The Gravity Escapement (TWS)
03-16-2016, 08:13 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-17-2016, 02:21 AM by AgentBlue.)
HALL OF ARTIFICERS
SOURCE GLORIANA
NORTH POLE
July 20th, 1890
You're fairly shaking when you see the great man himself, standing tall at the top of the Grand Staircase. As people pass by him on the great marble stairs, each gives a little tip of the hat, or a measured rise of a rosette. And why wouldn't they? This is Daniel McCloud, famed inventor and engineer, a legend before his time - and he's right there! Also waiting for you, if his troubled brow is any indication.
It's only with the slightest of trepidation that you stick out a shaking hand: "Hello, it's nice to meet you, sir. My name -"
"Your name's not important." What? He turns towards you. His face is lined but proud, lending him age he doesn't need: he looks forty, but you know from your calligraphed factsheet that thirty-one has only just passed him by. Elegant brass toolkits, full of sprockets and gears, jangle when he moves. "You're the writer I asked for?"
Okay. Okay. You rally. "I'm an author, actually, sir. I wrote the book on the Huygens royal court-"
"I don't care." Oh. "What I asked for was someone, fit of mind and of constitution, a talented writer and an adventurous sort. I don't need bookish shut-ins who spend their nights 'transcribing proofs'."
"I was capten of my university crocket team," you begin, with only a hint of resentment showing, "and the assistant capten of curling. Sir."
He seems to pick up on it. "Ah, that is good news. Perhaps you'll do, then."
---
McCloud's desk is surprisingly messy, as is his office. Partially-disassembled mechanisms litter the cluttered bookshelves, their cogs and gears strewn about their casings; his spindly hand reaches under the corpse of a automaton and pulls out a crumpled sheaf of papers.
"Fill this out, please. No - don't be mistaken, I still don't care. Just a formality for the bureaucrats."
As you're filling those out, he sweeps a couple of sprockets from a plush leather chair and seats himself. "Now, you must have questions for me, so that you can start our story together." Idly, his nimble fingers clean a set of gold-rimmed loupes, stabbing at the lenses with a gentle-fibered cloth. "You must have heard so much rumour from the newsheets... about the Gravity Escapement. Yes?"
He looks through the lenses at you.
"Well? What have you heard?"
SOURCE GLORIANA
NORTH POLE
July 20th, 1890
You're fairly shaking when you see the great man himself, standing tall at the top of the Grand Staircase. As people pass by him on the great marble stairs, each gives a little tip of the hat, or a measured rise of a rosette. And why wouldn't they? This is Daniel McCloud, famed inventor and engineer, a legend before his time - and he's right there! Also waiting for you, if his troubled brow is any indication.
It's only with the slightest of trepidation that you stick out a shaking hand: "Hello, it's nice to meet you, sir. My name -"
"Your name's not important." What? He turns towards you. His face is lined but proud, lending him age he doesn't need: he looks forty, but you know from your calligraphed factsheet that thirty-one has only just passed him by. Elegant brass toolkits, full of sprockets and gears, jangle when he moves. "You're the writer I asked for?"
Okay. Okay. You rally. "I'm an author, actually, sir. I wrote the book on the Huygens royal court-"
"I don't care." Oh. "What I asked for was someone, fit of mind and of constitution, a talented writer and an adventurous sort. I don't need bookish shut-ins who spend their nights 'transcribing proofs'."
"I was capten of my university crocket team," you begin, with only a hint of resentment showing, "and the assistant capten of curling. Sir."
He seems to pick up on it. "Ah, that is good news. Perhaps you'll do, then."
---
McCloud's desk is surprisingly messy, as is his office. Partially-disassembled mechanisms litter the cluttered bookshelves, their cogs and gears strewn about their casings; his spindly hand reaches under the corpse of a automaton and pulls out a crumpled sheaf of papers.
"Fill this out, please. No - don't be mistaken, I still don't care. Just a formality for the bureaucrats."
Quote:Name:
Gender:
Occupation:
Citizenship:
Place of Birth:
Religious Affiliation:
...
...
...
Have you, in the past or present, been affiliated knowingly or unknowingly with members of the Renegade Nations?
I testify that by signing below, I guarantee that I have spoken true, in the eyes of gods and men, in the name of Source Gloriana and the Empire of Momentum.
x____________
conversus in aeternam
As you're filling those out, he sweeps a couple of sprockets from a plush leather chair and seats himself. "Now, you must have questions for me, so that you can start our story together." Idly, his nimble fingers clean a set of gold-rimmed loupes, stabbing at the lenses with a gentle-fibered cloth. "You must have heard so much rumour from the newsheets... about the Gravity Escapement. Yes?"
He looks through the lenses at you.
"Well? What have you heard?"
Spoiler
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime