Ghosts of Gauntcliff IC: Chapter 1

[ewancummins]

Gauntcliff is a small island located in the southern Sea of Sorrows. Picturesque dunes stretch along the windward coast, and tall bone-white cliffs of limestone rise along the lee. A quirk of the currents and winds has blessed the little island with a fine, warm climate; even in the dead of winter the ground is rarely touched by frost.

For many years, the island was the uncontested domain of seabirds and crabs. For a time, Gauntcliff’s mild weather and salubrious hot springs attracted some interest from the people of nearby Ghastria, but the sandy, barren soil discouraged prospective colonists. The Ghastrians never settled the island, but an old stonework ruin on the leeward side of the island attests to previous inhabitants, unknown to history.

Denys Sancerre, a wealthy citizen of Pont-a-Museau, recently relocated to Gauntcliff. The former cloth merchant has built a luxury spa and resort on Gauntcliff, where paying customers may come and ‘take the cure.’ His factor in Port-a-Lucine has circulated among the rich and fashionable, singing the praises of the salutary, aesthetic, and romantic virtues of a holiday on Gauntcliff.

Now, as autumn chases summer south and away all across the mainland, the first guests are arriving at Gauntcliff. Denys Sancerre has invited some of his friends from Pont-a-Museau to attend the opening season…


____________________________________________________


mid-morning, Oct 1st, aboard the sloop Peryton


The Peryton has sailed for several days through the chill mists and sharp, violent storms so typical of the Sea of Sorrows, but since early this morning the weather has grown balmy and mild. The fogs have melted away. An hour ago, the lookout aloft gave the welcome shout - 'Land Ho!' The wind drives the sloop eastwards past the tall ivory walls of Gauntcliff, now clearly visible above the glittering blue-green waves.

The harsh shrieks of circling seagulls sound above the noises of the men working in the rigging and the bawled orders of the shipmaster. Someone strikes up a happy tune on a squeezebox.

Juergen and Petrie, two wanderers who've come to know each other a little on the voyage from Port-a-Lucine, stand near the prow of the vessel. Perhaps they are admiring the view of the island, or maybe they are simply enjoying a moment of rest. Theirs has been a working passage, and so they've had rather fewer moments lesiure than the paying passengers have enjoyed.

A seagull swoops low over Petrie's head and lands on the rosewood figurehead of the ship (a frightful carving of some weird eagle-stag hybrid, its open jaws frozen in a soundless scream ). The bird hops about on its grotesque perch, so that it faces the man and the boy. It croaks a few times, and then flies up and away, lost in the glare of the sun.

The paying passengers have all been roused by the crew, and given ample time to prepare for the landing. The shipmaster’s estimate, relayed to all aboard, is that the Peryton will be in Gauntcliff’s little harbor and unloaded by noontide.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Everline appears on deck as soon as the weather improves; she had hidden herself away from the storm in her cabin. She strolls up to the front deck and fixes a blue-eyed stare on Gauntcliff.

Those who knew her before might be a little startled by the transformation she wrought while in there; gone are the comfortable travelling clothes she wore at the Delapore estate and when she boarded. Instead, she wears wide, well-tailored skirts and a very smart-looking jacket of red leather over a high-quality bodice. If the red-and-cream ensemble is lacking in embroidery -- there is a thin line of runes around the hem of her skirts and jacket -- that is more than made up for by the evident quality of the materials and the stitchwork.

With her hair coiled into a braid and the fetching little hat perched on top of it, Everline looks like a member of the Mordentish elite, out for... Well, a trip to tour a spa would be well within expectations with this ensemble. Gold and garnet earrings hang sparkling from her lobes. It seems Everline has come up in the world, but her expression is closed and distant, her eyes almost frosty.

[Ail]

Eustace has been for a while on the deck, looking in the distance to the approaching land. He had packed the previous night, so there was not much to prepare this day. This had not been a good journey for him. Used as he was to travelling, he had yet to try a ship on the open sea, and this morning he could only think the experience had something of a light ordeal.

Like a passage into a new world he thought to himself.

He had not spoken much during the journey. Sure, he had met some of his associates in the Delapore business, but he hadn't grown fast friend with any of them... yet.

he had not lost contact with some of them. He had spent the last semester in the university of Pont-a-Museau, studying. The Delapore affair had really ticked something in him, something in the way people behave and how they view morality, privilege and obligation.

It had been Dorgio who had given him the news about the spa, and how its opening season could make an excellent and fitting field experiment in his new field of study: the well-off population, do they behave differently from the common masses? How? And Why? Are they different in any way, and where does that difference come from? Resources, education, biological difference?

This last hypothesis made him shudder. It brought images of a different species implanted among the society, fighting for dominance over the unfavoured... fighting mercilessly.

"Perhaps it's none of that, but I really don't know!" he mumbled softly.

These thoughts didn't help his vulnerability. The waving floor beneath his feet only made him feel queasy and slightly nauseated. It had been like this for days on end, and he longed to stand on firm ground. But the chill air of the morning, the dissipating fogs and the ominous cries of seagulls, all contributed to a gloomy apprehension to settle on him.

New beginnings... They always made his stomach turn.

[Adam]

*Some time previous*

A carriage rattles to a stop on the cobbled streets of Pont-Au-Museau outside a nondescript, unremarkable store-front. The gold filigree decorations attached to the outsides of the coach door flash dully in the mid-morning sun, creating a muttered stir from the small group of onlookers standing in the streets nearby. The finery of the vehicle clashes loudly with the humility of the setting as, with a metallic snap, steps fly forward beneath the carriage door.

Swinging it open on well-oiled hinges, the driver reveals a finely dressed nobleman, an impatient scowl set upon his face. He steps free from the carriage to the street, pointedly ignoring the stares of the people on the street, and walks forward to deliver a sharp rap on the door of the office. Above him, a faint summer breeze causes a sign reading “Gehrman Occult Consulting” to swing gently, creaking as the door is pulled open. A young man of 20 attired in the white shirt and vest of a clerk, opens and warmly greets the visitor.

“Lord Pomfrey,” he stammers, “We had not expected you so soon. Surely we could have visited you at your home, rather than trouble you to come all this wa-“

“Enough of your prattling, young man,” Lord Pomfrey replies, stepping forward and shouldering his way into the shop, “I want to see Bennedict. I want to see him now!”

“Ah, Monsieur Gehrman is somewhat busy at the moment, sir. He was in the middle of a delicate procedure. If you just give him a moment to clean up, I’m sure he’ll-“

“I’ll do no such thing!” Pomfrey roars, scarlet billowing up into his cheeks, “I hired you for one purpose, and one purpose only. You were to break my family’s curse and destroy the creature that has plagued us for years!”

“We have done so,” the clerk patiently replies, eyes downcast.

“And yet you claim that it was some manner of beast?” The nobleman is incredulous now, waving the offending letter under the boy’s nose. “You do not fool me, young man. I have read Van Richten’s guides, and I know the signs of Vampire infestation when I see one. The living dead have taken over my home, and you charlatans have the nerve to tell me that you simply walked into my home, killed some manner of BUG, and the problem is solved?!?”

“Indeed, Herr Pomfrey,” comes a droll response from the back of the office as side-door swings open. Into the room strides Bennedict, his hair perhaps a bit more salt-and-pepper than last we saw it and the bags beneath his eyes perhaps a bit darker, but his mustache still proudly groomed beneath his fine spectacles. “That is exactly what I expect you to believe, because that is exactly what happened. If you will please come with me and perhaps stop harassing my poor clerk, master Hornsby, I would be happy to explain.” He steps to the side, gesturing for Lord Pomfrey to enter. Hornsby smiles sheepishly as Pomfrey fixes him with another steely gaze, before turning and stepping past Bennedict into the next room.

Benn’s laboratory is decorated with numerous macabre artifacts. Dusty glass jars rest on sagging, tired wooden shelves, their grim contents hidden behind cloudy brown formaldehyde or other preservative. Here an eye floats gently past in an amber solution. There, the three fingered hand of some manner of mutant creature lies, shadowed in the background. Benn indicates two forms resting on operating tables in the center of the room as he fastens a stained apron around his body. “As you initially reported to me,” he begins, the professorial air returning unconsciously to his voice, “There have been a rash of attacks at your home of late: victims found unconscious or dead on the manner grounds, seemingly drained of blood. As you related to me, your family has been rumored to dwell in the home of a man accused of being transformed by the bite of Desmodus rotundus, or the common vampire bat, into a creature of the night prior to his being staked by the local peasants and buried on the grounds. You had feared that this nosferatu had somehow risen from the grave, presumably due to the peasants not knowing to remove the head and consecrate the ground prior to burial. I expressed my initial skepticism, relating my theory that the man had, in all likelihood, instead contracted hydrophobia from the bat and been killed due to his erratic behavior, but took on the case after your niece, Gladys, was found unconscious after an attack.”

“Yes, yes,” Pomfrey stammers irritably, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it over his nose to shield it from the formaldehyde stench in the room. “Do you intend to waste my time by telling me more things I already know?”

“Indeed not, merely establishing the foundation of fact,” Benn smiles cordially, stepping over to the larger of the two forms. “I began my investigation by observing the remains of one of the early victims.”

He rolls the sheet down, revealing the head and neck of a long-dead and partially-decayed black horse. The skin appears shriveled, and a shaved spot on the neck of the creature reveals the skin to be quite gray and pale. Pomfrey chokes and turns away. “My God! That’s Victory! How did you get him here?”

“At great expense and trouble, I assure you,” Benn smiles. “You did not make it easy for me to complete my investigations.”

“I had Victory buried!”

“Yes, and the coffin sealed with silver chains and draped in garlic, after beheading the creature.” He smiles grimly. “Let it not be said that you are anything but thorough. I have to ask, did you really expect your quarterhorse to reanimate and return to prey on the living?”

Pomfrey stammers something to the effect of “You can never be too careful,” before waving for Bennedict to go on.

“As I was saying, I looked carefully to try and find the characteristic signs of attack by a vampire, and could not observe the two distinctive puncture wounds from fangs driven into the jugular vein. Not conclusive evidence, I’ll admit, but enough to confirm my suspicions that we were not, in fact, dealing with nosferatu. Indeed, what I did find was most constructive to creating a hypothesis as to the identity of our real foe.” He gestures towards the shaved place on the creature’s throat. “You’ll note the distinct marking pattern of one, singular puncture surrounded by a trail of smaller, pincer-like wounds leading down the creature’s neck. This, I suspected, was not in fact the work of some supernatural menace, but rather one of the more menacing creatures from nature’s design.”

“A natural beast did this? I don’t believe it. Nothing natural could be so horrible.”

Benn stiffens, a grim expression replacing his clinical air for a moment. “I have found at great cost, Herr Pomfrey, that the natural world is more than capable of producing horrors that are beyond imagination, and it is almost always an error to assume a supernatural cause when a mundane explanation will suffice.” He pauses, his eyes seeming to focus on something far away, prior to shaking his head and returning to the lecture. “Carrying on, I was able to return to the estate and lay a number of blood-traps to try and capture one of the creatures in question. Upon doing so, a quick research expedition into the xenobiological manuals allowed me to identify the true culprits of your attacks, Abraedes giganticus, or…” He whips the second sheet away with a flourish, “the common stirge.”

Laying on the metal table, its abdomen sliced open and dissected, lies the form of an over-sized mosquito-like creature with a long proboscis and six hooked legs leading down the length of its body. Lord Pomfrey, the stink of the room temporarily forgotten, steps forward in fascination.

“My god, look at the size of it!” he says, eyes almost bulging, “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Nor have I,” Benn returns, “They aren’t native to this climate, being much more suited to tropical environments like those found in Sri Raji than the temperate environment here. We’re fortunate in this, really, as the low temperatures more than likely helped keep them in check and stop them from setting up nests in the rest of the city.”

“Wait, them?” Pomfrey exclaims. “I thought there was only one of these monsters?”

“Oh, no,” Benn patiently explains, “There were a number of them when I went inside to investigate. A swarm, really.”

“Then we must not delay!” Pomfrey shouts, scrambling towards the door, “As you said, they could be a plague on the whole city! We must inform the authorities straight away!”

Benn follows, laying a comforting hand on Pomfrey’s shoulder. “Not to worry, sir. I’ve already dealt with the issue. A number of gendarmes, Hornsby, and I went in and swept the vermin from the household. You may return in confidence and find the house undamaged and ready for habitation once again.”

A polite “Ahem” comes from behind them and Benn winces slightly. “Well, perhaps some repair work will be required in the master bedroom. And…some new drapes. It was necessary to employ fire to eliminate the creatures.”

Pomfrey, back out in the front room of the office, slumps exhaustedly into a chair. “I…it’s almost too much to bear. I don’t know how to thank you, Monsieur Gehrman.”

Benn snaps his fingers and Hornsby promptly places a sheet of paper into it. “Our usual fee should suffice, Herr Pomfrey, plus additional unforeseen expenses. They are all documented here in this receipt. And, if I may be so bold, a fine bottle of port for Captain Thibault and his gendarmes may not be out of order. Some of them sustained rather nasty bites from the creatures during the extermination process.”

Pomfrey nods, before taking the sheet and stepping to the door. “I shall see to it at once, Monsieur Gehrman. You have done me a great service. I promise you, I shall not forget it.”

Benn waves cordially. “Do not worry yourself overly. This is, after all, what I do.”

The two investigators step out into the street as Pomfrey climbs the steps into his carriage. As he reaches the top, however, he pauses and turns about. “You said that stirges were not native to this area, did you not? How do you suppose they came to be in my home?”

Benn coughs, exchanging a side-long look with Hornsby, before returning the glance. “Ah, it embarrasses me to say, sir, that I may have an idea along those lines as well. It has come to my attention that there was some question early on as to who would obtain the rights to Pomfrey manor after the death of your father, the previous Lord Pomfrey. There was quite a lot of contention between yourself and your brother, Patrick, as I recall.”

“Yes?” Pomfrey replies, clearly not following.

“Your brother who runs an international shipping business?”

“Indeed he does,”

“Which trades regularly with vendors in Sri Raji?”

Pomfrey begins to answer again, impatiently, before his eyes widen and then immediately narrow in suspicion. He scowls before turning and stepping back into the carriage. “Thank you again, Monsieur Gehrman. You may expect your payment promptly.”

The door slams shut and the driver gives the reigns a sharp crack, speeding the carriage away. The two men watch it travel down the street, before Hornsby arches an eyebrow.

“A swarm, sir?”

“Swarm, I think you’ll find, is a subjective term. I think three stirges could certainly qualify.”

Hornsby smiles “Very good, sir.”

They turn and step back into the office, Benn untying the apron as both men resume their places behind their desks. The Lamordian’s satisfied smile, rarer in these days than previous, is only dampened when he sees an envelope waiting for him.

“When did this arrive?” he asks, snatching it up and reaching for a letter opener.

“Just this morning,” Hornsby replies, “I knew you were busy setting up for Pomfrey’s arrival, so I didn’t think to bother you.”

Benn’s face darkens. “In the future, any correspondence from this particular address should be forwarded to me immediately. This man is literally the reason we are in business and granted me the deed to this building. He is a great patron of our work, and was in honesty my first client. Anything, ANYTHING that arrives from Denys Sancerre must be brought to me IMMEDIATELY. Do you understand?”

Hornsby’s expression drops from pleased to resigned, and it is clear he has weathered more than one of these sudden rages from his employer in the past. “Very good, sir. I apologize for presuming. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t” he mutters, eyes quickly scanning the document.

“If I may be so bold, sir, does Mr. Sancerre want to hire our services? Our docket is currently clear.”

“Not exactly,” Benn mutters, setting the paper down and stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “It would seem he wants to take me on…vacation.”

“Delightful, sir!” Hornsby says, “I think some rest may do you good, if I may be so bold. You’ve barely taken a day off in months.”

Benn turns an irritated glare his way. “If I want an opinion on my health and well-being, Hornsby, I will consult a physician.” He picks up the paper and reads it again, his eyes troubled. “And in any case, in my experience, I’ve found that my interactions with Sancerre and his affairs have previously been a number of things,” the dark clouds return to Benn’s eyes, and his voice adopts a grim tone, “…but restful was never one of them.”

[steveflam]

The blond teen peers into the distance at the island of Gauntcliff. His blue eyes narrow when the seagull comes near, but soon it is gone and he now turns to the man with him. "Petrie, I vill be going to thank deiner Kapitan but vill return shortly. I hoping at least ve can travel a bit longer together on deiner island, ja?" He looks at Petrie for reassurance then moves away from the man and heads on to find the Captain. Juergin is a boy of twelve years with blond hair and blue eyes. He sports a pair of travelling pants and tunic, not counting his well worn boots. He carries a back pack on his left shoulder. At his hip is a rapier and his right shoulder holds a short bow.

He moves at a leisurely pace. Juergin is definitely at ease on a ship and it has shown in the past few days of your travelling together. He makes his way to the Captain and clears his throat to announce his presence. Though a member of the crew, he is still a cabin boy and must remain respectful of the ultimate authority on a vessel, that of the Captain. Once the Captain acknowledges him he speaks.

"I vant to tank you for allowing me to travel vith you these last few days. One day, I may have need of a ship like yours when I am older
unt ready. I vont forget your kindness towards me in allowing me to work here with you. Tank you unt goot luck, mein freund." He bows his head slightly and walks amongst the crew, saying good bye and wishing them all luck. One day he thinks to himself One day I will have my own ship, father. He looks up at the gloomy sky and sighs. One day I will avenge you and the crew. This I swear............. Well it is good to see that we have arrived at the island after all.

He returns to where Petrie is and looks out at Gauntcliff, now feeling a surge of adrenalin. Sailing is a great life, but reaching a new port and seeing a new place is always exciting to the young teen.

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

Dorgio leaned over the railing of the ship, peering into the ocean and holding his cigarillo away fom the salt spray. He looked over his shoulder to see if his guest had joined the rest of them, but he saw no sight of her. He shrugged. Eliana always seemed to rise later than him, but then few people were up as early as the Morninglord's priest. Still, how one woman managed to be so elusive on a schooner was beyond him.

He saw Eustace then, and walked to his side. "Lost in thought? Or just in the churn? He pulled a flask from his robes and offered the scholar a swig. "For the stomach."

"I confess, I didn't think Denys would leave Pont."

[PathOfDreams]

Petrie MacLugash is by all accounts a small giant, towering over the little blonde sailor-boy to his left. He is both at first appearance and in action, a talented warrior. Also obvious is his Forfarian garb; a plain studded leather vest is masked slightly by the green, brown and orange sash of his family's clan. His matching woolen kilt is covered likewise by a studded leather kilt-like armor. Draped loosely across his back is a mighty bastard sword, which like the rest of his attire is more functional than ornamental.

Though Petrie has never boarded a vessel bound for open sea, he is taking to its nuances quickly and seems mostly comfortable; perhaps staying busy at work scrubbing decks and tending the rigging has kept his mind from the swaying of the speedy ship. His boots, which were meant for rough and constant overland travel have been of no use to him and he has shunned them for the entire trip thus far, where only now he dons them in anticipation of landfall.

After young Juergin speaks, Petrie gives an affirmative nod. He grabs for his bag after donning his large leather boots and awaits the boy's return.

Petrie's eyes sink to the surface of the sea, almost piercing their depths with his imagination... I wonder what facinating and frightful beasts lurk beneath these waters... With luck, I shall one day lurk and prowl among them, with sharpened spear and vast lungs...

When Juergin returns from his farewell with the Peryton's commander, Petrie speaks but a few words, "Well laddy, are you ready for a pleasant escape with perhaps a wee bit of adventure sprinkled in the mix?"

[Ail]

Eustace notices Dorgio coming up to him and welcomes the priest with a smile.

"Aye, in thought yes, but I bet the churn has great responsibility in the way they were taking." He takes a sip and more comforted says

"Thank you."

He gives another look at Gauntcliff.

"Impressive, isn't it? It really seems he's buried a fortune in here. But tell me, you never explained to me who this Denys Sancerre is. Does he go back a long way with you?"

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

Dorgio accepted the flask back from Eustace and took a swig for his own stomach, then took another because it was a long ways to go until his noontime drink. He took a third for the memory of Sancerre's daughter.

"I worked for him perhaps two years ago. He had found some artifacts, and wanted to learn more. And so did a deranged cult. Nasty bit of work, all that. But we brought the cult and their plans low in the end."

The look on his face turned dour then. All through the trip Dorgio's mood had been light compared to what Eustace had seen at the Delaplore estate. But suddenly Dorgio seemed his old, grim self. "We had a traitor in our ranks, though. He developed an obsession with Denys' daughter Evie. The traitor killed Evie's betrothed, and then he killed her." He shook his head. "I suspected the boy was deranged, but I did nothing to act. And now Sancerre's daughter sleeps in a tomb."

"On second thought," Dorgio said, unscrewing the flask once more. "Maybe I am surprised Denys stayed in Pont as long as he did."

[Adam]

"I certainly can't blame him for departing," Benn interjects, the sound of his cane against the deck apparently disguised by the surf. He smiles warmly to Dorgio, slapping him on the back. "Too many bad memories poison a place. I certainly would have very little interest in returning the Delapore estate in this life."

He nods to Eustace, his smile slightly less warm than the one for the priest. "I hadn't expected to see you on this trip, Eustace. Did Herr Sancerre give some indication as to why he was inviting you?" He pauses, eyes widening, perhaps realizing how rude that statement appeared, "Not that you need an excuse to be invited, of course. It is just that the man has grown somewhat reclusive of late, and I didn't realize the two of you had become acquainted."

Realizing he hasn't really helped things, he pulls the flaps of his tweed jacket tightly around him and turns to regard the island. "Somewhat of an isolated locale for a retreat, I have to say. I couldn't find much information on the place in the records prior to our departure."

[steveflam]

The teen looks at Petrie and shows all of his white teeth in a smile. "Oh, ja, I am ready. I look forward to exploring a new port every time, Petrie." Then his blue eyes narrow and his face grows deadly serious, gritting his teeth, mouth tight lipped. "If I see but ein pirate he ist a dead man, I can assure you. Dose scum deserve worst dan death." His hands are clenched in fists and he looks like he is about to explode in a fit of rage. The moment passes and he relaxes. "I am sorry," he looks down, embarassed.

[Ail]

"Good morning, Benn" Eustace says politely.
"No, no, you have it wrong... or in fact, your reasoning is correct. Denys Sancerre has not invited me. In fact, I still don't know him."

He pauses a bit, maybe for effect.

"I come as a paying customer... or rather, a sponsored one. There is something fascinating in such an array of wealthy people isolated from normal society, almost "jailed" in a place where they forcibly have to interact with each other, to relate with each other. I long to see how they will act, if they will show their true selves or not."

He looks at Benn more intently now, trying to read the scientist's reaction to his words.

[PathOfDreams]

Noticing the hatred welling up inside Juergin, Petrie offers a few words, "No need for apologies my young lad, I understand more than you know. I too lost family to the ravages of hostile creatures." Petrie takes a moment to pause and turns back over the rail to face the approaching island again, "For now let us think of the wonder that awaits us there." He points his chin towards the cliffs.

[Ken of Ghastria]

Primeiro d'Pirozzi strolls the deck of the Peryton with confidence, his stride adjusting so casually to the shifting seas that it seems he's walking across a street in Pont-a-Museau. The handsome, well-groomed young man will be slightly familiar to Eustace and anyone who has recently spent time at the university -- by face at least, if not by name. He has a slight, if oddly contradictory, reputation as arrogant yet gregarious ... complimentary yet contentious ... feckless yet studious. In spite of this dichotomy, or perhaps because of it, he has become popular within the university's social circles.

The ponytail of his blonde hair lifts briefly under a gust of wind, and he adjusts his emerald green coat against the sudden chill, ensuring that the ruffles of his white shirt are properly... ruffled.

He continues walking, the thin scabbard of his rapier tapping rhythmically against his leg as he does so. He finally takes a position several feet from Everline and, noticing her gaze toward the island, says pleasantly, "Pardon the intrusion, mademoiselle. I couldn't help but notice that you seem to be viewing Gauntcliff as though it were the ending to an unfinished novel."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Everline turns to face Primeiro and briefly looks him up and down. Primeiro may have the oddest sensation that he is being studied like a horse at auction. When the young woman has finished her study of him, her lack of expression leaves it anyone's guess whether she is more likely to send for a bridle and saddle or for the knackerman...

"Rather, monsieur," the blue-eyed young woman replies in flawless High Mordentish, "one is studying Gauntcliff as the start of a volume. To wit, a travelogue, which one was commissioned to gather information for. Everline Vaughn. And you are...?"

Everline extends a gloved hand, the palm turned down, in the imperious gesture of noblewomen who fully expect the man opposite them to kiss it. There is probably no way to make them stop, short of the guilloutine.