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

JOURNAL

[samson]

[Yeah, he's probably not going to answer you.]

CABIN

[samson]

[It's basically a massacre.

Brock is lying supine on the floor in the midst of a bunch of blood, broken furniture, and smashed dishes and glass. There are a few twisted, broken bodies strewn about -- humanoid but gnarled, wrapped in straitjackets. Brock's still got a death grip around one of their necks, which is pretty impressive, considering he's... probably pretty dead.

If you didn't know Brock has a metal plate in his chest, you know now -- his shirt has been torn open to reveal a perfectly neat, square chunk of flesh has been taken away over his sternum. Or where his sternum should be, anyway; he doesn't have one. There's just a gaping hole there instead, his heart clearly missing.]

[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.]

obvs written

[hard_talker]

[shit shit shit]

What happened???

[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.]

NO, SILENTLY DICTATED

[molotov]

[It takes Molotov a minute to get a good grip on the pen again, her hands slick with blood.]

Something cut his plate out. They took his heart, it's just GONE.

[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?]

YELLED LOUDLY

[heliotroping]

Did you see anything? Was anything dropped?

[hard_talker]

Fuck. I'm sorry.

[it feels lame to write, but he writes it anyway, because he feels like that's the most important thing that needs to be said, before anything else. everyone else will be asking her the important questions, anyway. but Brock was - IS - a friend, and to some measure, so is Molotov, and the only thing he can do is BE a friend]

SHRIEKED

[molotov]

There are dead [hesitation as she glances at the creature in Brock's hand] things. Like deformed men, in straitjackets. My husband killed a few before they got him.

[molotov]

[Molotov doesn't know how to answer. She doesn't really want sympathy or anything, even though she knows there's little else to be done. Finally, she simply writes:]

Da. Thank you.

[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.]

BELTED OUT ACCOMPANIED BY SOME FANCY CHOREOGRAPHY

[heliotroping]

[He raises a brow over the journal first but then assumes the jackets weren't tied]

Minions. Maybe.

[he gives her a moment of silence, he knows it was a little sudden to ask immediately]

Thank you. We'll do our best to find out what they are.

[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.]

[hard_talker]

You have people on the way, right? I'd help if I thought I could actually be useful.

SLAMS ON A PIANO

[molotov]

[The reply is simple, and takes more time than it should to come.]

Da.

[molotov]

People are showing up. I do not know how helpful anyone can be. The monsters are gone. Brock is dead. I don't want everyone swarming to try and catch a peek.

[hard_talker]

I don't blame you. Maybe you could put up crime scene tape or barricades.

[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.]

[sworn]

[By the time Vereesa arrives, there are already several people in the cabin. She closes her eyes and winces, the smell of blood overwhelming her and causing her to grip the door frame before she moves forward. No matter how seasoned a ranger she is, she'll never get over that smell.

While everyone is swarming Brock's body, something that Vereesa decidedly does not want to see, she's looming over the humanoids in straitjackets, kicking one over with her foot to expose its face so she can get a better look at it.

She kneels beside it, and starts feeling around for anything that could give them more information.]

[deductiongeek]

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