vatheon | How many souls will fall from the sky

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How many souls will fall from the sky

Who: Kurloz/Jack Jeckel/Undertaker
What: The streets of Vatheon are no safe place to wander late at night.
When: Late at night on Wednesday.
Where: A side street somewhere in the bubble.
Status: Open!
Style: Prose to start, but I'll follow you.

This week, it's easy to get into trouble, wandering the streets of Vatheon late at night. Any law-abiding citizens would surely have gone to their homes by now, to avoid the dangers of being stuck in a crime-infested city at night. This particular street is almost deserted, though there is one particular pedestrian who seems entirely unconcerned with where he is, and what time it is. Maybe it has something to do with the way he's dressed, a full skeleton costume, including a skull painted onto his face.

Maybe it has to do with the skull he carries in one hand. Is it a model? Maybe. But it certainly looks real. And the way his eyes linger on everyone that passes by... there's something unsettling about him, something's just off. Whatever the case, this man doesn't seem like the type you want to look in the eye.

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"Shit..."

There's a law-abiding citizen scrambling down this particular side street, looking nervously from side to side and occasionally over his shoulder. He knows it's not a good idea to be caught out in Vatheon so late for anyone who - like him - lacks anything in the way of powers. But he got so caught up in his winning street at the arcade, he hadn't realized what time it was until the owner forcibly threw him out.

Unfortunately for the law-abiding citizen that Sollux is, the hurried pace makes him all the more noticeable. What Kurloz doesn't do is approach him directly. Not yet. Instead, he watches silently as Sollux hurries past. Then, seemingly without changing his stride, he starts following. If Sollux is paying any attention, he will hear the sounds of footsteps on pavement, echoing in the eerie way things do, in a city like this.

Sollux doesn't hear the footsteps over his own at first, but then he slowly becomes aware that what he thought was an echo, actually is a different step. He quickens his pace, his blood pusher starting to speed up.

The steps echo along with his, not increasing pace quite as quickly as Sollux's do, but never fading into the background noise, either. In fact, they're getting closer, bit by steady bit. Does Sollux dare to look behind him, to see if he's being followed?

He just can't help it. He knows someone's following, and he quickly looks over his shoulder, trying not to give into the urge to break into a run.

At first, it would be hard to see, in the dark. But the facepaint and the bones Kurloz wears on his clothing stand out even at night. There's a creepy glow gathered around his eyes, and there's no question about where his attention is- Sollux has become the Undertaker's prey.

"Oh...fuck," Sollux says under his breath as he catches sight of the creepy, face-painted guy.

He faces forward and quickens his step. On some level, he knows it's stupid to run, but on the other hand, if he can get to somewhere with people, surely he'll be safe.

Anyway, maybe he's just a mime out late. Or something. Yeah.

A mime out late who just so happens to be going in the same direction as Sollux. At the same pace as Sollux. On the same side of the street as Sollux.

Needless to say, the steps behind him speed up, even as Sollux glances back to see just who it is following him.

Okay, that's it.

Sollux breaks into a run.

The crime wave that's seem to beset this city is cause for concern for secret gadget agent Albert Heinrich. He'd taken to patrolling the streets, thwarting purse snatchers and keeping a sharp eye out for those of the criminal persuasion. You know the type. Beady eyes, furtive posture, ski masks, sometimes running off with sacks of money.

Unfortunately it seems he's lost his way down the winding streets. He pauses under a flickering street light at the mouth of a dark ally, looking left and right with an exaggerated frown. Ah, but he's in look! There's a fine, upstanding citizen who can help him! True, he's dressed as a skeleton, but he could very well be coming from a costume party. He can't possibly mean any harm; his eyes aren't beady at all!

"Excuse me, citizen! I seem to have lost my way."

Of course, a costume party. And the skull in his hand is clearly just a very clever and realistic prop. There is nothing else that it could be. He looks up at the sound of Albert's voice, a puzzled look on his face for a long moment. Being addressed as "citizen" is a novelty for him. After a moment, he cracks a smile, then goes into a dramatic bow. Of course he will be of service.

"Excellent, excellent! Could you direct me back to the heart of the city? I need to do my part to clean up these dirty streets, you understand." Yeah he is totally clueless. Honestly, Albert's entire spy career has been based solely on a ridiculously long string of good luck. By all rights he should be dead several times over because of stuff like this.

Kurloz nods, and gestures for Albert to follow him. A hero, huh? Or at least someone with pretentions of heroism. Not too important, perhaps, but he could get some use out of him. Needless to say, the direction he starts taking Albert in isn’t toward the center of the city, but toward one of the more unscrupulous corners of Vatheon.

There's someone lurking behind the Undertaker, but it's not an intimidating lurking. No, whoever this is is practically cringing in the Undertaker's shadow, like a dog following his master. He's shorter than the Undertaker, but heavier, more solid looking, and when he lifts his head to look around, he's wearing skull face paint across his features.

The face paint had been a welcome and necessary addition to this particular acquisition. There is nothing better than a conversion before a second final death, and Kurloz is more than pleased to have had the chance to take Sufferer out of the ignorant life that he used to live, and introduce him to true miracles.

The facepaint marks Sufferer as a prized acquisition, perhaps not as precious as Gamzee, but prized nonetheless. When he calls Sufferer toward him now, it's not with sharp tug of his ability, but rather simply by beckoning with a hand.

Sufferer rises, his movements jerky and stiff, and quickly comes to Kurloz's side. He keeps his head down and his eyes averted, so as to respect the true miracles of his master. "Yes, my master?" His voice is creaky and dry, very soft.

The wonderful thing about having dead minions is that with his powers, the communication with the dead he cut out his tongue for, make communication easy. “We’ve got a motherfucking job to do, brother.”

Sufferer jolts a little when the Undertaker does that, still unused to hearing voices in his head. He doesn't know if the master can hear him when he thinks at him, so he uses words instead. "Yes, my master. What do you wish of this one?"

"We're out stirring up trouble in this big motherfucking pot, my main motherfucker." Kurloz's grin is just the slightest bit malicious. "All what we were put upon to do. Get us some trouble, they asked. Ain't nothing said about what kind."

Sufferer bows his head in understanding, although he feels a faint stirring of happiness when Kurloz refers to him as his main motherfucker. He knows Gamzee is the real main motherfucker, but it's nice to pretend sometimes. Maybe when Gamzee isn't around he's the main motherfucker?

"Tell this one what to do, my master, and this one will do it. This one will stir the big motherfucking pot if that is why my master desires."

When Gamzee isn't around Sufferer is indeed the main motherfucker. But even if he isn't quite as important as Gamzee, he's pretty damn important. Kurloz wouldn't waste so much time keeping him from his second and final death, otherwise. And right now, Sufferer is certainly his partner in crime.

"Thy master desires it like fuck, my ninja. We are raising a mother fucking ruckus in this miracle city. But for that we need some brothers to get their second walk on before our Lord takes them up with a Honk."

Sufferer is able to follow that fairly well, and his red eyes glimmer as comprehension dawns. "Does my master wish for this one to go and recruit more followers to the miracles?"

He's smiling as he asks this, but it's not a nice smile. Far from it. There's something predatory behind his grin.

It's a smile much like the one on Kurloz's face, in fact.

"Go out and do some righteous motherfucking shit." It's an enthusiastic affirmative. "We'll bring a Vast Honk to crack this place in half."

"As you wish, my master." Sufferer bows low--almost overbalancing and toppling over but catching himself at the last moment--before straightening and looking Kurloz right in the eye. "This one will cause the most righteous of motherfuckin shit." He bobs his head in another awkward little bow and takes his leave. He'll be exceptionally bad at killing anyone, but he'll try!

The young woman coming down the other end of the street almost looks like a saint in comparison to him, with half of her head shaved completely and the rest of it a long tangled black mess. The leather vest with spikes on it and her tattered jeans definitely say a little more of her character- maybe she's not someone who scares easily.

Okay, make that definitely not, because she seems to stretch her mouth in a wide sharp grin filled with teeth once she's close enough to talk to the strange troll without having to yell on this quiet street.

"You smell like dead people." She taps her nose coyly. "Kinda familiar with that." Being the heiress to an alternate hellish dimension made her familiar with a lot of unpleasant things, but in this city, that experience comes in handy.

Oh? This is curious. Even when not in the middle of acts of villainy, people tend to avoid him. The vibe he gives off just drives most away. Except for people like Gamzee who have heads full of bricks in addition to being dead. Maybe it's that smell of the dead on him.

Beneath the stitches, his mouth twitches into a grin. He doesn't open it to speak, but a voice comes out nevertheless, a hissing, dry voice for the ears of the dead and the undead. "Ain't that just a motherfucking miracle?>/i>"

Avoidance is for cowards and people who don't know how to have fun. Marceline considers herself neither, and thus throws herself into reckless situations with gleeful abandon.

Vatheon may have Marceline thinking she's all demon, and restricted her powers and given her a new one, but it hasn't changed the fundamental fact that.. Yeah, she's undead. So she hears that strange whispering voice that makes her think of dark things back home and just grins all the wider, fangs resting on her lips. "The real miracle will be if you're not boring and manage to be a challenge. Or do you just like rolling around in graves?" Weirder things have happened in this city, after all.

The grin only widens. "Ain't you interesting. Motherfuck, smellsis, what rolled you out of yours? Never met one already up and walking what could hear me." He's leaning in, using his height to his advantage as he examines her. He can't think of any reason other than death that would allow someone to hear him, not after what he did to himself, but he's never encountered walking dead that weren't his or Gamzee's work. He's almost inclined to ask who raised her, but she isn't acting much like any of his zombies.

Stupid tall people. Marceline is pretty tall and lanky herself, but this guy really has her beat. Still, she holds herself up tall, not backing down even a little bit. "Don't see why I should tell you," she shoots back. "How do you plan on figuring it out?" Please tell her a fight. She's itching for one.

Being a troll can do that. He doesn't bother changing his stance, even with her standing up proud, because he doesn't need much effort in order to loom dramatically. His answer might be disappointing to her, despite his practically threatening stance. "I was all planning to ask nice, but a sister got her secrets all up over that motherfucker." He shrugs. "So maybe I'll play it honking near and dear and call for a little miracle trade."

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