Threadbare

Interlude 4: Guise and Dolls

It was a rainy day in Cylvania City, and Jean Lafeet was actually enjoying it.

This wasn't like the northern rains of her homeland, Belltollia. Those were always cold, always dreary regardless of the season. But here, in this sheltered valley with the vast northern peaks of the Guzoverdee mountains shielding Cylvania City from the worst of the northern chill, she was having to endure only a warm summer drizzle.

Which didn't mean that she wasn't prepared, of course. She squared her parasol on her shoulder as she marched along, nodding to the passers-by, and smiling at the ones who gawked and pointed at her, then turned to tell their friends who she was.

She was an actress, after all. And this was one of the easiest ways to build up her Fame skill.

Even the rain doesn't cool this place down much, Gaston griped. And it is so humid that I might as well be chewing the air instead of breathing it.

Jean glanced behind her, and wrinkled her nose, dancing her whiskers along her cheeks. Her human friend did look a bit miserable, with his ponytail-bound brown hair losing its regular poof, and his fine red clothes sogging and sagging over what were admittedly a fine set of muscles.

I have no sympathy for you, she told him. I offered another parasol.

Bah, Gaston waved his meaty hand. Such things are for women.

Then rot in the rain, and see if I care. she smirked, and turned back to the street. At any rate, I think her house should be about... oh. Hm.

Hm? Gaston grunted.

That looks like the Mouse golem I told you about. She looks upset. But I am not certain if we should interfere...

Seeing so many walking toys in one place had been one of the hardest things to get used to, when it came to adjusting to this new land. Remembering that they were no longer toys, not exactly, but thinking and feeling beings had only added on to the peculiarity of this remote venue. Many of the sapient golems were teddy bears, too, and that had made it a little tricky, made her realize that telling these strange creatures apart could be problematic at times.

That said, she was pretty sure the three-foot-tall gray mousewoman wearing a round nightcap and matching patchwork dress was one of a kind. She was shaking a frilly parasol up at the man who'd accosted her.

That man was large, scarred, looming over her, and shaking a finger in her face. He was dressed shabbily, and the dirt smeared on his face was doing an admirable job of resisting the rain. A beggar? Perhaps. His body language was squared aggressively for one of the street people, though. Jean was sensitive to such things, and she doubted he was a simple pauper.

But then she had a trick for that sort of thing, didn't she?

Read the Scene, Jean breathed through her buckteeth.

And the two figures shifted in her sight, almost seeming to fill up with strings pulling in various directions, as she got a good look into their motivations, as the universe unveiled the parts they were playing.

Your Read the Scene skill is now level 72!

The Mouse golem was an open book, an innocent soul who delighted in simple things, but very much didn't like being pushed around. And her motivation here was giving the man what-for, dressing him down for his rudeness and hostility.

The man, though, was literally a different story. He was a bit resistant, and she knew she hadn't gotten all of it.. He had two or three dark lines across his form that indicated hidden motivations. Subplots trailed off of him, but his surface motivation was to discourage the Mousewife, and remove her from the scene and the story. His hostility was fed by frustration, because she was being stubborn, and... oh, that was a dark red line building. She'd seen lines like that before, and they always indicated violence.

We need to involve ourselves, Jean called back over her shoulder, before striding forward.

This wasn't in our orders, Gaston grumbled, but she heard puddles splashing behind her and knew he was keeping up. He would have her back, regardless of his feelings on this matter. If for no other reason than the hope that she would take him to bed at some point. (A forlorn hope, but Gaston was a bit of a forlorn figure at the best of times.)

Allo, she said, smiling down at the golem and cutting the large man off mid-bluster. Fancy meeting you again. Karen, was it?

Oh! Hello there! You were in the line! Yes, I'm Karen Mousewife! The Mousewife swung the parasol toward her, like a teacher's pointer. Fancy seeing you out here! Did you have some more business with her ladyship the Councilor?

I do. I hope you're not busy at the moment? Jean turned her red eyes onto the stranger, who glowered at her, that red line in his soul still glowing, but no longer growing.

She is, the man snapped. You're interrupting. Piss off.

Here now, you don't get to speak for me and that's a bad word to say to someone like that! The Mousewife swung her parasol back and almost poked the man in the nose.

With an irritated snarl he grabbed it and snapped it

and Gaston lunged out from behind Jean and caught him square in the belly with a side kick.

Gaston was not a large man. He was what people kindly referred to as wiry. A bit thin-shouldered and pigeon chested.

But his legs, his legs were pure muscle. And as the man flew a good twelve feet and bounced off a low villa wall, she could see the thread of violence abruptly snuff out of his soul, and be replaced by the yellow thread of cowardice. Now he would be leaving, and that was for the best. The yellow '82' that floated free from him was more than enough justification to run. Another hit like that and he'd likely be unconscious, and then there would be guards and questions and problems...

So when Gaston stalked forward to put the boot in she caught his elbow, then quickly stooped and handed the broken parasol to a gaping and shocked Mousewife.

Here now, no need for that. You were just leaving, yes monsieur? she asked the man, who was scrambling to his feet and limping away, staring over his shoulder with a mix of shock and shame.

Gaston rumbled, and for a second Jean felt his arm ripple. Felt it start to sprout fur...

Not here! she hissed into his ear.

Right, Gaston barked. Right. Right, he said, snuffling his nose a few times.

Jean felt the skin under her fingers twitch. Felt the fur retract. That had been a close one.

You kicked him! The Mousewife squeaked. Right in the tummy!

Jean closed her eyes. This little creature, this thing of cloth and rags and presumably some sort of poofy stuffing was one of the most adorable things she had ever seen. And though they'd taken a risk here, she felt a wash of reassurance in knowing that they'd done the right thing.

Tummy, heh, Gaston snickered. Then he yelped in pain.

Jean pulled her elbow out of his side. Ah, he was being mean. We are sorry for the trouble. He seemed out of line, and in need of a kicking... Anyway, are you by any chance on your way to Miss Celia? May we come to see her with you?

Oh well I suppose that's just fine, the Mousewife said. Maybe you're what she needs right now. She mended her parasol with a word, and led the way down the street.

It was a small house, which was fitting, because Cecelia Gearhart was a small person, now. Jean found herself stooping into a front room that had human-sized chairs and a couch, as well as a wooden table with a few boxed games and knicknacks.

There was a normal-sized door leading to a cramped bathroom, but every other door off of this room was half-sized. Which made sense, really. One room for tall visitors, but everything else could be scaled down to a comfortable size for the primary inhabitants.

The Mousewife vanished back into the depths of the house, stooping herself to get through a half-door, and Jean settled into the couch. Gaston, unasked, sat next to her. She wrinkled her nose and pushed him with a foot until he chuckled and scooted over to the end of the couch. He was warm and wet from the rain, and she didn't like his familiarity.

He chuckled. What are the odds they have some salad, or something edible here? Or maybe fake wax foods? Oooh, perhaps those are animated too, they can come out and sing songs about eating them while they prepare us a feast?

You're an idiot, she told him. Hush. I'm trying to listen.

But if there were words, Gaston's careless commentary had covered them completely. Instead, after a few more minutes of waiting, she heard the gentle clinking of porcelain on wood, and Cecelia Gearhart emerged from the darkness of a doorway, followed by a nervously twitching Mousewife.

Something's gone wrong, Cecelia said. You need something.

Her voice was flat. And her soul's lines lines...

I forgot to turn off my skill, Jean realized, as the porcelain woman's lines sprang into focus. Complex, multi-layered

and every one filled with pain.

Every one spelling out a struggle that made Jean's eyes water to see it. Made her breath catch in her throat.

I... Jean whispered, whiskers twitching, and her eyes filling with tears. I don't... it...

Someone's trying to sabotage our musical, Gaston said. We want your permission to deal with them harshly.

Of course it's bad news. Cecelia closed her eyes, then gave a great sigh. Sorry. It's a... bad day.

To her horror, Jean saw a black line at the core of the woman flare to life.

Jean knew that line as well. This one wasn't violence, though violence was sometimes involved. This line was self-destruction, and she'd lost friends and lovers to it. This line was death, if left to its own devices.

We would like to handle the saboteurs ourselves, said Gaston. We just need your permission to do so.

Jean winced. Gaston was lousy at lying. Jean was supposed to handle this part, but he'd jumped the gun. To be fair, seeing the dark line had thrown her off her game. But it wasn't too late to fix that, perhaps. We have performed in some fairly rough places, she said, hurrying to fill the gap. Kai-Tan was a bit of a struggle in particular. This isn't anything like that though, we think perhaps apprehending the people involved and giving them to the guard for questioning will work for the worst of them. The opportunists they have along with them will no doubt flee when the ringleaders are caught.

Cecelia was motionless, but Jean watched her threads change. A thin line of optimism rose, and struggled with the blackness around it. It lost, and sunk into the quagmire below.

I have no influence with the guards, the doll-woman said, shortly. Talk with them.

Jean shared a look with Gaston. And while her face was away from Cecelia, she ever so slightly formed her lips into noiseless words.

Silent Activation, Elevator Pitch.

And when she turned back around, she smiled at Cecelia. To be honest, she lied, I believe that whoever is doing this is trying to build up some blackmail or extortion against us. They are dancing at the edge of legality, trying to hinder us without going quite too far. I rather expect that if left to our own devices they'll ask for a large chunk of money or some dubious favors on the night of our rehearsal, or else they'll make our show a flop. We are lops, not flops, she added just a bit of humor, and that would hurt our pride. But we also do not want to be indebted to dubious bullies. We expect that if we stand up to them they will fold, and everything will go smoothly from here. We just need your permission to act in your name, in case they pull in favors from other blackmailed nobles to hinder us.

Again, the optimism rose. And this time, the black line shrunk before the blue hope was completely gone.

You think that's all it will take? Cecelia asked, clasping her hands together. It would be nice, I admit, if something went smoothly for once. Nothing has... it's been quite the opposite for a long time around here.

I do, Jean lied. Though if things worked out as her master estimated, then it would seem quite smooth to anyone who didn't investigate too deeply. The troupe would handle things as they always did, and be out of town before anyone found the bodies.

Then go, Cecelia said, and offered a smile that Jean could tell was a mask, a guise over the darkness that had made a tidy little nest in her heart. And don't hesitate to tell Karen if you need anything. I'm sorry that you've been having trouble in our little part of the world, and I really do want to make sure your visit is... good.

Jean watched the lines of her motivation dance and shift, and closed her eyes.

She had her orders.

She had things to do.

She also had a woman here who was suffering and falling into the darkness, like many other friends Jean had known over the years.

She hadn't been able to save most of them. Had lost many to the great leveler, and each and every one hurt.

And though Cecelia was just another part of the business, though she was an assignment, Jean knew that she didn't want this kind little doll of a woman to die. Which she most certainly would if nobody did anything.

So when Gaston grunted his thanks and stood to leave, she stayed sitting.

Actually, she started, I was going to ask you about that. If you have time, I would like to hear some stories of your nation. And yourself. Do you think I could impose that upon you? Just some time to sit and talk with you, Mistress Cecelia?

Gaston squinted down at her, and she waved him off. You can go. You know what to do, eh? I'll catch up.

Thinking with your crotch again, he muttered, but he was smiling as he departed, and to Jean's relief neither the Mousewife nor Cecelia seemed to catch what he was saying.

Cecelia was obviously considering the request when Jean looked back, and the lines of her soul twisted and stirred. A few blanked out, and Jean hid her frustration. It was a perception-based skill, and Cecelia's willpower was obviously strong enough to give Jean's perception a run for its money. So she held her breath, waiting to see what the porcelain woman would decide.

I suppose I have some time, she finally said. To begin with, please call me Celia. Mistress Cecelia makes me remember my years in my father's court, and those aren't pleasant memories...

Meanwhile, outside, Gaston made it three blocks away before he realized he was being pursued. Stopping to look in a shop window, he moved to angle the setting sun, and caught a clear view of the fellow he'd sucker-kicked earlier. It looked like he'd collected two friends, and was bringing them to the party.

What a good day, Gaston breathed, as he glanced up. The rain had about stopped, a rainbow was starting to bloom, and now he had three playmates for the evening.

He smiled at himself in the shop window and let a little of the panic and anticipation run through him. And nobody noticed when his front teeth got a teensy bit bigger, his ears got just a bit longer, and the first pricklings of short fur started to sprinkle across his arms.

Without another thought he turned and led them off into the city, heading to an alley he had picked out earlier. If he timed it right, it should be just moonrise when they arrived...

He didn't see the second tail, even though it lashed back and forth as its owner followed at a safe distance along the rooftops.

Nyaaaaaan, Kayin decided as she kept pace. This is convenient. All you suspicious guys are being suspicious at each other! Now what kind of answers am I going to get here, I wonder?

The rain stopped over Cylvania City, as the last rays of the setting sun rung in the night with a rainbow, and later on screams and cries of pain rose to an uncaring moon above, as cat-like glass eyes watched it all and kept their own counsel.