[right][h3][b][i][color=B100de]Master Plum[/color][/i][/b][/h3][color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color]
[color=B100de][i][b]Location: [/b][/i][/color]Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Western Door) -> Music Room (Northwestern Corner Chair)
[color=B100de][i][b]Skills:[/b][/i][/color] N/a
[color=B100de][i][b]Hit Points:[/b][/i][/color]  6
[color=B100de]≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎[/color][/right]

[i]
A collector's piece indeed,
Every detail exactly carved embed,
She spoke not to me or my friend,
Your viol whining, by your fiddle bow is led,
Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?
[/i]

It seemed to go well, flitting in and out as a fitting shadow. None of the trio had so far had reason for quarrel, a doctor, a musican, and a Casanova if such a lordly tramp could be called one. Would Master Plum find them eager to strike a compact? A deal where they would agree to a non-aggression treaty between all involved in a mutual understanding that they would prefer to stay away from the Lord of the Manor's wrath. But to do so so soon, was it wise to possibly implicate oneself as a person of interest? He had already isolated himself by his mannerisms, perhaps a blessing as to not entangle himself to heavily into the arms of possibly armed strangers. That said, to be alone in such a dilemma was also to be the hanged man pulling his own rope in self-harm...

[color=B100de]
"Poisoned are we but I know,
Music makes us an antidote:
One Lady rubs fiddle with bow,
Three gentlemen taking notes.
Miss or Madam if I may urge,
Play us not a fateful dirge."
[/color]

Sliding from the doorway and taking the near chair as the other men stood. Alas, Master Plum had snatched the seat in spite of the beaked doctor. Perhaps to take dominion of the corner chair away from one who would sit his derriere upon such a throne. For here he could watch all three more easily, turning his head all the slight left. His right blue eye icy and gazing at the lot, and the left green eye a mesmerizing shade of jade turned towards his bird. The raven on his shoulder hopping down from the master's perch and resting on a reclined falconry forearm.