There was a<strong>BANG! </strong><br/><br/>A gunshot from the scullery!<br/><br/>Before anyone could react Francis Kincaid strolled into the Kitchen, adjusting his clothes. "Stupid trollop. I warned her... no teeth..."<br/><br/>He addressed the gathered kitchen staff while shaking around his smoking gun barrel. "There's been an accident, terrible business, poor young Alice has suffered a fatal injury whilst cleaning my gun, her brains are all over the cheese, what little of them there were. See that she is disposed of will you." he gestured at the oldest servant. There was no question of them not accepting his 'version' of what had happened. It was the truth... from a certain point of view.<br/><br/>Francis gathered his thoughts. It was time to seek out that strumpet of a wife that he'd been invited to destroy. He holstered his gun, he wouldn't be needing it for combat again any time soon. He might decide to insert it's blood splattered barrel into a convenient hole, but that is something that would happen according to his mood. If this woman was a donkey, a whore with the face of a man, then he would not allow his member anywhere near her, he would simply use and abuse her with tools.<br/><br/>A pistol, a whip, a poker, a smouldering log from the fire... they were all tools at his disposal if her flesh did not excite him. If it did, then his own flesh and blood weapon would be brought to bear, among other things.<br/><br/>He licked his lips in anticipation.