A Day in Demohedron

[rassafraggin]

"Seems like some good stuff to nab for the Banshee." Clive wags a finger at the notion of local topics and nods, "Wouldn't mind a decent history book..." His voice trails off as he wanders on down a different aisle. "Oh, hey now." The voice of the sailor shows he is still just partway down his aisle and has made a discovery. Eventually, he makes it around the end, ready to cross over to the next aisle over with a few books forming a stack under one arm.

"History of where?..." Sidonie calls back to Clive, sounding half distracted. The sound of books being picked up and set down again can be heard from the A-C row. "Hey now what?" she says back goodnaturedly, as she moves to the next row, C-D. "Find anything good?"

"Here. Haven't ever actually read up on the place..." Now between aisles, Clive holds up one book titled, "A Complete History of the Glorious Revolution!!!" This book sports a sticker warning about various ill effects one might experience if they choose to partake in the scratch-and-sniff illustrations. Beneath it is revealed another tome titled, "From Take-Off To Landing: A Complete Guide to Successful Flight!" He holds up the stack so that she can get a look and he shrugs just before wandering on into another aisle to continue the pillaging. "They're a bit trigger happy with the exclamation mark around these parts. What kinda people do that?" Only the greatest! Surely!

"Exclamation marks are rather gauche, really," Sidonie says as she inspects both books, very much fitting the part of the Begman woman with the feather in her hat. The book about flight she picks up to peruse, discarding the copy she had in her hand of "A Technical History of Electric Musical Instruments" with what looks like an electrified lute on the cover. The new book, much more interesting to her, she flips through as she walks behind Clive to the next aisle. "Haven't found anything with quite the same mechanics as the Banshee, that strange drive and the neural link navigation..." Her eyes flick back up to inspect a row of books. "Fantastical and Monstrous Creatures of the Deep..." she reads aloud. The book has a huge seal and what looks like a siren on the cover, both with horns and gigantic fangs. She holds it out to Clive for him to inspect.

"I'll keep my eyes peeled." Clive's steps halt immediately as he hears a rather catchy title. Without missing a beat, he throws the gears in reverse and begins stepping back over toward Sidonie to get a look at this new treasure she had uncovered. How had he missed that one?! After a few steps he turns around and pulls in next to Sidonie. There is some juggling to slide the books he has under one arm and then he is finally able to lay hands on it. "*Nice* find, Doc." The cover alone gets a healthy examination and a soft puff of air through his nose in a snort before he flips it open to hunt immediately for the chapter list. "This one has definitely got to come with us."

Merrisol has made it over by this point, hitching a dimensional rainbow ride via Ruby's trump. Standing in the commercial lane of the three-gear burg on the outskirts, he trains his gaze westward, taking in the chunky skyline of the capital city through a haze of industrial fog. Ah, Metropolis of Marvelous Machinery. He... /almost/... remembers you well! Tugging a square of pale cardboard from his cloak pocket, he checks the faded address press-stenciled upon it. He tucks it away again, and goes to peer in through the bookstore window.

Sidonie can be seen from the store window carrying a short stack of books to the bookseller's desk, flashing the elderly woman there a smile, then retreating back into the shadow of the stacks of books, as if she forgot to get something back there.

A moment later, Clive steps out of the aisle with a few books stacked up in his hands. He makes his way to the bookseller, greets her with a solitary waggle of his eyebrows, then proceeds to pay. There is some discussion there, a cloth bag is produced to carry the goods, and then he moves over to the door to wait for Sidonie. Taking up a position there, he peers outside the window and spies Merrisol there. A hand reaches up and lets a loose salute fire off.

Sidonie reemerges from the stacks with the book she had forgotten, makes her purchase, then steps up to the door. She follows Clive's gaze out the window and, smiling, gives Merrisol a wave.

Ruby comes to lurk at the window with Merrisol, hovering over his shoulder to peer into a dreaded place of pulp products and the people trapped behind glass. "Not enough air in them places. Dead trees steal it back and slide it between pages, Truth. I 'ope they took large breath first."

Wynter steps about Ruby's side.. from where she sprang is difficult to tell. Perhaps hiding within Ruby's shadow? Her pale face smiling at Ruby's statement. "Library's and bookstores are wonderful places, Ruby. In them are bits of knowlegde lost to the livign set down by the living and the dead both to be passed on to others. Like coins waiting to be picked up from the sandy beach."

Once Sidonie has finished paying, Clive takes hold of the door and swings it on open. A hand sweeps outward to invite her to go first. Sticking his foot in front of the base of the door to hold it in place, he lets it go and opens up his bag for the Chantris Lady to deposit her purchases in with his own. "I'm sure your hands are full with that fancy umbrella, right?"

Merrisol leans down a bit to get his line of sight through a less clouded part of the glass, and watches the patrons puttering about the many rows and stacks.. the ceilings outfitted with joystick-operated McReachersons on rails, for those too-high top shelves. He gives his comrades a squinty sort of smirk when he spots them, then shuffles back a pace, intending to just bide his time on the dusty walkway. But wait, Ruby hems him in with her book-fearing vulture act! "Everything that can be in print, goes to print," he taunts her lightly, side-eyeing her profile. Catching sight of Wynter, he smiles, then nods to her remarks. "The Ministry of Information holds the reins of the Public Pressworks, as I understand, but the underground printers still manage to churn out a great range of special interest pieces. And then there are the imports..." He trails off as he sees Sidonie and Clive making their way out, then his focus sharpens on a handbill taped to the inside of the shop window, but since covered over by bygone scraps of his or that poster on the outside. He tilts his head and peers at what can be seen.

"I sure do," Sidonie agrees, grinning, as she places the books in his bag and with a practiced motion, opens the parasol in her hand and holds it up, careful not to bonk Clive on the head with it. She steps the rest of the way down and beams a smile at the others. "We made some interesting finds! It won't be long before I've got a decent library on the Banshee." She looks at Merri with interest, listening, and follows his gaze back at the handbill on the shop window.

Ruby grunts as she considers Wynter's opinion. Her lips move like she was reading a page on the pane of glass. Ruby feels a jolt of anxiety when Sidonie considers the books for more than ballast. The bottom lip gets chewed. Merri taking a special interest in part of the window has her hoisting her eyebrows. "Whut...why you trail oof. Can you see...It ain't a rogue Liber-rarian isst!?"

Wynter just raises her brow at Ruby's response with her smile steady. Merri's explination of the written word here in this place getting an interested nod, her attention diverted as Sidonie and Clive exit out into their midst. "Greetings you two. Finding treasures of a different sort here and there? Anything interesting?"

Enough of the outside layers of poster have been torn away to see the bold gold lettering on the smokey umber background of an advertisement for a new opera house in the city, although it wouldn't be new anymore, judging by the faded type. Three faces in lithograph print peer through another jagged tear of outside paper, their coy theatrical expressions a bit stark in that over-exposed manner.

Whatever caught Merri's eye, he probably can't quite sklob it out, and he's easily distracted by the group's reconvening outside the store. "Forming a personal library..? A worthy pursuit, Doc," he nods to Sidonie, smiling. "One that seems to stretch out over a lifetime, though."

Clive snorts as the books drop down into his bag and then he tosses it over his shoulder and slides on out of the shop. Seeing the look back at the door, he peers over his shoulder for a moment before turning back around to toss a two-fingered salute at Wynter. Reaching down into the bag he pulls out a book titled... A Complete History of The Glorious Revolution!!! "A mixed bag, so to speak. A few fun ones. A few serious ones." The book then gets stashed back away with the others. "Should we be hunting down some proper disguises for going further into port?"

"'Ighly flammable too." Ruby offers with faux sageness. Turning, she adds, "...An if at altitudes...'ighly." She drops and raises her eyebrows again. Cause, woof, you have to be cautious with those books. Ruby gives aCHotGR the hairy eyeball. "I need somethin other than this sack 'o po-tatoes, Truth."

Wynter's smile turns into a grin. "Ah ha! Glorious Revolution indeed." She chuckles and then winces as the movements cause her pain. "Disguise? Why is it that we need them? Are we unwelcome as we are now?" She glances about at everyone's state of dress and then shrugs.

Merrisol straightens his highwayman cloak by the lapels. It's a proper-tailored coat with the mantle and all, though society would call its dark green and tigery striped colouration some manner of 'garish'. At least underneath it, he's wearing a gentlemanly outfit of pressed slacks and crisp shirt, with vest and jacket. Couldn't bring himself to scrounge up one of Templeton's nice hats, though. He glances over the eclectic stylings of the group, then gestures nebulously. "It really all depends on where you want to.. Fit In. As is, you're not going to be pelted by bricks or anything," he states reassuringly. "But we'll certainly only be admitted on certain passenger cars on the train, for instance. And you can forget about the University."

The face in the middle of that Opera playbill might be familiar, especially to those who have seen Sidonie's dream-face. Big dark eyes and straight dark brows peer starkly from a face framed by blonde pincurls. Sidonie notices nothing special about what Merri is looking at, just gazes right on over it as if it isn't her own face staring back at her. With a quite serious nod, her attention flicks back to the others. "Next stop is shoes, then?"

Clive snorts both at the mention of trains and of the University. "Well, I'll settle for not standing out too much or spooking whoever you're after." The Selkie's nose wrinkles and there is some grumbling, but he eventually nods an agreement with Sidonie. "Maybe I'll zip back and drop off some a this stuff after we're done with that. Let's get it over with."

Ruby fidgets with the coveralls, flicking at buttons or zipper tabs. "I wish I could forget aboot tha University. An tha trains. An tha passengers. Where doo we need tah fit in while we acc-umulatin nightmare fuel? Bare mini-mums mean I mean. So does tha mean lace an poofed sleeves, or more buttons an black ties? I runnin in tha dark 'ere."

Wynter looks up at Ruby and smiles. "But you look so fetching in your court clothes. Just think of this as a different sort of court and that it will be brief and then we'll be on our way later on?" She reaches up and presses down Ruby's colar on the coveralls. "A quick stop for some clothes and then on to higher learning."

Merrisol didn't manage to process the features he was looking at either, on that handbill, though it does nag at him for a while after. He looks up the lane for their clothing options, but the working-class township just has a modest fashion boutique and seamstress/tailor shop. The upscale emporiums clearly only spring up closer to the urban center.

"Suppose we'll find something here that's suitable for train passage and the likes of Carcil City," he suggests, pointing out the boutique. "Then you can rustle up something fancier once we're there, before we hit the capital. Ms. Cristholm keeps a homestead out by Carcil, so I'm fine heading in that direction to start."

"I'm sure we could find something," Sidonie says cheerfully. And maybe a bit wickedly? The parasol twirls a little, and she starts her way over to the tailor shop, glancing back to see who's following.

Clive hears all this talk of the tailor shop and boutique and his feet wind up stuck in place in the road. He is staring the place down as if it were the gallows. How long had it been since he'd last been in a place like that? At his side, his hand is flexing and his jawline does the same. One foot steps out in front of the other and he presses forward, following along silently.

Merrisol strolls along after Sidonie, though he flanks Ruby's other side until assured that they're all going to the same place. He would prefer that they were all able to board the same class of passenger car, after all! "I'd better invest in a hat, myself," he relents.

Noticing Clive's... hesitation, Sidonie flashes him an encouraging smile. Ruby, and then the others, also get a bright grin. She peers into the store window once it comes into view, "I see at least a couple of fetching ones," she says enthusiastically. She does her best not to swing the door open and burst on through into the store.

Clive catches the smile directed his way and replies with a faint nod of his head. Step by step, his pace returns to something a bit more normal and his gait much less forced and deliberate. A few paces behind the Doctor, Clive steps into a "proper" clothier for the first time since he'd left home decades ago.

Merrisol windowshops a moment in front in order to get a better idea of the current styles... or at least facsimiles of what's current in the real fashion houses. All the staples still in evidence.. the lightweight vests and blazers, high-waisted slacks and long pocketwatch chains; pinstripes and hounds tooth preferred over plaid; silk shawls and pastel-dyed plummage; metallic thread and high-detail embossments on leather. He spies a likely-looking brimmed hat up on the crowded racks, and goes to usher Ruby and Wynter in, before ducking in himself.

* * * * * * * * * *

The image of Raphaela is sitting in the dark somewhere, lit with flowing lines of green neonish glow, flaring over silver eyes as they pass by, making it a glowing heartbeat.

Merrisol answers readily, his manner thoughtful. "Yes..?" His tone changes abruptly, studiously as he attempts to analyze the unnatural setting: "Is... Raphaela? Are you well? Where are you?"

The image of Raphaela offers a smile in dimness and then blink "Oh, Sigma. I needed some time off. But I can't focus on research." she pauses "Are you in need of mechanic perchance?" oddly enough she didn't just trump in on flare as she does when she's merely in mope mode.

Merrisol seems bemused as he listens. "Oh.. always something needing a tinker on the SF, except she's in silent running mode right now. No clanging allowed, in patrolled Begman waters. I'm already landed, headed for Carcil City with Maggie and some others. Sigma.. haven't been there in a long while. What're you working on now?"

The image of Raphaela ohs "That sounds interesting. I am unwelcome still, I'm sure in Begma." only a slight mope about adventure she's not a part of. "Not much. I have no challenge to work towards. So after arranging all wheels I just kind of come here to studdy effect it all had on shadow." she falls quiet and taps her fingers idly on the metal floor. She is leaned over her own folded legs talking to him.

Merrisol frowns pensively, though a slight smile reforms as he quips, "Not wanted? That's usually a good thing, particularly in Carcil City. We'll be taking the train," he offers, like a huge steamy locomotive is something deliciously tempting.

The image of Raphaela bites her lip, steamy engines and shocking stuffy begmans is tempting. "I don't think I can allow myself to be that distracted and away from Amber at this point."

Merrisol just stares a few moments in silence. "Well.. just as well, pretty certain I look ridiculous in this ten-gallon hat." Muahahaaa.. "But you know you are always welcome, yes? You've mine and Maggie's, and the SF's trump. I've got Mr. Moore and Mr. Lockwood re-signed. Trying to get the other two back, this time around."

The image of Raphaela offers a smile that seems genuine. So much so it looks as if the rest of her face doesn't know what to do with it. "Thank you. Oh, did you manage to explain everything and patch things up?" she pauses and points "I want a picture."

The image of Raphaela adds with a brow waggle "I will treasure it. Fuffy overdressed." she winks.

Might be hard to perceive, but he does give the hat's brim a tip in countrified acknowledgement. Proof of millinery existence! Then he drawls, "...Not a chance, darlin'." As a Morfilod, he's already part-cowboy. Seacowboy, any rate. "As for that, I've learned it isn't really about explaining why or how. It's all mystical nonsense to a proper Begman anyway. I'm me again, and that won't change. That is what's important.." He hopes.

The image of Raphaela nodnods and smiles "Thank you...I have to go back to boring." she watches him for a moment "Take care, and say hi to all. I will be looking forward to stories." she waggles gloved fingers.

Merrisol smiles back, serious self again. "I shall. Good politicking, Raph. You take care, too." He blinks, looking consciously away at something nearby, the connection melting away.

The image of Raphaela watches him a bit longer then places the gloved fingers over the card.

* * * * * * * * * *

Merrisol only needed to scare up a suitable hat and a couple of bronze clips from the clothiers, so now he waits back outside while the others engage in their whirlwind montage of outfit selections and alterations. With one of the bookbags slung over his shoulder, he holds a volume propped open in his other hand, and scans the tightly arranged typeface.

Shiona didnt need to adjust her clothing even a tiny bit. She has her sword, never leave home without it, and her carpet bag, full of all sorts of odd treasures, and she comes up alongside Merrisol. She glances to his book, curious, but just as silent as she ever is. This Begman is not noted for being a chatterbox.

He's quick to register Shiona's approach, being the lookout on top of loitering, and glances to the side with a sociable nod. And since he's got the hat now, he does tip it in polite greeting. "Lady Shiona." He rests his thumb on the page to keep his page while he tilts the book closed so she can see the thread-wrapped cover. Collected Theses Regarding the Lost History of Begma -- is printed in gold leaf.

"Mister Merrisol." Shiona greets politely, her gaze following the offer of the book's title. She is quiet a moment and then notes. "It feels as if that should have been a book one covered in school, but there was a distinct lack of historical context provided." She nods towards it. "Do you recomend it?"

Merri smiles at the address, watching her expectantly, and he nods to her remarks. "I don't recall the curriculum of my school years here, but I'm certain it must have matched yours. This title does peak the interest, but here's the dust jacket that it was wearing.." He hands the book down into Shiona's care if she happens to have a hand free, and shuffles amongst his own if not, in order to pull and display a loosely folded length of paper from one of his pockets. It features a somewhat worn facade of colourful characters in a candy-themed fantasy. The flowing script title reads -- The Children's Compendium of Fantastical Tales.

You've let Wynter go in alone to a clothing shop with new and unusual designs! This is likely to take a long time...

Inside the shop she can be seen with at least three different outfits. The wounds to her chest and belly slowing her down only a touch and determined looks are given the clothing as she marches into a fitting room.

Shiona accepts the book from Merri, curious as to what he's going to go digging for. She glances anew to it, flicking it open to a random page a moment before glancing over for the paper in Merri's hand. "I." She pauses and then notes dryly. "I do not think that is the original cover. Interesting."

"Quite likely there's some radical thought to be discovered among the more dogmatic essays." He meticulously bundles the paper back into something more compact in his pocket, while leaning in to peer down at the open book again. "However, there appears to be general consensus regarding Begma's pre-history.. that is, before the dawn of industry. How, in the beginning, there were dragons and warriors, warlocks and monsters. Very much like the shadows closer in nature to Amber." There's a brief glance back towards the boutique, but none of their fantastical companions have escaped the seamstress as yet, it seems.

Wynter flops her uniform over the door and a flurry of other articles as well. A nervous shop keep hovers outside the door to the dressing room. Lips move and whatever the response she gets doesn't seem to relieve the anxious look on her face.

"It is an interesting theory." Shiona is clearly unmoved by the tenants of the book now back in Merrisol's hand. "Reality? Or a parable, provided as an allegory to set the stage for Begman evolution?" She follows the gaze towards the shop, but no companions as yet. "Do you think it is a factual accounting?"

Merri has the book again, but he doesn't attempt to get back to the page he was on before. He only weighs the volume in his hand as though it meant the treatises themselves carried a weight. "I would wager the descriptions of the powerful wizards who ravaged the lands in their conflicts is meant as a cautionary tale about magic," he agrees, "however I have also heard tell from another source that there is wizardry in practice.. even in this enlightened age," he smirks. "Not having met any such practitioner myself, I couldn't really say if they would be proof of past existence.. although.. the book passage went on to say these individuals were extremely long-lived. Another odd correlation to Amber."

Inside the store another article of clothing can be seen going over the others atop the door. One of the items Wynter took in with her. Obviously the soft pink with grey patern is not the one for her. The shopkeeper carefully drags the item out and fusses with it, setting it to rights and placing it back where it came from.

A steam whistle emanates distantly as Merrisol returns to the store, leaving Shiona with the books and the lookout job. He pauses as he spots the saleslady hustling around with newly rejected items, and crosses his arms to lean back on the front wall.

The shop keep turns suddenly with a almost pleased look as Wynter steps out of the dressing room in a one piece outfit that's shaped to a woman's form. Almost like a uniform it fits her nicely in a grey-green color. A hood is attached to the neckline and a wide belt is cinched around the middle. New laced calf high boots as well. She reaches out and plucks up a pair of goggles and a small light leather jacket to go over her shoulders adding too and completing the uniform look.

Coin is offered from a pouch and the shop keeps eyes go wide and she nods happily. Someone is getting a good deal..

At the click and swing of the door, Merri straightens up, half-expecting everyone to traipse out like costumed folk from a circus car. He gives Wynter a slight smile and the most gentlemanly of once-overs, to quickly take in the chosen Begman guise. It's... a pantsuit! A pleasant surprise, considering the popularity of skirts, and this despite the tendency for ladies to be up and about as any fellow. Still... skirts! The variety! The bustles and flounces! Anyway. Merrisol smiles wider as the goggles go on to complete the clearly aviator look. "Anything for Ruby and Clive yet?" he inquires. "I believe I heard a train whistle."

Wynter smiles and offers a very small bow that draws a pained wince. "Um.. Clive and Ruby? Not sure. I.. I let Ruby go and pick out what she wanted this time. No input from me or urging to go one way or another." Her smile turns sheepish. "I often try to push. So this time no pushing."

Merrisol's gaze flickers lower again in reflex, realizing she's still mending in spots. "Uh.. right," he tries not to smirk over the obvious humour in such a resolution, given past events. "Something of an impulse of my own, I'll admit." He pushes from the wall when a glass display catches his eye with a selection of shaped metallic brooches.

She nods with that same smile going and glances at Merri. "I owe everyone an appology for my actions before. I'd like to tell each one of you face to face. And seeing that this is a good time. ..Well. I'm sorry for making everyone run about and be worried. Sorry if I put you out and took you away from important things with my bad choice." She sucks in a small breath and sighs. "So want to go see what Ruby is choosing right now.." She adds on under her breath awkwardly.

Merri traces a look from Wynter toward the other mysterious dressing chambers, obscured by drapings of discarded clothes. Just imagine.. Ruby might already be clawing her way out the opposite wall by now! The preface to humble apology draws back his attention and his brows heft higher. He stares thoughtfully for a moment after, then faces her and gestures open-handed, "Thank you, Wynter. I was personally a few steps behind everyone else on this. Knowing your bond with the kid, my concern wasn't for her safety.. though now I see as well there was danger in isolation. You're in pain.. can Doc not help out with that?"

Wynter gives a deep nod of thanks to Merri's acceptance. "She could likely give me something for the pain but I don't want my thoughts slowed or clouded in aany way. That's the trick. Arcanis require exact speaking with will matched to word. Accident with it are.. often spectacular. And after being attacked, in Amber no less, I want to be ready. Even here."

He blinks at the reasoning and gives a single nod of understanding and respect. "Of course. That makes sense." It does? "I'm not certain I've ever witnessed arcanis gone wrong. It's.. kind of hard to tell sometimes whether the outcome is just what was meant by the mage," he muses, flashing a grin.

Wynter chuckles. "Trust me. You /will/ know when Arcanis goes wrong. In school there was a student with us that once was put on the spot by the instructor to summon a large amount of water. He mispronounced a word. Morphed it into 'room'. For a second everyone in the room got to experience what it was like to swim inside." Another chuckle. "Good thing it hadn't been fire."

* * * * * * * * * *

The image of Raphaela's bemonocled eye peeks under the dark blue velvety rim.

Merrisol looks up, pausing to discern those difference through the firming contact. "..Well hey." He sets his gaze on a tilted angle of realization, one arm lifting readily and he offers his hand out.

The image of Raphaela flashes a grin and slips through "I will need...a pen name."

Why, it is a dandy! A tall, slim figure, dressed in velvety dark blue suede pants, and overcoat,silver matted vest and pristine high collared shirt with sapphire, ice blue and gray patterned on cravat pronouncing the eyes, of which one is hidden behind monocle. Silver rim matches chain of pocket watch, buckles of her leather boots and satchel. Hat is tall in dark blue, matched with gloves of grey blue which matcches the band. It is a flashy flashy man outfit. In a very expensive color from tip to toe. Raphaela steps through and pulls up her gloves slightly, swirling a sapphire topped cane. AHHA!

Appears Merrisol had the bright idea of sidling into a spare closet of some sort to affect the prismatic unfolding transfer of his charge, cunning disguise or no. Teleportation hasn't been invented in Begma.. not to the point wherein test subjects aren't horrifically pulverized by cell splicers. He crowds into one side of the small chamber while tightening the handshake, and hauls a velvety lordling into existence on the other side. "A pen name, huh?" He gives a the ensemble a curious twice-over, foregoing the gentlemanly instinct. "So we're going /that/ far.." Hah! A Nom De Plume is hardly unusual! Though he might be referring to the genderbending at this point.

Raphaela points out "Persona non grata, after all." her hair is artfully aranged under the hat to be entirely passable as a male style. She looks around to take in surroundings. Holy Splicers Fuffy, why did you hold a lordling trapped in a closet! "And I did nickname you, I only deserve something splendid in return for Fuffy."

Merri's mouth compresses in a thoughtful line. Since they're indoors, his snappy brimmed hat is off and in hand. "Dirk's already coined the obvious.. Ralph. How about: Professor Rapho Soros, rogue scholar." Wha? Raphosaurus?! He leans over to push the door open and check the clearness of the coast. It turns out they are in one of the changing rooms of a modest clothiers. The dust-tinged light filtering in through the gold-lettered shopfront window illuminates a working-class selection of apparel staples, although somewhat fancier single outfits are on mannequin display, with options for alteration. Outside, the commercial lane of what must be a rural township features a bookshop, cafe, and an open space leading to the train station.

Raphaela gasps "Veto. I sound like a plushie!" She follows with oddly gender neutral gait, with stick on her shoulder.

It is a cafe that makes a Proper Cup of Tea. Which makes for a perfectly content Shiona to sit and enjoy the lovely day with a book that is likely familiar to Merrisol, and a Proper Cup of Tea. And a scone. It's also a proper scone.

Merrisol strolls out of the room with all the nonchalance of one not particularly self-conscious about walking out of a closet with another pretty gent in tow. "Dr. Draphus Dorgo, roving researcher? Lord-lieutenant Rorgola, intelligence officer home from the front?" He glances around the shop, nodding to the salespeople but more on the look out for the rest of his comrades. Peering through the window, he notices Shiona biding her time across the lane, and gestures for his incognito friend to accompany him over.

Raphaela pauses to watch him in utter shock "Please, let Maggie name all your children. Promise me, promise me you'll have nothing to do with it!" she rushes after him, recovering.

Delcious tea, and a delicious scone. Shiona wipes her fingers carefully before turning the page, no matter that it would appear that she can eat scones without getting crumbs everywhere. She is talented. Movement draws her attention up, and she nods politely to Merrisol and his friend as they come nearer.

Pushing his hat on, he looks momentarily abashed, having tried his best! Maybe he /is/ terrible at making up names. His crowning achievement was a catfish named Catfish. "As I recall you were once happy to let me go ahead with Professor Kerfuffle Von Chaos," he gruffs, crossing the road after a thing on six spindly wheels humps through, chased by dusty exhaust clouds. Drawing up in front of the open air tables of the cafe, he doffs his hat again and nods back to the proper Begman lass. "Lady Shiona.. I'd like you to meet.." Uuhhhhh..

"Yeah. No." Clive has been rather quiet inside of his changing room all this time, having burned his way through the various things that had been brought over for him to attempt. The door opens and the sailor steps out to deposit a pile of Nope on a nearby chair. Hazel eyes wander about the shop, sizing it up as if a brawl were about to break out in a townie bar. Is there anything here that maybe won't be so bad? "Not sure I'm feeling what this place has on hand..."

Raphaela says "IT HAS CHARISMA! It is catchy! It has the wawhomp!" she pauses, icy cold eyes slithering to the scone nomming lady. She blinks, tipping her hat. Oh my, onthe spot aren't we. "Ah, Blubutt. Rhys Blubutt. A pleasure I am sure." she confides "It is basically my initials, but both names are so utterly embaressing I just put them together into a RS." she shrugs.

Shiona looks at Merrisol's companion as the pair of them attempt to sort out naming and she manages not to look too skeptical. Just skeptical enough. "A pleasure, Mister.. mister?" She ventures slightly questioning. "Bluebutt." She even manages a straight face at /that/.

Raphaela grins wickedly, and flourishes a positively stunning bow. "Well. We'll get proper introduction later, my lady. It would bode poorly to go in details. But I do enjoy making people say Bluebutt." she takes a seat and folds her legs at ankles tapping gloved fingers on cane. "Now as for title..."

Clive's head slowly swivels over toward this mess of activity nearby. As his eyes settle on Raphaela his brow knits with some manner of confusion. His eyes then dart to Merrisol, then to Raphaela, then back and forth a few more times trying to discern what he had missed when he was in there. "Er. Hello there."

Merrisol stays standing for now, resolutely silent while Raphaela spins her identity freely. He nods each time she comes up with a new fact about Rhys Bluebutt, because oh yes, that's Classic Bluebutt. "Excuse me a moment, RS. Lady Shiona. I'll just be inquiring after a packet of seats on the next train to Carcil City." The party is growing, they might as well reserve a block of cabins. He turns, hat lifted to crash back down on his hair, then he stops to see Clive has made his way across the lane. "Oh, Clive." As in: OH Clive, you're still a scruffy sailor! "Didn't see anything you fancied?" He gestures between his present companions, "...An old friend of mine, Sir Rhys. Rhys.. old soot.. this is Clive."

Raphaela winks with his unmonocled eye. "Well met Clive, old chap!"

Clive's attention focuses back toward the simple boutique a moment as Merrisol asks the question, then it returns back to the submarine captain. It rests there, the man silent, as if that is enough of an answer, really. Still, he does manage to speak to reinforce this. "Yeah, not really." At the introduction, he looks back to the very fanciful character and blinks once. "Are you... from around here? I don't remember seeing you in the tin can..." Now his attention wanders over to the shop as he considers the things they have for sale, but, alas, alcohol is not one of those things. Tucking in a bit tighter, he pulls his own flask from inside his jacket and takes a quick swig of it. "How long we got until the train? I might hang back here while you all head to Carcil."

"The last one headed east passed an hour ago. I expect it won't be long now. Excuse me a few minutes.." Merrisol looks uncertain over leaving these particular three, veritable strangers to one another, to clonk awkwardly through their first conversation together. But he starts to sidle off nonetheless, just to get their passage arranged.

Raphaela studies the man "Ah, I am old friend of the gent right there." she gestures towards Fuffy. "Care for some help in wardrobe department?"

Clive gives a pair of nods to Merrisol as he explains the train situation and then excuses himself to go handle passage for the group. Hazel eyes follow him for a moment before dragging back to Raphaela. His brow furrows at the question while he starts putting his flask back inside his jacket. "I'm guessing that changing what's in style here to Sailor Chic isn't on the menu, is it?"

Raphaela just arches a brow. What do you think. "You'll feel stuffier moment we dress you up." she lifts her gloved hand. "Promise."

There is a groaning that comes from Clive before he takes in a deep breath. But, the sailor sees the direction the current is going and gives up the fight, eventually relenting with a nod. "Not sure that's a good thing... But alright." His eyes dip to the hand and his comes up to shake it on pure instinct. He stops himself part-way, thinking better of it, and then accepts the hand with a bow of his head. That's how it's done in places like this, right? Progress. He didn't spit on his hand and give Raph a SOLID handshake for this compact. "Got yer word in this now." With that, he jerks his head back toward the... boutique.

Raphaela watches this in fascination, pulling back her hand gingerly but with a bemused smile. Goodness. Saliva would positively ruin suede. "Come on then." she twirls the cane. "Follow the Bluebutt." she grins at the sound of that.

Is this happening? It is happening. Again. Clive waits a moment, then follows along a half a step behind Raphaela. At her mention of "Bluebutt" his eyes wander to check for what inspires this particular name? Is there an actual blue butt there? It is only a brief look before he is back and staring down this boutique! It is his Kolvir and he will conquer it!