A/N: ... Yeah. I know. This update has come later than expected. The delay was mainly down to me being indecisive about how this chapter was gonna go, but I won't lie, the lack of engagement with my fics as of late also played a part. It is a real muse killer, honestly. Either way, I got there in the end, and oh boy... things have gotten interesting. Yeah, this chapter contains more one-on-one ghost interactions, but at least this time I held up my promise and you will definitely get to see the results of Cordelia's stalling blow up in her face. XD Also, you will likely tell after reading this chapter that I had a little fun with the chapter title.

Either way, thank you to everyone who has been reading this story. Your continued support is greatly appreciated. Can't say when the next chapter will be done for, but I can assure you that this one will be the last to follow the canon plot. What do I mean by that, you ask? Well, you'll just have to wait and see...

Chapter 11: Plagued Minds

Once Robin left her bed chambers, Cordelia settled upon her bed for the evening and took hold of sleep's beckoning hand waiting to pull her into temporary slumber, the transition of time going more smoothly than she'd expected it to. One moment her eyes were closing to faint silver moonlight streaking across the shadowed ceiling and the distant hooting of owls. But by the next moment, as though she'd merely blinked, she was opening them to the warmth of the golden sunlight and the eight muffled chimes from the grandfather clock in the corridor, followed swiftly by the ungodly screaming and bone-breaking thud of Fanny Button from outside. In turn, the events of yesterday and today instantly flooded her mind, reminding her of the awkward agenda she was to undertake as she sluggishly sat up and stretched her arms above her head.

'If my mental faculties are still intact, then I recall the Captain summoning everyone to the ballroom to prepare for the pointless operation I have set into motion.' Cordelia released a small yawn and combed her fingers through her dirty blonde strands to remove any remnants of bedhead, her eyes drooping upon dropping her gaze to the undisturbed quilt beneath her. 'And yet the goal for enacting such a distraction has not been met, for while Robin has helped to quell the worries that plagued me the day before, I have not made up my mind regarding my loyalties to the present apparitions in my company.' Cordelia sighed heavily and allowed her shoulders to slump a bit, shuffling her way over to the left side of the bed in preparation to stand. 'Though I realise there is no helping matters now. I have made my bed and thus must lay in it. And that is without the inclusion of the debt I owe to Robin. I cannot dash the renewed confidence I have since ignited within him.'

After taking a moment to smoothen any creases in her clothes with her palms (a habit she'd retained from her former employment, she acknowledged) and pulling her bloodied shawl snuggly round her shoulders, Cordelia made her way through the first floor of the manor house with quickened strides, keeping her clasped hands against her skirt like usual. After all, she had awoken at exactly eight o'clock, and while she could accept that part of the reason for her haste was down to yet another habit ingrained as a result of her former employment, it was mainly down to the Captain (along with Fanny) being a stickler when it came to punctuality. She was already in a terrible mood for being part of a situation she wished she didn't have to be privy to, but it also meant Cordelia was certainly not in the mood to be on the receiving end of the Captain's pointless lectures for being a minute or two late. The last few times she'd shown up a little late to the meetings she was summoned to, she'd only escaped his scolding due to other distractions, so in the least, she had to try to get there as close to eight as she could to (hopefully) escape his belly aching, unlikely as it was.

Cordelia became convinced her worries were for naught once she'd gained upon the foyer and phased through the front doors to pass the common room by, with one quick glance at the grandfather clock at the house's entrance signalling she was making good time. However, as she re-emerged inside the common room opposite the staircase, she beheld the back of the tiny silhouette of a figure loitering by the bottom of the stairs, partially concealed by the shadows cast from the early morning sun.

The Victorian ghost felt her spectre body freeze over when her non-existent heart began to pound against her eardrums, the non-existent oxygen flying out of her lungs as a metaphorical punch courtesy of déjà vu. But as she gripped a hand to her chest at the further exclamation preparing to leap from her tongue, the tiny figure suddenly whipped round to face her, exposing the familiar sickly and sore-covered face of none other than Jemima.

"Miss Cordelia," she said in her small and monotonous child-like voice, her sunken eyes gaining a glint of light upon sighting the biologically older ghost. "There you are."

The verbal confirmation that she was, indeed, staring at Jemima rendered Cordelia speechless almost instantly, the realisation that she'd allowed her imagination to run away with her for a second time within the last 24 hours quickly settling in.

'Goodness gracious…' Her ghostly body visibly deflated with the lowering of her head and the brief closing of her eyes, a loud and relieved huff escaping from her lips. 'If I was experiencing these false scares while I possessed a still beating heart, I swear it would have made it stop.'

However, as Cordelia opened her eyes to address the girl, she noticed Jemima's demeanour shift rather abruptly. Her shoulders were hunched, her straw doll was hugged tightly to her chest, and her eyes were wide, having since lost their light and gained a watery glint Cordelia had never seen with Jemima before. But it was only when Jemima spoke that Cordelia could confirm that something was wrong.

"Did I scare you?" she asked in a brittle tone that completely contrasted her usually emotionless one, causing Cordelia to frown with a slight squint.

From Cordelia's previous encounters and interactions with Jemima, she recalled the young plague ghost was one of few words and rarely expressive, especially when it came down to her accidental scares towards her or any of the other ghosts. It was something that Cordelia had witnessed her brush off due to how frequently it occurred. So, to see her visibly upset by a repeated incident seemingly out of nowhere…

"Jemima," Cordelia began gently as she allowed her expression to relax, her voice only just above a whisper. "Is something the matter?"

Jemima initially responded with a forced blink of surprise and the slight stiffening of her shoulders, appearing taken off guard by how quickly Cordelia had picked up on her behaviour. But after a few seconds, she regained her stoic composure and turned her head to the wall, her eyes looking down to her feet. The visible reluctance and confliction on the young ghost's face gave rise to a sharp pang in Cordelia's chest, one she couldn't help physically wincing and rubbing at with her hand. And how could she not when she easily identified feelings that she often toiled with internally?

'I am not well acquainted with the plague-era ghosts aside from particular faces who are oft more vocal than the rest. And yet I cannot recollect if any of Jemima's family are amongst them. Though given her tendency to wander and linger within the pantry and the kitchen, I highly doubt they are.' When silence between the two ghosts persisted, Cordelia took the incentive to approach with cautious steps, merely doing so to avoid startling the girl. 'Comforting is not my forte, especially so towards such an isolated and lonely soul. But I cannot simply leave her in this unusual and unsettled state.'

"Has something happened?" Cordelia pressed upon slowing to a stop in close range of Jemima, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by getting too close. Jemima continued to avert her gaze and hide her face behind her doll, causing the Victorian ghost's frown to return with the tilt of her head. "There is no need to be afraid or ashamed. You can tell me in confidence." Cordelia's reassuring words prompted Jemima to peek an eye round from behind her straw-bound companion, with the blonde-haired ghost forcing a small smile to further emphasise that reassurance. "You are not the only ghost whom the upstairs company strive to avoid, after all."

A crack appeared in Jemima's melancholic expression at Cordelia's (attempted) jesting, a tiny smile peeking from behind her doll. Alas, it only lasted a couple of seconds and then disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, making the blonde-haired ghost lose her own smile and become convinced that she'd seen things. That is… until Jemima dropped her shoulders and pulled her doll to her chest once more, exposing the dull and droopy look her eyes now held.

"… The new lady is scared of me," she said lowly, causing a brow of Cordelia's to raise out of confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Jemima shifted uncomfortably from side-to-side and looked down, stretching her arms protectively across her doll. "I was in the kitchen when she came in. I wasn't singing, but she looked straight at me and screamed before running away." Cordelia's jaw instantly dropped, a hand immediately reaching to cover her now gaping mouth at the realisation that dawned upon her. "I saw the other ghosts going upstairs and heard them say the new lady saw them. I was looking for you to see if you knew what they were talking about."

"Oh, of course!" Cordelia exclaimed in a muffled voice. "You were not there when the initial discovery was made, were you?" Jemima's head raised with furrowed brows and a squint, prompting Cordelia to clarify and drop her hand from her face. "The new owner has gained the capability to perceive us ghosts. That was why she knew you were present without your singing."

"… Oh," Jemima replied and nodded in understanding, but it didn't do anything to dispel her melancholy. Her eyes drooped as her gaze became downcast once more, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the straw binding her doll together. "I see."

Cordelia immediately sensed that there was more to Jemima's story than what she was telling. One look into her sunken eyes and the blonde-haired ghost could see that familiar glassy glint, the one that often appeared in those who had fallen deep into thought. Jemima was recalling something, something that her explanation had offered a reasonable context to, yet her reaction indicated it was not a positive recollection.

"Jemima," Cordelia whispered softly to get the plague girl's attention, bending forward until she was at Jemima's eye level and supporting herself with her palms upon her thighs. Observing Jemima's eyes losing their glassy look with a forced blink, Cordelia allowed the girl to resume eye contact before continuing. "Did something else happen with the new lady of the house?" A few seconds passed before Jemima fidgeted and averted her gaze again, a sight that coaxed Cordelia to sigh quietly. "It's okay if you do not wish to discuss it. Though if it brings you any solace…" The blonde-haired ghost paused at feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, prompting her to lower her head a little to hide the potential blush that was likely making itself known at what she was willingly about to expose. "…you are not the only one whom the new lady has screamed at."

Jemima returned to looking at Cordelia with two curious blinks. "She screamed at you too?"

"Indeed, she did." Cordelia lifted her index and middle fingers of one hand ready to quote Alison's insulting description of her, which was spoken with purposeful emphasis. "Said I was a creepy, old-fashioned lady to her husband."

"Creepy?" Jemima's brows knitted together. "I don't know that word."

"I believe it is a modern expression for 'scary'."

Cordelia's explanation caused Jemima's frown to deepen. "That's not nice."

"Oh, I agree." Cordelia huffed and placed a finger to her chin, her eyes briefly closing. "Yet I cannot blame her even so. She is just as befuddled and terrified by the invisible realm she can now behold as much as we are. Had we still been alive and in her place, I am quite certain our conduct would have been no different." The blonde-haired ghost cracked open an eye when a slight smile slipped onto her lips. "Though, I must confess that I did my introduction no favours by conversing with Humphrey's decapitated head."

A chuckle escaped from Jemima until she pressed her mouth into a thin line to cease it, the amused sound making Cordelia's smile grow more palpable at acknowledging her jesting was helping to ease the plague ghost's discomfort. In fact, Cordelia swore that she saw Jemima puff her chest out and lift her shoulders a little, as though she'd been given her a newfound confidence to relay whatever was on her mind at this very moment.

And sure enough, Jemima did: "Do you know what 'zombie' means?"

The blonde-haired ghost's reaction was delayed for several seconds, mainly out of puzzlement of whether she'd heard Jemima correctly. Yet upon managing to process the question, Cordelia was left slowly shaking her head and pursing her lips the moment her smile faded, her former mirth replaced with confusion.

"I do not believe I do. I am unfamiliar with such a term." She tilted her head to the side and stroked her chin with a hand. "Though taking the content of our current conversation into consideration… I take it this was a word Alison spoke in front of you, yes?"

Jemima nodded timidly and crossed her arms over her straw doll, the crooks of her elbows pinned so close to its neck that it looked as if she was about to trap it in a tight chokehold.

"She screamed that I was 'a zombie'." The plague girl's tiny fingers traced the sores along her left cheek, her sunken eyes drooping when her next words were spoken in a cracked voice. "It sounded mean. I think it's supposed to be bad."

And Cordelia was inclined to agree. Despite the class she came from, Cordelia had observed Jemima to be a perceptive child, with her prolonged time as a ghost likely making her wiser beyond her frozen biological years. Given the context of the situation the word was used in, even despite not knowing its meaning, she could understand why the young plague girl had come to such a conclusion. But it was more than the word simply being 'bad', Cordelia thought. She was practically seeing it in the way Jemima had instinctively touched her sores, a sight that the Victorian ghost was certain would have physically shattered her heart if it was still there and beating. It was the one thing out of her control that had left her suffering terrible treatment at the hands of the deceased upstairs residents of the house on a daily basis, after all. They only sought for Jemima whenever she was needed for a selfish request. Otherwise, they either snapped at her for unintentionally startling them out of their invisible skin or they refused to make eye contact, let alone speak with her directly, because of the visible effects of her sickness on her appearance. Just thinking about it ignited a fire within Cordelia's spectre being that couldn't be easily extinguished, the flames licking away at her insides and awakening the familiar ire she recalled experiencing during her confrontation with Julian not too long ago. Except this time, she wasn't angry at just Julian, but rather everyone for being the reason why this little girl thought so terribly of herself.

When the silence fell between them, Cordelia said and did nothing, allowing the fire to continue raging within and observe the ghost of this young girl messing with infected skin. That soon changed when the Victorian ghost spied Jemima's hand beginning to shake, the watery sheen that overtook her eyes finally being the straw that broke the camel's back. Before the older blonde could process her own actions, she was carefully lifting a hand and gently placing it to the back of Jemima's still on her face, feeling the young plague ghost instinctively flinch at the unexpected contact and cease her trembling.

"Regardless of the meaning behind the word, please do not take what was said to heart," the Victorian ghost stated with a hint of sternness. The words heatedly sparked to life on her tongue without falter, even at Jemima physically stiffening under her touch and turning to her with her eyes as wide as saucers. "Yes, I cannot deny that you are usually subject to unfair scorn and judgement amongst upstairs ghostly company. But this instance is different. Alison is scared that she can see all of us, not just you. I proved that a mere moment ago in regards to her insulting description of myself, did I not?" Cordelia's frown deepened, her hand withdrawing from Jemima's soon after. "Do not heed the malicious thoughts plaguing you, Jemima. There is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?"

A helpless glint rose in Jemima's eyes, for once making her resemble a lost and terrified child past her intimidating and sickly appearance. She genuinely looked like she'd waited for someone, anyone, to say those words to her for a long time, and that suspicion of Cordelia's only increased tenfold at catching the slight quiver of her mouth, the tears quickly rising to the fore and on the verge of overflowing—

Bang!

A loud noise echoed from upstairs and cut through the tranquillity like a knife, jolting Cordelia's and Jemima's spectre bodies with a brief rush of the familiar adrenaline sensation they could no longer be physically impacted by.

'Heavens above!'

As the Victorian ghost and plague ghost instinctively looked at the ceiling while trying to process what was going on, a loud slam resounded from somewhere beyond the ballroom, accompanied by a pair of hurried footsteps charging their way across the corridors upstairs. However, it wasn't until Cordelia heard the distressed shouting of Alison from the landing that things suddenly clicked together in her head like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

"Mike! Mike!"

'Ah. It would appear they have begun the operation in my absence.'

Alison continued to shout Mike's name until her footsteps faded away in the direction of where Cordelia presumed the corridor that housed some of the east wing bedrooms resided. Shortly after, a stampede of footsteps copied the same route as Alison's had towards the landing, the cacophony of familiar voices (or at least those of the ones she could catch distinctly enough) talking over one another identifying the owners to be the other upstairs ghosts.

'Oh dear.'

"My apologies, Jemima," Cordelia apologised with the twist of her lips, glancing to the biologically younger ghost to see her usual stoic expression returned, as if she hadn't been on the verge of breaking down just a moment ago. "But it appears there is a commotion upstairs I must attend to."

Jemima's eyes lowered for the fraction of a second, her hands balling into fists within the confines of her shawl. "I understand," she replied in her usual emotionless tone, even though it was obvious to Cordelia that she was reluctant to let her go. "In that case…" Jemima paused for as the ghost of a smile danced upon her lips, her voice lowering to a whisper with her next words. "Thank you for listening, Miss Cordelia."

Cordelia gaped a little at the show of gratitude that left Jemima's mouth upon believing she'd misheard her, forcing three blinks for good measure and sticking a finger in one of her ears. Yet when it became evident that her hearing was definitely intact, the biologically older ghost was quickly regaining her composure and giving Jemima a stiff nod, paying no mind to the welcoming warmth that sprouted within the confines of her chest.

"You are very welcome, Jemima," the blonde-haired ghost replied, bowing at the waist for a few seconds before straightening out and beginning her hurried stride for the east wing staircase. "Now, if you will please excuse me."

A startled shriek from Alison caused Cordelia to break out into a jog up the east wing staircase without sparing Jemima another glance, swiftly accompanied by the high-pitched and aghast cry of Fanny Button.

"Augh! Cover that up at once! How dare you taunt me in my own home with that lying, cheating—"

By the time Cordelia had gained upon the landing, the rest of Fanny's rant was swallowed by unsolicited chatter coming from behind the wall that separated the corridor opposite the upstairs banisters, the voices of the ghosts further drowned out by the clumsy thuds from multiple footsteps. The noises did nothing to deter Cordelia's hastening to the corridor's entrance, though she did slow down a little to a stride. However, as Cordelia prepared to turn right in the direction of the bedrooms, a brown, white, red and pink humanoid blur flung themselves in front of her path and against the opened wooden door.

The blonde-haired ghost released a loud gasp and stumbled backwards to avoid a potential collision, allowing her a moment to process that the figure was Alison now cowering against the door. She was dressed in a pink shirt with long red sleeves and blue jeans, still wearing that strange 'modern ruffle' around her neck (Cordelia still had no idea what it was). Cordelia's gasp drew Alison's wide-eyed gaze straight to her, making the Victorian's own eyes bulge and her shoulders stiffen at the same time Alison's did.

Time seemed to freeze for the pair for a solid five seconds, only to be broken first by Alison letting out a high-pitched scream and recoiling backwards to the right side of the corridor. Her reaction in turn elicited a scream from Cordelia which was failed to be silenced by her palms slapping over her mouth, the Victorian ghost instinctively ducking out of sight behind the wall to her own right. She wasn't sure why she'd also screamed, though she suspected it was a mixture of their last encounter the day before and the Captain's warning to avoid crossing paths with Alison (even if that no longer applied with the commencing of the operation this morning).

"Ally," Mike's concerned voice was heard by Cordelia after collective retching from the ghosts interrupted their mingled talking, the latter of which the blonde-haired ghost winced at upon presuming Mike had just walked through them.

'That sounded painful…'

At least it had acted as a nice little distraction from her momentary scare mere seconds ago, she thought.

But as Cordelia heard Alison preparing to respond to Mike, the furry back of Robin's filthy garments phased through the wall beside her, causing the biologically younger ghost to back up with a start at the abrupt appearance.

"Ugh!" Robin grunted as he teetered to a standstill and wrapped his arms round his abdomen, the caveman shaking his shaggy head back and forth like a dog shaking itself dry. "Hate when they do that!"

"Robin," Cordelia saying his name drew Robin's attention to her with the sharp turn of his head, his eyes lighting up when he straightened up again.

"Cordel! Where you been?!"

"Forgive me," she started, only to pause to give the banister behind her a quick glance over her shoulder. She couldn't see Jemima from her current vantage point, though she was sure the plague ghost had since made herself scarce. "I encountered a problem on the way that I could not ignore."

"What problem?"

Cordelia returned to looking at Robin to give a vague answer, naturally not wishing to divulge what had gone on out of respect for Jemima's privacy. However, she was prevented from doing so when a combined and inaudible shout from the ghosts sounded behind the wall, which also left Robin recoiling and taking two steps back with a confused grunt. Unfortunately, Cordelia didn't quite catch what they'd said, yet even if she had, she highly doubted it would have cleared up her confusion.

"By Jove," she cursed under her breath, ignoring her momentary slip of the tongue in favour of focusing on Robin with knitted brows. "What is with all of this commotion?"

"Uh…" Robin uttered hesitantly, awkwardly tapping the tips of his index fingers together while he took several seconds to ponder an appropriate response. "How I put this…?" After several seconds more and the click of his tongue, the primitive man pulled his fingertips apart and gave Cordelia a casual shrug. "Operation Boo went bad."

"Bad how?"

"Well," Robin held out his right hand palm-up to the side. "Good news is I make Kim Wilde jump in bathroom, so… we know she hear us."

"And the bad news?"

Robin held out his left hand palm-up to his other side and pursed his lips. "Kim Wilde even more scared."

Cordelia's eyes drooped upon hearing this, her gaze flitting to the doorway of the corridor close by. "Is that so," she replied sarcastically, remaining unfazed by the news she'd been presented with.

These were outcomes Cordelia had expected, though the confirmation Alison could hear them was still a little surprising, in the least.

"Yeah." Robin purposely ignored the Victorian woman's sarcasm and lifted his right hand to pretend he was holding a stick-like object in it, which he also waved about in a similar fashion. "Tried to attack me with white bristle stick and ran into door."

"White bristle stick?" Cordelia enquired with a quizzical lift of her brow, the only object from the bathroom coming to mind being the white brush the blonde ghost sometimes saw beside the toilet. "Do you mean a toilet brush?"

Robin grinned and snapped his fingers. "That it!" The caveman sniggered as he averted his eyes to the ground, appearing to be remembering the moment he'd not long borne witness to. "Actually pretty funny!"

'That explains the bang I heard while downstairs…' A small shudder racked Cordelia's ghostly form at hearing the bang resound again from the confines of her memory, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut. 'It has been a long time since I last experienced the physical sensation of colliding with an object, yet even I must admit that is the one aspect of the living realm I do not miss.'

"And what of Lady Button's shrieking?" Cordelia questioned upon opening her eyes again and regaining her composure. "I do not believe that held any relevance to her 'nightly terrors', as Patrick calls them."

Robin's amusement disappeared into thin air once the Victorian ghost's enquiry had processed properly, leaving him squaring his shoulders with a brief cringe.

"That unrelated," he mumbled with the jab of his thumb towards said wall, his posture slumping. "Kim Wilde husband find picture of Fanny husband."

Cordelia's face contorted as if she'd consumed a whole lemon in one go and was immediately regretting it.

Robin didn't need to elaborate on what he was talking about for Cordelia to figure out which picture of Fanny's late husband he was referring to. To her knowledge and the knowledge of the other ghosts, there was only one specific portrait of George Button that had remained at Button House since its creation, though its last known location was lost on the Victorian ghost. How Mike had managed to come into possession of it and why he'd brought it out into the open certainly puzzled Cordelia, but that was overshadowed by the conjured mental imagery of how she imagined Fanny had looked shortly after locking eyes with the portrait—flared nostrils, trembling fists, clenched jaw and flushed face, all matched perfectly with the furious rush of words Cordelia heard spill from her mouth on her way upstairs.

"Oooooooh," was all she could say through an uncomfortable hiss, pressing her lips to her clenched fist.

"Uh-huh. Fanny not take well."

"It certainly did sound that way," Cordelia muttered under her breath, refraining from pressing for more information on the matter.

'As if poor Alison's distress was not already a terrible enough burden to bear…'

Approaching footsteps drew Cordelia's and Robin's attention to the doorway, where the pair of ghosts watched Alison head towards the ballroom without sparing either of them a glance. The blonde-haired ghost noted that Alison's posture was as straight as a board and her chin was tilted up despite her sluggish stroll, suggesting that her husband must have succeeded in calming her down, if only temporarily.

But the relief that washed over the Victorian ghost didn't last. A resounding stomp behind the wall stiffened Cordelia's and Robin's stances with the raise of their shoulders.

"Right!" the Captain's commanding voice bellowed from the corridor, causing both Cordelia and Robin to flinch and the latter to stick a finger in one of his ears to check his hearing. "Everybody to the common room! Chop chop!"

Within seconds of the Captain's command, Cordelia bore witness to the remaining six ghosts phasing through the wall and out onto the landing together with a mixture of incoherent confused chatter and objections, which prompted Robin to grunt and shuffle backwards to stand closer to the biologically younger Victorian ghost. Though it didn't stop them all from filing towards and down the staircase without acknowledging either Robin or Cordelia (excluding Kitty, who was more than happy to smile widely at the pair and wave with a light-hearted giggle from the back of the pack, seeming unaffected by the Captain's ire). Not that Cordelia could blame them; the Captain did not sound happy, an assumption that quickly became fact when he was the last one to emerge onto the landing, his hands clasping his baton behind his back so tightly Cordelia swore his knuckles had flushed a shade whiter than their usual ghostly pale tone.

"Ah, Cordelia," the Captain tautly said upon locking eyes with the addressed ghost. "Nice of you to finally join us."

Cordelia swallowed thickly at the lump that sprung to her throat from the intentional jab, her shoulders hunching as she was rendered speechless for several seconds. This wasn't the first time the Captain had been cross or stern with her. In fact, it was a frequent interaction between them, one that the blonde-haired woman did not care for. Yet in this instance, there was something about the Captain's current demeanour that made her feel… intimidated, perhaps spurred on by the slowly dawning reality (and the guilt) that she had caused the ripple of events that were now unfolding.

'Greetings, consequences of my actions. Finally you grace me with your presence…'

"Captain—" Cordelia began, only to be cut off by the Captain turning his body away from her.

"There's no time to hear your excuses."—Cordelia closed her mouth and lowered her eyes—"Assuming Robin has already filled you in on what happened during the previous operation, we're commencing an emergency briefing in the common room. Attendance is compulsory."

"Aw!" Robin moaned with the slump of his upper body, his arms hanging limply at his front. "'nother one?!"

"Yes, Robin, another one," the Captain replied sternly and began to stroll to the stairs with his hands still clasped behind his back. "There's been a change in situation, so there will be a change in tactics."

"A change to what?" Cordelia dared to question upon finally lifting her gaze with a raised brow, making the Captain pause at the top of the stairs and glance back at her with narrowed eyes.

"To Guerrilla War, Cordelia," he answered lowly and with forced emphasis.

Ignoring the simultaneous squints and frowns that appeared on the caveman's and Victorian woman's faces, the Captain resumed his march down the stairs without another word, leaving the pair to watch him go in perplexed silence. Once the Captain was out of sight, however, Robin twisted his body round and peeked behind him with a deepened frown, immediately dispelling the tensions left in the World War 2 veteran's wake.

"What gorilla?"