Eyes cold, Arthur watched Drake stalked out of the courtyard. Berkeley Hunt Yank. Arthur thought, falling back on the Nettles slang of his youth. Tries for the punk and can't take the reverse, feth him.
Shaking his head slightly, Arthurs lip sneers up in the briefest of moments, before taking a deep breath through the cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose. The leaf calmed him. It wasn't as good as obscura, but he had gone legit and that was part of his past.
Turning back to Josiah and Gaethan, Arthur tried fixing a smile on his face. It felt fake, but it was the best he can do. After all, Arthur had never considered himself a "people person". Briefly, the ebon skinned demolitionist considered Gaethan. Arthur had of course heard rumors about the half-elf's tracking ability and his as well as his so called communion with the spirits of the bleak. Barmy as a bandicoot was the phrase that Arthur had heard in reference to Gaethan. Rumors around the R.H.C. had said that the man had an experience on Cauldron Hill. Involuntarily Arthur shuttered.
:: Swirling shadows, darker then night. A moonless sky. Fear.. fear so strong it left piss stains down Arthurs burlap trousers. The feeling of being hunted. Screams in the darkness. Coppery blood.::
No! Arthur blinked and shook his head. Get your crap locked down Arthur.
All of this happened in the quickest of seconds before Arthur's face curled up in a grin. Arrogance was a shield and a dam good one at that, and Arthur wore it like his long duster. Shooting his right hand out behind him, thumb extended in the direction that Drake went, Arthur chuckled. Guess Drake can't take a joke, that's a real pity. Laughing to himself, the smile felt more natural this time. The confidence was back. Anyhow, Gaethan, loud is the point. Turning toward Josiah, Arthur pointed towards the blackened scraps of metal and wood that had served as a target. Shock and awe. Hit your target with a display of force that will paralyze your foes perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight. I'm actually working on an experimental grenade that will combine a concussive blast of sound with a blinding flash of light. Together it should temporarily blind and deafen a target. Eyes flashing in excitement boarding on obsession, Arthur grinned. Can you imagine it?
Oh, s%!~…
As Gemma watches the scribes clamor across the inner courtyard for a chance at a quick scoop, she’s reminded of rats in the alley scurrying and jumping and scrambling around to get at one last bite of food. She understands they have a job to do, just like anyone else, but she finds their manners and methods tedious on good days and downright deplorable on bad ones. Mostly they just get in the way.
But as they all crowd in and start asking their questions, Gemma decides to take the latter part of Ven’s advice, remembering that she is indeed a full-fledged Constable now and ignores his first recommendation of just standing there looking pretty.
She relaxes a bit but maintains her military professionalism when addressing the first scribe. “Michanne, is it? I can assure you that the R.H.C. standards have not been diluted in any way. Firstly, Chief Inspectress Saxby would never allow for such. She is a woman of the highest standards and to imply otherwise, well, it might be seen as improper at the very least. And secondly, for the sake and safety of all the civilians in our wonderful town of Flint, I would think you would be hoping for a few excellent Constables to plug up the holes, as it were, rather than a lot of sub-par ones, wouldn’t you?”
Gemma feels like rocking back on her heels a bit but chooses not to, thinking it more than likely would send the wrong message. She instead chooses to clasp her hands lightly behind her back.
Let’s see what the tactic of reversing the question does…
“And I believe the King is fairly confident that his funds are going to good use, otherwise he would not continue to support and have faith in our organization. If we were less than the best then he would divert his coin elsewhere, don't you agree?”
Gemma doesn’t even bother to look at Carlao Ven. She is pleased with her answers and that’s what matters.
Entering the compound with a smile on his face Francis is quick to cross the t's and dot the i's at the checkpoints, he had a package waiting for him at the quartermasters office. Walking with a spring in his step as he makes his way to the briefing room he is pleasantly surprised by the cancellation of the morning briefing, a pleasant surprise that quietly turns into excitement. He had the day off! That meant he could shift his plans from evening to now! Giving an involuntary, short laugh as he stared at the message he carefully put the message back down and gave the guard a brief nod and a smile and turned to hurry to the quartermaster's office.
Making his way down the hall Francis spies the ex-marine Emerson and Constable Sorginson make their way to the upper floor, noting Emerson's limp he wonders briefly about the possibility of improving his prosthesis, perhaps with springs, flexible plating and magical atunement veterans, such as his, quality of life could be improved.
Arriving at the quartermaster's office Francis files away the thought for future reference.
"Good morning." Fancis replies to the mechanical raptors squawk and steps into the office with a smile on his face and looks around, taking in the details, noting the boxes, the Drakran guns and the cataloging taking place his interest is immediately piqued. Fishing out a requisition order from the inside pocket of his coat he steps up to Quartermaster Babcock and, looking him in the eye, gives a brief smile as he hands the slip to him. "Good morning, sir. Has my order arrived?" Receiving a suspicious glance from Babcock as he takes the slip and inspects it, Francis clasps his hands behind his back and follows him to his desk. "I believe you'll find the papers in order, sir. Everything has been checked and triple checked, sir." he says with a soft smile, fully expecting the Quartermaster to try to give him some grief formality but confident that all was in order.
"New shipment?" he says by way of conversation, "Anything interesting?"
There is an oddly long pause as everyone seems to simply stare at Gemma Atherton. Constable Ven just stands there, staring at her open-mouthed. Even Gemma doesn't know what to make of it, or if she's crossed some unknown boundary that she isn't aware of. The female scribe named Michanne is stony-faced; Gemma can almost see the woman turning Gemma's responses in her head looking for faults or something to follow-up on, but for whatever reason is unable to do so.
Fortunately, the other two scribes break the awkward silence with wry laughter, with Gables giving a low appreciative whistle to her.
"Well now, how's that for training eh? I always enjoy it when Michanne here gets a dose of her own draught for a change. Nicely done, wouldn't you say there Jameson?"
"Agreed! Maybe a little too smug and could use some polish around the edges, but give her a season and she'd hold her own with Saxby in a fair trade." Jameson turns to Carlao Ven and asks, "Is she your protege there Ven? Don't you all 'apprentice' the new constables or whatever you call it?"
Carlao Ven's eyes seem to stare off and his smile is almost locked in place as he turns to regard Gemma before answering. "Oh yes. Yes I'm glad you noticed, as we take great pride in bringing up our own. As far as...Constable...Atherton is concerned, her training has been more institutional in nature, part of the Lady Saxby's impressive changes to evaluation and training in the past few years. Yet nothing beats direct tutelage, and often the newer constables are paired with those of us who can best provide more nuanced instruction. Such is the case of Constable Atherton here."
Jameson nods and scribbles something on his journal. "It's a good show, Constable Ven, and good insight. This is going into my accounts. I think our readers want to hear about this sort of thing in practice."
Gables nods "Hey now, why don't you two give us a quick pose for Taffy here and his sketches - no front pages now, what with the King's arrival and the blessing ceremony of the Coaltongue, but I'll make sure you get good show of it on the Flint Ways section - full exposure. What do ya say? Come on now, get closer!"
Quartermaster Babcock checks the requisition order closely, scrutinizing it and the signatures listed, then looking back to Francis with a suspicious eye. To Francis Kane, the suspicion seems to go beyond his own relatively new status with the R.H.C., and likely has to do with the matter of his mixed heritage. He does not know the Quartermaster's history of course, but apparently either he or someone in his family had a run-in with orcs, Berans, or both. That the last two centuries of Risuri conflict focused national pride and hatred towards the Danorans did not mean the ages old skirmishes and wars with Ber and the Dragon Kings had been forgotten. Not that Francis Kane was of full-blooded orcish heritage, though more than one served the R.H.C. with distinction and honor. Not that Francis Kane was at all Beran in either upbringing or values, being a third-generation Risuri himself. Nonsense really, yet Francis knew he constantly was evaluated in mere moments by most, to be improperly scrutinized and categorized. Inaccurate. Unfair. Yet he had to admit that it was the way of the world for the most part. After all, should Francis Kane be traveling through the Parity Lake district or Bosum Strand and come across a human boy in ragged attire, does he not assume the background of poverty, with all of the negative trappings that go along with it?
All of this goes through the investigator's mind in the blink of an eye, returning his focus back to Quartermaster Babcock as he seems to shake his head slightly and give in to the request. "Fine, fine. Constable Sorginson was just here but I figure I don't need his direct validation on this one. You DO realize though that this is Drakran steel you're getting your hands on, even if the firegem mount is fractured and the barrel is warped well beyond firing tolerances? I could have this pistol repaired at the next Kaybeau Arms Exposition to come this way late in the year, so don't think this is anything more than a loaner to study. That's Inspector Delft's orders." He huffs and turns back behind him. "Nestor? Can you get that box there on the third shelf and bring it here? It's Constable Kane here for his requisition."
Of course, some age-old stereotypes can work in one's favor. Assistant Quartermaster Nestor Zinjo fetches the box and comes up to the open counter between the rooms with what could almost be characterized as an eager goblin smile. "Constable Kane - good to see you again. Here you go...a loan as the Quartermaster has stated of course, but I know you at least know the rules...not like many of these ungratefuls that expect everything for nothing." Nestor hands the box with the sundered pistol parts to him with a knowing look, almost as if he is expected to make a technologically innovative breakthrough upon holding it in the first moments.
From Francis Kane's left he catches a glimpse of Constable Talyssa Dane looking at them, a slight look of mirth upon her face as she thinks she's unnoticed and returns her attention to the clockwork-gear cube in front of her.
Gemma’s face starts to take on the same stony look as Michanne’s as soon as the talk turns to how Carlao Ven has taken her under his wing.
Oh, hell, no! Not gonna go down like that and sure as a sniper I’m not getting sketched with you!
Think fast, Atherton…think fast…
Gemma will start to move in a bit as if she is dutifully going to allow the sketch, but then quickly holds her fingers to her mouth and lurches ever so slightly forward. “Excuse me, gentlemen…and ladies, of course.” She takes a moment to regain herself, looking as if she’s not sure what just happened, and then starts to move in closer again. This time when she holds her fingers up to her mouth, she makes a slightly larger lurch forward and holds her stomach a little. She appears slightly dumbfounded and straightens up taller, adjusting her uniform before moving in once again to take the sketch, acting as if everything is just fine. Third time’s the charm. Just as she’s about to stand still for the sketch with a stupid, forced grin on her face, she makes a quiet and quick “Oh, no” and then heads for the nearest bush at the entrance to the Meditation Garden and proceeds to (purposely) dry heave. Nothing dramatic, all quite natural and subtle, a lovely bit of acting.
Between small heaves, she calls back to the group of scribes and Constable Ven. “I do apologize gentlemen.” *heave* “I believe I may” *heave* “I believe I may have come down with what the other Constable has. I think I may take myself to the medic to see if he might have something for it so that I am well enough to attend tomorrow’s briefing.” She pretends to steady herself a bit on the hedgewall, takes a final look at Ven to gauge his reaction and then makes her way towards the infirmary.
Every so often on her way across the courtyard, she'll continue to gently hold her stomach, stopping every so often to put her fingers to her mouth and make a slight heave before continuing on.
Heh, heh...
"Indeed." Dima collects the rest of the briefing sheets that are to be reviewed by each Constable prior to their next full meeting on the morning of 1 Spring. He closes and locks the shared office and hands part of the stack to Emerson as they walk back down the hallway. What most would consider idle conversation is carefully thought over by the dwarven martial priest. "It is true what you say that tolerance must be employed as a measure of wisdom. Yet I would caution that too much tolerance is taken by others who lack proper discipline as a sign of acceptance of their fallacious methods."
The pair of constables move throughout the shared offices on the second floor, distributing the briefing summaries and ensuring the offices are firmly locked afterwards. Not surprisingly, the three finer spacious offices are shared by the senior constables - Carlao Ven, Serena Taflis and Dima Sorginson have the largest of the offices, followed by Makala Fileccia, Kaea Than'dil and Anderson Sperring's office on the other side of the break room; the third spacious office is held by Josiah Crux, Gaethan Blackwater and Jaevin Darjudin. Two other rooms at the far end of the eastern hall near Lady Saxby's office are not as spacious but still accommodating - Bridget Sharpton and Talyssa Dane share one, while Renzo Moreschi and Francis Kane share another, Kane having just taken the place from Rhegalion Arbalistre who transferred only the week prior.
The other shared "offices" are clearly converted storage and supply rooms, another sign that Flint R.H.C. had bolstered its ranks greatly just in the past two years. Emerson shares one such converted supply room with Arthur Wilde, though with a real desk and access so close to the western stairwell the former marine has little reason to complain. Devinn LeMont and Alastair Rayne share an office, as do Wilhelm Coin and Drake Wellingham, as do Anneca Summers and Gemma Atherton. As Emerson and Dima finish the task, Emerson cannot help but think that the next "crop" of constables in 500 A.O.V. may have to double up in the broom closets or sit amongst crates in the one remaining storage room near Delft's office.
"You are an efficient and perceptive man, Constable Hill." Dima locks the last of the offices with his large ring of keys. "While the term patronage is not formally recognized here, it should be noted that advancement of assignments is sadly not always based on the premise of merit. Disagreeable, but one must not be blind to the truth. As such, I suggest you steer clear of the juvenile recklessness of some of the other constables, including those of your group that have not shown themselves to be reliable. They will only serve to lower your standing and weaken your reputation in the eyes of the Inspectors." He looks around a moment and then speculatively adds, "That being said, I will always recommend for assignment those that I consider capable. I am sure you will perform your assignment well day after next, at which point I will be sure to recommend you where it is pragmatic and prudent to do so."
Before Emerson can answer him, the pair overhear a conversation coming down the hallway towards them. The voice is familiar, but even more so is the thump-step, thump-step, thump-step of the Assistant Chief Inspector with his cane to aid in his walk.
"Now Fin I've had a word with Meg and she's kept aside a good amount of today's portions for you to take home with you for your brothers and sisters. It would go to waste otherwise, so just take it and make sure your kin are well-fed for this festival time. Mark my meaning, Fin?"
"Yessir, thank you sir, Inspector sir. You always look after 'em even though it's not your job to do it."
"Quite all right, Fin. I'd see to getting you out of Parity Lake if I could, but the rules governing the dormitories R.H.C. owns across the street would not cover your full family."
"Oh, I could never leave Parity sir, it's bein my home and that of me sires and before them."
"It's not what it once was Fin," says Stover Delft with a tone of forced patience. "You've heard of this business with the Ragman I'm certain? Between that and the Kell Guild I'd prefer to...well...just be careful and keep your eyes open. And don't forget to see Meg after you're done here."
"Thank you, Inspector."
"Certainly," says Stover Delft as he reaches the hallway junction and spies the two constables even as he turns to head to his own office. "Well now. Dima? You still haven't left by now eh? No of course you haven't...and who's there with you? Hill? Please tell me you're not loitering around to talk business or ask for something. The requisition shop is closed." Though Inspector Delft is not known to be regarded as friendly or overly accommodating, the recent exchange puts him in a slightly different light than what Emerson is accustomed to seeing of him - if he didn't know better he would almost think the sarcastic remarks are almost jovial in nature.
"Come ladies," proclaims Gaethan Blackwater as he offers a hand to the empty air before him. He nods once and with a final glare to Arthur the spirit medium ranger says, "They say you're disrespectful, and I am inclined to agree with them." Gaethan slings a quiver over his shoulder and hoists his bow, his other hand outstretched before him as he seems to be "guided" down towards the open spell-dueling grounds past the long-range lanes.
For his part Josiah Crux simply shrugs as if that sort of thing happens routinely. Instead he answers Arthur's question with expected bravado and slightly bored demeanor. "Thinkin' the Drakrans or Danorans have already come up with that one, so don't be thinkin' you'll get a medal from the King or the Principal Minister on that." He shrugs again and moves to heft up his pepperbox musket. "Still, I see the value of you trying, if you can manage to make it work reliably in the field. A good way to get an entrenched foe out of a building or scattered from a strongpoint. Disorientation and distraction - both allies to a sniper looking to end his mark."
Constable Crux puts in earplugs and then takes aim at a spot on the sideways target in the second lane, though he looks at Arthur Wilde and nods at him. "Work it up, and I'll take a look at it and help you evaluate it if I'm not on assignment. In the meantime, since you're here and all, if you need a loaner you can try that one." He nudges his chin to a bench behind them where a simpler steel musket peeks out from a soft case. "Pemberton Model Ought-Nine. I've got better but it was one of my first after the war. Nothing fancy, but set with a hair-trigger and a fast-pull ramrod for faster reload."
"Yes, sir... Of course, sir... It is actually, the barrel that I'm most interested in, sir. The rifling actually.. Yes, sir..." Francis replies quietly to the Babcko's grumbling. 'Nothing unexpected so far.. The Kaybeau Arms Exposition? Not a bad idea.' Francis files that away for future reference, though the fare was sure to be filled with many less-than interesting things there were sure to be hidden gems there. "Thank you, sir.." he continues as respectfully as he can. This was sure to be over soon.
Noting Babcock's emphasis on the title constable Francis realizes he has two walls to break down with the Quartermaster, this wasn't just a question of heritage, this was also a question of being a rookie. Sighing inwardly Francis just smiles and nods, his pronounced canines thrusting into his cheeks out of his wide jaw as Babcock gives the go-ahead to Zinjo.
As the goblin fetches Francis's order his eyes lock intently on the box as is is brought to him, noting the goblins behavior and words Francis flashes him a small smile as he gently takes the box out of the goblins hands and looks at the contents. Categorizing the items in his mind as he starts to turn he stops suddenly and looks at the boxes being unpacked. Nodding his head at one of the pistols he puts the box back on the counter and fishes out his notebook and an ink pen, a cylinder of his own devising that can hold a small amount of ink, much more handy than carrying around an inkwell and a feather. Receiving another arched eyebrow from the Quartermaster, who hesitantly picks up the pistol with a "What? This? You know full well you can't have it, these are reserved for the.." Babcock trails off as Francis thanks him for picking it up and starts scribbling furiously into his notebook with a few eager glances into the box with the broken pistol, drawing up the pistol and making quick notes and notations into the book. "A little closer please, sir. Now, cock it, please. Thank you, sir." Francis waves Babcock forward and asks him to rotate the pistol so he can peer down the barrel, picking up the twisted barrel from the box he makes a quick side-by-side comparison and scribbles some more.
Satisfied that he can figure out the rest Francis thanks him again and eagerly starts packing up to leave, he was sure to find some space to work in research and development, if not, he could always go home. Except that he'd been ordered to remain available. R&D it would be, hopefully they'd let him in.
Smiling again at Babcock and Zinjo Francis makes to leave but hesitates again. Turning to Constable Dane and mulling over the possible meanings of her small display of mirth he hesitantly takes a step over to her and nods toward the clockwork-gear cube. "Pardon me Constable Dane, but I'm curious as to what you're working on there." he says, clearing his throat, surprised at the tightness of his throat making his usual rumbling voice sound squeaky in his ears.
With the conversation in the briefing room still ringing in her ears, Anneca stalks the halls of the Constabulary. She goes over her comments, parsing her words to see if she said the right things to make the points she wanted to make. She wonders if she perhaps spoke too hastily, but is glad that she made the arguments. 'They'll respect me for standing up for myself to Coin,' she thinks. Perhaps it is wishful thinking, or perhaps she is just overthinking a conversation that the rest have already forgotten.
She roams out into the winter air, wishing that she had bothered to prepare an endure elements spell. She'd had trouble learning that spell at first, but had figured it out when she figured out how to manipulate the elements in the same fashion as her evocation spells. With the spell unprepared in favor of more dangerous spells, she holds onto her winter wear to keep warm. Lost in thought, she walks past the barracks into the marksman yard - a place that doesn't hold much weight for her and her blunderbuss. Anneca stops to watch a curious interaction between one of her fellow double-nines and several other constables; she smiles unabashedly when Arthur's grenade explodes in a peal of fire. The flames seem to slow as she analyzes the heat, pressure, and spread of the explosion.
All of this happened in the quickest of seconds before Arthur's face curled up in a grin. Arrogance was a shield and a dam good one at that, and Arthur wore it like his long duster. Shooting his right hand out behind him, thumb extended in the direction that Drake went, Arthur chuckled. Guess Drake can't take a joke, that's a real pity. Laughing to himself, the smile felt more natural this time. The confidence was back. Anyhow, Gaethan, loud is the point. Turning toward Josiah, Arthur pointed towards the blackened scraps of metal and wood that had served as a target. Shock and awe. Hit your target with a display of force that will paralyze your foes perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight. I'm actually working on an experimental grenade that will combine a concussive blast of sound with a blinding flash of light. Together it should temporarily blind and deafen a target. Eyes flashing in excitement boarding on obsession, Arthur grinned. Can you imagine it?
Anneca grins as well as she joins the conversation once Crux starts showing off his musket. "Some fine fire," she says with praise. "Do you mind if I take a look at your grenades? I've always had an interest in alchemy. That explosion was tremendous. Do all of them have that level of intensity?" She is far more engaged and far less sullen than she is normally. The prospect of blowing things up seems to please her greatly. She drops her bonded blunderbuss on the table to free both hands up in order to better analyze the alchemical work.
At the mention of his name, Emerson snaps to attention, hand to his brow. ”No Sir. Constable Sorginson and I were just making the rounds and getting acquainted.” Emerson steps back at ease as quickly as he saluted, an old habit from his days in the Navy.
Just in case he read the Inspector’s mood wrong, he looks back to Constable Sorginson and shakes his hand. ”It was a pleasure talking to you this morning Constable. I will adjourn and read my briefings for tomorrow and get some rest. I’m sure I’ll need it if I’m to be ready for the Coaltongue.”
He releases Dima’s hand, gives the Assistance Chief Inspector another salute, and makes his way back down the stairs.
Gemma thinks her faked illness performance is very convincing as she makes her way towards the R.H.C. HQ Building and the small Infirmary room just past the guarded entrance chamber. Playing the gambit in her mind, she felt it was quite sound with all the requisite parts to the ruse, so how could it not be?
Then again, it occurs to her that she was never very good at getting away with things like her sister Bliss was, and she was never one to fool her parents on the rare occasion she got into trouble on the homestead farm. Even now, the dagger-look Carlao Ven gives her promises retribution in the near future. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one that didn’t buy her ruse; in the distance she can hear the three scribes talking to Ven and each other…
”Say now, that’s…odd,” declares Gables the scribe, shrugging his shoulders after a moment. ”Kinda unripe there like a mavisha melon, what with all the attention eh?”
”Guess you have some more training to do there Ven,” quips Jameson the scribe jokingly to the Senior Constable. ”Did she say tomorrow’s briefing? I thought the place was closed down for the New Year’s day…unless you got a secret briefing you’d like to share, mmm?”
”Hardly that,” answers Carlao Ven in a clipped tone. ”The young Constable has her days mixed up, as we do not meet up until morning after tomorrow. And no, I am not responsible for her instruction in public affairs.” Ven says that last part almost as if spitting something disagreeable out.
”Haaa..well I think Gables and I will be skipping the tour of the dining hall and breakfast then if you please!”
”What kind of place are you running here, Constable Ven?” The woman scribe named Michanne has apparently regained her voice and is none too happy about it. ”Is this what protects Risur from terrorists, spies and the plots of our nation’s enemies?”
”Oh leave off Michanne, the girl just had a touch of the nerves…or soot-stained eggs for breakfast...or maybe both.”
”You just write your drivel to appease the North Shore elites who pay you off, Gables, and leave me then to expose the truth of this wasteful travesty of the people’s treasury!”
”Spoken like a true ‘friend’ in the pocket of the so-called intellectuals of Central there Michanne…”
”Please my good scribes, gentlemen and ladies,” says Carlao in a clearly perturbed voice to try and get the tour back under control. ”Please, let us stop bickering and let me show you this way to the training grounds…”
Gemma makes her way inside R.H.C. HQ and past the bored guardsman at the entrance desk to the hallway beyond, the infirmary room the very first door on the left next to the western stairwell. The infirmary is, of course, empty. She knows she’s not going to hear the end of her last act, the prospect of which gives her a truly queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was not much to do about it now. Soon the scribes and guests will be into the outer courtyard and then through to the training grounds, whereupon she can safely leave the compound and try to enjoy the rest of this last day of 499 and the rise of a new year and century before she begins her first true assignment on the 1st of Spring.
”Indeed, Constable Hill. I shall see you presently the morning after next…oh and merry New Year to you.” Dima says the last bit awkwardly but nods to Emerson and seems to mean what he says.
Their boss, Chief Inspector Delft, has just opened the doors to his office and moves to claim a leather pouch of Nicodemus Leaf left on his desk. ”Hmm? Oh yes Hill, good man. New Year’s and all that to you then.” He casually returns the salute and turns back to Sorginson as Emerson makes his way down the stairs, though he can still hear their conversation as he heads down.
”Chief Inspector, may I ask for Hill to accompany me on the First Spring security detail?”
”Impressed you did he? Sure, it doesn’t matter who goes with whom as long as all the four-double-nines are vetted with experienced Constables. Lady Saxby and I don’t want any mishaps or rawhides unaccounted for when the King’s procession goes by.”
”Very good sir, and all the briefings have been distributed per your orders.”
”As I knew they would be, Dima.”
”Sir, I thought you were already signed out…may I inquire as to where you have been this morning?”
”Saxby wanted me to personally inspect the holding cells down below for day after next - just in case - and to ensure the seals were in place with the new excavation for the subrail station.”
”Very prudent, sir.”
”She thought so…”
Emerson loses their voices as he reaches the landing of the western stairwell and heads out to the downstairs hallway. With no further business to attend to, he heads out of R.H.C. HQ Building and into the Inner Courtyard, where he can see the chilly day is nevertheless shaping up to be a pleasant one with a relatively beautiful sky – a good omen to herald in the new year.
"Oh...another four-double-nine to soot up the place." Josiah Crux's demeanor hardens almost instantly, now back to full arrogant prick though he levels it mostly at Anneca Summers and not Arthur Wilde. During the Summer when they were down to a mere twenty qualifying "intern" candidates, each of them had turns at the Marksman's Yard with Josiah Crux occasionally overseeing the qualifying competition matches. Needless to say, Josiah brought an "extra" measure of pressure to the candidates as they shot their marks on the course, mostly in the form of unbridled personal insults mixed with loud noise to confuse and anger them.
"Weren't you running apron strings with Sperring today, Summers? Looks and smells like you have already maybe." He shifts his stance slightly to include both of them in his next sentence. "Before you two wet yourselves over Wilde's grenades, just remember it's about precision around here. You're not going to mark a suspect in a crowd or run security detail by blowing $%&# up just because you have a swoon for fire. Wilde might be able to manage it...maybe...but Summers you keep your cobbled pig iron cannon off of my range."
"Oh, hello there Constable Kane," says Talyssa Dane with a shy smile that suggests she doesn't bear the same reservations to Kane's heritage as Quartermaster Babcock holds. Almost as soon as she finishes her reply greeting, Skimmer makes a screeching cry and lands near Francis, eyeing the place where he has just finished up his notes on the Drakran pistol.
"Skimmer says hi too, and wants to know if you're going to build one yourself. Oh wait! Do you know who seems to know about that and has an interest as well? Emerson Hill does! Why he showed Constable Sorginson how to work his new pepperbox that he just got here, got Sorginson's attention in a good way too! Which, as you know, can be hard to impress Dima Sorginson..." Talyssa says that last part rather sheepishly, as if she hasn't managed to do that even though she's been a Constable for a full year longer than Francis or the other "four-double-nines" of the R.H.C.
Before Francis can reply to her, Talyssa seems to recall his question and launches into the next subject in her stream-of-thought. "Oh this? Well it's a...a simulacrum of sorts, something I've been working on with Serena...with Constable Taflis I mean. She's quite good at tinkering you know, and she uses a design similar to this one to examine a locked door and open dangerous portals from a distance...you see there are echo crystals in this as well as on my glove that are attuned to each other, and the simulacrum can be trained to mimic an action. In my case I want it to be able to cast a non-lethal incapacitation spell from range, but I'm still working out the brass nozzle tube that is supposed to deliver the spell, which isn't moving as I need it to yet." She brushes her black hair absently from her face and tucks it behind one ear and adds, "I'll get it but haven't had much time to work on it this past season, what with running aide to Geoff Masarde and learning all about the Coaltongue for the big day on 1st Spring."
Even though the exchanges happening in the courtyard and the subsequent thoughts of what Ven might do cause Gemma's stomach to indeed turn a little, she ultimately ignores the feeling.
I'll deal with it when it comes... No need to worry about it for the rest of the day.
But just to carry through with the ruse, she does go into the infirmary. While not acting overtly unwell, she still requests some encapsulated powdered charcoal and a stomach soothing concoction and rests on a nearby cot for a few minutes. If Ven does indeed check to see if she really went to where she said she was going then her story won't be false.
After the quick rest and a thank you, she heads back out to the courtyard to see if the coast is clear. Barring any annoying scribes or Carlao Ven, Gemma will make to leave the compound and enjoy her day.
"Weren't you running apron strings with Sperring today, Summers? Looks and smells like you have already maybe." Crux shifts his stance slightly to include both of them in his next sentence. "Before you two wet yourselves over Wilde's grenades, just remember it's about precision around here. You're not going to mark a suspect in a crowd or run security detail by blowing $%&# up just because you have a swoon for fire. Wilde might be able to manage it...maybe...but Summers you keep your cobbled pig iron cannon off of my range."
"Tell you what, Crux - you shoot your way, and I'll shoot mine. What happens when you're surrounded? The reload time on your gun's the same as mine - but I can hit a half-dozen at a time. As for your sniping ability, let's just say that a simple spell can make my aim with a rifle every bit as good as yours." She doesn't mention that said 'simple spell,' a divination granting a brief flash of the very immediate future, is beyond her casting ability. "I'm getting a little tired of your act, Crux. We may be new at this, but don't pretend that our badges aren't made from the same metal. How about you stop being such a prick? Or are you upset because you're still losing to Carlao Ven? Or is it because he's going to make A.C., but you never will?" She lets loose a volley of rumors and innuendo that she's heard, tired and frustrated by his attitude.
Anneca would think her retort was solid to get under Constable Crux's skin, but the man simply snorts and tells her suggestively where she can stick it, then casually turns back to his firing lane, completely ignoring the other two. Fortunately he gives them no more grief, allowing Arthur to show Anneca some of the intricacies of his grenade designs, and what he plans to work on with a non-lethal option for the near future.
* Anderson Sperring – OUT (out-country)
* Renzo Moreschi – OUT (in-country)
* Bridget Sharpton – OUT (in-country)
”I wonder what’s going on with them out there.”
Devinn LeMont has his feet up on an empty chair in front of him in the Briefing Room (), looking through one of the city’s morning scribe papers half-heartedly while keeping an eye on the door to the hallway. Just outside the briefing room in the hallway stand Assistant Chief Inspector Delft and a full six of the most senior Constables of Flint Branch around him: Carlao Ven, Serena Taflis, Dima Sorginson, Kaea Than’dil, Gaethan Blackwater and Josiah Crux. It is more than slightly odd, as those constables typically were the first ones to command the briefing room until Stover Delft began the briefing in his usual on-time manner. Today of all days, the briefing’s start is delayed by a quarter-hour already.
Next to him Alastair Rayne shrugs in confused agreement, reading the outer page of Devinn’s paper while they wait. Talyssa Dane sits on the other side of Alastair, seemingly oblivious of everything except for a stack of parchment in her hands, brushing strands of her dark aside as she mouths quietly to herself in reading them, occasionally pausing to scribble a note here and there.
”Well whatever it is, it can’t be anything good.” Drake Wellingham sits in the row behind Devinn, glowering at the doorway and muttering his opinion in an ominous tone.
”You always say that Drake,” sighs Devinn as he shakes his head and the newspaper he holds. ”Always the bleaking gloom with you.”
”Yeah, well that’s because mostly it’s true.” He juts his chin out defiantly. ”I got a sense about these things.” Drake turns to Jaevin seated next to him and tries to get him involved. ”What do ya think there Jae? It’s not like for Delft to start things out like this today, and to me it looks like Taflis and Ven are up in arms about something.”
Jaevin Darjudin simply shrugs and answers, ”Could be anything. Big day today after all, and you know the Lady wants nothing left unbuttoned on this one.”
”I’ll tell you what it’s about,” offers the halfling constable Wilhelm Coin. He points a finger at each of the “four-double-nines” in the briefing room almost accusingly. ”Them is what. Right now each of these pluggers is getting’ divided up amongst the Seniors out there for mission later, and none of ‘em want any part of these #$*@! is what the problem is…green #$&*@ hanging off mama so they don’t get us all run out by the King.”
”You said it Coin,” echoes Drake Wellingham. ”Ten crowns one of them wets themselves at the first sign of a scrap.” A small bit of laughter emanates throughout the briefing room, as Devinn LeMont and Jaevin Darjudin join in. Only Alastair Rayne does not seem comfortable with it, whereas Talyssa Dane doesn’t even seem to be aware of the conversation.
Outside in the hallway, Delft and the six constables continue to speak in urgent, serious hushed tones not meant for them to hear.
Anneca finishes cleaning her weapon, having awoken early to commit her spells to memory and ready her equipment. She even spent time on her hair, getting her short crop of fiery red hair to stay in place. She seems a polished professional rather than the rough-and-tumble street constable that she really is. She counts her bullets and pellet shells out, ensuring that she has enough to last her through the worst kind of day. She finds herself wishing that she had enough clout to requisition a backup weapon - a pistol, perhaps - for herself in case of misfire. She knows that a few advanced blunderbusses exists - shotguns, they're called - but their incredible expense is far beyond her means. In either case, she knows that she just has the one gun, a backup club and dagger, and her spells; any fight that she gets into will be over quickly, one way or another. She wipes the weapon down and reattaches its sling, throwing it over her back.
She notices Talyssa Dane reading something. She has been too busy to spend any time with the odd young woman - odd even by Anneca's prickly standards - but she has been meaning to learn more about the contraptions that she can build. She musters up a bit of courage to ask to learn more from Talyssa. "Hey," she begins somewhat awkwardly. "What are you working on? I was hoping that you could show me some of the devices that you've been making."
Coin overhears the request and snickers. "I'll bet you're in sore need of a 'device,' eh, Summers? Been a while since you got laid, I bet. Maybe that's why you're in such a foul mood."
Anneca glares back at him and spits a retort. "Even if you could convince someone to put up with your hideous face long enough to trick them into bed, you wouldn't know what to do. You know what they say about halflings: they're proportionate in every way. Isn't that right, Mr. Two Inches?" She turns away pointedly and returns her attention to Talyssa. "If he's done interrupting, I'd like to see your work. I find such things quite fascinating."
Emerson laughs loudly at Drake’s comment. Once the more senior constables look in his direction he quickly adds. ”Yeah, just like you wet yourself on the Marksman’s yard when Arthur pulled a grenade on you? Now that I find hilarious.” He lets out another chuckle turns his head to his table mate and winks. "Hey Arthur, 10 crowns says Drake here wets himself before anyone of us do."
”Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, prick.”
Gemma tries to filter out all the “conversation” going in the background. She’s the closest to the door and trying desperately to hear what the Senior Constables are discussing before they come in. She shifts her weight in her seat every so often, making a mental note that her sabre and tonfa feel a lot better at her sides when she’s standing rather than sitting, and tries to lean in a little closer to hear better.
I seriously doubt they’re discussing our pairings. That would’ve been determined yesterday. Can’t wait to see if they’ve paired me with Ven or Taflis. If it’s Taflis, then she’s got more pull than Ven. Well, in certain arenas, anyway. Man, I hope it’s not Ven…that’d just be an exercise in frustration all the way around.
Ugh! Can everyone please just be quiet!
S%$$! I said that out loud, didn’t I?
In her frustration of trying to hear, Gemma quietly and accidentally but openly says what’s on her mind for the room to hear. She closes her eyes for a moment to both re-attune her ears to the hallway conversation and simultaneously prepare herself for the soon-to-be-hurled insults from Coin, since she knows there’s no way he'd turn down the opportunity.
”Oh hello Anneca.” Talyssa brushes her black hair to one side as she turns to smile to Anneca and tilts her notes slightly towards her. ”Well you see this is the tattered efforts of my touring speech notes that I have to give later on the Coaltongue…not just to our RHC leadership but most likely several other dignitaries and the like…”
Wilhelm Coin actually raises an eyebrow at Anneca’s scathing retort of him, giving a low whistle as if he actually appreciates the insult. ”Oh is that so is it?” He hops off of the normal-sized chair next to Drake and Jaevin and walks over right behind her own, leaning in with uncomfortable closeness before replying. ”You know Summers it’s not the size but how you use it…and with that baton up you’re a@% I’d wager you haven’t seen some real action on how it’s done for some time now.” He holds up his pinky finger. ”Why I bet this here would work in your case given that you’re as…”
”Wilhelm Coin, that’s ENOUGH out of you!” Talyssa Dane glares at him in indignation with her cheeks slightly flushed. Almost immediately afterwards Skimmer lets out an angry screech and lands on Talyssa’s shoulder, snapping its jaws in the air towards the halfling constable.
”Yes Coin, that’s enough of that. You’re making the ladies uncomfortable.” Alastair Rayne says his bit softly and without menace, yet firmly enough to give anyone pause that he means what he says.
”C’mon Coin she’s vetted, you know that,” adds Devinn LeMont absently while he flips through his newspaper.
”What? I’m just playin’ is all.” Wilhelm Coin smiles a somewhat leering creepy smile that is not endearing at all, and gives both Anneca and Talyssa a mock bow. ”Ladies.” He then sits back down with a smirk on his face that just begs to be smacked off at some point.
Talyssa gives him one final glare and then turns back to Anneca, doing her best to ignore him. ”Anyway, Shipwright Masarde doesn’t care to give tours and shoveled it off to me…which is probably for the best anyway as he’s a tiefling and from Danor and all that, but that doesn’t make me well-equipped for giving speeches.” Her notes are scribbled through in many places with parts written in on the margins – mostly to Anneca it appears that Talyssa Dane is trying to cross out parts where it is too technical and shorten up her word count. She flips through a few pages and shows Anneca a hand-drawn layout of the technical schematics of the engine and gun decks, fully detailed with all kinds of little notes which are somewhat legible. ”I’m in for it tonight aren’t I? What a mess this is.” She laughs ruefully to herself. ”When this is all done I promise to get back to you on your first simulacrum design you asked me to review…I haven’t forgotten by the way! It’s just that I haven’t had much time for my own research in the last season…”
”What did you just say to me, gimp?” Drake Wellingham abruptly stands up from his chair, nearly causing it to tip over behind him. He takes a step forward and puts a hand to his belt near where he keeps his truncheon. Almost as quickly, Coin stands from his chair, though the act of doing so isn’t nearly as impressive. Drake then takes a second step forward threateningly to where Emerson Hill is. ”Big talk for a washed-up gimp! Why don’t you hobble on over here and we’ll see how it goes for you with your own wetting?”
Before Emerson can respond, another voice calls out firmly to end it. ”Sit down, Drake. You too Wilhelm.” Jaevin Darjudin is inspecting a golden crown as he rolls it across the back of his hand in a simple sleight-of-hand trick, but his voice commands authority and is tinged with irritation.
Wilhelm Coin sits back down with a glare, but Drake holds his stance and his staredown on Emerson. ”Jaevin, I’m not gonna sit here and take swallop from this untried…”
”Yes, you are,” says Jaevin as he cuts the man off. He nods his chin towards the door where all can see that Lady Inspectress Saxby has just joined Inspector Delft and the other six constables out in the hallway, seemingly receiving extra instructions from her. ”For now anyway. I’m not looking the fool in front of the Lady because you can’t stow it, so stow it. You too, Hill.”
”Ugh! Can everyone please just be quiet!”
Gemma’s sudden outburst turns all eyes to her at that moment, with most looking at her in incredulous contempt. It’s neither Drake Wellingham nor Wilhelm Coin that admonish her as she might expect however, but rather Jaevin Darjudin.
”Not your place, Associate Constable Atherton. Nor is it your place to be trying to listen in on what’s going on out there – if Inspector Delft wanted you to hear, he’d be doing that in here and not out there.”
”Precisely speaking that’s Assistant Chief Inspector Delft there, Jae.”
”Shut up, Devinn.”
”Sure, sure.” Devinn LeMont smiles and turns his newspaper to keep on reading, then nearly bolts up in his chair, his eyes going wide and silently mouthing THERE IT IS! before turning a wicked grin towards Gemma Atherton.
Emerson, still sitting, just looks at Drake and gives him his best smile. ”Untried? I died in the service of my country. What have you done besides strutting around all self-important like?”
Before Drake can retort, Emerson gets up and walks over to Talyssa and Anneca. ”I can help you with your speech if you like Talyssa. Maybe simplify it for the non-technical types?” He sits down next to the pair and winks at her. ”Besides, if you pretend the crowd is in their small clothes it can help make the butterflies go away. It can be down-right hilarious if you have a good imagination, which I suspect you do.”
Even though the response she expected from Coin doesn’t come from him but from Jaevin instead, she is nonetheless irritated enough for a response of her own.
His admonishment of her in front of her fellow constables is enough to cause her to overlook his beautiful, half-elven face. She takes one last listen and then flips him off before turning to speak. “If they didn’t want us to hear anything then their conversation would be taking place somewhere other than right outside the damn door, wouldn’t it? If I don’t listen, then I may miss out on key information that might save one of our asses in the field, whether they think it will or not. What if I hear something that they choose not to share openly that I can use later to some advantage? Isn’t that one of the many reasons why we’re here? Maybe I missed a memo, but I thought we were detectives.”
Gemma turns back around to listen to the Senior Constables outside the door but not before adding a closing statement. “And apparently I missed the pissing contest class which so many of you seemed to have aced.”
Yeah...that was probably stupid...
"Keep talking, scribe man," threatens Drake from over where he still sits, Jaevin's arm now across him to form a virtual barrier. "When today is done why don't you come square things up with me in Lescane's arena and you can revisit the dying part."
"You're not a detective yet," replies Jaevin Darjudin, his beautiful features untouched by the frosty reply in his voice, the manner of his dismissal of her somehow harsher than anything Drake Wellingham or Wilhelm Coin could equal. "You're still a Batallion girl and unproven by my eyes..." He leans forward for emphasis though still with an arm across Drake seated next to him. "...and until you prove your worth in the field you can at least follow simple protocol from those that know better."
Gemma smiles a little, but knows there’s some lines she probably shouldn’t cross, so she proceeds with caution.
“You know, Jaevin? You’re right. I am a Batallion girl.” She shrugs a little and adds, “I happened to be one of the top in my class but it does make me green to all of this nonetheless. So, I agree. I may be lacking in the finer points of protocol, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing specific about eavesdropping or about having an open sewer for a mouth...however distasteful both of those things might be." She looks briefly to Coin then pauses a moment. “I am pretty sure though that there’s something in the protocol about constables openly threatening other constables with death.” Then she'll look to Drake before looking back to Jaevin.
She shrugs again nonchalantly. "I could be wrong though..."
"Hi there Emerson," says Talyssa as he joins the conversation with she and Anneca Summers. "I was just showing Anneca here my jumble of notes for the tours later, but if you think you can help...well sure." She grins and adds, "I'm afraid nothing here is exciting as a pistol design...well except the gun deck has cannons of course..."
She quickly separates sheets of scribbled parchment into two different sets, giving Anneca the parts that have mostly technical diagrams of the RNS Coaltongue and its main technical features: engine boiler and furnace, fuel bins full of firegems, firedust magazine section with some sort of wards on them in the schematic, gun deck and something called "The Brand" which seems to be described as some sort of massive magical capacitor that ties to a main weapon.
"I'm doomed, aren't I? I could speak for hours but I'm going to lull everyone to sleep before we even get to the engine deck. It's one thing to speak to a group of engineers or navy types, but I don't think I'm going to get that lucky with all the noble-types that are going to be there."
Jaevin just shakes his head slightly and then ignores Gemma as if she is not worth his time to respond to, turning his attention back to running the golden coin along the back of his hand while occasionally glancing upwards at the group in the hall outside of the briefing room.
That would probably be the end of it if it wasn't for Devinn LeMont. Seemingly laughing hysterically to himself in something he just read in the newspaper he has, he clears his throat and fake-whispers loudly for all in the room to hear him.
"I knew it would be in here today...everyone it seems Constable Atherton here has already made the scribe's rounds! Here it is AND I QUOTE:
'...and while the survey of the inner sanctums of R.H.C. grounds was predictable and proper as expected on the final day of the year, even they cannot control all aspects as they should prefer to do. For in the midst of the tour an alarm sounded and a carriage at full speed - wildly driven - exited the premises without so much as a by your leave, leaving our dashing war-hero Constable Ven (whom has been described in my many previous articles to the thunderous accolades of our female readership) to hastily inquire as to the source of such suggested skullduggery! Well WE could not stand idly by whilst what may have been the story of the final tocks of the century tick-tocked by us, so we smartly closed to hear the word. And what would you know but a young and comely Constable by the name of Atterstown, fresh and plucked as a duckling in Spring was there to give her mentor a fine tale! A tale of sudden illness from one of Flint Branch's other Constables (sources suggest TWO in fact) and the bells of the city are rung with great haste! Dutiful and respectful as a new Constable should be, yet alas my dear readers we could not obtain the sketch to show you the scene! For at first mention of it this duckling-with-a-badge feigns the SAME illness and retreats back yonder to the Headquarters Building! Which brings up the question as to why the other Constables were in such great haste to leave across the Central with an infirmary and healers just paces away. Sadly this humble scribe does not think the new crop of Constables such as Miss Atterstown will receive any invitations to the Navras any time soon for her so-called "performance" of acting, but no matter. For I, Jameson Jantry, pose to you my dear readers, that the so-called illness was a polite but ill-executed attempt to conceal the daring pursuit of another unseen enemy of Flint, even as we began our revels and festivities...'
OH NOW THAT IS GRAND! AHHhhhhh..." LeMont wipes tears of laughter from his eyes.
Nearly all eyes in the room turn squarely to Gemma, in various displays of shock or surprise.
Emerson looks at Talyssa’s notes, ignoring Drake and Jaevin. ”Heh. Yes, you’ve got that right. Put them right to sleep that will. Best to keep it simple. Think like you’re explaining the ship to some primary school children. Then if someone asks a question, you can give them as much or as little additional detail as they require. I’m sure you could keep it brief enough that you'd stop in each area for only a minute or so. Isn’t there a good chance many of these people will be drunk?” He stops when he sees all the technical diagrams and lets out a whistle. ”Now, I would be interested in reading those schematics if it is allowed. I like to know how things work, and actually, those do look more interesting than any pistol design I’ve seen.”
Gemma smiles and then stands up to take a grand bow in the direction of Devinn LeMont and sits down again.
“Now, Constable LeMont…if they can’t even get my name right, how much of that story do you think is written without embellishment? Although the part about my sudden illness was indeed true but not for the reasons that they fabricated.”
"That...actually makes sense Emerson!" Talyssa smiles as she seems to display a modicum of hope that she can pull this off. "Thanks! I'll let you know how it goes when I see you tomorrow...hopefully it won't be a full review hearing because I b&+$~~#sed it up so badly."
As for her schematics and design notes on the RNS Coaltongue, Emerson can clearly see that Anneca is already examining them. "Fine by me as long as you two don't leave with them. Um, I'm sure you two know how to share, and Anneca doesn't bite...I don't think." Talyssa has a bemused look upon her face as she jokes about the fact that the two are strangers, when in fact they have spent many hours and days together as they came up through the evaluation and selection process earlier in the year.
Talyssa's notes are impressive for being so disheveled and scribbled, and include not only a realistic colored sketch of the ship, but also a summary blueprint of the ship's decks as well as a cruder cross-sectional blueprint for relational reference. Several pages of Talyssa's notes put together a rather impressive summary of the ship and it's main characteristics as they review them.
Gemma makes a brave attempt to play off the event, but the overall disposition of the seasoned veteran constables towards her...and the 'four-double-nines' in general, makes that nearly impossible to manage.
The reaction is visceral and to the negative.
"You stupid b#$^!," exclaims Wilhelm Coin.
"What do you think you are playing at, girl?" says Drake Wellingham.
Jaevin's voice drips with scorn. "You never speak to the scribes without the Inspector's permission, especially for one untrained to it. That should be clear even for you, Atherton."
"No no, Jae, it's Atterstown." Grinning with clear amusement he taps the paper several times with his finger. "The name's right here you see. Atterstown."
"It's because there are those that would seek to malign us, regardless of the real truth," offers Alastair Rayne, who speaks in a conciliatory tone as if to explain it to her gently.
"Great!" barks Wellingham. "Wait until the Inspectors hear about this. Just what we need."
"Oh don't worry! They have! Meg told me Ven was hot enough to bake himself in his own armor the other day, and he's lodged a call for reprimand to Delft and Saxby." Devinn LeMont rubs his hands together as if preparing to partake of a meal and turns to Gemma. "Don't worry my dear, I'm sure it will...gulp...I'm certain you can get...GULP-GASP...oh wait I don't feel so good maybe I should...BURP-GULP-GASP...OH MY!" Devinn falls from his chair and pretends to vomit all over the floor, then shakes with laughter almost uncontrollably.
From somewhere in the Wilhelm-Drake-Jaevin section of the briefing room, a wadded-up briefing summary paper hurls towards Gemma, softly striking her on the shoulder and falling at her feet.
Both Francis Kane and Arthur Wilde just sit there quietly, watching the actions unfold but as-of-yet saying or doing nothing to support or denounce their comrade they went through the selection process with.
From nearby in the other section of the briefing room, Talyssa Dane looks on with sympathy to Gemma, but doesn't say anything. Emerson and Anneca watch as one of their fellows - and in Anneca's case the woman she shares an office with - is being verbally accosted by the more senior constables.
Gemma takes a deep breath and steels herself for the next round. Never one to back down, she takes a look at each of the veteran constables. It’s not with a look of contempt or anger, though, but with a dewy-eyed, young, school girl look. She even changes her tone accordingly from defensive to sweet.
“Now, I thought that we had clearly established that I am a Battalion girl that doesn’t know her place. How could you possibly expect me not to screw up? I figured that was just a given.” She pauses a moment to plan out her next words. “However, I was under the direct tutelage of a Senior Constable at the time. But even so, gosh, I just hope I don’t do something so bone-headed in the field. I’d hate to put any of you in harm’s way by my buffoonery!”
“Oh! One more thing that I almost forgot in my unending mistakes!” She looks coyly at Coin. “Thank you, Constable Coin, for your compliment! With your saucy mouth and highly predictable nature, I was fully expecting something much racier than b*#*~. So I greatly appreciate your gentlemanly restraint. I now feel fairly good about you calling me that again, repeatedly, in the future. Perhaps soon we’ll all be on a pet name basis.”
Man, I know I'm gonna have to at some point but I'm not feeling at all confident about a single person in this room having my back in the field. They're not even pretending to have it in our own damn briefing room! Just a really good reminder that the only person I can really trust is me. Glad I find out now as opposed to later when it could kill me. Disappointing though.
Emerson gives Talyssa another wink. "I'm sure you would have come up with the same conclusion yourself. But I am always glad to be of assistance." He takes off his hat, brings it to his chest and gives a short bow.
He rights his hat and sits back down as the last bit of unpleasant exchanges go back and forth amongst the more senior constables and Gemma. Emerson shakes his head and mumbles loud enough for Anneca and Talyssa to hear. "Remember what I said about primary school children?" Shielding his gesture, he points a thumb at Coin and the others.
That said, he picks up a piece of paper and pencil and scribbles something down. Crumpling it up, he then throws the waded up ball at Devinn, hitting him square in the chest.
Devinn picks it up with a mock look of outrage but looks at the message anyway.
After looking at the note Devinn wads back up the ball of paper and tosses it once up in the air to then catch it, a quick smirk and shoulder shrug suggesting to Emerson that he doesn't disagree with him. He moves to retake his customary chair when a new thought seems to take hold in him, causing him to whirl around and point right at Gemma Atherton.
"That's it! The first name for a 'four-double-nine' now revealed to me as surely as a skyseer reads the stars. You, madame, shall now be known forthwith as...HEAVES!" LeMont grins and nods satisfactorily as if visually fitting it on her. "Yep! It's most definitely HEAVES! Welcome aboard, Heaves. Too bad though - Heaves - that you may be relegated to the messaging pool for the next season...or three...after this. There there, Heaves."
Gemma swallows her pride and growing irritation and continues to treat the onslaught as casual banter.
"Awww, that' so sweet of you, LeMont! I really appreciate that but I hate to tell you that I already have a nickname. It's Rigs, if you must know, and I'll save you the trouble of asking why. I got it pretty early on because I was able to "rig" a weapon out of most anything and think outside the box when using it. What's yours? I'm going to assume that "a!&++*+" was already taken."
I so hate that name. Who'd have thought I'd end up liking it now. Sure as hell better than Heave though.
"By the way, think quick about it, LeMont," Gemma starts to make a small circling motion with her index finger, "cause we probably only have a couple more rounds of this b%@~&%~& before the briefing starts...or before I'm bored to tears."
Before he can answer, Gemma adds one more thing, her demeanor changing and her tone growing more serious. "You know...the sad thing about all this...this...roasting of me, for lack of a better term, is that as soon as this is over, no matter how much you try and break me down, as soon as we get our assignments, I could be paired with any one or all of you and it wouldn't matter. Once we're in the field, I'll have each one of your backs, without question." Gemma emphasizes her point by pointing a finger at each person in the room. "I may be a rookie, but I was good enough for the Inspectors to think I should have a badge. At the very least, I would hope you would respect their judgement."
She looks directly at Jaevin. "Unless you're questioning the system."
"I question it more now that I have to hear you explain your tiresome thoughts to us," answers Jaevin to her with an edge to his voice that she has not heard before. "Prove yourself on missions and learn from those that have done this longer and better than you. Everything else you're spewing is a waste of our time." He leans back in his chair, his eyes glittering dangerously at her.
Oh, by the eyes of the heavens, please shut up. All of you are such a#&%~%+s.
Blah, blah, blah, b&++!+%~.
Can I just go the hell home already? This is miserable and a waste of my time, too.
Arthur watched the exchange unfolding between the various senior members of the constabulary and Gemma who was caught squarely between their sights. Arthur's eyes blinked slowly, the red glow of an ever-present cigar casting a harsh, red light on the sappers dark features. Arthur had Drake pegged, no doubt. Coin was no surprise either. But this was a battle that Gemma would have to face on her own if she wanted any respect from the others.
Not my circus, not my monkeys. The man thought to himself as he nimbly rolled a steel ball over the top of his hand. It didn't matter that it was only a casing and not an actual grenade. They didn't know that.
Half-smirking to himself, Arthur glanced up from the steel cylinder in the direction of Crux. Arthur never had the chance to thank the man for the Pemberton Model Ought-Nine that rested against the wall next to Arthur, but Arthur had seen a quick glance of approval when Arthur walked into the briefing with the firearm slung over his back and knew that words weren't needed. Not for people like Crux or Wilde.
Silently turning back to the exchange, Arthur continued to roll the steel casing over the back of his hand in a silent but dexterous display. Arthur knew his talents and didn't need to hear the sound of his own voice to feel important. Besides, Arthur had learned growing up in the Nettles that hard words or idle boasting was for fools or cowards and Arthur was neither. If you mean to kill, you’re better getting right to it than talking about it. Talk only makes the other man ready, and that’s the last thing you want.
"Oh this is shaping up to be an entertaining day," says Devinn LeMont, grinning and putting his boots up on the empty chair in front of him. "Gots me first nickname doled out, odds soon to come on which one of these 'double-nines will blow their first assignment in front of the seniors...oh and we get a how-do-you-do with the King! Ahh yes, can't wait for..."
Jaevin Darjudin interrupts him. "Seal it, Dev." He nods towards the door. "Lady's coming in."
Movement outside in the hallway confirms Constable Darjudin's statement. Lady Inspectress Saxby turns towards the briefing room with an imperious glare to those inside, even as Carlao Ven, Dima Sorginson and Josiah Crux give what appear to be quick nods to Assistant Chief Delft and leave the hallway group for...somewhere else, for they do not enter into the briefing room as expected. Serena Taflis, Kaea Than'dil and Gaethan Blackwater remain behind with Stover Delft, seemingly in deep and earnest discussion with their boss for a few moments longer.
The veteran constables all straighten themselves and come to seated attention as Lady Saxby enters the briefing room; even LeMont hastily takes his feet off the chair and does a passable act of demonstrating attentiveness. To the associate constables who have been in many a morning briefing session, this is not a new prospect for them, but it feels different in that they are each specifically mentioned on the briefing report for the first time.
Lady Inspectress Margaret Saxby is impeccably dressed in her dark grey R.H.C. uniform as she is on nearly every day they have seen her, the closely cropped short blonde hair a clear mark of her former days in the Risuri Army during the Fourth Yerasol War. She bears a beautifully fashioned Risuri brightsteel longsword with a gold-enameled hilt and guard on her left hip, with accents of gold jewelry in the forms of rings and earrings that she wears, though nothing seems gaudy or can be described as anything besides functional. Her black boots and belt are polished as fine as any Risuri officer in a dress parade. Athletic and with a swordswoman's grace in her step, Margaret Saxby could be considered pretty if it wasn't for the clear steps she takes to play down her femininity, as well as slightly hawkish features that are accentuated when she looks down upon others with a sort of no-nonsense disdain. Saxby is a hard woman who brooks no dissent from her rule of R.H.C. Flint Branch. Rumor has it that for those few who have tried, they quickly found themselves transferred to far-flung inferior postings or bounced from service entirely after "internal audits" found gross violations of the rules.
Without so much as a 'fair morning' to them, the Lady Inspectress calls the morning briefing to order, despite the fact that Delft and three others are still in the hall. Something has changed.
"Constables. As you should have read by now, the briefing dockets you have before you today stipulate only one mission for those not already assigned. Classified as Tier One priority, typed Verdant Knight with Staff arrayed on Single Starburst. That mission is still in effect of course, but circumstances have added two additional assignments to the docket today." She pauses a moment before continuing, her hawkish stare taking in each of them critically, particularly the associate constables that have not been formally assigned before today. Saxby's eyes seem particularly hard as they stare into Gemma Atherton's own, but the feeling of unease lasts only a moment before she continues on.
"Due to the accumulation of information revealed just but an hour ago, I have hereby declared an additional new assignment of Tier One priority, typed Crimson Wolf with Spear on Bars Crossed, to which six of our most experienced Constables have just been assigned. This mission takes equal priority with the other Tier One mission you have before you, that being the security and flawless execution of this afternoon's processional of our beloved King Aodhan, and ultimately the protection of the King and other V.I.P. arrivals at the blessing of the R.N.S. Coaltongue for her maiden voyage this evening."
"In addition, a direct request of urgent assistance by Mayor Gohins of the Parity Lake District has been accepted by me, adding a third assignment to our docket this morning. Taking two of you Constables and in coordination with Flint Police, this shall be prioritized as Type Two, Verdant Seer with Spear on Single Starburst. Assistant Chief Inspector Delft will make the final determination of which two of you shall be assigned to this case today in Parity Lake."
Pausing a moment for effect, Lady Saxby drives her next point home with emphasis. "This means that eight experienced Constables are diverted from the long-planned assignment today. As such, previous directives to pair up the inexperienced constables with those of senior status is utterly infeasible. Therefore, every Constable shall be on their own recognizance for this afternoon's security event. Each of you have been selected for your...superior qualities...and hopefully this past Winter's efforts have instilled in each of you the qualities and knowledge of duty that is expected in each and every Constable of the R.H.C. at Flint Branch. Know that I expect this from each and every one of you, and that lapses in judgment or execution shall be severely examined."
Saxby clears her throat slightly, then makes a motion to peer about the room. "The Assistant Chief Inspector shall join you momentarily to go over mission details and make final assignments. Are there any questions for me then before I attend to more pressing matters?" Though offered, Saxby's tone and bearing seem to assume no questions will be asked of her.
"No? Very well then. Carry forth your assignments with excellence and honor. You represent not only the Royal Homeland Constabulary this day, but the very best of what it means to be Risuri." After a moment of regarding each of you, she continues. "Standard R.H.C. uniform...or civilian clothes for those that can pose as such...are allowed for this afternoon's security detail for the King's processional. However, I expect for each of you to bring your R.H.C. full dress attire for attendance at the blessing of the R.N.S. Coaltongue soon afterwards, as you will be in the proximity of nobility, diplomats and the most notable and prominent citizens of Risur, not to mention the scribes. Most of you will not be required for this evening's festivities on board the maiden voyage of the Coaltongue, though I shall leave it to the Assistant Chief Inspector to arrange a small detail to supplement those of R.H.C. Slate Branch that Viscount Price-Hill brings with him."
Looking uncomfortable to continue to speak on, Lady Saxby simply waits in silence with a slight tapping of her foot as Inspector Delft finishes up with those outside in the hallway. Soon Serena Taflis, Kaea Than'dil and Gaethan Blackwater depart down the main lower hallway, and Delft enters the briefing room with the usual tap-tap of his walking cane. "Lady Saxby, my apologies." He bows deferentially to her with one hand holding the cane for support.
"Quite all right, Assistant Chief Inspector. I believe they grasp the importance of the situation this day." With a last look at the eleven constables in the briefing room, she gives a curt nod and walks out, closing the door behind her.
Assistant Chief Inspector Stover Delft waits a few moments as the bootsteps of Saxby fade down the hallway. He then pulls forward a simple chair from the wall near the door as well as a small brass spittoon next to it. Sitting in the chair without any fanfare whatsoever, he withdraws a bit of Nicodemus leaf from a small pouch in his embroidered vest pocket and begins to chew on it. Only when he has completed his habit and spit the first bit into the spittoon does he look up at them.
"Well now, that's what we all get for planning too much in advance for a day like today. So I suppose it's time to see what we really have here before us..."
"It IS somewhat unusual, Inspector," says Jaevin Darjudin with an air of subtlety, trying to draw him out. "Especially on such an important day such as today."
"Yeah, what was all that about out there?" Devinn LeMont leans forward with interest.
"The seniormost six are on an unscheduled Tier One mission, LeMont, and that's all I'm going to say about it to the likes of you." Stover Delft's visage darkens at the question, though it seems to be tinged more with discomfort as opposed to irritation. "Anything else before I go on - anything else not concerning the other Tier One mission already assigned that is?"
Anneca listens to the assignment, eyebrows raised in worry. She leans to Arthur, the closest of her comrades, and whispers softly to him. 'What could have happened to see such a drastic change in plans?" They had been focused on the launch of the Coaltongue for long enough that she is shocked that anything else could be a priority. She holds her tongue rather than ask Saxby any questions, assuming that they will receive more information with the details of the assignment.
Emerson raises his hand slightly in response to Delft's question.
"Is there anything in particular we should be vigilant for while on our security details that might help the other investigations sir?"
Gemma smirks on the inside when Delft snips at LeMont.
Not important enough to know the Tier One assignments, huh? Go figure.
Once the orders are handed out, Gemma can't help but start replaying Kaea's words in the Meditation Garden over and over in her head. She tried desperately at the time to commit them to memory and now tries to recall them all in the right order. She has a nagging suspicion that some of these new assignments have come up due to what was said and Serena's reaction.
Delft looks at Emerson and nods in appreciation. "Astute question there Hill, but I do not think so. Still, report to me anything that is unusual and I'll piece together anything that needs piecing. Mostly though I want you to focus on your assignment details and we'll come through all right."
Another spit into the spittoon and Delft stands from the chair with the help of his cane. "Right then. Let's get the Tier Two out of the way." He draws the heraldic symbol on the board with a bit of chalk. "Tier Two, Verdant Seer with Spear on Single Starburst. This is a personal favor of an urgent nature from Mayor Gohins of Parity Lake. Somewhere between last night on New Year's Day and the night before on Nine-One Winter, three citizens were brutally murdered in the Parity Lake District...let's just say that the manner of their deaths were...ritualistic in nature. Further, they match up with a handful of other murders in the District last Winter. Folks in the area call this murderer "The Ragman" - not sure why - and Flint Police of the Lake District have not been able to make any headway. So they've asked us for help in looking at the latest scenes to see if we can assist in hunting him down." Delft points to Jaevin Darjudin and nods at him. "Constable Darjudin, you have the lead on this one. Pick your partner and get going over to Police Precinct House over in Parity."
Jaevin nods and considers only for a moment. "Right. I'll take Coin with me Inspector."
Drake Wellingham moans in protest. "Oh c'mon! Don't leave me to see after these whelps by myself!"
Delft taps his cane on the floor. "That's all from you, Wellingham. I agree with Darjudin, as I need you to cover the Royal Square from the rooftop level anyway, just in case something goes amiss." Delft looks back to the other two veteran constables and says, "Right then, you two hop to it. You've got today only and you report to the Mayor if asked, but no talking to the scribes. Do what you can to sort out what you can and we'll re-evaluate tomorrow morning. Off with you now."
Stover sits back down and works with the spittoon as both Jaevin Darjudin and Wilhelm Coin take their leave on assignment. Once the door is closed again, he eyes the remaining nine in the room.
"Right. So as the briefing summary states, the rest of you are on Tier One, Verdant Knight with Staff arrayed on Single Starburst. We assemble in Royal Square at one o' clock.". He draws a second heraldic symbol on the board and chalks off the remaining nine names to it. "With the exception of Wellingham who will providing rooftop cover only should something seriously unexpected happen, each of you will be in the crowds gathering to take part in the King's arrival and processional, which will start in earnest at three o' clock past the first checkpoint. Your mission, simply stated, is to protect our glorious King by ensuring that none of the seven-hundred or so selected citizens - out of thousands attending - that will be "honored" to advance into Royal Square, are malcontents. These seven-hundred citizens will be allowed to advance across the bridge to Fleet Square at precisely half-past-three o' clock after Flint Police finishes the final counts. Of course before then the usual leaflets will be distributed for the Risuri anthem and other patriotic songs usually heard, groups organized for choruses, that sort of thing. The King wants a stirring and enthusiastic crowd to greet him as his processional goes by Fleet Square, to be scribed and sketched as energetic and impromptu as possible. So that means the seven-hundred can't be identified ahead of time, nor do they want citizens sitting for hours in the Square with crying babes and tired eyes. Your summaries show the kinds of possible threats to be wary of, but even a drunken laborer who doesn't like the color of the King's doublet can ruin the processional in front of the scribes and sketchers, not to mention getting the whole blessing of the Coaltongue off on the wrong foot."
The Inspector spits and looks across the room at everyone. "Now this is typed Verdant, so no real threats expected. Then again, I'm more interested in the unexpected. Typed Staff, so no force is preferred if you find anyone looking to cause a stir, with only non-lethal methods sanctioned - beating a drunk bloody or skewering some bloke who wants to mouth off is going to ruin the whole affair. That being said, I'll be at the first checkpoint to Royal Square to coordinate with the rest of you in the crowds via arcane messaging with a few of our R&D staff, and we'll be in full cooperation with Flint Police in case you need backup to pull anyone out who's marked to cause trouble. All right, any questions so far before we get into the specifics of malcontent profiling?"
Anneca's eyes go wide at the mission description of the Ragman. She remains quiet, hoping just a little bit that Darjudin will pick her. When he selects Coin insted, she deflates ever so slightly but quickly begins justifying the reason in her mind. Rationally, she understands it - but she wishes to herself that she'd be selected for such an important mission. She doesn't hear the beginning of the briefing for the mission that actually concerns her, forcing her to replay the words that she hears to try to make sense of them. "Do we have any intelligence that someone is planning to disrupt the event? What is the current mood on the ground with the Dockers and the like? Can we quantify or otherwise predict the possibility that someone might attempt some sort of action that we would have to prevent?"
Delft looks to Summers with some degree of interest. "Summers!" He looks to the others around the room and points to her. "Of our newest flock o' constables, the first one with a completed assignment under her belt." He turns back to look to you with a bemused nod. "Sperring turned in his mission report before heading out-country, and gave you positive marks for the assistance. Said you need polishing though, but no surprise there. Good work, Summers."
Drake sits in stony silence but Alastair and Talyssa both clap for you in appreciation, and Devinn gives you a knowing wink in addition to a "Huzzah!" from his chair.
"Now then." Stover Delft spits once in the spittoon and then puts a finger on his temple and closes his eyes as if having some sort of vision. "In answer to your barrage of questions Summers, the answers are, in order of your asking: 'No' or at least nothing actionable, soured and irritating, and 'No' we can't." There's a few chuckles around the room and he normalizes his gaze and adds, "Theory and formulas are fine to build a ship but don't often translate to predicting actions by malcontents and terrorists. I'd like to see a formula that could govern such, but until then it's still an art of observation and good investigative work. Perhaps you will be the one this afternoon to distill down what we are about to cover into concise actionable threat profiles in the field for the Police and our own?"
Without waiting for an answer, Delft points his cane at Devinn LeMont. "All right LeMont, since Summers inquired about the Dockers, let's start with them first - you've been out there for the past Season so give us a rundown of what we need to know..."