Gotham,
I have a few friends in certain lobby groups who specialize in assisting people obtain the necessary permits to satisfy the illegal restraints that some jurisdictions place on the 2nd Amendment.
If you wanted I might put you in touch with one of them who might be able to set you up with carry privileges in NYC.
New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case Files
-
Ron Caliburn
- Posts: 6915
- Joined: Mon Jan 24, 2005 7:09 pm
- Location: Best if you don't know.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Ron - Despite reservations... if you could PM me with some more information, I'd be much appreciative.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Don't worry GW.
My dad makes sure these sorts of things are totally above board with all the legal types.
Hannah
My dad makes sure these sorts of things are totally above board with all the legal types.
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
A little exposition before this next one, since it's a bit more... personal to me.
My father, Jon, vanished when I was 15. Just poofed without so much as an explanation, save a voice message on the landline saying he had something he had to take care of, and he'd be back soon. Sparing details, that loss really hurt. Ever since my brother passed away a few years prior, him and I had grown quite close. At the time, I hadn't shown any aptitude for the arcane, something he was relatively noted for. He didn't care, of course; I was still his little girl.
That was a decade ago. Now he occasionally still leaves me little gifts to try and mend bridges with Mom and I, but it's become more difficult over the years for me to feel like there is something to pick up. There is of course the usual resentment of a daughter being abandoned by her father. Factor in having nobody to help her deal with burgeoning powers, and the little girl grows up to be a bit resentful.
But that isn't even really an issue. The main reason is the stuff he never told me about. A lot of people in certain knows knew of my father, but very few people knew him. A lot of rumors go around about him. It's the usual stuff, like he made a pact with the devil, or he hunted (or carrolled with) Gormogons, etc. For a long time, I thought I had been one of the few who really had some idea of who he was. As the years pass, I sometimes wonder if I ever knew him at all.
Besides the arcane, my father left me his sense of wit (?) and an odd love of jazz. In April '10, there was a show at this jazz club that had survived the Great War, prohibition, the crack epidemic of the 80s, and the city wide smoking ban. I admit I don't frequent the place as much as I'd like, mostly because it was my father's favorite hangout. I made an exception this time, since it was the 10th anniversary of his vanishing from my life. The fact my friend James and his quartet were playing that night more or less just kept me from backing out.
Stupid friends.
I was on my second whiskey when he sat down next to me. He was an older African-American, who ordered a cognac from the bartender with a raspy voice. As he waited for the drink, he gave me a glance and a smile. I returned it - mostly. Memories always make me a bit moody - or is that whiskey? Who knows.
"Fans of the band?" he asked me, taking his drink to turn around and watch Olo solo Blue Train - damn that kid was a good saxist.
"Someone has to be." I noted wryly, knocking on the bar for a refill.
"Stiff competition in these parts, I agree."
The old man agreed with a laugh. I offered a smirk as I simply finished my glass. Tonight was brood and stagger home night, not make small talk with Morgan Freeman, as nice as he was. If he noticed my general lack of enthusiasm with chatter, he didn't pay it much mind as he continued.
"Mm, quiet sort I see. You remind me of someone I knew once, didn't say a whole lot except when he felt like being a smartass"
Somewhere in there, I may have twitched.
"What was his name?" I inquired casually, dropping a twenty on the table for the bartender as I calmly took the drink.
"Mm, it's been a long time since I've seen him." The fellow noted, scratching his beard a moment, "Jack? James?...Jon! It was Jon Van Buren!"
I set my face into stone as I glanced down into my drink. Van Buren was an alias he often used. He never explained why, exactly. I wasn't in the mood to care.
"I can't say I know him." I said flatly.
"Too bad. Hell of a card player." He said, laughing as he glanced over. At that point, he squinted a moment, looking me over briefly before he asked, "Maybe it's just my eyes playing tricks, but you kind of look li-"
"No I don't." I said dismissively. He frowned a bit but simply nodded. My tone might have been a bit off. In either case, he wished me well and wandered off somewhere into the crowd.
It was about half an hour later during my friend's break between sets that I had decided I needed to go. I discreetly went out the side door, to avoid awkward conversations or anyone else asking me about my father. I didn't realize he was that known around this place.
Stepping outside, I took a deep breath to try and calm myself down. It was still a bit cold that spring, so I had bundled up. It was a good thing that did, since it wasn't just cold air that greeted me in the street.
The next thing I knew, i heard the shuffle of several moving pairs of legs. Before I could look over, something hard and metal had slammed into my side. Hard. I toppled over like a bean pole into a couple garbage cans.
The liquor had dulled the pain, but I was definitely wheezing as someone hauled me up to my feet, throwing me back against the brick wall of the club. That someone had a pepper black beard, and had Jack Daniels breath.
"Alright, where is he, princess?"he sneered at me.
"Go... fuck yourself." was my response. I didn't really know what was going on, but I knew exactly what would get me slugged again. The next thing I knew, someone clunked me in the thigh with what was probably an aluminum bat. I let out a wheezing gasp as the fellow pinning me down shook me.
"Well, you got his attitude, at least." he said with a smirk.
"W...whose attitude?" I asked, somewhat confused.
"van Buren's.
My highly alcoholic blood ran cold. Someone was after Dad - and they apparently knew who I was. Though I admit Melissa van Buren didn't sound very flattering. I'm German-American, not Dutch damnit.
I took a deep breath, before wheezing out a cough. My ribs weren't feeling very good at that point. Still, I managed a mostly defiant answer, "You should have asked a decade ago."
"Don't shit me, little girl. I don't buy that 'disappearance' rumor." He snarled, before a sharp blow struck me along the side of the head - a fist rather than a bat this time, at least. I was trying to blink the stars out of my vision, as he added with a menacing tone, "And even if I did, I'm still willing to bet that he'd show up if his little girl were in trouble."
Someone in my peripheral lifted up the shiny aluminum bat, ready to hit me again, when someone walked out the side door of the club.
The guy holding me up looked over, as did everyone else. Well, except me - I know opportunities when I see them.
With a growl, I swung my arm sharply, catching the bigger fellow in the cheek with my elbow. That was enough to get him to let me go, as I fell backwards into the trash cans again.
That is when everything went to hell. Things were a bit blurry, but from what I could tell, one of the bands - and maybe some fans - just came outside for a smoke, and my little tush just got saved.
I stared at the sky, rather disoriented, as I heard blows being exchanged. Somewhere along the line, there was a bit of what sounded like... chanting, before there was bright lights and a loud bang. Then it all went silent.
The last thing I sort of remember was a tall lanky fellow - the bassist in James' band - hefting me up and taking me back inside.
My father, Jon, vanished when I was 15. Just poofed without so much as an explanation, save a voice message on the landline saying he had something he had to take care of, and he'd be back soon. Sparing details, that loss really hurt. Ever since my brother passed away a few years prior, him and I had grown quite close. At the time, I hadn't shown any aptitude for the arcane, something he was relatively noted for. He didn't care, of course; I was still his little girl.
That was a decade ago. Now he occasionally still leaves me little gifts to try and mend bridges with Mom and I, but it's become more difficult over the years for me to feel like there is something to pick up. There is of course the usual resentment of a daughter being abandoned by her father. Factor in having nobody to help her deal with burgeoning powers, and the little girl grows up to be a bit resentful.
But that isn't even really an issue. The main reason is the stuff he never told me about. A lot of people in certain knows knew of my father, but very few people knew him. A lot of rumors go around about him. It's the usual stuff, like he made a pact with the devil, or he hunted (or carrolled with) Gormogons, etc. For a long time, I thought I had been one of the few who really had some idea of who he was. As the years pass, I sometimes wonder if I ever knew him at all.
Besides the arcane, my father left me his sense of wit (?) and an odd love of jazz. In April '10, there was a show at this jazz club that had survived the Great War, prohibition, the crack epidemic of the 80s, and the city wide smoking ban. I admit I don't frequent the place as much as I'd like, mostly because it was my father's favorite hangout. I made an exception this time, since it was the 10th anniversary of his vanishing from my life. The fact my friend James and his quartet were playing that night more or less just kept me from backing out.
Stupid friends.
I was on my second whiskey when he sat down next to me. He was an older African-American, who ordered a cognac from the bartender with a raspy voice. As he waited for the drink, he gave me a glance and a smile. I returned it - mostly. Memories always make me a bit moody - or is that whiskey? Who knows.
"Fans of the band?" he asked me, taking his drink to turn around and watch Olo solo Blue Train - damn that kid was a good saxist.
"Someone has to be." I noted wryly, knocking on the bar for a refill.
"Stiff competition in these parts, I agree."
The old man agreed with a laugh. I offered a smirk as I simply finished my glass. Tonight was brood and stagger home night, not make small talk with Morgan Freeman, as nice as he was. If he noticed my general lack of enthusiasm with chatter, he didn't pay it much mind as he continued.
"Mm, quiet sort I see. You remind me of someone I knew once, didn't say a whole lot except when he felt like being a smartass"
Somewhere in there, I may have twitched.
"What was his name?" I inquired casually, dropping a twenty on the table for the bartender as I calmly took the drink.
"Mm, it's been a long time since I've seen him." The fellow noted, scratching his beard a moment, "Jack? James?...Jon! It was Jon Van Buren!"
I set my face into stone as I glanced down into my drink. Van Buren was an alias he often used. He never explained why, exactly. I wasn't in the mood to care.
"I can't say I know him." I said flatly.
"Too bad. Hell of a card player." He said, laughing as he glanced over. At that point, he squinted a moment, looking me over briefly before he asked, "Maybe it's just my eyes playing tricks, but you kind of look li-"
"No I don't." I said dismissively. He frowned a bit but simply nodded. My tone might have been a bit off. In either case, he wished me well and wandered off somewhere into the crowd.
It was about half an hour later during my friend's break between sets that I had decided I needed to go. I discreetly went out the side door, to avoid awkward conversations or anyone else asking me about my father. I didn't realize he was that known around this place.
Stepping outside, I took a deep breath to try and calm myself down. It was still a bit cold that spring, so I had bundled up. It was a good thing that did, since it wasn't just cold air that greeted me in the street.
The next thing I knew, i heard the shuffle of several moving pairs of legs. Before I could look over, something hard and metal had slammed into my side. Hard. I toppled over like a bean pole into a couple garbage cans.
The liquor had dulled the pain, but I was definitely wheezing as someone hauled me up to my feet, throwing me back against the brick wall of the club. That someone had a pepper black beard, and had Jack Daniels breath.
"Alright, where is he, princess?"he sneered at me.
"Go... fuck yourself." was my response. I didn't really know what was going on, but I knew exactly what would get me slugged again. The next thing I knew, someone clunked me in the thigh with what was probably an aluminum bat. I let out a wheezing gasp as the fellow pinning me down shook me.
"Well, you got his attitude, at least." he said with a smirk.
"W...whose attitude?" I asked, somewhat confused.
"van Buren's.
My highly alcoholic blood ran cold. Someone was after Dad - and they apparently knew who I was. Though I admit Melissa van Buren didn't sound very flattering. I'm German-American, not Dutch damnit.
I took a deep breath, before wheezing out a cough. My ribs weren't feeling very good at that point. Still, I managed a mostly defiant answer, "You should have asked a decade ago."
"Don't shit me, little girl. I don't buy that 'disappearance' rumor." He snarled, before a sharp blow struck me along the side of the head - a fist rather than a bat this time, at least. I was trying to blink the stars out of my vision, as he added with a menacing tone, "And even if I did, I'm still willing to bet that he'd show up if his little girl were in trouble."
Someone in my peripheral lifted up the shiny aluminum bat, ready to hit me again, when someone walked out the side door of the club.
The guy holding me up looked over, as did everyone else. Well, except me - I know opportunities when I see them.
With a growl, I swung my arm sharply, catching the bigger fellow in the cheek with my elbow. That was enough to get him to let me go, as I fell backwards into the trash cans again.
That is when everything went to hell. Things were a bit blurry, but from what I could tell, one of the bands - and maybe some fans - just came outside for a smoke, and my little tush just got saved.
I stared at the sky, rather disoriented, as I heard blows being exchanged. Somewhere along the line, there was a bit of what sounded like... chanting, before there was bright lights and a loud bang. Then it all went silent.
The last thing I sort of remember was a tall lanky fellow - the bassist in James' band - hefting me up and taking me back inside.
Last edited by Gotham Witch on Tue Jun 19, 2012 1:42 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Girl, what you need is a body guard.
Hi, I'm Darcy! 
"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to."
-Oscar Wilde.
"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to."
-Oscar Wilde.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Looking for work, Nem? Oh, wait, you hate New York and 'guarding' isn't necessarily your thing, is it?
Alternatively, more fighting lessons couldn't hurt.
Alternatively, more fighting lessons couldn't hurt.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Gotham Witch wrote:Looking for work, Nem? Oh, wait, you hate New York and 'guarding' isn't necessarily your thing, is it?
Alternatively, more fighting lessons couldn't hurt.
As it happens, I just finished a job which is why I haven't been posting. I'll try and do a write up for it later.
Lessons are something I can do.
Hi, I'm Darcy!
"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to."
-Oscar Wilde.
"Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to."
-Oscar Wilde.
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Gotham Witch wrote:Looking for work, Nem? Oh, wait, you hate New York and 'guarding' isn't necessarily your thing, is it?
Alternatively, more fighting lessons couldn't hurt.
Guarding may not be her 'thing', but it is mine.
I'm also skilled at both hand to hand and armed combat. I also have firearms training. All skills that I am capable of passing on.
While I am not currently in the area, New York is one of the destinations on my journey across North America.
In any case, I am curious to hear what comes next in this story of your father and the men who were looking for him.
Honor is the conceit we allow ourselves to feel superior to others.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
It was awhile it seemed before I was a bit more coherent. The first thing I noticed was the dull thump of standing bass rocking the floorboards from the front room. A close second was that screaming headache, of course.
A pack of frozen shrimp sat against the side of my face as I found myself laying down on an old leather couch. Two more things slowly dawned on me; that was I in the break room of the old jazz club and that I also felt like a bloody train wreck. Correction, a bloody train wreck that wasn't a result of alcohol.
I lifted my head slightly to look around (an action which hurt, a lot). The room itself was painted in all white, but you could barely tell with the various black and white photographs of past acts plastering the wall, some framed, some not. My jacket was on the hanger across the room; I could see some blood along the collar.
Next to the hanger was the table where most of James' band was sitting. With them, was the old man from the bar earlier. Quietly, they were discussing something that likely wasn't what their next set would be. More than likely, they were talking about what happened earlier.
Gingerly, I reached over and felt my sides. I immediately regretted it as I let out a weak 'Gah!'
Apparently that got everyone. attention. Phil, the bassist who brought me in, moved over from his spot and sat down next to me. He gave me his best goateed grin as he asked, "How you feeling, girl?"
"Cheated and disappointed, like most girls you bring home." I responded with a faint smirk.
"Yep, that's Jon's girl alright." The old man said with a laugh as he shuffled over. Phil pulled up a chair for him as he took it with a nod of thanks, turning to me as he offered one of the two glasses of cognac he was holding.
"Think you need this more than I do tonight, girl."
"I think vicodin might be a better salve." I murmured, taking the glass and taking a large gulp off of it.
"You don't want to go there. Of course, with that shiner and a busted rib, I might change my tune in your shoes." he noted with a chuckle. I cracked him a grin, even as I rolled my eyes. After a moment of thought, I spoke.
"Theo Durban, right?" You gave Dad all those harmonicas to give to me."
He gave a warmer smile at that, "Glad to see he kept his promises. What gave me away anyway?" He asked.
"The cognac." I noted, "It always drove Dad crazy you couldn't just drink whiskey."
"I should have figured. Hey, did you ever get any good with those horns?"
"Sort of. I still have that A-Horn Horner from when I was 13. "Good" would be flattering though." I said with a chuckle. My first one of the night. He joined in too. Dear god his charm was infectious.
Damn you Morgan Freeman.
"Unfortunately, doesn't seem like I'm the only one who recognized you." He noted, frowning,"Any idea what they wanted?"
"Besides beating the snot out of me for some grudge against Dad? I haven't the faintest." I snorted.
"Are you sure? He hasn't talked to you lately, or given you anything?" Theo asked.
"No, no, and no." I answered dryly, "Maybe if he had of done one of those things, this headache would make more sense."
"Silly girl. Violence never makes sense." Theo tsked as he inspected my temple a moment, before asking, "Hope you don't mind me asking girl, but were things between you and Jon all that bad to deny who you are?"
For as nice of a guy as Theo was, he was really starting to press some nerves I didn't want touched. That said, I tried to be patient and not snap at him.
"I know exactly who I am, Theo, and I don't deny that." I said with a calm (ish) tone, "Maybe if Dad had actually been there for me like he apparently was for everyone else in this neighborhood, I'd be a touch less resentful."
Theo looked like he was about to say something, before shaking his head and sighing. I smugly took a sip of my drink as I sat up on the couch, holding the side of my head.
"Did you know who those people were?" I asked
"The bearded one, yeah." Theo's expression turned serious, "He was a former... consultant for a former mob capo."
I think my blood ran cold. It certainly sounded like it as I asked, "...was Dad involved in the mob?"
"Oh hell no, Mel." Theo laughed, shaking his head as he continued, "He made a lot of enemies though. You see, one of Gotti's folks had taken an interest in the occult. Naturally, at one point or another Jon did something to piss them off. "
"That would have been a long time ago though." I noted, thinking to myself a moment, "Gotti was put away in 1992, and he's been dead for 8 years."
Theo nodded in agreement, before adding, "Gotti himself thought it was all hogwash. Doesn't mean he wasn't superstitious though. Some of the people he offed were those with more than a passing interest in spooky things. McAllistar was one of them."
"I'm still not sure what he was hoping for by roughing me up, you know." I commented, shifting the frozen shrimp pack over my swollen cheek.
"The Clooney-lookalike said something about finding 'Van Buren's box' as he ran off." "Phil shouted from the band's table.
"...wait, what?" I asked, sitting up.
"Come to think of it, there used to be a jewelry box in here." Theo noted, pointing towards a blank spot near one of the dressers, "Vanished about the same point Jon did."
"Huh." I said, furrowing my brow as I thought for a moment, "I have one of those from my mother. She said Dad left it for her before he vanished. There's nothing in it though."
Theo shook his head, taking another drink as he pondered. I just laid back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as I listened to the band covering for James' people. They were a bit more Brubeck-esque, wheras James (and Phil too, since he did a lot of the set-making) went with more of a Bebop sound. My preference is towards the latter, but for the moment it was enjoyable to listen to.
A pack of frozen shrimp sat against the side of my face as I found myself laying down on an old leather couch. Two more things slowly dawned on me; that was I in the break room of the old jazz club and that I also felt like a bloody train wreck. Correction, a bloody train wreck that wasn't a result of alcohol.
I lifted my head slightly to look around (an action which hurt, a lot). The room itself was painted in all white, but you could barely tell with the various black and white photographs of past acts plastering the wall, some framed, some not. My jacket was on the hanger across the room; I could see some blood along the collar.
Next to the hanger was the table where most of James' band was sitting. With them, was the old man from the bar earlier. Quietly, they were discussing something that likely wasn't what their next set would be. More than likely, they were talking about what happened earlier.
Gingerly, I reached over and felt my sides. I immediately regretted it as I let out a weak 'Gah!'
Apparently that got everyone. attention. Phil, the bassist who brought me in, moved over from his spot and sat down next to me. He gave me his best goateed grin as he asked, "How you feeling, girl?"
"Cheated and disappointed, like most girls you bring home." I responded with a faint smirk.
"Yep, that's Jon's girl alright." The old man said with a laugh as he shuffled over. Phil pulled up a chair for him as he took it with a nod of thanks, turning to me as he offered one of the two glasses of cognac he was holding.
"Think you need this more than I do tonight, girl."
"I think vicodin might be a better salve." I murmured, taking the glass and taking a large gulp off of it.
"You don't want to go there. Of course, with that shiner and a busted rib, I might change my tune in your shoes." he noted with a chuckle. I cracked him a grin, even as I rolled my eyes. After a moment of thought, I spoke.
"Theo Durban, right?" You gave Dad all those harmonicas to give to me."
He gave a warmer smile at that, "Glad to see he kept his promises. What gave me away anyway?" He asked.
"The cognac." I noted, "It always drove Dad crazy you couldn't just drink whiskey."
"I should have figured. Hey, did you ever get any good with those horns?"
"Sort of. I still have that A-Horn Horner from when I was 13. "Good" would be flattering though." I said with a chuckle. My first one of the night. He joined in too. Dear god his charm was infectious.
Damn you Morgan Freeman.
"Unfortunately, doesn't seem like I'm the only one who recognized you." He noted, frowning,"Any idea what they wanted?"
"Besides beating the snot out of me for some grudge against Dad? I haven't the faintest." I snorted.
"Are you sure? He hasn't talked to you lately, or given you anything?" Theo asked.
"No, no, and no." I answered dryly, "Maybe if he had of done one of those things, this headache would make more sense."
"Silly girl. Violence never makes sense." Theo tsked as he inspected my temple a moment, before asking, "Hope you don't mind me asking girl, but were things between you and Jon all that bad to deny who you are?"
For as nice of a guy as Theo was, he was really starting to press some nerves I didn't want touched. That said, I tried to be patient and not snap at him.
"I know exactly who I am, Theo, and I don't deny that." I said with a calm (ish) tone, "Maybe if Dad had actually been there for me like he apparently was for everyone else in this neighborhood, I'd be a touch less resentful."
Theo looked like he was about to say something, before shaking his head and sighing. I smugly took a sip of my drink as I sat up on the couch, holding the side of my head.
"Did you know who those people were?" I asked
"The bearded one, yeah." Theo's expression turned serious, "He was a former... consultant for a former mob capo."
I think my blood ran cold. It certainly sounded like it as I asked, "...was Dad involved in the mob?"
"Oh hell no, Mel." Theo laughed, shaking his head as he continued, "He made a lot of enemies though. You see, one of Gotti's folks had taken an interest in the occult. Naturally, at one point or another Jon did something to piss them off. "
"That would have been a long time ago though." I noted, thinking to myself a moment, "Gotti was put away in 1992, and he's been dead for 8 years."
Theo nodded in agreement, before adding, "Gotti himself thought it was all hogwash. Doesn't mean he wasn't superstitious though. Some of the people he offed were those with more than a passing interest in spooky things. McAllistar was one of them."
"I'm still not sure what he was hoping for by roughing me up, you know." I commented, shifting the frozen shrimp pack over my swollen cheek.
"The Clooney-lookalike said something about finding 'Van Buren's box' as he ran off." "Phil shouted from the band's table.
"...wait, what?" I asked, sitting up.
"Come to think of it, there used to be a jewelry box in here." Theo noted, pointing towards a blank spot near one of the dressers, "Vanished about the same point Jon did."
"Huh." I said, furrowing my brow as I thought for a moment, "I have one of those from my mother. She said Dad left it for her before he vanished. There's nothing in it though."
Theo shook his head, taking another drink as he pondered. I just laid back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as I listened to the band covering for James' people. They were a bit more Brubeck-esque, wheras James (and Phil too, since he did a lot of the set-making) went with more of a Bebop sound. My preference is towards the latter, but for the moment it was enjoyable to listen to.
Last edited by Gotham Witch on Sat Nov 19, 2011 2:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
-
Ron Caliburn
- Posts: 6915
- Joined: Mon Jan 24, 2005 7:09 pm
- Location: Best if you don't know.
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Are you sure there's nothing in the box? No false bottoms or secret drawers?
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
This all happened in 2010. I'll explain the rest soon, but yes, it wasn't quite empty.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
It was well after midnight before I got home, mostly because I insisted I stay for the second set. Theo paid for my cab. Phil insisted on escorting me up to my apartment. Who says chivalry is dead?
It didn't hurt the tall lanky 20s bassist with a goatee look is pretty cute.
I got up to my apartment. and gave him a thank you hug. He gave me the band's number - as well as Theo's - incase anything came up, before I patted him on the shoulder and turned around to unlock my door.
Well, I would have, had my lock not been busted out of the mounting.
Shit.
Phil looked down at my lock and winced, stating the obvious, "Not your day, huh?"
I growled at him, before nudging the door open to look around.
My living room had been torn nearly upside down. The couch had been knocked backwards, the upholstery in a state between burnt off and melted. Several of my paintings were either on the ground, charred, or broken in half.
Around the mantle with the no longer functioning fireplace, was a large radial scorch mark where something had clearly blown up. I could distinctly see blank, people shaped silhouettes in the laminate wood where two people had apparently been standing. There was no sign of anyone right now though - except possibly the ashes. Atop the blackened mantle, was my mother's jewelry box, closed and intact.
Creepy.
"...what in the hell happened?" Phil asked, echoing more or less what I was wondering. I just shrugged with a painful sigh. Assault and a break in? It was not turning out to be my night.
Explaining what happened to the cops turned out to be amusing, but had to be done for insurance purposes. There was no evidence of anything for them to believe it was me trying to make meth, and the neighbors hadn't seen anything, though Frank down the hall claims to have heard a loud 'Boom' before some heavy footsteps fleeing. As my gas range was still intact, albeit with my living room looking like a gas explosion, somehow the police just determined it was a break in, though far as anyone could tell, nothing had been stolen. Small favors, I guess.
Phil had given me his phone number, and told me to call if I needed anything. I gave him a peck on the cheek and told him I might just call anyway.
I always did have a sweet spot for bassists.
After taking a long shower, making some coffee and cleaning up what I could, I found myself standing in front of the jewelry box on the mantle. As I noted before, the bloody thing was intact, which worried me considering that whatever blew up in my living room emanated from where the box was sitting. I was worried that whatever blew up my home-intruders could take me out next. On the other hand, I had opened the thing before and never gotten hurt.
Nonetheless, I gave the box a good hard stare. I had never really paid much attention to the thing, much less examined it with 'other' senses. There was a faint... tingle to it, Lingering more than anything else. Whatever had been enchanting that box was slowly fading away.
Without further adieu, I nudged the thing open. It was empty as always. Curious, I tapped the bottom. There didn't seem to be a hollow space, though I turned it upside down to check to make sure. The lid tapped against the mantle, making a hollow thud.
Jackpot, I thought. I reached beneath the lid, pulling back the silk lining to reveal a small compartment. Inside, was an amethyst pendulum mounted on a silver chain.
Pretty, I thought as I pulled it out. The stone was polished rather than faceted, and the chain felt like silver. They're fairly common among a lot of pagans and new agers, but I was never very big on most paraphernalia (see my use of a Gerber pocket knife as an 'Athame' for a good example of my particular brand of reverence).
After making sure that the security chain on my door was secure, I tucked the pendulum back into the jewelry box before going to bed. I needed some rest before I did some snooping about.
It didn't hurt the tall lanky 20s bassist with a goatee look is pretty cute.
I got up to my apartment. and gave him a thank you hug. He gave me the band's number - as well as Theo's - incase anything came up, before I patted him on the shoulder and turned around to unlock my door.
Well, I would have, had my lock not been busted out of the mounting.
Shit.
Phil looked down at my lock and winced, stating the obvious, "Not your day, huh?"
I growled at him, before nudging the door open to look around.
My living room had been torn nearly upside down. The couch had been knocked backwards, the upholstery in a state between burnt off and melted. Several of my paintings were either on the ground, charred, or broken in half.
Around the mantle with the no longer functioning fireplace, was a large radial scorch mark where something had clearly blown up. I could distinctly see blank, people shaped silhouettes in the laminate wood where two people had apparently been standing. There was no sign of anyone right now though - except possibly the ashes. Atop the blackened mantle, was my mother's jewelry box, closed and intact.
Creepy.
"...what in the hell happened?" Phil asked, echoing more or less what I was wondering. I just shrugged with a painful sigh. Assault and a break in? It was not turning out to be my night.
Explaining what happened to the cops turned out to be amusing, but had to be done for insurance purposes. There was no evidence of anything for them to believe it was me trying to make meth, and the neighbors hadn't seen anything, though Frank down the hall claims to have heard a loud 'Boom' before some heavy footsteps fleeing. As my gas range was still intact, albeit with my living room looking like a gas explosion, somehow the police just determined it was a break in, though far as anyone could tell, nothing had been stolen. Small favors, I guess.
Phil had given me his phone number, and told me to call if I needed anything. I gave him a peck on the cheek and told him I might just call anyway.
I always did have a sweet spot for bassists.
After taking a long shower, making some coffee and cleaning up what I could, I found myself standing in front of the jewelry box on the mantle. As I noted before, the bloody thing was intact, which worried me considering that whatever blew up in my living room emanated from where the box was sitting. I was worried that whatever blew up my home-intruders could take me out next. On the other hand, I had opened the thing before and never gotten hurt.
Nonetheless, I gave the box a good hard stare. I had never really paid much attention to the thing, much less examined it with 'other' senses. There was a faint... tingle to it, Lingering more than anything else. Whatever had been enchanting that box was slowly fading away.
Without further adieu, I nudged the thing open. It was empty as always. Curious, I tapped the bottom. There didn't seem to be a hollow space, though I turned it upside down to check to make sure. The lid tapped against the mantle, making a hollow thud.
Jackpot, I thought. I reached beneath the lid, pulling back the silk lining to reveal a small compartment. Inside, was an amethyst pendulum mounted on a silver chain.
Pretty, I thought as I pulled it out. The stone was polished rather than faceted, and the chain felt like silver. They're fairly common among a lot of pagans and new agers, but I was never very big on most paraphernalia (see my use of a Gerber pocket knife as an 'Athame' for a good example of my particular brand of reverence).
After making sure that the security chain on my door was secure, I tucked the pendulum back into the jewelry box before going to bed. I needed some rest before I did some snooping about.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
What can be said for a past event?
My own experience with “boxes” have—for the most part—proven disastrous, or in the neighborhood of that category. Since this happened last year, I’m at a loss of what to say or comment on.
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Wow GW, sounds like your father left you a real surprise there.
If you mind, I'd like to gab some books from the library and check it out sometime. I have a couple of ideas I want to look at to see if I can figure out what happened.
Hannah
If you mind, I'd like to gab some books from the library and check it out sometime. I have a couple of ideas I want to look at to see if I can figure out what happened.
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Hannah - drop by sometime. You know where I'm at
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Great! Will text you when I'm on my way.
Hannah.
Hannah.
I will be who I chose to be.
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
C'Mon Mel, let 'em now what happened. This is really your story to tell. If I tell it a lot of important things will just come out wrong.
Hannah
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Give the girl with a broken hand a break. Sheesh. Give me a bit.
Besides, you were there too.
Besides, you were there too.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
I was there, but a lot of stuff that happened was pretty personal to you.
You should start, I'll chime in n stuff that is a little more relevant for me to talk about.
Hannah
You should start, I'll chime in n stuff that is a little more relevant for me to talk about.
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
A bit of denouement, and some reflection. LS isn't an emotional journal, but I consider it part of that whole Long Island fiasco and some people did want to know.
I got a knock on the door about 8 PM a week before the Solstice. I turned down the Breeders album I had playing and grabbed some money as I got the door, assuming it was the pizza guy.
It was Phil, and it seemed very unlikely he had given up music for pizza.
"Hey." He said awkwardly.
"...hello." I noted, adjusting my glasses as I looked up at him, at a loss for words as I looked him over. He looked to have lost weight, but he seemed better.
That's when I remembered there was music playing in the background, I cursed as I moved to go turn it off, not wanting to hurt his ears.
"Stop, it's okay." He reassured me as he put a hand on my shoulder, "Whatever you did, it worked."
I gave him a dumbfounded look, "...what do you mean what I did?"
"You know... with my ears?"He said, arching a brow as he tried to jar my memory, "I remember seeing this creepy guy in a jacket, he said to just go to sleep and everything would be better."
"Uh huh..." Aren't I just a wordsmith? But really, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
Was it Dad? No, couldn't be... could it?
"And, well... now I can hear music again."He smiled weakly for a moment as he shuffled a bit in his size 13 shoes as he looked down at me awkwardly, clearly not having an easier time with this as I was, "Look, I... I'm sorry. I know what happened with the redhead wasn't your fault. I just... well, with having the snot beaten out of me by your blonde friend, and what happened with my ears, it just..."
"I... I get it. It's okay." I smiled weakly, patting him on the shoulder, "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to go through it - Hannah's sorry for cuffing you too."
"She's strong."Phil mused with a chuckle. His demeanor became uneasy again, before he finally asked,"Say, the boys and I have a show at Satchmo's in the LES, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come..."
I shrank back a bit in my slippers, a neutral expression on my face - I think. I was silent for a few moments as I looked at him, first uncertainly, then with a bit of sadness.
I wanted to. I really did. He'd been a lot of fun, and was a nice guy. Hell, he did wonders for my social life.
He also nearly died because of it.
"I... can't, Phil. I'm sorry." I said softly, shaking my head as I patted his shoulder, "I... think it's safer for you... us... if I don't for awhile."
Phil moved to say something, but just stood there for a moment before he closed his lips and simply nodded. In typical jazz bassist fashion, he was never much for words, and this wasn't helping. I just looked at him with a weak, apologetic smile.
"Maybe I'll see you one of these Fridays then."he said simply, smiling softly before giving me a peck on the forehead. With that, he turned and walked off down the hall.
I kept a straight face for the three seconds it took to close the door, before I sat down on my couch and cursed quietly to myself. I was an idiot, I thought. Rose was gone. The guys after me were apparently dealt with. Phil was better. Why couldn't I just pick up where I left off?
Because it doesn't work like that, I thought to myself as I looked up at Dad's book, sitting in the box of books I was moving to my new place. For as long as I'd be part of ... this, people in my life would always be in danger. You Lazlo people all know what 'this' is. Every time something that goes bump nearly gets you, every time you find a mangled corpse, or a child disappears, you've seen it.
I don't want to sound martyr-ish here, but I will say right now... I don't know how some of you people do it.
I'm well aware you can't block out everyone. People aren't islands, you can't shut them out and live without them. But at that moment, as I poured myself the stiffest glass of whiskey I could stomach, I was just tired of people getting hurt because of me, and there was nothing I could do about it but be alone. Alone with me and my magic.
For the first time since I had ever known him, I think I knew Jon Albrecht better than I ever had.
And I hated it.
I got a knock on the door about 8 PM a week before the Solstice. I turned down the Breeders album I had playing and grabbed some money as I got the door, assuming it was the pizza guy.
It was Phil, and it seemed very unlikely he had given up music for pizza.
"Hey." He said awkwardly.
"...hello." I noted, adjusting my glasses as I looked up at him, at a loss for words as I looked him over. He looked to have lost weight, but he seemed better.
That's when I remembered there was music playing in the background, I cursed as I moved to go turn it off, not wanting to hurt his ears.
"Stop, it's okay." He reassured me as he put a hand on my shoulder, "Whatever you did, it worked."
I gave him a dumbfounded look, "...what do you mean what I did?"
"You know... with my ears?"He said, arching a brow as he tried to jar my memory, "I remember seeing this creepy guy in a jacket, he said to just go to sleep and everything would be better."
"Uh huh..." Aren't I just a wordsmith? But really, I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.
Was it Dad? No, couldn't be... could it?
"And, well... now I can hear music again."He smiled weakly for a moment as he shuffled a bit in his size 13 shoes as he looked down at me awkwardly, clearly not having an easier time with this as I was, "Look, I... I'm sorry. I know what happened with the redhead wasn't your fault. I just... well, with having the snot beaten out of me by your blonde friend, and what happened with my ears, it just..."
"I... I get it. It's okay." I smiled weakly, patting him on the shoulder, "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to go through it - Hannah's sorry for cuffing you too."
"She's strong."Phil mused with a chuckle. His demeanor became uneasy again, before he finally asked,"Say, the boys and I have a show at Satchmo's in the LES, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come..."
I shrank back a bit in my slippers, a neutral expression on my face - I think. I was silent for a few moments as I looked at him, first uncertainly, then with a bit of sadness.
I wanted to. I really did. He'd been a lot of fun, and was a nice guy. Hell, he did wonders for my social life.
He also nearly died because of it.
"I... can't, Phil. I'm sorry." I said softly, shaking my head as I patted his shoulder, "I... think it's safer for you... us... if I don't for awhile."
Phil moved to say something, but just stood there for a moment before he closed his lips and simply nodded. In typical jazz bassist fashion, he was never much for words, and this wasn't helping. I just looked at him with a weak, apologetic smile.
"Maybe I'll see you one of these Fridays then."he said simply, smiling softly before giving me a peck on the forehead. With that, he turned and walked off down the hall.
I kept a straight face for the three seconds it took to close the door, before I sat down on my couch and cursed quietly to myself. I was an idiot, I thought. Rose was gone. The guys after me were apparently dealt with. Phil was better. Why couldn't I just pick up where I left off?
Because it doesn't work like that, I thought to myself as I looked up at Dad's book, sitting in the box of books I was moving to my new place. For as long as I'd be part of ... this, people in my life would always be in danger. You Lazlo people all know what 'this' is. Every time something that goes bump nearly gets you, every time you find a mangled corpse, or a child disappears, you've seen it.
I don't want to sound martyr-ish here, but I will say right now... I don't know how some of you people do it.
I'm well aware you can't block out everyone. People aren't islands, you can't shut them out and live without them. But at that moment, as I poured myself the stiffest glass of whiskey I could stomach, I was just tired of people getting hurt because of me, and there was nothing I could do about it but be alone. Alone with me and my magic.
For the first time since I had ever known him, I think I knew Jon Albrecht better than I ever had.
And I hated it.
Last edited by Gotham Witch on Mon Jan 16, 2012 3:29 am, edited 1 time in total.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Awww, you didn't have to go and do that. He seemed like a nice enough guy and was kinda cute (he might need to hit the gym a bit more, I hogtied him pretty easily).
He knows what to expect now, so it's not like he wasn't making an informed choice without knowing the risks. You should let him have the choice.
Anyway, I'm going to grab some Ben and Jerry's and come over.
Hannah
He knows what to expect now, so it's not like he wasn't making an informed choice without knowing the risks. You should let him have the choice.
Anyway, I'm going to grab some Ben and Jerry's and come over.
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
I got an emergency call today from my friend Jen, regarding an interesting turn of events involving her six year old daughter, Sarah. Things had been quiet since she claimed she had seen the ghost of my late brother. Well, clearly that had to change.
After having a good half pot of coffee to make me up (I have slept awfully the past while - seems to be common) and cooking enough bacon to feed two people, I grabbed a Coney Island bound train to Brooklyn, before finding myself at Jen's house.
I found Sarah alone in her room, sitting on the edge of her TMNT adorned bed - my idea -, murmuring softly to herself as she stared at the far wall. She clutched her stuffed Siberian husky in her hand, squeezing it tightly.
"...Sarah?" I asked softly, making my way in.
She paid me no mind, continuing her whispering. The weird part was definitely the stare - it was like she was trying to burn a hole through the teal green paint.
"She's been whispering things all day to herself." Jen noted, peeking out from behind me. I nodded, before I walked over slowly, taking a seat next to her daughter on the bed. Reluctantly, I leaned in closer to hear the whispers.
"Walking dead scream curses to the red-eyed fox on rainy wedding days while the pauper watches the trash burn. The god of spiders spins an intangible web before falling into the sky..."
"Excuse me?" I asked softly.
She paid me no mind as she continued to recite.
"And in the club where those who walk the night to stalk the dark meet is where paths cross there and everywhere, where vampire walk the day and the apocalypse is a dime for a dozen. The blind will shout 'lunacy' as death stands right beside them, waiting for the next step even as the spinning light burns them away."
Arching a brow, I waved a hand in front of her face. No response. I tapped her shoulder gently, whispering her name to get her attention. I might as well have thrown water on her for all the good it was doing.
Even more reluctantly, I squinted at her to give her a good hard look. I make it a point not to analyze the auras of people I call adopted family, but I make exceptions when they make Bob Dylan's writing look like "See Bob Run".
For a six year old girl, Sarah's aura was... scary. Normal, in the sense of being human. Scary, in the sense of it was... active. It was like a figurative roaring bonfire, barely being contained. A CAT scan of her brain would have been most informative of whatever was going on in her head.
Suddenly, she reached up, grabbing my collar and startling the hell out of me. Unmoving, she stared into my eyes and whispered.
"She tripped and fell over bones that didn't want her and where dreams conspired, into the lap of waiting death, searching for dreams left amongst spifes and sawdust and dreaming with pixie dust and nary a slumber. Shadows of dead men chase her through Narnias that never existed and Arcadias yet to be, never to rest until she is the least able."
"Sarah, please..." this was starting to reaaaaally creep me out.
"And then her tale will be done like so many Babylonians embroidered in granite, with nary the privilege of doubling down. The dousing water asking why as flames slowly burn it away to a comedy of peanuts as the red eyed fox runs into the man holding the clock who waits to catch time."
"Sarah!" I shook her gently, now quite worried. At that point, she grabbed me by the collar, staring into... well, it felt like my soul.
"...when the shadow of the wolf passes, only she knows when to fly."
At that point, she blinked her little blue eyes, before looking up at me and asking, "Hello Melissa. When'd you get here?"
I gave her a long, wary look. Her aura was... more or less completely normal, like nothing weird had just happened.
"Oh... just visiting." I noted with a smile, "What were you saying just now?"
"I wasn't saying anything. I was reading this book."She said cheerfully, pointing to an old picture book that her mother had gotten her awhile ago.
I looked at her mother, who just gave me that equally confused look.
Long story short. Investigation turned up nothing. No spooks, ghosts, funny magic auras (does mine count), or anything. As spontaneously as she started spouting nonsense, she stopped.
Not having any other recourse, I did the only right thing I could - I took my adopted niece to go get some pizza. If she didn't remember anything, then why confound her about it? She's 6, after all.
I have a feeling that this will come up again. Anybody else deal with this sort of stuff?
After having a good half pot of coffee to make me up (I have slept awfully the past while - seems to be common) and cooking enough bacon to feed two people, I grabbed a Coney Island bound train to Brooklyn, before finding myself at Jen's house.
I found Sarah alone in her room, sitting on the edge of her TMNT adorned bed - my idea -, murmuring softly to herself as she stared at the far wall. She clutched her stuffed Siberian husky in her hand, squeezing it tightly.
"...Sarah?" I asked softly, making my way in.
She paid me no mind, continuing her whispering. The weird part was definitely the stare - it was like she was trying to burn a hole through the teal green paint.
"She's been whispering things all day to herself." Jen noted, peeking out from behind me. I nodded, before I walked over slowly, taking a seat next to her daughter on the bed. Reluctantly, I leaned in closer to hear the whispers.
"Walking dead scream curses to the red-eyed fox on rainy wedding days while the pauper watches the trash burn. The god of spiders spins an intangible web before falling into the sky..."
"Excuse me?" I asked softly.
She paid me no mind as she continued to recite.
"And in the club where those who walk the night to stalk the dark meet is where paths cross there and everywhere, where vampire walk the day and the apocalypse is a dime for a dozen. The blind will shout 'lunacy' as death stands right beside them, waiting for the next step even as the spinning light burns them away."
Arching a brow, I waved a hand in front of her face. No response. I tapped her shoulder gently, whispering her name to get her attention. I might as well have thrown water on her for all the good it was doing.
Even more reluctantly, I squinted at her to give her a good hard look. I make it a point not to analyze the auras of people I call adopted family, but I make exceptions when they make Bob Dylan's writing look like "See Bob Run".
For a six year old girl, Sarah's aura was... scary. Normal, in the sense of being human. Scary, in the sense of it was... active. It was like a figurative roaring bonfire, barely being contained. A CAT scan of her brain would have been most informative of whatever was going on in her head.
Suddenly, she reached up, grabbing my collar and startling the hell out of me. Unmoving, she stared into my eyes and whispered.
"She tripped and fell over bones that didn't want her and where dreams conspired, into the lap of waiting death, searching for dreams left amongst spifes and sawdust and dreaming with pixie dust and nary a slumber. Shadows of dead men chase her through Narnias that never existed and Arcadias yet to be, never to rest until she is the least able."
"Sarah, please..." this was starting to reaaaaally creep me out.
"And then her tale will be done like so many Babylonians embroidered in granite, with nary the privilege of doubling down. The dousing water asking why as flames slowly burn it away to a comedy of peanuts as the red eyed fox runs into the man holding the clock who waits to catch time."
"Sarah!" I shook her gently, now quite worried. At that point, she grabbed me by the collar, staring into... well, it felt like my soul.
"...when the shadow of the wolf passes, only she knows when to fly."
At that point, she blinked her little blue eyes, before looking up at me and asking, "Hello Melissa. When'd you get here?"
I gave her a long, wary look. Her aura was... more or less completely normal, like nothing weird had just happened.
"Oh... just visiting." I noted with a smile, "What were you saying just now?"
"I wasn't saying anything. I was reading this book."She said cheerfully, pointing to an old picture book that her mother had gotten her awhile ago.
I looked at her mother, who just gave me that equally confused look.
Long story short. Investigation turned up nothing. No spooks, ghosts, funny magic auras (does mine count), or anything. As spontaneously as she started spouting nonsense, she stopped.
Not having any other recourse, I did the only right thing I could - I took my adopted niece to go get some pizza. If she didn't remember anything, then why confound her about it? She's 6, after all.
I have a feeling that this will come up again. Anybody else deal with this sort of stuff?
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
Nothing like that has happened to me
Nonsense?—only to those of us—one of whom I’ll readily admit to—who don’t know what she’s saying. A possession comes to mind, but that may be entirely wrong.
-
Cybermancer
- Posts: 1071
- Joined: Fri Jan 20, 2006 10:41 am
- Contact:
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
She sounds like a Cylon hybrid just before making a hyperspace jump.
Last edited by Cybermancer on Sun Feb 19, 2012 5:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
This account used to belong to someone else. Now it's mine. My first post on this board begins here.
"The strong polish their fangs,
While the weak polish their wisdom."
"The strong polish their fangs,
While the weak polish their wisdom."
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
I was going to say that! Boo.
Has all of this happened before and will happen again, Mel?
Has all of this happened before and will happen again, Mel?
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Sounds oddly familiar, but I can't place it.
Hannah
Hannah
I will be who I chose to be.
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Well, having slept the first good night in weeks, I can look back and see what I wrote... and have no further insight on what Sarah (if that was her) said. Damn.
Fortunately when I talked to her on the phone this afternoon, she was mostly interested in talking about dinosaurs than prophecies.
Fortunately when I talked to her on the phone this afternoon, she was mostly interested in talking about dinosaurs than prophecies.
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
-
Shadowstalker
- Posts: 2793
- Joined: Fri Jul 01, 2005 11:46 pm
- Location: Where needed
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
Gotham Witch I have been catching up on thing, and this caught my eye. I think the young lady in question could be something rare. I will P.M. you with my thoughts.
To find the darkness you have walk in the shadows.
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
I am thinking that it sounds frailer as well, but I cant place it... the prophesy of Merlin maybe? I don't think it was a possession per say. sounds more like a channeling. the Question is what could she have been challenging, and why her.
But I have to say I have been seeing some rather strange signs and portince lately any one else? been meaning to check my contacts in the fey courts though Hanna may have more luck on that score.
Any thoughts any one?
But I have to say I have been seeing some rather strange signs and portince lately any one else? been meaning to check my contacts in the fey courts though Hanna may have more luck on that score.
Any thoughts any one?
We who stand between the flame and the shadow
-
Gotham Witch
- Posts: 457
- Joined: Fri Nov 26, 2010 9:11 pm
- Location: Queens, New York
Re: New York I Love You, But You're Creeping Me Out - Case F
A much simpler case from me.
The society's resident drunk, Dr. Boggs passed along a request made to him by a friend of his. He was a bit predisposed, so he wasn't able to come to New York.
So of course he passed it along to me.
I called the number he gave me, and after getting a bored teenager, a man informed me - after some probing and name dropping - that his neighbor (Who we shall call Samantha) was having a bit of trouble with something spooky. He was nice enough to rule stress related delirium and drugs, at least.
Being this was just after the kidnapping episode, there were reservations about going in and putting myself in trouble. But I figured I pick myself up and start from somewhere, right?
The woman was rather frazzled looking when I finally came knocking. I don't think I've ever had someone drag me into the house so quickly upon mentioning I was a 'paranormal investigator'. Clearly I should always take the desperate cases or something.
The client was clearly a student, based upon the boxes of takeout food, the piles of books, and six packs of beer sitting everywhere. She was quick to apologize for the mess as she offered me a beverage, before going about what she knew.
She confessed she had never seen anything definite, Right off she confessed she hasn't seen anything first hand, and was clearly embarrassed. She noted that strange noises began a few weeks back - originally assumed to be the apartment of course, but became stranger and harder to explain as time went on. Most often it was dripping, snipping and heavy breathing - always from another room and, when she had gotten there, it had stopped.
Objects began moving about a week before that she told me, though she admitted it was a little hard to tell sometimes with the clutter. At that point, she tried to laugh like she's telling a joke - but after the first chuckles turned to a brief sob before she wiped her eyes and looked at me, before telling me about her closet.
"Every morning when I open my eyes the closet door in my bedroom slams shut. If I don't go look things get bad... faster. So I open it and there's my pictures piled up, no way did I do that myself. If I try going back to sleep it starts banging on the walls, I can't stand it anymore. Please do something!"
How could I say no?
The society's resident drunk, Dr. Boggs passed along a request made to him by a friend of his. He was a bit predisposed, so he wasn't able to come to New York.
So of course he passed it along to me.
I called the number he gave me, and after getting a bored teenager, a man informed me - after some probing and name dropping - that his neighbor (Who we shall call Samantha) was having a bit of trouble with something spooky. He was nice enough to rule stress related delirium and drugs, at least.
Being this was just after the kidnapping episode, there were reservations about going in and putting myself in trouble. But I figured I pick myself up and start from somewhere, right?
The woman was rather frazzled looking when I finally came knocking. I don't think I've ever had someone drag me into the house so quickly upon mentioning I was a 'paranormal investigator'. Clearly I should always take the desperate cases or something.
The client was clearly a student, based upon the boxes of takeout food, the piles of books, and six packs of beer sitting everywhere. She was quick to apologize for the mess as she offered me a beverage, before going about what she knew.
She confessed she had never seen anything definite, Right off she confessed she hasn't seen anything first hand, and was clearly embarrassed. She noted that strange noises began a few weeks back - originally assumed to be the apartment of course, but became stranger and harder to explain as time went on. Most often it was dripping, snipping and heavy breathing - always from another room and, when she had gotten there, it had stopped.
Objects began moving about a week before that she told me, though she admitted it was a little hard to tell sometimes with the clutter. At that point, she tried to laugh like she's telling a joke - but after the first chuckles turned to a brief sob before she wiped her eyes and looked at me, before telling me about her closet.
"Every morning when I open my eyes the closet door in my bedroom slams shut. If I don't go look things get bad... faster. So I open it and there's my pictures piled up, no way did I do that myself. If I try going back to sleep it starts banging on the walls, I can't stand it anymore. Please do something!"
How could I say no?
"God have mercy on a man, who doubts what he's sure of." - Bruce Springsteen
