The Thing That Swindled Snarliky

[CharlieDesRosiers]

George winced and ran his hands through his hair. Another day, another migraine. He was convinced that the stabbing pain in his head had everything to do with the irritating feminine warbling coming from downstairs, and nothing to do with that concussion he had last year. The one where he fell out of the window, cracked his head open, and lost all recollection of the events of an entire week.

George's old friend would laugh at such a tale. But now that he was here (and George could only speculate as to why exactly that was), things were beginning to look up.

Ol' Georgie poured himself a brandy and settled in his easy chair with his copy of Milton's Paradise Lost.

"Immediate are the acts of God, more swift

Than time or motion; but to human ears

Cannot without process of speech be told,

So told as earthly notion can receive (7.176-179)."

"Yes," he mused to himself, "everything worth knowing is diminished in the telling of it."

With a sniff and a smirk only a mother could tolerate, Mr. Butler returned to his work and his drink and waited for the pain in his head to subside.

[Domiducus]

With one last puff on his cigar X extinguishes the cherry and replaces it in his coat pocket and

after fetching his mutated black Lippinzanner stalion from the rear of the stables X rode hard into town and that is all we know at the present time....

[sunny]

Raven Danishs' trembling hands carried the tray down the hallway toward the parlor. She hoped no one would come barreling out of the blue,

and make her drop it. Her cheeks turned pink just thinking about last week, when she had tripped over that frightful Mr. Butler. Her arms

had been full, with stacks of clean linen. He had been on the floor looking for something, she supposed, so she had never even noticed him, until it was too late

The sheets went flying, sprawled out in a disarray, all over the parlor rug. Mrs. Fournier had seen this and rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue.

She was grateful that her benefactor had not chastised her loudly, like they had done with her at her former "home". The rolling of th eyes and the "tsk" were enough.

Raven was so grateful that she had a home and a job. She did not dare want to do one thing to make anyone think of sending her back to that dreadful orphanage.

She had lived at the Elmwood Orphanage most of her life. Her 16 years had not been ones of ease and gaity. Her parents had died when she was very small.

She could not summon any images of them in her mind. She wished she could, and she had tried so hard, but none would come. She wanted to draw them.

Raven Danish was an artist. A very good one, but no one had ever told her so, at least not at the orphanage. She figured no one here would

encourage her drawing either, suspected they would frown on it , as they had at the orphanage. So she kept her artwork and love of artwork

hidden. When Raven was sure no one was around, she would admire the paintings on the walls in the big house. She figured Mrs. Fournier must love art too,

since she had so many beautiful pictures. Mrs. Fournier had a temper, and Raven was much too timid to strike up a converstion with her. After all, she was only the maid. There was also a very tender side to the mistress of the house, as well, but the people at Pleasant Manor did not see that side of Mrs. Fournier very often. After all

she had to run this whole house and all the people in it. Raven knew how hard that was. They had worked her hard at the orphanage. Lots of cleaning, and looking after the younger children and helping Cook in the kitchen. She knew what hard work was. She snuck away every spare minute possible, to the cellar, to work on her "scratchings", which she kept hidden behind the potato bin. A worn tablet, and some stubby pencils were all she had but she treasured them. She would be glad when Saturday was here, because Sally had been giving her 50 cents each week. Since she would have some free time that same afternoon, she planned to walk down to the country store and get a new pad and some pencils, maybe some colored ones! She would wander the fields in her old straw hat, painting pictures in her young mind, dreaming...........

[Sugarbay]

(Due to an unfortunate accident on his black Lipizzaner, Mr. X will no longer be posting in the play. Reports are that his horse, Setheus, is alive but not very well, and his running days are over, has been summarily gelded and put out to pasture. Let us have a moment of silence for the dearly departed Mr. X...Okay that's enough! Back to the play.) B)

[Sugarbay]

Mercedes looked about the room at the people gathered in her parlor for tea. Mr. DeHeart, of course was sitting near the door, smug yet edgy enough to look as if he would leap to his feet at any given moment and bolt out of the door. She was so curious as to what made this man tick. He dressed well, never without a shine on his shoes, smelled like Bay Rum, and walked with a swagger that appealed to Mercedes even though she disliked the man because she thought he was trying to find a way to get Pleasant Manor into his own money-grubbing fists.

"Fat chance." she mumbled. Gabriel DeHeart could just kiss her left foot if he thought that!

Several heads swiveled her direction with inquiring looks on thier faces.

"Oh, nothing, I had a little frog in my throat. Please excuse me and do carry on. I am so enjoying the company today." She crossed her ankles just as she had been taught, seemingly from birth. Her own mother had been a stickler for etiquiette and feminine deportment and it had just been in the last year that Mercedes has decided to lounge in chairs and slouch, just a bit. But when she was perturbed she rose up with a spine of steel, filled with righteous indignation and Smather's Finishing school rhetoric. But today, she was tired and plotting. She leaned back in her chair and looked at Gwynn who was trying to avoid an animated discussion with Mr. Brown, who sometime reminded Mercedes of a comfortable sofa. He was well-dressed as usual and gave off an aura of placidness that hid a deep well of emotions, she was sure. He intrigued her but she was after faster game. Dismissing that image, she leaned forward and took her teacup and saucer in hand and took a sip, looking at Mr. Deheart from under lowered lashes.

She set he cupback down on the end table and leaned forward to address him. In a baiting manner she queried, "So, Mr. Deheart , what brings you out to my humble home on this beautiful day. I would think you would be elbow deep in all that paperwork you do when you do do whatever it is you do do." She smiled lazily at him. He sipped at his tea eyeing her over the rim of the cup. As he replaced the cup to the saucer and leaned forward to put it on the teatable in front of him, a curious look came over his face. Puzzlement. Then alarm. Mercedes said, " Mr. Deheart? Is there something wrong? Is your tea too hot? Or cold"

Mr. DeHeart fell forward out of his chair like someone pouring water out of a pitcher and landed on the floor with a muffled thud. Gwynn leaped up and rushed to his side. Mr. Brown stood up without regard for his chair which toppled over behind him and landed on it's side after knocking over the andiron set near the hearth. Mercedes rose and pushed them out of the way and knelt at Mr. DeHearts side. "Mr. DeHeart. Gabriel!" She felt for a pulse in his wrist and found it weak and thready.

"SALLY! SALLY! Get the doctor immediately! Call the doctor immediately! Mr. Brown, Gwynn, lets get him onto the sofa",she cried as she struggled to loosen his tie and collar her hands feeling useless and fluttering like birds wings. "Gabriel, don't leave! Stay here! Hang on and don't leave me! Gabriel DeHeart, don't you dare leave..."

As he was maneuvered onto the sofa he was turning a frightful shade of purple and she knew he was dying. She had seen Marcus, her husband, look this way as he was departing this mortal sphere.

Everything started to sound very far away as Mercedes watch Gwynn putting something into his mouth and Mr. Brown was trying vainly to get Gabriel DeHeart to breathe by slapping the back of his hand which had taken on a cyanotic look as well. Her ears started to buzz and ring and the last concious thought she had beofre she slipped in to her own darkness was, "Gwynn, no, you didn't!..."and she slid to the floor like sash being carelessly dropped.

[Jason]

When Gabriel awoke, he was staring at the ceiling of the parlor room of the manor. Confused, he looked around and noticed the faces of Mercedes and Gwyn staring at him like he was dead. "What happened?" he offered in a weak voice. "Everything just went black on me." Mercedes steped forward, as though she was going to explain something awful...

[Seraphim Moonshadow]

Gwyn came in just as Gabriel ended up collapsing on the floor. She dropped immedeatly, feeling for his pulse, her eyes full of clear-cut worry. She rummaged inside her dress and pulled out something very peculair and shoved it in Gabirel's mouth.

"Quick, get some ice cold water! Someone, get a pillow!"

For the next few hours it was nothing but work and worry and by late evening, Gwyn found herself in the parlor room, sipping some ginseng and mint tea to soothe her nerves. She pressed a hand on her sweaty forehead, and was half awake when Gabriel awoke, still on the couch. She almost fell out of the chair, tossing the tea cup on the floor.

"Mister DeHart, sir, you've had a heart attack!" Gwyn said quietly. "Please, get some rest."

[Acez]

"Mister DeHart, sir, you've had a heart attack!" Gwyn said quietly.

"Please, get some rest.""Heart attack! Very curious. Very curious

indeed", Edward said quietly outside the window of the parlour room.

The remnants of the suns rays fell on the manor. The light diminishing.

The darkness extending. Edward walked into the southern Courtyard.

The shadows of the evergreens and acorn trees in the background fell

on the courtyard. The flowers in full bloom but its radiance masked by the

darkness."Very suspicious", Edward said thoughtfully. Crack! A twig snapped

under a heavy footed person."What was that?",said Edward. At the southern

most exit of the courtyard, a tall and robust figure stood lingering like a smell.

Edward stood like a statue as he was frozen with fear. His head going hot.

Adrenaline pumping.....