Unwanted guests and overstayed welcomes.

Postby Seeta » Fri May 25, 2007 4:54 pm

It was easy to lose the wisp of Seeta in the chaos, but Madame Swinton always had an eye for finding and looking after her girls. She was holding an armload of pretty things on the officer's advice when she was instructed to go outside. She cast a sulking look over her shoulder at the other things she might have salvaged in case of rampant chaos due to resistence, and then she obediently pressed her gentle way past the Constibulatory's men.

"Oh, they are so very handsome," she dreamily said to herself. They would be even more handsome once these invaders, who'd over-squatted their welcome, were ejected from the Tea House.

Vraal's messenger was close on her heels as she came out of the establishment. He was greeted by a welcoming, abashed smile and bright, attentive eyes; he could not help but be entertained and sympathetic as she confided in him about the horrors of the homeless men who wouldn't go - but it was hard not to be entertained when a girl was so easy on the eyes, and so openly sweet.

Seeta giggled as they spoke quietly on the walk, both of them watching the door to see what would happen.
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Postby Ted » Fri May 25, 2007 6:24 pm

Well, apparently it was time to get Rough.

Herrold was talking his mouth off about leaving peaceably, but Gerard and his partner obviously were determined to see to it that he learned his lesson proper.

"Don't believe a word he's sayin', Gerry," the other constable said. "I'm sure you know, but louts like these will say anything to save their skin. We need to show them that the Constabulary is serious about upholdin' the law, eh?"

"But, if he says he's going to leave, then isn't that enough?" Gerard said, keeping his eyes on Just Herrold's hands and feet to make sure they weren't trying anything stupid. Now that he's backed to a wall, there isn't much he could do aside from try to parley with the two constables.

"That's why you're buying tea, Gerry. You don't see the big picture."

"Uh...yes?" They weren't paying too close at the moment to what their mark was saying by this point, having been embroiled in their own ethical conversation. While Gerard didn't know which big picture his partner was talking about, Gerard did know that he was right - with people like these, they won't learn unless you beat some sense into them.

"N-now Mister Herrold, we don't particularly want to get Rough with you, but we will if you don't leave the premises. We reserve our rights as Constables to carry out what is said of our superior officer."

"That's right - what Gerry said! He may not be using his truncheon like me, but you'll learn to be wary of those ham-like fists of his soon enough!"

"M...my fists are not *hams*", Gerard protested.

"Figuratively, Gerard, figuratively."

"Oh. Well, in either case, Mister Herrold, please see that you leave in a timely fashion. We will be more than happy to escort you out of the t-teahouse."

The two constables resumed watching Just Herrold with a wary gaze. Eventually he's going to try and make a move...
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They'll call me 'Karston' and I'll call them 'dimwitted'...

Postby Karston » Sat May 26, 2007 11:07 am

Karston was the silent, but strong type. With features aged in the wisdom of wine; the older, the better. He was thirty years old, face showing both misfortune and age. His eyes, which were mismatched, were a silver and green in color -- hawkish to the core. His nose sloped down the front of his face, a pair of aesthetically pleasing lips curled at the corner with a smirk that was hardly 'friendly'. Dressed in a black jacket that hung to his knees, like an overcoat or frock. It had silver buttons, a high collar that was snug about his neck -- even sporting a white collar piece at the apex of the throat. A pair of black slacks over well-cared for loafers of a sort. His hands were in his pockets, curled there but there was nothing too suspicious about this. His hair was a mixture of blonde, brown and black. Short, but to the point that it was still a mess atop his head. Which he preferred, it made him look longer. The others in the room were being apprehended, but he was perched with his loafer on an overturned chair. His eyes were on the women, more than on the authorities. Brows knitted in concentration, before he chuckled. There was some sort of -drought- to his words that he spoke up with, eyes of mismatched avian steel focusing.

His focus? The Constable. "So, now we're to be forcefully removed from these premises, eh?" He lowered his foot from the chair it was propped up again and sighed, straightening his coat. "You're a piece of work." He said, with that same dry and arid voice. There was no humor there, only a kind of 'hurt' to it. "These ladies were being unreasonable and the men couldn't take it anymore." He was a diplomatic sort, whos tongue wove lies like spidersilk. "As you can see, we're not all -that- bad, but we really... really don't like being mistreated." As he spoke he was moving slowly, his direction unclear. He made sure that he kept a keen and oh-so-intelligent distance from all authority in the room, perferring to stay close to the women. There was just something about Karston, if that was his name, that bled higher class. Yet, he chose to run with these ruffian-type dogs - who picked on teahouses and harrassed the ladies.
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Postby Wendy » Sat May 26, 2007 11:30 am

Herrold could see that the men were anxious, though prepared to take him out by force. He sensed a reasonable measure of sympathy coming from 'Gerry'. His appeal turned toward this constable, "It's la-like ya say, I kin put, kin put m'self out th'door. Juh-juhst don't take t'Madame's word fer it. There ain't been noone puttin fists ta t'ladies. I been 'ere t'whole time, there ain't been no kindsa mistreatmen'. 'Cept tuh lay-laydies won't see ta heppin us with our needs. Nauh-Not since t'Madame threat'nd ta remove us. Buh-But we ain't laid 'ands on any of tuh-t'ladies."

Red-rimmed, gray eyes swam in a mist of tears, as Herrold's allergies persisted. He plead for Gerald's understanding.. and if not his, then the partner's.

He licked his lips, getting a taste of his unkempt mustache, "Juh-juhst back away, and I'll see, I'll see t'lettin m'self outta d'tearum." Palms facing the men, Herrold protected his face.

Madame Swinton made no accusations of abuse; however, Herrold was convinced that she was going to call them all brutes - he and all the other tearoom dwellers. It was the only reason that made sense of her bloody hand and shirt. She fashioned a costume for to make the Constables even more eager to wring their necks - that's what Herrold thought.
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Lavender.

Postby Raveness » Sat May 26, 2007 12:39 pm

Lavender fought back the tears and swallowed the lump that formed in her slender throat. She stooped to pick up the pack she'd dropped and then let her hand fall from the locked door. Slowly, gathering up her courage as she stepped down each stair, she made her way back into the tea room's main room, empty of all other women. Her eyes fall onto the constables for the first time, actually drinking them in and then onto the wounded men who are no longer in need of help. Her mind slips deep into thoughts of revenge on whomever has taken her job from her and the Madame is number one on the list. Her dark thoughts begin painting out a quick sketch of what to say to the constables in order to get the Madame Swinton into trouble.

Before she can conjour up the plan into words, Karston starts to speak and her gaze is turned toward him. Was he accusing the girls of not doing their duties? The ire that had been building in the moments past was now changing direction almost mid-stream, not at the Madame, but defending herself, her job, her Madame, and her friends. Mistreated? How could any of the girls ever mistreat a man? Especially at the tea house? Her jaw falls a bit slack, but she quickly closes it without a peep.

Her mind, unfortunately, is askew. She's tired, filthy and covered in horse sweat. Her body aches in places the young woman never thought she could ache and now she's out of both a home and a job. Her survival instincts kick in and for a moment, she thinks if she can just defend her job, and her Madame, then things might just be alright. Perhaps she can earn her way back into serving tea, and food and her room.

With the grace of a cat, Lavender moves toward Karston, sneaking up while his attention is focused upon the constable, but then Karston is moving as well. A small, delicate hand slips down into her dress' pocket when she happens to slip in behind him, keeping pace with his movements, like a professional dancer. Quickly, and without thought, Lavender slips a small dagger from its place and thrusts forward, attempting to place the dagger within Karston's back just below his left shoulderblade. Undoubtedly, not a good move in front of a room full of constables.
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Postby Cinnabar » Mon May 28, 2007 1:21 am

One of the pair of Constables approaching Karston shakes his head, a polite but determined air about him.

"'S only going to get forceful if you don't leave willingly, sir. The lady runnin' the Teahouse doesn't want you lot in here any more, so you're to leave." He glances about the debris and detritus littering the room, then back to the well-spoken fellow, moving to grasp him firmly by the elbow. "You've outstayed your welcome, sir. Move along, please."

His colleague circles round to herd him in the general direction of the door, and it's from this angle that he notes Lavender's stealthy approach. Attention divided between the recalcitrant fellow and the disshevelled looking young girl, it's only at the last minute that he notes that blade in her hand. It's with a shout that he lunges forward in an attempt to grab at her wrist, or at the very least shoulder her away from her intended victim. Looks like the time for politeness is over.
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Pain, a delicious retreat from reality.

Postby Karston » Mon May 28, 2007 5:17 am

He was, for the most part, unaware of Lavender's movements. Karston was not, by any means, a man of extreme reflex or hearing. He may have been a man of far more interesting things, but this was a circumstance that failed to put into play a key part of his usual routine. As she crept ever so quietly upon his form, his attentions were focused on the Constables' men and their words of polite extrication. Karston, who was a man of far finer taste in gentry, merely smiled in a thin-lipped way. "It's obvious we're not wanted, which is a typical reply from all well-to-do establishment owners. So, instead of kissing ass .. we're kicking it."

This was the point that made Karston feel a little uneasy. Something was ... turning a bit, Karston caught a glimpse of fabric. But it was too late, "GAH!" The sound of pain and surprise flew up from the air as the knife found its home in the meat of his back, near his shoulderblade. A place, one should know, not easily reached by self-help alone. He staggered forward, pain lacerating him to the very depth of his being. His hair flopping forward as she doubled over a minute. Using the momentum, he reeled around to backhand Lavender viciously across the face. This was more a reflex than an actual attack on her with malice and ill-intent, something that Karston rarely allowed to show even when treated in the manner that the Madame had with their entire posse.

"DAMN YOU, WOMAN!" Cried Karston, pain was the least of his worries when he realized that the Constables men had begun to move in for restraint. Moving swiftly, Karston made to shove Lavender aside - moving away form the Constables men. "What right?! WHAT right does this waif have in ATTACKING me?! I have done nothing more than the rest of the men and yet she singles ME out and ATTACKS?! I am no criminal in her shadow, she was to kill me!" This wasn't all rock-solid, though.. blood was oozing from his wound - causing him to wince and shiver as the vitae cooled and the fabric of his neat and once clean frock stuck to his flesh. To reduce the level of pain, he let that arm hang at his side as he pointed at Lavender. "You, ma'am, have just made yourself an enemy for life." It was not so much as a threat than a promise. With that, using his manipulatory magicks, he would fling several pieces of overturned, ruined furniture toward the Constables' men as well as Lavender.

A reputation this man did make.
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A man in black on a snow white horse...
Pointless life has run its course...
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Lavender.

Postby Raveness » Mon May 28, 2007 9:05 am

Nothing seemed to shock the young woman, not the fact that she'd just tried to stab a man in the back, nor the smell of his coppery blood that now lofted the air of the tea house, or the constable's body as he tried to tarry her movement, just a moment to late, causing her to trip and land on her bottom. She sat there for a moment, in the chaos quiet and confused, but Karston's backhand across her porcelain face as she sat stunned was just the blow that brought Lavender back into her senses.

With a red mark on her cheek, she brought her own hand up to nurture it with her touch. She could feel the blood burning just under her flesh. Her eyes blinked, once, twice and then she gazed around the room. "Oh no.. what have I done?" she barely breathed out loud.

"Please sir, I am so sorry." She started to apologize and also began to get her feet up under her, meaning to slip forward and try to pry her weapon from his back with the purest of intentions. "I do not know what came over me. I am so sorry. I was not meaning to hurt you..." She stood up on wobbly legs weak from the shock of what just proceeded.

Karston's words came back to her by way of a threat, however. Lavender struggled to plead with him, to show him that she really didn't mean to hurt him, to try and help him remove her small dagger from him once again, and to help stanch the flow of blood from the wound. As she moved forward toward Karston, she was blindsided by a large broken piece of a large table that sent the young woman crashing to the Tea House's floor pinned beneath it, unconscious.
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Postby Cinnabar » Wed May 30, 2007 8:42 am

Few of the Constables actually saw the blade in use at first, only the one who tried to intervene really grasping what had occurred. The rest looked round as the what they presumed was the expected resistance to removal from the Teahouse, several of them moving towards Karston with the clear intent of subduing him as politely as possible and removing him from the building before he stopped ranting and started getting violent.

This is sidetracked as one of them helpfully points out: "Bloody hellfire, he's been stabbed!", pointing at the protruding knife and spreading stain that mars the noisy fellow's back. This has truncheons hurriedly drawn from belts by some of the Constables, though the action is distracted by the sudden flinging-around of furniture. Two of the Constables fall to flying bits of chairs and tables, though they're scrambling to their feet soon after, one of them clutching at his shoulder, the other with his steel helm knocked askew. Of the remaining Constables, the greater number find their attention focussed on this shouting miscreant, and some of the more daring or foolhardy souls circle round in an attempt to herd him towards the door, truncheons held at the ready.

Meanwhile the Constable who'd attempted to restrain Lavender took a step back in surprise as Karston wheeled to strike her; he'd been on the verge of striking the man back, but a hurtling chunk of furniture forces him to duck - and the missile knocks the girl to the ground instead. That decides him, and he's hurriedly stooping to haul the wooden fragment aside, intent on picking up the girl and removing her from this scene of growing chaos with all haste.
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Postby Ted » Wed May 30, 2007 10:15 am

The continuing tirade between Herrold and the Constables was getting a mite long in the tooth. The man claimed innocence, but in reality, how could a man be innocent and still revel in such destruction? As one, Gerard and the fellow Constable stepped closer, making it painfully unbearable for Herrold.

That's about the time when the furniture-launching began.

A stray chair plowed into the Constable working with Gerard, eliciting a heavy grunt and the disarming of said Constable, and temporarily drawing Gerard's attention away from Herrold. He automatically stepped to fill in the gap and took another step forward, ready to subdue Herrold if the other man tried anything. It's too bad for Herrold - Gerard was single-minded in his task to take this guy out, and since Herrold's friends decided to get the party started, it was just as well that Gerard would join in.

Gerard made the first move, opening his hands and assuming a grappling stance. Despite the fact that all manner of unsecured seating implements were flying about him, he was determined to get Herrold down and out before he could contribute to whatever fracas was outside of the Constable's peripheral vision.

He lowered his stance down and lunged upwards, seeking to drive the other man into the wall and off the ground with his marginally superior weight, strength, and footing. His partner was probably down and out for the count, but Gerard was determined to see this thing through 'till all could be said and done! This was going to be a little Rougher than was originally expected...
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Postby Karston » Thu May 31, 2007 4:34 am

Karston was now in the red with -everyone-. Seeing that Lavender had been taken down by the furniture, a small spike of pleasure seemed to ignite within him. From this point on, he was suer that things would, undoubtly, get nastier. Taking note of the advancing men as well as the Constable himself seeking to aid Lavender, Karston narrowed his eyes. Backing up slowly, he maintained his balance and poise. His has raised in the classic, universal symbol of 'surrender'. But that was more of rouse, than anything remotely resembling surrender. In fact, Karston was plotting in his head what he could do to escape this mess and yet leave an impression that would die hard. Eyes flicked to the remaining, nearby chairs and tables. They were suitable for some, but -what-? Mind raced, lips sealed. He was, for now, quite .. cooperative.

Suddenly, his hand snapped out - fingers outstretched and slightly held in a scalloped, curved fashion. Two more chairs levitated into the air; Karston's grasp of telekinetics was something to marvel at, but it was his weakest and easiest to control manipulative powers. He was unbless by the Midnight Moon, so therefore he was not able to unleash his magicks upon these fellows. Instead, he played this game of furniture throwing.

Behold fair men of authority! He was -not- throwing the furniture. Instead, using his ability to -stabilize- levitating objects.. he began using them to -push back- the men who were encroaching on him and moving him toward the door. He wasn't finished, obviously. His eyes were wandering toward the Constable and Lavender, finding it incredibly hard to -not- attempt to take advantage of the situation. Using his mind a little more heavily, he waited for the guards to either back off or part.
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Pointless life has run its course...
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Lavender.

Postby Raveness » Sat Jun 02, 2007 1:08 pm

The Constable pulled the heavy piece of table from Lavender, but the young woman didn't move. Her left cheek was still very red and from the corner of her pale lips trickled some blood from the blow of the backhand. The table had done its damaged, the right side of Lavender's head was thick with blood, her dark red hair matted crimson and sticking to her head.

As the Constable bends to pick her up, the woman never stirs. She doesn't weigh all that much, but at this time, she's dead weight and even her 90 pounds feels like a lot to the Constable. If he holds her close, her head wound threatens to cover him in her blood, the wound leaking eagerly, like most do. Lavender's head lolls back, and her arms flop to her side, without life when he lifts her. It's a good thing the girl is still unconscious because she'd be terrified if she knew the way Karston was eyeing her and the Constable who was now holding her.
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Postby Wendy » Tue Jun 05, 2007 12:21 pm

The blow racked against the big man's ribs, delivering a warm current into the chest that would later feel sorely bruised. Strongman Herrold lost his wind when the hardy constable shoved into his trunk with such force. Disbelief became evident as Herrold's eyes were turned into glaringly white capsules. The back of his head pitched forth after hitting the wall.

His face turned close to purple as he snarled; exposing teeth behind a turned down, glistening lower lip. Instinctively, Herrold grabbed for Gerard's shoulders to push back, once he could suck air in!

Furniture may have been flying, but the homeless man did not notice, having been caught up in this intimate fracas.
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Postby Ted » Tue Jun 05, 2007 8:26 pm

"Hah! You should know better than to mess with the Constabulary!"

Gerard's bull rush seems to have paid off. Pinning the other man's movement was the key to winning this little dance, and he would be the one to come out victorious (or so one would believe). With superior strength, weight, and positioning, perhaps the worst idea Herrold could have done was put his hands on Gerard's shoulders!

Such a move would most certainly be the deciding factor!

Gerard wasted no time, feeling the flow of corps a corps channeling through him. One of his feet stepped back and pivoted on the ball of his foot, grinding a bit of glass into the carpet underneath, and Gerard shifted his grasp from the ribs to the other man's arms! He couldn't possibly be going for such a maneuver in such close quarters, could he?

Well, it's good that nobody was hedging bets against the Constable, because now he transferred his weight and momentum to his legs, his entire body rippling as he lifted Herrold off of the wall and into the air proper. One good whirl would be all it took, and if Gerard's aim was true - this little teahouse would be lessened of one unwelcome patron, quite literally launched out the front door from half the room away! Though, woe be it to anybody that happened to be caught in the rather broad radius of a large burly man being spun about by a yet larger, burlier man...

The laws of physics can be scary, sometimes...
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Postby Cinnabar » Tue Jun 05, 2007 11:15 pm

With little heed paid to the blood from her scalp wound, the Constable gathers up the unconscious Lavender into his arms, doing his best to support her head and remove her from the scene that's suddenly got quite chaotic.

In the meantime, more Constables are accosted by levitating furniture, which gives some of them pause, but the rest only grow more grim-faced and determined. If Karston expects them to part for him or flee, he is liable to be disappointed; instead there is a digging in of heels, a brute shoving aside or sidestepping of rebellious furnishings and a quite resolute advance. Glances pass between those officers encircling the man - about a half-dozen by now - while his attention seems fixed on the young girl who just attempted to stab him. He might be able to move things with the power of his mind, but does he have eyes in the back of his head? How many ways can he split his efforts? Because victim or not, the magician's making more than his fair share of trouble and the Constables seem intent on bringing his nonsense to an end.

Then a nod from one of the Constables, and the ring of grey uniforms moves swiftly to close, truncheons swinging. The intention seems quite clear: to bear the man to the ground by weight of numbers, a crude but quite well-coordinated dogpile of burly officers of the law atop this obnoxious sorceror.
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