Devi, 1960, Satyajit Ray
Cadaveric rigidity. This person grasped at vegetation before falling into water.
Bogna Patrycja Altman
Ples flinched at the sound of the knocking, like he always did whenever someone knocked on the door. He shut his book so quickly that the pages coughed up a puff of dust. The ticking man took his time traveling down the stairs and, once he finally got to the door, he only opened it a tiny sliver; just enough for his eye to get a full view of the front porch.
Ah, wonderful! Right this way…
It would be a good way to see most of the house. The clocks themselves took up pretty much any space on the wall, and not just wall-mounted clocks, but also grandfather clocks. No digital clocks, however. All of them worked, all ticking, and all but 3 of them told the same time.
Ples pointed out and identified each one. The house was old, lavishly furnished, and maybe a bit dusty in places. It might be odd that such a large property was owned by a single man (and his bird).
There are more upstairs, but…maybe you don’t want to over-exert yourself in your condition?
Blight listened in interest, starting to understand why he doesn’t have to many visitors, though all the clocks looked hand-made and beautiful!
Tick tock, tick tock… was all you could hear, along with the drizzling of rain.
"They are wonderful, Alfons keeps a clock like one of these in the living room!" She stated, then heard his comment, "Nein, its fine! I can handle it, dealing with the three dogs and a Alfons is much worse than going up some stairs!" The medic joked, cocking her head to the side.
Wonderful. No household is complete without one. He’s called me in for clock repair every now and then.
Ah, good. Right this way.
Blight would not be shown most of the upstairs; it consisted mostly of private bedrooms and Ples’ office. But the small household library may be of some interest. It’s a bit dirty, but not uninhabitable.
I apologise for the mess.
Ples pointed at a bookshelf, near the top corner. There was a small, expertly-constructed bird’s nest made of grasses and odds and ends that Seven happened to find in the house - string, ribbons, buttons, small teaspoons…
But she lives here and that makes upkeep a bit more difficult.
Thank you, Mr. Tibenoch. This is very generous of you.
*She took the offered bottle from him, smiling as she looked it over. Lexi wasn’t much of a drinker, but this was for a special occasion, after all.*
No, no, it’s- think nothing of it.
He sounded pleased with himself, like he got an answer right in class.
Sorry to have kept you from whatever it was you were planning to do today.
No apologies needed. Thank you again for the champagne, Mr. Tibenoch. It was very kind to you.
*She gave him a genuine smile and made her exit.*
Not at all, Miss Shapiro. This is a celebration.
He walked her to the door, somewhat relieved that nothing abnormal had happened.
Another realtor? Really? The ticking man shook his head; he should just put a sign out on the lawn – Not Interested in Selling. He walked downstairs and opened the door.
Not! Interested, thank you-
Mmm…a good number of hours. Eight of them. Plus thirty-seven minutes and 16 seconds. Are you back with us now?
Only eight? Must be why he still felt terrible. “That’s quite specific of you,” he mumbled. “Well, Ples, I must say I’m impressed with your work.” It hadn’t been a great job, but Ples’d managed to stitch him shut, remove a bullet, and clean him up. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble. You seemed to get into the swing of it about halfway through, if I remember correctly.”
These things are important…
Ples threw a hand up in the air and waved it around until he found the beaded cord. He pulled it and a single, naked bulb provided harsh white light to the basement.
Since the light allowed him the opportunity, Ples scrutinized his handiwork and found that Darton, though beat up, was in a better condition than when he left.
The cuts had been cleaned. Cleaned properly. Not just gone through the motions of cleaning, but actually disinfecting the wounds. Ples grit his teeth. That meddling-
Darton’s assertion that he got better halfway through the medical treatments confirmed Ples’ suspicions.
Ah, I really don’t know…I am not a doctor. But, you are alive, in any case.