Steampunk Shenanigans with Nakki and Ruka

[Rukafais]

Ambrose and Clarence aren't related, even though they do have the same last name. It's like having ten guys with the surname 'Smith'; not all of them are going to be related, and in fact none of them may be.

SO IT'S JUST A MASSIVE COINCIDENCE DOO DEE DOO

However, Dorian and Patrick are related. You would probably never be able to tell, but they are.

[Pokolo]

oh man oh man i have never posted before but i love the ideas in this thread SO MUCH and uh

so i'll just uh

hey, fanart, complete with a stupid pun!

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THIS IS INCREDIBLY SILLY AND UNLIKELY.gif how would patrick even get mechanical wings

and some silly made-up schematics under the spoiler

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Theres a difference between silly and awesome, you know.

[Bloddyredcommie]

Ambrose and Clarence aren't related, even though they do have the same last name. It's like having ten guys with the surname 'Smith'; not all of them are going to be related, and in fact none of them may be.

SO IT'S JUST A MASSIVE COINCIDENCE DOO DEE DOO

However, Dorian and Patrick are related. You would probably never be able to tell, but they are.

Hrmm, Poop. There goes that fic idea I was going to write.
Ah well, I should probably be focusing on Jack's Story (I'm thinking "Gravedigger's Spade")/ Finals anyway.

[Rukafais]

Oh gog don't let me stop you this is all AU stuff anyway so write as much as you like :T besides I am designing a totally non-'canon' steampunk colossi thing and am going to have Lucien fighting it, so. UM.

[Phantom Gamer]

Just an idea to fit FAD and ZAD into the story:

Frederick Dawes is Ambrose's older half brother; his father was Mexican. Nothing much to say here. Ho-hum.
Zepheniah (IDK) Dawes was 1 year younger than Ambrose, he was killed somehow. English reanimated him but didn't manage to fix his brain properly before he escaped. He is currently searching for his brothers, because they are one of the only things that he remembers. Because of the poor job English did his flesh is rotting.

Yeah I probably could have written that better but still.

Also politely requesting a pic of Derplish giving Jack a big hug while Jack tries to stab him.

I am disappoint that nobody noticed either the ideas or the request.

[Nakkirz]

I'm actually working on that request, because it's just too hilarious to pass up. :B

[okniwy]

This is very good, but needs more street urchins...

Therefore, I present, The Punnet 16:

A group of sixteen children of various walks of life (mostly poor), who live in the periphery of the gang warfare that plagues the city.

Let's start with row A:

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AA: A morbid sort of girl now, in her past she had a pretty good life in the orphanage. Sadly, due to the onset of a muscular degenerative syndrome, she was declared legally dead and taken out of the running for adoption. She was liberated by TA and CT and given a clockwork suit of armor to allow her to move. Despite her appearances, she still has a spark of life to her. And despite the ticking her presence now produces, she seems to always be able to sneak up behind you...

AC: This wild girl was found in the forest by CT just mauling a bear that English did work on. When she was brought in to the clubhouse, CG demanded her name, to which she responded by drawing a cat's face in the dirt. It was immediately apparent that she was "A FREAKING MUTE". She is still very emotional, and an expert in seeing interpersonal relationships on all levels. Now if they can only teach her how to speak and how to not pounce on everything.

AG: A founding member, if there is one defining trait about AG, it's her ego. She will do anything to make people pay attention to her, including telling lies (like claiming that she personally introduced Jack to English), or worse, actually getting into the action. She had the nerve to bother Dorian and had her left arm and eye blown up for her trouble. Thankfully CT managed to make some replacements for her.
The eye is a particularly impressive piece of work, able to see though objects and detect the anomalies that time powers tend to leave. You know, so she knows where to stay away from. "Yeah right!!!!!!!!"

AT: He might be a coward at the worst of times, and self aggrandizing at the best, but this daydreamer is an integral part of the 16. When he was inducted, AG had him practice roof hopping. That didn't turn out so well. His legs disabled, he tried using a wheelchair, until everyone else got tired of it and GA lopped his dud legs off and CT fitted him with replacements. He is particularly adept at understanding animal behavior, and uses the city's rats and pigeons as his own courier service.

More later. that's a promise.

[The Almighty 404]

*Slow, awed clap* Nice idea to put the kids/trolls into this AU. Will we also put the bard in ?

[okniwy]

And now, line C of The Punnet 16:

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CA: A young dock hand that holds contempt for anyone who doesn't know port from starboard, CA is a hopeless romantic. He joined the 16 to spite AG, although she doesn't even care. Furthermore, he pines for CC relentlessly, but is kept away by the apparent class difference between the two. Unbeknown to everyone, he is the missing prince of a neighboring country, the knowledge of which would solve a lot of his problems.

CC: This adventurous gal is in fact the runaway princess of the kingdom. She left the capitol when she found out that her mother set her up to marry a warmonger who would enact a cruel reign over the land. She wants desperately to understand the people who are oppressed by her mother's laws, so she followed TA and begged to join the 16. She would love nothing more than to return to the royal palace with a husband of her own choosing, but she just can't seem to find her prince...

CG: Founding member and leader of the 16, CG often runs the group from the clubhouse. But why? The truth is he has a rare, stable form of Leukemia that causes him to have 1.5 times more blood than anybody else. This causes him to have ridiculously high blood pressure and bleed profusely from the smallest cut. The only other ones who know are his "NOT GIRLFRIEND" GC and Jack Noir. In the case of the latter they both claim it's because Jack stabbed him. (In reality, Jack just bumped into him the wrong way with his clockwork arm.)

CT: For much of his young life, CT's grandfather was the Baron of the land that the city resides in, and CT was raised as such. His grandfather taught him how to assemble clockwork and respect hierarchy. His life was rattled when his grandfather died and his father sold the barony to the Crown. Since it doesn't actually work like that, all they received was a dairy farm just outside of town. In his anger, CT took to the streets during the day, beating up drunkards to relieve his rage and fixing their smashed pocket watches for the money. One day, he picked a fight with AG, and lost due to her getting a lucky hit in. He immediately demanded to be a servant to her, to which she just directed him to join the 16 as their assembly person.

For the record, I have no idea what their names are. And the next one will have the join order for the 16.

[Nakkirz]

Ooh, I like that bit about CG! Ahahahaha the incident with Jack makes me laugh. Freaking cogs always snagging on shit >:U

[GEMPadre036]

OK, this is some nice stuff right here! I didn't think it would work to integrate the kids and trolls into this, but it actually seems pretty awesome now!

[ArchmageFestus]

Can't say I love the heavy seeding of CA/CC (it's only one possible ship, guise!), but otherwise p.cool stuff.
I'm thinking names that evoke the letters, IE CA would be Calvin or something, AG would be Agatha, etc?

[okniwy]

Eh... I really have no business shipping anyone. Just kinda came out like that. When TA comes around I'll give him fair chance. But row G will be tomorrow evening.

[conceptofzero]

so I clicked on this two days ago just to see what was going on inside. and whelp. this is awesome. you are all awesome and full of great little ideas. and uh, have some fic. (I hope you don't mind me just butting in but I couldn't get it out of my head after Bloddyredcommie's lovely little fic with Jack and the boys dumping pre-Snowman at English's door. feel free to disregard any of this or consider it a weird little au of an au)

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She’s a bitch. Ain’t a nice word, but it’s the right word, and that’s what she is alright: a bitch. Even her name screams out ball-breaker when it’s all put together: Beatrice Kingscote nee Quattlebaum, as if knowing she used to be a Quattlebaum before she married some thick-headed brute and got saddled with Kingscote instead. What a name.

Beatrice is gorgeous though, like some sorta porcelain doll brought to life, all fucking smooth skin and long black curls. She’s got the greenest eyes he’s ever seen, and a mouth that he could write songs about, though he'd have to save those for the bawdier crowds at the pub. It's almost lust at first sight, but then she opens her mouth and ruins that, “Jacques Noir? Parlez-vous francais?”

He sneers automatically, bristling at the sound of french, “It’s Jack. Just Jack. And no, I don’t parlee-vous.”

Beatrice switches back to english, and he can’t tell which is her native language because she doesn’t have an accent in either, “Mr. Noir. Must I explain the duties of this position?”

“Nah, I got it,” He slumps in a nearby chair, not waiting for her to offer it to him, “Follow you around and keep anybody from killing you, ‘cause your husband’s off fighting some sorta war.”

“That summary lacks a number of crucial facts, but I cannot argue with the truthfulness of it,” She says, and just the way she speaks puts him on edge. Jack keeps expecting to hear her say something like ‘lock him in the coal bin’ or ‘call the inspectors at once’. He's had plenty of experience working for bitches, though it ain't exactly right to call this working. Working suggests he has a choice in the matter, "I need a guard, one that knows when to keep his mouth shut and when not to ask questions. And you need two more years to finish off your contract.”

He pulls a face. That fucking contract. He was still a teenager when he signed that damned thing, thinking it would get him off this shitty little island and off to the land of opportunity. Instead, all it got him was seven years of misery, constantly shuffled from fucking owner to owner as they pawned him off on whoever could stand him. And now it's gotten him pawned off on this bitch in the high-collar dress and the weird house.

Jack straightens up momentarily, glancing around the study. He can’t tell if this is her study or if she's borrowing her husband's to try look smarter. There are a lot of books in it, and all sorts of odd looking knickknacks. He flicks his eyes back onto her after a moment, “I ain't doing any servant work.”

“Of course not. I have servants to see to that,” She stands, and Jack can’t help it, his mouth drops a little. She was sitting when the butler showed him in and he got the feeling she wasn't short or nothing, but he didn't expect this. Beatrice is tall, taller than any other women he’s ever seen. It’s like somebody grabbed hold of her arms and legs and yanked until she stretched out like taffy. He feels a flood of irritation. It’s bad enough being shorter than most guys, but shorter than this broad too? While he’s busy being angry, she takes a book off her shelf and flips through it, opening it a page and handing it to him. There's an etching of a man with a bushy moustache and squinty sorta eyes, “My husband’s business partner. Bartholomew has always treated this man like a brother, and in his absence, he was asked to monitor our business. In that respect, he has been like a brother; the Prince John to my husband’s absent King Richard.”

It takes Jack a moment to get the reference and he nods, “Running it into the ground? So you want him roughed up, or dead?”

“Dead.” She leans against the edge of her desk, “There will be a chess piece in the pocket of his jacket. Retrieve it after you have done away with him."

“Tomorrow?” Jack glances at the picture and back up at Beatrice, “That’s barely enough time to find him.”

“And yet, I am quite certain you will do admirably,” She takes the book away from him, closing it shut, “Bring me the piece and you will be well rewarded. You may even earn a penny or two.”

Jack stands up. Even when she’s leaning on the desk and he’s standing, she’s still taller than him. Jack looks over her, and all he can think is that her husband is a fucking fool to leave somebody half as pretty as her on her own in this place, “I want payment for any murdering that you send me out to do.”

“Agreed. Any one you kill while defending me shall net you nothing,” She makes no move to show him to the door, and he lets himself out. The butler's waiting, and the silent fuck shows Jack down the hall, and to the room in the servant's section of the house. It's a fucking closet, but it's a closet with a window, and that's better than the last man who had Noir under contract. He figures he can stand the bitch, long as she gives him a long leash.

The next morning, he turns up in the middle of her breakfast, clutching the black bishop in his left hand. Beatrice sets her tea cup to the side and takes the bishop from him, inspecting the little black peice. She nods after a moment, “Well done, Noir.”

“You didn’t mention that damned cane of his,” Jack’s sides are aching and bruised, all because of that damned cane.

“That must have slipped my mind,” She motions to her butler, lurking in the doorway nearby, “Take Mr. Noir to the tailor to be fitted.”

“A uniform? You're fucking kidding me.” Jack tries to protest, but she waves him away, returning to her tea. The butler intrudes in Jack's space, this big fucking bruiser whose mother must of rubbed up against a brick wall too many times, and makes it clear that he's got to follow him. Jack bares his teeth and reluctantly goes, casting a glare back at Beatrice.

She'll pay for this in time. Oh yes, she certainly will.

--

Jack Noir has gunpowder eyes. It is quite extraordinary to see that shade in the eyes of a human. Beatrice would like to pin him down and inspect those eyes of his, but that would send entirely the wrong message. She would also like to take a razor to his head and cut off that unruly mass of hair, but that would also sent the wrong message. He is a servant, and Beatrice has always made a point not to waste much time or thought on the servants.

He is an adequate bodyguard. Their journey to the warehouse goes without any trouble. Her driver takes them to the warehouse by carriage, and Jack always has an eye fixed on the doors, even when they are speaking. Beatrice notes this silently in her mind, along with his gunpowder eyes and the knives he’s carrying (at least a dozen, if she has been paying adequate attention).

Jack does not offer her a hand down when she leaves the carriage, but he does keep his eyes flickering from side to side, as if perhaps some ruffian will slink up on them when his eyes are turned away. Beatrice is impressed by his vigilance. There is very little that impresses her.

The warehouse is as it always is: overflowing with bodies and stinking of gunpowder and steel. Beatrice makes her way down the rows of grimy men, Jack tagging at her back. They keep their eyes on their work. All these men know better than to even breathe in her direction.

Near the end of the warehouse, the latest shipments sit in their wooden crates, waiting to be sent out. There is an assortment of weaponry, though the bulk of them are rifles. She picks up a random rifle, quickly inspecting it. Jack stands by her arm, staring at the guns and then up at her, “This is your business? Guns?”

“More than just ‘guns’, Mr. Noir,” She opens the rifle at the breech, showing him the empty barrel waiting to be loaded, “Breech-loading rifles. In ten years time, you will find muzzle-loaders only in museums.”

Beatrice offers Jack the rifle and he takes it. He hefts it in his hands and shakes his head, handing it back to her, “I don’t like guns.”

“Not personal enough for your tastes?” She snaps the rifle closed and sets it back into its crate. Nearby, men nail shut the top of other crates. In a month’s time, these weapons will be in her husband’s hands, and then in the hands of the highest bidder. There are a dozen tiny wars over the thick jungle, and the Kingscotes plan on ensuring that they are the exclusive weapons dealer in the region.

“Something like that,” Jack says, and she’s hardly surprised to hear so. He’s a common thug, a nasty little piece of work who likely enjoys watching his victims suffer. Beatrice understands his impulse, but she does not feel bound by it. Jack touches the outline of something undoubtedly sharp beneath his coat, “Knives don’t need reloading.”

“And guns do not require you to get blood on your coat when you kill someone,” Beatrice responds as they walk by the shipments waiting to go and the craftsmen working on their weapons, “Of course, we also provide knives now and again, and blunt objects as well. We are always willing to diversify. Weapons are the one business where the supply shall never outstrip the demand. As long as there are two men alive, one shall want a weapon to kill the other with.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jack keeps up with her, his eyes still keeping a close watch on everything. He is quite the paranoid man. For now, that seems to be an advantage. But as with everything else, her mind silently notes it down and files it away.

In the back corner of the factory are the Powders, a number of men employed to develop new weaponry. They go quiet as Beatrice approaches, quickly getting out of her way and allowing her access to their work. Beatrice looks over their developments, noting that most of them seem to be simply improvements on current designs. However, there is one unique weapon sitting half-finished near the back.

She picks up the revolver, turning the barrel. It clicks as it turns, the wheel not quite lined up properly. They will fix that soon enough. Jack stares at it. She can see him trying to decipher what he’s seeing, “What the hell’s been done to that pistol?”

“It’s a revolver. Six shots in a rotating barrel. The design is foreign. We’ve simply adapted it,” She snaps the gun to the side and the barrel pops out. Six empty barrels are revealed. Beatrice looks to the Powders and nods, setting the revolver back down on the bench. They’ve done well. The relief on their powder-blackened faces is obvious to all.

They step outside and stand on the docks, watching the men load the crates onto a tramp steamer. She carefully counts the crates and makes note of how many have been loaded. Her husband will write when they arrive and will send her the full count. She is sure they will arrive whole and intact. Most of the men here will distinctly remember what happened to the last man who thought he could take a few weapons from the shipments without being noticed.

"Didn't figure you'd be the sort of woman to sell weapons," Jack says. He's quite forward for a servant. It comes as no surprise that he has had a dozen different masters and mistresses, most of which had nothing good to say about him. Jack Noir. He is as vulgar as the day is long and he seems to suffer from the delusion that he is her equal. And yet, Beatrice finds herself liking him. He has promise and potential.

"Noir, you have only just made my acquaintance," She says, looking out over the ship, watching the sailors haul the crate onboard, "You have no idea what sort of woman I am."

Beatrice sees him scowl out of the corner of her eye, and indulgences herself with the slightest of smiles. Yes, she's sure that he will work out quite fine.

notes and stuff

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- to be clear, Black Queen = Beatrice Kingscote nee Quattlebaum, Black King = Bartholomew Kingscote

- I know he's Jack Hawk, but I decided to stick with Jack Noir because I love the idea of Jack constantly getting pissed when people see his last name and go "oh, Jacques?" and he has to threaten to cut a bitch over it.

- he's an indentured servant who keeps pissing off the people he's working for, and they keep selling his contract to other people. this seemed to be the easiest way to replicate the Queen/Archagent relationship, since he literately can't get away from her while she holds his contract.

- Bartholomew is currently in the middle of the steampunk version of Africa, supplying weapons to opposing colonizing forces. I picture him wearing one of those rocking pith helmets and drinking a lot of gin and tonics to prevent malaria. Think classic Victorian era big game hunter, and you've got him.

- I am playing really hard and fast with the guns. There were breech-loading weapons in the 1830's but they really didn't take off until the 1860's after the American civil war, and Samuel Colt patented the revolver as we know it (spinning barrel) in the 1830's. I'm not sure when exactly this takes place, but since it's steampunk, I figure we can probably fudge the dates a little.

- this, of course, takes place well before Jack gets his dandy mechanical arm. Though I think it would be safe to say that Beatrice has something to do with how Jack ended up on English's doorstep, bloody and broken and in need of an arm that wasn't mangled to hell and back

[Bloddyredcommie]

so I clicked on this two days ago just to see what was going on inside. and whelp. this is awesome. you are all awesome and full of great little ideas. and uh, have some fic. (I hope you don't mind me just butting in but I couldn't get it out of my head after Bloddyredcommie's lovely little fic with Jack and the boys dumping pre-Snowman at English's door. feel free to disregard any of this or consider it a weird little au of an au)

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She’s a bitch. Ain’t a nice word, but it’s the right word, and that’s what she is alright: a bitch. Even her name screams out ball-breaker when it’s all put together: Beatrice Kingscote nee Quattlebaum, as if knowing she used to be a Quattlebaum before she married some thick-headed brute and got saddled with Kingscote instead. What a name.

Beatrice is gorgeous though, like some sorta porcelain doll brought to life, all fucking smooth skin and long black curls. She’s got the greenest eyes he’s ever seen, and a mouth that he could write songs about, though he'd have to save those for the bawdier crowds at the pub. It's almost lust at first sight, but then she opens her mouth and ruins that, “Jacques Noir? Parlez-vous francais?”

He sneers automatically, bristling at the sound of french, “It’s Jack. Just Jack. And no, I don’t parlee-vous.”

Beatrice switches back to english, and he can’t tell which is her native language because she doesn’t have an accent in either, “Mr. Noir. Must I explain the duties of this position?”

“Nah, I got it,” He slumps in a nearby chair, not waiting for her to offer it to him, “Follow you around and keep anybody from killing you, ‘cause your husband’s off fighting some sorta war.”

“That summary lacks a number of crucial facts, but I cannot argue with the truthfulness of it,” She says, and just the way she speaks puts him on edge. Jack keeps expecting to hear her say something like ‘lock him in the coal bin’ or ‘call the inspectors at once’. He's had plenty of experience working for bitches, though it ain't exactly right to call this working. Working suggests he has a choice in the matter, "I need a guard, one that knows when to keep his mouth shut and when not to ask questions. And you need two more years to finish off your contract.”

He pulls a face. That fucking contract. He was still a teenager when he signed that damned thing, thinking it would get him off this shitty little island and off to the land of opportunity. Instead, all it got him was seven years of misery, constantly shuffled from fucking owner to owner as they pawned him off on whoever could stand him. And now it's gotten him pawned off on this bitch in the high-collar dress and the weird house.

Jack straightens up momentarily, glancing around the study. He can’t tell if this is her study or if she's borrowing her husband's to try look smarter. There are a lot of books in it, and all sorts of odd looking knickknacks. He flicks his eyes back onto her after a moment, “I ain't doing any servant work.”

“Of course not. I have servants to see to that,” She stands, and Jack can’t help it, his mouth drops a little. She was sitting when the butler showed him in and he got the feeling she wasn't short or nothing, but he didn't expect this. Beatrice is tall, taller than any other women he’s ever seen. It’s like somebody grabbed hold of her arms and legs and yanked until she stretched out like taffy. He feels a flood of irritation. It’s bad enough being shorter than most guys, but shorter than this broad too? While he’s busy being angry, she takes a book off her shelf and flips through it, opening it a page and handing it to him. There's an etching of a man with a bushy moustache and squinty sorta eyes, “My husband’s business partner. Bartholomew has always treated this man like a brother, and in his absence, he was asked to monitor our business. In that respect, he has been like a brother; the Prince John to my husband’s absent King Richard.”

It takes Jack a moment to get the reference and he nods, “Running it into the ground? So you want him roughed up, or dead?”

“Dead.” She leans against the edge of her desk, “There will be a chess piece in the pocket of his jacket. Retrieve it after you have done away with him."

“Tomorrow?” Jack glances at the picture and back up at Beatrice, “That’s barely enough time to find him.”

“And yet, I am quite certain you will do admirably,” She takes the book away from him, closing it shut, “Bring me the piece and you will be well rewarded. You may even earn a penny or two.”

Jack stands up. Even when she’s leaning on the desk and he’s standing, she’s still taller than him. Jack looks over her, and all he can think is that her husband is a fucking fool to leave somebody half as pretty as her on her own in this place, “I want payment for any murdering that you send me out to do.”

“Agreed. Any one you kill while defending me shall net you nothing,” She makes no move to show him to the door, and he lets himself out. The butler's waiting, and the silent fuck shows Jack down the hall, and to the room in the servant's section of the house. It's a fucking closet, but it's a closet with a window, and that's better than the last man who had Noir under contract. He figures he can stand the bitch, long as she gives him a long leash.

The next morning, he turns up in the middle of her breakfast, clutching the black bishop in his left hand. Beatrice sets her tea cup to the side and takes the bishop from him, inspecting the little black peice. She nods after a moment, “Well done, Noir.”

“You didn’t mention that damned cane of his,” Jack’s sides are aching and bruised, all because of that damned cane.

“That must have slipped my mind,” She motions to her butler, lurking in the doorway nearby, “Take Mr. Noir to the tailor to be fitted.”

“A uniform? You're fucking kidding me.” Jack tries to protest, but she waves him away, returning to her tea. The butler intrudes in Jack's space, this big fucking bruiser whose mother must of rubbed up against a brick wall too many times, and makes it clear that he's got to follow him. Jack bares his teeth and reluctantly goes, casting a glare back at Beatrice.

She'll pay for this in time. Oh yes, she certainly will.

--

Jack Noir has gunpowder eyes. It is quite extraordinary to see that shade in the eyes of a human. Beatrice would like to pin him down and inspect those eyes of his, but that would send entirely the wrong message. She would also like to take a razor to his head and cut off that unruly mass of hair, but that would also sent the wrong message. He is a servant, and Beatrice has always made a point not to waste much time or thought on the servants.

He is an adequate bodyguard. Their journey to the warehouse goes without any trouble. Her driver takes them to the warehouse by carriage, and Jack always has an eye fixed on the doors, even when they are speaking. Beatrice notes this silently in her mind, along with his gunpowder eyes and the knives he’s carrying (at least a dozen, if she has been paying adequate attention).

Jack does not offer her a hand down when she leaves the carriage, but he does keep his eyes flickering from side to side, as if perhaps some ruffian will slink up on them when his eyes are turned away. Beatrice is impressed by his vigilance. There is very little that impresses her.

The warehouse is as it always is: overflowing with bodies and stinking of gunpowder and steel. Beatrice makes her way down the rows of grimy men, Jack tagging at her back. They keep their eyes on their work. All these men know better than to even breathe in her direction.

Near the end of the warehouse, the latest shipments sit in their wooden crates, waiting to be sent out. There is an assortment of weaponry, though the bulk of them are rifles. She picks up a random rifle, quickly inspecting it. Jack stands by her arm, staring at the guns and then up at her, “This is your business? Guns?”

“More than just ‘guns’, Mr. Noir,” She opens the rifle at the breech, showing him the empty barrel waiting to be loaded, “Breech-loading rifles. In ten years time, you will find muzzle-loaders only in museums.”

Beatrice offers Jack the rifle and he takes it. He hefts it in his hands and shakes his head, handing it back to her, “I don’t like guns.”

“Not personal enough for your tastes?” She snaps the rifle closed and sets it back into its crate. Nearby, men nail shut the top of other crates. In a month’s time, these weapons will be in her husband’s hands, and then in the hands of the highest bidder. There are a dozen tiny wars over the thick jungle, and the Kingscotes plan on ensuring that they are the exclusive weapons dealer in the region.

“Something like that,” Jack says, and she’s hardly surprised to hear so. He’s a common thug, a nasty little piece of work who likely enjoys watching his victims suffer. Beatrice understands his impulse, but she does not feel bound by it. Jack touches the outline of something undoubtedly sharp beneath his coat, “Knives don’t need reloading.”

“And guns do not require you to get blood on your coat when you kill someone,” Beatrice responds as they walk by the shipments waiting to go and the craftsmen working on their weapons, “Of course, we also provide knives now and again, and blunt objects as well. We are always willing to diversify. Weapons are the one business where the supply shall never outstrip the demand. As long as there are two men alive, one shall want a weapon to kill the other with.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jack keeps up with her, his eyes still keeping a close watch on everything. He is quite the paranoid man. For now, that seems to be an advantage. But as with everything else, her mind silently notes it down and files it away.

In the back corner of the factory are the Powders, a number of men employed to develop new weaponry. They go quiet as Beatrice approaches, quickly getting out of her way and allowing her access to their work. Beatrice looks over their developments, noting that most of them seem to be simply improvements on current designs. However, there is one unique weapon sitting half-finished near the back.

She picks up the revolver, turning the barrel. It clicks as it turns, the wheel not quite lined up properly. They will fix that soon enough. Jack stares at it. She can see him trying to decipher what he’s seeing, “What the hell’s been done to that pistol?”

“It’s a revolver. Six shots in a rotating barrel. The design is foreign. We’ve simply adapted it,” She snaps the gun to the side and the barrel pops out. Six empty barrels are revealed. Beatrice looks to the Powders and nods, setting the revolver back down on the bench. They’ve done well. The relief on their powder-blackened faces is obvious to all.

They step outside and stand on the docks, watching the men load the crates onto a tramp steamer. She carefully counts the crates and makes note of how many have been loaded. Her husband will write when they arrive and will send her the full count. She is sure they will arrive whole and intact. Most of the men here will distinctly remember what happened to the last man who thought he could take a few weapons from the shipments without being noticed.

"Didn't figure you'd be the sort of woman to sell weapons," Jack says. He's quite forward for a servant. It comes as no surprise that he has had a dozen different masters and mistresses, most of which had nothing good to say about him. Jack Noir. He is as vulgar as the day is long and he seems to suffer from the delusion that he is her equal. And yet, Beatrice finds herself liking him. He has promise and potential.

"Noir, you have only just made my acquaintance," She says, looking out over the ship, watching the sailors haul the crate onboard, "You have no idea what sort of woman I am."

Beatrice sees him scowl out of the corner of her eye, and indulgences herself with the slightest of smiles. Yes, she's sure that he will work out quite fine.

notes and stuff

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- to be clear, Black Queen = Beatrice Kingscote nee Quattlebaum, Black King = Bartholomew Kingscote

- I know he's Jack Hawk, but I decided to stick with Jack Noir because I love the idea of Jack constantly getting pissed when people see his last name and go "oh, Jacques?" and he has to threaten to cut a bitch over it.

- he's an indentured servant who keeps pissing off the people he's working for, and they keep selling his contract to other people. this seemed to be the easiest way to replicate the Queen/Archagent relationship, since he literately can't get away from her while she holds his contract.

- Bartholomew is currently in the middle of the steampunk version of Africa, supplying weapons to opposing colonizing forces. I picture him wearing one of those rocking pith helmets and drinking a lot of gin and tonics to prevent malaria. Think classic Victorian era big game hunter, and you've got him.

- I am playing really hard and fast with the guns. There were breech-loading weapons in the 1830's but they really didn't take off until the 1860's after the American civil war, and Samuel Colt patented the revolver as we know it (spinning barrel) in the 1830's. I'm not sure when exactly this takes place, but since it's steampunk, I figure we can probably fudge the dates a little.

- this, of course, takes place well before Jack gets his dandy mechanical arm. Though I think it would be safe to say that Beatrice has something to do with how Jack ended up on English's doorstep, bloody and broken and in need of an arm that wasn't mangled to hell and back

Holy shit thats awesome. It wasn't what I was planning for Jack's backstory (Originally, my plan was that Jack was a petty criminal who started working for a gang that took orders from a mysterious "Ms Snow"), but This works much better! Mind if I just grab/ add to that for Jack's chapter of Four of a Kind?
Spoilers, for what I have in mind

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Jack works as Beatrice's Bodyguard/enforcer for awhile, she uses him to keep her subordinates in line by having him stab any who step out of it.
It all goes well, until word that her husband is returning, her husband cared for his business partner, and Jack is the only one who knows that she had said partner killed. So, she decides to get rid of Jack by sending some of her thugs after him.
Thugs beat him up, leave him bleeding and armless in an alleyway, English and Dorian, out on a midnight stroll (English goes on a stroll when he wants too, no matter what the clock says) finds him, jack escapes in pain, but with a new arm. He then proceeds to take apart her organization, first killing the thugs she sent after him then various investors, gunsmiths, basically anybody connected with her. He gets arrested at some point, gets thrown into jail, meets the others, they break out, become the MC, Jack kills Beatrice, drops her off at English's mansion, ect ect.

[GEMPadre036]

Holy shit thats awesome.

There are literally no other words for this. Amazing job, conceptofzero! I can't wait until I finally have time to write and contribute to this. So close!

[conceptofzero]

Holy shit thats awesome. It wasn't what I was planning for Jack's backstory (Originally, my plan was that Jack was a petty criminal who started working for a gang that took orders from a mysterious "Ms Snow"), but This works much better! Mind if I just grab/ add to that for Jack's chapter of Four of a Kind?
Spoilers, for what I have in mind

show spoiler

hide spoiler

Jack works as Beatrice's Bodyguard/enforcer for awhile, she uses him to keep her subordinates in line by having him stab any who step out of it.
It all goes well, until word that her husband is returning, her husband cared for his business partner, and Jack is the only one who knows that she had said partner killed. So, she decides to get rid of Jack by sending some of her thugs after him.
Thugs beat him up, leave him bleeding and armless in an alleyway, English and Dorian, out on a midnight stroll (English goes on a stroll when he wants too, no matter what the clock says) finds him, jack escapes in pain, but with a new arm. He then proceeds to take apart her organization, first killing the thugs she sent after him then various investors, gunsmiths, basically anybody connected with her. He gets arrested at some point, gets thrown into jail, meets the others, they break out, become the MC, Jack kills Beatrice, drops her off at English's mansion, ect ect.

aww thanks you guys! I've really enjoyed all the awesome stuff you've cobbled together, and I'm just happy to be able to add a little of my own.

as for the backstory, borrow/take whatever you'd like! I can tell you what else I sorta had figured out in my head if you'd like.

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so, in my head, Jack works for Beatrice for his two years. Jack's just waiting to get out, but Beatrice is actively grooming him to be her 'bishop' (or right-hand man) and fully expects Jack to stay around since she feels she's offering him a sweet deal. but Jack doesn't want to be the right hand man, he wants to be the man and that's when things go sour because Beatrice takes that badly. she makes it clear that if he tries to leave, she's going to cut off one of his hands (because she knows he has nothing to lose, nothing but his ability to play music).

Jack falls in line, but is looking for a way out. he thinks he's found one at first when he makes a deal with one of the Kingscote's competitors to steal the revolver and kill Beatrice in exchange for some cash. But it turns out that Beatrice has gotten wind of the whole thing and she ambushes Jack, shooting him in the arm and ordering her thugs to beat him to death and drown him in the river. the thugs are lazy and leave jack in an alleyway, and then it totally goes down the way you anticpated - Jack destroying her organization piece by piece before finally ambushing her while Bartholomew is away and slitting her throat (after showing off his hand/making it clear that she may have tried to kill him and rob him of his music, but he found a way to win in the end).

this is all just spec stuff though, and like I said, take what you like, ignore whatever doesn't work for you! I may write some of this out, but we'll see if I can focus long enough to finish it.

[Rukafais]

Jiii that's amazing aaaaaa I love all your stuff conceptofzero, you are an amazing writer

on another note, I bring art! Steampunk colossi are kind of fun to draw.

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[HelloMoto]

I just thought something up for that.
Basically, that is in possession of Bartholomew Kingscote. It's a highly unique superweapon, only two exist in the world. The others current location is unknown, and his long lost brother was rumored to have it at the time. The machine itself is dormant until activated by it's key, which is in the form of a scepter. Bartholomew's is colored a pure black, while the missing one was a pure white.
(basically the White and Black Scepters and prototypings.)

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AND NOW I HIDE! sorry if I rambled in there, I tend to do that. *hides in shadows*

[KilroyWasHere]

Upon my discovery of this thread, I'm gonna have to help out with this!

Hell, I'll even do a backstory for Sawbuck at school.

[Nakkirz]

CONCEPT OF ZERO YOU ARE AMAZING.

You and Bloody need to give me time to finish up MY Jack fic ;____;

[Thatoneguy]

Hot damn.

[Phantom Gamer]

If you stick a Steampunk Reverberatum/Reverberata in there I will love you.

[KilroyWasHere]

So, shitty Sawbuck concept is go:

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Sawbuck was found dead by English, as with the rest of the Felt. Sawbuck, however, was dead a fair while. He had bloated a bit due to the gas being produced - quite unsightly. English, however, decided this was the perfect place to stick something.

In Sawbuck's stomach, he mounted some sort of... Steampunk-y thing that was intended as a protective measure for him - a prototype. Unfortunately, what was intended to warp incoming weaponry in to separate timelines instead warped Sawbuck. He usually comes back shortly, but English has probably managed to develop some sort of "anchor" to bring him back by force.

Not sure how that anchor thing would work or if it's even a good idea.

[Stinkosar]

So, shitty Sawbuck concept is go:

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Sawbuck was found dead by English, as with the rest of the Felt. Sawbuck, however, was dead a fair while. He had bloated a bit due to the gas being produced - quite unsightly. English, however, decided this was the perfect place to stick something.

In Sawbuck's stomach, he mounted some sort of... Steampunk-y thing that was intended as a protective measure for him - a prototype. Unfortunately, what was intended to warp incoming weaponry in to separate timelines instead warped Sawbuck. He usually comes back shortly, but English has probably managed to develop some sort of "anchor" to bring him back by force.

Not sure how that anchor thing would work or if it's even a good idea.

Ok now I need fin. On the double.