Bittersweet Candy Bowl

I have, in my (huge amounts of) spare time, been trying to turn the second Murder Mystery Game into a novel. Why? I enjoy writing as much as the next person, provided that the next person really does enjoy writing, of course. Besides, the story was already there and I need not come up with plot points when there are so many you can make holes out of them. ^_^

But mostly, I am just practicing. Feel free to criticise my awkward language, lack of finesse and generally awful writing.


—-
Prologue

This is the harbour. There are ships – large ships, small ships, medium-sized ships – docked everywhere. Yachts, rowing boats, cruisers, fishing ships, towing boats, oil tankers, catamarans… they are all here.
Likewise, there are people in every place they can possibly be. Some are slacking off and patting on pipes, others are bustling around and carrying cargo between the boats. Some are standing about and looking lost, while others – one man in particular – are running to catch their ship…
Let us take a closer look at this one man. He is tall and athletic, and quite handsome in his own way. One… no, two monocles are drifting behind him as he runs to catch his ship. His name is Davido Bavieca, and he is late as usual.
A boat whistle sounds. One of the smaller cruise ships are leaving. Davido, only five meters away from the water’s edge, takes a running jump and lands perfectly on the deck. He gets to his feet, brushes the dust off his dashing suit and puts on one of the monocles.
The late entrance is greeted by two rather sour faces. One belongs to a rough and tattooed thug with a captain’s hat and a walking stick, and the other to a squat and tiny washerwoman. They both glare grumpily at the new arrival.
“I say,” Davido says as he puts on the second monocle, “that was rather lucky, wasn’t it? I am Davido Bavieca. Pleased to meet you.”
They keep glaring at him.
“Anyway, I had better find my cabin. Could you give me some directions?”
“Just what do you think you’re doing? You cou…” starts the captain.
“Yeah! You stupid idiot, you should’ve stayed behind!”
The captain turns slowly to the green-faced woman. She breaks off her glare and turns towards him, her expression changing to shock and then quickly back to intense and hateful disdain.
“What is it?” she screams at him.
“Stop interrupting me, you ugly…”
“Stop interrupting you? You’re the one who’s…”
“Bird-brain! I was yelling at him, so don’t you come here and…”
“You bastard! Don’t you be calling me a bir…”
“And why not? You are a bird-br…”
Suddenly, a waiter pops out of nowhere. “Ah, mister Bavieca? We have been expecting you,” he drones with a heavy Irish accent. “Pay no heed to Roger and Yashy. Come, miss Siegler is this way.”
Davido follows the limping waiter across the deck, towards a conversation dominated by a slim lady with a trilling laughter. “Madame, mister Bavieca has finally arrived,” says the waiter, with a stiff bow.
—-


(This is just the introductory chapter. I might be posting more later.)

Pretty good so far. Two monocles?

Pretty good introduction. I feel like the first few sentences about the ships were a little awkward, but nothing terrible. I also feel that there should be some more description about the ship itself after he lands since a lot is left to the imagination.

It’s pretty good. I like the amount of decrition of the port area. Keep going.

Yes, Draixen. He is an… unusual fellow. ^_^ The original story and character information lies here, if you want to read that.

Hmm, Dancing, I never thought of that. I know the first sentences are bad (I struggled with them for a while before giving up), but describing the boat never occured to me. I’ll keep it in mind. ^_^

Another thing you could do is write about the people. Not much, but adding a couple of adjectives and such really adds character to them and gives the reader a better feel for them.

Yay! Look someone who is actually updating a MMG novel. *Sweatdrop* Yeah….


Anyways, hit enter in between different characters speaking so the we can tell where on stops and the next person starts. And more descriptions yaya. But i like it so far ILB! Good job.

I did try to signal line shifts with the Tab button, but apparently the forum does not accept that.

Either way. Thanks for criticising me, everyone. ^_^

hooray story time!

ah the second mm game..this should be good, off to a good start so far

Looks like all of the details have been sorted out, so the only thing I have to add is:

Keep up the good work.

So I had to try fixing that prologue up a bit. It’s not frightfully much of an improvement, but I tried. ^_^


—-
The sun has just reached its zenith, and the harbour is in full bustle. Cruisers and
tankers are floating in and out from between piers, while small speed boats race like arrows across the surf. And yet, not a single docking place is free – all of them are taken by yachts, rowing boats, fishing ships, motorboats and prams.

Likewise, there are people in every place they can possibly be. Some are slacking off and patting on pipes, others are bustling around and carrying cargo between the boats. Some are standing about and looking lost, while others – one man in particular – are running to catch their ship…

Let us take a closer look at this one man. He is tall and athletic, and quite handsome in his own way, with brown eyes and bushy hair. One… no, two monocles are drifting behind him as he runs to catch his ship. His name is Davido Bavieca, and he is late as usual.

A boat whistle sounds. One of the smaller cruise ships are leaving. Davido, only five meters away from the water’s edge, takes a running jump and lands perfectly on the deck. He gets to his feet, brushes the dust off his dashing suit and puts on one of the monocles.

He sweeps his gaze over the ship. A large pool with several diving boards dominates the view, but the mini-golf course is also battling for his attention. The deck is littered with day beds, parasols and beach balls, most of which lie unused. To his right is the bridge tower, embellished with an upper deck and doors for going downstairs.

Suddenly, his eye catches two rather sour faces glaring grumpily at him. One belongs to a rough and tattooed thug with a captain’s hat, a peg leg and a walking stick; the other to a squat and tiny washerwoman who radiated an aura of loathing.

“I say,” Davido says as he puts on the second monocle, “that was rather lucky, wasn’t it? I am Davido Bavieca. Pleased to meet you.”

They keep staring at him, thunder and lightning in their gaze.

“Anyway, I had better find my cabin. Could you give me some directions?”

“Just what do you think you’re doing? You cou…” starts the captain.

“Yeah! You stupid idiot, you should’ve stayed behind!”

The balding captain turns slowly to the green-faced woman. She breaks off her glare and turns towards him, her expression changing to shock and then quickly back to intense and hateful disdain.

“What is it?” she screams angrily at him.

“Stop interrupting me, you ugly…”

“Stop interrupting you? You’re the one who’s…”

“Bird-brain! I was yelling at him, so don’t you come here and…”

“You bastard! Don’t you be calling me a bir…”

“And why not? You are a bird-br…”

Suddenly, a waiter in a smashing tuxedo pops out of nowhere. “Ah, mister Bavieca? We have been expecting you,” he drones with a heavy Irish accent, brushing his long blonde hair from his eyes. “Pay no heed to Roger and Yashy. Come, miss Siegler is this way.”

Davido follows the limping figure across the deck, towards a conversation dominated by a slim lady with a charismatic face and a trilling laughter. “Madame, mister Bavieca has finally arrived,” says the waiter, with a stiff bow.
—-


Oh, I almost forgot. Thank you, dears. ^_^

I like it, and it’s certainly going in the direction Good. I think that you could double or triple the length of the descriptive passages without problem, though. Thinking of some of the things I’ve been reading recently, the scene-setting and character descriptions (however subtly they are delivered) can still manage to go on for pages.

This is already gleaming as the start to a short story. But honestly, there’s enough in MMG to make a real book, of at least novella length. You’ve clearly got skills at writing like this. If you can face writing/inventing tons about the game, why sell yourself short?

No, I do not believe I have the patience for that. ^_^

Apparently, I do not have the inventiveness for long descriptions either. Perhaps I will go over this later once… but for now, I’ll just hear what people have to say and then take it into consideration.

—-
Chapter 1 – The Introduction

“Oh, Davido! How magnificent, you made it just in time!” trilled Sandrine Siegler, the host of the trip, while shifting her blue ball gown ever so slightly. “Diane and Abraham, meet Davido Baviesha, he’s Spanish – and dear Duke, I’m certain you two already know eash other?”

This last remark was directed at a handsome, red-haired tomboy with a happy-go-lucky approach to clothing, whose glint in the eye disappeared as soon as he glanced at the newcomer. Giving a curt nod, he quickly turns back to Sandrine.

“Ah, you’re the wealthy Spaniard, no? I am Lord Abraham Hamilton.” The tuxedoed gentleman offered his left hand, taking his pipe out as he spoke. Davido immediately took notice of his neat, thin moustache, as well as the dignity the man carried himself with, emphasised by a neat top hat and a cane. They shook, as the lady named Diane approached Davido with a broad, innocent smile.

“This is my wife, Lady Diane Hamilton,” Abraham explained with his British accent. She wore a vanilla-coloured dress and had a glittering pearl necklace, the brilliance of which was only outshone by her childlike sparkling eyes. The Lord intoned again: “I am a knight in Her Royal Majesty’s service, as I am sure you understand?”

The Spaniard nodded slowly, pulling his gaze away from Diane’s glowing face. “Indeed, amigo. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my quarters. Or halves, if you will.”

All of a sudden, the waiter reappeared behind him. “Your cabin, sire?” Davido gave a start, losing one of his monocles in the process. “Very well. Follow me. Right this way,” the Irishman continued, beckoning with a wizened hand.

As the two moved towards the stairs, Davido noticed a shamrock in the waiter’s shirt pocket. Picking up some courage, he asked: “You’re Irish, are you?”

“Indeed, sire. My name is August McIntyre, no A,” came the reply.

“I would definitely say there is one, amigo,” said Davido. August stopped to give him a cold, calculating stare.

“Certainly, sire. If you say so. Now, here are the cabins – yours should be number five, if I am not mistaken.” He bowed stiffly. “If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.” He thereafter proceeded to limp down the lushly carpeted corridor.

A most interesting fellow indeed, thought Davido to himself. Let’s see… it was cabin six, was it?

Room number six contained a screaming woman in a frilly dress. With great presence of mind, the Spaniard locked the door without much ado, but the left monocle popped out from the shock. He tried number five instead, and was rather pleased to find it unoccupied.

It had everything anyone could wish for in a cabin, including a delicately tiled bathroom, two full-body mirrors, a huge bed and a puffy couch facing the television set. He stared.

I could really get into this, he mused, pushing an insistent string away from his face.
—-

*Claps* Much better! Oh look it’s me! I’ll take it you are actually persenting the guest at humans, correct? I like it, different, but I like it. Nothing negative to say really, everything looks Ship shape to me. *smacked.*

Good Job ILB! Can’t wait for the action to start.

looks good so far

I want to refrain from assigning them definite species, actually. “Hair” can mean both head hair or fur, and all the BCB characters (bar the pets) have hands already. But yes, due to the nature of the story I find it simpler to think of them as human. ^_^

*pushes button for intrigue*

……hm……

ILB… writing a story? hmmm… i bet this will be one endevor EVERYONE MUST ATTEND AND ENJOY WITHOUT HESITATION! *cough*

sorry… that was demon number 2… he enjoys good work….

Hee. I like him. ^_^

Good work as ever, ILB! And I think the gend… the species-neutral writing style is rather clever.

@GoldenArbiter

how many demons are there and would one identify with my Lycanthrope?

Wow ILB im super impressed. You have serious writing talent. I can’t wait to see how this progresses.

Reminds me…i need to get to work on the next chapter of my book …*goes off and works*

Aww. Thank you. ^_^

@chaz: 3 demons and a horse.

So I’ve rushed another chapter to completion. I should warn you that they keep getting longer. ^_^

And please, do keep on criticising. I know I do a lot of mistakes, so I’ll gladly be accepting any advice and critique you can give. ^_^


—-
Chapter 2 – Pining

Michelle Sandeur, monseigneur and artist extraordinaire, surveyed the evening scene from the upper deck. His scarf billowed in the wind, but the beret stayed put as though glued to his scarcely populated scalp.

He liked standing there. It was an excellent viewpoint to the ocean and the sunset, both great inspirations for his paintings, and of course to miss Sandrine, the greatest inspiration. They had been together, long ago, and she had been a model for his artwork… nothing obscene, of course. He was a decent man, and she… she was a decent woman.

The monseigneur blushed ever so slightly at this thought. But she was also flirtatious - she’d been close with every single man on the ship, but only, she claimed, as friends. He could not help but feel jealous at them, even though he had been closer with her than anyone of them. For that was long ago…

“Would monseigneur like a drink?” Michelle turns around, and looks straight into the face of the only other French person on the ship. Rachelle Mabelle, the black-haired waitress, is a woman learned in the ways of the world – especially the sidetracks. She is one of the few persons in the world who has no friends or enemies, but instead a wide array of accomplices and obstacles.

“Non, mademoiselle. Not right now.” He smiles slightly through his unkempt beard, and goes back to staring at the ocean, keeping half an eye on the wall of noise and giggles known as Sandrine Siegler.

Rachelle gives a pout, mashing up some of her lipstick as she does so, and turns to the stairs. Evidently displeased at being written off, she stomps a little, chipping small bits of wood off the deck with her high heels.

“Hey, I’d like to have one,” came a voice from right behind her. Jumping slightly, she turned to see sir Plato l’Aristotle, possibly the world’s most swaggering homosexual. His clothing was exaggerated in every conceivable way; Rachelle’s eyes nearly watered upon seeing his alarmingly orange vest. A white fedora hat adorned his short curly hair, which was prematurely greying.

“Certainlý, monsieur.” She offered the plate, and he grabbed a Bloody Mary with his left hand. “Efharistó,” he said, starting to sidle towards the painter.

The waitress shook her head, and went down the staircase. At the bottom, three women were engaged in animated discussion.

“… that doesn’t mean I have to agree with you, Maria.”

“I did not say that, señorita.”

“But dear Tessa, you know that perfect redistribution is impossible, right?”

“Of course, I do, Susy. I try to give wisely, not widely.”

“You are wise, señorita. I only wish more people would understand…”

Approaching them, Rachelle swiftly mustered all her charisma. “A drink, madame? Mademoiselles?”

“… you must understand, Molly, that… Oh, thank you, Rachelle. I’ll have one, please.” The woman who spoke looked quite like Sandrine, but more tan. She also seemed to have a rather more flamboyant taste in jewellery, her fingers embellished with many gemstones, and an expensive necklace dangling on her chest. “How about you, Tessa?”

“I’ll have one, too,” said the slightly older woman beside her. Theresa Kenning, a Danish noblewoman, would have been far wealthier had it not been for her tendency to give more than generous sums of money to charities. This was reflected in her appearance – her features were drawn, resigned, though her eyes revealed boundless hope. She also dressed in brown, worn worker’s gear. “But only one, mind,” she added.

“And you, Maria?” This was addressed at a young Argentinian girl, whose favourite colour of green was evident in her clothing. Her beret also bore a hammer and sickle, revealing her political stance. She looked well-groomed and confident; her face radiated fiery passion.

“No, I don’t think so, señorita.” The smile she gave Rachelle seemed, at the same time, to be forced and sincere. She quickly turned back to the first of the females.

“So, Susanne – you are Sandrine’s hermana, aren’t you?” The woman addressed as Susanne gave a quick nod. “Only I noticed you both are named Siegler,” Maria continued.

“We are sisters, yes. But we’ve fallen out of touch recently. Naturally,” she added, “I’m happy she invited me. It’s just…”

“Yes, I see.” Theresa gave a comprehending smile. “Nobody said family is an easy matter.”
—-


It seems there will be no action for at least three more chapters. ^_^

Well if you count me mounting a wild goose chase as action there will be soon, but don’t fret. You must introduce everyone before truly starting the game.

And I noted that someone said “Molly” In conversation instead of Maria, but besides that it all looks good!

No, Maria Olina is her real name. Molly is her “pet name”, so to speak. The three ladies are well aquainted. ^_^

Ah okay, I didn’t know Maria could be shortened to Molly though.

Neither did I, until I looked it up. ^_^

Chapter three is up. I hope. ^_^

—-
Chapter 3 - Supper

Let us change the location slightly. Below deck, in the well-embellished common room, sits two people. One of them is pouting in a cornered couch, and seems quite angry about something – though it is anyone’s guess what or why. She is Lucia Torressi, an Italian girl who recently inherited a large fortune from her father. Her pale head is resting on her knees, dark blonde hair obscuring her face completely.

The other is a young Dutch countess, positioned in the reclining chair near the middle of the floor, and her name is Amanda Stilte. Born a mute, she is nevertheless highly attentive. Her features are attractive, her hair orange, her eyes a glowing gold; yet she fades into the background as though she is a piece of wallpaper, or a mere pillow in the very chair in which she is sitting. Currently she is reading a book by R.Q. Triplesexy and L.A. Commie: The Murders of Rugworthy Manor.

From the kitchen next door comes a choice selection of Russian swear words. The young Dutch girl gives a start, and looks towards the kitchen entrance. August emerges through the bead curtain.

“Our cook Alexander would like to announce that supper is ready,” he says, and bumps off towards the staircase.

Amanda remains in her seat for a little while, until she notices Lucia still sitting in the corner. She moves to her side, and puts a hand on her shoulder. As the Italian looks up, Amanda gives her a comforting smile.

After a short while, Lucia gets up. They find seats opposite each other at the dinner table, which occupies the second half of the room, and sit down in expectancy of a good supper. Amanda is well aware that Alexander Pjotr Makretzy is one of the world’s most renowned chefs, and she can’t help wondering how much the hostess had to pay to bring him in for such a small job. Is it because of their old friendship? Or probably, she thinks, it’s because of Sandrine’s sister Susanne…

Slowly, the dining room began to fill. First came Davido, his dignified expression only slightly ruined by the roller skate on his right foot.

Shortly thereafter came Lord Abraham and Lady Diane, with Roger the captain right behind them. Roger went to sit at his very own captain’s table, while the others took their places at opposite ends of the long table – old habits are indeed hard to break.

Sir Plato, the duke, Maria and Theresa entered thereafter in quick succession. Then came Susanne, who strangely walked right into the kitchen.

Lastly, Sandrine and Michelle entered side by side, the former trilling loudly. The only remaining seats – Amanda couldn’t help but notice the disappointment in the monseigneur’s eyes – were quite far apart.

The din of conversation was getting quite loud now. Random snippets of sentences floated past the young girl’s ears as she tried to concentrate on one of them at the time.

“… So you’re German, duke? Only I couldn’t help but notice the English tone to your name… Paul Stark, right?…”

“… monsieur Sandeur, wasn’t it? Oh? Oh, sorry! I did not know. Monseigneur, I meant…”

“… yes, indeed. You won’t get away from trying green tea this time, honey!…”

Suddenly, Amanda noticed a tall but slumping gentleman who had entered the room late. His hair was a mess, and the drawn lines in his face gave the impression of a man who had tried to live one life, or perhaps three, too many. Combined with his drab grey suit, this instantly betrayed his occupation in the music business.

She gave him a kind smile and indicated the seat next to her. He took a while to notice the gesture, but once he did he moved towards it with an awkwardly thankful grin on his face.

All of a sudden, Amanda realised that she had seen him before. He was Zacharias Thompson, one of the most renowned pianists worldwide, and he also owned a record company. A master of all trades, people said, although that was hard to believe if you looked at him.

She had heard him play once. That was ten years ago, but the memory of him putting all his passion into a grand piano was still strong.

Someone hit their plate with a fork. Sandrine stood up, and wished everybody welcome aboard…
—-

Do feel free to put me down in any way you like. I’m fairly sure I can meet your critique with a smile. ^_^

YOU SUCK!!!!11111!ONEONE1

Dr John! He is only joking dear that was a great chapter.

And The Murders of Rugworthy Manor. ;-; that book will be the bane of my existence if I don’t finish it soon!

I am joking,how nice of you to notice.

Hee. You did do as I asked, though, John. ^_^

Another chapter. Please, if you can and want to, do criticise. That is the whole reason I’m doing this, really. ^_^

—-
Chapter 4 – What is hidden

Supper progressed. The cook had gone out of his way to give everyone a memorable meal, and seafood was much in evidence around the table. Rachelle and August walked in and out of the kitchen, bringing food and wine to the guests, and everybody else ate and drank heartily.

Sandrine was pleased. She had sat beside her sister, and they’d had a very fulfilling conversation. She had noticed, however, the frequent looks Susanne had cast towards the kitchen entrance. Occasionally, Alexander had glanced out, before suddenly blushing angrily and returning his attention to the supper.

After the dessert (a mighty tiramisu), the guests settled in chairs and couches around the common room. Sandrine and her sister went into the kitchen to converse with the cook.

“Oh, the food was exceptional, dear Alexander. Thank you.”

“It was nothing, miss Siegler. The least I could do.” Alexander bowed slightly, his pronounced nose enhancing the gesture, while still keeping a navy blue eye on Susanne.

“Shall I leave you two alone? You do get on like a house on fire, I’m sure.” Sandrine giggled suggestively, and turned towards the common room. She was interrupted by the duke, however, who had entered the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, mister Makretzy, but could I please have an extra serving of tiramisu? I’d like to have some for later tonight.” He looked nervously at the chef.

“Of course, mister Stark. But you could just have saved some from your plate, you know?” The look on Alexander’s long face was not reproachful, but it did give the impression that he fancied the duke stupid.

“It was a magnificent dessert, was it not, dear Duke?” Sandrine trilled playfully, and went out to speak with her guests.

In the common room, Abraham and Michelle had pulled out their pipes and started smoking. (Davido, in the background, was emulating them by smoking a silver spoon.) Amanda was still reading her book, and August kept materialising behind guests who had asked for something. Sandrine approached the waiter.

“August! Oh, August! I have a favour to ask of you.”

“What is it, madame?” he replied.

“You’re quite good with your hands, are you not? The boiler is making some funny noises.”

“I will get right to it, madame.” He limped off at an astounding pace. The hostess, left behind, stood frozen in thought for a few seconds.

“Sandy! I am so happy you invited me and my husband out here!” Diane had come up without her noticing, and stood smiling expectantly.

“Oh, it was nothing, dear. It is so enjoyable to have you on my ship,” Sandrine trilled. “But you were here only three days ago! So nice of you to share that mush about dear Abbey.”

“You know he likes everything to be neat and tidy? I simply had to check the premises. I didn’t tell him, you know – he still thinks I was at the bridge club.” The two ladies broke into a resounding giggle.

“Dear Diane, I hope the shruise goes well for you,” Sandrine intoned as the giggle died out. “Now I must shesh upon the other guests…”

She joined instead the pipe-smoking team of Michelle, Abraham and Davido. Well, mostly pipe-smoking. A wayward comment about the nature of art had agitated the painter quite a lot, and he was shouting at the two others in the vain hope that anyone else would hear what he was saying.

As he saw Sandrine, however, his expression softened and his voice trailed off. She giggled at him, but before she could speak to him Abraham interrupted.

“Ah, miss Siegler! What a pleasant ship this is. You’d think it was fitted for me personally!”

“You never know, dear Abraham, you never know!” The trill made Davido drop the celery he was unsuccessfully attempting to light.

“It is strange, mon ami,” Michelle whispered to the Spaniard, “but it seems that her life has passed me by.”
—-

Ah the heart of a lonely artist~ How many shipping jokes did we make for this again? It seems like quiet a lot…

Anyways, good gob ILB! Davido makes me smile.

Im not actually reading this, but from what i gather its an excellent story. Spoiler ALert: im making a different fanstory using the main cast. its gonna be awesome!

Here comes the last part of the boring introduction sequence. And soon, there will be time for boring chapters with mistrust and murders. ^_^

—-
Chapter 5 – A nice evening

Sir Plato l’Aristotle went out on the deck. He had followed the Frenchman, but had been out of luck there. Instead he preyed down Paul Stark, who was well known as a ladykiller. Every single female on the ship had been, well, affiliated with him at one point, although the more cunning ones had stopped it before he went too far.

Still, Sir Plato thought to himself, perhaps he’d like to try his luck with me? A late conversion is better than none. He hummed a few bars of an unspeakable Village People song before approaching the duke.

The duke, on the other hand, had other things on his mind. Somehow he was starting to feel uncomfortable when talking to women. This was scaring him out of his, for want of a better word, wits.

He noticed the Greek speaking at him. “Hunh?” he said, with a vacant look.

“A nice evening, isn’t it, mr. Stark?”

“Oh. Oh yes. Too bad the sun has gone down, it’s getting cold.” Paul regretted saying this immediately.

“I could keep you warm…” Nobody could smile as suggestively as l’Aristotle. The duke, though braced for it, winced slightly.

“No, I don’t think so, Plato. But thanks anyway.” His mind was still elsewhere. Feelings he had never known before were invading on him. The most prominent of these was something he vaguely remembered had been explained to him as “being in love”.

I must be insane, he thought.

Sir Plato, who had surreptitiously tried to reopen the conversation for a minute, gave up. He noticed Davido, who had just come out on the deck, and focused on him instead.

Davido, in true Bavieca fashion, had put on a magnificent fruity hat which would have been even more magnificent if he hadn’t used rotten fruit. Plato cringed violently, and put his hand over his nose.

Maybe there are some… prospects below the deck? It can’t be worse than this, anyway, he mused. He turned the handle on the door and went down the stairs. On the way down, he noticed that a fire axe was missing from its case. Thinking nothing of it, he hopefully continued his descent.

In there, the conversation had reached the point where everybody is laughing no matter what is said, or how funny it is. In an unprecedented move, Sir Plato turned his attention to Sandrine, who was talking to Roger, Yashy and the Hamiltons by the door.

“Miss Siegler, why did you invite that dunderhead? He is nothing but trouble,” said Roger. His voice was calm, but his eyes spoke guns and grenades.

“But Roger! How shan you say that? I find him delightful, myself.”

“He’s an idiot! A boofhead! A doofus! He’s a…”

“He is a marvellous shonversation piece, don’t you think? Ahaha!” Sandrine was, possibly, the only person in the whole wide world who could silence Yashy Yamabushi.

“Nonetheless, miss Siegler, I would prefer that he doesn’t do anything to put us in danger. I want him to stay away from the engines and the control room.”

“Oh, don’t be sush a drag, dear Roger. You managed to stumble over the radio just a few hours ago!” Sandrine trilled again.

“Yes, you dumbhead! I had a hard time shovelling up all that rubble!” Yashy grumbled indignantly.

“Madame Siegler?” The soft musical voice was not loud, but still it managed to cut through the din like a warm knife through butter. Sandrine turned around to face its owner.

“Yes, Lucia?”

“I would like to retire to my quarters for the night. Arrivederci.” Lucia Torressi nodded curtly at the four people present, before she made for the door.

“Good night, Lucia. Sleep tight,” giggled Sandrine. The Italian stopped, curtsied slightly, and left into the corridor.

The hostess looked around the room for a few seconds, before asking: “Have any of you seen August? I sent him down to look at the boiler, but he should be back by now.”

“I am here, madame.” Everyone but Sandrine jumps at his sudden appearance.

“Oh, wonderful, August. All was well, I hope?”

As the waiter reassures his mistress, Abraham leans towards Roger.

“He is quite quick on his feet, isn’t he?”

“Oh yes. He inherited that from his father.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. August’s mother had a nasty left hook.”

“Oh.”
—-

“I must be insane,He thought”

wouldnt that “thought” be better if it were in something like ’ or * or something because with regular text it is a little confusing.

Hmm… Possibly. I never thought of that. ^_^

It’s wonderful so far,can’t wait ‘till the murders get going. I have to admit I have considered writing one out myself, but I think I shall wait for now.

I have discovered my favourite way of describing Davido’s shock. What is it? You’ll know by the end of this chapter. ^_^

—-
Chapter 6 – Terrible news

The ship went to rest. August left to the crew’s quarters after his escapades in the boiler room; as did his colleagues, except Roger who sat down on the bridge with a pipe, keeping an eye on the horizon. The guests, meanwhile, settled in their rooms. All except the Duke, who stood staring at the sea from the stern, and Davido, who was rambling through the hallways.

Zacharias was playing the piano, to his neighbours’ great pleasure and annoyance, depending on whether he suddenly broke off and started shouting at his piano, or not. Amanda was reading her book as usual, lying in her huge bed with the bedside lamp on. But she thought the dancing string hanging from the roof was a nuisance. After a while she slunk off to take a shower.

The painter, meanwhile, had been escorted to his room by Diane and her husband, the latter banging his head severely on the doorframe as he did so. Michelle had collapsed on deck, mumbling incoherently about a signalling pirate ship, to Sandrine’s great amusement.

Captain Rahab, on the other hand, noted to his gratification that nearly all sound had ceased. Even the washerwoman had fallen asleep, although he was sure that her snoring would keep Rachelle up all night. But as the final tones of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, third movement, died out, he called it a night and walked downstairs.

Still in a world of his own, Davido is stumbling down the corridors while whistling “La Donna e Mobile”, from Verdi’s opera Rigoletto. Ever so occasionally, he changes it into the Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”, with great enthusiasm.

He sees the machine room open, and goes to find entertainment amidst the smoke and heat. The noise was near pain level once he got inside, due to the clonking of the many pistons. Progressing through the room, he finds nothing but long expanses of metal and steam. But he notices something strange – a fire axe deposited on the floor just below the boiler.

Oh, a treasure hunt? This will be fun, he thinks to himself. He wrenches open the boiler door, but is met by a horrifying sight: Lucia Torressi, now sickeningly pink and wrinkled, vapour pouring from both her and the contraption in which she must have been trapped for hours. Her face is frozen in a terrified gaze, her still fingers are clutching her shins, her life now cooked away…

“Madre de Dios!” he yells in shock, both of his monocles popping out; “I was hoping for a turkey!”

The victim is left behind as he speeds out of the room. Terror is creeping up on him as he suddenly stumbles upon the hostess, who is talking to August and Roger. Davido tells the triangle the terrible news…
—-

Oh dear god all mighty Davido…. FAVORITE CHARACTER>

I just noticed an embarrassing change to the past tense in the middle of a paragraph. Augh. ^_^

I wouldn’t worry about it, the story is still thoroughly enjoyable. Keep up the good work.

well, just read to the current chapter. also, ILB, you are a good writer.

Oh look, chapter seven. Things may go a bit more slowly from now on, since I have hit a snag in the middle of a chapter. But I’m working on that. ^_^

Either way. Do tell me what is wrong with my writing. ^_^


—-
Chapter 7 – In the Corridor

Soon the whole ship was in uproar. Those who had heard, were frantically trying to wake those who had not. The captain was roaring in displeasure, while August and Sandrine were discussing what to do. Abraham, who staggered into the hallway soon after the Spaniard had told his story, had collapsed in a heap upon hearing the news.

Meanwhile, Diane had woken up and, in desperation over her missing husband, demolished their quarters by searching for him in every spot one could fit a raisin. Roger had attempted to calm her and to tell her where Abraham was, but had been forcibly expelled from the room as Lady Hamilton’s mingled panic and anger mounted. Eventually she slunk, tearful, from the cabin to find him and shout at him.

The noise produced by Diane had woken everyone, except for the washerwoman, whose snores could have raised the dead from their graves. A miracle, then, that she did not seem to notice.

After a while, when everyone had been informed (Rachelle had fainted into the arms of the duke, who then blacked out as well), the guests settled down. Most of them went into the common room, where Alexander served them cereal for breakfast.

The captain ran off to his quarters, requesting that no one bother him until he came out of his own accord. August, meanwhile, was asked to move the body into a cabin.

The majority of the guests were dealing well with the situation, partially due to Sandrine’s invariably high spirits. There was a certain amount of tension, though, which rose to a point when Lord Hamilton rose from his seat to blame the event on the ship’s crew and their lack of competence.

Soon, August returned. He said to the room at large that Susanne had volunteered to check the body for physical injuries, and then sped off to the kitchen. A few seconds later, the chef ran into the corridor at high speed, repeatedly muttering “Cabin fifteen…” as he went.

Eventually, the hostess brought Abraham, Davido, Rachelle and the duke with her back into the corridor.

“Poor Lucia was murdered, so naturally we need to find out who did it, don’t we?” she trilled. “We shannot let a killer run loose on the ship.”

The other four looked apprehensively at each other. Sandrine’s laughter was normally a boon for their spirits, but under the current circumstance it was nothing less than unnerving.

“Why does she keep laughing?” Abraham whispered, leaning towards Davido.

“It is a mental reaction to the trauma.” The two men jumped violently at Alexander’s sudden appearance. “She locks away her fear and sadness and bottles it up with laughter. That way, she does not have to face it.” He gripped his chin, striking a strangely impressive figure in his chef’s attire. “It is quite illogical.”

“Still as intelligent as ever, dear Alexander,” said Sandrine. Oddly, she did not laugh this time, but she gave him a sad smile. Rachelle snorted.

“But how is Susanne doing?” asked the hostess.

The cook hesitated. “How did… how did you…” he stuttered, evidently shocked.

“You are so logishal in everything, exshept when it shomes to my sister,” came the reply, and now Sandrine was giggling girlishly again. “How is she doing?”

Alexander stood still for a few seconds, before saying: “She is doing well. Miss Torressi had no physical injury apart from her being cooked, so that axe must have been used for breaking open the door. Now,” he added, “I must get back to the kitchen…”

Davido stood still for a few seconds, apparently thinking heavily. “But the boiler room was not locked…”

“Idiót!” Rachelle hissed at the Spaniard. “Eet was lockéd before zat persón broke in.” She froze. “But all of ze staff ‘ave keys… One of ze guests must ‘ave done eet!”

“Or maybe a suicide?” suggested Paul.

“I would not think so,” said Lord Hamilton. “Otherwise she could not have closed the boiler door upon herself.”

“Either way, we ought to go look for clues,” said Paul. He looked nervously at the others. Rachelle was the first to answer.

“You are right, monsieur. Let us visit zis boíler room at once.” The duke looked immensely elated at this response.

Sandrine clapped her hands together, giggling. “Well, let us waste no time, then. Off we go to the engine room!”
—-

What do you know, the snag was just a tiny little twig. I got it out of the way sooner than I had thought, so I am going to post the next chapter now.

I have also discovered that Lord Abraham Hamilton is magnificent as comical relief. It makes me feel sorry for him; I really like Abbey. ^_^


—-
Chapter 8 – Suspicions

The door was open, just as it had been when Davido discovered it. The noise was battering on their ear drums and hammering on their heads, but still all of them went inside to look for any pointers they could find.

Rachelle wandered off a bit on her own. She was not the least interested in walking with the dumb Spaniard, neither with that English Lord who was so stuck up he would barely look at her. Not only that, the duke – although he was both charming and handsome – had suddenly started stuttering in her company. The only person in this group she would like to talk to was Sandrine, but she was not in the mood for her trills at the moment.

She progressed down a stained-steel staircase, reaching the lower level. The vastness of the room was imposing on her, and she shuddered to think of all the places a body could be hidden…

But who had done it? The suspects were many. At dinner, Lucia had cast many dirty looks at the painter; then again, he did not seem to notice her at all. Rachelle had found this strange, almost suspicious…

Could it have been the dunderhead, that Bavieca? He had a particularly nasty history, the most recent addition to which was his recent acquisition of a fortune. Nobody knew where the money came from, or how he had come to possess it. Or perhaps Paul had been involved. Was that why he was acting so strange lately?

The Lord… Oh, he was the prime suspect. She hated how he thought himself to be better than “her kind”, the lower classes. He knew how to dress, but looking neat would not make him innocent in the least. For what are pearls made of? The diseased secretions of a mollusc, that is what…

That Argentinian girl, Maria, was another possible culprit. She seemed to think that money and possessions were perilous, that capitalism was a danger to a good society. Communists are capable of anything; she might have killed Lucia as a kind of skewed justice…

A sudden, shocking thought struck her as she reached the wall at the other end of the room. If that was the reason, then more people are in danger! I need to tell madame Siegler right now…

She jogged towards the centre of the room, where the boiler stood steaming. Despair slowly rising, she barely noticed that Paul was yelling, clearly worked up. All that mattered now was to unmask her before someone else died…

When she saw them all huddled together around something unseen, she felt more afraid than she had ever been before. Had the wretched girl struck yet again? Had the next guest fallen victim to her schemes? Had another one been whisked away?

As soon as she reached the group, however, she cooled – for she saw that no body was lying limp between them. Rachelle was almost angry with them, for making her believe that the murderer had attacked again, for pretending that one more murder had happened, for not comforting her…

But intrigue soon overcame indignation. She could see nothing at all, yet the others were all staring fixedly at the chromed floor. What were they looking for?

Abraham spoke first. “I say, those look like crumbs to me.”

“But of what?” Paul had brushed a few of them into his palm, and was examining them with a look of near-constipation.

“Tiramisu, I believe.” They all gave a start, except for Sandrine, who looked up at the newcomer with a gleeful look on her face.

“Ah, Mishelle! How kind of you to join us.”

“Madame.” His sudden appearance seemed to have scared the rest thoroughly; Rachelle had shrieked and was still white-faced, while Abraham was clutching his chest as though he had had a heart attack.

The painter bowed, and continued: “I could not sit still, so naturally I came to assist. I… trust you are all right, mon ami?” This last comment was directed at Lord Hamilton, who was breathing heavily and looking as though he had seen a ghost.

“Don’t… don’t… don’t sneak up like that!” wheezed the Brit. He pulled himself up to his full height, and put on a stern face.

“I agree, sire,” came a sudden voice from right behind Abraham. He screamed girlishly, fell forwards onto the floor and was still, bar the expansions and contractions of his heaving breaths.

“August, you must not share the poor dear so!” Sandrine’s voice was strict, but she looked amused. “You’ll frighten all of our guests off this way.”

“I do apologise, madame.” The others stared, baffled, at the waiter; he had given them such a scare that the metal all around them was still resounding with their yells. “But I am here with a message from the captain. He wants us all to meet in the sitting room,” August continued.

They staggered into their respectively upright positions, and stumbled towards the stairs. Rachelle, August and Sandrine stayed behind for a bit. After a short while, Rachelle turned to the other two to share her suspicions.

“Madame Siegler, I must tell you somezing. I zink I know who zee killér ees.”

“Now, now, Rashelle, we should not be so quishk with our shonshlusions,” trilled Sandrine. “I am sure we shall know more soon.”

“Yet we already have a new mystery on our hands.”

“Whazzever do you mean, August?”

“The fire axe seems to have disappeared.”
—-

If you do find anything to criticise, please do not keep me waiting. ^_^

Hmm, very good ILB, the only thing I see wrong with it is that for the life of me I can’t remember the guests by title so the whole part of Rachelle ranting is lost to me.

Oh? That is a problem. Perhaps I have become a bit too comfortable with the characters…

Perhaps you could try reading the whole thing from the start and see if you understand? It’s quite the favour to ask, I know. ^_^