Avatar of Sigil

Status

Recent Statuses

8 yrs ago
Current Malfunctioning Space Toilet (favorite death post in RPG) : roleplayerguild.com/posts/4…
4 likes
10 yrs ago
Example of a "Character Flaw": roleplayerguild.com/posts/32..
1 like

Most Recent Posts



Reginald Keystone



Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks





The older man returned the embrace of his nephew, giving him a couple of good-natured slaps to his back before ushering him inside. "Rough night, my boy? Seems to be frightfully catching." He seemed to be in remarkably good spirits, despite his own lack of decent sleep and the fact that he received troubling news via his legal clerk just that morning. "I must confess a tactful lack of higher knowledge, concerning all of this dream business. As I understand, we've all had rather strange phenomena occur to us; that is to say, all of the persons in our dysfunctional little Fellowship. "Find me in Cairo", and whatnot..."

Reginald closed the door behind them. "Tea and breakfast in a moment. I have two matters to share, if you would, Peter. The first - I don't suppose that your dream involved armies of inhuman beasts having at one another before your heart was removed rather spectacularly, was it?" He seemed a little excited speaking of it. Maybe more than a little.

"But that's really more of a discussion for Vera. The second item at hand..." he thought very carefully about the news from his clerk. This was a local military matter, and Reginald's family or not, despite his own involvement in the situation, a line might be crossed were Peter to be directly involved in the process at this point. "Well, unless you are officially one of my officers, I have to pass it by legal forthwith, and then we may discuss at length. Suffice it to say, the issue related to last evening has wiggled a bit. It shall be handled in-house. Please pay it no appreciable notice until after I have cleared you for intelligence. God and His Majesty willing, that should be later this morning."

The Lord Major picked his paperwork from the table nearby and marked a place with a slip of paper. He slid it back into the manila envelope and tucked it under his arm.

"Ah, it's great to have you back, Peter!" he exclaimed. "Now, breakfast?"


Keystone

Location: Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern, 2F Private Room
Interacting With: Sana, awkwardly still




As personally gratifying as it was, laying half-awake curled with his more petite (but no less terrifying) adventuring companion and ...ok, he wasn't one hundred percent sure exactly what she was to him anymore, or even if such a situation warranted the application of a label other than adventuring companion. Using very objective consideration, Keystone did come to the conclusion that while the nature of their relationship might not warrant specific title, it was highly unlikely he would wake up tangled in the limbs of Satilla, Kyra, or Cyneburg, let alone the more absurd pairings of Thomas or that Dwarf downstairs. That thought gave him pause.

But his thoughts digressed. More immediate matters beckoned, snapping his mind back to the situation at hand. <ahem> Let's try again:

As personally gratifying as it was, laying half-awake curled with his more petite (but no less terrifying) adventuring companion and ...indeterminately good friend... Sana, the call to rouse and relieve himself was strong. With terrible slowness, Keystone reached back and grabbed hold of the bed frame to his side, beginning to one-arm himself out of the clutch of the solid archer lady. Surreptitiously craning his head back behind him, he could barely see the crude brass of the chamberpot rim, mostly obscured by the bed itself interposed between said object and his field of vision.

If he pulled off this miracle of stealth, it would undoubtedly start the day, and all of the potential for Actual Death & Dismemberment (AD&D). But he had an actual moment there with another living soul. One that he didn't have to pay for, either! It skirted into territory that was a little disconcerting; he had already lost people to the Undead. Getting close to someone with his tendencies to meet and greet formerly living creatures meant seriously having to brace himself for the possibility that he would see them die, in horrible and excruciating ways. It had happened before.

Before he went through the maybes of caring, closeness, loss, and anger; before he even started this day of horrible possibility, he needed to get to that chamberpot.


Caesar y Keystone


Location: Justice Asylum



"Potter reference, oi?" remarked Keystone, nearing the fairly official looking man at the end of the corridor. He couldn't quite tell what the guy was pointing his gun at, being as whatever it was lay around a corner, but putting Two and the Square Root of Four together, he figured that this was the cause of the disturbance. The large man brought his massive pistol to bear as he stepped near the Federal Agent, the question briefly going through his mind about his level of trustworthiness, given the situation with these powerfully positioned women and the extent of their reach. "Keystone, MSS." he stated quietly to the Agent, not taking his eyes (or his gun) from the woman down the hallway. But there was no time to go into particulars. There was a hostage situation, and he felt the need to do something stupid.

Even from a distance, the massive silhouette of a Desert Eagle is notable. The soft but solid triangular shape of the barrel easily marked the weapon as one designed for making a mess, not taking a prisoner. "People're tryin' to bloody sleep in 'ere, ya manky bitchfist!" he blurted out with his Cockney accent leading his verbal charge. "I'm new 'ere, mayhap you can tell what the Bacon-wrapped 'ell you're on about?" He really hoped Caesar would get there soon. This was a little out of his expertise, unless she wanted get into a fistfight with the man. At least with Cecily nearby, he could provide her the cover of his broad frame, in case something unexpected popped up. Like if this woman suddenly acquired laser vision, or remembered that she really had a gun all along.

Meanwhile...

Caesar easily located the pry marks on the security door and door to the stairwell beyond. He was really hoping for something less obvious. This felt like a trap, somehow. The again, he had lived this long amidst horrible surroundings and tons of carnage by thinking that exact thing. But if this was the lady that killed his daughter, and indeed was capable of doing such a thing to someone with her talents, then he could not afford to be any later to the party. No, Caesar was already on his way upstairs when his satellite phone vibrated, indicating that something was afoot a couple of floors above.

The venerable man drew his firearm and got a good blade at the ready. Hugging the wall, he quickly ascended the stairs, slowing to a quiet pace when he got withing a half flight of his intended door. From the noise on the other side, he surmised that he had found the right spot. That woman was on the other side of the door, but he wasn't certain how far away nor what the layout looked like.

Stealth was his friend. Usually, anyway. The practice of it kept him alive more times than he could count, but opening a blind door was still risky, even for an Veteran Mexican Ninja like himself. So, two options presented themselves: One, bust in there like the Kool-Aid Man. His sudden presence might distract the bad guys, giving the good guys their moment to move. Or, it could do the opposite of that, royally screwing people over. Two, he could crack the door as quietly as possible, counting on the tension inside to help cover his limited movement. It would give him a glimpse of the situation. Intel was everything. But he risked discovery; if he was in a bad tactical position, he might be revealed and that would be his ass. But it still might give the good guys a chance to move.

Then, he heard a loud voice, muted through the door. He couldn't quite tell what it was saying, but it was doing so in a stereotypical London lower-class accent. The man could draw attention. Caesar picked this moment to, as quietly as he could, crack the door open and have a look. Anything compromising, and he figured he could always go for Plan B: Shooting and Stabbing.


Black James(!)



Location: Building 7 (Rec Center) -> Building C (James's House)




"Hey hey, glad y'all like. But imma be humble and quote my Mama; "Hunger makes the best spice", or something' like that..." remarked James, upon hearing the feedback from the two newcomers. It was always good to get positive reviews of his cooking. "Bein' honest though, ain't but half mine, little less. Domestic been workin' some good stuff, what we pull out the ground here. Tell you something else, we don't always eat like this, neither. As you may have heard, we had us a wedding. First one, since all the bad happened in the world." A grin grew to ornament his ebon features, "That means, o'course, that this here is the tail end of the First Wedding Reception. Innat somethin'?"

James took a look around the room. People were starting to clear out, and he was seriously planning to leave, himself. Coming to grips with an emotional realization like he did was taxing. He didn't know how much longer he could continue acting semi-normal (for him). There was security in place, just in case the new people were more than they were letting on, and besides, Security wasn't his gig. These guys seemed genuinely grateful for the food and promise of a place to stay for the evening.

"Look, uh, y'all're gonna have to excuse me. Been up since before dawn, gotta get up again early again tomorrow. Do me a favor, huh? Eat good. Get some rest. Tomorrow mornin', talk with our Bossman. He treat you fair." A tip of his stetson later, and James returned to his plate. He brought it to the makeshift buffet and piled a couple of things on, found himself a slice of cake, and made for the door. Before he exited, James gave off a heartfelt "Nighty night, y'all!", gave a warm smile, and let the door close behind him.

When he got back home, a short walk of about a block, he locked the door behind him. He deposited the remainder of the meal on his coffee table and got to work shedding his particularly tasteful black-and-camo tuxedo. James hung it up and draped the original dry cleaning plastic over it, though it was a little stretched from earlier, tucking it away into a nearby closet.

It was strange, looking about this building in which he now resided. James was never a man with a taste for finery. While this was not exactly finery, it was the best living conditions he had experienced for an extended period of time, hands down. Pre or Post Outbreak, even. In his younger days he worked farms, just like his family did before him. He knew how to make things grow into food, support communities, and the value of hard work. While it did make him a dependable, worthwhile man, such a life did not make one wealthy, generally. Especially in the Deep South for someone of his complexion. Even when he took up Hog Hunting, and excelled, giving him a bit of cult celebrity status, he couldn't have afforded something like this.

James remembered back to his days just prior to the Outbreak. His sparkling personality and regional fame combined to make him an actual celebrity, cruising along the South, Deep South, and as far out as Texas to ply his trade. Nuisance Hog Hunting, an honorable profession. He was The Man to call. Some ginger wit out that way in East Texas even jokingly wrote "The Ballad of Black James", complete with guitar accompaniment, that made him sound like a bonafide Folk Hero. And even then, when he could afford a higher lifestyle, he didn't even think to upgrade. Come to think of it, this was the longest time James had spent anywhere in a very long time. After the world purged itself, he stayed on the backroads and woodlands of the South, just moving and surviving. Newnan was his home, pure and simple. He had honest friends here. He lost honest friends here. Too many. One in particular stood out.

Now changed into a pair of overalls and a thick, flannel shirt, James sat down on his couch and eyeballed his food. He absently and silently made his fork rise to and fall from his mouth, genuinely enjoying his meal but unable to actually express it. There was something off about the big, good-natured man. A wound he had forgotten about that never quite healed, now back in the light for him to see. He spoke quietly into the night, "Aw, Lici... Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry." He thought about the close friends he still had, acquired before or since, that he had in Newnan. It was a true comfort to him.

And of course, there was the chance to reconnect with Thana. Whether she needed his protection or friendship, he was going to offer it to her. Maybe try to make up for mistakes of his past. Get to know Thana for Thana, and not for how he remembered her. It all gave him some peace. Tomorrow would be a new day, one where he would cherish his good friends and make sure they were safe, fed, and as happy as he could make them. She would have wanted that.

It was the last thought on his mind as he passed out, sitting up on his living room couch.


&

Location: Almack's




Sparrows continued circling overhead, a gift from the Grand Duchess to Mary. Luckily, the cover that they provided did not appear to be necessary to reach the object of her search: Virginia Crypt. When she began this search, it was with the intent of enlisting her help to provide a more balanced defense against the Soulless attacking Almack's. But upon seeing her there, weeping upon the floor by the fallen body of her friend, she realized that God put her upon this path to help, not to request it for herself.

The fire in her eyes dimmed, replaced by concern. Virginia was a friend of hers, as close as any she had in London. While she did not know this unique woman, Mosi, she could sense the utter sorrow in the eyes of the surviving Lady Crypt. This was not like her, not from what she had seen. She rushed to Virginia and took a knee, setting her halberd down and offering her arms in embrace. "I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm so very sorry. Are you hurt? Can you stand? Please, let me help you." She had to raise her voice somewhat, the flapping of the birds overhead was a constant source of white noise.

"This was not her place," Virginia whispered, gazing at Mosi a moment more. She had never seen the woman any happier than when the pair of them had been in the colonies together to train. She lived the most out of that life, never needing to conceal trousers under a dress or to appease a mother who simply sought marriage for her daughter. Tears continued to slide down her face, as she felt a thousand regrets for her dearest friend. She could not help but feel strongly that this was not the way Mosi's story was supposed to end, and her grief increased as she realized Mosi would likely be laid to rest as Jeanette Crane and not as the woman who was one with the trees.

Virginia could hardly tear her gaze away from Mosi, her heart shattered into more pieces than there were stars in the sky. She knew instinctively the advice that her mother would have given, although her family was never much into religion--you have a black dress, Virginia. Wear it. She took a shuddering breath as she faced Mary, allowing the woman's welcoming embrace. The white noise of the birds was welcome to the Lady Crypt's mind. "She is dead...the Hraew, it..." Virginia finally said, hardly emotionally capable to explain all of the events that had passed. "Do not worry about myself, Dame Hale...It is dear Mosi who merits attention," Virginia finished, her voice catching on her deceased friend's name.

Sorrow was evident in Virginia's voice. Mary was not unaffected. Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill down her pale cheeks but somehow staying put. It was not Mosi for whom she almost wept, but the pain of her friend before her. There would always be casualties in the war against the Soulless, and this was now open war. No more skulking about, keeping numbers low and picking off society's forgotten. This was a blatant and coordinated attack, in full open view, against London's societal elite.

"I did not know your friend, Mosi." started Mary, carefully picking her words with Virginia. "She was a warrior, correct? It was an honorable passing. We have time to ensure her final rest - I will help you to get her out of this place, Lady Crypt. But we need to make sure Almack's is clear. I need your help, Virginia."

Virginia nodded, finding comfort in Mary's words. She would very much like to bury Mosi back in the forests of the colonies, for no other rest felt proper for Mosi. Yet even thinking about laying Mosi to rest brought tears to Virginia's eyes. It was painful to see someone so full of life deprived of it. But of course, Dame Hale was correct, a not uncommon event in Virginia's opinion. The number of those trained in London were low--she did not have time to grieve for her friend, if she wished to ensure the safety of her other dear friends. Mary and Millicent, as far as she knew, still drew breath. They could still be protected from whatever threat remained.

"Of course. Shall I perform Chankoowashtay?" Virginia inquired, uncertain as to whether or not she would have the mental focus, but knowing that she must try. As far as she was aware, the soulless could still remain in Almack's. She had witnessed two herself in the flesh, and then she had spotted another earlier that day, heading towards the general area. It struck her as almost reminiscent of the reports of the events at Flitwick manor.

"I do not... ah, I cannot pretend to be very familiar with that technique, my Lady." responded Mary. She had the basest idea of the more common practices of other schools of Training, but her education in the matter was limited to Vatican training and casual conversations with a precious few not of Rome. And of course, the almost miraculous demonstration she received earlier that day from Elizaveta, with promises of more unknown abilities from the Russian Empire. "I am to keep the Grand Duchess of Russia safe, and I have ineffective defense against the incorporeal. I can defend you both in the physical sense. Between you and I, we can determine if Almack's is sound. But we must get back to the front corridor."

Mary glanced back to the fallen form of Mosi. It was a waste and a shame. "We have three days to tend to her." Ever logical, but a twinge of understanding shot across her face. "If you wish to do something quick and dirty, though, I will help. We must leave Mosi for now, or make haste with her, Lady Crypt."

Virginia blushed slightly in embarrassment. She often was lost in her thoughts and that was no great surprise to her, and was quite evident with her mixing up of the date earlier at Millicent's residence. Perhaps she had been clouded by grief and forgot that Mary likely would not know the various techniques by name. As it stood, however, Virginia realized that perhaps a different technique may be most suited to their purposes.

But the majority of the Lady Crypt's mind was on Mosi. She shook her head slightly at Mary's suggestion of quick and dirty. While it would suffice for strangers, and although she had not kept in as much contact with Mosi as she would have liked, it would feel cheap to do that for her friend. "Let us leave her," Virginia finally said, a bit of reluctance in her voice. "I shall do my best to assist with the incorporeal."

It occurred to Mary that these Crypts appeared to deal with hardship well. Perhaps it was something in their upbringing, or the bloodlines with which they paired. Were their ways not quite so eccentric, she could see them pursuing the unyielding and painfully conditioning training of the Pontifical Swiss Guard. But it was not within her to shape others into something they were not. Their uniqueness was part of their strength. All Mary could do was try to lend her friend what support she could, and trust that Virginia would pull through, as her people always seemed to.

The young Dame recovered her polearm and rose to her full height. She extended a hand to her friend, silently offering to help her to her feet. Mary understood her hesitation. It was leaving a fallen comrade behind. Not truly abandoning her, but she could fathom how it might seem that way, like a tiny betrayal. "Come, My Lady. Let us get back to the front corridor. I'm sure the rest of the Ton is busy congratulating themselves, and require a reminder of those who fought on their behalf." She was not happy with what she had witnessed from these people. Not a bit.

Virginia took Mary's hand and rose to her feet. Her quick and rough fix to her knee from earlier did not result in further damage, for which she had been lucky. The only wounds that she felt a need to concern herself with were emotional ones, but once more, it was neither the time nor the place. She sighed slightly at the thought of the Ton. In her mind, their ignorant, selfish, and childish behavior had cost dear Mosi her life. The Crypt woman may have enjoyed a good deal of combat, but not at the expense of her loved ones.

"I fancy they will not listen to our remarks regardless," Virginia replied softly, taking on a bit of a cynical attitude. The Ton appeared to be capable of nothing meaningful and worthwhile, instead subsiding on shallow things, such as appearances and pastels. It was disgusting, and she perhaps would have made her disgust clearer, if her mind was not still filled with sorrow. "Has anyone else we care for fallen?" Virginia then asked, awaiting Mary's lead to return to the first corridor.

The young Apostolic shook her head solemnly at Virginia. "Others have perished, but none as I am aware that we hold close to our hearts." said Mary, quickly but cautiously leading them back through the Gallery the way that she entered. It would have been a very straight shot from their present location down to the corridor the other way, but with the casualty from the furniture incident and the mob of Peers congratulating themselves, she suspected it would actually take less time this way.

"There was another passing of note, Lady Crypt. And I fear that it does change our situation greatly. When we are done here this evening, I shall need your help and guidance all the more." Weapon in hand, Mary rounded the last turn to get them into the main corridor. Though people were starting to take note, she led Virginia over to where Elizaveta held her vigil over the fallen Arch Graveolase, her own knightly cloak still over him. "It seems an honor has been passed to me." she said quietly, though her tone hinted that she did not consider it an honor. "But for now, we must ensure their safety."



Foy Coiffeur

Location: Foy-er


Foy paused in his efforts to pack away the contents of his Foy-er to look at Atticus. "What an interesting series of questions and observations you submit there, Psalms. While it is true that I am motivated by the Lure of the Coin, my good sir, it is not the only ambition for which I strive." Methodically, the dapper gent went through his selection of natural coffees, deciding what he could bear to part with. Nothing that he owned was of Alliance origin, from his buttons to his munitions, but there did weigh upon the horrible thought that, lacking options, he might have to leave some things behind. Perhaps he could argue his point that no traces of their presence should be noted... but that seemed very weak a reason. No, unless he could charter an extra room for his belongings or fit them into a cargo hold for safekeeping until he got wherever he was going to be, he would have to figure something out.

"You see, it is the mark of any good businessman to open new opportunities for trade and travel, you see. Out-of-the way-spots might be useful for raw materials on the cheap. Middle Class accommodating planets become potential consumer areas. Locating the right manner of ruffian can net a man a preexisting, discreet network for transporting one's goods, if need arose. Profitable? No sir. Profit is where one establishes it." Was he trying to talk himself into this? He would be a smarter man to cut his losses, eat up the cost of his equipment's transport (or leave it behind for the vultures), and make his way back to Farraday to plot his next big venture or wait for another contract to seek him out. Maybe lay low with a woman or three and get a little 'stache action going. But here he was, contemplating leaving the extreme security of home and business to have a sideways, There And Back Again style adventure. "...in a palace on Farraday, there lived a Coiffeur..."

"Besides, I am already a wealthy man. Even if I lose everything I possess personally, my family is still wealthy. I daresay, even if I find my liquid currency curtailed by such quaint concepts as "going underground", I could still finance a decent sized ship's fuel and ration needs well enough to keep a crew healthy and flying for a good, long while. Though truth be mentioned, I would much rather keep myself running in little luxuries; life's comforts, if you take my meaning." Luxuries such as his elaborate barber's chair and Londinium Brandy, for instance. Well, the brandy, certainly, as well as the wrapped candies. The chair... That was a business draw.

"You see, despite handsome training with various agencies and my capability to withstand hardship in many forms, I am quite the confirmed hedonist." Yet still he thought it over. Why? It made no sense. He was a mercenary and an Upper Class one at that. Farraday aristocracy. Touring around the 'Verse with people like this could cause harm to his reputation. But it could also give him access to places he otherwise could not go. New experiences to be had. And he could take these people places they otherwise would not be welcome. Cotillions. Traders' Meets. Shindigs. Having the financial power to keep them in the Black during rough periods would mean that they might be obliged to him on occasion. But if only he could upgrade his accommodations. This was not fully ideal, and they were ditching this ship for something probably lesser in overall "Wow Factor".

Foy sighed. He was pretty much done packing, anyway. Time to shove off. Only a few trips with the grav dolly were necessary, three perhaps, and he could hire ground transport from the dock easily. "I tell you, Vicar, that my interest in your venture is piqued. But I fear that I require just a hair's breadth more incentive to commit to contract. Tell me something compelling. Best me in a wager. You religious types are fond of signs, yes? Any one might suffice. But for now, either route I take will involve offloading my personals to the dock below us. Would it be too terrible an imposition to ask for your assistance?"



William Harper

Location: Outside the Retribution -> Quarters -> Outside the Retribution


"Right away, Captain." responded Harper, throwing a fast salute and jogging back into the ship. Harper had already packed. It was too easy; he owned very little, and even less now that he had to get rid of anything that came from that ship. Harper had secured his belongings from Persephone, almost completely, with the exception of a series of personal effects and weaponry that belonged to his identity's original owner. He had ditched the personal effects and had to acquire more uniforms planetside, but nothing he now possessed could be traced back to the I.A.V. Retribution.

He remembered what seemed like so long ago, walking toward the ship for the first time. He was very much the Lieutenant, standing tall and authoritative, either wearing everything he owned or pulling it in a case behind him. It would be exactly how he left the ship, probably for the last time, except that his authority was much lessened, and instead of a crisp Alliance Officer's uniform, he would be in black and grey utility coveralls, and having intentionally let his facial hair stubble him up somewhat. At least in these, his large wrench looked less conspicuous; it found a perfect nestling spot by his side in a long tool pocket with secure closure.

As Harper picked up his bags and started back toward the exterior hatch via cargo, he had to permit himself a small chuckle. The thought of hiding out with a group of outlaws for two years and then returning as a released prisoner set to retire from service hadn't quite been part of the plan, but it really couldn't hurt any. Anything over a year, and he would have been subject to consideration by a promotions board. Hell, he might retire with two years of back pay as a Captain for all he knew. Not bad at all. That'd serve those bastards right. Deny him a life, he'd just take one back from them. With interest. It wasn't a bad plan.

Still standing straight and tall, Harper returned to where Anisa stood, outside of the vessel. He waited next to his gear, what little of it there was, for Dorothy's return to go through it all. We mustn't have anything listed as contraband, a classification now ironically given to anything originating from the lawful presence of the Retribution. "It seems that I will have to do a bit of shopping, Captain. A lot of my belongings are issued by the military. I don't suppose you can recommend a good gunsmith on this rock, can you?"


Reginald Keystone



Location: Qasr El Nil Barracks





"Oh I say, marvelous! Simply marvelous." thought the Lord Major, simply resplendent in his battle dress uniform in the midst of what looked like a vision of a turbulent, war-soaked afterlife. It confused him as to why there were others present, particularly others to which he had recently spoken. Did one not speak with departed relatives when one died? Admittedly, this was most decidedly not how Pastor Billingsley described the hereafter. From his descriptions, there was far less in the way of animal headed monstrosities doing each other in with sharp objects, and a touch more gently strummed stringed instruments and winged messengers of the Lord.

He finally attempted to say something aloud. "This is quite the locale, is it not? I ... I wonder if this is the afterlife if one dies in Egypt? How exhilarating!" It really was, for an old soldier like himself. Reginald was never really one for the concept of Valhalla, but now seeing what appeared to be an eternal battle being waged between gods? There was some appeal in utilizing a long lifetime of combat experience after his demise. Comforting. It got his blood moving, frankly. Or at least it did, until his heart was unceremoniously removed by what he assumed was A Nudist. Anudist? Anoobis? Well, no matter. Heart gone, and whatnot. Frightful stuff, that.

If this as his afterlife, that must mean that he was dead. And so were these other people. But he didn't remember dying bravely at all. No glorious passing, no chucking it in like all of his fellows, in honorable combat or giving his life for another. "Dear merciful Lord, did I die in my sleep like a common gardener? Fiddlesticks!" This was not how he wanted to go. Not at all.

It suddenly occurred to him over the truly depressing thought that he had very mundanely expired (likely with a freshly shat bed, for good measure) that his actual heart was floating before him like a meaty, substandard party favor. As the thought dawned fully, a blast of ripping pain flooded him.

And then he woke.

At least his bed was as yet unsoiled. That was a plus. The Lord Major swung his feet around and set them onto the floor. Slowly he stood and toddled toward his private lavatory, when the sight of a manila envelope caught his eye from upon the floor next to the door to the hallway. "Ah, catalogue results..." he mumbled to himself. But priorities dictated an immediate shuffle to his toilet.

A few minutes later, Reginald addressed the matter of the envelope, giving a quick once-over. There were only a couple of things he needed to see before his face grew very stern. But true to the actions of a good Officer of the Empire, he made ready to wash and dress before attending to less civil matters. He was, after all, a gentleman. About the time his trousers were properly suspended about himself, a knock reported from his door. Along with it, his nephew's voice. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, sweeping his hand back behind him as welcoming gesture.

"Yes, yes. Indeed we might need to speak, Nephew. Please, do enter."




Apologies. Let's try that again.







Speaking of knives and agony...

Submitted for approval; the one, the only -

© 2007-2026
BBCode Cheatsheet