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Roxie smiles a totally sincere fake smile and waves goodbye. Then when the doors close she drops the act. She goes over to the pile of bodies and pokes the white dude with her foot. "Well what am I gonna do with ya'll now?"
She answers he own question, and starts searching the bodies. No use letting anything left on them go to waste. She keeps an eye out for any bits of clothing that aren't messed up by the blood/maggots/rats. "Waste not, want not," She says to herself.
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Narration:
Roxie doesn't find any money on the bodies, but she does find wallets belonging to two of the guys in the pile. The wallets contain ID, and one contains two credit cards. None of them wear any notable jewelry, and the dead white guy has a broken left ring finger that looks like it was broken so a ring could be removed.
The womens' clothing is in adequate condition, if one ignores it looking like cheap-hooker-chic. The mens' clothing is pretty well ruined by seepage from their decaying bodies; the shoes may be salvageable, though likely to not smell very good, while everything else is mostly pretty nasty.
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"Totally not worth it." She kicks the butt of the least gooey body there, satisfying her initial urge for the evening. Then ponders what to do. She heads back into Dog's area whilst she ponders. She knew he had a couple of sets of clothing, she could change into one set, dispose of the bodies, change into another set, she knew he had trash bags and some tarps stuck around his room for moments such as these.
After a bit of digging, she found his clothes. They smelled of Dog. It was less romantic than it sounded. If Roxie had to guess, she'd guess that he'd been fucking purebreds at that kennel, again, before he bought the farm. She collected them and the trash bags, tarps some duct tape and a half-full thing of bleach and trots them back to the dead body pile. She decides that Dog's clothes are actually better than the ones she's wearing and so she leaves on what she's wearing. Then she goes to her car, pulls it up to the back entrance, gets some gloves on and takes the Axe out of the glove compartment. I've been doing this way too much, she thinks to herself.
When she gets back she moves a body onto a tarp and starts humming Dolly Parton's 9 to 5 while she works. Thankfully, blood isn't a problem. She swings in time to the beat. The remains go into trash bags, and the bag gets tied shut with duct tape. Six bags to a body. The gooey ones are harder to manage. She wished that she had an rubber apron or something for them, but she settled for tying a plastic bag around her mouth and nose (Yay for not having to breathe!) so she wouldn't get dead goop in her mouth.
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Narration:
Roxie knows what she's doing, and is pretty efficient at doing it. In fairly short order, given the size of the task, she's got the bodies dismembered and bagged up. The most notable occurrence during that time is a couple of times when a couple of the braver rats come within 10 feet or so to watch their buffet getting bagged up.
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"Shoo. Go away" She waves the rats off. Nasty little things, she had never seen the point in talking to them at all.
Loading the bodies in the back of the El Camino is dull, repetitive, dull work. Torsos are the heaviest so they have to get balanced out. Legs go on top cause they keep the heads from flying out when you're driving. Tarp goes over it all and gets tied down tight. Then you go back and pour the bleach over the work surface of the warehouse floor to make connecting the bodies and here harder. Check the outside to make sure there's no arms or legs flopping loose and to make sure none of your lights are broken or that your tags are expired so the cops don't have a reason to pull you over.
You don't want a repeat of that fiasco in Truckee.
You change into one of Dog's outfits, everything really sturdy. You turn off the lights, no reason to come back and every reason to keep away. You drive carefully, keeping off the brightest streets (so people don't get a good look at you) and the darkest ones (so you can't miss a cop in the shadows), and you head for a park.
In this case Granite Park.
Something about it seems like dead bodies should get hidden here.
There's a service entrance that leads into the innards of the park and you go in with your lights off to avoid people noticing you. When you find the sand pit, you smile and thank your lucky stars that it's behind a bunch of foliage and you pull up. You have a sudden panic attack when you find an old beetle, yellow with a rebel alliance sign painted on the side. But it's old and it looks like it's been here for months. Perfect.
You get out and you start digging. While you do this, you sing the lyrics to 16 tons in your head because if you hum it you can't hear a car that might drive up, another Truckee lesson. You realize that you should have switched songs earlier because 16 tons has a better beat than 9 to 5 for chopping bodies up. You learn something new every night.
You do this for two hours, and you think to yourself, good thing I don't sweat and damn sand and why don't you just dump the bodies and go find something more interesting to do and I'll bet the Deavas don't know how to hide a body and the Daevas probably don't have to and then you get mad and dig a little faster for awhile.
Eventually, everything gets buried and you check the back of the El Camino and you think to yourself, good job, nothing leaked so I don't have to ditch the car. Then you strip down and toss the dusty clothes you were working in in the back and get some other ones on. Then you drive back to a
main street find a truck stop and go wash your face and arms. The mirrors have been removed long ago, so there's no need to to worry about your reflection.
Then you check the stall graffiti. There might be messages for nomads, who to call, that sort of thing.
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Narration:
Amidst the expected "for a good time" phone numbers, anatomically unlikely drawings, statements of various people sucking and announcements of where one might go for anonymous rest-stop oral pleasure, Roxie finds a few tags she doesn't immediately recognize, but which might be regional variations of Kindred tags.
((ST Note: Int + Streetwise +1 for Roxie, but remember the Gangrel clan weakness applies))
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Roxie picks a piece of graffiti out at random.
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Narrative:
Roxy notes one tage made up of two sets of highly overlapping letters, consists of the word "heaven", which is often used to refer to Elysium in kindred tags, and the word "Asylum.
There is another she doesn't recognize, and which may not be kindred, but the possibilities are nonetheless disturbing. This one, written in red permanent marker, consists of a circle encasing an upside-down pentagram, some odd sigils around it and the letters "BB," with the left one reversed, at the bottom and a crudely-drawn symbol - a line with two thin triangles protruding below - that can be interpreted as a fanged mouth - above the circle.
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Well fuck, she thinks as she heads into the store area, buys a disposable camera and goes back into the stall and starts snapping pictures of the disturbing sign. She hoped that this wasn't an omen of things to come. Because if all she was going to do was bury other people's bodies and uncover vampire cults while she was here, she might as well find a different damn city.
She makes sure to get all the graffiti, on the off chance she missed something. She could imagine meeting somebody important for the first time. Hey, I just finished burying the bodies of a vampire serial killer and you have The-Cult-That-I'm-Not-Gonna-Name's markings all over the shit stalls of a local truck stop. Can I live here?
Yeah, that's totally gonna go over well. But first she had to meet them. Gah!
She knew about the Asylum already, and wasn't really dressed for it.
Although...
She had her "helpless female motorist" outfit that showed off her legs. It showed off other things too, especially when she bent over the engine and bit her lower lip and looked helpless and lost, but people always noticed the legs first. That probably could get her into the nightclub without any problems.
In the end, Roxie changes her clothes again, drops off the camera at a Walgreens 1-hour photo center to develop the picture, gives the guy working the counter a hard-on when she walks away, and heads off the Asylum. Again.
((all right. Do you want me to head over to the daeva party sticky, or are we starting a new thread?))
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((ST Note: Feel free to crash the Daeva party at this point, as they are out in the public area rather than in the private party area.))
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