melcaroni
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Post by melcaroni on Apr 19, 2016 18:59:04 GMT
Episode Title: "Remember"
Plot: A tear in reality opens in the Doggenmeyer Household breaks out, and looking into it seems to provide the cast with memories of what happened to them on the day they were taken.
Starting Location: Doggenmeyer Household Living Room
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Post by ramenigma on Apr 20, 2016 11:23:54 GMT
November 20
W. Graves gets off the rickety carriage and breathes on his hands for warmth, his fingers trembling in the winter frost. As always, he begins his trek home just as the sun is beginning to rise. Surprisingly, even the hooligans are asleep at this hour. And let it be known there are hooligans. It's not a nice neighborhood, the road is littered and the stone grey apartments reek of piss and are colorfully decorated in only the most abrasive of racial and non-racial slurs. But he doesn't mind. It's better than sleeping out in the streets, he thinks as he passes by an impoverished drunken man half buried in the snow. It's debatable whether he will or won't survive the night. No-one's going to help him, that's for sure. He reeks and, let's be honest, it's not unlikely that you'll end up stabbed and robbed as reward for your kindness. Now, you might be hoping that this is a happy feel-good story. The kind you get on cable so you can forget about your outstanding cable bills. But the second I acknowledged that, you knew it wouldn't be that way. And you're right. He passed by the man without a second glance, the sound of glass shards breaking beneath the soles of his shoes. He is not a good person, not really.
Even so, even the worst of us have one moment where we surprise ourselves. And for W. Graves, this came in the form of a little bundle of snow just on the doorstep to his apartment block. It was tiny. So tiny he would have missed it, could have even tread on it, if it hadn't have moved. But it did move. And the little bundle made a soft cry. This surprised him, so he bent down (tall as he was) and scooped the tiny creature out of the snow.
A human baby. So small and so fragile.
He panicked and his darker impulses kicked in; his first instinct was to leave it. But then, somehow, he quickly wrapped the child in his scarf and ran into the block, into his apartment.
"Shit."
He swore as soon as he closed the door, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held the door shut. It was an impulsive, sudden act. If asked, he'd say it was outside of his very nature. Still, snap decision or not, he'd decided to care for the child.
However, this apartment was no place for a child. It was a filthy hovel, filled with rats and mold. The fridge housed lousy, rotten meat and the bath was stained with something like mildew. Even the light didn't work. This was not the sort of place a person could call home, hell, could even live in.
Even so, he boiled some water and gave the child a warm bath. Cleaning it and using his own talents to procure it something that it could use as clothes. Gently, he soothed the child and put it to sleep on the bed. Then, he sat down by his windowsill and looked up at the snow shining in the early morning sun.
He hoped, he'd pray if he'd thought it would help, that the child was left there by a kind parent who couldn't care for it. But in this weather, in this neighborhood, it was very obvious. Someone upstairs had probably tried to get rid of it, and it had landed in the snow, breaking it's fall. The thought made him sick, but it wasn't surprising.
"What the fuck have I gotten into..." He sighed and dropped his head, entering a halfhearted sleep.
Doggenmeyer Household
"MORTAL SACK OF SHIT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BREAKFAST NOOK!"
Kuthlax screeched as Wilhelm silently helped himself to a slice of toast from Kuthlax's plate. The tear in reality had torn asunder he living room and revealed the hole between realities where Kuthlax liked to have his morning toast. Wilhelm pressed a button on the soundboard.
SFX: FITE ME IRL! 1V1! WINNER TAKES ALL!
"Son of a... Oh, I'll fight you. Think I don't wanna jam a bullet in your squishy human brain, huh? Oh, you'll regret- Ah shit. The tears growing."
Sure enough, Kuthlax was right. The doggenmeyer home was being torn about and swallowed by a large empty abyss.
"What the hell even is this thing..."
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melcaroni
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Posts: 417
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Post by melcaroni on Apr 22, 2016 17:52:39 GMT
The crack in reality harshly spiked, tearing through Pinhead's bedroom. The boy himself suddenly dropped from the upper floor, landing flat on the sofa. His neck should have been instantly snapped had his head not been a grenade and thus no longer had one.
"Oh f***, there's a... a big space rip... thing." He muttered, adjusting his glasses on his head. "I'd better check my... journal... i mean... the book... f***."
Pinhead quickly picked up his trusty Book of Occult, and flipped through the pages until he came across an entry that described their current predicament.
The rest simply trailed off into the lyrics of Rick Astley's hit song from the 90s.
"Well, f***," Pinhead muttered, looking up from his book. The crack had already clearly reached Stage 3, so they stood squarely in the "Not Quite Completely f***ed But Very Nearly" end of the How f***ed Are We? Scaletm.
"Is this it?" Pinhead asked bitterly, glancing into the tear as infinite universes and reality hurtled by each second, "Have those f***ers decided they're DONE with us? Is this their way of cleaning house, or did management just f*** up that badly?"
Pinhead raised his gaze skyward. "Well, which one is it, you interdimensional f***wads!? I figure I'm f***ed either way but at least give me the courtesy of knowing why!!"
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Post by DreadLasagnaArchduke on Apr 27, 2016 0:24:13 GMT
The yellow paint on the walls starting to peel, the chance of hearing several gunshots outside on any given day, and the surprisingly well-kept bathroom that even had a little basket with complementary chocolate mints. Home sweet home for our detective, who was currently reclined in her office chair.
"To Jimmy Scringe! You were a good friend! A scumbag, but a good friend! Shame I finally had to off you." Lysandra said, gulping down the toast of whiskey she had poured for the old friend. "May angels see thee to thouest whatever." she set the glass down and sat in silent thought, until a knock came at the door.
She sprang up with a sudden shock, picking up the foam baseball bat on the floor. "Who the hell is it? If it's the debt collector, get out of here with that shit! I told you next week!" the detective stumbled over to the door, foam bat raised at the ready. "I need you to take a case for me. The door says detective, doesn't it...?" a timid voice replied from the other side. She opened the door, slightly confused.
The dame had hair so red, it'd make a firetruck look blue, goggles like the kind some Dr. Frankenstein guy might wear, and a dress so blue it'd make the ocean look red. "Come in, come in, have a seat, the detective will be right with you." Lysandra said, dropping the foam bat to the floor.
"If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Lysandra, is it? Why the bird mask? It's making me a little uncomfortable." the new client said, taking a seat across from the detective desk. "It's so I don't get angry people coming back to me to complain. I gotta deal with some unsavory types, if ya get my meaning. Complaint department's over in the corner." the detective idly gestured in the direction of a sawed-off shotgun against the wall next to a small gray wastebasket.
"Anyway, whaddaya need?" she slid into her office chair. "Ya need a guy followed? Roughed up? Investigated? Just need someone to shoot the shit with?" she poured herself another glass of whiskey. "Ya want some?" she offered.
"No, thank you. It's my brother. He's missing. I think it might be the Reaper and Frank the Clown, whoever they are. I went to his apartment, and he just had it scribbled on a bunch of sticky notes all over the walls. You were the first one listed under detective, so I decided to come to you." the client said, pushing the goggles to the top of her head.
"The Reaper and Frank the Clown... Were those the two running that racket with Lenny down by the docks? No, wait, that was Galapagos Xander. I need to get that guy a birthday present still..." Lysandra mumbled to herself, standing up and pacing back and forth by the office window. "Ya know what, I'm strapped for cash this month and your story sounds interesting. I'll take your case, sweetheart. Call me back in a week and I'll report progress and all that nice crap. We'll make it dinner."
"Um... okay." the woman said, looking noticeably nervous. "Thank you for taking my case, miss. I think I'll go now." she began to stand up from her seat. "That'd be a good idea, toots. This ain't really a nice part of town. Before ya go, there's chocolate mints in the bathroom. Help yourself to a few hundred or whatever. I got a guy for them." Lysandra said, gulping down the glass of whiskey she had poured, then proceeding to recline in her chair and promptly fall asleep. Her client proceeded to enter the bathroom, marvel briefly at how well it was cared for, stick a few chocolate mints in her purse, then leave the slumbering sleuth to her business.
Doggenmeyer Household
"Pass the cream cheese or some shit, yeah?" Lysandra said across the table to Barnabas, who was chewing quietly on a plate of strawberry jam. "This portal thing is messing with my mind, I gotta get some food in my body before it blows up all the food." The turtle doing nothing, she stood up and retrieved the cream cheese, defeated. "I believe I've only seen one of these before in my life. A Class 5 Dimensional Interruption, if I remember how I catalogued it. I believe we may be able to contain it, but it'll take some effort. Lots of it. Many good men were lost that day, but thankfully I was not one of them.
"Effort? Effort?! We might as well pack our fucking bags and accept death, I guess, since you can't even be bothered to get me some damn cheese!" Lysandra shouted at the philosopher. "I do believe I'm not entirely capable of that, as I am not currently equipped with the thing you call thumbs." he stated calmly.
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Post by ramenigma on May 30, 2016 9:31:51 GMT
Doggenmeyer Household
"Thanks for the explanation, book-fucker." Kuthlax grimaced... sorta, looking up from killing and reviving Wilhelm. Somehow, no matter how many times Kuthlax crushed his head, the bucket refused to reveal Wilhelm's face. "But those dipshits won't answer you. Trust me. I wouldn't."
He offered a pissed-off sort of chuckle.
"Well, whatever. It's not like I'm in any danger of falling in, so why should I give a crap..."
He paused. And then made a sort of smirking sound.
"Hey, mortal shits. Who wants to jump in and see what it's all about?"
September 5
"Yeah, uh... I'm looking to get a job. Any sort of job, really."
He nervously spoke into the phone wedged between his head and his shoulder. In the background, a baby could be heard crying. The past few months hadn't been kind to him. First, he'd lost his job when he took a bunch of days off to look after the child whom he'd given the name Herbert W. Graves. Next, upon finding that he didn't have the means to properly look after the child, he'd blown his life savings on making the apartment more... suitable. It was still pretty shitty, but hey. Now it had a proper cot, a tv, a working fridge, a phone and looked decently clean. As long as he didn't eat, he figured he could look after the baby fine.
"A... janitorial position? Yeah. I can do that. Sounds reasonable..."
He glanced back at the child, hoping he'd still have time to look after it now that he was back on the working train.
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Post by DreadLasagnaArchduke on Jul 28, 2016 21:45:39 GMT
Nate "The Knife" Nathanielson stood at the counter of The Bloody Marquis, looking around at his pride and joy. Formerly a seedy bar in a less than nice part of town where all the guns for hire, thugs, villains, and general ne'er-do-wells hung about playing billiards, getting into drunken brawls, and of course having drinks, he had converted it into a pleasant enough family restaurant after he got out of the business of "dealing with people" for money. He kept the name because at that point he was already too attached to it, and also for the sake of his associates being able to find the place. Of course, the place stayed in the same part of town, and the same crowd from before hung around, but they were much more subtle about it, less smashing mugs of beer over each other's heads and more discussing legitimate and illegitimate business over a basket of onion rings and fries. He was happy with what he had accomplished. That was, until a few moments later.
All of a sudden the door flew open and a familiar masked face stumbled in, all the patrons turning to face her. Oh, dear god, no, please. Not now. he thought to himself. "Everybody hands where I can see 'em!" Lysandra said, unloading several tommy gun shots into the ceiling. "Anyone moves, I won't hesitate to ace ya, got that? Official police business." she walked up to the counter, waving her gun around. "Ehh, Knifey-boy, long time no see! What the fuck did ya do to this place? What's all this shit on the walls?" "I've made it into a restaurant now, Lysandra. It's decoration." Nathanielson replied. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me, Knifey-boy! What happened to ya? Are you outta the game?"
"Listen, I'm still willing to do business, just please keep it civil. It's not that kind of place anymore." he trembled as the detective absentmindedly played with the gun. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. The Reaper and Frank the Clown. Knocked some guy off, my client wants me to find them. You know them?" "Never heard of them. They must be new. Now, if you could please-" "Is that really all you got for me, Knifey-boy? You sure?" she said, pressing the gun up to his face. "I swear, it's all I've got, please!" he said, visibly alarmed, the restaurant's less savory patrons reaching for their own weapons, whereas the rest either hid under the tables or held up their hands in fear.
"Ah, I'm just having a laugh with ya, Knife! If ya don't got anything for me, don't worry. I got other guys I can ask!" she said, removing the gun from against the man's face. "That's all I came for, though I can give ya a few bucks for your troubles." she said, reaching into her coat, pulling out a five dollar bill, and setting it on the counter. "Lysandra out!" she said, firing several more shots into the ceiling and kicking open the door. After she left, most of the diners fled, the old crowd continuing business as usual. It would cost Nathanielson quite a bit to get the roof repaired, and take a while before the Bloody Marquis was considered a reputable establishment once more.
Doggenmeyer Household
"I don't think entering it would be particularly wise just yet. We should experiment and see what effects it would have on non-living things before we decide to go in." Barnabas replied, having finished his jam. "That's usually the best thing to do when faced with such things."
"I say we throw shit in it and see what happens." Lysandra said, eating from the tub of cream cheese.
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