Café de Nuit

NeoTiamat wrote:"Mmmmmm," Finnsen hummed aloud as he continued to scratch at his cheek, reviewing Mercator's summary in his head. "Yeah, you got it. It's going to be great fun!" He beamed a pearly smile at the pair of you.

"I am overjoyed to hear it," Mercator deadpans. He mentally reviews their other options--a quick process, because they don't really have any. "Very well. I will moot the idea to my fellows. May I ask what you would consider an appropriate retainer, and when and where you would wish to meet us?"

Tomas has spent his time cashing in his eccentric, affably fascist Lamordian' stock. He follows Celeste in, after taking a long moment looking over the doorway and the immediate entryway. Hands clasped behind his back, he could almost be a military inspector...or a nanny, carefully considering every aspect of the room.

...and the couple. They may, for a moment, feel as though Eisenwald's intense eyes are boring through their bodies. He looks beyond them, glancing at the wall, goes 'hrm', and lets Celeste speak.

Then, with a terrible swiftness, Tomas's hand snaps forward...! It holds there, and it may take a moment to realize he is offering a handshake. "I am Eisenwald." Tomas explains, "Tomas Eisenwald. Pleased to be making your acquaintances."

(Did what may safely be referred to as 'a load' of skill checks. The place is normal, the people are trying very hard to pretend to be normal. Be careful.)

Nerit edged past the desk to go further inside and glared at the floor when it made a loud and complaining creak at the pressure of her foot.
I am not that heavy! her expression read.

She couldn't see Rex for the moment, and so she perked her ear.

"We're not alone," she whispered. It was an obvious statement concerning the gendarme behind them, but she pointed ahead, deeper into the orphanage.


Stealth 16, Perception 29. Sigh, what can you do?

M. Eisenwald wrote:"I am Eisenwald." Tomas explains, "Tomas Eisenwald. Pleased to be making your acquaintances."

"He is!" Celeste cheerfully deadpans, accompanying him in.

Of course, she was talking as she did so. "Allow me to be rather more clear, M. and Mlle. Bergeron...it is not so much direct intelligence of M. Boucher that is of interest to the gendarmerie, so much as a forensic indicator of his presence. We have been given reason to believe that the gentleman had received some injury, whether physical or spiritual, on or about the premises...it is for arcane matters, you must understand. Why, the event may even have occurred entirely without your notice! I should be entirely unsurprised were that the case. Nevertheless, I must inquire, lest the strictures of duty bind over-tight: have you been apprised of any such injury, in the recent past?" She brightened. "...Perhaps during the disturbances of this latest March!"

"I have a Question" Kerrian said, looking down, then back at their proposed provider of transport. "What consequences might there be to hijacking this ghost train? We won't be making any more powerful enemies than we already have, will we? And we should probably have an idea of where to head first, or is that something that the Train should be able to handle?"

Mr. Agale crossed his arms as the gendarme fanned out. "We are looking for some sort of room if our source is to be believed." he remarked. "If I had to wager a guess, I would think we are looking for either a snow or doll motif, though it could look like anything."

I had thought the hospice abandoned since the last disturbance. he thought. Let us see if our 'friend' has made good on its threat and preceded our arrival. Such a creature ought to be sufficiently irritating to elicit a demonstration of the commissioner's talents.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 15 Minutes
Carnival Game Booths, The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Mercator wrote:"Very well. I will moot the idea to my fellows. May I ask what you would consider an appropriate retainer, and when and where you would wish to meet us?"

"Five thousand silvers - only silvers, if you please - and you take me to dinner at Chez Leon with your friends, and tell me what you were doing on that boat." The boatman gave a wink to Kerrian. "And bring your friends with their weapons along so we don't all die! There's my price. Euhh, meet me at Pont de Tour, right by the town walls. No later than ten o' clock, we need time to catch the train."

Kerrian wrote:"What consequences might there be to hijacking this ghost train? We won't be making any more powerful enemies than we already have, will we? And we should probably have an idea of where to head first, or is that something that the Train should be able to handle?"

"I've no idea! I've never done this before!" Finnsen relied with a great big grin. "Old Tom Fields won't be happy, but he was a dutiful Mordentish engineer. Hated being late. Don't think he'd run off schedule just to hunt you down. I wouldn't recommend getting back on the train ever again, so don't get hopelessly lost or die if you can help it."

"The Midnight Express has a habit of showing up at the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the right time, depending on who you ask. Of course you only hear stories from people it showed up for, yeah? Otherwise, there's no story." Finnsen pensively set a hand upon his booth and drummed his fingers. "Stories say it ferries the lost dead and other things to the realm beyond. A death spirit isn't too different, I am thinking."

1 Days, 16 Hours, 38 Minutes
The Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Tomas wrote:Then, with a terrible swiftness, Tomas's hand snaps forward...! It holds there, and it may take a moment to realize he is offering a handshake. "I am Eisenwald." Tomas explains, "Tomas Eisenwald. Pleased to be making your acquaintances."

The man looked down at Tomas' extended hand, but simply responded with another small bow. Handshakes had yet to catch on in upper class Dementlieu. "A pleasure to make both your acquaintances."

Celeste wrote:"Nevertheless, I must inquire, lest the strictures of duty bind over-tight: have you been apprised of any such injury, in the recent past?" She brightened. "...Perhaps during the disturbances of this latest March!"

"I can think of nothing. I do not know the gentleman," the woman said, with a shake of her head. "I apologize for not being more helpful. Please look around yourselves, if it would help you."

The foyer of the house was somewhat similar to that of the Chateau. It was bigger, certainly, and unlike the Chateau the furniture matched - whomever had decorated the place seemed to have a sense of taste less eclectic than Charles Devereux. But it was more subdued than the normal, ostentatious grand double stairways of most Dementlieuse manors. A single staircase curled up to the second floor, while a pair of doors straight ahead and to your left lead off into the rest of the house.

[Perception Check]

1 Days, 16 Hours, 38 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Agale wrote:Mr. Agale crossed his arms as the gendarme fanned out. "We are looking for some sort of room if our source is to be believed." he remarked. "If I had to wager a guess, I would think we are looking for either a snow or doll motif, though it could look like anything."

Gauvain seemed to ignore Agale, his pale eyes running over the Hospice and constantly flicking back to the almost-closed door. After a momentary examination, he reached out with his cane to push open the door. The raven skull had touched the door handle when Gauvain's eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed down into near slits. He jerked the cane away from the door, then walked over to grab one of the gendarme by the shoulder. He said something into the Red Cap's ear, roughly letting the other man go. Then with a swift stride, he disappeared around the back of the carriage and out of Agale's sight. He didn't reappear.

The gendarme gestured to a pair of others who had taken up positions around the building. The three men readied their rifles and pushed the Hospice door open, cautiously proceeding in as each one covered the others.

*****************************************************************************

Lia wrote:'Better face whoever is coming head on. If hostilities break out, I can burn a hole through their ranks and run -- maybe.'

Lia quickly found three stone-faced, stern looking Gendarme, who had been informed of a hostile intruder on the premises. All three of them immediately trained their rifles on her.

"Ah, wait, wait, wait," a voice said quietly but urgently.

Two of the three gendarme glanced back, and one half had his rifle turned around, as Remy Lessard decloaked behind them. The professor pushed his glasses up his nose, looking both embarrassed and annoyed to have been caught out sneaking around and following everyone. He cleared his throat. "She's with us," he explained, gesturing to himself and then out the door. The gendarme, at least, accepted this enough to lower their guns.

"Good evening, Lia," Lessard sighed, with a resigned smile. "Any sign of 'our friend' yet?"

1 Days, 16 Hours, 38 Minutes
Orphelinat de Mont-Noir, Quartier-Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nerit wrote:"We're not alone," she whispered. It was an obvious statement concerning the gendarme behind them, but she pointed ahead, deeper into the orphanage.

Up the stairs. Down a corridor. Past another set of wooden doors, the locks easily picked. Footsteps following you, coming ever closer. One pair of foosteps, two pairs of footsteps, three pairs of footsteps, moving swiftly but surely. Up another set of stairs, till you were near the roof. Pass through an office, down another corridor, and up a final flight of narrow stairs, to the attic.

The entire attic had been converted into a large and rather airy room. It had high, slanted ceilings, and at the far end a loft window was open to the night, six feet tall and at least double that across. The room was sparsely furnished, but you saw nevertheless a few furnishings that left no doubt as to what kind of person this room belonged to.

There was a children's bed, too small for an adult, with burgundy sheets and blankets left askew. There was a bookshelf nearby, and a dresser, both rather messily arranged, the clothing tending more towards long shirts and tunics than to anything particularly normal. There were a variety of children's books, books of stories nestled alongside collections of maps and star-charts. A few toys were scattered about to complete the effect. And in the center of it all, sitting cross-legged on the bed, was...

Reine. A bare slip of a girl, fifteen years old and looking young for her age. She had the same messy auburn hair, the sort that hadn't been combed or cut in years. The same moody, brown eyes, which had most recently watched Nerit in the streets of the Quartier Ouvrier and the Leon National Cemetery now gazed at her from atop a dark red bed. She had a rubber ball in one hand, and bounced it against the floor as she watched you.

The ball hit the floor, going sproing, and changed color, going from cyan to chartreuse. Reine caught it easily and tossed it back to the floor. Another sproing, and now the rubber ball was olive colored.

“You shouldn't be here.” Reine said. She didn't seem terribly shocked or surprised at your arrival, though given the amount of noise Nerit had been making, no one would have been shocked at your arrival. Reine frowned, however. “You two are in big trouble for coming here.”

Athene wrote:“If he'll be anywhere, he'll be at the forest's edge.” Athene said, then turned to leave. “Follow me.”

The bottom falls out of Nicolas' stomach at the implications he was suddenly seeing in this situation. Mentally reminding himself never to play Belote with this woman (or anyone else for that matter, you giant idiot, his subconciousness adds with what was almost a snigger), he forces his brain frantically to work on how to salvage the situation. Fortunately our poet is a shallow creature and only comes up with four options his skills will run to; talk the hind legs of things, seduce anything that moves, imbibe large quantities of toxic substances and write god-awful poetry. Seeing as the last two weren't really relevant here and Benoit didn't exactly strike Nicolas as the overly talkative type, it left only... Well she had been looking at him like that, and as Benoit he'd been ignoring it, perhaps it was time to put his talents to good use. Steeling himself, he steps forward.

"Wait, let us not rush and attract unwanted attention" Nicolas says , laying a hand on Athene's shoulder he turns her back around, gently of course, this woman could break him in half and torture both pieces very efficiently if she but wanted to. With her attention back on him he continues conversationally. "Business is business, but as we enter into this together, I would like to know more about my partner, talk to me, we have all night after all...." He says the last with a look that is definitely not all business, in fact its a fair mirror of the ones she has been giving him.

OCC: Do I need to roll anything for a p!ss poor attempt at picking her up?

Lia's eyes narrow and the crystal atop her staff brightens in a warning manner when she faces the gendarmes -- but arcane doom fails to break out, thanks to Remy's appearance.

"If he is here, he has not been as chatty as the last time we met -- so far," she replies. "Hello, Remy. Did you bring these?" She briefly points at the gendarmes with her staff.

Rex quietly entered the room and watched the ball bounce. Finally when Reine spoke, he tore his eyes away and scanned the room.

"You are probably correct," the pharmacist murmured distantly, "We should not be here. And when we find what we need, we will be gone, trouble or no."

He began casing the room. He walked around, glancing in the corners, peering into furniture, casting his gaze under the bed. Somehow, it didn't strike him as odd that some waif would make her home here. The pharmacist seemed to understand the value of squatting.

It did seem peculiar that it was so homey. It was very well-kept for a place an orphan was staying.

Perception 29

It's not that much money, especially if it can be divided among the whole group, although having it all be in silver is likely to prove tiresome. The other requirement might or might not be tiresome...Mercator not having been present for the prior occasion, he can hardly say.

His gut preference would be to accede to the Grabenite's terms, on the grounds that the less they indebt themselves to Their Friend the better of they will be...but there's quite a bit he doesn't know about what Finnsen is asking for.

Glancing at Kerrian, Mercator raises one eyebrow in enquiry. "Should we discuss it...our friends?" he says, with perhaps just a slight emphasis on the last two words.

"It's an insane plan that's liable to get us killed, or at the very least piss of the spectral conductor of a ghost train. We're also paying out a fairly large sum of money, and we have to have a conversation that will make any diners at nearby tables look at us as if we've all gone insane." Kerrian said, his voice varying so little as to make one think he was perhaps discussing the weather.

"But on the other hand, it's more or less the only option we have right now that has even a remote chance of success, and remote is damn well better than zero. We've fought Cultists, an entity from a mirror world overwhelming someone from this world, necromantic elementals, and the undead. Ghost Train.." Kerrian shrugged " Sounds good to me."

The smile he shot Finnsen suggested that despite his protests to the contrary, Kerrian was in fact getting FAR too used to this.

Mlle. Bergeron wrote:"I can think of nothing. I do not know the gentleman," the woman said, with a shake of her head. "I apologize for not being more helpful. Please look around yourselves, if it would help you."

"Why, thank you!" Celeste beamed. "I quite believe it would! I daresay that were all residents of this city as obliging as yourselves, our gendarmerie should prove quite unnecessary in their efforts! M. Eisenwald, if you would be so kind as to accompany me?" With that, she glided off to the left, and the rest of the first floor.

"No, I invited the esteemed members of the constabulary to ward against the possibility of interdicting interference by our 'friend' or other potential obstacles." Agale answered.

Not to mention the fact that they are expendable he left unsaid but hanging in the air.

"It is reasonable to conjecture that Mr. Boucher's objective last evening was this very spot, let us hope neither he nor the apparition from the market has preceded our locating of this room."

Tomas reaches out, lightly touching Celeste's shoulder, propriety be darned. He gives her a glance that he hopes is significant to put the girl on her guard; she can follow him or try to distract the Bergerons, but either way Tomas wants the girl to be careful. Her ordeal with "Inky" is fresh in Tomas's mind, and he doesn't want Celeste suffering something like that again before having some time to recover.

Also, hey, when you get a chance to turn abruptly and move up the stairs to investigate a muffled sobbing noise, well, you take it. That's just how these things are done.

((Perception 27. I was gonna run a bluff but I think it sells the suspense better this way.))