The Puppeteer's Praxes (open)

[Wilfred]

OOC: things might go easier if we keep time constant in this thread, and I'll try and make sure time does progress tangibly. I'm just worried about running each person at a different point in time, and losing control of that. Feel free to drop out for a few posts if you want your characters to wait, or perhaps have them follow up other leads. And Solar, the warehouse is only a couple of streets behind Glofir's shop; if Kit has already found the entrance, it should only take a few minutes to get there (and judging by dialogue, the mission brief with Glofir didn't take very long, so it shouldn't be any later than early afternoon). I will try and be clearer on such things as location in the future.

Solar Haven

It appeared that the scraps of paper which cluttered the warehouse floor had been put down gradually, going so far in places as to form reams of mildewed, slightly damp strata. A keen mind might be able to deduce the age of the building from a detailed study of the layers, but that was not what the duo were there for. Although it was fairly dark in the warehouse, a few beams of light made their way through the cracked roof. One fell upon a side bench, up against a wall, on which sat - conveniently - a handheld lantern and accompanying tinderbox. There were also a few tankards, all quite empty.

Most of the paper revealed nothing of apparent use; 'K at III s, null. One hundred', said one, and another, 'Getting cramped. Saw a neighbour, not sure if snake or rabbit.' A third one claimed that 'R doubled - tighten purse instead.' The freshest piece of paper was tacked to a warped wooden beam, and simply said 'R seen buying tavern steel. Bring seamstresses tonight?'

The footprints were another matter. The area appeared to be frequently trafficked, for an abandoned building, with said footprints converging behind the barrels at the foot of a sturdy old trapdoor. Unlike the exposed elements of the warehouse, its wood and iron remained strong, almost as strong as the massive padlock holding it closed. It was clear that the trapdoor was not only meant to remain shut, but would succeed in doing so.

Aurelius

"We-ell," drawled the guardsman, "I reckon there might be a way to get you in for a bit of a chat..."

His bushy brow furrowed as a plan began to stew away behind it. The promise of gold was doing all the work for Aurelius, as plain as day. Unknown to many except the guard - since there was little reason to care - the captain was something of a social climber and narcissist. The elements of an idea slid together for the guardsman, aided by the grease of liquor.

"We had a bloke come 'round a year or two ago, wanting to write a book. 'e said people like to read about murders." The guardsman shrugged, as though the prospect of bloody death was just another part of the routine. "The captain was quite chuffed, what with his name all over the cover and that. What I reckon, is if it worked once, it'll work again. Yeah, say you're here to interview the bastard - Wilcher, that is - for a story about his, uh, heroic arrest, and the, yeah, the rapid response of Serenti's finest."

The guard beamed at his own ingenuity. Then he frowned again. "You know how to write, yeah?"