Glass Half Empty (Scene Ran for Rene)

[Glass half empty]

The letter didn't come in the mail, nor was it delivered by hand, at least as far as anyone seemed to notice. Rene would have found it in her room. She would have gone for a shower or woken up with the feeling that she'd slept with her eyes half open and had seen, or felt, people moving at her bedside. Or she might have been looking for something, something recently lost, and there it would be: Lost item and letter side by side. The item, no worse than it had been in the beginning. The letter, sealed with wax with the Omega pressed into it. The letter was fairly simple, straightforward, and intimate. Hello, Rene; On Michigan Avenue, between 34th and 35th street, lives a man named Geoffrey Blackwall. Mr. Blackwall is a fixture in the Bronzeville community, and rightly so since Mr. Blackwall has been living there for almost 200 years. Now, it may be possible that this is simply a case housing fraud, that some living soul has usurped Mr. Blackwall and has maintained his utilities and debts in return for free residence. However, there have also been disturbing reports that might indicate something more sinister is afoot. You are to observe Mr. Blackwall, and ascertain as to whether his continued existence is the result of an opportunistic imposter or some sort of meddling with the natural motion of fates wheel. Observe, Ms. Vitalli, and write your report on the blank page provided. With regards; Iago P.S.: You are being monitored.

[Rene Vitalli]

*An eyebrow darts up. She leaves both pieces of paper folded neatly in her suitcase, and prepares to go observe. Her usual supplies are packed and strapped and latched onto her body, a long rain black slicker taking the place of her usual light coat. And so, with little further adieu, Rene takes a cab to 37th st.*

[Glass half empty]

This was the heart of Bronzeville. The eye of the violent, crime ridden storm that swirled around this part of the city, and tonight the rain was coming down hard. The wind was her greatest enemy. It made hard pelets of the rain, beating against her face, and it tugged and swatted at her rain slicker, threatening to pull it right off her body. The rain and wind seemed to clear the streets, however. There were no gangbangers lounging on the corners. The junkies had all gone into their hovels for safety. Only a fool or a mad woman (or man) would be out in this kind of weather. And that's what made it all the more noticeable. As Rene crossed the intersection of Michigan and 35th street, she saw someone up ahead going through the same struggle as she was. The figure was small, probably no more than four-foot-nine, and with small, narrow shoulders. But the men's slacks and shoes that he wore under his trench coat suggested an older man, by fashion at least. And old man, in fact. He moved with very little trouble, entering through the gate and front door of a house. The architecture was older than most of the others in the area. No, as the thunder flashed Rene could see for an instant that, besides a fresh looking layer of graffiti, it was possibly the oldest house on the block.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Ah yes. That was likely the place. Rene slips out of sight, into the relative shelter of a nearby alley. She leans her soaked form against the wall there, and draws out a small mirrored charm, stringing it on silky grey thread as she begins to weave a complicated pattern with the fingers of one hand, a mini tapestry to fate in the palm of her hand, staring intently as she reaches to her core and feels the cold lurch of her atman in her mind. She peers into the tiny mirror* (Anyawin lvl 2 - remote sensing. -1 dif specific foci)

[Glass half empty]

[Who's there? Blackwall's awareness roll, +1 diff for Rene's arcane]

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall's kooky stuff!]

[Glass half empty]

From one of the front windows, one easily visible from the street, a low yellow light shone and revealed curtains made from tattered lace through which the interior was barely visible. Something moved inside, going past the front room and into another. And something moved inside. As Rene extended her perception beyond the limitation of this false physical distance, she felt something move. Something shifted in the air around her. The frigid rain fell away and was replaced with a faint but still warmth of the kitchen. A man, small and decrepit looking, peeled off a long, rain sodden coat to reveal a faded and frayed suit and vest. Behind her a clock ticked loudly, and in the other room came the dusty sounds of an old jazz record. The man took off his hat and set it on the table. A thin hand with knots for knuckles strokes at a single whisp of hair. The man's face is hardly a face. its a skull, skin pulled tight around the bones. The muscle of his cheeks and flesh of his lips had long ago withered and pulled the skin back, revealing a crooked row of bone dry teeth. And while one eye still shone eerily strong, the other had long ago grown yellow and rotten in its own socket. Rene can hear the rattle of the refrigerator as the man pulls it open. Upstairs something rattles and falls to the floor. He doesn't seem to notice. He sniffs at the container. In the other room, someone laughs as if at a joke. He doesn't seem to notice. A cold breeze passes through Rene, shoots through her skin straight into her bone, and a voice whispers. Its too quiet to be a sound. It whispers...straight into her head. We see you. Geofrey Blackwall's remaining eye rolls in its socket, looking upward, looking straight. At. Rene. This time, he notices.

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall's kooky stuff! (cuz I rolled it wrong last time)]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene raises an eyebrow. Well, that certainly wasn't natural. And better yet, there was more than one. Spirits of some sort she could only presume. Something she had no personal influence over. She raises her chin and nods. The gig was up. Her senses search for the source of the noise upstairs. Perhaps there was more than one corpse? *

[Rene Vitalli]

[corr2- diff 4]

[Glass half empty]

There are things in the floorboards, between stories. Hidden boxxes full of papers and old treasure. Rene only sees it for a glimpse, and then its gone. She's in the dark now. Rain beats at the window pane. Lightning flashes to reveal a bedroom, sparsely decorated, and a phalanx of tiny sepia portraits in frames on a chest of drawers. One of them has fallen. And as she watches, another lifts straight up off the surface, hovers in the air, and shoots toward the far wall. Laughter comes from the other room. The joke is funny again. But...there's something different now. There's the smell of musty air, ages of dust on the sheets and on the chest of drawers. The smell of mothballs and mold. The tingle of the air, warm and dry, and the feel.... The feel of a mirrored charm and a length of string in her fingers. Rene isn't viewing the house anymore. Somehow...she's in the house.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Well. no need for subtly then. Teleporting someone unwilling was invasive. She takes the opportunity to glance quickly at the sepia portraits. Hand unravelling the mini skien of fate in her left palm. The other up to ward off attacking pictures. Just in case. Moving as quickly as she can as she scouts for things of interest in the room. She would gather as much information as she could, before coming into direct conflict. If they already knew she was here, less reason to be subtle. She moves coldly and efficiently. Alert* [per invest (ability apt) - whats in this room? ]

[Glass half empty]

The pictures all seem to have something in common, if she looks close enough. Which, apparently, she does. The common factor is the face. A single face in all of them. Here, a handsome young black man poses, holding a child in his arms and standing beside a young, unimpressed looking woman. They're standing in front of a house. This house, only clear of grafiti and the ravages of time. In another photo the black man stood in the front of a crowd, all assembled and formally dressed. All somber. The women hid their faces in veils. The men held their hats to their chests. In another picture, the man holds his hat to his chest. His face is impassive, his hair: greying. A man and a woman stand beside him in matrimonial garb. Another group photo. The man's face is sunken. This time there is another sitting with them, propped up in a chair sits a woman in a wedding dress. Her head flops to the side, as if unable to hold it up. And a third group photo, though the group is smaller now. And this time, instead of a chair, there is a coffin. Another group photo. The man is thin. Unhealthy. Another. One of the man's eyes has closed in on itself. Another. The man's hair, already white as snow, is thinning. He's no longer somber. Three other people stand with him, posing by the coffin. The man is smiling. There's also a trunk at the foot of the bed in the room, noticeable only because the lid of the chest trembles as if cold. And then, one corner shifts suddenly, and another, and the trunk lurches forward, threatening to crash into Rene's knees.

[Glass half empty]

ANGRY TRUNK ATTACK!

[Glass half empty]

[Damage]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Her heart had jumped for a beat, into her throat as she realized she was in the house. But that same dispassion that lent her such an air of detached malice, robbed her of the appropriate fear response. Rational calculating mind taking over as she begins to explore the room. She examines the pictures at length, eyes skating to the trunk just in time to see it crash at her.* [dex ath]

[Rene Vitalli]

[possible soak]

[Glass half empty]

The trunk crashes into Rene's leg with force and keeps going until it crashes into the far wall. She doesn't have time to react, but as her legs suddenly get knocked out from under her she at least have time for the gut reaction to put her hands down, and then her legs replant themselves In the other room, there's laughter. Lighting lights the room and for an instant there's someone in the corner, standing on top of the trunk and stifling a laugh. In the dark, he's gone. "You're gonna die here." comes a whisper from far away. And downstairs there's the sound of breaking glass, and someone running up the stairs.

[Glass half empty]

[1 bashing to Rene]

[Rene Vitalli]

*Spirits she couldn't do much with. Walking corpses however... She makes to banish the sudden chill down her spine with action, blades always a better option for the dead. She dashes to the side of the door and waits for it to bust open, thin diamond shaped blades at the ready*

[Rene Vitalli]

[wits/stealth]

[Glass half empty]

And bust through the door it does. The knob rattles, and for a moment it seems like the hinges themselves were trembling again, just as the trunk had, and the door swung open swiftly, illuminating the doorway with the dull yellow light from the hallway. Small, frail-looking Geoffrey Blackwall came storming in, opening his jaws to errupt a choked, dusty how of anger, and a gleaming saber swished through the air as he charged in. And then he stopped, craning that skull around as he searched the room.

[Rene Vitalli]

*The blades are palmed in favor of thread, upon seeing how dusty the man is up close. Stabbing him would have no effect. Dark fingers weave a familiar tapestry. Atropos guiding her hand, an extension of her will, a spinneret of Arachne herself. And once done, the euthanatos tucked welcome in the darkness lets the skein unravel.* [Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust. life3/entropy3 - foci , - resonance, + wp, taking time to extend if need be. diff4]

[Rene Vitalli]

[reality's a bitch]

[Rene Vitalli]

{soak!}

[Glass half empty]

[Blackwall sussing out his attacker]

[Glass half empty]

The dusty old man peers around the dark room, oblivious to Rene's exact location. But then, his skin seems to sizzle slightly, pulling back even further as that rotten, yellow eye sinks in even further. Its hardly enough to phase him, made obvious as he turns the good eye to Rene's hiding spot, and then his body. The flesh of his cheeks were long gone, but his skin pulls back to reveal the distant back rows of his teeth. One would imagine its the walking corpse's version of a smile. A dark, lecherous smile reserved for zeroing in on one's prey. ((There's no getting away this time. INITS!))

[Glass half empty]

Blackwall +6

[Rene Vitalli]

[init+ 7 ]

[Glass half empty]

Action order: Rene Blackwall Declare in reverse

[Glass half empty]

Blackwall: Chop her up!

[Rene Vitalli]

[splitting actions 1 - throw blade 2 - dodge]

[Rene Vitalli]

[throwin atchu]

[Rene Vitalli]

[damages = str +1]

[Glass half empty]

[200 year old man soak]

[Glass half empty]

In the dark there's barely a gleam as Rene hurls one of her blades, and it lodges straight into the man's throat. His single remaining eye bulges. His grip on the saber slackens, and a watery red liquid pours from the wound in spurts. Spurts that suggest an immeasurably old, but still beating heart. Geoffrey Blackwall falls to his knees, and then face forward onto the floor of his bedroom. There's no laughter in the other room. No knocking at the door hinges or at the trunk against the wall. There's no sound of demonic mirth in the house now that its surviving resident had died, though possibly not for the first time. But their is weeping. Wailing, even. The room grows suddenly cold, frigid. Rene's calm breath blows white in front of her face, and all around her are the sounds of forlorn spirits. No longer whispering. No longer far away or in some other room. They're right there, with her. And they grieve. NO-O a woman screams in Rene's ear. Other's weep still in the background. Men in the foreground call out. "Geoff? Geoffrey? What did...what did she do to you, buddy?" The temperature plummets, and the voices grow deeper. More determined. "Get up, Geoff! Get yo ass up! A deal is a deal, and our deal aint done! Kill this bitch! Kill her! Get up, Geoffrey! Give us her blood! We want her blood! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! Get up! And the small, frail, curled body on the ground....twitches.

[Rene Vitalli]

None of that thank you. *Says the soft little girls voice that should never have been put in such a forbidding piece of work. Rene makes to jerk the blade from his twitching grizzled fingers. Blade retrieved, she backs away, making to tangle the skein she'd made before, to rework it and continue as she had.* [extended rolling as they animate him again. Ashes to Ashes.. life3/entropy3. foci, destructive resonance wp, quint]

[Glass half empty]

The voices scream on, and those knots that should have been knuckles flex just as they grow black. The head shuffles, leans back, and looks up at the shadow of Rene in the relatively dark room. The yellow eye caves in entirely, and the darkness of the socket grows over his skin. (keep going)

[Rene Vitalli]

*Stilt tangling, threads of fate more elaborate, fraying in her haste to get this done, almond eyes glinting bitter in the dim light of the bedroom.* [[extended rolling +2 as they animate him again. Ashes to Ashes.. life3/entropy3. foci, destructive resonance wp/quint]

[Glass half empty]

That throat has been damaged beyond repair, particularly now that the black decay creeps down his face and frays the still moist edges of the wound like heat curling paper. There's a gurgle, and the hand reaches out suddenly, clutching at Rene's shoe. A dull crack, and the black, dry fingers all break off and crumble. There's a dusty moaning sound coming from the dark cavity lined with brown teeth. The man's remaining whips of hair lifts from his head like cobwebs in the wind. And with a crescendo of screams from the ghosts in the room, and with a final 'Huuurrrrrrr' from Geoffrey Blackwall, the corpse of a man dries up right there on the ground, and his chest caves in. And then silence. Absolute. The loudly thumping-clicking grandfather clock has stopped. The dusty jazz record on the Victrola has ceased. Even the rain outside has subsided. The air in the room warms with the same sort of sudden shift. It would seem its over.

[Rene Vitalli]

[Reality - unlike the dude - does not abide]

[Rene Vitalli]

[soak it]

[Rene Vitalli]

*She remains poised a few long moments. Waiting. Dark eyes shifting about the room. When her paranoia finally subsides the statuesque black woman stands fully, and moves about the room with disturbing disinterest in the corpse himself. Pictures are slipped from frames. tucked into an inner pocket. And then it is time to attend to the corpse. She strips the bed, rolling whats left of Geoffrey Blackwell into a sheet. Then she makes for the back door. Arcane up.*

[Glass half empty]

As Rene heads out of theback door, there's a woman just about to come in. There's a long, extended moment of flushing faces, pounding heartbeats, and frightened 'what the fuck?' eyes as the two meet quite suddenly. The woman, dressed more warmly than Chicago required just yet, removed her winter gloves and stuffed them into the pocket of her overcoat. And then, as if surprised by it, she pulled out a small envelope and gave it a curious look. Then her eyes went back up to the woman before her and the rolled bed sheet she was carrying. "Ms. Vitalli, I presume?" She said, her voice full bodied and confident. The woman hardly takes her eyes off the loaded bed sheet as she hands Rene the envelope, which she can now see bears a wax seal and the omega, and takes two calculated steps back so that she was halfway between fleeing and halfway between barreling through Rene.

[Rene Vitalli]

Yes. *Rene takes the envelope in one hand, opening it and reading it on her way to the trashcan. Shark eyes flicking up and down the woman who gives it to her frankly.*

[Glass half empty]

The woman steps out of her way, and once Rene has continued on, she disappears inside the house. The letter is in the similarly straight forward but familiar tone, but in noticeably different handwriting. Dear Rene; Don't fret. While I would have preffered a more experienced candidate 'handle' Mr. Blackwell, I understand that it wasn't entirely your fault. I'd like to commend you on your prompt reaction, but in the future I hope you will be slightly more discreet when monitoring subjects. Nevertheless, I still expect a full report. Thank you for your continued cooperation. Iago PS: You are still being monitored.

[Rene Vitalli]

*Rene's eyebrow lifts, but she shows little else by way of reaction. Disposing of the corpse in a bag of trash, retying it with gloved hands, before moving to disappear best she can between houses and privacy fences. Making to slip into the night.*

[Glass half empty]

~Fin~