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Earth Victoriana: The Face of Politics


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Carrie sat in her chair sideways, her legs hanging over the armrest with the local post in front of her nose, she glanced at the thing from the corner of her eye before she went back to the newspaper,

"I assume we're sending him to see the Luddites because of the history there, so he'll probably need to look like one of them. They may be moving up the ranks, but I doubt they dress like that."
She flipped through the paper, reading the details of all the articles,

"As for me, I think I'll pop in on one of the politicians that haven't been caught with the pants down. So probably just dress me as some generic help, and I can keep an eye out for the when and how of when he falls see if there's something happening."

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Cannonade took a look at the penguin suit. There was a part of him that wanted to try rocking the formalwear, but that would likely have to wait for another time. Like, say, his wedding. Or someone's wedding, at least. 

 

"What she said." Cannonade started scanning the wardrobe, and went instantly for the armoire that looked like it was carrying leftovers from a Dickens production. "Last time I was here, I dressed up like any other kinda laborer you'd see on the street. Gave me a real in. And, if Ludd's trying to play politics, it'd give the workers something to identify with a lot more than anything he'd have to wear to get in with the Parliament crowd."

 

A few minutes later, his regular costume was safely stored away in a bag, and Joe looked ready for a day's work on the docks. Or the factories. Or the railyards. Or anywhere, really, as long as it wasn't a gentleman's club. "All right," he said. "Let's go win some hearts and minds." 

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GM

 

M shut his paper and inspected Cannonade. 

 

"Excellent. You look just like a pleb. If you could manage to effect a sneer and induce a dim witted parley, then you would be the perfect Luddite. At least the Cannonites seem to have some vestigial intelligence to them. The Luddites are little more than angry ruffians" he said with some contempt shining through his pleasure at Cannonade's disguise. 

 

"Well, the resources of our ministry are, as ever, at your disposal. This is an undercover operation, however, I wouldn't go around with exploding umbrella's or poison tipped lapels. Just a suggestion, of course..." he said airily. 

 

"Now, my suggestion is to inflitrate the Snooty Fox. I doubt Ned will be there himself, but its where they hang out. I rough and unpleasant watering hole in Deptford, by the docks. Our noble seamen seem to have more than a passing support for the Luddites". 

 

"Of course you may wish to knock on the door of Mr. Alfred Fields, the Luddite candidate for deptford. Or, for that matter, Sir Poncenby, the fool who got caught in the opium den. Or the opium den itself, of course. Or even face your adoring crowds of the Cannonites, see what they have to say..."

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"Don't forget the make up."

Carrie was sorting through some kitchen worker outfits, sort of drab colored, but skirted with an apron,
"Yellowing for the teeth, some dust. This is a time before standardized dentistry and laundry mats."

She went through the outfits,

"So as I said, who hasn't run there campaign into the ground?"

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GM

 

"Several people. So far" explained M. 

 

"But my suspicion is that it is only a matter of time. Some of these individuals have things that could be exposed. I know of their indiscretions but am disinclined to expose them. My job really" he explained. 

 

"Some, and regrettably few, are as clean as the proverbial whistle. Outstanding gentlemen. Now, what concerns me most I suppose is if one of these fellows ended up in this mess. I suppose the most obvious target would be Sir Earnest Pennyworth. Thoroughly decent fellow, campaigns tirelessly for the colonies. Well liked. Loved even. Tipped to be the next PM. Went to Eton with him. Terrific batsman" he said, his face beaming at the recollection. 

 

"Why he made two centuries against Durham in the under 18's, you know. Fellow like that, can't be bad!" he said, grinning. 

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"Got it then,"
Carrie started thumbing through her stuff,

"Where and when does he like to hang? How many people does he employ, and how many residences does he own?"
She pulled out another paper,

"And, what do all these folks have in common besides tripping over there words. I'll stick to the boy scout, see where and when he falls. Cannonade infiltrates luddites, and we, well how we keeping in contact. Got any cross town earpieces for us? I mean, you can do it across dimensions."

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GM

 

"Indeed we can!" replied M full of self worth. "The Royal Society for Metaphysical Engineering has proven most helpful to the Ministry of Extraordinary Affairs" he explained, handing them both a small copper trumpet with a wind up handle, and elegant spring. 

 

"We call this an Tele-etheric verbaliser" he explained. "Wind up here, speak here, and insert this in your auditory orifice" he explained, pointing to the various ends of the device. "They are attuned to each other, so you can easily communicate. What splendid contraptions, eh?" he smiled. 

 

"You may wish to try the Gentleman's club The Sterling. A lot of politicians hang around there. Often pickling their brains in the finest port. I can get you in, although women are of course not permitted as guests. A waitress or so forth could easily be arranged. I am sure Madam Redpowder has something in your size and with suitable cut!"

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Cannonade rubbed the grit on his teeth and the dust on his face, trying to adjust things until he was sure he looked like one of "the great unwashed." He knew he was trying to put up a front, but it still felt weird to try and put on this facade. At least I'm doing it in the name of being honest... man, that sounded a lot less weird before I put it into words. 

 

"All right, got it," he said. "She's gonna be infiltrating high society in the kinda places where I wouldn't make it as a dishwasher, while I'm gonna go deal with the angry mob. Always loved a good angry mob. Is there a secret handshake I should use? Any hot button issues I should be discussing in the name of fitting in? Besides, you know, 'heavy industry bad, feelings of impotency good.'" 

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"They're aren't really ones for hot button issues, from what I've heard they're just working class stiffs making rioting under a charismatic patron who gives them a quick temporary outlet for their rage against the upper class."
Carrie sat herself in a chair and waited for Redpowder to find the right outfit,

"Mind you, it's not like it's not justified. The gap between the poor and the wealthy is exceptionally larger then where we're from, and the ability to move between the classes a much more difficult leap. There's also no social security, or social services beyond a couple of orphanages. This isn't exactly a dystopia, but it's not like the society is helping to prevent the formation of extremists like the Luddites."

Carrie turned her head to look at M,

"And I know the Cannonites are considered to be rather civil, but how much have they actually managed to get done in terms of labor reform? I'm sure there's several parties that are exerting heavy pressure to hinder them as well because of the fear that such regulations will lighten the contents of their pockets."

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GM

 

"Hot issues? Well, I don't think the Luddites need much encouragement to get hot. Any discussion on factory conditions or unemployment will do. You could throw in the Clapham Power Station if you wish, its just being upgraded courtesy of the Institute for Metaphysical Engineering and of course the Luddites are up in arms about how the extra power will create more factories and less jobs. If you want to get on their good side, just spit at that and poetically muse on the virtues of crawling around in the dirt eating earthworms and taking an annual bath in cold water without soap" said M, words caustic. 

 

As Redpowder dolled up Carrie in a respectable ankle length skirt, a maid's outfit, and a splendid one at that, he continued. 

 

"The Cannonites have been successful, to a degree. Not that the Government needed much pushing, to be honest. Everyone knew working conditions were far from ideal, and it just needed some impetus to make conditions better. Wealth is more fluid now, although Class remains ingrained. There is coninual pressure to get the colonies like India more of a vote and power, although it is a headache in terms of power and politics.,,,"

 

"And now you two both look ready!" he clapped his hands in encouragement. "Madam Redpowder, you have excelled yourself as always! all that remains is the mission!"

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The mission. That was one way to think about it. Cannonade took a look at himself in the mirror - taking in the delicate application of grit and muck, the assembled clothes that made him look like any other stiff on the assembly line. Last time he was here, he was supposed to lurk in the background, try not to make a fuss, and just fix things as easily as possible. Obviously, that hadn't been in the cards. And now, it was time to go out and be as bold as possible, and to try and take the wheel - only without driving the car into a brick wall. Couldn't be that hard. And hey, it was good to know that something was being done about the situation. At least he wasn't running the risk of making a bigger mess for nothing.

 

"All right," he said. "Let's go talk to the man on the street." 

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GM

 

Later, at the Sterling...

 

Sir Earnest Pennyworth, Whig Party sat in his favourite chair drinking his favourite drink and reading his favourite paper. Which were, in order, a battered leather chair of excellent comfort and a musky smoky aroma, a stiff gin and tonic, and the Times. 

 

Sir Earnest penny worth was rotund and did not care one whit. He was bald, with deep set black and intelligent eyes, an excellent jacket, and a monocle that sparkled slightly. 

 

"Now then Madam" said the Head butler, a tall thin rake of a man who was crispness and velvet rolled into one. "M owes me a favour for this. If you ruin the reputation of this establishment, I'll have him ejected from the club, on the grounds of ungentlemanly behaviour ill fitting a gentleman" he sneered. Despite his manner he had been as helpful as he could. 

 

"The old rascal Poncenby is fond of his Gin. Too fond, if you ask me. I have had to wake him up several times from his habit of drunken snoring. Still, respectable as they come, in his own manner..."

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GM

 

And at the Snooty Fox...

 

Deptford was a rough part of London in this dimension. Home to men of the sea, women of the night, and slaves to the poppy. It had a multitude of ethnicities from around the globe and empire stuffed into the area, which was not privy to much investment in housing, security, or services. 

 

The Snooty Fox was unquestionably a Luddite pub, with Luddite security. It faced the Thames and was recipient to some rather unpleasant factory smells drifting from across the river that no doubt served to increase their fervour. Inside however, was a haven from such noxious vapours. It was smoky, it was dark, and it was drunken - all of which served to mask out the outside world and its aroma's. 

 

Outside, two enormous men with arms as thick as most men's legs stood outside in flat caps and coats, swigging from beer bottles and eyeing up who came in. 

 

The Snooty Fox clearly had its own type of police force...

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  • 2 weeks later...

Joe approached the front door, trying very hard to fit in. It wasn't that hard - there was usually a strong sense of swagger that came with this type of establishment. The echoes of a hundred basement parties and hardcore shows rung through his head, and the posture was easy enough to adopt. It came with the general, worn-down sense of rage at the world, of wanting to just reach out with your fist and break something in a satisfying fashion. Of course, it was now his task to make sure that such anger could be directed more creatively. 

 

He walked right up to the doormen, his expression just pissed off enough to say he belonged there but not pissed off enough to say he wanted to start something with someone. "Here for the meeting," he said, trying to keep the accent balanced. 

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Carrie dusted her hand off on the side of the skirt of the servers outfits. She wasn't fond of working in skirts, but she hardly had a choice,

"I'll be fine,"
She said it in her normal accent, but then switch,

"But if any of those drunken blokes pinch my bum, you won't need any help throwing them out on their cans."

She adjusted her posture, from her usual casual slouch to a straight alert position. Her hands were folded in front of her, and she smiled a practiced smile of someone who worked in the service industry. Picking up a bucket of ice, she walked forward, her stride straight and confident, but also silent to not disturb the guests as she navigated and found her way to Poncenby,

"Will you be needing some more ice sir?"

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GM

 

And at "the Sterling"

 

"Wha--wha---hrumph phaa...." said Sir Earnest Pennyworth who had been resting his eyes, it seemed. 

 

"Ah yes...Ice...Jolly good idea, what what?" he said pulling himself together. He pulled down his glasses to inspect Carrie. 

 

"Are you new here, girl? I don't recognise you. And I think I know all the staff here..." he said, folding his newspaper up and carefully putting it down. He slowly reached over to offer his whiskey glass. 

 

"And another dash of this, please. Have to lubricate the old vocal cords. Got a meeting with some guttersnipe journalist later on today. I'll need to be refreshed for that meeting.." he explained, words dribbling out of his blubbered lips without any containment. After a day in politics, all restraint and diplomacy, the Sterling was a haven where one could unbuckle ones tongue. 

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Carrie gave a polite smile,
"Yes sir, just moved into the city. Not much aware of the political atmosphere, just know there's work."
She took a piece of ice and put it in her cup then took the flask up,

"You may wish to freshen up sir,"
She poured his glass up halfway,

"Would you like a towel so as to wipe any excess drool from your short doze?"

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Lord Pennyworth frowned deeply. 

 

"I say, I say" he said leaning forward. 

 

"Do I detect a tone of impertinence young lady?" he asked, drooling slightly. He brought out a monocle and pushed it into his left eye, proceeding to a gripping frown. 

 

"I say...you are knew here, are you not? Yes..i believe you are! New staff? I don't think you will last long here with that lip, young lady. Not long at all, I say. Especially if I say..."

 

He may have been half asleep and too partial to alcohol and drool, but he was no fool. 

 

"You aren't some damn Luddite are you?" he asked in an offended tone. 

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"Not quite sure what you're meaning sir, just an observation."
She smiled, her teeth yellowed a little, but still quite all there,

"You can't exactly have me fired on the grounds of noticing stuff."

She leaned in,

"And the fact is sir, you'll be needing that towel. I could get you a mirror if you'd like to be checking your appearance."
She glanced around,

"And, as another observation, I don't think I'm half as foolish enough to be pal'in around with some workers who think taking a sledgehammer to their problems gonna do anything more then just land them in the pound."

Edited by Aoiroo
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GM

 

"That's the spirit, I say that's the spirit!" he said, curling his fist in encouragement. 

 

"Damn savages. Here we are, pride of the world, pioneers in engineering and science, and we have those clog-wearing, beard-sprouting, inbred maniacs demanding we go back to a world before the wheel or fire. Insanity!" he blurted. 

 

"And the cheek of it! running for government! What is the empire coming to! They are even ahead in the polls! I wont stand for it! The rotters won't have the best of me!" he said, gaining animation with every proclamation. 

 

"I got a letter through the post box only yesterday, threatening me with violence, I tell you! well, I went straight to the police. But what can they do with an anonymous threat letter other than to post an extra bobby on more doorstep?" he said, oozing frustration. 

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"Misdirected anger more likely,"
She walked away and returned with a towel, and a hand mirror,

"People looking for an outlet to pent up frustration. Men taught at a young age to solve their problems not through words, but through action, however, limited schooling and resources makes them think violence is the only course. All that was required for this movement was someone charismatic enough to fan the flame of violence since they could not attack the actual source of their struggles directly, they go for the next best thing, lashing out at advancements they should be adapting too instead of resisting."
She took the bucket and grabbed more ice,

"But then, that is just another observation sir."

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  • 3 weeks later...

GM

 

"By the Good Lord Vishnu, girl you have quite a lip on you!" spluttered Pennyworth, raising his voice so that the other dozing politicians and circling political satellites who were "resting there eyes" awoke. His drink sloshed and spilled in his glass. 

 

"The impertinence! Well, I never heard such a thing! And my vexation is doubled by the fact you may just be right!" he said, slamming his fist on his rubbery knee. 

 

"Well, let's hear it then, Girl. Don't hold your tongue now you have spilled it from your lips. Truth is, I wouldn't mind a bit of honest Englishwoman's wit, true to heart if dulled of education" he said, spewing compliment and spitting insult in the same sentence. 

 

"I'm either lapped by sycophants or threatened by Luddites. I don't know which is worse some days..."

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GM

 

Meanwhile, at the Snooty Fox...

 

Cannonade barely got a snort from the heavy outside the Snooty Fox. Just a nod inside. 

 

Inside threw no great surprises at Cannonade. It smelt of beer, and sweat. Steam pipes, ran across the ceiling, emitting a warm glow to an already warm interior. The pub was packed, full of workers - men and women - who were largely drunk, and largely rowdy. 

 

There were a few men and women served, but the gravity of perception drifted towards one man, the publican, Little Bill. He was not, it must be said, little. He was well over six foot and had a girth that rolled with fat. His face was podgy, red, with serious eyes and laughing belly. 

 

As Cannonade surveyed the scene, he saw two pairs of eyes on him. Workers, grim and staring, whispering to each other whilst surveying him. 

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Carrie raised an eyebrow at the man,

"You may not even be rememberin' this much with how much you're putting down sire."
She put another ice cube in his drink,

"Them Luddites are a product of their environment surely, but what you describe sounds like there may be much more to them lately then just men angry at their draw in life."

She held the bucket,

"It's easy to be underestimating those with less schoolin', or with less folks looking out for them, but that creates an atmosphere of desperation that can cause normally sane men to turn to very drastic means."

Letting out a sigh,

"You may want to watch yourself sire."

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GM

 

Lord Pennyworth stood up - with speed if not steadiness - and shook a fist. It was not at Carrie but at the universe. 

 

"Blaw. Let them come, damnation and embuggerance to the lot of them! It will be a cold day in Hell when Lord Pennyworth blubs his guts and fails his mettle because of a scrum of jumped up scallywags with nothing better to do than wave a stick and blow a whistle!" he proclaimed, demanding the attention and acknowledgement of all. Indeed, there was a chorus of "Hear hear" and "What ho" mumbled under semi-sozzled breaths and elegant moustaches that echoes around the Sterling. 

 

"Damn rotters, the lot of them! Ill show em, you see if I don't! Get my hat!" he clicked his fingers at the doorman and proceeded to stomp out of the club. 

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