The Assertive Investigator

I can hardly call myself a woman of renown, but I know someone (Fallen London RP Blog, part of Delicious Friends but will RP with others.)

[glimandravenglass]

{So, I played with Wordle ...

I hope to start updating again soon, when work calms down a little.

This thing requires Java.}

[glimandravenglass]

09 October 1891

I met a tiger.

I had heard people say that tigers talked, and indeed it seems logical after meeting so many cats which deigned to tell me their secrets, but... one can't help but be nervous about something so clearly predatory and able to take you down. The way she occasionally mentioned how tasty I would be didn't help matters.

It was still enlightening...

Truth was, I wanted to listen to her. I acted much like I would have around the... sidhe. Respectful, honest. I may have told her more than I would have said to a stranger, certainly more than I would have told a Devil.

I got the tiger's name, Sasha. We might meet again.

[glimandravenglass]

A Civil Place

{Put under a read more for violence}

The Tarred Jaguar, Wolfstack, but barely. Far enough from the Unterzee brine and the docks to attract slightly more pleasant company and rich people who felt like it was daring to be there. Far enough that it smelled more of alcohol and sweat than every other pub Margaret worked at purely because the 'Zee wasn't overriding it. In fact, it was far enough that the barman said, “Take it easy, alright luv? We 'ardly get ruckus 'ere.”

It was true every other night she had worked there. Still, no reason to not pay attention. She watched those that wore their Sunday best, knowing they'd have to pawn their own wedding rings or other valuables if they wished for someone to get rid of the stains they were now getting. She watched those few that wouldn't just as much.

There was one raucous young man who didn't seem to think so. He was rich, alternating between buying rounds for anyone both young and attractive who approached him and gazing at one... person in particular with admiration. A person whose face was buried in some tome. Strange, but not particularly threatening. A group in one corner laughed and cheered in the corner, startling no-one.

Margaret paid attention to all equally, she thought. But she was looking away when she heard a woman growl, “Oh? So it's fine to ignore me because I'm not 'pretty'?” and by the time she looked back the youth was whimpering on the ground, hiding his bleeding face behind his broken stool. A very sturdy looking woman sat in the place of one some fawning girl. The reader didn't react. Everyone else was slinking away.

Of course Margaret approached the woman, saying “Now, let's be civil...”, not expecting the blow that made her crash to the floor before she could even blink. She rolled away and stood, expecting a follow up blow that never came.

Instead the Sturdy Woman began stomping on the youth repeatedly. “Did you hear that?” she said sternly, “We should be CIVIL! Get up and leave, barbarian.” She grabbed the youth by the collar and wrenched him up.

Margaret wrenched the woman's hand away. The youth crumpled back down, a small yelp being the only indication that he was still conscious. The place lacked the usual betting that happens before a fight, or any sort of noise. The barman was hiding, who knows where anyone else was. The Sturdy Woman looked at Margaret, revealing her oddly pale, piercing eyes. Then she punched Margaret in the face.

Margaret caught herself on the edge of a table. She swung herself under, avoiding another punch, then kicked out, catching her opponent's ankles. Her opponent stumbled, muttering “annoying”. Her first clenched, Margaret dove out, aiming to punch her in the head.

The woman caught her fist while kicking her in the stomach, doubling Margaret over, making her collapse to her knees, but before that was done she grabbed Margaret's hair and yanked her up. Margaret elbowed her in the side while throwing trying to throw herself forwards. It worked. The woman let go and Margaret crashed forwards, not feeling any pain when joints met the hardwood floor. She felt little when something slammed in between her shoulders repeatedly. She flipped around and caught and twisted her opponent's boot. Her opponent kicked out, and her boot scraped at Margaret's head. Then...

Her opponent pulled her up. They stared at each other, both looking slightly dazed, her opponent's eyes looking less piercing and her face less bruised than Margaret expected.

Margaret slowly became more away of herself. Aches all over, bruised shoulders, sharper pains that were obviously cuts, including the one on her face, her chest and throat aching from too deep breaths.. And, most surprisingly, tears. She had no idea when she started crying.

Her opponent turned and, calmly walking away, said only, “If this is how you treat a customer, I'll find somewhere more 'civil'.”

The constables arrived some time later, when Margaret was aiding with the cleanup.

[glimandravenglass]

News Can Spread Fast.

This place was another dockside tavern, a place that reeked with the scents that people bring from the 'Zee. Scents which can't be cleaned because the next person who stepped in would renew them. Sitting as far from the door as possible, Margaret listened for trouble. It was her job of the day. Listen for trouble and respond immediately. Over the past couple of weeks she had learned how to tell the joking banter from the serious threats.

So when she heard the soft "shhh" of a knife being drawn from a leather scabbard, and a tenor voice saying, "Oh, I don't mind!" with a fearful wobble, followed by a baritone one saying, "Are you certain?" with a hint of trouble, she stood and walked over. She gently lay her palm on the table at which the Baritone Threatener sat, stared into his one eye, and said, "Pardon me, but you do not seem quite... Civil enough to be here." 

He said, "Hmph, an-"

-some youth broke in on the proceedings. Broke in with the news that there was a fire in the Veilgarden and many have already died permanently. There were more details, horrifying ones.

The Baritone Threatener paled. He dropped his knife on the table before taking to his heels and barging out. Margaret's mind somehow processed that he must have had someone (or something) he cared about in the Veilgarden, before comprehending the distance one would have to travel to reach the fire. Then she thought of the woman who had mistaken her for another, for someone she cared about. Strange, she thought, that I even remember her.

She knew about the catastrophes of fires gone out of control, and this one, it seems, was meant to. If it was already that big, it could spread. Not caring just because of a lack of personal links... She looked down at her dress. Probably Flammable. She sighed. She turned to the other, quieter customers. 

"Who among you are willing to volunteer help?"

[the-deadliest-weapon-is-terror-]

Reblog if you do violent roleplays.

[glimandravenglass]

10 July 1891

Well, I tried to rid myself of the conviction that I must do something. Oh, it's insane. Take on a whole colony of spiders? A whole colony which is clearly intelligent? Anywhere else this would be the purest essence of madness!

And yet... the drive is there. It's not merely a drive to protect. No. This thing killed me. I didn't even get a chance to fight. 

So I have decided to seek out the Black Ribbon Society. I know very little of them, but I do know they take their fights seriously, even to the death. If I join their ranks and prove myself, if I become strong enough... maybe even I could fight a thousand spiders of one mind. 

Bhiodh na cuileag a ruaig na damhan-allaidh.

[glimandravenglass]

Post Spider Encounter.

05 July 1891

Did it really take me that long to be able to write again? Was I really so affected?

Well... I should recount it all properly. A week ago today I was dead. I am not entirely certain how I managed to get back, I believe there was a lot of luck involved. Both in my having enough of a body to come back to and in playing the game. It's strange; scars remain but there are a few aches I had become accustomed to which are now gone. I do not seem to have any of the wounds I received near my death.

I am not particularly eager to study this phenomenon.

The cause? Spiders. Spider colonies are intelligent. I tried talking to it. Well, I know they have some interest in "The Correspondence" now. Why would they? Why would spiders TALK? I had just gotten to grips with what they do with people's ey

I won't write that down. I fear I might break my pen if I try to write it down now.

I hate to think of that spider colony still being there. 

I have to do something.

[glimandravenglass]

amaskeddreamer asked:

Avis sees Margaret writing in her journal in a pub, and winces a little bit when it sees what she wrote, thinking of its own experience. "Not advisable to tell the truth to spiders, either. I'd try to avoid speaking to them altogether when possible." It tips its hat in apology for interrupting (and reading a lady's journal), and disappears to the other side of the crowd.

Margaret had been concentrating on what else to write, so she didn't notice that someone was nearby until it started to talk. A familiar voice, giving her sound advice. "Thank you," she said in a tired way. She was puzzled when her acquaintance tipped its hat, but she was not quick enough to say anything else before it disappeared in the crowd. 'Oh well,' she thought, 'there's no telling what business it may have.'

She set down her pen. Words will come when she can think clearer.

[glimandravenglass]

29 June 1891.

Do not lie to spiders.

[burnallwitches-deactivated20150]

Just because this is an RP blog, doesn't mean I won't answer questions like an ask blog. My askbox is always open to any questions you might have for my muse.

[glimandravenglass]

Preparation

24 June 1891

When I asked about their missing eyes, some of the Zailors would boast of pirate raids or fights, and at least three claimed there was a gang of Drownies (and/or rubbery men) who went around stealing the eyes of sleeping men. I am not certain where these rumours come from, though I suppose people will blame the Rubberies for anything.

However, those who were less willing to talk tended to, on some gentle persuasion, talk of the Sorrow Spiders, apparently named so because of how the remaining eye of their victim weeps. And then today I had a breakthrough. While I was asking around in one of the pubs I heard a scream, and a spider went scuttling out with an eyeball, I am yet certain how it was carrying it. I chased after it and lost it near one of the silk chapels you sometimes find people raiding for spider silk. It seems like my suspicions have been confirmed.

... but now I would almost prefer it if I were wrong. If it was a single gang it could be arrested. But an entire species... if we can't eliminate midgies then I doubt the spiders here will be any easier. Things are made to survive.

Tonight a group will raid that chapel, armed to the teeth. This will be my best chance to break in and solve this once and for all. If not for the true better then at least so that others may sate their curiosity based on what I say.

I am starting to wonder if Sorrow Spiders behave a bit like bees...

[glimandravenglass]

Gain(ing) access to Wolfstack Docks

It had taken Margaret far too long to gather the resources she needed. She entered the Customs Office of Wolfstack Docks with silent aplomb. It was a small place, desks cluttered to the seams with papers and apparently managed by one mousey man at a slightly clearer desk.

A sack of glim and a sack of hard won surface currency clattered on that desk.  Margaret stood there, looking at the porter with disapproval while he faffed about with blinds and how "indiscreet" she was. As if he believed pirates would break in at the sound of clinking glim. She distracted herself from impatience by considering whether that would be "piratez" and tapping her foot. She didn't even really pay attention to what he was saying, an insult may turn impatience to fury and there would soon be better places open to her for that.

The man held the papers in her face. "Here," he said, sounding like he just raced out of the flit rather than around his office, "proof you have right enough to be here, but don't think it'll protect you from them." His suspicious gaze shifted to the blocked windows.

She accepted the papers, smiling as she gently folded them and placed them in her pocket. "Thank you sir. Good day." She left then, stepped out into the gloom of Wolfstack Docks with both heart and purse somewhat lighter. Now, without the hindrance of a 'guide', she was finally free to investigate the rumours she had heard, possibly put to rest her suspicions which could be dated back to when she had her first 'neath nightmare.

Just why do so many zailors have only one eye?

[thecenturionwhowillnotwait-deac]

Reblog if I can send you darker starters.

[glimandravenglass]

Highlands on Honey

[lovelyflowinglocksarchive]

She spoke with an accent but all of the ease of a native. It tilted him for a rabbit’s fat and hit his ear in a wrong way right. Gàidhlig was a song. A private one mind. Mother tongue married to the land and the sea beside it. From which clan did she hail? MacGuffin? The Uplands and Dingwall with their slight lilt? Or a sub sect closer to Brittany?

She said one thing and did another, however. Stepping forward. Heavy skirts in hands with a smile as still as the sky right that moment. Cloudless.  A quiet sort of pretty. Not plain but not gold or healing diamonds. Flowery brogue. Lighter than he, and he found he had to turn his head like one of his father’s hounds to help it in. Bangs cut and chopped and he pushed them up and away with a clean cleave as he payed her back in a copper coin grin of his own.

“Where’d ye com’ from, then?”, and he nearly slipped back into the heavy brogue because once he was started he had trouble stopping. Much more comfortable in the common tongue, all the same and he’d his youth to thank, “Ye speak well.”

He tucked his dented travel lyre to the back of his hip by it’s worn, salted strap, “Thomas th’ Rhymer”, and he had no business being cheeky, but every intention with someone so proper looking.

[glimandravenglass]

Well, it seemed he spoke English as well, albeit with quite the brogue that would make him stand out in London. It wasn't quite as heavy as the 'Zailor tounge, but Margaret got the impression that was due to some effort on his part. He also had quite some cheek to him. His countenance and his answer left that quite clear. It soured her opinion, though she wouldn't show it so easily. Even though it seems they moved on to English she didn't see a reason to give him the name she used more. Perhaps later, should they ever meet on awakening. He might be an entirely different person where candle light is all people have. 

His question however... she didn't know what he meant. No, she did know. "Where did that gàidhlig come from?" was what she was certain he meant. Her lip twitched, and "London" burst out quickly. The answer she would have given, now to distract him by moving onwards.

"Unless you are far older than you appear, I very much doubt it," she said, turning up her nose just slightly, enough, she judged, to look disdainful but not like a teacher dealing with that child who once again used their 'friend' as a canvas. Too much and she feared he would comment on her 'word barking'. She tried to force a cheeky, conspirational grin.  "However, if you insist I will call you 'Thomas' for now." 

[fairfriendly]

Yet another sketchdump. First two pics are Venderbright Take 2 (or take 3), aka Nemesis route, the Grand Sanatorium- there’s a bit where you get to confront a Spider Council (which is very possibly the same one you hunted for Inch) and later a bit where you get to tie, chain up and ruin the life of some unlucky bastard who tries to kill you. Or you could let him go, but where’s the fun in that?

Other roleplay(ed) characters are, in order, Margaret, Alexis, Jane, Cellblock and Cellblock.

[glimandravenglass]

@ Cataplexy-Hat

[cataplexy-hat-blog]

The boy stares. ” L-Let me just desinfect it first! ” he let out, shaking a little. It didn’t seem that bad but he was worried since she seemed to try to hide her pain. But she had a point, they were pretty close of the Devils. ” D-do you think they’ll chase us? ” he asked, looking back a little bit before feeling a wave of stress making him face forward again.

” What were they hunting? ” he asked, unsure. Until now, there wasn’t any animals to see, right? Were they hunting monsters? Or… humans like them?

The youth's worry was almost catching, more irritating. It was also to be expected, she reminded herself, of someone from the surface. Though she wondered as to what sort of anti-septic a youth such as him would carry. His other questions, to do with the Devils, were not unexpected. Just another minor irritation. 

[glimandravenglass]

"I highly doubt they'd chase us now, but I won't feel comfortable enough to stop until  we're where the hansom was. Possibly in it," she admitted. keeping her composure. "However, I should be fine. Just being down here can... make a person less vulnerable than on the surface." She tried to force a smile during that, tried to calm him, but she doubted that she did it well.

Her shoulders hunched for a second, before she finally offered the most true answer she could think of, with a frown and a tone of disgust  "Probably someone they found at Mrs. Plenty's Carnival. That's what the rumours I hear say." Having mentioned that, she tried to distract him from the subject by fixing him with a serious look and saying, "Now, a word of advice. M- If you ever go there, do not enter the "House of Mirrors". That, she thought, was bound to catch his curiosity. "You should probably stay away from the refreshment tables as well."

[glimandravenglass]

A Simple Case of Mistaken Identity

06 May 1891

After all that fuss, and far too much time spent investigating, I am glad to have some clarity in this matter. Talking to the Heiress face to face was very fruitful in the matter.

The Heiress simply mistook me for some aspiring detective with whom she had shared many interesting dreams and who had told her many stories. Her reasoning was that by now her friend would have used her skill well and become renowned. I suppose it's a complement, even if I am hardly 'renowned' except in certain circles. However, I'd wager that her friend had played up her own skill. In addition, the Heiress believed that we looked similar, though the less panicked manner of our talk allowed her to see her error.

I offered to help her find this person, but she refused. Said she had to find her on her own. So I bade her farewell and good luck. I very much doubt I will see her again. Nobility does not show its face here.

Good riddance.