Cortex Steampunk Game: Episode 1: Red Dress, Cold Ground

[IsabellaRose]

The Thane-Cash Rebirth Hall had been built to be admired from a distance and to be felt once inside. 

From the street, its polished facade and high arched windows suggested restraint, history, respectability. From within, restraint fell away. Gaslight spilled warm and honeyed from wall sconces shaped like laurel wreaths. Ivory trim caught the light and threw it back softened, flattering every face. The scent of beeswax polish, expensive perfume, and fresh-cut wood hung thick in the air.

The main floor was packed shoulder to shoulder. Townsfolk in their best coats and dresses, pressed wool, borrowed finery, carefully mended lace, stood craning their necks toward the stage. They murmured with the collective, restrained excitement of people who did not often allow themselves wonder but had decided, tonight, to indulge. Boots were polished, hats removed and hair slicked back with pomade, hands folded or clenched around cheap programs printed with an elegant serif announcing the evening’s performance. Above them, the balconies told a different story.

Private boxes lined the walls like watchful eyes, each one curtained in velvet and trimmed in gold. From there, the wealthy looked down, some openly, some behind half-drawn drapes, glasses of amber liquor catching the light as often as their jewelry did. Conversations in the boxes were quieter, sharper, weighted with implication. Deals were being hinted at. Affairs were being negotiated. Judgments were being made.

In the Montgomery family box, silk cushions and polished brass railings framed a carefully curated display of propriety. Jane Montgomery, pale and anxious beneath the finery, leaned forward with expectation, fingers knotted in her lap. Adelaide Montgomery reclined beside her as though the hall had been built for her comfort alone. She was a study in opulence: rich fabrics, gleaming jewelry, a faintly distracted expression that suggested her thoughts were elsewhere entirely. A hand fan lay idle in her lap.

Several rows down from the Montgomerys, half-shadowed and deliberately unremarkable, Kirsa Autenrieth sat with perfect posture and an expression of mild, polite interest. Her dress was expensive but restrained, her jewelry minimal. She looked like a patron, not a handler. Only those who knew what to look for might notice how often her gaze returned to the stage and how rarely it lingered anywhere else.

On the main floor, near the edge of the crowd but never truly part of it, Clayton Cash stood smiling a little too broadly, greeting patrons as they passed. He wore a tailored coat in a tasteful shade of charcoal, his prosperity meant to look earned rather than inherited. He laughed easily, but his eyes flicked often toward the stage, toward the balconies, toward the exits, counting, always counting. It was possibly the best crowd the hall had ever seen, and it was all thanks to the newest performer in town.

Not far from him, Willis Sloan lingered with the casual stillness of a man who preferred walls to people. His coat was practical rather than fashionable, his boots scuffed but well cared for. He appeared to be watching the crowd, but anyone who knew him would recognize that he was listening to fragments of conversation, to tone, to what people did not say.

At the edge of the floor, near a column that provided both a clear sightline and a quick escape, Aldert Helsink stood with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to being dangerous without advertising it. His clothes were well made, his bearing disciplined. He watched the hall not with delight, but with assessment, eyes moving over every seat, counting exits, measuring the distance between threats and targets.

Near the side aisle, stiff-backed and unmistakable, Joshua Thane made no effort to hide his presence. His coat was dark, severe, his posture confrontational. His gaze drifted over the crowd as if daring someone to meet it. The badge was visible. It always was.

Somewhere behind the curtain across the stage Kojo Amankona waited. 

 

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It's your turn! Make your first posts! I'm assuming all player characters are here. Describe where your character is in the hall, if you're with one of the described Features or Extras, what you're wearing, what you're doing, what you expect from this evening... whatever you want! I'll wait for everyone to get at least one post up before I begin responding as NPCs or to actions you take.

@AsBloodTurnsEverCold - tell us how Kojo is preparing backstage. Does he have any rituals he performs for good luck before going on stage.

 @WickedCadrach - Jane has invited Missy to join her in their private box. Did she? If so, how does she feel up here among the elites? 

 @StarlitSiren - What drew Millie out of her workshop for this performance? 

 @MagnificentBastard - who does Edward have in hox private box tonight? Who does he want there that isn't?

@Chiyako - It's a rare night for Alicia to be out in public. Is her presence creating whispered comments in the crowd, or has she remained concealed in a private box?

Use the prompts or not as you wish... I added them a bit late, so if you already started or posted (Kojo is already posted!) then don't worry about the prompts.

 

Edited December 29, 2025 by IsabellaRose

[AsBloodTurnsEverCold]

The air was electrifying, and jovial. It was days like this would remind any performer be they vaudeville or melodrama, opera or realist that they were in it for a good reason. Back stage the hired hands were moving about nervous and prepared. The other musicians sat prepared with the instruments held closely to their form. These were men and women of undeniable skill, dedicated adherents of a craft that demanded untold hours of practice. Their manner of dress immaculate, clad in evening coats of darkest black and brilliant and dresses of brilliant white. All sorts, from all over getting the chance to shine on the stage for the people of this bustling town. What had brought all these souls to this place? This hall had never been so packed before. It saw no shortage of patrons but tonight? Tonight felt blessed and for whatever reason many people could guess. No doubt its proprietors were happy for after tonight their purses and vaults were going to be just a little more full. Excitement traveled through those who would be unseen as much as those whose names and faces might earn a spot in the memory of those sure to receive a grand show. 

Past the hustle and bustle of the preparers, in a little room was Kojo Amankona or as he was known to most...Carlo. That was the name that took precedent of course. Unnatural blue eyes moved over old sheets of music inked with incredible precision. A gentle hum filled the room in practiced flow. He had done this many times, but even he had to admit to be surprised at what he had seen when he had arrived. A packed hall like never before. He pondered, in brief moments, if this was Kirsa's doing or if he had forgotten some manner of celebration. It wasn't a doubt he'd ever voice aloud. It didn't matter. Kojo had done this before and even the doubts that constantly danced in the back of his head could never really drown out the pride and excitement he too felt. 

This was life. This was his life. 

He pulled those eyes upward to the mirror. Immaculate in its polish and lacking in the grim that often caked other mirrors to look himself over. Elegant. That was what this occasion demanded after all. He was the spitting image of a musician sporting a black 2 piece tailcoat or a Tuxedo as some had taken to calling it these days. Snow white Edwardian club collar shirt unmarred and without a single mark covered with a beautiful blue patterned kelton vest. Y back braces attached to his trousers and to top it all off a fine silk puff tie. It was all well fitted, well made, and by and large exactly what you'd expect a man of his potion to be wearing but...there were a few small additions. Kojo had forgone the collapsible tophats most others tended to sport and instead was sporting his stetson that clashed. Kojo was certainly missing his gun belt a little but well they weren't welcome in establishments like this. Not something needed for this classy little affair. Trouble would likely be dealt with by the bastards they called lawmen in this town. 

His white gloves did hand from his pocket for a moment as he thumbed the sheets. Confidence. He knew these like the back of his hand anyway. He had written them after all. It was time to put all that practice to the test or well...almost time. He gently shuffled them back into perfect order before heading out from the room and making his way past the oncoming stagehands. The click of his lace-up boots on the wooden floors sounding as he moved with purpose through the narrow passages careful himself. He smiled and exchanged brief words with the people however, not in falsehood but rather genuine. He regarded those he was working with respectfully even if some of them didn't quite return the favor. He was used to that. 

He topped over by the others the men and women who would help him bring this performance to life 12 in total though not all of them would be on stage at the same time. He smiled to them "Big show tonight." very deep tones, a rumbling voice but filled with a light hope. His accent a mix of his southern drawl and his German upbringing. He looked them over a mixture of bright-eyed excitement and nervousness. He knew the feeling well. 

"Are ya nervous Mr. Amankona?" one of the younger ladies spoke up, holding a violin upon her gentle cradled and even under the weight of that supremely gaudy white dress one could see the shake of her leg. Kojo chuckled gently and looked out past the curtain just steps away  
"Always." he confessed without hesitation. He wasn't new to this but he had the view that anyone not nervous on days like this lacked some fundamental innocence. He was far into this life, he felt, but he tried to hold onto such notions. He would smile at the young lady "Means you feel it. You've got a lot of people to impress a memory upon tonight. Big wigs and little sorts who have either been to many shows and been to none. I can't help but be a little nervous." 

"Well if our distinguished centerpiece is nervous I reckon we can't blame the young folk for it too!" an older gentleman spoke up with more excitement where an unlit pipe had been resting between his teeth mere moments before. His hand rested upon the large and imposing Violin De Gamba that would shake the hearts tonight with others. He had worked with Carlo before and truthfully he'd never seen such a crowd. He had seen many things...but never this amount. Who would have thought it for this growing town? How many of these people even really appreciated what went on in these walls? 

"Ha! Too true Mister Schift, but we've all got hearts. Surely all of you are more than ready to give these fine folks a time they'll remember many nights from now." he moved over to the racks that held his instruments nearly arranged from your standard violin to a guitar sporting those new steel strings. Rare instruments and common. Kojo was a very versatile sort of musician so he always had plenty of instruments to pick from when it came to these shows...if he ever used them. Humble and proud ones. Maintaining them all could be more trouble than it was worth. Gearhart repairs was contracted for the maintenance of their steam organ. Their beautiful Calliope which would add something real special for the night. Expensive but no doubt worth it. Damn if he didn't want to offer these people a show they'd never forget. Secure in their presence he sat by. He was sure it would be a good show. A grand show. 

"How many people have stepped in here tonight you reckon?" another gentleman, a horn player. 
"Shit...as many could afford the damn ticket and didn't blow it up at that casino!" 
"Now Mistah Tailor you know damn well you have every plan to do that after!" a good laugh shared between them. A subtle throbbing at the back of Kojo's head. A pleased reaction but not nearly enough. 
"Too true! You think if we do good that ol' Mister Edmund will spare us a few drinks?" 

Now that was a question. Surely the venerable Sir Blackwood was in the crowds too. 

"Tch. If he notices us." 
"Who else would he be here for?" Kojo's eyes snapped back to them, dragged from his other focus and to them. The younger ones looked a little surprised but the more experienced players had subtle smiles. One even rolled their eyes knowing was was approaching. 

"You're the main star of tonight ain't ya?" 
"Just a piece in things. Their eyes are gonna fall on you even more than they will me to see what bright young stars might rise." he moved closer to one "Every performance is a chance for something new. My name might be written on the programs but so are yours. You've all got a chance to shine, and a chance to fail. Those who know how these things work are attuned enough to listen for those flourishes, those strong blows, that spirit. Don't think just because you might not have a solo tonight that you aren't gonna impress." he said patting a young woman on the back gently before he moved away. 

"Sure you're right Mister Amankona. You better do good tonight too! I managed to tear my husband away from his gambling table tonight and he's holding a table. The old fool is expecting a real experience to beat that rare full hand." an older woman, another violinist. She hadn't played for this type of crowd either but she spoke with all the confidence of someone who had. Kirsa really did help with connections to talent. He had no doubt he was watching too. Would she get what she wanted tonight?
Kojo couldn't help but laugh "I'll certainly do my best." and with that he began to hand out the sheets. They had their own but he had something to do "Write your names and circle your favorite parts of the piece. A little message of good luck for the next." 

"Ah there it is." and the pencils were produced and passed out. Kojo moved over to the curtains while he waited for the others to do what they needed. There was so much life he could heart. He would peek out now and then to admire things. It was going to be a good night. The hum in the back of his head told him it would a good night. It certainly needed it to be just as much as Kojo did. 

He would look back only when the papers made his way back to him...all marked up with the names of the people. He smiled at them "Good. I hope you're all feeling it. This sort of things is gonna be sought after by music lovers the world over one day and now your names and your hopes are on it. Remember that." we winked to them. He had done his good luck rituals and his heart was at peace. He looked out once again while they all went to talk again while he was left alone with his thoughts and that waiting hum. He remained hidden behind the curtain but just enough to see all those people. Waiting. All that life. His hopes were on those sheets too. He would stand, leaning upon the wall just out of sight of all but the most keen eyes. His arms crossed as those strange blue eyes stared at the sea of life behind him. 

He was ready to preform. That was what he was always waiting for. That was his life. 

Edited December 29, 2025 by AsBloodTurnsEverCold

[MagnificentBastard]

Edmund Blackwood, was a man who owned things, and the two lovely ladies flanking him in his private box were his most exquisite possessions that evening. They were high-class escorts from his "harem" at the The Golden Stag Casino & Saloon, selected for their breathtaking beauty and exquisite figures, their presence a silent, glittering testament to his power. They were women who understood the value of their bodies, and they craved the firm, possessive touch of the man who afforded them such luxury.

On his left was a cascade of fiery red hair and creamy skin, poured into a gown of emerald-green silk and black lace. The dress was a masterpiece of European couture and opulence, its corseted bodice cinched so tight it was a wonder she could draw breath, pushing her full tits up into a cleavage that bordered on the scandalous. She leaned into him, deliberately pressing the soft weight of her breast against his arm, a silent invitation for his hand to wander higher from her waist.

Around his right arm, the raven-haired beauty, her alabaster skin a stark contrast to the sapphire-blue silk that clung to her like sin, outlining every sensuous curve. She shifted, her hip brushing his with practiced intent, her gaze a smoldering promise of the evening to come, she leaned in to press a soft, kiss to his neck, her breath warm against his skin.

Standing like a statue in the shadowed corner was TIAL-V. The construct was a marvel of clockwork and a polished titanium alloy, clad in a perfectly tailored butler's livery. Its placid, silver face gave no hint of the complex mechanisms within, and its movements were fluid and silent. It was the ultimate gentleman's gentleman, a bodyguard that offered deference and promised absolute, efficiency.

Edmund’s gaze swept over the rabble packed onto the main floor, a sea of borrowed finery and wide-eyed wonder. It was a respectable turnout, the kind of crowd that made a man like him glad he was watching from above.

He let his eyes drift to the Montgomery box, noting Jane's anxiety and Adelaide's ennui. His attention then snagged on a plain-looking woman, Kirsa Autenrieth; a predator in sheep's clothing. He made a mental note, a flicker of interest in his otherwise jaded expression.

The main event, however, was the musician hiding behind the curtain. This Carlo. He took a slow sip of brandy from a crystal glass, the liquid warming his chest. He had heard rumor of the supernatural nature of his performances. Edmund was old enough to know that ninety nine out of hundred rumors of the supernatural were always a lie, but there was always the hope, he would witness something truly magical tonight.

The redhead shifted, tracing a finger along his jawline. "Are you not excited, Master Edmund?" she murmured, her voice a practiced purr, her touch and eyes suggesting other ways she could excite him.

Edmund gave her a tight-lipped smile, his eyes never leaving the stage.

"I am waiting to be impressed."

He gestured with his glass, and TIAL-V moved with silent grace to refill it from a silver decanter, its metal fingers making not a sound against the crystal, awaiting patiently for the show to begin.

[WickedCadrach]

The tamping of the fine carpet under Missy's heels was like the slow tapping of fingertips behind the rainfall cacophony of the music hall crowd finding their seats: dramatic, deliberate, nearly a ceremonial step.

Walk slow-like. You move fast an' you'll blend in. Everybody's in a hurry, so you rush and all of a sudden you're just part of everybody. And you're not, Missy Fisher. They don't know it yet is all. So it's up to you to convince 'em.

Clarence Whitty's sideshow barker cadence cracked through into Missy's mind, tucking itself between the cool silver blossoms of her Art Nouveau earrings and the silent recital of her prepared greeting for Ms. Adelaide Montgomery. Clarence had been a potent cocktail of father-figure, mentor, boss, and—by the end—lover, and the memory of him sometimes put a sour feeling in her like the first taste of food after a bad night of drinking. After a few years, Missy would have thought all these aphorisms and rules he'd drilled into her would become hers. She'd tried rephrasing them, writing them out, but even now they came out in his voice.

That's fine, she told herself. Nobody cares how you know. They only know what they see, and they only see what you show 'em.  

And with each deliberate step, she showed them.

As expected, heads turned, men and women who knew her from her shows at the Lincoln Palace—or from the rumors that inevitably spread about singular women such as herself and Ms. Montgomery. Others turned simply from the banal scandal of an unescorted woman walking through a place as politely carnal as a music hall. Missy knew the effect her silver-grey eyes had on them, particularly in the dim of the gaslight hallways leading to the balconies and box seats. She had chosen a high-throated bodice paneled in a midnight shade that complimented those eyes and drew an inviting backdrop for the provocative aigrette in her slanted hat. If not for the golden brown of her hair and the rosy blush of life in her cheeks and lips, Missy might have looked the part of a daguerreotype picture come to life—as moonlight white and soulless black as the ghosts she communed with in her stage show. 

There were a few figures whose stares were coarser, the sort that made her answer with an indifferent tilt of her chin or a riposte of a smirk—men whose epauletted shoulders did not shift to allow her to pass, whose golden pocket watches were worth more than her entire wardrobe, including the 'safety cash' she had stored in a set of leather boots in the lowest cupboard of her room at the Lincoln Palace. She had been invited. But those eyes made it clear that did not mean she belonged. A woman in silk ribbons and a hat affixed with a taxidermied swallow made this clear, adjusting her chatelaine as Missy passed and catching a fold of skirt dear enough for the fabric to emit the short scoffing sound of minor rip. 

A bolt of anger stiffened Missy's spine. A bit of her former life reared in her as her instincts told her to match the insult with a tear of her own across the woman's cheek. Missy paused instead, rooting her feet to the ground. Clasping her hands together, she stilled them and turned to the woman, whose husband seemed unsure whether to meet the gaze as well or to continue pretending that he hadn't already been staring at Missy on her approach. 

"My apologies, Ma'am," Missy said demurely, lowering her chin just a finger's breadth. She could have walked away then. Should have walked away then. But then she noticed the sidelong look in the husband's eye. Lifting a hand and patting his chest, allowing her fingers to linger a moment, Missy added, "This was my fault, sir. I was thinking of something else. These skirts can be dreadfully difficult to manage in crowds like this." As if to demonstrate, Missy tilted her hip, tugging the edge of the skirt with her free hand as she did. The dark fabric fell against her thigh suggestively, and as the woman's face flushed, her husband gawked then stumbled to catch up and find some reply. Missy simply gave his chest a final pat and walked away. This wasn't the game she'd come to play tonight. "Enjoy the show."

By the time she reached the Montgomery family's box, Missy was certain she'd rather be at the Lincoln Palace, having a whiskey and stripping down to her chemise where no one could judge her. But that wouldn't get her anywhere. She was painfully aware of how many bottles her dwindling cash reserves would buy anyway. No. She needed to keep to the plan. Let them say what they like, the vipers. She wasn't part of everybody else. She was Missy Fisher, dammit. 

"Jane!" Missy's gloved hand swept around the younger woman's shoulder as she bent close in a light embrace, their cheeks touching in a giggling imitation of what Missy had learned was a 'sophisticated' European greeting. Pouring all the affection she could muster into the look, she stood and gave Jane's hands a small squeeze before turning to give a bow to the girl's mother. "Ms. Adelaide. Thank you so much for allowing Jane to invite me. I've been looking forward to this night."

Taking her seat, Missy opened her program, her eyes lighting on the prominent name at the center. A familiar name. A flash of otherworldly blue eyes appeared in her mind... and for a moment, Missy forgot to breathe. 

[Chiyako]

Capacity. Over capacity? This is safe.

The loud droning murmuring of so many people awaiting the coming show near one of the few entrances into the hall quieted into hushed whispers and brief, peaceful moments of silence. It spread like a bubble, drifted down along one of the crowded lanes of traffic, and the way it parted people lingering within the crowded aisle made it appear almost physical in nature. As it passed some within the crowd left behind grew louder. Others kept their conversations low. Most of the conversations were dreadfully boring, the same sort of thing that had been discussed again and again.

"Who is that?"

"A foreigner?"

"I heard she does weird things in that old house on the hill."

"Monster."

"A little strange, but she doesn't seem to be very bad."

"Vampire, is what I heard."

"She healed my neighbor's grandmother. I think she's a doctor of some sort."

"A little short for a beast, isn't she?"

A beast? Now isn't that a bit rude.

With quiet confident steps one of the burgeoning town's oddities seemingly drifted on her way towards one of the better seats close to the stage, foot steps concealed entirely by the long ruby red skirt of a classic Victorian dress, one which was clearly European in design and only barely floated off the surface of the floor. The accompanying steel cage crinoline was of a slimmer design, one which still concealed her true figure but also one which would not hamper her occasional excursions out into the town. Sleeves covered her arms, the fabric puffed out somewhat at her shoulders, and the dress itself included a raised collar to conceal her neck. It was crafted of fine silk, as were the patterned red gloves that she wore. Black frills broke up the red, and a close look at the material would reveal faint patterns etched across every surface of red fabric. In better light a close observation might reveal signs of wear and tear, the occasional stitch and patch, however the surface itself was covered at random by black stitch patterns, a choice on its owner's part to keep up the ruse. A wide brim hat, equally red with a black frilly band and a single long raven colored feather, concealed the wearer's face and, more importantly, ears. Just in case all that failed she wore a pair of red tinted spectacles. Blonde locks, worn lose and flowing to chest in the front and to her rump at her back, provided a stark contrast to the rest of her attire.

It was not beyond the short woman's financial capabilities to secure a box seat. Her attire alone, despite the wear and tear, hinted at this. While she might have been on the run, she had retained enough old money and funds from some of her experiments in order to afford a decently lavish life. That money however was destined for better things. Science was not cheap. Pushing its boundaries required even more still. And besides, would she not be able to better observe tonight's specimen up close? That was, after all, the primary reason for her having left the comfort of her home. That and the only experiments she currently had in progress required a great deal of waiting.

As she turned to venture down the front row towards what she had already considered to be one of the better seats Alicia finally afforded herself a moment to lift her gaze towards the gathered patrons within the hall. They seemed to be from all walks of life, albeit some in gowned in cleaner dress than she was accustomed to. The Montgomery booth stuck out immediately. It was certainly one of the better spots within the music hall. Better for observing larger groups, but then today's exhibition was small enough that a closer seat might afford better observation, at least for what the little scientist was focusing on.

A visit, perhaps? If I have time. Making myself known might pay dividends in the future.

Another booth was occupied by one Edmund Blackwood. He was flanked by two frankly gorgeous women. Given the rumors, that seemed to make sense to her. He was dangerous, at least according to her, and primarily because of his rumored ability to seduce people. She knew that she was weak to such things. Romance and flirtation had never been the sort of thing she paid much attention to, and it had ultimately developed into a weak point. Thankfully it was something she was both capable of and willing to acknowledge, and so she could usually prepare for it.

Probably no visit.

Greeting patrons closer to another entrance stood the jolly figure of one Clayton Cash. A seemingly kind man, and one which Alicia didn't mind working with. That said, his kindness was also something to be wary of. It was easy to let one's guard down around that sort of person. One time she had even allowed herself to relax a bit too much. Drinks had been flowing. She had experienced a few new things, none of which she entirely regretted, and a few of which she intended to potentially explore further, whether it be with him or someone else. Thankfully nothing with potential for lasting consequences, although they had certainly come close.

We should probably have a chat about that. Eventually.

For a moment she slowed. Gaze lifted, locking directly upon the figure of a man she knew all too well. Aldert Helsink. Not hiding. In the best position to observe and, if need be, to escape. Or perhaps to prevent another from escaping. Her great foe and that which was most dangerous to her. He had pursued her here from the old world. But while his wealth and lineage gave him extreme power in the old world, here in the new world his power was at least somewhat limited.

The people here will be my shield. He should not move on me.

Having finally arrived at her seat, Alicia swept a silken red hand across the front of her skirt. Fingers curled in, gripping against the collapsible steel ribs of her dress, and with practiced grace she settled into her seat. Her free hand set against the silver chatelaine. Digits brushed across the little pocket watch and a ring of keys, crimson gaze set forth towards the stage.

I am already excited. I hope that some of the rumors are true.

[StarlitSiren]

Back at Gearhart Repairs, besides the locomotive station she was employed for, there was almost always a scent that clung to the place. And she lived there. The dry, woody notes of sawdust, smoke from any manner of fuel she required, and as of these last few months the acrid scent of gunpowder. Living there, Millie had fully accepted- and even welcomed- that she wasn't to be at home with the others in this town. After all, she wasn't at home anywhere. But it was one thing to smell like a machinist in your workspace, and quite another outside of it. Millie could care less what people thought, usually, when she went about her business around the town she now called... well, something like home, but tonight was different, and she felt the lack of belonging like a cattle brand square on her forehead. Given the choice, Millie would not have been here for this performance.

Given the choice.

Millie eyed Mister Sloan, never wishing more than now that the expression about glaring daggers to be true. He a few feet ahead of her, likewise clearly uncomfortable in this jovial, fancy atmosphere, but he had some plans. Plans and Schemes, the only two things in the bastard's head, she was sure. When he had barged into her workshop just today and insisted she accompany him, Millie couldn't say no. By all rights, the man had her by the bolts. She had washed up the best she could at short notice, but still she could feel that scent on her. Was it simply anxiety, or did she smell like a manufactory? Not to mention her appearance. Before all... this, this last year, Millie had been used to this kind of shindig... or at least used to avoiding them, and she'd never felt comfortable then but at least her sister had made sure she was dressed and presentable. Left to her own devices, Millie had tried and failed to tame her hair, which kept disobediently crossing past her eyes and forcing her to discreetly fix it. She was perhaps the only lady present without any manner of makeup- why in the world would she own anything like that?- and her dress was...a choice.

It had been the only choice, at this notice. A pale blue dress Calico dress with floral patterns in red that had looked fancy enough on its own at the General Store, but here around all of these other folk who clearly understood everything about people so much more than she, Millie just felt... almost alien. It didn't help that the neckline was... well, it was low enough that she was conscious about it, and kept tugging at the hem to try and pull it a little further up, only for it to slip every time. It didn't even show that much, anyway... did it?  The dress, at least, went low enough that she hadn't bothered in a hunt for heels. Sloan could threaten her as he liked; she wasn't coming out without her boots down those roads.

The evening couldn't end soon enough. Looking around all these people, she saw the familiar and the unfamiliar. Rich and Poor. Gentleman and Ladies alongside labourers out for a rare treat,

Millie clung as far from the crowd as she could, half-leaning on the wall. She didn't belong here, not like the rest of them. She had work to do.

 

[IsabellaRose]

The Thane-Cash Rebirth Hall settles into that charged, breath-held quiet that only comes just before a performance. Gaslight glows warm against polished wood and silver inlay, throwing flattering shadows across a packed main floor where townsfolk in their finest stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed forward. Above them, the private boxes form a ring of velvet and gilt:

• Missy sits close beside Jane Montgomery in the Montgomery family box as Jane’s attention never leaves the stage. Adelaide Montgomery reclines beside them, silk and jewels catching the light.
• Edmund occupies his own box, partially veiled by curtains, a glass in hand and the room laid out beneath him like a chessboard, TIAL-V by his side.
• Alicia has taken a seat in the front row, close enough to the stage to see the musicians’ hands when they emerge
• Millie is in the crowd looking for a place to sit, Willis Sloan’s earlier insistence still hanging heavy in her mind.
• Kojo Amankona stands backstage with the musicians, adjusting, centering, breathing through the low murmur of the hall as if listening for something only he can hear.

Elsewhere in the building: Kirsa Autenrieth watches from a discreet balcony seat, posture perfect and expression mild; Willis Sloan pushes off from a column on the floor, heading toward Millie; Clayton Cash moves among patrons near the floor with practiced charm; Joshua Thane looms at the edge of the crowd, badge visible and gaze challenging; and Aldert Helsink stands half-shadowed with a clear view of stage and doors. The musicians are moments from being announced. The air hums with conversation.

- - - -

@AsBloodTurnsEverCold

Mr. Silas Ward makes his way through the hall with the easy confidence of a man who believes the evening belongs to him. He glides past the front rows, offers a practiced smile toward anyone whose eyes catch him, then steps onto the stage. He does not linger. Instead, he slips around the curtain’s edge and into the warm, crowded hush backstage, the sounds of the hall muffling into a distant, expectant thrum. Up close, the polish cracks just a little: his smile is tight, his eyes too alert.

"Mr. Amankona," he says brightly, adjusting his gloves as he approaches Kojo. "A full house, and eager. Exactly the right audience for you tonight."

He glances briefly at the musicians, then back to Kojo, all smiles and obsequiousness. For just a moment there’s a faint, almost imperceptible hum in the metal fixtures nearby, nothing Ward seems to notice, but close enough for Kojo to feel it in his chest rather than hear it.

- - - -

@MagnificentBastard

TIAL-V stands just behind and to the right of his master, posture perfect, hands folded, optics quietly adjusting to the shifting light of the hall. Edmund Blackwood’s companions occupy the velvet seating with practiced ease, both women attractive, both carefully chosen, neither under the illusion that they're irreplaceable. From TIAL-V’s perspective, they are variables already trending toward obsolescence. His internal assessment runs on a continuous loop, updating itself constantly.

Subject One: Designation: Social Asset Vivienne Locke
Height: 5’6” | Weight: 123 lbs | Measurements: Within preferred tolerances
Presentation: Fashion-forward, responsive, laughter slightly too loud
Primary Motive: Continued access to Blackwood patronage | Secondary Motive: Social elevation
Leverage: outstanding debts assumed by Blackwood interests, a family indiscretion buried with purchased silence.
Performance expectations: Anticipated to provide attentive engagement, affirmation, and sexual compliance consistent with previous encounters. No indicators of resistance or dissatisfaction detected.
Probability Edmund Will Desire Repeat Engagement: 0.72 | Probability of continued loyalty: high.
Contingency: Gradual reduction of access, Financial obligations quietly reassigned, strategic reputational cooling should she attempt to monetize familiarity.

Subject Two: Designation: Strategic Associate Helena Cross
Height: 5’9” | Weight: 135 lbs | Measurements: Acceptable; not optimized
Presentation: Composed, observant, ambition poorly disguised as poise.
Primary Motive: Proximity to power | Secondary Motive: Long-term influence
Leverage: a private correspondence archive and one ill-advised contract signature that could be construed uncharitably.
Performance expectations: Anticipated to provide intellectual and oral stimulation. Further engagement likely conditional rather than instinctive. Requires affirmation of status to maintain effectiveness.
Probability Edmund Will Desire Repeat Engagement: 0.54 | Probability of continued loyalty: moderate.
Contingency: Archive of correspondence prepared. Contractual missteps flagged for reminder. Removal executed through polite exclusion.

Both women are performing within acceptable parameters. Neither merits further concern.

TIAL-V's security assessment updates continuously as well. The box is structurally sound, sightlines clear, exits unobstructed. The crowd below registers elevated emotional indicators consistent with anticipation rather than threat. Joshua Thane’s presence increases volatility on the main floor; Aldert Helsink’s positioning suggests professional vigilance rather than intent. No immediate danger to Edmund Blackwood detected.
Probability of social complication: moderate.
Immediate Physical Threat to Edmund: low.
Event destabilization risk: low but rising.

TIAL-V inclines his head a precise fraction toward his master, voice modulated for privacy.

"Sir, would you care for me to extend an invitation to any patrons who may be receptive to a more... exclusive engagement this evening? Alternatively, arrangements at the casino may be prepared should you wish the night to continue under more controlled conditions. Unless, of course, your two companions will provide satisfactory enough entertainment."

- - - - 

@WickedCadrach

Jane lights up the moment she sees Missy, surging to her feet and catching her hands with unrestrained delight.

"You made it! Oh, Missy, I hoped you would,” she breathes, squeezing tight before leaning in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I can’t believe we’re finally hearing him tonight. Carlo, I mean. His voice... it’s like it gets inside you, doesn’t it? And those eyes..."

She bites her lip, glancing reflexively toward the stage before whispering, "I swear, when he sings, it’s like he’s looking straight at you and you're bare as the day you were born. It’s positively indecent." She laughs softly, giddy and entirely sincere, before remembering herself and darting a look toward her mother.

Adelaide Montgomery greets Missy more smoothly, rising just enough to offer a warm, measured smile.

"Miss Fisher. We’re so pleased you could join us," she says, tone cultured and approving. "Your effect on our Jane is refreshing. We do love to see her so... inspired."

Her gaze is appraising but kind, the look of a woman who recognizes value when she sees it. Missy is very much in favor here.

It’s only as Missy settles in that she feels it, that prickle between the shoulder blades. Her eyes drift downward to the floor, where Joshua Thane stands among the crowd, arms loose at his sides, badge catching the light. He isn’t staring openly, but he doesn’t have to. When their eyes meet, his expression is unmistakable: possession, challenge, and something colder beneath it all. He knows something, and sooner rather than later, whatever he knows is coming for her. He smiles, cold and uncomfortable.

- - - - 

@Chiyako

Alicia feels it before she fully hears it, the subtle widening of space around her seat, the way conversations falter and then resume at a lower volume when people realize who they’re sitting near. Snatches drift past her like smoke:
"...that’s her..."
"...they say she drinks blood..."
"...she don't sleep... it's unnatural..."
None of it is spoken loudly enough to challenge, but none of it is meant to be kind. Coats brush less often and knees angle away. Even the excited energy of the crowd seems to bend around her, leaving a pocket of wary quiet where she sits.

From the aisle, Clayton Cash catches her eye. He flashes a grin, too charming to be accidental, but he’s trapped, pinned in place by an expansive patron who has seized him by the elbow and shows no intention of letting go. Clayton mouths something Alicia can’t quite read... perhaps "sorry", before being swallowed again by forced laughter and polite endurance.

Then there’s Aldert Helsink. He doesn’t pretend not to stare. His gaze meets Alicia’s directly, steady and assessing, and after a beat he makes the smallest possible tilt of his head, barely a gesture at all. Alicia is certain it’s a signal. Somewhere just beyond her peripheral vision, where the light doesn’t quite reach, his men shift... probably. She can’t see them clearly, but she knows they must be there, and she feels as if she’s being watched, not as a curiosity, but as a potential event waiting to happen.

- - - - 

@StarlitSiren

Willis Sloan waits until the noise of the hall swells just enough to give them cover, then takes Millie by the arm, stepping into her space with a familiarity that assumes consent rather than asking for it. He presses something small into her hand, weighty for its size, wrapped carefully in dark velvet.

"Easy," he says, already downplaying it, already smiling as if this is nothing at all. "It ain't dangerous. Not really. I just need you to look at it, Millie. That’s all."

The fabric parts enough for her to glimpse a dull, irregular fragment of metal, neither polished nor raw, its surface catching the light in a way that feels... off. Willis leans closer, voice low, intent.

"Just pay attention to it when the music starts. You don’t gotta do nothing. If it warms up, or... or..." he hesitates, searching for a word that's probably not in his vocabulary, "...if it does anything weird, let me know. Anything. If it... well, you know. Reacts. Just tell me what happens."

His smile tightens, eyes flicking briefly toward the stage where Kojo is about to play, before returning to Millie.

"See? It weren't nothing at all. Just this thing, that’s all I’m asking."

He sits quickly, nervously, and pulls her down into a seat beside him, an oddly empty seat right in the front row. It's only after she's sitting that she realizes it's empty because other patrons made a clearing around Alicia. She's sitting directly between the rumored vampire and a nervous wanna-be crime boss holding a strange piece of unidentified metal that might react to the music...

[IsabellaRose]

Quote

OOC: Things I Forgot to Mention

Everyone starts with 2 Plot Points and 0 dice in their Growth Pool.

The Doom Pool starts at 2d6.

If you want to do something, just do it. Create an NPC, interact with existing NPCs. even answer as Extras in your reply for the sake of expediency if it's something small. But for Features I'll write their responses since I created sheets and they have Values, Relationships, Distinctions, etc. of their own, as well as being integral to the larger plot I've outlined. Worst case, if you cross a line that's important to any ongoing plots or plans for Features or other NPCs, we can edit your response. If you do something that I think would trigger a contest or test, I'll let you know and we can roll for it then edit your response if necessary.

If you're not sure, ask me in the Discussion thread or PM me, but in general this is your story as much as it is mine. The GM in this game takes a very reactive role. In fact, I only roll when you decide to do something I need to oppose!

If you do something that could trigger a roll or an SFX, I'll try to catch it, but pay attention to your sheet and look for opportunities to earn and spend Plot Points.

 

[AsBloodTurnsEverCold]

The air was electrifying....and yet a little strange. His eyes closed just a little hiding those strange orbs as he listened to the hum of things. Life, as it were, was music in its own way and its bore its crescendos and went through its calandos it was all performance. Constant. It was hard not to notice when the crowd would hush and the previously excited atmosphere would shift just a little. Kojo would peel back the certain just a little and peer out. It was hard not to notice the wide-berth certain segments of the crowd gave a short, pale woman with golden hair and eyes of fire opposite his own. A figure of myth even if it was merely rumor. A vampire out from her castle to enjoy the musing of the night. Kojo let the curtain fall again. He didn't fully believe in her given title, but the air around the lady was that of doom. He was familiar. He had no idea what truth, or not to the rumors and he did desire to find out but for no he had to keep his mind on his mind....well as much as he could. All this life...it was making the hum in his head all the louder. 

He didn't have too much room to ponder as soon Mr. Silas Ward moved through the curtains. The master of ceremonies. Kojo widened his gaze and looked upon the man who appeared to be taking his job quite seriously. He could recognize the overly glinting smile combined with eyes searching anything and every movement for error. Kojo did not move from his spot until the man's gaze turned to him. The musician finally steadied his foot and and met the man's smile with his own "Yes its quite the turnout isn't it? Not just for myself but all of us there upon that stage to show their skills in some way isn't that right Mr. Ward? I'm certain you'll make sure they know they're in for quite the show." he smiled figuring that being friends to the master of ceremonies would make sure they get a good introduction. 

"You have quite the shine to your top lights Mr. Ward. Are you as excited to get this show on the road as we are?" one of the ladies asked. Spirited bunch but they too were ready to go! The heavy curtains muffled the sound but damn if they couldn't still hear it.  
"I sure am tired of sitting here all muzzled. This horn of mine is ready to blow." 

He peeled back the curtain a little bit "I am wondering if our friendly Mr. Cash lowered the ticket prices or if my lavish manager really did increase the advertising. I would not have expected this." and he closed it again. Yes, it was a veritable sea of people sitting in well tended seats whispering to themselves. Excitement, trepidation, some....worry. It all made sense and by the time the curtains finally parted he was sure they'd all have their minds set. He looked past Mr. Ward to the prop boys. The piano getting ready to be rolled out for the opening song. Its smooth surface and ivory keys.  

A feast for a feast. 

He could hear the hum in his head and feel another. It felt...stranger but what was what he thought it was? He was excited that much was clear. The desire to go out there and put on a good show was bounding through his body. He could see it now, if all went well, the emotions that might arise. It was a good night. The perfect venue for him as Mr. Ward said but for more than himself. He supposed that was all it was at that moment. Desire. He folded his hands behind his back. He was just as ready as the crowd was. 

That's all it was he was sure. 

[StarlitSiren]

Millie had been unfortunate enough to become acquainted with Mister Sloan her very first Month in Prospect Junction, and from the very start had seen the snake behind all smiles and well-mannered business acumen. As time went on, he stopped even bothering with the mask- why would he even need it anymore? She was trapped in debt to the man, and there was little the tinkerer good do to get out from under his thumb without a huge windfall. It's part of the reason she had started taking those jobs with the Exchange. 'One bad decision into another,' she thought glumly. There was a solution. There was always a solution. She just needed to think it out~

The man grabbed her arm- he was used to owning people, not mixing with them- and she barely had time to feel revolted as his touch before he handed her the object. She listened, she really did, but in some ways it was like the room fell away. 'What is this?'

Folded into the little scrap of fabric was... well it was metal, that much was clear. Cool to the touch. Strangely smooth despite that it didn't look as if it had even been refined, and it reflected the light in a way that gave her pause. "Where-" she asked softly "did you get this-?" But Willis wasn't listening. He was already pulling her down into a chair and straightening up, the prim and proper Sir here for a show, nothing more. 'If it does anything weird-' she thought, musing at his strange words. 'What in the-' She rotated the tiny thing in her palm, slipping a finger beneath the velvet to run it across the queer material. So many questions...

It was only then that she glanced to her other side, and saw Miss Von Vulf. The newcomer to Prospect Junction was... well, to put it bluntly, Millie didn't trust her as far as she could spit. The... doctor? she thought, had an unusual- and ridiculous- reputation in town, and despite that she had done some work for her, just here and there- money was money- Millie preferred not to mix too much with anybody these days. The more she engaged with these people, the more likely she would get mixed up in more drama than she wants... the more likely her new life here might come crashing down. Assembling machinery, especially anything new and experimental- was a slow, delicate process, prone to mishap and difficulty every step of the way. Breaking something apart could happen with just a single little push, accident or not.

Trapped between a snake of a man, and a woman that the idiots here had decided drank blood, Millie desperately kept her eyes down in her lap, hoping to go unnoticed in the meantime, until the show began, the metal in her palm stinging slightly from how hard she was gripping it.

[MagnificentBastard]

Edmund Blackwood surveyed the grand hall from above, a cacophony of fleeting emotions and simple desires, it was quite the turn out, anyone that was anyone seemed to have made it. 'Assuming our singer doesnt disappoint it should be an interesting evening.' Edmund thought to himself 

His focus then shifted to the redhead next to him. Slowly, he traced his thumb over the swell of Vivienne's breast, his touch was hot and electric, and her whole body jerked in response. A sharp, shaky gasp tore from her throat as her nipple hardened instantly against the silk. A fresh wave of wet arousal flowed from her nether regions. In the back of her mind, a voice screamed that this was too much, too public. But the thought was instantly incinerated by the heat of his touch. It was always like this with Edmund; whatever limits she defined for herself crumbled the moment his skin met hers. 

On his other side, Helena knelt, her head bowed in perfect submission. Edmund's free hand drifted down, his fingers tangling in her dark hair before tightening into a firm fist. He gave a sharp, commanding tug, hard enough to make her gasp and arch her back, her body instantly responding to the dominant gesture, her breathing quickening her legs parting. He kissed her, a sensuous and teasing touch that left her yearning for more.

But he wasn't done. With a hand on the back of each of their necks, he pushed their faces close together. They froze for a heartbeat, their eyes wide with a flicker of hesitation as they looked at each other. "Kiss" he commanded, his voice a low, firm order. Suddenly, their lips met in a soft, passionate embrace, their arousal and desire to please him showing in full.

TIAL-V's awaited for an appropiate moment before speaking, his voice was a discreet, resonant hum near his ear.

"Sir, would you care for me to extend an invitation to any patrons who may be receptive to a more... exclusive engagement this evening? Alternatively, arrangements at the casino may be prepared should you wish the night to continue under more controlled conditions. Unless, of course, your two companions will provide satisfactory enough entertainment."

"No invitations." He gave Helena's hair a gentle, final pat before releasing it. "If any of our business associates should wish for an audience. Inform them I will be receiving during the intermission"

He picked up his brandy again, swirling the amber liquid. "Until then," he added, his voice dropping back to a low purr as he met Vivienne's hungry gaze, "ensure we are not to be disturbed." He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. 

[WickedCadrach]

On 31/12/2025 at 11:50, IsabellaRose said:

She bites her lip, glancing reflexively toward the stage before whispering, "I swear, when he sings, it’s like he’s looking straight at you and you're bare as the day you were born. It’s positively indecent." She laughs softly, giddy and entirely sincere, before remembering herself and darting a look toward her mother.

Missy feigned a respectable shock, covering her mouth with a slight turn of her black-gloved hand to half-obscure her smile. "I know exactly what you mean, Jane. It's like he sends his very soul out to ride on the music. When Carlo performs, I also find myself exceedingly... moved." Capping the comment with a conspiratorial glance to the younger woman, Missy turned her gaze back to the stage. And her mind strayed to the memory of her first time hearing Carlo Amankona.

Millicent Fisher had often played the medium and described the sensation of her spirit drifting unmoored above her body like a buoy on the open sea to gawking marks around her séance table. It was a fantasy, spun out of her audience's vague expectations and her own dramatic flair. But when she heard Amankona's song... something in her stirred. Something that had drawn her here tonight. A whisper. A quiet beneath the sound like the animal understanding in the moments before the lantern is blown out and—as Jane had put it—you're bare as the day your were born. 

It was ridiculous of course. Missy was about as psychic as a jacketed potato. The only 'gift' she had was gab. And she had outgrown silly notions like 'soulmates' almost as quickly as she'd outgrown her first proper bodice. Whatever was happening was strange, but who was to say it was any stranger than the chemical caress of laudanum? Perhaps this musician had discovered the secret of sedative and arousal through the waves of sound. Perhaps it was a passing fancy brought on by nerves. 

She'd know soon enough. She'd listen and watch, and she'd see. A single bad note or unflattering turn in the melody and she'd see those blue eyes belonged to a man no different from the rest.

A flash of silver caught Missy's eye, and a prickle between her shoulders drew her back from her reverie. The smirking stare of Joshua Thane caught her, and Missy felt her stomach sour. She returned the look with a faint smile and the ghost of a nod, the unsettling, knowing look making her pulse jump a moment as she turned away in a show of indifference. But the damage was done. He'd seen her in Adelaide Montgomery's box. And Missy knew what that meant. Any show of her 'good fortune' was an invitation for Joshua Thane to come claim his cut. Swallowing a groan of frustration, Missy wished that at least for this night, the lawman had found some other poor soul to vent his psychopathic misanthropy on. 

"Oh! Missy. Look there!" 

Following Jane's fingertip, Missy found the bald spot in the auditorium, like a spot of mange in the rustling dark fur of a dog. And at it's center a pale, slender creature in black frills of a European design. 

"The vampire..." Jane whispered. 

Missy felt a note of pity in her chest at the sight. The stares were all too apparent, even from this height. Nobody strayed close. Nobody spoke to her. A few even looked on with open hostility. Though some seemed to keep a polite inattention, including the woman in a pale blue dress who—

"Millie?" Missy blinked. The vibrant red hair of the machinist made her identity unmistakable, and a soft chuckle unexpectedly bubbled out of Missy. 

"Who? What is it? Why are you laughing?" Jane peered over the railing trying to see what Missy had. 

"Oh, never mind, Jane. It's just... Do you see the woman in the blue dress? There, beside Miss Alicia." Leaning closer, Missy put a hand on Jane's knee. "That's Miss Millicent Gerenhart. She's the engineer at Gearheart Repairs."

Jane's dark eyes widened. "No! I've never seen her out of those sooty leathers. Why is she here?"

"For the same reason we are, I imagine, darling." Giving Jane a nudge with her shoulder, Missy didn't let on that she'd been thinking the same thing. There was no reason to think Millie hadn't simply come to enjoy Carlo's mystical music. Then again, who was that beside her? And why did she seem so preoccupied? Was it simple coincidence she had taken her seat so near to Alicia? 

All of these thoughts flashed in Missy's mind. Though, only for a moment. The sight of the lovely mechanic in her folksy, floral-print dress had her realizing the same thing Jane had. She had not seen Millie out of her shop leathers before... And from there, Missy wondered what other outfits she might like to see her out of. 

Edited January 3 by WickedCadrach

[Chiyako]

Being a monster in the eyes of many came with its own set of gifts. If she wanted a good seat within even a crowded venue, she could take it. People did not crowd her. Moving about, even in a dress, became exceedingly less difficult when a room full of people split a path open, and they did so without need of input. Fear was a valuable tool when harnessed correctly. There were plenty of disadvantages of course, and she had endured those throughout most of her life, but doing so made it all the easier to abuse the advantages gifted to her all while avoiding the annoying feeling of guilt that might otherwise accompany such actions. She had earned at least that much.

Of course there might have been exceptions to that. Alicia was not immune to feelings of guilt. It never felt right to abuse the generosity of a genuinely good person. Clayton Cash was an example of a person who might have been good. What little she knew of him, and what few experiences she had had with him, pointed towards his being of decent character. Few people would speak apologies to her face, let alone make the effort to mouth such a thing from across a busy music hall. At least, it seemed to be some sort of apology.

For the night we have yet to speak of? Or perhaps for not having greeted me? Best not to interrupt his business.

A gentle smile and a single slight nod of her head, easier to read thanks to the wide brimmed hat, were both her answer and a friendly greeting. The night was still young, and there was no urgency to speak of what had happened before. She was patient. One had to be in order to survive for as long as she had.

Regardless, I would not wish to get him involved.

No effort had been made to disguise what was surely the true motive for Aldert Helsink's presence within the music hall. When their gazes met Alicia held her smile, despite the twisting feelings of anger and excitement and fear within her stomach. The faint tilt of Aldert's head was not meant for her, but she returned the gesture with a slight nod of her own, both an acknowledgement of his presence and a faintly cheeky greeting. For years they had played the parts of fox and hound. It was terrifying, a constant desparate struggle for survival on her end, but on her end it had also evolved into something of a game or a contest. She found some degree of amusement whenever she managed to outwit Aldert and his pawns. If she managed to corner the man she hadn't even fully decided on whether or not she would actually dispose of him.

He brought friends. Of course he did. How many? I cannot tell. They won't move. Not when it is this crowded.

She wasn't completely helpless. Reputation and wits aside, Alicia always carried at least some tools to aid in her survival, and tonight was no different. Her dress contained pockets, each cleverly hidden within the black silken frills of her skirt. Glass vials remained unshifting within padded inserts, each tied with various textured strings leading into the pocket itself, so that she might decipher which to tug free by texture alone. In another pocket were sheathed needles, each memorized by position and prepared for rapid application, whether it be to her body or that of another. At a moment's notice she could transform into a near facsimile of the very rumor they sought to bring low. And there was of course a knife and a pocket derringer. She would not pretend to be an excellent shot, but if she were close enough it could be utilized in a pinch.

Thoughts of how she might make her escape, if need be, were interrupted by a sudden infiltration within the otherwise comfortable bubble created by her terrifying rumors. Ruby orbs drifted to the side, face turning just enough to offer her a glimpse of the intruder.

Oh? Now isn't this a surprise!

Alicia's smile widened as she turned further still, attention fully swinging towards the faintly mechanical scented woman now seated beside her. "Miss Gearhart, yes?" Alicia's voice was soft, quiet enough not to draw too much attention but not quite a whisper. Her words were spoken slowly, deliberately, and carried a thick eastern european accent from a region unlikely to be known to most everyone in this country. She had managed to learn enough of the English language to speak it correctly in moments of calm, albeit a little more slowly to focus on proper grammar and enunciation. It was during times of great excitement, or anxiety, or haste that her command over the English language started to fall apart. But in these moments she could speak it clearly enough.

"I am surprised to see you here. Surprised and a little happy."

[IsabellaRose]

@AsBloodTurnsEverCold

Backstage, Just Before the Curtain

The low murmur of the hall could be heard behind the curtain, and a few of the musicians exchanged excited glances as Kojo finished his preparation. One of them, a fiddler with rosin-stained fingers, let out a quiet breath and said, half in awe, half in nerves, “It feels like they're already listening.” Another nodded, adjusting a strap, eyes flicking toward the stage door. “They’re leaning in already, boss man.”

Mr. Ward lingered just a moment longer than strictly necessary, hands clasped, watching Kojo with open admiration that bordered on reverence.

“Extraordinary,” he said softly, glancing toward the curtain where the glow of the hall pressed through. “You can feel them tonight. So much anticipation...”

He gestured vaguely, toward the floor seats and the boxes beyond. “You’ve done that, Mr. Amankona. Before a single note has bene played.” His smile widened, pleased, proprietary, and utterly convinced that this marvel belonged to the Hall by right of association. Then the professional mask slid fully back into place. Ward straightened his cuffs and nodded crisply to Kojo.

“We shouldn't keep them waiting any longer. Enjoy the moment. This is where anticipation does half the work.” With that, he turned and slipped back toward the curtain as he prepared to step into the light and introduce the evening’s performance.

@MagnificentBastard

Edmund Blackwood's Private Box, Awaiting the Start of the Show

"It shall be done, Sir," said TIAL-V in response to Edmunds' dual orders to inform anyone that he Edmund would receive visitors during intermission and to ensure  he was not disturbed. 

TIAL-V made sure that the light in the box did not shine upon Edmund himself; no one who might be able to see in needed a direct view of his master, and then lined up several fresh glasses on the small bar at the back of the Blackwood box.

Meanwhile, the women attending Edmund Blackwood seemed to be tuned to him exclusively. After the kiss, Vivienne knelt before him, her doting gaze turned to him. The curve of her neck was a graceful arch, and Helena's fingertips traced the line of it as if she couldn't wait to be told to do more to the redhead. They were good girls, quick to adapt to whatever he wished, and never the type to argue with the man who paid the bills. 

They leaned in when he spoke, laughed softly when he smiled, both of their hands finding excuses to rest each upon one of his knees before retreating at the faintest shift of his attention. Neither asked what he wanted; they knew he would issue commands. Instead, they both knelt facing each other, anticipating what might come next, and in that anticipation they found purpose.

TIAL-V was behind them, motionless and immaculate. Everything proceeded within expected parameters until.. movement.

The box door eased open the barest fraction, but it was enough for TIAL-V to register a presence, perhaps someone peering in. There was a sound, like a song, a humming just barely audible to TIAL-V's sensory array.

TIAL-V registered the anomaly instantly and moved, swift and silent. He crossed the space and pulled the door open fully to reveal...

Nothing.

The corridor beyond was empty. No footsteps retreated. there was no whisper of fabric, no sign that anyone had been there at all. There was only the faintest hum, lingering like an afterimage, threading through the air and settling somewhere deep in the subconscious. TIAL-V paused, optics sweeping the hall, then turned back.

“A momentary disturbance, Sir,” he said calmly. “Resolved.”

But the hum  had registered, soft, intimate, unmistakable. He replayed it in his memory, trying to identify it. It seemed oddly familiar.

@WickedCadrach

The Montgomery Box, Just Before the Lights Dim

Adelaide Montgomery’s pleasant expression tightened almost imperceptibly as she tilted her head, listening.

“Do you hear that?” she asked, rising halfway from her seat. “That humming... just outside the door.” Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the box entrance and opened it, peering into the corridor with a frown. The passage was empty. Only silence met her where she expected to find the sound. Adelaide exhaled, displeased. 

“Strange,” she said, then gathered herself and swept off with purpose. “I’ll find an usher. These halls should be better managed on a night like this.”

The moment her mother’s footsteps faded, Jane visibly relaxed. She leaned closer to Missy, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, voice dropping to an eager whisper. “Honestly,” she said, biting her lip as she glanced toward the stage, then giggling softly, emboldened by privacy. “Do you think that’s his only talent... singing? Because if he performs anything else the way he sings...” Jane trailed off, fanning herself with her program, breathless and unabashed.

“I don’t know how a girl would survive a night with someone like that.” Her tone made it clear that she very much wanted to know. 

@StarlitSiren @Chiyako

The Front Row, As the Lights Begin to Dim

Willis didn't answer Millie's question, at least not immediately. He kept his hand half-raised as if he might take the velvet bundle back, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side instead. His eyes were moving too much. He scanned the nearest exits, then the balconies, craning his neck until his gaze snagged briefly on Edmund Blackwood’s box. He swallowed, jaw tightening, and looked away as if the effort itself has cost him something.

“It’s nothing,” he said at last, too quickly, voice pitched low. “Truly. If it were something, I wouldn’t have brought it here, would I?” He forced a smile that didn't quite settle, then flicked another glance upward before his attention snapped sharply to the main floor. Joshua Thane stood there like a nail driven into the room, and Willis’s eyes lingered just long enough to register the danger before sliding away again.

“Just... hold onto it,” he added, softer now, almost pleading despite himself. “You don’t have to understand it. I just need you to pay attention, that’s all.” The lights began to dim, the crowd’s murmur shifted in pitch, and Willis leaned back in his seat as if distance alone might insulate him. “Afterward,” he promised, “we’ll talk afterward.” 

When Alicia greeted Millie, it seemed to be the first time Willis registered her presence. "Miss von Vulf," he said, surprise, fear, and something else in his tone and eyes. He looked at Millie, then at Alicia, then back at Millie.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," he said, his fear of Alicia obvious as he slowly stood and backed down the aisle, his eyes never leaving her as if he expected her to pounce at any moment.

[AsBloodTurnsEverCold]

It was...surprising Kojo had to admit. His surprise wasn't down to a lack of faith in the skills he'd acquired, nor the fame (and infamy) he enjoyed (and bemoaned). He'd played all over, and spread his name. He'd toured the Americas where they would have him, played in hallowed halls all over Europe, enjoyed crowds even in The Orient, and more. His name was known even if it wasn't the name he was born with. He knew the power of music, of sound, of stories delivered on instrument and yet...he was here. He'd played here plenty and yet he couldn't have ever guessed he'd draw this level of crowd in a place like this. He supposed the proprietors of the hall were more than thrilled. He was too. It was simply a marvel and the curtains hadn't even been drawn yet! His strange eyes drifted to the fiddler and nodded "Yes, it seems they are." Kojo shared his nerves but the smile on his face said he was ready. 

He shifted his attentions back to Mr. Ward. It was hard to say any of the players had higher hopes than their Compere here. He was dedicated to this Kojo could tell and he did appreciate it. The arts were important to him too so it was merely another hope to carry on his shoulders. He'd hardly be one to turn it down. 

It did seem that they were all feeling it. Don't choke. The anticipation was just as heavy for him as it might have been for others. The jitters before the show was normal, but more than that he couldn't help but think of the crowd. The sight of people who rarely joined them for these events. They are here with open hearts. Sing to them and pull their spirits free, enraptured with the melody. His body hummed with excitement and desire to see the looks on their faces when it all began. What would they think? What would they feel? He wanted it too. He knew, however, he needed to keep control. The music could play him just as well. His reputation surely wouldn't survive if this ended up like that night at the Teatro Olimpico. He needed to remain steady. 

It was difficult to keep his ego in check with this man in play "Well then, it does fall to me to ensure they leave here contented. I hope you will all help with that." one more encouraging statement as they had hit the point of no return now hadn't they? 
"All prepared Mr. Ward." it was time, and it fell on him to make sure they were properly introduced. The stage-hands got into place ready to push out the piano, the opener of the night once they'd been introduced. Kojo pull his gloves from his pocket and slipped them on. Anticipation was half the work, now it was the follow through to match. 

Surely tonight would be a good night. 
It needed to be.

[WickedCadrach]

Missy had heard the humming, too. There was something uncanny in the sound, and as Adelaide stood, Missy's spine stiffened, her breath catching as a disquieting in her spirit abruptly arrested her lungs and forced a stillness to better listen closer. She nearly lifted a hand, nearly asked the lady to sit and think nothing of it, to not venture beyond the curtain into the halls. But that was ridiculous. Why should she? People hummed. There wasn't anything odd in it. And they were in a music hall; if there was anywhere one might be expected to wistfully give voice to a nostalgic melody, surely it was a place like this. And yet something in that snippet of sound unsettled her. 

"Lady Montgomery—" Missy said, her mouth hanging open just a finger's breadth as the older woman turned to face her. 

As soon as she did, Missy remembered who she was talking to. She remembered what she was here for. The first rule of a con: don't show your hand. State your guesses boldly, and hide what you know with guesses. Missy didn't know what that humming was. Making an assertion about it or acting worried might backfire in ways she couldn't understand yet. Better to play it safe. After all, not even she really knew what disturbed her about the sound...

"... The show's starting," Missy said finally. "If there's not an usher at hand, please don't miss Carlo's opening." 

The older woman gave a light toss of her head and said, "Missy, you're a dear, but I won't be able to enjoy the show until I'm sure some whistling jaybird isn't going to be prancing the halls at my back. Now, you girls enjoy. I'll be back directly."

As her mother left, Jane's hand closed around Missy's. 

Quote

“Honestly,” she said, biting her lip as she glanced toward the stage, then giggling softly, emboldened by privacy. “Do you think that’s his only talent... singing? Because if he performs anything else the way he sings...” Jane trailed off, fanning herself with her program, breathless and unabashed.

“I don’t know how a girl would survive a night with someone like that.” Her tone made it clear that she very much wanted to know. 

The excitement in Jane's breathless voice did a good deal to sweep away the unease in Missy's heart, and with a quick lick of her lips, she leaned in to meet the young aristocrat shoulder to shoulder and nearly ear to ear. "You know... he's not just a singer," Missy said with a conspiratorial grin. "He plays too. I've never seen a man so adept with his... fingering." Slipping her fingertips across the paper-thin kid of Jane's own opera gloves, a stray lock of Missy's hair drifted in the breeze of Jane's fanning as she whispered. "I'm sure Carlo is a man of many talents. And I'm sure no one here would question his stamina... as a performer."

With a light laugh at Jane's final comment, Missy replied, "Oh? Well, I suppose we do have high hopes for Carlo. I'm sorry to say, Jane, more often I'm worried if a man can survive ten minutes, let alone the night."

The lights began to dim, and Missy looked up, her cavalier attitude banished instantly as she peered through the dark toward the stage. 

[IsabellaRose]

The hall exhales as the gaslight softens and a hush falls over the crowd as Mr. Silas Ward takes the stage, stepping into the limelight with an easy flourish, arms opening as if to embrace the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” He beams, voice rich and ringing, and then continues. “Patrons of refinement, lovers of art, seekers of wonder... welcome! Tonight, you have gathered not merely for music, but for experience. For those rare moments when sound becomes story, and story becomes something that lingers long after the final note.”

There is a ripple of approving murmurs. Mr. Ward paces, savoring them.

“You know his name. You have whispered it, argued over it, heard rumors of the effects of his music. Tonight, Prospect Junction claims what the world already knows.”

He lifts a hand, triumphant. “Prepare yourselves for the incomparable...”

But before he can finish, the limelight pops with a sharp flash of white and goes dead. Along the edge of the stage, the gaslights snuff out one by one. A collective gasp rises from the crowd. Feet shuffle. Someone laughs nervously, then stops. The darkness holds for a long moment that drags on for far too long.

In it, a humming rises, quiet, eerie, and intimate, carried by the hall’s bones, threading through balconies and boxes alike. It is a faintly familiar melody, and the sound is not quite human. It crawls into ones ears.

Then suddenly, the limelight flares back to life.

A woman stands directly behind Mr. Ward. Her dress hangs in ragged folds. A veil clings to her face, plastered there by wet red stains. She raises a knife, and before Ward is even aware she's there, while he still has a hand raised to block the limelight from his eyes, before breath becomes sound, she slits his throat.

Blood sprays across the stage in a sudden, violent arc. Mr. Ward clutches at his neck, eyes wide, gurgling, stumbling, and then the limelight fails again.

Screams tear through the dark and people suddenly run blind, tripping and falling over seats. Panic spreads like wildfire as the humming vanishes in the chaos.

[StarlitSiren]

There she was, sandwiched between Alica Von Vulf, who kept tyring to talk to her- the tinkerer had gotten the impression that she had work for her, but there were so many half-finished projects of her own littering the workshop... not that she couldn't use the cash, and on the other side was Willis Sloan, a man who held her by the throat with a noose of that very same money. She longed to be back in the comforting seclusion of Gearheart Repairs, and out of this horrible dress~ But, mercifully fate chose to spare her at least some part of one of the most uncomfortable nights in her life as Silas Ward took the stage. He was ever a showman- even she knew that- and at the very least, if she had to be here tonight, she would get to hear Carlo sing again. She normally wasn't one for music any more vibrant than the steady rhythm of clockwork, but there was something almost... magnetic about his melody. Something Millie couldn't put her finger on.

Then the lights died as one, a dramatic crash into the darkness, and Millie rolled her eyes, instinctively clutching the strange metallic token that much tighter... and then came the melody. Not Carlo's. Something else. Something Queer, and familiar and alien all at once...

The lights flashed back to life, and a crimson arc of blood splayed across the stage as Silas Ward slumped to the ground, choking on the essence of his own dwindling life. A moment of silence. Another. A heartbeat of a heartbeat, and as the creams began the light was extinguished once more.

All around her was chaos, chaos and madness, as all sought to escape this place. People ran into one another in the dark, screaming and shouting, and Millie sat there motionless, frozen in space as her mind remained frozen on the dying man who had contracted her for work only last week. And she at last rose on shaking legs... only for some unseen person to crash into her, causing Millie to collide with and trip over the chair, hitting the ground with a thud as whichever panicking citizen had knocked her down harried over her fallen form. She groaned, trying to pull herself to her feet in the crowd, panic setting in... and never realising that somewhere in the dark and the terror, she had dropped Willis' treasure.

[Chiyako]

Which one was this?

A slight tilt of the head. Crimson orbs partially obscured behind red crystal lenses were pulled away towards the man who had addressed her. The tone of his voice and the look in the man's eyes were very familiar to her. While he lingered for a few moments glancing between her and the mechanical genius Alicia decided how she might approach him. It was only when his fear grew heavier still, when he started to stand from his seat, and when she finally remembered a name that she made a decision.

"Mister Sloan" she replied, lips curling further apart into her best predatory smile, even parting just enough to show off the tips of sharpened canines. No further words were needed, not that she would have the time for them. She was partially amused, however that wasn't the reason why she kept her gaze lingering upon Willis Sloan. Rumors of Willis Sloan painted a dangerous portrait of the man. From her experience those sorts of men were best kept in check by fear. It wouldn't work forever, and she needed to balance the threshold of that fear, however what she did now in the moment was, she felt, within reasonable limits.

Perhaps an invitation later. Assert dominance. I do not fear him. Reinforce status quo. I am something to be feared. A show of force? Then reduce fear. He is right to fear me. It is best to leave me alone. But I am a reasonable person. A reasonable monster. Create an opening. I can be bargained with, if need be. Cooperation? Further research pertaining to mutual goals required. That might do. But for now!

Millie Gerenhart did not leave her side. The lack of fear was refreshing. Of course she did not respond either. Before Alicia had a chance to decide why that might have been the lights of the venue softened, finally drawing her attention away from the retreating Mister Sloan and instead towards the stage.

I'll explore that later.

At long last her true purpose for being here had arrived! The unearthly qualities of Carlo Amankona's music had for some time intrigued her. It changed people. Drew them towards the man like a magnet. Tonight's packed hall was clear evidence of his musical capabilities, however what she was really interested in were the rumors. Was his music truly not of this world? Might he be capable of bending the fabric of scientific law? This was not something that she could leave up to second-hand sources. No, she came here fully intending upon observing with all of her senses the gifts of Carlo Amankona. Aldert's presence and the fear of those around her would not distract her from scientific pursuits!

Lights set not far ahead of her suddenly flickered out.

Is this one of Millie's tricks? A gadget I had not noticed? Clever. Consider my attention thoroughly captured.

Thoughts were interrupted by a strange humming sound. It was new to her. She could not place an exact origin, not physically nor within her memories. She might have immediately attributed it to Millie had it not been for the eerie quality of the sound. It felt off. Wrong, almost.

Strange. Curious. Noted. I'll want to speak with Millie later.

She blinked a couple of times when the main light clicked awake. No longer was the man on the stage alone. Behind him stood a strange woman. A performer was her original guess. For a moment she was worried that Carlo's rumored abilities were slightly exaggerated, that tricks had been doing the bulk of his work, simple theatrics in place of unearthly talent. The flash of steel and a spray of crimson muted those thoughts. With a spike of adrenaline Alicia shot to her feet, hands moving on reflex to her sides, digging into the conceal pockets of her dress.

Assess-

The entire hall was plunged into darkness. This sort of thing she was familiar with, but even so it was dangerous. People all around her screamed. Sounds of heavy steps, squeaking wood, and groaning chairs filled the venue. Hoping to avoid any sort of stampede Alicia took hold of the edge of the stage and pushed herself up, driving herself out of the aisle and, she hoped, closer to the wounded man. Hands pawed at the ground in front of her while she shifted forth on her knees, hoping to locate the victim of tonight's brutal attack. How many other doctors of medicine might have been present? And so close too!

Locate the victim. Although it might be unfortunate if the lights return and I am covered in his blood. No time to reconsider. Listen for the attacker. They might still be up here.

[AsBloodTurnsEverCold]

It as time finally. Kojo gently adjusted his gloves again as he stood there prepared to duck through the shielding cloth that separated him this world from the next. The muffled sound of Mr. Ward starting his opening lines. Kojo....Carlo took a deep breath, his foot tapping against the wood for a few moments. A count. It was slightly muffled but as soon as the sound of clapping drifted through it would be Kojo's time to step out into the slight. To bring these people into his world once again, or for the first time. That hum in his head grew stronger, sang with more anticipation and at some point it became quite difficult to tell if it was him or it that currently desired this the most. There was, ideally, no time to think about it. Kojo just needed to give his opening and once the piano was pushed out it could begin. It would be a good night. 

It should have been a good night. 

The light that crept through the cracks in the curtain suddenly went dark. The world outside gasped and then fell silent. It was already dead silent behind those curtains but an unspoken whisper did pass between them all. Was this part of the show? Kojo couldn't recall anything like this during rehearsal? Perhaps a mistake? They waited...and waited. A hum broke the quiet. A melody but it did not belong to Kojo. 
It disturbed him almost as much as the hum in his head did. It rose up almost as if to meet it but it was not a thrilled hum. Once the lights came back on Kojo expected to hear a muffled joke and to be called forth onto the stage but that was not what happened. No. It should have been a good night. It wasn't. 

Silence...and then screams. The world outside set into panic and in his head a discordant roar. It was not a good night. The performers all shared a concerned look "A fire maybe? Y'all heard anything?" one of the fiddlers spoke. No one quite moved at least until Kojo made her way out of the curtains with panic. Out of their little peaceful world and into the real one where it was chaos. It was always chaos but this was something else. His strange eyes wide as he watched people scramble every which way trying to reach safety and from what? 

Her.

That screeching in his head was practically one of fury as his eyes set upon the figure that had ruined the night. Clad in blood, as unknown as the night itself. It was a figure of myth in its own way that made the town of Prospect Junction something else. He'd never seen her but damn if he didn't know the name the same way everyone else did. Kojo was cursed because the devil himself had just decided to pay tonight's show a little visit in the form of a woman. A wraith. God help the poor little children.  

Red Jenny. 
The denier of the feast. 

Kojo practically froze in place for a moment. What was this...specter doing up here and what he she? He looked around and there was Mr. Ward, bleeding out. It didn't look particularly violent but clean. Practiced! Damn it all. It'd be one thing to deal with a crazed fan but it was another thing to deal with this. That poor man had been looking forward to the night and there we was forced to grasp at life! Kojo looked between her and the bleeding body and prepared to make his way forward. He wasn't a medicine man though and dammit he didn't have his gun. A venue like this did not normally permit one! He looked about for Mr. Thane. Where was that bastard when he was actually needed? He only looked back to see the smaller figure of a pale creature climb up onto the stage. A myth of her own but not a threat for the night...unless she was interested in Mr. Ward's body for the bounty it offered. It wouldn't be surprising if the legends were true. He still didn't quite believe them.  

One eye twitching Kojo moved forward "Hey!" a practiced voice cutting through the noise. Lips pursed and tongue positioned as he whistled. It sounded beautiful itself. Steady and loud cutting through the screams. It was a motion Immaculate and practiced to get attention as the performer placed himself between Mr. Ward, his assailant, and the good doctor. It was Kojo's night thought this wasn't quite the attention he needed. It was the attention he'd have to take. He wasn't sure if he'd have to try and defend himself or lead her away but hopefully no one else would end up in such a sorry state. He felt as though he might....It certainly wasn't happy but probably less so than he was at that moment. 

Damn it all. 

Edited 17 hours ago by AsBloodTurnsEverCold

[MagnificentBastard]

The sudden plunge into darkness and the eerie humming that followed had just disrupted Edmund's pleasant evening. As the lights flickered back on, revealing the gruesome sight of Silas Ward's throat being slit, a flicker of annoyance crossed his features. This was not part of the plan. Edmund Blackwood's eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the chaos unfolding belo, before taking a delicious. 

"TIAL-V," he murmured, his voice low and controlled, "it seems our evening has taken an unexpected turn. Security assessment!"

TIAL-V's response was immediate, a discreet hum near his ear. "Sir, the situation appears to be a targeted attack. The assailant, identified as Red Jenny, has a history of violent behavior. Her presence suggests a deliberate disruption. I recommend you withdraw..."

Edmund cut him off with a raised hand, his gaze never leaving the stage. "That can wait. First, ensure our associates are safe."

He turned to Vivienne and Helena, his expression softening slightly. "Ladies, it seems our evening has been cut short. TIAL-V will escort you to safety, do as he says you have my word no harm will befall you. I will deal with this."

With that, Edmund stood, his brandy glass untouched, and strode towards the stage, his mind already racing with the implications of this unexpected turn of events. The night had started with promise, but the apperance of Red Jenny had changed things, a new mystery to uncover.