Ozymandias

"Guilty?" says Marcus aloud, though quietly. "You poor fool, you just pointed a gun at a child and called her a werewolf. What was I supposed to do?" Carefully hauling Wil over to a nearby sofa, he laid the man on it, then produced an already bloodstained handkercheif to wipe Wil's gory face. Shooting a dirty look to the rapidly filling room, Marcus rubs his shoulder once his opponent's bleeding has stopped. "Baseless accusations are one thing. But letting these vermin turn us into killers as well? Desperate, that's what he's become. Us furthering the killing is no solution, except to the murderers. "

(OOC: Whoa. We're not supposed to lie in OOC, right? This turns *my* vote on its head...) As the tension builds to a crescendo, nearly everyone starts when they hear a new voice. "I couldn't agree more, Wil. Shoot her!", barks Marcus as he steps around to Wil's side. "I said STAY BACK", he manages, but no sooner does he finish as Marcus lunges at him, fists balled. Wil fires, and the resulting explosion of the homemade buckshot tears gaping holes in the furniture, shatters a window, and misses Marcus who was already in past the end of the gun's barrel and aiming his right hand at the Welshman's nose with all his might. Wil's nose obligingly explodes in a gout of blood as he topples backward both in surprise and from the impact. The fist is followed with all the speed the normally mild butcher can muster in kneeing him in the groin. Wil screams further obscenities in his descent to the floor as the two fall, wrestling for the gun. "LADS!!! HELP!!", bellows Marcus. "THE MAN'S GONE MAD!!!!!" (OOC:My new vote is for Elwen. Sorry, Gnarlitch! Had to stay IC. {:>\ Edit: Originally put in the wrong perp from me suspect list! Editing edit: It helps to have another name in to replace a deleted one. *sigh*)

Disgust and dejection battled for supremacy in Marcus Horton's heart as he made his way around the grounds that morning. Not that he was in search of clues, or companionship, but that he had become so wroth over the increasingly sinister matter he scarcely remembered to fear for his mother's life or his own. He had barley slept the night previous, and had had no appetite even for even so luxurious a breakfast as the good man Lord Garnavon had still provided for those who did not wish to travel. He needed to clear his head, he decided. That prompted him first into his walk that morning, then as time passed, into the maze in the thin hope that finding his way to the center and then out again might distract him enough from such horror. He still hadn't told his wife or their boys (and as far as he knew no-one had sent word to their little house on the far end of town) of all that had transpired, which distressed him only further. He simply couldn't think of how to broach such a matter. As he walked the maze, paying only fleeting attention to this turn, then the next, Marcus was suddenly surprised by a leaping form under his feet and a garbled shout. Recovering his footing and his already frayed nerves, he looked down to realize that he'd quite literally tripped over James the stableboy. James looked as though he too were recovering from the surprise, until he saw Marcus' eyes stray to the glint of metal he had seen at the boy's side. Quickly, but unsubtly he thrust the thing behind his back. Marcus glared at him, and James, despite himself gulped in anxiety as he met that seething gaze. "Alright, James," he said. "Let's have a look." It was not long before the lad decided to acquiesce. Shamefaced, he slowly produced the whiskey flask he'd inexpertly hidden. To his relief, the ruddy-faced butcher's eyes softened, and he even smiled a little. Marcus motioned to the ground beside him, and James nodded assent. Marcus unceremoniously dropped himself to the ground with a sigh. "Mind if I have a nip?" "Sure." James extended the flask, and the elder man took it gladly. However, resolving at the last to be a *semblance* of a good example, he returned it after one thirsty swallow. "Thanks. I needed that too. This whole unholy mess has gotten to you, I, and all of us quite efficiently, don't you think?" James' mind now being pulled back to the all-too recent past looked at the ground solemnly. "Certainly has, Sir." Marcus felt even gladder he'd found the boy as he smiled again, a bit wider now. "Nevermind the 'Sir', young man," he admonished with mock severity. "Mr. Horton will be fine. Or Marcus. The Good Lord knows most of you rascals call me either as they please anyway." Deciding from his upbringing (noble or not) that addressing an adult, even a man like the butcher, in the familiar would be too strange (even this week...), he settled on Mr. Horton. "What d'you make of it, Mister Horton?" At that question, Marcus' face fell again, and he sighed more heavily. "I really don't know, lad. I really don't. Murder's an atrocity of the highest degree such as the Lord Almighty's ever taught us, but so help me, we're *all* acting like we're demon-possessed." He laughed bitterly, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to, and the poor stableboy blanched- to his credit, only slightly. "I thought the American was the crazy one at first, but now he seems a bastion of sanity. We ARE acting like animals." Marcus looks thoughtful for a long moment as James finds himself in the new position of trying to find comfort for a man old enough to be his father. Marcus breaks the silence first. "It's more than passing strange, though. So many people are acting so oddly, even my own mother!" As soon as the word 'mother' escaped his lips, his flinched, as though struck. But he continued. "What is it about them and The Lady Galanodel? Proof has even been told of, but what sort, no-one's offered. Something bigger than simple murder may be afoot, my boy. You be careful- especially around those who are so keen on sacrificing the Lady who's not much older than yourself." They both sat in grim silence a long time after that, listening to the wind blow gently through the leaves, and thinking dark thoughts.

Marcus wandered the house aimlessly the rest of the day. After their walk in the yard, and subsequent discovery of Lady Clarice's death, Katharine had gently urged her son to help the others, as much as she did love him dearly for the attention he'd paid her the rest of the day. She knew others need his strength now, she told him. Reluctantly, he obeyed, but moved though the rest of that afternoon as if in a daze, sparing no more than the smallest polite small talk for the men, and every proper condolence to the women he could remember. Even these small efforts were crushed down further, as his earnest face had remained grave the entire time. Finally, as eveing came, Marcus had made his way into the drawing room and happened upon the Lady Emily and John Norfolk, just in time to hear the man's repeated accustaion. His face colors again, and he says, calmly and politely, "Sir, you forget yourself. Not only do you speak to a Lady- but there've now been two murders done. *Everyone's* in a stressed state of mind, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt- though you *have* been acting strangely, not stressed this whole time. Bite your tounge." (OOC: A vote for Nave.)

Ozymandias steps carefully out onto the stairs, cradling ten pastry platters with efficent dexterity. "TEN...CHOCOLATE...CAKES...WHOOPS!" *THUD* *CraASh* *THUD* *THUD* *CRASH* *tinkle**tinkle* *THUD* *THUD* *THUD* Ozy sits up, after a moment, in a giant mound of chocolate goo. "Good luck Apster!!!"

Many happy returns of the day, Comrades.

Happy Birthday, Gentle Penners!

Marcus rubs his cheek after the surprisingly solid blow. "I misjudged you, Wetherby. You're a much stronger man than I knew." He lowers his hand, revealing the livid red welt that matched his nose quite well. "I apologize- it slipped out. I seem to be doomed to rash behavior today." Meanwhile, his silent pride in Katherine's strength as well grew. She had handled the past two days so much better than he had! Damn, having her son go all weak-kneed at the very worst moment would *not* help things!

Marcus clenches and unclenches his fists as he glares at Edwyn. "See here, Mister Cooper! Giving us all up for dead *and* insulting our country is ungentlemanly in the extreme! I, for one, have not given up on this mystery coming to a safe and just end, and I'm just a butcher! Not some preening soldier of fortune! So shut up, and grow some backbone!"

Upon seeing the seething outbursts come in the wake of his mother's arguements, Marcus tries a different tack with the soldier. "Mr. Cooper, please. Be reasonable. I understand that you're offended, perhaps even worried by this whole affair. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't. " Indeed, the butcher wrung his hands slightly even as he spoke. "We're all flummoxed by the awful thing, but we shouldn't go planning further death yet. After all, doesn't the church teach to love your enemy? Whatever gulf may exist between our countries is a least bridged by fear of God, isn't it?" He paused a moment to let his fellow unfortunate reply, but when Cooper only gave him a critical look and waited, Marcus went on. "We're all folks of good mind or better. We should be able to come up with a better solution than that. Surely we can find some way to keep all of us safely enclosed until Holmes arrives, and leave the killer no chance to strike again" He frowned again, looking every inch the heartsick father he was for a moment "- at least without warning," he finished. "Mother was right, as always. Mother, Mr. Cooper, please, let's share a drink and think this thing through. Wetherby? Would you mind?"

Fixed the link, kiddos! Enjoy.

The tired heroes found their task mercifully quick. With Elena's direction and Myth and Gyrfaclon's praticed eyes sweeping the green for what they needed with brisk efficiency, they soon found just enough sprigs of the very plant they needed most- an herb that Elena had named, and indeed all three recognized as a plant that could be brewed into multifaceted potions and poultices for head injury and sickness. The brewing took a scant twenty minutes for the most basic of these treatments; a potion that was summarily poured down Timothy's unresistant throat. He coughed once, twice, and pulled in a deep breath. Gyrfalcon and Kalyera excahnged glances of weary relief while Elena glance dover form dressing her own wounds (she had insisted) with a small smile. Myth on the other hand, had her face already hidden from the sun by her hood, and seemed already settled back into her familiar unreadability. She was first to speak after Timothy had drawn a few even breaths. "If we're done with the heartwarming moment," she said dryly, "We really need to move- now." Though Gyrfalcon was arching his eyebrow alomost at the back of her head, still Myth turned to face him and Kal. "Think strategically. The enemy's down, yes. But we've still go tproblems. First, there's a good chance we no longer have a ride home, so we'd better deal with that swiftly if so. Secondly, we all need more healing now than we can probably get in time in this place." Finished, she sternly nods in Elena's, then Timothy's directions. Disliking the thief's (or so he still mentally named her) callousness as much as ever, Gyrfalcon knew he still had to agree. That captian had no love for him, he knew, and by extension, any friend of his. To top it off, with Timothy still in higly fragile health and the full extent of Elena's injuries unkown, these patients with equally shaken doctors needed better help, and soon. "True, Myth." He made a thorough asessment of Kaleyra's state with a glance. She seemed to be lost in her thoughts (which she was, and was in fact soothed by the fact that they were mostly hers again- something Gyrfalcon did not undersatnd yet) and physically still wobbly with each step or stance taken. He did not want to ask Elena for help for fear she'd say yes and injure herself further. That left only... "Myth, help me make a litter for Timothy?" Kaleyra came out of her reverie then. She gave Gyrfalcon a look of mixed hurt and frustration. "I'll help," she said quietly, then briskly paced off into the trees again, mind already searching through exhaustively comprehensive lists of the hadier yet flexible vines, grassess, and young trees that might be found. Gyrflacon and the other two women watched her leave silently. Myth shrugged nonchalantly, and Elena did not move to get up. "Follow her, then?" Myth asked Gyrfalcon. "Yes. ...thank you," he replied. Hoisting himself to his feet, he turned to Elena. "Elena, are you well enough to watch Timothy for a bit?" Elena tried to sit up to respond, but with a grunt of pain, eased herself back down. "I think so." He offered her a thankful smile too, for it was all the aid he could offer at the moment. "Good. I'm going to start cutting the wood. I'll be back as soon as I can." "We'll be here," she said confidently. After only two hours of work, a serviceable litter was built for Gyrfalcon to pull Timothy along behind him on. He stil ha dhis mind mad eup not tot ask the women for aid. He worried about all of their health. Except for Myth's. She seemed physically sound enough but had also been acting almost bizarrely happy for a while. They loaded their now more quietly moaning companion up, and began the trek back to the shore.

Welcome back, Sally! It just hasn't been as effervescent without you. :woot:

By the way, welcome back Jareena!

Marcus wore an unconscious frown as he stood by Katharine's shoulder solictiously. As Gavin mentally formed a meticulous reply, he felt he could stand it no longer. "It's an outrage of the darkest sort, it is! Who indeed would want any member of the Garnavon family dead? They've done naught but good for this community, and I'll have anyone who intimates otherwise in a tick! It's the devil's work, it is." A grimmer look pulls down his normally hangdog features even further. Leaning forward, he whispers to both Doyle and his mother, "It's many o' these out-of-town and foreign chaps that worry me. You've read the history books, Mr. Doyle, surely. More brazen attempts on the ruling class have been made thousands of times. A poisoner flaunting his wares isn't too hard to believe." "Surely you don't mean," begins Gavin. "Oh, yes I do. Watch that chemist. Let him near no food you eat." On seeing Katharine's stricken look at such an uncharacteristic vehement accusation from her son, Marcus is immediately cowed. "'M sorry, Mother. It's just...it's just the whole thing's got me in a state too, it has. Murder! Here in our own village, and it was one of our friends, no less! It's diabolical!" Visibly remembering himself finally, he makes a stiff bow of the head to Gavin. "My apologies to you as well, Mr. Doyle. I promise you both I shall excercise the better judgement I was taught from here on." Exhaling softly, he trade shis chastened look for a calm one, and inquires, "Would either of you care for a drink? Seems to me that'd be just the thing right now." (OOC: Mr. Cuthbert. )

*clutches his temples at the sudden headache, but smiles* Oh my...

Wetherby turned his gaze from another randomly chosen point outside the window to greet the next guest. He frowned inwardly for a moment, trying to place such a plain man after such illustrious and illustriously attired folk. The obviously moderately priced black suit, top hat, and cane didn't tell him a thing- the whole outfit was only marginally better than his own or the other helps'. It was when he finally took in the man's politely (and oddly earnestly, after the rich folk) smiling face, rather red nose, and slightly jowly cheeks all topped off with the smallest bit bit of thin red hair poking out from under his hat that Wetherby recognized him; the Schoolmarm's son...the local butcher...Charles? No, Marcus, that was it! Squinting slightly into the generously lit foyer (he wasn't used to anything more powerful than sun or unadorned candlelight, indoors), Marcus was no less pleased as he hadn't been in a long time to be at the party. Even if he had had to come without his beloved Evelyn. His darling wife, saint of a woman that she was, had *insisted* that he attend without her, and that she would stay home to care for their ill sons. Poor Charles and Alexander. Their inseparability had once again brought them both down with the exact same sickness within days of one another. The invitation had been for the entire family, of course. Even though he and Sir Garnavon had only known gotten to know one another marginally well over the years, apparently the noble gentleman had made it a careful point to invite not only Mother, but Marcus himself , his wife, and two sons. Then they'd taken sick just two days before the party! He frowned slightly to himself in worry. But though he was gettin gclose to up in years, they were still young, and hardy lads, he knew. And Evelyn was the best nurse one could ask. Most importantly, as out of his depth as he felt, Marcus knew he could not dare to have his mother attend alone- the poor woman suffered enough daily, and being among the elite, even as genteel and friendly an elite as this household, would make her feel even more accutely alone. And that wouldn't do. The Bible says, after all, honor thy father and mother! Once he had finished explaining all of this to a now glassy-eyed Wetherby, he felt worlds better, having had a chance to talk to a working man such as himself to warm up...to say nothing of getting (hopefully) all of his nervous chatter out of the way before he'd been introduced to the other guests. Marcus thanked Wetherby for taking his overcoat, as well as wishing him a heartfelt "God bless you!" (for he really didn't want his only nice suit sneezed on more than once tonight), Marcus strolled into the manor, gazing about admiringly. As he began running through a list of likely conversation topics for the rich, he put his fears aside and focused instead on the endless possibilities of such an evening for ones such as he and dear, kind Mother. Heartened now fully, Marcus hummed a soft tune to himself as he looked about to see if that wondeful old woman had arrived yet.

*screeches in at the last minute* Too close...a little *too* close. {:>)

Well folks, one good turn deserves another, and since DeantheAdequate has so kindly joined our guild... I joined his. ...as a woman. Roll 'em! --------------------------------------- DeanTheAdequate wrote: *Dean Wonders in, with a pallet full of boxes and an antique desk* Hello all! *Dean sets the Desk to the side of the enterance. He puts up a sign with the word "Minions" scratched out and "Applicants" written in crayon. He then rolls the boxes by Panda, rummages throgh them, then smacks Panda with a herring. He rolls the boxes to the living area* ------------ (Me:) *runs up to the desk, coming to a sudden halt at 300+ mph* DOYOING-G-G! *equilibrium regained, smiles cheerily at Dean* I'm here to apply for the position of...of...position of...Cheese Grater, Dean-sensei!!! -------------------------------- o_O Cheese Grater?...Wouldn't that be the destroyer of cheese?.......*stands still for a few minutes* ------------------------------------------ *Dean looks up from the living area* Oh? You've arrived. What happened to your, erm... Nevermind. So you want to be in the guild eh? *Dean pulls a thick leather chair out of the box and wheels it behind the desk* Think it's all on a cracker and that's it eh? Well, Silent has first crack at ya', no matter what I may say. You want in, go ahead and plead your case. --------------------------------------------------- (Me:) Dark Knight David wrote: o_O Cheese Grater?...Wouldn't that be the destroyer of cheese?.......*stands still for a few minutes* Nooo! Purveyor of cheese in tiny little shavings, of course!! ---------------------------------------------------- I'm sorry... Silent is currently unavailable at the moment due to a small case of the Satan... Please leave a message and she will get back to you as soon as possible... Until then enjoy yourself =^.^= -------------------------------------------------------- ~random screaming/ footsteps/crashes~ RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!! -------------------------------------------------------- o_O Cheese Grater?...Wouldn't that be the destroyer of cheese?.......*stands still for a few minutes* You'd think that, but no... It is written in the book. *Thumps the tome out of his pocket* The Book of Cheese Chapter 42 Verse Infrared "And so it came a time, to purify the cheese for use" 42:Red "And they found that the knife had failed them, as did the wire cheese cutter; for both produced a result in which the cheese did not melt evenly" 42:Orange "So they did taketh thier skill in stainless steel and crafted a device, with holes for 'grating'. And it was good." ---------------------------------------------------- Awes at the verses quoted....o_O I see... --------------------------------------------------- (Me:) Silent isn't available??? OH, poopie. Oh well! *pulls out a yellow crayon and starts leaving Silent Flame a message on one of the non-blue walls.* --------------------------------------------------------- Anyway... Since Silent is in the middle of another, possession... I will take care of the application. Name: Louise the Bump Fairy Title/Position: The Cheese Grater Banner: To be assigned Right, that should be about it. And now, to assemble our new entertainment system. ---------------------------------------------- (Me:) Dear *scribblescribble* Silent *scribble* Flame *scri*, I was recommended here *scribblescribblescribblescribblescribblescribble* by *scribs* Dean-o as this *scribble* being a *scribbit...scribbit..scribbit* nice *scribble* place *scribblescribble* to be in Gaia. *scribblescribble* I understand your holy mission *scribblescribblescribble* to one day *scrib-scrib-scribbbbbbbbllllllllllle...* have all *scribble* behold *scribblescribble* the power *scribblescribble, cocopuff, scribblescribbelpuff* of cheese. I eagerly *Lescriblelescriblelescrible* (trans. into the French) and without *scribble* hesitation offer myself into the service of such *scribblescribblescribblescribble* a mighty cause. I submit, *scribblescribblescribble* that actions speak louder than words *scribble* and so humbly say that if I have not yet proven cheesy enough *scribblescribblescribblescribble* in all my *scribble* long *scribble* minutes *scribble* here, I can make myself more so, AND *scribblescribblescribble* produce a dairy farmer's dozen X 3(!) *scribblescribblescribblescribble* of witnesses *scrib...scrib...scribb...* who can vouch involuntarily *scribblescribblescribble* that I, Louise the Bump Fairy, *scribblescribblescribblescribble* am ineffably cheesy. Yours, *scribblescribblescribble*in the closest yellow I could find to Parmesan, *scribble* Louise, The Bump Fairy. *Suddenly noticing too late that 1/4 of her message has been written across Dark Knight David.* Oops. Umm...hanky? --------------------------------------------------- o_o....*starts shedding his skin* Nah...no need for the hanky... --------------------------------------------------- Yes, yes I *am* going the genderbender route; I wanted to play a Bump Fairy, consarn it! Is that so wrong??? Anywho, if you want to see the whole sordid affair, go forth to the Cheese Guild!!!

Mmmm. Java. She'll go far, that one will. So declares Oz, The Great and TERRIBLE! "Pipe down on that loudspeaker! We're trying to write!!!" Oh. ...Sorry. Ozymandias quietly sips his coffee and wonders if the elephants are right, he should get some sleep.

Good idea. :>) Can't really be online from now 'til Sunday, though. :>(

Sorry, Mum! It wasn't his style of writing, mostly plot pacing and content... I'll PM ya in depth later, when I've got more time. Speaking of Mummy dearest- How old will she be? I'm pretty sure you said 'grown sons', but I wanted to make sure- Marcus, yeah, that's it! -was appropriately aged n'stuff. Crossing all the i's and dotting the t's, as it were. ...and what's our last name? Or may I come up with it?

YUKI, THE LOREMASTER REQUIRES MORE COFFEE!

Feliz cumpleanos, Amigo. :>)

Had to knee-jerk vote AGAINST WoT because Jordan drove me insane to the point of giving up by book four. If we play that, however, I'd like to be an Ogier tailor. If it's merry old England, what the heck- Katzaniel, I'll be one of your sons. Should be interesting. :>) Haven't thought of names yet, or a vocation for Sonny-boy...ooo! Butcher! He'd be a butcher! *whistles innocently* But I feel I need to do a bit o' homework before I names either of 'em. So happy to finally be playing Werewolf!! Thanks, Tanuchan!!!