S1: E10 "The Unseen"

Citizen Cane 

Field Report: Memo on activities of regarding subjects E Gurunkul, T Thompson 

Subject Thompson was seen leaving the residence of subject Gurunkul. Target was seen entering a hotel where he was not seen leaving the premises until the next morning. The Wallace is a moderate sized tenant housing owned by a human landlady named Roberta Gleeson. Widow. Elderly. No known ties to subjects. Residence is in the Low Park district. Target was observed helping the older woman with handyman jobs around the grounds. Intel learned after the fact indicate she has a high opinion of the man and sees him as a "nice boy down on his luck." Completed said tasks, settled into his rooms and after enjoying his morning meal, departed to the Palazzo. Target currently under surveillance.

Addendum: telegram attached to the memo indicates Gleeson's son has disappeared recently. Believed ties to gangs in Low Park. 

Subject E Gurunkel departed his own dwelling and went to the home of client Hiram Barnaby where he was warmly welcomed. Subject exchanged a dark cane to Barnaby. Observed taking tea and a pipe together. Assumed to have been paid by Barnaby to retrieve cane which was reported stolen some days previous. Details of conversation unknown. Subject departed sometime later after enjoying his tea and tobacco. Target is currently under surveillance.

End of Report.

 

A Few Sparks

Thomas had never visited the esteemed dwelling of Mashell Faraday. It was, in a word, the very essence of what he dreamed of having one day. A beautiful home, a pleasant view, comfortable rooms, pantries close to bursting, a private study and laboratory. Books. He would have books. He had once again been reduced to a few boxes of junk. And even Roku had a butler. 

Butlers are a rare breed. Mashell's butler, William Billings by name, had been at the job his whole life. He had served the Faraday house his whole life. He had seen Mashell return with a strange unsavory bear-man, quietly dismissed him with the confidence of years and a shotgun hidden behind the door, carried out his mistress' orders the moment the door was closed, and she was calmed with some chamomilla tea. Billings had never, in all his years, felt comfortable around Mashell when she was in a extreme emotional state. He could comfort anyone with his soothing, calm demeanor. But the hallow, empty voice never matching her facial expressions and it haunted him. But Billings was not valued because he felt easy with it all. He buried it and carried out her instructions to the letter. 

He was not surprised to be taking the hat and cane of this particular visitor. Thomas Thompson. His very name had agitated his mistress. But she had instructed him to show the man up to her laboratory the moment he arrived. Billings would have gladly chucked him out the front door by his trousers, but decorum and training forbade his lesser instincts. Up the stairs and through the halls he led Mr. Thompson into the private and complex world of Mashell Faraday.

I have, in my long life, watched many creatures hunt their prey. The stalking, careful circling before the kill is particularly intriguing to watch. It is a simple, beautiful ritual of death. Humans have a similar ritual when they are on uncertain ground. It is always amusing watching the two sapiens dancing around each other in hopes of ascertaining their position. This was not one of Thomas' gifts. He had an underdeveloped, and yet very basic human instinct to read a room. This was compounded by the predisposition of the male of the species to understand women. Mashell was vaguely wanting him to apologize, explain away everything that had happened on his own. To convince her it was a terrible mistake, that she had misunderstood. But Thomas failed to see the simple step laid before him and tripped over it head over heels. He did what most men do when faced with the revelation that she knows he's a scoundrel, and she has known the whole time; Thomas defended himself.

I imagine you would like me to say Thomas d
id this for the sake of his honor. But I'm afraid he didn't have any. Thomas was devious. He had learned how to use underhanded means to attain what he wanted. Having someone call out your true nature, especially when they've known the whole time, probably hurt his pride more than anything. This of course did not help his position. He had been caught with his hand in the candy jar, and he knew it. But his nature took over and he, like the trapped animal, used the tools available to him to escape. There was a misunderstanding, of course, Mashell couldn't understand what it was like to have to survive the way he had. And he had saved her life, don't forget. Much was said by both, defending their positions from places of hurt feelings and broken trust.

Mashell was conflicted. It is a strange condition of the race of humans to trust in something that has proven only to be completely unworthy of any kind of faith. But humanity relies on false hopes to combat the crippling fear. In less than a week of knowing this man, he had lied, stolen and used her for his own ends. But something about how he spoke lured her heart, despite all the voices speaking to the contrary, to believe him. Women possess a thing called intuition. In reality it's a coalescence of empathy and the infallible ability to connect a myriad of different outcomes to a single rational thought. Men refer to it as being sensitive. Whatever it was, a niggling spark had sprung up and she wanted someone to share this thing she had spent her life trying to create. She wanted to not feel alone. Hard to believe someone who had become so hardened on the outside could wish for something so simple as a companion. But Mashell was no fool. She wanted proof. When it comes to women, it's always a test. And as a scientist, it was doubly so. This is why she hastily scratched the words on the copper gear to prove to herself Thomas was worthy of a second chance. Perhaps misfortune and circumstances had forced him to adopt this life. He was not born to privilege, despite his appearance. If he didn't want to try and restore her faith in him, he was better off forgotten. I applaud her misplaced trust. I'm currently wagering £20 against. 

The Unseen

After completing her morning ritual, addressing her morning letters, the ward joined Lindion for tea. It was to become a normal custom for Isabella to learn what it was like to live on the other side. Lindion had her own plans in the works if Isabella turned into the promising young woman she thought her to be. There was a few events that took place before tea. She received two letters she from her Henry and Reverend Simon Clark. She also learned from Philip that Lillian had been neglectful in her personal duties regarding Lindion because of a boy. That is usually the case at this age. The boy, Philip assured Lindion, was from a good low-class family, and he had no doubts that his lecture had not fallen on deaf ears. In actuality, Philip had needed to say little, as Lillian's mother, Claircei, had nearly taken a broom handle to Lillian short of Philip stepping in. Subsequently, Stacy, the mysterious maid, had taken it upon herself on the previous day to provide Lindion's wardrobe in an attempt to impress her mistress. Her actions were noted and rewarded by being a personal maid to Isabella. 

After these domestic matters were seen to, Lindion and Isabella made their way into the slums of Low Park and the working class. Lindion had established connections with many of such low birth by teaching the "specials" and those willing to learn. Lindion found Isabella slow to grasp the gravitas of her high class position and viewing it as a privilege. But seeing the depravity of the streets of the working class did more than a thousand books could do for her young mind. She readily noted the dirt, the damned and the ill-treated. It was during this event that Lindion learned by her magical arts that Isabella possessed an aura far greater than that of humans. Was there a natural gift of magic upon her, the blessing and curse of the Eldren. It was rare, but not unheard of among the older families.

Their conversation naturally turned towards the topic at hand as they enjoyed their morning tea. Lindion revealed that part of her being able to act how she wanted, to create change, was to create a persona to conceal her position until such as time as was appropriate. Her name was Miss Feather. It was a moniker she used in print and correspondence. It could protect her socially and allow her a certain freedom to express her views. Isabella took to this idea of a alter ego quite readily, though her first few attempts were discouraged. It is my opinion that "The Viper" is perfectly suitable. But Isabella was encouraged to use Lady Luck. Somewhat lacking in visual terror and fear, Fate has always been a more mysterious suiter and would work well for what Isabella had planned.

It was about this time that Lindion noticed a commotion behind them. A figure clothed in a hood and cloak stumbled through a shop door. The bursts of guns echoed down the lane. Philip of course proceeded to escort them back towards the waiting carriage but the growing chaos of panicked humans and the gaggle of constables in pursuit of the aforementioned person, prompted the group to seek shelter in a doctor's office on the same street. Perhaps it was a twist of fate that their attempt at subterfuge was so easily foiled. The figure that they were trying to elude found them, as the petite figure stumbled into the office, nearly collapsed against the counter and then sunk down onto the floor. Lindion studied the woman, noting leather armor, the ragged cloak and hood, the dark stain on her side against which she pressed her hand. Yes, Lindion noted the feminine form as easily as she knew her own. But the woman's skin, of what she could see, was pale.

Lindion was inclined to leave, but Isabella's curiosity got the better of her. They attempted to help the woman, but she was reluctant. Her eyes were pale and wild, staring out from dark circles. Her hair was a tangled mess. But there was something in the face that Lindion both distrusted and recognized. Was it desperation? Gratefulness for a small kindness? 

Soon the woman's pursuers were upon them. For a instant the woman's face changed. Across those pale eyes flashed regret. The woman raised her hand, one she had removed the thick leather glove. Burned into the surface of her palm was a symbol, familiar to some as a boon and others a nasty bane of terror and fear. The woman whispered, "It must remain UNSEEN." 

Nobody remembered what happened after that. Except Lindion, who by some Eldran magic grasped at stray memories of the symbol flashing, burning through her mind like a hot poker. The woman fleeing through the back door, mouthing something...was it an apology? The constables were around her, cursing under their breath and chanting prayers of protection against the Maleficium and looking for the vagrant without any hope of capture now. 

The three returned as quickly as they could to the carriage which swiftly carried them home.