Day 71 - Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

[clockworknazi]

Who: Alucard and a broken tin soldier, plus anyone else that happens by.
When: Day 71
Where: Out on the Skyway
What: A bit of flotsam and jetsam lying bent upon the rocks.
Format: Action
Warnings: None




[ A light wind ripples a black leather coat tail. In the distance it looks like nothing more important than a torn piece of fabric caught under a stone. Closer inspection reveals an excess of leather, some polished, some matte black, all of it high quality.

Sand is pooled all around the outline of a man encased in a skin-tight black body suit. A cap lies nearby, having rolled off the shiny metal head, its front adorned with a skull and eagle. The man's chest is covered by an ornate breastplate decorated in Baroque style etchings, a beautiful piece of art marred only by a hole over the left breast. Not far away, a piece matching the diameter of the empty space lies on the ground near a bladed tonfa-style weapon and a plain cross medallion on a strip of red and black fabric. The metal piece missing from the hole in the chest is a long, very complicated-looking mechanism. Pits and arms on the tarnished metal look very similar to a key.

Whatever the figure was, human is never the first assumption when laying eyes upon the expressionless mask. Large black glass goggles where there should be eyes, a metal grill in place of a mouth. No nose to speak of, no ears, just circular pits covered in brassy mesh.

The man is motionless with no sign of a pulse, no breathing, no heartbeat, no sound. An over-sized doll laying bent and broken in a pile of rocks, covered in sand and saturated with water. ]

Comments

[superdrowningskills]

[There are many things to be found out on the Skyway. Cast off bits and pieces from the remains of worlds torn asunder; relics of times never to return. Any that happen to still have a function are retrieved from the wreckage and brought back to the Bastion. Walking amongst them, Alucard can't help but feel as if he is one of those relics, just as the doll appears to be.

His eyes drift from the hole in its chest to the blade, and finally to the key. Rather like a key to wind a clock, he thinks; perhaps it is indeed a complicated clockwork construct constructed for battle. It is something, he is sure, was somewhat beyond the time he had last awoken in his own world, and yet something of an antique in the eyes of most of the other survivors. Still, sometimes antiques are as useful as anything new, and if he can negotiate with it, perhaps it could be a valuable find indeed.

The dhampire picks up the key and carefully winds the doll, prepared to dodge in case its initial reaction is not favorable.]

[clockworknazi]

[ Dodging, it seems, is unnecessary at first. Turning the key results in a ticking, then a whirring, followed by silence and the distinct impression of anticlimax.
A soft gurgling sound erupts from the lower portion of the mask, a leather gloved hand shoots up reflexively for Alucard's throat. It misses by a hair's breadth, the arm falling back limply.
For a moment the figure lay still, silence reigning once more.
Tick tick, whirr.
Convulsions wrack the broken form, the body shaking and trembling, bouncing as the spine arches into a curve, snaps straight and arches a again, all accompanied by a horrible death rattle until it ceases to move.
Silence.
Fingers twitch. Glossy head turns, fingers move to touch the expressionless face. Stiff movements of a body left still for too long. A croaking groan rattles past the metal grill where lips should be.
Sitting up mechanically, the clockwork man swivels its head, ignoring Alucard for the moment. It reaches over and picks up the battered pieces of another mask with more well-shaped features, head tilting in confusion.
Eventually the clockwork man rises, pushing himself to his feet with labored sounds and obvious effort. Where the sand is not damp and sticking to his body, it trickles out of wounds like blood, the rush of tiny granules hissing softly.
Stumbling down next to the pinned leather coat, the man rolls a rock off of it and begins rummaging through the pockets in silence. His left hand seems to struggle with every task, fingers bent in impossible directions. At last he finds what he is searching for, a little kit, needles and thread, small tools for precise work.
He continues to ignore Alucard, and takes several long minutes to thread a needle with one hand. Once he manages the task, the man sets to stitching the skin together under the black material covering his form.
Where most people would have asked for or required help, he twists his arm in what should have been painful directions, sewing the wounds on his back together without hesitation. Whatever had stabbed him had gone all the way through.
Clipping the thread with little silver scissors, he packs everything neatly away with great care, tucks it back into his pocket and pulls the coat on. He has difficulty dressing himself with one hand, but much like the stitching, he manages alone.
All around him are broken and scattered belongings. He puts on layers of clothing, ties the cross medallion around his throat and retrieves the tonfas with a rather pointed look in Alucard's direction, as though waiting for a protest. Adjusting his hat, he suddenly looks more alive, more collected.
He picks up the broken mask and two others, tucks as many pieces as possible into his pockets and paces the area in search of any other debris before walking towards the dhampire, stopping three paces away and staring with those glassy black goggles.
He says nothing, does nothing, only stares and waits.
It is obvious he has a greater motivation and personality than that of a mere doll. Somewhere behind the mechanical body is a will of its own. A sentience usually only afforded living things, though it is obvious this man is not alive, in the strictest sense.
And now it is waiting for something from Alucard. Head tilting slowly to one side as though regarding the pale figure and measuring him. ]

[superdrowningskills]

[It's somewhat fascinating to watch the mechanical soldier repair itself. The articulation is nothing unusual; things that aren't human do not have to precisely follow average human anatomical constraints. His interest only grows as it - he - displays more human-esque behavior. Perhaps this was intended by the soldier's creators, or perhaps he is possessed the same as so many of the not-so inanimate objects in his father's castle.

However, regardless of the reason, there is now a mechanical man seemingly as interested in the dhampire as he is in them, and that demands a response.]

...There are hostile creatures here. We would do well to move to a more secure location. I will explain along the way.

[With that, he turns and begins making his way back towards the Bastion.]

[clockworknazi]

[ A more simple and valid explanation could not have been made. Violence had been instinctual, per the clockwork man's last memories. He did not recognize the blonde, did not recognize his surroundings. None of it was very clear and he was still groggy, if such a thing could be said.

Looking over the surroundings once more to make certain nothing of value belonging to him was left behind, the leather-clad man turned on a booted heel and walked after Alucard without questions or demands.

While the dhampire walked he could feel the other man's scrutiny, hidden eyes sizing him up from head to toe, taking into account everything from posture and gait to the level of detail in his clothing and the lilt of his speech, attempting to learn as much as possible from as little as possible.

He did not ask anything, he did not speak, and despite his level of injury, he did not complain nor make sounds of discomfort. He followed at Alucard's pace and waited for the blonde to explain what was going on, as he had said he would. ]

[superdrowningskills]

...From what what we have been told, those of us who have ended up here are the sole survivors of worlds that have been destroyed in an event known as the Calamity. It seems that even different versions of the same world are not immune to this. As far as we can confirm, this seems to be the truth of the matter.

[His eyes remain forward the entire time he speaks and his gait remains unchanged, save for a brief moment he pauses to scan his surroundings. Not strange in and of itself, save for if one pays close attention, it appears as if Alucard is also sniffing the air. The dhampire continues on when he's assured that there is no immediate danger.]

The survivors have built a small community in the one place we know of that monsters do not appear: the Bastion. If you have further questions, I am sure one of the others will be happy to answer when we reach it.

[clockworknazi]

[ Alucard couldn't tell - after all, Kroenen had no pulse that could race - but the German was utterly thrilled. Elated. Overjoyed. Doing mental back-flips, perhaps. If nothing else, there was some internal piece of him absolutely screaming in giddy, high-pitched squeals like a German stylist that just got told he'd be doing Colin Farrell's hair in the next film.

They had succeeded.

Rasputin and Ragna Rok. Some how they had succeeded and he - Karl Ruprecht Kroenen - was chosen to build the new Eden. He wondered if Rasputin or Ilsa had survived. Surely they had? What if they hadn't? what did that mean for him? The servant survived where the master did not?

Triumph made the SS officer tremble briefly with excitement. Enough that Alucard might have at least been able to notice the tension riddling the leather-clad man's form as he walked, listening without comment.

He had questions. Thousands of questions, but the answers would come in their own time. Until then...he must serve the goal, build Eden and protect those chosen to populate the new world. ]