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03/08/998: Late Morning, Ebbington District- Broad Street Mortuary

 
Corporal Miles Bridgeworth

Corporal Bridgeworth rounds slowly upon you and fixes you with a hard, appraising frown. It has a great deal of intensity behind it- although you get the feeling that if he were merely to turn the spigot of his bile slightly further, you'd truly have a withering stare upon you. You conclude that for all rights and purposes, you're seeing a watered-down version of the glare he uses with new recruits.

"I would tread carefully, Master Cymmeiian," says the Corporal with a steady, firm tone. "Your words border on extortion... and you can be certain that this civil servant shall tolerate nothing of its like."

After a time, though- perhaps more than you're comfortable with- Corporal Bridgeworth's expression softens slightly, and he clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. "However, I am not without a sense of pragmatism. Should the office of the Duke be presented with matters of... similar inclination in the future... we shall remember your name."

The corporal folds his hands against the small of his back and leans forward expectantly. "And now, good mortician, that 'important information' you mentioned?"

Cymmeiian

Cymmeiian's face twists in muted frustration as his sociables continue to splat, fruitlessly, against the brick wall that is the constable. He nods in agreement as the corporal suggests future work and the spreading of his name.

"Extortion is far from my intent Master Corporal. My funeral parlor here is doing adequate, you see, but I could use someone of influence to mention my name when aquaintances are in need of these services. I speak plainly of this Master Corporal as business is business and my services only come from years of dealing in death."

The mortician begins to tidy up the examination room, table, floor, counter and anything else he can for a period of time that begins to become uncomfortable in silence. he studies the Corporal out of the corner of his eye while he works, judging the man on how deep his convictions run.

"Master Bridgeworth, the only account that I have heard of in my studies and practices of a poison which inflicts death in this manner, is an account of Drow. That is my key piece of information and unless I know quite a bit more about this entire situation I cannot help you further."

Cymmeiian pulls the gore-stained sheet from the corpse and tosses it into an iron stove in the corner. After shutting and latching the stove he returns to the linnen shelf and draws a fresh white sheet which he in turn lays gently over the entirety of the corpse.

Corporal Miles Bridgeworth

Bridgeworth relaxes visibly at your words. "So you're certain it's a poison, then? That, at least, is good news. We were worried that plague was the culprit. In that event, I must depart hence; there are a score of hale individuals abroad whom I must release from the bonds of quarantine."

The corporal takes up his tricorner hat and regards you with a sober expression. "Master Cymmeiian... I would ask you to tarry for a moment, if it pleases you." He regards the body of the deceased with slight unease. "This Man of the Duke will admit that we know very little of this case, beyond the fact that this man was found in a run-down lodging house in Ender's Run. If you are certain that this poison is of the Drow, then you may yet be of further immediate service to the Duke. I will admit that the men of the Watch number no Drow, and those dark elves to be found in Fairhaven are something of an insular group."

Bridgeworth clears his throat. "If you are possessed of any... cultural connections with this community, I can assure you that the Crown would look kindly on your attempts to glean information on this matter from them."

Cymmeiian
A warmish smile melds itself into the half-drow's face as he recognizes the corporal's offer. With a slight nod and a half-blink Cymmeiian resumes his duties around the examination room.

"I will see what I can find out, Master Bridgeworth. Shall I send a courier to you if I hear anything or shall I come visit you myself?"

Cymmeiian does his best to keep busy until the corporal is ready to leave.

"Master Corporal, there is one more thing. What would you like done with the body? Is it going back with you or shall I dispose of it?"

The ruby-starburst eyes of the mortician show weathering and a deep seeded longing for something beyond the corporal's grasp. His face shows nothing more than the signs of a half-woken man startled into blood, bile and phlegm.

Corporal Miles Bridgeworth

Bridgeworth eyes the body with slight unease as he puts his tricorner hat back on top of his head. "If it's to your satisfaction, Mister Cymmeiian, I would like you to keep ownership of the body for the next day. Should your inquiry with the Drow turn up anything particularly useful, I should like for you to be able to access the body... without the bother of red tape to be found at His Majesty's Coroner."

He nods to your other question, "And yes, if you should find anything of great import in the next days, you may inquire at the Watch Bureau House in Kashek's Landing. And if I am not to be found at the time you make your visit, simply inform my men and they shall summon me thence."

Cymmeiian
Cymmeiian offers a mid-drift bow in appreciation to the avoidance of red-tape. He knows that the corporal is stretching in order to make things easier...it is a pity how things must work out in the end. There is a new fire behind the ruby starbursts and as the half-drow stands fully once more a more sadistic bend begins to creep behind his eyes.

"I am not sure how usefull I will be with those you call my cultural connection, but I will do my best. The body will be here through the next moon and into the high-sun; if no one has come to claim it by then I will incinerate it. Either way, you will have word from me at the Watch Bureau House, Master Corporal."

The mortician waves a hand towards the door leading back upstairs. His face, although housing something deep, is still as dry and cordial as ever. Cymmeiian will follow the corporal
Assuming that the corporal is ready to leave...if not then we can totally stay in the examination room...
upstairs and to his escort.

Corporal Miles Bridgeworth

"Very good, Mister Cymmeiian," replies the Corporal with a nod of his head. "I shall investigate a few possible sources of information available to me as well. You have His Lordship's thanks for your assistance in this matter." With that, the Watch official allows himself to be escorted out of the examination area and into the sitting room, where his men snap to varying degrees of attention as he enters. After a few harsh reproaches and a barked order or two, Bridgeworth leads the Watchmen upstairs and begins funneling them out of the mortuary.

Giving a few more noncommittal words of gratitude, Corporal Bridgeworth and his men leave your parlor, shutting the door soundly behind them. A few moments later, you hear the sharp crack of a leather thong, and wheels rattling across the cobblestones as the Watch coach clatters off down the canal street.

And with that, you are alone once more.

Cymmeiian
Cymmeiian watches from his colored windows as the coaches jostles its way along the cobblestone. His mind races with what-to-dos of benign and obscene alike. He face contorts at the thought of truly helping a Duke or the Corporal as if smelling rotten potatoes. On the other hand however, having a favor owed is quite valuable indeed.

After a few moments of consideration, the mortician returns to his examination room to finish cleaning up the exploded corpse-bomb debris. Once the mess is erased, he takes a few moments to finish prepping the body and loads it into the
Think of the sliding beds in a morgue, without the stainless steel or the smooth-rolling slide out beds.
in-wall storage bed.

The day is already quite a bit more eventful than most, except for yesterday after the funeral service; that Madame was surely a strange bird.

Cymmeiian, noting that everything is back to the way it was, plus a body in storage of course, returns to his morning routine. He cleans himself up but having to work so hard to get the now gummy crimson and gore, leaves his skin a bit sore and reddened.

I am not sure how you want me to procede here....do I go freestyle from here or what?
ooc






 

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