Summons: The Pie Maker

[Tolleson]

She very nearly did run into him, her feet on the uneven street stopped immediately while her upper body swayed in reaction. Eyes would jump, from her feet,watched to ensure they obeyed, to Glenn, without hesitation. There was a brief smile that chanced across her lips, before she remembered to mind her circumstances. This was no time to feel proud or even happy, what with Treadwell missing and the terrifying incidents surrounding Catch at the Ball. Stifling the smile she'd nod and when he appeared to be continuing forward so would she, right into him, as he stopped once more.

It was ever so light an impact as they had just started off. Having tripped hundreds of times and fallen at least as many she had been used to being embarrassed for herself, but it was a look of sheer mortification as she stumbled back waving her hands apologetically. A blush filled her cheeks as her green eyes seemed keen on fleeing to the ground, though they at least held their ground. "I'm sorry.. I... Suede?" An eyebrow lifted as she dusted off her skirts with her left hand, right holding the board and paper tightly. He hardly seemed important for the events at the Ball, at most he seemed to her an ostentatious, rebellious prick who enjoyed pranks. But she could only accept that Glenn knew best in this instance, after all she barely knew the troublesome tailor.

Draw a sketch? Who did Glenn think she was, if he had caught sight of her notes there were lopsided, badly proportioned, sketchy sketches of an elaborate distilling set-up and with accompanying notes in a neat, very fine, and almost entirely illegible hand. With Treadwell's cache just ahead she would nod in agreement about finding the fat councilman and continue forward.

Recent burglaries, it seemed quite suddenly that a connection had been made. Recognition sparked in her eyes as the flicked up to him wider than before and she strained under a forced nod. "I...I..." Her words were almost whispers, "yes.. I mean... I have ... the posters.... I ... um." Visibly uncomfortable she would come to a stop just before the threshold, now at the scene of the crime as it were. Her heart began beating faster, with the realization that she may be standing now where her brother stood with the tax payer's gold and Treadwell, also, somehow, in hand.

[Glenn]

"In Myrken, it doesn't rain." Burnie noted almost idly as they walked. They were very close to the destination now, and she had responded to his questions admirably. He was something of a savant. His maps were excellently crafted. Everything else, not quite so well. It was how he saw the world, perhaps, as lines and symbols and connections. Actual facial features didn't stay with him quite so well and he couldn't transfer them down to paper. "It pours, and that's beginning, here and now. I won't say I grew complacent but perhaps I was looking in the wrong places for the threats. There may be opportunities for you sooner than not, Genny. There may be a need."

Burnie walked through the door and turned upon his heels, looking at her with that usual smile, leaning slightly upon his cane, the piece of wood and metal at the height of its power. It was MADE here after all. "There may be opportunities and a need for all sorts of people. Is that the sort of thing you can understand and accept?" He didn't give her an answer, however. Instead, he drove on. "Would you not think that our mysterious burglars would be some of the prime subjects in this matter, Genny?" Treadwell ran afoul of magical abductions before, but those usually just focused upon the rotund monolith of a man, not upon Myrken's money.

[Tolleson]

After all that Catch had told her about how Burnie was 'strict' and all that she knew about the thief, a moment of conflict washed over her. Its waters were a burden, impossible to move for the weight bearing down. Burnie's words drowning and muffled around her; rain, opportunities, it was all of lesser importance. Squaring her eyes on him now she looked at him less like she was in awe or afraid of him. He was not so much older, yet she respected him as much as she did Treadwell, perhaps even more so.

"No... I mean, No, I don't think he would," she had been lost, whether he read it or not she was conflicted. Some courage had been mustered as she stepped inside, closer to the ever smiling Glenn. "I have seen that thief before... but I... ," with disbelief in her voice she moved forward. Looking down the long hall towards the end door and the vault as she trailed off, what good reason would he have with Treadwell?

[Glenn]

"You have seen the thief before?" Well that was interesting. That and her hesitation. Genny was an interesting case. Sometimes she was matter-of-fact and know-it-all and other adorably hyphenated things. Other times she was stuttering and unsure and reserved. It was an impulse control problem, apparently. Unfortunately, she was quite often the one when it would be ever so useful being the other.

He had begun to move forward, no longer looking at her even as he continued to speak to her. "Tell me, Genny, if you would, why you would think that a thief would not be interested in stealing that money and removing the one witness who would have seen him take it."

Ah, but now Glenn has stopped, though he had not yet turned back to her. His finger raises slightly in the air, punctuating the halt. "Though, apparently, he has a tendency not to eliminate witnesses, for you have seen him, no?"

[Tolleson]

She was quiet for the time, letting Glenn make his requests as she continued. Down the hall and to the end where the heavy door sat a seemingly immovable monolith, much like the missing tax collector himself. Fingers traced along the old solid vault door as she slowed and brought the board, paper and all into her, hugging it at her chest, completely forgetting it was not even hers. But now was her time to be frank, he had a point and whatever personal knowledge she had of the thief, there seemed no other plausible explanation. Stopped at his punctuated halt she looked at him directly, even if he did not return the gesture.

"That much is true... but I am not a witness," this was not a good case for her, "well...sort of." Shifting she seemed trying to tell him something but like a wet fish, each time she grabbed deep down the the courage and it was caught, it slipped away. "Glenn," her voice was low, attempting to be confident in perhaps the first time she had ever addressed him so informally.

"I believe this thief is my brother... Tennant, last I saw him he fit the bill entirely..." There was a deeper sadness even anger that she was trying to hide, perhaps only half succeeding as she released the muscles in her arms and found the drawings and notes she'd created. A sweet whisper of a sound filled the void between words as parchment slipped over parchment and was held out to the mapmaker.

"He would know how to make this," she assumed he would take it from her and as she held it out her eyes drifted to the broken cane, glasses, the scattered evidence that there had indeed been a struggle here.

[Glenn]

"Well now," Speaking of impulse control problems, Glenn has his own these days. Part of him wanted to burst out in laughter at this turn. There was just something about this entire situation that warranted it in his current state. He refrained, however, somehow. She was just so earnest and the shop was so dark and quiet.

Finally, he would turn to her, and yes, of course he was still smiling pleasantly. See, pie maker, nothing to worry about. "Genny," he would begin, taking the parchment from her. Simply put, if you were to offer Glenn Burnie paper or a book, he would take it from you, no matter the circumstances. It was reflex, really. "You should have come to me before." He wasn't looking at the offerings, however. He was looking at her.

"Before there was more I could do. Things have escalated now, however." Finally, he would glance down to the parchment, letting those words linger just for a moment. "That does not mean we're past the point of potential action, however. You'll have to tell me more. Tell me of your brother."

[Tolleson]

He was about to laugh and she about try cry. For all her efforts she did lack a certain consistency, outward and inward as well. Couldn't she blame her brother for that too? It had been hard enough not to tell Glenn immediately, but where did ambition and duty end and loyalty to family or friends begin. "I-I know," surely he could understand her position. She was still, yet trembling, maybe feeling guilty that she couldn't withhold the information or even worried at her own involvement in concealing it for as long as she already had.

"Catch... he said you...," she shook her head, looking back and allowing her eyes to find his. No, she wouldn't try to give excuses. Her shoulders slumped a little and with a deep breath she found the gumption and that bit of anger she'd been bottling up. "However I might assist," he earned his lumps, there was no denying that. "He's... obnoxious, quick on his feet and bright too..." Of course she had to be careful not to say things that weren't relevant. "Never had a need for school," curtly the list was spit out with a pinch of anger and perhaps even spite. Obviously she thought him a complete opposite, perhaps not so incorrectly. "Just greedy though... I wouldn't think him likely to kidnap... anyone," there was an unsaid 'but' following that sentence.

Her lips pursed and she turned, stepping carefully down the stairs and into the chamber. It was truly remarkable that anyone had managed to get Treadwell out of this room, let alone against his will. "There are twelve, or were... I imagine the ones known to authorities are wanted ... in Thessilane at least." She couldn't very well speak for Myrken, only her brother had been ballsy enough to do whatever it had been to get his face plastered all over town.

[Glenn]

Well, that got to the brunt of the matter, and quickly at that. Twelve men. Thieves. Thessaline. She really was the best witness, wasn't she? If he had twelve of her Myrken would be safe and sound for a good long time to come. Unfortunately, he only had one Genny and twelve thieves. "Twelve men." Burnie said, again not unkindly, still smiling, as he looked between her and the stairs. "Could do this." No magic needed either. Nice and neat and tied off, just the way he liked things. Glenn Burnie cared a great deal about truth, all truth, both the sort that was real and the sort that was created.

"Genny." Now he stared at her carefully. "When I say that you should have come to me, it is not due to your civic duty, though there is of course that. It's what I could have done for your brother, long before the wanted posters." He didn't say 'long before this,' for that would likely inspire a completely irrational reaction from her and there just wasn't time for that. A pause as Burnie looked around. Truth mattered so much, especially the sort that he couldn't quite work out. Those were the frustrating thorns in his metaphoric paw. "What's the significance of the hat anyway?"

[Tolleson]

Half way down the stairs she stopped, looking out trying to imagine what had transpired on the floor below. There many not have been any magic used then, but the possibility that they had practitioners of such crafts among their ranks definitely existed. Descant's instrument had been well guarded, that was no secret, and the effort to remove it would be more than mere human strength. Not to mention a good amount of trouble. "There may be more,... its just... last I saw was months ago," did she really need to say it had been just before she arrived - Glenn was a clever man, he could deduce as much. Plus, she hadn't the heart to tell him what she'd done and probably the whole reason Myrken was being turned upside down, pockets emptied, rich and poor alike being searched.

"Please, don't under estimate him... he must have escaped that he is here now," here, but where. Thoughts began to stir, they were twins after all, surely she knew him better than anyone else - but then again, they were so very unlike one another. Becoming him had been grueling and damn near impossible and undoing all that she had done was a constant effort. One that left her with a rather fractured personality and moments of stolen confidence.

There was a glimmer of regret and hope when she returned her eyes, looking up at the mention of her name. "Yes," she should have. "He's made his choices," bitterness biting at her words, but even she did not fully endorse that viewpoint. As confusing as she could be, she was still an open book. And despite her stumbling, mumbling, bumbling inconsistencies there was an immovable core, a softness that could not wholly hate him. How to explain everything to Glenn was a daunting task; where did one start when the story spanned all the years she'd known him. There was a tale here, but she kept it to herself for now.

For that comment of the hat she smiled meekly and turned to continue down the steps. "A terrible disguise... perhaps he enjoys the fame," maybe it was important, maybe it wasn't. She didn't seem to know either way.

[Glenn]

Well, she was putting on a brave face. Good girl. Yes, that was good. And it was necessary. No, begging or pleading or wallowing. Just doing what she had to. In truth, Burnie actually didn't know a thing about the mandora. That it had become an issue in this matter was simply not something anyone had informed him of. "Not underestimating him," he would begin, "means me pressing you to tell me everything. I hope you understand that, Genny. If I am going to go easy on you out of affection or whatever else, no matter what I would prefer personally, well... that would be me taking him lightly." To respect Genny's opinion would be to be hard on her in this matter. It was simply the way it was.

As for the lack of real significance to the hat, that was a shame. It also spoke to a lack of closeness between the siblings which was just hinted at before.

[Tolleson]

Now at the bottom and inside the vault she began to pick things up, what need was there after all to maintain the scene. They had all the evidence they needed. She would continue to clean the mess as he spoke; only stopping as he mentioned going ‘easy on her’ out of affection. That he considered her worth while at all was a boon, but not one she made an effort to show now.

There was curtness to her nod, “yes,” as though she did in fact understand the gravity of the situation.

“I’ll… finish this up and … try t-to take note of anything else I can think of that may help return Mr. Treadwell.” Unless Glenn wished to help her clean up the mess and take notes, she was lost in her own thoughts and would tend to the chores until he needed her further.

[Glenn]

"Genny." Burnie's voice was patient, if a bit patronizing. "Best not to clean up. For starters, now that we've at least partially ruled out magic, or at least have come up with a theory that does NOT involve the preternatural, they'll want to take a good look at the evidence here. Second, I'd like for you to go home and get some rest. It's been a traumatic night, and very soon you'll have to tell me a great deal more about your brother. Do you want me to fetch an escort for you to help you home safely?"

[Tolleson]

Oh, how stupid of her, of course, she set the papers and articles that had been carelessly thrown from the desk back upon the floor and stood, “Of course.” There was no need for belittling; she did enough of that to herself, shaking her head as if somewhere inside she was already scolding herself.

There was a momentary pause as she dusted off her skirts and set about leaving, “No… The Dagger is not too far.” She tripped a little, not enough to fall just enough to make her confidence seem less than reliable. Not to mention that she had been here several months and still hadn’t found a suitable residence. Surely somewhere in town would have been safer than taking the road. Regardless she seems intent upon leaving the vault and Glenn’s constables to their work.