Age of Steam.

[Nyx]

Erin sighed and put down the papers that were sat in front of her, leaning back in her chair she put her feet on the desk and looked out the window of her office that overlooked the workshop come warehouse.

Erin had joined the world of mechanics just as prototype airships were making their debut, now she was in her twenties and airships were as common as anything, but still they fascinated everyone.
She did wonder if that was why there was such a large number of mechanics and engineers around, of course it didn’t matter as long as progress was made, and it enabled her to employ as many people as she needed, as well as a couple of apprentices. Though she found they were the easiest ones to lose, in every sense of the word. She hadn’t seen one of them for a while, a young lad but talented, Erin mused that he was either hidden away somewhere working on something he shouldn’t be or generally getting himself into trouble.

Looking down into the large hanger that her office looked over she gazed at their latest project. It was the first of a new fleet of merchant airships than a large shipping company had ordered. It wasn’t the most exciting of tasks she had to admit, but her designs at least had made sure they were contraptions to be admired from any angle.

Erin was still admiring her handiwork and neglecting her paperwork when one of her shop workers flung open her office door, frowning initially at the man she relented when looking at the grave look on his face.

“what is it Smith?”

“this Miss Erin” he held up a newspaper “they’ve declared war on us miss, said we killed that Lincoln, America want to wipe us out” he threw the paper on the desk and Erin picked it up.

“well I’ll be damned…”

[Phoenix Taichou]

Emmet ruffled his brown hair and replaced his cap. He tapped his thumb to his nose and sniffed.
 "Aye well, I think I can fix this, yeah?"
He knelt down to look once more at the roughly shaped mechanoid head staring back at him. He gave it a short tap on the noggin, sending reverberation throughout it's stout body frame.
 "But I've not seen this model before. T'is just one of those basic things that goes along the floor there and sweeps up, no?"
The owner of the curious device grunted. He was an older man, not particularly richly dressed.
 "Yup. Bought it off some shifty looking fellow in the market."
Emmet smiled and peaked his cap.
 "Well now that says a lot there, you can't go trusting any old John with your mechnical needs."
He stood up and folded his arms, turning to the man.
 "Well I'll take a look at the little fella."
The man smiled underneath his bushy moustache.
 "Very kind of you Emmet. Will the usual payment be fine?"
Emmet nodded,
 "A few bags o' your best tea, sir."
The two men shook hands,
 "Done. I will return tomorrow to see how it is coming along."

Emmet waved the man off as he left his workshop and closed the door. He turned to the device on the floor.
 "Ah, what a heap of crap. Wouldn't spend a pretty coin on that, what was he thinkin'? Ah, well. Let's take a look inside of ya."

[Zirak]

OOC: Just a note, in case anyone is confused, 1 sovereign is a gold coin worth £1. I tried to use some old terminology. XP

Archibald Hinley sat in his desk chair, leaning back with his feet up on his desk, a newspaper obscuring all but his legs.

AMERICA DECLARES WAR

The headline screamed from the front page, a grainy photograph of the newly-sworn in president, fist clenched and mouth open, clearly in the middle of a rather passionate speech.

A knock on Archibald’s door broke the silence.

“Come in,” he called, not moving a muscle.

The door opened and a frighteningly tall man walked in, a handlebar moustache dominating his face leading all the way up his cheeks and into his hair. He took off his damp hat, his expression dark.

“Bloody weather, it’s always the same,” he growled, shaking the hat to dislodge the stubborn moisture.

“By all means, bring the weather in with you,” Archibald remarked dryly, still hidden behind the newspaper. “I like to keep the floors a little damp anyway.”

The man grunted with a twitch of his lips, the apparent extent of his mirth.

“I see you’ve read up on the current situation,” the man said, gesturing toward the headline.

Archibald folded the paper shut and glanced at it before dropping his feet to the ground and setting the paper on his desk.

“I got the gist of it. I had a feeling you’d be coming over,” he answered, leaning forward and gesturing toward the chair opposite before clasping his hands together on the wooden surface. “I imagine the Empire has a job for me?”

The man nodded his thanks before settling into the chair, the furniture creaking slightly under his weight. After making himself comfortable he withdrew a small wooden case from the inside pocket of his overcoat, setting it carefully on Archibald’s desk.

“May I?” He enquired of the younger man and Archibald nodded.

“By all means.”

The large man nodded his thanks and gently opened the case, his large fingers showing remarkable dexterity. He lifted a large curved pipe from the case, packed it with tobacco while ensuring none spilled and then held it to his mouth while he lit the tobacco with a match struck against his beard. After several puffs he shook the match until it went out, carefully laid it on the open pipe case and leaned back in the chair, enjoying the smoke for a short while. Eventually he returned his attention to Archibald opposite him.

“We need you to investigate the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. Find out who was involved, who performed the deed itself and then bring them here for questioning. Just so we can iron out the details before we return them to the Yanks for their eventual trial and sentence.”

Archibald studied the large, bear of a man before him, his blue eyes searching his face for any further clues. He gleaned none.

“Alright. What’s the payment?”

“Five hundred gold sovereigns as soon as you find the assassin. Another five hundred if you find out who he is working for and what the motivations were behind the assassination.”

The adventurer whistled, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

“One thousand pounds? The Empire must be pretty desperate.”

The large man chuckled in between several quick puffs of his pipe.

“Let’s just say the Queen rewards her loyal subjects with adequate compensation, shall we? Oh yes, you won’t be travelling alone.”

Archibald raised an eyebrow as the man shifted in his chair, turning his head toward the door he came in.

“Sarah! Come on in.”

As soon as the words had left the man’s mouth Archibald leapt to his feet, pulled open one of his desk drawers, whipped out his revolver and pointed it at the young woman who walked him, the hammer cocked and ready to fire. The woman one of a smaller pair already directed at him as she walked forward and stood behind the chair the large man was sitting in, a one-sided smile adorning her face. Her emerald green eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Hello, Archie,” she purred, her bronze skin gleaming in the dim firelight. Her inky-black hair cascaded down her back in waves, appearing streaked with blue where the light caught it.

“Ah, I see you two have met,” the bearded man said, the skin at the side of his eyes crinkling in amusement as he took a few more puffs from his pipe.

“Too many times for my liking,” Archibald growled, glaring at the woman. His revolver hadn’t moved an inch.

“Oh, come on, Archie,” the woman said, giving a little pout. “Surely our little encounters weren’t that bad?”

“You scarred my face!” He exclaimed, touching the scar on his cheek with his free left hand. “And stole my money! And my artefacts! And my mother’s necklace!”

The woman shrugged, her own gun still trained on him.

“Oh, come on. You did fairly well for yourself, it’s like you would miss a few trinkets.”

“Trinkets...William, you can’t expect me to work with her!”

The large man stood from his chair, sliding his pipe case back into the inside pocket of his over-coat as the two rivals lowered their weapons, Archibald grudgingly holstering his revolver while Sarah did the same.

“I do and you will. Sarah Vasquez has agreed to share vital information with us to do with the perpetrators of the Lincoln assassination. She has passed our tests of loyalty and expressed interest in working with you, so we teamed you up.”

William’s face broke into the first grin he had shown all evening, the pipe clenched between his teeth.

“We are well aware of Sarah’s...exploits...from the past. We are willing to overlook them for her co-operation in this matter. You have the rest of the afternoon to prepare and then tomorrow you will take the first airship to Washington. You will start your investigation there. Keep me informed.”

The man bowed and put his hat back on his head before swiftly turning around and leaving through the front door, his muffled curse barely audible as he stepped back out into the rain.

“So, Archie, how’ve you been?” Sarah asked, skipping forward and sitting sideways on his desk, leaning forward to give him a fleeting glance at her cleavage. “Do anything exciting since Brazil?”

Archibald maintained eye contact with her, surprising even himself, and reinforced his glare. He folded his arms and said nothing.

“Careful, your face might get stuck like that!” She remarked, before planting a light kiss on his cheek, hopping from his desk and leaving out the door, blowing a final kiss before she gently closed it behind her.

Archibald sighed, falling back into his chair, and ran a hand through his hair.

“This couldn’t get any worse...”

[Phoenix Taichou]

Emmet stood up and clapped his dirty hands together.
 "Aye, now you'll do what I say you little thing."
He leant down and flicked a switch on the little robot's back and it let out an almighty hiss, a short puff of steam following after from all nooks and crannies. It moved forward on it's little wheels with a comical bob as two arms swept in front of it in turn. The resulting scraps of paper Emmet left in front were sucked into it's hull. With a smile he flicked the switch off and gently lifted the casing from the robot. After peering inside, he replaced the case and patted it on it's head. In his mind, the painted smile on it's face was one of gratitude.

He turned and made for the door, pulling it wide open and taking a bold step outside. The rain splashed down on him, cool and refreshing. He held his hands out and rubbed them together, then put his hand on his hips and looked out upon the world. The streets were sparse, save for a few ladies and gentleman hurridedly making their way quickly under cover of arched cloth. Emmet loved the rain, it was God's gift, and it always amused him how so many treated it like a curse.

Emmet breathed deeply.
 "It's a good day, it is."
A well dressed couple glanced his way with disgust, and continued on their way. It didn't phase him. It never did. Emmet had come to the realisation long ago that he was either well liked and respected for his good nature and work or hated and feared for being Irish. Nary had it been anything inbetween, though is was usually these that interested him the most. Mysteries always intrigued him. It was part of what set him on his path to engineering, the lust for finding out what makes everything tick - sometimes literally what makes them tick.

The last mystery that came his way he never managed to figure out, and when he couldn't figure out a mystery, it bugged him to no end.

Her name was Siobhan O'Connell.

[Zirak]

Archibald stepped out into the rain wearing a heavy long-coat and a simple brimmed hat to ward off the rain. His revolver sat comfortably at his hip, underneath his coat, and he carried a slender package wrapped in leather straps across his back. He turned back to face the street after locking the door his office and was greeted by Sarah Vasquez. She wore her own long-coat and a large hat, her black locks flowing out from underneath it. She had no weapons drawn, armed only with a smile and glinting emerald eyes with her hands on her curvy hips.

“Admit it, you’re pleased to see me,” she said, her voice smooth and revealing her mixed heritage – it was primarily American but had a tinge that confirmed her Spanish ancestry.

Archibald loved it.

“That depends,” he answered warily, crossing his arms. “Are you here to liberate me of some my other relics? Or obstruct me in my service to the Empire?”

“Of course not, Archie. I would have made a move by now and be long gone, just like Brazil.”

She stepped forward and snaked her arm through his, forcing him to unfold them.

“So we are we off to?”

Archibald managed to hide his smile though she felt him relax and her smile widened into a grin, showing her well-kept teeth. He sighed, resigning himself to her presence.

“Well, I have a few contacts I need to visit. First off I need to see my doctor, find an engineer, a navigator, a crew and then an airship. By tomorrow morning. Then we fly across to America to begin the investigation.”

“Well then, shall we?”

Sarah motioned with her free arm and they stepped onto the street, bracing themselves against the foul weather.

***

“Doctor Schmidt? It’s Archibald! Please, open the door!”

He rapped on the door for the third time in exasperation and looked the front of the house over. The windows had their curtains drawn, which struck Archibald as odd, and there was no light coming from the inside.

“He said he would be in for the forthcoming days,” he muttered aloud. “What is going on?”

He froze as there was a crash and a muffled scream from within the house and he exchanged a worried look with Sarah.

“Can you unlock the door?” He asked the young woman.

She stepped forward between him and the door, blocking his view, and within several seconds there was a soft click and the door swung outwards. She turned to him and winked.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile that vanished as he pulled his revolver from its holster underneath his coat and made sure it was fully loaded.

Sarah drew one of her shorter-barrelled revolvers and followed Archibald in, both stepping softly as they slowly made their way down the hall. They could hear voices coming from an open door on the left, candlelight spilling into the hallway. Archibald crept up to the door frame and peered in.

He saw a young woman tied to a chair, barely into her twenties, and two men having a heated discussion. The woman was sobbing, her head bowed, with bruises covering her bare arms and face. Archibald narrowed his eyes. He turned to Sarah and indicated there were two men and she nodded, smiling as she sensed what he had in mind. As one they burst into the room, each taking aim at a different target.

“Gentlemen,” Archibald said with a smile as the two heavy-set men looked over with surprised expressions. “If you really have that much trouble gaining the affections of a young lady there are better ways to improve your changes. Now, where is Doctor Schmidt?”

[Phoenix Taichou]

Siobhan O' Connell... she was a fleeting presence in his life, but one that he'd never forget. The one mystery that he'd never been able to solve, and the one mystery he'd never been able to let go. It wasn't always on his mind but occasionally he'd find a reminder and the puzzle would come back, and he'd lay awake the night playing over the events to try and think if he'd missed something. He'd eventually come to the conclusion that the only thing that would make a difference would be new evidence, and that was something he highly doubted would ever come his way.

He had decided that one day, if he gathered enough money, he'd investigate it himself. If not to put Siobhan's family at rest, than to put his mind to peace. His mind drifted back to the day of her death...

[Zirak]

The two men turned around, slack-jawed in surprise as Archibald and Sarah burst into the room, levelling their weapons. They were both heavily built, wearing simple clothes and both had fully shaven heads. They lifted their hands in surrender as they focused on the guns the two intruders were pointing in their direction.

“Er...he’s, er...”

The larger of the two men glanced nervously at a door behind the woman who was tied up. Archibald followed his glance and saw the door was ajar. An arm was visible in the light that spilled into the room, one he knew very well.

“Keep an eye on them,” he said to Sarah and walked towards the door.

The young woman smoothly drew her second revolver with her free hand, keeping both her guns trained on the two thugs. Archibald stood in front of the door, his vision narrowing to a single point, focusing on the arm. Dread coiled in the pit of his stomach at what he would find, his mind awash with the possibilities. He gently pushed the door open all the way, stepped through and found the worst of his fears true.

Doctor Hans Schmidt was dead, lying in a small pool of blood at his head. His face was unrecognisable, swollen with bruises and broken with cuts. His nose was flat against his left cheek and his left eye was swollen shut. The other was half-lidded, the dead organ glazed over. His spectacles lay broken at his feet. The young man knelt next to one of his closest friends, numbly pressing his hand against the side of his neck, an automatic response he took while his mind reeled. Memories of the Doctor filled his vision, with his gruff demeanour and dry humour. He had saved Archibald’s life countless times, never asking for anything in return.

“Ach, look at you! Every time I patch you up you come back even worse! Are you testing my abilities, Archie? Mein Gott! There will be a time where I won’t be able to fix you up!”

A smile twitched on Archibald’s lips as his voice echoed in his mind, with the thick German accent. He had been one of the finest doctors he had ever known. And now he was dead, killed by some mindless thugs. Is this how his accomplishments are supposed to be rewarded?

The young adventurer picked up the broken glasses and pocketed them, turning around with fury in his eyes. He strode back into the adjoining room, walked right up to the largest thug and slammed his fist into his stomach with all the strength he could muster. As the man doubled over, a gasp escaping his lips, Archibald locked his hands together and slammed them onto the back of his head, sending the man crashing to the floor. A further stamp on his skull ensured he was out cold and Archibald turned to the remaining thug. He reached over his right shoulder and unwrapped the cloth covering his slender package to reveal a sword hilt. He drew the blade, the metal singing, and placed the tip at the thug’s throat.

“Why?” He asked simply as the thug’s eyes bulged from his head, focusing on the weapon drawing a bead of blood.

“H-h-he owed money!” He managed to blurt out, his hands shaking. “The boss doesn’t like it when debts aren’t paid!”

“That’s alright,” Archibald said with a cold smile. “I’ll make sure this one is. His life for Schmidt’s. Who is your boss?”

The thug’s eyes flicked desperately to Sarah, but the young woman had holstered her guns and folded her arms, her expression stony.

“Horatio Lewis! P-p-please, sir, don’t kill me! I’m only doing what Mister Lewis said!”

Archibald lowered the sword, stepped forward and delivered a blow with the hilt hard enough to send the thug tumbling to the ground. He lay still.

“Who’s Horatio?” Sarah asked as Archibald sheathed his blade and re-wrapped it.

“A slimy moneylender. Schmidt always had a gambling problem. His one vice was the illegal card tables run by Horatio. I guess he gambled away what he had and had to borrow money to avoid becoming homeless. That’s how Horatio makes his money, off of the misery of others.”

Archibald untied the young woman as he spoke who looked at him with tearful eyes. As soon as her hands were free she threw them around his shoulders, sobbing.

“Thank you, thank you,” she cried. “I thought they were going to kill me!”

Her accent was German as well, though not as thick as Schmidt’s used to be. Archibald patted her back awkwardly while Sarah shifted, placing her hands on her hips. Eventually he gently pulled her away. He pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and gave it to her, which she used to wipe her eyes.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he answered. “I am Archibald Hinley and this is Sarah Vasquez, my...friend. May I know your name?”

She nodded, her hands clasped around the handkerchief in her lap.

“I’m Isabelle Schmidt. I was Hans’ niece. I was learning medicine from him, until...the men came...”

She buried her face in the handkerchief as fresh tears welled up and Archibald rested a hand on her shoulder. After she calmed down Archibald helped her to her feet.

“Look, this may not be the best time to ask, but I wanted Schmidt to accompany me on a mission for the British Empire. I still need someone with medical expertise. Would you join me in his place? You would be handsomely compensated and it may help to put some distance between what happened here.”

He handed her a small card.

“This is my address. Meet me tonight at nine o clock if you accept.”

The young woman took the card and nodded. The trio left the house and Archibald explained the situation to a nearby policeman who escorted Isabelle home.

“Archibald...I’m sorry,” Sarah said quietly as they watched her go and Archibald’s expression tightened.

“It’s fine,” he said shortly and began to walk along the street, Sarah quickly following.

“I need to secure an airship next, so we’ll head to the docks.”

[Phoenix Taichou]

It had been nearly eight years since the night of her death. The image was still ingrained in his mind. Kissing any other woman had been next to impossible until a year or so again, when he'd become comfortable enough to do it. Sometimes the smell of blood still flickers at the back of his mind when his lips met anothers.

He can feel her smooth silky hair running over his fingers, the taste of her lipstick, the feel of her breasts through her white blouse against his chest, her hand clasped tightly around his arm... and then a shudder, a wet spray across his face, and her lips moving no more. She dropped to the ground, and his arms were still held out holding the body that was no longer there. He looked, and shock gripped him. Siobhan lay on the ground, her head blown open from the back, blood sprayed across the wall. He touched his face, and blood smeared down his cheek. He screamed, and dropped to his knees.

Emmet shook himself out of his thoughts, and started out at the rain. A tear had formed at the corner of his eye, but he wiped it away, and sighed heavily. Siobhan was a fleeting romance, but the memory and pain of her loss still echoed today.

He hung his head for a moment, and punched his nose, breathing in deeply, and letting out another pained sigh. He needed a break from work. He needed a distraction.

He needed a damn good book.