Location: Shadowell Manor: Music Room (Floor)
Hit Points: 3
If the skin were parchment and the blows you gave were ink, your own handwriting would tell you what I think. A comedy of errors indeed, two stories told, opposing in view. Who was the liar here? Who knew. The truth often lay unspeaking in the middle, between the two stories, Jasper had a choice. To believe the lady who, certainly played her part of fainting damsel well by the sounds of it for one so willing to fire a gun, not once but twice. Would Jasper be inclined to come to aid played by her wiles? Or would he listen to the logic and reason of the treacherous doctor? Played not to the emotional cries of a woman but the recounting accounting of a professional opinion? In truth Plum would have backed Walnut's claim, given that the doctor assaulted him outright, but her story gave no hint at how. Thus one had to put it all alone all together.
Yet time keeps on slipping into the future, and the matters of fuckery here was beyond Jasper's reach, the lord of the manor still sat as judge and jury. Would it be best to leave under the purvey of such a man? Or slip away now in the dark. So far the only one left armed in the room was Swamp and perhaps Jasper, lest the lady brought herself a second pistol. But here in the actor still acted, still played his part, waiting and biding his time to strike. Walnut would not yet earn the ire of his rage, but for the villainous doctor he'll set the stage. And where was that blasted bird who flew off without its master? Letting such malpractice come to harm? No cry nor crow of warning did ever it alarm. It had not yet come back, neither beak, nor claw, nor feather.