Downtime, Indulging Vice: The Water Nymph

The brush moved gently across the canvas for the last time and Nightingale stood back to critique their work. A painting was never truly complete in their opinion, but the trick was to understand when to leave it, when was it as complete as it could be without going to far and risk ruining it. They were pleased.

Nightingale considered their last interaction with Jackdaw, they had been practicing Cosimo at the time. He was a persona which was still a work in progress and perhaps they had been a little too artsy and silly. Cosimo would need to be altered, more honed before their inevitable encounter with Rafello.

Their attention shifted back to the canvas. Mixing Leviathan blood into the paint was inspired, it gave the water a strangely luminescent quality and served to give the work a feeling of otherworldliness.

The sound of footfalls brought Nightingale out of their fugue. Jackdaw stood at the arched entrance to their chamber, The Water Nymph plainly in sight.

Downtime: Cosimo

Nightingale sat slouched in the chair staring at the reflection in the mirror. Blonde hair tumbling haphazardly around their shoulders. Their face devoid of makeup or decoration looked plain. They wore a nondescript shirt and breaches which seemed to exacerbate the sparseness even further. Alex was a blank canvas. 

To hell with her and her bloody temper. She was there to aid me, not fuck it up at the first sign of trouble. Now she's moping around like she's the only one that's lost something. She might have washed up, face down in the canal without a lick of memory remaining, but she still might have family somewhere. Lord Mora saw fit to obliterate my house. I'm all that's left and there's no getting it back. I need to know why he did it and the gallery was my way in. 

Nightingale reached across the dresser and absentmindedly picked up an old violet beret. They dusted it off and placed it in a fashionable angle on their head. Nightingale had seen Rafello wear something similar at the gallery the other night. 

They smiled at their reflection. If I cannot get to Rafello, I shall make him come to me. They scanned the room to find other garments befitting an artist, a loose cotton shirt, blue breeches and soft leather boots. 

"Well look at you handsome. What ever shall we call you?" 

Nightingale began their customary vocal exercises until they found an agreeable tone. A new plan was rapidly forming, so much more exquisite than the first, perhaps Jackdaw had done them a favour after all. 

A tentative voice came through the curtain which separating Alex's chamber from the communal space of the nest.

"May I come in?"

"La la la laaa... Yes, yes, come in Jackdaw" They waved her in.

"I think I owe you an apology Nightingale..."

"Water under the bridge darling, nothing to forgive... And do call me Cosimo."

Downtime, Indulging Vice: Life's Lessons

Mother Narya hurriedly rounded the corridor of the bunkhouse and almost lost her footing. She'd heard that Nightingale was back and their services were required. Mother Narya tolerated Nightingale's presence, more than welcomed it. She was a kindly old matron, who cared for the welfare of those in her care above all else. She was ignorant of what Nightingale offered to ease the burden of those in her care, but if it helped, she'd let it go on until it no longer did.

"There you are! Javik's been asking for you. He doesn't have much time before the bells ring and word is spreading about how you've helped others here."

"I'll go at once Mother, and rest assured there's nothing underhand going on, cross my heart. Those facing the black just need to have someone listen to them. No one wants to die on their own and folk who end up here alone and scared, just want to be remembered by someone, doesn't really matter who."

Suspicion lingered in Mother Narya's eyes, but she nodded and pointed down the corridor to where Javik lay dying in his narrow bunk.

Nightingale could smell the rot as they entered the room. Javik had been placed in the Garden, a chamber filled with scented flowers and pine cones. The place served a number of functions; giving the nearly departed a modicum of privacy, whilst keeping them away from the other 'residents' of the Arms of the Weeping Lady. The scent of the flowers was said to be a calming influence to those facing death, but in reality, they were present to help stave off the stink. A concealed door was nestled at the rear of the room, leading directly to the streets below. This served to allow the Spirit Wardens to enter the bunkhouse discreetly to perform their civic duties when the bells inevitably chimed.

Nightingale had duties of their own. It was time to hear Javik's tales and help lift the burden of a life filled with treachery and deceit. Nightingale could learn a lesson or two from a man like Javik, a man who had murdered his way to the top of a crew, only to be betrayed when his usefulness ran dry. With each telling they consumed and for every drawing they rendered, Nightingale's empty vessel filled a morsel. It would never be enough to repair their shattered existence, but it was something.

In the distance the bells rang, a signal for Nightingale to Leave the Arms of the Weeping Lady and let the Wardens take their shift. Javik lay dead in his cot a faint smile touching his thin lips, it wouldn't be long before his spirit rose if left unattended.

Nightingale turned to leave the room, but hesitated for a brief moment. They could have sworn they saw something by the window. Nothing. Must have been a trick of the light generated by the electroplasmic lamps outside. Yes, just a trick of the light.

NPC: Nyryx, A Sly Friend

Nyryx was beautiful, skin like alabaster and hair as black as the inky sea. Noblemen who employed her services would parade her around like an exotic bird, whilst genteel women looked on in quiet judgement. Nightingale had seen her from time to time on the arm of a Lady; those who were too wealthy to have their reputation tarnished, or those who courted scandal.


Nightingale quietly studied Nyryx as she undressed, then sprawled naked across the shabby mattress in the room they rented in one of the crumbling apartments off Comber Way. It was a refuge away from the Nest and crew, who were now part of Nightingale's everyday. They had accepted the others in a time of need and their once secluded retreat, hidden beneath the streets of the Night Market, had become a somewhat overcrowded base of operations for the Night's Feathers.

"Chin a little higher darling. Perfect. Now hold that for a moment."

Nightingale's fingers worked the charcoal into the paper and the simple lines began to take on form. Tone and texture transformed the simple sketch into something vital, her very essence captured in monochromatic hues. It was curious for Nightingale to get such gratification from sketching a model as spirited as Nyryx. Their usual appetite was for those of a more fragile disposition.

"It's unnaturally warm tonight Alexandre, why don't you take off your coat. You know you can trust that I would never tell a soul that you're really a..."

Nightingale rose quickly and Nyryx fell silent. They avoided eye contact as they hastily went about packing away charcoals and paper. As Nightingale made to exist the room, they felt a hand rest on their forearm and tensed.

"I meant no offence Alexandre. A woman in my line of business has seen all one can of humanity and it's ghastly. You're very good at hiding what you are from the world and you had me guessing for months, but we've spent over a year meeting like this and I'm convinced that you want me to know who you are. You're as tired of wearing these masks as I am, no?"

Nightingale's slate grey eyes met Nyryx's dark pools, eager for acknowledgement.

"Secrets are there to keep others safe darling, I won't have you end up like that poor Wraith. They're no friends of ours, I grant you, but to be left in that manner for all to see is truly barbaric. I have opposition who would see me and mine come to a grizzly end and you mean something to me Nyryx..."

"...And you mean something to me too Alex" She cut in. "You can't keep pretending you're someone else to everyone, that's just not healthy. Now please, put your things down and come sit with me a while. We can be ourselves with one another no?"

Nightingale did as they were asked. Perhaps Nyryx was right, perhaps they wanted her to know the truth about them. One could only keep secrets for so long in a place like Doskvol and the truth was, they were tired of keeping them.

The Players: 'Nightingale' Alexandra/Alexandre Tremont

Decades ago the House Tremont was one of the major noble families in Doskvol. Now the House is all but gone, annihilated by a rival, the House Mora. The twins Alexandre and Alexandra were spirited away during the night of the family's massacre and both were presumed dead. One survived however and hid in the tunnels under the Night Market. Known simply as Alex now, they assume whichever twins identity best fits their mood or inclination. During their years in exile Alex sort comfort by cultivating and inhabiting new personas, a practice which has become somewhat of an obsession for them.