Prologue

"I've been waiting, Mrs. Daim."

A voice, deep and yet shrill, slides along the wooden slats of the hallway towards an elegantly dressed crone. Her eyes are slits, peering, attempting to define the strange angular shape of the man sitting away from her. His too-long legs crossed, while his hands worked mechanically in front of him by lamp-light.

"It would seem I had.. Underestimated the size of your abode, Gillihad--"

"Man Machine." He corrects her, neck twisting impossibly as he juts his chin towards her over the back of his ornate recliner.  "That is my name now, nothing else, Mrs. Daim. You will forget all other ways of addressing my person, is that clear?"

"…Yes, Man Machine." Mrs. Daim answers, testing it on her tongue, brows sinched as she cringes at the odd phonetical sound.

"Good, Goood." He says, throat idling on the 'oo' sound. "Now, about our arrangement.."

He sets something down, heavy and metal, before finally rising from his seat. He steps out, then around the chair, awkwardly. She can't see for the dark cast by the shadow of the chair, but Mrs. Daim can hear an ominous whirring and chattering from the motion.

He splays his hands towards her, then clasps them in front of a soot-stained coat. "Do you have it?"

As though she'd been entranced, she startles before quickly retrieving an item from her carrying case. Wrapped in canvas, she carefully holds it out.

His fingers, like spider legs, tap along the edges of the rectangular object until he has purchase. Mrs. Daim notes the metallic sheen, caught reflecting the same lamp-light that now outlined his unnatural physique. Were it hairs upon his head, or copper wiring? She couldn't tell.

Removing the canvas carefully, Man Machine reveals the packages' contents. A series of paintings, though they weren't more than paper visually without the light--yet his attention seemed drawn as though he could see them clearly. He let's out a breath, the most organic noise he'd made thus far.

"Beautiful." He utters, and something grinds at the back of his throat. Quickly, jarringly, he covers the images and slides them into a coat pocket. "Then it is set. You know what to do now, Mrs. Daim."

She nods, sending her shoulders back as she rebuilds some confidence. Almost a foot shorter than he, she'd almost forgotten her place and her namesake. He had presence, she'd give him that.

"Yes. I have already set things in motion. Our roots run deep in this city… it shan't be long before your name is heard in every conversation from here to Heaven's Mirror."

"Man Machine, that is, correct Mrs. Daim?"

Something twitches in her jaw at the correction. Her gaze turns sour and her lips perse.

"Yes, of course."