I do think that could be a riot, and a rather amusing diversion from counting this week’s earnings…
But for I it will have to wait, for I am committed already to join the Duchess for dinner.
Say, why don’t you and Rocks take the new “carriage” around town, bit o’ flash might remind those Whipweeed Boys on the lower east side who’s runnin’ bangers n’ mash in Weatherby.
[Franksenketchup tentatively pokes his head out the Leviathan’s side door, and seeing the alley vacant starts muttering to himself as he heads toward the main street and a conveyance waiting there]
Damn! It’s not here either. It was a poor clone to begin with and the Mind-Fillness™ technology is clearly still buggy. Biologically unstable, and with half the knowledge it needs to navigate the world. Igor should be jealous of it. Bah! Where to look next?
Tom steps out of the shadows of a doorway, smiling as he approaches the Dr.
Say, Old Timer, where you off to in such a hurry? Care to clue ol’ Tommy in on why you seem to have a Federation suit that looks remarkably like one my boyo Walleye, rest his sole, used to wear?
As his smile turns cold Tom signals to two previously unseen goons at the other end of the alley
Suddenly, kilometres away from the scene taking place in the alley, while in the middle of an intense discussion with his caterer about the proper way to blacken a hart cutlet, St-Patrick-Hartbrooke feels the inexplicable yet almost irresistible urge to gaze up at the heavens and ask the Heavenly Father, “Why?”
Of course, being rather well-acquainted with this feeling due to the course of events, as well as the various people he’s met, over the past few years, he swiftly stifles the blasphemous urge and continues to press his opinion about the exact shade of red that the innermost portion of the steak should be when served.
Oi, boyos, you hear that? Trout I heard some-fin reely sanctimonuious, comin’ from some-plaice… anyhoo…
Right then, Dr., no need for this to be orcaward, we’re all fins here, not anemones. So w’eel ask you again, what’s the porpoise o’ that uniform?
Look here you irreverent, wet-behind the ears, sea scoundrel, are you implying I had something to do with Walleye’s death? No. I didn’t. His demise did look suspicious to me, seeing as he was stuck clean through with an implement of some sort, but as I was in Leviathan’s when he stumbled in, it wasn’t likely that I was his murderer.
I may have obtained a small keepsake to honor his memory, but his clothes would hardly fit the ample frame my age has afforded me. I’m sure your protector, and my good friend Commander Caspianturnstile would be very interested in your malevolent menacing. Now do you intend to attempt me harm, or am I free to go about my day? I have most urgent business to attend to!
“Menacing?” Dear me Ol’ Top, no no, we simply have a tragic misunderstanding 'ere. Why, what hazard could a simple ward like me pose to such an eminent True Citizen such as yourself? You do indeed wound, sir, to think such of me.
With an exaggerated movement Tom engages in a cartoonishly obsequious bow, his hand motioning towards the open end of the alley. As the Dr. hurries on his way a dart of the eyes and flick of fingers from Tom sends two shadows slinking after him.
Oi, Tom. You want for me to do anything else. I’ve got to say whole lot strangeness goin’ on with that one.
Nah Rocks, Dick and 'arry will keep an eye on 'em and let us know.
'Sides, we got an appointment with those Laudnum Lads trying to run up on the Southside.
Oh dear me dear me, a little bird’s flit down an’ sung a song right into my own ear!
Oi, @liversnaps-grayson, @Rockford_Julius, seems like a honest gentlesentient’s work is never done!
I tell you, I just don’t know wot’s 'appened to the fine Weatherbean appreciation of an entrepreneurial spirit . Sad times these are my friends, sad indeed.
So this little bird tells me the fellar Liv, @MalevolentPixy, him who owns the Post Ledger seems to have some misconceptions about our endeavors and 'e plans on spreading these lies all over town!
Now, Mr. Twitterly-dee tells me they expecting us to come full force at the gates like a buncha barbarians! Well says me, that wounds almost as much as him thinkin’ this is some sort of criminal syndicate.
So Rocks, you send what boys we can spare to where we talked about, and then gather close my stalwart mates, and 'eres what we gonna do…
Oi! Tom (@Tom_Ratchetcrank), me old wombat.
I’ve had a proposition laid out to me earlier in the evenin’ and after a great deal of thought, I think it is in everyone’s interest that I take it.
Tom’s easy smile faltered a bit.
What I’m looking at is a long term strategy. Sure the daily grind we have here is nice, but what about… the Big Time?
As useful as I may be, frankly, I can be replaced by any of your boys. But back to that opportunity…
Coatrack is concerned for appearances and needs me to keep my whisker’s clean. Well, I used that to my advantage.
I can see you’re wondering what sort of deal I’ve made, but hold on a moment.
The Farnsworth Trade Concern is about to open and so I told the moose to get me in the first class. I hang out there, the professor’s know this face, I pass with flying colors and then Mr. Farnsworth will make me head of his Import/Export business. No more dealing with tramp steamers and scruffy nerf herders to bring in the goods, mate.
Now, sure, this takes a bit of time, but don’t most of you boys have other plans anyway? Nudge, Nudge, Wink, Wink,
I figure we let everything settle down, do all our duties for Gods and Weatherby. Send the Huns packing and when everyone is ready to celebrate again, well, they’ll know where to get the party favors.
So…good speaking with you. Need to go see a man about a horse…and carriage.
Rocks, Rocks, Rocks. You could never be replaced me boyo, never you think that. You an’ Liverschnapps are part of the beating heart of our little family 'ere, truth on truth I tell you.
walks over to Rockford and puts an arm over his shoulder
Comes a time though, I understand well, comes a time when all families must grow. Much as we might pretend, we knew the magic wouldn’t last. Never you think it Ol’ Tommy would get in your way, all I’ve ever wanted for you is the best.
Indeed, I’m myself to become the Mister to the Duchess soon, a date a relish more with each coming day. The winds are changing Rocks, the winds are changing.
No, Ol’ Tommy wishes you nothing but the best in your latest concern, and I too see greatness coming for us all with this not-to-be-missed opportunity for expansion. So proud of you I am, I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m going to send a few of the discrete boys with you, always there to lend you a hand should you need it. No, no, don’t protest, it’ll be our best, Dick an’ 'Arry, and you know they well know how to stay out of sight. But you can rest assured knowing they’ll be there.
Watching over you.
Now go on you scamp! I hears it told you’ve got an appointment to make.
Tom paces back and forth before the entrance to the ally, unnoticed with the chaos beginning to fill Weatherby’s streets. Domestic life had long since shuttered his operation there, appearances must be kept he was told. A heavy chain with rusted padlock now holds the gate shut.
‘Those were the days,’ he thinks, ‘those were the days.’ Of course not everyone saw it that way, Tom was still loathed by much of Weatherby’s elite. So maybe the feral ocelots were his fault, and he couldn’t help it now if the wild hippo population had taken over the sewers. But no, he knew the reason they turned their sneers towards him: hiding their fear. Fear of what Tom knew, fear of who’s name might still be in a little book. For all their airs, the upper crust of Weatherby still liked to dip its beak, such as it were.
Through the crush of the near riotous crowd Harry barely manages to reach Tom. He hesitates to complete his task, averting his eyes his pushes an envelope to his former employer.
‘Boss, I…’
‘It’s okay, Harry, you always done good by me. It’s okay, remember that, right? Now get out of here, get your family, go, make for the countryside.’
Tom slips a 50 pound note into Harry’s palm before he disappears back into the chaos.
He stares at the envelope unsure what to do with it. Slowly he opens it, then it slips from his fingers to fall to the cobblestones
Time means nothing as Tom stands before his former glory, the world a continuous crash around him. Grief begins to boil away from the heat of rage as his knuckles turn white gripping the iron bars of the gate. With a grimace he pulls a worn brass key from his pocket and unlocks the gate, the rusty hasp pulling free with a hard yank.
“So, that’s how he does. Well, the boyo’s gonna find out how I do.”
As Chaos erupts at the Governor’s mansion, no one notices one more exoskeleton scuttling in the back alley.
Inside there are shouts, flashes of light, cries – but it’s indistinct. A rebellion, for certain. But most rebellions fail. This one certainly isn’t going well.
Eighth digs into the gravel and splices into a fibre line. Another antenna bounces data packets off a private micro-relay satellite.
“Superior Information. That’s what Jules is always saying.” In position, prepared, and connected, Eighth muses to himself “I’d rather be attached to a space ship.”
Rocco was conflicted.
Cmdr. Capstanturnbuckle (@pogo) had left. Leaving him to care for little Rocco. Of course it was what had to be done, but part of him had wanted to be there by Damerl’s side.
He hadn’t seen any of the old crew in over a month. Those days were over, but through rose colored lenses, those were his salad days.
It would seem as no one had seen Hieronymoose in almost a month either. At least, not in the flesh or for any length of time. When he’d gone to see Lizzy, she’d put a a good façade, but he could see her flickering and she admitted she had no idea where Hieron was.
“Working” he tells me. “On what?” I ask and then he goes on about his business plan and mission statements and ‘the prototype’ He’s like a moose obsessed.
“And that’s where conflict gets you.”, mused Rocco as he scanned the evening sky from his perch on the water tower.
Liz had been happy to watch over little “Rocco Lobster” as she called him. Before starting into that damn song.
Young Rocco had been happy to have playtime with Quatro.
And Rockford had been happy to try on that mil-spec wing suit he’d found in the closet. A future gift, he surmised as it fit him perfectly. He tightened his chin strap and pulled down the goggles The night vision automatically turning on. A short run. A Jump. And the night breeze off the bay caught him as he surveilled the grounds below. As he descended, He’d find another tall building, climb to the roof and try again.
The longer it went on, the longer he knew the search was in vain. He banked and turned and prepared for a landing.
The old alley.
Somehow, he knew he’d end up here.
"Odd, "he thought, “The gates aren’t locked. I’m sure only @Tom_Ratchetcrank had the key and that certainly doesn’t look forced or jimmied”
A dark figure leans in the shadows, idly fingering something in his pocket.
