01 - The Three Trinkets of Theotricus

[Merc]

The night was young, the sun having set but a short time past. Droplets of rain began coating the city's structure.

Slowly, people began to vanish from the usually busy streets, newspapers being placed above their heads, umbrellas being brought out, and jackets being more tightly held to ward off the coming rain.

In the distance, the tower's clock hand reaches its apex, and inside, gears begin to turn as the massive bell begins to move, ringing seven times, before silencing once more.

The fog thickens until all that can really be seen are dark shadows of the few people still abound and the fuzzy golden light from the street lamps here and there and some of the establishments still open.

One such establishment, Le Affaire Privée, a small cozy basement bar. The door to the inside opens, as one customer enters, shaking his jacket lightly, sending water drops flying as the door closes behind him, making a small bell chime.

"There is a coat rack on the left side," the bartender comments as he looks up at the bell chime, a friendly smile on his face.

The man grunts as he takes off his jacket, and shakes it lightly again, before hanging it. "Not a lot of customers tonight?" he asks with a small smile as he peruses around the room. Except for himself, only a depressed looking young woman sits by the bar, a gruff-looking elderly man reading a damp newspaper in one of the occupied booths, and three others in the only other occupied booth, the one coincidently furthest away.

"It would seem like the coming rain drove most of them home, instead of here," the unbothered bartender replies.

"Dunno why, drove me here after all," the customer jokes as he takes a seat next to the woman. "Evening ma'am."

The woman merely looks at him sadly, before sighing and stirring her drink, making the man frown. "Geez, your other customers not a talkative bunch? You even have those three in the back just hiding away."

The bartender simply smiles again and politely answers, "My job is merely to offer them a haven where they can soothe their spirit with a drink and perhaps some conversation if that is their wish. Don't worry, I'm sure those three are not up to any nefarious business your imagination might think of."

The man laughs and requests a drink, as he tries to strike up a conversation with the woman, the bartender smiling as he continues his job, the old man continues to read his paper, and the three in the back speak of their non-nefarious business.

Of course, simply because the business itself is not nefarious, the subject of which they speak could very well intrude on such matters. The three gentlemen, in fact, are members of the Century Club, a strange but elite circle, whose members are well known throughout the world in some form of fashion.

Their discussion this night, appears to cover the strange trinkets and notes they have received recently at their most secret of sanctums, a cause of concern for men such as these. The trinkets themselves seem to be made of some blue stone, resembling unworked jade, or perhaps ivory, although it doesn't quite appear to be any common material that the three can think of. The material is astonishingly cool to the touch, as if ice, and seems to have something like an electric sensation or aura about it.

Their shapes are also interesting, as one appears carved into the shape of a resting warrior, his blade sheathed and resting on his lap. Another appears to be a bird of prey of some fashion, if one can assume from its general shape, it's wings streched wide and its feet bound by rope or perhaps a snake or some such. The last, perhaps the most intriguing, for it does not resemble anything that they can put their finger on, simply a tangled mess of shapes, and a stylized eye at the center.

Perhaps, more interesting however, is the fact that all three, while well known to each other, had no knowledge of the other's plan on making an appearance with a trinket of their own.

Only the short messages they each received with their mysterious tokens, requesting their presence at that establishment upon the clock striking seven times, is serving as their guide for now. If there is someone to follow in the steps of the messages, unfortunately... it would appear that such a person must be late.

***

OOC: Alright, as I forgot to request this in your sheets, 'introduce' yourselves to each other in conversation, just to get a feel for each other's writing style, as well as describing yourself (primary reason for giving you a bit of time to post). For reference, the warrior trinket is Ben's, the bird is Future's and the eye is Zalgo's.

[Ablogqwer]

The stout Dr. Zalgo turns the object over and over again with his thin fingers, his thick unibrow furrowed in thought before he finally ventures "Y'know this looks alot like mah grandmother." He quickly adds "On mah father's side o'course."

He clears his throat and starts in on his own explanation "Found et jest lyin' 'round in th' display case fer "Another View of Pluto," righ' in th' Turnar Giek Hall. Ya remember that area?" a glance is given to Strange "Anyway, damndest place. No signs of how it got there, neither." He grins. "Shure is interestin' material, what with that note..."

He tugs on his blue suspender straps, snapping them back against his red flannel "We got a mystery on our hands! Now, where thu heck is th' person we was supposed to meet?" He scratches his balding head, disturbing flaxen hair usually hidden by a brown fedora.

"Did they get caught in the rain? And are either of yew familiar with this kinduv thing?" Veiny black eyes peer at his fellows while he continues rolling the trinket in his fingers.