[PM to Join] Ghosts on the attic

[Tobias Murdock]

4th Roalis 2720

On the border between the dives and uptown stood a large, ramshackle building. The walls had sagged under their own weight, the paint had chipped and cracked, the windows were smashed, and the double doors on the ground floor looked like they’d been breached with a battering ram some age ago.

Chased by a herd of dead-eyed children Tobias jumped off the rattling omnibus and scuttled along with them toward the dreary building that they called home. A large, wrought-iron gate overgrown by ivy on one side and half-sunken into the ground on the other did little to dissuade the tiny horde from invading the property. Some had already snatched what precious few tallies they had on them from their pockets to pay the entrance fee.

The first time he’d come to the house he’d wondered aloud why they were paying a tally each to Mr and Ms Whittleberry. It wasn’t their building after all, just a scrapheap saved from demolition by bureaucracy, one of the few things gollies could be trusted to get right.

He’d spent that night sleeping outside under the willow in the garden and he wasn’t keen on repeating the exercise. Least of all when he’d learned the middle-aged pair had two snarling, drooling dogs chained up somewhere in case they needed to chase someone out. The willow had been sheltered enough to shield him from prying eyes, but a rustling roof had proved quite ineffective against the elements.

Tobias joined the tail end of a half-hearted queue that had formed near the cracked stone stairs leading up to the entrance. It could have been a nice place to live once, with plenty of room inside and a luxurious front garden. Now it was Grand Hotel Whittleberry until the Galdori could be ersed to evict the inhabitants of the vermin-infested ruin.

Mr. Whitlleberry hardly looked up at him. The man just held up his colossal hand, squinted his piggish eyes at whoever entered and grunted “move on” in a language that only he and some poppy-sniffing drunks seemed to understand. Still, the rugged man was a great deal more tolerable than his wife who could sniff out trouble ten feet away and peppered everyone she suspected of hiding something with questions. She had never managed to find a good enough reason to deny him entrance, but she would seize the opportunity if it presented itself to her. Perhaps the only thing they had in common, Tobias had once concluded, was their mutual disdain for each other.

Following the troupe of children, Tobias saunted up the stairs, grabbed a bedroll, a pillow and a torn blanket from a pile that the Whittleberries had prepared (though never washed, he suspected) and searched for a spot in one of the many rooms of the broken down house. It didn’t take him long to discover all the downstairs rooms were already filled up, and those on the first floor too. A room on the 2nd floor had some space left, but had been claimed in its entirety by a bratty teenager with dreams of starting a cult. It wouldn’t be good company, besides, his little group would soon be picked off by shady folk tempting them with easy jobs and quick money.

There weren’t many things Tobias was scared to do, least of all if he could annoy some clocking gollies with it, but he would never, ever start dealing poppy. Too many of his friends who’d tried had disappeared.

With a sigh, Tobias concluded there was only one room left in the house that was guaranteed to be empty. Not even the Whittleberries with their dogs dared to come up to the attic, they too had heard the wild stories about the vengeful ghosts who lived there. Still, it was an easy choice between ghost companions and a night out under the willow, especially with the cold he could feel coming on in his nostrils.

~~~

A vaporous fog slithered through the front garden and obscured the squadron of Seventen gathered just outside the wrought-iron fence. Dew still clung to the tall grass that hadn't been mowed in years and inside the air was filled with the quiet, peaceful breathing of two dozen souls.

When first light trickled through the cracks in the building, the Seventen announced their presence with a bang, The rotting double door was relieved from its hinges and the air disturbed by shouts, panicked screams and the angry barking of Whittleberry's dogs.

[Rhys Valentin]

some godsforsaken building in the dives

4th of roalis, 2720

Just because he lived in the Dives these days didn't mean he was at all used to it. Just because his old house in the Painted Ladies that Charity hastily bought while everyone was pretty sure he was just going to die was a pretty decent house on a pretty decent part of the street in that rather favored neighborhood didn't mean that every tenement in other neighborhoods were at all even worth living in, let alone raiding.

Patrol Sergeant Rhys Valentin had done his best to try and get out of this particular legal invasion, mostly citing all of the safety violations and the fact that there had, at one time, actually been plans to demolish the whole thing not terribly long ago and no one'd ever clocking got around to it. They were all just squatters, still lining some golly's pocket who probably didn't even see the line on his books anymore, anyway.

For fuck's sake.

It wasn't as though some of the residents had anywhere else to go. Even as an Inspector with his contacts, the tall blond had learned quickly that nothing worked quite as he'd imagined for the lower races. Now that he was one? Now that he knew he'd always been one—well, he felt the slow creep of new convictions he'd never thought he'd ever had. Some of them stung.

There weren't any drug issues on this particular block—the only infestation that seemed to crawl through this and the nearby buildings were rats, he'd heard. There hadn't been too many violent crimes, either; Rhys and Nevinia had patrolled this very route for at the entire season before and never once had to make an arrest for assault. He knew what led to both more drug use and a higher crime rate in general, however, for almost a decade in the ranks of the Seventen pouring over statistics and intelligence reports had led him to the singular conclusion that oppression of all kinds really fucked with the common people.

He knew it. It seemed plain as day, really.

But he'd also been complicit in it. Not always on purpose, not always willingly, but always ... always anyway.

Here he was, somewhat unable to fight the system on the terms he wanted one more time.

The least he could do was make sure no one got hurt.

"After repeated notices of eviction and the passing of eighty days final warning, I hereby find all residents—illegal as they already may be—in contempt of Court notice and thereby subject to forcible removal from the property by the Seventen, as requested by a Mister Harrison L. Derbyshore, Senior." The other Sergeant—Sergeant Stillwell—a short, delicate redhead who stood up on the saddle of his chrove to read this announcement in front of the crumbling steps in a voice that purposefully didn't carry in the fog, that purposefully sounded like a half-whisper as if he wanted to surprise as many residents as possible when raiding their only home, smiled when he finished. He folded up the warrant, shoving it in his uniform coat and clapped his hands before leaping onto the mossy cobblestones, broken and uneven,

"Alright, boys and girls. I want Sergeant Valentin and Constable Greymoore to immediately head upstairs and begin herding everyone down and out. I want Constables Jerring and Vidra to circle 'round the back with their Ensigns and keep anyone from attempting to sneak out the back, either." Chuckled Sergeant Stillwell as if he had plans on arresting everyone instead of just letting them go.

They'd brought a single wagon—just in case—and standing by was the standard medical unit.

Almost as soon as he'd finished speaking, dogs began to bark somewhere. Clocking big dogs by the sound of it.

"Of course we're taking the godsbedamned stairs." Rhys growled under his breath, crystalline blue gaze slipping toward Constable Greymoore. She didn't look any more thrilled than he was.

"What'd you ever do to piss off Stillwell anyway?" Nia smirked back, equally as uncomfortable as her superior officer with this entire debacle waiting to happen.

"Existed, I guess."

Someone produced a battering ram from the side of a chrove and a few of Stillwell's finest young Cadets, all lanky and fresh out of Numbrey by the looks of it (easy to dissuade into believing they were doing this for the greater good, for the protection of Uptown, for their mothers) eagerly smashed in the front doors, already so in disrepair that even a pair of galdori twenty-somethings could knock it off its hinges without even breaking a sweat in the Roalis smog this close to the Soot District.

With that, all the Evers of legally-protected hell broke loose. There couldn't even have been too many people here, to be honest, and yet it looked as though excessive force had been required.

Maybe payroll had some concords to burn.

Idly, as he and his Constable slipped in through the door to the panicked noises of waking residents, he wondered if it was drug money they needed to hide in the process.

The air was stale and still, and Rhys took in the dilapidated interior with a frown, unwilling to draw his baton even if his glamour was taut and ready, the perceptive mona he'd come to know so well pressing against Nia's static-filled proper field like two very different fabrics rubbing together. He felt it in his teeth sometimes, but he'd also grown used to it. He just found himself so much more self-aware these days.

The stairs creaked and moaned. They were probably incredibly unsafe. He took them in twos with shorter, lighter Constable Greymoore keeping up with him, a few steps behind.

"Everyone out! Eviction served!" Sergeant Stillwell shouted from the foyer, not even bothering to do any other work besides be loud.

"Tocks—we clockin' live here!" Came a shout from the top floor railing, causing Rhys to tilt his head and glance upward, to notice the large, shirtless man with a broomstick in his hands, two scrawny, wide-eyed children behind him.

Well, shit.

"Yeah!" Came some other return yell from the next floor below the man, a woman ready with a heavy, cast iron pot just another two turns of the staircase above the not-galdor and his partner—

Oh, gods, he had to keep climbing these fucking stairs—

"Y' gonna arrest us all?"

[Tobias Murdock]

4th Roalis 2720

Tobias awoke with a jolt.

A clamor sounded below punctuated by the barking of a dog.

Tobias blinked at the ceiling a few times. It stared back at him with a smile made out of hanging cobwebs, two large knots in the woodwork for eyes, and a thick, slanted beam for a nose. It took him a while to recognize his surroundings. Normally he'd never make his bed on the attic, because of the ghosts rumored to live there. It seemed they had finally showed up.

He staggered to his feet, tore the trapdoor open and listened. He was greeted by screams, shouts and the low thudding of feet on wood. Still heavy with sleep his addled mind didn't quite put two and two together until he heard the unmistakable voice of Whitlleberry and the word "arrest."

He was across the attic in an instant, never minding his clothes or his bed. He had to get out and right quick too. Grunting, he slammed his shoulder against the stubborn, rusted metal of a window and with a loud groan, it finally gave way.

A wall of cold, crisp air hit him but when he looked down, doubt gripped his heart. A heavy mist obscured just how far below the street was, but it didn't take a genius to tell that a drop from this height would break just about every aching bone in his body. He sucked in a deep breath, tried to steel himself, then glanced over his shoulder.

The sound of hurried footsteps was getting closer now, there wasn't much time left. He had no choice, no choice at all.

"Clocks!" he cursed under his breath. He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to swing his legs through the window and begin the slippery descent toward freedom.

He ran back over to his things to collect them, then decided he should try the window anyway until he'd taken another look out of the window and concluded he lacked the courage to try it. What to do, what to do? There was only one other way down and that was through the trapdoor, down the hallway and down the stairs.

Cursing under his breath he slipped out of his nightgown and rushed to put his clothes on. Once he'd gathered his remaining belongings into a small bundle he peeked down the ladder to make sure the coast was clear, then descended.

The hallway was deserted but the commotion was far from over. Armed with two pots, one in each hand, Ms. Whittleberry was making a right fuss. Further down the stairs stood her husband in all his hairy grace, armed with a broomstick. For the first time in his live, Tobias was rooting for him.

"You're trespassing," Whittleberry spat at the Seventen. Tobias had to give it to the man, he didn't seem intimidated by the might of the squadron that had come flooding in. Even the children that had cowered behind him seemed a little more courageous now, balling their angry little fists at their sides.

"We're just innocent poor folk tryna sleep!" screeched Mrs. Whittleberry, leaning over the bannister. Tobias wasn't sure if she intended to drop the iron cast pan on someone's head or meant to jump down with it and use it like a club. "Leave us to our own business if ye don't want trouble!"

Maybe, just maybe the gollies would've considered it if one of the inhabitants hadn't tried to make a run for it. Within the blink of an eye, another followed, then another, each of them trying to somehow break through the uniformed line.

Tobias couldn't stay behind. Tripping over his feet he rushed down the stairs and just about dodged a tangle of limbs being sent flying through the air with crack.

Magic.

He wished he hadn't turned his head to look how the wretched man who'd started the stampede crumpled into a pile of loose limbs halfway across the main hallway. But it was too late. He knew it was too late the moment he spotted a blur of motion in his peripheral vision. His feet slipped across the floor as he tried to change direction, tried to somehow slip past the outstretched arms that reached for him.

It was too late..