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Post by Iron Mouse on Mar 10, 2011 13:33:58 GMT -5
“Of course not. I have implicit trust in Wisse.” she said fiddling with the blinds, making the city beneath her slowly vanish and reappear. Her nerves required that she do something with her hands while she spoke to him. Every time the phone rang her pulse sank down into her stomach and it was all she could to keep her apprehension out of her voice. It was not as if she was being reprimanded, but the Director was voicing a few concerns. Things hadn’t been going well. The project was not exactly dependent upon Gotzon’s research, but she knew it would be sped up by a few years so she had stuck her proverbial neck out in suggesting that they look for it. If only that distrustful bastard hadn’t squirreled away his laboratory. She fell still for a moment long moment and pursed her lips. “Do you really think that’s prudent?” He did. “It may be difficult for me to oversee – Yes sir.” Her frown deepened. “Of course not. I’ll recall Wisse at once and see to it myself.” The matter was settled and the city vanished again behind the blinds. He moved on to another uncomfortable subject. “As well as can be expected. Saeptum has to be handled with great care.” The city reappeared. She still didn’t think it was a good idea to partner with such a public organization, but it wasn’t her decision to make. It was her job to make it happen. “No not yet. I wouldn’t be comfortable about proposing a partnership yet. They don’t trust us.” Her hand froze on the string, leaving the skyline half visible through the slats. “Genlab has their own agenda. They’re not interested.” Her hands started to shake. “I don’t think it would be wise to pursue the matter further.” He wasn’t happy. “Of course I do, sir. Of course I will. Yes, sir.” He ended the conversation. She took the receiver away from her ear and slunk back to her desk, slumping into the chair. For a moment, she just stared blankly at the wood grain, wondering at escape, but dismissing it. She could do more good for mankind here than she ever could on her own, no matter how many lifetimes she acquired for herself. She leaned over to the phone and pushed a button. “Miranda could you bring me up one of Topher’s laptops? Apparently I’m going to Germany.” “Yes, Ma’am” Random frame narritive is random. DL, if you would kindly write the first real post we'll be underway.
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Post by AngelicTragedy on Mar 11, 2011 22:09:44 GMT -5
Volkner looked at himself in the mirror, taking in everything he was in this instant. He stood is a slightly cluttered bathroom, surrounded by hair products and other beauty products that he couldn’t read the names of, covered in blood. Volkner loved how he appeared in this moment, the moment right after taking the life of another human being. He always appeared to himself as a new man, a clean slate, ready to continue his grand mission. Though the final goal was unclear, Volkner enjoyed the journey and would continue on no matter what the cost.
Wiping his hands on his pants, Volkner turned on the shower and began to disrobe. The hot water ran red like fresh bloodshed as Volkner cleaned himself to a presentable appearance. He wasn’t worried about leaving any evidence because if he did it would confound the CSI agents more than his tactics ever did. Such was the benefits of being a genetic creation of science. Not all that long ago Volkner was nothing more than the insane idea of his father, who combined human and Aldra-Sa DNA to create his perfect son. Volkner rarely thought of his father anymore, not since his death anyway. For being such a genius he was a fool, but that was a whole different thought. Volkner stepped out of the shower and dried himself on a clean towel before walking back into the bedroom.
On the bed a young Japanese man lay face down in a pool his own blood. His body was a mix of golden skin and angry red cuts in ornate patterns weaved into his flesh. Between the man’s shoulder blades was an elaborate butterfly and from this centerpiece streamed swirled designs over every inch of skin. He had been alive during the carving process of course, that’s how Volkner liked it. He had felt every last twinge of agony run though ever nerve in his body and Volkner loved this fact. It was the only way to deal with sluts, and Volkner reveled in the fact that he had the gift to make sure that the sluts of the world got what they deserved.
Volkner carefully stepped over a few stray puddles of blood and quickly dressed in some of the victims cloths. Another of the perks of killing as he did was the easy access to designer clothing. A simple, yet stylish, sapphire blue button down shirt and a pair of faded and torn jeans caught seemed to be the most none descript items the victim owned, so Volkner took them to wear himself. He slipped on a pair of tan soft soled shoes and a matching belt began towards the door. Before slipping outside, Volkner cast a final look upon the body lying on the bed and smirked.
“Number 28 and counting.”
Volkner began down an alley leading to a main street deep within the heart of Tokyo. He wasn’t sure where he was going to go from here. There were a number of parks that he could explore, public markets to shop, and there was a nearby carnival that could be entertaining. He quickly pulled on a disposable surgical mask and slipped into the crowd unnoticed. Up ahead the neon signs and telltale thump of a night club drew the German’s attention. Night clubs meant people drinking, and alcohol made people act like the people they truly were. Night clubs were the perfect spot to find victims. Volkner smirked again under his mask and slipped into line. This was going to be a good night.
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Post by Iron Mouse on Mar 12, 2011 22:21:56 GMT -5
Avery stood on the tips of her toes and retrieved a box of penne, putting it in the hand basket. It felt weird to be buying groceries. She checked her pocket for the fifth time, making sure the money was still there. She kept expecting it to evaporate since it wasn’t real. It didn’t. Every time she went to pick up food Bernard pulled money out of nothing, and the cashiers always smiled and handed her the change. It irritated her, not having to worry about money or safety or shelter. It irritated her that Bernard pulled things out of nothing. That he didn’t need it. She inspected a jar of vodka sauce. It would do. She spun around, going over the list in her head, and hit something solid. No. Something solid hit her. “Fuck!” she cried flying backward, holding her arm out to catch herself and in the process sweeping several boxes of pasta off the shelf. She landed on her ass in the isle, a few stray cans rolling slowly away from her. The something solid turned out to be a large man. Or a small mountain. She looked up and mostly saw stomach. Beyond the stomach there was a beard that may or may not have had woodland creatures living in it. Beyond the beard were goggles. “What the hell?” Gee. I wonder who this could be.
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Post by Hamuu on Mar 13, 2011 13:26:56 GMT -5
“Ha-ho!” Jonas laughed. “In a rush dere missy?”
The man mountain reached up with his large meaty fingers and lifted the goggles from his eyes. His face was mostly covered in soot and dirt but where the goggles had been was spotless. He smiled and squatted down.
“Not yer faul’ a course. I shoulda been wa’chin where I was goin’ but oh well.” He laughed again as he picked up a few of the items that had fallen from the shelf and her basket.
“Um… whicha dese are yers?”
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Post by Iron Mouse on Mar 14, 2011 23:31:00 GMT -5
She helped him put the groceries up, took her basket back, said thank you, and tried to keep the conversation as brief as she could. She wasn’t here to make friends. She was here to do her job. She wondered what it would be like to join the other team, to turn on Bernard. She glanced over her shoulder one last time at the man-giant before she left. He seemed happy. Everyone in Whelkshore did. Would it really be so bad to be one of them? Probably not, assuming she was still as stupid as she had been three months ago. She started taking things out of the bags. Three months ago Avery would have been content just to be someplace warm. But now she wanted more. She had a plan to execute and Bernard had been kind enough to give her the means to do it. He’d given her the means to not be so pathetic and for that she owed him her undivided loyalty. She owed him everything. And for being a “bad guy” he wasn’t that bad of a person, she thought flicking on the TV. He’d never hurt her, never raised his voice, and most importantly, never got in her fucking business thank you very much. Regardless, she told him everything she did before she did it. He always replied with “do what you need to do.” He wasn’t going to help her out again, but he wasn’t going to stop her either, and he was honest about it. So there existed a weird kind of trust between the two of them. Avery would never turn on Bernard, not out of fear, or out of a sense of debt, but because he was the only person in the world that would ever be honest with her. She flipped through the channels, trying to find something good so she wouldn’t have to keep thinking about her “feelings”. She settled on the news, flicking on a stove burner and filling a pot up with water. “I may need to go to Philly again tonight,” she explained, assuming Bernard was somewhere within earshot. “Jean said he was having trouble getting-“ She froze. “Oh my god.” “-murdered last night in his own apartment.” It was a crime scene photo of a man laying face down in a bed, covered in cuts. No wait. Not cuts. Designs? Scrollwork? She couldn’t breathe. “Tokyo police are asking anyone with information to please come forward and contact them. If you think you see the suspect, do not approach them. Instead-“ “My god,” she repeated, terror filling her up. “No.” She started shaking her head. “No. No. No.” She saw him burn to death. She saw it. This couldn’t be happening. She closed her eyes, angry with herself for being so scared, enraged that monster hadn’t died for what he did. She would not. Would. Not. Let him live after what he put her through. She looked up to see Bernard. “I-I have to go.” “If you need to go, then go,” he said flatly. “I won’t rescue you again.” She nodded and slid her phone out of her pocket. “You won’t need to.” It rang once before someone answered. “Hello. I just saw the murder on the news. I know who the killer is. I can help you catch him.” She listened for a moment. “Yes I am in Tokyo. Yes I’m on my way right now.” She opened the front door and stepped out. Tag, Potato-chip. You're it.
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Post by Beelzebibble on Mar 24, 2011 22:14:30 GMT -5
There was an unspoken rule here for those observant enough to notice it, although anyone who troubled to make a careful study would, in the very act of doing so, risk breaking the taboo. Not, then, a trend anyone within this street scene would have been likely to pick up on. The luxury is left to us, with our outside vantage point, of observing the way that no one on the street deigned to look into the eyes of any passing stranger if they could help it. At acquaintances they happened to run into, yes, and certainly into the eyes of friends they walked alongside -- quite warmly and amiably, even. And of course they glanced around with wonder or confusion at the neon-lined buildings on both sides, and with impatience at the traffic crowding by, or perhaps upward with mild interest as an airplane or helicopter passed overhead -- but where they very rarely looked except by random chance was into the eyes of strangers. They preferred, in general, to push gently past with no eye contact and no fuss. Trivial background characters though these people on the street are, we will try to be courteous and grant them the dignity of not caricaturing them all as cynics, paranoiacs and misanthropes; rather let us allow that this has simply become the way of very large cities in the modern age and that Tokyo is an appreciably large city by most reckonings. And while we're being so open-minded and not construing the situation with such a singular "player characters are human beings with hearts and souls, NPCs are horrible little robots" ideology, we will also need to recognize that the person on the street who most consistently flouted this unspoken rule was not doing so because of any excess of good cheer and kindness which she felt compelled to share with everyone who crossed her path by means of the magical medium of eye contact. No, in fact, she was distinctly short on good cheer today and she opted to reserve her kindness for those who put in a little sporting goddamn effort to actually earn it. In fact, the reason she insisted on making eye contact with every woman who walked by was to register the difference between their eye levels, and again and again it was her disappointment to find that she had a good two or three inches at least on every single woman in Japan. Not that she could really pass for a native at close range, I mean, there was no helping the eyes, that just wasn't feasible. But she prided herself that she had cultivated an adequately racially-ambiguous tan, and the hair for this trip was of a nice jet-black sheen, curling up at just the right length to set off her cheekbones quite nicely. She would've blended in perfectly at a distance, she was sure of it -- if only she didn't tower over every other lady in this whole cramped little country, if only she didn't regularly see women on the street who could have stacked on each other's shoulders three high and not come up to Charlotte's waist! No, there was nothing to be done about the height. Feigning tallness was easy, feigning shortness was virtually impossible, even in flat heels. And there was nothing to be done about the eyes either. So the solution was simple enough: She was a hybrid, a Russo-Japanese beauty, all secrets and sidelong glances. The sidelong glances were for the males of the species. The direct eye contact was for the females. She met another woman's gaze, one wearing a skirt the same shade of red as Charlotte's purse, counted off a solid four and a half inches' difference, and barely held back a sigh which would've loudly escaped the lips of any dame less considerate than she. OOC: This is becoming my strategy for writing Charlotte entrances. Don't actually accomplish ANYTHING in the initial post. Just have her fussing her way from one location to another. I believe this is what is known as a "soft open". Or else maybe that's just a stock market term, I don't actually know.
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Post by Iron Mouse on Jun 28, 2011 17:38:54 GMT -5
Are we waiting on a post from me? Is that what's happening?
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Post by Iron Mouse on Nov 15, 2011 11:48:43 GMT -5
Avery liked Tokyo at first. It was easy to be anonymous. She shrank a grand total of three inches and changed her eye color and was instantly passing as long as nobody looked too close. And no one did. No one noticed her appearing out of nowhere in an archway eight blocks down from the Police Department. No one seemed to notice her at all. Everyone was too busy keeping their eyes to themselves. She barely had to pay attention to where she was going. People were packed together so tightly on the streets that she just walked when everyone else walked and stopped when everyone else stopped. As long as she headed straight for eight blocks she’d end up where she needed to be. This left Avery free to gape at the buildings as she passed. She’d never seen a city so impressively clean in her entire life. Or as impressively safe looking. It was a little unsettling. From the strategic landscaping to the flocks of fearless schoolkids to the little tune that played at crosswalks everything about the city seemed a little off to Avery. Like the whole of Tokyo was lying about itself. It made her wonder where they were hiding all the dirt and homeless people. At least Philadelphia was honest about it. The Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department was over thirty stories tall and just as antiseptically spotless as the rest of the city. It was freezing too, especially when compared to the sticky mid-August outside. She gave her name to a man in uniform at what she assumed was the front desk and told him she had called with a tip about the butterfly serial killer. He promptly vanished reappeared with other policemen that were speaking rapidly is a language that Avery didn’t understand a god damn word of. She hated cops anyway. Pigs made her jumpy, and pigs that she couldn’t understand made her worse. Some of the words sounded like things people said in the Archipelago. But people in the Archipelago spoke only in snatches in the middle of English sentences and much slower. After they argued about whatever the hell it was they were arguing about, the only recognizable words she heard were “This way please.” And after she had been led up several stories and into a small brightly lit room, “Wait here.” And she was shut in without another word. Look at me being all productive and shit.
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