Reffy v Orombur v Mr X v Faerd

[James]

Topic: Historical Whodunit
Deadline: 11:59pm - 14/01/2011

[Jenny (Reffy)]

The dark nights of London made it easy to hide; even the gas lamps couldn’t illuminate every corner of Mitre Square. Every shop doorway and alley became a place to lurk or hide within, just like the small butcher’s shop at the north-eastern corner of the square, which currently concealed a fully grown man’s body as it huffed heavily into the cold night.

Finding his next victim was easier than hiding; she willingly came strutting down the cobbled street, singing a tune through her drunken slur; her dark auburn hair flowing behind her, capped with a small bonnet, as she swished her petticoats. She sang a silly tune without a care in the world. His hand’s fumbled with the knife as he shook in the recess. Unconsciously he tried to sort out his crumpled attire: a crummy gentleman’s suit with waistcoat. He was probably the best dressed in the slums of Whitechapel but that didn’t count for much. The clothes had been ruffled up thanks to a short run for escape less than an hour ago.

He watched the new victim saunter lazily, recalling the memory vividly while he waited for her to get close enough. The previous girl had been an easy to kill. He had pulled her down, over a short wall, and slit her throat, side to side and just below the jaw. She’d struggled, enough to require restraint, probably leaving bruises, but it wasn’t difficult as the blood spilled away. He’d been careful enough not to get any on the suit as well, having been above her. Unfortunately, and more frustrating than anything, a man on a cart had entered the road just as the last wisps of life had left his latest toy. There was no time to investigate her innards. He’d been forced to run. It was like smelling a roast cooking but never tasting the gravy.

Being so close to the object of his enjoyment his feral lust had bounded forwards, threatening to take over his actions and remove the last shreds of his morality. The threat of nearly being discovered had only increased the crazed lust and he knew he had to kill again this night. Shackling away the urge had left him shaking and more willing to take a risk. He felt like a god. The police weren’t even close in their own investigations.

This girl, however, would give him another chance for enjoyment tonight. The knife shifted in his hand again, fighting off the cold that ate at his knuckles, or was it the lust growing again? He could feel something growing. Somewhere across the square he heard a rat scurry over the street, the tiny claws clacking against the stone, knocking rubbish flying. The occasional snippet of conversation could be heard cutting through the silence but it was far away. The air was heavy with the smell of sewage and the burning from the lamps, along with the refuse that covered the square, although he never noticed it.

Time to move, the shadow decided, once the victim was within grabbing distance. “Ello poppet,” his voice slide like a slow river over smooth rocks and surrounded the victim like a cat’s paws around a field mouse.

The girl faltered and turned, rallying off the usual line to sell her wares, “Yello ... ‘Alf a shilling to you, my love.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” He pushed himself from the shop doorway, keeping the knife hidden against one trouser-leg, letting his broad chest lead him with his head turned slightly to the side. His features were rugged and hair intentionally scruffy. His thoughts raced as he moved: What would she look like on the inside? How long are her intestines? What about her heart, can I have it? Will she scream? She is so very pretty – I want her beauty!

“Kate Kelly.” She tried to stand still before him but her head felt like she was still walking. She dithered on the spot, arms visibly outstretched for support.

Seeing her actions the shadow was willing to oblige as he took one of her arms and lowered her to the ground. She slid down easily and even made an attempt to hitch up her skirts, believing she had found another client. Her glazed eyes were everywhere as she wobbled with a silly grin gracing her face. She was obviously an outwardly fun girl; the constant tune humming told him as much, as well as the ridiculous grin.

“Right here? You’re a daring one!” Her laugh was intoxicating as it slid in his ears like feet into warm socks.

The liquor on her breath made his lips clamp together as he held his breath. His hand gripped and clenched the knife. He always played the scene out in his mind, part of his ritual, but there was always a slither of hesitation. That slither was delightfully soaked up before taking a girls life. Without reply he pushed her down on to the cobbles and produced the knife, one knee against her ribs. Poor Kate had no chance to react before it was being drawn across her slender throat, catching on the small handkerchief that rested on her neck. She was dead before the cut was finished and without a peep of protest. Her, still warm, blood poured out of the fresh cut and under her right shoulder, to slip away on the shiny cobbles of the road, highlighted by the thin moon that was suspended on the clear night sky. Her thin mouth, creased from years of smoking, hung open with surprise.

Seeing the job as good as done he picked up the tune she had been humming in a mocking tone, singing a line or two as he prepared to investigate. “There’s a good gal, Missus Kate Kelly. Be still for me. Such a pretty, pretty girl ... should not have been whoring.”

Slowly he dragged the knife across her small white face, leaving behind it a trail of red that crawled towards the ground with hopes of joining the arterial blood already there. Then he used it to close her eyes forever with a cut through each round marble that used to take in the whole world through drunken fuzziness. The macabre song continued, “Do not watch, you cannot see! No, no. No watching!”

Hasty and still shaking hands hoisted her petticoats the rest of the way, revealing her pale white legs and frilly undergarments, the little mound that signified her delicious sexuality, and eventually the abdomen that would taste his steel again. That was the best thing about a fresh corpse: the flesh was still slightly warm.

“A kidney for you ... and a kidney for me!”

~~~

George Lusk placed his cup down on the saucer with a little click, sucking the stray tea out of his wide moustache, while he fidgeted with an old newspaper to garner a better reading angle. The light in the study, coming from the bay window, was barely sufficient but the butler would be coming soon. He shifted again in the wide-backed chair that struggled to support his frame as it bulged inside the shirt and trousers.

The paper was over a week old and about the “double event”: the two murders by “The Whitechapel Murderer” of Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes. It was sickening how the media sucked every small morsel from the dinning plate of society. What made the news worse was that Mr Lusk’s own committee were not having any luck in capturing the murderer either ... girls were still getting killed. Mr Lusk had kept the newspaper hoping to find more information or clues. His own business, the music hall restoration down the road, could wait. The police were still questioning Joseph Lawende, who supposedly saw Catherine alive last, apart from the killer, along with two other men. Mr Lusk had questioned the statement Mr Lawende had made and the details, believing it to be another one of the hyped frenzy who wanted a bit of the lime-light.

A slightly hushed knock sounded before the wooden door pushed open to reveal the butler, Mr Richards, carrying the morning’s post and a box. He entered with his head down and announced his presence with a polite cough, even though he didn’t really need to. He wore a full suit with short blond hair swept to one side; the only character-making feature being the crows-feet at the corners of his eyes and slightly crooked tooth when he grinned.

“Richards, open the curtains, thank you!” George barely looked up from the paper, his blue engrossed eyes busy with the print as he continued on with the cold October morning. “The maids are getting lazy. I would recommend a word.”

“As you please, Sir.” Mr Richards did not require telling twice. Without putting down the morning’s post he opened the thick, brown velvet curtains to hook them around a bronze fixing on the wall. The light streamed through, illuminating the mahogany desk George sat at which was covered in scribbled notes, and the walls lined with books containing more notes from his business. A small fire guttered in the fireplace behind where Mr Lusk sat.

“The post, Sir,” Mr Richards’ voice droned out as he turned around. Smoothly he glided to the only desk in the room and deposited the box on a spare corner, along with a few other stray letters. The box finally pulled the business man’s attention, as he crumpled the newspaper back down to the desk.

“I wasn’t expecting anything.” With vague interest Mr Lusk picked up the box and pulled a knife from the top drawer. With a little prying he opened the brown packaging paper and lifted the lid. Inside rested a small note, slightly pink in hue and with red writing. Mr Lusk pulled it carefully from the box, not yet putting down the knife while he read:

From Hell
Mr Lusk,
Sir
I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you tother piece I fried and ate it was very nise. I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer
signed
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk

Mr Lusk’s cheeks drained of colour. The atmosphere behind the desk visibly drooped and then shattered as silence and shock reigned. He placed the note on the table, alongside the knife, to take a restrained look in the box. There was another small item in the box but he made no movements to check it further. If the note was correct, which it couldn’t possibly be, it would be a kidney from one of the murders: Catherine Eddowes.

This wasn’t the first time George had received a threat note. His face and name were printed on all the committee’s posters that were hung up around Whitechapel. It came as part of the job. However, this was the first one that actually contained an object and not just some silly postcard.

On seeing his Master’s reaction, Mr Richards could not help but enquire. He knew he shouldn’t and that it was probably none of his business but this was strange. “What was it, Sir?”

“Read for yourself.” Mr Lusk pushed himself away from the desk, feeling suddenly very sick and very glad he hadn’t yet touched breakfast.

Mr Richards’ reaction was similar to George’s. He was even further taken aback when he turned out the box. There it was, on the table, resting over some of the notes ... what looked like half a human kidney in a jar containing preservative fluid. “You don’t think?” All social class was forgotten as the pair stared at the object on the desk.

“Of course I don’t think it’s real. It can’t be. Look at the handwriting, Richards! Would a trained professional really write like that?” George snapped.

“He could have been faking it, Sir.” Richards remembered his place quickly enough, assuming the official stance of butlers with both hands clasped behind his back and look straight forwards.

“The whole letter is a fake!” Mr Lusk snapped, his slightly chubby face turning momentarily red.

“It could be real, Sir. Will you show it to the committee or the police? They might be able to use it as evidence?”

“No. It’s obviously a fake,” George repeated his suspicion again, like he was trying to convince himself. “It’s probably just the media stirring things up – they have done this before. Another little idiot who wants to get in on the show or somebody trying to stir up a reaction. One I will not give.” Carefully George picked up the box and knocked the kidney back into it, along with the letter and placed it beneath his desk.

“If you’ll pardon my saying, I think you should tell somebody about it, Sir. Maybe you are close to finding the culprit, Sir.”

The intrusion lit Mr Lusk’s short fuse. “You have overstepped the mark, Mr Richards. Dismissed. Please do have a word with the maids. I will not rise to the foolish games the public want to play. There’s more important stuff to do, like catching the killer!”

[Orombur]

“Men do not rest content with parrying the attacks of a superior, but often strike the first blow to prevent the attack being made.” –Alcibiades

The sun was setting over the city of Athens, and many citizens were retreating into their homes. There was but one more night before the majority of the men in the city set sail for a distant land, and those leaving wished to be with their families. An eerie silence set over the city at just the time the darkness of night did. The streets were empty now, save for a lone cloaked figure walking quickly through the back alleys.

The man was moving much too quickly, checking over his shoulder constantly as though he were expecting a tail. Another figure appeared from the shadows of the alleys and stepped in line behind him. Slowly, several others joined them. Eventually, the group paused, all of them looking to the original man.

The man pulled down the hood that had cloaked his appearance. His face was rugged, a small scar from a long forgotten battle on his left cheek. He was clean shaven and his hair was kept neat along the back of his neck. Another stepped up next to him and removed his hood too. His looks were a stark contrast to the others. He was younger than his companion, and much more attractive, his long hair curling down to his shoulders. The two stood as equals above the group.

“We all know the job we have tonight,” began the younger of the two. “Tomorrow, many will sail for a far off Spartan land. They seek the glory of victory, the knowledge that they have finally crushed the Spartans. Many of our men will not return, and for a time, the city of Athens will be defenseless. The gods must know the folly of this mission, the hopelessness of confronting the Spartans! It is time we made the others realize it. Now go! Make sure they all realize how foolish this is!”

The group dispersed quickly, hurrying to their stations all across the city. Within moments all that remained in the alley were the older veteran and his counterpart. The older of the two looked upon the other and caused him to laugh. “What’s that? Do I see respect in your eyes?”

The older took a step away, disgust quickly filling his eyes. “Respect? For you? Never. You may speak well, but you and your kind are no fighters.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, trying to evaluate just what the Athenian was thinking. “That much is made obvious by this at least. Why else would you go to all this trouble to end the attack if you trusted your ability to fight?”

The Athenian glared at the older man. “Be careful what you say. You forget whose city you currently stand inside.”

“That still may change before long.” The Athenian said nothing in response. He waited a moment before walking into the darkness of the city, pushing a nearby statue over as he moved.

The statue fell to the ground, shattering into several pieces. The damage wasn’t enough to render it unrecognizable though; it was still clearly one of the hermai, statues depicting Hermes, God of travelers and thieves. A smirk crept its way onto the face of the Athenian. He pulled his hood up and disappeared into the darkness, pleased with his work.

~~~~~~~

Androcles stood in the Athenian harbor, watching with disgust as the triremes of Athens prepared to set sail under the control of Alcibiades. He was certain that the fool would bring doom to the city if he wasn’t careful, and had a suspicion that the politician had no idea what it was to be cautious. Syracuse had the defense of the Spartans. Not even the great mind of Pericles had been willing to face them in open combat, and Alcibiades was willing to charge headlong into danger.

Androcles was an older man, slightly more so than most of the others in the city. He held the respect of many of the citizens, though few agreed with his views. He was one of the minority, those willing to question the so called wisdom of the young Alcibiades aloud. Their fears were not entirely unfounded; after all, he had to support of all the army behind him.

Out on the docks, Alcibiades was finishing giving a speech to the crowd of men assembled before him. “And we cannot fix the exact point at which our empire shall stop; we have reached a position in which we must not be content with retaining but must scheme to extend it, for, if we cease to rule others we are in danger of being ruled ourselves.” Scheming was a good way to put it. Androcles doubted that all of what Alcibiades said was true. How much did he care for the population of Athens? How much more for himself? “Nor can you look at inaction from the same point of view as the others, unless you are prepared to change your habits and make them like theirs.”

Androcles tuned out the rest of what he had to say. There was no doubt in his mind that that last bit was meant as a subtle personal attack on him. If only he weren’t the leader of Athens, Androcles would give him exactly what he deserved. Surely the Spartans would never tolerate such nonsense.

The older man’s thoughts were disturbed as another Athenian came running toward him. The newcomer paused only momentarily to catch his breath before speaking with rushed words. “Androcles, I bring ill news. The hermai… They have all been destroyed. Someone has disgraced Hermes! Many fear now for the fate of the mission at hand. All are searching for those who caused this disgusting act of sacrilege, and your help is requested. Come quickly!”

The news was certainly bad. The hermai, beloved statues of Hermes… Who would dare commit such a crime! Had a Spartan discovered news of their attack and found their way into the city? Could it be possible that an Athenian would risk everything? Immediately, his thoughts went to the overconfident Alcibiades. Could he have possibly done this, perhaps thinking of his own glory? “I shall go at once. You however should warn Alcibiades and the army of what has occurred. Return as quickly as possible! I already have some idea as to who may have done this.”

With that, Androcles made his way into the city as quickly as he could. It was not a short run, but he made it soon enough. As he ran, he passed many groups of people, gathered over where there used to be a standing statue. All had the same worried expressions that he was sure was on his face.

After a while, he had reached his destination. A large group was congregating outside of the Bouleuterion, the Senate Hall of the city. All greeted him on his arrival. “It seems we have many of our members here. Send our fastest out to recover the others. We shall need to meet as quickly as possible. Whoever did this shall be discovered soon enough. While we wait for the others to arrive, bring before us Acamas and Alcibiades!”

Nearly all of those around looked at him oddly when Alcibiades’ name came up. “Androcles, surely you don’t truly believe that Alcibiades did this. On the eve of the mission he designed?”

“We cannot discount anyone!” Androcles spun around to see the entire group before him. “If you know of any pro-Spartan Athenians, speak their names now! Sacrilege is not to be taken lightly. Speak now! If we do not appease Hermes, our army may be doomed in the coming battle!” There was a pause before a chorus of names erupted.

“Diogenes is surely pro-Spartan!”

“Philip the horse lover! He may too prove to be a Spartan lover!”

“Deileon! I always suspected him of hating our city!”

The people around had been thrown into a flurry of panic by the words of Androcles. Many ran off to retrieve those they had accused of being too liking of Spartans. The few who remained behind were those of the Senate who knew better than to panic. “You have made a mess of things with so few words, Androcles. Be more careful of what you say next time.”

The one who had spoken was much better liked among the populace than he was. “What would you propose I do, Antenor? I wish to see a successful return sometime in the future, not the blood of our men flowing back over the sea!”

Antenor was younger than Androcles, and was almost as good a politician as Alcibiades was. He had fallen under the shadow of the other. While he too was handsome, social and well-liked, Alcibiades was just barely his better in each way. He had despised the leader as he had risen to power, hoping to fill the void left by Pericles himself. Androcles had supported him, but it was to no avail. Pericles’ nephew had won the role by a large margin.

“Perhaps you should refrain from speaking next time,” said a clear voice from behind. Androcles recognized it at once. “Think better of what you say, as young Antenor proposes, or you may lose the ability to say it at all when I remove your tongue.”

“Should our ruler really be saying such things?” Androcles turned around to face Alcibiades. “You are far too arrogant for your own good.”

“And you, Androcles, ask far too many questions for your own good.” He looked at Antenor, daring the other to say something. “Now then,” he said turning back to Androcles, “why have you summoned me here? Surely the two of you can handle things here, and there are many pressing matters to attend to before I leave.”

“Of course, my lord,” Androcles said, emphasizing the last part of the phrase more than necessary. “Indeed, we are handling them on our own. You see, you are one of our two top suspects in this case.”

For a slight moment, the typical arrogant expression that Alcibiades wore dropped. Gone was the air of superiority that always surrounded him and drew many to him. His face looked as though sweat were about to pour from his brow. It was clear that he was worried, something Androcles had not expected. Within seconds the arrogance had returned, a mask covering the doubt. He decided to keep up the attack. “Was that worry, Alcibiades? What would you need to worry about if you were innocent of this?”

“There are many reasons for me to worry, though I doubt you understood what you saw,” the leader said, choosing his words carefully. “I have no wish to endanger this mission by inciting the wrath of the gods. We have a long campaign ahead of us, and Sparta is difficult enough as an enemy without Hermes being against us.” He then smiled his smile that won many over. “Of course, wouldn’t that be a tale to tell? Alcibiades and the Athenian army defeated the Spartans against all odds. Not even the gods could stand in their way!”

“All the more reason to suspect you,” Antenor interjected. “You have always been drawn to personal glory. What better way to earn it?” Alcibiades frowned, but his worry was clearly gone.

“Well then, Androcles and Antenor, we shall have a trial immediately! I will prove my innocence to the people of Athens, and then we may be on our way at last. Let us make it quick though; Nicias and my men await me at the harbor.”

Antenor was about to say something, but Androcles cut him off. “I see no need for that now, Alcibiades. You have erased the doubt from my mind. Who could so passionately defend themselves if they were actually guilty of a crime of this weight? Return to the harbor and set off as soon as possible. We shall drop our case against you, and I hope to hear of your victory at Syracuse quickly.”

Antenor and Alcibiades both looked at Androcles in disbelief. The leader of Athens seized his opportunity as soon as he had realized it. “I am glad you have seen the truth, Androcles. Might I suggest you interview Acamas, the Spartan lover, while I am away?” He turned and ran back toward the harbor before the other had a chance to respond.

Antenor still stared at Androcles, causing the older man to laugh. “Come, I shall explain everything as we walk.”

~~~~~~

Androcles and Antenor stood in the middle of the courtroom, certain of their victory. They had waited for Alcibiades to sail off with the army, and brought the charges back up as soon as they were sure he was too far away to return. With him went the majority of his supporters, and suddenly the minority who were opposed to him had become the majority. The vote was sure to be for conviction, and all knew that death was the punishment for sacrilege of this measure.

As the two had expected, the vote went in their favor. Couriers were dispatched immediately, setting off as quickly as possible to track down Alcibiades and bring him to justice. As the excitement spread around the nearly empty city of Athens, many took to the streets. Some were in protest of the unfair trial, others celebrating the soon to be death of another corrupt politician. Throughout it all, however, no one noticed the hooded figure walking away from the courthouse, a smirk on his face, knowing he had just won his most important victory.

Alcibiades, the only one standing in his way, would soon be dead.

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

Reffy

4/5 Spelling & Grammar
4/5 Ease of Read
8/10 Use of Topic
13/15 Entertainment
13/15 Quality
Total: 42/50

Very good descriptions, Ref. I very much liked the interaction between Lusk and Richards - particularly the piece at the end, where all social distinctions between them were 'dropped' by the shock of what they saw in the box.

The one thing I think your "whodunit" story really needed, was a bit more of a decision on your part, on who exactly did it. The murder at the beginning was fine, but you never do indicate if Mr. Lusk has someone in mind as a suspect, or chief suspect? That he would seem to think the letter he got "from hell" is a hoax, and not the work of a "trained professional?"

Oh, and Ref? Jack the Ripper is hardly an obscure piece of British historical lore - I don't think you ever had to worry about THAT, hon XD



Orombur

4/5 Spelling & Grammar
3/5 Ease of Read
9/10 Use of Topic
10/15 Entertainment
12/15 Quality
Total: 38/50

A solid piece, Orombur. Obviously, you did your research, pulling so many disparate pieces together. Definitely a 'whodunit!' But at the very end, I was left a little wanting for more than a history lesson of sorts, with a long list of characters/players - none of whom you actually delved all that deeply into. I would have liked to see more in the way of "story," and character building.

Still, very well-done Orombur. You certainly put a good deal of time and thought into this, it seems to me. Your dedication to the details certainly came through.

[Dylaria]

Reffy:

Spelling & Grammar - 5/5
Ease of Read - 5/5
Use of Topic - 9/10
Entertainment - 13/15
Quality - 14/15
Total - 46/50

Notes:

As far as the writing mechanics go and if it was hard to read, I had no problems until that letter. At first I thought you had slipped on a couple of words but as I read the rest of it I realized that it was intentional. So barring that (which being intentional has no detriment) I didn't find technical issues.

For the topic, I will be frank. I hate this topic. No, not because of what you have written, just the topic itself is fuzzy on what the topic is. So bear with me on this one. The historical bit fit quite well and I know exactly what you were going for. To your worry about names and whatnot, you needn't have worried. I understand what the characters are if not exactly their historic counterparts/impacts. As far as your story goes I think that the characters were quite good.

Really, I'm a bit at a loss on things to say about this one. There aren't really any flaws that I can dig into and explain out. The one thing that I did find in particular in your piece though was the pacing of the murder. It didn't feel rushed in the sense of "bang bang dead" nor did it feel overly dragged out in some anatomical lession. It felt deliberate as the killer indulged but didn't waste time in each step of his task. All in all this was very solid and the fact that I don't have anything to really dig into may well be a good thing.

Jolly good Reffy.




Orombur

Spelling & Grammar - 4/5
Ease of Read - 5/5
Use of Topic - 9/10
Entertainment - 14/15
Quality - 14/15
Total - 46/50

Notes:

On the mechanics side, I only found a couple small errors but I'll show the one that got my attention the easiest.

"after all, he had to support of all the army behind him."

I believe that "to" should be a "the" or something similar. This bit of wording made me re-read it a couple of times in case in some odd context it was right before I decided it just plain wasn't. Beyond that though, I don't have anything worth bringing to your attention.

On the topic, as I have said to Reffy, its a little opeaque on what "historical whodunnit" means technically. Still, as far as I have ascertained this fits into the genre and I did like the way it was done. I found using politics and a nonviolent crime a rather refreshing change from what I was expecting. While I had figured out who was behind it a bit early, I still got enjoyment out of watching it all unfold. All in all, I found my entertainment in this being a bit different in how you went about it.

I thought that in a word this piece was clever. The characters themselves were believeable as politicians go. The story never felt rushed or lagging in the pace of its telling and when I got to the end I had a bit of a smirk myself knowing what would likely happen after the story.

[Mena]

Reffy

5/5 Spelling & Grammar
5/5 Ease of Read
9/10 Use of Topic
15/15 Entertainment
14/15 Quality
Total: 48/50

Ahh Jack The Ripper. I have always been fascinated by his story. You did a great job but I would (personally) have liked to read more brutal accounts about the murders. Loved the descriptions and dialogue, I could almost here the British accents while reading. Great job.



Orombur

4/5 Spelling & Grammar
5/5 Ease of Read
10/10 Use of Topic
13/15 Entertainment
14/15 Quality
Total: 47/50

Solid piece here, very small errors, not really worth mentioning. Very well written and thought out. Good job.

[James]

Reffy (136) beats Orombur (131) & Mr X (0) & Faerd (0)