Elliomander keeps his cloak drawn closed enough to cover his firearm, and the brim of his hat low enough to partly conceal his face. He stands quietly behind Vera, hoping that he won't be called upon to do any of the talking.
Amelia lets Vera do the talking, as she doesn't currently trust herself to speak.
Gar eyes the constable as they approach, taking note of the man's haphazard appearance, his unkempt clothes, his dirty nails and greasy hair, and, of course, his drinking. He knows the type. He's likely cut from the same cloth.
"Guide us toward th'truth, even if it stinks like week old fish stew," he mutters a prayer, laying a finger across his lips in a gesture of silence.
He lightly kicks a barstool out of his way, grinning like a fool. "Constable Jones? The one and only! Old Vera here's just sayin' what a salty dog you are, Sir! Shrewdest mind this side of the Bridge, but kept hid t'the shadows. What a blessin' to actually meet you, Mr. Jones!" Gar extends an armored hand, then withdraws it quickly. "But where's our manners! Drink, please, don't stop on our account. Vera's like t'join ya, anyways. Say, while I got yer ear, you wouldn't mind chattin' with us would ya? It'd give the boys back home quite a thrill to know I'd parlayed with The Constable."
Constable Jones leers, "Vera calls me a salty dog does she? Well it's best I don't share the names us boys of the Watch have got for young Ms Marshall. Well, least she's got me figured for the intellect I got". Jones smirks at Vera and then pushing an empty tankard towards Gar, "Seems to me that I've emptied my Regal Bitter... if you're wanting any information then I think its better I have something to wet the whistle as it were".
Jones, clearly the wreck of a man that Gar takes him for, makes a show of reaching for his coin pouch, "Seems that I'm all outta coin... how's about you shout me a drink. Vera knows the score - better the drink, the better the conversation... that's if you get my meaning".
Amelia stalks over to the bar, raps it with the handle of her scythe, and silently points to a bottle of whiskey on the back shelf, and puts two gold pieces down for it. Then she takes the bottle over and puts it on the table in front of Jones before staring at him over the bottle, from just behind Gar.
Jones looks at the bottle of whiskey and smiles, "Well... that's a start. Tell you what, grab yerself a coupla' glasses and take a seat... we can talk all civilised like". Pouring a healthy measure of the amber fluid into the tankard that previously contained some kind of ale, Jones drinks heavily, "Now... what is it that you folks are wanting to discuss?"just
Frill keeps trying to blend into the wall, letting the others have their conversation. If she finds a quiet spot away from the crowd she takes it. She does keep an ear out for any juicy gossip she might hear.
Perception
Gar chuckles heartily as Jones downs the liquor and claps his palm onto the table, his gauntlet slamming loudly against the wood. "Ha! Now we're talkin'! Gullet like an iron-clad bilge, I knew't! Ain't no end t'yer talents, sir. A man who holds his liquor's earned his salt, m'old pa used t'say. Old salts have knowed some darkness, too. Got all kinds of wild tales. I bet you got a whole warehouse of 'em stored in that head. My friends and I's was just talkin' about that unpleasant business what from a few years back, I guess pretty near two decades ago, a string of murders and an unknown killer stalkin' the streets. D'ya remember anything from that time? Got any stories t'tell?"
Jones, with a sudden interest in Gar... an interest that has surely been piqued by the older man's compliments, pours a second shot, "You gonna have to be a lot more specific than that mister... a killer stalking the streets a couple o' decades ago? This is Castorhage - the swollen boil on the a**e of the known world, there's gotta be maybe a handful of serial killers being chased by the watch each and every year. I'm happy to talk, if the colour of your moneys good enough... but you're gonna have to give me more to work with".
Amelia takes a seat, and as Jones talks, clarifies in a cold hard voice. "Murder, bloody, killer left a child's foot-print or hand-print, kept on the quiet. Twenty years ago." She says in a voice just barely loud enough for Jones to hear. She pulls a collapsible metal cup out of her waist pouch, and snaps it open. Then pours it full of scotch, and downs it in one shot, wiping the back of her hand as she waits for the response.
Jones takes his tankard, swills the whiskey around in it and takes a third deep draught of it... his rosy cheeks growing ever redder as the level of the whiskey drops in the bottle. He considers Amelia's clarifications for a minute or two, "Regret to say, Miss Amelia, that there ain't nothing springing to mind along those lines... murder, yes... bloody, obviously... crime kept quiet, you know as well as I do that what is written in the broadsheets has passed across several government desks before the proles get to hear about 'the truth'... but children's foot or hand prints? Nah, don't ring a bell".
...and then pouring a fourth shot for himself before offering to charge anyone else's glasses, "What's this about anyway? You lot fishing for work?"
oh, for the gods' sake... quit fishing for other information and just find out where Muncy is, like we came here to do...
Elliomander quietly pours a small amount of whiskey into a cup and slowly sips on it while the conversation develops.
Frill stays to the fringes, terribly uncomfortable out in polite society. She waits for the others to do their thing as patiently as she could.
Amelia shrugs. "In that case, we'll just have to ask Muncy directly. Do you know where he currently is?"
Jones is quick to respond, "Couldn't tell you. He is assigned to East Ending Third Ward, so he’s not in my station. If you need to reach him, then the best bet is to leave a message with Third Ward’s desk constable. I hear Muncy’s working a strange killing from the other night...", and then taking another slug of whiskey, "...but which night doesn’t have a strange killing in East Ending? Say, has all of this got something to do with the case he's on?"
Gar tries hard not to roll his eyes once it's clear the constable knows nearly nothing. "All this only has to do with my arse. It's aching sitting in these godsforsaken chairs. Time to move on." He hauls himself out of his chair, his bones popping as he does so.
"Thanks fer yer time, Constable. 'Twas truly an honor," he lies, heading toward the door.
He turns on his heel. "Ya'll comin'?"
what in the hells...
Elliomander shakes his head and stands to follow Gar out.
Jones, seeing the friends gather to leave, growls, "Hold your horses folks. Afores you go, maybe I do remember something... something to do with Muncy as a matter of fact. 'Course it'll cost you some coin if you do want the benefit of my knowledge. A good officer don't go divulging personal information about their colleagues", he leers, "at least not without a tidy payment. Ten gold should see you right... and not a word to anyone about where you heard it. You interested?"
"Son of a..." Gar mumbles to himself as he steers himself back toward Constable Avarice Jones. He reaches into his belt pouch and withdraws a piece of the temple's platinum. "Sir, this had better be worth our time. More precious'n platinum, it is..." He watches the man's heartbeat pulsing in the arteries of his neck.
Greedily grabbing the coin and sliding into the top pocket of his ill-fitting waistcoat, Jones pours another couple of shots of whiskey - one for himself and one pushed across the table for Gar, "Muncy's got a chequered past if you know what I mean? 'bout twenty year back when Muncy was nothing more than a wet behind the ears constable, his wife and child were found killed at home - a nasty business by all accounts. The investigation was, by all accounts, pretty controversial and it’s more than possible there was a cover-up involved".
Downing his shot in one, Jones continues, [b"Muncy himself was cleared of any wrongdoing and the whole thing was hushed up pretty thoroughly. I never saw the official report, but it and any evidence should still be kept in the Office of the Watch Archives"[/b].
- Jones, as far as you are able to tell, is telling the truth... indeed there seems to be a degree of enmity from Constable Jones to Inspector Muncy, professional jealousy maybe?
"You don't say!" Vera fishes out a platinum coin of her own, palms it, then slides it across the table to the constable. "You are a proper constable...should be an Inspector, if you ask me! But that is a juicy tidbit! Have you heard anything else about that incident? Like, if there were any other suspects?" She takes back her hand, leaving the silvery coin in front of the constable. "Oh, and maybe we should keep that business just between us...no use letting Muncy know we'd been asking about his past, right?"
Jones smiles as yet another coins comes his way, and greedily pocketing it, "Inspector Jones? I like the sound of that... got a nice ring that 'as... Anyway, as I were saying Muncy was the prime suspect for the first coupla' days but, for whatever reasons the investigation moved away from him and started looking for other patsies. The last I heard, the Watch had some vagrant in and were pulling 'im over the coals... Like I said tho' if you want to check what the official report said about the whole affair then you should head up the Archives".
And winking at Vera, "No problem Ms Marshall, me and Muncy ain't exactly on speaking terms".
Amelia nods. "Thank you for your information."
With a smile, Vera says, "Thanks again, Constable. Enjoy the rest of the day!" She stands to leave, nodding toward her friends.
Outside, Vera says, "The Archives are over on the corner of Fiedlder and Armistice. Being assiged to the Archives is usually seen as a demotion to Watch members, and the people working there are lax and easy to bluff. In fact," she opens her satches and pulls out an official-looking document, "I have a letter here that says I'm an official consultant of the Watch."
As Vera suggests, the Office of the Watch Archives is a run-down section of the Capitol, that virtual mountain of of cialdom that houses the Royal Family, City Justices, and apparatus of government for Castorhage and towers over the rest of the city in a massive sprawl... It is a long trek through the crowded streets of East Ending to even draw close to the Capitol, and at the optimistically named Phoenix square - a particularly squalid meeting of semi-derelict streets, things take a turn for the worse. Through the crowds of people milling about the streets, one group of tough-looking individuals seems to have focused on Vera and her companions. The eight men wear the shabby work clothes of the lower class residents of the district, but theirs seem perhaps a bit shabbier, as if they hadn’t done many honest days of work in order to maintain their attire.
The leader of the group, a man with a dented bowler cocked low on his head, points at you and demands, “Out with your coin now, miss. An’ keep yor ‘ands away from those shivs”. He and the others produce sawed-off spear butts as clubs from beneath their rags and hold them inconspicuously to their sides.
Amelia's eyes light up, and she takes a stance with her scythe at the ready. "Oooh! Let's see... 10, 20, 30... 40. Minimum of 40 gold for these guys." She looks at Gar, and takes on a teacherly mien. "Now Gar, remember, street muggers are worth 5 gold pieces per, dead or alive. Not much, but usually they're no more than 10 minutes of work at most. That makes it lucrative to pay the rent on, if nothing else. The watch can usually confirm that they are muggers, so it's usually no hassle to get the coin. I do have a somewhat unfortunate advantage, as they usually attack me on sight, making it really easy to make my monthly rent. You look kind of scary, so I'm surprised they're actually coming out, but never look free coins askance, they might not decide to come back later." She pauses, and looks at the men. "If any of you have a price on your head that's higher if you're alive, do let me know now please? I'd hate to lose coin handing in your corpses."
"Niw, sweetie pies, Mama don't want to see your pretty faces get all broken up. You all need to leave this crew be, the pretty girl's right. We've got no time at all to be mixing it up, I don't think. Why don't you just go walking the way you came?". As Mama kept talking, she opened the folds in her robes to allow Millicent to poke her head out and look at the toughs.
Aid another Intimidate
Without a word Elliomander draws his gun and aims it at the thug in the center. As he does, he prepares himself to channel an explosive blast through the shot.
"That's the way is going to be then folks?" Hefting their improvised clubs, the thugs rush the group... sensing violence, the crowds within the square have made space around the group - but continue on their way, disinterested in the squabble that is about to erupt...
...and as the thugs draw close, four of the eight seem to vanish into the aether.
Mama Frill allows Millie to jump down and take the square in front of her. Mama squints and says a few strange magical words and the rat begins to multiply, until a literal swarm of rats cover the four closest 5' squares. "This is your last chance boys, or my Millie's are going to teach you a lesson."
Amelia laughs. "Mama Frill, these 'boys' aren't human, they're in disguise... see the noses and ears? I do believe this will be worth a lot more... watch out for the invisible ones..." Blood pours from Amelia's eyes as she spins her scythe, and stitches push their way out of her skin, adding to the blood on her body. Her eyes begin to burn with a blazing angry light, and red energy crackles over her body.
Stepping forward, she attacks the lead creature.
"Aye, a fine prize," Gar agrees with Amelia. He steps to the fore, his boot embedding itself in what he hopes is mud.
"Crime. Bedlam. Tomfoolery." He exposes his blade with a heavy sigh. "Don't know who that 'Tom' fella is, but I do know fools when I see 'em."
Gripping the hilt with both hands, he recites a bit of scripture. "For here's Ragathiel's servant for your good. But if ya be a pain in the arse, well, heavens help ya, for he don't bear his sword in vain."
As soon as the brigands move, Elliomander pulls back his trigger sending an explosive round into the center of the gang as they begin to vanish...
,
Elliomander's gun goes off like an explosion at a fireworks factory - the retort from his pistol echoing from the looming hulks of abandoned buildings and sending the, previously disinterested, crowd running for cover. The thug targeted by Elliomander curses the alchymist as he is scorched by the ignited chemicals that spatter him and his ruffian friends...
...and stepping forwards to meet the first of the onrushing thugs, Amelia positions her scythe such that, slipping on the cobbles, he nearly impales himself upon it...
Amelia laughs like a small child as her blade slices up into the guts of the lead thug. "I'm going to rip your guts out and use them to strangle your friends..." She says with a merry laugh, her voice sounding an odd mix of Lilly's and Amelia's at the same time. "...you fracking moron." She finishes sweetly, the curse words and friendly tone at odd dissonance...
Further rattled with the blade of Amerlia's scythe embedded in his arm, the quickest of the thugs to attack looks almost ready to run...
In a swift move, Vera's rapier appears in her hand... and, adopting a classic fencing stance, she thrust forwards at the closest of the thugs. Her strike is accurate yet her blade is deflected by studded leather armour being worn beneath tattered clothing...
Pulling himself clear from Amelia's blade, the most injured of the group's attackers leans in towards the scythe-wielding bounty hunter and whispers, somewhat conspiratorially, "There’s some as don’t want you on the investigation. Probably best if you leave it be, miss".
...and then, scrapping messily in the centre of the square, the thugs wield their weapons. It is a violent melee of crude clubs being swung two-handed - with power but with little finesse...
Amelia grins viciously as the leader drips blood. "Lilly says shove your club up your *#$ and cut your @#$*$#& off and eat it!"
Just managing to duck the swinging scythe as it hums through the air above his head, the thug sneers at Amelia... slightly pointed teeth further revealing his less than human lineage...
Gar's blade begins to emit a dim amber glow and a dull hum.
"Boys, y'all had a chance to get on. Now I'm afraid there's blood in the water. And sharks is about."
He swings his sword in a wide arc down low before slashing upward with a great groan.
Frill directs her Millie's with one hand and the swarm of rats rushes over the attackers.
Damage to those in the swarm
"Ugh!" Vera staggers back after being slammed in the side of the head by a club, but never drops her guard.
"Is that the best you've got?" She studies the thugs's movements and fighting style for a moment, then blocks a wild swing. She then lunges with her riposte.
Doubting his ability to fire off another explosive round without any collateral damage, Elliomander adopts a different approach... he steps back and draws a vial of alchemist's fire with such blinding speed it appears to simply materialize in his hand. In one smooth motion he empties it into the barrel of his pistol and fires the round at the thug who attacked him before it ignites.
,
,
The cobbled streets of the square becomes a flood of rats - black, brown and grey, the rodents wash towards the thugs like an incoming tide of filth... kicking wildly, the group's attackers try to resist the flow of rodents...
Fortunately both Gar and Vera are deadly with their weapons... one poised elegantly and one slightly less so, their weapons cut through rags and through the armour concealed beneath the ruffian's outerwear... Vera's rapier cuts deep enough but Gar's blade cuts almost to the bone - leaving one of the thugs in a panic, staring around the square looking for likely escape routes...
Elliomander's alchemical flask strikes true enough, showering his foe with shard of metal and burning chemical... the momentum is definitely with the group now, two of the thugs have green flame licking their clothes and all are injured... indeed two of them, including the one who seemed to act as leader, drop their clubs and run for the safety of the fleeing crowd. The two remaining men put up a good defence but ultimately, it is clear that Amelia and her companions are far too street savvy for such shenanigans...
Elliomander takes another step back, loads another cartridge and fires another shot at the thug pursuing him.
,
Amelia whirls the scythe again and attacks the nearest thug still up.
Gar's next swing sends his blade skidding off the cobblestones, sending amber sparks flying.
He stares open-mouthed at the flames left by Lio's assault.
"S#!+, kid."
Amelia, moving in to aid Gar, slashes her scythe through a low arc and catches the exposed ankles of her charge's attacker... yelping in pain, the thug is near hobbled by the severity of the blow... whilst, some ten feet away, Elliomander fires his pistol with another sharp retort - the shot is accurate, spraying blood across Gar and Vera...
The thugs, bloodied and burnt, are obviously broken... and the pair who haven't yet run in an attempt to mingle with the crowd are clearly looking to do so now...
Frill, surprised that Her Millie's hadn't had the desired effect, delays her action, allowing the thugs to retreat if they do chose. "Now get out of here, boys. Tell your bosses that we aren't scared off the trail quite so easy now."
Still using classical fencing style, Vera presses the attack on the one she's been fighting.