'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe...

Godfrey stared out gloomily at the overcast sky. He lightly ran his fingers across the broken bridge of his nose. He did not think the authorities would actually do anything about Reynolds, but he had made a formal complaint and demanded they arrest him, should he be so foolish as to return.

It had taken him two full days to recover from the beating before he could walk about his brother's labyrinthine mansion. He had spent so long working and planning for all that was rightfully his to come into his own control...and the wretched whore and weakling Browncoat smuggler tainted it all in a matter of hours.

He watched the workers encouraging the hedges to regrow where the captain had blown holes through the maze. It would take months before anyone would be able to run the course...years before it would look remotely close to what Mycroft had cultivated. He snarled at the sight of the ruined gardens in disgust.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!'...

His gaze slowly stretched out to the horizon, where he had last seen the Firefly class ship escape into the skies and stars beyond. It had snatched away his pretty little toy, leaving him with the marks of the toy's dog...a broken nose, stitches across his forehead and a constant headache pounding behind his eyes...he fumed in futility.

He stalked to the fireplace, curling his fingers around the cast-iron poker and stabbed viciously at the dying fire. He stared at the weapon in his hand a moment before imagining Reynolds as the log and stabbed again. He would have his revenge...somehow. He was a planner. He had taken his time and achieved the fortune his brother stole from him...he would have his revenge.

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought--

So rested he b