Unwanted guests and overstayed welcomes.

Postby Wendy » Wed Jun 06, 2007 4:48 am

Madame Swinton, Seeta, and a number of onlookers waited outside as the degenerate indwellers were 'escorted' from the Myrkentown Tea House. The sunshine laid as pelt on their backs, heightening the importance of returning to those shady rooms.

They hadn't seen much coming out of the tearoom as yet, but for constables going back and forth. One of them neared the Madame who was standing on the other side of the street. Those who were in the apothecary's shop had come out to see what the matter was. They interviewed the woman, whom none of them trusted but couldn't help liking, to find out the status of her home across the way.

It was her hope that the man coming forward in his regulation, constabulary gray would bring them the news they were all itching for.

There was no telling where Lavender was, but she hoped the girl had the mind to stay upstairs, even if she didn't gain access to her own room.

Worry lined her brow as the officer came upon the small crowd that she centered. Congested by these other people packing themselves in, she pulled her arms from her sides and folded them around her upper body. Sweat gleamed on her skin. It thickened her auburn hair and caused the cling of the blouse on her back.

She was just about to address the officer when a complete, bulking man was thrown from the teahouse. Those surrounding Madame Swinton drew a same, surprised gasp at the same time, matching her own aspiration at witnessing Herrold's outsized body landing half on the street.

Thought was in the Madame to move forward with concern, even though the large man had taken too much advantage of the weakened tearoom staff.
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Can we say 'screwed'?

Postby Karston » Fri Jun 08, 2007 8:23 am

Karston sighed as he noticed that his efforts were, for lack of a better word, only landing him in deeper shit. Sorceror or not, Karston wasn't the most powerful of men during the day, as it was. So ... he was thoroughly screwed at this point.

The men that slowly came inward began to box the Mitternacht Magician into a corner of sorts, stopping him from taking full control of the situation as previously desired. In fact, what control he did have was taken violently from him at this very point in time. Hissing through his teeth, Karston would now put his hands up - unable to so much else. It was fun for a while, sure ..

But, even bad dogs knew when to lie down in front of the thick, rolled up newspaper and take a beating. "I give." He said simply. Of course, Karston isn't about to go around wearing black witch stuff and melting because of water... that look just spelled disaster.

He would go peacefully, unless one of them decided to clock him unconscious - then he'd go ultrapeacefully. In any case, the fiasco was done. And in his mind, he wasn't going to let this situation just pass on without something in the future. In the back of his mind, he wondered ... 'how long will I be in a sticking cell'....
Does everything exist to be forgotten?
A man in black on a snow white horse...
Pointless life has run its course...
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Postby Cinnabar » Thu Jun 14, 2007 2:13 am

One by one the assorted squatters, malingerers and abusers of Mme Swinton's most gracious hospitality are ejected from the premises. Those who decide to resist are afforded less gentleness than those who cooperate, but the general objective is to get the lot of 'em out of the Teahouse as a first step, and to the Constabulary's headquarters as a second step, where they will be processed and their misdemeanours catalogued.

The Sergeant directs his men with brusque efficiency, assigning extra Constables to watch over "that bloody magician" lest he decide to wreak some more havoc. Thus and so the troublemakers are herded out in a line, flanked by a line of Constables on each side in case they get any funny ideas.

There'll be a lot of paperwork in the near future. For now, the satisfaction of a job done... if not exactly well, then at least successfully.
Omnia mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.
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