Snippet #1451059

As soon as he was bid enter, Amon did just that, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Turning around, he studied his unwitting host for the briefest of moments before smiling thinly. Just like any other expression, it belonged on his face, though it would not be difficult to discern that there was something behind it, the slightest tensile tightness, a readiness for the unexpected, perhaps. Loki had told him point-blank that Taylor was not dangerous unless he was crossed, lacking the willfulness and wanton cruelty of some people, but he had ever been a man that formed his own impressions.

"Forgive me my... unconventional entrance, Lord Taylor," he spoke in the smooth tones of cultured politeness, bowing shallowly at the waist, "But it is perhaps more advantageous for both of us if I remain unseen." Amon showed the man his hands as he crossed the room, coming to stand in front of Taylor's desk, though far enough back so as not to unintentionally crowd. He slowly removed his shortsword from his waist, placing it on the ground in a gesture of good faith. The practical ramifications were minimal; he was otherwise armed and could kill a man with nothing but his hands if the occasion called for it, but the symbolic meaning was clear enough.

Lacing his hands together behind his back, the Guildmaster spoke once more. "My name is Amon Gregory, milord. It is one I understand you have heard recently, though not in precisely the way I had expected." Something flickered across the man's face then, but it was gone too fast to be truly deciphered. "The Princess has deemed it time that she show her hand, so to speak, and thus I have been sent. I expect you have questions, and I am here to answer what I am able. She regrets not coming herself, as well, but there are certain other matters that she must see to at the moment."

For all appearances completely at ease, Amon smiled again, but this time it was considerably more genuine. "I suppose that I could do you the favor of giving you a place to begin. I am an assassin, Lord Taylor, the Guildmaster, in fact. I have known Loki for a number of years now, and she frequently employs my agents for the purpose of gathering information. It was I who informed her of the Marquis's death, though I did not order the deed done and at this point have little more information on the culprit than you do, though if you are so inclined, I will tell you what I do know."

-=-
Marchfield Laboratories

Walsh listened intently, jotting down notes where he deemed it appropriate. It seemed that there was little information to be gleaned here, though; this man didn't seem to know much more than Walsh himself. Figures...

The scientist's final statement was a question, directed at Walsh. Holding back the tirade that threatened at such an obvious bait question, the detective tried to go for diplomatic. "Engines, trains, artificial magic," he said with a shrug, barely suppressing the disgust he felt at the word magic.

With that, though, the detective was done. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Vernazza," he intoned flatly, inclining his head. "If anything else strikes you, please do contact that Guard. I will leave you to your... duties." With that, Walsh turned smartly on his heel and exited, mind whirring away. He'd have to talk to Vanderbilt... not that he could do that without higher-level clearance, which he wasn't about to get unless he could prove it was poison, which was going to be problematic at best. The body was being committed to furnace tomorrow, and the medical examination was already complete.

He'd heard that the best suspect for the crime had escaped prison, too, which mean that he couldn't question the man. The escape in itself was most extraordinary; he'd never known anyone to make it out of the Facility like that. That place had been designed to imprison crafty mages, after all. But of course, any inquiry down this direction was quietly diverted, too, and he wondered who was squeezing the commander's throat so tightly as to manage that one.

It'd have to be someone high up... maybe another noble was responsible, and not that rebellion that people were whispering about, or the Guild? He'd have to think on it.

-=-
District Gamma

Loki wordlessly followed Zade up the narrow, creaking stairs and to the girl's apartment. There were several bottles and jars of chemicals present, but that didn't really arouse much suspicion. The redhead made a living setting things on fire, after all, and poison didn't seem her style. As far as Loki knew, killing people wasn't her style either, but it would be counterproductive to dismiss either notion entirely.

The injury in her arm was interesting, as was her present choice of wardrobe. Loki herself was fond of black, but Zade she knew to dress more brightly, and her current ensemble assuredly set bells ringing in one's mind that warned of thievery and clandestine activity. The former, the Princess had known about for a while, and the girl knew she knew, if the complete lack of alarm she exhibited at being caught thus was anything to go by.

She sipped her tea, an exotic, spicy blend that she had gathered from many such visits Zade preferred to milder sorts, and waited patiently for the inevitable question. When at last it came, Loki set her cup down and folded her hands in her lap, fixing her associate with an appraising stare. Holding her tongue for enough time to make the silence uncomfortable, she spoke. "Someone killed a nobleman, Zade."

Letting that sink in for a moment, she continued without waiting for a response. "I know how you feel about them, I do. They don't deserve what they have, and I know you feel you're getting back at them by stealing things. But... surely you didn't?" She infused just enough uncertainty in her voice to compel an answer, looking the part of the concerned colleague, a slightly too-nosy acquaintance perhaps.