[sub][@banjoanjo][@Yankee][@Click This][@Medili][/sub]
But for all of Ryuuko’s hopes, perhaps it was simply fate that Nazca, who took the lead in finding a restaurant to dine in, lead them into an ostensibly Oriental facility. Perhaps the chimeric Egoist’s claim to fame hadn’t reached the aristocrats of the Royal Society after all, or perhaps this was a direct attack on her after all. Regardless, between the cold and aloof Jeanne, the now-just-slightly-displeased Ryuuko, the inscrutable Lady Whitehall, the disappeared Franz (another good call from Vienna’s Universal Genius, dodging this incendiary setup), and the airheaded Inti, the burden of getting a table and ordering from the group ended up hoisted upon Bang’s shoulders.

Which was tragic too, because the traditional restaurant that was [i]Katsubochi[/i] naturally did not have any menu that looked to be suited for brunch.

In a brightly lit part of the restaurant on the second floor, the group of five convened on a raised platform, sitting on cushions beside a low-lying pillow. The tatami mats were comfortable but firm, while the sight outside of the sliding windows offered a good view of the Clocktower and the sliver of ocean water beyond it. Before each of them laid a tray of the usual suspects of a Japanese breakfast: miso soup, natto on rice, grilled mackerel, seaweed salad, and tamagoyaki. Chopsticks were provided, as well as sets of silverware.

Jeanne stared at what was laid before her, nose curling at the stench of fermented soybeans. She took a sip of the soup with a spoon, picked at the seaweed, then settled for eating the mackerel in a few efficient bites. Undoubtedly, this was the behavior of someone wholly unimpressed by the choice, but if Whitehall deigned to play as warden, then so be it.

[b]“I will begin.”[/b]

She set down her silverware, leaning against the opening of the window. A balmy breeze brushed against her hair, her eyes gazing outwards briefly before turning to her guards.

[b]“There are two individuals worth speaking of here. If the course of events are truly vexing, then it will be three.”[/b]

Click-clack. Jeanne placed the spoon away from the others. [b]“The first. When curfew began and the fog rolled in, I sought to return, but heard footsteps behind me, approaching before then overtaking. The superhuman leaps of an Egoist, upon retrospection. I pursued.”[/b]

Click-clack. The knife was placed with the spoon. [b]“As I pursued, I reached an intersection in the roads. Six bullets from a steampistol were fired in my direction. They missed, but [i]someone[/i] had shot them. I ignored the gunman. My own chase led me to the Inner Circle.”[/b]

Click-clack. The fork was joined the others, a trinity of silverware now on the left side of the tray. [b]“I saw my quarry enter the library from the ceiling. I entered as well. We exchanged words, briefly, but words soon proved meaningless. The library burned well, and it was only when I left did they attack.”[/b]

Jeanne pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing the pinprick in her otherwise pale flesh.

[b]“A stinger, attached to a whip-like tail. Wings like a bat, with extremities covered in coarse, black fur. A head like a double-sided battleaxe. To put it simply, an Egoist with the appearance of a devil. They held a camera in their hands and called themselves an…”[/b]

Her lips flattened once more, so close yet so far from a smile.

[b]“…Opportunist.”[/b]
[sub][@Izurich][@Kumbaris][/sub]
While Bunga herself may not have been all that enthused about it, her newfound companion certainly possessed enough tenacity and drive to keep at it. On and on they walked, the Egoist’s ears pricking at every morsel of information she could snag while Lucretia was quickly gaining a new reputation for herself as she bounced from one bystander to another, asking them questions without preamble before abruptly leaving when their answers weren’t progressing in a satisfactory manner. Still, despite being an island city, Bermuda was understandably a small place.

[b]“Huh, heard he was at the library.”
“Wasn’t he negotiating for an atelier?”
“Sukoro? Down by the docks, for sure.”
“Yeah, in one of those Abya Yalan restaurants.”
“…at the beach, maybe? The western one.”[/b]

Disparate locations and no vehicular access meant that Lucretia’s legs were shot long before they were done. Was it a disinformation campaign that had them chasing false leads? Were they just unlucky to have missed that Japanese Technologist so many times in a row? Or were they falling victim to non-Oriental people simply being unable to tell the Orientals apart? Still, there were more places to check, and if physical exhaustion alone was enough to curtail the Iron Princess, she would be both shaming herself and her house.

A final tip drew the unlikely pair to a bubble-domed greenhouse, from which large and exotic plants blossomed perpetually. Birds flitted around inside, while the sweet aroma of flower and fruit mixed together. Compared to the organized, if eclectic design of Bermuda’s cityscape, the Elyisum Conservatory portrayed a more natural, chaotic tranquility. Here, the smell of damp earth seeped into the nose. Here, the weight of humid air pressed into the lungs. Here, one could rest, enclosed away from society.

In a pocket of the jungle-like biome, a young man of Japanese descent sat before a canvas, sketching out the vegetation before him with his pencil gripped tightly in his fist. His hair, like the rest of his countrymen, was long and silky but tied back into a neat bun that showed the shapeliness of his skull, while his clothing were loose robes covered by an old apron. Sweat ran down the side of his temple, but his focus remained unperturbed, a serene expression on his features as he drew a cross-section of a rafflesia.

The smell of rot undercut the pleasant air of the conservatory.

[i]This[/i] was Sukoro Jinga, the Godhand.
[sub][@Zombehs][/sub]
While deep waters were tranquil, the chaos of his environment jumbled up his ability to perceive his own echoes. It would take Shou some more time, perhaps some extra adaptations, before his clicks and whirrs could paint as clear of an image of his surroundings as his eyes did…and even then, sound could not capture such fascinating text as what was before him on the pages of the Bermuda Triangle.

Other than Jeanne’s rampage and the possibility of immediate expulsion, there was also the news of the Ottoman Empire’s collapse into civil war, with all the nations around it now sharpening their knives in anticipation for carving up the empire’s carcass. Polymaths hailing from that part of the world are more than welcome to take a leave of absence to travel back to their country for political or familial reasons, and some have already done so. It appeared, then, that while students were [i]invited[/i] to Bermuda, there was nothing that actually prevented them from leaving or re-entering either. So long as they could prove their identity, they could return.

Something worth remembering if Shou ever had to report in-person to the mainland.

Outside of those two major events, however, there was news about Sukoro Jinga’s involvement in Bermuda’s curfew system, and a private party had announced a competition to see who could crack it the fastest. Any prospective contestants were to send in their name and suite phone number to the Bermuda Triangle, and the competition itself would be occurring next week. Irrelevant news, of course, to an Egoist blind to the world beyond their eyes. Fraternities, sororities, and all sorts of clubs were formulating as well, the month-long trip on the Queen Titania and the grand social function on the first night in Bermuda doing much to inspire collaboration between peers. The Golden Dawn, Sigma Alpha Beta, Sixth Sea Sailors, and so many more populated the pages of the newspaper. Apparently, in absence of any actual news this early on, the Bermuda Triangle served as a portable advertisement board.

…and of course there were ads already asking for nude models.
[sub][@Jumbus][/sub]
With a cute little clockwork sparrow stuffed into his pocket, Franz beat a hasty retreat before he could get caught in any unfortunate crossfire between the people who liked Jeanne and the people who clearly didn’t, setting his sights instead towards any sort of administrative building within the Inner Circle. Maximilien, after all, had been appointed by the administration, so it goes without saying that there had to be a building to represent them [i]somewhere[/i].

It wasn’t hard to find in the end, even if it wasn’t within the Inner Circle.

Dour but expansive, the multi-storied City Administrative Center sat west of the Inner Circle, an unattractive, Brutalist building that looked like a collection of massive concrete blocks fused together without heed for symmetry at all. Mirror-like windows formed orderly lines on every floor of the building, while down at the front entrance, there was an orderly line of students as well, some chatting while others waited patiently. Club proposals and room changes looked to be the most common reason for students to be there.

It would be a bit of a wait, if Franz was willing to wait. If he had designs of skipping the queue, that too was possible. Regardless, the Universal Genius would find himself standing in front of a mahogany counter, where a ditzy-looking 30-something with Occidental features sat. [b]“Good morning~”[/b] she beamed, her Latin tinged with a Swedish accent, [b]“How may I be of help today, Mr. Steiner?”[/b]
[sub][@SgtEasy][/sub]
By the time Kalil reached the Inner Circle, whatever hubbub surrounding Jeanne’s examination had died off, leaving only the cooling ashes of the Central Monument Library to kick around in. City workers were at the scene by now, the area cordoned off with metal fences while brass machinery and steam engines puttered away quietly. The progress was swift, owing perhaps due to how little actually remained to be moved. The Fire Witch’s work was certainly impressive, but the library itself must have been highly familiar too. All wood, paper, and carpeting. Fuel for blue flame.

There were others, of course, that remained standing. The flames had burned bright enough that they had not spread, and outside of some soot marks, even the adjacent buildings were untouched. The damage done was, in some ways irreversible, but in other ways wholly replaceable. The world of knowledge, at least, was still his oyster.

Now, where would he like to visit?
[sub][@SilverPaw][/sub]
Before any Formulization could be done, however, Kiran heard the tell-tale rasp of a bolt sliding away, and felt the door push against him. Soon, it creaked open, and an Abya Yalan man in his late 50s, dressed in a smart but rugged suit with native patterns adorning his loosened tie, poked his head out. His dark hair was braided into a ponytail that exposed the deep wrinkles in his forehead, and his expressive eyes warmed upon seeing the one who had knocked.

[b]“Ah, a young one. What’s the occasion here?”[/b]

Past him, Kiran could see a brightly lit, but sparse, room. A wicker basket with dried fruits, bread, and a canteen shared space on a small metal table with a flat wooden board, where dozens of lines crisscrossed each other. Black and white stones were placed upon where lines intersected, but the logic of it didn’t form any patterns he could glimpse at a glance.

There were no further doors to see from this angle, however. Just this little room and this old, alone man.