The Higgsbury Memorial Museum

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe returned to the Library to find Miss Emily and her new staff all scurrying about, each peering eagerly at their surroundings through a small white stone with a smooth round hole in it, like they were elderly ladies at the opera or some Great Consulting Detective whose magnifying lens had unexpectedly shrunk.
At this last whimsical thought he tried - only partially successfully - to stifle a small chuckle.

Presumably at hearing the unexpected noise, first one, then all, of the small company turned and regarded him through their comical new eyewear. Their reactions - a smattering of gasps, a mix of defensive stances, and even a few shudders from the ladies - caused him to selfconsciously look down to check the cleanliness of his shirtfront and the security of his flybuttons.

"Is there a problem, Ma'am...?"

With a hesitant and shaking hand, the newest recruit passed him another one of her stock of perforated viewing stones.
Taking it cautiously, Lowe first held it in front of his eye and saw a slightly different view of the Library, one in which the patterns of light and darkness had no correspondence with the rays falling through the high windows.
Then, realising that this altered view of him had been the cause of their response, he craned his neck and turned the stone loupe downwards to awkwardly regard himself through it.

"Well, I'll be...", and here he only just caught himself before completing that dockside exclamation in the presence of the fairer sex, changing his reaction to a more measured, "Oh.", then after another pause he took a deep breath and continued, "Well, Ma'am, I suppose an explanation may be in order..."

To buy time to properly compose his words, Lowe diverted himself by holding out one long slender arm, turning and twisting at elbow and wrist, fingers clenching and splaying as he regarded his appendage through the peculiar view of the little white stone.

[Fairley B. Strange]

The usually unflappable Lowe shifted uneasily, having ceased to examine the twisting glowing shapes that rippled underneath his pale skin where other men would have musculature when he realised that the rest of the group were also seeing this eldritch scene through their perforate stones.

"Uh, well, it's like this, Ma'am. This is how I came to work for the late Lord these last twenty-odd years. When I got back from the ships, I was like this. Now most folk can't see it, except those with the sight, and any with magickal things like the young Miss' stones, but most people could sense that there was something wrong with Old Lowe. So, since the word around the docks was that there was this Lord who paid good coin for odd and mystick things that sailors brought back from exotic lands, I figured that included me, so here I came. And the late Lord, gawdblessim, he took me in - studied me a bit, gave me a position, tried to work out what it was, and so I've served him here and as per his Will, promised to serve yourself just as loyal, and since part of this thing is I don't get old as much as most men, probably for just as long....", at this he paused to confirm the new Mistress' approval but as she stood mute he continued, "As to what it is, the best he could draw out and test was some sort of clear goo like Cook's gelatine pudding, but it keeps me moving and fixes my cuts and scrapes."

At this last he shocked the assembled company by raking the tip of his large blade along his exposed forearm.
The pale skin parted in a neat line under its sharpness, and the flesh underneath parted bloodlessly... then promptly sealed itself up again.

All through this macabre display, his eyes never left the Lady of the House, evidently anxious as to her reaction.
The first response from her lips was a question of concern.

"Oh my, Mister Lowe, and it doesn't hurt when you do that? Remarkable."

At this mixture of compassion and scientific curiosity, Lowe smiled widely.

"Oh no, Ma'am, I've just cut meself with a ruddy great knife, haven't I? Pardon my french. Of course, it ruddy well hurts, even after it sticks itself back together, otherwise I'd be doing it as a trick act on the Stage ."

[MWBailey]

Mordavo had been getting odd hints here and there, from the preternatural side of his senses, that Lowe was not quite as he seemed for some time. None of that had prepared him for what he saw through his hagstone, however. His gasp and the drawing and aiming of his pistol had been inadvertent, a reflex born of long habit, much like Lowe's tendency to pull his shiv at the appearance of a possible threat. A moment later he reddened beneath his fur (unnoticeably to the others, it being under the were's thick pelt, but he felt it in any case), and straightened, returning the huge howdah pistol back into the depths of his greatcoat.

"Your pardon, Mr. Lowe," he said somewhat embarrassedly. "I should remember zhat I myself am perhaps a bit odd to look at sometimes." He looked at the place where the wound on Lowe's arm had healed over miraculously. "A useful  trait I imagine, yes? I haff to change completely, und back again, to do that."

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe attempted as much as was possible to return to his more familiar obscurity, waving off the kind offers of a lace handkerchief to bind his self-inflicted wound with a deprecating display of his pale hands, and a reassuring demonstration that the open rent where moments before his white ulna had shone whitely beneath the musculature was now neatly rejoined by seamless skin.

To further distract the conversation from his arm, he held up the small white stone and looked about the room through its aperture, glimpsing but not inordinately staring at the hirsute Mordavo, and politely avoiding examining both ladies, as he emulated the group's previous interest in examining the stacks of books.

"So, with these, your hag... pardon, Young Miss, but more fittingly, of course... with these scrying-stones, what other curiosities are we finding in the library?"

[Stella Gaslight]

"I hope it can help us from geting snared up because unless I am mistaken at least three volumes have some sort of magical protection and that gargoyle in the corner is giving me a frightful look whenever it thinks I won't notice. I am hopeing the late lord left some notes on his collections to make things a bit more simple but If not I know a few ways of learning the true nature of things."  Of course one of those required brewing herbs for almost a week so Gwin hoped either it did not come to that or that the cook was especially obliging.

[MWBailey]

Mordavo was eyeing a bell jar, apparently a sort of terrarium, filled with ferns and moss and stones and what looked for all the world like tiny trees. High above on the topmost shelf, next to a row of Encyclopedia Thaumaturgicae, it kept showing an aura of pink, silver and gold hues whenever he looked at it through the stone, as if there were a very happy fairy or some such inside - but every time he brought the hagstone to bear, something darted out of sight just quickly enough to be noticed, but not quite seen. As he strolled over slowly and began to drag the ladder over on it's railway, the pinks and golds became visible to the knack of the naked coyote's eye, and a vary faint giggling noise could be heard, as if emanating from within a sealed box. The werecoyote's nose began to catch a whiff of what smelled remarkably like sugared ginger-root, coupled with a feminine aroma and a very strong scent of eldritch magic...

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe tried to follow Miss Gwin's warning about the gargoyle, but it appeared immobile every time he turned the scrying-stone in its direction, so either she was mistaken or more likely having to swing the stone around was too obvious a warning that it was being observed.
He noted that the hairy chap was now following something glowing gold and pink up on the upper shelves, and used the diversion of the general commotion and the clattering of the rickety ladder on its tracks to slide back into the darker obscurity in the corner of the room. Now he paused to examine the scry-stone itself. It was a smooth white rock, possibly some kind of hard granite, a disc about as thick as his little finger, and it seemed to be about the right size... Holding his eyelids wide by stretching his eyebrow and cheek, he pressed the stone into his eye-socket like the old Master's monocle... yes, it would fit, with just a little work...
Taking out his knife, he gripped it over the blade near the tip and very carefully made a small incision just underneath his left eyebrow. Steeling himself against the pain - he would have to work fast - and another matching incision just above the cheekbone, and he quickly slid the stone into the two slices as they began to rapidly seal themselves over. He had to reposition the central hole with a wrench against the closing flesh but now it was centred over his left eye with a clear view of the room despite the pain of the cuts and the pressure of the stone now wedged into his flesh.
Turning back to follow the actions on the other side of the room, he noted with relief that his little scheme had been reasonably successful. His vision in his left eye was now slightly restricted at the periphery but he still had binocular vision and the view was now augmented by the magickal properties of the stone.
As the hairy European chap climbed the antiquated ladder, he could see the object of his attention glowing more brightly, a large glass vessel, probably another of those that housed the old Master's collection of stuffed owls and falcons in the third bedroom, that was filled with a miniature copy of a small forest made of what appeared to be live plants. As Mordavo approached the colours swirled more brightly until as his large clawed hands - paws? - closed over the vessel it was almost the brightest lamp in the room.
Using the distraction, and with his scry-stone now less obvious as it was almost hidden within his eyesocket, he turned to sneak a peak at the gargoyle.
Like the rest of the party gathered at the base of the ladder, it was now stretching its granite neck to peer upward, fascinated by the glowing globe...

[Stella Gaslight]

The bell jar made her feel sort of fizzy the closer she got to it.  Qwin was trying to find a reason for that when there was a laugh like a tiny silver bell and a stream of bubbles appeared out of nowhere. She tried to get a closer look at one and it popped on her nose causing Qwin to have a sneezing fit that sent her backwards and tripping over a pile of books.  As she was getting up much to her shock someone had pinched her bottom.  Trying to find the culprit Gwin noticed the smug smile on the gargoyle."Well for goodness sake!" She snapped.  It looked like the gargoyle was firmly stuck on the shelf but that wasn't stopping it from being a cheeky little devil.

[Fairley B. Strange]

While everybody else was still focussed on Mordavo's unsteady climb up the rickety library ladder, Lowe from his position in the corner crossed to Miss Qwin and offered his hand to help her to her feet. He tried to ignore the evident signs of her well disguised revulsion as his cold and jellied hand grasped hers. At least she was polite enough to try to hide her perfectly normal reaction - so, a real lady despite her initial unkempt appearance upon her arrival.
Noting that she was looking away from him, Lowe thought he understood why, but realised that her gaze was again fixed upon the immobile gargoyle. Immobile... but set in a different pose to the one he had seen through the stone, it's neck still craned towards the scene atop the ladder, but turned slightly.
So now that long slender stone neck was still immobile as it was suddenly grasped in Lowe's other pallid grip as Miss Qwin regained her footing amidst the scattered books.
Well, if it thought playing dead would work, he was quite interested to see what would happen if the carved granite just happened to crumble in his hand...

[MWBailey]

The ladder was rickety indeed; albeit it had been originally been made strongly of a particularly strong variety of yew, the years of use and  dessication in the presence of book-mold had made it a somewhat shaky affair. Not as bad as that escape ladder in that drafty old tin mine in Wallachia where the boyars had tried to bury himself and his squad alive, but a bit of an exciting climb nonetheless.

The pink-and-gold light increased in brilliance as he neared the bell jar, but strangely, the light did not hurt his eyes. He distinctly heard the giggling sound now, a sound like a girlish coquette reacting to the advances of an interesting suitor. He reached a hand toward the domed container - then, suddenly, the light crescendoed and in the wake of the blinding glow, a tiny yet womanly-proportioned little fairy hovered on gossamer wings before him, smiling mischievously yet warmly, looking him up and down. "Now, what kind of a spot of interesting are you, Pretty?" she asked.

"I believe I should be zhe vone asking zat question, yes?" Mordavo countered, returning the faery's contagious smile, though with his snout and fangs it was decidedly more fearsome and yet not,in a strange way. "Und shouldt you not be locked vithin yon jar?"

"Old Lumpykins was a dear, but he never said I was a prisoner," she said. "I just never felt like coming out- until now." She settled on Mordavo's right shoulder; she casually asked what year it was, and Mordavo told her. "Thirty years! I've been in that jar for thirty years!" she exclaimed,  just as the ladder gave way and fell in pieces to the library floor below. She simply closed one eye and laid a lovely tiny finger alongside her nose, and beat her tiny wings a bit faster, and Mordavo and she floated together, gently, to the floor beside the others.

"you should know better than to expect such an old ladder to hold the likes of you up, What would you have done if I hadn't been here?" she asked coquettishly, snuggling up against the were's neck. "You are verrrrry interesting, do you know that? Oho, and so very soft and cuddly your fur is!" she giggled. "Do, introduce yourself, and me, and to your friends!"

Mordavo did as he was bid. "I am Mordavo Klimt, late a colour sergeant off zhe Carpathian Mercenary Company, now as you can see, a were of the coyote (an American form of petty wolf, or so I am told) variety, und an employee off zhis newly-declared Higgsbury Museum" he intoned. 'Und vhat, dear little Lady, iss your name?"

[Fairley B. Strange]

With the sudden flare in radience now lighting the previously darkened Library, Lowe now regretted his clever idea of fixing the scrying-stone as a monocle - while the pink and gold light was attractive to his unaided eye, through the perforate stone resting against his left eye the light was so bright that it shone even through his closed eyelid behind. So with his right eye only, he watched as the little faerie levitated the bulk of the hairy chap down to the safety of the floor.
Staring at the sight, he found the little creature to be a small female form, talking in a clear, almost tinkling, musical voice that was simply captivating. Even though from his side of the room, he couldn't discern what she was saying to the slowly falling Mordavo, yet like the old sailors' tales he had heard of mermaids singing, Lowe found himself uncontrollably drawn towards the little lady...
The squirming of his outstretched hand distracted his attention back to the Gargoyle - the stony creature had discarded all pretence of being just another decorative carving and the closer Lowe moved towards the glowing little figure, the more the stony body became increasingly alive, its body twisting in a feverish attempt to escape. Opening his other eyelid, he turned his body to shield the contorting creature from the dawn-like luminescence to more clearly observe the Gargoyle.
It was clearly terrified - its head swinging wildly, jaws snapping at the air, clawed feet kicking, and deep within the belly of living beast through the normally opaque stone he could see a bright red jewel pulsating brightly like a fleshy heart undergoing palpitations. For some reason, it was desperate to avoid the entrancing little lady in the middle of the room.

Turning his attention back to the rest of the room, he saw through both eyes that everybody, even the strange silver furry fox-thing, were gathering towards the faerie, moving slowly through the scintillating glow that swirled around them all. The little faerie was just so... enchanting...

[MWBailey]

"Now, Stony," the little Faery lady said to the gargoyle, a bit sternly through her coquettish glamourie* (for that was obviously what it was, Mordavo suddenly realized. He was not sure how the were side of himself was resisting said glamourie, but it was, and that allowed him to begin to fight back even as the tiny lady began to to assert her influence), Stony Dear, you know you have nothing to fear as long as you have not been naughty-!" She caught her breath as she realized just how close everyone was getting.

"Please, Mister Mordavo, don't let them get me! I swear I am not a bad faery!"

"Mordavo shivered, then shook himself, the glamourie slipping away as if a switch had been thrown. "Then you should be careful how you cast your glamour, Miss...?" He made a sign with his free hand, a rune of warding, risted in the air between them; suddenly the attraction that had so enslaved the others dropped away like severed anchor chains. "There. Now, please to tell us your name - or shall I try the bane?" He threatened gently, referring to the faery name for Cold Iron, the one thing the fae feared above all else. He reached for the hilt of his stiletto, which jutted out of his right boot-top.

"Mellifluoria!" the tiny coquette exclaimed desperately. I pray thee, not the Bane! I am Mellifluouria!"




-----
*glamourie: a spell or talent that captivates people and places them under the attractive and affection-inspiring power of the person who possesses it. it is often (but not always) involuntary, an indivisible part of the person's individual self, exerted unbeknownst by the holder until; they one day come to realize that they have it.

[Fairley B. Strange]

Lowe placed the gargoyle down on the table beside him, it quickly steadied itself on the uneven pile of books to avoid falling to the floor, but then as it was being observed as part of the interaction with the Faerie it froze into its normal immobile state facing the glowing being.

Satisfied that it wouldn't escape, Lowe released his grasp on the creature's neck, and experimentally tried closing each eyelid in turn to compare the views throgh his un-aided eye and through the added scrying-monocle.

[Fairley B. Strange]

As Lowe turned his gaze back to the figures crowded around the ladder, the dilapidated wooden frame gave way, the stressed rungs parting, the collapse sending the hairy Mordavo flailing backward, the globe and the faerie Mellifluouria within arcing outwards from his grasp towards the hard stone floor so many feet below.

Then, with the delicate orb and its glowing inhabitant blazing to a painfully bright incandescence, with the glass sphere only inches from smashing on the marble, she froze herself in a cocoon of searing light - and so did the room, the flailing Mordavo caught twisting in mid-air, and the rest of the Museum staff freezing in their shocked poses....


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