Post by Quinton Featherton on Aug 16, 2023 8:14:59 GMT -5
(Takes place before the public address)
(TG: mentions of death, mutilation of a dead body, and staged suicide)
Quinton had given some careful thought about what he wanted to do with Simmy’s body. Of course, he could have left him in that bloody room, but Quinton could not be sure if there would be anything left there that would draw attention to himself. That would not do. It would not do at all.
The first thing that needed doing was to disguise the cause of death. He was tempted to use Simmy’s wretched mutts for the task, but it would take too long to get them ravenous enough to do what Quinton planned. So he used his own special stock of dogs, ones that he happened to have kept at the brink of starvation. It was easier to hide a body if it were unburdened of most of the flesh, and the bites would hide most wounds taken before death. So Quinton had locked those dogs in that house Simmy had died in with his old friend’s body, and he waited one day before returning. The dogs had been removed from the room before Quinton had entered it—no need to risk them turning on him. He came in the dark of night, the witching hour, some would call it. There was more to do than what he’d already done and he wanted as few witnesses as possible.
As expected, Simmy’s corps was ravaged, and the fingers chewed up. Good. That would hide the cleanliness of the cut that removed the count’s finger. Was he recognizable enough still? Quinton thought so…even though the dogs had had their way with the count’s torso where all the softer tissues were, they’d largely left his face alone…minus a chunk or two of his cheek missing.
“Not quite the way you hoped to be seen in death is it, Old Friend?” It really was pitiful. He had hoped Simmy would have died in a far more spectacular fashion, “But I did warn you, didn’t I, Simmy ol’ boy? I warned you about your temper, hm?” Warned him that it would be his downfall. Quinton chuckled, “And you were taken out by a woman. Ha!” He was grinning, “I’m sure you’re screaming and carrying on, wherever you are.”
He stood from his examination of the body, “Jasper, Toby,” he called out to his two valets, “pack him up in the wagon.” And he would exit that room to the outside. While his men worked, Quinton silently stood by his horse, listening to the sound of crickets and the soft rushing of the late Vers air. It would be the hot season soon. Would someone find Simmy before or after his body started to stink from the growing heat? He’d have to pay extra attention to the news in the coming days. Would Simmy’s absence be noted during the public address later that day? Probably not. There were so many people who would attend, and Simmy was just one count among many.
Finally his men came out with Simmy’s remains in a big sack that they promptly dumped in the wagon, “Toby,” Quinton said as he mounted his horse, “You know what to do next. We’ll meet you in the dumping ground.”
”Yes, My Lord,” the valet said with a slight bow. Usually Quinton would have Jasper complete this sort of a task, but his loyal follower had recently lost his eye and had not yet gotten used to doing the finer tasks with just one eye, and arson was not a task to give to a suddenly clumsy person. Not at all.
Quinton began to ride away, followed by Jasper who drove the wagon. They would travel some ways into the woods, deep enough that Simmy would not be easily found. There was a point where Jasper would leave the wagon, unhitch the horse, and move Simmy to the back of the horse and ride on. Can’t have wagon wheel marks where none would be expected. At last, they reached a spot in the woods that Quinton and Jasper had decided on before they’d come that night.
“You know what to do,” said Quinton, and the count would leave his most trusted valet to his work. Simmy’s remains would be propped against a tree, as if the count had decided to take a rest there before expiring. Jasper would then place a nearly empty vial in Simmy’s hand, the remaining liquid would be a poison that Quinton had fashioned from some wolfsbane he’d had brought to him weeks before. Hopefully, whoever found him would believe that the count had decided to kill himself and had since been ravaged by animals.
They would be finished with their task before the fire would be noted by the count or his valet. Toby would have start a slow burning fire, starting from the fireplace that would have been thoroughly stuffed up and poorly managed. Everything needed to appear to be an accident. Toby would meet up and Quinton and Jasper back where the wagon had been left, and the three men would leave from there, taking a complicated route back to the Featherton manor.
[end thread]
(TG: mentions of death, mutilation of a dead body, and staged suicide)
Quinton had given some careful thought about what he wanted to do with Simmy’s body. Of course, he could have left him in that bloody room, but Quinton could not be sure if there would be anything left there that would draw attention to himself. That would not do. It would not do at all.
The first thing that needed doing was to disguise the cause of death. He was tempted to use Simmy’s wretched mutts for the task, but it would take too long to get them ravenous enough to do what Quinton planned. So he used his own special stock of dogs, ones that he happened to have kept at the brink of starvation. It was easier to hide a body if it were unburdened of most of the flesh, and the bites would hide most wounds taken before death. So Quinton had locked those dogs in that house Simmy had died in with his old friend’s body, and he waited one day before returning. The dogs had been removed from the room before Quinton had entered it—no need to risk them turning on him. He came in the dark of night, the witching hour, some would call it. There was more to do than what he’d already done and he wanted as few witnesses as possible.
As expected, Simmy’s corps was ravaged, and the fingers chewed up. Good. That would hide the cleanliness of the cut that removed the count’s finger. Was he recognizable enough still? Quinton thought so…even though the dogs had had their way with the count’s torso where all the softer tissues were, they’d largely left his face alone…minus a chunk or two of his cheek missing.
“Not quite the way you hoped to be seen in death is it, Old Friend?” It really was pitiful. He had hoped Simmy would have died in a far more spectacular fashion, “But I did warn you, didn’t I, Simmy ol’ boy? I warned you about your temper, hm?” Warned him that it would be his downfall. Quinton chuckled, “And you were taken out by a woman. Ha!” He was grinning, “I’m sure you’re screaming and carrying on, wherever you are.”
He stood from his examination of the body, “Jasper, Toby,” he called out to his two valets, “pack him up in the wagon.” And he would exit that room to the outside. While his men worked, Quinton silently stood by his horse, listening to the sound of crickets and the soft rushing of the late Vers air. It would be the hot season soon. Would someone find Simmy before or after his body started to stink from the growing heat? He’d have to pay extra attention to the news in the coming days. Would Simmy’s absence be noted during the public address later that day? Probably not. There were so many people who would attend, and Simmy was just one count among many.
Finally his men came out with Simmy’s remains in a big sack that they promptly dumped in the wagon, “Toby,” Quinton said as he mounted his horse, “You know what to do next. We’ll meet you in the dumping ground.”
”Yes, My Lord,” the valet said with a slight bow. Usually Quinton would have Jasper complete this sort of a task, but his loyal follower had recently lost his eye and had not yet gotten used to doing the finer tasks with just one eye, and arson was not a task to give to a suddenly clumsy person. Not at all.
Quinton began to ride away, followed by Jasper who drove the wagon. They would travel some ways into the woods, deep enough that Simmy would not be easily found. There was a point where Jasper would leave the wagon, unhitch the horse, and move Simmy to the back of the horse and ride on. Can’t have wagon wheel marks where none would be expected. At last, they reached a spot in the woods that Quinton and Jasper had decided on before they’d come that night.
“You know what to do,” said Quinton, and the count would leave his most trusted valet to his work. Simmy’s remains would be propped against a tree, as if the count had decided to take a rest there before expiring. Jasper would then place a nearly empty vial in Simmy’s hand, the remaining liquid would be a poison that Quinton had fashioned from some wolfsbane he’d had brought to him weeks before. Hopefully, whoever found him would believe that the count had decided to kill himself and had since been ravaged by animals.
They would be finished with their task before the fire would be noted by the count or his valet. Toby would have start a slow burning fire, starting from the fireplace that would have been thoroughly stuffed up and poorly managed. Everything needed to appear to be an accident. Toby would meet up and Quinton and Jasper back where the wagon had been left, and the three men would leave from there, taking a complicated route back to the Featherton manor.
[end thread]
