u_can_have_it_4_a_song | Unfamiliar Ceiling [For Amelia Ronsam]

An operative with a perhaps-deservedly high opinion of her own skills, of course. It's so much simpler to show such people a little respect than to have them resentful and plotting over the slight of its absence.

"I look forward to it," he murmurs, inclining his head in answer to her bow. He finishes his coffee and then follows at a more leisurely pace; he has been taxing himself considerably, these past few days, and the retreat of his office will be a welcome one.

While the previous day had been one of the worst Amelia had experienced in a long time, today appears to be much better for her. No fainting, no emotional outbursts, and a much better understanding of what's going on around her. Add to that a job that is well within her skill set, and she could almost skip with joy.

Taking into consideration everything Schön told her about the job, she stops at a shop selling dried treats and and picks up a few varieties of meats and fruits for later use. She then quickly makes her way to the Forum and then on to her target's house. The home is of average size, compared to the rest on the row, and nestled squarely in the center of the block it resides on. It also has many small windows, which is all the better for the rogue's purposes. A closer inspection reveals two bedrooms, both located on the upper floor of the house. The dog pays little notice to the woman as she darts around the house, peering into windows and testing doors as she goes. It's a good sign, but one she reminds herself not to take for granted.

As she lays in wait, the sun begins to lower in the sky. She keeps a wary eye on the house as she watches from the roof of a house across the street. When the sun is about to set, the owner of the house - a relatively small, and unassuming man - arrives home, his arms laden with goods purchased in the Commercial District. Amelia watches closely as rooms in the house begin lighting up one by one. Two hours after the man arrived, a woman, who could not possibly be much older than Amelia, arrived at the door. Dressed in what one could only assume is a "date night" dress and with her auburn hair pinned up with small silvery objects, she enters after a loud and enthusiastic welcome from the home owner. Amelia watches their shadows weave throughout the house as the evening progresses - first to the kitchen, then the dining room, and then, finally, the bedroom.

When all the lights in the house have been out for an hour, she creeps up to the backdoor of the house. With a wary ear open for signs of movement around her, she pulls out her lockpicks and gently inserts them into the lock. Schön wasn't kidding when he said the lock was intricate. It takes her three unsuccessful attempts to figure out the pattern before she is able to open it. Once inside, she makes straight for the stairs, her hand in a pouch the entire time. The dog opens an eye to look at her as she passes, but quickly forgets her intrusion when she drops a handful of dried meat. The dog sated, she rushes up the stairs, her feet barely touching any of them as she does.

The soft sounds of snoring draw her attention to one of the two bedrooms. Keeping her cloak about her, she peers through the small gap between the door and the frame to get a better look. The man and the woman are both fast asleep. Exhaling slowly, she slips through the door, taking care to place it back where she found it before surveying the room. The walls are covered with art, leaving no space for her to leave the drawing. That, however, is no problem for Amelia. Stepping up to one of the smaller paintings, she carefully checks around for possible trip wires or alarm bells - and finds a trip wire that runs between all of the paintings on the wall. Cursing internally, she turns and makes a face at the sleeping man before walking back to the door and shutting it carefully. The chalk makes a bit more noise on the door than she would like, but the drawing takes less than a minute to sketch out. After one last check of her drawing, she withdraws from the room, closing the door behind her completely. She flies down the stares, leaving another treat for the dog, then out the back door, which she trips to lock behind her.

The job now done, Amelia makes her way back to the Forum through the shadows. Although the edge of the Forum she passes through on her way to Schön's office remains sunny, the streets are mostly empty. As she walks, she pulls the dried fruit from her pouch for a snack. The way to his office is shorter than she expected and she finds herself arriving in what feels like a matter of minutes, though she realizes much more time could have passed. It's hard to tell, seeing as she still doesn't have her bearings in the Nexus yet.

Rather than going straight in, however, she knocks and waits for Schön to open it. It gives her time to finish off the last of her dried peaches.

After a few moments, Schön opens the door, brows rising momentarily in recognition before he moves aside to raise his arm in an invitation. "Please, won't you come in?"

The room within is a spacious office, made cozy by the bright Oriental rugs covering most of the hardwood floor. The desk, opposite the door, is a monolith of mahogany, inlaid with accents of rosewood and teak, carved with reliefs of twining roots and branches, of fanciful creatures, and of faces peeking from among the leaves. The chairs before and behind the desk are upholstered in silk and buttery-soft leather, the one behind the desk tall and evocative of a throne.

The walls, papered in a deep Chinese red pinstriped with navy, are densely clustered with art in a dizzying array of styles; most are paintings, but a few cameos hang as well, and a violin enjoys pride of place over the mantle. Shelves behind the desk are similarly crowded with books and odd little knickknacks, the former rarely comprising the sort of orderly matched sets that tend to fill shelves behind desks in offices. To one side of the door stand a coat rack and a sideboard loaded with bottles of exotic libations, while to the opposite side stands a small table bearing several indistinct articles over which has been draped a gossamer shroud. Against one side wall sits an overstuffed couch, and in the opposite wall is set a fireplace, though it has clearly never seen a fire, and the single log that sits in the grate is a piece of elaborate scrimshaw, evocative of flames.

When he closes the door behind Ameila, the sounds of the outside world fall away to a serene hush. The quiet makes the low, melodious tones of his voice more noticeable. "Have a seat."

Many of the things inside of the office are unfamiliar and strange to Amelia. Still, she can tell he's a man of impeccable taste and the intricate beauty and nature of things Schön owns is not lost on her. She steps in and over to the chair in front of the desk without comment. The chair is much softer than she expected and gets a small raise of her eyebrows. Other than that, though, she gives no indication of her take on the room.

When he sits, she gives him a nod and hands back the drawing she paper with the drawing on it that he gave to her before she left for the job. "It's done."

Schön takes the paper as he circles around behind his desk, settling into his seat and opening a drawer. "You have my thanks. Were there any complications?"

"No." The dog she knew about and the tripwire was a minor nuisance that barely slowed her down. It's not worth mentioning, in her mind at least.

"I take it you'll find out soon enough if my work was seen?"

"Indeed, I shall," he purrs. He's quite looking forward to the result. "And you found the work satisfactory?"

"It was a nice stretch of my legs." That's not really an answer and they both know it. Still, she's not going to offer up anything else unless asked.

"I don't suppose you have anything else for me right away?" No time to rest. If she can keep moving, maybe the time until she gets home will come sooner.

"Something simpler, perhaps. I anticipate needing substantial storage space in the near future, a warehouse or the like, and I should like to keep from attaching my name if at all possible. Finding and securing an appropriate venue may not be much of a challenge, but it passes the time, hmm?"

Simple is often boring, but if it fills the time in a place like this, she'll take it. "What exactly are you looking for in this warehouse? Size? Location preferences? Features inside? What would you need stored inside of it?" All important questions.

The simplicity is deceptive; in order to succeed, she'll have to acclimate herself to the strange and varied peoples of the Nexus, and their wide array of ways, which is the first step in larger, worlds-hopping assignments. And he's trusting her with something very important in this task, although he isn't advertising the fact.

"I can't yet be certain, but let us be optimistic and say very large. It will need sturdy shelving, good light, excellent climate control--no dampness, anywhere. If all goes well, it shall be housing the legacy of the Atlataban Empire."

She's a quick study, and if she wants to stay on her feet rather than off them, she'll adapt quickly, too. The ability to hit the ground running is something she prides herself on.

"All of those seem like easy enough needs to cover, but... what is the Atlataban Empire?" Some part of her tells her that asking questions can be dangerous, but she always one with a curious nature. Besides, she's only recently arrived in the Nexus - what harm could there be asking about things she didn't know of or understand?

That question, at least, hasn't done any harm. Her success and his anticipation are making Schön a little generous. "In their world, they were an empire bounded only by oceans, at the very peak of their culture, arts, philosophy, when they quite abruptly crumbled."

While not a history buff, Amelia's done enough reading in her world to know a thing or two about the rise and fall of powers in a world. "Empires don't crumble without reason. So what's the story? And why is it so important to hold onto things from their empire?"

"Their last great priest-king believed that the empire stood at its zenith--and that there was, consequently, nowhere to go but down. So he determined that his tomb would enshrine all that they had become, all their greatest works. He bankrupted his empire to ensure that these things and ideas would be saved... and I will be the third person to set eyes on them in over twelve hundred years. That is a precious opportunity."

"He fucked over his own people because of his own selfish beliefs?!"

The thought escapes her before she can really think it through. After it's out, she takes a breath and nods. She takes one more moment to collect herself before looking back at Schön. "I can see why it's such a precious opportunity to someone who collects rare valuables and oddities." She motions around his office to emphasize her point. "I will see about procuring the largest warehouse with the requirements you specified as soon as possible. However, I'll need to know how much you're willing to spend on the building, as I'm assuming you aren't willing to rent, and then I'll need some kind of advance as a show of good faith to the person I purchase it from."

Amelia may have let that first comment escape from her, but she won't be doing that again any time soon. It's easier for her to maintain control when she's working, because she knows the stakes and has a reason to stay focused. It's when she feels relaxed that such outbursts happen.

Her abrupt remark surprises a remark from the thin man, and he sinks back in his seat to enjoy it. "Such refreshing clarity! He did, yes," he adds, sobering, "drive his people to ruin for the sake of his beliefs."

He nods slightly in answer to her conclusion about his collection--if she takes it as a shallow interest, that of the greedy curator, well and good. She's disinclined to believe in magic, anyway. Better to let her focus on the business at hand than esoteric matters she'd rather avoid. "You assume correctly. Negotiate the best price you are able, and it shall be paid. As for an advance..."

His hand dips several times into the open drawer, each time drawing something out to place on the desk: a sturdy cloth bag that settles with a familiar metallic clink; a smaller pouch of silk that gives a much quieter clatter; a clear case of some kind of glassy material that seems to contain an exceptionally clear portrait of a man with some kind of uniform, a helmet on his head and a club in his hands, a name and emblem blazoned beneath him (possibly several such portraits, stacked together); and a palm-sized cube that glows with a warm, pink light.

"These should serve as a suitable start, whomever you deal with."

The fact that he doesn't get upset with her for that outburst is duly noted. She'll still try to avoid it in the future, but it's good to know it didn't put her on bad terms with him so early in their relationship.

As she looks over the objects he pulls from the drawer, an eyebrow raises in question. The pouches full of coins she understands. The container the portrait (or portraits?) is in is odd, but she can chalk it up to being glass and ask about it later. The cube, however... Her eyes widen a bit in wonder as she takes it in. She slowly reaches out to touch it, but her hand stops a few inches short. "What is it?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, as if she's afraid to disturb the vision in front of her.

He seems to be savoring her moment of wonderment, and answers after a moment, "it's called energon. Some of those tall, metal people use it as food and currency. It is... potential energy, crystallized in great density in a form easily converted to whatever other form is needed." He gestures invitingly, adding, "it's quite safe to touch."

The cube is faintly warm, and hums just a little bit, inaudibly.

She doesn't understand most of what he said, but she files them away for later research. Carefully, she touches her fingertips to the cube. The humming can be felt, rather than heard, and elicits a small gasp. She removes her fingers for a moment, then touches them to the cube again. The process is repeated several times before she carefully draws her hand back, checking her fingertips in spite of the promised safety of the object in front of her.

Her eyes are still wide as she looks up to Schön. "How is something like this possible?"

He shrugs. "I have no head for the science of it, I admit, so the precise details escape me. But this is the Nexus, and all things are possible here."

An honest answer, albeit a useless one. She nods. "So, hold onto it for currency, got it." She stands and slowly gathers everything he pulled out of the drawer. The pouches full of coins get hung from her belt and the other items get stored in some of the bigger pouches she already had on her.

"I expect this will take a little longer. A few days to make sure I find the right space and a few more to get the best price I can. With any luck, I'll have something within a week - whatever that means in a place like this, of course." Despite her unfamiliarity with the flow of time in the Nexus, she seems confident in her estimation on the amount of time the job he's asked of her will take. "I'll return here when it's done. If you need me before then, leave word at the inn. I'll come as soon as I can."

Despite the rudeness of getting up and letting herself out, Amelia does so anyway. She has no need of Schön's platitudes and patronizing words, and even to her untrained eyes it's obvious he's exhausted. Besides, with a job to complete, she has every reason to get moving, to keep busy.

Her lack of rest is likely to cause problems in the future, if she continues to keep up this pace with her jobs.

Unfamiliar Ceiling [For Amelia Ronsam]

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Have a story post.

Quite the post, indeed. (Sorry about the delay.)

(No worries. I wrote the above post over 5 hours during my first home brewing experience.)

(How did it go?)

(Stressful, but hopefully good. I'll find out in a month-ish!)

(Best of luck!)

(Thanks!)

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