[PM to Join] Artful and Egg.

[Tobias Murdock]

2nd Roalis 2720

Stu had burst into laughter the moment he’d stepped into the book and bell. Ginny was going to skin him alive, he’d warned. He hadn’t been far off the mark, the young barmaid rubbed his face down with a towel like she was trying to sand down a bit of chipped wood.

“Honestly Egg, I told you to wear something warm today.”

“It wasn’t raining when I left,” he tried with a faint smile. She wasn’t having any of it. He’d stepped into the warm embrace of the inn looking like a drowned cat and couldn’t have been stealthy about it if he’d wanted to. The wet, sucking sound his boots made on the dusted floor and the wet trail he had left behind him all but gave him away.

“You’re going to catch a cold.” She threw the towel at him and marched off into the kitchen behind the bar where she’d been doing the dishes. “Well don’t just stand around, lend a hand, will you?”

After he’d matted down his rain-soaked hair Tobias fished a tea towel off a hook on the wall and joined Ginny at her side. To his dismay the pile of dirty dishes was rather large and judging by the violent way Ginny was scrubbing them clean, she wasn’t quite done scolding him yet. On the upside she could hardly complain about him reeking from work, the hailing downpour had taken care of that.

“Busy day huh?” he said, hoping to steer the conversation away from himself. She must’ve picked up on the poorly veiled diversion judging by the glare she gave him but didn’t bother to call him out on it.

“Aye. It was quiet in the morning, but when it starts to rain like that people come flocking. I’ve done nothing but pour drinks all evening. You?”

He shrugged. “Same old same old. Overlooker’s watching me like a hawk though, thinks I’m stealing things.”

She handed him a steaming plate with a pointed look. “And?”

“What am I supposed to do with steel shanks? It ain’t me. I told him so but he doesn’t believe me.”

“Because you’re stealing the glue.”

“That’s different.”

She shook her head in that disapproving-but-approving way of hers and splashed a little foam his way. “You want to be careful Egg, I hear nothing but bad stories about how they treat people in factories.”

A rare understatement coming from Ginny, but he was smart enough not to correct her. She’d just fret over him more. “He’s alright, he just likes to dip some of us in the cistern every so often and pretend he’s boss but he doesn’t hit people.” A half-truth, but Ginny didn’t need to know that.

For a while they worked in silence until Stu’s head appeared in the doorframe. “Ginny, sweetie, do we have any chicken left?”

“Who for?”

“Artful. He’s broodin’ in the corner.”

‘Maybe he can brood a chicken and cook it himself,” Ginny sniped back. Tobias could tell she was tired and none too keen to prepare another meal right after closing time.

“Please?” Stu pleaded with a broad smile. “It’s Artful after all.”

“Hang on, you mean the Artful?” Tobias piped up, he wasn’t quite feeling so drowsy any more all of a sudden.

“The very same,” Stu answered. “You should join him, dry up near the fire.”

Tobias’s eyes had grown to the size of disks. He’d hoped he might be allowed to stay for a bit in the inn, but he’d never imagined he’d be sitting next to the one and only Artful who had managed to free someone from golly prison and lived to tell the tale.

“I’ll take care of these dishes,” Stu offered. “You go sit. Ginny, put some chicken aside for Egg too please.” he added with a chuckle, quite amused with his own little joke.

Relieved, Tobias sauntered his way out of the kitchen and into the main room. A merry fire was crackling in the corner and casted tall shadows on the wall. Aside from a lone figure sitting at a table near the hearth, the room was devoid of life.

“Excuse me,” Tobias said as he shuffled closer to the table. “Are you Artful? I mean, the Artful?” Though he was soft-spoken it was hard to miss the barely contained admiration in his voice.

[Gale]

Book and Bell | Evening

02 ROALIS 2720

Brooding was one way of describing Gale’s mood. They may have gotten one of the better seats in the Book and Bell, a cosy spot by the fire while the elements howled outside, but they were still somewhat soaked themselves. A strange layer of cold and warm damp hugged their clothing, mingled in with steel and coal dust from the forge. The usual blond hair was lost behind a layer of soot, and their fingers picked at the dirt that accumulated beneath their nails – an idle fiddling of hands to help the mind sharp.

Stu had said something about food; Gale did not complain, their mind was too caught up in mechanics and forging to really consider actually eating. The Steel Horse was being a difficult machine to build, far more polished than the broken remains of its predecessor.

There was a brief purse of lips. Gale hungered for another cigarette, but they had already managed to work their way through a dozen over the day. The taste of stale tobacco clung to their teeth. They needed to curb their urge for a little while. Instead, they were nursing whatever strong drink had been poured for them; it left them comfortably numb and lubricated the thought process just enough to make socialisation bearable.

It was just as well really because when the boy approached Gale did not move to immediately glower at him. Instead, they swirled their drink around and leaned back in their chair. They blinked, frowned and looked the boy up and down-

Young. Teen perhaps? Dirt beneath nails. Work shoes. Shirt fraying at edges, small tear beneath cuff. Freckles or grim-

-and took a long sip of their drink. Their focus inevitably settled around his navel, their brow creasing together as they considered his question.

Artful? The Artful? Oh. Right.

The Smith looked away from him, checking the room over – there was no one else, just the boy. Clearing their throat, Gale spoke.

“Who’s askin’? You?” The drink was put down. The internal gears shifted in their head, dragging forth the attitudes and personality they kept to one side as Artful. As Gale was mentally shoved down, Artful arose – the back straightened, the fingers slowed in their fiddling to slip beneath the table.

They did not think it was some form of trap, but if it was they would at least be able to flip the table over for some kind of cover. How many way outs were there out again? Two doors, three windows with a squeeze – there did not appear to be anyone behind them. It was probably safe.

“Oes, that’s me.” Artful addressed the boy. “Now who’d be you? Did ye want somethin’ of me?”

Their head nodded to one of the nearby chairs.

“Dunnae need to stand like an Uncle now. Take a pew, lad.”

[Tobias Murdock]

2nd Roalis 2720

“Who else?” he answered, bobbing his shoulders and sounding none too fazed. Tobias could smell the stiff, suffocating smoke on the man’s breath, could hear it laced through his thick, accent-laden voice. And yet, there was something about the man’s loose-fitting clothes that made him look more like a scarecrow than Tobias had imagined Artful to be. The stories he’d heard had mentioned a brave man with impeccable aim. Perhaps he had expected something slightly more noble than a man wrapped in rough leathers smelling of cheap cigarettes with flecks of soot in his hair.

“I’m Egg,” Tobias answered as he sat down opposite the man. A slight grimace flashed across his face, he still hadn’t quite embraced the codename he’d been given, least of all since it required some explaining. On the upside, he’d gotten quite good at telling the story in as few words as possible. “I smashed an egg on a golly’s head and got away with it,” he summarized with the barest hint of a grin. There was more to it of course, but he was more interested in Artful’s stories than his own.

When he’d made himself comfortable on his chair in a strange, almost cross-legged sort of pose, he flicked his gaze between Artful and the near-empty drink on the table like a silent accusation. He leaned forward, brown eyes swimming with curiosity and took a moment to find the right words before he spoke.

“They say you rescued Bull, with an aeroship, is that true?” He lowered his voice then and leaned in even closer, even though there was no one around who could be eavesdropping on them. “Did you really blow up the prison and rescue St- I mean, Bull? Did you meet Jon Serro? What was he like?”

Gale was spared a further barrage of questions when Ginny entered with two hot plates of reheated chicken breast and peas on the side. “I don’t want to hear either of you complain if it’s too hot or too cold or too tough, because this is all you’re gettin’” She addressed them both, but Gale would understand that the directions were mostly aimed at his admirer.

“Stu says you can sleep here too, don’t want you going outside at this hour by yourself.”

Tobias nodded, muttered a thanks and attacked his meal with the fervor of a starved cat. Food, warmth, and a good story. For just a moment, things were right in the world.

[Gale]

Book and Bell | Evening

02 ROALIS 2720

Artful snorted at his response and the quiet explanation of his name. As he spoke their eyes slipped down to look to focus upon the grain in the woodwork, the chipped varnished edges illuminated ochre in the fire light. It was easier to look at something inanimate than at Egg himself, it lacked the niggling whispers that came from behind the eyes and tried to seep through the holes of Artful’s personality.

“Daring of you.” They swirled their drink glass around, listening to the popping crack of wood on the fire mingling in with the pattering of hail outside. “How did you get away with it?” Artful leaned back in their chair, their hands resting across their stomach and their fingers interlacing together. Their nails scratched at the back of their knuckles. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Not that he seemed particularly interested in talking about himself. He may have been a child- no child was too belittling, but man suggested he was mature. Lad would have to be the satisfactory descriptor for now. This Lad was curious but seemed to understand some of the necessity of talking in hushed whispers.
When the meal was placed down Gale gave a small mumble of thanks to Ginny, a small half flick of fingers giving a wave.

“Mujo ma.”

The interruption gave Artful enough time to work through Egg’s questions, their fingers slipping over to the knife and fork. Unlike Egg who seemed to be ripping into their meal, Artful took a slower, more focused approach.

“Oes, I helped rescue him-”

They could smell the smoke again, that sulphuric scent of gunpowder that managed to work its way behind the steel mask. The rough wind bit at their ears, the tired expression and the rattling of the airship as they made a daring – and quite frankly stupid – rescue attempt.

Artful brushed the memory aside.

“My feet dunnae touch the ground mind. Some Gollie jent did the flying. I… nae, that was Ginger and the others.”

Blood on your hands. Coward- killed them all because they took your own- WEAK-

The scent of warmed through chicken replaced the scent of smoke briefly, a smell that was different to the raw hatred that came from warfare. Their stomach knotted for a moment, an uneasy lurching as they cut through the meat. It was edible and warm, which was about as much as Artful could mentally handle at that moment

“Just a hole in the wall. Made a lot of noise mind, flying out was interesting.”

Their eyes darted across the plate, the fork tines prodding at the peas.

Casings clattering across the floor. Reloading while the cold atmosphere stung at their cheeks.

The name gave Artful a moment of pause.

Ah. Jon.

The lad’s eyes were bright when it came to the questioning; was it admiration he felt? It should have been no surprise really, he was the real hero here.

“Serro is…” Artful paused, and then let a long low sigh escape.

They did not trust Serro; did not trust the charisma that flowed from his lips like sweet wine, did not trust how he lured the other cadets into drinking from his cups and danced to his merry tune. They did not trust that hard look he gave with his one eye, nor that he was somewhere still captured and at the mercy of the agents of the city.
Artful took the last of their drink and drained it; the tumbler was quickly turned upsidedown and placed upon the table. What could they say to the boy?

Never meet your heroes? He’s not as great as you think he is?

Artful cleared their throat.

“Serro is intense. And has his eye focused on the front and well... has a plan.”

At least, Artful hoped he had a plan. Whatever was going on in that mind of his was something they were not privy to; a fact that did little to quell the notion that the resistance members were nothing more than a little pawn in his game of war.

“What did you want to know about him?”

[Tobias Murdock]

2nd Roalis 2720

Tobias was too busy stuffing his mouth with food to answer immediately. The chicken was tender, juicy, almost fell off the bone, and was packed with flavor from spices that he was unable to name. He shrugged again, square-ish shoulders rising and falling with the ease of breathing. “I ran,” he answered simply, then tore into his chicken again and ignored the growling of his stomach.

“Some aunties and uncles were paradin’ around town. I was on a bridge, saw Hanz Morde’s ugly mug and there was a lady with a basket of eggs next to me. So I dropped it on his head and fled.” He smiled broadly, revealing big front teeth and growing canines. “He got really mad I think. Some people must’ve seen it was me, but no one peached. I kinda just… did it on impulse, you know?”

When it was Artful’s turn to tell a tale, Tobias listened with rapt attention, gobbling up every detail like they were little breadcrumbs tossed at his feet. His eyebrows shot up at several points during the story, but he let Artful finish before he said anything.

Despite the courtesy, the first words that came tumbling out of his mouth sounded like an accusation. “You let a stop-clocking golly fly the ship? Why?” His brows furrowed into a disdainful look as he searched the man’s features for an explanation. Maybe Artful had held the captain at gunpoint, how else could he have ensured the safety of the rescue operation?

Ginger had been there too? Tobias’s head shot toward the bar, then landed back on Artful. Ginny had never told him she’d been on aeroship, blowing up prison walls and freeing Stu. His frown deepened. He should’ve known. She and Stu were inseparable, of course she would’ve been involved. For a spell he wondered if she’d come rescue him too if he were to land in prison.

Tearing himself free from his thoughts, Tobias focused back on Artful who had talked about Serro like he was any other man instead of Jon clocking Serro. He wished he would’ve met the man once, just once, but now it was too late. Jon Serro was dead and would never come back and Tobias realized with a start that perhaps he’d dredged up a rather painful memory for Artful. The rescue ultimately had been for nothing after all and Artful talked like the man was still around.

“What was he like?” he settled on after some thought. “What was his plan? Was it war?” his eyes brightened for a moment, then he sighed. “Everyone seems to be content to be sittin’ around on their asses, even the Wisp…”

[Gale]

Book and Bell | Evening

02 ROALIS 2720

Artful chewed at their food for a moment; or more forced themselves to eat it. Their stomach still twisted up tightly and their throat was contracting; with it came an awareness of reluctance to eat and instead of a thirst for something strong and liquid. They pushed the thought aside the best they could, continued to gnaw of the chicken; they could barely taste it behind the cheap liquor and cigarettes. A small disappointment really, because judging by Egg's reaction it should have been the most delicious thing ever to exist.

"Oes, I know." Artful offered a half shrug to the lad. "Much more adventurous than me getting mine. Just have fingers good for making." They wiggled their digits. "Surprised you did not take up Smasher as a name. Though, that would probably involve more breaking."

Artful patted their waistcoat pocket, their thumb feeling the edge of their cigarette case. They pulled out the tiny battered tin, opened it and took out a single hand-rolled cigarette. They fiddled with it, and then placed it on the table standing upright.

After eating, Artful promised - if they could convince themselves to finish. An increasingly unlikely prospect.

"Impulse is a funny thing. I understand it. Makes you do things before you realise what is going on." Artful cleared their throat. "Keeps you alive that. Sometimes though, need to be able to sit back and think. Stuff can look temptin', but by not lunging at it you end up seeing the trap set up around it."

They chewed their way through a few more mouthfuls, their stomach rebelling against it before finally stopping. Eating clearly was not working and so leaning back in their chair they nudged their plate over to Egg.

"Eat the rest. Get somethin' on those bones."

Artful picked up their cigarette and rested it between their lips. Their chair creaked as they rocked on its rear legs, the hands patting down for their matches. Finding them the end was struck and the tired features of their face were illuminated. The end lit, they flicked the burning splint into the fire - it was quickly engulfed.

Ah. Yes. The Galdor pilot. Red, wasn’t it?

Artful puckered at the cigarette; the slightly bitter taste of tobacco mixed in with something spicy. Cloves and a hint of cinnamon, according to the tobacconist. The taste of nicotine came after, easing its way down the back of their throat and into their lungs.

Artful relaxed, and blew the smoke from their nose.

"Practicality I guess. It was Serro's heist." It was a heist really. A very noisy and violent heist, but still a heist. "He pulled the strings. Dunnae like it myself, but it was a means to an end. Pilots who work with us are a rare thing, cannae afford to be picky on it. Told us not to worry about it. We got in and out fine."

It was all noise and haze really; a time where they pressed down their subconscious and did their very best to keep it buried. No, keeping their activities in the resistance hushed was how they survived; constantly flitting between three different lives in the hopes nobody would catch up with any of them. It was a mess and Artful was in a near-constant race to control the pieces, less the information got to the wrong person.
It was the same race that caused the Gentleman to reach a quick and bloody end. What a mess that was.

Artful sucked at their cigarette. Egg was still going on about Serro, eager to find out more about their illustrious leader. The term Hero Worship came to mind, and with a cross of arms, they regarded the lad. What did he actually want to hear, the truth or the lie?

"Well, Serro was as I said. Intense. Old. A soldier in every sense of the word. He..." Artful's eyes focused at a point past Egg's shoulder. "Charisma. Could get the crowd going and promised us all grand things. A single person for the masses to rally around and the people did."

The mention of war gave Artful another second pause. They tapped the end of their cigarette and let the ash drift down to the floor.

"War?" Artful's eyes sharpened, their jaw tensing as they repeated the word. "Is that what you're hoping it will be?"

War was ugly. It was coarse, rough and ruin with nothing at all glorious about it; they were not blind to what war was capable of and what it could make people do. The riots a couple of years ago now were merely a taste of war, and it was something after the events of Dorhaven that Artful had no doubt that Jon Serro was marching towards.

And he would drag all of them with him on his bloody massacre.

"You know. Serro thought the same about the previous boss. Hated that Ford wasn't willing enough, didn't want to go to the lengths that Serro was ready to take." Artful removed the cigarette from their lips and blew a smoke ring. "Of course, Ford got killed and then Serro took over. And the rest, that's history."

Artful was silent for a moment; less for a point of emphasis and more to allow mulling. Of them all they like Oreau the most, but that may have been due to them viewing him through the eyes of a child and being bribed with sweet berries while he and Beckett talked. They wondered, briefly, on how he would view the actions of the Freedom Fighters if he was still alive today.

Nothing is Certain.

"But. You cannae rush a pot to boil. Preparing takes time. Messages take time. If you rush, you end up making a mistake and we can't afford mistakes. And the Wisp?" Artful took a drag of the cigarette. They were starting to get the slight buzz off it, calming as they eased themself back from the chairs two legs and onto four. "They might be a right hand, but they need to get it all lined up right and tight. Might not look like they're doing much, but there's a lot more going on than just pickin' a fight."

[Tobias Murdock]

2nd Roalis 2720

Tobias couldn't quite believe that Artful gave up his food like it was nothing. He half expected to be asked a favour in return, but when the man leaned back and didn't touch the plate again Tobias didn't hesitate to dig in.

"I eawt awlot but I dunt grow," he said almost apologetically through a mouthful of mushy peas. He wished he were taller, stronger, and not this scrawny little thing that made people want to treat him like he was some kind of endearing pet. Even in the resistance he could tell from the looks thrown his way that no one thought much of him. Just a boy doing his bit, putting up pamphlets, standing on lookout, but kept out of the big plans in case he would run his mouth. As though he would ever snitch to a golly. He wanted to do more, so much more, if only they’d let him…

Thankfully, Artful didn't seem to think he needed to be talked down to and Tobias was more grateful for that attitude than the food he’d been given. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but frown at what Artful said. He’d heard that story before. There was always a plan, always work being done that he just wasn’t privy too, always this talk of not making mistakes. And what had being careful brought them? Jon Serro was dead, The Wisp had achieved nothing noteworthy since and all of humanity was still firmly under the thumb of the galdor.

“We’re just being cowards, that’s the truth of it.” He’d finished his meal and turned to face the fire, hard eyes staring into the flames. “There’s many more of us than them, we could overthrow the lot of them any day if we stopped cowering, stopped hidin’ in the dark. There will be war no matter what, might as well start it now that we can still do something.”

He scoffed at nothing in particular. “The Wisp is a coward and if she was here I’d tell her to her face.” Tobias turned his head to face Artful, the man’s face hidden behind the fumes of his cigarette. “She’s done nothing since Jon, tick it! How long can you prepare for? We’ve been preparing for years and years and those clocking golly erses still lord over us, still beat us or hang us if we so much as breathe wrong!” Heat rose to his cheeks while his mind returned to Dorhaven, that fateful day.

He still remembered hearing the news, how powerless he’d felt. He’d been stuck in Vienda while his dead mother had been blown to bits in Dorhaven, and his father locked away in debtor’s prison. That was why he’d followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the resistance, to get some clockin’ revenge. Instead, he was thrown a few bones, standing on lookout, passing along a bit of information. Nothing tangible, nothing impactful, nothing to let the clocking gollies know how much he hated them.

He dabbed his eyes with his sleeve before he dared to look at Artful again. “S-sorry, I got carried….” His voice trailed off into silence before he croaked, “never mind.”

[Gale]

Book and Bell | Evening

02 ROALIS 2720

The smoke lingered inside their mouth for a moment, permeating the tastebuds and sticking to the moisture. The lad was talking between mouthfuls, each morsel slurped down as his words were burbled. Artful said nothing, their fingers clinking around the top of their tumbler while Egg bemoaned the status of the Resistance. It was naive thinking to presume everyone would rally to the cause and overthrow their oppressors in one fell swoop. Some humans were allowed some small luxury and comfort from their Masters, and by upsetting the status quo they would lose such status. They were narrow-minded and only ever looking out for themselves; Artful could not blame them for it, they probably would have been the same.

There was a brief prickle in the back of their consciousness, latching onto a single word the lad said.

Coward.

It was Artful's poison. Their jaw tightened, teeth squeezing together while the hissing whisper polluted the back of their mind. It persisted, the environment growing hazy at the edges while their palms began to stick together. Their eyes slid to their palms, the edge of the lids twitching as they saw the dark, tar-like blood run rivulets across their fingers. It was staining their skin, sinking deeper in as twisted faces took form on the surface and began screeching angrily.

Nothing but weak. Coward. COWARD. You KILLED them-

Artful inhaled a little too sharply; the smoke from the cigarette tickled the back of their throat and forced them to cough. Pulling it swiftly away, the Smith let out a few deep breaths and stubbed the last of their cigarette out. Slapping their chest, they gave a blink and looked to their hand.

It was clean, with no blood and no faces.

They sighed.

"Smokin' eh?" they shrugged, picked up the tumbler and called out. "Ginny, can I get another?"

There was a bit of mumbling in the background and some pointed comment about them turning into their father - Artful did not pay it much mind. They instead pushed their attention back to the sounds; the pattering of the hail outside, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, even the quiet frustrated whimper from Egg. They took in a deep breath, held it as they tried to find some calm.

Wooden table, three knots in the surface. Scraped floor, lead-lined windows. Beams painted three times and peeling.

"So then, Egg. You'd ask everyone to march against the Galdor and remove them in one fell swoop. A point noted." Gale fiddled with their sleeve cuffs, the rough repaired stitching in that instant felt pleasurable against their thumb. "Tell me, how would you do that? Convince them that is. How'd you tell 'em to lead their families, their sons, their daughters, their ma and pa? How'd you tell 'em that if they rose up they might die, or pa might die, or that it may all be in vain."

"See, people dunnae like confrontation. It's much easier to just do nothin' and let it be someone else's problem. Sure, they recognise it all as shit - but they got to also look after their own. And..." Artful leaned back in their chair, their head tilting so they were looking at the ceiling and the shadows cast by the fire. "People get scared. It's human."

They made no move when Ginny came with a fresh drink - some cheap whiskey that left a dark hue at the edges of the tumbler.

"Being Resistance ain't just about followin' a leader and for waiting on 'em to tell you when ta jump. And it ain't just about marchin' up to the gates and stormin' the castle. It's about knowin' your enemy, it's about takin' them down bit by bit; all the blood and killing will just make us as bad as them. So, we gotta be better than 'em." Artful let out a long sigh. Reaching out for their drink they raised it in a mock toast before taking a sip. It burned their tongue, but they did not care. It was swirled around their mouth a few times before they swallowed. "But, guess that just makes me a coward. No action from me, right?"

Artful took a bigger sip that time; alcohol made everything numb, it made their thoughts lose and eased off the edges of their mind. Temporarily it kept the ghosts in the back of their mind at bay, but it was only a matter of time before they would come back to the front and haunt them.
They paused, eyes flicking down to Egg.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

It was a presumption; most people joined the resistance because they had lost someone, or because they had no one else. The aspects of right and justice were merely another facet of what made up the person. Egg was no different in regards to that template, even if he did try to put on a brave face and talked about action without the consequences.

The scar on Artful's shoulder gave a small reminding twitch; they chose to ignore it by taking another sip.