ACT I: Dull Knifes on the Neck

Scene I
On the Train

priest A:
Mercy on thy soul; For fear may seize thy heart otherwise-

[Bell Ringing]

priest B:
Let it unravel [voice fades]

[Bell Ringing]

Vincent:
[dishevelled] kh... I'm starting to lose focus, a moment please. [mutters] ...half as [...] as their very fucking... much audible devotion is.

[yells as if waking from a bad dream] WE'LL BE FINE. So, where were we?

Ansel:
...

Vincent:
If I had had half of their zeal sustained stamina, I could've punched out their god too, I swear.

Ansel:
Be careful, they like a good challenge. [momentary pause] Anyhow, how long are we staying?

Vincent:
[brushes hair aside] ...At the Hotel? 4 days.

Ansel:
Ball's a day long event on the 17th, we'll have a freebie then to wind down?

Vincent:
More like to brace ourselves for the delights of long-distance-transport-coaches linking us to our subsequent assignment, if you ask me.

[Aggressively Cheerful Incessant Bell Ringing]

Ansel:
Hell's goin' on? [raises slightly from seat]

Vincent:
[begrudgingly] Simmer down. For Sil's sake.

Ansel:
Right. [sits back] Speaking of, she was insisting on a partnership; Can I blow outta it?

Vincent:
Firstly, on paper you, sir Ansel, are listed as a dignity of a noble house. Try to put a filter -nah, scratch that, from here on: No more casual speech. Secondly, No you won't. [begins reading his notes]

[without looking up] We need to work alongside local branch offices, and you know that.

Ansel:
[awkwardly shifts] Ha-ha, double the no-s, double your ff-foes?

(To hell with you! Breathing down on my neck in a private car, Grr, why am I playing the noble anyway?!)
[...] Would you forget reporting that last bit.

[smiles away] Bury the thought.

Sir said that in good jest! Why, of course I, a mere acolyte won't relay such tall tales as if
truths of sir's sorry character.

Ansel:
Every "sir" you utter stabs me in the gut, dear, uh, hold on. How do I address you?

Vincent:
Vincent.

Vincent:
You were looking forward to dropping 'preposterous' in a convo.

Ansel:
[in a confident posh voice] Correct.

[Neither of them were keen on continuing, so they sat there in silence for the better half of an hour.]

[Having gotten sick of watching the samey greenish-brown scenery, Ansel steals a glance in Vincent's general direction.]

Ansel:
You know,

your talent for compartmentalising is downright impressive. [locks eyes with Vincent] Here I was, thinking high society can afford - anything - my heart desires, yet a spec of "commoner prose" is beyond the pale amongst friends? How-ever will the likes of I survive such nut busting torture.

Vincent:
It ain't our job to save the nobles from their dubious sense of decorum, [looks away]
...and believe me when I say, nor am I particularly thrilled to engage with them either.

[shifts in chair the umpteenth time] Couldn't they install less comfortable seats? Some first class this is.

Ansel:
you're just heavy.

Vincent:
Taller, thus heavier I am, short prince.

Ansel:
Outlier. 

Vincent:
How conceited.

Ansel:
[imitating Vincent's voice] My hindquarters! Being as big as a horse sure has its downsides!

...Hey, no witty comeback? Don't leave me hangin' [at a loss for words] I'm starting to feel guilty.

Vincent:
I get the layup, but this doesn't contribute to our success.

Since we passed border patrol, it's on. Results are due and we'll bring them home. I'm divorcing from my usual habits too. [mockingly] Let's secure some more "Thunderous Prosperity" shall we.

Ansel:
Aha, So you were convincing yourself as well.

Vincent:
[narrows eyes] What is it to you? Sides' [leans back] why' opposed to getting a partner? Wouldn't it mean more time for you not to do your job?

[Train Crawls to a Halt]

Ansel:
Quite the misconception, but alas we've arrived.

Vincent:
[sensing the apprehension in Ansel's reply] Look, we can achieve our objective considerably easier with 'one' than with 'none'

and you made it abundantly clear what's your preference. Okay?

Ansel:
[standing up] You'll assuage my aching if it's at least a hot young lass.

scene II.
At the Hotel

(While I got accustomed to my living quarters, Vincent's been busy chatting it up with absolutely anyone even remotely curious about us. I gotta admit, him being the underling is genius: I'm sitting here, looking all kinds of 'sophisticated' by hurling an opportunely timed “thank you kindly” at the chambermaid 3 times a day and that's it.)

Hah. Easy as pie.

meanwhile outside->

Pompous Guest:
…such a withdrawn fellow, this is no way to treat a treasure!

Vincent:
Therefore you wish to meet him more strongly than I… can resist you.

So be it.

[Door Opens]

[Ansel shudders as he looks up from the book he was reading in abject boredom]

Ansel:
[closes book] To what do I owe the pleasure?

Pompous Guest:
Greetings. I took it on me to be an impromptu mail man, but hearing your exploits and its ill effects I'd like to talk briefly. Is there any inhibition in the way?

Ansel:
S-sure. No! I mean, none that I'm aware of. We can-
converse.

Briefly. (kill me)

Pompous Guest:
[hearty laugh] Very coy!

[hands over letter] There are few trades as obscure as yours. Is it at all possible for me to see your professional side in action?

Ansel:
Please elaborate.

Pompous Guest:
Haven't met a medium before. What are the material requirements for a demo?

Ansel:
Er... [winches]
[begins in a meek tone] ...It's-

Pompous Guest:
Lay it on the line as is. [puffs out chest, adding defiantly] Fear not!

For curiosity kills the clumsy cat, not me.

Ansel:
[somewhat calmly] What puzzles me is the request itself, to see. Because I can't think for the life of me of a visual demonstration. Furthermore my work environment tends to feature grisly sights ...and I read you sir as kind, and forgive me, however decidedly not 'the kind' who's happily facing mankind at its most foul submission.

Pompous Guest:
So, you'd need a corpse?

Ansel:
A spirit's remnants is not found inside a carcass. It's nailed onto surfaces which bore witness to evil. Vile acts of slaughter, a lamp mouthing how the murderer swung their instrument, the dust shrieking faintly like the victim did, the... the shoes stuck in inaction. If I had to paint it. [...] depict it non-ghastly, tsk, a stand-in metaphor I'd draw on is

spilled mixed-spice containers.

Pompous Guest:
Truly! Yet, you must present your ability in order to become a Detective, no?

Ansel:
Gaining the official title, yes. Regrettably, it is done so orally.

Pompous Guest:
Peculiar.

Ansel:
[chuckle] Well, a straightforward method it is indeed. A Mage has fine control over their mana, and thus are able to replicate the dreadful residue of a deceased's will. All one has to do in order to pass is parrot "their words" back. It's most exceedingly difficult to cheat and yields no direct dividends.

The title that is.

[Ansel goes quiet, really quiet.]

Pompous Guest:
I mustn't take up more of your time, I feel. I ought to thank you for indulging me! You're a decent fellow.
Can I return the courtesy accompanied by checker-board cake and white tea?

Ansel:
That'd be my pleasure.

Scene III
Totentanz

[Pompous Guest leaves]

Vincent:
[takes the letter out of Ansel's hand] You've been had, I hope you know that.

Ansel:
I'll end you.

Vincent:
You're too easy to read.

Ansel:
Read that fabulous letter instead. Oh and bonus question [points finger] correct me if I'm wrong, but you've been bitchin' about me aintcha?

Vincent:
You're suppose to mix in nuggets of truth in with the deception. [walks back and forth] The Earl of Fairwood though. He'll unravel your darkest childhood secrets like it's between lovers if he throws himself at it. [stops]

[heavy sigh] What's this anyway [flips over letter] he never mentioned the sender to either of us.

[Not to be outdone by Vincent's casual demeanour, Ansel throws himself back on his burgundy red bed to signal how nonchalant he - also - is. Vincent doesn't care an iota however.]

Vincent:
[frowns] I'm unfamiliar with the custom of sending a soft black textile. Here, yours.

Ansel:
[catches the letter with the textile sticking out]

[in a playful tone] Concerning.

[spreads textile out] I wonder whether this is meant to be offensive, like a sardonic gift of sorts.

Man, call me poor, but this is neatly knit! I can't help but appreciate the artistry. Softest "fuck you" I've gotten, really.

Vincent:
Glad you enjoy 'em apples and lemons in equal measure.

[Knocking]

Muffled Voice:
Can I come in?

[Ansel gingerly huddles towards the corner of his bed furthest from the door.]

Vincent:
[ignoring Ansel's trepidation approaches the door] Yes, you may.

[A young lady saunters in]

Silver:
How have you two been? Rejoice, [closes in on Ansel] your monthly dose of common sense has arrived, safe & sound~

[whispers] silly goose. [picks the book up besides him] ...were you reading,

"The Countless Mysteries of Feline Fur" [carefully observes the title, twice over] Hmm [skims through it] ...a picture book? Ansel, I shan't underestimate your innocence. [cold stare]

Ansel:
[murmurs] shuddup

I can educate myself on whichever topic I please, thank you very much. [matching her stare] or is it a crime now to enjoy light-hearted things? Shoulda mentioned that before the gig, not midway through.

Silver:
[clownish wide smile] and why'd I gib' up on your vulnerable moments?! You funny. Stand up for a sec. [As Ansel does, she grabs him by the throat whilst sweeping his legs in one smooth motion.] 

Ansel:
ack, kkhk.

Silver:
You're as lively as ever. Your skin, soft, warm, and clean, I...

Ansel:
[dying]

Vincent:
Sil, could you shelve your excess affection. Traumatise him any further and it will do the opposite of making up for lost time. Please, we live in a delicate age, a mission gone awry is costly business.

Silver:
[falls on the bed] We're just playin'

Right, Bubu? [lets go of Ansel, he jolts right up]

Ansel:
[coughs]

Silver:
Bubu?

Ansel:
[heavy coughs, laboured breathing] ...yeah, we were? Fuck, those rich ruby eyes of yours, I-...

[Ansel cannot finish his sentence due to having a coughing fit.]

Vincent:
As per protocol ma'am I report:

According to the agreed upon, I mingled, and he stayed away. In fact, Ansel did his part so well, he just had his first small talk in days. He got invited to a function by the Earl of Fairwood.

Additionally Ansel received a... black handkerchief? On a personal note, neither of us has had any health scares. So, all in all we're fine. Thank you for your concern.

Silver:
You know your stuff. Always a pleasure, and I take the Earl was forcing it.

Vincent:
Negative. His prodding was reserved in nature. [humorously] 'twas a - brief - exchange, focused on Ansel's Detectivehood. A topic which is to be expected to come up at the ball as well.

Ansel:
I'm catching strays tis' deep in?

[Silver cuts in, not letting them continue their annoying banter]

Silver:
Candles.

Both in Unison:
Pardon?

Silver:
[dramatic display of weariness] Get two dunces apiece; Buy one, another tags along! Like berries.

Fire.
That's a Burning Letter. We need to burn it. Understood?

[...]

Silver:
Settle in, and heed my words as a fellow night-walker, Burning Letters are always dramatic as all hell. [lights candle]

Ready?

[Ansel begins to speak which prompts Silver to go ahead and throw the letter on the small fire. A fistful of dark smoke erupts, circling above the candle until it suddenly disappears]

VOICE:
Few Lords remain to oppose the Hungry One's voracious plan.

Greetings,
ThunderGrim's showcase of waning influence: A coward, a slave, and an impertinent vampire. Sadly, implements we all are of peace-keeping by need, yet war is upon us. Lords are a capricious lot, and when they're met with little to no competition they narrow their focus; Leading to despotism. As any good lord should, the few seek control, they ought to struggle on for power is a fickle mistress. Lords, lords ensnared forever in the yearning to best their ilk, lest beset by paltriness feel compelled to move up against one another thus, they oft practice by bleeding each a little.

I've no love for inordinate frames and calcified lines. My blood's respite in this suffocating period lies in the discord 'twixt lords. Not in the 'One' sifting through their realm afresh in search of potential girders to fortify the circumstances of their newfound reign.

To put it plainly, our objectives align. A despot needs their citizenry as manageable in nature and size as possible, and a war is a great format for adjusting those,

hence why, we favour the 'Many' over the 'One' lord. We must speak at the ball. Come early, not as you planned, and we'll both have much to gain.

[Smoke Disperses]

Ansel:
[claps enthusiastically]

Vincent:
Thank you Ansel. [shakes head in approval] You don't miss a beat, do ya?

Ansel:
You're very welcome. [flashes a confident smile] Now that Doom N' Gloom's brand new riff, The World's End has blessed our earbuds- How do we feel? Where are we standing? I, for one, would like to stay away, I'm really good at that, or so I've heard.

Vincent:
[hmm] We can't afford to ignore them outright. Not since they referenced a minute detail as a throwaway. "Fashionably Late" was your idea in fact. Aren't you at least a little concerned? Beyond that, I can't shake this question: How much was the Earl in the know?

Ansel:
He was politely intrusive, let up easily. In conclusion: Hard to say definitively.

Silver:
[fuming] He gave such junk to my Ansel; A teen's love letter is better ironed out than that fever dream.

Vincent:
Junk or not is yet to be determined...

[Seeing they'll go on for a while, Ansel went back to reading his book about cat fur]

Vincent:
Let's start with how he addressed us. Discarding the verbiage, me serving, you being with us, and Ansel's timidity is beyond any doubt are all true, [...] even the jab at ThunderGrim holds some water, we're indeed going through a rough period if we adopt their view of the "lords" above all else, since leadership has had not one, or two rainy days recently.

We're rich, Ignoring finances is either a fool's folly or a greater intellect's choice. It'd benefit us well to take them up on their offer and make contact, in my opinion.

Silver:
You're like a young maiden clutching her favourite bauble whilst confessing how sorry she is to the popular clique- inventing value inside every little detail. [in disbelief] O- please ThunderGrim's "meagre influence" What exactly does that entail? Not sending the Lady of the Moon, just a mere vampire; This person is a gigantic moron! Leave them to rot hand in hand with their "proposal".

Vincent:
Dismissal based on rhetoric? Really? C'mon you yourself said Burning Letters are always over dramatised, so if anything, you were correct then, isn't the whole point though to kick us to the curb prophylactically? You can't expect me to take the first thing you say seriously and then disregard it.

Silver:
[scoffs] Only a lesser player needs to rely on games. If they're so screwed, they need us more than we'd have use for them.

[Vincent sits down, in contrast to Silver who's standing just as resolutely as she did so before throwing the letter onto the fire.]

Vincent:
To reiterate,

So a compromised party who's willing to work with us is somehow less desirable than the nobles we'll be meeting tomorrow, nobles who - mind you - may or may not be deluded by ideas of 'war or Peace they'll prosper just the same' and 'glory to the empire' or any other number of hogwash? You do realise this 'mystery bag' is aware of you, Ansel's privately stated idea, and as a cherry on top our very objective.

Silver:
Fine, have it your way man. I'm not an unreasonable woman. Promise me though, you'll let me at the Earl, I'll gut him like a fish. [creepy smile]

Vincent:
H-how can you be so spiteful, he was nothing but cheers and polite.

Silver:
Stick it in your Earl of the sticks then!

Vincent:
You don't plan on letting him [points at Ansel who's still preoccupied with the book] visit the Earl, do you? Look, Fairwood is the perfect candidate, has the right contacts, isn't stupid, and liked Detective Shy enough to offer him cake and tea.

Silver:
He coulda blown bubbles on it for all I care, Ansel's mine!

Ansel:
[perks up] What d'ya say? Throwing bubbles?

Silver:
You're so gosh darn CUTE! [throws herself on Ansel]

Vincent:
[losing it] Sil desist your base urges you animal.

[LATER]

...like a hole on the ground was the ballroom entrance next to the castle's foyer.

Similar to an old man who knows his death draws near with each passing hour, I've resigned myself to the present. There's an infinity separating 1. and 2. when carefully observing each, and I intend on looking. I'll see it to myself! That nigh incomprehensible complexity.

Beggars can't be choosers after all, what 'ineffable' there is, I'm grabbing it. Today my life flowed through, but god knows what will this night bring about.

[Ansel, Silver and Vincent enters the ballroom]