[My Writing] Milverton’s Wonderland Part II – Absolem (8th November 2012)

my writingInfo: In meiner Freizeit schlage ich mir mit einem Sherlock-Rollenspiel auf Twitter die Nächte um die Ohren. Meiner Feder entstammen dabei eine Molly Hooper sowie ein Charles Augustus Milverton.
Da ich für beide Charaktere hin und wieder längere Texte veröffentliche, dachte ich, ich teile diese einfach mal in dieser Kategorie mit anderen außerhalb der Twitter-Rollenspielwelt. ^^

The Roebuck. Great Dover Street. London. The event: Bang Said The Gun. A so called stand up poetry and comedy event, which took place every Thursday.

Absolem was basically part of the fixtures. He came every week. And “Bang Said The Gun” wasn’t the only event on his list. Tongue Fu, Chill Pill, A Spoonful of Poison, Girlfriend in a Comma where only one of the many poetry and open mic events in which he participated. Waiter by day, writer and wordsmith by night.

Everyone knew him and everyone knew his weakness. Money had always been tight, and no one really knows how a waiter could afford a flat on Wardour Street. One or two /close friends/ mentioned gambling once, but also a rich uncle who passed his whole wealth (plus the flat) on to Absolem.

Absolem was a quiet man and usually talked in short and sometimes rather rude sentences. On the stage, he was a completely different person. Spending his money all for himself didn’t help him to find friends or a partner, and only his fans were crestfallen when he didn’t show up at his usual events for over a month. But no one came to look for him. As eccentric as he was Absolem never opened his door when someone unannounced rang the doorbell. He didn’t answer his phone either. Sometimes he just vanished from the surface of the earth for a few days or even weeks. No one cared. And no one came to look after him.

Joshua Tenniel had been her neighbour for about four years. She didn’t meet him often, they didn’t talk much but when she met him he always offered to carry her bags and helped her with the shopping or repared something in her flat. He was strange but not in a creepy way. He loved poetry and literature and attended such modern events where everyone can present his work on a stage.

Claire Meyers got suspicious after about a month. She noticed bugs on Mr Tenniel’s doorstep, and this house wasn’t a dosshouse, oh no! It was a decent house with decent people. Claire called the house owner, barely able to keep it together. What if the bugs are crawling down the stairs and into her flat? She shuddered. No. This wasn’t going to happen. Never.

The houseowner arrived and together they opened the door to the flat. Oh, she will never forget what she saw there in the bedroom. And the smell! It took her breath away. And the bugs. All over the floor, on the walls, on the windows. Some dead, some still alive and crawling. Crawling, buzzing and humming. An awful sound.
And then the /thing/ she saw on the bed. Mr Tenniel. At least she thought it was Mr Tenniel. Who else would lie on his bed? Later, Claire Meyers loved to tell the story of her corpse discovery while having tea at five with the other ladies. Oh how she loved to make them shiver and grimace. Oh how she loved to be called “Braveclaire”.

The dead body of Joshua Tenniel was spread on the bed, fully clothed, arms and legs tied to the bedposts. His shirt had been ripped apart, buttons where scattered all over the covers. His chest was opened, but only a bit, to place the foot of the hookah inside and prevent it from falling down. The small tube didn’t went into his mouth, no. It went straight into the hole of the gunshot wound on his right temple. His mouth was sewed together with a chunky blue-ish thread. Claire still felt slightly sick when she thought about the poor Mr Tenniel.
They called the police, of course they did. Scotland Yard took care about the whole affair, recorded her testimony and sealed the flat. But Claire kept her eyes and ears open, curious how this whole thing will turn out.

[My Writing] Milverton’s Wonderland Part I (8th November 2012)

PicsArt_1367610368854Info: In meiner Freizeit schlage ich mir mit einem Sherlock-Rollenspiel auf Twitter die Nächte um die Ohren. Meiner Feder entstammen dabei eine Molly Hooper sowie ein Charles Augustus Milverton.
Da ich für beide Charaktere hin und wieder längere Texte veröffentliche, dachte ich, ich teile diese einfach mal in dieser Kategorie mit anderen außerhalb der Twitter-Rollenspielwelt. ^^

Dieser Post war die Geburt meines Milverton, sozusagen. ^^

~oOo~

6:25. It was about time. C.A. Milverton took his phone and dialed the number he called for the first time about six months ago. He paced the room while he waited for the call to be answered. One minute. Two minutes. Slowly and steadily he got impatient. At exactly 6:29 someone on the other end of the line took the call. The muffled and shaking voice of a man.

“Stibbons. Finally.” Milverton greeted the man called Stibbons. “It is time.” He paused and listened to the explanations of the nervous man. “You know exactly what I want. You can’t afford it to ignore me and my plea.” He had to pause again while Stibbons got more and more afraid, his voice squeaky and weak.

“Who do you think I am, young man? Your bank account isn’t exactly Fort Knox. Tut-tut.. Don’t shout. That isn’t a sign of good breeding. And it won’t help you either. You owe me, Mr Stibbons. And if you can’t pay me, then I will have to ask you for something other than money. Which I am doing right now. So.. Are you in?”

He had to wait for quite a while and at some point mused if Stibbons fainted..or ran away. Both weren’t a reason to panic. He seldom panicked. Why should he? Even if Mr Stibbons tried to hide himself from the world and from Charles Augustus Milverton, he will find him. Easily. London owned one of the most expensive CCTV systems in the world. Millons of cameras around the whole city. The material went to the MI5, the police, security firms and thousands of private persons. And all of them were bribable.

Lost in his thoughts he was a bit surprised when Stibbons finally answered. The answer caused him to smile. “Good boy. Go to work.”

He ended the call, removed the SIM card and cracked it in half. This was going to be fun.

[My Writing] ZombieNation (3rd April 2013)

PicsArt_1367610368854Info: In meiner Freizeit schlage ich mir mit einem Sherlock-Rollenspiel auf Twitter die Nächte um die Ohren. Meiner Feder entstammen dabei eine Molly Hooper (MissMollyHooper) sowie ein Charles Augustus Milverton (Milverton_CA).
Da ich für beide Charaktere hin und wieder längere Texte veröffentliche, dachte ich, ich teile diese einfach mal in dieser Kategorie mit anderen außerhalb der Twitter-Rollenspielwelt. ^^

Der erste Post hier ist ein Opener für ein kleines postapokalyptisches Intermezzo, das ich zusammen mit einem Mitspieler in regelmäßigem Wechsel verfasst habe. Die komplette Fassung gibt es HIER auf Fanfiction.net.

So shall the world go on

She called them Zombies for fun. She never paid a second thought to that, never expected that this would become reality.

Molly Hooper was a pathologist, and she loved her job more than anything else. The cold and quiet morgue, where nothing and no one was able to disturb her while she listened to the stories her patients told her. With every cut she made, every layer of skin and every organ she removed, Molly got to know the person in front of her on the slab better.
Heavy smoker? Alcoholic? Drug addict? Wrong diet?
With a few simple movements of her hand holding a scalpel, and some tests later, Molly was able to find an answer for each an every question Scotland Yard and especially DI Lestrade asked for.
And so she did just now.

The body in front of her was a strange one. There was some sort of bite on the woman’s left thigh, quite nasty looking. The woman herself was a prostitute, going by the backround the Yard provided her with. But still.. this was too strange for a lovebite. No one would allow a lover to tore flesh out of oneself. For no money in the world, that’s for certain. At least, it was for Molly. Cause of death wasn’t the thigh-wound, of course. Someone just cut the woman’s throat.
A murder. As simple as that.

Molly stretched herself thoroughly when she finally stepped back from the slab. Working overtime wasn’t new to her, and it didn’t bother her much, but being trapped in her morgue for almost 3 days, barely able to find some sleep, made her appear and feel half dead. She even begrudged the woman on the slab.. a tiny little bit.

A small sigh passed her lips when she finally grabbed her phone to send a message to DI Lestrade. The signal was bad, but that wasn’t new, down here, in the so-called stomach of St. Barts. Like usual, Molly stepped out of the morgue and walked down the corridor to her small office. The signal was much better there.

Typing away quickly, she sent her usual text message to DI Lestrade: „I’ve got one of yours ready. Want to drop by for a coffee so that I can tell you what I found out? I’m in my office, as usual. M. Hooper“