In the cramped foyer, the same very-young oread private is manning the front desk. He is no longer bored-looking; he looks exhausted, on the verge of collapse. His head jerks up as you enter, as if he were falling asleep.
"I'm sorry but unless this is about the riots-" He stops as he recognizes you. "Corporal! Has something happened? Why aren't you out with the others, quelling the riots?"
Odebie, you notice that the barracks is dead quiet. There may not be another living soul in here, save for those gathered in the foyer.
Byron looks expectantly at Obedie, waiting for the guardsman to speak.
"Was chasing down some gasp dealers in the stadium and caught this one in a lab under it." He jerks his head towards the vacant-eyed sylph. "His booby-trap started the fire. Lock him up, we'll have more than a few questions for him once whatever he's on has worn off."
He turns to address the rest of the group. "Thank you all for your help, I'll see the Watch recognizes you for it. You're welcome to stay here, out of the way, until the streets are clear. Now -" he turns back to desk-oread, "are there any first-aid supplies left? My leg's in bad shape."
If the watch have no further comments Fi will go home and check on Leonie/brother dearest.
Byron nods in agreement with Odebie. "Yes it was quite the operation but if you don't mind I'll be leaving now I'm out of bombs and I'll want to rest before trying to make more the last time I tried to mix some on this little sleep I had to rebuild half of my lab."
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Mentally wincing at the mention of 'bombs' in the middle of a police station, Odebie just nods and begins bandaging his leg.
When he returns to the front desk, he is carrying a jar that looks and smells like fossilized feces. "Powdered rock troll, sir. Not much left, and probably older than I am, but it works wonders if you're lucky enough to be an oread." He smiles at you.
Byron hurries out the door as soon as he sees there's nothing more he's needed for. He makes his way to his home as quickly as possible, avoiding any loud noises as he goes.
He checks his experiments one last time when he arrives, but rather quickly decides to simply collapse in his bed and sleep.
Fiordelise hurries home, sticking to the outskirts of the well populated areas, brushing off her clothes and hair as best she can, she wasn't exactly dressed for the rough and tumble adventures she encountered.
Once home she tries to quietly get to her room to get changed. Wincing at the hardships she's put her new dress through on its first day. Casting it onto her bed for now as she redresses herself she promises to check it over properly later.
Fiordelise then heads down to the cellar, to check on Leonie, trying to step softly and walk quietly to avoid her brother.
Mangalisayo... "Thank you." Taking a pinch, he rubs it into the wound with a grimace and then re-wraps it.
Byron frowned at her, what little restraint he had shot by fatigue and the shock of being awoken. "No I didn't get your note I've been trying very hard not to die of late which kept me away from home and my experiments which you obviously should have known if you're so skilled at breaking into my home and I hope you haven't touched anything that might explode that happens often enough without help and what right do you have to promise my help to anyone it's not like we're business partners..."
Odebie stays seated as he talks, keeping his leg elevated. "He and his friends were drugging and grabbing sylphs from the lower levels - this isn't some small-time operation, they've tried to kill us twice today alone. The alchemist you just met spotted the drug, and we followed them under the arena when they tried to grab another friend. Bastards had all sorts of traps layed out, plus some hired thugs. Knocked the thugs down and grabbed that one, but one of the traps lit their whole apparatus on fire. I'm guessing that's what started the riot."
The boy--young man, you suppose--looks wide-eyed at you. "Now that's what I joined up for! But here I am, stuck at the desk, as usual." He seems ludicrously unaware of how serious an injury you have, or the fact you had a very real chance of dying today.
When you are about halfway down the basement stairs, Leoni's calm baritone reaches you. "Ah, Miss...Incarna, yes? I heard that correctly from the good detective earlier? Might I inquire about present circumstances? The daily broadsheets, I am sorry to say, do not seem to deliver down here." He is sitting cross-legged on the floor. His Mister goggles are off, making him look much younger.
"I wish I had more to tell you, something's going on... the players collapsed on the pitch, the game ended in riots, there was a gasp operation under the arena and someone tried to poison either me or my best friend. I would ask how your day has been, but I'm pretty sure I can guess. I don't suppose you've found any wine down here that my brother's missed" Fi looks at the dusty wine-racks, which had in truth been empty for longer than her brother's drinking problem.
Byron takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "I suppose I'm a bit agitated too almost dying does that I suppose I wonder if there might be a psychological insight there..."
He trails off, almost getting lost in thought before shaking himself slightly and re-focusing on Giulia. "Yes, yes, I understand, just don't make any assumptions about me or my activities in the future if you please and that will work much better now what was it again you were saying you were mad about?"
She carefully places a vial of fizzing red liquid on one of your work benches, far away from any apparatuses. You immediately recognize it as a light healing potion. "Seriously though, you look like merde. Probably good that you're getting a good night's sleep. See you around, amico."
"Yes that would be much better and thank you I'd make some healing concoctions myself but doing so before a good night's rest is a good way to need more healing so I should get back to bed," Byron babbles, nodding at Giulia.
"I don't even know it was poison, the servant looked... off, when she brought drinks. I thought it north worth the risk to drink but didn't want to bring trouble on the girl if I was wrong. She disappeared quick though after." Fiordelise takes a deep breath, should she have confronted the girl? Too late to worry about that now.
"The riots started after the players collapsed, it seems a bit of an extreme reaction to it, so I suspect there was something else involved. Maybe it wasn't just our drinks that were tainted? Or maybe they just take their sports far too seriously." Fiordelise laughs, though it's a weary laugh, after the chaos of the day.
"Sorry, you have problems enough - is there anything you need, I feel a little guilty hiding you down here?"
"To answer your question, milady, I want for no necessities - the food Osric gave me earlier will suffice for the foreseeable future. I found an old musty tome of obscure Hearth history down here, which I must say is considerably better than nothing. As for your guilt, again the comparison is obvious - being alive down here is considerably better than being dead." He smiles, but the expression is quite strained.
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Grimacing and spitting - taking care to avoid any shadows, to avoid causing offense - Odebie grunts. "Beats my reason, at least - given the choice, though, I'd take fewer days like this. Desk duty isn't so bad."
Byron drops back off to sleep shortly after Giulia leaves. When he finally awakens, he immediately sets about brewing up some healing extracts and mixing new bombs. Once he's done, he drinks the extracts he'd mixed.
Feeling restored, he stands about for a moment, then, looking around himself with a bit of confusion, mutters, "What was I going to do today were we going to meet somewhere?"
Fi muses over Leoni's words, so much about the situation didn't seem to be making sense. There was definitely more at work than they she was seeing. She bids farewell to Leoni and heads back up, listening out for signs of her brother, but going to bed if she doesn't hear him making any noise anywhere.
Odebie will sleep in the station; everyone else will be busy late into the night and, given the riots, it seems past time to bring some official attention onto this.
Surrounding you are hundreds of...yous, walking, running, yelling, talking, and arguing. Several are juggling vials and laughing. One is playing an accordion, very badly. One very grim-looking Byron is choking another Byron, this one's tongue lolling out of his mouth. Three other strangely muscular Byrons run over and rip the choking Byron to pieces. This is an oddly bloodless affair.
Captivated by the violent energy of the scene, you have not moved, or been noticed. A Byron with no eyes and a lunatic smile walks toward you, and strikes a match that blazes a vivid blue...
Walking between the roots slowly, almost apathetically, are hollowed-eyed ifrits, among them Corde and v'Manco. The ifrits kick the oread faces and break the oread fingers, making sounds like snapping twigs and branches. The oreads begin laughing uproariously, blood spraying from their mouths, while the ifrits fall upon their knees and weep.
You turn around to ask your father why this is happening, but he is gone...
Everyone is wearing masks, except you. Most of the masks are friendly and silly, but every once in a while you see party-goers wearing elen masks that look all too real: skinned sylphs and peeled undines. Isabelle comes over to you wearing a particularly grotesque sylph mask, the empty eye sockets drooping obscenely over her face.
Without a word, she takes you by the arm to the banquet table, where a group of the elite is just sitting down to dinner. In a raspy whisper, Isabelle confides, "Just don't eat the liver, darling..."
Spread out on the table is your brother, prepped and carved for the taking...
Waking slowly, blearily, Odebie notes semi-pleasantly that his leg doesn't hurt quite so much (though the rest of him still feels like he tried to wrestle a golem). Standing and stretching, he steps off to see if there's any food in the building.
Fiordelise wakes up and lies in bed for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the house and the street outside. Her dreams were rarely pleasant, though she didn't recall one being so disconcerting before.
Eventually she rises and heads to the kitchen, making herself something light to eat (that does not involve meat...) then she waits a while to see if her brother makes an appearance. Musing whether she should try and visit Isabella first, to make sure she's okay... or maybe see if she can find the others, maybe at Osrics office?
Byron awoke with a start. He quickly goes over the dream and dismisses it as a natural reaction to the events of yesterday, then gets to his activities for the day .
Odebie, in the morning you still find the barracks mostly empty of activity, but the feel of the place has changed. You hear some snoring and muttering coming down the hall from the overnight sleeping quarters. You see much of the equipment--swords, helmets, armor, lanterns--have been returned to the armory.
In the mess, there is a single elen present and awake: Lieutenant Dove. He is taking dainty nibbles from a small plate of sausage and eggs. The greasy, smoky smell awakens your stomach.
Byron and Fi, after making your morning preparations, you go out cautiously into the day. Volcano's brightening yellow tones show no hint of the panic and destruction of last night. Indeed, very little of Hearth seems affected, save for the somber and mostly vacant streets.
Neither of you, strictly speaking, has to go near Brightfield Arena to get to the Dims Watch. Even if you choose to give the arena a wide berth, however, you still see guards on almost every street, both from the Dims and neighboring districts. The only townsfolk out at this early hour are grim-faced shop-keeps that are cleaning broken windows or, in extreme cases, salvaging the burnt-out husks of their former businesses. The smell of smoke, blood, and vomit hangs heavy in the still air.
As you each arrive at the Dims, conveniently close together, the same young oread from last night is still at the desk. His head is down, and a faint snore can be heard.
After his morning preparations, Byron putters around for a bit, checking on his experiements, all the while feeling like there's something he's forgetting. It's almost mid-day before it occurs to him.
"The sylph I should find out if they got anything from him!" Byron exclaims to himself. He dashes about, getting his laboratory ready for his departure, and then hurries over to the Dims Watch, all but oblivious to the sights and smells around him.
Fi gave up waiting for her brother, he'd often sleep in or maybe he was out somewhere. She'll try and find him again tonight.
Tired of being covered in scrapes and bruises she decides to wear her armor today, its heavy weight and structure reassuring, particularly after the chaos of last night. Though she slips a loose dress-style tabard over it, it's still obvious she is wearing armour, but stands out a little less in the crowds.
She then heads out, back to Dims Watch, keeping her eyes and mind watchful, who knows if everything has completely settled down yet...
Grunting semi-mindlessly at the Lieutenant, Odebie pours himself a mug of coffee, downs the entire thing in a single motion, pours himself another, and grabs a plate piled high with food before sitting down to eat.
Fi, every guard in the Dims Watch seems to be out and about this morning, so it comes as little surprise that the only one you can see when you enter the barracks is a young oread snoring at the desk.
Odebie, after you have a moment to shovel some food into your mouth, Dove murmurs, "Far be it from me to interrupt a well-deserved meal, Corporal, but I was wondering if I could get something in the way of a...report regarding all the fascinating goings-on you partook of yesterday." The stick-thin sylph moves food around on his plate, humming softly to himself, but never appears to eat any of it.
Pausing in the middle of his breakfast, Odebie looked up. "Apologies; gave a report to the desk officer last night and assumed it made it's way out." He repeats what he said last night, in between bites of food and sips of coffee.
While she'd quite like to leave the desk sergeant to his rest, she came here for a reason. She leans over and whispers quietly into his ear.
"Excuse me, I would like to speak with Corporal Odebie."
A small smile plays at the corner of Dove's mouth. "I believe I can imagine why the report has yet to make the rounds..."
As Fi whispers into the young oread's ear, he jumps up as if he has been poked with a sword. "I'm awake! I'm awake! I..." He calms down a little as he focuses on Fi. "Gray Father! Oh, it's you, Odebie's friend, right? If I know him, if he's awake he's eating. Mess is down the hall and to your right." He points with his thumb. He turns around and starts reordering the piles of paper knocked askew by his frantic motions.
Dove plays with the rings on his right hand, alternating between the pinky and heart fingers. "Most intriguing, Corporal. Are you aware there are almost certainly parties within this very barracks who would wish to see your prisoner dead, either to silence him or to collect on his death contract?"
"Thank you for your assistance, I can only imagine how long your shift has been."
Fi heads down towards the Mess Hall, she makes sure that Odebie sees her but doesn't yet approach until she gets a nod to do so. Last thing she wants is to interrupt something if he's talking to a more senior officer.
"Death contract?"
Dove strokes his pale, pointed chin. "Let me think...I believe the street vernacular would be 'put a hit out on someone', but whatever bureaucrat decides on Watch jargon perhaps thought this to be a bit crude. Regardless," his pale blue eyes meet your own, "I would be careful about who goes near that...troubled and troubling elen you brought in. It is the unfortunate truth of our world that if anything were to happen to him, a relatively low-ranking officer might be held to blame, whether such castigation were warranted or not."
Daintily wiping his fingers clean, Dove says briskly, "Well Corporal, a stimulating conversation indeed. But you know as well as I, 'no rest for the Watch'. Slán agat."
He leaves his uneaten food in a cold, congealing pile on his plate.
Fi, even though you do not see Dove ever look directly at you, you feel as though he is acutely aware of your presence. He walks by without saying a word.
Fiordelise offers a respectful nod to Dove, whether he's watching or not. and then takes a seat by Odebie.
"I do hope you're not in trouble Corporal, I've checked on our friend underground and he seems to be holding up well enough, do you have any idea where to proceed from here?"
Byron at last straggles into the Watch's lobby. He glances at the oread at the desk. "Where might I find Odebie assuming he's in right now?"
The very tired-looking young oread is sipping some coffee. The strong smell of it, both earthy and caffeinated, is enough to make your nose buzz. He winces as he swallows--from the scalding heat or the bitter taste--and says, "He's likely still in the mess hall, either getting something to eat, or regretting the coffee." He points the way.
"Thank you," Byron says as he breezes past the oread.
He quickly makes his way down to the mess hall, and sees both Odebie and Fi there. "Oh you're both here good what have I missed?" he says as he comes in.