Yesterday on the moors of bonny Scotland, Lachlan whispered a particularly delightful and somewhat enchanting nothing to the companion with whom he was travelling. She was a fair maiden indeed. A roving reporter from Moscow TV come wandering across Christendom to seek her fortune and a juicy story to boot. Ignacious the little Scottish terrier she owned had led her to this place and she was delighted that the first person she encountered should be such a handsome, esteemed and well groomed gentleman such as Sir Lachlan. At first he could not believe his eyes as this fair blonde maiden sparkled through the eerie quiet morning mist of the moors like a tram’s headlights in the fog. A beauty such as this did not come along every day out here. Lachlan led her along to his cabin and shyly bade her to sit down at the nearest chair he could find. He wasn’t disturbed when he found out she was a reporter, for he felt he had nothing to hide and wouldn’t have thought that the Moscowans as he affectionately called them would really give a tinkers cuss for his stories or indeed the stories of anyone he knew.
Her face was indeed beautiful yet devoid of any particularly distinguishing features.Those features that were distinguished, on anyone else may have indeed added up to an altogether rather unattractive person, yet somehow on this little face everything sat and radiated such a warmth that he scarcely needed the roaring fire that had suddenly engulfed his home and was beginning to spread over the countryside like sour sobs in a garden. And as he himself caught alight and shrieked in agony, Rosetta the reporter jotted everything down meticulously so that she may finally have the story she needed to make it big with the Moscow Evening Standard. She’d show that pesky Dimitry Rolkinov a thing or two about heart string pulling reporting even if she had to suture the string to the hearts herself. Of course Lachlan was perplexed as to why she did not even lift a finger to help him seeing as though she was holding a pale of water yet he listened calmly as she explained that his death would bring about a greater good and perhaps even a 5000 rouble a year raise for her. Thomas accepted this with a final gargling noise and collapsed in a smouldering heap. Rosetta kissed his charred corpse goodbye and made way for the train station. It was going to be a long ride back to Moscow but she had a story to write and a good journalist never sleeps.