A World Asunder - IC

[VonDoom]

Chapter 1: Skies Asunder

26th August, 1225
Telor City

The sky was dark. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDME_NuBsoo)

It was barely late afternoon, yet black clouds heavy with rain had already gathered. Torrents of rain poured down and strong winds whipped through the streets, their roar punctuated by cracking thunder as lightning crashed down against the jagged skyscrapers that had invaded their lofty domain.

In any other city, this would serve as a deterrent to stepping beyond one's porch. In Telor, the streets were as bustling as ever. Despite the grim expression on many a face, vendors touted their wares in the market district, automobiles haltingly passed through streets that had never been designed for smooth transitions. Beggars from the slums carried on their desparate panhandling, risking illness so they could afford food.

The capital of the Telorian Empire did not stop for anything. The violent weather was but another unpleasant fact of life.

---

A man stood at the very center of the city. Though many would suspect this to be hyperbole, it was also the truth. He was doing it at this exact moment.

He was an old man. Stark white hair framed his head, but despite his age he looked the very image of vitality, strong and full of spirit. His choice of clothing was a modern slate-colored suit, but the heavy ermine fur traditionally associated with royalty rested around his shoulders.

He stared into the sky, through a black window, his eyes wide with glee as lightning cracked down upon the earth once more and his mouth wide with an unpleasant grin. As if on cue, he threw the window open in wild abandon, a loud, mad laugh bursting forth from his chest.

"Come, unleash your rage!" he howled. "Shatter against my city that has stood a thousand years! Drown these human rats that dare tarnish its glory!"

The man raged and ranted, but after about a minute of this a servant finally entered the room. This one looked only slightly younger than the room's eccentric occupant, his face composed in a professional manner.

"My Emperor," he called sternly. The emperor revealed turned and stared at the servant in dismay, but soon recognition settled in and the white-haired man briefly reeled, then leaned against the window frame for support.

Judging it safe to approach after another moment passed, the attendant did so. Without comment, he dutifully proceeded to help his master, who had started to shiver and tremble, into a large red armchair to the side. Once the towel was safely wrapped around the man and the window closed, the ruler's complexion started to look a little better. "I am calm," he said, then repeated it to reassure himself of the fact. The episode was over.

The Imperial Palace, the heart of the city, fell silent once more. Eventually, the storm abated. The evening sky began to clear.

26th August, 1225
The Airship Docks, Evening

Wreathed with garlands of jasmine and lily and lit by tiny indigo paper lanterns, the open bow of The Painted Lady glimmered in the slowly-encroaching darkness. In permanent residence at the airship docks of Telor, the ship put others to shame with its impeccable decoration and ostentatious furnishings. Inside was a bustle of last-minute activity; servers rushed to set out platters of caviar and toast, grape leaves stuffed with feta and olives, pinwheels of proscuitto and pesto--appetizers for the wealthy guests invited to the formal public unveiling of the airship. Slot machines had been polished until they shone, in the gambling area, and dealers of poker and blackjack stood attentive; tables were ready and waiting for guests to play whatever their poison of choice was--craps, roulette, cards or some other vice.

The Painted Lady herself was a vice, with a balloon colored like the inside of a peacock's feather and banded in brass, a tiller painted with a spray of feathers, birch-grey balustrades in gold trim and multiple decks. In the center of the gambling-slash-socializing area was a delicately bubbling fountain--peacock, of course--which split the area between gaming and dancing; peacocks wandered freely about the ship, smart enough not to go tumbling off the edges and docile enough that a guest could pet them if they so chose. Gold-trimmed stairs led up to the second floor, which held a few guest rooms, bathrooms, and Diantha's private suite. Currently, the suite contained one Diantha Runa, scantily clad, trying to determine which dress to wear, and one Lucca Zidane, leaning against the door.

"It's utterly impossible to decide what to wear to these things, you know. One must be fashionable, but not over the top, and one cannot--absolutely cannot--be a cliche. Hm...perhaps this one?"

Pulling out a dress (http://imgur.com/o1AElbf), she holds it against herself, turning to look at her bodyguard and friend.

"Well? What do you think?"

Lucca smiles his lopsided smile and replies, "Don't they say the mark of a good dress is that women want to have it and men want to have you in it?", and Diantha laughs.

"Clever boy. You'd make a good politician. Telling me what I want to hear without ever answering the question. Now come here, help me zip this up..."

Outside, guards assembled at their posts; her own contigent wasn't enough for this event, and Diantha had hired on several additional guards to check invitations as guests boarded from the dock and ensure no one caused trouble at the gambling tables. This was meant to be a fun, entertaining evening, a public coming-out ceremony...the last thing she wanted was some drunken fool ruining things. And while Diantha Runa had no qualms pitching a man right off the edge of her ship, she had a feeling that murdering someone on her first public outing would likely be rather frowned upon.

Pulling on deep purple gloves and scooping up a clutch, the lady of the ship takes one last look at herself in the mirror. Makeup perfect, hair perfect, nothing out of place...good. It was her ship, after all. She should be the star of it.

And didn't wisdom dictate the more people were jealous of you the less they actually saw you? People would notice her ship, her dress, her jewelry...it would be unlikely that very many would notice her at all, which was all to the good.

"Well...shall we?" An arm is extended for Lucca to take.

"Let the show begin."

(OOC: A rough outline of the ship is here. (http://i.imgur.com/tYEpHqF.png))

[Starsign]

26th August, 1225
Aurlion Residence, Late Afternoon

The shower room door was knocked on three times from the outside. A young, slightly annoyed female voice can be heard. "Jonson, it's been nearly an hour now. I don't think you have to look perfect for this, do you?" Rosalind places her hands to her sides as she stands outside, waiting for her brother to finish his preparations for this evening's party. She herself would not be going; the invitation had only invited Jonson for his standing as the owner of Aurlion Banking. Status of small nobility isn't enough to invite the younger sister as well. It reflected in her clothing, wearing a boring set of work pants and a long-sleeved shirt. She didn't have a problem with that however. She always felt out of place amongst those who actually knew how to be a noble and she is more used to the life of a successful citizen. It is a pity however as she would have looked forward to seeing how it's indoor rooms would look. Rosalind can only imagine how she could use those ideas for her own construction projects.

Inside, Jonson ignores her sister's calls as he tries to finish combing his hair. Getting every single strand to stay straight back for the painstakingly perfect look he wants. He tries to use as little pomade as he can so it looks slick rather than greasy. Eventually he gets the last strand down, giving himself a smirk through the mirror as he adjusts the dark, sleek tuxedo he had bought just for occasions like tonight. "Appearances are important, my dear," he finally says back to Rosalind as he opens the door, practicing the tone and voice he will be acting for tonight. "The commoners may not pay attention, but the people I will be with tonight can catch even the most subtle stain on someone's shirt. A noble's job is to blend in with the norms of high society."

The banker takes to the front hall, getting his fancy, black dress shoes on as her sister changes topics. She whimsically imagines how Ms. Runa's pride and joy was constructed as she asks, "I've heard that The Painted Lady is one of the most beautiful things that the eyes of Telor have been graced by." Her brother continues conversation to let silence be kept from filling the house. "Mhmm, and a gambling court to match as well. Sure won't be a boring night if the other guests have any guts." Her sister chuckles at his words. "Oh please brother. Since when do you gamble?"

"Oh, you know I don't act like I have an addiction," he amusingly retorts with a small smile. "I don't waste the fortune our parents laid out for us." He gives a weak chuckle as he mentions his parents. His smile fades as he drops the humored act he put on, thinking about the irony of taking care of the very thing that put him into his illegal business with Osmund. Rosalind takes note of her brother's change in mood and she likewise frowns. "...Are you not looking forward-"

"Rosalind, no. I'm not," Jonson sharply intrudes, now with the voice and mood he's naturally used; the kind a blunt, cynical man such as himself would live with. "The life of a noble isn't about more control; it's about having more requirements and restrictions placed on you. You don't act on them, you get shut out by others of our standing. In Telor, there's no easy life. You either struggle to live as a civilian or come under pressure by the standards of the nobles. I live with the latter every day." His words spurn half-truths about his actual life as he finishes tying his shoes up, giving one a good tap on the ground to see if his feet are placed well in them.

Rosalind, not one unaccustomed to her brother's attitude, walks over to his side and places her hand gently on the back of his left shoulder, rubbing it as she gently speaks in response. "Tonight isn't the night to think about standards. Isn't it about having a good time? She smiles once more, letting it rub off on him. "It's The Painted Lady after all. You don't walk into a ship like that expecting to be judged by everyone." Jonson blinks in silence for just a moment before giving a dry response of, "Not like you would know. You don't go to all the fancy parties now." Despite his words, Jonson can't help but feel a little comforted by her sister's optimism, how misplaced it might be.

"But simple talk like that can wait," he then remarks as he opens the door outside his residence. The freshness outside breezing through and past the stale air of the house. He turns back to Rosalind and acts out a smile once more. "Can't keep a lady like Ms. Runa waiting!" With a wave, he says goodbye to his sister and begins making way to the ship. Rosalind stands at the open door, waving back to him as she yells out in glee. "Have fun! Tell me what it's like when you get back!"

26th August, 1225
The Airship Docks, Evening

With all the dignity he is able to muster, Jonson enters The Painted Lady with hands placed in his pockets and his lips wistfully sparking a gentle, small smile. He had a simple goal in mind while he's here: Play cool, don't stand out too much, be on everyone's good side, and have a good time. He doubts the night will calmly let him do that but it's worth trying to do so.

The banker takes a view of the main hall, astounded by it's design. He knows Rosalind would die to see this. Estova must be a place with a fantastic sense of art if they created this. Telor may be the most developed empire but it didn't have every ace in the hole. Not yet anyway. Jonson spends a little more time simply looking around than he planned. He gives a unimpressed shrug, a poor bluff to think that he didn't care for the scenery, as he goes to the appetizers table to sample the various treats. He may not have any sort of future career in culinary but it doesn't stop him from finding beauty in good food. Careful not to spill any crumbs, Jonson takes a small bite of the toast, admiring it's quality as something he'd himself never reach. For the moment he tries to avoid looking on at other guests, waiting to see whether anyone else of notable standing will come aboard.

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Airship Docks, Evening

Mizuki Matsumoto leans back in one of the cushioned benches in The Painted Lady's main hall, her assistants Harumi and Runes seated to each side of her. After giving one of the hors d'oeuvre a taste, she coughs and sputters, handing her appetizer plate over to Harumi.

"Tch! It's as if these people think food gets better and better the more money you throw at it..."

She's dressed rather nicely by her standards, wearing an oversized silvery tunic over a long, ruffled, black skirt and keeping her hair neatly braided back (the handiwork of her faithful attendant Harumi). Still, between her pallid face and tired eyes, she seems to exude her usual diseased aura even amid the joy and bustle of the lively room.

"Milady, I've brought some of the lemonade I made this morning, if it pleases you."

Harumi smiles pleasantly and offers a plain metal thermos to her mistress, extending an arm covered by a formal jacket to conceal the light ArcaTech armor plating she's wearing underneath.

"Mm."

Mizuki grunts her approval and wordlessly takes a swig from the thermos, clearing the aftertaste of pesto from her tongue before impolitely wiping her face with the lace-trimmed sleeve of her tunic. She looks contemplatively out over the crowds of people mingling and enjoying themselves in the room, a mix of bitterness and contempt spreading across her face as she begins to mutter to herself just loudly enough for the women at her sides to hear.

"Look at these people, Harumi, Runes. Pulling levers and flipping cards like rats hoping for the cheese instead of the electric shock... Passing their time with idle gossip no more substantial than the air they wasted to speak it."

"It is as you say, milady."

Mizuki sighs and chuckles to herself, turning to face Runes with a hint of a playful look in her eye.

"Hmhmhm. But that's enough of my griping for one night, hmm, Runes? There's no need for you to miss out on enjoying the evening if you can stomach this atmosphere. I'm sure your sister would be concerned if I started to rub off on you too much."

She pauses for a moment to cough, wheeze, and promptly gulp down another round of lemonade.

"Speaking of your sister, would you happen to know where she's scurried off to? I had heard she was attending this little event as well."

[DoomHat]

26th August, 1225
The Airship Docks, Evening

The all the finery, exotic foods, perfume, silks, and people of 'good breeding' made Sir Harper Floyd want to vomit. All these worthless frills and worthless people. He had a knighthood now, but deep down, he was still just an uppity Bane Street guttersnipe. He could feel the resentment radiating off many of the more highborn guests. They hated men with bought titles. Titles bought with money genuinely earned!

He reflexively traded nods with a fellow Innovationist among the bustling attendees.

It occurred to him that something else had to be bothering him. He normally reveled in this sort of thing. Free food and the chance to bask in the jealously of his supposed betters? Life's finest joys. The distraction was intolerable. He mainly agreed to attend in the hopes of possibly securing new contracts for his own company as well as moving forward on the Club's Undercity Rail project.

He closed his eyes and listened. He focused his attention past the mummer of gossip. He constructed a hypothetical schematic of the roulette wheels based on the sound of them spinning and clattering. He felt the hum of the deck beneath his feet. There... something... not right. The engine can't be going, can it? He was informed this thing had been set to dock indefinitely...

Why did this stupid thing have to take place aboard an airship, more over an airship he had no part in building!? Designed by inferior minds and assembled by uncertified hands, as good as a death trap! He couldn't make out the problem specifically, to many factors. He suspected a flaw in the hull, aggravated by, what? The wind? The high volume of foot traffic? Saboteurs?! Anarchist saboteurs!?!

NO! No, he had to calm down. Just another little episode, a hiccup of paranoia. This was not the time or the place. But, it wouldn't hurt to maybe request a tour of the ships infrastructure... Wait, is that?

“...Mizuki...” said Harper, spitting out the name like poison.

He strode over to her, adjusting his tie.

He stepped into her line of sight, close enough to be heard, but leaving comfortable breathing room away from her loyal guard and spoke, “Well if it isn't Mizuki Matsumoto, Chuuten's famed high priestess and or engineer.”

He paused for a second, shifting his weight by habit, and preparing to bolt at the first sign of physical retaliation before continuing, “Didn't expect to see you here. Strange that war profiteers should be so highly regarded even in these times of relative peace. Or perhaps our host hopes that maybe you'll entertain us with a rain dance? But with a wrench in each hand of course, to add that air of scientific legitimacy,”.

[Jade_Tarem]

26th of August, 1225
The Airship Docks, Evening

Runes looks around at the swirling, gaily garbed people. Absolutely wonderful, all of it! The carnival veneer, the single entendre that served as the vessel's name, and even the air of pure avarice and hedonism all combined with the opulence and cheer to make a place where anyone with enough money could have fun. Mackenzie had only described the Painted Lady by saying, "It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there," but then, Mackenzie had been quite the grump lately.

"I don't know where she is, Dr. Matsumoto. My plan was just to wander about until I heard the distinctive sound of her losing at one of the tables." Her sister had spent quite a bit more time at the tables - one last attempt to win big and pay off everything all at once before buckling down to try to earn it all back the hard way. Runes knew it would never work - with the special constraints Mackenzie was operating under, the odds were less than zero, but both knew that she needed to try it anyway.

Then the sharp-faced man stormed up to her boss. Her tone turned saccharine at his first comment. "Oh! No, she's just an engineer." She gave him her most dazzling smile and curtseyed. "You're welcome." With that, Runes wandered into the crowd to find Mackenzie...

***

"Crap!"

The man next to her raised an eyebrow while sipping something far too expensive for the amount of drink they actually put in the glass. His eye glinted with amusement. "The game is actually called 'Craps,' my lady. There's an 's' at the end."

Mackenzie's eye twitched. "I know." She'd wanted to respond with something sharper, especially after a joke that old, but at least he'd realized that she wasn't part of the staff. The good archaeologist was under-dressed for the occasion and completely out of place here - she'd been told to fetch drinks and 'hop to it' at least four times since her arrival. She'd have bypassed the event altogether except that the food was free and there was a chance she could turn a tiny bit of book royalties into a bit more barrier between her and the large tire-iron aficionados who wanted to discuss her soluble assets. "I don't suppose you know where Mr. Monfort is, do you?"

"I believe he wished to retire early."

"Don't we all." Mackenzie frowned. Monfort was supposed to talk about a possible venture tonight, but apparently she ranked right below a good beauty sleep on his priorities. "Thanks for letting me know."

"You're very welcome." The man turned back to the game.

"Sister!" Mackenzie whirled at the word. There was Runes, looking better than ever - and with no guard in sight. "Runes!" Mackenzie hissed. "What are you doing out away from your protection?"

"Boxes, sister..." One of the first conversations they'd had since Runes's recovery had been her little sister's proud declaration that, having spent all of her life in one box or another, she wasn't going to waste her health on living in a slightly bigger box. Mackenzie had disagreed, but it was ultimately the junior Rowan's choice in the end. "...besides, I'm wearing the armor, I'm here with the Chuuten delegation, and I even got a tattoo that says 'property of Chuuten R&D' on my backside, just in case." She'd said the last bit just a little too loudly - Mackenzie saw the monocle on the man behind runs pop from his face and fall into his wineglass. Runes giggled at her older sister's look. "I'm fine, Kenzy, and I'm having a great time already. Did you meet your contact yet?"

"He's not coming."

Runes frowned and Mackenzie immediately felt bad about bothering her sister with this. Blast it, even as a tiny child she hadn't been this charming. "Aw, that's terrible. What will you do for the rest of the evening?"

"I'm going to take a quick look around for anyone who might be willing to spend loads of money on speculative digs."

"These people all have carefully guarded social standings or their own business interests to look after. Who would be willing to..." Runes trailed off as Mackenzie nodded at something over her shoulder.

The younger Rowan saw the mysterious Diantha Runa finally make her appearance, although in truth the soiree hadn't really been going on that long. The lady was bedecked with jewelry and and a dress, all tailored and crafted to keep the just-shy-of-riotous peacock theme going. Runes turned back to her smirking sister. "Ah. Yes. That could work."

[TheDarkDM]

11th of September, 1225
The Industrial Sector, Late Evening

Rain dripped from the man's golden mask as he knelt on the rooftop. The moldering shingles groaned beneath his weight, yet he remained, seemingly unconcerned by the four storey drop. He'd been there for hours, unnoticed amidst the smokestacks of the abandoned factory, watching the vermin scurry away from the rain. The seething mass of wretched humanity sickened him, yet he endured, for he had a far greater target that night.

Across the worn brick avenue dividing the industrial lots loomed one of Chuuten's ubiquitous arms factories, their proud sigil a potent reminder to keep one's distance. Past the brick walls lined with razor wire, two squads of Chuuten security patrolled the grounds, watched over by guard towers on the lot's four corners. Three heavy cars sat on the factory's rail line, filled to the brim with munitions for the morning delivery. The man knew there was another squad of four inside, keeping a weather eye for rats amid the mammoth machines that spat out artillery shells for the Telorian military. Not glamorous work, perhaps, but safe. Or so they thought. As the last rays of the sun slipped into the horizon, the streets cleared. Dim street lights flickered on, their light dwarfed by the blazing beacon of Chuuten's fortress-factory. All was quiet, the echoes of thunder naught but a distant memory, and when the man leapt from his perch it was without a whisper.

The first guard died instantly, his rib cage cracking like the shell of a cockroach beneath the man's boots as he landed on the nearest guard tower. Twenty feet below, the guard's compatriots were none the wiser as the man leapt again, sailing from the pool of viscera towards the factory proper. Scrambling to the roof, he ran towards the next guard tower, landing with a faint thump on its roof. The tower's guard gave a grunt of surprise at the unfamiliar noise before moving to the edge. As he peered upwards into the night, the man's hands flashed downwards, stifling the guard's cry as they snapped his neck. Two more towers left. Their occupants fared no better, one surprised from behind with a blow that shattered his spine, the other pulled from his perch to land head first on the pavement below, skull shattered like an overripe melon. The last finally caught the attention of one of the patrols, who rushed towards the sound of clanking metal with the caution of trained soldiers. Watching from the tower roof, even the man had to admit the vermin moved well. Not that it would save them.

They clustered around the body, exchanging murmurs of disbelief. He must have fallen, slipped on a rain puddle. Yes, that must have been the cause. Poor man. And as they convinced themselves that this was nothing more than a terrible accident, they lowered their guard. The man dropped behind them like a ghost, and before they could react a golden blur cut through them. The four guards collapsed alongside their fallen compatriot, and the man retrieved on of their heads. Circling around the factory towards the second patrol, he sent the severed head clattering into the shadows. The guards turned, their rifles raised against a potential threat, and died quickly. The yard clear, the man scrambled up the side of the factory towards the windows that lined the upper level. Peering through the slits in his mask, he saw the four remaining guards clear as day, two on the catwalks and two on the factory floor. Subtlety was no longer an option.

He crashed through the window boots first, landing on the balls of his feet while the guards were still turning towards him. One jump, and he was on the next catwalk, his golden sword shearing through both rifle and the arms holding it. The guard collapsed in agony, and at the sight of his mutilated body the other guards blanched. They didn't even manage a shot before the second guard on the catwalks had fallen, and even that one went wide as the man dropped to the floor. A kick sent the nearest guard hurtling into the factory's steel door, leaving a dent and a blood smear, and the last guard almost managed a second shot before he was run through. The man pulled his sword free, allowing the last guard to slump against the wall as he stepped back to examine his surroundings more fully. Dozens of mechanized lathes sat nearby, piles on unfinished shell casings stacked neatly alongside. Further on, eight long assembly lines led away, each one staggered around delivery mechanisms for fuses, bursting charges, and most importantly of all high explosive. Even further on were the chained doors leading to the loading dock, where shells beyond the day's quota were stored to supplement the next. Two great vault doors dominated the northern and southern walls, leading to the storage areas for the shell's propellant and explosive respectively, and thick hoses rose from each of the silent machines, up into the rafters and back down to the factory's diesel supply. Behind his mask, the man smiled - this would do nicely. But before he could go about his work, his reverie was shattered by the blaring sound of the factory alarm.

Spinning around, the man saw the guard he'd left against the wall leaning heavily on the alarm switch, a pistol in hand. The gun's hammer cocked with a steely click, and the guard smiled past his pain. The muzzle flash was blinding in the darkness, the roar of the gun as deafening as a freight train. By all rights, the man was dead, yet as the bullet sped through the air it seemed to him no faster than a thrown ball. In a fluid motion, he brought his blade to bear, and the bullet shattered against its golden sheen. In shock, the guard collapsed to the floor, his pistol clattering away from limp fingers.

"Wh-what are you?"

The man hesitated for a moment, taking the measure of this insect that had dared assault him, before leaning close.

"Vengeance."

The guard's last rattled breath was his last, but it was of no consequence to the man. Chuuten's security forces would be there in less than five minutes, and he had much to do. Leaping back to the catwalk, the thick rubber of the diesel hoses parted beneath his blade, spilling the noxious black liquid over the factory floor. He leapt back to the floor, moving towards the loading dock with all haste - the steel door was chained and padlocked, costing him precious seconds as he sheared through the lock and slid them aside. Inside sat meticulous racks of foot-tall shells, gleaming new even in the dim light. Now came the difficult part - the vault doors. Moving to the one that led to the black powder, the man tested the latch. Locked, of course. His brow furrowed behind his mask, he held the tip of his sword against the door. Scraping it lightly along the darkened surface, he eventually settled on the door's impressive keyhole. Then, with a cry, he slammed the sword home. Even the magical blade was not enough at first to force the lock, but with another cry the man gave a mighty twist that send a screeching tremble through the door. Gripping it by both sides, he strained against the remains of the lock, struggling with it for a minuted before they finally bent enough to allow him entry. Scant minutes remaining, he entered the vault, emerging moments later trailing a line of gunpowder from a brimming keg. Setting down the barrel alongside the seeping pool of diesel, the man's ears heard the rumble of trucks nearby, Chuuten's security as promptly as expected - not enough time for the other door. His mind racing, the man rushed into the loading dock, and when he re-entered the factory floor it was with two shells in tow. He moved to the remaining door, setting the two shells alongside it. With any luck, they would be enough. He straightened just as the tramp of boots approached the factory door, the low curses of the soldiers drifting through the air as they saw their slaughtered comrades, and not a moment later a dozen men burst through the door, rifles at the ready. At first they saw nothing save the damage done to the factory, but then came a spark from above. The man held out a packet of matches, now burning bright, and flung them to the floor. Too late the soldiers saw the pool of diesel at their feet, the errant shells by the door, and in their moment of horror the man turned and ran, sprinting down the catwalk and bursting through the far windows as the diesel fumes caught flame. The sound of screams mingled with shattering glass as the man sailed through the air, a blast of unexplained wind lifting him at his apex to land atop the adjacent Floyd Motors warehouse. He'd almost made it to the other side of the roof when he heard the first explosion.

It was a small thing, the cask of powder succumbing to the flames, but it was followed by a roaring blast that signaled the gunpowder stores. The shockwave lifted the man off his feet and sent him tumbling to the ground, only his supernal agility saving him from becoming a stain on the pavement. He staggered back to his feet as the first of the shells started to go, thunderous reports that soon crescendoed into a constant roar as the rail cars ignited. The man was almost free, then, lifting the grate that led to the catacombs when the last explosion came, a fireball that lit the sky as hundreds of tons of high explosive erupted in an instant. The nearby buildings buckled beneath the weight of the explosion, and as fiery debris rained down of the neighborhood, the man disappeared into the gloom of the undercity. Removing his mask, Amorin Vae smiled. It had been a good night.

[VonDoom]

26th August, 1225
In Transit, Evening

The Chuuten Corporation and its representatives were far from a rare sight at social events. Their CEO, Mikado Tatsudoshi, had a tendency to make public appearances. Tonight was no different and it wasn't his first time in a casino such as The Painted Lady either, but as he sat in the exclusive high-speed aerial transport, one hand clinging onto the metal bar installed above for stability, he had a curious expression on his face.

After all, in addition to the minor security detail in the back of the vehicle, this time three young women had managed to hitch a ride together with him. Their presence was somewhat unusual, as the science division usually didn't come along to public outings.

But the Héian man didn't ask about it. He was glad they had decided to come along. After all, Dr. Matsumoto, his head of science, was practically a recluse. Though he admired her strong focus, it couldn't hurt for Mizuki to get out for a change. The same held true for Runes Rowan. Though the young woman was only a lab assistant as far as her position in the company was concerned, the situation involved was a curious one. When he had been asked if she could attend, Mikado had seen no reason to deny the request.

26th August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening
Twenty Minutes later

The Héian nodded, a conciliatory smile on his face. "A fascinating idea. I'll be sure to consider it for the next quarter." Mikado gave the noble who stood before him a friendly pat on the shoulder; he was a stocky man who appeared unable to decide whether he should be condescending or pleading and had ended up with a strange mixture of both. "Now if you'll excuse me, Esquire Farnell. I believe our host has made her appearance. We'll talk later."

As he disentangled himself from the opportunistic party guest, a quick glance around to search for his subordinates revealed some familiar faces, particularly one Sir Harper Floyd who had found the trio Mikado had arrived with and looked like he was harassing them. An amused expression appeared on his face as he considered the man and whether he should step in -- but decided against it. The scientists were big girls, they didn't need him to come to the rescue.

Passing by the large fountain, Mikado narrowly avoided stepping on one of the peacocks, then opted to come to a halt in plain sight to the side of the dancing area. A quick hand snatched a green-colored cocktail when one of the servants came into proximity and, there, he waited. It wouldn't do to boorishly rush Diantha as soon as she came into view. For that matter, there were probably a number of guests with big egos who required her attention first so they wouldn't spend the rest of the evening with a chip on their shoulder.

26th August, 1225
The Industrial Sector, Late Evening
Chuuten Munitions Factory Delta

I intend to time-jump to after the explosion, with Mikado arriving at the site via the high-speed air transport mentioned in the first section. Do any Chuuten-people want to come along?

[Svartálfr]

26th of August, 1225
The Denarii Estate, Early Evening

Another pointless gathering, although at the very least it would be a distraction from this nasty triad business, Osmund thought. He picks an expensive tuxedo from the rack and buttons the shirt to conceal his armoured vest beneath. The gangster fumbles clumsily with the bow tie for half a minute before delicate hands appear to straighten it as his wife materializes behind him in the mirror.“In half a century you still haven't learned to tie a bow.” she jokes. “You look lovely tonight Lucy.” Osmund responds, ignoring the quip as he appreciates his wife's reflection. She wore an exquisite green gown that brought out her eyes and a large ruby necklace hung from a golden chain about her slender neck. He turns around to draws Lucinda close with amorous intent as his youngest son Oswald interrupts clutching a copy of Mackenzie Rowan and the God-King’s Crypt. “Did you know that Saajka archer spiders don’t wait for insects to get caught in their webs, but instead spit sticky strings that entangle and paralyze prey?” the small boy chirps. “That is very interesting Oswald…” Osmund sighs, “Osfred should be here to pick us up any minute now, why don’t you greet him with Oscar?” The youngest Denarii son scuttles off downstairs as Osmund and Lucinda exchange a kiss.

Below, Osfred waltzes through security and swings open the manor doors to be greeted by a brother and two massive wolfhounds. “Evenin' Oscar, where are they?” the hulking man inquires sharply as he gives each dog a scratch behind the ears. “The parent’s? Upstairs, most likely waiting for Griffa to finish her hair.” Wiping some slobber off his hands, the elder sibling drifts towards the bar and begins to pour himself a drink. “Griff’s coming? I wouldn't have thought father would want her lounging around some gambling den.” “He didn’t, but apparently the owner is some Estovan woman, and our sister’s on a kick about their seven queens. You know how she gets her way.” Osfred chuckles to himself, how did a nation ruled by seven woman get anything done? “Well, if it’s all the same to you I'm meeting some friends” states Oscar as he excuses himself. Finishing his drink, Osfred loosens the top button of his shirt and slouches into a chair before being ambushed by Oswald. “Hello Fred! Did you know that that the Saaj…” “That’s nice Walder,” mutters Osfred absently, cutting his sibling off mid-spiel. “Why don’t you go bother Arianne?” “Oh, sure, of course.” stammers the defeated Oswald as he skulks off to find his sister, pursued by a couple of panting canine mountains. Sometime later Osmund, Lucinda, and Griffa are escorted to the cars by Osfred, who leans close to his father “I’ve got Jago, Stellan, and the twins in the second car with those new automatics. Those jade rats will think twice before starting anything.” A dismissive nod is all Osmund receives.

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

In pairs, he Denarii stroll into the painted lady with quiet confidence, tossing their coats to the attendant. Osmund and Lucinda stand dignified, while Osfred eyes the food and slot machines eagerly. Griffa’s expression is one of obvious excitement. “Oh! Look at the birds, they’re so colourful!” she exclaims loudly, immediately dropping the image of a refined noble lady. “They are.” Osmund agrees flatly as the group waits to be received, “Colour does appear to be a prominent theme.” Osfred grunts in agreement and stalks off in the direction of the appetizers.

The ruffian snatches a half-dozen stuffed olives from their gilded tray and drifts toward the betting tables before noticing Jonson Aurlion floundering around like a fish out of water. What was the family pet doing here? Grinning, he sidles up to the banker and gives the man a slap on the shoulder, slightly too hard to be chummy. “Hey there Aurlion, where’s your sweet sister this fine evening?” He pops an olive into his mouth.

[Nefarion Xid]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

"A show?" Lucca said sideways to Diantha as he escorted her arm-in-arm to the balcony railing atop the twin curved stairways that lead from the mid-ship courtyard to the observation deck, presenting her to the crowd. "Which one of us is on display?"

The infamous bounty hunter's appearance as Lady Diantha's escort would do its part to confirm the rumors about the mysterious woman's wealth and power. He grinned slyly, likening himself to the sultan's pet tiger, trotted out to impress and intimidate. Not a bad life for the tiger, living in a palace.

Truthfully, few would recognize him on sight. The name and the armor made him famous, not his face. Tonight, he looked nothing like a mercenary, dressed in a black and silver waistcoat over a trim blue silk shirt. His sleeves were neatly rolled up past his elbows, partly to beat the summer muggy summer heat, partly to show off his muscular forearms and new watch.

He searched the crowd with a wary eye for the faces he knew, and those that knew him. He was here for them, a not-so-subtle reminder of what the new girl in town was capable of.

[Starsign]

26th August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Jonson had finished his sample of the toast and moved onto the wine when a familiar, unpleasant voice had come from behind him. The hard slap on the shoulder causing Jonson to stagger is enough to recognize that Osfred is speaking with him. Next possibly to Osmund himself, Osfred is the last person that the banker wants to talk with. The son had no sense of subtlety and could very well decide to knock a person's lights out if he wanted to. If Jonson could, he would try to ignore Osfred and strike up conversation with someone else. As a "partner" with the Denarii family however, he is obliged to not do that. He has to show some sense of respect for Osfred, brutish thug as he is.

So with the small and passive smile, Jonson looks over to Osfred while not letting himself be intimidated by Osfred's size. "Couldn't come," he opens up in a form of noble grace. "Sad that she couldn't, would've loved this place." He breathes out a gentle sigh. "But we know how it is; standards are simply too high for people of her caliber. Why try to negotiate with nobility when they already prove superior?" His own words ring painful to his ears, talking of a situation he has been in for a good ten years. He speaks low of his sister here but does it to try and turn the discussion away from her. The last thing Jonson wants is a lecher like Osfred to try and make a move on Rosalind.

Jonson leans over a nearby pillar with one hand in his pocket. He sips the wine in the glass held in his other hand; it is of a unique, sour taste that he had not ever sensed before. Everything here seems like something he could learn from to prepare better dishes for him and his sister. "You never see parties of this quality, do you?" He pleasantly speaks up to change the topic; his smile never fading. "I find it simply fascinating how wonderful the ideas of foreigners can be. I don't think you'd ever find something this unique made in Telor."

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Harumi stirs threateningly in her seat for a moment, making as if to get to her feet before Mizuki wordlessly holds a hand out to stop her.

Mizuki looks smugly at Harper with eyes narrowed.

"Hmhmhm, good evening, Harper Floyd. I suppose that even if I actually had a rain machine with me, you'd put those twitchy little fingers of yours in your ears and shut it out like every other part of reality you find objectionable."

She smirks as if to laugh but coughs instead and soon takes another gulp from her thermos.

"Ugh. At any rate, if you've anything more to say to me, speak. If not, begone. This high society ambiance is grating enough without a little man like you dancing on my nerves."

Harumi's angry glare fades into a polite smile as Mizuki speaks, and she continues to sit quietly and motionlessly at Mizuki's side.

26th of August, 1225
The Industrial Sector, Late Evening
Chuuten Munitions Factory Delta

Mizuki will accompany Mikado to satisfy her own suspicions about the incident.

[hi-mi-tsu]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

"Both of us, darling, of course." Diantha smiled at the crowd gathered below, but there was a momentary hardness in her eyes; it faded almost instantly as she waved and descended the steps, Lucca on her arm.

"Ah, thank you for coming! It's so good to see you, yes, please enjoy yourselves..." Greetings and platitudes were passed through the ranks of nobles; a hug here, air-kisses there, ensuring everyone felt special and appreciated. She was good at this sort of thing.

She'd had plenty of training.

Spotting Mizuki and her metal thermos, the polite smile fades a bit; impolite, to bring one's own refreshment to a party. She thought she'd checked for allergies amongst the guests, and couldn't remember there being one for beverages...still. She was a guest, a member of the Chuuten Corporation contingent, and it would not do to displease someone with that power. Lightly disengaging her arm from Lucca's--he wasn't a slave, and was free to go where he wished, though she hoped he stayed close--Diantha made her way over to the small group.

"Ms. Matsumoto, I presume?" The noblewoman smiles, extending a hand to shake. "A pleasure to finally meet you. I couldn't help but notice you didn't seem particularly pleased by the food...is there something I can have made for you that might better suit your palate? My chefs are available, and I only want my guests to have a good experience..."

She pauses, then smiles at the girl beside Mizuki, and then at Harper Floyd. "Ah, this must be one of your assistants...and Harper Floyd as well! Such an interesting little crowd..."

[DoomHat]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Harper pointed an accusatory finger at Mizuki and opened his mouth as though to begin a tirade just as Diantha, the evening's host, floated into the scene on a veritable cloud of ostentation and courtesy.

She paused, then smiled at the two girls beside Mizuki, and then at Harper Floyd, "Ah, these two must be your assistants...and Harper Floyd as well! Such an interesting little crowd..."

Harper attempted to compose himself, making a decided effort not to observe the lady Runa's well displayed figure to closely.

He cleared his throat, straitened his jacket lapels, and said in a declarative tone, "Yes...".

He then hesitated for a long instant while, in his head, several competing courses of action violently wrestled for dominance. He decided on the gracious approach, he would shift the conversation to the hostess herself and how lovely the evening had been so far.

"I was just coming over to complement Ms. Matsumoto here for for her involvement in Chuuten's, uh, lets say 'novel' approach to selling some of their more, well um, atypical products. Why they've got people so convinced of the authenticity of some of their more exotic claims that it really is getting to the point where I too may have to resort to waving my hands at fuel injectors while chanting 'igauldi diggaldi dooo' before I can sell them.", is what he found himself saying instead.

To his own astonishment he even mimed out the 'igaldi diggaldi dooo' bit with the exaggerated flair of a stage magician.

26th of August, 1225
The Industrial Sector, Late Evening
The Ruins of Floyd Motors Warehouse C, adjacent to Chuuten Munitions Factory Delta

After his initial panic attack, Harper will arrange a massive salvage crew accompanied by an almost equally massive media presence.
:smalltongue:Good heavens look how unstable and unsafe this ArcaTech stuff is!

[hi-mi-tsu]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki's unwillingness to interact was awkward, especially in the face of the accusations laid out by Harper Floyd; Diantha coughed, slightly, then smiled and turned to the craftsman.

"Well! You certainly have some strong opinions on the matter, Mister Floyd. Should we walk together...?" She proffers her arm to him; assuming he takes it, she heads in the general direction of the gambling-tables and bar, faint smile still on her lips. She heads that way if he doesn't take it, too...but he's a gentleman, isn't he? What gentleman would reject the arm of a beautiful lady?

"I'd heard your company was in competition with Ms. Matsumoto's, yes? Floyd Motors seems absolutely fascinating. Not just those powerful street-cars, though, is it? It's other things as well. I invited you because I'd heard you were a genius, you know..."

Diantha smiled dazzlingly at her companion.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

Underneath them, engines whirred to life, cables were disengaged; Diantha had hired a special crew for the evening, to fly The Painted Lady in a slow circuit of Telor. To most, the motion would be barely noticeable; the ship was designed for smooth flight, after all, and even the lifting away from the dock caused only the slightest amount of shift. Exactly as it should be.


They were close to the bar and gambling-tables, now; Diantha ordered a glass of champagne, paused, and requested another, holding it out to her companion. Her eyes swept the assemblage before returning to him; so far, everything seemed to be running smoothly. Hopefully it would stay that way.

26th of August, 1225
The Industrial Sector, Late Evening
Chuuten Munitions Factory Delta
As was stated in the OOC, when we kick off the actual writing of this aftermath, I'm totally on board to have Diantha involved and make an emergency landing.

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki breaks her irritated gaze away from Harper at the sound of her name being mentioned, and she extends a hand to return Diantha's handshake. As the lengthy sleeve of her tunic slips back to her wrist and their hands meet, she can't hide how pale and clammy her skin is.

"You're... Diantha Runa?"

She looks Diantha up and down, smirking a bit at the extravagant design of her dress but perhaps feeling just a twinge of bitterness at the thought that she could have worn such a thing passably had she been born to different parents.

She freezes for a moment before answering. As the owner of the vessel she was currently on board, Diantha was probably one of the few people who could make Mizuki bother to try for a good first impression.

"The food is... well, I'm just rather accustomed to eating much, er, simpler dishes in my line of work. For now, I think I'll just stick to food that is, er, agreeable with my condition. The offer is appreciated."

[DoomHat]

"Well! You certainly have some strong opinions on the matter, Mister Floyd. Should we walk together...?" said Diantha, proffering her arm to him.

Harper blushed and stammered for a moment before taking it and meekly blurting, "That.. that would be Sir. Sir Floyd... I've... I've got a knighthood and all that... Not that I'm too worried about it mind you, or offended... not too terribly. Lovely party incidentally".

Forgetting Mizuki entirely he walked along with Diantha. It wasn't just her beauty that had him flustered, but terror at the notion of offending the host of an edifice suspended far, far, above solid ground.

"I'd heard your company was in competition with Ms. Matsumoto's, yes? Floyd Motors seems absolutely fascinating. Not just those powerful street-cars, though, is it? It's other things as well. I invited you because I'd heard you were a genius, you know..."

Diantha smiled dazzlingly at her companion.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

The flattery calmed his nerves instantly and the opportunity to speak on his favorite topic, himself, filled him with genuine giddiness.

"Ha! Well the word 'genius', being as overused these days as it is, somewhat understates my abilities. For example, GAH WUH?!!!" he was in the midst of saying before he heard the subtle whirr of engines coming to life and the telltale click of uncoupling docking cables.

He froze in place and went ghostly pale. He struggled to maintain control of his breathing, but didn't break from his host.

"So," he asked breathlessly, holding out a hand tentatively to take the drink, "where are we going? The party I mean. I... I wasn't expecting us to leave the dock."

[hi-mi-tsu]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki finally responded, before Diantha turned away with Harper; the hostess nodded, understandingly, and lightly touched the back of the scientist's hand.

"Of course, I completely understand. Should you feel hungry at all, however, just call any of my servers over and have them send your request to the kitchen. Tell them it's from me, and they'll make you anything you please, so long as the ingredients are in stock. Truly a pleasure to meet you, and I'd like to speak later and learn more about what it is you do! For now, though, Mister Harper and I are going to go towards the bar."

Another smile, and she turned away again, to continue on her walk with the eccentric inventor.

~At the Bar~

At Harper Floyd's breathless question, Diantha arched an eyebrow. "Very perceptive, Sir Floyd. I thought, as she is an airship, it might be nice to have her do a slow circuit of the city. I don't normally have the crew for such a maneuver, but I hired on extra this evening...she flies very smoothly, though, so you needn't worry."

[DoomHat]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Harper knocked back his champagne and did his best to look reassured.

"I suppose it should, give or take the quality of the engineers you've got down there. She's got a pair of Estovan G12 Triple Cylinder Diesels from that sound of it. Yes, those only really spontaneously burst into flame as a result of poorly maintained reconvection ancipiters, but given that they're only making that little buzzing sound every one tenth of a second instead of four sevenths of a second that component is thankfully either lovingly cared for or recently replaced." he said as he rocked idle on his heels and passed his empty glass off to a server moving by.

He continued almost without pause, "In light of your graciousness and sagacity I would be happy to arrange to have them replaced with something a little more durable and fuel efficient, at minimal or, well, lets say no cost. I'll write it up as an advertising expense.
I've drawn up and produced a number of lighter than air models and quite enjoy the romance of them honestly. Granted, there's more money currently in biplanes and flyingwings."

He paused, then swiftly scanned the room around them before moving close and whispering, "Now keep this under your hat, but we're doing some incredible work with turbine engines. Pretty soon we'll be able to produce an aircraft that moves faster than sound.".

[VonDoom]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Glancing over the shoulder of yet another man who boorishly wanted to talk business rather than pleasure, Mikado's eye fell onto the small gathering of their host, Sir Harper Floyd and his own employees. The Estovan lady was already proving a gracious one, he noted, as she had likely recognized the tension between representatives of two rival companies and had stepped in to smooth things over. From the looks of it, she was succeeding.

"Even we've heard of it." he replied without missing a beat, his words accompanied by a soft nod as a frown creased his brow. "The border regions are growing more and more restless. That's a problem for us in the city, as well. Did you approach the council on this matter?"

"They didn't even receive me. Claimed they couldn't call one because the emperor wasn't available," the tall man opposite Mikado grumbled. He was wearing a uniform that signified his status as a military officer and noble.

"Well, Lord Plunkett. Rest assured that Chuuten will assist however we can." The Heian man took a sip from his champagne, then continued. "I'll have my secretary call yours and we'll arrange a meeting to talk about the specifics. I-" Mikado paused briefly as a very slightly vibration travelled through the ground, but didn't react any further. "Hmm. You know, that poker table over there looks like a few spots are open. Would you care to join me, Baron? Or do you prefer Captain whilst in uniform?"

Shortly afterwards, both Mikado and Baron Plunkett found themselves joining an already going poker game.

Introducing a minor free-for-use NPC: Baron William Plunkett, Captain of the Telorian Army and Temporary Governor of one of the Western border provinces. A short character guide for his use will follow.

Also: if anyone wants to have established or be involved in that poker game, feel free to set the table!

[Jade_Tarem]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

The Rowan sisters had decided not to crowd Diantha Runa along with everyone else. It wasn't exactly going to be a short party; there would be time later.

Instead, Runes had expressed an interest in seeing, of all things, the launch procedure. Looking out over the railing at the side of the ship, she took in all of the hustle and bustle at the dock, completely enraptured. Watching her, Mackenzie felt actual peace for just a moment - Runes had come so close to death, and she'd already missed out on so much, that watching her take joy even in watching the machinery and men at work made everything else worth it.

Not that her sister's cure hadn't come with its own special price. A loud *SNAP* was heard as something important within one of the dock's huge securing arms gave way. While it was already clear of the Painted Lady, the arm swung back around and down toward the top deck.

Runes blinked at it and froze. "Oh, that looks unpleasant."

Mackenzie, though, had a bit more experience with failing infrastructure. "Down!" She shrieked, grabbing Runes by the collar and forcibly hurling both of them to the deck. The arm followed its track, whipping horizontally through the space both of them had occupied a second previous with enough force to crush an automobile like an empty bottle. The arc carried it back out and away, before inertia gave way to potential energy and gravity once more and carried it back.

By this time, though, the airship was too far away, leaving the arm swinging out into the empty night sky as the workers struggled to secure it.

"Are you alright?" Mackenzie asked, anxiously.

Runes got up and dusted herself off. "I'm fine." She said. "I wonder what event that would have been..."

"No way to tell." The elder Rowan shrugged, before elbowing her sister playfully. "I can't take you anywhere." Then she followed Runes's gaze past her. "Oh! It's our hostess and the grumpy industrialist! How are you?" Runes asked brightly.

[Svartálfr]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Osmund catches a glimpse of what he assumes is the party's host as the vibrantly dressed woman wanders off with A companion. He wondered what a magnificent creature like her was doing with a sniveling wretch like Sir Harper Floyd. The Baron supposed she wouldn't have any problem wrapping him around her finger, and it never hurt to rich, weak-willed men under your sway. He had to admit, the Estovan was quite fetching. A younger, more foolish version of himself may have even fallen for such an enchantress.

"Where is Mrs. Runa?" wonders Griffa aloud, interrupting his thoughts. "I believe it's Ms. Runa, dear..." Her father corrects. "...and hosting an event of this caliber is a taxing affair. I'm sure you can become acquainted with her later in the evening. For now, why don't we follow Osfred's lead and sample the catering?" As the group strides over to the food spread, Osmund notices the CEO of Chuuten Corp sit down at the table of a burgeoning card game. He'd wanted to size up Mikado Tatsudoshi for awhile, and what better than a poker game to judge a man's character. Excusing himself, he claims a seat and flashes his tiger-like grin at the other players. "Good evening gentlemen, I don't suppose you have room for one more?" the crime lord inquires, while his body language makes clear that he doesn't care about the answer.

"That's certainly a shame about Rosetta, I've heard lovely things." mumbles Osfred absently as he quite conspicuously examines the retreating rear of some woman in a peacock dress. As his most recent point of interest disappears behind a doorway the large man refocuses on the banker. "Obviously you haven't been invited to the right parties. If you're so fascinated with all these damned foreigners why don't you fly off to one of their countries and save us your tediousness." the Denarii replies sharply. Losing interest, he decides to let the chew-toy that is Jonson Aurlion go. Stalking off without any word of farewell, the young brute spies a pair of women causing a fuss over the airship's departure. He decides to introduce himself by butting abruptly into their conversation. "Greetings, Ms. Rowan. It's been too long." Turning to the younger of the two he puts on his most charming facade. "Hello there, Osfred Denarius, I don't believe I've had the pleasure..."

[Starsign]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Jonson keeps his pleasant, silent smile all through the conversation with Osfred. Best way to handle a brute without force is to let him speak until he loses interest. Jonson keeps up the facade until Osfred turns the corner, at which point the banker gives a quiet sigh of relief as he plops his hand into his face in disgust of Osfred's attitude. Dealing with such a brute for an hour is a nightmare; Jonson can't even imagine how Osmund's family puts up with the lout. The banker is just glad Osfred is off to meet the Rowans, unfortunate luck as they have just gotten.

Jonson stays at the refreshments for a short time, biding his stay on The Painted Lady away like a stationary object. It eventually comes to mind that not doing anything is both boring and a waste of an opportunity. This is likely to be his only chance on The Painted Lady for a good while, if not ever. He takes a look around from where he is; his hands placed on the railing as his eyes dart downward to the gambling area. He can see the host Ms. Runa along with her accomplice, whoever he may be. Down by the poker table, he can see Osmund in a round with, among other people, the CEO of Chuuten. Jonson can imagine that to be an interesting bout, like a chess game where the cards take the place of pawns.

Deciding that it would be a shame not to at least meet Mikado Tatsudoshi, Jonson calmly makes his way down to the gambling area. His more-relaxed and focused grin presents itself to the crowd as he approaches the poker table when a moment of pause is given. "Pardon the intrusion," he begins. His hands to his sides and a professionally straight stance are a sign of respect to the other players. "Would you all mind another player? I find simply standing about to be a wasteful use of my time for this night."

I'd like to mention that the name of Jonson's sister is Rosalind, not Rosetta. I get the feeling that it's intentional though, considering Osfred's personality. :smallbiggrin:

[VonDoom]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Captain Plunkett and the CEO of Chuuten Corp. had taken seats that were almost opposite each other, since those they had joined had spread themselves evenly around the table, for one reason or another. The game of the day looked to be standard draw poker and the players were just finishing up their round before the new arrivals would be dealt in.

Six chairs were occupied of a total of nine, the dealer included. If one were to assign numbers to them in clockwise order starting from the dealer, the noble Captain was sitting in chair three, while Tatsudoshi had opted for chair six.

Three more were there. A comely woman with a large-brimmed white hat, dressed in an extravagant blue outfit, who was hiding the fact that she was already pushing fourty with some success. She sat in chair two. She was a regular across various high society events, a widow living off of the riches of her deceased husband.

In chair four sat a rotund fellow who was sweating profusely, his bearing and overly elaborate manner of speech identifying him as an educated man. Not educated enough to know when he should have stopped gambling, looking at his remaining chips, but he made up for his nerves with a surprising amount of verbose bluster.

The final participant sat in chair eight, looking rather bored by the whole affair. His face was well-known around certain circuits, being that he happened to be one of the cities' more influential judges. His face lit up when he, unlike the other two, recognized Osmund. "Why, Baron Denarius! Always a spot open for such a fine man such as yourself!" His smile wasn't even strained. After all, he had been well compensated to be blissfully unaware of any odd going-ons around the man.

The other two didn't seem to have an opinion one way or the other, wisely chosing to remain silent as the rather intimidating man stood over the table.

Denarius' fellow Baron, William Plunkett, had no idea who Osmund really was. He had only come to the city to plead his case for assistance, so he merely made the slight bow that a man of equal rank deserved.

Tatsudoshi, on the other hand, only briefly glanced up towards the mafia boss as he arrived. Considering the man's influence and standing, he had to know about the Denarii. With the number of powerful and ambitious rivals Chuuten had already eliminated or subsumed, it was a given that the corporation had a big file on prominent figures in organised crime. Just in case.

"Please sit, Baron," he offered, never once checking, or even considering whether anyone else might have a different opinion. There was no recognition visible in his expression or tone. The judge had given away that much already, so he revealed nothing by calling the man by his title.

Jonson's arrival was met with a similarly blasé reaction. This time, it was the woman who had spoken up. "Oh, there's always a chair open for such a handsome fellow!" Apparently she had recognized the banker and now gave him a rather fascinated look.

I hope you don't mind that I picked up on Osmund's connections while coming up with three NPCs. Feel free to name the bloke or make use of him during the game, Svartalfr.

The three new NPCs are:

Judge To-be-named-by-Svartalfr, a corrupt government official.
Cirella Tremayn, a former commoner living on her late husband's riches.
Professor Jonathan Redwell, a well-educated university professor who likes to talk and has a bit of a temper.

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki sighs and rubs her forehead as she watches Diantha walks away with Harper, enjoying a moment's rest from having to spend time in Harper's presence.

Taking Harumi's arm, she staggers to her feet and stalks off amid the people and tables, making her way over toward where she had seen Mikado head before.

"Wait over there, Harumi," she says quietly, motioning to Harumi as she turns to head to the poker table. "It'll only take a moment for me to satisfy my curiosity."

She walks over to the poker table where Mikado, Osmund, and Jonson have already gathered and presumptuously takes the final seat, catching Mikado's eye and giving him a short but polite nod of acknowledgement. "Chief."

She coughs and clears her throat, laying her hands on the table such that only the tips of her fingers emerge from within the silvery sleeves of her tunic. "I'd care to try my hand at this game, if you'll have me."

Sweeping her chilly gaze around the table, she recognizes a few faces and speaks up. "Redwell. Still working in academia, I hear?"

[Jade_Tarem]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mackenzie eyes Osfred like she would a snake, but still gives him a small nod of respect. "That's certainly one way of looking at it."

Runes, however, is delighted, and actually manages a formal curtsey. "Nice to meet you! I'm Runes Rowan, with Chuuten Corp. Do you come here often?"

[hi-mi-tsu]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

"Faster than sound? Truly? How absolutely marvelous, Sir Floyd. Truly, the things your company produces are a marvel of modern invention." He was such an odd little man, this inventor, with his stammering emphasis on certain words and his nervous tics. But he certainly seemed to know what he was talking about, and without a doubt was some sort of savant when it came to machinery; to recognize the type of engine from the sound was quite remarkable.

"I'd rather not take my ship out of the air just yet, though...when my engines need to be replaced again, I'll certainly speak with you first, hm? Perhaps by then you'll have mastered that faster-than-sound technology--"

"Down!" Diantha's head snapped around at the shriek; at the front of the ship, the securing arm swung dangerously, just missing a pair of women who hit the deck as it flew overhead. The noblewoman stood immediately, gathering her skirt as best she could to run over to the two.

"My gracious! I'm so sorry about that!" Before she could ask if they were all right, Runes was smiling and asking how she and Harper were; Diantha let her skirts fall and returned the smile, though her hand was over my heart.

"Goodness, what a shock...at least your reactions were quite quick! You must be Runes and Mackenzie Rowan, yes...? Pleasure to meet the both of you at last."

Before a conversation could truly be engaged, Osfred Denarius appeared; Diantha's smile grew a little tighter--this man had a reputation--but she was still ever the gracious host.

"And Osfred Denarius. My, my, we do have quite a collection appearing here!"

[Starsign]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Jonson gives a small chuckle as Cirella answers his question what he felt was a slight compliment. "Much appreciated," he responds to the noblewoman as he takes chair nine. He makes a passing glance at most of the other players for this game. He does what he can to avoid attracting Osmund's attention however; the banker is unworthy of the crime boss' time and Jonson would not want any sort of attention from Osmund in the first place. Being in the crime boss' presence is simply enough to unease Jonson; keeping the fact secret from others that the two are in a 'business deal' only makes it worse. It pains Jonson to admit, but his fear of the Denarii Family is what keeps him in line... for now anyway.

Jonson gives a quick look of acknowledgement to Mikado but does not say anything to the CEO. Tatsudoshi's lack of notice for Osmund aside from a brief glance and a few words had already given Jonson the idea that Chuuten's CEO is a very confident and focused man. The banker knows that one usually doesn't simply glance away from Osmund's tiger-like grin or intimidating posture without at least a subtle notice of discomfort. One with a keen enough eye can tell that Jonson is unnerved through his calm and relaxed smile. There is a sense of anxiety from his actions, between his hands which he keeps from shaking and the posture of his back and shoulders which looks uncomfortable.

Despite it all, Jonson remains to at least keep his charming voice intact as he tries to interact with Cirella. "Out enjoying the life of a noble I see Ms. Tremayn? It has it's charm in events such as these." His hands are placed neatly on the table, awaiting the next sortie of cards to be handed out. "And how does life fare for the rest of the family? I recall Mr. Tremayn to be a strict man; all too limiting for the kind of life some of us lead." Jonson does not mean to touch on personal subjects too much but does look up to conversation as such when passing the time such as now.

He gives a look up to Mizuki Matsumoto as she comes to join in as well. Among those in Chuuten that Jonson has heard of, none of them supposedly are as talented as Mizuki. Someone who has come so far by sheer expertise instead of nobility and charisma is quite the achievement to the banker. Though his family had set up Aurlion Bankings, they did have their noble right which helped Roland and Grace set up the business in the first place. Jonson keeps his smile as he glances to the Héian woman, but keeps his words with the conversation with Cirella while Mizuki chats with Jonathan Redwell.

[Jade_Tarem]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

"Actually, we're Mackenzie and Runes." The younger Rowan adds.

Mackenzie shoots her sister a warning look. "Not now."

Runes grinned, unapologetic. "Sorry."

"But yes," Mackenzie hesitates for a moment, unsure about what form of greeting gesture would be appropriate for Diantha. The hostess hadn't provided more than a verbal cue, so she followed suit and simply gestured to herself and Runes. "Dr. Mackenzie Rowan, at your service."

"Runes Rowan, Chuuten R&D," her sister chirps.

[Svartálfr]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Osmund returns Plunkett’s bow as he settles into the chair. “You’re too generous, Justice Swanson.” He addresses the kindly judge. The man didn’t come cheap but he played his part admirably. Already a figure of significant means even before the payoffs, Osmund supposed he needed the money for his extravagant wife, who last time they met was dressed in imported silks and had a dozen bejewelled rings squeezed onto her sausage-like fingers, which reminded him… “How is Margery? I heard she’d taken ill?” "Oh she’s quite alright…" replied the corrupt official, "…just a touch of fever. The doctors assure us she’ll make a full recovery in no time at all.” “I’m glad.” replies the crime lord curtly. “Jonson my boy, how nice of you to join us! I see you and Osfred have already caught up.” He beckons the young banker to take a seat next to him.

Osfred doesn't respond to Mackenzie’s quip, maintaining eye contact with her sister. “Runes is a beautiful name. Sadly this is the first time I've patronized The Painted Lady, hopefully I’ll have many opportunities in the future. What sort of work do you do for Chuuten?” A figure interrupts and the Denarii scion's anger at the intrusion quickly subsides when he realizes the interloper is none other than the party’s host. “Ah, this must be Ms. Diantha! I was hoping to encounter you tonight.”

[DoomHat]

Floyd was rendered stock still. Frozen like a statue as his heart threatened to explode in his chest. The clamor of the near accident, followed by the disappointment that it failed to happen to a pair of Chuuten people, followed then by close proximity to said people, and then capped off by the intrusion of Osfred Denarius.

Harper had hoped to speak with the elder Osmund, but his offspring... Harper hated this young man more then anything. The boy radiated with the casual cruelty of a bully. If it weren't for the smug void of basic human empathy unique to the born privileged, Harper might have wondered why Osfred wasn't wearing his red neckerchief to advertize his services as a garroter today. He wanted more then anything to lunge at him, rip out the lout's beady eyes, scamper home, and hide under one of his drafting tables.

He hoped that as long as he didn't move or make any noise maybe he'd somehow become invisible...

[Starsign]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Jonson's attention immediately peaks towards Osmund as the latter calls out his name. His emotion, hidden as it tries to be, is that of surprise and nervousness. Even if Osmund is simply calling the banker over to sit next to him, it feels like such a tall order to Jonson. In a way it feels to Jonson like Osmund wants to show his influence through a simple gesture. For all that matter, the crime boss has every ability to.

Jonson in response simply smiles, ignores the offer, and responds to Osmund, looking away from Cirelle in the process. "Indeed we have," he says with respect that most nobles, corrupt or otherwise, should receive. "Your son's presence is as commanding as always." He speaks as if pleasantly complimenting Osfred, knowing that 'commanding' can describe the brute in a much less positive and more accurate manner. Jonson then goes to ask Osmund about the rest of his family, "And how are the others? Enjoying the spectacle while the night lasts?" Jonson finds trouble keeping an eye on the poker game in the meantime with all this discussion. Not that it's a problem for Jonson; he always make low bets to avoid a huge loss when he is inevitably tricked and outmatched in these games.

I wanted to get something out just to try and keep things moving. Not entirely pleased with it but it's what I could get out.

[VonDoom]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

The poker table was filling up. From a small game of three, excluding the dealer, it had suddenly became a full game as Mizuki claimed the remaining chair.

Mikado met her approach with a slightly longer glance than he had afforded Baron Denarius. To his credit, he didn't frown. After all, for someone like Mizuki, counting cards for a game like poker was child's play. There was a reason that the games of chess they occasionally played had evolved more and more into an elaborate form of art … and Mizuki still won most of them.

Redwell, meanwhile, adjusted his jacket and nodded to the Héian woman in the grand fashion that only a truly self-important figure could manage. At least he managed to make it look a little endearing by being so spirited about it, despite his bad luck so far. "My dear Ms. Matsumoto," he rumbled in a pleasant fashion, "I would stop being a professor as soon as you'd abandon your own scientific work. By which I mean it's bloody unlikely." He chuckled, then stared at his rather meager reserve of tokens. "As unlikely as I'll be able to match any proper bets this lot comes up with! Good thing there's a table limit. Maybe I'll actually win something back, eh?"

Meanwhile, the widow stared at Jonson for a moment with a perplex expression, then suddenly produced a very somber look. "Oh, you didn't hear? I'm so sorry, but my husband ... he's dead. Has been for two years now. Has it really been that long since we last met?"

The chatter ceased when the dealer straightened his posture. "Gentlemen. Ladies." Now that the table was full, he quickly proceeded to confirm that everyone was ready to begin and place their bets.

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Two Hours Later

A stern man dressed in a black suit, identified as Chuuten Security by the company logo on his left sleeve, suddenly pulled Mikado away from the conversation he was currently engaged in. A brief whisper into the CEO's ear and his expression turned from the pleasant manner of a party guest to the frozen look he usually carried when dealing with grave matters.

"If you'll excuse me," he said in a tone that allowed no rebuke, then stepped away with his bodyguard. Their steps carried them to the side area that had been reserved for security details and other servants brought to the event that lacked the prestige to walk into the actual proceedings without good reason.

Chuuten had brought three of their own men along. Perhaps a bit excessive, but some of their most important assets were attending this event. One of them carried a large briefcase, which he immediately turned over to Mikado as they made their way to a separate room.

New Story Element
Crystal Radio
Temporary lazy writeup version. Proper one to follow.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crystal_radio#1920s_and_1930s
These radios, of course, exist. There is a version produced by Chuuten that is restricted to military use, though the producing company itself is an exception. The receivers, about as large as a suitcase, are magically attuned to the broadcasting device. Within a certain range, they work both ways and messages can actually be exchanged.

Not a minute later, Mikado returned with all three of his employees in tow. Two of the latter disentangled themselves and bee-lined towards both Dr. Matsumoto and the younger Rowan sister. They had orders to extract them from whatever conversations they were currently involved in.

Mikado, with the last remaining bodyguard, was quickly looking around for the host of the party. It was a good thing that Diantha was one of the most outstanding sights on the ship, at least. She was hard to miss and as soon as he spotted her, the black-haired man quickly stepped up.

However, by the time he had reached her, a distinct noise cracked through the night air. At first it could conceivably be confused for the pop of a balloon or the noise of a gun going off, but then it happened again; it was louder, like thunder, rolling again and again.

A few guests on the starboard side, who had watched the city skyline from the ship's rail, began to gasp. Bright lights were starting to bloom to the west. It was neither firework nor a magic performance. It was an explosion. A big one.

[DoomHat]

26th August, 1225, Late Evening
Blaring on the speakers of millions of commercial radio receivers in homes and businesses across Telor
http://www.granitegrok.com/pix/gathered%20around%20radio.jpg
http://nyx.uky.edu/dips/xt7sf7664q86/data/5/091_0007_p/091_0007/091_0007.jpg
We interrupt this evening's program of dance music for this special news bulletin;
FIRE IN THE INDUSTIRAL DISTRICT!

This is Richard Breakhammer broadcasting on site at the scene of this deadly mass tragedy. The flames are intense, but myself and our broadcast team are willing to take the risk to insure you, the listener, get up to date information on this blazing holocaust.

Before continuing we'd like to thank our sponsor, Comprehensive Dynamics for the breakthrough technology that keeps you both entertained, and in the know. Comprehensive Dynamics, clean safe energy to brighten your future.

Many of you may have already heard the blasts shake our city mere minutes ago. It seems that something a stored in a Chuuten Corporation munitions factory was the cause of the catastrophe. The blast caused a chain reaction that ripped through the district, devastating numerous peaceful civil engineering concerns.

Fire crews are scrambling to contain the inferno as the City Guard valiantly charge into the terrible hell-scape spreading behind me, seeking to save survivors and uncover evidence of the cause. Here with me is Superintended Voltzog, taking a moment from directing his Officer's brave efforts, to inform you, the public, of what they've determined so far about these events.

Superintended, given the devastation wrought by this horrifying mishap, would you classify Chuuten as a Threat or Menace to our proud nation?

Well, we've found no evidence of intent or culpability beyond the apparent source of the initial explosions, but given that several innocent lives have already been lost and that this will surly push back the availability Floyd Motor's much anticipated affordable new Model V street buggy, I'd say Threat would be the more appropriate label.

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki glanced back at Redwell with a sly smile, propping her elbows up on the table and resting her chin on her bridged hands.

"How fortunate for us that we've found our callings, hmm? I suppose now we'll see if fortune sees fit to let you walk away from this table a winner."

She placed her bets when it came around to her, making them as coolly as always. She never played for the money, anyways; it was the chance for a refreshing bit of card counting that drew her to the table.

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Two Hours Later

Mizuki hurried off with Harumi in tow when the Chuuten employees paid them a visit, leaving them to ensure Runes' safety. Hearing the booming noise thundering in the west, she stalked off to the side of the ship to get a look for herself.

She scowled at the sight of the plumes of smoke on the horizon and swiftly turned on her heel, heading back off in search of Mikado.

"Damn. Chief's really going to have his hands full with this one..."

[Starsign]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

The poker game had, by Jonson's account, been rather uneventful. Not being an esteemed card player in the slightest, the banker had usually found himself losing bets and plays made by the other people. It was relaxing in a way; Jonson never was worried about losing big or taking a huge risk. His low bets let him not worry about going penniless at the bank because he owns the bank... At least he wishes he really did. Still amongst all the anxiety and challenge of being in the circle of nobles, a simple game of poker with nothing but a meager supply of cash on the line came off as a way to relax. It showed on his face as well; his smile and calm lip movement when speaking is sincere now. There isn't a hint of worry behind it.

When he is given a moment, Jonson looks to Chuuten's head scientist, Mizuki. There is enough curiosity in the banker that he dares open discussion with her. Before he opens his mouth to speak, he thinks carefully on his words. Finding someone mouth agate in silence is a disrespectful sign to Jonson. When he does speak he keeps a tone which mimics his relaxed mood. "You are quite good at this game," he begins to compliment her skill in poker, as understated as it is. "Would there be any board or card games of Héian origin that some of us might take interest in? Ones more focused around intelligence and skill over luck would be preferable."

I'll get something up in a bit for what happens two hours later. Right now I hopefully gave something for Rainy Knight to respond to. :smallsmile:

[A Rainy Knight]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Mizuki's eyes dart over to Jonson, and she quickly looks him over, giving him a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

"Hmm? Héian games of skill, you say? I take it you've never heard of the game of go if you have to ask me the question."

She keeps a steady eye on Jonson with a smirk on her face.

"I'd go so far as to say I'd dare you to find a more skill-focused game than that one. It's certainly a fair sight more involved than this simple card game. So much so that Hé itself has a few master players who've dedicated their lives to the game, as baffling as it is why someone would spend a life shuffling stones around on a miserable little board."

[Starsign]

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening

Jonson nods slowly to Mizuki, remaining aware of her response while trying to focus on playing the game in the meantime. "The game 'Go' is something I have heard before," he says in response to Mizuki, ignoring the idea of mentioning why in the world someone would use 'Go' for a name of a game. "Yet I have regretfully not played it. Could make for a new experience. Course, I agree that there's no need to devote one's life to a game. The world offers more than that to such people." In a way Jonson is jealous at those who chose to revolve their life around something of their choice. It showed them as people with freedom, something he'd like for himself someday.

[Waxillium Lande]

26th of August, 1225
The Docks, Evening
Basil raced through the city, urging his motercar on faster and faster. The end of the trip in sight, Basil came to a screeching halt right in front of the airship docks. Leaping out of the car, Basil sprinted off towards the Painted Lady just as the ship disengaged from the dock.
"No, no, no, no, NO! Damn it!" Basil screams. "I can't miss this! This... this is important! Interesting! I haven't done anything interesting for days!"
The young plutocrat tilts his head to the side slightly, as if listening to someone. His expression slowly shifts from that of a disappointed child to a far graver one, to the point of being almost unrecognizable. And than Basil shudders, pulls out a small knife, and gently cuts the back of his left hand.

26th of August, 1225
The Painted Lady, Evening
A loud crack! echos through the gambling hall and a phantom orchestra starts playing a loud refrain as a large cloud of purple smoke forms and coalesces into the form of a blindingly attractive young man, dressed in a resplendent three-piece suit and carrying a jet-black cane headed with some sort of silver insect. Basil strides down the ship, finally halting his strut before a large gathering of people he deems worthy of his notice.
"Well well well, who have we here? Large bets at this table, I like that. Of course all the spots are taken, but I'm sure nobody will mind me just sitting and talking, no? Good."
Basil grabs a nearby stool and turns, seemingly at random, to the widow. "Can you believe they left without me? Ash and Iron, that would have been terrible."