Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Lumiena Square

as written by Script

Will gave a mocking groan, lightly kicking Harik in the shin under the table in response to his pun. "That was awful, and you should be ashamed," he stated with a smirk. "But as for weekly rates... I'm not actually sure." He grinned slightly bashfully, running a hand through his hair and shrugging. "Is that a standard thing for hotels?" It was apparent that the young man had never spent an extended period of time in a hotel (or at least, if he had, he hadn't had to worry about discounted rates).

"If it is, they probably do? I'll admit, when I talk to the Castellanes, it isn't usually about their business." No, normally it was about school gossip, parties, or sex. Strangely enough, the three topics tended to overlap quite a lot.

He got the feeling that the twins probably knew about as much about their hotel rates as he did.
 
as written by Steamwolf

The door opened with a loud creak. From the shadow of the once-vacant storefront stumbled a rumpled gentleman, late 20s or early 30s, with wild brown hair, wearing a tweed suit with an uneven bow tie. Reaching back through the doorway and into the darkness beyond, he pulled out a small pry bar, using it to yank away the last board covering the window before stepping down to pull the small "For Lease or Sale" sign out of the sparse patch of decorative lawn in front of the row of shops.

Discarding these in the trashcans between buildings, he set up a small sandwich board the simply read, "Epilogue Books: Specializing in Antiquarian Volumes of all sorts. OPEN."

He ambled back into the building, leaving the door open behind him.
 
as written by Krysis

The lady tilted her head slightly in a manner that seemed to indicate a shrug without any actual movement of her shoulder to accompany it. "Usually, yes. Businessmen and performers frequently need a stable base of operations for a week or so at a time. A hotel that accommodates them for reasonable fees is more likely to be fully booked mid-week than one that does not."

Giselle blushed faintly then and admitted, "My mother was a ballet dancer. I learned much from listening to her." Those quiet words, offered as an explanation for such unusual knowledge, concealed almost two decades of pain with a brave smile.

She moved on quickly though, not wanting to bore the men with tales of the scandal and subsequent flight of the once-famous woman. "Do you have a car nearby, Mr. Will? I'm afraid I did not catch your surname. My vehicle is close, but I am afraid it is full of my work. It seems cruel to make Mr. Jayie walk with so much to carry.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

"I'm never ashamed of my..of my..." A break in his sentence to stifle what would probably been an incredibly loud yawn. More embarrassment. Hurray... The voice in his head mutters. Even his inner dialogue was beginning to mock him. He found himself hoping that Will did indeed have a vehicle of some sorts, but Harik knew he'd never ask, not directly anyway. He couldn't bring himself to. These were strangers. Friendly strangers, yes, but folks he didn't know anything about all the same, except for pleasantries and first names. To ask favors of ones he knew so little about would be beyond rude.

Still...Everything hurt.

"I don't care if they don't have weekly rates or even a room. At this point, I'll take a couch over the outdoors again." The Caldonian looked down at his now empty coffee cup. It wasn't like he couldn't afford an expensive fee for awhile. He hadn't spent much of his meager inheritance or his adventurous earnings. Most of it couldn't have been brought with him of course, but little did the pyromancer know, he had enough to rent an apartment for a month or two. More if he found a job. But that never even occurred to him. This trip to Lutetia was solely for curiosity's sake, and then right back out he'd go. Yes. That was the plan anyway.

"...of my jokes. I happen to think I'm pretty funny. Still. I'd like to at least go check it out, but this place is a maze. A concrete jungle sometimes. Apparently I almost ended up in some slum called the Phantom Quarter twice because I kept getting lost." Yes. While out in the wilds, Harik's navigational intuition was prime, always on point and reliable. In any urban environment however, the opposite was true...and then some.
 
as written by SteamWolf

The three-piece tweed man pulled boxes off pallets, opening them with an ivory-handled pocket knife and stacking the new books in an orderly fashion near the front of the store. He reluctantly included the appropriate signage included by the publisher. These popular modern titles filled up the areas nearest the door, but he'd already stocked the shelves and tables further back in the store with used copies of classics, reference materials, and even a few random vinyl albums, ranging from vintage jazz to classical.

On one bookcase, the one covered with museum glass and locked with a metal turnkey device, were the antiquarian volumes boasted of on the sandwich board outside.

A tea kettle whistled stridently, causing the waistcoatted man to abandon a box of awful glittering vampire fiction and sprint to the back room. He emerged a few minutes later and relaxed into a leather armchair, sipping at a cup of milky lapsang.
 
as written by Script

"Ooh, definitely don't want to end up there." Will pulled a face. Walking into the Phantom Quarter looking like you had your life together was essentially asking to be mugged. "But sure," he shrugged, smiling amiably. "I can give you a ride."

A smirk, then a pause, turning to Giselle. "Oh, and it's Lacoste," he offered with a smile. Giselle might have been familiar with the name as belonging to one of the city's premiere media moguls, and though it wasn't exactly an uncommon surname, his apparent connections to the Castellanes made that link more likely.

"My car's not far at all," he went on, returning his attention to Harik, "and Giselle's right - hardly fair to make you walk with all that luggage. You look like you've done more than enough walking already - no offence intended. I'm sure you clean up great." Another grin, and Will tilted his head towards Harik. "You must be exhausted, though. I can give you that lift right away if you'd like?"
 
as written by Krysis

Giselle gave a wry smile and fiddled with her water glass as she admitted, "Ordinarily I would not suggest accepting a ride from a stranger, but this way you will not get lost. It is so stressful to not know where you are going, don't you find?"

The redhead turned her blue-flecked green gaze on Will then, a playful smile on her lips as she asked, "You are trustworthy, right? I am not advising our friend here to throw himself into the jaws of doom?" Though, from the looks the two had been exchanging, it seemed likely that some other set of jaws might be employed later. The thought had her blushing and her lips twitching with amusement, but she kept that particular impression to herself.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Almost as if he had head her minds, Harik would turn his eyes on the red head and give a very similar look to the ones she had caught him throwing Will's way. "While I very much appreciate the concern, I'll have you know I'm not hopelessly defenseless. I happen to be a very practiced arcanist." The way the phrase was stated made it clear that the Caldonian was very proud of this supposed fact, as did the suddenly egotistical look in his eyes. The same dark, sapphire eyes he had inherited from his mother's side of the family.

"And I very much appreciate the offer. After a short, easy deliberation with myself, I've decided to accept it. These packs are simply killing me, and I feel like if I over work myself too much further, when sleep finally does come, I might never wake up. Just give me time to order another coffee at least, other wise, I'll be ready to leave when you are, Will."
 
as written by Script

"Trustworthy enough," was Will's coy reply to Giselle, the youth grinning to her knowingly. Harik's words drew his interest, then, and he raised an eyebrow. "Arcanist, huh? I must admit, I don't know much about Caldonian magic..."

He twirled one finger idly, shooting a glittering spark from it into the menu on Harik's table. The laminated card twinkled for a moment, before jumping upright, bending to use two of its corners as though they were feet and hopping around the table.

"...but I know a few parlor tricks myself." He winked.
 
as written by Krysis

The redhead nodded gravely, mildly impressed that the two boys-- no, men-- had such tricks up their sleeves. Giselle took a nibble of her pastry before answering, mostly to give her cheeks a chance to go pale again instead of the crimson that being leered at always turned them. Then she advised calmly, "Never rush a meal. The city is a dangerous place, and you never know who, or what, will come your way next."

She'd reach over slowly to poke the dancing menu if it kept up the antics too long, giving Will plenty of time to warn her not to if it would be dangerous. Mostly she wanted to see how stable the quickly cast enchantment was. Perhaps he would be more than just a snack, when these two terribly attractive males encountered dear Uncle. "Werewolf attacks are still common, crime is rampant, magic users are everywhere, and there was even an explosion in an abandoned house just a few days ago, and a slaughter in a church a few days before that. People disappear without warning, even those that are paranoid about their safety."

Another blush and a self depreciating smile came next. "Do forgive my rambling, but I swear you look familiar to me, Harik. If I know your family well enough to see a bit of them in your face, they would never forgive me for letting you wander around blind. Even though I can not, for the life of me, figure out who it is you resemble. The fashion industry takes me all over the city, meeting so many people it is a wonder if I can remember my own name, much less anyone else's."
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Harik cast an eye over the dancing bit of laminated stationary, both curious and amused. New magic, even such quaint things as parlor tricks, never failed to capture his attention, and he was suddenly tempted to show off himself. But his art had been crafted as a means of self defense. It wasn't supposed to be used for showing off. Well. Not without being incredibly inebriated first. Then, as his old master would be shamed to learn, the Icebrand would turn into something of a braggart. That might later, depending on how much fun these two might be up for once he'd gotten nice hot bath and twelve hours of sleep, blissful sleep. In a bed. With pillows.

"You'll have to show me some more of your tricks later, then. And maybe you dear lady, can show me some places I could shop for some less...foreign looking attire. I travel a lot, but I prefer to blend in once I'm part of a new setting." With that, he'd rise, without responding to Giselle's comment about family's and resemblance. Only because it had, for some reason, put him on edge. Something about his relationship with his mother, how she was suspected of numerous murders. His father's murder. So many people's. And she'd hid it all behind a veil of naive innocence and a claim of clairvoyance.

But thats not what had actually disturbed him about her comment. No. What had spooked Harik is that he was thinking the same thing about her. And her eyes. The same eyes his mother had. Yes, they were a different shade of blue, but just...something. It was there. This stranger he hadn't even known for half an hour seemed like...family. And he didn't like it. It made him very suspicious.

He'd ruminate over it while in line, which was thankfully short, and he wouldn't come back until he had his refill, this time in a to-go cup. By this point, the Caldonian was all nervous smiles and sparkling eyes once again. It was only then he'd answer the his female companion's inquiry. "Actually, my mother is from Lutetia, or so she always claimed, despite her last name being obviously born of the dessert. If I had any clue where to look, I'd try to find any kin I might have in the area."
 
as written by Script

Will chuckled, giving a devilish grin. "Of course. I'm sure I can find a few more tricks to show you." He'd practically been handed that one. It would have been criminal to ignore it.

The menu twitched at being prodded, stumbling drunkenly to one side as its balance was upset. After a few moments, Will flicked his finger at it again, and it gently flopped down to lie still on the table again.

"And I hate to admit it, but she's right. The city has been dangerous, lately. More so than normal, even. People have been killed not far from here..." He grimaced, shaking his head. "So just be careful, if you plan on heading out during the night."

When Harik left for his drink, Will leaned back in his chair and hummed to himself ponderously. He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. Like an element of this exchange was going over his head, that he just couldn't put his finger on.

He tilted his head curiously upon the Caldonian's return and talk of his mother. "Do you think she perhaps took on a false name, then, after leaving Lutetia?"
 
as written by Krysis

"I think I know the perfect place. We'll have you looking like a proper Lutetian in no time." Giselle answered the query about clothes with a pleased smile, though privately she was hoping that a shower in the near future would make such a venture more pleasant. Then the Caldonian was flitting off to the line for further refreshments, and the lady turned her gaze to Will.

Only, she couldn't think of a thing to say to interrupt the silence without the foreign boy between them. She was just starting to feel awkward when Harik returned.

With a relieved sigh, she tilted her head attentively, "I see. Well, perhaps after you've had a chance to rest and catch your breath, a course of inquiry will present itself? If her name was changed, it might help to try pictures instead. I don't suppose you have such an image handy?"
 
as written by Emperor Jester

"For all I know, she did. But maybe not. Tajhal certainly doesn't sound...like a name from Issunar, but my mother was always very secretive. Said thats how her aunt had raised her. No pictures, few visitors from the home land, all that jazz. In fact, if my aunt had still been kicking when my mother and father first met, the old witch would've tried to nip the relationship in the bud. At least thats what Mom always liked to joke about." When she could joke. When she seemed...normal. Not lost in thought. Not just totally lost in general. Honestly, aside from physical looks, he had no clue what his father had seen in the woman who'd given birth to him.

"Mom liked to keep some of that upbringing alive, too. I don't think I ever saw any pictures of her around the various houses growing up. She always got angry around cameras or anything that could record her. The older I got, the stranger I found it, but she'd...never been what I'd call well adjusted."

A rather melancholy topic, as Harik's ever drooping shoulders seemed to indicate. However, after a quick shake, he'd lift his head, those dark blue eyes deep enough to drown in, and look them both over equally. "Anyway. Clothes. Yes. Once I get settled in, how should I contact you? The shopping spree sounds marvelous. Oh, and I don't really have a phone, but at least you'll know where I'll probably be staying at. Sorry if reaching me might be hard." All of this was more or less addressed to Giselle, but the part about knowing where to find him was definitely meant for both of them, as Harik's hungry smile indicated.
 
as written by Script

"You can probably use the hotel phone," Will noted with a grin. "Here, I'll give you my number, too. When you're done with your shopping, maybe I can show you some of the city's nightlife. I know all the best places to go for a good time after dark."

A mischievous glint in his eye hinted that perhaps not all of those places were clubs. Or public.

With a wink, he took a napkin from the table and clicked his fingers at it, shooting a small spark at the cloth. It rippled at the impact, and as though penned by an invisible scribe, his number and name were written out onto it with a flourish, and a single 'x' by his signature. The napkin drifted gently to rest in front of Harik, neatly folded into a pocket-sized bundle.

Will waved a hand at it, smirking. "And voilà."
 
as written by Krysis

"Unfortunately, I have work to do. I can not accompany you to the hotel." Giselle admitted with a regretful smile as she simply pulled forth one of her business cards. It was a very simple card, black text on a white background with her name and number, the icon of a spool of thread with a needle tucked in it, and the job title of 'seamstress' modestly heading the whole thing.

"But when you do have time to shop, please call me. I will set aside a few hours to give to you." The redhead smiled as she handed the card over to Harik, though she did pull forth a second card so she could write a few things on the back of it. Her notes included Harik's name and the hotel he was likely to stay at, and a series of numbers and letters that likely didn't make a stitch of sense to anyone not in the tailor's trade.

At the bottom she wrote, upside down in relation to the rest, Will's name and number as well. The lady could not resist giving him a bit of a sly smile as she recalled the digits he had so flashily given.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

Harik would first take the magically crafted number-bundle from Will before reaching for the offered business card from her, letting his fingers brush against Giselle's in the process. A shock of cold electricity would shoot down his spine and across...various parts of his body. "Yes...Believe me, once I get nice and settled, I'll be sure to get in touch. I think my luck is just starting to change." It was still too early to say if the Caldonian had made the right decision, leaving his homeland to come to Issunar, but now, for the first time in weeks, he felt like he hadn't made a mistake, hadn't wasted his time. If nothing else, he was going to get one or two more notches on his belt, and some hopefully flattering Lutetian fashion to boot.

A part of him hoped he'd get the answers he'd come to find, but at the same time...maybe this would all turn out to be a long winded vacation away from the hot sands and cold memories of his home. Maybe he'd begin to understand his mother if he explored her homeland. Maybe he'd even be able to find her one day, and ask her why. Maybe.

For now, it was time to live in the moment and leave existential questions about himself and his family for a later date. "It was a pleasure meeting you both, and I hate to rush you Will, but I think it might be time for us to bounce to that car of yours. Its getting to the point where even the coffee isn't helping me stay awake anymore."

Indeed, it did seem like Harik was on the verge of unconsciousness, even as he rose from his seat at the table.
 
as written by Script

Will chuckled, returning Giselle's smirk and shrugging his shoulders to indicate he had no issue with her taking his number as well. "Alright then!" He swung onto his feet with a great deal more vigour than Harik, smoothing down his jacket and pausing to adjust his hair in the cafe's wall mirror. "Until next time, then, Giselle. It's been a delight!"

He paused to retrieve the handful of shopping bags from under his original table, sporting an eclectic collection of logos ranging from what looked like designer clothes stores to magic shops. With them in hand, he started for the door, beyond which a flashy red convertible awaited to carry them on to the hotel.
 
Originally Posted by SteamWolf
[Epilogue Books - Shop Floor]
The three-piece tweed man pulled boxes off pallets, opening them with an ivory-handled pocket knife and stacking the new books in an orderly fashion near the front of the store. He reluctantly included the appropriate signage included by the publisher. These popular modern titles filled up the areas nearest the door, but he'd already stocked the shelves and tables further back in the store with used copies of classics, reference materials, and even a few random vinyl albums, ranging from vintage jazz to classical.

On one bookcase, the one covered with museum glass and locked with a metal turnkey device, were the antiquarian volumes boasted of on the sandwich board outside.

A tea kettle whistled stridently, causing the waistcoatted man to abandon a box of awful glittering vampire fiction and sprint to the back room. He emerged a few minutes later and relaxed into a leather armchair, sipping at a cup of milky lapsang.​


as written by Sentry and SteamWolf

A little bell chimed a cheery little note as the door below it opened. Pale blue heels softly hit the floor of the shop, bringing in a well-dressed young lady. Her flaxen hair was pulled back into a high updo, where a silver crest was tucked. She tugged at the sleeve of her white blouse, made sure it was still tucked into her long, pleated skirt as she took a glance around.

Once her eyes landed on the armchair, her hands flew up to her lips, and she squeaked. "Oh! Goodness, I don't know how I didn't see you there. My apologies."

"Hmn? Oh yes. Welcome to Epil-" As Philius looked up from his tea, he cut off abruptly at the sight of the stunning young woman stnading in the doorway. He marshaled his thoughts and continued. "Epilogue Books, Miss." Putting down his tea, he got to his feet. "Is there something with which I might assist you, today? I should inform you that you have the distinction of being my very first customer in Lutetia."

The young woman grinned. Her scarlet lips stretched wide over her teeth. "Oh, I'm not even sure. I haven't seen a new shop here in a while, so I was curious, I suppose. I love reading."

Briefly, she gazed at the shelves and she sighed fondly. Before she lost herself entirely, she turned around and held her hand out. "Where are my manners? My name is Coralie. Pleased to meet you, Mister...?"

"Goodness, a young lady of breeding. How fortuitous, and after some of the things I'd heard about Lutetia City." He cupped his palm under hers and lifted it to his lips with a flourish. "Professor Philius Percival Wolfinson the Third, very much at your service, young miss. Is there anything at all I might help you find? Not all of my stock is out on the floor, yet, so I may have what you're looking for in back, if it's anything in particular."

Color rose to Coralie's cheeks in surprise. This was common of some paladins and the older, very sober churchgoers that were affiliated with her uncle, but it wasn't a common courtesy down in the streets.

"Well, I suppose... I'm looking for a good mystery. I've retired much of what was on my uncle's shelves. Could you point me in a good direction?"

"Mystery... mystery. Do you mind settings with names and places you don't know? I have some mystery anthologies, but... they're very unique. Or perhaps full mystery novels are more your style. Historical, or modern?"

The woman tapped her chin contemplatively and stared at the ground with pursed lips. "Modern, I think. Any settings like here? Like Lutetia City, I mean. Somewhere damp and frightening."

"Goodness me, plenty of those. How do dark, damp country estates sound? Or ranches in the middle of nowhere, with a cut phone line and the power out? Perhaps something grittier, in a city like this one, constantly under a barrage of battering chilly rain, and a solitary private investigator, weaving through streets that he can differentiate with his eyes closed because he knows the feel of them through his worn heels?" The be-tweeded man seemed more animated as he went.

"Oh, is he rugged and handsome?" tweeted Coralie with a grin. "Does he face horrible murderers with his resourcefulness and wit? And we can't forget his love for banter!"

The young woman seemed as excited as the professor. She had read her share of this genre, certainly.

"Well, that's all to your taste, Mademoiselle. Our hero can be cold and calculating, or passionate and hard-boiled, racing against the clock to save the damsel." Phil found himself thoroughly charmed by the young woman's enthusiasm.

"I suppose I must branch away from the charming fellows eventually. But, hear me out, what if the damsel isn't so helpless for once? Like the old movies where she's got a secret tucked away," she continued, placing her hands on her hips.

"I may have one or two where the tables are turned and the damsel proves instrumental in saving our hero, if that wouldn't unman our protagonist too very much for your taste." He grinned. "There's no damsel quite so compelling as a heroine in disguise."

"If he wouldn't complain too much I think it would good for the hero to get knocked off his feet and have the lady swoop in at the last moment. It should humble him," Coralie professed. "So what might you have in store, Professor?"

"Permit me, Miss Coralie, to take a step into the back room."
He moved away, opening a small wood-paneled door and stepping through before closing it behind him.

While Philius checked the back room, Coralie perused the shelves and the floors. Curiously, she peeked behind his desk, were there were numerous tomes of varied subject and thickness, some clearly arcane in nature, and others obviously penny dreadfuls, dime adventures, and trashy romance novels. Mixed in with these were treatises on the pronunciation of Lutetian, along with several languages she'd never heard of. The books on offer around the shop consisted of rare editions, presumably written by famous people, but some of the names were entirely unfamiliar to Coralie. Aside from that were the front tables, which held popular genre and contemporary fiction, as well as some classics, self-help, and how-to manuals.

Coralie hummed as she inspected the desk. Foreigners always had quirks about them. Apparently, the Professor was no exception.

Before he appeared from the back room, Coralie took herself to the shelves again, concentrating on the books before her.

The tweed man swept into the room with a flourish, carrying a small stack of slightly worn mass market paperbacks, all bearing the phrase, "A Frank Friday Adventure." He held them out to her with a boyish grin. "I think these will suit your needs. They take place in a city not unlike this one, post landline telephones, pre-computers. Does that sound appealing, Miss Coralie?"

The woman took them gently into her arms and beamed up at the tweed man. "I think they sound perfect, Professor. Thank you. How much, for them all?"

Philius hesitated, taking the time it took to walk to the register to organize his thoughts.
Should I? Well, faint heart never won fair maiden. "The honor of your company for tiffin. I was about to close up shop for an hour. Will you join me, Miss Coralie?" He gave her his warmest smile.

The flaxen-haired woman had never blushed so much before. Her heart nearly leaped out of her mouth. Her chin dipped toward her chest and her hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh, Selene Praise, Professor. I'm not sure I can accept that offer."

She fished for her wallet, a fairly expensive piece of leather, and retrieved a few pricey bills. "But... I'll be back before the week's end, when I've finished the books. Thank you very much."

"Keep your money this time, Miss Coralie." It was hard to hide the hint of disappointment in his tone. "You are my first customer. It would please me if you would accept them as a gift." He forced a smile past his deflated cheer.

Though she opened her mouth to deny the offer, but she saw right through his attempted cheer. "I accept, Professor. And I appreciate it." She flipped the bill back into her wallet with nimble fingers. "Please, do take care. I had a wonderful talk with you." She dipped in a small curtsy before turning to open the door.

"Likewise, Miss Coralie. Be well." As soon as she was out of sight, he fell into his chair and allowed himself a short pout before returning to his tea, considerably less chipper but determined not to let his failure ruin the day.
 
Recent rain had further poured on any hope he'd had of evidence remaining in the square, but that didn't deter the man from crouching in the middle of the square, the sunlight washing over damp ground, highlighted marred buildings and little wads of gum that hadn't made it to a receptacle. The smell - almost overwhelmingly earthy, mixing rain and asphalt - rose from the ground in waves, hiding the standard smog of dust, seedy dealings, coppery scents of blood. He lifted his gaze towards a shop window that had once boasted polished glass and engraved lettering, now darkened by ugly plywood that had been hammered haphazardly into the surrounding frame.

Vernon rose from his crouch, stepping towards the scene of the crime, making a little noise in the back of his throat. Picturing the photographs he'd memorized, he stood above where a woman had her head ripped into - jagged chunks of bone and flesh missing - and judged the distance to the window.

"Hm," he said, scratching at four days of stubble, hand smacking against his pockets - wallet, keys, phone - in a slow, methodical way, more absent of thought than conscious.

"Strong," he said, softly, drawing the attention of two passerby who shot him odd looks. He thought about the boy - the lone potential witness - and the two victims, and his scratching grew more irritated.
 
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