Derren Krenshaw

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

It was quickly becoming a bad time to be a broker.

Oh, things had gone well enough for Hasekura Shoshitsu at first. The constant, inner struggles of nobility within his homeland, coupled with a paradoxical hatred yet need for 'lower' individuals to carry out the dirty work, meant money was always ready to flow into a waiting hand. Hasekura's hands had been out waiting longer than most, the savvy broker securing favor within the Tokyo elite long before the Takahiro clan had shown up.

Ah yes, that clan. Once indistinguishable from every other band of smugglers, gamblers and racketeers, the Takahiro's had somehow managed to elevate themselves into a position that rivaled to dethrone even him! Sure, he had become wealthier than ever since their rise to notoriety, but anyone clever as he could see the future it led to: obsolescence. The Takahiro's expanded their power base with frightening voracity, their influence stretching all the way to America. If they grew larger, who would need a simple broker and his small band of assistants? What use would competition be when the Takahiro's held a monopoly on all shady dealings of the elite? It was all downhill for Hasekura the moment Takahiro Raigo was elevated to Samurai. His only option was to get what he could now, and be ready to bail when the end finally came.

And then, the gods smiled on him.

Shizuka, lovely, devious little Shizuka, a western flower coming to full blossom right before him. She too, had understood the threat of the Takahiro clan. Their growth would bring problems not only to him, but all of Japan, as their ambition grew unchecked. She had a plan, a plan to take them down a peg, to make him the top choice in the eyes of the nobles once more. It required almost nothing on his part, but the gains, the gains were more than he could have ever bargained for. It was the break he had only dreamed would happen.

And then it fell through, burned to ash along with the Takahiro compound and most of that clan. Somehow, Raigo's son had known of his ties. And even bandaged as he had been? Even with the trauma of the fires still visible in the young man's eyes? Propped up on a bed, barely able to move?

Takahiro Souma was, quite honestly, terrifying.

Hasekura had expected to die that night, the mountain of a man Daisuke seeming ready to deliver just that fate. But he had been spared, left alone and untouched, with only two, simple objectives to keep things that way:

Tell no one, not a single soul, where I am. Or that I am alive...

...If you learn anything, anything of American spies or mercenaries, tell me.

He had even offered payment for the second. A generous offer that Hasekura would have been a fool to refuse. So he accepted, eagerly, and returned to his duties. With the Takahiro clan crippled, he could still rise to old heights once more. With luck, he could raise himself above their influence entirely, free himself from the threat of blackmail, or the need to bend to their whims.

And then... and then. Shizuka returned.

Once hailed as a bringer of fortunes, he know saw her for the truth: A living curse visited upon him by some slighted god.

"Shizuka-! Yes, yes, lovely to see you as always..." He tried his best not to shake behind his desk, briefly entertaining the question of how quickly his guards could come to his aid. If he cried out, right now, would they make it in time to save him? All he had to do was try... just to shout...

"The... the Takahiro clan? Well that-... that's rather sensitive right now, understand?" He tried to ignore the sweat beginning to mat the thinning hair upon his head. "Those that are left are... well they're being very quiet. Not easy to find and... well... they're not being very... ah... 'welcoming'... to those from... well, the west."

He shrugged, as if it was out of his hands, hoping beyond hope that he looked more sure than he felt.

"We've had good dealings in the past, Miss Shizuka. But... well, after what happened to the Takahiros... Things are tense in the city, you see? It's not as easy as before, I can't just point at a map and saw 'that's where they are'... well... not for free."

On Winding Roads (Lillian & Derren )

They were leaving, they were gone. Alexi and Katherine were safe.

Thank the Lord...

Alexi sagged on his saddle, a heavy sigh taking the last dregs of adrenaline along with it. Why where things turning out like this? It's not like the job had ever been 'easy' -translating the document had required days of tedious labor, and still wasn't finished- but the trip was supposed to be the simple part. Get to Avantshire in time, with the documents translated, that was the only challenge they were supposed to face.

So why were there thugs in alleys and bandits on the roadways, seemingly hunting for him?

He just wanted to get to Avantshire, to maybe -just maybe- be able to take the journey he had planned for so long. Ambushes, people hired to steal his work, these weren't the local folktales and myths he was looking for. Not even a day into their travels, and already things had gone so very wrong. If he hadn't managed to hold on to some small bit of stubborn pride, he might have broken into tears at the frustrating absurdity of it all...

And Katherine's words, following swiftly on the heals of such welcome praise, nearly made him forget even pride.

"I don't know!" He all but screamed the words into her face, blood draining from his own as he tried to calm himself somewhat. Refused? No, no, why did things only have to get worse?

"I don't know..." His voice fell to near-whisper, head shaking as he tried to force the words from his mouth. "It's just a commission. Royal scribes handle more important ones than this all the time. Of course, they have couriers and caravans and the King's blessing behind them..."

Rambling. He was rambling again. Get to the point quickly, Alexi, he needed to.

"It... it's just supposed to be an escort. Get to Avantshire, complete the commission, done. A better job than I usually get but- nothing like... like this," Swinging his hand about to point at now-empty forest wasn't the best way to make a point, but he wasn't thinking too hard about it. "Was supposed to happen. I got the job because no one could be bothered to translate the documents in the court... Why would people be interested now?"

Asking Katherine wouldn't get him anywhere. But what was he supposed to do? He knew about as much as she did about all this... maybe less. She was a mercenary, after all, ambushes and being paid for jobs were things she knew. Maybe she had an idea? Or... something?

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

Daisuke returned sometime in the dead of night, body smudged with ash and soot. He stepped quietly into the darkened room, lent to him by the loyal manager of the Ponto-chō Geisha district. A wide-brimmed, straw hat was placed carefully by the doorway, joined by wooden sandals and the stained outer robe of his kimono. Dressed in nothing more than his silken under robe, ivory thread dirtied and blackened, he stepped slowly over to the screened off bed nearby.

Souma was awake, arm and leg wrapped in stained bandages, waiting for him.

"Tell me, Daisuke."

"Yes." No hesitation, Daisuke stepped forwards to kneel before the bed, head bowed. "The compound... is gone. Raised to the ground."

...

"Survivors?"

"Takahiro Ai escaped with a small guard. She was unharmed, and said she would come by tomorrow... She is beyond glad you survived."

... Father?"

"Takahiro Raigo... did not survive."

...

... ...

"Goemon? Did you find him?"

"Goemon... did not survive."

Daisuke didn't move in the wake of Souma's silence, the loyal Fist remaining bowed as the night waned on, until concern finally bested patience. He rose his head, discerning gaze piercing the dimness to lay upon his wounded Boss, laying down with arms crossed over his eyes. His shoulders and chest shook in silence, teeth clenched so that no sound might escape, moonlight glimmering to betray the wetness running down from hidden eyes.

"Daisuke..."

He didn't lower his gaze, not now, but merely answered.

"Yes, Boss?"

"We leave for America as soon as I am able..."

"Yes, Boss."

"If they haven't destroyed what we built there... we'll turn it against them..."

"Yes, Boss."

"We're going to find these men, Daisuke."

"Yes... Boss."

"And we will kill them... Every, last, one."

For the first time since he had seen an old comrade shot within the once-safe walls of the Takahiro compound, Daisuke found his lips curling in a wide smile.

"Understood. Boss."

~-~

Ai visited the next day, and spoke privately with Souma for some time. Daisuke didn't listen in, didn't ask what was said. But he saw the look on Takahiro Ai's face as she left, heard Souma say she would remain in Japan with the survivors of the clan. She had her own task, own responsibilities, own life. It was here, in their homeland.

Souma's was elsewhere, always elsewhere.

A message was sent later than day, and the news that returned was welcome indeed. Souma's network in America was untouched, thriving, and now bent wholly to hunting down the ones who had sought to destroy his clan. He would join them before long, a boat paid off to transport him and Daisuke, quietly, to the states. They would leave in just a few weeks.

And then the hunt would begin in earnest.

The Last Kings of Orion

Antoine decided he'd whistle while he walked.

Just a simple tune, four beats repeating over and over and over again. Occasionally he'd slow down for a beat or two, or speed up, adding variety whenever the fancy struck him. It was a good way to occupy his stroll through familiar hallways dotted with unfamiliar people. A way to keep his mind focused on... nothing in particular, really. That was the beauty of whistling, he could just... whistle and think of nothing more than that.

Humming was the troublesome one. That was always when he needed to focus on something else, and the noise around was... distracting.

So Antoine focused on focusing on whistling, and little more. Ms. Albright's offices and more had been in somewhat unfamiliar territory, but he was back on the old walks again now. Left at this fork, straight through that one, don't fall for the poorly-worded signs. There was no need to stop and wonder as he moved along, no need to spare a second thought on direction.

Which made the walk nicer still. It meant he could keep sparing thoughts on whistling.

He paid little attention to those passing by, ensuring he avoided crashing into anyone at the very least. A man roughly his age stood out from the rest, briefly, knocking on one of the office doors. Checkup? Concerns? Possibly both, but it wasn't for Antoine to pry, the cryo-tech settling for a grin and a nod as he continued by. His own destination was just a few doors down the hall, no need to knock... just to type, dexterous fingers reaching out in deft strokes to answer the questions posed by the flickering screen.

Password?

'7-9-3-3-0-9-7'

Password accepted... Please input personal ID.

'3-3-6-4'

...ID accepted. Welcome, Antoine Eadoré... Please select reason for entry.

'Inventory check- Cryobed Medication.'

Request logged... Entry accepted.

"Why thank you." Another wide grin accompanied the words as Antoine opened the now-unlocked door. Password, ID, reason, the life of a cryo-tech at work, it seemed. Everything needed to be logged, documented, recorded and re-recorded. As unavoidable as the human element was in the cryo-process, it remained fallible. Records meant you could always find where a mistake had been made, maybe even catch it before it became a problem. It meant a tech always knew who to approach for what information, that the higher-ups knew what was going on without constant meetings and checkups... and that any serious issues could be tracked down and dealt with.

In theory.

Today, it was simply the last task on Antoine's list. Stand amidst the giant tanks that fed this wing of cryo-beds, t get the programs running that would check up on medication levels for each. Everything should be in order, and the beds own monitors would sound alarm if their stores dropped too low, but routine was everything. A tech's primary job was to ensure things ran smoothly. No alarms, no errors, no reason to demand an increase in manufacturing or otherwise tax the fragile balance of the Copernicus ecosystem. Check, double-check and log the data. If you find a problem, fix it, log it, move on. Can't fix it yourself? Call it in, log it, get it fixed, log it. Now that the shift was awake, about and fully out of the hands of the cryo-techs, checking and logging were the jobs Antoine could look forward to for quite some time.

At least the hours were better, now.

Chuckling at the thought, he scanned over the information as the programs spat it out, chuckling some more to fill the air in the absence of whistling. So far so good, nothing too far out of expected. Everything had been refilled after the second shift, and so should all be near full. The measurements were exact, allowing Antoine to easy compare the actual numbers to predicted levels, and spot out the differences...

...Like that one.

"Minor variation, less than half-a-percent. Not recorded during the last checkup..." A few more taps on the monitor dominating his view singled out the drug in question. A 'reanimator' medication, central-nervous-system-stimulant. Worked with a few others to help ensure a sleeper's body functions increased during the waking process, rather than the other way. The program hadn't found the loss in his previous checkup, just before the sleepers were set to awake... which meant...

Chuckling some more -myth or not, mirth proved a wonderful medicine for the mind- Antoine made his way over to the tank that held the drug in question. Most was set back through the wall of the room, only part of it's edge jutting out with all the rest, a ladder leading up to an access panel above. It was that ladder than Antoine crouched beside, going to all fours to peer closely at a spot where it had been welded to the tank.

Aha.

Perhaps the solder job had been rushed, or it was simply past time to be re-worked, but a small trickle of liquid stood out to his keen eyes. Likely it had been there for a while, growing only recently to actually cause a measurable decrease in the tank's level. It would have to be logged and reported, repairs made and the predictions re-evaluated to account for the minor loss.

Nothing horrible, nothing damning, just a small problem with an easy fix. Antoine nodded calmly to himself and stood, retrieving the small bottle that had been placed there before. A little liquid sloshed about inside, hidden quickly as he capped and stashed it in his bag, turning back to the flickering monitor.

Finish the program, log the findings, send an alert about the leak. With that, his job for today was done, and he could actually head to his room for a nap.

On Winding Roads (Lillian & Derren )

"Tale? Ah... I would say you're the authority there... but..."

What 'tale' could he possibly consider for Martin to tell his former employer? Alexi was still trying to cope with the crowd of armed men around him and Katherine. He had only just gotten them out of a deadly situation... how was he supposed to answer?

A story- a lie? Not that he was a stranger to smudging the truth, but he avoided it nowadays where he could. Lying to the church would only lead to him being condemned a sinner, while lying to an employer tended to backfire in the long term.

But then... Martin and these men weren't planning to work for this employer, where they?

Alexi put some thought into it, wondering if there maybe was something he could say. Church guards? An escort to intimidate Martin and his men? That could be checked, though... a display of the Lord's power? A blessed journey? Dramatic... too dramatic? Maybe? Fabricating stories wasn't his specialty, recording and translating where. So what could he say? Fled? Outran Martin and his men? Led a merry chase through the woods, all the way too... too...

Oh. That could work.

"A chase, a hunt, perhaps?" He met Martin's eye once more, gaze flicking only occasionally to Katherine nearby. Ready as ever to fight, it seemed. Did anything faze her? "Pursuing us through the woods, ahead and through the lesser-used trails, until Katherine and I were lost? Headed... west, towards where the forest falls to meet the swamplands?"

The swamplands themselves weren't too close yet- they'd likely approach later tomorrow- but it did draw close to the main road. A desperate pair might try to flee that direction, hoping to lose their pursuers amidst the sprawling tree-roots and softening earth. At least in the swamp, there'd be a 'chance' of survival. Find a trail, follow a deerpath, avoid any of the traps or deadlier denizens and you could make it out... somewhere.

Maybe not the best tale to bring back, but it could work?

Alexi tried very, very hard not to shrug as he spoke.

Masques and Daggers (Derren Krenshaw & Igraine)

Daisuke's eyes never strayed from the Russian man as he moved.

He never moved, himself, never flinched where he knelt at Souma's side. He never stopped pressing gently upon his Boss's roughly-bandaged arm, never gave that wound a chance to let more precious blood flow without a fight. He never let go of his pistol, held low in his other hand, barrel to the ground but ready to lift. There was much he didn't do, that he never did, for the entirety of this man's presence within the clearing.

But he did watch. He was ready. Anything this man tried to do, no matter the muttered protests of Souma beside him, Daisuke would be prepared for it. That's what he was: prepared, at the ready, clenched tight and set to be thrown.

And unmoving, unspeaking, ready, he waited. While the man tended to Demidova where she bled, while they spoke quietly together in a tongue he couldn't begin to know. Soon, it became clear that this man wasn't going to threaten Souma in the least, far too concerned with his own. Comforting, but Daisuke didn't relax his vigil.

His did, however, tune out the words spoken between the man and Demidova, ignored the subtle glances and gestures they made. He couldn't understand the words, but it was clearly a private conversation. There was no need to listen, no need to try and understand. He would still watch, make sure nothing changed in their demeanor, but nothing in their words nor quiet movements were considered in his eyes.

Neither would likely notice the difference, being a subtle one clear only to the Fist himself. That didn't matter. He knew the difference. That made it important.

"Good." He spoke, finally, after the man had rose with Demidova in his arms. Now, Daisuke moved, slipping his revolver away and turning to Souma in earnest. Now, he busied himself in rewrapping the simple bandage about his Boss' arm, stripping the obi from his own waist for good measure. Now he worked to bind his Boss' ankle, and raise him carefully to stand, weight fully supported by the Fist's own form.

"We are too." He didn't look back to where the man and Demidova had been, didn't bother to check if they were still there. He had his own work to do, a quiet exit he could reach from here. When Souma was safe, he might re-enter the compound, search for others, help the clan if need be. But smoke was drifting lightly in the breeze, now, the dim cries of battle and cracks of gunfire replaced by something that sounded faintly like... crackling wood.

"...Let's not meet again."

Daisuke whispered the words to an empty garden, as he and the wounded heir of the Takahiro clan fled their dying castle.

On Winding Roads (Lillian & Derren )

Yeah that works out perfectly : ) I was planning that Alexi would come from a once-powerful family in Einfeld, so his is name definitely something people might recognize.

The Last Kings of Orion

Lillian Thorne said
Very much this. But ahh well, just got back from class all heady with the learning. Have I mentioned lately how much I freaking love being in school?

That mentality probably would have been useful for me to have, but oh well XD

On Winding Roads (Lillian & Derren )

"Reall- Ah... Certainly. Ju- Just a moment now..." Alexi struggled to keep himself composed, relief flooding in to mingle with terror in the oddest sensation he had ever experienced. It wasn't often he had to try and talk himself out of a situation where he was likely to be killed... or... at all, really. This had been the first time, hadn't it?

Something almost like a chuckle tried to escape his lips, the Scribe choking it down at the last moment. No, no, he needed to focus. Trembling hands reached back into the packs he carried, rummaging by memory to track down the tools he needed. Parchment, quill, ink, his tablet would work as a table for this. One by one he drew them out, keeping his eyes on his work, finding himself calm somewhat at the thought of writing. So long as he didn't dwell on those around, on what might happen... As long as he didn't, it should be fine.

To the esteemed Lord Stanhope...

The first line came so easily, so naturally. The proper terms, how to phrase, the quiet ways to flatter, he knew clearly what he had to write. It was a letter he had written many a time for others, had once imagined receiving many himself. This, this was easy, this was something he could do.

To the esteemed Lord Stanhope,

I write this to you in the hopes it might put some of your recent troubles to rest, as your family has done for many of mine over these years.

While your troubles in finding a troupe of entertainers remains a closely guarded secret, the upcoming festivities must only be making it harder to conceal. Good musicians are hard to come by, and harder still to keep in one's service, but I do believe I have found you a solution.

The gentleman in possession of this letter leads a troupe of actors, musicians and entertainers whose skills far outstrip their modest reputation. I myself have personally witnessed their skill in music and performance, and must admit to being impressed by the quality they deliver. Though not bearing the well-known names your celebrations deserve, their skills are sure to impress both your own refined tastes, and that of your guests.

The Stanhope name has done much for me over the years, and it is in return for that great fortune that I recommend this man and his troupe to you. Granting these entertainers the chance to liven up your upcoming celebrations would be the greatest of favors, which I will most certainly return. I assure you, my good Lord Stanhope, this man and his own will do everything but disappoint.

Regards,
Alexander Louis Dumont ex-Einfeld

Alexi completed the letter with a flourish and sigh, eyes closing as he considered what he was doing. Stanhope would certainly give Martin and his troupe the opportunity to prove themselves... and be eagerly awaiting Alexi's return to the city. He probably wouldn't be allowed to stay at the church, now that he had all-but thrown himself into the rising noble's grasp. But that was what happened when you re-entered politics, he would have to accept the turn his life would take... and Stanhope would have to accept that he would be travelling for quite some time, yet.

Inexperienced as he was, Alexi would not let even the Stanhope family walk over him without a struggle. Perhaps that was his family blood getting the better of him at last.

"The letter is done..." Carefully turning the parchment over, Alexi drew a small, hardwood stamp from his packs. It bore a carved, ivory cap that he carefully dipped in ink, letting the excess drip back into the well for a moment before pressing it firmly on the back of the letter. The scribe held it for a moment more, then replaced the stamp in his backs, retrieving his quill to sign his name once more, beneath the crest still glistening with drying ink. "...And that will let the Lord's men know it's genuine."

Another sigh, and he held out the letter for Martin to take, finally lifting his gaze to meet the man's own.

"It will need another few minutes to dry completely, don't fold it before then." Just like business, he found himself able to speak calmly. The world around seemed to blur out, only the two of them left. Scribe and patron... it only needed a table and walls to be another normal scene from his work.

"Feel free to read it over. If it is acceptable, we can then continue on?" If only there weren't armed men surrounding him and Katherine, out in the forest, he might have been able to smile.

The Last Kings of Orion

"No worries at all, Ms. Albright, until then!"

She seemed quite occupied with the poor dead bird already, so Antoine didn't wait to see if she had heard him. He'd be back later, definitely, and knew full well the importance of focusing on work.

Especially when they were all picking up after the second shift.

But that was hardly something to dwell on. Today so far had been a good day, enough to put a little spring in the cryo-tech's step as he meandered his way down the sterile halls. Work had gone well, the last full shift he'd have to do for a while. It was all checkups and repair work from here until the shift-end, barely work at all, really. The shift meeting had gone fairly well also, news notwithstanding. Nothing he hadn't been expecting to hear, there, and he had even gotten to meet Ms. Albright with the bouncing curly hair. A very good day indeed, Antoine dropping one hand into his pouch -small workbag, really- to jingle it's contents in celebra...

He stopped as the hallway bent gently to the right, ever-present smile fading to a concentrating frown. He looked down at the bag, jingling it's contents one more time to sent shivers up the leather strap across his shoulder. Odd. Surely he had more than... He did, there was more than a week left. He had to have more, so where had he...

Features falling, Antoine turned back, pacing slowly back down the hallways to a previous juncture. His room, probably. There had never been a reason to carry all his medicine with him at all times, that was just asking to lose something. His room, then, a good chance for a quick nap in celebration of an overall-decent day. Though... before that... perhaps a stop by medical? He should probably check in at least, make sure something hadn't gone wrong with the beds in the short time he had been gone.

"Yeah... that works..." Mumbling quietly, Antoine rummaged through his bag one more time, before finally leaving it alone. His hand rose up to cup contemplative lips for a moment as he walked, jaw working to idly crunch the pill dropped within.

Only moments after swallowing it down, his smile returned, pace picking up as he turned confidently down hallways. Medical wasn't far away, nearby the cryo-beds of this section, actually. Efficient design when you needed to check up on everyone at the start and end of every shift. Not to mention useful for the techs who were in charge of the beds and their functions, but were technically medical personnel. The section of the ship he knew the best, the most wonderful luck ensuring his bunk was just on the other side of Medical from where he was now.

A quick check-in, a quick chat with some of the techs he knew and doctors he needed to meet, and then off to a nap.

The thought made Antoine chuckle, almost skipping down the hallways in amusement. He was thinking like a cat!

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Mowzer was getting annoyed.

Not by the loud humans who continued to speak and move about. No, only the mean one was annoying, but he had the sense not to try anything more. The nice lady who served to defend him wasn't annoying, either. Certainly not, but he was restless all the same.

Why was that?

His Human had annoyed him, certainly, but that was just something his human did. All would be fine when he found his human again, as it always was. The lovely human his had met certainly hadn't been annoying, so what was it? Why couldn't he settle down enough to nap, no matter how much he knew that's what he wanted?

...

Or was it?

A sudden thought struck Mowzer, the Bengal sitting up once more beneath the chair that was his shelter. He had thought a nap was needed, a peaceful nap in his favorite bed... but he wasn't in his favorite bed, was he? No, not even on the lap of a nice human. The mean human was at fault there... but now that he thought about it, he didn't want to nap at all, did he? No, no a nap wasn't what he wanted... He wanted to run.

Mind made up, Mowzer wasted no time. A moment's preparation to fall into the proper stance, a quick flick of his tail, and he was off. Dashing from under the chair, snaking around furniture and legs alike as they moved into his way, he made his mad sprint.

Oh, and what a sprint it was! Immediately he realized this was what he had wanted all along. The turn as he left the small room was sharp, claws spending a moment scrabbling for purchase. But he was off as soon as they found it again, streaking out of the hangar and down the halls.

Nap would come later, when he found himself in a good, quiet place. For now, though, he had an outlet for all the strange annoyance that had been building up. And so the Bengal dashed about through the hallways, changing direction as it suited him, with only the briefest glance at any humans in his way.

No time to bother with them right now. Right now was the time to run.