⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆﹏𓊝﹏⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ Captain's Log ----------- #journal #viewed-oocly #inperson #narration #atimeofcelebration (Entry is written in void-ink, so omniscient entities cannot see it.) ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⋆﹏𓊝﹏⋆⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ~ On the 12th~ ------ The young Demoness remained at my side throughout the manor’s revelries, her presence a part of kinship and the other a jailer seeing to it that I do not distur8 them with 'piratical flair'. Whether she finds me a comfort or is merely tethered to me as a sentry for her master, the am8iguity remains. Regardless, I dare not acknowledge our history; to admit to such 8efore the Doctor would 8e to jeopardise the architecture of my plans. Unlike the funeral, I am restricted from wandering the halls here, though the white magnum pistol remains a persistent thought in the 8ack of my mind. I ought to conduct further research into it, perhaps experiment with alchemis8tion to transmute it into an instrument of terror 8eyond even his reproach. He dispatched his Handmaiden to an Earth at '9:10', whether that is morning or evening one knows not, for the 8astard does not use military time. It is also 8affling that I once perceived the Doctor as a man of refinement in my youth. Now, I see him for what he is, a peddler of 8ase indulgences, feigning intoxic8tion of sipping his glass and leading his guests in vulgar parlour games of stripping. A registry of attendees would 8e of use as of current to see who I stand against. Some were impenetra8le to the usual telepathy, to which I assume were artificial entities or guardians. The old fashioned greetings seemed to supply some answers, four in particular and it placed a name to the ro8ot, one titled 'Hal'. I could peer into the Doctor’s reflected dome whenever I pleased in my youth, provided I avoided the trap of questioning inside it; his mind acts as an oracle, and to ask is to alert him to my interest. I desire to uncover the 8enefactor 8ehind his ring, to expose the unseen hand who provided it, 8ut I cannot afford to tip the scales and let him know the involvement. So, I simply did not question, and no answer came to one's eightfold. I feel a profound disdain for this role of the informant, reporting to my correspondents while I shoulder the 8urden of a strategy they refuse to formul8te properly. It is the classic struggle of the protégé surpassing the pedagogue. I have helmed crews through centuries of tempestuous seas, yet even at sea, the horizon offered a reprieve of time. Here, there is no such luxury. I must 8e swifter, sharper, and utterly precise. The succession is mine to secure.