[d20 Cthulhu] What Rough Beast... (Part II)

[Anabstercorian]

Alex picks up the sketch pad he so carelessly tossed down. "Sometimes I've wondered about that myself," he murmurs. "Often my paintings seem to have glimpses of the future in them, hidden between double meanings and layered paint. Never anything concrete, never anything that I can really point to and say, 'that's precognition'.... But a lot of little stuff, stuff that only seems noticable in retrospect." He leans back and sighs softly, blinking.

"Maybe we're more alike that I thought."

"Scarlet King... Like the red journal, right? Scarlet. I bet that's what those kids stole. I'd bet my livelihood on it."

He picks up the sketch pad and hands it to Julia. "I was just drawing... Most of it was about the geometricizing effect I was experiencing earlier in the study, but maybe... maybe there's something in there. Something we can use." (Untrained Psychic Focus check: +2)

 

[Spoof]

Randy Morrison

Randy turns to Ray and says, “I was talking to Dr. Frasier, the Assistant Medical Examiner for the West Los Angeles Coroner's office. I was asking him for the post mortem report on Alan. That was why I asked you the questions about heart attacks and the narcosis of the tissue.”

Randy glances in Julia’s direction. “Are you sure you want to talk about this here, I am sure I can get a copy of the report if you need it. I can also set up a meeting between you and Dr. Frasier.”

Randy turns to Julia. “Don’t worry Julia, I will help you find the ones ho did this to Alan.” Randy grabs hold of her hands, he looks at her with a fierce determination in his eyes “I owe him that much at least.”

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

*When Randy lets go of Julia's hand, Ray speaks to him in a low voice*

"Yes, if you could set up a meeting between Dr. Fraiser and I that would be great. I think I need to hear first hand what happened to Alan."

 

[The Crimster]

Julia looks to each of you, a sad but hopeful smile on her face. "Thank you, all of you. You are such... good people."

Julia looks down at the sketch pad that Alex handed her. "You're right, Alex. Whatever happened in that room must be on your mind." She reverses the pad and shows all of you what Alex drew.

Rectangles. Composed of sketched lines, it consists of a rectangle within a rectangle within a rectangle (although the positioning of each rectangle within each other is pivoted 90 degrees).

Randy, this reminds you of something - but you can't exactly recall what. Something... similar.

Julia sets down the sketch pad. "I know some of you are probably tired... There are rooms upstairs for each of you. I don't know what your day tomorrow looks like, but you're more than welcome to stay here. I don't know what we'll find out tonight at this late hour. Do you have any ideas of where to start?"

 

[Anabstercorian]

Alex lies back on the couch. "I brought my car with me... I don't think any of those i Society people caught my name, or know who I am, or where I live. I'm going to head home and sleep until Steven shows up. I'm not sure what I'll be doing tomorrow, but I'll try and get him to talk to Ted. He's a real math whiz, though perhaps not as much as Alan's students, but he might be able to earn the respect of these nutters."

He gives Julia a meaningful gaze. "Julia... Be strong for us. We'll get through this together, and we'll find the truth."

Alan lays back and smirks a bit. "I can't imagine why I thought that would be prophetic... Rectangles? Oy." He rubs his eyes. "It was cathartic, though."

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

*Ray shrugs*

"As long as I get to surgery on time, it doesn't really matter where I sleep. Julia, if you'd feel better with someone in the house, I'll gladly stay."

 

[Spoof]

Randy Morrison

Randy nods at Julia. “No problem, I can stay the night here with you if you want. I am sure you have a guest bedroom or two. Ray I will get you in contact with the coroner so you may talk to him, but for now I suggest we all get some sleep, its been a long day.”

Randy will head out to his car for a change of clothes, (Never know when you might geet blood on your shirt and have to change) He leaves his ruined shirt and jacket in the car.

 

[The Crimster]

Julia sets up rooms upstairs for Kristof, Ray, and Randy. Alex says brief good-byes before he leaves, mentioning the fact that he will be coming back with a trustworthy friend who can hopefully provide some help.

Kristof (and anyone else who volunteers) spends an exhaustive hour cleaning up. The broken glass in the study, the blood in the hallway and living room... It takes some time to put things in order, but once it's done you can almost pretend that it didn't happen. That there were not two people murdered here today. That the murderers - aren't still out there.

Alex, the drive home is difficult. The rain brings out poor drivers. But you manage to make your way home and collapse into your bed. Your last though as you drift off is of squares and rectangles...

The night is uneventful. Sleep comes quickly - the minds way of shutting off when it has absorbed too much or things too horrible to think about further. Each of you sleeps well despite what you have gone through. For some however, it is not totally a peaceful night...

Randy, your sleep is punctuated by a myriad of dreams and images. Most involve the red landscape you glimpsed in the drawer, and creatures that have been twisted by some malignant hand. Creatures, that like the bees - have a maddening thirst for your flesh.

One in particular is fresh in your memory when you awaken. No bees or roaches in this one. In it, you are once more at the cemetery. You feel the weight of a shovel in your hand, the coldness of the rain as it drenches your clothes. Below you yawns the grave - Alan's grave. You leap down onto the casket, and scrape away the surface mud with filthy hands. Lightning crashes above you as you reach for the lid. You have to see, to know. You rip out a fingernail as you grip the side and yank, but you don't even feel it. Now you will see the truth. The lid creaks open, revealing its contents. Alan is there. Lying peacefully, a slight smile on his face, the flesh in his face not showing the pallor of death at all. And next to him...

Susan. Snuggled close to Alan like a lover, her arm draped over his chest, eyes closed. The same slight smile on her lips. Like the last time you saw her, most of her flesh is gone - stripped violently away and blackened symbols burnt into the muscle tissue. You feel a scream building in your throat... And then her eyes open! But nothing is there but blackened holes, and far-away stars whirling chaotically...

*****
November 5th, 1999

Morning finds the fresh smell of bacon and eggs cooking in the kitchen - Julia again, of course. When you come shambling into the kitchen, hoping for some morning coffee, Julia greets each you with a smile and a single finger put to her lips. She points over to the kitchen table where Kristof sits, head down, snoring slightly. The table in front of him is covered with dozens of books and pieces of paper. Seems someone was up rather late...

As the coffee and food is doled out (and you try and decide whether you should wake Kristof) the doorbell rings. Julia absentmindedly asks, "Would one of you get that, please?"

 

[Isida Kep'Tukari]

*Ray, most likely being up obscenely early so he can get to surgery on time, nabs some eggs and bacon, and throws them on a piece of toast, rolling it up in a cheap breakfast burrito. He pours some coffee into an insulated mug he grabbed from Julia's cupboard. When he hears the doorbell, he goes to open it as Julia asks*

OOC: I peek out of the window/peephole before throwing the door open. Who's there?

 

[Anabstercorian]

Alex is only just waking up... His alarm goes off and he rolls out of bed with a grunt. "Ugh..." He sighs and sits up, slipping out of his fuzzy bunny slippers and heading for his bathroom. "At least I slept well."
He dresses casually and quickly, grabbing a big breakfast omelette before he steps in to his studio, carefully avoiding the biggest messes. Gingerly, he sets up a canvas, and stares at it for a while, before he begins to sketch out rectangles at random, eyes almost closed, hoping for a patten of some kind to emerge... He needs to do this, he needs to get this out of his system. Get that awful memory out of his head or learn how to cope with it.

(Craft Paint check +8, Psychic Focus +2)

About half way through, he looks at the painting... His lines are off. Right angles aren't quite right. Straight lines wobble. He dashes it to the side in a sudden fit of senseless anger, taking a straight edge and right angle to trace with, wanting to get it RIGHT. Perfect. Geometric. Like the memory... So perfect it's wrong, so perfect anything resembling life is gone, without the comfort of constant entropy to remind you of the flow of time, a perfection where life, death, time are all lies...

He can hardly remember painting it, but later, almost at noon, he looks at the finished painting. For now, it'll stay here.

"Oh, , Steven!"

He throws himself at his car and peels out of there, tossing on some flipflops instead of bothering to get real shoes.