Sunday Afternoon, June 15th 1924:The Eye of the Storm
In reply to trahernwithglasses (msg # 38):
While none of the party are overly familiar with mortuaries, this one seems... strange. All the normal decor aimed at assuring that the dearly departed enjoy a wondrous afterlife are absent. In fact the only artwork of all is a single painting that dominates the far wall of the sitting room.
As everyone gathers in the room, silence reigns, everyone seemingly lost in thought.
Clarke
Zoe walks around the room peering into the various cabinets. "Maybe the doctor accepts different forms of payment?" With a dramatic flourish she spins around, her outfit changing into that of a shakespearian playactor, complete with ruffled collar and lace cuffs falling to cover her hands. "The pound of flesh which I demand of him is deerely bought, 'tis mine, and I will have it!"
Byron
While the priest is resting peacefully on the table, the blotting on his bandages shows the severity of his wounds. Byron's ametur opinion tells him that the father will be up and about soon but will be extremely limited in his ability to exert himself. Maybe we should stock up on medical supplies He runs his eyes over the labels, some familiar, so unknown. (Make a sanity check)
Mike
The hot tea creating a warm sensation in his stomach, Mike drained the last of the cup and placed it on a table at the side of the room. The rattle of the cup against the saucer revels the state of his nerves. While he could no longer hear the voice, the rhythm of the tune was stuck in his head. A moments when his mind drifted he feel himself almost begin to hum it.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he straightens his ragged shirt and takes a deep breath. Determined to take charge of the situation, he opens his mouth to speak when his ears catch a strange tapping...