Cloak & Dagger The Assassins' Guild - Week 3 News

Sunday, 12 February

[16:50 ] G.I. Bob lurked for Ross Edmondson.
G.I. Bob reports:

Today I visited Ross Edmondson's house. He did not seem as receptive to my charms as yourself, dearest Umpire.

Monday, 13 February

[04:30 ] the beta monster stayed in bed get the picture.
the beta monster reports:


[15:30 ] Mack the Knife, Frances II, Masseter, Philosophicles and Tom Booth went to visit Ross Edmondson and Giles Caulderwood.
Philosophicles reports:

Dear Umpire

Noticing that Ross Edmondson remains as-yet unapprehended, a number of Police, me included, set out this afternoon to attempt to sort him out. Constables Mack the Knife, Masseter, Frances II, and me (Philosophicles) all turned out, and made our way to West Road. We also ended up with the veritable Tom Booth as well, which was no small comfort.

After concocting various devious and complicated plans, we decided to just hang around for a while and see what happened. A recce round the back of the house showed his lights to be on, but ringing the doorbell didn't provide much of a result. After observing comings and goings of other residents, we managed to gain entry, to find Ross's room rather locked, and with no sound coming from within.

Since quite a few other residents had seen us by this time, and, judging from previous experience, were all fairly likely to have guessed our intent, we decided to call it a day. A quick stop-off at Queens on the way back, to reassure Constable Giles Caulderwood that he had not been forgotten, proved similarly fruitless. We returned home.

Mack the Knife reports:

"A reading from the book of Ross, revealed unto mankind through the Prophet Mack the Knife (COSH).

1:1 Say: Ross Edmondson is All-Hiding, Cowardly. What! Do ye come at Him heavily armed and arrayed as a warrior for battle? And Ross Edmondson seeth all that you do.
1:2 He cometh not down from His high place, for verily He is the Fount of all Cunning and hath furthermore plenteous and diverse spirits about His dwelling-place.
1:3 Ye that wait for His coming, ye wait in vain, for the Hiding of Ross Edmondson wavereth not, nor passeth away with the seasons.
1:4 Like unto a mole in his burrow is the Edmondson; Again, He is like the meerkat in his tunnel. Nay! When the lion or the wolf is near, his head is not seen, nor shows he his nose to the winds, for such is his wisdom."

Ross Edmondson reports:

"A rebuttal to the book of Ross, revealing unto mankind the delusions of Prophet Mack the Knife.

1:1 Say: Ross Edmondson is Life-living, industrious! What! Though ye come at Him heavily armed and arrayed as a warrior for battle, ye visiteth only when away from his dwelling be he! And Ross Edmondson seeth thee not, for though he sees much, he seeth not across miles of countryside, and through hill and dale.
1:2 He cometh not down from His high place, for verily He is the Fount of all Cunning and hath furthermore plenteous and diverse spirits about His dwelling-place. (I argueth with thee here not!)
1:3 Ye that wait for His coming, ye must waiteth longer, for the unlike thee, Ross Edmondson many followers hath to divideth his time amongst, and many great deeds to be done.
1:4 Like the Eagle be the Edmondson - wandering far from the nest, and soaring to great heights - visiteth thee his dwelling only when he be away, or you may face the wrath of the Eagle..."

[21:00 ] Bishop Colenso couldn't see Hilda von Einem.
Bishop Colenso reports:

Lurked for Hilda von Einem today with strenght, courage, indefatigabillity and nante success.

Tuesday, 14 February

[08:55 ] Martin Lester (Mister Lolipedo) and Stephen McCann (The Boogeyman) killed one another. Bishop Colenso and Robert Winston, Menzies Campbell and Florence Nightingale in a Pedalo chanting TV out of their honeyed Behinds were there too.
The Boogeyman reports:

Happy Valentine's Day, Maz!

Robert Winston, Menzies Campbell and Florence Nightingale in a Pedalo chanting TV out of their honeyed Behinds reports:

Today was meant to be the day when in the words of my other pseudonym, Rhododendron, I would 'complete the tome'. Alas, the tome was ended, but not nearly in the manner I'd hoped or imagined. Yes, the feared, the great Martin Lester is dead. But so is that most handsome, alluring, and knowledgeable of assassins, Stephen McCann. And it is all my (well, me and Bishop Colenso's) fault.

We met in King's at 8 a.m. and progressed to Caius. We set up a lurking point in Staircase S, opposite the room our target inhabited. Stephen McCann then left us in order to lurk in a different staircase and cover our backs. Martin Lester appeared, and as we'd thought he might, didn't turn to approach our staircase, but instead went back into the court behind, taking the roundabout route via the bar and pigeonholes. Bishop Colenso and I instantly moved across our court to an archway he'd have to use and waited, one on either side, weapons ready.

Now for the embarrassing bit. Now for the reason I can't call myself anything more than an assassin's apprentice.

We didn't recognise him.

More specifically, when he appeared after nearly 20 minutes, he walked past us. We raised our weapons, looked at each other, faltered, hesitated, he turned round...and oh the feeling of disaster, bitter catastrophe, struck, as we realised that it was indeed he, and he was pulling out a water weapon with a range almost certainly superior to mine, and definitely superior to Bishop Colenso's RBG. We approached him, he retreated, we approached again, he pointed the gun at us, he went back to his room, we traipsed out miserably.

But we had a second chance. We had Stephen McCann.

Waiting outside the main archway into Caius I held my phone anxiously for news. It finally came ten minutes after the initial debacle.

"Robert Winston, Menzies Campbell and Florence Nightingale in a Pedalo chanting TV out of their honeyed Behinds! He's coming! He'll be there in about twenty seconds, OK?"

Those were the last words Stephen McCann ever spoke.
After two minutes' breathless anticipation, the ghost of that supreme MA, pool-player and lady magnet exited the building, and coolly informed us that Martin Lester had ascended the stairs to see if we were waiting outside, and had found him there. Apparently it had been 'quick and messy'. A few seconds later, the ghost of that mysterious, terrifying, proud, noble, and deadly ex-Umpire, who last game ruled in my favour and is therefore a man of the highest integrity, exited the building also, looking a mite disappointed. I introduced myself, but I could see in his translucent being that mere pain and suffering dominated his thoughts.

He should be feeling lucky, though. He lived ten minutes longer than he should have done.

Thus instead of the glory of destroying a great assassin, I am left to reflect upon the idiocy of my ways, the need to study photographs more closely, the needless death of a mentor of mine, and the fact that against the odds, and moreover undeservedly, I remain alive.

I can now pass wheelie-bins in comfort, though...

[15:30 ] Mack the Knife killed Thomas Branton with some help from Frances II.
The Red Peril reports:

This afternoon I was reminded that I signed up for this term's game by a trio of assassins who shot me, with a carbine fiendishly disguised as a printer!
The former Red Peril

Mack the Knife reports:

Today, I, Frances II and her non-playing sister who shall here be known as "Demented_Petrolhead_Chick" decided to strike a blow for discipline.
We lurked for James Wardley, fortunately not killing him as he appears no longer to be inco.
Hence, or otherwise, we then proceeded to Memorial Court to attempt Thomas Branton. He fell for a ruse that would not easily have taken a five-year-old in. While awaiting him in the kitchen, it occurred to me that if successful this kill would be a strong candidate for the "Least Stylish Kill" award. I therefore propose myself for this award.

With shallow and commercialised Valentine's Day wishes to all the Guild members,
Mack the Knife

Frances II reports:

I seem to have done a lot of lurking recently. Both yesterday, for Ross Edmondson and James Wardley, both of whom were out, then today, for James Wardley and Thomas Branton. Happily, Thomas was in, and answered his door the moment I knocked, so Mack the Knife kindly shot him.

[16:00 ] RTFQ sent Thomas Branton some Valentine's Day poetry.
RTFQ reports:

A copper, his name Tom Wootten
Went off to shoot Thomas Branton
He lurked with his gun
And worked (that's no fun)
For ten minutes, then he moved on

[16:15 ] I guess Ross Edmondson is Mr. Popular today! RTFQ thought so too.
RTFQ reports:

His gun was rather troublesome
He saw one who was not Edmondson
Hung around on the road
While unseen people rowed
Before heading off to a s'vision

[18:00 ] An Agent of Posterity recorded Ross Edmondson for posterity.
An Agent of Posterity reports:

Noting the continuing incompetence of one Ross Edmondson, I took it upon myself to monitor his registered abode. Said incompetent did not, alas, make an appearance, and I was prohibited from continuing my watch personally by other pressing matters. This surveillance has been recorded for posterity. All your penguins are belong to us.

[19:30 ] Louis Jagger knew how to make himself feel Wanted on Valentine's Day.
Louis Jagger reports:

Just what I didn't need. I mean, what does 'pompt du pompt' mean anyway? Or is that one of the questions I'm not supposed to ask? Like 'Who was Bjorn Holzhauer anyway?'

(shocked looks all round)

Oh, it means that, does it? Really? Well, stuff it with a particularly suet-stuffed stuffing. He did SO resemble one of my targets, and had been behaving ultra-suspiciously earlier on when passing my accommodation with his long black coat and hands stuffed in pockets. He even paused to look at me, which I'd fairly describe as an act of positive suicide. Not keen to reprise my multiple missings of opportunities, I struck. Once I'd pumped him full of tapwater, however, I got no desired response, and kinda realised it wasn't to be my day...

Police are kindly warned that I take no prisoners whatsoever. And I have a CPS. And I won't open the door. And seriously, guys (and gals), what on earth really IS the point in being a policeman anyway? There's no glory in it...all your victories are hollow! Hollow, I tell ye! Bring it on and then we'll see who's got the skillz! You're ALL no match for me! ALL OF YOU! NOT EVEN MAZ COULD KILL ME!!! SO WHAT CHANCE ON EARTH D'YA THINK YOU HAVE? EH? EHHH???

(OK, I'm dead... :-D)

Louis Jagger is now Wanted for shooting a guy in a long, black coat. I mean, honestly...
David Smith, Jenny Scott-Thompson, Richard Kirkdale and Stuart Cuthbertson are Corrupt to him. Let the games begin!

Wednesday, 15 February

[12:00 ] the beta monster tried to nom Hilda von Einem.
the beta monster reports:


[12:15 ] The crack team of Tom Booth and Michael Wallace made Sarah Donnelly kill Stephen Chester (Where's my target?).
Michael Wallace reports:

Dearest Umpire! I bring news of exciting-ness and general wondermentingousness! Below is an account written by my very self, as important as I am, I don't mind taking the time to write to you...

The 'Centre for Mathematical Sciences' is a strange, strange place, it's all curvy and stuff, and full of people doing maths...fortunately one of those people needed to die, so myself, Mr. Tom Booth, and Ms. Sarah Donnelly crossed the oceans to this faraway land, where we stood around a bit un-subtly, and then implemented the cunning plan of 'the two whom the target recognises going and standing over there to attract his attention whilst the one he doesn't know kills him'.

Nice plan. Unfortunately we only attracted the attentions of a Mr. Heaney (who didn't try to sell us any science), which, whilst lovely, wasn't quite the fellow we were after, although he probably didn't harm our chances of distracting the target...Oh well, he died anyway :)

Michael Wallace, MA! (z0mg!)

Where's my target? reports:

Whilst enjoying lunch and an avoidance of work in the CMS, I was shot in the back of the head by someone who turned out to be Sarah Donnelly. At which point Tom Booth and Michael Wallace (disguised as someone standing still) popped out of the woodwork (otherwise know as Ed Heaney). Turns out they had arranged a cunning decoy on the other side of the room, but my paranoia was insufficient to even notice that :)

Sarah Donnelly reports:

I probably should have said "bang" instead of actually shooting you in the side of the head with a longish-range RBG from a distance of less than an inch.


My finger slipped?

[17:45 ] A big issue salesman and Reginald Shoe couldn't interest Ross Edmondson.
A big issue salesman reports:

Deciding to once again put myself in harms way, I decided to end the life of one Ross Edmondson. A Sir Reginald Shoe accompanied me on this mission. Upon approaching the residence of my intended victim, a man who looked almost entirely like (Note the almost) Ross Edmondson proceeded to walk past us in the opposite direction. We walked on, we faltered, we stopped. We looked at each other. We turned around. We followed. Oh the places we followed this mysterious man, thought the tall spires of kings, to the merry buzz of market square (where we made ourselves scarce whilst our target used a cash point). Onwards through the cave of Lion Yard (where we observed our mark buying cookies). Then once more to the streets, where we trailed this soul to the hub of activity that is the bus station... Where we lost him. All the while saying to each other "is that him?" and trying to decide if we were sure enough to shoot.

deciding, possibly for our own sake of mind, that this couldn't have been our man, we ambled back towards our original destination, only briefly distracted by the offer of free fudge.

Upon reaching the residence in question, we lurked around for approximately 20 minutes. Then noticing a large group of people at the front of the house, we approached and made light conversation, in an effort to get a better look. As ti transpired, our target was not among them. So we ran back to somewhere that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike Burrell's Field.

Reginald Shoe reports:

Today, with the help of A big issue salesman, I tailed a man I believed to be the notorious incompetent, Ross Edmondson, from West Road to the bus station, through the Lion Yard, where he stopped to buy cookies. We then returned to his residence and scouted out the various entrances, remaining there for just over ten minutes. We had a brief chat to some of the other residents, and then went home.

Ross Edmondson reports:

Amusingly...that wasn't me. Wonder if whoever it was got a bit worried! :D

[18:10 ] Serena Allery (Kamchatcha) met Stormtrooper in Stilettos.
Kamchatcha reports:

Noting that someone who has played assassins once three years ago is going on the same field trip as you, and ensuring weapons are available at all times is irrelevant if you don't discover what college they are at, and thus who they might shop you to (notably their room-mate). Anyhow, I'm rubbish at this, I even saw Sarah Donnelly, but was too slow in recognising her!
Good luck Stormtrooper in Stilettos!
Kamchatcha out.

[19:15 ] RTFQ wrote us a pictorial treatise on the interior decor of Teppic's staircase.
RTFQ reports:

[20:45 ] Tom Booth went Wanted for killing Paul Fox.
Revered Ornithologist reports:

I was sitting in the pub when I was alerted to the fact that a rarely-sighted specimen of foxius foxius was leaving the building. I pursued it vigorously, and succeeded in capturing it despite its attempts to flee.

[22:00 ] Tom Booth rampaged on, courageously killing the unarmed Jacob Samuel Corteen and Felicity Boyce.
Stormtrooper in Stilettos reports:

The mist cleared, and the corpse of Constable Cambridge Underground lay blood-spattered at my feet. Had the bloodlust reached such levels that I could no longer distinguish lawman from target? No... he was just an inconvenient impediment to my mission, as were the two police remaining in the pub. I raised an eyebrow to the grim-faced sergeant, who nodded, then I made my way back inside.

There is nothing quite so gut-wrenching as making polite conversation with those you know you are shortly to kill in cold blood. For over an hour I sat and chatted with the Chief of Police, she blissfully unaware that her deputy lay sprawled in the street only a few hundred yards away. My heart sank further as another officer of the law appeared and seated himself at the other end of the table. He did not deserve to die, but his sense of honour was such that, should I shoot his mistress, he would surely attempt to avenge her. I had the loyalty of the last remaining police officer present, and another compatriot of mine sat across the table. Had he received my urgent message informing him of my plans?

Eventually the time came for me to leave, my unwitting victims sitting only a few feet away. Unholstering my guns, I slipped around the assembled throng, then took a deep breath and spake unto the police.

"I'm really, really sorry about this."

The guns came up. The air turned red. And suddenly everything seemed all right.


It seems Tom Booth has now achieved 'Most Wanted' status.
zomg! etc.
He has been revealed to be using the aliases: Cool Kids Can't Die., Stormtrooper in Stilettos and Revered Ornithologist in his nefarious activities.

[22:20 ] ]:D-/-< killed the celebrated Wanted, Louis Jagger (Rhododendron AKA Robert Winston, Menzies Campbell and Florence Nightingale in a Pedalo chanting TV out of their honeyed Behinds).

J Doe reports:


Twas Dibrillig and ye slythy Booths did gyre and gimble in ye Guild Cops: all gomsy was ye Felicity Chief, and ye Police-Hero Jacob drops.
Beware the Jaggerwock, my Caian! The paws that stab, the thumbs that block, Beware the Hatted Bird and shun the Inner-half Bandgun-snatch.
He took his Vertical Wildfire in hand, little time his Petrean foes he sought, so bent was he on following Tom to Curry that he spoke aloud this thought.
And, as in uffish speech he stood, the Jaggerwock, with Eyes of Flame, Came whiffling over ye tulgey wood -den table and stabbed as it came!
One-two-three-four-five-six! The Vertical Nerf went tacker-tack, while poss. double dead, Phil held his arm instead and slunk out Ghandiwise through the back.
Twas Tribrillig and ye Slythy Booths did Curry and Bhaji in ye Ghandi, with Lotties, ABF's and Steves and cops waiting outside aplenty.

]:D-/-< reports:

Failure to say, 'Have a very nice day, Heaney's Mum'

Rhododendron reports:

Lament To A Wilted Rhododendron

The Only Attention I Got

Valentine brought zero kisses,
Next day brought four CPSes!
Not exactly what I'd hoped;
It's fair to say I could have coped
With lack of love alone (I weep),
No hand to hold, no heart to keep
As mine; no lips or shapely bum,
No flowing locks, no shaven tum
(A minor technicality),
No bouncy...personality
But when the SWAT team made a call
My lonely heart began to fall...

(Heroically avoiding the SWATTERS by ingenious dint of not being in my house at the time I made my way to the pubmeet, accompanied some of the way by our esteemed Umpire.)

Ode To The Umpire

(Not forgetting

For most noble
Battle stations)

Are subject
To disputations.

(We arrived and made ourselves comfortable. Suddenly a load of police officers entered the pub and proceeded to join us. They saw me and resisted the obvious temptation to rid the earth of my foul criminal stink. In fact they bought themselves beer and made some jolly good company...for a while, at least...)

The Anchor (Part I)

Here come my would-be slaughterers! At last they've found me! Hey,
I do believe the 'social no-kill' rules apply! If they
So much as dare destroy me, I shall write a narky poem
As my notes promised. (Got it yet? Yes, 'tis complete, MY tome!)
(I seem to have given the end away. Oh noes. Anyway, someone proposed a game of M*o, so out came the cards...)

The Chairman's Game (One thinks that one has written a forbidden poem)

...Four of spades...

...Have a nice day...
...Have a very nice day! Failure to say 'Have a very Heaney's Mum nice day!'
...Penalty card, penalty card

...Failure to say 'That is the
Badger!' 'That is the badger!' Too late now!

...Nine of spades...
...Eight of spades...
...Queen of spades...
Playing out of turn!

Failure to play within Five seconds....


...'Heaney's mum!'...
...'has got it going on'...
...'er, what's next?'
Failure to say...


(Suddenly, Tom Booth inexplicably killed three police officers, violating the social no-kill and making life significantly easier for Wanted so and sos like me. One still felt a bit guilty on his behalf though...)

One's Moral Dilemma

I knew a man called Foxy. Not for long;
He lay outside a public house
Full of rubber bands
Last thing he saw in life, Tom's hands
Reaching for a weapon, then
Everything went black.
I knew a girl, Felicity. Alack,
She was the Umpire's ladyfriend
And died within his sight!
No time to put up any sort of fight;
She falls into Rev's arms a corpse
The CoP is slain.
I knew a lad called Jacob. Oh, the pain
He suffered when he fell! Just one
Day he'd been alive! Yea, at this fateful hour did Death arrive
Shot 'simul' as Felicity;
Three brave protectors lie!
But should I feel joyful, or should I
Regret this heinous crime? Oh, Tom,
Sure you've helped my cause,
But where's your honour, man? And why thus pause
To shoot Phil Bielby? One remains,
And he is competent!

(It subsequently transpired, after I'd died, that Phil had promised not to kill Tom if he let him live. Which colours the situation in a slightly different light. Being an innocent chap, I hadn't for a second considered that backstabbing would come into play here, which it unfortunately did. If I'd known I'd have blasted Bielby long before that Powerclip was out of his bag...)

One is declared Killed (after Much Debate)

My colourful career came in to roost
With barely a coo or a cluck of complaint
It stood upon the prow of Charon's boat,
Uplifted its wings, and then dropped like a stone.

All agreed it was a sad end to one's life
My mind lost to panic, my reason benighted,
My pen a sorry match for Powerclip,
My sense of defence an inaccurate guide.

Phil Bielby, so it was, who struck me down:
Mere minutes had passed since Tom Booth left the pub
When Phil announced his aims of dark revenge
Extracting a sizeable bringer of death

He made as if to kill me, so I thought;
I reached for my weapon! My honour shone through:
'The Peterhouse contingent must live on!'
For Tom's life and mine I leant over and stabbed...

My weapon found a part of him, I'm sure
But had his foam bullets already destroyed me?
My shoulder struck, my chest perhaps, my head?
He claims that my knife only pierced through his arm!

"Have you double-killed?" asks the Umpire. Yea,
Phil fires again to make sure of the hit!
And though one projectile is stopped by my thumb,
The other cannot have evaded its goal!

Eventually, it is confirmed. I'm dead;
It's proven that I can't have dodged Phil's fire.
I'm in denial, racked with sobs and rage
But nothing can be done. It's over. Gone.

(and at this point, I succumbed to emotion...)

Not The Proudest Moment Of My Life

Waah waah wah
wah wah wah wah wah.
Blub wah blub wah blub
Blah wub blah wub blah.

Blah blah blah blah blah...

Farewell To The Game

I've lived a life of glory, joy, and crime
Three weeks of paranoia, so much time
Devoted to the great Assassin's Guild.
I'd like to think that I'll grow up to build
Upon these slight successes. One fine day
I'll reach the duel! But only if I stay
Away from foes, and think extremely fast...

2nd DEAD: So glad you could have joined us here at last!

Thursday, 16 February

[11:05 ] The Security Services III dealt with Stuart Cuthbertson.
Philosophicles reports:

Dearest Umpire

It is with great regret that I must announce my demise, and therefore the end of my part in the slowly-crumbling Peterhouse cartel. Being shot in the back is not a nice experience, but in our profession, it is always a risk, and one I did not take seriously enough.

I have greatly enjoyed my time as a corrupted official of the law, and wish my comrades every success.

Yours, posthumously,
ex-constable Stuart Cuthbertson (corrupt, deceased)

The Security Services III reports:


Once again elements of the security services have been discovered to have collaborated with criminal counterrevolutionaries and bourgeoise arts students. Let it be known that such behaviour will not be tolerated.

In order to make it absolutely clear what the Party's policy regarding treason is, the head of Stuart Cuthbertson is now displayed atop a pike in Market Square to remind the people of the penalty for his crime.

The Security Services

[14:00 ] Ross Edmondson went a-visiting Louis Jagger and Chris Korek.
Ross Edmondson reports:

Dearest Mr Umpire,

Today, for the first time this term, I went a-visiting! I was, sadly, reminded why I don't go a-visiting more often. After lectures, my first stop was House 5 St Peters Terrace to see if I could see a Mr Louis Jagger. Having a rough idea what he looked like helped, but during the time I spent there activity was rather minimal to say the least. On returning I find that he is now in fact off the wanted list, and my time spent there was totally pointless and not merely wasted. Harumph. I then journeyed on to Marks and Spencers, where I bought a lovely shirt, and thence onward to Sainsburys, that notorious location of assassins activity! Although the caution factor was raised from 'Hmmm?' to 'Best look around a bit, old boy', I didn't see a single dodgy looking character (strange for this town, assassin or not!).

My last stop, on the way home, was Selwyn Gardens where another was trying to get in on the pretty pink colour I like to reserve for my own name in reports. Sadly a half hour spent there, being very unsubtle with my phone, was not enough to catch him coming in or out, or at least, if he did then I didnt recognise him.

And thence home!

[17:00 ] Mack the Knife looked for Teppic.

[18:02 ] Tom Wootten demands attention!
Tom Wootten reports:

I would like to express my dissapointment with the Guild's members in general. It seems that some people may be taking this too seriously. Specifically, over a week has past since Ed Heaney exhorted you all to shoot me, preferably with a supersoaker, and it is even longer since the matter was first brought up on IRC.

No. One. Has.

Not even Ed Heaney himself!

Add to that the fact that I was a legit target for a short time, due to incompetence, and it becomes even more inexplicable that I have come under no hostile fire in the past week.

Tom Wootten AKA RTFQ AKA KickedTheBucket

Friday, 17 February

[10:55 ] RTFQ was glad that Tom Booth got around to killing him.
Tom Booth reports:

[12:10 ] The Most Complicated Stopword In Cambridge didn't stop A big issue salesman.

[13:00 ] The Security Services III carried on his cleanup operation - this time it was Masseter.
Masseter reports:

As a corrupt Police officer, one has to work hard, bending the law, crossing the line, and all of this abuse of the straight edge leaves us tired - so we need sandwiches. It is however rather unfortunate that on my trip to the sandwich van today that I was far too engrossed on getting to that Salami and Mozzarella Panini, and not paying nearly enough attention to the guy with the RBG shooting the postero-lateral aspect of my left shoulder - how unfortunate. Splendid sandwich though - Masseter recommends - Salami and Mozzarella from the Sandwich Van by the Babbage.

The Security Services III reports:


Further to yesterday's demonstration, the head of Richard Kirkdale has joined that of his compatriot on display as a reminder to those who contemplate counterrevolutionary activity.

Jenny Scott-Thompson, know that your days are marked and that while you have not yet been apprehended, the might of the Security Services will descend upon you and your foul kind with merciless force.

The Security Services

[14:00 ] An Agent of Posterity camped out for Tom Booth.
An Agent of Posterity reports:

With my morning's lectures over, and noting the continued wantedness of Tom Booth, I considered the fact that my proposed route to Queens' lay past the gates of Peterhouse. I also considered the likelihood of said Booth also passing this point at a similar time, and that I had time to spare. I set up my post in view of the gates, there to await the expected arrival of our last remaining criminal. Alas I was forced to retreat before he made an appearance, not wishing to overly antagonise my contacts at Queens'.

These gates have been recorded for posterity. All your penguins are belong to us.

[14:00 ] Hilda von Einem had lost Chris Korek and didn't know where to find 'im.
Hilda von Einem reports:

Baa baa, target, have you any nerve?
No ma'am, no ma'am, no courage, no verve.
None for to come out and none for to shoot,
And all I will do is to shiftily scoot.

But then, it was a pretty day for lurking...

[15:30 ] Tom Booth killed one of Reginald Shoe's friends.
Reginald Shoe reports:

I was most perturbed to find when coming out of the shower on friday, at about a half past three in the afternoon, that a close friend of mine, Ben Challenor, was lying, near death, in front of my door, with blood oozing from his abdomen. In his last breath, he told me what happened. He described a man fitting the description of the damgerous criminal, Tom Booth. It appears he has struck again.

Tom Booth reports:

The most liberating thing about being irredeemably wanted is that you don't have to worry whether you'll go wanted for shooting your target's neighbour when he sees you, grins, and takes the phone out of his pocket.

[16:00 ] Dalriada and Tom Booth attacked The Storyteller and then inexplicably ran away.
The Storyteller reports:

Nomintion for the Yellow Streak award.

Tom Booth reports:

He's seen us! Tactical retreat! Tactical retreat!
It later transpired that he had not in fact seen us. At least, until we shouted "Tactical retreat!"

[16:30 ] An Agent of Posterity got out of a sticky jam (sorry - it just had to be said).
An Agent of Posterity reports:

In other news, it appears somebody is trying to poison me. As I left my room for a supervision, I noticed a sticky red substance smeared on the underside of my doorhandle. Fortunately the weather has been cold today, so I already had my gloves on. It has, however, made a mess of my left glove.

The substance has been forwarded to our forensic department to be analysed for posterity. All your penguins are belong to us.

The Umpire reminds all Players that the use of contact poison on doorhandles is Very Naughty. Additionally, contact poison cannot be used at all by Police.

[17:30 ] Tom Booth inspected Ross Edmondson's bathroom facilities.
Ross Edmondson reports:

The legendary Tom Booth paid me a visit today. He hid for a while around the house, until I trapped him in the toilet. We chatted for a while, then he made a cunning escape by means of a kife based distraction!

Tom Booth reports:

Automatic lights and extractor fans should be banned by the Geneva Convention.

[18:15 ] Tom Booth killed Chris Korek (Tipton). Michael Wallace was there too.
Michael Wallace reports:

Dearest Umpire!

I thought it important to let you know that Tom Booth is a big lamey lamer, as opposed to myself, who is wonderful.

Oh, and he killed Chris Korek - don't you hate incos?

Michael Wallace! MA!

Stephen McCann reports:

Looked for Chris Korek outside mill lane, then in Pembroke. Then Tom Booth stole the kill from Michael Wallace, who I had been carefully trying to steal it from... or something.

[18:25 ] Tom Booth killed George Davies (A big issue salesman). Read all about it!
A big issue salesman reports:

How nice, two of my targets have come to visit me! Saves me the job of finding them I suppose...
Excellent! My targets have spotted me, saves me the job of introducing myself.
Fantastic! They are producing large amounts of weaponry, what an honour to be thought to require such measures...
... ...
Damn... Saves me the job of breathing I suppose...

Tom Booth reports:

Poor George. The most ironic thing about it was that we weren't even there for him...

[21:00 ] Tom Booth didn't kill any of Janet Scott's neighbours.
Teppic reports:

I was killed earlier on this evening by poison on my outside door handle. Unidentified but some sort of sticky stuff. I'm assuming it's whoever was wanted already...

[22:00 ] Hilda von Einem failed to backstab Ellen Turnbull.
Hilda von Einem reports:

Treachery, rank treachery... ha ha ha... she thought she was safe with me after formal... but she had a knife as well, so it turns out that she was. oh well. Next time... this could be the end of a beautiful friendship...

Ellen Turnbull reports:

Tonight my supposed friend, Hilda von Einem, quite literally stabbed me in the back, or at least tried to. Whom can I trust now!!??

[23:00 ] ]:D-/-<, An Agent of Posterity and The Storyteller were disappointed by Tom Booth.
]:D-/-< reports:

It is sad when counter-lurking society meetings for wanted criminals doesn't pay off. He didn't turn up to Sheila last night either. I'm beginning to think he doesn't like me :'(

An Agent of Posterity reports:

With Tom Booth still at large, ]:D-/-< and I arranged to counterlurk our society meeting, since it would be an obvious target for such a wanted criminal. Constable The Storyteller joined us in our efforts. Our criminal, however, failed to turn up.

Mr. Booth, your absence has been recorded for posterity. All your penguins are belong to us.

Tom Booth reports:

lol internet.

Saturday, 18 February

[00:30 ] Tom Booth in a bloodstained sweater helped Jamie Horder achieve Ultimate Destiny.
Ultimate Destiny reports:

A poisoned doorhandle.
I slide to the floor.
This was going to be a haiku.
But not any more.

[11:10 ] The Security Services III lurked for David Smith and Jenny Scott-Thompson.
The Security Services III reports:

Lurked for David Smith and Jenny Scott-Thompson earlier, but to no avail. I'll get them sometime.

[12:15 ] Mack the Knife couldn't find Ellen Turnbull's electronic sausage.
Mack the Knife reports:

I lurked for the elusive Ellen Turnbull today from 11.45 to 12.15.
Result: Nothing. Not an electronic sausage.

[20:51 ] Nick Plummer had a fun evening.
Nick Plummer reports:

Dear Mr Yummy Umpire,

I have had a rather exciting evening, and so I thought I should share. Walking to Sainsbury's, who did I come across but Micheal Wallace MA?! At first I could not believe my eyes - Raccoon outside his room and not running away somewhere? But as the stranger approached, his long hair blowing in the wind like David Ginola's in a L'Oreal advert (because he's worth it) and his long black jacket also blowing in the wind, like David Ginola's would have in a L'Oreal advert were he wearing one.

Having exchanged pleasantries with Micheal Wallace MA and done my shopping, on leaving I spotted a Bishop Colenso, who I decided to run up behind and shout BANG at. He didn't react so well to this, with lots of swearing and naughty words being spoke, but once he realised that it was me and I was dead, then he was fine about it.

Walking home, I then met a Miss Sarah Tang, who was, as usual, busy in an $UNDISCLOSED_ACTIVITY_OF_AN_OVERTLY_SEXUAL_NATURE. I said hi, and passed on.

Nick Plummer

[21:45 ] Tom Booth shot that freaky kid from lost.
Tom Booth reports:

I shot that freaky kid from lost in front of his girlfriend tonight at 9.45. He was quite surprised and a bit perplexed.

that freaky kid from lost reports:

got shot on saturday night by Tom Booth. he's really hairy in person!
betrayed by Tom Booth's new woman i think. she doesn't like me after i killed her in michelmas.
anyway, walking through market square in my glad rags, arm in arm with my other half, when this rather hairy individual lept upon me and shot me in the kidneys. owch.


Sunday, 19 February

[01:50 ] The Evil Wanted, Tom Booth, did evil, wanted-like things to Hilda von Einem.
Tom Booth reports:

On my way back from a night of debauchery at King's (c.1.50am) I happened past Hilda von Einem's window. The light was on, so I thought I might try to lure her out. I hurled knives at the window. She glanced out but took no action. Repeat several times. I got bored and walked off.

I mean, really, what's the point in that? She couldn't even find a basic implement to write "knife" on and throw at me! If a drunk assassin shows up outside your window and you live on the first floor, and you don't even try to kill them, then what's the point in playing?

Hilda von Einem reports:

um... evil essay?

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