[Episode] Black Widow

Quest Request:

Ruby was a lady of the night, but this morning she sat and looked down on the slums of Spider Miles from her tenement window. Drawing a long drag of smoke from her cigarette, she hacked out a cloud of smoke and did her part to add to the city’s smog. She’d always felt safest in her home, out on the streets she was like prey in a city full of predators, lately she’d taken to carrying a knife; hell, she’d done more than carry it…

… she’d killed her “employer” about a week ago, but; as she’d learned in the local papers, she wasn’t the only killer on the loose. She could care less about the details of the story, some fellow going after the island’s upper crust; what she did find herself troubled by was the growing ranks of law enforcement patrolling the streets.

She drummed her fingers nervously along the hardwood of her table, as the sound of rushing steam began leaking from her kettle she heard a knock at the door. Nervously she slowly made her way down to answer. Peering out her peephole before opening up, she half expected to see a police officer, but what she saw was a bit more puzzling: a man she’d never seen before; his hair was like a dark messy mop, and he looked a bit disheveled altogether.

The prostitute chained her door before cracking it open and speaking to the man, “Ehm, hello sir. Can I help you?”

“Please, just let me inside. I can explain later,” the man answered back with a sense of urgency in his deep gravelly voice.

Apprehensively, Ruby complied, and with this the man made his way quickly into her living room before taking a seat. Her kettle had come to a boil, and seemed as though it was screaming at the intruder.

“You should probably get that,” the man spoke coldly.

“Right,” quietly, the woman closed her door before walking back to her kitchen and removing the kettle from the stove; she was unnerved at the man’s presence, and hardly made a sound as she began making tea.

Meanwhile, amongst the wreckage of an Aide Station…

“What do you mean there’s been a change in plans?” The one-armed Ensign spoke into his transceiver with a frustrated and confused tone.

[npc=navy]“It's a minor consideration really. You'll still be assessing whether or not you think the city's populace can be salvaged; but you'll be working more closely with our real persons of interest, local industry leaders."[/npc]

"So you're telling me that I have to get my men to drop this entire facade of medical assistance? We have a certain amount of adaptability, but do you not wonder if the people of the island will notice that our clinic dissapeared overnight?"

[npc=navy]"Listen Moreau, I know you you want to try to help these people; but we're here for a reason, I need you to see if our nobles can trust these people as business partners, and in exchange we need you to help deal with a problem."[/npc]

"Fine. Doesn't seem my input matters much anyways, what's the new mission?" Moreau spoke with sharp irritation in his voice, he wasn’t happy to be giving up on the operation that had lost him his arm; but he was in no position to defy the chain of command.

[npc=navy]“The long and short of it is that there’s someone out murdering the local businessmen, we’ve sent another platoon of men to assist, Captain Gallows will now be heading the operation, and once he’s arrived you can report to him and he’ll give you the finer details; they’re en route and should be arriving this evening.”[/npc]

“Fan-fucking-tastic…” Moreau answered with atypical rudeness before hanging up the transceiver of his snail, … what do these jackasses have planned now, the purple-haired dandy thought bitterly to himself. He looked down to where his arm used to be, he could only hope that this mission would go more smoothly.

Post Word Count: 666
Total Word Count: 666

The day of 24th March, 1829
Winds 54
Variable winds with wet weather encountered a storm front at Sundown. Nil Crew lost. Poorly secured rigging resulted in light damage and one injury. Cadet Collins flogged; 4 lashes for shirking duties.




Viari signed the logbook and returned the fountain pen to its well. He closed the book and brushed it along the table, his eyes shifting to the ladder that led to the lower deck. Cadet Collins was presently taking stock of their supplies after the storm.

Collins emerged from the hold, clinging awkwardly to both edges of the ladder. The sharp scent of vinegar and lantern oil clung to him, a reminder of his recent work below deck. He was no typical sailor, having joined the Marines after some undisclosed failures on land. But despite his awkward gait and unusual smell, he was a cheerful lad, well-liked by the crew, even after the most recent incident.

"I have my report, sir," Collins said, wiping sweat from his brow with the cuff of his jacket.

"No leakage below the waterline, but I don't think Captain Spire will be pleased. A keg of his reserve is gone, plus two dozen foodstuffs." His round face was shining with sweat and anxiety; he knew he would be at the lash again, and he doubted Viari would be the one dishing out the punishment. Viari's grim expression betrayed his thoughts, and Collins's neck shrunk back as though he were a turtle retreating into its shell.

Well, that explained the vinegar. The Captain's reserve was Double Barrel, a whiskey distilled and imported from the East Blue.

Viari considered their options before replying. "Take the logbook and report to Captain Spire. Inform him that I took pity on you and gave you leave to rest. I will promptly provide him with a report on the condition of our stocks."

Viari had already expressed his dissatisfaction with the Captain's decision to brave the storm with an inexperienced crew. What had he called it, a baptism by fire? And all that because he was desperate to prove his worth to the Commodore; perhaps this was the Captain's penance?

"Sir?" Collins asked quizzically, his face brightening.

"You heard me," Viari said. "Go, give him the logbook, and get some rest."

Collins hesitated as if he could not believe his luck. Then he turned and hurried away, leaving Viari alone in the cabin.

Viari sighed and shook his head. Captain Spire would not be pleased with the news of the lost supplies, but he had done what he could to spare Collins from further punishment. He would just have to hope that the Captain would see reason.

25th March, 1829 - Morning, Spider Miles

---

The smog obscured the sun and made it feel like dusk, even though it was midday. Viari, in his hybrid form, stood on the central mast of the Rubbeck, his eyes narrowed against the haze. He dressed with extra care in his best uniform, a cobalt jacket growing steadily darker and more soaked in sweat.

His gaze was fixated upon the only things powerful enough to pierce the thick, black fog: the smokestacks of the factories, outlining the vast city of iron and stone, great monolithic towers spreading their spheres of influence across the atmosphere — the symbols of power, industry, and oppression.

The jangle of chains caught his immediate attention, his head snapping to the polluted waters below. His pupils pinned a light in the darkness, "Ship to starboard!" Viari screeched.

The helmsman reacted instantly, and the Rubbeck turned hard to port. His talons dug deep, carving thick grooves into the mast, his tail flicking to help hold his balance. Sailors below were thrown ajar, many catching themselves on railings and cargo. Viari's head swivelled, watching the scrap-laden barge merrily passing them by as sailors exchanged insults and curses.

Lt. Cmdr. Riley, the Rubbeck's first officer, bustled onto the upper deck, his expression grim.

"We can't carry on like this," he said. "Some goons raided the lighthouse, got into a gunfight, and wrecked the place."

"Well, ain't that bloody convenient," Miss Roland, the helmswoman, scoffed. "Whoever they were, I hope they bloody hang."

"I can't comment on the conspiracy, but your right Sir," Viari agreed. "Even my eyesight cannot pierce the smog. However, I do have a proposition."

"I'm happy to hear it, Lieutenant."

"We raid the galley for pots and pans and make an awful racket. It should at least help warn of our approach. That, or we return to the bosun his horn."

“Oh, celestials no,” Riley interjected. “I’d rather scrape barnacles from the keel.”

Riley's lips turned upwards, "He does drive the sirens away, doesn't he? Must be torture for you."

"There is a good reason I threatened to use his pipes as a bludgeon."

"Hmm. Very well, take the cadets to the galley. In the meantime, I'll speak with the Captain about procuring a foghorn."

"Sir."

"And Viari, the Captain, is assigning you to meet with our local garrison. They have been providing relief to the locals and have been roped into the ongoing investigation into the 'black widow'. You should meet with them on arrival."

Viari nodded. He knew this would be a frustrating mission but he was determined to see it through.

Post Word Count: 874
Total Word Count: 874

The man feverishly paces across the room, looking out and scanning the streets diligently before closing the shutters of each of her tenement windows. Nervously, Ruby slides a cup and coaster towards him, speaking her offer timidly like a scared rabbit, “I don’t suppose you’d care for te-”

Immediately, the gruff man snaps and cuts her off, “I think we should be safe here. Didn’t see anyone followin’ me. Oh and-- eh, yeh, thank you…”

With an abrupt and jagged motion, the black-haired man drew the cup to his mouth and inhaled all the brew contained therein with little care for its heat.

“... thank you for the tea.”

“Ehm, you’re welcome? What do you mean we’re not in danger? This is my house, I’d certainly hope that I wouldn’t be in danger here. Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Hmm, you really want to know?” Jack eyed her up and down, as though gauging the woman’s capacity for betrayal; or perhaps, how easily he could force her to be forever silent.

“Uh, you know, maybe it’s best I leave things alone, who am I to refuse good company anyways?” The whore nervously stammered, going pale in the face as she sensed the man’s predatory nature.

“Oh, no please, you’ve been such a fine host, allow me to enlighten you…” the man tapped the edge of his cup, beckoning she pour him more tea.

Ruby was quick to comply.

“... what I been doin’, is going round these upper crust neighborhoods n’ eh, showing some of them a night on the town, courtesy of us folks down in the slums,” Jack wore a chipper smile on his face as he spoke the euphemism, he was a poor liar, barely making effort to conceal what he’d truly done.

The two sat in silence for a moment, Jack smiled and eyed up his host for her response before downing another full cup of tea.

”Sounds like you’ve brought a lot of trouble my way…” Ruby spoke in a grave calm, “... in truth, I can’t say that I needed it. I killed my boss.”

The cocky expression of the man sitting across from her faded and was quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and squinting eyes, “Pardon me ma’am, but ya don’t really seem the type…”

Sitting his chin upon his fist the good-hearted serial killer eyed the whore-turned-murderer, “... but you’re not kidding. Good on ya girl!” The twitchy man slapped his hand on the table alongside his exclamation.

Shushing the man and motioning he lower his tone, Ruby replied in a hushed tone, “I thought you were trying to keep a low profile.”

A wicked smile washed across the man’s face as he glowered at the woman from beneath his brow, “Oh anything but, I assure you dear. But I’ve still got plans, so I s’pose you’re right…” mockingly, the man spoke his next words in an eerie whisper, “... best to keep quiet.”

Ruby scowled, her fright had subsided, and her surprise houseguest had long outstayed his welcome, “So what’s wrong with you, eh? Why don’t you just go join the revolutionary army if you’ve got such a vendetta against the upper crust?”

“Never really worked well with others…” the dark-haired man began rummaging around his jacket pockets, and shortly procured an odd-looking device, tossing it onto the table, “... ‘sides, I got a bit of a bone to pick.”

Ruby eyed the weird-looking thing, seemingly a collar with a small snail perched on its outside, “And what is this exactly?”

“A game!--”

“SHH!” Ruby cut the excitable man off as he began to shout, a moment of silence passed, a footstep creaked from the tenement floor above, after a couple of seconds the woman beckoned that the man go on.

“A punishment game. For the man I sold my life to. A bomb,” as he showed off his work the man looked at the young lady with a blissful smile.

Awaiting Reinforcements at a Nearby Dockside…

With his officer’s coat draped over his severed limb and a pocket watch clutched in his remaining hand Moreau kept his eyes fixated intently on the clock. As the waves lapped at the wood below he wondered what more Spider Miles had in store for him, what more HQ had planned.

I suppose it’s just as well that someone else heads things here, all I’ve done is let innocent men die… he thought back to the men who had been captured by the cooks, to whatever had happened with Julius; almost an entire unit wiped out by a troupe of lowlife thugs, all it took was a simple sleeping poison …whoever comes off that ship, I won't let them die; not like that.

Alongside the scarce survivors from the previous operation, the tall and dark-eyed man sat in waiting. He hoped at least that whoever stepped off that boat would be decent to work with, he’d seen more than enough backstabbing, incompetence, and cowardice in recent history.

Post Word Count: 830
Total Word Count: 1,496