnny sooned realized the problem. As he tried to keep Mr. Steel from grabbing his pistol and dodge his punches (this wasn't going too well, Dark Johnny was already sporting a inflating purple eye) he felt his windpipe begin to constrict. Pausing for a second and taking another hard hit--this time to the nose--he fell backwards, gasping and coughing violently. Cr*p! What a time to have an asthma attack......
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
((OOC:
Gerbera: Sorry to see you go! Hope you can come back soon! *waves sadly*
Haylifer: Please don't kill me!! *laughs* I think Mr. Steel is probably going to win this fight....thanks for adding some interest to this odd gathering!))

[cherryp3]

((Quick post afore I go to my cousin's. :]))

He wasn't expecting this Mr. Elijah Steel to knee him. He rather thought it was a little extreme. Regardless, it had happened, he was degraded, and his eyes were watering--but he had faced worse before.

"Bon Hwa! Holy..."

Bon-Hwa looked up with more shock than he'd regarded Mr. Steel when he'd kneed him. Dark Johnny was advancing towards the man, looking rather angered and red in the face. He blinked once, and then twice as he advanced on Mr. Steel. This man--one he had just met--was coming to help him? He couldn't quite grasp it, didn't really understand what Dark Johnny was trying to do. Shaking off the pain, Bon-Hwa rose, trying to keep a hold on his dignity.

There went Dark Johnny, right in front of his eyes, falling into a tussle with Mr. Steel. Bon-Hwa, humbled and slightly stupefied, pushed his foot between the two brawling men and effortlessly jerked a wheezing Dark Johnny up. He turned to Dr. Whitmore, a concerned look in his eyes.

"I believe this man is suffering an asthma attack," he muttered, thrusting Dark Johnny towards the doctor. "I'm sure you have something with you." He then glanced down at Mr. Steel, who seemed to be recovering from the shock of being mauled by the small man. "It seems we've gotten off to a bad start," Bon-Hwa commented, speaking in a monotone. "But we'd best stop acting like a bunch of squabbling hens, regardless."

He offered Elijah a hand, expecting him to deny it.

[Haylifer]

"Oh yes, and I believe that I have, in fact, heard your name before--or your father's, rather. You are, no doubt, the son of the good Dr. Steel? The poor man responsible for giving an entire neighborhood a nasty bout of boils."

Nasty bout of boils..? Entire neighborhood..? Father, seriously now. I thought your testing methods were of world-renowned standard!

The man patted him on the shoulder in a most condescending manner.
"Now, now, my boy: we don't have to talk about this until you're ready."

Elijah continued to ponder his fathers error, interrupted once again by someone getting a little too physical. This time it was the short guy, flinging himself at Elijah like some sort of munchkin wrestler. The two men collapsed to the floor - that guy was heavy for someone so short - and took to flapping their arms round wildly at each other in a slap-fight pile-on hybrid.

After a minute or so of doing this, the midget suddenly stopped, as if he'd given up perhaps? He fell back, gasping for air as the asian boy and the lady doctor gathered around him, concerned.

"It seems we've gotten off to a bad start," said the boy, walking towards him. Elijah readied himself for another attack, therefore was highly surprised when the boy offered a palm out to him. "But we'd best stop acting like a bunch of squabbling hens, regardless."

Elijah gave it a moments thought. Do I really want to be working with people who are.. less than perfect? He looked at the group. Could he go as far to call these lot 'companions'? Then he heard that short chap still gagging, and took the proffered hand. A temporary alliance surely won't do any harm. It might even come in useful.

"Very well, I shall be generous and benefit you all with my service. You'll likely learn a lot off me. May I call you my students? Oh," - he waved a hand towards the wheezing man - "That should teach you to take on me in a fight" He said, grinning smugly. "Take that as a warning, all of you. I have a deadly blow and I am not afraid to use it."

[skylark]

Dr. Whitmore stood momentarily stunned by the antics of the males, gasping with horror when the one chap kicked the poor oriental boy in a most ungentlemanly fashion. The situation was degenrating fast when Dark Johnny attacked this Mr. Steel, completely oblivious to Dr. Whitmore's plaintive cry concerning his hand.

And then Dark Johnny started wheezing. Before she knew it Bon-Hwa had shoved Dark Johnny into her, telling her to deal with the situiation. This would have perhaps been easier if Dark Johnny had been able to brathe and thus able to balance. Unfortunately he was quite heavy for his size and Dr. Whitmore quite weak, resulting in a rather ungainly heap being formed by her and Dark Johnny.

Dr. Whitmore, quickly scrambled out from under Dark Johnny, blushing furiously at the unladylike position she had found herself in thank to Bon-Hwa. But once again, she needed to help somebody. But that wouldn't stop her from protesting whilst scrabbling in her bag, "You, Mr. Steel are certainly no gentleman. Your behaviour reeks of... darn it, no benzedrine inhalers I wasn't expecting asthma... scoundrel and ruffians. I dare say it was the excitement not your attempt at a blow that has caused this to Dark Johnny. Thanks to you sir, I am having to treat one poor fellow twice in a day. If I don't have supplies when you need aid on the expedition, you have only yourself to blame. And you will most certainly wait and help this fellow get too the new meeting place. Ah... these will do in a pinch." Her hand clasped around the bottle of heroin tablets and she pulled them out of her bag quickly, causing the photograph to fall out once more.

She quickly tapped two tablets out onto her hand and tried to look the wheezing Johnny in the face. As clearly and loudly as she could, she spoke while trying to hand Johnny the tablets, "Johnny, I know you can't breathe. I know this is difficult, but I need you to try to swallow these. We're in the middle of nowhere so I do not have water for you, but you need to try to swallow these - it will stop the asthma attack sooner."

((OoC: Asthma attack?!? Darnnit you guys make me do research! ;p ))

[Gallowsraven]

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Dark Johnny was rather surprised to find himself pulled away from Mr. Steel by Bon Hwa and then shoved rather roughly in Dr. Whitmore's general direction. But the surprises were not over.

Dark Johnny found himself landing on top of Dr. Whitmore, finding it hard even to cough now. He tried to move but was slightly more preoccupied with his ever constricting windpipe (oh gee, I wonder why?) Fortunately Dr. Whitmore managed to crawl out from beneath and get to her bag, a couple of things including a photograph clattering out loudly as she searched for something to help Dark Johnny. He would have loved to try to apologize for falling on top of her, but alas, talking was a little difficult when you couldn't breathe at all....

After taking her turn to yell at Mr. Steel, Dr. Whitmore finally found something and Dark Johnny heard her shaking something out of a container....Bon Hwa had now walked over and was hovering with some curiosity, perhaps wondering how Dark Johnny's life would be saved. If it was going to be....

Dr. Whitmore: Johnny, I know you can't breathe. I know this is difficult, but I need you to try to swallow these. We're in the middle of nowhere so I do not have water for you, but you need to try to swallow these - it will stop the asthma attack sooner.

Dark Johnny grabbed for the pills and pondered how he was ever going to manage to swallow them. Today was just not his day......

Well, he had to something, seeing as how his head was feeling fuzzy and everything was beginning to swim in front of his eyes. What did he have to lose? He shoved one of the pills into his mouth and--don't ask me how he did it--managed to get it down. A little relieved, he attempted to swallow the second one....oh boy...

That didn't work quite as well. His throat did NOT want to cooperate and he only managed to hack the second pill into Bon Hwa's jacket--quite impressive really, seeing as how Bon Hwa had been standing at least a foot away.

Dark Johnny glanced up at Dr. Whitmore as if to say, "Now what??"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
((OOC: Oh dear! Skylark, I'm so sorry! I just realized I've been misspelling Dr. Whitmore's name for a couple of posts!! Ack--lemme go change those posts now! Sorry again!))

[cherryp3]

((O_o' Pahahahahaha! I must say I wasn't expecting him to uh...hack up a pill onto Bon-Hwa.))

Much to Bon-Hwa's surprise, a strong hand clasped around his own and the young man was hefted up by Bon-Hwa. He tossed a cautious look at the man as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Very well, I shall be generous and benefit you all with my service. You'll likely learn a lot off me. May I call you my students? Oh," – at this point Bon-Hwa released a started choke. Students? To him? But the man prattled on, either failing to notice Bon-Hwa’s look of distress or ignoring it entirely, "That should teach you to take me on in a fight. Take that as a warning, all of you. I have a deadly blow and I am not afraid to use it."

Bon-Hwa rolled his eyes. He should have known: beneath the handsome face, the noble atmosphere, and high vocabulary… sat an idiotic, egoistical fool.

"You moron. He's having an asthma attack. You did absolutely nothing to put him in the state he's in now except to rile him up." And to the earlier comment, he had half a mind to inform him he was a master at martial arts, but he held his tongue. Best save the useful information in case he decided to take an aim at his crotch once again. He turned his back to the young man and proceeded toward Dark Johnny, who was ramming a pill down his throat.

Bon-Hwa looked at the doctor with a practiced gaze, "Doctor Whitmore what sort of p-" However, he was abruptly cut off as a white, chalky substance splashed onto his jacket. The Asian's mouth dropped open into a small expression of shock, and his brow knitted tightly. That coat hadn’t been cheap, and now, here it was, with a small white residue spattered across his surface. He gave a heavy sigh, and attempted to dust some of it off. Bon-Hwa cast a fleeting irritated glance at Dark Johnny before glancing at the note on the door.

“Lord Mentmore,” Bon-Hwa turned a thoughtful expression upon the older man. “I’m sure you have some idea where we are to go next.” Mr. Steel seemed to have some idea himself, but Bon-Hwa wasn’t going to trust that fool for a moment.

((Bon-Hwa is a terribly unfortunate soul, nothing seems to go well for him…and…I can already tell Elijah and Bon-Hwa are going to be best friends... O_o’))

[Lethe_s]

((mk, moving this along cause i want in on the action))


Sarah was very, very bored. This adventuring took a lot of waiting.
She'd sat on this bench for a few hours, but it felt like days, weeks, ages. She had counted the windows round the little square. She had chased the pidgeons, made friends with a neighbouring kitty-cat and had tested the branches of the tree for climbability (they were thin and bendy, not climbing material). She had reassured at least three worried ladies and a passing postman that yes, she was fine, and no, she was not lost/hurt/left by her caretakers/ run away from home.
She dangled her feet from the bench and pondered for the fifteenth time about going into the big stone building by herself when she heard chattering.
As she looked up she saw a group of... people enter the square. They seemed to glare at each other a lot and very few of them looked like what you would expect on some fancy expedition.
There was a thin woman with two very heavy bags, who looked very uncomfortable and strangely flushed. Talking to her was a gentleman, of the kind she'd gotten chased by. Though actually, he probably had people to do the chasing for him. He might be someone's grandfather, Sarah thought, and made a mental note to try her most innocent smile to win him over.
There was also the exact opposite of the distinguished gentleman, a small grimey man. Sarah knew his type well, they were kind enough if they thought you didn't have anything to steal, and they invariably went by names like Shady Nick, Dishonest Bradley or Scumbag Eddie. They also always smelled badly.
And then there was the horribly deformed.. boy. His skin was all the wrong shade, his eyes looked crooked and his hair was midnight black. Sarah looked at him with a frown. Maybe he was some kind of pixie, she thought and couldn't help wondering if he would sprout wings at some point.
The last man had the swish and manner of, um, royalty? No, Sarah thought, he wasn't haughty enough, and he walked. Royalty, Sarah knew, never walked. They, um, got carried, or floated or something. But this man definitely had something lofty about him and he got most of the glares from the other people. Sarah classed him in the 'not friendly to talk to' category.
As the group drew closer, Sarah got up and approached the woman, since she was obviously her best bet at a sympathetic ear.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she said in a soft voice, as she tugged on the woman's sleeve and looked at her with big puppydog eyes. "Are you with the expedition?"
The woman looked down at her in distracted bewilderment and some of the men were starting to stare, too. Sarah tugged at her sleeve again and showed her the crumpled paper with York's adress. "I came to the laboratory this morning, ma'am, for my employment, and there was a note that sent me here. Do you mind if I go in with you?"

[jhd1189]

“Lord Mentmore,” Bon-Hwa looked thoughtfully at the older man. “I’m sure you have some idea where we are to go next.”

Mentmore turned to the young man and winked slyly. "No need, my boy! We seem to have magically arrived while we were bickering."

((Ha, just kidding... ok now I'll start my actual post. ;)))

After several more arguements and another attempted bout of fisticuffs, the group finally departed from the laboratory and made its way to the meeting spot. The address scrawled on the hastily written note led them to a picturesque neighborhood nearby built around a neat little square with a fountain and a few market stalls.

Understandably, there were a few murmured whispers of surprise as the group emerged near the fountain. This meeting place was a world apart from the laboratory, and certainly an improvement.

As the group stood there pondering the new situation, a little girl stood up from her seat near the fountain and made her way towards them. She paused, staring silently, sizing up each member of the group before continuing.

Lord Mentmore smiled warmly as the little girl approached, and he squatted down so that he could talk to her at eye level. "Hello, young lady!" he said brightly. "Are you lost?" She rolled her eyes in response, and turned to Dr. Whitmore. Apparently, someone had asked her that already, and the answer was clearly 'no'.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she began innocently. "Are you with the expedition?"

Lord Mentmore all but choked in surprise. She was with the group? But how? She was so young... He looked at the defiant young lady again, and made a mental note to try and win her over with his best grandfatherly smile.

[schellikins]

"Excuse me, ma'am," she began innocently. "Are you with the expedition?"

Maggie’s ears caught the soft question, but she kept her face blank, her eyes straight ahead, staring dully into the distance. She’d been sitting here for quite a while, trying to work up the courage to go in when she heard the child speak to the group of people who had just appeared.
Maggie stayed where she was, waiting for the answer before she decided whether to introduce herself or follow them inside.

((good idea moving them alond Lethe_s, I want in on the action too :) ))

[Gallowsraven]

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Dark Johnny gaped in awe at the new surroundings, pausing to wheeze a bit as he did so. His asthma attack seemed for the moment to have subsided, the one pill had apparently had some effect. He stared at the fountain just in front of them and moved his mouth a bit with nothing coming out, looking much like a shady fish out of water. He noticed a little girl who--claimed--to also have been hired for the expedition. Making note to get her name from one of the others (Dark Johnny didn't consider himself to be very good with kids), he headed over to Bon Hwa, who along with soaking in the surroundings was also trying to get the white pill stain out of his jacket.

Dark Johnny: Here....

Dark Johnny handed Bon Hwa a piece of gauze that was wet with water from the fountain. Bon Hwa seemed to have decided that the gauze was not too disgusting for use, as he took it and began attacking the stain with renewed vigor.

Dark Johnny: Look, I'm sorry about your jacket....and the lint bug--although you've gotta admit that was funny.

Bon Hwa still looked slightly annoyed, but at least the stain seemed to be coming out of his jacket......
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[cherryp3]

[Wowowow, sorry short post. :[]

"Here..." it was Dark Johnny who spoke up next, after the arrival of a strange little girl, his mouth was tilted into something like a guilty little frown. He produced a wet gauze he'd soaked in the fountain. Bon-Hwa glanced down at the gauze, looked again at his jacket, then with a sigh accepted the gauze. Casting a heated glance at Mr. Steel, Bon-Hwa scrubbed viciously down upon the stain, and noted that it was starting to fade a bit.

"Look, I'm sorry about your jacket....and the lint bug--although you've gotta admit that was funny," Dark Johnny apologized, wringing his hands as he spoke. Bon-Hwa looked at him with a cocked brow. He didn't see why the man was apologizing, it wasn't his fault he couldn't swallow the pill, and he hadn't minded the lint situation in the least.

"It's nothing, really," Bon-Hwa smiled, glancing up from his labor. "After all, you decided to help me out when Mr. Steel decided to overreact." Bon-Hwa wrinkled his nose as the white faded into a subtle lace. That would be the best he could do. He lazily dropped the gauze onto the ground, and pointed to the child. "Now, what on earth is this Mr. Jack Prism thinking hiring little girls so young?"

[skylark]

Dark Johnny had seemed to have gotten at least one of the tablets down. Dr. Whitmore was about to tap another one out to replace the one that was lost when she felt tugging at her sleeve, perhaps someone had thrown someone else at her again? Or perhaps it was something more sinister? At that thought her pulse raised ever so slightly before looking down at the child.

Yes, a child, a child was tugging at her sleeve asking if she was with the expedition. A child who by all appearances, ws also on the expedition. Dr. Whitmore's mouth felt dry, like someone had filled it with gauze. What on earth was a child doing on the expedition?

Maybe, just maybe this expedition wasn't going to be so bad after all. Still cotton-mouthed, she crouched to be closer to the child's height. "Yes, I am. Where do you come from that you'll be travelling with us?"

She waited for the child's response and then thought to explain, "I'm afraid we're meeting elsewhere now. If you would be so kind as to pass that photograph by your feet, perhaps we could begin walking."

[Haylifer]

Elijah combed through his hair with his fingers, attempting to brush it back off his face. With another disdainful glance at the group, he noticed that they had a new companion amongst them. A little girl? What in God's name..?

The female doctor called Dr. Whitmore spoke to the child. Elijah laughed to himself a little as he realised the thought. A woman doctor? And a little girl? Whatever next? They rather have scraped the barrel here - I expect Mr. Prism himself is a talking horse!

"Unless I am much mistaken, I don't appear to see any school around these parts. Where is the girls nanny? Is she lost? Or.." he shot a glare at the woman "Is she yours, perhaps?" He shook his head to get that damned hair out of his eyes, then continued. "I am sure there will be at least one affordable nanny in this huge city who is capable of seeing to your childs needs while you are away. Science is no area for children - or even women, but apparently this Mr. Prism has his own agenda as to that. She looks unclean, too, as if she's just escaped from the workhouse. Starving pauper, keep her away from me, I don't want to catch a disease."

((Once again, Elijah the male chauvinist strikes!))

[Lethe_s]

((hehe, yes, sorry about the random wormhole in time, but children are very easily bored))

The gentleman crouched down beside her: "Hello, young lady!" he said brightly. "Are you lost?" Sarah rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the thin woman, who had also come down to eye-level.
"Yes, I am. Where do you come from that you'll be travelling with us?", the woman said. In the background, Sarah saw the pixie pointing at her, "Now, what on earth is this Mr. Jack Prism thinking hiring little girls so young?". Her ears burned, and she pondered for a second about a retort, or a sharp kick in the shins. Her train of thought was interrupted by the woman, who was speaking to her again: "I'm afraid we're meeting elsewhere now. If you would be so kind as to pass that photograph by your feet, perhaps we could begin walking."
Sarah frowned, and pointed to the building behind her, but the woman was distractedly looking at the ground, trying to find something she'd dropped. She snatched a picture from the cobbles and carefully put it in her bag.
As the woman fiddled with her belongings, Sarah turned back to the gentleman, and gave him her most innocent, brightest smile. "I'm Sarah," she said, "Pleased to meet you, sir." She pondered for a moment, and then curtsied, something she'd learnt a long time ago and had never needed. It seemed the right moment to try out its effect though, as the pixie was glaring at her again and the haughty man seemed about to have a fit.

[skylark]

Dr. Whitmore quickly looked at the child again. She was talking to someone else, which was ideal because what she was about to say should not be heard by such young ears.

She quickly paced over to Elijah until she was quite close. The slightly warm fuzziness of her mind allowing her the confidence to actually approach him. Hand placed firmly on her hips she raised her chin until she lookedhim in the eye.

"I daresay sir that you have just insulted my honour," her voice quivvered again, more than she hoped for the intended effect. "Quite unsuprizingly I have no children as I have no husband. While this insult is grave, it is not as grave as the one to the child." Prodding him quite firmly in the chest with each point she was making she ranted at him, "Many children are in workhouses at her age. This is probably safer and more educational. And you are a wilful child yourself from what I have seen. Perhaps you should find your nanny!" Unfortunately with her demeanour, the whole effect was someone spoilt and seemed a somewhat comical instead of serious, but she hoped she had gotten her point through to this fellow who kept on antagonizing all around him.

[cherryp3]

Bon-Hwa gave the girl a sly smirk. He knew exactly what she was doing. She had such a sweet little smile when she wanted to, that made her eyes light up and her face glow. When he was that age, Bon-Hwa could achieve something similar to that affect. He could sometimes pull it off even now. He would bet money she was actually a rowdy, mischevious little girl—for little girls that were truly kind and good didn’t have to put on an extra show to prove their innocence. He twirled a lock of hair around his finger and gave her a mixture between a warm grin and something a bit more menacing. This group got larger and odder by the second. It was mutating into some strange creature with so many twists and turns you couldn’t tell where it began and where it ended. He liked that. Everything was proving more interesting than his father had made it sound.

“Why, hello little miss,” Bon-Hwa crouched beside her, cracking open a smile. “What is your name? And...whatever possessed such a pretty little thing to come on our humble adventure?” He wondered what she would do at this point. Would the girl punch him or push him down? It seemed probable after the whole Elijah Steel incident. Then again she could be trying to keep a hold on her façade and give him a returning smile to melt a heart of stone, layer on the thick syrupy sweetness that good girls held. He braced himself for whatever would come next.

[Gallowsraven]

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Dark Johnny gave Bon Hwa a crooked grin, shoving his bangs from his eyes for the fifty-millionth time that day.

Dark Johnny: Thanks for not holdin' a grudge.....

Bon Hwa nodded at him and then turned to go talk the little girl who had been lingering somewhat near Dr. Whitmore....

Speaking of the good doctor....what in all the hells was she doing?! Mouth hanging agape, Dark Johnny stumbled over--as quickly as he could in his banged up state--to her. She was in the middle of ranting at Mr. Steel....again.

Dr. Whitmore: --Many children are in workhouses at her age. This is probably safer and more educational. And you are a wilful child yourself from what I have seen. Perhaps you should find your nanny!!

Dark Johnny winced and reached out to touch her arm. Annoyed, she spun around, hair puffing out beside her.

Dr. Whitmore: What?! I'm a little busy right now?

Her breath was ragged and her face more than a bit flushed.

Dark Johnny: Jus'...it's nothin' I gues. Be careful who you start up with..I should know.

He tapped his eyebrow meaningfully. Dr. Whitmore sighed at him, probably wishing he'd mind his own business.
Warning given, Dark Johnny was about to ask Lord Mentmore where they were headed from here...when he noticed Bon Hwa was attempting to start a conversation with the girl. He could see her glaring at him from a mile away...

Deciding to watch the situation--Dark Johnny was not about to have to converse with a KID if he didn't have to--he hung back and lazily watched it unfold.

[Lethe_s]

“Why, hello little miss.”
Sarah inadvertently took a step back as the strange boy came closer and crouched beside her.
“What is your name? And...whatever possessed such a pretty little thing to come on our humble adventure?”
She studied him and pondered what to do. He wore posh clothes, she noticed, though they were stained. And he looked at her with a strange mixture of malice and... mirth? Maybe he thought she was funny to kick or something. Or maybe it was a strange elf trait. It confused Sarah. In her experience, people were either angry with her (recognised by glares, shouting and beating) or not (recognisable by the absence of beating and shouts).
At least the people around her didn't seem to think he'd burst into flames at any moment, so she might as well give it a shot.
"I'm Sarah," she said, trying to sound defiant, "I'm here for my employment. Father MacKenzie says it's for the bet-ter-ment of my cha-rac-ter, cause I can't clean." Sarah never knew what the hell that meant, but Father MacKenzie had made it sound extremely deep and important when he said it. She noticed it caused a smirk in the boy.
And then, before she could help herself, she blurted out: "Are you a pixie?"

[skylark]

((Ooc: Sorry guys! I wanted to tell you earlier, I don't have net access at the moment - will have it again on Wednesday/Thursday. Currenty at a friend's posting from their PC. Gah. Feel free to herd my character along so long.))

[cherryp3]

“I'm Sarah," the small girl said, her chin held high and her eyes glinting boldly, "I'm here for my employment. Father MacKenzie says it's for the bet-ter-ment of my cha-rac-ter, cause I can't clean." Bon-Hwa chuckled. He liked this little girl. She had a certain flair about her. But better yet, she didn’t punch him. She stood for a moment, looking aloof, before a new expression overcame her features. She seemed like she was about to ask a question.
“Are you a pixie?” was blurted out suddenly, Bon-Hwa couldn't prepare himself to answer a question. So, he stood there, looking dumbstruck. A pixie? The little girl had clearly never seen an Asian before, and mistook his features for those of a…pixie.

There were no rules that said he couldn’t have fun with her curiosity, so Bon-Hwa teased, “Oh? You found out my secret? I thought I was disguised quite well.” The leer on his face was like a fox’s grin, curled and mischievous. He glanced up at the others from his spot on the ground. “So, are we going? I believe now that we’ve become acquainted with Miss Sarah, it’s time to move on.”

[Lethe_s]

“Oh? You found out my secret? I thought I was disguised quite well.”
Sarah looked at the pixie with eyes wide as saucers. He gave her a mischievous little smile and she pondered if he was trying to make a fool out of her or not. Before she could make her mind up, he spoke again.
“So, are we going? I believe now that we’ve become acquainted with Miss Sarah, it’s time to move on.”

He got up and started toward the door. Sarah made a mental not to keep an eye on him. He seemed nice, but at the same time slightly malicious. Like he saw the world as his plaything and all the people in it as pawns.
The gentleman smartly strode up to the door and rapped on it, and the small group followed him up the steps. As Sarah looked up, she couldn't help noticing the huge amount of shy looks and glares being exchanged between various people. Some of those glares were directed towards her, and they mostly came from the haughty man, whom Sarah firmly classed under the 'very unpleasant' category.

The door was opened by a very serious looking butler, who showed the gentleman in without a word. The boy quickly followed. The unpleasant man roughly pushed several people aside so he could dash through the doorway which, Sarah saw, completely failed to eat anyone.
Oh well.
Sarah adjusted her satchel, took a deep breath and entered the hallway.

[schellikins]

Maggie shook her head in disgust as the Asian told the poor girl he was a pixie. She was a mere child, there was no need to make a fool of her. She stood and marched over to the group.
"Good Day, I am Maggie Farwine, I will be joining you." She announced, her hands tightly gripping her black dress, "Shall we go in?"
A rather nicely dressed man knocked on the door as the group followed him up the steps.
The door was opened by a very serious looking butler, who showed the gentleman in without a word. Maggie strode confidently in after him.

[jhd1189]

"Goodness," Lord Mentmore chuckled, stepping across the threshold, "it's quite a relief to have finally arrived. I feel like we've been standing about bickering for weeks!"

The butler regarded him sourly, but remained silent. Lord Mentmore coughed, disrupting the uncomfortable silence. "Well! I supposed we ought to see what's inside!"

He scurried in through the gloomy opening, motioning for the others to follow.

[Gallowsraven]

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Stepping into the slightly foreboding house made Dark Johnny uneasy. He wasn't quite sure why, but he couldn't help but slide a hand back against his hair, smoothing out that annoying prickly feeling. He looked around, cocoa eyes settling on Bon Hwa as he stepped through the door. Dark Johnny smiled in the dim light of the manor.

Dark Johnny: So...Bon Hwa, how come you never told me you were a pixie, eh?

Dark Johnny's words were whispered, but he knew Bon Hwa had heard him. He looked at Dark Johnny and shook his head. Johnny cocked an eyebrow and then noticed the little girl oggling Bon Hwa from the doorway. Realizing that Bon Hwa intended to keep up this act for a while, Dark Johnny switched his cocked eyebrow for a knowing grin and ambled across the room towards the asian pixie. He noticed with a bit of irritation that his footsteps were echoeing across the empty space much louder than anyone else's. Noticing the good doctor hovering in a corner, Johnny gave her a toothy smile and waved a hand brightly.

Dark Johnny: Kinda gloomy, this place, huh?

He tried to keep his voice down, but the deep husky tones of it still seemed to carry further than he would have liked. Judging by Bon Hwa's expression, the pretty pixie wasn't enjoying the gloom anymore than Johnny was.

Dark Johnny: Oh....eh...you've got something on your shoulder.....I think it's dust. Not mine, by the way.

Dark Johnny plucked a blob of grey substance off of Bon Hwa and tossed it into the room. Unfortunately, everyone was huddled closely and it fluttered into the hair of a most disgruntled woman in a black dress. Dark Johnny blinked his chocolate eyes, trying to look as innocent as possible. This was not working....an evil grin kept on threatening to inch onto the corners of his mouth and Bon Hwa was snickering. Loudly. Apparently icky grey blobs landing on people was quite amusing--provided it wasn't him they were landing on. Dark Johnny sucked in a deep breath and prepared himself for a lecture.

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[schellikins]

Maggie watched the dust flutter through the air landing in her tightly pulled back hair. With a look of disgust, she brushed the grey blob off and patted her hair back down, ignoring the snickering men. She turned away to look around the dark interior. What this place needed was a cleaning, a good, deep cleaning. Really, how could someone live in such a place!

[skylark]

((Ooc: Back!))

Dr. Whitmore was breathing heavily by the time they reached the place where the meeting was actually happening. Despite the fact that her bags were fairly light she simpley didn't deal well with weights of any kind.

She was so busy trying to maintain her composure that she she didn't really take in her surroundings until Dark Johnny spoke. At his words the atmosphere of the building sunk into her conciousness. It slowly drifted in, past the nice fuzzy outer layer that the morphine had produced and as it settled, like the dust she could see in the air, a chill ran up her spine.

She would have loved this building many years ago; it would have been considered perfect. But now she prefered to avoid buildings like this. They tended to attract people interested in things mysterious and unexplained and she knew all too well that there were some things that should never be understood.

Looking at the rag-tag group and their latest arrivals, she once more spied the small child who seemed to have attached herself to Bon-Hwa. And he and Dark Johnny seemed to be antagonizing Miss Farwine who had just met them.

"S-Sarah," stutted Dr. Whitmore, " why don't you step a little-little closer? I'm sure Bon-Hwa could use a little more room to walk in. A-are you looking forward to th-this expedition? What do you surmise it is all-all about?"

Best to keep the child talking. It would calm her nerves as well as keep the girl out of too much trouble.

[Lethe_s]

Once inside, the group seemed to halt a bit.
Sarah vaguely heard people talk, and someone might have mentioned her name, but she wasn't paying attention to them. She was mesmerised.
Open mouthed, Sarah stared at the walls round her. Every available space was filled with maps, and clocks and strange whirring things. She stepped deeper into the hallway, eyes going from one wonderous thing to the next: an iron object in the shape of an owl with little glowing lights as eyes, a drawing of a man made of steel, steam coming out of his ears, paintings of a basket under a big sac, flying high over some exotic forest. It was simply marvellous.
Sarah walked deeper and deeper into the hallway and came to a pair of double doors at the end. She resolutely pushed them open and was greeted by the warm glow of a burning hearth.
The room was big. It had several squashed, comfy looking armchairs and sofas. The paper on the wall must once have been lavish, but now the green was fading, and the oak panneling had cracks and scratches. A large bookcase filled one wall and display cases were scattered across the room, all filled with shiny trinkets.
The maps, sketches and drawings continued on the walls, but Sarah had already forgotten about them. She was drawn to a small table in front of her. On it stood a.. well it looked like a puppy. It had floppy ears and glowing little eyes and a tail.
It was made completely out of rusty iron. Cogs clicked inside it's belly and there was a whiff of oil and petrol coming out it's nose.
Sarah bent closer and her hand moved to touch it when she heard a cough behind her.
She shot upright, the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and felt her cheeks burning. She turned slowly round to see who was standing there.

[skylark]

Dr. Whitmore watched the girl wander off in horror. Once more her eyes flitted around her surroundings. The pallid, sour-faced butler seemed to be sizing them up with disdain. If it weren't for the fact that Dr. Whitmore could see the rise and fall of his breathe, his complexion would suggest that he was recently deceased. Once more shivers ran up her spine. She tried to maintain focus, she tried to smother the rising panic with the thought "It's not real, it's all in your mind. It's not real, it's all in your mind."

Breathing deeply, she looked from each of her companions to the next. They were all too busy with their own affairs to have noticed the child. "Forgive me, it's just an idea. But perhaps we should be watching the young girl and making sure she does not court misfortune?" Dr. Whitmore said to the others, pulling gently on the closest one's sleeve before turning to find the girl without waiting for their response.

She headed off down the passageways. The old and moulding wallpaper, clearly damp from the cracks and smell seemed to bring a strange and unsettling humidity into the passageways. Ominous and brooding paintings complemented the frail and fading diagrams and maps on the walls. The overall atmosphere seemed to slowly press in closer and closer upon the doctor as she passed strange metallic scupltures of fantastic bestiary that should not be - demonic looking birds of ill-fortune and the like.

Her breathe was becoming quicker and heavier as the panic started clawing its way past her mantra of calm and Dr. Whitmore started retracting towards herself, almost sneaking down the passageway in a slight crouch as if that would protect her from the sights and scents assaulting her senses.

She eventually reached a room that smelt of burning oil with a blazing fire accross from the door. Dr. Whitmore quickly scuttled through the door when she saw the child about to touch a contraption that appeared to be a infernal contraption crafted to be a dog of some sort, a mechanical hell-hound. Dr. Whitmore was about to reach forward and stop the girl from touching it when she heard a cough from behind her.

Despite the heat in the room, Dr. Whitmore felt frozen to the bone as she felt her knees buckle below her and the world began to swim around her as the shock decided to claim her.

((OoC: I'm moving to Japan. I leave home on Friday. This means I will not be able to RP for a while. The good doctor has fainted from fright. Proceed as you will, she'll regain conciousness as soon as I can RP again.))

[Gallowsraven]

((OOC: OH NOOO! Oh dear, I'll miss you Skylark! But wow, Japan! Lucky you!! Best of wishes and hope to see the good doctor soon!))

[jhd1189]

((I'm sorry to hear that, skylark. Still, it'll be an adventure, right? I've always wanted to go to Japan...))

Lord Mentmore ventured a few steps further into the ancient house, and found himself in a place entirely different from the world he had left behind at the front door. Maps of places that couldn't possibly exist, mechanical gadgets that looked like they might collapse at any moment, and all sorts of other exotic treasures greeted him as he entered the room. Lord Mentmore spotted a rather fascinating mantle clock perched precariously upon a stack of encyclopedias, and stooped to examine it more carefully.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed in surprise. "I've never seen anything like this before!" Unlike the standard timepieces that he was used to, this particular clock was numbered from one to fourteen, and seemed to be lacking the number six. He turned around to show the group what he had discovered (the hands of the clock were turning backwards) when he realized that something was amiss.

"Where on earth has that young lady gotten herself off to now?" The other people were too engrossed with the fascinating gewgaws and gadgets to hear him, and his question remained unanswered.

Suddenly, there was a stifled moan and a whimpering noise at the other end of the house, as though someone were having a panic attack.

"Dr. Whitmore?" She was no where to be seen among the other group members, and Lord Mentmore sped off to find her. He hurried through the twisting maze of corridors as quickly as he could, following her whimpers carefully. He stopped dead in his tracks just as he was about to turn down a passageway guarded by an enormous stuffed bear in a turban. He was certain that he could hear Dr. Whitmore and the little girl in the next room, but... what was that sound? Footsteps. Someone else had followed them down the narrow hallway, and would catch up to them at any moment. Lord Mentmore peered cautiously around the corner, and managed to catch a glimpse of a door swinging shut quietly. There was a strained moment of silence, followed by someone coughing subtley.

Dr. Whitmore gasped from behind the closed door, and Lord Mentmore hurried to her aid.

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

((Starting from quite a while back, ending at the present))


Jackson waited for someone to respond. The small mousy woman had told everyone to calm down, and the short messy man had done the same (albeit, in much less words and in much more garbled language). Jackson squeaked slightly as the man pointed at him. The man disturbingly reminded him of his cousin Alfred (now going by Alfredo as he gallivanted around Spain as an elusive and reeking highwayman). As the conversation went on, however, Jackson was unsure if he still wanted anyone to even look at him, much less speak to him. Perhaps someone had glanced over at him, but it was more likely they were looking at the metal drum, wondering at its effectiveness in knocking out an opponent. Everything had seemingly been going reasonably well when he first entered… Jackson clasped his hands, urging himself not to scratch. Even if he was about to be caught in the middle of a war, he was resolute to appear his very best.

Jackson had still not spoken as the group left the laboratory, watching with his mouth slightly agape at the bickering group. These were not like the neat and respectable customers he had served at the glue shop, who spoke quietly and with such politeness that Jackson would only find out later from the laughing Bert that they had been insulting him. He was used to disagreements formed with a lingering pause, an enunciated emphasis, not this outright contempt.

When they reached the square, Jackson cringed at the sight of another person, who seemed to have not noticed him. When he straightened up, he realized that this threatening figure was just a small girl, certainly waiting to be picked up by her mother. It soon became clear that she was yet another member of the expedition. The way she tilted her head, stood surely in the face of the others’ quiet insults, and clearly thought of no one but herself, reminded Jackson painfully of his sister Eliza (in the way that only one completely opposite of the remembered can do), who he would be unlikely to see for an unknown length of time. He had lived with his mild door-mat sister almost all of his adult life, as she was younger than him and hopelessly unmarried. Dazedly (though scratching his head at the occasional nit bite, who he had yet to eradicate), he followed the group as they stumbled amid many a heated discussion to the house, where Jackson thought it likely their destination was.

They finally entered the room. Jackson gasped very slightly, and leaned forward. Dark rich wallpaper, which he failed to notice was moldy and worn, was covered by a spectacular array of pale red and orange maps, tinged and frayed edges showing their delicacy. Age and light (had they always been kept in this dank corridor?) paled the colors, but Jackson could still recognize how luxuriously and richly painted the maps had once been. Deeply colored paintings that drew him out of the room and into faraway lands, where thick lush trees grew and a mist seemingly covered everything. Icecaps painted so well that he could feel the cold and feel the biting snow. Strange mechanical contraptions, such as clocks with many spindly hands with unconventional numbers that gleaming strangely in the dim of the room. Scrolls aged deep browns and pale yellows showed runes of many sizes, some intricately woven as to look more of many small pictures than some mysterious language, some simple swishes of ink that looked familiar but could not be read. There were many diagrams as well, some in ornate frames on the walls, some hidden away in tomes that were presented in thick glass cases. Jackson drew his handkerchief, and rubbed carefully at the glass. The top edge of a diagram peeked out of one of the books, tempting him. He squinted. What looked like a spout coming from a large cylinder could be made out…

Jackson started at the sound of a thud, and looked around to see the doctor (Whitting, Whitemoore, something like that that he hadn’t been able to catch) had fallen to the ground. She and the young girl who was so dissimilar to Eliza had entered a room stuffed with comfortable dully colored armchairs (faded with time; this house was old) smashed together near a blazing fire. Perhaps the heat had been too much for the good woman. Jackson rushed forward, and stopped just in front of her crumpled body. He stood still for a moment feeling quite stupid, when the tall, imposing man with gleaming silver hair glided into the room. Jackson stepped back hurriedly, instinctively humbled by his presence. Realizing what he had done, he stepped right back, facing the man. He now felt ready to cower again, so Jackson compromised by bending his head so that the brim of his new hat and his deep brown hair covered his face from the man’s view. Taking a quick guess, he said quickly, “Sir Mantlemore, she seems to have fainted.” So alarmed that he would make a greater fool of himself, he finally stepped back after wavering for a full half minute. “I’m not sure of what to do to, ah, aid her,” he said helplessly. He turned to almost appeal to what he thought was the rest of the room, but turned to face the small girl he had forgotten about instead. ‘Er, what quite happened?” He stared quizzically at the girl, and felt the sudden urge to hide in his hair and hat again as she looked back at him steadily.




.......
((Yah, baby. An RP. Yee-haw. :P))

[Gallowsraven]

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Dark Johnny sneezed into the dusty room, twiddling his thumbs and wondering why time--at least at the moment--seemed to have mysteriously frozen.
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[skylark]

(( Am safely in Japan and have net access once more. Well, it seems the good doctor has missed less than I thought she would. You didn't have to wait for me ;p . Let's get this RP started again, shall we?))

Dr. Whitmore was falling into an abyss. Nothing but the cursed darkness surrounded her. Black silence embraced her as fear clawed it way up her throat and yet she found herself unable to scream, unable to utter a sound.

But then slowly the void began to be filled with sound - skittering in slowly at first at the very edge of hearing. Like dry rice moving in a pan and then the sounds began to change, grow louder and more vicious and then it was as if they sounds were surrounded by jelly - squelching, oozing noises added to the cacophony becoming louder and louder until they subsumed all.

Dr. Whitmore screamed and screamed and screamed, unable to do anything but fall deeper within the sounds.

But as suddenly as if someone had flicked the switch to demonstrate a new invention Dr. Whitmore was screaming: the sound shrill and piercing and louder than expected. She was no longer falling but lying on the ground, a dark shadowy figure leaning over her - which elicted an even louder more frenzied scream...

And almost just as suddenly the shadows retracted as her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw the faces of some of those she had been speaking with earlier.

A nightmare, it was just a nightmare...

As soon as she realized her mistake Dr. Whitmore hung her head sheepishly as colour flooded her cheeks.

"Wha-what happned? How l-long was I out for?" she quietly asked those in the room with her, adding under her breathe that none that perhaps the closest would stand a chance of hearing it, "It felt like so terribly long..."

[cherryp3]

ooc: Ay-yah! I miss my somewhat bratty Bon-Hwa. <3 Time for post~

Bon-Hwa grazed a strange gizmo with a light touch, the smooth metal of the flying-machine causing the slightest bit of excitement to burble beneath his flesh and ooze around his heart in a most pleasurable manner. His lips bequeathed a graceful smile upon his pointed features, and his eyes trailed across the various paintings hanging about the place. Even through the thick layers of dust and debris, it held a quality of enchantment and wonder. In all actuality, the grime added to the mystique of the place.

Black orbs fluttered lightly to a new source, towards his company that seemed just as engrossed in the unfurling magic as he had been.

"Good heavens!" the elderly gentleman cried in shock and amazement at a most bizarre clock, as if on cue from Bon-Hwa's seeking gaze. "I've never seen anything like this before!"

The Asian chuckled under his breath as the man spun about, seeking for any unoccupied eye to display the odd contraption before. However, Bon-Hwa neatly turned around, pretending to be absorbed in the sight of a ship-in-a-bottle that...appeared... to be floating? He cleared his throat, and leaned in to gain a better look at the object. Actually, it was quite captivating. Bon-Hwa, in fact, had become so enthralled that he barely heard the man's comment about Dr. Whitmore, who had seemed to have disappeared off into another wing of the large building.
It was only when Lord Mentmore scurried off that Bon-Hwa glanced up with alarm alight upon his face. Dr. Whitmore was the one making that sickly racket! While he wasn't necessary concerned for the drab young woman, he certainly had a curiosity as to what was going on. So, he quickly abandoned the floating ship-in-a-bottle and fled after the lord, his footsteps falling heavily as he rushed through the winding hallway.

Bon-Hwa's ears finally caught the voice of Lord Mentmore, the gentlemanly tones reaching out to the young woman. It wasn't long after this, however, that there came an excruciating shriek so that Bon-Hwa had to clamp his ears firmly shut. Casting a weary glance to the whimsical-looking bear in a turban, Bon-Hwa shoved aside the door barring his path from the others and charged inside.

"Is everything alright in here?" he barked, addressing the two in a mildly frantic voice. "What ever is going on?"

[Gallowsraven]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dark Johnny glanced up from where he had plunked himself down and noticed everyone hurrying out of the room. Coughing into the dust loudly, he stumbled forward, following everyone's hurried footsteps.


As he skidded past a popping beaker and very narrowly missed colliding with a bear in a turban, he saw everyone was clustered about Dr. Whitmore.

"Doc? What the hell did you do??" Dark Johnny bellowed, shoving past some of the group members. She blinked sheepishly and looked up at him, cheeks red.

"Wha-what happned? How l-long was I out for?" she wheezed. Dark Johnny blinked.

"How should I know? I wasn't here..." He pulled off his coat and dropped it over her shoulders. "There. Now, lets go find out where exactly we're supposed to meet whoever we're supposed to meet."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

((Nice, Gallowsraven. We do need to get going, I'm very keen for some real action to start!))



Jackson bowed his head even more (which did not seem quite possible), eager to hide from the unyielding stares of the man who was apparently not “Sir Mantlemore” and the wide eyes of the girl. He scuffed his shoes on the thick carpet, aware of the fact that his shoes were worn, almost threadbare, with his navy blue socks just peeking out from the tip of his shoe where his foot was aching to burst from. The silvery gentleman, however, was the type to have shoes that fit and shined cheerily, Jackson thought bitterly, too overcome with acute embarrassment to dare check if they were indeed. (Though, they were less likely to shine cheerily, and more likely to shine coldly in stark black, thoroughly unscuffed leather, he thought with vehemence.) Too wrapped in bothersome self misery, the cloak that sheathed any inner delights, it took his several minutes to realize the thin woman with straight mousy hair was screaming. A thin and shrill wail, a tea kettle bursting with impatience…

Jackson scratched wildly at his hairline, the nits overcoming the vague feeling he had that this was not the proper thing to do in such company, and less in this circumstance. He thrust his arms down to his sides, fighting his urge to whimper at the vermin’s devilry, and bent over very slightly. He was quite scared to look at her. It became apparent to Jackson that she had stopped screaming as abruptly as she had started. He stepped back to the door, unsure of how to proceed. The silvery gentleman and small girl seemed to feel the same. At this point, the door swung back open, thrusting Jackson sideways and into the space occupied by a thick wooden display cabinet, darkened and filled with delicate glass and metal trinkets over age and time. Scattered rings and clinks of the treasures falling about sounded from inside the cabinet, and Jackson hurriedly straightened himself and the blasted cabinet. The arrogant, young, and clipped voice of the young light-haired man burst forth, addressing either the old gentleman and the young girl, or the two adults. "Is everything alright in here? What ever is going on?"

Jackson had hardly started forward back to the body of the awakening doctor, when the door was flung open again. Jackson crashed back into the cabinet. This time there were a few definite sounds of shattering. Presumably, the heavy metal objects were crushing the delicate glass ones. The impact seemed to throw several other nearby objects off balance, and Jackson saw the short messy man dodge a large wooden totem shaped like a bear with a deep purple and indigo turban that dripped with feathers, and push his way past, shouting "Doc? What the hell did you do??" at the top of his voice, Jackson righted himself forcefully. Blast the cabinet! Blast the door! He swaggered into the foreground of the huddled group, balked at the stares, and feebly backed behind the light haired youth.

"Wha-what happened? How l-long was I out for?" The woman murmured. He heard her say something even more quietly under her breath, but at several feet away from her, he was unable to make out anything. Only the messy man would have been able to make hide or hair of it.

"How should I know? I wasn't here..." Jackson skidded back further as the man’s coat was draped unceremoniously upon her shoulders, though he then spoke to her with great care. "There. Now, let’s go find out where exactly we're supposed to meet whoever we're supposed to meet." He got up roughly, and offered a thick, calloused hand to the doctor as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Jackson turned and eyed his damage fearfully. Thankfully, the cabinet was upright, though the damage done inside was not to be laughed at. He walked to the bear totem that had fallen, put it back in what appeared to be its right place, and respectfully put the gaudy turban back on it.

Feeling assertive, he smiled in a way that he thought was fairly dashing, or at least would make him look less like someone who got smashed by doors, and attempted a wink that turned out more like the twitch of a facial tick. Jackson turned quickly away from the others, and strolled to the other side of the room (all the better to get away from that blasted door). Though he felt he could take charge of going to the meeting place (possibly, anyway), he had no idea where it was. He wrung his hands unconsciously, glancing out the dusty cracked into the drab gray sky. This was not a good start to an adventure, he thought bitterly.

[skylark]

((OoC: I was waiting for some more people to post but it just doesn't seem to be happening. Anyone have any clue how many people are still checking this thread or wanting to get going again?))

Dr. Whitmore's back tensed and the hairs on the back of her neck jumped up as Dark Johhny made a sudden motion... and dropped his coat over her shoulders. She sat there blinking in suprize for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. She was quite certain that there was some sort of social protocol to be followed when someone draped their coat over you, but she had no idea of what it could possibly be. It then dawned upon her that she must look somewhat like a doe caught in a trap and decided it was best to do something rather than nothing at all. She quickly made sure her skirts were in place and then stood up. The coat was heavy and far too large on her small frame, making her seem like a somewhat comical illustration of a drowning kitten.

"Th-Th-Thank you," she muttered to Dark Johnny, "I am quite... quite alright now." She then added for everyone's benefit (and my, hadn't the room suddenly filled with people!), "I... I dare s-say that I believe that I saw a d-door that looked like it led to a meeting room as... as I was coming up the passageway."

She looked patently at her shoes as she feebly added, "But I... I wanted to make sure the child would not come to harm and... and followed her."

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

((Ah, good! I don't want this RP to die. I for one am indeed still checking this thread every day, and want to get it moving. I'm not sure who else is still interested in being active/is waiting for more posts...))

[Gallowsraven]

((I'm still here and definitely into roleplaying, but Dark Johnny can only do so much...I just don't want to take it upon myself to write really important parts of the story, not out of laziness, but I simply don't know quite how to continue the larger storyline--or where the originator of this thread had in mind for it to go.

So, Dark Johnny'll be here to drop coats on people, get into fights...do whatever a guy like him is supposed to do.))

[jhd1189]

((Oh wow, I kind of assumed everyone had forgotten about this thread! Maybe I should post something soon... ))

[cherryp3]

ooc: I agree. :]
I'm definitely still interested, though a little confused at what to do past this point.

[skylark]

((OoC: I would suggest just getting the characters all into a room that *looks* like a meeting could take place in it and then letting HP know what's up...))

[SpacemanHPSpiff]

((Wow, it's been like a month since I've posted on S2C. I sure do hate school.

Anyway, I definitely agree with skylark's suggestion, and it seems to me that no one adamantly disagrees. However, none of us seem to have posted yet. I'm assuming that you all are still interested in RPing. I'm just wondering if any of you are willing to go ahead and direct us... Like Gallowsraven, my character isn't really assertive, and I'm not sure how he could go about leading everyone to the room, and I'm not sure what's planned by HP and (possibly) jhd... However, if no one else wants to, I could definitely manage to have Jackson stumble upon the meeting area. I'd just like to get this moving again. I get sad every time I check it and no action has happened!

Sorry for the novel. So... Anyone have any ideas on how to direct this?))

[Gallowsraven]

(( I agree with you Spaceman...I'd really like to see this go somewhere, but, y'know...Dark Johnny doesn't really seem to be anyone who's fit to lead this group...so...I haven't posted anything. But if someone would HAPPEN to wander into the meeting area, that would great!))