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 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?

[deductiongeek]

[He freezes and scowls as he tries to figure out where Dairine's voice had come from.]

[wizard_redfive]

[Dairine keeps rambling on.]

I mean really, it's been only five minutes and you've already made a widow cry and annoyed the other investigators enough to get kicked out.

Is this how your detective work usually goes?

[deductiongeek]

[He thinks very deliberately.]

Dairine. Get out of my head.

[wizard_redfive]

[Dairine's mental voice goes silent for a few seconds. When she speaks up, her joking tone is gone.]

Fine. But don't expect any help from me in getting out of this mess then.

[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?"]

[mal_addict]

[Maladict looks at Sherlock poking away at the minion, then turns her head back to to Vereesa. She points at the minion in her other hand, then at the door. Then she points at Sherlock, followed by the door again. He can look at them outside, gosh.

She makes a wide sweeping gesture at all of the carnage, then points at Molotov. Woman don't need to have all this mess inside her own home]

[sworn]

[Vereesa narrows her eyes. Apparently the integrity of the actual scene means nothing to her, but she does have a point. With a roll of her eyes, she concedes and puts her hands up. She'll have to walk over to Sherlock and figure out some way of spelling it out to him.]

[last_rat_standing]

[Once Conan has been thrown outside and he's confident that he'll STAY there... hopefully... Bond returns to Brock.

He closes the man's eyes before looking over the wound. Personally HE doesn't care but he has a feeling Mol would prefer it if her husband wasn't staring blindly up at the ceiling as Bond compared his wound to the girl's.

He glances up at Maladict moves the creatures, making a mental note of where they'd all been in the cabin before she started playing cleanup crew. He wasn't about to stop her if it made her feel better to do it.]

[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.]

[molotov]

[Molotov looks up sharply, and eyes Vereesa with suspicion, then decides she doesn't care anymore and just buries her face in her knees. They can't talk anyway.]

[sworn]

[She may get her hand sliced off for it, but she reaches down to place a firm hand on Molotov's shoulder. They might as well be strangers, so she won't try to comfort her any other way, but she does want her to let her know that she understands.]

[molotov]

[Her muscles tightening, Molotov just shakes a little, silent sobs, and leaves Vereesa's hand where it is.]

[sworn]

[She remains there, silently supportive and standing in front of her so that the view of the scene is blocked by her body, even if she isn't looking up at all.

She'll remain there until Ezio arrives, knowing well that a friend is better company than a stranger's.]