Day Five-Twenty-Eight: Risk it all for the lobster

The prankster strikes again. Yeesh.

I begged Jeffrey not to leave the sight of either Celine or Daena. I BEGGED him not to do anything rash. But, well, Jeffrey is Jeffrey, whether he's contrite or not, and he's got a bit of a sweet tooth. He still likes the finer foods. And Bora is one damned good cook…

… so, y'know, last night Jeffrey snuck out of his bed and tried to pilfer the leftovers from dessert. No less than prairie lobster coated in sugar sauce. It was quite a fine meal, and we'd all looked forward to having more of it tonight.

A shame it's now ruined.

We found Jeffrey hanging upside down behind the bar in the Neo Beefiary. He'd passed out from blood rushing to his head. A simple snare trap, rigged into the support beams, held him an inch above the ground. Near him was the small freezer, packed with ice, where Bora keeps food that must remain chilled. It sat open. The ice, exposed to the warmer outside air, had all melted. The remaining prairie lobster smelled like poo after five hours of sitting on the floor.

Once he was conscious, most people saw fit to blame Jeffrey. And, in fairness, he was to blame. The stupid git had managed to open the door on the freezer before getting caught in the trap. But if there hadn't been a trap in the first place, all this could've been avoided.

Annoyed by the reality of no lobster for dessert, I set out on the day's task with vengeful vigour: questioning the crew. I paid special attention to those with a vested interest in seeing harm done to Jeffrey, which… meant… showing just about everybody the same amount of attention. Dude's done a lot to earn enemies.

Everybody I spoke to was spectacularly unhelpful. None of them could provide the least bit of help in determining who was behind the pranks, nor did any of them betray any nervousness which might ID the culprit. Here are a few of the reactions to my questions:

Bora: "I had nothin' against Jeffrey before. Now that he ruined my dessert I'm a bit pissed."

Ed: "Bards love, not hate, / Nor act, but wait. / 'tis worse, is fate, / 'pon men irate." (That means 'I didn't do it.')

Libby: "What, you think I can go anywhere with this fuckin' belly? Get real. And get back to work!"

Grylock: "Somebody's been fuckin' with him? Ha ha! Who? C'mon, tell me. I wanna shake their hand."

Plato: ""

Plato's Rat: (… well, it's a rat, so it didn't say much of anything. No more writing in my diary, either - I've had enough rat prose for one lifetime.)

Everybody else was largely the same. Denial, ignorance, or quiet applause. Jeffrey remains unpopular 'round here. He's not HATED by the majority, but he's not liked either.

Jeffrey's recovering in his room. He has a terrible headache from snoozing upside down for so long. Celine's with him, and I think he's in good hands with her around. Because, you know, ninjas. That little girl and her ninjas.

(I don't even know where they sleep on board the Dauphine. They're just… around. Gah!)

I'm not sure what else to do. I've looked the Dauphine over from stem to stern. I don't know what I'm even looking for. The best I think I'll get is catching the malefactor in the act of messing with Jeffrey, and I doubt I'll get so lucky.

Man. Being a dick is hard work.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Wanderer