The Ties That Bind

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Diana, Aug 17, 2009.


    The day was overcast with no sight of the the sun behind the dim grey of the clouds. It was the very picture of gloom and set the perfect scene for a funeral. The thought had crossed many people's minds as they stood around the coffin as it lowered in to the ground. A man named Jeremiah Douglas. How he died, most of the friends and family had no idea - or they weren't saying. The funeral had been a closed casket ceremony, so not a single person saw the face of the man they were now mourning. He seemed to be a popular man, though. Many people had shown up, most not knowing each other. Expressions on their faces were ranged. Some happy, some depressed. Jeremiah Douglas' acquaintances were a curious and mix-matched lot.

    The funeral was over, people exiting the cemetery in silent droves. Back to their every day lives.

    And so it begins...
  2. tfw jason makes one

  3. Amy was bored and extremely so.

    She had slipped away as soon as the ceremony started, tired of her mother's fake teary outbursts into her lacy hanky and her equally fake father patting her on the shoulder in comfort as they watched the dirt fall like dusty rain onto the glossy lid of the coffin.

    Apparently, Mr & Mrs Mackintosh were close to the guy in the casket (or at least pretended to be), Jeremiah... Something... what was it? Oh, that's right. It was Jeremiah Douglas. Not that Amy cared. She had only greeted him once or twice when she was a kid and had no further contact ever since. Amy didn't even know why she was dragged all the way to the cemetery by her parents to say 'Adios' to some almost-stranger.

    Looking for a source of amusement, Amy sat down on a grave not too far from the group of mourners who were chit chatting and sharing tears as well as smiles as they remembered the 'good ol days' when Jeremiah was still alive. It sickened her to see all these strangers clustered together, crocodile tears oozing from their eyes.

    But when she scanned the scene some more, she noticed that she was wrong. Near a tall tree was a group whom she recognised right away. Geraldson. Tiffany Geraldson. And her friends to boot.

    Amy sighed inwardly. She didn't want to confront them and their expensive trinkets, and just as the goth girl was about to stand up and discreetly make her way back to the family Mercedes, a high pitched voice stopped her in her tracks.

    "Amy! Sweetie!" Cried Mrs. Mackintosh, her voice drenched in utmost depression. "Where are you going?"

    Mr. Mackintosh squeezed his distraught wife to him as he waved his daughter back to the main group. "Aren't they your school friends over there?" He said loudly pointing to Geraldson's group, "You haven't said hi to them yet. Why don't you go over to them while your mother and I have a few more moments here. You don't mind, do you?"

    Which actually meant: Be friendly to the kids of the people I need to deal with for my business so I can increase my client base, or else.

    Sighing inwardly and shutting her eyes to quell the anger rising up inside of her, Amy slowly made her way to the group underneath the tall tree and stopped just far enough, and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

    "Hi," She mumbled awkwardly.
  4. (Original Poster: Lonewolf888978)

    Unmarked Facility, England
    August 14th, 13:04

    Bullets fired from either direction, pinning Killshot down. To the left an automated turret sprayed bullets into the thick metal table that the soldier used as cover. On the right, a small team of four guys pinned him down, pushing more and more as they closed in.
    Oh it'll be an easy first assignment Forester, cake walk for a super soldier like you.
    The man muttered to himself, as he reloaded his assault rifle. Despite his healing factor, he exactly wasn't eager to be hit by a bullet. No man in his right mind would be.
    The firing stopped on either side, and the slow foot steps inched closer towards him.
    It was a whisper that escaped his lips self consciously, but quiet enough for him to barely hear. One of the men reloaded, a second turned a flashlight on, and a third was nearing the table.
    A man spoke quietly, still unaware of the state of his opponent.
    I think we got him!
    He is a super soldier, couldn't be that easy!
    The number was said loud and clearly, a kick from Killshot sent the table skidding down the hall, taking out the legs of two men, and trapping a third one underneath it. A normal man wouldn't dream of kicking the heavy metal table that fair, a master kick boxer would flinch at the thought of kicking the table hard enough to leave a dent, but Killshot was no normal man. The June Serum coursed through his blood, making him the first successful side-effect free super soldiers. He was as fast, strong, and agile as ten normal soldiers, and with a healing factor to heal any minor injures obtained during a mission.

    The soldier followed through with the kick by rolling up too a knee, bringing his rifle up and putting two bullets into each man, who groaned in pain as an electronic current hit their bodies. Behind him, he could hear the turret starting to spin up and fire again, but by the time the first bullets fired off, he was heading down the hall. Turning the corner, a bullet fired into his leg, sending a sharp electronic current through out his leg.
    Fuck, there was three of you.
    The shot was point blank, the pistol firing into his thigh, a second about to be fired in his chest. Gripping the soldiers wrist, Killshot easily disarmed the man and flipped him over his shoulder. Putting a round in his chest with his own pistol, the man yelped in pain. A dozen foot steps echoed down the hall towards him. Sighing, Drake brought his rifle up to his shoulder, and was ready to open fire on the approaching squad, when a siren sounded through out the compound, the dim lights flashed red and a voice came over the intercom.
    Simulation over, we have a red alert. Terror attack under way in the Westfield, London. Killshot, you and your team are being sent in as the responding unit. Shoot to kill.

    AUGUST 14, 2016
    Detective Jacob Phantom

    Jacob was a bit taken back by the two men as they warned him to not fight him, and even more so as the two went off into the thick of things, fighting the ten men on their own. His first initial action was to shoot him, but a voice whispered in his ear. The voice of his mysterious phantom.
    They can help you find the answers you seek. The others work for the Weaver.
    Jacob sighed. Why couldn't things be easy for once, and the bad guy be waiting in the lobby. By the time he made up his mind, the ten guards were reduced too two frightened men. The janitor easily took down three himself, and his harsh voice brought Jacob back to the real world.
    You might want to deal with those two first.
    Saying the words sent the two guards running for the exit, right where Jacob stood. Pistol whipping the first one, it connect on the side of the head and easily knocked him out could. The second man fired off four shots, point blank into the detectives chest. Each bullet went through him without leaving a mark, and buried themselves into the wall behind him, though he was unhurt. If someone had keen enough eyes, and was paying attention, the split second the bullets touched his body, his chest became transparent. But the moment the bullets were clear of his body, it appeared normal once again. The guard was speechless, and Jacob pushed the gun upward as a fifth shot rang out, but before a sixth could fire off, Jacob whacked him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground, and knocking a few teeth out as he laid there. Looking back up to the other three standing men in the room, he raised an eye brow slightly gripping his gun tighter. He looked towards the janitor, and glanced back to the two brothers before saying
    Alright Jackie Chan, you and the Wonder Twins there want to lead me to the Weaver? I want today to be over with.
  5. (Original Poster: Quiet One)

    AUGUST 14, 2016

    Breaking the security tags at the Westfield mall made it easier for Jewel to shoplift. The cameras, however, were harder to get around. She had to find clothing stores that didn't have cameras in the dressing rooms. She wasn't proud of herself. In fact, the last two years had been a constant test of her boundaries regarding right and wrong. Things were so ambiguous for her now, simple survival more important than upholding the law. She never mastered picking pockets, but she was able to push hard at a vending machine and bust it open. That got her some change for lunch and a few snacks.

    She sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and watched the other mall patrons walk around, enjoying their day. She closed her eyes and tried to hold out the jealousy she felt for these everyday people. It wasn't fair. Why her?

    "You know what mom would say," she said to herself. She drank from the Pepsi bottle she'd gotten from the vending machine, stopping as the plastic fogged up. It was toxic now, the bonds in the plastic almost all broken. She got up and tossed the bottle in the trash. That I have to be like this for a reason. She sighed to herself. "What bullshit."

    Just then she heard something down the pathway of the mall. The people looked more panicked and she heard screams. Then she heard something that frightened her: gunshots.

  6. Flarecia Jennifer Walker

    Flarecia was annoyed. She hadn't the slightest idea what had happened to Mr. Jeremiah Douglass and every single person here was throwing around waterworks of their own whether they knew the man or not. She fumed, pacing across the lawn where the funeral had been held, her boots skidding along the green blades of grass. She crossed her arms, the little skull chain on her left armsock glittering under the sunlight.

    If her mother's constant glare of disapproval wasn't enough, Flair could sense the stares of many other elite mothers. She rolled her eyes. Black was totally funeral hue. It wasn't her fault that no could appreciate the fact that she pull off traditional funeral black in style.

    She rested one hand on her chunky belt, listening to the sobs and whimpers of the people existing. She sighed, making her way over to the closest tree and leaning against it, her arms crossed. She blew a side bang out of her face and tried not to think of how hideously the black rose on her hairband clashed with the skull patterns on her attire. She twirled that loose strand of hair around her finger, a nervous look crossing her face.

    She couldn't understand why she couldn't figure it out. How had this mystery slipped through her fingers ? What had happened to her piano teacher ? And, she thought finally, glancing around at the hordes of mix matched people, how did all of these elites fit into the picture. She licked her lips, a taste of cherry apple lipgloss as she walked away from the tree, agitated. She couldn't think here. There was too much commotion and too many people pretending to be upset. Their pretense made her want to throw up. It was so fake.

    Flarecia rubbed at her eyes as she surveyed the remaining crowd. She had cried earlier. It was only natural to miss your piano teacher, right ? Especially if he'd been one extra ounce of common sense in your life, right ? Right...

    She sighed quietly and tugged at the piece of hair twirled around her finger. If her mother would just stop idly wasting her time spreading condolences maybe they could get going.

    If she could just get home soon, Flare could think this over. It was too sudden and overwhelming for her to stay there any longer. She knew it was only a matter of time before her head was going to explode. She could feel the pressure of screwing up on a mystery again and she knew wasn't going to like the consequences.

    My best bet is to try to go unnoticed. If no one talks to me, I can keep busy until Mom's done prattling. I can't afford to tell anyone what I've been up.

  7. Two vehicles made their way through the streets, in front the red boxter of Hans followed closely by the large black SUV driven by Gunther. Hans was taking the scenic rout to the hotel, enjoying the sights of the city, occasionally he would hoot at an attractive girl but didn't stop, he has looking forward to a nice shower and some sleep before going out later to really see what Emmerson had to offer.

    Finally arriving at the hotel he left the car for the valet and was soon joined in the lobby by Gunther. “Not bad this place.” he remarked as their bags where brought in by a bellboy behind them. Not waiting for an answer he went up to the receptionist and put him passport on the counter. “We have reservations for the penthouse I believe, we would like to check in please.”The receptionist's eyes widened at the sight of the passport. “Why certainly sir.” The placed the keys on the counter and logged then in on the hotel registry. “The express elevator to the penthouse is just over there sir and welcome to the Shade hotel.” As the pair walked over to the elevator the tapped a button connecting her to the manager's Secretary. “The booking from the Rhineland royal court was for the prince he has just arrived.”[/color]
  8. Raphael Devereux

    He had stopped smoking years ago, taking precautions to protect his precious vocal chords when he had committed himself to his music career. He wasn't one of those "yeah, I quit smoking but" types either. He only slipped up once and that was at his mother's funeral. He couldn't even look at the open casket, nor when they closed it, and definitely not when they lowered it into the ground. But he forced himself to, and he'd felt sick and after the whole ordeal, he had spent fifteen minutes scouring the streets for a corner store... He'd really needed a smoke then.

    Just like he desperately needed one right now.

    He was standing a little ways from the crowd, his 'dazzle' level at an all-time low as he stared hard at the gravestone. Still, he did not want to attract attention; even if he hadn't been in Emerson for something like seven years, there was always the chance that someone might recognize him. And then the rumour mill was bound to start running...

    Beside him was Ember, whom he'd surprised by asking to come along. She had been giving him some thinking space, he knew, ever since that phone call that caused them to cancel and postpone the rest of their tour in France. Usually he would have been glad for the distance, but he had found the task of attending the funeral alone daunting. It was rare for them to reach out for each other, despite their closeness, but he had never really liked funerals...

    Especially in a city like this, where gossip spread like wildfire. Already he had felt questioning gazes, some openly curious, some mildly familiar, some hostile, following him at the beginning of the ceremony. He really did not feel like taking those on (should it come to confrontations!) without someone at his side.

    As the funeral came to a close and people started trickling away, Raphael approached the grave, his mind a swirl of emotions, the more prominent ones being guilt and shame. Fragments of memories flickered at the edge of his consciousness. Crossing his arms and pouting at his mother, "I will not live in America anymore." Catching his mother, after they had moved back, looking at 'his' photograph, the sadness in her eyes he did not want to acknowledge. Oh God. He needed a cigarette. There was no way he could do this--

    Jeremiah was dead. There would be no making peace with him nor his ghost, as his mother had wished. This confrontation with his memories was only going to lead to pain. A lot of it.

    Suddenly, it was too much for Raphael. He wanted to go back to France. (And screw this peace making business!) Back to his life. As far away as possible from this man who stole his mother from him. France. Yes, focus on that. He breathed in once, shutting away the guilty thoughts in a corner of his mind "to be dealt with later".

    And once he'd done that, he turned to the woman beside him, his French smooth and low, "Em, let's go."

    "I need a smoke," he added as an afterthought, as a means to convey his inner turmoil (he never needed a smoke) and well, the fact that he wanted one.

    ...Maybe this was all just a huge mistake in judgement on his part.

    [OOC: It's late. I didn't re-read it. No editing either. I apologize in advance for any typos, grammar, missing chunks of texts. x_x]
  9. All eyes were on Amy as though she were unwanted by the group. Except Tiffany who was the last one to notice Amy.

    "One of your friends Tiff? I am out of here." She said and waited away immediately.

    The rest of Tiffany's friend walked away as well as though Amy were some infectious disease leaving Tiffany to fend for herself. Crossing her arms she watched as each of her friends went there own way and they looked back at Amy. "It's nothing to do with you. I guess I broke one of the code rules, at least they think. Rule 38, no friends of other groups crash into another but your not with my other group. It's all good it's fine." She said and looked away for a moment and then back at Amy. "Your parents made you come over here didn't they? They thought 'oh look Amy, one of your good ol' classmates, you should go talk with her.' My parents played the same exact card to make her sure I didn't end up hanging with the rejects. Too bad for them I hang with both." She and paused for a moment and then continued. "Where are my manners? My mother would slap me if she were listening in on us for me not introducing myself first. My name is Tiffany Geraldson but if we become friends you can call me Tiff." She concluded and waited to see how Amy would respond. Guess I am the only one with Goth friends. She does look a little like Ellie but not really.
  10. Location: Vargas' residence, Early morning
    A high-pitched CPU hum, punctuated by the occasional frantic keyboard noises filled the room. The room was almost completely dark, only illuminated by the light coming from the computer monitor. Seated in front of this computer monitor is a hunched figure.

    "It's a little bit too silent in here" Vincent thought as he opened another computer program. Afterwards, foreign music filled the room, harmonizing, instead of drowning the hum.

    "Better..." he thought as he sighed and went on typing.

    He absentmindedly looked at the window just beside his desk and looked at the silent neighborhood. An indifferent moon drifted slowly over a horizon punctuated by trees, houses and buildings. Neon signs could be seen from a distance, indicating where the downtown is.

    Vincent turned his attention back to the computer, resumed typing, and stopped. He seemed to blank out for a moment, and then pounded on the backspace key. This pattern of typing, silence, hitting the backspace key, and typing again went on for an indeterminate amount of time, only the accompanying music changed, from what seemed to be ancient Chinese music, to some Japanese pop tune, to what might pass for rock music.

    His brother, whose bed is across the room, suddenly stood up and walked towards Vincent.

    "Oh, sorry about that," Vincent said as he turned down the speaker's volume, "Was it too loud?"

    "Nah, not really..." the brother said, "I was just going to the bathroom. And oh, anyways, did you hear about that neighbor of ours who recently died?"

    Vincent turned to his brother, with a quizzical expression on his face, "No. What about him?"

    "No, nothing much... It's just that I think we ought to pay our respects to him, being good neighbors and all," his brother said.

    "Who's going then?" Vincent asked.

    "Not me of course," the brother shrugged.

    "Why not? You can pass by their place after work, right?" Vincent reasoned out.

    "Hmmm, I might..." Vincent's brother conceded, "I'll see what I can do about that." Saying that, he went on with his business.

    "Now what was that about...?" Vincent asked himself as he resumed typing, he got so absorbed into what he was doing that he didn't notice his brother going back to his bed and resuming his sleep, lulled by that strange mix of CPU hum and weird Japanese music.
  11. Ember remained silent and respectful as she observed the tombstone before her and Raphael. Her expression was cool, her hands clasped together just below her stomach. She could sense it... He was feeling rather uneasy. He was desiring a cigarette. She'd only tried those cancerous sticks once or twice - They never suited her fancy.

    They didn't stay long. Not that she expected to... She offered a half smile to him as they turned away from Jeremiah's grave, draping an arm over his shoulders to provide comfort. A well known man had passed away. Additionally, Raphael was feeling guilt for what he felt he had done wrong. Ember felt more sorrow for her beloved band partner more than anything else. It was a shameless thing she could admit to herself...

    She spoke ever so gently to him in their foreign tongue, "Do you need anything along the way?"

    Ember thought she'd offer... They could make stops along the way back to their hotel. Raphael's mental health was important to her.
  12. Iann felt another sharp poke into his side as his grandmother Iris nudged him into another meaningful and ever so important greeting. It was always the same ol' song and dance for these people. Always a smile and nod as he was given looks of pitty or utter disgust. His grandmother had a way with words that always made Iann out to be some poor wreach that was resuced. And always from the kindness of her own heart.

    "Iann stand up straight, this is Mr. Myerson he is a very important man on Wall Street and this is his wife Ruthann. This is my grandson Iann, he's come to stay with me while his mother is on a sabatical." Thats rich.. thought Iann, that was a new way of saying his mother dumped him and they still couldnt reach his father..

    "Hello, hi.." Iann tried to smile but he could careless about some stiff that his grandmother use to know. It was all so fake and drawn out. Iann could feel the contempt and anger in the faces of some people that were to polite to say what they were really feeling. All those people left, hell the priest was gone before his bible closed.

    "Iann! Come on we have other people to see, Nice to see you again take care, yeas yeas okay bye now. Iann I am not going to tell you again to button your shirt and for ChristSake stop sluching.." Iris kept nagging Iann as their driver brought the car around. Iann was thankful that they were leaving at long last when his grandmother spotted one more person she just had to talk to.

    "Iann come on... you have to pay your respects too. " Iann cut his grandmother off.

    "I dont want too, Im tired and hungry can we just go?"

    As soon as the words fell from his lips he regreated saying anything at all. Iris shot him the look of death as the handsome couple walked up to her. She gave Iann an Ill deal with you later glare and then quickly faked a smile and talked to the couple.

    At last Iann had a moment of peace. He took the moment to look around and spotted the kids near the tree and the other people leaving. Letting out a sigh he looked down and studied the tombstones.
  13. Amy watched coolly as all but Tiffany left the trunk of the tree and made their own way back to the mourning crowd. She found it amusing how she should be feeling somewhat hurt or embarrassed but this scenario played out so often that Amy often saw it coming and was rarely fazed by it any more; she did stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd, despite the fact that everyone was mostly in black.

    Listening to Tiffany explain, then introduce herself, Amy stifled the urge to nod and loudly agree about the comment she made about their parents. Instead, she opted for casual - arms crossed, head slightly tilted and one knee bent to a side.

    It was slightly strange that Tiffany would choose to stay behind and speak with her. Most of the guys and girls around town would eye her up and down quizzically and scatter away just in case she grew fangs and conducted a sacrificial ritual on them. But perhaps, Amy thought, she was one of the types who felt sorry for her or maybe, she added a little more optimistically, she was the genuine real deal; completely different from the fakers and the wannabes in Emerson whose only purpose was to climb up the social food chain, like her parents.

    At this stage, she wasn't sure so Amy decided to play it safe for now.

    "Amy Mackintosh," She replied introducing herself, "I've seen you around school before... your mom owns that antique shop right? I think my dad bought something there once. No offence but that 18th century vase or whatever it is was gross - it's sitting in the corner of our lounge and my mom loves it."

    Amy rolled her eyes, stressing the word before she continued, "So, what are you here for? Are you a relative of that dead guy? Or are your parents using this as a business opportunity like my parents?"
  14. Tiffany was amused by the fact that Amy's dad fell prey to her mothers fake golden voice. She seemed to be very good at giving people junk for usually a huge sum of money. It was definitely humorous but at the same time she felt sorry for the people that her mother won over and took advantage of. Her and her father were prime examples of individuals taken advantage of but Victoria had not one that bad. Her father kept to his accounting and Tiffany stuck with both groups of friends.

    "First off, I am so glad that I am not related to him, he was such a creep. If you were related to him I am so sorry." She said and looked around slightly upset and uneasy. "What he did to my friend Becky Morison is unforgivable. I hope someone had killed because then he would've gotten his just deserve. She was a bright musician and singer and just wanted to learn from one of the best and he took advantage of that. The sad thing is is that no one believed her when she told them that he raped her. Instead she was sent to a psych ward and one month later she killed herself." Tiffany said but stopped suddenly and let her arms down to try to relax as she breathed deeply.

    "What if the wrong guy is in that casket?" She said as she looked over at Amy. "Mistakes have been made in the medical field and all that other stuff. They could've identified the wrong body or something and he could be anywhere. He could be here watching us and wondering such lustful desires. Wouldn't even know it was him because he would've changed his disguise and changed his whole identity. I am not going to be his next victim. If he is still alive then I am going to kill him because he kills me." She said and then started laughing to herself quietly and shrugged her shoulders. "Anyways that's just me and my issues. Whatever." She said quietly as she looked back at Amy.

    Looking over at her family gathered together she looked back at Amy. "My mother is the reason were all gathered here. We seem to take up almost half of the population attending this funeral and we don't even know the creep. Victoria just likes to make an appearance to make people think she cares even though she never even knew the man. My two older brothers don't even live in the area anymore and they never even spoke with Mr. Jeremiah Douglass. And my dad hardly speaks with anyone and keeps to himself most of the time. No reason for us to be here." She said as she looked back at her mother who was eying at her curiously.

    Looking back at Amy she grinned and then crossed her arms. "My mom doesn't seem to like you. She's giving me that look like 'why are you hanging with her.'" She said and decided to not going any further with explaining why. "So, your parents are here for business reasons, interesting. What kind of business do they do? Are they trying to cheat someone out of a huge some of money like my mother or something else much worse?" She asked with intrigue and amusement. Anything was better than thinking about what happened to her friend Becky and the possibly of Mr. Jeremiah Douglass still alive and on the loose.
  15. [size=-1]

    Sweet Chrysanthemum, his precious doll... Mori felt guilty for his thoughts as he watched her gorgeous form blur into her socialite figure. Every delicate curve of her body was like that of a cat, luxuriant and warm. Those perfectly pouted lips seemed to beg to be kissed and as Mori leant in, he smelled her delicately perfumed locks of hair, longing to kiss her neck.

    Pulling himself away from her, Mori sat in his own chair. The waitress came, a glass of light white wine placed before Chrissy with sauteed mushrooms and braised beef. Mori stared bemusedly at her as she lifted a forkful of food to her lips. Chasing the bite with a sip of wine, Chrissy nestled against her seat and smiled to Mori.

    "What shall we do later?"

    Mori frowned to her, arching an eyebrow. She was such a precocious child, he sighed to himself. Running his fingers through his hair, Mori stared down at his plate of lemon and fish, as well as the sparkling, carbonated water in his own glass.​
  16. Yvaine Bardwin

    Several moments had passed before Yvaine finally pulled herself together enough to stop sniffling behind the mausoleum. She pulled out a mirror from the little purse she carried and made sure she didn't have tears streaming down her face, or messed up makeup. Last thing she wanted was Daddy to freak out and worry about her. Satisfied that she looked okay, Yvaine stood up and dusted off her dress.

    "Excuse me!" a woman's voice called out, startling Yvaine enough to jump. "What is a pretty little lady like you doing hiding back here? I'm sorry, let me introduce myself. I'm Violet Stilwell. Reporter for EMBC News." she held out her hand to Yvaine.

    Blinking, Yvaine didn't take the woman's hand. Ugh, why'd she have to feel like she just got caught doing something bad! "Um, I was just going to find my Dad..."

    "Ah, so here with the family, hmm? I take it you didn't want to be around the deceased. There's a rumor has it, he had a fancy for teenage girls. I could see how one of his victims might not want to part-" Violet didn't seem to have any regret about blurting out the statement.

    "What?! No!" Yvaine responded quickly. Who would say these kinds of things to people at a funeral?!

    "No? My apologies! Your dad must have been working as one of Mr. Douglas' hired men. Some sources tell me Douglas has been involved in several mob hits on rival families in the state."

    "You're crazy!" backing up slowly, Yvaine finally turned on a heel and took off running! That evil woman could go harass some other poor person!

    Taking a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't being chased, Yvaine ended up slamming right in to someone and crashing to the ground!

    "I'm so sorry, I was just trying t- Iann Fletcher?" Yvaine was crawling up to her knees and trying to help up the person she practically ran over, and was surprised to find it one of the students from her school. She knew almost everyone's names there (it payed to know your classmates when you planned on running for Student Body President!), but seeing one here at some dead guy's funeral was a surprise.

    "Sorry Iann. I didn't mean to run you down. did you know, uh... him?" Ugh, how embarrassing! The guy could be mourning and she practically squashed him!

    Violet Stilwell

    "Damn. She got away." Violet said, after the girl took off running. Too bad. She seemed a little shaken up by the questions. A little more pressing and Violet might have figured out something interesting. Of course, those 'rumors' she asked the girl about were shots in the dark. There was so much talk running around this cemetery, Violet was still trying to decipher gossip from truth. Choosing this story was a jackpot of intrigue!

    Violet scanned the scene again and picked her next target. With a smirk, there she was! Flarecia Walker. Wasn't she some pretty little teen model? Violet headed straight for her!

    "Hello there! My, it's such a shame that poor man is dead. Say, how did you know Mister Douglas?"
  17. While standing straight up and down during the funeral was taking place, Ronald noticed something. Yvaine had done a good job dressing up Milian. When it came to Jonas and himself...making ties look good on himself was never a speciality. Veronica was the one who had dressed him up nicely whenever it was needed. Several times during the mourning he had looked down at his son's tie and back up at his own, over and over again, sighing each time.

    'Jeremiah, Jeremiah.....what happened to you?' He thought to himself. Now, as the funeral was over, he really just wanted to find Yvaine and get back home. He was sure none of the kids enjoyed the occasion, Yvaine couldn't possibly remember Jeremiah, she was......well, it was a long time ago now.

    After talking for roughly five minutes to some of his colleagues and getting Jonas and Milian with him they started walking to wards where they had parked the car. He wasn't interested in chit-chatting, this wasn't his crowd.

    On the way out he noticed a familiar face, Raphael was in town! It put a smile on his mouth, but he didn't approach him, it didn't feel right, the man seemed rather depressed.

    Just as they had passed the gate, he spotted Yvaine, coming closer, his jaw dropped.

    "What the..." He almost shouted in his daughters face.

    He paused for a second and calmed his voice.

    "Wh-what is the meaning of this?" He said looking dissapointed at Yvaine.

    Ronald paused a second time, pushing Jonas and Milian away.

    "Go wait by the car." He said, before turning back to Yvaine.

    "And who's this?" He asked, pointing at Iann almost accusationly.
  18. (Original Poster: Razilin)

    "Hi, doctor. Enjoying the crisp night air?"

    Though the girl's tone was light, friendly, and playful, Engel didn't lower her guard; she'd examined and interacted with Hennessy in the past and was familiar with her psych profile. A pleasant demeanor didn't mean much with this one. Unsurprisingly, Engel kept one gauntlet-mounted launcher trained on the younger girl.

    "Its pretty refreshing," Engel replied smoothly, trying to hide the unease in the pit of her stomach. She kept tabs on the other monsters rampaging through the streets around her. Agents had come out in force to engage and subdue the creatures, but judging from how things were going, it would only be a matter of time before they were overrun. "Its getting a little crowded out here for my taste. I prefer my walks to be more private."

    "Oh, that's right!" Hennessy clapped her hands gleefully. "You're the long walks in the park type. Haven't been doing that much lately, though, right? Not since that guy you were dating got offed. I heard about that. SPLAT!" The girl pounded a fist into her opposite palm to demonstrate.

    Engel frowned darkly at the memory. It seemed that office gossip mill was in full steam, no matter if it was in a regular job or a secret organization. She pushed those feelings aside and focused on Hennessy; Engel wasn't about to let the girl get under her skin, not with a small army of monsters on the loose. "Why'd you break them out?"

    The girl shrugged. "I needed to get out. To find the Master."

    Engel raised an eyebrow in confusion. "The who? Never mind. You need to stand down, Erika. As it is, a lot of people are going to get hurt...maybe even get killed. Do you want that on your conscience?"

    Erika blinked and tilted her head. "Conscience? I got Bitch Me to take care of that." She looked around at the chaos and sighed. "I did tell them to play nice. Maybe it's time to come Aw, do we have to? Alright! Doc, duck!"

    Six guns suddenly jumped out from behind her back and fired. Engel shut her eyes but didn't feel anything. When the gunfire stopped she cracked open an eye to see Erika skipping off. A loud thump behind her made her turn. A wendigo lay dead behind her.

    "Of all the reckless...." Engel muttered as her beating heart slowed down to something less than panic. The gunshots left her ears ringing, but at least she was alive to be annoyed by it. The surgeon jogged after the skipping girl and even dared to grab her arm.

    The teenager whipped a glare a her, but Engel held her ground. "Erika, this has to stop. Stand down, please."

    The girl was about to reply when another pack of four wendigos skittered onto the scene. Tall, elongated, emaciated, and covered with thinning white fur, they were the very incarnation of hunger, driven only by the instinct to feed. That was their legend, after all - men and women who, in desperation, resorted to cannibalism to survive...and cursed with a twisted, misshapen existence plagued by unending hunger.

    Though Engel knew Erika to be more than capable of defending herself with her powers, instinct drove the surgeon to push the girl aside to safety as one of the beasts dove at them. Engel fell onto her back, the monstrous creature snapping at her face with a massive maw; Engel barely held him at bay. In desperation, she fired two darts at point-blank range. The creature stiffened and fell over, paralyzed.

    Another of the creatures leaped at Erika, only to find itself perforated by a series of bullets from the six floating guns constantly circling the teenager. Engel tracked a third wendigo, sniping it down with another dart. The fourth, however, was sneaking up on Erika from behind.

    "Erika!" Engel warned, but too late as the wendigo pounced upon the unsuspecting girl....

    ...Only to fall flat on its face in the wake of a gunshot. Its white fur was stained red.

    A tall, lean man in black emerged from a side-street, casually holstering a gun.

    Engel recognized the man, of course. He was the older brother of the man she loved. She said softly, "Crossfire."