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was i ever truly off my bullshit
[When Kirin Jindosh's house falls into the sea, he almost doesn't realize it's happening. No alarms have been activated, no sensors in his floors alert him to the presence of an intruder; even the mechanisms of his house are silent as the grave, on this completely ordinary day. Were there anything amiss in his house, he would know... and nothing appears to be wrong.
He hasn't eaten in two days. It's unimportant, but he's pushed his hunger to the point of distraction and now needs to put something in his body before he starts to slip in his work. It's this that gets him out of his lab and skulking directly down to the kitchens instead of waiting around for someone to bring him food in the dining area; the cooks aren't pleased to see him in their space (it isn't theirs), but they never are, and Jindosh can eat a pear in peace for five minutes thanks to their studiously avoiding his gaze.
His cooks are among the best of his staff, all things considered. But so it happens that he is not in the high, ocean-overlooking part of his home when it begins to fall. He feels a faint rumble beneath the floor and pauses, head tilted to listen. Somewhere, something creaks. And then something tears.
All at once his perfect home becomes a place of chaos: guards abandoning posts, staff and servants running in every direction, the clockworks not knowing what to do with themselves in the absence of an enemy to put down. Jindosh himself moves like a spectre, the shock of his home's demise too great to spur him into doing something like moving more quickly. Against all odds it's a maid (he knows her face, Maybe if he had a family, but that kind of thing doesn't even occur to him, his home remembers) who sees the master of the house staring dully out of a window as it splinters and does something about it, grabbing his hand and taking off at a run before he can find his voice to object.
The house crumbles. Glass shatters, wood splinters and stone all but dissolves as if it were never the marvel of engineering it was built to be. Metal screams and snaps as it bends in ways it was never intended to and Jindosh has no words for the feeling he experiences as his life's work, years of work and decades of research, slip into the sea like they were never there. How? he wonders. How, how, how? No answer comes to him; his greatest defeat is this, and though he can see no enemy that caused this, he knows: his house is flawless, and if it falls then his enemy has bested him without ever appearing before him.
A worthy opponent, despite the consequences.
Outside the carriage is somehow still working, but it throws itself off its track when a chunk of his waiting room wall lands on the station behind it. Jindosh and the maid are tossed limply into the grass, and the maid scrambles to her feet to continue running while Jindosh sits up to watch his house fall to rubble and dust. He thinks he can see his silvergraph lenses glinting in the afternoon sunlight as they fall, but perhaps he imagined it.
He's still sitting there watching when the dust has settled. When a dark-clothed figure covering her face stalks toward him, says nothing to him as he looks up into the eyes of his own destruction, the Empress, says nothing as she tosses the cracked shell of a clockwork soldier's head into his lap and walks away.
He's still sitting there when the sun begins to set, on the hill, on everything. She may as well have just killed him, he thinks as he finally rises to go pick through his own rubble. It would have been more merciful than this.]
He hasn't eaten in two days. It's unimportant, but he's pushed his hunger to the point of distraction and now needs to put something in his body before he starts to slip in his work. It's this that gets him out of his lab and skulking directly down to the kitchens instead of waiting around for someone to bring him food in the dining area; the cooks aren't pleased to see him in their space (it isn't theirs), but they never are, and Jindosh can eat a pear in peace for five minutes thanks to their studiously avoiding his gaze.
His cooks are among the best of his staff, all things considered. But so it happens that he is not in the high, ocean-overlooking part of his home when it begins to fall. He feels a faint rumble beneath the floor and pauses, head tilted to listen. Somewhere, something creaks. And then something tears.
All at once his perfect home becomes a place of chaos: guards abandoning posts, staff and servants running in every direction, the clockworks not knowing what to do with themselves in the absence of an enemy to put down. Jindosh himself moves like a spectre, the shock of his home's demise too great to spur him into doing something like moving more quickly. Against all odds it's a maid (he knows her face, Maybe if he had a family, but that kind of thing doesn't even occur to him, his home remembers) who sees the master of the house staring dully out of a window as it splinters and does something about it, grabbing his hand and taking off at a run before he can find his voice to object.
The house crumbles. Glass shatters, wood splinters and stone all but dissolves as if it were never the marvel of engineering it was built to be. Metal screams and snaps as it bends in ways it was never intended to and Jindosh has no words for the feeling he experiences as his life's work, years of work and decades of research, slip into the sea like they were never there. How? he wonders. How, how, how? No answer comes to him; his greatest defeat is this, and though he can see no enemy that caused this, he knows: his house is flawless, and if it falls then his enemy has bested him without ever appearing before him.
A worthy opponent, despite the consequences.
Outside the carriage is somehow still working, but it throws itself off its track when a chunk of his waiting room wall lands on the station behind it. Jindosh and the maid are tossed limply into the grass, and the maid scrambles to her feet to continue running while Jindosh sits up to watch his house fall to rubble and dust. He thinks he can see his silvergraph lenses glinting in the afternoon sunlight as they fall, but perhaps he imagined it.
He's still sitting there watching when the dust has settled. When a dark-clothed figure covering her face stalks toward him, says nothing to him as he looks up into the eyes of his own destruction, the Empress, says nothing as she tosses the cracked shell of a clockwork soldier's head into his lap and walks away.
He's still sitting there when the sun begins to set, on the hill, on everything. She may as well have just killed him, he thinks as he finally rises to go pick through his own rubble. It would have been more merciful than this.]
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Still, since Paolo is talking at him, he can't help but listen, scoffing at the mention of his absolutely useless guards.]
Without me, I daresay those useless imbeciles can be reassigned to a post they enjoy, stomping up and down streets yelling at the sick and destitute. Perhaps in relieving them of their duties, I've done them a grand favor.
[He flips a piece of glass out of his way, heedless of the shallow cut it leaves on his hand. There's still nothing useful here, and yet...]
It was our former Empress, by the way. Strange; I would have thought she'd be disposed of by now, but I suppose they like to drag their feet in Dunwall.
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That's interesting. He lights his cigarette and waves the match out, blowing smoke into what once was perfectly fresh air.]
No one's going to believe that. [He remarks, but quickly realizes that Jindosh must already know that.] But if that's true... she sure is going to go after who all you had at Stilton's place, yeah? You even got friends besides who was at that little party?
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To be honest, I don't honestly care. I suppose for all intents and purposes Stilton hasn't done anything abhorrent, but that was three years ago! Duke Abele plucked me out of undeserved obscurity [jail,] to build him an army, and I imagine it's back into the dark for me, after this disaster.
[He doesn't have friends, anyway. What a ridiculous question— and he doesn't sound like he believes a single word out of his own mouth, either, because he's definitely not going to jail! The Duke can bury him before he puts him behind bars.]
Do you need a list, for your own lowbrow purposes? I daresay our exiled young Empress has a head start.
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I don't need that list, so don't start grinding my gears. I was just saying, you should have somebody, unless you wanted to go crawl under a rock or something. [He takes another drag, then:] I already have everything I need to know, here. If the Empress fucked you over, it means she's going for the Duke next. When she dishes out to him... Well, I get what I want.
[Hook... line...]
Come to think of it... that'd be good for you too now.
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Crawling under a rock would hit the spot, but he raises an eyebrow as he continues to not look at Paolo. He just admitted to thinking Jindosh had already been taken away somewhere, so this is certainly a fascinating suggestion he's come up with on such short notice.
But let it never be said that Jindosh is not an opportunistic man. And a prideful one.]
No. [Hm,] Breanna Ashworth, first. These aristocrats do everything by the book, meaning there's an almost one hundred percent chance young Emily Kaldwin will want to topple every pillar before she seeks out the Duke.
[Anyway that's the rest of the list? More or less. Hypatia's disappeared, and Jindosh hasn't heard anything about the others—so it stands to reason that he's the second casualty of the Empress' march through Karnaca. More like a slither, the damned snake.
With a sigh he stands, dusting off his knees and fixing Paolo directly with his skeptical look now.]
Can you afford me, Paolo? Vapid as they are, my clientele have heavier purses and more gold-trimmed pockets than you're used to.
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You really all that expensive when no one else is lining up? [But he knows he can't negotiate this. He may not have cared much before, but he does know that this is not the man for charity work. He'll pay him, but not after making himself sound more favorable.] Word's going to get out about your marvel of engineering, or whatever-- it has gotten out, by now. Your regular clientele are going to start having some doubts about your craftsmanship. They aren't going to spend the coin on your uh... clocks.
[There's more words in their name, but like, there's hardly any on his side of the city? Leave him alone.] I can get you wood, I can get you metal, I can get you whale oil. We can talk any little... luxuries when you actually have a plan that's more than kicking a few rocks around.
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The entire city must already know, if they hadn't seen or heard it happen themselves. And now here stands the Grand Inventor, plaster in his hair and dust all over his clothes that isn't even silver. Grand Inventor—even the title was always a convenient way to placate him to the Duke, wasn't it?
Ugh. First of all,] Clockwork soldiers. There's a book about them.
[He says this like Paolo should have already read it, if he's going to talk shit. So!! He looks at his cut hand finally, like he's only just noticed it now, after getting dust in it. Ew?]
You want to be poised and ready for when the Duke falls. [basic bitch 101?] You think that I should help you with this, as the Duke feels as little loyalty toward me as I do for him... Hm. Astute, for someone of your profession.
[A beat. He doesn't need the Duke's actual word to know that tie is severed; nothing for it, no love lost. But,] And what about the Empress?
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I think you could help me with this, friend. [There's an hard emphasis there, followed by him reaching to squeeze Jindosh's shoulder.] I'll be poised and ready, with or without anything you have to offer. It'd just uh... spill a little less blood on my end, and more on theirs, you know? You'll get the credit, people will start to forget this. As for the Empress, well... She's not going to stay in Karnaca forever. She'll forget about us, like she did before someone finally swept the rug out from under her.
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But Paolo has some... decent points, the most important of which being credit where credit is due. He doesn't want people to forget his house, despite the shame of losing it, but—he'll have to work on that one.
The other important point is that Paolo has no apparent interest in the Empress, which is great, because Jindosh wants to run her through and crack open each of her ribs one by one until he can squeeze her heart.
Eventually.]
Perhaps if you show me the materials you can find, I'll make something worth parading around in front of the whole city.
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No, Paolo doesn't know the extent of Jindosh's rage, and he doesn't really care. He looks at the man and sees potential for his own gain, and if Jindosh just happens to get what he wants along the way, then that's great! But if he doesn't, well... He can either pay him off and send him packing, or just make him disappear. As far as anyone else cares, he might as well have here and now.]
You like parades? Then I'll give you one. [He drops his hand and tosses his cigarette aside, to add to the mess someone's going to have to clean up later.] You know, you aren't as bad as I thought you'd be, Mr. Grand Inventor. You ready to walk with me, or should I give you two a moment alone? [Him, and his house remains,]
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But whatever; he watches the cigarette fall before looking back at his wreckage again. He remembers every beam, every post, every nail and screw that held that house together, so—Emily Kaldwin really should have killed him if she wanted it to take.]
You should talk less. [lmao..... delightful company] I suppose there isn't any point in lingering around here much longer. Let's not be here when someone sends a patrol to collect on the Duke's receipts.
[go, small man,]
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Before he picked up this manchild, Paolo might have taken detours to the black market, taken some coin from the locked office within the station, stopped to enjoy a few street musicians as the sun goes down. But Paolo grows tired of his complaints quickly, gradually becoming less smug the longer they walk on. People observe the two on their way, and they whisper speculation to one another when they think they're not in earshot. It's troubling. He spends carriage rides in silence, his expression pensive, wringing his hands and watching the horizon.
Kirin Jindosh, heading for the Dust District? Now there isn't any doubt word will get back, and he'll have the Duke's guards at his doorstep to collect his receipts. This was a good idea before the reality of it began to set in, and once he reached his capacity for the man's apparent lack of memory for the outside world. He'll have to exert so much energy in making sure no one reaches him, drags him back, tries to kill him... On top of avoiding all of the above himself. It's exhausting, and unappealing, and he's already tired. It best be worth it.
He doesn't speak up again until they've taken the entry back to the Dust District through the abandoned apartments. The air is probably heavier here, and certainly not as cool as the coastline. He's putting a stopper on the complaints before they start.] We're getting you bandages before that gets infected.
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So while Paolo is silent, Jindosh doesn't bother. He isn't trying to make conversation so much as he's habitually voicing his observations out loud; they aren't for Paolo in any real sense. Each time a guard or civilian catches his eye he meets their gaze head-on until they look away, to mutter about Kirin Jindosh being out among the people with a wanted man at his side and, well, looking a mess. At least the further they get from Aventa, the fewer nobles are wandering around enjoying their evenings; Jindosh wouldn't know exactly, but when the gazes of the poorer civilians linger on the pair of them longer, more curiously—he supposes it must be some credit to whatever influence Paolo has over this part of the city.
Very interesting, but he'd like a hot bath and a whole bottle of wine before he sits down to think about his new... arrangement. The Dust District is as oppressive now as ever, when he was last here—working on the lock for Stilton, probably. Eons ago. He's looking in that direction, distracted, when Paolo finally speaks up again.
Ah, his hand—] Alright. [The first thing he hasn't complained about or argued against, but fuck off, he needs his hands to work or he can't build robots.] Hot water would be... appreciated.
[hey just take him home please he is far from his cool house and it's weird]
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He could keep dragging him around and save himself the footwork later... or he can take him home, leave again while he bathes for the bandages and medicine, and come back. He contemplates how much of a nice guy he is for a moment, then sighs and turns to head for the Crone's Hand. The Howlers are loitering outside, giving them odd looks, but they all seem to shut their mouths the second Paolo lifts a hand.]
You think we got hot water? [He says, letting it hang for a moment before he lets himself smirk. If he's going out of his way, he can afford to scare him a little.] Yeah, of course. We only got one bath, but it's mine. You'll be fine.
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But he doesn't know what to do with himself, here in this place with its alleyways and tight-packed buildings unknown to him, and that sets his nerves on edge. So it's with a thin-lipped grimace that he follows Paolo toward the Crone's Hand, almost like he might be sick from sheer nerves. Some of the venom has left his every word and glance, at least. Being this deeply out of sorts without his home to go back to has afforded other people one reprieve from his attitude.
Please god don't make him suffer through icy water, though—oh. Goddamn it. He scowls.]
Hmm. [is it paolo-sized, will he fit,] That will have to do.
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[Is it necessary to reaffirm that? Probably not, but he still drops the smirk and squares his shoulders as he does. The Howlers are more that a couple of cutthroat thugs on payroll, but being on a familial level with some doesn't mean he can afford to look anything but authoritative. The second he steps through the door with a man (formally) of wealth is the second doubts can be had. Jindosh is a man that has been so unreachable that their friends have been found impaled by his machines, and thus they carry enough resentment that the music and slow dancing stops once they lay eyes on him.]
I'd say what's mine is yours, but it isn't. [He continues walking as if they hadn't, heading past the bar and towards the stairs. He gestures out to the saloon floor as he speaks, and the Howlers slowly resume when they realize he isn't going to address it. Mindy raises her brows from her place on the second floor, but turns her head away to blow smoke shortly thereafter. Apparently, she doesn't enough of a shit about stopping him.]
You don't go into the basement, you don't raid the shit in my room and run, and you only go to my office. That clear?
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But when he walks into a room and the atmosphere drops a few degrees, he feels more at home than he has since his own fell into the ravine. Wealth and status have never made him well-liked, and there's nothing quite like walking into a room and knowing he's been instantly disliked to make his lip curl back in the slightest of sneers. So he'll have to appease Paolo at least, to keep these dirty thugs from coming for him in the dead of night—that's not so different from enduring the guests at the Duke's damnable parties.
Anyway, Paolo has been speaking this whole time, while Jindosh makes too much eye contact with Howlers behind him.]
Yes, yes, fine. Unless you've been keeping precious materials for machinery in your room, I'm not interested in raiding anything.
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He might not be willing to bend over backwards to make Jindosh more comfortable, but he does make more note of the state of things than he usually would without the company. The infrastructure isn't something he can help, but papers and bottles are scattered around the second floor before his quarters. Someone left out a whole plate of stale bread and cheese on their cot? Someone can just run up and grab that... It doesn't give a good first impression.
His room, at least, has some semblances of order when he unlocks his door. Clothes are scattered but folded, his books are stacked, and his poster is carefully off to the side rather than in the way. He steps aside and gestures for Jindosh to go ahead of him.] Let it run for a little, and it'll get hot. Mindy'll keep an eye so no one bothers you.
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Meet him in Paolo's bathroom if you want an ass kicking, basically. He gives the rooms they pass through on the way there little more than cursory glances, taking in the state of things - people sleep out here, next to the stairwell? It's hardly even a room— whatever. He just wants a bath.
He gives Paolo's room the same brief glance before he turns to look at him again. First of all, is that Mindy woman actually going to do anything when she seemed so disinterested before-!!]
I do know how to run a bath, Paolo. [let it run for a little... what the fuck, he's not helpless!!] You have my solemn word that I'll refrain from getting stupid in your absence.
[Just go away so he can take a bath, thanks. He can't pop off his fake hand with Paolo standing right here, that's weird...]
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[Because he's sooo nice. Appreciate that. He still has places to be since someone cut their hand, though, so now he'll leave him in peace. Paolo shuts the door behind him and steps away, spending a brief few minutes with Mindy before she sighs and agrees to "babysit" the "pain in the ass" while he's gone. He tells her it's business, and that he already had an errand to run, when really he's going to take a breather after dealing with the man for so long. An older woman will give him a discount when he says he's patching up a man fallen on hard times, and he'll spend the rest of the hour smoking closely to the Overseer gate, but not enough that they can come forward without getting shot. This is how he relaxes.
He doesn't really put much thought into the fact he left more than just alcohol out for the taking, or how many pen and papers are at Jindosh's disposal. It only occurs to him that he should have cleaned up after he's making his way back, wad of bandage in one hand and rubbing alcohol in the other. The Howlers are giving him looks again. Why...]
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He is, at least, left alone - whether that Mindy woman did as she was asked or not. He makes the most of his time, quick to dress again and fit his fingers back into place before he goes downstairs to take the bottle of liquor he's been promised. He gets stares from Howlers once more, but at least few of them have lingered in the saloon's main room and the ones left aren't surprised this time; he still says nothing to him, retreating back to Paolo's office to, well... drink and go through his desk?
That's the plan, at least until he opens one drawer and finds paper and ink. He ties his own cravat around his hand in a rudimentary bandage to keep it covered and away from more dust until Paolo returns—and so he can hold a pen. Paolo's questionable liquor and his dusty paper don't compare at all to the sitting room in his home where he can relax with something to smoke and bigger sketching paper, but it's something that keeps him occupied and quiet, instead of storming around the building daring some unsuspecting Howlers to fight him.
Frankly, he's drawn half a dozen extremely detailed clockwork soldiers from memory by the time Paolo returns. Some of them he hasn't finished, and they sit on the floor where he dropped them while Jindosh himself has taken up sitting on the windowsill instead of using the perfectly good furniture.
So this is what Paolo has volunteered to deal with. He glances up from scribbling when Paolo comes in.] Oh. There you are.
[meh...... he's drawing?]
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He just spends a minute in the doorway looking it all over, mouth open but with no words. He has to step around things to get to his window? He'd thought Jindosh would still be in his room moping, but no.]
... Yeah. [He finally says, brows still furrowed as he started crossing the room.] You're ruining that uh... tie, because you couldn't wait a little?
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I prefer to work rather than stare at your bathroom walls.
[That said, he's still plucking at the knot to take the thing off, since somebody very generously brought him bandages. He's had too much wine for the late afternoon, but at least it seems to be keeping him civil. The cravat gets dropped on the floor like the drawings, while Jindosh flexes his cut hand.]
What's happening out there? [Specifically, is anyone out patrolling for his arrest? That's something he should know.]
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[He says without really looking closely, having assumed these were melancholy sketches and little else. But now, the longer he does, the more he's beginning to notice the details... Ah, shit.
The man still made a mess, so he's not about to take back that little jab at him. He starts unwinding roll of bandages as the cravat's removed, holding onto them like he expects Jindosh to just extend his hand so he can do it for him. Judging from how he hasn't tried to mock him over it, he doesn't mind the idea.]
Rumor has it that I was your prestigious escort to Stilton's manor. [No one said he was anything close to prestigious, but let him have this.] Only my people saw you come in here, so... I think we got a few days before the old man clears that up. Gives me time to prepare for when they come poking around where they shouldn't.
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Stilton's manor? [He repeats this in actual disbelief; what are the chances he would actually run to Aramis Stilton to take refuge? Leaving aside that if there were any heart in the city bleeding enough to take pity on even him, it would probably be that man's—and he'd probably feel some kind of debt for the lock, despite paying considerable amounts for it...
Well, it's ridiculous. He holds his hand out, anyway, for the bandage. He means to actually take it, but feel free to do it for him.]
Not bad. To think I've gone from Grand Inventor to criminal in a few short hours. [tragic........ at least he has wine] Assuming you want my machines more than you want Grand Guard bribe money, I imagine I can do as you ask for a few more days.
[Then he has to earn it,]
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