Edmund sighed as he heard the doorbell go, moments after he had removed his coat, and was hoping against hope to sit and relax after a hard days work. He shook his head, wondering how he had got himself into the situation where he was defending the city's most wanted man, on trial on four counts of murder, and a rather nasty massacre of poultry. It didn't help that the war was over either he mused, whereby then this man was in the line of fire of Winston Churchill's successor to prove that he could keep England England. Something wasn't right about the entire case, in fact he was sure that it was going too fast for a murder case, far too fast.
Running an exasperated hand through his ginger hair (he really needed a haircut but he simply didn't have time at the moment), he turned back round and opened the door to what he surely hoped was a delusion, brought on by not enough sleep and a ridiculous amount of caffeine. In front of him was a wizened old man, wrapped in what appeared to be a child's coat and a rather hairy pair of trousers – as if the previous owner of the fur hadn't died before the old man grabbed the fur. Further down the steps, an eagle, a horse, and what appeared to be a centaur – or rather two people in a centaur costume.
He raised an eyebrow, and was about to turn round and head back indoors when the old man spoke:
"Sire, do you not recognise us?"
Edmund gaped. Why was it him that got the drunkards coming in droves to his house at this hour? When he spoke, it was with barely controlled exasperation.
"Who are you, and why the hell are you at my front door?"
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