15:00 - 514 SOUTH WARING STREET - FRONT LAWN

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

514 South Waring Street. A two-story building. A dilapidated facade. The white paint is peeling. Its garden is overgrown, and lawn all yellow, thorny grass. Sleet gathers in pools on the driveway, creating mud flows of dead leaves and pine needles. Around the front door, there are remains of police tape, apparently having been torn down or shredded by the wind. Behind the house is a factory tower, nearly coal black in the dim lighting. A monotonous machine rumbling thrums under the ground, and every 40 seconds, a bigger shiver rattles window panes and leg bones.

The prisoner transport was set to arrive at 15:15.

Describe how you get to the scene and what you're thinking about as you arrive.

[∆§Indea§∆]

((This was a little pre-RP done with Bloodbeaster))


I drove my own car with the heat pumped up and the radio on. I would go as fast as I could while staying within the law. I was concerned about returning to the house. I certainly wouldn't go inside that cupboard again. My mind kept returning involuntarily to that experience.

The details felt so crisp. They lay dormant in the back of your mind until any random trigger would send them flooding back. That door on the far wall-- what was behind it? Who had been walking on that tile, looking for you... Maybe it really was just a delusion brought on by fumes-- you'd just heard Butcher walking up the stairs on the way to find you. But two different children lost their lives in that place, struggling for breath, struggling in vain to escape but never making it. Was there anything significant about that?

It felt significant. Reading further on the files had made me feel worse about going in there in the first place. Who had painted that demon there? His mother? I was dying to know but maybe supervised. I wondered if Colt knew more or even Mills.

It was unfortunate you hadn't gotten to spend more time talking to Mills, the lawyer swooping in and putting a stop to that. There was surely so much locked inside his mind, purposefully kept from others or just purposefully forgotten. How real did his acts feel to you? You'd seen the remainder, but only after it'd been torn apart for evidence. It was the chalk outline, not the fresh corpse.

In order to keep a professional distance I treated it as if it wasn't real. From the most part it worked but the trauma still felt real. Especially thinking about that cupboard. I couldn't let any of it get to me too much though so I thought of other things. I needed to treat Mills not judge him.


You arrived about the same time as the police. There was already a cruiser there, cops trying to shoo some onlookers and-- of course, a news van was parked just beyond. A blonde woman and her cameraman were already set up, looking around hungrily for prey.

They're already there. It couldn't hurt. I accidently on purpose put myself in their path. Trying to put on my best psychologist aura as I head to the scene.

The reporter's eyes locked onto yours like a bird of prey in a blazer. They stalked toward you, all false smiles and wide eyes. Maybe one day you'd experience this all the time, photographers popping out to catch you eating at a cafe, fans asking for autographs... The reporter extended the microphone once she'd got in your range.






Reporter:

"Dr. Bassett, Do you hope this tour of the crime scene will provide you additional insight into Timothy Mills’s psychological profile and why he committed the crimes?”

She already knew your name...

I tried not to smile too widely at that but failed. My pleasure was evident.


Edmund:

"That is correct. I am hoping this will provide him with a breakthrough which I plan to document in my upcoming book. 'Through the wardobe: The Robert Mills story'. It's a working title."

Reporter:

"How fascinating. Doctor, this is Mills's family home, why do you think he returned here?"

Edmund:

"I think he was looking to somehow go back to his childhood. Perhaps due to some guilt at his sister's death."

Reporter:

"Such a tragic story, so much death and suffering have occurred in this one home. Do you have any theories on what would make a person do something like this?"

Edmund:

"Well we all carry somewhat, the ability to commit atrocities. Given Mills' childhood it is little surprise really. Trauma begets trauma unfortunately."

Reporter:

"There are some who say that there is something about the area, that hum under the ground that--"

One of the cops waved an arm and gently herded them away from you.

Cop:

"Okay okay, we've got work today. Come on, folks..."

I tried to hide my disappointment. I had enjoyed that more than I'd even thought I would. I moved dutifully towards the house.



Edmund:

"Parasites, amiright? Heh..."

Glancing back, you see the reporter moving on to harass someone else who is trying to give them the slip. A few of your fellow adventurers mill about the driveway and lawn, trying to find shelter from the icy rain. The front lawn has been worn almost to the ground, so many feet and so much equipment rolled over it over the past few weeks. Strange to imagine this was just a normal family's home. Dad would park there after a long day working at Target.

I search out for the vehicle that Mills would be in. I open my umbrella, once again thanking my wife. I wanted to be right there as he saw the home again.

[Dr. Jar]

(Will add ride details if needed)

I considered the details of the case again, now with the lurid images in my head. The timeline added up, but nothing else. Why? What really happened in the gaps?

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

A crowd gathered at the front of the house, trying to duck out of the sleet. Detective Rodriguez got involved in a radio conversation, leaving you free to get to the house by yourself. Under a huge umbrella-- a blonde lady spied you and stalked toward you-- a camera man behind her. She pointed out the microphone.

Reporter-
"Hello! Hello, ma'am. Are you working on the
Timothy Mills case? Can we ask you a few questions?"

[Dr. Jar]

Harriet-

I waved my hand dismissively at her, and tried to be on my way. This was not what she was looking for, and I had nothing important or exciting to tell her. As she was doing her best to involve me, I turned to look at her.

"Not really, but you can ask questions."

I didn't promise I could answer them.

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

Reporter-
"The missing boy, William Bedford. Is there any possible chance he is still alive?"

She followed you, matching your pace like an uncanny, blonde shadow.

[Dr. Jar]

Harriet-

"I don't know. I'm not sure more than any of you. I don't think anyone but Timothy Mills knows."

I wondered what she was hoping to get out of me. Did she really expect that we would have the answers to questions that everyone had been asking?

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

Reporter-
"Ma'am, what are you hoping to accomplish this afternoon? Do you think you'll find new evidence?"

[Dr. Jar]

Harriet-

"With any luck, we may."

I answer honestly. It is unlikely he will tell us anything illuminating, and I doubt that he will show us what we want. He will most likely give us a few tidbits here and there, and send us on wild goose chases.

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

Reporter-
"Do you believe any of the stories that theorize that the hum from Zug Island may have driven Mills insane? If not, why do you suppose he went to the island?"

You'd heard a lot of rumors about the 'Zug hum'-- the mysterious vibrations underground in this area. They all seem like utter hooey, conspiracy theory stuff. Granted, the creepy vibration thrumming under your house night and day might make anyone a little testy.

[Dr. Jar]

Harriet-

"I think there are a lot of rumors about the case. I don't know why he centered himself on Zug island. I assume he found it a convenient base."

I kept to myself it was probably a quiet place to plan his activities, and where he had dismantled a ship before. Why he chose that specifically, I don't think anyone could answer, except maybe the psychologist.

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

Reporter-
"Thank you ma'am, I'm sure it will be an enlightening day for you.
I hope you find what you're looking for."

She turned away to find someone else to question, but there was something very odd about the tone of her voice...

((Please roll 2d10+Soul))

[Dr. Jar]

Harriet-

"Thanks"

I watch her go, and realize something about all this bothers me, but I'm not sure exactly what it is. I'm glad I left everything so vague, honestly.

TfQBbqrJ-1 ·

[◊◊BLOODBEASTER◊◊]

((Ho ho! Nice roll))

As you glance back at the reporter-- you swear you see something clinging to her back-- a backpack? No... It turns to look at you! A horrible little burned creature flashes a malevolent look at you-- eyes a creamy pink with shocking black pupils, the rest of it charred meat.

((Roll Keep it Together (2d10 + Will)

and Rationalize (2d10 + Reason))

[Dr. Jar]

I double-take, wondering what the hell is that thing? Did I imagine it? What on earth could it be? Is it a toy she's carrying? But there's no possibility of that being true, and indeed, it's simply unlikely.

Am I hallucinating?


Keep it Together: g7iLpR8f+2

Rationalize: +2

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