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Post by Storyteller on Aug 25, 2006 10:11:57 GMT
You dream of dark things. They would be terrifying to think about, when you woke, if this didn't happen every night. If your waking life was so different.
As it is though, while you dream, it is still terrifying. While you dream, you can't know that it is just that, a dream. It's all so real. The pain, the endless blood, images, that make no coherent sense, filling your mind, every day, conveying nothing but terror.
You wake, your breathless and dead body flowing with blood once more BP:9, and slowly stand.
Tonight is the exchange, that might actually get you started on your little task, dealing with yet more obnoxious kindred.
It's time to get ready.
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Post by Sapphicat on Aug 28, 2006 6:27:05 GMT
Luke moves around slowly at first, aimlessly, until the last of the images faded away. A weapon, he decides, would be a bad thing if he was searched... which left hoping he could take whatever happened if something went wrong. He takes the time to check on the cameras, quickly cycling through the day's footage on each before deleting them.
After that, despite the feeling of dread that wouldn't go away, he'd just have to go and get it over with.
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Post by Storyteller on Aug 29, 2006 23:03:29 GMT
You head out of your haven, taking with you your side of the exchange, as given to you.
You take a cab to the outside of the park, and begin the walk inside.
The place is understandably deserted, as far as you can tell, though your mind invents hidden adversaries behind every tree. The whole place has an unpleasant atmosphere that colours your distaste for the work that you're doing.
As you reach the supposéd meeting point, you see a lone figure sitting on the bench.
So far, so good
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Post by Sapphicat on Aug 30, 2006 4:51:09 GMT
He approaches the bench slowly, taking the time both to confirm that the figure is a man with a silver brief case and to steel himself. The important thing is to be cool, act like he does this sort of thing all the time... like he actually deals with people face-to-face on any level all the time. Right.
The utter lack of sweat or a heartbeat helps with the ruse, at least.
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Post by Storyteller on Aug 30, 2006 22:06:28 GMT
You draw closer, not committing to an approach yet, but trying not to loiter suspiciously. Finally, after starting to edge on the side of looking conspicuous, you spot the briefcase behind his legs. He hasn't looked up, so doesn't seem to have noticed you. Your hand impusively checks the brown package, hidden under your jacket, which rustles slightly in your hand, helping prepare you.
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Post by Sapphicat on Aug 31, 2006 7:53:06 GMT
Just be cool, Luke tells himself. What's the worst that could happen?
The answers readily pop to mind in colorful series of images, but by the time the montage is over he's close enough to the bench that he has to say something.
He clears his throat to get the man's attention, which has to count for something. It was that or loudly announce that he's Jack Spawforth.
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Post by Storyteller on Sept 1, 2006 9:52:33 GMT
He doesn't look up. A deep voice comes from under the coat.
"You're Jack."
It doesn't sound like a question.
"I made sure no-one else would be in this area tonight. You have something for me?"
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Post by Sapphicat on Sept 1, 2006 17:21:11 GMT
He nods and slowly withdraws the package from his coat. Easy, just like in the movies, even...
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Post by Storyteller on Sept 3, 2006 21:22:34 GMT
At the rustle of the package leaving your coat, the man finally looks up. You recoil almost instantly, trying to control any sign of revulsion, but only partially succeeding.
The man has no face. Where there should be eyes, a nose, a mouth, there is just stretched skin, with the vague impression of features beneath. The man doesn't pay any attention to your semi-apparent disgust.
He kicks the briefcase out from under him, so it bumps softly against your legs, whilst extending his hand, indicating you to give him the package.
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Post by Sapphicat on Sept 4, 2006 0:05:47 GMT
Luke involuntarily takes a step back as the briefcase falls against his legs, making it slide to his feet. Recovering as best he can, he hands over the package.
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Post by Storyteller on Sept 5, 2006 20:23:37 GMT
"Thank you."
His face while he speaks scares you even more. Seeing as you did the vague impression of features beneath the skin, you would expect the bottom of face to contort while he spoke, but instead, the top does so. You suppress a shudder, made more difficult by the cold metal of the briefcase in your hand.
"So then, pleasure, and good night. Give my regards to your employer."
He stands, and walks away, the opposite direction to which you entered.
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Post by Sapphicat on Sept 5, 2006 21:41:03 GMT
He watches the man move away for a few seconds before he glances down at the briefcase. As curious as he is about the contents, instead opts to haul ass out of the park and get rid of the thing.
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Post by Storyteller on Sept 6, 2006 21:46:26 GMT
You make it out of the park without molestation. You'd've thought, the deal done, you'd be less edgy, and that you'd be expecting less things to be jumping out of the shadows; but seeing that face.
You make it to the sidewalk, trying to keep a low profile with the briefcase - people might not know what it is, hell, you don't know what it is, but it still looks vaguely like it might be worth ripping off. You hail a cab as quick as you can, and bundle in.
Where to?
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Post by Sapphicat on Sept 7, 2006 5:24:43 GMT
Luke opts to deliver the briefcase right away. The sooner he can get rid of it, the better... If only because the desire to peek inside is nagging him.
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Post by Storyteller on Sept 8, 2006 20:36:00 GMT
You arrive at the shipping warehouse, and tell the cabbie to wait for you. You've learned from the last time that you don't want to get stuck out here without a ride. The scene looks very much the same as the last time you were here - the light from the office building indicating that someone's home.
Knocking on the door has a similar effect as last time - the door opens, on a chain, with the 'face' peeking past.
"You have the briefcase?"
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