Kittington continues to run for a few moments, her eyes shifting backwards, now activating any photosensitive device in the building to act as her extended eyes, following a path where she knows she will be safe from harm. Even if Rashida will watch her body, two pairs of eyes are better than one.
"Oh. Oh! Do not worry about that," projects Kittington, at one of the visions she gets from Rashida.
"I do not put very many blocks in my own mind, and most of them are very nearly ablations, memories that I cannot access except under the strictest of circumstances... I do not know why such imagery would be passing in my mind's eyes." Rashida would be able to sense that the helmetcat has a heavy sense of duty, a feeling of obligation that permeates her very being, a certain protectiveness for her allies. Pity is another powerful emotion that courses through the helmetcat, but directed where, who knows.
"It's time. I leave it to you. I am splitting myself..."
Mittens's meddling left Kittington with two lifelines crashed into one: one cut short by the blank Wowbagger replaced with a bullet in the last moments, and another extended by that same blank once more replaced. But Kittington pulls those paths apart.
The living Kittington remains attached to her body, but a piece of her soul has left her, and she will almost certainly need Rashida's aid and guidance to keep her body survived. "I feel so tired..."
The dead Kittington exists within helmetspace. She always will and always has, but only able to interact with those who have a certain temporal signature, a temporal signature after her death. And so, she leaps into the systems of the theatre, transporting herself through the security network and focusing now on giving all of her allies employment in the theatre, to protect them from the theatre. From another mind, neatly dead, Kittington speaks again to Rashida, "I need a minute's time." More softly: "And then I will take care of Wowbagger."
Ralph sucks in a quick breath when Cassie's hand comes in contact with his ankle, but he can't seem to make himself look towards her. As he's dragged further from the blue light it seems to get easier to think and his sight started clearing up again.
With an intense sadness still tugging at him from inside, the young man found himself against a warm soft body, and a gentle comforting hand stroking his hair. 'Momma' the initial thought is quickly discarded as his mind clears a bit 'No, it can't be her.'
Cassie..." He mutters barely audible, realising who it is he lets out a soft sigh relaxing more against her, content to let her comfort him and take the sorrow away. As he leaned into her something brushed his shoulder causing the youth to jump slightly in pain, the sudden jolt reminds him of the situation, and that they are by no means safe here. He closes his eyes and concentrates trying to force himself to snap out of this.
The bit of blue light which still remained clinging to Ralph seemed to jump away, and even Cassie's green light cowered away from him. Moving his head away from the French woman's bosom he looks towards her, tears clearly on his cheeks, but no longer in his eyes "Minx, ain't no time fer cuddles now, we's still in trubble." He gently pats her cheek "Tanks fer pullin me out." He stands and offers her his good hand to help her up.
Gently she rubs her thumb across his cheek, smearing the tear away. Then watches him rise, clasping his good hand she stands too. Unfolding upon one leg, the French woman favours her injured leg heavily.
She looks about the room, for the clerk appears to have left and Captain Ysillith is relaxed and happy having been bathed in her own warm colour.
However, the memories and emotions dredged up by this strange place have rocked the lady and she looks desperately about the laboratory. Hobbling slightly over to the benching and draws she rips them open, searching frantically for pieces of paper, notes and ledgers. Running her fingers down the page, trying to locate a name...one specific name.
Rahsida hears the muscular alien stagger down a different corridor, away from where she waits with the wire. Damn him! She slips through the maze of vents and pipes and corridors in an attempt to keep up with his hammering footsteps, which are beginning to sound a bit irregular now. At times, she catches glimpses of blue in the dimness below- and backstage, but he does not seem to be stopping to render bodily harm to any felines just yet. Satisfied, she tries to keep up but not interfere.
Rashida feels a wash of relief that the helmetcat is forgiving of mistakes in this still-new form of communication. Combining the empathic link with MeowMail is proving quite powerful. She fears they will need all the bolstering they can get during Duchess Meowselsworth's effort, whatever that may be.
The sudden rending as Kittington separates her two lifelines (or her lifeline from her life/deathline) is a terrible shock. She can feel part of Kittington's very essence being forcibly pulled from her body as if it were happening to her, the searing, soul-deep pain rocking her not just of its own accord, but because it was so very familiar.
This is how it feels to have your soul pulled apart. This is not imaging. This is loss. They lied to me. They lied!!
A shriek tears itself from Rashida's throat as she slams unseeing into a wall. Fists balled beside her head, she slides down the wall to curl up at its base, gold dress gleaming in the dimness.
Kittington, she thinks desperately, I must hold on for her sake. Pushing back the pain and despair, she seeks the thread binding Kittington's roaming soul to her body.
But there is nothing there.
Pulling open the draws like a woman possessed, her hands search and scatter the paperwork. "Where is it? Where is he? What is this place?" Suddenly she looks around for the insane clerk maybe he could provide answers - however the man has vanished.
Turning her emerald eyes towards Ysillith; "The doctor, he brought you here, why? Why?" she demands her voice upon the edge of hysteria.
Half turning away realising how unreasonable she is being, in the peripheral a word jumps out. A lightning bolt to her brain she grasps the book and starts to read the leather bound ledger.
Placing it upon a counter she reads with an enigmatic smile.
With the immediate danger appearing to be gone Ralph slips the stiletto into his belt, and moves carefully over to Cassie as she frantically searches for something. "Minx? are y'ok darlin?" Maybe something was still affecting her, the sudden sorrow he had felt came with that blue light, there didn't seem to be any light with Cassie now, but she was definitely acting strange.
A hesitant hand reaches out to be placed on the French woman's shoulder "Yer kinda wurryin me, whut's goin on? whut're ya lookin fer?"
Finishng the dark ruddy ledger, carefully she closes the brass clasp. Her hand quivers, so much so that she almost drops the leather bound book. Holding it to her chest, she closes her eyes and takes a deep cleansing breath.
Remembering her training and the strict instruction, she focuses upon a single point deep inside herself. Willing the troubles and emotions of the world away, a tricky process for one who lives upon the razor's edge of her emotions. Cassie tries to find her centre.
Long eyelashes part revealing her emerald iris' framing large sorrowful pupils. Carefully, with a roll of her hips she moves to the others: "This book, it contains information showing the illegal experiments. How they are working in foreign technology..." her voice nearly calm.
"I'm sorry, Squirrel..." the words softly slip off the tongue, her accent thick. "I didn't mean to worry you."
Panicking, Clousuk toggles the "Assassins" emergency switch several more times. Each time, the pleasant woman's voice can be heard explaining how futile it is for the assassins to be trying this trick. Clousuk looks at the little Serv-Bot watching him.
"What am I zuppozed to do?!" Clousuk asks of the little clockwork.
Its telescopic eye focuses on Clousuk and then it seems to shrug. Hopping up on Clousuk's tail, the Serv-Bot runs along it and pulls itself up to Clousuk's shoulder. Then putting one little hand over its telescopic eye, the little clockwork presses a random switch...
Not having expected this, Clousuk's eyes go wide and he bellows, "Braaaaaaaack!
boooooooooOOOOOOO
boooooooooOOOOOOO
boooooooooOOOOOOO
A siren adds to the klaxon blare as another announcement thunders from the speakers.
"DRAGON ATTACK. DRAGON ATTACK. IMPLEMENT IMMEDIATE ANTI-DRAGON MEASURES. THIS INCLUDES ALL REPTILIAN LIFEFORMS SINCE WE REALLY CANNOT DISTINGUISH BETWEEN THEM. DRACONIC CONFUSION MEASURES ACTIVATING."
After a pause, it continues, "DRAGON ASSASSINS ARE IN REAL TROUBLE NOW."
Outside the theater, there are several greasy flares as the Tesla field activates without warning, zapping a few unfortunates who are in the path, loitering near the theater for an evening stroll. Indoors, there's an ominous groan throughout the theater as the doors, walls, and automated scenery begin moving, reconfiguring the theater every few seconds to confuse and trap the invading sinuous reptiles.
The Serv-Bot regards Clousuk with its telescopic eye, gives the kobold a little salute, and, before the investigator can do anything, hops down and flees from the scaly detective's vicinity.
Ralph shakes his head "If yer ok den dat's fine, jus' tought wit all da weird lights messin wit yer mind I just wanned ta make shure ya were ok." Despite having said he was worrying about her the young man doesn't really sound worried, or really anything else he sounds bereft of emotion.
"So dis is sum kinna evidence 'gainst dis place? Whutcha gonna do wit it?" He peers towards her and the ledger wondering why Cassie was so obsessed looking for it, and how she knew it would be there.
"I'm not sure, we should take it to the league. They are the only authority that could do anything about it..." her voice matches Ralph's with a calm tone. However whilst his seemed to her to have been purged, the French-woman is just mellow.
"Unfortunately, they wouldn't do anything. You don't know the noble houses like me... but they can be quite selfish and useless." Cassie adds glad of the handsome man's lack of politics; "We may have to keep it, hold onto it to prove our innocence."
Cassie has not let go of the book, since she found out what it contained. Keeping a firm hand upon it's spine.
"A scream! Was that the Massri?"
Alice starts to dash off in the direction of the scream, pulling free of Drake and heading in a different direction from Vorian Ritter.
Gears grind and latches rasp, warning the girl an instant before a stage lift crashes ungoverned to the floor before her. Her momentum carries her stumbling onto the lowered segment of stage, which starts to rise again immediately.
Alyce hurls herself to the floor and rolls off the rising stage, momentum carrying her back to Drake's feet. "What's going on?" she cries in confusion, as a nearby wall segment rotates and shifts to a new position. The loudspeaker booms again as the klaxon and siren sound, flashing red light giving the understage a hellish glare.
"ANTIDRAGON MEASURES IN EFFECT. ANTIASSASSIN MEASURES IN EFFECT. PRESS ANOTHER BUTTON FOR MORE ASSISTANCE. YOU'RE WELCOME."
From where the wall formerly stood, several spindly mechanical frames detach from the wall, limbs rotating in a blur with an ominous whistling noise. "Stop. Assassins." A mechanical voice grates the command as the devices move to close with the pair.
"I ain't goin ta da league" he states as a matter of fact, apparently he's willing to follow her into a strange laboratory chasing after an immortal blue alien, but not to the league.
Ralph nods agreeing with his date "Dem hoity-toities ain't care nottin 'bout us." Sounds like he knows at least enough about the noble houses that he doesn't want anything to do with them. "If it ain't linin deir coffers er' makin it seem like dey's be'er'n normal folk dey ain't gonna lift a finger." the youth shrugs his shoulders "Ain't know why dey's so high 'n mighty. Most o' em ain't do nottin fer what dey got, jus' had it handed o'er by daddy."
Although it's hard to be sure with his current emotional purge, there may be some bitterness there. As someone who's lived his life in the filth working hard so he can scrounge, and probably steal, to eat, it might not be a big surprise that he has less than amiable feelings towards those who simply inherit fortunes. Or is there more to it than that?
"Alyce! Don't!" Drake yells then starts to move when the flooring comes down. He gasps low in his throat thinking for a moment that she had been squished, the speed of what was happening startling him until she got back to his side. He stood there astonished that she was still alive when the walls started to throw out mechanical things to attack them.
Drake kneels on the ground and opens his brief case, muttering under his breath as he looks for exactly what he wants then takes out a remote control and presses a button, "Emergency protocol Khoth 010842 Leanna Joy, son Drake, break 1 break 1."
He watches as the machines slow down and start beeping at one another as if they are determining what exactly was being told to them and whether they wanted to actually listen to those orders. As they whir and whistle he holds the remote control in front of himself and grumbles, "Now I know why they gave this to me when I first worked here as Joey Drake Ramoray."
The machines beep, Ramoray or Khoth. Ramoray or Khoth? Ramoray or Khoth!?
The sound builds with each mention of the two names and they begin to advance again.
"Drake Khoth plays Ramoray. Drake Khoth plays Ramoray!" Drake closes his case and stands, holding Alyce's hand while putting the strap of the case over his neck then pointing the remote at the machines, "Drake Khoth plays ... oh f*$+ this. What does this button do?"
The normally calm doctor hits a button and out shoots a laser which pierces through one of the machines, he shoots again and again taking down a couple more machines as their hails sound louder and louder.
RAMORAY OR KHOTH!! RAMORAY OR KHOTH!!!
"Run!" Drake says as he turns and runs, pulling Alyce along as he shoots any machine between them and the way away from these things.
The rambunctious clamor of the emergency alarms drown out the sound of Vorian's footsteps, permeating the air with vibrations that could be felt across the skin. The sound only seemed to grow louder and louder, and yet, he found the cacophony all too easy to ignore. At the very least, the fact he could hear the alarms at all meant that he was not yet deaf. However, the noble had other things to worry about. Too many, perhaps.
"Where in blazes is he? I could swear that him and the Duchess went in this direction!" he finds himself asking himself aloud, an exercise in futility with all the racket going on. I have not been running very fast, but they could not have gone that far, could they? The noble thinks back to when he had tried to give chase, when he had suddenly collapsed. He had only taken a few moments to recuperate, hadn't he? Did I lose time...? he wonders with a frown, as he continues to dash down the passage, Or...
Both Vorian's body and thoughts grind to a halt when the loudspeaker booms once more.
What in blazes is a 'breath weapon?' he wonders, having already taken off once more, And again with these dragons! Don't tell me...
Don't be ridiculous. You can still feel the presence of the Duchess... both presences. Naturally there is no cord. She died. The cord was severed for that part of her.. and yet, it is not severed. Though I cannot see the cord in this reality, I can feel her spirit, her soul. She is still here.
As Rashida calms and becomes accustomed to the strange situation, the awareness of both Kittingtons grows, both potentially present though not exactly whole. The embodied Kittington is slipping daintily through the understage, ducking and dodging, without much difficulty. Rashida relaxes and simply tries to hold both presences in her mind without interfering with their actions, watching them both simultaneously.
The wall against which Rashida leans lurches and rumbles into a new position, and the blare of klaxon, siren, and loudspeaker seeps into her awareness. She rises shakily to her feet, wire still in hand. Several clockwork mechanisms swivel to face her, ocular units having picked up the movement of the bright gold dress. As they advance, her eyes darken with rage.
"I am done being used! I! Have! Had it!" Darting to the lead mech, she ducks swiftly inside its scything blow, loops the wire around the stem of its sensory pod, and jerks the wire taut. The tough wire severs the stem, blinding the mech as its sensory pod skitters away across the floor. Dodging away before it can grab her, she kicks at its leg, spinning it around, then boots it into another pair of oncoming assailants, pincers waving wildly as the three collide and struggle.
Huh. This isn't that tough, is it. Ignoring the blood dripping from where the wire has cut into her hands, she turns to face the rest.
I wonder what those are?
While Rashida monitors her body, Kittington's body still does her best to bring Wowbagger forward. Kittington's dead part, however, is a lot busier: The helmetspace spirit takes control of the machine, adding all of those present to the employee list of the theatre (all as janitorial contractors), remembering their names and faces to input into the machine, using any security feed to get pictures of those present.
Dragon deterrance? wonders both the live and dead Kittingtons to themselves, Does that system even work?
"BREATH WEAPON DETERRENT READY. PLEASE DO NOT ALLOW CHEMICAL TO ENTER EYES OR MOUTH. ANTIASSASSIN MEASURES ADDENDUM: 'UNLESS YOU ARE AN ASSASSIN.'"
There it goes again! What is that damn thing talking abou-
Before he could finish the thought, clear fluid erupts from nozzles on the ceiling, unleashing a torrential downpour all throughout the hallway. Vorian manages to shut his eyes, but ducks down just moments too late. Almost immediately the rain is upon him, soaking his body from head to toe in an instant. For five seconds the heavy rain continues, before stopping just as abruptly as it had started - not even a drop of excess trickles from above.
Slowly, cautiously, the noble opens his eyes and takes a deep breath, having clamped his mouth shut instinctively. What is this...? Vorian wonders with astonishment, as what remains of the liquid empties into drains on the sides of the hallway. The brief but cornucopian shower had splattered onto every inch of the walls and floor. And yet... Looking down at his gloved hand, Vorian rubs two fingers together, frowning. The substance that had just covered his body was gone. Surely enough, the sensation of wet clothing against his skin was no longer there. After just seconds had passed, it was as though nothing had happened at all.
"WE NOW ENCOURAGE ANY AND ALL DRAGONS ON THE PREMISES TO BREATHE FIRE AT THEIR LEISURE. THANK YOU."
"Who on Earth built this place?" Vorian wonders, more confused than ever. And what kind of opera house would be attacked by a dragon? As he ponders these things futilely, a glint of moving metal from further down the hall suddenly catches his eye. It becomes rather apparent that he was not alone down there. Well, I can't stop now... he decides, as he makes his way towards the moving machines. It had not yet dawned on him just how lost he really was.
"I care about you, I hope you don't think I'm a hoity-toity." she bites her lip, causing a soft cresent in the scarlet lip-stick. The idea of another of her friends distain, creates a knot deep down. 'Alessandra and Jin, Gigus, Rashida's apathy and of course Taraz...' Cassandra puts away any thoughts of him.
Instead she concentrates on the handsome you man opposite; "True, the league can be like that. But some individuals do some extraordinary works of charity and compassion." the French-woman feels the need to defend the nobility.
Ralph waves his hand to dismiss Cassie's apparent concern "I ain't mean you Minx y'ain't like dem." He pauses for a moment "Y'ain't parta da league are ya?" 'Or worse a bounty hunter for them...' He looks at the French woman somewhat suspiciously 'Could she be? why else would this beautiful sophisticated woman be interested in a filthy street urchin? I'd really have to hand it to him if he's got Minx on his payroll.'
The young man shakes his head pushing away the thoughts "Shure I ain't mean e'ery single hoity-toity's da same, jus' most o' em ain't innit fer anyting dat ain't helpin dem, e'en da char'ty werk ones."
She laughs softly, just the hint of self-deprecation. "No, not part of the League. They are the greatest houses, the most influential.... I am..." she waves her manicured hand dismissively. Drawing the eye to the smooth curves of her arms, and her vivid dress that barely constrains more tempting curves.
'If only he knew... but no I cannot... not even my husband...'
"I wouldn't say that, however even if they are doing it for the wrong reason. If they help the common man, then it matters not their motives." Cassie says with a certain inevitability.
With a lilt of her head; "You seem to know a lot about the Nobility, did you work for a Family?"
The helmetcat spirit finishes working on the security system, taking a mental note that the dragon breath defenses are on. There must be a way to use that against Wowbagger, but it would require more thought and preparation.
All present except Wowbagger have been added to the roster. Kittington considers that for a moment and then speaks to Rashida, It may be time for me to face my assailant now that preparations have been made. If this does not work, I may not make it intact.
Alyce dashes along with Drake, ducking and dodging through the maze of changing passageways and hostile mechs, tugging Drake aside slightly when a flailing mechanical arm he hasn't noticed swings towards his head, and being tugged away from a sudden jet of colorsteam she fails to notice. After a few shots, his remote abruptly cascades brilliant sparks and falls quiet, refusing to function at all.
"Oh dear," Alyce gasps as the device fails and the mechs resume their pursuit, grating RAMORAY!! KHOTH!! RAMORAY!! KHOTH!! through their clockwork vocabulators.
A segment of wall slams to a new position directly before the fleeing pair, and they juke left to avoid a mech with whirring lathe bits thrusting in their direction. The floor beneath their feet rises abruptly and slams to a stop, dropping Alyce on her rump. They find themselves center stage, amid a whirl of mechanized scenery clomping across the floor, with clockwork guards at parade through the theater. A spotlight pinpoints the pair, and the guard mechs surround them with frightening speed.
"BREATH WEAPON DETERRENT READY. PLEASE DO NOT ALLOW CHEMICAL TO ENTER EYES OR MOUTH. ANTIASSASSIN MEASURES ADDENDUM: 'UNLESS YOU ARE AN ASSASSIN.'"
The sudden rain of strange fluid blinds the couple momentarily while the clockwork guards seem unaffected. They can hear one speak through the noise of the brief downpour.
"Khoth, Drake. Identity confirmed," one mech grates, "Employment status: active. Position: janitor. Direction: Mop." The deluge ends and the two find themselves dry almost immediately, with the mech thrusting a mop and bucket at Drake.
"Kórógyi, Alyce. Identity confirmed," the mech grinds, "Employment status: active. Position: server. Correction. Position: janitor. Direction: Sweep." It releases the mop and bucket, heedless of whether Drake has accepted them, and thrusts a broom at Alyce as she scrambles to stand. She accepts it automatically, and it clomps back a step.
The ring of guards disperses, leaving only the speaking captain. "Mop. Sweep. Now."
Alyce glances at Drake uncertainly, then addresses the mech, quavering. "Frau Stuptsmann told us to clean the under stage area right away." The guard flicks its ocular units briefly, then the section of stage drops beneath their feet, returning them to the shadowy maze beneath the theater's great stage. The walls and mechs still rearrange randomly, but none approach with hostility. In fact, they ignore the duo completely and go about their business.
"What just happened?" Alyce blinks at Drake in bewilderment.
Drake stands glaring at the little mechanoids while his hair dries into a deluged mass of unreasonable strands that he tries to blow off his face. He grumbles something about flash drying being bad for his hair as he gets a comb out of a pocket and starts to brush the unruly mess back into shape.
He harrumphs in a dejected state then looks at Alyce, "It seems that someone has gotten into the system and fixed it so we are not being attacked any more by entering us as employed here." The doctor comments while finishing off with his primping, "We should find Ritter right away and see if he is ok. I did not like how his legs were."
With a turn he takes Alyce's hand and gives her a slight grin as he turns with her and starts to go back the other way, "Thank you for all of that. You were amazing at slaloming those traps."
Alyce's cheeks turn a faint pink as she beams at Drake, shouting over the sound of the warning sirens and klaxons. "Me? No, it was you. Well... I guess it was both of us. Good thing we weren't alone. We would have needed eyes in the back of our head to get through... oh no! Lord Ritter was alone! You're right, we've got to find him. But which way?"
Alyce looks around the area, but has obviously become completely disoriented with all the turning and reconfiguration. She looks to Drake with some despair, waving her broom feebly.
Duchess, I am with you still, but how can we possibly confront him? Can you use the theater itself? I know he is immortal, but perhaps he can be trapped. Waves of worry wash through the empathic link. Must you face him? Where is everyone else? They can help if you can bring them here.
Rashida tries to relax and keep both Kittingtons in tune as the helmetcat's nimble form dances through the cluttered utility ways of the great clockwork theater.
"I believe it is this way. At least we won't have to worry about the big blue guy for a while." He says as he tries to determine what to do with his little techno gadget then snorts and throws it away. It wouldn't even make a good remote control any more.
The doctor starts calculating what else he has in his bag and the thought of what seemed to be going on with their target's legs. It seemed very strange and he wanted to get to the bottom of it but now they had to survive.
"Mmm da greatest houses..." Ralph smiles and shrugs his good shoulder at the comment "Well Minx lemme tell ya, ya gots a lot more infl'ence on me den dey do."
The young man laughs softly at Cassie's question of if he worked for a Family "Nah dey ain't wanna Joe like me, a flity street rat, I'd be too much trubble, and I ain't willin ta be no slave." He sighs softly, the emotional purge seems to be slowly wearing off as somewhat conflicting emotions start to surface. "I had sum friends dat were, but dey're all gone now." Teeth clenched for a moment as he remembers, then he waves his hand to dismiss it "But I ain't gonna bore ya wit dat... less jus' say if da league's hand reaches fer me, I ain't 'spect it'll be ta help me up."
Naturally we will be using the theatre itself to our advantage. I do not mean to face him alone though if I have to I will. As it has always been, my priority is not my own survival, but the best interest of the rest of you. If we turn our backs on him to run, it is the the moment when he will see our vulnerability. We have faced him before, and the only way out was suicide. I am providing tasks for our other companions to route them all to one place, so we can once again be united. I will need your guidance for pulling my selves together again. I can sense my living self is rather drained from the split... Kittington's helmetspace ghost starts back through the wire, transmitting to Kittington's helmet.
Casting away any thoughts of the mystery of the strange fluid, Vorian slows his pace as he approaches the clockwork mechs. Despite being just feet away from them, the machines do not seem to pick up on his presence. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the hilt of his cane sword, ready to strike at the first sign of provocation. Slowly stepping towards them, he considers the amount of effort it would take to dispatch them, his dwindling supply of ichor coming to mind. I had to attack the ones from before head-on. If I could take these by surprise...
Just as he prepares to draw his blade however, the clockwork mechs suddenly turn to face him. Vorian freezes on the spot, put off by their sudden reaction. Yet strangely enough, they do not lunge at him like he expects them to. Rather, they simply stare; the silence is only broken when the apparent leader of the unit speaks out.
"Ritter, Vorian. Identity confirmed. Employment status: active. Position: usher. Direction: Return to theater."
"What?!" Vorian responds, baffled by the sudden turn of events."No, I just came from there!" he protests, trying to look past the mechs, down the passage beyond them. The hallway seemed to stretch on for an eternity, with no end in sight, let alone Wowbagger or Kittington. Just how far had he ran? "I need to go after-"
"Return," the clockwork repeats, its voice grating and commanding.
Before he could argue any further, the ceiling above him suddenly opens up with a metal yawn, the sound of grinding gears filling the otherwise silent hallway. The floor below Vorian's feet suddenly starts to rise, pushing the noble towards the open portal. What is going on here? he wonders. Despite what he was told, he could only assume his destination.
"All this for me?" Wowbagger says to the wall of clockwork robots that seem to literally spring up around him. He swung his pipe, but his muscles were sluggish and it merely knocked it off its mechanical appendages instead of crushing it. It seemed like two of them had fallen over. Wait...actually it was the same one...he was seeing double.
"Unidentified assailant. Not an employee of the theater. This is the assassin." A whirring mechanical voice stated.
"Yoush, shtupid cog brain. 'Curs ayze not an empluryee." His tongue felt thick and impossible. Shtupid cog brain? That insult was definitely not up to his normal standards. But how...?...Oh! The prick in his bum! That damned actor doctor...he would pay for this.
Wowbagger only had a brief second to register that he was being grasped roughly by what seemed a gazillion clockwork claws. Suddenly he could see the walls, floor, and ceiling all coming together into what must be a cube shape. Light vanished and all he could hear was the whirring of clockwork and hydraulics. A sudden sense of extreme motion as if the whole cube was being whisked away, placed the last little bit of stress his perfect alien body could handle while drugged, and his mind descended into the blackness of the place where cursed immortals dream.
This way, Duchess.
From within the helmetcat's fuzzy head, Rashida calls to the drifting, bifurcated soul, stretching out a spiritual hand to guide her back to her body.
Come back, my friend.
"And I'll protect you. It's what I do." her reply holds a low inevitablity to it.
She pauses knowing the sorrowful implications of his words. The cruelty she has seen upon occasion from the League and the Houses. "I'm sorry that you have lost friends."
"They wouldn't want you to be bitter, experience your life." Tentatively she reaches out for his hand, finding it surprisingly large, she brushes her fingertips across the surface of the back of his hand.
"I know you are a Survivor, but can you really live? Or would you like me to show you?"
Ralph smiles at the French woman "Yer gonna pertec me from da league Minx?" He wonders what she would do if the league actually does come for him, it doesn't seem like she'd have much of a chance.
With a sigh and nod of his head "Well I ain't gonna fergive him fer it, but like ya said I ain't gonna just dwell on it eider."
He smiles and takes Cassie's soft hand "Well darlin, I like ta tink I live a good 'nough life, but... I am kinda lookin forward ta ya showin me now. Mebbe we cin git started on dat once we git outta dis place."
She nods at Squirrels question, little knowing about the ragamuffin's background. "Yes, I'll show you sights you never dreamed of. We'll have some fun, although don't think you're on a promise!" she teases softly licking her plump lips.
With Rashida's guidance, the two souls of Kittington reunite into a single entity, linking up back together. Thank you, Rashida. This means a lot to me...
Then her eyes break away from the young man, pushing the memory from the bath-house away. A parchment catches her attention, laying upon the floor where she threw it.
Curious alchemical and mathematical squiggles intrigue the flighty French-woman. She kneels to pick it up and examine it... "This seems to indicate, that the replicant are extremely rare and costly. No more than a dozen have been made... not of the current models." she says with a creased brow and gallic shrug. "There are a few more of the older ones but they are all still prototypes. Flawed ones at that ..." she looks closer.
"Merde, only the 'real' models have souls and these spirits are from..." she tries to decipher the computations. Though of a scientific mindset, she has trouble with the esoteric concepts.
Ralph smiles mischievously towards Cassie and nods slowly seeming to think back at something "Well ya already showed a peek at sum 'sights I neva dreamed of' back in da steam room." He winks towards her "Maybe we cin have sum promise later."
He peers towards the parchment "Minx darlin, I ain't gots da slightest idea whut yer talkin 'bout wit da protatypes an da repi'cants." He takes a look around seeing if he can spot where Ysillith or that crazy doctor went off to. "Minx didja see whut happened ta dat doc'r? 'An we ain't heard frum da udders fer a while now, I hope dey're ok... 'specially Kit, 's my fault she's dragged inta dis mess."
"Oh, you saw that?" her face flushes, but eyes sparkling at the compliment.
Turning towards the door, a dark portal against the labs illumination. "Yes, they must be alright." voice holding a note of forlorn hope. "She is quite pretty that, Kit(?). But we have no way of contacting them...."
Moving slowly towards the door and peering out; "Both the doctor and that suited maniac has disappeared. Probably fled." She still clutches the journal to her chest.
For several seconds Vorian is plunged into darkness, surrounded only by the heavy chorus of meshing gears around him. He did not dare move from where he stood on the rising platform, for fear of being crush amongst their cogs. While the technological marvel of the clockwork was not totally lost on him, only frustration welled up within him. He had his hopes, but he knew that there was only one place the lift could be taking him. The platform abruptly comes to a halt, jerking the noble in place. As he regains his balance, there is a loud grind as the featureless surface before him slides over, spilling light into the clockwork elevator. Vorian was not at all happy with what he saw.
"Damn it!" he says angrily, as he steps out into the foyer of the clockwork theater. The portal closes behind him, the entrance blending seamlessly into the geometry of the walls. I am right back where I started! he realizes, not at all happy, Damn this theater! Stomping out towards the middle of the room, he glances about with a frown. Considering all of the mayhem from earlier, the room was surprisingly intact. In fact, there was not a guest or automaton in sight. Is the Tesla field even still on? Vorian wonders, looking out towards the entrance. He could not see for certain, but he did not hear any more gunfire either...
What is going on with this place?" he finds himself asking, "This is just a theater, isn't it?" For what it was worth, the answer was rather obvious. There was clearly something else at work here. But what?
Having calmed himself, Vorian stands there for several moments, contemplating his situation. For a moment, he considers going back through the vent he entered before, but dismisses the idea. He was rather certain that the corridor he had been running down before was not directly below the foyer - was the theater shifting? I need to find someone who has answers, he decides, making his way to the hallway. It is not long before he finds a clockwork automaton, strangely docile compared to those from before. The machine regards Vorian with a stare, but the noble speaks first.
"The show is over," he starts, remembering his assigned role, "I would like to speak to my, ah, employer. I have some grievances to file. Could you take me there?"
Ralph chuckles softly at the French woman's flushing "Well I ain't see dat much, but I wuz sittin right next ta ya, dere mighta been a peek."
The street urchin sighs and nods "I"m shure dey're ok... seem ta be able ta take care o' demselves." He nods when Cassie mentions Alyce being pretty "Yeah Kit'sa real cutie, y'know when I furst met 'er I tought she wuz yer sister er sumtin."
Coming over to the lady in the doorway he puts his good hand on her shoulder "Darlin Cap'n's crazy 'n all and I'm purdy shure she's gonna try ta kill us at sum point, but I ain't 'spect ya'd go 'round callin 'er a maniac."
"Well, a peeks good for a growing man..." she teases as she lets him lead her to the corridor. "Now, I don't think I have a sister... well apart maybe from Mimi?"
With a wistfully countenance; "Well I don't know what my father got upto, the old rogue. And don't think I didn't catch that compliment, you have a sweet tongue."
With a chuckle and a grin "'m glad ya tink so Minx, some dames ain't take too well ta a Joe tryin ta sneak a peek... Err... Not dat I know anytin 'bout dat." The perfectly innocent young man explains.
Something about the way Cassie mentioned Mimi made it seem like she wasn't sure if she should consider her a sister or not. His natural assumption was that Mimi was a half sister, or something similar, Ralph was pretty sure he had a whole slew of half siblings that he'd never met, his father wasn't really known for fidelity. "Mimi? Nah, I ain't never 'eard 'o er sweets." Of course he didn't know the proper names of most of his closest friends either, at least if he's ever caught and interrogated the villains won't be able to make heads nor tails out of what he says.
He's quiet, somewhat pensive at the mention of Cassie's father, it had seemed like a touchy subject earlier, which he could understand; he'd certainly rather his father wasn't brought up the less questions the better. Instead he focuses on the last bit, although he's not entirely sure which compliment she's referring to. "Sweet tongue huh? Well play yer cards right darlin, and maybe I'll letcha have a sample later."
At his mischievous words; "Oh, you could bring a smile to any womans' face." she says enigmatically, before adding with a twinkle in her eye. "As well as a few other expressions I'm sure..."
She limps down the dim corridor, away from the lab. Twisting and turning the establishment painted tunnel leads to a dark and solid door. "Ready to enter the portal?"
In one hand she grips her silver pistol, whilst her other has a death grip upon the ledger. With a slight nod to the heavy airlock wheel, the noble woman waits expectantly.
Ralph laughs softly and shakes his head "A smile usually ain't da foist ting dat comes ta'a dame's face when she sees me. Dough I been havin summore luck since I'm togged ta da bricks like dis." He looks down at his suit now torn in places, and covered in blood. "Well... not like dis, but b'fore..."
Following his date down the corridor, he'd offer for her to lean on him, but he's not in the best shape himself. Also they'd be better able to deal with anything they might run into if they're not tied together at the hip. Ralph draws the blade Cassie gave him, and makes towards the airlock and responds to her question "Minx, yer a real special dame an' all, but promised m'self I'd ne'er on da foist date."
"Is that your way of asking for a second date?" she arches an eyebrow. "Well, this one has had death, shootings, insanity and lost memories... I wonder how we can top it?"
She feels the door, it's cool to the touch. "This leads outside?"
You are very welcome, my friend. I bide. The voice in the noble cat's head subsides, though the feeling of presence remains.
Lean, hard hands grip the helmetcat firmly around the ribs, just behind her forelegs, and whisk her into the air.
"Hello, Duchess," Rashida whispers into Kittington's ear, "The things down here stopped attacking and seem to think I am some sort of maid. I presume that is your work?"
She holds the helmetcat to her shoulder and trots along below the stage, perfectly retracing her path there. "I do not know where the rest are, but we should leave quickly. Do you have any way of finding them? Do you know where the alien is?"
Seeing that with his injured shoulder and knife in the other had Squirrel has not the leverage to open the door. Cassie lifts a leg; it slips easily from the confines of her dress. Long and slender, it's clad in a black stocking that seems to shimmer in the anemic light.
Seemingly stretching gracefully out against the waterfall of her dress, her toned thigh hits a border of black lace. In stark contrast her warm flesh presses and slightly spills over the edge, a hint of luxuriant promise.
Carefully the dancer places a heel upon the wheel, next to a spoke.
Then she leans into door, the backless dress slight rides downwards and the valley of her lower back arches. Shadows playing across it, the grey promise of hidden treasures.
Letting out a small grunt of exertion, she pushes, leg tensing against the strain of the thick door. For a second it appears her efforts are futile, with a groan the mechanism gives.
The disc turns, whilst the French-woman adds to it's momentum as an old-maid with a spinning wheel. There's a click of a lock and released from it's housing, the door opens. A gust of cool lake air rolls down the corridor. Goosebumps are drawn from Cassies' exposed skin, as a deep sigh is from her lips.
"So, we are outside." she states obviously. "Gentlemen first."
"A secn'd date would be great Minx 'n I guess ya paid fer it... so I can' e'en really deny ya da goods dis time. But dat ain't count da same."
Ralph can't help but feel a bit of guilt seeing Cassie struggle somewhat with the door feeling like perhaps he should be the one opening it. Of course the lithe French woman was probably stronger than him on a good day let alone one that he's weak with blood loss, and has one arm totally useless.
The guilt doesn't last long though as his Minx puts on quite a nice show of opening the door. He can't help but feel she's doing it on purpose, she seems to be opening the door in such a way that she can tease with her body as much as possible while she does. After a few tantalizing moments of exposed thigh and black lace the door is open, and the dress is back in place.
"Tanks Minx, sawry I couldn't help ya wit da door, wuz fun watchin dough." He steps outside and sighs breathing in the cool air "Are we safe now?" His shoulders sag "I could use a nap..."