ZincAboutIt

Tashi thought for a moment, then smiled. “I know just the thing.” She stepped over to the phonograph and flicked through the records before finding one labeled “Light Waltzes.” Tashi set the record on the spoke, cranked the lever, and lowered the needle. Soon, a pleasant, sweet melody filled the main room. @mathiau

Oh well yeah the Stranger could probably do it, I mean he rewrote the planet so sure why not some Alley redecorating. It’s certainly a decent explanation of something like that occurring yeah.

Lita ducked out of a nearby Alley, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the cobbles. She could feel the reverberation from the building across the way through the soles of her feet, and she cautiously lowered her Tin to a whisper of a burn. It felt odd letting her usual edge slip away, but she’d be no use to anyone if she allowed the growling, bass-heavy music to literally split her eardrums. She idly wondered what Laurelai would be wearing, and entertained a brief vision of her friend in a full ball gown, frowning at all the scantily clad dancers. But then, that wasn’t like Laurelai. She’d blend in perfectly, wearing something so ideally calculated that even Lita might have trouble finding her. Luckily, her white-blond hair was a rarity even in a city this big. Lita crossed the street, pausing at the curb to take a final inventory of her own outfit. She had a few metal vials tucked into the tops of her boots, which slid over her knees and left about six inches of thigh visible before the view was interrupted by a tight gold skirt and matching halter top. Her hair brushed across the small of her back, done up in two long auburn braids that swung with each turn of her head. In the low light, it was just possible to catch the glint off a steel spike in her right side. Lita grinned. It was a rarity to get to show off, but this was a company party after all. She pushed open the door and slipped in, immediately grateful that she’d lowered her Tin. Even still, she had to take a moment to acclimate to the riot of sensation around her. She passed through the crowd with ease, stepping through spaces no one else noticed, and ordered a simple gin and tonic at the bar. Out of habit, she took a little envelope of tin and pewter powder from her boot and poured it into the drink, stirring absently as she scoured the crowd. Not too many familiar faces yet, but the night was young. She wondered if anyone particularly interesting would show up. Lita took a sip, smiling at the quality of the liquor, then her smile widened. She had spotted her quarry. Laurelai looked as expected, with the perfect amount of undone ease in her hair and dress. It would have been infuriating if Lita didn’t know just how much she’d likely agonized over it. ”I didn’t think you owned anything that was cut above the knee,” Lita said, smiling wryly and taking another sip of her drink. “It’s good to know I can still be surprised.” @Voidus

I think this would be a level of Alley manipulation that would be almost impossible to achieve for anyone but the most powerful denizen. You’d need to not only shape the Alley you’re traveling through but others around it that you’re not using, and then also force them to stay like that. It seems really complex.

“Of course,” Tashi said, setting down a glass she had been drying. “Anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

By all means keep at it, a character can last through many eras so even if you don’t use them now you can still think them up

People are busy, what can ya do

I’m back fools Hit me up if you wanna sell your soul

I will be largely absent for a bit, if you need something discord is your best bet to reach me. You can godmod Tashi in the boarding house to do basic things like get a room or a drink. Seeya round

Who am I kidding I am definitely an expert on taking dark bargains

Well I’m not the resident expert on dark bargains BUT I will say that hemalurgy is very reliable. You do in fact get what you pay for. But you do have to pay for it.

Proof that we don’t actually need to trick people we can literally say “hey make this questionable choice” and people will hold out their hand and say “yes please!”

I would technically say no in this case as he needs to be wielded in order to act, right?

Going to have to agree on Kelsier being the most powerful. His powerset is already very impressive, but his willingness to use all of it in whatever manner it takes to achieve his goals is really what sells it for me. Not only does he have a lot of power, you can be almost certain that he will use it to its fullest potential - something I can’t really say about the other contenders on the list. Honorable mention goes to Ishar for me, who has all the wild Bondsmith Herald shenanigans plus he’s absolutely out to lunch mentally and would probably unleash it all on a whim

Congratulations we are now all in the same timeline!

Lita watched the necklace sail through the air until it hit the floor with a light clatter. Immediately it was swept underfoot of the other couples, and she lost sight of it for a moment as a pair moved in front of her. But she did not miss the sickening ‘crack’ that echoed seconds later. The Stranger was still holding her close, her back to his chest, one hand curved around her ribcage. She could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat in counterpoint to her own, pulsing against her. So much slower than her own racing tempo - yet still slightly elevated. “What do you choose?” His voice was night in summer, warm and deep and full of every promise. Lita could still feel the burning trail of his fingers along her jaw, down her throat - a line of fire that smoldered distractingly as she tried to think. “I -“ she whispered, then faltered, her voice catching in her throat as the dancers before her parted to reveal Forian’s necklace where it lay on the floor. Tin allowed her a perfect view of the cracks that had spiderwebbed throughout the gorgeous center emerald, and the soft dust on the dance floor that had come from one of the crushed pearls. Except emerald didn’t crack, and it took more than a careless heel to crush a pearl. Lita’s mouth tightened into a silent snarl. It wasn’t even real. The flawless emerald, the strings of delicate pearls - they were nothing but tinted glass and painted plaster. And despite all her metal, she, little slum girl that she was, could not have told the difference. Lita felt a well of shame open up within her, the knowledge that she had been bought so cheaply and been so grateful for it nearly made her sick. The Stranger waited silently for her answer, holding both of them still as the rest of the room spun about them like figures in a wind-up box. She turned her head slightly, letting her hand, once outstretched towards the necklace, drop to her side. “Surely,” she spoke, feeling the heat of both anger and anticipation on her tongue, “you already know what I will choose.” “Do I?” He answered, lifting her arm upward with a feather’s touch until it arced backwards, her fingertips meeting the side of his face. She could feel his smile. “I cannot read your mind, Little Lita, and even if I could, the choice is still yours to make.” He ran a single fingertip down the inside of her arm, then down her ribs, pausing between the last two as a bolt of pain seemed to rise to meet it. “You always have a choice.” Lita bit her tongue to avoid crying out, though whether from pain or something sweeter, she didn’t know. She felt like a fiddle tuned too tightly, every string at its breaking point, and the Stranger was preparing his bow. “I choose to stay,” she whispered, the words tearing out of her mouth before she could catch them behind her teeth. Her head tipped backward of its own accord, still listening to his heartbeat. “Good choice,” he breathed into her ear, then spun her back to face him, pulling her so close that she could feel the buttons of his waistcoat through the silk of her gown. “I do hate to cut a party short.” The music shifted slightly, tempo sliding upward even as it became more sinuous, and for a moment they said nothing, learning this new melody. “I know what it is you want,” the Stranger said, voice slicing through Lita’s reverie with surgical precision. “Because it is also what I want.” Lita felt her fingertips bite into his shoulder where she held on; her mind felt like it was on fire. “And what is that?” She said, pleased at how steady her voice sounded. “Why, secrets, of course,” he responded, smile sweet and sharp as honey on a blade. Lita did her best to conceal her disappointment, but felt her cheeks grow hot. He laughed softly. “Isn’t that what you told me you hungered for, the day we first met? Do you remember it, Little Lita?” “I…” Lita felt her eyes flutter closed for a moment, and as she did she saw the scene as it was. Her at the little table, a spoon in her hand, and a shadow in her doorway. “Yes,” she murmured. “I do remember.” “All the truth of the world,” the Stranger whispered, and Lita saw golden script behind her eyes, gold and shadow and a bright Coin in a dark hand. “And you wanted it. You had tasted a sip, but you wished to be drunk. Look at me, Lita.” She opened her eyes, the sudden raw edge of his voice catching her off guard. He stared into her, light from the chandelier glinting off of his iron eye and disappearing into the darkness of his other. “There is a storm within you, there at the core of your eyes. Do you remember the storm? The night the city tore itself to pieces. Rain in the alleyway, tin on your tongue, steel in your blood. Do you remember? Do you remember breaking apart even as you were remade?” Lita felt the Stranger dip her backward, leaning with her, and the dissonance of two lives warred in her mind and crackled for a moment before one shook - then shattered. Lita’s breath caught as the full force of that memory - all the pain and glory - hit her at once. She gasped. He pulled her back upward, turning her so her back once again pressed against him. This time he kept dancing, his voice low and insistent against her ear. “Do you remember the Chapel, Lita? The cool blue lure of it, the silent siren’s song of boundless knowledge? Do you remember stepping beneath that water and tasting a secret so sweet you thought it couldn’t be real? The outline of a plan so audacious that it could only be executed by a madman? Do you remember how close you came to your death, dancing on the knife edge?” He took her left hand, bringing it up towards his face, before softly kissing each fingertip. His mouth was lightning against her skin. Lita felt her heartbeat accelerate to a speed that nearly frightened her, even as her mind accelerated faster, memories blooming like drops of blood into water. “Do you remember how your fingertips on the back of a cold hand stilled the wrath of a mad god, Little Lita? Do you remember what he asked of you?” “My memories,” Lita said, turning her head to try and see the Stranger’s face, but he held her fast. “He wanted my memories.” “Indeed,” came his voice, tinged with something jagged, slightly bitter. “A hypocrite, to speak so often of price, then demand such a gift for nothing. Rather like your lordling, I think.” Lita blinked, missing a step in the dance. “Forian?” “Tell me about him,” the Stranger continued, turning her around to face him. His smile was back, that familiar blend of predatory and amused. Lita raised an eyebrow. “You want to know about Forian?” “I wish to know about you,” he said. “I have given you plenty of secrets this evening, Little Lita. Heady truths. It is only fair that you should give me some of your own, so I might also get drunk.” He winked, and Lita knew it for such despite his only having one eye. Lita scoffed, but she found herself speaking nonetheless. “He used to frequent my father’s soothing parlor, him and his gang. My father was a fool, always being swindled by his customers despite his Allomancy. He was overjoyed to have some ‘noble patronage,’ never mind how suspicious it was that a group of lords met in a Sixth Octant slum. I used to eavesdrop, til one day I realized I could get more than just information if I proved myself useful enough.” She heard some of the edge in her voice, and looked over her shoulder at the ruined necklace. The collar that was nothing more than a cheap trinket, the sort of thing you would give to a street whore. “Useful, like a tool. A tool who thought itself a person. Silly me.” The Stranger’s fingertips grabbed her chin with surprising force, dragging her face upwards. It didn’t hurt, but the fervor in his black fathomless eye frightened her. “The only thing that suits you worse than a collar is self-pity, Lita Attar,” he hissed. “You may be used like a tool, but that does not mean it’s what you are. You are a fire, and however useful a fire might be, it burns for its own sake.” “Why are you saying this?” Lita demanded, confusion curdling into ire at his words. How dare he lecture her, tell her what she was and was not to feel? “There is still a collar around your neck, Little Lita. One I cannot so easily snap. A Forgery far finer than glass and plaster. A gilded cage built from all your heart’s desires.” He leaned close enough that she could count every eyelash framing his black, endless eye. “Do you remember?” Lita felt a tremor move through her, an echo of confusion and horror as reality tore like wet paper. “Shadow on the ceiling,” the Stranger said, voice growing softer yet more sonorous, like he was speaking in a vast, vaulted cavern. Lita remembered the hanging jaw of the slick, tarry worm before it shot towards her. “Shadow covering your eyes.” He reached up, passing his fingertips over Lita’s eyes, closing them. She remembered the alien chill of that shadow moving over her skin, pouring into her mouth and commanding her to forget. “And a Shadow at your ear,” he whispered, tracing one finger along her palm, where the slender red scar sliced across her skin, “offering you a way out, if you were willing to pay the price. Do you remember?” “Yes,” Lita breathed, eyes still closed, fire on her skin where he touched her, and icy horror everywhere else. “I remember everything.” And she did. She opened her eyes to find he had leaned back slightly, grinning at her in a way that sent a shiver up her spine. “Who are you?” “The Stranger sees nearly everyone as a tool,” he said, seeming to side-step the question. Then, he brought one hand up to his chest. “Even his own Shadow.” Lita looked at him for a moment, baffled, before a hundred tiny pieces fell into place. His talk of choice, his bitter disdain for the Stranger, the seemingly pointless exercise of helping her and Laurelai escape the shadow creatures. Lita felt the room spin around her slowly, and she willed herself not to collapse onto the floor. This was not the Stranger - it was the Shade. “I told you Truth was a heady thing,” the Shade said, voice dark with amusement. “But come now, tell me Little Lita. Have you drunk your fill of it? Are you satisfied?” He cupped her face with one hand, running the edge of his thumb lightly across her lower lip. “Or do you crave yet more?” @Fatebreaker

Alright I am probably going to call the Boarding House for the timeskip this evening. I think everyone has wrapped things up but please let me know if you haven’t.

Hello all! It’s been slow around here as everyone seems to be quite busy irl (me too!). Just popping by to say that it looks like all the major threads have time-skipped one week except the Boarding House. Since things are going slow for now I don’t really think its necessary to encourage people to wrap up scenes at the moment. But do keep in mind that if you leave that thread you won’t be able to re-enter until it skips as well. Cheers!

Vivica stared at herself in the mirror, one finger tapping against the porcelain sink. Not much time, now. Not much time at all. She had felt them moving, the shadows. They flitted across her vision, lurking in the corners of her eyes, in that place where people did not want to look. But Vivica had been looking. And the shadows had been looking back. They were angry. She had overstepped with that drawing, the one she had given to Reshilore. Vivica smiled as she thought of him. Such a nice man. She didn’t regret giving him the Recipe. It was important. It was the most important thing she had ever done. Until now, of course. There was nothing more important than this. Vivica looked down at her tools, arranged neatly on a washcloth next to the sink, and gave a tiny sigh. They were not what she would have preferred, certainly not like what she had had in the Other Life. But, there was no time for moping. At least she had on her baking coat. Yes, at least there was that. “Are you ready, Bennington?” Her voice sounded thin, the barest quaver ringing at the edges. Vivica scolded herself. A scientist did not pout. She did not bewail her lot. She did what had to be done, for the advancement of all. Someone had to throw the first stone in this glass house. Someone had to let the darkness in. Because only in the darkness did people claw toward the light. She picked up her first tool: a spoon. It had taken her the better part of the last week to sharpen its edge enough to cut. But sharp it was. Vivica rolled up her left sleeve, inspecting the skin of her forearm with clinical detachment. An odd place for this bindpoint, really. Though, she reasoned, perhaps its location made more sense than it initially appeared. Such a common place for self-harm, for those who wished to be rid of their own mental torment. Maybe the bindpoint called to them, whispering in their ears. A way to be rid of their mental instability, if only they knew how to go about it. Vivica did not wish to be rid of it, but then, many things had happened that Vivica did not wish for. Such a great many things. “The first step,” she said aloud, “is to create easier access to the bindpoint.” She held the spoon for a moment, hand steady as stone. Then, with a single intake of breath, she began to carefully flay the skin from her forearm. Blood immediately started to drip into the sink, the bright crimson standing out starkly against white porcelain. Vivica felt herself smile, harder this time. It cut itself into the corners of her mouth just as she cut away her own flesh. Tears pricked her eyes, called instinctively by the pain - though pain held little sway over Vivica now. Bennington floated over her right shoulder, looking on with somber eyes. This was a crude job, really, and would have been totally unnecessary with the proper spike. But that was the trouble with the Cognitive Ward - they did not allow the patients access to sharpened metal spikes. So, Vivica had to make do. She set down the spoon, then picked up a long, narrow piece of copper. It had once been a paperclip. One of the orderlies was a Keeper, and she always had extra copper clips to use on patient files, storing memories in them when needed. It hadn’t been too difficult to slip one out of her pocket during a routine evaluation. People didn’t expect deceit from Vivica. Perhaps they didn’t think her capable of it. She watched the harsh fluorescent light play off the copper, then turned her attention back to her wrist. The cuts had been precise, the skin peeled back to allow the dull and narrow piece of metal the best possible chance at hitting the bindpoint. It had to work. It had to. There was only one way to dismantle this fictional world. Vivica had to remove the linchpin. She had tried so many times to tell the Professor. To make him see. Make him remember. But he was too blinded by the false light, too happy by far. Too sane. Much too sane. Vivica did not have time to wait for him to go mad on his own. So she used what she did have: a copper paperclip, and blood. She looked at herself then - really looked. Her sallow, sunken cheeks, her bloodshot blue eyes, her lank mousy hair. A ruin of a girl. A madwoman. Not even the power of a god could patch the cracks in her spirit. Even in this perfect world, Vivica was broken. But even that had a use. Vivica held the copper wire between her fingers, suddenly uncertain. This would be slow work. Nasty. Inelegant. She glanced upward, towards a piece of paper taped onto the mirror. A drawing of a woman and a cheerful violet orb, holding hands with a tall man in a labcoat. Nox. The Professor. The Lonely God. “We have to do it, Bennington. For him.” Vivica looked down again and grit her teeth, marking the bindpoint in her mind. Then, she began to slide the copper wire into her wrist. — Twenty minutes later, Vivica sat at her little desk and waited. She had wrapped a towel around her wrist, though blood continued to soak through. A neat little envelope sat at the corner of the desk, marked with the words “Professor Esserethel.” “We did it Bennington,” she whispered, watching the shadows bend oddly in the light of her single lamp. There was no reply. Vivica looked upward, to where Bennington usually floated above her shoulder. Nothing. There was no one. Vivica was alone. She bit her lip, though that did little to stop its trembling. It had been a possibility, she knew. A risk. Spiking out her own insanity would naturally rid her of her hallucinations. But some part of her had still hoped… A low hiss broke the silence, and Vivica stood, clutching the sharpened spoon in her right hand. Tears traced quiet lines down her face. “You missed all the fun,” she said softly. Beyond the reach of her lamplight, shadows crept and slunk and oozed across the floor. This was no simple mental edit. They had come to make her disappear. To patch the cracks. To keep the darkness out. “Don’t worry,” she said, raising the spoon. “I still have one more trick.” Something black and slick moved one foot into the lamplight. “One last surprise.” Another step. “I think you’ll really like it. It’s my disappearing act. Are you ready?” Vivica felt her grip tighten, watched the shadows coil, ready to steal her. To take her. To make all this for nothing. “I’m ready,” she whispered, smiling. White, and hard, and sharp. Then she took the spoon’s scalpel edge and drew it across her own throat.

Good evening Alleyverse! I present to you a parody of “Master of the House” from Les Miserables. Special thanks to @Fatebreaker for the chorus. Enjoy Master of the Lab

His words sent a molten current coursing through her veins, hot and keen as a Tin flare, and Lita felt her nerves ignite like a magnesium match. She could hear her own heartbeat like thunder and feel every thread of her silk shift against her skin and each fiber of fine wool on the stranger’s suit coat beneath her fingers and his breath on her neck was as hot as a forge and — Lita tried to think through the wave of sensation, to regain some measure of her composure. The light in the room reflected off the spike in his eye, and the gold of his buttons winked at her. Golden writing on the wall, all the secrets of life itself scrawled in a master’s hand. “My lord,” she managed, trying to banish the odd thought, “you speak as though we have some sort of history.” “Quite,” he responded, and Lita could hear the grin in his voice. “Then,” she continued, sure that her ear cuffs would melt off from all the heat she was storing in them, “I’m afraid I’m not in on the secret.” Lita forced herself to think clearly, to replay the man’s words with a spy’s trained clinical analysis. It was like trying to see through dense fog; shapes loomed just out of her vision, and no amount of Tin would let her pierce the veil. The stranger chuckled deep in his throat, leaning back slightly to flash her a slice of teeth. “I would never deprive you the pleasure of hunting down a secret on your own, Little Lita. Besides,” he spun her again, still moving counter to the rest of the couples, before pulling her back into place. His voice was like the finest port - dark, sweet, and heady as sin. “You’re already so close.” Lita shuddered. So close. Lita was surprised she hadn’t already caused an open scandal, dancing so intimately with a complete stranger. Forian would be furious, though for some reason Lita was no longer very concerned with Forian. This stranger though… Lita was growing increasingly sure that she did know him. There was something in his voice, that prickle that ran across her skin, the way it stirred something in the core of her to rise, to seek, to take. The promise of knowledge and the power that went with it. ‘I never break my promises.’ The half-recalled words quickened a sudden pain in her right hand, and Lita slid her fingers from the stranger’s shoulder to glance within. A single red line ran diagonally across her palm, a slender scar made by an equally wicked, slender blade. Not a sheathed dagger, but a bayonet. Lita felt the world slide by slowly as a sudden wave of vertigo crashed over her. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, clutching at the stranger’s lapel as she felt her knees weaken for a moment. He supported her with ease, not even breaking the rhythm of his effortless waltz. “It’s right there, isn’t it Little Lita?” He said, voice low and tinged with amusement. “The answer. The secret. Right on the tip of your tongue.” Memory surged through Lita, plunged like metal into her blood. He was indeed a stranger, but a Stranger she knew. Lita stared into that deep, endless eye and heard herself exhale a single broken note. He grinned jaggedly, clearly enjoying her turmoil, and Lita’s ravenous desire tangled in the snarls of a sudden fury that nearly blinded her. Two opposing hungers warred within her. She wanted to cut her throat on the edge of that smile; she wanted to tear him apart. She tilted her head towards him, carving that smile into her memory. “More like the tips of my fingers,” she whispered. Then she drew her right hand back, palm open, and aimed all of that new fire right at his cheek. @Fatebreaker

Thank you so much, I try to do right by these excellent characters. I'm glad you like my attempts!