Turton - Made to be made (Raphael's IC)

[Worlok]

"Got it? Let that be a warning to you... 'Raffyman'. Like Walter here. He can't reply right now." A high-pitched voice very much like the frenetic laughter from earlier replied, and as if to add insult to injury, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot exploded right next to the phone on the other side, almost deafening poor Raphael posthumously, before the line went dead again. "And remember, Aces high!"

[MurphysLaw159]

Raphael stares down at the small phone, dial tone permiating the air, still as a statue, a stony visage barely hiding a storm of rage building just underneath the skin.

The instant the automated mesage replaces the tone, he burries his fist into the near by wall as hard as he can, using the pain as a focus to put down the beast, breathing hard regardless of a lack of need for air, a habbit from when he had a pulse so long ago not yet forgoten.

With the hand the phone is in, he selects Michael from his short list of contacts, fist still implanted, and waits for an answer. As it rings his face melts from hot anger to cold. It was time for buisness, pleasure can come later.

[Worlok]

After several long beeps, an answer came: "Huh? Ra- Raphael, that you? What you doin' up this early? 'thing important, huh?" One thing to note about Michael had always been that he was even less of a morning person than most people who do business in the dark, and after his embrace, this had extended to early evenings, as well.

[MurphysLaw159]

"Walter's dead."

Small pause to let it sink in. Raphael explains everything that just happened in detail, withdrawing his hand in the proccess, staring at the bloody knucles.

"Call our brothers and tell them the story after your fully awake. I'm going to go vent some steam on some gang bangers or something for the next couple hours. Call me with a place to meet when they are informed. I don't have to tell you to tell no one outside of the Orphans. They... whoever they are, they know us too well.

And Michael? Make no mistake. We are at war."

[Worlok]

"Damn. Alright, alright." It took him a while to digest that, there. Until: "Yeah.. Alright. You go do that. I'll call you back. Say though, maybe I di'n't catch that there, but any idea why Walter called you? No offense, but normally, he'd have been calling me. Had no idea the new guy was a killer, though. Much less in someone else's pay. Far as I know, he was a hired help in the front-shop. Crap. Walter dead, just like that. I mean, damn. I liked the guy."

[MurphysLaw159]

"Hmm... no, he didn't say why he was calling... or for that matter, how he got the number. Any idea where he was supposed to be tonight at this time? If it's near by I'll go check it out. If I'm lucky I might stumble accross that murdering prick." While talking, he strips off the contaminated cloths, wrapping the horse head in them and stuffing the lot into the large crate and resealing it the best he can. Cleans off a bit and puts on a clean suit.

[Worlok]

"Well. Lemme think... Down by the Prof's place, most likely. Dr Shirazi, does... whatsitcalled... Oriental Studies or something of the sort. But then the good doctor has not been seen for a while, so I don't know. If he had the laughing jackass with him, though, chances are you're gonna want to hit the store up for a better look at things. One of 'em Ohio Roasted Turkey places that are all the rage right now. Evergreen Way 97. Where are you staying, I should be able to set you up with directions there."

[MurphysLaw159]

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"Please forgive my absence" *1000 bows of appology* I'll step on my own foot before I let it happen again... stupid social life...

Proceeding Down to the car with horse-head-and-dirty-clothes-box in tow, Raphael tries to not make eye contact with anyone still around until he gets in to his car, box in passenger seat.

He then proceeds to drive directly there... well, mostly. If there isn't a bridge spanning a river on the direct route then he takes a detour to find one, "discreately" tossing the infamous box out the window and into the river on the way over.

[Worlok]

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It's cool. Excrement happens, and I know that feel only too well, my man. Glad to see you back, though, I had started worrying.

There were, sadly, no bridges on the direct route, if the occasional hint to one or the other notable specimen on a roadside ad or poster here and there (Visit Historical Turton Bridge - Whale-watching all year round and the likes, if without much decoration and despite nobody having ever seen as much as a dolphin anywhere near what passed for a beach round here). All the more oddly, the vast majority of these signs seemed to give the distance in metric rather than miles hereabouts, and even where there were figures in miles, there appeared to always be their equivalent in km, as well. Some tourism effort, one might have guessed.

The way to town was mainly empty. No reason to slam the brakes, not even one to slow down ere the city borders would be crossed, and other than what looked like your stereotypical street-preacher (out in the middle of nowhere between motel and town, and holding a sign that read Do - Not - Ztop - Faw - Mee!, no less) silently staring at passing cars, including Raphael's, noone even came close to making eye-contact. Curiously enough though, the street preacher took the time to give him a thumbs-up as he drove past, something that - at a distance - resembled cheer briefly lightening up his face. But then you can be wrong when passing people by at high velocity, and there, already within sight of the first few buildings, there finally was a detour towards a bridge (Josiah A. Turton Memorial Bridge, 2 km (1,2 miles)), going off to the left just ahead.