fruithats | [ #disastertwins catchall post ]

[ when Evie makes her way back to the hideout she shares with her twin that evening, sneaking as much as she can across the rooftops and higher ground of Dunwall, she doesn't think much of the sound of the clanging of the volunteer fire brigade's bells at first. for all that things have been improving in Dunwall since the cure for the rat plague was discovered, the city is still very much in a state of flux; whether due to arson or carelessness, it's sadly not uncommon for buildings to catch fire, especially in the poorer districts.

as she reaches out to the Void at her fingertips to pull herself across a particularly wide gap, all she manages to muster is a vague hope that there weren't too many hurt or killed by the blaze, wherever it might be. Evie's own thoughts have been almost exclusively focused on Lucy Thorne, recently. what started as a simple theft of information has snowballed faster than she could have thought into a bitter and drawn-out feud - not one that Evie would have sought out herself, given Miss Thorne's status in the Oracular Order, but one that demands her time and focus regardless.

and to think she had been the one cautioning that they avoid the Abbey at all costs. how ironic.

those sorts of abstract thoughts last right until she drops through the entrance into their hideout. her senses are immediately assaulted by the pungent smell of charred wood and burned, peeling paint - not strong enough to cause her any alarm, but strong enough to make her reel back and wrinkle her nose as she straightens up. what in the Void...?

a bucket of ice water slides down her spine as she remembers the sound of the fire bells. surely not-- ]

Jacob?

[ she keeps her cane-sword close, just in case. ]

[ Jacob has not been here long, but long enough. the smell of the fire clings to him as closely as the soot stains on his coat - he hasn't thought to open the windows, even though perhaps he should. but he isn't thinking about very many things right now, his mind still too stuck on fire and the screams of the dying, the scent (and taste) of blood and that final jarring "why not". he doesn't consider that his shirt and jacket are full of bloodstains, his hands covered in as much dried blood as soot and blisters, hasn't considered that it should hurt, using his hands like he is. at least he has stopped coughing, so he has been here long enough for that.

Jacob is hunched over in a chair, knife in one hand and the remains of a rune in the other, metal parts pried off and the carved symbol systematically destroyed, fragments of bone already on the floor. this one sings no longer. it's only when Evie calls out for him that he jolts to attention. ]

Evie... ?

[ even his voice is shaky, and as soon as he pauses, his hands shake too. but now he has his eyes fixed on the door, still left ajar. ]

[ she hasn't heard Jacob's voice like that since - since when they were still children, being raised by their grandmother on Morley before their father finally decided he was ready to be a parent and came back for them. not openly so, in any case - not like this. her reaction now is the same as it was then, which is to say, she sweeps through their tiny hideout like the Void itself is at her heels, until she fills the doorway of the room he's crowded himself into, the door going from ajar to open in an instant.

she immediately tastes blood on the air now as well as smoke, bitter and metallic as it hits the back of her throat. as the sight before her hits her eyes, the first thing she thinks - her heart skips a beat - is, oh spirits, he's gone mad. Evie Frye has walked in the Void, but there could be nothing more wrong, more unnatural, than her brash, reckless, infuriating brother hunched in a chair covered in blood and ash with the scattered remains of a bone charm lying at his feet. his stare goes right through her.

she feels a scream rising in her throat. with an effort, she quashes it, swallowing it down. get a grip, Evie, she tells herself sternly - they're Marked, that lends them a degree of resistance against the Void's effects on the mind--

yes, and that did Vera Moray a world of good, says another part of her, and she wishes her own thoughts would belt up. she crosses the space between them in a handful of quick strides. ]

Jacob. [ her tone is measured, but in the way of somebody immediately about to lose their composure. ] Dare I ask what you're even doing? [ her voice is rising despite her best efforts. ] What happened to-- please tell me that isn't your blood.

[ because fair warning, if it is, she can't guarantee the well-being of the person responsible, assuming that they still breathe. ]

Edited 2017-07-03 20:03 (UTC)

[ he hasn't felt like this. not even when they were children, he was never at a loss like he is now, never shaken to the core like this from too many things all at once. it takes too long and no time at all and Evie is there, so much more solid than ground to stand on when it feels like anything might slip through his fingers. how did he miss it? how could he not have seen until--

but he hears her, and the concern in her voice that's nearly frantic gives him something to hang on to. ]

I- no, it's, [ he looks down at himself, ] it's not mine. [ mostly. looks back at her. his grip on the knife and the piece of bone relaxes by increments now that it has stopped being more than just a piece of bone, and now that Evie is here. ] I'm-- [ fine? don't kid yourself, Jacob Frye. deep, shaky inhale, exhale. ] Despite Roth's best efforts, neither badly burned nor bleeding.

[ how he made it out of that nightmare, he isn't sure. he isn't questioning it. ]

[ not his. not his blood. it's not - it isn't all that matters, not even by a long shot. but it does matter. she feels the rope of tension in her spine slacken off in relief, even as she reaches down to pull the knife and the remains of the bone from his loose fingers. being gentle does not come naturally to Evie; it has never come naturally to her. but she can try her best, in moments like this.

and then she hears despite Roth's best efforts and the tension is back with a vengeance, along with a sort of dull roaring in her ears that sounds a lot to her like the distant sound of her own rage. ]

What? [ the word punches out of her like a gunshot. she places the knife and the remains of the rune down on the table, before her hands can get too used to being clenched tight around them. ] Roth? As in Maxwell Roth?

[ Outsider's teeth, what has Jacob managed to get himself into? ]

[ his sister isn't gentle, as a rule. she's never had much room to be, same as him, even with each other. it doesn't come easily to either of them, but he doesn't resist as she pulls the things he's holding from his grasp, eyes lingering on the knife before they dart back up to her face. his gloves protected his hands from the worst of the burns, even though the blood seeped in, but even so, she'll have felt the unnatural warmth of the skin where climbing up railings that were more ember than flame did take its toll.

she snaps her question, and Jacob doesn't even react, doesn't move at first. still too tense, still too lost in it. ] Yes. [ no wisecracks. 'obviously', 'who else would i mean', none of it even crosses his mind. ]

... I killed him. [ it isn't as if he's never killed anyone before. but this was... it was just... ... it was different. ]

[ he's in shock, she thinks, dully, even as part of her also wants to start yelling things like what were you THINKING and were you even listening to what was being said about him? recrimination is so easy to fall back on when she's scared, or worried - but she knows it wouldn't help here. if it ever did. and she couldn't ever have the heart to do so when Jacob's just... sitting there like a shell of himself.

so she looks at him - really looks, trying to see rather than scrutinise. ] I heard fire bells ringing on my way home.

[ the words are as neutral as she can get them, trying to coax information out that she's already putting pieces together for. she felt the unnatural heat in his hands; the smell of smoke speaks for itself. it's not as much of a comfort as it should be, either, hearing that Roth is dead by Jacob's hand. not when he can't even muster a sarcastic comment about it. ]

[ in shock? well... he wouldn't argue it. maybe he is. whatever he is, he's not really in a state to debate very much, but the life slowly seeps back into him as they talk, eyes shifting, but now restless, lips quirking into a smile that holds no mirth and doesn't last as he looks away, at the door, at his hands, unclenching them slowly despite how much they're starting to sting. ]

That's because he set the theater on fire before I got to him. [ at least he's starting to sound a little more like himself again. the addition is almost to himself, bitter and quiet. ] It was a full house.

[ for the benefit of a young fellow very near and dear to my heart-- spirits, he still doesn't understand why, he hopes he never does. ]

Edited 2017-07-04 05:13 (UTC)

By the Void.

[ she can't keep the horror from her own voice. she knew that Maxwell Roth was a dangerous man, but they have spent the better part of their adolescence rubbing shoulders with dangerous people. this goes beyond dangerous and into - she doesn't know. she doesn't know. what kind of man sets fire to his own theatre while the place is full of people? ]

The man must have been mad.

[ she almost hopes that it was madness; Evie can't quite wrap her brain around the idea of doing something like that while of sound mind.

it hits her then, that her brother could very well have died in that blaze. she feels ill. ] What were you even doing there?

[ the last she heard, Jacob had only robbed the man's shrine to the Outsider, because Jacob has never been able to resist poking something with a stick when he should probably just leave well enough alone. how did he go from that to killing Roth while the theatre burned down around him? and how did she manage to miss it? ]

[ dangerous alone has never been a deterrent for them. Slackjaw is dangerous. Lizzy Stride is dangerous. but this, Roth? Roth is (was) something else altogether. Jacob laughs, hollow, quiet, at the assessment. ] He knew I was coming and made it as much of a spectacle as he could manage. If he wasn't mad, I... I don't know what else to call him.

[ it must have been madness. right? surely. but somehow he isn't convinced. ]

I... [ what was he doing there? he shakes his head, but he straightens in his seat a little, looking up at Evie before he fixed his eyes upon the floor. ] It's a long story. I... I'd been working with him. Sabotaging the Abbey in whatever way we could think of. [ and it had been fun, spirits help him, it had been good. he shakes his head again. ] At least until... until I found out what he did to the Overseers.

[ the look he casts up at Evie is haunted. he gestures at the dismantled rune on the table. ] That... isn't whale bone.

[ working with him? Evie pinches the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, rubbing at the skin, and bites back the myriad acerbic remarks that spring to the tip of her tongue. of all the reckless, thoughtless things Jacob has done - and there have been many - she is sure that this takes the cake. she has the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, and she isn't entirely sure if that's an impulse born of worry or misplaced anger. ]

Oh, Jacob... [ it's nothing louder than a dark mutter as she continues to pinch her nose, and honestly, she thinks she's showing admirable restraint right now.

and then she goes deathly still at his next words. her eyes widen as she stares at the bone fragments on the table from underneath her raised arm. ]

No, surely you can't mean-- [ but she knows that he wouldn't joke about something like that even if his mood was lighter. she feels bile rising in her throat as she stares at the broken rune with a revulsion born of horrific understanding. ]

That monster. [ it would seem that Evie has found a better assessment than 'mad'. ]

[ scarce wonder that Jacob was in the state she found him in. Evie feels like she's very soon going to lose her last meal the way it came, and she's not the one who had the misfortune of dealing with all this first-hand. ]

[ he did say it was a long story. but if he isn't glad that Evie doesn't take his head off right here for it. instead, she's listening, like she hasn't since this entire mess began and she was swallowed whole by her little feud with this Lucy Thorne.

and yet there's no room for feeling bitter, or really feeling anything but abject horror at what he witnessed. it still makes him sick to think about, but he looks at Evie until he can be sure she understands.

... perhaps it's wrong to feel relief, but he does, at not being alone with it. little by little, the fear he can still nearly taste like smoke in his mouth seems to abate.

was he a monster? perhaps that is a better word. calling him mad seems to him to be slandering real lunatics. at last Jacob pries himself from his seat, looking at the rune and then at Evie. honestly, if he can help it, he'd rather not stay in the same room as it a moment longer. ]

We both need a drink. [ urgently. he looks down at his hands and the state of his clothes. ] And... I suppose a change of clothes would not go amiss. [ more like he needs a bath and perhaps to take himself to a physician for his hands, but all of that can bloody well wait right now. ]

[ with an effort, she tears her eyes away from the remains on the table. a drink simultaneously sounds like the most excellent and the most unwise idea to her right now. her mind and her heart hold a brief council with her still-unstable stomach and come out firmly on top in favour of the notion.

... mostly, it's just a relief to hear her brother starting to sound a little more like himself. but before they both throw memory and sobriety to the wind, she feels she has to be the voice of reason about something tonight. if only because focusing on practical details is far preferable to the alternative. ]

First, get yourself cleaned up. [ she puts a hand on his shoulder. ] I'm sure we have some salve lying about the place; it's no substitute for a doctor, but it will do in a pinch. I'll not have you ruin your hands because you were making a beeline for the bottle. [ she forces her lips upwards into something approximating a smile. ] Once that's done, I say that we go and steal the largest cask of booze that we can carry, and that we don't stop drinking until either it's gone or we pass out.

[ as far as unwise ideas go, Jacob doesn't think this one is all that bad. he may be drinking on a mostly empty stomach, but he's aiming to get as far away from sober as he is able, and fast, so is that such a bad prerequisite?

before he can get moving, Evie places a hand on his shoulder, the touch more welcome than he would admit in words. it also forces him to focus on her. what she says has him drop his head forward with a huff. ] You do make a plan for everything, don't you. [ he smiles as he says it, wry as the expression may be. after all, it's a good plan, and she even seems worried for him, far less keen on shouting at him for what was no doubt reckless and careless on his part than he had expected. he feels deeply grateful for her and her being there.

a nod, and he looks at her again. clearly still shaken, but standing,
which ought to be a start. ] I'd best get started. If we don't go before the fire brigade is done, I'm not sure we'll find anything to drink in all of Dunwall.

[ because the two of them won't be the only ones who'll need a drink or a lot of drinks. so he gets a move on, bathroom first, to wash what stains there are off his hands. it's almost a comfort to see the Mark again, but not as much as cold water on burned skin. he's not too badly hurt, but seeing the dried blood peel off his skin in flakes makes him ill all over again, less because it is blood, and more because it is a reminder he wants no part of. for lack of anything left in his insides that he might hurl, he dispells the nausea with a splash of cold water to his face. might as well do something about the soot stains there. he only now notices that his hat did not survive the endeavour. ]

Do you know where that salve is, then? [ only has to raise his voice a little in a place so small. ]

Off you go then.

[ she says it lightly, patting his shoulder the once as he heads off to the bathroom. she leaves the room herself soon after, not wanting to spend a moment longer than she has to by herself with that - thing. perhaps later, she'll offer to help dismantle any more that might remain. ]

[ truth be told, in the back of her mind, she's already shelving the inevitable lecture away for after they've both recovered from being horrifically drunk and then gloriously hungover. Jacob isn't going to escape a stern talking to about things like risk assessment and knowing when one is in over one's head that easily (he could have died, she thinks again, unbidden).

but that can wait. for now, she heads to the little cabinet tucked haphazardly in the corner of what could, if one was feeling generous, be called an extremely cramped living room, and roots around inside. with her head stuck half-inside the door of the cupboard, she only just about hears Jacob call from the bathroom. ]

Somewhere here in the living room, I think. [ she'd taken it upon herself to try and amass a ramshackle collection of medical supplies; it had been slow going, especially at first, but if you asked Evie, they couldn't be too careful with physicians anymore. no telling what anyone might think if they wound up treating someone who bore the Outsider's mark, after all.

she finds what she's looking for - a small tin box, tucked behind a half-empty bottle of pear soda and a dilapidated teapot - and draws it out onto her lap before getting back to her feet. ]

If it's not in this box, then it's anyone's guess. [ she's talking half to herself, half to Jacob as she wanders back out of the living area and takes a sharp turn into the bathroom. ] Delivery for you, Mister Frye.

[ he doesn't expect to escape the lecture. in all honesty, it would be quite strange to go without one. after all that's happened... after all the things he did. not right now, though, right now that is about the last thing he needs. he'd rather get drunk to the point where he can forget about it all, for a little while at least.

he hears Evie's reply just well enough, assuming she's looking for exactly what he asked about-- and so he goes ahead and picks up a spare set of clothes from his room (which is as cluttered and crowded as everything else in this place) while she's at it, which he deposits in the bathroom to change into and hopefully smell less burnt. no spare gloves... but then, they're not out to be seen tonight, ideally not by anyone. the back of his hand should make no difference. it's a little easier not to think when he's moving, when he has something to do, so he's grateful for more than one reason when Evie turns up. his smile is still tense, but it's there. ]

Thank you. [ for this, but more than just this, too. of course he takes the box, flips open the lid-- there it is. this is where he'd close the door and get on with it, but not before another question. ] D'you have a place in mind to go to for our heist?

[ with the box now out of her hands, she takes up a spot near the doorway, leaning against the corner of the frame with her hands in front of her, one resting on top of the other in thought. ]

I can think of a few places, depending on what you feel like drinking. [ a small smile quirks her lips; it feels a little easier, a little more genuine, this time. ] Would you rather imported or Gristol-made?

What about something from home? [ Morley, that is. it isn't as though they got much chance to be drinking back when they lived there, but that didn't mean they got none. as soon as the drinking songs began, people became much more liberal. ]

You mean, like a proper Caulkenny single-malt? [ the kind people used to slip them when said people were deep enough into their cups to care only about the fact that the two youngsters whose age could not yet be counted in double figures could bellow out a foul-mouthed anthem with just as much conviction as the next drinker.

she tilts her head. ] I think we could manage that. We have two choices: either we pay a visit to the docks and try our luck down at the customs warehouse. [ a brief pause. ] Or, I hear there's a manor up in the Estate District whose occupant has a taste for fine Morley spirits. We could take a tour of the cellar if we fancy our luck.

[ now those were good memories. the suggestion makes Jacob smile again, no less as Evie goes on and lists off several options like she's memorised them. has she? he's not sure he would put it past her.

his headtilt matches hers. so does the devilish edge to his smile. ] I never understood why rich people keep a whole cellar. How much can one person possibly drink? We really should lend a hand.

[ Evie feels her own smile sharpen. nothing like a spot of light wealth redistribution to lift the spirits, it seems. ]

That's the spirit. It's really only the charitable thing to do. [ she pushes herself off of the doorframe. ] I'll leave you to get ready while I check the location on the map, shall I?

[ she feels maybe a small shred of sympathy for Abbeline, should he happen to be one of those in the City Watch called out by an irate, whisky-less noble tomorrow morning. certainly not enough sympathy to overrule her anticipation at being able to focus on pulling off a simple, no-strings-attached heist. it's a relief to have something straightforward to focus her mind on, honestly.

and well, the promise of booze at the end of it doesn't hurt much, either. ]

Yes. I'll only be a few minutes. [ Jacob has absolutely no sympathy. perhaps for Abberline, should he indeed be responsible for the investigation. but even then... he did knowingly get into this line of work, didn't he?

he closes the door and sets about cleaning up as well and as quickly as possible, applying the salve where it is needed (which fortunately is mostly on his hands) and checking himself over for anything serious he might have missed. it turns out that even so simple a thing as changing into clothes that don't smell of smoke and blood is enough to almost make him feel like a new person. for the moment, anyway. he will find some way to forget about all this. ... perhaps whisky is not the wisest choice for that, or the most permanent, but it'll serve just fine.

after transferring anything possibly useful from the old pockets to the new, Jacob emerges from the bathroom looking much more like himself already. so sue him if he's left the wreckage of his old outfit in the bath, he'll toss that out later. he makes a beeline for where he suspects Evie to be waiting and he might perhaps be a little too eager to get going. ] So where's this manor with the overabundance of whisky?

[ Evie is, of course, exactly where Jacob expected her to be, pouring over the heavily annotated map of Dunwall that they've tacked over the top of the most dilapidated wall in the kitchen. she turns slightly when Jacob comes in, her eyes crinkling at the corners somewhat. at least he's looking a lot more like himself again now, even if she suspects what's going on beneath the surface to be an entirely different story.

to business, then. she had better get this distraction going for the both of them. turning back to the map, she taps her finger on a spot ringed in red ink. ] This one. It's a stone's throw away from the Clocktower. Only a small garden, by Estate District standards, but at least that gives us another option for a hiding spot or a route inside should we need it.

[ the inside, as Evie suspects, is a different story. but for now it's possible to ignore, so that is what he'll do. ] Oh, only a small garden? I hope we're not accidentally robbing them blind, then, they're practically poor already.

[ 'accidentally'. the bigger joke is that any garden at all will cost a fortune in Dunwall, as they both know very well. ] How tall is it, do you know?

[ attic windows, more floors and rooms than people in it, people will often lose track of what they've left open. of course, they do need to get to the cellar, but he does still like a bit of sparkle, if they happen upon something or another. ]

[ she smirks at his quip, the curve of her mouth sharp and wicked, before she answers his question. ]

Four stories, plus the cellar we're looking for. [ honestly, what need do people have for that much space in a house? what an ostentatious waste of wealth, even were the city not still half on its knees from the events of the rat plague. ] Thinking of taking a stroll on our way down?

[ Starrick is dead, and the fog rolls in. this is not in and of itself unusual for London. the air is almost always thick as soup, if it's not fog, it's smoke from the hundreds and thousands of chimneys and factories... or both. naturally, it takes a little while for anyone to notice anything out of the ordinary.

at its worst, the air of London might make people cough, and the fumes in some factories may make people sick or woozy. but it does not generally make anyone fall unconscious for days on end, with none sure when they will wake again. it does not generally make others lose their minds completely. now... within a few days, Old Lambeth is short on beds, as the fog crawls into borough after borough. of course, London marches on. people cover their mouths with bandanas or scarves and go out just the same. what else are they supposed to do? what else is anyone going to do?

the only common thread is that the affliction sets on overnight, in the places most thickly blanketed by fog. it takes little time for the assassins to decide they'll need to investigate, before the stuff reaches all of London, or more.

and so here they are - or two of them, anyway. Henry opted to stay behind to try and research more, making enquiries with Alex and with Darwin, anyone who might know anything about anything that could cause this. Jacob and Evie, on the other hand, draw closer to the Thames where the fog is thickest. whatever is causing it will have to be in it, after all. but now, closing in, all they can see is... well, almost nothing. ]

No wonder there's been so many accidents. I've never seen anything like this.

[ neither has anyone else, that he's heard. it's hard to be daunted by it after all they've done, but even they have to get down to ground level, the visibility too bad to consider the rooftops beyond this point. ]

Edited 2017-07-12 16:21 (UTC)

[ Evie doesn't know what to make of it - the fog, the string of afflictions that seem to be linked to it, any of it. this is not a position she is used to being in, and not one that she much enjoys, either. she can't think of a single Piece of Eden that she has read about that could cause such effects, and perhaps more worryingly, neither has Mr. Green - Henry, she mentally corrects herself. the effects on the mind seem consistent with a haphazardly wielded Apple, but the fog simply doesn't add up. but on the other hand, if it is some kind of newly discovered airborne toxin, then it is one that is able to be spread on a scale and with a speed that's previously unheard of by modern science.

the entire affair is troubling, and it leaves her feeling unprepared and wrong-footed, going in without all of the facts. but the truth of the matter is, all of London is spiralling swiftly out of control. whoever is behind it all, whether it's a rogue Templar cell or some other threat, they need to be dealt with, and soon. at the very least, she and her brother can come out of tonight's excursion with more information than they have now, which is sparse indeed.

the one good thing about the thickness of the fog, she thinks, is that at least they can't be seen. but then, short of allowing themselves to tap into that sixth sense they have that makes the world glow with hidden meaning, it isn't as though they can see anyone that may come for them, either. one more thing to set her teeth on edge. ]

Nor I. I can barely see my own hand. [ she stretches one arm out ahead of her; the shape of her fingers is made blurry and indistinct by the density of the fog around them. she tugs the scarf over her nose and mouth up a fraction beneath her hood, squinting fruitlessly ahead. ] Whatever's causing all this, it can't be natural. I just wish we knew the motive for grinding all of London to a halt.

[ Jacob doesn't know a Piece of Eden either, but then, he's none too surprised. Evie always knew more about them than he did. to him, not knowing how a thing is done is no reason to falter. never has been. he didn't care how the syrup was made or know what was in it, and he still knew perfectly well that it needed to stop. to him this is much the same. he can only hope that they will be spared its effects, the way many Londoners seem to walk away untouched and untroubled. surely they are capable enough, wary enough.

he shrugs at the question, even as they carefully press on. they're almost at the bridge now. as thick as the fog is here, most people, if not all, have abandoned their homes already. except perhaps for those who fell asleep, who had no family nor neighbours to worry about them. ] I can't say I care much about the motive as long as we find a way to stop it. But if I had to guess... I wonder if Starrick had any friends we didn't take care of. I'm not sure how a Templar would do this, but it seems just like one of them to start this and then turn up in the nick of time to save the city, somehow.

[ it is only a guess, but it's all he can think of off the top of his head. but then he falls silent. they're at the bridge... still, there's nothing. nothing even the other kind of vision reveals to him, no tracks or traces. plenty of chaos, though.
carriages strewn about haphazardly, though none with a horse now. someone's goods spilled across the road. ] Tch...

Stopping it is the primary goal. [ the heels of her boots click on the cobblestones, only slightly muffled by the fog and the slow pace of their advance. it's so quiet here, so devoid of London's usual chaos, that even the smallest sounds seem amplified. ] But if it does turn out to be part of another conspiracy, knowing the motive could help point us towards the greater whole.

[ never lose track of the steps of the dance, Evie, their father used to say. yours, or the other dancers'. she may be doing her best, now, to go through Father's old words with a fine tooth comb and discard those that she finds she has no use for after all, but she is sure that he was right on this point: there is always a bigger picture to keep in mind. she considers the rest of Jacob's words as they approach the bridge, turning them over in her mind. ]

You could well be right about the Templars. There are Assassins all over Britain, after all; it would be foolish to think their Templar counterparts wouldn't seek revenge--

[ and then she sees the state of the bridge, and that stalls her train of thought. not the chaos in and of itself - she has seen such scenes before, though never quite this bad - but something about the state of the abandonment here seems altogether more sinister than usual. a glance at Jacob confirms that he's seen what she has - no traces of anything leading either towards or away from the scene in front of them.

she ducks to examine the scattered goods strewn across the cobbles. ] No signs even of any looters. Like everyone on the bridge just suddenly... vanished.

[ like one of Mr. Dickens's ghost stories. Evie feels like somebody just walked over her grave. ]

Edited (doot doot doot noticed an unnecessary word >.>;) 2017-07-18 21:38 (UTC)

[ he nods at what she's saying, whether nor not she's looking at him. not knowing the motive is one of those things that turned around to bite him once before, and he'd rather not repeat the experience. the bigger picture does matter, and so do the details, and he's not enough of a fool to ignore them anymore.

despite his wariness, the tableau before them startles him into straightening, gesturing at the scene in confusion. ] Even we can't actually vanish in a cloud of smoke. There has to be something.

[ some kind of explanation. Keylock was supposed to vanish without a trace, but all he had was a rope launcher. the Shroud was supposed to make people immortal, but even that wasn't as good as it promised to be. no, there has to be some explanation. Jacob starts looking around, starts looking closer. there are still traces of the people on the items that belonged to them, the seats they sat in. whisper thin and barely there. and then... nothing. ] This doesn't make sense.

[ he's just looking around a carriage that veered very close to the edge, when he spots something that makes still less sense. ]

Evie... you should see this. [ what this is, he's not even sure. just that in their other vision, the water near the centre of the bridge makes a swirling, even pattern of red and black. he's no longer quite convinced he hasn't gone mad already. ]

[ something could still be a thing beyond their understanding, Evie wants to argue. yes, most of their investigations into so-called supernatural events with the Ghost Club had turned up much more mundane solutions than it would first appear, but she still has plenty of questions about one encounter... ]

Doesn't Spring-Heeled Jack ring a bell? Your second encounter with him involved an awful lot of vanishing in clouds of smoke and unanswered questions, the way you told it at the pub.

[ Evie gets to her feet once more, beginning her own inspection of the scene on the opposite side of the bridge to her twin. the picture painted here is much the same; echoes of people who don't seem to have left by normal means.

she frowns. Jacob's right; it doesn't make sense. she wonders, fleetingly, if perhaps they truly have come across something genuinely paranormal this time. as unlikely as it may be, Evie prefers that possibility a great deal more to another more unsettling that's crossing her mind - that their enemies have somehow figured out a way to confound their other sight. she decides to keep that thought to herself for now. ]

What? What is it? [ she turns and crosses back over to her brother, peering over the edge of the bridge. what she sees makes her rub her eyes and look again, just to make sure she's not imagining it. ]

Jacob. What in the world are we looking at?

[ from a distance, she can't see him roll his eyes. to this day he wishes she had been the one to go after that particular apparition. ] Yes well, even he left footprints. And the smoke was nowhere near as persistent as this fog.

[ he has to agree that he'd much rather be dealing with some supernatural nonsense at the moment, however, if the alternative is that someone has found a way to hide things even from this sense of theirs. he points, as soon as she gets there, wordless.

part of him is comforted by the fact that it doesn't seem he's gone mad after all, or else they share a connection in madness as in clarity. at her question he only looks at her helplessly. ] I was hoping you'd have an idea. No matter what it is, we might get a better look from over there.

[ farther along the bridge, above the thing. and after an uncharacteristically unsure look at Evie, he starts heading that way. ] If that's the origin of the fog... [ then he still hasn't a clue what they're looking at. ]

I've never heard of anything like this before. [ flattering, though, that he hoped she'd know something. she won't forget that. or let him forget it, more to the point.

she falls into step with him as they make their way across the bridge, glancing back every so often to the swirling vortex beneath them. ]

If it is the origin of the fog, then we ought to get down there somehow to take a closer look at it. Maybe someone's put something in the water. Some sort of agent that causes the fog as a reaction? [ goodness knows there are enough foul things mixed in with the Thames river water that could react adversely if someone with the right knowledge wanted to make it happen...

not that that explains the strange pattern in their other vision. she's never seen anything like that before. ] We could at least get a sample of the water for testing. Henry might know someone who can uncover its secrets.

[ when they reach the centre of the bridge, she stops, gazing down through the thick fog at the river below. it's much easier to hear it lapping against the arches of the bridge than to see it without the aid of her other sight, but standing almost directly above it, she can feel all her hair standing on end. ]

[ he isn't too proud to admit that she knows more than him. it's the idea that it matters that he denies most of the time. ]

Maybe. But then wouldn't it be flowing downriver? Whatever it is must be anchored here, somehow.

[ getting a sample to someone who can perhaps make more sense of it than they seems sensible. Jacob looks around them, scanning the area, before he follows his twin's gaze down again. The pattern is the same, less twisted now from the angle, just slightly mesmerizing to look at, and unsettling for how it defies all reason, being there. ... or maybe for other reasons as well, but he can't name them, so he won't try. ] Whatever we're doing, I'm not getting in that water.

[ because that's disgusting. ]

[ he's right, she realises, and scolds herself for missing something so obvious. there is no sign of anything being carried along by the current. just that swirling vortex beneath them, and a blanket of fog thicker than ever choking the air around them. more things that simply don't add up with one another. Evie scowls. ]

Agreed - on both counts. [ and then the scowl morphs into the most scrunched-up face of disgust imaginable at the idea of getting into the water. the smell alone is enough to put one off. ] But one of us is going to have to get a lot closer if we're to collect a sample.

[ she hops up onto the top of the ledge protecting pedestrians from an untimely fall into the foul waters of the Thames, trying to gauge things like hand- and foot-holds. though truth be told, she's of a mind with Jacob about this. she absolutely does not want to risk falling into that river. ]

Hm. [ she eyes the rope launcher on her gauntlet critically. ] What if we made use of the rope launcher as an anchor somehow?

[ #disastertwins catchall post ]

#disaster 1: dishonored au, post Sequence 8 Debacle (tm)

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#disaster 2: persona spin-off, because they didn't suffer enough in canon

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