legitidvleaks

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🎩 Nothing in particular I can get. It's a very dry month, unfortunately u_u

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🎩 The Matthias image is an updated version of this prior one!

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🎩 Sorry about the recent post delays! Currently getting over pneumonia, and was generally busy today.

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Journalist (Alice Deross) and Lucky Guy have upcoming high tiers.

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Margaretha Zelle (Dancer) Birthday Letter

Palette of Hope Brilliant, passionate, dazzling, and luminous—these are the hues she casts upon her future, illuminating every shadowed moment of her past. (Obtainable from the Dancer's Birthday event.)

Margaretha Zelle: Investigation Field Notes I

For Margaretha Zelle, it seemed her beauty was a far more lasting mark of identity than any of her many names. Whether she was called Natasha, Natalie, or Margaretha, those names slipped away—some vanishing into the misty waters of fishing villages, others lost in the roaring flames of fairgrounds. Those who'd met her could rarely say which name was truly hers. When people remembered her, it was almost always, "Ah! Yes, that pretty lady." Mr. Fiennes, proprietor of a certain pawnshop, remembered her just that way. It must be noted that Mr. Fiennes' establishment was hardly your typical pawnshop. Most of his wares were of dubious origin, and their "owners" had little intention of ever reclaiming them. More often than not, Mr. Fiennes served as a discreet intermediary, quietly passing such items along to the auction house. When Margaretha first walked through his door, he figured she was just another client. The item she brought to pawn was a hatpin. "That clearly wasn't hers," Mr. Fiennes remarked, his meaning unmistakable. "It was well-worn, but the craftsmanship and setting were of the highest order. Not the sort of thing a girl fresh from the sea could afford." At this, Mrs. Fiennes, who sat with us during the interview, bristled. "That hatpin was precious to her! Perhaps a family heirloom. She must have been desperate to part with it. What makes you so sure she stole it?" But Mr. Fiennes wouldn't budge. "Then why, when she returned with money, did she purchase that mink coat rather than redeem the hatpin? Not every girl from a fishing village is as innocent as you, my dear." This only served to further infuriate Mrs. Fiennes. "But didn't she come back again to redeem it? And weren't you the one who sold the hatpin before she had the chance?" Their argument grew heated, and at last Mrs. Fiennes stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I found her later by the riverbank, still fuming. That's where our conversation drifted back to Margaretha. From Mrs. Fiennes, I learned Margaretha had visited the shop three times. The first, as Mr. Fiennes mentioned, was when she arrived "smelling of fish." "She was brought in by one of our regulars—a handsome young fellow. You could see she took pride in her appearance. Her clothes were a bit worn, but spotless. She even wore lipstick, and she was lively." As Margaretha was leaving that first time, she noticed a coat hanging by the door—a style all the rage just then. "She asked if she could try it on. I knew she couldn't afford it, but something about her reminded me of myself, years ago, new to the city and full of hope. So I let her," Mrs. Fiennes said, looking out at the fishing boats. "She looked wonderful in it, and the young man told her so. She was thrilled and said once they made their fortune, she'd buy one just like it. He promised her she would."

The second time, Margaretha came alone. By then, the time to reclaim the hatpin had passed; it was now shop property. "But it was still there. Most people never come back for their pawned goods, so I was surprised to see her again." Mrs. Fiennes explained she was alone in the shop that day and not well-versed in the rules for pawning. She and Margaretha waited together for Mr. Fiennes to return. While they waited, Margaretha's eyes went again to the coat. "By then, it was out of fashion and, having been forfeited, much cheaper. I told her she could have it for a modest sum." As it happened, the price was almost the same as what she'd have needed to reclaim the hatpin. After a long pause, Margaretha decided to buy the coat instead of the hatpin. "She wasn't in the best spirits—there were shadows under her eyes. But when she tried on the coat, she lit up, just like she had the first time." The third and last time Margaretha came to the shop, she wore that very coat. Mrs. Fiennes recognized her straight away. "She was thinner and said she'd been very ill, but she seemed in good spirits, almost glowing. She said she finally had enough money to get back the hatpin." Here, Mrs. Fiennes sighed. "But, only a short while before, the hatpin had finally been sold at auction." Mrs. Fiennes was troubled by this, as she'd promised Margaretha earlier that, though the hatpin was forfeited, it hadn't sold and would probably remain unsold for some time. She'd advised Margaretha to buy the coat first and come back for the hatpin when she could. At first, Margaretha was clearly upset. But when Mr. Fiennes mentioned that the buyer was a young man who'd asked after the hatpin several times, something seemed to click for her. Her mood brightened, and she stopped worrying about the lost item. As she left, she offered Mrs. Fiennes a few comforting words. "Perhaps it's a good omen, madam," she said. "Perhaps, like that hatpin, my own life will find a new beginning."

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Charles Holt (Aeroplanist) Birthday Letter

Aeroplanist - Horoscope Aeroplanist's Horoscope Portrait. Obtainable from the Aeroplanist's Birthday event.

Likes: Quiet corners, beer, engineering books Dislikes: Arrogant people, uncontrolled situations

A Returned Letter

Mrs. Wayne,

Please accept my deepest apologies for the accident that occurred four months ago, and also for my silence as your husband's friend… an old acquaintance. I am sorry it has taken me several months to reach out to you after everything that happened. If you would be so kind, I would like to know how you and your children have been. I have been anxious for any word from you. I imagine your husband may have mentioned me to you. By now, I fear I may be someone you hold in contempt. You might well resent me for not speaking up to set the record straight, for choosing to remain silent when I should have acted. I must confess that on the afternoon you hurried to the construction company, I made a mistake—one that will shame me for the rest of my life. I have lived alone for many years, and after decades of solitude, I have always tried to avoid pain. Yet your husband offered me comfort through his genuine friendship. At the time, I had never felt so certain of anything, just as I once believed I could tell right from wrong. But in the end, I proved to be little more than a fraud, deceiving myself more than anyone. I slipped back into that old state of humiliation and cowardice. My own weakness kept me from admitting in person the role that reckless deal played in the accident, and it also kept me from finding the courage to write to you until now. It's difficult to confront the fact that I was indirectly responsible for Albert's death, but I can no longer go on deceiving myself. I have always acted against the very freedom I claimed to want, no better than a small, guilty cog in the machine. Albert was always so kind and fair-minded. He once showed me an old photograph of you and your two children. I remember hearing that your younger daughter was especially fond of holding onto little parts, screws, and the small toys I used to make. I do not expect your forgiveness. Still, I hope you might allow me the chance to make some small amends to you and your family. Over the years, I have managed to save a modest sum. I have no wish to intrude on your life, but I will send some money to you from time to time. Perhaps it might help your family, even if only in a small way. Please, I beg you, do not refuse.

All the best. Yours sincerely, Charles Holt

(Enclosed with the returned letter was a brief note, written in a different handwriting, regarding the previous tenants: The Wayne family's little girl had suffered a severe fever and did not survive the winter. Mrs. Wayne moved away not long ago.)

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Mike Morton (Acrobat) Birthday Letter

Angle of Happiness Happiness does not linger forever at the curve of a smile. (Obtainable from the Acrobat's Birthday event.)

Mike Morton: Investigation Field Notes I

Getting to know Mike Morton's past isn't an arduous task—he's something of a minor celebrity in town. Flipping through old newspapers, I found he'd made the main pages twice. The first time was an ad for the Hullabaloo Circus. There's Mike, grinning widely, with a short blurb about his firework act. Tricks involving chemicals were all the rage back when circuses were at their peak, and they had their own way of doing things, like always using the same suppliers. It didn't take me long to track down one of those old suppliers, Mr. Philon Deville. He remembered Mike Morton pretty well: "A generous customer—maybe too generous," Deville said, after thinking it over. What he meant was, Mike didn't care much about prices. Deville, who sees himself as an honest businessman, had tried to warn Mike—sometimes directly, sometimes with hints—that other sellers were overcharging him. "But Mike didn't mind. Old Billy's stuff was purer, Marlon's bottles sealed better, Roger's shop was closer to the circus—Mike always found a reason to go along with it." But Mike could also be really picky, which seems like a contradictory statement, but Deville had seen it himself: "There was a time Mike was working on a new act and ordered a batch of stronger acid from me." Deville pointed it out in his old ledger. "He'd ordered before, so I didn't notice this time he wanted a much higher concentration. I just sent him the usual stuff." Mike found out and came back furious. Deville didn't want to lose a regular, so he bent the rules a bit and got Mike some acid that was so strong it was almost illegal. Hardly anyone else wanted it, so the rest just sat there, unsold. "Didn't Mike come back for more?" I asked. I'd looked into his acts—they require a lot of acid. Deville thought for a bit, then said… "He did, but after that, he went back to the old formula. And not long after, that thing happened."

That "thing" was what put Mike Morton on the front page the second time, as the only survivor anyone could find from the Moon River Massacre. "He claimed all the unclaimed bodies. Sixteen in total." I found the foreman who handled the bodies at the funeral home on the east side. Years of hard work had left him a bit lopsided, but he was strong. He told me to just call him Foreman—wouldn't give his real name. "Usually, the police have already checked the bodies. All Mike had to do was sign and pay for his relatives. But he didn't…" The foreman drifted off, glancing toward the sunny window. "It was a bit creepy. I can still hear him… Aloysia, Marta, Joker, Lina…" That night, Mike stayed in the cold, dark morgue, pulling back every sheet, counting the bodies again and again. "Where did he bury them?" I asked. The foreman led me through the woods behind the morgue to a patch of grass. "He spent nearly all his money on those people, even borrowed some with my help." It was a small graveyard. Some tombstones had names, some didn't. The place was simple, but for most folks, it was a big expense to be buried here. "Did he ever come back?" I asked. "A few times. I think this one was his family?" The foreman pointed to the biggest headstone—Bernard Morton. "He always came on sunny days, stayed for hours. I usually left him alone. But the last time, he came to the morgue and asked me, 'Wasn't there a man with a limp among the bodies?' Strange question." The foreman looked puzzled. "He spent a whole night with those bodies—how could he not know?" From what I'd found, there was only one man with a limp in the Hullabaloo Circus—Joker. The foreman had listed Joker's name earlier, but there was no headstone for him. "So was there?" I pressed. "No." The foreman glanced around, then leaned in and whispered, "One man had a broken leg, but he wasn't lame." He mimed a chopping motion at his own right shin as he spoke.

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Various IJL/IVL

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🎩 Posts on hiatus because I have some type of flu... (⁠´⁠；⁠ω⁠；⁠｀⁠)

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🎩 Sorry about the delay! Only now had the time available to look over everything. Hope everyone is excited for the global anniversary stream on the 6th!

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[SPECULATION] Essence 3

S - Barmaid A - Geisha, Gamekeeper

Thief also has a new high tier that could be involved.

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Confirmed!

COA Champion skins may be Opera Singer and Forward.

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Matthias Czernin (Puppeteer) Birthday Letter

Puppeteer - Horoscope Puppeteer's Horoscope Portrait. Obtainable from the Puppeteer's Birthday event.

Likes: Dark environments, beef stroganoff, rainy days Dislikes: Strings

Some Torn and Reassembled Letters

As your friend, I truly feel happy for you—and for the Czernin family! You've always worried about your family's dwindling numbers and about having no one to pass on your craft to. Then Matthias was born. He reminds me so much of you as a child, showing talent at such an early age. More importantly, he is genuinely passionate about it. If there's any shortcoming, it's that while his ventriloquism is improving rapidly, his performances still feel too controlled; the puppets are nimble enough in his hands, but they lack a certain vitality. This is quite the opposite of how you were when you first learned the craft. Back then, you almost believed the puppets had souls of their own. Perhaps that's why you are now able to convey that sense of "belief" to your audience so convincingly. Young Matthias hasn't reached that point yet. I think he could use some training in stage presence—or perhaps some self-suggestion before he steps into the spotlight.

Czernin, you need to let him know: it isn't real.

They aren't real… are they?

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Ganji Gupta (Batter) Birthday Letter

Celebration The exuberant cheers and bright smiles have long faded from memory, becoming an unreachable ache along with the sunshine of days gone by. (Batter's 4th Character Day Exclusive Emote)

A Grease-Stained Note

To Mr. Gupta, You may recall our chance encounter during yesterday's exploration. I must admit, my sense of direction failed me, and I was unable to uncover anything of real value. However, from the thoughtful expression you wore as you departed, I suspect your efforts yielded better results. It is clear to me that you are driven by a sense of urgency. Information that may seem trivial to one of us could prove invaluable to another. As fellow seekers, perhaps we could improve our efficiency by exchanging what we have learned. If you are open to a discussion, please meet me at ten o'clock this evening in the room at the end of the second-floor corridor. I look forward to a meaningful conversation. (The last paragraph is heavily scratched out, but some words remain legible.) As a sign of good faith, I wish to inform you that among the documents I recovered, there are several pages of peculiar medical records. I believe these may be relevant to your interests. I sincerely hope that our conversation tonight can be founded on mutual understanding, so that I need not seek assistance from the other two gentlemen.

(On the reverse side of the note, there are many corrections.) Aesop Carl (crossed out), files, dangerous Victor Grantz (circled, then crossed out) Anne Lester (circled, not crossed out), partnership? …… Survive the night. Be prepared. Secure your passage. Go home.