It's a pencil. It's cement.
It doesn't take David Regan long to realize why prisoners in concrete and cement prison cells are allowed to have pencils.
After all, Muir had used a Claw.
This is for adding a Search Category to the thread.
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It's a pencil. It's cement.
It doesn't take David Regan long to realize why prisoners in concrete and cement prison cells are allowed to have pencils.
After all, Muir had used a Claw.
Okay, maybe it was a lot of frustration.
Now, without a pencil, David reaches for his phone and taps out another text message. It might be odd, asking a Gangrel to bring a power-drill. But it is all in an effort to protect not only the Masquerade but also his own doings. Tracy did also mention her library on Geomancy once, perhaps the Rampant Dragon's knowledge can fill in the gaps in David's.
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About twenty minutes after receiving David's text, Tracy arrived at the address he had given her. After parking her bike a couple of blocks away, the petite Gangrel headed over to where the Grand Wyrm was. She was carrying a backpack with her, which contained the tools that he had asked for. She walked towards the memorial quietly, remaining alert of her surroundings in case anything was amiss.
Once she reached David, the Gangrel offered him a quick wave. "Got here as soon as I could," she said to him, removing the backpack and setting it on the floor next to them. "I've also got what you asked for." Tracy offered him a quick smile before unzipping the backpack and procuring a power drill with a cement bit from it. "So...you want to tell me what you are up to?"
Tracy finds David sitting on the ground, with his back to the cement block holding up the memorial. Seeing her, seeing the defiance of her beast in relation to his, makes the Shrike want to hop to his feet, rush her, and rip her head off. Anger and Hate rushes through his blood at the mere sight of the Rampant Dragon. But it's tempered against the logic that despite his more powerful beast, Tracy is not the nebbish, demure scholar he is.
Pulling himself to his feet, David only says, Thanks.
Turning towards the Memorial, David explains, I was following an old lead of a possible wellhead, though it might have been haunted. Forty years ago, the Shadow looks towards Tracy, this was the site of an Ice-Cream parlor, parents and children enjoying the Sacramento sun. But, a plane, nodding towards the Executive Airport nearby, skidded off the runway and crashed right here. Twenty-eight died. Twenty-two injured.
A small hand-gesture then invites Tracy to follow him as David crouches and points at the 'names.' It's a cipher, David whispers, his head turning back up towards Tracy's ear. I read the imprint, David's finger makes a carving motion through a letter as if to make the point, and I think it was Muir telling us that we are in immediate danger and something else.
From his pocket, David hands Tracy the sheet of paper littered with numbers and letters and points out the word 'REIGN' the letters 'STL' as well as the circled phrase 'suttle=weight removed.' Rising to his full six feet, Something must be removed to return this place to balance. The Mortician's pointer finger moves over the mismatched cement, and the cement here, is different than the rest. Do you think you can...? the same pointer finger forms a claw.
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Tracy listened to David as he spoke of what he had found. Her eyes followed every gesture he made, paying close attention to what he was relaying to her. She frowned slightly when he mentioned the Muir theory, wondering if that was indeed the case. "Well, if he was trying to warn us about something," she said, looking around the area for a quick moment. "We definitely need to find out what that was."
Her attention turned to the mismatched cement that he had pointed out. "So, that's why you needed the power drill, huh?" she said, turning towards her, a smirk across her lips. "Yeah, I think I can..." she said, letting her words trail off as she nodded at his request.
OOC
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A Claw is formed.
For the ruinous trademark of her Blood, scraping away fixing cement is much lick peeling off paint with a fingernail. Tedious, but effective. The Claw digs in, pries, scrapes, and bit by bit, mortar falls away. It's only about an inch thick, but runs the entire perimeter of the plaque. Eventually, the last bit breaks free.
The plaque is heavy, but neither of Dragons were overly neglectful of their bodies in life --and perhaps improved them in death-- and are able to lift and slide the thick sheet of metal away. It grinds on cement, much like the sound of a manhole cover being removed.
Much like a manhole cover, it reveals a circular opening. Slightly wider across than a closed fist, the edges are jagged and rough... and more than a little reminiscent of Tracy's recent nearby handiwork.
David peers into the hole with more than a little curiosity. A little fumbling around with his phone produces a blade of light and it is shone into the circular hole. Should nothing jump out at David as overtly dangerous and with a communicative look passed to Tracy, David slides his left arm into the hole, probing. His fingers reach stretch for whatever might be inside; whatever Muir might have left for them to find.
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The light is reflected back into the Mekhet's sensitive eyes*.
Eventually, the source is revealed to be the tin end-cap on a shipping tube -- it's age betrayed by the cheap tin which has long since disappeared in a world of plastics.
It's not difficult to fish out. No hidden blades wait to scythe fingers off. Clearly Muir's tests had all been in the discovery, rather than the retrieval.
Here, there be Dragons.
Entombed in concrete, cool and airless, the cardboard is as it ever was. Even the mailing label is intact. Both Dragons recognize the recipient address -- it's the original Chapter House.
The sender is simply an address, but the postage page alludes to more: a business account, under K.M. Realty.
*
Searing light invades, bounced back from shiny metal. For a long moment, the Mekhet sees only stars as he blindly gropes and fishes forth the cardboard tube. Inky blackness falls over his vision before it starts to return to normal, slowly revealing the details of container.
Do we have anyone with Realtor friends? David asks blandly, meant for Tracy though his attention rests on the tube, Also, can you input this address, gesturing to the 'sender's address' on your phone and see where it is? Finally, the Grand Wyrm upturns the tube, and peels off the steel end-cap. His slow movements in juxtaposition with the burgeoning thrill of a discovery.
Whatever is inside, is removed from its casing.
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Tracy watched closely as David stuck his hands in the hole, procuring what looked like some sort of tube. She quirked an eyebrow as he showed it to him, recognizing the address of the Chapter House in Florin. "I am afraid I do not know any," she said in response to his question. The Gangrel pulled her cellphone out quickly, inputting the address into the GPS app on her phone. "On it," she said to David, awaiting to see where the address would lead.
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(Skeleton Keys) Keyhole
(Skeleton Keys) What's in the booooox!?
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