065. Coda

[samson]

[In the cabin, Brock and Molotov have been having a heated argument. As heated as an argument can be when it's completely silent, anyway. Gesturing wildly, choking gestures in the air, and a lot of pointing.

Finally, Brock manages to get her to understand he wants her to check on his car. It's important to make sure the Charger is safe, that the garage is secure; if worst comes to worst, they can pile in as many people as they can and make a quick getaway. Once she storms off to do as he asks (he's pretty sure she's going to scratch the paint deliberately but that's okay), Brock snaps open the journal and writes.]

[Like everything else lately, the following is written. Printed, actually; he's trying to make this as legible as possible so it can reach even little kids or people who aren't too literate.]

This is Brock. If you still need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe, I have a cabin southwest of the castle, off the main road. We can all take turns keeping watch, at least until we figure out wh

[The pen jerks to the side, leaving a jagged line and an ink smear.

There's the sound of... something... for about a half minute, sounds of violence. Blows landing, furniture being broken.

Then there's nothing.



And then the door slams. Hurried footsteps, stiletto heels on hard wood. The sound of something hitting the ground hard.

The pen touches the page again, the handwriting different than Brock's. A shaky, quick scrawl.



After, the sound of things breaking -- dishes, glass; fragile things that make noise when they break. Someone trying desperately to get the attention of someone. Anyone.]

Comments

[molotov]

[Molotov barely seems to have noticed these weird, barely human dead things that her husband killed. She hasn't even tried to pry the one he's holding away -- instead, she's knelt among the glass and wood, at his side, tenderly and shakily wiping away blood from what's left of his chest, pushing it back into the cavity. As if it would somehow fix the problem.

She swipes at her face as silent tears roll down, although she accomplishes little other than smearing herself with blood. All she can do now is wait. Wait for someone to help, someone to come, someone to do something. She keeps her journal at her side, glancing between it and the body of her husband, waiting.]

[deductiongeek]

[Southwest of the castle. That was all Conan needed to know. Already on edge after the first murder, it barely takes him any time at all to get to the cabin with his skateboard. He hadn't been there before, but the path was clear enough.

He runs in through the door... and stops at the sight of the blood.

Too late, already.]

[molotov]

[Molotov starts as someone comes through the door, ready to defend herself, but... oh, what the fuck.

A child? Really?

Her first instinct is to throw him out, but there's heart-stealing monsters about, so she can't do that. With a sniffle and another blood-smearing swipe at her cheek, Molotov shakily stands and tries to herd this little boy toward the kitchen area, the only place that is even relatively far from all the blood.

She'll put him in the garage when more adults show up.]

[mal_addict]

[As with most castle shenanigans, Maladict hasn't really concerned herself with what's been going on. It's other people's problems, after all, why should she care about what happens to them.

But the sounds following Brock's message, the blood seeping into the pages, it's enough to make her pay attention. Much as she's loath to admit it, Brock means an awful lot to her, and she's racing off towards the cabin before the message of help begins to appear.

Vampire speed is a helpful thing, and she soon bursts through the doors. The scent of blood hits her first, her eyes beginning to glow before she does her best to push it back down. Now is NOT the time. She steps a little closer, taking in the carnage in front of her, well, at least he gave one hell of a fight. But these things...whatever they are have made a terrible mistake, because now they've made it personal.

She steps a little closer to Mol, just so the other woman can see she's here, not sure the best way to deal with this. Mal is about fighting and snarking, not comfort. The kid....well, what the hell was a kid even doing there?]

[molotov]

[At least the new person is a semi-helpful one.

Molotov looks up from where she might actually be physically forcing a small child into the kitchen corner, sighs a little when she sees who it is, then gestures vaguely. At everything.

She doesn't know what Maladict can do, but it must be something.]

[last_rat_standing]

[It had been the sounds of fighting that had brought Bond's attention. He yanks the journal open, tearing a few pages as his eyes search for any sign of where it was. Recognizing Brock's handwriting as the blood starts steeping through the page he shoves the damned thing back in his pocket before taking off at a run.

Thankfully he'd been outside anyway so it wasn't too long before he was tearing through Brock's garden towards the door. He bursts through, trying to catch his breath as he looks around the room. Blood. Lots of blood. Unsurprising given the scene he'd been in that morning... and the bodies around Brock. He shakes his head as he steps in, idly noting the others in the room..... and Conan. He glares at the kid, glad that Mol was taking him out of the scene. Detective or not this wasn't the time or the place for his antics.

The important thing here is the fact that Brock Samson is lying dead in the middle of the floor. He walks right over and crouches next to him, looking over his body and the one of the thing he was still holding by the throat.]

[mal_addict]

[Maladict leaves the child to Molotov, not interested in attempting to deal with the little brat. Gods she hates children. She steps a little closer to Brock, trying to ignore the blood and the fact she was getting REALLY DESPERATE for a coffee.

She casts a look in Bond's direction, before gently (for her) starting to pry Brock's fingers off that thing. Proud of him for fighting to the bitter end as she is, it's not a pretty look for him. Besides, the task helps keep her focused.]

[deductiongeek]

[The moment Conan realizes that he has been dismissed by all the adults in the room, he is ducking under Molotov's arm and making his way towards the body. He wanted to see the wound up close, to see if he could match the incisions against the first body.]

[wizard_redfive]

[Dairine has been silently following Conan for most of the day, cloaked in an invisiblity spell. She wants to make sure he's safe, but she doesn't want to get kicked out of all the murder scenes.

She slips into the room as Conan tries to get to the body again, but makes no move to stop him. Instead, she stands off to the side in a slightly less blood-soaked spot, giving the rest of the group some distance. Just because she's invisible doesn't mean people can't bump into her, and she would rather avoid that.

Plus, the scene is... yeah. Ick.]

[last_rat_standing]

[He gives the woman a nod, watching her pulling at Brock's fingers for a moment before turning his attention to Brock's chest. He leans in, looking over the wound to confirm that it was identical to Sheena's before realizing that there was a Conan shaped shadow over him. He lifts his eyes to the boy, narrowing them for a moment.

Can you feel it, Conan? Can you feel how much he does NOT want to deal with you right now? He stands, grabbing Conan's collar and pulling him towards the door intent on shoving him outside and closing the door. He knows you're capable but right now? In this moment? He cannot handle this.]

[deductiongeek]

[Conan twists his head around to glare at him silently, privately making plans on how to get back to the scene.]

[wizard_redfive]

[Dairine watches this scene and mentally sighs. Honestly, what did Conan expect? Extending her telepathic abilities a bit, she sends him a private message via thoughts. Have fun with Dairine speaking directly into your head, Conan.]

Having some trouble there, Conan?

[mal_addict]

[While Bond deals with the kids, Maladict carefully and methodically starts removing the creatures from the cabin. People can play with them all they like, but they're not doing it here, in his space.

Brock himself, she avoids. Partly because of the blood, partly because she can't even admit to herself ho much it hurts to see him like that. Stupid friendship]

[sworn]

[Hey HEY HEY! Excuse you, sir! ...Miss? Vereesa can't tell at the moment. It's not important. She approaches Maladict and grabs onto one of her wrists to stop her. Just where do you think you're going with those?

With one hand, Vereesa points to Sherlock, who is currently looming over one of the minions and examining him. Then she points to the minion that Maladict is trying to dispose of, aka the evidence. She raises her palm upward, the unspoken signal of "Well?"]

[molotov]

[When Conan gets away, Molotov gives up, and just collapses in the corner herself. What's the point? People are beginning to flood the cabin, but no one wants to help, no one wants to give her Samson his real due respect. They all just want to examine him like a piece of meat, and Molotov doesn't give a damn about whatever they're chasing anymore.

So she just stays tucked away, silently sobbing into her hands, and waits for everyone to leave. She should never have called for help, she should have known better than to trust these people to treat Brock like a person who mattered and left her a widow.]

[sworn]

[Hey, you know who else is a widow? This gal. They were never on the best of terms and she's probably the last person Molotov would want to console her, but seeing as Vereesa's not exactly in the right state to play Sherlock (and Sherlock is because that's literally who he is), she glances away and notices her in the corner.

Her heart is heavy, and she knows exactly how she feels. She approaches with caution.]

[assassino]

[Ezio arrives not too long after Mark told him –– as fast as his horse would take him. Maximus is left untied out front and he strides right into the cabin, looking around for Molotov but unable to call out.

Not that it takes him long to find her, anyhow, not with others milling about and Molotov herself outstanding with all that red hair.

And red blood, too.]

[molotov]

[The red hair and red blood are curled in a ball on the kitchen floor. The others have crowded her away from her husband, while they examine and inspect the corpse like a dog in a show. She lacks the strength to fight them now -- she's given up.]

[assassino]

[Ezio moves towards her, crouching down to her level when he comes close and reaching a hand out the gently touch her shoulder. He doesn't want to scare the shit out of her, or anything.

He wishes he could speak.]

[molotov]

[When he touches her, Molotov looks up, then immediately bursts into silent sobs, reaching over to wrap herself around his neck, desperate to feel grounded.

Ezio is probably the only person she trusts right now.]

[assassino]

[Ezio's quick to pull her in, his arms moving around her and one hand cradling the back of her head. Poor woman.]

[molotov]

[She cries into his clothes for a few minutes, clutching at them, then pulls back slightly to gesture vaguely at the people milling around Brock. She wants them gone -- she barely knows any of them, and they've stormed in like they own the place.]

[assassino]

[Ezio shifts, just enough to look over his shoulder at the rubberneckers. He nods and then pulls Molotov in close again, this time to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom. She doesn't need to watch any of this.]

[molotov]

[Molotov just clings to him like a child would, letting him carry her. She no longer feels like she can walk, or even stand, anyway.

It's strange. She's always reacted with violence before, attacked anything that broke her or that which she loves. But now, since space, she's just felt like her fire is gone.

She presses her face back into his chest. Maybe those things will do her a favor and come for her next. ]

[assassino]

[Ezio shifts her over onto the bed and stays with her a moment longer, cradling her to his chest. He lifts a hand to brush her hair out of her face more.

He wishes he could talk, leave her with some words of reassurance, but holding her will have to do for the moment.]