[hider=Ambience][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0pDBh1bR3c[/youtube][/hider]
[@Estylwen][@Punished GN][@Fernstone]
[code]Old Church[/code]
[hr]

[color=A299FD][b]"There was a boy at Veni Vedi. Said he knew something. If we can find him, there's our next lead. He [i]might[/i] be alive, despite getting shot."[/b][/color]

A slow clapping filled the air, echoed off the steepled ceiling and inner walls of the church so it felt like it was a dozen hands making the noise, rather than a single pair.

[b]"That [i]boy[/i] has a name, and he could hear you all from a mile away."[/b]

One leg thrown over each side, perched between one of the roof beams and the ceiling, was a pubescent boy - the same boy that had shown up at the club, been shot, then disappeared without a trace. In one swoop, he clambered down from the beam, shoes scuffing against the religious decor as he dropped down to the lectern at the far side of the hall. He was dressed differently, this time.

[b]"Gotta say, if you people really [i]were[/i] her friends, you're doing a terrible job of looking out for her memory. Why wait to get picked off when you can do half the work and kill each other?"[/b]

The boy wore a green hoodie bearing the likeness of a [url=https://i.pinimg.com/736x/94/58/b4/9458b46183ea73572b2ab2db9ebb8c81.jpg]sports mascot[/url] he couldn't personally recognise, an oversized cartoon bird with a sailor's hat that could best be described as a poor man's Donald Duck. Along with that were a pair of denim pants that were a shade too large, with sleeves that had been too obviously torn at the edges in an amateur attempt to adjust them to the wearer's shorter height. Slung over his back was a navy gym bag, about half his size, the length running from head to hips. Something long and heavy was sat inside, judging by the outline bulging through the fabric.

[b]"By the way,"[/b] he remarked jabbing a finger at Layla, [b]"They're not wrong about what you're in for."[/b] He shifted his gaze towards the entropic Void, eyes crinkling. He shook his head, shrugged it off. [b]"Guess one [i]dead host[/i] isn't enough? She might not know what you are, but be [i]honest[/i] - you're just another [i]predator.[/i]"[/b]

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[h3]Last Night.[/h3]
[code]Rooftops[/code]
[hr]

As he sat watching the world snap to reality, a memory of a hospital room and the thrum of a heart monitor sat in his memory.

[i]"I'm sorry."[/i] That's what he'd told her, and the only shred of [i]honesty[/i] he'd given that night. [i]"I'll go tell Mom I'm home, Judes."[/i]

It had been a lie. There was no home, not anymore, not for him, that ship had sailed.

[i]"Just get some sleep."[/i] That was their final goodbye, the last thing he'd said to her. She died a few weeks later.

Judy and Ashley were [i]gone[/i], there was no bringing either of them back. But for Ashley's sake, he could try and unpick what happened and [i]deal[/i] with whoever was responsible. His one lead, the biker, was dead, the stranger gone, which left only one other word in his mind.

Overhead, the dull buzz of an aircraft filled his ears. Emergency lights and distant voices chattering as the inertia of tearing up a neighbourhood finally hit the brick wall. The area had been swarmed with a scattering of emergency workers and locals whom had been roused at the dead of night by the chaos. No doubt they'd officially blame [i]that[/i] on a faultline, an occupational hazard of living in the Pacific Northwest.

His thoughts drifted to the people who'd shown up and tried to spirit him away after taking a twelve gauge to the face, they weren't kids, they were organised. Cops? More than that, he [i]knew[/i] there were government agencies that took an interest in things that sat beyond the mundane world, things like [i]him[/i]. Had they seen enough of him that questions would come up? It was a point of frustration, but one he would deal with later.

[i]Bag, shoes and new clothes.[/i] Those were his priorities right now.

The bag had a couple of his belongings in it, stuff that would've been more of an inconvenience to replace in a short amount of time. The shoes, he didn't want to go through the trouble of finding a replacement pair that would fit him without slipping off. Clothes, well-

Now he was pacing along a side-street, half-naked and speckled with blood that belonged to at least three other human beings and [i]one[/i] decidedly inhuman creature, the clothes he'd been wearing now a tattered ruin for the most part. The only article close to remaining somewhat intact were his pants, and they too had seen better days. [i]That[/i] he could thank the bikers and their pet for ruining. Good clothes were frustratedly difficult to come by.

He touched at his own face and glanced at the distorted reflection in the side mirror of an adjacent car. For the most part, everything had shifted back into place, where it was [i]supposed[/i] to be, although he couldn't say he ever truly felt like [i]himself[/i] - there was no real normal, not for him, just the state of being. At least he'd taken his pound of flesh in turn, and had managed to find the contents of the heavy bundle that was now wrapped under his arm in the tattered remains of his hoodie.

Across the street was the Veni Vedi Veni, definitely closed for business after the night's events, although he found irony in the fact that despite a few buildings being damaged beyond repair, the [i]strip club[/i] where the night's events all started had probably escaped unscathed, save for one [i]private room[/i] that would need new carpets and a deep clean. The police had taped off the parking lot, and as he crossed the street and slipped under the tape and behind the nearest car, he caught a glimpse of a mixed group of SPPD and SPFD officers talking near the front of the club.

Sand, trash and other detritus had been scattered everywhere. Near a wrecked car, a white sheet had been draped over the ground, a humanoid shape laid out beneath it. There, he spotted his bag and shoes, dumped a few feet away with a marker taped over them. When the nearby cop stepped away to drag on his cigarette, he made his play, scrabbling on hands and knees until he was able to swipe both. He didn't waste time slipping them on, instead making an exit just in time to hear an older cop cursing out the other on their smoke break.

"... prints all over the floor, tell those pricks to stop walking over and moving shit..."

[I]Just one more thing.[/i]

[hr]
[h3]Now[/h3]
[code]Church[/code]
[hr]

[b]"It's Clancy, by the way. Ashley was my cousin, we used to speak sometimes, before..."[/b] Some things didn't need explaining, so he let the silence hang there for a moment while he gathered his thoughts.

The truth was that he'd been following them for a while, and learned enough along the way. A retelling of last night's events, how more of them were dead this morning. Each going for the other's jugular, until a cloud of butterflies had put an end to that. They had all been Ashley's 'friends', although given how divided they were, he wondered how far that was stretching the term.

[b]"You [i]were[/i] Ashley's friends, right?"[/b] His thoughts found their form in speech.

They were, altogether, a wretched group. His gaze particularly crinkled whenever it passed over 'Void' and its new host, the girl who went by Layla. Its very presence was a point of consternation, a reflection that he had no desire to see. Truth was, he felt sorry for the girl and the world she was in for, and had doubts as to whether he was as much responsible for her plight as he was for getting the last host, Alizee killed.

Given one of the others - Anya - had spoken of sharing information while the contenders for 'senior it-girl' had disappeared, he felt it opportune to share what [i]he[/i] knew.

[b]"Since you were busy with the crazies, I [i]spoke[/i] with their boss... who maybe just convinced me he had nothing to do with Ashley or your friends dying."[/b] Clancy tugged at the strap around his shoulder, then unzipped the gym bag he was hauling with him. Reaching inside with one hand, he pulled out a familiar [url=https://i.imgur.com/i7pKXhS.jpeg]axe[/url] with ornate decor furnishing both the handle and head. [b]"Said that 'Dollhouse' gave the bikers their stuff, abstracthangs- whatever you wanna call them."[/b]

Clancy shrugged, balancing the axe with a one-handed grip just below the the head, [b]"Means nothing to me, except they sound like a bunch of creeps. But you know this town, and I know Ashley [i]knew[/i] stuff too. And we want the same thing, which is to find whoever killed her."[/b]