[Closed] Picking it appart

[Gale]

the book and bell | evening

27 ROALIS 2718

Gale never felt the need to take some shady corner in a pub. She always found the idea far too smothering, reclusive and brought a typical air of suspicion. To take a seat by the bar always drew attention to itself, it was a focal point of the establishment and one immediately looked to upon entering. The other was the fireplace, and while not always lit it still drew people closer - she had seen many a head turn over the years when someone was looking.

No, the best place she reasoned was by the door itself. Back to the wall it rested in, most people would walk straight past without looking to their sides; giving the quick enough time to slip out if need be. Besides, it was normally a vacant space. People had a tendency to not like sitting next to it due to the weather and the affairs of the world outside. So leaning back on her stool by the door Gale watched the inhabitants of the tavern find themselves for the evening.

It was the usual crowd, humans and wicks, workers from the mills, the forgers, the bakers, the weavers and workers of machines, some of the more intellectual among them.

There was no Galdori. Which was Gale’s preference any day.

The Metalsmith rubbed at her lids. With the end of the work day she had rubbed the worse of the grime from her hands and face, the mop of hair still damp from dunking her head into the brine water in her forge. It was not ideal; she still needed a good scrub, but it did the job for now. The rest of her was the usual scruffy attire. A lick of lips, she took a gulp from the tankard – some light beer she had never heard of – and went back to her waiting game. Solid Stu was hovering around quietly taking in the environment. People had kept to themselves currently, if not for the small rivalry jeers between the steelworkers. They had other things on their minds, and judging by the growing scent coming from the back they were all here for a hot meal. Why risk losing such an opportunity to picking a fight now?

She tilted her head slightly, just enough so she got another look of the inhabitants before she settled down. Emptying her pockets, she mindlessly fiddled with a screw and a tube of scrap metal barely the width and length of her little finger. They were things she frequently worked with, having them was far from unusual -but they were things that scratched at her mind. She sighed.

What am I missing?

She blended among the inhabitants well enough, another nondescript worker even if she was sitting alone. That was another attractor of attention, though that was one to rectified soon enough. She had requested the attention of Valor on this occasion, the pretence being ‘getting a drink’. Of course, it was really to scratch at his mind; to pick at the details and his experience with such matters. He was the man in the know. Least, that was what she was lead to believe during her years in the resistance.

[Kessler Tinkersmith]

26,01 Roalis 27, 2718

Valor was not one for social outings. In all his years in the city he’d never been close enough with anyone to call them friend. So “drinks” was not a common occurrence. Especially for Valor. It was conceivable that Kessler might receive an invitation or two from clients, he was friendly enough. It never happened but it was possible. But Valor? Valor was persona, the resident assassin of the Vienda Resistance Cell. A “chat” with Valor usually ended with someone bobbing.

So then what could Artful possibly want? She carried the missives, she didn’t assign them. And who goes through the trouble of a dead drop for the purpose of “getting a drink”. Normally, the strange circumstances would have waved Kessler off this endeavor. But Artful was established, she’d been running jobs for the Resistance nearly as long as Valor. At the very least it bought her the benefit of the doubt.

The message had asked about getting drinks at 26 o’clock. A suitable time, as the tavern would be particularly busy, helping to mask their meeting. So about two hours before their determined meeting time, Kessler had begun the preparations. He cleaned the shop, carefully wound the important clocks, and got himself clean for the meeting. At exactly half past 25’ Valor stepped out of his home, locked the door behind him, and swept out onto the street. The wick had chosen a combination of his usual attire, and that of Valor. He didn’t want to be obvious as to who he was, to much attention was hazardous to a wick’s health, so he donned his usual dark clothing, but wore his hood down, and a simple black topcoat instead of his ornate purple and black duster.

The walk was uneventful, thanks be to Alioe, and Valor was able to make it to the Book and Bell without running into any Seventen patrols. As he approached the entrance to the tavern he paused to check his wristwatch. Odd, he was a full minute early. But he had timed it perfectly. The wick pulled a second watch out of his pocket, it was accurate. Had he been walking faster than normal? Why? Surely not the idea of socializing was the cause. He enjoyed his solitude, it made his work easy. Maybe there was something else about today, something he was forgetting. The mona had been particularly energetic around him, as if excited by his presence.

No matter, Valor could wait. The meeting was for 2600, and that’s when he would arrive. As he watched his clock he heard a grunt from behind him, “Argh, oy, move it.”

A man, already deep in his cups by the look and smell of him, had very nearly plowed into Valor, seeing as the wick had stopped about two feet from the door. “Oh yes, apologies,” the wick returned, stepping out of the way. The man grumbled something under his alcohol-laden breath before stumbling through the door. When Valor checked his watch he again he began to mentally countdown. 10...9...8...7...6... He threw his hood up over his head. It would partially obscure his features, but wouldn’t look as conspicuous as someone with a scarf over their face. The wick had done his best to keep his two lives separate, and that wasn’t about to change tonight over some drinks.

5...4...3...2...1. The assassin stepped through the doors of the tavern and scanned the room. The usual crowd, or at least he assumed the usual crowd. The Book and Bell wasn’t exactly his scene. Eventually his gaze fell onto a table to his right, a single occupant nursing their mug of ale. The girl had picked a clever spot, he had to admit. Most people walked straight to the bar, a spot next to the door was one of the last places people ever looked. He approached the figure he recognized as Artful, removing his coat to place it on one of the stools at the table. Climbing onto another one he looked her over, she was cleaner than most of the people in this district, though that wasn’t saying much. “Hesta,” he offered politely, before pulling his pocket watch out and setting it on the table, open. “This is highly irregular Artful. It’s not a good idea for pugs to meet casually.”

[Gale]

the book and bell | evening

27 ROALIS 2718

"Far’ye?" the metalsmith asked. She pinched the head of the screw between her thumb and forefinger, now slowly rotating the tube around it. The thought was forming in her mind, something close but currently out of reach. She lowered the pieces to the table, quiet as he made himself comfortable. It gave her a few moments to scan him and the occupants once more, testing for any changes in behaviour. He was clean – as his profession allowed – and there seemed to be no immediate upset. The orbs, shifted and settled on the Wick, "Dze. Irregular, perhaps. But what is truly regular for you?"

She let the question hang there for a moment, before nodding her head towards Stu. He was currently attending to a patron, yet his attention did not waver for too long. Artful took a sip of her drink, "We’re fine here. Bunch of friends and the man in charge is a nice guy." A small snort, she rubbed at her fingers and hands, "But ye not here for small talk."

Fingers shifted and moved, resting either side of her tankard. While she had the thought in her mind putting it into words was a far from easy task. More so with the air of secrecy that had to be maintained. The sea green orbs looked upon him, before sliding past his shoulder towards the various labour workers. They were still jeering at each other, but an element of calm began to take over when the food started to come out.

"They're lucky ones," she began, "They have a good wage. Well. Comparatively to others. They get a hot meal, always got a laugh and their boss treats them alright. Wuldensteins Steelworks. It's where I get a lot of my materials from, so I got talking with the foreman quite a bit. It's not always clean. They get told to look away. Sure you know the stories," She took a sip of her drink, "Course, that's but one example." A shrug, "Then there's Laughlins' Mill. I got recommended to try it because the steel is cheap. Labour is cheaper too."

A groan escaped, "They use kids. And they don't treat them good either."

Draining her tankard, Artful continued to speak, "Which is what got me thinking. All these big bosses. All these fat cats. Every week they go home laughing. Every week they take those that won't be missed. Put them to work and die. While they keep sitting on the top of it all, rolling in the doll, we're sat here struggling."

Artful paused and gave a cockish smile, "Sorry, forgot to ask if you were drinking. You still on the milk or you drink harder now?"

A dart of the tongue, she turned her tankard upside down then and placed the screw on the top, "So, I was thinking. If you get rid of the golly at the top, what normally happens?" She removed the screw and placed another in its place, "Another Golly takes his place. And they keep coming and coming. Dead man's shoes." The screw trembled on the top of the tankard as it was slid along the table. She kept pushing it until it met the edge. Withdrawing, she let it balance there precariously. One small nudge and it would fall over, "But what happens if you get rid of the hill for a new king to climb up?"

[Kessler Tinkersmith]

Roalis 27, 2718

Well, thank you,” Kessler returned with nod. It wasn’t uncommon for Resistance members to understand Tek and even know a few terms. Artful was on of the few that could do so well. She would never be as good as a spoke, but then, Kessler barely was either. Still, he appreciated hearing the wick tongue. He always enjoyed hearing the mothers in Dorhaven speaking to the other children. As a child he would pretend his own mother was speaking those words to him, and fall asleep.

“Mm, fair to say,” the assassin muttered back, glancing down at the open watch. He was aware of what some of the other cell members said about him, that he was radical, and more than a little mooney. But it was nothing worth getting riled up for, Alioe guided their hand. It was not his job to make them believe.

His eyes followed the blonde’s, seeing the owner, Stu, working around the bar. It was true enough, the man had down right by the Resistance. When he was younger, Valor had often needed to take refuge here. Still, he lived a life rife with paranoia, it was hard to let it go. With a sigh though, Valor removed his hood, he was doubtful anyone here could possibly recognize him, and Artful didn’t seem the type to visit a small clockshop off of Crosstown Court.

She began to speak, slowly at first, as she seemed to be unsure how to put words to thought. Her eyes met his for a moment, and an eyebrow rose, curious. The assassin didn’t know much about Artful, which wasn’t saying much. Most resistance members knew little of their comrades outside of meetings. He at least knew she was born and raised Resistance, she was dedicated to the cause as only someone that grew up believing it could be. Despite that, she was rarely involved in any of heinously criminal aspects of the job. Perhaps then that was why she had called him here. Perhaps she was looking to truly make that leap.

Valor watched the girl’s face carefully as she in turn watched the room. She was speaking of corruption, of people taking advantage of other’s misfortune. It was something Valor was well familiar with, one of the leading causes of the missions he often took. For years the assassin had not questioned the Resistance’s methods, he was happy enough to be ending the cruel lives of the galdori. But he had to admit, as of late he wondered if there was more that could be done. They had escalated their activities lately, and only recently managed to garner a response from the government. Could it be time…

Valor checked the watch on the table, with a frown he set it back down and pushed up his sleeve, glancing down at the second one. When he looked back up the wick was met with a smile. He waved a hand in small gesture, “Ne mujo ma,” and shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly.

“I am not much of a drinker, not since, well, Dorhaven.”

The assassin fell silent again as she carried on. The blonde flipped her tankard suddenly, causing Valor to snap his hand out to pull the watch away from any spraying remnants from inside the cup. He gave it a quick glance, then turned his attention back up. Her words resonated with him. He had personally executed two foreman of the same company, months apart from each other. She seemed to be getting at something bigger, something more permanent. “It is certainly an interesting thought. And not without merit.”

He interlocked his fingers and rested them on the table, leaning on his elbows. “Tell me though, these men from the Steelworks? What would they do? Without the hill? Who would feed their families?” The wick glanced towards a table nearby, golden orbs falling on a pair of men, laughing quietly over drinks. “What will they do when their livelihood is gone? Will we provide for them?”

A hand shot out, snatching up the teetering screw. Holding it between two fingers, Valor looked it over. “What happens when the king as no hill? He finds another.” Wrapping his whole hand around the screw he looked back at Artful, tilting his head as he watched her knowingly.“It’s when he steps off the hill you should ask about. When he takes his ill-earned ging, sifted from our blood and sweat, what does he do? Where does he go?” Tilting the upturned tankard slightly, Valor slid the screw underneath, then covered it. “Ye chen?”

[Gale]

the book and bell | evening

27 ROALIS 2718

The Metalsmith took in his words and directed her thoughts inwards. Calculating, careful and weighing up the angle. She hummed, “Even I know it is a thought that needs work. An early piece.”

Artful studied his expression, watching the motions he made. It was all gestures, the moves made to get the point across. A plan, a line of thought in which to follow. While she picked at his brain, he did the same – made her think outside her original line of thought. She licked her lips, fingers massaging the wood of the table with thought. She did not rush with her answer, calmly formulating her words into some semblance of order.

“Which answer would you care for?” she frowned at the tankard, “I don’t know would be the first answer. There is nothing stopping me from hiring a body or two, but that is but a drop in the ocean. Other factories would no doubt pick them up; everywhere needs another set of muscles. They will find a new livelihood in time – I am not a fool to be ignorant to that. And their attitude towards the Gollies will remain as is,” Her gaze darkened, “Of course; the other is that accidents are terrible things.”

She moved the various other pieces of scrap around the tankard then, forming up into a circle, “People are interesting creatures. They are… so quick to make a reason. So quick to make a conclusion. All based on rumour and perspective. To highlight a danger and rally against it. Men who grow hungry, who have the cold biting against them tend to react badly.” Her finger sat atop the tankard, gently rocking it onto an edge, “Oh how men become creatures of violence when a spark ignites. They are attracted the blood of their kin, and those that are marred in it.”

The tankard was laid down among the scraps, the screw exposed. She nudged the pieces together until they all but swarmed the screw. Artful withdrew her hand and left the scene there, digesting it in her own mind. She would incite chaos; drag the name of the owner through the dirt. But, it was all things based on her interactions with people. All it would take would be the right push for them to act.

Of course, it was finding the correct moment and target.

“But, I am getting ahead of myself,” she rolled the thoughts back; “He would need to find a target, either a new hill to buy or build. Presumably they would enter into a bidding war with another. His other revenues he would probably… liquidate, move or put additional guard to. Or, they would start poking for foul play. Look for their own person to judge and find guilty.” Artful stared at the space between them, a careful inhale as she weighed up her thoughts, “I think the question is, does the ends justify the means? Do we have the power to sacrifice to get where we need to be? To get what we want?”

She pinched her brow. She saw the steelworkers, the labourers, the common man. Could she force such onto them in clear conscience? Or should they just stick to the status quo, chipping away slowly through the generations to come? The very thought made her shudder. She wanted a revolution in her lifetime; the very idea of leaving it to the generation to come gouged at her deeply.

“Or, do we simply do our work quietly. Unchanging and gradually stagnating – if we are not stamped out first. Drastic measures call for drastic action. I…” she shrugged, “I don’t know. It is a moral dilemma I try not to think on. Steel does not feel.”

[Kessler Tinkersmith]

Roalis 27, 2718

Kessler leaned back for a moment, giving the young blonde a critical eye. He had come expecting…, well he actually wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Perhaps a mission they wanted delivered in person? Some advice on a job the rabbit was expected to do? But not this. Certainly not a philosophical discussion about the morality of actions and consequences. He hadn’t talked to anyone at that kind of length since Razzle was his partner on Dorhaven. They would often get drunk and argue about the merits of the Resistance. The older wick always thought they had to remain honorable in their actions, lest they commit the same atrocities the gollies did. Kessler believed otherwise, he felt they had been in power for so long, and had forced themselves over others for so long they had to be removed from power in their entirety, and by any means. They never did reach an agreement.

It was a question all members faced at some point. Even those that were raised to believe in the ideals of the Resistance would stop and question. Often times it would determine that person’s path within their burgeoning rebellion. Many left, those that agreed with their goals, but lacked the stomach to do what was needed to achieve them. Was this Artful’s? And why did Alioe see fit to put him here when it happened? He would need a drink for these questions. And while he was at it, celebrate.

“Ginny, one for the table,” Valor called out, two fingers extended into the air. The barmaid caught his eye and actually paused, scrunching her face up in confusion. Her odd head tilt asked “really?” To which he nodded a “yes” in return. With the shrug she took off to fill the order, and Valor looked back at Artful.

“They do,” he said, rather matter-of-factly. “Maybe not to everyone. Maybe not for everything. But here. What we do in the dark. The end, is all that matters. The means will always be justified. The ones on top, they will do anything, and everything, to make sure they stay there. If we are not willing to match them, and go beyond, to do the unthinkable, we have lost.”

As if on queue, Rum Ginny slid up to the table, a bottle of hard liquor and two small glasses in hand. Valor slipped a few tallies from his sleeve and slid them gently into her hand. With a nod, she departed, a knowing wink as she left. Calmly, Valor unstoppered the bottle and poured a small amount into each glass. “What you decide to believe, that is not my business. Some of the work we do is not for everyone. Certainly not what I do. But,” and he slid one glass across the table to Artful, “If this truly is the path you wish to travel, I will be of assistance.” Raising his glass in a small toast, he drained the glass in one swig.

“Now, while I believe our goals justify the actions we take to achieve them, that does not mean we must take the most drastic actions right away,” he began pouring again. “A factory, while important, may hurt more people than it helps. The gollies do not care, they rarely venture into the Dives. Who is to say they would even see it?” Valor paused, and this time took another sip from his glass, “A message, particularly of this sort, must be where they all will see it. Let not one of them say they have not seen the force we will bring to bear.”

“Tell me,” Valor looked at the contents of his glass, swirling it around for a moment before meeting Artful’s gaze, “Have you ever heard of The Pendulum Club?”

[Gale]

the book and bell | evening

27 ROALIS 2718

The clunk of the bottle stopped her from stewing for too long in his words. She wore a hard frown, her own words – and his – repeating in her head. She knew what she wanted, but the heavy weight of safety and the idea of a secure life dragged her down. The sound made her stop and snort.

She was a gunsmith. Nothing about what she did was safe. If it was not for the practice then it was the legal aspects that would inevitably doom her. She looked at him, the momentary lingering uncertainty lifting and being replaced by certainty. The soot covered fingers deftly took the glass, a momentary inspection and sniff of the liquid. Her nose curled; it reminded her of slag and thick oil. She promptly downed it before her gut told her otherwise.

Artful coughed, fist slamming against her chest as the liquid burned down her throat. A puff of cheeks, she saw Valor fill the small glass again. A part of her cried in the inside at the notion, but the rest of her resolve steeled to see it through. Gingerly, she slid the glass back to her and stared down into its contents while the more experienced sent her thoughts swirling.

“Logical,” she began, “It is why they have foremen, middle men to deal with their day to day. The only reason they would come down is if there was a sudden stop in events. And then it would be only one, and they would have to be lured.” Her fingers tapped against the table, “A difficult one to manage to say the least. They would need a powerful incentive.”

Valor was right, in that regard at least. If a statement was to be made, then they would have to think of another site. But they also needed a place to run and retreat to; if they gained the ire of their peers then their chance of escape would be harder, more so when they too were hungry for blood and revenge. Her drumming paused, “The Pendulum club?”

Her tongue across her teeth, testing the name in her mouth before she shook her head, “Am I right in presuming it’s some Gollie haunt?” She gave a testing sip of her drink, expression pulling once more. She wondered, briefly, on how he was able to drink this concoction but decided now was not the time to ask, “I make a habit of not going to Uptown often. Mean, not that I often have a reason to these days. I don’t scrub up much, unlike you it seems.” Another sip, she visibly pulled away and looked at the glass with scrutiny, “Guessing by the name however, it’s some preferred haunt of the locals? Right, think I’m following your line of thought.”

“It’s a place they gather, place to relax, do whatever it is they do. A comfort zone that they thought was safe. Give them a taste of fear,” Her eyes narrowed, “Question is, how do we scout it? How do we check it out? Or get in for that matter? I mean, I don’t know the place. You sound familiar though.”