There's a fury of bullets. An inhuman keening wail. Roach ducks and crawls quickly across the floor under one of the autopsy slabs for cover. That ungloved hand, fingers splayed and palm facing down, just in case she's got to go to town. She doesn't like to, she hasn't in awhile, not since the Stew, and even then, her game had been weak. There's another of those keening sounds that reminds her of the time she saw a banshee being pursued by the Watch for wearing no clothes; they were trying to give her a fine for public display but she howled her way up a wall of the clocktower and evaded both their guns and a court appearance.
"Corpsey," she hollers. He's headed back into the room with the trolley, she can see him from where she's crouched, and he turns the corner into the room just as the creature drops from the ceiling.... and is pinned into the wall by the gurney. Roach uses that moment, because who knows how long that's going to last, to slip around and up and begin to coax a warmth into her upturned palm. The thing's chest is spurting green and littered with Grey's shots. But, she hesitates from directing any kind of flame to form; there's a steel case on the gurney in front of Peter Lorre who is plucking garlic, a stake and a number of small vials including holy water, from its depths. The vampire screams loudly again, red eyes wide in horror as it flails against the gurney that Corpsey keeps pressed into the man with the press of one hand and his abdomen. Roach lowers her hand and runs over to assist in holding the gurney flush against the monster, while he sorts through the kit and its directions. "Yo man, hurry up, what are the directions?!"
The vial that falls to the floor is Holy Water; it begins to burn a hole, curiously enough, in Roach's boot toe and the smudge at the nape of her neck, Robert's signature, begins to glow red hot. She hisses through her teeth then yells out backing up. The vampire gives her a curious eye and then begins hissing in turn, like a cat in heat. Corpsey looks between the creature and Roach then down to her boot and when he meets her eyes it?s with a smile that wasn't a smile at all, but echoed the disgust on his face in the hearse when he heard the pair macking against the side. "I knew I didn't like you; you filthy girl." Disparagingly.
Roach shakes her head at him and fetches the stake from the kit. "We?ll discuss the meaning of hate laters, frakkface." Over her shoulder to the driver as she launches the implement into the creature's heart. Green ooze milks from the wound covering her hand as she plunges it so deeply there's a crack. "Yeah, die, motherlover, die!? She screams, and then backs off. She lets out a curt sigh then looks back to the door as more of the squad approach. "Grey," her voice rising in warning. "How many men?" The creature flinches and shakes as in seizure and then appears to slump to stillness. Corpsey stares at the vampire lengthily before stepping back and dragging the gurney across the floor. Blue neon flickers overhead. Chaos rattles down the hall. The vampire hangs, pinned to the wall via the stake. While the driver readies the bed, Roach pulls out the drawer... then makes a face. "Uh... this isn't Badaloni, guys."
"Indeed; I drove her here myself last night. That's Wendy Lachance. She has prominent ..." he seems to salivate a moment, "clavicle bones and ...." he stares at her body salaciously, forgetting himself a moment... then with a frustrated thrust of his body, bunches his fists and seems to whisper to himself before replying, "It seems we have a case of switched bodies."
He's been a busy boy while they've been playing dances with fangface. Getting in close immediately had been key; just as one is often warned not to bring a knife to a gunfight, the reverse of the aphorism is also true. The men at the front of the pack are in too close to clear their stubguns for action; those further back can't fire for fear of hitting their teammates. And this is the kind of fighting at which Grey excels, for all that he's been enjoying the little play matches and sport duels in the ring of late; the in close, bare knuckled grit of the street fight, where it's all elbows and knees and fists and feet in a flurry of confusion and pain.
One of the survivors will say, later, that it was like being caught in a blender with blunted blades. He just remembers getting hit, over and over, until he lost his balance and smacked his helmet hard enough on the ground to knock himself unconscious. The doctor's reports show bruising around the neck and collar that indicates someone had helped him along his way to dreamland, and the forensic examiner will find that the ballistic helmet impacted with enough force to split it like an overripe melon.
But at the time, it's all just one jumbled mess of shouting and thumps, until suddenly the only cops still in the room are sprawled on the ground, moaning or unconscious, and the rest of them are on the wrong side of the door Grey's slamming shut. "Looks like a whole gods damned tac team," he pants. "Can we grab the chick and bail before this gets any more frakked up?" And then it does. "She's what?" There's a boom, and a rattle, as the grenade he'd ripped off someone's vest and tossed into the autopsy room just before closing the door goes off. He fervently hopes it was a flashbang or a stun grenade, because this night is already gone to pot and he doesn't wanna know how much worse it can get.
"Grey, this isn't the girl you came here for. I can assure you, Roach is, regretfully, correct. I brought her in last night. The paperwork..."he trails off and looks again to the prone body beneath the sheet with something of a forlorn in his expression, before turning those hounddog eyes on them both, looking between the two. "We need to leave with a body. Rothshreck we can get around as long a--" he flinched as another loud bang took place outside the room and something vibrated and fell.
Roach too, was looking between the men, tapping her foot and sucking on her upper lip. "Wells, this is frakked as frakking frakk. But ok, let's get Wendy Whossiwatsit outta here." Taking the bottom of the gurney, she assists Corpsey with heaving the body up (and not without some struggle) onto the stretcher and then moves back to the end to assist in wheeling her out. A siren begins wailing, and the vampire is stirring against the wall. It hisses. And then reaches for its chest and pulls the stake out with a wet, thwop, and heaves itself forward from the wall. Eyes like coals.
"Boys, move it." And running backwards, she begins hauling Wendy Lachance out of the morgue. "Grey, I thought you said you was a simple man with simple plans!"
"Shut up and keep going!" Shouts Corpsesnatcher, regaining his composure. "Now!"
Frak. Frak. Frak. This was supposed to be a simple job, just in and out, and instead he?s finding himself wishing for more grenades - and maybe backup. A tactical team of his own would be nice, for starters? He comes off the door he?s holding closed, pausing to kick a groaning soldier in the helmet to hush him up. ?Ah, crap inna frakkin? hat.? He starts towards where Roach and Corpsesnatcher are pushing their ill-gotten body out the door, and the vampire catches his attention. It?s almost pulled itself off the wall, and it?s staring hungrily - at the unconscious and semiconscious men on the floor.
Better them than us, he thinks, and then a pang of guilt hits him unexpectedly. Sure, they?d been trying to bash his head in - and how the hell had they gotten there that fast? - and they probably wouldn?t have shed too many tears if he?d caught a couple bullets in the melee, intended target or not. But they were humans, too, and leaving them helpless for a fiend escaped its grave doesn?t sit right with him.
?Keep goin?, I?m right behind ya!? There?s gotta be some goodies in the utility belts the SWAT cops are wearing, and he rips a couple pouches open. The contents are surprising, heavy on clear glass vials marked with holy symbols and paper packets of what looks like some kinda dust. These guys weren?t expecting a trio of human bodysnatchers, they were expecting something bigger - and probably more infernal, too. The vampire rips itself free of the stake with a wet, sucking sound - and runs, not at Grey who?s waiting for it, but after Roach and Corpsey.
?The frak? Hey! Hey, asshat, get back here!? Grey reacts instinctively, and pegs one of the vials off the back of the bloodsucker?s head. It doesn?t react well to the shattering glass or the splattering liquid, which steams and smokes as it burns like acid. The vamp whips around, its attention attracted - to the bodies on the floor. ?The frak am I, chopped liver?? Grey wonders aloud as it dives at a semiconscious cop, and gets a boot in the face. ?For the love of-?
The door that he was no longer holding shut springs back open, and the angry man in it starts shooting. Grey hits the deck as the vampire begins the danse macabre - and then, shrugging off whatever bullets it?s getting sprayed with, launches itself at the autopsy room. Grey is absolutely done with this scene, now, and he comes up off the ground like a runner leaving the starting blocks, spinning out of the room and down the hall after Roach and Corpsey. They?ve got the body loaded by the time he hits the door, and the car zooms by - barely slowing down enough for him to dive in, landing in Roachie?s lap.
It?s a landing that Joe Montana would have hollered for as he slides across her lap, legs curling in the door as again, it slams with the car?s momentum as Corpsey hurtles them out of the grounds and for the gate. Rothshreck only has a moment to work the lever to open the black gates when the car flashes by; wheels burning the asphalt. Roach is assisting Grey in getting upright in the seat - though he?s agile enough that it?s not much - while Corpsey yells out, ?Rothshreck; trust me, when I say... Run. Run now,? and the hearse is off in gloss-black thunder and tire-smoke.
?Grey, where to now? Rhy?Din Memorial?? Asks Corpsey.
Meanwhile, Roach is getting comfortable; she unbuttons her vest a little and tosses the fedora off of her head to the back and then digs into the glovebox, feeling around for tissues or some such to get the shiz off her boots and the green slime from her hands. Instead, her hand produces a ball and gag, handcuffs and a gimp mask. A slow turn to the ghoul at the wheel and then a look to Grey with ashen brows arched. ?Kinky.?
She takes one cuff in her hand and begins turning them around and around while dancing in the seat. ?Oh yeah, Corpsey. You freaky-ass ?.. freak.? A cackle as she stuffs the sexual paraphernalia back into the glove box.
?Those are not mine, blyad,? Grey mutters at Roach?s arched eyebrows, and then joins in staring at their driver - who snaps his fingers irritably.
?Focus, please, Grey. Rhy?Din Memorial??
Grey rubs his face, feeling suddenly tired even though his heart is still going a mile a minute and he?s pretty sure the adrenaline dump is going to lead him to puke. Man, I just went toe to toe with like twenty cops - a slight exaggeration - and a vampire. Blyad, this was supposed to be a simple job? But it?s still rolling, and anyway, like hell?s he gonna show weakness in front of Roach or Corpsesnatcher. Very different, but pressing, concerns for both reminding him to keep it buttoned up. He can freak out later, over booze and smokes in a nice quiet corner where nobody will hear him gibber. ?Frakk, I dunno. You?re the body-snatcher, you tell me. They were supposed to bury her yesterday afternoon, right? Where?s the most recent internment been??
?Rhy?Din Memorial it is, then,? Corpsey says in a tone of such smug satisfaction that Grey wants to throttle him. If you knew all along, you jerkoff, why phrase it as a question? Might have tried, too, if Corpsesnatcher hadn?t been driving and Roach in between them; so instead, he slumps back against the door and rubs his face again. After a moment, he looks at the cuffs she?s still twirling in her hands and bites his lip to keep from busting into a full fledged grin.
?So? you, uh, gettin? some ideas there??
He slides into her as Corpse takes a right turn, tires moaning and howling like ghosts on the wind. ?The frakk? Corpsey, this ain?t the fastest way to Memorial.?
?Oh,? Corpsesnatcher says, somewhat distantly. ?We have a quick stop to make first. Just a? drop off.?
Grey looks back at the wrapped package in the back and slowly shakes his head. ?Aw, for frakk?s sake??
?Won?t be long,? Corpsey answers in that droll, exaggerated tone as he turns the wheel and steers them through the ill-lit back roads of the city. Via canals and low bridges and to a sparse area of town that turn with sirens, howling dogs and indistinct shouts, loud thumps and bangs that may have been firecrackers, gunshots or the beat of far off dragon wings.
The hearse pulls into the cracked driveway of a house in the Ralph Haver style; something from off Mulholland that had been dropped into the ass-end of town and let fester. The plants are overgrown in front, though the lawn is manicured. The paint on the garage is in need of a new coat and the windows stare at the street with brown-tinted eyes as if downcast at the state of its facade.
?I?ll leave the keys in the ignition,? he says as he turns them and strangles the car?s moan. ?Roach, would you be so kind as to assist me with Wendy...?
He exits the vehicle with a last look at his glove box, indicating that Roach should return the cuffs she was lassoing to their home. She does so, but not without another fiendish laugh and look shared with Grey before scootching over and exiting the driver?s side after the man. A gloved hand passes over the wheel, the way one might reach for and caress a lover?s face. By the time she reaches him, the ghoul has already peeled back the rear of the vehicle. Then he motions to her to wait as he walks over to the garage and hits a hidden switch behind a bush to the side. The lights come on with a shuddering buzz in a series of epileptic flashes, sending a paranormal-white glow across the cracked concrete and lawn, so bright that Roach has an arm up to shield her eyes. ?Christ!?
?Is everything a chore for you?? He asks without interest as he returns to the back of the vehicle and starts sliding the collapsible gurney out. Roach locks the wheels in place beneath it, and together, the two push it up the driveway - one wheel squealing like a damned soul - and into the garage. She only grins at him through her grimace.
?You?re a real creep, you know that?? She brushes off her gloves and saunters back to the car, undoing her tie as she goes. She throws open the door, slams it after herself and slides on in, hands alighting on the wheel. She looks outside as the ghoul approaches the trunk to close it and stares through the open car at them.
?I?ll ask you to remove your miscreant hands from the wheel.?
?Say what, Peter?? She turns the key while draping an arm over the seat and looking back at him while a combat pressed the pedal. The beast growls in heat.
?Move over,? lowering the hatch he began to move around the side of the hearse, but she was hitting the pedal again; this time without her other boot on the brake, and the wheels spun smoke.
?Hey!? The ghoul leapt out, trying to clutch the door or her but she was angling the car onto the street. ?See ya later, asshole!?
The man runs a few paces before stopping, seeing the inevitability of what was transpiring; his arms in the air and the light from the garage silhouetting him grimly, like some sort of mad scientist watching his monster tear off into the evening; untamed and wild.
Screaming out the window, that car consumed the wind and the night and shreds her triumphant hollers as they burn the roads at demon-miles an hour, ?Yeah, motherfrakker, yeah! Light me up a smoke, gangster.? They take a corner, over the curb and nearly taking out a hydrant. ?It?s time to dig. Dig?? Tearing her tie off she throws it onto the seat between them and increases the speed.
Grey smirks as he digs his pack of Luckies out of his breast pocket and sticks two between his teeth, lighting them with a duck of his head and a flick of that trusty brass Zippo. ?Tell the truth now,? he chides as he passes one over to her. ?How much of that was because he?s a creepy frakker, and how much 'cause you wanted to drive this monster??
She gives a short, carrion crow caw as she takes it. ?About fifty-fifty.? A moment's pause. ?Maybe seventy-thirty.?
She hits the straightaway and puts the hammer down, driving them on. Like a bad omen, through the night, bound for Rhy?Din Memorial.
Adapted from live play with Roach Lee.
