Creative Corner

10752

August 04, 2017 09:49:25

~ Page Twenty-Eight ~

. . . . . . . Fromelda was still wringing the damp out of her hair when Silus arrived. She hadn’t invited him. She’d expected he’d show up, though she wasn’t really pleased about it. She wasn’t ready to deal with him. She was still trying to deal with herself. So she took her time in the bathroom, making sure every last drop of moisture had been squeezed away. She hated wet hair. Clean but still achingly exhausted, she went back into the main office. Silus was standing there, hat unremoved from his head. Fromelda had vaguely heard him talking since the moment he’d come in.
. . . . . . . “Good, you are here.” Silus looked almost animated, he even nearly smiled when he saw her. “This situation has provided an excellent opportunity. You are familiar, friendly, with the parents of that boy?”
. . . . . . . “I’ve been invited to his pyre, so yes,” Fromelda answered.
. . . . . . . Silus clapped as if he expected her to jump to action. “Excellent! Contact them, it is not too late, I know what facility they are keeping him in.”
. . . . . . . He turned and headed straight for the front door.
. . . . . . . Fromelda stayed put. “What the blazes are you on about?”
. . . . . . . Silus wheeled around and came right back to her. “I will elaborate, again, so that you may understand.”
. . . . . . . “You haven’t elaborated at all,” Fromelda said sourly.
. . . . . . . Silus thought about it only briefly, then continued. “As I stated, this is a prime opportunity for us. You might call it a ‘break in the case’, correct? All we’ve had so far is rumor, theoretically sound but empirically weak information. We could only assume, which of course is no basis for a solid hypothesis. Correlation doesn’t imply causation. Do you follow?”
. . . . . . . “Keep expostulating and I’ll let you know,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Silus did. “Then listen: Coincidences are exceedingly rare when all facets of a situation are considered. The chances of the boy’s demise coinciding so closely with our investigation, and in such a decidedly strange manner, are exactly 7.14%. The likelihood of it being related, with even a generous error margin, is 78%. All considered, those are reasonable odds. Not perfect, but reasonable.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda sighed. “You could just say that you think Ombra's involved. I think so too now. I don’t need the numbers.”
. . . . . . . “Perhaps you don’t, but I prefer to have them,” said Silus. “We should hurry. They will not be preparing him for the pyre - such an unusual custom here, I will say - just yet. I brought sample tubes in the car. If we go now -”
. . . . . . . “No.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda’s voice snapped, warned. The hiss of iron growing hot.
. . . . . . . Silus blinked at her, calculating, then said, “You are being sentimental. That is impractical at this time.”
. . . . . . . “I don’t care if I am. I said no.” Fromelda was standing very, very still.
. . . . . . . Silus rumbled under his breath, just a far-off threat on the horizon. “Be reasonable! The boy is of no use anymore except to provide us, finally, with some solid facts. A simple dissection will produce a wealth of -!”
. . . . . . . SLAP!
. . . . . . . The sound rang out, loud enough that the other tenants probably heard it through the thin apartment walls. Linda had her hands pressed to her mouth. Fromelda took a single step back, back solidly onto two feet, and shoved her hand in her pocket again. Silus held the left side of his face. For the first time since Fromelda had met him, he seemed honestly taken aback.
. . . . . . . “You struck me.” His eyes were lit like a hot charged coil. “You struck me!”
. . . . . . . Fromelda said nothing, but breathed heavily through her nose, breathes so heavy and so hot that temperature of room actually rose.
. . . . . . . Silus removed his hand and checked it. No blood. He looked back at Fromelda, his lip curling. “This shouldn’t surprise me. You don’t have a single shred of common sense in that hot head of yours.”
. . . . . . . “And you’ve not one of decency!” Fromelda spat. “You will not desecrate him! He will burn and be one with the flames again, as he rightly deserves.”
. . . . . . . “Four to six expert incisions and he wouldn't burn any less!” Silus was shouting now. “You are ignorant. We need the information he can provide.”
. . . . . . . "No!"
. . . . . . . "Why not?" Silus snapped. "Do not be unreasonable! What I propose is not at all unsound."
. . . . . . . “I said no! You will leave him be. I'll never ask for it, and you’ll never get his parents to let you touch him without me,” Fromelda snarled.
. . . . . . . The air now filled with heat and static, Silus took a step towards her. “I am your client. You work for me!”
. . . . . . . “Then I quit.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda turned on her heel, kicked open her own front door, and thundered away down the hall.

********************************************************

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~ Page Twenty-Nine ~

. . . . . . . The roof of her apartment was a quiet place. Surprising, in the middle of so much hustle and bustle from the streets below. But somehow it was, muted at least, only the faint sounds of traffic and the far off clanging of the ironworks thudding through the damp air. Fromelda liked the roof. It was a place she could think. In the evenings, the sun would dip behind the mass of the Blacksand Forge, its teetering levels rising high above
everything else for miles.
. . . . . . . There was no sun today, hidden behind fog and clouds. Besides, it wasn’t even noon yet. Fromelda had sat on her roof for an hour, the clock tower on 5th told her so. She was cold, and damp again thanks to the fog, yet there she sat. She had no regrets. Silus had deserved it. Even if he had been the slightest bit right. There was no way Fromelda could ever ask permission for such a thing. Ricky had been a good boy. The flames would
embrace him, as they did everyone eventually. And at least he could be in peace through that.
. . . . . . . So, no regrets.
. . . . . . . All right, one. Without Silus and his fat coin purse, her investigation wouldn’t be as easy. But this was no longer just an investigation. This was personal. She’d find whoever had done this, she’d find them and drag them into the fires herself. She could live without electricity for a while if she had to.
. . . . . . . A sluggish southerly breeze began to blow, stirring the damp fumes. It did little than rustle the fog, though, and drag its wet tendrils across Fromelda’s back. Fromelda shuddered, even colder now, but remained stubbornly seated. She pulled out the cigar still stuffed in her pocket. Linda wasn’t around. She’d probably gone home. She wouldn’t have appreciated the display downstairs. With a flick of her wrist, Fromelda pulled up a little flame. She went to light her cigar, but hesitated, staring at the flame.
. . . . . . . The tiny fire danced across her palm. It fluttered and spat, succumbing to the weak wet breeze. Fromelda frowned at its weakness. It puffed up a little. Not nearly enough. With a sigh that shook the little flame all over again, Fromelda stowed her cigar. She kept up the flame though. She remembered being rather smart at fire magic. Better than smart. In the recesses of her mind flickered memories: mountainous columns of flame, of char and soot and fire so hot that the ground melted, submitting to her will. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel that heat. Though right then, all she could feel was the feeble warmth of her own tiny flame.
. . . . . . . Behind her the roof hatch opened. Fromelda opened her eyes but didn’t turn. Either a neighbor or Linda. She snuffed out the fire and drooped her arms over her knees again.
. . . . . . . The hatch clanged shut and footsteps approached.
. . . . . . . “You held back.”
. . . . . . . It was Silus who sat down on the two-by-four Fromelda was using as a seat, to her immense surprise. He sat with one leg crossed and the other out stick-straight. He looked out at the foggy rooftops, considering, as if trying to see what she’d deemed worthy of staring at for so long.
. . . . . . . “Through self-experimentation, I’ve discovered that I’m at least 173% more durable than the average Snapper,” he said. “There are few individuals who could do any real physical damage to me. Though my additional data is observational, I believe you are one who would certainly leave a lasting imprint. And yet you did not.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda shrugged. “Wasn’t worth cleaning up the mess.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked her straight in the eyes. “You are lying. You don’t lie well.”
. . . . . . . “And you do?” Fromelda sneered.
. . . . . . . “It’s not normally necessary. But I can do so with a completely straight face. You speak with passion and intensity. It is obvious when you don’t mean what you say.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda huffed. “Why does it matter to you? Do you want me to try again?”
. . . . . . . “Preferably not,” Silus said. “But it matters because you did mean to strike me fully. For those 3 seconds you lost all common sense to rage. That is appropriate for you. Yet you only struck me, you didn’t really hit me.”
. . . . . . . “Like I said, I’d be happy to try again.” Fromelda showed her teeth.
. . . . . . . Silus’ mouth pinched. He rolled his shoulders, flicking static off onto the roof, and didn’t reply immediately. Fromelda looked away from him. She didn’t get up, though. She really was surprised he was sitting there.
. . . . . . . “Why are you still here?” she asked finally.
. . . . . . . “Miss Luster stopped me before I drove off,” he said. “She refused to get out of my cart until I returned to the office to speak with her. She is exhaustingly insistent.”
. . . . . . . “You don’t know the half of it,” Fromelda agreed.
. . . . . . . “Her efforts were successful. The two of us have determined a more . . . reasonable plan. It is highly irregular and promises minimal possible results.” Silus was obviously deterred by this, but continued. “I will . . . I will work around your refusal regarding the boy. Despite my request being perfectly sound.”
. . . . . . . “I did quit,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Silus was unmoved. “You wish to find out what happened to the boy. Our aims still align. And I still find your inherent drive a positive. Your passionate instinct is . . . intriguing.”
. . . . . . . Another compliment. Less snarky than usual. Fromelda looked back out into the gloom. On several rooftop billboards, looming in and out of the slowly shifting fog, Ombra’s logo was clear. The flicker stirred.
. . . . . . . “What’s your plan?”

********************************************************

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Claudea

10752

August 14, 2017 08:09:06

~ Page Twenty-Nine ~

. . . . . . . The roof of her apartment was a quiet place. Surprising, in the middle of so much hustle and bustle from the streets below. But somehow it was, muted at least, only the faint sounds of traffic and the far off clanging of the ironworks thudding through the damp air. Fromelda liked the roof. It was a place she could think. In the evenings, the sun would dip behind the mass of the Blacksand Forge, its teetering levels rising high above
everything else for miles.
. . . . . . . There was no sun today, hidden behind fog and clouds. Besides, it wasn’t even noon yet. Fromelda had sat on her roof for an hour, the clock tower on 5th told her so. She was cold, and damp again thanks to the fog, yet there she sat. She had no regrets. Silus had deserved it. Even if he had been the slightest bit right. There was no way Fromelda could ever ask permission for such a thing. Ricky had been a good boy. The flames would
embrace him, as they did everyone eventually. And at least he could be in peace through that.
. . . . . . . So, no regrets.
. . . . . . . All right, one. Without Silus and his fat coin purse, her investigation wouldn’t be as easy. But this was no longer just an investigation. This was personal. She’d find whoever had done this, she’d find them and drag them into the fires herself. She could live without electricity for a while if she had to.
. . . . . . . A sluggish southerly breeze began to blow, stirring the damp fumes. It did little than rustle the fog, though, and drag its wet tendrils across Fromelda’s back. Fromelda shuddered, even colder now, but remained stubbornly seated. She pulled out the cigar still stuffed in her pocket. Linda wasn’t around. She’d probably gone home. She wouldn’t have appreciated the display downstairs. With a flick of her wrist, Fromelda pulled up a little flame. She went to light her cigar, but hesitated, staring at the flame.
. . . . . . . The tiny fire danced across her palm. It fluttered and spat, succumbing to the weak wet breeze. Fromelda frowned at its weakness. It puffed up a little. Not nearly enough. With a sigh that shook the little flame all over again, Fromelda stowed her cigar. She kept up the flame though. She remembered being rather smart at fire magic. Better than smart. In the recesses of her mind flickered memories: mountainous columns of flame, of char and soot and fire so hot that the ground melted, submitting to her will. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel that heat. Though right then, all she could feel was the feeble warmth of her own tiny flame.
. . . . . . . Behind her the roof hatch opened. Fromelda opened her eyes but didn’t turn. Either a neighbor or Linda. She snuffed out the fire and drooped her arms over her knees again.
. . . . . . . The hatch clanged shut and footsteps approached.
. . . . . . . “You held back.”
. . . . . . . It was Silus who sat down on the two-by-four Fromelda was using as a seat, to her immense surprise. He sat with one leg crossed and the other out stick-straight. He looked out at the foggy rooftops, considering, as if trying to see what she’d deemed worthy of staring at for so long.
. . . . . . . “Through self-experimentation, I’ve discovered that I’m at least 173% more durable than the average Snapper,” he said. “There are few individuals who could do any real physical damage to me. Though my additional data is observational, I believe you are one who would certainly leave a lasting imprint. And yet you did not.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda shrugged. “Wasn’t worth cleaning up the mess.”
. . . . . . . Silus looked her straight in the eyes. “You are lying. You don’t lie well.”
. . . . . . . “And you do?” Fromelda sneered.
. . . . . . . “It’s not normally necessary. But I can do so with a completely straight face. You speak with passion and intensity. It is obvious when you don’t mean what you say.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda huffed. “Why does it matter to you? Do you want me to try again?”
. . . . . . . “Preferably not,” Silus said. “But it matters because you did mean to strike me fully. For those 3 seconds you lost all common sense to rage. That is appropriate for you. Yet you only struck me, you didn’t really hit me.”
. . . . . . . “Like I said, I’d be happy to try again.” Fromelda showed her teeth.
. . . . . . . Silus’ mouth pinched. He rolled his shoulders, flicking static off onto the roof, and didn’t reply immediately. Fromelda looked away from him. She didn’t get up, though. She really was surprised he was sitting there.
. . . . . . . “Why are you still here?” she asked finally.
. . . . . . . “Miss Luster stopped me before I drove off,” he said. “She refused to get out of my cart until I returned to the office to speak with her. She is exhaustingly insistent.”
. . . . . . . “You don’t know the half of it,” Fromelda agreed.
. . . . . . . “Her efforts were successful. The two of us have determined a more . . . reasonable plan. It is highly irregular and promises minimal possible results.” Silus was obviously deterred by this, but continued. “I will . . . I will work around your refusal regarding the boy. Despite my request being perfectly sound.”
. . . . . . . “I did quit,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Silus was unmoved. “You wish to find out what happened to the boy. Our aims still align. And I still find your inherent drive a positive. Your passionate instinct is . . . intriguing.”
. . . . . . . Another compliment. Less snarky than usual. Fromelda looked back out into the gloom. On several rooftop billboards, looming in and out of the slowly shifting fog, Ombra’s logo was clear. The flicker stirred.
. . . . . . . “What’s your plan?”

********************************************************

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~ Page Thirty ~

. . . . . . . “I love it. I’m all in, what do we need?”
. . . . . . . Fromelda sat on the edge of her desk. Silus was organizing the roller board as Linda paced around the office. Linda was uncomfortable.
. . . . . . . “I’ll consider your resignation redacted, then. Item requirement is minimal,” Silus said. “Appropriate attire for the event is initially important.”
. . . . . . . “Lockpicks,” Fromelda added. “And something I can squirrel away documents in. Something I can hide on me. I bet I can get a thin scroll case strapped to my leg.”
. . . . . . . “I have seen your preferred dress attire. Would it not show through?” Silus questioned.
. . . . . . . “It would,” said Linda. “Maybe, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda raised an eyebrow. “It was your plan.”
. . . . . . . “I know, but now I think it’s not going to work,” Linda said.
. . . . . . . Silus scratched down some numbers on the case board, saying, “There’s a 62% chance of failure. And with so little time to prepare, and the multitude of unplottable factors, that’s being generous.”
. . . . . . . Linda shook her head. “I don’t like those odds.”
. . . . . . . “I do. All the risk for all the reward. That’s my kind of plan.” Fromelda grinned. It wasn’t a happy expression.
. . . . . . . “If you get caught,” Linda tried.
. . . . . . . “I won’t,” Fromelda insisted.
. . . . . . . Silus had to add, “Without 100% certainty, there is always a chance.”
. . . . . . . Linda raised her arms in appeal. “See? And you’re about as subtle as a Snapper with radioactive wings. Someone is going to see you sneaking through the upper floors of Ombra Tower.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda didn’t agree. It was a good plan. A fantastic plan. Go straight for the head of the snake.
. . . . . . . “As long as there’s enough distraction, everything will be fine,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . “Perhaps I should get into a physical altercation with Daedalus Ombra. Such displays are usually found entertaining,” Silus said thoughtfully.
. . . . . . . The two females glanced at him.
. . . . . . . “Not the kind of distraction I need, Sparky,” said Fromelda. “You’re my safe ticket out once I’m done snooping around. I can’t get out if you’re arrested.”
. . . . . . . Linda wasn’t giving up. “But what if you do get caught? What then?”
. . . . . . . “I’ll be honest.” Fromelda smirked. “I’ll say I was dying to see what the inside of Ombra Tower looked like and just couldn’t help taking a peek. I’ll apologize all sweet-like, and that’ll be that.”
. . . . . . . “What if they find documents on you?” Linda pressed.
. . . . . . . “We will remove that possibility.” Silus added a note to the list. “I’ve been developing an experimental camera. 1/10 the size of the current model. It works, but its capacity is limited. You’ll have to be particular what photos you take. No more than 12.”
. . . . . . . Linda shook her head. “If she can’t hide a scroll case on her, how is she supposed to hide a camera?”
. . . . . . . Silus held up his hands, describing an object as wide, though not quite as long and thick, as a large matchbox. “I assume pockets are not typical in evening wear.”
. . . . . . . “I’ll hide it in a bow, at my back,” said Fromelda. “Jeany down at Tin and Thimble can cut me one. Fabric may not match but it’ll do.”
. . . . . . . “Oh no, no.” Linda looked appalled. “If we’re going to go through with this, you aren’t going out in that same threadbare thing. I’ll get you something. OK, fine, somewhere to hide an object that size.”
. . . . . . . “And lockpicks,” said Fromelda.
. . . . . . . “And lockpicks,” Linda said through her teeth. “What about your distraction.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda thought on it, and an idea came. A somewhat ridiculous but clever idea. She shuffled through the stacks of paper.
. . . . . . . “Look.” Laying out a map of Sornieth City and a newspaper photo of Ombra Tower, she said, “They held their grand opening gala here. They’ve got some sort of public space down on the bottom floor, where they can fit a lot of dragons. Seems to take up the whole eastern side of that floor. East faces the Glittering Promenade.”
. . . . . . . “And?” Linda didn’t like where this was going.
. . . . . . . “A nice display from the Promenade would surely distract the party, and probably any staff on the upper floors within view,” Fromelda said. “I’m sure the Promenade’s favorite heiress could convince someone, anyone, to shoot off a few hundred fireworks for her viewing pleasure.”
. . . . . . . “A few hundred!” Linda scoffed. She squinted at the photo. “It is a direct shot, though.”
. . . . . . . “This’ll work, Linda, trust me.” Fromelda bent over the table until her face was right up near Linda’s. “Come on, didn’t you tell me you were craving excitement? What’s more exciting than a high-risk stake out?”
. . . . . . . Linda gave her the dirtiest of looks. “Something that doesn’t involve jail.”

********************************************************

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Claudea

10752

August 15, 2017 10:03:10

~ Page Thirty ~

. . . . . . . “I love it. I’m all in, what do we need?”
. . . . . . . Fromelda sat on the edge of her desk. Silus was organizing the roller board as Linda paced around the office. Linda was uncomfortable.
. . . . . . . “I’ll consider your resignation redacted, then. Item requirement is minimal,” Silus said. “Appropriate attire for the event is initially important.”
. . . . . . . “Lockpicks,” Fromelda added. “And something I can squirrel away documents in. Something I can hide on me. I bet I can get a thin scroll case strapped to my leg.”
. . . . . . . “I have seen your preferred dress attire. Would it not show through?” Silus questioned.
. . . . . . . “It would,” said Linda. “Maybe, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda raised an eyebrow. “It was your plan.”
. . . . . . . “I know, but now I think it’s not going to work,” Linda said.
. . . . . . . Silus scratched down some numbers on the case board, saying, “There’s a 62% chance of failure. And with so little time to prepare, and the multitude of unplottable factors, that’s being generous.”
. . . . . . . Linda shook her head. “I don’t like those odds.”
. . . . . . . “I do. All the risk for all the reward. That’s my kind of plan.” Fromelda grinned. It wasn’t a happy expression.
. . . . . . . “If you get caught,” Linda tried.
. . . . . . . “I won’t,” Fromelda insisted.
. . . . . . . Silus had to add, “Without 100% certainty, there is always a chance.”
. . . . . . . Linda raised her arms in appeal. “See? And you’re about as subtle as a Snapper with radioactive wings. Someone is going to see you sneaking through the upper floors of Ombra Tower.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda didn’t agree. It was a good plan. A fantastic plan. Go straight for the head of the snake.
. . . . . . . “As long as there’s enough distraction, everything will be fine,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . “Perhaps I should get into a physical altercation with Daedalus Ombra. Such displays are usually found entertaining,” Silus said thoughtfully.
. . . . . . . The two females glanced at him.
. . . . . . . “Not the kind of distraction I need, Sparky,” said Fromelda. “You’re my safe ticket out once I’m done snooping around. I can’t get out if you’re arrested.”
. . . . . . . Linda wasn’t giving up. “But what if you do get caught? What then?”
. . . . . . . “I’ll be honest.” Fromelda smirked. “I’ll say I was dying to see what the inside of Ombra Tower looked like and just couldn’t help taking a peek. I’ll apologize all sweet-like, and that’ll be that.”
. . . . . . . “What if they find documents on you?” Linda pressed.
. . . . . . . “We will remove that possibility.” Silus added a note to the list. “I’ve been developing an experimental camera. 1/10 the size of the current model. It works, but its capacity is limited. You’ll have to be particular what photos you take. No more than 12.”
. . . . . . . Linda shook her head. “If she can’t hide a scroll case on her, how is she supposed to hide a camera?”
. . . . . . . Silus held up his hands, describing an object as wide, though not quite as long and thick, as a large matchbox. “I assume pockets are not typical in evening wear.”
. . . . . . . “I’ll hide it in a bow, at my back,” said Fromelda. “Jeany down at Tin and Thimble can cut me one. Fabric may not match but it’ll do.”
. . . . . . . “Oh no, no.” Linda looked appalled. “If we’re going to go through with this, you aren’t going out in that same threadbare thing. I’ll get you something. OK, fine, somewhere to hide an object that size.”
. . . . . . . “And lockpicks,” said Fromelda.
. . . . . . . “And lockpicks,” Linda said through her teeth. “What about your distraction.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda thought on it, and an idea came. A somewhat ridiculous but clever idea. She shuffled through the stacks of paper.
. . . . . . . “Look.” Laying out a map of Sornieth City and a newspaper photo of Ombra Tower, she said, “They held their grand opening gala here. They’ve got some sort of public space down on the bottom floor, where they can fit a lot of dragons. Seems to take up the whole eastern side of that floor. East faces the Glittering Promenade.”
. . . . . . . “And?” Linda didn’t like where this was going.
. . . . . . . “A nice display from the Promenade would surely distract the party, and probably any staff on the upper floors within view,” Fromelda said. “I’m sure the Promenade’s favorite heiress could convince someone, anyone, to shoot off a few hundred fireworks for her viewing pleasure.”
. . . . . . . “A few hundred!” Linda scoffed. She squinted at the photo. “It is a direct shot, though.”
. . . . . . . “This’ll work, Linda, trust me.” Fromelda bent over the table until her face was right up near Linda’s. “Come on, didn’t you tell me you were craving excitement? What’s more exciting than a high-risk stake out?”
. . . . . . . Linda gave her the dirtiest of looks. “Something that doesn’t involve jail.”

********************************************************

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[center]This is kinda old but don't remember if I posted this anywhere so here ya go. Sketchy Hotmom. [img]http://i.imgur.com/BmLS875l.jpg[/img] Let me know if you don't want pings for these (especially older ones I find on my computer lol). [/center] Pinglist @Hinumi @Beatoriche @Severing @Skyeset @Khyra @Polymorphus

Claudea

10752

August 16, 2017 07:54:41

This is kinda old but don't remember if I posted this anywhere so here ya go. Sketchy Hotmom.

Let me know if you don't want pings for these (especially older ones I find on my computer lol).

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~ Page Thirty-One ~

. . . . . . . On the night of Ombra’s Anniversary Gala, Linda dropped Fromelda off at Spark Enterprises. Having made sure Fromelda was properly dolled-up, Linda hurried back to her own house. Someone had to remain on the outside, just incase. Her shipment of nearly 130 fireworks had arrived just two days ago. She'd make sure they'd go off at the right time. Silus had an invitation for the gala, a personal one. Whether it was meant as an olive branch or a cruel jab from his biggest competitor, no one could tell for certain. But it was just the break they needed. Getting into Ombra Tower, with freedom to move around, would’ve been nearly impossible otherwise. And the invitation included a plus one.
. . . . . . . Fromelda was right on time, meeting Silus as he stepped out of the elevator and strode across the lobby. She had to admit, he looked rather sharp. That black and egg-blue pinstripe suit fit him perfectly. He stopped when he saw her, hesitating mid-step. Dropping his foot, he came forward.
. . . . . . . “You are considerably more elegant than per your norm,” he said.
. . . . . . . “Linda went a bit overboard,” Fromelda replied, fussing with an obstinate curl of hair that kept falling into her eyes. Overboard or not, Fromelda did like the dress. Black at the bottom, it slowly brightened into brilliant rolling flames that wrapped around her chest and hooked over one shoulder.
. . . . . . . Silus continued to stare. “You are vibrant this evening.”
. . . . . . . “You bet. No more sorrow. I’ve got other emotions I need to let loose,” she replied, the slightest growl slipping past her lips. “Let’s go.”
. . . . . . . It was a long ride to Ombra Tower, made even longer by Silus’ insistence that they take his brand new self-propelled cart. Technically it was faster than by regular cart, but, bless the Eleven, was it a jangling, bumpy ride. They crossed into the unsettling shadows of the Hewn City, made only slightly less uncomfortable by the hundreds of street lamps lighting their way. Ombra had built the road to their main headquarters themselves. They’d built the tower too, apparently. Fromelda had gotten copies of the building permits just the day before.
. . . . . . . Rising up against the gloom and legendary disquiet, Ombra Tower shone like a beacon that night. The tower was lit from tip-top to bottom, and a dozen spotlights stripped the night sky. The circular driveway out front was packed with carts, dropping off dragons of obviously impressive pedigree. Silus steered them through the throng to the entrance. An attendant parked the cart.
. . . . . . . Smoothing out her dress, Fromelda took Silus’ arm. Silus seemed to forget himself and nearly pulled away.
. . . . . . . “I’m your date, remember?” Fromelda hissed under her breath.
. . . . . . . “Ah, correct.” Silus adjusted his posture and they walked in.
. . . . . . . Fromelda looked around unabashedly, though she didn’t get much time to survey anything but the front entrance. They were directed promptly through the main lobby and to the right. The gala room was decked out in more black and white hangings than should’ve existed, draped from columns and roof beams and a profusion of crystal chandeliers. It was one heck of a shindig, Fromelda had to give them that. Ombra staff were both serving the event and mingling amongst the guests, making friends and catering to the wealthiest looking clients. Silus was no exception. They were barely in the door before they were surrounded by a gaggle of lavishly dressed Ombra employees. Fromelda recognized the management pins they all wore.
. . . . . . . “Mister Sparks! What an honor it is,” exclaimed the Ombra in a bright plum Skydancer mask.
. . . . . . . “We’re so glad you could make it,” said another, sporting falconed forest Nocturne. “Mister Daedalus will be especially pleased. He wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
. . . . . . . “The honor is mine,” said Silus, with a surprisingly pleasant smile. “Mister Ombra and I are kindred inventive spirits. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
. . . . . . . The four Ombra ladies tittered excitedly at him. Fromelda had to school her face. Silus really could lie like a champ.
. . . . . . . “Well, may I just say that I caught a glimpse of your experimental Model S cart, and I am dying to know when that'll be on the market,” said Skydancer face.
. . . . . . . “Oh yes, please!” That was Nocturne face. “The Ombra Courier won't be out for months, maybe even a year. And your design is so much sleeker, is there a-”
. . . . . . . “Ladies, ladies! Let a gentleman catch his breath.”
. . . . . . . The Ombra employees immediately turned and stood aside, and up walked Daedalus Ombra. Never in anything but gold and white, tonight was no different. The threads of his golden suit sparkled so exquisitely that it seemed dipped in precious metal. There was no doubt his mask was made of it, shaped in the perfect image of a perpetually smiling Snapper. He was also incredibly squat. Almost as wide as he was tall, the top of his head, platinum blond hair more golden than his wife's, didn't even reach Fromelda’s shoulder.
. . . . . . . “My word, look who it is!” Hands spread wide in welcome, Daedalus came forward. He grabbed Silus’ hand and shook it with fierce goodwill. “It’s been too long, my good fellow. Last we met, I didn’t even have a sales cart in every district. But here we are.”
. . . . . . . “Our meeting was brief,” Silus said. “And perhaps it was time we discuss business matters again.”
. . . . . . . “Exactly! We are of one mind, you and I. Now, I like a little healthy competition as much as the next dragon, but creative geniuses like us need to stick together. You can be sure I’ll have your ear tonight.” The Ombra kingpin threw out his hands again in appeal. “But not yet! This here’s a party that everyone needs to enjoy.”
. . . . . . . The music, wafting through the room from a bandstand at the far end, shifted to something a little smoother, a little more sultry. Daedalus tilted his head towards the sound. “Ah, now that’s a song! Sparks, I must do you an injustice, and steal away your positively radiant companion here. Miss Fahrenheit, you and your breathtakingly stunning visage need no introduction.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda blinked at the sudden attention. “You, you’re too sweet, Mister Ombra. Have we met? I feel sure I’d remember meeting someone as charming as you.”
. . . . . . . Daedalus chuckled. Fromelda was sure if he could wink with that mask, he would’ve.
. . . . . . . “Only in my dreams, my dear. Now don’t go letting my wife hear that. Speaking of my darling, my Dahlia loves music. All kinds, any kind. We’ve snuck in, incognito you see, to shows all over Sornieth since we moved here. We’ve seen your performances at the Kaleidoscope a few times.” Daedalus held out his hand. “You’re my favorite venue, by the way. Come, we all know you sing like a songbird. Can you dance as well?”

********************************************************

Hello Daedalus.

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Claudea

10752

August 18, 2017 09:41:50

~ Page Thirty-One ~

. . . . . . . On the night of Ombra’s Anniversary Gala, Linda dropped Fromelda off at Spark Enterprises. Having made sure Fromelda was properly dolled-up, Linda hurried back to her own house. Someone had to remain on the outside, just incase. Her shipment of nearly 130 fireworks had arrived just two days ago. She'd make sure they'd go off at the right time. Silus had an invitation for the gala, a personal one. Whether it was meant as an olive branch or a cruel jab from his biggest competitor, no one could tell for certain. But it was just the break they needed. Getting into Ombra Tower, with freedom to move around, would’ve been nearly impossible otherwise. And the invitation included a plus one.
. . . . . . . Fromelda was right on time, meeting Silus as he stepped out of the elevator and strode across the lobby. She had to admit, he looked rather sharp. That black and egg-blue pinstripe suit fit him perfectly. He stopped when he saw her, hesitating mid-step. Dropping his foot, he came forward.
. . . . . . . “You are considerably more elegant than per your norm,” he said.
. . . . . . . “Linda went a bit overboard,” Fromelda replied, fussing with an obstinate curl of hair that kept falling into her eyes. Overboard or not, Fromelda did like the dress. Black at the bottom, it slowly brightened into brilliant rolling flames that wrapped around her chest and hooked over one shoulder.
. . . . . . . Silus continued to stare. “You are vibrant this evening.”
. . . . . . . “You bet. No more sorrow. I’ve got other emotions I need to let loose,” she replied, the slightest growl slipping past her lips. “Let’s go.”
. . . . . . . It was a long ride to Ombra Tower, made even longer by Silus’ insistence that they take his brand new self-propelled cart. Technically it was faster than by regular cart, but, bless the Eleven, was it a jangling, bumpy ride. They crossed into the unsettling shadows of the Hewn City, made only slightly less uncomfortable by the hundreds of street lamps lighting their way. Ombra had built the road to their main headquarters themselves. They’d built the tower too, apparently. Fromelda had gotten copies of the building permits just the day before.
. . . . . . . Rising up against the gloom and legendary disquiet, Ombra Tower shone like a beacon that night. The tower was lit from tip-top to bottom, and a dozen spotlights stripped the night sky. The circular driveway out front was packed with carts, dropping off dragons of obviously impressive pedigree. Silus steered them through the throng to the entrance. An attendant parked the cart.
. . . . . . . Smoothing out her dress, Fromelda took Silus’ arm. Silus seemed to forget himself and nearly pulled away.
. . . . . . . “I’m your date, remember?” Fromelda hissed under her breath.
. . . . . . . “Ah, correct.” Silus adjusted his posture and they walked in.
. . . . . . . Fromelda looked around unabashedly, though she didn’t get much time to survey anything but the front entrance. They were directed promptly through the main lobby and to the right. The gala room was decked out in more black and white hangings than should’ve existed, draped from columns and roof beams and a profusion of crystal chandeliers. It was one heck of a shindig, Fromelda had to give them that. Ombra staff were both serving the event and mingling amongst the guests, making friends and catering to the wealthiest looking clients. Silus was no exception. They were barely in the door before they were surrounded by a gaggle of lavishly dressed Ombra employees. Fromelda recognized the management pins they all wore.
. . . . . . . “Mister Sparks! What an honor it is,” exclaimed the Ombra in a bright plum Skydancer mask.
. . . . . . . “We’re so glad you could make it,” said another, sporting falconed forest Nocturne. “Mister Daedalus will be especially pleased. He wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
. . . . . . . “The honor is mine,” said Silus, with a surprisingly pleasant smile. “Mister Ombra and I are kindred inventive spirits. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
. . . . . . . The four Ombra ladies tittered excitedly at him. Fromelda had to school her face. Silus really could lie like a champ.
. . . . . . . “Well, may I just say that I caught a glimpse of your experimental Model S cart, and I am dying to know when that'll be on the market,” said Skydancer face.
. . . . . . . “Oh yes, please!” That was Nocturne face. “The Ombra Courier won't be out for months, maybe even a year. And your design is so much sleeker, is there a-”
. . . . . . . “Ladies, ladies! Let a gentleman catch his breath.”
. . . . . . . The Ombra employees immediately turned and stood aside, and up walked Daedalus Ombra. Never in anything but gold and white, tonight was no different. The threads of his golden suit sparkled so exquisitely that it seemed dipped in precious metal. There was no doubt his mask was made of it, shaped in the perfect image of a perpetually smiling Snapper. He was also incredibly squat. Almost as wide as he was tall, the top of his head, platinum blond hair more golden than his wife's, didn't even reach Fromelda’s shoulder.
. . . . . . . “My word, look who it is!” Hands spread wide in welcome, Daedalus came forward. He grabbed Silus’ hand and shook it with fierce goodwill. “It’s been too long, my good fellow. Last we met, I didn’t even have a sales cart in every district. But here we are.”
. . . . . . . “Our meeting was brief,” Silus said. “And perhaps it was time we discuss business matters again.”
. . . . . . . “Exactly! We are of one mind, you and I. Now, I like a little healthy competition as much as the next dragon, but creative geniuses like us need to stick together. You can be sure I’ll have your ear tonight.” The Ombra kingpin threw out his hands again in appeal. “But not yet! This here’s a party that everyone needs to enjoy.”
. . . . . . . The music, wafting through the room from a bandstand at the far end, shifted to something a little smoother, a little more sultry. Daedalus tilted his head towards the sound. “Ah, now that’s a song! Sparks, I must do you an injustice, and steal away your positively radiant companion here. Miss Fahrenheit, you and your breathtakingly stunning visage need no introduction.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda blinked at the sudden attention. “You, you’re too sweet, Mister Ombra. Have we met? I feel sure I’d remember meeting someone as charming as you.”
. . . . . . . Daedalus chuckled. Fromelda was sure if he could wink with that mask, he would’ve.
. . . . . . . “Only in my dreams, my dear. Now don’t go letting my wife hear that. Speaking of my darling, my Dahlia loves music. All kinds, any kind. We’ve snuck in, incognito you see, to shows all over Sornieth since we moved here. We’ve seen your performances at the Kaleidoscope a few times.” Daedalus held out his hand. “You’re my favorite venue, by the way. Come, we all know you sing like a songbird. Can you dance as well?”

********************************************************

Hello Daedalus.

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Last edited on Oct 20, 2017 12:21:50 by Claudea

@Claudea
Well, Miss Farenheit certainly wasn't expecting that!

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2743

August 21, 2017 04:28:25

@Claudea
Well, Miss Farenheit certainly wasn't expecting that!

~ Page Thirty-Two~

. . . . . . . Songbird?
. . . . . . . “Oh, well I, not very often . . .”
. . . . . . . Fromelda let herself be led out onto the dancefloor. She didn’t think she could dance, but what better way to be seen mingling before she snuck off, than with Mister Ombra himself? And, unlike Fromelda, Mister Ombra could definitely dance. Despite his face being squarely at level with her chest, he moved with well-practiced grace, overcoming the multiple missteps on Fromelda’s part.
. . . . . . . Coming out of the second chorus, one hand on her waist and the other in hers, Daedalus said, “Your talents are limitless, Miss Fahrenheit! If I'd known you were attending, I would've surely made space in the stage schedule, so you could perform for us.”
. . . . . . . Maybe it was the repetitive spinning under Daedalus’ enthusiastic direction, or the press of bright lights, or even the flutter of nerves somewhere deep in her stomach. Maybe it was the smile she forced so hard on her face she was sure her jaw might crack. Whatever it was, something was making Fromelda positively sick. She felt cold, deep down in her bones, no matter how hot the room most definitely was.
. . . . . . . “I would've been delighted,” Fromelda managed to say. “Promise you a raincheck, shall I?”
. . . . . . . “Now I'll remember that promise!” The chorus returned and he spun her again, to her stomach’s dismay. “Dahlia will be delighted. She adores your performances too, you know. We’ll set a date.”
. . . . . . . Thankfully, the song ended. Daedalus led her back to Silus. “Do save one more dance for me tonight, Miss Fahrenheit, won’t you? And Sparks, I’ll be around to chat again shortly! I must locate my dear wife somewhere in this horde. Drink, eat, enjoy the festivities!” And with that he left them be.
. . . . . . . Silus hooked his arm through Fromelda’s, saying loudly, “Look at this over here, these models are most impressive and accurately scaled.”
. . . . . . . He dragged Fromelda over to a big table covered in neat models of newly designed Ombra stores. He bent over a little to examine one, and at the same time under his breath said, “Are you well?”
. . . . . . . “Fine.” Fromelda hissed back through her teeth. The sensation was fading, but it didn’t go away entirely. They mingled for awhile, Fromelda better than Silus. He’d used up all his charm on the first encounter. Yet that feeling continued to gnaw at her, until finally someone else noticed her discomfort.
. . . . . . . “Have a sit, dear,” insisted Mrs. Redtip, the wealthy Guardian landowner Fromelda knew casually from back in Blacksand. Fromelda wasn’t surprised to see her at a party this prestigious.
. . . . . . . “I might just do that,” Fromelda agree. Feigning weakness, she excused herself and found the washroom. Silus knew what she was doing, and continued trying to be social.
. . . . . . . Fromelda stood over the washroom sink, breathing in and out with slow breathes. The weakness was practiced, but the unpleasantness wasn’t totally false. She growled at her reflection in the mirror. She never got sick. Never, not even in the dead of winter when the cold stiffened every bone in her body. And now, tonight, this? Typical. Accepting that the sensation wasn't fading anytime soon, she decided to ignore it. Rolling her shoulders and organizing the plan in her mind’s eye, she left the washroom and walked the opposite direction of the ballroom.
. . . . . . . The bottom floor was easy to navigate. She wasn’t the only one wandering the halls, and Ombra had even opened up several offices and service centers for visitors to explore. She poked her head into a few of these, always on the lookout for unblocked stairs. Nothing important would be kept on the more public bottom floors. She needed to go up. There was an Ombra security guard at every stairwell though. She kept an eye on the many clocks hung throughout. Almost one in every corridor. Real discomfort aside, she'd timed her exit perfectly. 8:15.
. . . . . . . Right as planned, through the nearest window a trail of bright light arced across the night sky. With a far off thwump, it exploded into a glorious waterfall of golden sparks. Then came another, and another. The dragons nearby gathered around the windows in delight. And, bonus, so did a few Ombra guards who were supposed to be blocking the stairs. Fromelda hurried upwards.
. . . . . . . The next floor was offices, a sea of dark empty cubicles. Shapes moved in the darkness around the edges of the main area. More Ombra, distracted by the nighttime display. Fromelda quietly slipped back into the stairwell and continued up. She needed time and freedom to snoop. One of the floors had to be empty. The fireworks continued their revelry in the distance.
. . . . . . . On the eleventh floor, she found silence. The layout was different from the previous nine, and the noise of the party didn’t reach there. Even the fireworks were surprisingly muffled. She’d hear anyone approaching, and there would be places to hide. She crept down the dark halls, peering in the tiny windows on every office door. She tried each handle, finding most of them unlocked. None of those would do. There wouldn’t be anything important in an unlocked room.
. . . . . . . At the very center of the floor, after circling the halls for a good fifteen minutes, Fromelda found a locked door. There was no window for this room. It wasn’t electric or water, she’d found those closets already. The door was heavy. It was meant not to be opened. The strong lock bent two of her picks, but it finally gave with a satisfying click. Inside sat filing cabinets. Very ordinary, very boring looking file cabinets. But the flicker in her warmed. This was where she needed to be, she was certain of it. Weighing the odds, she left the door slightly ajar. It’d be better to hear someone approaching, and she needed some of the hallway light to see. Lighting an open flame in a paper cupboard would be a bad idea.
. . . . . . . The cabinets were color coded. White on the left, black on the right. Fromelda picked a file from the white cabinet first. EUROF PLAUT was typed across the front. A sales file, for a Plague Mirror from the outskirts of the Shattered Plain. All his Ombra purchases were carefully cataloged. On each page, notes had been added: SEND SWEEPER X FLYER and MAIL COUPON 30% STEAKS and other handwritten thoughts. Fromelda read every page, but there was nothing odd about strategic marketing. She put the file back, and pulled out another. She read through several more. Still nothing. She went to open the black cabinets. These, however, were locked.

********************************************************

Hey guys, sorry for the quiet! Real life problems to deal with. My gram I live with fell and I had to call the paramedics and go to the hospital and ugh much drama. She's finally feeling better so I can think straight lol!

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@Hinumi
@Beatoriche
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Claudea

10752

August 31, 2017 08:18:16

~ Page Thirty-Two~

. . . . . . . Songbird?
. . . . . . . “Oh, well I, not very often . . .”
. . . . . . . Fromelda let herself be led out onto the dancefloor. She didn’t think she could dance, but what better way to be seen mingling before she snuck off, than with Mister Ombra himself? And, unlike Fromelda, Mister Ombra could definitely dance. Despite his face being squarely at level with her chest, he moved with well-practiced grace, overcoming the multiple missteps on Fromelda’s part.
. . . . . . . Coming out of the second chorus, one hand on her waist and the other in hers, Daedalus said, “Your talents are limitless, Miss Fahrenheit! If I'd known you were attending, I would've surely made space in the stage schedule, so you could perform for us.”
. . . . . . . Maybe it was the repetitive spinning under Daedalus’ enthusiastic direction, or the press of bright lights, or even the flutter of nerves somewhere deep in her stomach. Maybe it was the smile she forced so hard on her face she was sure her jaw might crack. Whatever it was, something was making Fromelda positively sick. She felt cold, deep down in her bones, no matter how hot the room most definitely was.
. . . . . . . “I would've been delighted,” Fromelda managed to say. “Promise you a raincheck, shall I?”
. . . . . . . “Now I'll remember that promise!” The chorus returned and he spun her again, to her stomach’s dismay. “Dahlia will be delighted. She adores your performances too, you know. We’ll set a date.”
. . . . . . . Thankfully, the song ended. Daedalus led her back to Silus. “Do save one more dance for me tonight, Miss Fahrenheit, won’t you? And Sparks, I’ll be around to chat again shortly! I must locate my dear wife somewhere in this horde. Drink, eat, enjoy the festivities!” And with that he left them be.
. . . . . . . Silus hooked his arm through Fromelda’s, saying loudly, “Look at this over here, these models are most impressive and accurately scaled.”
. . . . . . . He dragged Fromelda over to a big table covered in neat models of newly designed Ombra stores. He bent over a little to examine one, and at the same time under his breath said, “Are you well?”
. . . . . . . “Fine.” Fromelda hissed back through her teeth. The sensation was fading, but it didn’t go away entirely. They mingled for awhile, Fromelda better than Silus. He’d used up all his charm on the first encounter. Yet that feeling continued to gnaw at her, until finally someone else noticed her discomfort.
. . . . . . . “Have a sit, dear,” insisted Mrs. Redtip, the wealthy Guardian landowner Fromelda knew casually from back in Blacksand. Fromelda wasn’t surprised to see her at a party this prestigious.
. . . . . . . “I might just do that,” Fromelda agree. Feigning weakness, she excused herself and found the washroom. Silus knew what she was doing, and continued trying to be social.
. . . . . . . Fromelda stood over the washroom sink, breathing in and out with slow breathes. The weakness was practiced, but the unpleasantness wasn’t totally false. She growled at her reflection in the mirror. She never got sick. Never, not even in the dead of winter when the cold stiffened every bone in her body. And now, tonight, this? Typical. Accepting that the sensation wasn't fading anytime soon, she decided to ignore it. Rolling her shoulders and organizing the plan in her mind’s eye, she left the washroom and walked the opposite direction of the ballroom.
. . . . . . . The bottom floor was easy to navigate. She wasn’t the only one wandering the halls, and Ombra had even opened up several offices and service centers for visitors to explore. She poked her head into a few of these, always on the lookout for unblocked stairs. Nothing important would be kept on the more public bottom floors. She needed to go up. There was an Ombra security guard at every stairwell though. She kept an eye on the many clocks hung throughout. Almost one in every corridor. Real discomfort aside, she'd timed her exit perfectly. 8:15.
. . . . . . . Right as planned, through the nearest window a trail of bright light arced across the night sky. With a far off thwump, it exploded into a glorious waterfall of golden sparks. Then came another, and another. The dragons nearby gathered around the windows in delight. And, bonus, so did a few Ombra guards who were supposed to be blocking the stairs. Fromelda hurried upwards.
. . . . . . . The next floor was offices, a sea of dark empty cubicles. Shapes moved in the darkness around the edges of the main area. More Ombra, distracted by the nighttime display. Fromelda quietly slipped back into the stairwell and continued up. She needed time and freedom to snoop. One of the floors had to be empty. The fireworks continued their revelry in the distance.
. . . . . . . On the eleventh floor, she found silence. The layout was different from the previous nine, and the noise of the party didn’t reach there. Even the fireworks were surprisingly muffled. She’d hear anyone approaching, and there would be places to hide. She crept down the dark halls, peering in the tiny windows on every office door. She tried each handle, finding most of them unlocked. None of those would do. There wouldn’t be anything important in an unlocked room.
. . . . . . . At the very center of the floor, after circling the halls for a good fifteen minutes, Fromelda found a locked door. There was no window for this room. It wasn’t electric or water, she’d found those closets already. The door was heavy. It was meant not to be opened. The strong lock bent two of her picks, but it finally gave with a satisfying click. Inside sat filing cabinets. Very ordinary, very boring looking file cabinets. But the flicker in her warmed. This was where she needed to be, she was certain of it. Weighing the odds, she left the door slightly ajar. It’d be better to hear someone approaching, and she needed some of the hallway light to see. Lighting an open flame in a paper cupboard would be a bad idea.
. . . . . . . The cabinets were color coded. White on the left, black on the right. Fromelda picked a file from the white cabinet first. EUROF PLAUT was typed across the front. A sales file, for a Plague Mirror from the outskirts of the Shattered Plain. All his Ombra purchases were carefully cataloged. On each page, notes had been added: SEND SWEEPER X FLYER and MAIL COUPON 30% STEAKS and other handwritten thoughts. Fromelda read every page, but there was nothing odd about strategic marketing. She put the file back, and pulled out another. She read through several more. Still nothing. She went to open the black cabinets. These, however, were locked.

********************************************************

Hey guys, sorry for the quiet! Real life problems to deal with. My gram I live with fell and I had to call the paramedics and go to the hospital and ugh much drama. She's finally feeling better so I can think straight lol!

Pinglist
@Hinumi
@Beatoriche
@Severing
@Skyeset
@Khyra
@Polymorphus

~ Page Thirty-Three~

. . . . . . . “That’s more like it.” She picked the lock, and pulled out a file.
. . . . . . . And she knew, somehow she knew, from the moment she touched it, that it meant something. It was twice as thick as the files from the white cabinet and sealed around the edges in grey tape.
. . . . . . . “‘Closed’, huh?” she murmured, reading the writing on the tape. Using the sharp end of a lockpick she very, very carefully cut it. She wouldn’t be able to seal it properly again, but no one would notice until she was long gone.
. . . . . . . That particular file was assigned to a Skydancer from the Promenade. The first few dozen pages were much like the white cabinet files, purchasing history from earlier that year. But the further she read, the recent pages, the more frequent the purchases became. Instead of a handwritten note every other page, now there were two, three, five on each one. They grew startlingly specific. How would an Ombra customer service mook know a dragon’s midmorning snack, and how long it took them to fall asleep? Maybe they’d asked, but why? You couldn’t sell a dragon an item for every facet of his day. At least, you shouldn’t try to.
. . . . . . . Near the end of the file, she found another note, not in the margins but scrawled in great black letters across half the page. The handwriting was different from all the previous notes.
. . . . . . . Extend credit. 750K, it read.
. . . . . . . A loan? 750,000 treasure was nothing to sniff at, and felt like an awful lot, even for a seemingly loyal customer. The purchases continued up until the very last page, ending with one final, delicately written word.
. . . . . . . Acquired.
. . . . . . . And that was it. No more pages, no more record. Acquired. What the blazes did that mean? She thumbed through the file some more to no prevail. She set that one down and pulled out another, and another.
. . . . . . . “They’re all the same . . .”
. . . . . . . Different dragons, different tastes, but all the files followed the same pattern. Fromelda opened eight of them and angled Silus’ camera best she could, snapping photos of both those unique notes. Four snaps used, she’d save the rest. She put the files back where they belonged, frowning. Acquired. That was an odd word to use at the end of a customer’s record. You’d use it at the beginning, a newly acquired client, wouldn’t you? It felt wrong.
. . . . . . . Creeping back into the hall, Fromelda climbed to the next floor. It was deserted, just like the one below. She checked a nearby clock as she passed it. She was just shy of thirty minutes. She couldn’t stay away from the party for much longer without drawing questions. The fireworks were over. Just one more floor. Weird files were just weird files, out of context they meant nothing. And there were more of them on that next floor, in an identical windowless file room. She shuffled through them, snapped more photos, and hurried upwards again. One more floor.

********************************************************

A THREE post night in honor of Flameforger's end! Next posts coming up, the end of the chapter is nigh!

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Claudea

10752

September 02, 2017 19:59:56

~ Page Thirty-Three~

. . . . . . . “That’s more like it.” She picked the lock, and pulled out a file.
. . . . . . . And she knew, somehow she knew, from the moment she touched it, that it meant something. It was twice as thick as the files from the white cabinet and sealed around the edges in grey tape.
. . . . . . . “‘Closed’, huh?” she murmured, reading the writing on the tape. Using the sharp end of a lockpick she very, very carefully cut it. She wouldn’t be able to seal it properly again, but no one would notice until she was long gone.
. . . . . . . That particular file was assigned to a Skydancer from the Promenade. The first few dozen pages were much like the white cabinet files, purchasing history from earlier that year. But the further she read, the recent pages, the more frequent the purchases became. Instead of a handwritten note every other page, now there were two, three, five on each one. They grew startlingly specific. How would an Ombra customer service mook know a dragon’s midmorning snack, and how long it took them to fall asleep? Maybe they’d asked, but why? You couldn’t sell a dragon an item for every facet of his day. At least, you shouldn’t try to.
. . . . . . . Near the end of the file, she found another note, not in the margins but scrawled in great black letters across half the page. The handwriting was different from all the previous notes.
. . . . . . . Extend credit. 750K, it read.
. . . . . . . A loan? 750,000 treasure was nothing to sniff at, and felt like an awful lot, even for a seemingly loyal customer. The purchases continued up until the very last page, ending with one final, delicately written word.
. . . . . . . Acquired.
. . . . . . . And that was it. No more pages, no more record. Acquired. What the blazes did that mean? She thumbed through the file some more to no prevail. She set that one down and pulled out another, and another.
. . . . . . . “They’re all the same . . .”
. . . . . . . Different dragons, different tastes, but all the files followed the same pattern. Fromelda opened eight of them and angled Silus’ camera best she could, snapping photos of both those unique notes. Four snaps used, she’d save the rest. She put the files back where they belonged, frowning. Acquired. That was an odd word to use at the end of a customer’s record. You’d use it at the beginning, a newly acquired client, wouldn’t you? It felt wrong.
. . . . . . . Creeping back into the hall, Fromelda climbed to the next floor. It was deserted, just like the one below. She checked a nearby clock as she passed it. She was just shy of thirty minutes. She couldn’t stay away from the party for much longer without drawing questions. The fireworks were over. Just one more floor. Weird files were just weird files, out of context they meant nothing. And there were more of them on that next floor, in an identical windowless file room. She shuffled through them, snapped more photos, and hurried upwards again. One more floor.

********************************************************

A THREE post night in honor of Flameforger's end! Next posts coming up, the end of the chapter is nigh!

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Last edited on Sep 02, 2017 20:00:28 by Claudea

~ Page Thirty-Four~

. . . . . . . On the thirteenth floor, at forty-five minutes gone and ten files in, Fromelda found a name she recognized.
. . . . . . . “Hello, Mr. Karth.” Fromelda scanned the pages. Just like the others. Finally, a connection to one of the dragons she knew for certain was missing. Thanks to Ricky. She would cross-reference the other names she’d captured against the city’s missing. She was absolutely certain they’d match. It wasn’t as conclusive as she’d hoped, yet she knew the Admins would listen to her. They wouldn’t ignore such an obvious parallel. She might get in a little trouble, if they asked her how she got the photos. But that didn’t matter. This was bigger than her now.
. . . . . . . Shutting the file room door, locking it as she had the other three. Fromelda headed quickly towards the stairs. As long as she reappeared now, everyone would just assume she’d been recovering from her dizzy spell and all would be peachy.
. . . . . . . “Miss Fahrenheit.”
. . . . . . . Soaking feathers!
. . . . . . . “Yes?” She stopped, blocked from the staircase by four Ombra security guards.
. . . . . . . “Mister Daedalus expressed concern when he couldn’t find you for another dance,” said one of them. “He’d heard you weren’t feeling well. He’s invited you up to his offices so that you may rest comfortably, until you’re ready to leave.”
. . . . . . . Fromelda knew it wasn’t really an invitation. She briefly considered the idea of running in heels. As if in response, the little flame flickered deep in her chest. No. She would not run. Backing down from a fight had never been her style anyway.
. . . . . . . “That’s most considerate of him. I’d very much appreciate it.”
. . . . . . . She walked up to the guards, her fake feeble smile firmly in place. They motioned her to the left, not towards the stairs but down the hall. There was an elevator waiting. Fancy. The gates closed and up they went. Fromelda watched the needle zip to the right on the floor counter. Ombra Tower was a lot taller than she’d previously thought. At the fifty-sixth floor the elevator stopped abruptly. One of the guards pulled out a key, opening the button panel and clicking something into place. There were more buttons beneath that panel. The guard pushed the one second to the top. The elevator started up again. The Ombras opened the grate for her on the seventieth floor.
. . . . . . . “This way please.”
. . . . . . . That section of the tower was made of entirely different material than the lower floors. Everything - floor, ceiling, walls - was an unbroken expanse of swirling black marble. There were no decorations on the walls in the hallways, no doors except for one at the very far end. It was almost hard to tell where the floors began and ceilings ended. Through that far door she was led. Fromelda waggled her eyebrows a bit at the huge yet simple office. There was little furniture, but more style and warmth than the hallways. Everything oozed expense.
. . . . . . . “Oh, thank goodness they found you!”
. . . . . . . Fromelda was surprised to see Daedalus there. He came towards her, away from the great window that overlooked the Glittering Promenade in the distance, and that inky black river far below. He’d been up there for at least a few minutes. The drink in his hand was nearly empty. He came around his big desk, beckoning her to a small table set with two chairs. He waved his security away at the same time.
. . . . . . . “Thank you, sirs, thank you, I’ll take it from here. Please, Miss Fahrenheit, have a seat.” He pulled out a chair for her. “It wouldn't be right to let a guest languish in ill health without proper attention. Let it never be said that Daedalus S. Ombra isn’t a proper host!”
. . . . . . . Fromelda took the seat, there was no reason not to. Not yet. “I would never say such a thing about you, Mister Ombra, that’s for certain.”
. . . . . . . “Call me Daedalus, please,” he said, pouring her a glass of what looked like hot water. Just hot water. Funny, that was the only way she could stand the stuff. Somehow he knew. Fromelda held the glass in her lap but didn’t drink right away. That little flame was spitting inside her, agitated, disturbed. Careful, be careful, it warned.
. . . . . . . “Daedalus. Thank you, for this. I was just trying to find somewhere quiet to compose myself so I could return to the party. I’m not sure what’s come over me tonight,” she said, brushing a hand meekly over her temple.
. . . . . . . That immovable mask never changed, but his voice was most concerned. “Take it easy, now. Have a little water. Too much of a good time can wear you down, you know. It’s the area too unfortunately. Thought I was being clever, buying cheap land to build my corporate office on. Just rumors and superstition that Hewn City, I said! Well, bit me on the tail feathers, that one did. I keep the office workers on split-week shifts. Helps ward off the heebie-jeebies.”
. . . . . . . “You take good care of your staff,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . “Of course!” Daedalus seemed to preen. “I take care of everyone, I want to. Everyone matters, Miss Fahrenheit. No dragon in Sornieth City is without purpose or meaning. The world can be changed. It will be changed. Perfected. We just have to accept our role in it.”
. . . . . . . “That’s awfully grand of you,” Fromelda commented. “Not everyone is meant for such great things.”
. . . . . . . Daedalus leaned against the table, closer to her. “You truly don’t believe every dragon has a purpose?”
. . . . . . . “I do,” Fromelda said, uncertain of the direction this conversation was going. “But you don’t have to change the world to have purpose.”
. . . . . . . With a tilt of his golden head, Daedalus said, “That surprises me. I always assumed you and I were of a similar mind. Passionate and bold. What’s a life worth, if it doesn’t at least try to move the very heavens?”
. . . . . . . “I think you and I might define passion in very different ways. We really don’t know each other at all,” Fromelda said.
. . . . . . . Daedalus tiled his head again, and Fromelda could’ve sworn that, somehow, the mouth on his mask curled upward.
. . . . . . . “Oh now, that’s not really true at all, Miss Fahrenheit. I know you very well. Better than you know yourself.” Suddenly Daedalus stood with a clap of his hands. Walking away towards his desk, he said, “But! That’s not a worry for today. Let’s talk about Eve Flammagin instead.”
. . . . . . . The muscles in Fromelda’s neck stiffened. She kept her face calm when she said, “You know her?”
. . . . . . . “Quite well. You visited her lair the other day, didn't you?”
. . . . . . . It was more of a statement than a question. He knew already. Fromelda paused for the slightest breath, weighing her options. She decided to play along. “Yes. She wasn't home.”
. . . . . . . “Not at that home, at least.” Small hands clutching the collar of his coat, Daedalus puffed out his chest and said, “She and her brood have moved into our new facilities. Very hush-hush, mind you, all in the testing phase still. We’re expanding our business into the lair market. We already provide everything a dragon needs for the home, why not the home itself? Good lairs, safe and affordable. A select number of our best customers have been invited to live in our facilities, help us hammer out the kinks. In thanks, they’ll be allowed first and permanent residences!”
. . . . . . . Liar.
. . . . . . . The little internal flame hissed. It was a reasonable thing, a believable thing. Daedalus Ombra would take on such an ambitious project. That was the kind of altruistic thinking a dragon like him would have. Anyone would’ve, should’ve, believed such grand plans from Sornieth’s most popular CEO.
. . . . . . . But Fromelda did not.
. . . . . . . “Interesting. They didn’t want any of their things? The lair was packed full of their stuff,” she said carefully.
. . . . . . . “Part of the testing phase,” Daedalus explained. “We provide everything for the families, it helps us determine where we might be lacking in product types. Once that phase is complete, we’ll help them truck in all their old things if they want them.”
. . . . . . . “They can’t have their mail either? Post box was overflowing.”
. . . . . . . “Really?” Daedalus let out a huff that ruffled his mustache. “That should be forwarded to our office here, so they can receive it. An error on our end, I’ll have the coordinators resolve that for the Flammagins immediately.”
. . . . . . . “The Flammagins weren’t the only ones,” Fromelda started pushing. “The other lairs I checked all had full post boxes with no forwarding address.”
. . . . . . . “Other lairs? Other lairs of . . . what?” Daedalus seemed curious.
. . . . . . . The stiffness in her neck became heat. “Of missing dragons. Lairs in the same conditions, up and vanished without a trace. All big Ombra customers.”
. . . . . . . “Who’s not an Ombra customer?” Daedalus said with a laugh.
. . . . . . . “Several have been reported,” Fromelda continued. “By their friends, their neighbors. They’re concerned.”
. . . . . . . “Oh! Oh that won’t do, no no, no.” Daedalus flailed his hands slightly as he turned around, picking up a pen and scribbling something feverishly down on his desk. “I'll speak with my coordinators and contact the Admins immediately, I’ll go down there myself! We don’t need any confusion. I wanted the development to be a great reveal, but not at this expense. Thank you, Miss Fahrenheit. I had no idea this was becoming a problem. It will be handled expediently.”
. . . . . . . “Can I . . . see the Flammagins?” Fromelda asked.
. . . . . . . Daedalus continued writing at his desk. “Afraid not. Would still like to keep a wraps on the project where I can, I’m sure you understand. But don’t you worry, I will alleviate any and all concerns.”
. . . . . . . The heat grew, filling her chest, tightening her jaw. Scritch-scritch-scritch went the pen on the desk.
. . . . . . . “I’ll have her give your office a call,” he said. “Let you know how she’s doing.”
. . . . . . . The cup in Fromelda’s hand cracked. It was there, right there, she knew and he was still lying, something still wasn't right. She clunked the cup down on the table and stood up. “I have no flaming clue what Eve Flammagin sounds like. I need to see her.”
. . . . . . . Scritch-scritch-scritch. “You’ll hear from her tomorrow, never you worry your pretty little head.”
. . . . . . . “If won’t tell me where she is, then you can send her to meet me.” Fromelda moved away from the table. The heat hummed down into her arms and clenched fists.
. . . . . . . “Why? The trouble’s not necessary.” Scritch-scritch-scritch.
. . . . . . . “Because you’re lying to me!”

********************************************************

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

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Claudea