Friday, January 15, 2010

That Night at Chateau Moebius...

Marguerite swept into the room, motioned to the long mahogany dining room table.

"Put zem zere."

Holth and Aramis dragged the two surviving assailants into the long, ornately appointed room and set them down roughly in the two chairs that faced one another that the far end of the table. She then motioned to the chairs lining the wall.

"Please, my friends. Seet. Let's see if ve can discover the reasons for zis most impolite assault upon your persons and my.... property."

She strode with great purpose to the head of the table and with dramatic flair pulled back the hoods of the two mystery men. One of the men was young, had yellow hair and a reddish beard. He looked nervously around the room, blinking in the light, keeping a very close eye on Aramis in particular. The second hoodlum was impassive, his lank, greasy hair plastered thinky over his oily scalp. He stared unblinkingly at Marguerite.

"Zo my friends," she leaned over, hands on the end of the table, taking them in. "Who do ve haf here. Hitmen? Simple thieves? Misguided necromanzers viz poor directions und a bad map?" The blonde one was trembling slightly - either because he had never been interrogated before, or because Aramis chose this moment to start polishing a particularly nasty-looking blade in plain view.

"N-n-necromancers? We're n-not n-necroman-"

"Do NOT speak!" the oily one hissed. Gray spittle speckled the dark wood of the table and caused the younger hoodlum to recoil and fall silent.

"So you are ze vun to give orders here?" Marguerite stood tall and regarded the dark one coldly. "Zen perhaps you can tell me who zent you here und vy? Vait, ve know vy, don't ve?" She turned and regarded a marble statue on a plinth behind her. She reached out and stroked the elongated nude male figure with a tender touch. "You are vorking for a collector, no?"

The dark one kept his eyes fixed on Marguerite. He did not blink. His voice had the sound of a frog kept in a large tin can.

"We will not tell you who employs us. You will not find out who employs us. But we WILL have the Obelisk. We will stop at nothing."

Marguerite turned towards him, one arm wrapped around the statue in what can only be described as an extremely familiar way. She turned to the younger man who was at this point dewy with sweat.

"Vil you not tell us?" She glanced at Aramis, who was clever enough to know that he was having an effect on the young man. Aramis made it seem like he was casually scratching the back of his neck and let a necklace emerge from its place deep within his shirt. The necklace seemed to be made of a woven leather cord. Hanging from it like a gruesome locket was a severed human thumb.

The blond man convulsed at the sight of the grisly charm and stood abruptly. He splayed his hands out, imploring to Marguerite.

"Don't hurt me! I can tell you what you want to AAARRGGHHHHH!!!!!!" Quick as an oil slick the dark one rose from his chair and lunged at his partner with both hands. A series of sickening cracks informed everyone in the room that the younger man had had both hands broken, his shrill screams filling the room. He slid under the table, cracking the back of his head on the chair behind him. The dark one turned to Marguerite only to find a nude marble man whistling through the air to meet him full force in the temple. Marguerite let out the subtlest of grunts as the statue collided with, then traveled through, the older man's head.

The top half of his head, lanky hair and all, did a few elegant flips before it flopped with a sloppy thud onto the center of the table. The rest of the man lurched forward, caught himself on the table and teetered for a moment, as if he was deciding what to do next. Gray and crimson matter leaked out of the bowl of his skull as he reached behind him blindly for his chair and, finding it, slowly eased himself back into his seat. A small amount of blood made its way down tunic, then stopped flowing altogether. The half-headed hoodlum folded his hands in his lap and sat quietly as if he were awaiting instructions on what to do next.

Kobayashi hurried quickly to the blond man's side and started tending to his broken, mangled hands. Xeno stood on his chair and shreiked in what only could pass for 'gnomish indignation'.

""A zombie! I knew it!! Wait, why doesn't he stink?!?!"

Marguerite moved slowly around behind the half-headed hoodlum.

"Becoss zis is not a zombie. It is a simalcrum. Not undead, und derefore undetectable by such means. It is a copy, an imitation, of a living sing. No doubt ze original upon which zis one is based is either dead or captive somevere. Simalcra are difficult to detect, do not die easily and," she glanced down at the floor beneath her, "are ze bitch on ze carpets. Zis also rules out ze LESBIANs, I'm afraid. Zis is a little above zem in terms of style."

She moved around to the younger man who, thanks to Kobayashi was sitting upright.

"Who made zis man? Who sent you here?"

He looked up into her eyes while rubbing his sore but mended hands.

"Leroy. Leroy Jenkem."

Marguerite met his gaze with considerably more steeliness.

"Vell now. You take your friend here back to Mister Leroy Jenkem und tell him to stop trying to make ze mess wiz my carpets, yes? Ze LACA is not vizout its resources. He knows zis. If he is not careful, ve will piss on HIS carpets next, ya? Tell him vat I said. Go."

Kobayashi helped him to his feet. He limped around the table and helped his partner up from his chair and meekly led him out of the room.

"Do you know who this Leroy Jenkem is, Marguerite?" Saladin stepped forward, picking his way through the bits of gore on the
obviously expensive rug.

"A shit-stirrer. Literally. He runs ze large vaste disposal conglomerate in Rozecrantz und Guildenstern. Pay toilets. Luxurious latrines. Hauls your muck und makes it disappear. Zey say he's vell connected in ze Undermountain. Ve have always wondered vere he puts it all." She smiled wanly to herself. "He also is romantically linked to my sister."

A hiss escaped more than one person in the room.

"Oh, don't vorry about zat," she said to with a dismissive wave. "Everyone who's anyone is romantically linked to my sister. She is Lady Listing, wife of Lord Leonidas Listing. She is also the ze Grand Tsarina of ze GOLPHers - ze Guildenstern Organized Ladies, Prostitutes und Handmaidens. Very powerful organization. Ve sometimes do functions togezer. After all, ve have similar purposes: Ve broaden minds und zey mind ze broads."

1 comment:

  1. Shriek or no shriek, I rather like Marguerite.