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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3900614" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p style="text-align: center">Dungeon Crawl Classic #24</p> <p style="text-align: center">Legend of the Ripper</p> <p style="text-align: center">Level 1-3 (Scaled to level 4)</p><p></p><p>Turn 54: Turning Tricks</p><p></p><p>It’s much later, nearly midnight, the witching hour, the Gang have split up and headed off into The Nunny, they each have their allotted roles to play in tonight’s investigation.</p><p></p><p>Newt is on his own, freelance, he knows the lanes and backstreets well, it’s a cold fretful night in the heart of The Nunny. Crumbling tenements and narrow streets, rat haunted alleys and seedy taverns, the place reeks of death, decay and hopelessness.</p><p></p><p>And so here comes Newt through the warren-like maze, surrounded by filthy shops and homes, many of them derelict, boarded over, home to drunks and worse.</p><p></p><p>He spies a light ahead, “Blackburn’s Bakery”, he approaches cautiously, spots the proprietor inside stacking shelves with fresh loaves of bread, and small pastries, time to quiz the populace, demonstrate his street smarts.</p><p></p><p>Ding-a-ling.</p><p></p><p>The bell on the door chimes as Newt steps into the warmth and light.</p><p></p><p>“We’re not open, half-an-hour.” Blackburn’s a big man; he looks more like a dock labourer than a baker.</p><p>“I’m not here to satisfy my appetite.” Newt hooks his thumbs into his belt, affects a tough guy pose.</p><p>“Well… What do you want?” Blackburn seems, if anything, a little put out, the baker reaches for a length of wood with a nail in behind the counter, rests his hand on the clubs handle.</p><p>“Do you know who I am?” Newt continues his charade.</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“I’m the one they call- ‘Newt’”, he waits for the man to register this new fact, Blackburn’s expression doesn’t waver.</p><p>“Never heard of you, look what do you want I’m busy?”</p><p>“I require information, and you’d best comply or it will go badly for you. Now…”</p><p>“Are you threatening me?”</p><p>“No, I mean, well… yes, that is.”</p><p></p><p>Blackburn grabs the club and stomps around to the counter side of the shop, stands a good ten feet away from Newt, allowing the Gnome to get a good look at the length of wood and particularly the nail in the end of it.</p><p></p><p>Gulp</p><p></p><p>“How much did you say the cream slices are?”</p><p>“We’re not open yet.”</p><p>“I’ll come back in a bit then.”</p><p></p><p>Ding-a-ling.</p><p></p><p>Newt retreats, at speed, into the night. The investigation is going well.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, in the Bradley Arms, a seedy dive in the centre of The Nunny, two strangers nurse their half-pints and stare at their fellow customers, who stare back.</p><p></p><p>“You ask?” Jim whispers to Bec, the Barbarian shakes his head and clutches tighter to his tankard.</p><p>“Well I’m not asking, have you seen the size of him?”</p><p>Jim turns to stare, Bec follows his gaze, there are a group of men at the bar, rough and ready, the largest of which is a head taller than Bec, which is pretty tall, and big with it.</p><p>“I’m not even sure what to ask?” Jim whispers again, “or how?”</p><p></p><p>Bec nods, the smallest member of the group at the bar is wandering over towards their table.</p><p></p><p>“Who the feck are you?” The man slurs.</p><p></p><p>Jim notices first the myriad scars and cuts that dot his dirty armour, and clothes, and oooh that must have hurt, his face.</p><p></p><p>“We’re adventurers, the Goodman Gang, you may have heard of us- we’re trying to…”</p><p>“Never heard of you… What you looking at?” The later delivered in Bec’s direction.</p><p>Bec stands, rather unfolds, and fills the space before the interloper.</p><p>“Get out you dumb ox, you don’t scare me, and you pretty boy.”</p><p>“Now that’s about enough of that.” Jim stands, the ruffian jabs a finger in the Ranger’s chest. </p><p>“I said get gone, we don’t want your sort here, if you don’t clear off there might be a little accident.” He grins, and looks back to his friends, who grin back and begin to shuffle towards the scene of the aforementioned accident- nonchalant, and yet full of menace.</p><p></p><p>“Who’s going to make us leave?” Jim folds his arms.</p><p>“Me.” Scarface shoves Jim back, the Ranger clatters into his chair, shoots a hand out against a wall to prevent himself from falling.</p><p></p><p>Bec’s lightning fast.</p><p></p><p>THUNK</p><p></p><p>Scarface goes down, blood gushing from his broken nose, recently in close contact with the Barbarian’s head.</p><p></p><p>“Get ‘em.”</p><p></p><p>The seven others, already on their way, dive in.</p><p></p><p>SMACK</p><p></p><p>The first is met by a right hook, Bec again, the man drops like a sack-of-spuds and lies still on the floor of the bar.</p><p></p><p>Two attempt to grapple the Barbarian, line him up for the big guy to start swinging. Bec’s an electric eel; he slithers and wrenches himself free from their grasp.</p><p></p><p>A second pair grab Jim by the arms, hold him tight, while a third steps forward aims his haymaker and swings, at the last moment Jim ducks down and in, dragging his capturers off-balance.</p><p></p><p>SMACK</p><p></p><p>The guy connects with his own man, the ruffian holding Jim’s left arm fades and folds to the floor.</p><p></p><p>“Pete, are you… OOOOWF.”</p><p></p><p>Jim interrupts the ruffian’s conversation, by kicking him as hard as he can in his groin, the guy folds then lurches forward onto all fours, dry heaves- seeing stars.</p><p></p><p>“I said leave us alone.” Jim shouts and wrenches his arm free from the last of the trio menacing him, also the only one left standing. The ruffian spies the exit, looks round to see Bec still struggling with his compatriots, he swings wildly at Jim, connects but only a glancing blow and then turns and runs for the door. But not quick enough the Ranger tags him, spins him round and drags him down, Jim’s knee crunches into the guy’s face, he flops to the floor a mess of blood and broken teeth.</p><p></p><p>Bec meanwhile has thrown the last of the pair struggling to hold him off, he grins- ready to exact some revenge.</p><p></p><p>CRUNCH</p><p></p><p>The giant assailant smashes a chair into Bec’s head, the Barbarian, slowly collapses.</p><p></p><p>Leaving three ruffians and Jim.</p><p></p><p>“I just wanted to…” Jim begins, and is grabbed, easily.</p><p></p><p>The giant guy rushes over.</p><p></p><p>BAM</p><p></p><p>And smashes Jim in the face, his head rocks back, as if on a spring, there’s two of everything, everyone, he blinks furiously, trying to correct his vision.</p><p></p><p>“Now I told you…”</p><p></p><p>BAM</p><p></p><p>“To leave…”</p><p></p><p>CRACK</p><p></p><p>“But you wouldn’t…”</p><p></p><p>SMACK</p><p></p><p>“Listen, would you.”</p><p></p><p>BIFF</p><p></p><p>“So now you’re going to…”</p><p></p><p>SLAP</p><p></p><p>“Pay.”</p><p></p><p>ZZZZZZZIPCRUNCH</p><p></p><p>The big man suddenly hits the deck face first, courtesy of Bec who grabs and then pulls his legs from under him. The Barbarian stares at the two ruffians remaining, still holding Jim, then crawls over to the body of the giant on the floor, who’s coming round, not for long. </p><p></p><p>SMASH</p><p></p><p>Bec crashes the huge guys face into the bar floor again- he’s out cold, and then begins to drag himself to his feet.</p><p></p><p>The remaining pair of ruffians scarper back the way they came, clearly there’s an exit in the rear of the Bradley Arms. They’re soon gone.</p><p></p><p>Jim, now unsupported, flops into his chair, and goes for his glass, it’s not where he thinks it is- he spills the lot on the floor.</p><p></p><p>“Well that showed them.” He manages and then crashes face first into the table in front of him.</p><p></p><p>The half-a-dozen other patrons of the bar get back to what they were doing, the show’s over, Bec staggers to his feet, hefts Jim over his shoulder and trudges out of the hostelry and into the cold night.</p><p></p><p>The investigation is now well under way.</p><p></p><p>A little way away, in a busier section of The Nunny.</p><p></p><p>“Good time darl’?” The rather large female Half-Orc standing next to Cas stares hard at the Paladin, can she through my guise Cas wonders. He’s wearing a lilac frock with silk petticoats, a proper whalebone corset, with a pair of grapefruit- fresh from the docks, stuffed in it, and a beautiful flame-red wig, oh and far too much make-up. The wig is particularly effective; it matches a paste-ruby brooch he’s, sorry, she’s wearing.</p><p></p><p>A passing punter glances at the odd pair, the Half-Orc and the Paladin, stops for a second to stare, and then shakes his head and moves off, at speed.</p><p></p><p>“Trade’s slow”, the Paladin offers, to more stares.</p><p>“Not had a bite.” Cas finishes.</p><p></p><p>Still the stares.</p><p></p><p>“Look have I done something wrong?” Cas turns to the Half-Orc and asks, his voice trying to find the right octave.</p><p>“Yew tork funny.” The Half-Orc manages.</p><p>“I’ve gotta saw froat.” The Paladin massages the spot and turns away from the street-walker’s gaze.</p><p></p><p>“Yew wanna luk afta vat.”</p><p>Cas nods.</p><p></p><p>Punters pass on by.</p><p> </p><p>Across from the pair Anya and Ala watch from a shadowy alley, ready for any sign of trouble, the two are wearing men’s clothes and have acquired and applied stick-on moustaches, Anya’s of enormous size and bushiness.</p><p></p><p>DMs Interlude- don’t ask why, I’ve learnt not to.</p><p></p><p>The moustaches are very itchy, Anya scrats at the thing, pulls it off and furiously rubs the spot, then swiftly reapplies it in the half light, it’s off-centre and at a preposterous angle.</p><p></p><p>“It’s bloody cold.” Ala shivers.</p><p>“These bloody trousers are drafty- the wind goes right up…”</p><p></p><p>“I say are either of you young chaps free, when I say free I mean… ahem available.”</p><p></p><p>The interloper is very well dressed, a gentleman- to look at.</p><p></p><p>Anya looks at Ala. Ala looks at Anya, still processing the gentleman’s words, trying to make sense… Ala gets it.</p><p></p><p>SLAP</p><p></p><p>“Ger off wid ya.” Ala shrieks, the punter skedaddles tout suite.</p><p></p><p>The pair puff out their chests, and then remember not to, and then stare across the street to the empty spot where the Paladin and the Half-Orc were so recently standing.</p><p></p><p>“Wha…”</p><p></p><p>They head over in a rush but the odd couple are nowhere to be seen. </p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, not very far away, in a darkened alley.</p><p></p><p>“It’s jus dis way a littul.” Crazy Klina the Half-Orc hooker leads Cas on.</p><p>“That’s awfully good of you, don’t want to put you out.” Cas smiles back, reverting to type.</p><p></p><p>FWOM</p><p></p><p>Cas turns, something just swished by his head, he spies the Half-Orc recovering from her attack, the creature seems to have a small weighted black sack in his hands, a what-do-you-call-it, sap, that’s it.</p><p></p><p>The Half-Orc swings again, Cas steps aside, a pitiful attempt really, the sap spins out of her hand and thumps into the wall of the alley, explodes scattering wet sand mixed with pebbles.</p><p></p><p>The pair stop what they’re doing and stare for a while at the now defunct weapon.</p><p></p><p>“Are you mugging me?” Cas enquires.</p><p>“Yeth.” The Half-Orc replies.</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p></p><p>SMACK</p><p></p><p>Cas punches the Half-Orc in the face, she staggers backwards holding her jaw.</p><p></p><p>“Stop it, it’s silly.” The Paladin manages before the creature, still in a crouch, barrels towards him, aiming to bring him down. Cas swiftly steps aside, grabs the Half-Orc’s arm, arresting the creature’s progress instantly, and quickly brings it up behind her back, into an arm-lock.</p><p></p><p>“I said stop it. Do you understand?”</p><p></p><p>The Half-Orc nods, and then the tears start.</p><p></p><p>“I’m ownlee doin dis cos ov my kids, hate ter fink of dem goin wid owt. No foowd in de ouse, nuffink, pleez elp me.” Crazy Klina slumps back onto the Paladin and bawls and snots.</p><p></p><p>Cas lets go of the poor creature’s arm and is instantly engulfed by the sobbing harlot.</p><p></p><p>“I… That is… I… Here take this…” He hands over a purse of money; the Half-Orc snatches it and then looks up into the Paladin’s eyes.</p><p></p><p>“I’m not who you think I are, I mean, am. I’m a man… I mean a Paladin… A man Paladin, I mean. Look my name’s Casimir La Frond, you can contact me at the Church of Pelor, St. Jimbo’s… I have to…”</p><p></p><p>“CAS!”</p><p></p><p>It’s Ala’s voice and she’s desperate by the sound of things.</p><p></p><p>“I have to go… St. Jimbo’s, remember… If I can help.”</p><p></p><p>And then he’s gone, leaving the Half-Orc standing sobbing, wiping her eyes, and counting the money in the purse.</p><p></p><p>Several hours later, back at the Inn, and back in Cas’ (and Ala’s) room the group reconvene to share their findings. It doesn’t take long.</p><p></p><p>“Nothing.” The Paladin stares. “Nothing.” States the obvious again.</p><p>“Right then tomorrow we’ll see Father Whiskin, see if he knows anything, we go out again tomorrow night, we need to help these people, they may have sacrificed their dignity but they shouldn’t have to sacrifice their lives, I think I understand their plight. Yes, tonight has been a revelation, these poor creatures having to sell their bodies to feed their families, in constant danger...”</p><p></p><p>Cas stops talking, looks all misty eyed for a moment.</p><p></p><p>“I looked good in a dress didn’t I?”</p><p></p><p>He continues with misty eyed for a while then suddenly looks very serious.</p><p></p><p>“I didn’t say that out loud, did I?”</p><p></p><p>Next Turn: Things that go Bump in the night.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3900614, member: 16069"] [CENTER]Dungeon Crawl Classic #24 Legend of the Ripper Level 1-3 (Scaled to level 4)[/CENTER] Turn 54: Turning Tricks It’s much later, nearly midnight, the witching hour, the Gang have split up and headed off into The Nunny, they each have their allotted roles to play in tonight’s investigation. Newt is on his own, freelance, he knows the lanes and backstreets well, it’s a cold fretful night in the heart of The Nunny. Crumbling tenements and narrow streets, rat haunted alleys and seedy taverns, the place reeks of death, decay and hopelessness. And so here comes Newt through the warren-like maze, surrounded by filthy shops and homes, many of them derelict, boarded over, home to drunks and worse. He spies a light ahead, “Blackburn’s Bakery”, he approaches cautiously, spots the proprietor inside stacking shelves with fresh loaves of bread, and small pastries, time to quiz the populace, demonstrate his street smarts. Ding-a-ling. The bell on the door chimes as Newt steps into the warmth and light. “We’re not open, half-an-hour.” Blackburn’s a big man; he looks more like a dock labourer than a baker. “I’m not here to satisfy my appetite.” Newt hooks his thumbs into his belt, affects a tough guy pose. “Well… What do you want?” Blackburn seems, if anything, a little put out, the baker reaches for a length of wood with a nail in behind the counter, rests his hand on the clubs handle. “Do you know who I am?” Newt continues his charade. “Nope.” “I’m the one they call- ‘Newt’”, he waits for the man to register this new fact, Blackburn’s expression doesn’t waver. “Never heard of you, look what do you want I’m busy?” “I require information, and you’d best comply or it will go badly for you. Now…” “Are you threatening me?” “No, I mean, well… yes, that is.” Blackburn grabs the club and stomps around to the counter side of the shop, stands a good ten feet away from Newt, allowing the Gnome to get a good look at the length of wood and particularly the nail in the end of it. Gulp “How much did you say the cream slices are?” “We’re not open yet.” “I’ll come back in a bit then.” Ding-a-ling. Newt retreats, at speed, into the night. The investigation is going well. Meanwhile, in the Bradley Arms, a seedy dive in the centre of The Nunny, two strangers nurse their half-pints and stare at their fellow customers, who stare back. “You ask?” Jim whispers to Bec, the Barbarian shakes his head and clutches tighter to his tankard. “Well I’m not asking, have you seen the size of him?” Jim turns to stare, Bec follows his gaze, there are a group of men at the bar, rough and ready, the largest of which is a head taller than Bec, which is pretty tall, and big with it. “I’m not even sure what to ask?” Jim whispers again, “or how?” Bec nods, the smallest member of the group at the bar is wandering over towards their table. “Who the feck are you?” The man slurs. Jim notices first the myriad scars and cuts that dot his dirty armour, and clothes, and oooh that must have hurt, his face. “We’re adventurers, the Goodman Gang, you may have heard of us- we’re trying to…” “Never heard of you… What you looking at?” The later delivered in Bec’s direction. Bec stands, rather unfolds, and fills the space before the interloper. “Get out you dumb ox, you don’t scare me, and you pretty boy.” “Now that’s about enough of that.” Jim stands, the ruffian jabs a finger in the Ranger’s chest. “I said get gone, we don’t want your sort here, if you don’t clear off there might be a little accident.” He grins, and looks back to his friends, who grin back and begin to shuffle towards the scene of the aforementioned accident- nonchalant, and yet full of menace. “Who’s going to make us leave?” Jim folds his arms. “Me.” Scarface shoves Jim back, the Ranger clatters into his chair, shoots a hand out against a wall to prevent himself from falling. Bec’s lightning fast. THUNK Scarface goes down, blood gushing from his broken nose, recently in close contact with the Barbarian’s head. “Get ‘em.” The seven others, already on their way, dive in. SMACK The first is met by a right hook, Bec again, the man drops like a sack-of-spuds and lies still on the floor of the bar. Two attempt to grapple the Barbarian, line him up for the big guy to start swinging. Bec’s an electric eel; he slithers and wrenches himself free from their grasp. A second pair grab Jim by the arms, hold him tight, while a third steps forward aims his haymaker and swings, at the last moment Jim ducks down and in, dragging his capturers off-balance. SMACK The guy connects with his own man, the ruffian holding Jim’s left arm fades and folds to the floor. “Pete, are you… OOOOWF.” Jim interrupts the ruffian’s conversation, by kicking him as hard as he can in his groin, the guy folds then lurches forward onto all fours, dry heaves- seeing stars. “I said leave us alone.” Jim shouts and wrenches his arm free from the last of the trio menacing him, also the only one left standing. The ruffian spies the exit, looks round to see Bec still struggling with his compatriots, he swings wildly at Jim, connects but only a glancing blow and then turns and runs for the door. But not quick enough the Ranger tags him, spins him round and drags him down, Jim’s knee crunches into the guy’s face, he flops to the floor a mess of blood and broken teeth. Bec meanwhile has thrown the last of the pair struggling to hold him off, he grins- ready to exact some revenge. CRUNCH The giant assailant smashes a chair into Bec’s head, the Barbarian, slowly collapses. Leaving three ruffians and Jim. “I just wanted to…” Jim begins, and is grabbed, easily. The giant guy rushes over. BAM And smashes Jim in the face, his head rocks back, as if on a spring, there’s two of everything, everyone, he blinks furiously, trying to correct his vision. “Now I told you…” BAM “To leave…” CRACK “But you wouldn’t…” SMACK “Listen, would you.” BIFF “So now you’re going to…” SLAP “Pay.” ZZZZZZZIPCRUNCH The big man suddenly hits the deck face first, courtesy of Bec who grabs and then pulls his legs from under him. The Barbarian stares at the two ruffians remaining, still holding Jim, then crawls over to the body of the giant on the floor, who’s coming round, not for long. SMASH Bec crashes the huge guys face into the bar floor again- he’s out cold, and then begins to drag himself to his feet. The remaining pair of ruffians scarper back the way they came, clearly there’s an exit in the rear of the Bradley Arms. They’re soon gone. Jim, now unsupported, flops into his chair, and goes for his glass, it’s not where he thinks it is- he spills the lot on the floor. “Well that showed them.” He manages and then crashes face first into the table in front of him. The half-a-dozen other patrons of the bar get back to what they were doing, the show’s over, Bec staggers to his feet, hefts Jim over his shoulder and trudges out of the hostelry and into the cold night. The investigation is now well under way. A little way away, in a busier section of The Nunny. “Good time darl’?” The rather large female Half-Orc standing next to Cas stares hard at the Paladin, can she through my guise Cas wonders. He’s wearing a lilac frock with silk petticoats, a proper whalebone corset, with a pair of grapefruit- fresh from the docks, stuffed in it, and a beautiful flame-red wig, oh and far too much make-up. The wig is particularly effective; it matches a paste-ruby brooch he’s, sorry, she’s wearing. A passing punter glances at the odd pair, the Half-Orc and the Paladin, stops for a second to stare, and then shakes his head and moves off, at speed. “Trade’s slow”, the Paladin offers, to more stares. “Not had a bite.” Cas finishes. Still the stares. “Look have I done something wrong?” Cas turns to the Half-Orc and asks, his voice trying to find the right octave. “Yew tork funny.” The Half-Orc manages. “I’ve gotta saw froat.” The Paladin massages the spot and turns away from the street-walker’s gaze. “Yew wanna luk afta vat.” Cas nods. Punters pass on by. Across from the pair Anya and Ala watch from a shadowy alley, ready for any sign of trouble, the two are wearing men’s clothes and have acquired and applied stick-on moustaches, Anya’s of enormous size and bushiness. DMs Interlude- don’t ask why, I’ve learnt not to. The moustaches are very itchy, Anya scrats at the thing, pulls it off and furiously rubs the spot, then swiftly reapplies it in the half light, it’s off-centre and at a preposterous angle. “It’s bloody cold.” Ala shivers. “These bloody trousers are drafty- the wind goes right up…” “I say are either of you young chaps free, when I say free I mean… ahem available.” The interloper is very well dressed, a gentleman- to look at. Anya looks at Ala. Ala looks at Anya, still processing the gentleman’s words, trying to make sense… Ala gets it. SLAP “Ger off wid ya.” Ala shrieks, the punter skedaddles tout suite. The pair puff out their chests, and then remember not to, and then stare across the street to the empty spot where the Paladin and the Half-Orc were so recently standing. “Wha…” They head over in a rush but the odd couple are nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, not very far away, in a darkened alley. “It’s jus dis way a littul.” Crazy Klina the Half-Orc hooker leads Cas on. “That’s awfully good of you, don’t want to put you out.” Cas smiles back, reverting to type. FWOM Cas turns, something just swished by his head, he spies the Half-Orc recovering from her attack, the creature seems to have a small weighted black sack in his hands, a what-do-you-call-it, sap, that’s it. The Half-Orc swings again, Cas steps aside, a pitiful attempt really, the sap spins out of her hand and thumps into the wall of the alley, explodes scattering wet sand mixed with pebbles. The pair stop what they’re doing and stare for a while at the now defunct weapon. “Are you mugging me?” Cas enquires. “Yeth.” The Half-Orc replies. “Oh.” SMACK Cas punches the Half-Orc in the face, she staggers backwards holding her jaw. “Stop it, it’s silly.” The Paladin manages before the creature, still in a crouch, barrels towards him, aiming to bring him down. Cas swiftly steps aside, grabs the Half-Orc’s arm, arresting the creature’s progress instantly, and quickly brings it up behind her back, into an arm-lock. “I said stop it. Do you understand?” The Half-Orc nods, and then the tears start. “I’m ownlee doin dis cos ov my kids, hate ter fink of dem goin wid owt. No foowd in de ouse, nuffink, pleez elp me.” Crazy Klina slumps back onto the Paladin and bawls and snots. Cas lets go of the poor creature’s arm and is instantly engulfed by the sobbing harlot. “I… That is… I… Here take this…” He hands over a purse of money; the Half-Orc snatches it and then looks up into the Paladin’s eyes. “I’m not who you think I are, I mean, am. I’m a man… I mean a Paladin… A man Paladin, I mean. Look my name’s Casimir La Frond, you can contact me at the Church of Pelor, St. Jimbo’s… I have to…” “CAS!” It’s Ala’s voice and she’s desperate by the sound of things. “I have to go… St. Jimbo’s, remember… If I can help.” And then he’s gone, leaving the Half-Orc standing sobbing, wiping her eyes, and counting the money in the purse. Several hours later, back at the Inn, and back in Cas’ (and Ala’s) room the group reconvene to share their findings. It doesn’t take long. “Nothing.” The Paladin stares. “Nothing.” States the obvious again. “Right then tomorrow we’ll see Father Whiskin, see if he knows anything, we go out again tomorrow night, we need to help these people, they may have sacrificed their dignity but they shouldn’t have to sacrifice their lives, I think I understand their plight. Yes, tonight has been a revelation, these poor creatures having to sell their bodies to feed their families, in constant danger...” Cas stops talking, looks all misty eyed for a moment. “I looked good in a dress didn’t I?” He continues with misty eyed for a while then suddenly looks very serious. “I didn’t say that out loud, did I?” Next Turn: Things that go Bump in the night. [/QUOTE]
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