The Story So Far: Summary: Kit comes home from a carnival, unhappy with the way his life is going. Detective Mike, is investigating a crime scene discovering that it's another victim in the occult-like killings that have been going on around town, he returns to his office to "take a break". During all this, Vince is out killing mafioso's that have put a price on his head, along with Kit's estate being under siege by vampires that could be linked to the killings. Detective Mike is called to investigate the possible homicide... for plot reasons. That is where we're leaving off. Ritz Intro: The carnival is starting to die down as people begin to return back to their lofty mansions or floating ships, that sail upon the black sea of electrified clouds. There are still a few here that are eating some of the "healthy" food and riding the roller coaster that wraps around the ship that the carnival is built upon. Unsettling piano music still echoes out into the night, the sounds of carnies laughing and shouting can be heard coming from the tent. (Sorry for the lackluster intro) Shuffler Intro: The whistle blows, work time is over its time to head home. Your feet tense up with each step on the cobblestone road, no carriage is dumb enough to travel these streets anymore. But... there is the chance that one might come and it'd be lights out for good; after all that's how Tommy died, and he was stuck by lighting twice. You jog down the street, a few 'escorts' whistle at you as you pass. You're almost home, you can see the foreclosure sign that has been painted over with 'unclosure' in white paint. Heh, that'll fool those twats at the bank. You arrive at your house, safe and sound. But now what do you do, those escorts do seem tempting. Your mind wanders as you think if they'd like some Cabbage Stew. (It's the same as the old one, there isn't much need for change.) Detective Intro: You sit in your office. You can hear that Mike just left his office, mumbling something about a possible Homicide at one of the Ritz'ers residences. Lucky bastard, maybe he could swipe some stuff while he's there, share the loot if the family all got knocked off. Focusing your mind off of the greedy thoughts of exhuming the riches from the Ritz, you begin looking at the case notes that landed on your desk the other day. Something about some cult going around murdering people for... reasons. You have a few leads, including the Church of Thurnoth, some of the (known vampiric) celebrities that have been in trouble for "feeding", and a few wackos that hang around bars and taverns spouting doomsday prophecy. The Story So Far/Old Intros [FULL POSTS (Move your mouse to reveal the content) The Story So Far/Old Intros [FULL POSTS (open) The Story So Far/Old Intros [FULL POSTS (close) ] Ritz Intro: Elle Carnivali, 9:21PM: The show just ended, everyone walks out of their seats heading towards the exit of the Big Top Tent. A barrage of colored suits and dresses fly past you, as young rich couples and families rush down the steps to go see the Freak Show that's being hosted outside. Down in the arena you can see people cleaning up the mess of the show, confetti, pies, elephant droppings, and blood. That fall the acrobat took was quite messy... but entertaining nevertheless, it was odd had everyone laughed at that though. Maybe rich people are just dicks, or maybe everyone has a strange sense of humor. You still remain seated, so you wont be trampled under the stampede of expensive shoes and children's feet. You hope you won't stay here for long though, the swaying of the airship that it's on is making you nauseous. Shuffler Intro: The whistle blows, work time is over its time to head home. Your feet tense up with each step on the cobblestone road, no carriage is dumb enough to travel these streets anymore. But... there is the chance that one might come and it'd be lights out for good; after all that's how Tommy died, and he was stuck by lighting twice. You jog down the street, a few 'escorts' whistle at you as you pass. You're almost home, you can see the foreclosure sign that has been painted over with 'unclosure' in white paint. Heh, that'll fool those twats at the bank. You arrive at your house, safe and sound. But now what do you do, those escorts do seem tempting. Your mind wanders as you think if they'd like some Cabbage Stew. Detective Intro: Your carriage rattles down the cobble streets, outside the town seems to be lively. Middle-class citizens merrily strolling down the streets greeting their fellows in average wealth, shopping bags in hand and hot food in the other. Up ahead are the darkened docks of Thurnoth, they look especially empty tonight the last of the shipments are gone, in their place are large empty spaces that used to contain crates and supplies. As you pass through the gates you see a small flickering light pouring out through the thin crack of a partially opened door. Outside the door you spot several police members standing around the general area, smoking and chatting it up. Your carriage pulls up to the group and you step out, being greeted by the chief with a lit cigar in his mouth. You and your group head inside the warehouse to be treated to a grisly sight. Absurd amounts of bright red blood has been tossed about and splattered against the floors, walls, and crates. In the center of this red hell you see a man, torso cut open, ribs and organs either hanging out or exposed to the cigarette smoke and indoor-elements. He is being hung from meat hooks that have been dug into his elbows, spine, and knees, with the corpse looking like it's being pulled backwards towards the heavens (at an angle). Below him are several markings and runes that have already been ID'd as the work of ancient cult magic. No one here knows nothing of these runes or what they do, perhaps searching the area will yield more clues. Character Posts: Kit: Kit, uneasy to his stomach, sat patiently in his seat as his father talked to one of his "business" partners. Something like that. Kit never got in depth with his father about what he did. Shipping supplies to other Ritz ships or something like that. Whatever it was it was enough to keep him in Ritz. A double edged sword at best. "Aha, so Lyle, this is your son, huh? I don't ever see him much. Too busy to hang out with us old timers." The business partner, a human with jet black hair that could use for a wash. Kit was going to look at him closer, maybe even respond to a lowlife, but the reeking smell of cigarettes on the man was a total turn off. Kit smiled and turned his eyes away pretending to be entertained by the clean up crew. That acrobatic fall was pretty nasty. "Easy to tell, huh! He takes a lot of his ol' man. He's got the proud, white fur that everyone in the Sloan family tree has. Don't even mention the green eyes. You can thank his mother for that!" Lyle ruffled Kit's hair like there wasn't this tension between them. Kit pulled his head away and fixed his hair. He didn't even glance at his father. Kit just wanted to leave already. This stupid carnival act wasn't even his thing. Being down in the streets was. "Ooh, he's got a rebellious phase going on. How long has this been like this?" Business's mans voice was starting to sound really, really annoying to Kit. He wondered if it would sound better with a stake lodged through his throat. He visualized this, and even contemplated. "Twenty-one years now... He's not usually like this. He's just a little embarrassed is all." Lyle leaned in and whispered to the business man. "He's all... hormonal. Sure those ladies out there tonight got him all riled up-" OOC: Head cannon that Lycans have a different age thing going on. Twenty-one years of age is equivalent to 16. "Yeah, Dad. That lady who fell to her death just really got me hot and bothered." The two fell silent and Kit took this as his opportunity to stand up out of his seat. "Can we go now? I grow tired of smelling this low life. How'd you even get here, you Shuffler? Sneak your way onto an AirVoyage or did you tie balloons to your-" "That's enough, Kit." Lyle turned around and faced the trenchant teen. "You need to show respect to future business partners-" "Oh please, dad. I could do better than this filth..." Thoughts of what to say slipped from his mind and out of his mouth. "Grandpa would be ashamed you're working with a human. Especially a Shuffler." Kit didn't have anything against humans, but he felt like a pouring faucet and he had lost his filter a long time ago. He didn't care about either of these people. Gramps was a total racist, though. "You know what, Lyle, maybe it's best if we talk another time." The man rubbed the back of his neck. He looked surprised by Kit's sudden outburst, and Kit loved the look on his scared face. He wondered how far he could push it. "Please excuse my son, Nathan, he's out of control this evening." Lyle turned his head to his boy. He looked ashamed at his son. "Things aren't like that anymore, Kit. Grandpa had some ill will to other races, but times have changed!" Lyle's voice raised audibly. Some people still leaving turned their heads to the arising argument. Kit decided he would push it. Let's see how far he could get today. "You know what, mom was right. You are weak." Kit wasn't even trying to speak anymore, he was just spitting venom at his father. Kit didn't think he had it in him to even bring up mom. Lyle was shocked unsure what to do in the moment. Hurt, frustrated, and confused at his son's sudden outrage, he grabbed his sons ear like he used to when he was a child and being fussy. Unexpected to Lyle and to Kit, Lyle whacked Kit across the face with the back of his free hand. Enough force to get Kit's head to face the other way and drop a jaw in awe. Kit was expecting some sort of ramification, but he'd never, ever been slapped by his father. Kit definitely deserved it though. "You know better than to bring her up." Lyle clenched the fist around Kit's ears. Kit winced, and then his father released with a heavy sigh. "Nathan, we'll talk later. My son and I have to leave. Now." Dad lost his light tone. His words were forceful and frankly, they sounded like orders. Kit's face was red. It was visible through his white fur and amplified by his embarrassment. He was a fool. Nathan didn't say anything more. He just grabbed his suitcase and started heading out of the isle. Kit turned his head and watched the man leave. Lyle grabbed his suitcase and began to follow suit. Kit, on the other hand, stood there. "I'm sorry, dad." He said low, but it was audible enough for his father to pick up. Lyle turned around to his son. He kept his head low as he scratched around the forehead, but when he lifted his head up and looked at his son, Kit could his father's eyes watering. "Don't forget your satchel." With that, he walked through the rest of the short row and out of the tent. Kit grabbed his satchel and put it around his chest and followed suit. Before stepping out of the tent, he took care to wipe his eyes as well. Mike: He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small paper package, beginning to unravel it before being told off by an officer, "Detective if you need a smoke break head outside, we don't need anything getting contaminated with ashes." Grunting Mike put the half opened pack back in his coat pocket, and heads towards the body to examine it further. It looked like the handiwork of a butcher, the way everything was cut was sloppily done intentionally. Like the culprit was trying to make a mess of things. "Is there anyway we could get the body down?" Mike asked the chief. "Yeah. Hey, could one of you-", he was cut off as one of the officers already obeyed Mikes command. "Thank you." It felt like he was feeling up an ice cube, the skin was covered in goosebumps and felt like leather. Nothing, other than the obvious chest wound, was found on the cadaver. "Call in the clean up crew, tell them to put the 'stiff' in the icebox. Might be more clues we could dig up in a more 'scientific' environment." Mike gets up off his knees and proceeds to look around the warehouse. Taking quick sketches of the runes and cultish markings in his tobacco and coffee stained notebook. They were rough sketches, but anyone could tell what they were. Finding nothing but dust balls and chipped containers full of frozen meats and other such foods, Mike calls it quits and tell the Chief, "Well, besides the bodies and the markings. We have no real motive, and I'm not even sure if this guy is a dock worker or a 'target' for one of the "families". When I get back to my office I'll see if I can find any owners of the place." Mike hails a carriage and begins the journey home, okay that's a bit of an exaggeration. The police station is a couple miles down the road. Once more he began to unravel his package of, "Cancerenios Fine Cigars" Sticking one of the smooth-tasting cancer sticks into his mouth, with a quick flick of the lighter the cigar begins to burn dimly. He takes a drag and releases a fine smelling cloud of smoke that quickly coats the roof of the carriage and pours out of the windows escaping into the "night" sky, with the pale smoke boldly standing out against polluted ebony skies. Leaning against the wall and slumping in his seat, he glumly watches the blurry streets pass by, light shines in through the windows as they pass the lit up buildings. "Am I a good person?", Mike begins to monologue to himself. "Sure, I catch the bad guys. But is that enough to redeem myself from the shit I did? Even then, I always catch said bad guys after they committed their crime. So is it pointless, sure they can't do it again. But what's done is-" "Hey jackass, monologuing in my carriage costs extra.", Mike is cut off by the rather irritated cab driver. "Also ease up on the smoke, it smells like a classy whorehouse back there." Mike sighs and extinguishes his cigar on the carriage's carpet flooring. It stood out against the 'night' sky in deviance, it was more classy than the buildings surrounding it; with it's marble pillars and polished stone steps, it was, The Station. The police station to be exact. His foot steps 'tapped' against the steps, and breathing heavily as he clambered up them. "Dammit...", he said clutching his chest, hyperventilating. "I should probably see a doctor after this, I can't even walk up a small flight of fucking stairs." Easing up his pace he made it to the darkwood double-doors, pushing them open with some force he entered the barely lit station. The front desk was vacant, only the two phones and over-sized lamps that had, "POLICE" painted in big bold letters around the spherical bulbs. Turning to the left he was greeted with a long hallway that seemed to get darker the further down it went, with a quick gulp of bravery he proceeded downwards. "Surprisingly empty for a Monday." He thought to himself as he cautiously walked down the hallway lighting another cigar. His lighter gave the darkened hallways some much needed light, it's orange flame's dancing glow painting the both sides with 'life'. Up ahead he could see the stairwell, surprisingly the lights were shining brightly there. *Click* the lighter echos out, as Mike flicks his wrist to kill the flame. Heading up three flights of stairs proved to be a challenge for ole' Mikey, taking a quick 'smoke break' after every flight he climbed up. After a minute or two he finally made it to the top of the fifth flight of stairs, walking out into another dark as night hallway, to get to his office. The door creaked open into a dark off- Mike flicked the lights on. The ceiling fan lit up the room with a brilliant light, revealing a messy office. The wooden desk was covered in cigarette butts and ashes, along with papers, a globe, and a few folders. The green carpet was caked with dirt, a bit of dried blood, and a few splotches of what we hope is booze. Mike heads towards the filing cabinet that was nestled between the far back corner and his potted plant, "Nessie". Oh Nessie, if you were human or something other than a plant yours and Mikes love would be understood. Pulling out one of the drawers, he pushes aside some of his "Playpire" magazines to get to the case files that were hidden underneath. He is about to shut the drawer... but something takes hold of him, he pulls the cracked open drawer out and grabs one of the "Playpire" magazines and flops into his cushioned rolling chair. Tossing the case file on his messy desk, causing some of the papers to slide off onto the floor. "Bah, I'll start the file in a bit.", he begins to flip through the magazine until he finds "his page". Vince: Vince walked from work directly to his house, where he picked up his brief case and started heading towards one of the old apartment buildings. He was determined as he arrived a half hour later. He smiled at the receptionist and put a few dollars on the count. "I need to rent a room." The receptionist took the money and handed him a key. "Third floor, room 209." Vince took the key and went up the stairs. A handful of minutes later he was set up with his rifle in the window. His target in his sight he smiled as he pulled the trigger. The man's head exploded in a shower of blood and brain matter as the bullet tore his skull into fragments. Vince stepped out of the window as a pistol shot flew through it. He put the rifle in it's case and tossed a gang's call sign on the bed before rushing away. He rushed down the stairs and walked calmly out the door as the gangsters ran past him with guns at the ready. He smiled as he walked home. Kit: The flight home was silent. The only noise that broke the quiet tension was the cracking of thunder outside of the small Voyage Craft. The small, enclosed and electric retardant ship with a balloon attached to the top made for a safe and relatively quick journey back to Kit's air villa. Fortunately they arrived sooner rather than later because staring out into the sea of purple, flashing clouds was beginning to give him a headache. He was also wanting to get inside, into his room, and forget about the whole night. As they docked on the airship he called home, his father popped open the sealed doors and both parties stepped out and onto the platform. The wind blew viciously tonight. The airship swayed and Kit's fur blew across his face. Not the worst of storms, but enough to discourage his late night activities. He was still going anyways. Kit walked across the wooden port and onto the hull of the giant airship. The floating mansion stood ominously surrounded by clouds. Flashes of lighting lit up the mansion's edifice casting sharp and eerie shadows across crevices and onto the bulk of the ship. A loud cacophony of thunder ensued behind Kit, startling him and getting him to move his way into the mansion. Kit stayed far behind his father who walked around the mansion, most likely to got to his workshop or the wine cellar. Kit wouldn't blame him if he needed a drink after the not-so-pleasing night they had together. Kit walked to the door and pulled out the hefty, bronze key from his satchel pocket and stuck it into the large key hole and gave it a twist. Though, when he turned the door nob, the door was locked. Strange and surprised that the door was already unlocked and he just locked it, he twisted the key around and entered inside. "Hey, Mellinia, you left the door unlocked again." Kit called as he stepped through the door and closed it promptly behind him. He waited for a response, none came from the seemingly empty house. He stood patiently in the main courtyard facing the large, red carpeted staircase leading upstairs. He turned his head to the left where the maids' quarters were. No one was down the hallway. "Mellinia, if you're sleeping on the job again I might just pop a blood vessel." Kit said jokingly, as it was an inside joke between Mellinia and him from the first time they met. Kit didn't care for lower class, but Mellinia was a Lycan herself and a tiger on top. For being poor and somebody who went around dusting things, Kit actually appreciated her quite a lot. He didn't quite understand why. Kit waited once more for a response. There was a crackle of thunder and a flash of lightning through the dimly lit courtyard. He shrugged. She was probably sleeping away. It was what she did when she got all of her chores done, so Kit didn't think much of it and walked up the staircase. He stopped halfway and looked back to the hallways Mellinia stayed in. "Hey, Mellinia, if dad walks in..." Kit paused and looked to the carpet. He'd forgotten to take off his shoes. "Uh, just... tell him to come to my room. I need to tell him something." He said as a sudden emotion came over him. Kit choked up, feeling penitent for his earlier actions back at the circus. Kit couldn't sleep on such a sour note, even if he hated his dad, it would rest on his mind as he lay on his bed. "Thanks." Kit finished walking up the staircase taking time to think about what exactly he would say to his father. Upon reaching the top he refocused and headed down the hall to his right and stepping into his bedroom. Mike: Ice cold water ran through his fingers, the valves squeaked as Mike turned them. Wiping his hands off on the soft towel he left the lofty bathroom and into his office down the hall. Tossing his magazine into a nearby trash bin on the way back. He flopped back into his comfy chair, turning it to face his desk: looking over the desk he saw his notepad, it listing the names of victims, possible suspects, and a few "known" motives. Most of the names of suspects were well-known actors that have been or are still affiliated with the local "church". A "church" that praises the God of Blood, Thurnoth; but then again that is to be expected in a city that is named after said god. Next he flipped open the folder he previously placed on his desk before he took his 'break'. The folder was stuffed with coroner and autopsy reports. All of which were the same: chest opened, eyes removed, precise but messy slicing wounds, several pints of blood missing. Before he could start cross-examining his current findings with the previous ones, his phone began to ring off the hook. It startled the detective so bad; that he fell out of his chair and hit the back of his head against the windowsill behind him. "Oww... dammit.", he softly whimpered as he climbed to his feet, rubbing his head. Grabbing the phone off the wall mount, he began speaking into the receiver. "Detective Mike G. Kilgrove, here.", he said weakly. "We have a possible 106(Homicide), at 54432 Lyct Mont Drive. The Sloan Residence.", the beautiful phone operator, "Juliet" told the detective in monotone. "Alright. I'll be there in a snap.", he hung the phone up and closed the folder on his desk. Lighting struck outside the window, a bright flash of white light entered into his office for a few short seconds before dimming down. Rain began to pound against the thick glass windows of his office, "For a moment there I thought the weather was going to hold out.", he chuckled while putting on his hat and coat. He then proceeded to hightail it to the monorail, hoping not to get struck. Vince: Vince frowned as he spotted police heading in the direction he had come from. He thought the response time would have been longer out here, but he shrugged it off and walked into his house. He walked to his room and slid the case under the bed into it's usual place.He sighed as he walked into his kitchen and popped open a can of...whatever the heck this stuff was. The can read 'chicken soup', but he wondered none the less. He looked over at the painting on his wall.The painting was of a rather attractive woman posing by sitting on a white bench, with a bush of flowers behind her. It had been there since he had moved in, and he had never taken the time to take it down or move it. He had grown accustomed to it. He finished cooking and sat at his table to eat. He spoke idly to the empty air "So I killed a mobster today, though I don't think dad'd be proud." Kit: Kit had fallen asleep during his long fantasy of being down on the Shuffler streets. Stalking his Vampiric prey in the night and slaughtering them before anyone could be the wiser. A vicious vision to fall asleep to, but it was the best he could get since leaving Ritz wouldn't be an option that night. So Kit eventually fell asleep to the sound of sweet, sweet revenge. However, this did not last for long. Some time after Kit had slipped into his sleep and plunged deep into his Khina (No way to directly translate it, it's a native Lycana word. Basically his out of mind or out of body time. Or dreaming, to be laconic.) where zen and peace was usually found for him. Often than not, most trips into Khina were very spiritual and thought provoking. Much like being left alone in a garden while the smooth sound of waterfalls crashed in the background. It was time to refresh and come to peace. Kit, however, was not in his spiritual place this night. In his Khina, he was in a long corridor slowly moving forward. He couldn't turn his head, look around with his eyes, he was just constantly moving down the hallway without being able to move. Kit felt no pulse in him nor did he feel fear or any strong emotion as he endlessly moved passed door after door. During the journey, the color of the space was turning white. The color before wasn't comprehensible, maybe not even a color. Whatever it was before, it was slowly being replaced by splotches of white that crew from along the floor and the crevices above the doors. This continued to happen painfully slow with nothing of interest happening. Then, after some of the doors began to gain their white color, something else appeared on them. With the coming of white it also revealed under whatever enigma of color was there before, there were dots of red. As more white captured the room, there was more red blotches. On the floors, ceilings, and the many, many doors. It wasn't long before Kit to get it. It didn't take much for him to understand. The final blank spaces of the hallway were covered with white and Kit finally stopped moving. The corridor was covered in white and mottled with red streaks. Kit recognized this as splatters of blood all over. Below him, which he could now look down, was a pool of blood. Slowly his body began to fade in as he stared down. He was white as the hallway and only black lines around his figured discerned it from the rest of the blankness. He was also covered in blood. Kit was finally beginning to feel emotion; fear. He felt a strong fear building up in him. The blood splatters all over the space oozed down trickling around the doors and pooling below. The door hinges popped as crimson liquid shot from them blinding Kit's eyes and liberally covering him. Kit wanted to cover his face, but he could only watch and move his eyes. His arms nor legs would not cooperate, as did most in Khina. Khina was a time to be taught, not take hold of what happens. The ceiling exploded from above him. Rubble did not strike him, but a fresh, warm stream of red liquid poured over him like an overflowed bucket spilling its contents. Kit tried screaming, yelling for help, but Khina would not let him escape so easily and he knew this very well. Blood filled the hallway and he could feel it slowly crawling up his ankles to his legs before it finally stopped. He dripped liquid into the stillness below him. His vision blurred with the bright, deadly color. He glanced up with his eyes. The gaping hole that poured over him was a black void leading somewhere in Khina. It dripped substance, some of which poked his eyes. When he turned his glance back below, he saw something bubbling below the surface of the red river. His heart thumped, and that he could feel in Khina. It was rare, but he could feel it like his heart was trying to rip out of his chest. The bubbling became more violent and it disrupted the calmness of the liquid around him until it was basically shooting up into the air covering him again. Then finally, something floated to the surface. It was a body. A body that wasn't drenched in blood somehow, but completely stainless. Kit could recognize the face, the clothing, and the green eyes. It was his mother. A look of shock was on her face, her mouth half open appearing to be mouthing something, but not getting to finished. Poking through her white dress and through her chest was a fire poker. Kit stared in horror. He felt his lips wobbling and tears clouding up his eyes. His mother's eyes flashed at him, and then he woke up. Kit was soaked with sweat and his face was wet with tears. He shouted something when he woke up, though he was too delusional to remember what he said after that frightening Khina. Kit looked feverishlly around his room. Lighting still flashed outside casting eerie shadows in his room. His door was wide open, which he definitely left closed. Did his father come to check on him? Kit caught his breath. That dream meant something. Something was wrong, very very wrong. He'd never seen anything like that in his entire life, but he was very sure he knew what it meant. Without thinking he grabbed for his satchel and felt around for his holy water and stake. Both missing from their hiding place inside of his bag. "Oh shit." He said looking back to the door way. A flash of lighting, but nothing stood there. "Dad!" Kit yelled removing the covers and throwing on some underwear and PJs. There was a vampire in the house. He was sure of it, and it was after his dad. He booked it through the door and jumped onto the staircase railing sliding down with finesse and style. Kit practiced that move many times before. He looked down the servants hallways. In the light he could see blood trickling from the hallway door and out the front door. They got Mellina, and they were heading for the Wine Cellar. Kit ran to the door and threw himself out into the eye of the storm outside.