#this tatterdemalion

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #8

Piper had played circuits all over the city in his day. Violin and voice, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. Briefly, memorably, with the Photia Valley Philharmonic. He had always accepted a pittance to play in his Ward of origin. Tatters, the crime lord called it. Trash, everyone outside did.

And that. That was, in microcosm, the reason Piper followed Fortune from afar. To Fortune it was never Trash. That meant something.

Music had gotten Piper out of that yellow miasma, the narrow streets littered with lost things, the bars over every window even on upper floors because kids in this environment learned to climb to steal what they needed to live. Music had gotten him out of the Trash that had frustrated him, and idealism had drawn him in to the Tatters that called him, but in the end, one man with an instrument couldn’t change things. He played, and kids got sick, and people were forced out on the street, and drug deals flourished. He played, and people with weapons were just more important.

At this point he had a choice.

Back then Fortune, the hungry power broker, was the prime rival of Old Kid. And Piper didn’t know whether either boss wanted a musician. He did know that if Tatters was to stand an equal to the other Wards it had to do so under the system that served the other Wards. Tatters’ wild individuality, cultivated by two people who hadn’t left its borders in a decade, would not serve it in the long run. And the people on the street? The ones who weren’t useful? They needed protection more complete and dedicated than Fortune and the Kid’s afterthoughts. Oh, Fortune was on track to be the greatest leader in the Ward in this century, and he was fine, but he wasn’t the answer. Someone needed to balance him, to cover the gaps in his brutally monopolistic scheme. Someone could be his other half. Someone.

Going into a police precinct office and asking for an application as a thirty-three-year-old got him strange looks and some outright laughter. He had persisted. Someone who patrolled the Tatters should care. Should call it Tatters, instead of snickering at the problems of the Trash.

Maybe that someone was him.

He hadn’t exactly meant to get addicted to writing to his opposite number. It was a fantasy, nothing more, fan mail to a man who had dotted his home with moments of dignity and protection. The fantasy was that someone who cared could reach someone who cared.

Piper’s employers in the Travail Ward had every guarantee of his loyalty. He applied himself to training with the same passionate focus he had always dedicated to his music. He made himself popular with the other officers. And when his boss and partner sent him in to dismantle parts of Fortune’s empire, he did it without complaint.

He wrote the letters anyway. He just never thought he would get a response.

*

He scrubbed his skin two shades darker with his enthusiasm. Shaved, prodded his unpleasantly chunky nose, realized he didn’t know what to put on. That was when he found he’d gotten a size too big for the old orchestra tuxedo. The policeman’s uniform was right out. He dug through the piles of clothes over the futuristic rounded armchair he had installed by his bed. Nothing clean, nothing that matched. His heart hammered in his chest. He was about to meet Photia’s most dapper, detail-oriented demon and he’d do it in a vagrant’s clothes. He admired high fashion but he’d never be able to afford it. He picked various shades of brown, shirt, vest, and snug red wool coat. He added a bowler hat for good luck.

Telescope observatory. What did that mean? Twenty years ago he would call it a cute first date. But they were neither twenty years younger nor cute.

It didn’t matter. If they got into the same room they would go up in flames or chains, and either one could be fun.

*

Piper knew the route through catwalks and back doors past the edge of the Tatters Ward where it met the mountain overlooking Photia. He’d crept it dozens of times as a kid, the one night a month when it was open to the Tatters. The tunnel was crooked and lightless except for his glow watch. Finally he came out on the road from the Lamp Ward and wound up to the squat pink granite building that housed the dome of Obble Telescope.

His heart crept toward his throat as he reached the big square doorway. He pushed the precious letter back into his jacket pocket, then pulled at one great mahogany door carved with orbital jargon and stepped into the exhibit space that arced around half the building.

He let the door fall shut and gave himself over to velvet night. There was something strangely peaceful about the totality of darkness. He waited for something more.

A light clacked resoundingly to lay a spotlight on a slim, long-coated man standing in a gallery over the exhibit floor, hands folded behind his back.

“Am I under arrest?” drawled Fortune.

[thedeafprophet]

At long last, I have finished my pixel art attempt of the six seven fanarts challenge~

This was a really fun practice of converting various designs into pixel format, it was a good challenge especially that hat

Individual drawings and tagging who suggested who under the cut!

Furnace suggested by @yoshicolonoscopyfootageofficial

Tatterdemalion suggested by @the-golliest-gee-williker

Hephaesta suggest by @the-dye-stained-socialite

The Youthful Naturalist suggested by the-golliest-gee-williker [again lol]

January suggested by @house-of-mirrors

[and ill be honest i did TRY to do the mask but it was not. working. so i gave up lmao]

The Bohemian Sculptress suggested by @press-f-to-rat

Mr Stones suggested by @bizarrebazaar13

Also if anyone wants the sprite images at their original size for whatever reasons, feel free to ask~

[jane-d-ankh-veos]

Daaaamn, an ex-Sequencer who freed himself from a literal (even though artificial) Judgement by sheer force of will is so badass!

And if Summer will really turn out to be who she seems, having both of them on one airship is going to be interesting...

[supervillain-smut]

Obscure characters my beloved. But also, obscure characters my unbeloved.

On the one hand, I have them all to myself. Every headcanon I make is correct. I get to create everything for them, and collect everything for them.

On the other... I AM COMPLETELY ALONE. I HAVE NO ONE TO SHARE THINGS ABOUT THEM WITH. I MUST SCREAM INTO THE VOID, AND PRAY IT SCREAMS BACK. I'M THE ONLY PERSON MAKING CONTENT FOR THEM. I'VE COLLECTED EVERYTHING FOR THEM, AND IT'S A GRAND TOTAL OF 3 ITEMS. If I do get to share them with someone else, I sound absolutely insane.

[thunder-threnodies]

Morgan smiled

truly feeling something akin to happiness since long, bygone days.

Navigating in the air instead on the peligin depths of the Zee wasn't something exactly new to Morgan, besides those who fought in the Starved Men War would remember the feeling quite well.

They scratched their stomach absent-mindedly, not even realizing they were picking on whatever faint ghost of a scar still lingered there after being impaled on the mast of their own Airship last False Summer. The Light took quite a while to heal them, this time. Worrying perhaps but not tonight (today?) as the Roof became clearer and clearer as they approached; Tatterdemalion excitedly called out that the Midnight Moon was in sight.

The Midnight Moon. A Shiver ran down Morgan's spine as they docked.

A few dozen drinks and many hours later, sitting on the Midnight Whale's impaled back, Morgan contemplated the Neath.

"Feeling her calling even up here, Boss?"

Tatterdemalion smiled sitting next to his Captain and brigning two tall glasses of honeyed tea, one in each hand. It seemes his intention was to dream some time away.

"Not really. I mean yes barely, like a thread pulling me closer to her. Or trying to. There are powers here that can cut her off almost completely." replied Morgan.

Tatterdemalion's smile faded a little.

"And what about the other one eh, Lady Black?" he lowered his Cosmogone glasses revealing deep golden eyes reminescent of the Dawn Machine, spying on his Captain.

"Tatterdemalion, I'll be honest. If it weren't for you and the crew, I would have already jumped to get back to her as fast as possible." Morgan's crooked grin was hiding more than Tatterdemalion was willing to discover. Not tonight (today?) at least.

"Well" he sighed "I think I can make you forget about her. At least for a while." he extended a hand to Morgan, a polite invitation to get up and follow him.

"Where to?" asked an amused Morgan, giving him a stare bathed in Cosmogone; there was no way Morgan would let their peligin eyes hurt him so they never took their spectacles off, while in his company.

"Somewhere exciting, Captain of my heart." said Tatterdemalion with a dangerous spark in his eyes and a wide grin. "You'll like it."

[violant-apologia]

thinking about briar interacting with new sequencer OCs and them immediately clicking that he's a little bit dawnburnt. they try to convince him over the conversation and he's just absolutely not having it like

"are you sure about this whole 'golden gleam in the eye' thing? perhaps it was a trick if the light, some quirk of khaganian bulbs."

[esteemed-excellency]

risk seeker to risk seeker communication

[geraldofallon]

Fallen London Travel Guide:

Tatterdemalion Tent

A Piebald Modiste keeps a curtained tent at the back of the Rat Market.

[irrigos]

the funny thing is that i don't think morgan would be into the tatterdemalion. too similar. at best they would be like "who is that other dog" and at worst theyd be super competitive with him. ummm THEYRE the cool daring guy who smokes and jumps off buildings for a laugh. who are YOU

worsened of course by the fact that their wife WOULD be into the tatterdemalion. OBVIOUSLY hepsi is into that type of guy! thats why she married one!!!

[officialcwby]

going insane and drawing my dnd character over and over again instead of literally anything else

[lasersquid]

yeah ok you know what buddy

that one is on me

[bright-tatters]

Tatters #42

Travail’s police HQ squatted under the great slate cliff of Mount Atavan, and its twin gargoyles under their stark electric lights glared at the old bridge that linked Lamps and Travail with Central’s nearest island. The inside was as usable as care could make it: bright lights, houseplants along the east-facing wall, an open floor for most people’s desks with big (albeit densely barred) windows along one and two-quarters walls.

“Constable Poet?” Martin had left his spot at the front desk to pick his way to Piper’s desk in the big room at Tatters Police HQ. “Sir, someone to see you.”

Piper’s heart nearly exited via his sternum. “Who is it?”

“Council, sir.”

Well, that didn’t help. Piper threaded his way toward the lobby and rounded the final corner only to forcibly bump into someone else.

Papers fluttered everywhere.

“I’m so sorry,” said Piper, dropping to a crouch to gather papers. He found himself opposite a strikingly pretty man in a tailored suit and the golden collar of a Councilor’s staff. “If this ruins your employer’s timeline tell them to take it up with me.” He knew how the Council of Light could be. Everyone who filed paperwork in HQ did.

“No need.” The voice was high and clear, as pretty as the face. “Constable Poet.” Between the two of them they were sweeping up the last of the mess. “I’ll sort this later. I came to talk to you.”

“Fair enough.” Piper stood and shuffled his papers into a stack. “Obviously you know who I am. You’re Councilor Reinaldo’s, aren’t you?”

“We’ve been in the same place at the same time, though the toxic fumes might have made that less obvious.” His smile was perfectly formed, albeit anxious and brief.

“Ah. Councilor Reinaldo’s aide…?”

“Dino.” Dino reached out and accepted Piper’s stack, brushing his fingers on the retreat. “I’m so sorry to bother you, I just…it’s somewhere in here.” He started flipping through his stack of papers. One almost fell.

“Can I help?”

“No, no. Here.” He pulled a hard plate from the bottom of his stack. It proved to have a grainy sepia-toned image of a watch resting on a polished surface. The watch was oddly pale, seemingly transparent in places.

Piper boggled. “Is that…?”

“The Crystal Watch is in my lady’s possession, and it didn’t get there legitimately. I don’t know the details. But if you want to return it to its rightful owners, I…I’ll figure out how to help, I will. My lady…she shouldn’t be playing with this. It’s taken its purchase price in blood a dozen times over. I’ve tried to advise her, but she won’t listen.”

“Slow down. It’s okay. I can write up a warrant. Judges in Tatters won’t have a problem holding another Ward to account, I’ll find one to sign off.”

“Truly?” Dino radiated relief. “Tell me if I can help.”

“Give me the photograph. Don’t worry. Go home. I’ll let you know before we do anything.”

Dino’s eyes were weirdly dilated. For a second Piper wondered whether he was on some drug. He was too lucid for Gleaze. Blisterin was half depressant, half aphrodisiac, which was a hilarious combination but not appropriate for the workplace. Then Dino blinked and it was gone. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Stay safe. I’ll be in touch.”

Dino hugged his papers and made for the door. Belatedly, Piper wondered what else the man was carrying.

He looked at the photograph of the watch. The Crystal Watch, famously stolen and apparently acquired. Fortune must have something to say about that.

*

Catalina glared at the crystal watch on her elaborate study’s huge mahogany desk. “He hasn’t come for it!”

Dino tapped his collar, which he only did when she got agitated. She took a deep breath. “It’s been weeks. Why hasn’t he come for it?”

“Give him some credit for patience. He’s been in this business for twenty years, a few weeks won’t drive him crazy.”

Catalina slashed in his direction with a flat hand. “Unacceptable. I’m not going to just leave this on the furniture until ‘Fortune’ sees fit to see it. It’s going in my vault now.”

Dino nodded attentively. “Which one?”

Something broke through Catalina’s pique: amusement. “Dino, you bad boy. The one you’re supposed to know about.”

[thedeafprophet]

I've been trying to figure out what Tatterdemalion is wearing in his art, because the jacket neck line seems so modern to me compared to the usual time period.

I think it could be a flight jacket, which is obviouslly a bit later then the current time period, but fits with the context of what we are currently do by flying to the roof.

I think that tracks, yea?

[jane-d-ankh-veos]

Tatterdemalion seems useful...

[nerds-yearbook]

Dansen Macabre first appeared in Marvel Team-Up 93#, cover date May, 1980. She was created by Steven Grant, Tom Sutton, and Carmine Infantino. ("Rags to Riches", Marvel Team-Up, Marvel Comic Event)

[redrcs]

Genii locorum

York, Western Australia

Tatterdemalion