Tokyo Ghoul: Detroit Dogs

[Azrael]

"No." She said, with a finality to her voice. "Thank you for the food." A five dollar bill placed gently in the tip jar. Erin turned around, with coffee and muffin in hand to an available booth.

Click to shrink...

Klara tried desperately to keep a straight face through the brief exchange, and followed quietly after her handler.

Sitting down opposite the older woman, she took a small sip of her coffee and stared down at it for a few moments.

"In the future, Doctor, it may be best if you left things like that to me." She manages eventually.

"Of course, we would avoid having to do that if you could possibly arrange for some normal clothing for me..." She pauses, thinking, "I don't suppose any of my belongings have survived? I had some clothes with me when I was taken in..."

Leaning back in the cramped booth, she sighed and closed her eyes.

This whole thing seemed like it was only going to get worse as it went on. Hopefully the investigator wasn't truly as absentminded as she had proven herself so far.

 

[Jemnite]

He tilts his head slightly to the side. "We need to get you a mask. Hide your scent well enough to keep any questions about you easy to deflect."

Click to shrink...

There's essentially three good mask shops in all of Detroit, and only one really good one which is obviously the one you go to. Angel's Place. You direct Marty through downtown, and eventually the two of you pull up at a little nook in the ground sort of place, a cranny dug below ground level, only just peeking out onto the street. You take a couple of steps down.

First thing you spot when you lean through the slightly too short door is a young black woman sitting easily at the front desk, her feet up on the table and bubble gum in her mouth. Shandra. She's the 'face' of the business. Ghouls usually have 'faces' who legally own property for them and deal with authorities- and since they're human the DoGS can't touch them. It's a thin legal fiction but you've seen it work when it absolutely shouldn't have when you were working for the Chaldeans.

'Faces', trustworthy ones are valuable and rare- it's quite hard to convince someone to work for you, no compunctions when you're a flesh eating predator of their kind. They end up in very high positions with very high compensation, when they're working for big money of course. Shandra... well, Angel's Place doesn't make exactly the best of money with its very focused set of clienteles, and you've heard her complain about her pay once or twice. But she's never quit. The best you can figure out is that she owes Angel or something.

"Naramsin?" She perks up a bit in her set, and drops her feet off the desk. "I thought- well, the Chaldeans told me you got burned and the DoGS had their hands on a hold of you. I thought they cut you up into little bite sized chunks to melt down."

She seems glad to hear you're alive. You think. She shakes her head at Marty. "Who's your friend?"

@Kensai

 

[Unlucky Bibliophile]

@Mortifer

There's a knock on your door and someone opens it anyway, before you can respond. It's officer FitzGerald from the briefing. He's holding a girl- no, a ghoul by the shoulder, pushing her gently into the room. "Yo, I'm here to deliver your replacement ghoul."

He pushes her forward. "We don't have her files available at the moment, but this is Calypso Moody. She's got a dead siblings and a history with the Zerellis. Get to know each other."

"The files... are not available at the moment, but you'll get that soonish. For know, just get to know each other or whatever."

Click to shrink...

Rachel perked up as she heard a knocking at the door, who turned out to be Officer Fitzgerald with someone else in tow. Her new ghoul partner, probably.

Then the agent stiffened as she heard that Calypso had a history with the Zerellis. Was this some cruel joke from Fitzgerald? If so, she sure as hell wasn't laughing.

When Fitzgerald left, the silence between the two of them seemed almost suffocating. Calypso simply stood there, staring at Rachel creepily. Rachel cleared her throat awkwardly, not quite sure how to handle kids. Give her a hardened criminal any day of the week, at least she knew how to make them talk. Children were a different matter. Creepy ghoul children especially.

As time passed, the silence became unbearable.

Rachel took a deep breath. If all else fails, go back to her training: establish a rapport. Get to know the person. Be friendly. And most important of all, don't fuck up the first impression. Easy, right?

She leaned onto her desk, giving the girl a soft smile. "Hello, Calypso. My name is Rachel Adams. Former member of the FBI and current member of the Detroit book club. For the meantime, I'll be your partner and the leader of this small band of ill-mannered misfits. I love classical music, forest hikes, and a cup of tea in the morning. What can you tell me about yourself?"

 

[Mortifer]

He pushes her forward. "We don't have her files available at the moment, but this is Calypso Moody. She's got a dead sibling and a history with the Zerellis. Get to know each other."

Click to shrink...

Calypso's fist tightened at the mention of her brother.

Was that how much the DoGS cared? They'll just throw out a mention of a dead sibling- Not even the specifics- As an introduction? Is that what her brother had been reduced to? A casual mention to give one person an idea of Calypso's past?

Not even anything specific to him, either. There was no need for her brother to be mentioned at all, since there was no context behind the statement to give an idea of Calypso's personality.

Was the mention just to throw her off balance, then? Or just another jab at her, another chance to make her feel terrible to see if she would rise to the bait? Just another torment of the humans, to make them feel in control of the Ghoul they called a monster.

Rachel took a deep breath. If all else fails, go back to her training: establish a rapport. Get to know the person. Be friendly. And most important of all, don't fuck up the first impression. Easy, right?

She leaned onto her desk, giving the girl a soft smile. "Hello, Calypso. My name is Rachel Adams. Former member of the FBI and current member of the Detroit book club. For the meantime, I'll be your partner and the leader of this small band of ill-mannered misfits. I love classical music, forest hikes, and a cup of tea in the morning. What can you tell me about yourself?"

Click to shrink...

Calypso looked at the woman.

What was the point to all this? Emphasising that she'd been able to live a life that Calypso wanted? Making it clear how much better her situation was than Calypso's?

"I don't see the point." She said, keeping her voice level. "I'm a captured Ghoul. Your prisoner. A monster on a leash. The moment I stop being what you want me to be, I'm back in a cell waiting to be killed. I'm just a Ghoul, so why would anything else about me matter?"

Her voice towards the end sounded more bitter than she had intended. Her composure was slipping. Bury the emotion, show nothing, a co-operative Ghoul is a living Ghoul, bury the anger bury the hate...

"What do you want me to do?" She asked.

 

[Kensai]

She seems glad to hear you're alive. You think. She shakes her head at Marty. "Who's your friend?"

@Kensai

Click to shrink...

Marty thought about keeping the sneer from her face, but it would have been too much trouble fighting her nature. Truth to tell, it was already happening by the time she decided not to bother. A half-smoked Kool dangled from her lips, turning her expression into a snarl.

"Don't worry, honey child," Marty said. "He's not sticking his dick into me."

In a nod towards the notion of diplomacy, Marty refrained from saying the next part of her thought out loud: Though it sure as hell ain't gonna make it more likely he'll stick his dick in you.

She held the pause for a moment, watching the play of emotion on Shandra's face, listening to her huff as she tried to figure out how to respond. Her face began to set, and that was when Marty broke in again.

"I'm paying him so that makes me his boss. Which means he does what I tell him to do. And what I told him to do was to get me a real nice mask made. One that fits my personality."

The snarl widened. "So you go get me your boss and then you can get back to batting your baby browns at Ashatnaya."

 

[Jemnite]

"I'm paying him so that makes me his boss. Which means he does what I tell him to do. And what I told him to do was to get me a real nice mask made. One that fits my personality."

The snarl widened. "So you go get me your boss and then you can get back to batting your baby browns at Ashatnaya."

Click to shrink...

"So, that'll be a bitch mask then?" Shandra settles into a sneer. You can hear her gears ticking, she's hurt behind that sneer but she doesn't want to show it. Just like everyone else in the world, now she's lashing out because she's hurt and she wants to hurt people in return.

Well, everyone but you. You skip that first part. "Like who going to make you a mask with that attitude; you don't realize there's two very important things about Angel's place."

She holds up two fingers. "One, we operate an elusive commission based service with regular clientale and I don't have to give a single shit about the customer is god or any of that bullcrap. I turn you away at the door, it's no skin off my back. There's like three fucking mask shops in this town and you say shit about us we blacklist you to all the others, so our competitors ain't exactly going to snap you up either."

She ticks off a finger. "Two, I sit in an important position with almost absolutely zero chance of turnover. You can throw shade at me to Angel, she ain't going to fire me. And you want to whip out that Kagune and eat me- well, I got great ghoul attack insurance on account of working to make that thing that eeeeeeverybody wants to get. You try to take my head, well, every gang in Detroit is going to be gunning after you."

And then she slides a collapsible spear out from under her desk, extending it and swinging it onto her shoulder like it's a rifle or something. But there's something weird about this spear. For one it glows strange red colors and shimmers with the scent of RC cells. It's a Quinque. "Plus I ain't that easy to kill in the first place, no gang girl."

@shinaobi

 

[Cat]

@Lilithium

The water cascades down, trailing over my back, arching over my thighs, as I stand in the showers, waiting. I am patient. I have nothing but time on my hands, as it is. I wait.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The water roars.

I'm so tired. I'm so tired.

2,568,348. It's cold without the sky. It's hot without the sea. Ah, a tragedy, a tragedy to be locked away, to be hidden, to feel shame over that which is not one's fault. But how do I not? How do I avoid that feeling? I cannot. It is my lot in life.

I exit the showers. The girl is before me, her face filled with remorse. I glance at the outfit she holds in her hands with distaste, and frown.

"Ah. An easy fix."

My kagune whispers into my ears as it opens up, carving the skirt from the dress, removing frills and lace and feathery things from it, until I pause, nodding in acceptance. "Much better."

I put on what once was a full dress, now more of a short shirt and a skirt, feeling the fabric as it goes over my prisoner's uniform. The last thing is the shoes, which are unsalvageable.

"Shall we?"

 

[shinaobi]

"So, that'll be a bitch mask then?" Shandra settles into a sneer. You can hear her gears ticking, she's hurt behind that sneer but she doesn't want to show it. Just like everyone else in the world, now she's lashing out because she's hurt and she wants to hurt people in return.

Well, everyone but you. You skip that first part. "Like who going to make you a mask with that attitude; you don't realize there's two very important things about Angel's place."

She holds up two fingers. "One, we operate an elusive commission based service with regular clientale and I don't have to give a single shit about the customer is god or any of that bullcrap. I turn you away at the door, it's no skin off my back. There's like three fucking mask shops in this town and you say shit about us we blacklist you to all the others, so our competitors ain't exactly going to snap you up either."

She ticks off a finger. "Two, I sit in an important position with almost absolutely zero chance of turnover. You can throw shade at me to Angel, she ain't going to fire me. And you want to whip out that Kagune and eat me- well, I got great ghoul attack insurance on account of working to make that thing that eeeeeeverybody wants to get. You try to take my head, well, every gang in Detroit is going to be gunning after you."

And then she slides a collapsible spear out from under her desk, extending it and swinging it onto her shoulder like it's a rifle or something. But there's something weird about this spear. For one it glows strange red colors and shimmers with the scent of RC cells. It's a Quinque. "Plus I ain't that easy to kill in the first place, no gang girl."

@shinaobi

Click to shrink...

Naramsin's eyes go back and forth between the two, twice--he bites back the first urge, the urge to make clear that this is his show and that interpersonal conflict is unappreciated, intolerable, that his time is by far too valuable for a goddamn argument but.

But.

One of these people could quite easily have him killed, and the other is too useful to alienate. Especially because she knows his face and she knows everyone who knows anyone who would want him dead, and it would be trivially easy for her to just send his name along to exactly the wrong people.

So instead he catches Shandra's eye from behind Marty's back, frowns and shakes his head at the latter, and then steps forward and between them, very particularly placing himself to block both the cashier's line of fire and the agent's line of sight to the employee. He spares a single glance back to Marty, and for the first time his face darkens visibly; it's not a condescending sort of anger, but the sort she's seen before on countless beat cops and secretaries who'd like her to kindly lever it back goddammit I'm just trying to do my job. Before he turns his head back he mouths 'Escalate this and you waste both my time and yours; this is my show now,' at her with picture perfect enunciation, letting Shandra catch the annoyance written on his face before he shifts his expression to contrition.

"She's right; I took her to the best to get her a mask that would fit her personality, fit her face, and last for a lifetime. A work of art. Quality art. I assumed we could have the kind of pleasant and professional interaction that we've always had." Assuage, then redirect; this time in a direction he's not used to: toward himself. "That was my mistake, and that lead to you taking insult you didn't deserve. A threat there was no need for. And I apologize for that. You deserve better." Buttress and reinforce, repeat the apology for emphasis. "You're right; you don't have to do a goddamn thing, and you certainly don't have to endure abuse. I'm sorry." Make the request, focus her attention on him. "But I need the best work and the best service, and that's this shop and you, Shandra; and to get the best, I know I need your forgiveness, and then I need you to take her money so she can get her mask. Then you don't have to see her ever again. Does that sound fair?"

He smiles, the expression fleeting and just a touch uncomfortable, pleading. Don't make her feel like she's the one under pressure; she's not making a sale, she's helping good old Naramsin.

 

[Jemnite]

"But I need the best work and the best service, and that's this shop and you, Shandra; and to get the best, I know I need your forgiveness, and then I need you to take her money so she can get her mask. Then you don't have to see her ever again. Does that sound fair?"

Click to shrink...

Shandra rolls her shoulders back and forth for a couple of seconds. She's deciding, she rather likes you- though you're pretty sure it's not in the way Marty implies it is (and you're normally pretty good about telling this sort of stuff), and why wouldn't she? You're a likable fellow. The question is whether or not it's enough to overcome the abrasiveness of your partner.

After a second, she sighs and drops the Quinque staff back on the desk. Apparently it is enough to overcome. She rolls her eyes. "Alright, yeah. I'll let this drop, but only since you're a nice guy Naramsin, and you've always been a good dude. She doesn't start any more beef, and I'll treat her... well, I'll treat her like this never happened."

She slides a phone out of her pocket and begins scrolling through it. "Angel's free for like, the rest of the day so we can skip penciling an appointment and just phone it in." She puts the phone away and reaches into her desk to pull out a questionnaire and clipboard. "We're going to need her to fill this out, just the standard stuff, Kagune type, favorite color, what her goals in life are, yadda yadda, just the personality quiz. We're also going to have to draw blood too, but you already know that since we did it for you too."

Shandra pulls a pen out of a cup full of them on her desk and makes to toss it to Marty, but pauses as a thought occurs to her. "Actually, speaking of your mask, you want a new mask, too? The Chaldeans put a hit out on your head; it's pretty pricey, whatever you did to burn them it sure pissed them off. Or if you just want your old one modified, we can also do that for cheap."

She tosses the pen over. "Anyway, you can just talk that over with Angel. I'll call her over." She turns around to holler across the door. "ANG-"

"I heard you, child." A smokey voice with a hint of a South-asian accent replies. Wearing a porcelain mask with an eerie looking smile carved large across her face, Angelina also known as Angel steps out draped in silks which fall across her frame and tumble onto the floor. "Including your little tussle with the young miss over there."

Shandra scratches her head a bit. "Uh, yeah, boss that was just..."

"You of course are free to deal with insults to your person in any way you see fit," Angel says. "However, if you must pull out a weapon please at least know how to use it properly. That Quinque- you're more likely to hurt yourself with it than hurt anyone else."

She reaches out and plucks it from Shandra's hand in a single swipe too quick for the girl to react. "Now, if you will excuse me I'd like to have a chat with young Naramsin for a second, here."

Shandra looks back between the pair of you and her boss, and then bows once and hastily exits the room. Angels turns to watch her go, and the turns back to you.

"Now Naramsin, dear, now that it's just the two of us." Angel flicks the staff with a twist of her wrist and suddenly the Quinque is pointed at your chest. "Do you mind telling me why exactly you're having me make a human a mask?"

Through her mask, you can see her irises shimmer a blood red across a sea of black scelera.

@Kensai

 

[shinaobi]

Naramsin tries not to sigh, because that will only set him back. This is a new challenge, a new narrative. Connected to the old--Angel mentioned already she had heard most of what went on already--he had never gotten a good feel for exactly how sharp her senses were but he figures the safe guess is to just assume the proprietor of this shop had heard every word exchanged within it. But she had excused Shandra before she challenged him on the lie of omission, and to boot she's giving him the opportunity to talk his way out, rather than trying to kill him straight out.

So she's suspicious, ready for a lie but fishing for a mollifying truth. Besides, he's made it a point to make sure that here he was always pleasant and reliable--no veiled threats, no demands for discount-by-association, no questioning of motives. So that means he's got to be careful. He turns slightly so that he's facing her squarely, and lets the hands that have been until now on the counter drop to his side to open up his body language. He doesn't bother trying to place himself between Angel and Marty; that would at best send a mixed signal, and at worst make what he was about to say seem like an active attempt to misdirect.

"Right now, I'm after the ghoul who's killing my fellows in the street and mutilating their corpses; to get to them I need this human and her particular set of skills, and I need to minimize the amount of attention she'll draw in the process because I want to make this city more livable, not personally start a ground war." A little robotic, but that's a consequence of the intended directness--besides, if he's a little uncharacteristic that'll keep her attention on what he's saying, rather than on what he isn't. Speaking of, a justification to preempt that questioning and redirect the discussion.

"Because you have a business to run I also want to minimize the amount of trouble you'll need to deal with I'm not going to ask you to do anything more than what I came in the door with; that's why I'm trying to stay light on the details. That's also why I didn't come in asking for two masks today; though I'd certainly personally and monetarily appreciate a new mask and you're the only proprietor I'd want it made by," I'm not going to get greedy and demand it, he leaves unsaid but implied. Nevermind that anonymity isn't something Naramsin particularly needs, at least not now. But not something to point out, lest she take the understandable but unhelpful stance that perhaps he doesn't particularly need a mask for Marty either.

"Is there anything else that you need from me, Angel?" Ashatnaya asks, careful to keep the black and red from his own eyes--easy to sell that he's not here to make trouble if he's not preparing himself for a fight.

 

[Khawy]

Klara tried desperately to keep a straight face through the brief exchange, and followed quietly after her handler.

Sitting down opposite the older woman, she took a small sip of her coffee and stared down at it for a few moments.

"In the future, Doctor, it may be best if you left things like that to me." She manages eventually.

"Of course, we would avoid having to do that if you could possibly arrange for some normal clothing for me..." She pauses, thinking, "I don't suppose any of my belongings have survived? I had some clothes with me when I was taken in..."

Leaning back in the cramped booth, she sighed and closed her eyes.

This whole thing seemed like it was only going to get worse as it went on. Hopefully the investigator wasn't truly as absentminded as she had proven herself so far.

Click to shrink...

"My apologies. Things may go pass my notice if I'm not paying attention to them while working under a time limit. It is rather poor of me to forget about your current attire." Erin took a sip out of her beverage. The taste was unimpressive. She wasn't expecting anything much, but the coffee still let her down anyway. This feeling of disappointment was weird. She had no preconceptions that the coffee she ordered was any good. In fact, she didn't even have any standards regarding to the taste of caffeinated beverages.

She took a small bite out of the muffin, testing if the taste would change when combined with the pastry. Slightly, but not much. Still a disappointment. How grating.

But already spending money on it, she was obligated to finish her meal. It would be remiss of her to waste money after all. Swallowing the foodstuff down, she spoke.

"As for the matter of your clothing, I believe they are still intact." Taking another sip from the burnt water. "We could go and retrieve them right now if you are so inclined to."

"Although, what do you think of the coffee here? Personally, they could put in more effort to improve the taste, and change their recipe a little. Burnt beans leave a nasty aftertaste."

 

[Hyacinthium]

@Cat

Well, the outfit didn't look too bad. It was ripped up and weirdly over the prison uniform now, but when Elena squinted it kind of looked like some kind of fashion statement. People who saw it might even pass it off as some of that... Performance arts? Hottie culture? There had to be a word for it, she could remember a classmate who was all over the stuff, but nothing came to mind.

Elena shrugged internally. "Right! I'm sure you'll love the coffee there. The place itself is very welcoming, both the people who run it and the interior." She said.

"I've been going there for years now and I haven't got a bad cup since." A warm smile lit up Elena's face. The family who owned and worked at the cafe had accepted her even when Elena was still rough and insecure of her place in the world. It had been an odd experience to meet people who would engage with her, but not ask uncomfortable questions when she slipped up. Years had gone by and Elena still felt thankful towards them.

Elena gathered up her belongings and guided Alice to the car-park.

Her car was a simple blue color with four total seats and a nice trunk. The car wasn't anything special, and to be honest she didn't really know enough about cars to tell people what make and model it was, but there was a Ford thingy on the back. It ran well, it didn't smell like hell inside, and wasn't an unholy beast that guzzled down gas like an alcoholic did cheap beer. Way more than some other vehicles or drivers could have said for their own!

Elena unlocked the car and gently set Mercy right behind the middle gap. Easily reached if needed. Alice opened the front passenger door and glanced around inside.

They got situated after some shuffling, strapped in at Elena's insistence, and set off in a rumble.

 

[Unlucky Bibliophile]

"I don't see the point." She said, keeping her voice level. "I'm a captured Ghoul. Your prisoner. A monster on a leash. The moment I stop being what you want me to be, I'm back in a cell waiting to be killed. I'm just a Ghoul, so why would anything else about me matter?"

Her voice towards the end sounded more bitter than she had intended. Her composure was slipping. Bury the emotion, show nothing, a co-operative Ghoul is a living Ghoul, bury the anger bury the hate...

"What do you want me to do?" She asked.

Click to shrink...

Despite the frostiness of Calypso's words, Rachel kept the soft smile on her face. "In my line of work, even the most innocuous details matter. Especially for those who we are about to have a working relationship with. It certainly harm either of us to know about the other, yes?"

Sighing, Rachel leaned back into her seat and gave Calypso a considering look, having finally dropped the smile. It didn't seem to do her any favors, anyway. "To be frank, I want you to watch my back while I'm out there in the field. The peashooter in my holster right now would barely tickle your average ghoul," she said, shrugging. "So for better or worse, we're partners in this. Weapon, tool, partner -- whatever you call yourself or what others call you, there is an implicit trust in our arrangement."

Since the friendly approach clearly wasn't working, perhaps coaching the terms in a more acceptable way would make Calypso more amenable.

"But for now, we're simply waiting for others to finish with whatever they're doing and get here." Rachel started rifling through the desk once more. "Then we will discuss the best ways of identifying, tracking, and eliminating the elusive bonemaker along with whoever he potentially taught."

It wasn't rare for criminals to pass on their knowledge, much like any other profession in history. Not to mention it would hardly solve the problem if they eliminated the bonemaker, only for some would-be apprentice to make their own Quinque knock-offs, starting the chase all over again.

 

[Jemnite]

"Because you have a business to run I also want to minimize the amount of trouble you'll need to deal with I'm not going to ask you to do anything more than what I came in the door with; that's why I'm trying to stay light on the details. That's also why I didn't come in asking for two masks today; though I'd certainly personally and monetarily appreciate a new mask and you're the only proprietor I'd want it made by,"

Click to shrink...

Angel studies your face for a second. She doesn't really look like she's buying it. But the red and black bleeds from her eyes nonetheless. Even if she isn't buying it, she seems to be at least mollified by your platitudes.

"Very well Naramsin. You have been a faithful customer, after all. I'll trust you on this one. You shall have your mask." She walks forward and pats you on the shoulder, and leans in close to whisper in your ear, too low for Marty to hear. "Though if the DoGS shows up on my doorstop I will be quite upset with you and your human friend who smells like Q-Steel."

With that said, she leans back out and strides over to Marty. She grabs a hand of both the former SWAT officer's hands, hands on hands.

@Kensai

"Well, then, child, which one of these is your dominant. Left? Right?" You feel a sharp prick upon your dominant, and look down to see that one of Angel's nails have broken the skin and drawn blood. She gathers a drop on her finger and brings it quickly underneath her own white expressionless mask to taste it. She smacks her lips thoughtfully as she ascertains the blood, though what she'll be able to draw from it you have no idea.

"...an empty warrior, who fights not for meaning or a higher purpose but solely to drown herself in violence," Angel notes, wiping off the last of the blood on a handkerchief pulled from within her robes. "The man cannot rise above the beast, nor can the leopard change its stripes. This will be an interesting mask, indeed."

"Do you prefer cats or birds?"

 

[Mortifer]

Despite the frostiness of Calypso's words, Rachel kept the soft smile on her face. "In my line of work, even the most innocuous details matter. Especially for those who we are about to have a working relationship with. It certainly harm either of us to know about the other, yes?"

Sighing, Rachel leaned back into her seat and gave Calypso a considering look, having finally dropped the smile. It didn't seem to do her any favors, anyway. "To be frank, I want you to watch my back while I'm out there in the field. The peashooter in my holster right now would barely tickle your average ghoul," she said, shrugging. "So for better or worse, we're partners in this. Weapon, tool, partner -- whatever you call yourself or what others call you, there is an implicit trust in our arrangement."

Click to shrink...

Ha. Trust. Like a human would ever trust a Ghoul.

"You do not need to know me to trust me." Calypso said. "There is an explosive collar on my leg, and I am stable enough to be chosen to leave my cell and assist you. You can trust that I am not suicidal enough to disobey or fail you."

Since the friendly approach clearly wasn't working, perhaps coaching the terms in a more acceptable way would make Calypso more amenable.

"But for now, we're simply waiting for others to finish with whatever they're doing and get here." Rachel started rifling through the desk once more. "Then we will discuss the best ways of identifying, tracking, and eliminating the elusive bonemaker along with whoever he potentially taught."

It wasn't rare for criminals to pass on their knowledge, much like any other profession in history. Not to mention it would hardly solve the problem if they eliminated the bonemaker, only for some would-be apprentice to make their own Quinque knock-offs, starting the chase all over again.

Click to shrink...

"What is to be expected of me?" The girl asked. "Am I to be behind you to protect you at all time, or will I just be kept in the back of a van until you want me to kill something?"

For a moment, the girl was worried that she'd stammer at the idea of killing something. She'd never taken a life before. Not directly. Perhaps her brother hunting for two had increased human deaths indirectly, but it was never by her hands that the deed was done.

It had seemed like an easier concept to deal with when the humans were killing her brother, when the rage and sorrow stopped her from thinking about it. So it was just a matter of feeling that way again. If she stopped being useful, she was back in the cell waiting to die. She had to live. So when the time came, all she needed to do was push down her hesitance and remember what her survival had cost so far.

Ignore her own feelings. Play the co-operative Ghoul. Live. It wasn't anything different to what she had done since her imprisonment.

 

[Azrael]

"As for the matter of your clothing, I believe they are still intact." Taking another sip from the burnt water. "We could go and retrieve them right now if you are so inclined to."

Click to shrink...

Klara straightened and looked at the Investigator.

"Please. I'm sure that me not standing out like this can only help with whatever mission we've been given."

This was something of a test. Now that she's actually referenced what they're supposed to be doing, she could see how much Doctor Graham was going to share with her.

Well. Unless it turned out her seeming social ineptitude extended to not being able to pick up on the hint.

"Although, what do you think of the coffee here? Personally, they could put in more effort to improve the taste, and change their recipe a little. Burnt beans leave a nasty aftertaste."

Click to shrink...

Klara picked up her drink and took several large gulps, obviously more interested in finishing it than tasting it, and set down the now mostly empty cup.

"I think I'm having flashbacks. We banned Boris from the coffee machine after Victor got sick from drinking it."

She stared down at the cup. The coffee in her stomach seemed to be churning in a very unpleasant manner, and somehow she doubted it was because of the lacking quality of the drink.

Shaking her head to clear it of unwanted thoughts of dead men, she looked up at her handler.

"Are you done? We should probably get going."

 

[Kensai]

Marty's snarl fell away as she listened to Naramsin and Angel negotiate. She had to admit to herself: her new partner was good at this shit.

Turns out Angel was pretty damn on the ball too. Cut through the bullshit like a razor. Weird that she'd hire a fucking ditz for the front. Someone who had a chain that easy to yank would be a hell of a liability. Couldn't even fight worth a damn to make up for it. Truth be told, Marty'd already been planning what flavour of educational beatdown she was going to put on Shandra before Angel saved her assistant's fat ass.

But whatever. Angel was coming over. This was going to be good.

"Well, then, child, which one of these is your dominant. Left? Right?" You feel a sharp prick upon your dominant, and look down to see that one of Angel's nails have broken the skin and drawn blood. She gathers a drop on her finger and brings it quickly underneath her own white expressionless mask to taste it. She smacks her lips thoughtfully as she ascertains the blood, though what she'll be able to draw from it you have no idea.

"...an empty warrior, who fights not for meaning or a higher purpose but solely to drown herself in violence," Angel notes, wiping off the last of the blood on a handkerchief pulled from within her robes. "The man cannot rise above the beast, nor can the leopard change its stripes. This will be an interesting mask, indeed."

"Do you prefer cats or birds?"

Click to shrink...

Marty's lips twisted in a simulacrum of humour. "You think I'm interested in changing, grandma?" she said. "I enjoy this too damn much."

She licked the puncture wound that Angel had made on her right hand. "I'm not into pussy, so give me a bird."

 

[Jemnite]

"Shall we?"

Click to shrink...

They got situated after some shuffling, strapped in at Elena's insistence, and set off in a rumble.

Click to shrink...

The drive is, thankfully short, as midday traffic has died down to a minimum and you navigate the Detroit streets, well, not exactly adroitly, but adroit enough for an old clunker like yours.

The cafe you arrive at is a quiet out of the way place, with comfortable granite top counters and comfy benches of sofa fabric on wood benches. The brick walls give it a sort of homey feel. There's a young lady, dressed loosely there, manning the counter. She spots the two of you incoming, and waves before turning and hollering.



"Pops! It's your favorite customer!"

The head of an old man adorned with a salt and pepper beard pops from behind the backdoor, followed by the rest of his body. It's Mr. Collins, longtime owner of this coffeeshop and persona friend of Elena's.

"Ah, Elena. Dropping in... with a friend?" He gives the two of you a warm smile. "Well, a friend of yours is always welcome. What will it be today?"

 

[Jemnite]

Marty's lips twisted in a simulacrum of humour. "You think I'm interested in changing, grandma?" she said. "I enjoy this too damn much."

She licked the puncture wound that Angel had made on her right hand. "I'm not into pussy, so give me a bird."

Click to shrink...

It takes a few hours, but in the end you have your mask.

The mask that Angel makes for you looks like someone a faceguard on top of a heavy coat collar. The top resembles a dress party mask, that slopes down, curving above your cheekbones to jut down at the tip of your nose, making slightly tilted long horizontal holes for your eyes. The top of the mask extends upwards, spiking and pointing before falling back down above and around your head, like feathers. The structure hings behind the ears and falls back down, where it wraps around the neck and comes back up widening rapidly to form a sort of lower faceplate jutting out like the lower half of a bird's beak.

Angel snaps the last bits around your head, and turns you around to see yourself in the mirror. It looks unnecessarily complicated, to be quite honest, and it's a little bit uncomfortable. The collar especially, somewhat hampers your breathing. But Angel makes you keep it up and tight over your mouth.

"For a mask that can exposure the mouth," she pulls the collar down and back up. "To reveal the mouth shows that you are hungry. And willing to eat. For any ghoul to see you as such, they might offer you meat, and it shall be an insult to them if you do not accept."

She lets you look at yourself for a couple more moments before she disassembles the thing and places it in your hands. "See Shandra for how much you owe."

@shinaobi

She turns to Naramsin. "And you, boy. Would you like a modification to yours? If I recall, I shaped for you... a lion?"

 

[shinaobi]

@shinaobi

She turns to Naramsin. "And you, boy. Would you like a modification to yours? If I recall, I shaped for you... a lion?"

Click to shrink...

He nods, quietly presenting that same mask to Angel; she can tell at a glance that it's been taken care of, even the 'mane' is still as smooth and thick as it was the day it was made.

"You're a better artist than I am; I think you have a better idea of what this should be transformed into."

 

[Hyacinthium]

The drive is, thankfully short, as midday traffic has died down to a minimum and you navigate the Detroit streets, well, not exactly adroitly, but adroit enough for an old clunker like yours.

The cafe you arrive at is a quiet out of the way place, with comfortable granite top counters and comfy benches of sofa fabric on wood benches. The brick walls give it a sort of homey feel. There's a young lady, dressed loosely there, manning the counter. She spots the two of you incoming, and waves before turning and hollering.



"Pops! It's your favorite customer!"

The head of an old man adorned with a salt and pepper beard pops from behind the backdoor, followed by the rest of his body. It's Mr. Collins, longtime owner of this coffeeshop and persona friend of Elena's.

"Ah, Elena. Dropping in... with a friend?" He gives the two of you a warm smile. "Well, a friend of yours is always welcome. What will it be today?"

Click to shrink...

Elena smiled and breathed a small sigh of relief. She already felt her body start to relax from the familiar smells that replaced the lingering exhaust of the city's roads. Coffee and fresh baked treats. It was refreshing.

"Just a doppio for me please, Mr Collins," Elena looked back at Alice, "Feel free to get whatever you'd like. There's a more private area in the back if you don't want to sit out in the open too!" She smiled.

The small lounge in had been the place that Elena had first felt comfortable. It was near a fire exit, you could see everyone that came in and left, and it wouldn't be too hard to run away from. No need to sit in a window seat with your back to the door. Less spine tingling, she remembered. Better with Mercy though.

 

[Khawy]

Klara straightened and looked at the Investigator.

"Please. I'm sure that me not standing out like this can only help with whatever mission we've been given."

This was something of a test. Now that she's actually referenced what they're supposed to be doing, she could see how much Doctor Graham was going to share with her.

Well. Unless it turned out her seeming social ineptitude extended to not being able to pick up on the hint.

Klara picked up her drink and took several large gulps, obviously more interested in finishing it than tasting it, and set down the now mostly empty cup.

"I think I'm having flashbacks. We banned Boris from the coffee machine after Victor got sick from drinking it."

She stared down at the cup. The coffee in her stomach seemed to be churning in a very unpleasant manner, and somehow she doubted it was because of the lacking quality of the drink.

Shaking her head to clear it of unwanted thoughts of dead men, she looked up at her handler.

"Are you done? We should probably get going."

Click to shrink...

Hmmm... It would be prudent to share what she knew, as regards to the case. A strange ghoul murdering other ghouls with the strangest of equipments - a quinque weapon. It was certainly perplexing, especially the implications one can draw from that. So, it would certainly be a good idea to keep Klara up to date.

"Of course. You're a dead giveaway." Erin replied. "I will amend my mistake to you soon."

Seeing her partner chugged down the subpar beverage, she nodded and got up from her table. It was nice to hear a little more about her young partner. Made her more of a person, and not just another faceless colleague.

"Yes, we are done here." With that said, she lead the girl back to headquarter, intending to retrieve lost belongings. It was a nice short walk, which was good since time was a resource after all. And resources should be used responsibly.

Leafing through the storage area, she could only find a mask belonging to Klara. Unfortunately, the rest of her wardrobe was incinerated. The only one she could share with the young ghoul would be some spare outfit in her locker. And judging by Klara's size, they may be a little loose on her. But they will have to make do for now.

"I must apologize again, it seems this was the only thing I could find of yours." She said dejectedly, handing the mask to its rightful owner. "I have some spare clothing in case of emergency, but they may fit loosely with your frame. We will have to buy you new ones later." Erin sighed, she could feel that she was not making the best of first impressions to her partner.

"Come, this way to my locker." Leaving the room last, making sure that everything was in order before closing the door, Erin lead her partner to the lockers room. Where a pair of cheap blouse and khaki awaited them. Swiftly unlocking her locker, she pulled out the spare. Handing them to Klara, she turned around and elected to look over the case files.

"Our target is a ghoul known as the Bonesmith..."

(Blah, blah, exposition, exposition)

"...And that's what we currently have on them. Most curiously, though, Victim #3's death was clean compared to the others, and the timing of his death is certainly most suspicious. This case might be more complicated than it first looks. Hmm...." Lost in her own little bubble, many things began racing in her mind. Something was off with Victim #3's death, the timing and manner of his death, and not to mention his relations with Victim #2. There was a distinct possibility that all four victims shared a common trait, besides being a ghoul that is. They had to be related, somehow...

And then there was the other thing. Too many ghouls were involved. It was almost as if someone was trying to stir up troubles in Detroit by supplying all these ghouls with quinque weapons. From what she could read from her files, Bonesmith did not seemed the type to do this, they were noted to be cautious. If anything, the Italians were probably the ones behind the mess with Bonesmith, since most of the supplies came from them. But what would they gain from causing this chaos?

Hmmm.....

"Klara, what do you think?" Turning around, seeing that Klara had finished dressing up, Erin showed her the aforementioned case files. After hearing her input, she had to meet up with the rest of her fellow investigators and see what they think about this case. It seemed... odd. That was the best she could come with right now.

 

[Azrael]

"I must apologize again, it seems this was the only thing I could find of yours." She said dejectedly, handing the mask to its rightful owner. "I have some spare clothing in case of emergency, but they may fit loosely with your frame. We will have to buy you new ones later." Erin sighed, she could feel that she was not making the best of first impressions to her partner.

"Come, this way to my locker." Leaving the room last, making sure that everything was in order before closing the door, Erin lead her partner to the lockers room. Where a pair of cheap blouse and khaki awaited them. Swiftly unlocking her locker, she pulled out the spare. Handing them to Klara, she turned around and elected to look over the case files.

Click to shrink...

Klara followed her handler back to the DoGS HQ, smiling sheepishly at the receptionist who gave them a curious look as they went by.

Accepting the mask, and then the clothing, she shrugged.

"It's fine. I didn't really expect much in the first place. As long as people can't just look at me and see that I'm a prisoner, I'll be fine."

She then began to strip out of the jumpsuit, and put the slightly-baggy clothes she had been given on instead. In all honesty, she wasn't a stranger to poor fitting clothes. Most Ghouls like her weren't, as they tended to mostly wear hand-me-downs and articles from thrift stores and such. With the right posture, it almost looked like a fashion statement, rather than a mark of poverty.

"...And that's what we currently have on them. Most curiously, though, Victim #3's death was clean compared to the others, and the timing of his death is certainly most suspicious. This case might be more complicated than it first looks. Hmm...." Lost in her own little bubble, many things began racing in her mind. Something was off with Victim #3's death, the timing and manner of his death, and not to mention his relations with Victim #2. There was a distinct possibility that all four victims shared a common trait, besides being a ghoul that is. They had to be related, somehow...

Click to shrink...

Klara had listened to Dr. Graham's explanation while changing, humming thoughtfully under her breath. As far as she could tell, the Investigator was simply reading information directly off the file to her. She doubted that anything in there was highly classified, but she supposed it was a good sign that the woman was willing to be transparent about what information they had.

"Klara, what do you think?" Turning around, seeing that Klara had finished dressing up, Erin showed her the aforementioned case files. After hearing her input, she had to meet up with the rest of her fellow investigators and see what they think about this case. It seemed... odd. That was the best she could come with right now.

Click to shrink...

And then she went and handed them to her!

Smiling politely as she accepted the files, Klara tucked her mask under her arm and quickly scanned them.

"Well..." she began, appearing thoughtful, "In my own experience, a group like the Italians would only sell something like Quinques if they felt the profit exceeded the risks. That is, if the mob is the one in charge, they're probably forcing Bonesmith to give the best-quality works to their members, and sell the spares and duds to anyone willing to pay far too much for them..." She shrugged.

"That is, assuming the connection is that strong. If Bonesmith is more independent, or has some sort of grip over the mob, he can probably sell to whoever he wants."

Maybe if she had been present on the scene to view the victims first hand she could offer something else, but it was hard to tell if the mutilations on most of the bodies were simply what was required to put the Ghoul down, a warning or message of some sort, or a personal vendetta or the result of the killer's own shade of insanity.

"Well, I suppose the thing that stands out the most about these killings is the brother. His death was different from the others."

The lack of known victims recently, as opposed to the obvious fact that more than four Quinque had been made, likely meant that the bodies were being disposed of now. Knowing Ghouls, there was a simple way to do that.

It was a shame that this seemed to be a mostly local case. If she had anyone on the streets here she knew, they probably wouldn't like her showing up on their doorstep after being captured...

After a few moments spent in thought, she shrugs and hands the files back to Dr. Graham.

"Well, that's all I can offer right now. Where to now?"

 

[Cat]

@Lilithium

"I'm fine with a cappuccino," I tell the man, staring around at the windows. It is open, it is warm - ahh, the sun! I can feel the sun tingling on my skin, sinking deeply into my pores, my veins rushing as the sun washes over them. Nice, it's nice, it's a nice feeling, a feeling that I haven't felt in so long. The count resets, it is zero. It has been zero seconds since I have been outside, zero seconds since I have seen the sun, zero, zero, zero! So new, so refreshing, so different.

I smile at him, and follow the girl. This is nice. This is good, a different track, a new start, a new chance, and ah, but I have forgotten that I am monster. I am released to kill another ghoul, and have no other purpose but killing that ghoul. I must ready myself. A moment, as I walk towards the girl.

It passes.

To kill a monster is to kill that which is already dead. It's easy, it's easy. I don't have any problems with it - he is just another obstacle in my path to the sun. Wait. Patience, Alice, patience. And soon you will see the sun again.

 

[Hyacinthium]

They walked to the more enclosed part of the cafe with their drinks in hand. Mr. Collins had kept Elena occupied with small during the short time it had taken. He'd even asked if she was sure she didn't want any pastries. It hadn't taken a long amount of time for their coffees to be done, but things had ended up feeling like it took a month and a few days to finish.

Elena sat down with Mercy at her side after placing the drinks on the granite table with a clack. There were quite a few things that she and Alice would have to do today, but for now the two of them had time to relax. Soft jazz music played from a speaker hidden in the ceiling.

Alice seems to be thinking right now, Elena thought. Maybe the other girl had also felt the strange sense of distorted time? At least now they could talk in relative peace though. The seats were always comfy.

Elena yawned and gently blew on her espresso, taking a sip while Alice stared out the window and into the street.