Day Two Hundred-Two: You tell 'im, ma

Ugh. I was let off Neck duty, diary. I faked a psychosis by babbling some really weird words and staring off into the distance when Captain Cedric came 'round. He told me to take a break.

… and catch rats instead. Spent a couple hours trying to bag the little bastards in the rat farms. I swear to gods, every time I dipped in close for the kill, they gave me a reproachful look. Like I shouldn't be trying to EAT them on account of all the SUPER THINGS they've brought into my life! Like, say:

- A chaperoned trip to a foreign land
- A meeting with a batshit crazy old witch
- An excursion into a haunted, underground complex
- VERY little help with a certain werewolf infestation
- And the opportunity to risk my life by spying on one of the castle's most dangerous men! HOORAY FOR RATS!

Damned pests. Didn't catch any of 'em, needless to say, which is fine. I don't care. Haven't been able to eat rats ever since I found out they're intelligent. It'd be creepy to munch on something that can write in you, diary.

(Also, Barrel kept thwarting my attempts. He CLEARLY likes the rats. Stop nipping my bum, you blasted micro-dragon. It has so many puncture marks that it probably looks like a double-sided moon. With a giant crevasse.)

(Heh heh. Crevasse.)

After I was done with my stint in the rat farms, I was summoned to the keep to speak with The Baron. I kinda figured that was coming, what with my past association with the dude and my being Robert's brother and all. He greeted me with his usual, happy smile, though I can tell he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep in the last two days.

I won't go into the whole conversation, 'cause it started with some useless rambling 'bout my house, and what it's like to live in my own home for once, etcetera, but it didn't take him long to get to the point. He wanted leverage he could use against Robert.

The Baron used a nice little metaphor to illustrate his aim: "Strike off the snake's head and the body will die." I totally get that. I don't WANT Robert's head to be lopped off, and he's also not a snake in the literal sense, but I get it. Metaphor for the mob. Stop the leader, the rest falls apart. Even if somebody else is pullin' the strings, Robert's definitely the visible leader.

(money's on Driscol)

Sadly for all of us, I had no good suggestions. None at all… well, except for one. The only thing I KNEW would stop Robert:

We tell on him.

To mom, of course. Send her a letter about the situation. Guaranteed, she'd send a reply telling him to 'STOP STRIKING RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN'. Probably chastise him and order him to go to his room and think about what he's done.

Yeah, The Baron wasn't very impressed with it either. Told me to write a letter to her anyway, but I know he thinks it's a load of eelwash.

He asked me to talk to Robert, regardless of the likelihood of failure. Figured if anybody could get through to my lunkhead brother, it would be me. Soooooo I guess I'll be doin' that first thing tomorrow.

It won't work. Robert won't listen to me. He's never listened to me. How can I be expected to talk him out of expanded workers' rights and privileges, across the board, if Robert won't even accept my advice on trimming his hair? Seriously! There's a reason he has a goatee, diary! Danged man doesn't even know how to work a razor properly!

… hum. It just occurred to me that a razor is a weapon of sorts. I'm… attacking… my face… so does that mean… OH GODS DAMMIT, NOW I CAN'T PICK UP MY RAZOR

NO

STOP

FALLING

FFFFFFFF

Eff my life. I'LL BE BACK TOMORROW

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Bummed