Log:Fire in Da Vinci's Workshop

2020/03/04 Arthur Aevus Jinxy 1

Since Griffin is off saving the world at large, and Kat has cart blanche to escape work and pretend she's still there, she could either join Griffin secretly as a fusion hero, or travel all of time and space.

She decides travel in space and time. She slips into the women's restroom and takes the large handicap stall and closes the door after checking no one else is in there. With a playful spin, she changes shape and attire, stopping while Arthur's coat and scarf continue to flare dramatically.

Arthur Aevus pats his vest pocket, where the Torus has shifted from a PowerPixie+ watch on the wrist to a silver ornate fog watch on a chain. He pulls it out, purses his lips in thought while adjusting the time, and then depresses the stopper to activate. FLASHFzzzzt! Arthur vanishes, expecting to arrive in Paris, 1883, during the time of the Impressionists.

Well, the impressionists were inspired by earlier artists. Some of the greatest of all time!

FLASHFZZT!

Arthur Aevus appears in... not Paris, though it certainly seems to be europe: great stonework and masonry; large structures surround narrow streets and open markets; grand cathedrals.

The air is warm and fresh with humidiy and a touch of salt, suggesting more south than Paris. Possibly on the Mediterranean? The lack of heavy industry, even nascent, suggests that he may have arrived a bit early. Perhaps by a century or four.

BOOM!

Or maybe not! See?! Down the road! There's an explosion. And smoke. And some flames. Might be some industry, afterall!

There's also some screams, and people scattering past and calling out in ... not French, but very close! A waddling priest is offering hasty beseechments in Latin, of course.

Arthur looks around to figure out where he is. He taps his watch and looks at it a bit closer to sense the year and time. . o ( Torus, where have you landed me this time?) Which is when he startles from the explosion.

Danger? Fire? Explosions? Arthur runs towards trouble to see how he can help.

The Torus confirms that Arthur is almost exactly four centuries ahead of his originally-intended destination: 1490. Less Industrial Revoluation and more cutural: The Renaissance.

The source of the fire is easily found (by following the smoke signals). Down a moderate street is a large studio, part of which is on fire. There is more smoke than flame, at least. On the other hand, there is also a large broken opening in the stone and stucco where large wooden shop doors used to be.

From the opening, an elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in fine robes of an artisan or scholar is frantically running in out with numerous items in his arms: a nearly-finished painting of a slightly-smirking woman; a small wooden articulated engineering model of what looks like a bird or bat; a small telescope. He sets the items down and promptly runs back inside despite the smoke. Over the doorway are a series of crafted letters in elegantly shaped wood, though a few are now missing or canted:

Da/_i c

Arthur raises his brown brows at the man scurrying out with--no way. The Mona Lisa? 1400's? Oh no! Is that THE DaVinci?! Arthur sprints to the workshop to help save what he can, or put out what he can. DaVinci's items can't be lost to a fire! Or did they always burn? Or did they never burn because he was always there to help salvage what he could? Time travel, am I right? Arthur springs into action anyway. In rushed, simple Latin, he says, "I am here to help!"

The man seems quite, well, flustered, as he sweeps more armloads of things off of a large workbench. Judging by the mix of artistry in drawings, papers, and paintings... and the numerous gadgets, technical schematics, models...

Yes, it could be HIM.

On the bright side, the fire in the shop is little more than smouldering things, aside from an overturned brazier/stove on the splintered remains of a barrel of... well, presumably something inflammable or explosive.

"Flames! The flames!" are his frantic response. "And rid that fool cat!"

From the corner comes a clicking sound, followed by a pair of whistled ...words? As if someone played notes on a woodwind in such a way as to form rough, but recognizable, speech. In Latin.

"Command confirmed!"

Then a ... contraption moves out of the corner. It is about a meter and a half tall; a conical cylinder skinned in brass and bronze with a hemispherical top that makes it resemble a large salt or pepper grinder.

Protruding from the hemisphere is what looks to be a spyglass. Below, on the main portion, are two appendages: one appears to be a sconce of some sort; narrow, but with a broader flat end. The other resembles a whisk.

Uhoh. did someone mention a cat? It's a mini-cat, really, as there's a startled mewl and a dash of fur towards Arthur. A kitten that looks terrified and completely normal as it hides behind Arthur's leg.

Completely normal, aside from the singe marks.

... and the fur the color of Kat's hair.

...With magenta striping.

...And some kind of angry giant pepperpot pivoting towards it...

Arthur understands most of what the man says, moving to try and grab something from the benches when he hears that command confirmed and freezes at the sight of the automaton. . o O (That's amazing! And that should definitely not be here. And---awww, look at the cute kitty!) Yup, Kat is definitely still heavily in control of the fusion, Arthur. But her social anxieties are mostly quieted by the parts of her sum.

He turns around towards the hiding kitten, using his coat to obstruct the view from the automaton, then scoops up the kitten and places it in one of the oversized pockets of his coat to hide it. Then turns around towards the automaton and points out the door. "It went there!"

The automaton's scope/eye/thing swivels up, then down, then back up to focus on Arthur. With whistles, it shares, "Vision is not impaired!" And then the sconce spews a gout of flames. At the kitten. Or at least Arthur and his coat, which holds the kitten.

More flames?! In his workshop?! The artisan... faints and collapses.

"Oww!" Arthur complains as he's singed. At least he protects the kitten, he hopes. That burned more than expected. If he was Kat, that probably wouldn't have scratched her. He quickly starts to run out of the workshop to remove the kitten and himself for the time being. . o O (Darn clever, that thing!)

"Mew!" The kitten seems to agree. On which point, he doesn't clarify.

On Arthur's heels, or at least in his wake, the singularly-minded appliance moves to follow. It isn't stealthy as it rolls after, due to a squeaky wheel. Arthur keeps on running as it follows, trying to sprint out the workshop doors. He calls over his shoulder, "Look! Now that cat is not inside! Your job is finished!" It's the best he can do as he fumbles for the latin words.

The owner would likely appreciate that both the kitten and the flame-spewing assistant are out of the shop. Not to mention that the smoldering bits have died out and the smoke is thinning. Which means he won't burn or be suffocated while prostrate and unconconscious.

The automaton continues to attempt to give chase after Arthur and the dalektible kitten, but it is quickly losing ground. It isn't built for speed. At least not any speed higher than SLOW. Or maybe it's drag from that squeaky wheel?

There's no record of automatons in this time period that Arthur knows of, which means this thing probably isn't meant to be. Great, does that mean he has to destroy this marvel? He tries outrunning it first, heading down the nearest alley to see if he can escape with the rescued kitten.

Outrunning seems to be a strong plan. The marvel that should not be is not keeping pace. Not in the sligthest. The kitten could likely have run circles around it, too. If it knew to, and wasn't incinerated in the process. Speaking of non-incinerated kittens... he clambers out of the pocket. To Arthur's shoulder. To look back over it at their receding foe. This is a great relief. Fluffed fur settles. He relaxes. Claws retract.

Too much. There's a brief, spastic scrambling of zero claw and too much pad on Arthur's coat before the kitten slides off to tumble on the ground behind him.

Arthur winces as the kitten claws its way up his coat, getting dug into a few times. "Ow, ow, stay still, kit--oh no! Kitty!" he says in dismay and horror as the kitten tumbles off his shoulder. He skids to a halt, sneakers making a scratchy noise over the ground. He turns back to help the poor cute little helpless kitten!

Contrary to popular belief, cat's do not always land on their feet. This one lands on both his head and his butt. This proves his spine's as flexible as other cats, just that he's much less coordinated.

So there's the sounds of scratchy shoes. Kittens shaking heads to clear them. Possibly butt, too, but hopefully not to clear -that-. And then comes the sound of the inevitable.

squeak

squeak

squeak

It's gaining on them!

Arthur tries to scoop up the kitten. "Good kitty, stay still, Kitty. I've got you," he promises the poor, adorable, singed, battered kitten.

That's poor, adorable, singed, battered, and formerly a little woozy kitten to you! But he does stay still, if mostly so he doesn't fall over or out of the scooping.

And here comes the kitten removal contraption. Squeak. Squeak. The whisk-like end of the appendage begins to spin. Threateningly?

Arthur clutches the kitten to his chest with both hands as the contraption gets near. How could such a thing reliably work in this time? And with volatile components? Perhaps it's too hot to contain its own fiery blasts.

The sconce-appendage lifts and readies to spew spew more flames of feline-flambe-ing finality! Then sputters a little hiccup of smoke. A rumbling follows, as if it ate something that disagreed with with. Puffs of black smoke billow out. It then teeters over with an odd, deep, vibrato noise before thudding onto the ground.

The kitten is curled up against Arthur's chest, paws and tail over its eyes and nose.

Arthur lets out a sigh of relief as the automaton collapses due to an unfortunate error of its construction. "Well. That was lucky," he smiles, then looks down at the adorable kitten curled up against his chest. His heart melts at how cute the poor thing is.

He takes a finger and gently strokes the kitten's head to reassure it. "You're safe now, cutie. That big mean machine won't hurt you now," he says in very unmanly baby-talk in English. "Let's get a look at how injured you are. Maybe we can find a vet to take care of you and clean that paint off you," he offers, taking his long rainbow colored scarf and rubbing the kitten with it gently, expecting the magenta paint to come off. Only to see it's not paint. "Huh...?" Ooh. Rubs. Pets. That gets a new machine going. Namely the purr generator. He starts making fairly loud noises of contentment for such a small package. He even leans into the scarf when Arthur pauses, then stretches to nuzzle up to him. Many thanks? Aside from the fur, with a bit of singe at the ends and some soot (which DOES wipe off), he looks otherwise unharmed.

Arthur is glad to see there's no real injury besides the soot and singe. He melts more at the purring, unable to get rid of the goofy smile on his face. "Well, aren't you adorable? I wonder who your owner is, and how you got this color," he muses as he starts walking his way back to the workshop to make sure DaVinci is fine and the timeline maintained. He gently boops the adorable kitten's nose.

The workshop is still there. Like the kitten, it is a little ruffled, and a wee bit singed. Aside from the doors and the sign, though, the damage appears minimal and superficial.

The owner, who is neither minimal nor superficial, has regained both consciousness and his dour mood. It is only slightly less frantic, having shifted more to annoyance, as he proceeds to move things back into the workshop. And organize. And assess.

"Signore DaVinci?" Arthur says as he peeks into the workshop. That's as much italian as he knows. He hopes latin will be enough to communicate any further.

He doesn't cease his activities, nor even turn as he grumbles a response. "Busy... return tomorrow..." There may be more colorful words in addition, but fortunately only the more common ones are readily understandable.

The kitten, who seemed please at the booping and attention, now hunkers down yet again. Making himself smaller, and the purring abruptly halts.

Arthur notices the kitten's displeasure and keeps him held close and safe. "Ah. Sorry for molest," he says in rather basic and poor Latin before walking off to leave DaVinci to his great works. He starts looking around for a way to find the kitten's owner. In English, he says, "Now, let's try and get you home. Or somewhere nice and warm. You're so adorable, I wish I could keep you."

Departing the dour DaVinci seems to revert the kitten's mood. The renewed attention seems to aid it even further. He curls up snugly and comfortably, rather than timidly or worried. The purring resumes. Or is that snoring?

Arthur smiles at the cute kitten and looks around for any passersby to ask about the kitten.

There are no shortage of passersby, especially now that there are no more explosions, fires, or ... whatever that contraption was. Arthur gets a few distinct looks, varying from odd, to uneasy, to suspicious. Immediate queries concerning the kitten don't alter the looks any. Not in any positive way, at least. It could be language, cultural, or an aversion to pink and/or fashion.

"Pardon, Sir. Is this kitten yours?" Arthur asks. Then to another person, "Ma'am, do you know this kitten?" "Sir?" "Miss?" "Anyone?" Arthur sighs as he seems to strike out at every turn. "Well, while in Rome, eh?" He smiles down at the kitten. "Maybe we can see if pizza's been invented yet. Oooo, I bet the pasta tastes great," he speaks to the kitten and follows his nose to find an eatery.

Somewhere between comments of pizza and pasta, the kitten's head is lifted. Perhaps he wasn't snoring, afterall. Not only are eyes and ears up, but they're alert. On the prowl, as it were. He even sniffs, as if to help with the nosiness to follow.

Most of the pleasant smells come from a nearby plaza; possibly one of several markets in the city. There are all manner of sellers of things, from artisans and craftspersons to farmers and others with everything from fresh produce to finished bread, wines, cheeses, smoke meats and more.

Arthur follows his nose to the market. Everything smells heavenly. He nears a cured meat vendor, thinking to get something for the kitten, when his heart sinks. "Oh no. My universal cred chip won't work here," he groans, because of course it wouldn't.

Everything does smell heavenly. But especially the meats. Mmm... The kitten's nose gets nearer and nearer as he starts leaning farther and farther over Arthur's arm. Because bacon. Just. A little. Bit. Further...

Of course, the butcher is well aware of the power of bacon (or more likely prosciutto) and eyes the animal, and carrier, warily. While holding a still-wet cleaver.

Arthur's eyes widen as he sees kitten stretching and wary meat cleaver. He tries to pull the squirming kitten back. "Ah. Hello," he says in latin. He points to the bacon. "How much?"

The butcher's understanding appears more from the gesture than the words, and he does seem appreciative that the cat is saved from being carved due to his curiosity. Cat meat just isn't worth much, and that scrawny thing wouldn't have much to begin with. Not to mention all the prep involved...

He holds up a pair of coins as example and points to the indicated side of meat.

Arthur fishes into his inner pocket after shifting the kitten to one hand. He pulls out a small flake of gold, since a nugget would be overpaying. "This?" he asks in Latin hopefully.

The butcher peers at the flake, then to Arthur, then to the side of meat. He brings his cleaver down, sharply. With finality.

To cut a third off of the side. He then takes the flake, rolls it in his fingers, and then stuffs it into a pocket. The larger piece is then wrapped in cheesecloth, tied, and handed over.

The kitten watches the exchange with keen interest. And drool.

Arthur accepts the large piece and sighs a little, then smiles down at the kitten. "Well, not quite cooked and ready to eat," he says in English as he browses the market for more edible options. "Oh! Guess you don't care, huh?" He smiles and unties the package, peeling back some of the cheesecloth.