#but im usually just making faces. I like fran a lot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

paulhudd · 5 years ago

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Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt Six: The Witch’s Promise

In a private room in Harrisburg Hospital, PA: Emil felt good. The world was blissful and peaceful. His legs, pelvis and right arm were in plaster, his face was badly cut-up, but none of it bothered him at all: bless you Sister Morphine... so cosy and warm... then he heard the whispery-hubbub of female voices, the approaching squelch of rubber soles on vinyl flooring, the swish of nylons, the click-clack-clunk of stilettos – weesh-weesh ticka-tock, weesh-weesh ticka-tock, weesh-weesh ticka-tock... then loud, familiar voices, one of which started low and became a high-pitched screech, “Oh my God! Emeeeeeeel...”

Fran! Lovely Fran, my lover, my wife, my soulmate has come to see me...!

“Will ye look at the state of him!” cried a harsh voice in an Irish accent.

Oh, Jesus no.... she’s brought her mother. That’s all I need: Broom Hilda harshing my buzz...

(Hilda Laverty, formerly of Co. Clare but resident of Toronto since 1952, was the dictionary definition of a formidable woman. Like a quilted Sherman tank in a Thatcher-wig & pink twin-set, she was a controlling, dominating harridan who despised her son in-law with a passion bordering on outright hatred.)

His eyelids eventually peeled back and a pair of flesh-coloured splodges shone through the haze.

“Look -- he’s awake!!” He felt the right side of the bed dip as Fran sat close and took his hand, her tearful, tremulous voice spoke close to his ear, “Oh, Emil how could you... I mean, what made you do this... you could've been killed!! What is wrong with you?!”

Hilda Laverty didn’t give him time to answer, she had a ready reply, her accent getting thicker as her anger increased, “He’s a friggin’ hippy – that’s what’s wrong w’ ‘im!! All that dope he smokes has finally addled his brain! Drivin’ hundirts o’ miles in his jammies like a mental patient! It’s a bloody disgrace!”

Emil watched like a supine tennis spectator, his eyes swivelling left and right as the women bickered over the bed. “Mommy – I’ve had you in my ear for the last three freakin’ hours! Gimme a break!!”

Typically, Hilda ignored her and ranted on, “I bet he was as high as kite -- look at him there -- it’s a blessing from heaven that he hasn’t killed somebody!”

“MOM! Enough! I warned you...!” Fran shouted, then turned back to her husband and looked at him with beseeching eyes, “Oh, Emil... I knew you shoulda seen a psychologist after the first time!”

“Aye -- he’s finally cracked under the weight of a guilty conscience!!”

“Shh! He’s trying to say something!”

Emil spoke in a weak whisper, “I’m so sorry, Fran...”

“Don’t try to speak, I understand...”

“No... I need to say this...” He looked down at his long-term archenemy and yelled as best he could, “Blow it out yer ass Hilda!!” It hurt a lot, but it was well worth it just to see the expression on the old bag’s face.

That face was now puce with fury; it took her all of a minute to gather her dander and deploy the wagging finger, “Don’t think you can shock me or insult me, Emil Labatt, cuz I have heard it all before – it’s not me you’re hurting (points at Fran) -- it’s her!”

Fran stood up and tried to shout her down, “Mom this is neither the time nor place --”

But Hilda Laverty was intent on saying her piece. She’d been longing for the day when Emil Labatt would be incapacitated and at her mercy. She gripped the rail at the end of the bed and gave him both barrels: “This is Divine Retribution for all yer ‘extracurricular’ activities, me laddo -- swannin’ round thon campus like Don Juan, with yer ponytail and yer safari shorts and yer convertible sports-car, pickin’-up wee lassies who have more tits-than-wit!”

Fran tried desperately to intercede, “Mom – stop -- don’t make me --”

But Hilda was in full flow – she’d been mentally rehearsing the tirade all the way from Toronto and nobody was going to stop her, “What about that redhead lab-assistant who had to have an abortion?! Or that psycho-bitch who stalked our Fran when you dumped her?! Or that wee blonde bit ye had a fling with in Ireland?!”

For once in her life Fran finally stood up to her mother; she jumped to her feet, stomped her heels, pulled her hair and bellowed at the top of her voice: “Mommeeee -– shut-the-f**k-up and GET OUT!!”

Hilda was thunderstruck. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy at feeding time as her mind chewed it over. She looked at her daughter as if she’d just seen her for the first time, “What did you say to me...?”

For once, Fran did not waver; she pointed at the door and said, firmly, “Get out!! I mean it!”

“Why... how...” Hilda was saved from further humiliation by the arrival of an enormous black nurse in a capacious purple cardigan, who strode in and hissed in a loud whisper, “What in hell is goin’ on in here!” she said, hands on hips, her shiny black bob swishing to-and-fro as she looked from one to the other, “there’s sick folk tryin’ ta sleep down the hall! Now, y’all be quiet or I’ll haveta ask y’all to leave!”

Fran apologised profusely for the disturbance, then turned to her mother and said, “My mother was just going -- weren’t you, mom?”

Still fuming, Mrs Laverty lifted her handbag from the chair by the door, “We’ll talk later, my girl! I’ll be in the car!”

“Don’t bother waiting, I’ll get a taxi,” said Fran, icily, sitting down on the edge of the bed again, taking Emil’s hand.

Hilda turned the air blue, “Well f**k you, you stupid f**kin’ bitch -- don’t come cryin’ to me when he lets you down again -- and you, Labatt -- I hope you end up paralysed from the waist down -- that’d be poetic justice!!”

The big nurse watched Hilda stomp off down the corridor and shook her head “Well, I’ll be. She looks like such a nice, Christian-kinda lady, too...” she opined, shuffling out the room.

Fran took his hand in both hands and regarded him with pitying eyes. He squeezed her hand and whispered, “I am so sorry, Fran. I mean it. I don’t know what happened or what’s going on. I think I could have brain tumour or something...”

She leaned close, looked into his eyes and said, “Yesterday morning... when you had that look in your eyes, like a... a zombie, I should’ve known there was something deep going on. But after all the rows we’ve had, it never occurred to me you were having a breakdown.”

High and dislocated, Emil found this conclusion somewhat amusing. “Is that what you think this is? A breakdown? You think Hilda’s right? I’ve cracked under the weight of a guilty conscience...?” Then he saw a tear trickle down her cheek and sobered up. He squeezed her hand again and said, “I swear to you, I don’t know what this is or what’s happening to me,” he whispered, “but one thing I know for sure is it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She reached up, took a paper tissue from the box on the bedside locker and dabbed her eyes, “Things haven’t been the same since you screwed Paddy’s niece,” she said bluntly. The time for civility was long past.

He sighed heavily. She’d never forgiven him for that fling. After all the other little affairs he’d had, she’d stayed by his side -- more for the sake of her reputation and career than anything else -- but she hadn't mentioned his brief fling with Niamh since he confessed to it 2 years ago. She didn’t forgive him. She just went on with her life as usual without ever talking about it, even when he tried again and again to apologise. “I told you, it was the worst mistake of...” he froze midsentence and stared into space.

“What is it? You've got that look again! Oh God...” Fran groaned.

He snapped out of his trance, looked at her and gasped, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right!”

She frowned and shook her head, “What do you mean?”

“I mean I haven’t been the same since I got back from Ireland!”

...

Meanwhile, at Pagham House, Co. Kildare: Dozing on the grass outside the pavilion, Broo entered another world.

He was standing in a heavy downpour among a crowd of restive peasants in the middle of a muddy, tree-lined country road. He quickly grasped that it was the road that ran by the gates of Pagham House -- but unlike the present day, it wasn't surfaced with tarmac and marked with white lines, it was just a dirt-track slashed with puddling wheel-ruts, reduced to mire in the torrential rain. To the right there were six soldiers wearing wigs, clad in red uniforms and armed with muskets, standing to attention before a flatbed-dray, the horse whinnying and restless – as if it sensed the tension radiating from the crowd. A bedraggled, shoeless man in a soiled white blouse and baggy black stockings stood barefoot on the flatbed, his hands tied behind his back, a noose around his neck, his long, sopping wet red hair clinging to his pallid face like silky kelp draped on a porcelain bust. A cowled executioner stood to attention beside the dray holding a hood, presumably to place over the condemned man’s head when the moment came. On the opposite side of the road, sheltering under the foliage of a row of yew trees stood a trio of men in long black robes and tall buckled hats, their heads bowed as if at prayer.

Despite the high drama and the appalling weather, the old dog wasn’t in the least perturbed; in fact, he wasn't even getting wet. By now he was well-used to these visions; he knew no one could see him and he wasn't in any danger. He was just an impervious, invisible observer. But why am I here?

The shortest man with the longest wig walked into the middle of the road and read aloud from a rain-spattered scroll: “Tobias Aloysius Farley, you have been tried and convicted of theft and intent to defraud the person of Thaddeus Arthur Ravenhill, 8th Duke of Roxborough and loyal servant of His Majesty King George III. You have been sentenced to be hanged by the neck until you are dead. Have you anything to say before you meet your maker?”

“Oh aye, I have summat to say!!” The condemned man straightened up, smiled a humourless, triumphal smile, as if he’d been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. He yelled at the tallest man under the branches of the beech - a tall, gaunt man with dark eyes, sharp cheekbones and an alabaster complexion that gave him the look of a reanimated cadaver, “Go to hell, Roxborough! For I’m certain Old Nick will have a special torment set aside for wicked men the likes of you!”

A low, appreciative hubbub ran through the crowd.

The condemned man looked around the crowd and spoke with authority and sincerity, “Heed my words, my brothers - not as servants or soldiers - but as men! Men with children of your own! Brothers, I tell you with hand on heart – the man you are about to hang is an innocent man! My only crime is that I know too much and I’ve said too much and now men of influence ‘ave pooled their resources to shut-me-trap once-and-for-all! Tis another dastardly deed to conceal a series of dastardly deeds -- devilish schemes perpetrated by this man -- deeds that are an affront to God Almighty Himself!”

The gaunt man broke ranks and strode across the road, “Enough of this man’s blasphemy and desperate lies!” He pushed the man with the scroll aside, shouldered his way through the soldiers and smacked the horse’s rump with his silver-headed cane –- the nag reared and tried to bolt, knocking the executioner over -- the condemned man slid off the dray, his feet kicked frantically as the rope tightened around his neck. Everyone gasped in horror as they watched the body swing and twist on the groaning limb. It jerked for a few seconds, shuddered, then sagged. The mud-caked executioner picked himself up from the mire, tore off his mask and glared at Roxborough with a hate-filled scowl, “A dying man is entitled to be heard! History will judge his words, Roxborough -- NOT YOU!!”

There were cheers and jeers now; cheers for the executioner’s candour, jeers for Roxborough’s actions. Sensing a little rebellion in the making, the duke ordered the soldiers to close ranks around him. The soldiers hesitated, loath to open fire on an angry mob, especially since they appeared to agree with the crowd’s objections. One of the men who’d been standing by Roxborough’s side commanded them to follow the order. When they resisted, the Duke, stony faced and imperious, walked among them and announced with a look of utter contempt on his face, “Remember who I am, gentlemen. And remember where you are...”

Then, the swaying, hanged man looked down at Broo, his pale purple face streaming with rain and said, “Hey doggy --Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

Broo opened his eyes to see Charlie Noble, Pagham House’s Head of Security, standing over him. “It’s rainin’ -- why aren’t ye under cover, ye silly mutt?” The old dog wearily pulled himself up and headed back to the main house. As he crossed the cobble-stone courtyard, he was forced to stop to allow a silver Toyota 4x4 to drive in and pull up. There was an old woman wearing overalls and a headscarf sitting in the passenger seat and a pale young woman with long, silvery-blonde hair, behind the wheel. “There’s summat ‘ee don’t see every day, aun’ie -- a three legged dog!” tittered the silver haired girl.

The old woman looked at Broo and scowled, “’is nibs musta called ‘em after all. ‘E said ‘e would.”

“’Oo?”

“Ghost ‘unters. That dog is psychic. Must be ‘ere about the poltergeist thing. ‘Is nibs must be at the end of his tether,” said Mrs Sparkes, opening her door. “Thanks fer the lift, our Oona, there wuz no way oi coulda walked up ‘ere this mornin’, me leg is killin’ me...”

Still staring at the old dog, the young woman answered distractedly, “Don’t you worry none... aun’ie... Craigy wuz jast off noightshift... so oi were up anyway...”

“Well, tell Craigy oi’m sorry oi woke ‘im.”

The younger woman didn’t hear the remark and continued to stare into Broo’s eyes. After a moment, he began to feel something getting into his head, like an unwelcome thought was trying to get through...

The old woman looked from the girl to the dog, seemed to realise what was going on, and walloped the girl around the head, “Cut that out!” she shouted, angrily. The girl suddenly severed the budding connection, “Ooow!” she moaned, rubbing her head, but didn’t argue, as if she’d done it before. “Now get ‘ee on ‘ome, Oona Nevin, ‘fore I clout ‘ee again!” said Mrs Sparkes, struggling out of the car. On her way across the courtyard, she paused to have a closer look at him. After a moment’s contemplation, she bent down and said, “’Ee’s looked in the old mirror, ‘aven’t ‘ee, boy? 'Ee’s seen the children, ‘aven’t ‘ee?”

Broo, of course, could only stare back blankly, giving no indication that he could understand what she was saying, although her words sent a shiver through his pelt.

“Get ‘ee on ‘ome, Mr Dog. Soon as ‘ee can,” she whispered in a low voice with a cold smile, “cuz this ol’ house’ll eat ‘ee alive.”

As Mrs Sparkes walked to the tradesman’s entrance, the young woman drove around him, her eyes locked on his as she turned in a circle; when the car was facing in the direction of the drive, she stopped and wound down the window so she could get a clear view without rain streaming down the glass. He began to get that strange feeling in his head again -- until the old woman screamed, “Oona!! Go HOME!!” and snapped them out of their trance. The young woman glowered at him, wound up the window and sped off.

That was almost a telepathic intrusion! Is she psychic?! What is going on here?! ‘This house’ll eat you alive’...? He was very worried now. Oh, c’mon Malky, get up so we can get out of this place...

2 hours later: Malky was awoken by a firm knock on the door. He stirred, opened his eyes and looked up. “JESUS!” He jumped when he saw his reflection in the mirror overhead. He was not a pretty sight: unshaven, pale and puffy-eyed.

Knock-knock. “Are you OK, Mr C?” said Herbie, opening the door a crack, “Can I come in? Are you decent?”

Malky sat up and groaned, “C’mon ahead, Herbie, I ain’t got nuthin’ you haven’t seen before...”

“... as the porn star said to the Pope!!” Herbie quipped, bringing in a silver tray with a slice of melon and a tumbler of freshly squeezed orange juice. He was bright ‘n’ breezy, dressed in his chauffeur’s uniform, all sparkly buttons and shiny boots, “It’s jast gawn eight firty, Mr C, an’ if you’s feeling up-to-it you’s welcome to join me ‘n the staff fer breakfast in the kitchen?”

With the bitter aftertaste of strong coffee still in his mouth, Malky took a gulp of juice, swilled it around his mouth before swallowing, “I don’t think so, Herb, not feelin’ too good,” he said, rubbing his tummy.

Herbie went to the console at the side of the bed and pressed the button that opened the curtains, “Befowah you awsk, our young master Kris ain’t up yet, what wiv the ol’ jet-lag ‘n bein’ up all night it’s unlikely we’ll see ‘im ‘fore we leave.” He went to the window and looked out, “An’ your best pal won’t be joining us neever, I’ve awsked him –- I tried to tempt him wiv bacon, bat ‘e flatly refuses to come in the ahse. I fink ‘e’s anxious to leave.”

Pulling on his pants, Malky hopped over to see; sure-enough, there was the old dog was sitting, watching the window from the top of the marble steps. It was raining heavily and the old dog was sopping wet. Malky raised the sash and called out, “Hey! Come in and get yer breakfast!”

The old dog sat where he was and didn’t as much as twitch.

“Then at least go ‘n sit under a tree?!”

The old dog stayed where he was and barked: Can we go home now?

“Och, he’s probably homesick...” Malky began to say, before a feeling of nausea hit him, “and talkin’ of feelin’ sick... Eeeuuugh...”

“Wossup?” asked Herbie, concerned, “gotta dicky belly, ‘ave ya?”

“Me guts’re doin’ somersaults... said Malky, turning a light shade of green. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was hangover...”

“Drink too much coffee last night, didja?” Herbie chuckled, “Charlie went dahn to the pavilion to lock-up this mornin’ ‘n ‘e said the machine wuz empty!”

The mention of the coffee set him off, “Here I go –-” mumbled Malky, making a run for the en suite.

Herbie shouted after him, “Lissen -- you get dressed and I’ll go dahn an’ fry-ya-up my breakfast special -- toast, a bit o’ black-puddin’ and wiv ‘ash-brahns an’ eggs in Worcester sawz - that’ll put ya back on yer plates!”

Malky threw up loudly.

“Well, maybe not...” said Herbie, smiling to himself as he picked up the tray.

“So-oo, what’s the beef, chief?” Malky asked, gingerly staggering down the marble steps carrying his overnight bag, “why didn’t you come back to the house with us last night?”

Broo was too distressed to react. The rain had faded to a misty drizzle, but not so misty as to obscure the awful truth. He still has the aura. It wasn’t as strong as the grandson’s, but he could still see it and feel it: physically deadening and psychically inhibiting. Malky is infected! He whimpered and backed up.

“Look, I’m sorry you hadda sleep outside, but we couldn’t wake you, so we let you sleep...” said Malky, misreading Broo’s reaction, before doubling up and retching.

Broo was very alarmed now. It’s so bad making him physically ill! We must get out of here!

Then they heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind him, but instead of going to the Rolls, he approached them with a look of trepidation on his face. He pushed back the brim of his cap, “The boss is awake and ‘e wants to tawk to ya before you go... would that be OK?” he said, apologetically.

“I’ve nothing to say to ‘im, Herbie.” Malky replied, shaking his head.

Herbie sighed, looked down at his boots and said, “‘E wants to fank you personally for what you done lawst night. ‘E’s still in bed, bat ‘e’s sober an’ of sahnd mind.”

Malky straightened up and had another bout of light-headedness; and again, Herbie had to lend a helping hand, “You ain’t lookin’ any better Mr C...”

Broo yipped, getting evermore anxious by the second.

“Stop fussing! I’m fine...” Malky lied, wincing, “I’ll go talk to Laphen, and as soon as I’m done, we’ll go home, OK?” he patted the old dog’s head and walked back up the steps with the bemused chauffeur, “You an’ ‘that ol’ doggy certainly are a pair, aintcha!”

As soon as Malky’s palm touched had his head, Broo got that same debilitating feeling he got when the grandson touched him the day before: physically drained, psychically blocked. Will this ever end?! He whimpered.

When they entered the room, Malky was very surprised to find the little old man propped up on plump, ivory satin pillows in a huge four-poster bed. He looked well-groomed, his eyes were clear, he seemed calm and composed as she sipped a cup of lemon tea from a dainty china cup with his little finger crooked, his bony little hands as steady as a rock: whatever Rossington had given him, it’d worked a treat. “I want to thank you for everythin’ you’ve done, Mr Calvert,” he said, in a cheery voice.

Malky shrugged, “We didn’t find anything.”

“You’re sure? There’s nothing here?”

“Nuthin’ spooky, no.”

Smirking, Laphen nodded and said, “That’s all I needed to know. Now I can concentrate on catching the real culprit.” He gave back the cheque for £7500 that Malky had thrown in his face the night before.

Malky didn’t want it, but took it for Zindy’s sake, “I can’t say it’s been a wonderful experience, Mr Laphen, but it’s been worth it to make the acquaintance of Kris. That kid is an absolute diamond and you should be proud of --”

Laphen put up a hand and stopped him, “Before you start to extol the virtues of my grandson, will you indulge me?” He got out of bed and slipped his feet into a pair of giant yeti-boots-style-slippers. Herbie helped him on with his red satin dressing gown. Just then there was a knock at the door and an old woman in overalls entered pushing an ornate antique silver trolley. He recognised her from Kris’ description: Pagham House’s indomitable, sour-faced housekeeper, Mrs Sparkes. “’Ere’s ee’s breakfast. There’s bacon ‘n’ eggs ‘n’ kipper,” she grumbled, lifting the cloche, “Oi didn’t know ‘ow you wanted ‘em done, so oi did two boiled, two froied ‘n two poached, so ‘ee can work it out fer yerself.”

“Yes, thank you Mrs Sparkes, put it on the table and bugger off,” said Laphen, offhandedly waving her away.

“And don’t ‘ee get egg on the chairs,” she grunted, on her way out.

“You can go too, Herbie,” he said, “I’ll buzz when I need you.” Herbie gave Malky a sly wink and followed Mrs Sparkes out of the door. Laphen went to the table at the back of the room, sat down and uncovered the platter; he shook out a napkin and put it on his lap, a picture of elegance and sophistication, apart from the yeti-boot slippers. Malky followed him and sat on an antique ottoman adjacent to the dresser, 6 or 7 feet away; the minute his arse hit the velvet, he sighed with relief; then the smell of the eggs hit him and his belly flipped again.

Laphen poured himself a cup of coffee, “Coffee?”

“God no!” Malky moaned, holding his breath.

“Are ye alright, ye look terrible,” said Laphen, as if he cared.

“I just wanna get out of here...”

“Herbie tells me Kris took you round the East Wing,” said Laphen, buttering a slice of toast.

“He was great, it was very... enlightening.”

“Hmm. When he was a kid he used to explore every nook ‘n cranny of this place. Up to all sorts, he was,” said Laphen, in a suspicious tone, “you couldn’t watch him.”

“Well he was very knowledgeable, very helpful,” said Malky, fading.

Laphen sat forward and looked Malky in the eye, “Look, the boy is trouble. Always has been. He’s a compulsive liar, so-he-is. That’s the only reason I keep him close, not because he’s wonderful company, but because if he’s left to his own devices somebody’s liable to get hurt.” He went back to his breakfast, “He’s a skilled manipulator and he’s got yez all wrapped around his wee finger. But not me, oh no.” He reached into his dressing gown pocket and produced a small oblong box. “This is a voice-activated digital tape recorder. I had Charlie stick it under the table in the coffee bar when he went over to turn on the power.”

Malky was affronted, “You mean...”

Laphen shook the little recorder, “Yes, I heard every word.” He pressed the little play button:

“... When I look at him now I know I’m looking at myself in 60 years time, cos that’s probably what I’ll look like if I live that long. But I won’t end my days like him, alone in a mansion miles away from his family, abandoned by his estranged kids. My grandfather is nothing if not a walking cautionary tale.”

“What the ....” said Malky, unable to adequately express his outrage without throwing up, all he could manage was a feeble croak, “...what gives you the right to tape us?!”

“My property, my prerogative, I can do what I like. And Kris knows it, too,” he said, confidently, “in fact he knew I’d be listenin’ ‘n put on that wee performance to get at me. That’s what he’s like. The spiteful little bastard...”

Feeling bewildered, betrayed and used, but mostly very sick and tired, Malky laboriously got to his feet and used all his strength to give out one last time, “How’s this for a performance!” He tore-up the cheque and sprinkled the pieces over Ollie’s eggs, “for the second ‘n last time - goodbye Ollie! I hope you get what’s coming to you!” and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Outside the door, Malky all-but collapsed; he put his back against the wall and slid down until his arse hit the floor. Herbie, who’d looking out of the large oriel window at the end of the landing, saw him and came running. “You look like deff-warmed-up, Mr C. I dunno wevver to take ya ‘ome or take ya to casualty!” he said, putting Malky’s arm around his shoulder.

“Home, please, Herbie. If I’m gonna die, I wanna do it in me own bed,” Malky gasped, struggling to walk down the stairs, “don’t take this the wrong way, but most of all just wanna get outta this f**kin’ house...”

Meanwhile, at Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co Wicklow: Zindy had been up-and-at-it since 5:30AM.

She struggled into a pair of black leggings, to hide her bump, she put on the most voluminous garment she could find –- namely an XXXL ZZ Top Eliminator tee-shirt that used to belong to her hulking ex -- put on her motorcycle boots and wriggled into Malky’s manky overcoat (looking like Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs sans nightcap). She crossed her fingers under her cuffs, went out to the yard and tiptoed around the old van as if she was silently sizing up a sparring partner. “Now, I have lavished love on ya. I’ve cleaned your sparks, oiled yer pistons, greased yer nipples. All I ask is an 18 mile-round-trip. Get me there and back and ye can ‘ave the rest of the week off – eh – ‘ow would that be, eh?”

The van remained inscrutably silent.

“OK then, ‘ere goes...”

Lifting the tails of the coat, she got in making sure not to rock the suspension; she said a silent prayer and gently put the key in the ignition, took a deep breath and turned it:

Pfft.

Nowt. Try again.

Harrumph.

Pause... She prayed again and tried doing it slowly.

grumblelumblelumberrrrrrr

Hmmm, ‘... again, but faster...

FruummmmmmmmRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMooooMMMMMMMMMMM......PUTTAPUTTAPUTTAPUTTAPUTTA

“YES!” she yelled, as the engine burst into life. Monday blues? Not a bit of it! She got out, pulled the tee-shirt over her head and sang Simply the Best while doing a little victory-dance around the yard. Then something suddenly struck her. She slowly stopped her little jig, pulled the coat from her eyes and looked up.

The parapet of the yard wall was lined with cats. They were on the kitchen roof and the coal bunker – cats of every breed and size. Just like that night McKee kidnapped her and killed Sammy. Cats seemed to turn- up when something wicked was going down. What do they want now? Were they there to warn her? What gives? She kept an eye on them as she carefully got back in the van and drove off, little knowing that when she returned, not only would the cats be gone, there wouldn’t be an animal within a twelve mile radius...

Utterly bereft, Sammy stood at the parlour window and watched the van drive down the strand, his Essence troubled, his Aspect dim. He’d seen the cats in the backyard – confirmation that things were about to change. “See? The cats and birds always first to know,” said the boy in the mirror above the mantelpiece, “now will you believe me?” The face in the mirror belonged to a fine-featured, fair-skinned blonde aged 12 or 13 sent to convince him for the last time to go to Limbo before Malky got back. The boy made it clear he didn’t like being in the Mirror World one little bit, he was jumpy and kept looking around as if he was scared, “Look,” he said, losing patience, “Go to Limbo! - because if you don’t exist at all – you’ll be even more useless than you are now!!”

“But how do we know if this ‘darkness’ or ‘badness’ -- or whatever-ye-may-call-it -- won’t harm Zindy or the child she’s carryin’? I mean to say...” said Sammy, pacing the mat in front of the hearth, “you can’t gimme an answer to that question.”

“I told you the Powers That Be just told me to get you to go to Limbo. You don’t argue. They’re always right.”

Eventually Sammy’s shoulders dropped and he gave in. The face in the mirror closed its eyes and sighed with relief, “Please go now. I’ll wait.”

Sammy obediently closed his eyes, held his nose and dropped through the floor like a man jumping feet-first into a septic tank. The mirror misted like over like a windscreen on a wet day, but in this case the film of condensation was on the inside; and as it slowly evaporated, the usual reflection of the living room gradually materialised in the glass...

...

15 minutes later, on the road to Arklow: The radio was fooked so she chatted to her bump as she chugged along the bumpy back roads, “Mummy’s still got it kiddo! And your daddy said I was wasting my time – pah! What does he know, anyway? I’m the handyman in our house! You might inherit my powers! If you’re a girl ‘n you anything like me, you might be a bit of a tomboy. But if you’re into dolls ‘n girly stuff, that’ll be OK, too. If you’re a boy -– we’ll get dirt bikes and tear up the hills! If you’re musical - we’ll get you an electric guitar!” The spell of exuberance lasted all the way to the market in Arklow; she left the motor running and collected the standing-order ASAP -- but when she reached the DIY store she had no choice but to say another silent prayer and turn off the engine.

Afterwards, when loading the cans of emulsion into the back of the van, she once again got behind the wheel went through the little ritual, but just as she feared, the engine was dead. She did everything she’d done before, but the van flatly refused to respond. “You’re not even trying!” Throttle-out, throttle in; each twist of her wrist produced a whining sound as if the van was screeching killmekillmekillme. To make matters worse, drops of rain were pattering on the windscreen and drumming on the roof. “Fook! Bugger! bollocks!!” she cried, pounding the steering-wheel with her little fists. All the optimism and good cheer evaporated, she slumped in the seat and mithered, “I’ll have to phone for a f**king tow-truck now! Shite!” She was just about to get out and have a look under the bonnet, when she glimpsed movement in the wing-mirror: someone was headed her way. Her efforts had attracted the attentions of a Good Samaritan. She watched the figure approach in the ing mirror with some degree of resentment and grumbled, “’ere we go. A Knight in fookin’ shinin’ armour is comin’ to help a damsel in distress...”

The man tapped on her window. She wound it down and almost yelled, “Look mate, unless you’ve got a carburettor for a 1978 Ford Escort van, you can...”

She stopped talking when the guy took off his shades (‘oo wears shades on a day like this?) and she realised she was looking into a pair of very familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face. A familiar voice said, “You were gonna tell me to eff-off, werntcha?!”

Zindy was agape; her stomach flipped, her heart thudded in her ears; when she finally caught her breath, she gasped: “Raspo...?” He was completely transformed: the long plaited purple beard was gone, revealing a ruggedly handsome clean-shaven face with a cleft chin; his long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, creating a silver-streaked widow’s-peak; he’d forsaken his well-worn leathers and biker boots for a black reefer-jacket, blue jeans and Cuban-heeled cowboy boots. The most astounding thing was his shape; gone was the humungous beergut, gone was the enormous arse, he looked slim and fit. The only sign of the old Raspo was the blurry-blue spiderweb tattoo on the back of his left hand.

She couldn’t adequately express her surprise, “You’re so... so...?”

“Handsome? Intelligent? Sexually attractive...?” he said, that familiar gold tooth glinting in that familiar smile.

She tried not to sound impressed, “No... I mean ... it’s quite a transformation, to say the least. When you were with me the most exercise ya got was openin’ the fridge and pullin’ the tab on a can.”

He stood back, opened his jacket and let her get a good look, “Solitary confinement and a set of weights will do that to a man. I’ve lost 7 stone! I can see my toes now!” He slowly pulled up his roll-neck sweater to reveal his heavily tattooed torso, “Beer barrel to six-pack in 4 years -- not bad for a 57 year-old slob who never walked-the-length-of-himself, eh?” He put his hands on his knees and stooped, his grey-green eyes twinkling as he looked at her hair, “I see you’re a pinkhead now. Very becoming. And you’ve put on a bit of weight, too. Suits you. In fact, you’re still wearing my old clothes, I see...”

Zindy blanched and instinctively crossed her arms over the bump and told him what she thought of him. “So they shaved 3 years off your sentence for squealin’, did they?! I wouldn’t know, see, since I ain’t a rat-fink-coont.”

Raspo threw back his head and laughed heartily before answering, “Am I to assume that I’m not exactly flavour of the month in Brodir? You ‘n the boys still mad at me, eh?”

“I haven’t seen ‘em since you grassed-‘em-up. The raid was so bad I hadda close the place up and renovate. Thanks for that,” Zindy snarled.

The winning smile vanished, “I didn’t squeal on me mates, just those bastards from abroad. It’s a shame our lot got caught in the crossfire, but in the end none of them was charged. I told Somerville to take it easy on them.”

Zindy recoiled and shook her head as if she couldn't understand what he was talking about and said, “Smokestack lost so much blood they had to do a transfusion -- Little Ted got a fractured skull! Marcus is blind in one eye from flyin’ glass! Not to mention the damage done to their bikes!”

Raspo made no attempt to justify or defend his actions he just stared at the ground and took his medicine like a big boy.

“What gets me is there wasn't a word of warning -- I visited you every week and you never said a word! Not a bloody word. You sat there, looked me in the eye 'n told me to arrange that Halloween party without the slightest hint of what was gonna ‘appen! The first I knew about it was when the riot squad kicked-in t’door ’n gave me customers a leatherin’ -- it wuz like a friggin’ warzone!”

Raspo had stopped grinning halfway through the harangue. His face became solemn, the heavily-lined brow vexed with concern, when he answered, there wasn't a hint of irony, “I’m really sorry, but Somerville made me an offer I couldn't refuse. And when-all’s-said-and-done, the men I gave up were murderers, kidnappers, pimps, Nazis and many other things besides. So f**k ‘em.” He regarded her with a pained expression, “You know me, Zin, I can’t be caged, I can’t be locked up... stuck lookin’ at the same four walls day after day, eatin’ the same auld shit, havin’ to cohabit with rapists, perverts and paedos.” He looked her in the eye, “Cuz that’s where they put you when you turn states’ evidence, Zin: the ‘secure wing’. So on top of everything else I hadda live with the worst kind of scum -- I used to beat the shit outta them just so’s I could spend some time in solitary to get me head straight.”

For a second she remembered why she loved him. The timbre of his voice combined with the accent, the same voice she found so irresistible in the first place, so deep and melodic... then her common sense kicked in. She pulled the coat tight around her and stated with conviction, “Robert (she only ever called him Robert when she was really mad at him), you looked me in the eye ‘n lied to me every day of our relationship; you treated me like a wee queen, ‘n meanwhile you’re this fookin’ gangster dealin’ smack to kids ‘n cuttin’-‘em-up when they couldn't pay -– then, when yer caught in the act, ye shop yer mates to get a commuted sentence!” She shook her head, “To think that’s the guy I shared a bed with all them years! Makes me sick to me stomach!” she said, glowering, “Now kindly get yer arm off me roof and stay the fook outta my life.”

He put up his hands and made a show of backing off. She wound up the window and instinctively turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed and died again. In the heat of the moment, she’d forgotten her predicament and now, on top of everything else, she looked stupid. Raspo didn’t gloat or make fun; he kept a straight face and said, “Pop the hood. I think heard somethin’. I think I might know what yer trouble is.”

Of course you do. Raspo was, like her, a mechanical wizard. He could have engineered the engine-trouble while she was in the store, just so he could weave his magic and get on her good side. Unfortunately, (or should that be surprise, surprise?) on this particular occasion, his powers appeared to have deserted him. He slammed down the bonnet and went back to the window, wiping his hands on a crumpled paper-tissue, “Nah, the carburettor’s completely knackered.”

“Brilliant. Tell me summat I don’t know.”

He wiped his hands with a crumpled paper tissue, “Look, I’m here in a mate’s Transit -– there’s a length of rope in the back. I could tow you home...?”

“Oh wouldn't that be cosy, you’d like that wouldn't you!” She might be in a tight spot, but she wasn't buying The New & Improved Raspo Canning. She wound the window down a few inches and spoke through the crack, “I know yer game, Raspo. This is just too much of a coincidence. Too convenient.”

“OK, OK, just tryin’ to be helpful.” He shivered and pulled his jacket tight around his shoulders, “I’ve got a warm flat and an even warmer woman to go home to, why should I waste my time standin’ in the rain talkin’ to a hellcat?”

She arched an eyebrow.

He knew that look, “It’s true -- that’s why I’m here -– we’re decoratin’ the kitchenette and I borrowed a neighbour’s van to collect some wall-tiles and a new sink,” he pointed at a white van parked by a trolley-shed at the far end of the car park, “you can go and look if you like!” He jangled the keys.

Zindy looked away, “I ain’t goin’ anywhere in a van w’ you! In fact, I ain’t goin’ anywhere with you...” she said, wincing as a wave of nausea came over her.

“I’m not tryin’ to pick-you-up or pick-up where we left-off, I‘m only tryin’ to do you a favour!”

Zindy’s resolve was severely tested, her curiosity piqued: who is this new woman? Where is this flat? “I’m glad to hear you’re settling down,” she said, sarcastically.

Raspo smiled and said, “Thank you,” then nonchalantly commented, “it looks like you’re settlin’ down, too.”

Another pang -- this time her stomach turned over, “Erm... uh, whaddya talkin’ about...”

“I saw you in the store – you’re pregnant, aren’t ya?” He took a step forward and looked at her bump, “or have I just said the worst thing a man can say to a woman who’s put on a bit of weight...?”

She succumbed to an unstoppable wave of morning sickness. She quickly pulled down the window with both hands, leaned out and puked all over his Cuban-heeled cowboy boots.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then...”

...

5 minutes ago, 47 miles west: “Stop! –- here comes the rest!”

Herbie slammed on the brakes for the second time. Malky lurched out of the car and ran for the bushes. Sitting on the backseat, Broo whinged and whined as he watched his partner projectile-vomit into the roadside briars -- the misty aura wasn't weakening the further they got from Pagham House -- in fact, it seemed to be getting stronger!

“My, my,” said Herbie, tutting, “yer pal is very sick, ol’ boy. I wouldn't be surprised if that li’l session last night puts ‘im off coffee fer life!”

Broo whimpered and wheezed with alarm: Why is this happening?! Is this permanent condition?! I can’t live like this!!

...

15 minutes later, in a little transport café opposite the DIY store: Zindy still wasn't comfortable in his company, but it was raining and there was nothing she could do. They sat facing each other at a table by the window, Raspo, utterly at ease, sitting back, legs stretched, his arm draped over the back of his chair; Zindy trying her best to look indifferent though her insides were churning, sat with arms crossed across her bump and let him do most of the talking. First item on the agenda was an old acquaintance they weren’t likely to ever forget.

“That was a total head-f**k about Barry, wasn't it? Killing kids? Did ye ever?!” said Raspo, disconsolately, shaking his head with disbelief.

“Och, c’mon, McKee was always a creep,” she said, curling a lip, “he was too quiet, always goin’ off on his own and keepin’ ‘imself to ‘imself. He wasn't really one of the lads.”

Raspo shrugged, “I used to put up with him cos I felt sorry for him, and yer right, most of the lads hated him on sight: Little Rich Boy who dreams of being a Bad Boy; we got ‘em all the time. Most of ‘em didn’t get past the initiation, but Barry did. He took it all without sayin’ a word or screamin’ in pain, so he had a bit of cred. I was very impressed by ‘im.”

She baulked, “We are talking about the same bastard ‘oo killed poor Sammy, kidnapped me and shot me, are we? Cuz this is startin’ to sound a lot like a eulogy!”

“None of us are good people, Zara (he only ever called her Zara when he was lecturing her). I know at least 10 guys from different gangs –- people who you’ve been introduced to -- that’re Nazis with criminal convictions for rape and possession of obscene material very, very likely to offend. Let’s put it this way, just cos they don’t have horns and cloven hoofs, doesn’t mean they don’t froth at the mouth every time Romper Room comes on.”

She was genuinely shocked. “Bloody hell! Thank God I’m out of it!” she cried.

“Well then, you can’t blame me fer wantin’ them locked-up, can ye?” he replied.

There was a pregnant pause. Zindy looked out of the window; Raspo idly stirred his coffee,

“We had some good times though, didn’t we?” he said, smiling nicely.

She wasn't biting, “When I turned 40 I looked back ‘n realised ‘ow much time I’ve wasted in cop-shops and law-courts over the years, and I vowed to meself that my life would begin with a clean sheet. And y’know what? I’m happier than I’ve ever been! I’m ‘avin’ a baby with a great guy – there are developers lookin’ at the town, so things are looking up on the business front -- ‘n best of all -- there’s no two-faced cut-throats around to f**k things up!”

He sat back and made an offhand comment, “I hear the father’s Malcolm Calvert, the guy that caught Barry. Well, him ‘n ‘is three legged dog... Ex-RUC isn't ‘e...?”

She took her time answering; is he threatening me? “This has got nuthin’ to do with Malky! I’d already washed my hands of you when we met,” she said, a little shaken. “Anyway, how do you know about him?”

“We do have newspapers and TVs on the inside, y’know,” he said, matter-of-factly, “I saw him comin’ outta the hospital after he was shot. He looked like a frail old man.”

“He’s fully recovered! He has a heart condition, but he takes plenty of exercise...” She shook her head emphatically, “Why the fook am I justifying myself to you of all people?! It’s none of yer fookin’ business what I do or ‘oo I’m with!”

“Don’t have a haemorrhage, Zin. I’m just makin’ conversation.”

Zindy rubbed a space in the steamed-up window with the cuff her jacket, and looked out, then gazed anxiously at the grease-smeared Coca Cola clock behind the counter. “What’s keepin’ that bloody truck?” she muttered.

Raspo looked at his watch, “Yeah, I should be gettin’ back, meself. She’ll be wonderin’ what I’m at.” She croaked a mirthless cackle and made the whip-crack sound. He shrugged and got serious again, “Um, there is somethin’ else, as a matter of fact: my bike. I’d like to get it back.”

“Oh, NOW it makes sense,” she chided in a sing-song sneer, “NOW we’re gettin’ down to the nitty-gritty, yes indeedy-do -- your precious wheels! Yer beloved bike! I wondered when that would come up!”

An eyebrow was raised. “It’s still there, isn't it? Hasn't been damaged at all?”

“I might wanna cut your eyes out with your own blade, but I’d never take my anger out on an innocent hog,” she said, “it was impounded after Barry stole it, but I got it back a year ago, reasonably unscratched. Yer lucky he didn’t wreck it like he wrecked everythin' else. Between the two of yez, you’ve fooked-me-over good-‘n-proper.”

Raspo sighed with relief, “I knew you wouldn't neglect her. Good job too, cuz I’m gonna sell ‘er and move to America. I’ve got contacts there and they’re gonna set me up in business. I just need a wee lump sum to get me there and the bike is my only asset. I hope to get at least a couple of grand for it. That’s why we’re decorating. We wanna sell the flat ‘n get over there ASAP.”

She snorted, “You've got a conviction for dealing drugs and violence – you’ll never get a visa...” He put a finger to his lips to and told her to pipe down. She leaned closer and hissed in an angry whisper, “There’s no way you they’ll let you in, soft-lad,” then she thought twice, slapped her forehead with the heel of her palm, “Of course, silly me- you won’t be usin’ the ‘proper channels’, will ya?!”

He looked at his finger nails and conceded, “The main thing is it’ll put an ocean between me ‘n my enemies.”

“That’s another thing – aren’t you takin’ a big risk hangin’ round these parts? What if somebody round ‘ere recognises ya?! No skin of my nose, la, but aren’t you askin’ for trouble?”

“Well, you didn’t recognise me, did ya?! I walked past you three times in the store and you were none-the-wiser.” He shrugged, “Somerville told me it’d be in me best interests to leave the country ‘n I agreed.”

In perfect synchronisation, they lifted their mugs, drank deeply and stared at each other for a moment. He smirked. She scowled. She was the first to break the silence: “How long have you been out?”

“Six weeks today.”

“And you found a new girlfriend in six weeks?”

He smiled, “She’s the daughter of an auld lag who died inside. Our eyes met across a crowded visitors’ room, and when her da passed away, we arranged to meet up when I got out. She’s a divorcée... sweet, easy goin’ girl, and she’s keen to make a new start.”

“With you?” she cried, greeting the information with some hilarity, “She doesn’t know what she’s lettin’ herself in for!”

“So, about my bike...?”

Zindy sniffed, put her nose in the air and spoke offhandedly, “I don’t want you comin’ near the inn. I’ll have it transported.”

He smiled, “Why? Is Mr Ghostbuster the jealous type?”

“Don’t even try to be funny about Malky. He’s got somethin’ you’ll never have: dignity. No, I’ll have it transported.”

Raspo started humming the riff from Ghostbusters.

She put her cup to her lips, took a sip and stated, plainly, “I don’t trust ya as far as I could spit ya, Robert. I couldn't care less about your ‘new life’, but if you ‘arm one ‘air on Malcolm Calvert’s ‘ead I will find you and I will cut yer eyes out. And you know I mean it.”

...

At that moment, in a private room in Harrisburg Hospital, PA: “Hello, Gilray residence...?” said a familiar, slightly anxious female voice.

Emil’s jaw dropped – he almost dropped the phone! Just my f**king luck! Well, she lives there -- what’d you expect?

“Hello? Is there someone there,” she asked, excitedly, “Uncle Paddy? Is that you?!”

Pretend you don’t know who you’re talking to! He cleared his throat and said in an officious, disinterested voice, “May I speak to Dr Gilray, please?”

“Erm... who is this?”

F**k it. “Um... this is Dr Labatt...?”

“Emil?!”

The second she said his name his heart leapt up into his throat and all attempts at pretence fell away, “Niamh? I’m very sorry. I didn’t recognise your voice -- how are you?!”

“Emil you sound awful – is there anything wrong...?”

“Er... uh-huh... I was in an accident... nothing to fret about – I’ll live, but I’m gonna be in hospital for a while.”

“Oh my God, Emil! Accident?! Hospital?! What the f**k happened?! Are you OK...?”

Although the voice was shrill, it was music to his ears. She was pacing, he could hear the clunk of her heels on the kitchen tiles. He closed his eyes and remembered the afternoon delight in Paddy’s bed, and despite the devastating effect on everyone involved, he didn’t regret it. And now she’s worrying about him, picturing him in plaster, upset that he might be in pain; that beautiful brow vexed with consternation, those beautiful green eyes wide with concern. To pile on the woe, he supplied a detailed summary of the accident and his injuries -- without mentioning blackouts or the voices in his head -- in a weak, gravelly voice. She listened intently and and oh-ed and ah-ed in the right places; every expression of dismay went straight to his groin.

Then her voice as it dropped an octave and became deadly serious, “Listen Emil, I haven’t seen Paddy since yesterday. No one has. I arrived back from Stockholm two days ago and I only saw him for 5 minutes, and 4 of those were spent arguing -- totally unlike him. And get this, the house is a mess -- you know how organised he is, hates the slightest speck of dust! I confronted him about it and he stormed out in a big huff and I haven’t seen him since! I heard a minicab beeping outside around 7 this morning, and I looked out and saw him get in. He wasn't wearing his jacket and he didn’t have his briefcase with him, I just hope he’s OK.”

The news was alarming, but he now he knew his theory was true, it had something to do with the dig 2 years before. “I think I have an idea what’s going on, but I have to ask you, Ni -- health-wise, are you feeling OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“... Um... have you been ill since that dig in Kildare, y’know, when the mummy’s were exhumed...?”

“What? No...? Why?”

“It’s just that ever since I got back from Ireland -– ever since the dig -- I’ve been having these dizzy-spells. Then I had a strange blackout, like an out-of-body experience, y’know? That’s what caused the accident, I couldn't control myself, it was like someone was... using me like a puppet, y’know? I know it sounds freaky, but sounds like Paddy’s suffering the same symptoms...”

...

10:44AM, Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow: As the Rolls taxied down the seafront, it didn’t take him long to notice that Brodir wasn't the town they left behind the day before. No cats on the parapet of the old burned-out cinema, no rats stirring in the empty lots, not even a seagull screaming in the sky; the crumbling masonry and general decrepitude of the strand was devoid of Spirit, the atmosphere as hollow as Laphen’s estate or Bogmire village-square. Sickly green and constantly coughing, Malky refused Herbie’s offer of a lift to the local hospital, took his bag and struggled up the steps unassisted where he stood at the front door and waved goodbye, “Very nice to’ve met you, Mr Gorringe, I’ll never forget... euuuurrrrrrgh!” and threw up down the side of the steps. Herbie got out and asked if he should wait with him until Zindy got back. Still retching, Malky waved him away, “No, go, go on Herbie... everything’ll be alright once I sleep this off...” Unconvinced, the chauffeur nevertheless thanked him again and said goodbye. On his way back across the concourse, he stopped, stooped and whispered to Broo (who was dragging his feet with good reason), "You an’ ‘is missus best keep an eye on ‘im, boy. ‘E ‘really should be in ‘ospital.” He patted the old dog’s head (again, no trace of anything adverse: the chauffeur appeared to be unaffected), and kept his eyes on Malky as he performed a u-turn around the little dilapidated bandstand at the end of the strand, stealing a rueful backward-glance at the old dog and shaking his head. As he disappeared from view, Malky staggered headlong into bar and flopped belly-first onto one of the barstools, where he hung, arms limp, hands dangling flaccidly, “I’m dying, Broo...” he squeaked.

Broo observed from the doorway, sympathetic, but unable to provide words of sympathy or even a comforting lick. Malky was a total no-go area now, and there was no way he was getting within 20 feet of him. The afflicted man lifted himself off the stool and staggered over to the jukebox gasping for air like he was climbing a steep hill against a gale. He looked at the old dog in the doorway and asked, breathlessly, “What’s happenin’ to me, Broo? I never felt like this before... Am I sick or is it somethin’... else? Any word from, y’know... beyond the grave...?”

Now their psychic link was broken, Broo could only stare back and whimper and yip to indicate that he was sorry, sad, frustrated and stumped; he turned, clambered back down the steps, sat in the middle of the cobbled concourse and howled, Help! Help! SOS! SOS!

...

10 minutes ago, outside the attic room of the Blackthorn boarding house in Enniskerry, Co Wicklow: Raspo furtively climbed the flight of stairs to the attic flat and paused at the door. He took the hunting knife from his boot, quietly unlocked the door, opened it a crack and peeked in; he’d angled the shaving-mirror above the wash-hand-basin so that it reflected the rest of the room; of particular interest was the area behind the door. Nobody there. He put the knife back in his boot, entered, took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. He peeled off the polo-neck and threw it into the corner, then stood in the middle of the room and flexed his muscles. He put his arms in the air, stretched down and touched his toes, followed by a series of squat-thrusts and sit-ups to excise all the pent-up tension accrued from the little ‘reunion’. When he was finished, he washed himself down with a hand-towel and winked at his own reflection in the circular shaving mirror, “Max Cady -- eat yer heart out!” he said, rippling his pecs so that the huge tiger-head tattoo on his torso looked like it was snarling.

He was in a good mood. Phase 1 of his little scam had gone better than expected. She was angry and bitter -- she’d bristled when she heard that he had another woman. Naturally, that was a downright lie. He looked around at his cramped abode, no woman would live in a kip like this, he thought, as he watched a single drop of rain drip down from the skylight window and spatter on the bare mattress of the unmade bed. There was a fair-sized damp patch that made it look like he’d pissed himself the night before. F**kin’ shithole. He kicked the bedstead in fury, inadvertently banging his head on the sloping ceiling -- he was always banging his head on that f**king sloping ceiling! After the 3rd or 4th time he started punching holes in the plaster to vent his frustration. In fact, it was probably those angry blows that caused the crack in the frame of the skylight in the first place. But no punching the walls or kicking the furniture today. Oh no. Today nothing could jigger his joie de vivre and he decided to roll a celebration spliff to celebrate. Just as he took the box from under his bed, he heard a telltale creak on the second-last stair leading up to the flat. Even though he had a good idea who it was, he never took any chances. He lifted the baseball bat from beside the wardrobe and stood behind the door. There was a gentle rap, “Who is it?” he said.

“Felix. It’s OK, I’m alone,” said a little voice.

Raspo unlatched the door, walked back, leaned on the dresser and lit-up a Marlie. He looked his ‘business partner’ up-and-down “Well?” he asked, with a disgusted sneer,

Felix, a medium sized, balding, nondescript little man in his early forties wearing well-pressed green overalls, edged into the room. He was the bearer of bad tidings and wasn't sure how Raspo would take it, “Raspo, now, don’t get upset, it’s got nuthin’ to do with me...”

“C’mon, c’mon, just give it to me,” said Raspo, keeping his cool.

Bracing himself for the worst, Felix continued, “... The boyos in the North said it’ll be Thursday this week. The boat carryin’ the goods got seized 40 miles off Rockall and they’re havin’ to make ‘alternative arrangements’...”

“Thursday? Shite, no stock for 3 days...” said Raspo, shaking his head. “Where’s the takin’s from last week?”

Felix took a bulging white envelope from his pocket -- Raspo snatched it away, tore it open and started counting, “This better be all present and correct, nobhead...” he grumbled, “oh aye, by-the-way, I hadda put petrol in that shitty van o’ yours so I’m takin’ 20 notes outta your cut...”

Felix wasn't bothered. He wasn't in it for the money, he was in it for Raspo. And, heartened by the lightness in His Master’s tone, he felt bold enough to enquire after his day, “... So... I take it everything went according to plan...?”

Raspo stopped counting and shot his quivering confederate a dirty look, “Not that it’s any of your business, f**kface, but yes, the opening act in my little scheme did indeed proceed without a hitch.”

Felix sighed, leant against the cooker in the kitchenette and relaxed; oh, life is so great when he’s in a good mood. Sure-enough, the good cheer extended to a comprehensive account, “she’s creature of habit and sure enough, like every Monday, she was at the market, so I followed her to this big DIY store outside Arklow,” he bragged, chuckling maniacally, “I didn’t even need to nobble the motor, her carburettor was knackered already. And even if I do say so myself, I played her perfectly. Not too keen, not too blasé – the odd one liner here ‘n’ there to show her I’m still a sparkling wit...” He looked up and snarled, “And by-the-way -- the inside of yer van stinks to high heaven – it smells like you had a dead body in there -- so thank God I didn’t have to give her a lift home.” He sneered in a mocking whine, “Is that the van you used to patrol the primary schools and public parks, is it, Felix? Is it your ‘passion wagon’, huh?”

Felix looked at the floor and murmured, shamefully, “No, the garda impounded that van. And it wasn't a Transit. It was a Bedford Astramax. And I didn’t use it for pickin’ up kids -- I’ve never touched a kid in my life...”

Raspo sniggered, “Not for want of tryin’, eh? What about when ye got done for flashing in a playground!”

“I was not flashin’” Felix whined, “I was having a wee-wee behind a tree – I didn’t know they could see me from the top of the slide!!”

“Oh yeah?! And what about all ‘em them kiddie mags they found in yer van?!”

“One of the lodgers must've left them there!”

“Don’t even try to lie to me, f**k-face. Remember who you’re talkin’ to,” growled Raspo, screwing up his nose as if the little man emitted a foul odour, “Y’know, you are so lucky you’re useful to me or you’d be seagull fodder in a landfill.”

The two met in prison after Raspo was sent to the ‘secure wing’ for his own safety, meaning he had to co-habit with an array of rapists, perverts and paedos. Felix Costello was coming to the end of a 4 year term for transporting and importing of paedophilic pornography, and the last 7 months of that sentence were spent in a cell with Mr Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning, a muscle-bound former Hell’s Angel who liked to torture and kill men like Felix. But Raspo was a cut above the usual bearded monsters that spat on his dinner; and when Felix told him his mother owned the Blackthorn Guesthouse in Enniskerry, a final stop-over for widowers and elderly bachelors with no families on their way to the funeral parlour, Raspo was encouraged. The fact that it was 15 miles from Dublin and 30 miles from his old haunts made it the perfect place to hide out when he got out, and he and Felix became almost friendly. He even protected Felix from other hostile prisoners.

Then horror of horrors – with only days to go until his release -- Felix’s saintly mother had a stroke and died in her sleep. To keep up appearances, she never visited her delinquent son in prison but wrote regularly. She managed to keep his arrest out of the local paper and told the neighbours he was doing missionary work in Africa. She refused to acknowledge the gards who questioned her about Felix’s activities, screaming the place down that he was the unfortunate victim of circumstance and that he wouldn't hurt a fly. Naturally, her entreaties fell on deaf ears and she took to her bed with the stress of it all. Thank God she had Blackthorn’s long-term lodger Mr Paterson to look after her. He was a septuagenarian gentleman of no fixed accent, with a comb-over and a handlebar moustache that made him look like a retired RAF squadron leader. Despite his obvious dedication to his mother, Felix didn’t like him much. Too forward, always telling me what to do.

Felix’s mother was a psychic, though she never used her ‘Gift’ again once she found God. Felix was disappointed. He liked it when she did séances; he knew she was play-acting most of the time, but when he saw the pleasure it gave those little-old-ladies, he knew it was all worthwhile. He used to hide behind the curtains and do all the ‘special effects’. He became fascinated by the occult; he’d have a go on her crystal ball, but it never worked for him -– he tried three times to contact her after she died to no avail.

Mammy was a martyr to the various aches and pains incurred during a traumatic childbirth, “Would you believe I used to have an hourglass figure -- look at me now! I’m a balloon!” she’d joke, but Felix knew she was just putting on a brave face. She could tell him how great he was and how much she loved him till she was blue in the face, but he knew he was an unqualified disappointment. She’d take to her bed for weeks on end and he’d wait on her hand and foot – it was the least he could do for destroying her body. Through it all, she had nothing but praise for him. She called him her little Bunny Boy. Nonetheless, she went to the grave with a broken heart; her final memory of him was watching him being taken down to the cells in handcuffs, while one of the mothers shouted “I hope the big lads cut it off in the showers!” It’s a wonder she lasted as long as she did.

When he got the news of her passing, Felix wept in his cell for days. He collapsed at the funeral. They released him on licence a fortnight later and when he walked into the Private Rooms (as mammy called their living quarters), for the first time in 46 years and she wasn’t there to greet him, he wept all over again. Then, on top of everything else, he felt useless: Mr Paterson had been collecting the rent and taking care of the lodgers, so what use was he? He took to his bed and refused to get up. He brought the telly and the VHS into his room and watched all his Disney tapes 20 times each and re-read his entire Enid Blyton collection. He lived on Wotsits, jaffa-cakes, fig-rolls and Slimfast and wore the same clothes for days on end. He smelled like some of the lodgers whose rooms they had to fumigate when they got evicted or died.

Then pure joy. Rapture.

Raspo rang from the gaol and told him he was getting released and decided to take up Felix’s offer of a place to stay and for the first time in months, Felix got out of bed, had a bath, got his trusty cleaning wagon from the cupboard under the stairs and went to work! He took back the landlord’s duties from auld Paterson, evicted that old goat Kennedy from the attic room by typing a fake letter from the council saying it was too small for human habitation, and rolled out the red carpet for his Personal Saviour! All hail Emperor Raspo!

For Raspo it was a secluded garret and a steadfast, malleable servant who seemed to enjoy getting slapped-around; and today was no exception. He lunged and pinned Felix against the wardrobe doors -- putting an arm across his throat and slapping the wad of notes repeatedly on his grimacing face, “There’s only 430 quid here, dickwad?! Where’s the other 70?!”

With the wardrobe door booming behind him like an untempered kettledrum, Felix writhed and croaked, “Oh God, oh God, soorrreeee – I forgot to make-up the difference – take it outta my cut!!”

Raspo stopped slapping but kept his arm where it was and gave him a lecture he’d repeated many times before, “You can’t keep doin’ this, you stupid c**t! How many times to I have to tell ya – never, ever, give a smackhead credit. They’ll bleed ye dry if yer not tough on ‘em!!”

“I don’t do the tough stuff, I take Big Marty when I go into the flats, but this guy lives in a squat on Carville Road, y’know, in the up-market bit, the ones I usually do on me own. But this boyo...” Felix pulled a sour face, “Ugggh! I couldn’t stick it in there. It stinks to high heaven, you’ve never smelt anythin’ like it -- there was a big curly turd in the corner and he doesn’t have a dog! I told him I’d be back tomorrow and ran straight out and vomited in an auld twin-tub somebody’d dumped in the front garden! I’ll take Big Marty and get it off ‘im!”

Raspo tensed his forearm and increased the pressure on Felix’s throat, “If you’re gonna front my little enterprise then you’re gonna have to buck-up-yer-ideas, Felix. The premise is very good – you deliver posing as a caretaker-slash-handy-man-slash-TV-engineer with yer wee toolbox full of class A narcotics –- but here’s your problem -- yer too non-threatening! You needa get one of these...” Raspo took the hunting knife from his boot and put the blade against Felix’s bobbing Adam’s-apple, “This is my wee persuader. I’ve carved-up guys that owed me as little as 20 notes w’ this thing.”

There was a gurgle then Felix croaked, “Sorry, Raspo, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re f**kin’ lucky I’m in a good mood cuz if there is one thing guaranteed to get me riled it’s people owin’ me money! And then there’s this!” He grabbed Felix by the scruff of the neck and pushed him towards the bed; Felix’s face was forced down and ground into the damp patch in the mattress; then his head was yanked back so that he could look up and see the source, “Erm, I’ll have a glazier look at it in the morning...?” he said, calmly, despite the indignity.

“In the morning, huh? And what about tonight?” said Raspo, pushing him away “Now, where will I sleep tonight... let me see now...?” he said, stroking an invisible beard “... a spare room for instance... a room that’s sittin’ all made-up and ready...” he sat in the chair by the door and awaited the inevitable conniption.

He wasn’t disappointed: Felix grabbed the tufts of hair either side of his bald patch and did a little dance on the spot like a kid that needs to wee, “No-no-no-no-no...” then genuflected and fell at Raspo’s feet (he was overdoing it a little, but abject pathos and cartoonish behaviour were the only way he avoided out-and-out beatings when he dared to defy direct orders), “No, please, please, please, Raspo, not me mammy’s room -- take my bed!”

Raspo lifted an empty lager can from the floor and threw it at him, “Get the f**k outta here - I’d rather kip in a skip than put my bare skin anywhere near somewhere you’ve been... eeeuggh,” Raspo shuddered, “‘my bed’, the very notion!” He grabbed Felix by the nape of the neck and growled in his ear, “I’m not feelin’ The Love, Costello. You said my wish would be your command.”

“But Raspo, you know how particular I am about my mother,” Felix implored him, “I’ve got it exactly as it was when she passed -- I even lacquered the pillows ‘n the quilt to save me washing them...”

Raspo pushed him away, “Lacquered bedsheets! Christ on a bike! You are sick! You ARE Norman f**ing Bates!”

“The settee in the living room!” Felix cried excitedly, in a moment of inspiration, “it’s very comfortable -– you’ve seen it -- it’s 8 foot long - big cushions, quilted leather -- and you’d have the radiogram -- the colour-telly -- and the video!”

“And what if somebody comes lookin’ for me?!” he tightened his grip on Felix’s neck.

“They can’t see through the net curtains!”

Raspo released his grip and considered the proposal, “Hmmm. Better than a dead woman’s lacquered duvet, I s’pose...”

“We can have dinner together! I’m making Pasta Primavera with chicken in a lemon sauce tonight... well, if you’re agreeable, like...?”

Raspo didn’t say no. After thinking it over he murmured, “Hmmm, sounds alright, sure enough...”

Felix grinned and chirruped, “See you at 8!”

“F**k-off, Felix.”

He departed the room walking on air, overjoyed that his suggestion had been approved and he’d have Raspo to fuss over for the next few days. He skipped down the four flights of stairs singing One Day My Prince Will Come. When he reached the bottom, Mr Paterson, the long-term lodger and mammy’s constant companion, was coming in the front door. Felix stopped singing and smiling.

“Good afternoon, Felix. Up visiting your new friend?” asked Mr Paterson, with more than a hint of sarcasm. Felix screwed up his nose and chimed like a little girl, “He’s my cousin, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Felix, I knew your mother 40-odd years and I never once heard her mention a relative called ‘Brian’.” Mr Paterson shook his head, “and I’m sure she would've mentioned a big brute like that.”

Exasperated, Felix crossed his arms, cocked a hip and tapped his foot, “Listen -- I don’t have to explain myself to you Paterson, I’m landlord here now, and can I rent to whoever I like!”

“He’s an ex-con, isn't he, it’s written all over that big ugly mug o’ his – I’ll bet you met ‘im on the inside,” said Mr Paterson looking upstairs. “And what have you been doin’ in the evenings, anyway?” he asked, suspiciously, “You didn’t get in until 4 on Sunday morning!”

Felix put a hand on his chest and recoiled in horror, “Have you been... spying on me? How dare you?!”

Paterson explained in a kinder voice, “As she lay on her death bed, yer mammy told me to look after you and she said...”

Sacrilege! “Don’t tell me what my mother said! I’ve only got your word for that! And anyway, I don’t need looking after by some wretched auld codger who collects model aeroplanes and goes dancing down the nursing home!”

Mr Paterson shook his head. He’d heard it all before. Felix watched him laboriously climb the stairs and muttered about nosy auld bastards. He shuffled through the mail on the hall table and found a handwritten letter addressed to his mother. He took it to the living room; the cats, sitting either end of the settee, watched him enter but didn’t stir. “Looky, looky, me loves -– mammy got a letter!” he went to the mantelpiece and got the silver letter-opener, opened it with a flourish, extracted the missive, ceremoniously shook it out, and read aloud:

“’Dear Miss Costello,

‘I am writing to invite you to an emergency meeting of the Real Irish Psychics at the home of Mrs Verity Murphy, Rottingdean Cottage, Addanstown, Co. Meath. Please attend if you can this is a matter of the greatest urgency, Ms Carmel McCool is attending and has urgent news...’”

Felix stopped reading and put a hand to his chest, “Mizz Carmel McCool?!” he gasped. The cats watched with some alarm as the man who fed and watered them pranced around the room like a caffeinated 5 year old on Christmas morning, “You know what this means don’t yez? Eh? EH?!”

The cats remained supremely impassive.

“Well, she’s a bona fide psychic like me mammy -- she’ll put me in touch with her Spirit!” he said, punching the air in triumph. As he put the silver letter-opener back on the mantelpiece, he told his mother’s urn, “Even when you were bible-thumpin’ you never questioned Mizz McCool’s psychic abilities, did ya mammy? Now I can tell you how sorry I am!”

Meanwhile upstairs: Raspo went to the little b/w portable TV sitting atop the battered tallboy and flipped the on-switch; he turned the mattress over and sprawled out to smoke the spliff; as he blew the first lungful into the air, the screen brightened to reveal a female reporter clutching a huge microphone, sheltering from the downpour under a white golf-umbrella as the anchorman chatted to her from the studio:

REPORTER: “...his niece, Niamh Fitzgerald, who is staying at Dr Gilray’s home, reported him missing earlier today. Over the next few hours it became clear that this was no ordinary disappearance – apparently he stole a car and sped off in a hurry -- bizarre in the extreme!”

ANCHORMAN: “Yes, I must say I’ve interviewed him on a few occasions and found him to be very personable, respectable man. This is totally out of character.

REPORTER: “A witness said she saw him ‘peeking into parked cars’. When the owner returned and reported the car missing, the gards took the eyewitness’ description that they realised the thief was Dr Gilray.”

ANCHORMAN: “And apart from having led many high-profile murder cases in recent years - namely the Disappeared of Donegal case in 1985 – most people will know him as the man who discovered those mummies in a peat-bog in South Kildare a couple of years ago...”

Raspo changed channels, “Oh, f**k off. I wanna see somethin’ to lift me spirits...” The picture eventually settled and a familiar, dimpled grin flickered on the screen.

“Ahh -- wouldja look-at-that -- Ollie Laffin! The Quare Geg himself! That’ll do!” He sat back and took a deep pull on the spliff. 10 minutes later he was in kinks...

...

Odin’s Inn, Brodir: A few minutes after Herbie drove off, Zindy arrived in a tow-truck pulling the lifeless carcass of the old van. As soon as she saw the state of Malky she became Nurse Lindsay and fussed over him like a clucking hen. Broo stood well back and watched her minister to her patient, making no attempt to indicate how bad things were; in any case, she was avoiding his eyes for some reason. She put Malky to bed, unloaded the van then went about the painting and decorating without coming into the parlour to see how Broo was. In fact, she was strangely reserved. No radio, no singing to herself. That was odd. But then again, everything is odd now: why should she be any different? Could it be a side-effect of the infection? Maybe she’ll get it too! And the baby... What about the baby?!

As the clock struck midnight, Broo sat to attention on the velveteen banquette by the front door, watching the old seawall through the little side-window, waiting to see if any of the the little Drowners would appear and explain what was going on. It was a blustery night, the eaves whistled tunelessly with each gust of the cold northern wind; gobs of sea-spray splattered the windows, the lighthouse beam swung back-and-forth, intermittently illuminating the bar through the brine-strewn glass; all-in-all, it was a typical night in Brodir, but no sign of life or death: still no gulls in the sky, no rats in the abandoned units, and no ghosts in the ghost town. Worst of all, the inn’s resident spectre was absent.

He had no one to talk to and no one to guide him, and for the first time since coming to Odin’s Inn, Broo yearned to see the Ghost of Sammy O'Donnell...

...

08:53 EST, Harrisburg General Hospital: Emil managed to tune his radio to an Irish station broadcasting traditional Irish music 24/7 with news summaries from Dublin on-the-hour-every-hour, albeit 5 hours ahead of EST. According to the bulletin, the garda were still looking for the missing forensic scientist, Dr Patrick Gilray; there was an appeal for witnesses, but apart from that there had been no further developments. Whatever happened, whatever the circumstances, Paddy was his best friend and he was genuinely concerned.

They met when he was still seeing Paddy’s sister, Mairead, whom he met when she, like him, travelled all the way to San Francisco in ’67 with flowers in her hair to see what all the fuss about and got to know each other when they enjoyed some Free Love amongst the junkie dropouts at Haight-Ashbury. When Mairead introduced him to her brother Paddy, they hit it off immediately and their friendship outlasted the couple’s brief love affair. Paddy was a jolly, dapper, old-before-his-time confirmed bachelor who loved antique sports cars and Gershwin; Emil was an out-and-out hippy who loved women and avant-garde jazz; to the casual observer the men were polar opposites, but they bonded over a fascination for European pagan civilisation, the Celts in particular, and would talk till the early hours about everything from Golden Age comics to Iron Age cutlery. It was no surprise to learn that they were both studying pathology -- a career path that would result in them becoming respected forensic scientists in their chosen fields -- it was as if their companionship was meant to be. When it was time for Emil to return to Canada and resume his studies, they agreed to meet every summer and embark on archaeological digs in the Irish countryside; it became as traditional as Christmas, and it went on for 22 years... until the summer of ‘89.

Niamh was Mairead’s daughter from her affair with Enda Fitzgerald, the Irish poet, whom she shacked-up with 6 months after she and Emil split. Fitzgerald died from a heroin overdose a week after Niamh’s first birthday. A few years later, Mairead married an international civil rights lawyer and moved to Stockholm. Ni was sent to an English boarding school, and when she moved to Dublin to study Criminal Psychology at Trinity, she stayed with her beloved Uncle Paddy, an arrangement that suited them both perfectly. She was intelligent and funny and shared his interest in archaeology. She’d joined them for the annual dig every year from the age of 12, but to Emil, she was just another kid. She’d sit and read a book all the way through dinner and spent most of her time in her room. And then she suddenly grew up and -- BOOM! “A 19 year-old hottie with a drop-dead-body!” He couldn't believe his eyes -- a blonde bombshell, no less! Then, miracles of miracles -- she told him she’d always fancied him and offered use of said body for a spot of afternoon delight with no strings attached! He couldn't say no! It was 22 minutes of blissful madness, but it cost him his best friend and now his marriage. After 2 years of semi-estrangement, Fran finally made the break.

She never came back to the hospital. She went back to Toronto the next morning. The crash had brought everything to a head, she said. She rang and told him she was seeing a divorce lawyer and was desperately sorry about springing this on him in his current state, but couldn't hold off a moment longer: this had to be done before he talked her out of it. His lover, his wife, his soulmate had finally wised-up and left him high-‘n’-dry without a Soul in the world.

He heard the musical intro to the news and turned up the radio, “... detectives investigating the disappearance of Dr Patrick Gilray are still searching the residence. The detective in charge, DS Somerville -- who is also a close personal friend of Dr Gilray -- has appealed to the general public to report any sightings...”

He didn’t hear the rest; he was distracted by Rowena, the big black nurse knocking the door, “Some police here to see ya, Dr Emil. You OK with that?”

“What do they want now?” he grumbled.

“All’s I know is he’s police. Now d’ya wanna see ‘im or not?” He sighed loudly and nodded. She ushered in a stylishly dressed American-Italian detective carrying a clipboard and a black-PVC sack emblazoned with the initials HBPD in bold white print. He was a good-looking guy, with a thick head of shiny black hair sculpted into a centre-parting. He smelled of spearmint and expensive cologne: Emil took an instant dislike to him and didn’t reciprocate when he offered his hand; the rebuff didn’t dint the man’s élan one iota, he unbuttoned his jacket and helped himself to the chair by the bed. “I’d say it must be hell lyin’ in here day-after-day, Dr Labatt,” he said, in a cheery voice, “I broke a leg skiing in Alberta in ‘83 and I was only outta action for 3 weeks but it drove me crazy!”

“What do you want?” Emil asked, dryly.

The young cop wasn’t fazed and politely explained, “OK, Dr Labatt, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m Detective Marty Esposito of Harrisburg PD -- I’m here to clarify a few details about the crash and give you the personal effects that survived the fire,” he held up the black bag.

Emil was his usual sarcastic self, “Do I need to call my lawyer? Cuz he’s busy handling my divorce.”

Esposito smiled a patient smile, “No, I’m not gonna charge you --”

“-- yet?”

“-- I just wanna hear your side before we --”

“-- decide whether or not to charge me?”

“ -- proceed.” Esposito, only mildly irritated, sat forward and got more assertive; he looked Emil in his good eye and said, plainly, “Dr Labatt, I find your attitude somewhat uncivil in view of the fact that you could've killed a lot of people. Because of your actions a young fireman lost his face! Now I think those people are entitled to know what happened. Don’t you?”

Emil just stared.

“Thank you.” Esposito consulted his notes and informed him, “Well, I’m pleased to tell you that your tox-screen turned up a negative result, no alcohol no drugs...”

“You mean I wasn't high?” Emil chimed sarcastically, “I was sure I had a kilo of coke and a bottle of vodka in the glove box -– thank god there was a fire!”

“As a matter of fact we did look in the glove box -- and no, we didn’t find any narcotics or liquor -- but we did find this.” Esposito reached into the plastic bag and produced an evidence bag with something heavy inside. “Why do you keep a claw hammer in your glove box, Dr Labatt...?”

A week later: Odin’s Inn, Brodir, Co. Wicklow: After three days of tossing and turning, dry retching, and a severe dose of the shits, Malky’s fever broke and he arose bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was a complete transformation. He was chatty, full of energy, helping with the decorating and whistling while he worked. Broo, though pleased by his recovery, knew things weren’t back to normal. The aura was still there; in fact, it was stronger than ever, Broo had to stay in the parlour out of harm’s way. Whatever was happening, it didn’t seem to affect Zindy or the baby. She was more agreeable than usual, no friendly banter, no teasing, just attentive and kind. She didn’t even pretend to be annoyed when Malky told her he’d had torn up Laphen’s cheque and threw it back in his face. He didn’t notice she was being atypically polite and pleasant. She didn’t seem to notice that he wasn't himself, if she did, she didn’t let on.

The thing was, Malky was so upbeat and energetic he couldn't sleep and took long walks every evening after dinner to wear himself out. He never took Broo, though. Ever since they got back from the Laphen house they’d been avoiding each other, and for the time being, that seemed to suit them both fine. But as the week wore on he began staying out past midnight. Broo followed him, keeping his distance (40 yards to be exact). He had been shadowing his errant partner for a week now: Every day at dusk, when the summer sun was just an orange glow on the horizon, it was the same routine: something clicked in Malky’s head and he left the inn and wandered aimlessly for miles. Broo followed him as he walked the empty streets and explored all the derelict buildings; he visited the disused units along the seafront and the abandoned cottages where the leathermen used to squat; along the way he’d pick up pieces of litter and examine them as if they were relics of a bygone age, paying special attention to pieces of newspaper and the print on food wrappers. He walked to an abandoned house on the edge of town and stood in front of an old mirror for 2 solid hours. It was exhausting and baffling.

Zindy was usually fast-asleep by the time he got back. When she asked him where he’d been, his reply was vague, “Just round-and-about...” he’d say, as if he didn’t know but didn’t want to admit it. One morning she awoke and found herself alone; his clothes were over the back of the chair, so he was definitely in the building. She checked the guestrooms and both bathrooms and eventually found him downstairs in the bar, perched on a stool in his underwear, gazing blankly into space. When she tapped his shoulder, it was like rousing a sleepwalker: he was scared at first, then confused and embarrassed. Weird, she thought, unaware that the worst was yet to come.

On Saturday evening, while Malky fried the steak for dinner, Zindy sat at the kitchen table chopping onions and slicing mushrooms, talking about her ideal kitchen, “I’m gonna have a big range – and a big dishwasher -– one of ‘em that can take the dishes from an entire dinner party in one load.”

“Sounds wonderful!” said Malky, flipping the meat.

She stopped chopping and chuckled, “Are you takin’ the piss, Malcolm Calvert?”

Malky turned, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, spluttered, “What? No. I mean... What did you say?”

She could tell by the vacant look on his face that she’d interrupted another daydream; the ‘wonderful’ was an unconscious, atypical response, the latest in a long line of uncharacteristic quirks and tics that made her uneasy. She resumed chopping and kept an eye on him. What is the matter with him? Does he know about the Raspo situation? Nah, he was on his way back from Kildare, there’s no way he could know... is there?

The phone rang in the hall and broke her concentration. She scraped the onion rings into the skillet, kissed Malky’s cheek and went out to the hall to answer the call.

“Odin’s Inn, Brodir...”

“It’s me.”

Shit! “You couldn't have called at a worse time!!”

“It’s been over a week!”

“Waitaminnit!” She went to the kitchen door, made sure Malky was still at the cooker then quietly closed it; she jooked in the parlour to make sure that Broo was watching telly, then covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Whaddya want?!”

“Me bike! That’s what I want!”

“I’ve been very busy painting ‘n’ decorating an’ I ‘aven’t ‘ad time to do owt about it.”

“Well, I can’t wait any longer! I don’t care who’s there, I’m comin’ to get it!”

The whisper became a dissonant hiss, “I told you –- no way are you to come within a mile ‘o this place. I’ll make the arrangements, OK?! Leave it with me.”

“Has something happened to it? It is there, ain't it?”

“It’s out-back and it’s perfectly fine! It’s packed in polythene under a tarpaulin in the big shed!”

“C’mon Zin, lemme come and get me bleedin’ bike back! I’ve got a buyer and he ain't gonna hang around while you fanny-about!”

Zindy was in a pickle. In truth, there wasn't anybody she could ask to take it to him. Her mates had all deserted her, the mechanics at the local garage had fallen out with her when she told them how to do their jobs, and having it transported was bound to cost her dough they didn’t have...

“Here’s an idea – tell me when you’re goin’ out and leave backdoors open? Huh?”

“Outta the question! I ain’t ‘avin’ you comin’ round ‘ere unsupervised! I’m still not 100% sure this ain’t some kinda trick.”

“Don’t be silly. I can come down tomorrow morning if that suits.”

“No. I don’t want you comin’ when Malky is here.”

“OK, tell me when he goes out and we’ll do it then! It’ll only take 5 minutes.”

Zindy chewed the inside of her cheek and struggled in vain to find an alternative. Finally, she conceded defeat, “OK, he’s got ‘ospital appointment on Friday mornin’. Be here no sooner than 11:15. I’ll lock-up the inn, but I’ll leave the backdoors open. In-‘n-out mind. I don’t want you ‘ere when we get back.”

“Thank you. Much obliged.”

“Any funny business and I call the cops.”

Click.

“That sounded as if it went well,” said Felix, with a hopeful smile.

Raspo blew a plume of smoke into the air, “Oh yes indeedy-do!” he chuckled contentedly, “the fish is on the hook, I just haveta reel-her-in and smash ‘er head on the deck.”

They were in the living-room, sitting opposite each other in high-backed leather armchairs in front of a roaring fire; it’s like a gentlemen’s club! Felix got the chance to show that he was an intelligent man of discerning taste, not just a lowly gofer. He lit the scented-candles on the mantelpiece and dimmed the lamps. He made Earl Grey tea and got out his best biccies. He groomed the cats so their fur was fluffy and tactile. Raspo was quite well-disposed towards Mr Minx and Mrs Jinx – but invariably referred to them as ‘Blofeld Cats’ (from a James Bond film, apparently, although Felix had never seen a Bond film; he preferred cartoons). At that particular moment, Felix was petting Mrs Jinx on his lap with a big stupid smile on his face; Raspo, stroking Mr Minx with one hand, spliff in the other, grinned like the cat that got the cream.

“So-oo... that Calvert guy is goin’ out, is he? That’ll make things a helluva lot easier,” said Felix, brightly.

Raspo went on stroking the cat and answered in a strange foreign accent, “Indeed, but it also poses a problem, Mr Bond...”

“How?”

Raspo continued in his normal voice, “... like, what if Calvert should arrive back early and catch us in the act? Nah, I’d feel more comfortable if I wuz tooled up.”

“He’s not gonna put up much of a fight, is he?” Felix tittered, “He’s got a heart condition -- I’ve seen ‘im, he doesn’t look very threatening.”

“He’s ex-RUC, dickhead -– he’s likely to have a gun for personal security.” Raspo thumbed the cat’s ear and thought it over again. “Aye, somethin’ small -- a .22 should do it. You’re gonna have to go and see Günter and make the necessary arrangements...” He thought for a moment then retracted, “no – don’t – get Big Marty on it -– if it gets out that you’re lookin’ fer a gun somebody might put 2+2 together and get me.”

“What about the dog?”

Raspo dismissed the question out-of-hand, “If it causes me any trouble, I’ll slit its bleedin’ throat. I’d enjoy doin’ it, too... three legged freak...”

With that, Mr Minx jumped off Raspo’s lap and ran into the kitchen. Mrs Jinx soon followed. It was as if they sensed things were about to get ugly.

But Felix couldn’t resist, “So... do you believe the dog might have special powers...?”

“No I feckin’ don’t! Do you?” grumbled Raspo, irritated by the question.

Felix chose his words very carefully, “See, I believe some animals, especially cats, have a direct-line to the Spirit World. They become what witches call a Familiar... erm... they see things we can’t...?” Felix stopped midsentence to make sure his guest wasn't about to punch him.

But Raspo didn’t heckle or threaten violence, in fact he took a sip of his drink, stared into the fire, nodding as if something had just occurred to him, “There was this one time the lads went to stay with a mate in Scotland who had this big ginger tom. When Barry McKee arrived the next day -- the cat took one look at ‘im ‘n bolted. Apparently he didn’t come back until we’d gone. Creepy, sure enough...”

Oh this is more like it! Felix was utterly rapt, and in the spirit of the occasion chanced to express a deeply-held and potentially controversial personal opinion, “That ties into the theory that he was pos --!”

Raspo raised an eyebrow.

Uh oh... Felix backpedalled furiously, “Well... what I mean is, y’know, there’s eejits who believe he was possessed by.... a demon...?”

Raspo might’ve been stoned and slightly pissed, but he couldn’t countenance such drivel, “Whataloadashite,” he raged, “The man was sick in the head, he wasn't ‘possessed’!”

“I’m only tellin’ you what they say,” said Felix, talking quickly, trying desperately to justify his opinion, “like there’s this guy I know who’s an outpatient at SCICI and he told me that one of the warders told him that every time McKee blinks the lights flash and the TV in the rec room --”

That’s as far as he got. Raspo reached across and slapped him lightly on the cheek, “I warned you about this,” he said, waving his finger in Felix’s face, “I told you I’d batter ye senseless if I heard ye mention any ‘o that auld demonic bollox!” He pointed at the bookcase against the opposite wall, “I know you’re into all that shite –- I’ve seen the books you read!”

Felix wanted to explain his fascination for the macabre, but it would only make things worse, so he kept his mouth shut and let Raspo rant without interruption; he had an important assignation tonight and he didn’t want to arrive on crutches...

...

30 minutes ago, at Odin’s Inn: Zindy opened the kitchen door and peeked in. Malky was still at the hob, tending the skillet; “Who was it?” he asked, innocently, without looking.

“It was somebody for me... erm... an old friend...” she said, sitting down at the table.

Her procrastination intrigued Malky, “Everything’s alright, isn’t it?”

She went to him and took his arm, “Yeah... look, luv, c’mere and sit down fer a minnit, willya...”

Malky, apprehensive and concerned, did as she asked; spatula in hand, he slipped into the seat opposite and looked at her bump “It’s not the baby, is it?” he asked, very concerned.

“No, no, no, nuthin’ like that.” She looked into his eyes and said, “It’s about Robert ‘Raspo’ Canning,- my ex.”

Malky crossed his arms and scowled, “The fat Hell’s Angel dope-dealer with the purple beard and penchant for ultra-violence? Outta gaol, is he?”

“Yeah... well, ‘e’s not fat anymore, ‘n ‘e’s shaved off the beard, but yeah, ‘e’s out ‘n ‘e wants to flog ‘is bike. He’s got a new girlfriend, see, and they’re tryin’ to raise the cash to emigrate.” She’d inserted this last titbit in an effort to put his mind at rest, but it didn’t have the desired effect.

He looked in the direction of the hall and slipped into detective-mode, “I must say, that’s a lot of information for such a short conversation. You were only on for a couple of minutes.”

He’s got me; but why the hostility? Zindy thought it best to be frank and supplied a detailed, open & honest account of the ‘chance meeting’, “... and when you came home I didn’t get a chance to tell you -– you were so ill I hadda put ya to bed, ‘n when you recovered you were in such good form I didn’t wanna spoil things by bringin’ it up.”

“Why?! How would it spoil things to be open and honest?” he asked, his mood slowly darkening.

“Look he doesn’t matter anymore -- he’s irrelevant! He means nothing to me now and once ‘e gets his bike ‘e’ll fook off outta our lives forever.”

He got up and returned to the skillet without saying a word.

She called after him, “That it, then? Crisis averted?”

When he turned back, his face was virtually unrecognisable -- eyes burning, nose wrinkled with rage, he shook the spatula at her and snarled, “It’s about trust, Zindy -– you should’ve told me! That’s what responsible adults do! They don’t have secrets! I thought you were different! But you’re sly and sleekit -- just like my ex-wife!”

She was totally thrown; this was entirely out-of-character. She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, “OK, OK, calm down, chook...”

He banged the table with his fist, “Don’t f**kin’ patronise me, chook! Just tell me what you told him!”

Zindy, finding it increasingly difficult to keep her temper under control, answered in a strained voice, “I... I told him to come and get the bike when we’re at the cardiologist’s on Friday. I was gonna leave the yard door open for ‘im...”

He sat down again, his face blank and impassive.

“Mal?”

Behind him, the unattended skillet suddenly burst into flames. He didn’t even blink. “SHIT!” Zindy jumped up, turned ran to the sink, soaked a tea-towel in cold water and threw it over the flames -- the fire disappeared in a cloud of steam and greasefire-smoke that set off the smoke alarm.

Malky still hadn’t budged.

“Don’t you fuss yerself Malky Calvert, I’ll deal with this crisis,” she yelled, as she hauled on the big oven-glove picked up the fuming skillet and deposited it in the sink.

Malky was still in a trance. The smoke alarm continued to bleep.

She fetched the mop from the corner, stood on a chair and used the pole to turn it off. “I have to say, I’m surprised at you, Mal. I never had you pegged as the jealous type.” But he stubbornly maintained his silence and stared at the table top so he didn’t have to look at her. For the first time since they met, she lost her cool and bawled, “Hey! Soft lad! Look at me!!”

Malky continued to stare at the tabletop and replied under his breath, in a dry, sombre tone, “I’m goin’ out. If I stay here I might say something I’ll regret.” With that, he slowly got up, took off his apron, threw it onto the table, took his jacket from the nail on the back of the kitchen door and walked off down the hall.

Zindy was mentally and physically drained. She sat down at the table, patted her bump and groaned through a heavy sigh, “What the hell’s gotten into your dad, babe?”

Broo heard the phonecall. At least it explained Zindy’s unusual behaviour. When she went back to the kitchen, he listened to them argue. Her reasoning was logical. His response was not. When Malky stormed into the hall, Broo skipped into the parlour and hid behind the couch. He waited until he heard the outer door slam shut and went to the kitchen to check on Zindy. She was sitting at the table, slumped in her chair, eating a thick slice of cheddar topped with blob of chutney, “’eard everythin’, didja?” she said unemotionally, pointing at the blackened wall behind the cooker, “he burned the dinner ‘n went off in a jealous rage. What do you reckon on that, Broo?” All he could do was lick her hand to assure her he was on her side. “You gonna follow ‘im again, are ya?” she asked, stroking his head. Broo grunted an affirmative and went to the flap in the backdoor. “Well, keep yer distance, ‘ol boy, he’s in no mood for company,”she said, in a sad voice.

This time Broo didn’t have to walk far. In a change from his usual route, Malky went along the strand and turned into the alley at the side of the old burned-out cinema. Broo waited until he was out of sight and then skipped along and peeked around the corner. He saw Malky pushing through the broken emergency-exit door to gain access; once he was safely inside, Broo carefully made his way along the alley, careful not trip on the numerous discarded beer cans and broken bottles (the leather men used to use the cinema to have parties) and lose his balance. He managed to squeeze through the doorway and make it into the dilapidated theatre without making a sound. Malky was sitting on the aisle near the back, in one of the few remaining seats, staring straight-ahead at the big black space where the screen used to be. Up until now Broo hadn’t interfered, but tonight, considering the quarrel with Zindy and this latest development, he could wait and watch no longer. He threw caution to the wind, stumbled through the charred debris and tottered up the aisle to confront his partner face-to-face, regardless of the danger.

As usual, Malky was there in body but not in mind or spirit. He was wall-eyed, slack-jawed and virtually drooling, the aura’s insidious mist drifting in and out of his mouth and nostrils with every breath he took.

Broo let out a quiet ruff to snap-him-out-of-it.

Malky suddenly burst into life - “Get away from me!” he shouted, angrily and lashed out with his foot, kicking the old dog square in his left side –winding him and knocking him over -- he rolled down the slope of the aisle, over-and-over-and-over-and-over, until he came to rest against a fallen beam. Malky sat back and resumed his terrible meditation as if nothing had happened.

Dispirited, covered in filth and fearing for his life, Broo staggered home, hurt and humiliated, his ribs aching, his head hung low with his tail between his legs.

Zindy had obviously gone to bed. The inn was very quiet. The parlour was dark.

“Pssst!”

What was that? A hiss in the chimney...?

“Dog!”

No, it wasn't coming from the hearth -– it was coming from above the hearth. He looked up and saw the slightest glimmer in the glass of the mirror, like the glow you get from a TV screen when you turn it off in a darkened room. He hauled himself up onto the couch and put his remaining front paw on the arm, stretching up and raising his head so that it was level with the mirror; it was steamed up, but the condensation appeared to be on the inside of the glass. Then a hand cleared a void in the steam and a face appeared: the familiar, silver-bearded, toothless countenance of none-other Samuel O'Donnell -- deceased barman, John Wayne fan and spectral pain-in-the-neck! The old dog’s heart leapt -- he barked a hearty hello!

Sammy was looking around him and talking at the same time, “I can’t see you but I can hear you -– well, I hear you in my head -- y’know the score. I’m sorry but this has to be a bit quick, like, cos I’m in what they call Mirror World or Glass Land or the Void, dependin’ on who you talk to, and you can’t survive here long cos it saps yer Essence...”

Get on with it you beautiful idiot!

“OK. Here goes,” and for the next five minutes Sammy told Broo all he knew as quickly as possible. “... the plan seems to be: abandon the immediate area for a while, starve it of the auld psychic energy, and hopefully it’ll die out before it spreads.”

What about humans?

“It won’t do ‘em any harm unless they have the Gift -– it attacks the psychic energy, see, and that’s why it affects you, so you gotta...” the words became distant and unintelligible, the mirror had begun to steam up again -- the image was fading. Broo whimpered and asked him to repeat the message, but Sammy was waving frantically, his voice now inaudible. The mirror misted over until the glass was completely obscured. He climbed down and pondered on what he had heard.

It only affects Sensitives? Is Malky a Sensitive...?

21:03 GMT, in a dark country lane near Addanstown, Co. Meath: “At last! Rottingdean Cottage!” cried Felix. “Thank goodness for that!” It was almost dark, another 10 minutes and it would've been impossible to see the sign at the end of the lane. It had been a long drive and he’d made a few wrong turns, but he felt as exhilarated as when he first set-off. He parked, preened himself in the rear-view-mirror, licked his thumbs to flatten his eyebrows, and teased the mousy-hair around his bald patch to make him look lovable and vulnerable. The perfect end to a perfect day! Raspo’s plan is proceeding nicely, the tenants have paid-up on time, and now I’m going to meet a genuine psychic and talk to me mammy! He had been looking forward to this all week and nothing was going to spoil it! He grabbed the carrier bag from the passenger seat, jumped out -– put a black armband over his anorak -- ran up the meandering crazy-paved path and rang the doorbell. Mrs Murphy, a tall, short-haired, homely middle-aged woman bursting out of a lilac trouser-suit, looked him up and down with a gimlet eye, “Hmm, yes, can I help you?” she asked, in a refined, unspecific Irish accent.

“Felix Costello from Enniskerry?!” he almost shouted.

“We don’t want any today, thank you.” She closed the door. Felix rang the doorbell again; she answered again immediately, “Look, if you don’t...”

“This is Rottingdean Cottage?” he said, excitedly, and held out the invitation, “I’m Betty Costello’s son!”

The homely face dropped several inches and she almost sang an apology, “Oh – I am so awfully, dreadfully sorry! I was using an old Rolodex and I must've forgotten to remove your mother’s card -- please accept my heartfelt condolences and humble apologies, I know you must've come an awfully long way, but this is for members only, so sorry...” She began to close the door again but he blocked it with his foot and quickly explained, “As you say, I’ve come all this way, and in honour of her memory,” he pointed at the black armband, “I’d like to attend this meeting, if that’s OK with you? I’ll sit at the back and be very quiet – I’ve brought my own snacks,” he rustled the blue carrier bag, “I’ll be no bother at all!” He gave her a painstaking blow-by-blow account of his journey to numb her into submission and ended by rifling through the carrier bag and presenting her with a Nestlé Black Magic Easter egg (5 Easters’ old -- he bought it for his mammy before he was gaoled), “I know Easter’s past, but chocolate’s chocolate no matter what time of year it is, eh?!”

“Yes... most kind, thank you...” she took it and grudgingly acceded, “Well, since you’ve gone to so much trouble Mr Costello, I can’t see how I can possibly refuse...” She stood aside and he scuttled into the hall, “Has Mizz McCool started yet?” he asked, standing on tiptoe, looking over her shoulder, peeking into the lounge. Mrs Murphy looked up at the ceiling and told him a quiet voice, “She’s upstairs preparing, doing her breathing exercises -– she’s very theatrical. It irks some of our older members, but in my opinion people with The Gift are entitled to their little eccentricities, don’t you agree...?”

“I entirely agree!” replied Felix, looking up the staircase, “She’s one in a billion!” he said loudly, so she might hear. “My mother had nothin’ but praise for Mizz McCool even when she was calling yez the ‘Black Hearted Spawn of Satan’!”

With that exclamation the conversations in the lounge suddenly ceased.

To cover for this faux pas, Mrs Murphy pretended to find it hilarious and cried in reply, “YES! Some of the things people shout at us are awful!” she grabbed his arm and hustled him through the bemused throng, “Now be quiet, this isn’t exactly a social occasion,” she whispered in his ear, as she took him to a crepe-paper covered pasting-table at the back of the room laden with pastries, nibbles and beverages. “Tea or coffee?” she asked.

He turned so that the room could hear him and joked, “I must say -- I was expecting spirits!”

The crowd fell silent again, turned and glared.

Felix gulped. “Tea, please.”

As she poured she announced, “This is Felix, everyone, he’s Betty Costello’s son, and as most of you know, Betty passed a few months ago, so he’s come as her representative, and is not an R.I.P. member or possessed of a Gift – except for an Easter-egg 5 years past its sell-by-date -- so please, in the nicest possible way, just indulge him if he asks a lot of silly questions, mm?”

His reputation went before him. He saw the scowls, he heard the snarky whispers. The ones that knew were very quick to inform those who were none-the-wiser. One of the older, deafer women said, “...You mean, that’s her son? The one that went to prison?” He didn’t care. He respected those who disrespected him: it showed good judge of character.

There were around 25 people besides himself: a couple of younger girls who looked nervous, one of them constantly giggling; a few Goth girls with multiple piercings who looked fierce and foreboding; lots of old women in shawls and hats of all shapes and sizes; a few podgy, effeminate men enjoying the refreshments, talking loudly about visions and ghosts in their silly, sissy-voices. Mrs Murphy introduced him to the ‘Guest of Honour’: Mrs Sparkes, a stout, buckle-faced woman in her 70s wearing a flowery pinafore over green charlady overalls. She smelled of Pledge and ammonia.

Mrs Sparkes shook his hand weakly and looked him up and down as if he was an alien species. “Is that a west-country accent I hear?” he asked, cheerfully, even though she hadn't said anything to him yet (he’d been eavesdropping).

Mrs Murphy immediately answered for her, “No, Mrs Sparkes has come from South Kildare.”

“But I have cousins in Devon who used to visit our guesthouse every year ‘n they speak just like you!” said Felix, bemused. “If I close my eyes you could be their mother!”

This time the old woman shoved the hostess aside and spoke for herself, “’Ow dare ee! Oi’ve lived in Kildare all moy loife an’ oi’ve never been near yer ‘guest’ouse’, whatever tha is! ‘Ow dare ee infur that oi ‘ave children by any man ovver than me own ‘usband -- may God rest ‘is Soul!” Her face closed like a fist and her throat made a rattling noise.

Felix was flummoxed “I wasn't inferring anything! I was just making conversation...?”

The hostess stepped between them, “Mrs Sparkes belongs to a sheltered community that don’t often communicate with the outside world, they originate from Cornwall and have customs we might find a little odd...”

“Oh, like the Amish!” said Felix, brightly.

“NO!”Mrs Sparkes barked, turned away and resumed the conversation she was having with another hardfaced old lady before Mrs Murphy had so rudely interrupted. She clearly didn’t like the hostess or Felix one little bit.

There were three sharp bumps from the room above.

“Saved by the belle of the ball...” said Mrs Murphy under her breath, as she strode to the front of the room and flashed the lights, “Ladies... and gentleman, would you take your seats, please.”

Everyone quickly found somewhere to sit, and despite his efforts to get close, Felix was jostled and hustled along until he ended up very back behind a trio of really old ladies. The room fell silent. Once she had their undivided attention, Mrs Murphy proceeded with the short introduction: “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, as you are well aware, is an emergency meeting, Ms McCool has a lot to say, so listen very carefully, and keep your questions till the end.”

Lots of mumbling and nervous whispers.

“Now, without further ado, please welcome our chairwoman -– Ms Carmel McCool!” With that, Mrs Murphy opened the living room door, stood back and the woman of the hour entered to enthusiastic applause. It was like a film premiere! The room flashed as the sissy boys took photographs! A girl gave her a bouquet of lilies. Felix was on his feet, clapping, whistling and cheering (much to the annoyance of the old ladies in front), as the tall, slim figure stood in the doorway.

Carmel McCool was a heavily-made-up woman in her late 60s who didn’t wear anything made after 1929. The long, dark scarlet coat and flowing turquoise chiffon dress topped with a fake mink stole sporting a jet black bob; one of the sissies whispered, “She looks just like Louise Brooks in Pandora’s Box!” She acknowledged the applause with unsmiling aplomb then signalled for quiet. She might’ve looked like a silent movie star but her voice was in a class of its own. She was from Newry in Co. Down, not that you’d know it; she had a rarefied Ulster accent, her diction crisp, clear and commanding, “Thank you for your warm reception friends, colleagues, fellow Sensitives and psychics - I’m so grateful and honoured that you’ve taken the trouble to travel from all over the Island to be here tonight,” she cradled the flowers in her arms and scooped a tiny tear from her eye, taking care not to disturb her false eyelashes or smudge her mascara. “I only wish it could be a more joyous occasion, but it couldn't be more serious. Deadly serious.”

The smiles vanished. A discomfited rumble ran through the crowd.

Felix pulled the tab on a can of Tab and sprayed the old ladies in front with a short blast of carbonated brown. The grumbling stopped as everyone turned to see what was going on; the old ladies in front turned and glared at him as they wiped their sticky napes with dainty hankies.

He grimaced and mouthed sorry.

“Ahem.”

The crowd turned back.

Mizz McCool paused for a moment to make sure they were all listening before elaborating, “I have grave tidings, my dear friends. Something that hasn’t happened for many millennia is occurring in our time -– a danger I never thought we’d face in the Modern World.”

The rumble became a hubbub. People were looking at each other, totally perplexed. Utterly fascinated, Felix stared and ripped open a family bag of Maltesers.

Ms McCool passed the flowers to Mrs Murphy, “Let me explain with the help of our Guest of Honour,” she said, looking at the front row, “please stand up Mrs Sparks -- Mrs Sparkes, everyone!” she announced, clapping her hands over her head. Still bewildered, the crowd nevertheless followed her lead and applauded politely. Mrs Sparkes, looking very ill-at-ease, reluctantly set down her teacup, stood up and turned to face the rest of the room. Ms McCool stood behind her and spoke over her shoulder, “Mrs Sparkes, please tell the ladies and gentlemen why you called me.”

Uncharacteristically bashful, Mrs Sparkes clutched her hand bag to her chest, shuffled her feet, cleared her throat and explained in an apologetic voice, “Erm, well, see... I read about ‘ee in the paper ‘n I thought ‘ee sounded loike ‘ee noo wot ‘ee was talkin’ about, so I called this-‘ere lady ‘ere (Mrs Murphy), an’ she put me through to ‘ee.”

Ms McCool prompted her, “But tell them why you called me.”

“Well, oi works in this-‘ere big ‘ouse, see -- oi can’t say where tis cuz boss is very private man, see -- any’ow, I were dustin’ the boss’ study one noight -- when oi looked ‘n saw this li’l boy in the ol’ mirror -– a ghost, oi think ‘e were -- all black ‘n burned-up, ‘e were -- as if ‘e been in a foire!”

The crowd gasped. They knew the old woman was reliable witness; most of them had spoken to her earlier in the evening and found her to be reluctant and brutally honest, not the type to concoct such an elaborate lie.

Spurred on by the response, she laid it on thick, “Then, coupla weeks ago, we hadda poltergeist! The boss said ‘e seen things movin’ about of their own accord -- books, antique ornaments an’-that -– floyin’ through the air! Oi never seen ‘em floyin’ meself, loike, but oi heard it ‘n oi saw the results -- all these very expensive vases ‘n that -- smashed to pieces! It even pulled down this big grandfather clock off the wall -- a big, heavy brute of a thing -- ‘n sent it crashin’ down on the floor! Boss saw it -- scared outta ‘is wits, ‘e were!!”

The gasps became a din of dismay. Felix chewed noisily and stared, transfixed.

“.... anyways, oi tol’ the boss ‘e should get professional ‘elp and ‘e were so desperate ‘e agreed so I rung this-‘ere woman (she pointed at Mrs Murphy again) ‘n she called Miss McCool. Tha’s me story,” said Mrs Sparkes, ending abruptly, “may God strike me down if oi tell a loie,” and went to sit down; Ms McCool put a hand on her shoulder to stop her -- the old woman looked at it as if it was a white tarantula. “Now I can’t speak to the house’s history, but the poltergeist is indicative of a larger problem,” Mizz McCool informed the room, “the land on which the house was built in the same area where those bog mummies were found a few years ago.” She paused for a second or two to let the tidings sink in, then delivered the coup de gras: “This poltergeist activity is proof that exhumation of those bodies has unleashed a destructive force that is about to wreak havoc upon us all!”

In the uproar that greeted this announcement, Felix took a big swig of Tab and belched loudly. The rude ejaculation silenced the crowd and finally drew him to the attention of Mizz McCool.

“What’s your name, friend?”

His heart leapt. He nodded slowly and answered nervously through a mouthful of Maltesers, “Felix. Felix Costello, M-Mizz Mc-C-Cool. I-I wrote to you about my m-mother.”

Mrs Murphy had a word in her ear. Ms McCool raised a pencilled eyebrow, “Mr Costello, of course. You do indeed write me letters. A lot of letters.”

“One every week for 6 months!” cried Felix, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mizz McCool, put a finger on her cheek, looked skyward and intoned the name wistfully, “Betty Costello. Betty Costello. She was very gifted. Her Gift was as strong as mine, you know. But she misused it. She took to the Christian church and turned her back on us and denounced us as Satanists. Very galling, I think, coming from a fellow Sensitive; especially someone whom I befriended and treated with the utmost respect. I can only hope that now she has Passed Over she realises the hurt she’s caused.”

Hear-hears all round and a short ripple of applause.

The little speech hadn't wiped the smile off Felix’s face; the delivery was so disarming that he tuned-out after the compliments and just listened to the sound of her voice; when she stopped he just kept nodding and said “Thanks very much, I appreciate it and so will she!”

Ms McCool looked at him askance, then shook her head and said “idiot” under her breath. “Nevermind, what’s past is past and after all, it is all in the Grand Design, I choose to forgive and forget and move on.” She quickly got back on track and turned her attention back to their guest of honour, “Tell us what happened to your cat Mrs Sparkes, your long-term companion that never left your ankle?”

Surprised by the question, Mrs Sparkes hesitated then answered, “’Umm... ‘E ran away, so ‘e did...”

“Yes! He ran away!” cried Ms McCool, making everyone jump! “Felines are highly Sensitive. They may seem indifferent to the untutored eye, but that’s because the Spirit World is as real to them as the Material World is to us,” she explained enthusiastically, “they see all and they hear all and when something like this comes along, they sense the danger and flee the area. And not just cats, though, eh, Mrs Sparkes?” She asked rhetorically, “in fact, there isn’t a bird or an animal within 12 miles of the house, isn't that right?”

Mrs Sparkes nodded, “Not even a crow.”

Another collective gasp.

“You see what we’re up against?” Ms McCool shook her head and looked around the room like an excitable school teacher, “You see how destructive this power is? The dark magic of an ancient wizard unleashed into the atmosphere?! If it spreads there is no telling what it could do!!”

The crowd were about to explode, but she put up a hand to appeal for silence; when it came, she looked at the floor and mournfully shook her head, “Alas, my friends, I cannot go to a police station and give a statement. The media treat me like a crank,” she looked around the room, “so it’s up to you, my friends -- my allies -- be vigilant. I need you to be my eyes and ears. Watch out for strange behaviour in your neighbourhood –- anything at all -– especially amongst the animal population -- and report back to me. The more evidence I have the more chance I have of proving my case.” She put a hand to her brow and wilted, like a swooning damsel in distress, “As for me, I must save my strength for the final battle. But I can assure you of this, ladies and gentlemen –- I am prepared to fight to the bitter end.”

Utter upheaval! The old ladies’ dentures were clacking, the Goths were clucking, the sissies were squealing, the young girls were too dismayed to do anything other than silent Scream impersonations, all of them asking questions beginning with w. Ms McCool turned away as if she couldn't bear to witness the clamour she’d created. Once Mrs Murphy had calmed them down, there was a brief Q&A, mostly concerning her definition of ‘negative forces’, then the meeting came to a close. As each member filed out, Ms McCool stood by the front door shaking everyone’s hand as they left. Felix straggled until the last disciple had departed, and finally got his face-to-face with his hero. “Mizz McCool, I must say, I thoroughly enjoyed myself this evening!”

She looked over his head with hooded eyes and sneered, “It’s not a ‘show’, Mr Costello. I am not an entertainer.”

He thought for a second and came up with what he thought was the perfect response, “Well, I was utterly hypnotised!”

She cleared her throat, “Mr Costello, I won’t waste time with smalltalk and hypocrisy is not in my nature, so I’ll get straight to the point: true psychics do not do ‘readings’ -- no tarot cards, no séances, no astrology. Your mother used those tropes to perpetrate a fraud and blacken our reputation. I’ve nothing to say to her, in this life or the n...” She suddenly stopped, realised that she would get nowhere by being blunt and adopted a more sympathetic attitude, “Look, if you wish to contact your mother you can talk to her anywhere, she’ll hear you, I promise,” she said, turning to go.

“But I need to apologise and put things right!” said Felix, getting desperate, “I need to hear her say she forgives me! Please, it’s very important.”

“Things change in the Next World: earthly worries and personal woes no longer trouble her now,” she groaned, “there are no vengeful or scornful Spirits on the Other Side and earthly matters no longer concern them. You can rest assured she forgives you -–” She turned away, “Now, if you don’t mind...”

“Out you go!” said Mrs Murphy, grabbing him by both shoulders like a nightclub-bouncer and propelling him out the door -- he tried to say goodbye but the door slammed in his face -- then it immediately opened again -- Mrs Murphy shoved the Black Magic Easter-egg into his hands and slammed it shut again.

He was very impressed. And do you know what? He felt better! He could talk to his mammy wherever he went! She doesn’t care what I do anymore! “Hey you!” an angry voice called out. It was that Mrs Sparkes woman standing at the end of the path, “’Ee’s blockin’ the road! We can’t get past!” she yelled. “Crabbit auld bat,” Felix harrumphed, and looked for his keys in his anorak pockets and went out to the van. When he saw the car waiting for her, he was very surprised indeed: “Wow! A chauffeur-driven Bentley!” he exclaimed to no one in particular. Bit swish for a housekeeper. Hmmm. She said her boss was a very private man. I wonder who he is... He drove the van onto the grass verge at the side of the road and let them pass. He was very curious. Who does she work for? As soon as the car rounded the corner, he looked at his reflection in the rear-view-mirror and said: “How about talking the scenic route, say, via South Kildare?”

...

Carmel McCool and Mrs Murphy were saying goodnight in the hall. “Oh, Mrs Murphy,” Carmel sighed, “I must take to my bed. This evening has drained me so.”

“I’m tired myself. I’ll go to bed once I’ve tidied the room,” said Mrs Murphy, with a kind smile.

They said goodnight and Ms McCool hitched up her dress and climbed the stairs to her room. Mrs Murphy went into the lounge where she stood behind the door and waited till she heard the guestroom door close. Once the coast was clear, she tiptoed back into the hall and opened a locked drawer in the telephone table, and consulted the well-thumbed, yellowing pages of an old address book...

100 miles North, in The Ivy House: Jamie was reading in bed when he heard the phone ring in the great hall. He put down the book and listened. It’s a bit late. I wonder who it could be? It was answered by Fordham the Footman (Jamie recognised the sound of his shoes on the old stone floor) who immediately, and without explanation, transferred the call to Jamie’s room.

“Can I speak to Ogden Castle?” a voice whispered in the earpiece, “it’s me, Mrs Murphy.”

Who the hell is Mrs Murphy? Oggy didn’t mention a Mrs Murphy?! “Ummm... he’s not here at the moment...” he said, confused, “this is Jamie...”

The educated, middle-class tones disappeared and the whisper took on a guttural, rural Irish accent, “Ooh, Jamie Jameson Lumb, is it? Aye, I’ve heard of you, alright. You’re the new Master, aren't ye?” she all-but sneered.

“Listen missus, I have no idea who you are but...”

“You lissen to me!” she hissed, “I’m a Witch! One of them Witches South ‘o the border -- y’know, one of them that auld Castle told to keep an eye on things?!”

Still unsure of whether or not this was a ruse, Jamie decided to hear her out, “Go on...?”

She tutted as if she was talking to an idiot, “Well, there’s been a big resurgence in negative energy round Kildare ‘n it seems to be spreadin’ so it looks like the things auld Castle was worried about have now come to pass!”

Jamie’s jaw dropped, “Shite...”

“Aye, shite.” She took a deep breath and continued, “See, I hadda meeting for some deluded eejits who think they’re psychics -- we haveta keep an eye on ‘em, just in case they accidentally stumble into somethin’ they’re not qualified to deal with. It’s usually a gaggle of quacks and impostors, but tonight the guest of honour was this auld housekeeper who told a story about a poltergeist hauntin’ the place where she works. You know where she works?

“Erm... no...?”

“Pagham House, that’s where! The very place where them bog mummies were dug up!”

His fears were wholly justified. “Oh God... Oggy was right... it’s starting all over again...” he said, worriedly, contemplating the implications.

Mrs Murphy went on to explain she had a houseguest who was causing the fully fledged witches some trouble, “Carmel McCool. She’s from Newry; I invited her down here so we could check ‘er out. She’s only a wee bit psychic, but she’s got enough of a Gift to sense the auld negative energy -- and if a minor Sensitive like her can sense it -- things must be bad! But here’s the worst of it: she’s one of these theatrical types, y’know, one of them that likes to be the centre of attention -- and she’s gotta big mouth on her! She actually went to the Gardai ‘n the papers ‘n tried to tell ‘em all about it!”

His mouth dry with apprehension, he asked “What... what do we do next?”

“Don’t ask me! We've done our bit! We were told to keep an eye on things and report back to you -- it’s up to youse to sort it! After all, you’re the Master now, aren't ya? Ye have the power ‘n all that, dontcha?!” she said, in a mocking voice.

“But... but I don’t have anybody to advise me! Oggy and Xavier and most of the staff have gone down for the Big Sleep......”

“Oh aye? Well, ye better get yer act together ‘n think of somethin’ quick!”

She hung up without saying goodbye. He put down the phone and stared into space. What am I going to do? He’d tried everything bar waking the sleepers; he’d tried to find out something about the mage exhumed from the bog, but now that the Psychosphere was unusable, he couldn't consult the Collective Memory, and there was nothing in the ancient annals in the library. He had no idea whom or what he was dealing with! What the f**k do I do?!

Desperate for help, he went back to the huge crystal ball in the centre of the room and once again tried to contact Ebben Blom in Sweden (the commune didn’t have anything as modern as a phone), but it was useless, the glass was hot and completely fogged-up: interference that can only be created by the presence of negative energy; yet another sign that all was not well and was about to get worse.

It was then he glimpsed a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slowly and looked around the room until his gaze settled on the full-length mirror set against the rear wall. The mirror was misted up too, but in this case the glass was glowing. He watched as the mist slowly parted and an image manifested in the frame: an all-too-familiar figure dressed like a Film Noir private eye walked out of the swirling fog and stood close to the inside of the glass. He pushed back the brim of his fedora and winked.

Jamie’s shoulders dropped. “Bernie bloody Pritchard,” he said, in a voice dripping with irony.

The phantom grinned, “Hello, big brother. I hear you’re havin’ a spot of bother...”

...

The Bentley turned left and disappeared behind a row of yew trees. Felix waited for the lights to disappear from view, then taxied along until he came upon a huge wrought iron gate, the apex of the granite archway laden with razor wire, like a prison. He listened until he heard the car disappear into the distance, then pulled in a few yards up the road, got out and went back to investigate on foot. “Who lives in a house like this?” he asked himself, in that funny voice everybody does. He was looking through the bars, trying to see the house in the distance -- when someone leapt on him from behind, got him in a headlock and forced his head down! “Easy, easy, now, li’l fella or I’ll snap yer fackin’ neck –- so don’t straggle or it’s crunch-time!”

Felix squeaked from under his assailant’s muscular armpit, “Sorry... I got lost... I saw the car pullin’ in and I thought I could get directions...”

The voice growled in his ear, “Wot?! Wiv yer lights off?! Nah, you’ve been tailin’ us since we left that cottage – wot’s your game, pal, eh? Casin’ the joint, is ya, eh? Paparazzi?! Stawkah, is ya?!”

“No, sexual deviant, actually....”

Without warning, Herbie took his arm away, threw Felix to the ground and kicked him four or five times in the midriff and once in the face, bloodying his nose. Herbie watched him writhe in the long grass for a second or two then pulled him up by the ears and shouted into his bloody face, “I don’t wanna see you anywhere near this place again, awright, or next time I’ll tear off yer fackin’ gonads ‘n stick ‘em up yer arse -- got that?! You li’l fackin’ weasel-faced cant!” he picked Felix by the scruff of his neck and the seat of pants and tossed him into the van. “Now fack off!”

Coughing, bleeding and clutching his ribs, Felix struggled to sit up and start up the van. The chauffeur stood and watched until he drove off. “Big bully... Raspo would eat him for breakfast...” he moaned, as he mopped the blood from his nose with a paper hankie, wincing with pain every time he changed gear. He was about to turn off the lane to get back onto the main road when he glimpsed a little figure standing in the trees up ahead.

Hmmmm, what have we here?

It was a little girl. She was cast in shadow so that only the bottom half of her body was illuminated by the headlights, but he could see she was barefoot and wearing what looked like a ragged summer dress.

Very nice.

His aches and pains were momentarily forgotten, this was too good an opportunity to pass up. He threw the hankie onto the floor and slowed to a stop, all the while looking back along the road to make sure no one was watching. When he was certain they were alone, he wound down the window and asked in his nicest voice, “Hello, are you lost?”

No reply.

“It’s very late. Does your mammy know where you are?” he said, squinting into the darkness.

No reply.

“Would you like me to take you home?”

The little girl walked out from under the trees and stood in the twin beams of the van’s headlights.

Felix screamed.

She had no face, just a pair of wild eyes staring out of a blackened skull -- her clothes were no more than charred rags -- her emaciated arms open as if to elicit an embrace -- her mouth gaping as if echoing his scream!

Without thinking, Felix floored the accelerator -- the wheels spun under him --the van lurched forward as it sped off! He closed his eyes and braced himself for impact -- but there was no sound of anything hitting the bumper -- nothing dragging beneath the wheels! He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw her standing in the same place, in the same pose, as if the van had passed straight through her! Felix screamed again...

To be Continued....

#witchcraft #Magic #irish fiction #black magic #spindlefreck #irish literature #ghosts #demon #mystery #mystery thriller #mysticism #witches #saga #IRISH HUMOUR

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ceremonyanddevotion · 6 years ago

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Dum Spiro Spero.

So here’s a kinda angsty piece based around my little headcanons around The Church and Papa II. I’m usually a fluff/smut writer so this was different.

im mostly scared that people will hate my headcanons but they’re just headcanons im throwing into the void.

AO3 Link

Francesco Emeritus knew his position had it’s lows. They never show when you first become Papa, in the beginning it’s all parties, admiration and love,

a shallow love.

Even looking down to the crowd before him in the darkened chapel, he knew their celebrations was an act, sure there were some who were happy to see the title move through the family, but honestly, most didn’t care who was in charge, as long as they lived without issue, that was good enough for them.

Emil placed a hand on his younger brother’s back, Fran looked to the older man, his skull paint worn away, his aged skin beginning to show through like the sun through the drapes in the morning, a stark contrast to his own, new painted face. He looked sad, of course he would be right? he was no longer in charge.

No.

This look was a sad look of pity.

The paperwork was hell, maybe he died during the celebrations of his papacy and got there already? Who knows. But there was a lot, he never quite realized the work his brother did. He was able to set up smaller churches around the country and did so much to spread their gospel, he was a really respected man from the letters he’d receive from the churches, welcoming him into his position, but also hinting that they'd miss his predecessor. Fran would have hoped Emil worked hard, all he did was work when he was Papa.

He had to make sure all branches were working accordingly, following the rites of their religion, and not become corrupt like their contemporaries. It was hard work, and many, too many, died for it. Some may question his choices, and say that Papa Emeritus II was bloodthirsty, no, he was just protective of what he had, and he saw no reason not to kill to protect it.

His younger brother would often peek into his office, Giovanni thought he wasn’t seen, but most of the time, he was, Fran just didn’t want to scare him away, so he pretended he didn’t. He liked the company.

He could tell his brother worried about him, they were close, but being Papa took a lot of time away from family, he didn’t even visit Emil that often. He hated that.

When Sister Imperator told him he would be continuing the Ghost Project, something he regarded as a silly waste of time, he was annoyed, he had to much to do, he protested greatly, it always became a fight with Sister, two strong-headed forces against each other. He was one of the few with the gull to yell at her.

“Do it,” Emil had once whispered into his ear when he stopped them both in the hallway one day, “you will soon realize, what freedom is.” The eldest didn’t wait for a reply. Fran pondered over it all night.

Then he realized.

You would think leading a church meant you were free from oppression within that church. No, Fran felt more oppressed now than he ever was, he was beginning to be told how to act, what to do, what to say, it wasn’t like this at the start, he was able to do as he pleased, but slowly, they wrapped the strings around his limbs and began to control him.

Like a marionette. Spun around for others to enjoy, gaudy costume and all.

Some nights he wanted to scream, curse his blood, he wanted to confront Emil for putting him here, but what could he do? Defy the church and be Papa until he died? We’d be back to square one. And Giovanni, he was such a free spirit, he couldn’t become Papa, the church would never let him out alive.

The roads were long, and the bed very uncomfortable, but he preferred it to the large bed in his quarters at home.

With Emil’s words echoing his mind, he continued the project, it gave him something that almost felt like joy. No Sister Imperator, no church to hover over him, only he and his ghouls, loyal only to him. He felt in charge again.

He took this freedom in stride, partying, fucking, all of it, satan knows when he’d have fun like this again, before being locked away in the church, tormented by the never ending work that faced him.

That’s when the nightmares began, he would return home, walk to Emil’s chambers to talk, only to see his large door broken open, he would lightly push it open to find the chamber wrecked, all of Emil’s treasured books thrown around, tables turned and materials spilled everywhere, he would look down to see Emil, blooded and lifeless, he looked like he had tried to keep the door closed from whatever wanted to enter. He would before him to see his little brother, sprawled on the staircase that lead to the bedroom,

Without his head.

He would wash these nightmares away with black coffee and a shot of fireball, his ghouls could feel the anxiety, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Her name was Miriam, he was doing the festival rounds when they met, she was one of the many photographers, but she, she had stood out to him.

She traveled as long as he did, and the two always ended up running into each other, usually in the mornings, both fancied the morning fog on the festival grounds and walked together, she would share stories on the road, the crazy rock stars and the crazier things they did, he shared his black coffee and fireball. It was a good give and take.

He began to catch himself daydreaming. Her by his side, even back at the church, perhaps, and he knew he was going to far with this, they together created a new bloodline, and he and his brothers overpower the current high ups in the church and live happily, safe.

He slapped himself at the idea, but yet, he kept doing it.

He laid awake one night, it was pitch dark, the moonlight peeking through the bus’s shitty curtains, she layed on top of him, lightly snoring. The festival circuit was coming to an end, time was almost up, he’d soon come back to the stone walls of the stiff chapel, back to his office, back as a pawn.

He felt bad for thinking it, but running off wasn’t all a bad idea, just tell Miriam the band wanted to break up, and that he’d just stay with her and explore this… what was this? She wasn’t sleeping with other rock stars, and he wasn’t sleeping with anyone but her, he never thought he’d find himself like this, in some kind of relationship.

But he knew he couldn’t run, make his younger brother Papa from his own selfishness? No. he couldn’t.

He told her the truth the day before he left, the project, the church, what he was, all of it. He also presented a second plane ticket, and asked a daring question.

“Be with me, and come with me back to the Chapel.”

He sat beside an empty seat on the way home.

He really didn’t blame her,

Either she was disgusted she fell for a deluded madman, or she feared the truth, and wanted no part of it.

If he was a mean, bitter person before, we had become twice as mean and bitter. He never allowed someone into his heart like that again, he never even spoke of her, Emil and Giovanni never knew of the woman that their brother, dare say, had feelings for. She did not exist.

He really began to truly feel the curse of his position, alone, a toy, no real free will.

He feared the day he would pass the torch onto his younger brother. His hands shook as he placed the Mitre on his brother's head, he almost threw it to the side, proclaiming that this church was a monster, and taking the arms of his two brothers and running out.

He didn’t. And has Giovanni arose before him, as Papa Emeritus III, he shed a tear for his brother.

As he laid on the wooden table, uno cards scattered everywhere, Francesco Emeritus looked back on his life, playing in the rose gardens as a child while Emil gardened, meeting Giovanni and holding him for the first time, his young escapades in the church, and his Papal career. He thought of Miriam, for the first time in a decade he allowed himself to think of her, he hoped that she had created a good life for herself, maybe gotten married, had children, maybe he had just become a faded memory, something she can barely recall outside of the photos she took on the road.

He tried to reach out for his two brothers, but his arms were too heavy.

#papa emeritus ii #papa ii #papa2 #ghost #ghost band #ghost bc #fanfic #mine

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franeridart · 7 years ago

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hi what brushes do you use to sketch/lineart?

tbh I’m pretty sure they’re the default marker and brush tools in SAI haha

Anon said:I have followed you for a long time (back in the KnB days) and I have never once regretted it. You are awesomely talented and oh so amazing and an absolute joy to see on my dash. Thank you for being you!!!

Oh my god???? You’ve been around for so long???? I think I’m gonna cry thank you so m u c h ;^;

Anon said:Okay, I feel like I'm totally missing something obvious, but why is Kiri crying in the comic where Baku is in his hero costume and pushing his fists together???

Anon said:Okay so I know you haven't drawn it in forever so I don't even know if you still even like it but I just found it so I just wanted to tell you that your bakushimanari art gives me life and it's amazing and your amazing asdfghjkl okay that's all!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m currently really focused on krbk and kmjr so every other ship involving them has sorta taken a backseat for me, but I’m definitely still shipping it!!! It’s such a good ot3, I’m glad you liked my stuff for them :D !!!!

Anon said:Hi this isn´t a ask I just wanted to say I found your blog two days ago and since then I´ve spent two days going all the 110 pages back viewing all your lovely art and it has been a b l a st (I found you through your kiribaku art because it's my otp and I'm so w e ak for it- I love how you draw them so much- I saw you did a lot of bakukamikiri in the past but now you do more kiribaku and that makes me happy lol NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT SHIP!! but yeah, love! Keep on being great!

AHHHHHHHHH thank you for taking the time to go through all of it???? I’m happy you like my stuff!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Oh my god fran i LOVE u thank u for ALL of ur art but esp that comic where bakugo is so inlove(which is most of them -again THANK U- but im talking about the most recent one like the one kiri is saying goodnight and stuff) like oh!!! Thank u thabk u thank u!!!! Thank u so much for blessing us with ur art!!! I love ur art i love YOU thank u u have my full heart 💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💓💓💗💗💗💞💞💞

I’M SO SO SO SO SO SO GLAD YOU LIKED THAT ONE OH MY G OD!!!!!!

Anon said:You fuckin g killed me

I swear that wasn’t the intention!!!!! D: (thank u t h o

Anon said:i might just reblog everything on your blog, your art is amazing *:･ﾟ✧

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!

Anon said:hihihi i just wanna let you know that your art and comics and like everything you produce here puts me in a super good mood and gives me a lot of fluffy good feels and that knowing they put you in a good mood making them is also yes good n im sorry this doesn't make sense lololol im just saying thank you for making the stuff you do it makes me and a lot of people happy n idk just means a lot i think haha n i hope you have many good days n yea

gODS thank you so much I’m so so so so glad my stuff can put you in a good mood!!! I hope you’ll have all the good days too!!!

Anon said:I love your arts so muchhhh ꉂ (′̤ॢ∀ ू‵̤๑))ˉ̞̭♡ They always make my day >w

Thank youuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ;A;

Anon said:Ahh, I just wanted to say that you're super awesome and such an inspiration!! I absolutely love your art haha, it actually got me into BNHA and the like. This is probably a mess, but I guess what I'd really just like to say is thank you for being so amazing and I hope you have a great day! :D

Ahhhh thank you so much!!!! And I’m glad I could make you decide to give bnha a shot!!!!! :D

Anon said:Jeeezzz i smile like a dork with the happy and in love comic. Dhvskdbslbxks i love the sons, and you for draw. Keep melting my heart ♡

I’m!!!!!!!!!!!!!! happy you liked that one!!!! ;O; making it made me happy so knowing it can make people smile feels really good!!!!

Anon said:Ive stared at ur most recent comic for 5 hours now. Im blessed. Its so cute and wholesome

t h a n k y o u ;O;

Anon said:Your Bakushima/Kirishima fanart makes me want to fall in love 😥

MAN that’s such a nice thing to have said about my stuff!!! oh my g o d!!!!!!!!

Anon said:Frannnnnnnnnnnnnnn stop feeding the horrible hopeless-romantic gremlin inside me aaaaaaaa your art is so cute and sweet

Hahahaha why tho!! Being romantic feels good!!! :D

Anon said:AWWWW I can imagine katsukis mom knowing about his crush on little eijirou and poking fun at him so much bECAUSE THATS SO CUTE

I think she’d be more shocked about Katsuki liking anyone at all tbh hahaha

Anon said:Fran, Fran, Fran, your art gives me life cause it’s adorable and wonderful❤️ that’s it, just had to make sure you were appreciated today!

Ahhhhhhh thank you so much for the good vibes anon!!!!! I’m glad you like my things!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anon said:your childhood friends au just killed me, i am dead. i'm feeling emotional i almost cried they're so cute. i just love them sm ;o;

hECK I’m happy you liked it!!!! It’s such a comfort au for me tbh!!! ;O;

Anon said:Tbh I never even noticed that you don’t usually draw noses o.0

That’s good tbh cause I sort of try to not make it too obvious hahaha

Anon said:Oh i saw you answered an ask abt favorite ships! I'm a little sad that you don't like miritama as much anymore haha but i wanted to ask if you ship kiri//mina?

I am a FOOL how could I FORGET MIRITAMA OH MY G OD I definitely still ship it as much as I always have holy heck they’re so good

as for krmn, I definitely prefer them as friends. Well, right now I’m just really picky about my kirishima ships, lbr hahaha

Anon said:In your headcannon, does bakugo wear eyeliner (like when he's not in the hero suit)?

I don’t really have an headcanon for that! :O I think it’s not in Horikoshi’s intention to draw him with eyeliner ever, and I never draw him wearing eyeliner either, but it’s not like I mind the idea of him using it! So in general I’m like, either way it’s fine, he’s beautiful whatever he’s putting on his face hahaha

#fran answers #brush settings #gotta add this one to my faq :O #all my tools are really basic tbh #i feel like it's not even worth talking about them hahaha #anonymous

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twopoppies · 7 years ago

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Historical AU Fic Recs

I was asked by @zsolounamanzana to recommend some historical fics (sorry love, I accidentally deleted your ask!). I don’t actually read historical AUs that often, so I will probably end up recommending ones you already know, but here’s a bunch I really liked. I hope there’s some here for you:

Threadbare by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill.

He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.

Howls Like A Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by @indiaalphawhiskey

France, 1754. Château de Versailles.

“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.

“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.

Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.

To Honor by Awriterwrites / @a-writerwrites

#46. It's Getting a Little Hard

Ech day me comëth tydinges thre, For wel swithë sore ben he: The on is that Ich shal hennë, That other that Ich not whennë, The thriddë is my mestë carë, That Ich not whider Ich shal farë.

**** Each Very grievous are they One must go hence Do not know when Greatest grief Do not know whither I must go

-Unknown, Medieval English lyrics

Commander Styles leads his men to victory, but at what cost?

And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

The year is 1881 and if you’re alone in this world you might as well be dead, because starving dogs have no mercy.

Or: Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

Atlas At Last by @louisandthealien

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting out of the road trip itself besides burping contests and too much shitty gas station food with Oli and Stan, but in the brief moment before Harry ambles up his driveway, Louis idly wonders if this is about to become some sort of Gay Coming of Age story.

Maine to California in ten days. In which Zayn’s an open-shirt hippie they meet somewhere in Ohio, Liam’s the pastor’s son running away from home, and Niall’s the number they call on the bathroom wall.

It’s 1978. Harry and Louis are just trying to get to San Fran in time for the Queen concert.

No One Like You by myownspark / @myownsparknow

Dear Niall,

I was glad to have the chance to talk with you again at the AHA conference. Your idea that the Musee D’Orsay Tomlinson painting is in fact not a self-portrait is an intriguing one, and I may have discovered something that will have a bearing on that theory.

Some background: as you may remember, I’ve been researching for a book I’m writing about Harry Styles. I’ve been in communication with Styles’ last living descendant, who is in possession of a trunk that her family believed to have belonged to Styles himself. It held some personal items she presumes to be his, including two unmounted paintings and a small collection of letters.

Upon spending the last few days in Provins studying these items, I believe there to be a connection between Tomlinson and Styles, and I would very much like your opinion.

Are you up for a trip to France?

Sincerely, Liam Payne

Where Liam and Niall are art historians discovering the truth about two nineteenth century painters on opposite sides of an artistic divide.

The Man Who Saw The Devil by @metal-eye

"The Devil was staring at him.

"Louis shifted slightly in his seat and scratched the back of his neck, picking up his program and reading the title of the play again: L’homme qui a vu le Diable.

"He was wearing a satin red suit, one that certainly stood out amongst the usual greys and blacks of other Paris theatres, and instead of merely appearing the two times that the main character summoned him, this Devil followed the other men around on stage as they spoke and played cards. He kept looking over their shoulders and mocking their awkward movements, jerks and twitches compared to his own lithe prowl. The theatre audience, most readily impressed by gruesome effects and sensationalism, couldn’t take their eyes off him.

"Neither could Louis."

Paris, 1912. Louis is a frequent patron of the Theatre du Grand Guignol. Harry is a performer. Tonight he's playing the Devil.

The Case Of The (Definitely Not Haunted) Styles Mansion by Anonymous

“So there’s a sense of humor buried beneath all that condescension, huh?” Louis said when he’d stopped laughing.

“It’s not condescension, it’s intelligence. I understand you might not be able to recognize it yourself,” Marcel said, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Louis stepped closer, his eyes on Marcel’s face. “For being an asshat?”

“For being rude,” Marcel said, from beneath his palm.

Louis shifted a half-step closer until he was at the very edge of Marcel’s personal space. It felt like he was nudging at it, asking to be let in. Marcel flushed hot for no reason.

“Lucky for you it takes quite a lot to actually insult me,” Louis said taking one step closer. Too close. Too close.

Marcel met Louis’ eyes. Those blue eyes that reminded Marcel of poetry instead of science, lyrics instead of formulas. They were so pretty he wanted to drown in them.

---

Or the Nancy Drew AU where Marcel is a man of logic, Louis is a private detective who believes in ghosts, and the Styles Mansion is definitely, absolutely, positively *not* haunted.

Through Eerie Chaos by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

We’re What’s Right In This World by BriaMaria / @briannamarguerite

“Why did you talk like that in Brighton? If you weren’t planning on ever telling me?” Louis asked. “Is it because you think you’re going to die?”

“It’s war, Lou,” Harry said finally.

The words were a knife slipped between his ribs. Everything hurt and he was bleeding. He shifted up, his palms cradling Harry’s jaw, his lips against his boy’s. Not kissing, just resting there, so Louis could feel him. “Promise you’ll come back to me.”

Harry’s hands smoothed down the sides of Louis’ body. “You know I can’t do that. I’ll never lie to you.”

“Promise me. We’re going to have our cottage. And our dogs. And our breakfast in the garden where nothing grows because of the wind from the sea. Promise me.”

“I won’t.” Stubborn as always, his boy. “I’ll promise you, I’ll love you all my life. I’ll promise you, you’ll never leave my thoughts. I’ll promise you, you’re my forever and my always. But promising you something I can’t cheapens the things I can.” ---- Or the World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

Paint The Sky With Stars by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by @alivingfire

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

Louis has been alive since life was a mere concept; he watched the summoning of Man into existence, he was there when Eve took the apple. He’s seen seas break the world into separate pieces, he’s watched empires crumble into dust. He’s seen wildfire consume cities, he’s seen the world painted white with snow. He has known the most beautiful humans to walk the planet, he has watched the most powerful mortals gather their riches and influence around them and then die just like the poorest, weakest humans do. He’s met humans whose motives defy explanation, people who use their lives as battering rams, as tools, as weapons, as chess pieces.

None of that stopped Louis in his tracks.

But Harry did.

If you haven’t read Butterfly Gun and you can find someone who has it downloaded (it’s been deleted), read that...it’s set in the 1940′s if I recall correctly and it’s beautifully written.

I haven’t read this one yet, but it was highly recommended to me. It’s a WIP, but the writing is apparently is finished:

Victorian Boy by DonnaHaywardsHead

Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much. When the two dukes come together for the Bilsdale fox hunt in York, Harry finds himself drawn into Louis' bed. But when secrets from Louis' dark past come to light, Harry fears that the fox isn't the only one being hunted.

This is another I haven’t had a chance to read but friends told me is wonderful:

Back To You And Tennesee by rippedgloves

Louis Tomlinson rises to rock and roll fame at age twenty three and is thrown into a life of luxury and excess, but being on stage isn’t easy for a boy who has always stuck to the side-lines, and Louis struggles to deal with his new fame as he joins the Grand Ole Opry and is sent out on tour with names like Liam Payne and Elvis Presley. His life takes a turn, however, when his childhood role model, Harry Styles, joins them on tour, and the two become closer than two men in the spotlight are allowed to be.

OR, the one where Louis is Johnny Cash and Harry is June Carter

#my fic rec #mine #larry fic rec #historical au

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undertalecomic-surfacetale-au · 7 years ago

Text

Things Forgotten-Frans story Chapter 1

Frisk’s POV

It was a nice day out, and Sans had invited me to go to Grillby's with him to which I had accepted. I mean who would miss out on hanging out with this pun loving skeleton? Not me! Me and Sans were now walking to where New Grillby's had made residence on the surface.

"so Frisk, how you been recently?" Sans asked breaking the silence.

"I've been doing great, Toriel has been teaching me how to cook recently. She's the best mom anyone could ever ask for!" I replied enthusiastically.

"hey that's great, Kiddo. you should have her teach Papyrus too." Sans said jokingly.

I laughed. " Hey give Undyne a little credit for teaching Papyrus, they have at least been making stuff that's actually edible now, right?" I said in their defense.

Sans couldn't help saying. "define edible?"

You nudged Sans with your arm. "Sans!" I said scoldingly.

"heh. im just joking kid, anyways yeah Papyrus has been making edible stuff recently." Sans agreed.

We then made small talk as we both walked down the sidewalk making our way to our destination. It was so calm and peaceful as we walked through the town that was newly built for the monsters.

It had already been a few months now since the barrier was destroyed and all the monsters had come to the surface, there was alot of hard work afterwards with me being the ambassador and all. I had helped Toriel and Asgore negotiate with the humans about allowing the monsters to live on the surface peacefully. Luckily most of them were very welcoming of the monsters, and had given them a huge peace of land to build a town to live in. Now that the town for monsters was finally done aside from some details, it was finally starting to calm down. I'm really happy that I'm now able to spend some time with my best friend Sans, after such stressful work.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I realized that I hadn't asked how he's been.

"So, how have you been Sans?" I ended up asking kinda stupidly since I should have asked while ago, but hey it's better late then never. When he didn't answer I chanced looking at him and he looked pretty deep in thought, also.. upset? Something about his expression made me a bit uncomfortable.

" Sans, are you ok?" I asked my voice laced with concern. Did something happen? That seemed to snap him out of whatever he was thinking, but clearly still didn't know what I said since he replied with-

" huh? ..... What was that, kiddo?" Sans said while looking at me with a grin. I thought it seemed fake, something was wrong...

"I asked if you were ok, you were pretty deep in thought there, you actually looked upset.." I was seriously starting to fear that something was really wrong.

"nah, I'm fine kiddo." Sans replied nonchalantly. I narrowed my eyes at him. Even though he was grinning, he was obviously lying. I decided to not push the matter, after all this was supposed to be a nice day out. I wasn't about to ruin it, I decided to take Sans for his word.... for now.

" Alright if you say so..." I said while sighing.

" oh I 'Snow' so." Sans said winking. I groaned, and then laughed at his small pun. Through all the talking, I hadn't even realized that we were already right in front of Grillby's.

" here we are! after you Frisk." Sans declared while holding the door open for me.

I thanked him, then made my way inside. It was Identical to the Grillby's that was in the underground. I proceeded to head to the usual spot at the bar, even though we don't drink, it's become our regular place to sit here at Grillby's.

" so Frisk, what do you want to eat?" Sans asked me.

"I'll have some fries today." I replied.

"that sounds good." Sans said, then went on to tell Grillby both our orders as per usual. Grillby nodded, sat down the glass he was drying, and then made his way to the back to prepare both orders. After I saw Grillby pass though the door to the back, I chanced a glance over at Sans. I saw him put away something in his jacket pocket-was that a comb?- and go grab for a bottle of ketchup. I couldn't rid my mind of how Sans had looked upset earlier, even though he said it was nothing, I'm pretty sure he had something on his mind. But I wasn't sure whether it was my place to intrude, so I just sat there starring at him from the corner of my eye debating.

By the time I had come to the decision to be nosy, Grillby had already come back with both of our orders.

"Sans, what is the matter? Did something happen?" I asked While looking at Sans, he had froze while drinking a bottle of ketchup. I could tell by the look on his face, that he had hoped that I had dropped the subject entirely. Well sorry, but you're not getting away that easily.

"kiddo, nothings the matter." Sans said sounding slightly annoyed. He had sat down his ketchup, and the lights in his eyes had dimmed a bit, but he didn't look at me.

"Sans..." I said. I was not going to give up, If something was wrong with my friend I was gonna help in any way possible. He just had to tell me! *Going out of your way to help your friend, Fills you with Determination!*

Sans took a deep breath, he seemed to be in deep thought. I just kept looking at him while I waited to see if he would say anything. Then after what seemed to be minutes, Sans let out a long sigh, and then looks at me, his face serious.

" i got a question for ya kid... about the RESETS" Sans started. It was my turn to put on a serious face, If Sans was going to talk about that it had to be well...pretty serious. I had had a feeling he knew something about them, but he never said anything that completely confirmed my suspicions. After about a minute he continued.

"you're the one that's responsible for them....right?" Sans asked almost hesitantly, as if he didn't want the answer. But something in the way he asked, made me think he already knew it.

"Yes, and no..." I answered him truthfully. He turned to me, his face full of confusion.

"what do you mean?"

"I have reset, but only once, it's when I left the underground by myself. I reset because I wanted to try again, and hopefully be able to save all of you from the underground." I said a bit guiltily, not being able to hide the fact that resetting their lives did very much bother me.

"hey, don't feel bad about that! you ended up breaking the barrier and saving us all in the end, that's all that matters." Sans said encouragingly. He didn't seem mad at all in fact he was smiling, not a fake one, a real genuine one. Then something seemed to pop in his head and his smile faltered.

"what did you mean when you said 'Yes, and "no"?" Sans asked, now reminding me of the rest of what I was going to say.

"You said 'Resets' right? I only reset once, but I have a feeling I know who did the other ones..."

"who?" Sans asked now curious.

" I think it was Flowey. Before I came to the underground, he had the power of Resetting, loading, and saving. In the underground he had the most DETERMINATION." I finished telling Sans, what I was sure to be true. When I looked over at him, he was looking at me with hollow eye sockets, the little white lights in his eyes were no longer present. I flinched back, as I stared into the black abyss that was his eyes. Almost just as quickly, he regained the lights in his eyes and looked away from me, looking a bit ashamed.

"im sorry, kiddo. didn't mean to chill you to the bone. Heh..." Sans said apologetically, rubbing the back of his skull. I chuckled at his little pun and told him it was no problem, as I'm sure this was a lot to take in.

"so... that weed was responsible, huh? i thought he kinda looked familiar that time, guess I now know why." Sans said, while grabbing his bottle of ketchup and drinking it all in one go. I looked away, then nodded.

"hey frisk?" Sans said so quietly I almost didn't catch it. I turned my head to face him.

"Yeah, Sans? What is it?" I asked, now curious as to what else he had to say. Sans then turned to face me, his features not giving anything away.

"can you promise me, that you'll never reset?" Sans asked, his voice sounding kinda doubtful. Probably thinking that I would refuse. I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Sans, I-" I started to answer, but Sans cut me off.

"i know that's rich coming from me. heh, i mean i hate making promises and now im asking you-" Sans started to say jokingly, But It was my turn interrupt.

"Sans, of course I promise! You and everyone else are my friends and family, I never want to hurt any one of you again by resetting. Besides we finally have our 'Happy Ending'! I'm happy with the way things are now!" I said while smiling at him. I had already made up my mind to never reset, and I was Determined to keep it that way.

Sans looked at me with a stunned expression. The white lights in his eyes were shining brighter then I had ever seen them, as his face turned from stunned to happy, in a millisecond. I gasped softly as I saw he had even started to cry, his tears streaming down his cheeks that were raised from him smiling wider then ever.

"thank.. you..Frisk" Sans said with so much happiness, that I was taken aback at first, then I smiled back at him. I'm glad I was able to help Sans, it seems like a great weight has lifted from him. I told him it was no problem after all that's what friends were for!

"yeah..hehe" Sans seemed to be calming down a bit. He had finally stopped crying, and was starting to wipe the tears from his face. But I couldn't help it, he was so adorable and I was too happy from being able to help him, that I hugged him really hard.

"w-woah, Frisk! don't wanna crush my ribs now, heh." Sans said jokingly, while he hugged back. I loosened my death grip on him so I could pull away enough to look at him.

"Heh, sorry about that Sans-" I stopped what I was saying, cause when I saw his face, it was blue. He's blushing, that's so cute! Wait what am I thinking..?! I blushed a deep shade of red in response, while trying to will those thoughts away. Unfortunately, It wasn't working.

We ended up sitting there awkwardly, just staring at each other while blushing. I then realized that we were still hugging each other and our faces were way to close. I blushed even darker, as did Sans as if that same thought had also just crossed his mind too. We slowly eased out of the hug, and still sat there for a while in silence. I just kinda picked at my fries, not really feeling hungry anymore. Sans, god bless him, finally broke the suffocatingly awkward silence.

"so, you wanna go take a stroll around town?" He asked. His head was down and he was rubbing the back of his skull. He was still blushing a cyan blue, I giggled.

"Sure, sounds great." I answered, while getting off my stool and putting down money for the food. Before he could protest to me for paying, I was out the door, him hot on my heels. We walked down the sidewalk a ways, and were coming up to a crosswalk. I noticed he seemed to be grumbling something under his breath about me paying for him, I just laughed at him. Then he started to blush a light blue and pouted, actually pouted! He's really adorable when he does that....Heh, I guess I really do like Sans,..more than a friend anyways..

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that, I hadn't realized where we were walking. I stopped and glanced around. It then dawned on me that we were in the middle of the street, and the no walk sign was on. I looked ahead of me and Sans had continued to walk still oblivious to his surroundings. I looked over and saw a big truck rushing right where Sans was going, and I saw the driver wasn't paying any attention to what was in front of him! I felt my heart stop, and everything just went in slow motion from there. I ran as fast as I could go, yelling at Sans to get out of the way. He looked back at me confused, then shocked to see me running at him. I then jumped at Sans and pushed him out of the way. The truck was right in from of me, there was no time to get out of the way myself. I heard honking, and tires screeching. Then.... everything went black. A/N: This story is actually one from about a year or two ago I think? Idk, I have it over on my wattpad. I tried to fix some of it, since it was so terribly written back then. But honestly didn’t want to take that much time on it. I’m posting it on here, just in case you’re interested. This story and my surfacetale comic actually will have a thing in common but I can’t tell you what it is just yet. Anyways, There will be more chapters on the way. I’m just going over them and making sure they don’t sound TOO HORRIBLE.. eh whatever I suck at writing lol. Hope y’all enjoy the cliffhanger like everyone else did when I first posted it. ;3

#sans x frisk #frans #undertale #fanfic #undertale fanfic

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tbhstudying · 7 years ago

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ok but i'm korean too but i was born and lived in spain for 13 years and some people at my school always say that i don't look korean and doubt my ethnicity (? i don't know if that's the right word i'm quite bad at english) and think i'm half-korean it's so annoying i think i know who i am

another anon asked:Haha I don't get why people don't see you as Korean? I get the same question asked a lot as well (since I have big eyes with 쌍꺼풀; that's actually one of my favorite parts of my face, and I usually don't like my face lol). I feel like each race has a certain beauty ideal that foreigners expect most of the population to fall into and that's just not true? Idk it irks me when people say that (but I know that it's just b/c they're curious or don't know, so I try not to let it bother me too much 😊)

another anon asked:i dont know if its you not looking like a kpop idol (i mean to them it may be idk and thats not right) but its usually a general comment ppl may make? ive been told i dont look chinese many times bc i look a bit mixed lajsks im not saying youre overreacting just offering perhaps a different perspective? It may not be right or desirable but as far as looking like a kpop idol it may not always be that haha this was just a comment it doesnt mean anything! 💞💞💞

another anon asked:Hey i hope this question is not rude?? But you said both ur parents are Korean. So you’re Korean. But born in America right? So Korean-American? Again im really sorry i’m just curious. Cause if you’re 100% Korean you would be born in Korea? Sorry sorry again ): i really hope this isn’t rude im just curious. Both of my parents are from Frans but i wasn’t born there. But i do speak French. So technically speaking im french?

so i’m gonna answer all of these in one go bc they’re related

the reason why it’s rather irritating for me is bc i always get told that by people who assume that all koreans look the same or have to abide by one similar appearance / face. like the second anon said, there’s that certain beauty ideal that most people expect koreans to fall under. there are dark-skinned koreans, koreans with double eyelids and koreans with monolids, koreans with a variety of sizes and shapes, etc. the reason why i mentioned the “looking like a kpop idol” thing in the tags is because the prevalence and popularity of kpop has spread and cemented the idea / appearance of what a korean “should” look like in many people’s minds. i’m not saying that it’s the case for every single person; that’s just the general reaction and reason that i get.

it’s irritating because i shouldn’t have to validate and prove my own identity based on another’s assumption that i am not who i say i am. years of struggling with my appearance + being told that i don’t look korean enough has made me sensitive to those kinds of comments. i know that the anon probably didn’t mean to offend + and almost all of the people who ask don’t mean it either, but the question still hits a soft spot for me.

as for the last question, i am korean in terms of my ethnicity, asian in terms of my race, and american in terms of my nationality. nationality is a person’s connection to the political state / country that they’re affiliated with. ethnicity is the person’s identity involving their heritage and ancestry and culture and all that. my parents, for example, were able to change their nationality from korean to american by immigrating to the u.s. + obtaining citizenship, but they are unable to change their ethnicity because they can’t just get re-born as someone new.

hope this cleared some stuff up for y’all!

#social justice #eh i'm gonna shove this under that tag bc it's somewhat related #anon #ask

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dev-hub4fixfict-ut · 7 years ago

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Know & Determinate: II- the surface and a lame witch; chap 1

/racism, /hate crime, /physical assault, /alcohol, /c slur, /unsanitary, /witchcraft, /panic attack, bad writing. like, really bad. i wrote this when i was in a bs brainspace in highschool to cope.

a self-insert fanfiction where i write what happens after my runs of undertale. written in google docs and idk what im doing. Frisk is 12, use they/them, has a bullshit life, Chara also uses they/them, and is still here, and never meant for all this to happen, they hate each other, and Sans is still, and forever will be, a mess.

_________

here we go with that stuff !! im pumped enough to not collapse of stage anxiety ah ah.

please do not confuse my complicated style for pretentiousness. im but a wordy insecure fool. with a super touchy soft spot for a small fat skeleton. and lots of imagination.

this isn’t something for fontcest and frans shippers and gross ppl who villainize and misgender kids and call gay couples “hawt sin” tho. u guys are uglies and i hate you, go away. ;U

_________

“Sans” i deadpanned.

He perked up a little, his forever-fucking-smiling expression mirroring my tone -with his eyes. Eyes’ sockets. Those were the only hints of what he was actually thinking. Because his fake smile -fake, i’m so sure of it, so fake smile, it only ever dropped when Frisk’s puppeted body struck him down, the very only moment he stopped- wow getting sidetracked. Anyway.

“Sans.” i repeated. i need to repeat myself a lot. Verbal dyspraxia i think. He didn’t seem to know that and squinted a bit more, indication of his annoyance/suspicion/mistrust/wariness. ‘s what his squinting usually means, directed at me. Can’t blame him. “i…” Truth is, i don’t actually know what to tell him. ‘s just. i love him, and i know it sounds crass and misplaced blurted out like this, but as a consequence, i’m worried about him. A lot. Constantly. i hope bpd isn’t blurring my judgement too much. ‘m not sure he does take care of himself as well as he deserve. And look who’s talking, right ? But he is surrounded by loving friends and family. And has his brother. He could get help. Good help.

Damn my hesitance was making him unnerved. I could see it in how he turned to me, bone hands switching in and out of his pockets. I only hugged myself tighter, hands vaguely gesturing.

“i… Could i offer you to crash on my couch sometimes ? Or bed even, i don’t use mine a lot, actually. Since it’s, y’know, closer to a good part of your odd jobs than your house and Papyrus isn’t home then ?” Dang that was weirder out loud. i kept a blank face to show i was serious. i was- the guy looked even more tired than me. Tells something.

“uh. kid, you got something going in the back of your mind ?” Damn he took me too seriously. Squinting hard at me now, he was the perfect studied statue of calm judgement. Damn he was good at those.

“Well, safe from letting you get a good deserved rest more easily, not much !!” i made sure to answer jovially, doing the whole ‘punching the air round and low in excitement’ thing. We could be two playing the happy clown game.

i had found him at Grillby’s, like usual. his food was getting cold. like usual too. what was less usual was the tense manner he held himself when i came in, and how he “straightened” up, like he had forgotten himself, when i greeted him, pat on the shoulder. he would have flinched but he wouldn’t have wanted me onto him about it. so his eye socket had violently twitched -violently as in, noticeably, by his standards, and...uh lost myself again, fuck.

What i mean is that he was having a harsh day, probably after a harsher even night, his ptsd acting up (‘m not supposed to know ‘bout that. He himself doesn’t even know it. i just read. and relate), and i wanted to help him. now, maybe i had been presumptuous thinking i could…

So that’s why i insisted, vigorously,

“And uh-we can watch some trash movies and stuff, anytime, and like you can just stop by during your in-between shifts, even if i’m not home, i’ll give you a spare key and-” sudden stop. oh no. He gave me The Hand.

He indeed did, holding it up, like he wanted me to slow down. i did, obviously, but uh. did that mean i was overwhelming him, or annoying ? Was there a difference ?? Did it matter ???

Not now, because he was talking, and internal anxiety mini attack made me split focus, and i wanted full focus on what he said, on him.

“look kid,” i hate he calls me that “i appreciate whatchu tryin to do here” meh.liar. spill it. “but i can’t accept. paps would be upset if he knew i was squatting-”

“No he wouldn’t !! He would call it ‘GREAT FRIENDLY HANGOUTS OF REST’ and be very happy we uuh spend time together and stuff-”

“ok” glaring at me now, probably pissed i used his bro’s good nature to shot down his excuse. Heh. Two play at that game. “but here’s the thing.” he advanced himself up to me, nearly out of his seat. i held my ground. uh oh. “we a r e n’t f r i e n d s.”

Ouch. i mean i knew this but. Ouch. His eyes hadn’t blacked out on that last part, but nearly, too. Could be that his already hazy eyelights had just dimmed in exasperation but um. That didn’t feel any better. i gulped. Just a little. Just to keep down the new forming clog in my throat. Just a little one. i knew this.

“i know this !! but look, we could be, if we hanged out !” i didn’t dare say more. My eyes stung a lil bit too much for my liking and while never embarrassed by my tears, didn’t want to embarrass him.

‘s not like i was seriously hurt. i knew where we stood, and that my crush was going to stay that, a crush. what really stung was the utter lack of trust and the hatred-like suspicion he had of me. that and also feeling like i’m watching someone drown, but can’t help, because when i reach out they swat me away in fear i would be the one pushing them further. That’s probably more of my saviour complex dramatizing everything, but it’s bad to be helpless when you know someone, and you’re the only one to notice where they’re headed, because they’re great at pretending, but it’s like looking at yourself in a mirror for you. Get me ?

But. That’s fair. We hadn’t started well off. At all. Oh boy we hadn’t…

___

Seems like now would be a good time to make a small recap, uh ? ‘bout how i ended up knowing that dude, falling in love, analysing his mental shit and all that jazz. Yeah.

me, some lame girl who won’t eat for days and forgo sleep just because, who doesn’t shave but my actual hair, doesn’t do makeup, who doesn’t smile when I’m told to and who grins for no apparent reason whenever a new daydream pops up, because i’m kind of stuck in my own head because it’s better in here. because of… trauma crap. i get by by drawing and playing games where i can just save everyone.

i don’t know if you get what i mean. i sorta hope you don’t. Because it hurts. But at the same time it’d be awesome if you did, because y a y let’s relate about crap !

Don’t know if it matters, too.

Could help to get a few friends. But being an asocial, asexual, kinda aromantic mess kinda throws that out of the window. You’d think so many A would get me higher in life eh heh heh heh heeeeeh… not funny. i’m not funny. My life is not funny. The way i react to it can be, though.

Like, that one time i was hanging out on my own, outside the bar i had first entered with classmates, as i tried to be less of a hermit, in a bar street and fled because i can't stand alcoholic jerks, and then saw this crowd of tough guys ejecting a small and stout person in a blue hoodie from said bar by fucking throwing a chair at them through the fucking window, and seeing that this little dude is a monster, and knowing they’re gonna get busted down to a puddle of dust by the mastodont looming over them if nobody intervenes ?

i reacted funny.

---

“Yoo-ou ffffffuking cunt, I-I’m gon’ mash you to the dirt yo motha shitted after getting fucked by yooour d-d-dog of a oold man-”

As he spits the words, an obviously very drunk dude stumbles closer and closer to the monster, his hands shaking like he wants to grip their head and smash it.

Freak it. This son of a bitch may be slurring like he drank the whole city, but he’s for sure all out to kill him ! Get up and run, little dude !

“c’mon man, “fucking cunt” , fun king or earl, it’s still a bit early to speak ‘bout mothers isn’t it?”

[i recognize him]

Pfft- what ? i snort loudly from my spot.

Okay, this is a gloriously bad, stretched pun -but now is not the time for goodness’ sake ! Run, dude, run -wait, is that a skeleton ?!

[i recognize him]

Oh my fuck, how dumb is that dude, going out in a popular bar at what-the-heck-hours in this stupid city ! There were shootings and assassination attempts on the monster gym leader not even two blocks away yesterday ! And you just go in there with a face that screams “LOOK AT ME” ?! Are you stupid or do you just lack of basic preservation instincts ?!

The brute keeps advancing, spouting shit, a sort of gang backing him up, toward mc comicbonedude, a guy i assume, given the voice, but with monsters you never know, gender’s a myth but not them- who’s still on the ground, backtracking, crawling with a grin it didn’t drop the whole time, is it stuck or something and doesn’t look like getting up holy crap he can’t get up, the more hatred a monster is confronted with the hardest it hits he must be low on hp or something he’s gonna get killed

[i recognize him]

mc comicbonedude cracks another joke or is it his ribs cracking under the viscious kick he just got he’s thrown nearer the spot i’m chilling in. Another kick. Nearer. They can't see me, i’m well hidden in the shadows. Another kick.

This time, mc comicbonedude gags out a pun about sole-ution to the problem being-

FUCK OFF!! a gun is being drawn out.

Screw this i’m not witnessing a murder, fucking racists fucking xenophobics fucking city full of fucking shitheads there are other people around here why isn’t anyone but i don’t want to die either that's how it is, eli, always strive for yourself.

i get up fast and sprint to the monster, screaming about cops and a monster attack and insults, anything to spark a bit of panic, deck a scrawny fucker the one who.was.going.to.shoot.him. and aim for the skeleton, who yells.

[i recognize him]

i grab him by the hood and run in some narrower streets, hearing yells after me, and the anxiety is building up a little too much for my usual adrenaline numbing spell to work-

i trip on some trash and my own feet -same difference, fall over, roll, get up that’s how you do it eli, hit and roll, but back on your feet. And keep running, holding the monster close to my chest he’s warm that means he’s still alive and ok, right, left, dodge the you whore you bitch get back here you bitch and the bullets yup i’m good at thiiiiiiis- a bullet still grazes my ankle, I stumble, nearly faceplant, and it hurts but like a sting and I’m still alive. The adrenaline keeps pumping and i feel so light, i sprint into a shabby alley, panting like a dog, i think i’m crying, and drool is mixing with it. i can feel the headache coming, and mc comicbonedude is heavy enough to slip in my arms why won’t he move ? Is he dead ? Is he in shock ?

[i recognize him]

i run to a staircase, you know, the rusty and slippery metal kind outside buildings for fire escape ? Exactly what i need, as the assholes keep firing at me, huh. I climb, to the top, jump to the next building am i really doing this as me for real and run. i don’t know if they’re still after us, my ears won’t stop ringing, and i can’t tell it apart from sirens. I’m on a four stories building running to save a skeleton who

who starts emitting blue and yellow light and what the hell is happening why am i floating holy fuck i’m two inches away to be totally out of not-looking-near-enough-at-all- concrete to fall on.

[i recognize him]

[*focus insufficient]

[*procedure fails]

He’s silent. Sprawled two meters away from where I’m hanging

h-how did i

Looking exhausted and furious, like a cornered dog who has already taken on a tiger in the past, and from his left pupil there’s a cyan blue and yellow flame ? crackling, or bubbling ? or is it just flashing. can’t tell eyes too blurry. and dark blue is surrounding me at my sternum is that monster magic it’s beautiful, did i get headshot i can’t thing straight no. i can’t breath. It’s holding me in place. i can’t breath properly. i try to call out for him, he’s just overreacting in an understandable alarm but

please don’t crunchy crush the goofy girl on the cracking hard ground but when I try, I look at his eyes. One is glowing a fiery but disturbed cyan and yellow, with shards of red here and there, and the other is blank dead. Black. i’m terrified. He pants and that’s the only sound for a while. He’s alive. Good. Am i going to still be alive after this ?

“DON’T DROP ME DON’T WANNA DIE DON’T KILL ME OKAY IT'S THE LAST TIME I’M HELPING OUT ANYONE I PROMISE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. DUDE PLEASE.”

“wha- ghh- !” He flinches like waking up. He lets go- lets go of meeee-

“AAAAAAAAAH NO !” He gasps and grasps again. i only slipped a meter into nothingness “Oh please please please i really don’t wanna die, and not falling, it looks like suicide i don’t do that i managed not to so don’t spoil it all ok i-”

“what- kid no stop r-”

“SO SORRY DON’T KILL ME DON’T-”

“ kiiiid please” he’s clutching at his skull now.

“PLEASE D-”

“shut. up”

Ok. Not talking.

Whimpering and sobbing a bit, but he better take this because i’m having an anxiety attack and it will escalate into a hyperventilation fit if he doesn't lower me on the ground and I can't calm down.

“Please don’t kill me.” blurts out anyway of my gritted teeth.

A white light bulb alights in his empty eyes socket, and the glow in the other dims. Could he not see me before ? Hey, is that a crack across his skull ? Augh that looks like it s t i n g s.

“ H-hey, there. You- ah, fffuck this hurts. You okay ?” i try.

Nothing. He stares at me, as if watching out for something. I can feel the power around me wavering. He needs to come to his senses before I go kiss the dirt.

“P-please don’t leave me hanging.” He snorts, but keeps scrutinizing me, shaking. ‘s like he’s half understanding the pun, half not there. Silent.

“Woah, that was bad, even for me; guess i’m just that high.” i attempt a feeble finger gun.

He holds back a laugh “pffft- what the hell, kid- oh fuck.” He starts, realizing what i’m hinting at. He drags me back to the ground. i still can't move, but breathing is easier. i whimper again -heck i’m surprised i didn't piss myself- and draw out a looong sigh.

Now we stare at each other awkwardly is not strong enough to cut it. And i observe, that i m may be sweaty, tired and teary, but he looks bad.

His skull is definitely cracked across his left eye, he won’t stop shaking, sweats profusely and seems to have troubles breathing so monsters skeletons breathe and pant. Ok. Do they cry too ? Cuz that weird red stuff oozing from his damaged eye doesn’t look like tears but that can’t be blood… right ?

He looks horrible, if only physically. But the way his eyes sway, with this grin I can’t find the reason for, it worries me more. Is he ... having an episode, or something ? i mean he could be and be totally inoffensive, but ? Was he the one attacking first back at the bar ? is he really having an episode of some sort ? i’m not too nice when i’m having an episode either.

Should i cry for help ? i can't budge from his grasp.

And i know i shouldn’t but i’m feeling an attack coming up- the restraint is triggering my ptsd ridden ass…..

Let me go y-you there c’mon i can’t take this not my shit nuh uh lemme go lemme go lemme go

“ lemme go…” woah not pathetic at all. “Let me go.” no reaction, try again “LET M-” i can’t move my mouth.

The pressure fucktupled, and it’s like my lungs and my muscles are being crushed.

“ok buddy, pal, chum, whoever you are, what the fuck ?”

i can’t answer you, you dumbfuck you just muted me

“i mean, nice save and all. thanks i guess. but who the heck and what on earth are you up to ?” both of his eyes went black oh my god what did i do to your highness Hecate like seriously now how did i end in such a mess.

“H-how about we both calm down first, and talk next ?” i seem to break through the mute. ok good, deep breaths, count backward from ninety to zero, relax, we’re both freaking out, he’s as spooked as you-which is funny cuz he’s the skeleton- focus on breathing.

Still no answer. “Look, i, i get it, bad freak out, i interrupted you back there, i get you’re fucked up-” nothing but his eyes narrowing “ but i’m cool. Swear i am. i’m cold and m’name is uidelsib. you can call me sib ! Cool enough ?”

i extend my hand, ready to give him a strong good ole handshake, but he doesn’t take up on it.

Instead he stays frozen, “Not cool, dude,” hand still extended, but lowered, as if he could grab me again “ r e a l l y not cool,” i insist, and his bones are, he’s. shaking ? Yeah. Shivering violently, like he’s super cold too, which is pretty normal given he’s what. Up with me on a high building, one, two hundred meters in the sky, exposed to the icy wind ? Figures.

His bones are making this clattering clickety sound, stresses me out damn. He’s studying me. But it’s also like he can’t focus. Shivering too much. Shock, probably. His eye socket’s still oozing that red shit. Not thick enough to be blood, and too scarletish, but what do i know ‘bout monsters.

[oh, what do i don’t]

He takes a step toward me.

“ not fucking cool, not in the least-” i let out, jaw still clenched.

His bones rattles one last time, on the cement ground. His knees buckled under him the next moment he moved. His arms couldn’t support him.

i approach him, concerned. Once the pursuit’s adrenaline and the near death experience done with, my mind is settling, and i can think more clearly. He, on the other hand…

He stirs as i come closer. Tries to growl something i can’t decipher, but it comes out as a whimper, pained. My heart constricts in my ribs. Fuck, i hadn’t meant shit to go down like that. i seem to have a talent to fuck up, but i only wanted to help.

i tell him that. He grunts, doesn’t acknowledges me further, and quivers as he tries to stand up. He can’t though. I see it from where i am, he shakes enough to make a dr.pepper bursts.

i snort at the image, a skeleton shaking a bottle fixed on his spine, then flies away with the pressure- w o w i’m gone far. Need a bed. Asap. Concentrate on the situation at hand.

He, though, doesn’t react well to my laughter. He immediately stiffens, and

goes slack. Unmoving on the ground. He fainted ? i go on a hunch and inch closer, on the tip of my toes, hunched over myself, because i can’t tell if he’s dead or if i’m going to be.

[i recogni-- --- [REDACTED]]

i shake my head furiously. i can’t let those thoughts take my attention away from what’s taking place here and now.

i’m close enough now. something like a meter away, i can see him still shivering, and hear him rasp some breaths out. So he can breathe-

[i knew tha- [REDACTED]]

Not Now. i need to focus, i got a seemingly dying monster mere steps away from me.

i crouch down, slowly. My leg muscles burn enough i’m trembling too and i’m pretty sure my teeth are chattering, the noise mingling with his bones against the asphalt.

He’s still face down, arms limp on his sides, and i spy his eyelights peeking at me, way less sharp than when he had me pinned in the air just. one minute ago ?

i creep closer, he tenses, i stop.

“You’re ok.” i whisper. “We’re ok and we’re leaving.” i try to keep my voice from wavering but meh. ‘s not like there’s much face to save, for both of us.

i reach my hand toward him. He doesn’t move. i put it on his back, barely pressing, he tenses. And then disappears with a ping.

[ (*did you think i was going to stay here and t--- -- -) [REDACTED]]

NOT NOW I SAID. GE E. WHERE DID HE Go ?

He’s back right where he was. He basically just blinked in and out of existence. And he’s looking even more exhausted, if that’s possible, sweating bullets and heaving noisily, before he quiets himself. He’s also glaring at me, but meekly, and i’m not too scared anymore to be honest. He looks more frustrated than anything, although i can guess he’s actually scared to death. HAH.

“Hey you’re ok, i said, i just. Need to get us somewhere safe. Yeah. Not here.” i croak out. i’m starting to feel the freezing wind more, too. i can’t afford to stall and give him time to think. i can still hear the sirens. They’re looking for someone. And i don’t want the police on my back, even if i didn’t do anything reprehensible in the end.

So i slide my hands under him, still making sure i don’t touch any possible sensitive areas, and decide to go for the armpits, and hey i might get a tickle out of him ! ...ahah no. As i try to heave him up on his… surprisingly tiny feet ? did he lose his shoes or. Whatever. He just stays as silent as he is limp. And boy is he limp as a rock. Not quite as heavy though, good.

“You’re lighter than you look-” might as well try to make some conversation “and uh, can you walk ?” Or at least i can try to fill the heavy silence. Let’s just forget the “tried to kill you” thing. We’re both in deep crap anyway, and i can understand having baggage.

He really won’t walk though. He barely makes a sound too. If i hadn’t heard him sooner i’d think he can’t talk or something. i barely get a grunt out of him as i put him on my hip, which isn’t hard given he’s like. Half my size. Fun sized boney menace.

And i begin to trudge down the stairs- not the ones i came from, i don’t want to get caught if the cops are back there and it’s too far anyways. i want a bed. Now. A lone pillow would do.

He doesn’t seem much different, dangling on my side barely sparing me a glare as i look down at him, checking if he’s not dusting yet. He stopped “bleeding” at least. He still got that nasty huge scar.

i can feel him staring when i’m not looking. He’s still wary. Probably only lets me pull this only because he can’t not. Heh, at least he doesn’t seem to mind that i’m carrying him like you’d do a toddler. i just, need my other arm to grip and grab at the staircase bars when i slip.

Nah he looks more disgusted to be touching me than anything. Everytimes we get into more contact, because i’m bumping a wall or stumbling on my own feet again, i can distinctly feel him shudder, and try to get away. It’s just a little distracting, and unbalancing, and a lil tidbit hurtful. But i can’t blame him. i’d be throwing a fucking fuss and dishing fists if our places switched.

At least it’s relatively calm. We didn’t meet anyone, maybe a few rats rummaging garbage, and some monsters hurrying home, Whimsuns i think ? No one that paid us any mind at least.

So we’re still walking slowly when rain hits us hard, and nearly sends me on my ass. Doesn’t help the shivering, but now it’ll clean the streets out for sure. It’s something past midnight, i don’t wanna find anyone out at this hour.

But i’d kinda appreciate finding my way to somewhere because

“Aaaaaaaaaaa a h ahhh i got no idea the fuck i’m g-going…” Ah fuck. i said that out loud. And now my passenger's giving me his best ‘are u fuckin kiddin me’ stare. He’s. Very unamused.

“L-look, this isn’t, this isn’t my part of the city, okay?? i’m- i’m tryin’ to g-get us to the monster neighbourhoods, but i don’t know the fuck where it is, alright ?!” My tone escalates with my pitch, and i nearly slip again as he flinches away from me. Damn it, not helping eli, still in an episode or something. Don’t yell.

“Y-y-yeeah okay, look. ‘m sorry i cried but i’m in shock and still lost, kay? S-so maybe help or som’thin’ ?” Indications would help yeah. And now he’s listening, he’s also less shaky and putting his weight on me in a way that hinders our progression less. Good.

He nods. Good.

“Good. Gooood good good good.” i’m on autopilot now, following the skeleton’s grunted directions. i take a few wrong turns every now and then, but what can you do with nonverbal advice, and we end up in a part of the city i recognize, because i’ve seen it on tv and wanted to come look around anyway.

The gym stadium. A big building, at least big for a monster building, given the prices get surprisingly higher when they’re buying, stylized like a Japanese dojo, with anime advertisement posters (whether for the dojo or the animes i got no ideas) on the walls and- oh my gosh are those- fish, dolphin, shark and starfish stickers on the windows.

“Perfect !” i half yell, significantly lighting up. Mc comicbonedude looks at me like i’ve grown a second head, and i give him a big manic smile, obviously stressed out. My right eye might be twitching a little too. Does that when i’m under pressure. He decides to go back to slumping against me and questioning his life choices, and i take that as an ‘okay GO’ to proceed with my genius only just made up plan.

i march up quickly, -i want this DONE WITH. NEXT TIME i GO ON AN IMPROMPTU RESCUE MISSION I’M TAKING MY LEAD UMBRELLA AND A CHANGE OF CLOTHING- to the tall doors, who thanks fucking gods are under a porch, that saves us from being drenched anymore, and pound it with all i got.

“OI BLUE WATER GAL ! OPEN UP!!! I KNOW YOU’RE STILL WORKING, YOU ALWAYS BRAG ABOUT NOT SLEEPING AND PROVIDING A 19/24H SERVICE ON TV!!! OPEN UUUPP!! B I T C H! OPEN!!UP!!”

Skeleton is googly eyeing me like the second head i’ve definitely grown started reciting the ten commandments to belzebuth themselves,

[and he’s not too far off]

but i don’t care my dude i am d o n e. If i get welcomed with a fist to the face i don’t give a diggly doogly dang fuck so long i can get inside and lay down. Even on the cold ass tile floor. i’m don-

“OI PUNK, WHAT’S UP WITH THAT RUCKUS ?? YOU TRYING TO PICK A DUEL WITH ME ? CUT IT OUT UNLESS YOU WANT A POUNDING COMPETITION FUFUFUFUFUFUH~ I’M OFFERING THOUGH !”

Ah, right, i’m still hitting that door. Ouch, that’s gonna swell. Oh welp.

But the voice came from...up?

i step backward some, under the rain, ugh, and look up to see, yup, a noodly armed blue fish person with bright scarlet red hair pulled up in a bun, all sweaty, a poor guy in a chokehold, peeking out of the second floor window, taking in the pouring rain with gusto. A gigantic lightning bolt, quickly followed by loud ass thunder, comes to compliment her boisterous apparition, and she grins- smirks? wide locking her single eye on me, the lighting making her golden teeth flash.

She comes down to greet my miserable form fast, not taking the stairs, but jumping out of the window (much more graciously than mc comicbonedude previously), having let go of her victim- sparring partner previously, good gods, and lands at my feet like nobody’s business, to then bolt up, eager to see the intruder to her night sessions.

And Undyne, former Captain of the Royal Guard of Monsterkind Underground, all steel like blue scales, glinting golden slitted eye and sharp mouth, now renowned Master of Fights in her stadium, among monsters and humans even more, already black belt of more martial arts than i know of, and fresh survivor of one of the biggest terrorist hits on monsters yet, is staring me down, from her easy two meters height, like i’m her next meal.

i gulp. i’m so fucked.

i’m so fucked and not just for the fact that i am royally gay and all, but also cuz…

[i recognize her]

[she was so hard to f---- [REDACTED]]

[couldn’t figure out that all we had to do was to run and then ---- -- ------- [REDACTED]]

“Uh ?” Her gaze has finally caught on my now bundled up passenger, who’s shivering in cold rather than fear, on my hip, who only lazily grins a

“sup”

“YO SANS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THIS WIMPY HUMAN AT THIS TIME OF THE NIGHT ?? AND Y’ALL ARE SOAKED !! GET INSIDE, NERDS !!!”

[i know him]

i follow hollowly the orders and get inside, feel a weight leave my side-kinda miss that already, to then feel a big fluffy towel drape over me. Then i sit down. In the hall on the ground, probably. Wooden floor is in my direct line vision. Uh. Thing is well taken care of, all waxed and clear, who would have guessed.

[i know them both. very well actually]

[Chara would be nervously giggling if they were here]

[wonder what they’re up to]

[and Frisk too, obviously]

[what about Flowey though. no idea what the lil shit is up to in pacifist endings]

i’m so f UCK E D.

---

Aaaand that’s how i ended up rocking back and forth in Undyne’s dojo’s main hall for half of the night, muttering about video games and fucking witchcraft gone wrong again and shit fuck damnit, i guess it was denial all along those last two, six months ? And oOH WELP, guess i did cradle like a toddler my fictional crush for the last, what, half hour ? Whoopsies.

Hhhhhhhh

fuck that ink witch status, that was not planned.

___

When i finish my flashback, and it’s been something like six months again since, got to “meet” his super cool great bro, not on his account though, Undyne just had to introduce Papsy to the dweeb that “saved his big brother” and also Asgore, Toriel, for a quick ‘thanks you’, even a small interview with Mettaton, that made a hit on the Undernet, and mingled a bit with monsters- i’m friend with Chesty Brun now (Burgerpants), and Alphys, because we’re following the same mangas-

he’s already gone, burger nearly untouched, ketchup covered fries half eaten and drink finished, and i’m tempted to ask Grillby, who is hovering close behind his bar, fretting a little, in front of my frozen form, if “you’re gon throw that out ? sure i can’t finish ?” Because it’d be a real shame to let all that delicious grub go to waste. But that’d be creepy as fuck, even moreso taking my feelings for the small dude, and his against me, so i don’t, and he’ll probably feed it to his pet lava rock anyway, so i stop hugging myself and rocking back and forth and go back to my seat, waving him off with a sorry smile, and go back to sullenly sipping my vanilla milkshake.

Can’t blame Sans.

He’s cautious. Understandable.

i know what he’s had to put up with.

[and so do all of you]

[dirty brother killers ?]

[i hope not]

[i really wonder how’s Chara doing…]

AAAAAAAaaaaaaah how do i turn this shit off ?? Let me pretend i’m normal in a normal situation stupid brain thing !!

...ah. screw it. this magic milkshake is fabulous. That’s totally what i’m crying about.

“Don’t worry Grillby.”

_______________

ye don’t worry my dudes. can i call y’all that ? ‘s gender neutral. ‘m a demi girl, and you can call me “my dude”, my dudes. wow what a bull of crap i pulled here, sorry trans girls and enbies

this isn’t beta read cuz i’m on my own and english isn’t my native language, i’m french, so plz forgive mistakes.

i had some drafts lying around my google docs for a year now, mostly about bugging and kissing snas, put them together and thought i’d do an actual Thing with it all. this isn’t good, i know it.

lest to say i have no idea what i’m doing !

and don’t know when this’ll update, it it does. i had the motivation to finish this cuz there was no clients at the restaurant i worked at back in july. blah blah blebs blah.

#/witchcraft #/unsanitary #/c slur #/physical assault #/alcohol #/hate crime #/racism #/panic attack #Know & Determinate: II- the surface and a lame witch #uidelsibwrites #old art

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swampghouls · 8 years ago

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broooo, for the color ask thing: red, orange, blue, and purple 🌱🛀💓

im lov u fran ♡

red: how was your first kiss? what do you love about yourself? when’s the last time you warmed your hands in front of a fire? would you rather watch a sunrise or sunset? what’s the best thing about summer?

well ya see, *awkwardly scratches head*, I actually haven’t had my first kiss cos I’m ugly and no one likes me but I had a really close call?? I’ll just say a little about that?? so it was w/ my ex and it was the end of the school year and we were just like hugging it out, ya know just being gay, and like he was leaning in and I was super awkward so I just buried my face in his neck lmao rip @ me

uh, my determination? like I’m determined to get in shape, to succeed, and ya probably being overly affectionate even though it gets annoying to people lmao

oh bro I don’t even know, a lonnnng time ago lmao probably like 2-3 years ago even tho we have something in our backyard for a fire lmao

bro I can’t pick, they’re both so pretty?? like nature really did that wOw but probably sunrises lmao cos last summer before school started, I would stay up the entire night and I just loved watching all the dark colors, the blues, the purples, turn into softer colors like pinks, oranges, yellows. I’m just !!!

well I don’t really like summer lmao but probably everything turning green because I!! Love!! The!! Color!! Green!! also I love the summer days that are windy and kinda cool with the sky cloudless and a pretty blue!

orange: what makes you feel warm inside? what’s your favorite halloween tradition? what’s the last thing you learned? when’s the last time you felt obsessed? what’s your favorite article of clothing?

hugs! affection! kisses! cuddles! dogs! cats! I just love feeling appreciated?? I think this is what this meant lmao

I love dressing up!! I love the concept that I can be something else?? it’s just great and I love it

probably something about math?? I don’t remember, lmao I’m on spring break I’ve forgotten everything tbh

i? don’t? really? know? what? this? means? does this mean like when’s the last time I was obsessed with something? lmao if that’s what it means then, not that long ago cos I was obsessed with Long Exposure and still am lmao

I have a lot? rn one of my favorites are these overall shorts things (??) they’re thrifted and they really fit and I was just so excited when I found them! another is a shirt I also thrifted that has like a Mexican novela feel lmao

blue: what do you do when you’re sad? what are some things you do when you can’t sleep? what was the best (non-romantic) night you’ve had? what kind of covers do you have on your bed? who is the last person you told a secret to?

I either get in this huge red hoodie I thrifted (it’s 3XL large lmao) or in my eeyore onesie and listen to my “Get High & Get Fucked” playlist on soundcloud to remind myself that I’m actually great & that if anyone disagrees can get a kick to the face cos they’re caca and I’m not

I usually listen to this playlist that I created a long time ago called “Sleepytime” lmao it consists of really soft music or I’ll read something until I get tired (sometimes this doesn’t work rip)

honestly, I don’t know??? lmao probably whenever I have late night conversations with my friend Charlee??? i really don’t know rip

do any of y’all know those “traditional Mexican covers”? that like you can get from la doña at la pulga? idk it has roses on it and it’s like a burgundy color and it’s super soft lmao

probably Charlee or my oldest sister cos I tell them everything lmao

purple: what’s your astrological sign? what’s the best piece of advice you ever received? when’s the last time you followed your instincts? what’s your favorite food? what’s your secret dream?

moon? sun? I’m a Capricorn! lmao I was born on December 25

okay so this one time I was ranting to my friend Charlee about how my parents constantly call me “hija” “guapa” “bonita” and he told me, “I can’t tell ya to just ignore it because it’s something you can’t just ignore. But just because someone tells you you’re something doesn’t mean you are that something.” i just appreciate that boy so much lmao

the last time I followed my instincts was probably when I broke up with that ex I was talking about earlier, cos like it just wasn’t working but like everyone thought we were this really cute couple and just supported us so I was a little hesitant but in the end I was like, this isn’t going to work, I just gotta do what’s best for me lmao rip

my favorite food is my mom’s vegan pozole! it’s just GREAT and I’m just blessed with a mother that supports mine & my sister’s veganism!!

probably to be a youtuber lmao my sister and I actually really want to do that?? like where I’d post sewing videos/tutorials and she’d post makeup videos/tutorials and we’d post thrifting hauls together lmao

this was a lot holy shit Fran thank you lmao

“lmao” count: 22

“rip” count: 4

#jesus christ that's a lot #sorry for the long post #but thank you fran!#im luv u fran #i do have friends mom #softboytooru

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bad-draft-stuff · 6 years ago

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det. au 12

Arsé-kun: Arséne: So, lets get this straightened out properly this time.

Arsé-kun: Arséne: To start, Saint Germain has started internal fighting in Idea. I'm not sure what the goal there is, but it will most likely come to bite us in the ass later. Along with that, he and Nyar did... Something? Where Naoya lives, but again, no details. Arsé-kun: Germain: I only reunited past lovers. It's nothing of a big deal. As for the latter, the Philemon.exe was corrupted and needed to restart. *he smirks a bit. he's not going any further than that.* Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... These are things I'd like to know before reviewing. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Moving on. Delly has insisted I make mention of something, but gave me absolutely no details to go off of. Very helpful. More importantly, I was able to arrest the homicidal artist, with help, and that's why rent is being paid this month. Arsé-kun: Arséne: And after THAT, I have been kindly informed that Tom has occasionally been communicating with others when he has his freak-outs. I'm personally inclined to guess it was to that Crow kid, as he and a few others were investigating a Byrd residency at the time. They did find some kind of evidence- I can't wait for a photocopy of it. Sheepy: Sherlock: *He's got a blank expression on his face* Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... Where did I lose you, Sherlock? Sheepy: Sherlock: Rent? Sheepy: Sherlock: The artist is paying rent? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Non. I mean I got paid for the assist, so I paid the bills in advance. Sheepy: Sherlock: Who pays rent usually? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Me, but much later in the month. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh. Sheepy: Sherlock: Did you say something after that? Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... Literally everything else. Sheepy: Sherlock: Well. Sheepy: Sherlock: I guess we'll never know! Arsé-kun: Arséne: You could just read what I've got written down.. Sheepy: Sherlock: *He looks to the paper* Arsé-kun: *it certainly has everything he was saying beforehand, and more!* Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, I'll read over this. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Certainly. *he passes them over* Just don't damage anything. Sheepy: Sherlock: When do I damage things? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Punching a wall comes to mind. Sheepy: Sherlock: When did I- Sheepy: SHerlock: Oh, right. Sheepy: Sherlock: I broke my hand... Arsé-kun: Arséne: You certainly damaged something that day. Sheepy: Sherlock: A lot more than my hand, I think. Sheepy: Sherlock: Like the wall! Arsé-kun: Arséne: With that, my point stands. Sheepy: Sherlock: I don't usually! Arsé-kun: Arséne: Fair enough. Arsé-kun: *Meanwhile, in the background, is Impey just yelling "Randy, your sticks!". There is no context attached.* Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, I get it now! *Doesn't get it at all.* Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... There's a bit of information missing, so it's a bit of a mess. Sheepy: Sherlock: Great! Arsé-kun: Arséne: What do you mean "great"?? Sheepy: Sherlock: Well, we have some information. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Better than none? Sheepy: Sherlock: Right. Arsé-kun: Impey: Randy!! You can't just cook sticks and leave someone else to deal with them! Come get your sticks!! *he bangs the ceiling with a broom (probably?) Sheepy: Sheepy: You can deal with them. Arsé-kun: Impey: And I will! *he bends down to pull Randy's pan out of the oven* But they'll be gone before he gets any at this rate! Sheepy: Sheepy: He can perish. Arsé-kun: Impey: Harsh!! Sheepy: Sheepy: If he doesn’t want his sticks, he can perish Arsé-kun: Randy: Guess I'll perish. *he drags himself in, dropping Shaggy on the counter. Cat time.* Sheepy: Sheepy: There you are! Arsé-kun: Randy: Here I am, in the third dimension. *he picks up a hot french toast stick and chomps it. he immediately regrets this decision.* Sheepy: Sheepy: Third? Sheepy: Sheepy: Are you sometimes in the second?! Arsé-kun: Randy: I try not to. ... It's confusing. Sheepy: Sheepy: what Arsé-kun: Randy: what Sheepy: Sheepy: How??? Arsé-kun: Randy: I don't remember. Blame Nyar and move on. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh. Arsé-kun: Randy: That, and I can't eat pie anymore because I expect it to hit my face. :') Sheepy: Sheepy: Pie? Sheepy: Nyar: Guess who bought pie! Arsé-kun: Randy: Please, no! Sheepy: Nyar: I didn't! Arsé-kun: Randy: You're horrible. Arsé-kun: Randy: You're horrible. Sheepy: Nyar: I'm lovable. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm Sheepy. Arsé-kun: Impey: I'm Impey! Sheepy: Tom: im dead Arsé-kun: Randy: No, you're Tom. *he picks up another stick. hes gonna munch. hes gonna crunch* Sheepy: Sheepy: Do your sticks taste edible? Sheepy: Sheepy: I tried cooking them once. Arsé-kun: Randy: I guess so. Arsé-kun: Impey: They smell edible. Sheepy: Sheepy: Wow. Sheepy: Sheepy: Teach me your ways. Arsé-kun: Randy: Don't set it on fire. Sheepy: Sheepy: Too difficult. Arsé-kun: Impey: How. Sheepy: Sheepy: Messed up step one and set the house on fire. Arsé-kun: Randy: Congrats, you summoned Cthuga instead of making french toast sticks. Sheepy: Sheepy: I feel so talented. Sheepy: Sheepy: A cool protagonist complimented me. Arsé-kun: Randy: Who? Sheepy: Sheepy: You! Arsé-kun: Randy: I'm not cool... But thanks? Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, me! I know you were looking at him, but that's because you're shy! Gosh, I'm cool! Sheepy: Nyar: On top of that? I'm an absolute studmuffin! Arsé-kun: Randy: Not when you're a little girl you're not. Sheepy: Nyar: NORMALLY I'm an absolute studmuffin. Sheepy: Nyar: You gotta back me up here, Randy! Sheepy: Nyar: You gotta! Or I'll pelt you with pie! Arsé-kun: Randy: No way! Even I know you're not! You're a noodle!! Sheepy: Nyar: What! Sheepy: Nyar: Okay, fine, see if I care! I do a lot but I won't say that! Sheepy: Nyar: I'm a tsundere! Arsé-kun: Randy: But you just stated, out loud, that you cared. You're a noodley hypocrite. Sheepy: Nyar: No, you're just a mind reader Arsé-kun: Randy: I wonder if I can still do that. Sheepy: Sheepy: You could read people's minds at one point?! Sheepy: Sheepy: You're cooler than I thought...! ... Although I guess you could always read mine. Arsé-kun: Randy: That's just telepathy.. When I was trapped in another alien's body, yes... But I never actually tried as myself. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm an alien? Arsé-kun: Randy: No, before that. Sheepy: Sheepy: This happens a lot to you. Arsé-kun: Randy: ... That is true. It needs to stop. Sheepy: Sheepy: Try to stay with me! Arsé-kun: Randy: Don't make it sound like I'm dying! Sheepy: Sheepy: You could sort of pass for my older brother. Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh? Arsé-kun: Impey: Stay with me, protagonist, don't die! That sorta thing? Arsé-kun: Randy: Yes. And I can just say I was just away at Miskatonic University. Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh? Arsé-kun: Randy: Oh, they still have Astrophysics and Ancient Histories courses. ... *he thinks for a moment* They also own the original Necronomicon. It's a university of people aware of shit like this. *he pats Nyar's shoulder* Sheepy: Sheepy: Huh! Arsé-kun: Randy: It's in the States, so it's an easy lie to pull off, I guess. Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, ooohh! Randy! You said a meanie word! Arsé-kun: Randy: States? Sheepy: Nyar: Noooo! Sheepy: Nyar: You insulted me! Arsé-kun: Randy: Ng n'gha. Sheepy: Nyar: You're so mean. Arsé-kun: Randy: y'hah. I learned from the best. Sheepy: Nyar: Me? Am I the best?! Sheepy: Nyar: Man, I always wanted to be the best! Sheepy: Sheepy: Well, what do siblings do with each other? All I've got is Iris and she likes using inventions on me and showing me horrible things she found on the internet. Sheepy: Nyar: But I thought you weren't - eh, whatever. Arsé-kun: Randy: Sounds about right.. Sheepy: Sheepy: If you bully me, I'll bully you. Arsé-kun: Randy: Please do not. We've already got Nyar. Sheepy: Nyar: Curls, you're being mean! Arsé-kun: Randy: Calling you mean is mean now? You're not evil incarnate? Sheepy: Nyar: Well- Sheepy: Nyar: ... Sheepy: Nyar: ................................................ Sheepy: Nyar: Am, am I slowly turning into a good guy? That can't be right! Arsé-kun: Randy: What a sweet mask you've got on right now. Sheepy: Nyar: !!! Sheepy: Nyar: I need a new one! Sheepy: Nyar: If I take yours, I should be mean enough. Arsé-kun: Randy: But then who will I be?? Sheepy: Nyar: Nobody Arsé-kun: Randy: How fitting! Sheepy: Sheepy: What should we do today? Arsé-kun: Randy: I was going to try to write, but I've got nothing. So be depressed. Hooray. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's what I do when I write essays. Sheepy: Sheepy: Watson writes on the side, so maybe he can help. Sheepy: Sheepy: Iris also writes. Arsé-kun: Randy: That's how most of us feel when we write essays.. But this is true. Arsé-kun: Impey: whats an essay and whys everyone never happy about them Sheepy: Sheepy: Writing about a topic you dont care about and not being paid to do it. Sheepy: Sheepy: Iris loves them. Arsé-kun: Impey: That sounds terrible. Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah, they're for nerds. Arsé-kun: Impey: We don't want them. The preps can have them. Sheepy: Sheepy: You're not a nerd. Arsé-kun: Impey: Should I ponytail my hair and start lecturing on space shuttle physics??? Sheepy: Sheepy: Sure. Sheepy: Sheepy: Victor is a nerd. Arsé-kun: Impey: I? Can't argue about that? Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah. Sheepy: *Impey receives a text!* Arsé-kun: Impey: ?! *what?? this is rare! he checks immediately.* Sheepy: Iris: [text: to Impey] let's go somewhere fun today! I want to invite fran, too! but he never reads his texts!! Arsé-kun: Impey: [text: to Iris] Sure, I'm not busy! I'll drag him along, dw! Sheepy: Iris: [text: to Impey] I want to invite abby and sheepy too! Sheepy: Iris: [text: to Impey] ok great! thanks! Arsé-kun: Impey: [text: to Iris] I'm on it, princess! Arsé-kun: Impey: *he turns his phone to Sheepy* You've received an invitation to go outside for once. Sheepy: Sheepy: I can finally go outside?! Sheepy: Sheepy: I hate being inside constantly. Sheepy: Sheepy: Hey, Randy, you should come with us. Arsé-kun: Randy: I'm not really an outside person... But I may as well. Sheepy: Sheepy: You can be the adult of the group. Arsé-kun: Randy: I'm honored. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, I guess Van is an adult, too. Sheepy: Sheepy: I guess I should tell Arsene and Watson that we're going out. Sheepy: Sheepy: *He goes hunting for the two.* Arsé-kun: *Arséne is no longer at his desk. Good luck.* Sheepy: Sheepy: Where did he go... Sheepy: Sheepy: Arseeeene, where did you gooo??? Arsé-kun: Impey: You didn't know he left? *he strolls in, following Sheepy. Randy is behind him with his sticks. this is his food for the day* Arsé-kun: Arséne: Somewhere!~~ Sheepy: Sheepy: I need to find you and if you don't give me a hint I'll put mugs dangerously close to the edge of your desk to bother you when you see them. Arsé-kun: Arséne: My hint is that I'm answering you! Sheepy: *Sheepy follows Arsene's voice* Arsé-kun: *He's in Sherlock's kitchen! You found him!! Also featuring! Watson, before his coffee, trying to not doze off at the table. It's ass o clock am, wake up!* Sheepy: Sheepy: I found the two people I need to talk to! Sheepy: Harley: I hope I'm not one of them because I refuse to talk to you right now. Sheepy: Sherlock: But you're talking to him right now. Sheepy: Harley: I refuse to talk to you, too. Sheepy: Sherlock: Eh!? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Eh? We grumpy this morning? Sheepy: Harley: I'm not grumpy. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Yeah you are. Sheepy: Harley: No, how am I grumpy? Arsé-kun: Arséne: You're being Mr. "I can't talk to anyone until morning coffee" right now. Sheepy: Harley: That's always Watson. Sheepy: Harley: Anyway, I don't need coffee. Sheepy: Harley: I need something interesting to happen that's not magical in nature. I want a mystery to solve. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Oh, I agree entirely. I'm almost tired of it. Arsé-kun: Arséne: But yes, Sheepy? What did you need? Sheepy: Sheepy: Iris invited a few of us to go out. Sheepy: Sheepy: By that I mean she texted Impey and told him to tell everyone else but never actually left her room... Arsé-kun: Arséne: So the usual? Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah. Arsé-kun: Arséne: As long as everyone stays together, I've got no issues with it. Sheepy: Sheepy: What about you, Watson? Arsé-kun: Watson: ...? What? Sheepy: Sheepy: Iris invited a few of us to go out. Are you okay with us going out? Arsé-kun: Watson: I suppose so. Sheepy: Sheepy: Only suppose...? Did you have a problem? You can join us if you want. Sheepy: Sheepy: Iris didn't invite you, but it's all good. Sheepy: Sherlock: I want to go! But I doubt she would want me going. Sheepy: Sherlock: She never comes out of her room so I always worry about her. Arsé-kun: Watson: I can't stop any of you, so I'm not really going to try.. *he yawns and eyes the coffee machine. is it done yeeeet* Sheepy: Sheepy: It's bad to be a defeatist. Arsé-kun: Watson: It's not even ten yet. I'm about as functional as a ferret stuck in a shoe. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'd recommend being a teenager again. Sheepy: Sheepy: No, wait Sheepy: Sheepy: You wouldn't be able to wake up until noon as a teenager. Sheepy: Harley: Go to sleep earlier. Arsé-kun: Watson: I wouldn't mind getting up at noon. Sheepy: Harley: No, go to sleep earlier. Arsé-kun: Watson: Then you better start doing it too. Sheepy: Harley: I don't need to. Arsé-kun: Watson: If you say so. Sheepy: Harley: I just need to keep my mind active. Arsé-kun: Watson: Do not, do not, please take a break once in a while. Sheepy: Sherlock: I'm rarely tired. Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm exhausted for you both at this rate. Sheepy: Sherlock: We're secretly sapping your energy!? Sheepy: Sherlock: What a cunning scheme...! So genius, even I, the perpetrator, wasn't aware of it!!! Arsé-kun: Watson: Considering what I have to deal with nightly? I don't think it's a secret. *he leans down and puts his face in his hand. the nerve of these idiots* Sheepy: Harley: I can knock him out for you. Sheepy: Harley: You don't have to listen to him at night if he's unconscious. Arsé-kun: Watson: That's called giving someone a concussion, so no. Absolutely not. Sheepy: Sherlock: I don't like that plan... Sheepy: Harley: Then don't be a terrible roommate or I'll take matters into my own hands. I shouldn't have to tell you to take other people's feelings into account. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Hypocrite alert. Sheepy: Harley: I don't keep people awake at night. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You don't, but you can be an ass during the day. Sheepy: Harley: I weigh honesty and potentially hurting them and see which is worth more. Sheepy: Harley: I refuse to lie. Arsé-kun: Watson: And I shouldn't have to tell a grown ass adult to not put his hands on other people. But here we are!!! Arsé-kun: *he's so, so, SO done* Arsé-kun: *and it's still not even 10 am.* Sheepy: Harley: People need the views of others to know how to improve- I wouldn't put my hands on him. Arsé-kun: Impey: What are we yelling about! Sheepy: Sherlock: Harley's threatening to knock me unconscious. Sheepy: Harley: It's not a threat. It's undignified to threaten people. Only petty criminals threaten people. Sheepy: Harley: It's a suggestion on how to solve a problem. Arsé-kun: Watson: Which can lead to more brain damage, which can lead to being! Even! More! Annoying! Arsé-kun: Arséne: Hey I suddenly feel attacked Sheepy: Harley: How are you being attacked? Arsé-kun: Arséne: I completely expected "petty criminals" to be followed with my name. Sheepy: Harley: No, you're fine. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I'm honored. Sheepy: Harley: And...he can get more annoying? Sheepy: Harley: I didn't know. Sheepy: Harley: Unless you mean I am. Arsé-kun: Watson: Can't anyone? I mean, it's not that har-*the coffee machine clicks. it is done. This earns his 100% undivided attention* Sheepy: Harley: It wouldn't surprise me. I always have been in the past. Sheepy: Sherlock: It's done!! Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm saved! *he nearly jumps out of his seat to get at the machine. c a f f i e n e* Arsé-kun: Arséne: You could have done a flip during that maneuver..! *he's very clearly joking.* Sheepy: Sherlock: I want to see that! Arsé-kun: Arséne: I'd give it a shot but you're kind of on my lap right now. Arsé-kun: Watson: Absolutely not. *he's back with coffee. he is pleased. this is his favorite kind. i know nothing about coffee so sue me* Arsé-kun: Watson: I think I would break something in the attempt. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh... Sheepy: Sherlock: Well, that would be a problem. Sheepy: Harley: Don't break anything. It'd be upsetting. Arsé-kun: Watson: I agree with both of these points entirely. Arsé-kun: Randy: It'd probably be lethal or permanently damaging. Arsé-kun: Impey: uh Arsé-kun: Randy: I'll see myself out. Arsé-kun: Impey: I, uh, I was gonna crack a joke about Delly taking care of the problem like ten minutes ago, but too late now! Sheepy: Harley: Oh, no, I'd love recommendations. Sheepy: Sherlock: Please don't knock me out. Sheepy: Harley: Get a better sleep schedule. Sheepy: Sherlock: Stop being a hypocrite. Sheepy: Harley: Ah, that's a weight off my mind, to find out how you truly feel about me. Thank you. Please be more honest with me in the future. Sheepy: Sherlock: What happened to you? You're different... You were really nice right after the amnesia, but now you're even worse than before the amnesia. You're unrelenting. Sheepy: Harley: Thank you for telling me. I want to know your feelings. Arsé-kun: Watson: Do you? Mine are "Stop hurting yourself like this" and "Please do not threaten people when you have no intention of acting on them," with a side of "Sit down and eat already kiddo, I'll fistfight you and lose". *coffee sip break* At least you're recognizing other people have feelings. That's a plus. Sheepy: Harley: How am I hurting myself? Arsé-kun: Watson: Not eating or sleeping, no matter how hungry or tired you feel, is extremely damaging. You know this. Sheepy: Harley: I'm neither tired nor hungry. Arsé-kun: Watson: *he sighs* You can just say "I eat on my own schedule", and that would be the end of it. You saying otherwise just makes me want to dump melatonin on you. Sheepy: Harley: ...And anyway, I'm perfectly willing to damage myself to pursue the truth, so if a case requires it, I'll starve. Sheepy: Harley: Why melatonin? Arsé-kun: Watson: Why not melatonin? Sheepy: Harley: How would it help? Arsé-kun: Watson: Do you really want medical term talk at ten am? Sheepy: Harley: I wouldn't mind it. Arsé-kun: *Watson promptly launches into a caffeine-fueled explanation of what melatonin is. the internet is checked on at least twice. his mug is refilled twice. Arséne completely tunes out in favor of literally anything else.* Sheepy: *Sherlock has also stopped listening. Harley seems interested.* Sheepy: Harley: I understand. Arsé-kun: Watson: Fantastic! So please do better with yourself before I prescribe it by force. Sheepy: Harley: Thank you for your offer, but I'm fine. You really shouldn't worry about someone like me. Sheepy: Harley: It's a waste of time. Arsé-kun: Watson: Too late. If I've wasted years, so be it. Sheepy: Harley: I appreciate that you do, even though I can't understand what would cause you to worry about me. Arsé-kun: Van: Stop questioning it. You won't get answers. *good morning van helsing. sir 'ive already gotten dressed for the day'. bastard* Sheepy: Harley: You've asked, too? Arsé-kun: Van: Numerous times. I've given up. Just take what you get and shut up about it. Sheepy: Iris: *She enters* Good morning! Sheepy: Sherlock: Good morning! Sheepy: Harley:... Arsé-kun: *Van absently pats her head as she passes him. Arséne notices this. Arséne will remember this.* Sheepy: Sherlock: I was worried...... Arsé-kun: *in the background, randy has run out of sticks. hes disappoint* Sheepy: Sheepy: You could make more! Sheepy: Iris:... ... Good morning, Daddy! Good morning, Herly! Good morning, Luppie! Good morning, Sh- Sheepy: Sheepy: It's actually nighttime. Sheepy: Iris: Say good morning...! Sheepy: Sheepy: Good mourning! Arsé-kun: Randy: *he blocks Sheepy's face with the pan* This one doesn't exist right now. Good morning, though. Sheepy: Iris: Good morning, Randy! Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm invisible. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You'll never see him coming.. Sheepy: Sheepy: Heck yeah Arsé-kun: Watson: *he appears to be Thinking. when he isnt making sure van isnt using any kitchen appliances, anyway* Sheepy: Harley: Is something on your mind, Watson? Arsé-kun: Watson: Certainly. Do you have any plans for today? Sheepy: Harley: No. Sheepy: Harley: Why? Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm taking you with me today. It might help you in the social department. Sheepy: Harley: Am I really in that much need of medical attention that you'll even drag me to your office to prescribe me something I don't want? Or is it for publicity? I'm a nobody. Bring Sherlock. Sheepy: Harley: Unless, of course, it's something else. Arsé-kun: Watson: Neither. I just said the reasoning. If I wanted publicity, I'd commit murder. Sheepy: Harley: Would I help you or capture you if you did that...? Sheepy: Harley: I don't know. Sheepy: Harley: How will it help me in the social department? Arsé-kun: Watson: Because you'll get outside for once, and I don't mean sitting in the park with the squirrels. Sheepy: Harley:.... Sheepy: Harley: Fine. Arsé-kun: Watson: I appreciate it. I've helped you and Sherlock enough times- You're helping me for once. Arsé-kun: Randy: Look on the bright side. It won't be weird. .. I forgot to see myself out. *he goes to back out, nearly smacking Sheepy's face with the aforementioned pan. Impey stops him in time* Sheepy: Harley: I apologize for never returning your good will. Arsé-kun: Watson: It's fine. Sheepy: Harley: I'll try to be better about it in the future. Arsé-kun: Watson: Don't worry about it. I don't mind, genuinely. I only mind when you're being difficult, and that doesn't apply purely to you. Sheepy: Harley: No good deed goes unpunished. Arsé-kun: Watson: Then why am I still alive? Sheepy: Harley: Pure luck. Arsé-kun: Watson: That's fair. Sheepy: Harley: It applies to all of us. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Excuse you, I get by on my skill. Sheepy: Sherlock: I live on because my body lets me! Arsé-kun: Randy: I don't think I have a choice in the matter. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm actually a zombie. Arsé-kun: Impey: I'm actually a vampire, then! Sheepy: Sherlock: Uh? Everyone knows that. Arsé-kun: Arséne: what. Sheepy: Sherlock: I'm the last to know anything, so if I know it, everyone else does. Arsé-kun: Impey: What? What are you talking about? ^^;;; Sheepy: Sherlock: That's what I broke my hand over. Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he looks from Sherlock to Impey and back, repeatedly* What? What?? What the hell??? Sheepy: Sherlock: You don't need to act stunned. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Acting? Who's acting?? This is the first I've heard of this! Sheepy: Sherlock:...Huh? Sheepy: Sherlock: What... Arsé-kun: *and Impey slowly backs out, keeping a forced grin on, before very quickly retreating. There is Fear here.* Sheepy: Sherlock: .... Sheepy: Sherlock: Did I say something wrong? Arsé-kun: Arséne: ¿...? Did he think I was angry at him? I'm angry at myself for not realizing this sooner. Sheepy: Iris: I'll go after him. Arsé-kun: Van: It can't be hard. He already looks like a traffic cone. Sheepy: Iris: That's true. Arsé-kun: Randy: But if he stays hidden, it means he's got a massive advantage.. Sheepy: Iris: Oh... Sheepy: Iris: I'll just have to try harder! Sheepy: Sherlock: ???? Arsé-kun: Arséne: ¿¿¿¿ Arsé-kun: *what a duo.* Sheepy: Sheepy: Sheepy - 1, Arsene - 0... Arsé-kun: Arséne: My own son knew and kept it from me.. I am an absolute master of my field. Without a doubt. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's a cruel way of phrasing it. Sheepy: Sheepy: I just assumed you knew. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I had no idea..! ... *he frowns* Someone hand me the paper. Maybe I can excel in my primary field instead. Sheepy: Harley: *He hands Arsene the paper* Sheepy: Sherlock: Everyone has their bad days. Sheepy: Harley: I didn't know. Sheepy: Harley: However, I also didn't, and still don't, care. Sheepy: Harley: I've never had an interest in vampires, zombies, or whatever other horror movie creatures there are. I didn't believe in them, either, until they proved to be real. Arsé-kun: Watson: .... That's not what you said when you were younger, Mister. Sheepy: Harley: What? Arsé-kun: Watson: Do I mention it here in the open? I didn't think you would appreciate it. Sheepy: Harley: No, please don't. Arsé-kun: Watson: Alright. *and he drops the matter* Sheepy: Harley: When are we going? Arsé-kun: Watson: At eleven. Sheepy: Harley: Thank you. Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he lowers the newspaper. he's got an awfully sinister grin..* Sheepy? Hold down the fort. I know what I'm doing this weekend. Sheepy: Sheepy: What? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Why would I ask that of you? Why, oh why? Arsé-kun: *his grin gets bigger, in french* Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, let's steal something! Sheepy: Harley: You're a terrible influence. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I've kept him from committing arson. I am a fantastique influence! Sheepy: Harley: That's the basic first step for being a father, I would think. Sheepy: Harley: I don't know, I'm no father. Arsé-kun: Watson: The first step is having a child and it being alive. Sheepy: Harley: That first step will be difficult, considering I have no romantic partner. Arsé-kun: Watson: Adoption is fine. Sheepy: Harley: Yes, I suppose so. Sheepy: Harley: I've thought about what having a family would be like some over the years, but I quickly came to the conclusion I'd be an awful father. I don't want to put a child through that. Arsé-kun: Watson: I thought I would be awful as well. Sheepy: Harley: You actually had parents, didn't you? Sheepy: Harley: You had some type of reference. Arsé-kun: Watson: This is a fair counterpoint. Sheepy: Harley: I don't know how they're supposed to act. My only experience with them is being ignored. I wouldn't want to replicate that. Arsé-kun: Watson: It's mostly instinct based. You'd be fine. Sheepy: Harley: Instinct..? Sheepy: Harley: So it's instinctual to ignore them...? Sheepy: Sherlock: I don't remember anything about my parents! But, I suspect they loved me a lot because I love me a lot. Sheepy: Sherlock: I'm very lovable! Sheepy: Harley: Yes, the most. Arsé-kun: Watson: I said mostly, not guaranteed. Ignoring them is not instinct. That is choice. Sheepy: Harley: Mycroft, the second most. Sheepy: Harley: Meanwhile, they didn't love me a bit. So, I fear I'd duplicate that. Arsé-kun: Watson: Ah. With how you treat animals, though, I think you would be fine. Sheepy: Harley: But those are animals. Sheepy: Harley:...Animals... animals don't lie about their feelings. Arsé-kun: Watson: It's close enough. Arsé-kun: Randy: ... Is this a bad time to come back? Also, have you met a cat once? Sheepy: Harley: I have. Sheepy: Harley: There's Wagahai. Sheepy: Harley: Wagahai lives here. Arsé-kun: Randy: Cats refuse to show when they're hurt, unless it's bad. They'll even run away so no one sees it. This one taught me that. *and he dumps Shaggy onto Harley's lap. tiny meow* Sheepy: Harley:.... Sheepy: Harley: I can understand that viewpoint. Sheepy: *Harley begins petting Shaggy. hello!* Sheepy: Harley: When you're hurt, others drop their guard. They, too, end up hurt. Arsé-kun: *Shaggy rubs his face on Harley and stares up at him with those big ol' moon eyes.* Sheepy: Harley: It's best to keep them safe. Sheepy: Harley: Love is keeping those around you safe, no matter how much it costs you. Sheepy: Harley: It's not running away. It's a sacrifice. Arsé-kun: *and then it was awkward and depressing for a moment. 2x combo! double score!* Arsé-kun: Van: .... Good god, who died to make you all so silent? Sheepy: *Harley is still petting Shaggy, seemingly unaware of the mood drop* Sheepy: Sheepy: My mood. Arsé-kun: Arséne: The mood has, indeed, just been murdered in cold blood. I can confirm this. Sheepy: Iris: Is it over Barby? He's okay now! Arsé-kun: Arséne: Not at all, but that is good. Sheepy: Iris: Huh? Sheepy: Harley: I felt comfortable. I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry. Sheepy: Harley: I'll avoid discussing my feelings in the future. Arsé-kun: Arséne: It wasn't that you were out of turn, or that it was you. Don't apologize. *he rolls up the paper and lightly bonks Harley with it* Please don't imply you're a sacrifice again. Arsé-kun: Randy: ... He's got a point. Sheepy: Harley: So, in a way, I am. Sheepy: Harley: It would've left a much larger void in the group if he had passed than if I had. It's perfectly fine for me to be the scapegoat in that situation. It's simple analysis. Sheepy: Harley: I got lucky, of course. Sheepy: Harley: I predicted almost instantaneous death. Arsé-kun: *arsene whaps harley with the paper again* Sheepy: Harley: What? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Arrêtez ! Ferme ta tais-toi, and pardon my French, but devalue yourself again and I'll smack your ass with this paper! Sheepy: Harley: It's not devaluing myself. Sheepy: Harley: I'm completely aware I hold value. This makes me very happy. Arsé-kun: Van: The problem is you're addressing a morbid manner this early in the day. Stop it. Get help. Sheepy: Harley: I don't need help, but thank you for the recommendation. Sheepy: Harley: Once again, I shouldn't have talked about this, so I won't bring it up in thr future. Arsé-kun: Impey: Let's make a depression club! I'll make jackets! Sheepy: Harley: I'm not depressed. Arsé-kun: Impey: It'll be open to everyone! Sheepy: Harley: Why should I join if I'm not depressed? Arsé-kun: Impey: So there's a time and place to say stuff without ruining the mood! *he throws confetti. where did he get confetti. when did he. Van ignores it entirely* Sheepy: Harley: I'm not interested. I've already stated my feelings on the matter. There's no purpose in ever repeating them. Arsé-kun: Impey: That's fine too! Sheepy: Harley: It's a waste of time. I should be getting ready to go out. *He gently shifts Shaggy off of his lap before getting up* I have to get ready. Arsé-kun: Watson: Wise decision. I will join you. Sheepy: *Harley rushes out...* Sheepy: Sheepy: Huh, just like you were saying, Randy. Arsé-kun: Randy: For once, I was right about something. Sheepy: Sheepy: You're usually right. Arsé-kun: *watson grumbles about Harley leaving much too fast, dragging himself up to follow* Arsé-kun: Randy: That is a first. Sheepy: Sherlock:??? Sheepy: *Harley shouts from the entrance, "I'm going out, Watson!" before slamming the door behind him. slow down harley* Arsé-kun: Watson: Getting ready, he says, leaving entirely! Good lord. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's just his way of leaving uncomfortable situations. Sheepy: Sheepy: He always does that! Sheepy: Iris: I could chase after him! He couldn't have gone far! Arsé-kun: Watson: This is a Holmes you're talking about, dear. He's gone. Sheepy: Iris:...Does he...does he even know how to get there...? Arsé-kun: Watson: I should hope so. Sheepy: Iris: Oh dear....um... Sheepy: Iris: He should be okay! Arsé-kun: Watson: If he isn't, he'll come home wearing a cone of shame. Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... Like I was saying! Sheepy, hold down the fort! Sheepy: Sheepy: Okay, sure. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Then I'll be off! I'll probably be back on Monday, if I'm lucky. Sheepy: Sheepy: Have fun with that. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I fully intend to! ... Sherlock, please get up so I can be an evil gentleman thief. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Fantastic question! It is Friday. Sheepy: Sherlock: Ah...so four days. Sheepy: Sheepy: Three, including today. Sheepy: Sherlock: Friday, Thursday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's- that's not- Arsé-kun: Arséne: Sherlock? I just lost brain cells listening to that. Sheepy: Sherlock: What!? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Consider the calendar. Sheepy: Sherlock: Calendar.... Sheepy: Sherlock: ...........!? Sheepy: Sherlock: I don't look at calendars! Arsé-kun: Delly: Start looking! Sheepy: Sherlock: Alright. Sheepy: Sheepy: But... wait a minute! How'll I watch over the office if I'm out with Iris? Arsé-kun: Arséne: You know what I meant to say! You don't need 24/7 surveillance with all the people around. Sheepy: Sheepy: Great! Arsé-kun: Randy: Where are we going, exactly..? Sheepy: Iris: Good question. Arsé-kun: Impey: Ehh? We don't even know yet? Sheepy: Iris: What about the museum? Arsé-kun: Impey: Oh! I've wanted to go there! Sheepy: Iris: Let's go, then! Arsé-kun: Randy: Is it close...? Sheepy: Iris: It's not far, but it isn't walking distance. Sheepy: Sheepy: So it's far. Sheepy: Iris: It's not far! Arsé-kun: Randy: If we can't walk, how are we going about it? Sheepy: Iris: I don't know. Sheepy: Sheepy: I can drive but we don't have a car. Sheepy: Iris: Since when could you- Arsé-kun: Randy: .... Since he got behind the wheel of a car and worked it out. Sheepy: Sheepy: I've been behind the wheel multiple times! Sheepy: Iris:... Sheepy: Iris: Does- Sheepy: Sheepy: Shh, don't ask questions. Arsé-kun: Randy: Yes. Sheepy: Iris: I was going to ask if Luppie knows. Sheepy: Iris: But you're bad at keeping secrets so he has to. Arsé-kun: Randy: The answer is still yes. So is your next question. Sheepy: Iris: Is he a reckless driver? Sheepy: Sheepy: O-oh, y-yeah, as reckless as they come! Arsé-kun: Randy: You drive slower than my grandmother. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm such a daredevil, just like Ar- oh, shut up! Sheepy: Iris: Huh? Arsé-kun: Randy: I'll consider it. Sheepy: Sheepy: You're the one who can't keep secrets! Sheepy: Sheepy: I can keep secrets! I keep tons of them! Arsé-kun: Randy: If we wanted to get there today, you driving would not improve matters. My driving is equally as bad. Sheepy: Iris: I've never driven before. Arsé-kun: Impey: I have! It's not too bad! Sheepy: Iris: Sherly has shown me how to fix cars, but that's my only experience with them. Arsé-kun: Van: It's not difficult. It's other people that make it hard. Sheepy: Iris: Huh? Sheepy: Sheepy: I'd drive at a normal speed if drivers weren't so aggressive. Arsé-kun: Impey: It's hard to drive when other drivers are jerks, I guess? I mean, yeah.. Arsé-kun: Randy: And because no one has said it- Do not trust Lupin driving a vehicle. I already feel sick thinking about it. Sheepy: Sheepy: See, this is why I'm trying to avoid learning from him. Arsé-kun: Delly: .. You're all still here?? You're so slow! Sheepy: Sheepy: Okay, fine, let's go then. Arsé-kun: Van: I suppose the bus is an option? Or the monorail. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, yeah, true. Sheepy: Sheepy: Let's go that way, then! Sheepy: *And so, they head out!* Arsé-kun: *but which way are they going??* Sheepy: *By the bus!* Arsé-kun: *is it at least a double decker bus* Sheepy asked the lost sheep to choose between yes and no. The lost sheep chose: no Sheepy: *yes. ignore chatzy. it is a double decker bus* Arsé-kun: *hooray!* Sheepy: *They eventually get to the museum!* Arsé-kun: Impey: \o/ *hooray* Sheepy: Sheepy: We're here! Arsé-kun: Van: And without casualties. Impressive. Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah, somehow. Arsé-kun: Randy: ughhhh.. I'd rather be one right about now. *he just caught up, just now, because he's makin' his way downtown, walkin' slow, motion sick flow, and he's dying DADADA DA DAAAA* Sheepy: Sheepy: You gotta go out sometimes. How're you going to become a phantom thief like this, eh? Arsé-kun: Randy: By not taking public transportation.. I'll just walk.. Sheepy: Sheepy: Uh, yeah, good luck with that! Arsé-kun: Van: If anyone has noticed, we've already been ditched. Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh!? Arsé-kun: Impey: *he waves from over there, on the museum line. bc iris needs adult supervision* Sheepy: *Sheepy rushes over to Impey* Arsé-kun: *as does Van, who drags Randy with him* Arsé-kun: *they eventually get in! far faster than getting in normally takes. is this the real life? or is this fantasy? da da da other words i dont know reality OPEN YOUR EYES, LOOK UP TO THE SKY AND SEEEE* Sheepy: Sheepy: Wow, that was shorter than I'd expect. Arsé-kun: Impey: Was it? Sheepy: Iris: Let's go, let's go! Sheepy: Sheepy: Slow down, the exhibits aren't going anywhere. (Yet.) Arsé-kun: Randy: *he glances at Sheepy* Sheepy: Sheepy: What? Arsé-kun: Randy: Oh, I thought you were going to say more. Sheepy: Sheepy: No. Arsé-kun: Randy: Let's just hope none of the exhibits get up and leave. Sheepy: Sheepy: Huh! Sheepy: Sheepy: Dinosaurs only do that when they're alive. Arsé-kun: Randy: Or so we hope. Arsé-kun: Impey: What are we saying? The exhibits are alive? Gee, I sure hope not! Sheepy: Sheepy: I hope not! Sheepy: *Iris has already run off.* Arsé-kun: *and Impey goes to chase after her. She's gotta be lookin' at something interesting too!* Sheepy: Iris: Barby, look at this dinosaur! It's little! Arsé-kun: Impey: Oh, it is! Why's it so small? Sheepy: Iris: Good question! Sheepy: Iris: Maybe being small was beneficial to it. Sheepy: Iris: Or maybe it was a baby! Arsé-kun: Impey: Maybe both? Sheepy: Iris: Oh, maybe! Sheepy: Iris: Which dinosaur is your favorite? Sheepy's is the velociraptor, but I think they're creepy. Sheepy: Iris: I like the triceratops. Arsé-kun: Impey: I like the feathery flying ones! The uh.. Not the pterodactyl, that's not it. Sheepy: Iris: Well, I guess it's the velociraptor. He stares really hard at it every time we come here before wordlessly leaving, but he claims his favorite is the - it starts with an a, right? Arsé-kun: Impey: Yeah! Sheepy: Sheepy: My favorite is the archaeopteryx, don't tell lies. Arsé-kun: Impey: That's it! That's the bird! Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah. Sheepy: Sheepy: They're talented. Arsé-kun: Impey: They're probably super cute, too... Sheepy: Sheepy: And soft! Arsé-kun: Impey: When will we get the real Jurassic park? I'd pay real money for it, if I had any! Sheepy: Sheepy: Maybe we shouldn't ask for that. Arsé-kun: Impey: All herbivores, no t-rex, final destination Sheepy: Sheepy: Archaeoptryx was a carnivore. Arsé-kun: Impey: Then just don't let it near the herbivores! Issue solved! Sheepy: Sheepy: What about people? Arsé-kun: Impey: If people can keep pet crocodiles, I think a big bird wouldn't be that difficult! Sheepy: Sheepy: I guess! Sheepy: Sheepy: Let's keep looking. Arsé-kun: Impey: Yeah, lets not just stay here. Sheepy: *Sheepy and Iris keep looking.* Arsé-kun: *Impey stays with them. Van occasionally joins them, but he's not really a fan of being in a big group* Arsé-kun: *Randy does eventually catch up. having gone to get a snack and coffee. His sociability meter has been refilled!* Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, there you are! Sheepy: Iris: Abby! Look at this one! It looks like a dog! We should bring Herly eventually. Arsé-kun: Randy: I just learned some moths can ruin a bat's echolocation by vibrating their genitals, how is everyone else doing? I formally dislike the given information. Sheepy: Sheepy: Wh... Sheepy: Sheepy: Thanks, JK Rowling. Arsé-kun: Randy: Listen, implying wizards reguarly shiat themselves is on a different level than moths wiggling their moth dicks. Sheepy: Sheepy: Hey, I've got an idea. Arsé-kun: Van: It's both of you not speaking. *he looks back to Iris* It does. Sheepy: Sheepy: Sherlock met with Merlin, right? Sheepy: Sheepy: Let's ask Merlin if JK Rowling is right. Arsé-kun: Randy: You can't just ask a wizard if they shit themselves. The answer is generally no anyway. Sheepy: Sheepy: We need to tell her she's wrong on Sherlock's official twitter. Sheepy: Iris: If you post bad things off of Holmesies's account because he never logs off and Daddy and I are the main ones who manage it, I'll tell Daddy. Sheepy: Sheepy: You would think that Merlin is senile, anyway. Arsé-kun: Randy: I don't know about that. Moon incubi don't become senile. At least, not that I am aware of. Sheepy: Sheepy: He's a moon incubus? Arsé-kun: Randy: Something like that. Arsé-kun: Impey: :D ? *you've lost him at least twice in this discussion. the air vent is more interesting* Sheepy: Sheepy: Wait, do you not know about Merlin, Impey? Arsé-kun: Impey: I sorta do, yeah. Sheepy: Sheepy: He's part Incubus. Arsé-kun: Impey: I got that part. Arsé-kun: Impey: Wild. Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah. Arsé-kun: Impey: Y'know what's pretty wild? Eggs. Just... Develop outside of your mom's body. That's pretty wild. Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah, dinosaurs had those. Arsé-kun: Impey: But speaking of! *he tilts his head back a bit* Somethin' smells like eggs, or is it just me? Sheepy: Sheepy: Uh? Sheepy: Sheepy: No. Arsé-kun: Impey: Wait, hold on! It's not me. *and he beelines accurately. bees do not go in straight lines. Have you seen bees? They go every which way, which Impey does while honing in on a single target* Hey! Egg! Sheepy: Eggs: *He jumps, whirling around in a dramatic motion and placing his hand over his heart with one smooth stroke* You startled me... Arsé-kun: Impey: Oops, sorry! I thought you'd have heard me! Sheepy: Eggs: *He looks down, embarrassed* I'm afraid I didn't. Arsé-kun: Impey: Oooooops! But how're you doin', bud? Sheepy: Eggs: *He looks up from the ground again, making almost direct eye contact* I'm fine. What about you? Arsé-kun: Impey: Nope, came with a group to get out of the house. WBU? *but he, like, said the words, not the letters* Sheepy: Eggs: Oh, I'm here so I can have more to talk about. Arsé-kun: Impey: It sure is good for that! Arsé-kun: *in the distance, randy can be heard saying "i am a higher being of pure anxiety”* Sheepy: Eggs: Yes, it is. Arsé-kun: Impey: Like, uhh... Some moths can mess up sonar. That's kinda neat. Sheepy: Eggs: Well, wouldn't they sacrifice other capabilities by specializing in one? Arsé-kun: Impey: I mean, sure, but would you really need other ones if you only deal with the one thing? Sheepy: Eggs: That's true. Sheepy: *A man in a suit, visibly panicked, knocks into Impey while rushing past. Rather than apologizing, he keeps going and exits through a door he certainly isn't allowed through. The nearby security guard follows him at a calm pace.* Arsé-kun: Impey: Looks like someone brought their keys through a metal detector. Sheepy: Eggs: Yes, that's likely. Sheepy: Eggs: Doesn't it make you curious? Arsé-kun: Impey: Sure, but it ain't our business. Sheepy: Eggs: That's true. I wouldn't want to get in-...Do you smell that? Sheepy: Eggs: Now I really don't want to get involved. Arsé-kun: Impey: *he tilts his head back a bit, again* ... Loud and clear, I do. It's still not our business... But it might be if we don't do anything. Sheepy: Eggs: *He heads for the door the panicked man exited through* Arsé-kun: *Impey follows him, looking around. Where's the other guards, anyway? Lunch break??* Sheepy: *Eggs, without any concern for safety, exits through the door, only to be greeted by the sight of the man in the suit bleeding out on the ground from two clean, calculated cuts on his throat, and the "guard" hovering over him with bloody metal claws. The guard looks up upon hearing them, his eyes briefly widening* Arsé-kun: *Impey just looks towards Eggs, raising his eyebrows. He's absolutely going to do something or other* Sheepy: Guard: I knew I should've been pashient. Sheepy: Guard: Lissen. Yeh can't tell ahnyone 'bout dis. Sheepy: Guard: I'll be on yeh 'n a flash if yeh do. So shut yer trap. Sheepy: Eggs: But you- Sheepy: Guard: Yer on th' list of people I can't kill, b't yeh can't f'llow instr- orders. Arsé-kun: *impey, meanwhile, has taken a step back and has lowered himself down like a track-running cat. or some shit. idk. but hes Clearly Not Important* Sheepy: Guard: *He slowly begins lifting up the body while stepping back* Sheepy: Guard:...'Ve goht a b'tter idea. Sheepy: Guard: Come wif me, both of yeh. Sheepy: Eggs: You can't possibly expect us to...! Arsé-kun: Impey: Aaaand if I don't wanna? Sheepy: Guard: I'll kill yeh, 'n everyone yeh luv. Sheepy: Guard: 'Cept fer yeh, Robert, I can't do anyfin' 'bout yeh. Arsé-kun: Impey: 'Ey, you'd have to catch me first! Sheepy: Guard: Yer luv ones that fast? Arsé-kun: Impey: You gonna make it that far? Arsé-kun: *Impey's really, really not happy about any of this, but a man is Dying here! He's saved up confidence for years just for this moment! And most of it is gone already. Yikes. He manages to, at least, bare his fangs and get out a low hiss. Is this scary???? He really hopes so!!!* Sheepy: Guard: Yer like Robert, eh? Sheepy: Eggs: I can't say I know you. Sheepy: Guard: *He's watching Impey closely* 'f yeh do what I say, yer safety is more likely. Sheepy: Guard: I really don't want t' 'urt yeh. Arsé-kun: Impey: *he recognizes that his intimidation has failed, and just stops bothering. He doesn't get back up, though- He's holding that position* Sheepy: Guard: I've tried 'gain 'nd 'gain. Sheepy: Guard:...Well. One lass shot. Robert. Yer friend's gettin' in th' way of yer papa's orders. Sheepy: Eggs:... Sheepy: Eggs: If it's just him, I'll go willingly. I was headed in that direction before this. Arsé-kun: Impey: Ehhhhh??? Sheepy: Eggs: I don't like admitting it, but this is normal. Arsé-kun: Impey: Given who you are, yeah, of course, but.... *he gestures to the scene. he's really got no idea what to do about this.* Sheepy: Guard: Don't worry 'bout it. Sheepy: Guard: 'E'll be up 'nd runnin' 'round wifin th' 'our. Arsé-kun: Impey: *he is... very visibly confused* Sheepy: Guard: I was 'bout t' deal wif 'im fer good, but yeh int'rupted me. Sheepy: Eggs:...*He clenches his cane tightly* You really shouldn't be so open about it. Arsé-kun: *Impey's voice has mysteriously been replaced with the distinct sound of a metal baseball bat meeting a humanoid skull. How strange!!!* Sheepy: Eggs: You could've gone about it any other way than that! Sheepy: *The guard strolls over and lifts up Impey* Arsé-kun: *he gets 0 resistance. Impey's going to be feeling that in the morning.* Arsé-kun: ?: Yous was taking far too long. *our new mystery man moves in. when did he even show up?* Robert, you damn well know better. Get your ass home, before I send it there. Sheepy: Guard: Boss, what d'we do 'bout th' body? Th' vocal cord's b'n cut, so 'e sh'd be 'armless. Sheepy: Guard: Can't give orders like that. Arsé-kun: ?: Leave 'em. Someone else can deal with it if they wanna. If we're real lucky, we'll get one 'ell of a show. Sheepy: Eggs: I'd appreciate it if you didn't injure my friends, threatening me aside. Arsé-kun: ?: Then they shouldn't have been a pain in th' ass. Sheepy: Eggs: He didn't know. Arsé-kun: ?: Sure does now! Sheepy: Guard: Go on, Robert! Go on 'ome! Yeh don't wanna be caught related t' this mess. Sheepy: Guard: We'll come wif 'im, right? Arsé-kun: ?: yeah, eventually. Now or later, I don' care. We did our job. I'm just gonna stick t'see if anythin' else happens. Sheepy: Eggs: I don't trust you with my friend. Arsé-kun: ?: Yer not supposed to. Longer you take, more likely sumthin's gonna happen. Sheepy: Eggs: Are you threatening me? Sheepy: Guard: Go, go. Arsé-kun: ?: Not you, just this one. So skedaddle! Sheepy: *Eggs heads home, visibly angry for once* Arsé-kun: *Welcome home, Eggs!! Smiley and Todd are nowhere to be seen. Neither is anyone else. At least, not immediately.* Sheepy: Eggs: Where is everyone...? Sheepy: Eggs: Is everyone out...? Arsé-kun: Mori: Not at all, Robert. *he wheels out into the lobby, and stops to look at Eggs' face* ... Moran gave you trouble, didn't he? Sheepy: Eggs: He bashed my friend's head in with a metal bat and then threatened me with further harm against my friend if I didn't go home. Arsé-kun: Mori: *he groans, loudly, and puts his head into his hands* He keeps making this far more complicated than need be. Now we have to address additional threads.. That bat is going through his skull this evening. Sheepy: Eggs: On top of that, his lackey said much more than what should've been said. Sheepy: Eggs: I don't quite understand what he was going on about, but we ended up witnessing him murdering someone who would apparently get up later. Arsé-kun: Mori: I told Moran the boy was a bad fit for the job.. But yes, they likely would. That part was correct. Arsé-kun: Mori: ... And to address your confusion, this marks your first time meeting dear Jack. Moran refused to let him meet you. Some nonsense about bias out in the field. Sheepy: Eggs: Jack? I don't recognize the name. Sheepy: Eggs: I do know that you can't afford to be biased in this field. People have specialized uses. They shouldn't diverge from those uses. Sheepy: Eggs: By having biases, you risk ruining a perfect plan. Sheepy: Eggs: Oh, speaking of which, I finished casing the statue. Sheepy: Eggs: There's a huge weakness in the security during lunchtime. It's positioned somewhat close to the exit as well, making for easy escape. However, if Moran doesn't get this murder scene cleared up before an actual witness appears, the museum in general may be shut down. Sheepy: Eggs: Concerningly enough, I saw the Phantom there as well, and I overheard discussion of him casing the "velociraptor". It's unclear if this means the statue or the fossil, but he has targeted this museum as well. We might need to make a move before he can, because otherwise they might strengthen the security to unmanageable levels. Arsé-kun: Mori: Lets go one at a time. Your statement on biases is entirely correct. Moran just insists you or Jack would act on bias. Arsé-kun: Mori: The security weakness I have known about for quite a while. This is not a new thing. *he rolls his eyes* The media claimed if anything else went missing, the issue would be resolved. It's been years. Arsé-kun: Mori: Next, try to open communication. We can't be clashing over something in the field. Arsé-kun: Mori: And finally, about Jack. You have met- He is just disguised as the mailman in most instances. Arsé-kun: Mori: Does that answer all of it? Sheepy: Eggs: Yes, thank you. Sheepy: Eggs: The phantom lives with Sherlock Holmes. Arsé-kun: Mori: Which one? They both do, but you'll need to be more specific. Sheepy: Eggs: Sherlock Holmes, not his brother who ... goes by Herlock Sholmes? Sheepy: Eggs: But they live together, so it doesn't matter. Arsé-kun: Mori: No, no. Which Phantom? Sheepy: Eggs: There's multiple? Arsé-kun: Mori: That's right. Sheepy: Eggs: He's a teenager with curly hair. Arsé-kun: Mori: The younger of the two, then. Sheepy: Eggs: Is it a father and son sort of thing...? Sheepy: Eggs: Or is the other phantom someone close to his age but a little older? Arsé-kun: Mori: The former, but I'm unsure if they ever worked together. Sheepy: Eggs: I haven't seen any mention of it. Arsé-kun: Mori: Of course not. Most believe they are a single entity. Sheepy: Eggs: There's power in that. Arsé-kun: Mori: There certainly is. Sheepy: Eggs: Anyway, communication will be difficult. Sheepy: Eggs: Holmes doesn't think you're active anymore. Sheepy: Eggs: Although... Arsé-kun: Mori: I would prefer he did not know how active I actually am. Sheepy: Eggs: With Jack and Moran's presentation today, there's no possible way Holmes is clueless. Sheepy: Eggs: If that's how they always are. Arsé-kun: Mori: It is not. It is usually a fast job, in, out. Sheepy: Eggs: Yes, well, he should account for how strong the smell of blood is in the future. Arsé-kun: Mori: Then they got sloppy. I will address the matter. Sheepy: Eggs: Alright, thank you. Sheepy: Eggs: Impey's friends will worry. What do we do? Sheepy: Eggs: I can come up with a lie, but I don't have any way to contact them. Arsé-kun: Mori: You have absolutely no contact with anyone in relation? Sheepy: Eggs:...Ah! Maybe Mycroft! Arsé-kun: Mori: He will do. Sheepy: Eggs: Hopefully he's available...ah, texting will leave a trail, but... Arsé-kun: Mori: You did no crime yourself- No action can be taken on you. Sheepy: Eggs: That's true. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] Do you have access to any of your brothers' numbers? Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Eggs] Of course. Do I need to send one of them to eat the crime? Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] No, there's no crime. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Eggs] There's always crime, but what is it? Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] Can you pass on the message that Impey is okay and he's just fixing something that's broken for us? Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Eggs] I certainly can. To whom is this directed to? Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] Any of his friends. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] I don't know if either one is friends with him. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] I don't think Sherlock is considering he broke his hand punching a wall out of pure rage directed towards Impey. Arsé-kun: Mycroft?: [text: to Eggs] Fair knowledge, but it is not in character for the other, either. Arsé-kun: Mycroft?: [text: to Eggs] Father left his phone unattended, but I will ask the most adjusted of them. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Mycroft] Finis? Arsé-kun: Finis: [text: to Eggs] Correct. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Finis] Please take care. Mycroft too. Arsé-kun: Finis: [text: to Eggs] Of course. Don't die. Sheepy: Eggs: [text: to Finis] Thank you. Sheepy: Eggs: It's up to Mycroft now. Arsé-kun: Mori: This may take a while, or may not. Arsé-kun: Mori: While you were doing that, I've gotten good news and bad news. Sheepy: Eggs: What is it? Arsé-kun: Mori: The good news are: Your friend is okay, and the ghoul is properly dead. Sheepy: Eggs: Ah! That is good! ...But the bad news outweighs it, doesn't it. Arsé-kun: Mori: Questionably. The ghoul was put down by another party. It was still thankfully behind closed doors, but we can't let that get out. Sheepy: Eggs: That's a problem. Arsé-kun: Mori: The good news is the other party was the friends of your friend. Arsé-kun: Mori: But still in public. Sheepy: Eggs: If they release that information, it could link back to us. Arsé-kun: Mori: If they release that information, there is far more problems than just us. Sheepy: Eggs: People will know and intentionally seek them out? Sheepy: Eggs: Or will they feel more comfortable with their secret revealed and cause damage? Arsé-kun: Mori: If ghouls become public knowledge, what else will? Sheepy: Eggs: Vampires. Arsé-kun: Mori: And with that, everything else. It'll be utter chaos. Arsé-kun: Mori: And while I'd love to see it, I'd also like to survive it. Sheepy: Eggs: What was he thinking...? Arsé-kun: Mori: Who, Moran? Probably "Nothin' ever goes wrong, ever! I'm gonna suck the boss' dick so I don't get my ass whooped! Oooh, mr moriarty!" *and he groans* What a pain in the ass. Sheepy: Eggs: Oh, that's the exact opposite as how he is with me. Arsé-kun: Mori: So I hear. Sheepy: Eggs: I can't figure out why. Arsé-kun: Mori: He thinks you have no spine. Sheepy: Eggs:..What?? Do I really not...? Arsé-kun: Mori: You have spine. Just not in the way he would like. Sheepy: Eggs: Well, I don't really see a need to change myself just for him. Arsé-kun: Mori: And that's great. Sheepy: Jack: 'E's juss judgemental. Yeh can't please 'im. Sheepy: Eggs:...When did you arrive? Sheepy: Jack: Yer friend is 'ealin. Don't worry 'bout 'im. Sheepy: Eggs: That doesn't answer my question- ...hold on. please wash the blood off of yourself before somebody sees you! Arsé-kun: Mori: Who is going to see him? Me? Sheepy: Jack: Yeh 'ave a guess, Professor. 'E's recoverin from an 'ead injury. Sheepy: Jack: I brought 'im 'ere. Arsé-kun: Mori: .... Jack? Why? Sheepy: Jack: ? Arsé-kun: Mori: This would make it far easier to trace today's events back to us. Sheepy: Jack: Didn't know where 'is 'ouse was. Arsé-kun: Mori: You're lucky he has been here before. Sheepy: Jack: But 'e was injured, so I couldn't juss leave 'im. Sheepy: Jack: Lucky? Arsé-kun: *Mori explains how bringing a civ. here could have serious consequences. Impey is not a normal muggle civvie, so it's a bit better.* Sheepy: Jack:.... Sheepy: Jack: Yer all char'cters, yeh crim'nals. Arsé-kun: Mori: And yer not? Sheepy: Jack: Only 'cause 'f yeh. Sheepy: Jack: I wouldn't be a crim'nal if I 'ad the choice. I wanted t' be a cop. Arsé-kun: Mori: If it were entirely up to me, I would say go on ahead. Just don't turn us in for anything. Sheepy: Jack: I can't. Sheepy: Jack: Anyway, what yeh wanted is done. Arsé-kun: Mori: Much appreciated. ... Where is Moran? Sheepy: Jack:...?! Sheepy: *Jack slinks off wordlessly to look for Moran* Arsé-kun: Mori: No, no. Come back here. Sheepy: *Jack comes back.* Arsé-kun: Mori: If you don't know, that is fine. Sheepy: Jack: I don't. Arsé-kun: Mori: Fantastic. He's probably not here, then, which means I can say; Go do what you want to do, not what Moran wants to do. Sheepy: Jack: I'll consider it. Arsé-kun: Mori: Sure, you were made to be a fantastic killer, but nothing says you have to be- Oh, I was about to have a grand statement. Sheepy: Jack: Go on, I don't care a lick 'bout fancy, flow'ry language 'nd all that junk. Arsé-kun: Mori: All right, then. I'll be blunt. Arsé-kun: Mori: Rebellion can be a criminal act too. If you rebel against the criminal, it makes you the good guy. So fuck Moran, with claws, right down his throat. Do what YOU want! Sheepy: Jack: Well, I'll consider it. Arsé-kun: Mori: Fantastic. Now please clean up. I'm hungry just looking at this mess. Sheepy: Jack: *He slinks off again, this time in the direction of the shower* Sheepy: Eggs:....? Arsé-kun: Mori: ... You know, Robert, *he looks up towards Eggs* That applies to you as well. Sheepy: Eggs: I'm happy with my life currently. Sheepy: Eggs: I don't see any reason to change it. Arsé-kun: Mori: That's fine then. Just tell me if you do. I might be tied down to crime, but you're not. Sheepy: Eggs: Thank you. Sheepy: Eggs: I'll consider those words if I end up following my childhood dream. *He laughs a bit* But you don't have to worry about that. I'm not a child anymore. Arsé-kun: Mori: Maybe not, but you're still my child. *it's a good thing moran isnt here, this is so sweet it'd give his old ass diabetus* Sheepy: *Eggs appears pleased!* Arsé-kun: *Mori is pleased in return! This is, somehow, a functional family* Sheepy: *Crime keeps their bonds strong apparently. Unlike the Holmes brothers.* Arsé-kun: *they're brothers, not father and son. it's not the same!!* Sheepy: *true!* Arsé-kun: *but also, fleeing from a crime scene with high stakes is absolutely a bonding activity. clearly* Sheepy: *true!* Arsé-kun: *meanwhile, in the background, Impey's entered scene. He's staggering, and he's bloody- But nowhere near as bloody as Jack was. At least he's trying to clean himself up.* Sheepy: Eggs: ...You shouldn't be up! *He rushes over to Impey, moving to support him* Arsé-kun: Impey: ... Why not? Sheepy: Eggs: You're injured. I can escort you home if you want, but you shouldn't be walking around alone. Arsé-kun: Impey: ... That'd be nice. Sheepy: Eggs: Then I will. I know the way there, don't worry. Arsé-kun: Impey: ... Nnnnice. Sheepy: *Eggs heads out with Impey* Arsé-kun: *Impey eventually resumes his usual gait. This is a good thing. Balance and stability restored* Sheepy: Eggs: Are you feeling better? Arsé-kun: Impey: Yeah, gettin' there. Thanks, bud. Sheepy: Eggs: *He appears surprised. He's being thanked!?* ...You're welcome. Sheepy: Eggs: I know this is a lot to ask from you after what happened today, but... Sheepy: Eggs: If you could keep any information you may have heard within the household a secret, I'd appreciate it. Arsé-kun: Impey: ... All I heard was the part about doing what you wanted, or something. But yeah, o'course, it'd be the least I could do. Sheepy: Eggs: Thank you. Arsé-kun: Impey: But I did remove 'is vent filter..! Have fun with bugs in th' summer, sergeant! Sheepy: Eggs: Ahahah, it'll be nice to see him annoyed! Arsé-kun: *a semi-silenced gunshot is heard! but it sounds more like a t-shirt cannon? Also, Impey's nearly hit with a t-shirt* Arsé-kun: *Impey yells and nearly falls over himself* Arsé-kun: Van: I found him. *and he moves into view, with a tshirt gun on his shoulder. where did he buy that. who LET him buy that??* Sheepy: Eggs: *He steadies Impey before loooking to Van* Watch out for where you're shooting that! Sheepy: Iris: Barby! You’re okay! We were really worried...! Sheepy: Sheepy: Don’t go off alone like that agai- ... Why’re you bloody? Do you need help standing? Arsé-kun: Impey: I, er. ... Did you know baseball bats hurt a lot? Arsé-kun: Impey: I mean, I kicked the guy's ass but Yeowch. Sheepy: Sheepy: This wimpy looking guy hit you with a baseball bat? Sheepy: Iris: Sheepy, you shouldn't say stuff like that, even if it's true! Arsé-kun: Impey: No, no!! Not Robbie! Some big, military looking guy... Arsé-kun: *in the bg, randy retrieved the tshirt. he wanted that!* Sheepy: Sheepy: What? Sheepy: Sheepy: Did you see him, Van? Arsé-kun: Van: I may have, prior to Barbicane vanishing into thin air. Sheepy: Eggs: ........ (That idiot acts like he's all that, and yet, he can't even conceal his presence...!) Sheepy: Sheepy: Where? Arsé-kun: Van: Back at the museum. Sheepy: Eggs: (He's lucky that Dad doesn't just end him with this level of-) Sheepy: Sheepy: Did anyone else see him? Sheepy: Eggs: I didn't. Arsé-kun: *Impey turns and looks at Eggs. He looks utterly perplexed* Sheepy: Eggs: I'll keep my eye out for anything out of the ordinary. Arsé-kun: Van: That would be great. Sheepy: Eggs: Impey, did you want me to follow you home, or should I go home now? Arsé-kun: Impey: Head on back, bud. You might need a clean up in aisle seven. Sheepy: Eggs: I'll be going then. I hope you recover quickly. Arsé-kun: *impey gives him a thumbs up!* Arsé-kun: Randy: Lets get going. Maybe the doctor will be back before us. Sheepy: Sheepy: Right. Arsé-kun: *watson is, in fact, not there before them. resident healer saint germain is in, though!* Sheepy: Sheepy: Hi, Impey's been injured- Sheepy: *From anofher room, Sherlock loudly announces, "I'M NOT PAYING YOU $300 FOR OBVIOUS INFORMATION!!" * Arsé-kun: Germain: That's very unfortunate. .. Please excuse the yelling. Sherlock has a guest. Sheepy: Sheepy: So if you could help, that'd be great. Arsé-kun: Germain: Me? Hmmm, I suppose I can this time. Sheepy: Sheepy: Thank you. Sheepy: *From the other room, Sherlock: OF COURSE IT'S MORIARTY! IT'S ALWAYS MORIARTY! I'm not paying you for that!!* Arsé-kun: *Impey drops onto the sofa. Germain heals him. Please wait 24 hours to heal again* Sheepy: Sheepy: What kind of guest...? Arsé-kun: Germain: A loud one. Sheepy: ???: Okay, you clearly don't trust my word that what I'm about to tell you will surprise you. Sheepy: ???: But it wasn't Moriarty. And also, someone died, yet didn't. Sheepy: Sherlock: What is that supposed to mean- Arsé-kun: Germain: *he goes and leans into the other office, before leaving again. ... He returns a moment later, and throws a wad of cash at the visitor* Stop being vague. Just say what you need to say. Sheepy: ???: Moran set up the hit. Sheepy: ???: He also hit your friend wirh a bat. Arsé-kun: Van: I'd like to hit him myself. *he's just passing through. he's just being a smartass.* Sheepy: ???: However, they left the hit victim alive but unable to speak. Arsé-kun: Van: If you mean the one at the museum, he's not living anymore. Sheepy: ???: Oh, good job! Sheepy: ???: He wasn't alone. Arsé-kun: Impey: *from the other room* He sure wasn't! Sheepy: ???: He had the Prof's kind of sort of other kid helping him! Jack. Sheepy: ???: Oh, wow! You're alive? Arsé-kun: Impey: It takes a lot more than a bat to keep me down! *he drags himself in, and onto a chair* Sheepy: ???: I guess it'd take more than that to stop a vampire, though! Arsé-kun: Impey: Who told you?! Sheepy: ???: Oh, I should've put that behind a pay wall... Sheepy: ???: Hmmmm? Sheepy: ???: Hmmmmmm?? Arsé-kun: Germain: *he moves in, and smacks the guest with another stack of cash* You stop that. Sheepy: ???: My previous client. Arsé-kun: Germain: How detailed! Sheepy: ???: Nyarlathotep. Arsé-kun: Germain: Oh? Ohoho? So I get to strangle a squid later this evening? How exciting. Sheepy: ???: Well, actually, the client was his dad. Arsé-kun: Germain: Close enough. Sheepy: ???: It kinda consisted of me letting myself be experimented on. Arsé-kun: Impey: Zat why you smell like chemical burns? Sheepy: ???: Well, no. Sheepy: ???: He already finished testing on me, I'm pretty sure. Maybe I should ask. He paid me a lot. Sheepy: ???: My body's been acting really weirdly since then, though....Hmmmm... Sheepy: ???: Nah, a few thousand is worth it. Sheepy: ???: Speaking of which, he made Jack. Arsé-kun: Impey: Makes sense to me. Sheepy: ???: You know. Arsé-kun: Impey: Nope! Don't know you either! Sheepy: ???: I'm Porlock. Arsé-kun: Impey: So you're the guy mr. military didn't like! Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, he loves me! Sheepy: Porlock: I help so much that I've got help to go around to everybody! Sheepy: Porlock: He loves that. Arsé-kun: *a moment of silence for everyone's lost IQ* Sheepy: Porlock: I work for Moriarty by the way. Wanna know anything about him? Sheepy: Porlock: New evil plans? Employment list? Current motivation? Relationship status? Star sign? Favorite color? Arsé-kun: Germain: *he sighs* Kid, go home. No one is paying you anymore. Sheepy: Porlock: You really don't want to know anything? Sheepy: Porlock: Like... let's see. How about this. Sheepy: Porlock: There's tons of ghouls like the ones you faced out there. Sheepy: Porlock: That's probably not surprising, right? Sheepy: Porlock: But here's the thing. Sheepy: Porlock: Jack's the one who picks off the ones who become big in the criminal world and end up being a threat to Moriarty. Sheepy: Porlock: Jack's a trained assassin, despite his mess-up today. He was made to kill. But he doesn't want to. He wants to uphold the law. Maybe you could talk him into betraying Moriarty? Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, I really should go now! Time is money- ah, one moment. *He begins inspecting the money given to him to check if it's legitimate.* Arsé-kun: Impey: You really should. There might be a mess back at your place! Sheepy: Porlock: Well, see you later! Make sure to have more money for me next time, okay? *He strolls out.* Arsé-kun: Germain: We're saved! Sheepy: Sheepy: Huh. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] WATSIN Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] What Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] MODIARTY'S GOON WAS HERE AGZKN Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] You'll have to give me the details once I'm back Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] THAT GUY LIED TO ME MORIARFH IS AXTIVE Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] How? The man's in a wheelchair. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] HE HAD S MAB HIT Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] ANX IMPDY WAS ATTA KED TOO Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] You're lucky I speak bad texting. How is he holding up? Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] hw seems okay Arsé-kun: Impey: *he peers over Sherlock's shoulder* Can I correct you real quick, pal? Sheepy: Sherlock:? Sheepy: Sherlock: *He passes the phone to Impey* Arsé-kun: Impey: [text: to Watson] Impey takin' over here! Guy who fucked me up wasn't supposed to do it! I heard Moriarty complaining about this guy doin this n that and whatever! And the hit was on a ghoul, or somethin. It's good tho! Saint G fixed me up and I kicked the guy's ass! Ok, giving the phone back now! o/ :P Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] This is useful information and I now have several additional questions. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] dont know, dont know, not hungry so i dont know Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] Fair answers. I'll find out for myself later on, then. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] i dont want this guy baci in action because i dont want to ebd up thrown iff a waterfall again Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] It won't happen again. Do you think I would allow that? Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] it happened tje fiest time Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] And no parties involved want a repeat. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] he has minions he can use Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] This implies you'll be near a waterfall for any reason. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] i wasnt going to before but if a trail leads me there... Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] i cant just abandon a case overvthat Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] Then you can send someone else to investigate. Like Nyarlathotep. I don't think he'd mind the falls much. Sheepy: Sherlock: [Text: to Watson] ...can i do fhat? Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] Whyever not? Arsé-kun: Watson: [text: to Sherlock] While you think that over, let me fetch Harley. Arsé-kun: *MEANWHILE* Sheepy: Harley: I, of course, was tired of hearing that I was unlucky and went out to prove everyone wrong. Sheepy: Harley: To prove this, I bought a scratchoff ticket. I scratched it off, only for it to reveal that it was a $1000 prize winner. I left, ready to show everyone the evidence I had, and crossed rhe road - legally, of course. During a red light when the crosswalk light said to walk, however, someone's car was defective and failed to stop, causing them to hit me. The scratchoff was destroyed and I was injured. Sheepy: *Okita bursts out laughing.* Sheepy: Harley: That wasn't the first time I've been hit by a car, unfortunately. Nor the last... Arsé-kun: Alex: Time to stay off the road. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, it's difficult to not cross the road. Sheepy: Okita: Man, your luck must be elsewhere. Sheepy: Okita: Wouldn't it be super unlucky if it were your love life that's lucky? Sheepy: Okita: Considering that you don't seem to care. Sheepy: Harley: Even if I were interested, I'm completely aware that I'd be unable to make any significant other happy. They'd be better off with someone else. Sheepy: Okita: Darn, I was hoping we could gossip about types. Arsé-kun: Alex: Types of what, exactly? Sheepy: Okita: Significant other. Sheepy: Okita: Like! My type is cute and easy to fluster. I want to be able to tease them and get a reaction that makes them even cuter. But, also, I want them to be a little dangerous, too. Sheepy: Harley:....That's oddly specific...Ah, mine... Sheepy: Okita: You have one!? Sheepy: Harley: Someone who loves me and accepts me for who I am. Someone who is honest. Preferably very intelligent. Kind. Sheepy: Okita: That's...boring. Sheepy: Okita: What about you, Alex? Arsé-kun: Alex: ... I've never thought about it. Arsé-kun: Alex: Should I have? Sheepy: Okita: I don't know. Arsé-kun: Alex: *he seems to be thinking* ... Any information I'd have about the subject is conflicting. I'm not entirely sure. Sheepy: Okita: Huh, too bad. Sheepy: Okita: Too bad. Sheepy: Okita: So, like, Sheepy: Okita: What if Bambi was remade into a live action movie? Arsé-kun: Alex: It would have no dialogue. Animals can't talk. Sheepy: Okita: You know. Sheepy: Okita: Parrots are animals. Arsé-kun: Alex: I've got no idea what that is. Sheepy: Okita: You don't know what a parrot is? Sheepy: Okita: They're, um... Arsé-kun: Alex: *he turns and waits patiently. this could take a while* Sheepy: Okita: Birds, but colorful and can speak English. Sheepy: Okita: They can speak other languages, too, but also they have beaks that're pointed. Arsé-kun: Alex: Why? Sheepy: Okita: Because they're smart. Arsé-kun: Alex: I see. Sheepy: Okita: They're sometimes kept as pets. Sheepy: Harley: How does Bambi not perish when fawns are so reliant on their mothers? Arsé-kun: Alex: Also a good question. Sheepy: Harley: I didn't need parental supervision past four years of age, but... Sheepy: Harley: Fawns need their moms. Arsé-kun: Alex: Is he actually a deer? Can we prove that? Sheepy: Harley: What? Sheepy: Harley: What else could he be? Sheepy: Okita: An alien. Arsé-kun: Alex: Changeling. Sheepy: Harley: Uh...no. Arsé-kun: Alex: Why not? Sheepy: Harley: I don't know. Sheepy: Okita: Wow, you like nonfiction, huh? Arsé-kun: Alex: I would prefer it. Sheepy: *Okita flips the channel.* Arsé-kun: *more cartoons* Sheepy: *He tries again.* Sheepy: Harley: I'm hoping for a new case soon. Arsé-kun: *more cartoons. there's three cartoon stations in a row. try a bit more* Sheepy: *Okita keeps trying.* Arsé-kun: Alex: I've got one for you. What the hell's in the lake? Arsé-kun: *he eventually gets to the discovery channel. good shit op* Sheepy: Harley: What? Sheepy: Okita: There we go! Arsé-kun: Alex: I said, "what the hell is living in the lake?" Sheepy: Harley: I, I don't know. Fish? Arsé-kun: Alex: Shit, I sure hope so. Sheepy: Harley: I really don't know what you're referring to. Arsé-kun: Alex: There's your next mystery. Sheepy: Harley: Not to be picky, considering how Sherlock gets all the cases, but... Sheepy: Harley: I'd...rather... a crime. Sheepy: Harley: Hmmm...if I formed my own detective agency, I'd get my own cases... Arsé-kun: Alex: .... Okay, I've got one. Figure out why none of the live-in doctors show up anymore. Have fun. Sheepy: Harley:...?... Sheepy: Harley:...I'll try. Arsé-kun: Alex: And don't bother asking any of the other doctors. They don't know either. Sheepy: Harley:.... Arsé-kun: Alex: ... Okay, fine, so the orange hair guy doesn't. Sheepy: Harley: Watson? Arsé-kun: Alex: Yeah, him. Sheepy: Harley: Yes, I doubt he would. Arsé-kun: Watson: Watson really doesn't. *he adjusts the files on the door bucket, and lets himself in. hello naughty children* Sheepy: Harley: Ah, Watson! Sheepy: Harley: How are you? Are you done for the day? Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm fine, thank you for asking. My shift's finally over. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, so we can go home? Arsé-kun: Watson: Yes. *he is equally as pleased about this* Sheepy: *Harley joins Watson. He's very happy!* Sheepy: Harley: Do you think Sherlock ate today? Sheepy: Harley: Lupin wasn't there to watch over him. Arsé-kun: Watson: Probably not. Sheepy: Harley:.....He likes, uh... Sheepy: Harley: I don't know. I was going to pick something up for him on the way home but we have food at home. Arsé-kun: Watson: We do, but I think we can get something else this once. Sheepy: Harley: I should eventually ask what he likes........ Sheepy: Harley: Whenever we go out to eat, he gets chicken. Sheepy: Harley: And your favorite is steak, isn't it? Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm glad you remembered that. Sheepy: Harley: I'd be an awful friend if I didn't. Sheepy: *Without the warning of footsteps or evidence of any kind of another presence, a voice behind them greets the two.* Sheepy: Jack: 'Ey. Sheepy: Jack: ...Yer not goin' t' th' lake, 're ye? Sheepy: *He's dressed as a policeman, but... something is off about it.* Arsé-kun: Watson: Not at all. Did something happen? Sheepy: Jack: Yes. Sheepy: Jack: You really don't want to go there. Sheepy: Jack: Yeh know, there's a lot 'f disappearances lately. They think it's connected t' th' lake. Sheepy: Harley: What happened, exactly? Sheepy: Jack: I found a dead body. Sheepy: Harley: AND YOU ABANDONED IT?? Arsé-kun: Watson: not again Sheepy: Harley: How incompetent can you be to just abandon the crime scene!? Sheepy: Jack: Uh? Sheepy: Jack: (...That a thing 'm not supposed t'do?) Arsé-kun: Watson: Are you TRYING to make a scene out of it, Holmes?? *he lightly hits Harley with his cane* Sheepy: Harley: I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sheepy: Jack: *He tilts his head* .....??? Sheepy: Jack: 'Olmes? Sheepy: Jack: Yer Sherlock 'Olmes? Sheepy: Harley: No, I'm not. Sheepy: Harley: Let me see the crime scene. Arsé-kun: Watson: You want to go alone? I won't stop you, but I'm not waiting. Sheepy: Jack: No. I might've considered 'f you were 'Olmes, but yer not. Sheepy: Harley: I'm a Holmes but not that one! Sheepy: Jack: I don't care. Arsé-kun: *Watson, meanwhile, is doing a look-over of the area. There's something lit up on the water, but it's probably just a floating light. for searching. like a buoy. shut up* Sheepy: Jack: I don't know a lick 'bout th' man, juss that 'e's got a tendency t' shove 'imself onto th' crime scene. Sheepy: Harley: (His ears twitched upon saying that...) Sheepy: Jack: 'nyway, you two sh'd 'ead on 'ome. Arsé-kun: *meanwhile, a big ol something has slowly appeared under the light. what the hell is that. what the fuck. its moving towards the shoreline oh my god* Sheepy: Harley:.....!? Sheepy: Harley: Watson, what is that!? Sheepy: Jack: I keep tellin' yeh! Sheepy: Jack: Go 'ome. Arsé-kun: Watson: It's certainly something. Lets... Not get involved just yet. Sheepy: Jack: Yes, go 'ome. Sheepy: Jack: Yeh don't wanna git 'nvolved. Arsé-kun: Watson: It does seem that way. Well, good luck with that. Sheepy: Jack: Go 'ome, go 'ome, I'll 'andle it. Sheepy: Jack: That's what cops 're fer. Sheepy: Harley: *He appears annoyed but instead turns to leave.* Sheepy: Jack: Eh, 'Olmes. Sheepy: Jack: Be careful. Sheepy: Jack: Yeh don't know what might juss come crawlin' outta th' darkness. You too, Watson. Sheepy: Harley:...Th...thanks? Arsé-kun: Watson: *he turns to leave with Harley, but pauses* To you as well. I recommend you get out of here as soon as you can. It may get chaotic around these parts. Sheepy: Jack: I'm used t' it. Sheepy: Jack: Yeh gotta be. Sheepy: Jack: That's a cop's job, isn't it? Arsé-kun: Watson: Understandable. *he lightly pushes Harley, like a "get going" move* But it certainly is. Stay safe. *and it's time to get the FUCK out of dodge. slowly.* Sheepy: *Harley does as told.* Sheepy: Jack:....! Sheepy: Jack:....(...Someone wants me to stay safe...)...thank you. Sheepy: *When Watson and Harley return home, they're greeted with awful violin playing.* Arsé-kun: Watson: Sherlock, please! Sheepy: Sherlock: *sigh* Sheepy: Sherlock: Moriarty is back... That annoying Porlock is back....my hunger is back... Sheepy: Sherlock: Even if you get rid of negatives in life, they always come back. Arsé-kun: Watson: Please stop speaking. I brought you dinner. Sheepy: Sherlock:..........*He begins playing again....* Arsé-kun: Watson: Let me repeat that. I have food! For you! Sheepy: Sherlock: *He stops and sits up* ?! Sheepy: *Harley seems to have his mind on other matters.* Sheepy: Sherlock: For me?! Arsé-kun: *Watson plops a bag on the table. That's a yes.* Sheepy: *Sherlock immediately opens the bag and looks in. Arsé-kun: *CHINKEN NUGITS* Sheepy: Harley:....... Sheepy: Sherlock:!!!! Sheepy: Sherlock: Thank you! Arsé-kun: Watson: Quite welcome Sheepy: *Sherlock begins enjoying the chicken nuggets.* Sheepy: Harley: That man earlier wasn't a cop, you know. Arsé-kun: Watson: oh, I know that. Sheepy: Harley: I don't want to guess, but... Sheepy: Harley: Didn't he look oddly similar to Moriarty? And his talking pattern reminded me of Moran. Arsé-kun: Impey: Ey, did'e talk like this? B'cuz boy I got a story fer youse two! Sheepy: Harley: He did. Scarlet eyes, white hair, lanky, slouching? Arsé-kun: Impey: Same guy! Oh, boy!! Arsé-kun: *and Impey explains what happened earlier* Sheepy: Harley: .....Hmm, so he's one of Moriarty's minions after all. Arsé-kun: Watson: But that.. Thing.. Was absolutely not Moriarty. Sheepy: Harley: It strikes me as something a certain someone would know about. Arsé-kun: Watson: I wholeheartedly agree, but I am not finding him. *he sits down and drops his cane.* Sheepy: Harley: Let's say, theoretically, that Nyarlathotep was associated with it. Then, by extension, Moriarty is associated with Nyarlathotep. Sheepy: Harley:...I don't want to think about that. Arsé-kun: Watson: Which means it's par for the course. Sheepy: Harley: Ugh, he really does have a foot in everyone's door. Sheepy: Nyar: I love being talked about. Why are we talking about me? Arsé-kun: Watson: What the hell is in the lake. Sheepy: Nyar:.... Sheepy: Nyar: Uh. Sheepy: Nyar: Hm. Sheepy: Nyar: A business partner. Arsé-kun: Watson: ... Dearie, please explain in more detail. Sheepy: Nyar: He kinda looks like a slug? Sheepy: Nyar: His name is Glaaki. Sheepy: Nyar: He can, uhh.. Sheepy: Nyar: How do I put this in simple terms a human would understand. Sheepy: Nyar: Turn people into zombies? Sheepy: Nyar: But...dead bodies. Arsé-kun: Watson: .... You know, suddenly, a lot of things make sense all at once. Sheepy: Nyar: So, uh... Sheepy: Nyar: Dad would give him dead bodies. Sheepy: Nyar: You say someone is working for him? Arsé-kun: Watson: I suppose I can understand that, but yes. The boy looked stunningly like Moriarty. Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, Jack! Sheepy: Nyar: Dad made him. Arsé-kun: Watson: So he probably works for your father and not Moriarty.. Sheepy: Nyar: He's like a clone of Moriarty, mixed with someone else. Sheepy: Nyar: Yeah, I haven't kept up with him. Sheepy: Harley: But he was with Moran, according to Impey. Arsé-kun: Watson: I'm not sure if I should be more glad that Moriarty is minimally involved or not. Arsé-kun: Impey: He was! But he didn't seem happy about it, no sir! Arsé-kun: Randy: Hold on!! *if there was a door, he would have slammed it open* Glaaki is still acting up?? This isn't a new thing! Arsé-kun: Randy: I helped Sheepy save a kid named Jack from him a bit back. D-- Lupin knows about it! But your descriptions say it's a different kid.. ... *and then he realized he was yelling* ... I'll shut up now! Arsé-kun: Watson: No, no, do continue. I do vaguely recall you and him mentioning a slug but I didn't think that was, well, like that! Sheepy: Harley:..? Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh yeah, he didn't look at all like Moriarty. *He pokes his head out from behind Randolph* Sheepy: Nyar: That does explain why Glaaki targeted him! Sheepy: Harley: Can't we have a normal case for once? Sheepy: Nyar: Really, just let Glaaki be. Sheepy: Harley: We dealt with both you and your father. Sheepy: Nyar: Yes, but... Sheepy: Nyar: I'm most like a human of the bunch. Sheepy: Nyar: I planned to lose from the very beginning. Sheepy: Harley: What?! You broke Sherlock's arm and put us all in danger countless amounts of times! Sheepy: Nyar: Someone else broke it and everything worked out well in the end. Don't bother Glaaki. Sheepy: Nyar: I'll talk to him. Arsé-kun: Randy: At least let me come with you, so you don't commit mass murder as the answer..! Sheepy: Nyar: I'm bored!!! Sheepy: Nyar: It's so boring being a good guy! Sheepy: Nyar: Let me have this. Arsé-kun: Randy: Okay, correction. Mass murder on the one's still alive. Everyone else is allll yours. Sheepy: Nyar: Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiineeeee.... Sheepy: Nyar: Man, you know.. Sheepy: Nyar: Harley has been asking for a normal case, right? Sheepy: Harley: Do not. Sheepy: Nyar: So, like... Sheepy: Nyar: You know... Arsé-kun: Randy: Please do not commit crimes to solve. Sheepy: Nyar: Why!? Sheepy: Nyar: Humans are no fun sometimes! Arsé-kun: Randy: Because then it's just the matter of cleaning up your mess again! Sheepy: Nyar: I want to see chaos! Sheepy: Nyar: Fine, fine, I'll deal with the Glaaki problem, but..! Sheepy: Nyar: But. Sheepy: Nyar: I'm not promising anything else. Sheepy: Nyar: Well then. Nyarlathotep, on the case! Sheepy: Nyar: Eh, wait... Arsé-kun: Randy: What Now?? Sheepy: Nyar: *He poses* DETECTIVE Nyarlathotep, on the case! Sheepy: Nyar: Ohh, I've always wanted to do that!! Arsé-kun: *Randy applies hands to face in LIBERAL amounts. it is audible* Sheepy: Nyar: I'm going now!! Toodles! *He rushes out* Arsé-kun: Randy: ... *he sighs and drops onto the sofa* Can't wait for the homicide reports. Sheepy: Harley: Great Sheepy: Sheepy: Wow. Arsé-kun: Randy: Fantastic. How do we sleep knowing he's out there, doing who knows what? Sheepy: Harley:....... Sheepy: Sheepy: Like a baby. Sheepy: Harley: ............... Arsé-kun: Randy: So waking up every hour and screaming? Sheepy: *Harley immediately grabs Sherlock's violin, plops down in the usual Sherlock lying down position, and begins playing a depressing, but at least pretty, song. Stress mode activate.* Sheepy: Sheepy: Heck yeah. That's how I sleep every night. Arsé-kun: Randy: I relate heavily. Sheepy: Sherlock: But at least the chicken nuggets tasted good! Sheepy: Harley: We're all going to be considered guilty of aiding and abetting because we knew but did nothing. Sheepy: Sherlock: Huh? Sheepy: Sherlock: Did something happen? Arsé-kun: Watson: We can't be guilty because we did not know his actual intentions. Issue solved. Sheepy: Harley: I'm going to die at an early age from that man. Sheepy: Sherlock: Uh? Arsé-kun: Randy: Nyar's being Nyar. So, the usual. Sheepy: Harley: Whether it's directly or indirectly. Arsé-kun: Randy: And Harley, your first mistake is treating him like a man. That's a cuttlefish, obviously. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh. Huh. Sheepy: Harley: He's man shaped. Sheepy: Harley: And, uh... Sheepy: Harley: He, he acts likea man. Sheepy: Harley: But his grin reminds me of... hmm. Sheepy: Harley: A predator grinning from amusement as he plays with his prey, mulling over how he can inflict as much pain as possible. Sheepy: Sherlock: Cuddlefish? Sheepy: Sherlock: You can't cuddle a fish. It'll die from lack of oxygen. Sheepy: Sherlock: It'll reverse drown. Arsé-kun: Randy: That's it, that's him-- Well, I suppose.. But I said cuttlefish. Arsé-kun: Randy: But calling him that annoys him the slightest bit, so of course I do it. Sheepy: Sherlock: Huh? Sheepy: Harley: Good. Sheepy: Sherlock: What's a cuttlefish? Sheepy: Harley: Sepia officinalis. Sheepy: Sherlock:........! Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh! Sheepy: Sherlock: Those octopus-like things! Arsé-kun: Randy: Yes, those. Sheepy: Sherlock: I know those. They look squishy. Sheepy: Sherlock: Do you think Nyar is squishy like octopi? Like...he can go through any gap so long as his skull can fit through it? Arsé-kun: Randy: Yes. Sheepy: *Harley hits a bad note, stops, and stares* Sheepy: Harley:......Is...he really. Sheepy: Sheepy: He's like a cat. Arsé-kun: Randy: He's like a cat. If he fits, he sits. But remember- He can change his skull. Sheepy: Harley:........ Sheepy: Harley:......I.... Arsé-kun: Randy: ... Also, jinx, get me a soda please. Sheepy: Sheepy: Aw! Sheepy: Sheepy: *He goes to the kitchen.* Sheepy: Sherlock: So! Sheepy: Sherlock: He can make his head a fish head? Reverse mermaid! Sheepy: Harley: Sherlock, what? Arsé-kun: Randy: Unfortunately, yes. There is an entire village of people exactly like that. It is horrifying. Sheepy: Harley: What!? Sheepy: Sherlock:....Reverse centaur! Arsé-kun: Randy: Haven't seen that yet. But a mantis could be called a centaur, technically, due to it's limbs.. Sheepy: *Sheepy returns with a soda and passes it to Randy before sitting down.* Arsé-kun: Randy: Thank you. Sheepy: Harley: *He's begun playing again. You know the worry music in old movies? It sounds like that.* Sheepy: Sheepy: No problem. Sheepy: Sherlock: He could make himself a double centaur! Sheepy: Harley:...Double? Sheepy: Sherlock: Top half is horse, bottom half is horse! Arsé-kun: Randy: Hey? I firmly dislike that. Sheepy: Harley: Sher-lock, that's just a horse! Sheepy: Sherlock: But it has human arms coming out of its shoulders! Sheepy: Harley: Watson, I'm being harassed! Arsé-kun: Watson: Sherlock? Do yourself a favor and look up 'double centaur' before making any suggestions. Sheepy: Sherlock: Huh? Sheepy: Sherlock: Do you think that, um, that a centaur and mermaid have ever met, fallen inlove, and had kids? Arsé-kun: Randy: ... Fuck, probably. Sheepy: Sherlock: One of their children is all human. Sheepy: Harley: And you're that child. Sheepy: Sherlock: EH??? Arsé-kun: Watson: It's possible, I suppose??- Harley, please. Sheepy: Harley: *He sticks his tongue out at Watson and keeps playing the violin. It's shifted to something more pleasant at least, but very mature Harley* Sheepy: Sherlock: Watson!! Sheepy: Sherlock: Am I adopted!? Am I a fish, horse, man combo?! Arsé-kun: Watson: I sure hope you aren't! Last I checked, you were human. Arsé-kun: Germain: Humans share over 90% of dna with bananas. Sheepy: Sherlock: I'm a banana!? Sheepy: Sherlock: F-fish horse banana human... Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he had come downstairs to greet everyone. he stops. Wisely goes back upstairs.* Sheepy: Harley: Lupin, come back. Arsé-kun: Randy: Eh? He's back already? Sheepy: Sherlock: Harley! You never told me- ow! Stop pushing your foot into my side... With that scary look on your face... Sheepy: Harley: You didn't notice? Sheepy: Harley: And stop being silly. You're scaring Lupin. Sheepy: Harley: Anyway, his footsteps are calculated and quiet. Sheepy: Harley: I'd instantly notice them. Sheepy: Harley: Furthermore, I heard them stop around the base of the steps, only for Sherlock to be, well, Sherlock. Arsé-kun: *And Arséne promptly throws open the front door, throwing flower petals everywhere. They're not rose petals- that shit stains* Arsé-kun: Arséne: Bonjooouuur! Sheepy: Harley: Thank you, Lupin. Sheepy: *Sherlock immediately rushes over and basically tackles Arsene in a hug.* Sheepy: Sherlock: I missed you!! Sheepy: Sherlock: It's been so looong...! Arsé-kun: Arséne: It's only been a few days..! *but he has accepted the tacklehug in it's entirety* Sheepy: Harley: It hasn't been that long. *He takes over the whole sofa with Sherlock gone. Comfy* Sheepy: Sherlock: It's still a long time! Sheepy: Sherlock: So long that Moriarty's minion was here and was asking for money...! Sheepy: Sherlock: Poorlock! My poor self! Arsé-kun: Arséne: I'm so sorry. What would I have done, though? Sheepy: Sherlock: Huh? Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, you're back. Sheepy: Sheepy: Welcome back. Arsé-kun: Arséne: What? Nothing else? Sheepy: Sheepy: What else did you want? Sheepy: Sherlock: You should hug him too!! Sheepy: Sheepy:....?? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Don't make me come to you! Sheepy: Sheepy: *He gets up and walks over to Arsene* Arsé-kun: *Arséne holds his arm out. Cmere you* Sheepy: *Sheepy hugs Arsene! Hello!* Sheepy: Sheepy: Welcome back. Arsé-kun: Arséne: :D! Thaaank you! *he hugs Sheepy back. he was waiting for this* Sheepy: Sheepy: You're welcome. Sheepy: Sherlock: Harley- Sheepy: Harley: I don't show physical forms of affection. Simply, I had, and have had, very little exposure to it, making it confusing to me. Sheepy: Harley: Hugging is an affectionate form of strangling. Arsé-kun: Randy: .... He's not wrong! Sheepy: Sherlock: You can learn now! Sheepy: Harley: Sherlock, you should know that there's no possible way he wants to hug me. Sheepy: Sherlock: I can - Sheepy: Harley: You have before and I felt every bone in my body crying out to me to escape your clutches. Sheepy: Sherlock: It's okay, Arsene. I can hug you for him. Sheepy: Harley: He didn't ask to hug me in the first place...! Arsé-kun: Arséne: No one has to hug anyone, it's fine..! Sheepy: Harley: The last time I attempted to do so, I was informed that I was most like a ragdoll. Sheepy: Harley: Further quotes: *He imitates Sherlock's voice* "when you're hugged, you should make sure to reciprocate it!" "It's scary when you just blankly stare them in the eye!" Sheepy: Harley: "Eh? I'm crushing you? The closer you hold someone, the better they know you love them! I love you a lot, so I'm holding you as close as I can!!" Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, I don't remember this at all. Sheepy: Sherlock: It's true though. Arsé-kun: *sanchan has exited scene. he did his part, got the results, that's it. it is time for tea* Arsé-kun: Watson: Debatable. Sheepy: Sherlock: What? Sheepy: Harley: I don't remember ever being hugged past that. Sheepy: Harley: "Now you can hug others and show your affection...! Eh? Why aren't you hugging me, Herlock?" Sheepy: Sherlock: Could I have been wrong this entire time?! Sheepy: Harley: You're trying to trick me into getting up so Lupin can sit down here. Sheepy: Harley: I'm not getting up. Arsé-kun: Arséne: If I want to sit there, I will. You're not in the way at all. Sheepy: Harley:...What? Sheepy: Harley: What is that supposed to mean... Arsé-kun: Arséne: It means I'll sit on my couch. Sheepy: Harley: But I'm here. Arsé-kun: Arséne: And? Sheepy: Harley: I won't move. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I will pay you one hundred dollars to fuck off of my sofa. Sheepy: Harley: I'm comfortable. Sheepy: Harley: Anyway, Sherlock took over it first. Sheepy: Harley: Besides, Lupin. Sheepy: Harley: *He imitates Lupin's voice* "If I want to sit there, I will. You're not in the way at all." Sheepy: Sherlock: $100 is a lot....! Sheepy: Harley: You make more than that easily. However, it's important to be thrifty. Sheepy: I feel like harley mostly gets cases that have a bit of dishonesty on both sides because he's less well known Sheepy: Sherlock: But... you always used to say: "Sherlock, if we could steal $100, we could do so much with it! That could feed us and clothe us! And...."...uh... ... ... Sheepy: *Harley plays the wrong note and looks over, wide-eyed* Sheepy: Sherlock: That's all I remember. When did you say that? Sheepy: Harley: I, uh, that's not exactly what I would say, but... that's from a while ago. Arsé-kun: *Arséne pulls out cash, counts it, strolls over, and smacks Harley with it before plopping on the couch arm* Sheepy: Harley: I don't want your money. *He does sit up though.* Arsé-kun: Arséne: Too bad, too sad. *he shoves it into Harley's pocket. Fuck you.* Arsé-kun: Arséne: Sure, go ahead. Sheepy: Harley: What song? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Up to you. Sheepy: Sherlock: *He sits down next to Arsene* Sheepy: Harley: *He begins playing the violin again.* Sheepy: Sheepy: You ever think about how, uh.. Sheepy: Sheepy: Nyarlathotep is out there doing who knows what? Arsé-kun: Arséne: I try not to. Sheepy: Sherlock: Arsene, what did you do while you were gone? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Oh, you know what I was doing. *and to Sheepy..* Would you like allowance now or later? Sheepy: Harley: It's stolen, isn't it. Sheepy: Sheepy: Whenever is most convenient. Sheepy: Sheepy: I want to discuss something soon. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Some of it is~ Arsé-kun: Arséne: Oh? Now would be fine then. Sheepy: *Sheepy walks over.* Sheepy: Harley:.... Arsé-kun: *Sheepy is handed a small wad of cash. Something is inside of it!* Sheepy: *Sheepy looks inside.* Arsé-kun: *it's a new lighter! it looks fancy* Sheepy: Sheepy:....?! Sheepy: *Sheepy is very pleased!* Sheepy: Sheepy: I love it. Sheepy: Sheepy: Hugging you and getting Arsene cooties on me was worth it after all! Sheepy: Harley: Mm. Lupin. Be careful when walking around. Sheepy: Harley: Moriarty's men have been out in force. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Horrible. Thank you for informing me. Sheepy: Harley: That cop earlier said something a little concerning... Arsé-kun: Arséne: How concerning? Sheepy: Harley: "If you were Sherlock Holmes, I'd let you see the crime scene." Sheepy: Harley:....Of course, the crime scene was the location of Glaaki... Sheepy: Harley: Was it just an act, or are they planning something? Arsé-kun: Watson: You stated you weren't Sherlock. I figured it made sense at the time. Sheepy: Harley: Well, yes. Sheepy: Sherlock: Glaaki? Arsé-kun: Randy: That's its name. Sheepy: Sherlock: ....The guard is named Glaaki? Sheepy: Harley: The slug. Arsé-kun: Randy: No. Glaaki is.. Well, yes. Sheepy: Sherlock: Sometimes I see slugs on the sidewalk. Arsé-kun: Randy: Bigger. Sheepy: Sherlock: Sometimes I see Harley inspecting slugs on the sidewalk. He'd be able to handle Glaaki if Glaaki is a slug. Sheepy: Harley: No Arsé-kun: Randy: Absolutely not. Sheepy: Sherlock: Is it that big? Arsé-kun: Randy: It would look like a submarine in a lake. .. Maybe even bigger. Sheepy: Sherlock:!? Sheepy: Sherlock: So the size of a thousand slugs. Arsé-kun: Randy: And add in a small army of undead cultists. Sheepy: Sherlock: So alive cultists. Sheepy: Harley: Zombies. Arsé-kun: Randy: Some might be alive, but it's unlikely. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh...we were too late? Arsé-kun: Watson: If this is the real cause to why others have been disappearing, then yes. We'd be far too late. Sheepy: Harley: I'm going to guess that he brought a dead body over to Glaaki.. Arsé-kun: Watson: Better an already dead person than a living one, at least? Sheepy: Harley: Hmmm... Sheepy: Harley:.... Sheepy: Harley: We could go ask- Sheepy: Sherlock: Absolutely not. Arsé-kun: Arséne: At this hour? Sheepy: Harley: Maybe in the morning. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I hate to suggest this? But it may be best if Sheepy and Randolph do it. They've encountered it before. Sheepy: Sheepy: Do what? Sheepy: Sheepy: Ask Moriarty? Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah, I don't mind. Sheepy: Sheepy: So, we should visit the museum soon. Sheepy: Sheepy: There's this fossil I want to show you. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Eh? Why? Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh, Harley isn't going to stop us. Sheepy: Harley: What? Sheepy: Sheepy: Let's steal it. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Count me in, Mouton! Sheepy: Sheepy: I already know the return address, too. Sheepy: Harley: We have more pressing matters. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Have you ever heard of de-stressing? It's fantastic. Sheepy: Harley: ...How is theft de-stressing... Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he just grins at Harley* Sheepy: Harley: It's incredibly stressful. Sheepy: Harley: What if you get caught and lose everything? Sheepy: Sheepy: Phantom thieves do not get caught. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Me? Get caught? In this town?? Sheepy: Sheepy: Phantom thieves catch everyone's attention. Arsé-kun: Watson: I personally recall the time someone here was caught, due to going after a person armed with an umbrella. Sheepy: Harley: *He reflexively begins rubbing his hand* I-I can't imagine who you're talking about. Sheepy: Sheepy:...Did...did you really... Arsé-kun: Arséne: I'm sorry for your loss. Umbrellas hurt quite a bit. Sheepy: Harley: I was desperate. Their purse was open- listen, I didn't deserve to be hit with an umbrella! Sheepy: Sheepy: I can't believe ace detective, law-abiding Harley Holmes is justifying his crime and getting upset over being punished. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Can I get this on recording? Sheepy: Harley: Oh, shut up! Sheepy: Harley: I don't steal anymore! Sheepy: Harley: I only did it because Sherlock and I had nothing...! Sheepy: Harley: It was a life-or-death situation, you know?! Arsé-kun: *Arséne nods and- wisely- shuts up* Sheepy: Sheepy: We've unlocked Harley's sad past by reaching rank nine of his social link. Sheepy: Sheepy: "The time I decided to devote my life to get umbrellas deemed as illegal weapons." Sheepy: Sherlock:??????? Arsé-kun: Germain: I'm surprised they aren't. One can easily kill with them. Sheepy: Sherlock: We had Watson ever since I can remember. Sheepy: Sheepy: Umbrellas can be used to protect yourself from bloodsprays. Sheepy: Nyar: If only I had an umbrella. *When did he enter? Anyway, he's absolutely soaked.* Arsé-kun: Germain: Did you have fun, Nyar? Sheepy: Nyar: I'm so cold. Sheepy: *Nyar begins shaking like a dog!* Arsé-kun: *Randy grabs an umbrella and opens it. Protection* Sheepy: *Sheepy joins Randy behind the umbrella* Sheepy: Nyar: So, you know. It went. Sheepy: Sheepy: eh? Well or poorly? Sheepy: Nyar: He was busy. Arsé-kun: Germain: ... With what, exactly?? Sheepy: Nyar: Cultists. Arsé-kun: Randy: ... Not too sure if that's more or less concerning. Sheepy: Nyar: Aaaaaaaand.... Arsé-kun: Randy: oh, no, there's more? *he lowers the umbrella* Sheepy: Nyar: *He lifts up the side of his shirt, revealing painful looking red marks* Arsé-kun: Watson: What did you get into. Sheepy: Nyar: I'm a ping pong ball. Sheepy: Nyar: I have at least three broken human ribs. Arsé-kun: Watson: Then sit the hell down, you idiot! Sheepy: Nyar: *He sits down where he's standing.* Sheepy: Nyar: I'll continue to bleed out internally until I bleed out onto your floor and permanently stain it with blood. Arsé-kun: Germain: Don't ask me. I used my daily healing already. Do it yourself. Sheepy: Nyar: Guess I'll human die on your nice flooring then. Arsé-kun: Watson: You can't human die if you aren't a human. Sheepy: *Nyar briefly drags himself out.* Sheepy: *A trail of black ooze shows where he once was.* Sheepy: *A few moments later, an octopus enters. hello octopus* Arsé-kun: *Germain leans down to scoop him up* Sheepy: *Nyar accepts this.* Sheepy: Nyar: (You know.) Sheepy: Nyar: (T-rexes lived above water.) Arsé-kun: Germain: (What does that have to do with anything.) Sheepy: Nyar: (And yet?) Sheepy: Nyar: (I saw a t-rex fossil down there with Glaaki.) Arsé-kun: Germain: (I wonder what he's up to.) Sheepy: Nyar: (I don't know.) Sheepy: Nyar: (I did see Jack. Why is one of Dad"s experiments helping Glaaki...?) Arsé-kun: Germain: That's a fantastic question. Arsé-kun: Germain: (Did your father offer him to Glaaki like the fool he is?) Sheepy: Harley: I almost want to look at it under a microscope... Sheepy: Nyar:........... Sheepy: Nyar: (HE WOULD.) Arsé-kun: Germain: ... We've determined Nyar's father probably gave Glaaki the assistance he currently has, like an utter fool. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh boy. Time to contact Azathoth. Sheepy: Sheepy:...or, I would. Sheepy: Sheepy: If I knew how. Arsé-kun: Randy: Oh, it's simple. It just requires a summon, but there's the chance he'll be.. Y'know, not humanoid. Sheepy: Sheepy: If only I asked for his phone number. Sheepy: Sheepy: Nyar can summon him. Sheepy: Nyar: *confused octopus noises* Arsé-kun: Germain: That's a *he clears his throat and lowers his pitch* "What the hell are you talking about??". Sheepy: Sheepy:...He's...He's Azathoth's messenger...so... Arsé-kun: Germain: Of course, but now? Sheepy: Sheepy: He is injured. Sheepy: Sheepy: Gosh, Nyar, you have bad timing. Sheepy: Nyar: *He crosses two of his tentacles* Sheepy: Nyar: (We should contact him, but I just got finishwd being beat up.) Arsé-kun: Germain: (That does make things difficult.) Sheepy: Nyar: (I guess I could contact him.) Sheepy: Nyar: (You all owe me so much.) Arsé-kun: Germain: (Good luck. I'll keep out of the way.) Sheepy: *Nyar hops out of Saint-Germain's arms and crawls into another room.* Sheepy: *Nyar begins attempting to summon Azathoth.* Arsé-kun: *Congratulations! Super success! Azathoth shows up, in a humanoid form. He seems to be at least somewhat awake. This is an improvement over his usual state of being. This, however, does not stop him from draping himself over a chair.* Sheepy: Nyar: (We need to ask you questions!!) Arsé-kun: Azathoth: (Right now...? ... I may not know the answer, but okay..) Sheepy: Nyar: (What's up with Jack helping Glaaki? That clone you made!) Arsé-kun: Aza: ... ..... (Who?) Sheepy: Nyar: (The one of Moriarty! White hair, red eyes, permanent bags under his eyes!) Sheepy: Nyar: (Jack! Millers! You know?) Arsé-kun: Aza: (Ah... Dhampir clone.. ... What was the question agai-- .. .. Oh, right. Glaaki demanded a closing deal... Donation, is it? Sacrifice? Those are the same, yeah?) Sheepy: Nyar: ...................... Sheepy: Nyar: (That is so-) Sheepy: Nyar: (No, no, no, how do I put this lightly.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (... Stupid. Thank you.) Sheepy: Nyar: (He's out there killing people and getting more victims for Glaaki.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (He was considered a failure due to his adverse reaction to violence..) *he picks his head up* (What happened?) Sheepy: Nyar: (Well, apparently he was caught killing a non human.) Sheepy: Nyar: (And then later, he offered up a corpse to Glaaki.) Sheepy: Nyar: (And I saw him there in Glaaki's base of operations.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (Offering inhuman remains... They've finally caught on to using nonhumans?) Sheepy: Nyar: (Glaaki threw me around, too!- That doesn't matter!) Sheepy: Nyar: (The point is that we aren't supposed to be helping him and we still are!!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (Again? .. But I have pulled back. What someone else does isn't my business, is it?) Sheepy: Nyar: (Your mess is making this mess bigger.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (... He's mine?) Sheepy: Nyar: (You made him!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (So that denotes ownership..) Sheepy: Nyar: (I guess???) Arsé-kun: Aza: (What do I do? Do I tell Glaaki to return my property??) Sheepy: Nyar: (YES.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (Now?) Sheepy: Nyar: (It'd be appreciated!) Arsé-kun: Aza: ...... (Oh, bother. Could you not do it?) Sheepy: Nyar: (I have one idea.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (I'm listening, I think.) Sheepy: Nyar: (I'm starting to consider it but everyone would hate me if I did it!) Sheepy: Nyar: (I might just collapse that stupid cave!!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (That would severely limit his options, maybe? Unless he gets a lot of humans to repair it..) Sheepy: Nyar: (Let's destroy it together!!!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (I've got no objections.) Arsé-kun: Randy: (Not to interrupt or anything, but Nyarlathotep was recently injured.. Just saying!) Arsé-kun: *meanwhile, aza falls off the chair.* Sheepy: Nyar: (Oh, hi Randy.) Arsé-kun: Randy: (Hi? But I wouldn't object as long as living people are cleared out first.) Sheepy: Nyar: (You're so PARTICULAR.) Arsé-kun: Randy: (Okay, fine! Willing conscious people, that are alive. Lets get MORE detailed!!) Sheepy: Nyar: (I limit myself to five.) Arsé-kun: Randy: (Nyar.) Sheepy: Nyar: (What??) Arsé-kun: Randy: (At least try for me.) Sheepy: Nyar: (It'd be really hard...!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (... Glaaki, keeping living humans? That's dumb on it's own.) Sheepy: Nyar: (Would he...?) Sheepy: Nyar: (Unless it's someone he's about to convert. .. Okay, I'll limit myself to 6! Let's go.) Arsé-kun: Aza: (What? Right now..?) Sheepy: Nyar: (....Um. Is now a bad time!?) Sheepy: Nyar: (Strike while the iron's hot, whatever that means!) Arsé-kun: Aza: (... I guess...) Sheepy: Nyar: (Randy, thoughts!?) Arsé-kun: Randy: (I'd join but it's so late..) *he can be heard yawning in the other room* Sheepy: Nyar: (We'll be back then! Goodbye, my self control!) Arsé-kun: Randy: (Good luck, don't get injured again. If you come back dying, I'm telling Yog.) Sheepy: *So Nyar leaves for the pond once more.* Arsé-kun: *Aza takes about ten extra minutes to arrive.* Sheepy: Nyar: (Took you long enough.) Arsé-kun: Aza: What did you want from me... Sheepy: Nyar: (For you to get here sooner.) Arsé-kun: Aza: He's just going to hear us if we talk like that... Are you still a wiggly? Sheepy: Nyar: (Yeah. Let me go back to a human form.) Arsé-kun: Aza: ... How did you get here without being stopped??? Sheepy: Nyar: (Hard work.) Arsé-kun: Aza: Good job, son. Sheepy: Nyar: Right, now, let's go. Arsé-kun: *they get down to the caverns. without diving. they take the walker's route. this takes a little bit longer.* Sheepy: Nyar: We could just nuke the lake. Sheepy: Nyar: But I want Randy to praise me... so I need to save someone. Arsé-kun: Aza: ... I understand, I think. Arsé-kun: Aza: You were always the most emotional of us. Of course you'd want that... Valet? What is the word? Sheepy: Nyar: Validation! Arsé-kun: Aza: Yes, that. Sheepy: Nyar: You don't give it to me so I have to get it elsewhere. Arsé-kun: Aza: I have only started understanding it as a concept. How can I? Sheepy: Nyar:...True. Arsé-kun: Aza: ... But this confirms my previous attempt fell flat. I'll double my efforts.. Later. Sheepy: Nyar:...! Sheepy: Nyar: I'll work hard!!! Arsé-kun: Aza: I know you can do, uh, that.. Pretty well?? Sheepy: Nyar:...!!! Sheepy: *Nyar is grinning. Stop that it's weird* Sheepy: Nyar: We should go and save them. Arsé-kun: Aza: If that's what you want to do. Sheepy: *Nyar heads inside, looking for live people* Arsé-kun: *Aza stumbles after him, yawning* Sheepy: Nyar: *Where are the live people???* Arsé-kun: *somewhere?? The undead cultists don't pay Nyar and Aza much heed. They've got books to write, things to learn, shit to do!* Sheepy: *Nyar continues, mostly ignoring them* Arsé-kun: *up ahead, plugging up a cavern, is a big ol ball of spikes. it's glaaki, and they're taking a nap. at least three cultists are sitting nearby and frantically writing* Sheepy: Nyar: ...........! Sheepy: Nyar: What to do.... Arsé-kun: Aza: He's got the right idea.... Sheepy: Nyar: You can't sleep just yet. We need to deal with this. Arsé-kun: Aza: Right, right... Sheepy: *Jack is very close by, taking a nap as well.* Arsé-kun: Aza: .... This one is living. Sheepy: Nyar: That's Jack. Arsé-kun: Aza: ... Yes, you're right. Sheepy: Nyar: Let's remove him first! Sheepy: *Nyar begins to approach Jack, who snaps awake and stares at the two* Sheepy: Jack: ..............What d'you two want? Sheepy: Jack: No, I changed my mind. I don't care. Do what yeh want. Arsé-kun: Aza: Such a change in behavior, and so quickly.. Those still living do best without contact of we Elders, you know. Sheepy: Jack: What? Don't dance 'round yer point. Jus' spit it out. Arsé-kun: Aza: ...? *he turns his head and spits on the ground before registering the statement entirely. He opts to not address this* I am saying "Get out of here". Sheepy: Jack: *He gets up* What, yeh got someone else yeh want me t'do dirty jobs fer? Sheepy: Jack: Whatever. Jus' git it ov'r with. I'll be waitin' outside. Sheepy: *With that, Jack strolls out.* Arsé-kun: Aza: ... Not sure if Glaaki has messed with him. ... Might need a deprogramming. Sheepy: Nyar: D...deprogramming? Arsé-kun: Aza: ... Oh, but you're far better at undoing whatever has been done. Sheepy: Nyar: Uh............... Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, yeah. Sheepy: Nyar: Let's keep going. Arsé-kun: *they continue through the caverns! So far, no one else encountered can be considered "Living", but some are moderately new. One's still bloody.* Sheepy: *Nyar ignores the dead ones.* Sheepy: Nyar: He's quick, isn't he. Sheepy: Nyar:...For a slug, anyway. Arsé-kun: Aza: He is not actually a slug, though? Sheepy: Nyar: That's true. Sheepy: Nyar: But still, I'd be faster if I were doing it. Arsé-kun: Aza: You're very fast... Sheepy: Nyar: Now where are the living ones...we should just collapse it soon.. Arsé-kun: Aza: I don't see any living around here... Sheepy: Nyar:........Ah, we should collapse it then, right? Arsé-kun: Aza: ... And lose the knowledge? I would like to collect what's been written first... ... But is that a bad idea? Sheepy: Nyar: No, go ahead. I'll keep hunting for live people. Arsé-kun: Aza: ... Okay... Sheepy: *Nyar keeps looking.* Arsé-kun: *none yet! unfortunately.* Sheepy: *And Nyar continues looking.* Arsé-kun: *Nyar finally finds one!! They're in a group of undeads, seemingly unaware of their pals' deteriorating states* Sheepy: Nyar:.....! Sheepy: Nyar: Hey! C'mere! Arsé-kun: *The entire group look towards him, briefly, before going back to whatever they were doing.* Sheepy: Nyar:.... Sheepy: *Nyar beelines for the one living one* Sheepy: Nyar: Hey! Arsé-kun: ??: ...? Sheepy: Nyar: You need to get out of here. Sheepy: Nyar: I'll help you as best as I can, but you need a willingness to live. Sheepy: Nyar: Otherwise, I'll let you end up like your buddies here. Arsé-kun: ??: ....??? They're people too, right...? Sheepy: Nyar: They're dead as a doornail. Sheepy: Nyar: Which you'll be if you don't escape, okay? Arsé-kun: ??: .... They look fine to me... *he goes to pat the undead to his right's shoulder. it falls off. He stares* ...?? Sheepy: Nyar:.... Sheepy: Nyar: You should go. Arsé-kun: ??: Go where? Sheepy: Nyar: Escape. I'll help you. Arsé-kun: ??: Why would I? Where would I go..? Sheepy: Nyar:.... Sheepy: Nyar: Listen. Sheepy: Nyar: You're going to die here. Sheepy: Nyar: I've got a place you can stay until things improve, but you need to get out of here. Now. Arsé-kun: ??: .... ...... *they seem confused* .. Okay? Sheepy: Nyar: Just - *He grabs their hand* Follow me. Arsé-kun: ??: Yes, sir? *they follow Nyar, seeming unsure even about the surroundings* Sheepy: Nyar: *He keeps his eye open for any other potential survivors he may have overlooked and for Glaaki* Arsé-kun: *He is not seeing anyone else that is living yet, but he's got a really bad feeling all of a sudden, in the dark deep pit of his octogut* Sheepy: Nyar:....... Sheepy: Nyar:.....! Sheepy: Nyar:...Shoot...something isn't right! Arsé-kun: ??: *he seems to have a similar feeling, and freezes up* ?! What was that?? Sheepy: Nyar: That's the guy who brought you here...I think...we need to get a move on! Arsé-kun: ??: Uh, sure! But first, where are we??? Sheepy: Nyar: The lake. You need to get out! Arsé-kun: ??: How did I get here?? *but he picks up the pace* Sheepy: Nyar: He brought you here. Arsé-kun: ??: I can't believe I got abducted on duty... Was I on duty? ... What's today?? Sheepy: *Nyar tells him the date.* Arsé-kun: ??: You're kidding me! It's been a week?! Sheepy: Nyar: I'm surprised you lasted this long. Sheepy: Nyar: We should be close to the exit. Arsé-kun: *and he's right! There's the exit!* Sheepy: Nyar: *He runs towards the exit, still holding the survivor's hand!* Arsé-kun: *And then, suddenly...! ... They make it out, with little to no fanfare.* Sheepy: Nyar: Great, you should be safer here. Sheepy: Jack: Took yeh long enough. Arsé-kun: ??: ... You.. That's my uniform! Sheepy: Jack: Sorry, I needed it. Sheepy: *He...does appear to feel bad.* Sheepy: Jack: I'll return it later. Alright? Arsé-kun: ??: That would be appreciated... *he turns and glances back at the cavern entrance* I never knew this was here. Sheepy: Jack: Most people don't. Sheepy: Jack: That's 'ow it should be. Arsé-kun: ??: I'll have to double my patrolling efforts.. Arsé-kun: Aza: Not yet you don't... *he drags himself out, soaked to the bone(?) and carrying a less-wet tome* Other than the one he had, no living ones are left. Sheepy: Nyar: I sure hope the one he had wasn't important. Arsé-kun: Aza: Don't know.... Don't care at the moment... Are you finished with your validation mission? Sheepy: Nyar: I'd like to have saved that last one, too, but.. Sheepy: Nyar: You do what you can do. Arsé-kun: Aza: Then.... You did more than I could. Arsé-kun: Aza: Great work. *he leans forward and water just pours out of his face. Like a dumb ass kettle* I was wondering why speech was difficult. Sheepy: Nyar:....! Me? I did great work? Arsé-kun: Aza: y'hah. Sheepy: Nyar:....!!! Sheepy: Nyar: I did! Me! I did a great job! Sheepy: Jack: Oi. What did yeh want me t' leave fer? Arsé-kun: Aza: 'Twas not my idea. *he looks towards Nyar* Perhaps you would be of more use to other humans than Glaaki. Sheepy: Jack:.... Sheepy: Jack: So yeh 'ave someone else t' shove me on, eh? Sheepy: Jack: Whatever. Do what yeh want. Arsé-kun: Aza: .... Actually.... I do. *he turns his head towards the survivor for a moment, who fails to notice because they're trying to get their bearings* I can see you being much better in the field you'd want over what you've done. Arsé-kun: Aza: .... *he leans over again and more water comes pouring out* ..... I have forgotten how to human breathe. I am certainly done with this excursion. Ya ch'fhtagn. *and he steps out of view entirely. he's going to sleep outside of human vision. he's spent all of his intelligence stamina and needs a long rest.* Arsé-kun: ??: .... I feel as if I'm supposed to ignore everything I just witnessed. Sheepy: Jack:..... Sheepy: Jack: Don't worry 'bout it. I'll walk you 'ome. Sheepy: Nyar: I'm going to report back to Randy. Sheepy: Jack: Yer able t' walk, aren't'cha? Arsé-kun: ??: Yes, I am. Uhm.. Thank you. Sheepy: Jack: Then let's go. Sheepy: Jack: Where do you live? Arsé-kun: *they lower their voice and tell him* Sheepy: Jack: Right, well, I'll walk you 'ome. *He begins heading in that direction.* Arsé-kun: *they follow him, but occasionally glance back. What if it's following us?* Arsé-kun: *also i realize i never specified the cult robes being worn but That's all I need to do. they're green. real dark green. ok now its in the records CARRY ON* Sheepy: Jack: What? Arsé-kun: ??: No one is following us, right? Sheepy: Jack: No. Arsé-kun: ??: Oh... Sheepy: Jack: I'm th' only one o' 'is grunts who c'n travel easily. Sheepy: Jack: And I don't care. Arsé-kun: ??: I see.. Sheepy: Jack: Glad t' 'ear that. Arsé-kun: *eventually, they get there! to a little shop we, the viewers, have seen before. it's a sweets shop, but seems to be closed- Except for the single face pressed against the window. It's gone rather quickly, though* Sheepy: Jack: ...Oi, they've noticed yeh. Arsé-kun: ??: Already? *they pull their hood off* Arsé-kun: *Seconds later, the doors thrown open and they get tackled by a very worried younger brother. Hello, Tatsuya* Sheepy: Jack: *He watches closely* Arsé-kun: Tats: Where have you been, you jerk?? Were you petting cats again, Kat? Did they accept you as one of their own?? Arsé-kun: Katsuya: Hah, I wish that was all it was. Arsé-kun: *meanwhile, Minato is looking at Jack. prrrrriorities* Sheepy: Jack: I abducted 'im fer a bit. Arsé-kun: Minato: ... Can I ask why? Sheepy: Jack: I was told to. Arsé-kun: Minato: And there's no.. Damage incurred? Sheepy: Jack:.... Sheepy: Jack: I don't know. Sheepy: Jack: Never thought 'bout it, really. Yeh sh'd be fine. Arsé-kun: Minato: We'll just have to check. If he turns or anything, it's on you. *he sorta shrugs* Sheepy: Jack: That's fair. Sheepy: Jack: Yeh got somethin' I c'n change into? I need t' give this uniform back. Arsé-kun: Minato: Yeah, we should. *he heads back in* Sheepy: Jack: Great. Sheepy: Jack: Lissen. Be careful in th' future. Arsé-kun: Kat: So that doesn't happen again, right? Sheepy: Jack: Yeh 'ave so many weak points. Sheepy: Jack: I 'ad no probl'm sneakin' up 'n yeh 'nd knockin' yeh out. Arsé-kun: Kat: I guess I do need to work on that.. Sheepy: Jack: Yer welcome. Arsé-kun: Kat: I should cite you for all of that, plus imitating an officer... But with everything happening, you're off the hook. ... Unless you do it again. Sheepy: Jack: Hah. Sheepy: Jack: I don't care what yeh do. Sheepy: Jack: Juss be careful what yeh stick yer nose into. Arsé-kun: Kat: Of course, but the same to you. Sheepy: Jack: I'm quittin' workin' fer th' guy who ordered yer capture, but... Arsé-kun: Kat: Are you sure you don't need to hide from.. *he just waves a hand* Sheepy: Jack: Mm. Nothin' I can do 'bout that. I was ordered t' stop workin' fer 'im. Sheepy: Jack: If 'e goes after me, oh well Arsé-kun: Kat: Oh well, come by if you need to. Arsé-kun: *Minato reappears with a bundle of clothes. Well, they're clean and not an officer uniform.* Sheepy: Jack: Thank you. Arsé-kun: Minato: 'Welcome. *and he goes back inside again.* Sheepy: Jack: I sh'd 'ead 'ome now. Sheepy: Jack: Stay sharp. Arsé-kun: Kat: Thank you. *he notes to himself to wash it at least three times* Stay safe, will you? Sheepy: Jack: Yeh. Thanks. Sheepy: Jack: *He puts his hands in his pockets and walks away.* Arsé-kun: *Kat is more or less ushered inside. Status; safe* Sheepy: *yay!* Sheepy: *Meanwhile......* Sheepy: Nyar: --*he busts into the room* RANDY!! Arsé-kun: Randy: Ahh! *he jumps a good inch off the chair he was on, dislodging Shaggy entirely* Nyar!! Are you trying to give me a stroke? Sheepy: Nyar: Eh? Sheepy: Nyar: Randy! I have news! Arsé-kun: Randy: Yeah?? What? Oh, come back, Shaggy.. *shaggy has left you* Sheepy: Nyar: DAD COMPLIMENTED ME!! Arsé-kun: Randy: Hooray...? I'm glad you're excited, but did you need to wake me up for it..? Sheepy: Nyar: Now you compliment me! Sheepy: Nyar: I saved one person!! Arsé-kun: Randy: Did you? Sheepy: Nyar: Yeah! Arsé-kun: Randy: And they're not going to die mysteriously? Sheepy: Nyar:...Uh? Sheepy: Nyar:.....!? You trust me so little...! Sheepy: Nyar: What have I done to make you NOT trust me??? Arsé-kun: Randy: When did I say you'd be killing them? Arsé-kun: Randy: I'm going to be forever bitter about the dreamscape stunt, though. Sheepy: Nyar: Hey! Sheepy: Nyar: You should be nicer to me. Sheepy: Nyar: Where's my compliment?? Arsé-kun: Randy: Okay, fine. You did a good deed, for once. Hooray. Sheepy: Nyar: Yes!!! I did!!! Sheepy: Nyar: Aren't I great? Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, oh, oh! Arsé-kun: Randy: Yeah, of course. I just wish you'd do good things without the prompting. Even little kids can figure that out faster- Oh? Sheepy: Nyar: The cavern was collapsed. Sheepy: Nyar: And, like... Arsé-kun: Randy: Already? Sheepy: Nyar: Oh yeah! And according to dad, Glaaki had someone with him! Sheepy: Nyar: Ahahaha! I wonder what happened!? Arsé-kun: Randy: *he sighs* We'll find out eventually. Sheepy: Nyar: I'm going to brag to Saint-Germain, so you go back to sleep before I drag you along! Sheepy: Nyar: Who knows! I might visit you in your dreams. Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, I have some fun ideas already. Arsé-kun: Randy: Thanks for the warning.. *he tries to get comfy again. might take a bit* Sheepy: *Nyar leaves for Saint's room* Arsé-kun: *Saint was waiting a while, having picked up a book to pass the time. But Nyar took too long, so he put it to the side and went to sleep. it's like 5 am, understandable course of action* Sheepy: Nyar: Saint-Germain!! Arsé-kun: Germain: ....? Germain: What took you so long...? Sheepy: Nyar: DAD COMPLIMENTED ME! Arsé-kun: Germain: ... Lovely. Sheepy: Nyar: I saved one person! Sheepy: Nyar: You'll praise me too, right!? Arsé-kun: Germain: Fantastic work. Tell me more in the morning.. Sheepy: Nyar: Okay, fine. Sheepy: Nyar: Good night! Sheepy: *Nyar lets hm sleep* Arsé-kun: *Now what are you going to do, Nyarlathotep?* Sheepy: *Be bored* Arsé-kun: *really.* Sheepy: *Nyar looks for things to do.* Arsé-kun: *he's Nyarlathotep!! How can he not find something to do?* Sheepy: *Nyar decides to watch an octopus documentary.* Arsé-kun: *that's fun! here, waste several hours on that and that alone!* Sheepy: *yes!* Sheepy: *Enough time for Sherlock to get up off the sofa and get the mail.* Arsé-kun: *Allllll of it. The poor mailman probably made a single stop, and it's this one! That's all for this week!* Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, it's a lot as usual.......... Arsé-kun: *in the background, delly slips on a letter and falls on his butt. comedy* Arsé-kun: Watson: *he strolls in, coffee in hand, and rolls his eyes* And people say snail mail isn't used anymore. Sheepy: *Sherlock begins hunting through it* Sheepy: Sherlock: It's mostly fan mail. Arsé-kun: Watson: Save it up! Crack one open when you feel bad. It'll last at least a week! Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, good idea. Sheepy: *Sherlock's sorting it into piles - his, Watson's, Harley's.* Arsé-kun: Watson: Oh, we got mail this time? Sheepy: Sherlock: Some. Arsé-kun: Watson: More than usual. Sheepy: Sherlock: Yes! Arsé-kun: Watson: If we're lucky, it might be decent this time. Sheepy: Sherlock: ...What does that mean? Sheepy: Harley: *He peeks in* Oh, do I actually have mail? Sheepy: Harley: How unfortunate. Sheepy: Harley: I guess I should read it, though. Arsé-kun: Watson: Yeah, I agree. I might have to bust out the old "See an actual doctor" stamp for this. Sheepy: Sherlock: But you are a doctor... Sheepy: Sherlock:...Aren't you...? Sheepy: Harley: Ah, yours have actual content in them? Sheepy: Harley: Oh, if only we could trade... Arsé-kun: Watson: To Sherlock- Yes! To Harley- No. People expect me to know their every malady just from a bad description on paper. I'm not their primary care giver! How should I know? Sheepy: Harley: You can make up medical terms that don't exist. Arsé-kun: Watson: That's cruel and unusual. Sheepy: Harley: The very few letters I get are related either to my appearance or ridiculous questions I don't understand. Sheepy: Harley: "Are you just Mycroft Holmes but under another name similar to Sherlock's to make you seem more important?" Sheepy: Harley: "Oh, yes, I am this man to whom I bear little resemblance to and is a few years older than me!" Sheepy: Sherlock: You are!? Sheepy: Harley: Ah, I know. Sheepy: Harley: You answer mine and I'll answer yours. Arsé-kun: Watson: Sherlock, take a joke. And hmm.. Not sure I trust you enough to not mess with people. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, I'm hurt. Arsé-kun: Watson: You'll just tell everyone they need to send in money. Sheepy: Harley: "Your eyes are pretty." "Thanks, I've never looked in a mirror so I don't know what I look like." Sheepy: Harley: I wouldn't scam people out of money. Sheepy: Harley: What are other ones I've received... Arsé-kun: Watson: *he grabs one and carefully opens it* ... This one wants to know what kind of grapes you color your hair with. Sheepy: Harley:....... Sheepy: Harley:.......It's..... Arsé-kun: Watson: Natural, I know. Sheepy: Harley:...I color it with genes. Arsé-kun: Watson: I like that answer better. Sheepy: Harley: I've had people ask me why I look nothing like Mycroft nor Sherlock. It's as though they think I know. Sheepy: Harley: And, of course...why do people keep thinking it's dyed??? Sheepy: Sherlock: It's not!? Sheepy: Harley: What makes you think it's dyed!? Sheepy: Sherlock: Ummm... Sheepy: Sherlock: Is that Harley's? Arsé-kun: Watson: I have no idea. I just wanted to bring it up. Sheepy: Harley: Whose is it? Arsé-kun: Watson: No idea. It's not high enough in mystery ranks for me to care. Sheepy: Harley: Do we have any new cases? Arsé-kun: Watson: Not yet. Sheepy: Harley: That's too bad. Sheepy: Harley: *He picks up another letter from his stack and opens it* Sheepy: Harley: "Please· pay close attention To your surroundings! For One, you may come To find something that will help· you on your way! I'm· hoping that in· this advice, you'll stay out of trouble· and Thrive!"- ah, it goes on a bit more.. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh, that's weirdly ominous motivational advice. Arsé-kun: Watson: You showing up will help? For what? Sheepy: Harley: I don't know. Uh... Sheepy: Harley: "Do you have pollen allergies? That's a big problem. The trees will blossom soon. It's going to drive me cra𝔃y. They· will· be super bothersome. Where do you go to kill· time? Me·? I like casinos, really. Oh, that's all I've got. Hope everything goes well for you!" Sheepy: Harley: What kind of rambley nonsense... Arsé-kun: Watson: *he comes over to see too* Sheepy: *Harley shows him the letter* Arsé-kun: Watson: What's all these marks for..? Sheepy: Harley:....*He tilts his head* Arsé-kun: Watson: Sherlock, c'mere. Come look at this, too. Sheepy: Harley: The ones with dots are.... Sheepy: *Sherlock comes over and looks over Harley's shoulder* Arsé-kun: Watson: They, Will, Kill, Me. Is this a cry for help? Sheepy: Harley: And in the first section: "Please help I'm in trouble"...yes, it does seem it's a cry for help. Sheepy: Sherlock: To For One To Thrive? TFOTT? Is that a food? Arsé-kun: Watson: Two, four, one, two, five. An address? Sheepy: Harley: And finally, underscored: "Big Blossom Drive". Sheepy: Harley: It could be an address. Arsé-kun: Watson: I'll try to pull it up on maps.. Sheepy: Harley: Thank you. Sheepy: Harley: I wonder if there's anything else of importance? Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he slides over, using two envelopes for reduced traction* What's going on, men? Sheepy: Sherlock: Harley got mail. Sheepy: Harley: It's a cry for help. Please give it a read. Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he reads it* That Z... I'd know it anywhere! This is Diego's handwriting! Sheepy: Harley:....! Sheepy: Harley: But what kind of trouble is he in? Arsé-kun: Watson: If it says "They will kill me!", it's probably pretty bad! Arsé-kun: Arséne: Is this it? The legendary Normal Case?? With normal criminals and normal odds of defying death? Sheepy: Harley: Finally! Sheepy: Harley: I don't remember him liking to gamble, not that I knew him very well. Do you think casinos are related to the case? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Why would he mention it otherwise? Sheepy: Harley: Good point. Sheepy: Harley: Watson, did you find anything? Arsé-kun: Watson: Sure have. Sheepy: Harley: Goood job. Can I see? Arsé-kun: Watson: Certainly! Here, look, it's right smack in the middle of a bunch of shit. *he shows Harley the Maps result. Lotsa buildings* Sheepy: *Harley mulls it over.* Sheepy: Harley: So we can't just dash in. Arsé-kun: Watson: We could, in theory? But it'd be difficult. Sheepy: Harley: We don't know how many allies they have within the area. We should case it first. Arsé-kun: Watson: But even that may get attention if we aren't careful. Sheepy: Harley: Exactly. Sheepy: Harley:...Give me a moment... Sheepy: Harley: Are any of these stores? Arsé-kun: Watson: Doesn't seem like it, unfortunately. Sheepy: Harley: Too bad. Arsé-kun: Watson: Might I ask why? Sheepy: Harley: It limits the amount of disguises I could use. Arsé-kun: Watson: Oh, that is unfortunate. Sheepy: Harley: Mhm. Sheepy: Harley: Lupin, any ideas? Arsé-kun: Arséne: I could scout it out in my own time, perhaps. Sheepy: Harley: Your time is limited. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You know what I meant. Sheepy: Harley: Did I. Sheepy: Harley:...Anyway, we need to come up with a plan. Sheepy: Sherlock: Why don't we just, um, call the police? Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he just starts laughing* Sheepy: Harley: It's too dangerous. Arsé-kun: Arséne: And most of them are imbeciles. They'll just storm it! Sheepy: Sherlock: Hmmm... Sheepy: Harley: Are there any casinos near there? Arsé-kun: Watson: Yes, there is. Sheepy: Harley: I'd like to visit there. Sheepy: Harley: But I look too suspicious as I am... Sheepy: Harley: Lupin, here's a plan. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Go on. Sheepy: Harley: Let's say that the staff are in on it. Sheepy: Harley: Illegal it may be, but we watch them closely and knock out two when we get the chance and steal their clothes along with their "faces". Sheepy: Harley: With that, we can sneak into the address listed. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Ah, the classic Plan A. I was thinking of visiting the casino as a couple, dressed up fancy. But then one of us would have to be the woman. And I don't feel like it. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, I'm fine with that. Sheepy: Harley: I usually end up with that role, so I'm used to it. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Well, then I guess I know what we're doing this week. Sheepy: Harley: Clothes shopping? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Wasting lots of cash in roulettes. Sheepy: Harley: I don't gamble... I'll leave you to that. Arsé-kun: Arséne: How kind of you! If I'm not interrupted, I'll clean house nicely for you. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, thank you. What a great husband you are. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Hey! I hate this already! Sheepy: Harley: That's your problem. Sheepy: Harley: Don't worry. We married for status and you're having an affair on me with my brother and I'm secretly planning to have you mysteriously end up in an accident for your insurance money. Sheepy: Harley:...I'm kidding, of course. Let's play this straight and not seem suspicious. Arsé-kun: Arséne: But would playing it straight be the best? The first is far easier to pull off. Sheepy: Harley: Is it? Sheepy: Harley: I don't really want to plot your downfall. I care enough about you to not want to consider such a thing. Arsé-kun: Arséne: But if we want to run it straight, we'd need to be a solid mix of type A and B- Lovey dovey but also super casual. The traitorous route lets us go type A, exaggerated to our desires. Sheepy: Harley: Oh dear. Sheepy: Harley: How fun. Sheepy: Harley: You take me out on such a nice date to try to distract me from how you're having an affair. Sheepy: Harley: And I, meanwhile, am focused on...hmmm... Sheepy: Sherlock: Wow, you're really going into a detailed backstory. Arsé-kun: Arséne: We need to. The more foolproof, the better. Sheepy: Harley: We need to come up with names, too. Sheepy: Sherlock: There's a twitter for that! Baby names. Sheepy: Harley: Let's see. It's our anniversary. Sheepy: Harley: I wanted to go on a nice adventure in a place that, ah... Sheepy: Harley: Could end in your death. Sheepy: Harley: However, despite my heavy hints towards this, you chose the casino. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I do enjoy living, after all. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I think that would work. I, meanwhile, would certainly be giving everyone but you the interested looks, and would probably spend as much time away as possible. That way, even running off to the bathroom for an hour would have a solid base. Sheepy: Harley: I'd end you if you were. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You'd have to beat me to it. Sheepy: Harley: Oh dear. Arsé-kun: Watson: *he's started sorting more of the mail in the background. He is not needed right now* Sheepy: Sherlock: Have you found anything of interest? Arsé-kun: Watson: I found the bills, does that count? Sheepy: Sherlock:.....Ummm... Sheepy: Sherlock: N...not really. Sheepy: Harley: How kind of you to offer to pay them, Watson. Sheepy: Harley: I'll take you up on that offer. Arsé-kun: Watson: What! Again?! Sheepy: Harley: Well? I haven't gotten a case in a while. No case means no payment. Sheepy: Sherlock: Bills? Arsé-kun: Watson: Fair enough.. Sheepy: Sherlock: Are any for me? Sheepy: Harley: You were about to act clueless on what a bill was right after clearly acting like you knew what a bill was... Arsé-kun: Watson: Actually, Sherlock- Yes. This one is your problem now. I'll hang it on the fridge for you. Sheepy: Harley: You shift your weight to the opposite side when you lie, Sherlock. Sheepy: Sherlock: Eh...! I get a bill and information I didn't want to know! Sheepy: Harley: Actually, let me make a correction: when you consider lying. Sheepy: Harley: When you actively lie- Sheepy: Sherlock: Let's see that bill! Arsé-kun: *Watson tries to throw it over. He misses Sherlock entirely.* Sheepy: *Sherlock picks it up and opens it* Arsé-kun: *it's a bill, all right. for all those netflix shows. i don't know how netflix actually works.* Sheepy: Sherlock: Ah...I guess I haven't taken many cases either recently...! Sheepy: Sherlock: But I haven't felt like it. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Annnnd this is why I am in business. Sheepy: Sherlock: I just don't feel motivated. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You've still gotta do it. Sheepy: Sherlock: I know.... Sheepy: Sherlock: I don't feel interested in them... Arsé-kun: Arséne: People Will Die without assistance, Sherlock! Sheepy: Sherlock:....R...really? Sheepy: Harley: Surprise. Sheepy: Sherlock: I never knew that...! Sheepy: Sherlock: Watson, did you? Sheepy: Harley: I will begin taking them if you won't, Sherlock. Sheepy: Sherlock: I didn't know!! Arsé-kun: Watson: This isn't new information... Sheepy: Sherlock: I thought it was mass distributed to every detective! Sheepy: Harley: There are very few who aren't connected tothe police. Sheepy: Harley: I get very few cases due to my very specific use. Sheepy: Harley: However, you get the commonfolk. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Many of my cases are ones you passed by, for example. Sheepy: Sherlock: Ah!? Sheepy: Harley: Mine are...hmmm. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Yours are... Ehh.. Sheepy: Harley: Very rich people who don't want people knowing a thing. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Where's all your cash, mr. detective? Sheepy: Harley: Hmm? Arsé-kun: Arséne: Where's the rich payout? Or do you do the smart thing and store it all? Sheepy: Harley: Oh, did you want to steal it? Or know the contents of my will? Sheepy: Harley: Neither are options, I'm afraid. Anyway, I save almost all of it. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Why would I steal that? It's just money. Sheepy: Harley: I suppose so. Sheepy: Harley: We shoupd come up with how we will defend ourselves. Sheepy: Sherlock: Ah...I don't want to practice with you... Sheepy: Harley: Oh, I have an idea. ..But if he's in on it... Arsé-kun: Arséne: ...? Sheepy: Harley: Let's ask Mycroft about the owners of the home. He might know something. Sheepy: Harley: Of course, that's offtopic from self defense, but I think it'll help tremendously if we can find something. However, over text won't do. Ah, what if his home has been bugged... Sheepy: Sherlock: Do you go through this every case you take? Arsé-kun: Watson: He sure does. Sheepy: Sherlock: Oh.... Sheepy: Sherlock: I can't really help there. Sheepy: Harley: Watson, should we ask Mycroft if he can dig up any information on the home owners? Arsé-kun: Watson: You could try. Sheepy: Harley: Any piece of information is necessary. Sheepy: Harley:...Give me a moment... Sheepy: Harley: [text: to Mycroft] We need to talk. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Harley] Not even a hello? What is it? Sheepy: Harley: [text: to Mycroft] 221B Baker's Street Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Harley] I know where you live!! You could have just said "come over"!!! Sheepy: Harley: [text: to Mycroft] Come over Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Harley] Right now? Sheepy: Harley: [text: to Mycroft] Need assistance Arsé-kun: Mycroft: [text: to Harley] I have work in half an hour. You'd better make it quick. Sheepy: Harley: [text: to Mycroft] 1 life is at stake Sheepy: Harley: He's coming over. Sheepy: Harley: Meanwhile, I'm going to look for information on the casino in the newspapers. Maybe online too. Arsé-kun: Watson: Good thinking. I'll try to figure out what's around it. Sheepy: Harley: Thank you. Sheepy: Harley:...By the way. Sheepy: Harley: If you're wondering where Sheepy is, he's out to go see Professor Moriarty. Sheepy: Harley: So it'll be quiet for a while. Make use of that. Arsé-kun: Arséne: One question. How on earth did you get him up at this hour? Sheepy: Harley: Hmmm? Sheepy: Harley: I have my ways. Arsé-kun: Arséne: I'm now afraid. Sheepy: Sherlock: Don't you get Iris up early by bribing her with going out to a fun place with you? Sheepy: Harley: Ah, I'm caught. Sheepy: Harley: I bribed him. Arsé-kun: Arséne: With..? Sheepy: Harley: Oh, nothing too interesting. Sheepy: Harley: He wants to know more about my pickpocketing days. Sheepy: Harley: So I just made some fantastical tale up that never happened and told him about it. Sheepy: Harley: The moral of the story is: the early bird gets the worm. Sheepy: Harley: It's a useful tactic. Sheepy: Harley: He's easier to please than Iris, as well. Arsé-kun: Arséne: ... Well, okay. Sheepy: Harley: After I gave her a picture of a pony when I bribed her with getting her a pony when she was five, she stopped falling for my tricks. Arsé-kun: Arséne: You're terrible to children sometimes. Sheepy: Harley: However, whether it's out of amusements or obliviousness, I can use any loophole I please with Sheepy and he doesn't care. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, it's not terrible. It's smart. Do you know how much a pony costs each year? Sheepy: Harley: More than a picture of a pony. I also don't lie. Sheepy: Harley: What do you do, Lupin? Arsé-kun: Arséne: I at least stick to my word. Sheepy: Harley: I am sticking to my word Sheepy: Harley: She asked for a pony. A picture of a pony contains one pony. Sheepy: Harley: Therefore, I fulfilled my obligation of giving her a singular pony. Sheepy: Harley: Today, I said that I would tell him a story, so I told him an embarrassing tale about you. I fulfilled my obligation of a singular story. I did not promise what the contents would be. Arsé-kun: Arséne: And I probably told him the same one already, so nothing lost. Sheepy: Harley: The other day, I promised Sherlock one sign of affection, so I put hard work into making a sign with the word "Affection" on it. Sheepy: Sherlock: *sigh* Sheepy: Harley: As promised, I delivered one sign of affection. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Did you at least make it look good? Sheepy: Harley: Of course. Sheepy: Sherlock: I wanted real affection... Sheepy: Harley: Therefore, I have not once gone back on my word. Arsé-kun: Arséne: *he snakes his arm around Sherlock's shoulder* Behold, as I do better than he ever could. Sheepy: Sherlock:!!! Sheepy: Harley: Unfortunately, affection is a completely alien concept to me. Arsé-kun: Watson: That's funny. You hug more dogs than people. *he returns with a fresh mug of coffee* Sheepy: Harley: That's not difficult. Sheepy: Harley: Have I ever hugged a human being in my life? Sheepy: Harley: I have been hugged, but it's not the same. Arsé-kun: Watson: Do you want an answer to the question? Sheepy: Harley: Yes. Arsé-kun: Watson: You absolutely have, and stopped at the age of twelve. "I'm an adult, stop crushing me!" You said. *he smiles smuggly. smuggu.* Someone never got out of their teenage rebellion, hmmm? Sheepy: Harley:....! Sheepy: Harley: I-!! Sheepy: Harley: I didn't go through teenage rebellion!!! Sheepy: Sherlock: I remember you being really rebellious, but not how you were before that. Arsé-kun: Watson: I feel like I should get the childhood photographs out in response, but the minute I take it out of its hiding spot, it'll be burnt to a crisp. Sheepy: Harley: I wouldn't burn it! Sheepy: Harley: They aren't embarrassing! Arsé-kun: Watson: Well, good. If you burnt up the pictures of my wife, I'd have to kill you. Sheepy: Harley: Uh? Arsé-kun: Watson: They're in the same book, and I honestly? Do not trust you with that book. Sheepy: Harley: I'm that untrustworthy...? Arsé-kun: Watson: In this single case scenario, involving this single book? Yes. The rest of the time, no. Sheepy: Harley: Fine. Arsé-kun: Watson: And if you still want to find it, I'll give you kids a hint- It's most definitely upstairs. Sheepy: Harley: I-I'm not interested. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: I am! *he comes in from the other room. must've come in the other front door.* I'd be willing to pay for photocopies. Sheepy: Harley: Mycroft...!! Sheepy: Harley: It wouldn't matter at all!!! Arsé-kun: Mycroft: Sure, sure. What was so important that you called me over? *he drops into a seat.* And make it snappy. Sheepy: Harley: I need you to look into something for me. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: Yes? Sheepy: Harley: *He states the address of the home mentioned in the letter.* Arsé-kun: Mycroft: That's... In a business center, I believe. Sheepy: Harley: I need any information on the owners. Your job lets you find that sort of thing, right? Sheepy: Harley: A man is being held hostage there. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: I could find out, yes. But how much information do you want? Sheepy: Harley: Occupation. Financial situation. Criminal record. Sheepy: Harley: I want to know if how they're linked in with the casino. Sheepy: Harley: Why was our victim investigating the casino? The owners of that home must be related. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: I'm going to stop you there. There are no "homes" around that location. It's all businesses. Sheepy: Harley:.... Sheepy: Harley:........? Sheepy: Harley: Then....what's...? Arsé-kun: Mycroft: That would be... The casino in question. Sheepy: Harley: I... Sheepy: Harley:..I'm so sorry. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: For what? Not knowing something? Sheepy: Harley: I didn't know.... Arsé-kun: Mycroft: You do now. Sheepy: Harley:....Yes. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: If someone is being held hostage in a public business, I would argue that's even worse, because they'd be in plain sight. Sheepy: Harley:...I, uh, still want any information you can dig up on its financial records..and, uh... Sheepy: Harley: Yes, we need to get them out, but I haven't figured out...how yet. Arsé-kun: Arséne: My plan is to wing it unless we've got the time Sheepy: Harley: Alright. Sheepy: Harley:...Sorry for dragging you out here....I didn't know... Arsé-kun: Finis: Sucks to be you. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: Finis! Sheepy: Harley: .....!? Sheepy: Harley: D-does it. Arsé-kun: Finis: *he shrugs* Sheepy: Harley:....... Sheepy: Harley: Sorry, I'll let you go now. Sheepy: Harley:..before I make a bigger idiot of myself.... Arsé-kun: Mycroft: I'm still going to get you the information, so it didn't change anything. Have fun? Sheepy: Harley: Thanks.. Sheepy: Sherlock: We three should go out together sometime! Arsé-kun: Mycroft: We'd have to find a good time for that, but I would enjoy it. Sheepy: Sherlock: Great!! Sheepy: Sherlock: Let's do it soon! Arsé-kun: Mycroft: Agreed. Sheepy: Harley: Oh, sure. Sheepy: Harley: I should let you go for now. I ill pay you for your services, of course. Arsé-kun: Mycroft: I'd like to go. I have work in... 15 minutes. Sheepy: Harley: Yes, go. Arsé-kun: *Mycroft hurries back out. Finis takes his sweet time following him* Sheepy: Harley: Ah, what to do next.. Arsé-kun: Arséne: Get everything we're going to need together? Sheepy: Harley: Yes, let's do that. Arsé-kun: *Meanwhile!!* Sheepy: Sheepy: *He knocks on Mori's door* And now we wait. Arsé-kun: Randy: Are you sure about this? Sheepy: Sheepy: Why wouldn't I be? Arsé-kun: Randy: Because you usually enter a different way.. Sheepy: Sheepy: I gotta shake it up a bit. Sheepy: Jack: *He opens the door* Sheepy: Sheepy: Hi, I'm selling windows and window cleaning. For only a whopping $100 a month, I personally will come to break your windows and replace them with new ones. Arsé-kun: *Randy has to turn around and cover his mouth to not start laughing* Sheepy: Jack:....Uh... Sheepy: Jack: Professor, this kid is threatenin' t' break yer windows. Sheepy: Sheepy: For an extra $50 a month, I'll break all of the old electronics in your house that you've been conflicted about replacing to push you in the right direction. Sheepy: Jack: And yer phone. Arsé-kun: Mori: But will you throw out a defective lackey? *he wheels in from scene right* Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, that's its own, separate fee, not bundled in with the rest. Arsé-kun: Mori: Fantastic. How may I be of help, Joker? *he folds his hands* You don't usually enter this way. Sheepy: Sheepy: I have some things I want to ask you about, but by the way, Porlock was begging Sherlock for money again. Sheepy: Sheepy: So anyway, how do you feel about slugs? Sheepy: Jack:..... Arsé-kun: Mori: .... .... Jack, let them in and close the door. Sheepy: Jack: *He moves out of the way. Sheepy strolls in like he owns the place.* Arsé-kun: *Randy follows him with the absolutely minimal level of confidence. This is all new territory to him. Sure, he's seen some shit, but people are dangerous too!* Sheepy: *Jack closes the door.* Sheepy: Sheepy: So, I want to know what you've got to do with Glaaki. Arsé-kun: Mori: As little as humanly possible. *he's frowning.* Which is still far more than I ever wanted. Sheepy: Sheepy: Yeah, about the same here. I've met him face to face once and he didn't bother me for whatever reason. Arsé-kun: Mori: That's curious. As far as I was aware, it just takes what it can get. Sheepy: Jack: Naw, it's got int'rests. Sheepy: Jack: Yer not really Joker, 'r yeh? Sheepy: Jack: Not sayin' it won't go fer juss 'bout anythin', but... Sheepy: Jack:...Sorry. I spoke outta line. Arsé-kun: Mori: Well, you're not entirely wrong..! *he sits up a bit straighter* This is a different Joker. The one you're looking for is Kaito Joker. Different man. Sheepy: Sheepy: Wow, how creative. Sheepy: Sheepy: He's phantom thief Joker and I'm Phantom Joker... Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm gonna sue him for copyright infrigement. Arsé-kun: Mori: Very funny. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, thanks. Sheepy: Sheepy: Great, well this has been informative. Arsé-kun: Mori: Glad to have helped. All I ask is that you leave the full fossil set at the local alone. Everything else is fair game. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh? Arsé-kun: Mori: I want that. Sheepy: Sheepy: So that was Robert I spotted when I was there. Sheepy: Sheepy: Okay, well, I'm not interested in that. Arsé-kun: Mori: Lucky me. Sheepy: Sheepy: I want a part of the velociraptor fossil. Sheepy: Sheepy: But, uh, not the one you're interested in, right? Sheepy: Sheepy: Have you ever noticed how its leg bone is odd? Sheepy: Sheepy: They stole it from someone else but in a hurried rush they lost the leg bone. Really, if I had done it, I wouldn't have left a single piece. Arsé-kun: Mori: What a noble motive you've got then, stealing what's already been taken. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's all I do. Sheepy: Sheepy: Why would I have targeted you initially for any other reason? Sheepy: Sheepy: By now it's just fun. Sheepy: Jack:?! Arsé-kun: Mori: I figured as much. You can continue to try, but maybe be more quiet in those heels of yours. Sheepy: Sheepy: I'm not sacrificing fashion for trying to steal from you. Anyway, disappointingly, I lost interest in stealing whatever I targeted originally a long time ago. Sheepy: Sheepy: I now just want to break in for fun. Sheepy: Sheepy: I stole your shoe a few days ago by the way. Sheepy: Sheepy: Did you find it yet? Arsé-kun: Mori: It'd be strange if I hadn't. You can stop hiding things so low to the ground, though. Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh? If you say so. I just wanted to make sure to make it fair for you. Arsé-kun: Mori: It's my house. I have the advantage to begin with, Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, that's true. Sheepy: Sheepy: Well, I'll work hard on ideas for another scavenger hunt, so look forward to that, alright? Arsé-kun: Mori: I'm utterly terrified. Oh no. Not again. Sheepy: Sheepy: It'd be fun if we worked together sometime! I won't tell Sherlock, though, because he'll throw a fit. Arsé-kun: Mori: On the contrary, please do tell him. He might figure out that I'm fully capable of playing nice. Sheepy: Sheepy: Whenever you're brought up he gets all mad. Arsé-kun: Mori: Why? He already did enough damage to me. I've already quit major crime. What else does he want?? Sheepy: Sheepy: Attention, I dunno. Sheepy: Sheepy: Grudges never die with him, and it takes a bullet to the head and temporarily memory loss with Harley. Sheepy: Sheepy: I've decided to ignore him in favor of: You're more fun and therefore I don't care. Arsé-kun: *Meanwhile in the background, Randy is astronomically out of his element. This is all humans and humanoids. Awkward.* Sheepy: Sheepy: I can tell him though. He might throw a fit but I'll tell him. Arsé-kun: Mori: I'll take it. Making the great Sherlock Holmes throw a fit counts as a win in my book. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, it's fairly easy. Arsé-kun: Mori: I know. It's very amusing. Sheepy: Sheepy: Just tell him that the dinosaurs are all dead and he'll cry. Sheepy: Sheepy: Or that santa doesn't exist. Arsé-kun: Mori: You're only enabling me right now, you know. Sheepy: Sheepy: He was extremely bitter about Robert from what I remember, so now you have a reason. Sheepy: Sheepy: He was completely against investigating that case a while back, so now if you want revenge, he believes in Santa Claus. Arsé-kun: Mori: I'll consider it. Sheepy: Sheepy: Have fun. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, I was thinking this necklace that this rich guy owns. Obviously, he got it from illegitimate means. He has coats of armor. You want coats of armor? Sheepy: Sheepy: "I, the Phantom, will be coming for the precious necklace so beloved to you. In your darkest hours, not even your knights will defend you." Arsé-kun: Mori: Coats of armor are so... Difficult to manage. I'll pass. Sheepy: Sheepy: Aw, okay. I'll focus on the museum for now and stay out of your- Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh! Sheepy: Sheepy: We can work together on that. Sheepy: Sheepy: Just don't kill anybody. Arsé-kun: Mori: Is that the only condition? Arsé-kun: Mori: If it is, I may take up that offer. But not yet. Sheepy: Sheepy: That's all! Arsé-kun: *And Randy has ceased to exist in this location. He's gone to the far off planet of Outside.* Sheepy: *Randy no* Arsé-kun: *randy yes* Sheepy: Sheepy: Okay, now that I've rambled, do you have anything to say? Arsé-kun: Mori: How have you survived this long while being unable to hold your tongue? Sheepy: Sheepy: I know. Sheepy: Sheepy: How is it a mistake? Sheepy: Sheepy: You aren’t going to harm him, so telling you stuff like this is of no detriment to me. Sheepy: Sheepy: You have too much to lose by throwing your comfy lifestyle out the window just to get one final jab at a man with regular pain thanks to the fall. There’s no worth in it, since any further damage will never compare to that original scar. Arsé-kun: Mori: A solid guess, but a wrong one nonetheless. Sheepy: Sheepy: Where did I go wrong? Arsé-kun: Mori: You assumed I was referring to the other subject. Or something like that.. I don't do Language Studies for a reason.. Sheepy: Sheepy: Why is that a mistake? Sheepy: Sheepy: You won’t hurt me. Arsé-kun: Mori: You sound awfully sure of yourself. Sheepy: Sheepy: I’m of use. Arsé-kun: *not shown is moran glaring down the hall. he is pulled out of scene by unseen assistance. thank you unseen hero* Sheepy: Sheepy: There’s no benefit to hurting me. I’m your only access to Sherlock, and yet, simultaneously, we aren’t close enough for it to affect Sherlock to any level you’d deem worth the work of injuring me. Arsé-kun: Mori: Or are you? *he seems amused by all this* And your friend is still waiting for you. Sheepy: Sheepy: Oh, I guess I should go meet with him. Alright, let's talk again soon, okay? Arsé-kun: Mori: You imply I get much choice in the matter. You're going to show up whether I like it or not. Sheepy: Sheepy: Eh? Arsé-kun: Mori: You'll just break in anyway. Sheepy: Sheepy: You mean you don't like my visits? Arsé-kun: Mori: Have the windows been barred shut to prevent you yet? Sheepy: Sheepy: Great! Let's talk soon! Sheepy: *Sheepy leaves* Sheepy: Porlock: Wow, boss. I can't believe Jack has competition on Moran's replacement for Robert! How egg-citing! Arsé-kun: Mori: Porlock? Please close your mouth for five minutes. Sheepy: Porlock: Eh? Sheepy: Porlock: Is that my pun-ishment for witty wordplay, Boss? Arsé-kun: Mori: *he leans over and yanks the knife out of Porlock's chest* No, this is. Sheepy: Porlock: Awww, Moran gave me that as a gift. Sheepy: Porlock: It was excruciatingly painful though. Arsé-kun: Mori: If someone stabs you and doesn't take the knife, you're legally allowed to keep it. Sheepy: Porlock: Really? Arsé-kun: Mori: Well, no one has ever said no! Sheepy: Porlock: What if they do take it? Arsé-kun: Mori: Then they like their knife, I guess. Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, I see. Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, yeah, that pawn he was talking about was me! Sheepy: Porlock: Surprise, right? But I made so much money that I might just consider being charitable and give you some! Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, yeah, that pawn he was talking about was me! Sheepy: Porlock: Surprise, right? But I made so much money that I might just consider being charitable and give you some! Arsé-kun: Mori: You made money? That's a surprise. Sheepy: Porlock: I get money sometimes. Sheepy: Porlock: Like that reporter kid the other day. Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, do you think that's why Moran stabbed me? *He raises his voice some* Moran, why did you stab me? Arsé-kun: Moran: Because you don't shut up. Sheepy: Porlock: Eh? Sheepy: Porlock: My vocal cords are in my chest? Sheepy: Porlock: Wow! I learned anatomy today, Boss! Arsé-kun: Moran: I was hoping I'd hit your lungs. That would shut you up for once! Sheepy: Porlock: Oh! Well, that makes it all different! You missed my lungs. Try harder next time! Sheepy: Porlock: I'd recommend learning anatomy, for one. Sheepy: Porlock: For example, did you know that the head bone is connected to the leg bone? Sheepy: Porlock: And that bones are made up of smaller bones, which are made up of even smaller bones? Sheepy: Jack: That's.....that's not right... Yer "head bone" is called a sk'll, 'n it c'nnects int' th'- Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, it's all connected in the end. I was just skipping a few pieces! Sheepy: Jack: Yeh, I s'ppose that's t' be exp'cted. Yeh can't realy be stupid 'nough to b'lieve- Sheepy: Porlock: The head bone directly connects into the arm bone, and the arm bone directly connects into the leg bone. Arsé-kun: Fantomas: Yer half man, half skeleton! Sheepy: Porlock: Eh? Arsé-kun: Fantomas: Well, you got bones, dont'cha? Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, I sure do! Sheepy: Porlock: Two of 'em! Sheepy: Porlock: One arm bone, two arm bone. Arsé-kun: Fantomas: So where's the rest? Sheepy: Porlock: Uhhhh......... Sheepy: Porlock: A part of my body. Sheepy: Porlock: My arms won't be if Moran gets his way, aha! Sheepy: Porlock: If I'm cut perfectly in half, will I grow two mes? Arsé-kun: Moran: You'd better not! Sheepy: Porlock: Oh, oh! Sheepy: Porlock: If there's two mes, I can do two things I want to do at once! Arsé-kun: Moran: Then I get to kill one. Sheepy: Porlock: Whaaaaaaat!? Sheepy: Porlock: But my plans.............! Sheepy: Porlock: "Bond with Moran" and "befriend Moran"!! Arsé-kun: Moran: It ain't gonna happen, pipsqueak. Sheepy: Porlock: Why not!? Arsé-kun: Moran: You give me headaches. Sheepy: Porlock: How? Arsé-kun: Moran: By never, ever, shutting your mouth. Sheepy: Porlock: If you work on being my friend, I'll work on being quieter. Arsé-kun: Moran: Ughhhhh! Fine! Sheepy: Porlock: Great! Arsé-kun: *less importantly but meanwhile* Arsé-kun: Germain: *he lowers the newspaper* What were you going to say, Nyar? Sheepy: Nyar: *He takes a sip of coffee* So, uh, if a ghost possesses somebody and takes a pictures of the body it's possessing.. Sheepy: Nyar: Is, is that a selfy? Arsé-kun: Germain: Yes. Sheepy: Nyar:....But.. Sheepy: Nyar: That's not its body. Arsé-kun: Germain: But the intent is the same, yes? Sheepy: Nyar: But if that's the case. Sheepy: Nyar: If a scientist takes a picture of his cells, can't you say that it's a cell-fy? Arsé-kun: Germain: ... ... ... *he leans over and pours some of his (thankfully not hot) tea on Nyar* Sheepy: Nyar: Why!!! Arsé-kun: Germain: You are punished for bad pun crimes. Sheepy: Nyar: But! But! It was funny! Arsé-kun: Germain: But a scientist could always be taking pictures of their own cells, even with the camera pointed away. So every picture taken by a scientist could be a cell-fy. Sheepy: Nyar: Yeah! Arsé-kun: *Impey stops washing the dishes for 10 seconds to look over his shoulder* Arsé-kun: Impey: I mean, you're not wrong! Sheepy: Nyar: Right? So why did I get tea spilled on me?! Arsé-kun: Germain: Bad pun crimes are punishable, and that's the tea. Sheepy: Nyar: How come you can make puns and not me!? Sheepy: Nyar: *He huffs* Arsé-kun: Impey: This is a citizen's arrest! *he turns around and shakes his hands off, getting Germain a tiny bit wet.* Sheepy: Nyar: Yeah! Whatever that means! Sheepy: *Wilson, surprisingly, runs in, holding one of Fran's test tubes in his mouth. It smells like dad! There's a shout of Fran saying, "NONONO WILSON GIVE THAT BACK!" ...before him immediately tripping upon entering. RIP* Arsé-kun: Impey: *he goes to help Fran up. priority* Sheepy: Fran: Th-thank you...*He accepts the help and rights his glasses* Wiiilsoooonnn...! Sheepy: *Wilson play bows. He's having fun!!* Arsé-kun: Impey: Okay, okay, I can fix this one! *he nudges the under-sink cabinet door with his foot. it opens a little. what's in there?* Sheepy: Wilson: *He perks his ears up and struts over to see what's inside* Arsé-kun: *bad smelling stuff, bad smelling stuff, DOG TOY!, bad smelling stuff,* Sheepy: Wilson:....!!!! *He drops the test tube in favor of going in to grab the dog toy* Arsé-kun: *the tube is okay. it was only dropped like 2 inches* Sheepy: *Fran picks it up* Sheepy: Fran: Oh, you saved me. Arsé-kun: Impey: I did it! Sheepy: Fran: I'll try to be more careful.... Sheepy: Fran: Wilson wanted in and usually all he does when he's in there is sniff around for a bit and then leave... Arsé-kun: Germain: Then it's safe to assume he smelled his owner's property and ran off to give it back. Sheepy: Fran: Ah...Wilson, I didn't steal from your dad! Sheepy: Wilson: *blah wilson blah blah blah blah blah dad* ? Sheepy: Fran: I should've guessed that.. Sheepy: *Wilson walks off with his chewtoy* Arsé-kun: Impey: Well, he got something he wanted? Sheepy: Fran: Yes, I should be safe now. Arsé-kun: Impey: Or are you?? *he goes and plops his head onto Fran's shoulder. real threatening.* Sheepy: Fran: Why wouldn't I be? Arsé-kun: Impey: Dun dun duuuuuunnnn!.. I dunno, dramatic effect? Sheepy: Fran: Oh! Sheepy: Fran: I think I'm maybe making progress. Sheepy: Fran:...i hope. Sheepy: Fran: What about you? Arsé-kun: Impey: Huh? Me? I've made... Not much progress. Sheepy: Fran: That's too bad. Sheepy: Nyar: What are you trying to accomplish? Arsé-kun: Impey: I'm tryin' to, uh... I'm building rocket internals. Sheepy: Nyar: Oh, so you wanna go to space. Arsé-kun: Impey: Yeah. More specifically, I wanna go to the moon! Sheepy: Nyar: Oh? Sheepy: Nyar: I can arrange that. Arsé-kun: Impey: But that's not the same.. Sheepy: Nyar: Why not? Arsé-kun: Impey: I wanna go myself! Sheepy: Nyar: I can send you. Arsé-kun: Germain: Nyar.. Sheepy: Nyar: What? Arsé-kun: Germain: He's already established he wants to go on his own terms, himself. Sheepy: Nyar: And I can get him there alone. Arsé-kun: Germain: You're going to do it anyway, aren't you. Sheepy: Nyar: Yup. Arsé-kun: Germain: Make it quick. Sheepy: *Nyar uses his powers to send Impey to the Moon!* Sheepy: Nyar: *...before bringing him back a few moments later.* Arsé-kun: *Impey lands flat on his face. Ouch* Sheepy: Fran: Impey!! Are you okay!? Arsé-kun: Impey: *he holds up a thumbs up and loudly exhales. He was holding his breath the entire time.* Sheepy: *Fran helps him up* Arsé-kun: Impey: .... Y'know... *he's trying to catch his breath now, but it's not stopping him* ... I wouldn't mind that... on my own terms... Sheepy: Nyar: Great, hope that makes you more focused. Arsé-kun: Impey: I really wanna get to it now..! *huff, huff* Sheepy: Fran: Oh dear, what should I do... Sheepy: Fran: What if it's poisonous to be in space without a helmet... Sheepy: Fran: What if... Arsé-kun: Impey: Franny, bud, there's no air to begin with..! Sheepy: Fran:...Huh? Arsé-kun: Impey: I mean... I guess it could still be poisonous..? Sheepy: Fran: Do you feel odd? Arsé-kun: Impey: Nope..! Sheepy: Fran: If you start to, please tell me. Arsé-kun: Impey: Oh.. But... Rock! *and he pulls out a rock from one of his many pockets. there's gray dust everywhere. dusty rock.* I got you a rock! Sheepy: Fran:...! Sheepy: Fran: Thank you..! Sheepy: Fran: I'll, um, I'll treasure it. Sheepy: Nyar: You're fast if you could grab rocks in that short timespan. Arsé-kun: Impey: I'm super fast..! *he pulls out two more rocks* Fran, you want more rocks??? Sheepy: Fran: Um...! I don't know what to do with more than one rock. Arsé-kun: Impey: Uh... ... Pet rock? Sheepy: Fran: Oh! A pet for Adam! Good idea!! Arsé-kun: Germain: What a fantastic idea. Sheepy: Nyar: Wow, that's a lot of responsibility, taking care of a rock. Sheepy: Nyar: Are you sure you can trust him with such a huge job? Arsé-kun: Germain: Nyar, you killed a pet rock. Sheepy: Nyar: I did not. Sheepy: Nyar: I threw it at someone and missed. Arsé-kun: Germain: Releasing it from the mortal coil is killing, even if it wasn't the intended target. Sheepy: Nyar: That person killed Mr. Rock by dodging...! Sheepy: Fran: Do you know where he is, Impey? Arsé-kun: Impey: No idea..! Sheepy: Fran: Oh... Sheepy: Fran: I haven't spent aenough time with him recently because I got caught up.. Arsé-kun: Impey: Then les'go! Just lemme, uh.. Drop off all these other rocks? Sheepy: Fran: Okay. Arsé-kun: *Impey exits scene. He returns a couple of minutes later, with far less stuff in his pockets and a lot of dust on his hands.* Sheepy: Fran: Oh! You’re back. Arsé-kun: Impey: I'm back! Sheepy: Fran: Let’s go look for Adam. Sheepy: *Fran goes looking for Adam!* Arsé-kun: *and then other shit happens but 0% of it is important*

#12 #det. au #old bds content

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badlydrawnstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Det. AU Part 11

Arsé-kun: Arséne: So, lets get this straightened out properly this time.

#Detective AU #badlydrawnstuph

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