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November 24, 2016 at 4:06 am #222008
Samuel’s boots, striking a strange juxtaposition worn alongside his dress pants, tread unerringly through the idle puddles of rainwater that had pooled on the streets; indeed, in his haste the man had neglected to bring an umbrella, but he did not seem to mind the rain that freckled his overcoat and slicked his already-tousled hair. In a slight, nervous motion his hands twisted the strap of his doctor’s bag, and his stomach knotted with anticipation, and a pinch of nerves.
He strode forward, skirting about and stopping a yard or so behind the gaggle of onlookers and officials, and casting bemused glances at the flowers strewn across the cobbles. And at the sight of telltale crimson stains his heart drummed palpably faster against his chest. The white sheets, bunched up over offending gore like puddles on the cobblestone, made it nauseously clear that, whatever had happened here, it was far too late for any amount of patchwork to do good.
The air in his lungs was icy. He quirked a frown, bringing a hand up to soothingly stroke his rain-soaked hair back. He gave a brief scan, and, locating a man who appeared reassuringly as jumpy as Samuel had felt, made to approach him.
“Ah.. ‘scuse me, sir!” He prodded Tommy lightly on the shoulder, speaking with sanguine cheeriness and the telltale tongue of one native to England’s southeast. He flashed his teeth weakly in some sort of giddy half-smile. “You’ve any idea what happened here? I-it’s a blasted butchery over here.”
Swaying his head toward Samuel, the drops of silver landing on the tip of his old, black fedora lightly. He traced the mans features for a few seconds, his blank eyes scanning the man like he was reading a book before he looked back at the scene.
“Someone’s dead.” Tommy replied plainly, crossing his arms as he glared forward at the scene, still unable to decipher what had happened, “Could’ve been a gun or a knife… probably a knife judging from the amount of blood…” Tommy noted before he looked back at Samuel briefly,
“Doesn’t seem to be much else…”
VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"
Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."November 24, 2016 at 5:12 am #222030
Speaker of TruthsParticipant
The smile on Jack’s face was nothing short of genuine. His daily fix of nicotine was satisfied. The handshake was vigorously accepted, and the cig soon landed between his lips.
“Oh, you know. Blood in the water…” he waved in the general direction of the unfortunate victim “…attracts sharks.” A knowing wink was send towards Brandon.
Swiftly, a match appeared in his free hand, igniting the cigarette. He inhaled the smoke deeply, with visible satisfaction.
“What about you, Brandon? What brings you here?”
“Would you believe it? Nothing but bad luck. On my day off and everything, lovely, rainy weather, off to play a few hands of cards with the fishing club, and I just happen to cross paths with this.”
Brandon withdraws a cigarette of his own from his sleeve pocket, and then starts patting down his coat pocket. He searches for a moment, before his grin takes on a certain rueful quality. He tips the brim of his hat slightly to keep the downpour from wetting the cig, and shrugs in an overly dramatic fashion.
“And would you look at that. Seems Lady Luck’s not quite done having a laugh at my expense,” he says, unlit cigarette bouncing on his lip. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare light on you, would you old chum? I tell you, these things always come in threes, and always on my day off. Next thing you know, I’ll be ripping my gloves on the thorns of this flower. What kind of wiggy bugger doesn’t clip the thorns off a funerary rose anyway?”
He is, as always, laid back and seemingly unconcerned with the world outside his immediate conversation. There is an art to maintaining awareness while feigning nonchalance, and an artist is nothing without an audience.November 24, 2016 at 11:16 am #222106
The crunch of frosted petals beneath the heel of glistening black leather heralded the pairs interjection before they had even opened their mouths. The young fellow beneath his silver-hared ‘companion’s’ umbrella announced himself more formally with a clearing of his throat. While the gesture was polite, the method behind it was very unsubtle, it was a means of commanding and demanding attention. Upon closer inspection, the pair’s questionable black style choices extended not only to their wardrobes but in places to the very skin that wrapped like canvas about their meat and sinew. Tattoos… uncommon, certainly uncouth dotted their faces and hands, presumably more beneath the fabric. The very edge’s of the young throat-clearer’s wrists were adorned in inky cobwebs while jet black tear drops were beaded to the corner’s of his eyes. The Silver ‘bodyguard’ for lack of a better word was a veritable tapestry of exotic markings, a snake coiled around and up the side of his neck. His eyes bled tattooed tears as well, and beneath large silver rings his digit’s joints grinned feverishly with the markings of over a dozen skulls; his own expression however did not share the same fervent happiness.
The man capped beneath the crown of his snowy hair whispered soundlessly into the ear of his apparent employer, his glacial eyes never once leaving Jack and Brandon. After a brief pause the younger with his cobwebbed wrists smiled as warmly as any might have seen and licked his lips. “Jack Borewicz and Brandon ‘the Rook’ MacHeath. I do not believe we have been introduced.” His English was immaculate but his voice was stained with Eastern accent, this fellow was unmistakably Russian. “I am Dimitri Vvulf, I’ve heard a great deal about your… work.” With a softer smile, the fellow straightened his tie, oblivious to his skull-fingered bodyguard’s death-stare that was pointed fervently in the direction of his employer’s latest conversation partners. “I’ve a proposition for you…”
– – –
A plume of smoke, a politician’s smile, the clack of Cuban heals against the old cobbles and the new paving stones. Detective ‘Romeo’ had set his sights on a target and was in his state of ‘friend-making’ inception. “Mornin’ Bimbos.” No sooner had the morning’s umpteenth cigarette been flicked to a nearby drain than another had been placed into his lips, courtesy of a silver snuff box… it looked the genuine article. Some forty year old heirloom passed down to him? Perhaps a gift from a sweetheart? The story behind it changed every time. He took and shook both Sam and Tommy’s hands without waiting to see if they wanted to. “Nasty business eh?” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the scene behind him. “Folks out for the mornin’ papers findin’ mornin’ capers, heh… here’s the thing, somethin’ has the Dicks and the Bulls all balled up.”
With a confident smirk, he let out a wonderfully musical laugh before running his fingers through his lush and elegantly styled golden locks, he was clearly leaving it up to the unlikely duo in front of him to decide if his innuendo was intentional or not. “Horsefeathers! Here’s me gettin’ ahead of myself. I couldn’t help noticin’ that satchel of yours, there. You Doctors?” He clearly loved to talk. Still flashing his ivory, new-money grin, ‘Romeo’ tilted his head like a confused puppy and awaited the pair’s response.
– – –
He’d have seen her coming a mile off, Dr. Edwards always walked with such poise and purpose, always dressed herself on the edge of practical meets old world and always carried the scent of vice and ambergris. “Avery, dear, walk with me.” A small purse bobbed against her hip as she swayed gently down the corridors, she was leaving the building, apparently class was cancelled. She didn’t wait to see if Avery was following, unlike most other scholars she wasn’t entirely in the business of sitting behind a dusty desk and watching her ‘gams’ grow. “I’ve a project I need you to work on, I shall be out of town for a day or two and frankly, I don’t quite trust some of cretins I must publicly refer to as ‘students’ to deliver on the task.”
She’d phrased it well, it was in truth a backhanded compliment, whilst ‘Avery’ was indeed keen, it didn’t take a genius intellect to ascertain his social life was almost completely nonexistent. If the good Doctor had him working on this, he wouldn’t get distracted by girls and speakeasies. “I’ll warn you though, dear, this bit of field research has is rather grim by most people’s standards and will require a strong stomach” The distant smell of fine liquor on her breath suggested she might know a thing or two about strong stomachs. Her heels suddenly stopped in their tracks just before the pair stepped outside of the main entrance and Lilith finally paused to face her pupil with the stare of a strict and encouraging mother. Adorned in crimson as she was the ‘good’ Doctor looked stark and austere with her pale face matching the marbled interior of the foyer.
A thin veil of nicotine smoke exuded from her flared nostrils, the grey dim light that pervaded through the ceiling-windows reflected off the lenses of her half-moon spectacles, obscuring her oculi and creating a mask of silver eyelessness. “Can I count on you?” Such a simple phrase. Such a loaded question.November 24, 2016 at 12:27 pm #222126
The boy was glad to see his professor, though he had no time to show it as she strutted past him. Avery swiveled and kept on the doctor’s heels, listening intently as she spoke. The past twelve hours had proven dizzying but the student’s mind rattled to keep alert. He could only assume that Dr. Edward’s ‘grim project’ had something to do with the bits of person scattered around the clock tower.
“I can handle it, Doctor.”
He promised, though quite uncertain what exactly he was signing up for. Avery looked up to her for some hint at what she might ask of him, but found none. Clutching his bag tighter to his chest, he prepared himself for whatever visceral visions he might witness. As he rubbed an eye with his palm, the blonde scolded himself for lack of sleep hindering a proper state of mind.
“But, where are you going?”
His tone let on that he was uncomfortable without the one person he actually conversed with, though he spent most of his time on his own as it was.Character sheets
The silver lining seldom lies in sight too plain to see
But trust our story's end can bring redemption for the pain enduredDecember 6, 2016 at 12:05 am #225814
Whatever smile Jack had before has disappeared. Slowly, one of his hands moved and ruffled through the inner pockets of his coat. There were a couple different scenarios going on through his head at the moment, but he decided to take the safe approach and pulled out the matchbox for Brandon.
Not before exhaling a large cloud of smoke, all the while maintaining eye contact with Dimitri, he spoke. No pleasantries, no bullshit, straight to the point:
“I’m listening.”December 6, 2016 at 2:32 pm #225918
Speaker of TruthsParticipant
“Well then. Today is certainly shaping up to be one of those days,” Brandon says as his grin falls back to its easy grace. He reaches out to take the matchbook from Jack, casually striking a flame. As he takes a long drag from his cig, he tilts his head away from the conversation. This has dual purposes, as it allows him to breath out into the wind so the smoke is carried away from the conversation, and he has to adjust his hat, convieniently concealing the wiping of sudden cold sweat. The face that turns back to the Russian is serene and smiling.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Vvulf?”
Should have gone with musk.December 10, 2016 at 3:38 pm #226977
Samuel echoed the word, staring vacantly at the smallish red spatterings on the paving, slicking more rain-soaked locks of hair away from his brows. His suit had become suitably damp in the rain, caught without an umbrella, but he carried himself the same as any sunny day, albeit with his arms pressed closer to him to protect against the mild chill the weather brought.
“A damned shame.” He shook his head with a disappointed sigh, fingering the intrepid strip of leather at his shoulder; the medical tools he had brought along had become unquestionably redundant. Though, no sooner had the words left his mouth he found his hand being taken up by a new conversation partner
“Ah, yes! Morning to you!” He gave the stranger a wide-eyed look and blinked a few times before diving into the conversation in full. “I heard a commotion and thought someone needed help or… hrm.”
He gave a frown and looked to the scene of the crime, his empty hand unfolding in a gesture meant to encompass the grizzly view with its curious, white blossoms–which he itched to ask about, in time.
“Suppose I’m not much use to the poor fellow now.”
"I'd sneak into your burrito." --Bloodtrailkiller
"you'll never quote me" --Relentless Oblivion
"All flesh fails, in the fullness of time."
Tilly: Grave Robber
Stress: 30/100 [Neutral]
Florence Novel: Plague Doctor
Stress: 15/100 [Relaxed]
Gold: 75[collapse]December 12, 2016 at 5:32 am #227499
As the detectives palm slid across Tommy’s gloved hand
In an invasive manner, he scowled slightly and quickly disengaged his hand from his. For a moment, he merely stared at the detective blankly, his cold and dead eyes tracing across the mans facial features, trying to place him. After a silent few seconds he sighed heavily and turned away from the detective and faced the scene at hand.
“…A lot of blood… was the fella stabbed to death or was it an animal?” Tommy inquired blankly as he analysed the blood pattern. The crimson ooze tinted in his iris, a familiar liquid that he knew all too well.
He turned back to face the detective, the scowl vanished and his expression was emotionless and unreadable, “If you haven’t found it yet, may I…?” Tommy asked as he gestured toward the bloody scene.
VanityPirate - "Banished to the elephant graveyard"
Blood trail killer - "It's like a thumbs up but with Parkinson's tho."March 23, 2017 at 7:16 pm #258976
((super late to the party and i’ll read over the posts soon))Spoiler
Joseph Othniel Proulx – Dutch Uncle
Desc: A young African American Priest from the outskirts of New Orleans. Stands 6′2″ with Amber skin, short black hair, and hazel green eyes. carries a scar across his left cheek. Looks rather worn for a man in his early thirties
-Knows some French and Italian as well as a bit Spanish and Latin
-Rudimentary education but has been thought how to take care of a person
-Has had some practice in using firearms
-Makes some of the best crepes
-Has a bit of fear for the unknown, strangers, and creepings in the dark
-Narrow-minded when it comes to religion
-Tends to overthink things
-His brothers’ dog tags, he’s told if he needs something from the US military, they might provide him with something
-Nearly any church can provide him asylum
-“Holy Relic” (”Obrez” M1903 Springfield wrapped in rosaries)
-Vials of Holy Water[collapse]
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