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Jul. 18th, 2006 03:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalThe Terinu forum is still having problems.
Rolas straightened his cravat again, and asked Bel, “Do we look all right?” He, Bel and Rulfen were standing in the hall outside Viscount Brushtail's suite, in one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, waiting for Brushtail's bodyservant to deliver their calling cards to his master.
“You two look fine,” Bel said, reaching over for the third time to put it back in place. “We all look fine. We are perfectly fine.”
“We're going to do well,” Rulfen said, more to himself than anyone else.
“Yes, yes, of course we are. All we have to do is not act like this is the most important meeting of our lives,” Rolas said, and then looked up to the ceiling, “Merciful Goddess help us.”
“The loving Den Mother watches,” Bel finished, then smiled determinedly. The door opened and they turned as one as Whitenose held it open for them.
“The Viscount will see you now,” he announced, and led them into the sumptuous sitting room, where the Viscount Brushtail himself was already seated in the conversation pit. A Vulpine of late middle years, his fur was light brown, with an unruly ruff at his forehead that fell over his face, partly hiding his blue eyes, overall giving him a boyish appearance that offset the paunch that a little too much good living had given him.
“Ah, the Greycoat boys, and Miss Sharpears! Come in, come in!” Bomeril greeted, motioning for them to have a seat around the conversation pit's table. “A great pleasure to meet all three of you.”
“The pleasure is ours, Viscount,” Rolas said, shaking Bomeril's hand briefly before taking his seat. “We were quite happily surprised to find you'd taken an interest in us.”
“Thank my man Cris for that. He's got sharp eyes, that one. Good man,” Bomeril said. His expression sharpened. “Now then, if I am to believe my man Cris, you two are making some extraordinary claims as to the efficiency of this new infernal combustion engine of yours.”
“Internal combustion engine, Milord,” Rulfen corrected. “And everything we claim can be backed up by our engineering specs and our performance testing. I can show you the numbers if you like.” He opened his leather valise and spread out their testing logs across the table.
“Please, call me Bom, everyone else does,” Brushtail said, “and don't wave figures at me. I'm not a details man, that's what I've got chartered accountants for. I want to see what the thing can do. If it's all that you claim it is, I want to see if it's possible to use in that damned airship TO is throwing together. Every damned week they seem to add more weight to the thing, finding a way to actually cut some out would be positively extraordinary.”
“Well, perhaps after the Exposition has closed, we can arrange for a demonstration,” Rolas said.
“Can't wait until afterward,” Bom said. “Continental Steam will be presenting the revised prototype the Cloud Seeker's steam engine to Trans Oceanic's board next week. I need to see something that will catch the Board's attention immediately.”
“Well, er, Bom, perhaps you can help arrange for a demonstration during the actual Exposition,” Rolas said. “We've been trying to get permission to run a little race, but you know the laws against cart racing.”
“Quite,” Bom said, stroking his muzzle. “Need to get the Lady Mayor to grant an exemption. Not an easy thing for a pair of cublings who don't know her.” He smiled. “What if we could make it even more interesting? What if I leaned on CS to put one of their steamer carts into the race, eh?”
“Won't that make the Lady Mayor less inclined to make an exemption?” Bel asked.
“Oh, I don't know... Depends on how sweetly I asked her,” Bom said, grinning slyly. “We went to University together, after all.”
“Oh, well. That's, er, very convenient,” Rolas said. “A race would be marvelous. Attract lots of attention.” Lots of attention, he realized belatedly, especially if they went up against a Continental Steam cart. Lots of bad attention if their cart unexpectedly failed. “Look, Viscount... Bom, I mean. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what exactly is your stake in all of this? We're minor lordlings, trying to push an unproven idea. If you put your weight behind us and we fail, that won't look good on you. What are you hoping to get out of all this?”
Bom smiled slyly. “Myself, nothing in particular. My family is quite well off, young man. Well off enough that we're able to indulge young cublings who aren't so learned that they already know what's impossible. That, and there are other interests involved.”
“You mean Trans Oceanic,” Rulfen said.
“Not just them,” Bom said, looking a bit more serious. “It has come to the attention of those in the government who travel in more rarefied circles than I...”
Which given Viscount Brushtail's place in it was very high indeed, Rolas quickly realized.
“...that Continental Steam has a... potentially unhealthy influence over national transportation. It is the opinion of some that a little competition might make them think a bit more closely about pleasing their customers, rather than just their investors. An economical means to bypass their rail lines might be just what's needed to keep them from puffing their chests out too much.”
“You're talking about an airship line, a national airship line, crossing the continent, not just providing service over the ocean,” Rulfen quickly concluded.
“You're quick my boy,” Bom said, slapping his leg. “A national airship line, powered by engines far more efficient than CS's rail steamers. That is our goal.”
“Using the engine developed by my father and the Greycoats,” Bel said.
“Exactly! Good for competition all around.”
“Not too bad for you, either, if it works out,” Rolas noted politely.
“Quite right my boy. I don't need to make a profit off of this... but I certainly wouldn't mind it either.”
Rolas bowed to him. “Arrange for that race, Viscount, and we'll give you one.”
“That is exactly what I wanted to hear, young man.”
TBC
Rolas straightened his cravat again, and asked Bel, “Do we look all right?” He, Bel and Rulfen were standing in the hall outside Viscount Brushtail's suite, in one of the most exclusive hotels in the city, waiting for Brushtail's bodyservant to deliver their calling cards to his master.
“You two look fine,” Bel said, reaching over for the third time to put it back in place. “We all look fine. We are perfectly fine.”
“We're going to do well,” Rulfen said, more to himself than anyone else.
“Yes, yes, of course we are. All we have to do is not act like this is the most important meeting of our lives,” Rolas said, and then looked up to the ceiling, “Merciful Goddess help us.”
“The loving Den Mother watches,” Bel finished, then smiled determinedly. The door opened and they turned as one as Whitenose held it open for them.
“The Viscount will see you now,” he announced, and led them into the sumptuous sitting room, where the Viscount Brushtail himself was already seated in the conversation pit. A Vulpine of late middle years, his fur was light brown, with an unruly ruff at his forehead that fell over his face, partly hiding his blue eyes, overall giving him a boyish appearance that offset the paunch that a little too much good living had given him.
“Ah, the Greycoat boys, and Miss Sharpears! Come in, come in!” Bomeril greeted, motioning for them to have a seat around the conversation pit's table. “A great pleasure to meet all three of you.”
“The pleasure is ours, Viscount,” Rolas said, shaking Bomeril's hand briefly before taking his seat. “We were quite happily surprised to find you'd taken an interest in us.”
“Thank my man Cris for that. He's got sharp eyes, that one. Good man,” Bomeril said. His expression sharpened. “Now then, if I am to believe my man Cris, you two are making some extraordinary claims as to the efficiency of this new infernal combustion engine of yours.”
“Internal combustion engine, Milord,” Rulfen corrected. “And everything we claim can be backed up by our engineering specs and our performance testing. I can show you the numbers if you like.” He opened his leather valise and spread out their testing logs across the table.
“Please, call me Bom, everyone else does,” Brushtail said, “and don't wave figures at me. I'm not a details man, that's what I've got chartered accountants for. I want to see what the thing can do. If it's all that you claim it is, I want to see if it's possible to use in that damned airship TO is throwing together. Every damned week they seem to add more weight to the thing, finding a way to actually cut some out would be positively extraordinary.”
“Well, perhaps after the Exposition has closed, we can arrange for a demonstration,” Rolas said.
“Can't wait until afterward,” Bom said. “Continental Steam will be presenting the revised prototype the Cloud Seeker's steam engine to Trans Oceanic's board next week. I need to see something that will catch the Board's attention immediately.”
“Well, er, Bom, perhaps you can help arrange for a demonstration during the actual Exposition,” Rolas said. “We've been trying to get permission to run a little race, but you know the laws against cart racing.”
“Quite,” Bom said, stroking his muzzle. “Need to get the Lady Mayor to grant an exemption. Not an easy thing for a pair of cublings who don't know her.” He smiled. “What if we could make it even more interesting? What if I leaned on CS to put one of their steamer carts into the race, eh?”
“Won't that make the Lady Mayor less inclined to make an exemption?” Bel asked.
“Oh, I don't know... Depends on how sweetly I asked her,” Bom said, grinning slyly. “We went to University together, after all.”
“Oh, well. That's, er, very convenient,” Rolas said. “A race would be marvelous. Attract lots of attention.” Lots of attention, he realized belatedly, especially if they went up against a Continental Steam cart. Lots of bad attention if their cart unexpectedly failed. “Look, Viscount... Bom, I mean. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but what exactly is your stake in all of this? We're minor lordlings, trying to push an unproven idea. If you put your weight behind us and we fail, that won't look good on you. What are you hoping to get out of all this?”
Bom smiled slyly. “Myself, nothing in particular. My family is quite well off, young man. Well off enough that we're able to indulge young cublings who aren't so learned that they already know what's impossible. That, and there are other interests involved.”
“You mean Trans Oceanic,” Rulfen said.
“Not just them,” Bom said, looking a bit more serious. “It has come to the attention of those in the government who travel in more rarefied circles than I...”
Which given Viscount Brushtail's place in it was very high indeed, Rolas quickly realized.
“...that Continental Steam has a... potentially unhealthy influence over national transportation. It is the opinion of some that a little competition might make them think a bit more closely about pleasing their customers, rather than just their investors. An economical means to bypass their rail lines might be just what's needed to keep them from puffing their chests out too much.”
“You're talking about an airship line, a national airship line, crossing the continent, not just providing service over the ocean,” Rulfen quickly concluded.
“You're quick my boy,” Bom said, slapping his leg. “A national airship line, powered by engines far more efficient than CS's rail steamers. That is our goal.”
“Using the engine developed by my father and the Greycoats,” Bel said.
“Exactly! Good for competition all around.”
“Not too bad for you, either, if it works out,” Rolas noted politely.
“Quite right my boy. I don't need to make a profit off of this... but I certainly wouldn't mind it either.”
Rolas bowed to him. “Arrange for that race, Viscount, and we'll give you one.”
“That is exactly what I wanted to hear, young man.”
TBC
