Smoke Flowers IC
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Smoke Flowers IC
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“In short: we’ll have basic info, then we should move quickly while they are at least as in the dark as we are. Perhaps we can rest for a bit, get over the metaplane lag and all that, while you arrange maps and clothes?”
He added an aside to Bronwyn “There are dresses and there are dresses. Some dances call for the women to be in traditional looking dresses, but it doesn’t stop them from head height kicks or massive leaps in the air. I know, I know, easy for me to say when I’m not in much danger or having to wear one, but as long as you can move and hide required gear, accept the costume and move on.“
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“Well, y’all heard the boss-lady,” Al intoned from the divan, eyes still closed. “Ix-nay on the an-play. Never heard happier words on any job ever. Reckon we rest up a bit, eat, rest up a bit more, then jist all go over there. We’ll let the Spirit guide us, not knowin’ aforehand what we shall do.”
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Zag supposed that now that a human had stated they should rest for a bit and then get moving, that it would happen.
“If you’d show us somewhere dim where we can lie down — where the rest of us can lie down” this last as he glanced at Al “ — that would be wonderful. Then we’ll wait your word that you have the maps and clothes ready.”
At least the metaplanar jaunt seemed to have cleared up the residual nausea and weakness from the medical treatments, but all the same Zag was looking forward to a change to sit or lie down and get better acquainted with this version of his body. Maybe he would even actually sleep some.
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Rebbeca stretches her hands and sighs – with nothing else to add she sings softly, and then when they are accommodated for she takes a long bath, and clears her head. Dryads should not be so far from their origins, and she already feels the need to go back. She lets her complex emotions of the situation out by singing the entire time taking comfort in her beautiful voice. She considers trying to stay in that metaplane – start over away from Tony, and the Finnigans, and of the trail of violence that follows her life path. “She has a family… why would she risk their lives to move into another world, one that they know nothing about.” Rebbeca thinks without answers.
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[Mid-Morning, Day One, Autumn; House Laésal, Londinium]
“Of course, you are welcome to the guest rooms” Silk replied “Come with me and I will ensure your needs are met, well most of them” with a wry glance at Al. “Clothes and maps can be made ready. I would offer to guide you to the Temple myself but my face is too well known. There are others I would trust but most of my contacts are now south of the river. Londinium is sufficiently different from our London that I would not want you to rely on your own knowledge of the city but you are resourceful enough so I will not force a guide on you…I leave it to you to decide.”
Silk led them out of the receiving room and in to the depths of the House where there was finally signs of life, or sounds at least, the inhabitants still seemed to be keeping a wary distance. The House was sumptuous and, in keeping with their title, replete with vegetation, both luxurious blooms, scented bushes and small trees growing in pots and through the floors themselves. The artwork was of exceptional quality, although faded with time and the slight taint of soot in the air.
“I will be sad to leave this place” Silk mused, as if having discerned Becky’s thoughts “but it is not home and it is never quite possible to escape the metapollution…it is draining after so long. I hope you will not be here long enough for it to seep inside you as it has done us. The compensations of the increased mana is intoxicating but it would be as well to leave that too. It has changed me, in ways I will perhaps not understand until I return home…” her voice trailed off
“Here are your rooms, ring if you require anything and it can be brought to you, otherwise I would like you to join us for the evening meal and I will arrange for your disguises in the meantime.”
***
#15
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Noting with dismay that there was no trid, Al rang for beer. A lot of beer.
Half of it was gone before he fell back to sleep.
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For a wonder the bed was both strong enough and solid enough to allow for decent sleep, and Zag gratefully lay down after only a few minutes of stretches and exercises. As he dozed off he thought that maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.
Then the nightmares hit. Lucid and lurid dreams that went on and on and on. Being hunted through jungles by giant mobile pitcher plants that gradually became more numerous and aggressive. Climbing a snow-capped mountain while something lurked in the darkness and gradually picking off his party. Being chased through endless crowds in a grey city, who all turned out to have blank faces and taloned fingers. Eating a feast where he just knew that one of the items contained deadly poison, but it would be a lethal insult to not eat, and he was desperately trying to figure out which item he had to avoid but someone kept moving all of the food around on the buffet. Walking on the moon in bulky space-suits which were being fed air through a hose from a ship, and turning around to see Silk — somehow out on the surface without a suit — unplugging his hose, he ran back towards the ship but felt his breath failing, his vision darkening, his heart pounding harder and harder …
He woke up in the bed, soaked in sweat, gasping for breath, heart hammering in his chest like he’d just fought five challenge bouts in a row. “Frag, is that just nerves, or is that a meta-planes thing?“
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Bronwean slept studied and hoovered food in equal measure. Her adaptive bio rhythm allowing her to sleep in dribs and drabs. Studying involved her staring at the map for five minutes ten skipping and leaping around the courtyard with a broomstick as she wove increasingly intracate patterns, she would return to the map to check her rout had worked.
Satisfied that she had the maps in her head; now she stuffed more cake into her mouth in a most ungracious manner and went to bed properly. She would have to be the hungry caterpillar, in the morning she would have to be the butterfly. -
Sleep came easily but was hard to keep. Over and over she dreamed of the fight on the bridge. Over and over nothing she did kept the behemoths back. She ran up and down her command shouting orders and taking shots as she could. Her troops made grizzly work of the attackers but they were too many. Every time they were over run and cut down to a man. The last dream a soldier grabbed her by the arm
“tell my boys I didn’t run. Tell them their da’ was no coward”
Then he sucker punched her out and she woke in a sweat.
The cotton night dress she had been given stuck to her, it was cold, she pulled a blanket from her bed and went in search of tea.
Padding down the she became aware of the hammering on the front door. A servant or someone bustled over to and tried open the door just a crack but whoever was there was ready and the door flew open. An elven woman stood there
“where is he?” she shouted hysterically “where’s the officer? the Horatio? where is he? COME OYT YER BARSTARD, YER WEE KUR SHOW YEAH SEN TO ME” she set her eyes on bronwean.
“where’s yer master yous little hussy, go fetch yer ponce”
Batshit wasn’t really in the mood to try being polite
“who the fookinv hell are you? And what do you want with me? Eh its two in twatting morning.” her voice was still choral but there was a hard mocking edge to it almost line a heckling crowd
“it’s you?” the woman stammered “you’re the captain? Did you see my Aiden? Where my man? Did you see him? Is he coming back”
Bronwean knew instinctively it was the man from her dreams “no he is not coming back they all died” she informed her numbly
The woman let out a keening howl of a sob “oh gods, oh my man my sweet man, oh what do I tell the boys”
“he said to tell them he didn’t run, that he didn’t die a coward” bronwean took a step towards the sobbing woman but she advanced on her
“but you didn’t die did you? And why is that my little slut”
Her hand reached out with nails like daggers, wrapped in her nice warm blanket bronwean was unable to dodge. The woman howled accusations at her and clawed at her. Her hands gripped the neck of the night gown which gave way. As bronwean struggled to maintain her dignity the women suddenly backed off as she saw the three massive scared bullet wounds in bronwean chest. Stricken and mortified the woman mumbled apologies as she fled. -
Bronwean woke in a tangled sweaty mess on the bed, she lifted her nightgown to show she a rubbed her scars red raw. She saw light poking under the curtains so she opened them and watched the dawn.
Else where three young elves rose from troubled dreams to greet the dawn -
[Evening, Day One, Autumn; House Laésal, Londinium]
After a restful afternoon with plentiful good food and beer, or other beverage of choice, the group were invited by meek looking servant (one who kept glancing meaningfully at Zag and trying to catch his eye), down to the main room of the House. The quiet of earlier was superseded by a contented hum of activity as the inhabitants settled down to their evening meal together. As they entered they drew curious glances but there wasn’t a break in conversation or anything else to make them feel anything but welcome here.
The hall was filled with around a couple of hundred souls of a wide variety of metatypes, and some that defied description, although there were very few kin. Long refectory type tables filled the room whilst a raised dais at one end held the high table and the heads of House Laésal.
Perhaps somewhat to their surprise they were directed to one of the side tables where Silk and her family were sitting… perhaps she wasn’t of sufficient influence to warrant a seat at the high table? The food arrayed before them was simple but of excellent quality and the tantalising odours had preceded them almost from their rooms. The spicing was reminiscent of middle eastern food and was liberally applied, but with finesse that spoke of the skill of the cooks.
Silk greeted them warmly and said “I have the things you requested and will bring them to you later. For now enjoy the food and the company. I would ask for news of home after such a long time, and yet it seems that little will have changed which is strange to comprehend. Perhaps I can tell you more of our life here…?”
***
#16
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“Something we should probably know, the relationship between servants and those they serve? Can we expect the servants of our target to be loyal, or happy to run and hide? Are they hired, or closer to slaves? How much do they communicate with those they serve, or for that matter how much are they allowed to socialize?”
That last question was maybe not ‘need-to-know’, but given the glances from the one servant it was certainly ‘want-to-know.’
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“and what sort of predudice can Beccie and me expect. I was in San Francisco so I know one kind but the abuse is different in different places”
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Rebbeca relaxes, takes a bath, sleeps well – but then spends her entire time in physical exercise. Being in the meta planes was no excuse to slack out. She runs around the mansion, and memorizes it outliers and then improvise some weights to maintain her body mass. She excuses herself at the beginning of dinner to wash up and freshen up, and arrives with what clothes she can find. Somehow assumed she likes these corset based dresses – for once Rebbeca is glad that digital photography was not invented yet in these places. She can wear what she want without people making fun of her. So she dresses like what she feels is a trid princess, and attends dinner with her magical and artistic katana presented as an exotic jewel.
She interferes with Bronwen’s conversation, blowing her a kiss. Rebbeca feels different in this world, more free, and less bounded by the ice-cold image she usually projects.
“I can disguise your beautiful ears, and make you look Kin. Just don’t expose your glamour. Kin doesn’t usually have that effect on people.” -
[Evening, Day One, Autumn; House Laésal, Londinium]
“Just like where you’ve come from there are no hard and fast rules about how people interact. There are societal norms, generally servants are treated with respect and will show loyalty to their employers. Even fae who are in employment will do little to risk their position for a stranger. Life is difficult enough without exposing themselves for the sake of a few crowns. That’s not to say there won’t be those open to a bit of financial recompense but I suspect you will struggle to find out who without a significant amount of observation. If you assume that it is much as Victorian England might once have been you will not be far wrong.
Recently I would have said that the racism here leans more to the passive aggressive than outright hostility but in the last three weeks things have taken a turn for the worse as you no doubt felt on your way here. There have been protest riots of fae unhappy with their lot and cooped up here south of the river whilst the kin rest easy on the north bank. There is resentment that they are being exploited by the kin as cheap labour, or worse…” and she glanced meaningfully at her children “and if things escalate further, as I have a feeling they will, then I would not be surprised to see the army on the streets keeping order. If that happens you will find your movements much more difficult so there is a limited time frame… I know there is usually some reason why I ask you to do these things with too little time to prepare but as you have noted yourselves, extensive planning was always going to be a problem…”
***
#17
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Bronwean listened To Silk. As she talked about time a thought started to coalesce, then beccie said something about no showing her glamour and it vanished
“You can control it?!” she was amazed “oh please you have to show me how to do that I could pass for plain boring uninteresting. That would so cool, please cousin, you have to show me” her mouth motored on extolling the virtues of being unremarkable when she suddenly had an important thought.
“oh fff” she saw first the children then Silks face “fishsticks, what if we emerged in the airplane or something when. We get back? -
Rebbeca says “Usually my Dryadness is obvious once I speak… I know that glamour is not just an inspiring voice. Still, as long as you keep silent how can they tell that the positive feelings come from you? I mean the entire city is filled with Fae and their magics”
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“aaand the way we move, stand, the wind blows in our hair, apparently I even throw up prettily, go figure that one, awww wish I could turn it off sometimes” she sighed playing with her food “we should get some sleep and then do the tourist thing tomorrow that see what we can do to bum rush the joint” she chewed thoughtfully “oh oh light bulbs, let’s use the sewers?! I’ve had a lot of success with sewers, and we could wait for these issues to boil over, there is profit in confusion or I could just blow a hole in the wall” as she said that she fingered the badge on the right for arm, VS, Valiant Stormer, why she had three, each sewn over the next. Well she was crazy enough to do something the stupid, three times.
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Rebbeca says “Well I am going to speak to the Whisperers right now… At least to observe them. “ She studies the map, and once she is reasonably sure where she is going she asks “Anyone want to join? I am going to be myself, cold hurtless bitch – and see how far it gets me. I feel too peaceful.” She does not wait for a response, instead, she exits the mansion, and walks to the Whisperers mansion.
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“observe yes but I think silk was clear no talking. If the catch wind of us sniffing around it won’t take much to brainstorming to figure out why we are there and then we are stuffed, right royally stuffed”
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