Feb 06 14:39:41 108 PA - Death on Steel Street
From Chronicles
Feb 06 14:39:41 108 PA.
STEEL STREET NORTH
In early February, with the hour closing on midnight, it's not surprising that the streets are coated in snow, though along this large residential area and its many streets, much of this snow has been turned to the ugly mottled-black slush typical to this type of environment. The wind isn't howling, but it's whistling, and blowing flakes off of existing drifts, though not bringing down new snow itself. The sky is a three-quarter mix of cloud versus sky, and it's a New Moon. Even more strangely or unfortunately, there is a large power-outage at the moment which is affecting this area of the city. Because of the hour and the weather, there are few people, creatures, or beings around.
Valeriya emerges from the deli, open late, power or not. Rasputin would serve food under globes of daylight if he had to. For Valeriya this is good, it makes the night go faster with a late snack. Pausing a moment she considers where to head next.
In the far, distant north there is just barely a glow that may imply that the representatives of Kingsdale's power company are being successful. Just being successful very slowly. In fact, two technicians in bright orange jump-suits are coming down from the area, trudging through the snow on the sidewalk, apparently eschewing the slippery slush of the road itself. One of them, a good seventy-five yards away, raises his hands to his mouth and calls out to the city at large, "ANYONE SEE A TRANSFORMER BOX?"
Shrugging Valeriya shakes her head in pity of the city workers as she turns to head south. "Food was good, on to beer eh Spitz." She says quietly to the lizard on her shoulder.
In the distance, the two techs continue to rummage around. Admittedly, however, unless one has enhanced sight, seventy-five yards unaided is difficult to make out details. The wind howls. Then something is on top of that howl. A high-pitch. Something randomly repeating in pitch and volume, almost covered by the noise of the wind, but not quite. Just floating on top of it. Just barely a "whistle" quality to it, the way that a metal whistle warbles when blown.
Continue south through the empty street Valeriya pays little head to strange noises, assuming it having to do with the workers down the road. What she does start to notice though is homes. Homes all down the street. Homes with no power and therefore no security of alarms. With that in mind she takes her time, Evaluating the homes she passes to see if any might be worth the trouble.
South is south, and other than a power outage and rotten snow, there's nothing to be seen, heard, smelled, or otherwise experienced that is at all out of the ordinary. In fact, eventually, if one were to go far enough south, the high-pitched sound would cease to be audible. Given perhaps twenty more minutes, the good people at KDG&E will probably have everyone's electricity back on. Just be thankful that it wasn't the sewer system backed up like it was last year. Oh look, the lights are coming back on right now.
Valeriya mutters at the missed opportunity as the lights in the houses come back. Shrugging lightly she puts it up to rotten luck and ups her pace to a quick walk south. She'll continue through the industrial area into the 'Dregs, her destination likely being Moe's, a perfect place to finish the night.
The returning of the lights may be a natural metaphor of some kind. The wind dies down a tad, and as lights flicker on in the windows of houses, apartments, and condominiums, people seem to liven up. Even music comes back as teenagers blare their speakers out the window - an amusing concept that many college students experiment with at one time or another. All of this pleasantry is suddenly broken by a string of variations on the phrase, "Oh, dear God!" rolling in sequence from the north, passed from voice to voice, person to person. However, it is a distance north at this point, so if there are any further details, they'll need to be sough out at higher latitudes.
Valeriya stops, standing in the middle of the sidewalk as she reconsiders. The lukewarm pitchers of beer at Moe's beckon. But, seeing whats going on to the north might be worth some money at this point. With a sigh she turns back assuring herself she's not committing to charity, just going to look and see if there is money to be made.
The cries of the shocked and frightened are bringing more people out of their homes - and some of them running right back indoors, followed by the clatter of various locks and latches, and the shutting of curtains. Probably a little much, but one never can tell how people will react to things. A few streetlights flicker as if threatening to go out again, and indeed, one of them pops, but the remainder stay on. As one would get closer to what is obviously a side avenue between buildings, people continue variations on "What happened?" "Someone call for help!" and so on. One of the orange-suited technicians is screaming over a portable radio-set, "Twent! Bernie's down, get help! I don't know, he's just down! There's something else here, too! I don't know, just fucking get someone!" Indeed, from such a lofty position, it would be easy for a six-foot-six creature to see that the other technician's body is laying in one of the ugly piles of slush near the road.
Considering the body, cries, and general lack of any idea of whats going on Valeriya is cautious, but not slow. Uttering a dark phrase she continues up the street, strongly curious as to what's happened now.
Not many people will stand in the way of an imposing woman with a large red lizard riding her body. In this case, people don't. In fact, people begin to simply babble, though often to no one in particular. Essentially, it's probably the worst thing that many of these good people have seen, and only the hardy few who have seen combat or science fiction movies can even make a guess. Guesses really aren't necessary, though. At least, not upon first inspection. Bernie (apparently) is laying on his back in a pile of roadside slush, his limbs not at awkward broken angles, but at those awkward angles that joints can take on in death. The first apparent cause of death? The fact that his neck is bent at a right angle to his torso, perfectly backward. Second might be a nearly hemispherical indent in his forehead the size of a tennis ball. Not bleeding terribly, though. Bernie apparently didn't even have time to look surprised. Instead, he looks scared shitless.
Valeriya pays little attention to those gawking and babbling, holding no reference for what is odd and unusual in this town. The other day someone mentioned armies of undead like they're a seasonal event. That in mind she keeps an open mind about what may lay ahead. Should it manage to surprise her that will be a good point to go from.
Bernie lays there, dead. He doesn't get more dead, or more alive, although he does get moved around by people attempting to help. What they think they may be able to do? Who knows. Far in the distance, the sounds of sirens can be heard. They echo out of the side street louder than they come in through one of those urban acoustic anomalies. More and more people are beginning to gather around Bernie's body. Some people are beginning to brave the side street, which is somewhat darker due to that one lamp bulb that decided to pop. Unusual in modern high-tech bulbs, but not unheard of.
A body, but nothing present that would have killed. Very curious Valeriya thinks. Considering the possibilities and past events Valeriya utters another dark phrase as she turns to investigate the side street, moving towards the light that went out.
The side street is not well lit, but Valeriya's long strides take her easily down its length, past most of the other people looking for whatever they're looking for, if anything. It's a street, not an alley, so there is no end, but there are various things that one would find on these streets, like dumpsters and un-collected trash that every major city suffers from. In a long shadow next to one of the dumpsters is a form - hidden in shadow. The only hint at what may be there comes in the form of a high-heeled shoe laying apparently randomly on the ground in the lit portion near the large metal bin.
Valeriya briefly glances at the three people near her, considering if they might get in the way or get themselves killed. And considering if she can do anything about it before acting on suspicions. Apparently not though as she steps forward to reach into the darkness next to the dumpster and see what she finds.
In the shadow is a body. A non-moving body, partially slumped in the corner between wall and dumpster. Other than that, due to the shadows, there's not much to see, though a cursory tactile inspection would reveal that it is sans one shoe.
Encountering no resistance the body comes easily into the light and into Valeriya's view. She tries to keep it mostly out of view of the spectators though, not wanting them crowding her before she gets a chance to figure it out.
The spectators were surging forward when Valeriya pulled the body into the light - and they reeled back just as quickly. It's a woman's body, only a few inches shorter than Valeriya herself, young. Probably early twenties. Long brown hair, and a dancer's body - a legitimate dancer's body. But that's where the attractiveness ends. The woman has been shattered. Not her bones, but just about everything else. Her hair has been pulled out of what looks to have been a neat pony tail, spilled on the ground in a mess. She had been wearing what was probably a very pretty light blue dress, a "mermaid" style shape with little shiny overlapping scales. The dress is now destroyed. Slashed, over and over. Dozens and dozens of times. Stabbed dozens of times. Blood has pooled in the dark shadow, and continues to flow out, now in the light. The woman's face is one of sheer terror, but her eyes - her eyes are evidence that something ravaged her mind beyond comprehension. It takes no great leap of imagination to guess that the high-pitched warbling heard ten minutes or so in the past were the screams of pain and terror of the woman. She is missing one shoe, the one now residing in Valeriya's hand.
Valeriya shakes her head, stepping away from the body with disappointment. Turning she considers the spectators and the approaching sirens. Surely will be far too crowded here in a minute or two. Looking to the dress Valeriya considers, a special dress. Being a regular patron of all public bars and clubs she ought to be able to recognize it.
It was a beautiful dress before some kind of vicious blade was taken to it. The kind that you'd see at the Nightingale, or the Alibi at the very least. Definitely nice enough for the Silver Fork, too. However, if the paths of Valeriya and the dress have crossed, it wasn't long enough or memorable enough to be associated with any particular location. The poor woman was sliced, stabbed, possibly mentally tortured, and who knows what else. Even without further inspection, it's obvious that it was a horrific way to die. The sirens are growing louder. The KDPD may be a little dense, but they are rapid, when someone points out the need. Officers will be on the scene of the death of Bernie and this woman in only a few minutes.
Not recognizing the dress from anywhere Valeriya mutters, seeing nothing else she can take or add to this situation she moves to make good on that earlier promise to herself for a few pitchers of beer at Moe's.
The Kingsdale Police arrive just as Valeriya is leaving the side street, and her steps carry her south far enough that she is able to avoid being questioned. Not there's anything further that any of the citizens are able to add. The power stays on, the bodies are removed, and the coroner is going to be busy for the next few days. Life on Steel Street's residential district slowly returns to normal, but with its name in the paper the next morning.
