[center][h2][color=808080]Richard Joyce[/color][/h2][/center]

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Richard stared at the mud and blood, gazing at the moonlit scene with a strange pit slowly forming in his stomach. Reaching for his cigarette case, he flicked the battered and worn metal open, retrieved a single, factory-rolled stick from it, and pressed it to his lip, a shudder easing its way down his spine. Snapping the case shut again, he reached for his lighter, as unusual as such a thing was, and struck at the flint.

The dim light did little to drive back the darkness. Cupping the infant flame with a slightly quaking hand, he brought it to the end of the paper, breathing in and drawing the flame towards him at the same time. The end of the cigarette glowed and curled and smoke filled his lung, the man finishing his deep inward breath and putting the lighter away in one smooth motion.

Exhaling, he turned away from the scene and began to walk onwards. It was none of his business. It was none of his concern. It was nothing to trouble himself with. The sentences wormed their way around his mind, utterly unconvincing in their rhetoric, and his fingers tightened around the metal of the lighter, the metal edge being slowly forced to bite into his fingers.

A few more minutes along the road, not nearly at where the coach was meant to pick him up, and he heard the clamour and clatter of a carriage. Turning, he watched the vehicle as it approached. A figure hunched tightly over the reins, driving the horses onwards quicker and quicker. If they noticed him, they certainly didn't act like it, driving themselves onwards without slowing, stopping, or even so much as a comment.

As the carriage passed him by, however, the ex-soldier was able to make out a blur of movement. A flash of light from within the coach, a splash of green and red, and then it was past him. Barely had it done so however, when there was the heavy knock of something striking the carriage roof. All at once, there is the frantic whinnying of the horse, the crack of its reins being pulled back, the grinding of the carriage wheels digging into the mud. 

And then it all stops. A few dozen feet down the path it stood like a great black beast, steam rising up from the hard-worked haunches of the horse. It snorted a little in between its pants, but aside from this small thing, the carriage was still and silent. Standing behind it, now thoroughly confused, Richard's thoughts were only more disrupted when the door was thrown open with a clatter.

The figure that leaned out of the doorway was large, broad-shouldered and broad-waisted, all but blocking out the light from within. He wore a wide, cheerful face, topped with a mess of bright red hair that framed an ornate gold leaf mask, underneath which were a pair of  red cheeks and a single beaming smile of carefully maintained teeth. The voice that traveled across the narrow gap was ooming. 

"I say, I thought I was seeing things, but there you are! Well met, sir."

Richard, who had brought a hand to his chest to keep his greatcoat from unceremoniously fluttering about in the slipstream of the vehicle took a moment to slip his own mask on. In comparison to the complicated affair the stranger wore, his was a simple opera mask that obscured everything above his nose with plain, expressionless white bakelite. It served its purpose, and little more. Reluctantly, he responded to the figure. "Well met to you as well sir. Have we had cause to know each other?"

The stranger's smile only grew wider, and for a moment, Richard felt a little uncomfortable, as if the smile was too wide.

"I doubt it, although these confounded masks mean I'd barely recognise my own mother!"

A booming laugh rang out, the sound of it echoing around them. 

"No, sir, it's your uniform I recognise. Did you serve in the war?" 

Richard's stance adjusted without thinking. "Yes I did sir. Corporal in the 3rd Infantry. You as well?"

"I am afraid I did not have the privilege. I did what I could to help... in my own way." For the briefest of moments there was a flicker across the man's face, his smile faltering, but it was only for an instant.

"Ah." Richard frowned, face concealed by the darkness. One of [i]those[/i] sorts. "Well then. I am Corporal Khaki." It was not a particularly inspired name, but then again, why draw further attention to yourself than needed? Speaking of which, travelling with this individual was a poor idea. Too many things could go wrong, and Professor Green hardly seemed like a trustworthy individual.

"But sharing old war stories can wait, I am sure. Professor Green, at your service. Are you bound for Wilde Hall?"

"Indeed I am.  The walk has been good for the constitution." He hoped the subtle implication there would forestall the question that Green appeared to be leading up to.

If Professor Green had picked up on the subtle implication however, then he bore it no heed."Then it is fate that has brought us together! Jackson, bring the carriage round for my new friend!"

Cpl. Khaki sighed quietly to himself, then reluctantly resigned himself to travelling with this peculiar fellow. "Hold, hold, I'll catch up to you," he called, then began a stiff jog through the miserable gloom and towards the man. "It'll save us all some time in the long run."  At his words, Professor Green leaned back, giving space for Richard to climb inside.

The serviceman hauled himself up and into the carriage, brushed a droplet of rain that had spilled down his uniform, then reluctantly took a seat, feeling thoroughly out of place.