Fellow Traveler

I'm tempted to ask: "Lillian, is that you?" -- but, whatever her other admirable traits, Lillian has absolutely no sense of humor.

So I'm afraid, my fellow traveler, that you do have one up on me in the identity department. Although I trust that's not a fatal flaw. In my own defense, it was a masked affair and the only way to tell those who believed from those who mimicked may well have been the quality of the clothing affected. I cannot believe you were in one of the clichéd black dominos that were overwhelmingly present; I'd be tempted to tarnish you with the garish purple lace affair but that would be entirely too cruel. I wouldn't even condemn my worst enemy to that sort of taste -- but I'm afraid he probably already has it, if I'm to judge by his normal street attire. There was one person who stood out ever so slightly in shades of russet and rose so, whether this be you or not, and because I have to call you something, I shall dub you Belle Epoch until and unless you are unmasked.

Finding out that this communication node is compromised is somewhat of interest; at least one other person in my network felt that this would be an unsafe method of relaying information but they were overridden (and now, of course, will not be able to refrain from a very ungenteel I told you so when the information becomes generally known).  However, I do not think that we will be shutting it down any time soon; you and I may not be working towards identical goals, but I have hopes that we're working towards similar ones and a little cross-communication might be a good thing.

What think you of our great panjandrum? Is he a front for someone else, or do you think he could possibly have the brains (very well hidden, if he does) to be running this rumbling insurrection himself?

Rejoinder and Ripost

You give away too much my dear friend...dare I call you that...you never know into who's hands your letter might fall.

In my own humble way, although my costume may not have been perfectly period, I blended in well enough to go undetected by you, a fact that I am more then tickled by.

So away we go, you on your path, I on mine each attempting to find the truth before our allotted time runs out.

May the best man win...however loosely that phrase might have to be interpreted.


(original: Mary)

Meetings

Roses have thorns, and shining waters mud
And cancer lurks deep in the sweetest bud
Clouds and eclipses stain the moon and the sun
And history reeks of the wrongs we have done
After today, consider me gone

20th Century Ballad

Greeting from the frontlines, as it were.

I have to say the meeting started out conventionally enough. There were enough smoke and mirrors to have choked B&B in the day. The chanting was positively Gregorian when it wasn't Mansonite. I can't say that I found it enjoyable at all but at the very least it was informative. They were all wearing what they thought was period dress and I'm sure it would have passed at their social gatherings, but I had to put on my very best card face to keep from snickering. Not only would it have been impolite, it probably would have gotten me kicked out and there was a small chance that somebody would have attempted to rend me limb from limb. Not that I really worry about the outcome, but the paperwork would have been dreadful.

Chronologically speaking I couldn't have been there more than 90 minutes (oh DAMN the rules that I couldn't bring my knitting) when their -- what would you call him? High Priest? Head of the Cabal? Ring-Master? -- head grand panjandrum stepped into the limelight and started delivering the keynote address. May I say that I'm glad Kitty wasn't here? She would not have been able to keep from laughing all the while she whittled his arguments, and possibly the great panjandrum himself, down to size. If you have to send her out, make sure someone locks up her Arkansas Toothpick first. Yes, I know she's liable to do great damage anyway, but the chances of it being either actionable or lethal go way down.

Anyhow, the speech, or at least as much as I was able to remember given that they screen for Devices:

O ye Lords and Ladies (okay, there were quite a handful you could take that literally about and the rest wanted to be no matter what their other protestations), O ye great and mighty and humble and wise, gathered we here together this night to consecrate our path to righteous victory. (Honestly. If I wanted to kill him, Kitty would have crocheted his guts into garters. Still attached.) Our governments, our institutions, the very foundations of our being, have been corrupted to their bones. It falls to us, to our ancient honor, to take up arms and cleanse this foulness from our houses. Let us not flinch from our duties; whether closest friend or dearest sibling, wherever we find this filth we must do our righteous duties and eradicate it from the fabric of existence. It will be hard, as all such cleansings must be, and bloody, but the decisions you make going forth from tonight have the full blessings of the Metalsmith standing before you...." 

It would be interesting to find out what parallels Lydia could find in her histories of megalomaniacal movements. One other thing: I'd made myself forget the disbelief, the unmitigated rage that bloomed in me at his closing words. The incredible gall of a pathological liar and thief!

I'm Metalsmith.