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CB's Grim Frequencies IC -- COMPLETE

J.R. steps out into the hallway,

"Someone hide the hardware!"

He yells, waving his gun around.

"I'm hiding da squid in Otter's room."

He giggles a bit as he begins to drag the monster down to the basement.
 

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OOC: No, a super bad ass surround sound system was not purchased. You guys picked up a large flatscreen TV, a gaming system, videogames, music, cell phones, a computer for the group to use, a computer for Otter, the BlueTooth set, and Feral at least got an MP3 player.


Marks frowned at the paltry half-box of baking soda brought to him by Feral. Shrugging, he started sprinkling the powder on the largest of the girl's wounds. The injury had been smoking as the slime ate through Esmeralda's flesh, but it slowed or stopped when Marks added the baking soda. He nodded, satisfied. "We're going to want more of that, and soon. Run to Kroger, maybe."

Marks shot Cyril a weary look. "Boss, my ass. I'm your handler, and I arrange for your gear. Like some old school Navy quartermaster. Other than that, my job is to stitch you up when you need it so that no one at a hospital asks questions. You're on your own to answer questions from the police." Marks picked up Esmeralda's feet. He turned to T-dawg. "Help me carry her to the table in the other room where I put in your sutures the other day. We'll get her out of sight for now, but someone needs to clean up the floor, and hurry." Marks and T-dawg hauled off Esmeralda. Where the girl had laid on the floor was covered in slime and blood.

When J.R. yelled for everyone to hide the hardware, T-dawg shrugged. He hadn't had his gun out. It was with his cot, like the rest of his gear. J.R. started dragging the thrall down the hallway, toward the stairs leading to the basement. The thrall was large enough and heavy enough and slippery enough to be a two-person job to carry. Without any help, all J.R. could do was drag the slimy thing, which left--like Esmeralda--a bloody slimy streak on the floor.

The sound of emergency vehicle sirens grew louder. No flashing lights were visible just yet, but from the sound of it both squad cars and either an ambulance or a fire truck were enroute.

OOC: Things to do include: 1) cleaning up the kitchen--Cyril tore it apart like a hurricane; 2) mopping the hallway and bathroom floor; 3) disguising the multiple bullet holes in the bathroom; 4) answering the door if the police knock; 5) answering police questions if asked; and 6) stowing your firearms (or not, you *do* have permits). That's not an exhaustive list. I'm sure you can think of other things you might like to do before the cops arrive.
 

Feral snaps out of the...whatever it was...and says, "The boyfriend...the one who took off. He shot at us, we shot back, and he ran away. That's believable, isn't it?"
 

"Lets not say he shot," Death Otter says. "Then there's more questions. Manhunt. All that crap. Instead we came back, found some guy had broken into our place while we were out, and one of us freaked out and fired a warning shot to scare him off. Or maybe the gun went off by accident, I dunno."

She shook her head. "Nevermind, I'll talk to them. I'll improvise. It'll be awesome."
 

Cyril gaped at Marks' response. About to respond, he paused while Feral and Otter discussed their potential alibs. Sure, they're going to believe about half a dozen warning shots... It was at that point that Cyril decided he just didn't care anymore.

"You know what, Otter? Go ahead. You talk to the cops." The former lawyer briefly thought about the situation. He never fired his weapon, no GSR on his hands. Worst case scenario, he'd just drop dimes all over the FCC.

"I'll go clean up the kitchen." With that, he headed back to his room to change his pajamas, store his pistol in the desk of the office, toss on a t-shirt, and headed back to clean up the kitchen.
 

Otter blinked. Her response had been calculated to enrage Cyril into taking charge, not abdicating.

People sucked.

"Officer," she practiced sobbing, "It was Cyril...he went crazy and started shooting. You have to get him! Hm. You think that's overselling it JR?"
 

J.R. stops when he sees the mess he's making and shrugs at Otter's comment,

"They don't have donkey-doo on us, open da door, tell dem we heard gunshots dahn da road. If they want in tell dem to git a warrant. In da meantime, T, I need help hiding da squid."

J.R. hustles over to his cot and snags a blanket from it. He returns to wrap it around the squid to provent more mess. He waits for T to help and carry it downstairs. While he's down there he finds a suitable place for his gun as well. If he has time he will try and clean up the bathroom and hallway.
 

OOC: Cyril knows that exigent circumstances will permit a warrantless search. It's a Constitutional exception to the requirement that police have a warrant. Also, legally speaking, it's unclear whether the bat cave qualifies as a "home" (which normally grants stronger arrest protections for those lawfully in residence).
 


OOC: Although in that case (depending on how well one could argue the domicile status of the church for us), any evidence not collected in plain view could be petitioned for exclusion if they don't have a warrant... so we need to hide everything pretty well. Honestly though, I'd love for this to go to court to see how the FCC explains all of this...


Cyril called out from the kitchen. "They can come in... for one, this isn't exactly our residence. Their probable cause is probably suspect, but that question wouldn't even come up until we're probably back in jail. Given the alien, that doesn't seem like such a bad idea. Let's just show them the alien." He said that last part with some insistence, glancing at Marks.
 

Into the Woods

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