InsaneJournal

Who: Einarr Boe and Neville Babbage. President of S.C.O.N.E and Headmaster of T.E.A.C.U.P.
Where: The White Cliffs of Dover during a rainstorm. Tools.
When: Late afternoon, 30 November 1899.
What: Einarr and Neville have a conversation about the sinister things in the world. It's a teaser. Meant to give just enough information.

"Something wicked comes this way," came the murmur, the words expelled in a single exhale of breath: low and rumbling, matching the storm that was threatening the horizon. The whisper was nearly inaudible, fighting against the current of the howling wind for a place among sound. It didn't matter, though, for he heard it.

Above the two men the sky was strung out like aged gauze. What was once pristine was now ugly, marred with rips and tears, and coloured in a dingy shade of grey. The flashes of light that illuminated the pale afternoon were not comforting. Rather, each jagged sear carried with it a sense of dread that began at the toes and bubbled up into a throat. The thunder in the background was a low groan, a dull shriek that was easily shaken off the ears, but hard to remove from the imagination. Something wicked was indeed coming this way. Umbrellas, one as bright yellow as a canary and the other as black as night, were lifted ahead as if warning signs to the impending storm.

"Wickedness is a very disconcerting thing," the words were measured and deliberate, crisp in their delivery and posh in tone. The man who spoke was old, but not gnarled. Indeed, this was a man who had seen adventures. It was etched into each wrinkle on his jubilant face. He'd been around the world in eighty days! He'd journeyed to the centre of places! He'd discovered, explored, fallen in love, and all of it had brought him back to here: to the white cliffs of dover. His grip tightened on the handle of his umbrella, the wind nipping at his face to bring a rosy countenance to his fair skin.

Perhaps, thought his companion to himself, that was proof the wicked in the world could be defeated. The storm was raging all around them, teasing with the question of when it would begin, and all it served to do was pock-mark his peer with a cheerful glow. This thought was the only comforting one in such a sobering conversation. "Does anyone else know how bad it has become?" He asked, his voice low and grim. The world was becoming just as tinged with melancholy as the landscape they stood in, so far removed from the rest of life in an attempt to speak freely. Each hall had ears and the paintings all had eyes. Nowhere was safe but here at the edge of the British coast with waves crashing into ringing crescendos around them.

"No. We've done a remarkable job with keeping it hidden," a pregnant pause, a beat for a disgraced sigh, "but for how much longer?"

His head shook from side to side, the action making his hand tremble in its grasp on his umbrella stick. The raindrops shook off, flying forlornly toward the ground with a silent splash. "I don't know, Neville. Not much. The League is dissolving. Crimeth, Inc -- have you ever noticed how much it sounds like Crime think?" He distracted himself, musing on the name of the corporation that was ever expanding its clutch on the world. "Crimeth Inc has been very quiet. I do think these two things are related. We've word that Hungary is considering a civil war with Austria. War may be on the horizon for independent royalty. Pathetic!" He spat out the last word as if it were a bad taste left to linger. "Sweden and Norway are once again arguing. France and England regard each other with suspicion, placing spies in each other's courts; and shall we even mention the Spanish?" If there was one thing that this man clearly did not respect it was royalists. Nobility had only served to create problems throughout history. It turned men into savages, and not of the noble sort, but rather of a beastly manner. For the sake of a crown thousands had died, millions had burnt, and the world had been altered. Once more those gossamer strands of trust between courts and coronets were being pulled too taut. The snapping was just beginning.

"While I agree Crimeth Inc is doing something, I am not sure I believe they're pulling the strings on a geopolitical level. Yet. I do think we are getting ahead of ourselves with anywhere other than Hungary and Austria. Tamas has been dispatched, again. He's in Budapest. I'm not sure how much longer we can rely on him, though. He's not a politician, but he is one of the few we can still trust in the association..." His words trailed off with a lick of his lips out of unconscious concentration. His slate eyes leveled against the other, narrowing in thought. "It's become apparent it is SCONE who is behind Crimeth Inc. At least, members of our organisation. We must prepare for this. It isn't civil war in the mainland that is coming, it is a war in our own ranks that is coming. We came from the shadows to bring light to this world, but what lurks in our shadows is darker yet than anything we set out to illuminate." His eyes rolled up toward the roof of his sunshine-shaded umbrella. Brightness was still there. Even in the pits of despair when all light was extinguished, there would always be a colour: be it in remembrance or on your person, or even in a memory behind closed eyes.

He swallowed hard, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he considered the words of the man beside him. Their steps had slowed into a pace similar to a snail. His feet kicked over the slick blades of emerald, his heel pushing the grass down with a gentle touch. "And of the school? Do you think they're at the Academy?" The question was pointed. It was as sharp as a blade and thrust into the older man.

Neville turned his head to look with curiosity at his companion. "What a strange question..." He paused, once more, this time longer. The rain drummed steadily around them providing the only sound outside of their in tandem breathing. "Yes, I believe they are at the academy."

The other swore, softly.

"Don't be alarmed. It's perhaps in our favour they have decided to attempt to infiltrate the Academy. I can keep an eye on the suspected. I'd rather they be under my own roof than in a world I cannot search. Bring them to us. Sabotage! It's a delightful game. The world must go as it is set, Einarr. It is like one of those pesky clocks people enjoy inventing off of so much. We've been wound up and now comes the result. It's a countdown to the end, to the final moment when the bell will go off. Who will win? Well, I certainly do not know. We can only hope we'll be ready, we'll be prepared, and that begins first with the Academy."

Both men turned as Neville finished his calm speech. Instinctively they canted their heads back toward the Academy they could not see. Neville smiled at the man with him, the president of the organisation they both held so dear, and then he spoke again:

"The salvation of our organisation and the preservation of all that is good and right in this world does, indeed, lie in the hands of students."

This time, Einarr swore loudly.