the sweetest perfection, to call my own
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Post by Ava on Jul 14, 2016 5:21:54 GMT
Darkness, it was all she knew. And the noise, the comforting and muffled voice that would come to her every so often. She lacked a concept of time, but she knew that the voice would come often.
Lately though she hadn’t heard anything outside the inky darkness she made her home in. Where had the noise gone? When will it return? The homunculus could not fathom what this sensation was besides pain.
Suspended in darkness, her infantile consciousness was evolving. She longed to escape the all-encompassing darkness to find the voice, to feel the content it brought once again.
Within the foggy aquarium her limbs and appendages twitched and she could feel it, movement. Control. She was becoming aware of her physical body and it’s capabilities. She was waking up.
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Post by The Devil's Advocate on Aug 1, 2016 18:18:06 GMT
The appartment was nothing more than a basement in a boarding house - a rather poor and miserable affair, really. The stairs lead down to the rotten wood door, which fell easily, its lock ruined by decay, right onto the ground, lifting a cloud of dusty air to meet Morricone’s face.
He coughed and shook his hand around his face to clear the air, and advanced into the basement appartment. Armed with a lethally weighed police flashlight, the Huckster sweeped the room with constant vigilance - if anything these raids (and a certain magical fictional character) had taught him, it was that a warlock’s, or madman’s lair were often filled with dangerous traps or surprises, and one would rather be prepared for them rather than spring them.
Morricone had heard of this place, if only offhandedly: the previous owner had decided that replaying the main role of Reanimator was a good idea, and had found a good hiding place with the help of some rather… Vicious folks in the area. Of course, the payments came late - and then, Mr Flamel suddenly dissapeared.
Which left all of the Reanimated bullshit potentially rampant. Which was, of course, bad.
The last time he’d investigated such a case, the frankenstein monster that popped out of the operating table had almost choked the life out of him, and he didn’t want a repeat. So this time... He was ready.
Ava
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Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars!~
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Post by Star Ryder on Aug 2, 2016 17:55:30 GMT
Annabelle had been to Arkham a few times beforehand. She never really liked the place, it was dark, dreary, riddled with crime, and it seemed n one wanted to do anything about it. When Morricone had told her that he might need some help with looking for something, she was more than happy to accompany him. However, when she realized where he was driving the truck to, the rest of the trip had been in silence.
After he parked and went inside, Annabelle had followed after him, until he went down the stairs. It was actually a lot scarier than any of the numerous alleyways littered throughout Arkham, causing a shiver to go down her spine. She knew that if something actually scared her, then it was probably something worth being scared of. As her back was against the wall, she turned her head and looked down the stairs, noticing that it was quite dark except for the flashlight that Morricone kept shining here and there.
Annabelle gulped and slowly turned around. She put her hand up against the wall and slowly began walking down the stairs following Morricone. The darkness was really starting to overpower her. Normally, she wasn't scared of the dark. She couldn't even count how many ships she and her crewmates had boarded and were greeted by malfunctioning lighting systems. She reached into her bag and pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on.
She could not stand the silence any longer, and thus opened her mouth. "Uh... Morri, you know I ain't all that good at hauntings and such... And uh... I'm more of the type to s-shoot things so.. uh... Explain it to me one m-more time... Why'dja bring me along fer this one?" She proceeded to shine the light directly on Morricone's back, sighing in the fact that she was now on the ground floor.
But, she miscalculated. She was actually on the step right above the floor, and as a result, lost her balance and fell to the ground with a thud. Nothing was more hurt right now than her pride and she quickly started to get back up. She wondered at first if someone or something had tried to trip her, but she knew good and well that it was her own fault that she had fallen. Thankfully, she was able to get back up, but this was already freaking her out pretty badly.
"M-MORRI T-TURN ON THE G-GODDAMN LIGHTS!!!!" Yup. She was pretty damn spooked right now.
Ava, The Devil's Advocate,
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the sweetest perfection, to call my own
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Post by Ava on Aug 10, 2016 5:06:13 GMT
Inside her incubator the homunculus pondered the return of her only companion and comfort, the voice. She longed to hear it once more.
There were sounds coming from the outside, she recognized these sounds whenever the voice would grow closer to her. There was a fluttering in her chest that she could not describe at the thought of the voice returning.
But could it really be?
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Aug 18, 2016 13:58:30 GMT
Post by The Devil's Advocate on Aug 18, 2016 13:58:30 GMT
Morricone groaned when he heard Anna tumble to the ground behind him, and turned around to face her, pointing his torchlight at the cyborg space cowgirl individual (even when he thought about it, and even if he’d met weirder, it still felt giggle-worthy to think about). “I… Didn’t force you to tag along. You came with me. When I said I was going Urban Exploring some old mad scientist’s den of horrors, were you thinking we would be strolling happily through a rose garden?”
The Huckster sighed and turned his back to Annabelle as he looked around the room. “Besides, if I knew where the light switch was, I’d have flipped it. And BESIDES that,” he continued, moving his light beam across the desolate, dust-filled, ruined room, “It’s very probable that there isn’t any current around here, so we might be in the dark until this is over, Anna,” Morricone finally added seriously, before advancing further into the building. “Also,” he added with a second’s thought, “You’re here because I needed muscle, and you’re some pretty good muscle. We might meet anything down here, but I’m thinking we might meet supernatural fare of the more… Physical side of things. From what I heard, the owner liked to play Frankenstein. Something about a dead wife, and bringing her back. That’s never good. So that’s why I brought you along.”
The apartment itself was pretty standard abandoned fare, if very much larger than Morricone would have guessed it to be: the ground was covered in litter, discarded pieces of notebook paper, rat droppings, and motes of dust that were lifted from the floor by the duo’s movement; the wallpaper, which would have been rather regal and noble-looking usually, was instead stained and ripped, showing electric wires and wooden support beams; the furniture was broken or used to disrepair; the air was filled to the brim with dust balls floating around aimlessly; and some part of the ceiling had collapsed in what would have been the kitchen, rocks and rubble covering the ruins of what would have been an imperial table and counter set. The smell was particularly vicious, and Morricone covered his face with a handkerchief
Nothing unusual yet, but Morricone knew he was in the right spot. There was a certain tension to the place, the tension he felt when he was somewhere people used to play god, or bend the rules.
That’s when he saw the sickly green lighting flood one alley. He turned to face Annabelle, made a show of putting a finger up to his mouth and mimicked pulling out a finger gun from a holster - motioning her to silence up, and get ready as he flipped his torchlight off and pulled out a small zippo lighter, slowly but surely approaching the doorway from which the lights came from. Leaning against the wall, he peaked into the room - and was not disappointed.
The whole room - a large chamber, obviously made by ripping a whole wall down for expansion - was filled with aquariums and other flooded glass tanks of all shapes and sizes. In one corner sat a pair of generators, seemingly running off of one live wire from the wall, which seemed to power up every gizmo and incubators and computers. And inside of all of the tanks were… Well.
Horrors, mostly. Large tanks filled with skeletal, incomplete figures, a few aquariums with brains and eyes floating in formol… The whole room smelled too clean for what it was, compared to the outside: formol and medical alcohol permeated the air, and it was even more sickening than the rest of the apartment. It was wrong.
“...Huh,” Morricone said absentmindedly as he walked inside of the room, taking the sights, “I wonder why this tank is broken-”
The Devil’s Advocate didn’t have the time to finish his phrase - a disembodied hand, previously lurking in the dark corners of the room, had leaped right onto him, catching the man by surprise. He yelped and raised his hands to try and slap the monstrosity away, but it was quick and slippery from formol, and it slid down to his neck, where it started applying pressure, trying to strangle Morricone with all of its surprising might.
Ava, Star Ryder
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Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars!~
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Aug 22, 2016 17:22:49 GMT
Post by Star Ryder on Aug 22, 2016 17:22:49 GMT
After they finally reached the dim-lit basement and walked around, Annabelle had an uneasier feeling. The smell of formaldehyde and preservatives, along with the faint smell of what appeared to be sulfur and other chemicals that were used for various alchemical procedures burned her nose. She instinctively covered her nose with her hand, and shined her flashlight towards the walls, seeing the works of what could be described as a mad scientist.
Of course, when Morricone mentioned Frankenstein Annabelle had a brief grasp on what he meant. Some bloke decided to bring a human back to life and, according to the book, the monster had an existential crisis. In the movies, the monster went around terrorizing towns. Either way, the monster was terrifying, and if this guy was creating one, there couldn't be a chance that it would turn out well... Or perhaps...
She let the thought linger as she followed Morri to the room where he told her to take caution. She grabbed her smallest laser pistol and walked inside with him. At first, everything seemed fine. There were abominations, mutilations, devastations, and other 'ations all in these fish-tank like things. And, to top it all off, this was the location where the smells were coming from. It was disgusting. Before she had a chance to analyze the layout of the room or anything else that would help, Morricone's sentence was interrupted by something, and she spun around and saw... A disembodied hand? Annabelle jumped back, and readied her pistol, before realizing some problems.
If she were to shoot the hand with the laser pistol, there would be a high likelihood that the shot would actually strike Morricone along with the hand. The other problem was that even if she shot the hand, the likelihood would be that the hand would continue to strike, seeing as how it wasn't connected to a body. Therefore, shooting the hand was COMPLETELY out of the question.
Onto option B. Annabelle holstered the pistol and ran over to Morricone, wedging her fingers between Morricone's neck and the hand itself, prying it off. The formol was a bit of a challenge at first, making everything slippery and hard to grasp. But, somehow, she managed to pry it off and throw it onto the floor, and did the one reaction that came to mind: Curb stomp.
The art of curb stomping probably dates back several thousands of years when some people need to be a taught a lesson. Then again, they probably weren't called curb stomps. Either way, the ancient art is a very simple technique. First, you must have your target on the ground. Second, you use the heel of your boot and plunge it at the target with full force into the object you desire to stomp.
And so, the sound of the many bones in the human hand could be heard cracking under her boots. It was absolutely... Disgusting. She looked over towards Morricone with a horrified look on her face. "Uh... I am not moving my foot until I can't feel it moving, and um... I still feel it trying to break free..."
She covered her mouth with her now free hand, only to realize that the smell of formol still lingered and was more potent. At this point, she was physically turning green. This... This was disgusting on all terms. She slid the hand out from underneath her foot for it to slam against the wall. It still tried to move, but now, the thing was broken. The muscles twitched and finally, it gave up... Annabelle ran outside to the hall, locating what appeared to be a trash can and emptied out what she had last eaten rather violently.
After finishing, she returned, looking a bit paler than usual. She whimpered. "Why didn't we bring air freshener?! Nothin' was ever this gross in space..." She tried to wipe her hand on her skirt in order to get the smell off of her hands. As of now, it was working. She wondered what else was in the room that could be alive... The mere thought caused her to ready her laser pistol once more. Ava , The Devil's Advocate ,
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