Anything and everything related to roleplaying

Search /rp/ threads

Password  (for post and file deletion)

File 138838205765.jpg - (143.50KB , 500x333 , alone at a diner.jpg )
40265394 No. 40265394
#Closed #Canon: The Swirlies #Adventure #Dark #Violence #Non-pony #Serious

His hand moved with fluid certainty as each stroke of the charcoal pencil brought forth a little more detail to the scene before him. It was not his best, but then again, maps hardly ever were. His thin hands were not striving to create one of his often hailed as 'magnificent' artworks, but rather working the outline of a battlefield; a tool that he would use to illustrate the carefully thought out plan in his mind.

The tip of the charcoal snaps and shoots across the table, bouncing off the sleek maroon leather seat across from him before rolling to a stop on the floor. He sighs.

He often got nervous just before a hunt with a new group. There was so much room for error, and so little for success. A simple and seemingly straight-forward plan could be tossed to the fryers if you lacked the basics of a group dynamic. Trust, of course, was the key element if you were to have a successful hunt. But how could one trust someone they new very little of? It was difficult, and sometimes almost nigh impossible. He himself had seen it too many times in his years on the streets. All it took was a inkling of doubt or fear, and before you knew it, that kid who was supposed to watch your back was now a mile down the road and still running, leaving you open to attack. He didn't want that. Didn't need it, and he wouldn't have it. Which was why he was going to test them first. See how they could hold up as a team before they went after the big prize.

With the same fluid motion used to draw the streets, trees, and shops-all key area points to be used for the first test-his hand reached to his coat pocket and withdrew a small sharpener, which he went on to use to carve a new point from his tool, his eyes glancing up briefly at the door, and then the clock. Seven fourty two. The sun had yet to set.

He had been precise in his schedule the night before, as he often tried to be. Eight PM sharp, at the corner of Hiccup street and just across from the candy store. Bebops is where he told them he would wait, one of his favorite restaurants in town and one of the few still selling good old fashion malts. If they were serious about this hunt, and arrived on schedule, then that would give them plenty of time to go over the plan and still make it out to Rudding park just before nightfall.

If all went well then he might earn himself a few new allies, something he always looked forward to and needed desparately. He had lost too many of them over the last few months, though thankfully not to the enemy. Some had moved, while others had merely moved on. Such was the life of a warrior of the streets.

With a bit of a wistful smile, his dark eyes turn back to his sketchpad, his hand returning the charcoal to it's mate.
34 posts omitted. Last 50 shown. Unspoiler all text  • Expand all images  • Reveal spoilers
>> No. 40528794
File 140393390118.jpg - (45.09KB , 430x550 , 139069907805.jpg )
He nods as he hands the map over for Marcus to study.

"He's pretty good at what he does. It chased me to the pond where I decided to take a little swim. There were some older kids making out on the other side, and I had a good feeling it wouldn't want to go near them."

He grins a little at this.

"I think I might have ruined their night. The girl screamed when I came out on the other side of the pond. Must have looked like a swamp demon to her or somethin."
>> No. 40528812
The inside was even more friendly than the outside. A rush of warm air and tantalizing scents kisses Chucks face as he takes the first step through the doors. But the charming atmosphere didn't stop there. The maroon leather of the seats looked plush and inviting to a tired soul, and the music played tunes from the king himself.

"Wise men say

Only fools ruuush in~

An older looking gentlemen of African decent was wiping a few crumbs off the counter behind the main bar and singing along with the soft music. He seems to be the only worker in Bebops tonight.
>> No. 40528836

"Eyyyy, boss!" Chuck called out with a smug grin, leaning into the counter. "You look like you know a thing or two on the menu, watcha recommend eh?"

"Them shakes - they any good?" he added, motioning towards the menu.
>> No. 40535431
File 140441394134.jpg - (54.56KB , 700x545 , older_african_american_man_42-17425741.jpg )
The old man swipes his last crumbs from the now spotless counter and greets Chuck with a pleasant grin.

"Them shakes any good?"

He repeats and chuckles as if the man before him were a bartender and had just asked him if he were old enough to be drinking.

"Son, those malts are what Bebops is known for. They're my own special recipe that I've been perfecting for the last twenty years, so they better be damn good or my name ain't Sam!"

His thick belly jiggles up and down as he laughs at his own joke, before turning toward the sink behind him. He squeezes a dab of dish soap on his palm before he continues.

"What are you in the mood for son? Or I guess what I should be asking is how hungry are you? I got thick and juicy half pound burgers, I got top of the line leave you droolin club sandwiches, I got fresh grilled salmon... Let's see."

He pulls a few paper towels off a roll to dry his hands as he makes his way back to the counter and leans his weight on it.

"Or if you're just in the mood for something sweeter, I got about twenty different types of pie that I cook fresh every morning. Slice of that cherry pie goes great with a vanilla malt. The sweetness of the malt sort of compliments the tartness of the cherry, you know?"
>> No. 40535843

He rubbed his jaw with a distinctly thoughtful expression, as his eyes followed the items on the menu as the man called them out. Looked like he hadn't been wrong calling the guy boss; and hopefully it was passion and not money that kept him running the front. But he felt like it was the former. Something about his smile, and his gut. It seemed sincere and whole-hearted. A man after his own heart; his was his restaurant, Chuck had his cars. Yeah, he could dig this place. Dig it real quick.

In regards as to what to eat - all it took was a little salesmanship before Chuck's mind was made up.

"Yeah - yeah, gimmie ehhhhhhhh, one'a'them club sammiches, with bacon. And sure, I'll try ya pie'n'yer vanillia mawlt. Sounds good chief," he concluded, with drawing his wallet, and pulling out a twenty.

He was looking forward to giving it a try, honestly.
>> No. 40536764
"Well alright then" Sam said with another smile. He liked this kid before him. He was usually a pretty good judge of character, getting so many different kinds of people coming through his restaurant every day. It wasn't hard to tell that the grease monkey was a dedicated worker, and it always made him happy to see a man with an appetite. Too many skinny boys running around the streets these days with their pants falling off their asses-and not just because they thought it was a cool style. It made him sick.

"Why don't you head on to the back and wash up in the bathroom. That turkey and bacon won't taste no good with grease mixed in heheh. I'll have your pie and malt waiting when you get back. Unless you prefer the sandwhich first?"

Last edited at Fri, Jul 4th, 2014 22:26

>> No. 40539723

"Lay it all on me at once bossman, When I start eatin' I don't wanna stop till it's all gone," he replied with a friendly smile, before following the man's suggestion, heading off to the bathroom to try and wash himself off a bit.

After doing so, a hand dipped into his pocket, and produced one of the Mary Janes. Chuck had no intention of smoking it in here, rather, he'd just been struck with more profound questions about the thing. About the dubious and mysterious nature of its transport. Five armed and masked men for a truckload of weed? It was only just now striking him how odd the situation truly had been. And in the end, he wasn't sure what to think of it all.

Frowning a bit, he returned his illicit product back to his pants pocket, and returned from the bathrooms, eyes looking for a hot meal, special for him.
>> No. 40540244
File 140470062817.jpg - (68.27KB , 1000x563 , 63a270b6-8c04-4ab1-bc3c-fa7a91fc9605.jpg )
The sun had completed it's slow decent behind the towering buildings, leaving the outside world lit by the soft glow of streetlights and artificial rectangular stars. The moon could not be seen through the diner windows but no doubt it shown full and glorious above the city, and as Chuck made his way back to the bar counter the sweet perfume of hot cherry pie would tickle his nostrils and leave his mouth drooling. The burger was still being flipped on the grill, but Sam knew how to run a restaurant. The pie and malt would keep his customer happy until he could add the finishing touches to his masterpiece and serve it out hot before a single slurp could be heard from his customers cup.

Yes, the evening was quite a delight. Almost.

As Chuck takes a seat, a nagging little pain would start to make itself known in the back of his cranium. Nothing too major, but noticeable none-the-less.
>> No. 40540293

Headaches. Ehhhhh, fuck'm. He did his best to ignore it. If it persisted he'd take some ibuprofen when he got home, but for now, Chuck simply hoped it'd just pass. Figures it would happen now though, as he was getting ready to relax for once today. The shake was good, the pie was good - so of course a goddamn headache has to show up. C'est la vie. Or, 'That's life for ya,' since Chuck had no idea what C'est la vie meant, and didn't care to.

Enjoying his meal as much he could whilst ignoring it, he kept on. He was still starving afterall.
>> No. 40540308
The persistent little bugger had no power over a hungry mans stomach, and soon enough it resigned itself to the unconscious and let Chuck enjoy his dinner.

The burger was soon served, and life was good. The soft, pleasant music continued on bouncing between hoppy, make-you-wanna-dance type tunes to some good old favorites from the King. Nothing much of interest, besides the food of course, happens as the evening persists. Happy customers could be heard quietly chatting away in the background and finishing meals, leaving slowly to pursue other ventures, or simply hit the hay. Finally, it was just Chuck and old Sam finishing up the last of his chores in the diner.
>> No. 40603941
File 140924751218.gif - (174.07KB , 245x175 , GANG.gif )
"Benny? That guy's got all his social skills from the trash he sleeps on. We getting in the habit of playing the telephone game with our info now?" James blabbed, probably sounding a little more accusative than he needed to. Yeah, he was starting to get antsy again. His hot feet were cooking in the boots - probably going to melt right through the floor if they didn't get a start, and a good one.

"Now me, I'd start wondering why Benny hasn't gotten snacked yet if he didn't stink so bad..."

James seemed to become suddenly aware of his own existence, and how that was going for him. He raised his arm and took a wiff. On anyone else's face, the slightly dissatisfied frown would have probably been a dry heave.

"Guess I'm safe. Y'all could get with the frontal plans near where the Toddlers in Tiaras was found, in case our baddie is building some secret underground lair with sharks and laser beams. I could poke around Benny's royal bedchambers and maybe check around... " the kid obviously was improvising at this point, as he made his usual brain buffering gesture of twirling his finger next to his head, only vaguely disguising it by dropping it to a point on the map. It was just some little path tangential to the pond. "Here. Near this jelly stain. I hear monsters love those kinds of places."
>> No. 40608490
Roth barely even managed a shrug at James verdict of 'ol Benny, not caring enough to argue. It would be a waist of precious minutes to dispute the credibility of his snoopy little friend.

He watches and notes the area that James points to with an approving nod. If it were any one else, he might have shown a little concern about splitting the group apart, but not with James. He was too wild for anything short of a humanoid typhoon to take him down, and the park wasn't huge. Roth would be able to hear a whistle or a cry for help.

"Good idea, be easier to cover more ground. Me and Marcus will take the front end of the park then and if we're lucky maybe catch the pisser and chase him back toward you. You gonna need some gear, Spark? I got some flashlights and a few firecrackers in my side pocket."

He pulls his backpack towards his chest and starts digging around in his luggage, pulling out a few light-weight flashlights and a paperbag.

"Be careful snooping around Bennys spot. He's got a few booby traps set up for me. Nothing too dangerous though."

Roths nonchalant mention of the traps makes it sound as if he were just inviting a good friend over to come have dinner at his house and afterwards play a few games. Nothing dangerous at all.

Last edited at Mon, Sep 1st, 2014 15:48

>> No. 40618483
File 141049495214.jpg - (146.87KB , 700x442 , spoiler.jpg )
Your word...

>> No. 40628569


He stared at the empty plate for a moment, his head bobbing just slightly and his lips in a satisfied sort of frown. Yeah, he could do that shit again. No problem. Not a drop of a shake, not a lone fry, and not a lone segment of bun was left; all was consumed in some kind of miniature hungry-holocaust.

"That was some good shit," he declares aloud, wiping his hands and chin with a napkin. "I dunno why I haven't been here before. Wasted time."

With a grunt, he rose to a standing position, giving his back a little pop.

"Maybe I'll bring some of my work buddies in here next time. You're doin God's work in heyah."
>> No. 40683402
File 141566028052.jpg - (45.90KB , 556x720 , 183678_10150140915905799_363814625798_7953353_3995914_n-1.jpg )
Sam smiles as he picks up the near spotless dishes and deposits them in the sink.

"Well thank you son, I do try. You have a good evening now, hope to see you again."


Outside the air was crisp, cool. The night brought with it just the slightest bite of a chill and the sounds of the city seemed almost jolly in a way. Of course, Chuck was no doubt probably feeling pretty good after the last few hours of events.

And then there was that damn headache...back to nag him again it seemed. Except this time it didn't seem to want to just be pushed to the corners of the unconscious. As if it were angry with Chucks earlier rude treatment, it begins to hammer down on his skull with vengeance. Without even taking two steps out of bebops, Chuck is now feeling the full force of a migraine.

But is it just a migraine?

Out of the corner of his eye, something dark and wispy saunters by. Understandably, Chuck might ignore the shadow due to the massive pounding going on behind his eyes, but then another strange shadow passes by. And another. When Chuck finally does decide to look up, what he sees something out of a fairy tale. Or perhaps a nightmare [].


Something...dark and..wrong stands not but a few yards from Chuck. A human? No, too distorted for that. It must be standing at least ten feet tall, and jutting from it's distorted shoulders is a bald head-leaning down and shaking back and forth, as if sniffing for something in the air. The shadows of the buildings cover most of its body, but Chuck can almost swear that some kind of smoke is coming off it.

Behind it more strange and disfigured humanoid shapes follow, all seeming to march along to some unheard beat. Before Chuck can get a good look at these other creatures, the headache becomes nauseatingly intense, and a horrible screeching whine engulfs his ears. The noise and the pain continue to intensify until Chuck is brought to his knees, and, there, kneeling on the cold concrete, he comes face to face with a monster.

Round white pupils engulfed in an expressionless black mask tower over Chucks lowly form, staring. Slowly they lower to just above his level and there they inquisitively search. A slender knotty black finger slowly comes up to touch his cheek, leaving cold wisps of shadow where it strokes. It continues up towards his forehead and runs its fingers through his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking him up to his feet.

"Fuckin idiot.."

An angry growl breaks up the monotony of the horrible whine between Chucks eardrums, and when he blinks he can no longer see the monster, but instead Sam-the cook who had served him not moments ago.

"Think I wouldn't fucking hear what you said? Huh?! Get over there you little pin prick, let's settle this!"

Sam gives Chuck a hard shove, shuffling him backwards and using the force to open the doors behind them. Once inside, Sam grabs Chuck by his shirt and drags him to the counter and roughly sits him down in a chair before turning him around and forcing his head down on the cold counter.

The headache not forgotten, but only slightly less painful, Chuck is left to wonder if what he had just experienced was a delusion. But the clean pan sitting in the dish rack, acting as a slight mirror, proves otherwise. There, only slightly disfigured by the shape of the metal, stands the dark shadow that had so lovingly traced the outline of Chucks face.

Sam, feeling Chuck begin to turn, puts a heavy hand over the kids head and dips his own down to whisper in Chucks ear.

"don't look at it. don't acknowledge it. i'm warning you son, you let it know that you can see it and it will be the last thing you ever see. so don't. look."
>> No. 40685178

Chuck was not a clever man.

In fact, Chuck was a lotta things. A confident man, sometimes a cowardly man, but more often than not a decent and genuine man.

But rarely was he a clever man.

Today was not his lucky day. He did not pass go. He did not win the beauty contest after finding the community chest (though really he should have, check out that jawline.) And lastly he most certainly did not load up the right brain cells for cleverness.

In his defense, it's hardly under normal circumstances that he failed. A crushing migraine, the world was tilting, and just moments ago, a great big gribbly-goblin-gook (was that even real?) touched his face.

Chuck, despite the hushed warning, confused, dazed, and confused so more, turned to look at the thing outside the window.

Like turning a heavy granite bust on a pedestal, his head slowly turned. His face pale, eyes wide, he turned. Too afraid to not know.

...But also too afraid to know fully. As soon as it entered the periphery of his vision, just when that thing outside was but an indistinguishable blur on the corner of his sight, he stopped. His heart began to race. Just an impulse away from looking at it dead on.

"w-what - f-fuck - i-is-is t-the-th-that sh-shit?"
>> No. 40685791
File 141583141770.jpg - (257.92KB , 2000x1000 , shadow-monsters.jpg )
don't look at it son, the pain will get worse. just look away, act like it's not there. act like we're fighting and it will ignore you and move on...let it pass son

Sam cursed himself. He shouldn't have stepped in, shouldn't have got involved. But then goddammit if it didn't have to happen right on his fucking front porch. If he hadn't have done it, if he just stood there and, he didn't need that right now.

He could already see it, police coming and knocking on his door first thing in the morning when some jogger discovers the body. Of course, he would be a key witness to the crime. Oh ya, probably even get a nice picture of his purty face all over the goddamn news. No he did not need that shit right now, not ever. If this little piss stain under him didn't get the hint soon enough and turn his goddamn attention elsewhere, he might have to knock him out.

shit, Sam hisses. He could see them getting closer. They were right fucking behind them now! Curious. Sniffing.

Goddamn there must be fucking five of them, if not six..shit SHIT!, I have to pull this off right or were both fucked.

The thought passes through Sams mind quickly enough, but it was easier 'said' then done. With the skinny boy shaking like a leaf under him, he really didn't know if he could. Could they smell his fear? Probably. Did they know it was from their own presence, or could they be fooled into thinking Sam was the culprit? Only one way to find out.

Sorry kid..

With a carefully aimed fist, Sam lands a jab into Chucks side that will no doubt send a wave of pain up his spine powerful enough to rival that of the pounding going on behind his eyes.

"I told you were weren't gonna get away with it you little prick! Who the fuck"

Another carefully aimed jab, this one barely even leaving a bruise. A sucker punch.

"Do you think I am? You don't come into MY territory and tell ME how to run a business you back ally trash!"

He lands a few more sucker punches to Chucks side for emphasis, making sure to look as menacing as he can given the situation. One wrong move...just one.

You better pull this off son, or you'll be wishing it was me breaking your spine.
>> No. 40686118

"W-What the fuck?!"

High strung nerves, an intense situation, and a suprise attack did little to facilitate reasoning, but it did wonders in coaxing out knee jerk reactions, which is exactly what it did.

Had Chuck known Sam more, trusted him more, and the situation not been so bizarre and freaky, he might have figured out why in the Hell he was suddenly beating him up. And played along more accordingly. But Alas...

Chuck turned. Chuck pulled up his fists. And Chuck went ham. With a snarl on his lips and a malicious glint in his hair gel, Chuck entered super-smash mode.. It may as well be a flawless performance to mimic Sam's, had Chuck been acting. But no, he wasn't.

And no, he did not pull his punches.
>> No. 40687048
File 141593401451.jpg - (62.69KB , 551x414 , oh-shit-son-it-just-got-real-up-in-here.jpg )
Sam almosts grins when the first punch comes his way, but of course he catches himself. That was exactly the reaction he had been hoping to pull out of the skinny boy! Dukes up, pist off to the max, and his attention completely on him-where he needed it to stay.

Pulling his arms up to protect his face, he takes the first few blows like a good sport, not cursing when he felt the shock of pain run up his old bones. He backs up and starts to lead Chuck in a dance, throwing back a mock punch when he could, but mostly just trying to protect himself. A moment later and Chucks back is to the shadows lurking behind them and Sam is drawing in a mental sigh of relief. Only when the creepy crawlies finally lose interest and depart from the building does Sam really start to wrestle.

He takes a careful step towards Chuck, gets a fistful to the jaw, then throws in a quick one-two punch before he delivers one of his painful jabs to Chucks side. Quickly, before Chuck has the time to recover, Sam steps behind him and wraps him up in a crushing bear hug.

"Alright, alright! Enough! Enough son, you did it! They're gone! Look, there going! They're can stop, just take it easy.."

He wrestles Chuck around so he is facing the window and can see for himself.

Last edited at Thu, Nov 13th, 2014 20:02

>> No. 40687169

"Fuck you ya fat bastahd! Dunno WHAT the FUCK you're ona bout or WHAT the FUCK is goin on, but the one thing I do know is that gonna kick your ass either which way, ya sumbitch!"

He attempts to make good on his word, trying to knock the back of his skull onto Sam's face and jaw, whilst trying to pull his arms free.

"Man there's always SOMETHIN. Either the waitresses is old in cold, the food is gawbedge, the food's too damn expensive, or the owner is a fuckin' asswipe that just starts beatin the shit outta customers for no goddamn reason!"

He tries to swing a heel into Sam's groin!

"N' after I finish learnin' you some respect I'm gonna go get therapy, cuz the shit I just saw was unreal! So learn it quick asshole!"

He briefly recalled the joint in his pocket....had he somehow...gotten high off of it? Was it some new experimental drug, that didn't need a light?
>> No. 40695821
File 141653739673.jpg - (4.64KB , 236x314 , c0dc0b5b7b380f8adfcba12fc7be14ae.jpg )
The blow to his head connects with a satisfying smack-though it probably makes Chucks headache just that much more painful. It may have dulled a bit, but it's still very much there.

Sam curses and tightens his grip further!, giving Chuck even less movement than before.

"Goddamnit son stop! I'm sorry I had to hit ya-hey!-but they were going to kill us! Are you listening to me? It wasn't an illusion, your not going crazy! The big black one is still outside, just look damnit!"

Sam heaves and lifts Chuck up off his feet and slams him back down again, trying to get his attention towards the window.

"That big fucker right there, the one that had it's slimy claws all over your see it? Your not crazy."
>> No. 40723623
File 141907088669.gif - (677.66KB , 160x120 , spoiler.gif )
>> No. 40745875

"What the Hell is this shit?!" he blurted almost immediately, staring at the strange creature outside. "What in the name of FUCKIN GODAMN JESUS CHRIST are you droppin in those malts?! I ain't never seen a hell-beast before until after eatin' yo food so SOMETHIN here ain't right you fat basted!"

He tries to shrug off the larger man.

"Now let go'a'me! When I get home man you can betch'your ass you's gonna get the WORST Yelp review of all time ya hear me?!"
>> No. 40774096
File 142309463074.jpg - (25.02KB , 500x334 , 1076397.jpg )
"Ay! Alright!"

Sam lets go and takes a step back. There was really no use in trying to convince Chuck if he thought he had been drugged. Might as well just let him find out the hard way.

"Well..go on. I ain't holdin ya hostage. I ain't fuckin lying though either."

He huffs and takes another step back before pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and glancing out the window. He doesn't bother with common courtesy-asking Chuck if he wanted one, or even if he would mind the smoke. No, instead he focuses on getting the pack open with shaky hands and lighting one up. He starts talking again before he even has his first drag.

"If you wanna run out that door and make a big fucking scene, get yourself killed, go on be my guest."

He takes two quick puffs and blows the smoke out to his side before continuing.

"Just don't lead 'em back here. In fact, you shouldn't even come back here. I don't give a shit what you do after you leave, but I better not see you back around here again, ya understand?"

Sam seems to have done a complete three sixty on Chuck-going from fearful and nervous to pist off. Though maybe for good reason...
>> No. 40778131
It was settled, then. James was a strategic mastermind and his plan was clearly flawless. Not that he really had a plan to begin with, but hey, what's not there can't be wrong, right? Another stunning example of logic and reasoning processed entirely by the central cortex of his murder boner.

He wasn't in the habit of waiting for Roth to tell him when he could piss - he wasn't in the habit of letting anyone tell him when to do anything anymore. It was James, James, James, all day, always - James is here, James is there, on James' time, (sometimes) on James' dime, and now James was out the door.

"Eyes on the skies, you punky bunch!" he called haplessly across the restaurant, quickly brandishing an emergency flaregun from his pocket as he flung the diner door open. He was already trotting park-ways by the time he finished his about-face. A little grin went cheek to chill-air-bitten cheek as he passed mangled bicycle in the middle of the street, he himself only narrowly dodging oncoming traffic.

Last edited at Sun, Feb 8th, 2015 12:04

>> No. 40778520

"Nu-huh, no way in Hell am I goin' out there - like, like this I mean," he added hastily, gesturing to the nightmarish creatures - before quickly turning away from them.

"I mean - I might walk into a fuckin' bus or something, I'm halucinatin, trippin balls -"

He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing hard, staring at the floor.

"Marijuana doesn't go bad or anything, right? I mean not like this. Fuckin' Hell I didn't even light the fuckin thing and now I'mjuststandinginherelike'a'fuckinassholelosinghismindover'a'goddamncheeseburger'n'amilkshake - "
>> No. 40778703
File 142344438477.jpg - (420.21KB , 1920x1080 , sad-boy-hd-wallpaper-334314.jpg )
Sam looks at the man before him with a stern face. He doesn't try to answer Chucks question, nor try and tell him that what he was seeing was NOT an allusion. It was no use. Sam could see that. The poor guy was too old to believe in the simple truth, too old to still have that natural instinct that things could happen that simply broke the human perception of reality.

Another drag off his cigarette, and another glance out the window. The phantams had moved along at last. No sight of any living-or otherwise-left. Just the wind pushing and pulling gently on a tree branch.

"First of all, you need to sit down in that chair, shut up, and smoke this"

Sam digs another cigarrette out from his pack and hands it to Chuck.

"And don't give me any of that bullshit about not smoking, cause if you don't already then your gonna start."

Hoping that a more authoritive approach will help Chuck to focus and calm down, Sam guides him to one of the benches and all but shoves him in it.

"Here's the lighter. If you don't smoke that your going to start puking all over my goddamn floor from the goddamn headache that I know you got pounding behind your goddamn eyes. There's a chemical in that cancer stick that dulls it. Not numbs-just dulls. But it's better than any vicodine or pill you get get from the docs office.

Now once you done that, then we'll talk. And if ya don't want to talk, then I'm going to throw you out and lock the door. You understand?"

He holds the lighter out and stares Chuck down, waiting for his decision.

Roth holds the paper bag in the air for another few seconds before grinning and shoving it back in his pack. He turns to Marcus with that same grin and gives a shrug.

"We better catch up or we're not going to see him till tomorrow night."


An hour later..or had it been two? Roth didn't know because he hadn't bothered to check his watch since he started the stake out. His eyes were glued to the forest floor and trees around him. His ears caught every whistle of wind, every flapping of a bat passing by, every annoyed sigh from his newest team member. But he didn't care. He wasn't going to move until the chance came.

He knew James would not have been able to do this part of the plan, no freakin way man. That's why he had asked Marcus, and so far the kid wasn't doing bad. He had only managed to scare a bat out of it's roost on the way up the tree. Impressive feat actually, but even he had started to grow restless. Roth knew that if it didn't come soon, he was going to have to call this one off for the night and hunt another section of the city. They were wasting precious hours just to kill one monster when they could be killing dozens. Though comparatively this one was a much bigger threat.

Another screech in the distance. At least James was having some fun, probably already snagged five or six little creepers and a dozen or so more rats. But that was good. The more noise James made the more it would help to draw it out.

A lone ranger hunting in the woods by himself, no protection except for his own two hands-the perfect bait.
>> No. 40778847

He took and lit the cigarette without so much as a moment of hesitation. No fuckin' around. Three swift, heavy drags. His foot rapidly tapped on the ground, he turned slightly to the side, thinking.

"Mhnhn fuckin' bolshit goin' on," he mumbled, taking another puff, staring at the floor.

The suggestion to take a seat had either been ignored or unheard. He remained standing, thinking. Or presumably thinking in any case.

Some seconds later, he finally looks at Sam. His brow scrunched, lips pursed. The cigarette went to his lips while his free hand dipped into his pocket, producing the strange 'blunt' he'd discovered earlier.

"I swiped this off an army truck earlier today. There was a shitload of em. Thinkin eyy, some fellas maybe made some new shit, the man caught wise. Somethin' wit'a lil more bite yea? But fuck that. That ain't it. That don't esplain'dis. I didn't even light this thing. It would certainly esplain those gobbledeegooks outside, but it don't esplain you'n'yor behavye."

He took another puff.

"I got me a headache earleyuh. Came and went, got it real bad just a lil while ago here in yo place. And Christ Almighty it's hurtin' me real good right about now. I don't know what the fuck that's all about but it came back abouts right when you decidin to start hittin me -"

His eyes flit to Sam's face at that - a look, lost somewhere between a threat and a cautionary notion. He wouldn't be caught by surprise like that again.

"And then you's sittin here splatherin' a lotta nonsense at me'n'expectin me to talk rational after get whale'd on whiles I gots a migraine 'n' I'm seein freaky shit outside right now."

His foot tapped. He kept his gaze on Sam.

"I'm confuzed and real pissed off and I also feel like I needa throw up. So I want you to esplain to me real good why you think my hallucinations wanna kill you - and why you needed to beat me up to stop that. Two of the weirdest questions I ever ass'd."
>> No. 40778911
File 142345676282.jpg - (12.66KB , 320x240 , pist.jpg )
Sam merely stares at Chuck as he lets his own cigarette burn. His expression hasn't changed much. Still stiff, still pissed off. His eyes roam to the blunt for a moment, then back to Chucks face. The smoke from the combined cigarettes begins to cast a soft haze in the room.

He suddenly reaches up to his cigarette and smashes the burning embers between his thumb and forefinger. He flicks the remaining half on the ground and grabs himself a seat. For a moment he's quiet, thinking. Then he snerks.

"I think you should go home."

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arm. Again he's quiet, testing the waters. Seeing-hoping-Chuck will listen and just leave. But no.

"Son...people don't share hallucinations. Not down to the micro details. That joint you got in your hand is probably just a joint. That ain't whats causing you your problems."

He leans forward and brings both his hands up and uses one of them to start counting on his fingers.

"1-You encounter a weird group of soldiers, but they didn't have the normal soldier get-up, did they? They were wearing some head gear most likely, and some kind of symbol on the shoulder of their uniforms.

2-Pounding headache out of nowhere, one the likes of which you ain't neva felt before. And it got worse when that creepy fucker outside took interest.

3-That creepy fucker felt real. Ya, it could have been a hallucination, hallucinations feel pretty goddam real. But you FELT it touch you, didn't ya? You could feel the cold sliminess of it's fingers on your face. It was tall. Dark. Alien. And there were others with it. A small group of them.


Sam watched Chucks face for a moment; saw the doubt and hostility cross his features. He lights another cigarette.

"...Listen to the words I'm saying. I'm describing it perfectly because I know what you saw. I see it every goddamn night, and if I didn't go out there and distract you, REALLY distract you, that fucker would have killed you on the spot the second it realized you could see it. Because your a threat."

He takes a long drag and flicks the ashes on the floor.

"I didn't beat you too bad. The first blow was to get your attention. You would have kept freaking out if I had just shook your jacket, I needed your attention on me and not on it. Like I said, if it had realized you could see it you would have been dead before hitting the ground."

He puts his cigarette out on the ground, having only smoked about half of it.

"No, don't ask me what they are, I don't know! No one know!, no one can fuckin see em. All I can tell you is what I know, and what I know is they're real, they will kill you, and that goddamn joint didn't get you high, something those soldiers did to you left you like this."

He glares hard at Chucks face again. Something in his expression makes Chuck feel like Sam is almost blaming him for something.

"Now I want you to leave before they track you back here. I don't even understand why they let you go-or if you got away, frankly I don't care. I don't want them here. And I don't want you here either. You need to go. I've told you all I can, the rest your going to have to live with and figure out on your own. Just..don't acknowledge them if you see them again. And don't be a fucking hero."

He doesn't explain what he means by the last bit, but he suddenly stands and digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys.

"I need to close the restuarant."

Last edited at Sun, Feb 8th, 2015 21:40

>> No. 40778912
File 142345682311.jpg - (7.63KB , 205x246 , oscar.jpg )
In a desolate corner of a deserted park, beneath the dead shadow of one of the few unlit lamps, a lone trash bin stood. Its corrugated surface was pitted and weathered by time and stained by misuse, and every once and again, its hollow body would wiggle in a truly unsettling way.

It was waiting for another meal. No, not the kind that a family's favorite little shit only half-finishes after a full-on, belly-flopping, ground-pounding, ear splitting tantrum. But that snot-nosed little prize himself would make an excellent snack. But its bread and butter were the growing numbers of hapless, hungry orphans of the city, flitting through the afterdark paths of this park like forlorn ghosts. The grim, rusty redness pooling near its base entailed sickening warnings of a well-fed beast.

And on this chilly, empty night, its preferred flavor came meandering toward its the doom of its peckish maw. It was the perfect sort of meal - bony and scrawny from malnutrition; that would give a satisfying crunch, and with sinewy, stretchy tissue and muscle, this morsel would leave it something flavorful to chew on until morning. And the smell - it wreaked of garbage and sweat and a crippling loneliness accented with cigarette smoke, all the aromas of the finest slag cake.

The child's boots made nearly inaudible clicks on the paved path, following the rhythm of an aimless wanderer's feet. A low, slurping sound emanated from his lips, between which a swizzle straw umbilical to a salvaged beverage was pinched. And it just so happened that the drink ran on empty as he entered the only break in the wistful lamplight within sight. And it just so happened his eyes were accustomed to the blackness of the city crevices enough to see the dull metallic glint of the trashcan. And it just so happened that he didn't feel like being a litterbug this time around, and was going to throw away that drink and that swizzle straw tonight.

The can was still in gory anticipation. It did not wiggle nor flex nor belch. It was an unmoving mass grave, starving for another resident.

The orphan's hand tightened around the lid, holding it for just a breath.


He ripped the lid from the can, spreading a rusty arc across the ground. A long, snaking, emerald head with a split jaw, shimmering scales, and the foulest breath of lost children emerged, hiss and growling and rearing for a strike. Its habit was to only examine its prey for a moment before engulfing them entirely, unmissed by all but a hungry stomach just hours later. But this time, it paused. The appetite in its eyes met a hunger that even they did not rival.

Behind the bloody tips of his oily black hair, and set in sunken sockets of corpse-pale skin, piercing green eyes clawed into the beast. And then the remnants of a melted slushy splashed across its face. But it was frozen.


"It's you," it whispered - or the boy thought it whispered - rather unexpectedly.

"That's right, Oscar. It's me," he retorted, quick on the draw, yanking it down by its throat with one hand to stretch its neck over the rim of the can at a painful angle. The other hand - the left, went to work trying to put the lid back on with such and obstacle in the way. It took twenty, maybe thirty tries, but James was determined. Everything had its place, this he knew.

After agonizing minutes of a screaming beast and a furious orphan with the weight of the world behind his strikes, James was disposing of a severed head, an empty cup, and a swizzle straw. Just as he was about to seal the can for the final time, something in the gory trash caught his eye. A discarded fishing line, with the hook still attached, knotted and gnarled.

James continued on the parkway path, blood-stained fingertips untangling the fishing wire. The tune of "Singing in the Rain" lingered on his lips.
>> No. 40779024

"The sign outside says yous open till ten, so I got ya for five more minutes," he snipped.

The intensity of the defiant statement was neutered somewhat by the hurried drags on the cigarette he took immediately after.

"You think the feds poisoned me or somethin and now I'm a fugitive of some kind? I'm ehhhh liability now? How'n'why would they do that eh? That don't make no sense I'm just a cah guy. I saw a flatbed'a'dope 'n' that's it. I ain't worth killin over that. Nah."

He tapped his foot some more, thinking.

"Now that you mention it they was a little off-color if you know what I mean. But that don't mean their some kinna mad scientists niether....I wanna know why you think that. I wanna know why you think they did that to me. Is that what they did to you? Couple'a feds came through 'eyah, you made'm a cheeseboigah and then the next thing ya knows is you got whispy dudes creepin' around ya place?"

Another hurried puff. It was just about gone.

"Touchin' faces -"
>> No. 40779045
File 142346538898.jpg - (24.27KB , 400x277 , samuel_l_jackson-django_unchained-6.jpg )
And suddenly Sam had had enough.

Two quick steps and he is but a mere foot from Chuck and staring down into his face with the sort of rage one reserves for pedophiles and murderers. Suddenly the old man doesn't seem like someone Chuck would be able to take even if he had a couple big muscled guys backing him up.

"Now you listen to me goddamnit and you listen good cause I ain't gonna say it again! I ain't answering any more of your goddamn snoopin questions. You just brought in enough trouble than I'm willing or able to handle! I told you alls I gonna tell you, and I ain't tellin no more! I want you out. NOW! And if I see your face in here again I'll make sure it never again gets even a sideways glance from some purty gal walkin down the street, you hear me?! Now get the fuck out!"

He pulls up his arm and for a second Chuck might think Sam is throwing a punch... but instead he brings his arm up straight and quick and points towards the door. The conversation was over.
>> No. 40779071

Chuck was a little more prepared this time. Immediately his body posture changed, ready to tango as the crazy old dude stepped up to him, if he decided to try and throw some punches. But he didn't. Instead he shouted and raged - which Chuck himself had just about had enough of too. His lips twitched, and he threw the still burning cigarette to the side.

"Fine then asshole! Thanks for absolutely god damn nothin," he spat before turning, marching towards the door. Which he pushed open with a stiff kick, stomping through into the night...

Before the door had time to close though, he took a step back, and caught it with his hand. He snapped his head back in for one last quip.

"And your pie was WAY too goddamn rich!"

With the final word claimed, he slammed the door shut, and finally walked away for good. Fists balled at his sides, he walked towards the auto-shop - as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

Goddamn. What the tuppeny-fuck was goin on. That fuckin - was it a dream? It sure as shit wasn't real, that was for damn sure. He wasn't twelve years old anymore, he learned long ago that the only thing creepin' around dark alleys and creepy cellars were rats and a bad smell. But holy shit - it FELT real. Drugs. It had to be. What was more believable, the existence of hell-ghosts who could only be seen by a crotchety old chef and a car guy because they'd both stumbled onto a military experiment, or he was just tripping balls?

How could anyone believe it was anything but a moment of insanity, brought on by a migraine, or a whiff of a strong drug?

Mumbling curses, he grabbed the two blunts from his pocket, and chucked them away. Where they went, he didn't care. They were poison.

....He also took a half-second to furtively glance over his shoulder as he marched away - The thought of seeing one of those whispy things again had his hair raised and his blood boiling, ready to bolt away.

This whole situation was beyond him. Something was seriously wrong. He knew, even as he walked, that this was one of those nights that he'd question for the rest of his life, wondering if it'd ever actually happened, or had just been a dream, dreamt long ago.

It didn't feel like a dream.

Popping his knuckles, he went on towards the shop. He'd grab his clothes, retreat to his apartment - and wait for the sun to rise on a sleepless night.
>> No. 40784356
File 142381293277.jpg - (157.86KB , 625x417 , kid halloween rucksak mask.jpg )
Ah, a night to question for the rest of his life. Indeed...but the chill in the air that whips through Chucks hair acts as a ghastly warning that the night isn't yet over.

He makes it not even halfway around the next block before feeling the nauseating pain of that damn headache again. But what's this? No ooky spookies lurking around in the shadows this time. No, just a group of orphan kids playing in the streets like every other night. They were mostly seen as rodents to the larger population of the city who didn't have time or energy to deal with their begging little faces and outstretched hands. Nor did the cities higher ups have the 'resources' to manage them. So they were left to fend for themselves for the most part.

With the headache now sending Chucks sanity on the fringe again, a scene plays out before him that will have him questioning once more if he is merely hallucinating.

A child stands at the street corner in front of a wall of a building which he seems to be using for cover from something down the alley. He wears nothing more than rags for clothes, but in his hands he weilds a plastic baseball bat. The type of hollow ones they make for little boys and girls who haven't quite yet figured out the art of playing nice. He weilds it high above his head like he's trying to call down a bolt of lightning, or maybe a magical timelord. And on any other night this might have seemed like common play. Not tonight however.

Mere seconds later a shout is heard. From down the alley comes running a tiny girl. Her hair is dark and chopped short, with some of it matting and turning into dreadlocks. In her arms she holds a small, once white teddy bear-its pretty fur now covered in years of dirt of grime, and it's left eye missing from its plush face.

"It's coming! It's coming!" she cries to the boy as she holds her arm up and points down the alley, and the boy does not break his stance.

"Ok!" he answers. "You get behind me now Sammy, quick like. I don't wanna hit you on accident."

The little girls nods and runs behind the boy and clutches onto her teddy bear and peeks around the boys side. And then Chuck can see it. A mouse. Just a mouse. wasn't just a mouse. It was..warping, changing right before his eyes. The pain in the back of his skull does nothing to distract him from seeing that tiny little rodent fade and be replaced by a three foot tall, five foot long brown cartoon character. It was Jerry!

Except this Jerry had a hungry look in his eyes, and a pair of long rat teeth that came to sharp dagger like points at the end. It's nose is to the ground, sniffing over the little girls trail like a hound dog tracking a fox. It's jaw is oozing with drool and leaving a trail under it's belly as the scent of it's prey fills it's twichy little nose, and those big cartoony eyes scan from side to side of the alley.

"It's coming!" the little girl squeaks again, and upon hearing the girls voice 'Jerry' makes a terrible screech of a noise before pouncing from around the corner, ready to attack. He doesn't make it far before the boy let's loose on the freakish thing with a carefully aimed konk on the head. The hollow bat he had been weilding is no more-in it's place is a red cudgel, medieval in style. He lifts it high above his head once again, and brings it down on the rodents head once more, producing a satisfying crack as it breaks through the skull and into the brain. The boy opens his eyes to stare down at the gruesome scene.

"Is it dead?" Sammy asks, and in turn the boy lifts his cudgel up slowly to check.

"Yup! See the brain?"

The little girl peeks around his side and makes a nasty face.


The kid seems to find this really funny because suddenly he weilds his bat (yes, the cudgel has somehow transformed back into it's previous state but this time with a bit of blood and guts hanging from it) towards the girl laughing and taunting her with the disgusting bits on the end. Sammy screams and runs down a side street with the boy hot on her heels. Neither of them payed even the slightest attention to Chuck during the whole ordeal.

The rest of the walk is similar for Chuck. The headache comes and goes from street to street, and every time it is a sure sign that something weird is lurking in some shadow, even if there are no kids in sight. But nothing tries to attack Chuck save for one strange boy with a rucksack mask over his face. But he doesn't see it as attacking. He sees it as purging, for when asked just what the hell he was doing swinging a stick towards Chucks head, the boy simply shrugs and responds with 'ya had a brain sucker crawlin up your back mister. I had to get em off.' Then he turns and runs off down the street.

The last block towards the shop is luckily free of shadows and creepy kids with rucksack masks. And hey! The headaches gone too!
>> No. 40790284
File 142421936237.jpg - (69.88KB , 554x369 , 69_chevelle_red-554x369.jpg )

What the pant-shitting fuck.

Chuck momentarily devolved into three people, as he watched the almost cartoonish violence unfold. One wanted to run after those kids, to ask them what the Hell they were doing, or what even just happened. Another wanted to simply sprint back to the auto-shop, pop into his car, and hopefully book it in time to get home before he completely lost his mind. And the third wanted to turn and run back to the Be-Bops, kick open the door, and demand the cure for this madness from a certain fat asshole.

All three jerked in three directions - Chuck awkwardly stumbled and sat down on the curb in utter befuddlement. The kids disappeared around the corner. The scene was over. Chuck sat - bewildered.

"What," he stated into the air, seeming to forget to add the inflection.

With a bleary blink, he brought himself back. Shaking his head (a bit like a dog) the greaser rose to his feet. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring down the alley - and the spat of gore in the middle of it.

His foot tapped ominously.

Without another word, he turned and continued marching down the street.


He didn't waste time back at the shop - but neither was rushing. He changed into his regular clothes, checked his schedule on the cork-board, and made his way to his glorious 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu, gleaming brilliantly in the parking lot, as though still in the sunlight of a beautiful day, despite the looming darkness overhead.

Chuck, uniform bundled in his hands, now wearing a simple tank top, blue jeans, and brown leather jacket, opened the driver door, and threw the clothes to the passenger seat.

He hesitated, not yet sitting down into the driver seat.

Pursing his lips, the door shut. Chuck returned to the auto shop.

Emerging a minute later, instead of a uniform in his hands, he held a tire-iron.

He set the l-shaped metal rod beneath his seat, before turning on the ignition - and went on home.

Last edited at Wed, Feb 18th, 2015 12:55

>> No. 40803759
File 142518164281.jpg - (66.12KB , 695x600 , 1344653116_dark-forest-night-image.jpg )
A rustle in the trees. A scent on the wind. Something smelt of sleepyness and ammonia, a pungent odor that left the beasts claws clutching the soft ground and it's shoulders shivering. It's eye scans the shadows and focuses in on a fragile little body curled up under some leaves near the base of an old oak. The soft thumping of its weak heart filled the beasts ears and made it's mouth wetten and dribble with saliva. The prey doesn't yet know it is being stalked, nor is it even aware it's in danger. It's mind is in the sweet land of dreams, where it's troubles are melted away and it's pain forgotten.

The beast moves...stops...creeps again..

The scent is too tempting, the pulse too strong. It leaps, and the prey awakens.

The ground shakes a mere second before the screaming starts. It starts with a quick, half hearted frightened gasp that quickly delves down into strangled cries of pain. The ground shakes again, the trees sway, and more screams errupt into the silence of the night. The beast has found it's prey before the hunters have found the beast.
>> No. 40809910
File 142561495961.jpg - (90.25KB , 500x319 , black truck.jpg )
Chuck would arrive home to find a black pick-up truck sitting out in front of his house, and a light on in his living room. Walking up to the door would reveal no signs of forced entry. Infact, the door is unlocked as Chuck enters, and the smell of cigarrette smoke pervades the house.

Chuck [] can hear the sound of someone whistle from the living room, before silence...Then-

"Mr.Chuck? In here. And I would appreciate if you refrain from bringing a weapon in here. I'm just here to talk."
>> No. 40811978

Well Chuck certainly wasn't here to talk.

"Listen here asshole," he blurted into the dark before entering the living room, tire iron in hand. "I'd appreciate if YOU would pop outta that window behind ya so I don't have to throw you out myself -"

"Five seconds buddy boy."
>> No. 40815387
File 142595538817.jpg - (34.12KB , 558x300 , timothy-olyphant-the-girl-next-door-girl-next-door-2011753454.jpg )
Chuck will walk into his living room to see a man, dressed in casual clothes, standing in a very stiff stance and keeping a large pistol aimed directly at his chest. He holds it in his right hand, while in his left he displays some sort of badge. Chuck won't be able to clearly inspect it until he is closer though.

"Put. It. Down...Mr.Chuck. As I said, I'm only here to talk. I'm sure you have plenty of questions about what's been happening to you over the past hour or so. My job is to answer those questions.

I'm a field agent; an official. You can trust me."
>> No. 40815640

You can trust me.

Are you SHITTIN me?

Chuck, wide eyed, frozen mid-step, dropped the tire-iron to the floor. He raised his hands over his head.

About a million different things were running through his mind right now. So many that he sort of went numb - lame. Fear climbed into his soul, immobilizing him. The dark pit of the gun barrel drew his eye like a black hole. he couldn't look away from it.
>> No. 40815652
File 142597142555.jpg - (66.52KB , 234x310 , spoiler.jpg )
The man stares at him for a moment. Then-ever so slowly-lifts the gun and points it towards the roof.


His eyes take Chucks form in questioningly, like he's studying the man before him. And indeed he was-waiting to see if Chuck is going to cause any further problems and ultimately cause the situation to escalate.

" don't attack me. I don't attack you. Alls well that ends well, right?"

The man doesn't put his gun away yet, but he does slowly lower it to his side and take a slow step forward, aware that Chuck was likely at his breaking point.

"This is my badge, see? I'm sure you've never heard of us. We're a separate organization from the government, sorta like the F.B.I., but we deal in a lot cooler shit."

He smirks then. A sort of lazy grin that shows a flash of his teeth-some what stained from years of cigarette smoke and a few missed dentist appointments.

"You want to take a seat? I'm sure your feeling pretty..shaky. Am I right?"
>> No. 40816820

He continues just standing there, arms aloft, slowly falling to a more sustainable position. His breathing was still quick, his face pale.

The yellowed grin did little to assuage his fears. Something about it appeared predatory to him. At least the gun was, for now, held away. That was something. If nothing else, it allowed his eyes to wander for a moment, to glance at the badge.

He didn't recognize it.

And even if he did, he wouldn't know how to identify a proper one. What the difference between a legitimate organization and a fake one.

Chuck remained standing at the suggestion to take a seat. The thought of being able to flee was more reassuring than calming his nerveswith a nice sit
>> No. 40817021
File 142610379403.png - (604.19KB , 490x455 , timothy_olyphant_in_a_perfect_getaway_by_mzmarvelous-d6jnql3.png )
The mans grin slowly fades from his face before he finally just puts his badge away. He hadn't needed to go out on the field and deal with civvies in years, and he got the feeling he wasn't handling this as well as he could be. He takes another assessment of Chuck, then, barely noticeably, shrugs.

"Alright, well, obviously you've had a shit-fucking tastic night."

He doesn't take his eyes off Chuck, but he puts his gun away and takes a seat himself.

"You mind if I smoke in here? I probably should have asked before lighting one up earlier, but you know, you were taking a hell of a long time to get home and it's colder than a witches tit out there."

He pulls a pack out from his pocket, a lighter, and acts as if he's going to light one up without waiting for a response. He doesn't however, and instead offers one up to Chuck. He doesn't wait for him to take one before he starts in on an explanation.

"So I got a call in earlier today about some of our cargo not making it to it's checkpoint. We gave our boys some time, and when no one rang in, we decided to ring them. Seems they had a little accident out on the road and had to pull over for a repair."

He looks up at Chuck for a moment, before turning back to the cigarette in his hand. He rolls it between his fingers a few times before continuing.

"Now, normally, you never would have heard from me or any one in my organization. However-"

He pops the stick between his teeth, chewing on the filter a bit.

"That cargo of ours never made it to the next check point. Infact, it completely blipped off our fucking radar. So, normally, I would be stopping by your office to ask you some basic run of the mill questions. You know, 'have you seen these men; when were they here; where did they go' type of stuff. But, seeing as you weren't there when I stopped by, I decided to track you down. I was in a hurry."

Another shrug.

"Them boys were holding some precious secrets of ours, and it seems you happened to come into contact with one of those secrets."

He stops and waves at Chuck dismissively.

"Oh calm down man, this ain't some mystery crime movie. I'm not here to whack ya. I'm here to explain what's happening to you so you don't have a god-damn heart attack and keel over. Which, might I add, is quite possible with what's pumping through your veins right now and if you don't get it treated soon."

He jabs a finger towards Chucks chest to emphasise his point.
>> No. 40839893
File 142781704534.png - (484.74KB , 645x1200 , Watch it burn.png )
>> No. 40840231

"...I-I don't got no idea what you're tawkin about. I'm feelin' just fine."

Hahahahahaha. Yeah.

"And I ESPECIALLY dunno 'bout no missin cawgo. If you're askin me if I stole two tons of Uncle Sam's high calibre dope off the bed of a truck, I'm sorry but I don't got it. Got no idea where that...'cawgo' went."

"Maybe they smoked it," he offered lastly with a bit of an upturned brow - but his eyes stayed on the gun.
>> No. 40840397
File 142784073956.jpg - (4.22KB , 125x106 , spoiler.jpg )
hahaha, YUP
I'm sure you're feelin JUST FINE AND DANDY there Chuck!
>> No. 40840490
File 142784250819.jpg - (190.22KB , 1280x1024 , A_Perfect_Getaway_1280x1024_3983.jpg )
The man chews on the butt of his cigarette a bit more as he continues to stare at Chuck.

"Uh huh.." he says.

"'s what we're gonna do Mr.Chuck. I need you to accompany me back to headquarters. While we're there, one of our doctors is going to administer you a shot. It's not dangerous" he says quickly.

"It's just to help with the headache and calm your heart down."

He finally lights his smoke, taking a long drag before continuing.

"Now, after that's done another doctor is going to ask you some questions, and when your little interview is over, you're going to have a choice. The choice being how you want to proceed from there."

He gets up then and gestures to the door.

"Shall we go?"
>> No. 40840689


"...Do I have to?"

He swallowed. His eyes furtively glanced at the pipe on the ground.

"I mean, don't you arrest warrant? Wait - yeah!" He exclaimed suddenly, taking a step back, pointing at the stranger. "You can't order me to do shit! Let's see that paper you...officer you!"

The fact he'd had a gun pointed at him earlier somehow did not feel the need to reconcile itself with actual, normal policework.
>> No. 40840735
File 142785155449.jpg - (71.83KB , 853x480 , The-Girl-Next-Door-timothy-olyphant-20389490-853-480.jpg )
The man stares at him and crosses his arms.

"Really? You really going to make this hard? Look I don't get what you're so fucking afraid of. If I wanted to hurt you I would have done it. If I wanted to kill you, you never would have left your shop earlier this evening."

He puts his hands down and takes a step towards Chuck. He meets him eye to eye-his earlier humour and good will gone. His face is hard now, lacking in sympathy.

"If you think you got any rights..then I ask you to think back..on what happened to the Japs in nineteen forty two."

The words come out in quiet, short, clips; each one being spoken with a little more toxicity than the last.

"We don't have rights. We got fucking privileges."
>> No. 40846846

He blinked.

....What...what did happen to the Japs in 1942?

It probably wasn't good, he reckoned.

"Okay, whatevuh, jesus. Do your little interrogation thing then. I don't care."

He rubs his shoulder, staring at the gubment dude, narrowing his eyes a little bit.

What the Hell was going on?
[Return] [Entire Thread] [Last 50 posts]

Delete post []
Report post