April 9th, 1879. The stables outside the Grand Bull Saloon

The old man grunted as an errant shaft of light leaking through a knothole in the wall finally moved into his eyes.

"Consarn it." he mumbled as he turned over on his bed of hay. This only exposed the bald spot on the top of his head to the warm sunlight, warming it alarmingly. So it was with great reluctance that the old man rose and stumbled over to the bucket he kept for certain functions. "Too damn early to be so sunny." he muttered as he relieved himself.

He turned around and regarded the stall he'd appropriated as a home. He scratched his beard in disapproval...his hay was still damp from the leaks in the roof and the wall. The horses around him didn't seem too happy, either. Their whinnies had disturbed his slumber more than once.

Well, it wouldn't be like this forever. No, not since the discovery he'd made. Soon he'd be sleeping on feather beds and pissing in one of those automated water closets. And dining on something a damn sight better than cold bacon and whiskey.

He fingered the lump of coal he kept tucked away in a pocket just above his heart.

Yes, indeed. Soon, he'd have all that he'd ever been denied by those bastards at the Wendell Mining Company. Soon. But he had to go dig his find out of the ground first, so he hefted his pick, strapped his pack on, and began to make his way out of the stables into the bright morning.

Meanwhile, in the Grand Bull Saloon, dawn had found several others...

((OOC: And here...we...go!))

The clank worked its way up to the roof after being gently but firmly shut out of the law office and the priest's room, still dragging the corpse. At the first sign of daybreak it begins to...well, 'sing' is the only word for it, it's certainly a noise, and the notes individually might be called melodious, but the song is as innocent of tune or lyrics as birdsong, and sounds something like a brass band having a nervous breakdown. It'll happily carry on until the sun has cleared the horizon.

Curiously, all loose papers left in common areas of the saloon seem to have vanished overnight.

[[OOC: what would these be, if any?]]

John awoke with the dawn, a yawn and a stretch before sliding out of bed. He splashed a little water on his face from the wash basin and after drying it off with a towel he began to go through a variety of stretches. Once he was warmed up he did what training exercises he could manage in the small room focusing more on the the spiritual and physical workout than going through his fighting forms. There was much to do today so the mental exercises he went through before drifting off to sleep would have to suffice for the time being. Upon finishing he'd make his way down the stairs to get a bite of whatever they had for breakfast.

Charging Bear is awoken by the noises that the tin can angel, aka Alouette, makes. His head is pounding like a little kid who just got a new drum on Christmas morning. A moan is all that escapes his lips as he trudges to the empty basin. A ingrained habit causes him to poor water into the basin and the rest over his head. Grabbing the near by towel he tries his hair and face. "That didn't help..." he mutters and goes about the simple task of dressing. The native son walks down to the bar to see about a cup of coffee and perhaps a bit of food.

As was his custom, O'Rourke awoke at dawn, still fatigued from the excitement of the previous day. Kneeling at his bedside, he softly recited his morning prayers, giving thanks for the safety of his companions and himself and requesting wisdom regarding the troubles in the town. His petitions were interrupted briefly when he was startled by the strange noises he heard, but he quickly settled back down when he realized that the source of the sound was Alouette.

His prayers done, O'Rourke washed his face and dressed, then made his way downstairs in hopes of finding a cup of coffee.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:47, Mon 04 Jan 2010.

Robert wakes and stretches, groaning as his aged spine creakes like a mining shaft about to collapse.  "I wonder how this mystery is giong to interfere with m' job?" he mutters to himself as he heads down for breakfast.

[Private to GM: Is there a telegraph office in town?  Does Robert already have an idea when the stage with the Judge is arriving?  if not, he'll check]

The Grand Bull is less full this morning...only a few people sit around the tables, nursing plates of bacon & eggs or biscuits & grits. The sky is clear and blue this morning...the storm clouds that drenched the town have moved on, and only a few wispy clouds in the sky remain. Aside from the streets being a muddy morass, it's almost as if the storm was never there at all.

[Private to Alouette: Nothing very special. A couple of blank sheets of paper, the odd loose liqour label, and a newspaper boldly calling itself "The Tombstone Epitaph," dated for January.]

[Private to Robert Micklethwait: There's a telegraph at the Western Union office on main street. As far as Robert knows, the judge should have arrived in town just ahead of him, though he apparently spent the night elsewhere. Checking with the stage company might be a good idea anyway.]

A little while after most have come down for breakfast, there's an odd *ktonk*ktonk*ktonk* noise and a horrible smell comes down the stairs, shortly followed by Alouette.

It's switched its grip to the corpse's leg at some point. Slightly more worryingly, it appears to have picked up a doorknob on its travels. The automaton tugs its burden off the bottom step with one last *ktunk* of skull on wood, and makes for people it recognises with a cheerful "Good morning!"

August is happily making his way through a bowl of grits when the mechanical being enters the common room.  He looks up, back down at his plate, then up again, alarm writ plain on his face.  "You can't have that in here," he whispers urgently.  "You're gonna get yourself locked up, or else thrown out for sure."

He looks at his plate ruefully, no longer hungry, before setting down his fork and standing up.  "C'mon, let's take it back over to the undertaker, y'hear?"

Alouette stops and tilts its head at him. "No angel previous thrown out of public house...also, undertaker inept with demons." It takes a glance at the corpse. "A thing once possessed, it is like...similar to..a gate in the wind; it is not closed to demons, and it...does strike against the gatepost in the resonances of the aether...They hear."

It stands still a moment - far less static and more sense today, it seems, and a basic grasp of similie - then seems to come to a resoloution. "Be not troubled, friend August Colby: self has soloution for innappropriate location of corpse."

It turns, and, if not stopped, hailed, or lynched on the way, will head off to the kitchen to ask for a glass of water.

Charging Bear stops at the top the stairs and and watching the tin-can angel bring a body in to the common room. "Wonders never end..." The young native walks down the stairs slowly, watching Alouette. He looks to the others in the room and says "Didn't know dead man was on the menu."

John looks up from his meal and watches the exchange with a concerned look on his face. Trying to keep the smell from getting to him he takes a drink of his coffee inhaling the aroma before setting the cup down and watching the automaton drag the previously possessed soldier into the kitchen. "Well I'll be, I'd say I've seen just about everything now but can't shake the feeling that there'll be more interestin' things to spy if I hang around this place for long." he says to no one in particular. "'Specially if I hang about with her." he added.

Robert was just finishing his breakfast when Alouette and his friend enters.  He shakes his head, muttering, "That's just not right."  Finishing off his coffee, he asks the saloon gal, "Is this the only hotel in town?"

Roland, not looking amused, stands in front of the doorway to the kitchen, barring the way. He gives Alouette a glare.

"Friend Alouette, I am afraid I must ask you to remove that poor man from my establishment. You are upsetting my customers and causing an unseemly commotion. For decency's sake, return the man to the undertaker's care, so he may be put to rest."

"Cannot return, Roland...cannot determine gentleman's name, cannot excorsise, cannot release to...man already in fear of demons." *tssh* "Unsained corpse calls demons from miles about to this place, town Texas, fear is like...similar to...bread for little birds. Where there are little birds, hawks come: this also is similar with/to demons. But fear not!" The 'angel' gestures with the orphaned doorknob.

"Workable soloution can be practiced: will avaunt self and corpse immediately when have ob-obtained one glass water." The automaton stands and looks expectant, insofar as a brass scarecrow-angelly-thing can.

He raises an eyebrow. "And what about the fear of the people when they see such a sight as a dead man being dragged around the town by a machine, eh? What are they to think? Perhaps they will come to believe you were responsible for his death, and seek to break you apart before you do turn on them."

He thinks for a moment, then says, "We have a reverend father in this very room, no? Might there be some blessing he can perform over the dead to ensure the...gate, as you put it, closes?"

Alouette touches its own chest, doorknob making a faint 'tok' on the casing.
"Self is not only machine...this self, your self..." it looks down at its security corpse "...his self: past tense." straightening again: "This self is angel. Will tell them, primary command: protect. Alouette does not harm...will not turn on them. is angel."

Of exorcisim: "Casting-out requires name of self that owned the clay if no life is present. Asked Ambrose: Ambrose did not know how to recover name of no-name gentleman." It pauses awhile. "However...shepherd can bless water, self can complete the...closing, bury fellow, also explain."

Roland raises an eyebrow, shrugs, then vanishes into the kitchen. He returns with a glass filled with water, and holds it out to Alouette.

"It is good that you trust in your own motives. Others may not, though, despite what you tell them. Be cautious. I trust I will have this glass returned undamaged, yes?"

All seriousness: "Yes."

It exchanges the doorknob for the water without explanation - seems to have the small-child assumption that people who know more than it about the world must be near-omniscient - and drags its way over to the priest, setting the water carefully down by him.
"Bless please," it chirps. "Will return soon, minus corpse."

With that it leaves the saloon, looking purposeful. After the last *sputh* of corpse being dragged onto the street, peace decends.


[[OOC: ok, now the grown-ups can talk.]]

August trails after Alouette, looking slightly worried but determined.  After all, he figures, his breakfast has already come to an end, and he shares the bartender's worry about the townsfolk getting the idea to lynch the automaton - best if there's someone present that can talk without muddying the waters further.

The automaton is making for the nearest clear set of crossroads, hailing any early-bird passers-by with one of its near-Biblical "Fear not!"s, and explanations along the lines of 'Union soldier died of sickness, corpse became possessed by demons, am angel, will get rid of demons, don't approach any sick Yankees; tell your nearest angel, priest or lawman' if necessary/they stand still long enough.

It only notices August following when it's dragged the corpse three-quarters of the way around the crossing of Main and Cross street to ensure it really is a proper crossroads. "Howdy, friend August Colby!"

It proceeds to drag out one and a half diagonal crossings of the crossroads, then having determined the middle, carefully sidles until it can kneel on the corpse's legs as it lets go. With a mechanical swiftness and fixedness of purpose, the "angel" starts to dig.

Charging Bear watches the tin can angel exit, he looks to the barkeep, "Ronald, what's on the menu for this morning?"

Roland blinks at Charging Bear, apparently still a little flummoxed by the mornings events. He shakes his head, places the doorknob on the counter, and takes a breath before answering.

"We have some rashers of bacon on the grill, with choice of eggs and hash or biscuits and grits."

Remembering Robert's question, he replies, "Well, there is the Oriental down the way, though that usually only rents rooms by the hour, if you take my meaning. And then there is Frederik's Roadhouse, a mile or two up the road north to Houston. There were a few others at one time, but they closed down for want of travelers to sustain them."

Robert nods, with a mildly perplexed look on his face.  "My trade.., well, I was expecting the circuit judge to come in today, I need to know his schedule.  I s'pose I can just check with the sherrif.  Or did you know if he stayed here last night?"

Roland shrugs. "If he did stay here last night, he didn't announce himself as the judge. The only famous people staying here last night were the actress Miss Marina Vanderholt and her bodyguard." he begins counting off people on his fingers. "Also staying here were you and the others involved in that business last night, Mr. Sunderland, who was in no condition to travel, and Eric Waters, who has rented a room from me for the last two months...no others, I'm afraid."

August watches Alouette dig, his expression - well, not hard to read, but slightly less of an open book than usual.  "Digging an honest grave, huh?"  This surely isn't where he expected his path to lead, even just the day before.

Without a shovel, he's no real way to help, but he politely tips his hat to those few passers-by who are out and about so bright and early.

As the morning passes and the hole Alouette digs gets deeper, more and more of the morning crowd start stopping and watching, rather than passing on. August notices many mutters and dark looks as the construct cheerfully digs away...some of them directed at him.

Eventually, a carriage pulls up. A rather portly gentleman in an expensive-looking suit steps out of it, frowning as his fine boots squelch in the mud. He regards the scene disapprovingly, and makes an inquiry of one of the crowd, who points in August's direction. The gentleman nods, and carefully waddles his way towards the pair.

Looming over August like a grumpy walrus, the man clears his throat.

"Well. What an unexpected surprise." he says, his tone hinting that the surprise is also an unwelcome one. "So this is the marvelous machine that has the citizens of my town in such a bother! Tell me, young man...what is it doing?"

It's clear, however, that the large man doesn't care so much about what it's doing as finding a way of getting it to stop, and has decided that August is the one to talk to about effecting that very thing...
This message was last edited by the player at 08:33, Wed 13 Jan 2010.

Charging Bear smiles, listening to the talk. "When you get a chance Ronald, I'll have fried egg with bacon and hash... and coffee."

August touches his hat respectfully; he may not have a lot of fancy manners, but he knows a Person of Importance when he meets one.  The carriage is a hefty clue, in any case.

"It's my understandin' that it's digging a grave, sir," he answers truthfully.

The automaton is a fast and tireless digger, and is a fair distance down in the ground by the time the mayor turns up, corpse wedged into a corner where it can be kept an eye on as more as more dirt joins the piles around the edge.

It straightens up on hearing August talking again, looks about and greets the people it's not seen before: "Howdy! Fear not! Self is angel, is solving innappropriate location of once-possessed corpse without danger to men, women or children...is third Union-uniformed man to die and become possessed nearby - if you see Union soldier, do not engage in conversation, do not approach to attack! Seek self, seek not-exploded priest at the Grand Bull, church on Sundays, alternate: seek Ambrose. Fear not! You are protected."

Then happily to August, spiel finished: "Almost complete." The somewhat muddy angel goes back to digging like a dog. It seems there's something metallic or otherwise polarised down there; the machine's quiet ticking and static murmurings to itself are interspersed with the occasional fuzz of heavy static and snatches of sleepy child-like nonsense if one listens closely enough:
("...pound hammer..." *tssst* "...man without a mind found the girl without a soul, since they couldn't make children, they made a deep hole..." *tzzt* "...Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay/That made the breeze to blow...")
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Wed 13 Jan 2010.

"Indeed?" the large man says to August. "Are you aware, then, that there is a perfectly serviceable cemetery that the deceased may be buried in, and a fine undertaker who would be willing to do the deed for a very reasonable fee? And that it is not necessary for your, er, contraption to dig holes in the middle of our thoroughfares?"

He listens to Alouette's assurances, his frown growing deeper and deeper. "Dear me." he says, still talking directly to August. "I fear your contraption has developed some sort of delusional complex. It may be necessary for you to dismantle it." His tone indicates that he would very much enjoy expediting that process, and he nods to his driver, who produces a shotgun from under his seat.

[Private to August Colby: Might be a good time for a Persuasion roll from August.]

Roland nods, and within a few minutes a plate piled high and a steaming cup are delivered.

"Oh, it ain't my contraption," August says, seizing precisely the least important point to respond to.  "I don't know who built it, but it sure seems to have a mind of its own."



"I really don't reckon you ought shoot it, sir," August says urgently, although a compelling reason escapes him.  "It - uh - it might be armed, and then this'll turn into a gunfight in the middle of town?" he tries, but doesn't really manage to sell the idea at all.  "Ask the Marshal before you do anything rash, sir, he'll vouch for it," he adds, speaking increasingly quickly.

OOC: 06:49, Today: August Colby rolled -1,2 using 1d4-2,1d6-2, rerolling max with rolls of 1,4. Unskilled Persuasion test.

"Evans!?" The word comes out somewhere halfway between a hiss and a strangled roar. The man takes a moment for a deep breath and a bit of contemplation. "Of course. I might have known. Alistair!" He calls to the man holding the hogleg. "Be a good lad and fetch the Marshal. I shall be very interested to hear what he has to say on this matter."

The man gives a curt nod, hops off the carriage, and legs it down the street to the Marshal's office.

After a bit more digging Alouette levers itself out of its hole like the participant of some combined freakshow and mudwrestling contest, having laid the corpse face down in it. Pausing to put a bit of soil on the corpse's legs it informs August: "Will presently fetch holy water," then sets a long brass hand on the Mayor's arm for attention - very gentle for a metal creature that could probably snap the thin bones there without great effort.

"Self is not mortal, nor flesh: cannot corrupt, become deluded, become seduced by demons. Self hears only the Voice; self is angel."
It tilts its head, willing to move between August and the Mayor if the man won't look at it directly, in case he doesn't notice it. "If man of facial clouds wishes to shoot Alouette, advise waiting until citizens are far from self: have internal fuel/oil supply, internal pressure system, and static control ill functioning at present time - man of facial clouds and other mortals might be harmed by explosion, flammability, riquochet of shot, shrapnel, noxious fumes, disfavour of God."
It pauses.
"Also advise to wait until number of demons active near Town, Texas is determined."

The mayor glares at the metal arm with disgust and irritation. He shrugs his arm out of Alouette's grip, leaving a trail of mud on the arm of his expensive-looking jacket. "Construct, where is your creator? I would have words with him about your conduct in my city." He says, addressing Alouette for the first time.

[Private to Alouette: Make a Notice check for me, please.]

The automaton raises an arm and points straight up at the sky.
"Speak. He can always hear you."

In reply to Roland Frost (msg #25):

Robert nods.  He heads out on some errands.

semi - OOC: robert will check with the sherrif to see if the judge came in, then swing by the telegraph office.

[Private to GM: he'll telegraph an encoded message to a contact, basically saying that something odd is up in this town.  Mention a possible source of Ghost Rock]

As Robert appraoches the marshal's office, he sees another person there, a rough-looking fellow with a shotgun slung over his shoulder, arguing with Evans, who looks like he might have just crawled out of bed. As Robert gets closer, he's able to make out the gist of the discussion:

"Mayor wants to see you, Evans. There's a disturbance at the square...some crazy clank is digging holes in the street. Something a bout burying a dead Yank soldier. Says you knew about this. Mayor's fit to be tied, wants you there to deal with this as fast as you can manage."

"Oh, what fresh Hell is this? I haven't even had so much as a cup of coffee, let alone prepared for the day."

"Mayor don't give a good god damn, Evans."

"His Fatness can jolly well wait for a few minutes while I make myself presentable." The door closes as Evans retreats back inside.

"Fuck you." The rough man grumbles. He glares at Robert as the old man approaches. "What do YOU want?"

"To speak with the marshal." Robert replies smoothly as he moves past and knocks on the door.

"God's wounds, man! Can't you wait five minutes? I highly doubt the machine man is going anywhere soon, and I would like to at least be presentable in public. Have some decency!"

"Hrumph." The man grumbles. "I suppose I should have seen such a reply coming, really." He frown seems to almost be melting his face off. With no one to yell at, he's rather at a loss for what to do, so he turns to the crowd. "Come on, then. Move along! Nothing to be done until the Marshal gets here."

He points to August. "You there! Be a good lad and fetch Mr. Underhill, would you? Perhaps we can get this whole business settled without further damage to the surroundings."

John Smith, Father O'Rourke, and Charging Bear are able to sit down to a nice hot breakfast, oblivious to the goings-on in the street...

[[OOC: I'm mostly waiting on you three to come up with whatever you were going to do in the morning and respond accordingly...]]

John enjoys his breakfast quite thoroughly. Upon finishing his meal he neatly cleans his plate as best as he can and promptly turns to August. "I think I'm going to go out for a little bit of air, maybe get a lay of the land now that it's not pitch black and pouring down rain. Care to join?" he asked as he moved to pay for his meal.

Charging Bear finishes the small meal he ordered and nods towards John Smith, "That does sound like a smart idea... mind if I accompany you?"

Alouette replaces its hand on the mayor's arm, having learnt that gets his attention. "Underhill is not useful here - cannot bury query suicide, query witch-cursed, query faithless in consecrated ground. Must not infect." It pauses, but won't stop August if he wants to do as asked. "Corpse is known to demons, may yet be found by another - therefore, crossroads."

It points these out, in case the mayor hasn't noticed it's dug its hole in the middle of two main roads. "Materiality is confusing to spirit world, crossroads much plus confusing...if saining fails and another demon finds the empty clay, it will not realise it is buried upside-down, and will dig its way to the centre of the Earth." Deciding the mayor is thoroughly reassured now and not about to shoot anyone, the self-declared angel ambles off to retrieve its glass of water.

The large man shakes his arm free of Alouette's grip once again. "Stop that, you impertinent contraption. Do you not know that it is rude to touch people without their permission? Your creator must have neglected manners when he assembled you."

He listens, and a thoughtful look comes over him. "Hrumph. Yes, I see...I should have realized that earlier. Yes...now I understand." He looks back into the orbs that Alouette has in place of eyes. "Listen to me, then. The damage here has already been done here, but the next time you are moved to start digging holes in the middle of busy thoroughfares in my town, or indeed performing any other such rites and rituals, I must insist that you seek permission from me before you do so, so that such things may be done properly and with a minimum of disruption to the citizens of Blackthorn. Do you understand?"

[[OOC: August isn't there...he followed Alouette outside.]]

After a few minutes, a much less disheveled-looking Evans opens the door. He looks at Robert. "Oh! I beg pardon, Mr. micklethwait...I thought you were the other man. How can I help you?"

"Excuse me." The rough man snarls. "I was here first. We still have a situation..."

"Would you care to step inside, Mr. Micklethwait?" Evans says, ignoring the roughneck.

"Evans!"

"Oh, don't worry so much. I am sure that this business won't take but a moment to clear up!" Evans says cheerfully. "Just wait right there for a moment, there's a good lad!"
This message was last edited by the player at 06:07, Wed 20 Jan 2010.

John looked about and noticed August had already left apparently. So lost in thought was he that he must not have been paying close attention. Looking at Charging Bear he shrugged and nodded "No complaints here." he said as he allowed himself a stretch before making his way to the door and out into the street.

Grabbing his beaten CSA coat, Charging Bear hands Frost the money he owes for his mean and walks to the door. His foot falls are echoed by the slight patting of tomahawk handles.

The automaton pauses. "No...but self has observed touching of hands, shoulders, elbow-nudging, back-slapping, minus observed exchange of permission...refine definition? Alternate: define appropriate/innapropriate touching?"

It tilts its head at him, too inexperienced to see anything unusual about a small-town mayor having a decent understanding of the occult. "Understood. Self always performs angelic duties properly - will suitably flatten thoroughfare when re-dead nameless gentleman is buried." It makes to be off again, then stops and points its head in the air. "...God says self should inquire where man of facial clouds lives."

"Hrumph. I am not inclined to instruct you on all the intricacies of human interaction. Suffice to say, such permissions are given only to friends. And YOU. Are NOT. My friend. Are we clear on that, at least?"

He snorts. "All such requests are to be delivered to the Town Hall, over there," he points to a large, impressive structure on one side of the town square, "during normal business hours, at which time they will be reviewed and a proper course of action decided on. I will not abide such requests being delivered to my personal residence...my wife would faint, and you would scare the children."

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #49):

"Of course" Robert smiles slightly, pleased to have annoyed the rough man outside.  Once the door is shut, he says, "I actually just wanted to know, did the judge come in last night?"

John stepped out of the saloon and peered down both directions the road went wondering as to which he should take first. He paused a moment and frowned as there appeared to be something going on not far off. Turning back to Charging Bear he chuckles and shakes his head. "I believe our friend Allouette is getting some attention." he said with a light wince.

"I'm afraid the only company I had last night after you left were Mssrs. Jack Daniels and Jim Beam. Of course, there was a point that I eventually reached where God Himself could have knocked on my door and I would not have heard it. I only returned to consciousness when the ape with the shotgun outside paid me a call...I haven't even had my coffee yet. I would have thought he'd be at The Grand Bull, but if you're asking me where he is that's not the case, is it?"

He frowns. "There's a roadhouse north of town, a few miles out on the road to Houston, where he might have stayed if it got too dark to travel on to the town proper. I've never met the man, personally, so I wouldn't know if he's the kind to take his leisure at a distant port or push through to the town proper. Of course, there's the Oriental, but that's not a place one spends more than a portion of the evening, if you take my meaning."

He sighs. "I suppose it's also possible he might have stayed with Mayor Bruebaker...that man tends to like getting to know the powerful people who pass by his domain, and such an offer of hospitality would be in keeping with what I know of the man."

Looking at the direction of the commotion, Charging Bear smiles at John Smith's words, "Would you expect anything else?" Taking a few steps into the street, he looks to the sun and smiles. "Perhaps should see what the attention is about." With that he begins walking towards the tin can angel.

Alouette leans and takes a good look at the town hall, then straightens.
"Clear as Balblair single malt 1873 - beautifully balanced, complex and satisfying, with a faint smoky aftertaste." With this somewhat cryptic remark the automaton trundles off down the street, leaving the Mayor, August and ever-curious passers-by to mind its hole in the ground whilst it fetches its glass of water.

The clank happily ambles down the road, covered top to bottom in the local mud.
"Howdy Called Charging Bear! Howdy John John Smith!"

Not being fully aware of the protocols of conversation, it doesn't look likely to stop, though it surely will if talked to. It's heading for the saloon to pick up the water it left for blessing earlier.

In reply to The Amazing Evans (msg #56):

"Hmm.  Well, do you know of any issues he has to resolve?"

"I don't think it's minded to be insultin'," August says to the mayor as Alouette trundles away.  "Near as I can tell, it never spent much time with regular folks before.  I'll make sure this hole gets covered up again once it's done, though, I promise you that."

Looking past the mayor, August catches sight of John and Charging Bear and offers them a nod and a wry smile, reflecting that he came out here to help keep the machine out of trouble, and he sure hasn't managed to do much of that.  Still, at least nobody started shooting.

With an eyebrow slightly raise, the young brave begins walking towards August and Alouette. "Seems they're having all the fun," he mutters to John.

"Leaving aside all the problems we discussed last night, which probably wouldn't involve a judge until some arrests were actually made, there is still the issue of him swearing me in officially as Marshal of Blackthorn, which would grant me a greater measure of authority to meddle in the affairs of powerful people. I also have a list of disputes that I would appreciate his ruling on...mostly arguments I've mediated since coming to town that could benefit from an official ruling rather than the ad hoc patching I've been forced to employ in his absence. And there's Gabby's wish to file a suit over some land that touches rather near the old Wendell Mine. That's going to be a rather ugly legal battle, from what I understand. Aside from that, I don't have any criminals awaiting trial...it's just not safe for me to hold them more than a couple of days without raising a stink from the Powers That Be, unless I can catch one in a felonious act AND have a judge to back me up."

In reply to August Colby (msg #60):

"Hrumph. Well, then. Carry on. And i would appreciate it if you could...convince this contraption to leave town. In the interests of maintaining the peace, of course." He says, then starts braking up the crowd. "Move along, then, folks. Situation in hand and all that. I shall, of course, take any complaints you have directly to the Marshal. Move along! move along!"

Now that nothing interesting is happening in the square, with the clank off to secure its holy water, the crowd breaks up and the townsfolk going about their morning business. They don't seem all that interested in Charging Bear, John Smith, or August Colby, who are left alone in the street, near a hole with a dead union corpse next to it.

"Hmm.  Well, you might want to add 'missing judge' to your list of problems.  It's my understandin' that he was supposed to be here this morning, and no one's seen him." with a nod Robert exits the Marshall's office and heads for the telegraph office.

"Oh, wonderful." Evans grumbles as Robert walks out. He leaves with Robert, and follows the grumpy man who's been stewing on the doorstep for a few minutes.

It's a brisk walk to the telegraph office, which turns out to also be the local post office. A giant "Western Union" sign broods over the door.

Inside there is a thin, middle-aged, balding man wearing a green visor working the daek. Aside from him, the place is empty.

"Good day, sir!" he says as Robert enters. "How may I be of service?"

"Mornin', fellas," August says in greeting, sounding cheerful if a bit strained.  "Y'all just missed the local mayor - I ain't sure I made a right good impression, though."

He gestures towards the open grave.  "Just keepin' an eye on this - friend machine went to fetch something for it."

The old man had finished his breakfast. a few rashers of bacon, some mealy bread, and a nice, large shot of whiskey to wash it all down...and then another swallow. Just for good measure. Did a body good, that.

He took a few minutes to cinch up the packs on his mule. Then he peeked outside the stable.

Huh. some kinda ruckus down the street. Big gaggle o' folks doin' some damn thing or another. He even thought he saw the mayor over there. What was going on? Some kind o' parade?

He shouldn't go. He had a long way to go today, and he needed to make sure his claim was really as good as he'd staked it. But he'd always been the curious sort, eager to see what was over the next rise...it's why he'd gotten into prospecting in the first place.

So after his mule was all ready to go, instead of taking the road out of town, he headed over to the crossroad. Well, that was strange. There was a big pit, right there in the middle o' the road!  And were those boot sticking out of it?

There were three folks standin' around near the pit, so he moseyed on over. His mule decided now would be the time to be stubborn, though...it stopped, snorted, and refused to budge.

"Oh, consarn it, you jackass!" He shouted. "What in tarnation's wrong with you now?" He tried to coax the mule, then started pulling on the reigns, hard, but to no avail. Eventually, he gave up. "Fine, you flea-bitten nag. Be that way." he growled, and let the reigns go. "You just wait here."

Stupid mule. It was always doing this, refusing to go near the interesting places. He let it alone, and waddled up to the three men standing by the pit. An Indian, a young feller, and a guy with three sticks o' wood on his belt instead o' a gun. That were mighty strange in and of itself.

"Well, hello there!" he said to break the ice. "Seems there's been some excitement here! What's been going on here?"

"A tin can angel is putting that once possessed man into the grave it dug." Charging Bear says in a deadpan voice.

"We-hell, now! That sounds like a right strange sight to see, and I'm sorry I missed it! And I know about strange sights, let me tell you! Are we talkin' possessed as in bit by a rabid dog, or as in fire-n-brimstone demon here? I can't imagine the mayor would be too happy if it were the other kind...might air out some dirty laundry o' his, if'n you catch my drift." He takes a nip from a sliver flask.

"Mornin'.  I just need to send a message, do you have the form?"

[Private to GM: I figure I need to send a coded message to my superiors, saying that there might be ghost rock here.
And a real one finding out of the judge was held up]
This message was last edited by the player at 17:43, Mon 01 Feb 2010.

"Right here" he says, handing you a sheet. "It'll be 5 cents a word, 10 for words over 8 letters. Had too many people trying to send messages full of things like 'magnanimous gestures of impeccable manners' and the like. Keep it simple, and it's more likely to get through. That's my motto, anyway."

[Private to Robert Micklethwait: That's fine. Just give me the texts of the messages you wish to send.]

"The second kind, sir," August says helpfully.  "Dead bluecoat gone and woke up and started preachin' to us all about damnation.  One of 'em tried to claw John's face open, besides," he adds with a nod to his companion.

"Ain't rightly sure I catch your drift, though.  You reckon the mayor knows somethin' about demons?"

"We-hew! Well, sonny, you sure know how to spin a yarn, I give you that. Though I seen some things in my day, so I guess I shouldn't discount such.  As fer my drift, well, I'll speak plainly then--Everyone knows Mayor Bruebaker sold his soul to the Devil to get where he is today. O'course, no one will say as such in so many words, not out loud, but they all knows it. The preacher knew it, too, you can bet your biscuits on it." He gives them a conspiratorial look, and lowers his voice. "Was gonna call him out on it, way I hear it, but then he ups and 'vanishes'. Mighty suspicious, that. Mighty suspicious indeed."

The returning brass nut/boltcase finds its way slightly obstructed by a mortal it's not met before.

"Howdy, mule!"

The mule looks at Alouette, starts a bit, and backs out of the clank's way. It lets out a bemused braying at the automaton's greeting.

"Fear not!" The automaton raises the holy glass of water a little to show the bemused mule. "Self is angel, self is solving inappropriate location of previously possessed corpse. Self will protect from any extant demons - fear not!"

Mule thus reassured, Alouette wanders on up behind Gabby where he's looking into the hole. "Howdy, hat! Howdy August Colby, howdy Called Charging Bear, howdy John John Smith!" It looks about. "Location is minus man of facial clouds."

It ticks a bit at this, then walks about to set its glass of water down on the side of the pit with quite astonishing delicacy. It then lobs itself gracelessly down the hole - clearly none too familiar with jumping yet.

The old man watches the appearance of Alouette, blinks a bit, and watches, stupefied, as it artlessly hops down the hole.

"Tarnation. I suppose that'd be the tin can angel you were talkin' about afore, huh?"

"That would be one and the same." John said breaking his silence as he tried to wrap his mind around the strangeness of the past day. He had heard of plenty of strange and weird things occurring in out of the way places but never had he been directly involved beyond maybe seeing a walking corpse playing cards in a tavern once. He had chalked that one up to a little too much alcohol though. "Dealin' with the devil hmm? Way I understand it that never ends well." he said shaking his head, he had never much been one for religion.

The old man shrugs. "Worked well enough for him when the damn Wendell Mine people came in. This place were a reg'lar boom town once. Then the mine done closed up, and everythin' dried out. Hell, we ain't even on the latest maps no more. So yeah, you could say that it didn't work out too well fer him in the end. Which is why I suppose he decided to try and give literal devils a try. That 'Enlightened Society' is a reg'lar coven, if'n you ask me." he spits for emphasis. "But hell, here I am, belly achin' again, and I don't even know you folks!" He holds out a gnarled hand to Charging Bear. "I'm Gabe Clarke, but most folk 'round these parts call me Gabby."

In reply to Telegraph Operator (msg #71):

Robert takes two of the forms and pondering a bit, fills them out.  "Here you go.  Send the first one right away.  The second one, ah, hell, send that one to"

[Private to GM: I figure I need to send a coded message to my superiors, saying that there might be ghost rock here.
And a real one finding out of the judge was held up
Msg#1 (coded to my agency contact)
To: John Smith in Houston
From: Robert Micklethwait
Message: Problem in Blackthorn.  Hot local legal issues will delay leaving.
(Hot = ghost rock.  Local = in area.)

Msg #2
To: judge or sherrif at last town (whoever I worked with
From: Robet Micklethait
Message: Judge not arrive last night.  Pls confirm he left
]

The operator takes Robert's messages and taps them out. He dutifully waits for confirmations, then nods to the lawyer. "Well, messages sent. Might take a while for replies, so why don't you come back this afternoon? Or, if you want me to send a runner, tell me where you can be reached."

"I'll be in the hotel, most likely.  But I can just as easily wander on by, ain't got much else t'do."  With a tip of his hat Robert leaves and mosey's back to the hotel/saloon, unless he sees anything more interesting

The Indian youth gives the older man a firm hand shake as that's what he was taught one does, "Gabby.. I'm Charging Bear."

The clank looks up briefly. "Not tarnation: salvation is done here."

With that it takes its holy water and attends to pouring it into the corpse's skull through both wounds and natural spaces before replacing it face down and sprinkling the water over and around it. Alouette speaks while it does this, mostly Latin but scraps of Spanish in there, too, and fragments of some Athabascan or Hokan tongue - very much like the clank is patching the gaps in its memory with the result when someone tried to translate a Roman Catholic ceremony into a native language/practice. The static interferes a little, but not to any great extent.

The automaton carefully places the glass with the small remainder of water on the side of the hole and heaves/flails/scrambles its way out to start backfilling

The most interesting thing Robert wanders upon is the others he met last night, talking with an old coot, next to a giant hole in the middle of an intersection, which the somewhat crazy automaton is busy filling in.

Meanwhile, Gabby nods at Charging Bear's greeting. "A pleasure to meet you, sir, a pleasure. I ain't met a lot o' your kin, but they always stuck me as decent folk. So, what brings you to this dyin' little speck o' nowhere?"

"Name's August Colby, sir, glad to meet you," August says.  "Can't speak for anyone else, but it was a wrong turn that brought me here - never seen this town on a map, like you were sayin'.  Glad to see it in a storm like last night's, though.  I'm gonna take a look and see if I can't earn some pay while I'm here, once this here is taken care of."

He looks across at Alouette, still working away.  "You want a hand there?  I don't know if'n you get tired or fed up like regular folk, but..."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:32, Sat 06 Feb 2010.

Alouette pauses and straightens a moment. "Hand of August Colby? High probability inefficient." It ticks a bit. "Boot or boots of August Colby plus plus efficient...aid self?" There's some more rapid ticking. "What is tired?"

"Angel does not require mortal sustenance, does not feed...self retains movement upon-" it twitches "-the flames of Hell-" *tzzt* "-rock-that-wails. Fear not! Self will not require plus mineral for half a moon, will not dig within town, Texas - will take rock-that-wails from the wilderness, yonder."
It hesitates only a moment as though determining accuracy, then points past August like he'll be able to see through town and rock over miles of hardpan before going back to its backfilling.

Looking at ole' Gabby, Charging Bear shrugs slight, "To be honest a friend of mine and I got lost on our way to a the Trail House. Ended up on a half forgotten path to this place. I'm not sure where he is thought... we were separated in last night's storm and festivities."

Robert takes note of the direction the gizmo pointed in.  "You might want to make sure no one else already owns that there rock that wails.  They might be a bit perturbed if you just take some."

At the mention of "the rock that wails" and references to it, Gabby goes very, very quiet, and gets a perturbed look on his face.

Finally, he breaks his silence. "And what would you folk know about wailing rocks? Ain't none of those around, here, no siree..."

The automaton looks up on finding itself addressed. "Own...rock?" This gives long pause, it seems - one might almost think it's broken down when it suddenly speaks again, straightening:

"How, Robert Micklethwait, lawyer? How is rock, land, wilderness owned by unknown...mortals?"

Then to Gabby: "Plus plus wailing rock exists in wilderness, Gabe Clarke, yonder-" it helpfully points again, "-self can tell: self is angel. God talks to self, inside head," it adds, in case Gabby doubts its authenticity.

"Trust me, if even wilderness land is owned by someone, and if you take something, they might object."

"Self trusts...but self does not understand," the can of angel says. "Mortals do not make rock, mortals cease existence before wilderness...gone, and rocks remain...how can mortal, singular, own...place, ground?"

"It's just the way it is.  I own my clothing, and it will exist after I'm gone.  People own their houses and the land it sits on.  When they die, it belongs to their children."

"Better you than me," August says to Robert with an affable grin.  He likes the angel-machine well enough, even feels a little protective of it, but explaining property to it?  Not for him, thank you kindly.

He turns back to the old-timer, with a suspicion is his gut that they've stumbled onto dangerous territory.  "None of my business to be sure, Gabby, but sounds to me like you know what rocks it's talkin' about."

Gabby begins backing away slowly. "Ain't none o' your business, sonny. Ain't none o' your business."  He rests a hand warily on the haft of the pickax strapped to him. "Well, it's been fine meetin' you all, but I gots me places I need to be, so I'll be takin' my leave, beggin' your pardon." He keeps edging back towards his mule.

For all its improving English and apparent Abrahamic faith, the thing doesn't seem to have encountered European systems of land claim before.

"Clothing, house...equal mortal things, made by mortals. Land existed before mortals - not made, not mortal work, work of God...therefore cannot be given by mortal..." You can hear the clicking of gears and hum of boiler rather than cogs turning, but the effect is the same. "...mortals can live in a place, but negative mortal, singular, in rock, over all a wilderness...logic error, Robert Micklethwait."

The way it looks trustingly to the lawyer suggests it doesn't think the error is Robert's, rather that it can't make sense of the information it's got. "Cannot own place one does not live...where would wilderness people go?"

Robert is losing patience.  "I'm just warning you that if you go on someones property and take what they feel is theirs, you are liable to get shot."

That gives it pause. "Self is...liable...? It is right, proper to cause explosion of entities, persons, using land which is...claimed?"

"If a person harms another, and that includes taking that which does not belong to them, some will go to the law, others will go for a gun.  Either way, it could get unpleasant."

The thing ticks, logging that firearms are an accepted alternative to legal proceedings and probably saving any questions it feels unanswered to pester others with - it's a persistent object.

It stands a moment, then nods to Mr.Micklethwait like it's seen others do, goes and picks up the glass and looks about for somewhere to put it safely whilst it digs back the soil behind. Since Charging Bear is standing like an ornamental lemon, it gives the glass with the remnants of holy water to him with a caution:
"Do not advise consuming - liquid has remembering in," and gives August one of its birdish head-tilted looks, assessing whether he's going to help, before going back to backfilling.

Through all this John stayed silent and observant choosing to let others speak in his stead especially when attempting to explain property laws to the strange intelligent machine that was filling a hole in the ground inhabited by the former zombie. He eyes Micklethwait as he begins to grow serious and dark and watches the old man leave with cautious interest. "I've seen that look before..." he said shaking his head. "If greed for gold can drive men to monstrous acts greed for Ghost Rock is far far worse." he said and spat. More than once had he heard of claim jumpers doing far more than simply killing who they stole from. "Trouble follows Treasure." he added.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:43, Wed 17 Feb 2010.

Charging Bear remains quiet, preferring to listen to all this talk of ghost rock, ownership, and the evil that men do...

It's about this time that the Marshal, Evans, wanders into view, rubbing his forehead and muttering. He saunters up to the rapidly filling hole and takes stock of the situation.

"So this is what the Mayor was on about. Well, I can't say I'm very surprised to see you all here." He has the weary expression of one who has been woken earlier than the hour to which he is accustomed, and has already decided the day is going to be unpleasant.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:13, Sat 24 July 2010.

"Just seems the way of things Marshal." Charging Bear says as he glance over at Evans, "You missed the talk about the concept of ownership."

John chuckled and looked at the Marshal giving a shrug. "I'm not right sure myself Marshal, seems our tin angel is getting rid of that Union soldiers body in a manner that'll keep it from bein' posessed again." he said. At least that was what he was getting from the manner. "Needless t'say the mayor wasn't quite happy about that."

"Thanks. I rather got that impression already, since he just spent the last few minutes yelling at me about mechanical contraptions digging up his streets. Of course, I've suffered through his tirades before, and I expect I shall have to do so in the future. He can be ignored for now. What I could use is a good breakfast. i also would like to know if you folks are still interested in that deputy job we spoke about last night, now that the eve has passed, the sun is out, and I am unable to return to sleep."

The automaton switches to tamping down the soil for a bit, almost finished, and in straightening up notices the Marshal. "Howdy, Ambrose! A beautiful day for January!" it states, like it's heard about small talk somewhere but not quite grasped its application.

It does seem to have overheard a little of the previous talk, though, addressing John: "Is 'ghost rock' equivalent term for rock-that-wails? Is mineral now...known to many?"

The thing abruptly looks up, stops treading about on the filled-in hole, and positions itself at a very precise spot beside/before Evans.

Robert shrugges.  "Since the judge apparently didn't arrive, I am at loose ends.  I'll take the job."

John nodded to the automaton "Widely known? I suppose so, there's a whole mess of people minin' for it in California. Was a partner to one prospector m'self. Tryin' to find him actually, heard he passed through these parts." he said, the last part with a sigh. He looked at the Marshall and nodded "Well, I'm needin' work while I'm here and I'm here for a while at least."

Evans regards the clank with bewilderment. "I should think so, considering it's April." He takes a step back from Alouette, uncomfortable with it being quite so close.

"Well then!" he says to the others. "Let's get a move on. Can't stand out in the street all day, and I have quite the appetite. To the Grand Bull?"

"Plusplus Not Good..." there's the impression that if the clank knew how to be alarmed, it would be. "Present year equals 1879?"

To John: "Mortals should not consume...ghost rock. It is made of congealed Purgatory, Old Night and the lost souls of thousands on thousands of chickens...would corrupt mortals, create pain, confusion..." It pauses, ticks, then looks down at the nearly-flat grave.

Charging Bear just shakes his head, all of this talk definitely doesn't appear to be his thing. He turn and walks back to the Grand Bull.

John shrugged "I suppose you're right. California certainly isn't a more peaceful place because of it. People getting shot over claims, criminals running protection rackets, some go hoping to start a new life only to fall prey to those who just don't give a damn about their fellow man." he spat. "It was good money but, well, I'm actually kinda glad to be rid of it." he said as he followed the rest to the Grand Bull.

((Skipping ahead slightly))

After the group had sat down and all breakfasts were ordered, Evans spoke up.

"So, now that you fine folk are filled, I'm curious to know what you're up to investigating first. We need a plan of attack! A direction to follow! A Very Important Person to involve ourselves in the affairs of!"

He might have said more, but at that moment the door of the saloon slammed open, and a group of ruffians filed in.

The room went silent.

The leader of the group, an oily weasel of a man dressed in black, makes a grand, sweeping gesture. "Roland!" He shouts in a thick Cajun accent. "My boys are thirsty, Roland! Their bellies are rumblin'! 'ave you changed yo mind about servin' my friends, or are we going to have another incident like we done last week?"

The barkeep frowns. "I told you before, Nathaniel. You and the rest of your ilk are not welcome here. go crawl back under your rock."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to here that. Shall we vamoose, boys?" He asks.

There are some unfriendly sniggers from the roughnecks.

"Sounds like they don't want to go anywhere else. They like it here. It's a nice place, I admit. You want to keep it nice? Or are we gonna have another accident happen? You know, I'd hate to see another accident happen here..."

Robert stands up, clearing his throat.  Addressing the leader, "An accident you say?  You boys are in luck, if there are any accidents and compensation to be awarded thereof, I can take care of it, and any other legal matters as might arise, based on any limitations and standards in the local municiple codes."

15:19, Today: Robert Micklethwait rolled 7,5 using d8+4,d6+4, rerolling max with rolls of 3,1. Test of wills.
blah. unhappy dice

Being left to its own devices, the clank finishes levelling the road, occasionally pausing to explain itself to passers-by, the leading horses of the traffic it's starting to cause and the tobacconist's wooden indian.

When finished, it returns to the Grand Bull where it last saw the priest, arriving - plastered with mud but chirpy as ever - a little after the ruffians.
"Howdy, cattlehands!" It cranes to see Roland "Corpse appropriately relocated and re-sealed from demonic influences!"

The man in black and his half-dozen friends look at Robert, quite bewildered by his rapid-fire offer of legal services. This was not quite the sort of thing they were expecting, obviously.

Then Alouette blundered into the saloon, and the most quick-witted of the bunch shtarted shouting his fool head off! "What in tarnation is that!?"

[Private to Robert Micklethwait: 08:18, Today: The Stray rolled 1,8,4,5,2 using d6,d6,d6,d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 1,(6+2)8,4,5,2. Dust Adders resisting ToW.

08:20, Today: Nathaniel Frost rolled 4,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 4,2. Resisting ToW.

08:21, Today: Gus Shaw rolled 5,2 using d8,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,2. Resisting ToW

Unhappy dice or not, you got most of em' flummoxed, including the two Wild Cards. You even have a raise against two of the Extras]
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:28, Thu 11 Mar 2010.

Alouette checks 'that' is not standing behind it, oblivious to its talents as a great distraction. It straightens and points at itself: "Angel."
It then looks at what comes off on its extended digit "...plus mud."

Then, seeing they're not going to move out of its line of sight to Roland: "Where is priest?"

Charging Bear chuckles lightly to himself, as though the answer was obvious.

Having entered the place and overhearing the tail end of the 'discussion' John positions himself near the entrance and watches the Marshall closely trying to discern his reaction to the ruffians. When Alouette enters the former prospector can't help but smile slightly at the ruffians reaction.

The thugs don't seem to cotton on well to the tin-can angel's pronouncement. One of them pulls a gun, but the man in black wave him off. He looks arounf the room through narrow eyes...which settle on Evans, who is smiling.

"Well. This ain't no mystery now. This is all your doing, Evans, isn't it?"

"My doing?" Evans protests, with a mock innocent look on his face. "Why ever would you think that? I'm just a simple town marshal." He stands. One hand is resting on the holster. "That, there, is a work of art. A construction of such craft and elegance that frankly it makes me weep. And, of course, it is asking you a question. Where is the priest?"

"Priest? I know nothin' about any priest in these here parts. The way I heard it, the last priest in this town up and ran away." The man in black seemed to be calculating his options. What had started out as a simple shakedown had suddenly become very, very complicated, and he didn't like it when things were complicated.

His eyes dart out, settling on John Smith by the door and Charging Bear sitting at the table with Evans. He seemed to have dismissed Robert as a distraction.

"So. Are these your boys here?" He said, pointing to Charging Bear and John. He gives Charging Bear an especially venom-filled look, one that said I haven't forgotten last night, Indian.

"Oh, they are just some strangers who came into town, and expressed some civic concern. I was in the process of offering them a job when you burst in here."

"Is that a fact?"

"It is indeed. And I was also consulting with Mr. Micklethwait here about certain legal options open to us. Mr. Micklethwait, would you kindly inform me of the necessary criteria for the issuance of a Restraining Order?"

"Why of course.  Persuant to state and territorial legal codes, section 4.598 section 3, to obtain a writ of restraint one must simply demonstrate to competent legal autoritiy that the party of the first part poses a threat to the party of the second part."

Evans grins. "I see. Thank you. Now, answer me this: in your legal opinion, would the eye witness testimony of..." he does a quick headcount of the bar, "twelve people and one automaton, including three employees and the duly-elected marshal of the town, stating that seven armed men who, upon entering the establishment, did proceed to ignore the proprietor's refusal to serve them, and further intimated that an undefined 'accident' might occur at said establishment if they were not served, constitute sufficient demonstration that the party of the first part poses a threat to the party of the second part?"

"Naturally." Roberts grins as well.  He was starting to like this marshal

Worked hard to appear nondescript as he leaned against the wall next to the door. He had to work even harder to suppress a smirk. The men didn't seem too bright but they didn't seem to be dumb as dirt either in regards to starting something here and now. He held no illusions they wouldn't be trouble later.

Alouette stands with head tilted a little, eerily still, only interjecting "-angel," when referred to. It's certainly listening very carefully to the goings-on.

The man in black seems to know when he's been outmaneuvered.

"Well, then. I suppose we don't want no unpleasantness. I think we'll find another place to get a drink. Let's go, boys." He glares at Evan. "But this ain't over, sir. File your 'Order of Restraint' If you must. It won't make a speck of difference in the end."

He and his thugs file out.