Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 139/12 2437 Posts
Auguries of Destruction: The Aria of the Thirteen
Unknown year, BC
The woman garbed in a white robe, now stained with blood, slammed into the mud-brick wall. She was vaguely surprised that the wall didn't break with the force, but she had far bigger concerns.
"Bear not your anger on me!" She screeched, "You asked what I see, and I told you what I saw!"
"It will NOT do, Atropos!" the man, garbed in similar attire bellowed, "I will NOT fall to some woman, no matter what her destiny may be!"
"Then go and find out for yourself! Waste not your energy on me!" Atropos replied indignantly.
"I will, and after I kill her, I'll kill you for mocking me!" The man returned.
The man stormed out of her house without a second thought, almost literally flying out the broken, front door. Atropos staggered to her feet, clutching her side, where she was hit hardest by the man's Craft. Already she heard the footsteps of her sisters. The youngest came into the room first.
"Sister, what happened?" She asked urgently, her eyes widening upon seeing that Atropos was hurt.
"Nothing to be worried about, Clotho." Atropos sighed, practically falling upon the wooden chair next to her, "Those that run opposite the direction of fate usually find themselves following it anyway..." She looked towards the broken door, "... you say you would kill me... but I doubt we will meet again."
As Atropos slumped into the darkness of unconsciousness, and as she felt her sisters tending to her injury, her mind's eye drifted out, searching for the woman of which she had spoke.
Elsewhere, a woman was simply washing her clothing by a stream. Her thoughts were elsewhere than her chores, however. She kept thinking to what her mother had told her about what the Fates had said, when she was still yet in the womb.
"This unborn child shall have a heart of fire." Lachesis had said, "It will awaken on the day of her birth. Teach her the purpose of fire, so that she may learn to use her heart in the best way."
Yet, she didn't have anything resembling what the fortune teller had said. Only the red robes she wore now, perhaps, but she didn't have anything special. No foresight, no abilities like those of the Gods.
Then she remembered. It was her birthday. She couldn't help but wonder if that was the reason why her mother had gone to the market...
A fierce gust of wind suddenly swept her aside like a leaf, slamming her with force into a nearby tree. She cried out, as she heard something land with a thud not far from her.
"A woman in red by the snake's edge, with a fiery heart inside. You wished to know how you will fall... and you will fall by her." Atropos hazily thought in her mind, as she continued to watch everything unfold.
"So, you're supposed to be the one who's going to kill me? What a joke." The man laughed, before pushing the air with his mind, hurling a javelin of wind at the woman.
There was no thought about dodging, no thought at all, besides the realization that she was under attack. Fear threatened to hold her still, but something inside of her sparked, and the woman, named Phoenix, pushed out with her mind.
The impact between Air and Fire caused a chime to reverberate through the air, as the javelin of wind struck the outward burst of fire. However, although it was blocked slightly, it wasn't blocked well enough, and so it pierced through the barrier and slashed Phoenix on her arm.
Unused to the pain, she nearly crumpled to the ground, but just managed to stay standing.
"What was that?!" The man asked, recoiling slightly. He had not expected this. "Well then, try this!"
The man launched another javelin of wind at her. Yet, in her fatigued state, Phoenix's eyes weren't focused, so they caught movement; she could vaguely see the rippling of the air as it flew at her. Instinctively, she pushed outward at it, the point of the javelin.
There was another chime that reverberated in the air, but this time, the javelin of wind was deflected, and smashed into a tree to the side of Phoenix.
"I can see it." Phoenix murmured.
"What was that?" The man asked, incredulous.
"I can see your Element of Air." Phoenix replied, her tone weary, yet now resolved. She pushed outward again with her mind, feeling the spark before it ignited, and a surge of fire flew through the air at the man.
The man successfully blocked it, if barely, forcing the winds to spiral in front of him and just managing to keep it away from him. He growled, but launched more bursts in retaliation, all of which Phoenix blocked.
"I see, this is my Craft. This is the power derived from the Elements lying dormant in my body." Phoenix continued, speaking aloud since she was too weary to just think it.
Her eyes narrowed, and she focused. This time, the ignition came not from mid-air, but this time, below and just in front of the man. He cried out in shock, but it was already too late. The fire intensified, growing larger than him, engulfing him. He yelled out in anguish and shock, before he just disappeared, totally destroyed by the flames, which died out after him.
Exhausted, Phoenix slumped against the tree trunk and slid to the ground, unconscious. Atropos knew, however, that she would survive. Her heart was ignited, and very little would be able to quench it. 3:00 PM. Tharia's House, Forested District, Makironto. Sunday July 24th, 2045.
Tharia opened her eyes, dismissing the vision -no, the memory- with the sight of what was in front of her. She wasn't sure if she liked these visions, flickering memories of lives long since past, but nevertheless, they were a part of her, and always would be. She heard the doorbell ring, and quickly left her study to answer the door.
"Well, this is a surprise. I don't see you very often, Harold." She said warmly, recognizing the blond haired man wearing his usual dark trench coat. "This isn't a business call, I assume?"
Harold shook his head, "No... I just wanted to ask if I could borrow that book..."
Tharia smiled, "You always return it in peak condition, so I don't have an issue about it. Let me get it."
A quick trip to and from the study later, and she handed Harold a leather-bound book, which looked more like a journal than anything else.
"Thank you." Harold said, before leaving the way he came. Out of the corner of his eye, he made sure that Tharia had closed the door, and presumably locked it. It wasn't that big of a deal, especially in this district since it was among the most crime-free sections of the city, but nevertheless... no point in taking unnecessary risks.
4:30 PM. Harold's Apartment.
A quick train ride later, and Harold was at his own apartment, in the Sky High district. He didn't bother to sit down, instead stopping and standing in the middle of his bare living room.
He opened the book, spending several hours reading the beginning of it, which consisted mainly only of philosophical ramblings regarding nature. He stopped momentarily to have dinner, but resumed reading afterwards. Eventually, he came to the section he was most interested in, the chapters regarding the elements, and their powers.
"The wind lies all around us. We can feel it, but we cannot see it. We breathe it, yet we do not comprehend it. It is because we do not comprehend it that we cannot control it; once it is understood, then it can be wielded. Just as this is true of the wind, it is true of all the forces." Harold read silently.
In his mind's eye, something came into view. He shook his head. He didn't want to see; he just wanted to read the journal. He forced the scene out of his mind, and continued.
"I have been developing my skill in the wielding of air. The easiest and quickest use discovered is as an attack; it is instinctive, a reaction, an emotion."
Harold held out his right hand, reading from the book in his left. He could feel the air below his outstretched hand; even unasked, he could feel it begin to bend to his will... that was how developed his power actually was... that is, if he could remember it.
"This power, the wielding of air to inflict a physical wound not unlike a sword's slash, I will call it Garu. Draw the air below the hand, draw it into the form of a blade. It will cut like a blade, so it is best to shape it as such."
Harold didn't have to focus to feel the immaterial hilt just hovering below his right hand. Yet, with it also came a temptation... the temptation to hurl it, just to see the impact... to see something break from the force of his mind... Harold shook his head. No, that would not do. One must not lose themself to their own power, even if it is beyond the natural. However, the feeling was soon forgotten, as the vision returned, clearer and stronger. Harold nearly dropped the book in his hand, but quickly grabbed it with both hands. Unaided, the book, despite being disturbed, flipped back to the page he had left off.
Harold shook his head, but the vision, no, the memory, persisted. He saw the book in front of him, on a wooden desk. Two hands carefully worked, the slender fingers of the left hand writing the words he had just read with a long feather quill. Naturally, they were not his hands... they were the hands of someone he was, in a previous life. A previous life... as a woman.
Just as quickly as the vision came, it vanished from his sight. Harold closed the book, and wiped his forehead, already damp with a few beads of sweat. He carefully set the book upon his fake fireplace's mantle, before sitting in an armchair. It was difficult for him to read that journal. Despite the fact that it was the key to his powers, the only key to his powers, the memories that assaulted him were too different, too distracting, for him to read everything.
He could feel more memories on the border of his consciousness, but he didn't want to see them right then. It was strange. He seemed to be the only one who had experienced reincarnation as both men and women. Likewise, he was the only one, at least that he had discovered, even with the occasional aid of Sarah and the databases around the world, who could draw upon all six of the elements without the need of a ritual. Yet, his abilities were severely limited... the key being the journal in his hands... yet the memories conflicted with his own thoughts. Reincarnated as a man, he couldn't easily access things or memories from previous lives as a woman, and likewise the opposite was also true for him.
Harold sighed. He could only do so much at one time. It was late, he knew the book wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and he knew that there was the weekly MSPD meeting tomorrow, so he began his evening routine. As he lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come, his mind wandered. He wondered what his teammates had been doing that day, and what was in store for him tomorrow.
(This post is just to give a bit of background information, even if irrelevant, to help define the setting, and serves as a good opening for this thread.
For an opening post, just consider what your character would be doing on a day 'off', as well as their entrance to the MSPD office building in the morning, and greeting each other, if you wish.)
Posted on 2009-09-04 at 21:02:24.
Edited on 2009-09-24 at 16:21:52 by Reralae
Except for the red ember at the end of his joint and the watery blue light cast off by the fish tank on the far wall the room was dark. He pulled a long drag from the joint, watching how it burns brighter as he does then peters out when he is done. The smoke is trapped in his mouth, tickling up his nose, seeping down his throat slightly. Before he exhales he hands it over to the girl laying in bed next to him. Their fingers touch a moment as she takes it and brings it to a pair of lips smudged with pink lipstick. Finally he exhales, the smoke catches the light from the fish tank and swirls in pretty blue tendrils before his eyes.
He smiles. It has been a good night. The smell of the smoke mixes with the faint hint of water, cheap perfume and sweat. His head is light and swimmy as if he were in with the fish, floating atop the water, between the pot and the still lingering euphoria of sex he is swimming.
The night had started not long after the sun went down at a local bar. A few beers and a few games of pool ended in a fist fight with a patron Michael had never seen before. The man had tried to hustle him. Something he likely regretted now, because Michael’s hand was still sore from breaking the man’s nose. Chelsea had come back to the apartment with Michael afterwards.
She was a cute little thing, he thought to himself as he took the joint back from her to settle it between his lips. A little punk girl; magenta colored hair that had been cropped and styled to look like a cat hat spent half an hour licking it into a disaster; heavy eye makeup, frosted pink lips; enough piercings to make an airport security guard have nightmares and a handful to tattoos to go with them; the boots, pink leggings, short black skirt and the white lacy top were all on his floor now.
It wasn’t the first time Chelsea had been to the apartment. She lived up the street and was a regular at the bar as well. When her boyfriend was in town she came with him, and when he wasn’t in town she went home with Michael.
Pulling a final drag from the joint he passed the little bit that was left to Chelsea and then swung out of bed.
“Be right back baby…”
She nodded slightly and enjoyed the last bit of the joint as she sank into his bed. Michael padded his way to the bathroom. The light flicked on as he closed the door behind him. The toilet seat was almost always up here, he lived alone and he knew how much it was piss his mother off, so it was up now. Leaning an arm against the shower stall he deposited safety measures and all those beers into the toilet. As he reached over to jiggle the handle on the porcelain bowl he caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
The sight caused him to stand up straight, smile and run a hand through his hair. Five days a week he worked out, and it paid off. Under his lightly tanned skin muscles were toned into thick ropes. A firm jaw line led up to his handsome face where a pair of dark blue eyes peered out. His hair was a dark brown, straight and cut short enough to be respectable but long enough to run his fingers through. A face chiseled for the movies not the police station, or so he’d been told (and didn’t argue the point) several times before. A few scars marred his physique, but only seemed to add to the over all persona he had. A motorcycle accident made his right arm look like a cheese grater had been taken to a long strip of it. Thin one inch lines speckled his left side under his ribs and circled to his back where he had once been stabbed in a fight. There was even a star shaped bit of scar tissue that went straight through his left shoulder, a bullet. They were medals that he wore to prove that he could live through anything.
Holding his fingers up to his own reflection as if they were a gun he grinned and fired once then walked over to the sink and turned on the cold water.
A splash of the water cut through the dizzy lightheaded feeling that had wrapped itself around him like a blanket. He could think more clearly then as he wandered back to bed and curled up next to Chelsea.
The clock beside the bed read 4:09. He counted the hours until he was expected to be at his parents for Sunday brunch: seven. Not enough is what that amounted too.
Chelsea had fallen asleep and he ran a finger through her hair, noticing how it caught on one of the rings high up on her ear and laughed to himself a moment. His mother was always asking when he’d bring a girl to brunch for her to meet. He could just imagine bringing Chelsea there.
The pink leggings and black lace standing out in stark contrast to the pure white linen suit his mother would wear. She would stroke her pearls like she did when she was thinking about something distressing, as if the pearls could wash away any unclean thoughts, her eyes would watch Chelsea carefully, making sure her fine china and silverware didn’t make it into the girl’s purse. His father would sit in his chair at the table on the balcony, explaining to Chelsea the food; the history of pheasant going back to the Kings of France; the best way to grow asparagus; the valley that the wine came from, all in a tone that his efforts to refine the girl were helpless but he would try anyway.
An amusing thought, but he never would do that. He got enough grief from his parents without adding more ammunition to the firing squad. Not to mention he had hoped to share his bed with Chelsea again someday and that wouldn’t happen if he brought her there, she’d never forgive him. Not that he would be able to blame her for it.
Still thinking about his mother meeting Chelsea he falls to sleep next to the little punk girl.
* * *
The large cherry red Indian motorcycle turns quickly, leaving a slight tire burn on the asphalt, before coming to a halt before ‘The Shop’ as Michael likes to call the MSPD Headquarters. A foot in a heavy black boot kicks down the kick stand and the bike settles slightly to the right as the engine kicks off. Moments later Michael steps off the bike and pulls the shiny black helmet off his head. Under his black leather jacket he wears a blue t-shirt and a pair of well worn jeans.
The helmet is tucked under one arm while he goes for a package of cigarettes in the hidden breast pocket of his jacket. He uses his lips to pull one of them from the pack before putting the rest back and fishing a lighter out. A flash of flame and he takes a drag from his third cigarette of the morning.
Propped casually against his bike he savors most of the cigarette, waving to people as they pass him. Finally it is time to head inside, which he does, with half a pinky’s width of lit cigarette still hanging from his lip.
“Michael Davin!” Sarah calls out as she notices him once again trying to sneak into the building with a cigarette.
He grins at her, shrugs as if to say ‘Hey I forgot’ and pulls the cigarette from his lips, lifts his foot up and puts it out on the bottom of his boot before dropping the bent butt in the nearest trash can. Sarah narrows her eyes at him some, shakes her head then starts to go back to work.
Susan can’t help but to smile a little at him, though. And it is to her that he smiles warmly and steps up to the desk for. He leans over it and into Susan’s personal space bubble just a bit.
“My but you are looking pretty today Susan. Now tell me, have you thought about my proposal much since last I saw you? Come on… you – me – a weekend in Tahati – how can you say no?” he grins brightly.
Susan blushes slightly, and shakes her head at him, “Oh Michael…”
“Ohh… Susan…” He mocks her with a smile then straightens up. “Be sure and tell me the minute you change your mind, I’m desperately waiting…” He winks at her.
He heads down the hall then, grinning as he sticks a cigarette over his ear. Feeling the eyes of Susan and Sarah on his back as he goes. In the break room he pours himself a cup of coffee into one of the Styrofoam cups and then loads it full of sugar. He takes his time, knowing that the clock in the meeting room is inching toward 8:00.
Just as it reaches the 8 he slips inside and takes a chair at the table, grinning at everyone.
Marie sat across from him, such a pretty thing she was he thought to himself. She had a troubled background kind of like him, and he had told her more than once that he thought they would be perfect together. And maybe they would. But he had never actually asked her out, affairs in the office were not exactly looked well on. Besides, he was kind of certain she was a girl who looked for ‘relationships’ and Michael just wasn’t into that kind of thing right now. It would please his mother too much.
Lara sat to his left. If Marie was pretty, this woman was drop dead gorgeous. The first time she had walked in the room Michael had to sit down and squeeze his legs tightly together to stop the embarrassing reaction she caused in him. But he didn’t flirt her much. To be honest the woman scared him a little. He had seen what she could do to a man. Beautiful poison was how he thought about her, and he gave her as much distance as she needed. He’d back her up, he’d work with her, but he couldn’t envision himself sleeping with her… well... not seriously.
The Chief cleared his throat and Michael started to sip his coffee as the meeting began.
A woman walked through the Amazon, each step falling lightly on the forest floor. It was a hot night and the rain forest humidity clung to her body sticking her black curls to her body. Still she continued on through the wild Amazon. There was nothing here for her to fear, she was a creature of this wild world. She had been born of it.
Step after step she took until she reached the great river. Torrents of water flowed through the channel teeming with life. She bent over to drink of the life giving river.
Suddenly the forest shifted as a darkness deeper than the night began to undulate through the air. Looking up the woman turned to seek out the source of the unnatural darkness. Before her eyes a formless darkness grew in the night. It reached out for her with hungry anticipation seeking to wholly consume her being.
The woman began to scream. ¡Ai!
Iara del Río awoke with scream panting heavily as she ran her hands through her dark curly hair. The nightmares were becoming more frequent, too frequent, and she still had no knowledge of their origin. Were they forgotten memories of a distant past or premonitions of what was yet come? Or were they not more than mere dreams that woke her from her slumber?
Letting her head drop to her hands she took a few deep breaths before sighing and looking out into the still dark room. It was not yet daybreak and there were a few more hours she could sleep before beginning her day, but sleep never came after one of those nightmares. So Iara resigned herself to starting her day a few hours early.
Rising from the wrinkled cotton sheets Iara padded across the room the large window that overlooked the Sky High District of the city. It was still an hour before sunrise, and in the fading darkness she could see herself faintly reflected in the window. She had fallen asleep in a white bra and underwear, and the light fabric contrasted with her dark copper skin. Shadows from the city lights danced across her body enhancing her exotic beauty. Full lips and dark eyes were complimented with a mane of black curls and a lithe figure.
Iara pressed her hand against the faded reflection. For her that reflection came to close to the truth of things, like a spectral reminder of what was. Despite her efforts she remembered precious little of her life before she was found unconscious on the floor of the Amazon. All that remained of whoever she was were faded fragments of memories that seemed more like dreams. Iara sighed and pressed her head against the window. She would regain all she had lost, she would.
The sun shone brightly as Iara made her way to the MSPD Headquarters. Her every step made a resounding click-clack as the heels of her brown boots hit the sidewalk pavement. Dark skinny jeans were tucked into those boots and beneath her unbuttoned camel jacket a low cut tank clung to her torso. Iara always dressed provocatively, it made most men nervous and when men were nervous she generally got what she wanted.
Running a hand through her hair Iara turned a corner to climb up the steps of the MSPD Headquarters. Those that recognized her gave her a wide birth. Since joining the MSPD she had gained a reputation for ruthlessness and had done nothing to quell that. The more people kept their distance the easier it was to keep her secrets hidden, and Iara had little doubt she'd be incarcerated should her true motives ever be discovered.
As usual the front doors were open and the sisters Susan and Sarah Raiheart were busy behind the reception desk.
"Buenos días chicas," Iara said as she passed them on her way to the conference room. Ruthless reputation aside there was still no reason to be rude.
Having already gotten coffee on her way that morning Iara headed straight for the meeting area. Her cardboard cup was still near full of the strong, thick black coffee that the bodega next to her building made daily. She abhorred the thinned out swill that the northerners made and considered the few dollars she spent each day well worth it.
Still a few minutes early Iara walked in the conference room and took a seat at one of the empty chairs at the table. Most of the team was already there waiting for the meeting to begin. Leaning back in her chair she took a sip of her coffee and nodded in greeting to Marie who sat across from her.
As was to be expected Michael strode at the last possible minute. Grinning at everyone he took a seat next to her. Rugged good looks and a charismatic bad-boy persona were well combined in Michael. From what she could tell he had no shortage of successes with women. Still he kept his distance from her, which amused her to no end.
Turning her attention to the chief Iara took another sip of her coffee and waited for the meeting to begin.
Her pearly white teeth flashed in a smile. It was the slow deliberate cat-like grin of a hunter closing on its prey. The music stopped, the dancing ceased, he looked into her eyes and she coyly looked away. He drew closer, quivering uncontrollably as he embraced her.
“Que mes baisers soient les mots d’amour que je ne te dis pas,” he breathed, showering every exposed flash of skin with kisses.
She, for her part, slowly dipped her hand into his pocket, removed his wallet, looked inside, and…
Marie woke with a start, and straight into the table-lamp craning over the small desk over which she had fallen asleep. ‘Ow’ she mouthed, furiously rubbing the back of her head and making a mess of the loose black curls of her shoulder-length hair.
“Marie?” the voice repeated, more urgently than before.
The blue-green of her eyes swung around suspiciously, and ran straight into the beaming gaze of a young, clean-cut freshman she was sure she ought to recognize but couldn’t quite pin.
“Yeah…what?” she replied, slightly sharper than she intended, her voice laced with the Francophone tones of Quebec.
“Uh,” he paused slightly flustered, “well it’s late, and…umm…well I was wondering if you needed someone to, you know, walk you home…”
“Oh,” he whimpered almost soundlessly, turning away from her lamp-lit desk and back into the dark seclusion of the books that lined the endless shelves of the University library.
She watched him go in the glassy reflection that played out on the window by which she was sitting. The dim lights of the library, crystallized into luminescent bursts of light. The corridors of the library, glistened like dark rivers of promise. It all seemed somehow more simple, clearer than muddled reality. Even her own reflection seemed different: more honest. Her hair was longer than she had ever worn it; her thin, pretty features sharper. Small freckles peeked out from where her foundation had worn off. And her eyes dripped with the aching loneliness she felt deep down, but so rarely allowed to surface.
She sighed melancholically. Tearing her gaze away, she opened one of the many books that littered her small desk. She had an essay to finish.
‘…Duh…duh...duhduhduh…Hey Joe…’ Marie mimed, bopping her head as Hendrix wafted out of the radio of the lone speaker of her car. It was fitting. The battered lime green VW Beetle she was driving belonged to an earlier time of flower power, free(ish) sex and when the driver door still worked.
Pulling up to her destination, she cut the engine, and shimmied out of the passenger side.
“Merde, I’m tired,” she managed to mutter through a yawn, as she first stretched athletically, and then smoothed the thigh-high, frilly blue skirt she was wearing. It matched the perfect blue of the sky, the small sapphire pendent she wore, and reflected the blue-green of her eyes.
She entered the building with a series of ‘schlaps’ – her light sandals ricocheting between the heels of her feet and the polished marble floor. She was clearly underdressed. Even the security guards wore neatly pressed, fashionably cut suits. But no one paid her any heed. Or, if they did, they swiftly looked away.
‘Welcome to the MSPD, home of misfits, weirdos and retired lapdancers,’ she thought to herself as she entered an elevator, inserted a card, and zoomed off to floors in the towering skyscraper that were not supposed to exist.
Marie had yet to decide exactly which category everyone fell into, by the time she was seated in the conference room, casually biting her nails. Kurosawa was seated at the head of the table, his face a picture of concentration. The trio of Sarah, Susan and Harold were seated along one side, quietly talking amongst themselves. Iara was to her left, disturbingly beautiful as always. And Michael walked in last, a rugged. Johnny Depp clone.
“Ce se passe,” she whispered conspiratorially to Michael, as he took a seat, “got a cigarette?”
OOC: The French broadly translates as (in order): ‘You are in all my thoughts’; ‘Let my kisses be the words of love I dare not say’; and ‘What’s up’. I’ll refrain from translating ‘merde’.
Posted on 2009-09-29 at 18:46:14.
Edited on 2009-09-29 at 18:46:36 by Ginafae
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 139/12 2437 Posts
Episode 1 - Seeker of the Endless
The days pass without care as time gathers in droplets.
From the pool of knowledge, all can be revealed.
Rain and mist,
Harbours of life and death,
The searcher defies the river of Styx,
All in the search for Eternity.
From his seat at the head of the table, Mr.Kurosawa stood up, silently asking for attention. The lighting of the room seemed to glint on his balding head, but he seemed very unimposing. Instead, by his posture alone, he looked as though he were simply making an announcement to his colleagues, rather than employees.
In stark contrast, the man in the back of the room, only ever known by the letter A, was intimidating as he always was. Wearing mirrored sunglasses, even indoors, it couldn't be determined exactly what he was looking at, and his military-cut brown hair, as well as his ironed formal wear, altogether gave the impression of the hostile superior. Yet, he was always like this, and so it was easy to get used to him. He seldom spoke anyway, simply the quiet overseer to the MSPD group.
Harold stopped his whispered conversation with Sarah, just as the Chief pressed a button at the head of the table. The midsection of the table extended and raised at an angle, providing a dark surface upon which the overhead projectors could display their information.
"Sarah, if you'd please." Mr. Kurosawa asked gently.
Sarah nodded, and quickly pulled up a keyboard and began typing. Within moments, a picture from a police crime scene was brought up in front of everyone. It was a side road, evidently somewhere in the Old City district as could be told by the brick-style of the sidewalk and the old paved road. A body covered by a paramedic blanket was on the sidewalk.
"This is the strange corpse that was found last Saturday. Now, the coroner has it listed as natural causes from a heart attack. Normally, that'd be the end of the case, but this one was a witch, albeit one that was unawakened." Mr. Kurosawa explained, "As you know, whenever a corpse is identified by the police computer, it is cross-referenced by the ISA's witch list. If there's ever a match, then we step in and perform a second autopsy just as a normal precaution. However, this time, the results were not even close to the ones on the police report."
"Cause of death: necrosis of the heart." Sarah read aloud, "It was caused by a witch's powers. It's not clear whether another witch got to them, or their own powers just went out of control for some reason."
"But that doesn't explain why the reports were so different. It's too different to list it as a simple mistake." "A" said unexpectedly.
"A coroner would be good to be friends with if someone had bodies to get rid of." Harold mused, "Doesn't get much easier than that."
"The coroner for this case was Mr. John Wilheln. 35 years old. He also works at Nithrapaw General Hospital." Sarah interrupted, bringing up his profile on the monitors. The man appeared to be a well-kept Caucasian man with light brown hair and emerald green eyes.
"As of yet, this is only conjecture; we don't have any viable grounds to step in as of yet. There is the possibility that Mr. Wilheln is a witch, or may be associated with one, but until we can verify it, we cannot take any official action." Mr. Kurosawa clarified, "But that doesn't mean we can't investigate either. Just don't do anything overt until we have confirmation. I guess that's all for today, unless anyone has anything they wish to ask or clarify."
Seemingly satisfied, "A" took no time in leaving the conference room, disappearing into the elevator.
(So... time to plan what you're going to do, or ask questions
If there's no questions, Mr. Kurosawa will leave to go to his office. I'll put up a post in the Q&A regarding some of the layout of the building as well, for reference.)
He smiles at Marie when she asks for a cigarette. Pulling the one off his ear he slides it over to her and winks.
"Just a cigarette? I could offer you so much more..." That smooth smile slides over to her and then he pulls his eyes over to the Chief as they get their weekly breifing.
Despite the bad-boy image he keeps attentive throughout the meeting. Watching the slides, mentally taking notes. When they have finished he quips up.
"Got anything more on that victim? Name, age, occupation, family situation?"
Posted on 2009-09-30 at 01:03:18.
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 139/12 2437 Posts
"It didn't seem to have anything related, but I'll bring it up." Sarah says, bringing up the file and a picture of a young-adult Japanese man with shoulder-length hair tied into a bao at the back of his head, and wearing a yukata.
"Yosuke Masamune. 24 years old. Family of three, consisting of himself, his wife, and their 5 year old daughter. He and his wife ran a small, successful, home-based editorial business for the local paper in the Old City district." Sarah read aloud, "Not exactly the sort of guy you'd expect to end up dead."
"Here's something interesting," Harold added, "His family doesn't have a medical history that dictates he'd be susceptible to heart attacks."
Posted on 2009-09-30 at 06:44:07.
Edited on 2009-09-30 at 16:38:19 by Reralae
Iara ran a finger across the rim of her coffee cup as she listened to Mr. Kurosawa detail their next mission and answer Michael's question. Pursing her lips she leaned forward to ask a question of her own.
"You say this Yosuke Masamune was a witch," she began, her Colombian accent evident on each word. "Do you know which element he was? Do we still have access to the body?"
She leaned back to take a sip of her coffee and await an answer but then stops and cocks her head to the side, "One more thing, what can you tell us of Mr. Wilheln? Are there any places he frequents by himself, perhaps?"
Posted on 2009-09-30 at 21:33:30.
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 139/12 2437 Posts
Let's see then...
"Let's see... according to our records, Mr. Masamune's body was released to his family earlier this morning. It's unclear what element he may have possessed, but his bloodline suggests that he had a higher likelihood of having an affinity for either water or air, or even both." Sarah answers, "As to Mr. Wilheln... he commutes to Nithrapaw Hospital from the Forested Garden district, which is a fair ways away, considering that the Nithrapaw Hospital borders the Old City district, on the eastern side of the city, while the Forested Garden district is on the western side of the river. Anyway, he's been known to frequent a casino in the same district called Morning Glory, especially on Tuesdays and Fridays, his scheduled days off. However, his financial status doesn't seem to indicate much of the presence of gambling. He lives alone, and doesn't appear to have a wide circle of friends either."
Michael listened to this and nodded when appropriate. While he listened he pulled a carton of cigarettes from an inside pocket of his jacket and tapped out one of the long white cancer sticks. The pack disappeared but he plays with the cigarette while he listens, tapping the end on the table, rolling it between his fingers, all while flashing grins over at Sarah .
When everyone seems done talking though he nods.
“Alright. Well… seems like we have a few things to look into here. First I want to know why this guy became a victim. Then I wanna find out who made him a victim, and finally, why it is being covered up. I’d like to check out the victim. Talk to the widow, see if there is anything at the scene that our boys on the force missed. Lara, you’d probably be best at getting information out of the doctor, so perhaps it would be good if we split, can cover more ground before things get cool. Marie… you got something you’d like to sniff out, or would you like to join me? I’ll give you a ride on my motorcycle…” He flashes a bright smile at Marie.
Iara pressed a finger to her lips at Sarah's answer. Unfortunately the would be unable to study the victims body, but Wilheln was a loner that frequented the casino. She could work with that.
"Alright," Michael responded before she could do so herself, "Well... seems like we have a few things to look into here. First I want to know why this guy became a victim. Then I wanna find out who made him a victim, and finally why it is being covered up. I'd like to check out the victim. Talk to the widow, see if there is anything at the scene that our boys on the force missed. Iara, you'd probably be best at getting information out of the doctor, so perhaps it would be good if we split, can cover more ground before things get cool. Marie... you got something you'd like to sniff out, or would you like to join me? I'll give you a ride on my motorcycle... "
Iara shook her head and then turned to Michael, "While I would hate to interrupt your private time with the lovely Marie, if you are going to meet with the family I would like to come along. The body is with the family and I would like to investigate that myself." She paused to sip her coffee and then continued with a smile, "Besides, the doctor will not be at the casino until tomorrow and I think that the best place to introduce myself to him."
Marie said nothing during the meeting went, carefully cultivating an air of disinterest as she rocked in her chair and quietly tapped the cigarette Michael had given her in tune to the Hendrix song still reverberating through her mind. But, as each image was displayed and information relayed, her eyelids snapped like the shutters of a camera, storing away each moment for future use.
“Marie… you got something you’d like to sniff out, or would you like to join me? I’ll give you a ride on my motorcycle…” a voice asked, bringing to an end the soundless sonata in her head. Her thick, carefully curled eyelashes flicked up, as the blue-greens of her eyes focused on its source.
‘Hmm’ she thought, suddenly aware of how close Michael was to her, and the inviting smell he exuded…
"While I would hate to interrupt your private time with the lovely Marie, if you are going to meet with the family I would like to come along,” Iara interrupted suddenly. "Besides, the doctor will not be at the casino until tomorrow and I think that the best place to introduce myself to him."
“Just as well,” Marie whispered to Michael, with a wink, “I doubt you could afford me anyway.”
“I have a car,” Marie added in a louder voice, as she rose from the table and dangled her cigarette from her lips. “But, n’importe quoi, just let me get changed into ‘work’ clothes.”
OOC: The French is the equivalent of ‘whatever’.
Posted on 2009-10-18 at 17:44:34.
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 139/12 2437 Posts
Sorry it's been so long...
Harold crossed his arms, lost in thought for a moment, "Alright, presuming there's no more input on the matter, it's just about doing what we can for the moment. Susan, Sarah and I will stay in the building; that way we can be easily contacted should something come up. Also, since the building is close to the centre of the city, that means I can head anywhere in decent time, should the need arise."
Susan, however, stood up, yawning, "Actually... I'm thinking of heading home right now; I just took a night shift, so I'm kind of exhausted."
Sarah giggled, "Since when do you take night shifts? Oh well, at least you won't be doing any of your stunts on the communications lines."
Susan winked, "You never know, sis. Perhaps soon you'll actually take a day off. Anyway, see you all later, or next week, whichever comes first."
With that, Susan took her handbag and left the conference room.
Harold shook his head, "Well, back to the matter at hand... I don't think there's any need to be cautious around the Masamune family, but when a witch is involved, you never know... hey, Sarah, if Mr. Masamune was on the Witch list, wouldn't that make his daughter-"
"That's correct, she's a Seed." Sarah replied, "But I doubt we need to investigate her... she's too young to have awakened, much less to have developed her abilities."
"I see." Harold murmured, "Anyway, my intuition tells me the killer's not in the same area, but stay alert, as always."
(Leaving room for further discussion, otherwise...)
The trip to the Masamune family's house is uneventful, apart from some of the lingering morning rush hour visible on the other side of the street heading into the downtown core. The house itself seems to have been built, or at least renovated, by Mr. Masamune's family, with distinct Asian tones added to the house, such as the style of the roof and gutters, the colour palette chosen, and the style of the visible drapes along the windows...
(So then, who knocks on the door, and what will be their greeting when it's answered by Mrs. Masamune?)