Sigil: The City of Doors

The monodrone laughs a little less mirthlessly at the playwrights comment on puppets. They [i]did[/i] think puppets were fun, or sometimes cute... but so could sentients. Could puppets debased themselves?... maybe not?

They then nod at Kalamizov's comment on the killers. "Huh! We remembered some stories... never put together that this Kadyx was such an old tale, though. But.... different killers, one barmy for balance... one an unhinged joker. Ok, then!", they say, their grin a bit wider.

Not particularly promising clues, of course. But... it was something to think about other than taxes and how to find something worth doing amid a complete lack of relevance or meaning.

"Thanks for the drinks, Mr Kalamizov.", the monodrone says as they hop off from the seat. "Maybe we can serve you something of our own making one of these days at the Gatehouse."

OOC: Thanks for the scene! Been talking to Fless as well about trying to get something going at the Gatehouse, let's see what comes of it :)

"Puppets! I believe in no strings, Little Engine. Beings are much better suited just debasing themselves for art."

Kalamizov expounds, another drink emerges on the bar top.

"You saw [i]someone[/i] killing or posing. With Kadyx you only ever see the result. So must not be it. And the Kadyx has been killing for as long as there have been a Slags. Since the Blood War spilled here, long ago. This new killer, he has his own motives then. Barmy for balance."

He slams the drink down.

"And a laugh is always worth the price. Not always a good thing, though. I will see you in the Gatehouse, Little Engine. Remember to laugh."

He flashes you a grin, and returns to his scribbling.

OOC:
If you wish to just give it away, you can make a thread in D7, if you wish to build something and have ideas for it, go ahead and PM me

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"We.. did we [i]see[/i] the pervert? We saw someone, but they seemed to be like a puppet. But huh! They [i]are[/i] different stories after all, then. What a story, two killing sprees going on at the same time, one?"

A chuckle sounding like cogs ticking and scratching is followed by a goofy grin.

"That means the Kadyx's jokes do nothing to this puppeteer man's idea of [i]balance[/i], too, huh? Well, humour's good to have, we suppose! Just not sure it's worth someone's mind like that..." the spindly arms wiggle up and down.

The take the second glass and down it in one gulp. Doesn't ask for a third one, though. Not yet, at least.

"We... we'll see at the Gatehouse then, we suppose! There's always a crowd. Or we could give some out to those leaving the Gatehouse. Or... maybe we could see about getting a puppet theatre going on in the Gatehouse? Or..."

They seemed to ramble on and on...

OOC: How would I go about donating money to the Gatehouse, or maybe getting something built there? :)

Kalamizov laughs, quite mirthlessly as well.

"The orc, probably the Kadyx. Your man without jaw? Doubt it. You saw who did it. You do not see the Kadyx. Never. You only see the jokes, and I think, only because the Kadyx wants them to be seen. Your man had a goal. No revification. Wants someone to stay deathly quiet. The Kadyx would make someone talk in True Death if it could, and if it was funny."

He looks at the bag and the flask and shrugs.

"Give it to anyone, someone. I have no need. They pay for the plays, though I don't know why. That and the S.I.G.I.S gig pays for my lifestyle."

He gestures for yet another drink, and jots down the line he was thinking, and finally getting out as somewhat intelligible.

It says,

"...And he sighs, and Cassilda sings, and the King treads..."

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Black of smoking looked good. Was it black oil? ... the sulphur suggested it wasn't particularly high grade if so. So... sixty-forty?

One way or another, the drink is down in a single gulp as well, and they likewise gesture to the bartender for another one, even as they smack their lips a few times, as if trying to figure out what was there - and maybe a good name for it.

"A pervert, but apparently not really a pervert... they said they just wanted to prevent the poor-but-not-poor sod from being revived. Which might make sense... even though sense seemed rather overrated among the whole thing. But they [i]did[/i] go for the deader's jaw, that they did!"

The monodrone laughs, even if rather mirthlessly.

"That [i]is[/i] a good line, though!" They even sound somewhat lively as they say that, although it doesn't last long. "Kadyx... we think ms Illiam [i]did[/i] mention the Kadyx! But... that was another story, we think. Or maybe it could be part of the same one?"

They raised a spindly finger in the general direction of the Gatehouse. "We found this orc near the Gatehouse, one day after the run-in with that hooded pervert. Seemed to be a bard or artist of some sort, and... he was losing his mind. Quite literally. Someone found the joke very fun, too... which, well, it [i]is[/i] a good pun, although a bit of an easy one!"

They blink a few times.

"Maybe it could all be throwin in with this Kadyx mix?"

They point to the bag and the flask again. "Think mr Kalamizov could give those some good use? Or... maybe the Gatehouse could. We've been considering what to do... with the constant and increasing influx of patients and not so patient visitors... maybe this could be put to better use than in our pockets!"

They don't quite mention the others again, although they do look back once or twice to see if they come in.

Kalamizov raises an eyebrow as he listens to Feature. The bartender returns shortly, two coupe glasses full of something black and smoking, they smell faintly of Sulphur. Kalamizov downs his drink in one gulp. He burps and throws two gold pieces to the bartender, and gestures for a refill with a much more stable finger.

"Absolutely no idea what is called, this drink. But is good and strong."

He ponders for a moment and then continues.

"A pervert for balance, is it? Must be barmy. No such thing as balance. But is something poetic about it, hrm... I do find interesting. Anything more? Is no Kadyx but maybe good for bit part... One joke. Knock knock, who is there? Balance. Balance who? And then cut off the answerer's jaw. Hah!"

As the bartender brings a new couple glass, Kalamizov takes a sip.

"More, eh? The merrier! Proper entourage!"

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Feature nods along with all the energy of a drizzly monday morning, although their smile widens with each movement of their head.

"One, one, we find details fascinating, usually! Just at times it's all so samey..."

They extend a wiry copper-coloured hand to shake Kalamizov's. Oh... we [i]have[/i] heard, we think! Just never put two and zero together when we heard you might be interested in... "

They stop midway through the sentence. "Cold, bitter and no alcohol? No alkali either? What a waste!"

The complaint is paired with a laugh.

"We were about to order some black mineral oil ourselves... but we'll take something else!"

They seem to wonder about something for a while, not quite noticing the bartender going inside, then suddenly starts with a hop.

"One! We were hoping to talk about something we've heard Mr Kalamizov might be interested in! See... four days ago now, we happened upon this hooded pervert near the Suicide Alley, sawing off this poor sod's jaw to satisfy his impulses. Only he's apparently not a real pervert! And the poor sod's apparently not a real clueless sod! And this pervert-not-a-pervert cutter kept saying things about needing to keep the balance... and other things that sound suspiciously like they were pretending to make a whole lot of sense."

The monodrone produces a small bag and a flask. "The jaw-dropped berk left some things behind, too. We thought they might help us help those who need help, one?"

They look back towards the door, then.

"Oh, and there's this miss Illiam, a pale-looking elf, and this other kind Bleaker lady who wanted to meet you too! They might have got lost on the way here..."

"Oh I understand. Well. Too well. We all look for distractions. To be silly, to be consumed by details. To tell lies of purpose and plans. Just so we do not feel weight. The universe's weight."

The halfling sighs and empties the flask in one gulp. He looks a bit sickly for a moment but then just spits a glowing thing out and tries again to write something, to no avail.

Then he remembers he's in the middle of a conversation and turns to feature, extending an ink stained hand.

"Kalamizov Glumfoot. Playwright. Maybe you've heard? Ach, does not matter. It tasted like a winter evening, cold and bitter. Non-alcoholic, bah! I shall order us a round."
He waves his hand at the bartender who notices and disappears to the back.

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The monodrone, having just taken a seat one space away, directs their eye and a wan smile to the halfling.

"Huh! Not easy to know without any historical information, is it? Green... glowing... warm... liquid..." Some whirring and click-clacking goes on in the background, but now and then it seems to freeze. The 'wan' soon seems more visible than the 'smile', which in turn leads the monodrone to let out a rattling laugh.

"Ah... not in my best performance today, mister, sorry! But eighty-percent chance it tastes better than it looks. Metal-tasting... maybe we can give it a try?", they say with a grin. Whether the 'we' is inclusive or not is up for discussion.

They nod. "Please call us Feature, sir. And apologies in advance for... anything, really. Life, the universe and everything are all feeling kind of taxing today."

OOC: I'm assuming Feature doesn't recognise him, right? XD If he should... I'll just assume he doesn't quite notice, what with being depressed and all.

[img]https://s26162.pcdn.co/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/canvas-paintingoil-paintingportrait-paintingRussian-artistspainting-of-womenPost-Impressionism-6.jpg[/img]

A short form, shabby in the very essence of the word, sat by the bar, looking miserably at a glass flask of something green and [i]glowing.[/i]

As the monodrone arrived at the counter, the halfling looks up, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed by the darkest shadows. His hands shake (fingers blackened by ink, not washed in decades) as he tries to jot something down. What comes out is a jittery jumping line on his vellum notebook, that is itself overflowing with pieces of paper, and much too many pages to fit in the cheap leather covers.

The halfling chuckles and gestures at the glass flask sitting in front of him.

"What do you suppose it is, my mechanical friend? Poison? A magic potion? Perhaps just something glowing and warm...? I doubt. Probably tastes like metal and ivory. Probably won't even get me drunk."