Scrivener_Lost
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- 'Malachi, you've got nothing in your head but gears and bolts, and once those rust you'll have nothing left.' Who knew that sailors could be such profound philosophers! Morgan's lips flattened into an line. The buffoon actually giggled to himself. The Ringmaster knew that the boy's mind was filled with nothing but cotton and air, with the latter being the more prolific. But perhaps he had severely overestimated the man's usefulness. His gift was no less terrifying compared to its unique properties. But he had yet to show any true use for that mind other than bolts, nuts, and stupidity. The Ringmaster crossed his arms over his chest as the strongman addressed with wiry golden-skinned snake-charmer. "What about the trap-lock makes you uncomfortable? Do you think such things could be corrected? Is it the size, the shape, something else about it? Do you feel suffocated? This is quite fascinating, it will be great input for my designs." Morgan's eyes fell to the floor. He could remember a time when he had a similar conversation with Alaizabel. Upon her introduction to the circus, the woman had no inclination as to what possible role she could fulfill. She was a proper woman. One of class and charm. To think she would be performing for an audience was beyond the Viscountess for many months. Of course, at the time, Morgan knew what purpose she would serve. Her power was incredibly powerful. The day she was introduced to her box, she fell in love with its construction and purpose. There were suspicions and worries, and it took Morgan nearly two weeks to convince her to step inside.
He pressed his thumbs into his biceps. She was an excellent performer with a healthy amount of both fear and respect for her box. He wondered if he could ever possibly find someone who would be able to match the grace that Alaizabel had. Her power made it easy to do her job, one that Morgan did not often have to fret about. If the locks failed or if Alaizabel ran out of breath, she could simply phase herself out. He chewed on his bottom lip as he went through the list of possible candidates. Did anyone else have the power to be able to escape if something went wrong? Morgan's eyes drifted over Malachi and Orpheus. He wasn't sure if he could risk anyone's life for entertainment much longer. Perhaps, however, if Malachi could build something that was fool-proof with little to no chance of trapping someone... But that would require Morgan to put his trust in someone who had the mental faculties of a child. He drummed his fingers against his arms. Could he trust Malachi to handle such a sensitive project? One that he would be entrusting the lives of his other performers to? It wasn't as though he couldn't allow him to build something...and then test it extensively. And the fool did owe him a box. He had completely obliterated Alaizabel's after all.
Morgan heard the brakes being applied before he felt the tell-tale jerk of the train stumbling. The piercing screech of metal scraping along the tracks accompanied the sudden gut-wrenching lurch of the floor throwing everyone forward. Morgan stumbled forward into Malachi as steam billowed against the windows like angry clouds. Dishes tumbled from their tables and anything not bolted to the floor swayed forward with the momentum. The Vivienne screamed as her brakes shook her frame, the deep resonating undulation of the wheels slipping causing the entire train to thrum loudly. It took an impossibly long time for the train to ease into a slow pained stumble before finally coming to a hissing stop. Morgan pushed against Malachi, attempting to right himself. "What...in the great hell happened?" Steam continued to billow outside. He drew a deep breath as he attempted to steady his pounding heartbeat. He cast a questioning look to Malachi as though he were expecting the man to have the answer for him and when he did not receive it, he pulled back his teeth with a hiss. "What the bloody hell is the problem now?" He took an uncharacteristically shaky step forward and paused. He took a moment to steady himself before walking towards the exit of the car. "Orpheus, go check on the others. Make sure no one is hurt. Malachi, you come with me."
Morgan pushed aside the door and gazed down at the tracks beneath the train. He could hear voices closer to the engine and the panicked cries of animals in the cars in front of him. He growled and quickly descended the ladder, his boots crunching against gravel as as he briskly made his way towards the engine. As he passed by the cars, he looked for quick signs of damage. He had only just invested in the Vivienne. The very last thing he needed was to somehow explain the cost of repairing a brand new engine to the Owner. He shuddered at the thought. He steadily made his way to the engine, a short robust man with a red face hurried up to him and began speaking to him rapidly in Spanish. His black hair was sweaty and matted to his forward. Morgan stared at the man for a moment who pointed at the tracks in front of the train, pulling on Morgan's sleeve.
The Ringmaster scowled and pulled his arm away. "I don't know what you're saying!"
"Mr. von Faustus!"
Morgan turned as the young conductor in training, Sven, swung down from the large hissing engine. "What the hell is going on?"
Sven gave the man an apologetic tip of his head, pulling his hat from his head. "Sir, I apologize. There is significant debris on the track. My father agreed that we should pull the brake."
The Spaniard was still speaking in rapid succession, pacing between the Ringmaster and the apparent cause of the stop. Morgan glowered at Sven, then turned to the small rapidly speaking man. "What could possibly be a hazard for an engine this size? Do you know how much money I put into this train, Sven?"
"Yes, sir. That's why I thought it prudent to stop..."
Morgan huffed. He stormed towards the front of the train, glaring up at Hans as he watched his son and the Ringmaster from the cab of the engine. As they pulled around to the front, the Spanish native grew more frantic as he continued to babble (possibly his excuse or an apology, Morgan wasn't entirely sure). A large wooden cart was tipped over onto its side. Scattered across the track were several piles of large rocks, two or three larger and wider than the Ringmaster. Two mules lay twisted and dead in the fractured harness that connected two more rows of mules to the damaged cart. Another young Spanish boy was attempting to keep the other four mules from panicking. Morgan gazed up and down the dirt road in which the two men were traveling. What caused the cart to tip was beyond the Ringmaster. Perhaps the smaller robust man speaking to him was attempting to explain it?
"This...is unbelievable..."
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cynosural† 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Outsidecynosural† 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐲: Malachi cynosural† 𝐎𝐨𝐂: You are free to join Morgan or to stay on the train, your choice.
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