The Clutch (A bar for airship pirates, ragamuffins and other law breakers)

[Alexis Voltaire]

Horatio looked suspiciously at the bronze statue. There was a faint aura around it, both visible and invisible to usual sight, of something not quite normal. He wondered if the dagger the man had used bore the same maker's mark. Seems he was doing a lot more than just messing with bio-machines... he thought.

He listened with interest to what Brantley said, trying to understand and make sense of it all. He was unfamiliar with the concepts of time travel, but it sounded like something he ought to learn more about, especially if they went through many more portals.

He took the bamboo case out his coat pocket, and handed it to Brantley when he had finished talking.

"I found this after the man who attacked me dropped it. I can't make sense of what it says, seems to be written in some form of Chinese. But I thought it might have some clues as to who attacked us, and why."

[MWBailey]

Brantley turned to Arthur. "You understand all of this?! Ye gods, there must've been something special in that pint, I'm not sure I understand all of it myself!"

"Skipping ahead several years, almost a decade, to be exact," he continued, I had made a good go at giving up my outlawish ways, and had snuck off to MIT. I eventually earned a doctorate in Pan-Temporal Transduction And extra-Dimensional Science, and headed MIT's department of same; in my home universe, such things were not as incredible as they probably seem here. But by then the Martians had started their ten-year stint of hostilities, and a rather nefarious group of scientists and (in hindsight) shady political mavens hired me, MIT, and Massachusetts Miskatonic by association to build a large, nearly 5000-percent-size replica of my first time machine, "for use as a trump card against the Martians...or so they told me.

In the end, it filled an entire five-room lab, all of  whose walls (save the one that delineated a short hallway that was used as a control and storage room for experimental equipment) had been knocked down so that we could keep the machine all in one assembled configuration. Even back then, there were odd connections with Martian contacts, who provided us with supposedly-obsolete alien-made components, which actually made operation easier...except for one thing: the fact that one had to be a Martian to use them-- but we didn't know or understand that.

"The time came to test the mechanism, and we did so, with disastrous results. It worked, all right, and extremely well, except that unshielded persons, such as myself and many of the lab technicians, were hurled through spacetime and through the wall into the hallway. no big thigm, except that the machine stopped Transducting at teh precise wrong moment, and several techs became interior and exterior components of teh wall (literally materialized inside of it), while several materialized on the outside of the wall but were still part of it, and three or four people, including myself, had made it to the hallway itself -- but had left limbs, organs, etc. within the wall proper. I learned all of that several hours later, after they did several operations on me 'to save your life,' they said at the time."

"Turns out they had added some organs from a Martian donor, replaced a few damaged organs with, again, 'donated' martian organs, and implanted skin and other tissue grafts in my body mass, brain, and other areas. The actual Idea, I learned much later, was to create an 'artificial Gallifreyan'  who, like them, did not need special shielding to time-travel --so that an assault could be made on that civilization using me as an infiltrator. The assault never occurred, because the Martian from whom the so-called 'donations had survived, and managed to deprogram me from the enemy's service. That unwilling donor  is teh one we are about to attempt to free."

Brantley took the bamboo case and tried to open it, struggling with the tight cap. He finally gripped it with both hands, wrapped the wide, flat tip of his permanent tentacle around it, and pulled violently in opposite drections. the case made a POOMPFing sound and the cap came off. He set the cap down on the dashboard next to the statue, the tentacle operating as easily and dexterously as any humanoid fingered appendage, and then coiling up  at his back like a monstrous, suckered-and-toothed pig's tail. He pulled out the parchment pages within, and began to try and decipher the topmost page first.

"Hmmm..." he grunted noncommittally. "I don't read Chinese too well, but this looks like Mandarin calligraphy...Seems to say something about 'Report interplopers and stop their ...movingforwardhot aslavasprintingdragon'...That must mean forward progress, something about an ... 'ancient insect of the sea who listens closely'... but I might be reading it backwards...that must refer to our electric trilobite here... Does anybody else read this chicken scratch?" He asked irritably. "Hopefully, better than I do?"

[The Corsair]

"the only experience I had with the east was a brief interaction with the Portugese Macau mob... And a Dr Fu Manchu. He's the reason I got my first lot of decent work. His thugs weren't too fond o' me... If we could track him down I'm sure he'd translate. It looks a little more like ancient Chinese if I'm honest..."

[Alexis Voltaire]

"Well... sounds like it might work, if you're able to find him. If things are similar in this dimension regarding DeVar, that's the one who uses that maker's mark, it's possible that I might be able to locate someone in Paris who knows more about the paper, as well. Who it's connected to, at least." Horatio said thoughtfully.

[The Corsair]

"Looks like we're headed to Shanghai once we drop in to see DeVar or his men. If we need to stop for supplies and what not I know I guy in Macau..."

[Alexis Voltaire]

Several hours later the gleam of glass windows could be made out in the late afternoon sun coming through the thinning overcast. Paris was a huge city, made up of not just one but a dozen or more floating sections. The gaps were spanned by many buoyant bridges, and small lighter-than-air craft could be seen ferrying passengers and cargo between the blocks.

Much of the iconic architecture and landmarks of the old city had been reproduced in the airborne version, constructed out of carved wood where the original stoneworks and steel would have been too heavy. The city was much brighter and more open than cloud-shrouded Troyes, with many brightly-painted buildings and wide streets and balconies. Still, signs of the ongoing war could be seen, and at the tops of many of the taller buildings were searchlights and anti-aircraft turrets.

The docks of Paris were much the same as those of Troyes, located in a partially covered lower level, except these were much larger and extended through many of the city 'blocks'. Horatio got clearance to land and steered the Wyvern into the well lit docks, finding a place to set down farther back from the entranceway. The docks were far from empty compared to those of Troyes, most of the ships seemed to be merchants and freighters, and the occasional passenger craft or small yacht. They saw no military craft, though it was likely they had a separate docking area.

He shut down the boiler and engine, and leaned back and sighed. "That's enough flying for a while." He said, getting up and stretching. He looked back as if remembering something. "Just a minute, I need to get something from below."

He headed downstairs and unlocked his cabin, and went over to the far wall and counted the vertical boards across the curved inner hull. Finding the right one, he pried the loose board easily out of place. There was a narrow dusty recess behind it, and hanging on a nail inside, attached to a chain, was what looked like the an ornate watch hand, about five inches long. In the middle on one side was a circle with a raised pyramid and Egyptian eye design.

He put the chain around his neck and tucked the brass and silver object under his shirt, and replaced the loose board before heading back to where the others were.

"So... where should we head to next?" He asked.

[The Corsair]

"wouldn't mind a moment. Paris is a nice city and I don't really get to visit it in my own dimension thanks to some unhappy moguls..."

He looked out at the footpaths that often wove around multiple stories of the airborne buildings and enjoyed the cute blend of lazy French streets and open sky. He decided he had to take a stroll, even if only a short one was possible.

"I need to stretch me legs a little..."

He fished out his bundle of francs and counted out how much he had. Provided inflation hadn't taken this dimension in a wildly different direction he had enough for a nice lunch and perhaps a souvenir.

[MWBailey]

"Well, then, let's all meet on the front steps of this Paris' Notre Dame, Shall we? Say, about two hours time?" Brantley said, trying to be accomodating without losing too much time...

At that very moment, one Professor Nayland Smythe knelt to pray before the altar at Notre Dame. He was not catholic, but felt that some obeisance was necessary, just out of respect. He also had had a premonition that life was about to become very interesting indeed. He got up, crossed himself clumsily, and proceeded back to the Cathedral's Rectory to ask after Father D'urburvilles...

[The Corsair]

He set off immediately and wandered for a short while before slowing to stroll looking at the quaint shops and cafes on the small street he found himself on.

He had a clear view of Notre Dame as he sat at a cafe table with a freshly baked croissant and a few other small things for a quick lunch.
He again surveyed the street and spotted a very interesting-looking shop down the street. As he tried to focus on it his mind seemed more and more inclined to look away. He made a mental note to take a look at it up close a little later but as his mind finished creating the thought, it forgot what he was going to visit.
The store was impossibly gone from his mind and Arthur began eating his food once more unaware of the shop's existence.

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

Alegrah frowned but nodded. She set off down a path, seeming rather self-conscious, glancing subtly around her every few moments. She kept a rather bland expression, having hidden her shovel by removing the shovel itself from the handle, tucking it into a large, carpet bag style reticule. She used the handle as a walk stick, making her appear an infirm young woman. She walked towards a rather abandoned part of the city, knowing it was probably a mistake. This proved true a few moments later as a well-dressed young man materialized from an alleyway, walking at a casual pace a good distance behind her. She glanced behind and cursed, seeming to recognize the young lordling. She casually stepped into a pawn shop, drawing looks from the owner and patrons, a few inappropriate murmurs in French audible as the men looked over her form. She didn't bother give them a glance, subtly looking to see if the man had passed or not. She gave yet another colorful curse as she saw him hanging around the outside of the shop.

[MWBailey]

The proprietor of the pawnshop, a rather fat middle-aged man by the name of Toulouse Gastogne,
called softly to Alegrah as she moved close to the caged-in back counter where he sat watching the patrons and taking care of pawns and sales.

"Mademoiselle, eez 'at man out front plaguing you? I haff ze back door, over by zhe armoire, zere..."

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

She blinked at the man, then gave a large smile. "Oh, thank you, Monsieur! Here, for your help.." She quickly fished out a few francs and set them on the counter, her mind already whirring. She quickly headed to the back door and slipped out. She looked up, gauging she had most of the two hours remaining. She bit her lip, then rounded about the shop, padding silently behind the man who had followed her. She took the handle of her shovel and whacked him firmly at the back of his neck, drawing naught by a weak cry. She then searched his personage, taking weapons and coin, and stashing them on herself. She gave an un-lady-like grunt and swiftly tied his feet and hands with a very complex knot. "That's what you get, Gerald. Do not come after me again." She gave a wave through the window to Toulouse, oddly feminine, and straightened her clothes. She then set off at a brisk pace towards where she had come, looking to find food.

[The Corsair]

He noticed a rather dishevelled looking lady trotting down the street with her dress raised slightly above the point of era-appropriate decency for mobility. She passed down the street, receiving a few odd looks but besides that, most people acted as if it were of no more importance than a spilled drink.
Wanting to blend in, Arthur gave her no more regard than those around him did.
It was the dog that got him wondering.
Perhaps a minute after, a squat dog came charging down the street speaking German.
He heard one man complain about the dog's barking...
Apparently Arthur was the only person aware of the dog's unusual form of communication given its species.
It's a German shepard, so i guess it's appropriate... he mused to himself
But where had he seen that before?
Perhaps it was the manner of the dog's bark that made it sound German, all the natural scientists were going on about animal accents anyway, so French dogs must just sound German... he rationalised to himself.

[Alexis Voltaire]

Horatio checked his watch to make sure he'd know when to get back, and headed out into the city. He soon left the busy, open streets behind and headed into the narrower backstreets. He stopped in an out of sight place and carefully detached the watch hand from it's chain.

Setting the object down on the street surface, perfectly balanced on the pivot point on the underside, he gave it a slight spin. The hand quickly sped up until it was almost a blur, and then just as quickly slowed to a stop, pointing unmoving in the direction of the crossroads down the streets, marking the direction as clearly as a compass.

He picked it up and stood up, heading down the street in the direction it had indicated. He stopped now and then, balancing the object on the tip on one finger to recheck the direction. he found the place he was looking for around a corner just past the crossroads, a bookstore with a french name on the sign over the door. He checked the compass once again, and satisfied with the result, stashed it in his pocket.

He went in, walking past several rows of high dimly-lit shelves to the counter at the back. There was someone who looked strangely familiar sitting in a chair behind the counter, reading the paper.

The man behind it looked up from behind the paper he was reading. "Ah, Horatio, good to see you again!" He said, setting down the paper and getting slowly to his feet.

"Morrison!" Horatio exclaimed, equally surprised. "Didn't think I'd run into you here, of all places."

"I get around a bit." Morrison said with a chuckle. "What is it you're looking for today?"

Horatio frowned. "Information about a man who attacked me and someone I'm traveling with. Wore red, not sure if he's one of the Order or not. He dropped this." he handed Morrison the paper. "I think DeVar's involved in this," He added. "I found what looked like one of his mechanical creations wandering around my ship."

Morrison studied the papers for several seconds. "Well, I can't make out anything of the writing, not so good at eastern languages. He tapped a barely-legible signature at the bottom of the second page that Horatio had failed to notice before. "You're right though."

"DeVar's?" Horatio asked, looking close at the signature.

"No, this is the signature of Ross Kala." Morrison said, looking up. Seeing Horatio's questioning look, he continued. "The head of the Order's assassins." He sighed. "It seems very likely that DeVar is involved in this, if anyone from the Order's after you, especially Kala. DeVar isn't who he once was, he's become powerful and power hungry, and some of us suspect not quite sane. You'd best watch your back."

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

Alegrah headed towards the area where Arthur had gone, steps purposeful. When she spotted him, she walked over, inquiring, "Care for a bit of company? I do not find France to my tastes. I'd rather remain here, if you wouldn't mind." Her voice was overly cheerful despite the rather miffed look in her eyes.

______________

Back in front of the pawn shop, a certain Gerald Trebucht stirred within his bindings. He groaned and gave an expletive. He made to move his hands, then gave yet another curse. "Damned Alegrah.. Her father swore she wouldn't be hard to do off with!" He grumbles this, carefully attempting to shimmy his hands out of the knots. After several moments, he managed to do so, though small rivulets of blood trickled from his wrists and down his hands. A scowl fixed upon handsome yet forgettable features as he produced a handkerchief, wiping the blood from his hands before undoing the knots on his ankles. Once those had been un-done, he stood and straightened his frock coat, setting off down the way he was sure Alegrah had gone, a murderous and determined gleam within his dark eyes.

[The Corsair]

"Sure. Want somethin'? I've got a few francs still..."

He didn't really look at her due to the lingering bewilderment at tge events on the street.

"actually, I think I'm going for a walk. Going to join me?"

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

She wrinkled her nose but nodded slightly. "Alright." She seemed to simply want a companion now, thinking that Gerald would be less likely to attack again.

[MWBailey]

As for Brantley, he preferred to go unseen as much as possible; it was unfortunately difficult in a town where there was always the threat of an aerial attack, made somewhat more acute by the fact that the town itself was flying around in midair.

The rooftops were out of the question; no doubt in daylight the lookouts would spot him almost instantly, and he did not relish the thought of having a firefight with an ak-ak crew. So, he took the opposite alternative: he went under the city. Spidering about, as Arthur had thought it a few hours before in Troyes, proved spectacularly easy, even given the number of ground-pointed machine gun ports , gun batteries, and Nadir lookout stations. It was almost all in shade, and the places where the sun shone through or under were actually safer for him, because of the light's tendency to dazzle the dark-adjusted eyes of the city's Nadir lookouts.

He also used his rather fledgling ability to blend in with his surroundings, enhanced by the 'godlike' quality of the implants that had started his post-natal mutation; he was able to blend in, clothes and all, instead of just skin alone as common octopi did. That was the odd bit, though, what sort of squid was able to do what octopi did? Well... his 'donor' had been a cthulid Martian, not an actual terrestrial squid, so perhaps that made the difference.

Such thoughts preoccupied his mind as he drew farther along the underside of the city, above the rotors that kept her flying and the metalwork and bricking that comprised her underside, or Nadir, as it was usually called. He finally found the exit drain of the city's storm drain system, a somewhat surprisingly-thin trickle of water streaming out of it (the Parisians siphoned off most of the flow - when there was one - for boiler water and other uses). He blended in with the surrounding metal-and-brick-work, slowly, ever so slowly extending the tentacles until he gripped the barred gate that closed off the drain from intruders, then even more slowly, using the massive cthuloid mutant strength (most would not believe just how strong his 'squid' side really was) deformed and slow-motion-bent the latch side away from the pipe, slowly shattering the keyed lock that held the gate shut.

The tumbler went 'PINNNNnnnnnnggggg' as it fell away into the sunlit depths, and a few of the nearby lookouts strained to see its origin, but thankfully the Nadir Firebase had been designed to show the void and the ground below, instead of the actual underside proper of the flying City Of Light. Brantley eased himself up into the pipe, blending in and slowly, ever-so-slowly moving up until his questing arms found a flat, level space. He re-composed himself with half the number of tentacles, and all hidden under his coat, as he followed the sweet sounds of the organ of Cathedral Le Notre Dame, finally coming out at a wide-mouthed drain cleverly hidden behind a cluster of flowering bushes bordering the pavement that surrounded the reflection pool on the plaza in front of the Cathedral. He pulled himself up, reansorbed all but one tentacle (as usual) then stepped out from behind the bushes and made his way through the crowds toward the steps of Notre Dame just as the final few minutes of the two hour period were ticking over.

[The Corsair]

The remainder of the two hours he spent with Alegrah went by quite uneventfully
He purchased a very odd watch. It appeared to be somewhat faulty and Arthur decided he'd like to take it apart and see if he could repair it
Besides his one purchase, he arrived at Notre Dame cathedral with Alegrah without further incident.

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

The time spent in Arthur's company seemed rather not-special in all, rather boring, despite a niggling feeling that they were watched. A frown decorated her features the entire time, even when she bought a small book of poetry for the dead. Once they had reached Notre Dame again, a few minutes early, to be exact, she spotted a figure in the shadows. She cursed. "Oh, bloody it all! Gerald again." She scowled and called, "Come out, Gerald. Fancy another beating, hm?" Her loud and mocking tone covered her slight apprehension. He was a tall and wiry young lordling, and she wasn't fully sure she could over-power him alone without the element of surprise because of his past knowledge of her.

[The Corsair]

As soon as alegrah cursed the name Gerald he was on alert
Revolver cocked and ready to fire he spun to face the man emerging from the shadows
"before I go sinkin' lead into this guy could I have a little background?"

seems like everyone's got someone out to kill them...

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

She didn't spare a glance to Arthur, voice low, "Gerald Trebucht, from back home. Was one of my suitors; I'm sure Mother sent him to finish me off and cut off any rumors saying I'm still alive. I was declared dead by the asylum a year and a half back, you know. But of course Mother's paranoid and thinks I'll head home and steal the rest of the silver. Damn her and the others to bloody hell. They'll get what the deserve when they find out dear little Gerald couldn't take down poor, infirm little Alegrah." Her voice twisted with distaste, contempt burning in her eyes as she mentions her mother. She pulled a small pistol from a hidden pocket at her hip, holding it levelly in front of her, gaze fixed upon Gerald.

Gerald, obviously realizing he was caught, strolled out into the open, a rather nasty grin upon handsome features. "Here, now, little Alegrah. Don't be so rude to an old friend, eh? It's quite impolite. Didn't Mother teach you better?"

Alegrah growled. "Shut up."

[Alexis Voltaire]

Horatio spent the rest of the time he had left wandering the streets and looking at the sights and various shops on the way. He wasn't really paying much attention, as he was still thinking over some of the things Morrison had told him. One thing he was somewhat surprised to learn was that the Order of Ra was multi-dimensional, although it was rare that they traveled through time. It meant that it was possible he could find help in this dimension, if he needed it, but also that he was far from having left his troubles behind him. Morrison had also made a copy of the chinese writing on the paper, and said he would try to translate it and send word if he was able to.

Horatio arrived at the plaza in front of Notre Dame a few minutes later than he'd expected, just as Alegrah called out to someone who had apparently been following her. He reached almost automatically for the revolver under his coat, but didn't draw it, yet.

He listened to Alegrah's explanation, a bit surprised, but not taking his eyes off of Gerald.

[MWBailey]

Brantley moved around behind the young man , using his newly-developed blending powers and the natural tendency of a crowd to fill in where there was room. He even managed to move through a few people the same as he had done before with walls, but each time he did so, the person cried out or shivered and whimpered, so he stopped doing that and prepared hands and tentacle to strike if the need arose, moving up closer and closer behind teh young male. "Is there something amiss, Mademoiselle?" He said in his normal midwestern american accent.

[AlegrahEredschtadt]

Smart enough not to give it away entirely, she didn't look to Horatio or Brantley; she spoke cheerfully to Brantley, "This deluded young man finds that he can kill me. It's quite rude, you know?"

Gerald's grin began to slip as he found himself surrounded.