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In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor
Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


His effort with the beer can had been a waste, and his argument had mostly fell on deaf ears. Clancy could see the girl wasn't in a position to reason, and he could see.... emerald light, flickering and swelling at the periphery of his vision. It was blinding, and he felt the strength of it close him like a fire licking at his clothes.

His feet moved on their own, almost autonomous - Clancy circling to what he'd felt was a safer distance somewhere a little more shaded as Stormy, Sully and Alizee briefly tussled on the street. It was only when he looked back he saw the girl was spent, all-but-broken, and for a moment he felt something that was halfway between contempt and pity. She lacked self-control, he realised, and that was something which brought on a sense of disconnected self-loathing.



Noise shook him out of that notion.

The collective buzz of motorcycle engines, catalysing with a single warning shot. It had been a while since Clancy had heard that unpleasantly familiar crack associated with gunfire.

A barely discernible mutter left his mouth."... warned you."

If it wasn't for the light, Clancy might've snorted at how moronic the Wolfpack looked. Between the braids, the spiked hair that had been poorly brill-creamed and what he wagered were sores from using, they almost looked like a collection of comic book villains, like the ones he used to read. The only things he'd lacked were named, until he overheard one of the others call out some names. "Valjean, Elodie, Shayton, Cyril, Maggy, Dean, and Victor.... no Judas or Curs."

Clancy wasn't sure who was who, save that Valjean was probably the spiky asshole barking orders at them.

For bikers, they seemed characteristically pissed, though he wondered if the commotion at the bar was their only reason for being here, and being ready to hurt people.

"Now, can someone tell me, who the fuck here killed Joe Skinner?! Don't give me any of that 'Aw, we didn't do it, believe us' bullshit! Shit ain't happen until you motherfuckers showed up, thrashing the place! So, you guys have one fucking minute to decide who the fuck killed a member of our pack before we send all of you to your God!"

Oh. That.

Clancy had almost considered the matter all-but settled. But things happened, it wasn't like Skinner was aanything but a bad guy. Did it really matter?

Wasn't like he was number one public enemy here, that went to the girl with a lack of self-control.

And Daddy Wolf was on the way. Maybe this was his shot at finding Judas? He wasn't sure at this stage; too many unknowns, too many people, in a world where he was very small.

Clancy flinched, threw up his hands, inching further off to one side. His attention was really on the motorcycle off to the far side of the lot. Joe Skinner's motorcycle, to which the keys were still in his pocket. It was one option, he'd guessed-

“Hey, kid!”

Clancy heard one of the female members of the Wolfpack call him. A sulty woman leaning up against her bike with her arms crossed and a cigarette in her mouth. She gestured for him to come closer with one finger.

“C’mere.”

Shayton turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

Clancy glanced back towards the others, "H-hey, I dunno anything lady, I was just waiting for my dad." It was probably the most genuine he'd sounded tonight.

Palms still raised, he apprehensively stepped forward, then-

“Bullshit.” Clancy froze as the woman hissed at him. “Any other kid in your position would be ready to shit themselves, but you?” She quickly drew her pistol and levelled it at him. “You’re agitated. All agitated. That makes zero fuckin’ sense for a kid your age… and I’m new to this magic bullshit, but that means one of two things…”

She raised two fingers.

“... You must be some kinda sociopath, or you’re not who you say you are.”

”Or,” Clancy snorted, squinting at the woman, ”Maybe I was taught not to fall over and shit my pants over some losers replaying the sixties over and over.” She wasn't wrong. He was agitated, and not necessarily because of the Wolfpack - though that particular fact was about to change.

“Bullshit, but you know what…?”

Maggy squinted down the gunsight and tugged back on the trigger. A single muzzle flare erupted, Clancy barely able to let out a whimper before he collapsed like a deck of cards with the center torn out.

There was no blood, no spatter of brain matter or viscera on the floor, simply the sight of a child crumpling to the ground beside a row of parked cars.

In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor@Blizz
Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


In a matter of moments, the fighting seemed to have died down. Clancy had the self-awareness to recognise he had barely played a small-part in that, and it was more to do with people recognising other people they knew, and those people in turn backing down. He was an outsider in all of this; the only real connection he had to St. Portwell was Ashley Stone, and now she was gone.

That, and the walking embodiment of entropy needling at him, "Does it want a treat?" Asshole.

"Does it like toys?" A sense of agitation was building, more than it usually did when strangers derided him in this way. Too close to home.

"Does it want to feel the sweet, cold embrace of death?" Enough. He wasn't rising for that.

"It wants some quiet time while the grown-ups are talking..." Clancy snapped his fingers dismissively, offering no further answer to the entity or its host - at least, that's what he assumed their relationship might've been, it was difficult to tell what ties this walking embodiment of entropy had to living people except that it was closely involved with her. Good luck with that, anyway.

The woman herself had waved it off and was now speaking with one of the others in the lot, in French no less, but he couldn't follow along. His father - a military man - had spent some years deployed in Europe, but the only phrase he'd ever heard as far as he knew (from overhearing a poker night with some old friends) was "Voudriez-vous aller vous promener, mademoiselle?" followed by raucous laughter.

Meanwhile, the other would-be samaritan had chosen not to push things, but he couldn't help but find some strange amusement at being offered a business card by a stranger twice in as many days. Again, he took the card, briefly glanced over its contents, then pocketed it. If nothing else, it kept one more potential annoyance off his back.

Others were gathering, dropped off or parking close bg - and he was conscious that St. Portwell was a smaller town than he'd anticipated. Clancy wasn't entirely following along; a few names were finally being called out. Alizee, Leon. Sully. Britney. They weren't particularly ear-catching, but something- a sixth sense, maybe - gave him the impression they were supposed to mean something. Maybe something he'd seen on the internet, or when asking around.

At the least, he'd established they probably had nothing to do with the Wolfpack.

"..Sycamore Tree Coven.."

That mention caught his attention - and he linked it to what he'd known about Ashley, the group of friends (loosely using the term, he judged) she had led, that had accomplished a feat so great that it had become part of local myth and had helped lead him here. The same group who's own members were supposedly being picked off in murders by this asshole calling himself Father Wolf.

He suppressed his initial urge to immediately question them; it was obvious most of the people talking here had shared history, less than half of it good. Time wasn't necessarily on their side either; how long until some of Skinner's friends turned up and started asking pointed questions about why their favourite titty bar was trashed? Or why their friend had been left in the state he was, after a heart-to-heart conversation with an impressionable young boy? The latter part was less so concerned for his own sake, and he doubted Skinner would be talking about it to point a finger.

"...jumped me, Brit. G-got in the way of my... investig-gation."

The group he'd seen at the start of all this - that had been fighting Alizee - were still spoiling for a fight, naturally. Trying to catch and predate on some didn't make you friends, and the girl's flimsy defence against the accusations of "hunting" was a matter Clancy understood more than he had ever wanted to, and it did not evoke any warm feelings.

"If by investigation you mean trashing up the club." He wasn't particularly confident they were really listening to him, and was taking a certain relief in being blunt about the matter. "Thanks for that, by the way, you made it easier to walk out the front door."

Even her own 'friends' seemed skeptical about the matter.

”…do you have any idea why there’s a child here, by any chance?” It took a few more moments to realise the big guy with the beard had been referring to him, without directly addressing him. Well that made a change from the usual would-be samaritans, but he felt some irritation nonetheless, thumbing backwards. "The child is here because he wants-" Alizee interrupted that train of conversation by putting hands on the man - Stormy, she called him. Clancy wagered this wouldn't end well, the girl had a temper, but she seemed to back down... only to turn her anger back towards the group she'd originally been spoiling to fight.

His eyes crinkled. There is no time for this.

In the corner of his vision was a discarded beer can, only slightly crushed. Clancy knelt, grabbed it, and impulsively tossed the thing at the french speaker's back. Judging by the sloshing, it still had some liquid inside. Oops. "Listen, morons! You can kill each other whenever you want, but if these losers show up on their bikes, they're going to be your problem, so put a lid on it!" He stood there, gaze fixed on Alizee, posture tight. ".. Already have what you're looking for, it isn't you they need.."

If that didn't break her concentration, then the alternative was messy.
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


@Punished GN@Fernstone@Estylwen@AtomicEmperor

Veni Vedi Veni - Backstage

Getting into the club was just another leg of the journey. Going in through the front door was out of the question, between the regulars and the bouncers, an open window slit that was conveniently just wide enough to fit a child was a much better alternative. Clancy had slipped in while some of the night's main attractions were busy entertaining their audience. Music pulsed through the walls, lyrics and rhythms muffled by the physical barriers between the backstage areas and the main hall from whence it they were broadcast.

It looked like he'd wandered into the corridor preceding some of the private booths, but there wasn't anyone around - just the faint scuffing of high heels on expensive carpet, so for a while he sat around, listened in. Nothing all, except perhaps one guy that he caught a glimpse being led towards one of the private rooms, who didn't strike him as a leader, but had some of the hallmarks you'd associate with the trash found with some of the ex-cons that had fallen into the biker crowd.

He wore a red-and-black lumberjack shirt and denim pants, with an almost shiny clean-shaven dome that seemed to reflect the multi-coloured ambient lighting pretty well. The only thing that gave it away was what looked vaguely like a dog's head for the belt buckle, and the fact he was a skinhead at a club associated with a local group of assholes.

Leading him was one of the dancers, a petite girl somewhere between her late twenties and mid thirties, with platinum hair that he was almost certain had been brought on via artificial means. She was clad in black leather, and reminded him of one of those women he saw on the internet who got paid to stamp on men and tell them how useless they were.

He waited a while, caught some glimpses of their conversation. Based on the chuckling and the trash-talk, he was a regular. Her regular - Skinner, she called him. It sounded like they were very familiar, indeed. And then, some noise muffled by a couple of walls.

"SECURITY! GET HER OUT OF HERE!"


The girl heard it, it seemed. Her client wasn't so interested. "-just wait here a sec, I'll deal with you in a moment." Footsteps, rapidly pacing away. Clancy caught the outline of the girl disappearing around a corner, probably to see what the commotion was.

Some privacy at last.

This was probably the only lead he'd have. Checking over one shoulder, then forward again, he leaned in through the doorway.

"Everything okay?"

Skinner, the girl's client, was seated on a leather couch with some mood lighting overhead. To make things interesting, he was already partially undressed; his shirt was hanging off a hook to one side, and his denim unfastened in a tangle around his ankles. To make it even more interesting, he was handcuffed by his wrists to a railing behind the couch. Another set of manacles chained his ankles to the legs of the couch.

Now that Clancy had a chance to get a better look at him, the illusion of masculinity had been broken. Skinner was paunchy, and judging by the vague outline across the rim of the guy's head, he was compensating for a spell of baldness that had come in some years too early.

Adding to it all, it was much easier to make out sharp, angular tattoo on the guy's upper torso running from shoulder to pectoral, drawn to resembles thick bolts of lightning and repurposed norse runes. Definitely trash.

"Uhm... I'm lost, mister."

"Go on, get outta here kid. This ain' elementary school." Clancy shut the door behind them, then ignorantly dusted off his palms.

"You deaf? C'mon, I'm being fair. I gotta shout, they will toss your ass out. You wanna look at titties, go look 'em up on your phone." Skinhead wasn't amused. "You hear me?"

"Uh-uh," Clancy shook his head,"I got questions. You're not exactly in a position to drag me, and I think security are a little.... busy. I want to know about your boss, or maybe your boss' boss.. you look too much like dirt to associate with management."

"Fuck you, kid. You seriously oughta get outta here before I slap you upside the head."

"With what?" Clancy waved his palms, "I'm guessing your date has the keys. And I bet neither the cops, or your friends would really love dealing with a chomo."

"Fuck you talkin' about you stupid little cocksucker-" Clancy pressed a finger to his own lips and made a 'shush', "I wouldn't say that too loud, or you're just making it worse for yourself." He whipped out the new phone he'd acquired the other night, shifting into the camera app. It took him a moment to figure out the selfie button.

Skinhead flailed, cursing away - fruitlessly, as the commotion had pulled any would-be intrusions to the main viewing gallery. Clancy leaned in close, posing for a few snaps, placing himself in a few compromising poses. A few snaps and it was done. "Unless you want this getting outside the club, you'll tell me what I want to know."

"You better fuckin' delete that shit, or-"

"Or what?" Clancy cut in, rummaging through the pocket of Skinner's shirt, "You'll dislocate your thumbs to come at me? Make it easy, you spend time with this crowd of losers." He tugged out a switchblade. "I want to know what you know. You play with some real losers, so I'm guessing you know something. What about about the guy they call Judas? What's his uh.. deal?"

"Nunya fuckin' business you mongoloid fuckEAARGH!" A shriek drowned out anything coherent. Clancy had stuck the blade in Skinner's knee. "I asked nicely the first time. And now I'm asking one more time before I decide to..." he twisted the blade in place, causing the man to yelp and flail. "YEARHGFUCKER-!"

"Judas. Wolf guy. What does he want? Where. Is. He?" Another twist. "This kneecap is going to pop out aaany minute..."

"I DON'T KNOW! S-STOP!"

"I don't believe you."

"F-fuckin' psycho kid... I d-don't fuckin' know, whaddya even want with 'em?!"

"Child support, he owes my mom a lot of child support." Another twist, for emphasis. "I'm not really good at this, my fingers might slip and hit an artery."

"F-FUCK, STOP! P-please, I really don't fuckin' know! I'll... j-just lemme tell ya'.."

Clancy kept a couple of fingertips on the hilt of the blade, "I'm listening."

"I-... I really don't know much shit 'bout Judas, I swear. He don't... we don't mess around with him much, you think I'm into that crazy shit?"

"Keep on talking... I wanna know why he's killing people like Ashley Stone."

"Ashley wh-.. what the fuck are you talking about? I don't know about any shit like that! W-why are we even talkin' about this, jesus... bet you don' have a clue what you-" Clancy leaned back into the blade. "FURGHh-f-fine! I d-don't know anything about girls b-but.. hear me out, we all seen he's been meetin' with some weird fucks, they come by t-the clubhouse to meet in private. But we d-don't get into that shit."

"What weirdos are we talking about?"

"I d-dunno, they're into some weird demon shit. Sometimes they want people, I got told to stay the fuck away from them, so that's what I do." Clancy eyed the blade, a dull expression in his eyes, "Uh.. s-ssomethin' about dolls... D-Dollhouse, that's their crew!"

Dollhouse. The penny dropped. That it was a name he'd heard before. It didn't evoke a fond memory.

More questions came.



"It goes without saying that if you talk about this with anyone, these-" Clancy waved the phone at Skinner, compromising photos on show, "-will find their way out there. That won't be good for you at all. If anyone asks, you uh... figure it out. Nod if you understand."

Skinner frantically nodded, sweat beading down his forehead and other fluids of varying darkness having pooled around the couch cushion and his feet. One of the sleeves of his shirt had been torn off and wedged in his mouth. The blade had been left wedged in his knee, and had left an ugly picture for how small it was.

The stench of meat, blood and other human odours was almost overwhelming. Clancy turned back to the door, fleding his fingers. He had a starting point, at least, and there wasn't anything left for him here - between the information, some extra cash and a few little things borrowed from Skinner's pocket, he had most of what he came for

On second thoughts.

Clancy turned back for a moment; there was one more thing he needed. He'd almost forgot.


Veni Vedi Veni - Parking Lot


Slipping back out hadn't been too much trouble, though one of the girls in the back had made a point of reminding him on her way out, "Jasper c'mon, your mom doesn't work here anymore." It was almost funny. Almost.

Except the commotion that had drawn Skinner's date away had spilled outside. Peaking around the corner, Clancy saw a trail of destruction leading out of the main dance hall, overturned tables and broken glass everywhere. And the air reeked of something beyond the overpriced liquor, aftershave and perfume that left their pungent trademarks.

Something surged at his insides, briefly - a sensation he hadn't felt for a long while. He wasn't sure if that was a good of a bad thing. Instead, he felt through his knapsack for security. A couple of phones rating from bad to okay, including the new one Skinner had generously gifted him. And the key. A motorcycle key to be specific.

Could he still ride a bike? The learned motions were there, somewhere deep within him.

Depending on what it was... well, a long time ago, his older brother had taken him out to a road near a quarry to ride on his '31 Indian Scout, a hand-me-down from Uncle... Gerry? Sometimes the memories were a blur - Frank had made Clancy do the run by himself, and he'd almost gone over the handlebars when he hit a rock in the road... except he hadn't, and beat the odds. Lucky for them, really. If their mom had found out, they'd have both got the belt.

He shook the memory off as he stepped outside. Back to the now.

And there it was. Clancy could see a motorcycle parked across the lot, and judging by the profile, it matched Skinner's key. Except there was another problem.

Some kind of tussle had broke out in the lot, and he couldn't make hide or hair of who these people were, save that they vaguely matched the profile of weird demon shit that Skinner had alluded to. But he didn't get the impression these people were Dollhouse, even though they reeked of power.

And an ivory-skinned girl with matching hair, projecting phantom limbs which had no business being attached to a human body. There was no warmth felt in his recognition of that ephemeral shadow, clutching a redhead in its grasp, and there was little doubt it might recognise him... in a fashion.

A kindred spirit of sorts, from the Void. Hunger

One of the others in the opposing group spoke up.

"We do not wish to fight! Please release our friend and we will leave! There are more of us on the way, and the Wolfpack is likely on the way as well; there is no way for you to win! We will do anything for our friends. If you do not stop... we will be forced to kill you! And trust me, everyone here has taken a life before, and we will show you no quarter!"

It occurred to him he was a 12 (and-a-half) year-old boy stood outside the local biker crew's favourite titty bar, in the middle of a fight between powers beyond human mortality.

"Uh... I'm lost." he remarked, to nobody in particular.

Something was uncanny about the boy, and it wasn't the dried blood on his fingertips.

In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
<Snipped quote by Zombiedude101>

Cucked


well at least I still know more about linux
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
post 60 imminent
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Tacoma > St. Portwell Interchange

THIRTY THREE HOURS AGO

"You alright, kid?"

Clancy blinked, glancing over to one side. He'd taken the empty seat on the bus. Always the empty seat if he could. Walking was preferable to being hassled by strangers, sometimes - even if the bus ride in question was measured in hours rather than minutes.

In the seat across from him sat an older woman, probably pushing her mid-late sixties, with cropped platinum hair and an orange bodywarmer accompanying her choice of denim. By his standards of "old lady" she was decidedly modern.

"You looked a little ah-... 'off', was all, and it's a long road from upstate."

Clancy didn't have an answer. Was he visibly agitated? He didn't realised he'd been giving her a tell if he had.

"It's fine, you don't have to talk to me if you don't feel up to it... I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I am alright.

"He talks, then."

"I guess."

The old woman shuffled along her seat "Sorry, I just got a feeling you're a ways from home... used to be a social worker, so I know the look."

Sigh. Clancy shrugged; he'd been through this conversation before, each time rolling his eyes, shaking his head, telling them to go away, or just being silent. It made no difference usually. People either engaged with him or they didn't - sometimes it was a stranger, sometimes it was a cop, or some other figure trying to do the 'right thing'. They were well intentioned, but annoying at their worst, and none of them would really understand him.

"Look... I won't force anything you don't want," the woman said, tugging a creased slide from her purse, "But if you need anything, or just a place to talk? Here's my card, I kept the number after retirement." She leaned over, to plant the card in his twitching palm, and her fingertips momentarily brushed his palm.

"Do not-" Clancy hissed, jerking his hand back, "-touch me." He shot her a glare that could split ice.

"I'm sorry-... and I know, your business is yours, so-"

"Then mind your own." Clancy snapped back - and that seemed to get the point across, judging by her expression - as if she'd been slapped. "Okay, alright. Just... take it with you? And.. stay outta the cold." Maybe she misread, or was willing to take the chance of pushing him away. He found her irritating either way. but to keep her quiet he pocketed the card.

Another twenty minutes of disconcerted silence, and Clancy made a point of getting off a few stops earlier than he'd originally intended, just in case she dropped a call about a child-at-risk. He wasn't too worried about being flagged down, but being stopped and bothered was just another waste of his time, extra hassle he didn't need. He glanced down at the phone, a basic handset which probably cost less than the bus ride had. A new message headed the screen, indicating the vibration he'd felt in his pocket earlier hadn't been his his imagination, a cue he was expected somewhere.

see u soon buddy ;)

Glancing over his shoulder, Clancy tugged the hood over his head and started moving again.



It was relatively late in the day when he arrived, the silhouette of the building complex masking the sun like a wall of obdisidian. Clancy stepped inside a relatively narrow corridor, finding a door by one corner where the field of view was about as narrow as you could get. He tugged at his phone and keyed in a message.

im here

The door cracked open no less than a minute later.

"Nick?" a voice asked, a squat man in his early thirties with a scraggly blonde mustache. A friend. Connection he'd made a few days in advance - needed someone to help keep him going. "Hi," 'Nick' said back, shyly, "Um.... sorry if I'm late."

The man threw up his arms, "Hey dude, don't sweat it, I uh-..." he glanced over Clancy's shoulder, then further through a slit in the curtains, "I got a couple beers and some pizza, know you said you were hungry. You uh, don't mind pineapple, right?"

"No, it's cool." Clancy shrugged, a weak smile creasing his lips, "I mean uhm, thanks."

"C'mon in," the guy nodded, his expression relaxing a little. Clancy nodded. It wasn't like he had any other options, he was out of town, needed some extra cash, and hadn't eaten for a while. Some things were a no-brainer, pride or not. He glanced over his shoulder, then off to each side - stepping in shortly afterwards.



The agitation had somewhat settled by the next morning. He'd taken what he could get, and used the opportunity to snag a spare change of clothes and a couple other things. Before long, his 'friend' was a barely cogniscient memory that he pushed out of sight and mind, no more calls or texts, and he could get on with what - and who he came here for.

Ashley Stone.

They were connected through her grandmother, who was herself a Patrick by maiden name before she'd married out. She had been a crutch for him maybe, as the only family connection he could actually speak to - even if it was by way of internet messaging. He'd already lost his sister, and it wasn't like he could talk to his brother or parents. And now Ashley was dead.

For all intents and purposes he was a stranger in a strange town. But he wasn't blind, deaf or dumb; he knew the stories about St. Portwell just like any other place, and he'd learned that Ashley had been a part of it - she'd told him enough. And Ashley had friends, and people who knew her from her days as a kid, and all the stuff that happened. The internet was far from a reliable narrator, but he'd found a small collection of names and faces that may have been familiar or linked to Ashley, and recalled from their discussions just what happened. And he had been through enough homeless encampments and shooting galleries in desperate times to intuit his way towards an answer.

Father Wolf.

Supposedly this person had claimed responsibility for her death. Others too, based on the rumour mill. And things pointed towards a local crew of assholes that at best were a bunch of worthless lowlives, and at worst thought they were demonstrations of the primacy of the white race - something which amused him very little in light of what he'd seen back home, when there was a home. Assholes were assholes, even a kid could recognise that, and his dad had taught him too.

If he wanted answers, it was a real possibility that the Wolfpack were at least one of the go-tos. How he'd manage that, he'd figure it out. While at his 'friend's place, he had seen a flyer for some local skinbar, Veni Vedi Veni.

Guess some assholes liked their Latin

There was just one question.

How did he get in?
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In Recollections: Under The Sycamore Tree Part. 1 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Punished GN my first sheet is up

In Recollections: Who Is Eleanor Black [CANCELLED] → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@FernStone@Punished GN@Atrophy
Nowhere



For the drive, he had few words to say apart from the odd "uh-huh" here and "heh, yeah" there. More than anything, 'Carl' seemed to be in his own thoughts and he was. Dealing with Black, finding the money, getting out and gone so he could go back to figuring what he might do to salvage or recalibrate his career. Warily, he briefly glanced towards Ophrenia and Zeltz9n - the two that were openly packing heat, of which he was dubious they even knew how to use.

The van pulled up and steadily people filed out. Clay had come dressed for the job. A rain poncho, gloves, boots with good ankle support and the tool bag slung over his shoulder. There was a dry change of clothes in the trunk of his car for when he got back to the motel, and hopefully a warm coffee somewhere a ways down the road when all this was done.The rain... he'd thought Memphis got it heavy, but thsi place made hometown seem like a shower by comparison. Visibility was down to shit, but that played both ways for anyone else around. He just hoped he wasn't wasting his time here, and made a rough mental note of the route for when he found himself walking back. At least he could trade the pungent stench of weed for rain and swamp water.

And of course the gate was locked. He had brought the toolbag with him, but he wasn't too wild on outing that someone had forced entry to the property in the event that someone came down here. Instead, he kept his mouth shut as Jen and the other girl, Ophrenia - one slinging the twelve gauge - argued about whether or not the latter would try and shoot off the padlock. He wasn't exceptionally willing to count on that either - if the lock wasn't bottom-of-the-barrel quality, it would.more likely chip it than shatter it. He'd seen that once or twice, dumbass perps who'd tried and failed to blow off a lock with a .22 or birdshot and only signalled to that side of town they were trying to rip some olace off.

You bust the lock, that's B and E... the British, no - Scottish girl had it right. Shotgun girl too - it would've been better if they parked it down the road, out of the way, but he suspected Jennifer wasn't going to bother now - and to be honest, the van wasn't in his name either, so it slipped past a point of him caring. Instead, he pulled out a maglite from his toolbag and quickly pointed it at the ground in front of him to make sure he wasn't stepping into any sinkholes, then did the same for the fence.

Lily and Jennifer climbed over first, the former whining about ruining her pants, which prompted Clay to briefly double check there wasn't anything he was going to snag himself on, before carefully maneuvering himself up and over the gate, before dropping to the other side with a faint, sucking splash. "Here-" he said to Charlie, pointing for the same foot and gandholds so the girl would know where to go. Zeltzin seemed like she'd pulled a muscle or twisted something coming over, and he figured it wouldn't be good if another one of the girls ended up the same way - things were slow enough as is.

"... What. In. The. FUCK?" Lily's exclamation caught his attention and his gaze shifted over to the... effigy. Clay blinked, realised it was still there, then squinted hard, his own torch beam further illuminating its features. For a moment, he thought it was some transient or junkie lost in the swamps, then he noted the antlers arcing out towards the treeline in either direction, the fact that whatever tissues - fur and otherwise, looked like it had been moldering there for at least a week, roots and moss growing through its 'body' until it might as well have been a permanent fixture.

His sentiments were shared with Lily. What the fuck? Even by his own standards, this counted among some of the strangest things he'd seen.

"Yooooooo, what the fuck? I seen a lotta' shit, but I ain't eva' seen some shit like that?"

"Yeah, um.... let's... keep moving."

"Fuckin' swamp people." Clay muttered. Somehow, he suspected this was either the work of some locals, on bath salts or otherwise, or some dumbass fratboys off on Spring Break. Who else propped up a warped take on hybrid taxidermy in the middle of this shithole? He glanced over his shoulder, bristled at the notion of being in the company of even more strange characters, and paced over towards one of the others with a degree of impatience.

The other girl, one of the last to come over - Neko - was too busy fumbling for something in the ground. Her phone, he'd guessed. The longer they were here, the less he wanted to linger. Clay grunted, pointing his torch beam at the ground towards what he thought might've been a phone-shaped indentation, and gestured to Neko.
In Recollections: Who Is Eleanor Black [CANCELLED] → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@FernStone@Punished GN
Webb Family Coffee House


Clay quietly gulped down mouthfuls of caffeine while the group engaged in the discussion around their next plan.

The Doctor's words were stuck in his head.

Magic?

The jar that Lily had taken reminded him of those homeopathic treatments he'd seen too many fall into alongside the rest of the New Age bullshit. He wrinkled his nose. It reminded him of a bad case he'd seen a long while back, some mother who'd tried to treat her kid's near-terminal illness with another snake oil solution.

But if she `was what qualified for a doctor around here, maybe that set the example for what to expect. For all he knew it was a local recipe, a key to a bad trip.

He blinked it off, focusing back to what he was supposed to be here for. Where the group were going, this old rotting family mansion that may or may not have had what they were looking for, and how it related to what he came here for in the business. One loose end, and a retirement plan.

There were a few snags to his plan.

One. That was assuming his retirement fund was there.

Two. Finding the fund, and getting it out. Assuming Black, or whoever she was, hadn't already split it up and buried it in different parts, he had to figure out how to work around the others.

All they knew was Carl - a First Responder looking for his wife, or at least that's the story they'd been sold. Whether they bought it, well... he wasn't sure, but he'd not given any indication otherwise, or at least he didn't think he had.

Three. Black herself, or whatever name she was going by. The Black he knew, the wily bitch who, as far as he could tell, had turned on her fellow badge and ditched town with a share of something that was rightfully his, was no louch. She'd be trouble to deal with, if she was around. And if she wasn't, if she'd already ditched town, with or without the retirement fund, well - Clay wondered if he wanted to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder.

Cross that bridge when /I/ get there, he figured, glancing at the others.

Most of them were kids anyhow, and he didn't want them getting caught up in his business - that was a headache for him, and he wasn't interested in seeing them hurt. Yeah, he did things his way, made sure he got his dues, but he wasn't a monster.

Monsters, Werewolves and Ghoulies, huh. He snorted at the thought, almost interrupting the conversation that was taking place. Maybe it was them who got that 'Gene and the other one. They were apparently responsible for the girls that had gone missing, now that struck him as something off.

And judging by the point they'd caught up to....

"-hour? There might be monsters. There might be something worse. But, as long as we're out during the day, everything should be fine."

"But, I saw something at the motel. When...- I was at the motel... I saw a woman, but there was something wrong with her. It was like she was a... ghost."

"... You may have seen an Apparition."

"Ya, that's what I'm saying, I mean- uh, never mind. We'll, um, just meet in the motel in an hour?"

Neither Clay nor 'Carl' could argue with that. He threw her an affirmative expression, motioning to finish his coffee while the others slowly filtered out.



It was the waiting that had him thinking as he stood over the back of the car.

He glanced over his shoulder, a little wary. Keys were in his pocket. If the other two had cut their losses and run, then there was nothing stopping him.

Something kept his interest, either way. And deep down, he couldn't be honest with himself and say he was only here to tie up loose ends, right now. A part of himself he had figured was buried under years of apathy, weariness and paperwork.

"Ain' a badge anymore, just don't know it yet," he chuckled, almost bitterly, then shrugged, "Gonna get my ass chomped by Nosferatu."

Still, they were out in the ass-end of the swamps, real society miles away. He wasn't chancing it. Between the locals, the wildlife, and all the rumours, there usually wasn't some smoke without fire. Odds were, this town had a nasty problem with tweakers, and he wasn't taking any chances there. He popped the trunk, then pulled back a sheet to check he'd got everything he'd need. A pair of rugged boots, gloves for when he needed to handle some extra wear and tear - or otherwise ensure he didn't leave anything behind - and a dufflebag with a couple of tools that'd come in handy. After all... one thing he'd learned was a degree of self sufficiency, and the motto 'If you're gonna do it, don't half-ass it.'

He did carry a maglite, too, which was probably good for smacking a junkie in the face in a pinch, but under his waistband was where he'd come heavy.

One last thing to check, before the other showed up. He dropped the trunk, then circled around to the driver's side of his car. He knelt, felt underneath the wheel well. Yep, there we go.

It was about as ready as he was going to be.
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