dumbshow | was i ever truly off my bullshit

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.]

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I should. [He hums noncommittally, because he thinks he's definitely not going to shut up just because this dude tells him to. Thankfully, it's gotten near the end of the patrol's shift, and they're all observing the utterly wrecked railing over whiskey and cigars. All Paolo does is lift an arm to obscure his face as they pass on by, and though he's significantly shorter than Jindosh, he blocks their view enough for them not to spare the two a second glance. Idiots.

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.

[Jindosh, meanwhile, has absolutely no interest in things like keeping a low profile. Logically he knows he should, but he's also the Grand goddamn Inventor for as long as he can keep the Duke off his heels, and so marching around at Paolo's side without any additional efforts to hide his face or quiet down is in and of itself a challenge. Come fucking fight him, Luca!! Come do it!!!

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]

[Paolo was intent on making a detour to the black market, first, to get his hands on a discount for the medicine. He was heading straight in that direction. But he made the mistake of looking back towards Jindosh, and despite his building irritation with how much of an undertaking this has turned out to be, he recognizes the man is out of place. He purses his lips, slowing as they reach the intersection between the Howler and civilian territory.

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.

[Jindosh is out of place, and it's finally hitting him in full now that they've made it, almost, to their destination. He doesn't know Karnaca well outside of his mansion— maybe extended as far as the rest of Aventa and the Grand Palace, but he has less vested interest in those places. It isn't the heavy air or the obvious lower class state of the district that bothers Jindosh; he wasn't born in a mansion on top of a hill, wealth pouring out of his pockets.

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.

Yeah, it will.

[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?

Edited 2017-12-04 04:49 (UTC)

[Jindosh doesn't know any of the Howlers by face besides Paolo, because of his posters (and Mindy, who he places when he catches sight of the woman looking down at them from above). He doesn't leave his lab for any ordinary thug who wanders into his house, let alone any of them who might have died on the way there, left in a tree to rot because one of his guards on a cigar break decided to play target practice with the approaching would-be thieves.

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.

Yeah, well, I dunno. You might get stupid and think you can handle shit on your own, so I'm telling you you wouldn't get far. [Considering he looks at everyone like he wants them to start something, is it really that unfair of an assumption? He's not slick, Paolo noticed.

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.

[He's armed!! He could blow up at least a few Howlers before someone shot him in the throat, probably. But he's not actually starting something, just making it completely clear that he might be wearing clothes that were clean and pressed this morning and he might have been one of the richest men in Karnaca until a few hours ago, but he's not a prissy little nobleman who's going to cower away from a little fighting.

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...]

Do you? Color me surprised. All those maids probably drawing them for you, you know... [He raises his hands in mock defeat, casting a glance to Jindosh's before he starts to turn back. He's almost through the door when he stops again, but this time for the other's benefit.] If you go down there, tell them I said you can take a bottle from the bar. Just don't drink our best shit while I'm gone, yeah? Some of us don't have an unlimited supply.

[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...]

[Well thanks, but Jindosh still rolls his eyes at the maids comment. Yes, sure, make all kinds of strange assumptions about him, like he requires the maids to do their jobs... terrible. But he's grateful for the hour alone to stare down at Paolo's bath for a solid few minutes before he actually resigns himself to using it. It's not the most unpleasant bath of his life somehow, despite the way the hot - and, let's be honest, probably not very clean - water makes the raw flesh of his hand sting as it washes out the grime that's gotten into it. It could be worse.

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?]

[At this rate, Paolo is going to unlearn his habit of making assumptions much quicker than anticipated. On his way back up the stairs he'd almost thought that he might clean up after the Howlers for once, maybe add some more furniture to try and make some effort to get the man more acclimated to the place... And here he was, making a mess of his office while using none of his chairs.

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?

[It's called a cravat, scrub. Jindosh glances down at his own hand, completely unconcerned with how he's definitely irreparably blood-staining this expensive piece of fabric... hmm, yeah.]

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.]

You call this work?

[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.

[wow what the fuck of course this is work]

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,]

Grand Guard bribe money wouldn't even be a quarter of what they could spend. No point, when they'll just be working for me one day. [So yeah, he's taking his machines... Not because he thinks they're that great, though!! Just letting that be clear.

Anyway, he just takes Jindosh's hand rather than place the bandage in it, holding him still so he can begin wrapping with a surprising amount of delicacy. His grip is tight enough so he won't jerk away easily, but he's not pressing down enough to make the cut sting.]

Seems to me you don't really care to go outside anyway, so it's not like you'll be breaking any rules after they've cleared out. Unless you just like pissing me off.

[Um, what the fuck is this? Jindosh looks up from his drawing - again, because he went back to it to peruse the details while waiting for the bandage - and looks at this... effort? This actual effort being expended to bandage his hand, however paltry.

Well... that's something. His priority is the continued long-term use of his hand, though, so he doesn't yank it away.]

I haven't decided what I think of you yet. [Which, okay, it's not... vitriol? Objectively, Paolo is a greasy criminal, but he's a greasy criminal with a dislike for Luca Abele probably deeper than Jindosh's, and now he's doing this thing with the bandages. Give him a few days to make up his mind.]

I am going to grow tired of sitting in your office, however.

[already..... he is bored....]

Take your time. I already know you aren't the worst, though... Not sure why the Empress wasted hers. [That's fine, because Paolo's already figured that he was going to wind up being disliked anyway. If it turns out that he isn't, that's an added, confusing bonus. He glances up to peruse Jindosh's expression as he does this, but it's just for his own amusement.]

Yeah? I'll tell you what. You let me clear out the basement of some... esteemed guests, and you can use it to start small. We got some things that need to be welded back together, like wristbows... More lethal stuff than your pistol. Then you can come up here to write shit about it, or whatever.

[Fix... his weapons. He's almost done now, turning his hand to make sure it doesn't unravel, then pushing his fingers into a fist.] Too tight?

[Not the worst! Very generous. Jindosh hums, eyebrows raised, but he's just watching Paolo bandage his hand while he speaks. He's thoughtful, if anything, now that he's been pulled out of his drawing mood to think about all these life changes he has to make now.

Ah, but giving him space to mess around with weapons— he's not Paolo's personal repairman, please, that's beneath him. But it's obvious Paolo knows absolutely nothing about his modified pistol, so he can probably make those wristbows much better. Without asking. It's easier to seek forgiveness than ask permission, etc etc, but he won't be doing either of those things.] Hmm.

[He squeezes his fist when Paolo moves his fingers, then opens his hand to wiggle them a little. He can move, and it's less clumsy than his bulky cravat. Great.]

Fine. I'll keep the rest of my fingers yet. [ha ha jokes] I do hope you have more interesting ideas than just welding.

[Nice. Satisfied with his work, he sets the leftover bandages on the windowsill and stoops to pick up some of the papers littering his floor. He walks around and leans against the opposing side of the window once he's gathered enough to look through, answering without looking back at him. Like he's talking about something as casual as the weather.]

Well, our guests downstairs are some Overseers I want sent back to Byrne in a not-so-pretty package. [He's squinting at a bird arm now... this seems impractical...] We're running out of ideas on what all to do that doesn't just kill 'em. You creative in that department? [surely not]

[His art? Be careful with those. Jindosh goes back to finishing the drawing he's holding almost immediately, because of course he does, but he's still listening. Hmm.

Don't judge his perfect bird children.]

I once kept a man alive for four days with his ribs pried open like flower petals. [very poetic. why did he do this? eh.] Makes a terrible mess, though.

[He's judging his bird children. Jindosh, though? A little less harshly, hearing that. He looks over his art at him, more interest in his eyes than when he first laid them on him.]

Mindy's got some old clothes you can ruin. I'll bring 'em over tomorrow.

[Oh, is that interest? He should have known a greasy criminal would appreciate that aspect of his very serious research. Ordinarily he'd get annoyed, but he's already had half a bottle of wine to himself and everything else about his life just went completely wrong, so.

Eh. Good enough.] Wonderful. I'll make an afternoon out of it.

You might want to draw it out a little longer. It's going to take a week or two for whatever you need to get shipped. [He slowly turns his attention back to the pages, like he wasn't looking at him like he hit the jackpot. He hasn't, considering he's an investment, but...] Write it all down, by the way. I need put together how much your ass is going to cost me.

[But like, hm... He furrows his brows, then leans forward holding one of his sketches out.] Don't the arms like, combust if you got whale oil on 'em?

[A week... fuck... Jindosh sighs but shrugs, acquiescing to both of these things. By the end of the week he'll be back on his complaining, but for now: fine. A week, and copious notes.

But for right now: what the fuck?] In... theory. [he has probably burned himself while working like a dozen times] The miniature tanks should be made of a special reinforced glass, but I suppose my order of that won't be coming in now.

[Still shoot-able, though. That's true.]

That same glass that they put around the big tanks? Because I'm pretty sure those still explode when you throw 'em. [Like... is he wrong?] We ain't gonna have an endless supply so you can just test whenever you feel like and find out what accessories to add later, like you did with some... nobodies off the street.

[This... deeply bothers him. He bites the inside of his cheek, then leans off from the window to go walk over his desk for another pen. He's just going to scribble all over his art now, thanks.]

You carved all those... spiral wood things yourself, but this isn't armor. You could melt down some steel, fit little cylinders around them like how they cover the gate tanks until they swap 'em, so someone who knows what to look for can't shoot their fuckin' arms off... I don't know about your lenses, or your magnesium whatever, but real soldiers don't walk around all scantily like this. You're covering them proper, this time.

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