The year is 1888 and unbeknownst to all the closing end of what would me remembered in history as the Victorian Era. It is an age where science is fashionable and the truly famous are constantly discovering and creating amazing things. Things like magnetism, Electricity, Steam Power, and clock work mechanics to name but a few. However as is always the case in human history the growing light of science is surrounded by a nearly overwhelming darkness that comes in many forms, forms such as poverty, crime, greed and corruption; many men of the law and proper lords just as dirty as the grime covered streets. London, the crown jewel of the empire, itself is a bastion of both the worst vices and best virtues the men of today have to offer-this combined with the strict social codes of current society made many read with great interest the headline story on every paper citywide. It read "Calling all proper gentlemen of fine stock and higher education! In response to the recent crime problems plaguing the streets of London the Queen has decreed that a special task force be given the proper authority to deal with the growing criminal element. If you believe yourself to be a man of real character and think you have what it takes to stand out among the sure to be many applicants then please inquire in person at the Averymon Estate on the corner of Somerset and Queen Victoria Street upon the 20th of November."

--

“Charles, you do know it would be easier to interview the applicants if we actually were to let them inside, correct?” The bulkier of the two men inside the lavishly decorated study asked while pouring himself a brandy with his only free hand. Like everything else in the room the glass he poured his amber brown liquid into was of the highest quality.

“Yes, yes. Indeed my brother. But don't you see that is exactly the point Francois? Think of this as their first challenge to impress us! No doubt your dear queens personal plan of printing our new venture as the headline story in newspapers citywide has caused every sniveling and pathetic peer of ours to come knocking at our door in some show of trying to be seen, not to mention every real criminal In town now knows of our whereabouts and intentions...” The more slender of the pair trailed off, his heavy french accent sticking out oddly when heard next to his clearly English raised family member. The frantically energetic pace in which he spoke combined with the way his heavy french accent would occasionally enunciate certain words rather dramatically made it somewhat hard to understand him.“...But let's not have that argument again. I should just be grateful you were able to bend her majesties ear towards our continued works.”

Charles raised his wine glass from across the room in the direction of his blonde square jawed brother-as if to non verbally say congratulations. Francois returned the gesture with his own crystal tumbler and took the opportunity to finally speak again. He was clearly used to his brother doing most of the talking; at least when they were one on one like this. “So...Do you think anyone will show up...uhm...”

“Looking like us?” Charles interrupted with a sharp laugh. “By your God we can only hope so, In the name of science Francois you invented a steam cannon for goodness sakes!” His voice was crescendoing as he stood up from his plush seat by the crackling fire place against the west wall, his hand holding the wine was thrust to and fro to punctuate words as he spoke. Impressively he didn't spill a drop. “Not to mention your boost boots! And yet you sit there, encased in your many fabulous creations, and are ashamed to even speak of them! Sometimes I swear we aren't even related.”

“You and half the royal family.”

They both laughed at this, their merriment slowly dying away as they returned to a comfortable silence.

“I say, do give that newfound contraption of yours a crank while we wait for our guests that surely wont arrive. I have to admit you picked a brilliant piece to test it out on; to think that years from now we can still listen to that performance from all those nights ago. Its truly fascinating!”

Setting what was now a mostly empty wine glass atop the long table that took up most of the rooms center Charles excitedly jumped from his seat, his lithe figure slightly bumping the feather filled chair backwards in the process. Francois could tell his brother was genuinely excited by the way he rubbed his hands together in a bit of show while a maddening grin took over his face. “Isn't it just, my brother? The real trick was finding a way to adequately play back the pre recorded music-expounding upon Monsieur Martins prior works I eventually came up with what you see before you!” Charles was halfway through giving the box shaped base of the contraption a few good cranks with the single handled lever protruding from the side. Even from where he was sitting a few good feat away Francois could hear the ticking and toking of the various hidden cogs and springs from within the smoothly varnished box that held a ceramic cone resembling a flower blossom atop it. When Charles had seemingly decided that his homemade contraption had now indeed received the desired number of cranks to properly power itself he let go; immediately a non existent woman's voice with the backings of a full phantom orchestra overtook the up until that point noisy springs and sprockets. Any cultured man could immediately place the familiar rendition of Carmen now belting out across the room with what the common man would not know was a slight static undertone.

Pointing at the only other two pieces of exposed parts Charles raised his voice; clearly he was determined to finish his thoughts on his own invention even if he had to talk over it. Francois knew that when it came his brothers numerous creations he just couldn't help but tell every little detail to any poor fool that would listen-and more often than not Francois was just that poor fool. “Once I get more of these I will have a real collection!” His finger gestured at the 8 inch rather thick spool shaped object that hung vertically against the side of the box directly below the now rather loud cone-slowly it was moving to one side in an ever twisting corkscrew motion as a thin needle sat atop in a fixed position tracing along an almost unseen elegant pattern.

Having reached what he thought was a satisfactory description Charles went on to simply stair at his work, the eyes hidden behind his darkened circular glasses almost glazed over in a trance of sorts as within his minds eye he went about disassembling the impressive machine and finding ways of improving it. He was snapped out of this state of thought by three loud heavy raps against the large white french doors that lead to the main hallway of their rather impressive three floor estate.

“Enter!” Francois immediately responded to the non verbal communication while flipping the visor down that was affixed to his renaissance style helmet-he had designed it as apart of his outfit in an effort to hide his face while protecting his head. Opening the double doors a giant figure crouched in what was a most rather awkward manner to enter, although upon seeing his massive frame it was quickly apparent that this was literally the only way for him clear such a door. Towering over the brothers in both height and weight the goliath of a man was barely contained in a dark black suit that was clearly well taken care of. His orb of a head was topped with a matching black bowler. Between his brownish skin tone and the mane of curly brown hair that hung well past his beardless chin it was rather apparent he was a foreigner of sorts. Making him stand out further from both the highborn and common Londoner alike were the thick black swirling patterns tattooed across the whole of his face. He stood at attention after just entering the door frame, arms folded behind his back as he stared at his long time employers.

“Tacoomba!” Francois exclaimed in both surprise and pleasure, clearly glad to see the man. He flipped the visor back up and exposed his face. “How many times must I tell you not to knock! As far as we are concerned you are and always have been a complete equal in our works and endeavors!”

The small slit of a mouth that was often mistaken for one of Tacoomba's many chins smirked slightly at this. He was quick to respond with his incredibly deep voice and thick unknown accent. “Yes. But of course.” Tacoomba's impressive frame remained completely statuesque as he finished speaking.

“Good, good. Well, do come in. Charles and I were just discussing-”

“Tea?” Tacoomba cut him off.

“Yes, please!” Charles, now sipping at his wine again, quickly entered the conversation.

“What? No! Like I was literally just saying Tacoomba, you are not our butler. How many times must I say it? I feel as though I'm the only sane one in this house!”

“What sane man would pass on a chance to drink Tacoomba's famous tropical tea? You, sir, are the crazy one.” Charles drug the sarcastic accusation out. Like some sort of dime book ninja Tacoomba had soundlessly appeared at his side, uncorked bottle in hand he refilled the wine cup Charles had at the moment been using as a prop to jab dramatically in the direction of Francois.

“Damnit, stop that the both of you! Sometimes I swear you two do this just to drive me mad.” Francois suddenly found himself wishing he wasn't wearing his elaborate steam suit-the helmet itself was especially annoying as it prevented his only free hand from being able to run through his hair as he often did when nervous.

“Three cups of tea it is then.” Tacoomba answered dryly, a mere glimmer of humor visible amidst his sombering presence.

“Ah, atleast you are finally taking tea with us! I suppose that's progress of sorts...” Francois hollered proudly after the now lumbering away Tacoomba.

Before crouching his way back through the door Tacoomba left them with a simple puzzle “The third cup isn't for me.”