Solo The Tune Without the Words

[Philomena]

9th of Winter, 514
Zeltiva Opera House, Costumery
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Minnie dreamt of peaches.

She had a (dried) peach only once, at a dinner party, with fresh goat’s-cream, and while certainly it had been delicious, it had not been particularly important to her. Her body, now, still much filled with energy, did not fully rest, and so she found herself in the queer half state in which one realizes one is dreaming, while still failing to have enough consciousness that dreaming changes to musing, or melts away entirely. And in this peculiar state, the odd return of the taste of peaches - something she had not perhaps thought of in 15 years, almost amused her. Why peaches? Why not… well, in the dream, she was not so cogent as to think of a more suitable alternative, but she was sure there was one. The peaches mixed with a rich, dry fabric smell, and her mind felt the vague channel that could be followed to know why this smell intruded, but she felt the lassitude, at least, of the dreamer, and she did not pursue it. She simply ate, peach after peach after peach, only these peaches were not dried, but great plump things juicy, with a texture something like the flesh of sailor-limes. She wondered, in her half state, if that was textural guess was accurate, but confessed that it probably wasn’t, for the dried peaches had neither pith nor peel. But it was a pleasant texture, so she did not mind the mistake, thousands of tiny capsules of peach juice exploding, so terribly vividly as she bit into them, the sweet, aromatic juices filling her palate, and leaving her lips sticky --

She started from the dream very suddenly, without quite knowing why. In the dark, she sat up quickly, her head meeting with… a skirt. Heavy brocade with linen petticoat wrapped around her face, and she pulled desperately at it trying to free herself, confused and frightened. The dress tumbled down, then, with the tugging, but she felt the press of other dresses even as she struggled her head free from this one. She gasped, and mewled very quietly.

No, Minnie Lefting, stop, breathe… remember… remember, where are we?

The dusty wooden planks beneath her… this was not the asylum floor! And the dresses… she remembered then, and relaxed, sank her face against a skirt next to her. She had not known where to go, so she had run here, the opera house, close enough onto the university, but likely to be quiet with the disaster the city was in. And beyond that, she remembered it, from when she was young - how she and Lanie had found it, with a broken latch-window leading into the basement. It had been a warm haven for a few weeks of winter days, one year.

The window was no longer broken, of course, all these years later. But in the general hubbub, she had (with terrible guilt) knocked a pane out with a heavy stone, to crawl inside, and hide from the cold and the Wave Guard. She’d crept through the empty theater, to here: a costume closet, heavy with dust and old gowns in a thousand gaudy shades. All the cloth in the room meant it was not so cold and she had found an old cloak to pull over herself for a blanket… yes, it was still on her knees, now. Everything was fine…

And yet…

What had woken her?

She held her breath and listened very closely. A rustling, outside the closet, a creak. More rustling. Then footsteps, and hands on the doorknob, it turned. Minnie pulled the cloak up to her chest, and her eyes went wide.

I knew I was not meant for the life of a fugitive.

The door opened, and all she could see were heavy sailor’s boots.

The Wave Guard.

The words sunk through her mind like a dark chill. She pulled the cloak up further covering most of her gaunt face, so that only her eyes peeked out. The man carried a light, but a dim one. A candle, perhaps, and it danced in the shadows.

He spoke, and his voice was low, gruff, “Who's 'ere 'en?”

And he turned, obviously looking about the room, so that his hand was visible, and in his hand, the glint of steel, long and slender - a sword, unsheathed, at his side.

Philomena whimpered and promptly, gracelessly fainted.
x

[Philomena]

It was not, Jocylinda had reflected more than once, and outwardly advantageous time to be a Wright.

It was hardly a generation and a half since the family had rocketed into power. Enable had been important, of course, in providing the impetus, but she had also had the good sense to disappear before people tired of her. She was a story, and that was the best sort of ancestor to have. And then, her own mother had lead the Sailor’s Guild, had done the practical, hard-headed work of running an organization well and fairly and justly, to show the value of her family to the community, and then, she’d done the work of grooming Jocylinda herself, for the work that would need doing.

And what a lot of work it was, a rotten, unglamorous spot of work. The city had just started to recover from the Djed Storm, and the sudden influx of foreigners, when her mother had, with the impeccable timing of the unintentional, promptly sailed into the blue to be remembered as a city hero, and leave the struggles of the city to her. A city that had now gone through a rebellion, the queer business of the spires in the harbor, storms, famines, and worst of all, the insertion of a dangerous man into power.

Jossy, however, did not mind it - she would have wished better things, but this was the cycle of things. Great families were built on the hero first, and the politician later. She would not be remembered as fondly, perhaps, as her mother’s generation but her work was necessary, meaningful, and she was, after all, well prepared for it - she had managed to quietly step down before her name could be dragged into any of the shady business she foresaw in the reign of Mr. Everto in City Office. She’d at the same time ensured that her daughter would not be around to be tarred by it, sending her off to the prestigious, but distant post heading the customs house in Abura. It echoed well, to keep her, if she could be depended on to keep out of trouble, even cleaner-handed than her mother. There was nothing to do but to wait, to quietly keep her alliances in guild, town, and gown, and take care of those who she would need as pieces, when the time struck to swoop in and repair the damage. Crusades were for the young, and the expendable. When the time for actual recovery of the treasured institutions of the city came, she would have what she needed.

Which brough her to the decidedly unglamorous scene she now rested in, sitting in an easy chair in the corner of her wine cellar, beside a low straw pallet bearing the minuscule body of one Ex-Professor Philomena Lefting. The woman was both a blessing and a distinct danger to the Wrights, now, and must be given the right to impetus to remain on the blessing side. Letting, it seemed to Jossy, and always had seemed so, was too much the idealist to be trusted with some things. But she was smart, in the way the mad can be smart. If it had not been for the dossier of papers she’d delivered in such a timely fashion - which now sat in a sea chest by Jossy’s side - she would not have been as well-prepared for Mr. Everto’s maneuver as she had been. She had had time to make sure the right papers were tucked out of sight in the archives, and the wrong were made easy to find, to make sure the trustworthy were moved politely into places where they could keep the guild running, while the truly valuable were shifted into places they would not be damaged collaterally, and they had given her time to make sure, since the wave guard clearly were corrupted by Everto’s forces, that she had her own circle of men who she could trust, and keep trustworthy.

But, then, the woman’s name was also, inextricably, linked to her family, and at the same time, clearly known as an enemy to EVerto. And it was not time, yet, to strike. Philomena reappearing would set Everto, possibly, working, either to snatch up the frail professor as his own, as he had seemed intent on very near the end of things, or to rid himself of her as a possible danger. The former would put her own affairs in danger, for Minnie knew much and could give much to the old sorcerer. The latter would be even worse - for though she was a maneuverer, she did have her principles, and she would not leave the old woman to the slaughter. It was important, then, that she be made safe, silent, and out of the way.

The room was dark - the professor had been in a basement for years, and Jossy wished to ensure she was comfortable, both out of politeness, and in order to lubricate the conversation. There was only a single candle in a sconce on the wall. None else was in the room, only a few guards at the top of the stairwell to keep her safe. But she had adjusted to the darkness, and so when the professor gasped awake, Jossy could see clearly enough to tell that this was not simply another feverish sleeping moan, but that it was accompanied by the woman’s eyes opening.

“Dr. Lefting, you’ve had a most difficult day. You should rest.”

Minnie pushed up onto her elbow and turned towards her, “Joss— erm… Mrs Wright? The dark, I thought, I thought I was… was in the asylum again, so dark… dark…”

Jossy created a gentle smile. She was not sure if Dr. Lefting would see her in the dark, but the body led the voice, at any rate, and would make her voice follow its gesture, “The Asylum, as I understand it, would be unlikely to keep you so warm. I do hope you’re comfortable? I’m terribly sorry I could not offer you better accommodations.”

“I’m… I’m fine, I feel… strange…”

“Yes, you’d best lie down, Dr. Lefting. You fainted, I’m afraid. I imagine my man must have startled you.”

“The sword… I… you sent him for me?”

“I did.”

“How did he find me? Will they… will they find me here?” the poor thing’s voice was so cracked, it was almost worse than when she’d been so ill, the last time Jocylinda had spoken with her.

You will remember, doctor, I still have your books. I know you, now, perhaps, better than almost anyone,” she said the words carefully, gently, engouh to make the woman, so desperate to be understood, clearly, in her journals, feel comforted at the moment, while still, perhaps, planting the seed of a threat if it became necessary later. Josh hoped it would not, but if it were for the woman’s own good - and her own - she knew that she would of necessity exercise the option, “I sent a few gentlemen, to the places of which you were fond. I congratulate you on your choice, I must confess I was worried you would, for example, try to go back to Ms Shear’s, or perhaps, to the Guild, or the Library. The Opera House was a prudent choice.”

Minnie lay back, confused a moment, but said softly, “Where am I now?”

“You’re in my cellar, doctor, at the moment.”

“Your cell— oh no! No, Ms Wright, I’m a… a wanted fugitive, I broke… I broke out of the prison, I’m… it was not… you have to know, Jossy, I was never, ever, ever plotting those things they said, never, I would never hurt your family, or, or, or all —“

Jossy smiled, and came to kneel beside the palette, and put a hand to the woman as she began to rise to sit, gently lying her back down. At least, in not wanting to stay here, the woman n showed some sense. IT was one less thing to have to convince her of.

“Of course, of course, doctor. I would have, even, pushed for your release, but I believe… we can both perhaps point to who manufactured this plot. Out of prison, and vindicated, darling, he would have killed you. That I hope YOU will understand?” She said the word, darling, cautiously. She hated to deploy it. IT was not that she had no feeling toward tohe woman, certainly a great deal of pity, and a heavy dose of familial duty. But not a personal, love the sort that made for friends. She could imagine a world, perhaps, where they would have been friends - the thought was interesting to her, and she tucked it away to consider it later. But in this world? The woman was not her darling. And yet… Lefting needed, so much, to trust her, it was so important, and she would not understand a trust on other grounds but those. That was clear enough.

Minnie relaxed slightly, and her smile was soft and both sad and pleased, “Yes… yes, of course, yes, I know. I… but I cannot stay here. I would put you in danger, you and your family. I won’t do that, Jossy.”
x

[Philomena]

Somehow, until this moment, half lying on a cot, with Jocylinda Wright speaking to her in the dark, the full reality of Minnie’s situation as a refugee had never set in. She was, practically, famous now, infamous, anyway. It was possible, perhaps, that she could talk to the right people, and ask for their understanding, and perhaps, just perhaps, she need not be invisible anymore. But she would put anyone she asked such a question of in danger, and even when officially ‘free’, she would not be safe. Not here, not as long as Igon Everto still held power. She could, perhaps, have submitted herself to him, she reflected. He’d even asked her once. But she wouldn’t. She was, at least, that brave. She wouldn’t have Lanie come home, one day to find that she was allied with the Murder Man.

But there was little she could do against him, as far as she could tell. She had done all she could: she had learned all she could, enough to claim him as a criminal, enough to warn of the sort of dangers he presented, and given it to the most appropriate authority she could, after all, in the person of Jocylinda herself. Now? Unless things changed, she was a non-person. She had to be invisible. She could not go to the library, she could not go to the opera, could not go down to the University public houses to watch Chattery matches, or walk by the Quayside to see the ships without peering over her shoulder for Wave Guardsmen. She could not teach.

She thought through these things, and Jossy waited silently. Finally Minnie spoke very softly, the harsh burr of her voice hard in her own ears, “I’ve.. I’ve my work, still, at least a part of it, Jossy. I need my books.”

Jossy was silent a moment, and smiled sadly, “They were stolen, when you were arrested. I… did what I could, but they were gone before the Wave Guard arrived, even, to my understanding.”

Minnie started at this, and sat up fully, “But… but Mr. Everto—“

“—stolen, but I do not think by him.” and there was a quiet, a shuffling of papers. Then, she pulled out a paper handbill, and standing, reached it toward Minnie. Minnie took it up and looked at it. It had a woodcut of a woman in sailor’s costume holding a sextant, and underneath it a title:

“The Gods' Doctor”

Minnie tried to return her mind to a conscious understanding of what she was looking at. It was hers. It was hers, they had… they had published it, her opera. Someone had sung it, on a stage. Someone… someone had written music for it!

“Can you sing the aria?”

Jossy smirked queerly. “It was never performed. The… ‘author’ ran out of money.”

Minnie looked at the billet again: ‘Libretto by Emily Hurston.”

Minnie’s heart went cold.

Jossy spoke very softly, “Yes, I thought you might find that interesting, Doctor.”

“She… she took them, why…”

Jossy sat back, and Minnie blinked, her eyes heavy now, and confused.

Jossy said quietly, “Perhaps the exact reason is not important - for now, you know where your papers are, more than likely.”

Minnie nodded softly, “I’ll go talk to her.”

“Perhaps… you should rest first. And go in the evening. I know the habits of the household, there, and… the evenings will be easier, for you to come in quietly.”

“What… what can I offer her?”

Jossy looked at Minnie with, for just a moment, something like annoyance. Minnie bit her lip, and said, “Nevermind. I will find something.”

Jossy nodded quietly, “Please rest here for the day, doctor, you’re welcome to. Afterwards, some of my fellows will be glad to help you into the city proper. I think… sooner is better. The city is preoccupied with, you will find, bigger fish than you, Doctor.”

Minnie nodded, “Thank you Jossy… Lady Wright. Thank you.”

Jossy quirked a smile, “I’m a democrat, doctor, you needn’t Lady me.”

Jossy began to rise at that, quietly, and turn away, but Minnie spoke up quickly, “Can I… Can I ask… a little favor?”

Jossy turned back, “Anything that my family can do for a friend, doctor.”

“A… a walking stick. And a clasp knife. Not… not to fight with, I’m not… “

Jossy tried to suppress a laugh, and it came through as a choked snicker, “Yes, doctor, I think I can trust you with that.”

She bowed low, and Minnie attempted a sloppy imitation of a curtsy, ridiculous in her torn shift.

“Rest, now, Doctor."
x

[Keene Ward]

Grades

“For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”
-Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene

CHARACTER

Skills

Storytelling +1
Investigation +2
Persuasion +2
Socialization +2
Observation +3
Rhetoric +2
Negotiation +1
Disguise +1
Planning +2

Lores

Emily Hurston: Paper Thief

Rewards/Consequences
+A sturdy wooden cane, slightly too tall
+A clasp knife that hitches when it's released, requiring some effort to get it closed again
+"The God's Doctor" billet

Notes
Don't worry about subtracting the items from your ledger, these were gained through proper IC means.

If you have any questions or concerns, please send me a PM!