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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[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?]

[The bank is brand new information? What the fuck? For a brief moment, Paolo thinks that if he'd already known this, he never would have needed to pick up Jindosh to get what he wants... but then he almost feels guilty, considering the man's homeless. Him, guilty!

No, he reasons, he was right to pick this guy up. He would have had no idea otherwise. Additionally, it's more fun this way, finding out just how interesting this man can prove to be. He comes out of his thoughts with a grin, setting the bottle on the desk.]

You wanna rob a bank. [He laughs, a hint of excitement in his eyes. This is a great plan. He's more exhilarated at the prospect than he's been in weeks.] You, Kirin Jindosh, Grand Inventor who doesn't go anywhere, thought about robbing a bank before me! I haven't thought that big since I was a kid... It'll take a load off my back trying pay for these things. [Ah, but, hm.] That's not my territory, though. You'll be responsible for getting us through safely.

Can you handle that, big guy?

[He wants to relieve the bank of the duty of holding onto his things for him, actually. Only half of his plan is outright robbery, the other half is perfectly legal taking back his own money.

Paolo being enthused about the idea is a nice touch; Jindosh wasn't looking forward to have to convince him to round up a few thugs and do something more in depth than threatening some people on the street. He waves a hand, leaning against the desk and picking up that bottle of wine. His now, again.]

Of course. I designed the security system. [helpful tip: everything mechanical in Karnaca is probably Jindosh brand] You will have to deal with the guards.

I'll send a few scouts for the ways in, then. I hope you aren't opposed to a little climbing, if it comes down to it.

[He lets the wine go, considering he's no longer stressing about how much money he's going to have to spend. Instead he leans to open one of his desk drawers, pulling out a case of imported cigars. They're much higher quality than what he's usually carrying; he's now in a more celebratory mood.]

I don't think I've ever been more grateful to have your name everywhere. You just might be... my greatest investment. [He pulls one, pauses, then glances up at him with his fingers over a second.] You smoke?

[little does he know]

Fine. As long as we're undisturbed, the system won't be hard to reprogram.

[Does he want to fuck over the entire bank out of spite? Yes, a little. How will the Empress fare back in Dunwall when Karnaca's value falls into a ravine just like his goddamn house? Let's see how she likes it.

But that's for later. He lifts the bottle for a sip of wine, giving Paolo a look as he does—calling him an investment is ridiculous, but at least his genius is finally being appreciated in some way. He hums and glances at the cigars, wrinkling his nose a little. Even at the good shit!! No, not for that reason, he could really fucking use a smoke, but-]

Do you have tobacco?

[Paolo looks between Jindosh and the cigars, obviously trying to figure out why he would ask that when there's more or less the same thing right here. Does he just have a pipe somewhere in that fancy outfit of his? Where?]

Yeah, yeah, sure... [He opens that same drawer, leaning to pull out a small wax-wrapped pouch of tobacco, a set of matches, and a tamper. He has a pipe in there, somewhere, but he desperately wants to know where this is going.] You... sure?

[Paolo... learn now that it's better not to ask questions when he asks for things. There's always something. He makes a noise like yes, of course he's sure, sliding all of those handy things over closer to himself before he quite literally cracks his own hand open. The prosthetic, anyway; evidently he built this thing with a thumb that bends all the way back, revealing a little bowl inside in between the two fingers.

He proceeds to casually load up his own fucking hand like a completely normal tobacco pipe, light it, and shake the match out before taking a drag off his own thumb.

He's sure........]

[What... what the fuck? Paolo doesn't even light his cigar during this process, just standing there holding it while staring at Jindosh the whole time. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it.

Then he slowly slides the wine bottle back over to himself. Okay, this is fine. This is great. Love it. There's not a million questions running through his head, no, he's drinking them all away.]

Seems pretty [You did this. He smiles.] handy.

[For that, Jindosh blows smoke in his face. This is not a joke, he really does that. It's at least in his direction, since Paolo is small.]

Comedian and criminal. A jack of all trades, aren't you?

[Let him thumb smoke!! He adds, like it a) needs to be said, or b) defends his choices at all,] I made this.

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