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***Bob Schroeck*** · 03-13-2013, 10:42 PM

Bing's voice in White Christmas will be a bit harder -- too much of that dialogue relies on his own personal argot and style, and I'm not sure I can duplicate the sound of it yet.

Ebony: That's how I wrote it. I just kept playing back what I wanted him to say inside my head in his voice, nudging it until it sounded "right".
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

***Bob Schroeck*** · (This post was last modified: 12-22-2020, 06:23 PM by Bob Schroeck.)

It was about half an hour into the ride when Betty felt someone
drop into the seat next to her. Even after two stops, the
afternoon train from Pine Tree into New York City was still all
but empty, and she had been the sole occupant of this car until
now. Betty suppressed a groan at having to deal -- not for the
first time -- with unwanted male attention.

Without opening her eyes, she said, "I am not in the mood for
company, thank you. Please find another seat or I shall complain
to the conductor."

"Complain all you want. I'm not moving until you talk."

Betty's eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, and she twisted
in her seat to find herself facing Doug. He was still in the
red-and-white striped jacket and white slacks he wore for his
portion of the show, but resting in his lap was a strangely-
shaped grey helmet. "You? But how...? I *know* you were in the
middle of a rehearsal when I left the Inn. And I'd've seen you
at the station if you'd followed me."

He just smirked at her, his eyes half-lidded in amusement. "I
have my ways, Miss Haynes. Ask me no questions and I'll tell you
no impossible tales you won't believe." He settled into the seat
and twisted slightly so that he was facing her more directly.
"As I'm sure you expected, your letter to Judy left the entire
Inn in an uproar. So I decided to come after you and ask you one
small question." He fixed her with an intent, burning gaze
terribly unlike his usual clowning manner. "Just what the *hell*
is your problem?"

Betty refused to be intimidated. "My problem is Bob Wallace."

An eyebrow raised. "Oh?" was all he said, but the tone was a
demand to elaborate. More than a demand -- an *order*, with no
less force behind it than the General could deliver. For a
moment, Betty wondered what had happened to the pratfall comedian
she thought she knew, then she dismissed the thought.

"Bob Wallace," she snarled, "is a hypocrite and a parasite. What
he's planning to do to the General is disgusting!"

"What he's planning..." Doug scowled in confusion. "Just what
are you *talking* about, Betty?"

"You mean you aren't part of his plan to humiliate the General on
television?" she demanded.

Doug closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Please
explain to me just how arranging a reunion of his division at the
Inn is 'humiliating' the General?"

"Arranging a..." Betty trailed off, her mouth open in surprise.
Suddenly all the righteous anger she'd felt at Bob's betrayal
drained away. "But Emma said she overheard Bob planning to put
the General on display on the Ed Harrison show!"

"Emma said..." Doug switched from rubbing the bridge of his nose
to rubbing his temples. "Betty, I don't care what Emma *thought*
she heard, she's about as wrong as she can be. Bob's going on
the Ed Harrison show to ask everyone from the General's old
division to come to the Inn on Christmas Eve. And there *won't*
be any TV cameras there. I *know*, I'm helping out with the
logistics."

"Oh, no," Betty breathed, as the impact of it all struck her.
"Oh, no. I've got to go back."

Doug smiled for the first time since he'd found her. "Yes, yes,
you do." He stood, taking his helmet in his left hand while
holding out his right to her.

Betty stared at it, uncomprehending. "What are you...?"

"You want to get back to the Inn right now, don't you?" Doug
asked. "I can arrange that."

Without thinking she took his hand and let him help her to her
feet. "How?"

He smiled again, the warm smile Betty had come to associate with
him. "Trust me."

"But my bags..." she objected.

The smile turned into a genuine grin. "Give me your claim check
and I'll get them back to you before bedtime." Gently but
undeniably Doug began to draw her down the aisle and toward the
back of the train. "Trust me," he repeated.

"All right," Betty murmured. Although her tone was dubious she
somehow found herself believing him.

As he opened the door at end of the car, Doug turned back to her
and asked, "You don't have a problem with heights, do you, Betty?"

Spoiler

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Foxboy · 03-15-2013, 09:41 AM

Now the real question is... Holiday Inn steplet... Does Doug take off for/ not want anything to do with for the Lincoln's Birthday segment?
''We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat
them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.''

-- James Nicoll

***Bob Schroeck*** · (This post was last modified: 12-22-2020, 06:24 PM by Bob Schroeck.)

Knowing that trying to fight the cultural mores of the period might well be futile, he still voiced an objection to blackface and explained why. When he heard Jim's reasoning in response -- the movie strongly hints the blackface was a last-minute addition to the show in order to hide Linda, though I'll be damned if I can figure out what Jim thought that number would have looked like without it -- Doug volunteered to "distract" Ted and Danny in exchange for no blackface, and did so with such great thoroughness and enthusiasm that neither man even noticed that Linda was in the Inn that night.

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Jinx999 · 03-19-2013, 08:12 PM

Doug leaned on his motorbike.
"Another day, another world."
He looked at the nearby city, which appeared to be a normal American port city - that had been hit by several bombs and a tidal wave.
He looked at the nearby sign. "Welcome to Brockton Bay"
"Time to hit a library." he muttered as he casually brushed a fly from his neck.

Pyeknu · 03-19-2013, 08:25 PM

Um, where from?

Ebony · 03-19-2013, 09:01 PM

Quote:Pyeknu wrote:

Um, where from?

Worm, a webserial. The main character controls insects, and from what I've read, is having a really tough time of being a superhuman.

Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

nemonowan · 03-19-2013, 10:47 PM

-"I'm telling you, Nelson, it's hopeless! I can't find anything wrong with it, it just does not work!"-"And yet it has to be the real deal, Roxie, it is too old to be anything else! Maybe the problem is the number..."-"We tried 4376 , we tried 7433 , what else is there to try?"-"Dunno, Roxie... Let me try some things..."
Sighing, Roxie went back to her work, hoping her partner would soon tire of that wild goose chase.Until with a blast of light a portal opened in the wall of the basement, letting in a motorbike that barely managed to brake in a screech of burning rubber, avoinding by mere inches a crash into the opposite wall.
-"NELSON!!! What the hell did you DO!"-"I was just trying some combinations... I dialled 9687.. and HE appeared...", said Nelson, pointing to the unconscious figure in gray, strapped to the bike.-"9687!? What is that supposed to mean!?"-"XOVR. I guess this one is a Crossover-Dial."

Spoiler

Pyeknu · 03-20-2013, 12:43 AM

LOL!

**robkelk** · 03-25-2013, 09:54 PM

I shook my head in puzzlement and muttered, "We've been together for years, but sometimes I don't understand her."

Either I didn't mutter quietly enough, or she has better than average hearing. "Understand who, Mr. Sangnoir?"

"My assistant, Eimi. As soon as she learned I was going to be working with you, Ms. Croft, she started calling me 'Toon Raider'..."
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Pyeknu · 03-26-2013, 12:18 AM

ROTFLMAO!

Terrace · 03-29-2013, 12:11 AM

It was a normal day at Castle Baron. Lieutenant Young had lightly trolled some of the pantsless Witches who made up the majority of the 501st JFW's fighting prowess, and was making small talk with his girlfriend, Wing Commander Minna Wilcke.

This changed when a glowing portal opened not ten feet away from them and deposited an awesome-looking motorcycle with an unconscious man riding it. Looking down at his mug of coffee, Young came to a decision and tossed it behind him.

"Well, I've hit my weirdness limit for the day. Wanna go make out in a closet?" Minna shrugged.
"Sure, why not. Sakomoto can handle this."

Spoiler

***Bob Schroeck*** · (This post was last modified: 05-06-2021, 09:56 AM by Bob Schroeck.)

Mack and the boys had been sitting on the rusted pipes in the vacant lot that was across from Western Biological Laboratory and between Dora's Bear Flag Restaurant on the right and Lee Chong's grocery on the left, sharing a quart of Old Tennis Shoe, when the man in grey first arrived, riding a motorcycle that looked more like a fighter plane than a motorcycle. He'd pulled right up to Western Biological, the motorcyle making a quiet rushing noise instead of the expected gas-engine rumble, and parked, silencing the strange engine before dismounting and then doing something that made the cycle spark like a broken powerline for a moment. He pulled off the odd helmet on his head, almost but not quite the same grey as the leather clothing he wore, smiled a friendly smile and nodded a greeting to Mack and boys, then proceeded up the stairs and into the Laboratory.

An hour later, as the sun was starting to drop behind Hovden's roofline, sending the "Portola Sardines" sign painted on its side into shadow, Doc and the man in grey appeared at the lab's door, laughing and smiling at each other and shaking hands. Doc gestured up the hill into Monterey proper, away from the Row, and the man in grey nodded. Mack and the boys had finished off the quart of Old Tennis Shoe, and had been considering returning to the Palace Flophouse and Grill, when the Doc turned to them and called out, "Say, Mack!"

Mack shared a look with the boys, then unlimbered himself and strolled across the street. "Afternoon, Doc," he drawled. "And friend," he added.

"Mack," Doc said, "this here is Doug Sangnoir" -- and he pronounced it Frenchy, "sang-nwarr". "Doug's going to be working for me, and he needs a place to stay. Could you or one of your fine men guide him to one of the boardinghouses up on Lighthouse?"

"I'd be very grateful for a little show-around," the man in grey, Doug, said, smiling an open smile that both set Mack at ease and immediately made him wary. Mack felt a man should have no right feeling like an old friend when they didn't have five minutes' history between them, but he did, and that confused and concerned Mack.

But Mack smiled, and nodded, and said he'd be happy to. And the next evening as Mack and the boys watched, Doug left the Laboratory, crossed the street to Lee Chong's grocery, and came back out a few minutes' later with two bottles of Old Tennis Shoe. He entered the vacant lot, and all conversation ceased as he stepped up to Mack and handed him the bottles. "For your trouble last night," he said. "Drink it in good health." Then he nodded to Mack, and nodded to the boys, added a "good night" and turned to climb up the hill to Lighthouse Avenue.

Mack thought about it for a moment. This wasn't William the pimp, trying to be part of something that wouldn't have him. This was a friend of Doc's, and he seemed a good sort. He looked around at the boys, and they nodded or grinned or smirked, and Mack nodded right back at them. "Say, Doug," Mack then called out, and as Doug turned back to them, he held up the bottles of old Tennis Shoe. "Care to join us?"

Doug seemed to think about it for only a moment, and then he said, "I'm not much of a drinking man, but I'd be happy to share a sip or two with you fine gentlemen." And he came back down into the lot, and hopped up onto one of the rusted pipes, and took his turn with the bottle when it came around, wiping the neck on the tail of his shirt like the others did before taking as he promised no more than a sip of the whiskey before passing it to the next in line. And the conversation started back up, and it was like Doug had always been part of Mack and the boys instead of a stranger just a day in town. A little later, Doc stepped out of Western Biological and laughed at the sight, Mack and the boys and Doug deep in discussion, with great sweeping gesticulations and nods of understanding all about, and hearing enough to know the subject was of a depth and complexity that Mack and the boys would never have brought it up themselves, but were nonetheless understanding and contributing and enjoying, Doc knew he had found a kindred soul in Doug Sangnoir and for a moment regretted the day he would inevitably move on.

And after that evening, Doug was a common sight on Cannery Row, running inscrutable errands for Doc, shopping at Lee Chong's, but never visiting Dora's -- and upon hearing the story of his far-distant wife, the beautiful Maggie, Mack and the boys never thought less of him for not doing so. And once or twice a week, Doug would join Mack and the boys in the vacant lot, and he didn't even have to buy the Old Tennis Shoe if he didn't happen to have the pocket cash that evening. But he never joined them more than twice a week, and the boys both respected and appreciated that he knew he was welcome, but not so welcome as to join them every night. Still, Mack and the boys found themselves liking Doug as much as they liked anyone in Cannery Row, which is to say as much as they liked Doc, and like many others on the row they would frequently say amongst themselves, "That Doug is a fine fellow. We ought to do something for him."

Spoiler

Edit: Finally put in a properly wordwrapped version. Between Yuku's occasional wonkiness and the bare-bones text editor I was using on my tablet while on vacation, I couldn't remove the line breaks in the original text before posting it.

As a point of interest, I started composing this in my head while sitting in a park in Monterey on Cannery Row that is in the approximate location of the vacant lot, with Chong's grocery to my left and Pacific Biological Laboratories across the street from me. (The original of Dora's place is long gone, but said park has a bronze bust of her inspiration, Flora Dodd.)

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

DHBirr · 04-20-2013, 10:53 PM

I never read that novel, but even before I looked it up on Wikipedia, your last sentence filled me with what Amelia Peabody would call "the direst of forebodings."
-----
Big Brother is watching you. And damn, you are so bloody BORING.

**robkelk** · 04-21-2013, 04:24 AM

I'd been aboard for a week, and I could already tell that, whichever ship was featured on the recruiting posters, it was somewhere else in the fleet.

The doctor was a drunkard.

The marines were unprofessional and uncontrollable.

Two of the pilots were raw rookies, still learning how to fly their fighters. The other one wasn't comfortable enough around them to train them properly.

The comms officer was skilled, but more interested in her appearance than her job.

The tactical officer ... okay, the tactical officer and the helmsman were damned good at their jobs.

The XO was a stickler for regulations, which on this ship meant he was a laughingstock.

The captain was a goofball.

But one look at the ship's battle record told me that he was the same kind of goofball I was.

Despite everything, I think I could learn to like being aboard the Soyokaze...

Spoiler

--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

Pyeknu · 04-21-2013, 12:19 PM

A golden oldie, indeed! *thumbs up*

classicdrogn · 05-01-2013, 09:32 PM

I've commented before on the tendency of my portals to land me in alleys when I arrive in a new world - Sometimes this is convenient, as it keeps me out of the way while the post-transit unconsciousness wears off, other times it means I'm in an out-of-the-way place, the kind the criminal element likes for doing their business. This can also be convenient, if in a different way, at least as often as it is troublesome. I hadn't yet decided which applied in this case as I woke to the sound of insults from just around the corner of the cul de sac I'd ended up in this time.

"Look at you two - parading around in Slick Chix jackets. Even for a couple of faggots, that's pathetic - don't you have any pride as men?" Suppressing the urge to growl and give someone a stern reprimand, possibly to include a knuckle sandwich or two, I forced myself to be still and listen. I had learned a bit of self restraint in the course of my travels, I was still a newcomer here, and it could just be talk...

"Your little girlfriends will make us some good money, and by the time the trainers get done with them they won't even mind too much. You aren't gonna need to worry about that, though, 'cause the Fimbulwintr know what to do with faggots..."

Oh, I don't think so. I was already swinging out of the bike's saddle as the sound of a beating began, or more likely resumed from what I saw as I came around the corner. The albino one chanting something that sounded like authentic Old Norse with a cluster of ice shards forming in his hand was less expected, but just as easily dealt with - for me. Other metahumans in the fight meant I couldn't quite take it for granted that I'd get them all before they did something unfortunate to the two boys with the hardman 'dos, but considering it was an honest-to-goodness gang rumble I knew just the song to give them a bit of a boost and make sure I'd know if they needed immediate assistance.

"System, West Side Story, Jets Song, play"

------

Given that this is an off-camera scene from the end of a spin off "miniseries" about the backstory of one character for a Marvel Superheroes party I never even found a chance to play any of the characters of let alone run a game based on them, I don't expect anyone to get the reference, but dammit, after I went back and thought them up I like the Slick Chix, and I like Stannie and Casey, and Picks can just have some help from out of town when she goes to rescue the rest of them from where the girls who came through the already finished fight in better condition already got hauled off toward.

I don't actually expect anyone but myself to even think it's all that worth the minor time spent to read it, but while "After being seperated from her whimsy, the pixie who'd eventually claim the human name of Picks fell in with a girl gang called "the Slick Chix," supplanting their explorations with recreational chemicals with overall harmless enchanted food, gleefully assisting in their games of petty theft and partying, and generally socializing into something like a six-inch-tall tomboy human rather than a lost fragment of a whimsy's telepathic group mind. When the Fimbulwintr moved in on the Slick Chix's neighborhood from the meaner side of town, this all came to an end as the girls were captured and slated to be sold into the sex trade and the two gay guys (who normally no one bothered about their orientation, being tough enough to run with the local gang) murdered outright. When Picks returned from her beer run to discover the aftermath of the fight, (other character in the party) was the only person she could think to turn to for help" may look good on a character sheet and give the party an immediate adventure hook, it sucks for the NPCs involved. At least one of the worlds out there, it goes a little better.

And now the explanation is longer than the scenelet. Sigh. Don't care, still gonna post it.

As for the song, the lyrics basically go "we're a bunch of tough guys and we all have each other's back," so as long as Doug's identifying himself with one set of "we" it should do excactly what I said, I should think. Situational bonus may also apply, or just appeal to his temperment.
--
"Anko, what you do in your free time is your own choice. Use it wisely. And if you do not use it wisely, make sure you thoroughly enjoy whatever unwise thing you are doing." - HymnOfRagnorok as Orochimaru at SpaceBattles
woot Med. Eng., verb, 1st & 3rd pers. prsnt. sg. know, knows

Proginoskes · 05-02-2013, 02:40 AM

Looks good to me. And I don't mind the explanation, or the fact that the step needed explaining.

Terrace · 05-15-2013, 11:12 PM

"So the first thirty pages are the bill, and the next five hundred are the assorted pork barrel projects?" Tony Stark looked as thought he smelled something rancid.

"Essentially correct. This the main reason I asked you to come to Stark Tower today. I'm trying to brainstorm ways to either mitigate the effects of the bill, or swing the terms into our favor. You did say your group back home had a system that's similar in intent, if not the details, to what that bill represents." Looking through it, I had to squash the urge to scream in frustration.

"I can see the first problem right off the bat. Back home, we were funded by the UN. That means international support. Members couldn't serve in national militaries - my own rank is for accounting purposes - and the UN footed the bill for infrastructure repairs. This bill, on the other hand, suffers classic problem with politicians."

"What problem might that be?" Peter was already smirking. I like him, he has a good sense of humor.

"'We have to do something! This is something, so we must do it!'" Tony looked amused.

"Hmm. Informing the committee that the bill is infringing on UN territory should pretty much kill the support for the bill. Thank you Doug. With your testimony, we should be able to kill the Superhuman Registration Act on a national level."

Spoiler

deadpan29 · 05-16-2013, 09:06 PM

Quote:Terrace wrote:

"Hmm. Informing the committee that the bill is infringing on UN territory should pretty much kill the support for the bill. Thank you Doug. With your testimony, we should be able to kill the Superhuman Registration Act on a national level."

Nitpicking:
1) Tony was for the bill and was pretty much the leader of those on the pro-registration side.
2) As the bill was always about US law, I don't see how it infringes on the U.N.3) I don't see the U.S. politicians caring about infringing on the U.N. even if it did.
Then again, since the various writers througout Marvel couldn't produce a coherent picture of what the bill actually involved, fic writers should feel free to interpret things as they will.
----------
No, I don't believe the world has gone mad. In order for it to go mad it would need to have been sane at some point.

05-17-2013, 01:27 PM

The intention of Marvel's Superhuman Registration Act seemed to be the US's superhumans would be forced to work for the US government. It was a colossal failure on all counts. (As was plainly obvious once Tony Stark became leader of the pro-reg side. Stark may have his good qualities, but he often doesn't know when to stop. (Anybody else remember the Armor Wars?)).
And the UN in the IST world considers superhuman militaries severely destabilizing, which is why it bans them. And the bill was clearly intended to act as a superhuman draft. I can't imagine Russia and china not protesting over the Superhuman Registration act. To say nothing about how the bill tramples on civil liberties."There's only one kind of monster that uses bullets"-Colonel VanHeusen , from "It! The Terror From Beyond Space"

Matrix Dragon · 05-29-2013, 02:44 AM

Actually, Tony Stark was originally opposed to the SRA. To the point that literally the issue of Spider-man before Civil War started, he was working to stop the politicians from making it law. It was only after a super villain blew up a town, and the citizens of the Marvel Universe again proved they were the biggest idiots in existence and blamed it on the heroes, that he sided with the Act. And the writers that weren't doing him as a moustache twirling parody tended to have him working on the theory that this was the only approach that wouldn't lead to concentration camps and gas chambers (God I hate Marvels approach to racism.)

Tony using Dougs reality to help find a more workable solution is the sort of idea I like. I could also see it working even better in something like the EMH cartoon or the movie verse, where the age of heroes is only just getting started.

Pyeknu · 05-29-2013, 12:05 PM

Quote:Matrix Dragon wrote:
And the writers that weren't doing him as a moustache twirling parody tended to have him working on the theory that this was the only approach that wouldn't lead to concentration camps and gas chambers (God I hate Marvels approach to racism.)

Agreed. When I was reading X-Men in the 1980s, it seemed to me that every person that the characters encountered was ready to hate natural born metas (to borrow the Yizibajohei phrase from the universe of my stories) without seeing the good side of things. I mean yeah, there'd be the odd bigot in real life, but jeez . . .! It just got too depressing for me at times; I guess that's why I gravitated away from this stuff when Mike Smith came along in the early 1990s to introduce me to anime as anime.

Shepherd · 05-29-2013, 06:46 PM

Quote:Pyeknu wrote:
Quote:Matrix Dragon wrote:
And the writers that weren't doing him as a moustache twirling parody tended to have him working on the theory that this was the only approach that wouldn't lead to concentration camps and gas chambers (God I hate Marvels approach to racism.)
Agreed. When I was reading X-Men in the 1980s, it seemed to me that every person that the characters encountered was ready to hate natural born metas (to borrow the Yizibajohei phrase from the universe of my stories) without seeing the good side of things. I mean yeah, there'd be the odd bigot in real life, but jeez . . .! It just got too depressing for me at times; I guess that's why I gravitated away from this stuff when Mike Smith came along in the early 1990s to introduce me to anime as anime.

It's even worse than that. There was a 1980s issue of X-Factor where agents of The Right (an anti-mutant organization) flew around New York City in armored suits with smiley faces and blasted things while shouting about how they were dangerous mutants out to destroy humanity. Everyone who saw this agreed that mutants were dangerous and inhuman monsters. Apparently, they all hated and feared mutants, but not a single witness had the slightest idea what a mutant actually was.
----------------------------------------------------

"Anyone can be a winner if their definition of victory is flexible enough." - The DM of the Rings XXXV

***Bob Schroeck*** · (This post was last modified: 05-06-2021, 10:09 AM by Bob Schroeck.)

Nancy had barely reached the stairs up to London Bridge when her legs gave out on her. She stumbled, and only a desperate grab for the iron railing embedded in the dark, wet stone saved her from falling forward into the narrow stairwell. Within her chest her heart pounded a rapid tattoo, driven both by exertion and fear, and her breath came in ragged gasps, sending gouts of vapour into the chill air with each one.

"Which way?" she murmured to herself, glancing from the stairwell to the arch leading under the bridge, to the street which ran through it. Only the road along which she had run did not get consideration, for that way lay danger -- danger which revealed itself when the hulking form of Bill Sikes materialized out of the fog. As he stepped into the faint yellow cone cast by the guttering gas lamp that protruded from the far side of the arch, she caught sight of his unshaven, brutish face, still writ with a fury aimed fully at her. In his hand he held the large clasp-knife he habitually kept in his pocket, open and ready to use.

"Please, Bill, please..." she moaned. "Spare my life for the love of Heaven, as I spared yours. Just tell me what I have done that you come at me like this."

"You know, you she-devil!" he growled, the fog stealing the edge from his voice even as it rumbled across to her. "You were watched tonight; every word you said was heard. I'll not be betrayed, Nancy, not by you."

"Betrayed? Bill, dear Bill, I could never betray you!" Nancy gasped. She tried to rise to her feet again, only to find her exhaustion was still too great. "I only sought to find us a home to spend our days together, away from this dreadful place."

Beneath his beetling brow, Bill scowled at her. He said nothing, shifting his grip on the clasp-knife and raising it from his side.

Nancy shivered at the sight. "Please, you cannot have the heart to kill me. Bill, Bill, for dear God's sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood! I have been true to you, upon my guilty soul I have!"

Bill took one step toward her, lifting the clasp-knife further, then halted in surprise when a voice drifted out of the tunnel to the side.

"Take one more step toward her, Sikes, and I promise you that you'll regret it."

As Nancy struggled to identify the familiar-seeming voice, soft footsteps echoed out of the darkness, and a lean figure in grey seemed to swirl into existence out of the fog to stand with its back to her. "I'll give you one chance to walk away from this, Bill Sikes," it said, "but if you don't take it, I'll see to it you won't be able to walk away from anything."

Nancy's eyes widened in surprise when she recognized the voice and its American accent. It was Doug Sangnoir, the quiet and inoffensive-seeming fellow who came into the tavern every day for lunch. Despite the French name he was an American through-and-through (though she'd not met enough Americans to really know what that meant). He was a gentleman, to boot. He always had a kind word and a friendly smile for her, and his tips were always generous. And unlike so many of the tavern's other regulars, he never acted as though his custom gave him the right to be lewd to her.

Not once had he ever given her the impression that he could or would stand up to Bill, who could be more beast than man. But there he stood, firm and unwavering, between them.
"This is none o' your concern, Sang-narr," Bill slurred in his anger. "You go an' step aside an' leave me and Nancy to our business now." He brandished the clasp-knife as though it were a visible punctuation to that demand.

Doug sounded truly and deeply regretful. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Bill, for you're going to harm that girl, and I can't have that on my conscience. Not when I could stop it."

"Then I guess I'll be having to take care o' both of you!" Bill growled, and then with a roar threw himself at Doug, clasp-knife raised above his head to strike. Nancy shrieked and, turning her head, shut her eyes, sure that Bill would kill the smaller man with a single blow, and finish the job with her a moment later. But rather than sharp, moist sound of metal blade meeting flesh followed by the soft sighing of a dying man, she heard instead one, two, three hard, fast thuds, followed by two horrifying cracks.

When the hand touched her shoulder a moment later she almost cried out in terror before she heard Doug ask, "Are you all right, Nancy?"

Slowly she opened her eyes to see him standing over her, honest concern in his gentle blue-grey eyes and not a mark on him. She peered around him and gasped at the sight of Bill unconscious and fetched up against the base of the bridge. There was something wrong with the way his legs bent, and Nancy gasped as she remembered the threat Doug had offered.

The clasp-knife was nowhere to be seen.

"How...?" she began, then stopped, not sure if she were asking how he'd beaten Bill, or how he'd done it so quickly, or how it was possible at all.

Doug seemed to understand, and smiled. "I can be a very dangerous person to those who deserve it, Nancy." He held out his hand to her, and unhesitatingly she took it. Without a single sign of exertion he drew her to her feet. "Now, if you're feeling better, you might want to come with me. Young Oliver's going to be needing all his friends at his side."

Spoiler

-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

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