OOC: If you don't know what Steampunk is, this brief video should give you the gist of it. Hop on in and let's go! Balderdash!
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Opening Title Theme:


~A complicated mechanical device gently places a record on an old victrola, and turns the crank~

Victrola: My clockwork home runs precisely on "shedule."
At 6:01, we rise from our bed.
Your monocle and tea are due at 6:02
Oh consistent is the life we led.

Oh it's grand to be a subject of the Ancien Regime.
Queen Sapphire's on the throne, it's the Age of Steam!
I'm the Lord of my manor, the sov'reign, the leige!
I treat my subjects (employees, servants, robots, etc)
With a firm but gentle hand.
(Noblesse oblige)

It's 6:03 and my automatic servants
Are spit and shined, and adequately gleam.
And so I'll give a drop of oil, and send them off to toil
Ah! Lordly is the life I lead.

A mechanical clock is made with precision.
A mechanical man requires nothing less!
Steam, gears, pipes and tools
They must obey the rules!
Otherwise?
Disorder! Catastrophe! Anarchy! Uprising!
In short you have a ghastly mess.



Scene-Setting Servant: The Otto Domain, the mansion of Otto McCloaker, the inventor. Here he comes now! Good morning, sah!

Otto: Good morning! *ties an ascot around his neck, waxes his handlebar mustache, slicks his hair back, and selects a monocle from hundreds lined up on a shelf* Guisseppie!

~Guisseppie in this OG will be played by a clockwork robot butler~

Guisseppie: Yes, Lord McCloaker?

Otto: Bring the Otto Mobile 'round. I've been invited to a celebration at my club.

Guisseppie: Yes, Lord Otto. I will bring 'round your conveyance immediately!

~A few minutes later, the engine of a train, no cars behind, is sitting in the middle of a line of horses and buggies, idling~

Otto: *in the backseat* What's the holdup, Guisseppie?

Guisseppie: Sorry, sir, we're in a traffic jam. *suddenly the smokestack stops belching steam and the vehicle falls silent*

Otto: What was that?

Guisseppie: Sorry, sir, we're out of fuel.

Otto: We're out of water? *grumbles* Fine. You fill up the tank and take it home. I'll walk!

Scene-Setting Servant: Thirty Minutes Later, the Society of Polite Inquiry, a vast, expansive room with chandelier, billiard tables, chairs, globes, mechanical devices, etc.

Otto: Ah, civilization at last. I wonder who's here and what they've been up to...? Am I early?

Narratress: History does not often speak of the land of Turquoise. But that's because history is mean-spirited and holds grudges. For instance, no one knew there was an island a bit smaller than the great land of Britain somewhere off the coast of Europe. But indeed, there are so many tiny countries in Europe, why I suppose you could slip just about any old country in there and none would be the wiser. Ask someone whether Kasnia or Latvia is a real country. See what happens. But this story is not about this. No, it is about people with interesting skills. Otto, for instance, could invent anything. However, his dear friend Alastair MacDuff...

Alastair: Nurse, fetch me those conblasted vicegrips!

Narratress: Dr. Alastair MacDuff was a dwarf, but it was not polite to say so. He was unusual for a dwarf for his darkened skin and bright red beard, but mostly for his mysterious magic medical bag.

~his nurse, a human woman of modest looks, reaches inside the magic medical bag and retrieves over sized vice grips that would not otherwise have fit inside the bag. Alastair proceeds to use the vicegrips to reach inside the body of a patient and pulls from it a horrendous giant leech. He drops it into a cage and the nurse quickly shuts it closed~

Alastair: A Hirudo absurdius. Tsk tsk tsk. But this is what happens when one swims in the Baltic Sea during leech season. Be a dear and stitch him up, I must be off to the Society.

~casually Alastair discards his surgical clothes into a basket, which is instantly and mechanically moved to his laundry room. He reaches the front room and stands on a pad in the room, which lowers a rusted old crane from above that lowers a top hat on his head (but in a rotating screw like fashion) and sets out his golden musket-cane for him. After activating the wipers on his goggles to clean up stray plasma, he picks up his magic medical bag and heads out into the streets~

Alastair: Taxi! Oh, I say, taxi!

~a buggy pulled by a mechanical steam-horse rides up~

Driver: Where to, doc?

Alastair: Off to the society lad. Quickly, now, quickly!

---

Narratress: Elsewhere, Queen Sapphire had problems of her own. It was near the turn of the century and truly the world was changing. Turquoise prided itself on surpassing its European neighbors and even the Americans in their own industrial revolution. But all was not well in Turquoise.

Sapphire: The New Lanteans. What should be done about them?

Narratress: And the Indifference Engine, a marvel of early computers, did thing hard and heavy upon the matter. Slowly and ponderously it considered it as it blew steam, flashed transponders, and worked very much differently in the manner of a simple magic mirror. In the end, it printed out a receipt, which an attendant read out loud.

Attendant: "Oh, I should think it's quite obvious. But I don't suppose my help would much matter, now would it? It's not like it would change my lot much."

Sapphire: *sigh* One wonders why Otto felt the need to make the machine so indifferent.

Attendant: Safety reason, your majesty. He believed a machine that cared would realize how bloody useless we are and pop us all off in short order.

Sapphire: Not a bad point. Still, the New Lanteans have allied with the Shrapnel Company. If we cannot math their navy, then we must find another way to defend our selves... fetch my carriage. I believe it's time I visited the Society.

OoC: I say, Masamune, you've pre-empted me during a post something fierce!

Scene setting servant: A pompous Germanic fat man in a steam-driven chair approaches Ditto, tipping his ridiculously large top hat.

Carolus: Ah, Lord Mccloaker. You grace us with your presence once more, ahummambhm. (Carolus wipes his sweaty forehead with a cloth)

Otto: Yes, of course. It's definitely a... pleasure... to meet you again, Mr. Alaric.

Carolus: Ha! I'm sure, I'm sure! Ahem. Well, I'm sure you've been wondering of what developments are occurring in the Kingdom Turquoise. Allow me to tell you over an expensive meal at Le Chevre, my treat. Shall we?

Otto: Quite. Oh, dash-it-all (skillfully fakes a look at his very complicated watch) - it seems I am growing late for a previous arrangeme-

Carolus: Oh, very well, M'Lord, if you are going to be so difficult. I won't try to buy out your gadgets today. The news is fairly important, ahummbm.

Scene setting servant: The two gentlemen satiate their hungers at a fairly expensive breakfasting spot.

Otto: Thank you for the meal. Now, if you'd be so kind as to continue...?

Carolus: My pleasure, my pleasure. It's been awhile since I've had your company at a meal, Lord, Ahmm.

Otto: Yes, yes, do get on with it, Carolus.

Carolus: Since you were late, I'll oblige. AH HA HA HA HEM. It seems the Kingdom of Turqoise might very well be going to war.

Otto: To war? With whom? This isn't about the royal affair, is it?

Carolus: I'm afraid I haven't a clue who we're at war with, Lord. The royal affair is not the cause, however. All the heads of industry were there, myself included, and the Queen is looking for an audience with the foremost inventors of the planet this afternoon aharummmphm.

Otto: Yes, a war would be very good business for a weapons maker lik- wait, what?

Carolus: Did you not receive a letter?

Otto:...Yes, well, I knew I had forgotten to do something. Usually Giuseppe is very good about that.

Carolus: Good luck to you, Lord Otto.

Otto: Leaving so soon?

Carolus: There's much to be done. We can't have the Kingdom of Turquoise lose a war, can we? Ha, ha.. hahah...hahahahah... ahahummhumm.

Even in a world of steam, most people are powered by the drink. Taylore's Pubb was one such place. A group of middle aged men gathered round, and sang songs that echoed through the foggy hills and dales.

Immanuel Kant was a real pissant
Who was very rarely stable.

Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.

David Hume could out-consume
Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel,

And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.

A fat man named Albert MacGregor sang the chorus. "There's nothin' Nietzche cannot teach ya 'bout the raising of the wrist. Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed." He loved the song, though he didn't understand any of the words. He'd picked it up from a professor of philosophy, after he tried to find out what Sisyphus had to do with his wife's death.

At the moment, he isn't particularly important. A lot of people aren't. But everyone plays a part as the cogs in the machine of industry. MacGregor is one of those cogs, in fact. A cog that hasn't had proper maintainance, proper upkeeping, or proper concern. A cog that will, very soon, blow apart, and bring the machine to a grinding halt.

OoC: DUN! DUN! .....DUUUUUUUN!

Near a small hut outside the town limits there's a man of average height and build who totes a small beard and hair at his shoulders. He's pounding away at a horse shoe while singing a smithing tune.



Man: Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaackingsmithing! Blaaaaacksmithing!
I want to practice Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaaacksmithing!
I want to practice BlackSMITHing, I want to smith some blaaaack!
I want to practice BlackSMITHing! I want to blacksmith near my shaaaack.

You say horse, I say shoe.
You say black, I say BLUE!
You say bots, I say, hey, man!
Steam was never my scene, so I don't like ma-chines.

You say talk, I say voice.
You say God, gimme a choice!
You say lord, I say CHRIST Iiii don't believe in metal mares,
magic bags or kaiser bears.

All I wanna do is Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaaacksmithing!
I want to practice Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaacksmithing! Blaaaaacksmithing!
I want to practice BlackSMITHing! I want to smith some blaaaack!
I want to practice BlackSMITHing! I want to practice- Oh, it's done. Nothing passes the time like a smithing tune. *dunks the horse shoe in a bucket of water and takes it back out as the steam from it rises* Only use for steam, really. Now hold still, Gracie.

The man knelt down next to the horse's back-right leg and lifted it to apply the shoe. Unfortunately, it startled her and the man was kicked in the chest.

Man: Oof... I'll get you when you're asleep. I guess metal horses have the advantage in that aspect... I'm gonna lay down.

~The Lady Kinoko had just returned to Turquoise from a trip to America. She, with her escort, returned to the manor where her twin sister Kuribo was managing it. Despite Kuribo's like for the not-quite-so-good, she was excellent at managing the manor while Kinoko went on her excursions, hoping to spread the family's name~

Kuribo: Welcome back.

Kinoko: Thank you. Anything interesting?

Kuribo: Well... Look, I know you don't like it when I do that kind of stuff, but I went into the pub, disguised as a man, and heard something interesting.

Kinoko: Well? Spit it out!

Kuribo: You're such a glutton for gossip. I heard that something big is going to be coming up. Unfortunately, my sources aren't all that reliable.

Kinoko: Have Muenster draw up a bath for me, and a meal. Ship rations are not that satisfying.

Kuribo: Let me guess--the ship ran out of food again?

Kinoko: I'm getting tired of that. Why don't they pack up enough food for the people on it? ~sigh~ Maybe I should knock some sense into those captains. Get me my dinner.

Kuribo: ~smirks~ Yes Ma'am. ~goes into the servant's quarters~ Muenster! Muenster! Miss Kinoko requires your services!

Muenster: Oh, the fair lady is back! Right away, Miss Kuribo!

~And Muenster goes to prepare a meal that Kinoko's never seen the likes of, after drawing her bath~

Kinoko: ~in the bath~ I always adore it when Muenster draws the bath water. There's nothing quite so soothing as this. Ahhh...

~After spending what seemed like hours in the bath (really, it was only one hour) Kinoko got out of the bath and ate her dinner with Kuribo~

Kuribo: You've always been spoiled, sis.

Kinoko: What? Sis, we've been through this conversation already!

Kuribo: I know, but I like ruffling your feathers, so to speak.

~The meal was finished in silence and the sisters spent the rest of the night talking about what happened, Kinoko about her travels, and Kuribo about what happened at home.~

On the outskirts of Turquoise, is located what appears to be a hanger bay. Scrap is littered around the building and the windows have been broken out. From the looks of it, it's been vandalized. A small steam balloon is seen falling slowly towards the floating continent. In the carriage below it a young man is seen fiddling with the mechanics. Several hundred yards before the ground, another set of balloons is deployed, stopping and wiplashing the carriage and it's passenger. It touched down inside of a hanger.

Out of the basket, the shaken young man stumbled out of the metal carriage. He moved his goggles off his eyes and place them on his forehead. Fixing his suspenders and straightening his muttonchops, he walked over towards a young lady in the opposite end of the hanger.

"Samwise Fitzgerald! You honestly have to be more careful! That's the third time you've nearly died!"

"Sorry Rebecca, I assure you, I'll have more safety precausions next time," he said.

"You've really got to stop this. You're giving yourself a bad reputation. Some of the people in town have given you a nickname."

"What is it this time?" He walked back over the the deflated ballon. "I need more support, if I'm to get high enough."

"They call you Flutter! They say it's because your brain has never came down from up there! You've got your head in the clouds. You've got to give up this rediculous dream and get a proper job. You've become a disgrace to the family, you have. Ruining the name of Fitzgerald."

"Look I know there are people like Otto McCloaker who will tell you we've reached the pennicle of technology, but I tell you they're wrong! There's something better than steam power. Civilization can't stop here. There's gotta be something better and I have to find it. "

"Look you need to find some decent work. And settle down with a nice woman. I hear there's going to be a war soon, the end might be coming sooner than you think."

Samwise fidgeted with a nearby wrench. "If someone attacks this country, it will have to be an arial strike. Think of what advantages my work would bring. Maybe someday this whole country could fly!"

"A flying country! You are a fool. If we were attacked, it would be a nautical strike."

"Even so... I mean... wouldn't it be exciting to go up there? To live above?"

"Everyone dreams of living on the clouds, but dreams are all they are. You would do well to remember it."

"No I mean higher than that. No not the sky, there's not any land up there. And you can pass right through clouds. I'm talking about higher... you know... the Moon!"

"The moon? Everyone knows that you can't reach the moon. Steam power just doesn't work that high... wait is that what you've been doing? Please tell me no!"

"It is. I've been working to achieve that dream, and I believe it can be done! I believe it!"

Rebecca slapped him. "Enough of this crazy talk! You WILL go and find a respectable job. You WILL. I will not have you drag the name of the Fitzgeralds through the mud like this. I don't care if you are just a cousin, you still ruin my family. Goodbye sir, and the next time I see you, you very well better have a job." She stormed out of the hanger.

Samwise stood there for a minute, in shock of what just happened. He walked over to his workbench and sat on a chair. The desk was cluttered with different bills and blueprints. He noticed a letter that he had thrown there before he left on his voyage.

"A Royal Invitation?" He opened it. "You are hereby invited to... in Turquoise... Wednesday at 5:00pm." Wednesday? That's today. Samwise looked at a clock on the wall. It read 4:15. "Oh dear. I'd better hurry." He grabbed his coat and ran out of the hanger.

~Flutter dons his driver's cap, goggles, scarf, driver's gloves and boots, and steps onto his latest invention... a device which uses internal gyroscopes to remain upright while you stand on it.~

Flutter: This calls for an immediate Segue-way!

~he yanks on a cord and it roars to life. However, it's combustion engine is really powerful, so it barrels down the cobblestone road at 88 miles per hour. He'd be screaming, but sound only travels so fast...~

THE MEETING


~Later on, he dashes up the steps to the grand entrance of the Society. Inside the grand hall are chairs full of inventors, industrialists, workers, blacksmiths, society folk etc. He scrambles to find a chair when suddenly he realises, with fear, the speaker is the Queen. He sits down very quietly~

Sapphire: As you all know, for years we have sent our most violent criminals to the penal colonies on the far, distant, mysterious tropical island of New Lantis.

Flutter: Sorry, may I sit here?

Blacksmith: Of course. Patrick Smythe. Blacksmith.

Flutter: Sam Fitzgerald, tinkerer. Pleasure.

Sapphire: There, those who would not live by our rules could live together on a harsh tropical island. Beyond that, we've granted them near independence. Unfortunately, intelligence reports from New Lantis suggest that some of the island's most prominent citizens may be organizing, forming some sort of Secret Society, and plotting against the Motherland. Bombings, sabotage, and possibly even all-out war.

Flutter: Ridiculous! They've no means of attacking us!

Sapphire: Actually, it seems they've managed to cobble together some degree of an organized civilization there. And worse, they're trading valuable gold and materials mined from the island to some of the world's biggest war manufacturers, in exchange for military.

~much chattering~

Sapphire: We're here to discuss latest ideas to make Turquoise more efficient. First up, Lord Otto McCloaker.

Otto: Thank you, thank you. Today, I present something to revolutionize communications! You recall the Difference Engine?

Sapphire: *sighs* Yes, we remember the difference engine... and it's upgrade.

Otto: I've improved it!

Sapphire: The devil you say.

Otto: I've devised a system of composing and sending mail rapidly, using a new Difference Engine and a system of pneumatic tubes.

~Otto unveils an elaborate brass typewriter, over it a brass box with a glass windowpane. Inside the glass pane is a sheet of parchment.~

Otto: See, by turning this crank on the side, you can raise or lower the sheet, to type wherever you want. And you type your message on it.

~Using the loud, clacking brass typewriter, he spends fifteen minutes typing a short letter, constantly stopping to paint over and retype mistakes~

Otto: There we go. "Dear Lady Kinoko. How are you today. Welcome back. Yours most sincerely, Otto McCloaker, esq." And it includes a spell-checker.

~holds up a little Oxford Turquoisian dictionary which is attached to the machine by a little chain~

Otto: And it's really easy to attach a photograph onto it.

~Otto unlatches and opens the glass pane, gets out an old sepia photograph of the Society's membership, nobody smiling, cuz it's old-timey, and a small pot of glue. He carefully blots glue on the parchment and affixes the photograph, and blows it dry~

Otto: And now, we send it. ~he carefully inserts the scroll into a little glass canister, goes over to a wall, and places it in a glass pipe. He presses a button called "Send" and a burst of steam sends the canister flying through the piping~

~Back at the Kinoko mansion, Kinoko is in the WC, washing her hands. The showerhead in her tub begins rattling. Quizzically she goes to her shower and looks up at it. The brass canister hits her dead in the forehead and knocks her out cold~

Showerhead: YOU'VE. GOT. MAIL.

~Back at the Society~

Otto: -and again, it's not something you just dump something on. It's not a big truck. It's- it's a series of tubes.

Professor MacDuff: That's crazy. Have you tested it yet?

Otto: Oh yes. My assistant and I tried it out yesterday.

~flashback, flashback~

Otto: At last, it's finished. P-Mail is finished. I wonder what will come first.

~A canister fall out of the tube onto his desk~

Otto: Aha, the world's first P-Mail. I wonder what it is. *opens it to read* "Are you interested in enlarging your equipment?" Well, yes, I could use a new workbench. Guisseppie! Respond to this missive immediately, to the affirmative.

~Flashforward~

Otto: They only sent a tube of oil. I use it as a lubricant. On the whole, not a great addition to the toolkit.

Queen Sapphire: We are not amused.

Otto: But fear not, Your Hig-ness, I've already begun work on inventions for the war effort!

Sapphire: Lord McCloaker, we are not interested in going to war.

Otto: Your mistress?

Sapphire: Thanks to the efforts of the Society, we already have the Icarus Project.

Flutter: I require exposition.

Prof. MacDuff: As you know, Turquoise is not attached to any landmass. It's literally floating on the water. This has been an advantage... with old clockwork rudders, we were able to paddle the island around at will, making us dashed hard to invade during the age of pirates.

Otto: But the government has had us working on giant propellers that will let us make the island airborne, making it invulnerable for a new age!

Flutter: Dear me. That's an odd thing to keep secret.

Sapphire: It's been in all the papers.

Otto: And the central engine has been located... *walks over to door* right here in the basement of the Society!

~Suddenly, the ground is rocked by a tremendous explosion. The chandelier rocks, several pipes bust, things slide around the Society floor, books fall, and everyone falls over~

Danger!

Sapphire: Now we are very MUCH not amused.

Smythe: Everyone, get out!

~The Queen is rushed outside. Otto makes for the door but the sensible fellows drag him outside. They all take refuge across the street in Abney Park as half the beautiful Society building collapses in itself~

Otto: The... the engine...?

Smythe: Well, there's your steam power for you. Probably blew up on it's own. Flying islands poppycock.

MacDuff: Nope. Sabotage, no question.

Flutter: The anarchists' opening move?

Sapphire: That's up to you to figure out. The situation has grown dire. Society, it is up to you to get to the bottom of this, and find a means of safeguarding our kingdom. We'll need the best minds in Turquoise.

MacDuff: As to resources, Your Highness?

Sapphire: You have carte blanche of the royal treasury.

Otto: $_$

Flutter: I... I've had some ideas about-

Otto: You're hired.

Flutter: Swish.

Europe on the Verge of War! Again! This Headline is NOT a Repeat from Monday.
New Lantins threatens war on Motherland.
New Lantis parliment today resolved to war. Age old sentiments resurface as Turquoise readies itself for the largest conflict it has seen since April.

MacGregor couldn't read the paper, however the letters didn't look very reassuring. There was that WAR word again. He wasn't sure what it spelled, but he didn't like it. And this is strange because at this very moment, he was involved in a shoot out with Turquoi troops.

He had no idea why he fought; no idea what was so worth risking his life and livelyhood for. And very soon, he'd realize there were greater thing in the universe than abject wonder. Hospitals for one.

Time passes very differently when you've passed out from blood loss. From one's perspective, there's no past, present, or future. There's barely a being. The next thing one knows, they're strapped to a chair in a cold, poorly sterilized, laboratory.

"Oh, he's moving," said a voice, "It's about time he woke up." The voice wafted over to MacGregor, passed out on the operating table.

"M......" MacGregor gurgled.

"Ah, jolly good, the chap's waking up. Otto, over here."

"Another false alarm, Samwise?"

"No, I do believe he's awakening."

"Good. We shall have him healthy for his execution."

"Execution? My good man, why on earth would we do that?"

"To send a message. That's how it usually works."

"And how, pray tell, will a dead body send a message?"

"Well," Otto grumbled, "Damned if I know. How do you imagine Guisseppie?"

"Perhaps the New Lantians are experimenting with electricity; might reanimate the corpse on its return," droned Guisseppie.

"I somehow doubt that."

MacGregor turned his head and passed out again.

"Shot five times, it's a mercy he's still functioning. Now, Samwise, explain this internal combustion engine to me one more time? I believe we were talking about something called diesel, was it?"

OoC: My terribly long intro that in no way joins the story or even matches the tone of the other posts. Just like old times.

~A teenage girl, thin and dirty, is thrown against the dead end wall of a Turquoise back alley littered with piles of refuse. In one hand is clutched a heavy sack that might have been useful against her assailant were she willing to risk losing its contents, filled as it was with her most prized of possessions--money. A pair of thugs grab her shoulders and press her back against the brick, while a third thug stands alongside a heavyset man wearing a bowler hat and leaning on a cane.~

Mr. Nameless Nobleness: Now child, you best take back what you said about my hair, lest you want something unfortunate to happen to yours.

~Sensing a cue, the third thug draws a knife with one hand and grabs the girl's curled hair with the other.~

Mr. Nameless Nobleness: Though I grant you, no man would find such a hideous figure desirable with or without it.

Thuggish Leader: Oi, yeah. Bet your mum didn't even feel it when you popped out, toothpick.

~The other two thugs guffaw at their leader's terrible joke, while Mr. Nameless Nobleness glares at them. He fidgets with his bowler while the girl struggles with her mouth clamped shut.~

Mr. Nameless Nobleness: My hair is still waiting for that apology, child.

Girl: There ain't no 'air to 'pologize to!

~The thugs gasp and look at their benefactor. Seething red, he gives the command to cut. With a lump of regret forming in her throat, the girl worms one arm free and swings her bag of money into the thuggish leader's face. He holds up the knife to protect himself, slicing the bag and spewing the turqoins within across the alley.

~To note, one coin falls into a pile of garbage that is not entirely garbage. The bit of blue currency bounces from rubbish to rubbish until it comes across an old clockwork robot. It is pieced together with plates from old, ornamental armor, though this is patchwork and its gear-built guts are largely exposed. Engraved onto the right side of the steel breastplate are the letters: M-O-D-E-L T, the nineteenth (there is no F) in a line of alphabetized failures. A slot in the left side of the breastplate has a smaller engraving above it saying, "Insert coin here," a request to which the lost turqoin and gravitational pull oblige.

~As the coin tumbles about the robot's insides, activating the numerous gears before finding its way back up to the helmet acting as the machine's head, the robot itself stands up from its resting place. The thuggish leader, oblivious and pissed over his now broken nose, goes to stab the girl, but the robot catches his arm and points to the knife.~

Robot: Hey. Mind if I borrow this a second? Some Yank must have stuck a wad of gum to me.

~The thuggish leader hesitantly hands the knife over, which the robot uses to scrape the gum off.~

Robot: There we go, thanks. Have it back.

~The robot sticks the blade into the thuggish leader's gut, who drops with a yelp. The other two thugs drop the girl in surprise, then advance on the machine. The girl crouches down and covers her head as the robot goes to work on the two, missing a quick and decisive fight scene though at least finding a few of her lost coins.~

Robot: Throw me a spear!

Girl: ~glances up~ Eh?

Robot: Now, he's getting away!

~The girl digs through the trash until she finds a broken mop handle and tosses it to him. Seeing what's left of the thug trio she begins to wretch, while the robot hurls the splintered pole into the back of the retreating Nameless Nobleness.~

Robot: Ten points.

Girl: You...you killed 'im! 'e was a big wig and everythin' and you--

~The robot turns on her; she shrieks and cringes away.~

Robot: 1) Drop the Cockney accent. 2) So? I'm not a fan of those "society going" people anyway.

Girl: 'eah, bu-- ~coughs~ Yeah, but the police will come sniffing any minute.

Robot: Then we better get moving.

~The robot starts towards the alley's entrance. The girl edges after him.~

Girl: We?

Robot: ~taps his helmet~ Your coin? ~taps his breastplate~ Your minionproperty. Name?

Girl: ...Olivia. Olivia Twinrose Oerson.

~The robot stops over Mr. Nameless Nobleness and grips the pole for a moment, but leaves it in and instead bends down to take his hat.~

Robot: Call me Stevepunk. ~tosses her the hat~ Keep that hair safe. People died for it.

~As they leave the alley behind, Mr. Nameless Nobleness's hand twitches.~

~it just so happened that, with their meeting adjourned, that Dr. MacDuff was on his way back to his home. However in doing so, he encountered none other than Mr. Nameless Nobleness~

Dr. MacDuff: My god! It's my good friend, Mr. Nobleness! Someone call a constable!

~sometime later, MacDuff returns to his office while two police constable carry Nobleness in and set him on a table~

Nurse: Oh my! Doctor, what happened?

MacDuff: He's bleeding, woman! Does it matter!? Fetch the gauze and some whiskey.

Constable: For the wound?

MacDuff: No, you daft fool. I can't operate sober.

~sometime later, Nobleness awakens and looks around in confusion~

Nobleness: ... what happened? Where am I? Why can't I feel... anything?

MacDuff: There were... complications with the surgery.

~Nobleness lifts up his hands and see they are mechanical. In a panic, he lumbers over to a mirror and looks on in horror at his new form, a completely mechanical man with a brain floating inside of a jar at the center of a clockwork monstrosity~

MacDuff: ... yes. I was a bit too aggressive with the whiskey.

Nobleness: That girl... she did this to me...!

MacDuff: Well I don't like to point fingers (at me), so yes. Damn yes, man. It was 'that girl'. Rotten luck, terrible I say. But I do say that your new body would come in handy for a pickle on our mission to New Lantis, wot?

Nobleness: ....

MacDuff: Come now, Nobleness. It's not all bad! You're fully equipped, if you catch my meaning!

Nobleness: ...

MacDuff: Aha! This sounds like my conversation with my ex-wife.

Nobleness: ...

MacDuff: Come now, old chap. You're beginning to wear on me, Nobleness.

Nobleness: ... call me Noblomaton.

MacDuff: Well, whatever whets your biscuit, old boy! What say we pop down to the pub for a drink, wot?

~Noblomaton lumbers out of the hospital, leaving a hole in the side of the wall~

MacDuff: Perhaps not, then. Aha! Oh dear, I believe my mad medicine is catching up with me. ... this may be a problem...

~just then, Otto McCloaker walks in~

Otto: Old bean, have you noticed that curious hole in your wall?

MacDuff: Ah, that? I get a lovely breeze in the evening. Quite lovely, wouldn't you say?

Otto: Oh, quite. I'm not sure why I haven't thought of that...

MacDuff: Here for your examination?

Otto: What? God no, old bean. I like you as a colleague, but I rather like keeping ally my skin. I thought we might be off to get some recruits. Rally up the old army, you might say! For Queen and Country and all that rot, wot wot!

MacDuff: Jolly good idea, old chap. I'll just fetch my musket and magic medical bag and be off then. Though I shan't be driving. A bit too many down the old oesophagus!

Otto: ... yes, quite. Any idea who we should see into first?

MacDuff: Ah, let's see Lady Kinoko. I know you have a fancy for her.

Otto: Balderdash! She's thin as a twig and speaks in a most perplexing manner. You know, I've theorized she might not even be from this time!

MacDuff: What time is she from then? Teatime? Poppycock and you know it.

Otto: Time travel! It's, ah never mind that. Fine, we'll pop in and see her if you have your heart set on it.

MacDuff: But-

Otto: Come along, old boy! ~strolls merilly out the large hole in the wall~

MacDuff: Otto! Otto! But wait, how will we get there? Are we to lunch out? What of my afternoon appointments? Otto! OTTO! Dash it all, there he goes! ~toddles off after him~

~At the Schalé (yes, this is their last name) mansion~

~Kinoko rubs her head~

Kinoko: Owww... What shrackin' hit me in the head? ~looks over and sees a canister~ What is this? ~opens it up and sees a letter from Otto McCloaker inside~

Kinoko: ...figures it'd be from him.

~Kinoko walks out of the WC and into the room across from hers, which belongs to Kuribo. Kuribo is calmly reading a book, contrary to what she's usually doing.~

Kinoko: Hey sis. Guess what hit me in the head?

Kuribo: ~smirks~ Let me guess--another letter from McCloaker?

Kinoko: Another--what in blazes are you talking about?

Kuribo: ~giggles~ What, you don't think I see how he fancies you?

Kinoko: ~turns red~ Shut up. You know it's only one-sided--I don't fancy him much.

Kuribo: Then why are you turning red?

Kinoko: Shut up. Anyway, I bet he was testing something.

Kuribo: You can say that again. That man is always testing something.

~just then, there was a knock at the door~

Kuribo: Enter.

~One of the servants, Gouda, enters the room.~

Gouda: Miladies Schalé, you have guests. An Otto McCloaker and a Dr. MacDuff.

Kuribo: Speak of the devil~

Kinoko: Shut up. Let's go down and greet our guests.

~And in a swish of skirts, Kinoko headed out of the room. Kuribo chuckled, put on a robe, and headed after her. The sisters approached the two gentlemen at their door.~

Kinoko: Sirs McCloaker and MacDuff. Welcome to the Schalé mansion. Won't you come in?

Kuribo: ~grinning~ Yeah, come on in.

MacDuff: Ah, ladies Schalé! It's so nice to see you again! Yes, we'll come in.

~the Schalé sisters led the two men to the guest room~

Stave X: The League of Extraordinarily Gentle Women

~Otto and MacDuff crane their necks as they enter the parlor, with it's shined marble floor, Greek columns, frieze ceiling, Middle-Eastern carpet, Oriental vases, etc~

MacDuff: *leans into Otto* This is gonna cost us.

Otto: *leans in too* Steady on, old man. Remember, we have the treasury at our backs.

MacDuff: *whispers* And national insolvency ahead of us.

Kuribo: Like what you see? *grin*

Otto: *startled* Eh!? No! Er, I mean, yes. It's very- is that an original? ~goes to look at a painting~

Kuribo: Yep. Got it from a collector of fine masters.

Otto: It must have been very expensive.

Kuribo: He was reluctant to part with it.

Kinoko: Would you gentlemen like anything to drink? ~glares at sister from drinks' cabinet~

Otto: No, no, we're fine-

MacDuff: What have you got that’s strong?

Kuribo: Red Turqish brandy, five years old.

MacDuff: Sold!

Kuribo: I'll have what he's having.

Otto: Oh, er, I suppose I'll take a cup of tea. No sugar.

Kurbo: You'll have what he's having, sis. ~grin~

Kinoko: *glares* Here you are, gentlemen.

MacDuff: *over at the gun racks cabinet* Is that an original-

Kuribo: -Von Herder custom air-rifle, with interchangeable sniper and hunting barrels yep. Air-powered, completely silent and no gunpowder.

MacDuff: You shoot?

Kuribo: Nope. I prefer the, ah, indirect approach.

Otto: Von Herder. He was a mechanical genius. Completely blind. Deceased.

Kinoko: Murdered, actually, by the Napoleon of Crime himself, ten years ago.

Otto: I didn’t know how many people knew- ~he turns around and is hit in the forehead by a copper canister~ OW! Ah, I see you received my message.

Kinoko: Indeed. Try a the steamograph next time. *sips tea* But I understand that you did not come here just to retrieve your canister.

Otto: Dreadfully sorry. No, actually. You see, we've come screening recruits for ~eyes dart~ a special task. For Queen and Country.

Kuribo: Boring.

MacDuff: It seems there’s something big going down.

Kuribo: Ooh, so I was right.

Otto: Turquoise Intelligence pointed us to you. Well-connected in society and finance, in addition to being a capable survivalist. Er… what is it exactly you do?

Kinoko: I am an expert naturalist. I go on expeditions around the world to catalogue flora and fauna, and am an expert in surviving in the wild.

MacDuff: ~jerks thumb at Kuribo~ And what’s she do?

Kinoko: My sister drinks, smokes, dresses as men and frequents the lowest venues in Turquoise.

MacDuff: *leans in to Otto* Let’s leave her and bring the fun one.

Otto: *whispers* That’ll do, Professor. *aloud* What about self defense? ~he looks to see Kinoko leveling a pistol at him. He screams a second before the teaspoon in his cup is shot away~

MacDuff: I see you're good with air pistols, too?

Kinoko: Better. I'm not lleft-handed. *passes steampunk pistol to right hand* Now what's the case.

Otto: *gibbers*

MacDuff: Er, I'll explain. Espionage, prospect of war, near-certain death with the safety of the kingdom in the balance, against a shadowy organization of radicals.

Kuribo: Oh, well, now I'm in.

Otto: We’ll be traveling undercover to… New Lantis.

~thunder~

MacDuff: Sneaking in through the wild outlands, to infiltrate a secret organization that’s been meeting with a major European arms manufacturer and building up an arsenal. They plan to attack Turquoise.

Gouda: *walks in* Evening edition of the Times, mistresses?

Kinoko: No thank you, Gouda. This is fine.

Otto: *picks up paper off silver tray* They’ve already struck. ~lays it out in front of them~

Kinoko: Accident at the Society of Polite Inquiry? An explosion?

Otto: The militant’s opening move. It’s already started!

MacDuff: So how much are you asking to come along.

Kinoko: Now you’re talking. *sips tea* 5000 Turquoins.

Otto: Whew.

Kuribo: Each.

Otto: *clutches chest*

MacDuff: Done. Cut the check, lad.

Kinoko: So how are we going to get there?

Otto: I hope the other recruits are less confident of their abilities.

Kinoko: So how are we going to get there?

MacDuff: How ARE we getting there.

Otto: Hm…

~as a storm rages outside, the camera pans in on the paper. The subheadline is “MYSTERIOUS ASSAULT IN GRAYHALL. THREE DEAD. ONE ARISTOCRAT MISSING. PANIC GRIPS CITY”~

*cue old-timey adventure music*

Cowritten by Ditto.

---

After learning of the events of the Grayhall Massacre, Otto McCloaker and his motley crew of merry... individuals made one stop before investigating the massacre. If this was in any way related to the New Lantean invasion, certainly that MacGregor fellow would know something.

MacGregor sat in his cell, quietly eating his rather good meal of chicken, green beans, and ice cream, listening to the two chaps outside his cell curiously. The voices wafted in like a fart in a sterile room.

"Pity we couldn't find any records of what he was originally sent to the colonies for. Be nice to know for the trial, before they have him shot," said the voice of MacDuff

"You mean hanged," corrected Otto

"No, no, they shoot prisoners of war, captured on the battlefield."

"Nonsense, New Lantis is our penal colony. That makes it treason."

"They said to be sure he was ready to fall backwards."

"No, no, I'm pretty sure it'll be more of a swinging motion."

The conversation was punctuated by the sound of his cell swinging open. The offending guard stood without expression or life. MacGregor sat there with spoon hanging limply out of his mouth.

"Uh, guy, do you mind?" asked MacGregor "I'm trying to eat. And eventually sleep."

MacGregor was lead out in shackles into an investigation room, which was significantly more charming than the ones to come centuries later which looked, and smelled, like someone had been sick on the floor.

"Oh, hi. Alvie MacGregor, isn't it? What's the good word?" asked MacDuff.

"Um, mates?" asked MacGregor, "Can you by chance tell me the time, and what I'm doing here? And where here is?"

"Oh, you're in Ropeburn Prison, Turquoise City," Otto explained.

"Blimey. Oi'm a long way from New Lantis."

"So what were you imprisoned there for?" asked MacDuff.

"Oh, Oi wasn't a pris'ner, m'lord. Oi was the child o' pris'ners. Raised on a ranch in Queensbury."

"How'd you end up with the New Lantean rebel militia?" asked Otto.

"They, uh, told me I had to join. I had to be there. Um. Nobody told me who we were fighting. Or why. You have to sympathize."

MacDuff shouted, "Your merry little band killed three customs officers and set fire to files containing the records of over 500 prisoners. Frankly, no, you'd be surprised at how much I don't have to sympathize. Poor and stupid is no way to go through life, son."

Otto turned to MacDuff, "Inneresting, that. With cred like that they might be merciful to him, though."

"How do you figure?"

"I bet if he knew anything interesting he could tell us about the New Lantean militia, they could be lenient," said Otto.

"No luck for me, I don't know anything."


Otto threw down the newspaper. "What can you tell me about this."

"Strewth!" said MacGregor

"Wh...what?"

"Mean's bloody amazin'. If yer so bloody smart, why don't yer know that?"

"So you don't know anything about this?"

"If I did, I'd tell yer. Got six kids to care fer."

"MacDuff, a word if you would."

Otto pulled MacDuff aside, and lowered his voice, in case MacGregor understood anything he heard. "I'm afraid I believe he's telling the truth."

"Well, find another lead," MacDuff scoffed.

"See, that's the problem. Aside from MacGregor, there were eleven bodies recovered from the invasion. Why would a country send such a paltry invasion force? Now we know they'll attack. Why give up the element of surprise?"

"To get us to put our guard up?"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Ah, so what's your alternative hypothesis, then?"

"Mr. MacGregor. Do you know what the punishment for treason is?"

"Can't be treasonous. Not a member of yer country."

"Well, I'm sure the judges will understand that technicality, when you're facing three counts of murder and treason charges."

"Wait! Bloody hell, I ain't killed no one."

"You know," said Otto, "we could use a guide, both to New Lantis and to show us some of their militia installations."

"That I could do."

"Course, you'd have to swear not to betray us, and be under constant surveillance, betraying your cause."

"I got no problem with that, really. I can show you where I was recruited."

"Why, Mr. MacDuff, I do believe we have us here a potential recruit for our merry little band."

"Why I do believe you are right, Mr. McCloaker," echoed MacDuff.

"Guards, some ice cream for the man."

~
Meanwhile, the international steam-powered Sea Train barrels into it's station, tooting it's horn loudly as it comes to a slow stop, spewing steam everywhere creating a dense mist. From the dense mist outsteps a tall, gruff, man with a scruffy brown beard. He's adorned in typical Western Vigilante-type gear, y'know, the large black duster, black steam-cowhide boots, the works. He wears a dusty, worn, white (slightly yellowed with the dirt of the ages) vest underneath his coat, long black chaps, and a black wide-rimmed cowboy hat. He wears an entire shooting gallery inside his clothing, the inside pockets of his duster is filled to the brim with an assortion of munitions while his weist-line is covered with various six-shooters. The man draws two pistols, cocks them open, and thrusts them into the air. The cowboy produces a box of ammunition. He throws the box into the air, spilling bullets through the air, he catches his weapons as they fall back to earth and uses the descending ammunition to load them. He then twirls the pistols in his hands and shoves them into their holsters. The vigilante takes out a pack of smokes, shuffles his finger through the small package, and places a cigarette in his mouth. He takes a puff but notices he's forgotten to light his cigarette, The westerner takes a match from his coat pocket and ignites it with the brim of his hat. He takes a few puffs of his cigarette and releases the smoke into the air. He calmly watches as the smoke mixes with the steam in the air, dancing around one another until they become one. He places his finger and thumb in his mouth to create a loud whistle, mirroring the Sea Train's, and a mechanical horse gallops out of a cargo-box behind the man. The outlaw mounts his horse and heads towards Schalé Mansion. With each step the horse leaves an imprint in the ground resembling a pistol and the word "Hatchet" on the barrel.....



Also meanwhile Otto and the others sit and sip tea around the study as they chat about their future trip to New Lantis ~

Otto: So gents, how do you suppose we travel? By sea? Or by air?

~MacDuff coughs at what he hears~

MacDuff: Excuse me, did you just propose we travel by air?

Otto: Indeed I did

MacDuff: Boulderdash! Ethical air-travel is a myth, a legend!

Otto: It can be done, I know of a man who has been experimenting

~Suddenly a canister hits Otto in the head, which causes him to fall out of his chair~

MacDuff: Sir, I do believe you have a message

~Otto opens the canister and reads the message inside~

Otto: My word! Sirs! We shall make our way to the lobby post-haste!

~The group makes their way to the lobby where they find Kinoko hugging the outlaw~

Kinoko: Oh Hatchet, how long it's been!

Doc Hatchet: ~Pats Kinoko's head~ yep, it's been awhile hasn't it?

Kuribo: Yeah, there's alot of 'catching up to do'

~Kuribo winks at Hatchet, Kinoko glares at her sister but turns back to the cowboy~

Kinoko: What brings you here Doc?

Hatchet: The wind told me of what's unfolded here, I decided to come and see fer m'self

~MacDuff pulls Otto over to the side~

MacDuff: Tell me Otto, who is this ruffian?

Otto: Dear sir, that's Doc Hatchet, he's adventurer, much like lady Kinoko, as he is also a fellow inventor. Why, he's been collaborating with a number of other people to create a city right underneath the surface of our ocean!

MacDuff: Poppycock!