>> Ask Ashley if she's OK
"Are you OK, Ashley?" you ask, from your position of relative control underneath the desk. You're definitely upside down, and your feet are rested on the seat of the chair, but you feel like this better than many of the chainsaw-based alternatives.
"Er..." she thinks out loud. You follow the sound of her voice to see your wife, in disguise as a prominent grocer, lying in a pile of wood and paper. "...what do you mean, Mrs Fox? Have you banged your head a bit and accidentally mispronounced Sir Chrimmington as 'Ashely'?"
Ashley's commitment to the character is exemplary, even after a severe de-dooring incident.
"Apologies, Sir Chrimmington. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I think so, Mrs Fox. Nothing that the sale of a half-dozen kilos of finest Glaswegian oranges couldn't fix, just as long as that sale goes through an intermediary." exposits 'Sir Chrimmington'.
"Great, then let's extract ourselves from this door rubble that someone has carelessly left scattered around the office and find someone with whom to enquire within." you say, images of opening a Gertie's chest so that you can shout a question inside flickering in front of your mind's eye. It's a bit grim.
"I'm also fine, by the way." says Drainpipe. You look over to the sound of Drainpipe's voice, which almost sounds like it comes from exactly your position. It's expertly balanced on a large indoor flowerpot, having disarmed by bifurcation the pot's previous leafy owner. Petals litter the floor around it.
"That's a great relief, mysterious pipe noble." you reply, kicking the desk chair hard away from yourself to create an exfiltration route. You hear the wheels eventually hit the skirting boards at the opposite end of the room, and then the heavy seat-back crack the window into which it pivots.
With severe discomfort from your overstuffed towel, awkwardness from the chainsaw you refuse to release, and obstructed vision from the dangling fox taxidermy, you make your way to your feet. The office in which you find yourself is a real mess of broken doors, shredded plants, broken windows, and scattered grocers. It's just the sort of depravity you should have expected from any relative of Ellen Gertie.
"Oh, Mrs Fox! I wasn't expecting you today." cries a voice from the corner of the room. It doesn't sound like the voice of either a grocer or a drainpipe, which surprises you. You look over to see an elderly woman, not THE Elderly Woman, looking over at you. She's wearing a doily on each shoulder, diamante pumps, and a sensible olive skirt.
"And yet here I am! As cunning and sly as a fox, with just as much interest in rummaging through your bins. Mrs Ellen Gertie, I presume." you answer, in a manner which you firmly believe to be debonair.
"Well... Yes. We've met several times before. Did you really hit your head like your friend, Sir Chrimmington was it, presumed?" replies Ellen Gertie.
The confirmation twists in your stomach. The hag herself, in the flesh, stands before you. She threw the first stone when she threw you through that doorway a moment ago and then thrust Drainpipe Von Staffen into a plant pot.
1. Violence
2. Call Diane Ingrid Shame for backup
3. Stay in character and surreptitiously gather intel
4. Ask Ellen Gertie to represent Sir Chrimmington's grocery
"Er..." she thinks out loud. You follow the sound of her voice to see your wife, in disguise as a prominent grocer, lying in a pile of wood and paper. "...what do you mean, Mrs Fox? Have you banged your head a bit and accidentally mispronounced Sir Chrimmington as 'Ashely'?"
Ashley's commitment to the character is exemplary, even after a severe de-dooring incident.
"Apologies, Sir Chrimmington. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I think so, Mrs Fox. Nothing that the sale of a half-dozen kilos of finest Glaswegian oranges couldn't fix, just as long as that sale goes through an intermediary." exposits 'Sir Chrimmington'.
"Great, then let's extract ourselves from this door rubble that someone has carelessly left scattered around the office and find someone with whom to enquire within." you say, images of opening a Gertie's chest so that you can shout a question inside flickering in front of your mind's eye. It's a bit grim.
"I'm also fine, by the way." says Drainpipe. You look over to the sound of Drainpipe's voice, which almost sounds like it comes from exactly your position. It's expertly balanced on a large indoor flowerpot, having disarmed by bifurcation the pot's previous leafy owner. Petals litter the floor around it.
"That's a great relief, mysterious pipe noble." you reply, kicking the desk chair hard away from yourself to create an exfiltration route. You hear the wheels eventually hit the skirting boards at the opposite end of the room, and then the heavy seat-back crack the window into which it pivots.
With severe discomfort from your overstuffed towel, awkwardness from the chainsaw you refuse to release, and obstructed vision from the dangling fox taxidermy, you make your way to your feet. The office in which you find yourself is a real mess of broken doors, shredded plants, broken windows, and scattered grocers. It's just the sort of depravity you should have expected from any relative of Ellen Gertie.
"Oh, Mrs Fox! I wasn't expecting you today." cries a voice from the corner of the room. It doesn't sound like the voice of either a grocer or a drainpipe, which surprises you. You look over to see an elderly woman, not THE Elderly Woman, looking over at you. She's wearing a doily on each shoulder, diamante pumps, and a sensible olive skirt.
"And yet here I am! As cunning and sly as a fox, with just as much interest in rummaging through your bins. Mrs Ellen Gertie, I presume." you answer, in a manner which you firmly believe to be debonair.
"Well... Yes. We've met several times before. Did you really hit your head like your friend, Sir Chrimmington was it, presumed?" replies Ellen Gertie.
The confirmation twists in your stomach. The hag herself, in the flesh, stands before you. She threw the first stone when she threw you through that doorway a moment ago and then thrust Drainpipe Von Staffen into a plant pot.
1. Violence
2. Call Diane Ingrid Shame for backup
3. Stay in character and surreptitiously gather intel
4. Ask Ellen Gertie to represent Sir Chrimmington's grocery