Squad Obsidian accept George's invitation to a joint luncheon with Squad Alabaster. As they step through the door, they find that the carriage keeps with the honored GreyCorps™ tradition of having considerably more room than its exterior suggests. Instead of simply containing two benches and a foldout table, the cabin is in fact a portable townhouse apartment! Keeping with Squad Alabaster's dress code, the floor, walls, and decor are almost exclusively white. A white door leads to a white coatroom where the occasional guest may hang their coat for a more comfortable stay. Nearby a white vase is filled with uniformly white roses - even the stems are white. Above that a large empty frame hangs on the wall; whether this is an intentional design or work in progress is hard to tell. Passed a spiraling staircase is a sitting room filled with furniture, an exquisite marble chess set, and a few sculptural works ranging from busts to full-sized figures. Beyond that room is a modestly sized dining room whose centerpiece is a long rectangular table large enough to seat a dozen people on either side. While all of the chairs appear quite comfortable, the best ones are situated at the opposing heads of the table. Squad Alabaster is already pouring over the contents of their basket - a full tea service, a dizzying array of fresh produce, some spicy hummus, crackers, flatbread, and even a few piping hot kabobs of roasted meat ready to be carved into sandwiches. Giddy with excitement (and no doubt hunger), George begins to parcel out the grub to his co-workers. The nameless butler and maid take their loaded plates, but quietly turn to their superiors before partaking. Sitting upright at the lefthand corner of the table, Mildred seems to stare off into space, giving little regard for the sumptuous feast that lies before her. Occupying the seat at their head of the table is Ivory Mask who has yet to join in the festivities. Two fingers rest on the temple of an ornately carved visage - perfectly proportioned and adorned with a few rose "tattoos". Though the expression is blank and the eyes are covered in a white veneer, one cannot help but notice the disapproval hidden behind the mask.
Ivory Mask expresses this very feeling through a cool monotone voice and a slight flourish of the hand:
Ivory Mask: "Veloci Butler 0260, what is wrong with this picture?"
George: "Well, it isn't exactly what we ordered, but we can still slap together some fine sammies. Pita bread, spit roasted meat. They call that 'shawarma', right?"
With slightly more animation, Ivory Mask continues the critique.
Ivory Mask: "I call it inedible. Veloci Butler 0260, in the very short time you've been with Squad Alabaster, have you already forgotten about your superior's specific dietary needs?"
George: "Oh. Sorry about that, Brody."
Upon that utterance, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. Ivory Mask's head tilts distastefully.
"And what specific dietary need is that? Perhaps one of our baskets has a little something for you..." Pikachu asks while continuing to delve into the sushi.
Ivory Mask appears to give a critical look to Pikachu's hoard of baskets.
Ivory Mask: "You just scooped up all of those baskets, curious rat person? At that rate I wouldn't be surprised if you have ours as well as a few other squad's precious lunches. Shame on you.
"As far as what I require,
Begins to run an index finger around the rim of an empty goblet, setting it to ring.
"I'll take a gander that your particular appetite leans towards those of our employer... As for the baskets, they didn't have anyone's name on it, so what shame should I feel towards unclaimed food when everyone can have the AYCE..."
As the hum of the goblet grows louder, the unnamed Combat Butler seated across from Mildred begins to show signs of discomfort.
Ivory Mask: "Ah, Whimbly the Everchanging! It has been quite a spell, hasn't it? In case you actually need a refresher about my dietary requirements, your subordinate is gandering in the right direction.
"Now please pass the red, the suspense is killing me."
Technically there is a choice between two bloody delicacies, but for the sake of moving things forward and delivering that sweet fluff, I'll assume Whimbly chose to pass the bottled claret.
And as he clearly has British sensibilities, he'd surely know claret is slang for blood.
Ivory Mask takes the bottle of claret in hand and reads the label.
Ivory Mask: "Well, well what have we here:
Lys Alanian Draught of Vein. Painstakingly collected from only the fairest elven maidens. A careful mingling of latent pheromones and a particular violet of mischief give you an experience you will never forget. This pre-Aurora vintage was bottled right from the source and perfectly preserved in our patented Everdusk glass.
"And there's a note:"
Master Ambrose,
I can scarcely believe it has already been 412 years since you were born into this noble house. Please enjoy these fine delicacies on this momentous day as my gift to you.
Happy Birthday!
Jeeves
Postscript: Your father wants to remind you, blah blah b-blah...
Ambrose: "Well at least Jeeves remembered my birthday."
*uncorks the bottle with a unceremonious flick of the finger*
Right on cue, the unnamed maid rises from her seat and dutifully fills two goblets with the elvish blood. Ambrose grasps one of the drinking vessels by the stem. The masked man takes a few moments to swirl the concoction around in his glass, admiring the dark cherry color of the liquid vitae. He brings the goblet close to his nose and samples the bouquet with an audible sniff. Once satisfied, he plunks a drinking straw into the goblet and feeds the free end through the tiny mouth hole of his mask. One can only assume he is enjoying his forbidden liquid lunch as any facial expression is hidden behind a carven ivory veneer.
The other blood-filled goblet is offered to Mildred. For a moment, the porcelain skinned woman almost passes for a doll seated at a young child's tea party - motionless, silent, and only expected to participate in the host's imagination.
But not in this case.
Ambrose: "Come now, Mildred. You know you want some."
Mildred stares intensely into the tiny crimson pool before responding.
Mildred: "...I'm not thirsty."
Ambrose: "Oh well, more for me."
Ambrose reaches gingerly across the table and drags Mildred's goblet over to his place setting. He then turns his attention to his guests.
Ambrose: "You'll have to excuse Mildred, she's in a...transitional period."
Ambrose: "Oh yes, 'getting old'. It can be very problematic, what with the slackening of the skin, the atrophy of the muscles, the dulling of the senses...
*slurps blood from his straw*
"All quite sad. But it doesn't have to be that way. Have you considered Father's offer, Whimbly?"
With a slightly dryer voice than she used to interview the bishop, Mildred joins the conversation in earnest.
"Approximately one percent of the Orzhov population are...vampires. According to an internal census we became privy to."
Ambrose: "I'd put it even lower than that. Did you hear what happened to the Merik faimly? They all perished in a house fire of all things. And I've heard the authorities suspect foul play.
*slurps blood*
"This Lorwynian vitae isn't half bad. Sure you don't want some, Mildred?
Mildred raises a dismissive hand.
"You're just making things harder on yourself, dear. Living in denial will make even trivial things like finding an obese house cat unbearable."
Mildred: "I haven't a clue as to how Bullion smells. Perhaps it would have been prudent to raise that question during our interview."
Ambrose: "So...Tree is it? You like cats? I happen to have a few of those, perhaps I could show them to you sometime.
"Dear me, we've been conversing all this time and we still haven't made proper introductions."
Ambrose taps his cane on the floor in a distinct rhythm. The rest of Squad Alabaster break from their routine and introduce themselves:
"Mortar Butler 921"
"Poultice Maid 377"
George: "George...ehh, AKA: Veloci Butler 0260."
Mildred: "Mildred Cessani, First Lieutenant of Alabaster."
Ambrose: "But not for much longer. Isn't that right, Mildred?"
Mildred answers with an introspective look. And silence.
Ambrose: "Ambrose Grey, Captain of Squad Alabaster. But you probably already knew that. And if I know the average landspeed velocity of a townhouse inside of a carriage, we should be arriving at our destination right about..."
The walls let out a faint shutter reminiscent of a distant locomotive screeching to a halt.
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------------------------------------------------------------------
Squad Obsidian accept George's invitation to a joint luncheon with Squad Alabaster. As they step through the door, they find that the carriage keeps with the honored GreyCorps™ tradition of having considerably more room than its exterior suggests. Instead of simply containing two benches and a foldout table, the cabin is in fact a portable townhouse apartment! Keeping with Squad Alabaster's dress code, the floor, walls, and decor are almost exclusively white. A white door leads to a white coatroom where the occasional guest may hang their coat for a more comfortable stay. Nearby a white vase is filled with uniformly white roses - even the stems are white. Above that a large empty frame hangs on the wall; whether this is an intentional design or work in progress is hard to tell. Passed a spiraling staircase is a sitting room filled with furniture, an exquisite marble chess set, and a few sculptural works ranging from busts to full-sized figures. Beyond that room is a modestly sized dining room whose centerpiece is a long rectangular table large enough to seat a dozen people on either side. While all of the chairs appear quite comfortable, the best ones are situated at the opposing heads of the table. Squad Alabaster is already pouring over the contents of their basket - a full tea service, a dizzying array of fresh produce, some spicy hummus, crackers, flatbread, and even a few piping hot kabobs of roasted meat ready to be carved into sandwiches. Giddy with excitement (and no doubt hunger), George begins to parcel out the grub to his co-workers. The nameless butler and maid take their loaded plates, but quietly turn to their superiors before partaking. Sitting upright at the lefthand corner of the table, Mildred seems to stare off into space, giving little regard for the sumptuous feast that lies before her. Occupying the seat at their head of the table is Ivory Mask who has yet to join in the festivities. Two fingers rest on the temple of an ornately carved visage - perfectly proportioned and adorned with a few rose "tattoos". Though the expression is blank and the eyes are covered in a white veneer, one cannot help but notice the disapproval hidden behind the mask.
Ivory Mask expresses this very feeling through a cool monotone voice and a slight flourish of the hand:
Ivory Mask: "Veloci Butler 0260, what is wrong with this picture?"
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George: "Well, it isn't exactly what we ordered, but we can still slap together some fine sammies. Pita bread, spit roasted meat. They call that 'shawarma', right?"
With slightly more animation, Ivory Mask continues the critique.
Ivory Mask: "I call it inedible. Veloci Butler 0260, in the very short time you've been with Squad Alabaster, have you already forgotten about your superior's specific dietary needs?"
George: "Oh. Sorry about that, Brody."
Upon that utterance, an uncomfortable silence falls over the table. Ivory Mask's head tilts distastefully.
Ivory Mask: "...Did you just call me Brody?"
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Ivory Mask's head returns to the upright position.
Ivory Mask: "Good, because only family members and dear dear friends are allowed to call me that.
"Now then, since you failed to retrieve our special basket, how do you suppose we're going to solve our little dilemma?"
2. A vast array of tea and cookies.
3. Club sandwiches, a fancy bottle of claret, and a wrapped box of chocolates decorated with a single white rose.
4. Sausages, lots of sausages.
5. Mesa Chicken stir fry (come 'n get it)
6. Rare steak hoagies w/ bloody au jus.
A. Give them one of your baskets (specify which one).
B. Keep watching to see what happens.
C. "Hey, Brody!"
D. Keep one or more of the baskets for yourselves.
E. "I want no part of this."
F. None of the above.
*is already eating the sushis*
"And what specific dietary need is that? Perhaps one of our baskets has a little something for you..." Pikachu asks while continuing to delve into the sushi.
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Ivory Mask: "You just scooped up all of those baskets, curious rat person? At that rate I wouldn't be surprised if you have ours as well as a few other squad's precious lunches. Shame on you.
"As far as what I require,
Begins to run an index finger around the rim of an empty goblet, setting it to ring.
"I'll give you one guess."
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Ivory Mask: "Ah, Whimbly the Everchanging! It has been quite a spell, hasn't it? In case you actually need a refresher about my dietary requirements, your subordinate is gandering in the right direction.
"Now please pass the red, the suspense is killing me."
And as he clearly has British sensibilities, he'd surely know claret is slang for blood.
Ivory Mask takes the bottle of claret in hand and reads the label.
Ivory Mask: "Well, well what have we here:
Lys Alanian Draught of Vein. Painstakingly collected from only the fairest elven maidens. A careful mingling of latent pheromones and a particular violet of mischief give you an experience you will never forget. This pre-Aurora vintage was bottled right from the source and perfectly preserved in our patented Everdusk glass.
"And there's a note:"
Master Ambrose,
I can scarcely believe it has already been 412 years since you were born into this noble house. Please enjoy these fine delicacies on this momentous day as my gift to you.
Happy Birthday!
Jeeves
Postscript: Your father wants to remind you, blah blah b-blah...
Ambrose: "Well at least Jeeves remembered my birthday."
*uncorks the bottle with a unceremonious flick of the finger*
---------------
Right on cue, the unnamed maid rises from her seat and dutifully fills two goblets with the elvish blood. Ambrose grasps one of the drinking vessels by the stem. The masked man takes a few moments to swirl the concoction around in his glass, admiring the dark cherry color of the liquid vitae. He brings the goblet close to his nose and samples the bouquet with an audible sniff. Once satisfied, he plunks a drinking straw into the goblet and feeds the free end through the tiny mouth hole of his mask. One can only assume he is enjoying his forbidden liquid lunch as any facial expression is hidden behind a carven ivory veneer.
The other blood-filled goblet is offered to Mildred. For a moment, the porcelain skinned woman almost passes for a doll seated at a young child's tea party - motionless, silent, and only expected to participate in the host's imagination.
But not in this case.
Ambrose: "Come now, Mildred. You know you want some."
Mildred stares intensely into the tiny crimson pool before responding.
Mildred: "...I'm not thirsty."
Ambrose: "Oh well, more for me."
Ambrose reaches gingerly across the table and drags Mildred's goblet over to his place setting. He then turns his attention to his guests.
Ambrose: "You'll have to excuse Mildred, she's in a...transitional period."
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*slurps blood from his straw*
"All quite sad. But it doesn't have to be that way. Have you considered Father's offer, Whimbly?"
With a slightly dryer voice than she used to interview the bishop, Mildred joins the conversation in earnest.
"Approximately one percent of the Orzhov population are...vampires. According to an internal census we became privy to."
Ambrose: "I'd put it even lower than that. Did you hear what happened to the Merik faimly? They all perished in a house fire of all things. And I've heard the authorities suspect foul play.
*slurps blood*
"This Lorwynian vitae isn't half bad. Sure you don't want some, Mildred?
Mildred raises a dismissive hand.
"You're just making things harder on yourself, dear. Living in denial will make even trivial things like finding an obese house cat unbearable."
Ambrose: "Yes, yes, eat your cookies, drink your tea."
*waves his subordinates on*
A. Quietly eat your lunch until the carriage arrives at the crime scene.
B. Ask more questions.
C. Open that box of chocolates.
D. None of the above.
now what does this cat smell of mostly, besides cat hair? bacon, talcum powder, ect.?
I do like cats very much. I hope we find this one safely.
How much longer until we arrive at the crime scene?
Official Knitter of the Crafters.
Currently knitting: It's a surprise!
His ears extend and grab a few sandwiches and he nibbles on them, "I do concer with Ms Tree."
Ambrose: "So...Tree is it? You like cats? I happen to have a few of those, perhaps I could show them to you sometime.
"Dear me, we've been conversing all this time and we still haven't made proper introductions."
Ambrose taps his cane on the floor in a distinct rhythm. The rest of Squad Alabaster break from their routine and introduce themselves:
"Mortar Butler 921"
"Poultice Maid 377"
George: "George...ehh, AKA: Veloci Butler 0260."
Mildred: "Mildred Cessani, First Lieutenant of Alabaster."
Ambrose: "But not for much longer. Isn't that right, Mildred?"
Mildred answers with an introspective look. And silence.
Ambrose: "Ambrose Grey, Captain of Squad Alabaster. But you probably already knew that. And if I know the average landspeed velocity of a townhouse inside of a carriage, we should be arriving at our destination right about..."
The walls let out a faint shutter reminiscent of a distant locomotive screeching to a halt.
"Now."