mattersverymuch | 18 ɂ text & spam

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18 ɂ text & spam

text, day one of port

[Text, because sound can be a quick recipe for disaster in a place like this; sent out as soon as the thrumming in his bones tells him where they've come. This is profitable, he thinks, but does not advertise this line of thought as blatantly as he once might have.]

This has been my home for hundreds of years, and I know how to survive.

[That's all. He'll let people come to him, or he'll go to them - or let it stand as a boast.]

spam, throughout port & wibbly time

[There isn't time to touch every part of London Below as he wants to. He must skim everything, getting a blurry view of what he's known for so long without the ability to zoom in.]

[He stays at Market from start to finish, trying to ascertain whether or not he is a stranger in this Below (and he is, which stings in a way that a lost connection to a person never has), and then blending in terrifically well. He trades for Knacks and nightmares, notable as the man walking around Regents Park with a sack of sweaters slung over his shoulder. If there are alliances to make, he makes them, because time is obviously of the essence.]

[Then he hops trains, one after another after another for a full day. The sound of their movement makes him smile in a way that almost isn't mean, but not quite,]

[Other than that, he can be found in the light places and the dark, from the perpetual twilight under Mornington Crescent to the bright animal dim of Oxford Circus to the dimmest and most familiar sewer; he acquaints himself with everyone he can from the Barge who now think they belong here. He learns who they would have been if circumstances had been different, and likes them better as a result of this possibility.]

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[Things Iris doesn't write: how it delights her to see the Marquis move through his natural element, or how sorry she is the Barge will scoop him back.]

any news of overboard bargepeople? specifically, Barbara.

[Significantly later, mid-Market:]

key differences between this place and home: assassins are united under one house. or not really a house. a benefactor. likely relevant.

[Such espionage. Very Babs. Wow.]

aaaahahahahhaa I am forever refraining from telling them how alike they are in some ways.

anything you need while we're here?

[What he types next is violently, surprisingly honest. He stares at it for a moment, then shrugs and sends it anyway.]

to stay.

if i could I'd have done it already, ~~and for free, you ass.~~

I could say it won't be long, and I wouldn't be lying, but I know how little help that is.

Edited 2014-01-23 22:38 (UTC)

I don't need or want your comfort, Iris.

[But it is, in fact, somewhat comforting. Damnit.]

that's all right love, I'm not charging for it XD

good thing. nobody'd pay.

you wouldn't. others would and have, usually dearly.

right. plan a: spread a net of lies that someone clever can trace to me, wait for her to come for me. want in?

of course i do, assuming there's also a plan b that i can be in on.

darling, have you met me? I always have a plan b.

...I just don't know what it is yet.

it is so fortunate for you that you know me.

haven't I always said so?

[ The Knacksman is a -- person. A man... and a magic-thief, magic-trader. After market, he looks to stock his wares-- killing fools for their knacks and taking them, or letting someone else do it and paying a pittance for the fresh corpse. ]

[ So, just market, he's already sniffling for recently velveted fools and others. Anyone with a tasty bit to take. ]

[The marquis still isn't entirely sure what to make of Alpha. He's a mark of chaos, which is comforting in its own way, not evil and certainly not good, just . . . something lost and shattered and violently dangerous in its way.]

[Seeing him like this is fascinating. However, the marquis also knows what he's doing - there are always scavengers around - and he fixes him with the haughty stare of a predator confronted by a life form much further down the food chain.]

I wouldn't.

Wouldn't you now?

No worries, luv. You've a pulse.

[ Nothing he's interested in. ]

Mm-hm. Scavenging corpses, then? Of various types.

[Because one must be inclusive down here.]

Of course.

Of various types.

Fresh. Not so fresh.

Conceivably reanimated once, then put back down. [He nods.] Of course.

Do you enjoy it? Being a scavenger. [He's never been one, exactly; he wouldn't know.]

[The Piemaker is a little frightened of Below. The people and the tunnels both make him feel claustrophobic.

So when he sees the marquis leave the market, he starts to tail him, anxious about where he's going and wanting to get away and be with his friend]

[He absolutely knows Ned is following him. It's weirdly comforting, in a way, and a nice change from Richard, whom the marquis once thought Ned was so much like. Richard would be wailing for answers right now; Ned is accepting this, the marquis's home, for what it is, and coming with him for safety and (at least in theory) companionship.]

[Which is good, because if he hadn't, the marquis would have insisted he come along, and that would just have been embarrassing for both of them.]

[For a while he doesn't acknowledge Ned's presence; after about half an hour, however, he glances over his shoulder at him as he turns a corner. When Ned rounds it in his turn, the marquis is standing with his arms crossed, raising an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction.]

Are you going to keep up?

[The Piemaker was having difficulty deciding whether he was trailing the marquis for the man of Below or for himself. Certainly he owed it to the marquis to protect his friends, but this was the marquis' stomping grounds. He was more than capable of managing. And the Piemaker could stay close to the Market and not get into too much trouble...right?

In the end, he decided only that he was missing company and wanted to be with his friend. Digby was standing guard with Alpha; the Piemaker was alone.

And he was terribly, terribly curious about where the marquis had grown up.

He grinds to a halt as he turns the corner to see the marquis standing their, blushing furiously and holding his elbows in.]

Yes. Sorry. I thought I was doing an okay job of keeping up. Until you stopped walking.

[There's a stretched-out pause. Then the marquis grins and tosses his head, turning on his heel and going ahead.]

You were. Just not very quietly. You sound like a herd of something.

Come on, then. Pick a destination, Ned, there are thousands.

[The Piemaker gives a bashful grin, hurrying to keep up]

A herd of hopefully quiet somethings?

Sorry.

You didn't have a destination in mind?

Having a destination in mind would . . . require prioritizing parts of the city differently.

[Something he simply cannot do. It would be like picking a favorite child, or maybe like picking a favorite limb. Impossible.]

I'm just moving. You ought to move with me. Maybe you'll learn to walk quietly in the meantime.

And the city should be taken as it is. I...sort of understand.

[A little, anyway]

I'd be happy to move with you. Thank you for. Having me along.

Thank you for -

[He stops speaking abruptly, and speeds up his step instead. After a short while, but longer than would make for a natural pause:]

Not being as afraid as you could be.

[The Piemaker pauses, before hurrying to keep up]

I'm not afraid. I'm with you.

..That is, this is your home. You know it. So I'm not. You're not a stranger here. I....yeah.

You're not a stranger here either, you know.

Whether or not the people know me - she does.

But I've never been here before. Ergo: strangeness. In a strange land.

Door?

Not as strange as you could be.

[He shakes his head, waves his hand.] No. Her. The city.

You get a lot of pie-making dead-wakers down here?

Oh.

What's she saying now?

I mean, not as strange as you might be unescorted.

[Cocking his head at the still air of the underground, the marquis makes as if to listen. He's not listening, of course; just moving in time with the Undercity, which is all he needs to do.]

[Then he turns to Ned and grins wide.]

She says welcome.

[The Piemaker stops dead, listening intently to Below as hard as he can manage. But it's no use: he's out of step, not in sync, and not a part of this world.]

I'm happy to be welcomed. And I'll do my best not to...y'know. Litter, or dump toxic waste or anything that would hurt a city.

Oh, she wouldn't mind that. Litter is part of any city. Just try not to overthrow any barons or anything by accident.

[He thought about what it might take to overthrow a baron, but could only turn a perplexed shrug back to the marquis]

I don't actually...know how to do that.

I think you probably could without trying very hard if they were getting in the way of the right thing to do. You're that sort of person.

[This is, like, 60% a compliment.]

...Thank...you?

Thank you. I only...do what comes naturally.

You're naturally heroic. I think most people consider that to be a good thing.

What are you naturally?

Self-serving, of course.

I guess that should've been obvious from the start.

What kinds of undead are here?

This is an exchange.

[He's in a good mood, though. It will be cheap.]

No.

[His answer is sharp and immediate.]

I won't trade in intangibles here. Never mind.

Your loss.

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18 ɂ text & spam

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spam; after market

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