Hello, There's Been An Error

[merryeccentricities]

Joly gets a few bursts of static, some mention of the Directory and Consulate, and "Fifth", and Courfeyrac, before the call goes definitely silent.

So...Bossuet and Courfeyrac are going to the Republic, of some point, and..Fifth? Or they're going to THE Fifth? Or, given how drunk they obviously are, they're going to GET a fifth, or had one, and then...

then "the Labyrinth", which might be taking them anywhere, never mind where they think they're going.

No, Joly isn't about to sit around waiting for them to get back. He sets the watch-hand for 2. "Combeferre? We had talked about exploring the Labyrinth? I think we might have to plan to do that right now."

Comments

[wings_of_a_swan]

"A riddle is a traditional test of mental agility," says the sphinx.

Combeferre nods. "Yes, and locating our friends would test your mental agility, would it not?"

He takes a sandwich from Joly and sniffs at it. Ham and cheese. "Do have a sandwich," he adds politely, handing it to the sphinx.

The sphinx regards it dubiously.

"Hospitality is an important tradition, is it not?" Combeferre says, when the sphinx hesitates just a moment too long.

The sphinx gives Combeferre a glare, and then opens his mouth, leans forwards, and takes the sandwich in his teeth.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly hands Combeferre a replacement sandwich, gets one for himself, and sits cross-legged, thinking. "You define a riddle as a traditional test of wits. Does that mean the form or the precise content? If it's the precise content, surely you'll run out of riddles in time, and then what? Surely you have some interaction besides asking people riddles." The Sphinx seems to have its mouth full, so Joly continues on. "And if it's the form, than perhaps we can re-word our question for you. Would you like an apple? I seem to have apples. Er, that was also not a riddle."

[wings_of_a_swan]

Sitting down is possibly not the wisest move. It impedes running away, should that become necessary.

But it commits them to friendliness in a very open and public way: sitting down, they pose no threat. (If they did even standing up, of course. Combeferre has no illusions about his own martial prowess with no weapons involved, and Joly is no better).

Combeferre sits down beside Joly.

The sphinx, meanwhile, chews and swallows, looking meditative. "I thank you," he says. "I will try an apple."

Combeferre hands him an apple, which the sphinx methodically eats, spitting out the core.

"I can use the same riddle more than once," says the sphinx, once done eating. "However..." He frowns. "I cannot honestly answer your question. I do not know if it is the form or the content that must be traditional."

Combeferre nods, seriously. "Must a riddle be verbal? Is it possible that Nature herself may pose a riddle?"

He and Joly both do love Nature's riddles, after all.

[merryeccentricities]

The Sphinx is not so quick to answer as before, and does not sound as certain. "There...must be a question that can be shared. Written, or verbal, or obvious somehow. Something specific."

Joly leans back on one arm and nods. "Yes, and sometimes all you have is the question, so it's important to find the right one. Well. Does it have to be a question? I mean, I've heard some puns that took some unraveling,even though they weren't questions. Is it just a sort of mystery, then?"

[wings_of_a_swan]

The sphinx frowns again, clearly uncertain, but not angry. At least, Combeferre doesn't think so. Meta is climbing its fur, and the sphinx does not seem to mind at all.

In fact, the sphinx emits a sound that sounds suspiciously like a purr.

"I suppose it can be called a mystery," the sphinx says cautiously.

Combeferre nods, willing himself not to pounce and push too hard, willing himself to be patient.

It's difficult. Patience is not his strong suit.

"A mystery, posed to you in words..." He makes himself sound musing, rather than like an attorney seizing on a weak spot. "Do I have it right?"

[merryeccentricities]

The Sphinx shuffles in an almost embarrassed way. "There's more to it than that." It sounds nearly unsure.

Joly nods confidently, though. "Yes, of course. The words have to be part of the question, a sort of way puzzle on their own. It's why "do you want an apple" isn't a riddle. Unless the apple is, is some other sort of thing. Like that." He considers.

"So if I asked our question as 'An eagle and a cat fell into a lake, do you know which way they swam' would you be able to answer that?"

It's not the best riddle. Joly's never been the first of their number with wordplay. But maybe it's enough?

[wings_of_a_swan]

Meta is nuzzling at the sphinx's neck. Perhaps that's why the sphinx softens, and says, "I would not."

There's a pause, and a purr from Meta, before the sphinx goes on. "I...I...I consider your question about the riddles to be a riddle in itself. One that I cannot answer. I will therefore let you pass."

"Thank you," says Combeferre, rising and bowing.

A hole opens in the air. It sounds like nonsense, but that's the only way Combeferre can describe it.

Glancing at Joly, Combeferre walks through.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly stands up and bows, conveniently gathering up the cats as he does so. "Thank you very much. You're welcome to come with us if you want--? Well, perhaps we shall meet again another time. I'll bring more sandwiches!"

He would love to look more closely at the hole in the air, but he can't risk being stuck on the wrong side. He follows Combeferre through; and then it's gone, not closed but simply not there.

They're in a more wooded, wild-looking place. There are rustling noises in the undergrowth. But there's also a half-paved path ahead.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre should probably have looked more closely at the hole in the air, and thinks of this immediately after he steps through.

Alas, it has vanished.

He takes a step onto the path when the rustling noise turns into a whooshing noise, and suddenly he's been hit hard in the stomach. It's so sudden that he's not even consciously aware of the impact, just the sensation of being winded, and the realization that he's doubled over, and then the pain. It's not much pain, but it's there.

"What was that?" he manages to get out, when he gets his breath back.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly sees only a flash of color and then Combeferre doubled over. But the cats are fluffing up, arching their backs and drawing in closer to him. He reaches a hand out to Combeferre while looking around the woods.
"Are you all right? Did you see--oh!"

Another shape makes a quick dash at them, swerving when Meta leaps at it with claws. And while Joly's watching that, something THUMPS into the back of his legs, nearly knocking him over.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre pounces.

Well, that makes it sound more athletic than the reality. What he actually does is fall over with purpose, onto the thing that has attacked the back of Joly's legs.

Combeferre tackles the thing--the soft, silky, squishy, ferociously struggling thing--to the ground.

He pins it down by its four corners so that it can only twitch vigorously instead of hurling about. Once it's no longer a blur of motion, he can examine it properly, and see what it is.

"...a pillow?"

[merryeccentricities]

Joly, still barely standing, gapes. "A-- why? How? Does it even-- is it an automaton,is it some sort of animAAAUGHmmph!!"

The last is in reply to a sudden barrage of pillows, leaping from the woods directly at his head and shoulders. He guards his face with his arms, and tries to step away, and trips over Combeferre; and then he is being knocked over and smothered.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Combeferre wants to help Joly, but he doesn't want to let his imprisoned pillow fly free.

Tucking the pillow firmly (and with some difficulty) under his arm, he seizes Joly's dropped walking stick and thrusts it into the cloud of pillows battering at Joly.

He brandishes it this way and that. The pillows react in confusion--not confusion, Combeferre thinks sternly to himself, they're pillows. Some keep at Joly, but others simply fly away from the stick. A few hardy souls--pillows--launch a counterattack upon Combeferre.

"Joly," Combeferre shouts, "shall we run?"

[merryeccentricities]

There's no time for a clever answer. Joly makes a slightly strangled noise of agreement and stumbles up to his feet, collecting the cats.

Run to... he spots a sort of general trail leading to an narrow arch of trees and tilts his chin. "That way?"

If he sounds a bit stunned and out of breath, it's only because he is.

[wings_of_a_swan]

They run.

The pillows follow. Combeferre turns every so often and whacks them back with his stick.

"A softer version of computers, perhaps?" He pants the question at Joly as they run along the trail, through the arch of trees.

They run several steps before Combeferre realizes they're somewhere else entirely.

He looks around. It's a city. It's...almost Paris?

But there are large balloon-like things in the air? Powered by gas, evidently. They look somewhat like hot air balloons, but more more advanced; somewhat like airplanes, but less sleek.

Combeferre looks at Joly. "Euh...?"

[merryeccentricities]

Joly also stops to gape-- and then is knocked over again by another barrage of pillows at his knees.
"Oh really now--!" Nothing else has followed them from world to world. Of course that doesn't make it a rule, but still.

"But why ...pillows... how.." he manages to say as he staggers upright again, kicking at the Pillows a bit, breathless from running and also, honestly, from laughing.

They seem...a little less aggressive?

[wings_of_a_swan]

They do. The pillows still circle them and dive in, but with less force. One pillow is merrily slapping against Combeferre's shoulder, as if in friendly greeting.

Another pillow is skimming the top of Joly's head, ruffling his hair.

"I think they're trying to make friends," says Combeferre, feeling utterly ridiculous as he says it.

[merryeccentricities]

"They are eating your coat" says Joly, slightly dazed, trying to keep the pillows away from the cats and look around their new location at the same time.

...There is a great deal of sky. And brass.

[wings_of_a_swan]

It is true. The pillows are nibbling at his coat.

One of them is snuggling Meta.

Combeferre looks around and sees people driving in strange brassy vehicles that look neither like anything he saw in his lifetime nor anything he's read of in Milliways. Some people are walking. Their dress is strange. Their eyewear and walking sticks and other implements are stranger.

He sees a road sign and freezes.

Rue de la Chanvrerie, it says.

[merryeccentricities]

Joly's not sure if the pillows are being friendly or peckish. One of them is very definitely tugging at his sleeve; another has the edge of his pants-leg. The cats seem equally confused. He pushes away the pillows enough to gather the cats and stands up, looking around, not yet following Combeferre's gaze.

The buildings appear to be largely riveted. The street-lamps are in place, but look very different than the ones he knew. The street is smooth, paved with some odd flat green surface; a single beam runs along the air above it. Joly can guess, from some of his reading, that it's a sort of rail. But above that--

He reaches a hand out to Combeferre, trying to get him to look up. "Airships!"

[wings_of_a_swan]

"Yes," says Combeferre. "I saw the airships." He sounds excited, but less so than the idea of airships merits. "But did you see this?"

He points to the Rue de la Chanvrerie street sign.

"We're in Paris."

In a specific place in Paris, he does not add.

[merryeccentricities]

Combeferre doesn't have to say it. As Joly adjusts to the strangeness of the wider streets and gleaming metal fixtures, he can see it. "This is-- it's--"

There's a low, two-story building, newly painted and with the same sort of intricate brass and copper tubing around the walls as every other building on street, but unmistakeably older in its design-- and very familiar indeed in its outline. Smells of coffee and food come out ever time customers go in and out of the new glass doors, and the smells aren't bad.

Joly stumbles forward a little, still gaping. "We have to go in, we have to see-- oh, we have to, don't we?"

The pillows, in agreement or otherwise, choose that moment to knock him over. "And we can leave these outside" he grumbles, climbing out from their fluffy attack yet again.

[wings_of_a_swan]

"Yes," says Combeferre, breathing heavily. "Yes, we do."

He turns to the pillows. "Stay here," he says firmly. "Wait for us."

The pillows fly towards each other, into a small indignant constellation. They float upwards together and then settle down onto the ground, fluffing out like huffy cats.

Combeferre takes that as agreement.

They enter the café.

It is dark and gleaming inside, with all kinds of food on a kind of counter, under glass containers. Fresh, uncooked food, too--it looks like spinach and lettuce and tomatoes and some things Combeferre can't identify. Salads. Combeferre has read of them, and seen them on occasion in Milliways, but it's a different thing to see them in Paris.

Above the counter is a sign with a list of coffee-based beverages, none of which seem to actually be coffee itself.

He turns to Joly. "...do you have any francs on you?"

[merryeccentricities]

Joly reaches into his coat and pulls out a wallet. "I did pack, after all." And when else is he going to need the money he had on him when he reached Milliways?

The woman behind the counter looks very familiar, though with the odd fashions and lighting Joly can't quite place her. "Excuse me? Can we order some coffee, please?" Something about this new Corinthe inspires more careful manners than their old ramshackle café.

[wings_of_a_swan]

Thank heavens Joly is prepared.

The woman leans forward and squints at Joly.

"I beg your pardon--Monsieur Joly, is it?" She flushes. "I believe I knew your--well, perhaps he's your uncle--a Monsieur Jean-Gilbert Joly? He came here often, in his youth."

Combeferre blinks in the odd light as he recognizes Matelote.