Creative Corner

10752

May 25, 2017 21:21:52

~ Page Twelve ~

. . . . . . . They spoke little on the way over. Silus wasn’t much for a good chat, at least in Fromelda’s opinion. The better maintained townhomes on the north-east end were the closest Blacksand came to a suburb. More succulents and tall hardy trees shaded the sidewalks and lower roofs. The townhome they were looking for was halfway down a quiet lane. It was easy to spot. It was the only lair in noticeable disrepair. The patch of dirt in front, unlike the other lovingly tended patches nearby, was a brown, gnarled mess. The shutters were drawn, preventing any peeking in through the windows.
. . . . . . . Fromelda opened up the file again. “Per your report, this clan stopped buying five weeks ago.”
. . . . . . . “Correct,” said Silus. “The initial follow-up is conducted by mail. We received a reply the first week, stating they were buying Ombra products now. Additional questionnaires followed, but no additional replies came. A survey team was dispatched. They found the home empty on five separate visits, varying times of day. This pattern has repeated itself amongst nearly all of the customers who’ve gone missing.”
. . . . . . . “Hmmm.” Fromelda frowned at the file, at the photos of twelve healthy dragons who had made their home there. Tucking the folder under her arm, she prowled around the outside of the building.
. . . . . . . “Mail’s overflowing,” she noted. Several letters and a few auction purchases sat in the dust around the mailbox post. The box itself was jam-packed. “If you were moving house, you’d have your letters forwarded.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda scooted down the tight space between the block house on the left. “Water’s on. Power too.”
. . . . . . . “Hello there!”
. . . . . . . A sable-checked Wildclaw peered at them from the porch next door.
. . . . . . . “Mornin’. Fahrenheit, P.I.” Fromelda squeezed back out into the yard and whipped out her identification.
. . . . . . . “Are you here about the Flammagins? Bout time someone came by,” said the Wildclaw.
. . . . . . . “Why do you say that?” asked Fromelda.
. . . . . . . “‘Cuse they’re gone!” the Wildclaw exclaimed testily. “Just up and vamoosed. Poof!”
. . . . . . . “You don’t think they’ve moved?”
. . . . . . . The Wildclaw shook her head. “Not without telling me. We’ve lived side by side for years now. I can’t tell you how many mornings I’ve sat on this same porch, while Eve - that’s Eve Flammagin, their matriarch - would sit on hers, and we’d talk. I’ve watched dozens of hatchlings grow their wings and move outta that lair, as they’ve seen from mine. Eve and Lurch were the happiest pair of Fire dragons you’d find this far from the Forge. They’d have never moved out of Blacksand. If they had, they definitely woulda told me.”
. . . . . . . “Did you notice anything odd about them before they vanished? Change in habits, mood?” Fromelda asked.
. . . . . . . The Wildclaw tapped her claws on the porch, thinking. “Nothing really. Well, they were spending a lot more treasure than usual, gems too. More than they’d even spend at festival time. Lurch was playing the games a lot more, long hours. That house was more full than it’d ever been.”
. . . . . . . “Of dragons?” Fromelda asked.
. . . . . . . “No, just stuff. Lots of stuff. New kitchenware, new furniture. Eve was always in new apparel lately.” The Wildclaw scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Are you going inside?”
. . . . . . . “The lair? No, not planning on breaking any windows today,” said Fromelda.
. . . . . . . “You don’t have to, Eve entrusted me with a key years ago!” The Wildclaw disappeared into her home, reappearing with a small key. She handed it to Fromelda.
. . . . . . . “If you had a key, why didn’t you check in there yourself?” Fromelda asked.
. . . . . . . “Because that would be wrong, of course,” the Wildclaw replied. “But you can do it. You’re a private investigator and won’t get in trouble.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda took the key with thanks and went to the front door.
. . . . . . . “Is that an accurate assessment of your authority?” Silus asked, watching over her shoulder as carefully slid the key in and turned the knob with a handkerchief.
. . . . . . . “Yes, and no. Depends on which admin sees us creeping through a lair that isn't ours. So let's just keep an eye out for any patrols.” Pocketing the key, Fromelda pushed open the front door. It didn't open all the way. With a grunt and a shove, Fromelda forced it wide enough for the pair of them to squeeze inside.
. . . . . . . “Bless the Eleven, what a dump,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . And really it was. The entry hall was crammed with boxes, several of which had fallen against the front door. Crates, bags, bottles and discarded wrappers piled high almost to the ceiling. Everything was covered in that fine layer of inevitable soot that settled over anything still for very long. There was just enough room to slide down the hall into the next room. Silus made a noise, a huff of muted displeasure and actual distress. The next room, what would've been the common room for the whole house and as such was the largest, was an even bigger disaster. It might've been a nice room at one point, but that was lost under a flood of stacked clothes and cans and more of the same junk from the hall.
. . . . . . . Fromelda poked around as best she could, trying not to disturb too much, lest she bring the towers of stuff crashing down on their heads. More than once she had to tell Silus off, to leave things be. The disarray no doubt wrecked havoc in his obsessively organized brain.

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Last edited on May 25, 2017 21:31:28 by Claudea

~ Page Thirteen~

. . . . . . . “See anything?” a voice called from the porch, the sable Wildclaw neighbor. She pointedly stayed outside.
. . . . . . . “Plenty,” Fromelda called back. “Not that it's helping. Have the Flammagins always been hoarders?”
. . . . . . . “No! Absolutely not. They loved a tidy home, it was a point of pride.” Her voice sounded a little closer, head perhaps just inside the door as she added, “I, I knew they’d been buying big lately but this . . . by the Forge’s mercy.”
. . . . . . . “This would take three teams of ten three days to sort through methodically,” Silus griped, glowering at a particularly wobbly stack of newspapers and coupon clippings.
. . . . . . . Fromelda was frowning too, frowning because there was an obvious, glaring commonality amongst most of the packaging. Wiping away the soot from box after box, wrapper after wrapper, she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
. . . . . . . “Silus.” She held out a piece of discarded wrapping from a B’s Better Beater for him to see. The Ombra logo was blazoned boldly over the front. Pointing at other boxes, she said, “Nearly every item in here is an Ombra product. Even food items come from their stores.” She waved a can of pickled glass minnows as proof. “There’s a few things with your mark on them, but they’re buried down deep. Dustiest items here.”
. . . . . . . The look of smug satisfaction on Spark’s face was almost maddening. Fromelda was quick to add, a little tartly, “Maybe they just found better stuff.”
. . . . . . . Spark’s face went back to normal. “If you’re implying our products are poor quality, I resent the implication.”
. . . . . . . They continued to search the rest of the house, what they could reach through the debris, but found little else of note. Just more stuff, too much stuff, a lot of it packages not even opened. They found no hint of why the Flammagins had vanished. No notes, no brochures for lairs in other districts, nothing. The upstairs remained unexplored, though Fromelda tried to wade her way through the waterfall of junk on the stairs to it. She couldn’t get by. Emerging from the house smudged in soot and dust - Fromelda at least was, somehow Silus had made it through without a speck on him - they locked the door again and returned the key.
. . . . . . . “Miss Fahrenheit,” said the Wildclaw, suddenly less chipper. “You, would you mind awfully letting me know when you get hold of them? We’ve been friends for ages, and at first I was just pure puffed that they would leave and not say anything to me. But now I’m more worried, I don’t know they would do such a thing without an awful reason.”
. . . . . . . “I’ll let you know as soon as I find them,” Fromelda said, and she meant it. She wrote the Wildclaw’s details down in her little notebook. She took Silus back to the office for the day.

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** Sorry for the delay, busy at home! :) Another page coming tonight.

Claudea

10752

May 31, 2017 11:03:26

~ Page Thirteen~

. . . . . . . “See anything?” a voice called from the porch, the sable Wildclaw neighbor. She pointedly stayed outside.
. . . . . . . “Plenty,” Fromelda called back. “Not that it's helping. Have the Flammagins always been hoarders?”
. . . . . . . “No! Absolutely not. They loved a tidy home, it was a point of pride.” Her voice sounded a little closer, head perhaps just inside the door as she added, “I, I knew they’d been buying big lately but this . . . by the Forge’s mercy.”
. . . . . . . “This would take three teams of ten three days to sort through methodically,” Silus griped, glowering at a particularly wobbly stack of newspapers and coupon clippings.
. . . . . . . Fromelda was frowning too, frowning because there was an obvious, glaring commonality amongst most of the packaging. Wiping away the soot from box after box, wrapper after wrapper, she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.
. . . . . . . “Silus.” She held out a piece of discarded wrapping from a B’s Better Beater for him to see. The Ombra logo was blazoned boldly over the front. Pointing at other boxes, she said, “Nearly every item in here is an Ombra product. Even food items come from their stores.” She waved a can of pickled glass minnows as proof. “There’s a few things with your mark on them, but they’re buried down deep. Dustiest items here.”
. . . . . . . The look of smug satisfaction on Spark’s face was almost maddening. Fromelda was quick to add, a little tartly, “Maybe they just found better stuff.”
. . . . . . . Spark’s face went back to normal. “If you’re implying our products are poor quality, I resent the implication.”
. . . . . . . They continued to search the rest of the house, what they could reach through the debris, but found little else of note. Just more stuff, too much stuff, a lot of it packages not even opened. They found no hint of why the Flammagins had vanished. No notes, no brochures for lairs in other districts, nothing. The upstairs remained unexplored, though Fromelda tried to wade her way through the waterfall of junk on the stairs to it. She couldn’t get by. Emerging from the house smudged in soot and dust - Fromelda at least was, somehow Silus had made it through without a speck on him - they locked the door again and returned the key.
. . . . . . . “Miss Fahrenheit,” said the Wildclaw, suddenly less chipper. “You, would you mind awfully letting me know when you get hold of them? We’ve been friends for ages, and at first I was just pure puffed that they would leave and not say anything to me. But now I’m more worried, I don’t know they would do such a thing without an awful reason.”
. . . . . . . “I’ll let you know as soon as I find them,” Fromelda said, and she meant it. She wrote the Wildclaw’s details down in her little notebook. She took Silus back to the office for the day.

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** Sorry for the delay, busy at home! :) Another page coming tonight.

Last edited on Jul 10, 2018 08:07:18 by Claudea

~ Page Fourteen~

. . . . . . . Fromelda and Silus spent two whole days revisiting more case files. Sparks’ goons had done follow-up already, but Fromelda trusted her instinct more than that of some bottom-bucket employee. They weren’t as lucky as with the Flammagins. Most of the neighbors were either working and out, or, of course, didn’t have spare keys lying around. That didn’t stop Fromelda from peering in through whatever gaps in the shutters she could find. From what little she could make out, the insides of these other abandoned lairs were much like the Flammagins: filled with boxes and wrappers and a surprising number of shiny new items. New minus the soot.
. . . . . . . Though key-less, the neighbors were mostly eager to talk. They reported very similar themes: an increase in spending by their now-missing neighbor, and an increase in overall seclusion. This was true of even supposedly loquacious dragons.
. . . . . . . “I noted a number of Ombra logos, did you as well?” Silus said pointedly after they left the twelfth cased lair.
. . . . . . . “You know where else I saw a flame-ton of Ombra logos? At the backs of every dragon we talked to,” Fromelda quipped. “Ombra’s everywhere, Sparks. And so were you and your products, before they started muscling you out.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda didn’t much like being proven wrong. But she also wasn’t unfair about it, adding, “Nonetheless, there’s something fishy going on. All those lairs with mail piled out front, no word to their friends, no hint of leaving. And there’s more of them. We passed at least five in that last building that weren’t in your records. I need time to look over what we’ve got. I need to figure out a gameplan.”
. . . . . . . Back at the P.I. office, Fromelda had set up her case board pinned with photos of the missing and whatever notes she had. Linda had been on the phone all morning.
. . . . . . . “Asking around,” Linda reported. “I'd vaguely remembered talking to someone last month, at the gala, who griped about Ombra as much as you, Mister Sparks.”
. . . . . . . Linda handed over an address. Fromelda read it, her eyebrow lifting.
. . . . . . . “Glitter, there's not a chance in all Sornieth that she's going to see me.”
. . . . . . . Linda waved her hands dismissively. “I handled it, don't worry. Box seats to the next Luminary Aria will soothe any ruffled feathers. She'll be waiting for you.”
. . . . . . . “With a big branch and a bucket of ice water waiting, I bet,” Fromelda grumbled but pocketed the address. “Not a fan of Ombra either, is she?”
. . . . . . . “Not a bit, at least that's what she told me,” said Linda.
. . . . . . . “All right then. It'll be better to head out in the morning, let's part for the day Sparks,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . “Where are we going?” he asked.
. . . . . . . “To the Gladevine District.”

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Claudea

10752

May 31, 2017 21:42:40

~ Page Fourteen~

. . . . . . . Fromelda and Silus spent two whole days revisiting more case files. Sparks’ goons had done follow-up already, but Fromelda trusted her instinct more than that of some bottom-bucket employee. They weren’t as lucky as with the Flammagins. Most of the neighbors were either working and out, or, of course, didn’t have spare keys lying around. That didn’t stop Fromelda from peering in through whatever gaps in the shutters she could find. From what little she could make out, the insides of these other abandoned lairs were much like the Flammagins: filled with boxes and wrappers and a surprising number of shiny new items. New minus the soot.
. . . . . . . Though key-less, the neighbors were mostly eager to talk. They reported very similar themes: an increase in spending by their now-missing neighbor, and an increase in overall seclusion. This was true of even supposedly loquacious dragons.
. . . . . . . “I noted a number of Ombra logos, did you as well?” Silus said pointedly after they left the twelfth cased lair.
. . . . . . . “You know where else I saw a flame-ton of Ombra logos? At the backs of every dragon we talked to,” Fromelda quipped. “Ombra’s everywhere, Sparks. And so were you and your products, before they started muscling you out.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda didn’t much like being proven wrong. But she also wasn’t unfair about it, adding, “Nonetheless, there’s something fishy going on. All those lairs with mail piled out front, no word to their friends, no hint of leaving. And there’s more of them. We passed at least five in that last building that weren’t in your records. I need time to look over what we’ve got. I need to figure out a gameplan.”
. . . . . . . Back at the P.I. office, Fromelda had set up her case board pinned with photos of the missing and whatever notes she had. Linda had been on the phone all morning.
. . . . . . . “Asking around,” Linda reported. “I'd vaguely remembered talking to someone last month, at the gala, who griped about Ombra as much as you, Mister Sparks.”
. . . . . . . Linda handed over an address. Fromelda read it, her eyebrow lifting.
. . . . . . . “Glitter, there's not a chance in all Sornieth that she's going to see me.”
. . . . . . . Linda waved her hands dismissively. “I handled it, don't worry. Box seats to the next Luminary Aria will soothe any ruffled feathers. She'll be waiting for you.”
. . . . . . . “With a big branch and a bucket of ice water waiting, I bet,” Fromelda grumbled but pocketed the address. “Not a fan of Ombra either, is she?”
. . . . . . . “Not a bit, at least that's what she told me,” said Linda.
. . . . . . . “All right then. It'll be better to head out in the morning, let's part for the day Sparks,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . “Where are we going?” he asked.
. . . . . . . “To the Gladevine District.”

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Last edited on Jul 10, 2018 08:10:50 by Claudea

~ Page Fifteen ~

. . . . . . . It was a half-day’s ride on the tram to the Gladevine District. The tracks curved along the shores of the Leviathan, the massive lake, miles deep at its darkest depths, that sat at the heart of Sornieth City. They rumbled out of Blacksand, through the teeming stations on the edge of the Lightning Farm and the immaculate stops at the entrance to the Glistening Promenade. The tram actually ran over the water when it passed The Hewn City. Most dragons appreciated that. No one really liked going in there.
. . . . . . . Except, oddly enough, for Ombra employees. As they whizzed past, the spire of Ombra headquarters loomed in the distance.
. . . . . . . They hopped off the rail into the sea of green that was Gladevine. The cobblestone streets were rarely weeded, and every step they took filled their noses with a different planty smell. Lairs preferred wood and stone and great profusions of curling, flowering vines here. Some even had the audacity to take roost in the branches or hollows of enormous trees. A fire hazard if Fromelda had ever seen one.
. . . . . . . “You are friends with the proprietor?” Silus asked as they turned the corner to their destination.
. . . . . . . “I wouldn’t call it that,” Fromelda said. “Linda’s the only reason I’m going to be allowed in that shop.”
. . . . . . . “What did you do?”
. . . . . . . “You assume I did something?” Fromelda scoffed. After a moment’s silence, she admitted, “Not everyone appreciates my fire tricks.”
. . . . . . . At the corner of Leaf and Bough, of course, sat the Everbloom Nursery. The deceptively small shop front opened up into a vast arboretum, where customers could browse previews of almost any plant one could imagine. The nursery back ended up against the wild, untamed park that covered a third of the district. Though Fromelda couldn't fathom why anyone would call those thick, vine-knotted glades a “park”. Parks were places to sit in the shade and picnic, not somewhere that dragons notoriously vanished into and rarely returned.
. . . . . . . At the counter just inside, Fromelda whipped out her card and gave it to the Fae shopkeep. “Fahrenheit, P.I.. I should be expected.”
. . . . . . . The Fae flitted off. He wasn’t gone long. “This way, please.”
. . . . . . . He led them to the rooms behind the main showfloor, through a few halls that were less like halls and more like woodsy country lanes, to the management office. Half greenhouse, half office, the glass doors at the back opened up to a view of the lovingly tended nursery lanes. And, even further back, the great expanse of the park and its gargantuan trees cast long green shadows.
. . . . . . . Fromelda walked over to the occupied desk at the far end.
. . . . . . . “Gwennie!” She remembered Linda’s advice on smiling. “Hello Blossom, how’s it been?”

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*Sorry guys, long weekend, forgot to post! (Teaching myself how to decorate cakes.)

Claudea

10752

June 05, 2017 07:26:18

~ Page Fifteen ~

. . . . . . . It was a half-day’s ride on the tram to the Gladevine District. The tracks curved along the shores of the Leviathan, the massive lake, miles deep at its darkest depths, that sat at the heart of Sornieth City. They rumbled out of Blacksand, through the teeming stations on the edge of the Lightning Farm and the immaculate stops at the entrance to the Glistening Promenade. The tram actually ran over the water when it passed The Hewn City. Most dragons appreciated that. No one really liked going in there.
. . . . . . . Except, oddly enough, for Ombra employees. As they whizzed past, the spire of Ombra headquarters loomed in the distance.
. . . . . . . They hopped off the rail into the sea of green that was Gladevine. The cobblestone streets were rarely weeded, and every step they took filled their noses with a different planty smell. Lairs preferred wood and stone and great profusions of curling, flowering vines here. Some even had the audacity to take roost in the branches or hollows of enormous trees. A fire hazard if Fromelda had ever seen one.
. . . . . . . “You are friends with the proprietor?” Silus asked as they turned the corner to their destination.
. . . . . . . “I wouldn’t call it that,” Fromelda said. “Linda’s the only reason I’m going to be allowed in that shop.”
. . . . . . . “What did you do?”
. . . . . . . “You assume I did something?” Fromelda scoffed. After a moment’s silence, she admitted, “Not everyone appreciates my fire tricks.”
. . . . . . . At the corner of Leaf and Bough, of course, sat the Everbloom Nursery. The deceptively small shop front opened up into a vast arboretum, where customers could browse previews of almost any plant one could imagine. The nursery back ended up against the wild, untamed park that covered a third of the district. Though Fromelda couldn't fathom why anyone would call those thick, vine-knotted glades a “park”. Parks were places to sit in the shade and picnic, not somewhere that dragons notoriously vanished into and rarely returned.
. . . . . . . At the counter just inside, Fromelda whipped out her card and gave it to the Fae shopkeep. “Fahrenheit, P.I.. I should be expected.”
. . . . . . . The Fae flitted off. He wasn’t gone long. “This way, please.”
. . . . . . . He led them to the rooms behind the main showfloor, through a few halls that were less like halls and more like woodsy country lanes, to the management office. Half greenhouse, half office, the glass doors at the back opened up to a view of the lovingly tended nursery lanes. And, even further back, the great expanse of the park and its gargantuan trees cast long green shadows.
. . . . . . . Fromelda walked over to the occupied desk at the far end.
. . . . . . . “Gwennie!” She remembered Linda’s advice on smiling. “Hello Blossom, how’s it been?”

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*Sorry guys, long weekend, forgot to post! (Teaching myself how to decorate cakes.)

Last edited on Jul 10, 2018 08:16:16 by Claudea

~ Page Sixteen ~

. . . . . . . Setting aside the order forms she’d been methodically completing, Gwendolyn Gardenia rose, and not without a little bit of sourness said, “Business is flourishing. When my shop isn’t on fire.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked at Fromelda. Fromelda cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, I bet. Not everything’s better toasted, is it? Thanks for seeing us, by the way. Seems you’ve got a bone to pick with a certain set of someone’s, right?”
. . . . . . . “I do.” Gwendolyn stepped away from her desk. “Let’s speak in private.”
. . . . . . . They exited the office through the wide open doors, retreating to a copse of trees so tightly planted they formed a room of their own.
. . . . . . . “Linda wasn't exactly forthcoming,” said Gwendolyn, sitting opposite Silus. “But, vague or not, she's rather sharp at getting others to do what she wants. So, you're here. Might I ask why you want my opinion of Ombra?”
. . . . . . . “We have some . . . circumstantial evidence that paints Ombra in an off light. Weak connections, just trying to clear things up,” said Fromelda. She was being a little vague herself. She wanted to hear what Gwendolyn had to say first. In response, Gwendolyn laughed. Not a pretty or mirthful sound, just a sharp amused bark.
. . . . . . . “There’s nothing clear about Ombra,” she said. “Not their origins, not their supply lines, nothing.”
. . . . . . . “No business likes to broadcast their trade secrets,” Fromelda countered. “How’s that fishy?”
. . . . . . . “Because I’m certain their products are harming dragons,” Gwendolyn said.
. . . . . . . That got Fromelda’s attention. Taking her elbow off a shelf she’d been leaning on, she said, “You’ve got proof?”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn frowned. “Only more of that circumstantial evidence you seem to be finding yourself. It’s in the plants, you see.”
. . . . . . . “Plants? Please clarify,” Silus pressed.
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn called in a helper, who placed two small potted bushes on the table that were both loaded with prickly blackberries. Both were healthy, but one certainly stood out, its berries huge and ripe and begging to be eaten.
. . . . . . . “Have a guess which plant is grown from the seeds and fertilizer I sell,” said Gwendolyn.
. . . . . . . “With that green thumb of yours, this one.” Fromelda pointed to the more obviously flourishing bush.
. . . . . . . “That one is an Ombra plant,” Gwendolyn corrected.
. . . . . . . Fromelda raised an eyebrow, saying, “I thought you were a bloom’s best friend, Gwennie? How’d they out-plant you?”
. . . . . . . “Appearance isn’t everything.” Gwendolyn plucked a berry from the bush. “There’s something wrong with vegetation grown in Ombra sold soil, the seeds too.”
. . . . . . . “A toxin?” Silus pondered, taking the berry delicately between his fingers.
. . . . . . . “If it is, it’s not one I can identify, though I’ve tried,” said Gwendolyn.
. . . . . . . “There hasn’t been any talk of dragons getting sick,” said Fromelda. “It’d be all over the papers.”
. . . . . . . “The change is subtle,” Gwendolyn explained. “It’s slow, but I know it’s happening. I know the difference between a healthy dragon and one that’s weak. A steadily increasing sluggishness, a lacking will or even desire to leave their lairs.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked to Fromelda. “The neighbors of many empty lairs had reported seclusion.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda frowned and folded her arms. Gwendolyn was the plant lady. If she said something was wrong with the stuff grown by Ombra, Fromelda didn't doubt her. But the question of intent still remained, and she said as much. “You both seemed determined to find some malice in all this. There's always the chance that something's gone wrong and Ombra hasn't a clue.”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn was frowning now too. “Are you feeling all right, Fahrenheit?” she asked.
. . . . . . . “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn seemed thoughtful, but changed the subject. “Willful ignorance isn’t a clear conscious.”
. . . . . . . “The key word there is willful,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Sighing, Gwendolyn said, “Fine, I understand you want proof.”
. . . . . . . “Solid, replicable evidence is optimal,” Silus interjected.
. . . . . . . “Well I don’t have it,” Gwendolyn snipped. “Do you think I’d be sitting here, griping to you two about it if I did? Something is wrong, I know it, I feel it deep in my bones.”
. . . . . . . “I agree with your assessment, if perhaps not your reasoning,” Silus said.
. . . . . . . “All right, all right.” Fromelda rubbed the back of neck wearily. “Gwennie, why don’t you give us some of your samples, those seeds. I normally send my testables to a lab in the Lightning Farm, but that might not be necessary,” she added, glancing at Silus.
. . . . . . . He nodded. “I will analyze them myself. I, I must admit an error in my earlier assessments. I had focused my research on Ombra’s technology only.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda handed Gwendolyn one of her cards. “Call the office if you think of anything else.”
. . . . . . . “You’ll let me know what you discover in the seeds?” Gwendolyn pushed. “And your investigation? I want to know what you learn of Ombra.”
. . . . . . . “If I get something solid, sure,” Fromelda reluctantly agreed. They left the nursery and walked back out into the bustling street.

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**Sorry for the long time posting, here's a longer page :D Family visiting and urgent care level food poisoning takes a toll!**

Claudea

10752

June 18, 2017 20:02:38

~ Page Sixteen ~

. . . . . . . Setting aside the order forms she’d been methodically completing, Gwendolyn Gardenia rose, and not without a little bit of sourness said, “Business is flourishing. When my shop isn’t on fire.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked at Fromelda. Fromelda cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, I bet. Not everything’s better toasted, is it? Thanks for seeing us, by the way. Seems you’ve got a bone to pick with a certain set of someone’s, right?”
. . . . . . . “I do.” Gwendolyn stepped away from her desk. “Let’s speak in private.”
. . . . . . . They exited the office through the wide open doors, retreating to a copse of trees so tightly planted they formed a room of their own.
. . . . . . . “Linda wasn't exactly forthcoming,” said Gwendolyn, sitting opposite Silus. “But, vague or not, she's rather sharp at getting others to do what she wants. So, you're here. Might I ask why you want my opinion of Ombra?”
. . . . . . . “We have some . . . circumstantial evidence that paints Ombra in an off light. Weak connections, just trying to clear things up,” said Fromelda. She was being a little vague herself. She wanted to hear what Gwendolyn had to say first. In response, Gwendolyn laughed. Not a pretty or mirthful sound, just a sharp amused bark.
. . . . . . . “There’s nothing clear about Ombra,” she said. “Not their origins, not their supply lines, nothing.”
. . . . . . . “No business likes to broadcast their trade secrets,” Fromelda countered. “How’s that fishy?”
. . . . . . . “Because I’m certain their products are harming dragons,” Gwendolyn said.
. . . . . . . That got Fromelda’s attention. Taking her elbow off a shelf she’d been leaning on, she said, “You’ve got proof?”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn frowned. “Only more of that circumstantial evidence you seem to be finding yourself. It’s in the plants, you see.”
. . . . . . . “Plants? Please clarify,” Silus pressed.
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn called in a helper, who placed two small potted bushes on the table that were both loaded with prickly blackberries. Both were healthy, but one certainly stood out, its berries huge and ripe and begging to be eaten.
. . . . . . . “Have a guess which plant is grown from the seeds and fertilizer I sell,” said Gwendolyn.
. . . . . . . “With that green thumb of yours, this one.” Fromelda pointed to the more obviously flourishing bush.
. . . . . . . “That one is an Ombra plant,” Gwendolyn corrected.
. . . . . . . Fromelda raised an eyebrow, saying, “I thought you were a bloom’s best friend, Gwennie? How’d they out-plant you?”
. . . . . . . “Appearance isn’t everything.” Gwendolyn plucked a berry from the bush. “There’s something wrong with vegetation grown in Ombra sold soil, the seeds too.”
. . . . . . . “A toxin?” Silus pondered, taking the berry delicately between his fingers.
. . . . . . . “If it is, it’s not one I can identify, though I’ve tried,” said Gwendolyn.
. . . . . . . “There hasn’t been any talk of dragons getting sick,” said Fromelda. “It’d be all over the papers.”
. . . . . . . “The change is subtle,” Gwendolyn explained. “It’s slow, but I know it’s happening. I know the difference between a healthy dragon and one that’s weak. A steadily increasing sluggishness, a lacking will or even desire to leave their lairs.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked to Fromelda. “The neighbors of many empty lairs had reported seclusion.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda frowned and folded her arms. Gwendolyn was the plant lady. If she said something was wrong with the stuff grown by Ombra, Fromelda didn't doubt her. But the question of intent still remained, and she said as much. “You both seemed determined to find some malice in all this. There's always the chance that something's gone wrong and Ombra hasn't a clue.”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn was frowning now too. “Are you feeling all right, Fahrenheit?” she asked.
. . . . . . . “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
. . . . . . . Gwendolyn seemed thoughtful, but changed the subject. “Willful ignorance isn’t a clear conscious.”
. . . . . . . “The key word there is willful,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Sighing, Gwendolyn said, “Fine, I understand you want proof.”
. . . . . . . “Solid, replicable evidence is optimal,” Silus interjected.
. . . . . . . “Well I don’t have it,” Gwendolyn snipped. “Do you think I’d be sitting here, griping to you two about it if I did? Something is wrong, I know it, I feel it deep in my bones.”
. . . . . . . “I agree with your assessment, if perhaps not your reasoning,” Silus said.
. . . . . . . “All right, all right.” Fromelda rubbed the back of neck wearily. “Gwennie, why don’t you give us some of your samples, those seeds. I normally send my testables to a lab in the Lightning Farm, but that might not be necessary,” she added, glancing at Silus.
. . . . . . . He nodded. “I will analyze them myself. I, I must admit an error in my earlier assessments. I had focused my research on Ombra’s technology only.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda handed Gwendolyn one of her cards. “Call the office if you think of anything else.”
. . . . . . . “You’ll let me know what you discover in the seeds?” Gwendolyn pushed. “And your investigation? I want to know what you learn of Ombra.”
. . . . . . . “If I get something solid, sure,” Fromelda reluctantly agreed. They left the nursery and walked back out into the bustling street.

Pinging:
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**Sorry for the long time posting, here's a longer page :D Family visiting and urgent care level food poisoning takes a toll!**

Last edited on Oct 20, 2017 10:36:52 by Claudea

@Claudea ahh, sorry about the food poisoning, hope you're well now! Had it once, was in the hospital for a week, nasty stuff. Also just wanted to say I'm intrigued by what you've written so far... (if you'd rather have only your writing in this thread, just ping me and I'll delete my comment :)

Beatoriche

666

261

1111

2564

June 18, 2017 21:57:10

@Claudea ahh, sorry about the food poisoning, hope you're well now! Had it once, was in the hospital for a week, nasty stuff. Also just wanted to say I'm intrigued by what you've written so far... (if you'd rather have only your writing in this thread, just ping me and I'll delete my comment :)

~~

Call me Beato!

Last edited on Jun 18, 2017 21:57:41 by Beatoriche

@Beatoriche

5 days of blech, glad it's over! And comments are fine, and always appreciated! I'm just rolling with the story as it comes at this point. I know the major plot points, filling in as I go lol ^u^

Claudea

10752

June 18, 2017 22:23:11

@Beatoriche

5 days of blech, glad it's over! And comments are fine, and always appreciated! I'm just rolling with the story as it comes at this point. I know the major plot points, filling in as I go lol ^u^

~ Page Seventeen ~

. . . . . . . “Are we returning to Blacksand now?” Silus asked as they stopped at the street corner. “I would like to submit these to testing as soon as possible.”
. . . . . . . “Maybe.” Fromelda was thinking. And she was uncertain, and that wasn’t how she liked to be. She couldn’t decide what to do. Usually her instinct guided her, a gut impulse. Always a burning urge to act, rushing her forward when she needed it most. Yet her gut wasn’t giving her any guidance today.
. . . . . . . “We should get back to work.” Silus barked rather loudly in her ear, startling her out of her brown study. She snarled at him, sorely itching to bark back. But she didn’t. She held her tongue and faced the street, still trying to decide her next move.
. . . . . . . “Hmmph,” Silus huffed, a noise sounding as thoughtful as Fromelda felt. She turned back to him.
. . . . . . . “What?”
. . . . . . . Silus was studying her, that look of intense scrutiny as if she were a faulty gear in his precise machines. “Miss Gardenia’s sensitivity is sound. You do not seem satisfactory.”
. . . . . . . Rolling her eyes, Fromelda said, “OK, I’ll bite. Why? Because I feel just fine.”
. . . . . . . “Your uncertainty is obvious. And that is unlike you,” he said.
. . . . . . . Somewhat peeved she’d let that show, she dismissed it. “We don’t hang out, Sparky. This is the longest we’ve ever spent with each other. You don’t know me.”
. . . . . . . “I know how you’re supposed to be,” he said, and it was a rather odd thing for him to say. Even he didn’t seem certain why he’d said it.
. . . . . . . “Whatever. Just, let me think for a minute.” Fromelda put her back to him one last time, glowering at the traffic. There was a lot of congestion in the street here, with all the construction going on at the next block over. Poetically, it was all for a new Ombra Goods, the work only halfway complete. A cart carrying several tons of grayish-white stone blocked half the road.
. . . . . . . She knew the logo on that cart. The little flicker of instinct rekindled.
. . . . . . . “Gwennie said we knew nothing about Ombra, right? Well, let's fix that.” She looked to Silus. “You're the client, Sparky. If you wanna rush back to your samples there, we will.”
. . . . . . . “You seem to have an alternative in mind.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda nodded. “When was the last time you visited the Cairnestone Quarry?”

Pinging:
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*Will post another tonight :3 I'm working on a sketch-poo of Gwendolyn and will post when it's done. Might be a few days.

Claudea

10752

June 21, 2017 11:53:07

~ Page Seventeen ~

. . . . . . . “Are we returning to Blacksand now?” Silus asked as they stopped at the street corner. “I would like to submit these to testing as soon as possible.”
. . . . . . . “Maybe.” Fromelda was thinking. And she was uncertain, and that wasn’t how she liked to be. She couldn’t decide what to do. Usually her instinct guided her, a gut impulse. Always a burning urge to act, rushing her forward when she needed it most. Yet her gut wasn’t giving her any guidance today.
. . . . . . . “We should get back to work.” Silus barked rather loudly in her ear, startling her out of her brown study. She snarled at him, sorely itching to bark back. But she didn’t. She held her tongue and faced the street, still trying to decide her next move.
. . . . . . . “Hmmph,” Silus huffed, a noise sounding as thoughtful as Fromelda felt. She turned back to him.
. . . . . . . “What?”
. . . . . . . Silus was studying her, that look of intense scrutiny as if she were a faulty gear in his precise machines. “Miss Gardenia’s sensitivity is sound. You do not seem satisfactory.”
. . . . . . . Rolling her eyes, Fromelda said, “OK, I’ll bite. Why? Because I feel just fine.”
. . . . . . . “Your uncertainty is obvious. And that is unlike you,” he said.
. . . . . . . Somewhat peeved she’d let that show, she dismissed it. “We don’t hang out, Sparky. This is the longest we’ve ever spent with each other. You don’t know me.”
. . . . . . . “I know how you’re supposed to be,” he said, and it was a rather odd thing for him to say. Even he didn’t seem certain why he’d said it.
. . . . . . . “Whatever. Just, let me think for a minute.” Fromelda put her back to him one last time, glowering at the traffic. There was a lot of congestion in the street here, with all the construction going on at the next block over. Poetically, it was all for a new Ombra Goods, the work only halfway complete. A cart carrying several tons of grayish-white stone blocked half the road.
. . . . . . . She knew the logo on that cart. The little flicker of instinct rekindled.
. . . . . . . “Gwennie said we knew nothing about Ombra, right? Well, let's fix that.” She looked to Silus. “You're the client, Sparky. If you wanna rush back to your samples there, we will.”
. . . . . . . “You seem to have an alternative in mind.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda nodded. “When was the last time you visited the Cairnestone Quarry?”

Pinging:
@Hinumi
@Beatoriche
@Severing

*Will post another tonight :3 I'm working on a sketch-poo of Gwendolyn and will post when it's done. Might be a few days.

Last edited on Jul 10, 2018 08:22:12 by Claudea

~ Page Eighteen ~

. . . . . . . With Silus footing the travel bill, they road plush in the comfortable cars near the front of the tram. They arrived late at the far eastern station. The sun had long set, and the gathering dark tugged at Fromelda’s eyelids. She wasn’t much for staying up late, unless she had her feet up on the radiator and a nice bright lamp. Silus barked a request at a nearby taxi court. Ready, if tired, to continue on, Fromelda was a little surprised when Silus ordered they stop at a hotel close to the quarry.
. . . . . . . “You should have rest,” said Silus, almost kindly. Then ruined it by adding, “It shows.”
. . . . . . . A solid night’s sleep in a warm bed stirred the coals, and Fromelda stepped back into the world feeling marginally improved. The hotel Silus had chosen was within walking distance. Silus complained about the dust on his shoes, but it was worth skipping the cart traffic that constantly streamed in and out of the basin. From the walking path, before it dropped down the cliffside into the quarry, the whole of Cairnestone was visible. Distant dots swarmed throughout the basin, industrious dragons working steadily to excavate stone and fossil and gems of all sorts.
. . . . . . . Even at that height, they passed beneath the looming shadow of the lone, crumbling pillar that sat at the center of the quarry. Fromelda never liked that pillar. It felt familiar, uncomfortably so, like it knew her as well as she should know it. She’d never been near the thing. She paced quickly out of that shadow.
. . . . . . . Coming out from around a bend in the path, nearly at the bottom of the basin, Fromelda stopped.
. . . . . . . “Here, quick.”
. . . . . . . She ducked down. Silus followed, as he’d seen why she’d done it. Creeping behind the boulders marking the path until they were closer, they kept out of sight. The main office of the Cairnestone Quarry was in view. It doubled as the quarry owner’s home. That same owner was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, distinct amongst any with his massive size and taller than any Imperial. But it wasn’t Einarr Edapholo that Fromelda was watching, rather the gathering of distinctly Ombra employees near him.
. . . . . . . There were several Ombra employees loitering near a sleek black cart, one of those new-fangled self-pulling things that made far too much noise. It was too far for either of them to hear anything. Einarr’s body language - arms crossed, chin down and feet squarely planted - was easy to read though. Fromelda’d never seen him so defensive, and she’d been trapped in long-winded conversations with him more than once. There was nothing overtly menacing about the Ombra mooks. Most of them weren’t even close to Einarr, hanging out by the cart ready to leave.
. . . . . . . One Ombra, however, caught Fromelda’s eye, the fine cut of her clothes visible even from that distance. Standing nearly at eye level with Einarr, a feat in itself, her platinum blonde hair was hidden beneath a cap. She spoke animatedly, her hands flying through the air with every unheard inflection. The movements were friendly, chatty, yet Einarr remained stony-faced.
. . . . . . . “That’s Dahlia Ombra,” Fromelda whispered.

Pinging:
@Hinumi
@Beatoriche
@Severing
@Khyra

**And I forgot to post last night. Herp-a-derp. **

Claudea

10752

June 22, 2017 08:52:21

~ Page Eighteen ~

. . . . . . . With Silus footing the travel bill, they road plush in the comfortable cars near the front of the tram. They arrived late at the far eastern station. The sun had long set, and the gathering dark tugged at Fromelda’s eyelids. She wasn’t much for staying up late, unless she had her feet up on the radiator and a nice bright lamp. Silus barked a request at a nearby taxi court. Ready, if tired, to continue on, Fromelda was a little surprised when Silus ordered they stop at a hotel close to the quarry.
. . . . . . . “You should have rest,” said Silus, almost kindly. Then ruined it by adding, “It shows.”
. . . . . . . A solid night’s sleep in a warm bed stirred the coals, and Fromelda stepped back into the world feeling marginally improved. The hotel Silus had chosen was within walking distance. Silus complained about the dust on his shoes, but it was worth skipping the cart traffic that constantly streamed in and out of the basin. From the walking path, before it dropped down the cliffside into the quarry, the whole of Cairnestone was visible. Distant dots swarmed throughout the basin, industrious dragons working steadily to excavate stone and fossil and gems of all sorts.
. . . . . . . Even at that height, they passed beneath the looming shadow of the lone, crumbling pillar that sat at the center of the quarry. Fromelda never liked that pillar. It felt familiar, uncomfortably so, like it knew her as well as she should know it. She’d never been near the thing. She paced quickly out of that shadow.
. . . . . . . Coming out from around a bend in the path, nearly at the bottom of the basin, Fromelda stopped.
. . . . . . . “Here, quick.”
. . . . . . . She ducked down. Silus followed, as he’d seen why she’d done it. Creeping behind the boulders marking the path until they were closer, they kept out of sight. The main office of the Cairnestone Quarry was in view. It doubled as the quarry owner’s home. That same owner was standing at the bottom of the porch steps, distinct amongst any with his massive size and taller than any Imperial. But it wasn’t Einarr Edapholo that Fromelda was watching, rather the gathering of distinctly Ombra employees near him.
. . . . . . . There were several Ombra employees loitering near a sleek black cart, one of those new-fangled self-pulling things that made far too much noise. It was too far for either of them to hear anything. Einarr’s body language - arms crossed, chin down and feet squarely planted - was easy to read though. Fromelda’d never seen him so defensive, and she’d been trapped in long-winded conversations with him more than once. There was nothing overtly menacing about the Ombra mooks. Most of them weren’t even close to Einarr, hanging out by the cart ready to leave.
. . . . . . . One Ombra, however, caught Fromelda’s eye, the fine cut of her clothes visible even from that distance. Standing nearly at eye level with Einarr, a feat in itself, her platinum blonde hair was hidden beneath a cap. She spoke animatedly, her hands flying through the air with every unheard inflection. The movements were friendly, chatty, yet Einarr remained stony-faced.
. . . . . . . “That’s Dahlia Ombra,” Fromelda whispered.

Pinging:
@Hinumi
@Beatoriche
@Severing
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**And I forgot to post last night. Herp-a-derp. **

~ Page Nineteen ~

. . . . . . . The woman had turned slightly, her uniquely beautiful Coatl mask identifying her. The ‘Everything Girl’, people called her. On every billboard, on every picture box; singer, saleswoman, wife to the CEO, the face of Ombra Inc. itself. Fromelda knew she was active, spending as much time in the public eye as her more reclusive husband stayed at Ombra Tower. Oddly enough, she’d never seen her in person before. Not that Fromelda was one for the flashy publicity gigs that Ombra liked to put on, with Miss Dahlia usually at the center.
. . . . . . . The conversation didn’t last much longer. At some point, Einarr nodded, a very short, tense motion. Apparently satisfied, the Everything Girl gave him her signature half-bow, and left. The cart and all the Ombras roared away down the basin. Einarr watched them go, looking thoughtful. He eventually turned and headed back towards his porch.
. . . . . . . Leaping out from behind the rock, Fromelda ran to catch him. “Einarr!”
. . . . . . . Stopping halfway up the porch steps, Einarr turned in some surprise as Fromelda trotted up to him, Silus not far behind. “Ember? What are you doing here?”
. . . . . . . “Visiting you, big guy, what d’you think?” Fromelda secured her hat back on her head, smiling up at him.
. . . . . . . “Usually it’s me asking to see you. Let me guess, you have questions? Some information on some case?” Einarr was smiling beneath his fuzzy beard. He liked company, so whatever Fromelda needed, he was always happy to help.
. . . . . . . “Spot on. Funny enough.” Fromelda glanced back over her shoulder pointedly, back towards the entrance of the basin. “My interest just drove off. Like some poorly written plot device, wouldn’t you know. Since when have you been working for Ombra?”
. . . . . . . The change in Einarr was immediate. To call the look he gave Fromelda ‘withering’ would be an understatement. Just as quickly, that look turned to stone; unshiftable, impassable.
. . . . . . . “Actually, I’m busy. I can’t help you right now.” Einarr turned his back on them and starting towards his front door again.
. . . . . . . It took Fromelda an extra second to process the sudden edge in that response, but she went after him, jumping the stairs and catching him before he got all the way inside. “Einarr, wait! Hang on, just, it’ll only take a minute.” She wedged herself in the doorway, hand on the door even as he reached for the handle.
. . . . . . . Einarr hesitated.
. . . . . . . “I just need some feedback,” Fromelda insisted. “There’s some wrinkly business, missing dragons. I’m just trying to connect the dots. Might be nothing to do with ‘em, but you do work with Ombra. Seen your deliveries. Ombra doesn’t make their records public, so you’re the first connection I’ve come across. It’s only a few questions, Pebble. Help me out?”
. . . . . . . Einarr remained motionless, a statue frozen on the threshold as something - a thought, a worry - most definitely stirred across his face. Then, with slow deliberateness, he reached out and wrapped one massive hand around Fromelda’s wrist. She was certain, most certain, that he didn’t mean it to hurt. But that iron grip twisted her arm back just enough, forcing her to step away from the door and back across the porch.
. . . . . . . “No,” was all the more he said. Releasing her, he went into his lair and shut the door.

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:D

Claudea