2020-07-07 Do you want fries?
Do you want fries
Participants: Otto
Storyteller: Nakisisa
Location: Skid Row
Date and Time: July 07, 2020- 1:00 am
Summary: Happy meal!
The last few nights, rumors have been coming out of Skid Row of a man with a saw offed shotgun, murdering folks point-blank in the face.
He laughs leaving behind a McDonald's happy meal at each of the crime scenes. He is called The Crimson Laugher, due to the weird items, and the laughing that is found left on the bodies with a tape recorder, he is wearing gloves no fingerprints. He is only killing homeless, streetwalkers, there is a case file open but the cops are in no real rush to find out the who and the why. But each time there is a finger painting in the crimson blood of something that looks kinda like Bodach.
The Bodach has been quiet at first, in the wake of his experience on the rooftop. Whether out of remorse or a simple hesitation to act The Bodach had been inactive. It was inevitable though, given Otto's journalistic bent, that he began to hear of this Crimson Laugher. Following up on leads, speaking with those who had allegedly 'heard' the tapes firsthand and described the scenes the murderer left the self-realization of the course he must take spurred Otto to action. It wasn't hard to find samples of the tape recordings or pictures of the drawing, and then The Bodach began to move. His obfuscated course about the rooftops made wide, intertwining, concentric circles as he listened in on life below and sought some kind of pattern to the locations. In the back of his head however his dread grew, knowing full well what was happening.
It is the skill of Otto's that leads him to the right spot those tapes, have the sound of the bar and playing trap rap and country. These are only in the jukebox in the whole of Skidrow, called the Wrinkle Cowpoke. It's a fucking dive bar. But the sound would be from the room next door, old hotel long abandoned, too rundown even for the homeless to live in, and he can find himself on the roof across from it. A few candles are burning in the once fantastic penthouse, but it is genuinely a shithole after all these years.
The Bodach creeps about atop the roof he found himself on, glancing over ledges to the space below and gauging the current patterns of life. His gaze flicked to the hotel across from him over and over as he considered his course, clearly wracked with indecision. Replaying the scene with Ronald in his head, his nerves seemed to steel and he hopped into a crouch on the building's ledge, looking for an entry point into the derelict hotel that either lacked glass or failing that, would prove the least obtrusive to the world about them.
The skylight seems to truly be the best way in not cause of comics. There is no candle in that room, he is not using it for anything. It leads right into what would have been the old master bedroom, it is empty of the glass long since smashed. The rusted metal is open to the rain, and the elements down below will be nasty, given you know they left all the beds and other knickknacks from the heyday of 40 years ago.
Powerfully corded muscles tense up beneath The Bodach as his eyes find his point of entry. Leaping up and across to clear the gap, he attempts to launch himself onto the hotel's roof as quietly as he can, rolling in his coat to muffle his landing as he continues to reconnoiter what was in all likelihood a trap. If nothing else, The Bodach has learned something of guile, avoiding silhouetting himself in the skylight as he cuts down on angles to try and peer in. Then, the dark call of his gifts. Reaching out to the vermin inhabiting the building he tries to call to the rats (because... bats probably wouldn't live with some deranged murderer) so as to try and glean a better picture of the inside of the hotel.
The building's lower floors are rubbish so hard to get around in but there is an elevator shaft and a fire escape that he is using and they give all the answers. These are the rats that have lived here the longest, they are the true OG's. He is living on the top floor with himself and his gun, and one hell of painkiller addict it seems, he pops them like a bad habit, the rats over the years have seen many of them come and go out of this place, but now he is the only one there. He is right now in what was once the tub, passed out in a drugged stumper.
Offering the rats - many bound symbiotically to the Nosferatu's extensive spawning pool - a few nips at his hand in thanks, Otto's brow furrows in concentration as he begins to creep toward the skylight. Forgoing dramatics for stealth, he drops down into a crouch in an attempt to swing himself down as quietly as possible. Even if the man -is- knocked out, drug addicts are skittish. His obfuscation is called back up as he swings down to the ground floor, trying to mentally piece together the 'reports' from his vermin scouts to deduce where the bathroom is.
The man lands right on the bed, everything around it is broken glass and broken metal, it would have been a lot of noise if he missed it. But he is able to land with skill, and poise the rats showing him the bathroom is three rooms over, it will be an effort to do it quietly, due to the trash and the garbage, the troublesome things that come with abandon old buildings.
Shaking his head, The Bodach regards the darkened room with distaste as he tries to plot a course toward the bathroom. 'Kill for darkvision at this point...' he mused to himself, tugging on the lapels of his coat as he began to enact his route, stepping gingerly down from the bed. His eyes narrow and dart about suspiciously, even with the information the rats had provided, first in the direction of the elevator shaft and then up toward the corners of the room - looking for digital surveillance that would certainly make his veil of obfuscation look puzzling to any observers.
There is no camera, nothing watching him.
Reasonably reassured, if still cautious, The Bodach sets off toward the bathroom, doing his best in the low light to avoid kicking anything about or stepping on anything too egregious. Every noise causes his shoulders to hunch further. Maintaining both his disguise -and- the obfuscation hiding him from view is perhaps too strenuous for the neonate in his present state, and so overelongated limbs creep with furtive steps as his gnarled and multijointed arms pad the air about him.
The man is passed the fuck out, needles around him and the pain pills around it he is fucking dead to the world.
The bathroom is well very shitty, awful, just fucking downright slummy. There is him in the fucked up tub, it is large enough to be a bed for three fucking folks. But now there is one passed out Ronald, his wig is covered in blood. His right eye is swollen shut, and his teeth are cracked, some of them missing the side of his head is bruised, bloody he has not showered since that night.
The clown is fucked up and out of it easy to grab the shotgun is against the window that is cracked, with broken window. The smell of the shitty outside world coming into the hotel, garbage, and unwashed fucking body.
Padding to the window, Otto reaches out to grab the shotgun, intending to bend the barrel. He tenses again as he casts another glance at the battered and bloodied man, choler raising in his humours and threatening to boil over.
The barrel is bent into a weird pretzel, as he starts to hear the cracking of the fucking metal. The man is limp, as he starts to sweat in the grasp of the kindred.
"Look what we've done - the people that died because you failed to act..." Otto murmured to himself, descending back into that borderline schizophrenic conversation - if slightly worse, given the distinction between the 'two entities.' "We have to do it now. You don't have a choice. The Masquerade."
Otto trembled, scowling as he shook his head, "There's something that can be done. There must be... we don't HAVE to live like this..." he argued, starting to shake the man in his other hand while tossing the shotgun down to the bathroom floor.
The man wakes up quickly, as he starts to pant now he is fucking filled with fear and rage. "WHAT THE FUCILCVKFDKDJ FUCKING FUCKXCSLKASJK NDFJHDSOES." Words tumbling out of his lips, as he starts to bite and snarl, he is long gone into madness. "DEATH TO THE POOR! DEATH DEATH DEATH! MAKE EM FUCKING PAY! THEY SUMMONED THE MONSTERSSSSS! I WILL PURGE PURGE PURGE!"
The Bodach is deaf to his screaming, his brow furrowing in concentration as his argument continued. Shaking the man again, trying to jar his ranting, he snarled to himself. "Look at it! This is what we've done!" he spat, eyes darting around as he searched the floor for some kind of full source of pain killer as he finally snapped at the clown. "Shut up! You're the only 'monster' here. We proved you wrong!"
"KILL PURGE CLEAN CLEAN CLEAN! WORTHLESS WEAK PATHETIC! IT IS WAY TO KILL THE IDEA! THE IDEA IS THE FLESH! THE IDEA IS THE MAN! BODACH IS THE IDEA! KILL THE POOR! PURGE PURGE PURGE!" These words coming out of the mad man in the hands, as he starts to cackle, his hand is moving back and forth as he kicks around in the air. "FUCK THE WHORES WITH SWITCHBLADES! BITCH MADE WITH A SWITCHBLADE!"
SNap crackle pop, Kellogs dead clowns coming soon to a tv near you.
Tossing the body down, The Bodach turned quickly, hunching over as he clutched at his own head. "W-We're supposed to better, and now we're the same. Just like them!" he raved to himself, spitting and hissing in a mixture of fury and regret.
"Don't be stupid. We're not the same - we tried. We failed. We created this. It's a learning experience! Pull yourself together. It's time to go," he snapped, shaking his head as he glanced around the dilapidated bathroom before pulling out his burner phone. <English>
The body is done there is no more fucking clown, the monster is fucking gone.
The Bodach's exit is hasty. Coat flying out behind him, he storms from the bathroom as he stuffs his phone back into a pocket and moves for the skylight. It's not too difficult an exit, between his height and strength. A simple leap, and then a flip up to the rooftop. He casts another glance down into the hotel penthouse before shaking his head and fleeing, back across the rooftops and toward the safety of the Nosferatu warrens.
