2020-06-19 GWTW: An Olfactory Slap In The Face

An Olfactory Slap In The face

Participants: Clint

Storyteller: Nate

Location: An alleyway in Elysian Heights

Date and Time: June 19 2020

Summary: Hey, free shrooms!

Since the 1910s, Elysian Heights, along with a few neighbouring areas has been home to many of the counter-culture, political radicals, artists, writers, architects and filmmakers in Los Angeles. Thus while there is a bit of money here, this is a far cry from the fancy mansions of the truly rich. There's an air of creativity, chaos and freedom of expression; graffiti isn't uncommon even if it's usually of the political or artistic bent rather than gang signs, and there are a good few hipster-ish cafes with decent dumpster hauls if you get the right day.

It is earlyish, most folk either still in bed or out to work. A good time to wander and see what is what. And indeed, what is that smell? An alleyway running between and behind a couple shops has a curiously rotting-sweet smell wafting from it, probably too faint for most humans, but as clear as a slap in the face for someone more accustomed to trusting their nose.

It's not even so much the food, something Clint won't pass up, but its the interesting doodads that can be found on the garbage of the neighborhoods with more money. They are so much more willing to throw away things that are still usable or can be with little effort. And better yet, are the things that are just plain interesting that find their way into dumpsters. Old things that have meaning. After some dumpsters are checked with nothing interesting found, it's time get get in some more before everyone gets on the move. being homeless and o=f his size draws more attention than he wants. That one over there looks good based on how colorful the signs are near it and he slips along the buildings. Destined for the dumpster until he smells something. His eyes close and his nostrils flare as he takes in the scent. Working to try to pinpoint bother where and what it is. Opening his eyes, he follows it, moving always towards where the scent is stronger.

Over there. A bit more. Yeah, a bit more. Behind a dumpster there is what looks like a pile of soggy clothing; jeans, a thick coat despite the temperate LA climate, and - oh, hey. There's a dead person in the clothing. Or at least, one would hope they're dead given the state of the body. Covered in patches of tiny mushrooms which seem to be growing from the skin rather than the fabric.

"Free clothes." Says the large man as he get's closer. Then Clint get's a better look and lets out a heavy breath. First those won't fit and you can't wash dead guy out. But it's...well he did find something interesting. He finds a stick, old spatula or something. Something so he doesn't have to actually touch anything so he can investigate. He uses the impliment to push the clothes around, lifting what he can to get a better look at the corpse. "Huh? I...huh..." More prodding at the clothes then at a mushroom to see if it really is attached or not. "This odd."

Yep. Those mushrooms are quite firmly attached, growing from the corpse. While this isn't uncommon for mushrooms, they don't normally sprout like this in the city, and not on a corpse quite so *fresh* as this either. The guy has probably only been dead a few days, but the spread of shrooms on what skin is visible is quite extensive.

Another culprit could be a Grey Mass possession, which bears some similarities to this, except that their mushrooms are generally not of the psychoactive kind.

Pokepokepoke. Prodprodprod. Yep. Attached. "This..odd." Clint looks around, checking to see if there's anyone watching him. "Wonder..." He closes his eyes and concentrates, drawing on a power blessed upon him by the spirits. The power to sense taint cause by the wyrm and it's minions. Eyes open and he leans in close to the body, staring and taking in a long breath through his nose. "Damn. This bad." He digs around in his fanny pack, pulling out a flake of obsidian still there from how arrow making then rummages around to find something, anything to use as a container. No good choices. A big cup? A bowl? Hell a plastic bag? Bad time if day apparently. He raids a recycling bin and grabs some cardboard. Stacking several boxes in the hopes there's enough absorbency to not drip dead guy all around town. With his box with smaller boxes inside, he used the flake to carve off some thick chunks where the heaviest fungal growth is and put it in the box. Keeping an eye out as he does for people and an eye on the sky to make a guess at the time.

It's still early; the shops on this row don't open until later in the day when their target audience is up and out of bed, so Clint probably has a good hour before anyone thinks about taking out the trash from the day before. And with those nested boxes, there's enough absorbency to cope with a little dead-guy blood. Just, you know, not for hours. Cardboard is only so strong.

Clint blows out a breath and looks at the sky some more. "Damn. I can not just..." He shake his head and digs in his fanny pack to pull out some materials. A stick, twine, a lighter, sticks of colored chalk and a tiny plastic fireball bottle. Concentric circles full of symbols are drawn around the body. Trying to be quick so he can get it done and get moving. Twine is wrapepd around the stick to make a tiny torch that is lit and he walks around the circle, sprinkling water from his tiny bottle and holding the little torch out. Growling as well as he can with his human throat until he lets out what passes for a howl to drive the taint away. Without time to try it again and needed to go, he hopes it worked and grabs his box. Getting rid of the chalk lines to hide the ritual and he leaves with the samples. "Wonder where from..."

As well as getting the sense that the local spirits have responded to the rite favourably, and that the body should now be cleansed of taint, the howl is accompanied by a good proportion of the magic mushrooms wilting, falling from the body into the clothing or onto the ground. In addition, little puffs of spores emanate out from the wilted shrooms.

Clint stops as he's walking away and looks at the body. The mushrooms laying on the ground and the spores. "Damn. Um...danger maybe.." He turns back around and He balls up a hand, like a tube and puts it up to his lips. He concentrates and walks over to the body, exhaling through his fist-tube as he gets close and a gout of fire spews outward to cover the body, getting the mushrooms and spores as it does. He drops his little fireball bottle and lighter burning body near the after wiping them off on his shirt to get prints off. Might provide answers to investigators. "Sorry can not give better." Is said softly to the corpse before he gets back on the move. Best not to be anywhere near here when people start to look.