“I’m Marge Grimwald. I solve problems.”
The lively tune that echoed in the air as the trio rode up the hill and came across the burned building grew in both volume and pace with each passing moment. With a full moon high in the sky and nothing but stars around them, Margharette led Richard and some guy named Greg from the comfort of her saddle - she still didn't trust the latter. The agile and pristine horse matched her jet black hair. This was the scene to a gruesome and fierce battle coming to it's inevitable end and tearing the land apart with the spoils. Dark, leather gloves tightened around the reigns when they made it to the front door, or at least it's hinges. So very little of it remained. The one named Greg, with his pretty blue eyes, quickly hunched over in apparent distress. Richard settled for covering his nose and looking for a piece of cloth to use as a mask. "Behold gentlemen.." Marge calmly spoke before she swung a leg over her horse and dismounted. Knee high and simple boots gave a muted thud when she landed on the disturbed soil around the tomb. ".. this is one way to not die alone - you take as many as you can with you all the way to the ravaging maws of the Gods." Marge sighed wistfully, hand tugging on the reigns and guiding the transportation to it's resting place. Greg managed not to throw up and followed Richard's advice to make himself a mask before they followed Margharette.
"Alright, now listen up. I need you--" Marge looked to Greg, taking note of his nervousness in this uncomfortable place. Death and despair still clung to the building itself. Having seen it's greatest horror and finding the cause behind it all, nothing in the world would ever stop her from feeling the chill down her spine when she took a step closer to it. "You're going to dig three holes over there. I want space for about ten to fifteen bodies per hole so make sure to take your time measuring. We're going to be burning things so remember to fill the bottom with logs. There's plenty of those in the back. I do trust this is not a complicated request. Can't be all looks and no brain young man." With a playful smile, the woman motioned towards the area in question, going over further details and giving Greg the careful warning to keep an eye out at all times. The promise of gold and a few drinks seemed to be enough for the man who soon plucked the shovel from the large bag draped across the horse's side and got to work.
Having nudged for Richard to follow, Margharette crossed stepped beyond the realm of possibilities and entered the vast abyss. She found a somewhat safe spot, the sole survivor of the war. It was a chair. With no blood or soot to stain it, Marge slid off and neatly folded the jacket of her suit over the back of it. "Roll up your sleeves and put on your gloves. Touch only what I tell you to." she lectured, practicing exactly what she preached. The stagnant air was thick with stench, one that took the woman back in time. A moment in history when the bodies were not that of grunts and dockworkers, but of mothers and daughters. Fathers whose legacies were violently extinguished by her own hand - along the hands of her old crew. With a smile soon growing, Marge looked for the hammer she knew to be nearby, only a small red stain on it. "Your job is to move the bodies outside when I am finished with them. After you get them all, you will grab the other shovel and help Greg dig the holes. Do I have your reassurance that you will not end up in the corner vomiting?" Margharette calmly asked, having turned to face Richard. The tension on his shoulders spoke of a struggle but she could already see the determination in his eyes. It had been molded by necessity and desperation. Already she could tell that she was going to miss him -- Richard was nothing more than a poor and unfortunate soul -- but he nodded in response. This affirmation brought a smile back to Margharette's expression, the lively tune hummed yet again.
It was with diligence, precision and malice that the remains of the forty or so men slaughtered by Aiden during his last moment's in life were desecrated after a brief prayer of farewell. There had been more bodies, but the fire had already taken care of disposing them. Margharette swung the hammer down into the first and from that point on, there was no going back. She smashed the building tool into their jaws, shattering teeth and bone until they were all unrecognizable. It was an arduous task requiring no less than absolute discipline. The stomach turned but the will subdued while the mind wandered - but again the dominance over her natural human aspects persevered. A beast using outrage to fuel a drive for perfection. Margharette's white shirt was stained with not only blood, but sweat as well. The adrenaline pushed the Butler into working faster and harder. Jewels, coin and personal items were collected in a bag before Richard dragged them away. The job was as mentally demanding as it was physically. "What happened here?" Richard finally asked. Marge was surprised it had taken him seven bodies into it before daring to do so. It was with an amused smile that she answered.
"This is what happens when you lose all hope." she hummed in thought, right hand swinging across the air. The hammer of injustice struck as deeply as it's counterpart. "Loneliness and despair are a lethal combination. His name was Aiden Baxter." With a crunch, the woman dislodged the hammer from the body and used it to motion around the room. "He killed himself after killing all of these people." A blunt answer given in a casual manner seemed to surprise Richard. Once she wiped at a bit of blood that trickled down her cheek, Marge continued. "Almost sixty people just gone. Poof!" She could tell he was growing uncomfortable at her disregard to the severity of the situation. This only made her smile grow wider. "A very unfortunate night for those in the right place at the wrong time." Richard stared at Margharette, awkwardly silent for several minutes but eventually he shook his head and simply got back to work.
Once every single body had been removed from the building and the holes had been filled with the abused corpses, Marge stepped outside, longing for a breath of fresh air. It was an indulgence she couldn't deny herself any longer. However, the job was still not finished. While the two hired hands wrestled with nausea and the severity of the recently deceased, Margharette dug into her sidesaddle and fished out her cleaning products. The building could still be salvaged, but before any attempt at reconstructing it could take place there needed to be a thorough erosion of any evidence which might suggest this was something other than a tragic accident. Something their enemies could somehow use against them, not to mention the morale of the underlings. Marge believed them to be the legs of the table over which he reigned. While you could fix a wobble, the complete loss of a leg could tumble Braxton into the ground. If they dared ask, she'd simply tell them they perished in an unfortunate house fire while sleeping the night away. Pool by pool, Margharette moved with little hesitation. Having found a well and some buckets, the woman had plenty of water with which to wash the stain on the wooden panels and stone corners. She heard the trivial conversation taking place outside, pleased by it's continuance. It served to remember their existence and as white noise. Every now and then, Marge found another tangible reminder of how much pain coursed through this room. A finger which tore or a jaded eye that popped from it's socket. These she collected in a separate bag. The storm washed away everything in it's path until only the bare bones of what had once been a joyful hall remained.
Hours later, Margharette made her way outside, satisfied with her work. The bag containing spare body parts was dumped besides the second hole -- the one they were just now beginning to fill up. "Hey, Grimwald, do you want us to light them up now or wait until later?" was Greg's brilliant question. She complimented him with a smile, finding his initiative refreshing but still lacking in impact. "No, my dear boy. That would only lead more innocents to their early graves." she paused, gaze shifting to the sky and bathing in it's glory. Every star that twinkled had it's own string directly to her heart. "Best not disturb the calm night with a raging fire. We will handle it later." Greg nodded and returned to his detailed explanation of how much he made a noble woman scream in pleasure and how her husband almost caught them in mid-flight. The brief respite from the carnage helped to lift the woman's spirits. giving her the strength to aim for the last stop -- Aiden's room.
His body had been removed on the night of the incident, the weapon he used to end his life taken with him as well. While the main building had been mostly disturbed by fire, the scene she stepped into was vastly different. Ideal conditions were preserved by time. The guffaw coming from Richard faded, leaving behind a deafening silence. While Marge saw death as nothing more than the final stage of life, suffering - the ravaging kind which had spread across this room - was something to be both admired and feared. A deep breath later, Margharette took the last step along the path of sanity and strayed into the burning coals. Still carrying a fresh bucket of water, she studied the blood splattered walls. The ceiling and the floor were next to follow. What she could only guess to be a pea sized fragment of his brain laid by a bed. She carefully aligned her body, even standing on the tip of her toes in order to gain height and match Aiden's own as much as she could. Deciding to ditch the bucket and free her hand, her index and middle fingers were brought to her head, pointing while the rest folded over her palm. "Pew.." Her eyes closed when she realized this was the center of this particular but passing storm. Where a man's inner demons feasted along the ruins caused by his collapse. A shiver ran along her spine and shook Marge free of her haze. The woman's cheery tune hummed to life once more, providing life and keeping the icy grip of chaos from reigning supreme.
It was moments before dawn that Margharette walked outside of Aiden's room and down the stairs leading to the pits. As instructed, three holes had been created. The last of the two bodies were added to the pile as she made her way back to her horse. After putting her cleaning chemicals away, Marge looked for the final items she'd need for this job. A metal canister was pulled and placed on the ground by her feet. "Alright, time to get paid!" she called out over her shoulder. Greg and Richard tried to shake off the stench and made their way to Margharette, a pip in their step throughout their journey. The woman had promised them a hundred gold each for this simple but gruesome task and they were more than happy to collect. Obedient and trusting men with everything to lose but much more to gain. By the time they reached her, Marge was digging through the sidesaddle again. "Do you want to go to the tavern with us after we light the fires? I'll buy you a drink." Greg boldly asked. His charming smile framed his lively expression well. "I think that would be rather amusing, but I am afraid I will have to decline." After having given the two enough lies, Marge finally came to the precursor of what her weekend would be like. Leather gloves wrapped around her tools, a slight twitch of anticipation drawing a deep breath. It was with finesse and speed that Marge snaked two pistols from the bag, body twisting in order to face the men who had served her in a satisfactory manner. Hadn't asked too many questions. They did not give too much lip either -- they mostly worked and put some thought on what to do with the money that never was. Even so, when Marge turned around and pointed the pistols at their heads. The simultaneous and muted shots brought Greg and Richard to meet their inevitable end. "In the off-chance you can still hear me, tell Aiden that Captain Grimwald sends her regards." The woman said with with blatant satisfaction before putting her weapons away. The fresh bodies were dumped each into a pit and the canister opened. The white powder-like substance inside was distributed over each tomb. An old trick to ward off the sniffing dogs around. The powder caused the smoke from the bodies to be as white as the kind produced by burning leaves. With the sun stroking along the horizon and informally announcing it's presence, Marge threw lit branches into the center and corners of each pile. The fire began to roar to life and the second use of the power came into play. It reduced the inhuman scent of burning flesh. Though the fire would reduce the bodies to nothing more than a pile of ashes, this wasn't to happen for several more hours. After tossing her leather gloves into the fire and fetching a cup of coffee from the half destroyed kitchen inside the building, Margharette took a seat on a table outside and began to hum again. The melody was slow and methodical, a stark contrast against the chaotic flames that erased those who had once existed.
"Fucking Aiden..."
-Fin
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