Priscilla eyed Thomas as the brute followed Sir Cutter outside. Good, now we might be able to come to a conclusion on why this priest's soul was stolen. And more importantly why the doors were broken from the inside. She turned to the Priest behind the desk a smile of her own ready. "I do apologize Father, for our actions so far. Highly unprofessional I know." She turned in the direction of the sobbing. "Poor man, I've heard other tales like this. Never a pretty thing to hear. We'd like to ask him few questions if we could? Mostly for a better take on the events that took place." She clarified. "What little information we have doesn't seem all that clear. Although that might be the price we pay for getting it from a second hand source." She said with a shrug.
Menaces and Mysteries: A Fallen London RP (closed, started)
- Thread starter IFS
- Start date
Mickey found the church to be somewhat lacking in anything of interest to him. Arriving with Cutter and Priscilla, he watched as the large, polite gentleman pulled Thomas aside. It seemed to him that the man just never calmed down, and it made the Clay-Man wonder why he even bothered agreeing to this.
Strolling past Thomas, he couldn't help but turn and acknowledge his plea for solitude from the other members of the group. Never breaking step, he spoke plainly to him.
"We didn't come here for you."
Standing by Priscilla's side, he listened intently as she spoke calmly to the young priest. Mickey was aware that their culprit probably looked somewhat like himself, so attempted to remain as passive as possible. Still, his voice rumbled, and as he extended his hand he knocked over a curio or two, balanced on the desk.
"If you help us, we'll find the thing that did this. And you won't have to speak to Thomas again."
Looking down at Priscilla and Nigel, he questioned both of them, eager to do anything to help.
"Let me know if I can do anything."
Strolling past Thomas, he couldn't help but turn and acknowledge his plea for solitude from the other members of the group. Never breaking step, he spoke plainly to him.
"We didn't come here for you."
Standing by Priscilla's side, he listened intently as she spoke calmly to the young priest. Mickey was aware that their culprit probably looked somewhat like himself, so attempted to remain as passive as possible. Still, his voice rumbled, and as he extended his hand he knocked over a curio or two, balanced on the desk.
"If you help us, we'll find the thing that did this. And you won't have to speak to Thomas again."
Looking down at Priscilla and Nigel, he questioned both of them, eager to do anything to help.
"Let me know if I can do anything."
Aiden's trip to one of the indicated graveyards was rather uneventful as well, the graveyard itself had a thin layer of mist settled about it. The place was empty and quiet for the most part, a few mushroom bouquets had been left on graves, and in the distance figures could be seen moving steadily through the darkness. A sound like a shovel clinking on rock followed by quiet swearing could be heard as well.
Looking towards that sound more figures could be made out through the darkness and mist, huddled and crouched beneath a statue of a praying angel. They were hard to make out at all both due to their postures and to the obscuring conditions, but they seemed to be digging. What they were digging for was a mystery though, but it seemed unlikely to be for a service.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Father, I'm sorry to disturb you in the middle of repairs to the church, but I am Sir Edward M. Cutter, and these are my comrades, Miss Priscilla Glass, Mister Mickey, the esteemed Nigel. It seems you've already met Mister Thomas."
"Bloody hell! I told you to leave me alone, didn't I?!"
The priest turned to greet them, stepping back so he could face both the new arrivals and Thomas at the same time. He had been frowning at the tone Thomas was taking, but his expression brightened quickly at Edward's greeting. He seemed to ignore Thomas's remark as it wasn't directed at him.
"Pleasure to meet you all, I am Simon," he said, nodding to greet Edward and the others.
"You see, we're here on behalf of the Department of Menace Eradication, and we were hoping to ask you, and the poor man who was accosted, if you could tell us anything about the culprit. If you could tell everything you know to my compatriots, I'd like to have a word outside with Mister Thomas. If you'll excuse us."
"I got here first, so you'll not tell them a bloody thing, got it?"
"I'll tell them anything I would have told you," Simon replied in a calm and serious tone "I wish to do everything in my power to ensure this case is solved."
"I do apologize Father, for our actions so far. Highly unprofessional I know. Poor man, I've heard other tales like this. Never a pretty thing to hear. We'd like to ask him few questions if we could? Mostly for a better take on the events that took place. What little information we have doesn't seem all that clear. Although that might be the price we pay for getting it from a second hand source."
"Yes it is a rather horrible thing, devils one should know not to trust, but to have ones salvation stolen by your fellow man?" Simon's tone became dark as he spoke, but he shook his head and sighed "I'll let you in to see him right away, though I'm afraid I'll have to ask your Clay friend to stay out here, his appearance might cause some distress."
He smiled apologetically and moved the the door, behind which the sobbing could be heard, and unlocked it so Priscilla could enter. The room inside was small and barely furnished, a few lit candles provided dim light making visible the rooms sole inhabitant. The sobbing priest sat with his back facing the door, curled into the fetal position on an old wooden chair. The candles were set on the small table next to him, on which also sat the latest edition of the Neath's bible and a well used handkerchief. The sobbing priest gave no reaction to the door opening, lost in his misery.
"If you help us, we'll find the thing that did this. And you won't have to speak to Thomas again. Let me know if I can do anything."
"I didn't mind speaking with the man, he was rather uncouth certainly but all sorts are welcome here," Simon seemed apologetic for having said that Mickey had to remain away from the sobbing priest "You can look over the church itself I suppose, we were told not to clean up until the constables could do a proper investigation so everything should be more or less how it was after the attack."
The damage to the building was largely centered on the front door itself, which seemed to have been torn from its hinges and thrown by some force into the street. The doors themselves had since been propped up over the entryway, but the damage was evident. A few of the pews seemed to have been smashed along the inner aisle, though this was limited to those near the door. One wall had a bloodstain on it, where something had been struck against it, and then the evidence of a small pool at the base of the wall. Small cracked flakes of clay could be found in various spots throughout the church, but especially near the destruction at the front of it.
Looking towards that sound more figures could be made out through the darkness and mist, huddled and crouched beneath a statue of a praying angel. They were hard to make out at all both due to their postures and to the obscuring conditions, but they seemed to be digging. What they were digging for was a mystery though, but it seemed unlikely to be for a service.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Father, I'm sorry to disturb you in the middle of repairs to the church, but I am Sir Edward M. Cutter, and these are my comrades, Miss Priscilla Glass, Mister Mickey, the esteemed Nigel. It seems you've already met Mister Thomas."
"Bloody hell! I told you to leave me alone, didn't I?!"
The priest turned to greet them, stepping back so he could face both the new arrivals and Thomas at the same time. He had been frowning at the tone Thomas was taking, but his expression brightened quickly at Edward's greeting. He seemed to ignore Thomas's remark as it wasn't directed at him.
"Pleasure to meet you all, I am Simon," he said, nodding to greet Edward and the others.
"You see, we're here on behalf of the Department of Menace Eradication, and we were hoping to ask you, and the poor man who was accosted, if you could tell us anything about the culprit. If you could tell everything you know to my compatriots, I'd like to have a word outside with Mister Thomas. If you'll excuse us."
"I got here first, so you'll not tell them a bloody thing, got it?"
"I'll tell them anything I would have told you," Simon replied in a calm and serious tone "I wish to do everything in my power to ensure this case is solved."
"I do apologize Father, for our actions so far. Highly unprofessional I know. Poor man, I've heard other tales like this. Never a pretty thing to hear. We'd like to ask him few questions if we could? Mostly for a better take on the events that took place. What little information we have doesn't seem all that clear. Although that might be the price we pay for getting it from a second hand source."
"Yes it is a rather horrible thing, devils one should know not to trust, but to have ones salvation stolen by your fellow man?" Simon's tone became dark as he spoke, but he shook his head and sighed "I'll let you in to see him right away, though I'm afraid I'll have to ask your Clay friend to stay out here, his appearance might cause some distress."
He smiled apologetically and moved the the door, behind which the sobbing could be heard, and unlocked it so Priscilla could enter. The room inside was small and barely furnished, a few lit candles provided dim light making visible the rooms sole inhabitant. The sobbing priest sat with his back facing the door, curled into the fetal position on an old wooden chair. The candles were set on the small table next to him, on which also sat the latest edition of the Neath's bible and a well used handkerchief. The sobbing priest gave no reaction to the door opening, lost in his misery.
"If you help us, we'll find the thing that did this. And you won't have to speak to Thomas again. Let me know if I can do anything."
"I didn't mind speaking with the man, he was rather uncouth certainly but all sorts are welcome here," Simon seemed apologetic for having said that Mickey had to remain away from the sobbing priest "You can look over the church itself I suppose, we were told not to clean up until the constables could do a proper investigation so everything should be more or less how it was after the attack."
The damage to the building was largely centered on the front door itself, which seemed to have been torn from its hinges and thrown by some force into the street. The doors themselves had since been propped up over the entryway, but the damage was evident. A few of the pews seemed to have been smashed along the inner aisle, though this was limited to those near the door. One wall had a bloodstain on it, where something had been struck against it, and then the evidence of a small pool at the base of the wall. Small cracked flakes of clay could be found in various spots throughout the church, but especially near the destruction at the front of it.
The damage again seemed to all be on a path leading out of the building, starting with the pews and then leading to the bloodstain. The stain of the small pool, and the shape of such would seem to indicate (to those who might know how to read such things) that the body lay there for perhaps a few minutes. Additionally the clay flakes, while certainly concentrated about the areas of destruction, also seem to be concentrated in one shadowed spot near the back of the church, a sheltered area that is not visible from any of the windows.
The clay flakes are unusual, clay men do not normally shed after all. An unfinished man might though, and it could be connected to the cracked skin the sketch depicted the suspect as having.
Nigel had remained by the door - it rather doubted it would be very useful in an interview. From its own perspective of interrogation, it had concluded that the most effective strategy is to have one friendly person and one person who stands in the corner looking angry. Nigel had been practicing its 'menacing glare' recently, but the job was probably best left to somebody more...verbally gifted.
"You can look over the church itself I suppose, we were told not to clean up until the constables could do a proper investigation so everything should be more or less how it was after the attack."
Nigel picked through the wreckage of the scene. The door, or what remained of it, seemed quite sturdy - it would've taken a considerable deal of force to smash a way out. Certainly more force than was necessary to incapacitate a priest and get out quickly. The blood, Nigel assumed, belonged to the priest - judging by the newspaper article, there hadn't been anyone else around, so there shouldn't have been much of a reason for one of the vandals to be that badly injured.
It wondered for a moment why there was so little damage anywhere else inside the church. The vandals clearly hadn't been working efficiently. Now, if Nigel had been vandalising a church, it would've made a point to find and loot the reliquary. Even a place this small was bound to have something interesting hidden away...
After pondering that happy thought for a while, Nigel focused back on the job. As well as splinters of wood, there seemed to be little pieces of dirt around the place. Kneeling, it gathered some of the flakes into a small jar, which it then replaced into its pockets. The flakes seemed to originate, judging by a faint trail, from a cluster at the back of the room. A little patch of dirt. Or clay. It had a thought.
Nigel tapped the big one, Mickey, on the arm to get his attention. It tugged on Mickey's sleeve, pointing to the back of the church. It then skipped over to the patch of flakes, beckoning furiously.
"You can look over the church itself I suppose, we were told not to clean up until the constables could do a proper investigation so everything should be more or less how it was after the attack."
Nigel picked through the wreckage of the scene. The door, or what remained of it, seemed quite sturdy - it would've taken a considerable deal of force to smash a way out. Certainly more force than was necessary to incapacitate a priest and get out quickly. The blood, Nigel assumed, belonged to the priest - judging by the newspaper article, there hadn't been anyone else around, so there shouldn't have been much of a reason for one of the vandals to be that badly injured.
It wondered for a moment why there was so little damage anywhere else inside the church. The vandals clearly hadn't been working efficiently. Now, if Nigel had been vandalising a church, it would've made a point to find and loot the reliquary. Even a place this small was bound to have something interesting hidden away...
After pondering that happy thought for a while, Nigel focused back on the job. As well as splinters of wood, there seemed to be little pieces of dirt around the place. Kneeling, it gathered some of the flakes into a small jar, which it then replaced into its pockets. The flakes seemed to originate, judging by a faint trail, from a cluster at the back of the room. A little patch of dirt. Or clay. It had a thought.
Nigel tapped the big one, Mickey, on the arm to get his attention. It tugged on Mickey's sleeve, pointing to the back of the church. It then skipped over to the patch of flakes, beckoning furiously.
Edward M. Cutter, Esq.
Once they were outside and safely away from anything fragile inside the church, the big-game hunter stopped at the edge of the street and turned, crossing his thick arms against his broad chest. It was clear that Thomas figured this for a confrontation, due to the way he stomped out behind him, and the tone of his voice as he barked out his question. He may not have been far off.
"I was doing just fine. What the hell is your problem?!"
"My problem, Mister Thomas, is your attitude. Perhaps you don't realize that we're supposed to be special constables, not common street thugs." Edward said, his tone cold as his eyes locked onto Thomas'.
It was very much like a predator sizing up inadequate prey.
"Now, I don't know what your problem happens to be, but what I do know is that you're rude, hostile, and don't seem to understand that we are here to protect the innocent citizens of Fallen London, not strong-arm them the first chance we get, like you seemed to. And to a member of the clergy!" he said with an outraged huff.
"So I would very much prefer it if you conducted yourself as more befitting a proper gentleman: Courteous, tactful, and certainly more considerate." Edward told him, uncrossing his arms but not relaxing in the least.
As it was, his instincts told him that Thomas was dangerous, and not a man to be taken lightly. If it turned to a fight, best case would be a proper match of fisticuffs. Worst case would be far more unpleasant, not to mention unsporting for either side. So he braced himself for a fight if need be, though he hoped that the man in front of him got the picture and eased up himself.
"My problem, Mister Thomas, is your attitude. Perhaps you don't realize that we're supposed to be special constables, not common street thugs."
Thomas growled at him. Not only had the Clay Man dared to tell him that they weren't there for him -as if he didn't know that- but now Cutter thought he could tell him off. So, this bloke, obviously over-compensating for his lack of hair, thought he was better than Thomas? What a laugh. What a bloody, damned laugh. However, Thomas didn't laugh. He just glared, quietly, like a starving marsh-wolf who had just spotted a slice of fresh meat, just in a far more hostile way.
Don't think you're better than me, you damned wall! Acting all high and mighty doesn't make you anything else than a judgmental moron!
He wanted to say it aloud, but he held his tongue. The man was apparently not done talking.
"Now, I don't know what your problem happens to be, but what I do know is that you're rude, hostile, and don't seem to understand that we are here to protect the innocent citizens of Fallen London, not strong-arm them the first chance we get, like you seemed to. And to a member of the clergy!"
Thomas managed to stay calm, even as his eyes grew darker with rage, and he felt that his fists had numbed from being clenched too hard. If this was a normal situation, Thomas would already have gotten the knife out and stabbed him. However, Lady Poet had told him to behave. She had even tried to tell him to behave like a gentleman. He had told her he couldn't, but he didn't care about that now.
Perhaps I will act like a bloody gentleman.
He would show this fool that it took little to be like Cutter and the rest. If someone like they could do it, then bloody hell, Thomas could do it. He just preferred not to. His anger didn't leave, his eyes were still dark and filled with rage, but he took control over his body and put his arms down, opening his fists. Thomas adjusted his clothing and hair a little, the blood on his sleeves apparent as he did, and dusted off whatever dust he had gotten on them while going through the alleys.
"Did you mean like this, Sir Cutter?" replied, there was still large amounts of anger there, and the word sir felt wrong to him by now, but his pronunciation was unmistakable. So was the arrogancy in his voice, so similar to his father's that it made him feel slightly unwell. Still, Thomas didn't need to pretend to be from an upper class family, he was.
"Don't underestimate a "mere" street thug, even if we don't act as entitled as upper class people, that is no indication of our worth." He frowned as he spoke. "And I didn't do anything to the clergyman, I asked him a question, assuming that I did do anything else to him because of how I speak is hardly fair." Thomas was wrecking his brain trying to remember the fancier words, but he thought he did a bloody good job.
"Was there anything else?"
You bloody bastard.
"Or will you leave me alone now, Sir Cutter?"
Thomas growled at him. Not only had the Clay Man dared to tell him that they weren't there for him -as if he didn't know that- but now Cutter thought he could tell him off. So, this bloke, obviously over-compensating for his lack of hair, thought he was better than Thomas? What a laugh. What a bloody, damned laugh. However, Thomas didn't laugh. He just glared, quietly, like a starving marsh-wolf who had just spotted a slice of fresh meat, just in a far more hostile way.
Don't think you're better than me, you damned wall! Acting all high and mighty doesn't make you anything else than a judgmental moron!
He wanted to say it aloud, but he held his tongue. The man was apparently not done talking.
"Now, I don't know what your problem happens to be, but what I do know is that you're rude, hostile, and don't seem to understand that we are here to protect the innocent citizens of Fallen London, not strong-arm them the first chance we get, like you seemed to. And to a member of the clergy!"
Thomas managed to stay calm, even as his eyes grew darker with rage, and he felt that his fists had numbed from being clenched too hard. If this was a normal situation, Thomas would already have gotten the knife out and stabbed him. However, Lady Poet had told him to behave. She had even tried to tell him to behave like a gentleman. He had told her he couldn't, but he didn't care about that now.
Perhaps I will act like a bloody gentleman.
He would show this fool that it took little to be like Cutter and the rest. If someone like they could do it, then bloody hell, Thomas could do it. He just preferred not to. His anger didn't leave, his eyes were still dark and filled with rage, but he took control over his body and put his arms down, opening his fists. Thomas adjusted his clothing and hair a little, the blood on his sleeves apparent as he did, and dusted off whatever dust he had gotten on them while going through the alleys.
"Did you mean like this, Sir Cutter?" replied, there was still large amounts of anger there, and the word sir felt wrong to him by now, but his pronunciation was unmistakable. So was the arrogancy in his voice, so similar to his father's that it made him feel slightly unwell. Still, Thomas didn't need to pretend to be from an upper class family, he was.
"Don't underestimate a "mere" street thug, even if we don't act as entitled as upper class people, that is no indication of our worth." He frowned as he spoke. "And I didn't do anything to the clergyman, I asked him a question, assuming that I did do anything else to him because of how I speak is hardly fair." Thomas was wrecking his brain trying to remember the fancier words, but he thought he did a bloody good job.
"Was there anything else?"
You bloody bastard.
"Or will you leave me alone now, Sir Cutter?"
Edward M. Cutter, Esq.
Edward had to admit, Thomas' response was unexpected, and made his heart sink as he realized that he probably took the wrong approach, being direct in pointing out what he felt Thomas was doing wrong. He had thought that the direct approach would be best, since if he tried to soften it, it probably would have been seen as condescending. Apparently, he had gone too far the other way.
Thomas straightened, adjusted his clothing and brushed off the little dirt that had gotten on his clothes and spoke more calmly, though it was clear he was still angry.
"Did you mean like this, Sir Cutter?"
The hunter frowned, and sighed sadly, and what hostility was in his eyes quickly faded.
"Don't underestimate a 'mere' street thug, even if we don't act as entitled as upper class people, that is no indication of our worth. And I didn't do anything to the clergyman, I asked him a question, assuming that I did do anything else to him because of how I speak is hardly fair."
He nodded quietly before Thomas spoke again.
"Was there anything else? Or will you leave me alone now, Sir Cutter?"
"You're right. I see that I was overzealous and far too hasty to judge, Thomas, and for that I am truly sorry. I'll aim to be more tolerant and endeavor to not do it again." he said sincerely, and nodded to Thomas as he motioned to the church.
Ptolemy leapt down from the roof of Aiden's hansom. He'd been too slow trying to sign large enough for his signature to be read- Which would be why I have a stamp to do that for me at my offices, right.- to catch the cab with him. He wasn't actually sure where they were going, but the man had seemed the least likely to stomp on Ptolemy on principle. And he'd seemed to be going alone, poor chap. So Ptolemy had scampered up the cab and ridden the whole way on the roof.
"Greetings and salutations!" he cried as he dropped into the interior of the cab. "Ptolemy the Rat the Literary Agent, at your service. Aiden Pottinger, you said your name was? Fascinating. I knew a Pottinger once. Rubbery man, though, probably no relation." Ptolemy cocked his head. "Unless your family's into that I suppose. Ha ha!"
He rattled along, giving exactly no time for Aiden to reply. It's apparent that Ptolemy has had lots of practice meeting people.
"Anyways, I figured I ought to come with you, but these little legs can only move so fast. So I rode on the roof! Where are we, to be precise? I've never been to this part of town. It's all terribly exciting."
"Greetings and salutations!" he cried as he dropped into the interior of the cab. "Ptolemy the Rat the Literary Agent, at your service. Aiden Pottinger, you said your name was? Fascinating. I knew a Pottinger once. Rubbery man, though, probably no relation." Ptolemy cocked his head. "Unless your family's into that I suppose. Ha ha!"
He rattled along, giving exactly no time for Aiden to reply. It's apparent that Ptolemy has had lots of practice meeting people.
"Anyways, I figured I ought to come with you, but these little legs can only move so fast. So I rode on the roof! Where are we, to be precise? I've never been to this part of town. It's all terribly exciting."
'Well well, what have we here?' The bandaged gentleman thought to himself as he inspected his surroundings, both with his eye and prod of the cane. Nevertheless, those horns were somewhat annoying. Just as a train of thought started up inside Viktor's head, a cacophony of loud noises made it run out of steam. He wasn't going to get anything done like this.
It didn't help that they sounded like they were getting closer and closer.
With a huff, Viktor pulled out an old, battered hat and placed it on his head. There was no point in rummaging about in the ruins when there was introduction to be had. That, and the fact that sneaking around was the mark of a no-good thief.
Viktor was a lot of things, but he wasn't a thief.
Blasted Devils had always used the Forgotten Quarter as a playground - just how many times had Viktor heard those horns in the distance in his Correspondence investigating days? He couldn't say, he didn't keep count of such inane things. Regardless, the pursuer or pursued could be friendly or not-so-friendly. Viktor was confident that he was prepared for both cases.
A wry smile stretched out beneath the bandages, 'Let them come.'
It didn't help that they sounded like they were getting closer and closer.
With a huff, Viktor pulled out an old, battered hat and placed it on his head. There was no point in rummaging about in the ruins when there was introduction to be had. That, and the fact that sneaking around was the mark of a no-good thief.
Viktor was a lot of things, but he wasn't a thief.
Blasted Devils had always used the Forgotten Quarter as a playground - just how many times had Viktor heard those horns in the distance in his Correspondence investigating days? He couldn't say, he didn't keep count of such inane things. Regardless, the pursuer or pursued could be friendly or not-so-friendly. Viktor was confident that he was prepared for both cases.
A wry smile stretched out beneath the bandages, 'Let them come.'
A man with brass manacles binding his hands together darted from the ruins, glancing back over his shoulders for his pursuers, stumbling over some rubble and pushing himself up again to continue his desperate sprint. A flicker of hope sparked in his eyes when he saw Viktor.
"Help... me," he said between gasping breaths, the brass horns drew ever closer and a devil riding a huge black brute of a horse emerged from the ruins, pausing to give another blow of the horn sending the terrified man fleeing once more.
The devil watched him run with an amused smile on his face then turned to Viktor, his expression delighted "Well hello, what have we here?"
Another two devils emerged on equally fearsome mounts, one a portly and impatient looking fellow, the other a deviless sporting an annoyed expression.
"After him, he's getting away!" the portly devil said, waving towards the terrified man, but the amused devil raised a hand and the portly one fell quiet.
"Let him run, makes the chase more interesting, and speaking of interesting," the devil smiled again towards Viktor.
The other two turned their attention to Viktor, the portly one now looked annoyed but the deviless smiled as well, a sly look in her eyes.
"Well now, who is this?" she asked, her horse beginning to trot around Viktor so she could see him from the side.
"Whats it matter? Our quarry is getting away," the portly one said, but the others ignored him. He sighed and also turned his gaze to Viktor, though his expression was less pleased than the others.
"Help... me," he said between gasping breaths, the brass horns drew ever closer and a devil riding a huge black brute of a horse emerged from the ruins, pausing to give another blow of the horn sending the terrified man fleeing once more.
The devil watched him run with an amused smile on his face then turned to Viktor, his expression delighted "Well hello, what have we here?"
Another two devils emerged on equally fearsome mounts, one a portly and impatient looking fellow, the other a deviless sporting an annoyed expression.
"After him, he's getting away!" the portly devil said, waving towards the terrified man, but the amused devil raised a hand and the portly one fell quiet.
"Let him run, makes the chase more interesting, and speaking of interesting," the devil smiled again towards Viktor.
The other two turned their attention to Viktor, the portly one now looked annoyed but the deviless smiled as well, a sly look in her eyes.
"Well now, who is this?" she asked, her horse beginning to trot around Viktor so she could see him from the side.
"Whats it matter? Our quarry is getting away," the portly one said, but the others ignored him. He sighed and also turned his gaze to Viktor, though his expression was less pleased than the others.
"You're right. I see that I was overzealous and far too hasty to judge, Thomas, and for that I am truly sorry. I'll aim to be more tolerant and endeavor to not do it again."
Thomas looked at the man as he apologized, baffled. Was that all there was to it? Had Cutter gone out of his way to insult Thomas, only to give in as soon as Thomas acted like he was supposed to?
What the bloody...
Thomas was more than a little confused, but he decided to keep the act up. It wasn't like he had to speak to anyone either way, he could just listen in, learn something if he picked up on it, like the Lady Poet had wanted him to. Of course, he was still angry, he always was.
"That's Sir Thomas to you," he replied, grinning slightly. "Regardless of if I look it or not, I was also raised in an upper class family, I just don't usually flaunt it. I'll let you handle the clergyman, since I'm no longer in the mood." He still spoke somewhat mockingly. He then went over to a bench close to where the rest of the group was, sitting down and watching without speaking to anyone.
Thomas looked at the man as he apologized, baffled. Was that all there was to it? Had Cutter gone out of his way to insult Thomas, only to give in as soon as Thomas acted like he was supposed to?
What the bloody...
Thomas was more than a little confused, but he decided to keep the act up. It wasn't like he had to speak to anyone either way, he could just listen in, learn something if he picked up on it, like the Lady Poet had wanted him to. Of course, he was still angry, he always was.
"That's Sir Thomas to you," he replied, grinning slightly. "Regardless of if I look it or not, I was also raised in an upper class family, I just don't usually flaunt it. I'll let you handle the clergyman, since I'm no longer in the mood." He still spoke somewhat mockingly. He then went over to a bench close to where the rest of the group was, sitting down and watching without speaking to anyone.
Edward M. Cutter, Esq.
There was a moment when Thomas looked at him in utter confusion, before he grinned. Edward simply frowned a little deeper and one of his bushy brows quirked up in question.
"That's Sir Thomas to you. Regardless of if I look it or not, I was also raised in an upper class family, I just don't usually flaunt it. I'll let you handle the clergyman, since I'm no longer in the mood."
At that, the hunters face flattened into an expression of mild exasperation. It seemed that Thomas was going to be hard to read, and probably harder to reason with when it came to things like manners, courtesy, and tact. In fact, he got the sense that Thomas was just going to be difficult overall.
He didn't sigh however as he stepped back into the church. While Thomas chose a pew near the group, Edward joined them as they spoke to the unfortunate priest who had his soul stolen and eaten.
Mickey shrugged and turned, leaving the others to talk to the priest. If he was happy to talk with Thomas, the Clay Man was convinced the shady ne'er-do-well would make a far finer investigator.
As he strolled back towards Cutter, he glimpsed at the destruction nearby. The clay flakes weren't difficult to spot, and he cupped a few in his large hands, comparing them to his own finish. Though he couldn't decipher the cause of it, he knew that his own form didn't shed flakes.
Rumbling, he offered his cupped hands to any that would listen, speaking plainly. Well aware that he lacked certain skills of inquiry, he hoped either Nigel or another sharp fellow would inspect his findings.
"I don't shed like this - these flakes are strange for a Clay Man, I think."
As he strolled back towards Cutter, he glimpsed at the destruction nearby. The clay flakes weren't difficult to spot, and he cupped a few in his large hands, comparing them to his own finish. Though he couldn't decipher the cause of it, he knew that his own form didn't shed flakes.
Rumbling, he offered his cupped hands to any that would listen, speaking plainly. Well aware that he lacked certain skills of inquiry, he hoped either Nigel or another sharp fellow would inspect his findings.
"I don't shed like this - these flakes are strange for a Clay Man, I think."
"I don't shed like this - these flakes are strange for a Clay Man, I think."
Nigel rummaged around in its pouches, dropping a silver fork and several buttons on the floor in the process, until it found the documents that Marshall had handed out. Waving a hand to get Mickey's attention, it held out the sketch of the Unfinished man, and pointed to the clay flakes in Mickey's hands.
Nigel didn't know too much about Unfinished men, but somebody had been dropping clay shavings all over the places, and it probably wasn't a pack of urchins riding giant rats.
Nigel rummaged around in its pouches, dropping a silver fork and several buttons on the floor in the process, until it found the documents that Marshall had handed out. Waving a hand to get Mickey's attention, it held out the sketch of the Unfinished man, and pointed to the clay flakes in Mickey's hands.
Nigel didn't know too much about Unfinished men, but somebody had been dropping clay shavings all over the places, and it probably wasn't a pack of urchins riding giant rats.
Priscilla watched as Nigel and Micky began to look over the stain on the floor in the back. Good, seems the squid knows what he's doing. I can question the priest without worry She thought as she approached the sobbing priest slowly, a gentle smile on her face. "Excuse me Father? I am Priscilla Glass, from the Department of Menace Eradication. I am here to ask a few questions, and hopefully catch the creature whom has absconded with your soul." She told him, keep her voice low.
"Excuse me Father? I am Priscilla Glass, from the Department of Menace Eradication. I am here to ask a few questions, and hopefully catch the creature whom has absconded with your soul."
The sobbing priest turned slowly to face her, pausing for a moment and then falling at her feet and clutching at the hem of her dress. He spoke rather incoherently and then wiped his face on his sleeve before continue in a more understandable manner.
"Praise God for sending you," he said between sniffling "I found the monster hiding in the corner there, and when I spoke to it it threw me against the wall, I..."
he broke down crying again for a few moments, then composed himself "When I woke up I was somewhere else, the monster had men with him, and my... my soul, he ate it! Swallowed it whole before me!"
The priest gave an anguished cry and then collapsed back into sobbing, this time not seeming to be able to compose himself. Simon sighed sadly and shook his head. It was clear there were details yet unmentioned, but getting the priest to speak more might prove difficult.
Simon watched sadly as the man broke down before Priscilla, then sighed and turned to see what the others had found "The blood I believe is from him," he said, nodding towards the sobbing priest "The vicar was able to get more out of him about his attacker earlier, but I fear he's only gotten worse since then."
The sobbing priest turned slowly to face her, pausing for a moment and then falling at her feet and clutching at the hem of her dress. He spoke rather incoherently and then wiped his face on his sleeve before continue in a more understandable manner.
"Praise God for sending you," he said between sniffling "I found the monster hiding in the corner there, and when I spoke to it it threw me against the wall, I..."
he broke down crying again for a few moments, then composed himself "When I woke up I was somewhere else, the monster had men with him, and my... my soul, he ate it! Swallowed it whole before me!"
The priest gave an anguished cry and then collapsed back into sobbing, this time not seeming to be able to compose himself. Simon sighed sadly and shook his head. It was clear there were details yet unmentioned, but getting the priest to speak more might prove difficult.
Simon watched sadly as the man broke down before Priscilla, then sighed and turned to see what the others had found "The blood I believe is from him," he said, nodding towards the sobbing priest "The vicar was able to get more out of him about his attacker earlier, but I fear he's only gotten worse since then."
Edward M. Cutter, Esq.
The hunter took off his bush hat and ran his free hand over his bald scalp even as he frowned at the sobbing priest. Glancing over at Miss Glass, he nodded in approval as she introduced herself, and told him that they were there to help.
When the priest looked up at them, he fell at her feet and cried out incomprehensibly. It took a moment before Edward could catch what he said.
"Praise God for sending you! I found the monster hiding in the corner there, and when I spoke to it it threw me against the wall, I... When I woke up I was somewhere else, the monster had men with him, and my... my soul, he ate it! Swallowed it whole before me!"
He broke down into anguished sobs again, and from there, Father Simon strode up and shook his head with a sad frown.
"The blood I believe is from him. The vicar was able to get more out of him about his attacker earlier, but I fear he's only gotten worse since then."
Edward nodded at that before stepping up to the priest and helping him to his feet, leading him gently to a nearby pew. Once the poor fellow was seated, the hunter sat next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder after setting his bush hat down.
"I'm truly sorry for what you went through, Father. My name is Edward M. Cutter, and like Miss Glass, I'm with the Department of Menace Eradication, and I assure you, we will find the ones responsible for this, and if at all possible, return your soul to you." he said, before taking a bracing breath.
"To do that, we need you to tell us everything you can. Every little bit can help, and even the smallest detail can bring us that much closer to tracking down the culprit, do you understand?" he asked, his tone soft as he used his free hand to reach into his vest and pulled out a handkerchief, offering it.
Thomas frowned when he saw the soulless priest fall on his knees, weeping like a little baby. What a pathetic bloke, tears running down and whining as if he was the only person with a problem in the world. He didn't have much sympathy for someone like that. Sure, his soul was gone, but Thomas had met people without a soul before, it couldn't be that bad. Some of them, enjoying the pleasures of life in Veilgarden, even appeared to enjoy it. Even if the priest was suffering terribly, at least he could have the dignity to shut the bloody hell up when the people who came to help spoke to him.
What's so bad about not having a soul either way? I've definitely had it worse than this guy.
Thomas just stood up and went further away, he had no reason to sit and listen to someone who would pity themselves, pour their heart out to strangers for no other reason than a little comfort. The worst thing was that he almost felt bad for the man, it made him feel unwell. He turned to that... Simon guy, was it?
"Hey, clergyman. I can't stand this infernal crying," he said, his voice wasn't loud enough to be heard by the people attending to the crying priest. He attempted to keep that the upper-class tone and posture, though he felt himself slipping slightly, his voice making it clear that he'd get annoyed by the whining guy. "So I'll speak to you instead. What did happen here? Is there anything not earlier mentioned that is of note? Because someone must be lying, right? This whole thing is rather ridiculous, after all."
What's so bad about not having a soul either way? I've definitely had it worse than this guy.
Thomas just stood up and went further away, he had no reason to sit and listen to someone who would pity themselves, pour their heart out to strangers for no other reason than a little comfort. The worst thing was that he almost felt bad for the man, it made him feel unwell. He turned to that... Simon guy, was it?
"Hey, clergyman. I can't stand this infernal crying," he said, his voice wasn't loud enough to be heard by the people attending to the crying priest. He attempted to keep that the upper-class tone and posture, though he felt himself slipping slightly, his voice making it clear that he'd get annoyed by the whining guy. "So I'll speak to you instead. What did happen here? Is there anything not earlier mentioned that is of note? Because someone must be lying, right? This whole thing is rather ridiculous, after all."
Aidan was certainly surprised by his company and couldn't help but smile at his excitement. "Well, Ptolemy, I don't believe I am related to this other Pottinger. In fact, I'm certain that I'm the first in my family to have set foot in London. At least the first in a long while. As for where we are, we've arrived at the cemetery. And, by the looks of things, we're not alone. Think we should take a closer look?"
"Help... me,"
"How?" Viktor managed to spit out before the inevitable thunder of hooves made their appearance.
Well, well, this was getting interesting. There was always plenty of activity in the so-called Forgotten Quarter - the ruined amphitheater of spirifers, archaeologists, Scholars of the Correspondence, Devils and others. In some ways, Viktor preferred this area of Fallen London to others; it was where the true face of the Neath lay.
First Viktor was beseeched by what appeared to be a fugitive in brass chains - more probably just a victim of their infernal games - for assistance, then four of the hellish beings chose not to continue to chase the man, but to stop at the sight of a bandaged one. Just on account of being 'interesting'. What exactly was so interesting about him, anyway?
'Infernal interest be d-mned, all it ends in is misery.' Viktor thought to himself.
"Let him run, makes the chase more interesting, and speaking of interesting,"
"Tch, likewise. By all means continue after your quarry." Viktor began, addressing the portly devil and then turning to the other, more interested ones, "Otherwise, I am Ezekiel Viktor Faustus Goldschmidt-Schirmer, or Viktor, currently an investigator of the Department of Menace Eradication. Pleased to met you." He ended the little introduction with a slight bow.
He took a moment to fish the newspaper article out of his pocket.
"Know anything about a soul-devouring Unfinished Man?" The Tomb Colonist asked.
"How?" Viktor managed to spit out before the inevitable thunder of hooves made their appearance.
Well, well, this was getting interesting. There was always plenty of activity in the so-called Forgotten Quarter - the ruined amphitheater of spirifers, archaeologists, Scholars of the Correspondence, Devils and others. In some ways, Viktor preferred this area of Fallen London to others; it was where the true face of the Neath lay.
First Viktor was beseeched by what appeared to be a fugitive in brass chains - more probably just a victim of their infernal games - for assistance, then four of the hellish beings chose not to continue to chase the man, but to stop at the sight of a bandaged one. Just on account of being 'interesting'. What exactly was so interesting about him, anyway?
'Infernal interest be d-mned, all it ends in is misery.' Viktor thought to himself.
"Let him run, makes the chase more interesting, and speaking of interesting,"
"Tch, likewise. By all means continue after your quarry." Viktor began, addressing the portly devil and then turning to the other, more interested ones, "Otherwise, I am Ezekiel Viktor Faustus Goldschmidt-Schirmer, or Viktor, currently an investigator of the Department of Menace Eradication. Pleased to met you." He ended the little introduction with a slight bow.
He took a moment to fish the newspaper article out of his pocket.
"Know anything about a soul-devouring Unfinished Man?" The Tomb Colonist asked.