Puppets, Pull Your Strings [Thracyn|Pierrot]

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

Mid-Darkening on the
33rd of Kalendryas
in the Season of Winter

It was a cold, brisk evening. The suns were sinking beyond the walls of the city, stealing away what little warmth they already offered the snow and slush slathered streets. Iseult would be glad to put the hard bite of Jaedaxia's winters behind her and she was gladly looking forward to the cycle she departed for somewhat warmer climes. For now, however, she huddled within a warm cloak, longer fingers gloved and curled around the edges of the garment, drawing it in as tight and close as possible. She could handle a bit of cold. Minor cold. This was well beyond what she could endure without batting an eyelash. But at least it was better than dry heat.

Iseult was anxious about her departure. There was much to be done, packing to do, arrangements to be made concerning her belongings--she owned no horse to pack it all on to and wasn't about to buy one for the purpose of schlepping her belongings around. She had recent put in her notice at the glassworks, informing Dunnlevin that she'd be departing at the end of the month. She'd done that two brightenings ago and was relieved to feel that pressure lifted. Relieved and excited. She was leaving to make her own way. Finally.

The glassblower turned a corner. She was heading home, her hands and back sore from a brightening spent in front of the furnaces, carrying a heavy metal pole slathered in hot glass. She had, however, made a quick stop over to a tavern between the glassworks and her home, a nice place with good food and a warm fire--Iseult was in no mood to return home and slave away making a meal that wasn't even half-decent. She was tired. A little cranky. She could think of nothing better to do than curl up in bed and simply sleep.

That didn't mean that she couldn't get sidetracked, however.

Almost always, Iseult walked past the Brothers Baird, so long as she was in the mood to entertain a brief stopover or glimpse of the strange pageantry. She slowed now as she heard raised voices and the swell of laughter from the crowd. She craned her neck and studied the brightly colored puppets with narrowed eyes, her eyes picking out blurred shapes more than anything truly distinct. A mallet swooped down upon the head of one puppet--the stupidity of the play should have made the young woman roll her eyes, but she quirked a faint smile and observed it from the back of the crowd.

Sometimes it was just nice to stand back and let the simple things work their pleasure.

[Thracyn Caldor]

The darkening was cold but then, reflected Thracyn Caldor, they were always cold now that winter had come and got Jaedaxia in its' icy grip. He pulled the heavyweight cloak the Protectorat issued for the winter months tighter about him while behind him he could hear the sound of his squad's boots crunching through the snow and slush which seemed a permanent part of the streets now. The patrol had started some seven candlemarks before and every one of the men and women in the squad was tired, hungry, and probalby cold. Thracyn watched with half his attention as his breath came out in little visible white puffs with every step he took and he paused as the little band rounded a corner and came before the Brothers Baird. A crowd was gathered, despite the weather, and Thracyn watched as other miscellaneous passers by seemed to be drawn in to the little circle of warmth and laughter.

"Sergeant?" It was the gentle voice of Kelenda Mor'atar, the elven corporal who was Thracyn's chief NCO. He turned to meet the woman's eyes while he watched the rest of the squad file and and pause around them.

"Nothing important, just having a look. We're ahead of schedule this evening." The elf nodded and Thracyn turned away from the gold and blue clad group while he deliberated. He really was tired and rather miserable, but he knew for a fact the rest of the squad had been turned out this morning while he had still been safely tucked in bed and he felt like a bit of magnaminity might be in order.

"Mor'atar, go ahead and have them fall out for the darkening. I'll make the last swing through here and meet you all tomorrow." The looks Thracyn received at first were unbelieving, but gradually as the news sank in grins stretched across the faces of his squad and they fell out with a will, waving and calling out goodbyes as they took advantage of the unexpected boon. Thracyn smiled slightly himself and caught Mor'atar studying him from off to the side. "That means you too, Corporal."

"It's only another few blocks, it's no trouble," the elven woman protested but Thracyn silenced her with a look and she nodded in defeat. "Good darkening sir," she said softly as she faded into the cold night and Thracyn was alone.

The sounds of laughter coming from the puppet show brought the Medonian's attention back around and he crossed the street quickly with a strange urge to take a look and see what was going on. He had heard of the establishment before of course, but had never been any closer than he now was and he saw the brightly colored movements near the stage which meant a show was in progress. Laughter radiated off the crowd and Thracyn walked forward carefully and took a place next to a thin blonde woman wrapped in a thick-looking cloak. He glanced her way sympathetically, he was rather too warm-blooded for this kind of weather as well, then did a quick double take as he suddenly thought he recognized the girl, more by the set of her shoulders than anything else.

"Iseult?" he asked softly as he leaned forward to try and get a look at the woman's face.

[Seregon]

oocSorry for the delay in posting. The weather gods took away my power last darkening for several hours. In the end I gave in to their unkindness and simply went to bed. Le sigh.

The puppet production, Pour Attraper un Voleur, was indeed colorful, boisterous, and utterly outrageous. The Baird Brothers were clearly attempting to warm the hearts of the chilled audience through an abundance of slapstick, overacting, and downright silliness. If the uncontrollable bouts of laughter were to be used as a gage for the performance's success so far, this particular one would be deemed an absolute and utter hit!

Having arrived just as the story struck its uproarious stride, Iseult found that she could barely hear her own thoughts, let alone anyone calling her name. As she continued to watch the humorous performance and, to her surprise, enjoy it, she started to become aware of a twist developing in the rather traditional scenario.

Based on the oft told tale of a simple misunderstanding turned calamitous, this version appeared to be heading in a very dark direction. Iseult was fairly certain that by the end of the scenario the fair-haired maiden of the story would end up behind bars and, quiet possibly, put to death. Realizing this before the bulk of the crowd apparently did seemed to bring about an extra level of amusement. She could not help but hope that her astute observation was indeed a correct one. However, stories such as this often found a way of twisting at the very last moment. Would the Baird Brothers play it safe or pull out all the stops and end the production on a comedic, yet utterly dark note?

Thracyn, finding it rather difficult to capture the attention of the crafter, soon found his own being drawn away as a familiar figure could now be seen signaling for him just on the outskirts of the jovial crowd. It appeared to be Jean-Paul, one of the many messengers retained by his office, which was not an encouraging sight to see this late in the darkening. The folded slip of parchment in the boy’s extended hand could contain only one thing – bad news.

[Thracyn Caldor]

Thracyn frowned slightly when the woman he thought was Iseult gave no sign of acknowledgment to his soft query. The crowd was getting noisier and Thracyn stopped and looked towards the front, where the puppet stage sat, to see what was going on to cause such a change in volume. He couldn't really make out was was happening on the stage through the milling crowd, even given his height, but it had to be something a bit out of the ordinary to be getting the audience so involved on a winter's darkening. He glanced around and caught a flash of blue-and-gold in the corner of his eye then turned to face the edge of the crowd with a slight sinking feeling.

It was Jean-Paul, a messenger who worked at Headquarters and he was looking around pensively as if in search for someone in particular. Thracyn sighed, he had a pretty good idea who it was the young Protectorat man was looking for and he quickly ducked his way through the crowd, all thoughts of seeing if the woman he had seen really was Iseult gone as he caught sight of the folded sheet of parchment in Jean-Paul's hand. He slipped betweeen a couple of young sweethearts and murmured an apology as he emerged from the crowd and stopped before the messenger. The man offered a hasty salute which Thracyn reciprocated with one of his own before he quickly got down to business.

"What's up?" he said brusquely as he took the parchment from Jean- Paul's hand and opened it up. If headquarters thought it was important enough to send a messenger out specifically for him, then it was important enough to keep him on the streets until it was taken care of, no matter how long it took. As he broke the seal on the parchment and began to read Thracyn could only hope the errand, whatever it was, was something that could be easily resolved. He knew it was a forlorn hope even as he started to read, but hope, as they say, springs eternal, and his hopes for a quiet darkening slowly thawing out seemed to be evaporating before his very eyes.

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

Iseult's attention was drawn. She focused on the play and as the swell of noise rose with the crowd, she failed to hear the issue of her name from the individual standing almost at her elbow. Just another voice in the crowd, something swallowed up with the laughter. She didn't even turn her head to investigate the added noise, simply quirked a smile at the antics on the puppet stage.

And yet this sensation that she knew what was about to come to the puppet character on the stage dimmed some of her enjoyment. The twist was right there in front of, so obvious that she wondered that others did not see it. Or saw it and simply did not mind. But perhaps that was the way of entertainment, that old plots took on a new spin and despite the eventual ending that everyone saw, people watched because it was entertaining.

But Iseult was tired. Tired and cranky, eager to get home and relax.

She turned on her heels and began to pick her way out of the crowd. Occasionally she glanced back towards the stage, but it no longer held its appeal. She nudged aside someone in front of her. She was almost at the edge of the crowd, feeling a bit of a headache at the noise. Home. That's all she wanted. Home and bed.

[Seregon]

oocThracyn, please check your PM’s for a copy of the message you are reading in-game

The message Thracyn found upon the parchment was indeed most troubling. Sadly, Jean-Paul, a mere servant of the force, wasn’t able to shed further light on the situation. Saluting, the boy simply departed through the crowd, swiftly returning to his post.

As Thracyn took the briefest of moments to absorb his new orders, he found himself distracted by a disturbance near the edge of the audience. It appeared that a patron of the puppet show, a cloaked female, was being bothered by several very aggressive vendors as she attempted to depart the venue. Thracyn normally would have thought nothing of it, leaving the woman to take care of the relatively harmless situation herself, yet, once again, he was most certain that he knew the person within the cloak. And, ironically enough, in light of his new orders, she was someone he would need to speak with this particular darkening.

Iseult, the very patron being troubled by the insistent sellers, suddenly found that she was being brought to a complete standstill as toy puppets, gilded masks, and piping hot baguettes were thrust into her view. One by one, the vendors took their turn colorfully explaining how exquisite, or rare, or tasty their product was. And, one by one, they became more and more determined to sell her something as a sort of competition spontaneously developed between the three of them.

[Thracyn Caldor]

Monsieur Caldor,

I know it is rather late in the darkening, as well as your shift, but your extended service is immediately required at the Chambre de Verre. I am currently short handed on the darkening watch, so I am turning to you for your assistance, as well as your expertise. Compensations will be made.

There has been an assault on one of the shop’s attendants, a young girl by the name of Mademoiselle Stefanie Girard. There has also been a substantial theft, mostly of pieces crafted by a Mademoiselle Iseult Fluersdotter, a recent employee of the establishment.

Immediate suspects include the current staff, as well as recently employed individuals. At this point, it appears to have been an inside job.

Please make haste and meet me at the shop.

Serale,
Monsieur M. Veladon
Senior Officer of the Darkening Watch

Thracyn read the terse note then quickly reread it again to make sure he had taken in all the pertinent information in the admittedly brief communication. Robbery at the Chambre de Verra, an assault on one of the employees, a large number of glass pieces stolen, mostly those crafted by a Mademoiselle Iseult Fluersdotter. Immediate suspects, in all such cases, the current and former staff as well as management. An inside job. His presence required at the shop.

He folded the parchment neatly and nodded to Jean-Paul to show he had read and understood. So. An inside job at the Chambre du Verre. Money stolen, as well as glass pieces. An assault of an employee, a witness? It was a strange, macabre tale which began to unfold with the roar of the puppet show as a backdrop, and the weirdest note of all was the name he recognized. Iseult Fluersdotter. The woman he had thought he saw moments before the crowd and the messenger distracted his attention and caused him to filter through the mass of people out here to the outskirts. Had it been her or was he mistaken? There was no way to tell now, he certainly didn't have time to go diving back into the crowd looking for someone who might not be there, and anyway the note was obviously urgent. Thracyn quickly wondered whether or not to try and reassemble his squad but he dismissed the idea before it fully formed. The note was for him, not them, and the oddity of a person he knew being attached to the case made him want to take care of it personally.

He turned his back as a bitter wind swept down the streets and his eyes widened at what he saw. A cloaked young woman, the very one he had earlier seen and now positively identified as Iseult was surrounded by a group of overly aggressive hawkers, pushing their wares almost into the thin girl's face. She seemed a bit taken aback at the sudden merchant assault and Thracyn himself wondered who was pulling the strings in this particular show as he broke off his reverie and strode towards the woman at a brisk pace.

"Iseult," his voice was this time commanding and cold, enough to draw the attention of all four in the little group to him and he turned his eyes on the three merchants first. "Get lost. Protectorat business." He watched them sternly until they left before he turned to the young, and probably very confused woman behind him. He thought about opening with some platitudes of greeting, but his news was not good and he didn't want to tarnish whatever slight friendship they might have off of a few throwaway meetings by cheerfully saying 'good darkening' before bringing her along as a suspect.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come along with me. There's been a robbery at the Chambre de Verre and we're going to need anyone who might know anything about it along to answer questions." His tone was even and a bit friendly, but at the same time professional, and his request was little more than a polite way of telling the woman she was coming along with him whether she liked it or not. He caught her eyes with his own as he waited to hear what she would say to the extraordinary turn of events, while he wondered what on Telath could possibly be going on.

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

She had almost escaped the crowd. Almost. She jerked to a halt as three individuals swelled in front of her, jarring for her attention with colorful puppets, masks and warm baguettes. While the smell of the baguettes was enticing and her stomach rumbled at the thought of food--she hadn't had much to eat yet that brightening--she had food waiting for her at home and not much by way of coin to be found on her person; being robbed ensured that little coin was vanished off her person. Persistence was ever a thing of street vendors, who often had to get in someone's face in order to make a purchase--if only to send them on their way.

She brushed back her braid and glanced with agitation from one man to the next. "Look, your--" She swallowed aggravation as one of them cut in and poked a mask in her face again. She swatted at it, just narrowly missed striking it out of the air. In that time a puppet found itself way in front of her and she had to listen to how great a toy the piece would make, something of which she wasn't sure would do one such as her any good. Did she look as if she played with puppets?

Iseult was just about to forcefully push herself past them when her name caught at her ears. She frowned, frozen where she was, decided that the tone of the voice was hard and almost unfriendly, and one that she didn't recognize immediately, although it sounded vaguely familiar. She twisted and dark green eyes met his, uncertain and uncomfortable. Because that tone commanded attention and while the tone changed, altered into something a trace more friendly, it remained hollow.

"Thracyn." She inclined her cheek slightly, folding her arms across her chest even as her brows furrowed, her mouth thinly set. Theft? And here he was, staring at her and speaking in that tone of voice that meant something. Protectorate business, he'd said.

It didn't take someone with brains to link that she was either under suspicion or significant enough to haul back towards the Chambre de Verre, a place she'd only just left, for some sort of discussion.

She tilted her chin up and tossed her head in such a fashion as to keep the hair from her eyes. "Don't put sugar on it. If someone suspects me of something, just come out with it." There was a slight sneer to the corner of her mouth as she said it. Cranky. She was cranky. And tired. Hungry, too. Thracyn might have been someone she'd been friendly with in the past, but she clearly did not seem in any mood to be friendly. Not if she had to be dragged around, a finger jabbed in her face, and questioned.

She stepped past him, but it was in the direction of the Chambre de Verre, not home. "Can we get this done with? I've had a long brightening." She felt a little pang of guilt at her own tone and briskness, but shifted her shoulders back, feeling the weight of how tired she was curling around her. There was so much to be done. So much she'd already done. Why this? And why now?

[Seregon]

As Iseult and Thracyn made their way across the city, in relative silence, the temperature seemed to drop with every step they took. Soon enough the wind was wildly whipping about them and a heavy, wet snow began to fall. By the time they arrived at the Chambre de Verre there was nearly an inch on the ground.

Approaching the ordinary-looking establishment, which was located in the Ponts part of Le Quartier du Sud, on a side street that faced the outer wall of the city, they found it to be devoid of any signs of life. All of the front windows were plunged into darkness and the main entrance, upon attempting to use it, was found to be bolted tight.

The very next thing Thracyn took note of was the fact that the crime scene hadn’t been secured yet with the mandatory yellow rope and bell system. However, if Officer Veladon was indeed short handed, as he proclaimed in his message, then he wouldn’t have had the time or the manpower to do so on his own.

Speaking of which, where was the man? Was he somewhere deeper inside of the shop or had he made his way back to the main office already? His message had clearly instructed Thracyn to meet him here, yet, here appeared to be shut down for the darkening. Had he already relocated the investigation because of the sudden snowfall?

Iseult, simply observing the officer as he attempted to enter through the front door, knew well enough that there was also an employee entrance in the rear. Would she lead him there herself, or let him figure it out on his own? He appeared to be a smart man; the option would most likely come to mind soon enough. Wouldn’t it?

[Thracyn Caldor]

Thracyn rolled his eyes to the sky once Iseult had walked past then quickly fell into step a pace behind and to the right of the young woman. He could tell she was in no mood to talk, though he hadn't exactly made it any easier coming up on her like he had, and anyways the occasion certainly didn't warrant them exchanging pleasanties on ther way to a crime scene. He settled for a not-so-companionable silence as they walked along. The sergeant noted the change in weather only peripherally at first, but as the wet slushy snow swirled through the air and began to come down heavier as they made their way to the Chambre de Verre he cursed it silently as the chill in his bones seemed to dig deeper. Thracyn wondered what exactly he would find when he and Iseult arrived and he also rather hoped he could get her name cleared out of all of this without too much of a fuss.

He also hoped he could get himself out of it without much fuss, he had been on his feet more than half the brightening and outdoors the last eight candlemarks. All he really wanted at this point was to get warm, although he knew that if he was ordered to patrol the city until dawn, he would salute, about face, grimace, and carry on.

The pair arrived in front of the Chambre to a very odd sight, at least as far as Thracyn was concerned who had been expecting lights on, guardsmen bustling about, or at least the yellow rope and bell warning the general public to keep out. Instead the place was dark, no light, no signs of life, and no yellow rope. Thracyn walked past Iseult, who had come to a rather sullen halt, and tried the front door. Locked. He peered through the darkened windows but again saw nothing. He took a step back from the building and looked it over, a strange sense of forboding tingling at the back of his neck. This was certianly not right. Short staffed Veladon may have been, but there was no way a messenger from headquarters should have been able to reach Thracyn, even assuming he had been at the first place the messenger looked, before Veladon had at least someone here to secure the scene. Something did not add up.

He went over the various courses of action in his mind quickly, aware that there was another person there waiting for him to make a decision. He could just head back for the office with Iseult in tow, but he truly didn't want to waste any more of her time than he had to. His instuctions, too, had specifically told him to come here, and the snow swirling through the still-chilling air should not have put a halt to investigation so thoroughly. Something was definitely amiss.

He cast a glance at the young woman standing beside him and probably freezing a little more every second, mentally debating whether or not to trust her before he broke down. "I was ordered here and told there had been a robbery of the Chambre, that an employee had been assaulted, money stolen and a number of pieces, principally worked by you were taken as well. You were mentioned as a person of interest and I shouldn't have come after you like I did at the puppet show. It's been a long brightening. Anyhow, I brought you along in the hopes that we could sort all this out quicker if you were actually present and shown to be cooperating. The only problem is - noone's here." The young sergeant, so confident in the sentences before, now let a hint of uncertainty creep in his voice. "It doesn't make sense. The place should be lit up if nothing else, not totally deserted and locked up. I want to take a look around. Are you game?"

Thracyn waited for her answer before he asked, "Is there a service entrance or an employee door round back we could use to get in?" He wasn't sure bringing someone mentioned as a suspect into a crime scene was a very good idea, but his suspicions were aroused by the state of the building and he felt pretty confident that Iseult was not secretly a cat burglar waiting for him to turn his back so she could stick the knfe in.

[Iseult Fluersdotter]

Embarrassing as the situation was, Iseult was glad that she was spared any indignity of being bound or grabbed by the arm and propelled forward. That she went along willingly and knew Thracyn probably had much to do with that, but she kept a somewhat wary eye on Thracyn, almost uncertain that he'd continue to let her walk around as freely once they arrived where others of his ilk lingered. Her? A thief? The thought rankled her, that anyone might point their finger in her direction. She'd been a good employee, hard-working. She'd raised a fuss once that she could think of, but her compensation had been poor at the time. She'd been worth more than what they'd been giving her. The fuss had been necessary.

She huddled in her cloak, thinking the gloves did nothing to keep her fingers warm against the hard, blasting cold of Jaedaxia's winter weather. Her boots kicked up slush and snow as she walked and though she ducked her head to rub her ears against the upturned folds of her cloak, it did little good against the cold. She reached up and unbound her hair from the braid, letting the long length of it hang loose about her shoulders and adjusting it so that it covered her ears as best as it could. She couldn't wait to move south, not if the whole winter was bound to be like this.

As they reached the Chambre de Verre, Iseult wasn't entirely surprised to find the store in darkness. Had it been an average night, the front door would have been locked and the shop windows dark. Yet she recognized that this was indeed strange in a place that had only just suffered a robbery. She shifted from one foot to another, arms braced and folded against her chest, as she watched Thracyn inspect the front and look around. He looked confused. Uncertain. This wasn't what he had been expecting when they arrived.

She pursed her lips as he pointed out his plan--take a look around. She would have liked to go home and crawl into bed, but it was evident he was not about to let her go until everything was sorted out. "The workshop is running at all candlemarks. There's always a few apprentices around at darkening to keep the furnaces hot so no one has to start them up at the start of every brightening," she offered with a slight shrug. Furnaces took forever to reheat back to the proper temperatures. Better that they were fueled through the darkening. "There's a big door to the back where a lot of the pieces we ship out to businesses and homes are brought to be loaded into carts." And that was where the glassblowers came and went, rather than tromping through the front store.

"I'll show you." She stepped past him and led him around the large building to the back. Indeed there was plenty of space here for horse-drawn carts to come through for loading. The door was always open, this one; apprentices that worked through the darkening candlemarks were instructed to keep an eye on it and monitor for intruders. "See?" She indicated the door and stepped towards it to let them both in.

[Seregon]

As the two approached the service entrance – set into the back of the building and found just to the left of what appeared to be a shipping bay – the heavy, metal door before them suddenly flew open, got caught up in a rather violent gust of wind, and nearly clipped Iseult as it swung about wildly on its hinges.

Taking a quick step back, both Iseult and Thracyn soon found themselves confronted by a silhouetted figure - a tall, rather imposing looking one – that easily filled the brightly lit entryway now revealed by the open door. The hulking form, whose face was still cloaked in absolute shadow, swiftly managed to get the out-of-control door to behave itself with one impressive gesture of a powerful looking arm and hand.

Thracyn, at this point, found himself instinctively reaching for his weapon, but, thankfully, his sharp mind served him well as he quickly discerned that the dark, commanding figure standing before them was none other than Monsieur Veladon. With a splayed hand waved at Iseult, Thracyn attempted to convey that they were indeed safe, that the imposing individual wasn’t a threat to them in the least. On the contrary, he was the very man they had come to meet with.

However, unable to utter a single word between them, as the brutal winds kicked up yet another notch and swiftly turned into a deafening roar within the narrow alleyway leading up to the back of the building, Iseult and Thracyn were simply motioned inside by the officer with his free hand. In a matter of seconds, the three windswept, snow coated individuals were standing safely inside of the marginally warmer, far calmer Chambre de Verre.

“Thank you for coming so promptly, Monsieur Caldor,” the towering officer offered as he continued to brush lumps of wet snow from his broad shoulders. “And I see that you have already acted upon my direction to detain any and all employees of this establishment for questioning,” he added, with a dismissive wave of his massive, gloved hand toward Iseult. “I must commend you for moving so swiftly during such dire times.”