(Blue Octavo) Religions of Idolatry

Mar 18th, 2015 08:00 PM

Evil knows of the Good, but Good does not know of Evil. Knowledge of oneself is something only Evil has.
Franz Kafka – The Blue Octavo Notebooks

The Sacramento Neighborhood of Natomas.

Rain slicked ground reflects the barrage of spinning red and blue lights from police cars arrayed around a home. At least, it was a home. The very same as all of the rest around the neighborhood: green lawns, shiny black front doors and gleaming door knockers, topped off with a trendy Prius. Now, with night having fallen, it is the scene of a crime and illusions of 'home' are shattered in a quiet, elm shaded neighborhood.

In and out of the teasing veils of mist and fog, police officers in high-visibility coats go about their business. The men in blue and eye-searing neon put up police tape and hang a plastic curtain over the front door dutifully.

Across the street, a middle-aged woman stands at the top of steps leading to her own home. Her arms wrap around her torso. It's a vein attempt to keep herself from trembling. It's an even more impotent attempt to defend herself from phantoms. A man in a navy-black robe comes out and hands her a mug. They speak in intimate whispers, though eyes are on the House across the way.

A man in a rumpled suit and a thousand-yard stare stands with an umbrella over his head, listening to the first responders.

Across the police bands a veritable chorus of humorless voices speaks of a double murder. A major crime. Possible Occult links.

West Star

OOC

**Star** · Mar 18th, 2015 10:13 PM

http://thumbs3.ebaystatic.com/d/l225/m/mXW8r887VHdv7P4I7G9LoEQ.jpg

This is the Real Deal, yo.

This isn't a dog show. Or new gas station ribbon cutting. This ain't no disco. Ain't no country club, either.

A foot made a practiced pump to flip out the bike's kickstand. It's a good thing We have two rides. Tonight was was bike night. Hands juggled the helmet off his head and flipped a ball cap on with a stylized mouse on it that would have made Toby Esterhase scream. You worked with what you had, and maybe the hat will come off. Later. Right now? It kept the rain out of dark eyes. Someone was going to have a serious case of hat hair. Humidity isn't a joke, yo.

Rain rolled off of the bill, plopping on the long coat's collar and rolling down against skin. Nobody ever has a wet neck in the movies. Look. Check the scene, we've got at least one witness, and a Scared Neighbor. Maybe a Discoverer, not a Witness. Right. Gotta be that, with a solid alibi. Standing alone? Not a suspect. Hands rifled in the backpack, producing a press ID on a lanyard, which he flipped over the cap and around his neck. Next, camera. Keep the backpack on.

Radio is spraying occult.

One is the loneliest number. Ess Oh Pee goes out the window. No Zoey. No Nous. Heck, even Santa went back to the North Pole and Principal Ari ran off with a Rock Star. It's a strange world, even without the one eight sevens.

Let's do a Look-See and See.

Ok, wait. Lose the hat. Leave it on the bike. There's nothing like curly, wet hair. Now, tuck the pass into the shirt. That's for later. Slide the camera down and away, behind an arm. Put on the game face. Stand up straight, walk purposefully. It's amazing how far a purposeful, direct walk will get you in life. True story.

"Double Homicide?"

He stopped just short of Glassy Eyes, and threw a chin jut at the house. Eyes flitted about, Looking.

Because Resonance.

Mar 20th, 2015 11:07 AM

It's always someone else.

Someone else will know if the man walking passed one, two faceless patrol officers doesn't belong. Someone else will ask if that man with the cap needs help. Of course, when it is always someone else, it ends up being no one. No one stops Star on his way towards the man in the gray rumpled suit in fashion five, ten years ago. No one recognizes that the purpose imbued walk is a farce.

Star notices the deference the first responders have towards the glassy-eyed man. Hierarchies are always apparent, even in the waning minutes before a day's death. Another thing he notices so very easily is the sleeping resonance that has taken hostage of every man and woman around him.

Surprise lines the weathered look of the man in the rumpled suit. “Look, I don't know how you got through the barricades.” Even the tie seems a bit eschew, “But, this is an active crime scene.” Hands fall akimbo and a gleam of a shield sitting at his hip, flashes the red from still-on police lights. “I need you to take yourself back to behind the police tape,” up-nodding back to where Star began.

Someone else, a partner in a less tired suit hails a few feet away, “Detective Medina?”

A gurney passes through the cloudy plastic sheeting at the front door carrying with it, solemn cargo. Black and reflective, only the silver of the body bag's zipper stands out.

Molina raises a hand towards the other, waiting for Star to put up a case of why he should be part of the cabal of law-enforcement.

*

**Star** · Mar 21st, 2015 01:25 PM

You now what they say about assumptions, right?

Mistaking Officer In Charge for Witness? Whoops. Honest mistake, yo. That's what happens when you spend too much time worrying about your hat. Seriously, focus. Especially since Semyon is in tha house. It's always bad when you have to play a pair of twos for More Time.

What he really needed? Someone with some stroke.

"Oh, my-- I'm sorry. Listen, though? I'm with the Sac Bee and working on a Criminal Justice major at the Uni..." Okay, that's a start. Fish the press badge out. Probably doesn't help anything, but at some point The Camera is gonna get noticed, yo.

"I'm not like, some paparazzi jerk, it's just a summer job, but, I'm super interested in a real, live, actual crime scene? This is pretty intense." That's right. You're someone special, and this is Your Crime Scene.

"Is there any chance you'd let me," That's right. You're In Charge. "Just watch? And listen?"

Just a kid. With a dream. Be a hero.

Mad pool gets 1 Success for Identity!

Pretty Please?! 2 Succeses

Mar 21st, 2015 03:07 PM

Hard eyes narrow over the press-pass. The very same hard eyes that come with years devoted and offered up to the blind goddess of Justice. Blood is no longer the required sacrament to appease the deities of old. They require something far more esoteric and far less immediate: the best years of a life devoted to their cause. Along with those years, they require the sacrifice of that person's belief in the inherent goodness of humanity burned like incense.

Too many scenes like this one litter Molina's career. Each one horrifying. But the callouses of the soul has long since built up.

Molina flicks the press-pass back at Star, “The Bee, you say.”

The Detective in Charge turns his head back towards the other, “Barton, you are on babysitting duty.” Gruff words from a voice that doesn't want to be held back to take care of some kid barely out of college. “He does something stupid, kick him out.”

Barton, the owner of the less tired suit is a round faced man with brown curly hair. His eyes don't show the callousness that has built up over the years, probably new to his detective position. Shorter. Stocky. Molina strides off, hunched over with his hands in his pockets to collect the protective coverings to enter the crime-scenes.

The younger detective, at least tries to be a bit more accommodating offering a business card to Sac'Bee's newest photographer. “Detective Barton. I guess I'll give you the tour.”

Copper hits the back of Star's throat. It's hard to tell if that's his senses knowing and seeing the world for it truly is, or just himself.

**Star** · Mar 22nd, 2015 08:11 PM

Nod.

Nod again. These are Totally Serious nods. A good Illusion is a little like sex: there's really not a lot of reason for extra words. Don't even go there about making things disappear.

"Yes sir, thank you."

Sure, he was talking to Barton, but sign off on it: Nothing Stupid. This is serious business, yo.

"Mr. Barton? Or is it Detective Barton? Thanks, I appreciate it." A hand stuck outward. Okay, so Barton had been told to babysit, but pretending something was someone's own choice? Works. Wonders. The other hand took the business card, reading it, and then pocketing it. The card would answer his question, but maybe Barton had a preference. Maybe he was all hard, and was "Just Barton". Or B To Tha Detectizzle.

"This is pretty intense. I guess you've seen a lot of this kind of stuff? Totally different from, you know, books and classes..."

There. Slow pitch. Plenty time to line it up for a home run. College kids? Books? Don't know anything. Not about the real world. Come on, Barton, tell it like it is.

Mar 22nd, 2015 09:30 PM

“Mr. Barton is my Dad,” the Detective says, all gallows humor. Some people have coping mechanisms. Some drink. Some go home to their wives and stare listlessly at walls. Others try to make light of the situations they see. “Detective has too many syllables. Barton is fine.” The card stock is nice, thick, and feels good in the hand. The imprint of the Sacramento Shield, the name, position and contact information of the Detective clear as day.

“He has,” A head gesture indicates Molina. “Twenty years on the force. Fifteen working homicide.” It is never working in the homicide department. It is always 'working homicide' as though it's some sort of death-sentence.

“I've only done five.” Barton sighs and looks over at the house as though dreading what's inside. “Honestly, I don't know how Molina does it.” A light shrug follows that statement as he glances towards the door as another gurney leaves the building.

**Star** · Mar 23rd, 2015 10:32 PM

"Right. Barton. Yes, sir."

See? Still a little show of respect. File under Opportunity. Perfect opening for Ye Olde Military Joke. Nice card. Real nice. That's your tax dollars at work, there. Maybe some Sympathy, too. Don't forget that's a two way street. Study it. Pocket it.

"It's got to be depressing, right? I get depressed just watching the news. I would think, after a while, you'd lose a lot of faith in humanity."

Homicide. That's a pretty term for murder. Murder is interesting, yo. Why? Because it's about intent. Murder. Manslaughter. Capital Murder. Three separate acts, by law, separated by only one thing: intent. Which is pretty interesting, when you think about it. Because Calvinism. Right, Omar?

"What happens now? Is it forensics time?"

Because television. CSI Sacramento, cue opening credits.

Mar 24th, 2015 01:28 PM

Unlike television, there are no snappy puns, no wayfarers to put on, no Who to yell into your ear. Barton merely nods, eyes on the House glowing with light. “'Depressing' is putting everything mildly,” the Detective admits while crossing his arms seeming waiting for a silent cue. “How are you at holding in your dinner?” Barton asks humorlessly.

“Right now? The bodies of the victims are being taken to the Morgue. They'll be autopsied pretty much immediately,” Barton shifts on his feet unconsciously nodding towards someone else. “We're waiting on the go ahead to put on scrubs to go in and get a feel for the scene. Then there's canvassing the neighborhood.”

One would be surprised to know that most procedural shows take scripts from the same pool, change the names, add their show's particular gimmick and films it. It's how JAG-NCIS seems to be able to do things in a show they do not do in real life.

Barton slides his eyes towards the Bee's photojournalist. “You might want to leave the camera. C'mon.” The Detective moves towards a van, unmarked and back door open to it's innards full to the brim with equipment. He begins by putting on a hair cap and slides shoe covers beneath his arm.

**Star** · Mar 24th, 2015 06:51 PM

"Ummmm."

That's a great question, Barton. Eyes flickered over to the gurney. Just how bad was it? He'd seen stuff. Could handle stuff. But don't ever think you've seen it all. Blood, sure. Right, Omar? But things got worse than just blood. Like vomit. Gross. Want to know the worst? Watching a dog barf, then... then... Grooooosssss.

"I've never been great with seeing barf. You know, the smell..." Words trailed off in a blanch. "Okay, sure. Camera."

Normally? No. Because thieves. A quick jog took him back to the bike, and the camera go tucked away in a saddle bag. It'll be okay. Really. There's cops everywhere, right? With his body turned, a quick text was fired off. No Nous. No Zoey. This didn't sound like a scene for Avis. Plus, aren't Ladders super-connected?

Another quick jog took him back to Barton. By this time, sneaks were thoroughly soaked. Squishy. Flashing lights shimmered off of rain-slicked skin. Hair cap. Right. Forensics. Mages should carry these. Because Sympathy. Shoe covers? No gloves, because they probably weren't going to touch anything.

"How do you get a feel for the scene?" The question was asked with genuine curiosity. "This is kind of a dumb question, because of how TV and movies are, but do you mean from a forensics standpoint or some sort of profiling immersion thing?"

Hannibal the Cannibal, yo.

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2015-03-21 00:09:02		Star rolls 4 to Scrutiny! Int + Occult + SV (ID, Mastery, Comp) (10 Again)		5, 10, 2, 5, 6		1 success

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2015-03-21 13:23:12		Star rolls 9 to Puppy Dog Eyes (Manip + Persuasion + Fast Talk) (10 Again)		8, 3, 1, 7, 1, 6, 7, 1, 10, 3		2 successes

(Blue Octavo) Religions of Idolatry

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