Start of Season 4
You sit beside your wife, Ashely, on the sofa in your living room. Clad in a towel, which has a witch’s dress expertly forced over the top, any free space which could be imagined to exist in such a garment is packed tight with your inventory of unquestionably precious and inarguably useful items. The secateurs in particular make sitting down rather uncomfortable, but you haven’t come this far just to give in to your body’s natural warning messages about soft-tissue damage. In the back of your mind, you still feel a strong desire to teach the bathroom sink a lesson about splashing you for so many years.
Barely half a day ago you returned home after picking up the case of the ecclesiastical embezzlement, but already, following some top-dollar sleuthing work at the local library, Ashley has turned up some dynamite evidence that’ll blow the case wide open. Meanwhile you nobly threatened an innocent librarian, and were subsequently given a gun by Police Chief Diane Ingrid Shame, apparently a close friend of yours. Your head still spins from the bombshell of an epiphany that Ashley dropped a few seconds ago.
Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, Ashley has deduced, is nothing but a front for flipping dirty money and creating a false trail for the financial conduct authority. But for all their sophisticated accounting and fiscal gymnastics, they failed to consider one thing: the tenacity of a woman with a drainpipe in a scarf, and tyre iron with lightbulbs tied to it.
Back in Greater Washburn, probably shredding his pillows with a pair of forks or teaching a course on mispronouncing bird names, the vicar waits for the results of your investigation, barely suspecting that the task he set is but the tip of the snooker cue, one which is grasped by the gnarled fingers of Big Money Laundering. He thinks that Ellen Gertie was a mere opportunist, and fails to see the true writhing morass of tentacles, crimes and awful décor choices that lurk behind her presumably grotesque face.
You look towards Ashley, recent consumer of a curly-wurly, crafter of Bruce Springsteen the seat-spring man, and champion of your heart.
“Do you think Diane Ingrid Shame glues a new moustache onto her face every day, or leaves it stuck on overnight?” you ask.
“Yes.” Ashley replies, illuminating the shadowy corners of your ignorance with the light of her mental acuity. “But we can discuss that at greater length in a minute. What we are going to do about this evidence, Luce?” she asks, always willing to poll you for a suggestion, despite her inconceivable genius and excellent driving abilities. “Do you want to take it back to the vicar to let him decide what to do about it, head to Gertie and Gertie Enterprises to catch them in the act, or find Ellen Gertie herself for a dramatic confrontation?”
You ponder this in your classically pensive, measured and rational way, feeling the revolver in your towel shift slightly. Its barrel points comfortingly towards your softer organs, the ones most susceptible to being pierced by a metal projectile. The Thresher of Light’s wires are still wrapped tightly around the trigger, giving it a warm hug. As you think you jiggle your legs, pulling the wire tighter as both weapons shift in opposite directions
1. “We should tell the vicar, and maybe steal his curtains.”
2. “We should head to Gertie and Gertie Enterprises with a can of petrol.”
3. “Ellen’s house will feel the fury of a hatchback un-braked.”
4. Check Inventory and Stats to Buy Time
Next
Barely half a day ago you returned home after picking up the case of the ecclesiastical embezzlement, but already, following some top-dollar sleuthing work at the local library, Ashley has turned up some dynamite evidence that’ll blow the case wide open. Meanwhile you nobly threatened an innocent librarian, and were subsequently given a gun by Police Chief Diane Ingrid Shame, apparently a close friend of yours. Your head still spins from the bombshell of an epiphany that Ashley dropped a few seconds ago.
Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, Ashley has deduced, is nothing but a front for flipping dirty money and creating a false trail for the financial conduct authority. But for all their sophisticated accounting and fiscal gymnastics, they failed to consider one thing: the tenacity of a woman with a drainpipe in a scarf, and tyre iron with lightbulbs tied to it.
Back in Greater Washburn, probably shredding his pillows with a pair of forks or teaching a course on mispronouncing bird names, the vicar waits for the results of your investigation, barely suspecting that the task he set is but the tip of the snooker cue, one which is grasped by the gnarled fingers of Big Money Laundering. He thinks that Ellen Gertie was a mere opportunist, and fails to see the true writhing morass of tentacles, crimes and awful décor choices that lurk behind her presumably grotesque face.
You look towards Ashley, recent consumer of a curly-wurly, crafter of Bruce Springsteen the seat-spring man, and champion of your heart.
“Do you think Diane Ingrid Shame glues a new moustache onto her face every day, or leaves it stuck on overnight?” you ask.
“Yes.” Ashley replies, illuminating the shadowy corners of your ignorance with the light of her mental acuity. “But we can discuss that at greater length in a minute. What we are going to do about this evidence, Luce?” she asks, always willing to poll you for a suggestion, despite her inconceivable genius and excellent driving abilities. “Do you want to take it back to the vicar to let him decide what to do about it, head to Gertie and Gertie Enterprises to catch them in the act, or find Ellen Gertie herself for a dramatic confrontation?”
You ponder this in your classically pensive, measured and rational way, feeling the revolver in your towel shift slightly. Its barrel points comfortingly towards your softer organs, the ones most susceptible to being pierced by a metal projectile. The Thresher of Light’s wires are still wrapped tightly around the trigger, giving it a warm hug. As you think you jiggle your legs, pulling the wire tighter as both weapons shift in opposite directions
1. “We should tell the vicar, and maybe steal his curtains.”
2. “We should head to Gertie and Gertie Enterprises with a can of petrol.”
3. “Ellen’s house will feel the fury of a hatchback un-braked.”
4. Check Inventory and Stats to Buy Time
Next