Oile

Oile: Haunting eyes

2009-10-23T05:00:00Z

Been a few weeks, sorry about that. Got distracted with too many things, the first being these damn blueprints. I think I figured it out, the angles and lengths simply don't add up. I found spots in the design that are simply and utterly wrong. I spent five days just tracing out those damn specifications, building up some set of formulas that would make them right.

Mind-boggling difficult work, I'd like you to know.

I got it down to ten sections in the blueprints. Ten places where if you change it, it all works. I can... almost picture it in my head and it is amazing. It also hurts my brain to think about since some of these pipes and gears are smaller than my fingers. It also works in more than the typical 90 degree angles and planes. No, whoever created this thing somehow was able to create practical flowers with gears. Even the pressure release valves are artfully arranged.

It steals my breath away, but I also can't figure out those ten sections.

Also, someone is following me up on the surface. I even took to wearing my more formal gear: black pin-strip suit and an adorable bowler hat that Bonnie gave me. A far cry beyond my normal outfit of grease-soaked apron and leather boots. But, still, I get this feeling someone is just around the corner when I walked through the crowds.

It also doesn't help that the last time I was up there, I caught the tail end of an arrest. Two mage captains and a dozen guards raiding a small factory near the edge of town. From the looks of it, they were crafting pipes probably for steam engines. Not... exactly illegal in this city, but also not approved without a ton of paperwork and licenses. Actually, it probably was illegal since no industry is allowed in the island quarters and they would never give one for the shoreline. But, there are always people willing to risk setting up these tiny factories to pump out products for a few weeks at most, then hopefully disappear before the guards come for them.

The only people who got hurt were the poor who lined up for any job that gave them a few quarters on the hour. And, as I watched the guards shoving people into the horse-drawn carriages, were those poor people. Wearing rags in the cold air. Grease in their hair. Hollow looks from working fourteen hour days. I saw a few children, barely over a dozen eyars, being tossed into the back. One of them, a girl, caught the edge of the carriage, screaming for help. Our eyes matched for just a second, that terrible second before I could quickly look away.

Nothing I could do.

The mage captains were getting a bit twitchy and I needed to move. Ducking underneath a tarp at the end of the street, I quickly made a few grocery purchases from a tiny little hole-in-the-wall store (Grandma Nfani, lovely bat of a woman) and found the nearest sewer entrance. I nearly dove into it, but something tickled the back of my neck. I didn't see anyone, but I decided to--as casually as I could--pad down the street until I found one of the more formal entrances. Naturally hidden in a garden.

A quick look around and I disappeared into the shadows.

Sadly, the haunted look of that girl followed after me as I raced back to my lair.

Oile: Okay, this is just wrong...

2009-10-18T05:00:00Z

I just realized, there is something wrong with these blueprints. After working on them for a few weeks, I've managed to rebuild three sections of it. The first time, I thought I just skipped a section or two, but the second and third... I realize that these numbers aren't right. I mean, the lengths in section 2.3.434.23 are ten times larger than the ones in 2.3.434. I mean, 2.3.434 includes 23, but no matter how many times I built it, it simply won't work.

Plus there are parts missing. Entire sections are missing from these blueprints and I can't figure out where the inlets and outlets are coming from this device. I think I can make it work, but it simply doesn't do anything.

What is wrong with it? I mean, it is absolutely beautiful work but I'm getting this feeling that it is just that... art. It looks pretty but it doesn't work. It almost sickens me. I strive to build things that help people, and while my plans aren't "pretty" they are functional.

I take pride in that.

You know what? I think I'm going to sneak out and get buzzed tonight.

Oile: Frustrations

2009-10-17T05:00:00Z

Been a couple days since I sequestered myself in my little sewer home and spread out the thick sheaf of blueprints. Page after page of that beautiful writing. I flipped through a few pages until I found what looked like a good starting point, some sort of circular control system. It had hundreds of tiny copper pipes leading into it, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it actually did.

So, best place to start.

Fortunately, I have some metal grinding and shaping tools at my home. And enough brass and copper to go around, so I just got started. Threw myself into finding the right shapes and grinding them down. I even added a few of my "personal" touches to the design including a little flair because 1) I like to do that, 2) I'm building it.

Remarkably, after three days, the "simple" little thing is still driving me nuts. I thought I got it down to only three assemblies left in the shell but when I found the pages on the first, it ended up being another ten pages worth of diagrams! With other reference points also.

I also realize, I was building this thing way too small. For all the beautiful work, the angles and lengths, the master diagrams didn't include any of them. But, when I buried myself down into the inner depths, I realize this thing should be in meters... like tens of meters across instead of the meter I built it.

I am not happy. Three days of work and I paid attention to the wrong bit. So, this morning, I spent the entire morning just trying to find the smallest component and worked my way up. Eight hours of solid working (and needing a microscope!) I actually got it assemblies.

It looks like a trilobyte, completely with tiny little feet. I made the eyes out of some sapphire flecks I found (it called for star sapphire, but what is beauty in this case). Tiny little veins act as conduits for the pressure. Just blowing on some of the openings causes the tiny little legs to tremble and clutch my finger.

It is absolutely amazing work for something only a few centimeters across. Whoever designed this... they are amazing. This blueprint is a true work of art, far and beyond what I've seen. I thought I was hot stuff, but just looking at this... I'm beginning to doubt if I'm anything than a glorified mechanic.

Oile: My blueprints of the future

2009-10-14T05:00:00Z

I managed to get to Erin’s office before I threw up. Actually, I got to the curb and bruised my knees, but I got out of the car in time. I did it again once we got into her crowded office, but this time I made it to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, I managed to yank on the brass handle that sent liters of murky water through the porcelain bowl. Wiping my mouth off and making a face, I staggered out of her private bathroom and into Erin’s office.

There is something about that loud-mouthed, smelly woman that is in complete contrast to her office. Where she would happily wipe her greasy hands on her shirt or drop her pants just to get me a belt to repair her precious van, her office was immaculate. Piles of papers, thousands upon thousands, were neatly stacked along the walls. She lined up the corners so sharply they could slice open your hand if you even considered touching them. Behind the papers, bookshelves lined every meter of the walls. Neat sets of thousands of legal guides, probably ever law and ruling every brought in this city, actually gave the hint she was a lawyer.

But then again, Erin’s idea of justice is punching out the judge while dragging me out of a court room. That was a lie, by the way, she was in court at least once in my life. She broke down the door while her thugs fired six times into the room with their crossbows. I was just a minor criminal at the time, caught for overcharging one of the senator’s new air ship and sending him firing out over the river. I was laughing so hard from their screams that the guards caught up with me. Stupid mistake, I know, but worth it.

If you can’t guess, I’ve had my troubles with the law. Nothing like murder, but I’ve heard the words “criminal mischief” more times that I really wanted to count. Plus, in a world ruled by mages, the engineers are still... on the edge of legality. In magic, when someone uses your artifact to harm someone, you are directly responsible because that artifact is still “part” of you. I don’t really understand the details, but you control the power in that device, even from a distance. For me, if someone takes my riding vehicle and goes racing through town, they still think I’m responsible since I would be if it was one of those magic cars banned in the city. Actually, my first arrest was for “allowing free use of an artifact along city roadways.”

Reminder to self, sling-shooting yourself through town on a board with casters is a) stupid, b) painful when you hit the cobblestones, and c) arrest-worthy when you go careening into a street guard.

I sat down on the leather chair Erin used for guests. It creaked from my weight and I watched a few curls of paper creep across her desk. Erin looked unhappy for a moment, then swept the dust from her desk.

“You really screwed up, Oile.”

I nodded bashfully, I didn’t really know what else to say.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. Murder is a pretty serious thing, you know.”

“Yeah...”

She grabbed a peach from her desk and started to eat it.

“Better lay low for a few months, or better yet, get out of town.”

My eyes shot up and she smirked, “I know, terrified of leaving town. Can you at least stay in that sewer cave of yours for a few months? Only come up for air? And maybe ale?”

The idea of crawling back home was very appealing. I think I could duck down there for a few months. The nice part about this town is that you can disappear in it very quickly. Even faster if you have friends in the right place.

I looked up at Erin with my question. She stared at me for a long time before answering.

“Yes, I can get Chini to come. She’s doing another job for me, but you’ll have a new face by winter.”

Forgot to mention that part too, having mages able to change your face and body makes it really easy to hide in large cities. Takes a few months for that magic to “settle” and it always leaves a mark of being shaped, but better than prison. It is also why none of us really worried about my freedom. Everyone knew, criminals and guards alike, it would be a matter of days before I disappeared.

“Thank you, Erin. If there is anything I can do-”

“Yeah, yeah, just call you. All I really care about is you fix my damn car. I love that thing.”

It was also the reason I had the life I did. Who knew fumbling with that old GWF fifteen years ago for a few measly coins would somehow lead to me sitting in front of the so-called Lawyer of Smoketown.

Erin, the smelly but very powerful, woman, waved with her hand and finished up her peach. A neat flip of her wrist and the pit flew threw the air, barely missing a stack of papers and rang out loudly from the bottom of a garbage can.

“Go on, Oile, fix my car and dive underground. I’ll call you when I need you.”

I stood up and bowed slightly, like the old warriors of the coast. Erin didn’t really pay attention. Spinning on my heels, I quickly headed out already planning on my repairs for her vehicle.

“Oile...”

I almost made it to the door when she called out to me. It was a soft, but very dangerous voice. I considered my options, standing in that door. Turn around or keep on walking. If I walked, there would be no more help from my lawyer and I would be very alone in this dark world.

Didn’t really have a choice, did I?

Turning around, I took in her look. She looked thoughtful as she tapped on her impeccable desk blotter.

“I might have something...”

Hesitantly, I pushed myself from the door frame and walked across the office. Before I saw down, she pulled out a beautifully tooled satchel from next to her desk. I took it in my heads, surprised at the weight. Someone carved (is that what they do to leather?) horses and roses in the front, but all I could smell was old oil, grease, and leather. It was the bag of an engineer.

“Go on,” she said carefully.

I flipped the latch and opened it up. Papers slid out into my hand and I fanned through them. Blueprints, very dense blueprints where I normally worked with sketches of half-formed ideas. But these, these were professionally made. I turned one of them around, looking for the engineer’s mark but it was blank. No signature, no sigil. Very strange in a world where every design is a badge and every blueprint is proof of talent. Instead, just an empty space like someone forgot to mark their amazing work.

“Can you do it?”

I looked up at Erin and saw interest burning in her eyes. My eyes dropped back down to the papers. I flipped slowly through them, staring at the dense blue lines across the white paper. The impeccable writing, worthy of the best class I’ve never been do, and the amazing detailed diagrams. And sub-diagrams. And details. It was almost art, no, it was art. Like holding a Dlaci or Mresu in your hands.

But, then I had to focus more. It looked complicated, but very broken down. Individual screws and angles. Everything documented from the length of wires and the number of coils around a screw. It was the work of someone very precise and very exact. I could follow it, if it was important.

I looked up at Erin and decided, yes, it was very important. I nodded, only half confidently.

“Good, how long?”

I tried to guess, taking in the five or six centimeters of folded papers.

“Coup... couple of months maybe? Depending on supplies, of course.”

“I’ll make sure you’re provided for.”

I looked up at the hard voice. Erin stared back at me, her jaw growing tight as she regarded me.

“Call it the price for your new face.”

That little voice was beginning to speak up.

“S-Sure.”

Oile: Oh yeah, this guy is good...

2009-10-12T05:00:00Z

The problem with healing spells is that you are so wired after you get them. Even when everything aches and you are so uncomfortable that you can’t find a good position, you still can’t get to sleep. Like having twelve shots of coffee after an all-nighter. I tried so hard to find a comfortable position and get a few minutes of sleep. Rolling on my side made all the healing wounds hurt even more and the back was down right uncomfortable. On my stomach, I was worried more about the guard outside the door and quickly changed position.

But, somehow in the constant turning, I completely and utterly missed this black suited man coming into my office and sitting down. One moment, I was staring at the brilliant white walls trying to figure out how to escape out of this cluster and the next I’m staring at a guy staring back at him.

“Shit! Where you’d come from?”

He spoke in a smooth, cultured voice, “I’ve always been here.”

I snarled and tried to find a better position, “No, you haven’t.”

A smile crossed his lips, “I always wanted to say that, Master Dlason.”

There are a few things that scare me. I mean, really scare me. Waking up to a dead woman is right up there on the top of the list, but hearing my last name spoken out-loud got right up there in the span of a heartbeat.

“Oh... shit.”

The man gestured with his thumb to the floor, “You can use the bedpan, if you want. I’m used to dealing with the crap of the world.”

He said it in such a dry voice. It only took a heart beat after that to figure him out. I groaned and let my head slump back to the pillow.

“Lawyer?”

The man nodded, “Of course. A rather well-paid one.”

“Why are you here?”

“Your benefactor sent me to help you through your current trials.”

I shook my head, then winced at the discomfort, “I don’t have a benefactor.”

“You do now.”

Clearing my throat, I shook my head violently.

“I already have a lawyer on call.”

“Master Flinid is not what I would call a good, or competent, lawyer.”

“But at least he never showed up like some stalker in my room.”

The lawyer shrugged, “I have many talents.”

“I’m sure, but whatever you want and whoever you work for, I’m not interested.”

The lawyer gave all the impression of sighing with disapproval without actually making a noise. He stood up smoothly. One hand reached out and I saw a card in his palm. I took it automatically, then shivered at the feel of cool metal. In surprise, I fingered his card before I realized it was etched metal with a remarkably sharp edge. So sharp that a small droplet of blood welled up from my finger.

“What kind of card is-”

I looked up as I spoke but he was gone. That little nagging voice was screaming out loud inside my head. Very carefully, I set down the business card that could double as a knife and tried to find a comfortable spot to sleep the last few hours of freedom.

Oile: What real lawyers do

2009-10-12T05:00:00Z

They came for me just after midnight. Three rough city guards and the captain. They hovered over me as the healer finished the last of his spells; I felt that disgusting surge of energy and excitement that comes from healing, but looking up at the guards reminded me that it was just a little electric high.

Gods above, I wish I was back in my sewers.

A tenth of a second after the healer stepped back, rough hands grabbed me and yanked me out of the bed. I screamed out and buckled as my shoulders almost ripped themselves from their sockets. The big, stupid guard punched me before the captain glared at him and started to remove the straps. Big and Stupid actually looked sheepish before yanking off the other one.

This time, they managed to get me out of bed and halfway down the hall before my feet touched the floor. I saw the nurses and doctors peering from the door frames and behind the desk, a dead man walking. I could almost imagine myself on death row, but the idea of prison made me stick to my stomach and I quickly found something happier to think about.

Mmm, rebuilding engines.

Outside, they had a Gibson-West-Filler waiting for me. A relatively new carriage with an engine rumbling underneath. Gouts of black smoke rose up from the steps leading into the back and my eyes teared up as they jammed me inside. The engine turned over twice and soon we were bumping along the cobblestones.

Released from my confines, I didn't have much to do besides stare out of the back window. The bars were cool in my palm, the price of fall and an early frost. I watched the cobblestones racing by, the occasional mark or smear of horses. Times like this, I can see this world struggling with the idea of engines and I could imagine we were right on the edge of something amazing.

Or, at least I hoped so. I heard a thrum of something and looked up to see a Zeppelin floating across the sky. It looked like a Rass, but the cabin and bow looked more like a Tucker-Mith. I wondered who made that one, Tucker and Mith were still showing off their most recent designs and last I heard, Rass and his wife were "rekindling" their relationship. Still caught my breath as it gracefully floated through the air. No doubt heading in the opposite direction for the landing fields.

I let out a disappointed breath and watched it fog in the air. Then I caught sight of a street urchin I knew. I tried to call out to him, but my mouth wouldn't work fast enough. But, just as we raced around the corner, he turned to me and smiled.

Okay... creepy.

A few moments later, I saw another kid I used to feed my scraps (okay, share since I didn't get the choice bits). He waved to me and gave a palm up.

Okay... not creepy. Actually, two kids looking confident means...

It took me only a moment. Dropping back, I sat heavily down in the bench of the carriage and held on tight. I heard the roar of an engine coming up hard and fast. Closing my eyes tightly and tried to imagine some car racing up.

Then it passed us. The rumbling of the engine and the smell of burning oil teased my senses, the only little taste of freedom I let myself hope for. Damn it, some of my confidence came from knowing someone would break me out. I mean, that is what friends do, right?

Apparently, Bonnie changed everything. She always did.

I worked myself into a funk when the carriage flipped completely over. Unprepared, I rolled around like a doll and twisted my ankle hard on the bench. There were screams and then the sharp sound of gears being stripped. A moment later, that sickening feeling of being airborne.

Then being not airborne as the vehicle crashed into the ground. The impact slammed into me, driving the air from my lungs. I gaped like a fish as I tried to scramble to my feet.

Lights flashed over my face, then strong hands grabbed me from the torn open van. I flailed uselessly as they dragged me to my feet, then someone stared at me. I tried to blink, my minds not quite focusing.

My savior helped by slapping me hard across the face. The sparks that shot across my vision gave me something to latch on and I shook my head.

They slapped me again and I cried out before falling back from the third one that brushed my nose. I looked up at the nastiest, smelliest woman known to man.

"Hi, Erin."

Erin grinned--she lost half a dozen teeth over the years and relished the picket-fence look she had--and held out a hand. I grabbed it and she easily pulled me up, her muscles not even bulging as she set me down like some sort of toy.

"Heard you did something stupid. Decided it was a miscarriage of justice."

When she spoke, Erin sounded like she smoked half a ton of tobacco and rinsed it down with moonshine. A sultry voice, if you didn't look at her face. I chuckled while rubbing my shoulder.

"Ever thought about just going to court for these things?"

"Got my court," she said plainly while shoving me toward her vehicle. Two of her assistants (thugs) were trying to pull the cars apart and not having the best of luck. Both engines still ran, but Erin's old monstrosity sputtered while trying to catch across stripped gears.

Erin slapped me on the back.

"Like I would let my best mechanic go to prison."

Reaching the car, I flipped open the mangled remain of the cover for her engine. Erin got behind the driver's seat and looked at me expectantly.

"Sec..."

It only took a few short seconds. She stripped a few gears, nailed one of the belts, and twisted two of smaller gear rods. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the pens. With a little twisting, managed to get the gears back into position. Used some pins as a cotter and held them in place. I tried to find something to repair the belt quickly, but didn't find anything. The sirens got much louder when I started to give up, but Erin surprised me by handing me a leather belt.

I looked at her, then let my eyes drop down to her pants on the ground.

Okay, didn't need to see that.

Closing my eyes tightly, I repaired the engine that has earned me my livelyhood for ten years and slammed the door down. Racing around, I threw myself into the passenger side of the car as Erin gunned it forward. Smoke and oil choked us, and her car shuddered but my repairs held and we escaped before the guards could come.

I caught my breath before speaking.

"Thank you, Erin."

Erin shrugged, then grinned.

"You have a retainer, this is what I do to earn it."

"Ever tried the actual court system?"

"Never been in court a day of my life."

Joys.

But, freedom has its own price. I leaned back and stared at the starry sky through the smoke of the engine. And caught sight of that Zeppelin circling the city.

Beautiful.

It was turning into a good night.

Oile: A humbling thought

2009-10-10T05:00:00Z

A few terrifying hours and two healing spells later, they jammed me into the guarded hospital bed at Saint Kistho. Helpfully, they bound my arms to the sides of the bed with leather straps to keep me "safe". In reality, it was because they were afraid I would suddendly grab a knife and start stabbing all those nurses and doctors running around. I didn't have the heart to tell them I only kill the insane women in my life. Well, woman. Bonnie was my first in so many ways, murder being one of them.

The cuffs or the straps didn't stop me from picking up two pens from the front desk and some needles from the healing mage. Not sure why I did it, but I hate this feeling of helplessness and boosting things gave me back a little control. The two guards really don't help. The big one's hands really hurt when he jammed his thumbs into the joint in my shoulder and told me, in that special voice only shared between authorities and criminals, that I will burn for killing that "pretty girl".

I'm still trying to piece together how I ended up in bed with a dead woman.

Then, like schools and courts, I had to wait. Long enough that I really had to pee, but no one really seemed to care about that. A couple hours later, I gave up counting the lines in the wood ceiling and moved to imaginging pictures from the whorls of the plaster just as the healing mage came in. Behind him, another pair of guards, one of them with the big fance badge that said he was important.

"Oile... do you have a first name?"

"Yes," I murmerered, "Oile."

An eyebrow raised, "What is your last name?"

I just shrugged, didn't really want to talk about it. The healer gave up after a few moments, then cleared his throat.

"Look, you need to hear this."

He turned back to the captain of the guards.

"Sir, here is the catalog of injuries of your suspect. Mis... Mr. Oile was shot with three bullets and two crossbolts from the city guard. He had four bullet wounds from a small caliber weapon-"

As he spoke, I got flashes of when Bonnie shot me. The first time was in the living room, while we screamed at each other. Another in the kitchen and the other two on the stairs as we struggled upstairs.

"-and five shallow stabbings and one deep cut from a short knife-"

The kitchen again, she was nasty with that carving knife of hers.

"-excluding multiple defense cuts on his forearms and shoulders. I also found some broken bones in his foot."

I winced at the memory of when Bonnie smashed my foot with her wrench. That was in the living room, but I couldn't quite place when. The captain didn't look at me, but the large guard smirked at my injures. I really didn't want to be reminded that Bonnie beat the crap out of me. I mean, she trashed me so hard, I could barely remember that one, desperate stab that actually killed her.

Then that nagging voice in my head.

I don't remember actually killing her. I don't have any memory after that last stab.

And where did those flowers come from? They were, very distinctly, not in my memory.

The captain listened for the rest of the report, then finally let his eyes slide over to me.

"Can he go to trial?"

The mage nodded curtly, then cleared his throat again.

"I need him to remain here for the night, for observation and final recovery. He needs two more low powered healing spells every three bells to finalize the healig process. You can move him right after the last one."

The captain grunted, "Charge it to his account."

"Of course."

From the response, I have a feeling that my legal account was about to get very, very expensive. There are days when I hate our court system.

Irrationally, I was also terrified of waking up in this room. It had white walls and was very clean. And... when I wake up... I'm going to be in just as much trouble as the last one.

Oile: Waking up in all the wrong places

2009-10-10T05:00:00Z

I woke up with a splitting headache. In itself, not a remarkable thing, but when I’m blinded by very clean white walls, I knew immediately that I was in a lot of trouble. I don’t live anywhere that has clean walls. Actually... I don’t live anywhere that has white walls. My little part of the sewers is done in the late rust period (third century, I think) with some early mold influences on the trim and doorways.

I just don’t like being surprised when I wake up. I might love it if I had some cute thing offered me coffee, but that hasn’t happened in... ever. I still cracked open one eye again just to check.

Nope.

As I considered lying back on the soft sheets, I felt this little nagging voice in the back of my head, the kind you have when you forget to check that last pressure gauge or left your best 12mm wrench at home. At least it wasn’t the scream echoing in your brain as you watch brass bulging from the heat.

Quickly, I decided strange bedrooms were a very bad thing to wake up in. Getting up, I checked out the two things important in every man’s life.

Wallet, check. Important body parts, check.

In the process of this highly critical inspection of my person, I realized something else that gave me a bit of thought and added a little volume to that nagging voice.

I was dressed.

One would think that waking up in a strange bed, surrounded by clean walls, you had a very good night of absinthe and lovers. But, I still wore my lab coat. I wiggled my toes in my boots as I sat up, groaning with one hand on my face. Breathing in, I choked on the smell of my own acrid breath. There was the absinthe. Something died in my throat and I could feel it still sliding down into my gut. Swallowing hard, I exhaled as hard as I could and breathed in a fresh gulp.

And caught a hint of jasmine in the air. That little nagging voice turned into a full out scream as I took another hesitant breath. Jasmine, rose, and motor oil. Only one woman ever perfected that mix of intoxicating smells. Beautiful and intelligent, everything I ever wanted in a woman.

But, she would never be a lover. With hindsight, I needed to add sane to that list.

I refused to look back at the bed. Maybe if I don’t see her, she wouldn’t be in the bed. I wouldn't have made the worst mistake of my life. I knew it wasn’t possible, I could feel the weight on the mattress and the sight of her petticoat on the chair.

No, please no...

Vague memories pushed through my thoughts and I gave a hesitant peek to the foot of the bed. She still wore her own boots, black leather with very short heels and a screwdriver jammed in the laces. Yes, it was her. Trembling, my gaze moved up to her fabric covered leg and I let out a long sigh of relief.

Dressed.

I resisted the urge to check for her wallet and stood up. My bleary eyes looked around and I had to clutch the side of the bed to regain my balance. The world seemed to shake and the walls glowed with an intensity that blinded me.

Blinking, I stared at the far wall until my vision focused on the delicate oil painting I bought her years ago.

It was flashing.

Frowning, I let my gaze follow the pulsating lights to the window. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t a bright morning that woke me, but light bulbs exploding outside. That little nagging voice got a little more insistent at that sight. Drawn like a moth, I inched toward the window and peeked out from the curtains.

Reporters. With their bright and shiny toys. I saw three magnesium cameras, including a Fidosa, and two propane recorders. One of them looked like a highly modified Marston-Stin but I didn’t recognize the other. I did, on the other hand, notice the dozen guards milling around, trying to quell the traffic and curious humanity. Their bright red cloaks and jackets told me more than I wanted to know.

I needed to start screaming.

I had to look. I had to. I didn’t want to, but something told me that I was in a lot more trouble than jacking that steam engine from the fire brigade last week.

Fear pooling in my gut, I turned around to the bed.

Bonnie Tithe.

The most beautiful woman I knew.

She stared up at the ceiling, those warm brown eyes that would never see anything again. I felt a sob rising in my throat, but it collapsed in my gut when I remember I killed her. I didn't mean to, but it happened only a few short hours before. Tears ran down my cheeks as I stared furtively around, desperate for some easy way out of this trap.

No, Bonnie wouldn't have made it that easy for me.

Fear fluttering in my heart, I stumbled to the bed. Reaching out with trembling fingers, I pulled my dagger from her side and wiped the blood on the sheets. Jamming it in my pocket, along with two lengths of wire and a short copper pipe that fell out while I slept, I hurried to the door.

I pulled it a little too hard and I felt my wounds tearing open again. Hissing, I clutched it as the sharp pain radiated from where she shot me. It started the fight, that part I remember, but I couldn't honestly remember what happened before the screaming.

I nearly fell down the stairs to the main hall. Shadows stood outside the door, in sharp contrast to the reporter's bulbs. But, they made no effort to enter the town house. I groaned and raced through the kitchen, my boots crushing glass and spent bullet casings. But, two more shadows at the back door and someone's back to me in the main window.

Trapped. I was trapped.

Damn that Bonnie.

I stood in the living room, surrounded by lights and fear. My eyes darted from door to window as I tried to find some way to escape. The basement? No, I remember that Bonnie kept her old experiments down there. Knowing her, they wouldn't find my body for years in that mess. I considered the attic, but that is where she kept her clean room. Nothing to hide in there. I gave myself a bitter smile and looked down.

In the center of the mess, with broken tables and glass everywhere, a small end table stood in the center of the room. On it, an intact crystal vase, a black rose, and a card.

Frowning, I reached down and snatched the card. The vase teetered and I only made a half-assed attempt to grab it before it shattered to the ground. I watched the pool of oil spreading out from the vase--Bonnie was the type of girl who tried to grow everything in oil--and looked down at the card.

It said only one thing, in Bonnie's handwriting.

"You bastard."

I just wish I could remember what else she said.

Someone pounded on the front door. I jumped at the sound, then winced as someone yelled loudly.

"Doctor Oile!"

They didn't need to give me a command, I already knew what they wanted. I gave up my hope for escape and Bonnie's card fluttered to the ground. I stared down at it, watching the oil swallow up the edge of the paper. Shaking my head sadly, I knew the only answer.

It took forever to walk to the front door. I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on. Straightened my belt. I could see the men outside, watching me through the gauze curtains over the door, but I didn't even feel the urge to wave to them. Instead, I just shoved my hand into my pocket and opened the door.

Light, terrible light, exploded in front of me. Tears rolled down my cheek as I stepped outside. People were screaming, calling out to me, but I just focused on stepping from Bonnie's house and on the stairs. At my foot, I saw a delicate little golem holding up a crystal ball and a ghostly face inside the glass. Next to it, two clockwork spiders balanced cameras on their backs while jets of steam escaped from tiny joints. Beyond that, living people jostled for a better view of me.

A guard, probably the one in charge, stood straight up and called to me.

"Doctor Oile, you are under arrest for the murder of Lady Tithe."

Bonnie was no lady, but somehow I doubt they would understand. As the last echo of his voice faded from the cobblestones, my world exploded into light as the reporters frantically tried to capture the moment of my arrest, their money shot. I blinked at the light, trying to shield myself, then remembered my goggles in my pocket.

The world grew hush again as I pulled them out and eased them over my eyes. The sweet darkness greeted me, shading the world into the purest clarity.

I let out a sigh of relief.

The first bullet caught me in the shoulder. Two crossbolts punched through my side, the opposite from where Bonnie shot me, but it hurt more than I thought it would. I don't remember Bonnie's shooting hurting that much as I gaped, trying to breath when my body suddenly refused to move.

As the fourth caught me in the leg, I prayed they would finish the job quickly.

No such luck. The healer got to me before I hit the ground, whispering sweet nothings as he lowered me to the icy concrete. Cuffs snapped around my wrists as I felt his spell coursing through my veins, the sickly sweet burn of healing magic. The little golem hovering over me began to spark violently and a guard kicked it viciously away.

This wasn't fair, was it?

I was just guilty of loving the wrong woman.

Then leaving her.

Taking it easy today

2009-10-10T05:00:00Z

Still have a little more work to do for the release. I managed to clear out my queue for a short period of time, but I took two more defects from a co-worker to help him get closer to finishing everything by the cut-off (officially late Sunday). I'm not going to do a 12-15 hour day again, but I'm going to try resolving those last nagging issues hanging around.

College started this week and I'm also struggling to finish that. It is a simple one, I'm just viewing the class with dread and trepidation. I know it is only ten weeks and I finish, but it will be a long ten weeks and an even longer forty page paper by the time it ends. Well, one day at a time.

Not that anyone needs to be told, but feel free to ignore the posts starting with Oile. I wanted to write, so I decided I was going to just do it. I don't know how long it will last or what will happen, I just wanted to write and maybe do a little world development.