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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[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.

Please, as if I have time to kidnap anyone. Invading my home with ill intentions is a risky decision, that's all.

[He just wants it to be clear that he doesn't go out looking for people to dissect, they literally come to him. He's not donning a ye olde ski mask and kidnapping people off the street; how uncouth.

That said... why? Is Paolo trying to critique his designs. Jindosh watches him scribble on the other drawing with a raised eyebrow, not sure if he's mad about this or not. No one has ever actually done this...?]

Steel is too heavy. If they have the mobility of fat little carriages and can be escaped at a brisk trot, there isn't any point in having them. A lightweight metal, that nevertheless is strong... Hmm. It's worth testing, but you don't have an endless supply of materials, as you've said. [also he's never seen a veteran in actual armor, so technically: bullshit. but never mind.] What are you doing to my design?

[that scribbling!!!]

Edited 2017-12-06 14:34 (UTC)

[Thanks for correcting him there, when nothing matters because his house is gone. Paolo's elected to ignore that and keep scribbling away rough shapes of ideal whale oil casing... up until Jindosh starts with the relevant facts. He slows to a stop, fingers curling tighter around his pen.

He's not mad. He really, truly isn't, but he's certainly frustrated. He doesn't have that kind of money, and to get that money he needs to start pulling more jobs than he does, all while avoiding the guard more than usual because one wanted man has turned into two... He's busy enough, without this. But he also won't be able to relax without moving forward in some way.]

... Your place was by a lot of trees, yeah? Trees nobody will miss. [And without answering to what he's doing, he starts drawing over his design again.] Wood'll split, but not before someone wastes their bullets... You give real coverage instead of your spiral art bullshit, it'll still work.

[Hey... shut up.

Jindosh knows his material preference is very pricey - that's literally been his problem all this time (and he wonders, finally, if the Empress stole Sokolov out from under his nose before she destroyed his home; pity), but if Paolo wants quality machines, he'll have to do at least a little better than cheap blades melted down to make cheap armor plates, and rotted wood from the alleys.

Cutting down a tree for him, that's creative. He hums, tapping the end of his pen on his piece of paper.]

The spiral design is for aerodynamics... [no it's for aesthetic but shut up] Fine. I will revisit the solid wood option. Is that what you're doing over there?

[SHOW HIM...... THE BIRD]

Then I'll hire some cutters. They'll need pay by the hour, a boat over... Probably some booze for their trouble, they're fuckin' moochers...

[Paolo, once again, ignores Jindosh. He's busy! He's drawing little wood guards all over every exposed piece someone can just plunge a sword into if they got a jump, while also mumbling estimates under his breath. He draws a line from the wood pieces to an empty corner, then makes little tree shapes. Then a line from the bird's blade to a bunch of question marks, then followed by ~~Howler swords?~~ Too obvious. Then he flips the page over to make cash symbols, and start writing his list on the back.]

... Bring the wine over, yeah?

[Paolo can handle those booze expenses, sure, Jindosh wants to see this drawing. He's this close to just leaning over to stare at it from his perch over here, but then Paolo flips the page over and ruins his perfect scheme. What the fuck is happening on this day in his life? How did he get here?

He can't do anything but stare at Paolo for a moment, before stooping to pick up the bottle of wine from the floor and bringing it over. This is... a very strange meeting.]

When are you expecting this prototype model to be finished, exactly? [He asks this like he's not going to give up sleep for a few days to obsess over it, regardless. Details!]

It doesn't have to be done by the time the Empress does whatever she wants to Abele. I doubt it'll be on the same scale, but...

[He's just going to have to wait to look at his really childish doodles. Paolo is carrying on with his more adult list, taking the bottle without looking up. He finally lifts his head to take a drink straight from it (how classy) and stands back after he's done writing for another two minutes, setting his pen down. His total is hundreds upon hundreds of dollars after adding a guesstimation of how much it's going to cost for tools, the metal parts he doesn't know how to name, but... it's probably around three-quarters of what the Duke was paying him for a Clockwork.

He drinks again after doing a once-over. Mindy is probably going to kill him if the work doesn't.] They'll raise the security for awhile after, I'm sure... So ideally, we wait until they're comfortable again. Two months? Three?

[No, that was Jindosh's bottle to drink straight out of... Give it back. Jindosh peers at his figures instead; yeah, that's about what he expected. His work isn't cheap! But ideally, if the clockworks can be perfected, just one will more than repay the cost of its own making... in, you know, blood. Still.

That said, he still raises his eyebrows, making a face that's not annoyed, but more surprised.]

Three months? [The materials being expensive are the real and actual problem, Paolo. Is that why three months? Jindosh and a screwdriver could make this happen in four days with all the requisite stuff.] Well. That does give me time to improve your weapons, I suppose.

[Listen, Paolo hasn't actually witnessed Jindosh not ever sleeping and just writing things on his clipboard all night. He expects these things are built in like a week or two... He'll stand corrected later.]

You used more than one when Duke took the throne for... what's her name. [He knows from the posters everywhere, he just doesn't care. Another sip, then:] When the shipments will be enough for maybe... two Clockworks at a time, and I don't think you're accounting for all the shit that'll go wrong. [Because it will, he knows. Be realistic!!] We'll have other things to do, like...

[Like... hm. Murder? What else is there but murder. Give him a minute.] You know the commands for your old ones, right? Could take one back. Compare 'em.

Delilah. [Helpful correction, not that he gives a shit, himself. Delilah wouldn't let him play in the Void, so basically fuck her. Two at a time is alright, he supposes—and things won't go wrong if he has high quality materials, but fine... fine. He'll leave that point alone.

This new plan, taking back his already sold soldiers? That's... that's very good!]

Yes. Yes, that's an idea worth pursuing. The bank holds a number of my earliest models... I daresay if they're not going to utilize them to their fullest potential, I ought to have them back. [Paolo can see those fucking disasters of ceramic... great times.] And my vault should be dealt with, before someone decides to seize it from me—not that they could get inside, but you know.

[Hey let's do a bank heist?]

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