I may revise this section more, before adding anymore content (especially with me being incredibly slow to get to the main plot); still, it's not like anyone's seeing this!
The Curious Concoction of Count Crotchet
Perched atop a cliff-side, (one which suffers many a thunder some night) was a stony grey castle, and some would question the sanity which led to the decision of residing in such a derelict and dreadfully evil-looking castle. This castle overlooked a village, of which the topic of the castle loomed over everything else. A viscous cycle. The gossip which most prevalently comes up is that of the castle's aforementioned residents, whom consisted of none other than the Count, and his dutiful butler, Gerald. Not to mention the sometimes forced 'occupants' on the area below the living quarters.
The Count stood upon a fiendishly looking balcony of the castle, which was as the castle: grey and grimy. On the balcony was also placed a small round tea-desk, which was adorned with a little tablecloth, which was frilly.
"I dare say I fancy a cup of tea." The Count pondered aloud, not to specifically anyone, but nevertheless answered promptly.
"Right away sir. May I ask which one?" The Count smiled a devilish smile, and turned his body to the man.
"I'm feeling quite jolly today Gerald! The treacherous one will be splendid."
"Right away sir." Dressed in a black suit, which the Count thought deliciously evil; he quickly exited the balcony to carry out his masters request.
The Count returned his gaze to the small village, watching the bustle of work mixed with idleness. He saw the ants far below him, moving, talking and aiding each other. It brought a frown to his assured face. Glancing to the sky, he noticed a dark shade of greyish blue clouds, which he decided were rain and thunder clouds, ready to enlighten his evil castle with the 'glow of the gods.' Or so the villages say, he mused.
"Your tea, sir." Dubiously said, the man in black walked onto the balcony.
"Ah, excellent! Place it on the tea-desk."
Gerald complied quickly with his masters order, and placed the tea on the aforementioned desk
"Oh, and do release the dogs for me."
"Right away sir. May I ask, on each other or on some of our 'forced guests'?"
"As I said Gerald, I'm feeling jolly! Just for a stroll, if you will."
The devilish smile, which the Count does love to smile, re-appeared on his face, cock-sure and menacingly.
"Sir?"
"Oh, of course I meant down to the village Gerald."
"Ah, of course, how silly of me to think otherwise sir. Right away."
"Silly indeed."
Once the man had left, the Count turned on his feet, never turning his head. He stepped over to the tea-desk, and looked at it with a certain curiosity. He pondered the frilly shape of the cloth adorning the tea-desk, and quickly swiped his tea from it. He gave it one last look, almost fondly, and then swiftly frowned and turned on his feet; strolling back to the overview of the village, where his previous position was.
Callously sipping, he strode back inside the grey, grimy castle, and fetched out a small stool, also adorned with a little frilly cloth. He placed it cautiously next to the tea-desk, placing his backside on the cosy stool.
“The dogs have been set loose sir, and some patrons of your dogs have arrived.”
“Well that was quick!” The Count acknowledged gleefully.
“Then we shall have to see them in, and carefully explain to them my schemes.”
“Yes sir, I shall have them seated in the living room.”
“Living room? What the devil are you putting them in there for? They shall hardly be living any more after the schemes are explained.” The Count seemed to say it with a hint of disgust, and a frown.
“Dreadfully sorry sir; I shall have them relocated to the hall.”
“Oh really Gerald, the hall? Hardly a place to scheme with new patrons!”
“Very sorry sir, I shall place them in the torture room then.”
“Good! And do remind me to rename some of these rooms. We need something much more evil.”
“Duly noted sir.”Said with a nod, and off to comply.
The Count briskly finished his delightful tea, and then began to walk inside the castle. Before entering, he back paced, and pick up the little stool, adorned with a white frilly tablecloth, and took it inside. He stepped over to the small empty space, which the stool usually occupies, and place it back. Perfectly. Turning around, he was met with Gerald.
"GAH. Gerald, how many times have I told you. Do not sneak up!"
"Sorry sir, but I have some news."
"You almost gave me a heart attack. Well, what's the news?"
"Your mother has arrived sir."
"My Mother?!" The Count cocked his head to the side, thoughtfully.
"How did she get past the villagers?" He asked curiously.
"Well, she is your mother sir." A hint of a smirk swept across the Butler's face, and quickly disappeared upon glancing at the Count's disapproval.
"Remember Gerald, in her company she is to be called Lady Crotchet."
"Of course sir."
"Well. We best make our way to see her then. Better release the patrons."
"She wants to see you torture them sir."
"What! How dare she come in my castle and make a mockery of me!"
The Count straightened himself.
"Let us go see my mother."
"Right away sir."
The two men strode down the decorated hallways. There were many portraits of the Crotchet family hung upon the patterned wall, with their eyes seemingly following passers-by.
The odd small round table was placed, in the most suiting of positions, often accompanied by a equally decorated and coupling stool. The many rooms open on each side of the hall each told a different story, while they mouths dangled open and sometimes danced; only if the window was ajar, however. The Count, upon reaching the final hallway, stopped abruptly, and turned to his butler, not far behind.
"One second Gerald, just popping the loo."
"Of course sir. Shall I wait or go on ahead?"
"Better to wait. I shall be requiring your services soon."
Gerald looked taken-aback, quickly questioning the Count.
"Sir?"
"For the sink Gerald. I am sick of having to mend it myself. Far too loose. It shall have to be mended immediately," the Count concluded. "I cannot have it."
"Of course sir." Gerald sighed in relief.
Upon entering the bathroom, the Count closed the door behind Gerald, and got out his key-ring. It is often said that a key-ring was a device to lose all keys at the same time, and the Count's collection was no exception. His large key-ring was over-weighted by many a key, some large some small, and upon taking it off his belt he always felt a relief of weight. He quickly tried three different keys, before finding the correct one; locking Gerald in.
"Sorry Gerald, but your dreadful manner cannot be around my Mother. She would have thought I'd have gone soft."
"Of course sir," sighed Gerald. "I shall await your return."
"Alrighty. Now then, to see my Mother."
The Count scorched across the landing, and slid down the banister of the stairs as a child would do. Upon landing, he quickly straightened himself to find his view focused upon the Lady Crotchet. He recoiled slightly, before growing increasingly red.
"Mother, I'm afraid we're all busy at the moment. You shall have to leave!" The Count tried to put on a farce, acting tired and flushed.
"There is always time for your Mother, boy. Stand straight and stop slouching!"
The Count quickly stood straight, before realising what he had done, and resuming his previous position.
"I'm afraid we're really busy however Mother, I'm having an.. er.."
The Count trailed off, trying to create a suitable situation.
"Ah yes! Of course! I'm having an evil congregation. I'm afraid you shall have to go. I'm planning again Mother."
The Count's mother, looking rather ghastly, smiled, then quickly ceased smiling. She shot a scowl at her son.
"This is hardly decorated for such an occasion," she noted. "Once again you seem to have forgotten the most basic principals of being evil." She sighed, and rolled her eyes; then marched towards the nearby room, which was filled with a large evil looking table, coupled with a suitable amount of comfy chairs.
"What is this room? Very fitting for such a place. The table cloth on that table will not do, however. Must be removed. At once."
She scowled.
"Mother! You can hardly be around while the congregation is taking place!" The Count tried to defend with, weakly.
"Quite right! I shall be ordering Gerald around. I may fancy some evil chess." She trailed off.
"Well, er, hmm. One second mother."
The Count strode off, searching for his large assortment of keys, in his jacket pocket.
Out of sight of his mother, the Count dashed towards the previously mentioned bathroom, with the locked Gerald trapped helplessly inside.
“Gerald! Quickly, where is my address book?”
“It's in the drawer room sir.”
“Ah, of course!”
The Count raced towards the drawer room, which to his dismay was named quite aptly. He gawked at the mountains of drawers and quickly closed the door behind him. He ran back to the bathroom, where Gerald still awaited release.
“Which one?!”
“The round one, sir.”
Smiling, the Count once again ran to the drawer room and looked around the room. Once again, he was dumbfounded at the sheer amount of round drawers inside, and concluded to go back to the Bathroom. He quickly got out his key-ring and tried many different keys, before finally succeeding with the seventh try.
“I really should label these. They are quite a hassle - my sink!” The Count stared in horror at the smashed sink, with both taps lying on the floor.
“My taps!”
“I slipped, sir.”
The Count frowned and scowled at Gerald, who was proudly displaying a smirk.
“I assume you want me to find your address book sir? Right away.” Gerald walked towards the drawer room, still smirking proudly.
“Yes. And hurry up!” The count shouted. He once again glanced at his destroyed sink, and frowned in horror at the ceramic gore before him.
Gerald swiftly returned with the little black book; the Count snatched it from his hand. He looked inside, examining the few pages with writing on, before handing it back to Gerald.
“See to it that everyone evil in here gets to my castle immediately.” The Count instructed, “personally.”
Gerald frowned, and left to pursue his master's wishes. The Count adjusted himself, and hurried past the halls towards his mother. Once again he slid down the banister of the stairway.
“Ah! My boy. I have come up with a very evil name for this room!” Lady Crotchet said gleefully, “I call it, the conference room!” Smirking, she explained her choice, “it will be where all big evil men come to meet and discuss plans!”
Pondering the name, he nevertheless congratulated his mother, and attempted to shuffle her into the living room.
“An excellent idea mother, brilliant, now if you will just come along here.”
“No no! I am not sitting here, bored out of my mind! Entertain me my boy!”
“Mother it is hardly the business of someone such as myself to entertain their mother!”
“You shall do as you're told!”
The Count suddenly grew angry, his face turning a rather strange colour of red.
“Now listen here Mother. I am sick of your attitude towards me! I am an evil Count and I shall do as I please. Now sit down! I shall get Gerald to keep you busy and away from me!”
The Count stopped, and stood straight. He adjusted himself and looked into his Mother's eyes, still focused hard, looking at her wrinkled face. Suddenly a smile, like a crease, appeared on the woman's face, as she embraced her son.
“Finally! I thought you'd never stand up to me, I thought you'd always be a push-over,” sobbed the Mother, holding back tears. “I just knew you would be able to! I knew you had a spine!”
The Count, confused while also displaying a smile, was shocked at his Mother's abrupt change of character.
“Quite so Mother. Quite so.”
Gerald soon entered the room, and was confused at the sobbing woman hugging the Count, whilst all the Count could do was pay him a confused face. She soon tore off her son, and smiled at Gerald.
“Gerald! He finally stood up to me! I'm so proud!” she almost shouted. “Now come, lets get out of his hair. You owe me a game of chess my dear!”
“One second Gerald, I need to talk to you,” the Count interrupted. “Mother, best you go in the rumpus room – pick a different name for it while you're there – and await Gerald with the chessboard.”
“Quite so son! Quite so!” she strode towards the rumpus room, displaying a proud smile full of dignity.
As soon as she exited, the Count turned to Gerald, who was staring confused towards the direction of Lady Crotchet's departure.
“Now then Gerald,” the Count began.” Since that is out of the way, I think it's best to call off the evil meeting.”
“I'm afraid it's too late for that sir.”
“What do you mean it's too late?!”
“Well, some have already arrived,” Gerald smirked. “And the rest are still yet to arrive.”
“What!” The Count's demeanour immediately changed as he became panicked. “What on earth should I say?”
“I don't know sir,” Gerald shrugged. “Perhaps the forces of good?”
“What about them?”
“Well, you should focus on beating them sir.”
“Ah yes! Of course!” The Count paused. “How do I do that?”
“I do not know sir, but perhaps some poison would do the trick.”
“You mean I would have called a conference about poison?” The Count pointed out, “that's absurd Gerald. Anyone can do poison!”
“Perhaps a different type of concoction then sir.”
“Hmm.. Perhaps!” The Count contemplated, “it could have to be interesting, not boring or plain. I want to dazzle the enemy before dispatching them!”
“Quite right sir. I shall bring an array of ingredients.” Gerald began to turn.
“Gerald! Wait!” The Count nervously said, “how do I deal with the guests who are already here?”
“Stall them sir.”
“And how on Earth am I to do that?!”
“Improvise,” said Gerald, turnign his back and leaving. “Improvise sir.”
The Count thought briefly. “Oh and Gerald,” the Count shouted. “Don't forget about my Mother!”
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