Fourth Floor Common Room, Wednesday Night, With Extra Grey Cells

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

Today, the fourth floor common room was not, in fact, the fourth floor common room. It was, rather, the scene of a murder.

The deceased -- a rather unfortunate looking stuffed animal -- lay just there, behind the sofa.

The police were stumped. The police, they saw and they observed, but they did not use the little grey cells, mon ami.

The police had called in the most excellent services of the most excellent Belgian who had, it should be noted, the finest moustache in all of England.

Monsieur Hercule Poirot was on the case. He would solve the mystery, mais oui? But of course. The great Hercule Poirot never failed to apprehend the criminal.

(Today is Agatha Christie's 120th birthday. Therefore, George is now M. Hercule Poirot. Come and be interrogated over the dastardly murder! Or mistaken for a police officer, or the good captain Hastings! M. Poirot, he will prevail!)

Comments

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Kurt wandered into the room to make popcorn and waved at George. "Fandom weird enough for you yet?!" he asked cheerfully.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Ah bon, mon ami," Poirot said effusively. "So good of you to help me solve this case. Perhaps you can write the story of how Monsieur Poirot had yet another victory, where the police found themselves fooled. Let us hope there are no red-headed women about to lead you astray, mais non?"

His dear Hastings would not mind the very gentle teasing of his old friend, Poirot.

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Kurt blinked at George, entirely confused. "...But I'm just here for popcorn...?"

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Come, Hastings," Poirot said, gesturing towards the late, lamented stuffed animal. "Tell me, what do you make of this? Does nothing suggest itself? I find one or two small matters to be extremely curious, mon ami."

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

"I can't hasten, I'm..." Kurt started to explain, but just then the microwave beeped. "Never mind, I'm done! Okay!"

Hot bag held gingerly in one hand, he hopped over to peer at the stuffed animal. Nothing about it suggested itself as curious, though. "...I don't know?" he told Poirot. "It's... Um." He scratched his head. "Who does it belong to?"

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"The soul, he belongs to le bon Dieu," Poirot sighed. "The body, he is our problem, mais non? The police have searched the unfortunate man before you, but they have recovered nothing which would reveal his identity. This investigation, it does not start well."

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Things were starting to click. The poor girl had gone completely out of her mind! Hopefully, it was something the island had done, and not an actual mental illness!

"Maybe... the police weren't trying hard enough?" he suggested. He'd play along for now, and... also try to figure out how to help her, or something.

[squire-hand.livejournal.com]

James wandered in to the common room, a floor above his own, scouting to see if there was anyone cooking, as was so often the case.

Alas, this floor seemed strangely absent of food, but with an abundance of...something else.

"Hello," James said, nodding at the girl.


[Oh, Poirot!]

[squire-hand.livejournal.com]

Eyebrow quirked, James nodded at the other student, who seemed a bit...different.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Perhaps they were not looking in the correct place," Poirot said, his eyes twinkling. "Or perhaps they do not exercise their little grey cells. For example. This man, he is wearing quite a heavy overcoat. Does it strike you as being a very cold day to-day, mon ami? The type of day where your Englishman, he says, 'I will need my warmest coat'?"

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Monsieur Harkshire," Poirot said, his back straightening. "Come. Have a seat. The police have questioned you, mais non? But Poirot, he has questions that the police did not ask."

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Kurt looked down at the "murder victim" and nodded, pretending to see the warm coat. "It's very warm today, ja," he agreed. "That IS out of place. And very clever of you, to deduce that he's English!"

[squire-hand.livejournal.com]

He blinked a few times and tilted his head a bit. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

[didntchewgrass.livejournal.com]

Elphaba peered into the common room, and her curiosity got the best of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stepping inside.

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Kurt nodded back, hoping James wasn't looking at him funny because of his blue fur.

He gestured at George and mouthed "she's gone crazy", just to bring the other boy up to speed on the situation.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"But of course he is English, mon ami!" Poirot said, for this was a very simple fact that was easily deduced. "See his coat, and his shoes. See the way his tie is tied. I should be very much surprised were he not English. This is not a suit worn by a Frenchman, and no Belgian would have such a pitiful moustache."

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Sit," Poirot said, gesturing towards a chair. "We have time for your apologies later, monsieur. For now, Poirot will ask the questions, and you will tell him everything you know."

Murderers loved to talk. It was one of their fatal flaws.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"Mademoiselle," Poirot said, folding his hands behind his back. "I am investigating a crime of the utmost seriousness. Your police, they say, 'We do not know who killed this man.' But Hercule Poirot, he is not so easily fooled."

[didntchewgrass.livejournal.com]

Elphaba just stared in disbelief. "Have you eaten strange mushrooms, George?" she asked, knowing full well what some Munchkin boys could get up sometimes.

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

Monsieur Poirot was taken aback. "I am afraid you are mistaken," he said. "George is the name of my most excellent valet."

His pronunciation softened the G considerably.

"I am Monsieur Hercule Poirot, the great detective. Criminals, they fear Hercule Poirot. They are wise to do so."

Either that, or they feared the mustache.

Don't ask how George got a mustache. Thankfully, it was fake.

[squire-hand.livejournal.com]

Well, yes. Blue-furred people were not the norm on Midkemia, or at least the parts with which he was familiar.

He quirked his head and nodded at the girl who called him the wrong name.

[willbethenight.livejournal.com]

Bruce didn't often go to the fourth floor common room, but his shirt was missing a button and it wasn't anywhere on the fifth floor. The last time he wore this one, he had been on this floor, so it was time to look for it.

He hadn't expected to walk into a crime scene. "Is something going on here?"

[onapalebicycle.livejournal.com]

"But of course," Hercule Poirot said, regarding the newcomer with a professional eye. "The police, they have made no progress in their investigations. Hercule Poirot, he lends his services. Come in, Monsieur. There are questions that Poirot must ask."

[bamf-tastic.livejournal.com]

Kurt waved excitedly at the green girl in strangely-colored-person solidarity. Then he gestured at poor crazy George. "We are detecting!" he answered happily. In an undertone, he added, "she's gone nuts!"

[puppy_fair]

Okay, so, Zack was on his way back up to his room after a bit of evening training with the really nice little (sorry, Arthur) sword that he'd gotten for his birthday, and it was somewhere around the fourth floor that he realized that he was actually a little on the thirsty side. Go figure, working up a sweat made people need to drink water, right? Weird stuff.

In any case, he was peering in to the fourth floor common room and realizing... Hey, there was something going on in there!

"Hiya!"

New faces were awesome.