ON HIATUS || PLAGIUM'S SEQUEL
Afternoon tea, walks about the garden...and a ride on a mechanically powered steam-carriage? Enter the regency steampunk world of Plagium!
We rejoin Tracey Higgenbottom as she explores the steampunk countryside of Dnal...
Gearshend Manor was as grand as Tracey had expected it to be—its interior being as impressive as its exterior. Despite its grandeur, however, she found herself unable to admire much—if any—of it.
Constant led her through halls and zipped through doorways, hurrying at a dizzying speed through the manor. Soon, he stopped in a small sitting room. "Wait here, miss," he said. He bowed and slipped out of the room.
"What's all this rush?" she said to herself, breathless. I thought they would take me to their parlor, not on an accelerated tour of the building! she thought as she caught her breath.
Tracey observed the plush room as she perched on the edge of a seat, her eyes flitting from the ornate moldings to the elaborate, large rugs. A grand fireplace resided at the end of the room, flanked on either side by towering doors.
One of the doors silently opened, revealing a man. He stood at an average height, not much taller than Tracey. He doesn't look like a butler, Tracey wondered, noticing his simple yet elegant gray attire. His short, curly hair was trimmed close to his head, and his dark eyes watched her inquisitively. "Good afternoon," he said, walking to her with small, brisk steps. "Ms. Higgenbottom?"
"Yes," Tracey said, straightening.
The man nodded. Returning to the doors, he stepped inside. "Ms. Higgenbottom has arrived," he said.
Upon the announcement, another tall man exited the room, muttered a few words to the shorter man, and, after seeing he left the space, turned to Tracey. "Ah, Ms. Higgenbottom," he said. "Glad you can join us."
The tall man's hair was as short and coily, its dark shade a complimentary hue to his ebony complexion. Tracey noticed that his clothes were remarkably more ornate than typical attire, its hems embellished with golden embroidery and fabric glistening in the warm afternoon sunshine. He smiled, his eyes alight with friendliness. "Please, come in," he said, gesturing to the room he had come from.
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Tracey's eyes adjusted as she stepped through the doorway, her attention immediately caught by the presence of several other guests in the space. They remained oblivious to Tracey's entrance, engaged in conversation or quietly sitting in seats. I don't recognize anyone, she thought. Why am I here?
"Now that we have Ms. Higgenbottom with us," said the tall man, "we may begin."
"Excuse me for my forwardness," Tracey said, warily eyeing the gentleman, "but begin what, exactly?"
"Why, the tour, of course!" he said with a bewildered smile. "Did Constant not relay my message to you?"
"I'll have a word with him later, Mr. Nidaye," the man who had announced Tracey's arrival said. Tracey blinked. So this is the owner of this place! she thought, observing Mr. Nidaye's face with renewed interest.
"Thank you, Harris," he replied. Turning to Tracey, he spoke. "I'm afraid I'll have to explain what this is about as we go," he remorsefully said with a polite dip of the head. "My deepest apologies, Ms. Higgenbottom."
