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Story Hour
Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 3974939" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Welcome to the Show: Part 3b – Jake’s Story</strong></p><p></p><p>Jake's next job was the Katakomb on the other side of the U.S. in NYC. The Rising was so impressed with his performance that they hired him as security.</p><p></p><p>It was a seedy downtown Gothic nightclub in the Soho district, at the northwest corner of Prince and Mercer streets. Unlike The Pit, the converted warehouse was open seven days a week. It was a two-floor building done in Gothic fashion, with prominent references to dynastic Egypt's cat goddess.</p><p></p><p>Ducking through the entrance flanked by carved sarcophagi, Jake entered a twilight grotto that combined the decor of a mausoleum and a bar from hell.</p><p></p><p>The red lighting was extremely dim--practically non-existent. It came from Gothic black metal sconces holding crimson light bulbs. Papier-mâché props lined the walls, depicting Egyptian architecture of the tombs.</p><p></p><p>The ceiling was painted as an obscene Sistine Chapel, with skeletal demons as angels and God portrayed by a vampiric devil, reaching out to clutch the throat of a man reclining on a cloud. Several more sarcophagi, upright and bolted to the floor, were scattered amongst the tables flanking a small dance floor.</p><p></p><p>Music boomed. The Rising was playing in front of a Sphinx that filled most of the north wall, sitting under the head and flanked by the two paws that projected toward the dance floor.</p><p></p><p>The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shone from dark pits of black eye makeup. Some had fangs. Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues of the cat goddess Bast.</p><p></p><p>Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents. Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots. One winked and smiled at Jake, showing a fanged mouth.</p><p></p><p>"Are you an Indian?" she lisped around her fangs.</p><p></p><p>Jake looked down at the little wisp of a thing. "Native American, you mean?"</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, sure."</p><p></p><p>He was feeling charitable. "I'm Tohono O'odham."</p><p></p><p>The waif blinked. "Is that a band?"</p><p></p><p>"No," said Jake. "It's a tribe. My family is from the Tohono O'odham Reservation. It's on Arizona's border with Mexico."</p><p></p><p>"Oh," said the girl, eyes wide. "That's soooo interesting. I believe Native Americans are so spiritual..."</p><p></p><p>The Rising finished their set and dispersed to the bar. Charnel Dreams, the next band, stepped up to the platform.</p><p></p><p>Jake muttered something and pushed past the girl to the bar. He had to protect his clients.</p><p></p><p>"Cor, can you believe that guy?" said Karl.</p><p></p><p>"Who?" asked Jake.</p><p></p><p>Karl ordered a beer and nodded in the direction of the lead singer of Charnel Dreams. He was a handsome, with dark blond hair parted in the middle; his forelocks hung down over eye very slightly.</p><p></p><p>"Anton Merriweather," said Karl. "Charnel Dreams’ first album, True Orders, went to number seven on the College Music Journal's rankings."</p><p></p><p>"And their single Come Again got airplay on college radio for weeks last summer," said Spider.</p><p></p><p>"Wasted on these people," said a pale, thin man with a closely trimmed goatee beard. He wore a strange Indonesian cap and was dressed in a dark black leather coat.</p><p></p><p>Jake moved to insert himself between the stranger and the band.</p><p></p><p>"Naw, it's all right Jake," said Karl. "Lookit, you're Simon Magnus, right?"</p><p></p><p>Simon toasted his glass in affirmation. "In the flesh, you might say."</p><p></p><p>Karl slapped Jake's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Magnus here, he's got a movie..."</p><p></p><p>"A documentary," said Simon, enjoying the reaction.</p><p></p><p>"That's right! I think it was...The Nosferatu! Loved that!" Karl slithered past Jake and patted Simon on the back. "Good stuff! Buy the man a drink!"</p><p></p><p>Simon chuckled. "Unnecessary." He swished the red liquid in his glass. "And no, this isn't blood. I am partial to red wine, can't stomach beer."</p><p></p><p>"Whatcha doin' here, then, Magnus?" asked Karl. "Hunting vampires?"</p><p></p><p>Simon chuckled again. "It'd be a perfect cover for the real thing, don't you think? I'm doing a documentary on the hemophages who drink blood. The closest thing you'll get to a 'real' vampire in here is Master Palmer." He indicated his target with a nod of his head.</p><p></p><p>Palmer was tall, dark and skinny, with dark black hair, a thin beard, and a mustache. Like everyone else in the club, he was dressed all in black. He was chatting with a man in a brown overcoat with a fedora on his head.</p><p></p><p>"He sucks blood then?" asked Karl, fascinated.</p><p></p><p>"Quite! He has three brides he feeds on, actually," said Simon. "He was most famous on Mad, Mad House, if you've seen that show."</p><p></p><p>"I loved that show!" shouted Spider. "That was the one with all the freaks living in one house, right? Crazy stuff. The witch was hot."</p><p></p><p>Jake rubbed his forehead. "When do you guys get a chance to watch television?"</p><p></p><p>"Tivo!" Karl and Spider shouted together, clinking their glasses.</p><p></p><p>Jake froze as he saw the stranger duck a swing from Palmer. "Excuse me."</p><p></p><p>The Rising parted as Jake strode towards the two combatants.</p><p></p><p>The man in the brown overcoat raised one hand. Something sparkled in the dark red light as it was lifted overhead.</p><p></p><p>Jake snatched the wrist, stopping the motion. But instead of the smooth flesh of an arm, he felt fur. He twisted the wrist, but no knife fell from it. It looked like...claws.</p><p></p><p>The figure grinned up at him with white jaws beneath its fedora. Jake yanked hard and the figure whirled, leaving him only holding the overcoat. Whatever it was ducked into the crowd.</p><p></p><p>"Bloody cyanthropes," muttered Palmer around his fangs. "No business being here."</p><p></p><p>"Cyanthrope?" asked Jake.</p><p></p><p>"Guy thought he was a coyote. Wanted to show me that dogs beat vampires every time."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 3974939, member: 3285"] [b]Welcome to the Show: Part 3b – Jake’s Story[/b] Jake's next job was the Katakomb on the other side of the U.S. in NYC. The Rising was so impressed with his performance that they hired him as security. It was a seedy downtown Gothic nightclub in the Soho district, at the northwest corner of Prince and Mercer streets. Unlike The Pit, the converted warehouse was open seven days a week. It was a two-floor building done in Gothic fashion, with prominent references to dynastic Egypt's cat goddess. Ducking through the entrance flanked by carved sarcophagi, Jake entered a twilight grotto that combined the decor of a mausoleum and a bar from hell. The red lighting was extremely dim--practically non-existent. It came from Gothic black metal sconces holding crimson light bulbs. Papier-mâché props lined the walls, depicting Egyptian architecture of the tombs. The ceiling was painted as an obscene Sistine Chapel, with skeletal demons as angels and God portrayed by a vampiric devil, reaching out to clutch the throat of a man reclining on a cloud. Several more sarcophagi, upright and bolted to the floor, were scattered amongst the tables flanking a small dance floor. Music boomed. The Rising was playing in front of a Sphinx that filled most of the north wall, sitting under the head and flanked by the two paws that projected toward the dance floor. The people inhabiting the labyrinth of darkness wore black flowing clothes. Their faces were white as death, and their eyes shone from dark pits of black eye makeup. Some had fangs. Many were drinking, dancing, and doing drugs while leaning against statues of the cat goddess Bast. Up close, most of them seemed to be adolescents. Some anorexic females cavorted by, dressed in nothing but thin leather strips and thigh-high boots. One winked and smiled at Jake, showing a fanged mouth. "Are you an Indian?" she lisped around her fangs. Jake looked down at the little wisp of a thing. "Native American, you mean?" "Yeah, sure." He was feeling charitable. "I'm Tohono O'odham." The waif blinked. "Is that a band?" "No," said Jake. "It's a tribe. My family is from the Tohono O'odham Reservation. It's on Arizona's border with Mexico." "Oh," said the girl, eyes wide. "That's soooo interesting. I believe Native Americans are so spiritual..." The Rising finished their set and dispersed to the bar. Charnel Dreams, the next band, stepped up to the platform. Jake muttered something and pushed past the girl to the bar. He had to protect his clients. "Cor, can you believe that guy?" said Karl. "Who?" asked Jake. Karl ordered a beer and nodded in the direction of the lead singer of Charnel Dreams. He was a handsome, with dark blond hair parted in the middle; his forelocks hung down over eye very slightly. "Anton Merriweather," said Karl. "Charnel Dreams’ first album, True Orders, went to number seven on the College Music Journal's rankings." "And their single Come Again got airplay on college radio for weeks last summer," said Spider. "Wasted on these people," said a pale, thin man with a closely trimmed goatee beard. He wore a strange Indonesian cap and was dressed in a dark black leather coat. Jake moved to insert himself between the stranger and the band. "Naw, it's all right Jake," said Karl. "Lookit, you're Simon Magnus, right?" Simon toasted his glass in affirmation. "In the flesh, you might say." Karl slapped Jake's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Magnus here, he's got a movie..." "A documentary," said Simon, enjoying the reaction. "That's right! I think it was...The Nosferatu! Loved that!" Karl slithered past Jake and patted Simon on the back. "Good stuff! Buy the man a drink!" Simon chuckled. "Unnecessary." He swished the red liquid in his glass. "And no, this isn't blood. I am partial to red wine, can't stomach beer." "Whatcha doin' here, then, Magnus?" asked Karl. "Hunting vampires?" Simon chuckled again. "It'd be a perfect cover for the real thing, don't you think? I'm doing a documentary on the hemophages who drink blood. The closest thing you'll get to a 'real' vampire in here is Master Palmer." He indicated his target with a nod of his head. Palmer was tall, dark and skinny, with dark black hair, a thin beard, and a mustache. Like everyone else in the club, he was dressed all in black. He was chatting with a man in a brown overcoat with a fedora on his head. "He sucks blood then?" asked Karl, fascinated. "Quite! He has three brides he feeds on, actually," said Simon. "He was most famous on Mad, Mad House, if you've seen that show." "I loved that show!" shouted Spider. "That was the one with all the freaks living in one house, right? Crazy stuff. The witch was hot." Jake rubbed his forehead. "When do you guys get a chance to watch television?" "Tivo!" Karl and Spider shouted together, clinking their glasses. Jake froze as he saw the stranger duck a swing from Palmer. "Excuse me." The Rising parted as Jake strode towards the two combatants. The man in the brown overcoat raised one hand. Something sparkled in the dark red light as it was lifted overhead. Jake snatched the wrist, stopping the motion. But instead of the smooth flesh of an arm, he felt fur. He twisted the wrist, but no knife fell from it. It looked like...claws. The figure grinned up at him with white jaws beneath its fedora. Jake yanked hard and the figure whirled, leaving him only holding the overcoat. Whatever it was ducked into the crowd. "Bloody cyanthropes," muttered Palmer around his fangs. "No business being here." "Cyanthrope?" asked Jake. "Guy thought he was a coyote. Wanted to show me that dogs beat vampires every time." [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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