"Jesus Mary and Joseph!" Jack blurts out crossing himself again and again as he stumbles back, away from Brigitte, staring above her head, almost tripping over one of the sheep-corpses.

[Jack Duggan rolled 82 for Sanity 45.]

Brigitte dove forward at Jacks comment thinking the emu's had come back for a go. It was strange his alarm at this give that a nasty peck or kick was all you could expect she thought.


-

Jack waves his hand vaguely, his eyes bulging. "Don't ye... can't ye... see it?! Th' child, th' poor wee babe. Ah, 'tis a dreadful thing." His voice is racked with fear and misery.

He falls to his knees in the dust of the pen, scrabbling in the pockets of his trousers to pull out a rosary of black beads and knotted cord.

"Hail Mary fulla grace th' Lord is wit' ye blessed are thou amongst women an'-- an'--"

His eyes roll up and he looks like he might faint.

Brigitte experiences a sudden piercing sound as she lurches to the ground, like a whistle or a high scream whipped on the wind. Though it makes her head ring and causes her muscles to tense from some ancient instinct, she sees nothing but sky above her, nor more than the fence on looking behind. The stench of dead sheep barely in front of her face fills her nose completely.

Jack seems to be having some kind of fit, waving his rosary at the air before him and shivering as though plunged into ice water. The cicadas, for a moment, hush, leaving all sound to the whispering leaves and the flies.




Jack's rapid breathing sounds loud in the quiet. The cicadas gradually start up again.

[[Jack loses a SAN point.]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:29, Fri 26 Feb 2021.

Crawling to where Jack is while casting fleeting glances skyward she kneels by the man before giving him a series of shakes while calling his name. "Jack, Jack are you all right ?"

She will continue until he comes around and if that looks unlikely she will look to try and move him.


-

Jack shakes his head, then shivers all over. He turns his eyes and his head to the right, kissing the rosary's crucifix before returning it to his pocket. He draws his knife from its sheath and examines it closely, turning it over.


Lost in his reverie, he whispers: "so red...red an' dark an' sticky...sure, just a foul dream is all...but so red..."

The bush lapses back to its usual sounds as the flies resettle on the sheep carcasses and the humans huddled among them. The sky tells Brigitte nothing, high off and only increasing in its intensity of cloudless blue. The feeling of that high sound is in her like something cold, though her skin is heated and they're starting to sweat.

The bitter smell of dead sheep prevents those on the ground from smelling much else, though they can feel each others' tension through the contact like something laid on them, a shared congealment of the horror in this place. This close, Brigitte becomes aware of her own breathing in contrast to Jack's, right before he pulls a knife.

There are thin smears and flecks of dried blood on the blade, not a condition he would usually think of shoving it away in. A fly lands on the knifeblade whilst another crawls on Jack's thumb: Brigitte catches a blur of herself in the raised blade, the rust-brown flecks of non-reflection like insects on something already pale and dead...

Brigitte continues to help Jack as best she can, "We have to go Jack, we have to move...." She will try to get him to move towards some shade at least.


-

Jack plunges his knife into the sandy soil, taking his hand away from the handle as though he will leave it there. He takes hold of his trouser cuff and pulls the material almost to his knee, exposing his boot-top, a somewhat ravelled sock, and several inches of lily-pale leg.

"There was this dream," he says, his voice marginally stronger and more steady though still quiet, "A house. An' blood. An' I was runnin' away. With a bloody knife in me hand."

He turns to look into Brigitte's eyes. "I dunno what it means or if it means anythin' at all. But I'm that scared, I am." His eyes burn with sorrow and a plea.

The knife stays where it was stabbed, the curious fly taking the opportunity to crawl about the handle. The sky still makes no comment, though the cicadas yell.

Jack's working at the cloth on his right leg reveals what looks like a week-old stab wound to his calf, tender but relatively discreet and healing nicely. Brigitte recognises her own stitching.

She has no memory of doing it, nor Jack having been injured at any recent time. He may have got into fights without her knowledge, but this looks like he's been stabbed by someone already on the floor.

In reply to The Keeper (msg # 43):

Brigitte stares at the wound and then at Jack before asking "Can you remember what happened ?" As he answers she again looks around their position in the field.

"Perhaps we should return to the house or home and send the authorities out ?"


-

Jack looks at her in confusion and misery, shaking his head, " 'Twas a dream..." he falters. He stares at the house.


"They won't do anythin', but I dunno what else..." He looks down at his hands, then rubs them down the front of his shirt. In a quick motion, he snatches the knife from the ground and stands, looking down at Brigitte with the knife exposed.

Then he slips the blade into its sheath and extends his hand to her.

"C'n I help ye up, M'Lady?"

In reply to Jack Duggan (msg # 45):

"No, no I am fine." Getting up off the ground she again looks at the house. "We should leave, something has happened here and I fear there is nothing we can do about it."


-

The house adds nothing, the back door lying still and open like the gaze of a skull. The handprint beside the doorway, Jack's height, his span. Quite what they might tell the Governor's men isn't immediately clear.



[[Heading back to the tavern?]]
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:30, Fri 26 Feb 2021.

Jack points off to the side a bit. "Can ye not see 'em, then? Two wee tykes wrapped in their bloody windin' sheets, danglin' there plain as me hand--" He stares at his hand for a moment, then whips it down to his side.

"Ye're right, M'Lady. We'd best get back then, alert th' neighbours. It may be th' danger isn't past or confined t'just this place."

He walks back to the horses and stands ready to help Brigitte mount.

In reply to Jack Duggan (msg # 48):

"I, I don't think I can see them Jack ?" She looks to were he is pointing and then follows him to the horses. She thanks him for his help once they are mounted.

As they ride off she asks "Did you see some sort of bird in the field Jack ? I think I was facing the wrong way ?"


-

"Not birds," Jack says in a strained voice, "Tash. The restless spirits o' th' Ryan kids. Oh, I wish ye'd seen 'em, too. I fear 'tis me they'll haunt, like as if they have some cause. I don't know how I can make amends."

He grabs his water bottle and takes a deep draught, but his throat is still dry. He feels like he could weep.

Glancing back showed the farm's front yard bright and empty, just as it had been behind the house. The breeze gently rattles dried crop remnants and shows the silvery sides of eucalyptus leaves as they pass, but brings little relief from the heating day.


The horses are palpably keen to get away from the place, jostling their passengers a little with a tense stride just short of breaking into a trot, ears frequently flicked back to listen, listen to a house that has no-one stirring within. Giselle spooks a bit at a lizard darting under the trees on the way back, swaying Brigitte suddenly sideways, and does trot until reined in, blowing air nervously from her delicate nose. The incident does little for Brass' nerves, the bay feeling like an animal ready for flight.

As the riders emerge from the lane of bottlebrushes back to the lightwashed pasture of Brigitte's holdings it seems there are some early visitors to the tavern, shadows that move out of the yard towards them as the pair heading homewards watch. Squinting into the glare, Jack and Brigitte see the foremost visitor halt at the sight of them, then mount up smoothly to kick his horse into a run towards them.

The distance makes direct identification of the rider tricky, but the two at the fringes are pretty sure that dust-coloured dun belongs to Charles Murphy, the man who hunts thieves and killers out of the hills. Charlie's voice confirms it as he heads towards them, the dry road smoking up horse-coloured dust in his wake.

"Duggan!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:30, Fri 26 Feb 2021.

Jack restrains himself from turning Brass around and kicking the gelding into flight, so awe-inspiring is the manhunter's thundering approach (but only just). Instead, he pulls the reins in tight and sits as tall in the saddle as he can.

When Murphy is in talking distance, he calls out, "Good day t'ye, yer Honour."

"Don't give me that," Murphy says, watching where his horse's feet draw up and jerking his head to indicate the other visitors, who seem to be halted, watching the scene with intense stillness. Both are in red and white. "-I've got two lickarse Saxons come out from Sydney who're about set t'put th' blame on yourself for Adam Ryan and his weans, for sure they'd love to be judge and executioner. Did you get him, then?"

Charlie finally looks up, irritation fading to puzzlement and then just raw concern on his ill-favoured and much-freckled features as he looks from Brigitte to Jack. He belatedly touches his hatbrim to the lady, noticing the paleness of them both. "What's come to you?" he asks, almost gentle. "Why is it you went back?"

Brigitte sat upright in her saddle as they neared home, even more so when the man raced towards then from the front of the tavern. She remained quiet as the rider spoke, sure that Jack can fight his own battles should he need to.

She gave a curt nod when the man acknowledged her, but at that comment about returning she spoke up "Returning Sir.... what do you mean by going "Back" ?"



-

Eyeing the older man warily, Jack squints in puzzlement.

"Sure, we just come in from Ryan's. There's blood all about an' no sign o' th' family, sheep slaughtered in th' paddock. We had in mind t' send t' Sydney fer th' soldiers. Has someone else already reported it then?"

He watches Murphy's hands. If the man reaches for a gun, Jack'll be off and away for the bush.

Murphy looks hard at the pair, then turns to look back at the redcoats, who're still undeniably there. His left hand rests the reins against his pommel, his right hand loosely at his thigh. His pale green eyes lock on Brigitte's.

"You did, ma'am," he answers both, looking at her. "Over a week ago whilst I was busy at Coal River. Word that came to me was that Duggan'd found it so and hared off after a fella from th' Calder expedition - not that we've had any o' them back aither. Tom Cleary's man Gill said the rush was on account of this fella'd stolen a girl, some convict lass from downriver, an' how another of th' ticket-lads had joined th' hunt at that, only Gill went back and found Mary Ryan just barely alive. Which is when you promised her, as you came t'her bedside at th' doctor's, that you'd catch the short, dark fella that killed her children and her man as well, and sent on word that if your party wasn't heard from in seven days they were to send myself or soldiers."

Murphy gestures at them, perplexed. "An' here I came up because we heard nothin' and you're going about like it didn't happen, or you thought Macquarie would forget. It looks bad to the English, can't you see that?"

Clearly he doesn't know what to think. He looks at his horse's shoulder and then from Jack to Brigitte, eyes held narrow. "...what day d'ye think it is?"

Jack blinks at the question and counts on the fingers of his right hand, his lips moving as he does.

"Why, what d'ye mean? Sure, 'tis Friday, man, first Friday o' Adent, if I can count a'right." He turns to look at Brigitte.

"Isn't that right, M'Lady?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:21, Sat 15 Feb 2020.

In reply to Jack Duggan (msg # 5

Brigitte was shaking her head and mumbling something as he mind raced  she stammered somewhat in her reply to Jack and the agent.."We only saw them yesterday and set out this morning to trade for the cloth.... I, I don't understand..." She was still shaking her head when she asked "Where is Mary now ?"


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