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Cue Thunder

Kadavro

Kadavro

Supernova
Joined
Apr 16, 2012
It was a creepy place. By why shouldn't it be? It might be charming to the Englishmen who passed through there on their Grand Tours, to act like they were revolutionaries in the coffee houses in the Germanies and to gawk at the ancient buildings of the Italies, always looking down upon anyone who didn't have a title or acted as a courtesan or male mistress. Everything that involved manual labor was for peasants, while the upper class tore up ruins for souveniers, showing there appreciation of the nudes of the Greeks, Romans, even the Venetians. Everything that was old was in. Anything new was out. They gave too much credit to Prometheus and not enough to Rabbi Loew, Yid or not. Faust got his fair share of credit. But the rest... There was a reason all that explored these fields of the world's mysteries had high walls around them. Why did they mess with nature like this? Were the walls high enough? Were they built to keep them in or to keep others out? And did they resort to this when the walls weren't enough?
 
Why? Such a maddening, prevalent question. Hale was tired of hearing it.

Because he could. It was human nature. Creation. Distruction. Sensless chaos and imperious order. Because we could. Why. Why had tribes, empires, chiefdoms, kingdoms risen to glorious heights and fallen; resetting all their hard progress to naught... A cycle over the centuries? Why did pithy, imbecilic emotions like betrayal and lust and greed fostered by Father Time bring down even the sturdiest, oldest ideological institutions? Why did man constantly ponder the meaning of his existence while simultaneously wallowing like a pig in his own shit? Morals, ideals, fate. That dastardly human psyche. "Scholars" chalked away at theories of chance, or a divine plan. But the truth was far more succinct.

Because we can.



Thus, today Mr. Everhett Hale did insist that the dreaded "Whys" be kept from his ears and beaten away from his door- if necessary with a stick. These incessant relatives badgering on about his future and his uncle's past. Pah. If he wanted to hear their opinions "should he stay, should he go," he'd have suffered the two-hour carriage ride to kiss their arses on his own time. No, Mr. Hale was not one to socialize, fraternize, or philander. His love was his (soon-to-be late) home. The pines and glens he played within as a child. They would sorely be missed. Most notably by his backside, which, by wretched fate or perhaps unavoidable chance, would have to suffer within the impending carriage ride. The man hated carriages with a vehement disgust. Horses. Shitting, Unwieldy, Giant creatures. The fear of them was imbedded in the fact that the man was relatively small himself; only standing at around 5'8" with his heeled shoes, and terribly unstable on his own pampered feet much to the dismay of his manservant- Javier Bourg.

"JAVIER!" Mr. Hale's cry echoed through the mansion, his heels clicking on the polished floors. Oh how he would miss it, surely he would grow sick and whither away on the harsh unfamiliar European roads... Oh the horrors of travel! ...And of having such a neglectful servant..

"JAVIER!!!"


The serving man came rushing down the staircase; carrying multiple bags and an armful of papers and documents. Wide brown eyes stared down at Everhett's scornful slitted blue.

"Good Lord man! How many times must I call your sorry name? I swear, you'll kill me before I even set foot outsi-"

"My humblest apologies, sir." Mr. Bourg cut in, as was the norm, for if left to his own soapbox the snarky Mr. Hale could continue on to the end of the sun. "I have finished gathering all of the necessary documents, packed your bags, arranged your passport, sent word ahead of your arrival... though I do believe word came only last week that there was no one left residing in the estate as the last caretaker quit long before your uncle, bless his soul, passed-"

Mr. Bourg coughed shortly, seeing the irritation boil on his master's face, and quickly proceeded. "We have received the keys, any personal belongings of the deceased will await you at his residence, and I have arranged the necessary transpiration, which..." He checked his pocket watch smartly, "Should be arriving any minute."

"Dear Lord Javier." Mr. Hale repeated, slowly exhaling the breath he had been holding. Finding no words to adequately describe his annoyance and anxiety, the man made do with a short "Ahhhaaghaaahgh!" Before huffing once, and calming significantly.

"Yes sir?" Mr. Bourg asked, not fazed in the slightest.

"Where... the bloody hell is my cane?"

"Here sir." As soon as the elegant, gilded wood was in his grasp, Mr. Hale turned on his heel and strode to the giant double-doors leading to the outer world. The unknown. Adventure. Just like within those grand novels he occupied much of his leisure with. He could smell it.

It smelled of horse shit.





"This is the last of it sir."

"Good. Now stop idling and get in idiot."

Mr. Hale folded thin, elegant hands over his lap as his valet clambered into the carriage beside him. He sniffed in disapproval, turning his face away from the man as Bourg wiped his forehead with a kerchief. Mr. Bourg was large, and like the horses pulling them steadily away from the place of his birth, the man was sturdy as well. A neat, presentable vest and cummerbund, cravat and polished shoes all under a long weathered coat. Polished posture and mannerisms. None of these could hide the obvious shape the man was in; broad shoulders and a tall stature. Almost regal poise. If it hadn't been for Hale's opulent clothing, one may have mistaken the valet to be the actual son of the Baron Hale. This was something that routinely took the wind out of Everhett's sails. He tried not to focus on it.


Second son, he should say. After the passing of his father, the title had passed to Everhett's older brother; the now-heir to his father's fortune. The younger; himself- only twenty, received nothing. The Will had stated that the eldest allow Everhett to reside in the English residence as well, but Everhett had never got on well with his brother. The twat had tortured him horribly as a child with vegetables and little creepy dolls. He never forgave him for that.

Therefore, upon learning of the estate of his estranged childless uncle had fallen in his lap, Mr. Hale had jumped at the chance to be free of his brother. Well, not jumped... He no doubt would have landed awkwardly and been unable to walk for a week. Instead he simply did what he had always done- yelled obscenely at his clever valet to prepare for his departure. Which, as he watched the last of his home disappear behind the country foliage, he realized was now.



Now...

"Oh dear... Dear God Javier. I don't think I can do this."

Mr. Bourg calmly looked over at his employer, respectably keeping his face unreadable. They'd only just traveled around the bend from the his late father's residence, "Try to rest, Sir. We will arrive at the coast in no time at all."

His deeper voice was comforting, but still Mr. Hale sneered at the older man, mumbling to himself as he shrunk into his coat. Bourg was only five years his senior but had been raised in the Hale household, his mother being one of the serving maids. Baron Hale had taken quite a liking to the young serving boy, having him sit in on lessons alongside the Hale children. He was practically Mr. Hale's brother. But the man would never admit that. Having such relations with a servant? Hah! He was no commoner.


Mr. Hale finally nodded off to the clopping of the horses hooves, despite the bumping road. They would travel out of region and to the coast, where a boat would take them to Spain. Mr. Hale would add seasickness to his growing list of traveling afflictions, and a final stretch of impromptu Rail cart rides and more horses would take them through Spain along the Spanish Road and into Switzerland; up into the Alps where his uncle's estate waited. At the end of their long travel, another carriage would await to take them up from the small, isolated Swiss town, to Uncle Hale's estate. Only then would Mr. Hale feel relief, and in a moment of unprecedented content, look upon the dreary scenery with a pleasant smile. Here he would have his solitude. The ability to hide away from the world... And everything rotten about society that plagued his mind.
 
Houses... There were plenty of houses. Not so much in the way of bricks, mortar, or marble, but with boards and logs, meant for withstanding the cold as best as they could. That wasn't to say there wasn't brick, it was plentiful at the small post office, nor stone, which had been stripped away from walls and fortresses as the Swiss Confederation expanded, being used by farms in their grainmills and for making bridges over some of the many rivers coming down from the high mountains when the spring thaw came about. The original fortresses that had not been turned into quarries were usually rented out to the various Dutch, French, English, and Scottish tourists going about their coming of age trip, seldom stopping to actually look at area except to see the works of tinkerers.

Tinkerers. If there was one thing the Switzer were known for, it was ferocious fighting. There land wasn't resource rich. They had metal, of course. Lumber long after the English turned their forests into charcoal and the Castilians turned theirs into fleets. But what good was the a bunch of lumber? Surprisingly many, it would seem. It would keep open the mineshafts, pave the show covered passes, keep the hills from collapsing, and then... The weapons. It powered their forges and made their shafts. Halberds, swords, flintlocks, pikes, armor... Not just to defend themselves. They had mostly secured that. But to fight. The strong left the mountains for work when the soil could not support them. They were vicious. They were hungry. They fought to the last man when even the greatest kings fled the field of battle.

And then there were those who stayed behind. The hunters, driving back bears and wolfs. The mountaineers, scaling peaks with cartographers mearly to make maps. They built clock, bringing dozens of the smallest gears together in as close to perfection as had ever been on the planet. And they looked down. You did not get to them if you were a threat. Centuries had bred the strongest of those who returned from foreign wars, prime in mind and body, with experience from their campaigns to bring to their children. And the children... They looked on as a carriage drove up into a lonely town. It was bad news when people came, either from above or below. Sometimes you couldn't even trust the Swiss who gained foreign thinkings. As for these foreignors...

They were heading for the Lodge. Painted bright grean, fake roman statues, plaster pillars... Ostentatious. Something set up by some Anglo decades before, it was originally a collection of buildings owned by some Genevese through inheritance. They had their own families, but one of the branches withered under a serious of unfortunate deaths, and had left the area abandonded, leasing off a portion of their estate in perptuity to an Englishman, for so long as his direct descendants held it. Was this one of them?
 
Mr. Bourg exited first, then turned to help Mr. Hale from the carriage.

Everhett looked around; enjoying the crisp, clean air and the cold wind that blew through his brown locks. "Wonderful... Just wonderful..." He whispered quietly to himself, turning in a slow circle as Javier paid the horseman. They approached the thin gate that ran the stretch of his new property. Removed from the rest of the town on it's fringe sat the sturdy wooden dwelling. He pursed his lips looking over the vibrant color and the untidy grounds. There was some work to be done, but the view was excellent, and even better- he couldn't understand his neighbors. "Wonderful."

Javier worked the large key into the gate's lock, pulling it open for Mr. Hale before shouldering the man's bags. They made their way past the pillars, inside, where Javier immediately set to work making a fire. Mr. Hale shrewdly looked around. The moth-eaten furniture and curtains would have to go. He would need to send for a new carpet as well... That could take months with what little he knew of his new abode and where to find such services. The slight man sighed, slumping into a seat. He would make do for now. His uncle's old connections had met with them, promising to send a new housekeeper who could buy food and cook.

Mr. Hale glanced out the nearest window, noting it was growing dark.

"Javier, take my things to my room, but leave out my coat," he hummed, stretching his fingers towards the warmth of the fire, "I may want to visit old Hale this eve to thank him for his generosity... But before then, I would like to bathe. You should too, the road has not been kind to you." Everhett wrinkled his nose in an exaggeration, Mr. Bourg smiled, pleased that he would be clean,

"Yes Sir."


After setting a large kettle of water above the fire to help heat the cool well water he had lugged into the bathing room. Two large bathing barrels awaited with luke-warm water, a rough bar of soap to be shared between them. Everhett sighed with relief upon being called, and went hence, raising his arms to signal his manservant to help him undress. Sliding into the water, he scrubbed the dirt and grime of travel from his limbs, Javier finishing scrubbing his hair, before Everhett relinquished the soap to him so that he may bathe.

As his valet entered his own tub, Mr. Hale stood- almost slipping, but catching himself, and shot Javier an indignant look. "Wash quickly. I want to at least leave before it grows too dark," With that he sauntered out, drying himself with one of the small cloths in the bathroom cupboard.

Everhett dressed and readied himself- A routine that consisted of him fighting against the complicated ties in his attire, until he gave up; choosing instead a simple white shirt and breeches. No need to dress to impress... His clothes would be covered by his cloak anyhow. Now if only Javier would hurry up.
 
"I still don't understand why he wanted to be buried here." A woman told another as a group was walking up the mountain side with many goats, who gnawed the plantlife down to the dirt. "They are strange and he had those atrocious tombstones all ready here." Another brushed off, looking up at the replicas of roman statues that stood on a clear, flat oucropping of the mountainside, which was kept up by the interlocking roots of many grand trees, their gnarled branches casting most peculiarly shaped shadow. "It is as if he wants us to think it is haunted, just because they buried him over the source of their drinking water." It had been strange that he was to be buried there. The man hadn't been in the best of health in their eyes, and having his coffin by buried in such a damp place... It was just asking to have the worms get right at him.

"Children, inside before the Kinderfänger comes!" It was really quite grating. There had been more attacks by wild animals these days. Or it was expected, as bodies of the missing were never found. Did they just walk off a cliff? There weren't sheer drops like that near most of the homes, so it was a mystery. Probably had something to do with those foreignors, though. The militia had taken to guarding the town from the rooftops, laterns spread throughout the streets so as to chase away the rolling fog that gave to the rumors of the Slavish bloodsuckers that turned to wolves. They would stop anything coming to town which wasn't screaming for help. They would shoot the with bullets, bolts, or arrows, beat them with picks, and trap them in nets. The last part being a mystery, with people also wondering where the hell they came from
 
"Hurry up, I cannot see my feet."

Mr. Hale walked briskly along the dirt path up away from the residences that smattered the edge of the town. It was growing fairly dark now, and the uneven, gritty surface of the path made the trek all the more perilous for the already horribly uncoordinated English man. His thin hand flew to his valet's shoulder more than once to steady himself or prevent a fall. I am most certainly never doing this again…


"Sir, there it is." Mr. Bourg announced, pointing off to a small outcropping surrounded by twisted, weather beaten trees.

Mr. Hale tore his eyes away from his shoes, looking up from the road for the first time since they started the perilous walk. Perilous for Everhett at least.

"Goodness." He remarked coldly, eyes traveling over what he could see of his uncle's alleged burial-site in the distance. The sun had all but set, the sky fading into a deep indigo. The only light shined from the large lantern in Javier's grasp; casting a bright pool around their feet.

Mr. Hale sniffed, "A disgrace to my name if I should ever end up like him…" he muttered. Buried in this off place with nothing to honor his life but a tombstone on the side of some cold, foreign mountain. Not that the good old man had cared. He was a recluse, just like his nephew. Had Mr. Hale not taken his estate, no doubt it would have been sold and forgotten. "Come on Javier, let's get this done with."


As Mr. Hale approached up the winding road leading to the soppy outcropping, looking up intermittedly to scoff at the ugly coarseness of his uncle's choice eternal rest, he thought he saw a brief light. Mr. Hale's eyes blinked for a second, then he shook his head, blaming it on his travel weariness. His uncle's tomb should be somewhere nearby…

"Blast!" Everhett Hale shouted, stubbing his toe on some avenging rock, that went flying into the nearest tree, "God! Where in this forsaken rock is my uncle's grave?! I swear, Javier, if we don't find it soon I will turn right back around and never retur-"

Mr. Bourg cut in promptly over another of Mr. Hale's loud rants, "I'm sure we will find it sir. The translator said it would be beside the oldest tree.."

"Well which of these can you tell is the eldest?" The boy fumed, waving his arms about. There was a good lot of them, and it did not help that it was quite dark now. They were getting well into the outcropping now, both pairs of eyes strained at the ground for a sign of any sort of marking.


Mr. Hale suddenly stiffened, head whipping towards his right, "Javier-" He whispered quietly, blue eyes wide and alert as they vainly tried to search the darkness,
"Javier, did you hear that?" There had been a noise, he was sure of it.
 
"The ground should have kept him cool enough." A somewhat middle aged voice said in accented French to a another pair of men, while someone stayed hunched over a grave, moving the slab aside with a long iron prybar. "For the elbalming we were sure to get things overlooked, so as to not cut the subject up too much." The speaker joined the figure hunched over and began to pull a coffin out of the trench, dropping tin cases to the side as they slid off the top. "The parasites should not have yet managed to get to the body, and the artificial oxygen will have kept him alive, even if not enough to allow him to keep complete lucidy when we augement his body." The tube going from the coffin to the air was pushed aside during the demostration, having been pinched shut by the grave slab. "However this still would leave opening the possibilities to attempt to reproduce the experiments on the matter done by Dr. Caligari and the peoples of Saint-Domingue when-" Someone loud was coming. The lantern has a cap lowered over it to slowly cover the light while the men began to spread out, reaching for items in their coats or for the digging implements.
 
"I didn't hear anything sir-"

"There!" Everhett cut off his valet feverishly, jabbing his finger towards the darkness between the shadows of the trees to his right. "Did you hear it? I swear Javier, it sounded like a man's voice…" His hissed whisper shook slightly despite his effort to remain poised. This place was creepy. Cold, wet, and dark. The invisible wind rushing through the near-bare branches of the creaking trees and chilled one to the bone. He didn't like it. And when Mr. Hale didn't like something, he made it known. Loudly.

Inching a little behind his valet, Everhett cleared his throat, addressing the darkness whilst feeling slightly silly for talking to supposed air, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

He had heard something. Definitely. Whomever was playing this game would have to stop. Right now. It was making him very uneasy. What sort of person came out in pitch darkness this far past the edge of town anyway?

"Hello?! Come out!" He demanded, this time clutching the hem of Javier's coat as if startled by the volume of his own voice; before he dropped his hand, disgusted with himself, "I know there is someone there!" Not yet receiving a reply, anger slowly seeped into the man's fear, making him a little bolder if not only for a few moments, "My name is Everhett Hale, the nephew of Sir. Valin Hale who's grave resides in this place. Do you understand english?" He stated his name proudly, his voice slightly raising at the end of his question as he still did not receive a reply.

"I. am. looking. for. my. uncle's... grave." He said each word deliberately, his pitch rising as the silence continued, his growing fear making his shaking worse.


"Sir, I don't believe there is anyone-"

"Shut up Javier," Mr. Hale interjected.

This time Everhett's trembling fingers flew to the wrist of his valet and stayed there; the touch gave him a little comfort, "I heard something while your mouth was jabbering," he hissed, eyes flicking around. Now it sounded like something had made a noise behind them…


He was seriously questioning now if what he had heard earlier was indeed a human. A decent person would have revealed themselves by now no?

"Show yourself!" Mr. Hale yelled, his voice cracking. He startled even Mr. Bourg, who quietly tried to hold the lantern aloft despite the uncomfortable sensation of his circulation being cut off from his hand due to Mr. Hale's stranglehold on his left wrist.

"Sir, no one is there.."
 
Around the grave was a collection of models. Wax dummies, carved wood, a bit of statuary... They were thin skeletons, decked out in theatrical costumes or ragged togas, holding up various symbols of death. Clocks, a burned out sandle, the burial shrouds... And there were skulls. Yellowing, brown, ivory white, any skin on them was sunken as the latern light spread over them. The eyes of one of the better dressed ones glowed gold from within its sockets, nose gone, skin like yellowing parchment. It was rather noticable to the glowing beads and cruxifix of a veiled figure. The rosary had been half torn from it's hands and were still rolling over the ground, some landing in foot prints.

There were enough foot prints to suggest someone had been allow. Many people. The coffin had been buried in an area filled with life, as to suggest it was a Roman ruin hidden in the hillsides. And shoving the stone everywhere and jamming stone slabs from the fortress walls into the ground to make a sepulcher had disrupted the flow of water. There was still a bit of a waterfall, but more of it was sent along the ground, leaving it constantly moist, imprints greater prominence. While it should hardly be considered ovlery strange that there were footprints, these ones seemed overly fresh, as if they had not yet been washed away or had the grass raise back up

And the smells... Perfumes? Soot? Sweat and grime? They lingered in the air, some leading to a statue of the archangel Raphael. The sounds... Too silent. Well, silent might be too strongof a word. There had already been the sound of shuffling after the two yellew out to high heaven. There was the sounds from the snap of the rosary. And there was the sound of breathing. Very heavy breathing. From within the coffin, half out of the grave, with the lantern fallen next to it, the spilled oil lighting up some grass and a clipboard with papers in some language unfamilar to most. It was on the man inside the coffin, and it was in danger of catching on fire with the grass. It told about time of death, the process in which he was to slowly die, how much to feed him before he went into the coffin, when to get him out... And their was the sound of breathing from the tube leading from the coffin.
 
Mr. Hale and Mr. Bourg both jumped when the unexpected glimpse of a light flaring into existence caught their wandering eyes. It burned a ways away from them, between the two trees Everhett had insisted he heard the noise originate from. At first the two men stood shocked, not expecting anything to come of Mr. Hale's questioning. But this was far more unsettling. They had not received an answer, and the fire had seemingly burst into existence.

"Javier… I believe we should turn back…" Mr. Hale's voice shook along with his grip on the valet.

"But sir, look-"

Indeed, there seemed to be a fire lit, casting light between what looked to be an opening in stone walls.

"My uncle's grave!" Surprised, Mr. Hale shouted and started for the monument, pulling Mr. Bourg along behind him.


Weaving through the trees towards the light, his eyes alighted on the fallen lantern, it's fire eating the grass beside it. They stopped, Mr. Hale's wide eyes sweeping over the entrance to the tomb and the statues surrounding it.

"Javier, look at this place… My uncle was such a strange man." He grabbed the lantern from Mr. Bourg, taking a close look at one of the roman statues. He flicked it's stone nose.

"Hah, look, he was so damn fond of these things… I wonder if he had them watch him as he slept." Mr. Hale laughed at his joke, trying to chase off his previous fear and the fact that the circumstances were so strange. He stepped to look closer at one of the skeleton figures, wrinkling his nose, "God, Javier this is too strange."

The something clicked down onto the stone it sat upon. He looked down, rosary beads… A broken rosary. A bad omen.


"What's this?" He brought his lantern closer to the ground, looking at the footprints in the muddy grass.

"Footprints sir. Perhaps you scared off some grave robbers?" Mr. Bourg offered as a sort of comforting scenario for his obviously rattled employer, though he was growing uneasy as well in the heavy atmosphere.

"Sir, it's growing late…" he tried to retain his even tone, but his words were slightly rushed, "Would you like to return in the morning?

"No," Everhett said, straightening. "I'll say my piece now… Where's the opening?"


They followed the light into the tomb, Mr. Hale's mouth dropping open. Javier had been right! There had been grave robbers- his uncle's coffin unearthed and half out of it's hole!

"Sir, look." Mr. Bourg bent, picking up a clipboard near the fire at their feet and patting out the flame that had begun to eat away at its corner. He stomped out the rest of the flames before looking at the paper under the light of their lantern.

"I can't read it… It's not English, nor is it French.."

"Yes, yes. Javier, would you stop breathing so heavily? It's annoying."

"But sir… I'm not…"

Mr. Hale's eyes flicked up to his valet's, "What? That's not you?"


Turning, he walked with a halting hesitation towards the coffin, spreading more light over it. There looked to be… some sort of tube attached to it.

"What devilry is this?!" Everhett cried, utterly distressed now. There was no mistaking it. Breathing. The sounds of breathing came from the tube, "Javier, come here! Help me open it!" His servant set down the clipboard, joining Mr. Hale's side and adding his weight to try to open the coffin.
 
Intruders can come. And they seemed... Less than a threat to the four men hidden amongst the shadows. They waited, silent as the Englishmen went along their search. Nephew of the near hermit? It seemed strange for him to arrived at this point in time. It couldn't have been planned. Seriously though, nephews? In the middle of night, near a ledge with no railing, going somewhere they apparently had never been before. Not all the men knew what the Englishmen were saying, but those who did already put their plans in motion.

Then they got the papers. This would not do. People were going to start talking. Maybe even investigate. A signal, like the shrieking of a kettle went through the night, from one of the those in the group of skeletal models. It had some length of strange rope... Really catgut. While he could stay about, he didn't see much reason to prolong this any longer. And now the hosts would have to hurry up and show that they could get something down. The signal was timed for when the the body sprung up, long nails, flush cheeks. It was in the sitting position still, and it had been rather unexpected. There shouldn't have been gases from the decomposing body to cause that unless someone screwed up, but it mattered not. A thin man in a large overcoat and the figure of a man with a hunch moved towards the entrance, long items in there hands shown by the light flickering behind them.
 
"Push.."

Finally the heavy wood budged with Mr. Bourg's help. They threw it open; and many things happened at once. A shriek rang through the air as the body inside sat up suddenly- The body within sat up. Mr. Hale and Mr. Bourg both jumped back in startled fear, Everhett giving a terrified shout and turning to stumble hastily towards the entrance.

Oh please, let the monster eat Javier! Please... please...

He stopped, skidding short and almost fell over, "Wha-?"

Everhett heard Mr. Bourg stop behind him, putting out a hand to help steady his shaking form. Adrenaline running through his veins, he couldn't quite comprehend why there were two men blocking the exit in front of them when there was a monster, a... a living deadman in the coffin behind them! He had to get out!


"Who are you!? Move out of my way!" Mr. Hale attempted to keep the fear from showing in his voice, but it was already quaking terribly.

The two men were strange in appearance; one was hunched over.. and had a hump. The other was thin, he couldn't make out their faces as the light from the lantern burned behind them. And.. they were carrying... what? Rope? Shovels? Suddenly Everhett couldn't make up his mind which was more frightening- the menacing figures before him, or the thing in the coffin behind him. He hesitated, fidgeting like a cornered animal and his eyes growing in their nervous shifting as he realized they were not going to be let past.
 
"You've broken the seal!" One of the men snapped in Genevese, despite having been planning to do it himself, as well as knowing the boys spoke English. Still, he was being tested and he was going to place the blame squarely upon these two for disrupting the experiment. He gave a lean and mean look over the more foppish of the two. The body looked as if keeping the man alive hadn't been completely successful. Might be brain dead or his brain might be the only thing left working. "Get to the wall! Get on the ground!" He ordered in English as he looked aruond for the papers that had been dropped that the two intruders had found. He would need to salvage the experiment somehow. "One of you get in the coffin." If there was one thing Victor had learned over the years it was morality. And how it isolated those breaking its rules.

Outside the two other men had arrived, looking over the figures of those in the doorway. The golden eyes of the human skeleton still shone with dull curiosity, while the one beside him had his eyes covered. After muttering something to the skeletal figure, he started walking away, leaving the trees and statuary behind him. The Skeletal figure moved to the side after giving the slouching man an appraising look. He had his own form of beauty. A fair bit of stiching, but it was finely done and difficult to see. The Qausimodo had done well for himself. Much more potential than Victor, even after that one creation from the student. Well, it was time to see how he handled things. Though he might as well have some fun...

Sounds came from the body, an unaccented English asking for water. And blood.
 
Mr. Hale's eyes widened as the man in the long trench coat yelled something at them. Some strange language that sounded guttural or perhaps that was just his voice,

"Get to the wall! Get on the ground!" This time he spoke in English, though his words confused Everhett. Frightened, he simply stood frozen beside his valet as the man searched the ground, picking up the clipboard.

"One of you get in the coffin."

Everhett felt the panic rise in him, "The hell we will!" he said defiantly, though his voice could not be mistaken as anything near confident. Just thinking of entering the rancid coffin with that thing made him want to vomit. Two other men seemed to drift in from nowhere, appearing at the sides of the strange thin one and the slouching humped man. Mr. Hale felt a shiver run through him as he took in the glowing eyes of one of the bone-thin men. He couldn't comprehend why they were all here, why they looked so strange... and why his uncle was half-dead and breathing! Could he have been buried alive? Why would someone do that to a person?

Mr. Hale and Mr. Bourg's backs stiffened when they heard the breathy request from behind them. Mr. Hale's zombified uncle asking for water, no, blood... That was it. Mr. Hale broke.

"Please let us out! Don't feed us to that monster! Oh dear god!" Everhett broke down and pleaded with the figures, not sure which one to address, but made sure to stay in front of his valet in case the talking dead man could crawl as well.
 
'Everyone seemed to be falling apart', the skeletal man thought to himself as he continued to grade Victor, though making extra notes on the other three so as to be able to reference their comparitive reactions. The Quasimodo was apparently waiting for some instruction, as was to be expexte for someone trying to be a Hench, though he wasn't lisping enough. Sure, he hadn't actually spoken yet, but it was something the up and coming crackpots wanted. The chewing tobacco was a nice touch though, filling one cheek and browning his teeth while he waited hunched over. He had acted fast when the corpse began to talk, though. While Victor stared in shock, not thinking they would have gotten some sort of ghoul, the Qausimodo swung the shovel they brought for one reason or another, attempting to knock one of the boys onto the coffin.

Victor... Not so good. He seemed to be acting more like the crybaby Englishman than anything else, despite his own familiarity with death and raising the dead. He had gotten the same idea as Igor though, pointing the bar at the intruders to push them to the body, instead of doing something creative like talking to them or using some sort of gas gun. The Englishman's quite friend, though... He seemed to have a spine. He hadn't heard a single sound from him, though he get his ground, even as the other pansy cowered against his body. "How about this. One of you can stay, one of you can leave. Who will be who?" Victor asked them, moving forward to further block their escape.
 
The hunchback rushed towards them ignoring Everhett's pleas, raising a shovel against them. Mr. Hale was still frozen in place- watching his imminent doom draw near when he was forcefully pushed out of the way.

Mr. Bourg caught the glancing blow on his arm, hissing and stepping back from the pain. The valet had been quietly assessing their situation as his master fretted and seemingly angered their captors. The could not overpower... Well, he could not overpower these men armed with digging tools and implements. He was outnumbered, and in all likeliness instigating violence would bring harm to Mr. Hale, which he could not allow.

Mr. Hale on the other hand, had seemingly forgotten his valet entirely. Mouth still gaping in shock at the lumbering hunchback with his swinging shovel, he stumbled back as he was pushed again this time against his valet by the thin man. He'd never been so brazenly attacked before! How dare that slouching freak! That hooligan! That- T-that barbarian!

Everhett's sensibilities only seemed to return when the cold bar pressed into his chest once more, presenting a choice; "How about this. One of you can stay, one of you can leave. Who will be who?"


Mr. Hale blinked, mouth falling back open. What did he say? Certainly he does not expect me to choose! Everhett's blue eyes slowly rose to his servant's warm brown ones.

"Rhett..." Javier spoke first for once, using Everhett's childhood name. The smaller man choked.

"Don't worry Rhett. Go-" With a firm hand on his back, he pushed his charge towards the thin man.

Mr. Hale's foot caught in the uneven ground, causing him to fall against the horrid bastard. He shot the coldest glare he could muster in his faint-hearted state up at the trench coat man, before pushing away in disgust.

"Javier," Everhett turned back to his valet, "You can not. I forbid this nonsense!" He tried to remain calm, give orders and have Javier reply "Yes sir." as was their normal dialog, but he couldn't bring his eyes up to meet his valet's. Everhett knew he was a coward… He knew he wouldn't sacrifice himself. Javier must know... No, he always knew how horrible I am..

"I'll be fine." Mr. Bourg's familiar comforting voice ripped through conscience. He chanced a glance back up; a last attempt to memorize the blonde man's features. Bad idea. Mr. Hale caught a glimpse of the waiting corpse behind him, his throat tightening. He was feeding the only man who ever could stand him to his own demented, corrupted, horrific shade of uncle. His knees felt weak. It didn't seem real... It couldn't be.


Mr. Bourg leveled his eyes against the thin man. "Take him outside. I'll give you no trouble."
 
"You take him." Victor said in French as he nudged his head towards field some fields outside. "Mastha." The hunched man spoke to the man in the dirty overcoat with a mouth full of tobacco as he yanked the fobbish Englishman out of the room. He was unsure about how things would go, but he wasn't going let uncertainy ruin his night. He was a servant himself and he knew that you should just do what was told while in eyeshot, even if it didn't make much sense. Even if in an unfamiliar language. "Take this and shoot him if he struggles or I call out that this one is uncooperative." He handed over a pistol to Igor, the ball having fallen out in his pocket. Igor had doubts about the widom of them switching places like that, but allowed it, walking in a complex changing of the guards formation to keep the Englishmen in site. Victor had his reasons, of course. He had a body to turn into a Lazarus and he now apparently had his nephew staying behind.

Igor took the Englishman out who was to leave, pistol pointed at him. "Mofe it." It may have been unclear who was going to die at this point. The grave party wasn't entirely sure either. At least one would, if the state of the body in the coffin was anything to go by. "We need one of you because you have ruined things. So long as one of you is alive we can fix it though." Victor removed another pistol, pointing it at the man in the tomb. "Either of you may ask to be shot at any time. You would try escaping anyways, so it is best if we get a clean shot to deal with you, rather than you fall off a cliff or lay crippled on the ground for wolves." Points for creativity. Igor took the boy further, leading him several minutes walk away from the graveyard.
 
"Javier! I said no. You bastards, you can't do this! Let us free!"

The valet seemed to be ignoring his charge now, standing quietly by. They both watched as the thin man dropped a pistol into, from the sound of it, his servant's hand. Upon hearing the reason for this Javier stiffened, his eyes flicking with concern to Everhett. Mr. Hale did not know French... and he would not stop his mouth. Mr. Bourg tried to plead for Everhett to be quiet with his eyes, but it must have been mistaken for fear because it only made the man's insults of their captors more fevered. If the man's life had not been in danger, he would have smiled. For the first time in a long while his cold charge was showing some sort of appreciation, even if it was a little late...

"We need one of you because you have ruined things. So long as one of you is alive we can fix it though."

"Alive? You're going to feed him to that thing!" Again, Mr. Hale was ignored. He hated being ignored.

"Either of you may ask to be shot at any time. You would try escaping anyways, so it is best if we get a clean shot to deal with you, rather than you fall off a cliff or lay crippled on the ground for wolves."

Mr. Hale swallowed, his eyes going to the second gun in his captor's hand now pointed at Mr. Bourg.


Having the pistol pointed his way, the Englishman's mouth stopped. It was best to be quiet... he was pushed outside with barrel of it pointed at his back by the slouching man with his looping gait. He tried not to stumble as they made their way through the graveyard, mumbling insults the entire time, head turning back ever so often to try to glimpse the tomb that was fading into the night the further they got. As if he could see Mr. Bourg within... I'm sorry Javier.

Mr. Hale stumbled, cursing for the umpteenth time that night. He shot a glare towards the grotesquely stitched man who loped behind him, "I thought the agreement was I would go free, you ugly, demented twat!"

Perhaps if he did, he could rally the townspeople. Expose this strange "experiment." Despite the language barrier of the native people... Still, Mr. Hale's mind whirled.
 
"Hvat agreement?" Igor asked, somewhat amused by the kid infront of him. "You knoth, insulting me will get you nowherthe but off a cliff." He took him to an ever more isolated place, trees all about, stars shining only somewhat dimly as he whacked the boy's leg with a shovel. "Maybe I should just take your pretti fathe and keep it for myself?" He asked, deciding to play along with the maniacal declarations. "Why noth tell a bit abouth yourself`?" Igor said amiablly as he kept the pistol aimed. "How about why your mastha gave himself for you?" He had gotten their power relationship a bit mixed up, though it may have been because he saw a certain degree of dignity in the other man. While he didn't keep the upper classes on a pedestal, he did believe that they shouldn't be whimpering crybabies. Maybe this was a new servant or the lover of the other. "You can always safe him." He mocked him with an overly supportive tone, before tossing the shovel to the boy. "Dig."

"Expose your arm." Victor demanded as he checked the pulse of the uncle in the casket. He definetly should have just had the other boy killed so he could have kept his assistant about, but then how would he have managed to get the cooperation from this boy? "Come now, you're a smart boy. You wouldn't have realized to stay here instead of going out there if you weren't." Though he might have just gotten the wrong impression and thought that he himself would escort him rather than Igor. "And remove your shoes. You aren't leaving anywhere until this is done, at which time we can find you a nice alibi so you can leave unmolested with twice as many clothes as before." Victor didn't know the relationship of the two. He was pretty sure that this was the nephew, even if the screaming didn't match, but he couldn't be sure if the other was a servant or friend. "I just realized... You never said goodbye." He chuckled coldly, having experienced losing people overnight unexpectedly on a multitude of occasions. "Now, what medical knowledge do you have?"
 
"What was that you oaf? I can't understand your strange way of speaking," Mr. Hale sniffed snobbishly, rounding a bend of trees as the gun nudged him along.

"AHG!" He shouted in pain, hands going to his stinging leg. He huffed, drawing in angry breaths and trying not to tear up. Javier was to be eaten, he was stuck with some crazed man in a graveyard, and now walking would be even harder with this bruise... It was almost too much for the pampered man.

"Maybe you should take your ugly face and go kiss your "Mastha's" arse," Everhett mumbled, rubbing out the bruise from the hard metal.

"Why noth tell a bit abouth yourself`?"

"Why not give me that gun and set me free?" Everhett spat back stubbornly. He hated these men with their blatant disrespect for his position, especially this one with his penchant for swinging around that shovel.

"How about why your mastha gave himself for you?"

Mr. Hale scoffed, then caught the shovel awkwardly as it was thrown to him. The insult to his pride did not allow him to stay silent.

"He's not my master! How dare you, you impudent idiot. He is my servant, Javier Bourg. I am Everhett Hale, and I will not be humiliated into doing the work of those less than common." He dropped the shovel with distain, wiping his hands of it,

"Now take me to the town. My valet is already in your possession, I demand to be set free!"



Javier complied, shrugging off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeve slowly, extending his naked wrist to the man with curious yet somber eyes. Was this enough skin shown? What was he doing? Mr. Bourg's brows furrowed as he listened to the man chide him.

"I would have stayed." He said softly, firmly. "As my duty to him. I would not have run."

He did not care what the pretentious stranger said, it did not matter. As far as he knew he was already dead. The valet bent to untie his boots as requested, stepping out of them and into the dirt. The man's next words surprised him, but he wasn't sure if it was some sort of perverse joke. Leave? Unmolested? Wasn't he to be used for this man's experiment? Hadn't the ghoul in the coffin asked for blood? Mr. Bourg kept his mouth closed and his eyes on the ground as he stood.

"I just realized... You never said goodbye."

At those words, Javier's eyes shot up to bore into the man's. For a second real anger flashed behind the orbs, before it subsided.

"He knows I wish him well."

He searched the stranger's cold gaze, "I'll do what you want. Don't let harm come to him."


Mr. Bourg's face softened in slight embarrassment at the next question. "Not much, sir." He coughed, catching himself using the title. Surely this man did not deserve it, "I have only attended the the master's language and writing lessons. The rest was deemed unnecessary knowledge for a valet. At most... a few herbal remedies for colds and coughs."
 
"You wanth me to leth you half it?" He tapped the the bindle he carried on his shoulders briefly before lightily twirling the gun around in his hand. "You wanth me to shut?" Such a prideful person, never working a day in his life, and apparently having trouble with some unreasonably tall shoes. "Welth, if you're noth a commoner than you are leth than common." He reasoned, knowing about the boy's family but not seeing it as being too major, experiment aside. They should have gotten it all finished a week before, but the attacks had made it dangerous to go outside without backup. Maybe he shouldn't have left the others and came out here. Though he did have a limbing boy who never worked, never had been in the area before, and had bad shoes. He would only need to outrun one being, and it wouldn't be the wolves. "Dig. Somoen is going intho the hole and unless you want to be in ith..." He wasn't really lieing. They might need to dump the uncle in there or one of the boys. He saw no need in hiding it any longer as the boy wouldn't work without being frightened enough. He would have threatened having the boy's servant killed, but he could see where Hale's priorities were.

Victor's eyes furrowed as he considered how he might have the wrong person. He should have known that this wouldn't have been the one shouting around graves in the dead of night"Then he was the one who brought the molestation upon me?" Victor didn't see anything dirty about the term molestation. It had been in enough philosophical tracts and government docuemnts for him to see it as butting in on other people's business. He also liked the sound of the word. "It might have been best if you had paid more attention to whatever wise woman taught you those. They have such informative stories about why one is to avoid graves at night." He took out a scalpel from a leathing casing in his coat, then slashed the boy's exposed arm. "Attach this hose above the bleeding." He ordered as he broke open the uncle's arm, blood not yet completely dried. He tossed some long tubes with straps to the boy while thinking about his experiment.'Seriously, how had it lasted all this long? By the looks of it he would have been fine if they had gotten there just a little sooner. He needed this experiment. He needed the right blood and organs..
 
Everhett gave the man one last look of despise, before bending to pick up the shovel.

He muttered to himself as he began to dig with the threat on his life hanging over his head. He grimaced. By now Javier was probably already be dead. If he stayed any longer he would be too. There wasn't any way he could run for help... Not against a bullet. Or could he? The loam was soft here, easily upturned and shoveled out but Mr. Hale had the excuse of shaking spindly limbs which made the work harder. Perhaps the hunchback would grow tired... lazy. Mr. Hale kept him in his sight as he shoveled, his breathing pitifully labored and the heavy shovel cramping his hands.



Mr. Bourg didn't question the man's strange way of speaking, instead he simply nodded,

"Yes. We came to pay our respects to his uncle." He gestured at the ghoul in the coffin without letting his eyes rest too long on its hideous form.

The the man caught his attention by pulling out a thin knife. He'd seen those before... Used by medical men. Javier's eyes widened with fear as the blade glinted in the firelight, before it came down upon his outstretched flesh. The man bit his tongue, but a small sound of pain escaped, his eyes trying not to look down at the warm red liquid flowing from the wound. Unfortunately, the stranger required this of him when he passed him a hose attached to some straps. With one hand, Javier clumsily attempted to tie the straps down to his forearm, sticking the tube as best he could into the wound with a hiss of pain.

What am I doing?

As his bloodied fingers held the hose in place as best he could, his eyes followed what this strange doctor did. He assumed the man was a doctor; questioning him about medicine and carrying strange implements... His arm throbbed with pain as the hose moved, Javier bit his tongue.
 
Igor didn't have much to do now. Wait for the Englishman to dig up the rocky soil, look out for any creatures that might try to sneak up on him, find some fresh body parts... Hale's liver was probably shot from alchohol, but he could probably serve the fatty organ to some connosuier... He was not paying as much attention as he could have to the digger as his mind went over things like how to rescue the experiment from failure, to get access to the room of mirrors of the examiner so as to test his sewing by using inconvenient reflective surfaces. He daydreamed, Not dreamed. He wasn't too tired at this point, being a night owl. People might have issues with meeting him in the dark, but it was the same with seeing him in the light. Just depended on the level of lighting and what their standard of beauty was. Hale seemed to have noticed his scars in very little light, so he needed to consider smaller stiching.

Victor prodded at the body with a stick. Not a pole. Not some doctor's reflex hammer. Just some stick that had fallen from a tree. "Reflexes seem to be in order..." He muttered as he tapped a knee and got a response. Not a strong enough one though. "Hmmm." Getting up and heading out, he put the pistol's hammer safely done so it wouldn't go off during what he was to do next, and hopefully not be seen until after. Returning, he bend down, bringing the but of the gun to the servant's knee. Taking note of this he began writing, having found the papers picked up by the whining boy and left behind. He needed to get a secretary or something. Igor's penmanship was atrocious and he sometimes doubted he could read. Because of his upbringing, because of his eyesight, he didn't know. He still wasn't entirely sure how hunched the Igor was, recalling how he usually hunched when entering loe doors or carrying something odd on his back. And then he put on some squishy gloves. "This may hurt a bit." Victor warned as he attached some wires attached to battery jars hidden in the building's design, originally meant to power airpumps. He strapped the end of the wires to a chain he wrapped around the end of the metal prybar. "This is going to hurt Schmee more than it will hurt Yu." And he prodded the one in the coffin, somehow sending some of the electricity over the metal lined tubes leeching at the arms.
 
The edges of the grave he was digging were up to his hips now, Everhett covered in sweat and dirt caking his shoes and arms. It gave him a sort of chilling feeling knowing that the grave would be filled with one of their bodies... It was a sort of torture, to have to dig and know that.

He snuck a quick glance at the humped man, then back to the tempo of his work. The man didn't look to be paying much close attention, a sort of glazed look filming over his deep-set eyes. Mr. Hale felt the adrenaline shoot through his system, despite his aching body. He'd have to do it now, while the hole was still shallow...

With one last shovel, Everhett whipped dirt towards his captor, hoping to blind him as he scrambled from the pit awkwardly. Then he ran. He ran like a bat out of hell- or... more like stumbled blindly through the trees in the opposite direction of the man holding the gun. He gave it his best effort, praying vainly that he'd see the guiding lights of the town before he sprained an ankle, fell off the jutting part of the cliff, or got completely lost. Then there was always the problem of that very angry hunchback overtaking him.



Javier held the tube to his arm, feeling sick.

He could feel the blood seeping out of him and into the wraith that sat still and listless within the coffin. He felt the butt of the doctor's gun hit his knee. He staggered a bit, the impact sending a jolt of reflex up his leg. The doctor left him bleeding to rummage for some more implements.

Mr. Bourg watched in disturbed fascination as some sort of metal device was revealed, thin wires connected it to a metal chain which then was wrapped around the prybar the man had threatened them earlier with. The doctor had on some strange-looking gloves as well... Not cloth, nor leather...

"This may hurt a bit."

His eyes followed the metal bar with the wiring attached to it as the doctor inched it closer to the half-dead man. All at once, pain laced up Javier's spine. It felt like hot fire seared at his arm. He let out a cry which was cut off in his throat, his mouth gaping soundlessly as the pain continued. He wasn't aware of his convulsions, but when it ended the man sunk to his knees, his head bowed and breathing heavy,

"Please... No more."
 
Such a peaceful night. The hooting of owls, the rustling of the wind through the branches... It was a shame they didn't have casinos or any sort of nigh-life around here. Well, besides the guards. They seemed the sort to shoot first and ask questions over beer, though. Still, it would be nice to head out and flirt with some ladies and- Huh, he ran. In the way opposite of the town, as he himself had kept in the way of that. He would have to get Hale before he ran off some ledge. With that, Igor gave chase. Shovel in hand, he went after him with long, practiced strides, ready to bash out his knees. "If you run we kill the other. Stop."

It wasn't working. For all Victor knew, he might as well be contaminating the specimen. He would need something else. Sure, the electric prod had caused some movement, but it could have very well just have been seom the nerves or the boy's movments. The boy seemed a bit paler, though it was difficult to tell in the flickering ligh- Oh, right. No one had put out the fire in the grass. Maybe he had just thought that they needed the light or that the wetness would keep it liited. It may have not been the best idea, as it had spread to the entranceway. Looks like it wouldn't do to simply leave one of the boys to go off to freedom at the risk of being committed if they blabbed. "Come on. Help pull this body out of here and I might let you go." He removed the straps from the arms, allowing blood to start pouring out, which he then bandages up after sucking the top layer of the blood. "Wrong blood type."
 
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