The Not So Secret Society

[Evelyn Adler]

Oh it is getting ridiculous! Really!

*to the clockwork Private* Sorry, I'll be back for the tea and poison! Wait here and don't give it to anyone else or I shall be very cross!

*taking cover behind the automaton, she retrieves her modified Derringer from her garter (showing more than just a short flash of knee and ankle in the process) and scans the direction where the original shot came from*

[Private Weasel]

The clockwork Private stands motionless as cover, Ms Adler’s cup of tea balanced carefully on a fine china saucer in one hand, the delicate silver tongs gently grasping the cube of poison in the other.

His head turns, glancing back at Ms Adler, his neck twisting to a point that would cripple most men.

“I see you are trying to have a dramatic shoot out.” He observes in a chirpy, almost sing-song voice. “Would you like help with that?”

[Evelyn Adler]

As she looks at the twisted clockwork Private, a human observer might have noticed surprise and a hint of suspicion in her eyes. Her voice however betrays nothing of her feelings.

"Help would be absolutely spiffing! Our objective is, to identify the source of the shooting and eliminate it."

[Private Weasel]

"Understood. Dramatic shootout assistance engaged"

The Private's head snaps back to it's regular position and you hear a slight crackle, like that of a needle on a phonograph with deep with his gears, shortly followed by the rousing sounds of inspiring big band music.

"Drama assisted"

[Evelyn Adler]

"Oh!"

For a split second, Evelyn looks decidedly undecided, if she should burst into incontrollable fits of laughter or waste the single projectile in her Derringer on the automaton. Instead she pulls herself together, inching slightly to the left, towards the direction of the tea tray, that the clockwork Private is still holding.

"Thank you, your help is greatly appreciated! Right... now all we need to do is find out who this POSTMAN..."

Evelyn ducks, as another shot rings out, smashing the teapot and the sugar bowl on the tray. Without hesitation, Evelyn dashes across the room, pulls something small and shiny from the mantelpiece, smashes it on the floor and stomps repeatedly on it with her dainty little boot. Finally she points to the heap of crooked brass pieces, springs and cogs on the floor.

"It's a bug!"

[walkthebassline]

Well done Ms. Adler! Private, I believe we may be done with the shooting.

*glances around warily*

We are done with the shooting, right?

[Private Weasel]

The needle that obviously resides inside the military automaton skips and the music cuts off leaving the assembled in an eerie and equally as dramatic silence. The Private, drenched in the scolding waters of a stewing and exploded tea pot carefully places the remains of the tray on a side table and with silver tongs in hand, carefully puts the held lump of poison in the now empty sugar bowl.

"One" he intones and begins searching for the scattered lumps of poison on the floor

"Two...."

[Private Weasel]

"...Three..."

Another shot rings out, hitting the Private in the shoulder and spinning him round ninety degrees and leaving a sizable hole in his vibrant red jacket. There is a tinkle of glass as a pane from the door glass doors leading on the vernander spreads out across the floor. There must be a second shooter! This one with a clear view of the room through the multitude of  large glass windows.

"...Four..."

[Angus A Fitziron]

Is it possible that our postman has actually gone postal?




er... I said postman and didn't get shot...  maybe it only happens when you say it in capitals

*ducks behind Chesterfield

"POSTMAN"

;

;

;

;

*warily steps out from behind sofa

"that seems to be ok then, it must have been the bug programmed to fire randomly everytime anybody said postman

*a shot rings out*

Oh, I say, I seem to have been shot, drat and bother!

*slides less than gracefully to the floor

[Private Weasel]

"....Five...."

Another shot rings out, this one passing neatly through the Private’s pith helmet. Fortunately, as the Private is indoors, all this means is the hat stand in the corner is knocked to the ground.

"...Six..."

[Evelyn Adler]

When the first shot rings out, Evelyn darts for cover. Knocking over a small table, with a (hopefully) cheap imitation china vase, which shatters to thousands of pieces on the floor, she leaps over the sofa and disappears behind it.

"OW!!!"
Followed by some exclamations in German, that sound decidedly un-ladylike.

"Wonderful! Now you've done it! I've broken a fingernail!"

[Angus A Fitziron]

*comes too rather suddenly

"Oh, I say, er I'm dreadfully sorry about the fingernail but if you could just move over a bit I could sit up, wouldn't want to bleed on you as well although it only seems to be a flesh wound"

*shuffles about

"Ouch, I hope that was your elbow..."

[Evelyn Adler]

From behind the sofa comes a shriek, followed by the sound of a slap.

"How dare you, Sir!"

[Angus A Fitziron]

*slumps down to the floor again

as he slips back into unconsciousness, the last thought Angus has is "this day just keeps getting better and better...."

[walkthebassline]

*speaking from behind a cupboard*

Ladies and gents, I do believe our postman...

*a shot rings out, and a mirror shatters*

...may not be a real postman!

*two more shots ring out, blowing up a set of feather pillows*

[Private Weasel]

"...twelve..."

The air is cracked by a pair of shots in close sucession. Both hitting the Private. The first wings him and spins him to face the window, the tongs held in now injured arm faulter and clatter to the floor. The Private, now facing the window directly gets the second bullet squarely in the chest and without folding, falls back through a rather exquiste walnut table.

For a moment there is silence and you can distinctly smell the odour of burning gears.

"...One..."

[walkthebassline]

"Oi, not again!"

*spying the punch cards visible through the holes in the Private's chest, I crawl quickly over and pull them out, then return to my cover*

"Well lets see now...postman?"

*waits anxiously for another shot*

[Private Weasel]

“I am dreadfully sorry, but my punch cards have been misaligned.  Could you open my service hatch pull my factory reset level?” the Private asks, then goes blessedly silent.

[walkthebassline]

Now, is ANYONE interested in replacing those? Because if people keep shooting I'll be shooting back. Or shooting the Private here.

*pulls revolver from coat pocket*

[Evelyn Adler]

Evelyn peeps over the back of the sofa.

"You start shooting back, I'll reset the automaton. And we don't replace those cards, there's some sinister plot programmed onto them!"

[walkthebassline]

I agree. Lets go for it; just keep your head down.

*checks that pistol is ready, turns towards the front windows where the shots were coming from*

By the way, did anyone see exactly where the shooter is located?

[Evelyn Adler]

"Just watch!"

A cushion comes sailing from behind the sofa. As it passes by the windows, a shot rings out from outside, missing the cushion by far and smashing the picture of a dirigible on the wall behind.

"Could you see where our crack shot is located?"

[walkthebassline]

"I do believe I spotted a puff of smoke from that rooftop across the street. Right next to the gargoyle on the left. If anyone else has a rifle it may be quite useful about now."

[bassspine]

<crunch!>
...and with one leap he was free!
<trips over remains of box and falls to floor>

I say! Was that secret gunfire I heard?

[Evelyn Adler]

Unfortunately it's not so secret anymore! You don't happen to have a rifle somewhere about, Sir?