#Sun Do Constabulary

[dalekofchaos]

[soulofamy]

I finally have art to share of one of my mk ocs!! i havent actually written about him anywhere yet but hopefully down the line i will feature him in some of my writing

name: malek age: outworld equivalent of 8 years old species: half zaterran half edenian connections:

syzoth (father, biological and adopted)

layara (mother, biological, deceased, never met)

kaiyon (brother(???), original, deceased, never met)

shang tsung (creator)

mezali (adopted sister, (oc belongs to @ironladders))

ashrah (eventual adopted mother)

with syzoth's son, kaiyon, having been a rare hybrid between zaterran and edenian, shang tsung could not give up the chance to study the poor child. shang tsungs experimentation proved to be too much for kaiyon to handle and the child died before shang tsung could get all the answers he wanted. the only solution in shang tsungs eyes was to simply clone kaiyon in order to continue his experimentation. this clone, was kept as a test subject in a different facility than the one syzoth was kept at, thus syzoth was nonethewiser about his conception

after shang tsung had been arrested and his facilities started to be destroyed, malek finally found his way out of his prison and into the real world for the first time. being the hybrid that he was, he quickly found that he was on his own, and was forced to fend for himself out on the streets. he was quite easy for the carnival to take advantage of. afterall, they needed a new freakshow attraction after their last one left them. without a name, the carnival owner called him malek.

three years later, the carnival was dismantled by li mei. it turned out to have been an illegal operation this whole time. li mei brought him back to sun do, at a loss for what else to do. seeing that he had strangely reptilian features, she sent for syzoth to come and see him. nothing in all of outworld would prepare syzoth for what he was going to see in that constabulary office that day

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post #1: Past is Prologue

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by pedrorascal

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 2.2K (first post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, *NSFW*

A/N: Using 3rd person POV for this one. This episode takes place directly after the events of Volume 2: Post #4

__________________________________________

Flashback...

“Easy,” someone said in her ear, placing a steadying hand on her back. “Easy. Try not to move.”

Thulani wanted to insist she was fine, but that would be a lie. Her head was throbbing, there was a distinct ringing in her ears, and the ebb of adrenaline had her shivering. She lay crumpled on her side, unsure of how much time had passed since she had been thrown across the room and into a wall. 

She didn’t think she’d blacked out. But that was the funny thing about head trauma. You simply could not trust your memory to be a reliable narrator of recent events. It could have been several hours or no time at all. 

I can’t have been unconscious that long, she realized. 

While the Odbori district was located outside the city walls, this amount of destruction would require some attention from the local constabulary, regardless of who owned the place. It was an open secret that the building was a front for Black Sun’s unlicensed gambling tables. Which is the only reason her neighbors weren’t already climbing over the rubble to get a better look. Nobody wanted to get caught in the crossfire. 

But kriffing hell, a rather sizable portion of her apartment had collapsed onto the street!

One thing Thulani felt very sure about was that her shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact. It hurt like a mother fucker and did not appreciate being crushed underneath her. It had started to tingle from lack of circulation, and if she didn’t move it soon, it would go numb.

She shifted her weight to ease the strain, but that steadying hand on her back resisted.

“Easy,” he said again. “Be still.” 

She didn’t recognize his voice. It sounded…oddly distorted. 

The lens of her visor was chipped, but from this angle, Thulani had a very clear view of the smoldering remains of what had been her ‘Terms of Service’ signage. Only a few words had been left untouched by the wreckage, the largest of which proclaimed in bold: COMPLY. 

A very unsubtle message from the universe.

“Don't move until I've checked your spine.” Strong fingers pinched the back of her neck. It felt strangely intimate, and her whole body shivered. “Does this hurt?”

Unable to form words, she tried to shake her head no in response. But his other hand immediately reached for her chin to stop her. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was firm yet gentle. The smell of his leather gloves tugged at the edges of her memory. She knew this man.

“It’s not a spinal injury,” she lifted up her hand. “No sharp pain, and I can feel all my digits. See?” 

“Good,” said the Mandalorian. He made it sound like wiggling her fingers was a great accomplishment. 

She would have been annoyed, but there was something genuinely comforting about his voice. It was calm, and soothing, and kind. She could not recall hearing another voice that was so reassuring. 

“Does your head hurt?” his gloved hands probed her skull. “Any sore spots?”

“Ah!” She hissed. “There.” 

He made an amused hmmm-ing noise. 

“I probably have a concussion.”

But he remained silent, his fingers working. “Nothing soft,” he said after a moment. “Can you focus your eyes?”

“Yes. I can see where, under my 'Patient Code of Conduct,' I used the wrong character, so it actually says defecate instead of accommodate.”

For some reason, tears began pressing against the creases of her eyelids. It’s okay. That’s just the adrenaline crash. “But I guess I don’t have to worry about that…anymore.”

“Exactly. Try not to worry about anything right now.” 

An absurd snort of laughter burst through her nostrils. That voice. She wanted to trust it. She wanted to believe that everything really would be okay.

“I don’t feel any swelling,” he said moments later. 

It felt nice to be soothed and comforted. When was the last time another person had tended to her like this? 

Thulani flushed, reminding herself that this level of attention wasn’t necessary. She could sense as well as treat her own injuries. 

Any misgivings died on her lips when she felt his thumbs settle on either side of her vertebra between her shoulder blades. There was nothing sexual about his touch. However, she became keenly aware of his wide shoulders looming over her and how vulnerable she was lying on the ground. 

Yet, she did not feel afraid.

“Tell me if anything hurts or goes numb.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was all she could manage once his hands made their way down to her lower back. Layers of cloth and leather between them, but she imagined she could feel his fingertips pressing into her skin. She gasped when his thumb pressed into her tailbone. 

“Does that hurt?”

“No. Maybe. I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”

“You’ve got some glass buried in your hip and shoulder, but I think the concussion is the worst of it.” 

Ah! Yes, that would explain the excruciating pain…and the pool of blood I’m lying in.

“I’m going to lift you up now,” the Mandalorian said. “We need to leave before the roof collapses.”

He slipped his hands under her arms and, kneeling behind her, picked her up in one swift, effortless motion. She noticed he was careful not to let his fingers touch any part of her breasts and appreciated the gallantry. Honorable was not the same as trustworthy, but it was pretty damn close. 

The Mandalorian was quite a bit taller than she was, and her feet momentarily hovered above the floor before he set her down again. Once upright, she found herself standing with her back against his chest. 

“How’s your head?” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder to place a gentle hand on her temple. “Are you nauseous? Dizzy?” 

Thulani could feel his voice rumbling against her back. “N–No,” she murmured. It felt childish, but she couldn’t suppress the yearning that he might hold her. 

“I’m just not used to being on the other side of this dynamic,” she said aloud to herself as much as him. She needed to get it together. Her life was literally burning down around her, and here she was, swooning over some stranger. 

“How am I doing?” he asked from over her shoulder, taking her left arm by the elbow to inspect her cuts.

“Better than most warriors I’ve known. Maybe you missed your calling?”

A small huff of static crackled through the modulator when he laughed.

“We should patch up your arm, but I don’t think there's time.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get to it later.”  

“Worried I’ll start cutting some holes in your clothing?”

Um…what?

Thulani turned to face the Mandalorian. Her heart had skipped a few beats. Did he just…make a joke?

“I’m–I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I needed to insert the chest tube and—” 

"There's no call to apologize. Didn’t I just tell you not to worry?” 

There hadn’t been anything suggestive in his tone, but her stomach clenched suddenly in a wave of arousal. Stop this! What is wrong with me? She should at least wait until they were clear of the burning building before her thoughts turned to seduction. 

“Can you walk?”

Despite Thulani’s assurances that she could, she took one step and immediately swayed on the spot. 

“Careful,” he caught her by the waist before she could fall face-first back to the floor. “Let me help you.” 

The Mandalorian pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She didn’t realize she’d been trembling. Thulani looked up at him, surprised, and then he bent down, slid his arm behind her knees, and picked her up.

She didn’t know what to say. His arms were strong and protective. She wanted to rest her forehead on his shoulder, to curl up against his chest—the soft parts of him between the armor. Her life had taken a very unexpected turn in the past few hours, and she was so tired, and it would be so easy to simply give over to that strength and let him rescue her.

“I can walk.”

“No. You can’t. And I wasn’t exaggerating. The roof could come down any minute. We can’t wait for you to stagger out of here.”

“So you’re going to carry me across Dorumaa?”

“I promised I’d get you out.” He said it as though that explained everything. A man of his word.

“I didn’t expect such kindness from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yes. I did just watch you immolate several people in my living room.”

She couldn’t believe that soothing, trustworthy voice came from the same man. Maybe it was some trick handed down by Mandalorian hunters, a voice used to convince his quarry to give themselves up, to coax them into coming willingly. 

You know, just like I’m about to… 

No. If he wanted her dead, he would have left her in the rubble. She was a needless complication. She knew his secret—that he was guarding a child so valuable Black Sun’s most loyal lieutenants had broken their chain of command, risked torture and hideous death, to capture him. 

Instead, he had stayed to save her.

The Mandalorian looked down at her upturned face. Pressed against his chest, she could feel him holding his breath in anticipation.

“I had to stop them from hurting the people under my protection,” he said evenly. Then, he nodded toward the slow trickle of blood dripping from her shoulder onto the floor. “Guess I wasn’t entirely successful.” 

What did he mean by that? Surely he didn’t mean her? She barely knew the man. And yet he had stayed and rescued her. I know almost nothing about him. But I feel like I know who he is down to the very marrow of his bones. 

“What happened to the kids? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re hiding out at the tea shop down the street.” 

“Oh, that’s good. Madame Otessa is trustworthy. They should be safe.”

“I know. That’s why I sent them there.”

She laughed, “Aren’t you full of surprises?”  

“I’ll take that as a compliment since you sound pleased.”

“Yes. I am pleasantly surprised you didn’t leave me here to burn to death.”

“You saved my life. Honored my Creed. I make it a point to repay my debts.” 

Right. He feels duty bound to me. This was about honor and debts. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. Yet she found she did not mind being bound to the Mandalorian, whatever his reasons. 

Some people took offense at being saved. Thulani had been a healer long enough to know that some people had an extreme dislike of needing anything from anyone. Even if that person was not capable of reattaching their own retina, for example, they seemed to resent her as though it was a personal insult. As though her help only proved they could not restore the sight in their eye through sheer force of will. 

She was a healer. She did not expect gratitude. But she was nonetheless touched by the Mandalorian’s respect and admiration. 

“We should get out of here,” he said urgently.

“In the compartment where I hid Nito and the baby…there’s a bag. I’ll need it for what comes next.”

“And what happens next?” The hunter sounded deeply concerned about her answer.

“You’ll let me leave Madame Otessa’s Peony Pavillion to flee for my life?”

She had to get out of Dorumaa. Run for the next city, planet, quadrant, whatever it might be—because whoever had told Gwynn and Juss where to find the Mandalorian was not going to let her live.

His helmet tilted. “Respectfully, I think your odds of survival are better if you stay with me.”

The words echoed inside her mind. Stay with me. They promised safety. She knew that he was only helping her out of a sense of duty, and yet all she wanted was to believe in that promise. It had been so long since she felt safe. Not since that night, when the Queensguard had dragged her family out of their beds and forced them to watch while they executed every member of the Baqri household. 

Then her parents had been taken, and there was no one left to protect her. In the years that followed, though there were many times she prayed for it, no one had ever saved her.

So, while Thulani had every reason to harden her heart, she did not resent being rescued. She leaned into his warmth and found comfort in the strength of his arms, and she was not at all embarrassed to have needed it. 

“You’ll…help me?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I should warn you. I can get you out, but I can’t promise what I'm getting you into.” 

Thulani knew on some level that she should be worried he would turn on her. She found she couldn’t imagine it. Gods above, she trusted him. Her body trusted him. She had seen him burn Gwynn alive. She had heard the sickening crack of bone when he had snapped a man’s neck. Yet she was dead weight in his arms. There was nothing in her muscles or her skin or her nerves that told her she was in danger.

“That’s okay. There's nothing for me here anymore...and I don't want to be alone.”

The Mandalorian carried her away from the shattered windows. She felt his weight shift and put her arms around his neck for balance.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

___________________

Continue reading Volume 4 - Post #2: Gray Area

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night

Author's Note: This is just an idea I've been playing with for a while now, so let me know what you think, if you'd be interested in any more of it, the usual. 💜

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: The destruction of Esgaroth 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

Nothing is forgotten or forgiven when it’s your last time around ~ Something in the Night, Bruce Springsteen.

Sunny days were Nina’s favorite. She loved the way the sunlight sparkled against the lake’s surface, making the black water look as if encrusted with diamonds. At night, when the silver light from a full moon shone upon it, she couldn’t tell where the night sky ended and the lake began. 

She stood out on the narrow deck just off the kitchen. Like most of the houses in Esgaroth, the one belonging to her family was tall and skinny, and it seemed to lean slightly to the left. On days when the winds whipped in from the west, she’d swear the house actually swayed. The only house not built this way belonged to the Master, and Mama didn’t like it when anyone brought him into a conversation. He was the only person Nina had ever seen who seemed to be universally hated by every man, woman, child, and household pet in Esgaroth. It was rumored even his own lackey—Alfrid—hated him. But then again, the Master hated everyone in return, so it was really quite a fair tradeoff. Of course, he hated everyone because he liked to play that he was better.

Nina and the other average denizens of Esgaroth hated him because he was a greedy ass. He raised taxes arbitrarily, imposed fines by changing laws and regulations on a whim, and made certain to keep his subjects subservient by taking away and locking up anything and everything that even remotely resembled a weapon. There would be no uprising if he had any say in it and since he had the constabulary at his command and they didn’t, he had all of the say. 

The wood railing ringing the deck was old and falling apart, the paint faded and peeling from the splintering wood in long, curling strips, ruined by sun and spray, by fog and snow, by frigid winter air and baking summer heat. But she paid little mind to it. It was clear, cold day, the air scented with the promise of snow. 

But that wasn’t what had her so lost in thought as she watched the waves glitter and sparkle in seemingly all directions. 

No. Nina glanced in the direction of the Master’s fine, pretentious, utterly stupid house, and sighed.

She was in love.

“Mooning, are you?”

A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see her older sister, Lenna, propping an elbow on the railing and offering up a knowing smile. 

“No,” Nina shook her head as she managed to tear her eyes from the building, “I am doing no such thing.”

“He didn’t know you were alive, little sister. All he cared about was getting the Master to release him.”

“Which he did. And he smiled at me.”

“Or he was smiling at Shalia, as every red-blooded man does.”

“But he is not a Man, and you know it. He is a dwarf. And not just any dwarf, but the King Under the Mountain.”

Lenna let out a low laugh. “I am not calling you Queen.”

“You will when I win his hand.”

“He’s leaving in like, two hours. And he is not coming back.”

“So, I have two hours to get him to notice me.”

“You are mad. And Mama said we’re to mind the stand for a while. She has to go and fish.”

Nina sighed. “Very well. I wish Papa would return.”

“He’s not coming back, Ni. We need accept that.” 

Lenna turned to go back into the kitchen and Nina followed her. So much for going to the docks to see Thorin Oakenshield and his Company set out on their quest to reclaim their home of Erebor. She’d heard tales of Thorin and his family, but until the previous night, had never before laid eyes upon him. But as she stood in the snow, with the crowds of people who’d gathered after Thorin and his men—and a Hobbit, of all creatures—had been arrested for attempting steal weapons from the Esgaroth Armory, and her gaze fell upon him, she saw him for the first time.

And promptly lost her heart. He was simply the most handsome man—er, dwarf—she’d ever seen, with long, silver-streaked hair that was almost as black as the lake itself, a beard that was darker still, and pale eyes that could be either green or blue. She was too far away to tell. All she knew was he was handsome, with a deep, authoritative, elegant voice.

She followed her sister down to the street level, although streets in Esgaroth were canals and floating walkways. Their family’s trade was in baked goods, which were baked from sunup until  mid-morning and sold until they ran out. They had a prime location in the center of town and as everyone knew everyone, there was plenty of gossip and laughter in addition to work. 

Nina found it hard to concentrate as she kept turning west, in the direction of the Master’s house. All she could see was the upper balcony and part of her hoped Thorin Oakenshield would step out onto it. Last glimpse she had of him was on the steps of the Master’s house, promising everyone in Esgaroth they would share in the riches of Erebor, and she and Lenna had gone to sleep last eve dreaming of what life would be like once they no longer had to worry about money. 

But by the time they were done for the day, Nina had to accept that the dwarves had taken their leave and no one knew when or if they would ever see them again. A dragon had claimed Erebor and first Thorin and his company had to defeat it. As the sun sank low over the lake, Nina sighed and propped her elbow on the railing of the kitchen balcony, her chin on her fist. The thought of never seeing Thorin again, of something terrible befalling him, hurt her to her core.

“Do you suppose he’s frightened?”

Lenna tugged her worn shawl tighter about her shoulders. “Who wouldn’t be, facing off with a fire breathing dragon?”

“Well, true, but I suspect he is braver than most. He is, after all, the King Under the Mountain.”

“You’re just saying that because you think him cute. Because you want to kiss him and make those funny noises with him, like Rhys and Ena make.”

Nina stared at her sister. “You listen to them? Oh, that’s wrong.”

Lenna chuckled. “They’re so bloody loud, Ni, how do you not hear them?”

In the distance, rising from the darkness, the summit of the Lonely Mountain stood silent sentry over Erebor, Esgaroth, and Dale, the now abandoned city that lay between the two. Nina tried not to dwell on it. “I put the pillow over my head.”

“And that helps? You’re only on the the far side of our room.” Skepticism wove through Lenna’s voice.

“No.” Nina met her sister’s gaze. People often mistook them for twins, which Nina found laughable, as two years separated them. While they did share the same coloring—coppery red hair and wide, almond-shaped green eyes—Lenna was strikingly beautiful, her hair sleek and straight and perfect. She was delicate and pretty and people fell all over themselves for her. If she wasn’t as sweet as she was pretty, Nina would cheerfully throttle her for being so bloody perfect.

Nina on the other hand was short and stout, her hair often a rat’s nest of unruly curls that refused to behave. She was rough and tumble and more than once had punched a boy out for daring to get fresh with Lenna. The younger generation knew to steer clear of making Nina Carren angry. Nothing good ever came of it. 

Lenna sighed, shaking her head. “I didn't think so. Hopefully they will find a flat of their own soon.”

Nina smiled. Their older brother and his wife were married a year already, and even with saving as much as they possibly could, had yet to move into their own home. Sometimes, when they thought the rest of the house was asleep, and Rhys would exercise what Mama called his husbandly rights, Ena sounded as if he was murdering her. But come morning, Ena would be fine, smiling and laughing and no matter how Lenna tried to assure Nina that Rhys was not hurting his wife in any way, Nina couldn’t make herself believe it. The entire idea of doing… that with any man made her shudder. 

At least, it did until she saw Thorin. Then curiosity wove into the revulsion, and she wondered what it would be like, to know him in that way…

“Lenna?”

“What?”

“Have you ever…”

Lenna smiled. “Once. With Dane Inahorn.”

“You did?” Nina couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. “When?”

“Last Yule. His parents weren’t home and we… well…” Her smile faded. “It was only the one time and it was dreadfully uncomfortable. At least, it was for me. It hurt. It hurt and just when it stopped hurting and started feeling almost good, Dane came and that was that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. He smelled odd. I’m not doing it again until I’m married and won’t have to worry about jumping at—”

A low, ominous rumble rolled their way from the west, and a faint glow lit the horizon, orange against the darkness. 

“Len, what’s that?” Nina clutched her sister’s forearm. 

“I—I don’t know.” Lenna stood at her shoulder, her hand over Nina’s, her fingers tightening. She gave a gentle tug on Nina’s arm. “We—we should go inside, I think.”

The rumble grew louder and the air stirred, but it was different from the usual trade winds. Hotter. With more force. It blew through Nina’s hair, lifting it up to toss about her face as the air grew hotter still.

The entire town seemed to sway, just as it did whenever a strong storm whipped out over the middle of the lake and swept toward them, but this was different. There was far more movement. Wood and pilings creaked, some seemed to actually groan. There was nothing at all normal about the sounds or the swaying and Lenna gave a harder tug on her arm. “Ni, I mean it. We should—What is that?”

They saw it at the same time—a bright orange ball of light bouncing along the horizon, steadily growing larger and brighter. Lenna grabbed her hand and leaped back as the wind blew stronger, a low swish of leather sweeping through the air accompanying.

“Lenna? Is that… is that Smaug?”

As she made herself say the word, the dragon became identifiable, its massive wings propelling it toward them. Nina froze, unable to move, her gaze riveted on the creature as it drew in a long breath and exhaled a jet of flame that was almost red in its intensity.

The first buildings on Esgaroth’s west side were the fishermen’s shanties and they caught with the first blast, flames of orange and yellow devouring the roof shingles and licking along the walls. Another blast and the next block was engulfed. Screams rang out, footsteps pounded against the wooden walkways that were near-perfect kindling for the enormous firedrake. Heat rolled toward them like the heat of a blast furnace, almost knocking them off their feet with its force. 

“We need to go. Now.” Lenna tightened her hold on Nina’s wrist and Nina said nothing, just broke into a run to keep up with her sister. Rhys and his wife were not home yet, and as they reached street level, they plunged headlong into utter chaos. Half of Esgaroth was aflame now and Nina looked up as the dragon flew overhead. Cinders and shards of flaming house rained down upon everyone, sparking fire after fire as the dragon lazily flew from one end of town to the other, from west to east, from north to south. The heat was unbearable now, choking her, making her eyes burn and her nose run, and her breath near impossible to catch.

She and her sister ran. Smoke thickened, blinding them, choking them, and little by little, the fires gave off the light of the sun as they devoured building after building, block after block. Boats clogged the canals, and somehow, Lenna lost her grip on Nina and the panicking crowd swallowed her whole.

“Lenna!” Nina screamed despite her stinging throat and streaming eyes, fighting to get to where she’d last seen her sister. “Lenna!” 

“In you go, love!”

She screamed again as someone grabbed her and tossed her like a sack of flour into a small boat. She hit the bottom, the wind driven from her, and threw her hands up over her head as more burning shingles and wood scraps swirled on the wind from Smaug’s wings. Something scorched her left cheek, along the cheekbone. The acrid stench of singed hair stung her nose and when she brought her hand to her temple, her hair crumbled as if it was no more than ash. 

“Here he comes!” Someone above her screamed and Nina opened her eyes to see the dragon rise high into the air, its belly aglow and getting brighter as he dragged in a deep breath. She closed her eyes, braced herself for the sting of fire on her skin.

Only it never came. 

“Bard got him!”

“He did! I seen it!”

“He got ’im!”

Nina once more opened her eyes as Smaug writhed higher into the night sky, the glow of his belly going from orange to yellow to blackened ash. He twisted one way, then the other, a low, gravelly roar rolling across the night sky.

Then he plummeted back to earth.

The wave caused by his striking the water was beyond monstrous, flinging the boats and their passengers in all directions. Nina found herself looking first at the sky, then at the lake, and when she hit the water, the air left her body in a massive rush. The frigid water bit into her with sharpened fangs and the last thing she remembered was a hand snagging the back of her bodice to haul her out of the water and back into a boat, where she lay on the bottom shivering, ice crystals in her hair, on her clothes, in her eyelashes.

When she came to, she was on the sandy shore on the slopes of Dale. Her entire body ached. Her cheek stung, the burn along her cheekbone raw and sore. Like everyone around her, she had only the frozen clothes she wore—a worn blue cotton dress over a worn linen chemise, waterlogged hose and boots—and like the others, she searched in vain for Mama, for Rhys and Ena.

For Lenna.

They weren’t there. 

Over the next two days, she searched—for clothing or a blanket, for food, for her family.

They were gone. All of them.

She found Lenna washed on the beach, facedown, pale and unmoving. She was buried with the others in a simple grave just east of the beach. But there was no trace of Mama. Nor of Rhys or Ena. Incinerated, perhaps. Dragged to the bottom of the Long Lake when the firedrake hit the water, maybe. All she knew was her entire family was gone and she was alone. 

Around her, she watched as families were both reunited and broken. She watched mothers and children cry with joy and sob with sorrow. She helped her neighbors bury their loved ones, allowed them to help her do the same. As darkness fell, salvaged wine was passed around and despite her tender years, she drank her share. The next day, her new life began. 

A week later, the survivors were now settling in Dale, and she overheard Bard the Bowman, the man responsible for slaying Smaug, say, “It looks as if the company of Thorin Oakenshield has survived.”

They survived. 

He unleashed the beast that destroyed her home, her town, her family. 

Yet, he survived. 

That night, at the end of Dale’s main thoroughfare, Nina sat upon the low stone wall on a promontory that overlooked the front gates of Erebor. She sat, ignoring the cold, knees drawn to her chest, and just stared at the fortress city. Light glowed from within, visible through the city’s damaged façade. 

Her stomach rumbled. She ignored it. 

Her eyes stung. She blinked back the tears. 

There were riches inside that mountain. Riches Thorin vowed he would share.

A week had passed and not a single dwarf emerged from the city. 

Earlier that day, the king of the Woodland Realm, a tall, thin, handsome elf with pale gold hair and cold blue eyes arrived with an entourage of hundreds. She’d heard men speaking of a coming war between Men, Dwarves, and Orcs.

She heard tell of a giant pale orc called Azog the Defiler. 

For some reason, he had a score to settle with the King Under the Mountain.

He had placed a bounty of said king’s head.

For just his head.

Nina stared at the front gates, fury bubbling up from her gut to keep her warm. That damned king destroyed her home and her family. 

Not only will I collect that bounty, I will do him one better. I will bring Azog the whole bloody dwarf. 

[mysticstarlightduck]

OC In Fifteen Tag!

Thanks for the Tag, @kaylinalexanderbooks!

I'll go with some lines from Kyran Mavven (Of Starlight and Beasts), Raiden (Jade Ruins), and Sam Delaways (Enchanted Illusions)!

Kyran Mavven

"Ugh, you've got to be kidding me." *death glares at Masen from across the tavern with the wrath of a thousand suns.* [Masen sees him, and strides up to him for the whole tavern to see, speaking with an angry smirk "Hello, brother."]

"If I get to blow something up then... yes. The answer is yes. And it will always be yes."

[To Bastien] "... You're not as wretched as I'd expected, for an Eclipsed soldier, that is. You're... pretty okay." [Cue awkward pat on the shoulder before walking off]

"I haven't worked on a team for a while now. I wasn't expecting my next experience with this to be with this little bunch of dimwits, but I'll take what I can get."

"They're trying to kill us, aren't they." [Corah chuckles awkwardly drily, clearly lying "No, not at all! What made you come up with that?"] "First, most people we meet since you came around are actively trying to kill us. Secondly, and most evident - they've literally just stabbed you!

+ Bonus: "If you touch my glasses or my goggles again I will bite you."

Raiden

6. "Because I know how to put up a show - why do you think my fights in the arena have such a crowded audience? - while you almost stumbled yourself to death twice since we first met. By yourself. That's why I'm in charge of the distraction, and you're in charge of all the rest."

7. "Hold on just a minute! I'm far too glorious to trudge through that muck, oh, no way in the Hells! We're figuring out another way around this or I swear to the Spirits that will leave you behind -" [Gets thrown in the bog regardless, mid-tantrum]

8. "So we're working with the Daggerfangs now? Literal assassins and thugs?" Raiden looks between Solei and Nevan with a bitter laugh "Oh, okay! Here go my hopes at living past 25 then. But carry on, enlighten me with your plans."

9. "Just because I like to annoy you doesn't mean you're not my friend, Solei. Now, can you not be such a killjoy and just let me help you, or is that too difficult for your 'high royalness'?"

10. "Oh, it's not me you've gotta worried about. I'm all tied up!" He smiles, holding up his tied wrists with a near-hysteric laugh and a dangerous tone "You pissed off Jinn - you're more fucked than I could ever make you be. And I suggest you run off now, 'cause she's coming up behind you at a really remarkable speed."

Sam Delaways

11. "That's a good idea alright. If you two intend on being dead in a week that is!"

12. "...Yeah, this city ain't for the faint of heart - you gotta fight through it, or else it will consume you, and that never has a good ending."

13. "You don't say? Here I was thinking the whole 'drenched in blood and viscera, glowing pitch black eyes' was just a style choice of his - of course, I knew he was a necromancer! I just didn't know he was that necromancer, that bit is new."

14. "The constabulary here are more corrupt than the crooks. If you walk up to them with that bunch of evidence against the Mayor, I guarantee ya that you two will be the ones walking out of that station with cuffs and a noose waiting for you in the docks. We need 'ta make an actual plan to go about this."

15. "I want chocolate cake." [Harriet and Augustus turn to him, baffled, given that this is the wreckage of one of their most recent escapades gone wrong. Augustus speaks up "You do know that we almost died just now -"] "That's precisely why I want that cake. Now, shut up, and lemme just enjoy this ride for a while, fancypants, I got a headache."

Tagging (gently, no pressure): @lassiesandiego, @clairelsonao3, @little-peril-stories, @rickie-the-storyteller, @crowandmoonwriting, @sam-gladee, @writernopall, @oh-no-another-ideaa, @hrmkingizzy, @jasperygrace, @tabswrites, @littleladymab, @starlit-hopes-and-dreamss, @tabswrites @i-can-even-burn-salad, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and @blind-the-winds

[bananaabsns]

Butterflies

I saw this thing I wrote on my microsoft word last year and I have no idea on how to make it longer-ish cause it was too short for my taste. So instead on letting it exist on word I'm going to post it for fun.

There was never a normal, quiet day in Sun Do. Li Mei looks down as she watches the chaos happening down. There was a fight in Sun Do, a huge one. Li Mei guesses that there might be at least 20 or more people. Li Mei did a hand gesture and the constabulary went into quick action, they were defusing fights, handling punches being thrown at them, an octopus and stopping a few almost murders. 

Li Mei starts interrogating a local food vendor how it happened. He said that there was a misunderstanding with a group of teenage kids, one of them started throwing food, which they grabbed from a nearby vendor, which made the vendor angry and started yelling, the food hit the wrong people and boom boom. FIGHTING

She thanks the vendor, and looks around the area she spots an octopus stuck to a man's groin area and a woman who she thinks is his significant other yelling at him.

“The thing is that does not even make it to the top 20 weird things we’ve seen this week” Koh said as he stands beside her Li Mei laughs “Wouldn't be Sun Do” Suddenly a commotion happened Koh and Li Mei peaked at and sees one of the people who almost committed murder during the fight is making a run for it Koh sighs “why can’t people understand that running never helps. Stay here I’ll grab him”

She places a hand on his shoulder “No need, I tagged him already” Koh looks at Li Mei confused, but his attention is taken away when Li Mei points at a swarm of something white in the air, moving above Sun Do.

“Are those things following the man?” Koh asks

“Yeah, and those are butterflies Koh” One butterfly leaves the swarm and flies toward Li Mei’s hand Koh is mesmerized by the butterfly, it's beautiful, they had this translucent white color with a bit of purple in it. “How did you do this?” he asks while trying to touch the butterfly “I well I took inspiration from one of the spells I used to do to the princesses when they were younger” she smiles

“What use were these butterflies for?” “Oh you know storytelling and such” Li Mei murmurs quietly but Koh hears it and he snickers The butterfly flaps its wings and hops onto Koh’s hand “you a storyteller? Never thought I would hear that” “Well it wasn’t me I did the visuals, the designs, the sounds, but it was Sin- I mean the Empress who made the stories”  Li Mei smiles “the princesses loved those stories dearly” 

[fireleaptfromhousetohouse]

Old-style Paedoing, Before It Got Such A Bad Name

Epistemic status: understanding the recent past, which I wasn’t around for, mainly through the lens of comedies, rumour, and scuttlebutt

The story goes that it was an open secret for many years that Sir Jimmy Savile, knight of the realm, was a horrible sex pervert before it all came to light and he was declared a posthumous monster. And this is true - but the specifics are rather vague.

A lot of sources (or, as they are now, brave prescient voices) were bang-on certain he was into some kind of sex crime, but weren’t sure exactly what. Viz simply painted him as a man whose (unspecified) confessional was worth hearing. An early Mitchell and Webb bit came in on some shocking report midway through, leaving the actual deeds as a noodle incident but quite clear they were appalling: ‘you think you know a guy, and then he goes and does something like that.’ Even Johnny Rotten, back in ‘78, went no further than charging him with ‘seediness’ and saying ‘I know some rumours’ in an edgy-kid stream-of-consciousness about all the people he’d like to kill, where he displays a bit too much knowledge about what does and doesn’t constitute libel.

The general charge, if any, seemed to be necrophilia. Lee and Herring’s bit where they dressed as Savile ended with the punchline ‘bagsy I take him to the morgue’. One of Irvine Welsh’s earlier novellas has a Cornish Savile-alike wantonly indulging in any corpse he had access to - Welsh’s version is a more general TV personality rather than specifically a children’s entertainer, probably for fear of litigation. This was no idle fear, Savile was well-known for taking such insinuations courtside, and of course he did sue when Chris Morris falsely announced his death on Radio 1, with the coda ‘the patients [at Savile hunting ground Stoke-Mandeville Hospital] are far from mourning...The majority, if not all of them, are extremely relieved that he’s now dead, although I suspect that some of them will be sorry that he didn't suffer a great deal more’.

Interestingly, Lee and Herring - as they’ve stated publicly - weren’t brave prescient voices. Hanging around Television Centre in their mid-twenties, they’d become aware of this - to them, absurd - rumour that Savile troubled the corpses. They decided that if nothing else it was game for a laugh, presumably with a BBC lawyer standing nervously in the wings and demanding they not get too specific.

Until Savile’s death, this remained a rather murky Soviet truth, and Savile himself remained a respected public figure. Within the third millennium, even as Chris Morris was being castigated for the Paedogeddon special of Brass Eye, BBC brightly-coloured-blobs children’s show The Tweenies had one of its blobs dress up as Savile as a bit of lighthearted fun - in an edition of the show which was, unwisely, repeated in 2013.

(Side note: the same tabloids which threw an ape over the obviously satirical Paedogeddon regularly ran pictures of topless 16-year-olds, until a change in the law in 2003 forced them to stop.)

It’s all out now, of course, but like the sun is one of those things people are wary of looking at directly for fear of the damage it could do. Savile made full abuse of his position as a public figure, to the point that he himself admitted to the necrophilia in idle conversation. Even by the loose standards of the British constabulary they admit there were over 200 actionable complaints made against Savile over the years.

The crux is this - Savile having committed all these beyond-the-pale acts becomes a very convenient way to paper over the point at which, in the broader consciousness, paedophilia went from ‘crime’ to ‘unforgivable, lowest-circle-of-hell crime’ in the vein of necrophilia. Because it was far more acceptable not too long ago, as many legendary musicians can attest. Gary Glitter generally just seemed shocked people were suddenly taking it so seriously - as did Jeffrey Epstein. 

Louis Theroux’s rather regretful pair of documentaries about Savile has the man himself being quite blase about his attitude to underage girls - as were the girls themselves, some of whom, while young at the time, were by their own account quite aware what might be on the cards. Does this make them culpable? Of course not, they were children. But there are those who would disagree. At the time, many would have and did disagree - including, quite likely, serving police constables. The Rotherham grooming gang, so beloved a talking point of those who just want to have a go at Pakistanis in general, were enabled top to bottom by a police force who considered their victims to be ‘slags’.

[angelbroad]

"We can't do this on our own."

Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Mortal Kombat

Characters: Li Mei, Jerrod/Ermac, Kitana

Li Mei leaned on the table in frustration, Syzoth doing very much the same, scratching his head as he looked at a report in frustration.

 The woman slammed her hands on the table, “How are they getting past our defenses??”, she cried out.

 Ever since the army went through mutiny and the Constabulary numbers had been dropping. She sighed, seeking Kitana and Jerrod. She greeted them both with a salute before she stated her purpose.

 “The Lin Kuei are much worse than we thought.”, Li Mei explained, “If this goes on, we won’t manage to stop them from gaining a sphere of influence over Sun Do, or even Outworld as a whole, if we are not carefull.”

 Kitana looked just as worried as her, and so was Jerrod.

 “The Constabulary won’t be enough.”, Jerrod confirmed, “And the conscription we introduced for the army still has not filled its needed numbers. We can’t do this on our own.”

 “We cannot allow Bi-Han and his clan to infiltrate Outworld.”, Kitana warned, “There must be something we can do.”

 Jerrod run his hands across the map thoughtfully, before his eyes lit up from the memories of one of their battles.

 “We require aid.”, Jerrod said, turning the women’s attention to him.

 “The Shirai Ryu.”

[freyito]

another mk oc... This is L'otah Orion! A former Bounty Hunter who joined the Sun Do Constabulary... Still working out the details and properly drawing her but... squeezes her affectionately. meow!

[crashpill]

Downer

Name: Isabella Bloom

Age: 30

Gender: She/Her

Residence: Lud's Holm

Job: Hair dresser

Hair color: Dark Brown

Eye color: Grey

Family: Father and mother dead, brother works as a Constable

Relationship: Single

Special features:

Birthmarks on the face, (Half mask)

Likes:

Uncle Jack

Sewing

Tea

Sun

Making people happy

Favorite song: Not a Crime to Smile

Dislikes:

Snow

Injuries

Constables

Soldiers

Fire

Backstory:

Isabella and her brother Edward witnessed a tragic incident as children that claimed their parents' lives. In a devastating air raid on Wellington Wells, their parents were killed amid the chaos of war. Isabella was only 14 years old at the time, and Edward just 18.

With the loss of their parents, not only did the siblings' idyllic world crumble, but their family was torn apart. Without relatives to take them in, Edward, the elder, felt compelled to care for Isabella. In a world shrouded in Joy, where grief was considered a weakness, he tried to be a substitute family for his sister. The two endured a challenging childhood, marked by loss, loneliness, and the constant struggle to suppress their tears.

To make ends meet, Edward took on a job as a delivery boy at an early age, and later, when old enough, joined the Constabulary. The responsibility weighed heavily on his young shoulders as he tried to shield Isabella from the world's horrors.

In their cozy home in Wellington Wells, Isabella and her brother Edward lived happily. Isabella's hair salon was not far from their home, where customers came not only for a haircut but also for the warm atmosphere.

Isabella was a respected hairdresser in Wellington Wells, renowned for her artistic hairstyles that enhanced the city's splendor. Her life seemed perfect until she lost her hair salon due to an unfortunate chain of events threatening her livelihood. A devastating fire, triggered by an unlucky short circuit, destroyed her business and everything she had built. Without insurance and financial means to rebuild the salon, Isabella faced ruin.

Desperate and without hope for improvement, she turned increasingly to Joy to numb her worries and fears. However, over time, her body could no longer tolerate the drug, and Isabella found herself caught in a whirlwind of withdrawal symptoms and depression, while her once lively salon turned into a sooty ruin.

Without her livelihood and the support of her salon, Isabella not only lost her economic security but also her faith in the apparent perfection of Wellington Wells.

Instead of living in the euphoric illusion of Joy, Isabella found herself in the abyss of reality, plagued by withdrawal symptoms and the painful realization that the world around her was, in truth, crueler than she had ever imagined.

Her brother, torn between duty and family ties, eventually decided to bring Isabella to the outskirts of the Garden District as a Downer. There, in the decaying remnants of the city, Isabella must not only battle physical withdrawal symptoms but also the emotional turmoil between her past and an uncertain future. Her journey is marked by the quest for truth, self-discovery, and overcoming the dark shadows that loom over Wellington Wells and her family.

Relationships with:

Arthur: She could never really become friends with him but she liked his brother Percival. Sometimes she misses Percy as she remembers him more and more.

Sally: She doesn't know Sally well enough.

Ollie: Better keep distance from him.

Relationships with other characters:

Nick: She really enjoyed listening to his music. Would do anything to go to one of his concerts.

James and Roger: She doesn't know them both.

Percival: She was friends with him at the time and got along well with him. She doesn't know what happened to him and misses him in dark times.

Bobbies: Isabella's relationship with Constables is strained, marked by a conflict of allegiance. Her brother, Edward, being a Constable, adds complexity as duty clashes with familial bonds. The authorities view her as a Downer, intensifying the tension and making her interactions with Constables fraught with suspicion and risk.

Doctors: She actually likes them, Isabella maintains a neutral stance towards the doctors and harbors some hopes for understanding and support.

Uncle Jack: She loved watching him and misses seeing him on TV. She likes going to the Uncle Jack meeting at her place in Lud's Holm, but it's just not the same.

Foggy Jack: Isabella's relationship with Foggy Jack is characterized by caution and uncertainty. She doesn't want to meet him but would like to know more about him.

Downers: Can't trust everyone and she's pretty careful too. But when she meets someone good, she likes to help the person out and also share the things she has.

[dalekofchaos]

Rain should've remained a ninja and Hydro should've taken MK1 Rain's story

Hot take.

Rain should've remained a Ninja and not a fucking water wizard.

Rain isn't just a water user Rain controls rain and clouds and has used lightning as his moveset. He isn't aquaman. That's Hydro.

If anything he should have either been the following.

The leader of Edenia. Give Rain what he wants and to fulfill his destiny as Argus son. Sindel gives him the title of Lord of Edenia and he's called to help against General Shao's Rebellion.

A member of the Sun Do Black Ops division. In this, Rain stays to his ninja path and does what the Sun Do Constabulary are unwilling to do, and wipe out the enemies that threatens the Outworld Royal Family

The assassin who killed King Jarrod on orders of General Shao. He is freed by the general and sends him to kill the royal family, he fails and flees. Rain's arcade ending would be taking his birthright as ruler of Edenia.

Fuck were Ed and Dominic smoking?

Ninja Rain will always be superior

As for Hydro.

Could've been to Bi-Han, what Smoke was for Kuai Liang. Hydro is Bi-Han's right hand, does what Kuai Liang and Tomas are unwilling to do for the Lin Kuei. He shares Bi-Han's vision and even killed Bi-Han's father for Bi-Han and made it look like a drowning. His ending has Hydro get canon Rain's ending, but instead of feeling remorse for drowning Seido, Hydro justifies it by saying it was for the Lin Kuei and Havik will prove to be a valuable ally.(a hint of things to come) Sektor's ending has Hydro join her to free Bi-Han and Noob's ending has Hydro fighting with Noob and Sektor against Liu Kang. Also Hydro is gay for Bi-Han(I said what I said)

Could've been genderbent. Could be Bi-Han's wife and second in command or Frost's girlfriend and her name could be Hydra.(fuck you for just making her a fucking Invasions bullshit)

A Kameo who stands with the Lin Kuei...come to think of it. Why was Khameleon in the Khaos Reigns story, but Frost wasn't? 🤔

Full Lin Kuei line up Bi Han Sektor Hydro/Hydra Frost Full Shirai Ryu line up Kuai Liang Smoke Harumi Hanzo(lol fuck you Dominic, what's next? Satoshi being Kuai and Harumi's son???) Cyrax

[danco110]

“So, wait. You take care of the ruins of Avabruck, all on your own?”

The noblewoman gave the cathars a cheerful nod. “That’s right! Or, well, I have Tacitus here, and he provides his own brand of support. Isn’t that right, Tacitus?”

The wolf cub barked at the pair of soldiers, who seemed skeptical at the woman’s claim. One of them doffed his hat and began to plead with her.

“Please, ma’am, you seem a decent sort. But, there’s been sightings of werewolves about. It’d probably be best if you came with us. Just until the full moon passes.”

The noblewoman gave a derisive scoff at the mention of werewolves. “I know the group of which you speak. No doubt they’re offended that I’ve taken up residence in their former hunting grounds. Not to worry, good cathars. I do not fear those fools.”

“Well,” drawled the speaking cathar, “maybe you…should?”

The noble laughed at the question. “Once upon a time, I might have agreed. I always was rather helpless in a scuffle. As it stands now, however, I rather like my current situation; a solitary life, save for Tacitus, here. And believe you me, I will fight to defend it. On a related note, I feel I no longer have much to worry about with regards to full moons, if you catch my meaning?”

The cathar scratched his head. “Er, I…don’t?”

“I do,” the other soldier spoke up at last. “Anyways, I think we’ve taken up enough of the lady’s time. Heh, and Tacitus’s, too.”

As if on cue, Tacitus began happily barking once more.

“But please, ma’am, if you have any trouble…during the day…at all, you only have to ask for help. We’ll be there.”

The caretaker rolled her eyes. “You have my thanks. Now, the hour is growing rather late, don’t you think?”

The second cathar nodded up at the sun falling towards the horizon. “I concur. Let’s go.”

“But- Whoa!”

The second cathar dragged away the first before he could protest, leaving the caretaker waving at them as they left.

“What polite young men! Nothing like the constabulary that originally patrolled this town.”

[cpirits]

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎… ⋙ ╰┈➤ WILLIAM MURDOCH HC

"I rely on logic, not feelings to determine if a person is guilty" -S2x24

★ William first spoke freely about his crush on Julia was S1x11, right after he was shot with a crossbow and injured trying to protect a woman who could commune with spirits. (canon) ★ He had a cane during his recovery, and hated using it, but still keeps it in a closet of his house. ★ He's got a severe crush of Dr. Julia Ogden, but feels she is out of his league even though he flirts with her (so I don't consider their marriage in my muse's history.)

★ He doesn't drink (unless off duty, and even then light), smoke or do really any sort of promiscuous activity, but has read a few books, to which he tried deeply to forget but the words are stored forever in his brain. He might be curious about a lot, but unable to act on anything. ★ Makes the sign of the cross over his chest when finding anyone/anything dead, to honor the deceased, he also does his best not to use God's name in vein.

★ He grew up in a poor family, and so knows what hard work can make a man into. He'd work himself into the ground if he didn't have friends who cared. ★ He's not squeamish around dead bodies, and around Dr. Ogden who is constantly working with corpses, cutting organs, etc.

★ Murdoch wears coal on his eyes because it helps keep sun from them, and he's inspired by ancient Egyptians. He loves history. ★ Keeps his late fiance in his memory a lot, mulling over loving, and losing her.

★ In S1x12 he caught up with, and lost an old friend from his boyhood. He deeply grieves the loss and hates to see anyone he cares about die. ★ He cries only in secrecy, thinking from his church days that it's weakness showing, but as he grows he learns that it's okay for a man to cry openly. ★ He like all members of the Constabulary are proficient in Horseback riding, as well as shooting guns, though Murdoch doesn't use a gun unless acting in self-defense. ★ His favorite animals are Pigs ★ Coffee is a drink that perplexes him, he doesn't like that it's so bitter, and prefers tea.

... this will be added to ...

[hrshl-hlms]

The Vatican Cameos (1986 DOS game) CASEBOOK

Hi, here is the casebook from the manual so it's easier to read.

I cut it by chapters so it's not too heavy on the reading.

The Adventure of the Vatican Cameos

(April 22 - April 26, 1888)

CHAPTER ONE

The Discussion

"I see that you've not slept well, Watson. Your eyes are dull and colourless". Sherlock Holmes said these welcoming words as I sat to breakfast across from him. I poured a cup of thick, black coffee and reached for a still-warm toast. "It is true enough, Holmes", I said.

Holmes folded the morning 'Gazette' and dropped it alongside His chair and onto an ever-mounting pile of newspapers.

"We are experiencing an unusual spring. This heat brings out the worst in men, Watson. Evil seems to breed well and rapidly in those sweltering streets below."

I half-nodded my agreement with his statement, my mind yet besotted and bleary of the poor night's sleep. I reached for another toast. Holmes, on the other hand, was quite filled with a restlessness that usually comes from inactivity. I was surprised that he exhibited this form, for he certainly evidenced a considerable, and still mounting, pile of requests for his services.

"You're restlessness", I began cautiously, "cannot be from lack of work. You have telegrams and offers a-plenty." I eyed the small desk-top that was littered with telegrams, messages, and letters. Holmes nodded.

"You are right, of course, about the demands on my time. Most of these papers, though, represent nothing more than simple robberies, purse filching, pickpocketing - the activities pursued only by the lowest caste of criminal. All of this, for as much as it is, seems more properly the province of the local constabulary. It is for them to engage in the meaningless searches, mews runs, and the flailing of clubs to bring these sort of footpads to justice. There is little enough challenge to the mind as it is without worrying about these petty mischiefs!" Holmes stood and crossed the floor of our sitting room, stopping before the great bow window overlooking Baker Street. He stood, back to me, and quietly reflected on the scene unfolded before him.

"Out there, Watson, are men who plan their crimes, not merely prey upon the weak or those who suffer their momentary lack of vigilance. These minds are the ones we must seek to confront. They have a low cunning, intelligence, perseverance, and a seeming unquenchable thirst for power or money. They carefully lay out their evil in plots and plans, puzzles and trickery. They demand us to turn right when left is the true way. They know to the minute that moment most propitious to their own good, and they know that moment months before it is barn.

"Their intelligence is their greatest weapon - not the footpad's speed or the cat burglar's stealth. It is the mind-muscle which is stretched and flexed in designing evil plots. The most awesome of these stand in public sight, unhidden yet unseen. Their machinations continue on behind clear eyes that always watch, always see, and never sleep.

"These are the ones that must be prey to our hunt!" The vigor with which Holmes sealed his reflections came as a cannon shot in the otherwise quiet morning sun. He turned to me and watched me as I yet watched, half-expectantly, him.

"I'm sorry, old friend, for such a burst. I have had one or two trifling matters burden me. I can see no sense nor fee I my way - yet they should be simple affairs, quickly concluded."

I nodded, knowing the matters all to well. The first came a day or two prior In the form of a telegram. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother, revealed that an agent of his had gone missing. In itself, the matter was not of immediate consequence. What confirmed its importance was yet another telegram from the Vatican. A collection of highly desirable historical art works, the Cameos, we re en route to London for their world premiere showing. They never arrived. A theft had taken place depriving the Vatican of one of its treasures, the world of their prescence. The incident also placed tremendous diplomatic pressure on the Foreign Office. Mycroft's missing agent had been responsible for their safekeeping. Now both were gone and Holmes was handed the assignment.

"It would seem, Holmes, that the agent is key to this entire mystery. Locate him and you will have found your cameos." "Holmes shook his head. "If it were all that simple, Watson. The agent was undercover, had successfully infiltrated the gang of thieves, had some idea of their plan, telegraphed Mycroft, and was discovered. He returns to England, the original plan obviously altered, and the theft took place between Rotterdam and here. Mycroft had one interview with the agent in London shortly after his return. The second scheduled interview went unmet as the agent, by then, had disappeared. There are too many incidents that go untold and unnoticed."

"Did the agent present Mycroft with the identity of the gang members?"

Holmes resumed his seat opposite me. "Only the names of the lower echelon. The centre-players go unknown. The agent's activities were discovered before he could reach to these men."

We would have continued our discussions on the matter if there had not been a heavy pounding of feet on our staircase and the explosive entry of a man, not more than five and twenty of age, into our rooms.

-

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR

[primevein]

The Prime of His Youth: Book III: Prometheus' Gift: Ch28: Why Not?

Japheth laid on his bed as Roxana looked at his leg.

"So?.." Arcee asked, and trailed off, "Can we... without making it worse?"

"If you want to do all the work." Roxana said with a bright smile.

"What are we going to do to risk injuring him more?" Carron asked from the kitchen.

"We?" Arcee asked her.

Arcelia turned towards Carron and took a couple of steps towards her. "Human intimacy, normally between intimate partners."

"Oh, then excuse me." she said, and turned away. Arcelia sent a signal to close the doors.

* * *

Arcelia slipped out of Roxana's grasp as Arcee lay cuddling Japheth. Roxana stood up, and the two walked over to the shower. Arcee leaned up to give him a passionate kiss and slipped from the bed. She slowly sat up and groaned, pausing where she was. Arcee turned around towards him, walking backwards to the shower as they heard it turned on. She gave him a deep look. He nodded his head and laid back down.

"I think we've hurt him enough for a day." Roxana stated.

Arcelia looked up, just now noticing the sun had come up. "Ciel?" he asked.

"Master?" she asked, and a moment later he saw her head looking around the corner. "When is the next portal?"

She disappeared for a moment before her head appeared again, "3 hours."

"Alright, everyone get showered, and then we'll roll out." he stated.

Arcelia's head disappeared and Arcee's head appeared, "We should stop in New Kalis." she stated.

"For recuperation?" Arcelia asked. Arcee pulled back, and no more words could be heard.

* * *

Japheth drove in the sunshine, with Arcee, Arcelia, and Roxana following behind him. Carron flittered above him. "Carron, if you see him again, and he doesn't announce himself, shoot him."

"M... master?.." she nervously asked.

"Just once, unless he draws his chains, then until he stops." Japheth replied.

"M-Master?.." she asked.

"Take a couple seconds between shots." Japheth added.

"M-master!" she affirmed.

"What about me?" Arcee asked.

"Keep a look out incase we need more firepower." Japheth stated.

"Really don't trust him?" Arcee neutrally asked.

"I honestly don't know." Japheth stated, "He's dangerous either way. We'll let the Wreckers find out if that's a good thing."

* * *

The convoy drove into Alden Base. Japheth slowed to a stop as the guard saluted He transformed, returning the salute. The femmes doing the same behind him. He could see a giraffe looking at him over the tents. He transformed into colossus and walked over. Japheth walked over to meet him. "Can I help you?"

"I hear you are recruiting a crew for your ship?" Colossus strongly asked.

"And if we are?" Arcee asked.

"Before..." he spoke strongly, and then trailed off. He steeled himself to continue, "I was an engineer."

"How convenient." Arcee sarcastically stated.

"What was convenient was my inability to get to Africa. And as such was here to entreat you."

Japheth paused for a moment. "What do you think?" Arcee asked him.

He paused a moment longer, "We do need skilled people to join us." he uttered. "What kind of weapons do you have?"

"I surrendered my weapons." Colossus firmly stated. "I did not wish to hurt anyone."

"You don't want to fight?" Arcee asked.

"I was hoping to return to peace." he strongly stated, "But, if I was attacked, I would defend myself with hands. And horns. Luckily, there are few on Terra that would challenge a Cybertronian. There was a couple of would-be poachers, however."

"And?" Arcee expectantly asked.

"And?" Colossus asked, "I turned them over to the local constabulary. You have several local forms of law enforcement that I cannot remember which one."

"And that's all that happened?" Arcee asked.

"Human weaponry cannot hurt a Cybertronian." Colossus stated, "I was able to subdue them simply by taking their weapons."

"They didn't try to run away?" Arcee asked.

"It seems giraffes are far faster." he neutrally said, and shrugged.

"If I wanted you armed?" Japheth asked.

"So long as I would not be the one to start the battle, but join it once it's started." Colossus proudly stated.

Japheth stepped forward and offered him his hand.

"A Human custom." Arcee stated.

Colossus stepped forward and took his hand, giving it a strong grip. Japheth shook it.

* * *

Japheth walked up to their house in New Kalis, with Arcee, Arcelia, Roxana, and Carron walking right behind him. He sent a signal to open the doors and hobbled inside. He turned around on his good leg. "Alright, I still need some time to recouperate."

"Oh, no." Arcee sarcastically, salatiously stated as she sashayed up to him. "What - ever - will - we - do?"

He looked at Carron, "Carron on sentry." he said.

"Yes, master." she affirmed, and seemed immediately relieved.

Japheth looked at Arcelia, "Ciel, I hate to give you more to do."

"But you're going to." Arcee said, as she turned to scowl at Arcelia.

"She's just upset about having to wait." Roxana said. Arcee glared at her, and Roxana replied with a brilliant smile. The two simply stared at each other for a moment before Arcee's scowl broke into a weak smile.

"I need you to look into finding Shockwave." Japheth stated.

"I have been, but have found nothing." Arcelia stated.

Japheth sighed, "I wish Sirenia was here." Arcelia gave him a brilliant smile. "What?" he asked.

"I may have already sent her a message saying how much you miss her." Arcelia coyly stated.

He slowly developed a brilliant smile. "Thank you."

"She totally deserves headpats." Arcee stated.

"The first priority should be medical treatment." Roxana said, and Arcee Tsked.

Japheth hobbled over to the back of the room and eased himself to the ground against the wall. Roxana pulled out her medkit as Arcelia stepped up. She had a brilliant smile as he pet her head. When it was done she stepped back, and the fog cleared. "What did you want with Shockwave?"

"Well?" Japheth asked, "Aside from being a mad scientist we should really keep our eyes on, he's also one of the only ones... maybe the only one alive that understands Star Bridges."

"Oh!" Arcelia asked, and looked distant. She walked over to a corner and kneeled down, pulling out her tablet.

"Sooo?.." Arcee asked.

"Maybe we can just relax?" Japheth asked, reaching up for her.

"Fiiiine." she replied, and then sat down next to him, slip under his arm.

"Carron?" Japheth asked, and she nearly jumped before turning to look at him, "Why don't you tell us about what you used to do?"

Carron gave him a curious look before looking back at the door, "I'm sorry, I am on sentry."

"The door is locked." Japheth stated. "I'm sure we'll notice if someone tries to blow their way in." She looked at the door for a moment. She steeled herself and slowly turned towards him, giving him a nervous, apprehensive look. "Before you were captured, what were you doing?"

"Hiding in New Kalis." she nervously stated.

"Reminder, you're with family." Roxana said without looking up. She got no reply, and so looked at her, "Maybe family is something you don't understand, so how about this? So long as you are serving Japheth Prime, any secrets we reveal about you will hurt us."

"That's a really good point." Arcee stated. "So, you can spill anything you want."

"Or that Japheth wishes you to." Roxana said without looking up.

"What were you hiding from?" Arcee asked.

"The war..." Carron nervously stated.

"I don't know why you are worried about that." Japheth stated, and Carron gave him a lost look, "That's what Siren was running from."

"I wasn't exactly thrilled about the start of the war." Arcee stated, "Oh, sure, I was a true believer, in everything Optimus said, but wasn't a Warrior. I never wanted to be."

"Wars are terrifying things." Japheth stated, "Just because it lasts so long that you think it's normal, doesn't mean it's not horrible. Hell, I tried to just keep quiet, do my own thing..." he said, and sighed.

"It couldn't last forever..." Arcee longingly voiced.

"And now we have to track down the mad scientist that created most of Megatron's warcrimes." Japheth said and sighed.

"Assuming we can find him." Roxana stated. She finished tending to his wounds and started to clean up.

"Why don't you just ask Predaking?" Arcee asked, and Japheth's eyes grew wide. Why didn't he?"

[olivewinterleaf]

TALES OF NONAGON

Chapter 8

(The Suspect)

Despite all the kerfuffle on the opening night, it was as though nothing had ever happened. The museum opened as normal to the public, mainly because in Nonagon - and in Nonagon University in particular - the sun never sets and all is forever well.

However, the constabulary was continuing its investigations into the death of Dr Hector Pork-Rind.

Inspector Burstbubble and Sergeant Picklepant were in the incident room listening to the chief constable babbling about yet another new kind of form to be filled.

Burstbubble tutted and shook his head in dismay. Soon the constabulary would not have the time to do any actual investigating of crimes. Also, the new form seemed to be extraordinarily unwieldy, for it was very long, such that it trailed the floor. And even a brief glance showed that a mad man could well have devised the content. This was normal for Nonagon. Slightly less so for the rest of Angleland.

At some point, which was not entirely certain, Sergeant Picklepant and Inspector Burstbubble managed to survive this and get on with their investigation.

They entered the pale blue walls of the Nonagon Forensic Laboratory. This was a suitably austere building in the antimorphiloquent style of carefully disordered blocks.

Calming recorded sounds wafted from the pathology room. The gentle music of Pantovani and his Gladiolin Orchestra echoed softly through the corridors.

Burstbubble removed his trilby and Picklepant removed his helmet out of respect for the assortment of deceased individuals.

A masked man emerged from behind a pale blue screen. He wore a pale blue gown and rubbery gloves and boots too. It was Dr Crimson, the forensic pathologist. He pointed silently to the area behind the screen, where the body of Pork-Rind lay on a slab.

Then he spoke: “As you can see, the victim’s internal organs have turned various shades of green; olive, jade, moss, sea green... prior to death. So it’s not surprising that he got a bit green around the gills!” He paused as though waiting for an appreciative laugh. He didn’t get one.

The police officers’ faces were also turning green.

However, this did not deter the pathologist from further attempts at jollity.

“A cursory glance at his stomach contents would suggest the poison had been ingested. This has been confirmed by the samples sent for testing. It’s amazing what they’re serving at banquets these days! What will they think of next?” chuckled Dr Crimson.

Sergeant Picklepant wriggled his nose; sure he could smell the bilious stink of the stomach contents that were floating around in the sealed jar. Inspector Burstbubble’s own stomach churned with disgust.

The pathologist continued: “Further analysis has revealed that this fast-acting poison would have been ingested - probably dissolved in an alcoholic drink, thus quickly absorbed through the stomach lining, resulting in rapid onset of death. As you may or may not know, hydrophlatious dichloride - usually used as a herbicide - has a peculiar effect on the organs. Once it reaches the stomach lining, it infiltrates the circulatorial system. This is where it reacts with the haemoglobes turning them a deep green. Of course, the haemoglobes then begin to tint every organ in the body an assortment of greens, as you see. At this point the hydrophlatious dichloride starts to really do its work, beginning by irritating the mucous membranes, hence the oozing snout, et cetera. In any case, every bodily function begins to fail on a spectacular scale. For instance...”

“Yes, I think we’ve heard enough!” Burstbubble interrupted.

“Guv, a wine glass was found at the scene, also contaminated with a minute quantity of ’ydrophlatious dichloride,” piped up Picklepant rather enthusiastically, twirling his very small moustache. Picklepant hoped to grow his moustache bigger one day. Perhaps rising to the rank of inspector himself.

“Unfortunately there were no fingerprints other than Pork-Rind’s,” added the inspector, rather pessimistically. “It even turns out the serving staff were conveniently wearing white gloves throughout the evening. Of course the culprit might have wiped their fingerprints off anyway...”

Later, Inspector Burstbubble stood at the large pin board, carefully piecing together the evidence. This involved very large drawing pins shaped, for some reason, like the constabulary motif. He examined various crime scene photographs but his concentration was interrupted at intervals by the occasional whirring of the newly installed extra-large new-fangled processing engine. Also the photographs were somewhat greasy, as they had been left under someone’s stale sausage roll.

In exasperation it was decided to question some of the suspects. Starting with Mrs Pork-Rind.

The gilded gates opened slowly and the detectives were greeted by a mythological statue of athletic dimensions. An enormously wide driveway terminated in a mansion that could only be described as lavishly ornate, even by fondanté standards. The front door alone appeared to be made of gold, as did the window frames. Evidently, Dr Pork-Rind’s tastes were as extravagant at home as they were in the museum.

They pulled a golden chain by the side of the door. Picklepant was half expecting it to make a flushing noise, like a toilet.

After a while, the large golden door slowly opened revealing a pallid butler. The only staff left, now that Mrs Pork-Rind had dispensed with their services.

The officers introduced themselves. Inspector Burstbubble briefly flashed his silver badge and warrant card. The butler looked down his nose and silently showed them to a drawing room housing a number of large paintings of hunting scenes and other country pursuits - such as bird filching and twig dithering. The butler walked away at a stately speed.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Picklepant removed his helmet and switched off its small flashing blue light at the top. He straightened his uniform. “How the other ’alf live, eh guv?” he whispered.

Burstbubble rolled his eyes in agreement, as he removed his trilby hat, carefully straightening its small feather. He loosened his red tartan trench coat.

The butler eventually returned to announce, “Mrs Pork-Rind will see you now.”

They followed the butler to another reception room. The butler then announced, “Inspector Burstboil and Sergeant Picklepunt, Maaaa’am.”

Mrs Pork-Rind sat gracefully on the edge of a chaise longue, which was extremely longue. She was wearing a deep blue confection, which although long, left little to the imagination in the breast department.

“Do sit down, Inspector, Sergeant... Would you like a little refreshment? It’s nearly time for tea,” she said sweetly, dabbing her cheek gently with a blue silk handkerchief as though she had been crying.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind ma’am,” Picklepant smiled, bashfully.

Burstbubble spoke tactfully: “Mrs Pork-Rind, we are sorry to disturb you at such a distressing time, but I’m hafraid we do need you to tell us about that fateful night. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“I quite understand, Inspector... I had arrived before my husband to oversee the final arrangements of the museum opening.”

“Was there anything that struck you as unusual during the preparations?”

Mrs Pork-Rind thought for a moment. “Not that I can recall.” She paused before adding, “Well, there was something,” she hesitated, “a strange woman in a yellow ball gown with a tall wig was roaming around. I thought that was strange.” Then she leaned forward and whispered, “I saw her again being rather insistent that my husband take a glass from her.”

Picklepant noted everything down in his little notebook.

Burstbubble’s eyes narrowed, “Very interesting, Mrs Pork-Rind,” he said, thinking of Madame Pluchette and her wig-cum-bird cage.

“He looked at me so lovingly during the dinner... Oh, but who would want to kill my Hector Wektor?!” she cried out, bursting into tears.

Seemingly inconsolable, the detectives left quickly to question the next person on their list. And Sergeant Picklepant had been so looking forward to a free cup of tea too.

Burstbubble and Picklepant arrived at the absurdly high desk of the museum, to be greeted by Bilious Bilberry. Burstbubble’s brown whiskers twitched. Bilberry’s grey whiskers twitched. Burstbubble narrowed his eyes and showed his badge and warrant card. Bilberry scrutinised the badge, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Having satisfied himself that the badge was genuine, a member of the administrative staff was summoned to escort the detectives to the offices.

The police officers were led up an enormous, pristine, white granite staircase, through a series of wide corridors. The walls were also pristine and white, with flecks of precious metals such that the whole corridor twinkled and sparkled as they passed through. Picklepant became momentarily disorientated, so dazzling was the display. Burstbubble scrunched his eyes up repeatedly, as though he had been temporarily blinded. They passed a door labelled Monotype-Corsiva Room, before finally coming to a row of office doors.

Gravel Retrench sat in his newly refurbished office. His breathing was laboured. He had spent the rest of the night attempting to fathom the stone-like objects that he had acquired. He was sure that their irregular shapes were significant in some way and he had tried to position them in some meaningful order so that they might possibly reveal their hidden power. But he had failed. Now he was utterly exhausted. His complexion had continued to develop a grey powdery texture, his body desiccating, as the plot darkened.

There was a knock at the door, and as he commanded that they enter, he attempted to straighten his posture, painfully.

An assistant showed the officers into Retrench’s new office. It was sparse, but already equipped with the essential symbol of wickedness incorporated discreetly into the floor.

The design did not escape the inspector’s notice though. “What a weird design. It looks Bislamic.”

“Quite,” muttered Retrench, before asking them to sit down. But there was only one seat available - unprepared as yet for multiple visitors - so Sergeant Picklepant remained standing. This was annoying as it would be more difficult for Retrench to control his mind. Then Burstbubble moved the chair out of alignment just before sitting, making it even more difficult to control the situation.

“Mr Retrench, I’m told you have recently been appointed Director of Hadministrative Hinteraction,” Burstbubble began, twirling his moustache, and raising his left bushy eyebrow in the manner of a sceptic.

“That... is... correct,” Retrench replied, sounding rather stilted as he struggled to control the detectives’ minds. The pebble in his pocket slipped out of his sweat-drenched palm.

“And it is in that capacity you were present at the patron’s dinner?”

Retrench’s face crumpled, the pain emanating from his head seared through his body as he attempted to straighten himself in his chair. “Yes...”

“Could you tell us your movements and hobservations during that evening?”

Picklepant stood poised to take notes, with his new green pencil - having lost his old yellow one.

Retrench thought for a moment. Or at least it appeared as though he was thinking. Having failed to control both the officers’ minds, he was now attempting to gain control of Burstbubble’s, without much success.

“I spent... most of... the evening... making sure everything... would run smoothly that night. I seem to remember... that the Custodian of Western Artefacts, Professor Bucket spent rather a lot of the time around the drinks bar...”

“Mmm... Does ’e ’ave a drink problem?” asked Burstbubble.

“I really wouldn’t know... I merely mention it as I had heard Pork-Rind had been poisoned... Of course, he was a contender for the directorship...” Retrench did his best to incriminate the professor, before continuing in the same stilted manner. “Then of course, there’s Humffrey Twink...”

“Mmm... Does ’e ’ave a drink problem?” asked Burstbubble, repeating himself for no apparent reason. He had been, if only briefly, under the influence.

Picklepant looked puzzled.

Having failed to achieve any real control over the inspector, Retrench continued: “No. He was the museum administrator prior to my appointment... It was Dr Pork-Rind’s express wish that Mr Twink be moved to building project management. I have heard it said that he was far from pleased... he was at the dinner but slipped away early... I believe.”

Sergeant Picklepant feverishly noted down the details while Burstbubble’s whiskers bristled with suspicion.

It was late into that evening. Burstbubble and Picklepant were sat in the constabulary canteen, which by now was mostly devoid of any activity. They collectively slurped tea, while deep in thought.

“Guv, I wouldn’t eat that if I were you,” muttered Picklepant.

Burstbubble had a small pie in his hand. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, I’ve ’eard rumours about where they get the ingredients...” he whispered.

“Who cares as long as it tastes good?”

“But guv, I heard it tastes awful!”

It was too late. The inspector had taken a large bite out of the dodgy pie. As he chewed through the greasy pastry, the contents revealed themselves to be suspiciously rubbery. It was at that point that a couple of uniformed officers, flashing helmets and all, rushed in.

It seemed there had been a fire...

An unbelievably foul stench pervaded the sparkling corridors of the museum, as the detectives approached the epicentre of the burnt-out fire, just as the combustion control officers were leaving. It was in Gravel Retrench’s new office.

It was not the stench normally associated with charred flesh. It was much worse, if that were possible. Apparently, a fan heater had been left plugged in and somehow it had switched itself on, becoming overheated. Retrench, for some unknown reason, had not moved. His skin had cracked - dried out by the intense heat - until he had not a single piece of living tissue left. His body completely burned from the inside by a kind of internal combustion, leaving a hideous dehydrated grey husk behind still smouldering in the chair. Though curiously, his eyes remained intact - staring at what appeared to be a number of ornamental objects on his desk, now covered in a layer of ash.

The culprit, it transpired, was a rather old fan heater that had been fixed after an electrical fault.

Burstbubble thought. Who was responsible for ensuring the safety of fan heaters? Who had locked the office door from the outside? For there was no key to be found within the office. Moreover, his trench coat had acquired the stench of roasted Retrench. Mrs Burstbubble would not be pleased.

The next morning the detectives approached Mr Filibuster-Fartlet, who was busying himself with one of the most important jobs on his list; the careful and exact arrangement of the luxury quilted toilet rolls in the new, glittering museum toilets. The cleaning of said areas was now outsourced to a private company that won’t replenish toilet rolls: for health and safety reasons.

Inspector Burstbubble was having trouble attracting Filibuster-Fartlet’s attention. “Mr Fartlet! I wonder if you could spare a moment?”

“Filibuster-Fartlet,” he corrected. “One cannot emphasise the importance of proper toilet roll provision.”

Burstbubble’s whiskers bristled. “If you insist.” he said sarcastically. “I’ve been told that you’re responsible for ’ealth and safety in the museum?”

Filibuster-Fartlet smiled smugly. “Yes, I am in charge,” he replied emphasising the ‘I’, proudly.

“Could you explain to me how the fan heaters are checked and distributed, Mr Filibuster-Fartlet?” asked Burstbubble, emphasising the ‘Filibuster’.

After some hesitation involving mumbling sounds he finally replied, “They are usually checked by the fixings technicians.”

“And how do they find their way to each office?”

“You would have to ask the Department of Fixings that,” he replied snootily.

“So this is what would have happened to the fan-heater in Mr Retrench’s office?”

“Oh, that one was faulty. But I fixed it,” Filibuster-Fartlet replied sounding rather conceited. “Fixings said they were too busy and they would have to work overtime, so I fixed it myself!” he added pompously.

For a brief moment, Sergeant Picklepant stopped jotting down in his notebook, aghast. “Talk about fate, guv.” Before pondering if it was something more sinister.

Inspector Burstbubble muttered something before continuing, “About the night of the patrons dinner... Could you tell me where Mrs Pluchette would have been that evening?”

“Madame Pluchette should have been patrolling the galleries upstairs, but she does so enjoy meeting people. She was also absent from the group hug. Naughty girl.”

“Group hug?” puzzled the inspector.

“Yes. It’s part of our VFE.”

Burstbubble and Picklepant glanced at each other with puzzled looks.

Filibuster-Fartlet waved his hand limp-wristedly. “Visitor Focusing Exercises!”

That night an alarm kept going off for no reason. As far as Blabulous Balustrade could ascertain, the offending alarm had been commandeered on Filibuster-Fartlet’s orders during a gargoyle installation on the roof. He had apparently neglected to inform anyone of the changes. Now there were gusts of wind seemingly disturbing the new arrangement, which Balustrade could not control. Fed up with the situation, he decided that this was a good time to turn to the man in charge, Mr Filibuster-Fartlet.

Filibuster-Fartlet had fallen into a stupor after another night of drinking his favourite wine. In a state of discombobulation he had managed to get into bed, his trousers at half-mast and his shirt partly removed, now crumpled as it was by a night of tangled bedclothes. This could be seen clearly by the residents from across the road, for Filibuster-Fartlet had neglected to draw the curtains in his flat.

Several hours had passed and a noise offended his ears. It was the telephonical receiver. But he failed to respond, so disjointed were his senses that he could not move. But the noise would persist until he reached out for the receiver. And after a drunken disagreement with Balustrade over some health and safety issues, he replaced the receiver upside down in a huff. Filibuster-Fartlet was determined. He was in charge. He would order Balustrade to do as he was told.

Despite a rhinoceros having settled in his mouth and subsequently dying, and his legs feeling as though they belonged to at least two other people, Filibuster-Fartlet managed to negotiate the short walk from his flat to the museum and the alarmed doors therein, to personally give Balustrade his orders. But Balustrade stood firm and Filibuster-Fartlet snatched his keys, deciding he would resolve the problem himself.

He climbed the many stairs to the top of the building - stairs that wound this way and that and sparkled wildly in the glow of the penumbra. Finally he reached the top and the fortified metal door that led to the roof. After several fumbling attempts, he found the correct keys. The door flung open, pushed by a sudden gust of air.

Filibuster-Fartlet stepped out into a strong breeze...

The sun began to trace the side of the museum as it did every morning. But this time there was something different about the building. Sneerpot was the first to notice it, as he approached the tree-lined boulevard upon which the museum was situated.

There appeared to be a new statue suggestively impaled upon the previous statue that adorned the roof of the great portico. Its fabric was ripped, flapping in the breeze in a heroic manner, sun gloriously tracing its surprisingly hairy arse and thigh. Purple quiff standing to attention...

But wait, Sneerpot thought, it looked a bit familiar...

The crane swung around and soon the body of Filibuster-Fartlet would be winched off the statue. Sneerpot and Scarletina watched, giggling rather wickedly, as the startled rictus grin on Filibuster-Fartlet’s face came into view, before his body was hurriedly bundled away by the men-in-white-coats.

The corresponding whiskers of Blabulous Balustrade and Inspector Burstbubble were momentarily engaged in synchronised bristling, until Balustrade finally spoke.

“I was forced to disarm a path to the roof after an altercation with Mr Filibuster-Fartlet, who refused to follow protocol vis-à-vis night-time roof access. He would not accept that the roof was treacherous in faint light, especially when wet or windy. I did not accompany him, as leaving my post would have placed myself, and therefore the museum, in danger, had the roof alarm turned out to be the result of anything other than hincompetence. I did wonder where he’d got to. He must ’ave been blown off.” He shook his head. “Lamentably there ’ave been some very strange things ’appening of late...” he looked around, briefly.

“Go on, Officer Balustrade,” Inspector Burstbubble urged.

Balustrade looked around again before whispering: “As part of our duties, all the keys ’ave to be accounted for. Well, there seems to be a lot of attendant keys for the number of attendants we ’ave. Don’t you see? There must have been more. And they’ve all gorne missing! And then there’s Mrs Pluchette who seems to ’ave had a special dispensation from Filibuster-Fartlet to carry any keys as she likes and wander about all over the place. Of course, she’s always ’ankered after promotion...”

Inspector Burstbubble thought to himself, so many people with so many motives. He was convinced wickedness was afoot.

Later, Burstbubble and Picklepant sat through some of the gargoyle tapes. It slowly dawned on Burstbubble that Madame Pluchette featured rather frequently in these tapes. It was definitely Madame Pluchette. Even though the tapes were not of the best quality, she was instantly recognisable: for it was she, who always wore the brightest outfits. Who could miss the neon pink culottes or the long lime green fishtail skirt? Who could miss her platinum blonde bouffant hairstyle?

Picklepant watched closely the times and dates of each of her appearances as he scoffed puffed corn pips - a popular starchy snack enjoyed by the masses.

After many yawn-inducing hours, one thing was emerging. Madame Pluchette appeared outside Retrench’s office door apparently locking it, one hour prior to the fire incident. Indeed, her fingerprints had been found on the exterior door handle. She later appeared in the vicinity of the fire exit to the roof, hours before Filibuster-Fartlet’s so called ‘accident’. She also had the opportunity to poison Dr Pork-Rind with an alcoholic beverage handed to him with a silk-gloved hand. Although it was true that the contaminated glass found at the scene could have been handled by anyone.

Nevertheless, Madame Pluchette’s unfortunate habit of being in the right place was cause enough to bring her in for questioning.