A place for those who feel outcast or forgotten by the steampunk community or in life. Grab a chair, have a drink, and have a jolly good time with jolly good company. There are people in the world who suck and this is an escape.
The underground life isn't for all be we are out there.
My name is Alex ,the owner, and I'll be your bartender
Along with Ara, the other bartender
And Simon, the Demon King Monkey!
Welcome to the world of steampunk, and If you are new we will gladly help you with anything you need. And check us out for whiskey Wednesday's, where whiskey is free.
There is an underlying story and/or parts there of, that is followed from the Airship Alicia Grey and The Airship Battle Royale. It is not the main focus of the Gear, but It does happen from time to time. The events are scripted at first, but remember your input changes the script.
This role-play bar, is a light hearted dose of fun. It has its serious moments but the Spirit of the Gear is about comradery, having some drinks, and experiencing everything and anything. The more veteran gear posters will help out the newer Gear Goers with any questions, or ideas.
The gear is designed to help develop your characters if you would like. Feel free to message T.R. Harrison, Arabella Porter, or myself, if you have any questions.
WARNING: HAS BEEN KNOWN TO CAUSE: LAUGHING, GOOD COMPANY, AND ALL AROUND FUN!!!
We have a skype room:
[Currently Under Renovation]
World's End(The underground of the RG)
DISCLAIMER: Chat is unfiltered and uncensored, join at your own risk and if you have an issue with it you do not have to participate. This is a back room off welcome. The rejected gear and all afiliated persons are not accountable for the skype chatroom.
An auspicious event is beginning to occur, old friends return and unite, new friends wander into the hollowed out tavern once a thriving hub of activity.
The door creaked as it opened, a layer of dust clouding into the air as Arabella Porter stepped into the Rejected Gear, gazing around with a look of blank disappointment crusted onto her face. This place seemed different with two eyes. Last time she was here she had two eyes. Last time she was here... there was so much to finish that sentence with but it all muddled together until she couldn't think of anything. She dragged her hand across a table, letting the grey residue cake onto her finger tips. Ghosts stirred with every squeak of every floorboard and every glance in every new direction. Every wink remembered, every bullet and laugh. How much of her blood had seeped into the cracks of these wooden planks? How much sweat? And where was Alex, whose entire being had soaked these walls and surfaces? She came to the bar and peered behind the counter. People had been there. Things were not as she left them save for a towel in the corner where she had clumsily dropped a bottle of wine and a glass she left by the sink that hadn't been cleaned. A knock on the door frame announced Dominique and the scurrying of something small and furry that had most likely been staying here without the bother of rent.
"Tell the crew we're not leaving London until I find everyone. Have our recent surplus loot sold and bring everyone here. We have some work to do." She said, staring at a bottle of absinthe that had been left out on the counter.
From atop the belltower of the Immaculate Radiance Cathedral, a lone, shadowy figure keeping watch over the dockside area of the Rookery notices a change of light around a rather dismal looking section. It's been awhile since his eye has been drawn in that direction. Descending carefully to keep within the shadows, the figure scurries from crate to dumpster and on until reaching a closer vantage point. Upon coming to rest nearby a familiar shop, soft noises giving evidence of movement within, the appearance of the stalker becomes suddenly apparent as moonlight breaks free of the cloud-cover. A set of feathered wings sprouting from a smallish, blue-hued primate in bellhop garb of vest-and-fez twitches in curiosity as he creeps closer to the door of said shop and hops up to a dusty window to take a peek inside.
Dominique was on her knees scrubbing the floor with Xiaxia and a few others while others organized and dusted and washed. This was a crew that spoke many languages and it needed to be neat by the time the Captain returned. Bottles were being organized, jokes were being made, groans as well from the more impatient personalities who felt no purpose in their current commands.
As always, she chose the route which passed the Rejected Gear, much to Solomon's bemusement. As always, a forlorn look passed over her features as they approached. For a moment, she frowned-something wasn't right. Something was different.
The doors were no longer boarded up. Light shone through the windows.
"Halt! Stop! Stop the carriage!" she cried out, much to the driver and Solomon's confusion.
"Didn't you hear me? I said to stop the carriage!" She stood, the carriage slightly rocking in her haste. She leaned out the front window. "I mean it. Stop. I need to look at something out there!"
The driver sighed and stopped. Brielle practically skidded out the door of the carriage, not even waiting for a helping hand. In her haste to complete her mission, she nearly tumbled head over heals due to the constricting skirt she was wearing.
She mumbled a curse and dashed into the doors, standing in shock to see an entire crew of people cleaning.
She blinked and then realized her fatal mistake-she had effectively vaulted out the carriage, took a sprint, and had a great shock all at once, while wearing a fully laced in corset.
She hit the ground.
"Ma'am, a woman just collapsed outside!" Ming shouted across the room. Dominique's eyes bolted up and she stood with Xiaxia in tow, and marched around hard working crew members to the door, opening it and gasping at the sight of her captain's long lost friend. Dominique gave Xiaxia a look and Xiaxia nodded in understanding. That was the best part about having her around: Dominique didn't have to speak to give her an order.
Solomon had stared for a moment, not quite sure what had happened, before stepping out of the carriage and dashing off in the direction Brielle had stumbled. He found her on the ground amidst a crowd of what looked to be, quite frankly, a bunch of pirates.
"Stand back, she belongs to me. I don't know what got into her.....must have been hysterical....not feeling well at all....." He frowned in genuine concern and felt for a pulse to ensure she was in fact alive.
"Yes, she just fainted....blasted corsets....look lovely but are not practical....." He scooped her up and started to walk backwards towards the carriage so as not to turn his back to a group of strangers that had obviously had something to do with his beloved's tormented past.
"HEY MISTER!" Dominique shouted, her accent a bit thicker than usual. But before she could say anything more, Arabella's pistol was against the man's head.
"I've shot much fancier folk than you in a shorter amount of time but because you're carrying her so heroically I'm going to give you a chance to explain why you're taking my friend into that carriage." She pressed the barrel into the back of his head with a glare. Xiaxia snickered but Dominique didn't dare make a sound. By this time, the crew had gathered at the windows. Faces from India and Tibet, Japan, and Thailand, Singapore, and Korea with a few European here and there. The dark amber crystal on her eyepatch shined in the warm light from the tavern.
"Captain Solomon Ashmore, United States Army." He nodded towards Brielle, "This lovely young lady, is my betrothed."
In a single deft move, he tossed her over his shoulder with one arm and flicked the gun out of Arabella's hand and onto the ground with the other.
"And who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of meeting today?"
Ara stared at him a bit dumbstruck. "That's not right." She said almost informatively. Xiaxia and Dominique had both drawn their weapons now.
"Women, arms down! Militaire Americain."
"Arms down!" Arabella said again, a little calmer and moved her focus back to Captain Solomon. This needed an explanation but first she had to answer his question. "We're mercenaries." He would never trust her if he knew she was a pirate lord. "Brielle is a good friend of mine but it appears much has changed since I last saw her." She finished her sentence almost in a whisper. "Sir-" She stopped hesitantly and gazed back to Brielle, unconscious over his shoulder. Was that a corset she was wearing? "Could I offer you a free drink in exchange for some information? And maybe as an apology for my gun at your head?" Xiaxia and Dominique relaxed and gathered back into the tavern where Dominique yelled orders at the others to keep cleaning. "We're in the middle of shining this place up but the liquor is good. Or wine."
He nodded and shifted Brielle back into a bridal style hold.
"I think a drink and some explanations on both sides could be very nice." He looks down at Brielle.
"And if you could perhaps......help her.....with her undergarments, that would be much appreciated. I think they might be constricting her breathing and she might come around faster if that weren't so..." He steps through the door. Arabella actually thought she might have seen a hint of a blush pass his face.
Arabella nodded in understanding after remembering her engagement to Gabriel and followed him inside. "I'm just going to take her to the back." She said, lifting her from his arms. "Not everyone speaks English here. But if you need anything, Xiaxia and Dominique will help." With that, she took Brielle back into the kitchen and laid her down on her back. "umm..." She turned her over to her stomach. "Right, the dress and then.." She turned her back on her back and undid the corset before looking through the drawers for that thing of smelling salts Alex used to keep back there somewhere.
Meanwhile inside, Xiaxia and Dominique stood across from Solomon, both leaning on the counter and staring at him with a blank look of apathy.