After scouting out the abode of the criminal known as Child of Revolution, I rung her doorbell:
"Hello, are you dead yet?"Later that afternoon, accomplices sadly lacking, the Pike lurks outside the den of stinking evil, thinking such lines as "Jump on my knife evil, for I won't be so gentle!!" and "The only assassin ever to kill me is behind me (at Corpus). You are in front of me. I suggest you die. Now!" At this point I was rudely interrupted by somebody leaning out of their window, viciously brandishing . . . . a mouse. (eek!)
"No."
"Come and open the door and I'm sure we can fix that."
"I'm not planning on emerging until 6pm"
"OK. I need reinforcments anyway."
Time passes. You work....
Lurking. An assassin's pastime. Having swapped intelligence with the Chief, I go back, looking for a blonde haired target. Getting there I see some people leaving the house. Trying the buzzer I realize either she's not answering, or she's gone to dinner. I catch up with the group, but despite their paranoid glances, I invoke no reaction - maybe my target is not with them. I give up for the night, retiring to the bar.
(You pass out, well maybe not but...) Time passes. You Sleep. Spells memorised (but magic doesn't work...)
Misfortune increases.
Assuredly, the balance of the elements was disrupted. The light and active was insufficiently softened by the dark and passive, and thus was unable to take its natural upwards course. In other words, I had killed many of the yang-like college of King's, but none of the inhabitants from the enfeebled colleges that cluster around its imposing structure like flattering courtiers around a great prince. Surely, if this course of affairs continued, it would lead inexorably to disaster!
It rises like smoke;Accordingly, as one more criminal attained wanted status, I leapt into action. Eventually. Myself and PC Grim Reaper Jr. therefore approached St. Peter's Terrace at about the hour of five, and attempted to breach it's unfairly-locked halls. Unfortunately, the small-foreheaded and cross-eyed inhabitants of this uninspiring parody of a hostel were uniformly cursed, regardless of whether they were Assassins or not, with levels of paranoia only normally found in the former. Several people, when buzzed, refused to heed our request to 'let us in so we can kill people.' (In our own hostels, the virtues of humour, graciousness and selling-each-other-out are so pronounced that, had a similar request been made, our very closest allies would have humbly invited our prospective killers through our guarding portals, made them tea and provided snacks, and assisted with the reloading of weapons and such, merely for the amusement of observing our deaths). Several people, passing through these doors, also refused us entry in a manner so mean-spirited as to be beyond even that generally observed in bush-rats, water-weasels and politicians.
It descends like rain.
A thousand mailed bowmen cannot prevent it!
The superior man lives life lightly;As we lurked in doubt, a young lady passed towards the door and once again refused us entry. As she slid toad-like through the door, she uttered the fateful words, "You're not just random assassins, are you?" This, combined with a close similarity to one whom I had earlier that day overheard mention our esteemed Guild close within the proximity of Pembroke, aroused my ever-eager suspicions; when we replied in the affirmative, she thrust the door towards a closed position with a vigour suprising in one so obviously cursed with many horrible diseases, an expression upon her unseemly features denoting fear and disgust. Accordingly, acting upon my wire-taut reflexes, I thrust an arm, attached to a lead-spitter, into the space between door and jamb even as it crunched shut, and fired repeatedly; at such close range, my uncanny powers of accuracy were wholly redundant, and she dropped lifeless to the poorly-constructed floor. Alas, as she did, she hissed, in a manner indicative of a deleterious upbringing, words to the effect of (for her exact terminology was so crude and unseemly that I would blush to repeat it in the confines of our well-spoken Guild) "You can't do that! I'm not a member! I just know about it!" That such a one knew of any thing at all was a revelation to our good selves, but nonetheless her insolent manner, and the imminent prospect of the wanted list, discouraged our further attempts upon the maximum security prison for the criminally sane that is St Peter's Terrace, and we strolled off into the rain.
He gives no attention to stupid fuckers.
Nonetheless, I relish the prospect of the mighty List, for assuredly it shall bring many a beady-eyed assassin creeping to my door, and whether I live or die as a result, the attention of such high-minded gentlemen is a privilege and an honour, and shall offer considerably more opportunity for massacre than does the role of a law-abiding policeman.
PC Fu Hsi's Ghost's Ghost is henceforth suspended from duty pending the results of an inquiry by the Police Complaints Commission.
Two lads and a girl just buzzed me, one claiming to be 'Matt' who had lost his key and wanted to be let in. I had just spoken to Matt so I knew this to be a lie. However, my friend James was leaving the building so I told him to let them in anyway. I shot the two guys with a water pistol but the girl didn't come close enough. They ran off and I went back in my room. My friend Matt recognised them as the 'Downing mob squad' who had come earlier when I was not in.
It turns out her shots killed only Dog Handler Glib.
Just this second another guy buzzed me, claiming to be a member of the real ale society and wanted to ask me questions. I'm trying to work and getting a bit annoyed. I've counted eight attempts on my life today, and they all failed.
Midnight was drawing near, and the weather was suitably atmospheric, when
A cloud of lightning visited a group of College buildings. It could have
just drifted under the door, but since there were exploitable passers-by,
instead it condensed its smoky shape into a well-dressed figure and
persuaded them to let it in. It was bent on electrocuting a certain
assassin with all the voltage A cloud of lightning can muster...
The victim's room was easily located, but an external inspection showed
no light from inside. The door proved locked, and A cloud of lightning
decided against drifting under it to leave death awaiting the room's
owner on their return, due to the difficulty of carrying bombs or traps
when in gaseous form. A nearby party was located, and knowing the
difficulty of concealing one's identity when surrounded by many people,
the cloud entered and innocuously asked. The lucky victim's whereabout
were unknown to the diners, though A cloud was able to discover its
potential victim's subject.
A cloud of lightning decided to visit the local computer room, in hope of
making more progress there. Assuming a roughly human form once more, it
made enquiries within, while the computer users were distracted by the
short-circuits caused by its highly charged presence. But though the
victim was known to the room's inhabitants, the victim's current location
wasn't. With small thunderbolts of irritation sparking around it, the
cloud drifted off into the Cambridge darkness, to gather ions for a more
powerful strike to come...
There was a harry potter in the bar after formall hall and she(he?)
wileded a dangerous weapon, so I just had to eliminate this person
with a knife and great tactics. I'm not pissed at all, by the way/.
After I had eliminated this person she proveeded to hit me with a water
pistol filled with disgusting snakebite, but as she was already dead it
didn't matter.
Ok. I'm going to sobver up now. :)
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