Behind Unlocked Doors (Part I)
In light of Anba Hor's imprisonment, the Abbey belfry has hosted a lot of activity lately. Old cronies, murder attempts, sight-seers and maladjusted younguns--all flocking to catch a glimpse of the chained, ill-tempered captive. Most are hurriedly shooed out by the guards, but not before churning out a wonderful (if short-lived) scene or two!
This is a collection of my recent logs, edited only to remove OOC content; I preserved the messages (such as connects and disconnects) that would seen on the +radio broadcast.
[20:54:56] RW Abbey: Belfry
[20:54:56] ------------------------------------------------------------
[20:54:56] The Belfry of the Bell Tower is an open, airy space, four
[20:54:56] great stone arches look out over the abbey grounds and
[20:54:56] the woods of mossflower to the north, south and east. To the
[20:54:56] west one looks across the threshold of the abbey and out over
[20:54:56] the flat lands to the west.
[20:54:56]
[20:54:56] The stairs leading up are made of wood and stop at the stone
[20:54:56] ledge around the outside of the tower. Dug deeply into the
[20:54:56] stone a great oak beam stretches across the centre of the
[20:54:56] tower. It holds up the Matthias and Methusaleh bells, both
[20:54:56] attached by thick ropes to support their weight. Above the
[20:54:56] bells the roof supports can be seen and the underside of
[20:54:56] of the red tiles.
[20:54:56] ------------------------------------------------------------
[20:54:56] Exits: [D]own[s]tairs
[20:54:56] With: [ZZZ] Drago and [IC] Anba_Hor, Evil Itself..
[20:56:27] Setting status: In Character. (IC)
[21:04:36] Something is trotting up the stairwell; it is swift and it skips every other step, from the sound of it. A heavily cloaked silhouette eventually materializes at the top. The mammoth wool garment makes Psamathe look rather squat and burly; she could be anything--gender and species obscured by the mountain of gray fabric. This is only important for the short dash to the belltower, however, as Anba Hor surely has all ready recognized the creature. Her hands clench some sort of bundle, wrapped in wet leaves. It thoroughly reeks.
[21:10:23] Anba_Hor wakes with a wide yawn, and blinks his eyes open to the sight and foul smell. "How... nevermind..." He /knows/ who it likely is, but reminds himself to kill the guards first when he escapes. What useless, wretched idiots! "What do you want?" He stands up, as far as the chains will allow him, and sniffs the air, chuckling, "You know, that smells almost as good as home... is it for me? How nice..."
[21:19:17] Psamathe remains just out of reach of the shackled fox and plops down into a seated position, Indian-style. The parcel is placed on the floor in front of her, as the vixen begins to dig around within the expansive reaches of her cloak--shoving a hand down the neck-hole, and, when that attempt fails, reaching up a billowy arm. She grumbles and curses a bit, as if something had become lost within the giant gray thing. After the brief struggle, Psamathe manages to produce a flask, from which she promptly inhales a gulp. ".. dunnae' ask," she tells him, waggling a the remaining half of her right index finger. "Not allat' vigilant round 'ere, it would seem," the fox continues, commenting on the apparently inept guards. "S'been kindo' slow at th' ole Guller--yer a lot more entertaining--well, when yer all pathetic 'n tied up, that is." She places the flask neatly beside the package, pretending to ignore it, and Anba's question, for now.
[21:26:17] Anba_Hor pulls on the chains, thoroughly annoyed by this vixen... snarling, and just in general misplacing his cool. "You will have wished you hadn't been so cheeky when I get through mulling about up here. I'm sure the others at the Gull know me well enough to show some /respect/. Ptttahh!!" He spits at her, laughing and leaning all his weight forward on the shackles, hanging in space. "Right after I finish picking my teeth with the bones of that insolent otter, I'm going to rip you to pieces. You'll still be alive for days after I'm finished."
[21:33:59] The spittle soars and plops squarely on the front of Psamathe's cloak. She ogles it for a while, and then haphazardly rubs it into the fabric--obviously not too concerned with keeping the garment clean. "Tut-tut," the vixen clicks. "Yer losin' what's left o' yer mind up 'ere, Abner." Her conversation is frank, pointedly unmindful of Anba's desperation. As he rambles on about her horrific fate, the vixen helps herself to a few more swigs of booze, then begins to gradually peel back the leaves binding the package. Its odor becomes more intense as the greenery is picked away, filling the belfry with an overpowering, watery stank. ".. quite a view ye' got from up 'ere," she mentions casually. "Think ye' kin' see yer old meadowy stompin' grounds?" Lilac eyes squint and she cranes her neck upward, as if trying to peer out the closet window.
[21:42:42] Anba_Hor isn't particularly bothered by the stench... the fox has endured that of the bloated, rotting bodies outside of his den, the waste of the still living and decayed victims of his terrible traps, and of course the foul odor of his meat-eating garden plants. "What do you attempt to prove with your pungent present? I much prefer its aroma to the dusty, grimy old wood up here... lacks the exotic bouquet of home..." He sits back, calming down, and gives up trying to threaten her, at least for now. "You waste your time on me. Well, I intend to find out why... it cannot be without a reason."
[21:53:01] "Malicious bored'm?" Psamathe suggests as a motive for her recent visits. Tilting her head to one shoulder in a half-shrug, the fox returns to her business. She pries and peels at the parcel, using a claw to work at the knotted twine that holds the bundle together. Eventually, the 'present' is fully unwrapped: it is a fish--well, sort of. The thing must have been killed weeks ago. Its flesh is deteriorating, even in the chilly Autumn air; its eyes are deflated and sunken, and certain prime chunks seem to have all ready been chomped away. "Well--they were gonna' toss this out atta' Gull t'night. Sawr it inna' heap out back and thought, 'oi .. I knows a lad that'd enjoy a nice ole' fishy meal." The vixen beams at Anba and lifts up the vile gift, inhales--it takes a lot not to gag, but she manages--and raises it .. just out of reach of the prisoner. "Lovely fishy goodness!"
[22:02:41] Anba_Hor sneers, "I may like my prisoners rotting," he says, looking from the fish to the vixen, "..but I hunt food /fresh/. I waste nothing... the trash of other beasts is below them, therefore it is automatically below me. Perhaps I may have use for it... as a gift to an unsuspecting Abbey elder from above. Otherwise, if you expect me to eat that, you amuse me." He eyes the flask, suddenly taking on a helpless and begging tone, "I don't suppose... you could spare any of your drink...? I'm afraid it's terribly hard for me to reach my mouth with my paw, so if you wouldn't mind, holding it up for me?" He looks from her to the flask, and back rapidly, leaning forward to accentuate his eagerness.
[22:10:31] Psamathe fakes a look of indignation when Anba refuses the treat, solemnly lowering her chin. ".. OH! 'Ave I offended ye'? Since yer in such a high 'n mighty position right now," she grumbles. "Lookin' a bit *gaunt* even. What they been treatin' ya' to? Sticks 'n leaves? S'gonna' be 'ard t'bust outta' them chains without some proper weight on ye'." She considers his second request, but dare not get within reach of the beast. "Aye--ye' can 'ave a swig. After ah'm finished." She brings the flask to her mouth and drains a bit more. Whatever the thing hold must be a bit rough; the vixen cringes after that giant gulp, smacks her lips and thumps a fist against her chest. "Mebbe' it'll make th' fishy look a bit more invitin'. Ah'm thinkin' of a bite right now." She then closes the flask tight. Tossing it in the air a couple of times to gage its weight, Psamathe then chucks it at Anba. "'Ave at it."
[22:21:52] Anba_Hor snaps forward and *CLAMPS* his jaws around the tin flask, puncturing it. The fox maneuvers it around in his jaws so that the newly-perforated sides drip the alcohol straight down his gullet. He spits the tin flask back out at Psamathe, and licks his jaws, "Mmm... you're a doll... but you're afraid, are you not? Do you think I would have done what I did to that flask instead to your neck? Perhaps..." He chuckles, wiping his mouth with a paw; /clearly/ he can reach despite what he said. "Forgive me, you are not as dumb as you look."
[22:30:02] Psamathe ducks as the flask rockets back at her. She narrowly avoids getting clobbered in the nose; instead, the metal object bounces off the side of her skull and goes clanging to the floor. The fox glances at it, then back to the captive. ".. I don't doubt that ye'd put yer teefs' in me given the chance." Then she leans back on her elbows, feet kicked out in front of her and crossed at the ankles--still tactfully out of reach. "Thankye'," she clips in response to the back-handed compliment. "Ye' learn a thing'r two pallin' around wi' the 'rough crowd'." Her eyes seek out the flask again, but she decides its best to let that sleeping dog lie. After a minute or two, she adjusts her position--just enough to fidget around inside the giant cloak again. Lo and behold, the vixen produces *another* bottle. This time it's glass, corked. Fair enough, though; she could be hiding any number of things within all that flowing fabric. She goes to work at the second bottle, chomping on it with her teeth.
[22:38:24] Anba_Hor takes on a friendlier tone, smiling, "Well, you know... you aren't nearly as bad as I thought. You'll do... oh, it's quite perfect, what I have planned for this abbey. You... well, you'd be perfect too. Hmm..." He pretends to think about something, observing her and appearing to size up the vixen for some task in particular. "Well... maybe... eh... no; perfect I think. Absolutely." He grins, nodding and inhales, "Oh well, you'd never do that anyway, not for me, much less vast monies and treasure. Too much for a fox like me, even for as greedy as I admit to have been... still... it's too perfect to miss..." He looks at her, then shakes his head, looking out the opposite balcony, then back at her as if second-guessing himself.
[22:44:35] Psamathe cocks a critical eyebrow as Anba rants. ".. plans an' schemes 'n plots--don't ye' ever take a breather?" She stops gnawing on the cork just long enough to share that thought, then goes back to chewing and tugging. "I know better'n t'enter inta' an agreement wi' the likes of *yew*," the vixen adds. "Almost got meh' arse 'anded to me last time. Me 'n Revvers 'ad t'patch that ole stripedog up *real* nice afore we sent 'im on 'is way .. just t'save our own skins." With a loud pop, the cork comes loose from the bottle. Psamathe spits it in Anba's general direction, and then starts to take a sip; she halts, though, and asks, "When was th' last time ye' just sat 'n 'ad a drink? Stopped thinkin' o' ways to ruin' the world 'n all that. Ye'r completely batty, y'know that, right?"
[22:52:26] Anba_Hor waits until she's drinking and then springs the real hook on her, "Oh, it wouldn't be anything you'd need to worry about kidnapping or killing... the abbey wouldn't even know you were guilty of a thing... and oh, I forgot to tell you - it wouldn't be me paying you, but a much more reliable source. In fact... this isn't for me at all. But..." He nods, "You're right, you're not /nearly/ charming enough. Not with that thirsty habit of yours... he'd never fall for you." He stretches, pretends to start to go to sleep, "Just thought maybe you were the type to challenge yourself, have fun doing it too..." He yawns and blinks his eyelids, closing them as he stretches out and folds his paws on top of his stomach.
[22:59:20] Psamathe watches Anba closely, nursing the bottle. She is doing her utmost to act uninterested in the ploy, but curiosity is getting the best of her. "Heh," she says, ".. what's the story, then? Just outta' .. y'know--well .. wantin' the lowdown. Can't commit t' something so darn mysterious." Ears flick, pursued by the jingling of the hoops that clamp down on them; the vixen shifts, wanting desperately to maintain her nonchalance. This becomes increasingly difficult with the wine. It is quite easy to be surly and aloof on a controlled amount of hard liquor--wine is another story entirely. Warmth and fuzziness begins to consume the ragamuffin. She sinks more lazily into her elbows. ".. Prolly ain' interested, though. Coin ain' no object. I gotta' warm hole t'sleep in. Drink t'drink--food when I really be needin' it. Kindo' wantin' to keep m'hide in tact these days. I'm gettin' rather fond o' it." She extends an arm to show off her pale fur, gloriously disfigured by tattoos and missing digits.
[23:11:45] Anba_Hor speaks soothingly, resonating with the effects of the drink perfectly, "Of cooourse, of cooourse... but you sleep in that hole... alone? A pity... especially with a strong Champion, a brave Champion, not outside these very walls... you know, I think his mate is making him somewhat of a home-body. Just something... about him, I don't know... something missing. Do you feel like you're missing someone or thing? I would hate for him to end up sitting around, especially when I can stir things up.... you know? Make his mate jealous? Make her feel cheated, like she perhaps needed... /my/ help? Oh, how the Champion would realize his mistake, when I have her dangling by her footpaws from this very tower?" He chuckles with glee, "Shhhh..., but no need for you to hear any more..."
[23:21:13] Psamathe, quite abruptly, bursts out laughing--like a madman. The vile canine cackling echoes throughout the belfry, bounces down the steps, and quite possibly into the yard below. It eventually becomes a mixture of laughter and howls, and the vixen grasps her sides and literally rolls on the floor. Her bottle, momentarily forgotten, gets knocked over in the fray. Psamathe spies this catastrophe and extends a paw to make it upright again. She fails, too consumed with whooping and giggling to save the purple spirits. ".. Wh--*What*? You're outta' yer everlovin' *skull*!" she hollers to Anba, among gasps for air. "Outta' yer bleedin' skull an' straight up t'the moon! Split *them* two up? Ye'r kiddin' me, right? A vindictive loony. I says ye' forgit th' Champeen--set yer sights on bustin' outta' this dump, 'n high tail it t' a quiet lil' shanty deeper 'n the woods 'n anybody'd ever care to venture. Y'could plant .. flowers. Or somethin'." She wipes at her nose, then her eyes; still recovering from the fit. ".. 'sides .. I *like* mah digs. 'Lone 'r not."
[23:32:36] The guards come up to find the vixen and shout down to their counterparts on the ground, "We found her, up here... yeah, if she's here to give him his food then I'm the fox's uncle... quick, now, better tell the Abbot about this one." Directing their attention back on the vixen they point their halberds at her, "Visiting hours over, miss..." The slightly slower one remarks on this, "I thought he wasn't 'llowed to have visitin' 'ours..." To which he is elbowed sternly, "He's not! I was being sarcastic! Now if you please, miss, you look like you belong up the road instead of anywhere here... unless you'd like to be locked up too!"
[23:36:50] Psamathe is all ready on her feet by the time the guards complete their less-than-stealthy approach. She is casually shoving the cork back in the bottle, salvaging what remains of the wine, and tells them, "Ah *was* bringin' 'im foods." A swift nod of her head indicates the rotten fish, and she waves the bottle about to illustrate the aroma of the treat. "Can't ye' whiff the lovely smells? Feat fit ferra' king, yeah?" The fox fails to immediately head for the door; she takes her sweet time collecting herself--adjusting the cloak, stashing the wine. ".. Abner, yer chums ain' very friendly," she remarks, offering him a sideways grin.
[23:41:21] Anba_Hor stares daggers at the vixen as she harrasses him, belittling his ideas. "You sorely lack vision, you pitiful waif, and you know not the genius for which I am well paid. You go back to your lonely hole now, while even now I occupy a far grander place in this abbey, and think over my offer. No doubt you'll soon be begging for scraps of fish yourself. Go back to the trash you dug this out of, go on, while they wine and dine me... huh! Bored enough to see me, I'm /flattered/, but not in the least bit surprised! Take this, vixen!" He wedges a footpaw beneath the discarded fish still near him, and flings it directly at Psamathe, hoping to send her a foul farewell embrace.
[23:49:31] Psamathe side-steps the flying rot-fish. By now, the fox has grown used to ducking projectiles when near Anba. She wobbles a bit and watches the foul carcass exit the belfry and thump-thud down the steps. A grin splits her muzzle; the vixen drops into a flagrant motion, something of a hybrid between bow and curtsey. "Feed 'im a 'lil booze 'n look what 'e gets like" she says, rising to meet the glares of the guards. "Y'can't take 'im *anywhere*." A melodramatic sigh follows this, paws rising to the air in defeat. ".. well, I 'spose ah'll take my leave." As she heads to the steps, the vixen looks back over her shoulder. ".. jus' so y'know, Abner--y'ain' in much of a position t'be makin' enemies." She punctuates that statement with a wink, but, after that, her smile abruptly vanishes; the hood is replaced over her head and the fox makes a swift trot to the stairs.
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