Nothing went as planned, but that was entirely the way Miho liked it.
Jazz would groan about how much unforeseen circumstances and Miho’s trademark spontaneity cost their operation, but at the end of the day she would also admit things always worked out in their favour.
Still, Professor Newtbard Tresable was an ongoing source of disappointment and tribulation.
“So, you’re really doing this whole prompt response thing on my watch?” Miho muttered, sweeping down the hall of the Philosophicious Assembly of Preternatural Cognition. “Almighty Engineer, if that isn’t a mouthful.”
“Talking to yourself again, Arr Miho?” came a timely intrusion into Miho’s far too external commentary on naming conventions.
“Oh well, Inquestor Galleon,” she greeted pithily. “More often than not I’m the only one worth talking to.”
“You’re here to conference with your father I take it?” he enquired, ignoring the customary way in which she commenced conversation. “In light of recent happenstance, I cannot say I am surprised.”
“Happenstance?” Miho snorted in a most undignified manner. “You mean, surely, his drunken debauchment with First Sister Sarafine Duphonse of the Crytechnic Order and subsequent expulsion from the Sage Monument in naught but his pubic hair?”
“I was attempting to be tactful,” Galleon pointed out wryly, the charm of his modest smile not lost on Miho despite her adamant declarations to the contrary.
Her nose wrinkled.
“Not your strongest quality,” she admonished sourly. “Why are you here, or is yet another case of you chasing skirt?”
“You are so infrequently wearing a skirt, I thought it might make for a pleasant change,” he replied, lips forming something a little more roguish.
Clicking her tongue, Miho began again down the corridor, the inquestor to her left.
“In the interests of full disclosure, Arr Miho, I was pursuing links between Cardinal Duniel and the Palenthorpes, but Professor Tresable’s display of questionable judgement has caused the honourable dogmatist and his ilk to close ranks.”
“Palenthorpes again?” Miho sighed. “I am surprised you have not yet accused me of being in league.”
“Where in the ungreased menagerations is that wayward child of mi…” Professor Tresable grumbled, stomping out into the hallway with a brass-caged glowing shard of something in one hand.
“At least you’re wearing clothing this time,” Miho huffed, plucking the object from his hold. “Still inebriated though; I obviously inherited liver fortitude from Mother.”
“I am afraid I’ll have to monopolise the professor’s attention, Arr Miho,” Galleon asserted. “Official business of the Scholariate cannot wait.”
“I didn’t realise the Scholariate authorised personal crusades, Inquestor,” Miho snarked.
Yes. Snarked is an entirely legitimate mode of attribution.
“They do when provided evidence to warrant investigation,” he clarified, while Professor Tresable looked between the pair in confusion. “My superiors were easily convinced to approve further Palenthorpe inquiry when presented with trading dockets between your father and Markom Strom Brassen.”
Because this has to remain PG, Miho internalised all the explicit curses she might otherwise have inflicted upon those around her, uttering only this.
“Friggin’ Strom Brassen.”
Genre: Steampunk adventure
Permission to use: Yes (but this will appear in the story to which the characters belong - as yet unnamed)