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Long time coming, I know.
Last Post from Last Time: Night has fallen over the Queen's city, and the gas lamps of hansoms and streetlamps gutter into life as the Viscount's carriage rattles over the cobbles. Scotland Yard, blazing with gaslight, is like a beacon in the street. Bobbys in their uniforms scurry in and out, some carrying protesting, struggling criminals on their way.
Imogen tucks the small box securely under her arm. "Go in and report it. I wasn't there, remember?"
Timothy perches in the seat of the cab with a vaguely vulture-like air, and waits for further instructions, should they be forthcoming.
Roderick looks out the window of the carriage as they pull up. "Absolutely not. I was with a woman whose last name I would admit, man to man, that I could not recall." He flashes a wide smile, and reaches for the door.
Imogen waits for him to go out and close it behind him before saying, "Faville-Smith," under her breath, annoyed.
There's an area of parking, with several other coaches (although none so fine) that one could get off the street for the duration of the interview. The street is crowded, with pedestrians and carts, lanterns swinging like will-o-the-wisps in the wind. By contrast, the open doors of the Yard are like the mouth of Heaven, beckoning sinners off of the street...whether they want to go or not.
Roderick looks to Timothy, and gestures in the vague direction of the parking area, before adjusting his hat and taking up his cane. He sets off with a carefully constructed look of grim purpose.
Timothy drives the carriage over in that direction, and then coughs at the window to the cab. "Anything m'lady needs while we wait?"
Imogen says "You don't have a notebook and pen, do you?"
The fine cut of Roderick's clothes make him an instant target for the beggars of London, trying to ply their trade even here, at the center of what passes for civil law enforcement, and children cluster just out of arm's reach, crying for alms. "Give us a bit, Lord! Give us a bit for gruel!"
The other carriages in this area appear to be rental hansoms, and a large, imposing looking black thing that just has to be one of the famous paddywagons, judging by the bars on its one, small window. Two large blacks stand fastened to it, pawing at the ground in a bored manner.
Timothy pats his pockets for a moment, more for the show of it than out of any idea that he'd have such things stowed about his person. "Afraid not."
Imogen shrugs. "Very well. Nothing, then." Proceeds to examine the box again, closely.
Roderick frowns at the beggars and clenches one hand on his cane, giving them a stern glare as he presses through them, trying to keep any from getting too close. "Be they brown or white, all the same unclean beggars," he murmurs to himself as he advances through Scotland Yard's gate.
[OOC] Imogen says, "Essentially she wants to try to sketch it, either now or later; so what she is doing is attempting to fix every detail in memory."
[OOC] Keeper nods. "The box, the hand, or both?"
[OOC] Imogen says, "Let's say both."
[OOC] Keeper nods. Notes that your artistry is...not very good, but you can make a roll when the time comes. :D
[OOC] Imogen says, "... yep, just remembered that myself. Oops. Ah well. Teach Imogen not to carry her camera + tripod + complicated primitive photography equipment..."
[OOC] Roderick says, "I doubt there's enough room in the carriage to take a shot..."
The beggar children don't seem all that intimidated by the glare, unless Roderick makes the move from glaring to actively threatening. They're roundly cuffed and shoved by the others trying to get in or out, though, and so there's plenty of room to make inside the Yard...where all is Bedlam. Police shout orders from one end of the cluttered front room to others, while criminals shriek and curse, trying to squirm away from their keepers. A harried looking desk inspector, a ruddy man in his early twenties, is trying to shout over a poor woman, who appears to believe someone has stolen her cat.
[OOC] Timothy says, "Could always make Timothy go hold things up at an appropriate distance. I'm sure it's in his job description, right next to 'summoning the maid to take care of the small mess left in the corridor by an extremely soused lord'."
[OOC] Keeper giggles!
[OOC] S.D. laughs!
[OOC] Roderick says, "Maid? We hired another maid? Oh, good... I was worried we'd run them all off..."
[OOC] Keeper says, "..by 'we', you mean 'you', I take it? :P"
[OOC] Imogen snrk!
[OOC] Roderick beams innocently.
[OOC] Keeper is the mistress of insanity, but she's not barmy enough to believe /that/.
[OOC] Timothy coughs politely. "She has seventeen grand-children and is expecting her first great-grandchild in a few months, m'lord. She assured me she will not be run off by anything short of sacrifices to some Dark Lord, and you haven't done any of those /in/ the house."
[OOC] S.D. _cackles_.
[OOC] Keeper <3 Timothy.
[OOC] Timothy stares politely at a space about six inches past m'lord's left ear.
[OOC] Imogen dying of laughter.
[OOC] S.D. | Three sessions later... "Sir, the maid just lit the house on fire and ran off." "Damn! I knew we shouldn't've used one of her kids for the sacrifice."
Roderick looks at the confusion, then moves towards the desk inspector, and coughs, once. Just sufficiently to make noise... probably noise that would be lost in it all, but the Viscount has faith in his ability to command attention from the room.
[OOC] Timothy makes a note to begin hiring elderly spinsters. Possibly blind elderly spinsters, if this doesn't prevent them from housekeeping properly.
[OOC] Timothy also brb.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Imogen offers Timothy a pesky ladies' maid who keeps asking about where she went off to?
[OOC] Roderick sniffs. All she offers me is fancy books to sign my name to. Never offers ME her maid.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Timothy looks faintly awkward. In a stiff-upper-lip manner.
Indeed he can. Roderick has moved in a small circle of calm and sanity amidst the madness, and as the lull touches the desk inspector, the policeman leaps to his feet, and salutes. "M'lord, ah...ah...m'lord!" he stammers, as he fails to recognize anything but the obvious expense of Roderick's clothes and manner. "Ah, uh, how can I help you?"
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 58
Roderick looks grim and dour as he replies, "I must report a crime, of the utmost brutality." He purses his lips.
The young bobby stutters some more, then jerks his head. "Yes, m'lord. Of course, m'lord. Ah, allow me to lead you to one of our private rooms while I fetch an Inspector? It will be more...ah, quieter," he says, with an edge of desperation. He tries to subtly tug a wrinkle out of his uniform.
Roderick nods his head, once, waiting for the bobby to lead on.
Leaving the fishwife gaping, the bobby ducks under the counter, and leads Roderick away from the public room, to a small, sparsely appointed space. At the very least, it seems clean enough, and once the door closes, is quiet. The fact that there's a loop for manacles on the table might not be reassuring, however.
[OOC] Timothy hmphs. Manacle loops are very reassuring. All sorts of people who need manacling-down.
[OOC] S.D. mmmm, bondage Viscount. ... ... er.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Keeper giggles.
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 30
[OOC] Timothy is not that kind of manservant!
[OOC] S.D. hee!
[OOC] Roderick knows about how that dungeon gets used when he's out. And the REAL reason that his household can't keep maids. :p
[OOC] Timothy cannot speak for what sort of Viscount m'lord is, though, as those things go.
[OOC] Keeper says, "This will not become Cthulhu porn!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "Oh, no, just plain Victorian porn. The cthulhu will come later."
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
[OOC] Timothy says, "Certainly not, m'Keeper."
[OOC] Imogen fears, muchly, Cthulhu porn. ... with a sort of fascinated fear.
[OOC] Roderick looks at Imogen, and whispers, "I have links."
[OOC] S.D. asides to the Keeper, "If Imogen botches her drawing roll, clearly she should accidentally draw Cthulhupr0n..." ^_^
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
Roderick eyes the manacle-loop but shakes his head. He paces out the quiet room, waiting for the Inspector, rehearsing the story in his head.
[OOC] Timothy does not eye m'lord. Links? M'lord has /chains/, last time he checked.
[OOC] S.D. _snrk_!
[OOC] Roderick coughs.
[OOC] Timothy waits quietly with the horses really. *coughs* Sorry.
[OOC] Imogen a/hem/. Is /suuuuure/ the Viscount has many unsavory things. Links. Chains. /Whatever/. *pure and intellectual she swears*
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Timothy says, "(Horses.)"
[OOC] Timothy apologizes for this brain. It's being aggressively weird today.
After a very few moments, a grizzled man, possibly in his middle forties, opens the door and slips inside. He's built like a dockhand, going to pot around the belly, but still quite large. His hands are oddly crooked at some of the fingers, as if they've been broken and set badly. His deep-set eyes are the same faded grey as his hair, and he sizes Roderick up with little of the fearful respect shown elsewhere, even as he bows. "Apologies for keeping you waiting. Inspector Clayton Wingard, at your service."
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 90
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 68
You paged Timothy with 'Please make me a 1d100 roll.'.
Roderick nods. "Inspector Wingard," he says. "I must report a murder."
Inspector Wingard raises an eyebrow. "Must you? Very well." He gestures at the table, but remains standing unless Roderick sits. "Perhaps you will be so kind as to begin with your name, and we can move on from there."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Wingard does that. Sorry."
Timothy pages: ...how do I roll again? Sorry.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper grins. No problem. It's roll 1d100. You'll want to get beneath 38.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 54
Timothy pages: Alas.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper scritches. S'okay!
Roderick blinks, slightly. He... has to introduce himself? It takes him mildly aback. "Theodore Roderick, Viscount St. Hubert," he replies, remaining standing.
"Viscount," Wingard replies, inclining his head again. "Perhaps you would start at the beginning, then?" He looks Roderick over critically, perhaps for rips on his clothing, bloodstains, or other evidence of violence.
[OOC] Roderick says, "What was Edward's formal title, again?"
At the carriage area, the horses seem to be enjoying exchanging huffy bursts of air with their fellow equines, and the steady mumble of the London night has settled into an almost soothing cacophony.
Timothy sits up perfectly straight in the driver's seat, most decidedly not dozing, and thinks leisurely thoughts about dinner.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Edward Derrington, Lord Whitecrest. His father is a Baron."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah. So not a Peer of the Realm himself."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not quite. Still Good Blood, although currently in disgrace in his own personal self."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Oh, certainly. But stressing the FELLOW PEER OF THE REALM angle wouldn't be true. :)"
Imogen very carefully touches the top of that artifact hand, inside the box.
The stone, especially when you can't look at it to see that it is just stone, feels curious to the touch, as if coated in a thin layer of something viscous and clingy. As the fingers linger, the cold piece of art seems almost to pulse, very slightly, under the fingertips...
Roderick relates the story, of Lord Whitecrest's letter ("an old army friend, from the Soudan"), the travel there, the discovery of the body ("more brutal than anything those unclean beggars in India would have come up with, very nearly"), and how he went straightaway to report the crime ("I felt that Edward deserved a certain discretion... his father, you know. Very sensitive to these things").
Imogen quickly draws her hand away. ... and then touches it again.
[OOC] Keeper says, "What are you leaving out of the retelling, specifically? :)"
Beneath Imogen's hand, the stone is only stone. Perhaps it was just lingering shock from the vision earlier that evening.
[OOC] Roderick says, "Imogen and the discovery of the box, mostly. He won't mention the woman unless specifically asked; and the box not at all."
Imogen shakes her head, and snaps the box shut again.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Make me a Fast Talk roll, Roderick? Just to see how easily you sidestep the issues you don't want to talk about. :)"
Roderick rolls 1d100 for 77
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ouch."
[OOC] Roderick eyes those manacles with concern.
[OOC] Keeper snickers.
[OOC] Timothy should perhaps send a message to the cook not to bother keeping dinner ready, m'lord?
[OOC] Roderick says, "Killed, driven mad, or just locked in jail!"
The Inspector listens to the recital impassively. Clearly, he has a poker face that would be the envy of any hardened dissipate at the most lavish gaming hell. His eyes do narrow, however, as Roderick tries to steer the report away from...sensitive subjects. All he says, at the end, however, is, "Is that the extent of your official report, my Lord?" There's a certain emphasis on 'official'.
"At present," Roderick replies. "If I recall anything else, I shall be certain to let you know straightaway, Inspector."
The Inspector nods, again. "I'm sure you will. Now, I believe you said that you found the body at Mrs. Milton's Boarding House? It will no doubt please you to know that we've heard about that place. I'm certain that we will find the culprits quickly, and with a minimum of fuss and bother." There's a hint of self-loathing in the last sentence.
Back at the carriage, Timothy's thoughts about dinner are abruptly interrupted as the carriage lists to the side, a black-clad figure appearing to rise up out of the night itself, bringing a long cane down...not on Timothy, but on the buttocks of the horses, who scream with terror and pain, and leap foward.
Timothy teeters, startled, and grabs for the reins.
Imogen stifles a shriek and clutches the box to her.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Drive Carriage, Timothy, at half for surprise."
[OOC] Timothy doomed.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 28
[OOC] Keeper says, "No, you're not! :D"
[OOC] Timothy ...nearly doomed.
[OOC] Keeper says, "You can check that box."
[OOC] Timothy says, "I'm gonna be a carriage-driving shoe-finding marvel!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "I can't even get bonuses to my suave abilities to out-talk cops. :p"
[OOC] Timothy says, "At least you don't have to look for shoes to hone your skills. You can just go seduce someone and work up your fast-talk."
[OOC] Roderick can lose more shoes for you?
[OOC] Imogen giggles.
[OOC] Roderick eyes Imogen appraisingly. "It's for my skill points, dear. Lie back and think of our character sheets."
[OOC] Timothy says, "If we ever run across an aspect of the Mythos that's intimately tied to footwear, we'll be so ready for it."
[OOC] S.D. cackles.
[OOC] Timothy wonders if perhaps m'lord would prefer to conduct such matters
in a more private location?
Timothy clutches at the reins, and by virtue of his hard-won skill, is able to keep the horses from bolting more than a few paces, but they're bucking and screaming, causing the other carriages considerable disarray as their horses pick up the scent of fear. The carriage body shakes and heaves from one side to the other, bouncing poor Imogen something terrible. Timothy hears a low, foreign curse, then the black-clad figure fades back into the darkness, as police start running to grab the carriage halters.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...if I leap down to give chase, would that be Proper Behavior, or an improper way to leave a lady alone in public?"
[OOC] Imogen raises eyebrows at Roderick and wonders if she gets skill points for stubbornly resisting advances?
[OOC] Roderick says, "...probably."
[OOC] Keeper says, "If you let go of the reins right now, the horses might bolt again, and it'd be leaving Imogen at the mercy of commoners."
Imogen, eyes wide, positively yells to Timothy, "/What is going on/?"
Timothy stifles curses, and works to keep the horses under control. "Don't know, m'lady! Some bloo--some man rushed up and attacked the horses."
Even with two men at their heads and Timothy on the reins, the horses are a handful, kicking at their traces, the men, and each other, their eyes rolling white and frantic in the darkness.
Roderick nods his head. "I look forward to hearing what news you have for me, Inspector," he says. "I don't want my friend to go unavenged."
Imogen says "/Attacked/ them? Why?"
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah, sorry, was holding that."
Something flickers in Inspector Wingard's eyes, and he bows again. "If I may, I will accompany you out, and a few of us will go roundabout the woman's, and start the investigation. Perhaps I could call on you, or your man, sometime tomorrow. We should have a preliminary report then." He opens the door politely for the lord.
Timothy grits his teeth. "Don't know, m'lady! He didn't stop to explain aforehand!"
Imogen mutters to herself something which is probably very impolite.
Roderick nods his head, and exits, heading towards the door. "Very good, Inspector. Good evening," he says, and sets back out to the street.
After a few moments, the horses start to settle, and stand. Their tails swish angrily, their sides heave, but the panic seems to have passed, and the policemen carefully let go of their halters.
Timothy leans down to speak better with the policemen. "Did any of you see that? Some man dressed all in black, leapt out and then ran off again. Should've given chase if not for m'lord's carriage and m'lady in it."
Wingard trails Roderick out, to the public room, where he sheers off to grab several bobbys and get them outfitted for the journey ahead. Out in the street, a ring has gathered around the carriage, and the horses are shaking and trembling, but stable. "Demmned lords and their fancy, hot-blooded beasts," is the sentiment that can be heard, in mutters, in the area.
Timothy steps down from the driver's seat, now that the horses are still, to check them over for any serious injury.
To Timothy, the policemen shake their heads. "Didn't see nothin' but yer nags takin' mad." They sound skeptical of his story, but obediently start to search the area. The horses seem well, except for tender line across their flanks, which may welt up come the morrow.
Roderick approaches the crowd, frowning as he tries to make his way to his carriage. "I say!"
Imogen just waits, quietly, and holds on to that box.
Timothy looks up. "M'lord!" He straightens, tone going less exclamatory. "Dreadfully sorry, m'lord. Bit of a trouble with some scoundrel and the horses. Afraid we lost track of him in the ruckus."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Can I see the welts on the horses?"
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not yet. Right now, it's just a tender place that makes them react badly to touch. It'll take a couple of hours for the welts, if any, to form."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah, okay."
Roderick looks up at Timothy. "A scoundrel, eh? And he got away... what sort of fellow would do that to such fine beasts... here?" He looks around, still frowning.
The bustle of London has swallowed up any such scoundrel that might exist, it seems.
Timothy remains entirely poker-spined. "Wouldn't know, m'lord. It's an outrage. Leapt out of nowhere."
Still frowning, Roderick climbs up into his carriage.
You paged Timothy with 'You can make a Know roll to try and identify the curse and the language, if you like.'.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 91
Timothy pages: ...unlikely.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper laughs. You can make the 30, but miss the 80! :P
From afar, Timothy is a man of treacherous and strange luck!
You paged Timothy with 'It was too brief, you didn't quite get enough to know more than it was not the Queen's English.'.
Imogen fixes him with a Look. "How did it go?"
Roderick settles in. "They do not know about you, and think they will have a suspect by tomorrow." He shakes his head. "They will undoubtedly round up some ruffians, perhaps send them to the hangman, but whatever beast actually did this will still be free. Scotland Yard lacks the imagination to handle this problem," he says, voice low, before looking back towards the window. "Home, Timothy."
Imogen composes her face to blankness. "You, I assume, have the imagination."
Timothy taps the horses into motion, careful to avoid any movement that would send whip or harnesses near the area where they were struck.
"Naturally," the Viscount replies.
The horses shy at even a gentle tap, jouncing the carriage, before settling back into a skittish rhythm as they pull into the street.
"Mm," Imogen says, noncommital. "Someone has to go with you who actually /knows/ something about African artifacts."
Now it's Roderick's turn to give Imogen a Look. "Surely, you are not suggesting..."
"Why yes, Roderick," Imogen says, with just a hint of the outrageously fluttering feminity of 'Camilla', "I am indeed suggesting."
Roderick frowns, and spends a minute or two glaring at the streets of London outside, not responding.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...playing servants is too much fun. You just know that I have to write up Imogen's maidservant for when Timothy reaches his tragic end. Alas, the salacious rumors are much harder to monger about m'lady."
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Roderick laughs. "I'm sure there's SOMETHING."
The traffic gradually starts to thin out as Timothy steers the horses towards the fashionable and exclusive areas of London. Soon, there are few other carriages on the road, and most of the pedestrians have the stern, busy look of noble servants.
Imogen studiously ignores Roderick. And keeps hold of that box.
Roderick exhales heavily. "I do not deny your familiarity with the subject. However, I have a certain natural and healthy concern for both your well-being and your reputation in such a venture."
Imogen turns to look at him, with a little, tight smile. "Viscount. I am the source of your current popularity and what little social merit beyond being young and good-looking with a title can give you. The /reason/ I can be that source is dependent entirely on my being able to access the artifacts in question. I am perfectly willing to find someone more -- cooperative." She folds her hands primly in her lap. "If you insist on protecting my reputation, I will permit you to refer to me as a young woman you are courting. Which would explain my presence with you."
[OOC] Keeper brbs herself to grab a drink while Roderick and Imogen fight it out all polite-like. :P
Timothy endeavors to give absolutely no sign that he's listening intently.
[OOC] Keeper returns.
[OOC] Roderick .oO(I wonder if word got out that a notorious rakehell was courting her, if it might even do MORE damage to her reputation...)
[OOC] Roderick says, "eek! lag."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not if she's rich. It's nearly expected for even the most notorious to take a Respectable Wife. Especially a Rich, Respectable Wife. :p"
[OOC] Timothy says, "Don't forget the "long-suffering" bit!"
[OOC] Keeper says, "Indeed! (Although the lady's maid is likely to be /much/ more difficult to shake, if Society knows. Just in case the rake talks her out of more than is supposed to be given before the vows.)"
[OOC] Imogen .oO(...hell NO.)
[OOC] Roderick says, "Indeed. There will undoubtedly be a Chaperone we'll have to shake..."
[OOC] Timothy says, "...okay, that /has/ to be my backup character. The lady's maid, after certain Rumors have gotten out!"
[OOC] Keeper giggles.
[OOC] Keeper is having Spaceballs flashbacks. Don't mind her.
[OOC] Imogen despairs. Nice tidy life in shambles. Am being carried off by a rake. On my suggestion. This is immoral. ...shinyartifact.shiny.shiny.
[OOC] Roderick grins wickedly.
[OOC] Keeper says, "It's less fun if it's not by the lady's suggestion. ;)"
[OOC] Roderick laughs. Amanda Quick writing Call of Cthulhu, I say!
[OOC] Keeper says, "There is a certain resemblance at the moment!"
[OOC] Imogen says, "Indeed!"
[OOC] Timothy attempts to roll up a lady's maid, and eyes the Size results she
keeps getting. A hulking lady's maid from the country? Eek.
[OOC] Imogen says, "... am I missing a response from you, cpip?"
[OOC] Roderick says, "I must confess a certain surprise that Imogen!Player reads Amanda Quick. And no, I'm still composing."
[OOC] Keeper bwuahaa. "Swedish maid of doom?"
[OOC] Imogen suddenly fears her maid.
[OOC] Imogen has not read, but has heard of!
[OOC] Keeper says, "You should read! They're fun stories."
[OOC] Timothy says, "...I finally get a Size lower than 11, and now there's a Strength of 15. And a total Sanity of 25. Eep. Rolling again!"
[OOC] Keeper notes helpfully that you can move scores around?
[OOC] Timothy says, "...oh, really?"
[OOC] Keeper nodnods.
[OOC] Timothy pauses. Actually just got a nice set. Pitiful physical characteristics, small, not dreadfully attractive... clever, dexterous, reasonably strong-willed. That could work.
Roderick continues to frown, his chin on his fist. Finally, he sighs. "You push a harder bargain than a seller in the bazaars of Bombay, Miss Faville-Smith," he says. "Courting, hm?" He chuckles. "The ton may have a collective heart attack, you know."
"A woman has only certain options open to her," Imogen returns. "Bargaining is the least offensive." Flicker of a smile. "Let them. I am perfectly willing to put on a show in public."
Timothy raises an eyebrow and says nothing whatsoever.
Roderick lifts his hand to conceal the twitch of a smile. "Very well, then. You have a deal."
Imogen nods. Extends her hand to Roderick. "Gentleman's agreement, Viscount. Shake on it."
Timothy pages: Oh, certainly. I'll just save Violet for later.
"You put me over a barrel and then want me to call you a gentleman." The viscount laughs, but does indeed take the hand. "I would almost fear to court you, Miss Faville-Smith."
Imogen shakes his hand. "Hope you never actually have to, Viscount." She almost looks smug.
[OOC] Timothy observes the mating rituals of the gentry. Whole lot of bother and show and side-stepping actual clarity. Fits them.
[OOC] Keeper snickers.
Roderick releases her hand, after holding it a moment longer than the handshake would require. "Careful, madamoiselle. That almost sounds like a challenge."
Imogen takes her hand back and puts it possessively over the box. "You presume, sir." Possibly still smiling.
Roderick lifts an eyebrow. "Of course I do." He gestures towards the box. "Have you come to any new insights while I was fencing with the Inspector?"
Imogen says "Not yet. It requires more study. And my library, for secondary sources."
Roderick frowns, and sighs. "We ought to return you to your home... and then I can shortly pick you back up, and we can announce our courtship, hmm? Perhaps... I believe there is an opera tonight, for instance. The sooner we establish the cover, the quicker we can resume the investigation, no?"
Imogen considers this a moment. "Your plan has merit, albiet merit steeped in lechery and anticipation, but I expected as much. As you will."
Roderick smiles, eyes sparkling. "First you accuse me of lechery, then you tell me to do as I will. Are you trying to suggest something, Miss Faville-Smith?"
Imogen wrinkles her nose. "I could get out of the carriage right /here/ and you'd never hear anything more from me, sir."
Roderick's smile turns rather predatory. "All I would have to do would be to have it known you were in my carriage, and..." He snaps his fingers. "We both can inflict certain wounds on each other, I would think."
Imogen nods. "A point." She does not change expression. "I am proposing a /business/ arrangement, Viscount. The possibility that it might become something more to your taste exists, admittedly, but is not an /actuality/. Your assuming that it is so decreases its likelihood." She turns to him and smiles very slightly. "Shall we attempt civility, during the course of this?"
"I have attempted nothing but," the Viscount replies, dryly. "I have no desire for us to fall out."
Imogen says "Nor do I."
Roderick nods. "Well, then." He leans back towards the window. "Timothy, a change of plans. We're going to let Miss Faville-Smith off..." A hand gesture towards the woman prompts her for the stop.
Timothy waits expectantly.
Imogen names the street where she lives, and specifies the /end/ of the street, the other side from her townhouse.
Timothy turns the carriage appropriately, and engages in idle speculation he's unlikely to share with anyone.
There are a few other ton carriages out in the streets, but luckily none of the major parties are on Imogen's street tonight, and a quiet, sheltered place can be found to let the woman off.
Imogen slips out of the carriage and waits for it to drive off before walking back to her house.
Roderick nods as she slips away. "Timothy, three laps 'round the neighborhood before pulling up at her front door."
Timothy says "Yes, m'lord."
Roderick shakes his head. "Quite a creature, that one," he says. "Quite."
Timothy says "As you say, m'lord."
The back way to the townhouse is easily navigated, and soon Imogen is greeted by the warm glow of the kitchen door, propped open a little to let the oppressive heat of the ovens escape. From within, she can hear Violet and one of the other maids gossiping.
Imogen walks in, nonchalant. "Violet. Attend on me." Sweeps through the kitchen and to the more upscale portions of the house.
The maids gape, astonished, but Violet scrambles to her feet, sweeping her cap off the table and tying it hastily. "Yes, mum. Right away!" She falls in behind the lady, her eyes darting towards, then away, not quite daring to voice the questions.
Timothy drives on about the neighborhood. Lovely night for a drive. Aside from strange men leaping out of shadows.
Imogen ignores the maids entirely. Once out of their earshot she turns to Violet, and in a low, intent tone, describes the situation. "... and you'll find a small token of my appreciation for your chaste tongue on the mantle when I go, Violet," she finishes.
Violet's eyes widen as she listens, and she nods vigorously. "Yes, mum! Won't none hear about it from me, struth! Will ye be wanting your pearl evening shawl and glasses, m'lady?"
Imogen sighs, faintly. "Yes, I suppose I will."
Violet nods, and scurries off to fetch her mistress' required accessories, seeming energized by the mystery and romance of it all. Or, possibly, the money.
Imogen goes to her library, while Violet is busy, and looks for two things: a small bag with a drawstring she can put that hand in, because there's no way she's /leaving/ it; and any books she has that mention African tribal art or customs.
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 26
Even in the few moments she has before Violet returns, Imogen can easily find a bag, and two promising looking tomes.
Roderick sighs as he sits there. "So. All I have to do is find out who killed Whitehurst, keep Scotland Yard from any sort of intrusion into my life, and convince Miss Faville-Smith to engage in an assignation somewhere in the midst of this." He leans back in his chair. "It all sounds so easy when I say it." He glances towards Timothy, questioningly.
Timothy maintains his Proper expression. "No doubt you can rise to the challenge, m'lord. Is there anything particular you wanted me to do, in any of these directions?"
Imogen puts the box on the library desk, the hand in the bag, and the tomes under her arm, and waits for Violet.
Violet returns, quite quickly, with shawl, glasses, and a beaded handbag, as well as proper evening shoes, and a fetching brooch and jewels.
Imogen accepts the accoutrements with relative good grace, and lets Violet arrange them; as soon as the servant isn't looking she slips the hand-in-bag into the beaded handbag.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...I think that has to be one of the most marvelous phrases either."
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Timothy says, "And no doubt later this evening she'll have the hand-in-bag handbag in hand?"
[OOC] Keeper laughs!
[OOC] Imogen says, "Doubtlessly!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "If those dark-suited scoundrels steal it, shall we cry "Unhand the handinbag handbag!""
Violet busies herself with making her lady respectable to go out in public. This involves tugging at hair, clothes, and occassionally skin. Finally, after much disgruntled clucking, Violet steps back and proclaims, "You'll do, m'lady."
Imogen nods, absently. "Mm. Thank you, Violet."
Violet curtseys, quite properly.
Imogen sweeps out of the library, pausing a moment by the mantle, and then composes herself to wait in the front room. (With one of her useful tomes, of course.)
Roderick blinks at Timothy. "Keep an eye out for any dark chaps coming for the horses, eh? What more can I ask?" He smiles, blandly. "When things get a bit hotter -- and you know they shall -- I'll no doubt need you to watch my back against these treacherous buggers, hm?"
Violet follows quite properly behind, arranging her own plain shawl and cap to starched purity.
Roderick nods. "Very good, Timothy."
Timothy pulls the horses to a stop, and then climbs down to open the door for Roderick.
Roderick climbs down from the carriage, and tugs his clothing into perfect order. He flashes a smile at Timothy. "This will drive the ton utterly mad," he says. Is that something behind his eyes when he says that?
Timothy blands. "No doubt, m'lord."
Roderick strolls up to the door, and politely knocks at it.
A butler appears, a short, burly man, looking up with all the affronted dignity of English butlery through the centuries. Even Roderick's obvious breeding puts not a dent in it.
Timothy quietly admires the affronted dignity. Must learn to use that expression. Possibly practice it in a mirror from time to time.
Roderick refuses to be taken aback. He extends one hand. "My card. Is Miss Imogen Faville-Smith in? I would like to ask her to the opera this evening." He sees affronted dignity and raises the butler centuries of Noble Breeding.
The butler inspects the card. He raises an eyebrow at the lord, conveying without words that he's been crushing the hopes of eager young bucks before Roderick was born, and probably enjoyed every minute of it. In glacial tones, he says, "You may follow me to the blue sitting room. I shall enquire if Miss Faville-Smith is At Home." He turns and sweeps away.
Roderick smiles when the butler turns away. Youth and vigour can defeat age and experience, when well-used. He follows to the blue sitting room.
The butler sniffs as he leads Roderick into the sitting room, which is indeed, blue. "I will have refreshments sent in while you wait, m'lord." There's the definite suggestion that it will be a long, futile wait. Then he turns and stiffly struts out, down the hall, and up toward's Imogen's room, likely running into the lady on the way.
Roderick folds his arms and waits. He has yet to be permanently thwarted by ANY butler.
Imogen encounters the butler, indeed. "Yes?" she asks him.
The butler extends Roderick's card, as if it were smelly. "The Viscount St. Hubert wishes to share the honor of your presence. Shall I tell him that you are resting, m'lady?"
Imogen plucks the card from the butler's hand, and inspects it. "No," she notes. "I believe I'll see him."
The butler radiates well-bred disapproval. "He does not have the best of reputations, miss," he says, sternly. There's an air about him that suggests that, at any moment, Imogen is going to be sent up to her room without tea.
"Robert," Imogen intones sternly, "I am fully aware of that demerit of the Viscount's. Did you put him in the blue sitting room?"
Robert looks faintly offended. "Of course, m'lady. It is appropriate for his rank. If you wish to see him, I shall conduct you there, of course." He pivots and starts sweeping back towards the room.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...good lord, what's wrong with the blue sitting room?"
[OOC] Imogen says, "... I have no idea."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Just then, the floor opens up and I fall into the Faville-Smith Dungeons."
[OOC] Imogen says, "Perhaps someone died in it."
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
[OOC] Keeper snickers. "Who says anything's wrong it with?"
[OOC] Timothy is now imagining spiked chairs or an enormous portrait of Imogen's grandfather glaring down over all.
[OOC] Imogen wishes to have an imposing grandfather, yes!
[OOC] Keeper says, "Well, okay, there probably /is/ a portrait of the family patriarch looking Imposing and Constipated."
[OOC] Timothy yay!
[OOC] S.D. | "Ignore the Iron Maiden behind you, it was a heirloom from Imogen's grandmother. Plagued by annoying suitors till she met Imogen's grandfather, who scared them all off much more easily. It was love at first sight, you understand."
Roderick winks at said Imposing, Constipated Patriarch. Stole his daughter's work, and will walk off with more before this is all over...
The Patriarch, if possible, seems to look even more disgruntled.
Roderick nods, pleased with his effect.
Imogen follows Robert.
Robert reaches the door, opens it, and in a deep voice proclaims, "The Lady Faville-Smith." He gives Imogen a Look before letting her and Violet remain with Roderick.
Roderick smiles, and bows deeply and deferentially. "My lady," he says, warmly.
Imogen curtseys. "Viscount."
Last Post from Last Time: Night has fallen over the Queen's city, and the gas lamps of hansoms and streetlamps gutter into life as the Viscount's carriage rattles over the cobbles. Scotland Yard, blazing with gaslight, is like a beacon in the street. Bobbys in their uniforms scurry in and out, some carrying protesting, struggling criminals on their way.
Imogen tucks the small box securely under her arm. "Go in and report it. I wasn't there, remember?"
Timothy perches in the seat of the cab with a vaguely vulture-like air, and waits for further instructions, should they be forthcoming.
Roderick looks out the window of the carriage as they pull up. "Absolutely not. I was with a woman whose last name I would admit, man to man, that I could not recall." He flashes a wide smile, and reaches for the door.
Imogen waits for him to go out and close it behind him before saying, "Faville-Smith," under her breath, annoyed.
There's an area of parking, with several other coaches (although none so fine) that one could get off the street for the duration of the interview. The street is crowded, with pedestrians and carts, lanterns swinging like will-o-the-wisps in the wind. By contrast, the open doors of the Yard are like the mouth of Heaven, beckoning sinners off of the street...whether they want to go or not.
Roderick looks to Timothy, and gestures in the vague direction of the parking area, before adjusting his hat and taking up his cane. He sets off with a carefully constructed look of grim purpose.
Timothy drives the carriage over in that direction, and then coughs at the window to the cab. "Anything m'lady needs while we wait?"
Imogen says "You don't have a notebook and pen, do you?"
The fine cut of Roderick's clothes make him an instant target for the beggars of London, trying to ply their trade even here, at the center of what passes for civil law enforcement, and children cluster just out of arm's reach, crying for alms. "Give us a bit, Lord! Give us a bit for gruel!"
The other carriages in this area appear to be rental hansoms, and a large, imposing looking black thing that just has to be one of the famous paddywagons, judging by the bars on its one, small window. Two large blacks stand fastened to it, pawing at the ground in a bored manner.
Timothy pats his pockets for a moment, more for the show of it than out of any idea that he'd have such things stowed about his person. "Afraid not."
Imogen shrugs. "Very well. Nothing, then." Proceeds to examine the box again, closely.
Roderick frowns at the beggars and clenches one hand on his cane, giving them a stern glare as he presses through them, trying to keep any from getting too close. "Be they brown or white, all the same unclean beggars," he murmurs to himself as he advances through Scotland Yard's gate.
[OOC] Imogen says, "Essentially she wants to try to sketch it, either now or later; so what she is doing is attempting to fix every detail in memory."
[OOC] Keeper nods. "The box, the hand, or both?"
[OOC] Imogen says, "Let's say both."
[OOC] Keeper nods. Notes that your artistry is...not very good, but you can make a roll when the time comes. :D
[OOC] Imogen says, "... yep, just remembered that myself. Oops. Ah well. Teach Imogen not to carry her camera + tripod + complicated primitive photography equipment..."
[OOC] Roderick says, "I doubt there's enough room in the carriage to take a shot..."
The beggar children don't seem all that intimidated by the glare, unless Roderick makes the move from glaring to actively threatening. They're roundly cuffed and shoved by the others trying to get in or out, though, and so there's plenty of room to make inside the Yard...where all is Bedlam. Police shout orders from one end of the cluttered front room to others, while criminals shriek and curse, trying to squirm away from their keepers. A harried looking desk inspector, a ruddy man in his early twenties, is trying to shout over a poor woman, who appears to believe someone has stolen her cat.
[OOC] Timothy says, "Could always make Timothy go hold things up at an appropriate distance. I'm sure it's in his job description, right next to 'summoning the maid to take care of the small mess left in the corridor by an extremely soused lord'."
[OOC] Keeper giggles!
[OOC] S.D. laughs!
[OOC] Roderick says, "Maid? We hired another maid? Oh, good... I was worried we'd run them all off..."
[OOC] Keeper says, "..by 'we', you mean 'you', I take it? :P"
[OOC] Imogen snrk!
[OOC] Roderick beams innocently.
[OOC] Keeper is the mistress of insanity, but she's not barmy enough to believe /that/.
[OOC] Timothy coughs politely. "She has seventeen grand-children and is expecting her first great-grandchild in a few months, m'lord. She assured me she will not be run off by anything short of sacrifices to some Dark Lord, and you haven't done any of those /in/ the house."
[OOC] S.D. _cackles_.
[OOC] Keeper <3 Timothy.
[OOC] Timothy stares politely at a space about six inches past m'lord's left ear.
[OOC] Imogen dying of laughter.
[OOC] S.D. | Three sessions later... "Sir, the maid just lit the house on fire and ran off." "Damn! I knew we shouldn't've used one of her kids for the sacrifice."
Roderick looks at the confusion, then moves towards the desk inspector, and coughs, once. Just sufficiently to make noise... probably noise that would be lost in it all, but the Viscount has faith in his ability to command attention from the room.
[OOC] Timothy makes a note to begin hiring elderly spinsters. Possibly blind elderly spinsters, if this doesn't prevent them from housekeeping properly.
[OOC] Timothy also brb.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Imogen offers Timothy a pesky ladies' maid who keeps asking about where she went off to?
[OOC] Roderick sniffs. All she offers me is fancy books to sign my name to. Never offers ME her maid.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Timothy looks faintly awkward. In a stiff-upper-lip manner.
Indeed he can. Roderick has moved in a small circle of calm and sanity amidst the madness, and as the lull touches the desk inspector, the policeman leaps to his feet, and salutes. "M'lord, ah...ah...m'lord!" he stammers, as he fails to recognize anything but the obvious expense of Roderick's clothes and manner. "Ah, uh, how can I help you?"
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 58
Roderick looks grim and dour as he replies, "I must report a crime, of the utmost brutality." He purses his lips.
The young bobby stutters some more, then jerks his head. "Yes, m'lord. Of course, m'lord. Ah, allow me to lead you to one of our private rooms while I fetch an Inspector? It will be more...ah, quieter," he says, with an edge of desperation. He tries to subtly tug a wrinkle out of his uniform.
Roderick nods his head, once, waiting for the bobby to lead on.
Leaving the fishwife gaping, the bobby ducks under the counter, and leads Roderick away from the public room, to a small, sparsely appointed space. At the very least, it seems clean enough, and once the door closes, is quiet. The fact that there's a loop for manacles on the table might not be reassuring, however.
[OOC] Timothy hmphs. Manacle loops are very reassuring. All sorts of people who need manacling-down.
[OOC] S.D. mmmm, bondage Viscount. ... ... er.
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_.
[OOC] Keeper giggles.
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 30
[OOC] Timothy is not that kind of manservant!
[OOC] S.D. hee!
[OOC] Roderick knows about how that dungeon gets used when he's out. And the REAL reason that his household can't keep maids. :p
[OOC] Timothy cannot speak for what sort of Viscount m'lord is, though, as those things go.
[OOC] Keeper says, "This will not become Cthulhu porn!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "Oh, no, just plain Victorian porn. The cthulhu will come later."
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
[OOC] Timothy says, "Certainly not, m'Keeper."
[OOC] Imogen fears, muchly, Cthulhu porn. ... with a sort of fascinated fear.
[OOC] Roderick looks at Imogen, and whispers, "I have links."
[OOC] S.D. asides to the Keeper, "If Imogen botches her drawing roll, clearly she should accidentally draw Cthulhupr0n..." ^_^
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
Roderick eyes the manacle-loop but shakes his head. He paces out the quiet room, waiting for the Inspector, rehearsing the story in his head.
[OOC] Timothy does not eye m'lord. Links? M'lord has /chains/, last time he checked.
[OOC] S.D. _snrk_!
[OOC] Roderick coughs.
[OOC] Timothy waits quietly with the horses really. *coughs* Sorry.
[OOC] Imogen a/hem/. Is /suuuuure/ the Viscount has many unsavory things. Links. Chains. /Whatever/. *pure and intellectual she swears*
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Timothy says, "(Horses.)"
[OOC] Timothy apologizes for this brain. It's being aggressively weird today.
After a very few moments, a grizzled man, possibly in his middle forties, opens the door and slips inside. He's built like a dockhand, going to pot around the belly, but still quite large. His hands are oddly crooked at some of the fingers, as if they've been broken and set badly. His deep-set eyes are the same faded grey as his hair, and he sizes Roderick up with little of the fearful respect shown elsewhere, even as he bows. "Apologies for keeping you waiting. Inspector Clayton Wingard, at your service."
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 90
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 68
You paged Timothy with 'Please make me a 1d100 roll.'.
Roderick nods. "Inspector Wingard," he says. "I must report a murder."
Inspector Wingard raises an eyebrow. "Must you? Very well." He gestures at the table, but remains standing unless Roderick sits. "Perhaps you will be so kind as to begin with your name, and we can move on from there."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Wingard does that. Sorry."
Timothy pages: ...how do I roll again? Sorry.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper grins. No problem. It's roll 1d100. You'll want to get beneath 38.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 54
Timothy pages: Alas.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper scritches. S'okay!
Roderick blinks, slightly. He... has to introduce himself? It takes him mildly aback. "Theodore Roderick, Viscount St. Hubert," he replies, remaining standing.
"Viscount," Wingard replies, inclining his head again. "Perhaps you would start at the beginning, then?" He looks Roderick over critically, perhaps for rips on his clothing, bloodstains, or other evidence of violence.
[OOC] Roderick says, "What was Edward's formal title, again?"
At the carriage area, the horses seem to be enjoying exchanging huffy bursts of air with their fellow equines, and the steady mumble of the London night has settled into an almost soothing cacophony.
Timothy sits up perfectly straight in the driver's seat, most decidedly not dozing, and thinks leisurely thoughts about dinner.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Edward Derrington, Lord Whitecrest. His father is a Baron."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah. So not a Peer of the Realm himself."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not quite. Still Good Blood, although currently in disgrace in his own personal self."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Oh, certainly. But stressing the FELLOW PEER OF THE REALM angle wouldn't be true. :)"
Imogen very carefully touches the top of that artifact hand, inside the box.
The stone, especially when you can't look at it to see that it is just stone, feels curious to the touch, as if coated in a thin layer of something viscous and clingy. As the fingers linger, the cold piece of art seems almost to pulse, very slightly, under the fingertips...
Roderick relates the story, of Lord Whitecrest's letter ("an old army friend, from the Soudan"), the travel there, the discovery of the body ("more brutal than anything those unclean beggars in India would have come up with, very nearly"), and how he went straightaway to report the crime ("I felt that Edward deserved a certain discretion... his father, you know. Very sensitive to these things").
Imogen quickly draws her hand away. ... and then touches it again.
[OOC] Keeper says, "What are you leaving out of the retelling, specifically? :)"
Beneath Imogen's hand, the stone is only stone. Perhaps it was just lingering shock from the vision earlier that evening.
[OOC] Roderick says, "Imogen and the discovery of the box, mostly. He won't mention the woman unless specifically asked; and the box not at all."
Imogen shakes her head, and snaps the box shut again.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Make me a Fast Talk roll, Roderick? Just to see how easily you sidestep the issues you don't want to talk about. :)"
Roderick rolls 1d100 for 77
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ouch."
[OOC] Roderick eyes those manacles with concern.
[OOC] Keeper snickers.
[OOC] Timothy should perhaps send a message to the cook not to bother keeping dinner ready, m'lord?
[OOC] Roderick says, "Killed, driven mad, or just locked in jail!"
The Inspector listens to the recital impassively. Clearly, he has a poker face that would be the envy of any hardened dissipate at the most lavish gaming hell. His eyes do narrow, however, as Roderick tries to steer the report away from...sensitive subjects. All he says, at the end, however, is, "Is that the extent of your official report, my Lord?" There's a certain emphasis on 'official'.
"At present," Roderick replies. "If I recall anything else, I shall be certain to let you know straightaway, Inspector."
The Inspector nods, again. "I'm sure you will. Now, I believe you said that you found the body at Mrs. Milton's Boarding House? It will no doubt please you to know that we've heard about that place. I'm certain that we will find the culprits quickly, and with a minimum of fuss and bother." There's a hint of self-loathing in the last sentence.
Back at the carriage, Timothy's thoughts about dinner are abruptly interrupted as the carriage lists to the side, a black-clad figure appearing to rise up out of the night itself, bringing a long cane down...not on Timothy, but on the buttocks of the horses, who scream with terror and pain, and leap foward.
Timothy teeters, startled, and grabs for the reins.
Imogen stifles a shriek and clutches the box to her.
[OOC] Keeper says, "Drive Carriage, Timothy, at half for surprise."
[OOC] Timothy doomed.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 28
[OOC] Keeper says, "No, you're not! :D"
[OOC] Timothy ...nearly doomed.
[OOC] Keeper says, "You can check that box."
[OOC] Timothy says, "I'm gonna be a carriage-driving shoe-finding marvel!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "I can't even get bonuses to my suave abilities to out-talk cops. :p"
[OOC] Timothy says, "At least you don't have to look for shoes to hone your skills. You can just go seduce someone and work up your fast-talk."
[OOC] Roderick can lose more shoes for you?
[OOC] Imogen giggles.
[OOC] Roderick eyes Imogen appraisingly. "It's for my skill points, dear. Lie back and think of our character sheets."
[OOC] Timothy says, "If we ever run across an aspect of the Mythos that's intimately tied to footwear, we'll be so ready for it."
[OOC] S.D. cackles.
[OOC] Timothy wonders if perhaps m'lord would prefer to conduct such matters
in a more private location?
Timothy clutches at the reins, and by virtue of his hard-won skill, is able to keep the horses from bolting more than a few paces, but they're bucking and screaming, causing the other carriages considerable disarray as their horses pick up the scent of fear. The carriage body shakes and heaves from one side to the other, bouncing poor Imogen something terrible. Timothy hears a low, foreign curse, then the black-clad figure fades back into the darkness, as police start running to grab the carriage halters.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...if I leap down to give chase, would that be Proper Behavior, or an improper way to leave a lady alone in public?"
[OOC] Imogen raises eyebrows at Roderick and wonders if she gets skill points for stubbornly resisting advances?
[OOC] Roderick says, "...probably."
[OOC] Keeper says, "If you let go of the reins right now, the horses might bolt again, and it'd be leaving Imogen at the mercy of commoners."
Imogen, eyes wide, positively yells to Timothy, "/What is going on/?"
Timothy stifles curses, and works to keep the horses under control. "Don't know, m'lady! Some bloo--some man rushed up and attacked the horses."
Even with two men at their heads and Timothy on the reins, the horses are a handful, kicking at their traces, the men, and each other, their eyes rolling white and frantic in the darkness.
Roderick nods his head. "I look forward to hearing what news you have for me, Inspector," he says. "I don't want my friend to go unavenged."
Imogen says "/Attacked/ them? Why?"
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah, sorry, was holding that."
Something flickers in Inspector Wingard's eyes, and he bows again. "If I may, I will accompany you out, and a few of us will go roundabout the woman's, and start the investigation. Perhaps I could call on you, or your man, sometime tomorrow. We should have a preliminary report then." He opens the door politely for the lord.
Timothy grits his teeth. "Don't know, m'lady! He didn't stop to explain aforehand!"
Imogen mutters to herself something which is probably very impolite.
Roderick nods his head, and exits, heading towards the door. "Very good, Inspector. Good evening," he says, and sets back out to the street.
After a few moments, the horses start to settle, and stand. Their tails swish angrily, their sides heave, but the panic seems to have passed, and the policemen carefully let go of their halters.
Timothy leans down to speak better with the policemen. "Did any of you see that? Some man dressed all in black, leapt out and then ran off again. Should've given chase if not for m'lord's carriage and m'lady in it."
Wingard trails Roderick out, to the public room, where he sheers off to grab several bobbys and get them outfitted for the journey ahead. Out in the street, a ring has gathered around the carriage, and the horses are shaking and trembling, but stable. "Demmned lords and their fancy, hot-blooded beasts," is the sentiment that can be heard, in mutters, in the area.
Timothy steps down from the driver's seat, now that the horses are still, to check them over for any serious injury.
To Timothy, the policemen shake their heads. "Didn't see nothin' but yer nags takin' mad." They sound skeptical of his story, but obediently start to search the area. The horses seem well, except for tender line across their flanks, which may welt up come the morrow.
Roderick approaches the crowd, frowning as he tries to make his way to his carriage. "I say!"
Imogen just waits, quietly, and holds on to that box.
Timothy looks up. "M'lord!" He straightens, tone going less exclamatory. "Dreadfully sorry, m'lord. Bit of a trouble with some scoundrel and the horses. Afraid we lost track of him in the ruckus."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Can I see the welts on the horses?"
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not yet. Right now, it's just a tender place that makes them react badly to touch. It'll take a couple of hours for the welts, if any, to form."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Ah, okay."
Roderick looks up at Timothy. "A scoundrel, eh? And he got away... what sort of fellow would do that to such fine beasts... here?" He looks around, still frowning.
The bustle of London has swallowed up any such scoundrel that might exist, it seems.
Timothy remains entirely poker-spined. "Wouldn't know, m'lord. It's an outrage. Leapt out of nowhere."
Still frowning, Roderick climbs up into his carriage.
You paged Timothy with 'You can make a Know roll to try and identify the curse and the language, if you like.'.
Timothy rolls 1d100 for 91
Timothy pages: ...unlikely.
Long distance to Timothy: Keeper laughs. You can make the 30, but miss the 80! :P
From afar, Timothy is a man of treacherous and strange luck!
You paged Timothy with 'It was too brief, you didn't quite get enough to know more than it was not the Queen's English.'.
Imogen fixes him with a Look. "How did it go?"
Roderick settles in. "They do not know about you, and think they will have a suspect by tomorrow." He shakes his head. "They will undoubtedly round up some ruffians, perhaps send them to the hangman, but whatever beast actually did this will still be free. Scotland Yard lacks the imagination to handle this problem," he says, voice low, before looking back towards the window. "Home, Timothy."
Imogen composes her face to blankness. "You, I assume, have the imagination."
Timothy taps the horses into motion, careful to avoid any movement that would send whip or harnesses near the area where they were struck.
"Naturally," the Viscount replies.
The horses shy at even a gentle tap, jouncing the carriage, before settling back into a skittish rhythm as they pull into the street.
"Mm," Imogen says, noncommital. "Someone has to go with you who actually /knows/ something about African artifacts."
Now it's Roderick's turn to give Imogen a Look. "Surely, you are not suggesting..."
"Why yes, Roderick," Imogen says, with just a hint of the outrageously fluttering feminity of 'Camilla', "I am indeed suggesting."
Roderick frowns, and spends a minute or two glaring at the streets of London outside, not responding.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...playing servants is too much fun. You just know that I have to write up Imogen's maidservant for when Timothy reaches his tragic end. Alas, the salacious rumors are much harder to monger about m'lady."
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Roderick laughs. "I'm sure there's SOMETHING."
The traffic gradually starts to thin out as Timothy steers the horses towards the fashionable and exclusive areas of London. Soon, there are few other carriages on the road, and most of the pedestrians have the stern, busy look of noble servants.
Imogen studiously ignores Roderick. And keeps hold of that box.
Roderick exhales heavily. "I do not deny your familiarity with the subject. However, I have a certain natural and healthy concern for both your well-being and your reputation in such a venture."
Imogen turns to look at him, with a little, tight smile. "Viscount. I am the source of your current popularity and what little social merit beyond being young and good-looking with a title can give you. The /reason/ I can be that source is dependent entirely on my being able to access the artifacts in question. I am perfectly willing to find someone more -- cooperative." She folds her hands primly in her lap. "If you insist on protecting my reputation, I will permit you to refer to me as a young woman you are courting. Which would explain my presence with you."
[OOC] Keeper brbs herself to grab a drink while Roderick and Imogen fight it out all polite-like. :P
Timothy endeavors to give absolutely no sign that he's listening intently.
[OOC] Keeper returns.
[OOC] Roderick .oO(I wonder if word got out that a notorious rakehell was courting her, if it might even do MORE damage to her reputation...)
[OOC] Roderick says, "eek! lag."
[OOC] Keeper says, "Not if she's rich. It's nearly expected for even the most notorious to take a Respectable Wife. Especially a Rich, Respectable Wife. :p"
[OOC] Timothy says, "Don't forget the "long-suffering" bit!"
[OOC] Keeper says, "Indeed! (Although the lady's maid is likely to be /much/ more difficult to shake, if Society knows. Just in case the rake talks her out of more than is supposed to be given before the vows.)"
[OOC] Imogen .oO(...hell NO.)
[OOC] Roderick says, "Indeed. There will undoubtedly be a Chaperone we'll have to shake..."
[OOC] Timothy says, "...okay, that /has/ to be my backup character. The lady's maid, after certain Rumors have gotten out!"
[OOC] Keeper giggles.
[OOC] Keeper is having Spaceballs flashbacks. Don't mind her.
[OOC] Imogen despairs. Nice tidy life in shambles. Am being carried off by a rake. On my suggestion. This is immoral. ...shinyartifact.shiny.shiny.
[OOC] Roderick grins wickedly.
[OOC] Keeper says, "It's less fun if it's not by the lady's suggestion. ;)"
[OOC] Roderick laughs. Amanda Quick writing Call of Cthulhu, I say!
[OOC] Keeper says, "There is a certain resemblance at the moment!"
[OOC] Imogen says, "Indeed!"
[OOC] Timothy attempts to roll up a lady's maid, and eyes the Size results she
keeps getting. A hulking lady's maid from the country? Eek.
[OOC] Imogen says, "... am I missing a response from you, cpip?"
[OOC] Roderick says, "I must confess a certain surprise that Imogen!Player reads Amanda Quick. And no, I'm still composing."
[OOC] Keeper bwuahaa. "Swedish maid of doom?"
[OOC] Imogen suddenly fears her maid.
[OOC] Imogen has not read, but has heard of!
[OOC] Keeper says, "You should read! They're fun stories."
[OOC] Timothy says, "...I finally get a Size lower than 11, and now there's a Strength of 15. And a total Sanity of 25. Eep. Rolling again!"
[OOC] Keeper notes helpfully that you can move scores around?
[OOC] Timothy says, "...oh, really?"
[OOC] Keeper nodnods.
[OOC] Timothy pauses. Actually just got a nice set. Pitiful physical characteristics, small, not dreadfully attractive... clever, dexterous, reasonably strong-willed. That could work.
Roderick continues to frown, his chin on his fist. Finally, he sighs. "You push a harder bargain than a seller in the bazaars of Bombay, Miss Faville-Smith," he says. "Courting, hm?" He chuckles. "The ton may have a collective heart attack, you know."
"A woman has only certain options open to her," Imogen returns. "Bargaining is the least offensive." Flicker of a smile. "Let them. I am perfectly willing to put on a show in public."
Timothy raises an eyebrow and says nothing whatsoever.
Roderick lifts his hand to conceal the twitch of a smile. "Very well, then. You have a deal."
Imogen nods. Extends her hand to Roderick. "Gentleman's agreement, Viscount. Shake on it."
Timothy pages: Oh, certainly. I'll just save Violet for later.
"You put me over a barrel and then want me to call you a gentleman." The viscount laughs, but does indeed take the hand. "I would almost fear to court you, Miss Faville-Smith."
Imogen shakes his hand. "Hope you never actually have to, Viscount." She almost looks smug.
[OOC] Timothy observes the mating rituals of the gentry. Whole lot of bother and show and side-stepping actual clarity. Fits them.
[OOC] Keeper snickers.
Roderick releases her hand, after holding it a moment longer than the handshake would require. "Careful, madamoiselle. That almost sounds like a challenge."
Imogen takes her hand back and puts it possessively over the box. "You presume, sir." Possibly still smiling.
Roderick lifts an eyebrow. "Of course I do." He gestures towards the box. "Have you come to any new insights while I was fencing with the Inspector?"
Imogen says "Not yet. It requires more study. And my library, for secondary sources."
Roderick frowns, and sighs. "We ought to return you to your home... and then I can shortly pick you back up, and we can announce our courtship, hmm? Perhaps... I believe there is an opera tonight, for instance. The sooner we establish the cover, the quicker we can resume the investigation, no?"
Imogen considers this a moment. "Your plan has merit, albiet merit steeped in lechery and anticipation, but I expected as much. As you will."
Roderick smiles, eyes sparkling. "First you accuse me of lechery, then you tell me to do as I will. Are you trying to suggest something, Miss Faville-Smith?"
Imogen wrinkles her nose. "I could get out of the carriage right /here/ and you'd never hear anything more from me, sir."
Roderick's smile turns rather predatory. "All I would have to do would be to have it known you were in my carriage, and..." He snaps his fingers. "We both can inflict certain wounds on each other, I would think."
Imogen nods. "A point." She does not change expression. "I am proposing a /business/ arrangement, Viscount. The possibility that it might become something more to your taste exists, admittedly, but is not an /actuality/. Your assuming that it is so decreases its likelihood." She turns to him and smiles very slightly. "Shall we attempt civility, during the course of this?"
"I have attempted nothing but," the Viscount replies, dryly. "I have no desire for us to fall out."
Imogen says "Nor do I."
Roderick nods. "Well, then." He leans back towards the window. "Timothy, a change of plans. We're going to let Miss Faville-Smith off..." A hand gesture towards the woman prompts her for the stop.
Timothy waits expectantly.
Imogen names the street where she lives, and specifies the /end/ of the street, the other side from her townhouse.
Timothy turns the carriage appropriately, and engages in idle speculation he's unlikely to share with anyone.
There are a few other ton carriages out in the streets, but luckily none of the major parties are on Imogen's street tonight, and a quiet, sheltered place can be found to let the woman off.
Imogen slips out of the carriage and waits for it to drive off before walking back to her house.
Roderick nods as she slips away. "Timothy, three laps 'round the neighborhood before pulling up at her front door."
Timothy says "Yes, m'lord."
Roderick shakes his head. "Quite a creature, that one," he says. "Quite."
Timothy says "As you say, m'lord."
The back way to the townhouse is easily navigated, and soon Imogen is greeted by the warm glow of the kitchen door, propped open a little to let the oppressive heat of the ovens escape. From within, she can hear Violet and one of the other maids gossiping.
Imogen walks in, nonchalant. "Violet. Attend on me." Sweeps through the kitchen and to the more upscale portions of the house.
The maids gape, astonished, but Violet scrambles to her feet, sweeping her cap off the table and tying it hastily. "Yes, mum. Right away!" She falls in behind the lady, her eyes darting towards, then away, not quite daring to voice the questions.
Timothy drives on about the neighborhood. Lovely night for a drive. Aside from strange men leaping out of shadows.
Imogen ignores the maids entirely. Once out of their earshot she turns to Violet, and in a low, intent tone, describes the situation. "... and you'll find a small token of my appreciation for your chaste tongue on the mantle when I go, Violet," she finishes.
Violet's eyes widen as she listens, and she nods vigorously. "Yes, mum! Won't none hear about it from me, struth! Will ye be wanting your pearl evening shawl and glasses, m'lady?"
Imogen sighs, faintly. "Yes, I suppose I will."
Violet nods, and scurries off to fetch her mistress' required accessories, seeming energized by the mystery and romance of it all. Or, possibly, the money.
Imogen goes to her library, while Violet is busy, and looks for two things: a small bag with a drawstring she can put that hand in, because there's no way she's /leaving/ it; and any books she has that mention African tribal art or customs.
Keeper rolls 1d100 for 26
Even in the few moments she has before Violet returns, Imogen can easily find a bag, and two promising looking tomes.
Roderick sighs as he sits there. "So. All I have to do is find out who killed Whitehurst, keep Scotland Yard from any sort of intrusion into my life, and convince Miss Faville-Smith to engage in an assignation somewhere in the midst of this." He leans back in his chair. "It all sounds so easy when I say it." He glances towards Timothy, questioningly.
Timothy maintains his Proper expression. "No doubt you can rise to the challenge, m'lord. Is there anything particular you wanted me to do, in any of these directions?"
Imogen puts the box on the library desk, the hand in the bag, and the tomes under her arm, and waits for Violet.
Violet returns, quite quickly, with shawl, glasses, and a beaded handbag, as well as proper evening shoes, and a fetching brooch and jewels.
Imogen accepts the accoutrements with relative good grace, and lets Violet arrange them; as soon as the servant isn't looking she slips the hand-in-bag into the beaded handbag.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...I think that has to be one of the most marvelous phrases either."
[OOC] S.D. _giggles_!
[OOC] Timothy says, "And no doubt later this evening she'll have the hand-in-bag handbag in hand?"
[OOC] Keeper laughs!
[OOC] Imogen says, "Doubtlessly!"
[OOC] Roderick says, "If those dark-suited scoundrels steal it, shall we cry "Unhand the handinbag handbag!""
Violet busies herself with making her lady respectable to go out in public. This involves tugging at hair, clothes, and occassionally skin. Finally, after much disgruntled clucking, Violet steps back and proclaims, "You'll do, m'lady."
Imogen nods, absently. "Mm. Thank you, Violet."
Violet curtseys, quite properly.
Imogen sweeps out of the library, pausing a moment by the mantle, and then composes herself to wait in the front room. (With one of her useful tomes, of course.)
Roderick blinks at Timothy. "Keep an eye out for any dark chaps coming for the horses, eh? What more can I ask?" He smiles, blandly. "When things get a bit hotter -- and you know they shall -- I'll no doubt need you to watch my back against these treacherous buggers, hm?"
Violet follows quite properly behind, arranging her own plain shawl and cap to starched purity.
Roderick nods. "Very good, Timothy."
Timothy pulls the horses to a stop, and then climbs down to open the door for Roderick.
Roderick climbs down from the carriage, and tugs his clothing into perfect order. He flashes a smile at Timothy. "This will drive the ton utterly mad," he says. Is that something behind his eyes when he says that?
Timothy blands. "No doubt, m'lord."
Roderick strolls up to the door, and politely knocks at it.
A butler appears, a short, burly man, looking up with all the affronted dignity of English butlery through the centuries. Even Roderick's obvious breeding puts not a dent in it.
Timothy quietly admires the affronted dignity. Must learn to use that expression. Possibly practice it in a mirror from time to time.
Roderick refuses to be taken aback. He extends one hand. "My card. Is Miss Imogen Faville-Smith in? I would like to ask her to the opera this evening." He sees affronted dignity and raises the butler centuries of Noble Breeding.
The butler inspects the card. He raises an eyebrow at the lord, conveying without words that he's been crushing the hopes of eager young bucks before Roderick was born, and probably enjoyed every minute of it. In glacial tones, he says, "You may follow me to the blue sitting room. I shall enquire if Miss Faville-Smith is At Home." He turns and sweeps away.
Roderick smiles when the butler turns away. Youth and vigour can defeat age and experience, when well-used. He follows to the blue sitting room.
The butler sniffs as he leads Roderick into the sitting room, which is indeed, blue. "I will have refreshments sent in while you wait, m'lord." There's the definite suggestion that it will be a long, futile wait. Then he turns and stiffly struts out, down the hall, and up toward's Imogen's room, likely running into the lady on the way.
Roderick folds his arms and waits. He has yet to be permanently thwarted by ANY butler.
Imogen encounters the butler, indeed. "Yes?" she asks him.
The butler extends Roderick's card, as if it were smelly. "The Viscount St. Hubert wishes to share the honor of your presence. Shall I tell him that you are resting, m'lady?"
Imogen plucks the card from the butler's hand, and inspects it. "No," she notes. "I believe I'll see him."
The butler radiates well-bred disapproval. "He does not have the best of reputations, miss," he says, sternly. There's an air about him that suggests that, at any moment, Imogen is going to be sent up to her room without tea.
"Robert," Imogen intones sternly, "I am fully aware of that demerit of the Viscount's. Did you put him in the blue sitting room?"
Robert looks faintly offended. "Of course, m'lady. It is appropriate for his rank. If you wish to see him, I shall conduct you there, of course." He pivots and starts sweeping back towards the room.
[OOC] Timothy says, "...good lord, what's wrong with the blue sitting room?"
[OOC] Imogen says, "... I have no idea."
[OOC] Roderick says, "Just then, the floor opens up and I fall into the Faville-Smith Dungeons."
[OOC] Imogen says, "Perhaps someone died in it."
[OOC] S.D. GIGGLES.
[OOC] Keeper snickers. "Who says anything's wrong it with?"
[OOC] Timothy is now imagining spiked chairs or an enormous portrait of Imogen's grandfather glaring down over all.
[OOC] Imogen wishes to have an imposing grandfather, yes!
[OOC] Keeper says, "Well, okay, there probably /is/ a portrait of the family patriarch looking Imposing and Constipated."
[OOC] Timothy yay!
[OOC] S.D. | "Ignore the Iron Maiden behind you, it was a heirloom from Imogen's grandmother. Plagued by annoying suitors till she met Imogen's grandfather, who scared them all off much more easily. It was love at first sight, you understand."
Roderick winks at said Imposing, Constipated Patriarch. Stole his daughter's work, and will walk off with more before this is all over...
The Patriarch, if possible, seems to look even more disgruntled.
Roderick nods, pleased with his effect.
Imogen follows Robert.
Robert reaches the door, opens it, and in a deep voice proclaims, "The Lady Faville-Smith." He gives Imogen a Look before letting her and Violet remain with Roderick.
Roderick smiles, and bows deeply and deferentially. "My lady," he says, warmly.
Imogen curtseys. "Viscount."
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