For everyone who is unaware of the situation:
http://skyrates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=8950
I encourage EVERYONE to read that first!!!

That being said, this is an ongoing Roleplay event (?) that can be joined in by everyone and anyone. You may add as many pieces as you wish, and take the Roleplay where ever you like. Regular Roleplay rules apply, of course.
Whilst this may be considered a good foreground for setting up your character role, your stance on the matter, etc... the actual storyline itself will also evolve inside the RP tab itself. *Funz!*

Most of all, don't take it too seriously, guys. At the end of the day, it's still just for Roleplay fun, afterall.
Enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Early Morning, Inside 'The Big Figure' Leviathan]

Blake Spencer - the 6'6" dark-auburn lion - waits patiently inside the rickety old elevator as it rumbles down into the bowels of the immense blimp aircraft. Beside him is a small fox, no more than 19 years of age, answering to the name of Morgan Bantex.

While Morgan (who by this point is the sheer epitome of anxiousness, so tense that one could almost see his knees wobbling) looks like he is about to crack at any moment, his brutish boss maintains a far more content demeanour.
“I’m telling you, kid!” The burly lion says through a broad grin of overconfidence. “This is where all that hard work pays off. Thanks to you, all of this political squabbling and Hidden Fleet nonsense will be nothing more than another page in the history books.”
Morgan finds himself unable to utter even a single word, knowing full-well the dangerous nature of what hideous contraption that lies deep within 'The Big Figure'... Then again, even if Morgan could say something, chances are he wouldn't have the stomach to.

The wobbling elevator comes to a slow halt, somewhere down in the lower levels of the enormous Leviathan. As the doors slide open, Blake Spencer and Morgan Bantex both disembark, and begin their journey along a narrow steel catwalk.
"Grow some guts, kid!" Blake begins to laugh, giving the fox a hefty slap on the back that causes the little feller to stumble. "If you're getting squeamish now, imagine how you'll be when this thing goes off!"

Both men finally come to a colossal chamber, where various forms of life scurry backwards and forth carrying clipboards, test tubes, oddly-shaped parcels and other miscellanious scientific equipment. The entire area is vibrantly alive with activity, but despite the bustling nature of the workers within, there is a distinct air of intense remorse and sadness throughout the whole room.
The only man present who seems oblivious to how low the morale in the chamber has sunk is the leader himself - Blake Spencer.
"There she is, Morgan!" The lion crows proudly, gesturing down to a huge metallic device far below them. "The fruit of our labours, in all it's magnificence!"
The device to which Blake is referring to is something so heart-stoppingly ominious that it would easily arise fear in even the steeliest of pilots - or perhaps, it would arouse all the sharpest attention from the wrong sorts of people.

The first ever Enriched Unobtanium Bomb, created from purely Enriched Unobtanium, which beholds enough power to wipe out a large string of Skyland life in a manner of moments.
"Take a look at it, Morgan - this is all thanks to you. With the help of you and all these men and women, we've done what nobody thought possible; we have successfully altered quite possibly the deadliest substance in all of Skytopia, and turned it into something useable." Blake beams, staring down at Morgan in a highly intimidating way. "We've made Unobtanium LIVEABLE! And now, when this beast goes 'ka-boom'... all the politics of Skytopia, all the pirates, all this Hidden Fleet {static}, all of this world's problems will be history. We're going to do what Magnus himself would never dare to!" The lion thrusts his arms toward the immense explosive in a showmanly gesture, and Morgan recoils at the mere sight. "Our pride and joy... our legacy. Killing millions in order to save billions. Don't tell me that concept doesn't appeal to you?"
"B-but, sir..." The small fox pipes up, sounding as if he could faint at any moment. "What about all the p-p-people?"
"PEOPLE!?" Blake exclaims, causing Morgan to leaps backwards in fright. "The people are what made Skytopia what it is today! A disgusting, despicable, unrelenting MESS of a world! A breeding ground for thugs, roughnecks and rebels..." He grins - a cocky, arrogant look of self-indulging pride. "...Like me."

Blake turns on his heel, marching into the frey of hard-working scientific minds with a look of intense concentration. Morgan Bantex keeps at his tail, with heavy droplets of sweat falling in buckets from the young foxes forehead.
"But, sir...!" Morgan exclaims once more, sounding frantic above the noise. "How... how can you...?"
His boss turns around, beaming down at Morgan with a gaze that could only be described as pure evil.

"They say it took Magnus seven days to create this world..." Blake growls deeply, almost a snarl. "Let's see if *I* can do better."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just a reminder, if you haven't already, please read the link at the top of the page before posting here. Just might help to clear things up a bit and explain some more backstory. Enjoy!

**Begin Transmission**
>> Target: Armada High Command
>> Source: <ENCRYPTED>
>> Signal ID: <ENCRYPTED>
>> Time/Date: <ENCRYPTED>

A certain Blake Spencer has been buying great amounts of Unobtanium from local suppliers. Reports indicate that subject has amassed largest private supply of U. to date. Motives are unknown. Pursue further?

<ID CODE 1212043912>
**End Transmission**

((Just a little something to add to the intrigue. Note that this message isn't from Herley herself.))

****PRIORITY FLASH TRAFFIC****

ENCRYPTED
...
Decrypting
...
...
...
...
...
MESSAGE DECRYPTED
Encryption Protocol Alpha Golf Whiskey 9 4 5
>>Source: Office of Special Warfare
>>Signal ID: Archduke 6
>>Time/Date: 0720453

Acknowledge receipt of transmission. Additional units are in the field, cross-checking information regarding missing scientists in Uuo fields of research. Subject is being watched. Pursue your end further.

Report back in 48 hours.


****END TRANSMISSION****

Official Armada Security Forces Incident Report

Location of Incident (Skyland): Cidade

Parties involved Purelli Crime Family, The Lucky Devils

On Wednesday night, in a warehouse on the corner of intersecting streets: 94 South Avenue; Wilson's Street, two notable members of both the Purelli Crime Family and the Orange Gang were found shot dead, both wounds entering and exiting through the upper torso. Victims ID-ed as (1) Iliana Purelli of the Purelli Crime Family, and (2) Charlie T. Odell of the Orange Gang. No shell casings to the possible murder weapon, a 45. caliber M1911, were found at the scene of the crime. Both rounds found intact in south wall of the warehouse. Murder weapon still not found. No other significant tangible evidence was found.

An anonymous witness stated that he/she was outside of the warehouse at the time of the incident. He/she reported seeing a male Rottweiler, between 5'9 and 5'11, walking past him/her from out of the warehouse east-side door within ten minutes of hearing gunshots.

A search for this man has been set in compliance with Armada Special Investigations Protocol under Section 582-AB and 458-CD.

Possible suspects matching description:
Victor Kione: Independent; Twice Convicted of Assault and Battery
Otto Odell: Independent; Convicted of Fraud
Dr. Rick Steiner: Azure League; Charged with 2nd Degree Murder (Acquitted)

An Armada Security Forces officer leans into his radio system on his desk, pressing the button to begin the transmission with his chest. The radio is tuned to the Armada's High Command frequency.



He leans back in his chair and waits for a reply.

((Like Herley's, not from Jon-Michael Plont))

[Time and Date unkown, waiting room inside 'The Big Figure']

A beefy, auburn-coloured hand reaches down and switches off the crackling radio, leaving the room in total silence. Both the hand and radio belong to Blake Spencer, who reclines back into a comfy executive armchair as he absorbs the fresh news.

"Hidden Fleet terrorizes Skytopia... Bah!" The lion's deep voice echoes clearly throughout the small waiting room. "Wait till they get a load of me."

Recently, an advertisement was sent around throughout only the darkest, most secretive circles of Skytopia's underworld by Blake's left-hand man, 'Otto Odell'. One 'Mr. Spencer' was hiring - for exactly what purpose was kept quiet, but the message itself was clear: "The law has no place here - only the truly skilled need take notice."

Now, however, Blake was growing tiresome of waiting. Several low-life scoundrels had stepped through his door, only to be sent screaming to a watery grave below.
"If some serious potential doesn't come by soon, Otto and I are going to have to do a little more 'conscripting' of our own..." The lion mutters to himself, staring down at his watch impatiently.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
Morgan Bantex - the timid young fox under Blake Spencer's command - poked his head through the door.
"M-m-mr. Spencer?" He stammers cautiously. "Th-there's someone... a man... h-here to see you, sir."

"Show him in."

{Please excuse the obvious reference in paragraph two - couldn't resist!}

Location Eltsina-Removed by Censor
Time Sometime past midnight

A shadowy figure enters the room, his face hidden by a fedora pulled low over his snout. Cigar smoke swirls around his head like small snakes. The one light in the room glints off his holstered pistol, a weapon drawn only in the most demanding of situations. His voice his low, and his words fall out of his mouth like Thanksgiving gravy.

"Gentlemen" he says "We have have recived troubling news from our contacts in the world of crime. The market for Unobtainium has become extremely unfavorable for buyers."

Three irritated sighs approached the standing figure. A forth voice, clearly upset, accosted the man:

"You awoke us from our slumbers to tell us of the market? Surely you know better Zhoec!"

A visible smile appeared from behind the cigar smoke, and Zhoec continued his tale:

"As I was saying Mr. Dogson, it has come to my attention that the marked has taken a very steep drop since the start of the hidden war. Furthermore, the marked experienced similar drops when the Armada took Lhasa, and for other major inter-factional events stretching back two years."

Zhoec stopped suddenly, realizing that something was very wrong. He then realized that his cigar had gone out, and he hastened to light a new one. The smell of burning magnesium joined the sent of fine cigars.

"My apologies, gentlemen" the giraffe said darkly, "The disturbing thing about these proceedings is that I can find no record of the Unobtainium purchased in these market scares ever being resold into the market."

"But how can you be sure about that?" blurted a clearly sleepy and angry Borevich.

"You know as well as I the way the guild works," Zhoec replied coolly "Information sought can be procured with the right negotiating."

Zhoec stooped and looked at his assembled audience. He took a drag on his cigar and continued:

"Our Guild friends have provided information that names a Mr. Blake Spenser as something of a controlling interest in the Unobtanium market. If we assume that Mr. Spenser is the one buying Unobtanium at such politically trying moments in Skytopian history, then we must ask a simple question: why? Gentleman, I leave you with this question. Good day."

Zhoec turned on his heal and exited the room by way of a heavy oak door. His trench coat swirled behind him as he made his way down the darkened halls of the Jade Hand's removed by censor. When he reached the surface, he made his way toward the airfield, where a hot meal and a sleeping crew awaited him.

**Begin Transmission**
MESSAGE ENCRYPTED
...
DECRYPTING
...
...
...
...
...
SUCCESS
...
>> Target: Archduke 6
>> Source: <ENCRYPTED>
>> Signal ID: <ENCRYPTED>
>> Time/Date: <ENCRYPTED>

Per orders, pursued leads further. Spencer owns a Leviathan called "The Big Figure"; airship has had numerous large deliveries in past 6 months. Possible location of whatever Spencer is making with Uuo. Will pursue further.

<ID CODE 1212043912>
**End Transmission**

ALS Cruiser - 'Black Pearl' [ Rotor and Prop Skylet, Dirigible Hangar 03 ]

Duxe Brackenridge stood staring at the Geiger counter mounted on the bulkhead above a blast door marked the the well known symbol of radioactive material. Around him his security team consisting of six guards and one technician, garbed in a pale blue lead lined body suit, all stood behind the 6'3" Grey Wolf in silence.

The counter was on the fritz, as it quickly clicked. Sensing the presence of hazardous material nearby that , if on Islo, would have the entire hearth on lockdown and part of the tower.

"Have you seen anything like this, skipper?"

Duxe cocked his head to the right in thought. Last time this particularly placed counter went off was when the original 'Pearl's special depth charges were brought out for inspection before the early morning ambush. Unobtanium weapons were not something he wanted to experience again and the way this counter clicked. Something was up.

"For right now, compose a transmission. Channel Tree, workings Romeo and Juliet plus fife, to Islo. Ask for one Ninienne Skiff or other scientists capable of providing further insight to this..."

Duxe watches the counter fluctuate in its pattern, die away, than revive in an instant. "...development"

Guild Report on Trade Routes

Incident:
1) Pilot found a large Leviathan in major trade route on near the outer rim. He reported the large Zeppelin as "not moving a meter, and blocking the gall-dern diamond route."
Resolving Action:
1) Initially believed this to be a newbie pilot seeing his first Leviathan loaded with an additional cargo hold, but report was verified by 2 other senior traders. Sent Spectre to investigate.

Incident:
2) Spectre investigating stopped Leviathan confirmed that it was stopped. The officer attempted to land on the docking hook, but said maneuver failed. The Leviathan fired on the officer, officer decided he was "not paid enough for this" and left the scene.
Resolving Action:
2) The Guild currently has no way to move this Leviathan, as it is very large and hostile. We advise the moving of the trade route around this airship. Leave it to the hidden fleet!


Notes:
Perhaps the League has some way of moving this monstrosity?

For Eltsina
Onwards to Profit


((The joke is that the officer is a union employee

[Early Afternoon, Skyscraper located on Midgard]

A small crew of workmen mingle with a team of well-suited businessmen as they swarm around the site - measuring, filling out forms, making phone calls and shaking hands.
One of the work crew - a Bilby - nails a thick noticeboard up outside the fresh skyscraper building before them.

"Excelsior Energy Corp. Transfactional HQ - Looking out for the future of our planet."

In the midst of the chaotic frenzy, a well-dressed Rottweiler watches as the hectic group go about their business. Soon - by the end of the week, actually - the company will be under his full control. For this young man has been chosen as General Manager of Excelsior Energy, or ExCorp for short.
A nametag on the Rottweiler's suit jacket reads: "Hi there! My name is Hugo."

The Bilby footman hobbles over to Hugo and gives him a proud salute of acknowledgement.
"All done, Sir. Here is the paperwork." The Bilby reports, handing the Rottweiler a single sheet-form attatched to a clipboard.
It is a building contract and real estate purchase form.
The name at the bottom is of one: "B.D. Spencer"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[The Same Moment, Waiting Room inside 'The Big Figure' Leviathan.]

The burly lion gives Morgan Bantex a hearty slap on the back as the timid young fox relays the news.
"Excellent, kid! The company is ready to go, and the investors from the Cidade stockmarket are eager to see what we can do. That should keep those bastards from the Armada from snooping around here any time soon." Blake announces, turning back to his desk and examining the blueprints.
"Y-yes, Sir..." Morgan stammers, backing up towards the door in the hope of leaving.
"Make sure you keep Otto Odell, Aeson Strafe and Sergeant Warcrime posted, Morgan." Blake snaps quickly, causing Morgan to flinch. "I want to hear full coverage on how things are going over there. It's the perfect front - masquerading as an Energy Corporation focused on creating renewable, cheap, ecologically friendly fuelling sources for pilots everywhere, regardless of their affiliations or past transgressions. That'll explain our heavy 'interest' in purchasing such large quantities of Unobtanium in the past year. Our plans are too far into the proceeds to let communications slip now."

Blake Spencer moves over to the radio, tuning into a seemingly random frequency and dismissing Morgan with a wave of his hand.

"There's someone that's captivated my attention." The ship's captain goes on once he is left alone. "He may be of much use to our little cause..."

****BEGIN TRANSMISSION****
ENCRYPTED MESSAGE

DECRYPTING
...
...
...
...
...
SUCCESS

TARGET: <Encrypted>
Source: Office of Special Warfare
Signal ID: Archduke 6
TIME/DATE: 07270453

Information independently confirmed. Known associates of Spencer include one Otto Odell, 'businessman' and hard case, as well as one Morgan Bantex. Suspect further associations with independent contractors, including the fellow known as Sergeant Warcrime. Obtain additional information on Spencer's newest scheme, Excelsior Energy, and if possible, gain further information on "The Big Figure"; IE: specifications, transit times and schedules, what have you.


****END TRANSMISSION****

[Late Morning, The Inverted Maple, currently docked at Islo]

Rubrum Veritas wakes up from another night of surreal dreams. "Ugh... I don't think I ever want to see Islo in the nude ever again, especially not as flying sentient pineapples assault him." He half-climbs, half-falls out of bed contemplating the day ahead when the stray remembrance of his presentation to a few Azure League elders on the nature of his recent research on incompleteness suddenly floats up to his consciousness.

"Oh, junk!" he cries, whirling around, looking for someone slightly more presentable than his usual flight gear. In all the confusion Rubrum seems to have forgotten that the presentation is not for another week, and had the presentation been today, he would already have missed it.

Running around, Rubrum dashes past the entrance door to his Leviathan, slips, and falls, notebook flying from his hand straight into a crate of Catnip, a little of which spills out. Rubbing the back of his head, he looks around for what he'd tripped on this time. To his surprise, he finds a small note written on surprisingly fine paper, bearing an unfamiliar watermark. The sender is someone Rubrum had known, and remembered fondly, a student perhaps brighter than Rubrum, who too had gone through Flight School but had had a little more trouble grasping the non-theoretical components. They'd worked late into the night together as Rubrum had tried and finally succeeded framing the concepts in terms of theory in an attempt to get him to acquire a feel faster. He reads the letter to himself:

"My dear Rubrum Veritas,

I had been unable to contact you for so long a time I feared I'd never see you again! I'm so happy I could find you- nothing ever popped up on the radio until I recently overheard a few people talking about your seminar on logic- I'm so happy you finally found something! Remember the research job I was talking about- it's better than I could imagine! Infinitely flexible hours, intellectual freedom, and we even get a share in any copyrights! Rubrum, you should join us. I work on the Leviathan "Big Figure", and I'm sure you can figure out how to contact my boss. Think of it as one of the puzzles we used to set each other. Of course, distance and direction, that's the key! And remember,

Gimrlo, dzvdar hxph bs. T dfp'h vrym zuvl lxap, aef W vfsm lon kwi hse bgmhvab oeysjt we's kqc zrwm. Ghx qsc W hoimsr wrz- ghx nmxqj rvusoifp wou M kpwo I'u ich? Yh'a n mthepb Custia! Z fia't kmkz hplckbu prc nnr qggs; Dpvpqsi fwhlw fw loecykbu vymey fsnt, pcukg tcifqag mlw rwahvt! Ozc L knn leq xg, wertb afum, Euuvmb. Mzu ngfs roenyl kgdr lt kjoh. Prce fkmwcr tn uggdvuigihr, Bttqrva Dvzotvpl

Looking forward to meeting you soon,
Jeffrey Phillips"

Rubrum put down the letter, confused by the strange alphabet soup. Perhaps it was a cipher. Rubrum rummaged through the pile of junk he'd deemed might be eventually useful and found his old Vignere machine. But what was the key? He stared out the window longingly, looking out at the steadily falling rain.

/ooc
Rubrum's cipher is very fun to solve. There are some tools floating around, but after working it out with a nice web tool (it helps analyze letter frequencies), I tried a brute force method just for grins. It didn't work at all, which means that you still have to try.

Unless Rubrum, says otherwise, I won't post the stuff I used to help solve it here.
/end ooc

/ooc
I just added the puzzle for laughs. I didn't think anyone'd solve it so fast. From here on out, I'm putting at least one puzzle in each post I write for this, and of course they'll get harder. If anyone just wants the plaintext of the letter or a hint or two regarding the ciphertext, PM me.
/end ooc

A letter has somehow managed to find its way to sit atop a desk belonging to its recipient. Written on the front side of the envelope says that it is addressed to a Mr. Spencer. The contents of the letter itself seem to resemble that of an application form written on a slightly wrinkled sheet of paper.

-------------
Dear Mr. Spencer

I’m writing to apply for any open position you have that may require my services. Particular any that may involve note taking or ‘errand’ boy, for lack of a better term. I heard that you are starting up a new company and I’d like to help out with your cause. Enclosed with this letter are my resume and some references from my previous employees.

Your company seems to provide an opportunity for me to be able to help out others. Some of the key strengths I can bring to help aid you in your cause and the company include:

I am a responsible employee. I ensure that my tasks are carried out and executed perfectly. I follow instructions closely to the letter and for as long as it falls within the goal of the task, I will follow any instruction.

I have a keen eye for detail. I do my best to make sure I spot any anomalies or any significant figures that I should take note of that may cause problems in the future or endanger the company. I will report any and everything that are of importance.

I am loyal. I never turn my back on my employers, such as going on leave without warning, working for a rival company, or just plainly betraying company secrets should there be any. I see that this will just cause needless worries and problems that will just hamper everyone’s convenience.

I have previous job experiences. These experiences have allowed me to be proficient in the tasks that I have been assigned. For the company this means that I am a very efficient and effective when it comes to handling tasks.

Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. I must apologize that it might be a little vague. Please see my resume for additional details of my past work experiences.

I do not have contact number but you may find me on the R&P Skylet, at Rolling Apartment complex along 23rd Avenue.

Sincerely,
Alphonse Sam F. Kyle

----------

Should the contents of the resume be read, the previous jobs listed there are perhaps the more unexpected from an average joe’s line of work. The reference letters are all notes of praise written on very tiny sheets of paper and in fact were in code. A translated version has been included that allowed for easy understanding.

Dear Diary, I think I'm finally onto something big.
On a hunch, I've started trailing a Mr. Blake Spencer, (Who you may remember me referring to before as a "Self-Centered, Chauvinistic [static]") and I've discovered a number of things about him that taken together, definitely point to abject nefariousness. Blake Spencer:

• Is a Self-Centered, Chauvinistic [static]
• Is insanely wealthy
• Inspires undue fear in employees
• Is easily provoked
• Becomes violent when angry
• Laughs manically
• Uses "The Line"

Unfortunately, being pure evil has never been a crime worth a vigilante killing. However, over the past week of playing fly-on-the-wall, I have unearthed a number of hints pointing towards a grand destructive scheme. One that apparently involves thousands of green light bulbs, and angers old people with guns.
Needless to say, I need more information before I can actually try anything, so I'm planning a recon visit to Blake's office. I already have Warcrime's support, (As much as I hate the guy, all I need is someone loud and destructive for a distraction) and I'm trying to get a sense of Mr. Spencer's schedule, so he won't be home while I'm rummaging through his personal files...
I'll let you know how it turns out... Dana Carter.

[Late Night, Midgard, Main Office inside Excelsior Energy Corp. HQ]

The Chairman of ExCorp rummages through a stack of papers on his desk, each one stamped or marked with various insignias and instructions. Apparently, the owner of the office is looking for something.

"Mr. Spencer, S-sir?" A small voice comes from the doorway. It's Morgan Bantex, the young fox boy scientist who is often seen around the building and Midgard in general. "Is everything alright?"
Blake Spencer looks up from the messy pile, staring at Morgan with a look of pure frustration.
"Does everything LOOK alright!?" The lion snaps, causing Morgan to flinch. "Where's the application? I left it right here!"
Blake slams his fist down upon a seemingly random space on the desk, and brandishes one of the strange green lightbulbs manufactured by ExCorp in the other.

Gingerly, Morgan raises a fresh-looking piece of paper from behind his back. "I th-thought you'd w-w-want me to review it, S-sir..."
Blake snaps his gaze up once more, seeing the application in Morgan's hand and practically vaulting towards it.
"Give me that!" He snaps, lashing out and clipping poor Morgan on the ear. "Some people have been getting far too nosy as of late... we need all the help we can get, and this new kid looks promising."
The young fox boy cowers as his boss returns to the desk, clutching at his fresh wound in pain. He watches in silence, not letting a single whimper escape his lips, as Blake Spencer reviews the employment application with serious interest.

After a moment, the burly lion places the form down upon the table and lifts the lightbulb up before his left eye - magnifying it in that strange, murky-green way.
"Tell Otto Odell to contact this 'Alphonse Kyle' person. He's got the job, but under no circumstances is he to enter 'The Big Figure'. We've got another shipment of stock coming in tomorrow morning - that should keep any prying eyes out of our hair for at least a little while. Send another two crates to Kadath and Lhasa... we want to make sure the whole world is powered by these babies before the big finale." Blake grasps a nearby radio reciever, slumping down into his executive chair with a look of extreme satisfaction. "I've got to talk to Hector for a while. Get back to work."

Morgan Bantex naturally doesn't need to be told twice, and hurries out the door to follow his instructions. In reality, Morgan never had met this 'Hector' that his boss so vaguely referred to, and something in the pit of his stomach told him that he probably didn't want to.
And now, with a new recruit on the way, Excelsior Energy Corp. and the whole 'Big Figure' scandal was now growing more ominous by the day. Young Morgan idly wonders if these 'nosy people' to whom Blake referred could be of any help in changing the seemingly inevitable outcome.
For the sake of all Skytopia, Morgan sincerely prayed so.

[Late Night, Islo Library 23]

Rubrum is currently slumped in a large pile of cushions, temporarily defeated by the massive stacks of literature he'd looked through, sifting for any mention of this Spencer character. He'd pulled some strings and called in a favor or three, and managed to figure out that his first name was Blake and that he owned a massive airship. Tired and slightly delusional, he half-shakes, half-flops his fist at the direction he judges most likely for Jeffrey to be in. "Junk you... Jeff," he mutters in a singsong voice. "If I didn't like you as much as I do I'd have given up long ago." He leafs through a final book; his intention is to leave after shelving the books he'd read and not gained anything from, perhaps checking out the ones that held something. The pile of books seems to be organized in some arcane and Byzantine manner, with different shapes of book piles and different colored flags sticking out every which way, and even Rubrum himself seems not entirely to understand it. He opens The Great Book of Notable Airships To a random page, and he finds two things that surprise him: first, he finds a depiction of and article about Blake Spencer's airship, apparently called the Big Figure. Rubrum snorts at the rich man's clear egotism. The second is a dried, slightly browned leaf of paper with Rubrum's name on it. It reads like this:

"Rubrum: if you've gotten this note my contact has managed to smuggle out my note to you. I was hoping your intellectual travels might lead you here to this book. As before, I can't trust any information to plaintext; I have no idea how many notes have been already intercepted and read. Thus I will have to be both a little more and perhaps the opposite of forthright with you:
Gg ish ctn'qt cegi qxfziio sk mmm Wmr Jnzzzz eyh yaj evc tx bhwsn. Me'w qbpm v jwsfmnvb jzvykjan. M elngp bci zrqr bit czy'qe gm vfwi yh fnainx fgdbcmyk nl gg zreiwbso olp fjeqg jj elj ujinx txxxqn. Vro rtp yw nttgj mmqikd yu t gqo: M nes'm yzpwe myl wwpxp xt tsgjrp ex lyckmo ex rtc.
Kbf Fza Gmxosi ncmp gutw ss Vyiqfvb np xyy tslniirmu. Ej mvgy Vmeby Ttvhdii gbc jyoh fou vvjsijyoxrnjzvm pv vpfr cuoh ycnwvfg me u tqrfm giugx. Kbjw ncmp fwdyi Ctpf gjrfl ulv 23le. Cfos fvmu fvn jw ki btgfz xf wpqv ucsrle ej u sijybvtbfv rm J hzx. J ed unsea b gvfm sw lfwzmueen sijybvtbfvj. Qf yexfvjnbru qiek bf'w uijrx bfvv, uoh zn't xvlsmsff. Cfo nyjn dsdy bffush, Iocvlg.
Dwpvd ms mmmni dxwtsoz xtqjl, Omajcid Imqgpttx
Perhaps we shall meet again soon, Jeffrey Phillips."

Rubrum's first few clumsy attempts failed to break the code, but with this new information he headed back to his plane. Perhaps there was something he had buried in there to crack this problem with.

Angie sits in her stateroom aboard her Barracuda. There was no light but that coming from the fireplace infront of her. The windows were all sealed shut. An empty wine glass hung from her limp hand and a half-empty bottle draped from another. The light from the fire made it glimmer with an almost gem-like quality. It seems the previous events have begun to drive her back into her dark past-time.

Her heavy eyes never alter from her thousand-mile stare into the blazing fire. Her mind, completely drained of thought, goes into hibernation. A side-effect from the booze and fatigue? Who knows. A sudden flicker of movement arouses from her. She pours herself another glass of wine. Typical. The only movement in an hour, apart from her sub-conscience breathing and blinking, and it's what? Pulling another round for herself.

As she finishes pouring the 'juice', she whimpers. A whimper. Small enough not to be heard from outside but loud enough to be heard deep down within her mind. Crossing her arms over her face, she begins to shed tears. Small tears at first, her eyes too tired and dried up to create them.

The bottle in her hand comes hurtling through the air and into the fire, giving a satisfying smash against the back of the fireplace. The bloodstain of wine splattered on the back begins to bubble and hiss. Much like she did at the lion. Her rage spat from her lips in a way like she'd never seen, that day. She tried not to think about it. Wiping back her salty, stinging tears, she rose the glass to her lips and took a gulp. Not a sip. Her mind slowly and sluggishly sparked back into life as it began to wonder about the things the lion was doing. Was he another woman? Was he laughing about it? Or was he dead? She hated herself for the fact that she loved the thought of it.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she took another drink from her glass and stared back into the firey abyss of the burning coals.