POOHEAD189

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

"Yeah, but the crown jewels would make for a much better story." He remarked, making a vague gesture with his fork. Neil had never heard a history lesson on a great figure, beyond the bullshit propaganda, that didn't emphasize the need for a legacy. It's why most people wanted kids, too. Though what legacy they wanted to leave behind other than "person with baby" was beyond Neil. "I hear that's what most unsuccessful people worry about. Other than them losing their lives."

Inwardly he was slightly disappointed when she passed over the older, more esteemed couple. Neil was always up for taking the rich and powerful down a peg. He supposed the rich and the moderately powerful would have to do. At the end of the day, he wanted Emmaline's expertise. He would have fun regardless. "Gotcha, babe. And then we-HEEEEY-" His face lit up as the waiter arrived again, asking if all was in order.

"Yes, the meal is lovely. I was wondering, do you have any Schwarzwälder cake left?"

"Yes, we have just a few slices left." He said, pouring more lager into their mugs from the bottle they had left. With a small tool, they wiped off the froth and caught it in a cloth they brought. Neil wiggled his eyesbrows at Emmaline. A few minutes later, they were enjoying a strawberry creme cake as soft as a cloud and as rich as the establishment's clientele. The thieves were finally enjoying something they hadn't stolen, and while stealing added extra spice to a meal, Neil appreciated the fact they had someone just give it to them, and no one would chase them afterwards. They could finish it in their leisure.

That was, until Emmaline's mark began tidying up and paying their bill. Neil looked at her and then guests, and then back to her with a wink.

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

The first thing he noticed once he opened the doors to the morgue was the wet slap of the stench that singed his nostril hairs and watered his eyes. It sent images of a melting witch into his mind, but considering the lack of screaming, he doubted it. Manny realized it was going to be one of those strange days, so he simply held himself up and strutted over to the ladies that crowded around the disemboweled and inked corpse. He wasn't privvy to most of their conversation, but he caught the tail end.

"You're assuming they're human." He said in way of announcement, sliding in between his coworkers to get a good look at the body. He was fortunate he brought his jacket. The morgue was cold, like hell was. He had never been, but he knew a few that had spent some time there. His jacket collar popped, brushing his cheek and tickling his nose when he turned from the corpse to Eleanor. "Demons cast incantations too, and they don't play by our rules. Not usually anyway. I'm assuming you don't know who this is, else we wouldn't all be here."

Kneeling down, he gingerly slid the middle finger of his left hand on some of the pooled ink, raising up to his eyes and examining it with a rub of his thumb. He wasn't any match for a forensics test, but he preferred making his own impressions. His dull brown eyes flashed as he thought aloud.

"The victim's body isn't green. That's something at least." He mused, picking himself up and going over to wash his hands in the sink beside the disinfected equipment. Manny had cast on some protective incantations, but he would be damned if he got some weird germs from inside an exploded corpse.

"Ink poisoning in the veins usually turns the skin green. Which means this happened very fast. Not to mention it's a broad spell, encased in a strange execution. Ink's been associated with blood and water since the Ilkhanate sacked Baghdad eight hundred years ago." He remarked, thinking of the stories from the chroniclers. Prime time for demons or cultists, or any real sorcerer with a knowledge of lore, and he knew he shouldn't make any real assumptions on the suspect. He shrugged. "Probably even before then. And the human body is mostly made up of both. Just switch around a few syllables and make the proper sacrifice and you can make this happen. My problem was with how quick it was inside the body, and who the fuck this guy is."

The door opened again, and Manny hadn't even bothered to look over. "Oh yeah, Clive showed up with me."

Tricksters and Theives: A Warhammer RP

Before the lady, the waiter placed down a glass dish of Sauerbraten, the beef pickled and savory and layered in heaps of flavored rice and fixings one couldn't guess. The maitre de accompanied him, personally placing a bottle of their finest Nuln Lager. Neil himself had a variety plate of bratwurst with potato skins and minced onions. Hot, soft bread rolls were placed between them in a basket, ladled in hot butter. Neil's mouth watered nearly as much as when Emmaline wore the justicar suit. He saw her wiggle in excitement, muttering 'scrumptious' just before she began to dig in.

"This looks wonderful. That'll be all gentlemen," Neil waved, dismissing the staff who had come to survey the well-tipping lord and lady they knew so very little about.

The Lord Von Hresvelg hooked a bratwurt link and a few more items on his fork, waiting until Emmaline was too engaged and the onlookers distracted so he could shovel it all in his mouth for an explosion of flavor. It was everything he could have expected and more, but the braut was too hot and he opened his maw, letting the air cool it while he covered his mouth with one hand. Once he acclimated to the heat, he buttoned up quick and cooled himself off with some of the lager. These kinds of drinks were never served in Marienburg. If the Empire could brew a drink, it was a lager.

"You got your eye on anything in here?" Neil asked his date, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her down a frothy gulp of the drink. A few droplets landed on the top of her chest. Thank Sigmar for lowcut tops and Emmaline Von Morganstern. Not in that order, but he got distracted easily.

"There's a few too many guards..." She reasoned with a quirked eyebrow, though he could see the yearning in his blue eyes.

"We won't grab anything in here. But whoever you want to steal from, we'll follow them out once they leave." He said, and he reminded himself to finish his meal. He wasn't planning on take-out. Which was a shame. "As long as they leave after dessert, though. I heard this place has incredible Schwarzwälder cake and I'm trying some before we leave. That or I'm coming back and stealing some, and you wouldn't want me hanged over some cake would you?"

Blades of the Blood Coast

Does Raddek still just have the long knife or did he buy a sword or something.

@DrRtron

He's just got his long knife still

Blades of the Blood Coast

The Sunday Group - The Flicker Cases

Coffee and Comraderie

Clive & Manny

---

Manny inevitably poked his head out of his private office, realizing he hadn’t grabbed any of the free shit the Sunday Group offered, like coffee and bagels once in a blue moon. Oh, and he hadn’t seen Eleanor yet. In fact, it was unerringly quiet at the moment. Blinking, both hands on the door frame as he leaned out into the hallway like a primate, he saw Clive in the next room opposite his side of the corridor.
“Yo Clive, where is everyone?”

Clive looked up and shrugged. As always, a heavy drawl lay thick over his every word. You could take the man out of Texas but no force on Earth or in Heaven above could take the Texas out of that man.
"I'm sure Eleanor is up to somethin' God-awful down in the dungeon, Anna's MIA, and Junia's on her way more than likely." He nodded toward the coffee machine that started to crackle and bubble with heat. "Coffee?"

“Knowing her, it’s something grim,” He sighed, still stuck with the early morning blues. Manny was as athletic as they came in a life or death situation, but like a panther, he would always rather lounge. The lanky detective strode over and grabbed a cup, waiting for Clive to pour some out for him. “Thanks. And they say this shit’s bad for you…” Manny shrugged as his thoughts continued. “Guess they also say ghosts aren’t real. I fucking wish.”

He felt the ache of a bruise on his shoulder from last month. That one had been particularly ornery when the Sunday Group showed up, tossing Manny across the room.

"Ghosts may be real, but so is coffee. Pretty even trade."
Clive waited for the last few drips of coffee to peter out before obliging Manny with a cup and pouring one for himself. There was a great deal of mystical mischief he was willing to put up with if it meant free hot coffee.
"So," Clive began in something resembling an attempt at small talk, "how's things?"
“Things are good.” Manny said, taking a cup of his own, sipping it gingerly. He let the statement simmer for a bit, until the awkward silence turned into a joke in and of itself. Manny gave a laugh. He had always liked Clive. They were different in more ways than one, but he was someone Manny knew had a lot of similar experiences in his life. “Seriously though, it’s the same ol’ same ol’. I don’t think anyone sticks around here because they’re happy with themselves, but I guess I can be proven wrong. All I know is, we haven’t had anything big in awhile so we’re due for it…”
A thought popped into Manny’s head. “I always wanted to ask. Is this job how you envisioned it would be?”
"Not in the slightest," Clive replied matter of factly and took a long sip of coffee. "I'd been roughing it out of my car solo-style for years so I assumed that's how folks in this business did it. Got the call and figured it would be that but more people."

Clive held a particular respect for anyone like Manny who was both able and willing to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty to finish a job. It was one of the reasons he somewhat enjoyed this line of work. He would occasionally cross paths with others like himself and it was always a welcome surprise when it happened.
“I’ve lived that life too, for a bit.” Manny said, holding up his coffee cup in a faux toast, and then he downed a good bit of the brew. The drink was just hot enough to give a pleasant sensation going down his throat. He decided to finish it then and there, and he crumpled the cup. “What’s say we go find the rest and see what they’re cooking up, eh?”
Clive downed the rest of his coffee in one go. It was black as sin, warm like a swamp in August, bitter like a scorned lover, and it was perfect in every way. He adjusted the pistol grip poking out of his waistband and sighed as he gestured in the direction of the basement stairs.
"I'd rather not, but I don't get paid to stand around twiddling my thumbs."

The Pavonis Campaign - Warhammer 40000

The rockcrete walls echoed their monotonous iterations, the corrupted servitors grinding their way towards the two with their multitude of armaments. They weren't heavily armed, but the shivving of the chainsaws, the scatterfire of what firearms they had, and the parody of life the servitors represented was enough to almost overwhelm his senses. He clenched his square jaw, eyes set as he pumped his shotgun and fired off another slug, ripping through the flesh and iron, wiring and yellow servitor fluids spraying the walls. A bullet struck his carapace armor, caving in a section with a crater but holding strong overall. He turned his gun on the one that fired at him, its head exploding from the next slug.

"Intruders to be destroyed, blood to be shed, only by nines," they repeated with cold rhythm. Their metal jaws reminded him of the Orks in some strange way. Memories of the hulking green Xenos ravaging the bodies of his comrades, many with strange metal appendages and jaws and ears of steel. It caused hatred to burn through Zebulon, and even as one came perilously close to slicing through his throat with an attached blade, he merely dodged and shoved the arm away with the length of his gun roughly before unloading three shots into the servitor's midsection, dropping it.

Katiya hacked and shot with her weapons with masterful precision, slicing one servitor down the middle in a clean lateral bisection, tearing it back up in a backhanded slash, slicing through a cybernetic arm, the chainsaw on the end of it losing its spin as it clattered to the ground. The blow torches roared, they were so close. Katiya punched through one of the infected abominations with her bolt pistol, only for her jacket to catch fire as one crept up from behind. Zeb, in the midst of reloading, cried out a warcry and tackled the thing as Katiya swiftly slid herself out of her jacket, the embroidery alight before it even hit the ground in a wave of dust from the old floor.

The thing turned its torch on Zeb, but like lightning Katiya hacked off the appendage holding it, offering her hand for him to grab. He took it in his, and she hauled him up despite her deceptively slim build.

"We need to get out of here," He said to her, firing off another round. Their enemies closing in, encircling their position in the cramped room.

"They're nearly decimated," she said dismissively, scowling and leaping back into combat.