Menaces and Mysteries: A Fallen London RP (closed, started)

IFS

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The Department?s chief office is an incongruously handsome seventeenth-century building, though the years and Fall have taken their toll. Its white walls have darkened to a shade between nicotine and ivory. It lies between the Hill and the River. Its officers and contracted agents deal with inconsiderate hazards from rats to sorrow-spiders, and Unfinished Men to marsh-things.

It is in this office, or rather a room to the side of it, that the various recruits found themselves having been taken to the room upon presenting their letters to a grinning functionary. The functionary had examined each letter in turn and pointed them to the room, muttering varied remarks about how exciting this was, the exception being for Ptolemy the rat for whom the functionary took the letter tentatively and frowned stiffly before directing him to the room.

The group had only recently finished assembling in the small room. The room's solitary window overlooked the marsh and hills outside, the various fungal growths visible in the light emanating from the departments lamps. One wall of the room was covered in all manner of posters, most offering warnings about all manner of things such as ambulatory fungus and voices out of wells. Other than this though the room was quite bare, with only a few creaky old chairs sitting about, not nearly enough for all the group to sit.

The door flew open again and an imposing man, well dressed in a worn but dignified suit and heavy mud-caked boots. He held a brass topped cane in one hand, tucked under one arm, and walked confidently into the center of the room examining each of them in turn. His expression remained impassive for most, though it became more stern as he passed Nigel and Ptolemy.

He muttered under his breath, though not inaudibly "Rats and squids? I'll have to make do I suppose," he shook his head and assumed an exuberant grin, stepping away from the group to better address them.

"Greetings one and all, I am Sir Byron Marshall of the Department of Menace Eradication, and I am happy to welcome you to join in this newest effort of the department, a personal project of mine, to form a special group of investigators, a squad even! To seek out and best the menaces of the Neath that elude even the special constables!" he spoke quickly and with great enthusiasm, then paused, gauging their reactions before speaking again.

"Now I'm sure you have a number of questions regarding this venture, what fearsome menaces, monsters and men you might encounter, what glorious battles you might undertake in the service of London and its citizens, and of course the matter of your payment," dear god did the man ever run out of breath? It didn't seem like it, as he continued without pause "The last matter is a simple thing to answer, you will be paid a small weekly sum, slightly less than that of the salary of your average special constable, for your continued availability to act as a member of this group, in addition you will be compensated by commission and as these commissions will be handpicked for you there will be little competition for them and substantial rewards for their completion."

He paused again, gauging their reactions and possibly catching his breath, "Ah, my apologies but I haven't even given you the chance to introduce yourselves to me or to each other," he said apologetically "Please do so, and by all means voice whatever questions or concerns you might have, I would prefer to answer them before I present you with your contracts and your first commission."
 

Terratina.

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May 24, 2012
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Viktor chose to stand with a stern straightness and eyed the others as the bigwig made his rounds, inspecting them as the other gentlemen did the same. The group hardly looked like a squad of monster-hunters. Let's see: a ruffian; a tall gentleman, who may have considered at one point a hair transplant of some sort; a bespectacled ginger; a woman, who chose to wear a ridiculous hat and a ridiculous cravat and a hat that could be described using that same adjective; another woman, whose dress skirted the line between modesty and form-fitting; and then there was the little band of non-humans: the squid, the rat and the golem. Viktor simply refused call them anything else, they were golems, just as the texts had described them. 'Clay-Man' was just an epithet born of ignorance. All in all, Viktor failed to see why such a group was littered with weaklings.

They were probably just in it for the money, just like himself.

While it was an outrage that this 'Sir Bryon Marshall' didn't already have their names memorised, Viktor decided to humor the man with both an introduction and a question. The bandaged man tapped the floor with his cane and said, "Ezekiel Viktor Faustus Goldschmidt-Schirmer speaking, please me call Viktor - mein Rufname." He coughed, clearing his throat, "So, you chose to call upon rats and squids and women and men such as Spectacles over there to hunt dangerous creatures..." The Tomb Colonist shook his head slightly with disapproval, "...You also do not know who we are. You say these commissions will be handpicked for us, yet - you sir - have not handpicked us. Tell me, why is that? One would think that such a thing would be handled with care. However, from your words, I see nothing but carelessness."

Sure, Vikor was in it for the money, but he didn't want to waste time babysitting the less... able folk here.
 

Tortilla the Hun

Decidedly on the Fence
May 7, 2011
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Aidan just stood near the corner of the room, just glancing around at the others as he let Sir Baron Marshall's words settle. The chemist was quite curious as to what he may be facing in terms of monsters. Sure, there were many who knew of from hearing about them in the markets, some of which were the source of ingredients he used. Speaking of which, he wondered if he should make a trip later today to do some restocking. It wasn't as if he were short on anything in particular, he would just prefer to take of as many things as he could while he was already out and about. There was also the matter of finding an inkwell to replace the cracked relic in the satchel, as wax could only do so much for so long. Aidan dreaded the very thought of integrity of the small bottle just giving out completely, ruining much of his notes. Perhaps it wasn't that great of an idea to keep his notes so unkempt in the first place. He might find a decent notebook as well, perhaps leather bound so as to prevent it from getting marked up from any potential ink spill. In hindsight, many of these things should've been taken care of weeks ago, but it really was just a matter of the income he had at his disposal. It seemed with this opportunity for steady work, he was feeling more comfortable with the idea of spending money. Maybe he could even find himself a nice hat...

"...Spectacles over there to hunt dangerous creatures..."

"Hmm?" Aidan muttered as he sensed himself being mentioned. Judging by the man's tone, he had a feeling he wasn't exactly being spoken kindly of, and his eyes narrowed a bit as he gazed at the poorly bandaged man. Who is he to say such things? Aidan thought. For all he knows, I could be a master monster hunter. I most certainly am not, but that's beside the point.
 

Texas Joker 52

All hail the Pun Meister!
Jun 25, 2011
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Edward M. Cutter, Esq.

As older buildings got in Fallen London, the chief office of the Department of Menace Eradication was certainly impressive, a sight to behold. While time, and the Fall, had taken its toll, the building continued to stand proud and resolute in the face of constant threat, and it's agents kept a vigilant watch on the citizens that were their charge. All in all, quite respectable, and rather prestigious at that. Edward really couldn't be happier about the arrangement.

The moment he stepped inside, he presented the letter he had been given to a cheerful functionary in the front, who quickly directed him to a side room, clearly excited about the whole thing, though just a little nervous at the sight of Victoria on his back. Edward politely tipped his hat and thanked him, before stepping inside to join the growing group.

It wasn't long before a new addition entered, a rather dignified, if imposing, gentleman, wearing a suit and carrying a brass cane in one hand. He strode down the line, staring at each new member with a rather unreadable expression, and Edward kept his face blank in turn.

Then he spoke up and introduced himself.

"Greetings one and all, I am Sir Byron Marshall of the Department of Menace Eradication, and I am happy to welcome you to join in this newest effort of the department, a personal project of mine, to form a special group of investigators, a squad even! To seek out and best the menaces of the Neath that elude even the special constables!"

Sir Byron Marshall was certainly enthusiastic, and Edward couldn't help but finding himself standing just a little straighter as he continued. He explained that they would be paid a small sum, with the majority of their pay being based off of personally assigned commissions. While tempted to wave that off, the hunter continued to stand stock still with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn't care for the money, just the thrill of the hunt.

Then, he paused and apologized, encouraging them to take the time then to introduce themselves to one another. At that, Edward quickly took off his bush hat and placed it on his chest, even while he clicked his heels and executed a snappy salute.

"Sir Edward M. Cutter, big-game hunter, at your service sir! It is a great pleasure to meet you all, and I look forward to working with you!" he said in a slightly booming voice, smiling beneath his mustache before he turned to his new compatriots.

He made a point to shake each mans hand firmly while looking them in the eye with a friendly smile, though in the case of the ladies he doffed his hat and gave the backs of their hands light, gentlemanly kisses. When it came to the Rubbery 'Man' and the Rattus Faber, he only hesitated for the barest moment before shaking their respective hand and paw, bending down to make sure he could look the Rattus Faber in the eye.

Is was then that one of his new co-workers spoke up, and he straightened as he turned.

"Ezekiel Viktor Faustus Goldschmidt-Schirmer speaking, please me call Viktor - mein Rufname. So, you chose to call upon rats and squids and women and men such as Spectacles over there to hunt dangerous creatures... You also do not know who we are. You say these commissions will be handpicked for us, yet - you sir - have not handpicked us. Tell me, why is that? One would think that such a thing would be handled with care. However, from your words, I see nothing but carelessness."

Adjusting his hat, Edward smiled mildly even as he shifted, bringing his Elephant Gun, Victoria, in front of him and setting her stock on the carpet. His hands rested on the muzzle of her double-barrel, which was perfectly safe seeing as she wasn't loaded.

"Mr. Viktor Goldschmidt-Schirmer, I'm certain everyone here has a slew of different skills to bear regarding the Department. Surely there is more than physical strength and nerve needed to hunt the dangerous game that we'll be sent against. Intelligence, cunning, and charm will likely take us far." he said calmly before he cleared his throat.

"Also, I'd rather you didn't refer to our new comrades-in-arms as 'Rats' or 'Squids'. It's more than impolite or callous, but offensive for some. I'd ask that you refrain from it, please." Edward told him, and though his tone was a little too firm to be a request it no less polite.
 

DarkRawen

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Thomas thought of it all as a waste of time. Really, what did Lady Poet think they could find out in this place? Someone to call to deal with rat-problems? Speaking of rats, there was one there, among the bunch of other people. Looking at them; womenfolk, a rubber-man, the rat, a huge clay man, and a couple of men, he wish he'd gotten more than one drink on his way over. He was sure he could best them in a fight, most of them even a fair fight. However, some, like that damned clay man... Thomas glanced over at it, although it was more of a glare than anything else.

Perhaps it's a good thing Lady Poet told me not to attack any of them.

One of the men, one of those pathetic people who couldn't get out of a fight without almost falling apart, introduced himself with very long and fancy name.

I'll need two drinks for just that guy.

However, that wasn't the only person who insisted on giving their bloody name. Another one, a rather tall, muscular man -also the other person he wasn't completely sure he could defeat one on one- insisted on doing so as well, even shaking people's hands afterwards. Despite Thomas glaring at him as he got close, hostile body language, the man grabbed his hand and shook it, firmly. All while smiling. Thomas growled, a growl sounding almost like that of a real beast, as he fought against the urge to strangle the guy.

"Don't. Bloody. Touch. Me," Thomas finally exclaimed, after the guy had gone over to shake someone else's hand. He made himself appear more intimidating, a instinctual attempt at making up for the physical differences. "I swear, I will crush your skull." His accent was odd, upper-class, careful pronunciations mixed with curse words and aggression. He then looked toward the guy who had called them there, but not bothered to learn their names.

"Thomas. Now, point me towards whatever the bloody hell you want us to kill, so I can spend my time doing something more worthwhile."
 

Terratina.

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May 24, 2012
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"...Also, I'd rather you didn't refer to our new comrades-in-arms as 'Rats' or 'Squids'. It's more than impolite or callous, but offensive for some. I'd ask that you refrain from it, please."

Such bad manners! How could this gentlemen be a Sir? And the gun! Point and shoot, point and shoot - that was all that was needed with guns. So cheap. Viktor gritted his teeth at such insolence - that of the bushy-chested Sir Cutter and of growl of what seemed to be the resident attack dog, that is, Thomas. Viktor gripped his cane tightly, almost in contrast to Sir Cutter's loose grip on his gigantic gun. Surely you could slay anything with a such a monstrosity? Even if you were but a child?

Regardless, Viktor replied in kind, "I am well aware of that but as I have stated before: the gentlemen in front of us does not know our names and most likely does not know what we are skilled at. And I'd rather you refrain from telling me what I should call others; if they have a problem with it, they are more than welcome to take it with me. That brings me to my second point: refrain from intruding - this is between Sir Marshall and I, not you, Cutter."

The bandaged man emitted a sound that was halfway between a growl, a groan and a sigh. Ask one person and you'd just get a thousand answers from other people...
 

sage42

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Priscilla sat and smiled as Sir Marshall entered the room, her legs crossed and her cane across her lap. He was a fine man to be sure. A tad on the older side, but she had had her fill of silver foxes over the years. And considering where he worked he was sure to have a few secrets riddled away somewhere. In due time Priscilla, in due time. Start small, like your....co-workers for instance. She thought looking over the other gathered in the room. Mostly Human, aside from the corpse, the rat, the squid, and the Clay Man. No knowing what secrets they all had hidden away. The corpse was all but useless, maybe he had some knowledge of pre-fall treasure that had yet to be discovered. The squid was most like useless as well, but she would be keep her eye on it. But the rat and the Clay Man. Those two were her immediate prizes. The rat would have knowledge no one else had, secrets others would fear to know. The Clay Man would have no such thing, but should she gain his loyalty she will have a truly fearsome bodyguard.

"Sir Edward M. Cutter, big-game hunter, at your service sir! It is a great pleasure to meet you all, and I look forward to working with you!" She turned her gaze to the gentleman with the large rifle. A big game hunter? He might have quiet the fortune weaseled away. She giggled and smiled as he kissed her hand. I do so love the gentlemanly types. So easy to twist.

"I am well aware of that but as I have stated before: the gentlemen in front of us does not know our names and most likely does not know what we are skilled at. And I'd rather you refrain from telling me what I should call others; if they have a problem with it, they are more than welcome to take it with me. That brings me to my second point: refrain from intruding - this is between Sir Marshall and I, not you, Cutter."

She raised an eyebrow at that. Crude, paranoid, and just plain rude. Perhaps the corpse would be more trouble than he was worth. Still she smiled all the same. "My dear man. My name is Priscilla Glass and if I may, you seem to be an experienced chap. Surely you would be able to see that while we may have been chosen at random, The good Sir Marshall knows who we are to be sure. If he can have his own 'project' as it were, than surely he is of high standing in the Department. Surely he has not made it this far by putting his trust in people he does not know."
 

IFS

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"Sir Edward M. Cutter, big-game hunter, at your service sir! It is a great pleasure to meet you all, and I look forward to working with you!"

Byron grinned at the man's salute, and when Edward offered his hand he gave a firm handshake and clapped the man on the shoulder. His expression soured momentarily as Viktor began to speak, accusing him of carelessness. Edward responded for him though, as did Priscilla.

"I am well aware of that but as I have stated before: the gentlemen in front of us does not know our names and most likely does not know what we are skilled at. And I'd rather you refrain from telling me what I should call others; if they have a problem with it, they are more than welcome to take it with me. That brings me to my second point: refrain from intruding - this is between Sir Marshall and I, not you, Cutter."

"Mr. Viktor, you at least I know by reputation as a duelist, but I have never met any of you before, and it seems you have not met each other so introductions are in order," he said, speaking calmly "And as Mr. Cutter says all manner of skills will be needed for this effort, you will be handling investigations after all not simple hunts, and you have not been chosen randomly as Ms. Glass suggests but rather by your reputations for these skills."

Next he turned to Thomas, frowning slightly and giving a disapproving shake of his head at how the man had introduced himself.

"Your purpose here is not to kill, it is to provide both justice and protection for the people of London," he said sternly "Certainly death is often a result of such endeavors but it is not our cause."

This reprimand delivered he fell back into waiting for the rest to introduce themselves, one hand patting the pocket of his suit containing a number of documents, among them the first of their commissions.
 

Tortilla the Hun

Decidedly on the Fence
May 7, 2011
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This is perhaps the second-most uncomfortable greeting I've ever been a part of, Aidan thought, noting the minor spat between the obvious hunter, Cutter, and raggedy man with a mouthful of a name, or Viktor for short. Not to mention the rather gruff man who just looked like he'd much rather be breaking rocks with his bare hands than be here.Then there was Priscilla, who seemed fairly polite. He wondered what skills she possessed as they weren't as apparent as those of others, but with the point she brought up, whatever her specialty may be she must have made a name for herself. Then Sir Marshall gave a little more insight as to what our general goal was here, which made perfect sense. Aidan hardly thought that this group was brought here to become warriors of some sort. That's when he realized that the only word he uttered thus far was hardly a word at all, and he would need to introduce himself at some point. Preferring to get it out of the way sooner, he cleared his throat to gather a bit of attention.

"Ah, hello, everyone. My name is Aidan Pottinger. It's...well, it's a pleasure to meet you all," he said, finishing with a brief smile and nod, indicating that he was indeed finished with his introduction.
 

Quintley

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Nigel's bulbous, pale eyes wandered anxiously around the room. It had followed most of the conversation (Goldschmidt-Schirmer? Wasn't that a rare type of plankton?) and had certainly picked up on the tension between Scary Bandaged Man with Stick and Large Moustachioed Man with Correspondingly Large Gun. As far as Nigel could tell, however, there was no immediate danger - and Moustache had even shaken hands (which Nigel knew to be a positive and/or non-threatening gesture). The outburst from Dark Angry Man with No Obvious Weapon to Hand had set Nigel on edge again, though, and it shrank back into its chair a little, fidgeting with the sleeve of its jacket.

The loud person in charge asserted again that introductions were in order. Nigel paused for a moment, somewhat apprehensive, then stood, smoothing out the folds of its dress. It gave a short bow, emitting a faint bubbling sound. Nigel then dug into one of its various pouches, and drew out a handful of slightly damp business cards.

Nigel - Purveyor of Assorted Trinkets, Baubles, Oddities, etc.
Proprietor of Shop (est. 1887)
Please refrain from thievery, violence, and use of complex metaphors.
(this card does NOT entitle the bearer to a discount)​

Nigel trailed around the room, presenting each of the occupants with a card. Upon reaching the bandaged man, however, Nigel just set the business card on a nearby table - and as for "Don't Bloody Touch Me", it gingerly dropped the card on the floor in front of him, avoiding eye contact. Best to avoid upsetting anybody.
 

SamtheDeathclaw

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Ptolemy stood carefully on the back of a chair, watching each member of their little group assemble. The functionary who'd taken his letter had seemed a little less than enthused, sure, but surely not everyone would share in his particular prejudices.

These hopes were dashed rather abruptly when their boss- "Sir" Byron Marshall, a man Ptolemy had heard a little of- muttered something about "making do with rats and squids." Ptolemy considered walking out. It wouldn't be difficult to simply return to his literary practice instead of taking this inane job hunting monsters.
Then, something struck him, as he ignored the man speaking: Marshall was apparently in charge here. But he hadn't been the one who picked the hunters out. Then who had? And, come to think of it, why had Ptolemy been selected? A literary agent from Veilgarden and a former seeker of the Name- a twinge of hunger wracked his body just at the thought of it- wouldn't be Ptolemy's first choice for... Anything, save a literary agent. He would try to find out, though some secrets in the Neath were less "secrets" and more "opaque facts," and trying to dig beyond them rarely ended well.

Then, their boss was done talking, and Ptolemy hoped he hadn't said anything of import. He'd been too busy pondering to actually listen.
Immediately afterwards, a few unimportant things happened- some uppity tomb-colonist started yelling, a strange man with far too much hair on his chest shook Ptolemy paw. Ptolemy could only try not to laugh. It was a nice change of pace from people yelling at him for being a rattus faber, but still a bit odd.

Ptolemy yawned and stretched.
"Names. I think names shall be the death of me," he said to no one in particular.
Then he heard the gentleman who'd shaken his paw apparently getting offended on Ptolemy's behalf, for someone calling him a rat.

He leapt up to the gentleman's shoulder as he stood, accosting the tomb-colonist.
"..if they have a problem with it, they are more than welcome to take it with me. That brings me to my second point: refrain from intruding - this is between Sir Marshall and I, not you, Cutter." Ptolemy lashed his tail slowly, and turned to the gentleman- "Sir" (the Traitor Empress surely did not knight so many people, did she?) Edward Cutter, Ptolemy thought the man had identified himself as.
"Edward, wasn't it? It's no concern of mine what a man who couldn't manage to stay alive calls me. Don't trouble yourself on my account. Besides, "the Rat" is part of my name. Speaking of, I'm Ptolemy, occasionally Ptolemy the Rat."
 

DarkRawen

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Apr 20, 2010
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"Your purpose here is not to kill, it is to provide both justice and protection for the people of London. Certainly death is often a result of such endeavors but it is not our cause."

Thomas just got more annoyed, while this man might be the one in charge of the "adventures" to follow, he had no reason to respect him. However, rather than saying anything -though he certainly had some things to say- he backed off, he didn't feel like some overeager constable was worth disappointing the Lady Poet. And, he might risk getting attacked if he tried anything towards the "boss",

Bloody constables, always going on about justice and protecting.

They had never helped him before, not before, and not now. Lately, they had mostly been getting in his way. Sometimes even Lady Poet's. The rubbery man in the group started handing out cards, for some reason. However, instead of looking at Thomas, it just dropped one in front of him, as if it suddenly forgot how to hand people things. "What the hell is your problem?" Thomas asked, and picked it up, reluctantly. Oh, it was just a name-card. Why the bloody hell had it just thrown it on the floor, though? Some sort of insane gesture? Always those rubbery men messing with his head, with their tentacles and their lack of ability to speak.

It was clearly intending to be disrespectful.

However, he read it, before pocketing it, for no other reason than that he was used to pocketing stuff he found on the ground. A lot of it was worth something, after all. Then, he stepped a little back from the group, just as the rat started speaking, he was letting them rile him up too easily. If it was going to be like this, he might just as well get into a fight now and get it over with. At least then he could say the letter was just a hoax, and that there never was a meeting. However... he eyed the clay man again.

As long as that bloody thing is here, I've definitely got no chance.

He could disarm the large man, Cutter or whatever it was. Probably. But not that one. He had to stop himself from growling again, it was a habit he had no idea where he had picked up. Instead, he examined it, waiting for it to make a move.
 

Green Shoes

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Mar 6, 2013
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If ever Mickey had been thoroughly confused in his short time in London, it was now. The Clay-Man stood stock still as Byron made his introduction, his eyes shifting slowly from person to person. While others made their introductions, Mickey remained stoically still, waiting for people to approach him. Apart from regular humans, there was also one of those strange tentacle creatures, and a rather large rat. Though his reflex was to crush it; as he used to when working in the factory; he simply watched him with a strange curiosity.

When Cutter made his rounds of meet & greet, Mickey firmly clasped the mans hand in both of his, encompassing it up to the wrist. Shaking firmly, he was careful not to break it, meeting the burly mans gaze.

"My name is Mickey. Very nice to meet you."

His words were slow but polite, and he released the mans hand to accept a small card with writing from the rubbery one. Holding it up to his eye, he felt rather disheartened, and a touch sad. Striding straight back up to the somewhat nervous squid mad, he tried a smile and held up the business card. The Clay-Man towered over him, and was nearly twice as wide.

"Hello, my name is Mickey. I can't read. Who are you?"

The clay around his face crumpled and folded into a smile.
 

sage42

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Priscilla turned to face the rough voice of the Clay Man. Poor thing couldn't read the squids card. Perfect, a chance to put herself in the large man's good graces. "It is a business card my well crafted friend." She spoke walking over to the Clay Man. "It says our new co-workers name is Nigel and that it owns a curio shop. It asks us that should we visit to not steal or hurt anything is its shop and to avoid overly complicated metaphors. A reasonable request if I do say so myself." She said examining her own copy of the squids business card. "In any case it is a pleasure to make both of your acquaintances " She stated with small curtsy to each of the creatures before her. Might as well be nice to the squid, it could have something stashed away in it's shop after all.
 

Texas Joker 52

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Jun 25, 2011
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Edward M. Cutter, Esq.

When he finished speaking to Viktor, the heavily bandaged man turned a glare at him, even as one of the other men he shook hands with gave an audible growl behind him due to the contact. Edward remained stock still and impassive, his spine rigidly straight as he looked Viktor dead in the eye. Admittedly a poor phrase for it, however.

"I am well aware of that but as I have stated before: the gentlemen in front of us does not know our names and most likely does not know what we are skilled at. And I'd rather you refrain from telling me what I should call others; if they have a problem with it, they are more than welcome to take it with me. That brings me to my second point: refrain from intruding - this is between Sir Marshall and I, not you, Cutter."

It wasn't long after that he felt scurrying paws move up his arm and onto his shoulder, causing him to glance over with a look of mild surprise as the Rattus Faber perched himself there and spoke.

"Sir Edward, wasn't it? It's no concern of mine what a man who couldn't manage to stay alive calls me. Don't trouble yourself on my account. Besides, "the Rat" is part of my name. Speaking of, I'm Ptolemy, occasionally Ptolemy the Rat."

Edward frowned momentarily before nodding respectfully.

"As you wish, Mr. Ptolemy." he said simply, giving the small rodent a tiny smile.

Then he turned as the Rubbery 'Man' came over and handed him a card, which he promptly read, then held up for Ptolemy to read out of instinct. As he did so, he nodded to the Rubbery 'Man' whom he now knew as Nigel and smiled a little wider.

"A pleasure to meet you Nigel. I'll have to be sure to browse your wares, since I can always stand to have another interesting oddity in my lounge at home." he said with an easy chuckle under his breath.
 

Terratina.

RIP Escapist RP Board
May 24, 2012
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"My dear man. My name is Priscilla Glass and if I may, you seem to be an experienced chap. Surely you would be able to see that while we may have been chosen at random, The good Sir Marshall knows who we are to be sure. If he can have his own 'project' as it were, than surely he is of high standing in the Department. Surely he has not made it this far by putting his trust in people he does not know."


More interruptions. Couldn't the bandaged gentleman have a conversation all to himself for once? Unfortunately, the lady's little speech just made him even more annoyed. He wasn't anyone's dear man and the quip being experienced was just too cute. Miss Glass, on the other, didn't look like she had even reached the middle of her life. Just more unfledged uppity upstarts. Viktor had nothing to say to the woman and only muttered a sentence under his breath, "Acquire some listening skills, Fräulein."

"Mr. Viktor, you at least I know by reputation as a duelist, but I have never met any of you before, and it seems you have not met each other so introductions are in order..."

As for Sir Marshall, he scoffed at his words. Duelist? Perhaps the man had only dipped his toes into research. Or maybe Viktor had spent too much time in Venderbight? Or was it just a pitiful guess? It was certainly no stretch of the imagination to associate a scarred Tomb Colonist with dueling. The grip on the sword-cane tightened. Though it was somewhat foolish to think that the Department would rummage through every invited individuals' past when monsters were on the prowl. Viktor's posture relaxed as he dropped the subject with a low and dismissive, "Very well."

He tolerated the slew of introductions for the time being... Aiden would forever be Spectacles to Viktor, anyway. Moving on, he expected the squid to have some sort of weird name littered with punctuation marks but Nigel was probably easier on the human tongue; the rat had taken the name of a famous Greek figure, though with of Viktor's names being Ezekiel, he couldn't really complain - the old tradition of giving a child several Vornamen was quite silly regardless; the golem introduced himself as Mickey, however, Vikto was more interested in seeing what the symbols engraved somewhere on his body said.

A small thought nudged itself to the surface of his mind, 'Isn't it the host's job to conduct introductions? This gets better by the minute...'
 

Quintley

New member
Jul 5, 2013
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"Hello, my name is Mickey. I can't read. Who are you?"

Nigel craned its head back in an attempt to make eye contact with the wardrobe-shaped colossus, appraising the situation. On the one hand, the person-wall was behaving politely, and not making any threatening gestures (working in retail, Nigel had of course memorised Lady Ponsonberry's Comprehensive List of Threatening Gestures, and had even added a few new ones). On the other hand, the person was very big. It decided to reserve judgement.

The Clay Man's question was not unexpected - Nigel had often encountered this issue before. It nodded its head sympathetically. Fortunately, one of the human ladies intervened to translate (Nigel knew this person was female, since she did not have a moustache).

"...It asks us that should we visit to not steal or hurt anything is its shop and to avoid overly complicated metaphors."

Nigel inclined its head in gratitude. It noted, however, that the lady had specifically said "not hurt anything in the shop". That wasn't the exact sentiment of the message - Nigel hoped that nobody had got the impression that it was permissible to hurt Nigel itself. There were certainly a few people in the room who looked...aggressive.

"A pleasure to meet you Nigel. I'll have to be sure to browse your wares, since I can always stand to have another interesting oddity in my lounge at home."

Nigel was rather flattered by this. It sat back down, making a mental note to show Moustache its collection of Miscellaneous Teeth at some point.
 

SamtheDeathclaw

New member
Aug 8, 2009
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Ptolemy scanned the card. Nigel. Hm.

Ptolemy knew little of the Rubbery Men, and this one seemed to be fairly standard for their mien. Perhaps Ptolemy would have to check out the shop sometime. Oddly, however, the card contained no address, or even the district the shop could be found in. Ptolemy shrugged. Forgotten Quarter, maybe, with most of the rest of the Rubbery Men. Or the Bazaar itself, as a shop probably should be.

"Mmm, just Ptolemy, my good man. Not so proper as to deserve to be called mister," Ptolemy said with a sly wink and a quick chuckle. "I suppose I should go around to the rest and introduce myself," Ptolemy said, swishing his tail slowly. "Or perhaps only the ones who haven't threatened violence, eh?"

Ptolemy scampered down, back onto his chair. He lept onto the Clay Man, next, and perched easily on his shoulder. Ptolemy was long since accustomed to perching on shoulders.
"Hullo, good sir. Mickey, I believe you introduced yourself as?" It would be impossible to not hear him, Ptolemy would think. The way Clay Men spoke wasn't overly loud, but it was deep and cut through other noises easily. "I'm Ptolemy, and would appreciate you watch your step around me, ha!" Ptolemy laughed, and stood, bowing, before diving off, onto the shoulder of a young lady standing next to Mickey.
"Ahoy, lass. Ptolemy the Rat, at your service. You introduced yourself as Priscilla Glass, if I heard correctly?"
You spend enough time in parties, you gain the ability to hear introductions from anywhere in the room. Forgetting a society lady's name is a grave offense, but know it before she even tells you, and you're golden.
Then with another leap, he landed near the Rubbery Man- many Rubbery Men were rather... Persnickety about being touched, he'd found.
"Salutations, Nigel! I'm Ptolemy, literary executor and agent, at your service. I look forward to working with you. I've not gotten to interact with your kin much, I fear," Ptolemy said with a smile, and bowed.

He looked about the room, and sighed. He was tired of leaping from shoulder to shoulder. Hopefully, any who he'd missed had heard him introduce himself. If not, alas. He sat slowly, waiting for "Sir" Marshall to tell them what'd happen next.
 

MortifiedPenguin

Not So Despicable
Jun 8, 2012
843
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0
It was all quite amusing really: watching the men quarrel amongst themselves - was this what an all boys school was like? If perhaps all the students were a bit taller. She was rather intrigued as to what or whom they might be hunting, her role within this motley crew was obvious to her and so were a few of the others like Mister Angry's over there. Elisa couldn't help but wonder how much it would take to sedate him if ever she needed to "operate on him." Although, it was time to end her observations.

"I am Elisa Cartwright, and I will be the doctor for this little sojourn. I suppose it would be best to acquaint each other with our roles as well as our names." She said hoping that might stimulate some conversion.
 

IFS

New member
Mar 5, 2012
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Byron did a quick headcount and pulled a few documents out of his suit, one was a list of names which he checked against those who had introduced themselves. Everyone who was here had introduced themselves, though there was still another dozen or so name on the list who were absent. Byron shrugged and put the list back into his pocket before clearing his throat and beginning to speak.

"Ahem, so now that we've all been introduced, by name if not by profession, I believe we should get started on business," he held up one stack of documents, contracts from the look of them, and setting them down on one of the free chairs "These are the terms of your employment, simple bit of tedious paperwork, you need only sign and hand them into a functionary when you leave and you will officially be an employee of the department."

The contracts were indeed fairly simple, outlining little beyond what Byron himself said, though they did stipulate that the dept was not responsible for injuries, madness, death or hair loss sustained in pursuit of a menace, though one was still entitled to their weekly payments if they were out of commission for any reason.

"Any who have decided to back out of this venture I would encourage to do so now," Byron scoffed, his tone making it clear he thought such an action ridiculous. He waited a moment anyways though, before speaking again, pulling up a new document, a newspaper clipping attached to the front of it read 'CHURCH VANDALIZED, VICAR REFUSES TO COMMENT'.

"This church sent us a commission, claiming that the vandals included spirifers and an unfinished men," he said, his tone now grave and serious "The 'vandals' as this salacious rag terms them attacked and killed one of the priests, and abducted his corpse, he only returned a day ago claiming they stripped him of his soul while he was recovering, and that the unfinished devoured it in front of him."

Byron was speaking in a steady and measured voice now, not the quick excited tones of earlier, and he paused between sentences to be sure his words sunk in.

"Now whether that is the truth of the matter has yet to be determined, but a soul-eating clay man is quite beyond the typical fare the department seeks to address, and so the commission was passed to me," he set the remaining documents on the chair besides the contracts "You are free to look over what little we have assembled on the matter before setting off, the church is expecting agents of the department to arrive within a few hours so you can take your time, though as one last note they did make a point of requesting some degree of secrecy on the matter."

The documents consisted of the newspaper clipping, a small map depicting the locations of the arrests of spirifers over the last few months, a sketch of the Unfinished man, and the letter from the Vicar of the church.

The newspaper clipping held little of note beyond the headline and the address of the church, most of the rest being ridiculous speculations intended to make the story more salable, though one item of note was that the doors of the church had been torn off and thrown about. One 'witness' claimed that a pack of marsh wolf riding urchins did the deed, while another claimed that it was the work of a 'rather big rat' that had crawled out of the sewers. The paper did speculate on the possibility of the vandal having been a clay man, but only in passing, and mentioned that the supposed handprints on the door were a finger too short to have been a clay man.

The map of arrests showed largely concentrations in a few graveyards, as well as one or two in the forgotten quarter. A few marks also showed up in Spite, and one along Ladybones road.

The sketch of the supposed captor of the priest was that of an unfinished man, tall and broad as they tended to be, missing the small finger on each hand, and with a few cracks on his skin particularly on his face. The unfinished man was depicted wearing a massive coat, and a note off to the side mentioned that the priest had described it as bearing a particularly menacing look.

Finally there was the matter of the letter, which droned on for several paragraphs about the Vicar's desire to see 'God's justice done', praising the department, and quoting small passages of scripture. Eventually though it got around to providing the same details Byron had mentioned, the murder, abduction, and soul theft of the priest who had requested his name not be mentioned. The priest was apparently quite distraught and beyond consolation at this loss, and the Vicar wished the matter handled expertly and with some degree of secrecy to preserve the dignity of the priest and the church. A rather substantial offering of foxfire candle's was listed as the intended payment for the completion of the commission.

While the clipping was of course mostly utter nonsense a few glimmers of what seemed like truth poked through, the urchins wolves and the giant rat were both described with the same shade of grey used in the sketch of the unfinished man. More intriguing though was the mention of how the doors seemed to have been smashed, as someone who was paying attention might note that it indicated that they were smashed from within the church rather than outside, unlike the other claims which claimed the rats or what have you had torn them down from outside the building.

The map seemed to give an additional trend for the arrests, the more recent ones having been largely from the forgotten quarter as compared to earlier arrests which were centered around graveyards. The graveyard arrests were more numerous of course, but the shift to the forgotten quarter still seemed recent enough to explain that.

The sketch did not seem to hold any particular secrets, though the letter was a different story. The biblical passages referred to often spoke of judgement, but there were a few that decried false prophets. A few other lines seemed to indicate that the writer held the suffering priest in little regard, indicating subtly that he had done something to provoke his attacker.

Byron stood in the corner of the room, giving them time to look over the documents and ready to answer further questions if he needed to.