Junktown Princes

[pingcode20]

"Very well, Bingham. I shall check on you when I return. Come, let's be off. Excrucians sicken me."

[rubakhin]

((Hah, well - Night Watch isn't the worst introduction to the Motherland, I suppose. And I love writing about Moscow so I'll be adding atmosphere ad nauseum.))

Marek stands there and smokes at him, mustering up the entire body of his knowledge on criminology (which isn't much, considering that he got most of it from watching bad American crime dramas when there was nothing better on). He feels like telling the cop to dust for fingerprints or something, but decides against it. Better to let the son of a gun go. He has no great love for the police, so it's not so much out of sympathy for the poor bastard (he's not particularly looking forward to tangling with whoever did this either), but that his general experience with cops has taught him that they range from ineffectual to actively malicious, and are therefore unlikely to add much to a serious investigation.

"Yeah, I get it. We can take care of it ourselves. You're dismissed," he says, and tries to give the cop an understanding look, but only succeeds in looking exhausted. More so than usual, anyway. "Only, can you identify the victim? Is she from the chancel?"

He glances at the body - looking at the dead face makes his heart jump a bit every time. The face of a corpse just doesn't look right. To Marek, there would be no mistaking her for asleep.

He thinks of Michal again. If it had been a serial killer, then he'd probably be able to divine some sort of motive - see what drove him to do it - what if it had been a paid hit, or some requirement for a ritual? He contemplates whether or not these obligations would fall within the realms of his Estate. Maybe, he decides, but it might take some work, and it's not going to be pleasant. So for the time being Marek puts it out of his mind. Better to get everyone else in on it first. See what they can find out.

[Maerok]

"Eh. I find them to be rather interesting. The whole 'destroy us' part about them is a damn shame. At least we seem to have found one that may be of some use in sorting this all out."

He cuts to a new thought. "This vodka, I saw that it was labeled as some of the purest. If I were to despoil my own Estate, that would be a likely starting point. Perhaps poison it, then ship it out? Curious..."

[potatocubed]

The investigator nods and instructs his men to leave. "Her name was Celeste. A human as far as I can see. According to the people we questioned she's been living here for almost seven months."

OOC: So... who's going where? Moscow for everybody? A bit more CSI?

[rubakhin]

Marek nods. No reason to ask whether she had enemies, or any of the other standard questions. Certainly it was the act of a Noble. Or worse. And as for her life - well, he was about to find out more about her than any cop could tell him.

Somehow, he doesn't want to leave yet. Not without doing this for her.

"All right. Thanks. I'll let you and your men know if we can use any more information. I need to be alone with - with Celeste." He finishes the sentence awkwardly, realizing that he should have said "with the body" or something like it. Something less personal.

He sits as close to her as he dares, without disturbing the crime scene - no, the scene of the ritual, whatever it had been. He wonders if he should touch her, take her hand.

((I think I'll have a Major Divination here. Probably be best to get it done now if Marek plans to do it in the future. After that he's going to catch up with the rest of the group and off to Moscow. Poor dear doesn't have much impetus of his own.))

[Maerok]

(I assume Cade and Kipple are going to find the others first.)

[potatocubed]

Marek's mind fills with visions. Everything that Celeste was tied to, everything that gave her a place, a context, in the world. He knows the subtle blend of wonder and uncertainty that kept her in the chancel when she might have just walked free, the bonds of habit that formed over the days - casual hellos in the street, breakfast at the cafe down the road that reminded her of the one she had frequented before she had become Lost, taking any opportunity to glimpse the gods that walked the streets and defined her new life.

But there it is... the chain that dragged her into her current state. An anemic young man with sandy hair and one hand pressed to his chest. A poet, soft-voiced and intense. David Kline. Short scenes from Celeste's life replay with chilling clarity in Marek's head. David... he made her love him, and then he killed her. But he was not always himself. When he spoke the words that shattered her heart, he was someone else. An opaque presence sits behind his eyes, choosing every word to maximise her despair. When he broke her neck with implacable strength, she welcomed the release.

A moment's thought shifts the focus of the divination. David... new to the chancel, he has no strong ties here. Instead, he is linked to a single distant patron by a bond of unique and shining force. He is here because this master wishes him to be here. David's awe and gratitude to this personage are unspeakable, but to Marek's divination it is no more than 'a presence'.

OOC: I had no idea how difficult a major divination of chains would be to work out. Yeesh. =P Anyway, russia tomorrow or perhaps later this evening morning. If you feel like 'meeting up' somewhere in the chancel and having a quick chat, go ahead.

[pingcode20]

((Kipple doesn't have much to do at the moment - he'd just be examining the crime scene, and hunting down the others.))

[Maerok]

Cade eventually enters the scene of the murder after the divination. He looks at the others and walks up to the grim clock, waving away any unpleasant odors. "Mmm. Nice work..." He sticks his hands into pockets beneath his cloak and crouches down.

"Four petaled lotus... Lovely little thing, isn't it? Any of you familiar in the ways of chakra? A lotus with four petals is said to signify the base chakra. As in 'one', maybe?" He casts his vision over into the Mythic realm, hoping to find something that's out of out-of-ordinary.

[rubakhin]

Marek is still shocked. It's not easy to deal with this power. Seeing this, knowing this. Knowing her. But he rubs the tears from his eyes with a grubby palm, trying to be businesslike about the whole situation. He's not going to cry in front of Cade.

"I know who did it," he says flatly. And after a moment's pause, he adds, "No. Not even close. But I know where to start looking for whoever really did."

Briefly, he fills in the details.

[Maerok]

He walks the perimeter of the clockface a few times. "Interesting. Brother Kipple and I found an Excrucian Strategist-shard by the fountain. It is one of seven belonging to Oreute Bryde. This one is friendly, as far as we can tell. Our dearest friend Lord Bingham has her now." Cade goes on to relay the finer details of the situation. "And what of our absent brother Jacob?"

[rubakhin]

Marek lifts his eyebrows. "Seriously?! Well, damn."

"Jacob? I don't know what he's up to. We haven't talked in a while. Let's go get him."

[ArlEammon]

(Sorry I haven't been on in so long. I didn't know this was still alive.)

[Maerok]

(blasphemy!)

[potatocubed]

OOC: Nothing out of the ordinary going on in the mythic realm at the crime scene. I'm going to assume you collect Jacob and scoot off to Moscow at this point.

--

It is night time in Moscow. A gentle but implacable snow is falling, covering the grime with a veneer of purity. This alley was the rear exit to someone's home until another building was constructed across its mouth, sealing it off from the rest of the world. Accumulated detritus - an old bike, rusting; dead birds; empty bottles of various shapes, sizes and colours - is covered by a blanket of untouched snow.

The door at the end of the alley, the final border between the chancel and the Earth, is stiff from long disuse. The homeowner has long since died or moved on. The bare interior is choked with dust. No squatters stay here - the presence of the chancel lends the entire house an eerie, forgotten air.

Through cracks in the boarded windows you can see the neon sign of the Khlebnye distillery not far off. Apart from the distant sounds of traffic everything is still.

[rubakhin]

(Quick question - what time of the year is it? Is it snowing also in Moscow? This time of year in Moscow it's going to be roughly 45-60 degrees Fahrenheit [10-15 degrees Celsius I guess], and it'll hit seventy within the next couple of weeks at most.)

[potatocubed]

OOC: It's... whatever time of year it snows in Moscow? Early spring, maybe? I'm guessing the chancel has different weather to the rest of the world anyway.

[Maerok]

Cade works at prying out the window boards without disturbing as much of the scene as he can.

[rubakhin]

Somewhere beyond the silence is the pulse of life. Moscow, sin capital of the world, city that never sleeps, and Marek is devoting a good half of his mental energy towards figuring out where he could take everyone afterwards without problems from face control. Slava keeps telling him that he can get anyone in anywhere, apparently he even knew the bouncer Pasha before Diaghilev Project burnt down, but he's probably full of it, and Zhenya said that ...

The other half, of course, is keeping an eye out for thugs or cops. It looks sealed off, sure, but that element wouldn't be nearly as menacing without the traditional ability to materialize out of thin air. The little pockets of silence are what really scares him in a place like Moskva.

"It's sort of beautiful here," he says, to no one in particular, his voice hushed.

[Maerok]

"So this is Moscow? I had been meaning to take a trip here someday, but not under these circumstances. To the distillery? And let's be sure to look out for an ambush... Strategists."

[ArlEammon]

"Hm... This is interesting. I've never been to Russia. I wonder if they do well with Americans here."

[rubakhin]

"Oh, sure," says Marek earnestly. "Only, you need to stay away from the skinheads, and the cops, people who look sleazy or like novyi russkiy, more so than in other countries, because Russian people can tell you're foreign just by looking at you, and they'll decide they hate foreigners just to have a reason to pick a fight. And some of the older folks might not like you, but people around my age ... You just go to the club and tell the girls you're from New York, and their jaws will drop, and they'll be ready to use them. You still have some women out looking for green cards, and I guess if you want you can use this to your advantage, but don't make anybody any promises and you'll be fine.

"Damn, that reminds me," he adds, "if someone catches us here, doing a weird thing. You have to have papers in Russia, it's illegal not to carry them and the cops will definitely ask. Nobody brought passports, right?"

[ArlEammon]

You just go to the club and tell the girls you're from New York, and their jaws will drop, and they'll be ready to use them.

"Uh. What exactly do you mean by that, son?" Jakob asked sincerely. He never found out what Marek's proffession was. Fortunately for him. Jakob was somewhat of an easily shockable person. Unfortunately. This is why he was unable to discover much of what being a Nobilis was about.

[rubakhin]

Marek blinks. Maybe the Gift of Tongues isn't working too well (although it isn't like he hadn't studied English in school, and so he has at least a vague idea of what he had been saying). "Well, it's like ... " he says patiently, " ... it's easy to impress some girls just by being foreign. They think you're exotic or they think you have money. Like, you know, if you're out partying, and you make the decision you want to ... " He pauses to search for a euphemism, doesn't find any that would translate particularly well, and skips forward to, " ... with a pretty girl."

[Maerok]

Cade mutters a tune under his breath as he scouts the area, drawing his cloak around him tightly. "Well I ain't sayin she a gold digga..."

[ArlEammon]

"Eh.... Marek. Thank you for filling me in." He smiled good naturedly. "Uh, I didn't catch what profession you were in. You said you worked for Hustler magazine?" Interested in what he was missing. "Perhaps we could learn more about eachother a little bit later, or during coffee breaks."

[rubakhin]

"Hustler? Like with women? No! I have done porn, though!" he adds. "See, everybody comes down to Prague looking for boys because we have a good reputation, work cheap and don't insist on using protection. It's okay because we're all safe in our professional lives, I guess. I got hired by this director who was making films for the adult market in I think Germany or Holland, and it was hard work, I mean, you can't just set up the camera and go, the companies are very demanding and there'll be standards like, the money shot has to last for more than ten seconds or else the director doesn't get paid, and ... "

A few minutes later everyone within earshot knows far more about the Eastern European adult entertainment industry than they ever would have cared to.

[Maerok]

"You are... well-traveled Marek. You never fail to surprise me. I was more the sort of lab-type than a free spirit. And yet we've all come into the service of our noble Imperator just the same..."

[rubakhin]

"Yeah. It's incredible. None of us seem to have anything in common ... "

Pause.

"Um, speaking of "service," what were we supposed to be doing again?"

[Maerok]

"Saving my Estate from the hands of bastard Strategists. The vodka distillery isn't too far off. Perhaps we should look it over."