"-you are one of the most impudent rascals upon earth."

He had no sooner spoken these words than the ensign, together with a volley of curses, discharged a bottle full at the head of Jones, which, hitting him a little above the right temple, brought him instantly to the ground.

Tom staggered to his feet, clasping a hand to his head.  Blood was ( Read more... )

He comes in by the front door: a man no longer young, but still handsome in his stony way, with a face hardened against long years of war and misfortune. His eyes are sharp, and his thick mustache is heavily waxed. He wears a woolen blanket around his shoulders, as if he were cold ( Read more... )

A little girl of about ten wanders in with wide eyes. She seems lost but curious. "Oooh..... Hello?"

Typist: Greta is from Kyou Kara Maou.

Entering the Mansion is a man that looks, at first glance, like an old (and even perhaps helpless) man, though don't let that trick you. Theres a glint in his eye - his real one, at least - he looks suspicious. He's caught off guard, and to compensate, he takes in his surroundings quickly in an opportunity to find out exactly what has happened to ( Read more... )

Enter Alexis, a good-looking, thoughtful young man, dressed in the clothes of a student. He pauses and looks around a moment, frowning, and then nods to himself, apparently having decided something.

I am Alexis Ivanaceivitch. I don't suppose there is a young woman called Vera Sabouroff here?

Typist: So, this is Alexis/the (eventual) Czar ( Read more... )

There is a young man sitting in the kitchen. It would be difficult to say how long he’s been there - he is very quiet, very still, very intent on the thick book in front of him ( Read more... )

Any day now the Mansion will be blanketed in snow and festooned with icicles, right on schedule; but for the moment, the lawns are still bare, the wind brisk but not bitter, the air bracing. Conveniently, because something seems to be going on ( Read more... )

Through the door casually wanders a old man with white hair, a rope tied around his waist and trailing off into who-knows-where.

When we say he walks through the door, he walks through the door. He's only using a doorway at all because of habit ( Read more... )

( A letter is left on a table, addressed to the Angel Michael )

This is not a new arrival to make note of her unusual appearance or unexpected presence. She merely dusts herself off, folds her wings across her back, and brushes her hair out of her eyes. "You're ridiculously far away from anywhere," she says, cheerfully. "I might as well have been flying to Ysral ( Read more... )