Entry 588; Day 1415

[misterblackbird]

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It seems the tourists are back again today--this really is becoming something of a tradition. How amusing that it would fall so close to the halfway point of my 'anniversary' of coming into the City. Five and a half years and perhaps the only constants have been the Clock, the Carousel, and these periodic invasions.

It's rather like bad weather or any of the curses: it's going to happen, sooner or later.

But I'm in no humour for this ordeal this time.

Nor am I especially holding out hope that anyone I should like to see will appear. I'd almost rather they didn't anymore.

If you think you need me, you really don't. Send a message if matters are pressing. If the cafe is desperate for my help, send for me, but I'd like to avoid being trampled for as long as I can. I may be going out, but only in desperation.

Why anyone would visit the City, I shall never understand.

~C.

[ooc: Cain is still moping after the circus ordeal. But hit him. Hit him hard. Anything that really unsettles him will either be written off as the ravings of a lunatic or fade from memory after the curse. (And, just as a side note, so everyone knows what I mean by that, Cain is from Volume 5 [North American numbering] of Godchild.) I'd prefer it if he not get spoiled on his own ending, but he can also just forget what anyone tells him.]

Comments

[fauxfawkes]

It's hard to be solemn about a tragedy when one doesn't know what it is. For all I know, it might be a shortage of tea in the mornings.

[misterblackbird]

In point of fact, it was a death.

[fauxfawkes]

[...Uh-oh.]

Not yours.

[misterblackbird]

No, not mine, but I do thank you for inquiring.

[fauxfawkes]

[UH-OH. This is getting a little more urgent now.]

Whose?

[misterblackbird]

Why is it suddenly of such concern to you?

[fauxfawkes]

Tell me who died.

[misterblackbird]

And if I don't?

Or, if I do, but I tell you nothing of the circumstances, what then?

[fauxfawkes]

What do you stand to gain by keeping it from me?

[misterblackbird]

Some sense of privacy, I suppose.

Perhaps I'd rather ponder my sin and crime in my own heart.

[fauxfawkes]

Then it's my business too, isn't it?

It was your fault.

[misterblackbird]

It was.

[fauxfawkes]

[Oh, no. No, no, no...]

What did you do to her.

[misterblackbird]

Why do you think it was a woman?

[Lying~]

[fauxfawkes]

It always is.

[misterblackbird]

It was by the City's power, if that comforts you.

[fauxfawkes]

Tell me her name, Lord Hargreaves.

[misterblackbird]

Princess Rosella of Daventry.

[fauxfawkes]

[WHOOPS THERE GOES THE OEDIPUS COMPLEX.]

NO!

[misterblackbird]

And you wondered why I wouldn't tell you. You'd guessed as much already, but you still wanted me to say it.

I told you it was as much the City's power as anything.

[fauxfawkes]

I had a right to hear it from the mouth of the man who killed her.

And why should I give a damn where you got the power for it? It was you! Your hand! You killed her! You took her away!

[Rrrrrrrrrumble. That may or may not be the ground beginning to shake beneath his elegantly-booted feet.]

[misterblackbird]

She is not gone.

[fauxfawkes]

I know what death is here. Don't patronize me.

[misterblackbird]

You don't know what death was this time. She died, yes, but she was revived--and not in the cold, half-alive way that most are. She's truly alive. Go and find her yourself on the Network if you doubt me. I told you the City had a hand in these things.

[fauxfawkes]

Did you bargain for her?