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| Cat's Paw; A Noir Game of Chess | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Monday, 12. October 2015, 12:14 (281 Views) | |
| Hjorthorn | Monday, 12. October 2015, 12:14 Post #1 |
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a benevolent entity
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Chicago, November 1942. Three forces are brought against each other following the occurrence of a brutal murder. The Detective, the Deputy, and the Damsel. Each one is running from their own dark past, and each one seeks to outdo both the others. Edited by Hjorthorn, Monday, 28. December 2015, 20:29.
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| "Home is where I work, and I work everywhere." -Alfred Nobel | |
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| Hjorthorn | Monday, 28. December 2015, 20:25 Post #2 |
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a benevolent entity
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Blood trickles down a chiselled gutter in the cement floor. It weaves and splits, filling the channels to form the shape of a sun across the warehouse floor. The flow comes from a deep, fine trench circling the neck of a woman, lying naked and symmetric on the cold surface. Her face, frozen in shock, is decorated with expensive makeup that gives her the illusion of life. Red lips and bright blush hide what would be pale and cold skin. Her eyes, kept watered with saline periodically, still look bright and lively. A blade works its way along the surface of smooth skin, leaving a thin and delicate divide in its plastic surface. A gloved hand gently lifts the generous breast to ensure a flawless line. No detail could be left unfinished, no mistake could risk destroying the perfect symmetry. One small slip-up and the artist would have to start all over. All over! Weeks of preparation went into the creation of this piece. The hand gently releases the breast, letting it bounce back into place like a gentle elastic. No attention was wasted on the sex, the appeal of the canvas: that detail was for the enjoyment of the audience. Instead, the blade continues unwaveringly along the taut belly, the mountain of the hip, the smooth and slightly soft thigh, then around the hill of the knee and along the rear of the calf. Each line so laboriously drawn, taking hours to ensure perfection. This was the last of them. The blade runs along the achilles, across the heel and arch, and terminating the red line at the toe. Beautiful. The pale white of skin marked with beautiful, symmetric waves and spirals cut into the flesh. The artist packs their supplies, cleans up any loose drops or blood leaking from the line of the blade (the skin must be unblemished!), applies perfume, and adjusts a finger of the body. Then the gloved hand opens the warehouse door, walks to the lobby, dials the police, murmurs an address into the receiver, and leaves it dangling off the edge of the reception desk. News of the murder hit the pages the next morning. Chicago had seen nothing like this before. A well-to-do minor celebrity found dead, naked and decorated with intricate cuts like some kind of perverse art display. The police were hounded by countless, especially the DA: there was not a single piece of evidence to work off of. THE DEPUTY had accepted the case without even asking the details. He wonders if, perhaps, he should have done the opposite. His debt to the mafia was outstanding, and he needed the payoff from a historic case like this if he ever hoped to escape. But what a case it was! The precinct officers had cheered, clapped him on the back, said he'd be a hero for solving it. But here he stood, at the scene of the crime, with officers staring expectantly at him. There was nothing, just the woman's body and rivers of blood criss-crossing the floor. THE DETECTIVE stands outside the building. He doesn't care so much for the payment as he does the thought of being a hero -- although, the reward would be more than enough to make both him and his dealer rich. The husband of the victim had put out a substantial reward for the killer, resulting in intense police attention to the case as well as a storm of journalists and private eyes vying for a chance to get in. Chicago PD had the place locked down tight, however, and he needed to get in if he wanted a lead. THE DAMSEL stands behind THE DETECTIVE in the crowd, eyeing him. She knew full well who the killer was, and furthermore she had no intention of letting anyone catch them. Instead, she intended for this to become a cold case, for the killer to return safe and sound to her townhouse where the two could go on living in peace. But her dear killer was in a mindset, and she knew full well that these murders would continue until she found them. The man before her, though, was clearly an investigator of some kind: a notebook stuck out from his pocket, and he surveyed the area with steeled eyes and a look of determination far outshining those of the other wannabe heroes. This man would be an obstacle. But, perhaps, he could be a tool... he certainly knew more about the trade of investigating than you. Every man has a weakness. Edited by Hjorthorn, Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 10:55.
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| "Home is where I work, and I work everywhere." -Alfred Nobel | |
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| shibewrath | Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 10:02 Post #3 |
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chief officer of the meme regulation board
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THE DEPUTY pulls out a pack of Old Gold cigarettes and lights one. He takes a long drag, then exhales deeply, smoke obscuring the scene, if not just for a moment. "Damn." He mutters. Why did I take this case? He wonders, tip-toeing around the altar, cautiously avoiding the gutters filled with the deep red blood of the woman. The woman, laying there, her brown eyes staring at the ceiling emptily, yet filled with fright. The cuts contrasted with the paleness of her flesh vividly, showing major skill on the murderer's part. The Deputy could not deny that this murder was more than the standard, garden variety stabbing or shooting he so often dealt with, this looked like something out of one of those pulp magazines that his nephew enjoyed. Cult leaders, mad scientists, all fiction in those books, but again, people did not just do this regularly. He walks up to the girl, examining her. Cuts danced across her body like brushstrokes. The Deputy winces, looks away from the altar and takes another drag. On this case rode his whole life. If he screwed up, the mob would come knocking, and he wouldn't want to think about what could happen next. With a renewed burst of energy, he takes out his notepad and pencil and begins sketching out the scene. He focuses on the sun pattern on the floor filled out by the blood and the cuts made on the woman's body. |
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| insidioussocks | Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 17:25 Post #4 |
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THE DAMSEL Last week, when The Damsel shook the victim's hand and exchanged pecks on the cheek at the governor's party, she did not expect the victim to be murdered and carved out like some macabre wooden relief the very next week. She hated the poor woman's guts but she couldn't say she deserved to be murdered like that. However, she simultaneously could not blame her fiance. He had been the tortured soul type, a black hole that lured in light before consuming, full of contempt for the world, save for herself. He had been the type her family had initially frowned upon, but upon learning the sheer amount of property he owned alone, they embraced it. They shared in our hatred for their peers, those that opposed their families' empires. She wasn't sure if to be sickened or not... Yet... she didn't break her promises, ever. She would follow him to the ends of the earth... or at least, his inheritance. They had met in university in Latin class. Before he had fled the night before the alleged murder, he had written a beautiful, heartfelt, passionate letter in Latin, describing his hatred of the victim's family but also how deeply his feelings ran. She can't help but think of all the hatred-steeped conversations we'd had about the victim's family... it was too obvious. In another world, he wasn't so damned foolish. In another world, she could've run away. If he had let her in on his little plan prior... she could've talked him out of it; found a better way to threaten the competition. The early morning newspaper was not as bountiful as she would've liked — but that was perfect. she had been heartened to hear that they hadn't found nary a piece of evidence, but she didn't let it show. The face she presented to the world was a beautiful, rich, philanthropist: the glamorous face of America's elite, adorned in furs and expensive perfume. She had pieced together his disappearance with the murder... taking the emphasized words as a cue to eliminate the competition. Why not take out two birds with one stone? The first order of business would be to cover his tracks. My eyes fixates on the man in front of me. He's clothed rather lavishly, if somewhat disheveled. He gangles within his trenchcoat, all limbs and no body. She knew the type. Itching, twitching, for the next fix. An addiction echoed in the eyes of those coming back from the War, in my father's eyes, in her share of lovers... He was an officer, perhaps? No. Too well dressed. He would be assimilating into the swarm of officers rather than staring contemplatively at the building. The warehouse is slate grey, otherwise unassuming and abandoned aside from the police carefully guarding the horrors inside. "It's awful, isn't it?" She breathes in a raw but husky voice, coming up beside the man. "You're a private eye, are you not?" Edited by insidioussocks, Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 23:14.
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| TheTraveler | Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 20:47 Post #5 |
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horrible thing
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I look back at the woman behind me. She was a woman of slender, feminine stature. The kind you'd expect from a billboard advertising a line of clothing. In response to her question, I reply curtly. "Why yes, I am. Can I help you with anything? I'm sort of busy right now." I turn my attention back to the scene for a moment, looking for a blind spot the cops weren't looking at around the yellow tape. They'd adamantly refused to let me enter earlier, and no amount of convincing them could let me in. To catch a lawbreaker, you can't always stick to the law yourself. Edited by TheTraveler, Tuesday, 29. December 2015, 21:52.
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| make like the soviets and keep stalin | |
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| insidioussocks | Friday, 1. January 2016, 18:01 Post #6 |
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THE DAMSEL The Damsel's mood soured slightly at his dismissive attitude. She bit back an acidic remark, keeping her face composed into a mask of melancholy. "Detective, I..." She blinked, as if repressing tears. Her eyes flitted between her heels and the detective's eyes. The Damsel knew exactly how to worm her way into a man's heart. Manipulation was an art cultivated from childhood. "The victim was a very dear friend." A complete lie. The Damsel almost rejoiced at the headline of this morning's paper. She kept a certain honeyed fondness in her voice, as if she had known the victim. Everything the Damsel knew about the victim was passed through the grapevine, or the Damsel's extensive network of gossip over afternoon tea. Yet here the Damsel was laying no reason for her to be suspect. She appeared to be vulnerable; the farthest thing to be associated with a murderer. "... But I'm afraid there will be no justice for her." She followed the Detective's gaze towards the swarm of officers crowding outside the building. "You hear all these stories of horrors like these—" she gestured towards the building. "—and whispers of corruption in our police force, letting criminals and gangsters walk away scot-free." "Keeping that in mind, I'm assuming you were already interested in this case, but..." If the Detective could lead her down the path to the killer/her fiance, she could reunite with him. "I will pay you more than they're offering for the culprit." |
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| shibewrath | Tuesday, 5. January 2016, 18:35 Post #7 |
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chief officer of the meme regulation board
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THE DEPUTY sighs and puts away his notebook. There wasn't much he could do. Before he arrived, a crew came in and marked all available evidence and took pictures. He drops his cigarette butt on the ground and stamps it out. It occurred to him a moment after he stomped on it, that it may contaminate the crime scene. But he, nor the crew found much, and that idea stuck with the Deputy. He emerges from the warehouse door, and begins to talk to one of the other officers at the scene. His eyes gravitate to a woman, looking on to the scene with a curious yet worried look. She was slender, pale, tall, and with crimson lips befitting of a movie star. Beside her stood a man, of average height. The man looked like one that one of the boys was telling him about. Asking to get in. The Deputy had his suspicions that he might be a private eye. What would a movie star be doing here, at the crime scene of a brutal murder? The Deputy thinks. A proper lead on this case? Might be. The Deputy promptly excuses himself from his conversation and ducks under the tape. He walks over to the woman and the man and flashes his badge at them. "Hello, might I ask wast you are doing, hanging about by this crime scene here?" I ask, mildly irritated. Edited by shibewrath, Monday, 18. January 2016, 15:18.
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| TheTraveler | Wednesday, 6. January 2016, 18:56 Post #8 |
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horrible thing
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I brush of the damsel's offer. As if she could possibly match what I would get for this. Ha! That's hilarious. Once I find the guy, I'll be set for life. Might be able to afford rehab, even. I turn my attention towards the deputy, clearing my throat, trying to act polite. He was a stout man of average build, somewhat older looking. Probably one of the higher-ups on the force. He looks like he's had quite a lot of experience dealing with guys like me. This wasn't gonna be easy. But, I wouldn't just leave because he said no. I glanced over at the damsel. I had a plan. "Well, you see sir, the victim was a dear friend of my partner here, and we're hanging out around the scene, waiting to see if you find anything. She didn't want that dramatic garbage the media would feed to the public. She wanted to ask you herself what might of happened here. Have you got any idea who the killer might be?" |
| make like the soviets and keep stalin | |
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| shibewrath | Saturday, 23. January 2016, 18:56 Post #9 |
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chief officer of the meme regulation board
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THE DEPUTY chuckles, in comic shock at the Detective's frank question. "Hey, We are working on it, pal. You can't expect such things like these to be solved overnight." He says earnestly. "Say, whatcha doin round here? Have you any business regarding this terrible, terrible crime?" The Deputy asks, exasperated. "You too?" He asks, turning his attention to the lady. "Ain't something you usually see; such a lovely dame like you walking round these parts."
Edited by shibewrath, Saturday, 23. January 2016, 18:57.
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| insidioussocks | Friday, 5. February 2016, 20:45 Post #10 |
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THE DAMSEL Somewhat alarmed by the Detective's initiative, the Damsel follows along. Jumping on The Deputy's compliment, she tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear, letting her long eyelashes bat delicately. "Well, as my partner said, the Victim was a beloved friend." Her voice chokes up, faux-struggling to commit eye contact. "I just... Dear God above... I can't believe she's gone. I just want to find the bastard that did it." She ground her teeth together, the sonorous tones of her husky voice cracked by distress. "I don't know anything too particular, but the last I heard, she had met a new man...." The Damsel's voice lowers to a whisper. "Biblically... behind her boyfriend's back..." Heard it from the grape vine, tutting over tea, but knowing the Victim's past affairs, it could not be far from the truth. |
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4:33 PM Jul 10