A Fireside ChatIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | PreGameLogs | A Fireside Chat Johann stealthily made his circuitous way home through the Artists Quarter. He was presently living above a seasonal wine boutique, one which would be closed and sold out for the next few months. Rather than use the front door, which led to a rather nasty series of poisoned needles and anvils falling from above, he climbed the cast iron drainpipe. Here, too, there were a few surprises, but as he had laboriously installed the traps himself in the dead of night, and had developed a resistance to a plurality of the toxins anyway, they were of little concern. Rather than enter through the window which was at the top of the drain pipe, he approached the chimney. Smoke still issued forth from the embers below, but Johann squeezed through the side passage after pressing the hidden pressure plate into the attic. Sometimes it was important to leave a few tripwires that must always be depressed, rather than never, so that clever rogues could also be ensnared. Johann wiped the soot from his hands, reset several traps he had disabled on the way in, then started the clockwork timer. He had more than enough time to open the hatch down from the attic to his bedroom and secure the concealed portal, but if he had delayed the whole building would soon have gone up in flames. Johann sniffed at the air and frowned. There had been no indications anything was amiss thus far, but there were a few strange notes in his apartment. That was not Damien's cologne... He donned his dressing robe, only to find, after a moment's investigation, that the poisoned crossbow bolt had been thoughtfully returned to the case in his sock drawer. Rather than return it, he strode out into his living room... to find Bleys sitting casually in front of a bottle of single malt whiskey and a pair of glasses. "You're here to discuss 'Quistling After Which All Others But Shadows'?" Johann asked with a raised eyebrow as he took a seat in the other armchair and poured a measure of whiskey into each glass. "That was about Flora... but an easy mistake," he said with an apologetic smile as he reached underneath his chair to produce a small humidor of cigars. After moving the poisoned Cuban aside, he offered the box to his uncle. "Not at all," said Bleys, pouring a second glass of malt and pushing it towards Johann. "If I was going to discuss that, I'd do it at your place of business, horsewhip in hand. Besides, it was amusing. And there's precious little amusement in Amber these days." He waved away the cigar. "I'm about to decrease the gaiety of nations too. I'm advising you to get out." Johann accepted the glass, and lit a cigar of his own. "That reminds me... I should complement you on all you've done to liberate Amber. Getting started any time soon?" Johann asked sarcastically. The other man could show up in his home, disarm his traps, and refuse his cigar... or kill him bare handed... but he could not force Johann to be polite to an unwelcome guest in his own home. "Well," said Bleys, "we could indulge in a discussion of whether Amber needs liberating, or we could exercise our brains as to whether you or I are best serving the cause of Amber by our behaviour. But I suspect such speculation would, ultimately, be fruitless. Our world views, if you like, are just too wildly divergent. Nevertheless, you can take the advice I give you as being both honest and disinterested. Get out." Johann considered his options swiftly. The idea of bringing up Bleys' judgement when he had teamed up with Brand to overthrow Oberon was tempting, as was the notion of asking where this brilliant tactical analysis had been when he failed to usurp Eric, or where his wise words had been when his sister was f-cking the man who now puppetted Amber's throne... or when his ally, Corwin, was busy rutting up Merlin with Dara, if he wanted to go there in the first place. If Bleys had intended to make veiled threats, he would probably have brought worse whiskey. Or better, if he intended to end Johann right here... although he could tell from the smell that this was certainly not bad, and the bottle assured both of them that it was a single malt. He simply smiled, watched Bleys, and absently hummed a few bars of 'Whiskey in the Jar' which reminded him of 'his brother in the Army,' and considered what Bleys had said. In the end, he gave the drink in his glass a swirl with a snap of his wrist, then took a sip before simply asking "Why?" as he looked from Bleys' perfect teeth to his eyes. This was quite a fine spirit... perhaps Bleys was going to kill him after all. Best to enjoy his cigar, just in case... so he took a long puff. "Because," said Bleys, "In your own way, you're useful. We need revolutionaries who are out on the edge, who say the unsayable. Not many will agree with you ... but you increase dis-satisfaction with the powers that be. Long may that continue. But it won't - if you stay here. Someone has an 'accident' planned for you." "Can you be specific?" Johann asked with a raised eyebrow while he fished under his chair for a saucer he could recruit as an ash tray for his cigar. Bleys produced a black pottery ashtray with the words "A Present from the Abyss" engraved around the rim in garish red letters, and handed it over. "No," he said. "I have no wish to have you pig-headedly decide to stay and fight. That would be self-defeating. But I can certainly put yyou in touch with someone who will not only confirm my words - but take you to safety." "Do you know that they killed all of my runners... children not older than twelve... and left them for me to find, hours ago?" Johann asked, the false joy left his voice like a handful of salt cast into a river. He took another puff of his cigar, and tapped the ashes into the offered ashtray. "I confess... I had something immediate planned as recompense," he remarked. "Without even knowing who was responsible?" responded Bleys, a faint interrogative in his voice. "The list of suspects is short... and you know my feelings on those ultimately responsible, as you've read my writings," Johann replied as he finished his drink. "All Amber knows your feelings," sighed Bleys. "You reach for the claymore when the weapon of choice is the stilletto ... "Well, if you really don't want my 'get out of Amber free' card, I'll leave you to your own devices." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a slim, elegantly jeweled cardcase. "Wait... who did you have in mind?" Johann asked. "I thought the woods would be looking lovely this time of year," said Bleys. Johann nodded, and gave the other man an unhappy smile. "I'll consider it," he added. "Consider?" echoed Bleys. "Believe me, this is a one way, once in a lifetime ticket. And if you don't accept, I can predict with some confidence that you'll be dead before noon." "So, I trump out now, or I'm dead... but no explanation as to dead how?" Johann asked. "There are so many possibilities," said Bleys. "And so many willing to ease back the bolt." He held the card delicately between his fingers. "And, to be perfectly candid, your company is not so engrossing that I wish to share it for an entire evening. I have rather more amusing things that I could be doing, you know." "No more pumping you for information then," Johann said with a combined shrug and smirk as he accepted the card. He quickly glanced at both sides of it, then tucked it away while he waited for Bleys to make his own dramatic exit. But it was simpler that that. When he looked up from the card, Bleys's chair was empty, and there was only a rapidly dispersing trace of cigar smoke in the air to show that he had ever been there .... Johann considered heading out to cause more trouble, but they would find the bodies of his initial retribution quite soon. The full weight of his revenge would have to wait, it seemed. Before leaving, though, he gathered his things and focused on another trump image. Johann focused on Petra's trump. Petra answered without looking up from the canvas she was working on. She was barefooted and wearing only an oversized man's dress shirt that had seen better days before she had commandeered it as a paint shirt. Other than the two paintbrushes that were stuck in her hair, that's all she was wearing. "Yes, Johann?" "I guess I'm overdressed," Johann joked. "Most people are," she smirked. "I'm calling to tell you my earlier plan is off... I'm leaving Amber for a while, but I'll be back," Johann added. She looked up and smiled. "Stirred up too many ants, did you? Need anything?" "I've gotten some kids killed, my newsies. Probably, more nastiness to follow... I've taken care of those directly responsible. Hope they weren't customers," Johann said. "I'm sorry to hear that - about your boys," Petra said with a shake of her head. "A majority of my customers don't care enough about who's in charge here to get their hands that dirty, and if they're the type to kill kids trying to make a buck, I don't want them anyway." "Thought so. Happy sailing and fair winds," Johann said, then signed off. To himself, he remarked, "It is a truism... ugly father, lovely kids..." then smirked. Finally, Johann trumped out with the card he'd been given.
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