The Shattered City: Chapter One

[yalenusveler]

A thought washed over Kerrian much like a wave. "The writer, the one with less than...admirable..thoughts about the current state of things. He might respond best to me. I'm a laborer, part of the people he thinks he speaks for." Kerrian didn't sound exactly enthused with his self declared spokesperson. "Might be able to get him to say something he wouldn't to others. Don't know for sure though."

He then turned back to Lia and Celeste "I don't mind observers for the ritual, you might help me think up questions."

OOC:Questioning the Ficus, then a potential interview of our anarchist writer friend.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Would you mind terrible if I join you?" Lia asks, sounding interested. "I'd heard of the man, but I have never actually met him. Might be interesting. If you prefer, I can stay outside while you question him, so he does not get the wrong idea." Lia sweeps a hand down her black clothes which, though of a fairly simple cut, are obviously of good quality.

[NeoTiamat]

Guignol Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 8:36 PM
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She looked up at Thierri, smiling again. “Although, M. Boucher, I daresay I should be quite tempted to accompany your band to the premises of Mme Canderli, as an alternative! I am not familiar with gal-zuur, as such, but I am most conversant with the Richemuloise masters, such men as employed of all manner of mordant substances in their brass etchings. I should be entirely unsurprised were there not some commonality between the two subjects.”

"Perhaps I can tempt you further," Cyrus said smoothly, sidling up close to Celeste.

Thierri glanced between the two of them as the dommer tried to sway the noblewoman's opinion. Despite his dry look of censure, for once it seemed he and Cyrus were in agreement - he was eyeing the appointment book in the hopes would come out again, and the lines sending Celeste to talk to Hugo Delarue would be crossed out. More and more people began to chime in to accompany her, however, and it was becoming obvious that this simply wasn't going to happen. The magician sighed slightly, appraising Cyrus with an expression that said exactly what he thought of this scenario.

"Well," Thierri spoke, more mildly than he usually did. "Some other time."


The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 3:16 PM
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Schring! Schring!

As you filtered into the common areas the next day, returning alternately from work, studies, or simply your day-to-day amusements, you were greeted with the sound of a whetstone sliding along a steel blade. It was a very unpleasant, grating sound, one that set the teeth on edge.

"Mademoiselle, this is a house, not a barracks." Thierri had come in a little while ago carrying an unidentified satchel under one arm, which he had put onto a side-table as he unrolled his shirt sleeves. He cast Katja a decidedly flat look. "I hope your manners are not so deficient that I must educate you on the difference."

"The sunlight is better here than in my room. Larger windows," Katja gave by way of explaination, not so much as looking up at Thierri. She was dressed in the same rose shirt and leather breeches as before, and was drawing the whetstone along a decidedly businesslike blade. Most Dementlieuse swords were slender and elegant rapiers, or the occasionally more utilitarian but still elaborate sabers. Katja's sword was a straight, plain longsword, which had seen a good deal of use, to judge from the dents and nicks. Katja brought the blade up to the light and frowned, then returned to her work. "The upper class of Dementlieu now staff their houses with armed men. It seems my manners are nobler than yours."

"Useless and annoying to everyone around you. I quite agree," Thierri replied, which Katja didn't deign to respond to. The magician picked up the satchel again to bring it upstairs. After a moment, he stopped and put it back down, flipping over the top. "M'sier Chat, this is an honor I can do without. My bag was crafted for greater purpose than housing felines."

Grimmalken, who had in the spirit of adventure crawled into Thierri's satchel, looked up at the magician and mewed sweetly. Thierri remained unmoved.

"Malky! There you are!" Cerise said, coming down the stairs. She plucked the little tuxedo cat out of the satchel and hugged him close. Thierri took advantage of this momentary distraction to close the satchel and make a break for the stairs.

"Everyone ready?" Prof. Lessard said, also coming down the stairs. He looked more formal than before, now in a long jacket of conservative cut. He stepped aside as Thierri made his way upstairs, followed shortly by Cerise.

"Let me just put Malky back into my room," Cerise called back. Grimmalken flicked an ear at the sound of his name.

"Good, good," Lessard said, checking the clock. "Pelay will probably be at the University at this time of day, so we can see him first before we head into the city."

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It was at this moment that there came a ringing knock upon the door. Harsh, loud, and limited. Prof. Lessard went to open the door, a slight frown of annoyance crossing his face at this interruption.

Beyond the door, however, were three people. Two of them were gendarmes. Moreover, they looked like serious gendarmes. Both were large men, though neither was as tall as Prof. Lessard, but both were broad-shouldered and solidly built. They wore the blue uniforms and cylindrical caps like soldierly uniforms, and the rifles at their backs and rapiers at their sides were almost as businesslike as Katja's own ensemble.

Neither gendarme showed much emotion on his face.

The man between them was thinner, and aristocratically featured in contrast to the square visages of his grim accompaniment. One of the gendarmes passed him a small bag containing his accessories and clothing, while the other passed him a final release form to sign off on.

"You're paroled, Castaigne." The gendarme said simply. "Sign this, I give you your ticket-of-leave, and you can go."

[lostboy]

"You're paroled, Castaigne." The gendarme said simply. "Sign this, I give you your ticket-of-leave, and you can go."

Nicolas de Castaigne pauses for a moment rubbing the feeling back into this wrists, his hands movely quickly over the livid bruises from the mancles that scar his forearms. Then despite the glowering looks from the two gendarmes he adjusts the dirty, tattered remnants of his shirt and cravat, and runs a hand through his untamed hair and scraggly beard. Finally satisfied or giving up on making himself look respectable, and probbabley just before the gendarmes force him to... he sighs then takes the pen and signs with a flourish.

"Well let us not say your hospitality was below par gentlemen but I am rather glad to have my liberty restored to me. I can sincerly say the state of the incarceration facilities is dismal for such an enlightened place."

Despite his almost jovial politeness, there is an edge to Nicolas voice and his eyes burn almost feverishly in his face."Now as deligthful as your company has been I really do have better things to do, so do excuse me, and lets hope we don't renew our acquiantance anytime in the near future."

With that final word, he clasps the bag to himself and climbs the stairs to the fornt door.

"Ah Professor Lessard, how nice to see an educated face! Perhaps you would be so good as to let me in and direct me to the nearest decanter of cognac? Its been quite a day or rather quite a few weeks as Im sure you appreciate."

[DocBeard]

...

"Well!" Tomas claps his hands, once, looking somewhere between embarrassed and impressed. "This isn't awkward at all. Hallo! I'm Tomas Eisenwald, are you that last tenant we heard about?" Tomas even offers a handshake!

If he was really trouble, Tomas's Lamordian upbringing insists, they wouldn't just let him out of jail, right?

[lostboy]

"This isn't awkward at all. Hallo! I'm Tomas Eisenwald, are you that last tenant we heard about?"

"Indeed"

Nicolas pauses for a moment looking at the over enthusiastic and so very earnest man standing in the door way, and then back at the stony faced Gendarmes. Then with a shrug accepts Tomas hand. "The recently liberated and mostly innocent Nicolas Etienne De Castaigne at your service." He says with a flourish of his other hand and a theatrical bow.

"Thankyou for your kind welcome on the threshold Herr Eisenwald, but I would sincerely like to find a comfortable chair and the bottom of a bottle of Brandy. I've spent too many days on hard stone floors, ...... lovely, well swept floors though they were" he adds with a thatrical aside to the gendarmes.

"So are we done here officer?"

[NeoTiamat]

The Chateau Malchance, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 3:16 PM
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"Thank you for your kind welcome on the threshold Herr Eisenwald, but I would sincerely like to find a comfortable chair and the bottom of a bottle of Brandy. I've spent too many days on hard stone floors, ...... lovely, well swept floors though they were" he adds with a thatrical aside to the gendarmes.

"So are we done here officer?"

Completely unruffled, the gendarme who had done most of the speaking checked the signature and put the document into a small shoulder-bag he had. He then withdrew from there a yellow piece of paper which he signed, using the door-frame for a hard surface, and passed the paper to Nicolas.

"This is your yellow ticket-of-leave." The gendarme recited emotionlessly. "You need to present it if you intend to apply for any manner of employment. You must also present this to the border guards or harbor master if you intend to leave the country."

"If you lose your ticket-of-leave, you must apply immediately for a new one at the Palace of Justice." The guard continued blandly. "If you do not do so, your parole is revoked, and you are further charged with evading justice. Good day, M. Castaigne."

Having delivered his piece, all in the same disinterested tone, the gendarme turned and left, his comrade following him.

"Ah Professor Lessard, how nice to see an educated face! Perhaps you would be so good as to let me in and direct me to the nearest decanter of cognac? Its been quite a day or rather quite a few weeks as Im sure you appreciate."

"It's your home as much as any of ours." Professor Lessard said calmly, regarding the newcomer with a critical eye. "I'm afraid I don't know where the cognac is, but I stock peach brandy for Prof. Marchand-Renier, it'll be in the kitchen, third shelf from the top, to the right of the door."

"If you should happen to see a self-animated smoke ring carrying a tea kettle in the kitchen, don't be alarmed." Lessard added judiciously, after a moment's thought. "Professor Lemercier prefers to take an early tea."

[The Whistler]

Apparently, Celeste had enough common sense to realize that greeting a parolee as if they *hadn't* just been released from prison could be rather awkward both for the greeter and the parolee. Nonetheless, that was no reason to be judgmental. Thus, the bow and smile were rather more reserved than her usual performance, but no less warm.

"Welcome to the Chateau, M. Castaigne. I hope you find it as pleasurable a respite as have its current residents."

[lostboy]

"If you lose your ticket-of-leave, you must apply immediately for a new one at the Palace of Justice." The guard continued blandly. "If you do not do so, your parole is revoked, and you are further charged with evading justice. Good day, M. Castaigne."

Nicolas expression sours as the news breaks that his liberty is somewhat overrated. In fact if looks could strike people dead, the gendarme would be fitted for his pine box already. Nicolas eyes fairly glitter with baleful fire as he watches the guards leave. "Facist dogs... give my regards to the Marquis!" He mutters under his breath, he almost begins to mutter something more when a lovely voice breaks his concentration.

"Welcome to the Chateau, M. Castaigne. I hope you find it as pleasurable a respite as have its current residents."

Whirling round his countenance changes quickly to a warm smile and in a fluid movement he offers another deep and rather theatrical bow. "Enchante Mademouselle, and what pray would be the name of the radiant young lady I have the pleasure of addressing? "

[Kaitou Kage]

Cyrus watched the newly-released criminal coolly from the moment the gendarmes brought him in. But when this criminal, this thug started hitting on Celeste, his gaze quickly smoldered. He stepped forward, robes, swishing, and interjected himself.

"And what were you imprisoned for, Castaigne, was it?" he asked, quickly recovering his cool.

[lostboy]

Nicolas tears his gaze from the attractive young lady for a moment and gives the large, ill-mannered tattooed man in the smoked glasses a cursory glance. "De Castaigne actually" he says pointedly, then offering an apologetic shrug in Celestes direction as he turns to the man in front of him.

"My crime? Well as you ask so politley, I cannot very well refuse to divulge can I?" Pauseing for a second perhaps for an answer or maybe just because a theatrical pause works right there in the sentance he continues. "It seems freedom of expression is looked upon very dimly in this so-called enlightened city, and my latest work was not received as well as I'd hoped in all quarters."

Leaning in he adds in a conspiratorial whisper "they say it made even the harlots at the docks blush." He steps back giving Cyrus an exaggerated and slightly over the top wink.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Your work, you say," Lia remarks as she comes walking up to the little group, the heel of her staff thumping softly against the carpet. "And might we enquire as to what kind of work that is?" In contrast to the angry priest, Lia sounds merely ... politely curious.

[lostboy]

"My I wasn't expecting such an audience." Nicolas exclaims as another new face assails him, then turns to Lia with a an easy smile. "My pardon Mademoiselle, I didnt catch your name either..."

"But my work, why it is simply my latest poetic offering, hardly a masterpiece, call it an experiment in social justice, pushing the boundaries as it were. Perhaps you have read it? I hear it was very popular until it was banned.." He adds the last with a frown.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Hmn," Lia hums. "My name is Mourneswaithe. I am afraid that I am not a great patron of poetry, monsieur. However, although I personally prefer music, I am not adverse to hearing the occasional ... verse." Lia smiles slightly.

[lostboy]

"Ah a fellow artist, my this shall cheer up the place. I dont pretend to be a maestro of any sort Miss Mouneswaithe but I do dabble in the musical arts as well, perhaps a recital some time?"