Logfile from M3.

The Plague Rat <TPR>(#615Ten)

The inside of the Plague Rat is not nearly so intimidating as the outside might be. It's a warm, slightly smoky place, and it looks a lot smaller than it actually is. Quite cozy, too.

Like the typical 20th century English pub, the Rat seems to have a central theme of dark-stained wood and brass railings. The bar itself is a deep mahogany color, with stools of the same color lined up in front of it. Tables leave not so much room on the center floor, and what wallspace there is is taken up by semi-private booths.

All in all, it's very comfortable, if not a bit hazy. The walls are covered with different portraits and artifacts of Ye Olde England. The food is typical pub-grub, with a few odd additions. The bar is fully-stocked, the staff is relatively friendly, and just ignore the one corner of the room filled with people brooding and wearing entirely black, and you should be fine.

Robin Goodfellow

Obvious exits:

Out <O> leads to London - Historical District.

Glyde Loath has arrived.

Lunchtime! A busy time for any pub in London, up to and including the Plague Rat.

This does not, however, dissuade Feste from chatting up the owner, Evan McKinnon. The Fool is currently hanging out at the bar, drinking something that is quite probably alcohol of some sort and exchanging a word or eight with the red-haired woman. She seems, as per normal, annoyed with him, and he's laughing quietly to himself. A typical scene here, to be honest, even with all the chaos of a full pub during its busiest hours of business.

And so the day is long, and little is happening. Alcohol is passed back and forth and little seems to happen -- until eventually, a man staggers into the place. At first, he seems to be a drunk of sorts -- yet, it's clear that he is not and is staggering for other reasons a moment later. Very well dressed, it is a bit of a surprise to see at first -- particularialy as he is an older man, looking to be sixty or so -- and boy, does he ever have a shiner over his right eye. Nonetheless, he hobbles towards Feste with something that looks like blood in his eyes. As in, he's irritated.

Another entry into the Rat's community of drunkards, it would seem. Nothing unusual for a pub, to be certain.

Which is why Feste does not immediately notice him. Evan does, of course, because it's her business to notice these kind of things. She taps the Fool on the shoulder in the middle of his sentence, and jerks her head in the direction of the bloke with a shiner. Feste swivels on his stool, smiling merrily and undaunted.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The man continues to stagger, and gives Feste a sort of quizzical expression. He fishes around in the pocket of his overcoat, drawing forth a photograph. He looks at the photograph, then looks at Feste. "Good Afternoon, Sir." He begins, in a very high class accent. "Are you 'The Idiot'?" He pauses for a moment. "Err, excuse me. 'The Fool?' I've been sent to find you, you see. My name is Fajo..." It's possible that Feste may or may not have heard the name of Glyde's butler before.

[Radio] Transmission detected: ... a ... ... ... the ... out at ... Fish?

Possible, but only possible. Feste is drawing a blank, but it does not cause him to abandon his smile. "Yeah, that's me, or at least it was the last time I checked. May I see that photo?" Totally irrelevent! But necessary!

Fajo sighs, quietly. "Here." He states, handing the photo over. It's one of Feste's production photographs, yet has someone's handwriting on it. Someone appears to have scrawled 'To me, with darling admiration' on it in an extremely jagged hand. "I would appreciate it if you would come with me. Master is dying, I believe, and he has demanded to speak to you. I do not know the details. He will not let me into his room, without you. He said you can be found in london. I've asked around. Got punched out once for mentioning your name.." He sniffs, disdainfully. "Some other actor. But..."

Feste takes the picture and looks at it, eyes narrowing just a bit in concentration - but never without that smile, mind. "What a brilliant picture of me! I love it. It captures my good side just oh so perfectly." He beams, and then starts paying more attention to Fajo. Must not get distracted overmuch, now.

"Dying?" Who? Who's dying? Eh? Feste unfortunately still has no idea whose butler he's speaking to, BUT! He's always got a heart for his adoring public! "Oh dear. I suppose I shall have to go, then, and see him. Evan, if you'd put that on my tab..."

He pauses at the part about the other actor, and stifles a grin by partly biting down on his lip. Teehee! "Oh, yes. You've got to watch out for that these days. Those actors. They're a rough bunch."

Poor Fajo. He stares at Feste for a long moment, open mouthed. He's put up with his Master's antics for years now and seen things that he'd really rather have not seen. Traumatized by sponge baths and floggings, Fajo nonetheless stares open mouthed at Feste -- unable to keep himself from muttering... "Birds of a Feather, Stay Togeather..."

This done, he reaches into his pocket and flings a billfold onto the counter -- enough to pay Feste's tab several times over, probably before heading towards the door at a calm walk. "I have yet to decide if he is dying, or simply wants to talk to you. However....Strange things have been afoot lately."

A moment more passes and the butler halts. "Ah, my apologies." He offers Feste a white gloved hand, slightly splattered with something red. "Herb Fajo. Butler to Master Glyde Loath." For a moment, he peers at the hand too. "Ah, don't mind the handshake.. didn't realize.." He sniffs dissaprovingly again. "He'll be smarting for a day or two, that actor then, yes he will. I might be sixty, but I spent thirty years in the army, and..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Pirate Princess Tron Bonne yaaawns, "...Well, the Mavericks are onto some more useless displays of force. Sigma is Dead, and they just want to seem all big and tough so they won't get smashed. Blahdiblah!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "They will fall."

[Radio: (F) Public] Pirate Princess Tron Bonne transmits, "SO! How is everyone today?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Matthews transmits, "Alive."

[Radio: (F) Public] (Anonymous) Hiryu transmits, "Alive... Indeed."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, cheerfully: "I'm great!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Demolition Man transmits, "Yah, I thought it was cool 'n' stuff, but it didn't go BOOM! I mean, come on! What's the use with no boom!

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "Who's the guy with the deep 'I'm holding the city for ransom' voice?"

That smile threatens to grow overlarge again, but Feste restrains himself from laughing outright. He loves his job ever so much.

Evan just sort of stares suspiciously at the money on the counter, and stares suspiciously at Feste's back when he gets up to follow Fajo. Fruitcake! You and your benefactors...

Feste takes the hand, despite its being tarnished, and shakes it thoroughly. "/Oh!/ Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. And I'm willing to bet he deserved it."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste mimics Hiryu with relative accuracy, but not enough that people who know the voice will be similarly fooled. "Oh, no one but us chickens."

[Radio: (F) Public] Pirate Princess Tron Bonne sighs, "Yeaaah... that most of us, Rigs. You okay with this whole thing? The... One thing?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Matthews transmits, "What thing?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Wood Man transmits, "Holding what city? Has ninjas kidnapped the president AGAIN?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Pirate Princess Tron Bonne transmits, "Alpha going Maverick?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Matthews transmits, "Oh, that. It doesn't matter."

[Radio: (F) Public] (Anonymous) Hiryu transmits, "It's amazing that people forget the sounds of Silence so easilly."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, still mimicking Hiryu: "Yes. We are."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Matthews transmits, "..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "..Ninjas are about?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "..Prepare to deploy Samurai Counter-measures!!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Wood Man transmits, "I don't know. Are you a bad enough dude?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark transmits, "Good afternoon."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, still mimicking, because he has /nothing better to do/. "No. You will never defeat us. We will keep your President until the end of eternity!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark transmits, "... /what/?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Wood Man transmits, "Oh." A nerping in the distance. "Mister Tom told me that we don't have a president."

[Radio: (F) Public] Valor transmits, "Just another normal day on the broadband, I see."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, still mimicking. "...shut up."

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark transmits, "Clearly another normal day, or else something worthwhile would be said."

Fajo looks confusedly at Feste for a moment, and then looks down at his hand. "Well. Yes, Sir. He deserved it. I am not one for violence however." He lets it slide with that, and continues to peer towards the man walking at his side, as though he were trying to ascertain just what kind of fruitcake he is. Little does anyone know, Fajo has written a book on fruitcakes. Indeed, he has perfectly chronicled the seven hundred and eighty three kinds of fruitcakes that he has met in his tenure as Glyde's butler, with Feste falling under his own category -- making it seven hundred at eighty four.

"I confess however, I find it odd that Master would send for you, Sir. I haven't seen you about. The only visitor that Master often has is....that girl, who's name that I never got. Is there some business relationship?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Kirima Inuksuk transmits, "Ahh, the antics have begun early, have they?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Valor transmits, "I beleive that is saved for other frequencies."

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark transmits, "It... would seem that way."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "You guys don't have to listen if you don't want to."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste, in his normal voice: "Early? It's never too early!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Pirate Princess Tron Bonne sounds surprises, "...It doesn't matter?!" Tron whistles softly, "Dang, Rigs. You've gotten tougher then I thought while you were away."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Kirima Inuksuk transmits, "On the contrary, this is what I do with my free time. I find it quite amusing."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "..Wait. We don't have a president?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "Oo, really?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Dust Man transmits, "..What the hell am I going to do with all these Samurai stuff!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Top Man transmits, "Like, sell it! DUH!"

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste switches back to his fake-Hiryu voice. "Shut up! You do have a President! You just didn't vote for him!"

[Radio: (F) Public] (Anonymous) Hiryu transmits, "(flatly)...Someone is good at mimicry..."

[Radio: (F) Public] Dr. Kirima Inuksuk chuckles lightly.

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste transmits, "I know! Isn't it awesome-- errrrrrr. Who?"

The Fool tends to do that -- confusing people. It's like a job requirement or something. He continues to follow along, seeming quite content to do so, down to a little spring in his step. The smile that threatened to overtake his face has been wrestled back down to usual conditions.

Odd? Of course it's odd. Why would anyone in their right mind want Feste anywhere but a mental hospital? The world is insane. "Oooh, that girl, I know her," Feste comments, with the conspiratorial tone of a veteran gossiper. He was talking to that girl yesterday, actually. "Uhmmm, between me and Glyde?" pausepausepause. "Why, yes! I am his liaison with..." pausepausepause "...GNN. Sort of like..." pause! "...a freelance public relations man."

Feste, making up total lies since 2189.

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark transmits, "Spectacular job."

[Radio: (F) Public] Feste does not say thanks, because he has been hit with a sudden burst of intelligence.

[Radio: (F) Public] Metal Shark applauds. "Someone has clearly found the fast track to joining the undead."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "You're a weird guy, Metal Shark. You're like if someone was dumb enough to give Shade Man my powers."

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "Who WAS dumb enough to do that?"

[Radio: (F) Public] Gemini Man transmits, "OH THAT'S RIGHT: GATE."

Fajo stops, quite suddenly -- giving Feste a strange look. "Master Loath *IS* part of GNN, Sir." He adds. "It is....unlikely that he has a liason, thus." Nonetheless, he doesn't press -- but continues walking. Apparently, he's used to people lying to him -- in particular, Glyde. He has Feste pegged for a secret lover, to be honest. Indeed, Fajo scratches his chin -- watching Feste hop-hopping along. Defenatly Fruity Enough. This part is mused to himself, thankfully as he leads the Fool towards an air car that is parked in the distance. "That Girl.." He sniffs dissapprovingly. "Bothers me. Spends way too much time with Master for his own good."

"Well, yes, he is, as a simple employee, but when it comes down to his own business ventures, SOMEBODY has to tell them something, right?" says Feste smoothly, placing his hands in his pockets. He's in his groove now, the one where lying comes obscenely easily. He gave up lying for Lent this year, but apparently it did nothing to stop him from doing it the other 325 days of the year.

And yes. He definitely does fit the description, doesn't he?

"Boys will be boys!" Feste replies brightly, because he knows what's up in that department.

Quietly, somewhere else, a kitten dies.

But because this isn't related to our story in any way, nobody notices it. Fajo sort of quietly, weakly nods -- gesturing for Feste to get in the expensive limousine style aircar as he unlocks the doors, slipping casually into the driver's seat and starting the vehicle -- which is incidently made by Rolls Royce -- up, rewarded with a plesant growl of the engine. On Feste's side, there is unfortunatly a bewildering array of buttons and switches for the internal climate control and the seat adjustment, forward back left and right along with up and down.

"So. If Master is really dying, why would he send for you?"

oh no! kittenz! >"<

Feste pauses upon seeing the Rolls Royce. Hot /damn/, Glyde! You are one rich sucker. He shortly wipes the deer-in-the-headlights look off his face, however, and hops in. Immediately, he becomes distracted by the large quantity of very, very alluring buttons. Must...push... all... buttons... errrr.

"Well, we are very good friends," Feste says in way of explanation, doing his best to sound like a normal, sane person now. And his self-restraint promptly fails, as the quiet buzz of a chair moving can be heard in the compartment. Up... down. Back... forward. Eeheeheeheeheehee.

The Rolls Royce lifts soundlessly up on a cusion of air, and heads at a brisk clip towards a nearby teleporter -- Fajo driving the powerful beast rather agressively. Afterall, there is some urgency to this, even if Feste is too busy playing with the seat to notice. Fajo doesn't seem to notice this himself however, for Glyde does the same damn thing. He concentrates instead on his driving, the aircar dissapearing through the teleporter -- reappearing somewhere else a few seconds later, gunning itself down what appears to be a country road in the middle of a city -- eventually coming to a great wrought iron gate, turning down it smoothly. A long road, hedged on both sides leads to a large, white, victorian style mansion. Fajo presses a button, and a great garage door opens -- and he stops the car inside. Inside is the tall shape of the Glyder, along with a bewildering array of various high-speed and high-power vehicles. "I'm not going." He finally says. "I've been told not to. Go in the front door, take the left staircase, down the hall, the left staircase again."

And so Feste plays with his chair until he gets there, seemingly distracted by that from the odd speed of the vehicle. Once the Rolls Royce coasts to a stop, he promptly quits playing and busies himself with looking out the window. Ooooo. But now--- go alone? Oh my. Will our brave Feste be able to avoid playing with each and every rich man's toy he finds along the way?!

We'll see. "In the front door, left staircase, down the hall, left again," says Feste rapidly, "got it." And then he is -gone- like a shot, opening the door and shutting it quicklike behind him. *zing!*

The first great temptation for Feste is probably the 2050 Jaguar that stands -- unlocked -- right beside him as he trots on by it. The second is perhaps, considering his mentality, the doorbell that is to be found by the door. But nonetheless, after it is opened a red carpeted hallway -- decorated with busts of bishy people -- greets Feste, a white staircase on the left. Above it, another red carpeted hallway and another white staircase and this time, only a short hall and a single door is visible -- having an old fasioned brass knocker upon it. Behind Feste's head is a picture of Lex Loath, with many holes in it -- appearing to have been used as a dart board, or perhaps, some of those are big enough to be bullet holes.

Somehow, perhaps by the grace of God, Feste manages to keep himself from touching everything he sees, or idling in the hallway to look at statues. (or kiss them, like that perv Rei from Mars.) He makes his way through the hallways and up the stairs -- oh look, a door! Wonder where it goes. Hey look, is that the other Loath? What a nice fellow.

He pauses in front of the door, taking a moment to slip out of Idiot Mode and actually figure out what the hell is going on here. Well, it looks like the only way to find out is to go inside. He takes a breath, and reaches out to knock upon the door with the knocker.

The knocking echoes through the empty halls of the house, and the room beyond. No reply.

Hmmmm. Okay then. Feste leaves off the knocker, but not before knocking it extra hard once or twice. Still nothing? Hm. He taps his fingers on his cheek. Time to get clever, eh?

So he tries to doorknob instead, brilliant being that he is.

The door, curiously as well -- is locked. Mm. Now this is a connundrum, isn't it?

"..." Feste jiggles the doorknob, starting to get annoyed. "Bloody hell. What am I supposed to do *now?*" He takes a step back and just sighs. Let's see. What /can/ he do?

"Glyde?" asks the Fool, normal conversation volume at first. "Glyde?" A little louder this time. "OY! GLYDE!"

From within, there is no response; Feste's own voice echoing down the empty halls of the mansion -- rattling off windows and paintings and pictures. But there is still nothing. Not a thing inside from the famously flowered fruitcake. Not a single word!

Well, okay. Feste sighs and slumps against the door. He might as well lean in comfort while he figures this out, right? Now to try Italian. "[Glyde! I didn't come out here just to sit in your hallway! If you're not going to get up and open the door, you lazy fool, then I'll just let myself out and you can *$&@ yourself!]"

No, really. That's what he says. Isn't Italian a wonderful language, especially when Feste takes full advantage of its wide vocabulary of swear words?

This time, from within the room there is a faint sort of grunting sound and a voice that rings out as if in a daze. "C'...ant." It says, barely loud enough to traverse past the wood. Interestingly enough however, is the fact that he starts the word in English and finishes in italian. Thankfully, they're similar enough to blend. or so we can hope.

"[Then how am I supposed to get through the locked door, you bootlicker?]" It was the only word he could think of, shut up. "[Am I supposed to walk through it like a ghost? Let me in!]" He remains slumped against the door, starting to feel just a -little- bit tired. He started out energetic, but this is bothering him.

From inside the room thus, is a bit of muffled cursing and the sounds of someone sort of flailing around blindly for something. [ I really hope you are not standing near to the door. ] A tired voice sounds. A moment later, there is the sound of a weapon carging and one can hope that the Fool has the sense not to stand near to the door itself for a moment later, a flurry of laser blasts deal with the entire doorknob and locking mechanism -- incidentially scoring a little bit more away from Lex's face, behind it.

Feste is standing next to the door! Fortunately, he is not standing next to that side.

He certainly wasn't expecting THAT, so the explosion of splinters and metal catches him WAY off his guard. He leaps up to his full height almost immediately. "Jesus! Glyde! What--"

Of course, this means that the door is no longer locked, or being held shut. And Feste still has weight on it. Predictably, the door swings open, dropping the Fool on the floor inside of the inner hallway.

THUMP. "...ow."

The interior of the room is rather interesting. Covered in various flowers of all shapes, sizes and colors -- it is certianly rather bright. High tech computer and security equipment lies all about, and near to the far wall is an immense canopy bed of red satin sheets -- and in the middle of the floor, lies Glyde, curiously dressed in a cape, looking as though he's fallen and he can't get up. A distant look is in his eyes, which are rather unfocused -- and a laser pistol is clutched in his wavering hand, still pointed at the door.

Whooo~hooaaaa. This is weird. Feste spends a few brief moments lying on the floor just looking at the ceiling. Pretty! He seems to remember his original duty here in the middle of admiring a nice hibiscus, and then promptly hops up and dusts himself off.

His primary objective accomplished, Feste gets himself back into the mood, but then he sees Glyde, so screw that idea. A worried frown mars his face as he walks over to the fallen Loath and crouches down on his toes. He looks so painfully concerned, it's worrisome.

"Glyde...?"

Glyde is actually silent for a moment, in an obviously uncomfortable position -- seemingly admiring the smoke rolling up from the doorframe. However, as the Fool moves to stand above him -- there is a bit of painful motion as he reaches up -- meaning to grasp the other by the collar. Feste might notice too, that most of Glyde's own arm armor has been removed -- exposing bare flesh to the elbow. At least, of the reaching arm -- the other hidden beneath him. "You." He states, voice seeming to come from far way. "Sit. Please."

Oop! Feste gets grabbed and pulled, a motion that, again, surprises him. He just gets more surprised, though, as he really looks at Glyde and sees the condition he's in. Abruptly, he falls backward, out of his crouch and into a sudden sitting position. Ow. "Min Herre, what's happened to you?"

Glyde is seemingly caught rather by surprise as Feste falls backwards -- himself falling forwards with a fairly sickening clatter of metal and flesh upon the floor, accompanied by a soft grunt from the Industrialist -- who curiously doesn't move for a moment or so. As he does, Feste, if really attentive might notice an elastic band and a hypodermic hidden very not-subtly under a pair of silken underwear and a brick of something brownish in color peeking out from under the bed. "Things." He says, dreamily. "These...things. I've called you here, so you can...heed my last requests."

Which just makes things worse, really. Feste only gets more concerned, and in a brief moment of what could be called mild horror as Glyde announces his intent he looks away. His acute vision shows him some not very comforting little details. Hey, how about that-- Glyde's on drugs! What excellent blackmail material-- NO, /bad/ Feste.

"Your /what/?" the Norwegian spits, sounding quite shocked. "Are you really dying? Glyde...!"

The response from the individual on the floor is kind of bemused. "I think so." He says. "I feel...strange." He waves his hand for a moment. "Heart. Fluttering. Irregular. Something strange with the cybernetic regulator. Can't move. Can barely see. Who...cares, though?" He pauses for a moment, for effect and moves on to his actual meaning of Feste's visit. It's apparently though, not just the drugs that are the problem. "My hands are terribly cold, too. Terribly, terribly cold. But I still feel...like I'm dreaming. Are you really here? Are you really Feste, come to save me from a cold, dark grave? Well, don't. I've made it easier on myself. Let me go in peace. The next life will have a better use for me." He pauses then, and really moves on. "I really, suppose that there's not much that I have to get you to do. Fajo will look after my will. But I want you to tell Kalinka something for me. Tell her that I'm sorry for everything I put her through the other day. I told her some things that she didn't need to know. I'm sorry for it. And tell her that I'm sorry for everything whilst she was here, too."

Damn it. Why do people have to be so STUPID? Why do they do things like this to themselves? Why do they give up so easily? Can't they see what they've got? Why do they always destroy themselves?

Feste thinks a lot of things while he listens to Glyde and looks at him, and none of them are positive. This annoys the Fool immensely. What do people expect HIM TO DO, anyway? Just...?

"I'm not going to sit here and let you die, Glyde," he says flatly, after an eternity of silence. "So you'll have to tell her yourself."

Glyde is giving up for a lot of reasons. Afterall, how can the Fool know of the truth as to what has transpired between he and the aforementioned person of female persuasion? Either way, he sighs faintly. "Look. I'm not asking you to understand me, and I'm not gonna let you carry me out of here. So..." He lifts his hand, attempts to brush his hair into place -- and fails. "I don't know how to explain it. I suppose, besides Kalinka, you're the closest thing I have to a friend. At least, unlike most people you don't outright hate me." He muses for a moment, cheek resting against the coolness of the floor. "Whether I survive or not, I suppose, and I hope that I do not, you'll carry out my message. Right?" He is silent too then, as he continues. "I have a strange question for you, Sir." His tone is a little bit more coherent, but his eyes are still quite far gone -- fixed on a stud in the middle of the floorboard. "Have you ever fallen in love? Realized what it meant? Without faking yourself about it? Yet, you are trapped in a position of utter powerlessness? Where it might be returned, but you cannot bear to interfere? Where you can touch, but not feel? I probably make no sense. But I am trying."

Glyde means, of course, feel in an emotional sense.

Feste listens in silence again -- for him, a grim, cold silence. The muscles of his jaw are tensed and visibly twitching. His hands are resting comfortably and still on his knees, linked by intertwined fingers. "You're not going to let me? You don't look like you're in any condition to not let me do /anything/, Glyde." He pauses, looking over at the flowers again. Gotta do this, though, it's important. "I will." No buts.

And then we have... this.

The quiet noise of Feste exhaling unusually sharply is followed by a succession of-- chuckles? Yes, that's what they are. Feste is laughing. Really and truly laughing at the bitter irony.

"Yes," he says, "I have." But in some ways it's not a 'I /have/ been,' it's an 'I /am/.' Some ways, and others, but Feste cannot touch. He can only feel. He is powerless because love, or lust, has overpowered him.

Glyde is silent for yet another few heartbeats -- irregular as they are, attempting to lever himself to a position of standing upon his hands and knees. He manages at least to get this far, before at once his left arm decides that it isn't up to the strength of holding his torso upwards and he flops to his side. The sharp crack of his head bouncing off of the hardwood is heard, along with a bit more starry eyed expression. When his eyes look to Feste again, they are seemingly with even more difficulty than before -- the Industrialist having to close one eye to stop the multiples of the Fool from singing around his head.

"A situation.." He continues. "Where you can have, but you can't have any feeling for it? A situation where the one time in your life that you want to be honest, you can't? Ah. I doubt you understand me." He states, sadly. "My life is a complex web of intricate lies. Of almost truths, half truths, three-quarter thruths, plausible lies, and wild lies. For once. Just once, I wanted to be honest. And I was honest. And, I fear that I've done myself an ill deed that I fear that I will never, ever recover from. To almost have at my fingertips, to be honest -- to tell as things actually are, and loose it all? Again, I doubt I make sense, or that you can understand me. But.. I don't know. I fear, that I have become an evil, horrible person and have not realized it until now."

The Fool starts slightly as Glyde barks his head on the floor. Moving to catch him, even, but it's too late, so all he can do is put a gentle hand on beleaguered Glyde's shoulder.

"I feel, but I cannot have. It is the one time when I must be honest but I cannot. I understand you perfectly." He can't even keep eye contact with Glyde right now. Andruw cannot, not while Feste's baring their shared soul. Damn you, Feste, damn you. You're nothing but an act, so why are you real? "I was honest and I lied. I have usurped myself."

Glyde can be heard to sigh faintly, and then to emit a sort of groan at something inward. The contact to his armored shoulder is apparently unfelt. "I do not know, Feste, what will become of all of this. I have made myself into a horrible, evil person. How evil must I be so that honesty hurts? Have I become so daemonic that holy water burns?" He reaches out, grasping at Feste's wrist. "Tell me." He says. "So that I can understand, what do you do about this? About your inability to be honest? It is the mirror opposite of mine. Moreover, who is it? The Director? I have seen how you look at him. How, too, can you not be honest? Are you unable to admit love? Yes, Love.. I admitted it, and I am in this boat..." Of course, weather or not Feste answers, he may notice by the time he's finished that the industrialist has slipped off into unconsciousness.

He has no answer for these questions. There /are/ no answers for these questions.

The Fool simply sits and listens, staring not at Glyde but past him, lost in his own grim thoughts. And when he speaks, it is not to the first questions he offers any answer.

"It is him," he admits in a whisper, "and I am weak. I am -afraid-."

He feels the fingers weak around his wrist but does nothing, does not acknowledge them in the least. They are in this boat together, but the sky's showing all indications of a violent storm, and if this ship goes down they're going with it. There are no lifejackets, no lifeboats, no lifelines, just drowning men and the sea.

And the drowning man, Feste reflects, bitter as wormwood, cannot consider how he swims until he reaches dry land. Aha. Wasn't he just telling himself that last week? How pleasant.

He looks down and sees Glyde out cold, his fingers slipping off of the Fool's wrist. Mm. We can't have that. He sets about moving Glyde into a more straight sort of position; that way, it'll be easier to pick him up. Then, as gently as he can, he picks up the younger man with his cyborg's arms and starts to make his way out the door.

"We are sick," he whispers, even as he walks, "and there is no cure for our disease."

================================== IC News ===================================

Message: 18/126 Posted Author

Affluent Businessman Rushed to Hos Sun May 16 Global News Network

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This is a GNN exclusive report.

"This just in! Today, at approximately 5:00 GMT, businessman Glyde Loath of G.L. Enterprises was rushed to a Seoul hospital in critical condition. Details on what caused his condition were not released, but doctors say his condition has stabilized, and thanks to the excellent quality of his cybernetics, he is expected to make a speedy and full recovery in a few days.

"A representative of G.L. Enterprises declined comment, and meanwhile, the security around Mr. Loath has been increased tenfold. We here at GNN hope that Mr. Loath will be back on his feet shortly.

"Elsewhere in the business world, Ashitaka Incorporated has become a rising star with its rather surprising hit fad product, Crab Juice..."

-blip-

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