Perhaps you need a hiatus? Take a month or two off, get some notes and ideas down at your own pace, recharge, and come back when you're thinking more clearly?
Search Posts
So flex-time gear recovery, then head back to Harrowstone? Or is there something else we need to do that I've missed? I'm happy to put up a flex-time post; gives me a chance to really get into what kind of place Klein lives in. Very few of my characters have had any kind of permanent lodgings.
So, there are a few things we have to do here. In addition to investigating Harrowstone, we have a chest of books to deliver. However, putting the will aside a moment, Klein would prefer a chance to examine their contents first. Before we get to investigating, we're going to need to gear up. I assume Felix has no reason to not carry his gear on him, but Klein only has his cane and extracts, Subaru has nothing, and Johnathon has only the eyes of Thoth, so the three of us will have to gear up. When we finish with the plaque and such, what are our movements? Do we want to play out gear recovery, or flex-time it? -Posted with Wayfinder
"I have heard much of the experiments and procedures performed here," Klein says calmly, washing his gloves in the snow in much the same manner as his handkerchief before folding them neatly. "The upper levels of the establishment housed a technologically-advanced asylum, filled with an overabundance of patients more frequently than not. Basement levels were set aside for the sole purpose of containing the criminally insane." As he stands, he takes his coat from the arm of the memorial, swings it on, and tucks the gloves and handkerchief in an inside pocket, where two tiny flasks clink softly. Fixing his eyes again on Felix, he says in a low tone, "The procedures here included lobotomies and sensory deprivations. I would question your resolve, but I understand there is little point to it. The necessities of science and medicine are beyond the comprehension of some." Seizing his cane and looking to Johnathon and Subaru, he clears his throat and finishes, "We must explore this place, and I admit I have held a curiosity about the deeds performed behind its gates for some time. However, we should prepare ourselves accordingly. If we are to prepare at your home, would you be so kind as to escort me past my apartment first?"
If Klein notices the reactions of Subaru and Felix to his grisly task, he shows no sign of doing so, continuing instead to methodically wipe away the gore with a crisp linen handkerchief. "Many things, Felix," he says in a low tone, searching through the whispers for more knowledge he can impart to the boy. A voice like a whisper, then a scream, rises in his mind, a tortured howl that causes his hands to twitch and his eyes to briefly clench before imparting its memory.
"Subaru," he says in a forcibly level tone, "If you suspect someone may be nearly, would you care to look for them?" His words spoken, he forces his eyes open once more and rubs the handkerchief in the snow to clean it, leaving a pink stain by his right shoe.
und für die liebe zu Gott und seinen engeln, halte ihn aus einem asyl Henrik stands before Harrowstone, his ears ringing with the ten-and-one chimes and echoing with the words from his father's letter, all those years before. It seems that my mother failed, but not in the way she had expected, he thinks, staring at the letters in the wrought-iron gate. "... put your medical knowledge to work..." Subaru's voice pierces the shroud of whispers; he snaps his head sideways to stare at the morgenlander before nodding in firm agreement. "Very well. Let me see..." He rummages in his coat pockets before producing a pair of slim-fitting leather gloves; he removes his coat (hanging it over the memorial), buttons the gloves over his shirt-cuffs, and crouches down next to the plaque, looming over the dead cat like a mortician over his patient.
Placing the back of one hand against what remains of the cat's chest, he frowns, his breath misting in front of him and mixing with the steam rising from the creature's entrails. "This is recent," he states matter-of-factly. "There is no doubt in this. I estimate time of death at no more than a quarter-hour ago." Showing all the poise and precision of a surgeon, he lifts the dead cat and moves it to one side, placing it in the snow and pushing the entrails aside, attempting to read the remainder of the inscription.
Klein is going to be one of the least genre-savvy characters I've ever played, I just know it.
Klein says nothing as Subaru makes the tea, taking his own cup with fixed eye contact - he'd tried thanking the butler when they were both younger and had quickly learned that the morgenlander preferred no thanks nor recognition for such simple things, instead seeing it as a matter of duty and propriety. The tea is strong, the taste grounding, and he sips it as Subaru speaks. One thin eyebrow twitches slightly higher than its twin, and the susurrus of voices that murmurs in his mind briefly ceases. This will be interesting, he muses silently. "Then I look forward to studying such things more closely, in hopes that I may be able to understand what others have failed to do so. Nothing is beyond human comprehension, after all, and what we thought 'magic' some years ago is now perfectly explainable by science. The mysteries of matter, astronomy, and the nature of light itself are all subject to our scrutiny - spirits and haunts will not be far behind, I am certain." He takes another sip of his tea, keeping one hand on the head of his cane, the book open on his lap. "I will investigate the prison as well, for these reasons."
"Young man, I no longer know what to think," Klein responds stiffly, plucking one of the other books from the pile and absent-mindedly fidgeting with the lock on the cover. "My entire adult life has been devoted to the sciences, and while I have no doubt that the late Professor believed entirely in the strange pursuits he wrote of, I am certain there is a perfectly logical explanation for this." His accent softens as he speaks, his eyes not moving from Felix's face. "Far be it from me to impose on you, Felix, but if the professor trusted you to investigate this alongside us, you and your..." His face twists, and an eyebrow raises slightly, "... ghosts, such as they may be, could be of use to us."
I'm good to continue. Just been waiting for Subaru and Johnathon to chime in. I'll work up a response to Felix, though.
Rummaging through the textiles, ignoring the whispers and sighs that rise in his mind as silk and damask pass through his fingers, Klein withdraws the books one at a time. Though they sing to him with their promises of knowledge, he resists the urge to immediately dive into them with eyes and mind wide open, instead setting them in a neat pile and opening the journal with long, chemical-stained fingers. Having read the journal aloud in a clear tone, his native accent slipping over his tongue, he sits in the late professor's chair and thumbs through the journal. "These are ill tidings," he says quietly, looking up at Johnathon with worry in his eyes, before turning his hard gaze to Feliz. "Felix, I do not know why Lorrimor called you here, nor why he trusted you with this information, but it is grave indeed. I do not doubt his judgement, but I ask - how strong is your resolve?"
The will read, Klein coughs twice into a handkerchief, partly from the outside chill, partly to provide some noise in the silence Hearthmount's parting leaves. "Well," he says calmly, inclining his head slightly towards Johnathon, "I, for one, wish to see the tomes of which the late professor speaks." Looking to the stairs, he adds, "I would not wish to disturb Ms Lorrimor so soon, but neither do I desire to go prodding around the home of the deceased in search of the chest."
I'm happy to take the jump here. Klein is interested in the contents of those books, while Hawker might be less inclined to go poking around depending on their reputation. (Alex, let me know if I'm wrong, but I see Hawker as being more moral than Klein, who has a more amoral, logical mind.) I can have a post up mid-arvo.
Henrik absent-mindedly tosses a few pieces of pipe and board into the overgrown areas as the drizzle starts. His shoes sink into soft-tilled earth that quickly turns to mud, but he distracts himself by remembering as many features and lines of the men's faces. No room here for heretics or madmen! Though Subaru will not frown, Klein does, his brow and lips furrowing slightly as he works. When the priest arrives and concludes the ceremony, he briefly places a hand over his breast pocket, feeling the ceramic bottle. A brief, fleeting thought crosses his mind - to toss it into the grave, bury the habit alongside with his friend and Kendra's flowers. Then the whispers return over the pouring rain, his mind and clothes subjected to individual deluges, and he turns away from the slowly-filling grave. "Auf wiedersehen," he murmurs, stepping into the carriage and resuming his watch on the world outside. -------------------- As the carriage makes its way back to the late professor's home, Henrik sits silently, as he tends to do, finding the silence appropriate for the occasion. Though Kendra's outburst is worrying, perhaps a result of grief compounded by the contents of the flask she seems to keep drinking from, he finds no words of comfort among those that vex him, and so he keeps his lips closed and hands clasped. Back at Kendra's home, his neutral expression furrows into a frown once more as the portly man makes his request. "Perhaps it would be for the best if you were to reschedule with Ms Lorrimor, sir. Alternatively, we are learned men, and with the approval of the lady, we may be able to handle the late professor's testament."
Henrik sits stooped over in the carriage, his long face slumped between his narrow shoulders in a position reminiscent of a vulturine creature watching its sickly prey. He leans slightly toward the window to keep his head from banging against the ceiling as the carriage clatters over cobblestones and pot-holes, affording him a fine view of the bleak streets and grey alleys of London. His thoughts are not with the Professor as he was in life, but as he is now - a still body in a lacquered wooden box in the back of a hearse. worm food worm food slip through the cracks and go for the eyes first eyes first then tongue lips eat the soft tissues break down breed maggots and He shakes his head, and, in so doing, knocks his temple against the window as the carriage jolts over a particularly troublesome pot-hole. Rubbing the smarting spot and trying to push the disturbing whispers from his mind, he doesn't notice the carriage has stopped until the doors swing open, exposing him to a frigid gust of wind that seems to chill his very bones. He draws his coat tight, buttoning it in the middle, before lifting his corner of the coffin once more and following Kendra to the gravesite, eyes picking out details in the dates of gravestones and the withered stalks of flowers long since wilted away. As the rabble step out from their hiding places, his breath quickens, his nostrils flare, and the thumb on his cane moves to slide the hidden blade free, the steel ready to leap from the polished hickory. The hand gripping the coffin's handle itches to sieze the laudanum in his pocket, to drown out the voices that begin to roar in his ears in a thousand tongues and a thousand pains as the apparent leader voices his thoughts on the late professor... Then Subaru and Johnathon are speaking, trying to calm them down, and he finds himself mildly surprised - try as he might, he cannot recall a time when the morgenlander has spoken so many words at once. "All men deserve burial," he says in an attempt to lend weight to the others' statements. "Should you seek to deny our late friend that right, it would reflect poorly on your moral character." Should they even care for such things, that is.
Though he hears Felix's snort of laughter from behind him, well-suppressed as it is, Henrik gives no indication of having done so, instead focusing on the Father's mannerisms. The wringing of the hands suggests to him emotional grief beyond that of his mere profession; the cough conjures faded memories of his time in the hospital of consumptive disease, spectres of death and pain that float in front of his eyes even as they study the wrinkles of the elderly man's face. so cold so tired so the pain it never ends never hush now take your medicine take He coughs into his handkerchief as he nods to the Father and takes his leave, making his way into the nave of the church. He takes note of the stained-glass windows, of the curvature of the ceiling, the slightly raised tile on the left side of the aisle, three pews from the back, the ragged bookmark in the hymn book in front of him (marking The King's Highway, he realizes, unable to control his fleeting curiosity) as he sits, five pews from the front, the two men he passes on his way there. The flowers on the coffin, white stargazer lilies, pink carnations. He turns in his pew as Jonathon and Subaru file in, watching the two strangers in his peripheral vision. The fat one was intriguing, yet it was the skinnier of the two who draws his attention, as he studies the way he watches the coffin in rapt attention. Grimburrow's eulogy is less than inspiring, but he listens anyway, his face grim and unmoving in quiet reverence. The creak of the church door draws his attention, if not his head; judging by the footfalls, the thinner man leaves, and he briefly entertains thoughts as to why before turning his attention back to the wheeze-punctuated drone of Grimburrow. It's time. The whisper comes in unison with the elderly priest's statement, and Henrik stands, his full height unfolding from the pew, one hand grasping his cane tightly as he makes his way to the coffin. After taking a moment to look over Subaru and Felix, both considerably shorter than himself, he clears his throat. "I understand it may be unconventional, but perhaps we would do well to carry the late professor at waist height, rather than on our shoulders. I believe the Americans do so, though it may be a break from tradition." He speaks from the front-right of the coffin, one hand on his cane, the other idly pushing a chrysanthemum stem back into place.
As a heads-up, the keyboard cover of my Surface has carked it. I'm relying on handwriting recognition, which is useless and cramps my hand, so I have to post from my (cracked) phone. As a result, I'll be spotty for a few days while I wait on a replacement.
I'm here and still enjoying it. Klein shouldn't be the first to speak, given his rather particular nature, but I'll gladly be the first to do so in silences from the others.
The cacophony of chimes sends a jolt down Henrik's spine like a Frankensteinian experiment. His hand spasms, spilling tea into the saucer; with a muttered "Verdammt!" he sets the implements on the tea-tray and wipes his fingers on a handkerchief. Preoccupied with his spill, he's the last out the door - last, save the ever-stoic Subaru, who he inclines his head slightly to as he passes, taking his hat and overcoat and stepping back out into the snowy air. As the small party trudges towards the church, he listens to Kendra's explanations, noting that the stutter remains. Grief? Chills? Or does she suffer a permanent speech impediment? he asks himself, a question compounded by the ease with which she recites the old poem. When Kendra hurries inside, he pauses, considering how best to greet the priest. After waiting for an instant for a cue and finding none from his companions, he inclines his head stiffly, extending a thin hand to the priest. "Herr Pfarrer. I am Professor Henrik Klein." After another beat, he adds, "It is not the best weather for a funeral today."
"The asylum in Walbrook?" Henrik asks, his face expressionless as he holds his teacup awkwardly in one long hand. "That is an odd place to be found dead. Do you suspect his death was not of natural causes?" After catching Jonathon's eye, he realises the folly of his statement and quickly takes a sip of tea, adding a stiff, "This is delicious," in an attempt to cover his faux pas. "You knew your father better than I ever did" course she did you daft "and if you believe he would have wished me to bear that final burden, I shall." His eyes flick towards Jonathon, sitting across the room, studying the lines of the older man's face in the wake of his own agreement, before inclining his head slightly. "It is good to see you again, old friend, even with the circumstances such as they are."
The click of plates draws his attention, but he sees nothing odd about the tea tray. He sips at his tea, lips pursed in an expression of mild annoyance, content to watch the exchange between Subaru and the young Felix for now.
Grey-blue eyes sweep over the cluttered cases as Henrik makes his way through the halls of the house, taking in broad swaths of vision intermingled with lingering gazes on particular objects. He moves with the stiff, slightly impatient posture of someone who would clearly rather be walking at a brisker pace, but when one of the skulls catches his eye, he pauses, pressing himself to one side to allow the others past before leaning in for a closer look. "Siberia?" he murmurs, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he inspects the trepanned skull of a caucasian female, no older than twenty (estimating based on the width of the cranial ridge). One hand unconsciously moves to his throat, as if to adjust his cravat; a chill runs across his neck and shoulders. "Wer warst du?" he questions, thick eyebrows furrowing in vague confusion. Hearing the departing footsteps of the others (though it was difficult to tell with Felix; the urchin had surprisingly light footfalls), he straightens and quickens his pace only slightly, just enough to catch them again. Noticing Subaru standing by the door, he inclines his head slightly to the morgenlander, muttering "Vergib mir. I apologize," as he slips through the doorframe. Taking his seat in a straight-backed chair that creaks slightly when he leans into it, he rests his cane in the crook of his elbow and attempts to avert his gaze from Ms Lorrimor's own. The woman was clearly in distress; maintaining eye contact for too long would be improper. Thankfully Subaru speaks, drawing his eyes to where he can just see the other man, by the door, over his left shoulder. "I would recommend accepting that offer, Ms Lorrimor," he says in a calm, even tone, the practised north London accent disguising his mother tongue. "You are grieving; as such, over-exerting yourself would be unwise." -just said that dont you listen dont you ever listen to- Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, he clears his throat, continuing in a slightly louder voice, "If you are fetching tea, Subaru, I will take mine without milk or sugar." Only then do his eyes fall on Felix, or, more specifically on the empty space on his shoulder where a raccoon had been just a few moments before.
"Felix," he asks, his tone equally bemused and concerned, "whatever happened to that friend of yours?"
Crunch. His shoes wet from the snow, the shoulders of his overcoat dusted with white, the tallest of the small party watches the children from the corner of one eye as he walks. Dressed in his best black suit, Dr Henrik Klein frowns almost imperceptibly at the child's words, filing them away for later recollection within his tidy mind. As the party stands on the porch, he clears his throat, adjusts his hat, and breaks the silence. "Felix, I believe you said - perhaps your companion had best wait outside? I doubt the master of the estate would appreciate such a creature running unrestrained within the house." He keeps his eyes fixed ahead as he speaks, focusing on the space behind the door in front of him - he'd estimated the woman at 5'8", and didn't wish to waste time adjusting his gaze once the barrier had been removed. He stands stiff and straight-backed, a tall man of Germanic origin, clearing six feet in height, yet with the slender build of one used to musty libraries and clean laboratories rather than cricket ovals and large meals. His thin hands clasp a hickory cane set between his feet, and while his suit is well-tailored, the cut dates it at the height of fashion for 1884. His hat is pulled slightly low on his lowered head, covering a long, Teutonic face - a strong jaw and chin, a narrow nose, and thin lips set in a firm, straight line. His eyes are the grey-blue of the London sky, and his hair is a fine blond, cut short, and barely beginning to grey at the temples. When the door opens, he inclines his head in a slight bow, placing his hat over his heart. "Ms Lorrimor?" he asks in the tone of one confirming a suspicion rather than seeking an answer. "Mein beileid. I am Dr Klein, a mere acquaintance of your late father." He shrugs off his coat and hat, leaving them on a hook in the foyer; his cane stays in one hand, gripped firmly as if for security. "Und so fängt es an," he mutters, as he follows the party into the house. German: Mein beileid = my condolences Und so fängt es an = and so it begins
"Doktor Haus" checking in. I'll try to hammer out the rest of my backstory soon. |