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| >> Campfire Creative >> Other >> Sci-fi >> ID #1622674 |   |
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[Introduction]
  The year is Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-Six Anno Domini, Thirty-Ninth year in the reign of Victoria, Queen By the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and Empress of India (recently added, mind you, with the conquest of that fine nation). A staunch supporter of her empire and her people, Victoria has personally overseen the development of newer and better technologies, putting her astute understanding of all things scientific and mathematic to work for her people. As her Kingdom grows, so too does the might of Britain's scientific and industrial revolution, a might matched only by their staunchest ally: the Yanks across the pond, whose Civil War has finally ended and whose lively minds have matched Victoria almost stride for stride. Together, they are known as the Steam Conglomerate, and they might as well rule the world. Along with her undoubted mind, Victoria is a woman of deep and unmitigated faith, believing firmly in the afterlife and in the presence of otherworldly beings. It has been fifteen years since the death of her husband, the Prince Consort Albert, and Victoria has attempted desperately to find a way to bring him back. Scientists and occultists alike have come together to bridge the gap between life and death. Technologies blossom and there has developed a deeper understanding of the occult nature of this world, including those things that should rightly be left alone. Unfortunately, however, those things that should rightly be left alone have not. Supernatural beings, awakened, annoyed, and discovered via the Queen's incessant proddings, have seeped into British society, particularly in the environs of London, home of the Institute for Scientific and Paranormal Development. Ghosts, goblins, bean sidhe, even the odd vampire and werewolf lured out of their hiding, have been known to attack the innocent people of London. Hyde Park has been all but given up to these creatures, and only the stupidest, bravest, or most prepared dare to enter its confines after sundown. The Bureau for Paranormal Investigation and Elimination just happens to be home to the stupidest, bravest, and most prepared. Called the Queen's Mechs, it is their duty to capture, study, and oftentimes eliminate beings of paranormal essence. Headed by the Shadow Man (whose official title is more along the lines of Chief of Paranormal, Supernatural, and Preternatural Study, Capture, and Elimination, etc etc, which is, of course, why they call him the Shadow Man), the Queen's Mechs are in charge of keeping Britain safe from the rampages of angry spirits. And they have the technology to do it. For, in Service to the Crown and for Love of Kingdom and even Empire, the Queen's Mechs defend, often at the cost of their own lives, their own happiness, and even their own humanity. ***** Woo! This campfire is based on a dream I had. I know, I have weirdly awesome dreams. Anywho, our characters are members of the Bureau for Paranormal Investigation and Elimination and, as such, are Queen's Mechs. In case you hadn't noticed, this campfire is very steampunk. As such, the technology in this campfire will be beyond that actually possessed by Victorian Britain. It will not, however, include futuristic sci-fi, Star Wars inspired doo-dads. Everything is powered by steam or the recently discovered and still rather unwieldy electricity. But electricity is not necessarily OUR electricity. It's steam-fed electricity. Hence steampunk. For inspiration, turn to the His Dark Materials trilogy, the move 'The Illusionist', or the series/movie "Wild Wild West". Stuff like that is always apropos. I actually managed to come up with a vague plot-line, but it's pretty amorphous and I am not so set on it. More the world it's set in and the fact that we're fighting the supernatural. I was thinking maybe something along the lines of Albert being an angry spirit and twisting things so he can take his revenge and the throne. We'll see where it takes us. Furthermore, I have outlined six characters that featured in my dream. I'm picking the one that *I* was in the dream because I can do that. The others are all up for grabs. This should be tres fun. Also, everyone knows my rules for campfire excellence. Please follow them. Thanks. And now to the characters: Tell me which one you want when you accept. Isabella Barker, called Izzy, 24: Izzy is one of the closest people to being completely human and even she's been wired to accept telepathic communique from the Shadow Man. Intelligent and witty, Izzy's main purpose is to know and see things. She's not particularly gifted in fighting, nor is she upper crust enough to pass as one of the blue bloods, but she has a great mind for tinkering. Her vest and coat are lined with pockets full of fanciful doodads and tools, most of which she fashioned herself, that mostly keep her out of trouble. She is forced to dress like a man (not that she minds) because technically women can't be Queen's Mechs; at least not out on the streets. As such, she is seen by most as one of the guys. She is partners with Jonny. (Taken by: Quaddy  )Jonathan Foster, called Jonny, 27: Jonny should be dead, really. After the explosion that took his right arm, left leg, and blew off half of his face, Jonny should not be walking. But thanks to technology, Jonny is not only alive, he's better than ever. He boasts a mechanical left leg which acts just like his human leg, but is stronger and more resilient, the left side of his face has been replaced with copper and a mechanical eye that allows him to spot supernatural creatures from huge distances, and (perhaps most awesome of all) his right arm has been replaced with a steam gun that shoots electrical charges. Electromagnetic things being, of course, a pain in the ass for ghosts and stuff, this gun is muy helpful. Jonny is still the same old Jonny, though, with a human brain and human heart and stomach and other things, but not many can see past the mechanization to the human within. Only Izzy sees him for what he is and for that, he is eternally grateful. Obviously, partners with Izzy. (Taken by Matt - Nomad  )Abraham Shaw, called Abraham if you please, 30: Abraham is an American from Virginia, from a good family, if not the wealthiest. He is also a member of the American Bureau of Paranormal Defense, currently a liaison with the Queen's Mechs. Abraham was a boy when he joined the Confederate army and fought with John Singleton Mosby as one of his raiders. Mosby was a smart man and Abraham was a smart enough boy to realize it, so when the war ended, Abraham knew that it was just about time to join on up with the Republicans and get to putting the country to rights again. For this, he was banished from his home in Lexington (still reeling over the loss of Stonewall Jackson two years prior) for being disloyal to the continuing Southern Cause; he joined the new BPD owing to his prowess with his trusty Winchester rifle and a predilection for seeing spirits. He is working with the Queen's Mechs now in order to promote friendship and conciliatory feelings with the Brits. His major skill is, as I said, with his Winchester and his ability to see spirits. (Taken by: CeruleanSon )Ezekiel Monroe, called Zeke, 25: Zeke comes from one of London's best families, though he's considered by most to be something of a useless dandy, not to be taken seriously. Because of his fortune, he's still sought after by the vicious dames and their daughters, but his reputation as a flake has lessened that somewhat. Really, Zeke is a consummate actor who can convince people of anything he wants them to believe. Actually, he's quite brilliant, astute, physically fit, and as reliable as the tax collector. His ability to take on a character allows Zeke to infiltrate anything. The people of the ton are more than willing to talk in front of a dandy, and the lower classes are easily tricked despite their suspicions. He is a popular man among the Mechs, although some of them aren't quite sure he's to be trusted since no one can tell when he's not acting anymore. (Taken by: Mynt )Brandon James, called Brandon, 29: Brandon and his twin brother Connor are from the lower classes, taken in by the Bureau for their ability to melt into the shadows and win their way out of any situation, either with words or with a weapon. They are both really intelligent, but Brandon has more cunning than his brother and a streak of righteous anger that can come in handy (but can also lead to problems). Both of Brandon's arms are completely mechanized, though they're disguised to look like flesh (Brandon spent some time in Washington, where cyborg technology is a touch more advanced than in London). They can handle intense heat, cold, sit under a falling anvil, etc, and remain unscathed. It allows Brandon to be the brawn of his duo with Connor, because his arms never get tired and are unnaturally strong. Brandon hates the supernatural, especially the fay, because the fay are the reason Connor is so messed up now. (Taken by: .Wolfie. )Connor James, called Connor, 29: Brandon's twin has completely mechanized eyes. They are like Jonny's except more so. He cannot actually see like humans do, but he can see souls. And he can tell if a soul is human or supernatural. Connor is forced to constantly wear his goggles, which allow him to navigate as if he weren't pretty much blind, though his vision is still nothing to an average human's. Connor lost his eyes to a brownie who was feeling particularly malicious and poured boiling water onto them while the boy slept. It also caused his face to pucker, so most of his facial structure is now metal of some sort, though he also benefited from a visit to Washington. Unlike Brandon, Connor is soft spoken and a thinker; Brandon was the one who was devastated by his brother's injuries. Connor is closer to Brandon than to anyone else, but he also likes to go and hang with Izzy and Jonny because they're much calmer than his brother, who is given to exploding. Connor has also been wired in much the same way as Izzy, so he can receive communiques from the Shadow Man. (Taken by: Wenston  )Rebecca Clarke, called Duchess in her coded letters, 36: Rebecca is a spy for the Queen's Mechs. There are those among the upper crusts of society that do not favor Victoria's direction for country and have been known to aid and abet criminal supernatural activity. Rebecca's father was a Mech and, as such, is firmly of the opinion that their work is good work. A widow already, Mrs. Clarke has access to the highest echelons of the London ton and is exempt from many of society's rules (widows are remarkably free to do what they want). Normally, she doesn't come into Whitehall (where the offices are), instead sending letters under the code name Duchess Wimberly. Sometimes, however, she will take information there herself. Mrs. Clarke carries a time piece that only works when the Shadow Man is summoning her; it tells her the time and date of their next meeting. (Rebecca is an NPC, but I need all of you to work with her, please) **Huge thank yous to .Wolfie.
for the righteous banner!** |
 Quaddy  “Oy Jonny, come ‘ere and look a’ this.” Izzy flipped the lenses up on her specto-goggles and beckoned to her partner, waving a gloved hand through the steam and grit that seemed to grow from the streets these days. From inside the alleyway behind her, her partner emerged, sounding like a chorus of angry cats as metal parts rubbed up against each other. First a newsboy capped head, then the rest of a man that looked half like the regular coves milling about the cobblestone streets. Ignoring the cannon for an arm and the metal across half his face, Jonny could pass for normal; his metal leg hidden, as usual, behind tweed pants that had seen many miles and twice as many patches. “Whatchoo got, Iz?” “Dunno, ye crow. That’s why I called you ‘o course. Need that eye o’ yours. Me spectos are pickin’ up on sumfink but I can’ ken what it is.” Looking down at the bricks again, Izzy pushed the lenses back over her green eyes and stared hard. “Really Jonny, I think it migh’ be a spook.” Jonny knelt, his mechanical leg groaning in protest, and looked over at Izzy. “A spook, eh? Well, yer the one wit’ the fancy gadgets.” Izzy glared at him, the effect more than ruined by the painfully obvious magnification of her verdant gaze. It made her look even more like a doll than usual. Snorting, Jonny fixed his gaze on the bricks, right where they met with the sidewalk. His left eye, a mechanized replacement for the original, flashed gold and examined the spot. “Well Jonny, is it a ghostie or not?” Izzy pulled the goggles off of her face and replaced them in the breast pocket of her overcoat. In its place, she pulled on a pair of gloves and a sample collection kit. There was almost nothing that Izzy couldn’t find in her pockets if she needed to. “Do I need ta swab or wha?” Jonny leaned back after almost a full minute of scanning the spot on the brick wall. It looked like something had taken a huge bite of the brick, causing it to crumble and corrode. This wall was only two decades old; there was no reason for it to look like the Roman ruins that surrounded London on all sides. Sure sign that a ghost had yanked it back into the ether as it passed through. “Aye, Iz. Ghostie as sure as I’m a Mech.” Izzy sighed and knelt, the wool of her pants scratching against the skin of her upper thighs. “I’m sure the chems in the lab will wan’ ta see this.” Opening a tube of red liquid, Izzy dipped a cotton ball into the top and tipped it, allowing just a bit of the chemical to soak into the material. Wiping it against the wall, Izzy watched as the stain disappeared from the bricks, though the hole remained. That would need repairing lest the disease spread. Replacing the stopper on the tube, Izzy pulled out a small jar, dropped the cotton in, and placed everything inside her waistcoat. “C’mon, let’s get back ta HQ.” Standing, Izzy patted her chest, feeling the jars press into her. “Ghosties on the prowl in Cheapside. Whooda thunk it?” Jonny shook his head. “’Ow’d they get from Hyde Park all the way ‘ere?” Running his hand over the barrel of his steam cannon, Jonny shuddered. “Bastards, the lot of ‘em.” Izzy nodded, pulling her cap off of her head, revealing a tumbling mass of cinnamon curls that fell to just below her shoulders. She never bothered to put it up like the proper lasses, preferring to keep it bundled beneath whatever hat she donned that day. Running her gloved hands through the unruly bundle, Izzy sighed. “Well, Cheapside’s got more’n more folk movin’ on in. Ye know the ghosties prefer the silver spoons. Betcha anyfin’ there’s some collaborators up the ol’ apples and pears.” “Empress needs t’ send the lot of ‘em to the Tower,” Jonny spat. “Anyone ‘oo’d help the ghouls is…despicable.” Izzy looked up at the man as she piled her hair back under the black fabric of her cap. “Been readin’ wit’ Connor again, Jonny? Ye’d nevuh ‘ave said despicable before.” Izzy chuckled, her dark eyes twinkling. “Tryin’ ta sound cultured? Ye should talk ta Lady Clarke. She’s tryin’ ta teach me ta serve tea and wha’no’.” Shuddering at the thought of that proper old dame coming to whisk her off to her townhouse in Grosvenor Square, Izzy leaned against the wall as a couple of gentlemen walked past. She touched her cap, but did not remove it from her head. More than anything, it was important that no one knew she was a woman. Mechs could not be girls, leastwise not ones that went out into the streets. Jonny nodded politely at both men, who eyed him warily and then crossed over to other side of the street, fearful as always of cyborgs. “Bloody swells. We’re tryin’ ta keep ‘em safe and they’re runnin’ like a coupla beefs wit’ da blue bottles after ‘em.” Izzy felt and ignored the pain in that statement, instead patting Jonny on the back. Disguised as a man, Izzy was not constricted to the outrageous social conventions pushed on them by their increasingly conservative Queen. She could interact as she damn well pleased. Unless, of course, it was a weekend with the Duchess of Wimberly. “Yer a good man, Jonny. Don’ choo worry none ‘bout those toffs. We’ve go’ ta get back to the Yard. The Underground ain’t slow at this time o’ the day and yer a biggun.” Smiling her most sincere smile, Izzy grabbed Jonny’s hand and brought it to her lips. “Yer tha mos’ important thing in da world ta me, Jonny. Don’ choo forge’ it, either.” Jonny blushed, the red standing out even more against the copper covering the top left of his face. “Oy Iz, don’t ge’ all sappy on me, now. If’n I din’t know bettah, I’d say the Duchess ‘as gotten ‘er claws inta ye.” “Jus’ like ye ta ruin a perfectly good momen’ wit yer smart arsed mouth, Jonny Foster. Anyway, back ta Whitehall so the boys in the labs can ge’ their grubby little ‘ands on this swab. We should know ‘oo this ‘ere ghostie is and wha’ they’re doin’ in Cheapside. Plus, we’ve got Hyde Park duty t’night with Abraham and the twins. Always somefin ta do in Hyde Park at nigh’.” Izzy pulled her pocketwatch out and snapped it open with her thumb. “Shuttle’s due in ten minutes. Les go.” Jonny clanked his way down the street, standing behind and just to the left of his partner, who appeared to saunter aimlessly, even as she watched everything in their environs. It wasn’t quite sundown, but there were a few supernaturals that could walk around during the day and they were known for being particularly vicious. Unlike Jonny, who was a walking weapon, Izzy had nothing to rely upon but her senses and her reflexes. If something surprised her, she stood little chance. A sharp pain drilled into her head quiet suddenly, as if someone had taken a stiletto to her eye. Wincing, Izzy halted and rubbed at her temples. A message coming in from HQ, from the Shadow Man. Jonny stopped behind her, resting his one human hand on her back in support. Isabella, Shadow Man needs you and Jonny back here immediately. There’s been an attack on Buckingham Palace. The Duchess believes it is a conspiracy beginning in Mayfair. Return before sundown. The pain disappeared as quickly as it had begun, releasing Izzy to breathe easily again. “Shadow Man?” Jonny asked, voice full of concern. He’d been angry with Izzy for agreeing to take the wire, but seeing her in pain had long since overwhelmed any annoyance with her impulsive decision. Now he just wished that it were him wearing the wire; he was stronger, and had experience with mechanical body parts. His little Izzy should never have felt such pain. Izzy nodded. “Go’ ta get back ta HQ. Somefink’s goin’ down at tha Palace. Some folk up in Mayfair attackin’ the Queen. Shadow Man wants everyone back.” Clenching her fists, Izzy looked up at her partner and growled through clenched teeth. “Le’s go. Time for the Mechs ta show ‘em what’s wha’.” Matt - Nomad He was trying to ignore the fact that every so often Izzy was twitching her head as if remembering the pain she had so recently been in and that they were leaving a murder behind in the hands of incompetents and the heads that were turning as they all but marched down Cheapside towards Newgate. An amicable quiet had fallen between them and he followed his partner comfortably, though thinking harder than usual. They called him a ‘Queens Mech’ and it was easy to see just how literally that was meant when looking at Jonny Foster. He was tall, broad, physically impressive and half made out of metal. It was no strange thing that he caused heads to turn and eyebrows to raise and it was certainly normal for people to wonder what such a nice looking girl like Isabel was doing with a lumbering, half-robot monster. But he didn’t lumber, though he did walk more heavily sometimes on his metal leg, and he was half machine, though he remained human; he was a far cry from a monster, though he hunted them. Tonight, just like any night, they were chasing the ghost s and the ghouls, the real monsters, the hideous and ferocious fiends of the sort of fiction loved by fools and romantics. Tonight, between Paternoster and Poultry, it was much the same as usual: some kind of spook, probably a form of golem since there was a bite taken out of the wall, had gone on another bloody binge and rattled the confidence of London. The main difference was, of course, that this was Cheapside. Cheapside was over four miles from Hyde Park or any of the other hot spots for supernatural activity. This was strange. Or at least... stranger than usual. If things could possibly be any weirder than usual though it was hearing from Shadow Man and being told to hurry to HQ because of an attack on the Palace. It wasn’t usual and that unnerved him more than he’d like to admit. Things had begun to settle the last few months and he’d almost begun to hope that maybe London was calming down. His brain, however, was now thinking that maybe the lull and routine of everything had been to make people like him and Izzy become comfortable and less observant... maybe it had all been a ruse and this was what had been going on all along. A sudden surge. “D’ye wanna stop lookin’ like ye black as Newga’es knocker or ye gonna spi’ ou’ wa’evs boverin’ ye?” Izzy broke the silence that had fallen between his clunking footsteps with a wry smile, “I’ sure ain’ like ye to look so serious.” “It ain’ nuffin’ we should bovver wit. Jus’ me thinkin’ the ‘hole field is fulla rangers these days.” “Innit.” She agreed and shrugged, “Gives us our corn.” They sped past St Pauls and were headed towards Barbican. HQ was in West London near Baron’s Court which was a trek if they were walking the whole way. They need a ride. Though the area had all but become dead since the mess on Cheapside had been found. There was nothing to hail, the hackney’s were avoiding the area no doubt. He was just crossing the road after Izzy when he saw it though, in the half light from the lamps, a red scrawl across a white building. “Eh... take a good butcher’s ‘ere...” He stopped, turning to look at the image fully. A hand print was dragged across the wall underneath writing that he couldn’t quite understand. It was one thing to be able to read print and another to be able to decipher hand writing like this. Izzy backtracked to join him. “Cheapside ain’ the case anymore. We’re needed at HQ.” “Wa’ does i’ say though...” He knew it was important. He could just about read the word Queenie but... “The Queenie lost her Jekyll and we should all hold our box until the lemon is complete.” Izzy murmured, “Tis a threa’ o’ sor’s innit.” “The Queen’s los’ ‘er pride and we should hold back the noise until the crime is dun...” He shook his head, “I don’ ge’ i’... bu’ I still fink i’s impor’an’.” “Well commit it to memory. We’ve go’ places to be.” Jonny tore himself away from the wall and the red script. He suspected it was blood but he didn’t want to inspect it if Izzy wanted to leave. He guessed the incompetants would find it eventually. Shaking his head and making a mental not to remind himself of it later, he swung back into position beside his partner and they trundled off into the gloom of London town. Quaddy The Bureau's offices in the West End looked very much like any other building along the wide boulevards of London. Located just off of the Piccadilly line in the midst of Hammersmith, it was far enough away from Scotland Yard as to remain circumspect and there was hardly even a shingle to announce its presence. Just a bright eye and an eight-pointed star, a wooden door, and a dark shop that was seemingly free from human presence. nd yet the store never went up for sale and the hinges were meticulously oiled, the windows spotlessly clean. Izzy didn't even bother to look both ways before entering the shop. No one else was coming at all, and Jonny's presence would scare away anyone who might have been watching from an upstairs window. Plus, it was not as if anyone who did manage to get into the building would be able to get much past the front room. "C'mon, Jonny. We've go' a meetin' ta ge' tuh. Git yer lumberin' arse over 'ere." Izzy smiled and slipped into the darkness of the front room, feeling the wood creak beneath her booted feet. She reached into a pocket within her coat--one just over her heart--and pulled out a small, brass key, fixed with the shape of the eye and the eight-pointed star that hung on the shingle outside. "Ye ready, ye great oaf?" Jonny nodded. In his hand, too, glittered a key, just like Izzy's, which he handed to his partner. He clunked his way over to where Izzy stood and, together, the two pushed on one of three metal doors. Theirs was the one farthest to the left, reserved for teams of human and cyborg both. It was Jonny's strength, admittedly, that forced the door to budge just enough to reveal a keyhole. But it was her slender, human arm that fit through the gap to twist both keys into their respective locks. With a loud burst of steam, the door began to shake just slightly, the hydraulics pounding against steel hinges. Eventually, the door began to move, sliding with surprising silence and ease across its grooves. "All tha' show and tha's all we ge'?" Izzy had asked the first time she and Jonny had come through their entrance. Jonny had looked at her and shrugged. To this day, Izzy couldn't help but be disappointed as the door opened, even though she knew that secrecy remained paramount. What was behind the door was hardly impressive. Just a small chamber, dark and unlit, big enough to just hold Izzy and her half-metal counterpart. She'd never asked Jonny what he thought of being shoved into a closet, but for herself Izzy could barely stand it, and she liked what came next even less. Even after all the times she's come into HQ, Izzy had never been able to stand a descent chamber. "'Ere we go," Jonny whispered as the door closed behind them, water tubes visible for just a moment until they were shut in total darkness. Izzy shivered slightly, as she did every time, and grasped for her hand torch as the room slowly began to descend into the underground chambers. Jonny reached over and hugged her close, pressing her head against the calmly beating heart inside his own chest. "Calm yerself, Iz." "Oi, don't ge' all fatherly now, Jonny," Izzy replied tartly, even as she took comfort in his arm around her. She couldn't begin to explain how this overground dumbwaiter panicked her, the feeling of being shut into a tiny room with no hope of escape, only of continuing downward. There was no knowing what was going on above or below until you got there, no way to plan or to prepare, just trusting that everything would be alright. Izzy hated that. Jonny raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, content to keep Izzy calm for the few minutes it took to get to the catacombs. He didn't mind the darkness nearly as much as she, nor did he hate the ride. "Welcome to the Bureau for Paranormal Investigation and Elimination, agents Barker and Foster." A soft voice rang through the room as it came to a stop and, before them, another door slid open after the requisite hydraulics display. Izzy pulled herself from Jonny's grip, anxious as ever not to display her weaknesses to any but him, and sidled into the room. "Oi, Jonny, Izzy, over 'ere!" Connor waved from the other side of the entrance hall, his goggles gleaming in the electric lights of the underground cavern. Stretching for miles in all direction via a system of tunnels (following the pattern of the Underground above), the Bureau's halls were a gleaming testament to the glory of scientific discovery and technological advances. The main hall was, in reality, something of a central terminal, from which any number of adventures could be made. It shimmered in the light, glass tubes and colorful liquids a tapestry of intellectual capacity, steam contraptions and inventions lining the stone walls. Izzy smiled to see it. "Connor!" She called out, not seeing the other twin about. It wasn't that she disliked Brandon, but Izzy had always preferred the company of the quieter twin, whose humor and intelligence often found themselves overpowered by Brandon's temper. "Ye go' the summons too?" Connor nodded, his hair falling over the gilded edges of his goggles. He never went without them, except maybe to sleep at night, Izzy didn't know. She never saw him without them, though, and they were a painful reminder of what could happen working as a Mech. He and his brother had both been injured, but it was Brandon who seemed to hold a grudge despite taking what most considered the lesser injury. Somehow, Connor had borne the stress and come out the calmer, more compassionate brother, and Izzy liked him all the better for it. "Shadow Man," he replied, tapping his head. "Brandon's in a bloody dander, 'e is. Took 'im away from anover dinner wit' the lass." Connor grinned, and a flash of mischief crossed his face. "Ackchully, I tink 'e's pleased to get ou' of it and jus' pretendin' to be angry." Jonny chuckled, absently running his hand up and down the barrel of his steam gun. Brandon, too, had had his arms replaced after an accident. But his looked downright human, whereas Jonny was forced to walk around looking like a scientist's after school experiment. It was something of a bone between the two men; Jonny, who wanted to look more human, and Brandon, who wanted the power of Jonny's gun for himself. For herself, Izzy liked Jonny the way he was. "Sounds like Brandon ta ge' 'is knickers in a twist, yeah?" Connor shrugged. "I dunno wha's wrong wit' 'im these days. 'E's actin' bleedin' ridiculous." Eager to change the subject, Izzy looked around. "Where's Abra'am an' Zeke?" "No' 'ere ye'. Me'n Brandon were 'round abou' anyway, so we go' 'ere firs'. So, Mayfair under attack from the ghosties, eh? Sounds like a real pickle for our group 'ere, don' it?" Matt - Nomad “Aye, a real spot of barney.” Jonny concurred, catching Izzy’s eye, which was much more alert than moments before. The three of them were the only ones in the hall, their small group seeming tiny in the cavernous space. Yet, in the unnatural glow of the lights, the three of them looked both more natural and more odd than usual. His misshapen shadow stretching like a grotesque beside the petite, spindly form of Izzy and the broad shouldered, well cut Connor looking decidedly roughened. The hall had a way of contorting them in a way that made their decidedly uncouth trade seem like their natural, necessary role. They were almost as freaky as their less friendly nemeses. Izzy was talking again, voice slightly lowered, “In Mayfair as well, iz well off da range. No more detail dan dat thou’ which ge’s ya to wonderin’.” Shaking his dark hair, the hair that always, miraculously looked impeccable, out from his eyes as he agreed, Connor looked pensive a moment before he mentioned something that Jonny himself had been thinking but not voicing for some time, “Bu’ i’ sure has seemed like thin’s ‘ave been wai’in’ like.” Jonny rushed to contribute to that thought, “I’ has. Iz bin real quie’ to da poin’ tha’ I fel’ a proper chill in me bones.” “An’ dere ‘ave bin rumours. Abou’ civil as well as ghosties bin in an unrest.” Izzy chimed in, her voice almost an excited gush of air more than words. They all stood there for a second, a sense of foreboding and anticipation nearly palpable around them, creeping on their skin and teasing their imaginations. The silence lapsed on and Jonny was beginning to feel restless. His mind kept flicking over scenes in his head: the red, bloody smear that had caught his eye, its strange riddle; the desperate quiet of the streets in Cheapside and even up to the iconic mansions along Marylebone Road; and then there was the pattern. He didn’t mention it to people, though he’d once broached the subject with Izzy, but the random, chaotic attacks were slowly becoming less random to him. It wasn’t like there was a change in workload, not really, there were always ghosts and ghouls and other horrible things lurking around and waiting for him to dust but... there was something, an intangible quality that was not right, not as indiscriminate or arbitrary or disparate... not to him... he felt a connection, an elusive blueprint that sat in his minds eye but couldn’t be translated into sense. The shared fervour was palpable. They’d all been cleaning up the messier areas of the city as of late, nothing specific, it was interesting to have a new mission. And Jonny felt something... “Come on den, le’s ge’ dis shi’ on da road. Maybe we’s be ge’tin’ some ghosties to dust.” He grumbled, shifting his weight as he emphasised the last words. Despite his nonchalance and pseudo-growl, though, his London drawl was tinged with impatience. But Izzy was grinning at him now, “You’re bloody enthused ain’cha Jonny,” she shook her head, “Bu’ ya righ’. We shud go, find ou’ wa’ all dis jellies abou’.” “Aigh’, well we’ll be on affa ya.” Connor replied with a smile for both of them adding that he was waiting for his brother to relieve himself. He couldn’t deny the slight relief that went through him then. He felt like he wanted to talk to Izzy before the meeting now. He wanted to say something about the pattern... just in case. Well there was also the fact that unlike Izzy, Jonny wasn’t sure about the twins. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, he was always amicable towards them and they usually were in turn. He might even go as far as to say he quite enjoyed Connor’s company, him being the quieter, more pensive and introspective of the two, but still they put him on edge like bitter water. Together, there was something that he felt uneasy about. It was probably just Brandon’s petty jealousies and unnerving way that Connor concluded things. They were great Mechs, that was undeniable, together they were downright brilliant at times but he preferred the way Izzy worked. Izzy was an anomaly in the Mechs as a woman but personally, he figured that gave her an edge. She saw things guys just didn’t. He liked to think that maybe that was passing off onto him a little but that was more wishful thinking, he spotted and tried to figure things out but she was mostly the one to understand it first. He didn’t mind that. She was like his little, tomboy, sister. Anyway, he was now just standing, the hulk behind her, as she interacted with the less unlikeable twin. He was tempted to leave her to it. He wanted to know why they’d been summoned. Together, leaving Connor in the artificial glow of the lamps in the Entrance Hall, they made their way to the steel door that lead to their summons room. It was Chamber Fourty-three A, the common ground for this sort of thing. No doubt, the Shadow Man’s voice would be projected through one of those gramophones, his cloaked, crooked aide at its side. “All righ’ me wee china,” Jonny said as they strode through. How to approach this...? “’Course, bu’ ah ken tell somethin’s nibblin’ acha’self.” “Aye.” Their pace never faultered and he felt the tumble of words bubbling on the edge of his tongue, “I don’ feel like dis is random. Iz like da whole lo’ o’ dem nahsties ou’ dere ‘av bin wai’in’ for dis and I don’ know why I be thinkin’ dat bu’...” Izzy didn’t look at him but he knew her face would be thoughtful, the crease between her eyebrows making a little furrow that would eventually crease and wrinkle, “I know wha’ ya mean. I bin thinkin’ meself dat i’ seems like iz all too...” “Sys-tem-atic.” Jonny finished. Looking at each other through sideways eyes, they both chuckled halfheartedly, “We sound righ’ paranoid.” “Yeah we do. Bu’ paranoid may be no’ so dumb.” Quaddy "That's for damn sure, suh." Abraham's drawl wound its way into the shadows of their meeting room, followed momentarily by the American and his ever-present rifle. "Ah am not sure that paranoid isn't just the right way to be in these here dangerous times."Izzy nodded a greeting to her teammate. There were six of them that would array themselves within the stark metal walls of summons room 43-A. The twins were on their way, she and Jonny had stepped in, and now Abraham was settling into one of the two couches provided for their comfort. "Where's Zeke, Abraham?" "Right here, my dear nug." The swell himself sidled into the room, a broad smile on his ridiculously well-formed face. Truth be told, Izzy had a bit of a girlish infatuation with the man, sustained by Ezekiel's habit of flirting outrageously with any miss within a mile of his present location. She was not used to such attention and could not help but be pleased by it, no matter that it wasn't serious. "Hello, beautiful one." Izzy blushed, much to her own chagrin, and turned away from the gentlemen present, absently playing with her hair as she plopped down on the couch opposite Abraham's. Behind her, Jonny seated himself on his own chair, the metal of his leg groaning with the pressure. "'Allo, Zeke. 'Ow 'as it been with you?" "Not badly at all, my good man." Unabashed at Izzy's discomfiture, Zeke sat himself next to her, even going so far as to take her hand and plant a kiss upon its back. Warmth radiated from the spot and Izzy barely contained the urge to giggle uncontrollably. But she could not control the silly smile on her face. "And you, my lady?" "Nuffin' doin' Zeke. Jes' waitin' to find out if'n the Queen's alright." Izzy turned her green eyes to the man sitting next to her and shrugged. "Though I did find sumfink in Cheapside." Abraham sat forward. "Cheapside? A spirit showed itself to you in Cheapside. Well, I never woulda believed they'd get that far." The Virginian's speech was soft and long, much pleasanter to listen to than Izzy's own cockney ravaging of the language. Next to her, Zeke's eyes widened with shock. "Cheapside?" Zeke's concern reinforced the posh tones of his own voice. "Cheapside and Buckingham Palace in the same day? That is...unheard of." "That's why I'm worried abou' this attack on the Queen." Izzy felt more than comfortable now that the conversation had turned to more important things than her innocent crush on Ezekiel. It would never come to anything, it wasn't even a mutual feeling; she was just the only girl in the room to which the man could direct his flirtations. And even if it were real, he was upper crust and she was a runaway plucked off the streets for a life of servitude. It was just better to get to talking about work. Even if he was so very handsome. "I tink they're related in some way." "What's related?" Everyone looked up to see Brandon and Connor enter the room. It was Brandon, lumbering through the doorway, who had spoken. "Me'n Iz found signs of a ghostie attack in Cheapside. Ate the brick righ' outta the wall. Happened jus' afore we go' word of the attack on the palace." Jonny turned to reply to the elder twin, and a frisson of tension shuddered through the room. Everyone knew of the problems between the two and waited to see if anything would happen. Apparently the seriousness of the situation was enough to keep both young men professional. "Simultaneous attacks? Buckin'ham is one thing, but Cheapside? That's 'alfway across town!" Brandon sat next to Abraham, eyebrows knitting together in consternation. "Bleedin' fay bastards." "Brandon, we don't know that it's the fay," Connor replied, sitting down next to his brother and smiling softly at everyone in the room by way of greeting. "They're not known for their strategic prowess, brother." The door opened again and a cloaked and hooded figure lurched into the room. It was one of the Shadow Man's assistants, a purely mechanical wonder that acted as the go-between for the Chief and the rest of the organization. Izzy had always wanted to see one without its cloak, to get her hands on it, to tinker and change and learn. She leaned forward unconsciously and half reached out to touch it before Zeke pulled her back. "No, beautiful, I don't believe that's a good idea." For a moment, Izzy leaned into the man's embrace, but she remembered what she was here for and flashed him a thankful tightening of the lips. Meanwhile, the mechanized wonder had reached the gramophone and was inserting the metal scroll onto which the Shadow Man's message had been graphed. Izzy watched as it finished and flipped the switch on the device. Empty scratching emanated from the machine for a few moments before the sure baritone of the Shadow Man reached out to them. "Greetings Agents of the Queen's Mechs. Thank you for joining us at this critical juncture in our agency's tenure as Her Majesty's paranormal investigators. We received word not more than two hours ago that a massive attack was launched against the Queen's residence at Buckingham Palace." Izzy looked over at Jonny and raised her eyebrows, but said nothing before turning once more to look at the gramophone. "Fortunately, her Majesty was in Scotland for a holiday and not in residence, but it is disconcerting that such an attack was even possible. We gave the palace the best protections possible, in wood, silver, iron, and electromagnetic form. All of those protections had been removed. We believe this means that the supernatural clans are working together...and that they have human help." "Well that's nuffin new. They've had human help all along," Brandon muttered. Connor shushed him so the Shadow Man could continue. "This is a dark time for the Queen's Mechs. If the supernatural community is banding together, it is for something big and with someone powerful behind them all. We must find this person, stop them, and disband the clans once more. It is our duty to Queen and Country, and one that we do not take lightly. Take a look around you. These are your teammates for the investigation. Do not stop until your have completed this mission. The mechanized assistant will hand each of you a dossier containing any information we have concerning this investigation. Good luck and do not fail, Agents." The Shadow Man fell silent and the assistant handed out manila files to each of them. Izzy stared down at hers, wondering what she should think with all she knew. Not only was there an attack on Buckingham, but they were all the way in very human Cheapside. What could it possibly mean for them? "Well," Zeke broke the silence, clapping his hands together. "Looks like we get to work together, doll. What a treat for all of us." Mynt Isabella was quite adorable when she blushed. It was like that with most women of course but Ezekiel found it particularly amusing to redden the lass’s cheeks with a slight performance of chivalry. He knew it was important that she be seen as one of the guys and she seemed to loathe anything lady like but she didn’t seem to mind being treated like one. Oh the way she blushed when he had kissed her hand. He thought maybe he’d give her a real kiss one day and see her glow then. But he knew he wouldn’t. She was a teammate and deserved more respect than a common trollop. Although, he would admit that he wasn’t mad at the way she was put together. She was a breath of fresh air compared to the corseted and shallow female that normally chased him like a hound after a rabbit. But he did think she’d look right smart in a dress, he couldn’t say he was terribly fond of the way she dressed like a man- necessity or no. Ezekiel wondered if she would take offense to him buying her a dress. She might treasure it as a gift, after all she did seem to fancy him and men often bought women fine and lavish gifts. But then again, always the tomboy and trying to avoid lessons with Lady Clarke, a dress might make her rebel all the more. He concealed a smile at that thought. If a dress were out of the question then he only wished she would learn to speak like a lady instead of butchering the language like some street waif. Ezekiel could drop into a harsh and boorish dialect and usually with more skill and grace than the rest but it still grated on his ears and he found himself wishing they would all learn to speak proper, respectable Queen’s English. Or at least stop destroying it. However he did quite enjoy Abraham’s American accent. It was a guilty pleasure of his to sit and listen to the American’s dulcet tones as he drawled out the yankee bastardization of the English language. Many times Ezekiel would attempt to mimic his delectable accent. He would often find himself watching Abraham’s mouth when he spoke, trying to catch all the subtle movements that formed his words. It wasn’t the only reason he watched him but some things were better left secrets. Ezekiel didn’t exactly hate the way Abraham was put together either. Sometimes it made him laugh to think of how much simpler his life would be if he truly were the useless fop everyone thought him. He would be sitting in his manor right now, or at a party with people who had more air in their heads than brain, worrying about the crinkles in his expensive clothing and trying to keep his thick blonde mane under the tightest control instead of leaving it tied loosely at the nape of his neck. He’d be more concerned about his well-manicured hands than about an attack on the Queen’s home, and he definitely wouldn’t be worried at all about Cheapside. Life would be simpler, yes, but meaningless and not nearly as much fun. He thumbed through the folder lazily. Details on what happened at the Buckingham Palace complete with photographs. Whatever beasties had launched the assault were nasty little bastards. And well organized too, he imagined. How else would they overcome the various defenses in place there? Different breeds working together could spell bad news for them. Of course it was pure conjecture. Perhaps it was merely an ugly they hadn’t documented yet. And unfortunately photographs only shared the aftermath. Most supernatural creatures were difficult if not impossible to catch in a photo. “What do you think, beautiful?” he asked without lifting his head, watching the delicate dove from beneath a fan of thick lashes and a veil of thick blonde hair. It was her business to know, but he also enjoyed watching her squirm under his attentions. It was charming. She appeared to study the sheets of paper her folder had offered up to her. But it wasn’t her tongue that answered the question. “Sumfink still buggin’ me abou’ th’ mess in Cheapside.” Jonny, the poor unfortunate fellow, said from behind them. It wasn’t as if Ezekiel didn’t like him, he just didn’t find him beautiful. In fact, he couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to live like the cyborg was forced to. People avoided him like his condition was contagious. Ezekiel tried to treat him as a normal person but he couldn’t deny the pity he felt every time he looked at him. “Cheapside ain’t our problem righ’ now,” came Brandon’s biting retort. The instigator. He was always reminded of a dog gnashing its teeth at an alley cat just beyond its reach whenever he heard Brandon’s angry tones. Ezekiel found his attitude amusing and would take great fun in teasing him just to enrage the lesser patient twin. But most days he enjoyed having his body in one piece and his partner Abraham wasn’t always around for him to hide behind should Brandon become overly annoyed. “I’ could be connec’ed,” Jonny tried to reason but he should’ve known better. “Even ifin it is, we are talkin’ about the Queen here.” It was always so much fun when they started fighting each other. “Gentlemen, let’s keep our tongues and tempers under control. There is a lady present.” Ezekiel grinned and brushed his lips over the back of Isabella’s hand again. He achieved the desired effect; drawing pink heat to her cheeks and making her smile that sweet innocent smile. “Don’ be mindin’ me none, Zeke.” “Nonsense, my dear. Although I have to agree with my mechanized friend, it seems like too much of a coincidence for my tastes. However, as we owe our service to her majesty, I suggest we focus on the attack at Buckingham.” He flashed a grin at Isabella and held her hand between both of his. “Now, I believe you were about to regale us with your thoughts on the matter, turtledove.” .Wolfie. Brandon was in a foul mood.To be fair, that described his state of mind on most occasions for some reason or another. It took very little to make him lose his temper and very little to keep him that way. It was not uncommon for him to become irate for the smallest of inconvenience, whether it was running late for any of his business or something as unpredictable as the weather, which made him furious despite his brother’s insistence that there was nothing he or anyone else could do to change it. However, the foul mood that persisted with him in the Shadow Man’s summons room was somewhat worse than usual because it involved a particular woman named Beth and his complete inability to understand what precisely the words ‘maybe’ and ‘I need to think about it’ meant in relation to one particular question. Beyond that, he always felt a fair amount of jealousy and annoyance when he was around Jonny, not because he had any particular distaste for the man but because of the similarities in their disabilities. While the specifics of Brandon’s injuries were not readily apparent to anyone who didn’t already know of them, Jonny’s were quite readily on display and a poignant reminder to Brandon every time he saw him of what he was also lacking, though in his case on both sides instead of one. He found it irritating because he could no longer feel anything but the vaguest of sensations in his fingertips. Such weakness was oftentimes annoying and frustrating because he had to keep a sharp eye on what he was doing to make sure he was actually grasping things the correct way and not putting one of his powerful fists through something better left unbroken. The jealousy was the most annoying, because in the back of his mind he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him to have a gun on his left side instead of an arm. It would be bloody helpful in unfortunate circumstances, in which he found himself with some frequency. He wouldn’t want it on his right side as Johnny did, because he used his right arm for a number of important things and his left hook was not nearly as powerful as his right one, however if he’d had the option he still would have given up one of the mechanical substitutes for something with a little more kick as Jonny possessed. “I fink Jonny's right, it's got ter be connected somehow. Yer fink it were meant as a distraction?” Izzy said. She was concentrating hard on the folder in front of her and not on Zeke, though the man had left a pink flush on her cheek. Brandon scoffed and kicked back in his seat. “Not bleedin’ likely,” he spat. “Dun know why we’re still here, should be lookin’ around the palace or stoppin’ by Hyde park to ask the bleedin’ fay what kind of trouble they’re tryin’ to stir up this time.” He didn’t bother to stop the growl in his throat because there were few things he hated more than the fay and by the barely concealed rolling of eyes everyone else was aware of it as well. “It’s not always the fay ye know,” Izzy said. “Iffin it’s all connected like ye say then they’re in there somewhere,” Brandon said. “Ah think it might be worth checkin’ out the palace,” Abraham said. His drawl was a cool contrast to the sharp tones in the room and Brandon tended to prefer him second only to his brother. He couldn’t abide fools, though he couldn’t abide much, and as such Zeke tended to stir his foul temper almost as much as being around Jonny did. Izzy he may not have minded on her own but she was always in the company of her other half and Brandon tended to lose his temper in their presence. It occurred to him on rare occasions that his temper might be better served directed at those on the opposite side of the field instead of on anyone who happened to be in close proximity to him, but his attempt to control his ire often failed in the actual application of it. “Then I’ll be doin’ that,” Brandon said. He pushed himself to his feet, tucking the folder under his arm and promising himself that he would look at it later when he didn’t have so many unpleasant thoughts making him want to wreak destruction on anything that happened to cross his path. His mind wandered and he wondered again just what in hell ‘maybe’ was supposed to mean. Conner let out a sigh and Brandon heard his brother fall into step behind him as he left the room. It didn’t surprise him but he wasn’t particularly anxious to be in anyone’s company, and the knowledge that his brother likely didn’t want to be in his made it worse. “Right, so let’s ‘ave it,” Conner said. “What’s got you in a tiff today?” Brandon frowned and his head turned to regard his brother, who looked as calm and unruffled as he generally did. It was a curious contrast to his less than level-headed twin and Brandon was not unaware that most preferred Conner’s company to his own. While at times the knowledge managed to bother his pride, on most occasions it was simply easier that way because then there were less things to irritate his already foul disposition. It was still odd and discomforting him to see goggles looking back at him instead of his brother’s eyes, not because of anything his brother had done, but because he hated the sharp reminder that something had managed to hurt his twin so badly. If he was dealing poorly with his disability he never expressed it, so Brandon was bitter and angry enough for both of them. Brandon growled and waved a hand over his shoulder as though he were trying to dismiss a bug flying around his head. “It’s nuffin.” Conner nodded his head and he didn’t push because by now he was used to his brothers temperaments and understood that generally speaking, prodding tended to make him angrier than he already was. Besides, patience usually yielded the source of his irritation because Brandon was not shy about expressing his generally unpleasant nature in the most colorful of terms. After a moment he sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. “Look, ye know I been takin’ Beth out for a while now.” Conner nodded his head and kept his eyes straight ahead. “An’ you know how much she’s ‘ad to put up with.” He saw a smile try to tug at the corner’s of his brother’s mouth and he ducked his head to hide it. “Woman’s a saint,” he said. Brandon snorted and then waved his hand at the closing doors. “Tha’s what I said,” he snarled. “I tol’ her, Beth, you been a regular angel puttin’ up with me for as long as you have, an’ so I was thinkin’ it’s about time I did what’s proper and made an honest woman out of you. After all, she’s fair enough to look at and it ain’t likely another lass is going to be ‘alf as patient with me.” Conner tilted his head but didn’t look over his brother and Brandon scowled in response because he disliked the expression of surprise and amusement that were warring on his brother’s features. After all, it had seemed like a good idea to him at the time, because the woman had dealt with him running out on dinner and numerous bouts of his temper getting the best of him. It had seemed more than fair for him to ask for her hand and once again he felt sharp annoyance because what woman turned around and said ‘maybe’ to a question like that? He was under the distinct impression she was just supposed to say yes and burst into tears and lay kisses across his face and then they would both be happy until he managed to say something stupid and ruin the moment. “You asked for her hand?” Conner said. The disbelief lingered on his face and he hid whatever expression his mouth was making behind a hand. He made a noise and if Brandon didn’t know better he would say it was a laugh. “An’ that’s what you said to her?” Brandon scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, yeah,” he spat. The confusion and annoyance lingered in his chest for a moment and Conner didn’t say anything. He kept his hand over his mouth and Brandon chose to believe that his brother wasn’t laughing quietly behind the hand across his mouth because if he did he would start to wonder if he had actually done something stupid and he didn’t understand what exactly he’d done wrong in his proposal. “An’ you know what she said? Maybe. She said maybe.” He scoffed and shook his head. “She said she ‘ad to think about it. What in bleedin’ ‘ell is there to think about?” Conner shrugged and watched as the doors slid open with a hiss of steam, letting them back out into the world. “I dunno Brand,” he said. Brandon was under the distinct impression that his brother was lying to him but he didn’t call him on it. He cleared his throat and then shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you should ask Izzy. She’s a woman, she might ‘ave a better idea.” Brandon scoffed at that. “She’s not a woman,” he said. “She’s a Mech.” Conner did laugh at him that time and Brandon scowled in annoyance. “Right,” he said, shaking his head. Brandon walked by his side in silence for a moment. He knew he should be getting his mind focused on the attack on the palace but that question kept tugging at his mind and after a moment he let out a growl. “Bloody women,” he spat. Wenston Conner was quiet as he walked beside his brother. He was well aware of his brother's quiet seething, but he couldn't help the smirk that was etched across his face. Brandon had proposed to Beth. The notion was amusing to him, made all the more so by the reasoning and the way his brother had done it. He knew Brandon probably though he was laughing at him, and he supposed in a way he was, but mostly he was just overly amused by his brother's dull innocence. Not many people would call it that, they may call it stupidity or slowness, but Conner called it innocence. Brandon just had a view of the way the world should work that not many other people believed or understood. Pulling the folder out, Conner decided to focus on that instead of his brother's dilemma. Trying to read the folder sobered him quickly, dulling the smile on his face. It was the material inside the folder that had the adverse effect on his mood, but rather the reminder that without the goggles on his face, he never would be able to read through this. The goggles allowed him to see, but it had taken a long time to get used to them. He didn't see colors. Just grays and golds. When he tried to explain to people what it was like, he always lost them. It was hard to explain. It was like the world was a smoky gray all the time, but the shapes were outlined in gold. He could see things, for the most part, but it was rigid and wavering and nothing like how they really looked. Conner had been told the technology was based off the way bats saw the world. Only more advanced. He'd gotten lost in the science of it all, but basically his brain sent signals out into the world and those signals came back to him, instead of his brain just registering the normal signals of light and color. His disability didn't bother him. He wasn't happy about it, but he was thankful that he could see at all. It had been one of the most painful things he'd ever gone through and most of it had been a blur. He remembered waking up screaming as his eyes had been burned and after that, it was just a lot of Brandon toting him around and swearing and there was a trip to Washington that he started to remember in more detail. It had been an ordeal and he thought the reason his memory was so fuzzy wasn't because of the pain he'd been in, but because he'd rather not remember. "So, I think we should be startin' with the palace staff," he said, glancing over the information in the folder. "It says 'ere, the palace defenses 'ad been removed." Brandon snorted. "Bloody fay." Sighing, Conner smirked and closed the folder, tucking it back under his arm. Brandon's pace had quickened and he doubted it had anything to do with wanted to get there sooner. His brother's mind was elsewhere, on a nice little lady named Beth. "If'n the fay are involved, they're not the only supernatural beasties that are," he told his brother. "So try to keep an open mind, right?" Brandon just clucked his tongue and kept his head ducked as they continued walking towards the palace. Conner wondered if they shouldn't be waiting for the others, considering they were all teamed up on this task. He was looking forward to working with Jonny and Izzy, simply because he enjoyed their company, even if Brandon did not. He was fascinated by Abraham, being from America and all. Zeke he didn't rightfully care for, but he couldn't place exactly why. Hopefully they'd meet up with the others once they got to the palace so they could work out how they wanted to go about doing this. Conner still thought they should start with the staff of the palace, including the guards. The Shadow Man had said that it was suspected humans were involved with this attack too. He wondered if the same went for the attack over on Cheapside. Two simultaneous attacks? It could just be random happenstance, but he doubted it. It was too much of a coincidence and he'd learned a long time ago that when it came to the supernatural beings, there was no such thing as coincidence. CeruleanSon "Ah believe theah's something rotten in Denmark, Mistuh Monroe." Abraham Shaw walked along the graveled path in the Palace Gardens that paralleled Constitution Hill. His shadow lengthened on the path before him as the sun settled toward the western horizon. To his left, the street and Green Park beyond were hidden from his view by the wooded verge that screened this part of the royal gardens from the view of idle passers-by. Also on his left, Ezekiel Monroe, his partner on his current assignment to the Queen's Mechs, walked beside him. "Quoting Shakespeare, for a change, eh? It's good to know that your education does not consist solely of the collected wisdom of John Singleton Mosby, as stellar an individual as he no doubt is." Monroe shook his head, the blond hair gathered at the nape of his neck wagging across his collar like the tail of Beauregard, Shaw's family's old bloodhound. "My dear Abraham, I've asked you several times to use my given name. Why do you persist in this formality?" "The very air reeks of ozone," Abraham continued, ignoring Monroe's inquiry, "as if lightnin' had struck the Palace only moments ago. But we both know that there hasn't been anything in the sky but the usual smoky haze all the day long." With his left hand, he lifted the camel-colored Stetson he affected as an intentional way of distinguishing himself from top-hatted limeys like Monroe, and re-settled it onto his macassar-slicked brown hair. Lady Artemis, his lever-action Winchester repeating rifle, rested lightly on Abraham's right shoulder, the last three fingers of his right hand slipped through the lever's loop, and his index finger resting upon the trigger guard. There was a bullet in her chamber, ready for instantaneous action. The special ammunition loaded into the magazine would be effective on a wide variety of enemies, human or supernatural. "The veil has been torn here, suh, or I'm a damned Yankee." "Well, actually," Monroe replied, "you are a damned Yank..." At Abraham's sharp glance, he amended his comment. "But I see your distinction, of course, my dear fellow." The limey bastard was having fun at his expense; all these dandified British thought of everybody on the far side of the Atlantic as "Yanks," or even "colonials." They had very nearly come into the war on the side of the Confederacy - they had a liking for tobacco and cotton, both - until Lincoln had issued his damned "Emancipation Proclamation." Then the limeys and the French had both backed off, as if the Confederacy was suddenly a gang of barbarians. Truth be told, Abraham's own kin thought of him as a damned Yankee these days, since he'd seen which way the wind was blowin' and went to work with the Republicans to try and put the country back together again. When he'd started to see the ghosties and their ilk, he'd thought he was losing his mind, despite the fact that he'd saved President-elect Grant from being assassinated by a blood-sucker in a train station toilet. That little incident had gotten the attention of the secret Bureau of Paranormal Defense. Colonel Mosby, who, it turned out, was actually connected with the BPD, had convinced him to sign on, and almost immediately, they'd sent him here, despite his reluctance to leave the Colonel and the country for which he'd given up so much. He didn't much care for the lot of 'em, but orders were orders. He'd show them the respect to which they were entitled, and he'd use every skill in his possession to do the job he'd come to do, but he'd be damned if he was going to get pally with them. Especially with this fellow Monroe; he was too good at acting. He reminded Abraham a bit too much of that loose cannon Wilkes Booth. You couldn't tell what motivated either one of them. Who knew what the hell they were going to do next? "I say, Abraham, do forgive my little jest. I am very much aware of all that you have been through in your Civil War, and I respect -" Abraham was spared the rest of Monroe's half-hearted attempt at an apology by hysterical shrieks from somewhere up ahead. He flipped Lady Artemis forward and her front grip slapped into his left palm as he raced toward the origin of the noise, Monroe running at his side. He made a right at the first intersecting path and charged straight into the wooded copse from which the screaming originated. He plunged through the wooded verge and emerged into a neatly manicured lawn with a gazebo at its center, decorated with ornately wrought lattice-work and a domed roof. At the nearest arched entry to the structure, a young couple stood, the fellow holding the lady as she wept into his lapel. Abraham sprinted across the grass toward them, as Monroe curved off to the left, with the apparent intent of approaching the gazebo from its opposite side. Abraham reached the couple and opened his mouth to ask what the problem was, but his jaw snapped closed as he saw for himself the cause of the lady's distress. When he did speak to them, all he said was, "Keep back." The odors of ozone and spilled blood choked him as he cautiously approached the archway. He stopped at the bottom of the two steps that climbed into the structure, aghast at the sight that greeted him from within. A moment later, Monroe appeared at the opposite archway. His eyes grew round as silver dollars, and for once, he didn't have a single blessed thing to say. On the wooden floor of the gazebo, a woman's naked body had been staked out in cruciform style. Blood stained the white-washed benches and columns, and pooled upon the gray-painted floor. Her abdomen had been flayed open and her entrails arranged about her in some ritualistic fashion that Abraham couldn't decipher. Her heart lay upon her split-open breast; a long spike of black iron pierced it, nailing her chest to the floor. Her severed head was impaled atop the spike. Her jaw hung wide in a silent scream that Abraham could hear echoing in his head. Where her eyeballs had once been, twin orbs of green fire glared at him. With a sudden howl, the specter that had hidden inside her skull leaped forth, clawed fingers outstretched at the ends of emaciated limbs, straight for Abraham's face. "Blind them," it screeched. "Blind the eyes that see!" "Zeke! Duck!" Lady Artemis barked once, and the silver-plated slug passed through the specter, disrupting its electromagnetic aura. An unnatural shriek nearly split Abraham's eardrums, but the specter twisted in upon itself around the path taken by the slug, its essence inverting and shrinking down to a bright, green point, then blinking out. A moment later, Monroe's head peeked up over the far edge of the gazebo floor. A bark of laughter escaped Abraham's throat. "My apologies, suh. You may rise; the immediate danger is past." Ezekiel Monroe climbed to his feet and commenced to brushing the smudges of dust from his trousers. "Well," he remarked, "that was rather a close call, eh?" He looked up and caught Abraham's gaze, then held up his top hat, wiggling a finger through the bullet hole in its cylindrical crown. "But at least you called me by my first name at last!" "Yes, suh, I suppose I did, at that." "Nothing like a near death experience to break the ice, I always say!" He laughed companionably, and Abraham might have even laughed along with him, if the empty stare of the murdered girl hadn't been drilling into him. Matt - Nomad Jonny knew, no one needed to tell him, that he was a freak. He wasn’t normal. He wasn’t even completely human except in his heart. He even dreamt like a machine, in binary codes and nightmarish things. But that didn’t much bother him. Everyone he knew was in some way a little bit twisted, a little bit wrong, just a tad freakish – hell some of them were downright monsters when it came to it. None of that bothered him. What bothered him, and it would seem stupid when lives were on the line and the country was in peril, was that his partner, the girl who he thought of as a sister, would giggle with someone like Ezekiel. Jonny liked Zeke, he liked most people being a friendly sort of guy, but he didn’t like that the man would look at him with something akin to pity whilst appraising everyone else of their looks and charm. Jonny didn’t have any of those things, not anymore, but he didn’t like being pitied for it either. He should get himself out of those thoughts. Shaking his head, he tried to pay attention to Izzy but it was hard since he couldn’t read all that good and she was quietly going through the folder as their cab aimed for the palace. They’d meet with everyone there, but no way was a cabbie taking more than himself and a wee girl in it at once, the wheels would break. “Wha’z da story den, Iz?” He grumbled, noting her expression become thoughtful. “It’s like da’ pattern ye mentioned and all of wha’ da Shadowman sed. But if y’ask me... it’s more complex den even suggested. Some of dis stuff... reads like Verne. Like it’s or-cestra’ed at once by one thing an’ den... look here. It changes.” She pointed at some of the letters on the page and he hummed in his throat, “at first it’s all normal an’den it’s ain’. It changed jus’ unner a week ago. “ Jonny was still squinting at the page. “Ya read it ye’?” “Aye.” He lied. He’d except what she said. “Stop givin’ me pies.” She grinned, and he would have reddened if it was anyone else, “It goes from normal stuff fa ghosties to nary bu’ a serpent’s egg.” “We see mudder, Iz, ain’ naught new about da’.” “Not like dis. Nary a one of dem survive. Or got any chance to.” The cabbie stopped and they stepped out onto the pavement before it sped off, not wanting payment from Mechs. As the clattering wheels disappeared into the gloom, Jonny frowned. It was quiet outside the palace. Green Park was silent, Hyde Park Corner was deserted, its gates drifting open and then shut without a creak or groan. His eye didn’t spot anything, there was no sign of anything spectral in the immediate vicinity but that didn’t mean much. It was easy to hide when you were dead after all. Izzy sniffed at the air, that expression meant she could smell sulphur. Questioningly, she looked at him and he shook his head; it must be old sulphur. “Unlucky place dis.” He muttered, glancing down the road that lead to Constitution Hill. The Mechs had been involved with more than they liked on this road. They’d prevented three assassination attempts on the queen and laid the ghost of the Prime Minister to rest after it was raised by a necromancer that thought it’d be justice to make the Tory preach like a Whig. Didn’t work out for the necromancer, being that Peel had been a headstrong sort and turned out to be quite vicious in death. Foolish men, necromancers. As they began to head towards the palace, they were interrupted by a scream and then moments later a gun shot. Izzy broke into a sprint. That was the American’s gun, it had a distinctive ring to it that they both recognised. Jonny lumbered along behind her, his leg too heavy to really lend itself to the nippy gait that his partner had. Breaking through the trees and the bushes where Izzy ducked round them, they began to smell that familiar scent, burning through their nostrils like ammonia or brimstone. It grew stronger and stronger until it began to feel heavy, no longer a stink but a sweat in the air, dripping cold on their skin and tickling the fine hairs of their necks and arms. “I don’t see ‘em!” Izzy shouted back, her voice almost choked by the air. Scanning the area again, searching for any source of energy, Jonny called back, “Leff. D’other en’rance arch.” There stood Monroe, hole in his hat, watching as the American knelt by a dead body. It was unmistakable even from here. There was no other reason for such expressions. “These are the palace gardens. How did a simple spectre like that get past all the wards and do this?” Zeke was musing aloud. Rushing forward, Izzy caught her foot in the undergrowth and staggered into the gazebo type thing that their colleagues stood in. Lady Artemis was in her face in seconds and out of it again after a pause where Monroe straightened up out of the defensive crouch he’d been in. “Good to see you so soon, Isabella.” Zeke said flippantly, “What do you make of this?” Jonny was used to being in the background and accepted the American’s nod of greeting as he made it to where his partner was. What a sight. Gruesomely, deliberately displayed. “Deliberaht.” Izzy said, her voice enunciating the ‘T’ for some unbeknownst reason to Jonny. “Exactly, what we thought.” “Unnudder message.” Jonny said, not paying attention to them as they looked at him, he approached the body, trying to avoid looking at the eyes, “See ‘er feet.” On the soles of her naked feet were scratches, unmistakable symbols but not words. They were black though... burns? He reached out a finger to run along the edge and shivered as he felt the dark pulse of the markings. It was then that they heard the tamping feet of more people and then then heavy breathing of the twins, “Heard the scream. Shot fired?” Connor panted. Zeke held up his hat in mournful confirmation and Jonny would have snickered if not for the very cold, dead girl sprawled next to him. “How’d that happen in here?” “Good question again, Mister James.” Zeke replied, in that same obnoxiously offhand tone. “Y’all full of questions.” Abraham muttered, “But this here ain’t the case. We should be aheading up to the palace. Make a note of this but there ain’t nothing we can be doing for this girl naw.” “Shud we no’ process ‘er?” Jonny asked, he didn’t like the idea of leaving the dead girl like this, so exposed and calculated? She was young, maybe even younger than Izzy. “Call in a mortician. We should keep going.” Of course, Monroe to the fore. The answer made sense though and Jonny rose to his feet in a graceless manner, “Ait. Shall we?” Quaddy Izzy knew what she had seen. Or at least she thought that she knew, based entirely upon the memories racing and flashing along the wires in her head. She and Connor both acted as receivers for messages from the Shadow Man, but Izzy was an Archivist, a researcher, a person for whom knowledge was a shield and a weapon. When she'd demanded to go out onto the streets, the great faceless men in charge had agreed only reluctantly, afraid that a female would be at great risk among the dangers inherent in direct dealings with the supernatural. They decided, therefore, that the only way Izzy could both be safe and an asset to a street team would be to wire her into the Bureau's Archives. That meant that she had access to the Bureau's research, scant though it sometimes was, and could remember the Mechs' past cases. This had never been seen before, what she'd seen, but it definitely had a place in the Archives, amongst the myths and the legends, the truths that no one could know for truth. And the flash of knowledge in her head, the pages flipping and settling in her mind, told her something that ran like ice through her veins. "I tink th' body won' las' much longer, boys," she whispered. "I tink even her flesh is gone t' the ghosties now. They used it t' anchor whatever art they worked 'ere. Fay arts, worked by a 'uman bein'. No fay could work with this iron." Even as Izzy spoke and her teammates watched, the body began to melt, folding in on itself as if dropped into a vat of acid. It bubbled and boiled, and erupted in a mass of oozing flesh that soon evaporated into nothing. Izzy averted her eyes from the process, turning and pressing her face into the chest of her partner. His human arm came around her and held her tight until it was over, and then released her. "I tink they migh' have used this poor soul to take down the palace's defenses." As she spoke, Izzy saw that Zeke was faintly green, but the others had all stood their ground and watched the entire, horrific process. Only she had turned away, and for that Izzy was most assuredly ashamed. She was a Mech, not just some squeamish miss to be frightened by a horrific process. The others had given the poor woman that which was her due, and yet she had quailed and turned away. "Damn fay," Brandon muttered, breaking the silence and the tension. Never before had Izzy been so grateful to the elder twin for his hatred of the fay. It was almost comical in its way, and exactly what she needed at that moment. "With all due respect, miss, just exactly how did you ascertain this information?" Abraham came up behind her, and Izzy could feel Jonny tense up. Poor Jonny, she thought, he did not deserve to be so mistrusted. He was no monster, no ghostie to fear and hate; just a man like the rest of them, with a beating heart and a human soul. So what that he had copper and cogs in place of an arm and a leg, a plate in place of a face, and a gear in place of an eye? Brandon had no more, though his was disguised to look like flesh, and Connor's too. The difference was purely cosmetic. He did not deserve such cruelty. "Isabella is an Archivist, Mr. Shaw," Zeke replied, seeing and sympathizing with Izzy's continuing discomfort. "Being but a female, she needed the protection of information according to our illustrious leadership. It appears that this unfortunate woman's death triggered with something down in the Bureau's Archival logs." Abraham gazed down at Izzy, Lady Artemis across one shoulder, a contemplative twist in his brow. "You are quite the complicated lady, Miss Parker, and continue to suhprise me. And you are certain that the lady's death was an anchor?" Izzy shook her head. "The Archives ain't pos'tive on the matter themselves. It wuz a legend, a myth, that popped up when I saw the scene. It iz believed that binding a 'uman body wif silver, wood, iron, and spirit matter can act as an anchor for the supernatural. Per'aps it wuz used to tear down the defenses 'ere at Buckin'am, or per'aps somefin diff'rent. It could be used t' open a door, bu' the palace is so close to Hyde Park, I doubt it would be used for that. More'n likely, this lady tore down the defenses and ghosties crossed over from the park." "Worse than tha', I'm sure ye've all seen tha' there 'ave been a veritable onslaught of attacks in the last week. B'fore, there'd been next to nuffin'," Connor interjected. "Somefin' big is 'appening 'ere." Brandon finally turned his eyes away from the spot where the woman had melted away. "Well, I'm glad we can agree on that. But we should see if there's anyfin else out 'ere like this," he gestured to the black spot that had become a grotesque plateau, "out there. And then we need t' see for ourselves that the Queen is alrigh'." Abraham shook his head. "There is no reason that we should spend the time to do both, when most of us aren't even going to be allowed into the Royal presence." His voice carried a hint of disdain. Like many Americans, Abraham was not fond of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the English and their Royals. He was too much a product of his government, despite the fact that he had fought against it in the war. No American would speak out against their right to vote, and Izzy respected that Abraham stuck with his own morals. "Well then, we'll take care of both at the same time. You gentlemen search the palace grounds for anything else like what we've seen and I will report to the Queen. The Shadow Man would prefer that we remain as circumspect as possible with her. Anything hinting that her search for Albert being the cause of this..." Brandon made an impatient gesture. "Yes, we know Zeke. Jus' go and we'll do the real work." Zeke turned to Izzy, ignoring what Brandon had to say. As the highest ranking Englishman there, and one of the few without cyborg technology, he was the one of them that would always meet with the Royal contingency, and it was not as easy as many would believe. One wrong move or word and they were done. "Isabella, love, you should accompany me to the Queen. She'll want to know what you saw here today and all of the information going about in that head of yours. Anything new we can deliver in a formal report." Izzy nodded, suddenly nervous. Meeting the Queen? "O' course, Zeke." "You do realize this means the servants will insist on putting you in proper clothing, yes?" Zeke continued as he and Izzy broke off from the group and headed for the palace proper. "She won't allow a woman dressed as a man into the Royal Presence." Izzy looked up at him, eyes narrow. "You're doin' this a'purpose, Ezekiel Monroe. Yer no better than the Duchess!" Secretly, Izzy was thrilled to be going off alone with Zeke, entering his special world and seeing him do what he did best. He knew exactly what to say to people to get the results they wanted. And maybe if he saw her in a nice dress, he might see her as more than a grubby little girl with wiring in her head. "I'll wear your dress, Mister, but if you try to ge' me into those tiny little shoes, I'll shoot your hat to bits." Mynt Ezekiel stared down at his pocket watch. It was among one of his favorite doodads. Or it used to be. Its numeric face was cluttered with six hands, all pointing to different numbers in different places. It was an expensive trinket that told him the hour, minute, day, month, year, and temperature all in one go. And all it took was a thimble of water once a week to keep it running. Except his wasn’t running and he wondered when the last time he had filled it up. The hands, frozen in place, suggested it had been nearly three months ago on a Tuesday. It could’ve been telling the truth but he had rather hoped it would spring to life and tell him how long he’d been in the hallway.He guessed it had been roughly an hour since the maids had shooed him out of the chambers so they could dress Miss Isabella Barker. They had seemed downright thrilled at the opportunity although less than at their canvas. He couldn’t blame them, he supposed. She had gone in wearing her work clothing and women dressed like men were unheard of and frowned upon. He fondly remembered the abject terror in Isabella’s doe eyes when they had asked her if she’d ever worn a corset. “Lord Monroe.” He snapped his watch closed and tucked it back into his pocket as he looked up to the frazzled maid standing before him. “How was it?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice or off his face. The tight-lipped smile she gave him in return made him chuckle and told him all he needed to know. “Miss Isabella Barker,” the maid said and gestured to a young woman who slowly approached the doorway. Ezekiel was surprised at the Isabella that stood before him. The girl who dressed like a man had come out looking like a proper lady in all her timid glory. She looked mighty uncomfortable in her dress, but he found it far more fetching than her street wear, and it suited her much better. It was a simple yet elegant style and much less colorful and frilly than he thought it would be. The servants had been discussing ribbons and pinks when he had left the room. Blue was a far better choice and brought out the highlights in her eyes. “Miss Isabella,” he said with a bow, a smile quirking his lips. He took her hand, now in a proper glove, and brushed his lips against the back. “You are enchanting.” She reddened and turned away from him. “I feel silly.” He used her hand and gently pulled her a few steps closer to him, very aware of her heated skin and the soft curves of her feminine body no longer hidden beneath layers of ruddy clothing. “My dear, if you feel silly it’s only because you aren’t wearing any shoes because you look stunning.” She flashed him a shy grin and lifted her skirts enough to show off her bare feet. “Said I wouldn’t wear’em.” He laughed and he thought that surprised her. “Suppose I will have to carry you should the path become unpleasant.” Ezekiel was happy to see a slight fire burn behind her eyes accompanying her furious blush. “I don’t need ya t’ carry me no where, Zeke.” “I would be honored if you would walk with me then.” He offered her his arm and a smile. “Are you ready to meet with her Majesty?” Whatever Isabella had been planning to say died on her tongue and she resumed looking nervous. She hesitated, her skin still that lovely shade of rosy pink, and slid her arm into his. She nodded, her curls bouncing at the nape of her neck. “Don’t worry, turtledove, she’ll adore you. I certainly do,” he said and kissed her hand again. .Wolfie. They walked along the palace grounds, close to the wall and keeping their eyes peeled for anything else suspicious. If what Izzy said was true, and there was no reason to think otherwise when it came to this sort of thing, than the dead woman had likely been the catalyst that allowed something to get past the palace protections. The question then was what else had managed to get through, and of course, who was the mastermind behind it. Brandon had a tendency to compartmentalize these things and try to draw connections later. Of course he also had a tendency to hit first and ask questions later, but since there was nothing in close proximity to hit, he was going to have to settle for investigating the biggest of these two questions first. “I been thinkin’ we should talk ta the guards,” Conner said. Brandon’s gaze roamed the gardens as they walked but he didn’t notice anything else out of the ordinary. Aside from the dead woman lying in a gazebo behind them, but it didn’t seem like there was much more to be gotten out of that scene. He wondered who she was. Maybe she’d known the man who’d killed her, but it was hard to find out much now. Couldn’t exactly have asked her anyway. “See who were on duty, iffin they saw anything.” “Ah reckon we should,” the American said, his voice a low drawl. “Can’t imagine they’ll be very useful,” Brandon grumbled. His brother snorted but didn’t argue with him and they headed in that direction despite the words. He didn’t have a lot of respect for the usual sort of enforcement, because despite their general distaste for the Mech’s, he would like to see them deal with dead people and monsters on a regular basis. They were gathered by the door in a small cluster, faces pale and postures tense, likely from the night’s events. Brandon thought they were doing a poor job in general if there was one death they’d been completely unaware of and an attack they’d been only slightly better than helpless to stop, but he kept these particular thoughts to himself for the moment. It was entirely possible that it hadn’t been their ineptitude that had left such glaring holes in security, but rather a traitor on the inside that had encouraged and invited the fay to make their attempt on the Queen, (because it was of course the fay, who else would it be?) He didn’t waste time with introductions because Brandon wasn’t a fan of stalling or beating around the bush. He paused in front of them, arms crossed in front of his chest and that helped him stay aware of where they were in relation to himself. It was frustrating, not entirely being able to feel his own skin, though technically it wasn’t his own skin anymore, just a synthetic excuse for it that had very little purpose except for cosmetic reasons and he ignored the familiar jealousy he felt because he would have preferred a massive gun. It would be very handy in sticky situations and he found himself in those quite frequently. Granted, he wasn’t sure if Beth would have appreciated the change, but he couldn’t tell at the moment if she appreciated him at all and he shoved away those thoughts. “Which one of you was on guard in the gardens when the attack came?” he demanded without preamble. The guard he assumed was in charge glanced up and for a moment his lip curled in a sign of disgust that wasn’t an unfamiliar sight to him. His gaze flicked by him to study the others there, taking in the gun on Jonny’s arm, the goggles on Conner’s face, and the posture and dress of Abraham that likely gave him away as an American. They were a motley crew at best, and he could see the disdain and distaste written on his face. The Queen’s Mechs weren’t exactly regarded as the most respectable sort to begin with. The man straightened and puffed his chest out before gesturing his head behind him. There were two men already speaking down the hallway and Brandon amended his initial impression because the man in the bigger hat was clearly the one in charge. “That would be Mr. Caraway,” he said. “He’s the one you’ll be wantin’ to talk to.” Abraham nodded and gave the man a one handed salute that Brandon thought was somewhat mocking. “Thankya suh,” he said. Brandon snorted and pushed by him towards the man he’d gestured towards. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Jonny was being somewhat quite but he was probably just missing the company of his other half. He wondered if Zeke and Izzy were enjoying their little detour meeting with the Queen and he couldn’t stop the annoyance he felt at that because they had more important things to do than prance around, though he should hardly be surprised. Zeke spent most of his time prancing and trying to draw Izzy into it. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Caraway?” Conner asked, and Brandon glanced at his brother as he sidled up next to him. The men stopped their conversation immediately, suspicious glances moving towards the Mechs and Brandon felt a fresh wave of annoyance at the looks they were getting, not that he ever really stopped being annoyed. There was a lull in the conversation and a low growl left his lips. “It’s a simple yes or no,” he snapped, and the man’s gaze shifted to him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his stance at the words and holding himself straighter than he had been a moment ago. The man in the large hat he was speaking to looked annoyed and he spluttered something rude that Brandon didn’t catch. If he had he probably would have done something stupid like start a scrap in the middle of the hallway and he wondered how that would look on a report. He wondered what the Shadow man would think of that. “That’s me,” Caraway said. “Who wants to know?” “Queen’s Mechs,” Brandon tells him shortly, and even though he’s probably already figured out that much he doesn’t feel the need to give the man his name. “Can we talk to you a minute in private?” Caraway glanced at the man he was speaking to and Big Hat shifted in front of him like his own personal shield. He had flaming red hair and a closely cut beard the same shade. It didn’t leave much doubt to his ancestry. “He’s being debriefed at the moment, laddies,” he said, his voice a rough brogue. “Ye can go wait your turn in the gardens?” “It’ll just take a minute,” Conner said, his voice low and soothing. Didn’t look like it made much of a difference. “Then ye won’t mind waiting, will ye?” the man snapped. CeruleanSon "As a matter of fact, suh," Abraham said, stepping in front of Brandon, who looked as if he might just make his own objections known in a more physical fashion, "we do mind waiting. The threat to Her Majesty is real and every second's delay puts the enemy farther ahead of us. Ya'll are from Scotland Yard, I reckon; you know how important it is to gather information quickly after a crime has been committed." Shaw paused for the barest second, but continued before the Scotsman could do more than inhale. "I have nothin' but respect for y'all and yer fine constabulary, suh, but the fact remains that this here incident falls into the category of paranormal activity, and everybody standin' here knows that the Queen's Mechs are far better equipped t' handle such things than is Scotland Yard."Shaw's gaze drilled into the Scotman's, and the latter's bloodshot blue eyes blinked several times as they flicked back and forth between Shaw's and Lady Artemis, who occupied her usual perch upon his right shoulder. His jaw worked for a moment, and then, to Shaw's surprise, the man seemed to muster his courage. "I am Inspector Eoin MacTeague, Mister Queen's Flamin' Mechs,” the red-haired man said, shifting his large hat down onto his brow in an aggressive manner, “and I am indeed from Scotland Yard. I have been servin' the Crown since you were a wee bairn, and I willna be intimidated by you or yer bloody tick-tock mates. If you think ye can–" As MacTeague blustered, Shaw felt Brandon move to step past him, and shifted slightly to forestall him. The movement seemed to jar Caraway out of the torpor into which he had momentarily fallen. The man’s eyes grew wide as he looked at first at Connor, then at Shaw, and finally at Brandon’s livid, angry face. "Inspector, please," Caraway hastily interrupted, "let's not make a scene, shall we? Why don't we all go for a stroll in the garden and I'll give you both the entire sordid tale at the same time, hm? Then, you may all question me to your heart's content, and I shall do my best to answer you. That way, everyone gets everything all at once, and no one is left uninformed. Then, perhaps I can get back to my own duties, which like yours, involve protecting Her Majesty from harm." Grudgingly, MacTeague nodded. "Aye, Mr. Caraway. I suppose that'll have t' do." He turned and started toward the garden, apparently determined to take some kind of lead. Caraway followed, with a nervous glance over his shoulder at Shaw and Brandon. Connor stepped past Shaw, nodding appreciatively. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, "Nice work, Abraham." He stepped lively to catch up with Caraway, as the man began to recount the details of the previous few hours. Shaw followed, and Brandon grunted as he kept pace. "Yer should've let me get 'old of 'im, Shaw. I'd've shook 'im up summat. Maybe got sumpin out o' 'im. Y'know, the bloody fay're runnin' Scotland Yard these days. Bloody constables're so befuddled they cawn't find their own arses with both 'ands and a bloody treasure map." "No doubt you would have at that, Mistuh James," Shaw replied, "but ah'm thinkin' we need t' play this a little closer to the vest. Ah'm gettin' a right queer feelin' about these two gents, like there's more to 'em than meets the casual eye." "Wuzzat? Ye seein' ghosties 'round 'em, then?" "No suh, no ghosties," said Shaw, as they emerged from the corridor and descended the steps onto the landscaped garden path, two steps behind Connor and the gentlemen in question, "but one of 'em - ah can't rightly say which one, yet - stinks of aether." "I knew it!" Brandon smacked one fist into the other palm, with a sound like a sledgehammer striking a railway spike. All three of the men preceding them halted their conversation and glanced back, Caraway curious and MacTeague annoyed, while Connor's metal face showed nothing. When they looked forward again, Brandon muttered, "Bloody fay." Quaddy Victoria, Queen By the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and newly named Empress of India, was tiny. She looked almost fay sitting there on her throne, her skirts so wide they almost dwarfed her. Despite all of her efforts to act like a proper lady, the tiniest of giggles escaped Izzy’s throat. Unfortunately, in the silence of the throne room, the sound carried and bounced, and everyone stopped to face the shoeless girl and her handler. “Shh, Izzy. What?”“Brandon,” Izzy whispered, pitching her voice low enough that it wouldn’t bounce. “’e’d be complainin’ that our Queen is one o’ them ‘bleedin’ fay’ o’ his and then run ‘round convinced she’s the bloody problem.” Ezekiel laughed, his voice rich. “Well, she’s no fay. Pure flesh and blood, our mighty Empress is. Plus, if she were fay, she wouldn’t have gotten nearly as rotund as she had gotten lately,” he whispered back, patting Izzy’s hand. “Don’t worry, beautiful, you’ll be just fine. Do walk a little slower, though. Everyone can see you’re not wearing shoes.” As they approached the throne, Izzy tried to curtsy. She really did. But years of wearing pants and pretending to be a man had not helped with her niceties, and only Zeke’s discreet tug at the back of her skirts saved Izzy from falling onto her face. Worse, she had to perform the damn thing twice more before the Empress even deigned to recognize them. “We are not pleased, Agent Monroe. An attack on our person is an attack on the Empire, and our investigators of Scotland Yard appear unable to ascertain anything.” Victoria stood and came down from the dais, black silk and lace swaying over layers of petticoats that probably weighed something like a metric ton. “Who is this…intriguing young lady?” “Your Majesty, this is Isabella Barker. She is an Archivist with our organization and, given what we have found and what this young lady knows, we believe that this was a coordinated attack by a group of various supernatural factions.” Zeke turned to Izzy and smiled. “Iz, please explain to her Majesty what it was that you saw.” Izzy looked over at the Queen, who managed to stay far enough away that Izzy’s inordinate height made next to no difference. She dipped in as much of a curtsy as she could and spoke slowly so as not to offend the Royal ears with her accent. “Your Majesty, I came across a fay enchantment worked on a ‘uman woman. By a ‘uman, not a fay, because the enchantment…it ‘ad iron ‘as part o’ the workin’. It was meant, yer Majesty, tah bring down the defenses ‘round the palace.” “What Miss Barker is saying, Your Majesty, is that this was an attack directly against your person and your family. And it’s bigger than the usual attacks. It appears that the various supernatural groups—ghosts, fey, undead beasts, and their human allies—have bound themselves together against Your Majesty.” Victoria was a formidable woman, strong of mind and of will, but even she seemed frightened at the prospect of an allied supernatural set. “We have ensured that the protections are strong. We developed them ourselves. And yet, they came crumbling down today and we were attacked. Only the personal protections we wear kept us safe.” She stormed back and forth, a tiny maelstrom of energy and purpose. Suddenly, she stopped. “We are giving your Bureau control over this investigation. You have come with a whole team, Agent Monroe?” “Yes, your majesty. The others are downstairs questioning your Scotland Yard investigators and searching the grounds themselves.” Victoria nodded. “Good. We are pleased. If this is a concentrated attack, we must know what it is these supernatural creatures are after. And we must understand if they mean to undermine our efforts to return our husband to us. Whatever it is they want, we must know. We are removing Scotland Yard from the investigation; there are too many we suspect of pro-Supernatural sentiment amongst their number. You are the Queen’s Mechs, if we are to understand the colloquial name for your organization.” “Indeed, Your Majesty. We serve you completely and wholly,” Izzy replied. “If you want us tah find out who tried to kill you, we will do everythin’ we can tah find out ‘oo it was and take ‘em down!” Queen Victoria frowned. “You are a most unfeminine young lady, Agent Barker. Perhaps it was a mistake for us to allow women into the Bureau…” “With all due respect, Your Majesty, Agent Barker is an absolute asset to this team and has improved by leaps and bounds from the streets the agency found her on. If anything, I would recommend we bring more women like her off of the streets and train them in your service, or risk losing them to the supernatural set.” Zeke looked down at Izzy and patted her hand. The Queen thought for a minute and then nodded. “Very well, Agent Monroe. We will continue to allow Agent Barker to act as part of your squadron. Find out who is attacking us and bring them to justice.” Turning, she hurried back to the throne and sat. “Good day to you two.” Again, Izzy was forced to curtsey, this time with the unfortunate addition of having to walk backward. Zeke kept her steady as they backed away and then exited out of the palace entirely. “You did well, beautiful. Very well.” “Thank ye, Zeke. Now, can I get back intah my own clothing now?” ***** Jonny clanked behind the others, watching everything, wondering what Zeke and Izzy were doing with the Queen. Ahead, Brandon seethed, convinced as ever that anything bad that happened was the work of the fay, and Abraham marched, Lady Artemis tossed over one shoulder as always. Connor did most of the talking, gathering whatever information was to be had from the Scotland Yard boys, but even behind them all, Jonny’s ears picked up on what was being said. “They entered at five points along the gate. One point burned, another was covered in water, another…” “Let me guess, one was covered in earth and the other with spirit stuff,” Connor finished for Caraway, who, like many members of the conventional police force, did not seem to grasp the fact that everything in the Supernatural world dealt with easily recognizable patterns. The Mechs understood. “Yes,” Caraway replied, clearly annoyed. “In between each gate was a body, bound by a different substance. Each body…well, they melted when our men tried to unbind them for autopsy. I’m sure you and your Mechs know the substances already, too?” At Connor’s nod, the man continued. “There was a fifth body, too, Inspector,” Connor revealed. “Bound with all four. The body had a spirit possessing it, as well, though we were able to neutralize it relatively quickly. It, too, melted when we attempted to touch it. Are there any leads? Was there anything left behind?” “Aye, we mighta found sumfin, but not for the likes of ye,” MacTeague interjected. “You agreed to share what you had, suh,” Abraham replied, putting his hand to Lady Artemis in the slightest of intimidations. “Might I remind you that the Queen was attacked and, by rights, the supernatural set is the jurisdiction of the Mechs?” Caraway stepped forward and came between the two men. “Quite right, sir. MacTeague, remove yourself to the palace. You will make yourself useful in some capacity there.” Grumbling and cursing, the Scotsman stalked off toward the palace, leaving the others waiting with Caraway. “Wha’ did ye find?” Jonny asked, bringing everyone back to the investigation. Sometimes he felt like no one remembered that he was even there. Without Izzy there, he melted into the background. It was odd, really, that someone so large and loud could be so systematically ignored. Even amongst Mechs, cyborgs weren’t trusted. “It’s not much, but we found a piece of brick that we think belongs to a building in Cheapside…” “Cheapside?” Jonny asked. “Tha’s where Iz and I were dis mornin’. B’fore th’ Shadow Man called us t’ come in. In fact, I tink Iz took a sample from that very buildin’. We were wondrin’ what a buncha ghosts would be doin’ in Cheapside. Looks like the two are connected.” He looked over at Brandon, remembering the argument between the two of them earlier that day. “Per’aps we should get back to Cheapside and investigate that buildin’.” “Sounds like we should,” Abraham replied before Brandon could catch the full drift of Jonny’s comments. “When we are done here, we will head over there and investigate. Is there anything else, Mr. Caraway?” The man shook his head. “No. We, rather admittedly, do not possess the technologies necessary for investigating a supernatural crime.” His lips twisted just slightly. “But an attack on Her Majesty is not something we can just ignore.” “Of course not,” another voice rang out. Everyone turned to look and saw Zeke and Izzy heading toward them. Jonny raised an eyebrow at Izzy’s confection of a dress. The girl stumbled down the path, liberally using Zeke to maintain her balance. She looked like a girl, which was something that Jonny had never thought to see, and she would have looked beautiful if not for the peevish look that crossed her face. “Say nuffin, Jonny Foster,” she snapped. “Zeke tol’ me they burned my clothes. All I could get wuz my boots back. But, in good news, the Queen says we ‘ave control ovah the investigation, so we get tah be in charge!” Mynt He was having those thoughts again. The ones that sparked when he watched the way Abraham handle Lady Artemis and forced his mind to wonder how those strong and careful hands would handle him. And those always lead down a path where those calloused fingers smoothed over his pampered skin. Perhaps he was becoming sick. A visit to a doctor or a priest might help him rid his head of these things. But he was rather fond of those thoughts so he never bothered to get an examination. His job was an important part of his life seeing as it gave it some kind of purpose and meaning but all the actual dealing with the dissipating dead bodies and blood things wasn’t exactly part of his work. Acting as a delegate or interacting with people in ways the others couldn’t was more his expertise. He examined his fingernails. The others didn’t really expect his help and didn’t appreciate his presence, he knew. So this was one of the times he’d let them forget he was there. It was a skill. He could be as memorable or forgettable as he wanted to be. At the moment he was content to fall into the background and amuse himself with thoughts of sinful desires. And inevitably the man would speak and give Ezekiel pleasant images about his lips. Abraham’s American drawl drew his gaze upward, peering through a fan of dark lashes to catch the American mid-word. He thought they would be pliable and rough, maybe a little chapped. And his scruff would tingle and scratch at Ezekiel’s skin. On the other hand, Isabella’s mouth would be a soft and receptive thing, her skin easily gentle on his own. But Abraham’s would be consuming and hard, driven with purpose and passion. He went back to his fingernails. There was Brandon who by all rights didn’t look bad but his temper detracted a lot. A kiss from him would probably be clumsy and sloppy. He could only imagine what it must be like for Brandon’s lady friend while he groped under her skirts with arms he couldn’t feel. Poor woman had no doubt suffered a lot. And what if he was cold to the touch? It would be nearly impossible to love something that didn’t feel alive. He supposed Brandon still had it better than dear Jonny. At least Brandon appeared human but he couldn’t hold a candle to Abraham. The American was intelligent and strong. He exuded that essence of masculinity. His looks and accent didn’t hurt neither. Ezekiel was drawn to him. If another living person could hear the thoughts swimming in his mind they would accuse him of drowning in sin. Maybe he was. He didn’t spend much time in confessional or repenting for his unclean thoughts. It wouldn’t bring him peace. So, he was happy to stew in his sin. Ezekiel never put much stock in God and all the hype of the Catholics and Protestants. Maybe because he thought God would better prepare his sheep for the denizens of the supernatural. If there were a God then he should be more concerned with the ghouls and fae that killed his followers rather than what a person did in their bedroom. God hadn’t saved his mother. His father had told the world that she had died in her sleep. Poor thing, her heart was always weak and she was never long for this world. But Ezekiel knew better because he had stayed awake listening to her scream. It was different than the usual screams that always filled the corridors, a lunatic they’d said, possessed by the moon, these screams were filled with terror and desperation. By morning they didn’t have enough left to put in a coffin. They had never learned what happened in that room and Ezekiel had tried. “Are we boring ya?” Ezekiel lifted his head to find Brandon staring at him, which was quite a surprise because he wasn’t someone he would picture noticing him or even caring if he did. Although he was a temperamental creature and maybe Ezekiel’s inattentiveness just gave Brandon an excuse to be grumpy. “Immensely.” He straightened up. “Listen, I’m going to go change.” Brandon snorted. He didn’t wait for anyone else to speak up or give him permission or a task. He knew what he was planning to do and he figured he could work much better without the constant distraction of imagining his teammates wearing little more than lamplight. .Wolfie. “Bloody fop,” Brandon grumbled. He watched Zeke’s retreating back, the man still examining his fingernails like they were the most interesting thing on the planet. Maybe to him they were. Brandon didn’t know, and he found it irritating, like he found most things, because there were bodies and the bloody fay to be concerned about. He didn’t see where a man’s grooming habits came into play when there were corpses and conspiracies about. “More in’erested in playin’ dress up than doin’ ‘is job.”He heard Connor snort, but he didn’t turn around. He stood next to Abraham, between the two of them getting all the information out of Caraway. However, Izzy’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “’E is doin’ ‘is job Brandon James,” she said, stomping her foot a little at the words. “”E’s the one that got us in charge of this ‘ole investuhgation so I don’t want tah ‘ear you say nuffin’ bad about ‘im.” Brandon’s nose wrinkled and he finally looked away from Zeke as he headed past the guards and focused on the woman in front of him. It was disconcerting to see her in a dress because he didn’t think of her as a woman at all, just another Mech. Her gender had never bothered him because quite frankly, it had never occurred to him. She wore pants and acted like a man and to him that meant she was the same as the rest of them. Beth was a woman, because she wore dresses and acted like a woman, granted a fickle one, but he assumed all women were that way. After all, who said ‘maybe’ to a marriage proposal? He snorted and gestured at her, Jonny shifting slightly at her side in a silent show of support. “Is that so? That why you’re prancin’ around in a bloody dress?” She scoffed at him and there was a faint tinge of red in her cheeks that was the only indication that maybe she was as uncomfortable in it as he found it unnerving to see her in. Then it was gone, a scoff leaving her lips and her hands settling on her hips as she glared at him. “Oh I’m sorry. Guess I shoulda met tah Queen in my skivvies then?” Jonny coughed and choked on it a little bit and to his left Brandon could see Connor covering his eyes. Mr. Caraway gave her a sharply appalled look and it was Abraham that cleared his throat, trying to draw them back to the matter at hand. “If ya’ll are quite finished,” he drawled. “Right, we’re done,” Brandon grumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest, annoyance making him grind his teeth together, though he couldn’t have said precisely why he was annoyed. Bloody women and their bloody indecision. Bloody fops and their inability to do any kind of hard work in their lives. “Bloody women,” Brandon grumbled. Connor ran a hand over his face and then gave the guard a smile. “That’ll be all Mr. Caraway,” he said. The man nodded and looked anxious to get away from them. “Iffin’ you recall anyfing else, please contact us right away.” “Of course.” Mr. Caraway nodded his head. Brandon doubted he would. He’d probably run right back to Scotland Yard or just plain keep it to himself rather than deal with Mech’s. It was an attitude he was used to, but one he still found irritating. Because they were associated with ghosties and spooks, half the normal guards considered them just as bad as it. Then he frowned and thought about what Abraham had said, and maybe the man was just uncomfortable because he was in league with the bloody fay, because of course they were behind this. It never occurred to him that it would be anything else. The workings involved fay magic, after all, even if they couldn’t do it all by themselves. “Hold a moment,” Connor said. He turned on his heel, something occurring to him. Brandon watched his brother, what was left of his eyes hidden behind the goggles. It didn’t escape his notice that Caraway couldn’t maintain eye contact with him and it fueled his already rotten temper because he didn’t like it when people treated his brother like an outcast or a freak. He wasn’t either of those things. He was just a victim of the bloody fay. “Did you see the bodies before they melted?” Caraway hesitated before nodding his head. “I did,” he admitted. “Unpleasant stuff.” “Right,” Connor agreed, and Brandon just snorted because if he wanted to see unpleasant stuff he should try losing his eyes altogether to the nasty little buggers. Then his brother moved his attention to the others, running a hand over his mouth in thought. “Someone ought tah with tah constable, see iffin’ anyone’s reported any family missin.’” Abraham nodded his head. “See where the victims came from.” Caraway cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly at the words. “All respect sir, doubt anyone has.” Brandon frowned and looked over at him, fingers drumming against his arms. He could barely feel the sensation. “The victims, ye know, they weren’t ah… weren’t exactly nice lookin’ folks. One of ‘em the boys recognized as well, ye know.” Caraway laughed nervously but the silence stretched on and he finally leaned forward, lowering his voice a little bit like he was embarrassed to being saying it at all. “A toffer.” “Whore,” Brandon supplied. The man just nodded, the embarrassment still on his face. Brandon frowned because he would’ve thought that having dead bodies strewn about the grounds was more embarrassing and concerning than the fact that one of them was a whore, but apparently he was a poor judge of their priorities. Connor nodded his head. “Well that settles it. Guess we’re movin’ the investigation to Cheapside.” “Knew there was sumfin’ off about that place,” Jonny muttered, shaking his head. Izzy smiled, looping her arm in one of his as they started heading towards the gates. She patted him comfortingly on the arm, even if he thought she was half hanging on because her skirts kept getting tangled around her legs. “S’alright Jonny. Ye couldn’t ‘ave known just ‘ow connected it was.” The man nodded his head but didn’t look like the words made him feel much better. He fell into step beside Izzy as they headed towards the gateway, hissing and lumbering behind the rest of them. Brandon felt the familiar tinge of jealousy at the gun on his arm and the constant frown on his face darkened, because it really would have been a useful addition instead of an arm he couldn’t really feel. It was useful, but he thought a gun would have been more useful, especially the make Jonny had. Brandon ran a hand over his mouth, glancing back at the lawn behind him and the anxious guards that still milled about. They weren’t prepared for a supernatural attack of any kind, and it was a wonder the whole bloody thing hadn’t succeeded already. He snorted and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest because with only vague sensations running underneath his skin it was better if he kept them out of the way. His gaze wandered over Izzy in that stupid fluffy dress and he frowned because it was weird being reminded that she was in fact a girl, something his brother had already pointed out. “So uh, Izzy,” he started. “Yer a woman.” She snorted and made a very unladylike face that almost had him taking the words back. “Took ye this long tah notice?” He frowned and almost dropped it, turning his back on her again. He chewed on his lip and then let out a sigh of annoyance, glancing back at her again. “So let me ask… what does a woman mean when she says ‘maybe’?” Ahead of him he heard his brother start laughing. CeruleanSon Night was falling, and many of the vendors of the Cheapside marketplace were packing up their wares. The bells of St. Paul's were tolling the seventh hour past noon as Abraham Shaw walked eastward with the James brothers, Isabella Barker and Jonathan Foster, heading for the site of the latter two's discovery of aetheric residue. Ezekiel Monroe had gone off on his own, and truth be told, Abraham was glad of it. The way the man looked at him was right peculiar, and it made him uncomfortable. He had enough on his mind without having to deal with the advances of the foppish Brit.Lady Artemis was perched comfortably upon his right shoulder, but his index finger twitched as it rode the trigger guard. Something was bothering him, and it was more than just his suspicions about MacTeague and Caraway. Those two were in cahoots, though; he was certain of it. He didn't know what they were cooking up between them, but it had the stink of aether around it. Even after MacTeague had gone off back to Scotland Yard, steaming about the loss of precedence over the investigation that the Queen had conferred upon the Mechs, the smell had lessened, but it had not entirely gone away. Caraway was dealing with Faerie-folk, too, and a little too closely to be trustworthy, to Abraham's way of thinking. The way he got all prudish when he had to refer to the harlot who had been murdered as a part of the attack on the Palace rang false. Abraham's preoccupation nearly got him killed. He had just stepped out to cross Bread Street, with Brandon and Connor to his left and right, and Isabella and Jonny following, when all hell broke loose. From down Bread Street, to their right, came the shrill scream of terrified horses, and a two-horse hansom cab team suddenly reared and charged directly at them. The animals were wild with fear, for, on the driver's bench stood a wild-eyed, translucent figure in a high-collared, navy blue military coat festooned with brass buttons, braids and medals, wielding the driver's whip mercilessly over the poor animals' rumps. The spirit's receding hair, mutton-chop sideburns and mustache might have been neatly trimmed in life, but now they all stood out from his head and face and writhed as if composed of serpents, rather than hairs. The effect combined with his maniacal laughter to give the spirit the aspect of one totally deranged. "Look out!" The shout came from Connor James, whose prosthetic eyes could see the spirit as well as Abraham could. He and his brother dove forward, but Abraham kept his feet, running and and the same time brought Lady Artemis to bear upon the ghostie. But before he could line up his shot, a fusillade of bullets ripped through the horses, and they both took a nose-dive into the cobbles. With a final screech of laughter, the insane spirit vanished, as the hansom cab's impetus sent it pivoting up and over the fallen horses, to crash into the street, smashing into splinters where Abraham and his colleagues had stood only a moment before. On the corner beyond the horrific mess, Jonny Foster stood with Isabella behind him, smoke curling from the barrel of his arm-cannon. Abraham ran into the street to check the cab for any passengers, but the vehicle was empty. Of the spirit who had instigated the disaster, there was no sign. Connor James came up beside him. "Was that," he murmured, too low for the crowd of gathering spectators to hear, "who I thought it was?" "I believe," Abraham replied, in a tone just as circumspect, "that we have just been graced with the presence of Francis Albert Augustus Charles Emmanuel, the Royal Consort himself." "Bloody hell," said Brandon, coming up on Abraham's other side, "that ent gonna sit well wif 'er Majesty, now is it?" © Copyright 2009 Quaddy, Matt - Nomad, Mynt, .Wolfie., Wenston, CeruleanSon, (known as GROUP). All rights reserved. GROUP has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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