Trying to figure out the cryptic last words, but I can't find his character sheet. Anyone know which page it's on?
Having survived the harsh winters during a time when food was scarce, Piotr was no stranger to death. He'd seen people killed for a slice of bread. But even then, that didn't make him feel any better about having to put down another man.
He was glad that Henry Goodman decided to step up to the task. What disturbed him however, was that he did it without so much as hesitating about it. Piotr felt that there was more to this musician than meets the eye.
"What's your name, boyo?"
The question brought Piotr's attention to the bar. The Russian almost leapt out of his place, his caution thrown into the wind and he quickly crossed the distance to it.
"I do not believe it. It be Calvin Stafford! You famous! What you doing here?!" rumbled Piotr as he gave the man a great hug in his excitement.
OOC: @Schizzy: I don't think there is a character sheet. I didn't find one. Counterattack didn't find one. You didn't find one. If there is one in the first place, SkyeNeko is probably the only one who knows what's on it.
Tequila wasn't his usual drink of choice, but dark times called for anything really.
"What's your name, boyo?"
Calvin was a bit surprised that he had found someone who hadn't seen his work, but his voice depicted him as a foreigner to this country, so maybe they just hadn't made it to the theatre yet. "Calvin," he replied after a moment. "Calvin Stafford."
He took the offered drink and gave it a similar sniff before tentatively taking a sip. It was strong, some of the Mexicans' finest work, but it burned something fierce. Ooh, could probably use some ice, but this port should get me through this storm anyway.
He set the glass back down on the bar. "Ah, I needed that. But yes, what's your name friend?"
Bobby glanced up at the now-awake man. He was a pudgy, older man. Nothing looked suspicious about him to Bobby.
"We off'd the mysterious one outside. I think he was the killer, but I'm not... entirely certain."
He looked down at his feet. I could use a drink right now, but I need to keep composure. Come on, confidence.
His eyes beamed as an idea surfaced.
"Want to see if any of that so called 'treasure' is actually real? My name is Robert, but you can call me Bobby."
Karl's eyes narrowed as he cast his gaze over the small library he had found. It looked like there was just one way in and out: the door he had just used to enter the room. There were a few windows, but they couldn't be opened and had frames running through the glass. Breaking them would be pointless, especially since he wasn't equipped to cut through the metal frames.
It seemed that he was trapped inside with the others. For now, he would hole up here until he found a way to evade the rest of the 'guests' and break out of the house to freedom. He shut the door and slid its deadbolt, then began to examine the room for any potential surprises. The sheets covering the furniture were gathered up and folded for potential use later. Next was... well, the bookshelves. Karl took a moment to consider them, tapping a finger against his chin as he considered a slightly ludicrous thought.
It was entirely possible that there could be a secret passageway hidden in the shelves. It was a common thing in fiction: secret rooms hidden in unlikely places. And Karl had had need to hide in unlikely places himself... there was no harm in experimenting. The thief began at one end of the shelves on the walls, and experimentally tried each one, picking it off the shelf and setting it back in place. If there was a hidden door in the shelves, it had to be triggered somehow.
Emile cautiously eyed the suits of armor as he walked through the hallways. To him, it wasn't far off that the mansion that was probably boob-trapped if the "guests" wandered too far. He felt like he was walking in a landmine and each door on the way was locked. He made it to the stairs but there was a significant lack of light. Emile muttered a german swear and lit a match, while making his way up the stairs.
I'm really sorry but I cannot continue in this RP for the time being. I am swamped with coursework from now until after Christmas and I just won't find any time to make a post. I mean I only made like one. So, again I am really sorry about this and maybe I'll find time to join in later if this is still going.
"Want to see if any of that so called 'treasure' is actually real? My name is Robert, but you can call me Bobby."
Monty stared at the extended hand for a moment, still reeling from the series of shocks that came before. The seeming kindness and unusual optimism weren't really helping straighten matters in his mind. After a few seconds, he took Bobby's offer to help him to his feet.
"Montgomery Belmont. But my friends call me Monty."
Just being helped to his feet helped straighten the thoughts in Monty's head. With cleared eyes he was able to observe the other activities in the room. It seemed as though the others were already forming their own little existences, making friends and alliances as though the politics really mattered with a murder victim in the room.
Still...Bobby had said they got the fiend. Maybe.
Do I really want to trust a maybe at this point?
Monty cleared his throat as he dusted off the pleats of his cheap suit. If there was a killer running around, it probably wasn't this kid. Something about him seemed good natured. Not innocent though. It was obvious that no one in this room was completely innocent.
Henry wasn't even sure if Ray knew his way around, because clearly he didn't. He couldn't lose his cool, however, he still had to act as if he was in control.
"I guess even the manor doesn't want you drinking," Henry said, leaning on a wall.
"You really think there's treasure around here?"
Bobby pondered the question for a few moments. Curiosity was getting the better of him.
"Well, yeah. This place is absolutely huge! There has got to be something special in here, ya know?" His excitement was leaping through his speech, making him feel like a fool. You are the proud owner of a thriving tailorship. Act like it.
"...I mean, I suppose. I don't see any harm in not looking though. How about that long, dark, and obviously not suspicious corridor over there?" Realizing his 'joke' might be taken the wrong way, he quickly added, "...or maybe that well lit stairway going up? I think I prefer that option, actually."
Feel free to write whatever you like about the mansion and its contents. If you like, I can make up some things if you feel like solving mysteries in your spare time. Otherwise, you're free to drop in and out, or not post, or just post a few times. Like I said before, this RP bit isn't required, just something to pass the time.
[hr]
As Kent rifled through the books, a piece of paper falls out.
After being unfolded, it's revealed to be torn.
"Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are."
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow."
Under the book, embedded was a dial with letters instead of numbers. There were 7 letters.
[hr]
Ray stumbled on a door cracked with light. Inside, it was a storage room. There was no alcohol, but foodstuffs: breads, coffee beans, herbs and spices... When he opened the door, a few mice darted away from the sacks.
Alex stood, bemused, as the events unfolded, ending with another man killed. After his big stand, telling people not to turn on each other, it had happened anyway. There were two dead bodies now, and they'd only been there a short while. He was angry, but maintained a calm demeanour. He had gotten used to people doing as he said, but at the moment he wasn't surrounded by his usual people. He'd have to get used to not being the boss for now.
"Well, since we've gone all tribal in here, I'm going to go explore before I get brained or shot. I guess we'll see if he's the right man. If anyone who hasn't just shot a man in cold blood would like to join me, feel free."
Alex started towards the door, abruptly stopped and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was going to follow.
The old house creaked in the wind. A few of the mansion's new residents had left the bar, looking for a way out, or for excitement. One poor sap, however, is about to find more excitement than bargained for.
[hr]
[HEADING=1]The Killer has outwitted the Physician again! Check your inboxes![/HEADING]
Seven dials, each with twenty-six letters. The dials were to spell out a word, presumably. A password lock, leading to... who knew what. There were who knew how many possible combinations. Karl recognised the phrases on the torn page as being written by a certain someone with a seven-letter surname.
Code:
H. O. L. L. A. N. D.
Nothing happened. Well, it had been worth a shot. Karl began looking around for other possible passwords. It was entirely possible that the password was somewhere within the library. He began checking spines of books for suitable surnames, trying one when he found a seven-letter word. None of them fit. Then he spotted a bust in alcoves on the opposite wall, and hurried to investigate.
The bust was simple enough, but the man's face wasn't what Karl was interested in. He took the hem of his shirt and ran it over the name-plate attached to the base of the statue. Only the man's forename fit the requirement. Seven letters, no more and no less. The thief hurried back to the bookshelf and began turning the dials.
Code:
A. N. T. H. O. N. Y.
As soon as the Y clicked into place the clacking of gears and machinery began to sound. The shelf next to the one housing the dials sank into the floor, revealing a hidden passage lit by simple lightbulbs. It almost instantly rounded a corner and headed downwards. Ensuring the library door was still locked, Karl entered this passageway. A lever just around the corner reset the bookshelf to its original place.
Intrigued by this discovery, Karl began making his way down this presumably secret pathway.
Eventually the stairs led to a void of darkness. His match reflected off some metal but that wasn't helping. Emile's match was dying fast and he scrambled for a light switch as most of these rich mansions had. Just as the light died, his finger found a switch and the room was lit. The room was longer than a small ship with the table in the middle being just as long. On the walls, there were large paintings and more suits of armor at the corners of the room. Emile walked towards the dining table to see the table was set, all 20 seats were set for a dinner that would probably never happen.
He looked to the paintings once more, seeing a recurring figure even in different styles. There was a woman, beautiful yet intimidating dressed in a eye-catching red whether in robes or in dress. Her figure was heavenly but there was a hint of something sinister behind her elegance. In one painting in particular she was sitting upon a thrown, and arms crossed with her eyes feasting on Emile. He stepped left and right but those eyes always followed him.
This really disappoints me because I was genuinely planning on exploring the manner with Zero since I had not really had a chance to RP with him for years. This is really the only time where the killer got me and I was genuinely annoyed.
Oh well, I still love writing death posts. I just wish I had been able to establish some more pathos for Monty before the end.
"How about that long, dark, and obviously not suspicious corridor over there?"
For a long moment, Monty stared at Bobby and hung onto those words. Even though Bobby continued speaking there was no possible way that it could register in his mind. The damage had already been done...there was no way in hell that Monty could now possibly trust this individual.
"Yeah, I hope that you won't be offended by the fact that I pass on your offer. My monetary flow is sufficient without the excess of 'treasure' that may or may not be found on the premises."
Monty turned and left the room without another word. There was too much activity where he stood. Too much possibility for something to go horribly wrong if he stuck around the area. In his mind, the only way to be safe was to avoid any personal contact with the others. The killer could still be around if the execution had been misguided; if he were to survive, he felt that the only way was to blend into the shadows.
The halls of the mansion were poorly lit; even the faintest of moonlight cast shadows that spread across Monty's gaze like specters in the night. His heart pounded as though it subconsciously knew the extreme danger that he had put himself in just by venturing through these halls alone. Even still he walked forward. In his mind, there was no other option. No one else could be trusted. In his mind, the only way to mitigate that risk was by putting as much distance between himself and the others as possible.
As he walked, he observed his surroundings. Most of the hallway was not worthy of note other than the musty stench that permeated the walls of the manner. He noted that the oak doors had been created with copious amounts of craftsmanship but none of them had really stood out among the rest. The entire walkway blended in with itself as though it went into an infinity only broken by the natural curves and angles of the building.
Eventually, Monty picked a door to enter. At the moment, his only instinct was to hide from the others. He cared very little about what room he ended up in. Rather, his mind was focused entirely on survival; to succeed, he felt that he needed to be in the most inconspicuous room that he could find.
Books stood piled upon shelves as far as the eye could see. An unwelcome sense of majesty overrode Monty's sense of survivalism as he surveyed the vast amounts of potential knowledge that hung from the shelves in his view. Monty was no academic but he realized the value of information in the world that had been deeply involved.
"Wow," he muttered nasally to himself, "there could be a potential goldmine in here."
Monty dove into the ocean of books without a second thought. His plans for expansion hinged entirely on his ability to stay one step ahead of the competition in matters of business and economics. He felt that he could rule the entirety of the bootlegging trade on the East Coast if he held an intellectual advantage over all of his potential rivals, As he saw it, it only took an understanding of business and a willingness to dirty the hands of others to truly succeed in the bold new world of Prohibition.
For about fifteen minutes, Monty was able to study the materials that he had stumbled upon. For about fifteen minutes, Monty was able to improve his knowledge of the world around him and how he might be able to freely advance through. For about fifteen minutes, Monty felt truly alive.
Funny how Monty died at eighteen minutes after the discovery.
As he read about the cost investments that he could come across from running his own 'business', Monty was suddenly grabbed from behind by a being with far more strength than he could have possibly anticipated. All he was able to do was gasp infrequently as the murderer spoke softly into his ear.
"Don't scream," the killer said, "you deserve every second of your judgement. You may not be the most violent in this building but your practices among the most destructive."
Two stabs to the stomach and one directly to the heart. A blood curdling scream escaped from Monty's throat as he fell to the ground. In a brief moment, all of the crimes of his life flashed before his eyes. The extortion. The blackmail. The ordered hits. All of the actions that had only served to elevate those above him to a higher position of power.
Was I...wrong? Should I have been more ambitious? Why...why...wh...?
Every chance he could muster, he continued to yell. Hopefully someone would notice. Maybe...somebody out there would care about his unfair passing. Maybe...somebody...
Everything grew faint but he screamed until his last moment. He died as he lived: he was a coward with nothing but grand schemes hanging on the horizon.
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