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TMG – Clue

Continuing…

Adrienne clicked her fingers impatiently. “I asked about items, constable, not the victims. Charles Brimley was not an altruist, he–” she cut herself off, nearly biting her tongue.

The police would have thought of linking the victims. Humans worked that way. But most supernatural creatures were uninterested in much of the ways that humans categorised themselves. Warm bodies and blood were enough.

What she had almost said, was that Brimley would not have hunted a monster to save others. Not even if he had linked odd murders to a creature that he could fight.

She didn’t mind that he hadn’t been a hero. His other traits had been far less endearing and much more immediate. But it was human to deify the dead, so she offered a small prayer for his soul.

“I’m sorry, it seems that being confronted with this scene is more upsetting than I would have expected.” She stood up and brushed at her clothing. “You may tell your Captain Elliot what he wishes to hear.”

Even as she said it, she walked round the apartment one last time. The man had been afraid of something, and he had known it was coming. But it would have taken much more time and investigation to tell what that was.

Perhaps it was time to take a trip? But no, that was cowardly. Not even Charles had done that. Although it might have saved him. It would have at least saved her the trouble of following after the clues he’d left.

She had no sooner thought the word ‘clue’, then she noticed a scrap of paper sticking out of a book. None of the other books bore distinguishable placemarkers. Charles had prided himself on his memory.

Spinning to place her hands behind her and in reach of the paper, she said to Constable Ash, “Now that this business is taken care of, would you perhaps join me on a tour about the university grounds?”

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TMG – Academia and Axe Murders

Continuing…

Adrienne listened to Constable Ash with an amused smile. His words sounded awkward to her, but it was something to which she was accustomed. Living on university grounds, she frequently had the opportunity to speak with people who learned words from reading.

Her own wildly informal education had exposed her to a surprising amount of words–many of them shockingly rude–which she could use quite comfortably in conversation. But she would have been hard-pressed to write many of them down.

Constable Ash appeared to be either enamoured with the campus, or else incredibly uneasy with it. “They are usually more busy than smart,” she said quietly, as though divulging a secret, “academia leaves very little time for anything else.”

Not that she would have known. Adrienne’s forays into academia were all on the face of the matter. The circular congratulations, dull parties, and petty rivalries made up a large part of her own experience. Truth be told, she didn’t even realise that her time aiding language professors in their classes was academic at all.

She watched Constable Ash with something like fascination, but said nothing more until they reached the flat.

Although she affected absent-mindedness throughout the constable’s tour of the scene, she took in details like a starving hawk at dinnertime. Charles had been meticulous with his things. The only books left out had to do with curses and redemption. Talismans were littered about, each of them offering protection. Several of those were scorched.

Constable Ash looked nervous, as though even he could sense the wrongness of the place. “The, er, Mister Brimley was found on the floor of his study. The one room was a bit messy, like there was a fight or something, but not really messy enough for an axe murder.”

“Oh yes?” Adrienne knelt by the marked place where the body had been. The remains of a talisman had been kicked away, possibly by an inattentive investigator. She examined it without picking it up. Another protective amulet. “Not messy enough, you say.”

“That’s why we concluded it wasn’t. I mean, the victims of the Axeman were hacked apart. Mister Brimley, well, there was just the one whack.”

She looked up at the pentacle on the ceiling, then back at Ash. “I see. Were there any items of religious or historical significance at the scenes of the Axeman’s… confirmed crimes?”

She doubted it, but she had to know. It was unlikely that this mundane axe murderer had anything to do with Charles Brimley’s death, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Human serial killers followed ritual more closely than ethereal terrors. A night fury of some kind wouldn’t care about the difference between one whack or forty.

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TMG – I’ll Show You

Changed to using prose because it’s faster and I can mess around more. But still continuing…

//

Americans were very silly. Adrienne tapped her fingers on the side of the teacup. Calling her a lady, as if she had any right to the title. There was something that this country lacked in the most amusing way. Aristocracy.

Once she finished her tea, he had said. Oh, she would finish her tea. She would finish it with the most delicate and purposeful but polite enjoyment she could muster.

Hopefully she wouldn’t chuckle into it. But that was a risk she would have to take.

She had never thought it would be this easy to gain access to the crime scene. Charles Brimley had made no secret of his dislike for her, she couldn’t have investigated his property even when the man had been alive. Axe marks, indeed. She’d seen no such thing. There was a newspaper on the desk, and she could very clearly see ink on the captain’s hands. He must have read it. Enough even to be agitated.

How he had missed the paragraph about his own investigative team’s discovery of those marks, she couldn’t understand.

Of course he was being rude. In that paragraph, the journalists had quoted him honestly in order to play up the evidence of an axe and make the poor sod look incapable. Anyone could see that. Normally, she wouldn’t have stood for his flamboyant gesturing. But she had been ribbing Captain Elliot rather mercilessly since her arrival. As funny as it was, she didn’t quite like to do it. Still, it was the best way she knew to ensure she was treated like a spoiled brat mixed with just a bit of nosy old biddy.

“Thank you for your consideration, Captain,” she said, setting the empty teacup on the edge of his desk. “I’m certain that the constable will be able to keep up with me.”

Nuance was lost on these people, but she still enjoyed stretching out her long legs and standing as slowly as if she were taking a walk. Although she was not a tall woman, her legs still made an impact. And the Captain was a short man, suddenly confronted by a woman in heels.

She practically led the way in her excitement. Although she hadn’t had a chance to actually examine Charles’s front porch, she had seen suspicious signs from her window. If she had been home that night, she might have been a witness. Pity, that. But no one could miss the smell of vervain. Charles had been involved in something, and it had had him scared.

Whatever this Axeman murderer was, she doubted it was human. Perhaps it had started out as such, but so many awful things did.

Outside, she decided to drop her concerned but stupid citizen act and smiled at the constable again. “My apologies, Constable Ash. It’s very intimidating to be surrounded by men in such a place. You saved my life with that cuppa.”

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TMG – Consultation

Continuing…

INT. BEDLAM POLICE STATION

Adrienne follows Constable Ash’s departure with a raised eyebrow, then toys with her scarf. An amused smile plays over her face as she wonders whether her pointed sarcasm has soared over the captain’s head, or if he is politely allowing it to pass.

When he mentions Sir Conan Doyle, her smile flattens.

ADRIENNE
(to Captain)
As I recall, Mr Holmes often investigates independently. I personally find little about his work inspiring, but that is neither here nor there.

She looks about, the motions of her head somewhat exaggerated. After a moment, she seats herself in the nearest chair.

Crossing her legs, she reaches out to pluck the paper from the captain’s desk.

ADRIENNE
I should love to praise your men for their efforts and progress. I should also enjoy immensely an opportunity to tell you that this poorly named killer is not responsible.

She looks up at the Captain. Her lips are set in a dark frown, but her eyes carry a brightness that could almost be excitement.

ADRIENNE
Journalists know nothing, this I will say. But I don’t think they are wrong about this foul perpetrator.

She folds the newspaper and sets it gently aside. Her long fingers tap out a strange rhythm over the headline.

ADRIENNE
Charles was a fool, but part of his foolishness was in being over-prepared. My home is mere yards away from his. I saw the front door this very morning. Demolished, yes, but there are marks in the jamb. Axe marks, gentleman.

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Maltese Grimalkin – An Arrival

Continuing…

INT. ADRIENNE’S BEDROOM

This small room is well-lit and decorated in rich colours. Furniture is sparse and clearly old, but tasteful. There are a couple of paintings and framed photographs on the wall. An assortment of strange artefacts hang from the wall and sit on shelves.

Adrienne stands in front of her wardrobe. She twists a black scarf around her hands for several moments, before finally winding it round her neck.

After a deep breath, she exits the room.

INT. BEDLAM POLICE STATION

Once inside, Adrienne politely declines Constable Ash’s offers to take her coat or scarf. She flashes a bizarrely dazzling smile towards Constable Ash, but seems otherwise oblivious to the scattered policemen.

Bold as a child storming a game of chess, she marches up to the captain.

ADRIENNE
(to Captain Elliot)

Good morning, Captain. I must admit that I have no earthly idea why you’ve summoned me thus to your charming workplace.

She reaches up to adjust her long brown hair in its loose bun.

ADRIENNE
(to self, intended for Captain Elliot)

One would think that investigation would preclude social visits. But what do I know.

No one dares to glare nor snicker. Adrienne lifts a lace-gloved hand and tips her chin up with her index finger.

ADRIENNE
(to Constable Ash)

You don’t look at all busy. Would you be a dear and fetch me a cup of tea? No milk or sugar, merci.

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Quick post about Adrienne and roleplaying

My last two posts were a sort of introduction to a character I’m going to be playing in a sort of solo roleplaying game run by my hubby. I’m sure we’ll see how it works when it works, but the basic idea is that we’ll both post on this topic and things will happen. I’m not sure yet how format will work.

I wrote those first Adrienne posts in a similar manner to the memoirs-y style of the Flashman Papers. I don’t think that I could keep it up for adventure after adventure, so I’d probably just do intermittent “catching you up” posts in that style. It’s actually a good way to get to know a character and the story you want to tell about them.

For example, the character I have in mind is kind of insane, a nutjob who believes in ghosts. But in her twilight days, she knows that she was always right, and has lost some of the frenzy that comes with being young and right. I didn’t plan a lot of the things I ended up making her say that she did, or taking so long to get this or that point. Mentions of things were mostly spontaneous, including the entire origin-story-like mention of a vampire and hunter.

Gotta say, I like the idea of old romances cropping up (and being buried) from time to time. She’s going to be a bit of a firecracker, our Adrienne.

I’m just rambling and explaining why my last posts were weird. I missed a few days of posting, too, which I acknowledge with a grimace. There are some difficult things going on in our real lives, but pasting these things on the internet is not really my bag. Suffice to say, it’s been very hard and will continue to be so, but we continue on with prayer and hope.

Jerking the mood back up to WHEE, I’m excited to see Adrienne’s adventure start.

Better explained here.

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Adrienne in New York

Shine didn’t interest me. Nor did filth. New York had plenty of both, but that wasn’t why I was there.

After I’d gotten off the boat and through the dull business of immigration, I headed straight for the most unimpressive learning institution I could find. There I was, famed, affluent, and homeless, standing on the steps of Browning University. It was adjoined to a pitiful museum of history. I wore a blue hat with a feather in it.

Neither the university nor the museum stand today, but that was never my fault. I warned them.

But I digress. That first day, still smelling of travel and the ocean spray, I could not have commanded any more respect than a statue from a pigeon. And yet, the dear little professor of European history let me in.

Dr Verence was a fan of mine. His name was Emil, but I wouldn’t call him that for a number of years. He let me in for an autograph. I left with a job.

It was not actual employment, of course. Women did not have the same freedoms they enjoy today. I must admit, I miss the thrill that limitation afforded. Now, working is seen as dull or undesirable.

A life in circuses had not given me any time for academics or paper education. However, I did speak eight languages. On the face of it, I aided several language professors by giving simple speeches and conversing.

This, of course, was our cover. My true work for Browning and its museum was not in language, but in acquisitions.

One cannot travel so much as I already had and not see a great many things which others would deem impossible. Before I had my rumoured yet true conversation with Jessa Morgan in Paris, I had met with a vampire.

The papers have called me crazy, but they are only partially correct. I could have always told them so much more to bombard their readers with.

Fortunately for me, I met a vampire hunter in the same encounter. He gave me more than I will at this time recount, but the relevant gift was that of an amulet and an old cross.

The cross was very old, and as the amulet was sufficient, I decided to use the cross to find myself a position. A position like that of my vampire hunting friend.

I was not prepared to fight regularly, but he had told me of the existence of many artefacts and items that I wished to see for myself. Gifting them to museums was my own quirk. I had no need of these things, and no need of money. But a life spent performing had taught me that people liked to look at things.

From then on, I was able to let them look at things, while I was free to indulge my knowledge of the occult and the weird out of their sight.