The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

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The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby Seamus O'Seamus » Tue Dec 15, 2009 3:44 am

I can hear the rain, but only a little hits the window. I blink as the lightning flashes, counting the seconds before the thunder rumbles in like a warship. The glass shakes, but no harder than if I had tapped it.
I’ve been sitting here for much too long, just staring out the window. I’m not afraid to move–the gauze is way too tight to worry–but I’m...apprehensive. Yeah, that’s the word. I’m apprehensive about leaving my apartment. Knowing that there are still goons with badges and truncheons crawling all over town looking for me. Knowing that I took someone’s life not a day or two earlier, that I’ve already brushed it off, and that if I had to, I could do it again. Easily.
That’s the part that really bothers me. I try not to think about it, because if I do it’ll drill into my head like a mosquito and suck out every other rational thought and give me some kinda disease from South America. No, if I wanna stay sane and healthy, I gotta keep active.
I stand up from my couch, pulling my coat back on. The once-crimson stain is brown now, barely visible against the black fabric.
That jacket used to be tan. Huh.
Whatever I’m going to do, I have to start soon. I walk towards the door and stop at the threshold. That’s the edge of safety. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “Hurry it up, Seamus.” I whisper.
Time to go.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby xkazzoo » Tue Dec 15, 2009 4:51 am

Hmmm, this bed is much more comfortable than the ground. It's like I just sink into it. I'm surprised I'm even waking up I'm so comfortable. But hey, when I'm up, it's hard to go back. I slowly crack open my eyes so that only a sliver of gray light can seep into my retinas. This room is familiar, but I don't worry about it. I don't feel like I'm in danger.

There's a card on the counter top next to the bed. I reach for it, but my ribs protest. I lift up the sheets to reveal a bandage covering what I believe is a nasty bruise. I don't feel anything broken or cracked, so I guess I should be lucky. I groan a little but manage to reach the card. I lie back down with a thud. In my hand is a post card, from Siberia? It's from Billy. Apparently he went off on an escapade with Bella to get information on some mad scientist or another. Says that Cindy is acting as CEO of the company and asks if I'll look after her. Great. I slowly rise out of the bed and suddenly realize that I'm in my skivvies. I look around, and notice a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt folded on a chair. I throw them on, and am happily surprised to find a big eight ball design on the front. I gotta find out where I am.

As if to answer my question, I see a note pinned to the door:

Hope you don't mind, but a couple of loons dropped your sorry butt off here, and then left in a hurry. I bandaged you up and got some clothes from you're place. I'm at the pool hall, be back late. Stick around and maybe you can pay me back.

-Rocco




Well, looks like I'm on my own again. No real problem, I feel that things will be a bit less crazy nowadays. But what did I do with, ah, there it is, and in the case too! I owe you one, bro. I grab my cue and make for the front door. I'm hungry as hell and the closest place I can think of is that diner Billy's always going on about, can't remember the name, but he said that if you start walkin' you'll eventually end up there. Alright then.

I haven't been walking ten minutes before I can see the Wasusy Bridge, with Rig #23 in the distance. And there's a small diner right under the bridge, that must be the place.

I open the door and I can smell something delicious, I think it's pie...
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby Camoninja » Tue Dec 15, 2009 5:15 am

Brrring.
Brrring.
Brrring.
Brrring.
This damned ringing is going to drive me crazy.


I got up blearily and walked over to the source of the disturbance, a run down alarm clock that I had been surprised to see function at all. I made a motion somewhat akin to a slap in an attempt to shut it off, and heard a snapping sound issue from somewhere inside it. That was good enough, and no one would notice, anyways. Not in a cheap motel like this.

Now I took a closer look at the time, and found that it was nearly four thirty PM. Oh hell, I’d overslept. For a moment, I scrambled around in an attempt to gather myself together, before remembering that the clock was six-and-a-half hours fast. It was only nine in the morning; I was right on time. Slowing down, I began to dress more methodically. For now, I was going out on legitimate business (well, as legitimate as busking can get), so there was no need to dress up all fancy like I did for my other enterprises. Casual gray pants, casual blue shirt, and casual leather jacket, and I was ready to start my day. I kept my aviators in my pocket next to a switchblade, which I carried for self defense. I grabbed my violin case by the strap which I had affixed to it, and slung it over my back, guitar-style. Then I took my usual route outside, through the window, and descended into the streets below.

Before I could get down to some serious violin playing, I needed to wake up a little more. I stopped by a cheap diner and got a black coffee, and while I drank it, I wandered around the city a little, looking for a good place to set up my act. Inadvertently, I ended up in a section of town with very few people in it, where all there was were warehouses. Normally, I would have turned around and searched for more heavily-trodden thoroughfares, but something here caught my eye. Around one of the warehouses, quite a ruckus was being raised by the police, as though something big had gone down there quite recently. My curiosity getting the better of me, and I strode over and found an officer who didn’t look to busy.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

“There’s been a homicide.” The officer sounded bored.

“Is that so? Who was killed?”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to tell you that, to be honest. It’s confidential, and especially considering you’re a total stranger…” I didn’t get the impression the officer thought very much of these rules. Or maybe he was just looking for some excitement. Either way, there was one thing I knew about cops, specifically a certain kind of cop, and the suggestive upward inflection at the end of this one’s sentence told me all I needed to know.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” I said, preoccupied with digging in my pocket. Discreetly, I pulled out a bill, and placed in my palm. “Nice to meet you, by the way. My name is Smith.” No need to use my real name with the police. I extended my hand for a shake, with the money still in place within it. “Are you sure there’s nothing more you can tell me?”

The man shook my hand, and gave me a small, quick grin as he took the bill. After discreetly checking it’s value, he confided to me in a low voice, “well, we got an anonymous call late last night; saying there had been some disturbance at this warehouse. When we got here, we found that the basement was covered in blood, and there was a guy with a bunch of stab wound in his side. We’ve ID’d him as one ‘Enrique Fonesca.’ There were also a bunch of other guys in there, a few of them dead, but most just tied up. I don’t know much about what goes on in this part of town, but it looks to me like...’

I didn’t hear the cop’s last sentence, I wasn’t paying attention. He might even still have been talking when I thanked him for his time and walked away. The moment he had mentioned Enrique Fonesca, something clicked in my head. The name sounded familiar. It was the name of the man I had been hired to take out here in Wasusy a week or two ago. I was supposed to be meeting a contact tonight, to discuss the matter of my killing him in more detail. This contract was worth a lot of money, and now I wouldn’t be getting any of it, unless I acted very fast. Mulling this over in my head, trying to formulate a plan of action, I absentmindedly set my violin case down on a random street corner and began to set up.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby the_crankmaster » Tue Dec 15, 2009 5:44 am

I lie in my bed in the shelter staring up at the bunk above me. I can't sleep at all. My arm hurts so much I feel physically ill. I wish I could go to the hospital, have it properly taken care of, but there's not way I could pay for it. I managed to find a new old jacket once I finally got kicked out of the library, so my bloody bonadages are covered. I didn't want to show my wound to anyone in the shelter. They would ask me how I got it, and I would tell them, because I'm horrible at lying. Always had been. And once the people at the shelter heard what I'd been up to they'd probably throw me out, because they'd see my presence as a danger to the shelter. Sure, my kidnapper was dead, but what about my rescuer? He wasn't exactly paying attention when I left. Maybe he hadn't intended to let me go. After all, I had pretty much seen him kill someone. Maybe I'm being paranoid, thinking everyone is out to get me, but that's been my life so far. I turn over in the bed, onto my good arm. I'm going to be up all night, I know it. Giving up, I slip from my bed. Someone has to have something I can take. We're not supposed to, but that doesn't stop everyone. I'm as quiet as possible as I begin going through people's meager belongings. Eventually I find a flask. Not exactly what I was looking for, but it'll have to do. I take an investigatory sip and cringe and botht he taste and the burn. I hold my breath, and squeezing my eyes shut I down the rest. I wipe the prints off with my sleeve and return the flask to where I found it. I slip back over to my bed and this time sleep comes easily.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby Lich king » Tue Dec 15, 2009 4:13 pm

I see her and a man yelling at each other, I can only hear someone what they're saying. "You can't marry him! He's.........what he did to this family...........him and his father!........he did to my father......killed him........digging a grave for that......poor girl.......father killed the gypsy as well!" the man yells at her. She runs out of the house crying. A flash of light and I'm somewhere else. I look to my right and i see her there sitting next to me laughing. We're driving down a road in the night. It's raining, but it's not that bad. Next thing I know a pair of head lights is right in front of us, a scream, a flash of light and a brief moment of pain and I know nothing more........

I sat up quickly and my heart beating. I had had a nightmare but I didn't remember much of it. I stared around trying to figure out where I was. It was dark and I coudln't see at first, then my eyes adjusted and I found myself looking at a tombstone. I was in the middle of a graveyard half naked and sweating despite the cold. For a second i wondered what i was doing here and then remembered, I had transformed and gone on a killing spree. I had even killed a mother and child during my rampage....and the worst part...I had liked it.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby starseedjenny » Tue Dec 15, 2009 11:10 pm

What happened?

Bats left me in the hands of some random--crazy--strangers for...I'm not sure how long. But he left me there. They could have killed me. They almost did. And I was in a situation where I was lucky they picked me up. What if nobody had? I was smashed up, totally helpless. He left me there. On the docks.

And now this thing has the gall to pluck me up out of the street like I'm coming over for tea?

It doesn't matter. It can't matter. Because whether I like it or not, control of my life has passed to another, a more dangerous creature--and according to that new master, I must find Franco Lombardo.

Bats won't let me go willingly, that much I know. I'll have to...find a way. I don't know. Maybe he'll be busy enough with the gee--another one--from the docks and his girl that I'll be able to get out. Find the third psycho I'm tied to. I don't know. I've been back here...probably almost an hour now. And I've got nothing. No legitimate idea, no plan, just snatches of hopes. I don't know how long I have. I don't know. How long until the dragon shows up? Because I know he can. He knows where I am.

There are voices out in the main cave. Bats and his guests, I guess. The ones that get to leave. I curl myself up into a corner, face in my knees, and try to come up with a plan.
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, Volume III

Postby porcupineportent » Wed Dec 16, 2009 6:27 am

I stagger up the three flights of stairs - the lift's broken again - and slump like a boozehound at a juice joint as I fumble half-minded for my key. Numb, numb, numb; my hands are shaking from rain-chill and anxiety and fatigue and I miss the keyhole twice.

I hate this town. Damn the looneys and the lawmen, damn the dips and the drifters, damn the weather. Shiver. This mangy mongrel of a metropolis needed to be put down once the postmen started wearing iron. I want more. I want a city not mired in pronunciation conflicts (on whether Wasusy is said like boozy or like dizzy), someplace where dames don't have to carry gats on their gams, where all the gees have respectable jobs and upstanding positions in society. I read that "respectable" bit on a pamphlet tacked up in the subway a long time ago, and it's stuck with me ever since. There's a development going up a ways to the east, some government project to inject the area with decent people. Not that I presume myself normal -- it's only something I aspire to. Gee. What if I rode the ferry out (it'd only be an hour), and then another two hours from there, and -

Folks like Clara and MetalNinja and Owen, they're strong enough to live in this town. My years here have been hung with doubt like yellow exhaust in Wasusy air, but I've never figured out what keeps me here. Now I'm outside my flat, a drooping daisy that can't manoeuvre the key because her nerves are shot. Maybe this is the penny that derails the train. Maybe it's a sign.

One more breath, this one longer and deeper. There's nothing important left behind this door, only trappings for a semblance of living. (No pantry sugar, no icebox cabbage, no mattress stuffing - a girl on secretary's wages doesn't make enough to flatter herself with the notion that some of it needs to be hidden.) Everything I need, I have. Room 314 gets a prime view of the back of my head as I walk away one last time. I'll leave the key in an envelope and slip it under the landlord's door. Then, I'll be free and nothing can stop me from getting on that ferry and leaving this dump.

When I reach the ground floor, the answer dawns to why I've stayed: "Must be the pie."

Maybe one stop.
Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp?
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby helios » Wed Dec 16, 2009 8:07 am

Hours had passed by quickly. Dick had gone up into the Manor to say hello to Alfred. We'd talked for a while, mainly about Puerto Sangre. It was Wasusy's dirt-poor little brother city. Just as much crime, just less super-villians, basically. He was operating under the name 'Nightwing', which explained the new costume. He neglected to tell me why he was back, though. I don't like it when people don't tell me things. I do know why he came back, but he didn't tell me. Maybe he just knows me well enough to know I know. I still don't like it though.

I get up. The training room's empty. I go inside. Time ticks by slowly, as I do drill after drill after drill.
The clock on the wall clicks the hour, and freezes. I feel a cold rush of air, and the burn of ozone. My cape wafts as the air whips around me.
"Hello." I say, my voice flat and unassuming, as I turn to face the dragon.
"WHY?" He rumbled, the cold air being whipped up by his sulfurous breath.
"Because she wasn't yours to take." I reply, calmly. An immeanse, fire breathing, plane-shifting dragon doesn't phase me particularly. It isn't human. It doesn't have the propensity for horrific acts the human race does. It can't haunt my dreams, my memories, my waking thoughts the way humanity can and does.
"SHE WAS MINE. WE HAD AN AGREEMENT." The fury in it's eyes is apparent.
"Which she fulfilled. Franco and Warren Lombardo have the bag. She is no longer bound."
"SHE DID NOT HELP HIM. SHE IS STILL BOUND."
"You think Lombardo needs help? You think he needs help?" I start to chuckle. I'm finding this genuinely funny.
"SILENCE. SHE WAS TO HELP HIM. SHE DID NOT. SHE. IS. MINE." I'm still laughing.
"She helped him as much as she could have. Lombardo can take care of himself better than you know." My chuckle fades. My eyes narrow. My voice chills the air it passes through. "And you had best leave Clara be. Or so help me..."
I leave the threat unfinished. A flash of doubt crosses the dragon's eyes. it is soon replaced with anger.
"YOU HAVE NOT MADE A FRIEND OF ME, MR. WAYNE. I FEAR YOU MAY REGRET THIS ENCOUNTER." A flash of light, and a twist of a tail, and the dragon winks out of this plane of existance.
"I don't have friends." I mutter to myself, as I exit the training room.


I wake Clara gently.
"The Dragon's been dealt with."
"Wha-what? You did what?!?" Her voice fades from sleepy to alert fast. I ignore her questions.
I turn and leave, shutting the door, with her voice echoing faintly in my ears.
I see Dick standing in front of me, leaning against the wall.
"New Robin?" He inquires, his voice practicedly innocent.
"She saw Alfred." I simply say, and walk straight past him.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby the_shankmaster » Wed Dec 16, 2009 6:39 pm

I wake up, and there's Mali, sitting at the edge of the bed, holding herself. I don't know how long she's been awake, sitting in this unfamiliar room, not sure of what to do. I'm not quite sure where my hat is, and I want it badly, but Mali is more important. Moving as quickly as I can while still being careful of my wound I go to her and hold her from behind. She stiffens for a moment and then relaxes, melting into me.

"Hey," I say softly. "You all right." She nods slowly.

"And you?" she asks me.

"Fine. Great. A little hungry, but I'm feeling pretty amazing right now."

"But you- You stabbed- Your-" She pulls away from me so she can look at me, and her eyes are full of concern. "I had a look when I woke up. Paco, it looks awful." I hold her again despite her attempts to keep looking at me.

"It's fine," I assure her. "It doesn't even hurt." I cringe at the pain as I say this, but she can't see me do it. All part of the plan. "I'll be fine. I promise."

"You said that when I left."

Silence. I really want my hat, but I keep holding her. I kiss her neck, but she shudders, so I stop, and there we sit. The door opens and we both look. It's the bat.

"Fonseca," he says. "Come withe me." I look at Mali and she's just staring at the bat. I look at him again and I indicate Mali.

"What about-"

"She'll be attended to," he tells me. I let go of Mali and she looks at me, grabbing my arm.

"Please don't leave me," she whispers.

"Mali," Batman says in a gentle way I didn't know he was capable of. She looks just as surprised as me as she looks at him. "He won't be long. You'll be fine and so will he." She lets go of my arm and nods. I spot my hat at the last second and I scoop it up and place it on my head in one swift movement. I go.


We're sitting in the room where we talked before, where Batman laid down the terms of our temporary partnership. From what I can see of his face, he looks serious. He cuts right to the chase.

"Your father is dead." I feel my expression darken.

"Sorry if I don't believe you, but I've heard that one before."

"It's true," he says. "Unlike certain others, I have the sense to check for a pulse. He was dead."

At this I begin to panic. He said no killing. I had killed my father. I wasn't trying to kill him, but I had. I had broken a contract with Batman.

"I, I, I, I didn't mean- I wasn't try- I only just- Vital points- Missed- Bleeding- You-"

"Calm down," Batman says firmly. "I know you weren't trying to kill him. And you didn't. It was Ohm."

I look up and Batman is muttering something to himself, probably a colorful extended title for who I must assume is the other masked man. He goes on.

"The police will want to talk to you." At this I feel ill. "You'd be able to help them put the pieces together. As of this moment they only know he's dead. They don't know what he is."

"I'd really rather not bother with that worthless mierda. I just want to get out of here with Mali as soon as possible." Batman says nothing and stands. I do the same and he leads me back to the room where Mali is currently eating a plate of bacon and eggs, and one is waiting for me.

"When the time comes," he says. "You'll do what's right. I've seen that that's how you do things." He closes the door and I decide to think about it when I'm done with my bacon.
Last edited by the_shankmaster on Thu Jan 07, 2010 7:11 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Re: The P.I. Casefiles, Volume III

Postby Lich king » Wed Dec 16, 2009 8:58 pm

After an hour or two of hating myself I decided that just sitting here in the middle of a cemetary wasn't the best thing to do. I figured that this place had probably dealt with werewolves before, due to the fact that Franky had to have gotten the werewolf blood from somewhere and it wouldn't be that hard to find me. I looked at the footprints in the snow led to where I was sitting, mentally kicking myself for being so stupid as to leave tracks. As I got to my feet i spotted something in the snow near a tombstone, I approached it and picked it up. It was a cane, but ti was a little odd, see the tip of it had the head of a wolf and on the wolf there was a five-pointed star. "A pentagram" I said out loud, a little surprised at why I knew that. I decided that, as strange as it was, it fairly interesting, soo I decided to keep it but when I put my hand on the wolfs head it glowed red and burned the living hell out of my hand causing me to drop it. "Son of a b****h!" I shouted, as I grabbed my wounded hand, after it had stopped hurting I picked the cane back up(careful not to touch the top) and wrapped it's head in a bit of my torn shirt, and left the cemetary. Of course, I hadn't bothered to look at the tombstone it had been lying next to, but I would be back there soon enough, I just didn't know it then. I had jsut exited the place when I saw a police car come steaming around a curve and head straight for me. "Oh sh-" I managed to make out before it ran over me and kept going before crashing into some monument in the graveyard. I laid down there on the ground in an immense amount of pain, only alive due to my "condition". I heard some people walking towards me, they were saying something but I couldn't make it out. One of them came to a stop in front of me and said:"Tesla will be very glad that we caught him"
"Yes he will, he's caused the doctor alot of trouble these past few days, from breaking into one of his vaults, almost killing poor little Arthur, and now going on a rampage through out a third of the city, killing fourteen people"
"Yeah well he won't be causing trouble anymore the other one said as he pulled out what looked like a pair of handcuffs"
"Heh, well you guys might have been right" I said as I stood up fully healed, "but I'm afraid I can't let you take me in"
I shot out my claws and smiled, revealing a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. "I thought they could only transform when the moon was full!" one of them shouted. "Well looks like I'm ahead of the curve eh?" I charged at the one on the right and slashed my calws across his face splitting it wide open, I ripped the others ones throat out. "Now if you two gents will exuse me I will take my leave now" I said as to the two dying men. "Oh and look, they wont even have to move your bodies, they can just cover you up with some dirt" With that I turned around and bent down to pick up my cane and left the graveyard, wondering how the managed to know exactly where I was.
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