Café de Nuit

Lia waves back to doctor Poincare. "A moment of your patience, please," she murmurs to those who are to accompany her to the University, and crosses the floor to speak to the doctor. "I would like to wish you good luck in this mighty endeavor once again," she says, inclining her head, "before we leave. And to thank you for the information you gave me; I have high hopes for it."

"Of course it is." Tomas claps Kerrian on the shoulder because he is way cooler than social mores. If this were high school he'd be the guy smoking in the bathroom who'd go, 'Hey, that's enough.' and get the cool kids to stop harassing the freshmen. He had also confirmed Richard's request with a discrete nod, smiling a little at the recurring thread of women headstrong enough to think an extra pair of eyes watching their back was insulting.

The restorationist's waving throws Tomas off a little(Since when did Lia make new friends outside of life and death struggles?) and he glances at Lia to make sure she's not blackmailing the poor woman or something.

Kerrian smiled a bit at the shoulder clap, then thought a moment. "Couldn't we ask her" gesturing at Lia's newfound friend "about Warden Lecanu's restoration endevours...or at least some of the tools he had? I mean, wouldn't she likely know?"

"Shall we take the letters then, Captain?" Darius asks, stepping forward and gathering them.

***

The process of disassembling the Icon has a queasy fascination for Darius; his gut feeling is that much or all of the window will never regain its proper place now that it is being disassembled. The sword and mirror of Dementlieu are gone; why should the Icon escape?

Of course, that might make things easier, in the long run. But..."Preservation" he mutters to himself. If Ezra can't look after her window, that's her lookout. Best not to set one's thumb on the scales either way.

It would be a shame from an aesthetic point of view, though; it's almost the only representation of the demigoddess he's seen that's worth looking at.

Nerit held out a polite hand to Darius. "M. dommer, I will look at them if you do not plan to. I was a scribe in Darkon."

This might have been the first time she'd ever spoken about the north, or anything she'd done there. For all it was worth, though, she could simply have been good at calligraphy.

She then nodded and said to Alice, "Mlle, I should like to accompany you. I do like the idea of horticulture (and books), anyway."

***

The Icon was a beautiful sight to behold, even with all the work. Somehow it seemed profane to watch it in this state, like the Lady herself half-dressed.

Darius riffles through the letters quickly, then hands them over to Nerit. "I will perhaps go over them again this evening," he says, "but I do not think I will have time this afternoon. Let me know if you learn anything from them."

Kerrian wrote:"To divide the government against the university...it has to benefit the perpetrators somehow..." He shook his head, then looked to the others.

"Simplicity Mr. Mauganson. If the gendarme and the University, arguably the two most effectual investigative bodies in the city remain locked at each others' throats, there will be little resources to pursue the real villains."

* * *

Visions of transportation indemnities flashed through Mr. Agale's mind as he watched the icon be slowly disassembled and loaded for transport. He takes a visible turn for the pale when the bookstore's location is mentioned. In an obvious attempt to shift his thoughts, he asks "Sister Doherty, if I may be of some assistance with the letters? I'll admit that I am better with numbers than prose, but I do have some experience in deciphering the inscrutable."

That explains the missing first name, Tomas cannot help but think to himself. He is a little disappointed that he will not get any time alone with the mysterious Mister Agale, but promises himself to speak to the man when the opportunity arises.

While never really the reverent sort, the sheer amount of focus people are putting on this, mixed with the earlier desecration, lead Tomas to share in a bit of the worry. He knocks on the wooden wall twice, looking to Agale. "This just seems like the perfect time for someone to say something like, 'Well at least nothing can happen to the icon while its being cleaned!', or some other polite request for trouble. Thought I'd get the good luck out of the way, nicht war?"

"I would think Msieur Eisenwald I would be of most use in an expedition to the seemier side of the city. One does find occasion to haunt such places for the particular experieinces not found anywhere else, so if you would deem me useful I shall follow your lead." Nicholas says watching the dissasembly of the icon with a disinterested air.

Ste. Mere des Larmes, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; Afternoon of March 24th, 770
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Kerrian wrote:"Couldn't we ask her" gesturing at Lia's newfound friend "about Warden Lecanu's restoration endevours...or at least some of the tools he had? I mean, wouldn't she likely know?"

It all seemed to get lost in the spectacle. Richard looked to the others before giving Kerrian a look of commiseration, then politely tried to take the list, with a glance at Kerrian for permission. He waited until all of the stained glass pieces that were being taken were well on the ground, bundled up, and ready to transport before approaching Dr. Poincare, giving a slight bow as he did so. "Excuse me..." he said quietly, so as to have no chance of startling any of the workers.

After a few moments of soft conversation, Dr. Poincare made her way over to the group. "I must admit, the list is a little more unorthodox than what I'm used to," she addressed Kerrian, with a raised eyebrow. "You are correct that these are restoration tools. Most of them are for book restoration - these are for rebinding, these for recasing," she informed, pointing to the entries on the list in turn. "The chisel and stonecutters tools would be for, well, stone, obviously. Same with these cleaning tools, they're for getting grime off old stonework. You usually see them in cathedrals such as this one."

"As for what he was specifically doing, I'm afraid I couldn't tell you. I didn't know the man." Poincare shrugged. "If he'd been affiliated with the University I might be able to help, but I'm afraid he wasn't. Once again, I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"You, you have been very helpful," Richard said, stiff but polite. "Thank, thank you."

Courtyard, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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Entering the University of Dementlieu was at once more difficult than it had ever been before, but nevertheless perhaps not quite as difficult as you would have feared.

On each road approaching the University was a double-check point of sorts. The outer ring consisted of gendarmes, most on foot, some mounted, all armed. They were doing little as of yet, merely watching the University and waiting for orders to come from on high. One officer did take your names and occupations, for security purposes he said, but otherwise they made no attempt to block your progress.

The second, inner ring was not a hundred yards from the outer one, and here it was the University of Dementlieu who was asserting its power. There were fewer people here, a handful of University porters armed with stout clubs, and one or two black-clothed professors of the Arcane Sciences department. But it was their backup that made one pause.

It was immense, easily the size of a carriage, a hulking brute of rock and dirt that squatted on the campus lawn and glared balefully at you. At first glance, it was easy to dismiss the thing as a mere rock formation, if not for the fact that it was so utterly out of place. But then one saw that its shape was, if not human, then humanoid, and that two dark gems sparkled in what may have been a face.

One of the campus porters gave you another, thorough grilling as to purpose and names, but Lia Mournswaithe's status in the University managed to get you through with only a half hour's time lost.

Eventually, you reached the courtyard of the University of Dementlieu. It was significantly more empty than usual, with many students and some faculty opting to stay inside during this political stand off. Still, some people were around, moving to and from the Guignol Museum or the various academic buildings. The repaired Church of Ezra in particular was seeing a brisk traffic in these troubled times.

Distantly, you spotted a familiar face emerge out of Bisson Hall. Professor Andre Theroux saw you at about the same time you saw him and waved, then changed course to head your way.



Rue des Epices, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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The Rue des Epices probed to be a shabby-genteel street in the very northwestern corner of the city, huddled in the shadow of ancient walls of Port-a-Lucine. This was still the Quartier Marchand, and as such the people who lived and worked here were tradesmen and merchants, not as prosperous as those living closer to the center of the Quartier, but not impoverished either.

The bookstore was called Marks', and was a cramped, huddled little place, just like the cramped, huddled little street on which it stood. Opposite the bookstore, a crew of laborers worked to replace a fire-damaged brick wall, likely a remnant of the Eleventh's night of chaos. They were a miss-matched crew, some humans, some calibans, and one shaggy-featured fellow who looked like on of Kerrian's people. They had been in the process of taking out the old bricks and replacing them with new ones, but just at this moment most of them looked to be on their supper break, sitting on the street or leaning against the wall, and eating various sandwiches.

The store itself, meanwhile, was as claustraphobic as one would expect, and poorly lit as well. The books were a varied and mismatched assortment, thick texts on philosophy and medicine nestled cheek-by-jowl with penny dreadfuls and pocket romances.

There were only two people in the bookstore, the proprietor and a customer. The customer was a young woman of about twenty years of age, dressed in a sober grey dress of a Mordentish cut. Her hair was a bright, vivid red, and her skin was a little waxy, as from too much makeup. Liquid blue eyes examined the titles on some Darkonian romances.

The proprietor, meanwhile, was a gnarled, hunchbacked fellow who looked about a hundred and was probably no older than forty. Thick glasses perched on the end of a jutting nose, behind which very piercing grey eyes shone. He jerked slightly to see so many customers together at once, and smiled in his most ingratiating, and unfortunately somewhat oily, fashion. "Good Evening gentlemen, ladies, and welcome to Marks' Emporium of Books. I'm Randall Marks, the proprietor. How can I help you?"

DocBeard, see me before you post, if possible.

"Andre," Lia calls when she sees professor Theroux, and waves as she moves to meet him. She will shake her old friend's hand if he'll allow it, even clap him on the shoulder. "Things are looking a bit more grim here than the last time I visited," she says in a low tone. "How are you holding up?"

And, once the pleasantries are out of the way: "We would like to enter the Guignol Museum for some more research into the whole ... situation," she says. "And ... perhaps I should speak to the President of the University." She considers, then nods. "Yes. I should speak with the reigning De Casteele."

"...and that's why I wanted to try a monocle." Tomas explains, adjusting his new accessory carefully. He steps in, smiling and broad and happy and certainly not wary of potential dangers, not at all, which is a little device we use here at TomasCo to imply that Tomas is very wary underneath his foolish exterior and hey that's Mary, Tomas takes his hat off out of politeness and then realizes that his monocle's popped off.

"Mary?!" Tomas exclaims towards the redhead, looking as though he had seen a ghost. "Mary Collins?!"

Agale nods absentmindedly, making a show of attention while actually paying little heed to Tomas's fashion accessory digressions. When they pass the threshold into the cramped little store, his eyes sharpen, clearly now back on assignment as it were.

He takes the opportunity when given to slip past his Lamordian comrade and the Mordentishwoman. His gaze instead locks on to that of the shopkeeper. "I most certainly hope that you can Sir, I have a keen interest in 'Les Chroniques des Comtés Belligérantes'. I had heard from a reputable source that you might have one stocked?" the lawyer asked affably, mentioning one of the rarer tomes Lecanu had recorded acquiring from the store.

“Professor Theroux! What a pleasure to find ourselves once more in your company—oh, I cannot express how heartening it is to see our City’s brightest academics still at their scholarly duties. A nation is simply destitute without the historian, the philosopher, and the theologian—and our nation more than most, enlightened as she is!”

…Celeste had tried to dampen the enthusiasm, in deference to Lia’s request. It had lasted until the group was around fifteen minutes away from the Cathedral, whereupon she had passed a particularly evocative flower cart. Getting Celeste to tone things down, one gathered, was rather like getting the sun to dim itself by asking politely.

"This country has gone insane. Insane," Darius mutters to Cyrus as they pass through the double cordon. "It's like what Father says about the Tattered Banners days. Armed standoffs between rival power centers...how long before it becomes a genuine civil war?"

Given the tenor of Darius' thoughts, Professor Mourneswaith's choice of adjective for the President of the Unversity is very striking indeed.

Seeing that this professor (he seems to be sweating a bit, or perhaps he just always looks a little damp) is known to their party, Darius picks the relevant information out of Celeste's stream of speech. Making a quarter-bow, he says, "Ah, Professor...Theroux? Dommer Darius Isfahani." A beat late Darius remembers you're supposed to offer your hand in this country when introducing yourself to another man, although it's not that way for women...is that right?

Well, the moment has passed, and if Theroux wants his hand shaken presumably he can volunteer it.