Having offered to accompany Dash as his interpreter, the two take a carriage into town where they first stop at a banq so Dash can exchange his currency for francs. At Stella's inquiry, the carriage driver recommends Banque Palatine and then drives them there.

Situated on Rue de Ampere, it's a typical large stone building constructed at least a hundred years ago. Its architectural style is baroque, but with some recent 'refinements' to 'update' the baroque style.

Dash stepped down from the cab, then turned to assist Stella.

"I hope you told this fellow to wait." Dash whispered through a smile, as he handed Stella from the cab to the sidewalk, then he offered his arm, as they approached the door into the bank.

At the doorway, Dash paused a moment and inhaled deeply.

"As a scion of just such a family," Dash said with a grin, "I can say with authority that this place smells of Old Money.  My Uncle would love it."

Dash held the door for Stella...

OOC: unless there was a doorman

...and entered the bank, looking for a concierge, or a receptionist, or even a sign indicating where he should go to exchange his money.  His Officer training, both back in the Army as well as shipboard, made him aware that around important people -- especially self-important people -- it was more important to look like you knew what you were doing, than to actually know.  So he assumed a bored expression, as he looked around.

*um...lets see now...International Monies Exchange...* Dash thought to himself, *uh...that would be sonnes...no!...les sommes!...les sommes...d'échange...internationale...I think...*

"I'm afraid I haven't the funds to pay cabmen for waiting, Mr Hawkesbury. I imagine we can get another easily enough."

Inside the edifice, Stella guides Dash to the necessary department.

The bank isn't overly busy at this time of night, but the recent surge in industry has kept the port rather busy, so some of the banks have taken to staying open for the second shift. This bank would be closing in another half hour.

Because it isn't busy, a junior banker hurries over to Dash. He even speaks English... more or less.

"Oui, oui, M'sieur," he replies to Dash's request. "Right zis way! We would be honored to exchange your funds for French francs!"

He leads them over to a counter with the typical wrought iron grate.

"How much do you wish to exchange, M'sieur?"

Dash slipped a few fingers into a pocket on his uniform jacket, and pulled out a small stack of gold coins.

"Six British gold Sovreigns should be enough, I should think." Dash said, placing the coins on the counter.


OOC: double check me, but, at this time, the gold Sovreign was worth 1 Pound Sterling, which appears to have been worth just under 27 Francs.  I couldn't find any values for this specific Year, but these numbers represent an average for the Decade in question.

"Oui, M'sieur.  Ah, would zee M'sieur prefer coin, or weel banqnotes suffice?"

Dash thought about it; they wouldn't be in Marseille very long, and a pocket full of French coinage would be a weight he could do without -- as he already had a pocketful of British Sovreigns.

"Banqnotes will do, I suppose. But make them Ten Franc notes, if you would." Dash responded in a bored manner.

"As M'sieur wishes." the teller took the small stack of Sovreigns, then produced a small red-bound book and consulted a table within.  Setting the book down he then placed a pair of small weights on one side of a nearby scale, then placed Dash's coins on the other side.  Happy with the result, the Teller then scooped the gold coins into a drawer, and produced a bundle of French bills. He quickly and efficiently counted out seventeen bills, and slid them towards Dash.

"I 'ope M'sieur 'as had a pleasaunt experience, and weel tink of us again, for his future banking needs."

Dash accepted the bank notes, then casually looked around to see who was watching. Only a pair of uniformed guards were standing by the door.

Peeling one of the notes off his stack, Dash folded it one-handed, placed it down on the counter, and slid it back to the Teller.

"I dunno about the bank, my lad," Dash said with a smile and a wink, "but the service was excellent."

Turning towards the door, Dash again offers his arm to Stella, "Miss Mulberry."

Walking out of the bank, Dash looked up at the cabbie – who looked back with an impatient scowl.

Dash produced another ten franc note and handed it up to the driver, then turned to Stella.

“Could you tell him to take us to the port area, and to Mittlemann Brothers, Ship Outfitters?”

Stella gives the driver his instructions and settles back for the ride.

The carriage takes Dash and Stella to the designated designation, the Mittlemann Brothers Shipping Company.

Not surprisingly, considering how busy the port is, the company is still open. It's a mix of warehouse, shipping and chandlery.

As the carriage drives up and deposits them at the business, the drive offers to wait for them.

"Monsieur, I am Etienne Gasteau, and I will wait for you if you wish... for a small fee, of course. At this hour of night, there is little call for carriages in this area, so I would have to go elsewhere."

As he is speaking, large crates are being wheeled out of the warehouse, heading, apparently, to the ship on the docks. The name on the ship is the Rainbow's End. It takes a moment in the semi-darkness to realize that some of these large crates are cages. Not only is there the sound of movement from within, but the painting on the canvas that obscures the contents is an advertisement for the Professor Sorrow's Traveling Wonderama. The images appear to be those of sideshow freak attractions.

Stella asks that the driver wait for them here.

Dash frowns up at the cabbie -- annoyed by the man's sudden capacity for English, as he requests more money.

"Etienne Gasteau, my good man," Dash responds, producing another 10 Franc note from his uniform jacket pocket and handing it up, "I appreciate your words of wisdom. We should, hopefully, only be here a few minutes. Be so kind as to wait right here.  Right.  Here."

Dash offers his arm to Stella, then heads inside the busy building.  After stepping into the cavernous space, Dash stops one of the harried workers.

Dash clearly remembered a conversation with one of his cousins, about eight months ago...

"Dash, my littlest cousin, if you ever find yourself in Marseilles -- that's in France, cousin, if you didn't know -- yes, if you're ever in Marseilles, you look up Ivonne Mittlemann, of Mittlemann Brothers.  Ivonne is the exclusive factor for all the business that Hawkesbury Trading does in that town.  What little business there is."

"Ivonne Mittlemann?" Dash now asks of the workman, recieving a gesture indicating deeper into the building, as well as a few grumbled words of French.  Words which Dash is certain are likely curses aimed at himself.

Dash leads Stella in the indicated direction, responding to any curious glances that come their way with the same "Ivonne Mittlemann?".

Dash and Stella are directed out to the wharf where Ivonne is directing the loading of the sideshow crates onto the ship.

"Oui, M'sieur, I am Ivonne," the man replies. "What can I do for you?"


There is an interruption at that point by something alive in one of the cages.

Suddenly, a yell comes from the cage.

"HELP ME!"


Stella also notices that there is a man lurking in the shadows by some of the crates.

"FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY, HELP ME! I'M BEING ABDUCTED BY THUGS! VENEZ M'AIDER! SOS! SOS! HELP, HELP! VENEZ M'AIDER!" The voice screamed with all its might, and there was a sound of desperate clanging as the iron manacles on whomever or whatever was inside the cage's wrists banged against the bars to make as much racket as possible to attract attention, however slight the chance that somebody would actually do something about it and assist...

Forgetting, for the moment, the man in the shadows, Stella turns her attention to the shouts from the crate.

She says, in French: "To begin, Monsieur Mittleman, you could fetch down that crate and release whoever is being held within. Of course," she continues, "We can fetch gendarmes to assist, if that is needed."

The day had been one of what was becoming frustratingly usual: seeming endless and probably fruitless conversations with anyone whom appeared to have anything that might lead to insights. The life of a journalist was not an easy one is the lesson that Belly was learning and he was doing his best not to let it influence his state of mind.

He was checking his watch and considering retiring for the day, because enough is enough already, when he hears the cry for help. Now, here's just the thing!, he thinks to himself. Reaching into his pocket he puts his hand upon his pistol, but he does not yet draw it noting the man and woman whom have also responded.

He begins to move towards move towards the cage from whence the yelling is coming, "Hello! What's this? May I offer some assistance?"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:36, Mon 26 May 2014.

Dash was about to introduce himself to M'sieur Mittlemann, when the commotion starts -- first shouts for help, in English, from one of the sideshow cages, followed by some rapid fire French from Stella aimed at Mittlemann, and then the appearance from out of the shadows of a man with an obvious American accent.

Dash frowned and leaned a little closer to Ivonne,

"M'sieur Mittleman, my name is Denholm Hawksebury, of Hawksebury Trading Company. I had come to ask your assistance on a small matter of business, but now...this."

Dash straightened up, raising his voice to a more conversational level.

"My business can wait a few minutes while you clear this up, M'sieur.  As you are only a shipper of goods for other people, I am sure that you are as concerned about this call for assistance as we are. I believe that call came from that cage, over there." Dash says, pointing at the cage he'd heard the shouts come from.

"Perhaps one of your men can bring a lamp closer...?" Dash says, starting towards the cage in question -- ignoring, for the moment, the American who'd suddenly appeared from the shadows.

"Hello?  Hello in there?  Who are you, that calls for help?"

"I hardly think who I am is important at the moment," the male voice within the cage replied, a rustling of chains being heard as the speaker shuffled a little closer to the bars so he might be seen better, "If you must know, my name is Connor Holmes, and until I was shanghaied into this rattletrap, I was working as a traveling engineer and fitter."

As the light was brought closer, the voice would be found to belong to a bipedal felinoid being, some six odd feet tall with white tiger striped fur and sharp violet eyes. Despite having manacles about his neck and ankles, he was nicely dressed yet in well-tailored middle-class clothes that suggested of the work he had said he had been doing.

"I beg of you, please help me out of here, those  blighters knocked me out after drawing me in with a false job offer, took most of my effects, and I fear they're going to make me into some lurid sideshow somewhere....I don't know quite how, but I would repay you helping me tenfold if you were to spring me out of this thing."

Stella starts as the nature of the prisoner becomes apparent, but stifles any cry of fear or alarm. She has never seen an 'Oid this close before, only on exhibition, she guiltily realizes.

While Dash engages the fellow in conversation, Stella turns her back to them. She watches the shadows, especially for the lurker she spotted earlier, but also for any other sign of trouble.

"By the Almighty!" Dash gasps, sighting the...creature...held within the cage, "A talking Tiger! I'd heard of such things, but I've never..."

Dash looks around for something -- anything! -- to bring his world back to normalcy.  The creature had talked! Stella has turned away -- in shock, no doubt. Mittlemann still seems stunned by the Tigerman's shouts, judging from his lack of reaction.

*...or maybe he isn't so surprised...just unsettled that somebody noticed...* Dash thought to himself.  Then he looked again at the man with the American accent who had offered assistance, Dash now noticed he was not dressed as a longshoreman -- and that put him out of place, here near dock.

"You there!" Dash calls out in his best Deck Officer's voice, "You're no longshoreman, certainly.  And your accent marks you a fellow American, so you're no employee of Mittlemann Brothers.  Are you associated with this sideshow?  Are you responsible for this creature?"

Connor looked up at the heavens briefly when Dash got all excited at seeing him, it seemed most humans did something to this effect whenever they first laid eyes on him (and probably why he was in his present predicament, he had a big 'wow' factor), but for him all that had gotten old a long time ago. "I'm a person, not a 'creature', thank you very much," he growled at the man, his long tail scything agitatedly behind him, "A citizen of a sovereign nation too, if you really want to get technical."

One of the few things the sideshow people hadn't taken from him was his identification papers and his proof of Irish citizenship, stowed cleverly away in a hidden pocket in his waistcoat, so he could easily produce both to prove he wasn't lying. All in all, Connor just wanted to be out of the cage and be back on his way again, quite sorry he had ever come to Marseilles in the first place..
This message was last edited by the player at 05:54, Wed 28 May 2014.

In reply to Connor Holmes (msg # 19):

"Which sovereign nation would that be, sir?" Stella threw the remark over her shoulder, her eyes relentlessly searching the shadows and flicking occasionally to the man nearby, and to Mittleman. She was no stranger to docksides and dark alleys, unfortunately.

"Ireland, madam, perhaps one of the most beautiful places there is," Connor replied, "No other nation would accept my applications or requests for citizenship, and I did try quite a few." He was very proud of and grateful to his adopted country, which although poor, was starting to improve since it had gained its independence from England (as a whole and unified Ireland too,  no Northern Ireland or "the troubles" here).

Of course, it was the people he loved best of all, for on the whole, they weren't so jumpy about what he was, indeed the place was one of the few where he was just "one of the lads", particularly in the little village he had put down roots in, Innissfree.