The P.I. Casefiles

Home of our "Noir" story threads. Come for the plotlines, stay for the coffee. And the pie. It's really good pie.

Is it time to create chapter 2 of The P.I. Casefiles (a.k.a. the Noir thread)?

Yes - Make the new thread now! Concurrent plot/character development is awesome!
1
7%
Yes - But let us finish this plot line first, please. We're just about to wrap things up.
14
93%
No - Things are fine as it is.
0
No votes
 
Total votes : 15

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby Owen » Sun Oct 04, 2009 8:55 am

Spoiler:
I enjoyed the Crazy Crazy. Nice to have some character development amongst the fight scene :D

So anyway, I woke up today with a way to end this part of the thread... it's not totally unprepared but it feels more than a little bit deus ex machina.

Without giving it away, I think it would provide a way to end the thread so everybody gets to decide how they come out of it. Those with mind-powers/immortality and whatnot can decide how they're affected - potentially, they could lose them, but they don't have to.

What do you guys think? Do I have permission to start Ending this for good?
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby helios » Sun Oct 04, 2009 9:20 am

Spoiler:
From me, yes.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby Laca-Dread-sical! » Sun Oct 04, 2009 10:55 am

Spoiler:
Do it. My character needs to be in jail for the next thread anyway so this is all for the better.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby starseedjenny » Sun Oct 04, 2009 1:45 pm

Spoiler:
Aye aye cap'n
G: Like helplessness experiments. That's the biggest problem in zombie apocalypses. People who survive will always eventually come to question why they bother.
Seamus: The biggest problem in zombie apocalypses is poor planning and not enough ammo.


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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby xkazzoo » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:02 pm

Spoiler:
Yes, 50 pages is a good run, now put down this chapter like Old Yeller.

I think I made that reference already, oh well.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby Owen » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:06 pm

That sucker hits hard. I'm still reeling from the clown's punch so I don't notice for a second that something has - changed. It doesn't take me long though - I can feel it, in the air, vibrating through my every pore. And then I hear it. The laughter, high-pitched and crazed, building in the space around me, filling my head with gibberish and broken, twisted fragments of sentences. Aaaahahahaha break the bat break the bat Geehhehehehe Yesss break himm What is this? Are we too late? With an effort I tear my concentration away and realise that I've fallen to my knees. The thought panics me, for some reason. Cuffs can't hold me here aaahahahaha Is someone shouting? I can't tell.
A solitary figure stands out on a rooftop far away, just further than I should be able to see and slowly I realise I can hear cheering too, rising until it almost drowns out the clown's mad laughter. How do I know it's the clown's? I can't see anything. The cheering is turning, as I both knew and feared it would, to jeers and catcalls. I know this scene. And somehow, I get an answer to my question.
The radio. It's... something Henry did. I saw it when we crashed the car.
Who...? Miss...?
Feedback... psychic feedback! Too much activity we never thought -
As if called, the radio bursts into life, shocking me back to the real world. You spin me right round baby right round like a record baby right round right round Is this the real world? What is going on? no not like that who cuffs are holding how flashes of a cave, dark, filled with - bats? and then anger, loneliness, rejecting me LEAVE ME ALONE -
Around me everyone has stopped what they are doing, and are on the floor. The figure on the rooftop is the only one still standing. Somehow the radio is - what, psychic?

Yeah, that sounds like the kind of thing Henry would do.

The voices are multiplying now, too many to count and it hurts like every hangover I ever had came round to dinner. I'm on the rooftop, on the ground held down by the impossible cuffs, all at once. I'm squeezing a knife by the blade and not caring because it's the only thing that's real anymore. I'm in my kitchen this isn't my kitchen and a dead bird is on the floor but this time it's different it's not dead it can fly away and it does it's singing the bird is singing.

"All I know is that to me you look like you're lots of fun/ Open up your lovin' arms
Watch out here I COME!
"

The bird is singing and even though it's quiet, the high trill pierces through everything else and I know I can't give up for Charlie who is Charlie? not as he is now but as he was and will always be for me and somewhere far away a hand is holding a knife and it's bleeding but I use my last strength to throw it towards the radio and everything is getting louder then -

Silence.



Somewhere, a bird is singing.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby starseedjenny » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:11 pm

Spoiler:
HOOOOOLYCANNOLIGOODNESS
G: Like helplessness experiments. That's the biggest problem in zombie apocalypses. People who survive will always eventually come to question why they bother.
Seamus: The biggest problem in zombie apocalypses is poor planning and not enough ammo.


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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby the_shankmaster » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:28 pm

Law school. I went to law school to get away from this place, and like an idiot I came back. Why? Because I wanted to help people. People like me. I broke out and came back so I could help others breakout. Be a good influence. Start some kind of scholarship fund. Why did they deserve permanent freedom when I gave up my own for the sake of theirs? Because everyone else is more important than me. That's what my dad told me, and even though I told myself I didn't believe it, I always did.

There's something going on, but I can't comprehend it, so my brain begins shutting down. This is what I do. I have to understand everything. I have to be smart, because if I'm not smart I have nothing. I know that intelligence is continuous, but I can't stop thinking about it as dichotomous. I'm etiher smart or a moron. There is no in between. So when something is beyond my comprehension I drop it, throw it aside, tell myself it's not important and move on. But this is important. It's the most important thing in the world and I can't make heads or tails of it.

There's the head. It has a beak. There's the tail. It's covered in feathers.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby Owen » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:40 pm

Spoiler:
Shankmaster are you starting after the big explosion? If so, do you mind if I move you to the start of the new thread?
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

Postby porcupineportent » Sun Oct 04, 2009 7:47 pm

Spoiler:
I have chills.

EDIT: Oops, didn't know about the new thread. You can move it, Owen.


I don't know what to do. I try to make this - Robin?, this fallen bird in berry plumage - as comfortable as I can, but then

- there's a deafening roar, a silent assault that I can't hear but it's all happening inside my head what is going wrong here and there's a flash of high beams and the terrible familiar grinding of chassis against chassis and I remember that strange widget I noticed right before things went black what is that thing why would Mr Smithgel put it in the radio of all places? but I'm not alone here, there's somebody else, watching subway doors close before him, looking through the glass at the Bat-man and ... me?

But he has questions, and there's something that Shemp mentioned to me in passing about some new gizmo Mr Smithgel was trying out, and I know. A ditty is running in the background, on top of the cacophony and under it and weaving all through it, but I can't pick it out in the noise and the shouts and the mad laughter why is everything so loud?

Then the agonising, grating screech, like metal being dragged cross-wise over metal, or - a knife blade, forced through tangles of wires and circuitry, burrowing its way to -

Silence.

The obnoxious tune is gone, and now here's a thing you'd be lucky to hear on the dead Wasusy streets. It sounds like the chirps from those feathered ornaments that the wealthy keep in gilded cages, but this song is different - it's swooping, it's alive, it's free.

There are fingers around my wrist, suddenly, and the bird-song vaporises, only a haunt for me to clutch at. Robin is looking up at me and her eyes are luminous. I know where I've seen those eyes before.

"Clara," I sob, choking on the breath.
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