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*Steady Old Man, that creature isnt muzzled and could easily turn savage - see late notes on the "Dog Attack" thread - one wrong glance and the thing becomes a killer ... and the labrador could give you a nasty nuzzle as well*


*Tentatively feels DM's nose - cold and ... wet (yuk!)*


*Clearly she is out for the count, hearing champage being poured close by normally brings DM round from the deepest coma*


*Bends down and whispers into DM's shell-like - "Gary Barlow is nearby and is in need of a cup of tea and slice of cake" - stands back*

*darkness reigns*


*enters barefoot and clad in pyjamas, and waveringly holding aloft an improbable candle*


(In trembling voice) Puss, is that you making that strange scratching noise? I thought I heard you fighting with a fox earlier...and I saw a sinister figure outlined in the windowframe for a second, but decided it was probably just Mockney. Now I think I'll wander deeper into the darkness without telling anyone where I'm going...are those cellos playing?


*trips over limp body sprawled on the rug*


DM!? No!!!! Oh, the tragedy, what a fate! Has she had her last alcopop? Extraordinary, she has a smile on her face, perhaps she was welcoming her killer into the Quiet Room just as the blow fell!


*a shadowy figure on the sofa uncrosses its legs, stands up gracefully and stalks forward.*


(In relieved tone) You here? Thank goodness, I think someone may have killed Dulwichmum! What's that in your hand? But, but....


*turns to camera, and in perfectly pitched soprano honed by years of training*


SCREAAAAAM!!!

"OHMYGOD! I have one of my heads..."


*Looks up wisfully from floor, clutching head shrouded in lush glossy dark hair...*


"Whatever has happened here?"


"Oh officer! You really are frightfully manly, I love it when a chap can sweep a woman up into his large and hairy arms. Let me see your hands sweetie, you have fingers just like William Rose sausages, yum!"

*Lawks! D-M we have a mystery on our hands. Forget your swoonings over hairy sausages, for we must search for Moos*


*I was in the anti-chamber sipping on camomile tea and nibbling on a Rich Tea, waiting for your to recover from your "swoon" when I heard a piercing and rather discordant screech come from this very room. Assuming that you were seeing the giant mauve axolotle called "Turpin" again - I dashed in*


*Now we find that DM is safe, save a hang-over and insipient nymphomania, and Moos has disappeared in her jym-jams*


*Moos-minor will be distraught and Mr Moos, being German, will be a little distracted; his Prussian dueling scars will have gone pink and he will be twiddling with that odd shaving brush thing in his hat*


*This is a case for ..... The Thin Man - for it is I, nearly, if I breath in and put my corset on*

*I did wonder where you were going with this Moos - I mean you disappeared first and thus removed yourself from the potential plot*


*Now, stop messing about, you cant be dead, your chest is moving, I have observed it closely*


*Does Herr Moos have Duelling scars perchance?*


*Have a schnaps and a slice of Battenburg while you ponder the matter*

Mr. Moos is not a Prussian duellist, he's a perfectly ordinary (if remarkably handsome) 21st century Londoner who happens to have been born in a North German city, so don't you put your racist stereotypes on my man - ooh, Battenburg, LECKER.


*undermines well-meant finger-wagging lecture by scoffing inordinate amounts of cake*

  • 2 weeks later...

*careful Kel, i've been sitting here in the dark for a week now all on my own*

*enjoying the silence that is the Quiet Rooom*

*supping a beer or two (jeysus, are those really all my bottles?)*

*Just watch out for the "cultures" in the corners*

*if you listen carefully you can hear the muffled sounds of the Forum up above.....*

*still, if you must, open a blind or two*

*then come and have a drink*

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