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Salone · 10:52 PM

Chapter 3:
The Drink

Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here!

“Right. This doesn't solve anything.”

Igglethorpe paced back and forth, grumbling to himself under his breath. This had got him nowhere, and his insecurities about his ability to police were now manifesting themselves. How could he let Treylbach be murdered right under his nose? And even now, the killer was right in front of him.

“Oy, Igglethorpe. What do we do now? I don't want to be here if there's a killer in our midst.”

Dervy twiddled his thumbs, looking positively anxious. He squirmed a bit, finding it hard to keep himself in one place. He spoke up again before Igglethorpe could answer him, directing his attention to the Lady Scrimshaw.

“Pardon me Scrimshaw, but where is the loo? Can I er, borrow it?”

She gave him a disgruntled stare, pointing back towards the far door.

“Out there, down the hall, to the left you will find the guest bathroom. I do hope you hurry back, Dervy.”

With a nod he headed towards the door, quickly crossing the floor at a hurried pace. There was silence between the group as the door opened and then shut once again.

Igglethorpe cleared his throat. “Now then, this is what we're going to do. One of us is a murderer, I'm sure. I need some facts, and I know where to get them. Lady Scrimshaw, you've got a library. Do you have an alchemical encyclopedia I could borrow?”

Lady Scrimshaw nodded her head, recovering from Tavish's lewdness. “Why yes, of course. I insist upon it. I believe you know where the library is, but I will show you. I must...compose myself again in my rooms. Please, follow me. The rest of you...do not wander off. I doubt you can, anyway. Alabaster prefers to keep the doors locked. Speaking of...Alabaster?”

The rest of the group turned. The butler had wandered away, and no one had seen him do it. Igglethorpe frowned at the lack of the man. “Quiet and sneaky for a daft old butler. You know how to hire them, Scrimshaw.” She blushed, taken aback by the lack of etiquette shown on her butler's behalf. “I do apologize. He's possessed of a rather one track mind. He may be preparing the next course already. Please, follow me Captain Bosney.”

She escorted him away from the table, leaving Giselle Tavish and Isabelle alone together. The women sat in awkwardness, completely alone aside from the cold body of Treylbach sitting some distance away.

The two sat for a while, noting the uncomfortable silence as one of them searched for something to say.
'So...” Giselle trailed off, unsure of what to say in the presence of a Lad- woman such as Molatto.

“Oh, do not play your silly game of pretend with me, Gilly Tavish. We both know what you are. You're nothing more than a leech with a pretty face, looking to attach yourself to someone rich so you can suck it dry before something comes along and uglies you up. If your face matched your heart, you'd still be in the gutter. Learn a trade, Giselle. Do something with your life. You might think being arm candy suits you, but sugar spoils darling. I've got no time for the likes of you. I'm going to solve this before that bumbling ignorant Bosney mucks it up.” And with that, Isabelle walked away, leaving Giselle in tears.

How could she say that? Isabelle had always seemed...well, not nice, but at least tolerable whenever she had met her during business dealings with Dervy. Was that how she really felt about her? What if she was right? What if Giselle really was simply nothing but a leech? It was too much. The entire evening had very quickly become too much for her. She needed a drink. A drink would make everything better. It may not make the pain go away, but it would hold it back until she could stand it. Her supposedly loving husband should have shared.

She left the dining room, wandering through the large doors and down one of the hallways until she came across the kitchens. Creeping through the entrance, she gazed around the room, the only thing accompanying her was the sound of embers dying in the cooling ovens. Where was- ah, yes. There. There was the wine cellar. With steps of relief she steadied herself as she moved down the slick stone slabs. The air was cool down here, and the only light spilled in from the kitchen itself. It didn't matter though. Giselle's life had turned dark, and this is where she belonged. She selected a bottle at random, and nursed it hungrily as she tried to forget. The night was never supposed to go like this. She lost track of time, emptying the priceless bottle in a matter of minutes before moving on to another. Forget the taste. Forget the, the swishing all the nobs were supposed to do. No one actually enjoyed the taste of wine. She was drinking it for the reason every poor peasant before her drank anything with alcohol in it, and that was to drink. To get drunk. To quickly swallow it just to make it happen faster. She took her time on the second one, if only because she was reeling from all of the alcohol suddenly introducing itself to her system. Halfway in to her second, she decided it was time to leave. It was time to leave the party. It was time to leave this, all of this. It was time to leave Dervy. Molatto had hurt her, but maybe she was right. Maybe she should actually do something for herself. With a sluggish wavering, she got to her feet and began to trudge up the steps to the kitchen.

It took her several minutes as she studied the steps leading upwards, but she made it most of the way up with very few slips. The condensation building up made it tricky to navigate when sober, and the wine coursing through her was offering little help. She had nearly made it to the top step before a shadow loomed above her. She looked upwards. And then she was shoved, hard.

Giselle fell backwards down the stairs, screaming as she let go of the bottle. It fell back with her, hitting the steps and shattering as she tumbled down. The stairs beat at her, bruising and breaking her body as she fell. A particularly sharp edge caught her skull, and with a nasty crack, Giselle Tavish was no longer alive to witness her descent in to the dark.

Nearly half a minute after her scream, another followed it as Alabaster came running from the kitchens. “Giselle is dead! Giselle is dead! Giselle has fallen in to the wine cellar!” He rushed about the manor, crying out until his voice became hoarse as the others began to congregate. As one group they rushed in to the kitchens, shouting and bustling in confusion as they navigated down the steps to the battered body. Dervy broke from the group, rushing to his wife's side as he cradled her body in his arms.

“No, no, blast it, no! Oh Gilly, what have you done?!”

Igglethorpe fumed, looking back towards the shattered glass of the wine bottle before circling back around to Dervy and Giselle. “Right Dervy. I'm sorry. I think your wife has become victim number two. I'm going to need to examine her.”

Dervy clutched her tighter to him, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. “Oh piss off! She's not even cold yet and you wanna 'examine' her? Just what for eh?”

“Because Dervy, I think she was murdered. Someone wanted more than just Treylbach gone tonight. So now they're going for two and one of you, one of you is a cold bastard who needs to be brought to heel!”

And thus, the second round of interrogation commenced.

		#6	Salone Problem to the Solution
Chapter 3: The Drink Pssst. Want to listen along instead of reading? Click here! “Right. This doesn't solve anything.” Igglethorpe paced back and forth, grumbling to himself under his breath. This had got him nowhere, and his insecurities about his ability to police were now manifesting themselves. How could he let Treylbach be murdered right under his nose? And even now, the killer was right in front of him. “Oy, Igglethorpe. What do we do now? I don't want to be here if there's a killer in our midst.” Dervy twiddled his thumbs, looking positively anxious. He squirmed a bit, finding it hard to keep himself in one place. He spoke up again before Igglethorpe could answer him, directing his attention to the Lady Scrimshaw. “Pardon me Scrimshaw, but where is the loo? Can I er, borrow it?” She gave him a disgruntled stare, pointing back towards the far door. “Out there, down the hall, to the left you will find the guest bathroom. I do hope you hurry back, Dervy.” With a nod he headed towards the door, quickly crossing the floor at a hurried pace. There was silence between the group as the door opened and then shut once again. Igglethorpe cleared his throat. “Now then, this is what we're going to do. One of us is a murderer, I'm sure. I need some facts, and I know where to get them. Lady Scrimshaw, you've got a library. Do you have an alchemical encyclopedia I could borrow?” Lady Scrimshaw nodded her head, recovering from Tavish's lewdness. “Why yes, of course. I insist upon it. I believe you know where the library is, but I will show you. I must...compose myself again in my rooms. Please, follow me. The rest of you...do not wander off. I doubt you can, anyway. Alabaster prefers to keep the doors locked. Speaking of...Alabaster?” The rest of the group turned. The butler had wandered away, and no one had seen him do it. Igglethorpe frowned at the lack of the man. “Quiet and sneaky for a daft old butler. You know how to hire them, Scrimshaw.” She blushed, taken aback by the lack of etiquette shown on her butler's behalf. “I do apologize. He's possessed of a rather one track mind. He may be preparing the next course already. Please, follow me Captain Bosney.” She escorted him away from the table, leaving Giselle Tavish and Isabelle alone together. The women sat in awkwardness, completely alone aside from the cold body of Treylbach sitting some distance away. The two sat for a while, noting the uncomfortable silence as one of them searched for something to say. 'So...” Giselle trailed off, unsure of what to say in the presence of a Lad- woman such as Molatto. “Oh, do not play your silly game of pretend with me, Gilly Tavish. We both know what you are. You're nothing more than a leech with a pretty face, looking to attach yourself to someone rich so you can suck it dry before something comes along and uglies you up. If your face matched your heart, you'd still be in the gutter. Learn a trade, Giselle. Do something with your life. You might think being arm candy suits you, but sugar spoils darling. I've got no time for the likes of you. I'm going to solve this before that bumbling ignorant Bosney mucks it up.” And with that, Isabelle walked away, leaving Giselle in tears. How could she say that? Isabelle had always seemed...well, not nice, but at least tolerable whenever she had met her during business dealings with Dervy. Was that how she really felt about her? What if she was right? What if Giselle really was simply nothing but a leech? It was too much. The entire evening had very quickly become too much for her. She needed a drink. A drink would make everything better. It may not make the pain go away, but it would hold it back until she could stand it. Her supposedly loving husband should have shared. She left the dining room, wandering through the large doors and down one of the hallways until she came across the kitchens. Creeping through the entrance, she gazed around the room, the only thing accompanying her was the sound of embers dying in the cooling ovens. Where was- ah, yes. There. There was the wine cellar. With steps of relief she steadied herself as she moved down the slick stone slabs. The air was cool down here, and the only light spilled in from the kitchen itself. It didn't matter though. Giselle's life had turned dark, and this is where she belonged. She selected a bottle at random, and nursed it hungrily as she tried to forget. The night was never supposed to go like this. She lost track of time, emptying the priceless bottle in a matter of minutes before moving on to another. Forget the taste. Forget the, the swishing all the nobs were supposed to do. No one actually enjoyed the taste of wine. She was drinking it for the reason every poor peasant before her drank anything with alcohol in it, and that was to drink. To get drunk. To quickly swallow it just to make it happen faster. She took her time on the second one, if only because she was reeling from all of the alcohol suddenly introducing itself to her system. Halfway in to her second, she decided it was time to leave. It was time to leave the party. It was time to leave this, all of this. It was time to leave Dervy. Molatto had hurt her, but maybe she was right. Maybe she should actually do something for herself. With a sluggish wavering, she got to her feet and began to trudge up the steps to the kitchen. It took her several minutes as she studied the steps leading upwards, but she made it most of the way up with very few slips. The condensation building up made it tricky to navigate when sober, and the wine coursing through her was offering little help. She had nearly made it to the top step before a shadow loomed above her. She looked upwards. And then she was shoved, hard. Giselle fell backwards down the stairs, screaming as she let go of the bottle. It fell back with her, hitting the steps and shattering as she tumbled down. The stairs beat at her, bruising and breaking her body as she fell. A particularly sharp edge caught her skull, and with a nasty crack, Giselle Tavish was no longer alive to witness her descent in to the dark. Nearly half a minute after her scream, another followed it as Alabaster came running from the kitchens. “Giselle is dead! Giselle is dead! Giselle has fallen in to the wine cellar!” He rushed about the manor, crying out until his voice became hoarse as the others began to congregate. As one group they rushed in to the kitchens, shouting and bustling in confusion as they navigated down the steps to the battered body. Dervy broke from the group, rushing to his wife's side as he cradled her body in his arms. “No, no, blast it, no! Oh Gilly, what have you done?!” Igglethorpe fumed, looking back towards the shattered glass of the wine bottle before circling back around to Dervy and Giselle. “Right Dervy. I'm sorry. I think your wife has become victim number two. I'm going to need to examine her.” Dervy clutched her tighter to him, the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. “Oh piss off! She's not even cold yet and you wanna 'examine' her? Just what for eh?” “Because Dervy, I think she was murdered. Someone wanted more than just Treylbach gone tonight. So now they're going for two and one of you, one of you is a cold bastard who needs to be brought to heel!” And thus, the second round of interrogation commenced. Last edited by Salone; 11-07-2015 at 10:52 PM.
	Posted 10-29-2015, 05:37 PM