Like everybody else in the building, Alice is stood outside when she hears the explosions. She startles at the noise, casts round to make sure nobody is hurt. When she’s satisfied there are no physical injuries, she looks at the now remnants of Astor Innoventions HQ, sliding into the Volis.
Including the archives.
She feels a headache coming on and closes her eyes for a moment. This requires a great deal of liquor and her home is close enough to walk to. Plan made, she heads up the street.
If she had not done so, she might have seen two somewhat familiar figures across the street in front of the coffeehouse, one of them putting some sort of straw-like contraption to his mouth. By the time anybody realizes anything is amiss, she is too far away to hear Mr. Astor or the crowd.
She enters the house, locking the door behind her, and heads straight to the cabinet in the drawing room. The good whisky today, because it is necessary. She splashes a generous amount in a tumbler and takes a gulp. It’s quite disrespectful to the drink, but she thinks she’ll be forgiven because circumstances.
She sighs and takes more measured sips, trying to calm down. Everything is up in the air now. Everything.
“Buggering shitting absolute godsdamned fuck!” She kicks the footstool. It absorbs the blow serenely, which is extremely not cathartic.
"Alice? Why are you home so early, dove?" Peter comes in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. It's his day off, so he's been making dinner, some ridiculously complicated all-day affair. (She never knows what it's going to be, but it's always delicious, put together with care and love.)
Despite her mood, she can't help but smile. It's been about six months since the other incident at Astor HQ, which led to Peter entering her life in a more significant way. They'd been circling round each other for far too long, and what happened was the kick in the pants they both needed. She is grateful for it every day, from the moment Peter kisses her good morning to when she curls up against him at night.
(They're saving up for a bigger house. Her—their current space isn't big enough for a family.)
She sighs. "Darling, I'm afraid I have some bad news. Would you like a drink first?"
—
The Pickled Bear, for some reason, has a private room. Alice figures it's a smart way to get even more money out of the employees who frequent the bar, affectionately called Astor HQ South.
So it is a little ironic, she thinks, that the only occasion she's had need of it is when she is no longer an employee.
The door is cracked a bit when she arrives. There are two people sat in the room already: a man with a handlebar mustache and a tall, muscular young woman.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" The man, Edvard Lumiere, says.
"Quite a bit," Alice replies.
"Sorry about last time, by the way." The woman, Zillah Bruiseau, ducks her head, contrite.
"I know it was just business, my dear." Alice reaches over, gives Zillah's hand a pat. Overly familiar perhaps, but the poor girl looks so guilty. She smiles at this, her face a little brighter.
"So what's the occasion, that you wanted to speak to us?" Edvard asks.
"Obviously you must be aware of what happened." She does not need to say what; their eyes flick in the direction of the former HQ site. "I want in."
"I'm sorry, what?" Edvard blinks politely.
"She wants to join the Hobbyhorses. Keep up," Zillah says. Alice smirks.
"I figured out that much," Edvard's tone is a bit peevish, but also fond. It reminds her of how she talks to Peter when she knows she's being teased but refuses to acknowledge it. "But why?"
"Well, I'm out of a job, for starters."
"But there's money from Astor." Edvard is confused. "He's a rat bastard but even he can't take people's livelihoods away like that."
"Do you know what conditions one must agree to before that money is handed over?" Edvard and Zillah both shake their heads.
"Nondisclosure agreements. Anti-disparagement contracts. Usually they're signed upon commencement of employment, but if one's not on file you're definitely going to fill one out before they give you even a ha'penny."
Edvard still looks confused. "That explains why there's been no tell-alls about how Astor is a stupid talentless hack. But surely all that must be at the bottom of the Volis by now?"
Alice laughs, but it's a mostly humorless thing. "There is very little a company will not do to make sure its grip on its workers is firm. Storing copies of important information off-site is trivial in that regard."
"She'll get along with Lilith, that's certain." Zillah says, grinning. Alice knows of this Lilith, as she is another member of the… organization, but was unaware of her egalitarian sympathies.
"As I was saying. I am happy to assist, but I must have a way to replace at least some lost wages. I hope that is an acceptable condition."
"We'll have to check with El—our patron, but I don't anticipate it will be an issue," Edvard says.
"So what's in it for you, then?" Zillah asks.
"I have never been impressed by Astor. He has always struck me as too enamored of himself, relying on the work of others to gain recognition."
Edvard gets practically gleeful at this, and Zillah rolls her eyes, but fondly. Alice raises an eyebrow.
"During our… visit, I had the opportunity to, ah, browse through some of Mr. Helcker's files. Astor had him keep tabs on all the young inventors in Volisport, and it was clear many ideas for his products had been stolen from these people." His face gets dark. "I've been sitting on this, because he has so much influence. But it appears there is a rare weakening in his position."
Alice frowns. She's had suspicions over the years, the way Astor held fairs and competitions to find Volisport's brightest; who were written up in the papers, and sometimes were hired. It did not escape her notice that the inventions mentioned more often than not ended up as new products, whether the person was hired or not.
“I may be able to assist you in finding reporters willing to investigate this matter further. If I still had the archive it would be trivial to find corroborating evidence, but—" She finds she has to stop and take a breath because she’s shaking.
“Are you all right?” Zillah asks, her eyebrows furrowing in concern.
“No, I rather don’t think I am.” She tries to keep her voice as even as possible, but she can hear the tremble in it.
“Would you like to talk about it?” Edvard’s voice is solicitous, gentle in a way she does not expect.
“That fucking prick!” She bursts out. “That self-centered gods-damned egomaniac! Does he have any idea how many people’s work he destroyed? They expected it all to be there waiting when they left the building, and now it’s gone, all gone.” She rubs her temples.
“Hey.” Edvard covers her hand with his own. It is oddly grounding. “We can’t retrieve what’s gone, but we can make sure he pays for it. Any information you can provide would be most welcome.”
“I shall think upon it. I trust you know how to find me?” They both nod.
She gets up from the chair, their business concluded. Before she can move to the door, Zillah stands up and calls, “Wait.” She crosses the short distance between them, grasps Alice’s hand, squeezes.
“Welcome to the team.”