Steam and Steel Options

[Colonel Mustard]

If there was one thing Lucius had learned about Betty, it was that she was sharp, razor sharp, and for that he liked her already. A girl with her looks would have been fine, but there was nothing quite so interesting in a woman as a quick mind and Betty was very interesting indeed.

"That, my dear, sounds like a most intriguing proposition," Lucius said. "And if there has been on thing I've learned in my time, it's never to let an opportunity slip away. Please, lead on."

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Betty laid a deft hand in his grasp and led "Algy" upstairs. She had a deal with the barkeep, and her rental hours were still in effect as she led the Englishman up the creaky wooden steps. She slid her key into the lock and led him inside. She gave him a flirty grin as she locked the door behind them.

"Now, sugar, the fun can't start yet." She handed him a slip of paper, a certificate from the Prostitute's Guild declaring her disease and mutant free.

"My pedigree, so to speak. I'm as clean as you'll ever find a whore, and I work hard to keep it that way. I provide protection as well as contraception. I'll give you my prices, and we can decide how bad you want to be." She gave him a wink and primly sat on the bed.

This post has been edited by Elisabeth Hollow: Nov 3 2013, 09:52 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

If Lucius had to guess, either the certificate was genuine or Betty was as good at forgery as he was. He weighed those odds against each other and decided that they were much more in favour of her being genuine than her being a forger with some kind of excessively convoluted plan.

"All looks to be in order," he said, habitually giving it a longer inspection than most other customers would. "So how much would I have to pay for the unique privilege of sharing a bed with a beauty such as yourself?"

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Unique privilege, indeed. She thought. She stood up, her curls falling neatly from her bun as she pulled pins from it. They framed her face, the sunlight giving them a fiery shine.

"Well," she purred, running her hands up his arms and giving his shoulders a light squeeze, "Depends on what you like. And the more you give me, the better I am. Starting at five for oral, ten for full intercourse. You tell me what you want, and if you like things weird, that costs extra. I absolutely don't do bodily fluids, sugar." She slid her hands around his waist andfelt for pockets lightly.

Ah, there we are. She felt the discreet seam of a hidden pocket. She gave him a sweet smile and let her hand travel lower and brush him.

"What do you say, handsome? We got a deal?"

[Colonel Mustard]

"I believe we do. Ten dollars should adequately cover what I have in mind," Lucius said, producing the note and laying it on the counter by the bed. In a movement halfway between a simple spin and the rotation of a waltz, he turned her around so her back was facing him. "Now, my dear, as exquisite a sight as you are, I can certainly think of a way to improve such a view."

With deft fingers both organic and mechanical, he set about unlacing the back of the black dress that Betty wore, loosening the garment off. He placed a kiss on her neck as Betty obligingly shucked it off (he was surprised at how easily it was removed, but then again it may well have been tailored for such a thing, considering her line of work).

For a few moments he halted at what he saw. Betty's skin was far from unblemished, as he had suspected, instead decorated with an extensive web of tattoos. Across her arms were a multitude of designs, leaping fish and a desert oasis among other things, but the most impressive were the pair of mechanical wings stretching down her back, inked canvas stretching between faux-metallic struts.

"My word," Lucius said after an appreciative intake of breath. "You are a walking work of art."

He placed her down on the bed and stripped off his own jacket. A few undone buttons was enough to remove his shirt, exposing his bare chest and the ornamented metal plating over his right shoulder, moving above Betty, and devoted some time and energy towards the appreciation of art.

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Betty waited until the breathy sounds coming from the Englishman slowed significantly. Once the steady breathing had carried on for a few minutes, she quietly slid out of the bed on shaky legs. She hadn't expected much from him, but a man's stamina seemed to be better in the mornings. Her dress rustled as she slid it on and silently snapped her orset into place. He was insistent on seeing all of her, though some men thought that her leaving her corset on during was ideal.

She bent low and rifled through his trouser pockets, finding his wallet. She watched his sleeping form carefully as she pulled a ten and fiver note from his wallet, silently cheering her good fortune. She noticed he had change and a few dollar bills, and figured this was pocket change for him. He still had plenty to eat for the rest of the week, even if it wasn't.

She tucked all the bills into her top and finished pinning her hair. She slid her boots on, and with a soft click the door shut, and she was on her way out the saloon. She passed the young man from earlier, joined by another man. She shot the rougher looking man a wink as she passed, heading out the door, swaying her hips.

She walked down the road, earning a few nods from the men, both respectful and less-inviting, and looks from the wives and widows of the town. To the women, she was a hooker. A common whore. One who sold her body for the sinful delights of the flesh. For the men, she was a gateway to the Divine. For herself, she was trying to survive.

She took a left turn around a brick building to set her eyes on a white, wooden building three stories high. A picket fence surrounded the property around the acre of land covered in green grass. She pushed open the gate and squinted her eyes against the sun reflecting off the red-shingled roof of the building. She went inside after shutting the gate.

Her boots clicked softly against the cherry hardwood floors, and a plump, balding man looked at her over thick glasses. He was seating at a whit desk, the oak showing through the cracks of the aged paint. His desk was impeccably maintained, a large, neat stack of papers to his left, a small, similarly neat stack in front of him, and files in brown folders to his left. He seemed to have been flipping through them when Betty arrived.

"Good morning, Miss Bridges." He said, his reedy voice congested with a slight bit of phlegm. "Late again, I see. Like clockwork. Albeit, less punctual like clockwork. What was it this time?"

"There was traffic." Betty's voice lost the sweet, feminine sound she used with her Johns. She set her purse down on his desk, and he pulled out the contents, naming each item.

"Three throwing knives, two mint candies, toothbrush, mint leaves for chewing, hair pins, and..."after a few moments, he finished counting the money. "Ninety-three dollars. Not your usual amount, Miss Bridges. We're not skimming from the company collections, are we?"

"Slow night. And I know who took all my business, too. Those new girls. You mark my words, they'll show up dead in a ditch before they hit eighteen, the way they conduct their business. Gettin' drunk and partyin' all night, with four of 'em in a bed with one man. That ain't no way to conduct yourself! You need class. Dignity."

"Dignity for a hooker?" The man wheezed a laugh. "I can see the bills peeping from the clefts of your breasts, Miss Bridges."

Betty sheepishly handed over the ten and fiver notes, her brows set low. "Times are tough, Bill."

"I've been here for-"

"-over twenty years, and no on'es had the audacity to call me Bill." She finished with him. "I know. Just count the money, so I can go shopping."

Bill obliged, muttering not very quietly about his name being "William, not some back-water, bull-roping dandy name like Bill," and gave her her share. She sighed at the forty dollars and change and put it in her purse. She thanked Bill and went upstairs of the curiously empty house. She went to her quarters and changed into a similar dress as the one before, but much lighter in thread, and more breezy. She held open an umbrella to shade herself and walked back to town, a basked hanging from the rook of her arm.

[Callidus Thorn]

Gregor watched the harlot walk out, the ghost of a smile just visible in his features. Then finished his drink, his sixth or seventh, he'd stopped counting. "To hell with this town" he muttered to himself as he rose, without a trace of wobble, and made his way to the exit.

[Rohirrim]

Jonah watched the bounty hunter leave. "Safe travels." He made a small effort to wave, but just couldn't bring himself to care about the old, scarred vagabond, so he merely raised his open hand. He probably works both sides of the law, anyway, Jonah thought.

He noticed the woman Algernon had been with walk out. And so the rich get poorer, and the poor get richer. Odd like that, capitalism. He turned his attention to his plate, empty except for some pieces of meat and onion. He rapped a penny on the edge, catching the barkeep's attention. "That'll be all for now. I'm going to stick around for a while, if that's alright." The bartender, eyeing the empty saloon, nodded, and went back to cleaning glasses with a rag.

This post has been edited by Rohirrim: Nov 7 2013, 09:33 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Lucius awoke with a quiet snort, and glanced around at the unfamiliar hotel room he was lying in the bed of. He blinked a few times, and getting his bearings, and then he remembered. Certainly, he had had worse circumstances for waking up in unfamiliar rooms, and as he pulled on his shirt and jacket he couldn't help but feel a little pleased with himself. He'd have to engage Betty's services again in the future.

He was a little thirsty, and decided that he might as well head downstairs to fix himself a drink. Jonah was still at the bar as he arrived.

"Good day," Lucius said to him cheerfully. "Excuse me, barkeep."

"Whaddya want, pal?"

"Another G&T, if you'd be so good," Lucius said, opening his wallet for the cash. He frowned, shuffling through the pockets. He pulled it open fully and peered in; there was some money still in there, but fifteen dollars had disappeared.

"That thieving little bitch!"

[Callidus Thorn]

Percival Bradshaw stumbled into the saloon, muttering to himself, his mechanical left hand tapping a nevous rhythym against his ill-fitting steel breastplate. He took a seat at the bar, oblivious to anyone else there, and pulled out a pocketwatch on a chain from somewhere behind his breastplate. He glanced at it briefly, then glanced a second time, realizing that it had stopped. He immediately reached into one of the numerous pouches rivieted to his toolbelt, retrieving a roll of cloth, which he unrolled on the bar, revealing a selection of small tools, and set to work.

He was so engrossed with this, muttering to himself as he worked, that the bartender had to clear his throat several times to get his attention. Looking up at the barman, seemingly concerned, Percival began speaking rapidly. "That sounds like a bit of a cough you've got there, my good man. Oh? Sorry, I do get distracted by my work easily, or I did, I can't really say I've got anywork anymore. Oh, yes, of course, ermm, whiskey." The bartender took a moment or two to catch up to Percival's rapid speech, bfore turning to get him his drink, secretly hoping that it would be the only one he'd ask for.

Percival didn't even notice it's arrival, having returned his attention once more to his watch, bringing the mechanical array of lenses on his hat to bear, seating them over his right eye. "Hmm, looks like I'm going to have to pull you apart, see how that spring's holding up" As he muttered to himself his hands matched words to action, his mechanical hand catching the light as he worked, occasionally rotating fully at the wrist, an unconscious habit he'd picked up in the years he'd had it. "Yes, there we are" He pulled out the broken spring and began rifling through his pouches, eventually coming up with a spare, deftly fitting it into place before reassembling the watch. He then pulled a second pocketwatch from under his breastplate, only to find that one had stopped also. "Damn, I could've sworn I wound this this morning." He then proceeded to wind it before digging out yet another pocketwatch, this one working, and set the times on the other two, before returning them all to their various locations beneath the breastplate.

Putting away the roll of tools, he dug out another, and began tinkering with his mechanical arm, muttering to himself about it "needing adjusting".

[Rohirrim]

Jonah watched this almost farcical episode unfold. After Algernon expressed his disappointment at being picked by the whore, another British man arrived. In...armor? God almighty, this one had a mechanical arm too! Before he asked if they were both going to some sort of convention, he decided that was probably going to make Algernon angrier.

Turning to the new arrival, he cleared his throat, hoping to grab his attention. "Your...drink has arrived...if you didn't notice..."

[Callidus Thorn]

Percival almost started when he heard the voice. He'd been completely lost in his tinkering, as per usual, and the voice had shattered his focus. He turned towards the speaker, finding him to be a pale young man with a steam carbine slung over his shoulder. "Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me." He began closing the access panel on his arm and putting away his tools. "Never can seem to get that arm right. Built it myself you know, or rather I rebuilt it, replaced the one they gave me after the accident one piece at a time. Sorry, I'm rambling, I've been told I do that, nervous habit I suppose. I'm Percival, Percival Bradshaw. Frightful name isn't it? Percival, of all things. I sometimes think my father had a grudge against me from the start. Sorry, there I go again, as I said, I have a tendency to do that." He extended his flesh-and-blood hand to the gnetleman. "Everyone always calls me Bradshaw, thankfully. And you are?"

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Nov 12 2013, 10:34 PM

[Rohirrim]

Jonah limply shook the Percival's hand. "I'm Jonah Markwit, and the man fuming over there is Algernon Demontjoy. I expect he'll want to go find the whore who frisked him. He doesn't seem a man to trifle with."

Jonah lifted the flask to drink, then winced at the smell. "Railroad accident, eh? I worked with Union Pacific for a while. I'm an aeronautical engineer, you see."

[Callidus Thorn]

At the mention of the man fuming, Percival cast an eye in his direction, seeing the anger virtually radiating from the well dressed man. "Yes, he certainly doesn't seem like someone I'd like to get angry. He must have the constitution of an ox to suvive enough surgery for all those cybernetics. Frisked by a whore you say? Can't say I've ever trusted their kind, more fool him." He turned back to Jonah. "Yes, a railroad accident, or at least a steam engine accident. I was tinkering with a way to increase the power and something gave out. I really thought they'd have a margin of error on the tolerances but apparently not. Something went bang and I woke up with a mechanical arm. I never did find out what it was that went wrong." His eyes seemed to drift off slightly, as if looking into the past for a moment, then returned. "An aeronautical engineer you say? That sounds interesting, you spent much time up in those zeppelins? I've never been able to get near them, too likely to try and tinker with something. You'd be amazed how frequently a man can lose his job just for trying to improve things."

He knocked back his drink, eyes widening slightly at the coarse liquor. "So what brings a aeronautics engineer to Dodge? I wouldn't have thought there to be much call for one in a town like this, those zeppelins tend to stick to the cities."

[Rohirrim]

"Indeed, they do, for the most part. The ones that service Dodge are cattle wagons, either for live or butchered cargo. I've been contracted by a man who wants to get in on that business, and his engines need refitting, to compensate for the heavy load."

"But that's really quite boring. You say you're a tinkerer, then? Is that...cuirass, yes, that's it...is that anything special, or just some extra...protection?

[Callidus Thorn]

Percival looked down at his breastplate for a moment, before rapping his metal knuckles off it. "This? It's just a breastplate, only protects my front. I figured after I lost my arm I needed to be more careful. I found an older combat automaton, something inside it had snapped or sheared, and the mechanism tore itself apart. The shell was in good shape though, so I salvaged this from it. Rigged up a harness of sorts so I could wear it, and left it at that. Damn thing weighs too much as it is for me to consider modifying it though, so it's just something to protect me from myself."

He signalled the bartender for another drink, then turned back to face Jonah and gestured towards his weapons. "Now these on the other hand, these are what I tinker with mostly. They're my protection from everything else."

[Colonel Mustard]

Grumbling and cursing to himself, anger meaning he could barely maintain his accent, Lucius managed to fish out just enough to pay for his drink and slammed it on the bar. Driven more by rage than thirst, he swigged it down and placed it on the bar.

He glanced around the room, gaze alight on Jonah. He was talking with some man with a bionic and a breastplate but Lucius wasn't particularly bothered by that.

"Hey, you," he said. He caught himself as he nearly slipped into his New York accent, and cleared his throat. "You there; did you see where that little ginger strumpet ran off to?"

[Rohirrim]

"Let's see..." Jonah's analytic mind went to work. "It's around midday, which means that's the end of the morning rush...and she seemed to be keeping some for herself...I'd say she's gone to the Guild to pay her dues."

Jonah's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shouts and gunfire. "Jesus!", he exclaimed, standing up and taking the carbine off his shoulder. "What the Hell was that?!"

[Callidus Thorn]

Percival started as Jonah leapt to his feet and grabbed his carbine. Percival's mind had wandered to tinkering as he gestured to his weapons, and so he'd missed the shouts and gunfire that Jonah had heard. Snapping out of it, he pulled himself to his feet, checking his breastplate was securely in place, and drew his rifle, checking that it was fully loaded, praying that he wouldn't have to use it.

"What in Tesla's name is going on out there?" He asked no-one in particular, likely the only reason he didn't start rambling again.

[Colonel Mustard]

Lucius was snapped out of his irritation by the sound of gunshots cracking through Dodge, thoughts of retribution pushed to one side by the sound of weapons fire and screaming. He sniffed; there was the faint scent of smoke in the air.

"Unless I'm very much mistaken," he said to Jonah, in response to his question. "That's trouble."