Heads Will Roll IC
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Roo on 30-04-2011, 02:07:37</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 02:07:37</strong>
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				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">July 11, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin Sea Caves</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Devil</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Bat Cave</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Tanya Deerhorn had to pee. <em>Bad</em>. So badly, in fact, that she had her skinny knees pressed tautly together beneath the violet tights that covered her short legs. The silvery tape the man with the puppy had used on her was itchy. She had given up trying to alleviate the unpleasant sensation at both her ankles and her wrists after trying to chew at the corners of the tape on her wrist, lifting it to get at the skin beneath. It had just made the itching worse. At least now her bladder was preoccupying her instead of the skittering itch from the tape.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Her body rocked with the loss of momentum as the car came to a stop. It was a few minutes, but she heard the engine die and the car door slam. It was black in the trunk. And then there was a thin, shimmer of light, and then she was looking at the man with the puppy again. He didn’t have the puppy this time though, and he looked different some how. It took her a blinking moment to realize he was dressed funny. In some sort of shiny robe thing—like what the Episcopal priest wore at the services her mother took her to on the occasional Sunday. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Tanya had been at church that very day and she had skipping around in the parking lot, her mother talking to the other women she played cards with while Tanya circled the car, pretending she was a rabbit in her white dress with the violet flower buds on it. The man had been walking his puppy, and he had said her dress was pretty. But he had tricked her, and she was scared now as she looked up at him, not in his harmless khakis and collared shirt, but in the shimmery crimson robe. She withdrew away from him, further into the trunk. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The man smiled down at her, his eyes like jet. Behind him was the open mouth of a cave. That probably scared Tanya the most; she recognized this place from their trip just a week ago. Every year Cape Merrin’s fire officials shoot off an elaborate Fourth of July fireworks display just over Devil Bat Cave, one of the Sea Caves that has been closed for as long as Tanya had been alive, and she knew the caves were a bad place because her mother said only hobos and hookers went there. (Mrs. Deerhorn was a very charitable person, at least towards her church.)</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">From the blackness behind the man a disembodied voice croaked “Bring it tooo mee.” The voice was ice on Tanya’s throat; her breathing got shallow and she lost control of her bladder. Her dress and her tights were stained dark with her hot urine. The man drew in close, bent down and collected her easily despite her struggles, despite the piss smell. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">They entered the cave deeper and deeper until Tanya couldn’t see any light any more. And then she heard the croaking sound of breath from within the cave, and then the man laid her down on something hard. She was blinking into the blindness of the pitch when she felt a white hot heat sear into her guts. From behind her in the cave a soft glow grew, and she felt strangely dissociated from her body, cold and distant despite the nagging pain at her guts. As the glow brightened, she realized with detachment that the man who had collected her and brought her here wasn’t just dressed funny. He <em>looked </em>funny too, not like he had when she went with him.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">His eyes bulged from his sockets, too large. His mouth was overly big and his lips seemed to be naturally turned down and pursed, like the lips of the large mouth bass her father had caught on his fishing trip. As she pondered the bizarre looks of the man pulling out her intestines a strand at a time, the more or less silent cave—silent save for the sound of the ocean outside of it—came alive with a moaning, croaking laugh. It was the last sound that Tanya Deerhorn heard before shock and blood loss combined to stop her heart. The last thing she felt was the warm salt of her own blood sprinkling across her upper lip as her entrails were scooped up and tossed further into the cave.</span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">(https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/O_PmpRfzNsMAlwQUzJ9edUB2LYaEF1N5w42PrzOWM4lHyVe1CoUFmbHo1o2t9SYsLGTp44nONQjikZ9Cmq4STzZC_A=s512)<br>&nbsp;(https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/O_PmpRfzNsMAlwQUzJ9edUB2LYaEF1N5w42PrzOWM4lHyVe1CoUFmbHo1o2t9SYsLGTp44nONQjikZ9Cmq4STzZC_A=s512)</span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">On Sunday, August 8, 2010 Katie Krieger happily skipped as she took her family’s grocery cart back across the parking lot in order to lodge it in one of the cart return corrals. She didn’t come back. Her mother screamed herself hoarse in the parking lot calling Katie’s name over and over again.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A month later on September 12 Curtis Stenson went to Balfurt Park with Gertrude, his family’s dopey beagle. The search parties found Gertrude sitting patiently, tail mildly thumping the dirt, her leash wrapped around the poll of a swing set. Curtis was gone.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Mandy Brooks didn’t come home from her friend’s house on October tenth. Mandy’s mom called Sheila’s mom when she didn’t get in before dark. Sheila’s mom said she left well before dark. Panic ensued. Barely five days later a fisherman reeled in a scalp still covered in Mandy’s golden hair. Unfortunately it was not attached to any other part of her body; seaweed was tangled in the tresses.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As November dawned, the cooling fall skies began to piss on Cape Merrin steadily. The populace greyed along with the sky. People walked the streets listless and shell shocked as the storm sewers beneath them filled up with water and the rotting detritus of fall. </span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 02:40:59</strong>
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				<em><strong>~Balfurt Park~</strong></em><br><br>Seated upon one of the park benches was a woman in a white dress, legs crossed at the ankles over her white heels.&nbsp; She strummed a golden harp with music almost as beautiful as the morning's greeting warmth.&nbsp; Her purse lay at her side, curled slightly open and with a small note "Tips welcome" stuck safety-pinned just above the strap.&nbsp; People smiled to her as they walked by, sometimes dropping bits of loose change into her purse as praise for the music.&nbsp; She simply smiled to each, letting her song be heard.<br><br>Arathel liked to spend a few hours each day playing.&nbsp; Once he'd learned that people would give tips, it was a simple matter to choose a public place, but it was all the same to him.&nbsp; It was just too much in his very nature to play, to let the songs be heard and enjoyed.&nbsp; He didn't really need the money, but there was always someone that did, or something that he might need later on.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 03:27:54</strong>
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				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Driving into town after he finishes a little business....<br>Will be driving to Otis's afterward.</strong><br><br>The black, 1967 Chevy Impala was surprisingly being chased by a fucking Wendigo, a cannibalistic creature that kept its victims alive so it could feed on them before it went into hibernation, and JJ was at the top of the menu if his trap didn't work.&nbsp; Normally native to forests and out of the way places like that, this one had decided to make its nest on the outskirts of a little spot on the map a couple hours drive from Cape Merrin located in Micmac County, Maine.&nbsp; From starting out five years ago in the city of Chicago, in the state of Illinois after his father had been killed by a demon bitch succubus from Hell, and Jason walking in on it right before it finished its meal of his father's soul and seed, well, needless to say it had set Jason off to hunt down everything supernatural ever since.&nbsp; The fields whipped by, but Jason could still see the thing behind him.&nbsp; <em>Yeah that's right, keep coming after me you fucking beast from Hell.&nbsp; Wear your ass out then the fun begins.</em>&nbsp; He had pissed it off by lighting up its nest with good ol gasoline after checking to be sure there was no one still alive to be saved.&nbsp; The mess this thing had made of three hikers in the last week hadn't been pleasant to behold.&nbsp; It was clever, able to imitate the human voice and trap victims by using its incredible speed and strength, but it still bled and it could therefore die.&nbsp; Silver tipped arrows would do the trick well enough.<br><br>Feeling something hit the back of his car, Jason's brown eyes narrowed to slits as he slammed on the brakes hard, feeling another thump as the Wendigo slammed into his car at eighty miles an hour and was tossed over and down onto the asphalt in front of him.&nbsp; Putting the engine to full before it could recover, Jason ran the beast down without hesitation so it wouldn't be getting back up before he could finish it off.&nbsp; He'd tried this trick once before quite by accident to tell the truth, and the surprise of finding it, or rather it finding him, had given it time to regenerate and run off.&nbsp; Anger had made it blind and stupid, two things that would now be its undoing.&nbsp; Stopping the car after backing up over it once more, Jason smiled to himself as the thumps of all four tires squishing the thing was heard before he jumped out, grabbing his flare gun since bright lights and fire were also good ways to send this thing back to Hell, although technically it had become what it was by feeding off of living flesh for too long.&nbsp; It had once been human, but not anymore.&nbsp; Now it just deserved a quick death.&nbsp; Standing in blue jeans, a black leather coat, and a black shirt underneath, a couple of holy symbols and protective sigils hanging around his neck, Jason popped two rounds into the flare gun before shutting the chamber with a flick of his wrist, walking towards the crippled Wendigo all the while.&nbsp; Putting his heavy boot down on its chest, the beast growled but couldn't get up as he leveled the gun straight at its face.&nbsp; "This is for the three people I found in your nest you motherfucker.&nbsp; This is for everyone else you've killed over the years of your cursed existence.&nbsp; Go back to the Hell you came from."<br><br>Pulling the trigger and looking away, the beast gave a horrible roar of agony as it dissolved into smoke and ash before even that disappeared.&nbsp; With that nasty business taken care of, it was time to head to Cape Merrin and resupply since it was the only town around that was big enough to cover everything Jason might need for his next job, wherever that might be.&nbsp; Turning on the radio before he started to put his shit away, Jason stopped since he was taken back down memory lane no thanks to the song that was playing.&nbsp; "Carry On My Wayward Son."&nbsp; One of his father's favorites while they had been fixing up the car he was driving now.&nbsp; Those had been much happier times.&nbsp; Finishing up, Jason hopped into the driver's seat again and sighed heavily, letting his head fall on his hands which were on the steering wheel.&nbsp; Five years....had it really been that long?&nbsp; Steadying himself a bit, he let his foot hit the accelerator to the floor, daring a cop to stop him after his day so far.<br><br>http://www.gorestruly.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/windigo.jpg (http://www.gorestruly.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/windigo.jpg)&nbsp; Wendigo pic.<br><br>Supernatural - Carry On My Wayward Son (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=al12WO5x23w#)<br><br>((I had to lol.))
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 03:43:16</strong>
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				<strong>~Suburbia~</strong><br><em>~Totally Fit~</em><br>Leofwine always arose at the crack of dawn. It wasn't through some alarm usage, or anything; it just seemed to happen uncannily, of its own accord. He would shower up, throw on some clean clothes, his steel-toed leather boots, biker armor (http://www.myleather.com/site/product?pid=53290&amp;dispid2=102), some leather chaps (over his denim jeans), his helmet (http://www.leatherup.com/p/Hawk-Helmets/Advanced-Hawk-Demon-Mask-Black-Full-Face-Motorcycle-Helmet/64417.html) grab one of those fancy meal bars loaded with extra protein and vitamins and minerals and good stuff like that, and leave his studio apartment.<br><br>Down below, in the parking lot near the old office building that had been turned into cheap apartments, he went over to his motorcycle &nbsp;(http://www.mtbakerharley.com/2005-dyna-wide-glide/), which had been a gift from his uncle (a member of the Hells Angels).&nbsp; In the time it took to get down from the apartment and to the bike, he had finished the bar, and placed the wrapper in a pocket for later disposal. <br><br>He wasn't some fancy ass dare devil that took risks when it came to drive, he was merely competent when it came to riding. He gets to the gym in a matter of minutes, since it was close by, parks, and heads up to unlock the doors. As the assistant, he always had a set of keys, and he always got here first. He'd head off to the locker room to change out of his biker gear, and into more comfortable clothing, then set about the process of getting things ready.<br><br>Lights had to be turned on, mats had to be placed, various rattan and wooden weapons had to be brought out and placed just so.&nbsp; This was just one of his duties. It'd be another ten or fifteen minutes before the owner would show up, the closest thing he has to a real, genuine friend, and during this time, he did some warming up exercises to get ready for the day.<br><br>About an hour later, Leofwine would find himself in the presence of students. He handled training the beginners, giving them the basic lessons and fundamental instruction.&nbsp; He saw that he matched people up with partners of similar skill level, so as to be good training for everyone involved, and he also kept an eye on them. When mistakes were made, they had to be corrected, and when someone got hurt (by accident, more often than not), he'd have to be ready to step in, stop things, and either treat the injury himself, or call for an ambulance. <br><br>Luckily for him, such extreme accidents happened maybe once or twice a year. The less extreme ones, though? More like two or three times a week, sadly enough. <br><br>It would be nearly ten hours until Leofwine would be done with the training schedule of the day, though he did take an hour off (always noon to one) to grab some lunch with the older, Filipino man. So far, it seemed like just another day for him. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 04:40:56</strong>
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				She didn’t like sunrises; not because they weren’t beautiful, but because they always mocked Cori with reminding her that she was up far too late, again. Maybe it was just the bitter edge she seemed to take with all things; or the rays of pink that seemed to scald her eyes and make them itch and burn more than they already were? A hand lifted to rub over closed eye lids while she breathed a sigh, hoping that would displace some of the stress like those internet chain letters claimed it did.<br><br>Counting&nbsp; up or down only made her feel like a time-bomb. There was no sandy, tropical beach that she could imagine herself in, because the sand reminded her of the war and a place she swore she’d never go back to. Cori didn’t have any friends; excluding Randall, of course, but her partner had over twenty years on her, and their generation gap could be felt like the rays of the sun on her face. He was book smart, caring, a wonderful father, she was sarcastic and weathered, and an orphan who would smother him in an instant if he tried to extend any sort of excessive kindness. They worked well together, trusted one another… but the moment Cori’s shift was over, she shut him and everyone else out.<br><br>“For not liking kids, you’re certainly taking this hard.”<br><br>Cori tried pinching the bridge of her nose, apparently there was a pressure point located there that was supposed to relieve tension but she was considering the fact that she didn’t come with one. Her reply was a husky murmur, her usual approach to things. “The kids are dead, old man. Nothing we can do about them. It’s the ones behind this mess that I want.”<br><br>Her partner shifted in his seat behind the driver’s wheel, the leather creaking under his dark slacks. It wasn’t until the awkward silence was settling in, that Cori realized that Randall might have taken her words a little more darkly than she intended, and so sighed again in an attempt to release the building steam. “You worried about your kids?”<br><br>There was silence for a moment, before a tightening of his jaw and a curt nod. Cori licked her lips and looked out the windshield before making her reply. “Evan is… 12? And Alice is 7, right?” Randall remained quiet, and since he made no corrections she went on. “They’ll be fine, Randall. If I thought otherwise –my liking kids or not- I’d suggest you have your wife take them out of the state for a while to visit your parents in Florida.”<br><br>“How did you know my parents were in Florida?”<br><br>“I’ve been to your house; I’ve seen the pictures. Every year you go to Disneyworld and become those families they show on the TV commercials; and you’ve a picture of you and your father wearing Goofy hats at your desk.”<br><br>Randall quirked a brow.<br><br>Almost bored now, though thankful the tension was leaving her partner’s frame, she eased back in her seat and drummed her short nails against the armrest. “Oh come on, who doesn’t retire in Florida these days? Your father was Navy, right?”<br><br>“Right… stationed in Washington after his tours.”<br><br>“Then he went to Florida where the weather is nice and the crocodiles produce enough of a thrill for him to feel young again. I’ve been to Washington; old people don’t like to live there. Apparently the wet makes their bones ache.”<br><br>A slow grin spread across Randall’s face as they turned off of Parker and headed East on Union, towards downtown. Small businesses made way for office buildings and the financial district, where the precinct was neatly tucked away among the cluster of buildings, looking like any generic city police head quarters. They pulled up in the front, car still idling, where Cori hoped out before the engine could shut off. With a tired stretch, she swallowed the urge to yawn and adjusted the strap of her shoulder holster, hidden beneath her coat. “Go home. Get some sleep: Evan has a soccer game today.” She closed the door around his reply, burying the words with the slamming of the door. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, Cori jogged up the steps of the precinct and went inside, making her way to the fourth floor and the labyrinth of desks, before eventually finding and settling into hers.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 07:02:12</strong>
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				<div align="center"><tt class="bbc_tt"><em>Leaving Bosly's head to Simon's Bull</em></tt></div><br><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">It was time to cash out for the day, and Micheal couldn't think of a better time. He was done tinkering and there was nothing else left to do. Old man Bosly let him come and go as he pleases, but Micheal worked a regular eight hour shift that way he had some kind of currency in his pockets. Shutting the door, and locking it up he began to walk slowly down the side walk. As he walked Micheal stared at the ground not giving to much thought in to anything, but that was until his stomach growled. It was time for food, and what better place than Beth Anne's. He always favored their omelette's&nbsp; and the waitress was some what decent looking so it was worth it for the most part. Heading in to the small parking lot Micheal walked down several rows and approached his 88' Turbo Coupe Thunder Bird. Probably the best model in it's make. Though it wasn't at its finest. Mike still had some work to do on it, but it got from A to Z so he didn't complain. <br><br>Driving out of the suburbs he would be coming back through them real soon after he ate that is. After work Micheal became the hunter he was trained to be. That hunter was a monster in human form. He showed no mercy when it came to fighting the supernatural. If there were a police for the supernatural, the description of the victim would read that of the human victims of the supernatural. Speeding out to the rural areas Micheal gunned Mrs. Jones and burned gas all the way to Beth Anne's. He got about eleven miles to the gallon which in todays economy really wasn't good, but it was better than the eight he used to get. Passing an old coke sign Micheal smirked. The old coke sign was the landmark that said Beth Anne's was just a mile away. He slowed his speed down as the cops with nothing to do, sat out on the open road shooting their radar gun. They just want everyone else to be as miserable as them. <br><br>Pulling up to Beth Anne's Micheal saw the usual cars so he would see the same faces and the atmosphere would be just like he liked it. No one talked to him but the decent looking waitress Audrey. She was in her mid thirties but could pass for twenty-seven at the least. Micheal had been at Beth Anne's the first day she started working there, and some new face was trying to get a rise out of her. Micheal dealt with the man by instilling pure fear in the man heart and mind. They haven't seen him since, and that was almost a year ago. Walking in slowly Micheal peeked his head in first as to look in curiously, and it was no shocker. Everyone was in their same spots it was as if they all coordinated it. Micheal didn't think to much of it, and won't until something changes. Walking up to the bar he pulled out the stool, lifting it off the ground to keep from making the screeching nose it made as it grinned against the floor.&nbsp; <br><br>"The usual stranger?" Audrey asked rhetorically and turned around placing the order. Micheal just nodded, and reached out his right hand grabbing the salt and pepper. Micheal eye'd Audrey's ass as she bent over to pick up the pen she dropped. A small smirk formed from his lips, and with in the seconds Audrey was looking back at him shooting him a wink. Micheal returned his attention back to the front, and then down to the newspaper. Flipping to the obituaries Micheal looked through each one to find any sign of supernatural play. So far nothing, but before he could continue his order was up and in front of him. The smell of the omelette intoxicated his nose, and now all he was focused on curing his hunger. Maybe a minute had passed by, and Micheal was wiping his mouth with a napkin. Audrey just shook her head, and gave him a smile. Paying the bill, and leaving a tip Micheal headed off to Simon's Bull. <br><br>Turning on the radio Micheal wanted to hear music, anything but commercials. Changing through the stations he stopped as he heard a familiar song. Tapping his fingers and nodding his head Micheal cruised to "Afternoon Delight" something he hadn't had in a while. Though he could always pay a prostitute. There were quite a few of them hanging outside of Simon's Bull. He just didn't do it. It would be getting close to someone even if it didn't mean something he wasn't going to do it. Back in the burbs Micheal turned on to Malt Street, and headed to the Industrial area of Cape Merrin. It didn't surprise him that supernatural were fiends to that part of the city. A bar, a club, abandoned warehouses, might as be a field day for the freaks. Driving past the people walking Micheal could see the small ounce of life they had just to keep going. This city was slowly becoming a dump, despite it's thriving areas. All the deaths are going to either scare people off, or the number is going to continue to grow. <br><br>Parking near the sidewalk Micheal shut Mrs. Jones off, and got out locking the doors before slamming it shut. As usual the prostitutes were hanging about, one was leaving with some guy in a mustang. A quick buck and a quick fuck was all that was. Micheal's attention moved to Simon's Bull and the way the outside presented itself. How it attracted people eludes Micheal, but he had no say in any of that so it didn't matter. Walking in to the bar Micheal was again pulling back a stool at the bar. His eyes gazed upon the burly man, who washing a few mugs by hand. "The regular," Micheal spoke in a soft tone. As he drank he waited for Otis to arrive at the bar. There were a few other people at the bar, but none worth mentioning. <br><br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;</span>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 08:10:35</strong>
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				<div align="center"><em>From Alice's house to downtown office of the Gazette</em></div><br>Alice woke up in a cold sweat. Her hand reached out to the stuffed rabbit that shared the bed with her. It seemed to look at her accusingly with its buttoned eyes as if to ask. " What do you have to be upset about?" She scooped it up and held the stuffed animal against her chest for a few seconds. It had been her sons. She had gave it to him on his second Easter, bought it at Goodwill a hand me down stuffed animal for 50 cents. At the time it was all the Easter bunny could afford and she had been half ashamed to get it for him. Now it was all she had. Everything else had been sold or given away before she moved to Cape Merrin, at the advise of her councilor. It was supposed to help her move on, but for some reason she couldn't make herself let go of the stupid rabbit. <br><br>She dropped the rabbit on the bed, and stood up with a stretch. She Went to the bath room, took a cold shower, and slid on a pair of jeans and a White shirt. She picked up the keys to a small yellow v.w and headed out the door. In the V.W she scanned the radio for anything decent, but came up with nothing so she turned it off and drove in silence to the office of the newspaper. <br><br>When she got to her office she went straight to her desk, and went to work. her articles were not front page news. She wrote the junk that the other reporters didn't want, Traffic violations, the fluff pieces, such as There's a blood drive at the library next week, or a new leash law for the dogs that go to the park. Today she was going to write a piece on a Miss Porter who was sewing a quilt to help her sister through cancer.She didn't mind. As the newest reporter she had to work her way up. Yet she didn't really care if she ever made head reporter. She didn't think she could handle all the death, and scandal and murder anymore. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 08:32:53</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				The shadows were deep, the circle was drawn, and the last candle was in place, its tiny tongue licking the air hungrily. A black-robed figure stood in the center of the room, a wooden stand in front of him holding open a tattered and moth-eaten book. The muffled sounds of cheering crowds could be heard in the distance, but he refused to allow himself to be distracted. One hand rested on the page, the other was raised high above his head, and in the dim light of the darkened room, he began to read aloud.<br><br><em>"Kerata vlaadu posada dormus, aprega stramita omnuvaris, sokharat midatus niocretnu vodaze --!"</em><br><br>The cheap wooden door slammed open and the lights flicked on, and Reginald's mother stormed into his room, her trademark Pall Mall menthol dangling from her lips. She took one look at her son, wrapped in a black terry bath robe, and burst into a fit of cruel, mocking laughter. The ice cubes rattled in her glass, and a few splashes of whiskey splattered on the grimy carpet as Reginald snapped his book shut and swiped it behind his back. He glared balefully at the old woman as she spoke.<br><br>"Well, what have we here? Is widdle Reggy back to playing dress-up again?" She looked around at the candles and the pentagram with a sneer. "Or are you just playing 'Harry Potter'? Ha! Should have figured you'd be up here doing some kind of sissy bullshit. Oh well, at least you won't have to look around to find a virgin to sacrifice, right?"<br><br>She laughed again and turned to leave. "Stop making so much fucking noise, you little shit. Wheel of Fortune's on. Don't make me come up here again, you hear?" She stalked back downstairs, her gloop-covered curlers flopping against the small of her back. Reggy sulked and sat on his bed as he took the book back out and thumbed through the pages once again. His mother's words were already nearly forgotten, casually dismissed by an emotional immunity built up over several years.<br><br>He found the page with the incantation he'd been attempting and considered trying again, but decided against it. From what he'd read about magic, it required a calm mind and complete focus, and without it there was no telling what manner of results he might bring about. He'd have to try it somewhere else, somewhere he could be absolutely certain he could attain complete privacy.<br><br><em>'I'll do it tomorrow night at the theater. Nobody but a few old folks and high schoolers ever shows up for any of the matinees after seven, I'll have the second floor to myself. Or the roof, that'd be cool. Man, I hope this thing really works; this is my last chance to get out of this shit hole,'</em> Reggy thought, staring out his window at the three measly stars that shone dimly in the evening sky. His fingers absently caressed the smooth, aged surface of the book's cover, and his thoughts wandered a few moments longer as he contemplated the misery that was his life. With a sigh, he tossed the book aside and went over to his desk, fired up his laptop and logged on to one of the more actively visited chat sites.<br><br><span style="font-family: arial;" class="bbc_font"><br><span style="font-size: 14pt;" class="bbc_size">DarkNet.chat -- Realms of Truth and Knowledge</span><br><br>DarkLord114: *DarkLord114 has entered the room*<br>DarkLord114: anyone on tonight<br>Kaliban78: what up dl<br>DarkLord114: nm man you<br>Kaliban78: ssdd heard the news<br>DarkLord114: what news<br>Kaliban78: nest of vampires got burned out up in maine<br>CobraKyng: bs, just a bunch of squatters tossed by cops<br>Kaliban78: fuck you cobra they were vampires<br>CobraKyng: says who bitch nst as vampires<br>DarkLord114: any proof<br>Kaliban78: no proof just piles of ashes<br>CobraKyng: your full of shit kaliban<br>Kaliban78: suck my cock cobra fucking troll<br>DarkLord114: *DarkLord114 has signed out*<br></span><br><br>Reginald leaned back in his chair and stared back out the window, rolling his eyes.<br><br><em>'Vampires. Yeah, right.'</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>30-04-2011, 18:08:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Samantha</strong> <br><br>John Baxter coasted down the rain slick streets on the East side of town. His heart was racing and his palms were sweaty has he gripped the leather steering wheel of his old 1978 Park Avenue Buick. It had been a month since he was last down here, and the wait was tortures. The East side of Cape Merrin was known for their whores. <br><br>John was a rather pump man. He was in his early forties and had all ready been losing most of his hair by his 30th birthday. All that was left was a horseshoe like pattern on his head. John licked his lusty lips, his mouth dry with anticipation. Tonight he would indulge his fantasy. Something his fat wife would never do. <br><br>As her neared Simon's Bull his heart raced quicker. Off in the distance under the soft glow of a street light were a group of ladies. "Jackpot." he muttered to himself. He slowed his speed and brought his car to a slow crawl. His taste in women were precise and he would be damned if he would spend his hard earned money for the school board on just some plain hooker. <br><br>"Ugly. Fat. Old. Guy. Ugly..." He mumbled as he scanned the women, his voice becoming frustrated. It was then that he noticed the girl in the back of the group. She was small, skinny and obviously young. John's cock nearly stood erect immediately. She was perfect. Soft pale skin, piercing blue eyes and long black hair. The young girl was wear a black fishnet top over a black and pink bra. The skirt went down mid thigh and was complimented by the torn fishnet stockings that rested just below the hem of her black skirt. <br><br>John moaned aloud, loving the black boots that went up just below her knee caps. She was perfect. John pulled his car up to the side walk and lowered the passenger side window. "Hey!" He exclaimed, eyeing the group. <br><br>"mmm, hey baby." a fat hooker said, waddling over and leaning against the passenger side door. "Looking for a good time?" She winked. <br><br>"Get the fuck away you whale." John spat, adjusting the glasses on his nose. "I'm here for her." he stated, pointing a chubby finger torwards the girl in the back. The young girl's eyes slowly lifted and stared directly at John. His breath was caught in his throat. God she was so beautiful and innocent looking! "Yeah. You. Come here." he said aloud, motioning for her to come to the door.&nbsp; <br><br>Slowly the young hooker walked over, bending low and leaning against the passenger door. Her small cleavage exposed to him. "....yes?" She said, her voice soft, and sweet like honey. <br><br>"Hey." John began, getting nervous. "Whats your name?" <br><br>"Sam." She replied in that same voice.&nbsp; <br><br>"Well Sam, today is your lucky day." John said, pulling out a roll of twenty dollar bills and showing them to her. <br><br>Sam gave a small smile. Always careful to do so. She then opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The leather sticking to get pale thighs. She smelled like lavender. John liked lavender. Reminded him of his daughter. He placed on hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift of his car. Within seconds they were driving off. <br><br>"God. Your so fucking beautiful..." John began. "How old are you?"<br><br>Sam's eyes remained on the road, her face expressionless. "How ever old you want me to be..." She replied. <br><br>"Mm. Not a day over sixteen. Just like my daughter..." John blurted, unable to deny his sick fantasy. <br><br>"I'm sixteen." Same retorted, and then pointed up ahead. "Devil Bat Cave. We can be alone there..." <br><br>John swallowed hard. It would take only minutes to get there and he would be cock deep in this girl's snatch. He felt so nervous, like the first time he fucked one of his students. It was wrong and sick. But he loved it. On the radio Johnny Cash's: "God's gonna cut you down" played. <br><br>With a series of turns and going up hill, John finally made it to Devil Bat Cave. A popular spot of those who were committing sinful acts to be. He parked his car facing the cliff. The moon was full and bright. This would be more romantic if his thoughts weren't on fucking this girl six ways from sunday. <br><br>John Baxter was no stranger to how this worked out. He handed the girl sixty dollars from his roll. Half was always up front. "I have one request." he said as he handed the cash to her. "Call me 'Daddy'". <br><br>Sam looked over at him, the first time since getting into his car. She took the money and slipped it into her boot. "....take your cock out...'Daddy'.." She spoke quietly. Shifting in her seat, the girl reached under her skirt and pulled the tiny black laced panties down. They curved past her knees and she slid them fully off and rested it on the dash board. <br><br>John could not take any more. He fumbled with his belt and nearly tore it off as he struggled to get his cock out. He exhaled sharply as his small pecker popped out and the cool air hitting it. Tonight he wasn't ashamed of his cock. Tonight it was all about him. <br><br>Sam, being small and lithe easily moved to straddle the man. Her small perky chest pressed into the man's fat sweaty chest. Her long strands of ebony hair brushed over her flawless young face. Her eyes looking directly into his, like two blue whirlpools that seemed to draw him in. Her little tight puss was inches from his quivering cock, ready to be impaled when Sam reached into her bra, a glimpse of soft pale breast seen. She held a condom between her fingers and handed to him. <br><br>John groaned in frustration, wanting to bare back inside of her. But that was the rules to these whores. No love without the glove. He grabbed it with greedy little hands and tore it open. He turned his neck to Sam as he peered between his legs, trying desperately to hurry and roll the condom down his cock. <br><br>What happened next was not in John's plans. He felt a stab in his neck and firm hands grip his shoulders, pinning him to the seat. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't budge! The pain rippled through his body. He was dazed, no comprehending exactly what was going on. Then it dawned on him. This cunt had bit him!!!<br><br>Sam's fangs were deep in John's neck. She could taste the salt of his sweaty fat neck. How ever a better taste began to fill her mouth. It was the warm copper like taste of his blood. It was delicious. Blood always tasted better when the prey was sexually excited. She held her mouth over the holes, letting john's heart pump the sweet life source into her mouth. <br><br>"Get the fuck off me!!!" John screamed, thrashing around. He was feeling weak, as if everything was being sucked out of his body. His eyes teared up, thinking about Nancy, his wife, and Julia his daughter. he would never see them again and never be able to tell them he loved them. He cried out, guttural and panicked. <br><br>Sam drank from him like a fountain. Her body tingled and she shook with Ecstasy. It was like an orgasm and the only time she felt anything. Within minutes John was dead. Sam pulled her&nbsp; mouth from his neck. Blood smeared her lips and she realized she was grinding against the man's cock. Slowly she looked up, taking a few moments to enjoy the feeling of feeding. She loved it. <br><br>Minutes past and Sam remained straddled on the corpse of John. Her cold dead eyes staring at him. He was a father....like the one she had. She tilted her head to the side, examine his face. It was twisted in pain. Before she knew it Sam was twisting his head clock wise, hearing the sounds of breaking vertebrae. With a quick upward thrust she popped his head off and held it closer to her face. <br><br>"Father..." She whispered. <br><br>And then Sam came to. What had she done!? She had torn the head off a corpse! Panicking she stumbled out of the car, sobbing against the night air. What was she becoming!? She fell to her knees, holding the decapitated head to her chest and sobbed. "I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry!" she would repeat before she eventually calmed down. The girl stood up and walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Black waves crashed against the rocks.<br><br>Sam tossed John's head down into the ocean. The girl sniffled, head lowered in shame. She then looked up at the car, her eyes narrowing. She stalked over and placed the car in neutral. Her hands were balled up in fists, hating herself and hating this man. He was disgusting. He wasn't human. <em>Human...</em>Sam thought. Who was she to judge on whom was human and not? She screamed aloud in frustrating and began to push the car from behind, inching it to the edge of the cliff. <br><br>With a final grunt she shoved the car off the cliff. She watched it tumble down and smash against the rocks below. The young prostitute then turned from the cliff and began the long walk to Simon's Bull. It would be raining soon. Perhaps the sky felt as she did.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>01-05-2011, 11:41:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It was early, the pale glow of the morning sun just barely peeking over the horizon when Diane pulled up in front of the postal office. She kicked down the bar on her bike (http://i1094.photobucket.com/albums/i444/reia-elliquiy/Character%20Profiles/Diane/bike.png) and sat back a bit, letting the engine purr beneath her. There was no saying what she'd find in her box, but she knew what –<br>&nbsp;<br>With an annoyed grunt at herself, she cut the engine and quickly got off. She didn't remove her helmet (http://i1094.photobucket.com/albums/i444/reia-elliquiy/Character%20Profiles/Diane/helmet.png) – it was cold enough outside that the cumbersome thing kept her warm. When she reached the door she paused again, wanting to stretch the moment out as much as possible.<br><br>After enough time had passed that she felt reasonably ridiculous, she pulled out the key that would let her in and opened the door. Her box was towards the back, bottom row; she walked in and over to it, standing in front of it quietly before crouching down. The leather of her gloves squeaked lightly against the metal of the boxes when she used another key to open hers.<br><br>A crisp white envelope was sitting inside it, her name carefully printed in her brother's handwriting.<br><br>*<br><br>Her hands were shaking as she shut the door of the motel behind her. In her left hand was the envelope she'd retrieved from her box, crumpled and a bit wet from the rain. She leaned against the door, letting her helmet hit the wood with a soft thud, and just breathed. The sound of her own breathing echoing back in her hears calmed her down enough to where she knew her legs wouldn't buckle underneath her if she tried to walk.<br><br>Standing straight, she quickly unclipped her helmet and pulled it off, shaking her long red hair loose. There was a small dinette table to her right and she set the helmet down on top a pile of newspapers that she'd been looking through earlier. She'd dropped them and run out the door the moment she'd read the notice, barely even remembering to lock up.<br><br>She walked over to the single bed in the room and dropped down on the mattress, feeling all of a hundred years old. When she started to tear the envelope she realized that her hands were still trembling, her fingers icy cold inside the leather. She took a moment to take off the gloves, biting at the tip of the middle finger on each one to pull them off with her teeth. It was a bad habit that her father had always chastised her about and doing it now made her feel just a bit closer to him. She rubbed her hands together for a bit, warming them up to the point where she could actually feel her fingers.<br><br>Mustering up a bit more courage she finished tearing open the envelope and pulled out the letter - more of a note, really - inside. It was half a rumpled piece of notebook paper, Jason's go to choice for stationary for as long as she could remember. It was folded in half, the crease neat and tidy, straight as could be. When she finally opened it up, she couldn't help the giggle that came out at seeing the greeting her brother had used. It'd been years since he'd called her that.<br><br><div align="center">(http://i1094.photobucket.com/albums/i444/reia-elliquiy/Character%20Profiles/Diane/jasonnote_01.png)<br><em><span style="font-size: 6pt;" class="bbc_size">hey dino,<br>god, kiddo, hope you're taking care of yourself. wish we could work on this together, but you know --- especially with amy missing.<br>got two leads, don't know what to make of them, but it's all we've got. gonna take one and you look into the other. be in touch.<br>take care, baby sister. don't worry – we'll find her.<br>-j<br>k m w d r s v v i h w m i h e w m o t e q t b</span></em></div><br><br>Short and to the point, with a bit of big brother concern - though she wondered a bit at what he had intended to write and then scratched out. She expected nothing less from him and read it through once more before focusing on the letters at the bottom, staring at them in confusion. Cape Merrin? What the hell had Amy been doing there? Last they'd heard from her she'd been in South Florida. But if there was anything she trusted more than her own intuition, it was her brother's word.<br><br>She closed her eyes and counted backwards from fifty, a calming technique her father had taught her. When he'd been explaining it to them for the first time, Amy had asked what they should do if they needed to calm down and didn't have the time to count backwards that much. Their father had looked first at Amy and then at Jason and Diane, cracked a smile and said, "<em>Just cut out all the extra bits you don't need. This is especially fun when you're huntin' down a monster. Count 50, 49, 3, 2 and then shoot. It always helps me relax.</em>"<br><br>Opening her eyes again, she glanced at the old alarm clock on the night table, its fading red glow indicating that it was seven in the morning. Her sigh was tired when she let it out, allowing her muscles relax into the musty mattress before heaving herself up. She had an entire country to cross and no time to waste.<br><br>*<br><br>When Diane parked in front of the old bar and its faded sign reading <em>Simon’s Bull</em>, it was raining and she was entirely soaked. Her jacket at least kept her mostly dry, but she was still shivering a bit from the cold. She cut the engine, got off, and made a dash for the front door of the bar; once inside she walked up to the bar and sat down.<br><br>The barman eyed her for a moment before turning back to his current customer, a man in a hoodie and a thin beard. As she waited, she took her helmet off, pulled down on the light material of her full face mask (http://i1094.photobucket.com/albums/i444/reia-elliquiy/Character%20Profiles/Diane/diane_04.png), and set the helmet down on the stool next her. The mask was next, bundled up and stuff into her back pocket; she then shrugged out of her jacket (http://i1094.photobucket.com/albums/i444/reia-elliquiy/Character%20Profiles/Diane/jacket.png) and laid it neatly over her helmet.<br><br>She was just starting to shake her hair loose when the barman came back, a new look in his eyes as he checked her out. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Diane gave him a charming smile and leaned forward on her forearms.<br><br>"What've you got that's good, sugar?" Her voice was low and sweet, thick as only girls from the South could achieve. She let her accent through – something that she'd learned long ago would draw men like bees to honey.<br><br>The man licked his lips non-too subtly and placed an elbow on the bar, clearly trying to get a glimpse down her slightly damp tank top. His voice was gruff when he spoke. "That all depends on what you want, pretty girl. I'm sure that such a lady such as yerself'd be liking something light and soothing?"<br><br>With a soft snort Diane pulled away from him and wrinkled her nose. "How about somethin' strong, I've had a long trip and am awfully tired." She was laying it on thick, but the man was obviously eating it up.<br><br>"Sure thing, doll. You wait right here and I'll get your drink for ya."<br><br>She stuck her tongue out at his back when he turned around and walked to the other end of the bar. "Fuckin' sleaze bag."<br><br>A moment later her drink was set down and she took it, ignoring the barman's beady eyes. She turned on her stool and leaned against the bar. There was a man she'd heard about, didn't have a name, but had been told he could be found here. Now she just had to figure out who he was.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>01-05-2011, 13:45:22</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				When the last customer had finally left,&nbsp; Leofwine worked with his boss to put all the weapons away, the mats, and everything else; the dirty, but essential task of clean up.&nbsp; <br><br>"Hey, I'm gonna hit the showers before I head back. Is that cool?" Leofwine found himself inquiring.<br><br>"Sure, sure, Leof. Just make sure you lock up, eh?" The Filipino man pronounced his name incorrectly, like 'leaf'; but it was a minor thing, having more to do with his accent than any intentional or unintentional mispronunciation. It didn't bother the Hunter.<br><br>" 'Course I will." When the last of the cleanup had been done, he bid the owner a farewell and good night, and spent a solid half hour&nbsp; scrubbing himself clean. All the training of the beginners was a sweaty, tiring affair, and the clean up was just dirty work.&nbsp; The hot water didn't just cleanse him, it also rejuvenated him, offering him a strange sort of revitalizing nourishment. <br><br>But all good things must come to an end, and soon he would be drying himself off, and dressing himself up in his street clothes and biker gear. He'd&nbsp; shut off the lights as he made his way out of the building, exited it, and made sure the double doors were locked up nice and tight. <br><br>He paused outside, staring around the empty parking lot. It was night time, now, and he wasn't sure what it was...more likely then not his nerves, but he always felt like someone was watching him when he left work.&nbsp; Yet, he'd never seen hide nor hair of them, and simply chalked up the strange feeling to good old fashioned paranoia.<br><br>He'd mount his bike, cursing the rain. He'd end up getting all soaked, his bike would be soaked,&nbsp; the roads would be more dangerous... shit sucked. Why the hell did he even drive a motorcycle when it seemed to rain so god damn much? Because it beats walking, he reminded himself, and he had no other transportation options beyond public or walking. <br><br>He could have just gone home, but he was a creature of habit. Every week night, it was the same routine: He went to Simon's Bull, and took it upon himself to patrol the area, so to speak. It was such a trashy area, and the bar a dive, he imagined that vampires, in particular, would be drawn to the area...how easy it would be to pick up one of the drunken louts that were the regulars, go home with the promise of slaking their lust, and just drink them? Maybe they'd be left as he was, barely alive, but well...or maybe they'd wind up dead. <br><br>Besides, for people like him, the bar did have something of a reputation. Good place to meet up with others; he's done so a handful of times, but he wasn't someone that actively joined other Hunters. Most of them just wanted to kill, kill, kill...and with how their lives have been affected, he couldn't really blame them. But Leofwine was more curious, driven to learn about them. The martial arts training? That was just common sense. When you go off trying to play twenty questions with vampires, werewolves, ghosts, mermaids, or whatever else might be out there...well, it really, really paid to know how to keep yourself safe.&nbsp; To say nothing of the fact that he may eventually find himself in a situation where he might have to protect innocents, though he hoped to god their'd never be a horror movie styled monster rampage. <br><br>As he parked outside, he made note of another motorcycle; strange. It was different than the few other motorcycles he occasionally saw around town, and a look at its license plate would confirm it: someone out of state. <br><br>He went into the bar, and his eyes traveled around, eyes warily traveling around, staring at some of the more suspicious and seedy regulars, but searching in particular for something. He noticed it after a few moments, as he took off his own helmet and gloves. A woman. Not a shock to catch one here (though nobody's trying to get into her pants? How odd). No, what drew him to this woman was the presence of a jacket, and a helmet; the kind bikers wear.<br><br>It was easy for him to put two and two together. She was likely to be the owner of the out-of-state motorcycle. <br><br>His steps eventually took him to the bar, and he sat down a stool over from her. Setting his gloves and helmet aside, he'd cast a glance towards her. "Nice bike you got out there."&nbsp; He said almost off handedly, and waved to get the bartender's attention. "The usual, man." As said before, Leofwine was a creature of habit. He always had an ADM or two when he came in. Had a good taste to it, and not enough alcohol (for his constitution, at least) to impair his driving. 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>01-05-2011, 17:07:36</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Moving through life to the beat of her own drum. --</strong><br><hr><br>By the time <strong>Michael</strong> arrived there were only a few other people in the Bull.&nbsp; Most of them were too caught up in contemplating their haggard faces in the syrupy surface of whatever foul drink they'd ordered to notice much of anything else, each of them as good as dead to the world.&nbsp; You could see it in their eyes and in their skin, their whole damn pathetic lives etched out in dejected stares and scruffy paunch.&nbsp; Each one of them was a lonely little island keeping to their own tables and to their own thoughts, exuding bitterness and failure. <em> 'Why did it come to this?'</em> they ask themselves.&nbsp; <em>'What happened to dreams?&nbsp; When do I start living?'</em>&nbsp; And through the stale alcoholic buzz they don't even realize that they've been living all along, and that the only time they've wasted is their own.<br><br>Michael may have wondered what attracted people to the place, but to Delilah it was clear as day.&nbsp; Misery just <em>adores</em> company.<br><br>As for her, she had better things to think about than regrets and old wounds.&nbsp; She brought the dirty glass of whiskey to her lips and savored the sweet burn as it slid down her throat, draining every last drop and letting it settle heavily in her stomach.&nbsp; The sound of the glass clinking back on the surface of the bar brought a wry smile to her face.&nbsp; It was like a punctuation mark to a long-ass day.&nbsp; For the moment she didn't need to worry one jot about the big damn eighteen wheeler parked across the street, its shipment of lumber finally depleted and waiting to be filled with whatever the hell her company decided to take off Cape Merrin's hands.&nbsp; It was simply enough to be there in the bar, enjoying a drink and wondering if she'd get a chance to kill anything before hitting the road again.<br><br>"Another shot or two," the sturdy woman said, noting the newcomers with a wary glance.&nbsp; She looked more like the sort of chick you'd find banging her head at Club Fate, dressed black and done up in chains as she was, but with the kind of build she was packing one could just as easily see her hanging around Totally Fit.&nbsp; Easily recognizable as an out-of-towner.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>01-05-2011, 21:32:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Diane had turned back around, no one in the bar catching her interest. She wasn’t sure if the man she was looking for would even be in tonight, but this was the first place she’d thought of when she’d arrived in town. Signaling the barman for another shot of whiskey – which, she had to admit was pretty damn good – she placed an elbow on the bar and let her hand run through her hair. What she really wanted – <br><br>Annoyed with herself she shook her head and straightened back up as her shot was placed in front of her. What she wanted was irrelevant. She knew she’d never be able to get that again.<br><br>"Nice bike you got out there."<br><br>The new voice made her twitch, energy sizzling through her as she turned to look at the man that had spoken to her. Her father's voice spoke up then, quiet and firm in the back of her mind. <em>Always be alert, darling. You never know what you’ll run into.</em> The guy ordered his drink and sat casually at the bar, as if his words had just been an off-hand remark. She knew better though and had had it ingrained in her to question everything.<br><br>“Thanks,” she sipped her drink before turning to face him a bit more fully. That was when she noticed his own helmet and her interest was piqued. She gave him a small smile and tilted her head to the door, once again letting some of her accent drip through. “What kind’ve you got?”<br><br>He wasn’t who she was looking for, his unblemished face told her that much, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk and get a feel for the place and hopefully the town and its people. The guy wasn’t bad looking either, a little older than her maybe, with dirty blonde hair falling into his face. He had a good build too, strong and built under his clothes. And hey, a little harmless flirting’d never hurt anyone, right?<br><br>She grimaced at that thought, her mind going back to a particularly nasty succubus she’d dealt with a couple years back. Another sip of her whiskey warmed her up a bit more and she let her muscles relax into a more casual, conversational pose. Nothing ever came from being closed off and quiet.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>01-05-2011, 23:39:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Leofwine seemed to be well built all over. His typical exercise regimen had him building up all parts of his body equally.&nbsp; He was a wiry, athletic individual, first and foremost, however.&nbsp; <br><br>She was surprisingly polite, and he found himself once more looking back towards the girl. He half expected her to not respond, really. He smiled a bit, the gesture warm and surprisingly kind.&nbsp; "A Dyna Wide Glide. Kind of regret it in this weather." He said with a light chuckle, and glanced briefly at the helmet he had. The big-breasted, naked, red-skinned, black haired demon on it seemed to hold a gaze promising all sorts of sinfulness.&nbsp; &nbsp;He actually wasn't quite fond of it, but it was a good helmet, and he never did get around to getting something a bit more plain.<br><br>He could feel her looking him over, and his eyes went over her own form. But their's no lechery here. Perpetually paranoid of other people, his analytical gaze seemed to seek out wherever she had muscles. He seemed to be gauging her build, her physical power..,.and seeing if she carried any hidden weapons.&nbsp; He'd stare at her breasts for all of two seconds, almost as an afterthought, before he was distracted by the bartender placing a glass in front of him. <br><br>His choice in drink certainly seemed odd. It looked like hot chocolate, but the smell coming off of it would indicate the presence of some alcohol. It was an ADM, (http://www.webtender.com/db/drink/2002) and he loved it.&nbsp; He picked it up, and had a sip from it, testing its temperature. Still too hot to actually drink. <br><br>"You're an out of towner. So, what brings you out to this hellhole of a town?" His tone of voice remained fairly cheerful, with a hint of curiosity laced into it. <br><br>Although his attention does seemed to be quite focused on the woman he was talking to, one may note subtle turns of the head, and his eyes which liked to bounce around the room, habitually keeping tabs on things without seeming to stick out too much. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 01:31:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Drinking at Simon's Bull</tt></em></div><br><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Seconds, maybe minutes had passed by while Micheal waited, and several other people had found their way in to this dump of a bar. Still it was home to some of the residents here, it was kind of home to Micheal. He downed the rest of his beer, and sat it quietly on the bar. He looked over at the girl who had came in, then the guy who waisted no time in getting her attention. He looked hard at the guy, and realized that it was Leof. Though he had only met the guy once or twice and exchanging of names was present at some point in time. Leaving the pair to their own misery Micheal looked over at Delilah who was taking it to the extreme and knocking back shots. His kind of girl if he cared enough, but still he would oblige her. Who liked to drink alone? <br><br>Getting up and walking over to Delilah Micheal casually took the seat next to her, "Make it four," Micheal told the barman, as he took his seat. "You know with that attire well I figure you would be embracing the crazy that is Club Fate," speaking in a jokingly tone. He smirked and watched as their shots were sat before them. Micheal's hand slid to his first shot, and before he raised it to his lips he gestured his drink in her honor. Though no words were spoken he felt like there was no qualms about him being in her presence. Pressing the glass to his lips Micheal waisted no time in turning his glass up, and his head back. The drink went down smooth, and the glass dropped easy. "I'm Micheal. You're not from around here are you?" What was he doing? Making mindless conversation with a complete stranger, that was appealing not really. He was there really for one reason, and that was to talk with Otis, but Otis hadn't shown up yet so he might as well pass the time. <br><br>The second shot could wait, Micheal needed a smoke. Reaching in to his coat pocket he pulled out a pack of Malboro reds, 'cowboy killers' and his lighter. Opening the pack he picked out a cigarette, and lit it with grace. Setting the pack down and the lighter his index and middle finger were now grasped around the smoke. Inhaling strongly he watched the red ember spread down the cigarette like a plague. Removing the cigarette from his lips Micheal let the smoke flow from his mouth before inhaling it back in to his lungs. Realizing what he was doing Micheal could possibly scare off this woman who possibly had a distaste for cigarettes. "I'm sorry do you mind?" His deep voice rumbled as he exhaled the smoke from his lungs in a direction not aimed at Delilah. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 01:56:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Shootin' the shit.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>Delilah had glanced briefly at Michael when he slipped into the seat beside her, but that was enough.&nbsp; With eyes like those, sharp and nearly white as glaciers, the woman had a gaze that seemed like it could drink someone in with only the briefest of looks, every detail and mannerism cataloged and scrutinized.&nbsp; But a crooked smile was on her lips and her lashes fluttered, and it seemed as though the company was not unwelcome.&nbsp; <br><br>"Delilah.&nbsp; And no, I can't rightly say I am," she said, voice thick with that suave Cajun accent that spoke of jazz bands and warm candlelit nights on the river.&nbsp; She snatched up another shot from the bar and briefly gestured towards the door before knocking it back.&nbsp; "See the truck?&nbsp; That'd be mine."<br><br>At his politeness she merely laughed, a sound that the woman didn't seem at all accustomed to making.&nbsp; "Only if you can't spare one.&nbsp; I don't make it a habit, but after a few hundred miles on the road I tend to stop givin' a shit about <em>health</em>.&nbsp; Never know just how long I'll be lucky enough to relax in peace."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 02:14:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Diane followed his glance to his helmet and held back an eye roll at the scantily clad demon painted on it, it was something that Jason would have done, just to piss her and Amy off. She looked back up at him and let a&nbsp; real grin peek out at his words. "I don't see how you can regret a ride like that."<br><br>He looked her over, but not in the same way the barman had, more like he was assessing her. She actually didn't mind it when people looked at her like this and she was always more than happy to clear up their assumptions if they got too fresh with her.&nbsp; What he was seeing was not something anyone would expect from someone who did what she did. It was a mixed blessing, to be honest. There were times when it got her in more trouble than not.<br><br>When he said she was an out of towner, didn't even have to ask and damn it that said a lot about the town, she narrowed her eyes at him and looked down at the bar. And then he asked what she was doing there and she felt her hackles rise. It was ridiculous, really, but then again her father had always said she was a bit of a spitfire. A short tempered one at that. The guy didn't mean anything by it, she knew, but after so long of keeping everything so close to heart and with being so close to finding out where Amy was, Diane wasn't all that together.<br><br>"Passing through, mostly. Also looking for a friend of a friend – hoping he might have some info for me."<br><br>Her voice had dropped a degree or two and while her accent was still showing through, it was a bit rougher, not as syrupy sweet as before. She looked back up at him and noticed him glancing about, casually, as if he was just taking in the sights. Either he was paranoid or it was habit to him just as much as it was to her.<br><br>Not that she'd completely dismissed her surroundings either. At the moment her attention was divided between the man in front of her and the rather odd couple sitting at the other end of the bar, downing shots like there was no tomorrow.<br><br>"So I take it you're from around here?" Her eyes met his and she tried to relax herself again, he might be able to help her after all. She needed to stop being so jumpy – Jason told her that enough as it was – but she couldn't help, she wanted to find Amy and get the hell out of dodge.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 02:55:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Being Human</tt></em></div><br><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">Micheal took a look back over his shoulder, and glanced at her truck. It was like his thunder bird the A to Z vehicle. He looked back to her smirking. Her accent and her words all made sense to him. "I don't mind one bit," he replied and then reached for his pack of cigarettes. Flipping one out for her, and then holding his lighter lit for her to ignite the high that relieved Micheal of stress hundreds of times. He had to laugh at her last comment. Certainly she wouldn't find peace here, well maybe in the confines of this bar, but this part of town wasn't for the peace seekers. There was literally no rest for the wicked, and if there was any glimmer of light. It was sure to be found in the residents that drank at this bar. <br><br>"I'll drink to that." Micheal said and raised his second shot to Delilah, "To the little things," Micheal acted as if he was taking pleasure in Delilah's company, but if he never saw her again there would be no real wound inflicted. Micheal inhaled slowly on his cigarette as he ashed it in to a small tray that sat waiting to be used on the bar. "Where are you coming from, and where are you headed? I know this dump isn't your last stop." Micheal looked down at the empty shot glass that resembled his life. An empty life that was filled with ridding the town of monsters. Micheal's eyes met with Delilah's at first, but then began to eye her physique. She was definitely in shape even the chains couldn't hide that. <br><br>Openly his eyes wandered Delilah's body before he brought them up to the barman. With a small gestured he ordered another round of shots for them, and if Delilah was done drinking then Micheal would be enjoying himself more than he intended. He wanted to be sober for when Otis stopped through, but as it stands as long as he was waiting he was drinking. Another drag from his cigarette and the shots were before them. Micheal had every intention of paying for them all, little did she know Micheal got a small discount. So his pockets wouldn't hurt to hard. Something he didn't see before on Delilah just registered. Her eyes were nearly white. He had to look again to see if they were real, and soon he found himself staring. Words couldn't explain why he thought they were interesting, and beautiful wouldn't be the right word. Micheal blinked slowly, and then spun himself so that he was now leaning back against the bar. In a calm tone he spoke, "Nice eyes." He hadn't seen eyes like that except on a monster he had killed a long time ago, but that monster couldn't take human form. So there was no way Delilah was no monster. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 03:14:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Shootin' the shit.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>"To the little things," she echoed, downing the next shot like a champ.&nbsp; There was no telling just how long or how much she'd been drinking, but it was clear that the girl could hold her liquor.&nbsp; Either that or she was making a damn good show of it.&nbsp; Delilah took a good long drag on the gifted cig, letting the smoke roll briefly against her tongue before exhaling it through her nostrils.&nbsp; Some of the tension seemed to just flow right out of her, as if all the booze had just been waiting for the right spark to calm her mind.<br><br>At the questions she paused, but only briefly.&nbsp; "Just drove in from Washington.&nbsp; State," she added.&nbsp; "Long ass drive.&nbsp; Wouldn't be the first.&nbsp; Won't be the last.&nbsp; Dropped off a couple tons of lumber off at some warehouse at the docks.&nbsp; Packin' an empty trailer until I get my next assignment."<br><br>She glanced through the haze of smoke collecting in front of her, giving her truck a hard look through the window.&nbsp; "Wouldn't think a little place like this would need so much wood.&nbsp; Buildin' something big, I guess."<br><br>When he brought up her eyes she just looked at him without blinking, like a dare or a challenge.&nbsp; But then the moment passed and she was laughing again, though it had a more bitter tune to it this time.&nbsp; "I get that a lot.&nbsp; That, or weird stares.&nbsp; Me?&nbsp; Don't care much fer 'em.&nbsp; Gotten me in trouble more than once."&nbsp; Then, almost as an afterthought, "Remind me too much o' someone else too.&nbsp; Not in a good way either."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 03:38:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Feeling Good. </tt></em></div><br><span style="font-size: 8pt;" class="bbc_size">As he downed his shot Micheal's eyes widened and nearly coughed his drink up. "Washington State. That's quite the distance. Just for some damn lumber?" He shook his head in disapproval, "Fuck that." of course he wouldn't do that but, "It's money though so there's really no arguing." Micheal took several drags of his cigarette and then began to make rings with the exhaled smoke. <br><br>He listened quietly as she spoke of her eyes. Apparently they weren't as important to others then they were to her. If they got her in to trouble then someone must really like them, but she wouldn't be getting in to trouble with Micheal. He liked her eyes but they weren't they weren't enough to make him try and bed her. <br><br>"Well hopefully you won't find anymore trouble with them around here. This part of town owns the word trouble. All types of things happen here. You should be careful around here, you'd never know what you run in to." Of course he was talking about the monsters that resided in this part of town, but if she didn't know then there she would probably assume that there were rapist, and thugs that didn't care who you were. They were going to give you a hard time even if you weren't looking for it. Micheal ashed his cigarette out, and downed his last shot. The quick consumption of alcohol didn't bother him, after many years of drinking his tolerance would drink him under the table if he let it. <br><br>"Forgive me. You look like you could handle yourself if it ever called for it." He complemented her physique as it was rather appealing and like her eyes 'nice'. "You have a place to stay tonight or are you expecting to be out of here before the alcohol sets in?" Micheal asked continuing to make useless conversation, but some what enjoying the sharing of words that comprised small talk. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 03:50:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Shootin' the shit.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>"Money's money," she said noncommittally.&nbsp; "I've gotten used to the travel.&nbsp; Seeing the whole damn country pass by in my rear view.&nbsp; Shit, now I'm soundin' like a fuckin' Western song."<br><br>Delilah flicked a few clumps of ash into the tray, a careless gesture that told Michael everything he needed to know when it came to her feelings on <em>trouble</em>.&nbsp; "This wouldn't be the worst dive I've been in, nor the most scummy side of a town.&nbsp; There's shadows everywhere you go in the world, and plenty of bastards hidin' in 'em.&nbsp; Some worse than others."<br><br>Her knuckles popped as she made a fist, crumpling the still-hot remains of the cigarette between her fingers without so much as flinching, then brushed it off into the ground pile of ash between them.&nbsp; "I can take of myself, sure.&nbsp; No shortage of idiots no matter where you go."&nbsp; She let a smile creep through, but only just.&nbsp; "I sleep in my truck most nights.&nbsp; Does shit for the back, but it beats paying for a roach motel."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:10:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her comment about the bike was answered with an apathetic shrug. Her question, however, he answers readily."been here all my life. Doubt I'll ever pick up and move, either. I've found my little niche, ya know?" He only seemed to pay attention to her when either he was speaking, or she was. Otherwise, he kept his eyes roaming around the bar. Much like her, he eyed the couple going to town with shots. The man he's seen around in the bar plenty of times, though he's... with a girl this time around. Seemed like an odd break in the pattern, but whatever. Maybe he finally found someone. Good for him.<br><br>"Well, if you're looking for someone, I might be able to throw out a net for you, so to speak, see if we can catch them. If you got an address, I can take you there... if it's just a name and some other stuff, I can dig around, if you'd like." At this point in time, he realized that they had not yet had a chance to exchange names. In all honesty, he had not expected to have had much of a conversation with her. Just figured he'd get the brush off, and end up spending his night like he usually does. Have a drink or two, listen to people chatter, then go home.&nbsp; <em>Hah. Another break in the pattern. </em> He thought to himself.<br><br>"My name's Leofwine, by the way." He'd extend his hand to her. "Though most call me Leof. Who might you be?" <br><br>She was being awfully jumpy it seemed, but then again...if this is her first time in this dive, he really couldn't blame her for that. This place was pretty damn shady. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:12:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Parking in front of Simon's Bull.</strong><br><br>After gassing up at the local gas station in town, Jason found his way to Simon's Bull, a less than reputable establishment from what the locals had told him on the way here from the gas station.&nbsp; Pulling to a halt in front of the place, Jason had to admit it didn't look like much, but from the way they talked of the old man that ran it, maybe it looked better on the inside?&nbsp; <em>Yeah, poor fucker's family were mauled by a bear or something, wasn't the same since from what I've heard.</em>&nbsp; The old attendant had said, but the way he said it made the five year veteran hunter wonder if there was more to that story.&nbsp; It didn't matter in the long run though.&nbsp; Hopping out of his car and slamming the door shut, he locked every door as well, not wanting to come back out and find his ride stolen.&nbsp; For now, breezing through the doors to the place, Jason spotted a few patrons that struck him a bit odd to be in a place like this, but then again he was a strange here as well so he couldn't say anything.&nbsp; Nodding to the lady on his way by to the bar, the man walked up to the bar and sat down in one of the stools that were wisely bolted to the floor.&nbsp; "Budweiser if you have it."&nbsp; He asked, pulling his wallet out, prepared to pay up in cash since he hated using the stolen credit cards in his possession.&nbsp; Well, unless they belonged to some corrupt asshole or a rich snob, in which case he didn't have many sleepless nights over it.&nbsp; "So, what can you tell a stranger about this place?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:23:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yeah, I know. Hoping to be able to get back to my own at some point." She gave him a somewhat weak smile this time. Any thoughts of home immediately plummeted her mood, regardless of what she was talking about. "And no," she replied to his query about a name or address, "I've got none of that for the guy I'm looking for. Just a vague description and the name of this place."<br><br>When he held his hand out to her she blinked down at it and then looked at him. This was the most she'd spoken to anyone in a while and it was nice, just talking to a stranger about nothing. "Diane." She put her hand in his and gave him a firm shake.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:29:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Nice meeting you, Diane." He gave her hand a firm shake before releasing it, and then he picked up his drink, and had a few quiet sips of it.&nbsp; During the shake, she might have noticed a strange tattoo on his right wrist. It was an hour glass with a few grains of sand in the top section, and the bottom&nbsp; half of it nearly full. <br><br>"So, this guy you're looking for is going to meet you here, then?" He inquired casually.&nbsp; "Do you know if he's a local? Some distinguishing feature?" He was genuinely motivated to help her.&nbsp; Leofwine was a genuinely nice guy... though, if anybody made the mistake of thinking he was soft or he couldn't take care of himself, that'd be a mistake. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:40:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Same." When her hand was freed she reached for her whiskey and downed the rest of it. When the barman looked over to them, she raised her glass a bit and gave him a nod. She could already tell it was going to be one of those nights where she wouldn't be able to sleep without a quite a few good drinks under her belt.<br><br>Diane turned back to Leof – and what a strange name that was – and shrugged. "He doesn't know I'm comin' really, doesn't even know me. I was just told he'd be here." She glanced back down at his wrist, wanting to get a closer look at his tattoo. It had caught her eye mostly because she had a few of her own and she liked hearing the stories behind the ink. "Local as far as I know. And as for distinguishing features, I was told he has a pretty nasty scar running down the side of his face. Tall, long hair, goatee."<br><br>Her drink was set down in front of her and she knocked back half of it, enjoying the simple burn of the alcohol down her throat. She was relaxing again, losing some of the skittish wariness from before; though she was still alert to everything around her. There was another guy at the bar now, not bad on the eyes and looking as out of place here as she felt. Looked like this was the place to be then, given the amount of customers, if she wanted to find her guy.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:48:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"huh. Sounds like Otis. He's the only guy around here with a scar like that. You'll know it's him when you see 'im." He said, somewhat cryptically, though he didn't intend to be so. <br><br>He continued to drink from the mug&nbsp; that he had, taking his time to sip and enjoy the chocolatey, minty, warming alcoholic beverage that was an After Dinner Mint.&nbsp; "He's a good guy, from what I hear, but Fate's done him a few bad turns." His eyes drifted in the same direction she had gone, to the new comer. Another one that wasn't a local; he'd never seen the man before, and judging by his voice, it didn't seem like he was from around these parts. <br><br>It was curious, at least to Leofwine, to see so many&nbsp; strangers running around. Quietly, he wondered if their wasn't more to this situation than he realized. He knew of others like himself, in that they had brush ins with the supernatural that changed them forever...some of them were like nomads these days, either trying to escape something, or, more likely, chasing something. He wondered if that last bit might be the case. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 04:57:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Listening in on a few conversations.</strong><br><br>Sitting at the bar, Jason yawned into his sleeve before taking another sip of his beer, not getting any reply from the bartender.&nbsp; Not much of a conversationalist it would seem.&nbsp; Still, a few of the conversations he was hearing did intrigue him a great deal as a hand wandered over to the cross on his neck, along with the other holy and protective symbols he kept handy since more than one of them had saved his ass in the past after he had gotten through his first year of hunting.&nbsp; It had not been an easy first year, having plenty of close calls along the way, but he had yet to catch wind of the succubus that had killed his old man.&nbsp; What was it with the two sitting not too far off from him that intrigued him?&nbsp; Sounded like one of them had a hunt going on, although whether it was demonic or just looking for an old friend was up for grabs.<br><br>Either way, picking up his beer, Jason turned just in time to see the girl looking his way. Nodding in her direction, the hunter turned back to his beer and sighed, not really in the mood for company unless they were giving him useful information regarding where to find the nearest ammo and supply store at this point.&nbsp; However, Jason's eyes couldn't stop from looking the two over, something about them drawing his attention.&nbsp; "I'd hate to interrupt but I can't help but notice you're both not from around.&nbsp; Name's Jason Jefferson."&nbsp; Beyond that, he wasn't going to say more, not without prodding anyway.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:06:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Otis." Finally a name. It was a hell of a lot more than she'd had on arriving, so she counted it as a win. "Well, who hasn't had more than few bad turns in life. Had plenty of 'em myself." Diane fiddled with her glass for a moment, rubbing at the condensation with her fingers. Suddenly she was nervous. One step closer to finding Amy. "Do you know him? Otis, I mean." It would help even more if Leof could help her get her foot in the door.<br><br>At that point, the guy who'd just sat down spoke up. Diane bit her lip and had to wonder at how frequent out of towners showed up at this place. "Diane, I'm from out of town. Leof's local though." She shot a quick grin at Leof, hoping he wouldn't mind too much that she'd spoken up for him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:13:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He chuckled a bit, more amused than insulted when the out-of-towner confused him for a fellow out-of-towner.&nbsp; "Aye, as she said. Born here, I'll probably die here." He said without a hint of grimness. "And you'd be an out-of-towner. Careful, some of the locals aren't always nice to travelers...'specially around here." Hey, they were in a seedy bar, in a seedy, run down district. They probably did realize that when trouble happened, it was out in this area, but he figured he'd say it, just in case.<br><br>"What brings you out this way, Jason? Lookin' for someone, too?"Leof's tone of voice remains casual and friendly.&nbsp; He finished off his drink, and banged the mug on the counter, lightly, a few times. Soon enough, the tender would be heading off with the mug to make him another After Dinner Mint. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:21:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>JJ - Talking to Diana and Leofwine.&nbsp; Location - Simon's Bull.</strong><br><br><em>If you can call a demon a person.</em>&nbsp; Jason thought to himself, chuckling despite his grim mood.&nbsp; Even though he had wasted that Wendigo, it hadn't made him feel any better.&nbsp; Still, good company, despite his usually sour and lonely seeking attitude, did help him, oddly enough.&nbsp; "Thanks for the warning.&nbsp; I can handle myself though.&nbsp; Former Marine, just like my daddy before me, may he rest easy as soon as I find the bitch that killed him.&nbsp; So yeah, I am looking for someone, and when I find her...."&nbsp; Well, he'd let them fill in the blanks.&nbsp; Cooling down a bit, he did wonder who this Otis fellow was.<br><br>"Who's Otis and why you looking for him?&nbsp; Call me curious."&nbsp; Jason asked, taking a sip from his beer as he awaited an answer, wondering what he'd find out in this hole in the ground bar.&nbsp; He'd seen better trash heaps in his five years on the road, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:41:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Semi flirting with Delilah.</tt></em></div><br>Micheal chuckled after he comment it was obvious that she was aware of the supernatural. Or maybe she was. She didn't necessarily say that she wasn't, but didn't say she was either. Ordering a beer, and looked to Delilah wondering if she fathomed a cold one as well. Just in case he ordered two, and then turned back around leaning against the bar. His ears flicked a bit as he heard Otis's name being used by the now trio on the other side of the bar. He wasn't eves dropping, but should anyone mention Otis's name followed by negativity of the man they would be hearing it from Micheal. He reached behind him and grabbed his cold brew and tilted it up to his lips. Drinking and watching Delilah put her cigarette out on her hand. She had a tolerance for pain as well. This girl was becoming interesting.<br><br>Resting his brew on his knee Micheal looked down at the floor and then back up to the blonde haired bruiser. "Well if you don't want to disfigure your back before you have to. You're welcome to stay at my house tonight. I have a spare bedroom. Don't worry I don't bite that hard." Micheal kicked himself on the inside for letting himself engage in the human act of flirting. Again he had to ask himself what the hell he was doing. Opening his house to a complete stranger, and flirting as well. He could change his mind, but he decided against it and decided to see where it would land. Any sort of rejection wouldn't hurt him one bit, and her accepting would do anything but surprise him. <br><br>A no and that would be that, persistence wasn't key in his life. Unless it came to fixing something, or trying to kill a monster. The best part of being here was that no one really cared. He could just sit and relax, and drink till he killed over. Though if he did that then he wouldn't be useful&nbsp; to Otis, or anyone else that was a hunter like him.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:53:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Allison "Al" Garvey</strong><br><br>Late.&nbsp; Late again! she grunted, head down against the rain, running through the evening towards the bar.&nbsp; She wasn't sleeping much at night; not for the past five years when she got a look behind the curtain and it wasn't any wizard of Oz sitting back there.&nbsp; Now, Al tried to keep her head down and her eyes everywhere.&nbsp; She knew...but it was still so hard to believe that the horror stories of childhood could be based in fact.&nbsp; But, after taking the job as barmaid, Al was pretty sure this wasn't a dream.&nbsp; If it was a dream, her mind was more fucked-up than reality.<br><br>She pulled open the back door, shucked her damp jacket and wound her long hair up into a ponytail, flopping it over and through the band once more to make a messy sort of bun.&nbsp; She glanced in the mirror on the beam beside the hook where she'd hung her jacket and a shadow fell over her.&nbsp; <br><br>"Yer late."<br><br>"In some time zones, I'm actually early," Al said, grinning at the other bartender.&nbsp; She yanked on her apron and made her appearance behind the bar, glancing around at the usuals and the "foreigners."<br><br>She moved along the counter, checking to see if anyone needed anything, raising an eyebrow to the man nursing a beer (JJ) and surveying the tables.<br><br>The bang on the counter drew her attention.&nbsp; Arrogant pig, she thought, smiling as she moved down to the man and woman.&nbsp; "Would you like another?" she asked.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 05:57:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Distracted&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>Delilah sighed, as though exhaling some big damn weight that had done a fine job of lodging itself in her chest.&nbsp; Her smile wasn't unkind, and the temptation was clear, but when next she looked to Michael it was apologetically.&nbsp; <br><br>"I'd normally take ya up on that kinda offer, but I'm gonna have ta decline.&nbsp; Nothin' personal, just somethin' about this town that puts me on my guard.&nbsp; Y'seem like a good enough fella, but I've met plenty of <em>good enough fellas</em> over the years."<br><br>She took the offered beer gladly, taking a somewhat unsteady sip and almost missing the rim with her lips.&nbsp; Her attention briefly flicked to the people across the way, particularly when the name <em>Otis</em> came up, but she attempted to pass it off as inconsequential.&nbsp; "Lotta shit goin' on in 'ole Cape Merrin lately, so I've heard."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 06:13:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><tt class="bbc_tt"><em>Micheal - Getting drunk</em></tt></div><br>He grinned as he lifted the beer to his lips and took a long drink. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm far from a good fella." Though choosing not to elaborate on him not being that good of a guy. Setting his drink down on the bar, he listened to the barman giving the girl who just entered a hard time. Micheal hadn't seen her before. Did Simon's Bull really need help managing the place, or was she just eye candy. <br><br>"It's alright though. I won't be losing any sleep.&nbsp; Probably gaining it." Micheal's tone came off a bit harsh, but he was only telling the truth.&nbsp; <br><br>He bit the inside of his cheek, and then grabbed his cigarettes, igniting the smoke and again taking a trip for the short allotted time. "Lots of shit has been happening here in Cape Merrin. People going miss. People being found dead, mutilated. All types of shit." He scoffed and laughed at the thought. It was sad though. With all the hunters showing up in Cape Merrin the death toll doesn't even consider dropping. "What have you heard about Cape Merrin? I might be able to shed some light on it." Finishing his beer, he tapped his mug on the bar, and signaled for either bartender to give him a refill. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 07:11:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Louie, the Bartender</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Over the chatter of the bar Louie could just hear the sound of the dingy, oversized television attached to the wall behind the bar. Rubbing at a large glass mug with a towel that looked none-too-clean, he reached up absently and cranked the volume. His neck remained craned upward, his greasy hair gleaming in the half light of the bar as he gnawed a toothpick and watched that slim bitch Rita Knipfing give the latest news on the kiddie killer case.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The audio crackled a bit before blasting itself out across the bar. And then the petite form of Rita Knipfing (http://assets.nydailynews.com/img/2008/10/04/amd_kidman.jpg) smiled out at her audience. The tone of her voice was entirely inappropriate for the story she had to tell, as was the slight giggle with which she ended the report. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Miss Knipfing reported that the Cape Merrin Police Department and the MicMac Sheriff’s Department were now receiving aid from federal law enforcement agencies to aid in the search for the kidnappers that had snatched four children from the streets of Cape Merrin. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Coughing, Louie spat phlegm into the garbage behind the bar and said, “That bitch needs fucking” before he turned the volume back down and ignored the television again in favor of the enticing sight of the glass mug he was wiping down. </span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Offices of the <em>Cape</em><em> Merrin Gazette</em></span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The phone on Alice’s desk jangled to life suddenly, disturbing her diligent work on minor pieces.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The voice on the end of the line was male, raspy sounding. “Alice, you remember your son, right Alice? You know what happened to him didn’t have anything to do with wild dogs. Why aren’t you putting pressure on the cops to do something? Why don’t you ask them why they haven’t released a protective order or announced that it’s obvious when the next kidnapping will take place. People could collect their kids, keep them off the street. You owe it to Alexander, Alice, you’ve got to find a way to let people know that November 14th another child will be taken. Just look at a calendar. It’s obvious. The second Sunday of every month is when the kids go missing—whether the cops want to hold back the reports or not—they <em>always</em> go missing on the second Sunday. Remember Alexander.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The phone line went dead, the speaker giving Alice no time to respond to him via the phone.</span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A Deserted Alley Several Blocks from Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010 </span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The rain was miserable. It sheeted down on everyone and everything too stupid or poor to get out from under it. Ludolf stood at the edge of the alley, the shadows obscuring most of his angular and misshapen form. When the girl in the hooker uniform approached the mouth of the alley, he hissed slightly and a flood of rats issued from the alley and swarmed over themselves on the sidewalk, effectively cutting off Samantha’s progress toward Simon’s Bull.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">“Good evening, childe,” the odd figure announced from his position, his face still obscured—more shadow than light—“where is you maker? Has he gone off and left you without conveying anything of the rules?” In the last two words a European accent leeched its way into his voice. The shape leaned forward a bit, allowing Samantha to see the fullness of its face (http://i60.servimg.com/u/f60/15/00/05/29/nosfer11.jpg), in an extremely graceful bow, the thing bent its head, and lifted a small hat, feigning a chivalrous deference to Sam. When it stood upright again, it said, “I am Ludolf, and <em>you</em> are leaving messes near my home, little girl. I do not appreciate cleaning up after children who don’t know how to take care of themselves. What do you suppose we do about your little indiscretion at Devil Bat Cave, eh?” The thing looked at her, a bit of drool leaking from the side of its misshapen mouth, waiting for an answer with its fingers steepled together in front of its chest. A thousand rodent eyes looked at Sam expectantly as well.</span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrin Police Department</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Detective Michaels’s fourth-floor view was obscured by the bulky form of Captain Somerset. “Well, Michaels!? Have you come up with anything I can feed these Bureau cocksuckers to keep them from nabbing the control of the entire case?” he asked belligerently. He was red in the face and the pressure he must have been under from the mayor and other municipal forces must have been extraordinary. Cori had seen him like this only one other time: when Dominguez from Vice had slipped a habanero into a sandwich the Captain was eating. Dominguez nearly lost his job for that trick, but it didn’t stop his practical joking.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As he stood there, he appeared to be a human version of those cartoons for kid’s, the one’s that feature trains that huff and puff to deliver their cargo—the only problem was that Captain Somerset was somewhat of an idiot when it came to diplomacy. He had blustered and blundered his way through the encounters with the FBI agents. And now, he was turning to Cori to save his ass. To be his pep talk provider, to coach him. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A light broke across his face as he turned to Cori with this brilliant idea, “I know! Let’s say you’re going to post a 24-hour guard down at the mouth of Devil Bat Cave, so that if any tampering with the murder scene happens, well—no—that’s not right, so if anyone should <em>want</em> to tamper with the murder scene—they won’t be able to!!! What do you think? Will that one agent, Snyder, the short one, will buy it? Oh hey, do you want to take first watch down at the cave? I mean, I know you’ve pulled your regular duty already, but if you head out, I can authorize a squad car to relieve you in a few hours.”</span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Balfurt</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Park</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis approached Arathel from the east end of the park. His old black Ford pickup (http://www.classictrucksforsale.us/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/-82323204727283000.jpg) was parked along the park’s edge. “Look, I’m going to meet Micheal up at Simon’s Bull tonight. I want to discuss some things. We need to start poking around. The 14th is almost here and the police have their cocks so far up their asses, they’re gonna pop out their own eyes,” Otis said with a macabre gesture miming the ejection of his dead right eye from his head. Grinning toothily, Otis asked the harp player, “Wanna come? Better leave the harp home though—dunno how the Bull regz would like that.” The seriousness of his face inexplicably cracked into a macabre, one-eyed grin; he cackled at his own statement and wandered off to his truck before waiting for Arathel’s answer. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis was getting scary; he’d killed too often, lost too much, was alone too often. He was losing his ability to interact with people, well, with normal people. Rumors had been in circulation since his family’s death, but even people who never thought Otis could have done that were beginning to think that maybe he belonged somewhere nice and <em>safe</em>. Somewhere where he couldn’t hurt himself—or anyone else.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 07:32:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Looking up at the TV, intrigued, to say the least.</strong><br><br>Devil Bat Cave huh?&nbsp; He had heard of the mysterious kidnappings, and had even hacked into the police records since he had planned to come down here long before meeting up with the Wendigo, and found all the info he had wanted, and more than he had ever wanted to see, about the kids and how they had been mutilated.&nbsp; Something was there, every 14th of the month of November, and it was going to strike again.&nbsp; That left four days, four days to check the caves, see what he could find out, and then lay a trap or two for the fucker that enjoyed ripping children apart.&nbsp; Demon, most definitely, because he couldn't think of anything else that took pleasure in such a thing.&nbsp; Werewolves were too messy, always leaving clear evidence behind, that and a full moon always matched up when they struck anyway so that was a dead giveaway.<br><br>Vampires were more tricky since they could at least appear human, but they were as inhuman as the rest.&nbsp; They drank blood, but they were deadly allergic to dead man's blood, making them sleepy, and thus easy to manage.&nbsp; Silver burned them as surely as fire and holy water could.&nbsp; None of that matter now though since he didn't know for sure WHAT it was yet.&nbsp; Turning to the bar at large, Jason had to ask.&nbsp; "So, anyone know what that was all about?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 07:37:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em><strong>~Arathel, Female Form, Balfurt Park~</strong></em><br>Arathel moved over towards Otis with a smile.&nbsp; She gave him a soft nod as he came up, although she couldn't help but look a bit worried.&nbsp; Naturally, Otis didn't need a real answer, because she followed along with, hopping into the passenger's side and buckling her seat belt.<br><br>Somewhere along the line, the harp that she'd been carrying had just vanished.&nbsp; That wouldn't be surprising by this point, and she didn't really bring any attention to it.&nbsp; Her focus was more on Otis, realizing more and more how much he'd been changing.&nbsp; She didn't like it but she couldn't figure out just what to do about it.<br><br>"Remind me again what happens on the 14th?" she asked softly, trying to remember what exactly the date was.&nbsp; She knew it was deep into autumn, but the strange knack that humans had for using numbers to watch the progress of time was a bit beyond her.&nbsp; It had to be a holiday of some sort.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mhina</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 07:56:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Abigail wasn't sure how long she had been wandering around Cape Merrin, wan't even really sure what day it was. The fools at Immanuel had kicked her out when they found her sleeping under one of the pews. It probably didn't help that she'd been using a sack filled with some silver candlesticks she had nicked from the near the pulpit. She scowled at the memory. They didn't need it as much as she did! She was out here, doing God's work, while they slept in their warm beds, ignorant to the true horrors that cursed the world. She had been nice, oh yes, she had even tried to explain to them the reason she needed the silver. Regular silver wouldn't do of course, metal was metal until it had been blessed. She could do that of course, she was divinity made manifest, a blade through which God's will was done, but the silver needed to have spent time in a holy place for it to be truly effective. They hadn't understood of course, and had insisted on calling the police. <br><br>"There's no need for that sister." She had said. "I am merely doing God's work the same as you. It is my duty to purge the impure." She had tried to be kind, but the woman had clearly overreacted. If she hadn't have shouted Abigail wouldn't have had to break her nose. That was going to look bad. Now she was homeless again. <br><br>"Repentance, repentance for our sins Abigail." She muttered as it began to drizzle. "Repentance keeps us pure, pure to fight the beasts, pure to spread the Word." She had assaulted a member of the faith, even if her denomination left something to be desired. This wandering was part of her punishment, must accept it, must take it and be grateful. She sighed as she walked, her head down against the chill wind. It was never warm enough in Cape Merrin. She didn't even have a coat, and she had received a fair number of stares as she aimlessly made her way around the town. <br><br>The wind picked up and something smacked into her face, blocking her vision. She let out a squawk and her hand went to her face, her other hand fumbling to reach into her father's cassock. She stopped after a moment, realizing it was just a dirty newspaper. She growled, pulling it off her face and glaring at it as she started walking again. The headline was hard to make out in the advancing gloom, but eventually she stopped under a light to read it. It was about the disappearing children again. Abigail chewed on the inside of her cheek, tossing the paper aside and staring at her feet as she walked. Another child missing, another child dead, another grieving parent mourning in bed. The rhyme formed itself in her mind and she giggled at the sheer humorlessness of the situation. It was too much really. She had been hunting for years and nothing changed. Clearly she was being tested. But her faith would not waver. <br><br>"I will find them and turn them into dust in the name of the Lord." She said, kicking at a bottle. It was such a shame that so few people understood what she was trying to do. You would think they would treat her as a hero, but no. It was so hard to feel like an instrument of the divine when you were forced to break into churches and scrounge on the streets. Those were complaints for weaker moments though. Abigail knew that what she was doing was not meant for glory. It was a service to God and the people who had faith. She required no thanks.<br><br>She looked around, taking note of her surroundings for the first time in hours. At some point she had wandered into the industrial district, a place home to more than a few heathens in dire need of a little education in the ways of the faith. She remembered her conversations with her father and frowned. She had tried, for him she had tried to be understanding. But the world was filled with so much filth! Sometimes it was all she could do to keep herself from purging the lot of the rabble that liked to congregate in the seedier parts of town. He wouldn't appreciate it though, and so she had taken to trying to convert them, where she could. She was ashamed to admit the number of people she had effectively convinced was sitting at an unimpressive zero. Still, tonight felt good. Lost souls needed guidance after all.<br><br>She made her way further into the district until she was in the vicinity of Simon's Bull. She had been in once or twice before, it was hard to remember. The customer base was rowdy, and unfortunately resistant to her message. Still, the Lord rewarded persistence and most of these people clearly needed help. <br><br>As she approached the bar she felt something grab her around the elbow. She spun to find the leering face of a drunkard staring down at her. "Hey there sweetheart." He said, his rancid breath washing over her. She had to try hard not to gag. "What are ya doing 'round here in that get up? You some kind of costume whore?" <br><br>Abigail tried to smile. 'Remember Abigail, mercy, mercy and compassion for the lost.' She thought. "I'm sorry sir, but I am no whore. I am a servant of the Lord, here to spread the Word of God. Would you by chance be interested in giving your life to Christ?" She asked, fixing her face with a smile. <br><br>The man laughed, a bellowing sound that made Abigail cringe. He was just an oaf after all. "Nah can't say as I am darlin'." He leaned in close, grinning at her. "That's cute an' all but I got's a mind for sin tonight. How 'bout you come with me and I'll show ya all about the wild side of life? Get your cute little self outta that stuffy outfit whaddya say?"<br><br>Abigail growled before tearing her arm out out of the man's grasp. "Filthy, filthy, filthy!" She shouted. "Not worthy to stand on God's earth! Not worthy of the chance he has given you! Get out of my sight vile beast! You only serve to aid the monsters!" She had hoped tonight would be different, but she was in a bad mood and this man had made it worse. She was working herself into a frenzy and was prepared to let the divine light take her over. Everything always felt so much better when she did.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 08:03:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Al Garvey</strong>, Simon's Bull barmaid ~ responds to JJ<br><br>She grimaced as Louie spit, then turned to look at the blonde on the TV.&nbsp; As the reporter announced that help was coming, the tight knot in the pit of Al's stomach shifted.&nbsp; She poured herself some soda water and drank it down.&nbsp; Too little, too late, she thought.&nbsp; She might not be doing anything, but she was aware; she read everything.&nbsp; She had every news report on missing kids tacked to the wall in her apartment. There was a pattern and it was fast approaching time for another news article reporting another missing child...or death.&nbsp; But, there were other things happening that were explained away with medical words.&nbsp; Al didn't believe them. <br><br>She kept working on the cocoa mint drink, glancing at the bartender's guide as she carefully put it together, feeling the mug to make sure she didn't scald the man.<br><br>The man at the counter looked around and asked what that was about.&nbsp; She stared at him, swallowing roughly.&nbsp; <br><br>"A kid goes missing, second weekend every month for the past four months...a kid goes missing."&nbsp; She met the guy's eyes with her own pale blue stare, then moved to take the mug to (Leof) the other man at the bar.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 08:16:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Wondering if he shouldn't scout the area after all...sooner rather than later.</strong><br><br>Jason nodded solemnly to the woman that had gotten chewed out when she had walked in.&nbsp; So, just what he had heard already then about the whole affair.&nbsp; Kids going missing, the police didn't have a clue, (of course,) and it was going to happen again unless something was done.&nbsp; "I'm sorry I asked ma'am.&nbsp; I will say, that it won't happen again, not if I can do anything about it."&nbsp; He didn't care what she would think about him as he finished his beer, putting the empty bottle on the bar before turning his back to the bartender behind the counter, facing the crowd at large.&nbsp; "Before you ask, let's just say I've dealt with this kind of thing before.&nbsp; I might be a stranger, but the police have no clue what's going on, am I right?&nbsp; They're looking in the wrong places, and they believe things are normal, and that the shadows contain nothing more than what can be seen with the naked eye."<br><br>Maybe it was the booze talking, but Jason didn't care how he sounded at the moment.&nbsp; Killing the Wendigo hadn't been fun despite the fact he had done the world a service.&nbsp; Every monster he killed just added more fuel to his fire, not less.&nbsp; He just wanted to find the demon that had killed his old man, after that he'd settle down.&nbsp; Yeah, and pigs would fly out of his ass first.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 08:19:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He stared, long and hard at the TV.&nbsp; Shit. <em>Their's a pattern to this. </em> He seemed to be completely out of it, buried deep in his thoughts. Life was full of patterns, and he did his best to try and see them, try to figure out how everything worked.&nbsp; This was not an easy task.<br><br>It took right up until he smelled the aroma of his drink being set before him to snap him out of whatever thoughts he was preoccupied with. When he did snap out of it, he offered&nbsp; Al a weak smile. "Thanks." He said, somewhat distractedly. Unlike most people here, he didn't call her doll/cutey/babe/insert-your-own-degrading-compliment-here. He never did that to anyone.<br><br>He seemed to mentally retreat into his own little world, once more, however. Something had to be done. The police...they probably knew about the pattern, but were choosing not to report it so people didn't freak out. But would they actually do anything about it? As time went on, he had greatly lost confidence in their ability to do anything besides hand out tickets to people.<br><br>Something had to be done. Maybe, when the time came, he'd find himself out there, and he'd put a stop to it all. End the pattern. But that, he chastised himself, was reckless. What good would it do to get himself killed? He hadn't a clue of what it could be, or how many of 'it' could be there. Was it one, or a dozen? Was it some psychopathic human, or something far, far worse?<br><br>With no information of what it could possibly be, he saw running in as a suicidal gambit. He found himself in a situation he's been in before: wanting so very much to be able to do something, but not having the power (or, in this case, the knowledge) to actually do anything worthwhile.<br><br>He sighed heavily, and seemed to forget about what company he had had with him, and just drank, his expression bleak. He couldn't even enjoy the After Dinner Mint now; he just didn't want to waste it.<br><br>...Wait, what the hell was Jason saying? He nearly spat out his drink when he heard the man talk, but managed to swallow it. He snorted derisively, though. "&nbsp; Looks like you're not big on subtlety, are you?" He gave a shake of his head. The way he was talking, he sounded like some hot shot hunter who thought he was Rambo.&nbsp; An attitude he's seen before, and one he despises. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 08:35:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Al Garvey</strong>, Simon's Bull barmaid <br><br>Al watched the man drink the ADM, wary.&nbsp; And, then the beer-drinker began to talk.&nbsp; Oh boy, she thought-last drink for him.&nbsp; She moved back down the bar, standing up on the shelf under the bar to reach over the expanse of scarred oak to give the guy's jacket a tug.<br><br>(to JJ)"Hey, sailor, you might want to throttle back on the oration...uhhhh...speech-making.&nbsp; It's a sure way to get a bloody nose or worse."&nbsp; He might attract attention and that was the last thing you wanted to do, Al thought.&nbsp; Announcing yourself as Don Quixote was as good as painting a series of concentric circles on your back.&nbsp; She smiled at the man.&nbsp; "How about some nice, hot coffee?"&nbsp; Al already had a mug set on the bar, the Bunn pot in her hand.&nbsp; She filled the mug and set the pot back on the warming plate, idly giving the barbell in her left eyebrow a rub.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 08:44:59</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				((Last post of the night.))<br><br><strong>Jason Jefferson - Chuckling to himself since the barmaid was a dumb as she looked apparently.</strong><br><br>Jason was intrigued by the reaction he got from Leof, his face and his nonverbal response all the evidence he needed that he too had seen what went bump in the night.&nbsp; He had more reason to talk to him then, although not in such a public place probably since he had most likely attracted enough attention as it were.&nbsp; Turning to Allison, the former Marine chuckled aloud, shaking his head a couple of times before responding.&nbsp; "For a barmaid, you certainly know some pretty big words there.&nbsp; You didn't have to correct yourself by the way, I'm not stupid.&nbsp; As for my being drunk, unless you think I'm the cheapest drunk there is, this is the first one I've had all day, lady.&nbsp; But, I won't say no to the coffee because I have a long road ahead of me unless you can provide directions to that place, Devil Bat Cave.&nbsp; If I'm gonna do my job, I need to take a look at where all this shit's been happening, preferably before another kid goes missing."<br><br>Turning to Leofwine and his lady friend, Jason did wink as he asked.&nbsp; "So, since you know the same thing I do, and maybe it's the booze talking despite my saying I hadn't had enough to affect my judgment at all, care to go with me?&nbsp; I could use a partner, or more likely someone to go ahead of me in case whoever uses that place once a year, every year decides to spring a trap on us."&nbsp; He was purposely trying to push the man away so he wouldn't get in his own way and end up dead most likely.&nbsp; Jason was a loner, and he was hopefully discouraging Leofwine from heading out there, at least while he was planning to do the same thing, by himself like an ass but he didn't care.&nbsp; He had watched his father die, he wasn't about to watch someone else do the same.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 14:03:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Distracted&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br><strong>"What have you heard about Cape Merrin? I might be able to shed some light on it." </strong><br><br>Delilah was about to speak up when the news broadcast came on, provoking a mirthless laugh.&nbsp; "Fuck, now if that ain't <em>some</em> timing."&nbsp; She turned to him, tapping a finger on the bar and letting her chains jangle.&nbsp; "These killin's.&nbsp; What's yer take on 'em?&nbsp; Some sick nutter with a thing fer cave decoration?"<br><br>Her first instinct had been shifters.&nbsp; Then again, her first instinct was <em>always</em> shifters.&nbsp; There were plenty of disgusting monstrosities prowling around in the dark places of the world, but when it came to those silver-eyed skin-walkers she had the most debilitating case of tunnel vision.&nbsp; This time, however, she was reminded of something else.<br><br>"Figure it might be more than one sack o' shit.&nbsp; I seen somethin' similar to this up in Rhode Island once.&nbsp; Some kinda cult up in Providence, catchin' animals 'n leavin' 'em on display.&nbsp; I remember seein' one o' the scenes in person.&nbsp; Was a swan, y'know.&nbsp; A big god damn beautiful swan, skin ripped clean off its skull and body laid up against an ugly stone.&nbsp; Wings spread wide, you woulda sworn an angel had fallen to Earth.&nbsp; Fuckin' twisted up the heart just ta look at it."<br><br>She turned back to Michael, shaking her head at the unpleasant memory.&nbsp; "Gotta wonder sometimes what they think all that killin' will bring about.&nbsp; Fuckin' pagans 'n satan worshippers."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 16:07:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Definitely interested in everyone who knows something. </tt></em></div><br>Micheal hadn't even bothered to listen to the T.V as Louie turned it up, he was some what close to figuring out when and where the killings took place. It seemed the Devils Bat Cave became pretty popular. He grabbed his now refilled beer mug, and drank several swallows from it. It seemed one of the foreigners was a hunter, and he was ready to Leroy Jenkins DBC in hopes of getting himself killed. Micheal wasn't going to let that happen. Micheal sat the beer down and right as he was about to get up he felt the gentle tap of Delilah's fingers on the bar. Turning back to look at her he remained silent, and walked away. <br><br>Standing about mid room between Delilah and the trio Micheal let out a soft sigh. Putting his hands in his endless pockets of his hoodie. Clearing his throat he spoke loud so that his voice would catch everyones ear in the bar. It was too late for subtlety thanks to one of the foreigners. "Alright it seems like some of us in here know a little more about these killings then most. We don't know what or who is doing it, but we know there are things that go bump in the night." He looked at Jason for a second and then his traveled to Leof, followed by the girl they were sitting with. Making it back to Delilah. <br><br>"Now I know how some of you might feel about these killings, and I know how it makes me feel. I would drive over to Devils Bat Cave myself and do what I do best, but for right now. We sit and wait for Otis to arrive. If we are going to make any kind of move tonight. Then we don't move until we've spoken to Otis. He's the man you've all been speaking about, and he's the man that saved my life. So I'm sure some of you can keep your spurs from jingling at least until he gets here." <br><br>Micheal wasn't much of a talker, but he didn't want to see another news broadcast about the finding of a dead body. At least not until it's due date. Hopefully he was able to convince mainly Jason to stay put, but to be honest he couldn't stop the man, and he wasn't going to fight the man for doing what's right. There was a time for charging the Bastille and there is a time for being smart. This is one of those times for being smart. Micheal felt like he had just put himself center stage for questions really, and he was going to kick himself in the ass if he had to answer any, but he had to make sure no made a move. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 16:57:39</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Walking to Simon's Bull</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>Scene Soundtrack [noembed]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VXkB-t1gW4o[/noembed] <br><br><hr>&nbsp; <br><br>Samantha was a good thirty minutes from the outskirts of town as she walked back from Devil Bat Cave. It was raining and the young prostitute had disregarded her fishnet top and wore a old black hoodie over her bra. The hood was pulled over her long black tresses, as the fabric soaked up the rain. <br><br>Her head was down cast as she reached the main road. Her black boots made small splashes in the puddles on the side walk. Over hanging canopies shielded some rain as she headed down. Cape Merrin was like a whore. Cold and bitter, and when the night made its debut she would spread her well worn legs and spew for the cess pool of people. <br><br>Sam continued on, the soft glow of street lights and building signs lit the way. It bathed everything in a haze like vision. Much like her memories. She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool night air. Her thoughts drifted back to the night of her rape. <br><br>The memoires plagued her. Not because she remembered them vividly, but because they seemed more diluted as she went on in life. In some recollections she would see <em>him</em> as a angelic creature. Swooping down and delivering swift justice to Billy. Other times she remembered <em>him</em> as a demon. Crawling out of Billy's skin and raping her himself. <br><br>She could vaguely remember, his name. <em>Azrael</em>. That was it. Samantha glanced up, realizing she had made her way to Cobb Theater all ready. Above the word <em>"Dusk"</em> was imprinted. A new movie, she gathered. <br><br>The theater must have released all ready, as swarms of young teenagers pooled out into the side walk and street. Everything seemed to slow down for her. She could see them laughing, and enjoying themselves. It seemed so distant... <br><br>"Oh my god! Eddie is like totally hot! I just dig the whole 'tortured Vampire love' thing." A blond girl said, as Sam walked behind her and her brunette friend. <br><br>"Like, I know! I just don't know why he wouldn't turn Belle into a vampire. I mean, they are totally in love." the brunette chirped in, the two of them giggling as they walking on. <br><br>"I wouldn't mind having Eddie slip into my bed room and give me a little bite." The blond said, giggling. <br><br>"Your such a slut! I would just love the chance to live forever. Like, so romantic." the brunette replied. <br><br>The two girls glanced back, noticing Sam walking behind them. "Hey. Is that one of those hookers? You know. The ones near that shitty bar.." the Blond leaned into the brunette's ear and whispered. <br><br>They both glanced back, then turned around quickly. "I think your right. She looks like one of those teen prostitutes from date line." The brunette commented. "Hey, dare me to ask her?" <br><br>The blond girl grinned and nodded. <br><br>"Hey, are you like a hooker or somethin'?" The brunette turned around to call out. <br><br>They both laughed and then trotted off ahead, not wanting to hear what Sam had to say. Sam lifted her head up, watching them descend into the darkness up ahead. "....yes..." was Sam's reply. <br><br>The wind howled as it flung cold rain against Sam's exposed ablaster skin. Her skirt kicking up. She was wearing torn black stockings, but it did nothing to shield the smooth legs from the weather. <br><br>Samantha continued up the street, now only a few blocks away from Simon's Bull. It was there that she stopped suddenly. Something did not feel right. Her eyes glanced around in the darkness and took notice as a pool of street rats busted out from a near by alley. within them steppes out a gaunt looking figure. His hat tilts to one side as she could see his face. <br><br>He was a wretched looking man. "Good evening, childe." The odd looking man said. "where is you maker? Has he gone off and left you without conveying anything of the rules?” he asked. <br><br>Sam stood still. Something felt familiar about him. She did not like the fact that she felt more in his presence then she did with the girls earlier. Her cold blue eyes looked him over. Her hands remained in the pockets of her hoodie, balled into fists. "Who are you....?" she inquired slowly. <br><br>“I am Ludolf, and you are leaving messes near my home, little girl. I do not appreciate cleaning up after children who don’t know how to take care of themselves. What do you suppose we do about your little indiscretion at Devil Bat Cave, eh?” came his answer.<br><br>Samantha wanted to leave. Wanted to run to Simon's Bull, but curiosity had taken a hold of her. She had never seen one of her kind before. Except for <em>him</em>. "...what rules? I don't have a lot of money. I don't know what you would want..." she said aloud, staring at him directly in the eyes as the pool of rats withered in an orgy of fur around him. Their beady little eyes staring intently at her. <br><br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 20:40:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Considering giving 'Mr High and Mighty' a piece of his mind, as well as his boot to the face.</strong><br><br>"Who died and made you leader again?"&nbsp; Was Jason's reply after the man's little speech, even if he had a few valid points.&nbsp; Yes, going out there alone was a dangerous idea, a fatal one if you weren't prepared, but the more time they wasted talking about it the chances of another child being taken and killed increased at the same time.&nbsp; Grunting softly, Jason didn't get up out of his chair, but he did let his eyes focus intently on the man that had opened his big mouth.&nbsp; "Has anyone ever punched in the face for talking too much?&nbsp; Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don't have a clue who this Otis fellow is that you're all so interested in, having only heard his name at the gas station coming in to Cape Merrin.&nbsp; Something about how his family was mauled by a bear or something, although the way the old man told the story has made me wonder what the truth is and all.&nbsp; It just didn't ring true.&nbsp; At any rate, no matter the story, if you try to stop me from leaving when I choose to leave, I might just toss you out that door.&nbsp; For now, only because I'm curious, I'm sticking around.&nbsp; Just stay out of my way otherwise."<br><br>He wasn't ungrateful for the man's concern, but Jason didn't take orders from people he just met, and he was making that abundantly clear right then.&nbsp; Turning back to the bar, Jason tapped the bar, Wayward Son stuck in his head from hearing it on the radio earlier.&nbsp; Sighing heavily, he turned back to the crowd slowly and looked to Micheal, mentally kicking himself for what he was about to say but...he didn't know what else to say now he had made himself an ass in front of everyone.&nbsp; His dad would have slapped him upside his head for that.&nbsp; "Sorry man.&nbsp; I realize you're trying to help, just coming into town and having some....wild beast chase me down didn't put me in a good mood.&nbsp; I probably have a couple of dents in my bumper from letting it slam into the back of my car at eighty miles an hour when I hit the brakes before running it down when it landed in front of my ride.&nbsp; So, while I'm normally the loner type, I'm not normally this rude to people, and for that I do apologize."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 20:55:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Terribly amused.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>"Lookit you, gettin' yer britches riled so high!" Delilah said, all in good fun.&nbsp; "Take yerself fer the stalwart protector o' this here little town, Michael?"<br><br>She turned in her chair, laying a heavy, chain-swaddled arm on the bar with a dull clank.&nbsp; "In my experience, when people wanna do somethin', 'n I mean <em>really</em> got the fire burnin' in 'em to do more than just stand around, they'll walk right into hell no matter how many times ya warn 'em.&nbsp; 'N sometimes all it takes is one person willin' ta do just that ta set things straight again.&nbsp; 'N sometimes it just adds another corpse onto the pile.&nbsp; Who can fuckin' guess, right?"<br><br>Draining the last of her beer, Delilah wiped a few flecks from her lips and rolled her shoulders.&nbsp; "I've heard o' Otis, but I damn well ain't here ta see him.&nbsp; Just here ta get piss drunk, nothin' more."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>02-05-2011, 22:47:36</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Diane was quiet as the news mentioned the deaths of the children in the area and then everyone started to get all riled up. Just her luck that she'd chosen the one night hunters of all kinds were just randomly showing up at the bar. She listened to Michael's quiet speech, agreeing with him completely, and then Jason's awkward apology. That guy was too hot in the head and likely to get someone killed – if they did all end up working together, they were gonna have to watch him.<br><br>After the other woman's proclamation of wanting to get drunk and nothing more, Diane turned around to face the rest of the group. She was small, much smaller than all of them now she thought about it, but it didn't bother her. Biting her lip softly, she looked at each of them in turn and then gathered up her things.<br><br>When she spoke, her voice was light, as if they were doing nothing more than talking about going for a walk – her accent falling back into its slow honey drip. "It's pretty obvious that <em>somethin'</em> brought us here all together. Be it the killin's or somethin' else. And while some of us may wanna run in guns blazin'," she gave Jason a pointed look, softening it with a small smile, "I'm in agreement with him." She gestured at the guy who'd spoken and gave him a wry grin. "So, I say we go sit in a dark corner like the obviously conspicuous group that we are and wait for Otis to show up. And I say we compare notes meanwhile, see if we can solve this thin' any faster."<br><br>She stood up and shrugged her shoulders, feeling all of twelve years old for how small they made her look. "Well?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mhina</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 01:40:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Abigail sighed as she looked down at the man lying on the pavement. She never understood these people. They had so many chances to make something decent of themselves, so many chances to accept the grace of the Lord and yet they still chose to live like vermin. It filled her with a rage so fierce it sometimes frightened her. Didn't they realize they had been placed on earth as creatures unique? To have dominion over the world was the role of humanity, cast in God's image. How could anyone squander such a wonderful gift? As a child she had blamed it on ignorance. She had believed her father, that some people had not yet seen the light simply because they were ignorant of its presence. Some people led hard lives, he had explained, and so it was hard for them to believe. They were lost, and needed someone to guide them to the light. As she grew up however, Abigail had begun to see the foolishness in this belief. Maybe it was true for some, but the majority of the masses were ignorant by choice. They simply didn't want to see the light, and their continued existence was a blight on the world.<br><br>She leaned down and looked curiously at him. He was another one of the vermin, serving no purpose but to consume. An angry purple bruise was spreading across his neck. He was much larger than she was, but he hadn't been expecting to be struck in the neck with the short length of rebar she kept in her sleeve. she hadn't even needed to take it out, she had simply swung her arm at his neck and he had crumpled to the ground, gagging. She stood back up, sighing. "So pitiful." She said, shaking her head. "I offered you the chance to be saved and yet you continued to mock me. I will give you the chance to repent for your sins. Remember, suffering is a part of redemption. It is through our pain we are able to become pure."<br><br>The man hacked and sneered at her. "Fuck...you...you psychotic bitch!" He shouted, his voice raspy. He reached out to grab at her ankle but she pulled away, stomping on his hand and causing him to howl in pain. "No!" She shouted, kicking him in the ribs. "You. Aren't. Repenting. Hard. Enough!" Each word punctuated by another kick to the abdomen. She had tried it her father's way. She had tried to be nice and spread the Word of God to this lost soul. But what had it gotten her? Insults! Insults and mocking laughter. No. She had tried and failed. Now she would do it her way.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 01:50:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Oh. My. God. Do these...people not realize that they are fucking painting targets on their back, with the way they're talking? Leof just sits there, shaking his head, and downs the rest of his drink. He takes out his wallet, and sets down a ten on the counter, and puts his mug on top of it. Enough for his two drinks, and a few bucks for a tip for Al. <br><br>Leofwine was now quite torn. He wanted to have nothing to do with the loud people; maybe it was just because the one person went shooting his mouth off, and that just set off dominoes, but he was not fond of how everyone was reacting. If their was even one supernatural critter here, he imagined, everybody that's spoken out loudly is going to get marked.&nbsp; All the same, Leofwine did want to do something, and knew he needed help. <br><br>"<em>If you're meeting here,</em>" he said, <span class="bbc_u"><em>quietly</em></span>, towards Diane. He was not looking at her, but instead, looking over his helmet, possibly for scratches or dents or something. "<em>Send me the spark notes, will ya? All this loud chatter is just going to draw out bad attention.</em>" He spoke calmly, casually, and people might be tempted to think he is not berating them for a complete lack of subtlety.&nbsp; Realistically speaking, Diane's the only one who should really be able to hear his voice, considering how quiet he was. <br><br>"Mind watching my stuff, Diane?" he'd suddenly say aloud, in a normal tone of voice. "Gotta visit a stall." He said with a light chuckle as he stood up, and went off to the bathroom to take a piss. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Reia</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 04:14:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Diane glanced over at Leof and nodded. She knew that they were being incredibly obvious and it wass making every nerve ending tingle. If it hadn't been for that loud mouthed –<br><br>No need to wonder about 'what ifs' and 'maybes' is what her momma had always said. <em>Best to keep that pretty head of yours clear and thinking straight, baby. It's a lot easier to think of a plan that way.</em> She looked down at Leof's stuff and decided that regardless of what any of the others thought, she wanted to sit in a dark corner anyway.<br><br>Picking up the other helmet, she turned to the bartender, a pretty girl with dark hair and blue eyes. "I'm movin' over to that table," Diane tilted her head towards a table off to the side and with a view of the whole place, "could ya bring me some tequila with salt and lime?" She flashed the girl a bright smile before stepping away and making her way to the table.<br><br>She sat down and scooted over all the way to the wall, placing her helmet and Leof's on the table. Right now she really didn't care about kids or being a target or anything, she wanted to soothe the migraine she could feel coming and find a cheap bed to curl up in.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 05:27:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Simon’s BullCape Merrin</span></strong><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">The quiet chatter and clink of pool balls coming from the other parts of the bar settled down in response to JJ’s announcement against the police. A couple of men at the back of the bar stood near the pool table. One of them had a beer gut, thick mutton chops and a handlebar mustache. His hair was tied back in a black bandana with Jolly Rogers on it. Sunglasses were perched on top of his head—like he’d come in and started drinking before the sun had set. This man cocked his head, looked over at his friend, and said, in a thick Maine accent, “Eh, Jonah, this city slicker—heah—” gesturing toward JJ, “he’s insultin’ Cape Merrin’s finest. You gonnah stand by and lissen ‘a that?” The other man, taller and more muscular than Mutton Chops tossed his pool cue back and forth from one hand to another, looking angry. “Mah brothah’s on the force, pissant—watch your mouth.”</span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">The two men glared for a while and slowly went back to playing pool—the tension in the bar was thick. Most of the people that frequented Simon’s Bull were working class laborers or washed out drunks. The drunks were starting to get a little worried a ruckus was going to spill their beloved spirits and a slow exodus began before Micheal’s impromptu speech began.</span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Some of the bleary-eyed drunks turned their attention to Micheal as they were at the door, leaving. His words precipitated their hasty departure, and after his speech was done, Mutton Chops and Cop’s Brother approached the bar. Their stroll casual, and easy. Mutton Chops leaned across the bar and looked straight at Louie: “Lookit, Lou, we don’ come in heah to hear no crazy talkin’, no bullshit, no smartass loonies. We come in here tah drink and play a lil pool. Simon’s Bull needs a bouncer, or you need tah get St. Agnes’s psych ward out here.” After this little speech, he surveyed the group of people around the bar, his eyes conveying a sort of working man’s disgust at the ridiculousness of these people’s claims. “And I mean, fast,” he finished. Shaking his head, Mutton Chops taps Cop’s Brother and leads him out of the bar.</span><br><br><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Mutton Chops and Cop’s Brother stumble out into the chill drizzle and are confronted with the sight of a mad woman in a cassock kicking a man repeatedly. They look at each other, shrug, and Cop’s Brother sticks his head back inside the bar door and says, “Ay, Lou! Call the CMPD, some crazy bitch is kicking the shit out of a homeless guy out here.” With a slight sneer, he looks over at some of the people still remaining in the bar and says, “Maybe one of you tough guys wants to come take care of this for the pathetic Cape Merrin cops, eh?” He withdraws his head, and the two men head off toward a battered Chevy pickup with a rifle rack in the back of the cab. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 06:01:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Allison "Al" Garvey</strong> - Simon's Bull barmaid<br><br>Al felt the rock in her stomach enlarge as the men spoke.&nbsp; She glanced around, wondering who was paying attention and who was running off to tell others of the hunters who were here.&nbsp; <br><br>She jumped a little when (Diane) the woman spoke to her, but hurried to her.&nbsp; She slid the bottles and mugs off the bar, ran the money into the till and then grabbed a tray and set a bowl of limes, a couple of salt shakers and a bottle of Cabo Wabo in the center.&nbsp; O.K. So, she liked it because it was Sammy Hagar's tequila.&nbsp; It was good, too.&nbsp; Al added a stack of napkins and an empty bowl for the rinds, then set some shot glasses on the tray, unsure if the woman was ordering for herself or the table.<br><br>Al took a step to the side when the beefy pool players accosted Louie over the counter.&nbsp; She listened to them, watching without hiding her interest as was her usual method.&nbsp; <br><br>When they walked out, she gave Louie a look, wondering how he'd react.&nbsp; Not good, if history was any indicator of how he took customer "input."&nbsp; Al jerked around at Cop's Brother as he poked back into the bar.&nbsp; <br><br>She stared for a moment of wonder that the two big guys wouldn't take on a woman.&nbsp; "Jesus fucking christ," Al muttered, grabbing an empty bottle and ducking under the counter to run to the door.<br><br>"Hey!" Al yelled, spotting the woman--a not very big woman at that--wailing on a guy who was down.&nbsp; "Knock it off!"&nbsp; She looked back at the room, pointedly at the table of man's protectors.&nbsp; "Uh...a little help..." she said.&nbsp; She had broken up more than her share of bar fights, but there was something wrong about the way the woman was muttering...WAS it a woman?&nbsp; She looked around the door once more...it looked like one, but...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 06:19:54</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Pleasantly drunk and pleasantly ready to punch someone.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>"This shit's way too fuckin' heavy fer <em>me</em>," Delilah said suddenly, slapping a few bills on the counter top and getting somewhat uneasily to her feet.&nbsp; She gave the others an odd look, making some sort of vague gesture in the air.&nbsp; "Ya'll kin have fun with--well, with whatever the fuck it is that's up with ya'll."<br><br>As she passed on by Michael she slipped him a piece of paper with a sly smile and a wink, her heavy combat boots clomping all the way to the door.&nbsp; The napkin had a number written on it--looks like he made a better impression than he might have thought!&nbsp; Of course, he'd have no way of knowing it was actually the phone number of a BDSM club down in Florida.&nbsp; Some habits never change.<br><br>Practically kicking the damn door off its hinges, Delilah strolled out after Al and arched her brow at the chick that was having a grand 'ole time going to town on some sorry sack of piss and shit on the ground.&nbsp; She sauntered over with just the slightest sway of inebriation and made to slap a hand on Abigail's shoulder.<br><br>"Hey.&nbsp; Not sayin' he didn't do somethin' to warrant a good kick to the nads, but yer gonna fuckin' bust somethin' if ya don't quit it.&nbsp; This git don't look like he's got the money fer a hospital bill."<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 06:46:01</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Reginald Barker -- Another Endless Nightshift<br><br>"Just give us the damn popcorn, loser; this is not that hard! What the hell, are you retarded or something?" "Jesus, he must be. He works here, doesn't he?" "Haha, yeah, man. Hey, what the hell are you looking at, asshole? We said we want popcorn, so get us our fucking popcorn!" "And some sodas too." "Think you can handle that, Captain Dipshit?"<br><br>Reginald felt his face burning as he scrambled behind the ticket / concession counter, filling flimsy cardboard cartons and cups with stale, butter-slimed popcorn and watered-down soda. Tonight's tormentors, a pair of high school jocks and their vapid eye candy girlfriends, were trying to run him ragged, changing their orders and demanding discounts for slow service. An elderly couple stood well back from the counter, waiting their turn to order; they watched Reggy's humiliation, clearly distressed for the young man, but remained silent. He gave them both a weak smile before he turned back to ring up the teenagers' orders.<br><br>"Um, that's...$47.92, guys," Reggy said, his voice even smaller than usual. The two jocks stopped laughing and high-fiving each other, and turned to look at him menacingly. Well, as menacingly as a pair of steroid-wasted, meathead goons could manage, which to Reggy was pretty goddamned menacing. He swallowed hard, but did his best not to wither under their gaze, and they stepped up their bullying.<br><br>"What the hell are you talking about, douchebag? We're not paying no forty-seven bucks for your shitty popcorn!" "Dude, are you fucking high? Give us our fuckin' snacks and shut the hell up!" "Tell him, Joey!" One of the girls piped up, apparently determined not to be left out of her boyfriend's amusement. Reginald's eyes flickered from the cash register display down to his shoes, grateful that at least there weren't many other customers to deal with.<br><br>"B-but...four j-jumbo popcorns, extra butter, four extra large sodas, a bowl of nachos, and a b-box of mints, it's...it's $47.92...if, if you don't pay...I can't..."<br><br>The taller goon, probably Joey, almost jumped over the counter and grabbed Reggy's collar with one hand, and screamed in his face. "I don't give a shit about what we ordered, you little shit! I told you to give us our fucking snacks, or I'm gonna beat the fucking shit out of your worthless ass! Now do as you're fucking told, you sorry little faggot!"<br><br>Reggy cowered behind the counter, his eyes squeezed shut, and he felt the bastard's spittle land on his cheek, hot and disgusting. His hands balled into fists again and again, clenching and unclenching, but the nerve to use them never came. Without another word, he gathered the buckets and cups and shoved them across the counter, desperate to placate the vultures and just make them leave. His head hung low as they snatched at the food like starving monkies on crack, their laughter trailing behind them as they walked away and pushed through the double doors to Screen 2.<br><br>His hands were still shaking when the old couple approached, and he plastered on a glaringly fake smile. "H-hi! What can I get for you this evening?" Reggy blinked away the start of a tear and hoped the old man wouldn't notice, but his wife did. THe look of pity on both their faces hurt almost as much as the bully's fist at his throat. He swallowed again and turned away from them, pretending to be cleaning the countertop. "Can I...um, can I interest you in one of the specials, maybe? Tickets are $6.75, and we've got...fresh popcorn," He said weakly, wanting nothing in the world so much as to pretend that everything was normal, just fine, of course no one had just witnessed his emotional beating.<br><br>"You know, son, sometimes in life, you gotta stand up for yourself. You gotta draw a line in the sand, and say, 'I'll be pushed this far, and no farther!'. Some people, they're just monsters, through and through, and if you let em they'll walk all o'er you. And if they do it to you, they might think they can do it to others. So you can't let em, son. Sometimes, you just gotta make a stand, even if it hurts, because you might be the only one who can," said the old man, his voice low and quavering. His wife nodded silently, and gave Reginald a warm, kind smile. <br><br>In that moment, it took every last ounce of self-control Reggy had not to break down in tears. They both seemed to understand, and gave the young man a moment to regain his composure. When he felt like he could speak again without the dam breaking, he smiled shakily. "I...I'll try, sir. Now, um...what would you like?"<br><br>After ripping their ticket stubs and fixing their popcorn, Reggy was slightly dumbfounded to see the old woman take out a thick roll of bills from her small purse and begin counting out much more than they owed. "Oh ma'am, your total is only $11.20, you don't --" "Yes, young man, but I'm going to cover the cost of what those hooligans stole, as well. I'm sure it will only be taken out of your pay, and that just wouldn't be right."<br><br>For a moment, Reg could only stare at the woman, open-mouthed, as she quietly counted out the additional cost. He tried his best to remember, but he was certain: this was the first act of kindness anyone had shown him in more than ten years. His throat tightened, and he reached out gently to touch her hand and stop her counting. "Ma'am, I...thank you. Thank you very much, but I just can't take your money. What those guys did, it's...it's my responsibility, ma'am. Please, I'll...I'll take care of it," he said, as a single tear finally managed to crash through his defenses and spill down over his smile.<br><br>Her husband stood behind her, hands in his pockets and a gleam in his eye, and he offered Reginald an approving nod as his wife acquiesced to the young man's decision. Reggy felt ten feet tall as the old couple walked, arm in arm, through the swinging doors of Screen 1. He took a deep breath, ignoring the stink of burnt cheese and cloying butter-grease, and smiled softly. After a few more minutes cleaning up the counters and re-ordering the inventory, Reggy locked up the concessions and the register and left the front.<br><br>He pushed through the small, black "Employees Only" door near the back wall and unbuttoned his red and purple vest, stuffed it into his cubby locker and withdrew the book. Or, as he had come to think of it, The Book. Ever since he'd found it in the library a few weeks before, it had been worming its way into his thoughts, like a song that he couldn't stop humming or a picture that wouldn't vacate his brain. <em><span class="bbc_u">The Book of Sorrows</span></em>, the book that countless websites and chatrooms assured him was only a myth, the book that hours upon hours of research promised him didn't exist, was only a hoax, the book that tantalized him with images of power and ideas of authority.<br><br>The book that he took with him upstairs, out onto the roof of the theater.<br><br>He wandered toward the far end of the building, his tennis shoes scuffing noiselessly on the dry concrete. The Cobb Theater marquis sign, all lit in bright neon yellows and blues except for the blackened letter 'h', shone like a beacon of tackiness on the burg of Cape Merrin. Reggy stood with his back to the sign, leaning against the rusted railing, and opened the book to the page he'd folded down the night before. If his translations had been right (and chances were iffy, but not impossible), it was a spell to grant its caster the power to control minds. Visions of the teenaged jerks becoming his mind-slaves danced before his eyes, until he shook them away. Concentration, that's what this took. He couldn't afford distractions.<br><br>As he read over the words once again, preparing himself mentally and re-familiarizing himself with their spoken cadence, a crash sounded from the alley below. At first, Reggy ignored the sound, expecting a cat or maybe a racoon digging through a trashcan. Then another crash jerked his attention back from the book, and he rolled his eyes in self-disgust.<br><br><em>'Some sorcerer I am, can't even ignore a damn cat in a garbage can to cast a spell...'</em> Reginald thought as he walked toward the rooftop corner. Peering over the edge, the light from the marquis and the street lamps was too weak to illuminate the alley. But Reggy was certain he heard something down there. Something rustling. And growling...<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 06:50:52</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><em><tt class="bbc_tt">Micheal - Ready for a drink before kicking someones teeth. </tt></em></div><br>Micheal had had it up to here with this loner. His words only antagonized Micheal, and it didn't help as Delilah added her own little taunt, even if it wasn't ill intended. He gritted his tenth as he clenched his fist, and took one step forward about to give Jason the ass kicking of a life time. Though hearing him speak again killed all ill intentions, an apology wasn't necessary but Micheal was no longer wronged. "You've got my respect," he said as he watched the guy walk off towards the bathroom. He shook his head in desperate need of a drink. Two locals were also pushing buttons they didn't want to push, but Micheal knew better. Of course to them they were talking crazy, but if one of them died in front of the other by the so called monsters. Then I told you so would taste so sweet. <br><br>About to head to the bar Micheal caught Delilah out the corner of his eye stopping in his tracks again. He felt the small piece of paper enter his hand and finally took his leave to the bar. Slipping the paper in his pants, he would forget all about it after a few more drinks. "What the fuck!" Micheal roared as he turned around in his stool rather aggravated now. Apparently some woman was beating up on a poor guy. Micheal just shrugged and turned back to the bar. He didn't care about a man getting his ass whooped for something he probably deserved to have his ass beat for. Gesturing to Louie Micheal had his brew in hand in no time, and as he drank he smoke. All was normal again. Though the tension built up was still a shade of red. To himself he though, <em>Otis do make it here soon. </em> He took another drink from his beer, and began to block out his surroundings. Drowning himself in his dark thoughts, and the beer that made his thoughts easy to come by. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mhina</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 07:15:32</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				As though at a great distance, Abigail could hear a shout. It may have been addressed at her, but it hardly mattered. She was far too busy to be caught up in anything else at the moment. She dug her heel into the man's spleen and smiled grimly as he wheezed, his spittle flecked with red. This was how it had to be done! Her father, bless his soul, had been too kind to see it. But where he had been blinded her eyes were wide open. She had always believed in monsters, hadn't her mother told her the stories? But who was to say that all monsters were dressed in fangs and cloaked in darkness? No, the most dangerous monsters walked among them, wearing human skin. This man was human, but monster too. It would take much work to rid him of his sin, but it was God's work, and she relished the chance to do it. Suffering purges, purges until nothing is left but purity. She had learned that herself all those years ago. Now this man would learn it too.<br><br>He had long since stopped trying to fight her, simply lying still and moaning each time she kicked him. On occasions such as these, she liked to imagine the sinners as they would be after she had cured them, once they had repented and accepted the ways of the Lord. She could see this man renouncing his drinking and promiscuity, in favor of a life of quiet servitude. She wanted very much to grant him such a life and so had just taken the bar out of her sleeve when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She gave a startled shout and twisted, bringing her weapon around to face the newcomer. <br><br>The woman was at least a head taller than her, probably more, and had a very athletic build. Once upon a time, Abigail might have been envious. However, now she had no need to be. Her appearance was unimportant, and any strength she needed would be provided by God to his instrument. There had been times when she had attacked those that attempted to interrupt the redemption of lost souls, but now she held back, attempting to calm herself. "Excuse me, but I would appreciate it if you would leave me in peace." She said, turning back to the man moaning on the ground. He had started to crawl away, and Abigail delivered another kick to the ribs, halting him. "He will be fine I assure you. I am merely administering to his repentance. As you can see, he is very sorry, and is ready to renounce his life of sin. Pain will set him free, so I would ask you to not interrupt his salvation. You will only cause him harm."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 12:14:02</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				One of the things that the U.S Army had taught Cori was that idiots sometimes found themselves amongst their numbers, and most often sported the shiny ranks you had to respect. She was used to working for idiots, and she was used to making them look good while not accepting any of the credit for herself. Yet, if she wanted glories, then Michaels would have picked a different career path. Maybe something as mind-blowing as waitressing or something to do with the arts…<br><br>Except she didn’t have a creative bone in her body; violence seemed to be her only muse. And for the life she’s lived, Cori was oddly okay with that.<br><br>Somerset was no different than any other officer she wanted to roll her eyes at; he was pudgy, paranoid, and forgot that sometimes simple silence was the best answer. She didn’t understand why he got so worked up for the Feds, but they were considered the guilty pleasure of the police force; no one liked them around in public, but once alone, they wanted to be used and treated like willing whores for the men and women in uniform. For her, they were the Marines; a more elite group of individuals trained to handle those particular situations that needed tact and the right amount of leverage. But that didn’t mean she was pleased to see them making tracks in her field, which only stated that they didn’t think she could do her job properly.<br><br>For the first time, Cori Michaels found herself silently agreeing with the Captain. She’d just never admit to it.<br><br>She sat at her desk, neck craned to watch the taller man with a placid face like a true stoic, and appeared almost bored as her superior worked himself up into a mild panic, already coming to his conclusion before the jury returned. Inwardly the woman sighed, letting him finish gesturing and talking like an over excited kid witnessing his first car crash, before looking away and back down to the files orderly stacked on her desk.<br><br>“He’ll not buy it.” She turned a page, reading it for a couple seconds, analyzing the data and storing it in her memory for later use. Cori made sure to speak up again before Somerset could interrupt or destroy the silence. “Send the sharks in another direction; preferably away from the caves. If you want me to keep an eye on the Devil Bat then one less black SUV parked in the road, the better. Snyder thinks discrete is walking around like a burnt-out porn star and making pelvic thrusts in the direction of anything that has a cunt.”<br><br>Cori might lack certain subtleties herself. She was okay with that too.<br><br>“Tell them our sources and the evidence is leading us back to the park; the moment you tell them where we’ll be, they’ll try to be there first. Let them wander around and get lost in the dark while the professionals take care of it. We’re too busy to hold their hand in the dark and point out the obvious."<br><br>Sighing now, the detective closed the file she was reviewing while tucking it back in the drawer, locking it up tight. She stood next, shrugging back into her shoulder holster and adjusted the straps so that they sat flat and didn’t chafe her skin. Her jacket went over that, and a set of keys were quickly snatched from a dish, stuffed inside her pocket. “I was going to head there anyways.” Which was true; but she had thought stopping by for breakfast first would be a better idea. She couldn't remember the last time she ate; or when she had seen her bed. It was easy to do when there was nothing to greet you at home but blank white walls and expired condiments in the fridge.<br><br>"I'll call you if I find anything." Which was a lie, though she highly doubted that he'd see that. Too obvious.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 13:17:56</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Cold.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>Delilah's grip on Abigail's shoulder tightened.&nbsp; It wasn't meant to be painful, like some warning of an impending blow.&nbsp; It was controlling, as though the pressure of her fingers was a collar that the woman had spent many long years honing into vice.&nbsp; Though her breath stank unpleasantly of alcohol and cigarette smoke, in this she did not waver an inch.<br><br>"Now, I don't believe it's within yer right to bring another man his salvation," she said, her voice low and dangerous like a lick of fire just waiting for an excuse to lash out.&nbsp; "Call it whatever ya will, but the only thing a man kin bring to his fellow man is sufferin' 'n death.&nbsp; Now, I ain't spoken with <em>God</em> in quite some time, but I'm thinkin' he might have better plans fer ya than kickin' the ever lovin' shit out of someone who already spends his nights in the gutter."<br><br>She didn't budge, and she sure as hell didn't allow Abigail to budge one more inch in the direction of the beat up old man on the ground that was doing his damnedest to crawl out of range.&nbsp; When something wasn't right, it didn't matter whether it was your business or not.&nbsp; Sometimes one just had to <em>make</em> it their business, or feel more like a slug than a human being. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 17:48:20</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Trying not to laugh at the two drunks before him.</strong><br><br>He found it too hard not to laugh at the drunkards that had approached him.&nbsp; It looked like the one hadn't seen a treadmill since he had gotten out of high school.&nbsp; The other one he'd have to worry about to a degree, but they wouldn't be able to stand up against him if he was careful as Jason stood and glared back with just an intense gleam to his eyes.&nbsp; Slowly pulling the right sleeve of his jacket and black shirt up past the tattoo he had gotten for his time in the service, Jason smile became razor thin.&nbsp; "I am a former Marine, five years in Iraq and elsewhere in that desert landscape corner of the Earth.&nbsp; I've seen Hell first hand, and while I appreciate the fact you have a brother in the police force, I don't appreciate pissants who don't have enough brain cells to make electricity when rubbed together getting in my face.&nbsp; So, you want to step back or do you want me to lay you flat?"&nbsp; Jason asked in turn, just itching for a fight but he wouldn't strike first.&nbsp; That way, if questioned later, he would honestly say that he had defended himself and had given them plenty of warning before punches started to fly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-05-2011, 22:48:00</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Whilst relieving his bladder of its contents in a urinal in the men's room, Leofwine managed to miss a lot of what was happening out there.&nbsp; Thus, when he comes out to see that, like, half of the bar has emptied out, he has an appropriately dumbstruck expression. Diane was not at the bar, either, and his helmet was missing...but a brief glance around told him she had simply relocated. <br><br>He did his level best to ignore the blowhard at the bar (Jason), and instead settled over by Diane. "It's amazing what can happen in a few minutes, isn't it?" he spoke in reference to how quickly the bar scene had changed during his excursion to a restroom that was suitably dingy and dirty, considering the bar as a whole. <br><br>"So, anyways. I get the impression you like to hunt." He spoke quite casually.&nbsp; "Maine's good for that sort of thing." The way he was talking, you'd think he meant deer, and rabbit, and squirrel, and not the type of hunting their kind performed. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>04-05-2011, 05:26:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Allison "Al" Garvey</strong>, Simon's Bull barmaid and windmill tilter<br><br>Al vacillated between going to the downed man’s aid, backing-up the woman who was towering over the attacker, and doing her job.&nbsp; She glanced inside at Louie and saw him jerk his hands upward in a “what the hell?” gesture.&nbsp; The woman out on the street looked like she could handle the attacker.&nbsp; Yet, Al hated to turn away.&nbsp; She’d run from her mother’s body and she regretted it everyday, half expected the thing that was Gerry to come hunting for her. <br><br>Louie’s beady eyes on her made her dodge back inside.&nbsp; She trotted across the worn floor, her Chucks giving her good traction through spilled drinks and other liquids.<br><br>Al glared at Louie before picking up the packed tray and taking it to the table.<br><br>“Here you go, Miss,” Al said, moving up alongside Diane.&nbsp; She set the limes and salt on the table, placed two shot glasses and quickly filled them.<br><br>“Your change, sir,” she added slipping the money next to Leof and then taking the remaining glasses and the bottle back to the bar.&nbsp; She cast another dark look at Louie and headed out into the rain.<br><br>“Hey, do you need the cops?&nbsp; Maybe the paramedics?” Al called, trotting to the women, watching the man moving feebly out of the corner of her eyes.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>07-05-2011, 07:19:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Ludolf and Samantha</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Deserted Alley</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Ludolf’s face broke into a sort of disgusting imitation of a smile. “Don’t worry, childe. I don’t want your money, of that I have no little supply myself.” His voice was dry, papery, like he was desiccated, a dried bag of bones. His smile cut itself off and the ratty features of his face composed themselves: “We should talk somewhere more private,” he added. As he spoke, he made a small gesture to the rats, and they responded by sweeping out of the mouth of the alley entirely and behind Sam, cutting off her regress. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Ludolf led Sam halfway down the alley, the rats skittering and yipping behind the pair, and then he pulled away a half-rotten board from a broken out window that opened up to a room that was lower than the floor of the alley. Ludolf quite nimbly hopped inside, dropping down to the floor in the dark. “Come on in,” he called from the room below Samantha as he began to light a candle—wincing perceptibly at the sight of the flame, which gave Sam a bit of a start as well when she saw it. He carefully tucked the flame behind a board. It was enough light to cast a little of the room’s darkness into the corners. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Once she climbed into the little chamber Sam was cognizant of the smell of human piss and feces. Bums probably squatted here. There were tattered makeshift beds in some of the corners. The rats flowed into the room behind her, forming almost a living wall that flanked behind Ludolf. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">“Well now, childe, what are we to do with you? What are we to do?” The question was clearly rhetorical and Ludolf offered it up as he situated himself on some broken crates. He was wearing a mismatched outfit that was ill-fitting—the most dignified thing about his appearance was the little bowler hat perched on top of his ill-shaped skull. He again took up a pose that bespoke high-minded manners. He crossed his legs daintily, laced his fingers together and rested them on his knee.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">“The rules, dear childe, are that we do not reveal ourselves to humans. That we do not hunt each other. That we respect one another’s territories. That we do not make others like ourselves without permission. I’m afraid, you, dear, have broken some of these rules.” He steepled his fingertips together. For the first time Samantha could see like his face they were deformed, abnormally long and tipped in yellowed fingernails that looked ragged and diseased. There was also another odor in the room that Sam was becoming aware of—it was fetid, like something rotting. It seemed to emanate from Ludolf, and some of the rats came to him, swarming over his feet and ankles.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">He ended his speech briefly to bend down and stroke the animals. He let them nip and bite at his ankles. They lapped at his blood greedily and fed themselves on it. “You’ll have to forgive my little pets. They get so impatient,” Ludolf said, feigning a sort of displeasure that Sam could sense was not sincere. He seemed to enjoy the biting and the licking the rats engaged in. But Ludolf himself returned to addressing Sam. “So, what I want from you is a favor. I will ask you in the future. I don’t need anything just now, but you do owe me, and I might add, you are quite lucky the Lupines keep our population relatively low in Cape Merrin. A proper prince would have you executed for leaving so messy a kill out for anyone to find—especially at a recent crime scene. My dear, what <em>were</em> you thinking?” Again, that aristocratic, European tone had crept into his voice, and he glared at Sam pointedly before he continued “You will not take your messy little slut murders out to the caves or the coast again, do you understand me, childe? You may have had a rough time, perhaps your sire really did not teach you anything of our rules, but I will not have you pissing all over my territory with your temper tantrums. You need to get hold of your rages—they will drive you too far away from your humanity. You don’t want to end up scaring off your prey before you can even get close. People—humans—they <em>are</em> cattle, but even stupid mammals can sense a predator. And they <em>run</em>. When I want to collect my favor, I will find you. You may go now.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Without waiting for a reply, Ludolf leaned in toward the hidden candle, blew it out, and only the dim light that filtered from the street lamps down through the alley cast any light into the room. His body seemed to disappear into the darkness entirely, and she was left alone with the writhing and mewling of the rats . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis and Arathel</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis’s Ford Pickup</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis smiled grimly at Arathel’s question and said, “Well, that’s when another kid’s going to go missing.” He chuckled to himself. Angels sure were weird creatures—who couldn’t keep dates straight? Even his kids could do that at a fairly young age. “Takes all kinds” Otis said cryptically before he turned up the music in the pickup.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The rhythmic guitar of Blue Öyster Cult flowed out of the old sound system, and Otis tapped the steering wheel in time to the music. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes as he thought of Patty. Margaret. Jason. He choked back the tears as they drew near to Simon’s Bull.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Don’t Fear the Reaper by The Blue Öyster Cult</span> (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cMYSWiPm7E0)<br><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">[@ AndyK, feel free to post in response to this even though I am adding some more other stuff involving Otis. We can post a conversation for the drive if you like, or if you prefer, you can just have Arathel react to the scene at the exterior of Simon’s Bull.]</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Reginald</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Roof of Cobb Theater</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Reggy peered down into the alley he saw a long, narrow shape huddled in the darkness against the dumpster. It appeared to be hairy, and then it stopped, sniffing the air. Before Reggy could pull back from the edge of the roof, out of sight, the thing spun and looked upward at him. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">It was impossibly tall, at least ten feet in height, and it held what looked like the corpse of a dead dog. Entrails and congealed blood poured from the deceased, bloated belly inches away from the giant’s mouth. The dog’s limbs were stiff, pointing ridiculously upward at Reggy, accusatorily asking why he would allow such desecration of an innocent dog’s body. The tall beast’s maw was covered in a slick, maroon substance. Its face was that of a giant rat, and the fur around its mouth was matted with the redness that had to have come from the rotting carcass of the dog. A long, ridged tail raised itself from behind the creature, and it hissed up at Reggy, yellow teeth gleaming in the faint light of the alley.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cori</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Unmarked Police Car</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Just Outside Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Cori was driving out to Devil Bat Cave she came upon the scene outside the shithole that was Simon’s Bull; the rain obscured the events slightly but through the suck-hush of the windshield wipers, Detective Michaels could make out three women were on the sidewalk. A man lay prone, sprawled before them. One woman had her hand on another’s shoulder. The man appeared to have been badly beaten; she had to decide if she was going out to Devil Bat Cave, or if she was going to stop and investigate and call in the 240 (http://www.radiolabs.com/police-codes.html)—or perhaps the 245—given that Cori could just make out a piece of rebar in the hand of the woman who was nearest to the downed bum. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">[@ Yggdrasil, if you want to radio this in and then continue out to the cave, that’s fine. I think this can work either way.]</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Downed Bum, Abigail, Delilah, and Al</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Al asked about an ambulance or phoning the police, the trio of women became aware of a large four-door sedan moving slowly down the street. The driver seemed to pause, slowing in front of the scene. The rain was flowing steadily, soaking the sidewalk that extended beyond the Simon’s Bull awning, and the beaten man was struggling to get out of range of Abigail. His fingers just barely reached a seam in the sidewalk’s concrete. He tried in vain to pull himself forward. The stench of shit and piss wafted up from his form—the seat of his pants darkened by incontinence. His blood and a few teeth were also on the sidewalk. He sputtered and shook as he tried to escape. Occasionally he managed to gasp “Help!” His voice was slurred, the word laced with pain.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis and Arathel</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Simon’s Bull Parking Lot</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Otis and Arathel emerged from the truck, Mutton Chops and Cop’s Brother were just strolling up to their pickup. “’Nother nutter,” muttered Mutton Chops to Cop’s Brother as they passed the pair.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Otis and Arathel approached the front of the bar, half jogging to get out of the rain and under the awning, Otis stopped short, the water deflating the unruly nature of his unkempt pony tail as he stood just out of cover of the rain. He squinted through the rain, “Abigail? That you?”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>07-05-2011, 07:40:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Somewhere along the line, Arathel had taken the form of a young man, wearing a leather jacket, a white T-shirt and jeans.&nbsp; That was just something he did sometimes, without any real fanfare, though rarely in the company of someone he didn't to some degree trust.&nbsp; There didn't seem to be any real rhyme or reason to the changes, at least not one that easily presented itself.<br><br>He smiled at the gentle tune of the song, letting himself relax a bit on the ride over.&nbsp; "Dates are an inherently human invention," he explained.&nbsp; "So are the hours.&nbsp; Day and night are simple enough, certainly, but to what purpose is it to note that a particular day is coming except in regard to things that happen with other humans?"&nbsp; He shrugged simply as if the matter were that obvious.&nbsp; Truth be told, he was starting to try to get used to dates, but the way that they kept ending in strange intervals kept throwing him off.&nbsp; He still remembered the way that one gentleman had laughed when he'd guessed it to be the 43rd of April.<br><br>When the car stopped, he followed along through the rain, but unlike Otis he was much more content to simply walk at a slow and casual pace.&nbsp; The rain came down and soaked him through, drenching his form and squeezing his clothes over him like putty stuck tight to his body.&nbsp; The white of his T-shirt was now a soft pink, completely transparent to show the muscles on his chest.&nbsp; He followed behind Otis in silence, looking curious but not yet about to speak up when Otis was there to explain everything.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>09-05-2011, 03:40:10</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Watching the two drunks run off to find some other trouble.</strong><br><br>Any other day, Jason would have ran out to make sure no permanent damage was done to whoever was having the shit kicked out of them, but today he just wasn't in the mood as he stood at the bar still, sighing heavily before turning back to the bar again.&nbsp; "Might want to hand me another Budweiser there Louie."&nbsp; Jason asked, the fight having left him all at once.&nbsp; He needed to calm down before he was run out of town before he could do his job....and while he hated to say it, with help from the other hunters in the building before they too had run off to check up on the scene outside.&nbsp; Yeah....he'd try to actually WORK TOGETHER with some of these people, but the moment things turned sour he'd charge in, guns blazing so they'd get some time to get out or fight on, whatever they did to make it out of there alive, his own cursed life be damned.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>09-05-2011, 15:45:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Questions with the Vampire</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><hr> <br><br>Samantha followed the creature into a small area. The rats festered at his feet and threatened to nip at the girl's heels. The stench in the small cavern was overwhelming for her senses. How any one could live in here, she did not know. The rats, ever chattering and ever present formed a wall behind Sam, blocking her in. <br><br>Her eyes never left Ludolf's, nor did they blink. Just the icy cold stare of blue that seemed to glow in the dim light of the tiny area. “Well now, childe, what are we to do with you? What are we to do?” The question was clearly rhetorical and Ludolf offered it up as he situated himself on some broken crates.<br><br>"I did not know their were others here. And did not know there were 'rules' to be a monster..." She whispered quietly. The disfigured man felt all to familiar for her. She hated it. <br><br>“The rules, dear childe, are that we do not reveal ourselves to humans. That we do not hunt each other. That we respect one another’s territories. That we do not make others like ourselves without permission. I'm afraid, you, dear, have broken some of these rules.” He steepled his fingertips together. <br><br>Samantha clenched her teeth together, the older man's voice like nails on a chalk board. The fetid smell of a corpse suddenly wafting up her nose. "Your rules are yours. I did not ask to become...this..." She gestured to herself and then to the rats that seemed to swarm around the man's feet. The bit and nibbled and Ludolf seemed to enjoy it. <br><br>The ugly creature with the bowler hat on his bald head grinned hideously. For the first time Samantha was able to see him in all his grotesque nature. Was this what she was doomed to become? A sham of a human? Sam adverted her eyes, instead watching the black pool of rats at his feet. <br><br>Ludolf laughed. Her little retort was of no consequence to him. You'll have to forgive my little pets. They get so impatient,” Ludolf said, feigning a sort of displeasure that Sam could sense was not sincere. The man went on, “So, what I want from you is a favor. I will ask you in the future. I don't need anything just now, but you do owe me, and I might add, you are quite lucky the Lupines keep our population relatively low in Cape Merrin. A proper prince would have you executed for leaving so messy a kill out for anyone to find—especially at a recent crime scene. My dear, what were you thinking?” <br><br>Sam knew the last question was rhetorical. She did not bother to answer it. She knew Cape Merrin was a hot spot for crime, but knew little of a recent event that had police there. Perhaps this Ludolf was correct. Maybe she had to be much more careful in how she hunted. <br><br>“You will not take your messy little slut murders out to the caves or the coast again, do you understand me, childe? You may have had a rough time, perhaps your sire really did not teach you anything of our rules, but I will not have you pissing all over my territory with your temper tantrums. You need to get hold of your rages—they will drive you too far away from your humanity. You don’t want to end up scaring off your prey before you can even get close. People—humans—they are cattle, but even stupid mammals can sense a predator. And they run. When I want to collect my favor, I will find you. You may go now.” <br><br>Samantha was put off by his last set of comments. The candle light went out, and all that was left were questions and rats. She left the confines of the small enclave and stepped out into the street. It was still raining and she was only a few blocks from Simon's bull. Sam threw the hood of her hoodie over her head and began to walk. <br><br><em>What did that man know of humanity? He was disgusting and vile.</em> Sam thought, fists clenching in the pockets of her hoodie. She could feel her emotions rising, and for the first time in years she felt something other than then the constant hunger. It was rage. Not because of the visit from Ludolf, but because he had been right. Even though he was deformed and monstrous, he was more human then Samantha. <br><br>She was losing her grip on the shreds of decency she had. No longer did she care whom she killed. in the early days it was rapists and thieves, but now its been men looking for a quick fuck. Were they disgusting? Yes, but by no means were they 'monstrous' as Sam ad put it so many years ago. <br><br>Samantha turned the corner, by now her face was placid, having swallowed her anger like a large pill. Her features were that of unearthly beauty. Outside the bar she could see a man on the ground being kicked and beaten by a woman dressed similar to a nun. Samantha cared less. <br><br>"He will be fine I assure you. I am merely administering to his repentance. As you can see, he is very sorry, and is ready to renounce his life of sin. Pain will set him free, so I would ask you to not interrupt his salvation. You will only cause him harm." the attacker said to the large woman holding her back. <br><br>Samantha glanced up briefly, her cold blue eyes locking with Delilahs. Sam's features were expressionless, and she seemed young. No older than sixteen. Her movements were graceful and deliberate, as if she had done this numerous times. She stepped around the quivering man and the woman who was delivering an ass beating. <br><br>Past the bartender, Ali, and into the bar she went. It smelled of cheap beer and stale peanuts with a hint of body odor. It was dingy and old. Her eyes gazed around, unblinking, as she pulled her hood off her long black hair and shook off the cold rain from outside. <br><br>Ludolfs last few words ringed in her head: <em>"You need to get hold of your rages—they will drive you too far away from your humanity"</em>. Samantha then realized this was the first time in years she had been in the company of people, without feeding on them.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>10-05-2011, 22:51:30</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Three blocks west of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Larry Cotke’s narrow neck was pinned against a damp brick wall, his face abraded by the rough surface as his cousin held him in place. The hirsute man towered over the smaller, thin man, his face contorted into an animal expression &nbsp;(http://listsoplenty.com/pix/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/werewolf-man-1.jpg)not possible for a human. His right arm held the smaller man in place and with his humanoid features he announced, <strong>“Good job, Larry. I’ll give you more than usual this time. Just don’t take it all at once again.” </strong>The large creature laughed at some memory, its voice echoing up until it reached a crescendo uncomfortably close to a howl. The muscles of its arm rippled as it held Larry in place against the alley wall and with its other hand dislodged several vials from its own pockets. They contained a red liquid in them and the large creature shoved them into the loose and sagging back pocket of Larry’s scruffy jeans. The thing released Larry, who took off down the alley, deep into the night, nearly hysterical at the score he’d pulled down just out of luck from all those dumbfuck hunters running their mouths at the bar. Thanks to those idiots, he was going to be coasting along on pure high for the next <em>week</em>. He couldn’t fucking believe his luck.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The creature stuck to the shadows but eventually emerged, slightly more human in aspect, and it made several phone calls from one of the ancient and decaying telephone booths that still inexplicably cropped up on Cape Merrin streets despite the proliferation of cellular phones. Moments later it slunk back toward Simon’s Bull, the reek of fetid meat steaming off its oversized teeth as it took up a position in an alley behind the slum bar. It wasn’t much longer before a well-muscled man joined Cotke’s cousin outside the bar; he was dirty, bearded and twigs and leaves were entangled in the nest of his hair. His fingers came to sharp points that one might mistake for claws, unless one got too close, and then one would realize, they were indeed claws. The new arrival crouched down near a sewer drain and began whispering in some unintelligible language.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Simon’s Bull, interior</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">While the struggle between the strangely dressed young woman and the bum went on out front, a few of the people inside Simon’s Bull became aware of an odd noise. A kind of rustling coming from inside the walls of the bar, particularly near air vents.</span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 00:31:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><tt class="bbc_tt"><em>Micheal Summers - Wondering what the hell was going on outside</em></tt></div><br>After how ever many beers Micheal was feeling quite numb to everything that was going on around him, but still the noise outside was loud enough. He shook his head, and sat his beer to the side. He looked around the bar and then got up out of his seat. Stretching he tucked his hands in his pockets and grabbed the piece of paper that he forgot was in there. Opening it up he looked down at the number and the put it back in to his pocket. <br><br>Walking to the door slowly he began to look around hearing a small rattling. Turning around he looked around the bar, "What the fuck is that noise?" He spoke to himself and then shushed everyone, "Hey quiet down for a bit. Anyone else hear that?" He asked looking at everyone from eye to eye. Even the the bartender stopped breathing for a second. He looked up at the ceiling and then to the air duct. It was coming from there or at least that's what he could tell. Walking closer towards the ventilation he heard the sound clearer. <em>Rats?</em> His eyes widened, <em>something supernatural</em> he could only guess though. <br><br>Backing away and watching the vent closely. <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 05:10:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				At the pitiful man's cry, Al turned her attention away from his attacker and the woman who'd stopped her attack.&nbsp; She watched a figure shrouded in the new uniform of youth, a hoodie, walk by, seemingly unaware.&nbsp; Al started for the man, brushing past the young woman in the hooded sweatshirt and felt a chill prickle her skin, the hairs on her arms standing on end.&nbsp; It could just be the fact that she was drenched to the bone or it might have been more.&nbsp; <br><br>Al moved to watch the street, her back to the wall as she squatted near the fallen man's head.&nbsp; She reached out to him, trying to make him lie still, roll to his back so she could see the damage.&nbsp; <br><br>Headlights played over the quartet, the hooded girl having gone into the bar.&nbsp; Al looked up at the car, unable to see who was driving or what sort of car it was since she was blinded by the headlights.<br><br>She turned her attention back to the man, managing to get a good look and gasped, standing up abruptly.<br><br>"Hell and damnation," she breathed out, eyes moving to the woman who had done this.&nbsp; "Bitch," she muttered.&nbsp; "I"m calling the cops.&nbsp; Don't let her go," Al said. <br><br>She raced back to the bar, skidding and almost going down when she pounded into the barroom, her soaked shoes slipping on the floor.&nbsp; Al skidded, hopping onto the bar to grab the phone behind the counter and dial 9-1-1.&nbsp; <br><br>She looked up as the man started talking about noise, then plugged her ear so she could hear the phone.&nbsp; Is it feeding time at the zoo? she wondered as the emergency number rang too long for her tastes.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 06:02:05</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>JJ - Hearing the noise as well.</strong><br><br>About to take a drink from his second beer of the day, Jason stopped when the noise started.&nbsp; It sounded like rats, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be something so simple as that.&nbsp; Too many weird things had been happening of late and he doubted that this place, run down as it was, had that many rats running about and still be in business.&nbsp; Someone would have called the Health Department by now if that was the case and had this place shut down.&nbsp; No, something was amiss.&nbsp; Wondering what charm he had around his neck would work tonight, Jason went to the air vent, his hand hovering at the silver bullet loaded pistol, (that also contained salt in the rounds for dealing with ghosts and other creatures that hated the stuff,) that he kept in a side holster that had been hidden under his jacket until now, but he didn't draw it just yet.&nbsp; "Yeah, I hear it.&nbsp; Do we have a way to board this up?"&nbsp; He asked, hoping to at least slow whatever was coming down so they'd have a few extra seconds to take it apart if it truly wasn't just rats, which Jason was suspecting was becoming more and more true.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 06:55:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				There...there was just no way, no way Reginald was seeing what he was seeing. Couldn't be. In the alley below, barely lit by the marquis light and the dull street lamp, stood a -- <br><br><em>'Don't say it, do not even fucking think it, it's not real, things like that don't <strong>exist</strong>, it's a hallucination, trick of the light, freak in a costume, monster, giant rat thing, demon from hell aw dammit I <span class="bbc_u">said</span> don't think that!'</em><br><br>Reggy gripped the book tighter to his chest like a shield, an anchor to reality, and paid absolutely no attention to the ridiculous irony of using a book of purported magic spells as a tie to normalcy. His mouth felt dry, drier than when he argued with his mother, drier than when he took the abuse from those bullies earlier, drier than the damn dust on the street below as the...<em>thing</em>, the --<br><br><em>'Don't say it!'</em><br><br>--<em><strong>giant rat monster</strong></em>--<br><br>swung its massive upper body around and stared up at him. He almost didn't notice the dog's corpse; the sight of the beast had stormed through his brain and demanded every spare iota of attention, leaving the mangled remains of Fido as only an afterthought. Reggy's entire body shook under the weight of the creature's glare and his head shook compulsively, an unconscious, fundamental rejection of the thing's existence. As he rocked back and forth on his feet, his arms started to feel warm. The book was starting to get hot in his grip, unnaturally hot, and the bizarre sensation was enough to break his attention away from the rat beast (partially, at least). Reg's eyes flicked back and forth between the creature in the alley and the book in his hands, and he backed a few steps away from the roof's edge. He had no idea what the thing below would do, but he was more than certain he didn't want to find out.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Mhina</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 09:56:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The rain beat against the ground, the steady pitter patter creating a soft din in the background. Abigail was soaked thoroughly now but hardly noticed. She was engaged in a staring contest with the tall woman who had interfered with her work, God's work. After all this time she wasn't sure why it still disappointed her to find people like this. There was clearly no reason for the woman to try to stop her, no connection to the pitiful man on the ground, but she had made it her business to interfere and for that Abigail hated her. All these people, always so concerned with what they believed was right. Why couldn't they understand that there was only one right? God's word had been spread to humanity ages ago, and yet still so many people insisted on following their own morals, their own flimsy ideologies. It was pathetic and frustrating. <br><br>The activity around her increased, first with the waitress and then another girl walking past. Abigail paid them little mind but the whole situation was beginning to make her uncomfortable. She hated to be around so many people at once, particularly when they were clearly not members of the faith. They were all lost souls, and to make matters worse they would refuse to let her help them, just as they had stopped her from helping the man on the ground. Their twisted logic led them to believe pain was something to be abhorred, avoided at all costs. They didn't see the beauty of it, the cleansing power.<br><br>Her eyes narrowed when the waitress called her a bitch before heading inside to call the police. She didn't need this right now. This was always the thanks she got for trying to save those in need. She frowned, letting out a frustrated growl before pulling away from the woman holding her. "Fine. Have it your way then. A pack of heathens coming to prevent the salvation of one of their kin is not surprising." She said, turning her back on the man. "I could have saved him but clearly you would rather he live a life of sin and waste before being cast into a pit of fire. It doesn't matter anyway, all that's required of me is that I try. If you refuse to hear the truth then you will burn with him."<br><br>She was turning to walk away when a truck pulled up, its bright lights momentarily blinding her. She squinted as she heard the sound of a door slamming, followed by a familiar voice. "Otis?" She asked, blinking as her vision returned. "Otis what are you doing here? I've been trying to find you lately but you haven't been in any of the places you told me to look if I needed to find you." Abigail ignored the others and walked over to Otis. She had always been fond of him. When she was a child Otis had been an active member of the church, until his family had died. She had been afraid of him then, believing the rumors of his involvement in their deaths. He had stopped showing up for church which had saddened her. Despite her fear, she wished he would go, if for no other reason than to keep his soul pure. When her own parents died she had finally understood what Otis had gone through, and had sought him out as her reality began to twist around her. He had been helpful for the years after her parent's died, and they had kept in sporadic contact, especially when it became clear they had similar callings. <br><br>She looked back at the woman who had stopped her and the man she had been trying to save. "These people are interfering with my work Otis. They don't understand the importance of what I do." She said, her voice venting her frustrations. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 09:59:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“Shit.”<br><br>Cori really didn’t have the time for this; but since when did being a detective ever allow conveniences? Sure, she could drive off and away and let a uniform handle the situation, but with the amount of crazies in this world, who knew what direction this situation would have turned by the time someone was able to reach them? With another curse and a frustrated scowl; Michaels called for backup on the radio clipped to her belt, before pulling up to the bar and flicking on her brights.<br><br>The stark bar-front was illuminated to mid-day, causing many of the stragglers peaking their head outside to look up, stunned, like a deer in the road. The door opened and rather quickly, Cori ejected herself from the driver’s seat, sauntering forward with no fear of the situation she had found herself in. This wasn’t a shy cop who would second guess her every move; nor was she unaccustomed to violence and the unpredictable actions of the crazies. Cori pulled her Sig Sauer P226 out, keeping it guarded in the Seoul position. The weapon wasn’t trained on the woman, since there was no possible way for her to know yet if this woman had defended herself or started the attack, but she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if the need arose.<br><br>Michael’s gold badge swung loosely on a metal chain around her neck, reflecting in the headlights, clearly identifying who she was. Two years as a detective on the force and all the locals in the city knew her reputation. She was a damn good cop with a near flawless record, and like a wolf, running away from her only made the chase all the more exciting. Hunter green eyes narrowed on Abigal.<br><br>“Back off. Drop the weapon and put your hands on the hood. You.” She looked at the remaining woman and all those hovering around outside, nodding to the curb. “Sit down and don’t move.”
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 10:21:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Soaked clean through.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>The look Delilah gave Abigail as she rambled on and jerked out of her grasp was nothing short of icy, like the glare off a freshly sharpened knife.&nbsp; She may have been piss drunk, and she may have been the <em>last</em> sort of bitch to have any right to go off about morality, but at the moment she just did not give two shits.&nbsp; Normally she would have blamed it all on the liquor and called it a night, but this was different.&nbsp; Looking at the pathetic sack of rags and blood and bruises on the ground, it set a blaze in her like none other.<br><br>"Saved him?&nbsp; <em>Saved him?</em>&nbsp; Bitch, you are twelve <em>kinds</em> o' crazy."<br><br>Delilah followed after her, having no intention of little the other woman simply walk off before the cops arrived.&nbsp; She had a scowl on her that could have shattered plate glass, and a couple of balled fists that could well do the same.&nbsp; "Does that guy look close ta bein' <em>saved</em> ta ya?" she said harshly, jabbing a finger at the homeless fella in the gutter.&nbsp; "Because it looks ta me like ya just beat the nine hells outta him, and were aimin' ta beat the tenth out before I stopped ya."<br><br>She laughed dryly, as if the whole damn situation was just too surreal for words.&nbsp; "Or maybe that's the point?&nbsp; Gal like ya, crazier than a sack o' wet cats, preachin' yer <em>fire 'n brimstone</em> shit, savin' the hobos of the world one lead pipe to the face at a time?"<br><br>When the scarred man finally made it up to them, Delilah gave him the once over.&nbsp; Face like a slab of raw meat healed over, tangled wisp of a goatee, haunted look in the eyes?&nbsp; Not exactly too many folks fitting that description, and she'd heard him described before.<br><br>"Oi, so yer the Otis every drunk in the Bull is getting their knickers in a twist over?&nbsp; You know this fuckin' fruit loop here?"<br><br>Of course, that conversation would have to wait.&nbsp; "Damn, cops in the place sure respond right quick, eh?" she said, trying to remember just how many minutes ago the waitress had gone to call it in.&nbsp; She raised her hands and backed away from Abigail, settling a good distance away to see how the old man was holding up.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 10:27:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Arathel, Male Form, Outside Simon's Bull~</strong><br><br>The man followed over some distance behind Otis, the harsh weather making his red hair run down his face like stains of crimson paint marring his handsome features.&nbsp; His clothes were soaked through to his skin, and his skin likely through to the bone, but he just didn't seem to worry or care.&nbsp; His attention right now was focused on the number of people and their argument.<br><br>At first he seemed a little confused, seeing the way that the people argued about God and about His divine plan.&nbsp; He noticed their conviction, however, more than anything else.&nbsp; Each was adamant in their beliefs, each would fight and die for the Lord God in their own way, yet here they were, arguing and bickering like schoolchildren.&nbsp; It was hard to find the right word to express his emotions, nor would he likely be able to if pressed, but the faint smile on his lips showed well enough his amusement.<br><br>His hands slipped into the pockets of his leather jacket, making soft splashing as the water that had wanted to make a nest there was forced out with a slap of his fingers.&nbsp; He decided to stay silent for the time being, curious how this would play out.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 15:54:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Oh, Christ on a cracker, what now?" He murmured quietly to himself as he heard the noise, and one of the men gathered here aid to hush for it. His lips twitched, before turning into a deep set frown. He quietly, confusedly collected his change, wondering why the woman hadn't kept the tip, but whatever. He's pragmatic, if she didn't want it, he's not going to force her to take it. Back into his wallet it goes.<br><br>He slides his hands into his well worn leather gloves, and he found himself looking around the bar.&nbsp; Debating just up and leaving when he catches the red-blue-red-blue-red-blue of police lights coming from outside.&nbsp; <br><br>First those god damned idiots made a big to do about being hunters, as if this seedy, dingy, dark, dreary bar was a good place to do so, then their was some sort of bullshit going on outside with the police (probably drunks doing stupid shit), and then their was the very strange noise coming from the walls and the vents. <br><br>"I'm getting the hell out of here before this turns into some cliche horror movie." He said quietly to the woman he'd been talking with, a weak smile on his face. He picked up his helmet, and as he stood from his chair, put it on...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 16:33:26</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Standing in Simon's Bull</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><br><hr>&nbsp; <br><br>Samantha had shaken her long black hair from the confines of her hoodie when she stopped to look around the bar. It was dingy, and smelled. She took a few steps torwards the bar, her knee high boots coming down heavy on the old wooden floor boards of the bar, and then stopped, tilting her head slightly as she heard the sounds coming from above. <br><br>The smell that lingered reminded her of Ludolf, it was fetid and seemed to permeate every where. Sam moved closer to the vent above where Michael Summers was standing. "Hey quiet down for a bit. Anyone else hear that?" He asked looking at everyone from eye to eye. <br><br>The young prostitute said nothing, eyes fixated above. The cold blue eyes left the vent and glanced at Michael, emotionless and distant. She then turned her attention to the front door where the commotion was. The waitress skidded past the girl once more and nearly fell on the wet planks as she hopped the bar and grabbed the phone to dial the police. <br><br>"Yeah, I hear it.&nbsp; Do we have a way to board this up?"&nbsp; Sam heard the other man say. <br><br>Samantha did not know what to do. Her first attempt at being among other people was being ruined by a mugging out front and the sounds of rats in the walls. Still, something inside of her churned. The acute senses picked up on the numerous conversations going about, and her nose detected the horrible smell from above, as well as the light perfume of the waitress. <br><br>"...Perhaps we should go outside..." she whispered, barely audible, although quite sweet on the ears of those who heard her.&nbsp; She took a step back from the vent, something telling her that the events to come would be monstrous. <br><br>Her lithe frame shifted easily, almost graceful. Samantha turned torwards the door, her hands once more shoved back into the pockets of her hoodie. Her skirt and legs soaked from the walk in the rain.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 18:08:49</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Just after JJ asked about boarding up the vent, and as Leof was pulling on his jacket, and mere seconds after Sam began to head to the front door of the bar, the tickling sound that rattled around in the vent, making the ears of occupants’ of the bar tingle with the noise, came to a halt. A single cockroach fought its way through the narrow slats in the vent and fell to the floor of the bar, an inch or so in front of JJ. A second later and the bugs were pouring through the vent as if someone were forcing them through the shoot, directly into the bar. The room filled with hissing sounds and the roaches poured down the wall; some took flight and began to somersault through the air, dive bombing into the bars occupants. The swarmed not only out of the vent behind the bar, but from all the vents. An impossible number of the bugs was washing out over the flat surfaces in the bar. In seconds the bugs were crawling over people’s feet and charging upward over their bodies.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Louie gave a startled cry and picked up his baseball bat from behind the bar. Screaming, he began swinging wildly at the things as they swarmed up his fat legs. He nearly knocked Al off the bar, and his hit-or-miss, but mostly miss, swings did take the phone out of service; the call to 911 was terminally interrupted. Louie’s screams escalated upward, like some demented school girl he cried on an on until he fainted dead away in a pile of the bugs, finally his weight slaying more of them than his feeble attempts at hitting them with the bat.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A moment later and a shotgun blast was heard coming from the back of the bar. Two heavy sets of boots could be heard in the hallway coming from the back entrance of the bar. When they were visible to the rest of the occupants of the bar, the two large men looked around and smiled. Both of them had bestial features. The taller one, let out a little howl before its face transformed into some sort of hideous wolf’s head, its white t-shirt ripping and rippling off its body as the “man” grew to a height approaching 10 feet; its body roiled and bubbled as musculature slid and shifted into place. The shorter man said, “I’m so glad you could meet my friends,” with an open-palmed gesture toward the swarming cockroaches. And all at once the roaches began biting at those upon whom they had swarmed. Behind the bar, Louie woke up screaming, roaches tumbling into his mouth and crawling into the unprotected openings of his ears. The shorter man laughed as the beast thing charged into the room, long black claws extending from its finger tips; the shorter man stood in the hall, black talons elongating from his own finger tips until they stood a full 12” inches from the tips of his fingers. Red-black blood coagulated along the edges of the talons and then the room went completely pitch black, the only gloomy light came streaming in from the glass panels on either side of the front door of the bar—the red/blue strobe washed over the interior of the bar, but not in a way that would allow any sort of detail or clarity of vision for humans. A pair of distinctly red eyes was visible in the direction of the hallway where the other shorter but still very muscular man had been standing. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Al felt her hair seized and wrapped around a large fist as she was adjacent to the bar and in the dark the two large red eyes loomed above her face. The thing sniffed her, taking in a long, deep inhalation off the skin of her neck and up by her face. It laughed then and said, <strong>“You know Gerry” </strong>and tossed her away into the darkness. Al landed atop the bloated and flailing form of Louie. The whisper touch of cockroaches skittered over her and she felt the give of hundreds of their little bodies beneath her hands and torso.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A rumbling battle howl crawled out of the throat of the werewolf that had stalked into the center of the barroom, its movements only just barely lit by the pulsating police lights streaming in from the exterior. The sound could be heard for several blocks away. Larry Cotke was out of hearing range by then, but that sound always forced upon him an urgent need to urinate, and sometimes he didn’t make it to the bathroom. All the humans in the bar experienced an immediate and deep moment of fear, freezing them in place for a moment before they could react in any way to the howl or the new visitors. A moment later and the wooden front door of the bar burst into flames, the light blinding to the occupants of the bar who were nearest to the door. Sam is forced to back away slightly from her approach toward the door, reacting badly to the fire. With this renewed lighting, the lupine turned its attention to Micheal and growled before initiating combat with the dark haired man who normally towered over his physical opponents.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Anyone not immediately in the fray might have noted that both the shorter man who had discarded Al and approached JJ and the werewolf were not being harried by the roaches—the bugs skittered away from their feet, and while the roaches swarmed over Sam, none seemed to be biting her.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Detective Michaels began assessing the situation, rain continued to pour down onto the scene. Otis backed off from Abigail, raising his hands, his voice elevated over the fall of the rain: “Just do as the police officer is asking you, Abbey. Be a good girl. You know your father wouldn’t want you to upset the police. Remember what it says in Romans: ‘Every person must submit to the authorities in power, for all authority comes from God, and the existing authorities are instituted by him. It follows that anyone who rebels against authority is resisting a divine institution, and those who resist have themselves to thank for the punishment they will receive. Governments hold no terrors for the law-abiding but only for the criminal.’” The Biblical quote like ash in his mouth, Otis came to his knees near the front door of the bar, seeking some reprieve from the rain beneath the awning. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Looking over at Delilah, Otis said in a quiet voice, “I know Abigail.” There’s something pained in his expression, as if he knows there ought to be a way to help her, but that he has failed, as if he knows she has probably done something despicable tonight, but that he doesn’t want to know what it is, as if, well, as if he were utterly exhausted and tired of life and the people with whom it brings him into contact. Oddly his blinded eye contains more emotion and connection than the living one that he can turn on the people and surroundings about him. The blind eye carries with it a furious and murderous rage, one only just kept asleep by the waking mind and body Otis has. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As the detective approaches and Abigail decides what exactly she is going to do now, a howl pierces through the evening, oddly enough seeming to come from inside the bar, and a moment later the oaken door bursts into flames, causing those near it to hop or shift away. Otis looks over to Arathel and says, “Something is wrong here. I’m going for the guns. See if you can help that man in the gutter.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Not waiting for a reply, Otis pushes himself up off the sidewalk and runs at full tilt toward his truck, scrambling for the shotgun he keeps beneath the seat and the shells in the glove box. He just hopes the detective will be too busy frisking Abigail to take a shot at him.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Alley Adjacent to and Roof of Cobb Theater</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Just before bugs start pouring out of the vents of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As the boy backed away Silas dropped the dog’s corpse. He hated being seen feeding. He always tried to be so <em>quiet</em>, but he just, well, that fucking tail always caught up on something. He licked at the gore staining his face with his tongue as his body began shifting back toward something resembling human. “Wuh, wait, wait!” Silas called out to the guy on the roof, “I know what that is! That’s . . . that’s <em>the book</em>! I can help you use it, I mean if you’re not already a wizard.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Reggy hears these words come up to him from the alley, he also hears someone hopping up and down, and then the grating sound of metal. It’s the fire escape. Whatever or whoever was down there—it seems to be coming up to talk with Reggy. As the first sound of weight resounds on the metal fire escape, the voice calls out again, “My name’s Silas. I won’t hurt you; I promise.” </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 18:27:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				((A little shock and awe huh?&nbsp; Typical lol.))<br><br><strong>Jason Jefferson - Not going down without a damn good fight.</strong><br><br>The roaches were a surprise, to say the least, and Jason backpedaled the moment the first one came out of the vent.&nbsp; He didn't have far to go however as more of the fuckers, a lot more, started to pour out of every vent and crack in the wall and ceiling of this god forsaken bar.&nbsp; It was a typical shock and awe moment that military men like himself usually employed on the battlefield, except they used flash bang grenades to do what these things were obviously doing now as they swarmed around everyone, himself included.&nbsp; However, one of his charms started to glow faintly, offering him some protection from the roach swarm as they more or less left him alone, giving him the information he needed to fight it as well since this swarm were being controlled somehow.&nbsp; Find the one controlling them, put them down, and the swarm would move on, or so he hoped anyway.&nbsp; Then the werewolf and his companion entered the bar, and Jason pulled his pistol out just as the lights went out.&nbsp; Aiming at the last location he had seen the werewolf, Jason grinned since he couldn't miss even without the lights considering how big this fella was.&nbsp; "Chew on this!"<br><br>Even though the bullets were loaded with salt, they would still hurt like hell since they still left the gun with enough force to push a normal man down to his back.&nbsp; Silver on the other hand would burn werewolves and others as if they had caught fire and punch right through their skin, if not at least bury themselves deep enough to slow them down if not outright put them down.&nbsp; He had a clip handy that were loaded with silver nitrate for things like this, but he couldn't draw it out in time and still manage to get away from the lupine before him in one piece.&nbsp; Silver nitrate didn't offer anything to dig out and were therefore far more likely to kill a monster like this.&nbsp; All this went through Jason's head in a few seconds as he pulled the trigger, hopefully slamming six rounds into the chest and head of the beast just as a fire started at the front door.&nbsp; He was too focused on the task at hand, using the muzzle flashes to see the beast clearer and aimed his last one into the thing's head, hoping he had at least made the werewolf slow down if not fall down so he could turn his attention onto the other monster in the room.&nbsp; If not, he was going to be in trouble.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 23:12:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Arathel nodded to Otis, stepping off a ways while the police were approaching and moving towards the beaten drunk.&nbsp; He reached down and took the man's hand, bloody as it was by the savage beating but perpetually washed away by the rainstorm.&nbsp; Lightning struck somewhere close...or did it?&nbsp; There was a flash of light in any event as he helped the man up to his feet.&nbsp; "Tell me, friend, what did you learn today?"<br><br>The drunk just glanced about in abject puzzlement, having thought for sure he was beaten half to death but now completely fine.&nbsp; "I, uh...hmmm..."&nbsp; It took him several moments to figure out what all had happened.&nbsp; "I think I need to lay off Ol' Pappy's Rotgut."&nbsp; The blood washed from him in the pouring storm.<br><br>"I think that's all anyone here would ask of you."&nbsp; Arathel gave the man a pat on the back to send him on his way.<br><br>A few of the police officers blinked with confusion, then muttered to themselves about how the injuries must not have been that bad after all.&nbsp; It was hard to get a good look over on wounds in the middle of a rainstorm, after all, and the blood could easily have been tobasco sauce or any number of things.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>11-05-2011, 23:19:16</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Drunker than she thought she was?&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>Delilah damn near went down on her ass at the bestial howling and sudden burst of hellfire at the door, just barely managing to struggle drunkenly to her feet.&nbsp; "The <em>hell</em>?" she said hoarsely, blinking her eyes to make sure she hadn't just been struck completely dumb by drink.&nbsp; She was so distracted that she didn't even notice Arathel until the drunk had shambled off, apparently none the worse for wear.<br><br>She paused, staring after the man as if he'd just grown a second head, then back to the bloodstains on the pavement, then to oddly beautiful man at her side.&nbsp; A second ago that drunk had been missing half his teeth, had a welt on his neck the size of a golf ball, and had spat up enough blood to cause concern, and now he was just as scuffed and dirty as any drifter.<br><br>A hard look was all she had to give him.&nbsp; She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she trusted her own eyes well enough.&nbsp; That would have to wait however.<br><br>"Oi, there a damn back entrance to this shithole?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 06:25:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al felt the little creatures smack into her and turned to look in shock at the waterfall of roaches.&nbsp; She pulled her feet up onto the bar and stomped the biting swarm.&nbsp; She saw Louie with the bat and shrieked as the bat came at her, destroying the phone just after she'd ducked out of the way.<br><br>"What in the name of all----?"&nbsp; Her question ended on a gasp as a rough hand tangled in her hair and pulled her off the bar.&nbsp; She flailed and found herself staring into a pair of glowing eyes.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>"You know Gerry,"</strong>the glowing-eyed...man?...said.&nbsp; Her brain couldn't formulate another name for the speaker.<br><br>And, then she was airborne, flying and gliding over the bar to land on Louie behind the bar.&nbsp; She shrieked as she saw his mouth filled with the bugs, his arms flopping around...he seemed to be choking on the things.&nbsp; She retched, but fought back the reaction, pressing up, feeling the bugs crunch under her hands, and then under her back as she rolled off of Louie.&nbsp; Al bounced to her feet, kicking the baseball bat Louie had dropped.&nbsp; She turned to grab the bat then tried to help Louie to his feet, though it seemed a wasted effort.&nbsp; And, then the bugs started to bite.&nbsp; <br><br>Al shook her arm and flung off one of the blood-thirsty creatures.&nbsp; But, there were more, always more.&nbsp; She clambered onto the bar, hating the wet crunch of the bugs beneath her as she first sat and then stood up on the bar.&nbsp; She turned back towards the one who'd grabbed her, shocked to be nearly on an eye level with another figure at the center of the room.&nbsp; Her grip tightened on the bat as the other figure howled.&nbsp; Al's mouth went dry and gooseflesh rippled over her body.&nbsp; It felt like her heart stopped until the sound fell away.&nbsp; And, then her heart pounded.<br><br>Mr. Glowing eyes was not far away.&nbsp; As the front door erupted in fire, Sam reflexively swung the bat at the glowing eyes, missing her mark when she stepped back as gunfire erupted; one of the patrons had a gun.&nbsp; She stumbled in surprise, her ears ringing from the sound of the gun, and fell back on the bar, the dismaying crunch of bug bodies beneath her.&nbsp; The roaches that managed to crawl on her arms bit on the bare flesh and she slid the bat down her arm to wipe the things away while still lying on her back.&nbsp; She was gasping at the adrenaline dump, too wet from the rain to know if she'd peed at the horrific sound—and not really caring one way or the other.<br><br><strong>“You know Gerry,”</strong> the thing had said...Gerry the thing which had killed her mother.&nbsp; And, that meant that this glowing-eyed thing knew Gerry, too.&nbsp; <br><br>Al lurched to her feet, stomping on the bugs.&nbsp; She held the bat out to the girl (Sam).&nbsp; “Come on, grab it, climb up,” she said as the girl was the closest to her.&nbsp; Al glanced towards the back storage area, the way to the back door...possibly an escape route.&nbsp; Then she looked back at the rest of the patrons.&nbsp; She couldn’t run again.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 08:58:35</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Shaky metal rattled against brick in the alley below, and with a sinking feeling Reggy realized the rat creature was trying to climb the fire escape. His first panicked thought was to bolt for the roof exit. Unsteady legs had carried him almost to the door when the words finally broke though his mounting hysteria.<br><br>Reggy stopped and looked back at the roof's edge and heard the rusted iron clanging against itself as the <br><br><em>giant <strong>talking</strong> rat creature</em><br><br>clambered closer to the rooftop. Adrenaline flooded through his body, and his heart felt like it would burst as he clutched at the book. He glanced back and forth between the roof's edge and its exit; everything in Reginald screamed at him to run, to escape, to hide...but a small voice kept whispering in the back of his thoughts...<br><br><em>'Proof, actual proof that it's real, it's all real. It said it recognized the book, said it would help me <span class="bbc_u">use</span> it...said it would...<strong>help</strong> me...'</em><br><br>Reggy's survival instincts warred with his curiosity, and self-preservation was on the brink of victory when a name was lobbed over the railing along with a promise of safety. If it...if <em>he</em>...had a name....well, Reggy had no idea what that might have meant, but surely a being intelligent enough to have a name could be reasoned with...right?<br><br>In the end, Reg decided to split the difference. He darted for the rooftop door just as a figure hauled itself over the iron railing, and pulled the door almost all the way shut. A sliver of neon light poured through the narrow crack and Reggy peeked out, ready to slam the door tight the instant danger presented itself.<br><br>"Wh-what...who are you? What d-do you want?" Reggy called through the cracked door. "Uh, y-you should know I've g-got a cell phone, and...and I'll call the cops if you try anything," he lied, wishing to God he actually owned a cell phone. "This is, I mean...it's a g-good neighborhood, the cops'll be here...really quick," Reggy said uneasily. Another lie; emergency response in Cape Merrin was the butt of so many jokes, it could have had its own show on the Comedy Channel. Maybe Mighty Mouse wouldn't want to test his luck, though. A thin hope, but it was all Reggy had. Then, it was all he <em>ever</em> had, so at least it was familiar. If only his teeth could stop chattering...<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 10:01:40</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				It was one thing to be accustomed to surprises; and quite another for a door to suddenly engulf into flames while the howl of some unnatural beast pitching from the inside. The sound stopped Cori’s heart, lodging the muscle in her throat as she found herself moving out of the rain and towards the flames while some part of her conscious whispered bitterly in her head. <em>Most people tend to run away from the things they fear the most. You’re running towards it like a bad Rambo movie. What happened to not being a hero?</em><br><br>That hero bullshit was for the movies. This was reality, and as warped and twisted as it could be, Cori knew that no matter how altruistic someone's intentions might be, there were factors that couldn’t be ignored. Like now; she must have gone bat-shit crazy. Obviously a sane person, even one that was armed and with the law on their side, would have assessed the situation before moving forward in order to rescue the one responsible for screaming so frantically. <em>And here you’ve made yourself a hypocrite. Altruistic or suicidal?</em> Weren't they all the same? One gets you a better tombstone and a plague on the park bench. Or was she simply masochistic?<br><br>The uniforms could take care of the situation at the bar’s front; Cori once again had pressing matters to attend to that distracted her from her original goal. Cursing, she holstered her pistol and broke out in a sprint, following the edge of the building to a small narrow alley on the west side. Debris and misplaced shopping carts littered the way, but the muscles in her thighs coiled like springs, allowing the woman to hop effortlessly against a wooden crate before launching herself forward and over the obstacles. The moment her feet touched the ground she was back in that sprint, pushing herself off against the corner of the alley to throw her momentum in the opposite direction, rounding towards the back of lot.<br><br>She didn’t bother opening the rear door. Above it was a small window, as wide as the door and nearly two feet tall, the sort of portal that allowed a breeze to drift inside on those humid summer nights without neglecting security. Cori rushed the obstical, using the momentum she gained to earn height on the door, and catching the upper ceil with her hands. Booted feet kicked at the portal above the door, which unfolded and allowed the woman to slide inside the back kitchen before she could even lose her breath.<br><br>Michaels drew her pistol again, reassured by the familiar weapon that warmed to her palm. She found comfort in violence.<br><br>Silent steps carried her forward, all the while cupping her pistol in a double-handed ace as she made her way towards the main room, where she would appear from the other side of the bar. Making out the scene, however, was something else entirely. For a moment she began to wonder if she had finally snapped, but upon looking down as the living swarm made the floor undulate, she settled with calling it a nightmare. She hated roaches.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 14:45:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Of Roaches and Werewolves</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><hr> <br><br>Sam leaped back quickly as the door bursted into flames. The reaction was quick and almost automatic as she was scarcely aware of it happening. She could feel the warmth on her skin and it made her quiver with disgust. Her attention shot to the large creature who bolted into the middle of the room and seemed to grow to an amazing height. <br><br><em>"What the hell is that..?"</em> Sam thought, her eyes clearly seeing every detail in the dim light of the bar. It was at that time that Sam felt the swarming of roaches down by her feet. The little bugs reminded her of Ludolf and the disease carrying rats that followed him. The black shiny carapaces flowed like a river over her black boots and began making its way up her smooth, fishnet covered legs. <br><br>Her eyes shot to the surrounding patrons, all of them screaming as the roaches bit into their flesh. Sam looked down again, moving torwards the bar. The roaches did not bite her pale skin but she did not enjoy the feeling of them. <br><br>Al lurched to her feet, stomping on the bugs.&nbsp; She held the bat out to the young prostitute, “Come on, grab it, climb up,” she said as the girl was the closest to her.&nbsp; <br><br>Sam grabbed hold of the bat and hoisted her skinny frame up, now a few feet higher then everyone but the Werewolf. Gun Shots ricocheted around them and a glowing burst came from the man known as JJ as the roaches parted from him like the red sea. <br><br>The cold blue eyes of Sam noticed where the roaches came from and the small bestial creature that controlled them. Sam was not invested into these people. To her they all seemed expendable and not worth her time. She could easily escape through a window or through the back, yet some unknown feeling made her stay. <br><br>"...you should run..." Sam said, pointing torwards the back. Ali was nice enough to help her, and Sam would return the favor. <br><br>The young girl kicked. Hard. The roaches that were piling up on the bar exploded in little gooey carcasses that splashed against the small man who was controlling them. Sam's eyes locked onto his. Cold and emotionless. Her long black hair draped on either sides of her pristine face, and her fists were clenched into tight balls. Hopefully she would be able to buy some time for Al to run. She did not intend to fight something that clearly was well beyond her understanding.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 16:42:36</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cobb Theater Roof</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">“You don’t have to call the police,” came an unsteady voice from near the top of the fire escape. The figure (http://dev.hollywire.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/bale-1.jpg) that emerged was emaciated, gaunt and the face was smeared with the remnants of gore; it looked like the rat-man had wiped at his face vigorously, but not enough to scrub away the viscera of the dog’s corpse. When the figure hauled itself fully up onto the roof, it sat down on the ledge of the rooftop, panting for a moment, and he said, “I’m Silas,” and added after breathing a bit harder, “just Silas.” His narrow ribcage rose and fell with his panting breath for several more moments before he could continue, “Do you know what that book is? How to read it? I could help you if you don’t know. The spells . . . they come more easily if you wait until between the half hour before and the half hour after midnight. Have you begun reading it backward yet? Don’t do that—that’s dangerous, I mean, unless you’re really gifted.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Suddenly, Silas rose and turned, looked toward the east, as if he could hear a sound that entirely displeased him. He stood, for the first time revealing the nudity of his human form to Reggy, and without any sort of shame at all and a great deal more confidence in his voice, he said, “I have to go—there are people who need my help right now. Be careful with the book. I’ll be back around if you want to talk.” With that the impossibly thin man clattered back down the water-slick fire escape, ducked between some dumpsters and was soon no longer a man, but a rather thin, long-tailed rat that scampered off in the direction of Simon’s Bull. His fur was coated with rain water.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull, main barroom</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The gunshots that rang out in the barroom were deafening. The slugs mostly landed on either side of the large wolf creature that bellowed in the center of the room. Splinters from the floorboards and dust from the plaster of the walls splattered across Micheal, Leof, and Diane, though luckily none of them were hit with the salted bullets of JJ’s firearm. In the dark it was difficult to tell, but Sam became keenly aware of the smell of blood streaming off the creature in the center of the room—it must have been shot once.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Micheal found himself beneath the wolf, stabbing upward after his quick tuck and roll away from the bullets aimed toward the large wolf. The small blade of the Swiss Army knife, however, did not find purchase in the hide of the creature, which turned its attention to JJ momentarily, but it made a snuffing noise from his muzzle when it saw that the shorter man was approaching JJ. It turned back to face Micheal. It growled again in rage, furious; Micheal can sense its rage has more to do with his own refusal to oppose the wolf in a more formidable shape than it has to do with the festering bullet wound in its shoulder. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The shorter man approached JJ, his face a contortion of bestial features—overly hairy eyebrows that protrude from his forehead, fang-like teeth, but the red has drained from his eyes. “Call yourself a hunter, boy?” the man taunted before Al’s bat from the top of the bar swung downward, nearly onto him. Interrupting his stride, the man paused and yelled toward the back hallway, while looking up at Sam and Al perched on the bar “Gregor, will you do something about these meddlesome cunts, please?” Though no response was forthcoming from the hallway, something did rapidly change. The trinkets and necklaces that laced around JJ’s neck began to crumble as he reloaded his pistol. By the time he has the chamber locked and loaded, the remains are in a pile at the floor, simple dust. The roaches moved toward him, and up over his legs for the first time. Chuckling to himself, the short man said, more to himself than anyone else, “That’s not who I meant, but fair enough.” Just then his attention is deflected from JJ by the feeling of a pool cue connecting with the back of his skull. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">His reaction is staid, slow, and the shorter man turned to Leof, circling around and leaving his back bare to Sam, Al, and JJ. “Shouldn’t you be protecting your girlfriend?” the shorter man asked, a swipe of his clawed hands swinging toward Leof. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull, back hallway</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Detective Michaels’ observations of the scene were interrupted by the sound of chanting coming from just behind her in the men’s bathroom. The voice, which seemed to have cried, “<em>Imitatores, servum pecus</em></span>!” over and over again silenced itself moments before JJ’s trinkets fell away to dust in the main barroom. It was a moment, and then the voice renewed itself. The sound was odd; the voice was cultured and liquid sounding, rich. The language was . . . Latin? The was an odd sort of light emanating from the crack beneath the door—possibly candlelight judging from the way the light seemed to move.<br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull, front entryway</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">[Shihong, I’m not intentionally ignoring Delilah’s question, but Otis has run back to his truck, and I’m not sure to whom you were speaking when you asked about a back door. I suppose Arathel might know—Det. Michaels found one, so I suppose Delilah could make an attempt to follow the detective.]</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The uniformed officers who had shown up on scene as backup for Michaels were only just getting out of their cars when the detective headed around to the alley. They looked a bit white-faced and shocked in the presence of the flaming door. One of them radioed in for a fire truck while a couple of others moved toward Arathel, Abigail, and Delilah, trying to collect statements. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">In the downpour next to his truck Otis fiddled with the shotgun shells, loading two into the gun and pocketing another 8 shells, hoping to Christ he didn’t need more than that. He wasn’t happy when he got closer to the bar front again and saw more police. He wasn’t going to be able to go in the front, not with the shotgun he had in his hands, and that howl was an indication that he certainly did <em>not </em>want to go inside without it. He crouched down at the edge of the parking lot serving Simon’s Bull and felt the rain soak his skin, watching for an opportunity to sneak around to the bar’s rear entrance.</span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 17:19:04</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Arathel, Male Form, Interior of Simon's Bull~</strong><br><br>Arathel had been about to say something to the rest of the police when he heard the gunfire.&nbsp; Without pausing to think or to explain he suddenly rushed inside, putting his shoulder forward to be ready to ram anyone who attempted to stop him or slow him down.&nbsp; Despite being soaking wet, his body propelled into action, quickly forming a trail of water along the floor that made him slide more than run into the place.<br><br>He saw the vast form of roaches and monsters, knowing that he couldn't easily lay siege to a giant swarm of monsters but expecting that he wouldn't have to.&nbsp; Lower life forms all held an instinctive fear of fire, something that only humanity had been able to truly tame and use to its benefit.&nbsp; In his hand manifested a sword, several feet long and wreathed in golden-red flames, giving light and heat but no smoke.<br><br>He didn't waste time with idle chatter.&nbsp; He didn't play games.&nbsp; He ran straight towards the monsters intent on this problem without pause or hesitation, weapon already raising in his hands, teeth gritted and focused eyes flashing with the fire of his blade.<br><br>He charged his way straight up towards the werewolf, it being the first monster he could see through the haze, and almost certainly the most powerful.&nbsp; Demanding its attention with his very presence, he swung to claim a large slice of the creature's torso, roasting fur and flesh while instantly cauterizing his attack.<br><br>[Edited to add in header and to add in an attack]
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 17:51:07</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				((I'll be sending rolls to you soon Roo, promise.&nbsp; Also, can I say I hate you right now?&nbsp; I hate bugs lol.))<br><br><strong>Jason Jefferson - About to have major issues of his own....</strong><br><br>Jason was fast as he dropped his empty clip, slammed another one home, and found all of his charms were all but gone as the first wave of bugs started to swarm up his legs.&nbsp; "OH fuck me!"&nbsp; He growled, his protection gone although he was packing more serious heat for the demon fellow, if that was what he was, and he couldn't be nothing else considering what was happening, in the form of silver nitrate rounds loaded with salt as well for that added kick.&nbsp; Trying to jump or roll over the bar so he'd have a physical barrier between him and the rest of the enemies at hand, Jason growled, hating how FUBAR this situation was since he had been caught with his pants down, having not expected to have to fight so soon after his arrival in Cape Merrin.&nbsp; Whether he got up quickly or not after his attempt at clearing the bar, Jason would turn and fire seven more times, this time at Mr. Baleful since he seemed to be calling the shots.&nbsp; Four in the chest, three in the head he hoped would find their way to their intended targets.&nbsp; He had missed pretty badly the first time due to the darkness and how fucked up this all was, but his military training was kicking in now he was starting to calm down, having crushed more than his fair share of bugs on his way over the bar after his charms had been shattered.&nbsp; They were going to pay for that quite dearly, one way or the other.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 18:19:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Well, so much for that. In all honesty, he was anticipating the pool cue breaking from the force he used and the force of it cracking against someones skull. These flimsy wooden things were not, after all, meant for&nbsp; use as a weapon.<br><br>Leofwine would attempt to push the clawed hand away from him, choosing to divert it rather than evade it. As he did so with his left hand, his right would slip into his pocket, quickly drawing a seven inch folding pocket knife. With dexterous handwork, the blade would be unfolded, locking into position, and switched around in his grasp so that the correct end was usable. <br><br>As much as he might detest violence and killing, this was a matter of life and death, and he sought to end it quickly, so as to minimize the risk to not only himself, but to others.<br><br>Leofwine would try to plunge the blade all the way to its handle, into the chest of the beast, trying to impale his heart with it. [Roll coming]
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 20:21:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Desperately in need of another drink.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>Delilah just stared blankly as Arathel went storming past her and through the flaming door like it was so much tinder, the sounds of gunshots and screams and howls and some infernal <em>droning</em> crashing out briefly before fire rushed in to swallow up the gap again.&nbsp; She scratched the side of her head like her hair was full bugs, lips curled and teeth bared.&nbsp; <em>'Shit.&nbsp; Fuckin' shifter in there, I can practically smell it.&nbsp; SHIT!'</em>&nbsp; Oily, hateful thoughts bubbled up until all she saw was red, but something stopped her from simply running back to her truck and trying to grab some heavy ordinance.&nbsp; Namely the multitude of cops milling around uselessly.&nbsp; The last thing she needed was to get arrested while on the job.<br><br>"I've got no <em>fuckin'</em> idea man," she said to the nearest officer that tried to question her.&nbsp; Difficult as it had been, she'd managed to calm herself down enough to not look like she was liable to punch somebody out.&nbsp; "I just stopped in fer a drink, came out to stop some bitch from beatin' the shit out o' some geezer, then the whole damn bar exploded.&nbsp; That's all I got ta say ta ya.&nbsp; Kin I git or what?&nbsp; I ain't stickin' around if there's some fuckin' gun-totin' terrorists about to come stormin' outta there."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Malrunar</strong> on <strong>12-05-2011, 21:01:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em><strong>Cori Michaels ---- Playing Peek-a-Boo with an eerie chanter.</strong></em><br><br>She was out of her element here; now it was Cori who felt like the deer in the headlights, blinking numbly at the world around her as small women lifted bats and the explosion of a gun illuminated ominous figures in the shadows. If it hadn’t been for the smell of copper and cordite then the detective would have been convinced that this was all an illusion –because nothing here made any god damn sense. How could a place be crawling with so damn many insects? How could a man stand so tall, and why wasn’t he dropping from the bullets pelting him?<br><br>She was back in Iraq, huddling down a side chamber against a stone wall that protected her no better than a wet blanket. She heard the white-noise then, ducking as the bullets of an ak-47 chipped the brick above her head, and she was hearing it now. The only relatable moments in that situation was that both times, she wasn’t supposed to be where she was, and could only follow instincts in a displaced haze. She found comfort in violence, comfort in the cold, distant numb that gave her an excuse not to feel anything else, even for a little while.<br><br>Except for that; chanting, the frantic mutterings of, what she assumed at first, was a frightened man praying to the god she didn’t believe in. It came from her flank and immediately she didn’t like that. Corez wasn’t there to guard her rear anymore.<br><br>Three quick steps backwards pressed her shoulders against the wall, and after crouching, Cori dropped to a low squat with her weapon held ready. The opposite hand reached the door handle, turning it while lifting up to take the weight off of the hinges so that it parted soundlessly as she took a glance inside. That same voice that belonged to her psyche filled her head again. <em>This isn't the sort of trouble you want; you're out of your league.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>13-05-2011, 16:22:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Pissed off!</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><hr>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Sam snatched the bat from Ali, her face stern and her eyes narrow. Her angelic face showed more emotion now then the past two months alone. "...Run..." She said to Ali, jumping down from the bar and squashing some roaches in the process. The rotten short man's back was to her and her fist tightened around the handle of the bat. <br><br>Suddenly Sam moved fast, the smell of blood sending quivers down her small body. She felt strong. very strong. Within a second she was behind the man, both hands on around the bat as she swung with brutal force at the creature's head. She was much smaller than the rest, standing only 5'0. She was skinny and none would ever imagine the strength that was within her. <br><br>Her anger turned to rage and it fueled the growing blood lust inside of her. The feelings were the the same as the night she murdered her family, those horrible memories quickly flooding back into the street whore. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>13-05-2011, 21:58:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al froze on the bar as Sam told her to run.&nbsp; It was what her instincts said to do.&nbsp; But, she'd run before and lived to regret it.&nbsp; So, she stood there, shocked when the man hurled himself over the bar and then Sam snatched the bat from her grip, moving too fast.&nbsp; Al backed up along the bar until she cast herself up against the support post at the end where the bar made the turn.&nbsp; She stood there, unsure which way to turn, weaponless now.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes roved over the unreal scene around her, one hand automatically rubbing the bugs from her neck, kicking one leg and then the other.&nbsp; <br><br>The next round of gunfire made her jump.&nbsp; The first round obviously hadn't done the trick...why try the same shit again? she mused.&nbsp; Wasn't that the definition of insanity?&nbsp; She giggled, watching everything climbing into that handbasket that seemed on a express to hell.&nbsp; She breathed out.&nbsp; <em>Think.</em> She told herself.&nbsp; She wasn't taking orders very well...not even from herself.<br><br>Her head jerked as she heard something in the back room.&nbsp; Something was back there.&nbsp; O.K.&nbsp; Good to know all escape routes were closed.&nbsp; Not even snow tires and chains would get them out of the bar now.&nbsp; <em>Fuck.&nbsp; No time for hysteria, now, girl.&nbsp; THINK.</em><br><br>There was a sound from behind her, below and to her right and a boy burst through the flaming door.&nbsp; At first, Al thought he was on fire.&nbsp; She squatted and eased off the bar, going behind it to grab the fire extinguisher they were required to have.&nbsp; He wasn't screaming, though.&nbsp; She peeked over the bar and she saw the kid holding a torch...at least, that's how her brain identified the object in his hands.&nbsp; A second look and she felt even more disbelief than she'd felt when the glowing-eyed Mr. Baleful had spoken to her; a flaming SWORD?&nbsp; No way, she thought, the extinguisher slipping from her fingers to smack poor Louie's arm.&nbsp; Al bent over to grab the extinguisher.&nbsp; "Sorry," she hissed at Louie, grabbing the hose part of the extinguisher and yanking the pin from the handle, she straightened to look over the bar once more.<br><br>The question was, was the kid with the flaming fucking sword with the other monsters or was he --- could she actually be thinking this? -- Was he there to help?&nbsp; She didn’t miss the religious symbolism of the sword.&nbsp; But, this sure as hell wasn’t the Garden of Eden.&nbsp; And, she didn’t believe those fairytales anymore than she believed in happy endings.&nbsp; Al looked over at the man with the gun, her ears still ringing from the first shots.&nbsp; With the swordsman between her and the front door and who-knew-what going on in the back room, and the center ring full to the brim with bugs and monsters, she felt a little on edge.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>14-05-2011, 05:37:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center">Offices of the Cape Merrin Gazette</div><br><br>Alice let the phone fall from her hand as it went dead before she could ask even one question. She felt as if whoever had called had stabbed her deep in the heart. Or maybe the hole had already been there the band aid ripped open whenever someone mentioned Alexanders name. For a moment she was back inside the tent the body of her son resting warm and snug against her. Then the thing, the Monster that she had all but convinced herself had been her own imagination had come. She could hear the rip of the tent being broke as sharp claws sliced through it. She pulled her son closer, warm body against body. When the Monster had gotten a hold of her sons leg his eyes had opened, and seemed to plead with her very soul. Help Me. Except in this vision it seemed to be saying. Help them.<br><br>Did she want others to live their lives like her? She wasn't even living anymore, but going through the motions, a ghost of her self. Everything was focused on distracting herself, because every thought could easily end in pain. Screw them, and their stupid kids. Did any of them help her? No. So let them die for all she cared. No she couldn't do that, no matter how much she wanted to do it. Had&nbsp; she not become a reporter to save the world? Perhaps it was time to do that? To start reporting again, and stop living this ghost life.<br><br>Beep, Beep, Beep....The phone was shouting angrily reminding her that it was still off of the line.<br><br>“ fuck She muttered under her breath as a hand fished for the phone and slammed it back down in its cradle. She could hear the police radio some of the other reporters had going off. Something was&nbsp; going on at Simon's Bull. Some of the bigger reporters were getting ready to go down there, no doubt by the sound of the radio that a lot of cops were already there. Perhaps with people preoccupied it would be a good time to go down to the police station and see what she could find. If she was going to do this, she was going to investigate. To do it objectively like a good reporter, not just take information from some unreliable source on the phone just because he mentioned her sons name.<br><br>She dug through some papers on her desk. Her desk had stacks of paper all around it, and looked like a mess, but she knew where&nbsp; everything was. “ I get more order through chaos.” She use to joke with people who made a comment about her sloppy desk.&nbsp; She pulled out a calender and circled the 14th. If&nbsp; the source had been right that left her with little time to pull an investigation. She would have to have it in the paper by the 13th at the latest to do anyone any good.&nbsp; She grabbed up her press badge&nbsp; and a notebook, then headed out to her car. She was thinking like a reporter now separating everything into deadlines and facts, her son pushed into the back of her mind. The Band Aid back on her heart.<br><br><div align="center">Police Station </div><br><br>She climbed into her V.W and drove out to the police station. She drove in quietness her mind focused only on the task at hand. When she arrived at the police station she quickly pulled into an empty spot and walked out of the car into the station. There wasn't any cops in the lobby, and the person at the desk was taking some kind of call.&nbsp; <br><br>Alice stood there and waited for a few seconds, her hand s playing with the reporter press badge she had . She stood there for a few minuets. Then she looked around as far as she could tell the person on the phone never even noticed her, so she walked away from the front desk and into the hall way behind it. <br><br>Her heart was beating hard now, but by the way Alice held herself as she walked anyone would have thought she belonged there. . She walked into a room with some file cabinets and opened one up to search through it. It was highly unorthodox way of reporting, but if the call had been right she had very little time. Defiantly not enough to play with police politics, where they might give you a file after they spent days doctoring it, or say it was lost, or just refuse all together. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 06:13:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull, main barroom</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">From her vantage point on the bar Al could see that Micheal and the newcomer with the flaming sword were closing with the large wolf creature. Micheal had some trouble pulling away from the beast and so his attack with his small blade found flesh to tear through, but he was off balance, and so not as successful as Arathel with his considerably larger and flaming blade. The wolf howled angrily, its rage pouring from its throat as its hands worked in some sort of odd pattern before itself. These weren’t defensive maneuvers—no one could really tell what he was doing.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">In the center of the barroom the shorter man whose eyes had been glowing red faced far more foes. JJ fired at him from across the bar, hitting him with four of the rounds, though he continued to fire until his clip was again empty. The thing shrieked in pain and began to shake. It had missed gutting Leof by inches and thus its rage was over failed attacks as well as pain. As it stood there, enraged, Sam leapt from the bar and brought the baseball bat crashing down on the man, but JJ’s last bullet found her torso, punctured it, and ripped through her, causing immense pain. Sam’s body immediately found itself under attack from the silver nitrate in the bullet. She could feel the blood pouring from her body and knew it was urgent she find a place to rest and try to recover.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Before Al’s eyes the man with the red eyes seemed to disappear. As Sam coughed blood and Leof prepared to stab the man, they both felt a damp moisture press against them. Even Diane felt the moisture as she smacked at the attacking roaches. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull, back hallway</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Det. Michaels stood peering into the bathroom she also felt the dampness wash over her, but it was gone quickly and there were other things more pressing for her to assess. Before her, in front of the men’s room mirror stood a short black man, no more than 5’ 6” in height. There was an array of oddly colored and scented candles arranged on the bathroom sinks and the light in the room moved oddly, as if serpents lurked in the shadows. When the man turned to her, Det. Michaels saw that he was dressed impeccably in an expensive suit, but despite this, his left arm was missing from somewhere below the elbow.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The strange little man also boasted a well-maintained little goatee. He smiled at the detective, and he moved his right arm, in a gesture of welcome, seeking out her eyes while he did so, as if she were in his home, and he were playing the dutiful host. “Come in, won’t you?” his gesture asked. Then he spoke, his eyes locked on hers, his voice like ice in Cori’s ears, “Go into the barroom and shoot people.” The voice was commanding and Cori found herself compelled to obey. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">[Ygg, make a roll of 17 or higher to avoid being taken over. If you succeed, write a post that describes you fighting for control of your own body and succeeding. You may then act as you wish. If you fail, either post about going into the bar and shooting at people, or ask me to do so if you’re uncomfortable doing it. (And yes, these will require successes as well.)]</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull, front entryway</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">When more gunshots issued from the bar, the small collection of police ushered Abigail and Delilah away from the bar and toward a squad car. One of the officers stayed with them and tried to placate Delilah, assuring her that he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them since they were civilians. The young officer's assertions didn’t exactly inspire confidence, especially when he flinched at the final gunshot that could be heard coming from within Simon’s Bull.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The second volley of bullets decided Otis, and he ran down a back alley, charging hard for the back entrance. At the front of the bar, the Cape Merrin officers lined up on either side of the door, and one of the officers kicked open the door savagely and avoided catching his clothing on fire. What he saw in the bar—the roaches, the 10’ tall wolf, and a number of people with weapons engaged in attacks—made him freeze for an instant. A second later and he drew his weapon and badge and yelled at the entire bar, in the most commanding voice possible: “Cape Merrin PD, drop your weapons and stop moving immediately!” His voice was shrill and verged toward hysteria in the final syllables of "immediately." The other officers—two more—kicked the door open and came in after this pronouncement. One of the officers looked at the roaches swarming over the floor of the bar and ran out to radio for animal control and to puke up the large double quarter pounder he had consumed less than 20 minutes ago. The taste of bile was still in his spittle when he radioed in for more back up.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Outside the vague sound of sirens could be heard, but no fire truck had yet arrived to douse the fire on the door. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Otis approached the back entrance of the bar, he had to boot a thin, scraggily rat out of the doorway with the toe of his shoe. From his vantage point he could see the lady cop he had seen earlier in the hallway; she was lit strangely as if candlelight were emanating from the bathroom doorway that she stood in. Tentatively, he lifted a foot over the threshold, prepared to enter hell once again. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 06:23:55</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He kept his focus on the werewolf, taking two steps to the side to flank the beast and hoping that he had enough of the creature's focus to give Micheal the chance to regain his footing.&nbsp; Both hands gripped tightly around the hilt of the apparently holy weapon as he began to spin, throwing his entire body into another horizontal slash.&nbsp; One strike was enough, but few expected a person to completely duplicate the type of attack they'd just made.&nbsp; Besides, he didn't like the kind of gestures that this thing was making, probably some kind of ritual, and would much prefer if it didn't have any hands with which to do them.<br><br>However, its strange and erratic gestures didn't much hold up to the method of attempting a full-turn swing, and his blade passed right between the hands.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 06:59:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Oh Christ...&nbsp; So much shit going on, it was hard to keep focused on all of what was happening. As the man with red eyes disappeared, and he was assaulted with a, to him, sickening moisture, he cursed rather loudly in Filipino; something of a habit acquired from his mentor and boss.<br><br>When the man left, he had all of enough time to fold up his knife and slip it back into a pocket--having no desire to go after the werewolf, which already seemed outnumbered-- before the cops go knocking down the door. Wanting to cause no problems, he would keep his hands raised in the air, not wishing to provoke them into taking shots or otherwise being rough on him. It seemed like an odd thing to do, with the combat still going on, but Leofwine imagined that the Werewolf was not likely to come after him while he was otherwise vulnerable... which meant, then, that the biggest threat to him was from the police.&nbsp; <br><br>"Medic! Quickly, this woman's been shot." He'd try to scream to the police officers, voice muffled by his helmet,&nbsp; once he noticed that a stray bullet from the gung-ho hunter had hit Sam. If the police hadn't come in, he might have tried to get her out and treat her injury himself...but their was simply no way for him to do that now. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 07:59:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al flinched as the man down the bar shot again.&nbsp; She jerked to look back at the fray, the boy with the sword of fire and the man with what looked like little more than a pocket knife taking on the ---she couldn't quite think the word "werewolf"--- creature.&nbsp; And, then she saw that Sam was hit, falling, and the man she'd hit with the bat, the man who had been shot and who had glowing eyes--he vanished.<br><br>Her breathing was coming in gasps.&nbsp; <em> Energy never dies, it just changes shape </em> hummed through Al's mind as the glowing-eyed man disappeared.&nbsp; She hesitated for a second, the fire extinguisher falling from her grip to crush the goddamned cockroaches and then tipping over to smack Louie on the head before rolling a half a turn on the floor, smashing more of the roaches.&nbsp; Al didn't even notice.&nbsp; She broke from her frozen stance and spun around, smacking into the corner of the bar as she raced around it, rebounding off the facing wall to fling herself towards the injured girl.<br><br>The front door crashed open and she heard voices, commands to stand still and she half-raised her hands, glancing at the door.&nbsp; So much blood.&nbsp; She shot forward as the man with the little knife called out that there was an injured person.&nbsp; "It's me, Al...I work here!" she yelled as she skidded on her knees to Sam, pressing one hand to the front and rolling her to press her other hand to the exit wound.&nbsp; She jerked as the bugs still tried to bite, flinging those she could away from her without removing her hands from Sam.<br><br>She looked not at the cops but at the battle that still was taking place what seemed like miles away from her little chunk of reality.&nbsp; At least I'll die trying to help, she thought; doing instead of running.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 09:23:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>'Gee, I don't have to call the police? Well, of <span class="bbc_u">course</span>, if the freaking <strong>rat monster</strong>...talking...man...says so!'</em>&nbsp; Reggy thought, only mildly hysterical now. The fire escape continued to rattle until a tall, grossly malnourished figure flung itself -- no, himself, it was <em>definitely</em> a 'he' -- over the railing and sat on the ledge, just barely outside Reggy's narrow field of vision. In what might have qualified as the bravest moment of his life to date, Reginald pushed the door open a little further and risked a better look at the...'person', he guessed would be a decent enough term; it sounded reasonably inclusive, and besides he didn't know if a creature that switched forms could really be called a 'man.'<br><br>As he realized the ridiculousness of his train of thought, Reggy took the book and thumped it against his forehead. <em>'I'm having the most surreal conversation of my entire life with someone who just changed shape from a, a giant rat-thing to a human, about whether or not I know how to use a magic book properly and all I can think about is finding the least inoffensive PC term to call him in my own head! What the <strong>hell</strong> is wrong with me?!'</em><br><br>"Um...I'm Reggy...well, Reginald, but I mean you can call me Reggy," he said, his shaky voice slowly growing more comfortable with the idea of actual conversation. He let go of the door and it swung open a little further, and he glanced back down at the book again. Midnight? Backwards? He'd never even suspected. He had a feeling he wasn't that gifted, however, and resolved to stand by Silas' warning.<br><br>"Well, I don't...I mean, I haven't, um, tried to...no," Reggy said weakly. "I, um, I didn't even really consider, you know...reading it backwards...just, just the regular way, really. Are you...I mean, would you really..." He began to ask, more than a little discomfitted by Silas' nakedness, but before he could finish his question the-- <br><br><em>'man, just look at him, he's clearly a man, dammit!'</em><br><br>--man turned toward downtown and spoke again. His voice suddenly held much more authority and Reggy half-expected him to strike some sort of superhero pose before he fled back down into the alley below.<br><br>With barely more than a second thought, Reggy flung the door wide open and rushed after him to the ledge. He looked down just in time to see a small rodent scampering out the mouth of the alley, dark wet fur bristling. Suddenly, Reg felt exhausted. He spun back to face the exit and sank down to the cement, drawing his knees up beneath himself and hugging the book tight to his stomache as the rain came down.<br><br><em>'What...what just happened, here?'</em> Reggy thought, dazed and disoriented. It felt like the whole world was spinning as he turned the encounter over and over in his mind. Did he really just talk to some kind of a, a were-rat? About magic? Did he, Reginald Barker, just have a genuine, honest-to-God paranormal experience?<br><br><em>'No...no way, it couldn't be. Those guys, I bet it was those jerks from earlier, they-they-they're just messing with me somehow, or they beat me up, yeah, maybe they really hurt me and I cracked my skull and I'm just hallucinating, delusional, in a coma or something...this is all just a dream, it's not real, I...I'm not...'</em><br><br>Reggy rocked himself slowly back and forth, his breathing fast and shallow, and squeezed the book in his fingers as he scrunched his eyes shut. It was real. It had all been real, it had really happened, there was no denying it and that meant that it really was all real. There really were monsters in the dark, and just because one of them didn't want to eat him tonight didn't mean others wouldn't. The world suddenly felt huge around him, vast and unexplainable and wholly terrifying, and he'd never felt so small in his whole life.<br><br>Thunder rolled overhead, the rain poured harder, and for the first time in almost four years, Reggy broke down and cried.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 16:32:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The blade made contact with the wolves flesh, but not as how he would have liked it to. It seemed that Arathel had better luck with his attack. Regaining his footing Micheal backed stood toe to toe with the wolf watching as it moved his hands. As much as he wanted to Micheal couldn't make sure everyone was okay, but by the sounds of everything it seemed that JJ was handling things considerably well as he heard gun shots, and the sounds that were in response to the gun shots. <br><br>Micheal directed his attention back to the wolf, and watched as Arathel made an attempt at another attack though he had missed. Micheal grew furious with the beast and a rage took over him. Though temporarily postponed by the entering of police officers. Weapons drawn and demanding that everyone freeze. His mind registered that demand for a half of a second, and then it left. He charged at the wolf knife gripped tightly in his hand. The cop would have to shoot him, but he had to kill this wolf, or it was going to give them hell. <br><br>Finding a small window Micheal lunged at the wolf, and thrusted his blade at the monster. Unleashing a small flurry towards the wolf. All aimed for vital spots of the wolf in any attempt to kill the wolf. Should he fail then Micheal was in a for a world of hurt, or possibly death. He knew what the wolf was doing, and it wasn't going to be good for anyone if this wolf's rage built up anymore. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 18:29:38</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrin Police Department</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The files Alice found in the CMPD were left unsecured on the first floor for a reason: they were maintenance logs for the building. The only thing she noticed as being odd was the large number of incidents, as she flipped through the contents in drawer after drawer, that had to do with the elevator in the building. The CMPD was an old building with grand staircases, but the elevator had been put in at some point early in the twentieth century by some Cape Merrin citizen with more money than he knew what to do with. The Augustus Chambers elevator was elaborate, apparently prone to breaking down, and exceedingly beautiful.</span><br><div align="center"><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span>(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ILopEoxL1uY/TWD__ek5N_I/AAAAAAAABQ0/lzuJXwQJL28/s1600/SDC14539.JPG)</div><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Alice</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> had passed it on the way into the room she was searching. The halls were still quiet, the soft echo of the voice of the officer at the duty desk still sounded off the spacious walls as he spoke into a telephone. The elevator stood there at the end of the corridor, whispering to Alice, promising that she might find more information on the fourth floor, where the homicide detectives nested with all the details and data of the various crimes that occurred on Cape Merrin’s streets. And there were lots of crimes for them to investigate—strange crimes of men coming home from work and bludgeoning their wives to death and then sitting down at the dinner table, still speckled in their wives’ blood and eating the meal that had been prepared for the husband’s homecoming. <em>The Gazette </em>didn’t like to report too many of these things; Cape Merrin was a city, sure, but it was a sleepy city, one that didn’t need the reputation of New York City or Chicago.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cobb Theater Roof</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><div class="floatleft">(http://i1.squidoocdn.com/resize/squidoo_images/250/draft_lens5447092module41572982photo_1245611438Punk_Girl.jpg)</div><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Allison Treble, or “Trebs” as most of the crew at the Cobb referred to her, couldn’t find </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Reginald anywhere. She had been called out of the office when she noticed customers filing around the food counter without being attended to at the intermission in that historical romance bullshit four hour film that every Cape Merrin teenage girl was swooning to see. It was enough to make Trebs gag—romance, falling in love, a noble and endearing prince that was just <em>so</em> handsome. Bull shit. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cursing she went out to look after Reggy’s customers. This wasn’t like him, disappearing. The kid was generally pretty mousey but he was damned more responsible than a lot of the other employees that worked during the day shifts. She relied on the size of the crowds to keep those employees in line. Reggy was generally always dutiful about his work, even on dead nights. If she looked in on him either directly or via the surveillance equipment, if he wasn’t waiting on someone he was wiping down counters and restocking. Like she had initially thought, she came back to the same conclusion, disappearing during his shift was not Reggy’s style—something had to be up. After she put the romance viewers back to bed with their insipid film, she ran back to her office, locked up and started combing the back of the theater, eventually thinking she ought to check the staircase to the roof when she couldn’t turn Reggy up. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">She found the door to the roof ajar, rain blowing into the theater’s interior through it, and she called out for Reggy a couple of times before seeing him huddled up against the low wall of the roof, hugging the book against him. “It’s pouring out here Reg! Come on, let’s go back inside,” Trebs shouted, looking down at Reggy and offering him a hand up. Her short black hair was getting soaked as she stood there, trying to get Reggy back to his feet. She looked sad and concerned for him, but also a bit urgent. She couldn’t stay up here forever waiting on him to take her hand and come back inside.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Behind the cop looking over Abigail and Delilah an odd mist seemed to gather. And then it wasn’t a mist anymore. It was a muscular man with long black hair—someone who seemed to be doing their best worst impression of Glenn Danzig, and then the cop’s head was gone and a fountain of blood washed up into the man’s face. He lapped and licked and sucked and swallowed the blood spray, his features looking distinctly wolfish as he did so. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The other cop who had radioed in for Animal Control earlier spun around at the noise of tearing ligaments and he fumbled for his gun. He dropped it and slid down against the cruiser door that he was standing in. When the officer was down completely, the man stood there glowering; bullet holes were clearly present in his clothing and flesh, though no blood poured from him. The two women before him he sniffed briefly but turned away from, and using the long talons extending from his fingertips, he hauled himself up over the cop car and down to the pavement in front of the other officer. “Fear makes you taste <em>sooo</em> much better,” he said around a mouthful of bloody teeth. He disappeared down on top of the cop and the sounds of tearing could just barely be heard over the officer’s yells and kicking feet. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 18:51:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Wounded</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><hr> <br><br>Everything seemed to slow down for Sam. Sounds became inaudible as she found the ground coming up to greet her. It was after her knees hit the floor did she realize she had been shot. She didn't know why, but it burned and she found herself coughing up blood. <br><br>It all seemed cruel, the first time feeling something physical in years and it was the pain of a gun shot wound. Dark crimson blood poured from the wound, staining her hoodie. Sam struggled to get up to her knees, but kept slipping and falling on her stomach. <br><br>When Ali rushed to Sam's side she felt cold to the touch. Blood pooling in the girl's mouth and trickling out the side. Her small chest rising and falling erratically as she gaze up at Ali. Her blue eyes seemed to dull and become distant. <em>Maybe this is what I've wanted all along...</em> Sam thought, her eye lids getting heavy and a sleepiness creeping inside of her.&nbsp; <br><br>"...so tired..." she choked out her voice shaking with uneasiness. Ali could not tell if she was talking to herself or to her. <br><br>Muffled noises is all Sam heard. They were getting further away and darkness over took Sam....
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 23:12:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center">Alice at the&nbsp; Cape Merrin Police Department</div><br>Alice dug through the files for a while, but was quickly realizing why she had gotten in here so easy. She probably should have realized this early, but her real reporting skills were a bit rusty.It did not take much digging to find out about blood drives and book sales. She pushed the last file back into the cabinet and slowly closed the door. From there she stood there for a moment pondering on what to do.<br><br>She walked up t o the door of the room, and looked both ways. She could hear the person at the front desk still talking away making her wonder if he was talking about business at all. She saw the elevator that she had read about in the files. Should she go to it? Somewhere in this place where the files she needed, and now would be the best time to get them.<br><br>She walked to the elevator and paused.For a moment there was a vision in her mind of her getting in and the elevator plummeting to her death. A part of her had always felt nervous in this things, and from what she read this one liked to break down. She took a breath. I have nothing to lose, she told herself. Then she pressed the up arrow. The elevator slid open and she walked in, the door closed behind her. <br><br>She hit the number four on the r ow of buttons on the elevator. The elevator made a noise, but then started up taking her to the floor she specified. She played with her badge again as she waited for the elevator to take her where she wanted to go. She wondered how many cops would be up there. It really didn't matter, she had gone this far and she wasn't leaving without the information she wanted.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>17-05-2011, 23:27:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Exterior of Simon’s Bull - <em>Desperately</em> in need of another drink.&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>"Motherfucker!" was about all Delilah could manage to blurt out as the devilish figure single-handedly slaughtered the very men who had insisted on protecting them.&nbsp; The blood flowed fresh and hot over her face, but by then she was all business.&nbsp; The <em>thing</em> seemed distracted enough with its meal, but it was pretty damn clear he'd probably have more than enough room in his cavernous gullet for the rest of them once he was through with the sad sack of meat by the squad car.<br><br>All she could feel was her feet pounding against the slick pavement as she ran to the front of the truck, unlocking the door and hauling herself up with surprising finesse for a total drunk; the adrenaline was doing plenty to suffocated the slight buzz of the liquor.&nbsp; She had a special gift in mind for the bloodsucker, and she thoroughly hoped he'd enjoy it.<br><br>For most people, getting hit at close-range by a pulverizing blast from a pump-action shotgun would be enough to put them well in the ground.&nbsp; Unfortunately, her enemy wasn't most people.&nbsp; For that kinda breed, only one kinda shell would do.&nbsp; Explosive silver rounds, anointed with holy water and filled with a potent mixture of wolf's bane and wooden slivers peeled from a holy sign.&nbsp; Not the mark of Christ--sometimes one had to go <em>way</em> back to find the proper runes, back in days when religion had <em>real</em> power and the world was a dark and unpleasant place right down to its very core.&nbsp; It had only taken one occasion of a vampire laughing at her cross for her to take the hint.<br><br>No words, just action.&nbsp; Weapon hot and ready in her hands, she got as close to the damn thing as she dared to risk and pulled the trigger hard.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>18-05-2011, 17:46:46</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Book Revue<br>Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- Bored outta her mind...</span><br><br>Nestled in between all the busy streets and shops of Downtown, better known as the Financial District by the bigwigs, an old used book store has managed to keep its corner post for more than a decade already. Chic cafes and coffee shops have settled nearby over the years and bookworms were more than happy to settle in for a cup of java after they've added to their reading collection.<br><br>Recently, with the change in ownership, the store's gone through several renovations and the place's appearance has changed rather drastically. Books were now shelved neatly and categorized under their genres, for the regular customers who have visited throughout the years they've found that it was much easier to find their favorites when the novels were in alphabetical order by authors. The giant bins of used books were gone for good, and the entire interior of the store was neat, now with enough room to actually install a few plush couches as well.<br><br>However, the policy of the store hadn't changed at all. Books were rented out for a week. If you like it, you keep it. If you don't, you return it and the store returns 50% the book's paying price. Used books were bought back for 25% - 50% the book's paying price, depending on the condition -- and sold the same way. Business wasn't exactly booming but the income was steady thanks to regular patrons and the occasional curious newcomer.<br><br>Music pulsed softly from the headset hanging around her neck, though the woman sitting behind the front counter seemed oblivious to it as she dozed off, lulled by the rhythmic sound of raindrops pattering against the windows. Fate seemed oddly out of place in the store. At first glance, people wouldn't guess that she was much of a reader. A second glance and they were probably wondering if she actually, truly, worked there. Very few people actually knew that she was the owner of the shop. Very few people meaning herself and Mike. She was more than happy to let him take the credit as store owner.<br><br>Stretching back, she yawned hugely and blinked blearily for a moment before resting her chin in hand and once again, stared idly out the glass doors to the downpour outside. Morning classes were killer, but it was all she could do if she planned to pull off running the store during the afternoon and evenings. After all, it was her only source of income and Mike wasn't <em>that</em> generous a soul. But during nights like these, when business was dead -- no thanks to the pouring rain -- it was hard to stay awake till closing time. <br><br>Ahh, she couldn't wait to get home. Glancing over at the clock, she noted that there was still an hour and a half left before she could lock up without Mike getting on her case for closing early. Then it'd be home, possibly soak for an hour or two in a hot bath and then lounge around at home once class was finished tomorrow. Thursdays and Sundays had quickly become Fate's favorite days and she spent her free time from work sitting in her underwear at home with a can of cold beer in hand while she surfed through the channels on her little television set. Not the most glamorous way to spend her days off but hey, who's to judge? Even Mike didn't bother with her anymore, though she never turned down an invitation for free food.<br><br>Her notes from class were sprawled messily around the desk, textbook laying to the side unopened. With a heavy sigh, she nestled her head in her arms and stared over at the ticking clock. Nine o' clock just could <em>not</em> come around fast enough. Burying her face in her arms, Fate was determined to just sleep till closing time. Screw Mike and his store policy shit.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>18-05-2011, 18:05:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Calming down only to rev back up...</strong><br><br>With most of the fighting taken care of save for the werewolf that was still running about, Jason saw the girl, Sam, he'd find out later, go down and his battle rage melted away at the same time he saw the spray of blood shoot out of her stomach from his silver nitrate round ripping through her.&nbsp; He dropped his gun, luckily on the bar, in shock, having never expected to accidentally shoot an innocent bystander in the middle of all this madness, and then of course the cops arrived to make things worse.&nbsp; Then something else appeared to make things rather interesting, but he paid it no mind as he jumped the bar and helped Al try to keep Sam going a bit longer, adding pressure to the wound with his own hands.&nbsp; "Hey, snap out of it!&nbsp; Al wasn't it?&nbsp; Get towels, anything you can to help bind this up until help arrives.&nbsp; MOVE!"&nbsp; He shouted, knowing there wasn't much time, ignoring the cold he felt around Sam's skin, chalking it up to the rain outside she had walked in from and the fact she was bleeding out right here on the floor, unaware he was helping a sworn enemy, a vampire.&nbsp; Course, his mind would change about saving her the moment he found out what she was.&nbsp; For now, she was an innocent bystander that needed aid, and it was his fault she needed it to begin with.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>18-05-2011, 21:58:11</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Dead?</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><br><hr> <br><br><em>Wake up, Child. Today is not your day to die...</em> <br><br>Sam's eyes shot open, black orbs of dark abyss resonated as her lips parted and mouth opened, revealing two long canines and two smaller ones behind them as she attacked JJ's throat with such speed and strength that he was caught off guard. The fangs sunk deep into his neck and his warm blood began to pool in her mouth. <br><br>Sam suckled on the man's neck. Hard. She felt the wound begin to close and strength return to her body. Adrenaline flood into her system as every sense was heightened. She could smell near by blood and her eyes could spot the feint pulsing of veins on everyone's face. <br><br>More and more she drank, hearing the roars and screams of patrons. The man tasted delicious, young and fertile. He wasn't the fat old perverts she normally drank from. Warm salty and metallic was the taste she savored. Her hands clenched around his wrists holding him back, her body shivering as she struggled to break from his neck. <br><br><em>No! LET GO! STOP!</em> she screamed in her head, as she pulled her mouth from his neck, blood trickling from her flushed lips. Samantha stood quickly, her agile body moving quicker then before, energized by the blood of the man. Her black eyes narrowed at the creature that was causing harm to others and she bolted at him, jumping over the bar and lunging at him. If successful she would plunge her fangs into his neck, desiring to taste the beast!<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 07:26:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-size: 10pt;" class="bbc_size"><strong><em>Let's do the time warp, again...<br>Before Sam bites JJ's neck, Al gets her pound of flesh...verbally--sorta</em></strong></span><br><br>With her hands still on Sam, Al glared at the man.&nbsp; He had been quick to respond in anger when she'd tried to hide that she wasn't your average dive bar tender and corrected her language.&nbsp; He'd SHOT Sam so who the hell was he to be giving orders on care?<br><br>Al didn't move, didn't alter her position except to turn her head to look at the man as he moved in.&nbsp; "Listen, asshat, it's through and through.&nbsp; There's no 'binding' a wound like this until she's in a hospital.&nbsp; And, wanna' make the blood flow faster?&nbsp; let's stick something absorbent on it and draw it all out, right?"&nbsp; She clenched her jaw before adding, "I've got my goddamned finger in the entry and my other hand is flat on the exit, with a decent seal.&nbsp; Take your own advice, Dr. Phil, and snap out of it.&nbsp; She's cold; why don't you give her your shhhhhhhhhhh...."&nbsp; Al blinked as Sam seemed to fly, lunging at JJ and nailing him on the neck.<br><br>Al fell back, her blood-covered hands slipping on the floor as she stared, not believing...&nbsp; Neck...&nbsp; She scrambled to her feet and reached to grab for the...girl?...thinking to haul her away from the man, but the girl released him and moved off.<br><br>Al looked at JJ, blinking like her eyes were watering, but in reality hoping what she'd seen was some optical illusion that could be blinked away, if she tried hard enough.&nbsp; But, the girl went after their attacker and Al didn't know what to think; who was good?&nbsp; who was bad?&nbsp; She was still reaching out to JJ, her arm not having moved since she rose to grab the girl from his neck.&nbsp; <br><br>She focused on JJ--"Uh...are you...ummm...O.K.?" she asked, feeling like an idiot.&nbsp; She reached for his arm, stepping towards him, thinking to help, but not really sure who needed it anymore.&nbsp; Disappearing monsters, crazed roaches, the furry thing that she refused to call a werewolf...fuck...she'd thought the word and her eyes moved towards the thing.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 08:19:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Reggy was still crying when he noticed the sound of his name being called from the stairwell. Thankfully, the heaving sobs had abated and his shoulders had stopped shuddering, but tears were still rolling down his face. His boss, Miss Treble (he'd never been able to work up the nerve to call her 'Trebs,' even behind her back, even if she wasn't that much older than him) stood over him, one hand extended to help him back to his feet. As he looked up, he realized his eyes were probably red, but at least the rain washed away any trace of his tears; there <em>might</em> have been a chance she wouldn't realize he'd been crying. Oh God, he hoped so; he wasn't sure he could handle it if even someone as cool as Allison knew how pathetic he was.<br><br>"It's pouring out here, Reg! Come on, let's go back inside," she said over the storm. For a brief moment Reggy looked at her offered hand as if he didn't understand what to do with it, and he ran one hand over his face as if he were wiping away the rain before taking her hand tentatively. She wasted no time in hauling her errant employee back to his feet; his palm felt clammy in her grip, and he prayed that too would be attributed to the rain. Reggy gave a silent nod and followed her back downstairs, hunching his shoulders slightly to protect the book from the wet.<br><br>Upon reaching the bottom landing, the pair stopped by the employee fire exit to let some of the excess rain drip away; no sense leaving any more of a trail than they had to, especially since it would only have to be mopped up later. Probably by Reggy, seeing as none of the other employees apparently knew how to operate a mop, and it was his mess anyway.<br><br>"I, um, I'm sorry, Miss Treble. I was...just on my break, and I didn't realize I'd been gone so long," Reggy said, offering a weak explanation for disappearing on shift. <em>'Probably I'll get written up for this,'</em> he thought, eyes downcast. <em>'And why not? Not like I can explain myself. "Oh, I was up on the roof talking to a rat-creature that turned into a naked man about magic, but he ran off like some kind of C-list action hero and the emotional toll of the whole experience was just too much for me to process so I broke down crying like some little bitch, that's all, boss!" Yeah, she would totally buy that. And then I can get fired for suspicion of drug use while on the clock. Great plan, Reg...'</em><br><br>After the two had drip-dried a little more, Reggy stuffed the book back in his locker under his coat. He'd stop off in the bathroom and give his vest a thorough wringing before he went back out to the counter. They parted ways at the office, and Reggy looked back at Miss Treble before heading back out to the front. He thought about the look that had been on her face when she'd come to look for him on the roof. It was probably just his imagination, but she'd almost seemed concerned. About <span class="bbc_u">him</span>. <em>'Ha, wouldn't that be nice? Like that would ever happen.'</em> Of course, she was probably just worried he was going to step off the roof and leave her short-handed or something. Reg plastered a smile on his face and laughed softly. "Sorry again, Miss Treble. You know me, scatterbrained Reggy. It won't happen again, I promise.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 18:03:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Unable to decide to try to snap Sam's neck or let her take him down....</strong><br><br>Turning his attention to Al after she said her piece, Jason growled as he countered her remarks with a few of his own.&nbsp; "Yes, I shot her, but I'm trying to save her damn life since it was an accident!&nbsp; In case you haven't noticed you dumb blond bimbo, there's a fucking werewolf over there, roaches crawling over everything, and a demonic creature that disappeared although I hammered it with several rounds of silver nitrate filled slugs that had a helping of salt just for creatures like that.&nbsp; So, if you want to argue about this, then by all means, let's watch her bleed out while we bicker you fucking...dumbass....bi..."&nbsp; Jason was interrupted when Sam decided to take a bite out of him herself, literally.&nbsp; Unable to get his hands free as he let a moan of sheer bliss escape his lips against his will, Jason closed his eyes as his strength started to leave him from the wound in his neck although he was trying desperately to get his hands around the vampire's neck so he could snap it like a twig.&nbsp; By the time she let go of him however, Jason was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness as he leaned heavily against the bar, barely able to see anything going on around him now due to how much she had just taken from him and how strangely good it had felt to him.&nbsp; He was....going to kill that inhuman monster....for this...as soon as...he could see...clearly again.&nbsp; For now, he was...going to pass out.&nbsp; Falling over on his left side, Jason was out like a light as the ride side of his neck still bled a bit since it was clear that they had an anti-coagulant in their saliva, making it easier for them to feed from a fresh vein such as his.&nbsp; If pressure wasn't applied to the wound, he'd lose more than what he had already.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>19-05-2011, 22:26:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Oh, Christ.&nbsp; This night just kept getting more and more fucked up. The girl he thought was dead turned out to be a vampire, the cops are (probably) freaking the fuck out at the sight of a werewolf, vampire, and an assorted bun ch of hunters in a room filled with a large army of cockroaches that used to be a bar... it was hard for Leofwine to keep track of just everything going on. The vampire attack got his full attention.<br><br>He saw the gung-ho hunter go down for the count, but he didn't think JJ had been drained dry. The vampire didn't spend enough time feeding on him to have done that, and that meant he might still be alive, might be able to be saved. Part of him didn't want to, part of him blamed him for all this shit going down in the first place because he had shot off his mouth...but then their's the part of him that just can't stand to see a person suffering or wounded.<br><br>His eyes quickly assessed the situation, and he began to drag JJ back towards&nbsp; behind the bar counter. This would keep them at least somewhat protected and out of sight, and above and beyond that, he was hoping that this place might have a first aid kit that he could make use of...and the most likely place for aforementioned kit to be, if their is one, would be behind the bar. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 07:08:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				(http://i1133.photobucket.com/albums/m592/MistressofPen/Alison3.jpg)<br><br>Allison took a deep breath once JJ's mouth stopped blathering on about a blonde (?!) and he toppled over.&nbsp; She almost laughed because if anyone deserved to be put on mute, it was JJ.&nbsp; She met the other man's eyes as he dragged JJ behind the bar and followed, hopping over the bodies to grab the first aid kit, handily tucked into a black box with a skull and crossbones on it.&nbsp; She never did ask why the first aid kit was in either a "pirate" box or a poison box.&nbsp; And, the answer certainly didn't matter, now.<br><br>She held out the box to (Leofwine) the man.&nbsp; "I'm Al.&nbsp; I'm not blonde and I'm not a bimbo," she said.&nbsp; Somehow, that mattered. <em> O.K. </em>she thought, the words connecting in her head,<em> stop talking, now.</em>&nbsp; She turned and washed her hands in the cockroach-filled sink, and then poured a little rum over her hands.&nbsp; She pulled the pour stopper out and had a sip.<br><br>Monsters were fighting, a girl she'd helped, who'd tried to help her, was some sort of blood sucker, the guy who knew Gerry vanised like he was a figment of her living nightmare and now the guy she'd just yelled at was out cold on the floor.&nbsp; Bring in a guy in a top hat and a lion and this circus would be full-up.&nbsp; Al had another sip as she squatted beside the fallen man and his rescuer.<br><br>"She's not bad," Allison said.&nbsp; "I don't think...I mean, he kind of deserved it..." She shrugged and bit her lip as rum made things seem so much more calm.&nbsp; She reached out and grabbed JJ's wrist, feeling his pulse, slow but not weak.&nbsp; "Coffee?" she asked Leof.&nbsp; (meaning for JJ, but feel free to misinterpret)
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 07:17:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Leof" He'd say, introducing himself to the woman who helped him out by getting the first aid box. He intentionally set it down on some of the despicable bugs, squishing them underneath it, before opening it up.&nbsp; He frowned down at his glvoes, and took them off, so as to better be able to work on the dude.<br><br>"Well, he did shoot her...even by accident. That'd piss me off, too. Since she's a blood drinker, I'd wager that makes her hungry...but don't quote me on that." It was probably odd to hear him speaking, so perfectly placid. It happened whenever he saw someone injured; one moment he's going <strong>ohshitohfuckohgodohnoohnohno</strong>, and then, he's just perfectly calm. It's as if someone just turned off all his emotions.<br><br>He'd grab at a different bottle of alcohol within arm's reach of him, which just so happened to be Jack Daniel's. He poured a bit over the bleeding wound, uncertain if it could be infected or not, but deciding a bit of alcohol on it couldn't hurt. He'd then get into the first aid kit, using a piece of sterile gauze to wipe away the alcohol and blood, then get a fresh piece of gauze, and tape it over the wound with some medical tape. He makes sure it's nice and tightly pressed down, and well taped up. "He should make it... assuming we survive this...and no, no coffee." The bit about coffee is added in as an afterthought. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 07:56:27</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				((I knew she wasn't blonde, but I had to make the comment anyway lol.))<br><br><strong>Jason Jefferson - Being quite rudely woken up.</strong><br><br>Jason yelped when the alcohol was poured directly into the bite marks on his neck, causing him to jump almost out of his skin until Leof was done bandaging the wound.&nbsp; Opening his eyes, he glared as he stood on shaky legs, seeing his gun on the bar but his vision was still too damned blurry to do anything more than what he had already.&nbsp; "When...I'm able to see again, that bitch vampire is going to die before this night is over."&nbsp; Swaying before falling to his butt against the bar again, Jason growled, hating to be so fucking helpless as he looked to the two people near him, ignoring the dead body that used to be Louie earlier that night, now a full on buffet for the roaches.&nbsp; Looking to Al, the ex marine sighed heavily, looking away as his cheeks turned quite rosy from his earlier outburst.&nbsp; "I'm...sorry for what I said to you a few minutes ago.&nbsp; I have a personal stake in things like this and I normally don't like people getting close, hence why I chewed your head off.&nbsp; I've lost too much already to let someone near me now."&nbsp; Was the only explanation he would give at that time as the crazy situation didn't seem to be getting any better.&nbsp; Looking to Leofwine next, Jason nodded his approval of what he had accomplished so quickly.&nbsp; "Steady hands, must make you a doctor or a surgeon of some kind since only a doctor could use this stuff as effectively as you seem to have."&nbsp; The dressing was well done and it was doing the job of stemming the flow of his life blood.&nbsp; He'd still need a full day of bed rest probably, but for now he was happy, strange as that feeling was to Jason these days, that the man had found it in his heart despite his own foul attitude to help him out when he needed it most.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 08:21:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al moved as JJ stood up, hands out like a mom with a toddler learning to walk.&nbsp; But, she couldn't do anything to stop him as he sat abruptly back down.&nbsp; <br><br>She accepted his words with a grim nod, squatting beside him once more.&nbsp; "I...understand," she said, her tone speaking volumes.&nbsp; She put a hand to the man's shoulder, holding him up as he seemed a bit wobbly.&nbsp; <br><br>Al opened the mini fridge in front of her and plucked out a can of Pepsi; her own stock.&nbsp; "Here.&nbsp; The sugar will do you some good...unless you're diabetic...?&nbsp; After an adrenaline rush like that..."&nbsp; She smiled and looked at Leof as JJ turned to him.&nbsp; She looked from face to face so she wouldn't have to look at Louie's carcass.&nbsp; Her one-time co-worker and oddly enough someone she thought of as a sort of friend, didn't fare as well as the rest of them had.<br><br>"What now?" she asked, softly.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 08:32:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al would note that Leofwine still has his bike helmet on, so she'd only really be able to catch sight of his eyes through the clear visor.&nbsp; "No, not officially at least. I just know a bit of this and that." He spoke casually about what little medical training he actually had. He slipped his gloves on as he responded, then turned to regard Al. <br><br>"I don't know what you guys want to do, but I'm chilling the hell out.&nbsp; Far as the cops are concerned, I'm just an innocent victim getting caught up in all this ruckus. Don't feel like spending time in a jail cell." Yes, it might be cowardly for him to remove himself from combat,&nbsp; but really... combat simply didn't appeal to Leofwine. He trained and was fairly powerful and confident, sure, but he hoped he never actually had to use his full potential. <br><br>"And leave the vampire alone, man. You shot her, she took a bite of you. She could have killed you, but she didn't. That means she's one of the reasonable ones." He felt like he might be essentially flashing his hand to everybody in this metaphorical poker game, but he saw no other solution. He couldn't just let JJ go and kill a vampire that actually seemed like she could potentially be a functioning member of society and not become a genuine, bonafided monster. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>20-05-2011, 08:58:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Trying not to bite anyone's head off but finding it quite difficult....</strong><br><br>He hadn't missed Al's reaction to what that demon had said, having a feeling she had lost someone to all this madness that walked in the darkest of shadows as he took the Pepsi and downed half of it in one go.&nbsp; Wiping his chin off of a few stray drops, Jason sighed in relief since it did help indeed considering he had been drained pretty good.&nbsp; Looking at the girl, Jason's normally angry looking visage faded since she hadn't deserved his wrath earlier even if he had apologized, she still hadn't deserved it all the same.&nbsp; "You lost someone as well....to the dark creatures that have decided to attack this bar.&nbsp; I'm...sorry, Al.&nbsp; I lost someone as well...if that wasn't obvious already."&nbsp; Turning to Leof when he mentioned leaving the vampire alone, Jason calmly drank the rest of his drink down before crushing the can in his right hand alone, hoping that his point had been clear enough as far as his opinion on the undead bitch went.&nbsp; "I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned, she's already dead so I'd be doing her a favor if I finished the job.&nbsp; Besides, she's a monster with a pretty face, nothing more need be known about her.&nbsp; If I had known earlier when I had accidentally shot her, I would have simply finished the job then and there."<br><br>Tossing the soda can over the bar, Jason reached for his gun and grabbed it, holding it close to his chest as he fished for his last clip, slamming it home before pulling the loading mechanism back so it was cocked and ready to go should any unwanted company come at them behind the bar.&nbsp; "Want to know why I hate these bastards so much?&nbsp; My dad was killed by a succubus shortly after I had gotten back from Iraq.&nbsp; She was just like that bitch vampire in appearance only as far as being a pretty face, but she was a monster through and through.&nbsp; So, want to argue some more about whether or not she's worth keeping around or do you want to help me deal with her before anyone else ends up on the menu?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 18:47:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of the Augustus Chambers Elevator</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrin Police Department</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As the old fashioned floor indicator notched its needle into the ornate “4,” the power inside the elevator flickered out, leaving Alice in the dark. She was assaulted by a furious avalanche of fragmentary and broken sensory impressions that cascaded down from the center of the elevator’s roof. Her own physical presence was reflected back at her in the mirrored interior as the images crashed into her mind accompanied by a blue light also emanating from the center of the ceiling in the elevator car. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . a man in a red robe . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . a sense of darkness, dampness . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . cool, subterranean rock that was somehow oddly simultaneously aquatic . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . a blade that undulated with curves gleaming in the darkness . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . a flurry of downward strokes from the blade, connecting with something soft—the motion happening again and again and again and again . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . a croaking voice . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">. . . the shattered cries of children . . .</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Then suddenly with the abruptness with which it had fled, the power came back on. The images and the blue light retreated. The elevator chimed the arrival of the car at the fourth floor in an inappropriately cheery tone, and the doors withdrew backward, opening the interior to the light of the mostly silent homicide division of the Cape Merrin Police Department.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 18:48:42</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrrin</span></strong><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Delilah’s shell exploded into the creature’s back. The noises of sucking and licking, like a piggy family devouring a bucket of greasy Kentucky Fried Chicken, stopped. The thing slumped forward onto the corpse of the second cop it had murdered, its clawed hand forcing itself upward into the body cavity of the dead officer.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">It lay there for a moment, not breathing, as such was unnecessary for him since his embrace. He could feel the round in his flesh, and as he laid still, he allowed himself to “play dead” while the force of his blood, the power of his flesh forced the burn of the silver out of his body. When it was close to finished, he stood up all at once, though not empty handed. In his right arm, which had pushed deep into the body of the slain officer, he held an almost-black-with-blood heart. The thing turned its bestial features toward Delilah, and its long black hair which had covered its ears before, was tangled backward in the rain. Delilah could see there was something <em>wrong</em> about his ears. They weren’t human—not that his hands or face were, but these were just <em>not right</em>. They were long and pointed up and back from his face, were furred, like cat ears. They twitched subtly before the thing pointed at Delilah and said, “You stink of drink, hunter. How do you ever expect to sneak up on me that way?”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Quickly then, he lifted the heart to his mouth and squeezed until it was a pulp of red tissue, blood and rain cascading down into his open mouth. The strength required to pulp heart muscle with such a simple gesture was inconceivable for humans. As suddenly as he had appeared, blood smeared on his laughing face, the man with the cat ears disappeared. He seemed to simply blink out of existence. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Interior of Simon’s Bull</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Detective Michaels’s mind rebelled and reeled, but she could not stop herself from backing out of the little bathroom and into the hallway. She felt her feet plodding endlessly toward the barroom and could not stop her legs from moving, could not stop herself from raising her firearm up in the stance that she had practiced for so long, first as a member of the military, and then as a police officer. Feet apart, shoulders squared to receive the recoil, Cori’s brain screamed out for her to STOP, but she was not in control of her body or its actions.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Six shots rang out in rapid succession. The uniformed officer who had entered the building and called for everyone to freeze felt something hot on his neck, and then he was gurgling and down, the second officer following him to the floor, trying to catch the man and hold his hand over his neck and the gaping wound that was pumping his blood out onto the roaches at their feet, riling them up. As he knelt, the second officer felt a bullet zing passed him, as did Allison. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cori’s mind was fighting the impulse to kill, but then with a sudden and brutal clasp, the vice on her brain tightened and she shifted direction suddenly, aiming toward Diane. The bullet entered into the woman’s cranium, exited and lodged itself in the crumbling plaster behind her. Her body fell to the floor, food for the roaches, and Det. Michaels felt a voice in her mind: “It’s so much easier if you don’t fight, dear.” In the time it took for that sentiment to echo in her head, her torso pivoted back toward the bar and Leof felt a bullet tear through the heavy jacket he wore and skim a deep furrow of his skin from his left arm; there was no bullet lodged there, but he was now bleeding freely. JJ beside him was not as lucky, and the bullet tore through his right collar bone, leaving a gaping wound. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">A moment later and Otis was shoving passed the short little man with one arm and knocking Cori into the doorframe, kicking her gun away into the skittering roaches that were attacking the dead and dying with renewed vigor. He spun around the barroom, trying to get a sense of what the fuck was going on. Then he saw it; the werewolf, taller and more muscled than the thing that had killed his family. A bellow raged up from his gut and he fired his shotgun from the center of the barroom at the creature as it gesticulated with its hands, the tiny frame of Sam perched on its back, face burrowed into the musky smelling fur of the animal. It seemed to grin when the slug made contact with its right shoulder and knocked it back a step or two. Then it howled, reached upward with one large clawed hand, ripped Sam from his back and through her bodily into Otis. Sam felt more alive than she had since before her rape; the blood from the werewolf coursed through her body, alleviating wounds, arousing her sexual desires, her gluttonous longing after blood stoked particularly for the potent blood she had just ingested. It was better than any other blood she had ever tasted—it was <em>more</em> than just the clean taste of JJ’s youthful blood. It made her high, like a kid on too much Halloween candy, and power of the things blood was already helping her to stitch closed the series of clawmarks across her back that had shredded her hoodie.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Sam floundered atop Otis, glutted on blood but longing for more—if she needed to breath she might be panting after it, a wanton bloodslut—a strange sort of portal appeared before the wolf thing. It wasn’t entirely visible, just a shimmering, almost aqueous looking door. He lept through, taking Michael’s ineffectual little pocket knife that was embedded in his ribs with him. From the portal, a small little thing was tossed out and onto the floor of Simon’s Bull. It was lost in the clutter and shifting roach carpet of the bar. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">In the back hallway, the short black man with one arm began backing toward the rear entrance, whispering “<em>Adurite, adurite, adurite</em>.” All around the bar little flames began springing upward, licking at the tables, the walls, even flowing over the bugs still roiling over the corpses that littered the bar. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Just then, a rat who had followed Otis into the back hallway after having been rudely kicked aside at first, scurried into the central barroom. It did not remain a rat for long, but quickly became a tall, emaciated man. He was naked, and he cradled his left side, as if he had been kicked recently. His gaunt form was pale and unattractive, the muscles wearied and nearly nonexistent. He looked around at the few people still unharmed and said, “Get everyone out, now.” It was an authoritative command, and then he began to shift again, the remains of the blood that had been matted in his fur earlier was mostly washed away from the rain, so those who were uninjured and still capable of looking around could see the painful looking shift in the man’s throat as his neck elongated, as fur sprouted from his back and a long pink tail emerged from his coccyx. He was just completing his transformation into a gigantically tall, thin rat when the floor bubbled beneath the roaches, and something white and fibrous seemed to grow up out of the floor. It threatened to block of Arathel’s and Michael’s position from the rest of the barroom unless they moved toward the bar itself soon.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The thing grew and grew, until it was the size of a pool table. It was a large, fat white grub (http://www.ent.iastate.edu/soybeaninsects/files/images/white%20grub%20profile%204%20copy.jpg), and from its anterior end pincers worked. Its posterior released some sort of white goo that seemed to dissolve the pool table behind it. The Rat-Man raised his hands above his head, and chanting something in a language no one here could understand, he made a sort of symbolic strike. In response the grub screamed, a piercing cry that deafens the occupants of Simon’s Bull temporarily, and then it began flailing, its goo spraying upward on the walls wildly, its pincers working maniacally but ineffectually. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis could barely make eye contact with Michael and Arathel as he disentangled himself from Sam. And although he could only feel the pressure of his words leaving his mouth rather than hear them over the grub, Otis still said, “Let’s get the fuck out of here, now” as he stood up, looking around to see who needed help. The cop not shot by Detective Michaels was dragging the roach covered and exsanguinating body of the other officer out the burning front door as he cried, hysterically.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cobb Theater, interior</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Trebs looked back at Reggy—he looked pitiful, all dripping wet. And as he was turning away, she said, “Hey hang on a minute, Reg. She went digging through a gigantic knit purse made with scrap bits of variegated yarn. The thing was hideous and matched nothing. Trebs thought it made her look like she might be able to knit when she carried it, and well, her best friend had given it to her, so she <em>had</em> to use it. After a moment or two of digging around in her rather horrid bag she came up with a garish Portland Pirates (http://www.c5sportsonline.com/v/vspfiles/assets/images/2157.gif) beach towel and handed it to Reggy. She offered only this explication for the strange occurrence of having an oversize towel bearing a hockey team logo stuffed randomly into a bag that amounted to her purse, “I go to the public pool after work sometimes. It’s open late some nights. It’s clean, so use it if you want to dry up.” She smiled at him and said, “And don’t worry, Reg, I guess we all space out sometimes.” She flicked her damp hair back from her forehead and wandered back to her desk, settling in her chair, watching Reggy’s retreat, mildly curious about the dutiful and shy young man. “What was he doing up there?” she wondered idly before flipping back to shift paper work she needed to get done.</span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 18:49:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Book Revue<br>&nbsp;Downtown Cape Merrin<br>&nbsp;November 10, 2010</strong></span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Fate nuzzled into her arms, trying to get some sleep, an unmarked police car rolled slowly by the book store, washing up detritus from the gutters as its tires swept along the night streets. Inside Detective Michaels was bound toward the east end of town, on her way to Devil Bat Cave. </span><br><br><hr><br>&nbsp;<span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">&nbsp; <br>As Fate’s consciousness slipped more deeply into slumber, a nightmare of her CMCC Calculus class stole across her mind. In it Fate was furiously trying to take the derivative of an impossibly long problem—the entire class was, but the professor simply laughed and pushed his oversized, square-framed glasses impossibly further up the bridge of his nose while the students struggled. As the frantic buzzers and alarms began to sound within the garish classroom of Fate’s mind, declaring the absolute end of time allotted for the exam, police cars—marked ones—rushed past the shop, also headed east. Their sirens blared into the night, like a child waking from a nightmare. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 19:16:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Exterior of Simon’s Bull - On her guard&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>This wasn't like anything Delilah had ever faced before.&nbsp; That's not to say she hadn't seem some damn strange shit in her time.&nbsp; Hell, she'd certainly seen <em>uglier</em>.&nbsp; But truly there was nothing more terrifying than the unknown, <em>particularly</em> when the unknown could gulp down human viscera like jelly on toast.&nbsp; Maybe this would be her day to die.&nbsp; Then again, she'd thought the same thing before on more than one occasion.<br><br>"I don't need ta sneak up on ya," she slurred under her breath, giving the Mossberg a good pump.&nbsp; She eyed her surroundings warily, trying to listen over all the pandemonium echoing from out of the bar's shattered front door.&nbsp; <em>'I just need ta make sure ya don't sneak up on <strong>me</strong>,'</em> she thought, turning on her heel and taking a few steps back towards the truck.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 22:06:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Arathel, Male Form, Interior of Simon's Bull and still soaking wet from the rain~</strong><br><br>As the chaos opened up and the monsters went into retreat, he heard Otis' call to do the same.&nbsp; Time to get to work.&nbsp; His eyes grazed over the crowd with only moments to react, gauging the wounded.&nbsp; So much of it was difficult to tell just at a glance, when he knew he didn't have time to waste and couldn't stop for a tactical decision.&nbsp; What he did know was that that cop was almost certainly already dead; even if he could save the man, it would only exacerbate the chaos already going on.<br><br>He spun on a slick sneaker and rushed over towards the direction of the bar, reaching out for JJ.&nbsp; His hand faintly pulsed with golden-white light that attempted to rush forth over the hunter, wanting to bathe him in its glow and heal his wounds.&nbsp; "Stay up, friend.&nbsp; We're going to need more of your help before this night is over."&nbsp; Already his eyes were spinning for who would need the help next.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 22:30:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Falling to darkness only to come back....</strong><br><br>Being shot after being bitten just didn't seem fair to the hunter as Jason slumped with a small scream of agony escaping his lips as he closed his eyes for what he felt would be the last time.&nbsp; Of course, who knew that an angel was among them in this nightmare from Hell.&nbsp; Wincing a little as Arathel healed him, Jason's blurry vision couldn't help but see past the illusion he wore here on this plane and see the angel for what he was, although the image faded as his health continued to improve rapidly in a matter of minutes.&nbsp; Shaking his head once it was over and he was back on his feet, Jason looked to Arathel, amazement in his eyes until he remembered where they were.&nbsp; "I'd thank you golden boy but let's save that for later should we make it out of this mess."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>26-05-2011, 22:50:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center">Cape Merrin Police Department </div><br>The power flickered out in the elevator and suddenly she had the feeling that the elevator might crash and hit bottom again. That did not happen. Instead Alice was suddenly attacked by a bunch of fragmented images. Alice screamed, but she couldn't tell if she had done so out loud or in her head. She fell down to her knees and braced herself against he wall of the elevator. She wasn't sure what had happened. But it all seemed very real especially the cries of the&nbsp; children. She could almost picture her sons voice amongst them, and the&nbsp; band aid on her heart almost came off a second time that night.<br><br>The door chimed that they were there, and she stood up. It might have been a vision, but it was hard to tell where it had been in the shattered fragments. She wouldn't forget it, but it would do her no good now.&nbsp; She was her to get facts.&nbsp; Nice hard cold facts that was what would save the children if anything could save them at all. She tried to push what had happened to the back of her mind and get back to her mission. <br><br>The homicide room was looked empty tonight. She wondered what was going on that needed so many cops. She shook her head. It was none of her business, back to the mission. Slowly she crept through the hallways of the fourth floor, looking for cops, and the files she was looking for. <br><br>She sees a room with file cabinets and slowly creep into the room. She closes the door softly behind her. The room is dark, and she takes out a small flashlight, she had attached to her key ring. It was not the best light source, but it would be good enough to read whatever she needed to read. She kicks herself for not bringing a better one, but she was&nbsp; rusty at this. <br>She opens the first cabinet and quickly scans over it looking for anything of interest. <br><br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 04:53:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				White hot pain flashed through him as the wildly shot (he assumed) bullet got him. Thankfully, it was ultimately just a flesh wound, but damn if it didn't hurt. He hissed bitterly in response to it, holding back swears .He ducked back down behind the bar, and was crawling along the ground away. At this point, he was prepared to just make a mad dash for the door. <br><br>He frowned as he caught sight of the rat change into a man and make his announcement, fully expecting this one to be even more trouble... Except, it shockingly wasn't. Thank god for small miracles, eh?&nbsp; Still, their was the matter of..."Ohfuckyou." He hissed the words out, slammed forcibly together in his haste. This was in response to the grub.<br><br>He waited for what seemed like a good moment, then he'd make his mad run for the exit.&nbsp; He didn't care about his wound; he could tend to it when he got home. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 06:39:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al was still hunkered down, not sure which way to go and hoping she’d wake up any second.&nbsp; And, then the woman came from the back and just started shooting.&nbsp; <br><br>Al hugged the bar, jerking as the gun fired repeatedly.&nbsp; She saw the two men jerk as they were struck.&nbsp; They were ducks in that arcade game and she’d be damned if she bobbed her head up like some SNL skit.&nbsp; But, staying there seemed like it might not be smart either.<br><br>She moved to pop a look over the bar and dropped back in shock.&nbsp; Too much.&nbsp; Too much going on.&nbsp; Too much for her senses to try to catalogue and comprehend.&nbsp; The animal need to flee rose as fire sprang to life.&nbsp; <br><br>Fire.&nbsp; Really?&nbsp; Again? Her mind asked as she moved nearly at the same moment that the other man moved.&nbsp; What was his name?&nbsp; <br><br>“Get out.”<br><br>The voice rang out, echoing Al’s sentiments exactly and she headed for the opening in the bar.<br><br>But the floor looked weird; weirder than a floor covered in the latest fashion of wall-to-wall plush cockroaches should look.<br><br>When the thing under the cockroaches grew, she didn’t believe it.&nbsp; No, she wouldn’t believe it.&nbsp; “Fuck me,” she muttered, bolting, tripping, rolling.&nbsp; She hit a warm body and grabbed at the person’s (Leof?) clothes to keep herself upright, and moving forward aimed at the door.&nbsp; <br><br>A body was flung past her and she blinked in time to see the girl vampire strike a man...a stranger.&nbsp; Did she attack him or was she thrown by something...?<br><br>Don’t look back, she told herself, pressing forward towards the exit.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 14:57:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				During his escape, motivated much like Al, by that primal flight or fight instinct,&nbsp; he found someone bumping into him; that very same woman. Part of him twitched and thought of striking out at her, fearing he was being attacked by something else; but the part of him that was in control recognized her as just another potentially innocent person caught up in this bullshit. <br><br>She might be grasping at his jacket to keep herself standing up, but she gets something arguably better; Leof physically stabilizing her position, and letting her move past him.&nbsp; Some might see it as a rather white knight-ish thing for the man to do, but his motivations weren't so; even if it'd been another man, he'd have encouraged them to escape. It's Leof's nature to want to protect others before himself...even if what he was doing right now was selfish and horrible by his own standards. Standards he's failed to live up to tonight, and which will not go away any time soon. <br><br>"Keep going!" he'd encourage her, not that she was likely to need it; it was just that damned anxiety, that panic, that was calling the shots right now; a feeling he was trying to beat down and into submission, even as he turned tail and fled. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 17:34:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Inside Sam's Mind</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>Scene Soundtrack [noembed]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Ejga4kJUts[/noembed] <br><br><hr>&nbsp; <br><br><em>Sam found herself alone, cold and wet inside a large cavernous room. Pipes littered the walls and shuddered with a low hypnotic&nbsp; humming sound. Shakily Sam arose, standing in water that came up just over her ankle. It flood the whole cavern. As she gazed around in her new surroundings she noticed a massive Iron gate that ran the whole with of the cavern, which seemed to divide it into halves.&nbsp; <br><br>"Hello?" She called out, walking towards the gate. Her voice was shaking and her body shivered as it felt so cold. She couldn't peer past the gate, as if darkness had swallowed the whole other side. <br><br>No one answered. <br><br>"Hello!?" She called out again, her feet splashing in the water. Her eyes were drawn to the humming of the massive mechanical pipes above. They looked old and dirty and seemed to be pumping red liquid into the large Iron bar gate. <br><br>"Psst...." Said a voice, or was it voices? It was hard for Sam to tell as it seemed to be low pitched and high pitched at the same time. "Come closer..." the voice requested. It was come from behind the bars. <br><br>Sam hesitantly did as it instructed her hands shook uncontrollably as she approached. She could see her breath escape from her lips. As she neared she could of sworn she saw movement from beyond, as if the shadows were convulsing and forming a shape. <br><br>When she finally approached close enough to reach out and touch the large bars of the gate she saw glowing red orbs that seemed to be eyes in the darkness. It creeped forward and a mocking wide grin occupied the eyes. The thing to be vaguely humanoid and seemed to resemble Sam, or it tried to. "Wh-what are you...?" Sam questioned, wide eyed. She wanted to back away but seemed glued to her spot. <br><br>"I....am a monument....to your sins..." the many voiced creature said. It walked up to the bars and grasped the bars next to Sam's hand, or did it slither? Sam couldn't decide. "Why do you keep me locked?" It questioned, the voices like dueling snakes, fighting for dominance. <br><br>"l...locked?" Sam questioned, voice trembling in fear. <br><br>"Yes...locked." It gestured to the large padlock up top. Numerous chains wrapped around it. "The blood you gave me is quite delicious..." it continued, now backing away from the bars and pacing slowly. <br><br>Sam swallowed hard, her throat dry and hoarse as she listened to this thing make accusations. "I did not lock you in here..." She managed to choke out. <br><br>"DO NOT LIE, SLUT!" It screamed suddenly and lunged at the bars and grabbed Sam by the neck, lifting her out of the water. "You ARE weak. We are strong. You should thank us for being here....giving you strength..." it motioned with its free hand to the water all over the ground. For the first time Sam could see it bubbled and leaked from the cage. "WE give it to YOU." Its voices screamed, sending vibrations throughout the cave. <br><br>Sam struggled to free herself, screaming in fright. It wasn't until the creature dropped her that she was able to back away. tears filled her eyes as she choked them back. "The blood is exquisite. We require more. Give it to us and release us from these bonds. We shall make you powerful...No more fear...no more pain..." to voices cooed with whispers of salvation. <br><br>"STOP! GET OUT ME OUT OF HERE!" Sam screamed, curling up into a fetal position on the water drenched floor as the creature behind the bars laughed hideous. Sam found herself screaming as well, wishing for it to begone. </em><br><br><br><strong>Inside the Bar</strong> <br><br>Sam stood there, screaming as blood caked her lips. She stood over Otis, fists balled tightly. Her eyes were solid black as they stared at the portal opening. She couldn't take it anymore and fell to her knees, her eyes returning to their normal cold blue color. She was shaking and coughed up puddles of blood.&nbsp; <br><br>She felt dead once more. Broken and alone. All the chaos around her seemed oblivious and futile. She had no will to stand, only to stare forward. Her body slumped forward as the shreds of her hoodie barely clung to her lithe torso. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>27-05-2011, 23:57:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Micheal didn't have time to act, and did barely any damage to the wolf still it had been taken care of. Still there was a task at hand, and Micheal had to make sure that everyone was out, and able to get out. He heard the voice of Otis, and that's when he took action. Micheal's body made haste, as he hurried over to Otis, and Sam. He saw that Sam was out of the game, and decided to help Otis first. He would be able to scoop Sam with ease, and get out with Otis in a fashionable manor. So helping the old man to his feet, he looked at Otis, as he received a reassuring nod and turned to face Sam. <br><br>"Hold on kid." He said, and grabbed her body up in to his arms. He followed after Otis, and headed out to the front Alley. Screaming, "Get the hell out of here this bitch is going to blow." He held on to Sam tightly checking on her on various occasions. He looked to Delilah, and to Abigail. His face showing no emotion, but if they could read it. They could tell he was very very serious. He didn't take the time to look back, he just ran. Trying to get away from the bar as fast as possible
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>28-05-2011, 00:22:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The vampire's scream made all the little hairs on Al's arms stand to attention.&nbsp; She slowed, blocking Leof's exit, to turn back to the girl.&nbsp; But, others were on the way out and another guy came charging through.&nbsp; Al backed into Leof and then joined the parade, reaching back to grab for his hand, missing and turning to look.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes fell to the thing on the floor and her stomach clenched.&nbsp; She grabbed for Leof's sleeve and sprinted for the exit.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>29-05-2011, 07:09:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">A File in the Cape Merrin Police Department</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">Addendum, Tanya Deerhorn case</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">20 July 2010</span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">Subject: City Park worker Oliver Parks, the discoverer of Tanya Deerhorn’s corpse</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">Parks’ condition has steadily worsened since his discovery of the body. The first officer on the scene reposted that Parks was disturbed and ill, but that he was coherent and could direct the officer to the body. When a follow up interview was pursued, Parks’ wife reported that he been experiencing emotional and mental instability, that he kept talking about blood writing that had been beneath the girl’s body, a piece of evidence he did not report to the original officer. </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">Despite repeated trips to Devil Bat Cave, the forensics teams have not been able to turn up any evidence of writing on the makeshift altar upon which the girl’s remains were found. There were traces of viscera and blood for 50 sq. feet within the cave, but none of these remains splatters has registered in any computer scans of the crime scene images as representative of a language.</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">As of 18 July Parks has been held in the psychiatric ward of St. Agnes following a domestic dispute in which he attacked his wife with a frying pan and then put his own eyes out with a two-tined grilling fork (http://lh4.googleusercontent.com/public/V_yq2gLcJNb-xlzLgcvgnRR6EZ7FsOVvhoiUs6ETJewXj8uJUcMpKLFwleB9ENApOneU_dV9-enVAWEWJwasWnsz0_IE7TSKNwwVQK2EAChumWVL4_s0lOwesHC8GrXq-ihQpDrKemfjxfNswPPulmnmN5ErE21OZaqJhjcyGmHFzEGMrt49mG3Nf0V2ZUaryFsXJkenO9_v1YQdOjVDAcvGvEuSWk5VcLD6DA2pnZt_mILasA6C).</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: courier;" class="bbc_font">Further interviews with Parks have been declined by his doctor, who claims that the patient becomes severely disturbed and attempts self injury when the crime scene location and girl’s name are brought up. He whispers some gibberish for hours on end when he becomes agitated. The doctor’s approximation of the sound might be rendered as Ran-te-goth.</span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Courier New;" class="bbc_font">Given the situation, this witness may be of no more use to the case. Mrs. Parks is still recovering from her head wound in the hospital. NB: follow up upon release.</span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>31-05-2011, 17:40:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Alice Cape Merrin Police Department</strong></div><br>Alice read through the report a few times. The cave. Memories of images that hit her in the elevator come to her; darkness, dampness.Alice shivered.&nbsp; Perhaps that's the best place to look next. The park worker seemed as if he would be of little use to her. As of his wife, why trudge up the past. It only serves to hurt.<br><br>She laid the report down, and shines the small flash light on it. Next she pulls out her phone and uses it as a camera, zooming as close as she can to the paper, She takes picture after picture with the click of her camera, until she has it all documented. She&nbsp; looks over her pictures, satisfied, she sticks the phone back into her pocket. <br><br>She picks up the file and places it back inside its folder. Then she shuts the drawer. She is tempted to dig a bit deeper, but she hears a noise somewhere off in the distance. She is testing her luck even being her this long. It's time for her to go. She turns off her flashlight and sticks it back into her pocket. <br><br>She walks over to the door, and opens it a crack, she peeks out slowly. The hallway is clear. She moves. Down the hallway she goes, and pauses as she sees someone. her heart pounds. She&nbsp; backtracks just a little and pushes herself against the wall. The cop walks on without ever noticing her. She moves on. She walks down to the elevator, and then remembers what had happened on her way up. She moves to her right, opening the door to the stairwell opting to walk down four flights of stairs instead. <br><br>The stairwell was dark and even her most lightest steps seemed to echo down it.&nbsp; As she walked she thought about the night. The phone call. the vision or whatever it may have been, of all the files she could have looked at she had seen that one. Something was leading her somewhere. Was it a path she wanted to take? She didn't have a choice anymore, she had to go where the leads took her. It was part of journalistic integrity. It was almost laughable to associate herself with such word, though she had won awards on it in another life. <br><br>She made it down the stairs with no problem. She opened the door, took a quick look. She could still hear the person at the desk on the phone. Strolling out like she had belonged here she walked out the door, and back to her small car. She climbed in, and quietly pulled out of the police station. From there she drove to a small cafe to get some coffee. She had a feeling it was going to be a very long night. <br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>02-06-2011, 03:52:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Arathel, Male Form, Inside the Bar~</strong><br><br>It was hard to beat being soaking wet for a protective shield against burning flames.&nbsp; Even so, he was starting to dry off more quickly than he wanted to, and the smoke was getting pretty thick.&nbsp; Once that other man was healed, it seemed the best thing to do right now would be to get out of the bar altogether.<br><br>Somewhere along the line, his flaming sword had just vanished.&nbsp; That seemed to be par for the course for this strange individual; it had appeared out of nowhere pretty much just as readily.&nbsp; There was one more who still needed his help and he was all too ready to provide it.<br><br>He reached out to grab Cori, wanting to pull her out rather than waiting to see if she would come to her senses or not.&nbsp; If he could, he would either escort her out by the arm or, if that failed, just hoist her up and pull her out.&nbsp; There wasn't really time to try to argue or talk sense into her.&nbsp; There was nothing else here that required the attention of people above and beyond just getting everyone out.<br><br>He also made sure to throw a glance to JJ, making it as clear as he could that it was time to go.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>05-06-2011, 06:03:21</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Outside the bar, standing in the strange blue strobe of emergency vehicles, Al leaned on the man she'd just run out of the bar with.<br><br>"Was...was that all real?&nbsp; Did someone slip us something?" she asked, panting slightly from panic and adrenaline.&nbsp; "Wait...you got shot," she said, looking him over for signs of damage and seeing the hole in his jacket sleeve.&nbsp; "Shit!&nbsp; What's your---wait, Leof, right?&nbsp; Did it get you or just your jacket?" she asked, hoping.<br><br>She glanced back at the front door of the bar, waiting to be followed or shot or who the hell knew what.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>05-06-2011, 15:39:08</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"I don't think that was a shared hallucination." He laughed weakly, a combination of being tired but still pumped on adrenaline, having been shot, the giant grub of doom, the cockroaches that had mostly left him alone...but damn, he's going to have to ditch these boots or dip them in poison or something. He doesn't want to get their damn eggs everywhere he walks.<br><br>"Heh...I'm fine." he says reassuringly. "I got winged. Not badly.&nbsp; A bit of alcohol on it, maybe a stitch or two, and being careful for about a week, and I'll be fine." He just shrugged off the wound, apparently, even if it was a big deal for most. Part of his strict training regimen made him hard as nails, even if he was more of a 'quiet badass' than some sort of 'action hero' with what he could do.<br><br>He looked Al over, and saw that she was shaken, but otherwise, she looked fine. "You want to get the hell out of here? Got a place to call home? I can give you a ride, if you don't mind a motorcycle." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>06-06-2011, 04:22:44</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Exterior of Simon’s Bull - Beating a not-so-hasty retreat --</strong><br><hr><br>When it seemed that that nasty sonova bitch wasn't coming back for a taste of her shotgun, Delilah wasted no time hopping back in her truck.&nbsp; If the cops wanted to throw questions at her, they could do so on their own time.&nbsp; Whatever the fuck had happened inside that bar, she wanted no god damned part in it.&nbsp; She blinked back the buzz in her vision as she turned the key in the ignition, inching the vehicle on down the street towards one of the nearby truck lots.&nbsp; <br><br>"Just ma gorram luck, gettin' tossed at the worst possible time."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>06-06-2011, 09:27:17</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Reggy was almost to the relative safety of the bathroom when Miss Treble stopped him. His shoulders slumped as he turned around; of course he wasn't going to get off that light. Here it came, probably a lecture on responsibility, or notice that he was getting written up for dicking around on the clock, or -- dear God, what was <em>that</em> thing? His eyebrows practically leaped to the ceiling as Miss Treble picked up a huge, gaudy knit bag and began digging around inside it. It was obviously a patchwork job, and didn't even look like it went with itself, let alone anything else, but the first thing that entered Reggy's mind was how much it reminded him of Mary Poppins' magic bag. <em>'I bet she really <span class="bbc_u">could</span> pull a lamp post or something out of that thing,'</em> he thought.<br><br>As it happened, he wasn't far off; Miss Treble withdrew a beach towel that looked like it could serve passably as an automobile tarp, and tossed it to him in a wad. Reg spread out two of the ends and let it fall open, the huge, snarling one-eyed pirate fluttering limply at his waist. He studied the mascot for a moment then looked back to his boss, one eyebrow lifted inquisitively.<br><br>"I go to the public pool after work sometimes. It's open late some nights. It's clean, so use it if you want to dry up." She explained, and he nodded in acceptance, gratefully wrapping the oversized towel around his shoulders. He felt a little warmer already. Reggy kept his eyes lowered and gave her a shy smile as she let him know he was off the hook for now. Of course, the smile quickly faded when he realized she almost certainly <em>wouldn't</em> let him off the hook after she found out his register was short because those jerks refused to pay for their snacks. He swallowed hard and drew the towel tighter around himself, wondering if he should tell her now or at the end of the night. Before he could decide, however, she turned and walked back into the office.<br><br>Well, that settled that, he supposed. He would explain what happened after closing, and ask her to just take the money out of his paycheck at the end of the week. That would be fair, and hopefully she wouldn't fire him on the spot for fucking up twice in one night. Reggy stepped into the bathroom and toweled off his hair and arms, peeled off his vest and T-shirt and wrang them both out over the sink before getting re-dressed and headed back out to the front counter. At least the night was nearly over, and there were no more showtimes scheduled. Nothing left to do but finish wiping everything down and sweep and mop up, and hope that the rest of the night would be as peaceful -- as <em>safe</em> -- as possible. Surely it couldn't get much worse than it had been already...right?
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Vergil1989</strong> on <strong>07-06-2011, 04:25:13</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Jason Jefferson - Officially at a loss for words...</strong><br><br>Normally, seeing a vampire, or any supernatural being save for goodly angels such as the one that had healed him got only one response from the hunter, and that was a two tap from his pistol or a single round through the heart or head from his rifle or shotgun if he was feeling lucky or especially vindictive.&nbsp; Seeing Sam however in so much distress made him wonder if maybe he had gone about this the wrong way?&nbsp; Sure, most demons, werewolves, and otherwise were truly evil, but this one....could it be she was trying to fight her very nature?&nbsp; Regardless, he needed to get out of here as well, and despite his silent protests, Micheal picked the vampire up and got her out of the trashed bar.&nbsp; He followed suit, figuring anyone that was still not moving out the door were either dead or too freaked out to move.&nbsp; He needed to get his shit together from his Impala and get out to Devil Bat Cave now more than ever.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>07-06-2011, 05:17:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"You were shot!" Al said.&nbsp; "'Winged' is still...."&nbsp; She shoved at his jacket, not caring if he protested or not, trying to slide it off his shoulder to have a look at the winged area.&nbsp; "And, anyone gets on the back of a motorcycle after this night is just asking for trouble.&nbsp; This town is lousy with monsters and..." she shivered..."bugs," she ended, such horror in her voice you'd have thought they were rabid vampire cockroaches. (no offense, Sam)<br><br>She heard the door banging open as others exited and saw the man who'd shot the vampire exit.&nbsp; She frowned, trying to get Leof to stand still while she assured herself that he wasn't going to bleed to death in front of her.&nbsp; "What happened to the vampire?" she hissed, clutching the front of his shirt.&nbsp; "That guy grabbed her...do you suppose he was going to hurt her?&nbsp; And, did you see the kid...the one who came through the door with...his arm on fire?"&nbsp; She couldn't bring herself to say "sword of fire."&nbsp; <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>07-06-2011, 15:15:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yeah, I was. I'm also used to being beaten with hardwood sticks. I'm quite a bit tougher than you give me credit for." He was slightly annoyed at this point, but realized that it would just be easier to acquiesce.&nbsp; So he takes off the jacket, and shows her where he's bleeding. <br><br>"I'm going to clean it out when I get home. If I need to, I can stitch it, too. As for monsters..." He shrugged his shoulders. "That kind of talk is better saved for private locations.&nbsp; All this bullshit started because that gung-ho idiot ended up going and shooting his mouth off. And he's just a sociopath to boot." He shook his head. Sociopath may be a harsh thing to call the man, but Leof was revulsed by the <em>shoot first, don't ask questions </em>mentality. <br><br>"He was probably going to kill her. And no, I didn't see anybody on fire." Which was the truth; he had been distracted, or perhaps he'd seen the man with the flaming sword but the memory didn't 'stick' because of everything else.<br><br>"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to ride home. I'll take you where you want to go if you'd like, but I sure as hell am not walking a few miles on the dark, lonely, quiet streets at this time of night."&nbsp; As he spoke,. he pulled his jacket back on, and zipped it up, then began to walk towards his motorcycle. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>07-06-2011, 16:58:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Book Revue --&gt; Cafe next door<br>Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- Closing up...</span><br><br>Fate woke with a start and practically cracked the back of her head on the top of the counter. She could still hear the wailing of the end-test alarm ringing in her ears. No wait...<br><br>Blinking sleep out of her eyes, she realized that the ear-splitting alarm that had woken her wasn't just a figment of her imagination. Police cars rushed past, speeding through the slick but thankfully mostly empty streets, to god knows where. Shaking the last bits of sleep from her head, she could feel the beginnings of a terrible migraine. Staring down at the open pages of her textbook, a half-solved calculus problem gazed tauntingly up at her. A muttered, "Fuckin' derivatives..." before she promptly closed the book with a snap and stood up to stretch.<br><br>As she felt her muscles stretching and relaxing, along with the occasional pop of bone as she worked out the kinks from sleeping at her desk, she glanced up at the clock and was happy to see that it was time to close up shop. A quick tidying up of her desk, locking up the back room, and out the door she went. She never had to worry much about rearranging the shelves, managing to keep it neat throughout the day.<br><br>Pulling up her hood as cover against the rain, she locked the front door and stood under the awning as she squinted up at the downpour. What a day to forget her umbrella...<br><br>Her hoodie would probably be soaked through in a mere few minutes. Sneaking a glance next door, she noticed that Mark was behind the counter, presumably finishing up an order for the only customer at the cafe. A mechanical 'ding-dong' announced her entrance as she walked through the door and gave him a little wave.<br><br>"Heya, Fate!" He grinned, face having lit up upon her arrival. "The usual?"<br><br>"Yep, you know it." She was used to being welcomed nearly wherever she went, most people seemed to take an immediate liking to her. "By the way, you got an extra umbrella lying around? I don't think the driver'll be too happy if I'm drippin' all over the bus." Fate shot him a sheepish grin as she waited for her order.<br><br>"Hrm, don't think there are any extras but you can take mine." Sliding her large chai latte across the counter, he smiled at her. "Or you can let me drive you home." <br><br>A sip of the warm, spiced brew and she sighed happily. Her favorite. "I wouldn't wanna trouble ya." He was always trying to take her out somewhere, and she had politely refused each time. The guy was sweet, and he even gave her a little discount from her drinks, but that was about it. Leaning against the counter, she noted that the other woman was seated at one of the tables with her coffee. Changing the subject, she asked casually, "So what's goin' on tonight? Cops seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere." <br><br>Mark's smile fell by a fraction, but he quickly recovered. "Dunno. I'm guessing they're going to Devil Bat Cave. Maybe they found another body or something."<br><br>Devil Bat Cave had been on the news for days now, if not weeks. Along with the other 'discoveries' that had been made. The thought of what sorts of gruesome acts could lead to children mangled and dismembered to such an extent...her latte suddenly didn't taste so appetizing anymore.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>07-06-2011, 18:54:43</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center"><strong>Alice-cafe Financial District/Downtown </strong></div><br>The cafe had been empty when Alice had walked in. She stood at the door shaking some of the rain from her, before making it over to the counter. She offered her coffee straight black. She had always been a coffee purist never liking those fancy frappuccinos or&nbsp; &nbsp;mocha's that most people drunk today.&nbsp; She heard the door jingle as she waited for her coffee, and turned to see a women enter. <br><br>She said nothing to her, just took her coffee and found a seat. She watched them for a moment. They knew each other. and the boy liked her, but she was unsure if the girl felt the same way. She smiled slightly, and took a sip from her drink.&nbsp; She pulled out her phone, looking at pictures of the file she had taken.&nbsp; At the same time she was half listing to their conversation. She didn't truly mean to eavesdrop on them, it was just part of how she was, always observant. <br><br>Her interest peeked when they mentioned Devils Bat cave. If there were going to be cops down there it could make things more difficult. Cops general didn't like reporters on their crime scene. Reporters generally didn't like cops trampling all over the crime scene, they couldn't find a clue if it hit them in the face. The cops had bigger problems tonight though, she remembered the alerts being shouted through the police scanner at the newspaper office, before she started her investigation. <br><br>" Something bad is&nbsp; going down at Simon’s Bull "&nbsp; She informed the two, glancing at them for just a moment before looking back at the pictures on her&nbsp; phone. <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>09-06-2011, 06:54:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Al could tell she’d irritated the man.&nbsp; She was freaking out.&nbsp; He got shot!&nbsp; Did he expect everyone to just ignore it?&nbsp; She glanced around.&nbsp; Maybe that was the norm...<br><br>“Sorry,” she said, raising her hands in a surrender motion.&nbsp; “Hey, it doesn’t make you weak if you accept help, you know,” she called at the man’s retreating back.&nbsp; “Thanks for the offer.&nbsp; I don’t have far to go...”&nbsp; She almost flipped the guy off.&nbsp; Gods and Demons, she thought.&nbsp; Men were...&nbsp; No, she stopped herself.&nbsp; The guy got shot; he was probably freaking out in his own way.&nbsp; She took a breath and calmed down, glancing around for someone to question her.&nbsp; <br><br>What would she say?&nbsp; This guy who knew my Mom’s boyfriend...yeah, the one who ripped her throat out and seemed to be drinking her blood....&nbsp; Well, he threw me over the bar and did a few other things and then vanished---poof.<br><br>She turned away from the people, giving them her back while she looked around.&nbsp; <br><br>Shivering, Al wrapped her arms around herself and started to walk away, slowly at first because you don’t want to draw attention when you’re making a getaway.&nbsp; And, as soon as she got up a block, she broke into a run.<br><br>It felt good to be moving, legs reaching, arms pumping, hands relaxed as she made her way right down the yellow line in the middle of the street, heading for her Blinker Town home; a pink trailer with no wheels in a park where it was best not to know what your neighbors were doing.&nbsp; It looked like shit on the outside, but she’d renovated the interior and it suited her.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>09-06-2011, 07:03:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He chuckles a bit. "Part of strength is knowing your limitations...and accepting help to surpass them. But this is something I can handle, though I appreciate your concern." In truth, he wasn't freaking out. Whether he was injured or someone else, the sight or feeling always caused him to just completely stifle any emotional feeling at all. <br><br>"Stay safe. Hope to see you around." He waved, with his good arm, at the woman as she left on her feet. He got on his motorcycle, ignoring its wetness for the time being, and started her up. He took off to retreat to his dinky, only <em>slightly</em> shady apartment. Once in the relative safety of his home, he'd strip out of his clothes, and go to the bathroom with the first aid kit and other supplies he had to tend to his wound. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>24-07-2011, 00:39:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong></strong><br><strong><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">The Cape Café, a small café in the downtown district of Cape Merrin</span></span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></span></strong><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">The number of emergency response vehicles that the three occupants of the café witnessed racing east along Cape Merrin’s rain-soaked streets finally reached a peak and began to drop off but the sirens and the noise flowing from them continued onward, a swansong for the grungy little pub called Simon’s Bull.</span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">Outside the café the streets were glittering with wetness, the storm drains sucking up the sky’s outpouring like ravenous mouths belonging to giant fat frogs. Aside from the sirens and the noise of the storm, Cape Merrin was quiet, and the café was as well. Mark was too busy trying to casually steal glances at Fate to pay much attention to either Alice or the racing vehicles. Reluctantly, he offered Alice a refill of the black coffee she drank. He didn’t know how she could stomach the stuff; Daniel, the owner, bought the most bitter coffee grounds he could. God knew why.</span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><strong><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Simon’s Bull</span></span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrin</span></span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">November 20, 2010</span></span></strong><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">The number of officers outside the bar ballooned as not only fire rescue vehicles but ambulances arrived on the scene, though these latter were mostly too late to help anyone. The young girl in the religious garb who had spent the earlier part of the evening beating a homeless drunk man nearly to death stood slack-jawed and expressionless, staring down at the remains of one of the deputies that had virtually been decapitated by something. She didn’t resist when arriving officers shuffled her away from the corpse and cuffed her, guided her into a squad car for questioning later on. She sat in the back of the car, her breath fogging up the window as hell opened up around her outside the squad car. Demons in uniforms seemed to caper in the rain with blood-streaked faces. Her mind reeled; then she was asleep, her dreams filled with bloated corpses that seemed to reach out for her and ask for salvation.</span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">The officer who had dragged his downed partner out of Simon’s Bull despite that most of his </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">partner’s blood was still inside the bar, being devoured by a cockroach swarm pointed a finger at Det. Michaels and began howling. “She shot Benny!!!! That fucking detective bitch shot Benny!!!” Cori herself did not dispute this accusation; she stood in the rain, having been shuffled outside the bar, the grip of the man’s voice—that wasn’t the right word; that thing was not a man—broken in her mind. Her arms were her own now; she was weaponless, but she lifted her hands to look at them. “How could this have happened? How could she have murdered a police officer? That woman in the bar?” she thought. She could still see the evacuation of the woman’s gray matter from her head, the splatter on the wall. “How could something like this happen?” was all that she could think; her mind came back to that question like her thoughts were on an old 45 record with a crack, and she just couldn’t get past that question. She didn’t resist and she didn’t respond to the taunts that Benny’s partner issued as another officer pushed her against a squad car and cuffed her. She felt dead inside, dirty—raped. That thing, that thing that had done this to her—it wasn’t possible. Shit like that didn’t exist. How many times had she, a detective, a rational and productive member of society, looked at some white trash, broken-toothed abusive sunovabitch and said, “Yeah, right” when the bastard had claimed voices made him beat his pregnant girlfriend to death, or voices made him attack his neighbor. Cori’s sense of reality was unalterably changed after this evening, as was her life. This wasn’t the world of Harry Potter—she couldn’t claim in court that she was under the Imperius curse for fuck’s sake. This shit didn’t happen. This shit wasn’t real. Couldn’t be. If Cori had been less of a woman, the growing realization that her mental rape was indeed real, that this wasn’t some fuck of a conflagration of mad nightmarish fears that too much Chinese food had caused her unconscious mind to belch up into her sleep, she would have pissed herself. But she didn’t. Instead she felt a coldness in her body that only approximated the fear coursing through her blood. And her mind turned back to her work: “If this was possible—what was killing the children? Who was killing the children?” Terror sunk into the muscles of her lower back and Cori was glad to be sitting up inside a squad car with her thoughts, the squawk of the police radio and the drumming of the ran on the car’s roof as her only company; if she had still been on the hood of the car she was sure she would have vomited all over its hood. </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">The group of survivors that were exiting Simon’s Bull began to go their own ways, ignoring the calls from officers to please stand near the bar and wait to be questioned, and while normally this would have been cause for police to at least threaten to use force, inside the bar, a symphony of shattering glass and an inhuman wailing floated out into the noisy night street. The shattering glass was the liquor behind the bar, finally heating up enough to combust, and before officers could pursue the bar’s occupants, fire fighters moved forward, issuing a warning to the police officers to fall back and hold off curious onlookers—not that Cape Merrin had too many residences in the vicinity of the bar wherein the occupants were not either too dead tired to be up so late or too high out of their minds to take seriously the noises they were hearing. Before the fire fighters could enter the building, the heavy front door caught flame and lit the wet awning on fire. Anyone who looked at the fire could see it was odd. Fire didn’t continue like this in heavy downpours. The firemen looked at one another, a ghost of fear etched in some of the rookies’ faces; that awning shouldn’t have caught, not as fast as it had, not in this rain. Their pause was not lengthy and the captain led them into action despite the soft squelching explosion that pulsed inside the bar just before the fire hoses got attached to the fire hydrants. The fire fighters had to deal not only with the flames, which seemed oddly resistant to the water they sprayed, but also had to deal with some sort of acidic residue that had formed in the back area of the bar. Most of the men had to replace their boots because before the crew realized the multiple dangers, their outer boots were almost completely eaten away by the acid. It was the weirdest fucking thing the captain had ever come across, which is not saying much given his rather pedestrian life in Cape Merrin. It’s why he retired early. But even five years later, his life at a new level of calm down in Ft. Meyers, where the sun always came out, he would sometimes wake up early in the morning and smell the smell of that acid-bathed bar. Like cooked bile. The forensics had come back and shown not only roach infestation of the bar but some kinda bug juice had been sluiced all over the goddamn place. How’s that happen he always wondered. Where’s a fella get enough acid strong enough to eat through firemen’s boots sprayed all over a bar and mixed up with bug juice? It didn’t make any goddern sense, but for the captain, it didn’t need to—he chose to run away less than a week after it happened. He left the questions to younger men, except for those occasional early morning memories. He never told his wife about the smell; it was something he lived with alone. Something he couldn’t explain. He knew after that night that things weren’t as they seemed always—he knew it, and he ran down to Florida, hoping like hell he’d never encounter any other proof of that again for the rest of his life.</span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">Otis darted for his pickup truck parked in the lot on the east end of the bar. He moved quickly, not yielding to police, not looking around for Arathel, just knowing he’d be followed. They needed to move, now. Something was definitely up. They needed to find out what the hell had happened at that bar, and so as Otis crawled into his seat, jeans soaked through, he hoped like hell that Micheal would follow him back to the farmstead. They could lock down there. He pulled out onto the road, heading east, away from the police cars and fire fighters and chaos and into the sleek black night that led the way out to the farmlands. There was no real pursuit because while the firefighters were caught trying to deal with a situation for which they were unprepared, the police watched as the back end of the bar appeared to melt, succumbing to the acid rather than the fire before their very eyes. It was like something out of a Dali painting one of the beat cops muttered under his breath. This comment met with mostly blank stares from the other cops around him.&nbsp; </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Cobb Theater, interior</strong></span><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Cape Merrin</strong></span><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>November 10, 2010</strong></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font"> </span></span><br><span style="font-size: 1em;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: Cambria;" class="bbc_font">Reggy’s shift came to its typical quiet close. The bullies did not show up again either to taunt or pay him, so he was left blissfully alone among the rows of brightly packaged candies, the smell of once-hot popcorn. The ghosts of people cheerily ordering their show-time treats were his only company until Trebs showed up and was ready to have him cash in his drawer with her in the safe in the office—this was after she’d locked up the front doors, made sure there were no lingering moviegoers kept overly long in any of the bathroom stalls or elsewhere. “Still raining cats and dogs out there,” she commented idly while leaning up against one of the glass top counters that Reggy had already wiped down, her hands under her chin as she gazed into the night pouring in through the theater’s front windows. She turned to face him and said, “I’m ready to get out of here tonight, I can tell you.” As she walked off toward her office Reggy became aware that she’d already switched out the black uniform pants all the theater employees wore for an oddly pieced together wrap skirt. She had probably ten different floral patterns wrapping her from waist to mid-thigh; from the torso up though she was still all professional in her collared Cobb Theater shirt. Daytime management certainly would not have approved of the shortness of her skirt, or the familiarity with which she treated Reggy and her other employees—they were not automatons to her. She genuinely liked most of the kids she worked with, even if she couldn’t get past the fact that she couldn’t keep herself from calling them kids in her head. Reggy especially she liked; he was always so responsible. Thinking of the events earlier in the night though, she amended this in her head, and thought that his seemingly inexplicable disappearance into the rain made him more interesting than the rest of the night shift employees she regularly worked with. And so with mild amusement, she sat down and cranked open the safe while Reggy settled down into a chair across from her, probably trying to decide how to bring up the fact that he knew his register was going to be very short.</span></span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>24-07-2011, 01:19:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>~Arathel, Male Form, Outside the Bar~</strong><br><br>On his way through, Arathel took advantage of some of the confusion to move over and lay a hand on the cop's shoulder.&nbsp; "Good job," he said, letting the light shine through him and into the officer.&nbsp; It might be enough, it might not, but he still had to try.&nbsp; Still, he barely had time to investigate or see if it had, because he wanted to be out and moving before the officers had any significant time to stop and investigate the situation.<br><br>He rushed his way over to Otis, hopefully not getting stopped by the police in response to that singular act, but he was more than happy to throw some athletics in to get away if it became absolutely necessary.&nbsp; Barring being stopped, it wouldn't take long at all to get into Otis' truck, even if all he could manage would be to hop into the bed on the back.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>26-07-2011, 06:43:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Allison - Blinker Town Trailer Park in her trailer.<br><br><br>Al double-handed the key into the door lock and made her way inside her trailer.&nbsp; She told herself she needed food, that her hands were shaking from low blood sugar.&nbsp; It wasn't because of the guy who disappeared...who knew her mother's boyfriend...not the cockroaches or the big scary guy or the other scary guy or the kid with the flaming sword...shall we bring up the mother of all slugs and the vampire who might be dead?&nbsp; <br><br>Moving fast, bouncing off the walls like a ball in a pinball machine, Al barely made it to the bathroom, heaving nothing but bile.&nbsp; She was crying, too, eyes running , nose running.&nbsp; She grabbed a towel and held it to her face while she had herself a nice little breakdown.<br><br>When she was done, Al cleaned the bathroom and took a shower, scrubbing her hands and feet with soap and the scrub brush.&nbsp; She dressed in sweats and thick socks, clipped her hair on top of her head and then thought about checking the trailer windows and doors to make sure everything was locked.&nbsp; <br><br>Safe...she almost laughed thinking the word, Al sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, flipping through channels without seeing anything.<br><br>She'd run away from the scary and wound up running to scarier.&nbsp; Sitting there, she wondered if those creatures who'd visited Simon's Bull were the same ones kidnapping little kids...&nbsp; She wished she'd been able to do more.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>26-07-2011, 19:18:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Defeated</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br><br><br><hr> <br><br>Sam was rushed out of the bar, easily scooped up in the man's arms. As they exited out the front door rain fell upon them in heavy sheets. It seemed to always rain. When the man placed her down, Sam's body was almost limp. She easily fell to her knees, the rough gravel of the side walked dug into the porcelain like flesh.<br><br>Her head was down trodden, long wet locks of hair covering the girl's face, acting like a shroud. The flashing of the police lights would bathe her in red and blue. It was in those glimpses that Michael could see her face. She was broken. Those once bright blue eyes now seemed dull and distant. She may be here physically but mentally she was lost.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Her body was bent forward, as if she had no desire to stand up from her knees. Blood smeared her lips and the old black hoodie she wore was ripped in several places, revealing alabaster skin and the pink lace bra she wore. Her skirt also carried wounds from tonight's events as the ripped shreds rested in damp bandages over her fishnet stockings. <br><br>The girl said no words and didn't move. Her eyes and head staring at the floor in a dispassionate expression, as if what was lost from her could be found on the wet concrete of the sidewalk. The mascara around her eyes streaked down the pale skin and dripped off her chin to join the wet ground....<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>27-07-2011, 01:39:28</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Winged, he was glad for the rain; it meant it washed away the blood from his wound, kept it from forming a genuine trail outside. had to be good for something. He would park his motorcycle out of the way, out of the rain, and make his way back to his apartment. Much like Al, far, far away, his first stop would be the bathroom. He's not there to puke, though, or even try to. <br><br>He would strip out of his soaked clothes and shoes first, though, and make sure that his door was locked and deadbolted. Same with the windows; they were shut and locked. <br><br>In the bathroom, he got out a medkit, and went to work on his winged arm, cleaning away the blood with alcohol. The burning sensation didn't bother him in the least.&nbsp; He checks it out in the mirror; it was bad, as any injury was. But he'd be fine. He could tell.<br><br>His next stop would be to shower. He always felt a little grungy after going to the bar, but tonight he felt outright dirty.&nbsp; Scouring himself with soap and hot water handled that, though.<br><br><div align="center">...One Hour Later...</div>Okay, he feels like a boiled potato now. The water turns off, his body is dried off, and he checks the wound in the mirror again (after cleaning it of steam). He gets out some bandages and medical tape, and patches himself up.&nbsp; Then it was back into his living room.<br><br>His apartment was a pretty spartan affair. Everything nice and neat, positioned just how he liked it, and lacking in any sort of superfluous details. In the living room was a desk, and their was a chair there. While the desk is currently home to a charging laptop, it's not that that he's interested in. Instead, it's one of the drawers, which had a false bottom in it. It was into this place that he went, taking out a well-worn but cared for, red leather journal.<br><br>Setting it on the desk, he'd open up another drawer and get out a pen. He would start writing in the book, about his strange experiences tonight. It helped him to focus; would give him something to check back later, too. <br><br>Their were some in his line of work that would never think to keep written&nbsp; records; too risky, for one reason or another. But he's found a way around that. Even if someone did find the secret location of his journal, his entire method of writing paints every journal entry as a chapter in some sort of fictitious tale he's working on, done from a first person narrative. <br><br>While he busied himself with writing, he thought about other things. Otis, for instance. He'd been there. Otis was a good man, Leof's worked with him a handful of times over the years, though they don't keep in steady contact. Still, tomorrow... well, after some shut-eye, he had a plan for tomorrow. He'd call his boss, his friend, and explain that he had gotten injured; nothing too serious, but he needed the week off.<br><br>He knew his Filipino friend. The guy could be a hard ass when training people, but he had a heart of gold. Especially since the man knew that Leof always went to that bar, and it'd surely be on the news. Once he had that time off secured, he'd swing by Otis' place and see what he has to say about last night, and see what his plans are. Might be another one of those times where they end up working together. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>27-07-2011, 08:54:31</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				﻿Wipe the counters. Stack the cups. Bag up the leftover popcorn. Sweep the spilled Junior Mints out of the corner. By the time closing rolled around, Reggy had almost convinced himself it had been a normal night. Blessed routine kept his mind safely insulated from thoughts of rat-people and offers for magic lessons, and blissful solitude gave him the chance to re-establish his usual composure, unimpressive as it may have been.<br><br>Of course, then Miss Treble came back out of her office and signaled Reggy to come and count out his register, and the impending consequences of the evening's prior events slammed home like a wrecking ball against his gut. His body was numb and he moved robotically as he unsnapped the register box and sat it on the counter. Reg couldn't bring himself to respond to her comments on the weather; he was too preoccupied with imagining what she would be saying in a few minutes. He couldn't even enjoy the short skirt she'd changed into (although that wasn't so much from stress as it was simply a lifelong habit of refusing to allow himself to notice such things; nobody wanted a guy like him paying <em>that</em> kind of attention to them, after all).<br><br>He kept his eyes on the floor just behind Miss Treble's heels, the register box tucked under one arm with the loose coins within jangling rythymically at every step. Reg drew up short and took a deep breath as she stepped into her office, then followed her inside. He'd sort of expected a last-minute flash of panic, but Reggy felt oddly calm as he sank down onto the office chair's worn-out cushion. There was nothing he could do now anyway, except explain what had happened and accept his fate. He needed this job badly, not just for the money but because it was one of the few things in life that was <em>his</em>, that <em>worked</em>. But in a way, Reg almost hoped Miss Treble would fire him. She'd already been beyond cool to him once tonight, letting him off the hook when probably no one else would have, and he felt rotten to even think about imposing on her kindness once again.<br><br>His mouth felt almost as dry as it had on the rooftop as he sat with the box in his lap. Miss Treble finally levered the antique safe open and spun around toward him, a calculator and the night's receipts in her hands. Reggy unlatched the box and began counting out the cash and totalling up the charge slips, while Allison tabulated the expected totals. She finished well ahead of him and waited patiently as he tallied and organized the last of the bills. It hadn't been a <em>bad</em> night, at least in terms of sales, but...<br><br>"Um...Miss Treble? There's...something I should tell you..." His face already burning with shame, Reggy quietly cleared his throat, took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on the box in front of him. As he spoke, his voice was even softer than usual, and only grew quieter as he went on. "Earlier tonight, before my...break...there were these two guys, and their girlfriends, well their girlfriends weren't really so bad, but the two guys, they, um...they sort of didn't pay for their order. I tried to make them, at least, I mean, I wanted to, but they were really big, and they just refused, and...there were other customers in line, and I...I guess I just didn't want to cause any trouble, so...anyway, I'm afraid my register is going to be short tonight...but you can t-take it out of my paycheck this week, to make things fair. And...if you have to, I mean...I'll understand if you have to write me up, or fire me, or whatever...I won't dispute it or anything. I'm...really sorry...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 03:20:41</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cobb Theater </span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 10, 2010</span></strong><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">Trebs’s somewhat wistful expression dropped when Reggy told her the news about his cash drawer; her features seemed to shift into a sharper focus as she listened to him, her eyes focusing on him rather than roaming over the water-stained ceiling tiles above them. She tugged absentmindedly at her stretched earlobes and sighed, sitting back in her desk chair. “Well, fuck. I don’t know Reggy—I can’t leave it unreported. Do you know the guys? Their names? We need to ban them from the theater. I need to report them to the daytime staff. And we’re going to be here late—filling out this paperwork.” </span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">She turned around and dug in one of the filing cabinets to pull out the shortage paperwork so that she could write up the missing cash and as she worked on that, filling in the amounts missing as Reggy supplied the information to her, she said to him, “I’m not really sure what Amundson (http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs25/i/2008/137/b/b/Onto_The_Streets_VIII_by_kaoru_mw.jpg) [the day manager] will say. You might not need to lose any cash—or at least that little tart</span><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Ashley (https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/nlvNng0WkrMZK6e4DqCgPYU996DZ2gl0pbXQjM5WeA3BAuM182re0rR-nMOIUL7H2BQF5qfnKsKLmbLklFZ9AG6uZQ=s512) </span><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><strong>[pic @ link is NSFW]</strong> that works the early shifts didn’t when some high school kids stiffed her. But you know, she has those biggish tits, and well, you can’t play the whole Girl-in-Distress card that she could with the waterworks. I’ll put in a good word for you though.” She surrendered the paperwork over to Reggy so he could write up the encounter in the “Comments” section. As Reggy recounted the events, Trebs rocked back and forth in her chair, sighing occasionally and picking at the flaked fingernail polish with her obscenely large keychain. There were more keys on it, and not <em>just</em> theater-related keys, than on the key chains of most people who owned multiple cars. When she shifted her angle, the keys jangled and made a dissonant little protest, urging Reggy to write faster. Eventually they both signed the paperwork and Trebs closed up the safe.</span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">They walked outside together, and Trebs said good night to Reggy before she turned and trotted off into the rain without an umbrella. Her mismatched skirt and her theater shirt were soaked before she could get the ancient driver’s side lock of her VW to come open. The engine stubbornly refused to turn over for a moment or two, and then it jolted to life. Trebs pulled away from the Cobb, leaving Reggy to the darkness.</span><br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font">As she pulled away, a largish rat darted over to Reggy, pawed at his shoe, sniffed upward and looked at the movie theater attendant with some interest. As Reggy looked down, he could see the rat was both soaking wet, and seemed to be bleeding along its right side—not gushing blood, but it was certainly hurt.&nbsp; <br><br>Edit: to fix linkage.<br></span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 07:22:14</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Blinker Town Trailer Park<br>Trailer to Nowhere</strong><br><br><strong>Allison Garvey </strong> ex-bartender of Simon's Bull<br><br>Al lay in bed for a few minutes before getting up to look out the windows.&nbsp; She went to each window in turn, looking out to check for some imagined or real noise.&nbsp; She'd told herself "no more running" but had run anyhow.&nbsp; Of course, there wasn't anything to be done at the time she'd run...she'd tried.<br><br>Stopping in front of the refrigerator, Al opened the freezer and drew out a bag of peas to press to her forhead.&nbsp; She had such a headache she didn't know what to do.&nbsp; The cold only made it worse, so she threw the bag back inside and sat down at the dinette table, looking at her "scrapbook" of information about the disappearances.<br><br>This weekend, she thought, looking at the year-on-a-page calendar she used to mark important dates.&nbsp; Al felt raw with need for sleep and her inability to keep her eyes shut.&nbsp; She got up and washed her face, drew on jeans and a tank top, a sweater and a jacket, snugged a rain hat on her head and grabbed her keys.&nbsp; The VW was unreliable, still, but she'd make it run.<br><br>At the last minute, Al grabbed her notes and the scrapbook of newspaper articles of various mysterious events.&nbsp; She locked the trailer and ran to the VW.&nbsp; True to its nature, the car started first try.&nbsp; Al swore slightly under her breath, but gave the dash a pat and headed back to town.<br><br>She drove back to the scene of the crime, as it were, parking and watching the mop-up outside Simon's Bull for a few minutes before she eased forward with a slight back fire and headed for Devil Bat Caves.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 15:58:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Heading away from the Chaos</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509);&nbsp; <br><br><hr>&nbsp; <br><br>Sam slowly stood as she seemed to regain her self. The flashing of police lights and the flames that roared out of Simon's Bull did little to comfort her. She had to leave, to get away from the place with all its horrors. Sam darted away from the crowd, her heavy black boots splashing in&nbsp; rain puddles that marked the grime filled streets. <br><br>After several minutes of running Sam finally slowed down. As she passed a shop's reflective window Sam peered into her reflection. Her pig tails were messy and she was drenched to the bone. The hoodie she wore were scraps and blood smeared her lips. The young prostitute slipped off the rags and wiped her face clean. Her pale skin glistened with rain, and she was now only garbed in a pink bra and small skirt with torn fishnet stockings. Some how she felt better, as if shedding pain away was as easy as removing old clothes. <br><br>Sam continued on past the shops, her eyes gazing down on the concrete side walk, thinking about what had happen. She has never seen a werewolf, nor roaches that swarmed at command. How ever she did see rats do the same with the vampire she had met earlier in the night. Sam visibly frowned. Just yesterday she had been lost in a sea of emptiness, and now she was thrown into a conflict she had no real desire for. <br><br>Before Sam had noticed she was only a few feet from a boy,who seemed to be staring down at a rat. Sam's cold blue eyes oddly shone through the darkness, a distant uncaring expression. Sam's feet had lead her to Cobb's Theater, a place where she often broke into for shelter and to watch the occasional movie. <br><br>Her eyes where fixated on the human, who appeared to be young and down trodden. Sam contemplated if she should turn around and hide but tossed the notion away. She was tired and the boy seemed harmless. Sam would appear younger, and frail in the rain, her small breasts rising and falling with small intakes of air, a habit she had no need for. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shihong</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 18:34:05</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Downtown, Florence Motel, Room 13 - Taking Stock&nbsp; --</strong><br><hr><br>There was nothing quite as brilliant as a good hangover after an evening of being nearly disemboweled by a hideous monster.&nbsp; The sharp throb in Delilah's temples was a fair bit less agonizing than a knife wound, and couldn't even compare to getting shot or tossed bodily out of a car on the freeway.&nbsp; Pain like that she could do without, hangovers always seemed to put things in perspective.&nbsp; A little pain was good for focus.<br><br>The room was as moist and moldering as the rest of the town, and the bottom of her boots were already caked with all manner of unlucky insect.&nbsp; The light was murky and rolled over the gaudy purple furniture like orange gelatin, and there was a rank odor not unlike spoiled milk wafting from the kitchen.&nbsp; But it was soundproofed, private, low-key, and the owner didn't ask questions.&nbsp; Sometimes a woman in her position had to make sacrifices.&nbsp; <br><br>She'd lived in worse places.<br><br>Her guns and munitions were laid out on the bed or tucked away in suitcases.&nbsp; She didn't quite trust leaving them in the truck, though the thing was outfitted with enough traps and wards and silver that any freak attempting to get in would have a bitch of a time.&nbsp; <br><br>Silver.&nbsp; Bane to supernaturals everywhere.&nbsp; She didn't question it.&nbsp; If it worked, that's all that really mattered.&nbsp; She hadn't seen what fucking chaos had gone on in the bar, but she'd heard that howl same as the rest of them.&nbsp; Shifter.&nbsp; Hers?&nbsp; Not likely.&nbsp; But it was reason enough to stay in town.&nbsp; Delilah didn't especially like her chances alone, but that was nothing new.&nbsp; Only novices fought shifters and skinwalkers alone, and they never lived long enough to become veterans.&nbsp; She hadn't seen where Otis and the loudmouthed hunter had gotten off to, but hooking up with them just seemed logical.&nbsp; Worse comes to worse, they'd make good meat to put between her and the damn thing's claws.<br><br>Delilah fell back onto the bed, scaring a few moths into the fetid air.&nbsp; She stared blankly at a water stain on the ceiling in the shape of a mourning woman, hugging her Smith &amp; Wesson against her abdomen like a security blanket.&nbsp; "Delilah, girl, jess what'd ya git yerself inta this time?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>01-08-2011, 21:46:14</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<tt class="bbc_tt"><em>Micheal Summers ~ Trying to make sense of everything, while heading to Otis's<br></em></tt><br><br>Micheal wanted to help Sam, but he didn't have time and it seemed like she was fine. So he had to make his next move, and judging from the sounds Otis was headed back to his farmstead, and so was he. He knew he had to talk to the crazy old man, who wouldn't make sense to anyone if they didn't know about what went bump in the night. Making his way down the sidewalk Micheal made it back to his T-Bird and roared the engine to life, its loud roar was masked by the rain, and as it sat idle it turn in to a soft purr. Turning on the lights and then the windshield wipers, Micheal closed his eyes and took a long breath inhaling strongly, and exhaling softly. <em>Just like that I lose more people in my life</em>, he thought before he opened his eyes, and a certain rage took over him, but he looked so calm. Moving his hand down to the stick shift Micheal shifted the gear in to the first gear stepping on the gas the tires began to sling water all over, as they gained traction and sped off down the road. <br><br>The trip wasn't long but it wasn't short either. His eyes darted all around the area to make sure his trip wouldn't have to detour. Though he almost killed himself not realizing he had drifted in to on coming traffic more than once. It was a good thing that in the open road no one really traveled during the rain. If there was someone driving it would be the only car you had seen for a very long time. Micheal didn't even care about his speed which was above sixty. The rained continued to poor, but it didn't stop Micheal he was determined to make it to Otis' house and figure out what the hell had just happened. <br><br>Pulling up to the Farmstead Micheal tried to slow his car, but the mud was a hassle after how much rain it had gotten. His car slid towards the house, and Micheal had no control over it. He watched as the lost its direction, and he was now aiming at the house. He tried to judge the projectory, but there was no way of telling the outcome. The car began to slow just as it slid past Otis's truck, and finally came to a stop as it reached the small porch. Micheal shut the T-Bird down and exited the car quickly, flying up the small steps he didn't have time to knock, and he was sure Otis wouldn't give a damn. Closing the door behind him he heard the rustling sounds of guns being moved. "Otis!" Micheal's voice boomed through the small hallways, and he could only hear that rustling sound again. <br><br>Walking down the hall towards the living room Micheal could tell that the old man, was just as hysteric as he was Micheal just didn't show it. "Otis stop for a minute, we need a beer and we need to talk about what the hell just happened. If anything tried to get to us tonight, then I'll deal with it when the time comes." Micheal walked to the kitchen, and opened the fridge grabbing them a beer for each then sat back in a chair. He let Otis finish because there was no controlling him, and it was safer to let him be him. After several minutes Otis had returned to the kitchen and grabbed his beer sitting across from Micheal he unscrewed the top, and they drank in unison. "A werewolf, roaches, a vampire, shit I've never seen before. What the fuck was all that?" Micheal looked to Otis for his answer, but hell not even Otis knew all the answers. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>02-08-2011, 17:21:12</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis' Farmhouse</strong><br><br>Not long after Micheal's loud introduction to the farmhouse, the soft clacking of heels came from one of the rooms, and Arathel stepped out to check on the pair.&nbsp; Currently in female form, she wore a dress, purse and heels which were all immaculately white, but were decently dry enough to keep from showing off her body.&nbsp; It never truly seemed to be clear why Arathel shifted genders, but the outfits always matched the sex.<br><br>Giving a polite nod to Micheal in greeting, checking him over for wounds but not wanting to interrupt, she followed inside to take a seat at the table with them.&nbsp; Although she didn't seem to drink herself, she held no judgment for those who chose to do so.&nbsp; Her thoughts were private, but the curiosity on her face showed through well enough.&nbsp; She hoped that Otis would have a number of answers, and that a plan could easily be formed.&nbsp; Enough innocent blood had been spilled as to warrant assurances that such things would not readily happen again.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>02-08-2011, 23:08:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Much as he might want it to, he couldn't get his thoughts to stop racing.&nbsp; Something's gotta be done. Gung ho idiot that he was, that one guy in the bar tonight was right. Something had to be done. He put the journal away, and got everything nice and orderly in his desk, then stood up. <br><br>Off to his kitchen he went, getting himself some cold-brewed coffee, all prepared up already with sweetened condensed milk. He gave it a shake, grabbed a glass, and poured himself some.&nbsp; He drank it down, poured another glass, then put it back in the fridge. A snack-sized bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and that second glass of coffee later, and he was feeling alright. A little junk food to help him relax, and the caffeine to turbo charge him. <br><br>He's pulled all-nighter's before. Hell, most of the time, he was pretty certain he worked better at night. Ever since that one encounter, that one special evening that changed everything in his life, he's been obsessed with the night. <br><br>He gets all dressed up again. Denim jeans, long-sleeved white shirt, long black socks compose the first layer he puts on. Second comes leather chaps, his biker armor jacket, helmet, gloves, and boots. The next step in preparation was making sure he still had both of his folding pocket knives (he does), and then going to get his ironwood, hardened 'sticks' (Escrima weapon, they are specifically hardened and balanced for use as a weapon). Two of them, three feet long each, in their own sheathes with straps. These are placed over his shoulders in a somewhat cliched 'X'; not out of any desire to look like some badass from a movie, but because logic dictated they be placed in such a way. <br><br>And let's not forget something a bit more conventional and non-melee. A six shot, .357 revolver. Maine is a lovely place, what with its relaxed gun laws and what not. The gun is holstered, and attached to his belt. It is mostly concealed by the biker armor he wears. <br><br>Next comes a small pack. Flashlight, glowsticks, flare gun with one flare loaded in it, a few bottles of water and energy bars, and a small basic first aid kit. Just in case he gets in trouble, or their's someone out there that needs some immediate assistance. Pays to be prepared. <br><br>He leaves his apartment, and locks up, before heading back down towards his bike. He's going to visit Otis tonight, see what he's up to, and maybe poke around the caves on his own. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 08:52:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis’s Farmstead</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Early on November 11, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Otis looked over his beer bottle at both Micheal and Arathel. He sighed and worked one of his knotty hands back over his hair, fussing with the ponytail before he turned to Micheal and said, “Alright, so what happened? Why the fuck was my favorite bar suddenly FUBARed by a bunch of fucking skinshifting, magic-wielding motherfuckers?” He took a small sip of his beer. It was bitter as he licked his lips mildly, looked to Arathel and apologized for cursing. Otis had never been one to swear in front of a lady, but he felt he had to let out some of his frustrations. He’d not even had a chance to talk with Micheal at all about the murders. He’d walked into a shit storm and had no idea if the other folks at the bar were okay, let alone where the attackers had gotten off to. One thing was sure, he’d never seen a shifter cut open a hole in reality and step through. Whatever had walked into that bar, it’d been a fuck of a lot scarier than the shifters he’d seen before. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">He listened to Micheal’s version of the events with equanimity and as the night sky started to pale, Otis said, “We’ve got to get prepped. Whatever came to Simon’s Bull tonight came gunning for us. I dunno how those things knew we were there, but one thing is certain, we need to be a lot less out in the open now. It’s bad enough if any of those cops’ll have recognized me. Then I’ll have those guys sniffing around here. Let’s get down to the basement—we can replenish some ammo and such. I’ve got a few ounces of silver. If we can coat regular bullets for a small gun with the silver so that it fits our weapons, we’ll make it go further.” He stood up and stretched, disposed of his long since emptied beer bottle, rummaged in the fridge for a couple of egg salad sandwiches, handed one to Micheal, and headed down the rickety staircase to the basement. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The floor was packed dirt covered in sawdust; it was a testament to the hard work Otis had put in at his home, well the farm. He couldn’t bring himself to think of this place as his home. More like his workplace now. No place was home that didn’t have his family. Sometimes the voices of his children woke him up at night. They called out to him, asking him to come see them. Sometimes he got as far as positioning the shotgun just right so that the top of his head would be vaporized, but then the thought of being cut off from them, of being punished for being a suicide always stopped him. That and he doubted seriously he had the flexibility in his big toe to actually pull the damn trigger. And what if he flinched? Could he look himself in the mirror after that? These suicidal tendencies drove him to take unnecessary risks in fights. He almost hoped he would be killed trying to kill a monster, but so far, God had not seen fit to allow that. Instead he just allowed Otis to witness more and more of the horrible. Allowed him to know some fuck was disemboweling kids and doing something unspeakable with the body parts. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Sitting down at one of the well-lit workbenches, he began assembling the wires for a blasting cap that could be attached to some of the C4 he had stocked in his basement. As his eyes focused in on his work, he mumbled, “Son of a bitch must pay.”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">There were also benches for sharpening and hardening wooden stakes and for assembling the ammo—this latter clear on the other end of the basement to keep the heat away from the explosives on Otis’s side of the basement. Some of those were homemade, some acquired quite illegally. Both of the men in the inner sanctum of Otis’s basement knew that they could hold up here for a long time. Otis’s wife had always insisted he help her with canning her vegetables and such. The farmland around his house was planted and tended by him, and he had a very large stockpile of food down here. Some was store-bought. He had more cans of Campbell soup than the damn grocery store probably, but he also had a large supply of home-grown and canned produce. Then there was the weapons closet. It featured a variety of shotguns, Otis’s weapon of choice when he wasn’t engaged with blowing shit up.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The damn thing even had a surveillance center; the long dirt drive up from the road was broadcast onto the small black and white television screens in the surveillance area. The porch, roof, and other areas of the farm were also clearly visible. So the men worked in peace, secure that if anything were to come for them, they’d know it. This was perhaps a foolish thing to believe, but Otis’s basement was a much calmer environment than any of the men had been in recently.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The Roads Heading East out of Cape Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 11, 2010</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Allison’s shabby car went unnoticed by the remaining emergency respondents outside of Simon’s Bull. The building was a structural nightmare, smoldering in the spitting rain and seeming to have melted in upon itself. There was no sign of Louie or roaches, though. But then again, it was still fairly dark.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The road out to Devil Bat Cave took Allison out past the Farmlands and the relatively deserted-looking state road was dotted only occasionally with farmhouses set back deep on their property. Some had windows that shone like black lights in the night; others still kept a porch or some other light on. The road was lonely, haunted. But things brightened up a bit once she was through the Farmlands and further toward the coast. Huffy’s Truck Depot glittered in the night like and island of warmth and calling, and then the VW’s gas light came on.</span><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><hr><br>&nbsp; <span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Leof was greeted with continual but light rain as he drove out to Otis’s place. The trip wasn’t particularly long, but neither was it particularly pleasant with the sky pissing without cessation and the sunrise refusing to look anything like a proper sunrise and more like the bloated and red face of a hung over drunk struggling to pull himself up out of bed. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The only good thing about the rain was that the dust that would have coated Leof as he drove up the drive was instead merely mud, and the relatively high level of maintenance Otis kept his property with meant that there were no large washed away areas of the drive that left gaping puddles or holes that could cause trouble for motorists. The house stood quiet in the morning sun, though Otis’s truck and another car were nuzzled up close to the front porch.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 11:49:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Farmstead</strong><br><br>Arathel listened silently, gesturing a lack of concern at the swearing.&nbsp; A number of things were said to be less than virtuous but Arathel never seemed to mind or show irritation.&nbsp; As always, the reasons why were inscrutable: perhaps it wasn't an angel's place to judge, perhaps Arathel considered such things lesser importance in the grand scale of those who fought against evil, or perhaps they weren't really evil at all.&nbsp; Naturally, however, such tolerance ended when the supernatural hunted the lives of humanity.<br><br>She followed her way down the stairs as they went to prepare, her knowledge of tactics and the like rather limited.&nbsp; She always found it fascinating how the humans could throw together these vast formulas of plans, knowing how a monster would think and being able to prepare accordingly.&nbsp; It often made working with humans more than worthwhile.&nbsp; "I have some of this, if it will help," she said, searching through her purse for a moment before drawing forth a handful of small bills and loose change, less than $20 in all.&nbsp; She laid it out upon the table, adding, "Maybe it will let you buy some more silver or other things you'll need for the hunt?"<br><br>Arathel only ever used a flaming sword for the hunt.&nbsp; It was more than enough in her opinion; humans had all sorts of natural versatility which made such things invaluable, and she was happy to help however she could in such a regard, but she would never take a weapon if it could deprive one of the human hunters of the equipment.<br><br>She let the two get to work, and when a motorcycle started coming up the road on one of the screens, she said, "I'll get it," and started upstairs.<br><br><hr><br><strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Front Porch</strong><br><br>Arathel walked out the door, moving onto the front porch to look over towards the new arrival.&nbsp; She was dressed in a dress, heels and purse, all in an immaculate white, which required her to stay out of the gushing rain for the time being.&nbsp; She gave a smile towards Leof's motorcycle, giving him the chance to get off and saying, "Greetings," once he was within earshot.&nbsp; "You're here for Otis, right?&nbsp; I'll take you to him."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 14:24:56</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Like some modern knight, Leofwine came riding up the dirt road on his steed (http://www.hd4sale.com/bikes/photos/9/67599-medium_Harley.jpg), at a leisurely pace. Dirt roads were just a bit trickier to drive on, especially since all the rain meant it should be muddy, so he advanced cautiously. Eventually, as he drew closer, his headlight would illuminate the woman on the porch, whom he didn't recognize. He frowned a bit, though the helmet (http://www.leatherup.com/p/Hawk-Helmets/Advanced-Hawk-Demon-Mask-Black-Full-Face-Motorcycle-Helmet/64417.html) he wears makes it somewhat hard to notice this. He was noticeably dressed in what was the closest thing to armor (http://www.myleather.com/site/product?pid=53290&amp;dispid2=102) he could get without being suspicious. Additionally, the grips of his two ironwood swords were plainly visible. The man looked ready for war, so he must surely be a hunter.<br><br>He cuts the engine, and gets off his motorcycle. He puts the stand out, and leans the bike carefully on it. He would make sure that it was alright (it was), for he cared a great deal for his ride, before finally turning his attention to the woman. <br><br>After he took his helmet off, he would smile wanely at her. "Hey. Fellow hunter?" He would ask as he moved towards the door. "Name's Leof." Pronounced lee-off.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 14:41:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Farmstead</strong><br><br>The woman's smile remained warm and polite.&nbsp; She wore no armor and didn't have any visible weapons, so it was hard to tell just how talented she was in a fight, but her eyes naturally gravitated to look over his weapons with some approval.&nbsp; "To some degree," she replied to his question.&nbsp; "I fight monsters and help heal the wounds of our allies, but I'm less talented at making weapons, tactics and the like.&nbsp; My name is Arathel."&nbsp; She opened the door to let him inside.&nbsp; "Otis is down in the basement.&nbsp; After the events at Simon's Bull, he's very concerned."&nbsp; Her own smile flickered to exacerbate the worries of their mutual friend.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 15:35:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Yeah. I'm going to wager that the loud mouth is the one who brought the heat down on us." He commented somewhat bitterly, and moved into the house. He's only been here a few times before, so he lets the woman lead him to Otis. That is, after he makes sure his boots have been wiped off on whatever mat might be available. It'd be downright rude to go trumping through the house with mud still on his boots.<br><br>"Were you there? Do you know how many of us made it out alright? Anybody else here?" 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 16:09:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Farmstead</strong><br><br>She waited patiently, grabbing a towel from the closet and tossing it to him once they were inside.&nbsp; "What loud mouth?" she asked politely.&nbsp; "I didn't get there until very late, when everything was already falling apart.&nbsp; Otis wasn't harmed, at least as far as I could see, and Micheal is here."&nbsp; She waited to let him dry off and get the mud from his boots, then moved to the basement, opening the door for him.&nbsp; "If you were there from the start, maybe you could fill us in on the complete story?"&nbsp; Her attention turned more dutifully upon him, hoping to get a better understanding for what had happened.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 16:41:48</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				He would dry himself off as well, flashing the woman a smile. "Thanks." He'd say, after all was said and done. "Nights like these make me wish I'd gone with a car." He said with a light laugh, handing the towel back.<br><br>He would follow her down towards the basement, carrying along a small pack with him.<br><br>"Well, I came in after work, like I usually do. Get a few drinks, maybe play some pool, and keep an eye on things. Was chatting with this one lady that goes by the name of Al; I get the feeling she's a hunter, too. Then the news came on about the missing children and Devil Bat Cave. I Don't think I caught his name, but their was a guy..." He would give a decently accurate description of JJ. "He was talking loud enough for the whole damned bar to hear, saying stuff about how he knows what lurks in the shadows, and that their really are things that go bump in the night, and he's a super special snowflake that knows how to handle it all. He shot his mouth off, singled out me and&nbsp; Al, and generally speaking, put targets on everybody's damned backs. Not even a half hour after he shot his mouth off, the monsters were attacking the bar. That's not coincidence. It's that prick, trying to act like some kind of action hero. I'd bet money on it. He's dangerous." He would explain this to Arathel as he walked down into the basement, loud enough for the others to hear him. <br><br>"Whoever that guy was, he acts like this is all some freakin' movie and he's the hot shot hero that's gonna save the world and get the girl. I'm avoiding him like Hell now, and I'd suggest everybody else does, too. Somebody like that will just make things <em>more</em> difficult and dangerous, as far as I'm concerned." He delivered his whole long speech with a somewhat calm, slightly annoyed, tone of voice. <br><br>Afterwards, he would look to Otis. "Glad you made it out alright." Then, his attention would turn to the other man. "Howdy. I'm Leof. And usually not so ticked off." He says with a subdued laugh. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 18:56:34</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				~Micheal Summers~ Preparing to go hunting<br><br>"Well it started with flying roaches they swarmed the bar and killed the bartender, and a couple of other people. Then two men came out of nowhere your space walkers, followed by the wolf. I didn't really see what had happened outside, but I think one of the men that was in Simon's Bull made his way out, and did some damage. Though I don't even know why they showed themselves there, I'm going to find out." Micheal looked to Otis as he got up, and then walked to the fridge grabbing them both a sandwich, grabbing the sandwich Micheal looked to Arathel who he had known for a while like he knew Otis just not as long. As they made there way down to the basement Micheal listened to Otis speak, and didn't even have to say anything. He just got to work, though Otis was the mastermind Micheal still had the ability to fix and restore stuff. <br><br>"We should investigate the cave when the sun comes up, and maybe try and set a trap before night fall. If all else fails you could just send me." Micheal started to huff a laugh out, but they were joined by Arathel and another man. He knew Otis so that was an automatic in with Micheal, but still he couldn't be trusted. "Micheal," he extended his hand to the man, and after they shook he went back to work cleaning the Glock 4.7 while Otis worked on the bullets. Micheal noticed the gun on Leof's hip and shrugged, "Were you the one shooting your gun off in the bar, or was it that other guy? Either way I don't really like bullets whizzing pass my head. So for future reference watch where you point that thing." Micheal turned his head to look at Leof as he finished cleaning the gun then cocked it. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 19:21:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Farmhouse</strong><br><br>Arathel listened in silence as the stories were given, showing Leof a degree of compassion at his distress.&nbsp; She didn't really understand the matter of secrecy; people who weren't capable of comprehending angels just never seemed to notice her unusual nature.&nbsp; However, she made no serious comment on the matter beyond a question.&nbsp; "What did they mention on the news about the children and Devil Bat Cave?"<br><br>The rate at which information could pass between humans was stunning sometimes.&nbsp; It never used to be like this.&nbsp; As wonderful as it was for humans to be able to keep up with each other and advance together, sometimes she felt so left out.&nbsp; Perhaps she should try playing with Otis's television set again later on.<br><br>"I'll be happy to go with you, Micheal," she said in reply to his suggestion about going over.&nbsp; "Just let me know before you start to head over."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>03-08-2011, 19:54:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Leofwine, Otis' Farmhouse, Basement<br><br>"No, I was the idiot who nicked a werewolf with a pocket knife.&nbsp; I don't carry a gun on me unless I'm expecting to need it. I prefer melee. I teach Escrima at Totally Fit. And I know how to take a beating without slowing down." He commented idly, not dropping the name of 'Iron Shirt', since he didn't feel like going into an explanation of what it was, and how he'd done it.&nbsp; He just bottom lined it. He was trained to deal with high levels of pain and injury and still trucking on.<br><br>"Hah. I was going to head out that way myself. It's why I've got the armor and weapons." He sets his pack down on the ground, by the stairs. "Even brought along some goodies...flare gun, eight hour glowsticks, some energy bars and bottled water, medkit and some painkillers..." he shrugs his shoulders. <br><br>"Honestly, I didn't pay too much attention... The local law enforcement agencies are getting federal support to find out what the hell is going on, so pretty soon, we'll need to be extra careful. We can't afford to get in trouble or fights with the authorities." Or, at least, he couldn't.&nbsp; "That, and something about how their was a pretty consistent pattern in the kidnappings. We've only got a few more days until the next one."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>04-08-2011, 21:06:40</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis's Farmhouse</strong><br><br>Arathel listened as she took a seat, smiling a bit in approval as the various equipment was mentioned.&nbsp; As the medkit and painkillers were brought up, however, she gave a light shake of her head.&nbsp; "That part won't be necessary.&nbsp; If you get hurt, just let me know and I'll heal you up."<br><br>At the mention of the law enforcement looking into the matter, however, she paused for a moment, considering.&nbsp; She wanted to see if she could replicate the skill that she'd seen being used so often.&nbsp; "Let's see...if the police are looking into the matter, they'll try to block off the area, and then see if they can deal with everything themselves.&nbsp; However, they won't be able to.&nbsp; They'll probably just get killed, so is there a way to keep them from coming?&nbsp; I don't want to have to wait until they fail and flee..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>05-08-2011, 16:46:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Cafe next door to Book Revue<br>Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- Heading over to Devil Bat Cave...</span><br><br><em>Something bad is going down at Simon's Bull.</em> <br><br>Fate looked curiously over her cup at the other woman. She'd broken her silence with just one pert sentence and immediately her attention was back on her phone. Phones, the damn things were getting more and more hi-tech by the day. More and more people seemed to have their noses in one, heck, she'd even started getting a few requests for e-books! Not that that was ever going to happen, she'd rather go out of business than see the world forget the touch of paper and the smell of ink.<br><br>She exchanged a glance with Mark, mouthing the question 'Who's that?' only to receive a shrug in response. To Alice, she replied casually, it almost seemed as if she were still chatting with Mark actually. "Something's always going down at Simon's Bull. The place is like a watering hole for shady characters, I wouldn't be surprised if the cops had a patrol there on a regular basis. Just to nab them a few drunks or speeding tickets maybe." Mark nodded along enthusiastically, as if on cue.<br><br>Crossing over to the table the reporter occupied, she rested her hand on the chair across from her. "You don't mind do you?" She waited for Alice's consent before she pulled out the chair and plopped down. Cupping her chin in hand, her eyes glanced over the other woman, lingering on her phone for a bit. She seemed&nbsp; to be staring intently at the pictures on the screen, and Fate found herself wondering what they were. Now that she was actually sitting here, she realized that she had no idea what to say.<br><br>Just as she was about to blurt out some lame line along the lines of 'Hi, who're you?', the wail of sirens pierced the silence as yet another fleet of patrol cars sped by. "What the heck is going <em>on</em> over there? Someone's gonna get in an accident soon..." She muttered disapprovingly as she watched the flashing lights speed by on the wet roads. Suddenly she straightened up.<br><br>Calling over the Mark, she grinned. "Hey Mark, you still wanna drive me home?" He brightened considerably. "Definitely! Just let me finish closing up shop." She watched as he bustled behind the counter, scrubbing the place down with new vigor and rushing back and forth. Chuckling lightly, she turned to Alice. "So, what about you? Wanna come along? We're heading to Devil Bat Cave. Aren't you curious about what's going on over there that's got the cops all riled up?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>05-08-2011, 17:39:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alice-cafe Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010<br>&nbsp;</strong><br><br>Besides that one sentence muttered, she paid little attention to the two in the cafe. Her eyes stayed on her phone as she looked over the file she had taken a picture of one more time to see if she was missing something. Everyonce in a while she would reach up without really looking and grab the coffee cup getting a drink of the dark bitter liquid inside of it.&nbsp; Her mind kept circling between the file and the experience that had happened to her in the elevator. <br><br>" no not at all." She said to the girl&nbsp; as she asked if she could sit there. She doubted that she would be good company though. Her social skills seemed to be reserved for those she could get some information from, and even that was lacking since her child's death. She didn't think she had uttered more then a handfull of words to someone outside of interviews and work since then. The girl would get bored and move away eventually she thought.<br><br>When she mentioned the caves her intrest peeked, and she actually put her phone down. Her eyes looked the girl over.&nbsp; She wondered if the cops would actually be at the caves. She didn't have a police radio with her so it could be possible that something else had happened there. That was all she need was cops and some curious kids to be trampling all over her investigation scene. <br><br>" I'm headed over there myself." She told her. " I'm doing an investigation for the paper.&nbsp; Something&nbsp; bad is going on there I think..." She said she didn't have all the evidence yet, but everything seemed to be pointing her toward the cave. " My name is Alice. I'm a reporter for the paper, and you would be?" She asked. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>07-08-2011, 07:20:01</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>On the Road to the Caves<br>Allison Garvey</strong><br><br>She had the pedal pushed down, urging the bug to move as fast as possible.&nbsp; The rain was blinding and if she'd met any on-coming cars, Al had no idea what she'd have done; the wipers weren't holdin up their end of the bargain agains the downpour.&nbsp; Her stomach was roiling; fear and dread seemed to be battling within her.&nbsp; Fear of what might be at the caves, and dread of being too late.&nbsp; But, the routine...it had been going on for too long.&nbsp; Unless the appearance of the monsters in the bar was a sign that things were going from bad to worse than bad.<br><br>"Don't borrow trouble," she muttered.&nbsp; "The car started.&nbsp; It's a sign.&nbsp; A sign you're doing the right thing..."<br><br>The engine huffed, coughed and stalled.&nbsp; Al looked at the gas gauge and saw that she had half a tank even as the car coasted along the road.&nbsp; She quickly took the car out of gear and eased onto the dirt shoulder.&nbsp; The ground was so saturated that even the light VW Bug sank to the floorboards. <br><br>Al sat in the car, dumbfounded.&nbsp; AFter everything that had happened that night, she felt that this might be the last straw.&nbsp; She might be that camel whose back was broke; possessor of the last nerve finally "gotten-on."&nbsp; And, then she started to laugh.&nbsp; Hysteria fought with a real sense of the absurd as she leaned her head on the steering wheel and laughed.&nbsp; She banged her head a few times and glanced up as the gas gauge suddenly shifted to the big red E, the little idiot light coming on. Pressing back from the wheel, Al laughed harder.&nbsp; Only the laughter had turned to tears somewhere along the line and she could feel their coolness running down her face.<br><br>Sighing, wiping her cheeks, Al pushed the emergency button to set the lights to flashing and turned off the headlights in favor of the parking lights.&nbsp; The battery would be next to go, she mused.&nbsp; She grabbed the door handle and pushed.&nbsp; The car was sunk below the level of the tarmac, the door stopped about five inches out, scraping on the rough edge of the road.&nbsp; Sighing, Al rolled the window down and climbed out of the window to stand beside the dead Bug.&nbsp; <br><br>Dead.&nbsp; Bug.<br><br>"I hate bugs," she&nbsp; muttered, giving the car a firm kick to the door panel.&nbsp; Al climbed up to sit on the roof, legs dangling over the side as she waited for what would come next. "Aliens," she said.&nbsp; "Little green guys with probes," she mused.&nbsp; "Most action I'd have seen in a long while..."&nbsp; She looked up at the sky, then pulled the hood up on her jacket and waited.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>07-08-2011, 19:24:31</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>Cafe next door to Book Revue<br>Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- Heading to Devil Bat Cave with Alice and Mark...</span><br><br>"I'm Fate, nice ta meetcha. I own the bookstore next door." A tilt of her chin to the opposing wall. "You should drop by sometime, maybe I'll even give you a discount if I'm in a good mood that day." A playful grin, and Mark seemed to have finished up while they chatted. <br><br>The ever-hopeful Mark ambled over to the two, car keys already in hand. "Ready to go Fate?"<br><br>"Yep!" Getting up, she waited for Alice to follow before continuing their conversation. She mentioned something about a sale at the shop next week. Mark followed, clearly confused. "Uh, you two know each other?"<br><br>Glancing over at Alice, she paused and then grinned. "I guess you can say...we do now?"<br><br>"So...she's going over to your place?" Fate laughed in response, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Sure, you can both come over if you want. But we're going to Devil Bat Cave first."<br><br>Mark's enthusiasm visibly lessened, though Fate didn't seem to notice. After locking up the shop, they dashed down the block to the corner where Mark's car was parked. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>08-08-2011, 06:06:46</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alice-cafe Financial District/Downtown<br>Wednesday Night -- November 10, 2010</strong><br><br>Alice smiled probably the most genuine smile she had in a while, but the girls grin seemed to be infectious. She listened to the girl talk about her store . " Next time I need something to read, I'll be sure to swing by." She could already think of a few things that she would like to get her hands on, but that could wait until later. She was getting distracted from her mission again, she thought. <br><br>Mark came over and she got up to follow the two. She was sure that Mark would not be happy with her tagging along, he probbaly wanted some alone time with the girl. When he asked if they new each other, she shot the girl a small smile and nodded. They knew each other well enough she thought. She noticed his drop in enthusiasm as the Cave was mentioned. He obviously didn't quite share in the girls adventurous , or was it curious spirit. It didn't matter an extra set of eyes or two at the cave might be a good thing especially if the cops were stomping around. <br><br>They made it to his car, and she went into the back seat, leaving the front passenger seat for Fate so her and Mark could be together. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>08-08-2011, 12:03:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				﻿Reggy sighed as he stood beneath the entrance awning and watched Miss Treble drive away, wishing for the millionth time he owned a vehicle of his own. He glanced skyward at the onpouring rain and shuddered at the thought of having to pedal his old second-hand 10-speed home through this deluge. Still, he couldn't bring himself to feel <em>completely</em> horrible; talking to Miss Treble had been less painful than he'd anticipated, and he had a sliver of hope that he'd get to keep his job. Final say, of course, lay in Amundson's hands, but while the old man could be a serious hard-ass Reggy had always considered him a fair man. However, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that his paycheck would almost certainly be lightened this time. Allison was absolutely right that he wouldn't be able to buy any extra sympathy by playing the victim, and to be honest Reggy didn't have much desire to try. He fucked up, he allowed himself to get robbed, and he would do his best to face the consequences.<br><br>His fingers were still a little cramped from filling out the requisite paperwork, and he flexed them a few times as he gripped the strap of his book satchel over one shoulder. Reg sighed again, then started to dig in the bag for the key to the makeshift lock on his bike. There was finally a (slight) lull in the storm, and he withdrew both the key and a tightly rolled-up, bright yellow poncho. He unfurled the thin plastic and slipped his head through the center slit, smoothing the slicker out over himself. He'd modified the thing a bit so he could wear it while on his bike, and better than half the material was cut away so that it only came down to a little below his chest. It didn't offer much protection, but it allowed him to keep his satchel dry and didn't risk getting caught in the bike chain.<br><br>Miss Treble's dim taillights were almost out of sight, and Reg was about to make a mad dash of his own for his bike while the rain wasn't quite so torrentous, when a soft squeak near his sneaker caught his attention. For a moment he thought he'd stepped on a crushed can or empty soda bottle, but when he looked down he spied a sizable brownish rat nudging at his shoe. A moment of instinctive revulsion washed over him and he was about to kick the bold little creature away when --<br><br><em>Rat.<br><br>Not brown.<br><br>Red.<br><br><strong>Silas</strong>!</em><br><br>"Eeyaagh!" Reggy cried intelligently as he stumbled backward a step. He blinked rapidly for a moment and tried to corral his heart out of his throat and back into his chest, then dropped to one knee on the wet concrete. "Um...S-Silas? Is...that you?" He asked, struggling heroically to ignore how stupid he felt talking to a rat even despite his earlier experience. Reginald's mind may have been slowly coming to terms with the reality of talking with a naked man who'd transformed moments before from a giant, furry aberration, but apparently it wanted to draw the line at conversing with actual rodents. <em>'I am going to need <strong>so much</strong> therapy some day...'</em><br><br>With the sort of care usually demonstrated by scientists dealing with highly explosive chemicals, Reggy leaned forward to get a better look at the rat's injuries, and reached under his slicker to dig through his bag. "Uh...are you, are you hurt? You look hurt...oh jeezus, yeah that looks really bad, um...are you, I mean, oh, can you even understand me? I've got, I think I have...yeah, I've got some Band-Aids, and let's see, a half-tube of Neosporin," he said, holding up the meager items up like sacred treasures in front of the wounded critter.<br><br>After another moment's hesitation, Reggy finally managed to screw up his courage and was about to risk trying to pick up the (magic?) rat when the sound of footsteps splashing towards him reached his ears. He looked up and saw a girl, perhaps his age or a little younger, standing a few feet away in the downpour. She looked, if possible, even more wretched and miserable than the rodent at his feet, and Reggy's eyes widened a little at the sight of her clothes -- or rather, her apparent lack of them. <em>'Oh god, what if she was attacked or something, looks like she's in shock, maybe she was <span class="bbc_u">raped</span>, omigod omigod omigod omigod...'</em><br><br>Reggy looked back and forth between the rat and the girl for two seconds that felt like forever, desperately trying to decide who to attempt to help first. At last he reached down and scooped what he hoped with all his might was Silas into his hands and rose to his feet. "Miss? Um, excuse me, miss..." Reg called out, his voice raised to compete with the heavy rain, "are you...are you alright? Are you injured, do you need help? I'm sorry, I don't have a cell phone, but we can use the one insi- oh, no, wait, Miss Treble locked the doors, but I can...I could get help, or...something..." he finished weakly, his worried expression visible by the backwash of the marquis lights above. In the palm of his hands he cradled maybe-Silas, squeaking loudly, and Reggy wondered just how much more of a train-wreck this night would become before he ran out of track.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>08-08-2011, 15:50:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br><div class="floatleft">(http://allin1dot.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/emily-browning.jpg)</div> <span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Meeting Reggy</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>Scene Soundtrack [noembed]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N_PXTGdlGw[/noembed] <br><br><hr> <br><br><br>Sam stood there as the boy held up his rat and stared at her with concern. It was the first time some had done so, that is, that didn't want to stick his dick inside of her. Sam remained standing, her wet ebony locks pulled into two messy pig tails. Her cold blue eyes were unblinking, as they kept their contact on Reggy's face. The young girl's skin was pale, almost alabaster in color as beads of water dipped down to race the small curves of her exposed cleavage. <br><br>The skirt she wore was black and did little to hide her smooth thighs. Torn fish net stockings covered them from mid thigh down, and her black boots with the numerous laces came just below her knees. The ethereal beauty wasn't shivering, nor did she look distraught as if she had been previously raped. Instead her face betrayed curiosity. <br><br>She took a few steps forward. The boy looked like a distant memory. A familiarity that she couldn't quite grasp. "Your rat..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper and devoid of any emotion, "Is your rat hurt?" She gestured to the creature in his hands. Although he didn't visibly look injured, Sam could smell the blood. <br><br>Sam's eyes remained unblinking, relentless in its connection to Reggy's. It was only when Reggy stammered if she needed help that she finally broke her gaze and looked to the movie theater. "I don't think you can help me..." the mysterious girl said. Her eyes remained transfixed on the theater. "You work here. I have seen you here before." <br><br>Sam's head turned as she faced Reggy once again. The girl seemed more fragile and tired this time around. With a bit of youthful curiosity Sam peered behind Reggy and looked to his bicycle. "Is that yours?" She asked. She had moved closer to him to look, her slender frame wet. Her pink bra was damp and did little to hide the imagination. The young prostitute seemed a bit awkward in conversing, this being the first time in years that she had a conversation with someone whom she wasn't planning on killing. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 08:46:44</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The Roads Heading East toward Devil Bat Cave</span></strong><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 11, 2010 (still night but very early AM)</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Fate, Alice, and Mark headed east out of town toward Devil Bat Cave the rain seemed to slacken slightly. It was just thin enough that Mark had time to toss on the brakes, which were luckily dry, in time to avoid sending a huge torrent of muddy rainwater splashing up onto an individual whose ancient VW appeared to be stalled out on the side of the road. A soaked, hooded figure sat hunched on the hood.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Mark looked around quizzically at the car’s occupants and asked, “Do we want to offer her a ride or something? I mean Huffy’s is only like a tenth of the mile down the road, but . . . well, what do you girls want?”</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Exterior of Cobb’s Theater</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> Merrin</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 11, 2010 (still night but very early AM)</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The rat stood up on his hind legs and sniffed the air around the girl as she approached closer. Inwardly Silas was torn. Destroying the grub had been a painful and nasty affair that had left him injured and too weak to heal himself. He had looked for the shy boy he had bumped into earlier in the evening, hoping the boy would have the book. Silas could show him the words, the page, but once he shifted again into his human form, he wouldn’t have the strength to live long, not even Augustus would be able to help him in the city proper. To make matters worse, Silas could smell the death emanating from the young woman who had suddenly appeared before both himself and Reggy. He worried. He knew his blood, even the most minute amount, because it was the blood of a shifter would call to this creature—and unlike Ludolf, Silas didn’t know if he could be trusted. The rat busied itself trying to find a way into or under the poncho. Silas was desperate to find the book, desperate to be alone with Reggy, desperate to stem the flow of blood from his side. </span>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 11:22:43</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				﻿Reggy looked down at the rat in his hands and nodded dumbly, and upon taking a closer look he realized that the little rodent was indeed wounded worse than he'd first thought. The gash on its side was leaking profusely, and his palms felt slick with blood -- not much, really, but Reg suspected it was more than an animal that size could afford to lose. "I...I think I need to stop the bleeding..."<br><br>He looked up, back to the girl. She didn't seem to be in shock or hysterics, which actually put her a step or two ahead of Reggy, who was perilously close to purchasing real estate on the corner of Panic and Despair. She was beautiful, he did notice that, but she was so damn <em>calm</em>, more than a nearly naked girl alone on the streets on a stormy night had any reason to be. Her admission of recognizing him as a theater employee did little to assauge his worry; as...<em>flattering</em> as it might have been to think of himself as worthy of attracting a stalker's attention, tonight was <span class="bbc_u">so</span> not the night to deal with such things. Reflexively he nodded again as she asked about the bike, locked into the parking rack at the building's corner behind him.<br><br>Reg jammed a hand back into his bag and pulled out a faded but clean handkerchief. From the way the little rat was behaving in his hand, he was nearly certain it was Silas, and the knowledge provided Reggy with, if not focus, at least a more definable priority. He wrapped the kerchief around the rodent's body and cinched it with surprising dexterity, providing a temporary bandage to staunch the bleeding. A glance upward told him the girl was still there (where was she going to go? This was probably the most exciting action Cape Merrin had to offer all night) and he straightened his usually slouched shoulders. <br><br>Reggy still didn't feel entirely comfortable leaving her on her own, but from the rat's frenetic squirming he had the notion that time was of the essence. "Um...look, I think I need to get my frie-...uh, my rat inside, somewhere...are you sure you're alright?" Reggy shook his head and didn't wait for her answer; whatever she said, he seriously doubted she was fine, but he didn't know what more he could do for her. He lifted the poncho up and deposited the rat gently into his dry satchel, then without another word pulled the poncho up over his head and offered the bunched-up bright slicker to the girl. "Here, just...take this, at least, you've got to be freezing. It's not much, but I guess right now it's all I can offer..."<br><br>Without another word, Reggy turned and fumbled the bike-lock key back out of his pocket and started to walk quickly toward the bike rack, holding his satchel tight to his chest to prevent his passenger from being jostled. Another blast of thunder rolled overhead as the storm picked up another second wind, so to speak, and Reggy unsnapped the normally obstinate little lock, dragging the old Mock-it Rocket off of the sidewalk. <em>'Hey, look at that. Success. Now if I can just stay that lucky a little longer...'</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 15:23:33</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/8529/youcanbreathebykaleidos.jpg)</div><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Curiously Watching</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>[noembed]Scene Soundtrack (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6DYrBZx5I0)[/noembed]<br><br><hr> <br><br>Sam watched curiously as Reggy seemed to stumble over his words. It was clear that he was concerned for the rat. The vampire's keen nose could smell the interesting blood that poured from the wound that the rodent had sustained. She pondered why the boy cared so deeply for the creature. As Reggy offered his poncho to her she only stood there for a few seconds, before taking the rough fabric. <br><br>The poncho was a little big on her, and made her seem more childish then womanly. "Thank you..." she whispered in her hauntingly soft voice. As Reggy busied himself with the bike's lock, Sam turned around to gaze back down the rain slick streets. She could see the water gushing down the drains, as if the city was desperate to clean the filth that infested it's core. Looking up Sam could tell it was early morning, and she was far from her sanctuary. She would need a place to stay, and soon. <br><br>So quietly the girl turned back to Reggy. "I do not have a place to stay." She began, "May I follow you?" her question was rather innocent, as if she did not think it was strange for her to ask such a thing. Sam had fed more then enough tonight and was sated for the night. Her concern now was to find a place to hide from the sun. <br><br>The small girl approached Reggy whom had gotten his lock undone and was about to leap onto his bicycle. Her arms were at her side, hidden behind the large poncho. Those ice blue eyes making contact with his once more. Wet strands of black hair clung to her face as the messy pig tails hung limp with water. She truly had no where to go. Staying at the theater would be dangerous and the Sanctuary was too far on the outskirts of town for her to make it back safely. She was, after all, truly alone in this city...
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 18:28:06</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>The roads heading East toward Devil Bat Cave<br>Thursday Morning -- November 11 2010 (very early a.m.)</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- On the road to Devil Bat Cave...</span><br><br>Fate wouldn't have minded sitting in the back with Alice, but she did feel slightly guilty for asking Mark to drive on such short notice and he obviously wasn't enthused about the entire idea. Sliding into the front seat seemed to ease his mood somewhat. The three chatted idly as they drove, slowly at first as the downpour prevented them from seeing more than a few feet ahead. Just when the rain seemed to be lifting and Mark felt it was safe to press down on the gas pedal, he slammed the brakes causing Fate's hands to brace herself against the dashboard.<br><br>"What the hell, Mark?!" The rest of her comment was cut off when she saw the reason for the sudden stop. The blinking emergency lights weren't exactly the most noticeable thing in the world. It was probably a miracle that Mark had stopped when he did, even more so that they hadn't gone skidding right into the parked vehicle.<br><br>Squinting into both the rain and darkness, their headlights helped a bit. She realized that the driver had decided to sit on the hood of the car in the downpour instead of staying dry inside the vehicle. It struck her as odd, but she guessed that it was done so cars passing by wouldn't miss her. "Well, I'd hate to leave her out there in the rain. We could always drop her off at Huffy's?" She turned around in her seat to see what Alice thought. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Kaisude</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 19:43:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"Alright good then we'll all travel together," Micheal said as he finished helping Otis with the guns. He was glad to Arathel if all else failed she would have him back on his feet in no time, granted that the wound wasn't fatal or that bad. He looked over at her and smirked, "You just gave me an idea." He looked to the rest of the group, and shrugged. "It's a little immature but it could work. Prank call." Micheal said as he began to pack some of the guns. "We call say there is either a bomb threat on the other side of town, or a bank robbery. Something big that will drive all the police to one spot, and away from Devil's Bat Cave. No offence Arathel though you're the female and well they'll believe you more over us any day. It's just a thought though." Micheal knew they needed to get the police away from Devil's Bat Cave and that was one way, but was there an other?<br><br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>TheHangedOne</strong> on <strong>09-08-2011, 22:05:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				"If you do that, you better buy a burn phone, first. Even an anonymous call is traced, and we don't want to bring the police right straight here. Which, if we call in a threat or even just a false crime, they'll send some one over here. " Well, their's a chance they wouldn't, but he didn't feel like taking that chance. <br><br>"I think we should just move faster than them.&nbsp; They're probably going to still be busy dealing with the fire at Simon's Bull. Definitely, they have their hands full with that tonight, most likely tomorrow, too." He'd offer his own two cents on the matter. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>10-08-2011, 00:02:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alice-on the road to devil bat cave<br>Thursday Morning -- November 11, 2010</strong><br><br>"The car stopped suddenly and Alice braced herself, her head almost colliding with the back of the passengers chair.&nbsp; Looking out the rain streaked window she could see an old v.w parked on the side f the road, with someone sitting upon its roof. She looked over the person quizzically wondering why she was sitting there, and not walking off for help as she probbaly would have done if her car had broken down. It wouldn't be right to leave her there, and Alice was all about what was right to do, at least tonight she had been.&nbsp; She sighed. <br>" we should see where she was headed and give her a lift, if its too far away we can always just drop off at Huffy's, I'm sure someone there could help her." Alice said.<br><br>She opened the door to the car, and slipped out right after she said that, not giving the others more time to decide what they were going to do. She took two steps away from the car, and looked at the person sitting on the others car roof. " Hey!" She called out in a loud voice. " Are you all right?" <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>AndyZ</strong> on <strong>10-08-2011, 00:28:30</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Arathel, Female Form, Otis' Farmhouse<br></strong><br><br>She considered the matter with a gentle frown for several moments, weighing the options with a gentle frown.&nbsp; As Leof shot down the idea, however, she simply nodded to him.&nbsp; "It's an idea that we can use in an emergency," she said.&nbsp; "I'm not big on lying unless it's truly necessary, though.&nbsp; If you like, you can pick me up a 'burn phone' for that later."&nbsp; She wasn't really sure what a burn phone was, at least by her tone of voice, but she had no objection to preparation.<br><br>As she thought for a bit, though, it made her wonder.&nbsp; "I should probably try to pick up a cell phone at some point.&nbsp; It could definitely help with communication."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>10-08-2011, 06:35:29</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Allison Garvey - On the Road to Devil Bat Cave<br>"Barmy" from too many blows to the psyche.</strong><br><br>Allison watched the headlights come closer.&nbsp; She started to stand up, in case they were more monsters who could now drive cars, but her shoes slipped on the slick paint.&nbsp; Wet.&nbsp; Rain.&nbsp; They must think I'm fucking nuts to be sitting here... How do you say that it's easier to see all around you, and it's better to be off the ground, with an option, than to be trapped inside without much of any options other than a fast death or a slow one when the crazy shit went down again?&nbsp; You don't.&nbsp; Not unless you want your own private suite at the local psych ward.&nbsp; She grinned as the door opened and a woman stepped out to ask if she was all right, trying to appear non-threatening.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">" Hey!" She called out in a loud voice. " Are you all right?"</blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>"Oh, boy.&nbsp; That's a loaded question," Al said, easing off the roof of her car to land carefully on the tarmac.&nbsp; "I was at the bar...I am a ---<strong>was </strong> a bartender.&nbsp; And, it was quite a night."&nbsp; Shielding her eyes, Al looked closer at the woman.&nbsp; "You look familiar," she said.&nbsp; "I've seen your photo...in the paper, I think..."&nbsp; She shrugged.&nbsp; "If you have room, I was headed to the caves...&nbsp; But, if you don't want a drippy, ex-barmaid inside, I get it.&nbsp; Can you tell me how far away a garage might be...and how long till sunrise?"<br><br>The night got suddenly darker as the VW's battery gave up and the emergency lights faded to black.&nbsp; Al glanced back at the car, then to the people who'd stopped.&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Esoteric Myobi</strong> on <strong>10-08-2011, 15:28:36</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<span style="font-family: times new roman;" class="bbc_font"><strong>The roads heading East toward Devil Bat Cave<br>Thursday Morning -- November 11 2010 (very early a.m.)</strong><br>Fate Turner (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4630243#msg4630243) -- On the road to Devil Bat Cave...</span><br><br>Fate blinked at the woman's response. It seemed a bit scattered and the woman looked somewhat shaken in general. Besides the fact that she'd felt obliged to announce that she was a bartender, Fate was starting to think that they might not be the only ones heading over to check out the caves. Obviously others have been of the same curious mindset...or was she missing something important here?<br><br>Casting her suspicions aside, she smiled winningly at the dripping barmaid. "Actually, we're heading over to the caves ourselves. Hop in. We can always look for a garage that's still open on the way."<br><br>Mark almost cringed when Al slipped into the backseat. He'd started out the night hoping to drive just Fate home, and now he had three ladies as company. This would've been a dream come true, except one was getting the interior of his precious baby all wet and none of them were vying for his attention. <br><br>As the car started again and continued on its way, Fate continued small talk. It seemed to be her thing. Better than sitting in stifling silence, right? Not that she minded peace and quiet from time to time. "So, a bartender, hm? Which bar were you working at, if you don't mind my asking? Must've been a crazy night." She grinned congenially into the rearview mirror. "Drunk bastards couldn't leave you alone? I'm Fate by the way, our driver here's my friend Mark." 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>11-08-2011, 06:52:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alice-on the road to devil bat cave<br>Thursday Morning -- November 11, 2010</strong><br><br>Alice got back in the car as Al slipped in. She was thinking about the way that the women seemed shaken up, and that she said she was a bar maid as if it was important for some reason. She stayed quite for a few seconds and then the answers came to her. <br><br>" where you working at Simons?" She asked. " The cops were going completely nuts about something over there on the radio..." She said and quickly added. " they have one at the newspaper office, so that the reporters can know and get to wherever the story hits." She explained so they wouldn't think she was weird for listening into the police radio.&nbsp; <br><br>She fidgeted with the badge that was in her pocket. She didn't know what to say really the woman looked like she had just went through some traumatic event, kind of how she looked when her son had died,&nbsp; She didn't want to say anything to make it worse.&nbsp; She wondered though if she came from that bar what had happened there and if it had any connection at all with the caves. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>11-08-2011, 07:34:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alison - on the road again..<br>To Devil Bat Cave</strong><br><br>"Hi, Fate," Allison said, wriggling to get out of her jacket and turn the inside out to sit on and minimize the damage to the upholstery.&nbsp; "Hi, Mark.&nbsp; Thanks for the lift."&nbsp; She looked at the woman beside her.&nbsp; "Oh, I'm Al Garvey.&nbsp; And, I worked at Simon's Bull, what I now think of as the portal to hell what with the fire and bugs..." she shivered and it had nothing to do with the water running down her spine.&nbsp; A little voice in her head was telling her that she was talking too much.&nbsp; Actually, the little voice was ruder than that; it was yelling SHUT UP, IDIOT!! and stomping around in a petulant fit.&nbsp; <br><br>Allison smiled tiredly.&nbsp; "Sorry...Sort of on a adrenaline high."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>11-08-2011, 08:33:00</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				﻿For about half a second, Reggy believed he might be able to make it home without further incident. He was sure he'd be able to sort things out once he made it to the relative safety of his nice, quiet room. And then, the girl's question reached him and he felt his heart stop. Follow him? <strong>Stay with him?</strong> Nevermind the fact that the closest he's ever been to having a girl at his house was the time he accidentally got a little princess doll in his McDonald's Happy Meal instead of a G.I. Jack action figure when he was six. But she wanted to come with him <em>tonight?</em> What, did some ancient, sadistic power look down and spot him and think to itself, 'that boy just isn't miserable enough, I shall smite him around a little'?<br><br>His shoulders slumped as he turned to look at her again. She'd gotten a lot closer now, almost right up beside him, and as he locked eyes with her wintery gaze the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like needles. <em>Something</em> was off about this girl...but damned if he could figure it. And whatever it was, it didn't change the fact that she really did seem to need help, and Reggy was the only one around to give it. He sighed heavily and walked the bike back into the rack, shaking his head at what he was about to do.<br><br>"I...guess, if you're really stuck for a place...but obviously we're not both going to fit on my bike...do you have a pho-...no, you probably don't, do you?" He asked, cutting himself off as he remembered the poor girl's disheveled state. "Alright...what we need is a car..." Reggy looked around at the spate of locked doors and closed shops lining the street until he spied what he needed. Out in front of a building a couple doors down stood an old phone booth (well, a kiosk, really, since it had the little privacy wings rather than an actual glass booth) with a mostly-shredded phone book tethered to the base. Reggy gestured for the girl to wait where she was and jogged toward the phone, still clutching Silas tight against his body inside the bag.<br><br>He patted his pockets to check for change, but came up empty. Another sigh escaped him, and he realized he'd have to try his luck with a more indirect method. It had been quite a while since Reggy had had to use this trick, and he grimaced as he tried to recall the right numbers. Likewise he wasn't sure the old phone was even still in service, but a small, triumphant grin passed over his lips as he put the receiver to his ear and heard its sweet dial-tone. Thankfully, Cape Merrin was still a few years behind the times and hadn't gotten around to dismantling or updating its older public utilities programs. His fingers flashed over the metallic keypad, trying multiple number strings before the correct one connected. Again, the city's apathy toward obsolescence came through as Reggy found himself listening to a tinny, mellow recording asking for his desired listing.<br><br>"Black Flag Cabs," Reggy said, carefully articulating the company name. The line started to ring on the other end as his call was connected, and he gave the air a quick punch in celebration as a supremely bored-sounding lady picked up. "Black Flag Cabs, what's your location?" "Um, yes, I need a cab at Cobb Theater, on --" "We have the address, sir; we'll dispatch one of our units immediately. Thank you for choosing Black Flag for your metro transit needs." "Uh, thank y-" <em>*click*</em><br><br><em>'Well, at least we'll have a ride,'</em> Reggy thought as he turned and walked back to the girl. "Alright, we'll just need to wait here for a few minutes, then we can get out of here..." He said, moving back under the theater awning. He made a gesture of stepping aside, allowing room for her to join him out of the rain, and tried to ignore the way his heart started pounding at the thought of sharing his personal space with a beautiful girl. A beautiful, almost naked girl. A beautiful, almost naked, unusually creepy girl. Wearing his raincoat. Reggy wasn't certain the last detail mattered so much, but it definitely wasn't helping his state of mind any.<br><br>As it happened, the cab didn't take long to arrive; BFC must have increased its after-hours services recently. The ride home was short, too, and rather quiet. Nothing like the convenience of a car to show what a pain in the ass a bike was, Reggy supposed. The driver kept his eyes on the road and didn't appear curious as to why two kids were hanging around out in the pouring rain so late at night, and as he shivered in the backseat Reggy didn't know whether to be grateful for the 'no questions asked' attitude or incensed at the man's casual disregard for young people's safety. <br><br>The lights were off at the Barker abode when the cab pulled up to the drive, and Reggy pulled out a scratched and worn-thin leather wallet from his back pocket to pay the driver. The two climbed out of the car and Reggy led the girl up the weather-beaten porch steps, carefully directing her toward the solid planks and away from the squeaky ones. The front door was unlocked as always ("Ain't got shit worth stealin' in this damn house, anyhow," his mother was so fond of complaining) and swung open without a sound. He waited a moment, listening intently for signs of movement inside, but the house was silent. If his mother was still awake, he'd have a hell of a time explaining things. <br><br>Reggy took a couple steps inside, then a couple more. He glanced back to see the girl still standing outside, as if she weren't quite sure if she should enter or not. "Hey...come on," he whispered, "it's alright...you can come in...just, watch your step is all..." As she stepped through the door, Reggy swore he could feel a tingle of static electricity wash over his skin. He shrugged off the sensation; hell, he was so nervous already for a dozen different reasons, he probably should have been glowing.<br><br>"S-sorry, about the mess..." He whispered over his shoulder as the pair tip-toed over scattered piles of clothes, the occasional TV dinner tray, and scads of empty beer bottles and cans. Snores rumbled from the living room, and Reggy peeked in to see his mother soundly zonked out in her threadbare recliner, probably thanks to her usual liquor and sleeping pill cocktail. He sighed quietly in some relief; she probably wouldn't wake up until around noon, at least. Reginald nodded his head toward the back stairs and led her upstairs to his room.<br><br>"Um, the closet is over there in the corner, if...I mean, you know, if you want some dry clothes, you can just...well, take whatever fits, I guess...or if you'd rather just get some sleep, you look tired, you can just take the bed there, I'll...sleep on the floor, or something...Oh, and I'll get us some towels...uh, but first...I think I should probably see to...this little fellow..." Reggy stammered and gently sat the satchel down on the mostly cleared dresser and opened the flap to retrieve Silas, who definitely appeared in poor shape. As he untied the makeshift bandage and rummaged through his sock drawer for a clean handkerchief, a thought popped into his head.<br><br>"I just realized...I don't think I know your name...I mean, well, I guess if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but...I'm, I mean...my name is Reginald, Reginald Barker...you can call me Reggy...if you want..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>11-08-2011, 21:48:11</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				<div class="floatleft">(http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/8529/youcanbreathebykaleidos.jpg)</div><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>At Home with Reggy</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>[noembed]Scene Soundtrack (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6DYrBZx5I0)[/noembed]<br><br><hr> <br><br>The boy known as Reggy was nice. Sam had recognized that very quickly. When he looked at her it wasn't lustful or disgusted, but genuine concern. When he offered to share a cab and take her back to his place, the young girl nodded. As Reggy called for a cab Sam stood under the awning of the theater and gazed about quietly. <br><br>The Cobb Theater had been a place she visited frequently when not on the streets hunting for her next meal. She enjoyed the movies, being able to see sun in movies reminded Sam that there was indeed a day. All too often she thought that she lived in a perpetual night. <strong>"Alright, we'll just need to wait here for a few minutes, then we can get out of here..."</strong> Reggy had said, bringing Sam from her thoughts. The boy trotted over and stood next to her. <br><br>He was a cute boy with a youthful face and seemed bashful and shy. All Sam ever knew from people were their greedy lust and insatiable appetites for sex. Sex and death. That is what one of the whores would say to Sam as they awaited potential clients. As Sam observed Reggy's face, a car pulled up and the boy darted for the transportation and waved Sam over. <br><br>The ride was not long, and Sam stared out at the rain slick streets for the whole trip. She was silent, and her face expressionless. As the cab pulled up to the small barker house, Sam took note of the entrances and windows. It seemed quaint, and reminded her of a place she once knew. The memory would slip her mind as she tried to recall it. <br><br>Reggy was careful to not make any noise on the old wooden porch, each step a deliberate action to avoid waking his mother. Sam, how ever, made no attempt to be as gentle. Her light steps made not a sound, which was odd because of the large black boots she wore. When Reggy opened the door and stepped inside, Sam remained outside, staring blankly at him through the door way. <br><br><strong>"Hey...come on," he whispered, "it's alright...you can come in...just, watch your step is all..."</strong><br><br>Sam stepped forward, entering the home. Inside it was dark with dim lighting. If Reggy had paid closer attention, he would see the large, unblinking reflective eyes of Sam. Quietly the young prostitute moved past the sleeping body of Reggy's mom. Sam's face slightly contorted. She could smell the alcohol from where she was, and the familiar scent of blood lingered near the woman. Apparently she was menstruating. For some reason looking at the woman made Sam sick. <br><br>Up the stairs Sam went, following after Reggy. When they entered his room she peered around with interest. It was dark, and smelled of testosterone. As the light flicked on Sam's eyes adjusted with ease. The windows were taped up, a sure sign that no day light would come in.&nbsp; <br><br><strong>"Um, the closet is over there in the corner, if...I mean, you know, if you want some dry clothes, you can just...well, take whatever fits, I guess...or if you'd rather just get some sleep, you look tired, you can just take the bed there, I'll...sleep on the floor, or something...Oh, and I'll get us some towels...uh, but first...I think I should probably see to...this little fellow..."</strong> <br><br>Sam heard Reggy say, her eyes following his fingers as he pointed out the closet. In the back of the room was a small bathroom in which Sam peeked in, her head tilted. It was small and clothes laid on the ground. Her attention went back to Reggy has he commented that he would be attending to his 'rat'. Sam lifted the poncho over her head and laid it on a near by chair. Once more she stood in her bra and skirt, looking to the closet. "Thank you..." she whispered softly.<br><br>Sam would move through the room, absent mindedly trailing her finger tips along his book shelves and computer desk. Her long ebony hair pulled into two messy pig tails as they bobbed with each fluid movement of her body lithe body. "Was that your mother down stairs...?" Sam asked aloud, tapping a few keys on the computer. She moved to his bed and sat on it for a moment.<br><br>"Your friend is hurt. Do you know how to tend to animals...?" She asked another question, eyes staring back at Reggy. Sam moved to the closet. Everything looked like something a normal boy would wear. How ever the smell of stale popcorn lingered on most of them. Sam plucked a long faded black band shirt from the closet, and looked to Reggy once more. "Is this ok...?" She asked innocently.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>13-08-2011, 11:37:23</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				﻿If Reggy had been drinking anything at all, he would have pulled a classic spit-take at the moment the girl casually stripped the raincoat off and tossed it aside as she began to look through his closet. As it was, he nearly choked on his tongue and spun his back toward her to offer some semblance of privacy, coughing as quietly as he could manage into one fist. It seemed his invitation to exchange names had gone either unnoticed or ignored, and with a disheartened shrug he elected not to push the issue any further.<br><br>"Um, yes...that was, my mother...Deborah..." Reggy answered awkwardly, re-focusing his attention on the task of tending to Silas' wounds. The snick-snack of long nails on a keyboard sounded behind him, and Reggy thanked his lucky stars for his habit of clearing his desktop and browser history of anything...<em>problematic</em>, so to speak. The rusted springs of his mattress protested the girl's meager weight as she sat behind him, and it struck Reggy how odd it was to hear his bed make its customary noises when he wasn't on it.<br><br>He shook his head in response to her next question, and tears of frustration and helplessness welled in Reggy's eyes as he stared down at the bleeding rat. "No...honestly, I don't...I don't know anything about veterinary medicine, or...anything, really..." He said, his voice falling quiet. "I'm just...so damn useless..."<br><br>She spoke again, from the closet this time, and he glanced over his shoulder to see her holding an old Aerosmith t-shirt. His dad had been a huge fan, and had collected concert t-shirts and all kinds of other cool memorabilia before he died, but his mom had gathered up most of it and sold it to pawn shops and secondhand stores in the years since his death. Reggy had done his best to filch what few precious items he could from her grubby grasp, mostly the shirts but also a couple of posters and even an original vinyl pressing of the band's first album, which he kept tucked away in the bottom back of his closet. Reg sniffled softly and quickly turned away again, nodding his approval. "Um, sure...that one's fine, just...help yourself..."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>abandoneddolly</strong> on <strong>13-08-2011, 18:54:47</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>Alice-on the road to devil bat cave<br>Thursday Morning -- November 11, 2010</strong><br><br>fire and bugs? Did the place catch on fire? was there an infestation? Her journalistic mind started to compile questions to ask the ex bartender. She almost started to say something, but then looked at how shook up she seemed, and decided to push those questions away for later use. Maybe in a couple of days when the experience wasn't so fresh. They already had others at the scene anyway, she could ask those reporters what happened, but she knew that the story the reporters told, and what actually happened where not always the same. Usually it was what the police or someone higher up wanted you to tell everyone. <br><br>" oh I'm Alice.." She said realizing she never bothered to introduce herself to the newcomer.&nbsp; &nbsp;" so what are you going to the caves for?" It seemed like a safer subject to quiz her about then the bar. She was curious why tonight everyone seemed to want to go out there.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>MistressofPen</strong> on <strong>14-08-2011, 21:12:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>With Alice, Fate, and Mark<br>On the way to the Caves</strong><br><br>Allison looked away from the window to the woman who shared the back seat with her.&nbsp; Her mind didn't feel as rattled, now that she was warming up.&nbsp; And, she didn't feel like babbling anymore.&nbsp; But, she smiled slightly at the woman's questions.&nbsp; She recognized her once she said her name, Alice.&nbsp; A reporter.<br><br>"Yeah.&nbsp; The bar is in a bad way," she said, and left it at that.&nbsp; "Oh...the caves.&nbsp; It's the pattern...the second Sunday of the month...&nbsp; Bad things happen; you must know, must have noticed.&nbsp; I guess I think if I'm there, maybe I can change the outcome.&nbsp; Arrogant, I know."&nbsp; She looked forward, out the front windshield at the illuminated swathe of road.&nbsp; "Why are you all heading there?"
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Roo</strong> on <strong>15-08-2011, 07:21:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">The Roads Heading East toward Devil Bat Cave</span></strong><br>&nbsp; <strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 11, 2010 (still night but very early AM)</span></strong><br><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As the women in the car continued to talk, Mark focused his attention on the road, and chimed in, “Uh, we can stop at the Huffy on the way back, get a tow for your car, but maybe we can get out to the caves now, before it’s too much later.” He slipped back into silence after this little comment, the noise of the women’s voices only accompanied by the suck-thump of the car’s windshield wipers and the softer sound of the rain that seemed to be lessening the closer they got to the coast.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">At the cliff leading down to Devil Bat Cave Mark was prepared to have to get out of the car and try to jimmy open the chain barring the access road down to the cave itself. Luckily, his car was small, and so he hoped the tires would grip the narrow dirt road made soggy by the downpour. There was, however, no chain barring the road—it was snapped, as if someone had driven through it.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">He started the descent down the winding road slowly, the headlights pointing out into blackness before the car made itself point completely downward. As the road curved around, slowly the small car approached the maw of Devil Bat Cave. The opening entrance was at least 50 feet in height and the water that rushed in and out from the ocean could be made out at the endmost reaches of the car’s headlights. The car idled at the opening of the cave. No one made a move to get out. It was black out here save for the car headlights and the somewhat distant sweep of the lighthouse’s bright beacon. There was no evidence of anyone standing around, no evidence of anyone having been out here, at least from their current vantage point in the car, and yet all of the car’s occupants had a distinct feeling that they were being watched, scrutinized. Everywhere they looked, however, was only blackness and darkness; they could make out no one in or around the cave who was staring at them.</span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Reggy’s House</span></strong><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Cape Merrin</span></strong><br>&nbsp;<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">November 11, 2010 (still night but very early AM)</span></strong><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">As Reggy struggled with the grief of losing some of his only mementos of his father, the rat he had removed from the satchel leapt to the floor and trotted from the room, a little ratty blood trail in its wake. A moment or two later, while Reggy was still providing the strange girl some privacy by turning his back, a shuffle step was heard in the hall, and the emaciated figure of Silas wrapped in a bath towel that was doubling as clothing and wound stauncher appeared in the doorway of Reggy’s room. Nickel-sized drops of blood pattered on the floor at his feet and soaked into the towel he had retrieved from the bathroom down the hall. He looked worse than earlier in the evening, if that were even possible. “Reg-Reggy, please. The book?” Silas turned and headed back down the hallway, either shy or unwilling to remain in the room with the girl. </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font"> </span><br><span style="font-family: Georgia;" class="bbc_font">Silas flipped on the bathroom light and on the mirror he drew a symbol on the mirror: two Isosceles triangles intersected by a circle. When Reggy followed him into the smaller room, he pointed to the mirror and said, “Look for that heading in the book.” His pallor was extreme, his skin taking on a waxy and sallow color. Something Reggy might only have associated with the greasy, unwashed fatness of his mother, but here, it was over Silas’s body as well. Unlike Deborah, though, Silas’s eyes looked sunken and badly bruised. He was clearly in pain and very much wounded. Coughing blood onto his gaunt chest, the ratty man added, “I’ll show you what to read after that. How to say it.”</span><br>&nbsp;
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Aurora Wayland</strong> on <strong>15-08-2011, 19:09:11</strong>
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				<div class="floatleft">(http://img215.imageshack.us/img215/8529/youcanbreathebykaleidos.jpg)</div><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font"><span class="bbc_u">The Prostitute</span></span></span> <br><span style="font-size: 18pt;" class="bbc_size"><span style="font-family: impact;" class="bbc_font">Samantha "Sam"</span></span><br><em>Curiously Watching</em><br>Character Bio (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=105330.msg4571509#msg4571509); <br>[noembed]Scene Soundtrack (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6DYrBZx5I0)[/noembed]<br><br><hr>&nbsp; <br><br>Sam stood there, the shirt in her hand as she looked back up at Reggy with his back turned to her. Her cold blue eyes gazing at his back for several seconds. Her eyes seemed concern for the way his physical appearance seemed down trodden. Sam wasn't sure how to react to the boy's demeanor. <br><br><strong>"No...honestly, I don't...I don't know anything about veterinary medicine, or...anything, really..." He said, his voice falling quiet. "I'm just...so damn useless..."</strong><br><br>Reggy's voice seemed shaken as he admitted he knew nothing about medicine. Sam's voice spoke up, sounding more firm then she had been before. "You are not useless. You have helped me." She gazed back down at the old faded Aerosmith shirt. "My name is Samantha..." she said, her voice back to barely a whisper. She quickly then added: "May I use your shower?". Of course Sam had all ready left for the bathroom before Reggy could answer. <br><br>If Sam would have stayed with him longer she would have seen the rat scurry away from Reggy and come back as a man draped in a towel. She did how ever smell the blood. It set her teeth on edge and for the briefest moments she desire to go out and investigate where it came from. Still, Sam was able to ignore the feeling, the werewolf's blood doing well to leave her sated. <br><br>The young vampire unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, standing topless in the bathroom as she gazed at the mirror that began to fog up. The door was open slightly. She was skinny and pale, her breasts small, and her eyes were a unnerving blue. She had an ethereal look to her which made her seem small and fragile, but if one was to look close enough into her eyes they could see she was more than world weary. <br><br>Sam took time to pull her pig tails loose and let the long ebony locks drape down over her naked shoulders like black silk. The sound of the hot water falling down into the tub was hypnotic in nature and did well to ease her thoughts. Sam pulled her old boots off and rolled her torn stockings down the smooth legs and then shimmied out of her skirt and panties.&nbsp; <br><br>Stepping into the hot water felt nice, having been weeks since Sam had felt hot water upon her skin. The shower itself was cramped and numerous shampoo bottles and body wash littered the sides. Having remembered there was a shower curtain, Sam pulled the fabric around the tub. Her long wet hair draped around her face, hiding it from view as she stood silent under the water. 
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				Title: <strong>Re: Heads Will Roll IC</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Starlequin</strong> on <strong>20-08-2011, 09:43:16</strong>
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				﻿The hairs on the back of Reggy's neck stood up weakly as he felt the ghost of the girl's gaze on his sagging shoulders. Not enough to give him the creeps, but enough to let him know her attention was solidly focused on him. At any other time, Reg would have been thrilled at the thought, but tonight he was too busy alternating between self-loathing for his own vast ineptitude and worrying for the injured rat-man. So busy in fact, he even completely failed to notice how natural it now felt <em>to be worried about an injured rat-man</em>.<br><br>The girl's voice managed to break through Reggy's self-imposed funk, showing more life and strength than she'd demonstrated all evening. "You are not useless. You have helped me." Reggy straightened up slightly, but her words did little to change his mind. <em>'Yeah, sure,'</em> he thought bitterly, <em>'I've really done you a solid...brought you to a broken down house on a dead-end street, where you'll be lucky if you can get a couple hours sleep and some cold cereal without getting harrassed by a liquored-up harpy. Knight in shining armor, that's Reginald Barker...'</em><br><br>Reggy almost missed her next words, but glanced back at her again just as she was leaving the room. A heavy sigh passed his lips and his shoulders slumped even lower than before. "...pleased to meet you...Samantha," he said under his breath. He shrugged and shook his head; poor girl must not have wanted to risk him refusing her request for the shower. <em>'Yeah, keep telling yourself that, tiger. Maybe it'll keep your mind off the fact she probably just felt dirty being around you so long...'</em><br><br>Another sigh escaped him, but before his depression could worsen the rat half-leaped, half-tumbled off the dresser to the grungy carpet below and pattered out into the hall on unsteady little legs, tiny droplets of blood trailing behind him. For a moment Reggy watched in stunned silence, amazed the poor thing still had enough energy to move so quickly. He was about to follow when almost immediately after the rat disappeared into the hall, he heard the shambling sounds of bare feet. Another instant later, and Silas -- naked, bloody, human Silas -- staggered back into Reggy's bedroom, wrapped in a thick towel that was quickly becoming saturated with blood.<br><br>His voice was shaky and weak when he asked Reggy for the book, and the boy fumbled wildly in the satchel as Silas dipped two fingers in his own blood and proceeded to sketch a strange symbol on his dresser mirror. "Look for that heading in the book," Silas ordered, Reggy flipping madly through the pages, matching and discarding symbol after symbol. Figure-8 with a cross struck through? No. Two squares atop a third, bisected square? Wrong. Three concentric circles over a diagonal bar with a flat top? Not even close. An 8-point cross with wavy lines down each side? Keep looking. Two triangles connected with a circle? Still wro--no, wait! That was it!<br><br>He slammed his palm on the page and looked anxiously to Silas, holding the book up to show the dying man his salvation. Reggy's blood ran cold, however, upon realizing that <em>he</em> would have to be the one to read the spell. His mouth felt dry and sticky and his breath came in short, panicked gasps as he looked back and forth between Silas and the book. He'd been carrying it around with him for weeks, pretending himself to be some great sorcerer-in-training, wrapped up in his own pathetic little delusions to give his worthless life some ridiculous and impossible purpose. Deep down, in his secret heart, Reggy never really dreamed he could actually work magic. He always considered himself fortunate enough to be able to work a microwave, for gods' sake!<br><br>But now, a man was in his room, hurt and bleeding. A man who, for better or worse (almost certainly worse) had opened Reggy's eyes to a much larger, much more dangerous world. A man who had a snowball's chance in hell of surviving for another ten minutes through any means <em>except</em> magic. And like it or not, Reggy was his only hope. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure it would crack one of his ribs, but the boy managed to steady himself with a couple of deep breaths and rapidly blinked a film of tears from his eyes. He swallowed hard and nodded, and he spoke in a croaking voice as he struggled desperately to hold the book steady enough to read.<br><br>"Alright...I-I-I'm ready..."
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