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About Quibby

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    Doing the same thing and expecting different results...
  • Birthday 11/11/1986

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  1. Sparkles (I hate myself for posting this)
  2. I've always found that people stick around once you encourage their feet to get comfortable using the handy-dandy-battery-powered-nail-gun.
  3. *points at the stitches joining him to Lii on his hip* Apparently I now go wherever she goes.
  4. Think we need arms and legs and such. I can at least help start the foot:
  5. Mehrin glanced at the inn as he waved Eb towards the nearest alley. Three floors, staircase on the outside leading to the top floor, thatch roof. "That will be perfect," he said as they made it to the mouth of the alley. As soon as they were out of the main street, Mehrin set down his travel sack, pulled his sword out of its harness and took off his greatcoat, leaving him wearing only a shirt and breeches. Leaning his flamberge against the wall, he reached around inside the sack until he found a leather vest, which he pulled over his shirt. "I'll go inside and ask for a room on the top floor. I'll tell the innkeeper that we are a secure parcel delivery service, and that my wife and business partner are waiting outside with our deliveries." Pointing towards the stairs, Mehrin continued, "I will get the room, then you come up the outside stairs. Once we've gotten ourselves settled, you go downstairs, introduce yourself to the innkeeper, and get a meal to bring upstairs. Keep your ears open for any rumors." A thought struck him, changing a part of the plan. "Once you get back upstairs, we'll eat, sort out watches, and settle in for the night. I would have liked to go downstairs and listen for a bit, but there's already too much of a chance that somebody in there will recognize Mehrin bloody Deathwatch when I ask for the room." Eb directed her scowl- by now, Mehrin could chisel it in granite from memory- back in his direction. "If you're so bloody worried about being recognized, why are you the one going in?" With a small smirk, Mehrin replied, "Smile." The scowl only deepened, and Mehrin could see the long and varied litany of profanities passing behind her eyes before she finally looked away and muttered, "Fair point." As a final thought, Mehrin tossed his wide-brimmed hat at Eb as she moved towards the stairs, earning him yet another glare. He ignored it, a talent that he had developed over the recent past, and walked boldly towards the front door of the inn. Inside, he found exactly what he had expected. Since the inn was on the main road out of the town, it was bustling. There were three strongarms, something that Mehrin had rarely seen before. There was one right by the door, an obvious hulk of a man larger than even he was, then one by the stairs, a muscular woman who looked like she could break a table in half. The third was sitting near the middle of the room, nursing a flagon with three empty pitchers on the table. The eyes that seemed to catalog everything that he saw gave him away. Mehrin did his best to ignore the number of people inside. Without the greatcoat or the flamberge or the hat, Mehrin knew that he was less obvious. It was impossible to hide the scar over his eye, but the cover story should take care of that. Still showing the same confidence, Mehrin walked to the counter and waved down the man who was obviously the innkeeper. "Good evening," he said. "I would like a room on your top floor." "Costs extra tonight," the innkeeper said, his attention divided between Mehrin and the common room. "Have a few guests who want as much privacy as they want up top." Mehrin nodded as if he understood. "I can live with that. I'm a courier with some... rather delicate packages outside. My business partner is outside with the parcels, and I will bring her up to the room once it's secured." The innkeeper's attention snapped from the common room to Mehrin. "'Her?' Not common for a man to be traveling alone with a woman as only a 'business partner'." "I know," Mehrin replied. "She is also my wife, and I would match her against any three men that you would send against her." The innkeeper's expression paled at that. As if he didn't notice, Mehrin added, "She will be down for our dinners after we get settled." "Right," the innkeeper replied. "Four silvers for the room, and five coppers each for dinner." Without a complaint, Mehrin slid the coins across the counter with no bribes. No reason to bribe if the innkeeper was being reasonable and not-too-curious. The innkeeper searched around behind the counter for a moment, then came up with a key. "Second room from the outside door, top floor. Have a good night, sir." With a smile and a nod to the man, Mehrin turned and went straight up the stairs to the outside door. Opening the door, he leaned out and waved to the obviously impatient shape waiting on the street. He consciously avoided going outside to help Eb haul the gear up the stairs. If she was going to be surly all the time, Mehrin was more than happy to give her a hard time about it. A steadily increasing volume of swearing tracked her progress up the stairs. As Eb stepped through the door, Mehrin unlocked the door to their room and held it open for her, as only a gentleman should do. The vicious grin he offered her at the gesture was entirely for his own amusement. A few moments of shuffling gear around had everything settled, including Mehrin into a comfortable-looking tall chair in the corner of the room. "All right, you're up. I didn't hear anything down there. The innkeeper knows that you're coming. Hopefully you'll hear something. If not, just get back up here and we'll work out what we're doing from there."
  6. Pahl watched as two mules and a driver with a strange look on his face pulled the cart away from the shack where he and two Illuminators produced the Band's newest weapon. There were three casks of the black powder- he really needed to come up with a good name for the substance- in the back of the wagon, each about the same size as the casks of local apple brandy. It would all eventually end up at Pahl's own laboratory where he would perform a few tests on some new ideas. The horseless engine idea seemed particularly promising. “Thu-thank you,” he stammered at the two Illuminators as he left to make his way back to his own equipment. It is generally helpful, when dealing with a new face, to let them know exactly what is expected of them. All that Rhobbet knew was that a strange little man with a leather cap and odd glasses had loaded three casks onto his cart and wandered off without leaving him any instructions. The two other people from the shed had disappeared back inside when the little man left, also leaving him without any instructions. Rhobbet knocked on the door of the shed, noting the strangely thick walls and the well-built but flimsy-looking roof. A muffled voice called out to leave, adding a few impressively strung-together profanities. Rhobbet found himself in the unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory of having to make a decision. Rhobbet was new to the Citadel, a cart driver who wanted nothing more than an easy job where somebody would tell him what to do. He did not want to think, he was not paid enough to think, and thinking just caused him trouble. Yet here he was... “All right, Bahb,” he muttered to himself, “we're here now, let's get this done.” A long look at the casks told him that they were, indeed, casks. He had seen casks like them come into the Citadel on his first day, which was barely a week gone. The man at the gate had sent all but one to the officers' mess up near the Red Keep. With a shrug, Rhobbet- Bahb to his friends- swung himself up onto the cart and nudged his mules in the direction of the Red Keep proper. “Let's see: clockwork mechanism deposits small amounts of the black powder- still need a good name for it- into the cylinder. Cylinder compresses, opens door, furnace shakes, sparks ignite powder, cylinder opens, process repeats.” Pahl was walking around his small prototype engine, checking valves, chains, gears. In the back of his mind, there was something bothering him, but it was merely a small hum beneath the roar of his normal thoughts. He pulled one of his thick leather gloves onto his hand, took it off and switched it to the correct hand, then reached into his small forge and pulled three smoldering coals out of the fire and pushed them into the furnace attachment on the engine. A few quick turns of the wheel attached to the bottom of the furnace to test the shaker, and he nodded in satisfaction. “Next, add powder, wind spring, and stand back.” Pulling his goggles down over his eyebrows- two of them, for once- Pahl turned towards the corner of his little shop to break open one of the casks. Even with the noise of his ever-racing mind, it was impossible to not notice that there was an empty space on the ground where there should have been three casks of the black powder. Seemingly without any input from his mind whatsoever, Pahl pulled a thin piece of charcoal out of a pocket and made a note about naming the powder on his sleeve. For once, everything in his mind stopped. “They aren't here. Oh, Light, they aren't here.” That was bad. That was very bad. Pacing back and forth in front of his workshop, Pahl closed his eyes, his hands clutching the side of his head. “Focus, focus!” he muttered. “The casks aren't here. That means that they never made it here. That means that they are on the cart.” A deep breath. “The cart!” Pahl waited only long enough to make sure that his small furnace was closed- the people who made decisions in the Citadel were still angry about that last fire- before running straight back to the Illuminators' shack. Running through the Citadel was always tricky. Horses, foot traffic, and all of those people who also liked running through the streets. They were always going by in groups, and there was always one person at the front shouting things at the rest. The ones at the front also liked to look at Pahl with wide-open mouths whenever he sprinted past them. That never made sense to him. They had obviously seen people running before; all they had to do was look behind them. The Illuminators' shack was not long in appearing. Frantically Pahl pounded on the door. “Open up! W-we have a p-p-problem!” “What are you yelling about?” one of the Illuminators yelled from inside the shed. “The c-c-casks! They're missing!” There was a heavy silence from inside the shed, followed by a quiet, “Oh, Light...” The door flew open, and the Illuminator standing in the doorway was as white as Tar Valon. “What did you do, you little maniac?” Pahl glared. “It w-w-wasn't me! Where d-did you s-s-s-send that c-cart?” “We didn't send him anywhere! Where did you bloody well send him?” Grabbing the sides of his cap, Pahl began pacing again. “They didn't send him. I didn't send him. He left on his own. Three casks. What did we tell him about them? Nothing. Three casks...” Stopping short as an idea crackled through his head like a lightning bolt, Pahl yelled, “You! G-g-go to the t-t-taverns! See if any n-n-new casks have c-c-c-come in!” Not waiting to see if the Illuminators had done as he asked, Pahl turned and sprinted towards the mess halls. “Huh? I don't care. Put them by the ovens,” the head cook in the mess hall said, waving a ladle in the general direction of the rest of the kitchen. Nodding, Rhobbet returned to his cart and hoisted the first cask. The brandy inside shifted, but it did not feel like it was liquid. It rustled against the side of the wood next to his ear. Must be grain, then, Bahb thought as he hauled the cask into the kitchen and dropped it on the floor next to the nearest oven, radiating heat that he could easily feel. It was also radiating the smell of burnt bread, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to that. The second cask followed, the thump of it hitting the stone floor accompanied by a small cracking sound. A quick glance showed Rhobbet that the cask had landed next to some black soot, but there was nothing spilling out of it. To be safe, though, he was careful about stacking the third cask on top of the other two. Job completed, Rhobbet dodged his way out of the kitchens, snagging a roll from a tray on the counter as he went. A free lunch was never something to avoid. Bahb scrambled his way back up onto his cart and nudged the mules back towards the gates, taking a bite of the roll as he did so. The shipping clerk would probably have his next- oh. Bouncing along, Rhobbet- Bahb to his friends- made his back down to the gates. The roll stayed behind on the ground. Dodging his way through the back streets and alleys of the Citadel was much simpler than trying to run straight up the main road. There were fewer people and carts, and getting back to the main thoroughfare through the fortress would have taken more time. Time that Pahl was no longer certain that he had. After what felt like an eternity of panicked sprinting, Pahl finally broke out into the cleared area where the mess hall stood. Many of the cooks were standing outside the doors as a black smoke poured out. Skidding to a halt in front of the cooks, Pahl gasped, “Did anyb-b-b-body deliver anything tod-d-day? Any c-c-c-casks?” One of the cooks pointed into the kitchen. “Over by the ovens. Be careful, one of the loaves of bread caught fire in there. The smoke is pretty bad.” Next to the ovens? Fire?! Pahl tugged his goggles down over his eyes and pulled a strange mask over his nose and mouth. “G-g-get away from the b-b-building! Now!” The cooks made no move to leave. “Now!” he shouted. “Unless you want to die, GO NOW!” That seemed to shift them. Pahl never understood why people sometimes reacted better to shouting. It's not like they could not hear somebody talking- Enough. Casks now, shouting later. Stepping into the kitchen, Pahl took a split-second to examine the scene. “No people left. Good. Smoke dissipating, coming from wash tub next to oven. Other ovens...” Pahl approached and checked each oven. “Other ovens empty. Lots of sparks flying, though. Not good.” Coming around the side of the ovens, Pahl took another split-second to examine what was there. He immediately saw the casks. He immediately saw that one of them had cracked, and the black powder contained within was slowly pouring out onto a pile next to the cask. He saw sparks flying out of the oven and landing closer and closer to the casks. Pahl was back outside before he realized that he had even started running, screaming at everybody to get away from the building. Judging that he was a safe distance from the mess hall, he stopped to look back. Maybe there was a chance to get buckets of water. It wouldn't take much, maybe two or three, to render everything safe. If he cornered somebody to help draw some water, he could go get that padded suit from the training yard a- A hammer the size of a building struck Pahl's entire body, accompanied by a wave of heat that left his skin itching and burning. A wave of thunderous noise followed, though Pahl was not as concerned with that. The sound struck him at the same time that he struck a wall a fair distance from where he had been standing. His back struck first, then his head bounced off the wall. Pahl's vision went black for a moment as he bounced off the wall and landed on his face on the ground. His face burned in two circles around his eyes, and he could feel the warmth of blood trickling down around and under his goggles. Rolling onto his back, Pahl stayed on the ground, looking skyward. His head was swimming, his vision wavy, his thoughts slowed to a crawl. The casks... the casks must have... Pahl shook his head, causing a wave of nausea and pain to roar through his body. The casks had exploded. What had...? Slowly, Pahl turned his head towards the mess hall. Surprisingly, the building itself seemed to be intact, though there was no glass left in the windows. An agonizing glance down at his arms, reddened from flash burn and trickling blood from numerous small cuts, showed Pahl where some of that glass had gone. Pahl could not see anybody else on the ground near him, though he could not see very far from his position. One of the cooks from outside the kitchen was running towards him, his mouth opening and closing like he was saying something. He probably was, but the ringing in Pahl's ears, a familiar sound from his other experiments with the Illuminators' powder, was too loud for him to hear over. It would likely pass. His eyelids felt heavy, and he felt tired, more tired than he should have felt. A thought crawled out of the heavy mud that was his mind, a whispered warning to stay awake. Pahl did his best to comply. In the meantime, the pain was beginning to set in. Pahl knew that there was nothing that he could do to stop it, no point to fighting it. Instead, he settled in and allowed it to consume him. There would be somebody along soon to see what all the noise was about, after all. OOC: Hi! I'm back! I don't know what it's like on the other sides of the building, so feel free to fill in those details as you wish.
  7. -looks- -screams- -jumps into Liitha's arms- Kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it-kill-it...
  8. -walks back to his dark corner- -coughs at the clouds of dust cast up by his arrival- -steps away briefly, then comes back with an industrial-strength air compressor and presses the trigger on the hose- -coughs some more- -sets the compressor down- -sets up a few strings of color-changing LED lights on the dimmest setting- -sits down- -deep breath- ... -more coughing- -clears throat (again)- Hi.
  9. It seemed like weeks passed as Janine considered what she had just been told. An information broker in the bar. Now that was interesting. Settling back into the tall chair, Janine gazed across the top of her brandy snifter at Margerit, absently admiring the scent of the brandy as she did. She did not care if the other woman thought her rude; what had been said needed careful thought. Unlike most Aes Sedai, especially Blues, Janine did not maintain a network of eyes-and-ears of her own. She had only had a couple decades in which to start one, but she had never seen any reason to do so. Her interest in weather weaves was unaffected by goings-on in the world. The same was true for her interest in gardening. Janine's only other point of interest was on the Blightborder, and the reports she received through the Green Ajah's own network of eyes-and-ears had been sufficient for that, thus far. One day, she would have to put her own informants in place up north, she knew. However, what Margerit was offering had nothing to do with the Blight. Margerit herself provided another point of hesitation for Janine. Here was a woman who was so adept at adopting a dockworker's facade that Janine had been genuinely shocked- something that she had kept hidden behind a mask of curiosity- when she dropped the accent for the clipped, clean pronunciation of Cairhien. Janine had seen gleemen and other performers who could do the same thing without so much as a second's thought. They could transition from accent to accent mid-word, something which always impressed Janine. Therein, though, lay the problem. Margerit's first accent could have been her true accent. It could also be the Cairhienin accent that she had just adopted. It could also be one of a large number of accents that one could find in Tar Valon alone, to speak nothing of the visitors from outside the city. Janine finally returned from her thoughts and focused on the woman sitting across the table from her. "You make an interesting offer, Margie, if I may call you that." She took a sip from her snifter, allowing the brandy to trace exquisite fire through her mouth before swallowing it. "However, I find that I am not in need of your services at this time. My current sources of information are meeting my needs. That being said..." Janine's pipe had gone out. Frowning at the bowl, she quickly channeled a small flame to the tabac, setting it smoldering again before she continued. "I would like to be able to get in touch with you in the future, if necessary. I would not expect me to request your assistance often; you probably would not hear from me for years at a time." Tossing back the last traces of brandy, Janine lifted the glass of port that also sat on the table in front of her. "What say you?" OOC: I am really sorry about how long it took me to get back into this. Also, I am opening the bar to people from the White Tower and the Warders for now while I work out how to proceed with the place.
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