Introducing His Grace, His Excellency, the Duke of Ankh; Commander Sir Samuel Vimes

[commanderstoneface]

Vimes had been chasing someone, and now, somewhat confusingly, he's not. While he's certain that a moment ago his feet had been on the old wooden windowsill he'd just seen Willoughby Ornament clamber through, the soles of his boots are no longer in contact with anything but air. Air and what feels like cold stone on the backs of his heels, the back of his head, and his damn aching back.

He hadn't fallen, had he? No, there's no robed figure looming about, and if he'd taken a tumble off one of the Broad Street rooftops, an aching back'd be the least of his worries. No, no, something's--

Bingly-bingly beep!

"What's it now?" he snaps, shoving a hand into a pocket to retrieve a very annoying little box.

"Two pee em, meeting to address complaints issued by...er, one moment, Your Name Here, there's a bit of interference with the..." The imp's already-tinny voice fades into an incomprehensible mumbling, then lapses altogether. Vimes shakes the box and a few quiet eeps and squibbles follow, but no further speech.

"Right," Vimes says, unimpressed. The box goes back in his pocket. He gets to his feet, takes a deep breath, and knows something is Wrong. There's no stink in the air. No stink! So it's a kidnapping, is it?

Anyone passing by would see a rather surly-looking middle aged man in a strange assortment of old-fashioned armor pacing around the hall, muttering to himself, peering at corners and altogether looking like he's in the mood to share his own bad day with everyone who would approach.

Comments

[recognizance]

Well. That's new.

"The orientation materials are behind you to the right," says a nondescript sort of voice from the stairs. "You should probably check those first."

[commanderstoneface]

"Oh, I'm as oriented as they get." His knees audibly pop as he straightens from a crouch in order to glare up at the stairs. "Thing is, any pamphlet saying there's no way out is telling a downright lie. No one builds a dungeon they can't get out of."

[recognizance]

"It doesn't say that." The speaker looks fairly young, extremely androgynous, and closely akin to a brick house. It also looks irritated. "It just says nobody's found one yet. Did you actually read it or did you just give it a dirty look?"

[onthewillowsthere]

Galahad is continuing to move around the Mansion like its own personal spectre, though at the moment he's haunting near the games room in case Grantaire comes back for more billiards. When he hears Vimes he comes to stand in the door and watch him move about the hall, and he says nothing, just watches.

[commanderstoneface]

While pressing on some floor tiles to see if, perhaps, any of them will open a secret passage, as is so frequently the case in large, suspicious mansions like these, Vimes gets the uncanny feeling of being watched. "You new to this? Thinking of writing a report for your lordship?"

[onthewillowsthere]

"New to what?"

[sporesprouter]

Tress turns a corner and comes across him quite by happenstance. She blinks.

She's entirely sure she knows the answer, but asks anyway. "Hello. Are you new?"

[commanderstoneface]

Whoever he was expecting to turn that corner, it wasn't a...well, a remarkably normal looking woman. Not sinister at all. He blinks back. It's almost like communication.

"That obvious, is it?"

[sporesprouter]

"Only a little, for what it's worth?" She offers a small wave. "Welcome?"

[untamedantinous]

"I felt quite the same, yesterday," comes an amused voice from -- well, on his way to the library, armed with a loaf of bread and some cheese. "At least you do not appear to be in the same condition I was, I should hope."

[sorrowandsorrow]

Oh, great. Another unpleasant man. Janet doesn't mind the unpleasantness that much, actually. What she minds is the dearth of unpleasant women. Can a girl get some company up in here?

Well, whatever. She crosses her arms and observes the new guy. "Hi. Try not to panic."

[summerdude]

Magnus stumbles across the new arrival shortly after a robust lunch of kibbeh and, separately, like sixteen spoonfuls of chocolate sauce. (Hey, he died at the height of being a growing boy, what can he say?) He watches the guy for a moment, squinting and hackles rising, and then says, "Dude, just so you know? You are giving off the worst cop vibes right now."

[rememberettersberg]

A rather handsome and well-dressed man can be found bent over the welcome table, examining what's already there and adding a little note of his own. The clanking of armour gives him pause; he straightens up and turns to find the source of the racket, looking friendly but in a guarded sort of way.