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To The Cavaliers And The Esteemed Mr. Ashford (Open Frequency)

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Charlie finished pulling the arrowhead from his leg and shoulder before grabbing his radio and holding down the PTT

"Hey, dearest Mr. Ashford, I will be running late to our meeting that I requested outside of the castle two days ago. Q...quite late it would seem."

Charlie snaps his fingers and motions to his wounds, ordering the remaining marked one to patch him up while he spoke

"Wouldn't dream of boring you with the details, but we were more or less ambushed by some crazy bow wielding, I shit you not, red skinned psycho in the woods to the North of where I requested the meeting."

Grunting in pain as his leg is bandaged by the medic, Charlie groans before continuing 

"Most of my entourage was killed in the process, and I took an arrow to the leg. Can't put much weight on it at the moment either, so walking would seem to be out of the question for the time being, and I lack the manpower to go fetch a car or carry me the rest of the day. No other option but to give it time I suppose."

Changing frequencies to let his people know what transpired, he switches back and continues 

"Anyways, I see two options here. I can send a good friend of mine over who knows more or less what was to be discussed and more or less knows what to say in my stead, or we can put this whole thing on the back burner for a few days. Up to you I suppose. I await your response."

Setting the radio aside, Charlie continues to let the man see to his leg, and examines the dead Red skin across from him, puzzled.


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*The PTT is pressed. A weak sounding British voice sounds through*

"I'll- I'll put you through to the Lord C-Captain now sir, shouldn't be a tick"

*He let's out a gruff cough before the PTT is released*

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*Ashford leans over to take the radio from Mr Peterson's failing grasp.*

"Thank you Lieutenant, I shall take over from here. Rest easy."

*The young lord gently lowers his frame into a moth-eaten, leather bound chair, its dilapidated legs groaning in protest.*

"Sorry to hear of your ailment sir. Would that I could offer you the services of our physician, alas their talents shall be sorely needed this day."

*He takes up the teapot quietly stewing on the desk, pouring out a generous serving into a chipped china cup.*

"Though I suppose your line of work carries with it a certain.. self inflicted risk."

*The Captain briefly releases his distinguished thumb from the PTT to chortle a tad.*

"Nevertheless, an attack upon a diplomatic envoy from -any- party is something to be treated with scorn by all whom deem themselves civilized."

*Edwin tightens his clasp upon the silver handle of his sugar shell as he shovels heaps of the precious white stuff into his debaucherous brew.*

"The dissimilitude of our ideologies is evident."

*He stirs the sterling spoon in a wide, graceful circle, watching as the grains dissipate.*

"Yet we remain committed to offering a sweeter.. more diplomatic solution to any potential quarrels that might arise."

*He wraps his slender digits around the handle, pinkie outstretched.*

"As a servant of her majesty I await you at her pleasure."

*Presses the brim to his parted lips, taking a measured sip.*

"Do not let this opportunity become.."

*Frowns with displeasure, tipping the cup upside down, emptying its contents onto the floor.*


*Flicks off the radio unit before ringing the bell to summon his valet.*

Edited by Aristocrat

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Hearing the reply, Charlie leaps to his feet to grab his radio, and subsequently falls, forgetting his wounded leg

"AGHHHH FUCK! Barton grab me that god damned radio!"

After receiving the radio, Charlie holds down the PTT and replies

"Good...good to hear from you. Unfortunately, it would seem that my leg is worse off than I thought, and I wouldn't want this opportunity going..."

Putting on his best posh British accent, he replies


Normal voiced, he continues 

"My dear friend Mr. Barton here will be heading down to a town of your choosing and discussing the details some time tonight or tomorrow, at your discretion of course."

He hands Mr. Barton the radio and a softer, older more tame voice comes over the radio

"As Mr. Summers said, he is in no condition to travel, and we are making camp here so that he may rest. I will head down to the previously discussed location whenever you're ready for this meeting to take place. Let me know when, and I will head off immediately."

Setting the radio aside, Mr. Barton awaits for a time and place to be arranged

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*Ashford drums his idle fingers on the desk, waiting for both gentleman to conclude their sentiments before pushing his thumb down on the PTT.*


*Edwin ponders for a moment, glancing at the hands of his wrist watch, still stubbornly synced to BST.*

"Would Ten O'clock be acceptable? London time of course."

*He releases the PTT, reclining in his chair as he listens for confirmation.*

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