megatrash

[18+] Pirates (Chicogal & megatrash)

A small, wooden rowboat silently made its way through the water to an unmanned dock. Shadows seamlessly and silently helped each other crawl up onto the dilapidated platform and scurried to an area of shrubbery to avoid being detected, and once they had all congregated, they formed a line and nearly dove into the greenery that seemed to stretch on for miles. There was a breeze that rustled the leaves around them, and the moon shined brightly down on the men that had smuggled themselves onto the island. Eye contact was made between all of them, and one nodded as if to signal that it was time to begin.

Vic led of trail of five through the dense brush that covered the hill leading up to the Governor’s house, a few whispering amongst themselves and laughing when they’d bump into one another. Vic tried his best not to crack a smile at the conversations happening behind him, but as they neared the elaborately structured home that sat at the top of the hill, he stopped and put a hand up behind him. “Aye, aye, shut it now, boys,” he said in a harsh whisper. He turned his body around to face them, remaining in the crouching position they had all been in. “By the looks of it, the party has already started. Now, we’re grabbing the first important person we see, even if it’s the bloody Governor himself,” he announced as a smirk crept up on his lips, which the motley crew before him returned. “We’re here to send a message, not to loot or execute, so try to contain yourselves, you heathens.” He winked and signaled two of the men to follow him, leaving three behind in the brush.

As the threesome finished scaling the rest of the steep, rocky terrain, Vic stopped abruptly and signaled for silence once again. His eyes locked onto the woman sitting on a stone step, whose pale skin reflected the moon’s glow; it was a stunning contrast to the darkness around them. Vic looked to the men behind him and nudged his head towards the woman, as if to say that she was the one they were taking. The men nodded in agreement, and they split up to surround the young woman. When they were all in position, Vic crept up behind her and simultaneously slipped one hand over her mouth, and another around her her tightly secured waist. He put his mouth up to her ear and spoke quietly, “Scream, and I will kill you. Try to hurt me, and I’ll hand you over to my men. You’re coming with me.”

He dragged her up to a standing position and pulled her back towards the brush that they had come from. Both men greeted them, one holding two strips of linen – one to gag her and the other to blind fold her. They swarmed her and went to work to secure her, and Vic held her fragile hands behind her back with his large, rough one. “Watch your step,” he said sarcastically to the women, which made the two men nearly bust out with laughter. He pushed her through the brush until they reached the rest of the crew, then they continued down to the dock. Vic picked up the light woman and held her as they got into the small boat, the rest of the men climbing in behind them. The crew all gather oars and began to make their way back to the ship that was lurking off the shore.

Once they reached the Black Star, Vic threw the woman over his shoulder and boarded with the crew. Other members of the ship crowded around the men as they returned, and Vic smiled and nodded, watching them take notice of who he was carrying. M He took her to the Captain’s quarters and plopped her down on a seat, removing her blindfold and gag. He took a moment to eye the woman from head to toe. “So," he began as he paced back in forth in front of her, "With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

[18+] Pirates (Chicogal & megatrash)

@Chicogal Cool, I'll reply shortly.

[18+] Pirates (Chicogal & megatrash)

@Chicogal Did that work? haha. And yes, fine by me!

Blackgate: LordOfTheNight & megatrash

She nodded at what he said regarding payment before she stuffed her wallet back into her purse. Although Thomas was all business, he seemed kind, or at least patient enough to deal with her recently adopted ridiculous antics. It was a definite change of pace from what she had been dealing with at the precinct, and that was enough to make her feel better. If she had one more man tell her to stop freaking out, she'd probably punch them square in the face. She watched the investigator as he sat in his thoughts, and her eyes followed the man’s hand as he reached up to scratch his jaw. He wasn’t hideous by any means; his dark features and facial structure were definitely something to be admired. He just looked tired. Like he didn’t take care of himself. Caroline didn’t blame him though, if she dealt with what she was dealing with now for a living, she’d probably look horrendous compared to him. The fact that he said that he checked into a mental institution did make her curious though. Again, with his job title, it was understandable.

She realized she had been staring when he began to speak, which startled her. Her eyes shot away from the man’s face and down to her feet, and at his question regarding Keith’s body, she sighed. “We buried him last week. Cops said they didn’t see the need to keep his body at the hospital any longer. I can give you the address to the, uh, warehouse he was found in. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not go. I don’t like it there.” Her eyes slowly made their way back up to meet the man’s gaze. She grabbed a sticky note and the pen from his desk and tried her best to write the address down legibly and scooted it towards him. “It’s abandoned, but I think it’s easily accessible. If you need something, you can call me.”

She picked up her large, black bag and plopped it into her lap, slipping her sunglasses out. She adjusted the straps of her dress before standing up, and she offered a hand out to him. “Thanks again for everything, Mr. Blackgate. I look forward to working with you,” she smiled and made her way out of the apartment. She was hoping that she didn't seem rude, but this was the most socializing she had done in a while, and she felt like she nearly had her fill for the day. Once she made it to the bustling street, she got into the older pick-up truck and made her way back to the apartment she dreaded sleeping in.

[18+] Pirates (Chicogal & megatrash)

Name: Victor Hemming
Known on the seas as: Vic, The Incubus
Age: Late 20s
Title: Captain of his ship, The Black Star
Appearance:
Brunette hair, often pulled up into a knot. Athletic build. He sports a simple overcoat normally only for battle or business, and other than that, he usually matches his crew: breeches to the knee with stockings to secure them, a loosely fitted white linen shirt. He doesn't believe in the way of his predecessors, how they had to distinguish themselves from the rest of the crew through fancy attire. He does, however, display a few rings he had stolen on his fingers. Dark tattoos can be found all over his body, aged by the sun. He has multiple scars to his torso, arms and legs, and has a single scar running down his face.

Personality: Life on the sea had hardened Vic. He had killed more than he can count, and he watched his men get impaled or bludgeoned with no second thought from their murderer. Although he had a definite sense of humor, Vic usually remained stone cold in his demeanor. To be a good captain, he thought, he needed to remain impartial and unemotional, often pushing his own feelings to better serve himself and his crew. He had an insatiable thirst for blood and wealth.

[18+] Pirates (Chicogal & megatrash)

@chicogal

Blackgate: LordOfTheNight & megatrash

She nodded as she was handed a note pad. Her eyes scanned over the sheet and immediately locked on the one that resembled a kite. A deep chill started at her scalp and ran down her body, making her shake for a second and closed her eyes. “That one,” she quietly mumbled as she pointed to the symbol and then handing the paper back to the man. “I mean,” she began, keeping her eyes closed, envisioning the brutal crime scene she had seen, “it was obviously a little, uh, messy, but I think that’s it.”

Her curiosity had been piqued. The man obviously was the right one for the case, and although he had not offered her much insight yet, she felt as though he could be trusted. After two weeks of being on edge, she let her thin frame slouch in the chair for a moment. She reached in her purse and a pulled out a small, silver flask, taking a swig of its contents, and then securing it back inside the large, black bag. After her mind registered the impression she must be making, she covered her mouth and sprung back up into a more respectable posture. “I’m so sorry, I…” her mind searched for the right words, “I guess after two weeks in solitude, I forgot how to act in public.” Great. She had become the tired, stoned, stripper turned widow who possibly had a drinking problem. Just the first impression she was hoping to make. Based on Blackgate’s job description, she was assuming that he had seen much stranger people, but that didn’t stop the dreaded feeling of embarrassment creeping up on her cheeks, casting a pink hue across them.

She rested her elbows on her thighs and let her face fall into her hands, lacing her fingers in to her hair. Without looking up, she began to speak. “I just want answers. I want whatever is in the house to fucking leave. I want to sleep without being felt up by something I can’t see.” She removed her face from her hands and looked back up to the eyes she had been trying not to look into since she got here. “Whatever you need from me – information, assistance – just let me know.” She smiled faintly at the man, nodding to confirm what she had just said. “I’ll try not to be such a trainwreck next time we meet.”

Her eyes wondered around the apartment she had been sitting in. It was in shambles, and the thought of seeing it after it had been cleaned spotless nearly excited her. She snapped her eyes back on Thomas as she pulled her wallet out of her purse. “Um, if we could discuss payment, that’d be great. I...” she paused as she looked through the receipts and membership cards she had crammed in the large wallet, “If you’d like, I can clean for you too. Used to do it on the side when I first moved up here. Not that your apartment is dirty,” she squeezed her eyes closed to stop herself from continuing. “I forgot my manners.” She whipped out a check book and grabbed a pen off of his desk, waiting for him to rattle off an amount.

Blackgate: LordOfTheNight & megatrash

She followed him, instantly noticing the intricately carved doorway surrounding her, and her finger traced one of the markings as they made their way inside. She was hit with the strong smell of tobacco, although it didn’t bother her. Keith had been a long-time smoker, and luckily for Caroline, she had never picked up the habit. She had a field day as she observed the man’s apartment. It was a wreck. He led her to his desk and they both took a seat quietly, and she was snapped out of a day dream when he began talking into his recording device.

Caroline watched the man’s mouth move as he spoke as she tried to keep her tired mind focused on what he was saying. Her attention span had been zapped, and she was sure that the weed wasn’t helping, but it hurt too much to be stone cold sober. Her eyes moved to analyze the rest of Thomas’s face. He didn’t look like he put any effort into his appearance, which made Caroline feel slightly at ease since she felt she must have looked just as tired as he did. There was something about his eyes, though, that she could not put a finger on. They were almost mesmerizing, nearly putting her into a trance as she watched them move about as he spoke. ”I need to stop smoking so much weed,” she thought to herself as she scratched her forehead.

“Yes, well, my husband Keith Clarke was murdered two weeks ago. He was in sales and traveled a lot, sometimes for a couple days, sometimes for weeks at a time.” She cleared her throat to try to stop the raspy sounds coming from it. “I was only 22 when we met; he was 30 at the time. He was in Georgia on business, and he came to the bar I was working at during the day. We hit it off, and after a while, he asked me to move up here with him.” Caroline nervously picked at her short, unpainted fingernails as she spoke. “Things were good for a while. I loved him. I still do.” She cleared her throat once again as her throat became irritated from talking. “We got our nice apartment, I became a freelance artist, we didn’t have a worry in the world. He proposed and we got married about a year after we met. It was something out of a dream.” She realized what she had been doing to her fingers and placed one in her lap, the other playing with the ends of her hair. “Then, he confessed that he wanted kids, and I didn’t, and that kinda set him off. But I thought we worked it all out.” Caroline looked up and met Blackgate’s eyes before continuing.

“Well,” Caroline began, straightening her posture in the wooden chair, “things were getting pretty rocky in the last year or so. Couples therapy, fighting constantly, growing distant. He, um,” Caroline paused. She was embarrassed of her past and of how her relationship turned out, and telling a complete stranger about her personal issues was disarming. “One night, during an argument, I told him I had been dancing when we first got together to pay for college, but I quit when I moved to New York. He didn’t know, and he…” She felt herself getting emotional and did her best to hold herself back from completely losing it in the disheveled office. “He got angry. Left. He didn’t come home for three days, but he had no business trips scheduled then. He wouldn’t answer my calls, texts, nothing. He came home finally, and he was… different.” Her eyes shot to the corner of the room to avoid the mysterious man’s glare. She took a deep breath, pushing herself to continue. “It was like he wasn’t there anymore. I couldn’t get anything out of him. I even tried to piss him off, but nothing. After a few months, I told him I wanted a divorce; I just couldn't stand it any longer. He didn’t get upset, but he told me that he wasn’t gonna let that happen. He disappeared again, this time for almost a week.”

Caroline took a deep breath as an attempt to calm the nerves that were fluttering throughout her body. “That’s when things started getting weird. Since he came back, the house felt strange,” Caroline said as she scrunched her up her nose. She felt silly talking about the paranormal realm; it was something she never believed in. “I mean, you usually never get peace and quiet in a New York City apartment. But, I started to hear things. Whispers. Scratching at the door. I’d see shadows in the corners of my eyes late at night. I thought it, at first, was just the stress of everything that was happening. But,” she got the chills, and her body shook and her hair stood up, “then, doors started slamming on their own. Dishes breaking. I’d even feel things grabbing at my legs at night. And it only ever happened when he wasn’t there.” She put her hand up to her face and used her middle finger and thumb to rub the bridge of her nose. Bits of her southern accent were popping out when she spoke, often happening when she got worked up. “I’m sorry. I don’t… Well I didn’t believe in this type of stuff before. Never had a reason to. Now that he’s gone, I thought it’d stop but, it seems the house is becoming more active. I’m even getting bruises now.” Caroline stood up and lifted the black maxi dress that resembled a long tank top, showing him the marks that littered her calves. “They go up to my thighs,” she nearly whispered as she sat down. “I tried to look up his bank records, but everything seemed normal. The only thing different was a bar he started frequenting. The Black Dame, I think.”

“No one will listen to me, Mr. Blackgate. They all think it’s the stress caused by the murder. I get that, and if it wasn’t happening to me I’d probably think the same thing. But…” She stopped and pulled out the envelope that she had sitting under the chair. “Pictures from the crime scene. Feel free to keep them, I don’t want to see them again. He had some sort of symbol carved on him. Teeth and eyes missing. He was also showing signs of a struggle.” She sighed. “Well, I didn’t think at 28 I’d be a haunted widow,” she said quietly and chuckled nervously. “Sorry, the corniness again…” she trailed off, realizing how extensive the story was that she had just shared, but it felt so good to tell her side of the story without being interrupted or questioned.

Blackgate: LordOfTheNight & megatrash

"Yes, yes of course," Caroline replied as she scrambled around her desk to find a pen, and when she did, she jotted down the address in a messy yet artistic script that only she could probably read. "I'll be there in a few hours. Thank you." As she hung up, she breathed a sigh of relief as she stared at the scribbles on the piece of paper in her hand. It was a glimmer of hope, albeit a strange one, in a sea of vagueness that surrounded Keith's death. She was ready for answers.

She stood up and tried to run her fingers through her hair and was stopped by the knots that had formed. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, thinking to herself that she should try to improve her appearance a bit before meeting someone new. Although people usually don't take a blonde seriously, it was especially difficult to be understood when you looked like a madwoman. She walked into the bathroom and worked a flat brush through her silvery blonde hair until it was to her liking. She stared at her face for a moment. Keith said when they met that he loved a woman who looked "done up," which had been a foreign concept to the Georgia-raised girl who never took the time to enhance her appearance. She had to admit, it had been nice to see her face au naturale the past two weeks.

After tidying up the house that looked like a tornado ripped through it and enjoying a joint on her back porch, she slipped on black sunglasses and a black purse and left the house. She sat in her car and gripped the wheel as her eyes closed for a moment. Was she ready to find out the truth? Was she ready to possibly get dicked around again? She wasn't sure at the moment. But she knew she had to try. Keith at least deserved that.

She drove the rumbling pick up through the city until she arrived at her destination: a large, gloomy apartment building. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she thought to herself as she contemplated turning around, but she ultimately forced herself to get out of the truck and make her way to the front door of Thomas Blackgate.

She lightly knocked on the wooden door, scanning the hallway around her. A mix between the dilapidated building, the loud vent blowing on the back of her neck, and the mystery that awaited behind the door in front of her caused goosebumps to scatter across her freckled, tan skin. A noise from the other end of the hallway caused her to turn around to investigate when she heard the door creak open behind her. She swiveled back around quickly to meet his eyes. She assessed the tired looking man, and then offered a hand for him to shake, while the other hand held a manila envelope.

"Hi, I'm the one who called you earlier. Caroline," she greeted him anxiously, and she suddenly became aware of how hoarse her voice was. The usual buttery tone was now strained and quiet. "Excuse my voice, I'm in a metal band," she said jokingly, instantly regretting it. "I'm sorry, I get corny when I'm nervous." She winced at her last comment and mentally told herself to just shut up already.

Blackgate: LordOfTheNight & megatrash

To say Caroline Clarke was exhausted at this point would be a gross understatement. Between all of the paperwork, funeral planning, and hounding the police to do something other than sit on their fat asses was wearing her down fast. Lack of sleep was also an issue, often waking up night after night in a pool of sweat with images of Keith’s lifeless body flashing before her in the dark room they used to share. After she’d wake up, she'd shoot her arm over to the other side of the bed to touch him, but when she felt the cold sheets, she would resort to screaming into her pillow until she felt faint. After the funeral passed, she was crying less, but frankly, she was still a wreck. Her normally silky, blonde hair resembled a rat’s nest, and she hadn’t worn make up since it happened. Her blue eyes were followed by bags, dark and puffy, but Caroline couldn’t give a shit anymore. She had left the house only twice since she got the call and was living off the food brought to her by friends and family.

It had been two weeks since her husband was found in an abandoned industrial strip of warehouses after a noise complaint came in from an adjacent apartment building. Caroline wanted to completely forget the image she saw when she pulled up to the warehouse, but the police report had listed the gruesome details of his death, constantly reminding her of what she saw. His eyes and teeth had been removed, and after scrubbing the crime scene, it was confirmed that they were nowhere near the area. He had a symbol etched into his skin, reaching from his chest down to his lower torso. One of the cops confirmed that it was referred to as the “Sigil of Lucifer.” He had also been beaten, because according the Caroline, he wouldn’t have let this happen without putting up a fight.

Caroline had been calling the precinct multiple times to day to question them about any leads they might have gotten, but there had been nothing pointing to Keith’s murderers that had come across their desk. This frustrated her, mainly because of the almost condescending tone that they used when they told her nothing new had unfolded.
“Don’t talk to me that way, asshole. My husband’s dead, and you’re sitting there getting annoyed with me?” Caroline was about to hang up on the officer when she heard the voice again on the other end.
"Look, lady. If you think you need someone else on the case, I'll give you a number. He's a little, well, eccentric, but he's got experience in stuff my officers and I don't. I'll send you the information if you're interested."
Caroline sighed at the offer, but ultimately took it. “Fine, I’ll give him a call.” She hung up the phone and and put her head down on the table.

A day later, after taking the first shower in at least a week, she scrolled to the contact she had created and stared at the name for a moment. “Thomas Blackgate,” she mumbled to herself as she pushed the ‘call’ button and heard the line trilling. Once she heard a voice on the other end, she immediately began to speak, barely letting the man get out a sentence.
“Hi, yes, my name is Caroline Clarke. The police department referred me to you. I need your help solving the murder of my husband. I don’t know if this is your forte, I don’t really know anything about you, I just –“ She stopped and took a breath. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackgate. Are you taking cases at the moment?”