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The rain came down from a dark sky, pouring from the evening clouds to slick down across roofing, dripping off of eaves and down walls, trickling down low to spread into the puddles, filling the gaps 'twixt cobblestones. The motions and movements of men were fleeting shadows, darting beneath the rain to try and escape its ire, newspapers held over heads as readily as hats to escape the brewing storm. Already, though, the first peal of thunder rolled up, booming from on high, a late-come herald to announce the flash of lightning that spiderwebbed across the clouds.

They called Mythal the Silver City, and with that flash of lightning it was all too obvious why.

The steel and glass of the towers in the city's core lit up with the flash of lightning, gleaming tall and proud in the distance, spires of silver that spoke of a better world and a higher place. Spoke of ambition, piercing the sky and the heavens, reaching up and beyond.

Another rumble of thunder shook the walls of the Brassheart, muted by the soothing notes of music that came from a battered box up on the bar counter, even as gaslight lamps flickered and wavered to cast their light upon polished chairs and tables of polished mahogany, on well-kept floorboards and painted walls. And, there at the bar, Circadian stood alone, polishing a glass already rendered as sparkling as Mythal's own spires. The construct was a silent entity without the blessings of company, but the cold blue of his eyes were turned toward the windows and the weather beyond, watching.

He always was.

She loved the rain. She always had. Chilled drops fell in sheets from the skies. Hair clung to her face and neck. Sopping locks were pushed out of her eye as she shielded the solitary orb from the sting of the rain. Teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she shouldered into the first door that represented a tavern.

Stepping in, slender fingers gripped thin arms. The creature was a rather pathetic looking little thing. One startling blue eye narrowed as her vision adjusted with the lighting inside the establishment. It was surprisingly empty. That is, aside from the sleek appearing tender whom stood so diligently polishing the glass.

Teeth sunk in a little deeper to her bottom lip as she shook off what moisture she could, and made her way to the bar.

Seera sat down just in front of the tender and offered him a rather toothy smile. She wasn't unaccustomed to interacting with the metal folk as she had so fondly come to call them... That is to say, as she so fondly come to call them in her mind.

"'Lo there Sleek."

Sleek, a play on calling him slick, of which he was both. It was both? No, no, he. It had a distinct masculine feel to it.

Sniffing, she swiped her arm across her nose and let her gaze slowly wander around the room. It was pretty, she had to admit. Classy, even. She suddenly felt out of place and awkward.

You see, Seera was a young thing, perhaps pushing seventeen or eighteen years. And in all of her many years, Seera had never actually visited a place so nice.

Throat working a moment, she collected what whit and nerve she could and turned to meet the irredescent blue gaze of the bartender. "Ah. Just a spot of hot tea?" Bone thin fingers dug into the pocket of oversized tan britches, and withdrew a small handful of copper looking coins. Off colored cheeks tinted in a blush as she realized just how much money she didn't have.

Glancing up to the tender once more, she slowly extended her hand and offered that oh so toothy smile that he would soon come to learn, was a trademark of nerves with the one eyed girl. "Uhh... I-is this enough?" The poor little unlearned sod. She couldn't count a lick.

A second passed, two, marked only by the steady hissing of rain 'gainst windowpanes, the softened rumble of thunder moving further off. Metal shifted, unseen gears and parts clicking and whirring, moving with a soft tick-tock like a mechanical heartbeat. Silk whispered, slipping across the construct's form as a blank face wrought in iron, steel, and polished glass turned to regard her.

It was a strange face that looked down at her, as it wasn't much of a face at all: beneath the glass there was a dark and coiling vapor, like the spawn of smoke and ink merged into one. It was from that darkness that cold blue eyes peered down at her, simmering against the hissing rain.

"Ah, little lady, in from the rain. Please, be welcome." The words come to the tune of the polished glass, clicking down against the polished counter, everything around her pristine save for Seera herself. And with a slow, careful turn, the man of silk and steel, iron and brass, turned toward where a stove was already simmering, kettle coming to a boil.

Was it always there? Of course it was.

"Three copper marks. Enough for tea, especially on a cold day like this."

The music box whirred on the counter, parts rearranging inside of it, mechanisms twisting by magic into a new configuration of strings and sigils. And, simple as that, another song began to play.

The coins were gone. Whe-

A cup clicked down in front of her, pale porcelain glimmering in the gaslight, cradled in a dark hand that fell away a moment later, forged fingers uncurling from the delicate handle with the care a child might afford a butterfly. A second, two, that steady tick-tock, and the kettle in his other hand was lifted at the exact angle required to pour.

Steam curled out, briefly masking the bottom of the porcelain cup, not a single drop being spilled.

Even as her hand remained outstretched had the girl nary a once noticed that the tender had taken the coins. She would have never noticed if he hadn't sat the mug down before her and poured. For a moment her mind was painstakingly trying to grasp the concept that... He hadn't reach for the coins at all? No, no now that couldn't be. Her single brow furrowed as she sat back on the stool a little and regarded the metal creature before her with a look of awed bemusement.

"D-di..." Glancing down at the mug she continued to look befuddled. "The coi-huh." Sometimes it was just best not to ask, maybe this was one of those times. She suddenly became aware of the fact that her mouth was slightly agape, and took that opportunity to cover it with a quick sip of the mug, hot hot tea burned her tongue for a brief moment. "Aaah!" Briefly shocked, her breath was sucked in sharply, as much to cool her mouth as it was from her surprise.

"Ahem. Sorry." She was quick to recover what little whit she could. Cheeks flushed darker, her lavender hide coloring a shade or two as she blushed. She felt terribly foolish at this moment.

Eye adverting from the tender, Seera stared into her mug, the few coins she had left were forgotten, sitting beside the saucer her drink rested upon. A few drips of water had slipped from her sodden hair and freckled the shining, glossy bartop.

Quick to notice this, Seera snatched her sleeve and attempted to mop up the mess before the metal man noticed. But it was a little late for that, now wasn't it? After all, those strange eyes, they saw everything more clearly than she would have ever known.

"S-sorry..."

There was a dogged expression on her face, she was horribly out of her element, now wasn't she?

"Ah, little lady," said the creature contained in metal and glass. "You should be more careful. What is your name?" The kettle was set down carefully, returned to the stove as it was left to cool off, and the music box continued to play, a wistful string of notes that drifted through the air of the near-empty bar.

"Do not be sorry," he said after a moment, with a tilt of the head that could almost be taken as kindly. He reached a hand out toward the puddle-

The song skipped a beat.

"D-di..." Glancing down at the mug she continued to look befuddled. "The coi-huh." Sometimes it was just best not to ask, maybe this was one of those times. She suddenly became aware of the fact that her mouth was slightly agape, and took that opportunity to-

"The tea is very hot, little lady." The words, soft and quiet, level as a mathematical plane, stilled the rise of the still-steaming cup. Those blue eyes of the bartender met her solitary one, as the music box settled into its second song.

"I would not wish for you to hurt yourself. You are a paying customer, after all. You should be more careful." The metal man reached out from beneath the counter, then, his towel offered her for her hair, still sodden from the rain and just starting to drip.

Tick-tock, went the mechanisms within the metal man, and he regarded her for a long moment in the lonely bar, before, and for the first time: "What is your name?"

'The tea is very hot, little lady.'

Seera blinked. Had this just happened? It had... Hadn't it? No, no, no... It couldn't have. She had just arrived there only moments before. Seera's mouth snapped shut audibly. There almost was a memory of... what? Her tongue being burned? Here? No. That was impossible.

For several seconds Seera only stared at the bartender. Her cup was still poised in mid lift, though it never quite reach her lips. Or had it? Her young mind reeled with confusion. She could have sworn this had happened.

'I would not wish for you to hurt yourself.'

Her gaze tore away from the metal man and slid down to the mug. She had the faint feeling of staring into that mug only moments before. But, he'd just given it to her. The cyclopian girl drew in a shaking breath only to find the towel extended to her. Dampened, chilled fingers took hold of the towel as she sat upright. There was something strange about this lavish and classy inn.

Her mug was sat once more on the saucer and the towel applied to her sodden locks. Not a single drop had touched the bar top. Or had it? For several seconds Seera toweled her hair as dry as she could. An appreciative smile touched her lips as she extended it back to the bartender.

'What is your name?'

"M-my name? Oh. Uhm. I'm Seera." Nothing more to add, she adverted her gaze. The few moments that she had been here, the young girl had felt rather... bewildered, to say the least. It was so very strange. So very surreal. Her hand snaked forth, toward a small honey pot to sweeten the aromatic tea she had. At least is smelled so lovely. She found herself anticipating the taste.

Red eyes looked to the sky as the first drops of rain began to fall. They blinked. He was never really bothered by rain, though it seemed this storm would be more then just a simple shower. Giving a slight growl, the odd man continued his way down the street. Had it been a simple shower, he would have continued on, but the ensuing downpour forced the 6'5" male into the nearest open door he could find.

This, of course, would be the BrassHeart.

He pushed the few wet, loose strands of his stark white hair behind his pointed ears. The few strands that had escaped the band binding his long hair at the base of his neck. The golden fur of his long tail was matted down with moisture, which he would flick in the air to throw off the dripping water. The glow of his solid red eyes glanced about the room. The tavern was rather empty, good.

He walked straight for the bar, taking a stool at the opposite end of the cyclopic girl. There he would wait silently for the mechanical man behind the bar to take notice of him. The white haired male was a patient man, so it would be no issue to him.

"Seera. A lovely name." The words sounded through the quiet confines of the bar, toneless and mechanical as they whispered over the clean counter, intertwined with the notes of the music-box and sounded strangely off the walls. There was an air of something holy to the Brassheart. Sacrosanct, was the word, like the entirety of the building had been bottled up outside of time, held safe and silent as the whole of the world kept moving around it.

At the center of it, standing behind the bar and with a gravity all his own, was the clockwork man, stepping and shifting, turning and tending with a glacial grace. He was like a genie in a bottle, as the very idea of him stepping beyond the boundaries of the Brassheart seemed one entirely foreign, impossible. The tea kettle was left set aside, steam curling out from its spout as it slowly cooled to something more palatable, and the man himself had moved to take stock of the row of untouched bottles, glittering upon the shelf.

"It is a pleasure, Miss Seera. Do you intend to stay the night, or only the storm?" The question came to the sound of music, that same song lingering as it shifted toward a quiet string of notes, far-off and sad.

The door opened again, the towering cause of such a thing earning a slow look from the blue-glowing eyes of the faceless construct, jointed fingers curling carefully around a bottle of red to pull it off the shelf. The winebottle was turned this way and that, cool glass inspected for dust as Mr. Shadows sat.

"A good evening to you, silent sir. Though a wet one. Welcome to the Brassheart."

Seera's cup was full again, the tea cooled to the perfect temperature, let sit for the perfect time.

The construct turned back to the bar, the lonely bottle put away amidst its kin as he dipped into the smallest of bows, the stately gesture seeming to take in both guests at once.

He didn't smile. He had no mouth to. He did not blink, nor did his tone ever change from that same, singular and level note. But all the same, there was a shift to his posture, a set to the hand that found his chest, just below the goldspun cloth of a bowtie. A change in weight, a placement of the lead foot and a steadiness to the back, a thousand small things easily forgotten that each could speak of kindness.

"My name is Circadian. How may I serve you today?"

That single eye studied this mechanical man with a fascination that bordered on awe. The feel to this place, this Inn, this... Bartender. It was almost unworldly to the little creature that sat with what seemed a magical cup of tea. A cup of tea that was never to hot or to cold.

That was yet another thing to add to the mysteries of the Brassheart. A thing that would soon draw her back again and again, should she have the opportunity and coin.

"L-lovely? That's kind of you." One might often ask if a mechanical construct had a soul. If one were capable of kindness and care. And in that very moment one (that one being Seera) was almost certain they did have souls, and they were kind. Or, at least, this metal man was.

She watched him for several seconds, not quite sure how to take him, initially. After a moment or two, her gaze was tore away as the door opened. That eye widened a fleeting moment as the strange man stepped within. It took in the red eyes and flaxen white hair, all the way to the tip of his golden tail. The little cyclops felt suddenly intimidated by the strangeness of this whole affair. The intense deja vu beset her by... well, had she been here before?

A quick breath drawn in, she turned her gaze away, directing it yet again to the cup that sat before her. Fingers extended, fingers that were still chilled wrapped around the warm mug. They soaked in the warmth of the porcelain. A breath was drawn as she lifted the mug up, that delightful scent catching her nose. Her eye dropped closed for just a moment. She drank in the aroma and then took a sip of the liquid itself. It was as wonderful as she had thought it would be.

That eye sneaked open, gaze cast sidelong at the white haired man and the tender. She watched them for several moments, curious as to how his initial interaction with this metal man would be.