A/N: Thank you very much to all who have reviewed, faved, and/or followed so far. I am doing my best to practice and improve my writing this year, and every word of praise to keep me motivated or critique to keep me moving forwards is something I treasure more than I can say.
The line-up for tickets taught Helen Magnus three things. First, that Henry must have a remarkable ability to separate work and recreation. Every few seconds she jumped at what had to be some exciting and potentially dangerous new species, only to find it was a person covered in spray paint or prosthetics. She'd spoken to many beings in the abnormal community who enjoyed this sort of popular culture conventions as a chance to blend in for once, but seeing it in person made her realize just how true that was. Even she couldn't tell at a glance if some of these people were other than human, which was nerve-wracking to say the least. How Henry did this for fun was beyond her.
Secondly, Henry's assessment of the challenge this would pose was also spot on. To the untrained eye, the Praxian device would blend in perfectly with the strange aesthetic these people seemed to be set on. If Benjamin had brought the artifact along then despite the fact that it was over three feet in diameter, no one who saw it would be paying it much notice.
Thirdly, and she hated to admit it, Tesla was at least partly right as well. Most of the attendees seemed to know very little about actual Victorian attire. Some of the fabric choices were odd, you'd never pair good lace with cheap velvet like that, but the most pervasive problem was the undergarments. Nearly all of the women (and some of the men) were wearing theirs over top of their dresses.
"Why did we ever let the corset go out of style, Helen?"
"Because they were an instrument of torture."
"Did you keep any of yours? I always had a thing for that red dress you used to wear, the things it did to your... waistline." The crowds had forced them fairly close together, and his wandering eyes made it clear this was not the body part to which he was referring.
"I can still shoot you, you know."
They got inside and made it to the staff desk without much hassle, save for the occasional pause when someone asked to take Tesla's picture. His suit wasn't that dated, but it was more Victorian than half the outfits people were wearing and apparently that was enough to mark him as a costumed attendee. Most of those who asked were women, and Magnus could see his already enormous ego swelling even as he had to politely decline. Every world government thought that he had died (again) in the Sanctuary's destruction, and however small the chance that he'd be recognized there was no sense leaving photographic proof to the contrary.
Small mercy, Benjamin had just gone up to his hotel room to change. Magnus dragged her old friend away from the rather attractive young lady behind the staff desk so they could catch up with him before he was back amidst the crowds.
Henry had dug up all the information he could find on Benjamin Pennell as soon as they'd found out he'd won the auction, so Magnus recognized him almost immediately from his profile photo. On his social network accounts he looked like your average white collar worker, just a little plump around the edges from an easy life with slowly balding hair and modern but unassuming glasses. He was thirty four, and he worked as a certified accountant. Now, standing in the hallway of the third floor of a nice hotel, a black top hat was covering his small bald spot. He was wearing a nice, but poorly fitted three piece suit in brown and white, with a row of antique vacuum tubes sewn onto the front. What really stopped Magnus from spotting him right off was his awful fake moustache, black despite his brown hair. Regardless of his appearance, the man wore a huge grin and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely as he used the mirror in the hallway to adjust his cravat.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Pennell?" said Magnus.
"Oh, are you with the volunteers? Tell them I'll be down in a minute." He had the same friendly attitude his mother had towards strangers, it seemed. If only every investigation could be this easy.
"No, we're not with the convention I'm afraid, we-"
"Oh, the press!" And his mother's habit of jumping to convenient conclusions, thank goodness. "You're a few hours early, I wasn't expecting you just yet. I'm still getting my costume together, I'd like it to be just right."
"Made it yourself?" Tesla asked. He made it sound innocent enough, but Magnus recognized a veiled insult from him when she heard one. Now that pretty women in revealing costumes were out of the picture, the vampire had gone back to his usual policy of looking down on everyone and everything that wasn't him.
"It's very nice" added Magnus. They needed this man's cooperation to retrieve the artifact quickly, no sense starting off on the wrong foot.
Fortunately, Benjamin took the compliment and ignored the jab. "You like it?" He spun in place, showing off a rather poorly embroidered lightning pattern on the back. "I'm Nikola Tesla!"
