Of Lace and Cogs. (A Steampunk Folly, starring Laceandcogs, and Chronicle_tenko.)

[chronicle_tenko]

Boueux D'Eau set up his pavilion. It was a misnomer, and in most of the states it had sounded mysterious, and a little tempting as it rolled off the tongue. Something good then, as he was a traveling magician by trade, wandering the land, performing feats of wonder, and magic. Here however in the French Quarter of New Orleans, people knew that his name meant very clearly; muddy waters. Still he took it in good humour. It wasn't as if he could go and get all the signs changed. Still he soldiered on. He'd never given up before now didn't seem to be any different a time.

His world was a little different nowadays. Where before he'd been a soldier and scout, for the Canadian Militia trappers and sappers core. Now he was running as far south as he could make it. Here in New Orleans at least the people spoke french, which was a plus. He remembered Pennsylvania, where the people had a habit of dropping consonants. It had made his name sound like some exaggerated vowel movement every time he had attempted to teach it to some pretty young girl.

The mass advent and acceptance of steam power, had replaced the frontier lifestyle, and the heralded new age was come. Now people could enjoy lights, hot and cold running water, and easier work. Plows could be run by a simple tumbler, and the horseless carriage was not only available but cheap. Any family could own one of the basic models, and the previous speed limitation of a horse's gallop was quickly overtaken by a sportier aerodynamic model of some Europeans who could easily propel men at speeds of up to 50 miles per hour. And the train could run almost as fast. Tons of steel and metal, moved by nothing more than Hot Water.

Somewhere in Britain an unknown genius had begun the work on a condenser, that allowed conventional steam to superheat and turn a turbine. This simple invention had led to the overthrow of monarchy, and the creation of the league of free thinkers, a scientific party, that now controlled most of Europe, and had let most of the colonies go freely. there were still the occasional conflicts between nationalists, but the world knew as much of an age of peace as it likely ever would, all thanks to this unsung hero. Many attributed it Lord Charles Babbage, but England's Speaker wasn't claiming credit. Which was a rare thing for him

Still this new and modern world didn't have much need, for Boueux. Not as a trapper, with fine cloths coming out of steam powered spinners. Not as a Soldier, his rifle and knife, and skills of demolition and stealth, no loner much need, with the modern gatling guns, and rapid response, of the Tactically Armored, Noisy Carriage. Or Tank. With it's treads, and impossible weight, the scythes on it's sides and the fearsome speed of it, almost faster than Horses. men, and infantry, were almost unusable. The filtration systems of steam had led to the use of gaseous compounds that would burn or eat mens flesh. So Boueux was no longer much of a soldier, and he would not enter the life of a spy, thief, or brigand. So here he was. Thousands of miles from home, in the back of Louisiana, in the grandest city in all the swamps of the world. New Orleans.

Still it wasn't a bad venue. Maybe the gambling hall wasn't the most luxurious space, but it was certainly spacious. almost 250 people could see the main stage, and there was no shortage of, 'lovely assistants.'His room at this particular establishment wasn't very large, or in fact clean, but it was said with a wink that's he'd never want for companionship. which was true. Even if he didn't count the occasional insect, and the innumerable mosquitoes, enough whores used that room, Boueux was willing to take bets on whether he'd hear more moans or feel more bites during any given night. Of course it also meant he'd taken to sleeping with one eye open on his money belt. Some of these bayou women were, well. Talented. That was probably the best word.

The hall was full tonight. Full of drunken revelry, gamblers, thieves, and all manner of men and women. One table in particular drew his attention, a Surly looking youth, with exotic features. Maybe he was Half Chinee? And obviously family to someone else. There were a few around the table as he played his luck in hand after hand. he was getting taken, the fellow in the bowler hat was straight bottom dealing to that brigand dressed as a dandy every second hand. The real gentleman, or real effete ones, wore gloves, but he could see from a few tables back that the smoothed mustache, and dark fine clothing, were a little worn, but not as frayed and hazarded as the dandy's hands. They were chop blocked, man bit his nails, instead of cutting them, and his fingers bore all the callouses of a man who knew blackjack work, in dark alleys, and in casino's. Boueux shook his head. Something bad was about to happen.

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina Bonnechance watched her brother's gambling partners with narrowed eyes nearly the color of coal. Her arms were folded across her breasts, which were violently and seriously subdued by the finest high-rise corset she had been able to afford. While most women wore such a painful device to emphasize their shape, Carolina had chosen this one to suppress- it flattened her breasts and streamlined her hips, and coupled with a loose men's dress shirt and a conductor's cap pulled low over her brow, she could nearly pass. Granted, she'd be just about the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, but it was a good enough guise from a distance, and up close and personal, Carolina could shut any undaunted traps.

Hopping off the stool she perched on, Carolina moved up behind her brother. Her feet were clad in elastic-edged flats, allowing her the freedom and balance to move with a naturally rolling, feline walk. "You know, you're losing to these pigs, and while it isn't necessarily your fault, allowing it to continue is going to make you look stupid." Had this comment not been delivered sotto voce, in deliciously lilting Shanghainese, it would have inflamed more tempers than the one it was aimed at. Even if one of these lugnuts spoke Mandarin, they wouldn't have a prayer of deciphering the more fluid speech patterns, the elaborate sentence construction... Mama may have fallen on harder times here in America than she'd hoped for, but her education and breeding were, in her own country, impeccable- and she'd instilled the same in both children.

For his part, George took it well. He laughed, and flipped a bit of hair out of his eyes before responding in kind. "You use the future tense like I'm not already way out of my league, Caro. I know I'm being cheated, but damned if I know how. Ready to bail me out?"

'Caro' was always ready to bail her brother out. He was the moon in her sky, the sun on her horizon, and she loved his stubborn egg-headedness with a fierce and true passion. Her very first fight had begun defending him, though he was two years her senior, and she could think of few better ways to take her last stand than in defense of her precious genius.

Bumping between George and the man next to him, Carolina steepled the fingertips of both hands on the gaming table and leaned down slightly. Her gaze hooked the dealers, and her flawless English was delivered in a firm, go-ahead-and-try-me voice. "Sorry, gentlemen, George is cashing out." Fishing the debt owed from the bills in her pocket, she placed them in front of the dealer without once releasing his gaze.

She could feel the tempers rise, the seats shift. Disjointed grumbles began almost instantly, and Carolina could not suppress the smile they brought to her lips. "Stand up, George, and get your coat. We're leaving." Though she knew George had to get home in one whole and unharmed piece, Carolina would have gladly welcomed a bit of a scrap- there was something almost sexually satisfying about the wide-eyed moment wherein a man realized he'd tangled with the wrong "boy". Besides, George kept a rather large gun in his coat, and Carolina knew that he could hold it rather convincingly- the fact that he couldn't bear to pull the trigger, even in practice, was a secret.

 

[chronicle_tenko]

That was a good man there. Saw his brother being cheated and immediately stopped the play. It was a good thing too, those stacks were becoming dangerously low. Boueux took a larger look at that, as the youth placed hard hands upon the table back to the players in the game.

"That's barmy. Get his pretty little head cracked clean off those shoulders he keeps up that taunt. It isn't the dealer she has to worry about it's that dandy."

Already the blackjack man was rising, hands in his pocket looking for a sap, as the dealer protested that it was the brother's decision and he'd paid for one more hand. His Tennessee was showing too, corn fluff whiffling out of his mouth Fast as six shooter. Boueux took a stride off the stage and was confronted almost instantly by a serving black boy in in a waiter's uniform.

"Sir you don' want none of that, they gone roll those two gentlemen, at the table or in the alley, and everyone here have a better time you not get involved. Laisser ces bons moments conserver matériel roulant Mister muddy waters. "

Boueux didn't think he was being threatened but he knew when bad intentions went beyond simply card game money. That was the case they'd have let him leave without the show. Then the crash came.

He jumped, shoving the friendly server a little too hard as he scrambled towards the card table. Noises like that were only bad news, and the first few steps were crucial in any engagement. Before the screaming started, before the shots were fired, before every plan failed. He wasn't prepared for what he saw. The dandy was smiling, almost unconscious with a tooth drooling out of his now gap toothed lips. Shredded flesh made the grin grotesque as he lay on his back in the middle of the card table, the entire assembly of players on their feet. The tougher Chinee releasing his grip on Dandy's elbow, his fist already retreated, spatters of blood dotting his knuckles. His brother scared, and shrill, a massive hand cannon in both his hands, held convincingly enough, but with the small shake of a man who never squeezed a trigger in his life.

It was a standoff, the worst kind, and he was still going to charge in, before the bullets started flying on top of fists.