What You’ve Gone and Done Now

Author’s Note: Language warning. What can I say, these two are lowlives and thieves, they aren’t going to keep it clean 100% of the time.

“Wright damn it, Clarence, if I haven’t about had it with ye!” Simon swore. “I found ye a new place months ago! What the hell are ye doin’ here?”

“Got kicked out,” Clarence mumbled to the table.

How?” He slammed his fist on the table. “It was a complete dive! They house sc– Sims like ye every day of the week! Hell, you blend in there!”

“Do it matter?”

“Yes! Yes, it does! If ye can’t hold yerself together enough ter keep a place in one of the scummiest dives in the kingdom, I need to know why!”

“Why couldn’t I jest stay here?” Clarence whined. “All those months ago? Come on, Simon. We’re in the same crew, we’re makin’ good money tergether — why can’t we jest live tergether, too?”

“Because I’m gettin’ married in a few weeks!” Simon exploded. “Wright Almighty!”

“An’ ye want ter enjoy yer new bride all by yerself? Ye’re –”

Simon grabbed Clarence by the hair and slammed his head into the table. “Let’s get somethin’ straight,” Simon whispered into Clarence’s ear, even as Clarence howled and held his face, “as far as yer concerned, my bride? She don’t exist. Ye’re not gonna touch her, talk ter her, look at her, an’ if I catch ye so much as thinkin’ about her, they’ll be lucky ter find yer body when it washes up on the Sminese coast. Got that?” Simon straightened, dusting his hands off.

Clarence didn’t move.

“I said, ye got that?”

“Aye, aye,” Clarence mumbled. “Don’ look. Don’ touch. Don’ think. Got it.”

“It’s fer yer own good, ye know,” Simon added, stroking his beard. “We all know ye ain’t ter be trusted around women. Berach nearly went fer the guards that time ye called Joyce a slut, ye know?”

Clarence snorted.

“An’ while I know that speakin’ yer mind ter a woman ain’t a hangin’ offence … ye’ve committed enough hangin’ offences over the course of yer life that if the guards got a good look at that ugly mug o’ yers, ye’ll be swingin’ no matter what they catch ye doin’!”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell d’ye go out lookin’ fer trouble?” Simon snapped. “Wright! If nothin’ else, if anyone had caught ye pryin’ open the back window and sneakin’ in here, they could have called fer the guards!”

“Maybe I didn’t want no one seein’ me face.”

“Ye finally realized how ugly it was?”

Clarence sat up.

“Somethin’ like that,” he murmured.

Simon felt his jaw slowly fall away from his face.

And it clacked back into place. “What did ye do?”

Clarence shrugged.

“Clarence!” Simon lunged —

Clarence batted him away. “I don’ wanna talk about it.”

“I don’t give a fuck! Ye’re either gonna tell me whatever it is ye’ve gone an’ done now –”

“Or what? Ye’ll toss me out on the street? Again?”

Again? I found you a place last time!”

“Weren’t a nice one!”

“I found ye a nice place before, an’ then ye went an’ fucked it up by insultin’ yer landlord’s girl!”

“Bitch,” Clarence muttered.

“Hey. I grew up with Joyce. Just ’cause she ain’t interested in ye don’t make her a bitch.”

“An’ kickin’ me in the face? What do that make her?” Clarence snapped.

Kicked him the face? JOYCE?

Simon’s eyes narrowed.

His gloved hand shot up — came down — hit Clarence right on the bruises, knocking him from the seat. Before Clarence could manuever a knife from his boot, Simon grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall, and shouted, “What did ye do?”

Plaster flaked and crumbled around them. Clarence panted. Simon glared.

“She’s a slut,” Clarence snapped.

“Fuck. We’ve gone here before.”

“She is! I was jest tryin’ ter prove it!”

For a moment, Simon’s eyebrow went up. Was he spying on Joyce? Did he see her with another man? Berach might have been sore at him because of Clarence, but he was still a friend, and Simon wouldn’t let him marry himself off to a whore if he could prevent it —

Then Clarence made the mistake of speaking again. “Ter herself, if no one else!”

Son of a —

He slammed Clarence into the wall again and let go, watching the other man slide to the floor. “Don’t,” Simon snapped as he saw Clarence’s hand go to his boot. “Or I swear ter Wright I’ll toss ye in the street right now, an’ leave ye ter explain why ter the guards.”

“Not if ye’re dead,” Clarence muttered as he eased his way to his feet, dusting himself off as he went.

Simon laughed. “Really? Ye think ye could kill me? Tonight? After gettin’ yer arse handed ter ye by a girl?”

“It weren’t jest the girl!”

Simon blinked. Once. Twice. Clarence’s bruised face disappeared and reappeared before him.

Then he snarled, “What d’ye mean, not jest the girl?”

Clarence wiped imaginary dust from his shoulder. Or maybe it was real dust. It wasn’t like Clarence ever washed that thing. “Berach … found us.”

“Found ye? Found ye? Ye went after her someplace Berach could find ye? Wright, did ye attack her right on his front step?”

“No! I broke inter her house!”

Her house?”

“It shoulda gone fine!” Clarence shouted. “I busted the lock on the door earlier, switched the dog food fer hush puppies –”

“Ye poisoned the dog?!”

“Hush puppies! Ye always say yerself it don’t hurt the dogs none!”

Yes, he did say that, and it was true enough. It was better, after all, to thoroughly confuse the former owners of his current property by giving their guard dogs treats laced with a mild sleeping draught that would wear off by morning. That way, they wouldn’t be able to tell if it was an inside job, or one done by clever thieves — killing the dogs outright would give the game away in that respect.

But this was one of the few cases where slipping the dog a hush puppy might cause them more problems than leaving the dog alone.

“That don’t matter!” Simon shouted. “Poisoning the dog — Wright! Ye can’t claim that she invited ye, or that she upset ye, if ye go an’ poison the damn dog beforehand!”

“What difference do that make?”

“All the difference in the world if ye’re caught!”

“If I’m caught, I’m swingin’ no matter what — or so ye always say!”

“Ter keep ye from doin’ stupid shit that will get ye caught! Not that it does any fucking good!” Simon smacked his own forehead. “Wright! D’ye know what ye’ve done? Ye attacked a good, clean girl in her own home! Ye poisoned her dog! Even if yer record was as spotless as a whore’s weddin’ sheets, that might be enough ter make them hang ye!”

“Fer roughin’ her up a bit? Give me a –”

“Fer poisonin’ her dog, bustin’ inter her house, an’ — an’ I don’t even care what ye did after ye got there! Ye made it clear ye weren’t gonna do nothin’ good ter her! Wright! They might even say ye went in there ter kill her!”

“I weren’t gonna kill her!”

“Ye know that, an’ I know that, but who’s gonna believe it? Eh? Who’s gonna believe it?”

“Anyone with half a brain! Why the hell would I kill her? If I killed her, then what would be the point o’ showin’ her who was boss?”

Simon smacked his forehead again. “Wright, but ye really are that dumb, ain’t ye?”

Dumb? How dumb?”

“Because if ye rape her an’ then ye kill her, she can’t say who done it! Dumbass!” Simon exploded.

“Nah. Women, they never tell. Even if someone’ll believe ’em, they tell a whole courtroom they was raped, then they’ve gone an’ branded themselves a whore. See?” Clarence smiled smugly. “‘Ceptin’ if they’re a married woman,” he murmured. “Then — if they’ve got a husband what will stand by ’em — then they might tell. But then it usually don’t go ter the law. The husband, he tries ter take care o’ it himself.” Clarence grinned. “An’ there ain’t no husband on Wright’s green earth that I can’t take care o’.”

“Like it fucking matters!” Simon snapped. “She ain’t married, an’ I’ve knowed Joyce since we were little! She’s a scrappy one! She might turn ye inter the law jest ter spit on yer face as they drag ye past in the tumbrel! An’ Berach’s already shown he’ll believe her over ye any day o’ the –”


Thud. Thud. But that second sound was not that of the guards pounding the door down in their frustration and impatience — it was the pounding of his heart.

 Maybe it ain’t the guards, Simon tried to tell himself. It ain’t so late. Could be Pierre — or Grady, maybe someone’s sick! Aye, that could be

Knock-knock! “Open up, in the name of the King!”

“Son of a bitch,” Simon muttered.

“Ye’ve got ter hide me!”

Simon turned to see Clarence holding his hands before his face — begging! “Please,” Clarence whispered. “If — if they see me, I’ll swing! Ye know that! Ye’ve got ter hide me!”

Simon glanced at the door. “Don’t got time fer that.”


Knock-knock! “Simon Chevaux! Open up in the name of the king!”

“Simon! Please!” Clarence whispered.

“Shut up — jest, shut up so’s I can think!” Simon held his head, forcing his whirling thoughts to find one form —

“Got it,” he whispered. “Clarence, I’ll distract the guard — ye sneak out the back an’ –”

“Simon Chevaux!”

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” Simon called over his shoulder. “Give a man time ter get off the pot!” He turned back to Clarence. “Sneak out the back. Run across the fields. Get far away from here, an’ find some other hidey-hole. Got it?”

Simon didn’t wait to find out — he strode to the door, threw it open, and slipped outside before the guard could notice he wasn’t letting him in. “Evenin’, sir,” Simon forced himself to smile. “Is there a problem?”

“The pot, eh?” the guard asked, leaning to look over Simon’s shoulder.

“Nature calls, sir — an’ she ain’t too choosy about her times, neither. Sorry about that.” Simon shrugged. “So, is there somethin’ wrong?”

It was dark, but there was a moon — and Simon would not have been as good a thief as he was if he did not have excellent night vision. So he could see the narrowing of the guard’s eyes, the decided shift of his feet, the slow movement of his hand to his weapon. Simon gave his most fatuous grin in reply.

“There’s been a report,” the guard finally replied. “A … a lowlife scum, seems he attacked some girl out by the square.” He jerked his thumb. “That-a-way.”

“Wright! Someone’s out there, attackin’ children?” Simon forced his eyes to go wide. “Oh no! Me buddy Berach, he lives that way, with his daughter — it weren’t — it weren’t his little girl, was it?”

The guard froze. “I ain’t — I ain’t allowed to say much,” he said. “But — it wasn’t a child that was attacked.”

“Not a — oh, thank goodness. But, wait …” Simon blinked. “A woman, then? That’s not much better.”

“No. It ain’t.”

The guard planted his hands on his hips, watching Simon with one eyebrow upraised. But Simon was no fool. Guards did that — kept quiet — to get you to talk. And even if the guard in question couldn’t write, he was always taking notes. Waiting for the criminal to incriminate himself.

The reason why Simon managed to stay on this side of the gaol walls was that he refused to do that.

But staying too silent could be a trap, too — eventually, even an innocent man would speak up, if only to find out what a guard was doing on his front step in the middle of the night. Simon waited for that moment, the moment when the innocent man would speak, to come, and he spoke only a few seconds before it came. “Er … I’m sorry, sir, but awful as that sound — why’re ye over here axin’ questions about it? The square’s miles away.”

The guard sighed. “We think the — the young woman’s alleged attacker might have run this way. Have you had any … unexpected guests this evening?”

Simon prayed that Clarence had already snuck out and was hoofing it through the fields. “Well …”


Simon took a deep breath. “Look, sir — I know ye’re gonna axe ter look around in jest a minute, an’ –”

“You want to give the ‘pot’ a chance to get her clothes back on?”

He laughed. “I wish that were all it was! No, ye see, I’ve got a friend jest dropped by, an’ he — he, well, I ain’t gonna lie ter ye. He used ter be real trouble, not so long ago. But he’s tryin’ ter get his life back in order, an’ I’m helpin’ him.”

“You’re … what?”

“Helpin’ him. As, well, me Wrightian duty, ye know? I mean, he can still turn things around, make somethin’ o’ his life. Ye know? But, ye see, he’s a bit skittish when it comes ter guards, an’ he’s probably doin’ somethin’ right foolish right now, like hidin’ in the cellar or under the bed …”

Or sneaking across the front fucking yard!

“He’s, well, sir, not ter be rude — but he’s an idiot,” Simon forced himself to say. “As if hidin’ under the bed wouldn’t be more suspicious than sittin’ at the kitchen table, enjoyin’ a pint! Or, well, he might have done somethin’ even more stupid …”

“Such as?” the guard asked, his hand going to his sword short.

Simon forced a sigh. “Snuck out the back.”

“So you’re stalling?” the guard snapped. “Son of a — out of my way!”

“Of course! Sir, I wasn’t stallin’, I was jest tryin’ ter figure what ye wanted! That’s all, I –”


The night was loud — cicadas singing, owls hooting, frogs in a pond a little bit away. And Simon and the guard were arguing. They should not have been able to hear that crunch, the unmistakable crunch of a hobnail boot on gravel.

But they both did.

The guard turned his head.

“Hey! You there! Stop!”

Simon found he could say nothing as the guard ran after Clarence — and that, perhaps, was his saving grace.

Clarence was used to running and scared for his life — but the guard was not so scared, and old, and sore from a beating. It took no time for the guard to catch up. And when he did —

Simon couldn’t look.

But he could hear. Groans and thumps and cruches as both men fought for footing and for hurting. The singing of a blade unleashed from its sheath —

“Oh, no you don’t!” The guard, ummistakeably. A cry of pain from Clarence —

“Oof!” Clarence.

More thumps, more groans, a thud —

“And that’s enough from you! Get up, you dog!”

Simon looked.

“In the name of king, you are under arrest!”

Oh, no.

“I ain’t done nothin’!”

“Ain’t done anything? You drew a blade on one of the king’s own officers!” A smack as the guard’s hand made quick and hard contact with the back of Clarence’s head. Simon winced. Was it only half an hour ago that he had been slamming that selfsame head into a table? “And we’ve got the sworn word of two citizens of Albion that you tried to attack J — a young woman!”

“They’re lyin’! Anyway, it weren’t me!”

“Was it, Clarence of Philippine?”

Silence. Simon felt his stomach plunge into the vicinity of his knees.

“Don’t — don’ know who ye’re talkin’ about,” Clarence said, several heartbeats too late.

“That’s as may be,” the guard snarled. “They’re at the guardhouse, though — those two folks who say Clarence of Philippine attacked that woman. Care to see what they have to say when they see your face?”

Simon never heard Clarence’s answer to that. He didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Care to see what they have to say

Simon swallowed.

What would Clarence have to say, with the shadow of the noose hanging over his head, and all sorts of enticements for him to tell what he knew, all he knew, and maybe live another day?

Oh, fuck, Simon thought. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.


16 thoughts on “What You’ve Gone and Done Now

  1. Wow, the strangest thing ever just happened. I felt bad for Clarence. It was only for a moment, but I went and felt sorry for him.

    I have to pause for a moment and wait for the world to right itself. Cause like last time I checked I wanted to see Clarence having bad things happen to him and now… Drat you, Morgaine! Why do you keep having to go and make your bad guys 3D and human-ish? *scowls*

    This is revenge for Bishop Justin isn’t it? And mitigating circumstances. You’re not supposed to play my own tricks on me! 😛

    I do feel bad for Simon, sorta kinda. I mean he’s thinking of his own skin, but well it’s hard to blame him for that.

    Just not fair, not fair at all. Well, if Clarence does hang, can he have one of those quick easy hangings? The sort where the fall breaks his neck? I don’t mind if he meets fluffy, but hangings just kinda creep me out…

    PS. Still not fair!

    • Huh. And here I thought Clarence was rather one-dimensional. Guess I managed to put more humanity-ish-ness than I thought I had. *shrugs*

      But then again, what’s the purpose of an author if not to make people see the world and the people in it in ways they hadn’t before? Ok, ok, other than sheer entertainment, that is.

      This has nothing to do with Bishop Justin (and for the rest of you going, “Huh?”, Bishop Justin is a character in Andavri’s RKC/story-hood that will hopefully start soon!! Hopefully!) But the thought of playing your own tricks on you does fill me with a kind of … glee, perhaps? *twisted*

      Ok, I have not even thought about how quick and clean or slow and messy Clarence’s death (if he dies because of this) might be. It’s frankly not even something that I want to think about. If only because I have no idea how I would take convincing pictures for it.

      … Which means, if it happens, it’ll probably happen offstage, so to speak. So we can all rest easy with that, I guess?

  2. I hope Clarence doesn’t rat out Simon. I mean, the man’s getting married soon–cut him some slack :S

    I’m not really sure what I hope happens next. What do you imagine is the worst thing Clarence has ever done? He should definitely be punished, but I’m trying to determine whether or not he deserves the hanging.

    (I must say, however, you wouldn’t hear any protests from me if he were to be castrated. Just sayin’ *whistles*)

    • We’ll see what Clarence does or doesn’t say about Simon in a future post. In between then and there, we have some priestly stuff to deal with, and a plot twist that the game threw at me that I just can’t resist keeping. 😀

      Honestly … I think Clarence has killed people. Not in cold blood, necessarily, but he’s a tough fighter and isn’t too well-endowed in the “moral fiber” or “compassion” categories.

      I’ve mentioned a couple of times that Clarence is good in knife-fights, I believe. If knives come out, then it’s serious. And I really have a hard time seeing Clarence being particularly upset or caring if his knife “accidentally” slices through a jugular or carotid artery or anyplace else likely to lead to death.

      Also, Joyce is not by any means the first woman he has raped or attempted to rape. He knew too well what he was doing. And judging by some of his comments to Simon … I don’t think all of those women necessarily walked away alive. Or their husbands certainly didn’t. 😦

      So, yeah. If Clarence meets his end because of this, I don’t think I’d claim a miscarriage of justice.

  3. Hello 🙂 I’ve been reading your blog for a couple of months now and I just wanted to to let you know what a big fan I am! I love history, and historical stories especially, so this is perfect for me :). I didn’t comment until now because I didn’t have a username with wordpress or anything, but I do now, so I thought I’d say something and not just be a silent reader 🙂 Anyway, hope it’s alright that I’m reading your stuff and OMS, hope things go well for Simon! I’m really glad Clarence got caught, he had it coming. I like Simon though, even if he is slightly on the wrong side of the law… at least he’s not a scumbag like Clarence! And seeing as Roma will be marrying him soon, I hope nothing goes wrong just for her sake. 🙂


    • Oh my goodness, a new victim I mean reader! 😆 Welcome, Emma!

      (Checked out your blog, by the way — it looks really cool! I can’t wait until you get some more stuff up!)

      Well, I wouldn’t come to Albion to get any type of history, but if you’re looking for a mix of history, fantasy, silliness and a healthy dose of crack, you’ve found the right place! 🙂 I’m so flattered that you’ve been reading all this time and decided to comment when you got an account. Thank you!

      Simon is … a rogue. But rogues have a certain charm to them. (Just ask Roma.) I like Simon for all his morally … I think he’s gone beyond gray, charcoal-ness? And of course, poor Roma doesn’t know the half of it.

      Like I said to Van, though, we’ll see what Clarence has or hasn’t told the authorities in a couple of posts.

  4. I feel bad for Simon, a little, because he’s ‘just’ a thief but is likely to get himself tarred with Clarence’s brush if Clarence babbles, but…

    … I don’t feel bad for Clarence. He doesn’t have any of the necessary qualities (not necessarily redeeming qualities, either) for me to feel bad for a villain. He’s not funny, he’s not desperate for money, he’s not charismatic, he’s not even sexy. He lacks the intelligence to be compelling to watch, and his stupidity is more facepalm-inducing than endearing. I mean, Simon tells him to run out the back, and he runs across the front yard? Is he trying to be the first Albionese Sim to win a Darwin Award? (Shame he didn’t. Now Simon has to worry about Clarence’s idiot mouth.)

    • Of course you wouldn’t feel sorry for Clarence, Hat. Since when have I ever professed to feel some way that you didn’t jump on the opposite bandwagon. 😛 I think why I feel the teensiest bit sorry for Clarence has to do with the fact that first of all, he could hang, and that’s a form of dying that has always creeped me out. (And then I read that the phrase to pull peoples legs actually came from the fact that a lot of hangings were actually really slow ways to die, the fall didn’t snap the neck and kill people, and the relatives or friends of the condemned would stand at the base of the scaffold and literally pull on their legs so they died faster. Which just made it even worse.)

      No, he’s not funny, or desperate for money, or charismatic, or sexy, but as bad a person as he is, he has just gotten a glimpse of his own mortality and it scared him. And I think my brief flash of sympathy comes from the fear. As Morgaine pointed out in another debate some time ago, if people only got sympathy when they needed it, almost none of us would.

      Here, Clarence is a person. Not a particularly bright person, but anyone who has ever set foot inside Wallyworld on a Saturday will tell you that the world is full of not particularly bright people.

      So, I think it’s a humanity thing. I finally saw a brief glimpse of humanity (so to speak) in Clarence and that means that he’s not completely gone. So for a brief second I could somewhat… connect.

      Now, the fact that he’s stupid and what he did was stupid made that flash very brief, but the fact still remains that I can’t find him all bad anymore. 😛

      You can’t feel sorry for a man who is going to lose his life cause he’s stupid. But you can feel sorry for a man who has spent his whole life being stupid and ruining lots of people’s lives and will continue to do so cause he doesn’t mean it? How’s that work? <–Does not mean that as snarky and sarcastic as it may come across.

      • Ahh, but I can’t help that, Andavri! Seriously I can’t, I have this knee-jerk reflex to play Devil’s Advocate. I can even do it by myself sometimes. One of the things that makes me inclined to wonder if there isn’t really something behind astrology is the fact that Geminis (like me!) are supposed to always be able to see both sides of a situation… and thus have a hell of a time deciding what to order for dinner. *grins*

        Hanging is in fact a lousy way to die, and an ugly one– that’s why they put a bag over the condemned man’s head. A longer rope means more chance of the neck snapping cleanly. Beheading is cleaner, but was not often done because it was harder to execute perfectly, no pun intended. (A lady– not a woman– could expect to be beheaded if she was sentenced to death.) What they’ve got Clarence for, though, is attempted rape, suspicion of robbery (so HE’S the guy who’s been drugging all those dogs, the guards will say), and either resisting arrest or attempted assault of an officer in the course of duty, whichever one of those is an actual charge in Albion. If Morgaine is using Medieval justice instead of modern justice, he might expect to have to pay a fine to Joyce, a greater fine to the Crown, be branded a thief (literally), and quite possibly exiled.

        I guess I don’t have a whole lot of sympathy for someone who admits to being a serial rapist, is assuredly a thief, may well be a murderer many times over, and only just now– when one of his victims refuses to be a good little victim and lie down and take it and keep her mouth shut about it– is he scared that his actions might have consequences that affect him instead of someone else.

        … And I think that right there is a good place to compare Clarence to Bors, since you bring him up. Bors is a self-righteous nincompoop of a patriarch. He is controlling and emotionally abusive, he believes he is always right, and he believes the way he runs his house is a) the way EVERY good man runs his house and b) seemly in the eyes of Wright. Bors believes women are weak-willed creatures made to submit to men, and that the men in their lives– husbands and fathers– are responsible for guarding their virtue. To Bors, this excuses crushing a girl’s spirit so that she won’t ever be tempted to wanton behavior, thus ensuring that if her virtue is sullied, it’s because she has been taken advantage of by a man who preyed on either her silly soft heart or her physically weak body. Clarence believes that every woman (except his mother? Or was it his sister?) is a randy little whore who is just begging for it until she proves otherwise– and no woman can prove otherwise, because in his mind any woman who has ever been raped is a filthy slut who really wanted it, even if she said no at the time. Even Joyce, who wasn’t about to give into him, is still a slut to Clarence, because she could still be ‘shown’ what she ‘really wants’ someday. To Clarence, this excuses anything he might ever do to any woman, from Simon’s young intended bride to Berach’s post-menopausal mother, because look at her, standing there all female and going about her daily business, man, you can just tell she wants it.

        Even if Bors and Clarence have an equal lack of empathy and equal superiority complexes, I still like Bors better– if only because Bors is liable to perceive a serial rapist as a threat to the peace (and the virtue of innocent or at least well-controlled women) and thus an enemy of a noble knight like himself.

        My ranking of the Vilest Villains in the Chronicles of Albion still goes:

        1. Morgause
        2. Whoever’s killing off Vortigern’s bastards
        3. Clarence
        4. The Reman Empire
        5. Bors

        Probably the Reman Empire should have the top spot, but it’s something of a dying culture… and Morgause seems to wake up in the morning and try to think of the most evil thing she can do today. Drug and rape her daughter’s fiance? Blackmail her daughter-in-law for trying to help Lot? Use her bastard baby to drive a wedge between Lot and Garnet?

        And don’t overestimate my sympathy for Bors, please! I’ve got more sympathy for Dindrane’s cowplant (like Dindrane, it’s at Morgause’s mercy) than I do for Bors.

        • Oh, I know the Gemini supposed penchant for seeing both sides well, Hat. I’m one too. And so is one of my best friends, who happens to be really into astrology. (And I kinda like being a devil’s advocate too, so, meh, maybe!)

          You have a very definite point about why we shouldn’t feel sorry for Clarence, he’s not sorry that he did what he did, he’s sorry about the fact that he’s likely to get caught. Which makes my brief flash of sympathy for his humanity even more painful.

          I think a lot of it comes down to the fact that Morgaine and I have had a lot of discussions in various chats about story characters and one of the things that I have a habit of doing is when I’m bored is refining my characters’ “whys”.

          As in, earlier I mentioned Bishop Justin, who Morgaine mentioned is a character in St. Max. (Which I’m working on, Morgaine, in fact I’m gonna hop into game after I finish this comment and see if I can’t get the last bit of St. Max preplay started. 😛 You made it up as you went, I stupidly planned out from the start.) He is obviously a member of the clergy, and obviously not a good person, given my comparison to Clarence. But mostly what he is is a partial explanation for why Tibby, the king, is so fucked up.

          There is a back storyline about Justin and the way he twists around Tibby’s emotional development like a Kudzu vine, preying on certain weaknesses and human faults, (and he himself was a victim once upon a time. Cause let’s face it, people, and any good story characters who resemble people, need more than just he’s evil because, well, he’s evil. I never like that explanation, it’s kinda lame and one dimensional… And because it is a peeve of mine, I try to avoid it when I can.)

          Now, Tibby might not have ever sunshine ever shining out of his ass even without Justin. But Justin certainly helped warp Tibby into the sadistic, pedophile rapist we all know and love.

          Good points on Bors and Clarence, I suppose I hadn’t thought of it quite that way. But as I’ve commented before, I am not rational about Bors. And it’s kinda hard to overcome that.

          Well, I agree, though, from a just plain screw-it-she-takes-the-cake perspective, Morgause kinda does have more going for her. (You forgot killing Accolon and zombifying him just for sleeping with/knocking up her sister too. She didn’t even really do it out of a perverted sense of justice, she doesn’t even like Morgan.)

          “Poor” Bors, beat out for sympathy by a plant. Although, it’s not so hard to feel sorry for a cowplant, I once fed my… um… well… a sim of José, (The man who is biologically my father, but who so totally soils the word I don’t call him that. [except to his face as not to get into it with my relatives.]) to a cowplant and it gave the cowplant gas. So apparently he’s toxic even in game.

          Oooh, though, if they’re gonna brand him, can they brand “Loser” on his forehead too? Please, Morgaine? I’ll even make you a costume make-up that looks like a brand, somehow!

        • Sorry, I was midway through a thought there in the middle and then my brother had to ask me if I knew where the hammer was cause the front door froze shut in the blizzard we’re currently getting hammered with and I never finished the thought. I really was trying to make a point and not just babble about St. Max for the fun of it.

          Anyway my point was: Tibby has a why, I know exactly why he’s the dick he is more or less. I want Tibby to have as much humanity for someone that I dislike as possible.

          And Morgaine has put up with me piling on layer after layer of humanity onto a character until just before she starts going “Oooh, Andavri, I hate you.” So it was a little bit, hey, that’s my trick.

          It’s not that I don’t think other people should pull that trick. (Well it is a little. Other people aren’t supposed to pull my tricks on me. Not when I know they got them from me at least in part…) But I really wanted to just hate Clarence in peace and be sympathy free to hope he ends up face down on a mattress.

          Then Morgaine had to bring up hanging and now I’m voting for prisoners rights! 😛 @ Morgaine.

    • I think you have a point, Hat, about Simon being “just” a thief. Yeah, he steals stuff, but that’s really all he does: steal stuff. He doesn’t terrorize people like Clarence terrorized Joyce. He’s certainly never killed anybody. He doesn’t even rough them up too much if he can help it.

      And then we have Clarence, who seems to take an almost sick sort of joy from the terrorizing and the roughing up if not necessarily the killing. So I can see why people wouldn’t necessarily feel sorry for him, beyond a quick human reflex of feeling sorry for someone who you know is facing death and probably a gruesome one. (Thanks for the history lesson/shudder-worthy mental images, Andavri! ;))

      Although please don’t hold his lack of sexiness against him. It’s certainly not Clarence’s fault that he started life as a Maxis-made AL townie who got semi-randomly assigned to Berach, then madeover and repurposed for my nefarious purposes … *innocent whistling*

      And in defense of his Darwin-Award-Worthy stupidity, Clarence thought he would be safer if he ran for a more populated area. (Hiding in plain sight, so to speak.) Random guy running through the fields in the middle of the night? Conspicuous. Random guy sauntering through the more shady parts of town in the middle of the night? Not so conspicuous. Or so he thought.

      Clearly, he was wrong.

      Anyway, I will let you and Andavri get back to your very polite difference of opinions now. 🙂 Have fun!

  5. Well, now I worry a bit about Simon. I mean, he is a criminal, but I like him… and Clarence, well he’s not particularly the type that knows when to shut up! But I do hope he gets what he deserves!

    • *singing* He’s a tramp, but I love him!

      Ok, that’s enough of that. And I don’t really “love” Simon, but he’s interesting and has potential and is fun.

      Interesting that you don’t feel bad for Clarence either. Hmm. I should take an informal poll. How many of my readers actually feel a little bad for Clarence, and how many of them can’t wait to see him make his exit from Albion’s stage? 😉

      Thanks everybody!

      • I feel an infinitesimal bit bad for him, but I still want him to exit stage left quickly. Just don’t hang him. Kill him, soon hopefully, and however you want except the really gruesome painful ways!

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