Hidden Behind Locked Doors.

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Valic, Feb 6, 2014.

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  1. "Good morning, America! We have breaking news for you and all those around you, there's a homicidal man out on the loose, he's killed about fifty people within our nation alone, he's still gone uncaught and he's reported to be in our area. We have an image of him here, shown to the right of your television screen. We advise that you lock yours doors and windows, draw the drapes, and do not answer the door, stay inside - we'll keep you updated on the hour, now for your weekly weather forecast..." The woman's voice trailed off, she was in a rather business attire with short blonde hair that was curled in towards her neck, sitting with perfect posture, green blue orbs intense and blonde eyebrows furrowed together, causing a slight wrinkle in her skin as she told the horrifying news. The image wasn't a sketch, but an actual picture. The man looked rather calm in the image, almost content, as if he'd accepted the fact that his face had been captured, but there was a flame in his eyes that showed that his determination wouldn't allow him to be bound. His brows were thick and dark in color, maybe deep brown or black, his eyes were a piercing burgundy color with a hint of an amber shade to it, he looked intense, like there was some caged beast dwelling underneath his skin. His gleaming smirk on the TV screen was one that seemed like a predator, in the image he had a slight stubble and there wasn't a sign of any taboo - from his shoulders up at least, aside from piercings. He had that, the man's ears held a somewhat small set of gauges, nothing overly noticeable and they were plugged, his hair was a deep color too. Well, if black counts as a deep color - then yes. However, it had one of those fashionable hair cuts that was going around, more than likely his hair was cut in such a fashion to blend in with the crowd. The sides of his head held short hair, though it was as though a buzz cut had grown out, no longer down to grazing the skin but just enough to where it looked like it could dust over the tops of his ears. The long of his hair was on the top of his head, that seemed a bit more tussled - as if he'd been placed in a fight before he was restrained - though the short of his hair went to the back of his scalp as well, that way it wasn't like he was growing out a mowhawk. The man had a bruised cheek and a cut lip in the image, clearly he hadn't gone down without a fight, though would someone who's killed so many within your own nation? Who knew how many in another nation... Let alone where he originated from, though his skin wasn't all too fair, it was a bit darker, more tan - more than likely down south, or near the North if he lived near the equator on South America, Africa, or Australia. From the image he appeared tall, just from the slightly cut out image of where he was standing - black lines struck behind him, the numbers barely seen - but he towered within the range of six feet tall, he also didn't appear lanky or thin. He looked more built, much more like one who may rely on his brute and powerful strength if he needed to do so.
    However, this man was on the loose, he was a threat to all society within the area, no one knew where he could be, where he could be heading... He killed no one in specific - that the police and FBI knew about at least. In their eyes, he killed for the fun of it, for the rush that he may feel for the sins he'd caused. Of course he had a motive though, it was just personal, no one knew his reason aside for himself. And that may be a factor as to why it's so hard to catch him, he's unpredictable - you can't tell where he'd strike next, and the man knew several languages, he knew how to get around, he had connections, the man wasn't stupid - he was far from. He was also good with makeup - that may assist him in the long run, he'd always told himself. And you know what, it did - makeup can make you look like a whole different person if applied correctly, and that's what he did most of the time.
     
  2. Yes, Cory had heard about the murderer, and yes he had beencautious, but he hadn't received the news that the killer was in the area. Throughout the weekend, he had been logged into EVE, an MMO that he had been obsessed with for the last couple years. His group of buddies he hung out with in the game had been wanting to attack one of the larger trade ships that shipped hundreds of dollars worth of goods across the stimulated space of EVE. Cory had agreed to help, and hadn't really gotten out of his house since. Besides, the distraction had let him forget about Freddie, his ex. They had been together for two years, and when they broke up last week, he had taken it hard. EVE helped him escape.

    After the last ship was taken down, he signed off, his eyes burning and his fingers aching. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes, getting up from his computer chair and deciding to take a shower. Taking a clean change of clothes, he jumped in the shower, taking his time in it.

    Once he was clean again, he got out, drying himself with his towel and combing his hair. Getting dressed in a pair of boxers and a vintage band t-shirt, he took his dirty clothes and put them in his hamper. Hearing his stomach growl, he wandered to the kitchen, deciding to make some Mac and Cheese for dinner. However, as he was filling the pot with water, he heard a noise from the front of his house, near the door.

    Fear chilling him, he grabbed a knife, trying to be as quiet as possible. Walking to the hallway, where he couldn't be seen from the front door, he asked, trying to be brave, "Freddie? I swear to God, if that's you, I'm calling the cops. I'm not in the mood for this."
     
  3. Strolling the streets was a tall man, his face was plane without makeup, his jawline held a slight black stubble, his eyes half lidded as he gazed around with a cold face. His eyes emotionless and his lips a thin line, his movements were swift and not even attempting to seem sketchy. The man's hands were tucked into his back pockets, his head was covered with a black hood, a black hooded jacket was on him, the sleeves tugged up past his elbows and zipped up half way to his chest. The man had black skinny jeans on that were a bit tattered and ripped looking, though they were made to look in such a manner, his shoes were red high top Converses, he wore anything to blend in with the common person.
    The man's name was Dylan Belharrise, the man was the so said murderer, a crazed man that had devilish eyes that showed the feral, darker side to this seemingly pleasant man. He continued to stroll down the near empty side walk, there were a few people out, a few small children running around before their parents called them inside. He had done something special to his hair, strips within his hair were green, a mass of the under side of his bangs was green, adding different colors often confused people for just long enough to slip away from the crowd, and being the elusive man he was, he knew how to vanish.
    Dylan's glossy green blue irises that peered out of his sockets stared at everything around him, black eyelashes shading over his eyes and the tops of his cheeks. He continued to walk, though he heard a rumbling in the sky and gave a low growl, his nose scrunching as he hurried forwards, a storm was ready to erupt in the sky at any given moment, heavy storms were predicted... He felt a drizzle pad at his clothing and the man gave another low growl as he hurried through the now starting rain, causing the grey cement turn darker with water. He hurried until he stood in front of a door, there weren't any lights on so he figured it was empty, he rattled the door handle and realized that it was locked... Shit... The man rang the doorbell, acting normal would be the best, but just in case - he had a dagger with him.
     
  4. When he heard the doorbell ring, Cory set the knife down on the table, taking a deep breath. He walked to the front door, looking through the peephole. He didn't recognize the man. It definitely wasn't Freddie. Unlocking the door, heart still pounding, he put his hand on the doorknob and turned his wrist, pulling the door open.

    "H-Hello?" he asked, brushing his curly blonde hair out of his eyes. "Can I help you?" He forced a smile, not wanting to seem impolite. Cory had been raised to be polite, and even with a stranger he refused to be thought rude. Even if he could talk some serious trash in EVE.

    Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he placed himself in the doorway, in case he was in danger or about to be mugged.
     
  5. Dylan knew his face was plastered all over the news, he knew that a lot of people knew who he was - but as far as they knew, he spoke English. Which he did, perfectly, and he could host the accent of the common American, however - because he knew of this, lying would be easy. And thankfully for Dylan, the image on the screen, he was with makeup - that was good, his features looked different then than they do now. His voice was low and somewhat gruff, as if he had a sore throat, he pulled out an accent, a Czechoslovakian accent, he then made sure to mess up on his English pronunciations. "Hello... I'm lost..." He uttered out to the other with a weak smile plastered on his stubble touched face. How he stood showed he was cold from the wind that blew with the rain, though he was far from cold, seeing as he'd only been standing in it for mere minutes, nothing bad enough to cancel out the heat that radiated within his jacket, giving him a substantial amount of comfort.
     
  6. Cory watched the man as he spoke, though he only uttered two words. His accent definitely wasn't American, and he looked cold. After a brief second of thought, he nodded before saying, "Come in..." He opened the door wide enough for him to come into his house. Once the man was inside, he shut the door, asking, "Do...do you want some coffee?" He stifled a yawn, walking to the air conditioner and turning the heater up.

    He turned to face the man, wary of the stranger. He hadn't been watching the news, and didn't recognize him. Still, he would be careful, having heard the stories about kind people helping lost pedestrians and ending up killed. He ran a hand through his hair, nervous.

    He shoved his hands into his pockets, watching him with guarded grey eyes.
     
  7. "Please." He murmured after giving a nod to the other on the offer of a hot beverage, he kept his hands in his pockets and moved out of his slouched position when the air heater gave a soft clank noise, the warmth filtering into the building that the other owned - alone so it seemed, too. He took in his surroundings and gave off a soft glower as he stood stock still in one place, not daring to move around, not just yet at least, not until the other actually allowed him to move or take a seat. Until then, he'd remain like a statue at the other's front door, seeing as it would be a bit suspicious if he started to poke around without the other's consent. What if he had hidden things he didn't want to be seen, or a video game collection he didn't want touched?
     
  8. "You can sit..." Cory said as he stepped into the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker. He went back to the living room, sitting at the couch, trying to distance himself from the man. "Er..." he started haltingly. "How'd you get lost? Where are you from?" He shifted nervously, the silence getting to him. After a second, he mumbled," Hope you don't mind..." as he turned on the television, setting the volume on low for some background noise.

    It just happened to be the local news, and they were talking about the murderer going on a spree across the country. He glanced up at the news for a second, right as they showed a sketch of what they thought he looked like. Looking back at the man, his eyes widened and he muttered, "Oh, shit..." Slowly, he stood up, wanting to get to the kitchen and call the police, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

    "I, uh, think the coffee's done," he said, trying not to shake as he walked to the kitchen.
     
  9. Dylan paused and nodded as he walked over to the couch and took a seat on the plush, cushioned furniture with his hands still in his pocket, the dagger was sheathed and strapped to his stomach, so he sat with perfect posture so the handle didn't poke at his shirt. He sighed at the question and pondered it - there was a recent plane crash off near the coast, several survived with minor injuries. "Plane crash on coast.... Amnesia." He said, tapping his temple slightly - listening as the TV was turned on, he heard the warning beep and glanced over. Seeing that they were speaking of him - shit...

    As the other stood up, so did he - silently - he pulled the dagger from his shirt and stalked up behind him, placing the dagger to the other's jugular, "I don't think so." His accent was gone, his voice was deep and gruff, husky even as he growled lowly in his ear. Moving his free hand and grabbing him by the back of his neck and going to the couch, pushing Cory onto the couch. "You aren't going to call the police - if you do, I'll kill you in the worst ways possible." New information leaked from the TV's speakers. He was unstable and emotional - he was one that acted in panic, in distress. He was easily angered and most of the trauma in the victims showed signs that the abuser was in a vicious state. Most of the actual hitting and beatings in his victims happened after death, he was one that favored torture.

    "If you so much as try to contact someone outside of this house about me, I'll kill your friends first. If you continue, I'll kill your family. I'll be sure to make this drag out as long as I can - and if I do get my ass in jail, I'll suspect it's you and I'll hunt you down." He barked at the other, looking at the TV screen, "Turn it off." He demanded - he'd have to cut the phone wire, or break the other's phones, no contact outside the house.
     
  10. Cory's blood ran cold as he saw and felt the dagger at his throat. Freezing in place, he glanced at the knife, letting out a yelp as he was pushed down onto the couch. Flicking his eyes to the television, he listened to the man as he told him that he was now basically a hostage. Shuddering, he tried to breathe deeply, his blue-gray eyes fixing on the man as he was told to turn the television off.

    Doing as he was told, he shakily said, "P-please...I...I won't tell anyone, I swear. This will stay between us...". He looked at the dagger, following it with his eyes. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he tried to move to the opposite end of the couch, suddenly fearing for his life. If the news were to be believed, this man was mentally unstable, and could kill him at a moment's notice.

    "I...I don't want to die...I'm not even out of college yet... " Cory was shaking by then, his eyes wide and terrified.
     
  11. The metal had been warm when touching the other's skin - seeing as it had been in his shirt where his body heat radiated and circulated. He stared at the other with furrowed brows, a scowl touching his features while his lips etched a glower, he looked rather feral, that wild gleam in his grey blue eyes, the man stood there with shadowed features as he stood properly, straight, he was far more intimidating in this stance.

    Dylan listened to all the other said and he busted to laughter upon that, though it cut off as quickly as it started and the serious, dark tone of his voice sent shivers through the air, chilling the atmosphere of the room far more than it already was. "Shut your mouth before I stitch it shut and cut off your tongue." He stated in that growling tone, he walked over towards the other carelessly. One foot in front of the other, heel to toe while he fiddled with the dagger in hand.

    He sliced his finger on accident, his thumb now had a slit on it from where the tip of the sharpened blade had been pressed down, "I don't believe you~!" He cooed out in a sing-song voice, much like that in an eerie horror film. Stopping in front of the other, his body dropped form the waist up, bending down to be eye level with the other, his movements were like that of a puppet. "Stick out your tongue." He demanded of the other, his voice now hushed to a whisper, that feral gleam in his eyes was still there, even if his features had greatly relaxed, as if trying to show sorrow or encouragement, trying to coax the other to stick out his tongue.
     
  12. The man's threat was enough to make Cory silent, but he kept his eyes on him, not daring to look away. Seeming to shrink as the man got closer, he focused on the knife, disliking how nonchalant he seemed. As he was ordered to stick out his tongue, he shivered, about to refuse, until he let his eyes fall upon the man's. Seeing the feral look in his eyes, he shrank back and a little, thinking that he would make good on his threat.

    After a second of frantic thinking, he slowly parted his lips, sticking out his tongue. He kept switching between looking at the knife and the man, feeling tears stinging his eyes. After a moment, he glanced at the cut on the man's thumb, seeing blood. Taking a shaky breath, he closed his eyes, just wanting it to be over.
     
  13. Upon seeing irritation attack at his sclera, he saw that the other was about to fall to tears for his eyes glazed over with the heated, salty liquid that began to slowly well up. He raised a brow but ignored it and snatched the male's tongue between his index finger and his thumb, the hand with the bleeding thumb held onto the dagger, holding it like he were ready to stab the weapon through one's chest cavity or any part of the body. He ran the blade over the center of his tongue, leaving a shallow yet painful split down the muscle. From that, he flipped the blade through his nimble fingers, placing the handle in his mouth before he placed his bleeding thumb on the slit of Cory's wound.

    Dylan raised his free hand - seeing as once his bleeding thumb was pressed to the wound, he was able to remove his hand and take the dagger from his mouth. "You are now bound by my blood - you're going to obey me." His words were like that of a blood promise between children, cutting your palm and shaking hands - sealing a promise by blood, one that would be taken to the grave. "I promise, I won't kill you if you rat me out. I'll just kill your friends in front of you, I'll make you kill the with your own hands too, and if that's not good enough, I'll make you kill your immediate family." He said simply to the other, pulling his thumb away and standing straight, looking down at the other. "Then I'll kill you, okay? Now, bring me all of your phones." He stated firmly, stepping back and allowing the other to dart off to get the items he requested - he needed to destroy them, no calls in, no calls out. Maybe he'd have to kill the wi-fi too...
     
  14. Cory let out a soft cry as the man cut his tongue, blood swiftly welling up. Letting out another cry as the man's thumb pressed onto his tongue, he squirmed a bit, blood filling his mouth. As promises were made and instructions were given, he bobbed his head up and down once. Shakily, he asked, "You don't have AIDs, right? Or something else like that? I...I don't want to get sick..."

    Once he had his answer, he shakily walked to his bedroom, picking up his phone, which lay on his nightstand. Taking a moment, he checked for any texts or calls, disappointed when all he found was five missed calls and eight texts, all from Freddie. Sighing, he quickly deleted the messages, frowning slightly as he returned to the living room. "This is the only one I have. I promise..."

    He swallowed thickly, his tongue still bleeding. Coughing at the taste, he quickly moved to the bathroom, sitting out blood. In the mirror, he looked at his tongue, wincing at how awful the cut looked, even if it was a shallow wound. After a second, he went back to the living room, shifting uncomfortably.
     
  15. Dylan raised a brow at the question and scoffed slightly, "As if." He snapped before he pulled away and watched the other leave to go and get his phone, when it took a bit longer than expected, he called out. "I'd expect you know where your phone is, what's taking so long?!" He shouted out with a snarled out with furrowed brows, he listened as he heard foot falls made down the stairs. Upon being handed the phone, he looked it over, searching over the contents of the phone. He reset all of it before setting it down on the coffee table, stabbing the dagger through it so that it would never work. He then pulled the two items apart and threw the phone towards the unused fire place.

    "Hold no fear, the wound on your tongue is like any other, it'll stop bleeding in a few moments." He said with a soft sigh, moving and sitting on the couch, he was still stressing over the fact that he could be found out - he'd done an irrational move. Why would this random human just destroy their phone? Not answering would cause others to get suspicious... "Shit..."
     
  16. Cory was uneasy as the man searched his phone, knowing that he had a few pictures of himself that were of the sexual nature. A lot of the pictures were just harmless ones of him showing off his chest, but there were a few of other spots that were more...embarrassing, now that Cory was watching someone else go through his personal pictures.

    However, as he witnessed his phone being destroyed, he couldn't help but feel sad. That phone had most of his personal information on it, and now it was all gone. He sat down as far away from the man, now certain about who he was. It had to be the killer that was on the news. He was now harboring a criminal. That was illegal, especially if the criminal was a mass murderer.

    Glancing his way, he shuddered, biting his bottom lip. After a few torturous moments, he asked, "W-Why did you choose my house, of all places? Why not just go somewhere else?" His throat felt closed, and worry filled him, wondering if the man really was going to kill him after making him kill his friends and family. He hoped not.
     
  17. Upon the questions that sliced through the silence, he glanced over at the other and raised a brow before he snorted as he pondered over his words with a low hum. "I must say, your lights were on - no one else's lights were on, their drapes were drawn, and it began to rain. I came to your home because, clearly, it was the one that seemed like it would open up. And it did! You did this to yourself, you allowed a stranger into your home, how idiotic of you. And I didn't head else where because it was raining and I can't linger outside too much when I'm on the news, after all."

    Dylan hadn't paid all too much mind to the images that the other had - it wouldn't be important to him, after all. He sighed and brushed back his hair as he began to pace the length of the foyer, thinking for a moment over the fact that he had to now rethink his attack on society.
     
  18. Cory frowned as he was told that everything happening to him was his own fault. It made sense, but he didn't like hearing it from the man who had been threatening to make him kill his friends and family. Who would? Glancing at the time, he frowned before stating, "I...I've got to go to work..." He looked over at the man, biting his bottom lip.

    In truth, he didn't want to go to work, but at least there he could be with someone he knew, someone mentally stable. And maybe he could get to the police. They had the Witness Protection Program. He could be relocated, given another name, and the man would never be the wiser. He'd be safe...

    Cory stood up, hoping that he would be allowed to go.
     
  19. "Work? Are you fucking kidding me?" He asked with loud, brilliant laughter that was quite hardy before he came down to a still seriousness that was like flipping a switch. "I'll follow you there. I do have the capability to change my appearance - do not underestimate me." He stated and shoved the other back to a seated position, "You'll go in tomorrow. What's your job and work place, where is located at?" He demanded the information from the other with narrowed eyes that hungered for answers.

    "Is it ever busy there? How many people work there? How many do you normally come in contact with?" His words were a slur of questions, demanding to know, hardly was there a break for him to steal a breath of air until he finished giving out the questions that he heavily expected answers from. He wasn't one to deal with a simple 'no' or 'i'm unsure', that wasn't acceptable in the least.
     
  20. Cory seemed to be shrinking further into the chair after he'd been shoved, the questions making him nervous. He should have known that the man would want to come with him, and now he'd only be putting more people in danger by going to work.

    Shuddering, he slowly began to answer the questions shot his way. "That Gothic specialty store by the university. Black Heart Boutique. I manage the store. It's usually busy on the weekends and sometimes in the afternoons. Normally, five people are working there. I come into contact with everyone there." Cory wasn't goth, but the job paid well, and it wasn't too difficult for him to don a set of black clothes chosen by the owner of the store and play goth. Much better than working at a grocery store or at the mall. Besides, working there made it ridiculously easy to pick up dates, since it turned out goth guys tended to be into him.

    But Cory was certain that he wouldn't be going out with anyone for a while.
     
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