Matrons Office, St Right Heres I.H.S. Trust Hospital
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd leaves Matron's office with a glint in her eye that means business. She is holding a sheaf of paperwork - and is propelled by the Mandate of Right. Right Here's, that is to say.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd strides away, starched aprons rustling, and steely eyes glinting.
Below Stairs at the Bingo Hall
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd enters the kitchen, looking for signs of life. Muffins? This isn't in line with the Nutritional Programme she gave to Bruce. She tsks, but won't be that easily deflected from her mission. Bruce is added to her mental list, and onward she surges.
In the Staff Offices and Admin Suite
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd appears here, and halts. “Johnson? Yoohoo! Johnson, dear. Where have you got to?” she sniffs. That's a familiar odour in the air. She resolves to have a word with the young administrator at some point, about the dangers of intoxication.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd will, however, have to find her first. And it's quite clear she isn't here. “Well, that's quite the nuisance. Matron won't be pleased at all, and neither will the Trustees. Medicine doesn't grow on trees, after all.”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd does not pause to reflect that this may not be entirely true. Untroubled by irrelevancies, she continues to think aloud. “And as for those crutches that calliaphone lost. If they can't be found, they'll need replacing. And that's quite aside-”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd continues, “-from the regular contributions to the Trust. No indeed,” she looks around and sets a sheaf of papers to the already massed quantities on Johnson's desk. “A hospital cannot run on good intentions alone.”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd warms to her theme, “It takes discipline, leadership, finance and unequivocal administration.” It's as if she's reciting Matron's Manifesto. Her chin goes up, her eyes are clear, her cheeks flushed with passion.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd finishes her rousing speech to imagined cheers from the entire cohort of student nurses, back at St Just About's. But the silence in the office serves an abrupt recall. She shakes her head. “But procrastination. That is the enemy itself.”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd wheels around and strides out. The administrator must be found, and remonstrated with. At once.
Below Stairs
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd returns from the admin office, looking (if possible) even more Purposeful and Indomitable than ever before. She heads out into the hall, humming something anthemic to herself, about St Just About's, and Minerva, and the eternal rightness of Matron.
In the The Bingo Hall
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd emerges from below stairs, looking Utterly Dedicated To Her Purpose, and more than a little formidable. She scans the room for Johnson, and tsks when she draws a blank.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd's attention, however, is caught by something going on just outside the front door. Her wide brow knits together. She sniffs. Is that brazier smoke? And what is all the shouting? Drawing her outdoor cloak around her,
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd steps outside to investigate.
In the West Wing
GERM receptionist Lillith taps her pen on the desk she sits at as she works her way through a crossword in her celebrity gossip rag. She is on strike but it isn't all that different from when she is not to be honest. She should be picketing.
GERM receptionist Lillith grits her teeth when she thinks of the denied stamp on her request for a new clip board, the denied stamp on her reciepts for her make-up, not a GERM expense indeed. The personal hygene demands in writing. Perhaps
GERM receptionist Lillith will have to take her odourous self out to the picket lines, she can't even focus on the bums of the lovely boys in her magazine and that is a problem
GERM receptionist Lillith pushes to her feet and marches towards the main hall in her sturdy orthopedic shoes.
GERM receptionist Lillith marches through the front lounge, spine straight but shoulder bunched up reflecting her annoyance. She used to sit here and screen those who entered, make it more welcoming indeed. She exits the hall.
Just outside the Bingo Hall
There's a heck of a lot of commotion and noise from the assembled staff members, standing outside the Bingo Hall, carrying placards and generally shoutin. Mountjoy, Bruce & Lillith appear to really have put their heart and soul into protesting. “SAY NO TO PAPERWORK!” “DOWN WITH THIS SORT OF THING!” “EXTRA ADMIN = NO SAUSAGE SANDWICH.” Steve Guttenberg is standing at the periphery, near the burning brazier, looking embarrassed. His placard reads: “DOWN WITH THE INFIDEL.” You get the impression he's not quite grasped what the others are trying to achieve, here. OH! Never mind all that! With a heavy heart you muster up the courage to cross the picket line, pithy rejoinders and vicious epithets ringing in your ears. You just hope the afternoon tea you'd come along for was prepared BEFORE this group of losers withdrew their labour.
Mr. Mountjoy stands outside the Bingo Hall, waving his placard threateningly at anyone who shapes to enter the hall.
Steve Guttenberg sips on a cocktail he's made himself, he calls it a Hollywood Agent. Mainly as it's ephemeral, boozy and useless at getting him a better job than the one he's got.
Head Chef Bruce carries his placard proudly, proclaiming. “NO DINNER FOR PAPERWORK PUSHERS!”
Mr. Mountjoy nods approvingly as Bruce takes the lead in intimidating the… ooh… countless passers-by. He would get Lillith giving out some leaflets, if she could only be found. Unfortunately, as per usual, she's buggered off.
Mr. Mountjoy blows on his rickety hands in their fingerless-glove-sarcophagi; he's hoping something will happen, he's hoping the union rep will be back to them. Deep down inside… He's panicking.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd emerges from the hall, crackling with starch and purpose. She surveys the scene, and then surges forward. “Mister Mountjoy. Mister Mountjoy! What is the meaning of this debacle?”
Head Chef Bruce eyes Murgatroyd warily. He gets his placard between himself and the nun so she doesn't see him. He'd really rather be in the kitchen now, honestly.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd glares at the chef “and do stop looking at me as if I'm from some sort of religious order, Bruce. Health isn't a religion, it's much more important than that!” her eyes gleam. “why aren't you making calves foot jelly as Matron instructed?”
(1h43m) Steve Guttenberg decides to involve himself, “Hi Penny, it's me, Steve, you saw me for that flare-up, that I got from Kim Cattrall.”
(1h42m) Mr. Mountjoy sighs, it's lovely to see her again. But that git, Battenburg, has got his claws into her. Well, Mountjoy will see about that.
(1h41m) Head Chef Bruce sighs, rather put-upon. “Can't get the supplies, miss. Requisitioned a whole mess of stuff, and 'aven't gotten any yet. Kinda hard to make calves foot jelly without calf's feet, y'know.”
(1h40m) Mr. Mountjoy strides over. Strides? Sidles? Insinuates himself? Hobbles? It's somewhere amongst all that, a sort of Stridlnuatabble.
(1h39m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd eyes Mr Guttenberg sternly. “Ah yes. Your little problem. I trust it's not recurred? If it does, you must make an appointment at once. With me or Dr Paprika.” And turning to Mountjoy “Well, Mister Mountjoy? I trust you have a grip on things.”
(1h39m) Mr. Mountjoy coughs, “Hello Ma'am,” DAMN! That's exhausted his conversational gambit, that.
(1h38m) Mr. Mountjoy shuffles somewhat, and mutters into his raggedy scarf, “Yesma'am,s'allsorted.” Quite what is sorted is a moot point, “We'reonstrike, ma'am.”
(1h35m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd has not failed to hear Bruce's remark about supplies. She gives him a brisk nod. St Right Here's are having similar problems. She'll get to that in a moment. But firstly- “Strike? Whatever for?”
(1h35m) Steve Guttenberg blinks, “Sure.” another sip, and a smile, “Say, do you guys want a cocktail? I could sure do with a Tubey Hamster? I've had some sent in from Gere Industries, and I'll be able to muddle them up with some Cacaca. It'll be GREAT!”
(1h33m) Head Chef Bruce lifts his head to give Murgy a rather pathetic look. “S'the paperwork, really. It used to be all jes' 'I need three tonnes o' ground beef' an' no questions.”
(1h32m) Steve Guttenberg nods his assent to Bruce, “That's true, I don't think the Admin is goin' to sign me off those plastic swords that Sink loves so much in his pineappley cocktails.”
(1h31m) Mr. Mountjoy also assents, still into his raggedy scarf, “And the security is all to cock, ma'am. I mean! All to pot! Not cock! Oh no! Oh no!”
(1h30m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd says, “Well really, I realise paperwork is burdensome, but that's why we have an administrator, is it not?” She looks round. “Where is she?”
(1h28m) Steve Guttenberg asks, “Where's who?”
(1h27m) Mr. Mountjoy looks shifty, and shoves his neck and head down as far as possible into his raggedy scarf and overcoat, he begins to whistle, tunelessly.
(1h28m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd fixes Mountjoy with a withering glare. “I think, Mister Mountjoy, a decoction of bromide might be in order, to cool your ardour a little, if you cannot control your utterances.”
(1h27m) Mr. Mountjoy looks even more shifty, and begins to pace.
(1h27m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd turns to Mr Guttenberg “Where is Johnson? She ought to be in charge here, making the proper representations on behalf of the hall. And where is Lillith, for that matter?”
(1h25m) Steve Guttenberg shrugs, “I've not seen Lillith today at all. Normally you see her hiding in one of the dorms. Or coming out of Rubel's room… But not at all today. Haven't seen Johnson in ages. I was going to ask her for some more Baileys.”
(1h20m) GERM receptionist Lillith marches out of the hall still clutching her pen, she hears that woman mention her as she exits and her expression grows more sour.
(1h19m) Head Chef Bruce mutters at Steve. “Sure she'd approve it? Couldn't even get my regular fondue cheese…”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd frowns at Mountjoy. “Do stop pacing, Mister Mountjoy, it makes you look shifty. No doubt Johnson has gone off to intoxicate herself, judging by the odour of laudanum in that office. Well, it won't do. We will have to act at once!”
Head Chef Bruce smells trouble. Oh, that's just Lilith. Same thing. He nods to her and hefts his placard with his left hand, to give his right a bit of a rest.
Steve Guttenberg shrugs, “Nah, but I have to ask. I've gotta say that that Paul and that Marly sheepy one caned the Hazelnut Baileys the other night. I said they should calm down but they just laughed in my face. I thought it was a bit rude. Have to fall back on.
Mr. Mountjoy gulps, and continues his pacing.
Steve Guttenberg looks a touch upset, “That minty disgrace they put out.”
(1h16m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd says, “Ah, Lillith! My dear girl, it's no good wearing an expression to sour the milk. This situation is an emergency, and demands decisive action. We must march on the council!”
(1h15m) Head Chef Bruce looks horrified. “Mint Baileys? I didn't even know they made such an abomination.” That'd be like- like- American Tea, or German Sushi.
(1h14m) Steve Guttenberg takes Bruce round his shoulder, “It's true, true. I can't credit it.”
(1h13m) Mr. Mountjoy looks upon Sister M with something akin to the dearest desire, “MARCH on't council, you say? What would that achieve, pray?”
(1h13m) GERM receptionist Lillith picks at a largish pimple on her sallow cheek but nods, decisive indeed, “I am not filling out any papers”
(1h13m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd turns her sternest glare, her Boudicea glare, upon the chef and the barman. “Gentlemen if you please this is no time to be exchanging recipes! The future of the hall (and Matron's Mandate) is at stake! We must act as one!
(1h12m) Head Chef Bruce would counter that they are acting as one…or at least attempting to. Commiserating, like. “Act as what?”
(1h11m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd claps Mountjoy on the back, with enough force to wind him for a week. “None of that defeatest talk now Mr Mountjoy. Remember, hink spes effulget! We march at once!” And so she does, turning on her heel towards Improbable Central. “To Arms!”
(1h10m) Mr. Mountjoy asks, “Where's arms?”
(1h9m) Head Chef Bruce sighs and holds his placard over his shoulder, following behind reluctantly. “What's this madwoman trying to do again?” his voice fades into the distance.
(1h8m) Steve Guttenberg picks up his bag full of DVDs (Cocoon, Police Academy 2) that he'll sign for people as he wanders around.
(1h8m) GERM receptionist Lillith grabs a placard, she snorts when she reads it and scrawls on the back: Down with showers
(1h4m) GERM receptionist Lillith follows behind Guttenberg oogling.
Improbable Central
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd marches in through the town gates, her aprons crackling crisply, and her jaw raised. There's a fearsome light in her clear grey eyes, and she is crying “To ARMS, gentlemen and Lillith. To ARMS!”
Mr. Mountjoy shuffles along behind; his placard dragging in the dirt. Smeared horse-shit and dust obscure the sign, which now reads, DMIN SUS
Head Chef Bruce follows behind Nurse Thatcher, placard held high and proclaiming “NO DINNER FOR PAPERWORK PUSHERS” still. He nods to a few merchants he recognizes from his normal supply runs.
Steve Guttenberg appears in Improbable Central, there's that Pub over there. He wants to go and see if he can't appropriate a few bottles of Sambucca or something, tide the clan over until they can get an order in.
Fading Paradox Kelwine blinks and waves at everyone.
GERM receptionist Lillith follows Guttenberg in with a sign “Down with showers” held up.
Albert, who had been trying to break into Deimos' in a back alley, whistles up the gang. “C'mnlookatthis lads, it's that nurse again!”The irregulars crowd out into the square, and begin to jeer at the protestors.
Mr. Mountjoy looks at Kelwine, and tries to prompt Lillith to give 'em a leaflet. One of the ones which graphically shows the GERM clan staff suffering in slavery.
Head Chef Bruce looks around, and calls out. “If you can't bring the cheese, stay out of my kitchen!” He's…really not terribly good at picketing.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd has begun leading the march in a determined circuit of the town square. Destination: the council offices. Route: via every establishment in the place. Visibility counts in an emergency like this!
GERM receptionist Lillith looks down her hawked noise at Mountjoy and hands him a pile of leaflets “You hand'm out.” (9m51s) Mr. Mountjoy spots the irregulars, and aims a poorly-shod hobnail boot in their general direction.
Head Chef Bruce waves his sign vaguely threateningly at the irregulars, scowling at them. “And you lot stay out of my kitchenregardless!”
Mr. Mountjoy hisses at Lillith, “Oop yours you daft besom, I outrank ye, being, as I am, the clan buttle. You're just a cheap licketyspittle and a lazy lass to boot!”
Albert skips out of the way and signals to Stinker, who launches a conker at Mountjoy's ear, from his catapault. Ker-PLEUOWW.
GERM receptionist Lillith swings her sign in an arc for Mountjoy's head and declares shrilly “I am a LADY.”
Fading Paradox Kelwine simply stares. “So, euh- what's all this?”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd exhorts Kelwine to “Join us, do! The situation is DIRE but the cause is JUST, and we WILL prevail!”this goes on much longer and she'll launch into her old school song.
Fading Paradox Kelwine taps her chin. “Erm, what situation would this be?”
Head Chef Bruce senses a shift in the wind. Notably, the smell of Lilith shifting towards him, egged on by the swinging sign. He steps off to the side, to pull Kelwine aside. “We're protesting the horrendous working conditions at the Bingo Hall, s'what it is.”
GERM receptionist Lillith snatches back a pamphlet and brandishes it Kelwine. “They want me to work, those GERM loonies!”
Mr. Mountjoy whirls, fast, in the direction of the little rapscallions; “I'll 'ave you you little tosser! You come near our 'all again and I'll make you cough up yer knackers!”
Fading Paradox Kelwine frowns. “Horrendous conditions? Like what?”
Head Chef Bruce holds his nose as Lilith approaches, and leans in to whisper to Kelwine. “They put my room next to hers, for one.” He doesn't point at Lilith.
Stinker mimicks Mountjoy's threats, while Albert sends Little George on a sortie under everyone's feet, to recover the ammunition. Conkers are worth a bomb!
Mr. Mountjoy roars! “The bloody admin! Admin! Admin! And they won't sign off my requisition for claymore mines! What 'appens if these little bastards break in and nick our cutlery again?! Without a claymore, I can't scare the little wazzocks orf!”
Fading Paradox Kelwine looks terribly confused. “That's- terrible?”
Steve Guttenberg puts in his tuppenorth, “And all I'm able to get is supermarket own brand vodka for the clan to drink.”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd can be seen lecturing Cadfael on Proper Working Conditions For Staff, and Demios for failing to protect workers from exposure to mercury.
Head Chef Bruce points at Steve. “See? See what we have to work with? And they give me his leftovers for the sauces! It's terrible!”
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd is persuasive. Or perhaps its fairer to say inexorable. Somehow, the staff of the various shops in town spill onto the streets, waving makeshift placards.
GERM receptionist Lillith sneers. “Smile at visitors, they tell me! Fill out papers! No leather clipboards needed! And how is makeup not a clan expense?!” You don't want to see Lillith without, it after all.
Fading Paradox Kelwine scratches her head. “Have you tried asking for better conditions?”
Mr. Mountjoy roars at a rookie who's investigating the table they've set up, you know the sort, with the pictures of suffering at just the right height for a five-year old (or midget) to be emotionally scarred.
Head Chef Bruce eyes Kelwine warily. “Ask 'em? You ever try arguing with Bernard, that old Berk? Bloody mule, he is. And that woman he put in as Admin!? HA! Don't get me started.” Seems someone already has. He goes on to list grievances, including lack of cheese.
Steve Guttenberg smiles at Kelwine, “Oh, we've asked, but we've got a horrible new clan administrator, she's a proper hellion. She's threatened to kill us all if we don't toe the line. Half the clan have run off.” he looks like he's given the game away. “Oops.”
GERM receptionist Lillith waves her sign back and forth “We are doing that aren't we?”
Head Chef Bruce, of course, is worried about more than the cheese, but really, the Cheese Fiasco was just the first step. You never know what'll be denied next. They might even uproot his herb garden! The horror!
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd, striding over to sort out the rabble that is meant to be marching, pauses to explain to Kelwine “All requests are being denied. There is a desperate shortage of funds, and an excess of red-tape. And our administrator is half the trouble!”
(6m42s) <LHTF>Fading Paradox Kelwine scowls. “Well, erm- So you're going on strike? How's it working out?”
(5m9s) Mr. Mountjoy growls at Kelwine, “We're 'ere ain't we?! Them bloody high-ups, and la-de-das, well, they'll soon learn.”
(4m56s) Head Chef Bruce pulls the dogend out from behind his ear and lights it, puffing away, placard nearly forgotten resting in the crook of his arm. ”'ow's it bloody look like it's working out? We still 'aven't gotten anything! And that Johnson and Bernard 'ave both gone-
(4m22s) Head Chef Bruce continues- “missing! I swear, I find out they're in cahoots, I'm comin' to you for spices for their tea, Mountjoy.”
(4m13s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd wags a finger at young Kelwine. “no need to pull those kind of faces, my dear. Sometimes, desperate times call for desperate measures. Sulking won't get us anywhere. What we need is Clear, Decisive Action!”
(3m30s) Mr. Mountjoy nods, “and not to mention Miss Ophone, and Miss Ari. If them two are out in t'jungle, then gawd 'elp 'em.”
(2m36s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd whirls round. “Miss who and Miss Ari?” Nearby, the Irregulars perk up their ears.
(2m36s) Mr. Mountjoy has visions of Ari trying to pet one of those sneaky bastard lions, whilst Callia would be fiddling with her elbows up to the innards of a dangerously insane toaster.
(2m30s) <LHTF>Fading Paradox Kelwine nods slowly. “Anything I can do to help?”
(1m51s) Mr. Mountjoy sighs, “Miss Calli O'phone. You know 'er, the one wi' the gammy ankle and the suppurating wound.”
(5m42s) Steve Guttenberg hands Kelwine his placard, the one which says “Down with this sort of thing.” “Here, you can have this. I'll sit here, quietly, and watch.”
(5m37s) GERM receptionist Lillith holds out her sign “You can march for me miss! Get my message across!” then she can stop this marching, her bunions are not happy right now. Besides she is working up a sweat and she smells bad enough
(5m26s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd says to MountJ, “that ankle healed beautifully, thank you very much, and the wound did notsuppurate. Out in the jungle, you say, with Miss Ari? And what does Mr Bernard have to say about that?”
(5m21s) <LSG> Zarro, new zombied, trudges through the outpost, oozing depression.
(4m27s) Mr. Mountjoy hisses at Lillith, “And you can keep workin' missy, you've been buggered orf all morning and I bet my falsies that you've not cleaned the boys dorms. Have you been orf wi' that Rubel again? Or is it Mr Bishop now you're after?!”
(4m10s) <LHTF>Fading Paradox Kelwine nods again. “I could…dig some kind of hole so you can plant your signs? That way you don't have to hold them?” (4m4s) Head Chef Bruce turns to Murgy. “Berk's missing too, y'know. 'aven't seen 'im in days.”
(3m44s) <Wise> Daedalus hesitates on his way to the pub arrested by the minor commotion in the Outpost. When he discerns the nature of the gathering he grins wryly. “Up the workers!” he offers, in what may be intended as encouragement. Then hastens into the pub.
(3m21s) Mr. Mountjoy waggles his poo-smeared placard at Zarro, “OI! Are you gonny support us an'orl?”
(3m3s) Head Chef Bruce turns to raise his placard towards Daedalus with a nod. “Got that right!”
(2m24s) GERM receptionist Lillith sees Kelwine has already been forced to hold a sign but there is fresh meat, she holds her sign to Zarro “Carry this you!”
(2m2s) Mr. Mountjoy asks Bruce, “What's 'e mean; “Up the Workers?” Is 'e taking the piss?”
(1m1s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd's head is momentarily turned by Daedalus' words of support. Oh my. What a distinguished looking gentleman! But this won't do! She has a march to lead! “Onward!” she cries, and surges towards the council offices.
(45s) Head Chef Bruce shrugs at Mountjoy. “Prolly means 'up with the workers'? Supportive-like.” He doesn't want to see a freshly planted “tree” in Mountjoy's garden. The place is dangerous enough as is.
(3m33s) talkydoor bounces off the door of the PSK, and trips over a table leg. She lies looking up at the underside of the table, and decides to listen, to see how much of a threat this whole thing is. And because she's basically lazy.
(1m28s) Head Chef Bruce wonders if perhaps they should follow Murgy to the council offices. He stubs his dogend out on a bench, then follows behind cautious-like.
(1m22s) Mr. Mountjoy ohos, but resolves to keep a weather eye on Daedalus, just in case he's one of them. Speaking of them, there's one on the floor down by 'ere, it's Miss Door. One of the interminable buggers who've bled the clan dry over the years…
(1m19s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd, launched, is a wondrous sight. Like a frigate down the slipway, she cannot be held back now. Not even by drunken, stumbling midgets (who will be visited later, with lectures about liver disease). But there is one thing that halts her.
(1m6s) <LHTF>Fading Paradox Kelwine drops down and digs a small hole in the ground, which she uses to stick the sign in. (14s) Mr. Mountjoy has a mental list of about eight or nine monogrammed towels, enough fois gras to float a monkey, a long list of cutlery and worst of all, one of the Queen Anne chairs.
(5s) talkydoor hears people leaving. But that's not fair! She's only just started spying. Cunningly, she hides in Bruce's shadow.
(4s) <Wise> Unfairlady is walking, whistling under her breath, absolutely minding her own business and not intent on filching any booze at all when she suddenly finds herself marched toward. By someone looking extremely purposeful. “Oych.” She ducks, behind a bin.
(1s) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd turns back to Bruce. “The old berk? I take it you mean Mr Bernard. What do you mean missing?”
(1m17s) GERM receptionist Lillith scowls at the zombie who is clearly of no use, the undead these days, no respect for a lady. Grumbling in a very put upon way she marches for the council with the rest (22s) Head Chef Bruce comes up short, nearly tripping over talkydoor as he backpedals. “I mean…excuse me miss… he ain't been 'round the Hall in a few days…normally I hear 'im yelling for me same time every day.” (20s) talkydoor would deny all knowledge of this list, mostly through forgetfulness. But she hasn't noticed that her cover has been blown, and sneakily follows along with the others. (17s) Mr. Mountjoy sidles along behind.
(6h3m) Stinker sneaks in behind/alongside talkydoor, trying to see if he can pick her pocket. Intrepid little toe-rag, going for a midget mark.
(6h3m) Mr. Mountjoy is suddenly taken up by the spirit of Aneurin Bevan, of Arthur Scargill, Ken Livingston, “WE'RE ON THE MARCH, THE GERM(AN) ARMY, WE'RE FED UP WITH BLOODY FORMS! WELL, WE'VE GONE AND GIVEN UP, AND WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK, BECAUSE WE'RE GERMAN STAFF!
(6h2m) Mr. Mountjoy continues, “MEMBERS ONE AND ALL!”
(6h2m) Somewhat Smitten Malverius comes barrelling out of the Common Ground entrance, hot on the trail of an escaping pack of jelly babies! (6h2m) Mr. Mountjoy shouts, “OGGY OGGY OGGY! OI OI OI!”
(6h1m) <Wise> Unfairlady's eye, peering from behind a particularly 'aromatic' bin spies competition. That damn urchin is up to no good, she feels that. That's her job. “Oi, whatchit, eh!” She proffers, still from behind the bin.
(6h1m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd rounds upon Mountjoy “MISTER Mountjoy if you PLEASE! mind your language sir!” And then to Bruce, “Mr Bernard is missing, and so are Miss Ari and that wretched little monkey calliaphone (who still hasn't returned her crutches).”
(6h) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd is appalled. The situation is far worse than even her competent intellect had grasped.
(6h) Mr. Mountjoy hollers, “WHAT DO WE WANT?! FREEDOM! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW! WHAT DO WE WANT? OUR REQUISITIONS SIGNED OFF! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW! WHAT DO WE WANT? PAID BREAKS! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW!”
(6h) GERM receptionist Lillith turns a gimlet eye on Mountjoy, the berk is mad if he thinks she is starting to chant nonsense.
(5h59m) Somewhat Smitten Malverius herds the escaping snack candies out the gate and laughs as goes on his merry way.
(5h58m) Head Chef Bruce eyes Mountjoy warily. He hasn't been this fired up since that explosion in the barracks…well, that'd have been on fire, but still. He nods to Murgy. “And so's Johnson, who's supposed to be Admin and taking care of this!”
(5h58m) Albert, on hearing calliaphone maligned, nudges Stinker. “give's the catapault.” A conker is let fly, aiming for Sister M. But in the melee, Albert is jogged, and the missile goes wide.
(5h58m) Mr. Mountjoy turns to his fellow staff members, the Matron, the receptionist-cum-chambermaid, the chef and the c-list-celebrity-cum-barman, “Come on youse lot! Let's 'ear you!”
(5h58m) Civilian Marguerite bounds past Mal to lead the chase. (5h58m) talkydoor joins in with the “Now!”'s. She can cope with that much. Darting in between people's legs, she hasn't even noticed the enterprising pickpocket yet.
(5h57m) GERM receptionist Lillith mind is quickly changed by Murgatroyd's horror. To hell with lady like then, with a nasty smirk she hollars in her high, shrill way “Rights for workers! Paperwork unjust!”
(5h56m) <GERM> Jon Bishop's hole sense is tingling! He appears next to Kelwine, examining the hole she used for the sign. “No, no. I don't see it. It doesn't look like you put your heart into making that hole. This hole is unhappy.”
(5h55m) Head Chef Bruce catches a conker to the back of the head, and catches it as it falls. He whirls about, sending the seed hurtling back towards Albert at speed. “You lot! What're you good-fer-nothin's doin' here?”
(5h55m) Steve Guttenberg half-heartedly waggles his placard a bit, “Yeah, man.” he allows.
(5h56m) <Wise> Unfairlady's hat flies off her head. The only real feature prominent above the bin's brim. She jumps up, outraged. Upsetting the bin. It waggles for a split second, and she hurries to steady it, only managing to completely knock it down.
(5h55m) GERM receptionist Lillith sidles her way over to Guttenberg as she chants, she smiles flirtatiously or like she has indigestion, its not clear
(5h55m) Mr. Mountjoy goes on edge, it's one of the management. 'E'll be orderin' 'em all back to work, “We're not gonna! This is an offishul strike, and you cannut send us back until you've 'eard what we've got to say.” what with you being a representative an 'all.
(5h54m) talkydoor is covered in garbage. Nothing very new there, only she's not at home. “Hey! I see you! Trying to disrupt this… er, peaceful protest of some sort.” She watches the hat frisbee over her head.
(5h53m) <Wise> Unfairlady makes to catch the falling, splitting, rolling bin that's gathering momentum and spewing malodorous ex-pieces of food, advertising media, information means and lots of otherwise unidentifiable stuff.
(5h52m) Albert snickers, and dodges Bruce's shot with well-practised ease. He and his fellow miscreants continue jeering, and Stinker hits paydirt! From talky's pocket, he extracts … a piece of chewed up nicotine gum. Fantastic!
(5h52m) Head Chef Bruce spots Bishop. “Whatever we're picketing for, add that one to the list! Bugger digs up my gardens!”
(5h51m) Steve Guttenberg sees that Mr Bishop has arrived, obviously sent here by the management to hear the worker's side; Steve decides to hand over his terms, “Hi! Jon! I need some barrels of beer!”
(5h51m) talkydoor finds a pair of mostly serviceable panties, pauses for a moment, then sneaks towards Lilith, with the intention of tucking them into Lilith's waistband. She's not very good at sneaking.
(5h50m) GERM receptionist Lillith high pitched voice is turned on Bishop “I won't be back until they renew my magazine subscriptions so don't you get it in your mind to force me! I don't care how dire things get without my guiding hand!”
(5h50m) <Wise> Unfairlady runs after the bin, straight toward the protesting party. Sometimes behind, sometimes in front. In the end, more or less on top. A hand flies up to secure the newly reacquired hat and she screams “Achtung! Incoming..uhm. Data?”
(5h49m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd sees Mr Bishop. At last, someone sensible! And authoritative … or, something.”Mr Bishop! Mr Bishop! I say Mr Bishop do pay attention!”
(5h47m) <GERM> Jon Bishop flinches, turning to the barrage of statements. “Wha?! I improved that garden!” Then to Steve, “No! You've got it mixed up, you give me free things. I don't give you free things.” Then to Lilith. “What…which magazine?!”
(5h47m) <LHTF>Fading Paradox Kelwine slowly inches back to a wall, content to just watch.
(5h46m) Head Chef Bruce turns on Bishop. “And where's that bloody Johnson? She's denied my cheese request and how do you bloody well think I'm going to make enough fondue for that American Thanksgiving Nonsense coming up without it?”
(5h46m) <GERM> Jon Bishop twists to Penelope, speaking quickly, “I'm trying dammit there's like fifty of you!”
(5h46m) GERM receptionist Lillith places her hand on her hips “All my magazines and the makeup too. The lot of you can forget about getting me to shower as well. Take that back to them you work for!”
(5h45m) Steve Guttenberg but-buts, “but- but- You're one of the management! You need to sort this bar order out. We can't, e won't be able to The bar is running dry and even Althea's homebrew has suffered.”
(5h44m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd says “Now now, there's no need to curse. We have urgent matters at stake here Mr Bishop! The staff are up in arms, the paperwork has multiplied, the administrator is feeding the problem, and now Mr Bernard and Miss Ari and Miss Callia are missing”
(5h44m) <Wise> Unfairlady skids and skips and rolls and she, with precious help from the bin, scatters garbage everywhere. The usual assortment there off. The half rotten banana skin couldn't go missing, so's present the soggy newspaper. And the apple core.
(5h43m) talkydoor admires Fair's temporary position atop the march, and attempts to climb up to join her. Unfortunately, her muddy foot slips off Jon's knee and she ends up hanging from his sleeve. “Er-”
(5h42m) GERM receptionist Lillith scowls “There were papers everywhere making a mess already, how is filling them in going to help, should just do what I do when they cross my desk, otherwise how would the paper shredder get any work?”
(5h41m) <GERM> Jon Bishop cringes, switching to Bruce. “Milk a cow or something! Cheese comes from that, right?” Then Steve. “Uh, uh. Shit. Alcohol. I think rotten leaves make that.” He adds, “There's always need to fucking curse!”
(5h41m) <Wise> Unfairlady is no longer on top of things, but rather in the middle, an inextricable mixture of small human female, bin and former contents of the bin.
(5h41m) Head Chef Bruce nods in agreement with Lillith. “And what would Mounjoy line Sink's basket with?” Actually…probably best not to think about that one.
(5h38m) <GERM> Jon Bishop stumbles sideways, talkydoor shifting his weight. “Missing people? Why's it matter to me?” He didn't sign up to be a leader. Helping people takes energy. “Agh! Well, just look around or something! Yelling at me doesn't do shit!”
(5h38) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd fixes Bishop with a glare that could wilt an aircraft carrier. But she is not one to be pushed off-topic. “Well Mr Bishop. There is the problem, laid out before you. What do you propose to do about it?”
(5h38m) Mr. Mountjoy turns to Jon Bishop, “Well sah, what're you going to do?”
(5h38m) talkydoor gets down somehow. The march seems to have turned into a milling, or else the journey to the offices is far longer than she remembers. Pretending she knows what's going on, she picks a bloody bandana from the rubbish and waves it, in general protest.
(5h38m) GERM receptionist Lillith shrugs, she isn't actually concerned with the missing people after all. Missing people means more money to go around and less paperwork after all.
(5h38m) Head Chef Bruce recorks his sherry and lights a new dogend as he watches Bishop carefully.
(5h37m) <GERM> Jon Bishop scratches his head. “Uh. Well. Look for them. Do a search, I guess. And leave me alone.” (5h35m) Mr. Mountjoy asks, “Whassat sur? What'd you say there?” Bloody management, never make a competent decision, or a cup o' tea for 'emselves.
(5h34m) Head Chef Bruce can attest to that. Always “Bruce! Tea!” and “Bruce! Sarnies!” and “Where's my bloody dinner!?”
(5h34m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd looks at Bishop like she might be about to embrace him. And if she does that he's surely sunk. But no, she doesn't. She merely exclaims, in clarion tones, “A SEARCH! Why Mr Bishop that is quite brilliant! We must re-group, to organise it!”
(5h33m) <GERM> Jon Bishop sighs, then points northward, looking at Mountjoy. “Uh, walk, that way. Until you find something.”
(5h33m) Head Chef Bruce hasn't seen the irregulars in a while, and looks around furtively. “Who're we gonna get to search for 'em, though?” He tries to spot the grubby kids, just in case.
(5h33m) Mr. Mountjoy asks Sister M, “So dus that mean we go back to the 'All and 'ave a cuppa and a chinwag?”
(5h33m) <Wise> Unfairlady, complete with 'data input' comes to a halt upon meeting the wall next the council office's main door. The bin lid does the obligatory spin and roll-roll-roll, before coming to a stop, as well, with a reverberating k-klang.
(5h32m) talkydoor finally realises some of what's going on, and stops in her pointless march. “callia's missing?! Ooh, I'll help, I'll help!” Her arm goes up as high as it can. “Oooh!”
(5h32m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd shakes her head at Mssrs Mountjoy and Bishop. “No no, that won't work. We must be organised about it. Systematic. Disciplined!” there's those anthemic strains again. She takes a breath. “We must be professional about this.”
(5h32m) GERM receptionist Lillith shakes her head “I am not searching for that lot! That isn't in my contract” the contract she is currently protesting, one that may or may not exist (5h30m) Head Chef Bruce eyes Lilith warily. “You've got a contract?”
(5h30m) <Wise> Unfairlady's head pops up from the mound of things and she blows sideways to flip a soggy and and slightly oozing deceased cabbage leaf out of her eyes. It won't give way, because it's stuck to the brim of her hat, so she gives up “Whut? Calli's missin'?!”
(5h30m) Mr. Mountjoy grumbles, “Look, I'm gonna go and lock up the 'all. I know we're on strike and that, but them bloody kids are 'anging around and we don't want the copper piping half-inched, now do we?”
(5h29m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd looks round for a Suitably Professional Person to engage. Now, who would volunteer for such a task?
(5h29m) GERM receptionist Lillith lies “I most certainly do, done up very professionally too”
(5h28m) <Wise> Unfairlady scrambles to her feet and hobles over, closer to the marching&standing group, picking the occasional piece of smelly unidentifiable from her person.
(5h28m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd says to Unfairlady, “Not just Calliaphone. Miss Ari, and Mr Bernard too. And goodness knows where that Johnson's got to.”
(5h27m) talkydoor bounces up and down. “Ooh! I can help find Bernard, too. Then maybe he'll give me more of those bottles. The ones that pop.”
(5h28m) <Wise> Unfairlady discards most of the things picked, only keeps one or two that look promising. She pushed back her hat, newly decorated with ex-cabbage “Whatsis 'bout who's missin' and abreach of contract, I say you need a lawyer.”
(5h27m) <Wise> Unfairlady stops, and counts on her fingers the missing people. She doesn't manage from the first try. But she persists and in the end she has four assorted finger raised. “Thatta many? Where are they?”
(5h26m) GERM receptionist Lillith snorts rudely “Missing”
(5h26m) talkydoor grins, and sticks out her chest. “I am indeed a prosheff- one of those. I'm so famous, I don't even advertise!” She's not sure what she's volunteering for, but if it involves a Bernard and a callia then what can go wrong?
(5h25m) Head Chef Bruce huffs at Unfair. “If we knew, they wouldn't be missing!” He suddenly remembers something. “Oh all this excitement, and I had a roast in the oven!” He drops his placard and leaves the dogend here, moving like only a worried chef can, northward.
(5h24m) <Wise> Unfairlady contributes, picking a piece of soggy, tangled string from her sleeve “Imma prof'shional, too. And I know a lawyer. Uhm. In fact I have a lawyer.”
(5h23m) <GERM> Jon Bishop lifts a brow. “Okay, okay. We get it. They are lost. And, some of us have contracts or..something. Whatever. Just walk in a direction and look for chocolate or places that old people like.”
(5h23m) Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd is not convinced, but she doesn't have a lot of alternatives here. She says to talkydoor “In that case, you and I must speak. Come along, this way. We'll use Matron's office.” and with that, she puts her fingers to her lips and whistles sharply.
(5h23m) <Wise> Unfairlady shrugs “No need ta huff like that. I was merely asking where htey went missin'. One can't even ask, eh? Pfft.”
(5h23m) GERM receptionist Lillith leans her sign against a building, she has done her part, all the effort expended today! She sidles northward with plans to hide her odiferous self in her rooms until the work is over.
(5h22m) talkydoor nods over at the fellow professional. “We can do it for you! You can leave it all to us. Well, not all, obviously, because I'm sure you care about them far too much t-.” She frowns, a bit lost in her own sentences.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd looks up, and then nods as a pair of border collies trot in from- somewhere. She pauses to give them instructions, then waits while they start to move about the town, rounding up the Staff from the Bingo Hall, to lead them out.
(5h22m) talkydoor bounces excitedly. An office! How professional. She may have a new favourite word.
Unfairlady leans against the closest vertical, solid thing, might be a person, might be a wall, she doesn't look, and rummages in a bulgy backpack, hand going in empty, coming out full. With a bottle of 'sunshine'. Profit.
Jon Bishop scans the crowd. None of them are bothering him anymore. “Huh, well. I guess that's a job well done.”
Unfairlady scowls a little at the word 'office' last time she heard it, it was closely tied up with the loathed 'work'. She takes a swig of booze and feels better. She nods at Talky “Yup. Sure we can. We can find lot's a people. Live, dead, or undead.”
talkydoor shrugs. “And undecided.”
Unfairlady points at Talky, nodding “Yup. An' that, too. The clinic whatsits.” Then glug, more 'sunshine' follows the first batch, presumably to see where it's gone and what is it up to.
Sister Penelope Anne Murgatroyd pauses at the gate, watching the staff members file through with their placards dragging behind them. She turns to her assistant, who appears to have already hired an assistant of her own. “Well? Come along, no dawdling!” And with that, she's out.
talkydoor watches the drinking, and fishes a hip flask out of her person. It hasn't been opened in so long, what's left is essence of alcohol.“To the success of this vulture!” That's not quite right.
Unfairlady blinks after the retreating protesters, looking minutely disappointed “Waitwhat. That's it? No molotovs thrown at the offices, no rotten veggies an' eggs thrown at them? What kinda' protest march izzat?”
talkydoor flops onto a convenient… well, it was probably once a cabbage. Nice and soft, anyhow. “Told you. It's a peaceful one. No inciting riots outside the PSK, or the booze might go up in flames.”
Unfairlady drinks thirstily then eyes Talky “Uhm. I'm pretty sure it's a venue you're thinkin' about. But anyways, let it be a succsss'f..succesiv..suggestive one?”
Unfairlady flops down next to Talky, avoiding the cabbage-that-is-no-more. “Uhm. Too bad. That would've been something to see. They dinna even threaten (peacefully, of course) to sue the bejesus outta them. Ehm. Protesters, these days…”
talkydoor grins. “To a suggestive venue then! Cheers!” She inhales some more of the alcohol vapour, and some brain cells die a very happy death.
talkydoor thinks, frowning with the effort. “Maybe that's because… their contracts are written on old copies of the Enquirer. With blue crayon. I know, because I snuck in and changed some of the words.”
Unfairlady grins back and goes on for some brain cell genocide herself.
talkydoor staggers to her feet… her feet and a hand, on a convenient wall. “Right! I have… a very important job to do. Some… lizard thing… terrorising kittytown. People are relying on me!”
Unfairlady waggles her bottle, imprecisely. “One of those bloody things. Eh. But kittytown. It would be fun to watch em run, screamin' from lizardzilla. ” Then swigs some more “Eh. But I guess one's to do, what one's to do, right?”
talkydoor nods, and the outpost spins. “But… once its head is on a silver plate… then we can go hunt for missing people, yes? Follow the trail of chocolate and bumbling!”
Unfairlady waggles the bottle some more “Aye. Sounds like a good plan. Trail of chocolate. Road of booze.” Then slooowly the remaining braincells catch on “Silver? You have a silver platter?”
talkydoor thinks. “I think I did at one point. It was an award of some sort.” …made of tin foil on cardboard… “I think I dropped it in a bottomless pit up in robottown.”
Unfairlady sighs. Even a barely glimpsed possibility of a shiny, lost afterwards, makes her a bit sad. Luckily there's sunshine, and that is the cure of all things evil. Like paperwork, work, boredom, a sprained ankle or a black eye. And many, many more.
Unfairlady pushes to her feet, not without a slight hesitation forward, as she reaches bipedal status. In the end finds balance and points vaguely westward “Gotta go see about some..stuff. Too. So. We'll be plannin' soon. I'll bring some sunshine.”
talkydoor reaches out a grubby hand. It sways a circle of eight. “Liquid sunshine! That can only help. We can't fail!”
talkydoor pats her on the shoulder instead, missing the hand completely, and sways slowly out of town. She's likely to end up an easy meal for something with iron digestion.
Unfairlady grins, gold tooth glinting, slyly. “Can't see no way for it to.” and she reaches out her own grubby hand, the one not currently holding a bottle, trying to catch Talky's. Hand.
Unfairlady blinks at Talky, blinks at her own hand, then shrugs, shoves it in to a pocket and shambles out of town.
talkydoor trots into town, looking around curiously. “Here, thingummy.” She's peering under empty crates and around corners, and even cranes her neck to look up at the roofs. “Hmm.”
talkydoor pats her pockets. “…know I kept a list in here somewhere…” She finds a grubby scrap of paper and peruses it for a moment.
Unfairlady stirs a little in her sleep. In the stocks. “Hrrrnk-phiuuuu. Hnrr..rrrk-phiuu. Hnrrk…nrk..hrrrrk…Mneap, mneap. ” An eye blinks open, under a precariously perched hat.
King Leonidas helps the poor woman out of the stocks. What a good king!
talkydoor listens to the announcement. “Nope. That's no help.” Shrugging, she heads towards the PSK. She can't remember what she's doing here, and the pub is a nice default.
talkydoor clinks back out of the pub again. “So that's what I was doing here. Makes sense, I suppose.” She sees a commotion at the stocks and wanders over - carefully, in case there's going to be a fight.
Unfairlady rolls out of the stock, suddenly free, not awake enough, yet. “Huh?” That is one amazing contribution to humankind's knowledge trove. A hand flies up to the hat, tipping it further back, in acknowledgement to the gentleman helping her out.
talkydoor recognises the lady. “Huh!” It seems like a good greeting. She nods to the man too, just in case he's somebody important.
Unfairlady scrambles marginally upright, the second eye blinking slowly open. The haze clears a bit and she spots a familiar looking…uhm, can't exactly place her..oh! “Talky!”
King Leonidas salutes the ladies as best he can with his hands trapped.
talkydoor responds. “Lady!” It's a good default greeting, that just happens to be almost right.
Unfairlady tips her hat even further back, it's now in danger of toppling, absolutely delighted with the name. “Fancy runnin' in to you here. I was lookin' for you.” That might be a blatant lie, but maybe one can indeed look for people in one's sleep.
King Leonidas blinks. He's not a lady, right? He Glances down, just to check. Nope. Not a lady.
talkydoor nods, and shoves the bag of coins behind her back. “Yes, and I was looking for you! Not here to get reward money. Er… why was I looking for you again?”
Unfairlady flshes a grin at the gentleman now in the stocks. A gold tooth glints, a fair price, in her opinion. A grin for her freedom. What, what, it's a good grin. It's got gold in it.
talkydoor waves at the rookie. “You look nice and comfy!” That's code for 'I've fallen for that before, and it's not happening again.'
Unfairlady leans on the stocks, careful not to touch the mechanism, and frowns a bit, trying to engage neural processes. A scratch on the forehead later (sometimes these things work, you know?) she beams “I know! We're supposed ta be looking for sumptin'.”
talkydoor nods enthusiastically. “Yes, I knew it was something like that.” She unhides the money. “I found a beastie of some description. Was that it?”
Unfairlady runs her previous statement through her mind again “No, wait. Was people. More than one, too.”
King Leonidas grins back, trying to look like he's quite happy where he is. Shame to have any of his sujects trapped in this diabolical machine.
Unfairlady sees money and her train of thoughts derails on it. “Uhm. Neat. The lizardzilla, was it? Cash. Uhm.” Then shakes it, with an obvious effort “Let's think. There was sunshine. And a march. The all too peaceful protesters.”
talkydoor pales a little bit. “I don't think I killed any of those. Though it was a bit busy…”
Unfairlady re-grins. Still careful not to get back in there, now she's awake. Marginally so, but still. But the fellow looks happy about his current station, so who's she to argue.
talkydoor brightens. “Oh, I do remember that! That was a long time ago, wasn't it? And didn't I say something really stupid… Something beginning with a p, or maybe a v.” She balances a req coin on the rookie's head, for luck.
Unfairlady's hand flies up to her forehead, for a bit more scratch&think “Not to kill, I think. More like to find. Them..have been misplaced? A bit like the Divene Orb of Something or Other?”
Unfairlady “s eyes dart after the coin, but she manages not to derail again “A Pee-Vee? What's a Pee-Vee? I think there was a vulture in it, somewhere. Or a venue?”
talkydoor nods. “I can do those kind of quests. I do them all the time. So, where do we look? I've searched all around here, and can't see anything unusual.” Well, except somebody willingly being in the stocks. That's a little bit rare.
Unfairlady glances at the guy in the stocks again. He looks like someone who's had a lot of money, for a very long time. He doesn't seem to have much at the moment, but that thing rubs off on one.
talkydoor screws her face up. “Where would we find a vulture? Zombietown is the obvious place to start. Maybe the vulture can tell us where the missing people are.”
Unfairlady steeples her fingers, leaning further on her elbow “It's onna tip of my tongue. I think it might be a good idea to fig're out what we're lookin' for before we start lookin'. Any ideas?”
King Leonidas smiles and waves, happy to be out in the open air. He says, kindly: “What are your names? I am King Leonidas, of Sparta.”
talkydoor nods at the king, then remembers herself and does an awkward curtsey. “Do you know what we might be looking for? I'm talky, of SquatHole.”
King Leonidas' pocket suddenly gets heavier. He squints at the midget. That's not how it's supposed to work.
talkydoor tries to hide a snigger. Reverse pickpocketing is surprisingly difficult sometimes.
King Leonidas smiles broadly and says “Thank you, kind citizen. I shall repay your deed, should you ever require a favor of me.”
Unfairlady tips her hat again, and even manages a half bow, he's royalty! “Unfairlady, of pretty much all ovah, dude. Mister? Sir? your highness? Your Majj… majjj… majesteh?”
talkydoor grins. She's being addressed by royalty! She's not sure whether she should be bowing or mooning, but either way it's not an everyday occurence.
Unfairlady then tries to get around to thinking again “A vulture. New Pitts. That could be an idea. A place to start. But how would we know which vulture?”
talkydoor nudges Fair with an elbow, and stage-whispers, “Aren't royalties supposed to be really good at finding missing things? Or something.”
King Leonidas nods to the kind citzen who took his place, taking the opportunity to draw up to his full height and incline his head to the pair, then return to the stocks.
Unfairlady's ears perk up a bit, upon hearing favor. There's suddenly something hawlike, if not vulture like about her. Even in her present rather foggy state, she can tell, royal favors might be worth something.
Unfairlady sways, slightly, at the nudge, then whispers back “I dunno, I thought they could heal that scroff..scrum..scrim..the disease with the scabs and such. But we should maybe ask?”
talkydoor does another, mini-er curtsey, knees complaining more this time. “If you don't mind me asking, king…” she coughs, “are you any good at finding lost things? You know, like a super-power or something.”
King Leonidas regards her carefully. “What sort of missing thing, my daughter? I don't know about a super power, but I may be able to assist you.”
Unfairlady nodnods, almost displacing her hat. A grubby hand flies up to steady it, and she tries to mimic the curtsy, legs getting entangled and almost falling over. But she should get points for trying, poor thing.
talkydoor looks to Fair for help. “You see, we're looking for…. very important, you know… how would you put it?”
Unfairlady chimes in “It's something important. But we dunno what. I guess we're first tryin' to find what we're supposed to be findin'. Or Whom. I do have a feelin' them was people that went missin', and nobody knows where they went missin'.”
Unfairlady adds, under her breath “Though how can one misplace people, of all things..well. Beats me.”
talkydoo's mouth drops open. “It was something to do with bubbly wine! And chocolate! If we find the wine and chocolate, we'll know what we were looking for.”
King Leonidas says “There are people missing? That, we cannot allow. Kidnapped by Persians, perhaps?”
Unfairlady patpats pockets furiously “I've got some chocolate! Right here. Uhm. Somewhere.” After some rummaging, chocolate is found, half melted and stuck to the wrapper. “Here. An' bubbly wine? I dunno. Don't have any of that.”
talkydoor nods, excited. “That sounds possible! Where would we find these? Ooh, Kittania!”
talkydoor scratches her head. “I may have some bubbly wine buried back at my shack. Maybe the combination of the two will… do something amazing?”
Unfairlady's head swivels to the king. “Like in carpets?” She is genuinely puzzled. Carpets kidnapping people. Then remembers something else “Oh, and Talky? I reckon it was sumptin' about the elderly, too.”
talkydoor nods. “And confused. I know I'm confused - maybe that's a good place to start.”
Unfairlady nods. It makes perfect sense. Pour chocolate and sparkling wine on a persian carpet, take it to Kittania, and see what happens.”Yep. That's a plan. “
King Leonidas draws himself up again, eyes gleaming at the prospect of hunting down kidnappers.
Unfairlady sees a weak point in their plan. The are missing the elderly element, for now. And the carpet. But decides against speaking up, maybe things will just get solved. Somehow.
talkydoor thinks some more. “Dan may have some bubbly wine in his pub. I think he'll be generous, once he knows it's to help the elderly.”
Unfairlady snaps her fingers, grinning generously all around. She's wink, too, but that wouldn't do, since there's a king around. “Bingo. Let's try and talk to Dan, then, shall we?” Then turns toward the king, not quite sure if it's appropriate.
Unfairlady is thinking about whether it's appropriate for a king to enter a pub. Maybe if it's where his subjects are?
talkydoor bounces a little bit at the thought of not using up her reserve alcohol. It was given her by a very special senile old codger, and deserves a special occasion rather than rugs that are possibly kitties.
King Leonidas tilts his head, then roars out a battle cry and charges out north to kittania. Wait, North? Oh well, maybe he'll find his way back eventually.
Unfairlady blinks after the charging king. Maybe pubs weren't appropriate after all. And he seems to be going north? She sighs. To each their own. “Uhm. To the pub, then?”
talkydoor watches the king go. “Think he knows something we don't?”
Unfairlady wavers. To go north, follow the king? To go to the pub? Not that hard to decide “I say we hit the pub first, look for him after.”
talkydoor nods. “That is a very good idea. Right! We have our first step. To get free alcohol out of the bartender. Doesn't sound that hard.”
Unfairlady nods, gathers her gear and steps purposively toward the pub. “Right. Piece of cake, eh?” She tries not to remember, chooses not to remember being thrown out of the pub, even when paying for some of the booze.
talkydoor stomps happily towards the PSK. She has an aim! Yes, it'll probably get lost in the fug of alcohol, but it's still an aim!
King Leonidas stomps back in, sopping wet. There's a lake where he expected a town. Oh well. He heads into the pub.
Unfairlady retreats, out of the pub, then, once she's out of the door, quickly strides to the fountain and sits down on the rim. A rummage and a sigh later, she has a bottle of some clear, amber liquid in her hand.
King Leonidas walks out of the pub, looking around. “What has happened to Miss Talky, of Squat Hole?”
Unfairlady shrugs, uncorks the bottle and takes a deep swig from it. “I dunno. One minute she was right next to me, then, poof, like that, she was gone. Maybe she changed her mind about goin' to the pub, and went in search of something else, instead.”
King Leonidas nods sagely. “May she find whatever she seeks.”
Unfairlady points the hand with the bottle at the king, all pretense of good manners forgotten “What about you? Didya find anything up north? The carpets, maybe?” A hopeful glint in her eyes. One of the pieces of the puzzle.
Unfairlady waggles the bottle, content sloshing invitingly, before contributing “Ow, yes, hope so. Looks like we're lookin' f'r the same thing, basic'lly, so might mean, I also gotta find the..thing? Person? People? Whatever.”
King Leonidas shakes his head. “There is a lake. No carpets.”
Contestant Jecca hoists her crossbow over her shoulder. Another day, another bit of thinning out the local fauna.
Unfairlady sighs “And they'd be soaky carpets, at best, anyway. Damn. Dunno even where to start. An' anyways, shouldn't, till I find Talky. Or better, till she finds me.” She's not procrastinating. Nope. There's a perfectly good reason for postponing, see.
Unfairlady waves, vaguely, at the new person girl, slightly dead. Then swigs some more booze, seemingly quite content with just sitting there. Idling.
King Leonidas nods in agreement and falls over backwards, asleep before he hits the ground.
Unfairlady shrugs at the the suddenly narcoleptic king. She pushes him a bit out of the way, so people won't step on him. Respectfully, of course. She just uses the tip of her boot, that's respect, that is. Then she flounders off herself, muttering about coffee.
Contestant Jecca waves back, flipping her hair out of her eyes. Seems like the Outpost is more lively today. that's good. <note>Part the Tenth
The Index</note>