Shadowchasers: Rock Star Edition

Location: Des Moines, Iowa
Time: Friday, 3:33 AM
Ambiance: Raining

The rain lets up a little as the tour bus approaches the first stop on the Rock Aid 2005 tour. The city at night is not what you would expect from America’s breadbasket. By the time you’re pulling into downtown, the storm system has been left behind for a while. The clear night air is warm and welcoming, with the smell of rain on the wind playing catch up. Even in the dead middle of the night, the city is alive and vibrant.


The hotel is across the street from Principle Park Stadium.


You play Friday Night, the Iowa Cubs return home to Sec Taylor Field for the final double header in a split series against the Albuquerque Isotopes on Saturday.



Check-in is quick and quiet, with the top floor of the Des Moines Four Points Sheraton reserved for your use through Sunday night.


Ticketmaster sales show a good 3/4 of the show sold out, with walk-ins expected to fill near capacity. You’re meetings with 95 KGGO’s Heather In The Morning at 10 AM.


Then, down one floor in the same building to talk to LAZER 103.3’s Andy Hall.



Over to the stadium at 2 for brunch, then rehearsal at 4 before the gates open at 7. In 12 hours, the concert tour begins. In Des Moines. In a AAA baseball stadium. For some reason.

The real reason, of course, is something’s not right in Des Moines. Something unnatural stalks the streets. Native Cloris Leachman is in California, so TV’s “Phyllis” is off the hook. With no prior instructions, there’s nothing to do but go through the rock & routine until your contact makes him or herself known. Until then, whatever time isn’t owned by the marketing machine is your own.

"I cannot believe I am actually leading this bloody thing. I could be shopping in Tokyo right now, or dancing in Madrid, but here I am, the rock star worth over 3,000,000,000 E and I'm fighting evil..."

As the bus pulled up in front of the Sheraton, Alexander quickly hopped up and jumped out of the bus. Clad in black Armani jeans, with a silk red shirt and polished black spike toed shoes, Alexander motioned for one of the hotel staff to come to him.

"Darling, please be a dear and take in my provisions." He turned his head towards the 10 massive suitcases being dropped from the bus, and quickly walked off. Firing up a Dunhill, he stood and waited as his fellow musicians exited the bus.

Billy gets through with the photo ops, the interviews and the press spots and decides to get the feel of the city. He's been here before, in the old days of a-city-a-night. He walks through downtown, having parked his personal pickup in a municipal garage. Simply dressed; jeans, rolled up sleeves on a button down shirt, and his usual Stetson hat. He tosses silver dollars into the open boxes of street musicians, and just enjoys people-watching. Close to the the end of his free time, he returns to the hotel to retrieve his gun and belt from his luggage, and to take an hour or two at the range.

“Good Lord, this place could do with a right touch of evil,” mutters Mitch with a grin as the band is whisked from one engagement to the next through the unrelenting Midwesterness of Des Moines.

Finally, alone in his dressing room, the sound check done and the Jaguar tuned to perfection, Mitch sits down with his laptop – perhaps there are some clues to be dredged up.

OoC: Taking 10 on Knowledge (arcane lore) and Research checks to see what Mitch can find about past Shadow activity and local goings-on.

With a few hours to spare until this talk show, Alexander decided to retire to his room. Being escorted by a few bellboys, he opened the door to his requested penthouse and lied down, exhausted from the grueling bus ride. Staring at the golden ceiling, Alexander's mind drifted off into the past...

Alexander found himself in the backstage of a Tokyo concert hall, the room posh with smoke and incense. Dozens of men and women surrounded him, all enticing him with his fancies. The taste of excess...how it had once felt so sweet on his lips....

But the voice of reason buried within him snapped him back into reality. He tossed off his shoes, and passed out on the bed until his 9:00 alarm.

Mitch's research turns up a few of the above salient facts about the city, as well as the noteworthy fact that there were a spate of fertility-treatment related sets of quintuplets in the area, all born roughly the same time. Photos of the familes taken for a media event a few years ago reveal a striking resemblance between the kids, not all of whom look like their families. All the families are caucasian, and mildly affluent. Many of them espouse a professed "old-school" faith in their interviews.

- - -

OOC: Two more individual posts tomorrow. Today got away from me, and I'd rather be awake and clear than what I am now.

[Sorry about yesterday. I got passed a Beta Invite Code to City Of Villains. Since the game is AUs out from my budget, I have to get my time in on it while I can. ]

The modern Midwest is as alive and vibrant as any larger city on the coasts, but somehow, friendlier and safer. Street music abounds, and several bistros have open-air dining late into the night. Everyone from couples to shift workers come and go, and there never seems to be a lull in the flow of traffic. Billy makes the rounds, is recognized by some older folks, and spots one of his early solo albums in the window of a 99 cent store. Back at the garage, he’s just seated himself in the pickup when he’s approached by several pre-teens. These boys are definitely too young to be out this late, and too well dressed to be in a gang.

As they come closer, its easy to see that they’re identical. Twins.. Triplets… No, there’s five of them. All dressed in khaki polo shirts and blue Dockers. One of them approaches the truck, and smiles with blindingly white perfect teeth. “Mister”, he begins, in a clam and reasoned tone a little beyond his apparent years, “My brothers and I are a little lost. We were supposed to wait in the van, but Jimmy had to pee. Now we can’t find it, and we’re not even sure this is the right garage. Maybe we turned left instead of right after we went to the grocery store or something. Can you give us a ride home?”

His tone is even and measured, not at all ingratiating or apologetic. His brothers wait in a semicircle around him. You doubt you could open the door without hitting them. But it clear they want you to open the door. Just a bit. The lock is right there, so easy to pop for the nice young men.

“Come on, mister. We can’t come in until you invite us.”

[OOC: Roll a Will Save. If you pass, roll a Spot Check.]

What dreams may come…

Alexander ‘s dreams are nothing unusual, perhaps fresher memories if tours long gone stirred by the smell of hotel sheets. Inevitably, his mind drifts back to The Party. The one that killed him. The one that showed him not just how to live, but why not to die.

Again the pain, the dizziness, the stillness… He knew he was dreaming, knew he would glimpse the things that set him on his current path, and awaken, sweaty and thirsty, to decide if he could sleep in peace yet, or forget the whole deal and try to find a way to spend the remaining hours.

Except, the stillness and quiet remained. The sounds of the party, the rushing of blood in his ears, all faded. He opened his eyes, and sat up. Still in the old room in Paris, still on the obscenely expensive carpet.. But alone. Odd, since the hotel was torn down to make way for a casino years ago. He must still be dreaming.

Form behind, a clear voice. Rich, and oddly melodious. Something Other Than. And very, familiar. “Sorry, Alex.” A gaunt, shirtless figure with insane hair and eyes that knew too much stepped over him with unnaturally fluid movements. “I need a moment of your time.” Just like always, he stood there, waiting, striking an odd pose. No offered hand, no explanation. Waiting. Just like before he died.

Alexander turned and saw the man, and recognized the mixture of voice and face, but couldn't pin the name. How could he, there had been hundreds of them, from Paris to Tokyo, New York to London, but there was something different about this one. This was the last one he ever was with...

Speaking in a whisper, he looked into the man's eyes and uttered, "You...I remember you...why are you here?". But the man never replied, he just stood there, looking at him. Just like he did when Alexander died. He reached out again, and tried to touch him, but just before he made contact with him, the familiar humm of an alarm clock went off, and jolted Alexander back into reality. Dying of thirst, Alexander grabs the bottle of Stoli on his bedstand and guzzles some down, breathing hard as the vodka slides throgh his body. Staring blankly forward, he slowly got up and began to get ready for his interview.

Slaye

Slaye's Agusta A-119 Koala helicopter landed easily upon the stretch of grass behind the Sheraton. Fully customised the chopper was a piece of state-of-the-art machinery. The sort of vehicle that only the elite of politics and the entertainment worlds could afford. Time slips away as he waits inside the luxurious lounge of the chopper, smoking expensive cigarettes and sipping on cognac, and waiting for the rotors to stop their dance.

Eventually the door slides open. Leig'Mei Downe, Slaye's beautiful assistant, stands at the foot of the steps that descend from the cabin area. "OK then the rotor's have stopped you're not going to mess up your do" she says in a purr, teasingly, her throaty voice having a tendency to drive Slaye to distraction. But not this time.

"Less of the talking and more of the leading" Slay spits back, a grin dancing across his face betraying his mood "Where's the bar?"

After settling in Slaye does the usual media and promotion run, an in store takes a couple of hours (always love signing those fan's breasts). When he's finished with his commitment he finds himself back in the Sheraton's bar, sipping on JD.