subterfuge- would they make a good spy? why or why not?
Not an exceptionally good one. The whole irradiated by viric thing sometimes works in hishertheir favour, though whilst most of the time the details of your interaction tends to be hazy, you almost always remember you were talking to Ockham. And on the other side, Ockham's persuasiveness and ability to play the social game is almost nonexistent. Ockham's a good listener, but so much of spycraft involved developing relationships and judgement calls, and Ockham is not really to be trusted with either or those.
mellifluous- can they sing?
Ockham can carry a melody with no problems, but heshethey doesn't really project (also a problem when Ockham speaks--hishertheir voice doesn't really travel very far and tends to be very head/nose-placed) or have any sort of technical training.
assuage- is there something that makes them feel better almost every time?
For Roberts/Nite it's often getting out and moving a bit. They both love to dance, and that's often a good distraction, leaving them a relaxed sort of tired at the end of the evening. And Roberts will also whip out the Classic Hymns of 1899 Vol. 2 in a pinch.
For Jones, it's going for a walk under the closest thing to an open sky he can get in the Neath. For years he'd lived in a damp cell on the roof, and being in an open space with the Zee air in his lungs always does him some good. It wouldn't stack up to the surface equivalent, but it's what he can get, and for that reason he's contented with it.
propinquity- what is their relationship with their family like? how do they define family?
Roberts was briefly in contact with his sisters shortly after he'd left for London, but letters were not so easy to write or to send, and he'd eventually stopped writing. He blamed it on logistics, but in reality he was ashamed. He was embarrassed by his family, how provincial they were, unwilling to make the simple changes that would maybe grant them some respect or opportunities in life, that they seemed to have no desire at all to leave their village and do something else with their lives other than become wives and then widows to miners. He'd had the thoughts for a while, but his father's death from respiratory illness and was the catalyst for him finally deciding to run. The first letters were cordial, asking him to come home. Then pleading. Then scornful--that he'd abandon them, the cowardice from the sole man whose duty is to the family (never mind that he was still very much a boy). He never opened the last letters. They'd certainly dissolved into pulp in the Zee during the Fall. He has no kin, no wife, and it's better that way. It's a complication, a source of shame. It distracts him from his duty.
Nite has no memory of his family, but thinking on it too hard results in an overwhelming feeling of unease and shame. He tries not to think on it too hard.
Jones had a good relationship to his family before his imprisonment. He would get into the occasional debate with his brothers over politics and his activities, but they were all good-natured. In the aftermath, he'd lost contact with most of them. He'd broken their mother's heart and utterly ruined their name, one sibling had told him. He did not find Jones' reply to this that this was doubtful, considering the commonness of their name amusing. To this day, there's only one sister who still speaks to him. They correspond as regularly as postal delivery between the surface and the Neath will allow.
a one year follow up to my previous attempt at stylizing my fallen london pc in the style of the exceptional stories! one (1) equippable artist companion please
Jones was made an example of. A surface prison would not be enough--a multiple decade sentence in New Newgate would make the message clear: sedition would not be tolerated.
The light had long gone out of him by the time he'd received the visitor--a man who had, at the very least, seemed to know his file well, and came armed with a proposition: Wouldn't he like to be free? He could walk out of this cell within the week, return to a normal life, all for the small price of stepping onto the Chessboard. The work would suit him, after all.
Jones couldn't give two shits about the work. The embers that had burned in his heart for political change had long since been snuffed out. But had the devil himself opened the door and offered him a job he would be on the first train to Hell.
He accepts.
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I had this sitting in my drafts for a while because while carving linocuts the other day I ended up mentally writing out an entire ficlet of their actual conversation, then of course instantly forgetting all of it before I could get to a computer.
ask game :D ! 🎼 Your favorite music to draw to right now?
Normally I just have my entire collection on shuffle. Music doesn't really affect my mood or what I draw. At the moment, it's been more EDM-heavy, but that's just what I'm listening to at the moment.