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

[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.]