The Fate of Fallen London

[Eldan]

The ward of Loreditch is a curious case. Wedged between the slums of Spite and the stolen river, it defines itself mainly by the fact that it is not as bad as the former. The inhabitants, mostly labourers from the Wolfstack Docks or the Master’s factories, pride themselves on a slightly twisted sense of honesty. Though crime is rampant, in the words of the inhabitants: “‘Tis nah real lime, ey? We just takes a bit of stuff 'ere and there, maybe do sum tradin' wifaht da bloody revenue awer da bleedin' master, if ya kna wot I mean. but nah wahn gets 'urt, or not badly.” Whatever that is supposed to mean. A gentleman would not inquire. What it seems to result in is that, while walking the streets, one is not killed quite as often for the contents of one’s pockets.

The Carpenter’s Casket has established itself as the unofficial community center of the district. The ale is watery and the cards are marked, and mentioning either out loud will introduce you to the fist of “Bald” Graham McKinney, the owner and former bare knuckle prize fighter, but at least corpses will be tossed into a cool cellar every night until they recover, instead of the street or the river, as is usual in a lot of the rougher places.
It is where those with special talents and a sense of discretion come when they need to get in contact with those with a need for those special talents. Bald Graham maintains a semi-public noticeboard where, for a penny or two, one can post a message to discuss the death of one’s dear aunt or asking for used bedsheets made of surface-linen. Those who need to know what that means.

***
It is False Summer in the Neath, the one short time of the year when Fallen Londoners will stop complaining about the rain, fog and gloom and complain about the humid heat (and fog and gloom) instead. Out here, far from the more respectable areas of town, Mr. Fire’s gaslights barely reach and candles are mostly restricted to the churches. Only the false stars twinkle far above, reflected on the few remaining rain-slick cobbles. Those who don’t have to work late shifts have retreated into the nearest cellar, to find some respite from the heat and that of the Casket is better than most.

A small group has gathered near the noticeboard. A lone devil, orange eyes flickering in the shade of his broad-brimmed hat, is staring sullenly at a half-full metal cup. After breaking the arm of one man in seven places, the rest of the patrons have decided to leave him alone. Silent, the pub’s clay man waiter, is pushing his way through the crowd with the occasional crunch of sandy joints, exchanging empty pints for fresh ones. A small clan of rats has taken a spot at the weasel pits, five of them busy massaging the shoulders and filing the claws of their fighting animal, while a sixth is placing bets.

[Luzahn]

Axton sighed to himself, pulling his hat lower over his eyes and moving towards the noticeboard, cutting an impressive figure with sword and gun at his belt. Coin has become harder and harder to come by in London of late, and repairs on the Ascendant had been stalled for months already.

Vigilante work was all well and good, but people seem reluctant to pay once they're out of harm's way, Axton thought with a wry grin. And the University is refusing to help with financing until I can provide more useful research.

"Perhaps going solo was a poor plan, after all," Axton muttered under his breath, scanning the room for any new faces before attempting to decipher the noticeboard. Most of the old crew had signed on to other ships, or were working down in Wolfstack these days.

[Eldan]

Most of the codes are pretty basic, once one knows what to look for. "Laundry" refers to stolen goods to be fenced. People asking about someone's "health" want thugs or assassins. "Missing pets" refers to kidnapping or making people disappear. "Travel companions" tend to be smugglers on the river. Most "plumbers" pick locks or safes. There's a few more exotic ones that stand out, more difficult to translate. What is meant by "stout folk to hold ladders while whitewashing a public building"? "Calendar salesmen" are probably anarchists, but then, the dynamite faction's codes tend to change more often than their laundry. Are "pickled goods" bottled souls or alcoholic spirits?

There is one sheet that stands out, written in a bold, if slightly shaky hand, in plain text:
"WANTED: Individuals of STOUT CONSTITUTION and BOLD HEART for potentially dangerous PUBLIC WORK. ROOM & BOARD, including REASONABLE amounts of DRINKS and WEEKLY STIPEND, to be NEGOTIATED. Enquire with Publican."

[D20ragon]

Devereaux stares moodily around the small, dirty room, pressing his narrow fingers to his temples in an attempt to quell his massive hangover.
Pah. Usually he had better taste. He must have had one bad night.
He stands up, swinging his feet off of the sagging mattress and onto the cold floor, leaving the nameless whore beside him to sleep. Or maybe she was dead. He just couldn't tell.
He pulls on his trousers and shirt, and(reluctantly) slips his crucifix on.
Then, as an afterthought, he tucks a rather heavy coin purse under the comatose woman's head.
Pulling the door open, he winces at it's creaking, heading downstairs with shaky, clumsy steps.

[Hydranova]

Ernst had momentarily forgotten why he'd come here in the first place as he sat at a counter, mug in hand. He reckoned that the bruising and soreness in his arms and torso had something to do with the mug of liquid manna before him, if that was any case. Who knew that that particular group of bohemians had a rather ornery clay man with them?

He swiveled around on his stool as he looked over the pub, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on the weasel pit before snapping to the rest of the dwelling. He clenched his fist as he saw the devil in this hallowed place of community. After all everyone knew that, unlike American bars or Continental taverns, the pubs of those native to the Isles were respectable places where even clergymen visited. But he was in no condition to chase the devil out right now; he needed a job of honest work.

The respectably-dressed man with an iron cross for jewelry stood up from the counter, mug in hand. Patting himself down to make sure his pistol was still present under his jacket, Ernst lurched his way to the notice board, partaking of a meditative sip from his mug as a notice caught his eye.

[Ionbound]

Daemon, master thief extraordinaire, is down on his luck. Or is it her luck? Their ever-present mask and cloak make it difficult to tell. In any event, their last little job turned out to be a spy trying to steal from another spy, and their contacts in the Game were...unamused, to say the least. Not that it's much of a difference from their standard state of being, but still, Daemon decided it would be best to lay low, at least for a while.

And so, they approach the board, they sigh. Laundry is rarely worth the trouble, finding missing pets or inquiring to someone's health is all together too Dangerous for their tastes...Hmm, Travel could be worth it, but tends to carry the same troubles as Laundry, and plumbing, while delightful, doesn't quite count as laying low. But what's this? A proper job? Why not. But, let's not be incautious.

With that in mind, Daemon approaches the devil and asks as they sit beside him, "Down on your luck, eh? I might be able to pull a few strings and get you back in the game, if you like...And if you do me a favor."

[Raine_Sage]

It was entirely too hot she decided, fanning herself idly with a slightly tattered lace fan that had clearly been in her possession far past the point where most ladies would have opted for a new one. Indeed most of her appearance spoke to a state of disrepair. The red velvet she wore had no doubt been stunning when it was new, now it was frayed and stained in placed with honey. However it did things for her figure, and she could not bear to part with it for something cleaner and more sensible. The gown, she thought perhaps a little giddily, was perfect for her. Practically made for each other.

She shook herself. No none of that. She couldn't remember how exactly she'd wound up in the slums this time, but she sure as sugar wasn't going to be making it a long stay. This was no time to give in to indulgent self pity. Instead she turned her attention outward to the others. The usual cast of misfits it seemed, a few devils, nothing entirely out of the ordinary. No one at a first glance who might give a lady a "helping hand" so to speak. However there was one gentleman who looked promising, he certainly cut a dashing figure with the sword strapped to his belt. Respectable, yes that was the word. He looked Respectable.

Quickly she checked to see if she was presentable. She didn't wear much makeup these days, no sense in getting mistaken for a street walker, but she did try and take care of herself. And finding a minimum of disheveled hair or unsightly smudges she got up to approach the good captain.

"You seem troubled good sir?" she said in as charming a manner as she could manage given the place they were in. "I don't suppose it's anything I could help with?"

[Eldan]

The devil growls something in a guttural language and drums his fingers on the table. His nails are half an inch long and a dirty nicotine-yellow. Not sharp, though, as one might think, but blunt, where they aren't cracked and splintered. He looks up from under his grey hat, the eyes catching the light of the room's single gaslamp, one flame-orange, the other a honey-coloured golden brown. His suit is at least twenty years out of fashion, and faded besides, the shirt grey and not starched enough, the black tie seems to have been ripped off two inches below the intricate knot.
There is a pause of a few seconds, then the devil growls, and speaks again, his voice heavily accented:
"How you know this one he is not playing game rright now? Is exactly wherre he need to be?"

[Sansamadonochan]

Saint was simply looking for the closest to honest work someone can get now-a-days. Often times he would wait until a health poster came down, then go legitimately check on a person's health. They very rarely paid, but it was enough to get him a place to live. He wore a cloak that, at some point he is almost certain was white. The bottoms are stained brown from mud, and what he prays was more mud. It has some blood stains, and the sleeves have been completely torn off. What isn't stained a color is simply grey now, from lack of washing. If it were pulled back, it would reveal a fowling gun on each hip, with thirty or so inches of barrel removed.

He frowned upon hearing the devil talk, and slowly made his way over to it. 'E ain't exac'ly where 'e needs ta be, 'cause I can see 'im., he said, with a cocky smile. Salt hurts devils, right? He hoped. Salt is what his guns were loaded with.

[Luzahn]

Blast! Someone had heard him, Axton thought to himself. Stupid chance, really, but sometimes the troubles of this place weighed on a man. Quickly trying to mask his emotions, Axton turned to the woman who had addressed him.

"Ah! My apologies, my lady. Simply frustrated at the lack of reputable work available." The lady seemed out of place here, dressed in worn finery. Some new victim of courtly intrigue, perhaps? Or a spy? Certainly not somebody worth ignoring, at any rate.

"Most of the postings here seem to be in the Thieves' Cant, if you are familiar with such things. But this one, " he said, making a move to take the plainly-written missive off of the board, "seems genuine." There. If she was more than she appeared, perhaps this would pique her interest.

"Ah, but I digress, where are my manners? Martin Axton, professor of cryptozoology at Benthic," he said, giving a short, respectable bow. " Best to play the academic for now, Axton thought. Let the rest come if needed. In all likelihood, she's just some lost woman looking for an escort out of here.

[Raine_Sage]

Katarina glanced at the message he'd indicatedwith some interest. She was more familiar with the local codes than she would ever admit in polite company, but this one was definitely strange. Still he had introduced himself, it would be rude not to return in kind.

"Katarina Moller, charmed to make your acquaintance Professor." she replied, giving him a charming smile. "I've been to Bethnic before, toured the grounds, lovely place. Although I never had much of a head for academics." she sighed. "My mother was right you know, I should have payed more attention to my studies. But, perhaps I can help you with the matter of this note if nothing else."

She took it delicately from his hands, turning it over to examine for signs of dabbling. Invisible ink, strange symbols scratched at the margins. But finding nothing she handed it back to him. "I think you're in luck, if it's honest work you're looking for. The note does indeed seem genuine, if a little alarmingly vague about the job itself."

[Ionbound]

Daemon shrugs and says, "Generally, folks like you tend to be a bit more dapper. Call me a bit mad, but I think you did something that got you kicked out of the embassy...And if you help me out, I could get you back in."

[Hydranova]

Ernst had just made out "PUBLICAN" before someone's hand snatched the notice from the board. Elijah's Elephants, someone was fixing to poach his professionalism! And someone who appeared to keep the company of unkempt persons as well, no doubt. No time to lose!

Ernst backed up and lurched towards the counter as speedily and carefully as his flamingo-like legs could take him, rapping on the counter to catch the barkeeper's attention. Sir, sir! No, I don't want a blasted drink. I'm intrigued about the notice on the board, the one calling for honest workers.

[Eldan]

"Sssssh." It is a hiss. But it does not sound like a human throat. More like a teakettle.
"Shows what you know, human. We don't get kicked out of the embassy. We either do our jobs well, we run away, or we get sent back down. I'll let you guess which one it is for me."
He idly scratches the table and a piece of one nail breaks off. It is catapulted away through the air and embeds itself in the crumbling plaster.

[Ionbound]

Daemon smirks, and replies, "Well...Seeing you this down on your luck, who wouldn't assume something unusual had happened? Most around here wouldn't be idiotic enough to even consider attacking one such as yourself, so...But anyways, you ran, huh? I've heard of that happening once and a while. Why'd you leave?"

[Luzahn]

"Interesting. Good to know," Axton responded, before starting at the man wearing the iron cross's words.

"Ah, it looks like somebody else is interested in this notice," He said to Katarina. Breaking into a smile, he continued, "Well, you were curious as to what the job itself was, weren't you? Care to find out?" Axton asked, turning to walk towards the bar.

[D20ragon]

"Sssssh." It is a hiss. But it does not sound like a human throat. More like a teakettle.
"Shows what you know, human. We don't get kicked out of the embassy. We either do our jobs well, we run away, or we get sent back down. I'll let you guess which one it is for me."
He idly scratches the table and a piece of one nail breaks off. It is catapulted away through the air and embeds itself in the crumbling plaster.

Stumbling into the room, Devereaux surveys the situation. Not to many folks still around...
But who was the Devil? And the person talking to them... Who were they.
He racked his memory, trying to recall the Devils face. Had he seen him before?
"Barkeep! A glass of tonic water!"
Damn, his hangover was bad. What day was it? Did he have to attend service?
He swings himself down on the other side of the Devil, chuckling dryly at the questions the masked figure was asking.

[Eldan]

Graham is behind the bar himself, today. He has earned his nickname, being, quite obviously, totally bald. Of average height, he is broad and pot-bellied, with impressive, hairy arms almost as wide around as his head. A nose that must have been broken in two or three places and badly set adorns a swarthy, pock-marked face. His apron is, astoundingly, spotless and pure white, the brightest thing in the room. Looking Ernst up and down while polishing a pint glass with knuckle-scarred hands, he says:
"You don't look like much. What can you do?"

***

The devil's reaction is instant. His eyes narrow, his drumming fingers stop, he leans forward just an inch.
"My table. You will leave it."

[Ionbound]

Daemon raises their hands and says, "Alright, alright. I'll leave. I just wanted to help you out, but if you don't want a hand, then I'll leave. I know better than to mess with devils." With that, they stand up and head over to the bar, to see what the job is.

[Hydranova]

Truly, an arrow to the heart.

Come now sir, I'll have you know I'm as able as any other upstanding member of the community. You wanted honest work done; here before you now is an honest man capable of completing that work! Though if it involves warding off ruffians from your wine-cellar... Ernst revealed the revolver in his holster as he paused. Now, many men must say they could shoot a specific bat out of the various flocks that fly overhead. I won't make such bluffs but I assure you that I am quite competent with a firearm, such as the one on my person.

[Eldan]

Graham wrinkles his nose, then leans a bit closer. "Well, you got a gun. That's more than most. Got any friends, too? I'd rather have a group for this."

[D20ragon]

Interesting chap, this one.
How rude of me, not even giving my name, let alone requesting the pleasure of your company.
Allow me to introduce myself... I'm a man of wealth and taste I am Gabriel Jenkins. And you are?

He backs off slightly as the Devil glares at him.
Well, I see you'd prefer not to be bothered.... Shall I just leave?
he asks, taking care to sound nervous.
Oh, I don't suppose anyone has the date?

[Raine_Sage]

"Oh yes quite." she agreed, following Axton over to the bar where the scrawny young fellow was currently showing off his pistol in what she could only suppose was an attempt to be impressive. Apparently this job wasn't taking just anyone. How bothersome.

"Interested in that Notice are we? What a delightful coincidence, so are we." she laughed gaily, coming up beside Ernest and making eyes at the barkeep. "Surely, three heads are better than one aren't they? Especially for such an odd looking note."

[Eldan]

"Gabriel... Jenkins...Yes. Yes, you will leave. Won't pay a penny for your soul, Gabriel Jenkins."
He begins scratching the table again. Already, there are grooves worn into it.
A young fellow with his boots on the table looks up from whatever sensationalist he's reading. "Fifth of May", he calls over.

[Fortuna]

Quinn looks over to the bar, finishing up his latest hand of cards. He knows about the marks, of course, but he hasn't even been trying to learn them - much more fun to play with the odds stacked against him. So far, he's been losing money, but as the evening's worn on it's slowed to a trickle, and he's won a hand or two. And really, it's not like he needs the money.

Now he stands up, excusing himself, and wanders by to peer over Axton's shoulder at the note.

[D20ragon]

Well now, that'd be a rather hard thing to do even if you wanted to, wouldn't it.
"Well, pleasure meeting you, I'm sure."
Perhaps I ought to speak with the masked person... Seems rather cliche, doesn't it? A mask? I find a false name does wonders...
Vague thoughts such as these drifting through his mind, he turns to the young fellow.
"Ah. Thank you, but what day is it, exactly? I rather lost track," he admits sheepishly.
Where was that tonic water? He had the most awful headache.

[Hydranova]

Ernst pivoted about on his heels to face the newcomers, the would-be job poachers apparently having run a lucky streak. While he was slightly miffed to have been upstood, it was gone as quick as it came.

Yes well, if it requires a group of stalwart hands then I would be objectionless towards any assistance provided by you and your- He looked the other man up and down. Hm, it begged the question why the more burlier of the two wasn't speaking on such matters. Ignoring the man peering over Axton's shoulders, Ernst turned back to the lady. Companion here.

[Fortuna]

Quinn grins at Ernst's choices of words, stepping around Axton to join the conversation. "Friend o' Mr. Pages, are you, friend?"

[Raine_Sage]

She chuckles as though Ernest has just told an amusing little joke. "Oh the Professor and I have only just met really. He saw the note before I did. But He's more than capable of introducing himself so I won't presume to do it for him. That would be rude. But I will introduce myself. Katarina Moller, at your service."

She is pleased to find that talking still feels like second nature, which is good because occasionally these rocky starts are rocky in more ways than one. But she knows how to smile and charm and despite the squalor around them she talks as though they were all present in the court. She knows how to be disarming, and she wants to be now. Because this looks promising, and hopefully this job will pay well enough that she can start picking herself up again. And of course, befriending a known academic will do wonders for her reputation....

[Luzahn]

"Martin Axton, Benthic university," Axton said, extending a hand to Ernst. Addressing both Ernst and the barkeep, Axton continued, "And I would be willing to lend my expertise to this task. But before we get too carried away, an elaboration on the actual job would be in order," he concluded, not impolitely.

Hah, this is a remarkable stroke of luck. Hopefully this one's skill can equal his confidence. And how odd. That one actually managed to sneak up on me. Crowded place, but still. That kind of skill is uncommon, even down here, Axton thought to himself, tracking Quinn's movements.

[Hydranova]

Ernst took the hand, giving it a firm shake as befitted his newfound companion. Ernst Fabwich, friend of the church. A professor, eh? Intriguing. But yes, let us hear more of this job. You seem to have a band of people interested in it. An actual professor carrying about a sword? One would think respectable and learned persons in that profession would eschew steel blades for ones of ink. No need to pay this heckler any mind for now, like most hecklers.

[Eldan]

The man looks up from his broadsheet again. "Saturday", he explains, rolling his eyes slightly. You catch a glimpse of the headline. "Devil to be named Earl of Wessex?"
The devil meanwhile, calms down as the chair is vacated and begins drumming the table again.

***

"Well.", Graham says.
"And suddenly, there's a bunch of you. Very well. The short version, then. Very short."
He puts his class down with a light clunk.
"We, that is me and a few other, let's say more-or-less respectable citizens of the ward, are founding a, hmm, neighbourhood watch. There's a few things been going on around here that we want to stop."

[Raine_Sage]

"My how sinister. Mysterious goings on?" Katarina looked intrigued, and seated herself neatly at the bar to listen further. "May I ask what, or is that conversation not suitable for mixed company?"
She glanced pointedly at the back of the devil seated at a table behind her. She was, more or less, fond of devils. Charming, dangerous, they made for exciting company. But you couldn't exactly trust them with a secret.

[Luzahn]

"It is an...interesting proposition. Is there any reason you have not gone to the constables? I know they cannot be trusted in some situations, but," and here Axton gave a small smile, "that would mean these "things" are beyond mere criminal activity."

Axton coughed, glancing around subtly at the strangers still around them, before losing the combative edge his voice had held previously.

"Er, I ask as a man of science, of course," he continued, with a friendlier smile. "If there are some manner of strange...creatures menacing the ward, I would be interested in looking into the matter."

[Eldan]

"Depends on what exactly we are mixing."
Graham has a look around the bar with a skeptical expression on his face.
"As for the goings-on in question, well. You know. I think I'll just send word out to a few other people and we'll all meet again in, say, half an hour, to discuss things in a slightly more private setting.That sound okay?"

[D20ragon]

The man looks up from his broadsheet again. "Saturday", he explains, rolling his eyes slightly. You catch a glimpse of the headline. "Devil to be named Earl of Wessex?"
The devil meanwhile, calms down as the chair is vacated and begins drumming the table again.



Ah, thank you.
I really should get back to the church now....
Pardon, what's that headline? Devil to be named earl? What's all this?
Well, maybe he didn't have to leave right away...

[Hydranova]

Excellent! I'm sure only good things can come of this partnership. Ernst offered Graham a friendly smile as he turned towards Martin and Katarina, taking a sip from his mug. Ah, the possibilities of securing a safe haven in this wretched city made even this slightly-above-average ale taste like a drop of Hesperidean Cider. Or what he thought it did, at the least. Oof, don't lean on that, that's the kind of bruise you get when a foot made of clay sturdy enough to put Samson & Jennings stonemasonry to shame kicks you in the ribs.

So, a professor you say? Do tell what of, Mr. Axton. From the sound of it you seem to have some level of knowledge regarding the eldritch creatures that lurk about our city.

[Ionbound]

Daemon smirks beneath their mask and says, "Oh, a watch, eh? Won't the Constables get a bit...Choleric at that?"

[Luzahn]

"Yes, you could say that," Axton replied to Ernst, leaning against a nearby support beam. "I'm part of the Cryptozoology department at the university, and we make it our business to classify as much as we can of the strange fauna down here."

Giving a wry smile, he continued, "The lads down here are certainly making great strides in that respect. Poor Linnaeus must be spinning in his grave, the amount of inexplicable things we've run into."

Chuckling, Axton brought his hand down, rapping it against his sword with a metallic *clink*

"That's why this is necessary, of course. Becoming almost standard issue amongst the university staff these days. I really should work on my skills with it, to tell you the truth; I'm nowhere near as skilled as I need to be."

Axton continued to look at Ernst, gray eyes hardly betraying any hesitation at what he was saying. That last bit was technically true, after all. It's not my fault people are prone to making assumptions, he thought to himself. This one looks honest, but for all I know he's working with that devil. Can't let my guard down with it still in the room.

[Hydranova]

Finally having the smarts to arm our scholars, are they? Hah, about time I says! Ernst responded, with the smile that boisterous people tend to smile once they've gotten a few drinks in their system. 'Bout time the established society of learned men in London have come 'round to realizing the merit taking the more unsavory monsters off our streets, isn't it?

[Eldan]

Graham shrugs.
"The Constables can go to hell, for all I care. Unless someone did something stupid and high-profile like kill a judge or steal from a nob, they rarely come into the rookeries. Plus, they wouldn't know the difference between a basically good man who does a shady thing or two and a real criminal. Of the sort we don't want. And, well. Bringing them in always draws a string of other problems behind it.
And yes, Professor, you could indeed say that there's a strange creature or two around."

***

The young man turns his broadsheet around. It's a copy of the The Royal Sign, more famous for the size of its headlines than its accuracy.
"Says here that the Embassy has pressured the Empress into elevating some of their own to the peerage. This city is going to the dogs, really. What's next, clay knights? Rubbery judges? Jews?"

[Raine_Sage]

"Now now, no need to get quite so patriotic about things." Katarina admonished lightly, looking over at Ernst. "Some of those monsters can be quite charming if you know how. But do tell, what's brought you to this part of town in the first place?"

After all she knew Axton was a professor, but this excitable fellow was still a mystery to her.

[Luzahn]

Axton nodded to Graham, "I see. Half an hour, then."

He proceeded to survey the room, before noticing that the masked individual, who had been conversing with the devil, had approached the group. Best to see what these newcomers were after then.

"So, are you two planning to attend this meeting?" Axton asked, nodding his head towards Quinn and Daemon. "I have to say, it's a curious offer."

[Fortuna]

"I reckon I might. Seems like it could be interesting, and there hasn't been enough of that about lately." Quinn offers a hand to shake. "Although there seem to be some interesting folks here tonight. Name's Quinn. Good to meet you."

[Ionbound]

Daemon shrugs and mutters, "Why not. No other jobs are coming in, anyways, and I need the money."

[Hydranova]

Patriotism? Good madam, you confuse me for a jingoist. I speak as God-fearing man concerned for the betterment of his community. Ernst motioned his mug at the crowd of customers. Like here. The Pub has been a tradition native to the Isles since the days of Alfred the Great. They are as much a center of fellowship as the Church or Town Square, where men and women celebrate their co-humanity. So long as they exercise some levels of restraint, that is. He takes a swig of the frothy beverage, wiping his sleeve on the corner of his mouth shortly after.

Of course, that's not to say that some people don't, their shameless actions no doubt egged on by the more nefarious newcomers to London.

[Raine_Sage]

"Why yes but where does that leave those not technically of the human persuasion? Not human but no less capable of being charming and witty and so often left out of the spaces we declare our 'co-humanity' in." she replied, good naturedly because Ernst was a spirited fellow and easy to talk to even about such touchy subject matter.

"Why, everyone goes on and on about snuffers, and I will admit the whole face stealing business is rather ghastly. But the fact of the matter is, unless you catch them munching a candle, you'd never know you talked to one. Why, anyone in this bar could be one, you wouldn't know. And I think that says something about just how adoptable humanity is. Why, anyone can be taught it with enough patience."

[Eldan]

A patron stands up from a chair in the corner, shouldering his way through the group around the bar while making his way over to the Weasel Pit. A young man, so thin that he looks almost starved, with hollow cheeks, pale skin and arms that look like parchment stretched over bones, the elbow joints standing out in thick knobs against the sticks of his lower arms. He mumbles an apology and moves on.

Quinn:
You know him. He's a former Urchin, usually called Gnarlybones, who know makes his living working as a go-between between some of the local urchin gangs and proper criminals. He gives you a quick hand-sign as he walks by, a bit of the local thieves' cant, indicating that he wants to talk, quietly.

Everyone else:
You may try rolling contacts or notice, whichever is higher.

[Eldan]

Daemon:

Two things are immediately apparent:

Though this looks like, as you put it, an extremely obvious pick-pocketing event, the man is not actually stealing anything. Instead, he's making one of the quick hand-signs of the thieves' cant: "Let's talk in private". Not to you, however. To Quinn.

You recognize the man himself, too: a former Urchin going by the nickname "Gnarlybones". He goes around as an information broker and a middleman between gangs and urchins. He's the one to contact if one needs to get introduced to a certain gang, find anyone in the lower classes who doesn't want to be found too easily or just generally find out what's going on.


Katarina:
You haven't met the man himself, but you recognize him from description: A former urchin calling himself Gnarlybones. He's more or less infamous in the right circles as "the man who knows people". He works as an intermediary between all kinds of groups, mostly criminal ones, running messages, knowing who's been doing what or hiding where lately, things like that. Among socialites, he is perhaps best known for being able to make introductions, connecting those with money to those providing illicit services.
He's known as a bit of an eccentric, too. Fancies himself a kind of criminal mastermind, puppeteering people around, despite not really doing anything quite illegal himself.

Ernst:
That wasn't a pickpocketing attempt, just made to look like one. You are quite certain the man kept his hands to himself, merely making a quick hand sign to Quinn, before running off into the corner, all while, very conspicuously, not making eye contact.

[Ionbound]

Daemon smirks and hmms to themselves as they carefully keep an eye on Quinn and prepare to shadow him and Gnarlybones, should they leave the bar.

Notice: [roll0]
Stealth: [roll1]

That should be about right, modifiers included.

[Hydranova]

What's this? A man bumping into people and NOT stealing purses? An odd occurence....eh, presumably some spy.

I've yet to see a single published piece of literature that states whether or not the face-takers have to steal visages from their victims as a prerogative of survival. If that's the case, you'd imagine we'd have snuffer diplomats and what-not. Instead they keep to the shadows, never trying to defend themselves. The work of decent people? More like inhuman monsters, no doubt! Besides, humanity is an easily-faked thing; even our infernal visitors can display kindness and affability! And they certainly have naught but ill intentions for us! Ernst punctuated himself with a drink from his mug.

[Luzahn]

"Shades of gray, my good man. It pays to remember that," Axton spoke to Ernst, with a tired sort of smile.

"I've seen men worse that the vilest monsters of this tainted place, and creatures whose deeds would shame the saints," he continued, good-natured persona flickering momentarily towards melancholy.

"Of course, we know so little about them!" Axton exclaimed, "Are you implying you've encountered a Snuffer, my lady? The University's never had much luck making contact. Perhaps if we do end up working together, you could assist me with that sort of thing."

Although, Ernst likely has the right idea about them, Axton thought. More predator than man; from the scant rumors he'd picked up, they seem to be dangerous enemies.

[Raine_Sage]

"I am implying I wouldn't know whether or not I had met one unless I were to go to dinner with it." she laughed. "But I hear it on good authority they look absolutely horrid in their own skin. In that case I could see their face stealing as a means of survival. After all you know how Londoners treat the poor dear rubbery men. At the very least I see no harm in devils being devils. After all as long as you encounter them on even ground, and don't discuss theology then I shouldn't say the soul is at too much risk."

She smiled knowingly. "Besides they have the most interesting physiology don't they? Skin like a branding iron but they only burn when they want to. I remember having to wear a high collar for weeks after one...ah never mind. I'm rambling."

[Hydranova]

See? That is preSICEly the frame of mind the soul-takers want you to have! Ernst took a drink from his mug, then turned to the two onlookers (Quinn and Daemon), jabbing the tip of his mug at them. You two, you just gawking? Eavesdropping is impolite, you know.

[Ionbound]

Daemon laughs and says, "In this city? Secrets are just another currency. And anyways, listening is much more valuable than lip-flapping."

[Fortuna]

Quinn grins sheepishly. "Sorry, friend. Politics isn't really my idiom, to be honest - I couldn't care less what shape you are, so long as you're decent company." And have deep pockets I can take from, he leaves unsaid. "I think I might leave you to your chatter and go watch the weasels for a bit, eh?" And he strolls off to stand at the weasel pits. Quinn takes care to stand reasonably close to Gnarlybones, but a bit around the circle, so they can sign subtly to one another without turning their heads.

[Raine_Sage]

"I don't mind, it's just idle gossip that's all." Katarina laughs, looking at Daemon. "I don't have anything worth hiding these days anyway."

[Luzahn]

"That's a useful thing, to be sure," Axton said to Katarina. "I've never been partial to all the secretmongering down here," he continued, glancing at Daemon,"It just seems so...cyclical. Nothing good ever comes of it."

He surreptitiously pulled out his pocketwatch, a simple brass thing carved with a shepherd's crook, distinctive to the right sort of people, before checking the time and glancing around the bar again. Axton was eager to get to the bottom of whatever menace this watch was being formed for.

[Hydranova]

And now the conversation had turned to rumormongering and gossiping. Not Ernst's forte, nosiree. Staying out of people's business was good habits. And speaking of business, why were they waiting? Ernst looked towards the door for any new arrivals that seemed to be pre-occupied with something instead of beer.

[Eldan]

Another few minutes pass and then McKinney steps up to the bar again and gives you a nod, holding open a narrow door to a back room.

The room inside is dim and windowless, all dark wooden panels. Instead of gas lamps, a series of flickering candles are placed in holders along the walls, illuminating vague forms that may once have been murals, now long vanished behind soot and age.
There's a table in the middle of the room, with steaming cups of tea already set out for the group. Two people are already here, other than McKinney:
The first is an older woman, a bit overweight, with greying hair died a rather unnatural looking deep red. She wears a scarlet shawl over a conservative black dress and entirely too much cheap jewelry on ears, fingers and arms, almost all brass and glass from the look of it, with the exception of a heavy silver crucifix that must be almost a foot long, resting on her belly.
The other is a tall man, standing off in one corner, leaning heavily on a cane. His hair is an uneven yellow-white colour, his skin mottled with dark spots, his left eye a sunken hole, the arms and legs wasted away, bone-thin and slightly trembling. Still, he is noticeably armed, with a heavy cavalry saber, a small, well-used looking throwing axe and two pistols decorated in silver and ivory.

McKinney introduces them. "Mrs. Marten. She was an undertaker before the Fall. Now she mostly works as a midwife, does a bit of medicine here and there. Reads the cards, too. And that's Brandon, an old friend of mine. Fought in the invasion of hell. Hasn't spoken a word since then. They are what you might call the respected citizens of this district."

He sits down in one of the chairs, leaning forward slightly.

"So. You're here for the job."

[Luzahn]

Axton moved to sit down, tipping his hat to the room's occupants before setting it down on the table in front of him.
No sense in being impolite now. As weathered as these two would appear, they're certainly worthy of respect, if they're going out of their way to try and make a change.

"Right, it's a pleasure to meet you all. Forgive me for being hasty, but we were promised more details: what exactly is menacing the district, if you've come to strangers for help?"

Axton's demeanor was slowly becoming more serious, tense even, and somewhat removed from his enthusiastic self shown in the tavern. The situation worried him, the secrecy and caution, and the presence of a veteran of the invasion was a sobering sign.

[Ionbound]

Daemon sits politely, waiting and listening, though they say nothing. After all, veterans of the Invasion wouldn't like someone quite so friendly with hell...Or quite as criminal.

[Hydranova]

Ernst stood near one of the walls in the room, keeping his back to something tangible as he looked over the other two citizens. He silently wondered why this Mrs. Marten would read the cards, if her crucifix was any indication of her affiliation with the church. Last he checked, such practices were frowned upon in the church. Something to keep a note of, for sure.

A pleasure, truly. Though, may I ask why the heavy presence of arms? Surely this room is safe enough, if we're having a conversation here?

[Eldan]

"Save enough." McKinney smiles, wrily. "But I won't be the one trying to get Brandon's guns off him."
The old soldier smiles, though this one more grim than wry, and strokes a thumb slowly over an ivory handle.
"Now. As to why you're here. We have, hmm, let's say gang trouble."
Mrs. Marten interrupts him.
"Get to the point, Graham. Everyone has gone out of their b----y minds, there's d--n thugs killin' people all over our streets and a monster is eatin' people."
With a sigh, the innkeeper turns to Marten.
"Thank you so much for that summary, Ellie. I was getting to that. So, yes. Apparently, some of the gangs from the Flit and Spite thought that Loreditch is easier pickings than their home turf and now everyone's on edge and acting like nervous idiots with too many weapons."
He continues, interrupting Marten who was just about to do the same to him.
"And, yes. There's people claiming there's a monster around on the streets at night, attacking people."

[Ionbound]

Daemon grins at the mention of a monster, and says, "A monster, eh? Well, then. That is a little above my paygrade, if you know what I mean. And, sadly, I'm sure can't help you with your gang issue..." Here, they trail off meaningfully.

[Luzahn]

"Well, I'm not adverse to a bit of a fight, but if that's your worry, it sounds like this problem will require a lot more than simple brute force," Axton spoke, turning to look at Daemon. At this, he glanced back at the other few who had entered the room, "Are the rest of you interested, then?"

Switching focus back to the matter at hand,
"Ah, but there's a monster about. Fortunately, that sort of thing's a specialty of mine." At this, Axton pulled out a small journal. "Do we have any information on this creature? I assume that the suspicion of something nonhuman is based on evidence?"

[Hydranova]

A monster? Yet another eldritch fiend lurking in our sewers, no doubt. Ernst nodded sagely at that, grabbing one of the teacups and indulging in one of the truly incorruptible gifts to mankind. Ah, and English-brewed too. Truly the inhabitants of Albion could make the one beverage besides water that could soothe a man's own soul. It seems to me that monster slaying is a bit more pressing of the two tasks ahead of us. Though he wondered if Katarina over there had clothes far more appropriate for the sort of adventuring he was expecting.