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Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 3:02 pm
by 42th
Laca-Dread-sical! wrote:I know I'm going to get people angry (mainly starseedjenny) but I as before am just trying to move the story along. If it is okay with everyone can I start a second thread while you guys finish up this one? Also on the account of basically forcing Clara out of this chapter (I'm sorry) I'm trying to end this for the sake of all the new people. Also I'm going to give you guys permission to kill me (both versions) after this post

I understand what you're saying, but please don't start Chapter 2 yet; about 15 people, myself included, want to finish this thread before starting the new Chapter. Also, there is still some overhead to be taken care of before Chapter 2, such as creating (and determining the format of) the Chapter 2 discussion thread, creating a definitive summery, et. al. Thank you.

I do however think it would be a good idea to start the Chapter 2 discussion thread; mainly so I could set up voting for the setting for Chapter 2 so people can start thinking about it. (Do we want the setting to be immediately after the events in Chapter 1, six months after the events of Chapter 1, or in an alternate universe?)
Or, well, I could just change the poll in this thread..... :? :| :? :| I dunno. Discuss.

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 4:59 pm
by MetalNinja
Watching everything unfold before my eyes I realise, this is nothing even Wasusy has ever seen before. I'm stunned.
Suddenly, out of almost nowhere comes one of those freakin' clowns, plowing straight into Bat's accomplice. Bat's rushes to her side, obviously scared for her safety but then turns his attention back to the clown who'd dived out of the car before it fell off the poor... strange for an immortal to be so concerned about falling into the drink.
I decide to take action and run to the fallen girls side... she's unconscious and needs treatment fast. It's a good job I'm here, I call Miss P. to my side "I'll need your help... we have to make sure she's comfortable and safely away from all this.. Owen, make sure the scuffle stays clear from us."
I turn my attention back to the masked, unconscious young girl, "You'll be fine, I swear," I whisper under my breath.
Good job I was trained as a doctor before I became such a good shoot...

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 5:05 pm
by the_shankmaster
I really need the next chapter to take place pretty soon after this one, on account of my fiance in Thailand. If my case doesn't get resolved, I'll probably leave town to be with her. I also think my freshly broken arm (Thanks!) is great for explaining why I can't fight back well when Chavo or however he passed the job onto takes me to see my dad.

I don't know what's worse, the pain shooting through my arm and pulsing through my entire body or the sick crack of bone that accompanies it. The clown throws me on the floor and I manage to get on my knees before I start throwing up. So long, Hot Rock's Bacon-wrapped Triple Cheese Boulder. You were wonderful while I had you. Once my dinner has been cleared out of my system I try to clear my head. The clown is getting a beat down from Batman, but my switchblade is still in his forehead. Damnit. I glace around the floor and I spot a large piece of glass. I scurry over to it and pick it up. As quickly as I can with one arm, I rip a sleeve off my shirt and wrap it around part of the blade to make a handle. I'm holding the other end of the glass in my teeth and I'm sure Mali would kill me, but so might this clown guy. Ready. I was never a good lefty, but hell, it's all I have.

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 5:24 am
by xkazzoo
Now I now I said that I'd sit and watch, but I'm no heartless bastard. The clown ran over the poor girl, that is the only thing in my mind as I rush out from behind the cargo container. I won't stand by and allow death to come waltzing in without a fight. The scrawny guy is looking after the broken girl...thank god she's alive, if just head is starting to ache now...not again...the same thing happened when Rocco was hit, but this time it's worse, I stumble and can't catch my fall. Everything goes white...

...I'm alone on a large green surface. A sudden rumbling makes me turn around, a huge black ball is rolling at me. Instinct takes over my shock and I run, right into the deepest, darkest hole imaginable...

...I'm awake...all I feel is, rage, anger, and a target to direct all of my wrath upon. Franco Lombardo didn't have the evil in his heart to kill,to bring out the pain of death. I am stronger. Franco is the angel, but Warren is the demon. And I'm gonna bring Armageddon to that damned clown...

Character development is spooky! :shock:

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 5:52 am
by helios
I stop. I've hit him harder than I've hit anything before. I know he can take it. Because he has. But there's something wrong. He can fight back, I can feel it. But he hasn't. I pull the blade from his forehead, and wave in front of his eyes. His eyes twitch out from their glassy state.
I flick the blade back into the knife's hilt. I whip out a pair of handcuffs, and slap them on, under no illusions as to how long they were going to hold.
I stand up, and take a step back.
I take a guarded stance, and wait for him.
"I don't know your game clown, but I'm doing this the right way."

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 2:49 pm
by MetalNinja
wait... when did we decide I was scrawny?? :lol:

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 6:35 pm
by starseedjenny
:) when you never stipulated that you weren't.

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 6:49 pm
by MetalNinja
We have to stipulate now? daaaamn
Wait.. I did.. I said to check my pic in the :pictures of yourself thread." Unless I actually do look scrawny in that XD ahh well I don't really mind.. s'all cool as long as I have a live character :D

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sat Oct 03, 2009 10:27 pm
by Owen
Well, it's all happening now. Metalninja is into the fray before me, and just as soon back out with the injured Robin.
"...Make sure the scuffle stays clear from us." Right. I draw my gun and stand ready, unwilling to shoot for the moment as the others tangle with what appears to be two clowns. One of them is definitely the one from earlier, which presents a problem. The Bat has the other on the floor; he doesn't seem too bothered by the knife wound he just took, so I'm guessing he has the same... condition. That makes things awkward.

The fight's heading this way; my gun will be no use here, so I ready my fists instead and jump in. Some guy I don't recognise seems to be fighting on our side, for what that's worth, and it's all I can do to dodge his blows, let alone those of the clown. He must have the red mist and bad. Guy fights like some kind of Berzerker.

Henry jumps in alongside me, shouting something I can barely hear over my own ragged breathing. Sounds like "the car!... radio". Whatever it is, it means nothing to me, but Miss P looks up from attending Robin like she knows what he's on about. I'm thinking I should go help with whatever it is when
The clown lands one on me, and it hits like an exploding express train. Seeing stars, I stagger away and towards the group gathered around the girl on the floor.

Remember the car's radio? Well, you don't have to use it, but I thought it might be helpful.

Re: The P.I. Casefiles

PostPosted: Sun Oct 04, 2009 2:09 am
by starseedjenny
I read what happened and my first instinct was "Oh! This is a big deal, I need to make a post." But then I was like OH NOOO I CAN'T. But I'm an addict so, within like a day, I decided I MUST. And I should be finishing a book report now, but psh who cares

I'm a post junkie. SO SUE ME.

There aren't very many things I know right now. One of them is that I'm hurt. The other is that I am not really there at the moment. Where here is, I'm not sure. I can hear some things--the loudest, sharpest things--like you might hear them from underwater, and I can dimly feel hands moving, probing across my broken body, pressing.... A few places, I feel the hands move around obstacles that shouldn't be there, unnatural places like my calf and shoulder.

I can't move. It''s like being in that special part of sleep where you aren't sure if you're dreaming or not, just under the surface. But gol, I know I'm not. And I know if I wake myself up enough to move, to open my eyes, the pain will come.

So I lie still, rocking in my fluid dreams like something yet unborn, letting the kind stranger-hands take care of what is left of me, floating over my surface like the shadows doves cast when they fly.

[[Coming home from school. Books in muted colors in my arms, and pigtails. Charlie runs ahead--in the shorts of boyhood--and he shoves me to the side a bit. I shout and run to catch up, but he's already stopped, thrown his books to the ground. He's bending over, looking at something on the pavement. "Charlie, what is it?" I catch up, stop myself in my shoes. I too drop my books, for what he's examining is a little bird, still just in downy feathers. I can see its little heart beating through its tiny chest. A little pigeon chickie with a broken wing.

"Oh, let's take it home," I plead. I reach for it with hands that are pudgy and small in memory, and Charlie swats them away.

"I'll get it in my pencil box. You'd drop it." So he takes his pencils and his gum-tree eraser in his hand and gives them to me. Of course, I'll have to hold all his things, him having such a delicate little cargo, but I don't mind. I'm entranced by the little bird, by the careful process by which Charlie picks it up and puts it in the box, slides it closed but for a crack for air. I gather up all our things and we run all the way home, all the way up to our little flat.

Mama takes a minute to understand our excited rushing words, empties a little tin of whatever was in it and lines it with a dish towel. She slides the box open with utmost care, tips the birdie out into her cupped hand like she's pouring sugar. She looks at it for a moment, touches it gently with one finger, and she lays it down in its new box ever so carefully--]]

No, that isn't right.

[[Mama tips the little bird out into her hand, looks at it for a second, head cocked--then swings her arm like a baseball pitcher and throws the chick against the wall which it hits and stops with a little thud and falls to the stained floor like a wet flour sack.]]

The dream ends there and there is no other dream to take its place so I close my eyes--the inner ones, the real ones--and slip down all the way, all the way to where I can't hear and I don't have to feel anymore. I'll be back later, but not until someone wakes me. Until then, I'm just a little broken bird put away in the dark of a pencil box.

Hey look Clara can be Crazy Crazy even when she's passed out.