Mystery Machine (Anselm)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

OOCOooooh, okay. I was thinking an actual silver coin. Then let's just replace what I said with, "Went to the market and bought 5 sm's worth of silver foil."

Tee hee

[Anselm]

Anselm's tent was located on the edge of the marketplace on a small grassy area. It occurred to him that the thugs might have returned to his tent and might even now be inside waiting for him. He approached quietly from the back and stood outside, allowing his mind to reach through the tent fabric and into the tent's interior. After a few moments he was confident no one was inside. He looked around and, seeing no one nearby, entered. Nothing seemed out of order. Not that there was much to have gotten out of order. A folding table and two chairs. That was all. He placed his hand on the table where the running man had been and let his mind explore that part of the table's aura. Many people had placed their hands here, but the running man's hands carried the memory of violent death and it took him no time at all to pick it up again. He stared at the spot intently and soon had in his mind an image of a vague, dark, ghostly shadow. He went outside and looked in the general direction in which the running man had run. A faint ghostly fog floated a few inches off the ground, marking out a path leading to a row of buildings and disappearing into an alley. Anselm followed the shadow of death into the alley. The shadow traced its way down the alley and turned right on to a side street. He was in a residential area with buildings packed closely together. The death shadow stayed on the street for several blocks and then turned into a park-like area. It left the park on the opposite side and continued winding its way through streets and alleys. He eventually came to the door of an apartment. The door was closed. The death shadow stopped there. He could hear voices inside. He recognized one of them as the thug who had tried to intimidate him. The other he did not recognize. Then he heard a sharp crack, followed by an agonized wail. He was pretty sure it was the running man. “That arm won't never be quite right now,” said the voice he didn't recognized. “Let's see what we can do with the other one.” “Noooo!” Wailed running man. “I don't have it. Please. I don't have it anymore.” “Now that's better,” said the voice. “You don't have it anymore. But you did have it. What did you do with it?” Silence, followed by a shriek, followed by, “I gave it to the fortune teller.” “I thought you checked the fortune teller out!” Said the voice. “I did,” said the thug Anselm recognized. “At least I think I did. It got kinda confusin' there for a bit.” “Crap!” said the voice. “We're gonna have to go back there.” “What about Flenser?” “Loose end.” “Please,” sobbed running man. “I can't do ya no harm now.” Anselm heard the sound of a scuffle and then an “Oof!”. He retreated down the street and into an alley. Soon the door to the apartment opened and the two thugs left. Anselm waited a few moments to be sure they were gone and then hurried into the apartment. Running man lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Anselm decided this was a bad place for an old Nuit to be and was about to leave when the man groaned. He turned and locked eyes with the dying man. “I didn't mean to kill her,” he said in a gurgling voice. He reached up and grabbed hold of the sleeve of Anselm's cloak and said, “Watch out for the dead man!” Then he was still, his eyes open but no longer seeing. He was through running. Well, thought Anselm to himself. This has turned out to be an interesting day. A mysterious machine, two murders, two very bad men who are looking for me now, and a dead man to watch out for, whatever that means. A curious collection of events. If Anselm had a vice it would be his obsession with solving mysteries. It was one of the few pleasures he had left in life. Or whatever it is you call this bloodless existence, he thought. The events of the day had certainly piqued his curiosity. Curiosity killed the Nuit, he reminded himself, as he often did just before embarking on yet another foolish adventure. He thought about what he should do next. Probably best to avoid the tent for a while. They'll be looking for me there. It was dark by the time he got back to the marketplace. He located himself in the shadow of a closed fish monger's booth and observed his tent from a distance.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock continued playing with her new friend long after Anselm left. "Please?" she asked, tapping him on the lid with a screwdriver. He squeaked a spring at her. "Come on!" she whined. "If'n ya don't open up, I's gonna jus' 'ave ta open ya!" she shook the screwdriver at it. The box flicked a hinge to shove the tip of the screwdriver away, then snapped the hinge shut with a smug click. "Oy, ya don't think I can, aye? Well, ya asked fer it, mate!" The box didn't respond. It just sat there, smug, thinking it had the better of her. Lil bugger don't know who 'e's messin' wit', she thought. She pulled out the rest of her tools, and decided it was now time to start experimenting. She had poked and prodded the box from every side. She had run her fingers over every inch of it, looking for control points or releases. She had tapped out the first twenty prime numbers on its lid, to see if there was a hidden command. She had even tried reasoning with it, spending the last half hour arguing with it. No dice. So, now it was time to do things the fun way. She counted a total of twelve screws across the box, some on the top, some spread out across the four sides. She had mapped out their angles in her sketches, and found they all intersected in a pattern. Some drove straight in to the sides, some came in at downward angles, but they all left a 'gap' in the center of the box. That made her think that the space the screws didn't penetrate to was the space that held the secret. She had also deduced that if all twelve screws were loosened at the same time, and four clasps on the sides were opened, she should be able to pry the lid open. It took a lot more hands than she had though. So she started improvising. She brought out some blocks of wood, and started cutting off little one-inch strips. She then took her files and started carving little grooves down one side of each strip. The box grew quiet. She could tell it was watching her. It seemed... nervous. That just made her grin... the little bugger knew who was in charge here. Once she had her wood strips ready, she grabbed a clamp and snatched the box. It squirmed in her grip as she affixed the clamp to it from the side, hooking it to a block of wood, which she then clamped firmly to the table. The box protested quite vehemently, and Tock just shook her screwdriver at it and said, "Oy, ya 'ad yer chance ta play nice, an' ya decided ta be a brat 'bout it. So's 'ere's 'ow it goes now." It grew still, and she grinned. She unscrewed one of the screws, and while she still had a firm hold on the screwdriver, she slapped two of the wooden strips around it. The grooves she had carved fit around the screw, and she held them firmly in place while she took a small clasp to hold them together. When she released it, the box tugged weakly on the screw, but couldn't pull it back in. Tock cackled, "Oy, now who's the boss, aye? Ha! Ya picked the wrong girl what fer ta mess wit', ya did!" Still cackling, she started on the next screw, clamping it in place with another set of wooden strips. Soon, she'd have all the screws undone, and all the box could do was tremble. Meanwhile, unheard by the distracted gadgeteer, her door opened. Silent as the night, a figure slipped in behind her. She was so focused on her work that she hadn't a clue that her home had been invaded. Soft footsteps lurked up behind her. At the same time, from under the bed, another figure lurked forward. Bitey, her Animated spider, crawled across the floor towards the intruder that had invaded his home. He was drawn forth by the vibrations of the intruder's footsteps, just like the struggling of a fly in a web. As the figure came up behind Tock, the wooden spider reached his foot, and jabbed his fangs, a pair of razor sharp two inch long metal blades, right through the man's boot. Tock looked up from her work when she heard the man scream, half-turning in her seat to see him falling to the ground behind her, clutching his bleeding foot. oocWho sent the man after Tock? Was it Rayvage? Or the running man's employer? Or an unknown third party? I don't know! ^.^

[Anselm]

OOC :

Definitely making it up as we go, aren't we? I have absolutely NO idea where this story is going. I love it!

[Rayage]

The nuit kept crouched, his hand on the keystone as the magic fled around the circle. Right now, in this moment, he felt so powerful. Right now he controlled the continuality of change, and if he so chose change wouldn’t happen at all. This circle was far more powerful than anyone could really comprehend, that is except for Ray. Yes, the nuit knew the power and merit of change and adaptation. For he, like many nuit before him, adapted to change, controlled change, and influenced civilizations for centuries. He was an agent of change, and he reveled in the power that he had given himself. With the power of change no man could stand in his way.

With the djed flux reaching its peak, the nuit held it there, held it there, held it there, just basking in the speed and power that the circle gave off. He was one step away from mastering the art, and he could feel the slow progression. Yes, his alchemy was more refined, more powerful, and longer lasting than it had ever been before. He was growing to perfection, and perfection he will achieve.

Having done the same alchemical equation five times now, the nuit was confident in his sigils strength. He was actually impressed that the glyphs held, though they were not the most stable things… Retreating his hand off the keystone the nuit stumbled back as the will, now instinct, come forth and directed the energy into the center of the circle and into the last glyph. The magic sealing itself into the coin for later use. Everything was turning out perfectly now, and when those brutes asked for payment, they will get a little more than what they asked for. He wondered if they screwed up or what.

Coming to the edge of the circle the nuit was slow to approach the coin without first screening it. Any mage worth his salts would not be as stupid to come close to a potentially unstable glyph. To check was simple: use magic. In this case the nuit used the art of Auristics. Preparing his mind the nuit concentrated on the coin, just like he did the others. He focused, and narrowed his mind, pushing all thoughts and distractions away from him as the coin filled his mind. He had found that this art takes his full concentration, most likely because he wasn’t nearly as skilled in it as he was Alchemy. Concentrating on the coin, and feeling the djed flow to and through him, he gradually built a connection with the coin. This connection translated into a color being shown to him, not just a color, but a mixture of color. The piece reeked of magic and the slight tingle came across him as he was not only just seeing the properties of the coin, but experiencing it.

Auristics allowed the user to connect with people, objects, and things in general to derive information from it. This magical connection is very subtle but takes concentration and the more the nuit concentrated the clearer the picture became. He felt the coin, he was the coin. He knew the coin inside and out, and he could feel, see the magic flowing off it. That little wisp of green mixed into the blue was the magic. Though, it wasn’t very peaceful and didn’t seem to be able to rest quite right. In fact, it flicked and sparked outward chaotically. Surprised by what he was seeing, this must mean… yes, he could feel it. The glyph was unstable and this is what unstable felt like to him. But was it stable enough? Taking a chance the nuit let his auristics drop, the aura immediately falling out of perception as concentration wavered, and he went to pick up the coin.

Bending to grab the coin and throw it in the pale of water with the others, his finger touched the glyph and it wasn’t as stable as he thought it to be. Immediately he saw the light and quickly, or as quickly as a nuit could, withdrew his reach, but it was too late. A portion of the sealed power hit him and traveled up his arm, changing it, warping it, the mage falling victim to his own powers. Ironic isn’t it? Luckily he wasn’t hit with the full blast, but in only a matter of moments he topped over crying in pain as the transformation overtook his arm.

Starting at his fingers, and crawling up his arm, the power of change progressed, and although it only took an instant the nuit could feel every fiber of his arm being changed. It was a pain that he has never experienced before and most likely never will again. His left hand grabbed the right, but no longer did he feel skin, or flesh at that matter. He felt stone, he felt rock, and it was devoid of life. His entire right arm was turned to stone, its very essence changed by the djed sealed away in the coin. Letting out another cry, he felt the weight of the stone try to bring him down again as he tried to get up.

On his feet he stumbled awkwardly with the addition of several pounds to the right side of his body. Looking down, he saw the gold miza and the ground below it turned to stone, a blanket of power, or change. A foot kicked at the coin, but it was cemented into the ground, held together by the very alchemy the glyph failed to contain. The nuits right arm hanged awkwardly by his side, in the same outreached position it was when the flash hit him. He should consider himself lucky that the full blast didn’t hit him for he would have been a goner. This body wasn’t suitable anymore. He would have to get a new one.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound, turning around the nuit saw the two fellows that he had hired. Throwing his cloak over his stone arm he smiled at them, ”Did you obtain the machine for me?” he asked, his voice holding no emotion, and his face being devoid of thought. He couldn’t let himself be read by these fools.

”No,” one of them started, but was interrupted.

”What about Flenser?” the nuit asked, ”You did go to him for it right?”

”Yes, about that, he didn’t have it... So we took care of the loose end. Though he did say he gave it to some fortuneteller.

There would be some laughter from the partner, ”Yeah, Raein here said he checked him out.”

Ray wasn’t the least bit amused, and he frowned, ”What about this do you think is funny?” he asked.

”Oh, just…”

”You think failure is funny?” he asked, ”Failure is unacceptable. Failure is a disgrace. Failure is pathetic especially when the task I gave you was so remedial.”

There would be silence as the nuit crossed over the room and dipped his hand into the water bucket and pulled out two coins. ”For your troubles.” he said tossing a gold coin to each of them, ”You will receive full payment when I have the machine.”

They both caught the coin each, ”Now, please direct me to where this tent is. Ill investigate it myself, you two look for that fortuneteller.” he instructed, taking the remaining two glyphed miza out of the water and into the folds of his robes. He might need these.

--

Darkness had fallen by the time he had arrived at the marketplace. Finding the tent by the description of those imbeciles was… well he would have had better luck if his sight was taken away from him. They were truly only good for one thing. His walk was staggered, as the nuit was off balance because of the transmutation which happened to his arm, but he thought he finally found the tent. Going up to it and entering it he found that it was mostly empty. Disappointing, but if the fortuneteller came here everyday then there should be some sort of aura residue that he could pick up on…

[Anselm]

Anselm did not recognize the man, although given the darkness and distance he could not be sure. The man appeared to have an injured or disfunctional arm. Could be someone seeking to have his fortune told, Anselm thought but then dismissed the idea as unlikely given the late hour. Could be a passer-by curious about the tent. Or perhaps a thief hoping to snag something of value. Or it could be yet another person looking for the device. There was insufficient information for a definitive conclusion and Anselm was disinclined to approach the man openly to find out. The distance was too great for Auristics and he was not willing to risk walking across the intervening open area to get closer. So he decided to wait and see what would happen next. OCC : I know this doesn't move the story forward, but I'm pretty sure this is exactly what Anselm would do in this situation.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The man on Tock's floor raised a knife, slashing towards the Automaton spider. Bitey scurried away, crouching and ready to pounce, but its instincts were those of a spider. Fight or flight was ingrained into it, and it couldn't react with any more understanding than that. Out of reach, the man wasn't able to slash at Bitey again, so the spider just crouched and prepared itself to strike if the man came within reach again. Tock, on the other hand, was PISSED. The man had tried to hurt her baby. She wasn't limited to mere fight or flight responses. Now she wanted revenge. She pulled Grippy, her extendable Automaton hand, out if the leather holster on her hip. She aimed it at the intruder, running her thumb up the back of the handle and touching her finger to a spot on the side, giving it the needed commands. The arm extended, the length of metal strips unfolding into wide X's and propelling it forward. The metal hand closed over the man's knife and yanked it from his hand, retracting back so Tock could grab hold of the knife herself. Then she thrust Grippy forward in three rapid strikes, smacking the man in the face with the metal hand repeatedly until he collapsed. She needed to restrain him before he came to, but she didn't have any rope. She had plenty of wood, though. She grabbed a few short boards, and knelt on the man's chest to hold him down, scowling the whole time. No one hurt her baby. She quickly nailed a block of wood onto the floor on either side of the man's wrist, then nailed another one overtop of those. She did the same to his other wrist and his ankles, and then nailed larger blocked on either side of his waist and chest, securing large planks atop those. By the time the man came to, he was quite immobilized, and saw Tock sitting sitting back in her chair, her injured leg propped up. She had his knife in one hand, Grippy in the other, and her baby spider Automaton curled up lovingly in her lap. "'Pologize!" she demanded, waving the knife at him.

[Rayage]

The tent was bare, and seemed to have nothing of value with in it. No sign of hints, only a folding table and two chairs. How disappointing, but also smart. If there was something to find he would have found it. There is no physical evidence to follow, but there always was hints. Footprints of sorts, hints on what went on here and what kind of man ran the place. If he could find those then he would be in business. Pulling out the chair closest to the entrance he sat there and mentally prepared himself. So much magic already for one day. He best be careful.

Putting his hand on the table he began to concentrate, allowing his mind to be filled with the task of identification. Not only that but he wanted to pinpoint this mans aura. Though it would be much easier to do so if he fortuneteller was actually present. Shame he wasn’t here, Ray kind of wondered what his fortune would be. In all his long life, or unlife, had he wondered what the future would be because he always tried his best to craft it to what he wanted it to be. The future always followed his whims, not always, for no one was ever perfect, but most of the time these sort of things worked in his favor. His patience was his strong suit.

Concentrating on the aura of the table he begin to get impressions and information from it. The wood talked to him through his touch, and it told him what it was made out of, how old it was, and other basic facts. He had to search harder, and so he did. The more he searched the more information about the table he got. This wasn’t helpful at all. His hand was shaking under the pressure of his magic, and so he stopped, pulling away and reaching in his pouch to bring out a gold miza. One of the gold miza which had been glyped special. Setting it on the table the nuit rested his hand on the table a ways away from the coin. He would wait. Yes, he would wait and have his fortune told. If need be he would wait until midday. Yes as long as it took he would be sitting in this chair. He had something very important to discuss with this man.

OOCSorry for taking so long.

[Anselm]

Anselm waited. And waited some more. He sat down on the ground and practiced mantric meditation with his eyes open. He slowly pronounced the mantra repeatedly, letting the rhythm flow through him, carrying him deeper and deeper into a quiet place at the center of his being. He began setting aside distractions: the lonely two-tone call of a night bird, the orchestra of crickets, the sounds of men and women shouting down at the docks. Then he began setting aside scents. And then the feeling of the light breeze blowing across his face and the feeling of solid ground under him. Soon he began to experience the familiar sensation of floating. He wasn't, of course. But it felt like it because he was systematically disconnecting himself from the sensory stimuli that provided clues as to his place in space and time. His focus narrowed down to just two things: himself and the entrance to his tent. The man had gone in, but had not come back out. Damn peculiar, he thought after a few bells. Around 0100 bells, Anselm pulled himself to his feet, using his cane to get himself off the ground, and limped across the space separating him from his tent. He stopped just outside and extended his awareness into the tent. He immediately encountered the man's aura. There was something unusual about it but he couldn't decide what it was. He carefully detached his astral left hand and formed a fist with one finger pointing out, just in case he needed it. He called it “the poker”. It wasn't much of a weapon, but there was nothing quite like a poke in the eye from an invisible finger to create a moment of confusion. He pulled the flap back and stepped inside. “It seems unlikely that you are here to have your fortune read,” he said to the back of the man's head. “So why are you here?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"'Pologize!" Tock repeated. The man nailed to her floor just stared at her like she was crazy. Tock hated it when people looked at her that way. When the man didn't respond, she tucked his knife into her belt, and set Bitey on his chest. The man squirmed and screamed, but he was secured too firmly to the floor to move away. Bitey crawled forward slowly, drawn to the motion around the man's neck as he twisted and writhed in a feeble attempt to escape. Tock smirked and quoted from the books she'd studied before making Bitey, "Spiders is drawn ta movement, an' bite when 'ey gets agitated..." The man froze, staring at the wooden and metal monster on his chest. "'Pologize ta my baby," Tock said, "o' else I's gonna let 'im eat ya..." "Sorry! I'm sorry!" the man cried out, whimpering. "I'm really very VERY sorry! Please get it--" "'Im," Tock interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. "Him, yes," the man frantically agreed, desperate to get the spider off him. "Please get him off me? Ma'am?" Tock smiled and lifted Bitey back into her lap. "'Ere baby, come to Mommy," she said. Once the spider was back in her lap, its Directives took over. It was programmed to be comforted by her presence, and that overrode the spider's instincts. It curled up and settled in as if asleep. Tock looked at the quivering man on her floor, who for the moment just looked grateful the spider was off him. "Whatcha want wit' me?" she asked, petting her spider. The man hesitated a moment, then looked at the spider again and swallowed. "The box," he said, "I was sent to retrieve the box." "Can't 'ave 'im," Tock replied, crossing her legs. Her injured foot ached from all the movement, and she needed to keep it off the ground. "I done adopted 'im." The man gave her that she must be crazy look again, and she glared at him until he stopped. He licked his lips for a moment and said, "My employer bought and paid for that box..." "'E ain'tcha slave!" Tock shouted, using her good foot to stomp on the man's toes. The only thing she hated more than being treated like she was crazy was people who didn't treat Automatons with respect. The man grunted in pain, then grew silent for a moment, seeming to consider how best to proceed. "What I meant was," he said very carefully, "my employer paid someone to make it... him, and now the boxmaker is dead. But she, my employer that is, still wants the box..." "Ya know the guy what killed the boxmaker?" she asked, staring the man down. She wasn't about to hand her new friend over to murderers. "Flenser?" the man asked. "I don't know what happened to him... He was just supposed to retrieve the box, and return it to our employer. Instead the boxmaker is dead, and I've no clue what happened to Flenser... or if he's the one that killed her, or why. I'm just supposed to deliver the box." "Why?" Tock asked. "What's 'e 'idin' in 'is belly?" "I don't know," the man answered. "All I know is, my employer commissioned the boxmaker to build... him, in order to protect whatever's inside. My employer's the only one that can open... him." "Pfft, we'll see 'bout that," Tock said, turning in her chair to get back to work. She continued unscrewing the screws and clamping them open with the wooden blocks. "Don't!" the man protested. "You don't know my employer! Anything she went to that much trouble to secure is bound to be dangerous..." Tock ignored him. She continued working the screws, then pried open the clasps, securing them as well so they wouldn't be able to re-close themselves. With the defenses finally bypassed, she opened the lid, peering in to see what secret, so valuable and dangerous, could be inside...