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Post by Diana on Apr 16, 2014 9:31:56 GMT -5
Winston stared up at the ghost dinosaur. Was it… a miniboss, left by the villains for him to overcome? It gurgled at him, and he placed a cautious hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, but it didn’t do anything else. Huh. This was clearly some kind of plot development, but – as was becoming unfortunately standard in Aifam Cove – he had no idea where it was leading. Ally NPC, sudden villains, realization about death, heroic rebound… ghost dinosaur? He could really use a working journal right now. Something nuzzled him – something soft! He whirled around. It was a… giant, ghostly cotton ball? With a face? But no, it didn’t look like Kirby – it was a quadruped, and the general shape was more like a horse than anything else. Not that he could see much else through the hair. Which was, coincidentally, extremely blue. He squinted. Where had these two come from? Was this… oh! Mount selection! Here, he could either select a Yoshi or a… horse? It seemed oddly… bright. Was her texture file missing, resulting in a random colorfill? Half the mountain ranges on Oblivion were solid purple, from a misguided tangle with mods. The poor horse must have suffered the same fate. The choice of mounts might have been purely aesthetic, but going from past experience, Winston doubted it. The Yoshi could shoot fireballs and grab things with its tongue, which could be handy, but it had a considerable speed penalty, and – well, it didn’t look quite like a Yoshi, which had him suspicious. And riding on a nonstandard bipedal creature was often the work of dirty, cheating mods. The horse’s long hair most likely meant she had Frost Resistance – something which would be useful in Aifam’s passive environmental damage. And… hm. That was a lot of fluff. Probably Frost Immunity, and a Frost Resistance buff to himself (which would be nice if he was actually capable of taking environmental damage now, but he didn’t want to think about that). Probably a Sneak penalty, but Winston was not one to skulk in shadows unless duty called for it. …She also looked very comfy. It was decided! Winston swung his leg over the ethereal fluff horse and planted himself firmly on her back. “Go forth, noble steed!” Winston selects a mount for the upcoming mission! |
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Post by Kristykimmy on Apr 16, 2014 9:55:27 GMT -5
Anna drove back up in to the theater, but it was now abandoned, the mob having moved on. She looked inside the theater, without exiting the car, and was shocked by what she saw. There was a spectral fluffy pink pony playing tag with Fella. Winston walked up examining the two of them and then climbed on the back of the pony. “Go forth, noble steed!” he shouted. Anna dropped her head into her hands. “I've gone insane, haven't I? This is all a dream or something. I mean, murders and mobs and fluffy pink ponies, this can't be real, can it?” Anna muttered. She looked up again. “Hey, Winston, you failure of a hero character! Have any idea which way the mob went?” Antagonizing Winston while asking for information might not be the best move, but Anna was still a little a annoyed by his lack ability to understand what was going on, and being snubbed. Of course, now that he was a ghost too, she didn't know if they could hurt each other, but she had a large car. She wasn't scared of anything anymore. Anna spots Flufflepuff playing with Fella and starts to wonder about her sanity. Winston chooses Fluffle as his mount. Anna antagonizes Winston because she can. |
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Post by Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff) on Apr 16, 2014 10:32:08 GMT -5
I was silent.
Not as dramatic as Riel's but it'll have to do.
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Post by Liou on Apr 16, 2014 10:33:50 GMT -5
It felt amazing to dash through the town again, across any street he wanted, with no one and nothing to stop him. Not even the icy winter air could bother him by slamming into his face. He could leap over obstacles, but he didn't need to. He could leap on top of buildings, or simply fly up to them. Leo's prayer-fueled bike was classy, but not that convenient after all. Its speed came in erratic bursts. He had already used all of the main Weewoo prayers that he knew by heart, and now he had moved on to hymns and psalms, but he kept forgetting the words. He also ran out of breath from time to time -who knew a ghost could run out of breath? Ghosts were supposed to be able to ramble and moan for hours on end, weren't they? "Give up, Torgy," he shrieked, "you filthy, pimply rascal! You have nowhere to hide! I can follow the trail of grease that drips from your hair! I'm going to throw you into a mud and seaweed bath!" He had dashed through the walls of random buildings, trying to make up for his bike's delay. He was zig-zagging somewhere between the Chet Street and the Main Street groups, trying to help the latter keep track of Morty's position by sparkling brightly over the roofs. He whined in frustration as his bike slowed again. "Why won't you let us reach you with the magic of our looove!" They were in dire need of a magical girl. Leo could pull off that kind of cosplay any time, but even with his sparkles, he couldn't wield the same kind of magic as a pure young woman. Maybe he could whip up a costume for someone else? He looked back, remembering that there had been some charming ladies in the hunt. Miss Devon was probably with her horses at the Inn's stable, but that was a bit too far. He remembered that Melanie had been running close behind and took a sharp turn to catch up to her. He immediately let out a shriek and took another sharp turn, instinctively. It was a good idea to bring one of the dogs from the pet shop to help track Morty, but that dog was huge! "Nice puppy nice puppy," he squealed in a hoarse voice. Leo did not like big dogs, especially if they were trained to sniff out unsavoury characters. "I don't have any treats for you I'm sorryyy!" Panicked, he accidentally drove in the wrong direction. Suddenly, he found himself in front of a new Morty hunter. "Winnie! Hero of my heart!" Leo did another smooth, sharp turn so as to drive parallel to the gamer's mount. "I knew you wouldn't let us down! ... What is this..." Winnie seemed to be sitting on an abnormal amount of fluff, and that fluff appeared to be moving at a remarkably fast pace for a mound of fluff. It also had a lovely blue hue, and although it didn't seem as perfectly silky as the hair that Leo worked on, it looked absolutely lovely. It also had sparkly eyes. "Aaaawwww and who are you, adorable little creature?" Leo's voice promptly descended into adoring cooing. "Who's a cute little fluffball? Shall we go fetch the bad guy? Who wants to go play catch the bad guy? Then we can give him a shower, and a dress with bows! And then we can have a makeoveeeeer!" He already had plenty of ideas to accessorise Fluffle. Speedypost, I assume Fluffle and Winnie have already started to move, if not, welll panicked Leo was VERY panicked when he ran away from wolf!Mel. XD |
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Post by Diana on Apr 16, 2014 10:50:53 GMT -5
Winston patted his fluffy mount affectionately and pressed forward. It took a bit of time – maybe there was some control lag – but eventually she plodded forward, with a whicker that sounded rather like ‘pbbbblt’. “I’m sorry, maybe-Yoshi,” he called back to the maybe-Yoshi, “but duty calls! And she’s fluffy.” “Hey, Winston, you failure of a hero character! Have any idea which way the mob went?”What? How dare they! (Whoever they were.) His teeth gnashed as he wildly searched for the source of the insult. It was the cheater ghost from before! Winston saw red. She had the gall to insult him, while she pranced around with her boastful use of console commands?! “I’m more of a hero than you ever will be, you stupid godmoder!” he yelled back. He tried to steer his mount into knocking her over, but the controls were a little weird, and his fluffy steed pranced straight ahead. "Winnie! Hero of my heart!"At least the game included some positive reinforcement. Was his increased Charisma finally having an effect? Winston looked to the other side, and – he gasped. It was the stylomancer! He was instantly recognizable; his spirit was a clear representation of his inner self, glowing and glittering with the power of his intense fashion. He sat upon a motorbike that was every bit as magnificent as himself. Silver light sparkled across the theater floor, far brighter than any flashlight or lantern he’d ever seen included. Clearly, he was a Shiny Stylomancer now. Or had he always been, and merely hid his true identity under that heavy cloak! “Oh, cherished mentor!” he said, bowing low (and subsequently faceplanting in fluff). “Have you come to impart more wisdom of the magic of Style upon me?” "I knew you wouldn't let us down!” he continued, and Winston beamed. “And what is this...?"“She’s my mount!” Winston said proudly, but the stylomancer seemed to have other ideas. "Aaaawwww and who are you, adorable little creature?" he cooed. "Who's a cute little fluffball? Shall we go fetch the bad guy? Who wants to go play catch the bad guy? Then we can give him a shower, and a dress with bows! And then we can have a makeoveeeeer!"Winston frowned. He trusted in his mentor and the power of Style, but… this was his noble and proud steed! He was all for catching the bad guys, but the idea of riding a horse covered in bows just seemed a little… off. But this was his mentor’s spirit, and they always returned to impart great, secret knowledge… “Will it give me a Charisma boost?” he hesitantly asked. Winston valiantly plows forth in spite of naysayers, and reunites with the spirit of his mentor! |
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Post by Avery on Apr 16, 2014 11:03:10 GMT -5
You’d think a livid mob against two angry men would be a fool’s fight—a quick catch, a quick slash, and then a thrilled relief throughout the town. Alas, this fast and simple resolution did not come to fruition; Morty and Err were lithe and nimble, the mob was disorganized, and the streets were too icy for a classic game of chase. Instead, Morty and Err had soon holed up in an anonymous building, Err very much regretting heeding his brother-in-law’s call to arms, as the horde wended its way through Aifam Cove, attempting to sniff the two men out.
Sister Lucille Erata was at the head of the mob.
Gun in hand, she stormed through the streets of Aifam, desperate for some blood. That creep Morty Gunderson—with his righteous complex—slashing his way through all the townspeople: he deserved to pay! How dare he put people Lucille loved—people like Kylie—in danger. How dare he claim justice when really he was perverting it—when really he was nearly as bad as Winter’s Wrath, if not worse… because at least the mafia wasn’t claiming their murders as honorable…
Lucille did not expect the lynch mob to turn on her.
But the more they watched her… the longer they observed that grim, cold look of revenge that blanketed her face… the more a certain disconnect in their brains started to form. This was a nun, for ‘Woo’s sake. A sister of the feather. Where had she developed such anger, such spite, such bloody determination? Unless… this fury about Morty was not newfangled. Unless she’d always had venom surging through her blood—and the idea of killing at the forefront of her brain…
And so, as the throng continued its search for Morty, certain suspicions started to take hold. Certain dark thoughts about Sister Lucille. Whispers developed. Theories arose.
Lucille was so focused and determined that she did not hear the deliberations. She heard nothing, but for the wind and her conscience—that voice in her head demanding Morty’s throat.
It was Lucille’s throat that was split instead—with the same knife that killed Miko. She did not see it coming. She did not have time to fight or scream. And once she was dead, the townspeople let her body rest where it fell—at the corner of Fork and Stalberry—and then continued on. Confident that at least when they got Morty now, they’d have one less mafioso with whom to contend.
They were wrong.
**
The hunt for Morty stretched into the night.
**
Professor Leland G. Bardsley did not like being a ghost. That said, it did make traveling a whole lot easier—especially one he received pointers about efficient movement from one Diana Pallada, who had a healthy dose of experience. And traveling was good, because though Aifam Cove was terribly amusing, not everything Bardsley desired was in Aifam Cove.
Certain things laid elsewhere.
He’d started this particular vein of research before his death, actually. After he’d received that padded envelope through the slot, with that sweet, precious potion inside. You couldn’t give something like a revival potion to someone like Bardsley and expect for him not to undertake further exploration on its origins, its composition.
Its replicability.
He hadn’t gotten very far before having his throat slit in the Burger Hut—had been too busy with killing and plotting with his dear friends in Chill of the Night—but since then, he’d made significant progress (in between crooning venomous things into the ears of the surviving townspeople, of course). And today, as the Morty hunt continued under the pale white moon, Leland G. Bardsley had a visit to make elsewhere.
A very exciting visit.
“I tracked you through the hoarder,” he whispered to the old, shaking man, who sat in a wobbly armchair in the living room of his house a few hours outside Aifam Cove. “He’s senile now—a bit… difficult… to glean information from, you see.” Bardsley smiled crookedly. “At first it was all denial. Claims that he knew not what I was speaking of—and then, once he at least conceded that, he swore up and down that he couldn’t remember from where he’d gotten the potion. Told he me he’d brewed it himself. But that was a lie; I am very good at picking out liars, old man.” Bardsley ran his ghostly fingers along the old man’s wrinkled forehead, as the old man cowered and recoiled. “Finally, he gave me your name. And what a treat that was for me! I read up all about you, and that led me to such an interesting discovery, Mister Jackson. Seems we have a common friend!”
“Please,” murmured Archibald Jackson. “I—that potion was so long ago… I… wouldn’t be able to make it again… and it’s too potent, anyway… that’s why I sold it—it wasn’t natural, it…”
“Oh, I’m not relying on you,” leered Bardsley. “From you I merely wish to have your original notes and instructions. I plan to alter it anyhow, you see. And I’ve already found a very capable chemist of my own to make it for me.” He patted Archy Jackson on the arm. “You might know her, in fact. She’s a college student, a Chemistry major. Sweet girl, that Cassidy…”
Archy’s face fell. “No. Not my granddaughter—”
“She’s safe, for now,” Bardsley crooned. “But if you aren’t amenable with supplying me your notes, Mister Jackson…”
“I’ll get them,” he said, blinking back tears. “Please, just don’t hurt my granddaughter.”
“Don’t worry, Mister Jackson,” sang Leland G. Bardsley. “You can trust me. You can always trust me.”
Sister Lucille Erata was an INNOCENT TOWNSPERSON1
Continue hunting Morty for now... but things might change come morning...
(1A terrible criminal sure. But not a murdering mafioso.)
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Post by Gelquie on Apr 16, 2014 13:54:05 GMT -5
Kylie had taken more time than she thought getting to the stables and caring for the horses. But as mad as she was about Morty, she couldn't justify just leaving her horses in the cold without anyone to care for them. She wanted to check up on them constantly, and being stuck in the movie theater had taken a lot of her time. Finally though, she had finished, and she was beginning to saddle up Prue. She glanced over at the corner of Fork and Stalberry street and smiled slightly; Lucille did meet her there. She was glad she did; Kylie didn't want to go looking for her at a time like this. But... Something was wrong. They were crowding around Lucille, whispering to each other, coming up behind her, as if she had done something wrong... No, no... They were supposed to be hunting Morty! What were they doing?! Kylie gasped as she saw one of them flash a knife and she raced over to the edge of the gate, abandoned saddling Prue half-way through. "No, NO! Stop! Lucille! Behind yo--!" SLICE!The blood trickled down Lucille's neck, Lucille desperately trying to make a sound in her last gasps before crumpling to her knees, then the ground below her. "LUCILLE!!" Kylie cried, clutching the fence a scant few meters away. The mob chuckled to themselves before moving on, talking about how they finally got a mafioso. If... If she was... No, no, she couldn't believe it. Maybe she had her doubts in the past, but now that she was... Now that she was here... No. It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense! All thoughts of self-preservation left her, and Kylie rushed over to the fallen body of Lucille before turning her around. Kylie ignored the blood and put her hand on Lucille's chest. Let there be a beat, let there still be time, there's still time!Nothing. Lucille's heart was silent, as dead as her eyes looked now. "Lucille..." Kylie mumbled quietly, tears reaching her eyes. With a quivering hand, she reached over and closed Lucille's eyelids, one at a time. She then kneeled silently for a moment, taking in the terrible sight. If she had been quicker... If she had been there instead... If she hadn't told her to meet by the stables at all... Kylie wrapped her in a tight embrace, the pained sobs breaking through the stale air as Kylie wept into the shoulder of the lost Lucille Erata. Kylie finishes up with the horses and is about to go when she witnesses the death of Lucille. She doesn't make it to the crowd in time. She runs up to Lucille's corpse and cries.
Oh, and yes, Kylie is getting blood all over her. Screw being sanitary. |
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Post by Celestial on Apr 16, 2014 16:13:03 GMT -5
She smiled as they followed the mob around, making observations and watching what they did. Humans were so fascinating and it was impressive to watch history in the making. Aifam was so different from Wafflenet, which had displayed a fantastic mob mentality whereas Aifam was more of a study of the individual and their effect on history. Specifically, this Gunderson fellow. It was absolutely fascinating to Diana how mob mentality and individual actors clashed so beautifully here. But then, she got an unexpected treat: turns out there was mob mentality in Aifam. The woman who had been spearheading the hunt for Morty, who Diana noted was fascinatingly composed, suddenly found herself on the recieving end of the mob's wrath. Within a mere split-second, they had slit her throat and left her, dead. It was beautiful. The perfect back and forth between mob rule and individual actors, so similar and yet so different from Wafflenet. She spun in her place, laughing madly, delighted at how much fascinating research material she was getting. Her joy was short-lived, however, as she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye the pink fluffle that was Flufflepuff. Diana scowled. If she was here, the traitor was here too. But, catching Bardsley's eye, she had a feeling it did not matter. As soon as he had seen the woman fall, he began moving somewhere. Intrigued, Diana followed him, curious that perhaps there was something that she missed. Diana did not like having missing pieces. Missing pieces ment an inaccurate picture and inaccuracy was one of the worst things that could happen to a historian! She watched curiously, invisible to the stranger who Bardsley clearly knew. But as she listened, a smirk grew on her face. "What are you planning, Professor," she murmured, adjusting her glasses. Whatever it was, she was ready to observe, take notes and research. Oh yes. She was itching to get started but of course, she had to wait for events to end first. It was foolish to assume you knew the conclusion before the consequences had fully played out. That was the mark of a poor historian. ---- The last thing she felt was the blade on her throat. The last thing she heard was Kylie's crying, which sounded like a somebody was tearing her open and clawing out her insides. Which, metaphorically, what must have been happening. Lucille wanted to reach out to her, wrap her in a tight embrace and whisper comforting words in her ear but this was one death which she could not console Kylie over. This was not Aifam, however. Lucille was somewhere but it was no Aifam. The world swam in front of her, white, blue, gold, red, orange, black, all sorts of colours which she could not place. "There is nothing you can do, Lucille," said a voice on her shoulder. She turned and her eyes widened. On her shoulder was a weewoo, pure white except for the golden gleam of its beak and feet. It gazed at her with bright, dark eyes which were as old and wise as time itself. Lucille would have bowed except it would not have made much difference. "Lord 'Woo," she murmured and looked away. "I guess you're here to judge me." "Yes, Lucille. You're a tricky one," the weewoo chuckled. "Fascinating. You pretend to be your father when really, you bear the same sins as your mother." "I never killed anybody," she said quietly. "You were planning to, though Mr. Gunderson had it coming," the weewoo shook his head and fanned out his tail. "Either way, everything else is the same. Smuggling, lying, stealing, drinking, organised crime, sleeping around, swearing, wanton violence-" "Yeah, yeah, I get the picture," Lucille rolled her eyes. "So, I'm guessing I'm going down to rejoin my dear criminal mum then. Unless Father dad will come in and save my soul." "He tried to do that for your mother, unfortunately her sins were too great. She had accumulated too many in the nine years since his death, there was no saving here like he had done before," the weewoo chirped. "Did she blame it on me? She did become a criminal again in order to support me," Lucille sighed. "Though she enjoyed it. I remember. Mum always loved being a mafioso." "But that was what lead to her death and her codemnation," the weewoo turned around and looked Lucille right in the eye. "And now its your turn. Like mother, like daughter. Even if you were a sister, Lucille, you acted nothing like one." "Hey, I did what I could. And for all its worth, I never got as deep as mum. I went off and started my own enterprise. I tried to avoid her mistakes," Lucille rolled her eyes. "And hey, I tried to do the right thing, give me a [bleep]ing break here!" The weewoo fluttered off her shoulder but only to move to her other shoulder. "You just don't want to go, do you, Lucille?" he asked. "Darn right, I don't. I'm not letting this mafia take over my town or my operation. I'm better than they are, they should not just take over what I have!" she hissed, punching the air as though expecting a wall. "And there's Kylie. I don't want them to get her." "Kylie will be safe," the weewoo murmured but Lucille turned and glared at him. "Like hell she will be, in this hole of a town!" she suddenly grinned widely. "Say, Lord, what would I have to do to work off that huge[bleep] rap sheet you got for me?" "A few lifetimes. You have a long one, Lucille," the weewoo sighed. "Enough for me. I'm going to get rid of this mafia, somehow. I don't want those [bleep]ers to win," she shook her head and smiled. "I believe that's called purgatory, isn't it? And it is appropriate for me to be there, since I'm not as evil as my mum but nowhere near as holy as my dad." "Think on your sins then. I will return for you once it is over," the weewoo chirruped and took off from her shoulder. She suddenly snapped back to Aifam. Kylie was weeping over her body and Lucille leaned down next to her. Given how nobody was reacting to her, she was invisible. Perfect, she did not want the mafia to know she was here. Lucille's heart broke as she saw Kylie, covered in her blood and clutching at her body, her tears running trails through the red that marred her face. She leaned down and kissed her cheek, at least the one that had less blood on it and stroked her hair before she forced herself away from Kylie. First things first. Lucille drifted off towards the church, remaining invisible and careful to avoid ghosts and townspeople alike. The mafia might have taken over the town but she would be darned, quite literally, before they took from her everything else. Sister Meridith smoked. Lucille could sometimes smell it, even though she tried to hide it. So first and foremost, she needed Sister Meridith's lighter. Diana rejoices in watching the mob turn on Lucille and then follows Bardsley, wondering what he was planning.
Lucille wants to comfort Kylie but ends up talking to the Lord Woo himself. They discuss her parents and her sins, of which there are many, before she asks the Lord Woo to grant her purgatory to get rid of these mafiosos in Aifam. He agrees and Lucille returns as a ghost. She stalks off to the church to find Sister Meridith's lighter. |
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Post by Jayeee on Apr 16, 2014 17:08:36 GMT -5
Travis missed murder. It had only started off as a fun plan to get more viewers and usurp The Hunger Games, but he hadn't quite realised just how exciting it would become. The Travis Games were a huge success, even if their main star had died along the way. Being a television celebrity was a cut-throat lifestyle after all, so what was wrong with him taking that literally? He was a star, and he could do absolutely anything he wanted. He'd been following the mob from some distance, narrating their movements for his audience's pleasure as he floated above the rooftops. He'd overheard that they were searching for the man who organised the movie event, so all he had to do was stay close and he'd find the fool who chose The Hunger Games. That idiot couldn't even be civilised enough to play a rerun of Travis Richem IN YOUR FACE!? The nerve! And that's how Travis came to view his beloved Rachel's death. In truth, he was just a little sad that he hadn't got to kill her himself. After she'd thrown some sort of vodka at him that had left him writhing in pain for a good while, he was itching for some killing even more. And what drama that would add to their relationship. He could picture the scene now – she'd confess that she had the baby without him knowing, and then sold it off for money. He'd slap her, and then she'd cry and the audience would boo whenever her face was shown on screen. It would be perfect. And then he'd have no choice – in a fit of rage her throat would be slashed and he would stand triumphant and heroic, covered in blood and glory. It would have been quite a sight to behold. But none of that worked now. Because she was killed by mere townspeople. As if Rachel could have been in his career pack - she had their child to look after, and that was a full-time job! Travis could vaguely make out somebody still with Rachel's body, long after the mob had walked away. As he floated closer, he saw that it was Claire. Oh, this had worked out perfectly after all. There was always room for drama! “How could this happen?” he cried as he neared the corpse, staring wide-eyed as Claire hugged it. “You killed her!” He pointed dramatically at Claire. “I know just what happened! In a jealous fit of rage, you pounced on the woman carrying my child, begging her to let me go so that you could have a piece of me! But she resisted, said that we were going to have a family. You were crazy – crazy with love, and not knowing what else to do. So you killed my poor Rachel!” Travis knelt down beside them, sobbing loudly into his hands. “If only I had been here in time. I would have told you that i'd have you both and then she'd still be alive!!” He wept for some time, before eventually muttering, “Maybe if she'd been in my career pack, then she would still have been alive.” He thought about this a little. “Oh, if somebody had to kill her, why couldn't I have been the culprit? She could have died from exhaustion after one of my sessions.” Travis sighed to himself. “I suppose that's just one less person to fight over my heart. Let's not dwell on this though, Claire. In light of recent tragedy, i'll give you whatever you want. Tongue, thighs; they're all yours.” Travis watches Rachel's death and laments that he wasn't able to kill her himself, because she's sold his child. However, because she was killed by the town instead of him, he has to think up a new plan. He finds Claire still with Rachel's body and accuses her to killing his beloved baby-carrier because she wanted him too. After weeping over this, he offers himself to Claire as a way to get over the tragedy. |
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Post by Rosalie Dylas (Maddy) on Apr 16, 2014 17:35:30 GMT -5
“How’re you doing, Chris?” she asked. “Holding up okay?”"Never better." he said, smiling. It was nice to smile. Smiling was so odd though. He never imagined it would look like. It was still hard for him to grasp emotion through facial expressions. It was so much easier to tell through voices. He didn't think he would ever get used to seeing things. The mob turned against the nun, who despite firing a gun sounded nice, sounded safe. Christopher was beginning to realize nothing was really safe. He didn't look this time. He saw someone pull out a knife (it was the same one that killed Miko). He wasn't going to watch her die. He put his hands over he face and close his eyes. He had to be sure he wouldn't see her die. "Blood. Once it starts it doesn't ever stop." he mumbled, slowly letting his hands slip from his face, "I want to go somewhere we there isn't blood." Someone else with a voice that seemed sweet like cake, not Everington cake that tasted like sand and the lingering of meat though he was sure that wasn't the cake itself just his mind telling him so, and not Ris' apology cake (which could probably take out an entire town by itself) something nice and rich with creamy icing on it, had Lucille in their arms. They were getting that horrible color red all over them. Christopher knew they didn't care, not right now. That color red meant life but if you saw it, it meant death. Blood only works if its inside of you. Then Travis Richem came and started crying. He was saying nonsense, complete and utter nonsense. Despite being terrified of him Christopher went over to him. Travis should just leave them alone, couldn't he see this person with a cake flavored voice was upset? He tapped Travis on the shoulder. "Umm...Mr. Richem I think you should leave them alone right now." Christopher grows a spine and tells Travis to leave Kylie alone with Lucille's body.
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Post by PFA on Apr 16, 2014 17:40:01 GMT -5
Cassidy was tired of chasing Morty. She was tired of hunting, tired of death, just... tired. So as the mob continued through the town, Jonathan took poor Cassidy back to the dorms, where they could get some peace and quiet. At first they just relaxed, eating frozen yogurt and reminiscing over the old days. Thinking back to their carefree childhood was nice, but... bittersweet. After all that had happened here in Aifam Cove, would they ever really be that carefree again? Things looked bleak for the little seaside town, but Cassidy didn't want to give up. No matter how useless she felt, how overwhelmed, she still wanted to do something. Ultimately, she decided to confide in her friend, showing him her notes. Investigation notes, but also... something else. "My grandpa was a miracle worker, when he was younger," she explained. "He made remarkable scientific discoveries; he could have changed medicine as we know it if he wanted to. He... even made a potion that could bring someone back to life." "Are you serious?" Jonathan gasped. Cassidy nodded. "I actually called him the other day to ask about it. I thought, y'know, if we had a potion like that, maybe we could make a difference here. Maybe we could do something about all of the deaths." She sighed, her eyes glazed over with a dull longing. "He said he didn't remember all the details, but he told me a little about it, and I took some notes..." "Do you... actually think you could recreate it?" Jonathan asked hopefully. "I... don't know. I'd like to," Cassidy admitted. "But I don't know the whole recipe, and I don't have all the ingredients I'd need, anyway..." "Oh, that can be arranged, Miss Jackson."Both Cassidy and Jonathan watched in horror as the ghost of Professor Bardsley floated through the door, carrying with him a small stack of papers. Cassidy gasped, leaping to her feet. "Wh-what are you doing here?!" she shrieked. "Oh good, it worked," Professor Bardsley remarked, rifling through the papers in his hand with a pleased smile. "It turns out ghosts can bring solid objects with them through walls. I'm sure Ms. Boudreaux would be pleased to know that." "What do you want, Bardsley?" Jonathan spat. "I've been doing some research of my own," Professor Bardsley told them simply. "I'm sure you remember Ms. Dywight, yes?" Cassidy swallowed hard, but said nothing. "Before her unfortunate demise, she gave me something," he continued. "A very valuable item, which she oh-so-innocently trusted to me. A small vial, containing a very potent potion... she claimed it to have the power to give life back to the dead. I'm sure you've heard of it?" "...Oh, 'Woo, no," Cassidy breathed. Suddenly, it all made sense. "Th-that broken vial in your coat...?" "Precisely." Professor Bardsley smiled politely, handing Cassidy the stack of papers. "I was able to track down the man who'd created the potion—your grandfather—and brought with me his notes on how to make it. With these, it should be easy for you to recreate it. I would be more than happy to provide you with the necessary ingredients, as well." Cassidy frowned, glancing through the notes. This was definitely her grandfather's handwriting, but... "You destroyed the potion. Why would you want me to make another one?" "Isn't it obvious?" The professor spread his arms apart, emphasizing his ghostly form. "The one flaw with your grandfather's potion was that it only worked on the recently killed. I imagine it wouldn't be too difficult for a Chemistry major to correct that, though, hm?" "...You want to revive yourself," Jonathan realized. "Naturally," was Professor Bardsley's reply. "As well as Lindsey, of course. Perhaps Richem and Boudreaux as well, who knows?" " No," Cassidy hissed, pages crumpling slightly in her clenched fists. "I would never do that for you." "Are you sure about that, Miss Jackson?" Professor Bardsley cooed, delicately picking up a scarf that Cassidy had left on the doorknob. "Perhaps what you need is a little... added incentive." Jonathan tensed as the professor strode confidently toward him, pulling the scarf taut. "Wh-what are you—?!" "NO!" Cassidy shouted, but it was too late. In one swift motion, Professor Bardsley had wrapped the scarf around Jonathan's neck, pulling hard. Jonathan gasped for breath, struggling against the professor's grasp. "If you do as I say, you can save his life," Professor Bardsley sneered, a downright murderous grin crossing his face. "What will you do, Miss Jackson?" "OKAY! Okay, I'll do it!" Cassidy cried, choking back tears. "Just— don't kill him, please!" "I'm sorry," Professor Bardsley replied, in a sickeningly sly voice, "but I want to make certain you do it right." " NO—!" But it was too late. Jonathan breathed his last breath, collapsing lifelessly to the floor. And all Cassidy could do was watch, tears welling up in her eyes. This... this couldn't be happening. Her teacher had just killed her best friend."There," Professor Bardsley said, dropping the scarf carelessly to the floor. "Now you'll have to get the potion right if you want to bring him back." Cassidy did her best to stammer out a reply to this, but no words came out. It had been hard to believe before, but this... there was no denying it anymore. Her teacher was a coldblooded murderer. "You may test the potion on your friend here." Professor Bardsley spoke in a cold, professional tone, like he didn't even care. He didn't even care. "Once you have a working prototype, you will deliver the finished potion to me. Again, let me know which ingredients you will need; I'll be more than happy to provide them." He smiled at her. "I expect you will do an excellent job, Miss Jackson." And with that, Professor Bardsley exited the room, leaving Cassidy alone to cry over her friend's body. Professor Bardsley asks Cassidy to modify the revival potion for him, giving her the added incentive of her dead friend to get it right. Cassidy is forced to agree to it. |
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Post by Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff) on Apr 16, 2014 18:54:04 GMT -5
Fluffle turned her head to look at her rider. Did he just mount her without her permission? But oh, that heroic gaze in his eyes! She pondered this a while. That was it! He was the savior of the town and would show her what was going on! Fluffle whinnied excitedly. The rats would go back home! Everything would be back to normal! And then a ghost who nearly blinded Fluffle floated through. Fluffle took a step back, all at once intimidated by the roar of his motorcycle and the blinding shinyness. But then he spoke and her fears were at once assuaged. "Aaaawwww and who are you, adorable little creature?" Leo's voice promptly descended into adoring cooing. "Who's a cute little fluffball? Shall we go fetch the bad guy? Who wants to go play catch the bad guy? Then we can give him a shower, and a dress with bows! And then we can have a makeoveeeeer!" Play? Adorable? Shower? BOWS?! MAKEOVER?! Fluffle wagged her tail madly. She whinnied to the velociraptor to follow, reared up, and charged out the theater after nuzzling Leo. Playing Catch the Bad Guy was going to be so much fun! The town was nice, she thought, Pbbplt-ing happily. And she wondered why the rats, and how anyone else, could leave it. ----------------------------- Alma gazed in horror as she saw the throat of the mafia nun being slit right in front of her. The fish hit the pan. It was over. The mafia couldn't stand now that another one of them had been killed....could it? No, no, no, this was wrong. Any loss of life...the deaths were getting to her more and more, so much blood, it wasn't worth anything. It wasn't the price she could pay, watching everything dissolve in front of her for the sake of-- Alma buried her face into Endre's shoulder. He understood, though he was shaken very much by the murder, and gripped her around the waist. So this was what she would have faced had the crowd latched onto her instead...He took a deep breath and clutched her. "Listen to me, my Soul," he hissed, his voice wavering with emotion. "We're going to get out of here. Just you, me, and Lynna once she's found." Alma gulped through her tears. There was something important she didn't want to tell him...Right after discovering Lili's corpse, Alma had felt something poke her in her bag. A test? Why not? she'd thought bitterly. It was just a plain old circle. No lines, no special markings, nothing. Just a plain old circle. Just stress. Just nothing. Just a plain circle. No baby. Alma sobbed harder and clung desperately to her sturdy cliff. "Please don't leave again....I can't leave...I can't..."
Fluffle is being cute and takes to Leo like a fish to water, Alma is not pregnant.
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Post by Avery on Apr 16, 2014 19:43:28 GMT -5
There's a difference between wanting to set off back towards the inn, and actually doing so... and it took Bea a while to finally leave that theatre and head back towards the Stallion Inn. By the time she had, a sick-looking Nathan had wandered off, and so had most everyone else. Bea walked slowly, Merry trailing at her side and giving concerned licks at Bea's hand. The dog could clearly tell that Bea was not in a good frame of mind. Bea had almost made it back when... she turned her head. And saw the strangest thing up ahead, at the corner of Fork and Stalberry: Kylie. Sitting there, sobbing hysterically, covered in blood. Stars danced in Bea's vision as she tried to reconcile the scene. Kylie wasn't alone; there was a body in her arms, its throat opened... and a ghost, too, hovering about-- that Richem guy again and-- Bea ran over to her daughter's side. All that blood, so much blood. She... was Kylie hurt? As Bea wrapped her arms around her daughter, she examined Kylie's shaking form for any injuries, but found no. This wasn't her blood, then. "Kylie," she murmured. "Kylie-- sweetheart-- w-what happened?" She looked down at Lucille's corpse. "Did she... was it the mafia or..." She stroked her daughter's hair. "Oh Kylie, I'm so sorry..." And Bea was sorry-- but also terrified. Because she'd been right with her warning to Lucille, about the danger in chasing after Morty. And she knew that though this time it had been the nun... it could have easily been Kylie. She'd been this close to losing Kylie. She could not bear the idea. "I'm so sorry," she kept on whispering. "I love you, Kylie, I love you..." Bea finds Kylie and embraces her, realizing how close she came to losing her daughter. |
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Post by Tiger on Apr 16, 2014 21:43:03 GMT -5
“Oh ‘Woo – “ Cheryl had stepped into the inn for less than a minute – less than a minute! – to see where Sister Erata was – and when she stepped back outside it was to see the mob converging on Lucille, the nun’s blood spraying, Kylie running but too late to stop anything… Again there was nothing she could do to stop it – nothing but hold back the urge to scream at the mob because they might come after her next, and to hold back tears of fury and grief because she was supposed to be one of the pillars of Aifam. Kylie was sobbing and rapidly soaking in blood. She heard Christopher speaking, and managed to get the camera up on him in time to see the ghost’s hands falling from his face - he’d at least covered his eyes this time. maybe. Did it still work when your hands were semi-transparent? "Blood. Once it starts it doesn't ever stop. I want to go somewhere we there isn't blood."Just a minute ago, she’d asked how he was doing and he’d smiled and said ”Never better.” He hadn’t meant it but things had been looking up – they were the dream team, they were going to stop the mob and save Morty Gunderson even though he didn’t deserve it and now… Cheryl Roxanne Lewis had been a reporter for years. She knew there was a frustration sometimes in only covering the news, in reporting everything – everything – but only after the fact, when it was too late to do anything. That was why she investigated – why she nosed as half the town put it – because even in Aifam, tiny, peaceful Aifam, it hurt to be too late all the time. But she had never succumbed to that helpless feeling. She’d never let it take her over or make her job feel like little more than a condor over other people’s misery. She’d never considered that the feeling of uselessness would swallow her with no cameras in sight. She didn’t even have to be a reporter to be completely futile – she just had to be thirty seconds too late. Beatrix Devon arrived as the mob vanished. Cheryl’s stomach writhed. She went to Chris’ side, unable to think of anything to say, and pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to speak clearly even if she could. And just as decay followed death – here came Travis Richem. She didn’t see him, only heard – she wasn’t going to turn the camera on Lucille and Kylie – but there was no mistaking that awful voice. Richem babbled and whined and pretended to cry and Cheryl’s grief and frustration with herself very, very quickly transmorphed into something hot and furious and very, very targeted on one person in particular. I don’t know what he can do as a ghost…but – Christopher went forward to confront him. Christopher – he had to know Travis Richem was part of the mafia who had killed him, but he was approaching the ghost anyway? "Umm...Mr. Richem I think you should leave them alone right now." Polite to a fault. The earbud Cheryl had in her ear fell out and she stooped to pick it up, using two fingers to slip it the bud back into the camera case. Her fist clenched and shaking, Cheryl strode forward to join Christopher. “Leave. Now,” she warned. “I’m giving you one. Single. Chance.” Cheryl gets angry and tells Travis he has one chance to move it or lose it. |
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Post by Gelquie on Apr 16, 2014 22:08:01 GMT -5
Between the blood, the tears, and her despair for the loss of Lucille, Kylie didn't immediately take note of what was going on in her surroundings. For a moment, she thought she had felt her again, felt the familiar hand on her hair and the kiss on her cheek... But when Kylie snuck a glance, she saw nothing. Just a vision... A vision of what she wished, what she wanted... Not a vision of what happened... Then she caught sight of another ghost approaching. She couldn't see very well with the tears in her eyes, but soon, he spoke. ...Travis. “How could this happen?” Travis cried out in anguish, though Kylie doubted his sincerity. You killed her!”With that, Travis launched into a huge rant about how she killed him out of jealousy for him... But only one phrase went through her head. You killed her. You killed her. You killed her.She was only jarred out of her mantra with Travis' proposal to... make due with him. Kylie wanted to wave him away, to tell him to go away... But her energy was gone, the words dying before they reached her throat. Instead, she gave him a short glare before continuing to sob into the corpse of Lucille. She heard other things; Chris commenting on the scene, a dripping sound, shouts in the distance, the footsteps of her mother rushing towards her, Cheryl approaching the scene, giving Travis an ultimatum. For him to go away. Yes, Travis was mad... But was he completely wrong? The thoughts surged through her head. She did kill her, really. She killed her by not being fast enough. By not being loud enough to catch her attention to the mob. For not seeing it coming. For not being smart enough. For not being protective enough. For not sticking by Lucille at a time like this. For making her draw attention to herself to protect her. For not being able to protect herself. For not being able to help the rest of the town. For being completely useless. Kylie let out a strangled sob as she thought of it. "Lucille, I-I'm... I'm sorry." Kylie felt arms go over her. Did... Had she come--?! No. Not Lucille. Not Lucille... Nevermore. It was her mother... Checking her for wounds, stammering... Enveloping Kylie in a hug. "I'm so sorry," Beatrix whispered. "I love you, Kylie, I love you..."Kylie could only glance at her mother, unwilling to let go of Lucille. Until Kylie decided to compromise; wrapping one bloody arm around her mother, the other keeping Lucille close. "I-I know mom... I-I..." Kylie stammered out. "I love you too." Kylie continues to cry over Lucille's corpse. She doesn't have the energy to really fight back against Travis, and ends up internalizing his accusation. She accepts her mother's hug, one arm around Bea, one arm around Lucille.
You don't want to know what their laundry bills for those clothes would look like. |
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