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| A Memory Around the Corner; Lannikins / Mature | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 30 2008, 08:16 AM (2,221 Views) | |
| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 08:16 AM Post #1 |
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The Game the world played. Well, that whole story had driven him crazy. Crazier than Kim had driven him with all her nagging...and Nicole, oh she was a devious child, making sure to spite her father in any ways possible with her whining and complaining. Constant headaches surrounded Gabrielle, unable to stop them. Useless, defenseless. One day...Gabrielle had just snapped. Like a twig underneath a hunter's foot as he crept through the forest in search of his next victim. It'd been an exceptionally good day, but Kim had ruined it by confronting him about the creaky floorboards in the upstairs bedroom. Gabrielle had specifically warned him that he was in a tiresome mood...then Nicole came in, and everything went south. It started as a heated debate as Gabrielle sat on the couch, trying to eat the yogurt he'd gotten to tide him over until dinner. Kim was nagging about the floorboards, and Nicole was complaining that she didn't /want/ to have corned beef for dinner, as they'd decided last night. Their voices haunted him as he stared blankly ahead at the white wash walls, gritting his teeth as his fingers curled even tighter around the spoon before he stood up, wrapping his arm around Kim's neck as he pulled her close, a smirk on her face. At first, she was confused, but then, when he'd jammed the spoon into her eye socket, twisting it, she let out a blood curdling scream as he twisted her neck, breaking the fragile bones. "Daddy!" Nicole's fear had erupted from her throat as she took a step backwards, a hand shooting out to steady herself as she watched in horror as Kim dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap, her dad pulling the bloody spoon from Nicole's mother's eye socket, his eyes turning rather wild. Turning to face her as she twisted her body around, sobs now erupting from her as she scrambled away, or at least attempted to. Gabrielle had managed to catch her by the waist, dragging her back, in towards his body, before he plunged the metal spoon into the base of her neck, tearing the skin open rather easily before blood came spilling out all over him. She screamed as he pulled the spoon up, breaking the skin even more before he swung her to the side, throwing her into the wall. The blood from her neck clashed against the wall before she fell to the ground, landing ontop of her mother with a sickening thud. The room fell silent as he let out a sigh, tilting his head back, smiling. It was finally quiet, and those two would never, ever speak again. Bending over, he'd grabbed Kim (seeing as how she was on the bottom) and dragged her and Nicole from the living room, making his way past the blood spattered sofa, and down the hallway, dragging their carcasses into the bathroom before he scooped Nicole up and dropped her in the bathtub, a loud crack coming from her spine as he hoisted Kim up, dropping her in as well. The crimson liquid had already grace the sides of the tub as he pulled the shower curtain away, ripping it off the metal pole as he threw it behind him, spoon still in hand. Getting down on his knees, he reached in, stabbing Kim's chest with it as he raked it downwards, blood spilling forth as he let out a manic laughter. Once again, his day was up. It seemed like it wouldn't be down for a long time. Hours later, it seemed, the bathtub was halfway full of blood, and there were two unrecognizable lumps of carcasses, bloodied and torn apart. In all of the mess, limbs had been rearranged, heads ripped off, and bones tossed aside onto the shower curtain he'd tossed away earlier. He'd mutilated them. As far as Gabrielle Crank was concerned, he'd just reached a new status in life. No longer was he bound by the morals he'd been taught so frivolously in school and in church...no longer was he held back by the common law of the world. He'd broken free, and he was damn proud of it. Even though he was doused in the crimson blood of Kimberlee and Nicole Crank, he was as happy as could be. The physical high he'd just sent himself on from tearing them to shreds like paper was almost euphoric...addicting. The two had been the Devil's Advocates in his mind, polluting his mind with capitalist ideologies that were like repeated, agonizing deaths to him. He hated it so. The LAPD lacked the basic skills to even comprehend the level of intelligence he operated on, and in turn, they'd failed repeatedly to catch him, nonetheless even identify who he was. The most they'd gotten is who his targets were: Women and children. His game, in Los Angeles, had grown rather boring, seeing as how those Gabrielle played against weren't very good. After slaughtering twenty-five women and eighteen children, Gabrielle left for Japan. In his mind, every one of his victims was a repeat of Kim and Nicole. The two haunted him like a parasite, and in his compulsiveness, he continued to try and rid himself of every one that reminded him of the two who disturbed him the most. Gabrielle believed himself to be doing a justice for the world, really, seeing as how he'd killed off brats and whores. Who needed them anyways? Once he'd reached Japan, leaving the United States to deal with his 'heroism', his patterns stopped, his blood lust getting stronger as he began to kill anyone who stood in his way of making the world 'a better place' as he said. He took out greedy tycoons, homeless people (for fun), drug addicts, and drug dealers...all with a baseball bat. Once his victims were down and out, he'd sliced their limbs off, rearranging them to fit his likes. Once, he'd killed a pimp and a prostitute at the same time, and he'd sliced both the scrotum and the shaft off of the male, shoving the scrotum down his throat, and the shaft down the prostitute's throat. However, his most favorite, delectable killing had been the nineteen year old who'd had intercourse with her boss to gain rank on her peers. Tsk tsk, humanity never learned. What he'd done was knock her out with the bat, then tied her to an alley wall before he'd let a pack of raging, rabid, starving rottweilers on her. They'd ripped her to shreds even better than he could, tearing every piece of flesh from her bones. He swore he almost cummed his pants while he was hiding on top of the building, listening to her screams. They were...so pleasurable, enticing and delicious. By the time the rottweilers had left her, she was, well, lacking most of her flesh, eyes gone, and scalp missing, even the hair. It was oh-so fun to play God, now wasn't it? However, the Tokyo Police caught up with him a few days later after he'd done this murder, and well, he was shipped back to Los Angeles where he was incarcerated without bail. Being convicted, he spent three years in Maximum Security Prison down in Texas on death row. However, unlike the other fellow in mates of his, he didn't receive the Lethal Injection. Instead, he pulled off the impossible and make a quick escape using, what else? A spoon. He'd dug a hole (over a series of three months) and managed to escape with the old switcheroo. Earlier, he'd robbed a Walgreen's for money, scissors and hair dye. It was all part of his master plan to recreate himself so he could actually go outside and not have to move by night and, well, yeah. It was just easier. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed as he stared at himself in the mirror, fingering the now ear-length hair. He felt nostalgia, honestly. His hair had been past his shoulder blades and a honey brown. However, now it was a midnight black, and it hung down over his eyes, making him look almost completely different, but his eyes, which were a piercing blue, forced him to not forget who he was. Moving out of the bathroom, and away from the dark hair piled in the sink, he pulled his jacket over his head, forcing it down to his waist before exiting the small motel, shutting the door tightly behind him. He wasn't gonna pay for a room, nonetheless even bother to go get a key. He'd just pried the door off it's hinges an hour earlier. Mussing his hair so it stood up on it's ends, he moved out into the world, once more planning his elaborate attempts of getting himself in the papers again. There was nothing the damn Feds could do now. The very idea of them trying to catch him was almost preposterous. He'd escaped them before, and he'd just do it again. There was nothing like good disguises, but the next one would have him be bald since his hair was already pretty short now, despite his contempt for short hair. Standing in line wasn't fun either, but one has to do what one has to do, just to get where they needed to go. His eyes shifted over to a male who looked...rather worried, needless to say. Then, without warning, he'd collapsed as several people let out a gasp, a male (who by some strange stroke of luck, looked almost like him) moved over to him. Propping him up on his knee, the first thing he'd done was check the pulse. Well...that..wow. Drugs. It was most likely the cause. Everyone seemed to be doing them nowadays. The suspicious look-a-like of himself continued to hold the male up, brushing the black locks of hair from his eyes as he tilted his head up. For some reason, he hadn't spoken of what everyone would've done. He didn't ask someone to call an ambulance. Shifting back onto his heels, Gabrielle shook his head as he turned his head to a nearby woman who was still gawking. "Hey." He muttered rather abruptly, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes boring into the side of her head until she turned to look at him. "Call the ambulance." He continued before turning his eyes back down to the male. He was...so helpless...he had to ignore it. He smelt something fishy about this, to be honest, so he wasn't going to act on himself until he was sure about it. Again, he fussed with his hair, frowning as the wind came through the area, unwilling to let him keep it the way he had it. The woman nodded as she pulled out her phone, dialing the three numbers quickly before she waited for an answer. The man before them all still hadn't said a word, but he supposed it was a good thing that he looked like Gabrielle's former self. |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 09:38 AM Post #2 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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"It's your fault we get all the shit jobs, Malachi, not mine." Two sets of sharp green eyes rolled up toward the sky and the squad car continued on its path, a pair of steady, seasoned hands on the wheel to keep them on their course. It was pretty unfortunate, really, that dispatch had sent them to that particular disturbance for the night. Pearse was a menace in clubs -- somewhat of a predator when it came to the ladies -- and being so close to one could only lead to a long night of babysitting the older twin. But Malachi owed his twin far more than just his life, though he resented the fact, and was therefore obligated to take care of the male, during all of his idiotic escapades. Malachi was the smarter of the two. Pearse was merely a trigger-happy moron who somehow managed to pass all of his tests, but Malachi was the real brains of the two, and he'd originally been working in the forensic science labs with all of the real nerds. It wasn't until Pearse began getting into trouble with his gun that they called Malachi up from the damp labs to babysit his brother on the job. The qualifications for becoming a cop were far less demanding than those for becoming a CSI. Malachi felt oddly out of his element there on the field, but they'd needed someone to reel Pearse in. He was a good cop; he knew the law backwards and forwards, he could scare the shit out of a man and his aim with a pistol was amazing, but he often got a little bit carried away when it came to gunning down a runner and subduing a potentially harmful suspect. He was the brawn, Malachi was the brain, and on a good day, they were tougher to get past than any number of other teams, and perhaps that was why they'd dragged Malachi away from what he loved to babysit his idiot brother. But now, the LAPD had a new weapon at hand. Malachi had yet to be set on the case of the biggest murderer they'd had for years, and had very recently been set to work on it. Perhaps that was why the LAPD failed so hard; they often refused to put their best men on the killer cases. So now the Macfarland twins were on the case. Good thing for Los Angeles, bad thing for the newly escaped prisoner. Tokyo did a wonderful job on his capture, and it was only to be expected that the LA penitentiary system would fuck up once again. No wonder it had the highest crime rate; everyone knew they could get away with it. Malachi sighed heavily and turned off his siren as he pulled up to the curb next to the place where someone had supposedly just passed out. There was an amazing crowd there; bigger than the crowd outside Friendly Mike's when they had tequila Tuesday. and that was an impressive crowd. He parked carefully and got out of the squad car, both twins looking quite spiffy in their uniforms, both a rather intimidating height. The only real way to tell them apart was the hair length; Malachi's hair was a bit longer than his brother's. Pearse moved in first, spitting in that rough Irish brogue, "Move aside." He cleared the way, and his brother followed in the path he created, silent. When they reached the center of the storm, however, Malachi moved forward and Pearse stood back. The younger twin checked the unconscious male's vitals, then his breathing. "Well, he's alive." He stated simply. it wasn't his job to fix him or take him anywhere, so he called for an ambulance on his radio. As he did so, his eyes roamed. They found the male who appeared to be almost exactly like the one he was meant to be looking for. Longish brown hair, blue eyes, near exact facial structure. it was quite impressive, really, but Malachi didn't think like his brother. He was smarter than the cops, smarter than the CSI. A wanted man wouldn't go out in public looking exactly how he had a month ago, a year ago. No, murderers weren't like that. But he allowed Pearse to move in on the male anyway, taking him by the arm and hoisting him to his feet. "Come with me." That would be one look-alike that they didn't need to worry about, but Malachi wasn't about to be fooled that easily. He remained kneeling by the unconscious body, awaiting the ambulance, and examining the crowd slowly. And then, he found those eyes. he remembered them from prison. He remembered walking by that cell before, and seeing those piercing blue eyes. Drawing his own eyes away, he looked back down at the body before him and checked his breathing again slowly. He wasn't about to act on a hunch. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 09:47 AM Post #3 |
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The unnameable male was pulled to his feet, a bit of protesting coming from his mouth as he jerked his arm free, or at least attempted to. "What the hell, man? I didn't do anything!" Yeah, well, he hadn't, so needless to say, he wasn't lying, unless you included the acid trip he was just coming down on himself, which showed rather clearly with the bloodshot eyes. The real killer turned away, eyes having met those of the police officer (one of the identicals), his mouth tugging downward into a frown before he shoved his hands into his pocket, pulling his eyes away. He had a strange look on his face, the cop did, so he'd most likely...want to wander away. Shifting his weight, he turned on his heels, shoulders coming together behind the sweatshirt and jean jacket he wore in his attempts to 'blend in with young adult culture'. A sigh of relief swept over the crowd as they stepped back a bit, the tension leaving as the woman who called returned her phone to her purse, stepping back a bit. "Hey! Wait-!" She attempted to stop the man with the raven hair, throwing her hand out to catch his shoulder, which she did successfully. However, him being him, Gabrielle didn't like to be touched. He let out a small snarl, yanking his shoulder away before continuing on. He needed to leave the area, immediately. |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 10:03 AM Post #4 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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It was sort of Malachi's job to stay with the collapsed male until the ambulance arrived to take care of him. Pearse was busy arresting the look-alike, but Malachi's hunch got stronger quickly. The way that man turned away and attempted to hurry off was suspicious, and his negative nature toward the woman who tried to stop him was unnerving. it could be nothing more than a hunch, in which case he'd have some apologies to dole out, but if he was right, he'd personally make sure the bastard never got away again. Getting to his feet, he started after the other slowly, weaving his way through the thick crowd carefully so that nobody made much noise to give away the fact that he was following. if the male knew there was a cop coming after him, he would run, and though Malachi didn't doubt his ability to catch him, chasing people was always a pain in the ass. He could feel his heart rate increasing already, the nervousness that usually caught him setting in a little bit later than usual. One hand remained close to his hip, near his gun. It was never a bad thing to be safe. Only once did he glance over his shoulder to make sure nothing was going on with Pearse, before continuing after the other male a little ways behind him, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Though it was hard, in his police garb and all. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 10:10 AM Post #5 |
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The police garb reflected off the window as he passed a shop, eyes narrowing slightly. Glancing down at his feet, he chose his chance while running with a pair of converse on: He'd have to bypass the uncomfortableness of it. Within a brief second, he changed his pace from walk to run, taking off down the sidewalk. Sure, this was the worst thing he could've done, but he knew the alleys better than most police. He could plainly see the other male had some sort of suspicion about him, whether it was because he had his hand near his waist, which obviously had a weapon there, or because he was being followed. Either way, he needed to flee. Turning sharply, he ducked inbetween two buildings, a curse escaping from his mouth as he pushed past two homeless people, knocking them down with a flurry of curses and insults flying from them towards him. "Shit, shit shit, shitt!" He hissed under his breath, slamming himself around another corner before grabbing ahold of a fire escape latter and crawling up it as fast as he could. Maybe up would do him some good? |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 10:19 AM Post #6 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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That was it. Only someone who'd done something wrong chose to run. So even if this wasn't their guy, he had a guilty conscience. Enough to run from the police. That meant they could nail him for something else, easily. And since it was a night club, there was a pretty high chance they could get him for possession of something. It only made sense. and if they couldn't nab him for anything, Malachi would feel like an idiot, and look like an idiot, and have to do something extraordinary in order to make up for it. Not that those old-timers at the LAPD hadn't done stupid shit. he took off after the other male, his own shoes more comfortable and suitable for the situation than converse, his own legs longer, his own eyes sharper. He darted off after the suspect quickly, some part of him excited, feeling success nearby, while another part was nervous. This case was his first really huge case. He was scared. The chances of being killed if he found himself alone with this guy. if, of course, this was the right guy. Malachi followed him to an alleyway, and then... he was gone. The redhead lost him for a second, glancing about anxiously for a second, before the creak of metal above set him back on the scent. he grabbed at the ladder, hoisting himself up hurriedly. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 10:28 AM Post #7 |
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By the time he'd reached the top of the fire escape ladder, he pulled himself over onto the edge of the building, picking up the small gun that had been stashed there before he pushed it into the pocket of the jacket, then taking off towards the end of the roof. He had no guilty conscience, so to speak. He never regretted what he'd done, but he just liked running away from cops, especially curious ones. After all, this entire thing was a game to Gabrielle, each part getting more and more exciting. However, in this case, the man behind him had been an unplanned visit, something he hadn't calculated into the day's alogorithm of how to get by. So, there might have to be an untimely death for the cop. Throwing himself off the edge of the building, he leapt across, missing the roof and ending up dangling by his arms, grunting before he attempted to pull himself up. Thankfully, he had the muscles strenghth to do so as he rolled across the ground before pulling himself to his feet. His jump had been a lucky jump, therefore the cop couldn't possibly make it over. However, Gabrielle had never counted in the leniency of their shiny shoes, therefore, his deduction was off by a bit. Gasping slightly, he crawled backwards a bit, holding his left shoulder, which had been tugged out of it's socket. That wasn't a problem, so to speak, as he could dislocate any joint at any given time, but really, getting them back in was a pain in the ass. "What the hell do you want?!" He finally spoke. |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 10:41 AM Post #8 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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"I want you to turn yourself in." It was the most standard response to that question one could ever give or receive when dealing with the cops. But what else was he supposed to say? 'Quit killing people'? He just said what he was trained to say. But Malachi wasn't all about going straight by the books. Malachi liked to do things his own way sometimes too. He removed his pistol from its holster and took out the bullets from inside, replacing them with tiny capsules that burst painlessly on impact, a very small, sharp needle sliding into the skin. Inside of the needles were minuscule chips that would allow Malachi to track down whoever he needed to track if he couldn't get them on the first try. Most of his little gadgets were still works in progress, but these had so far proved to be effective. "I want you to remove all of your weapons and place them on the ground in front of you, then get to your feet, place your hands behind your head and turn around." he instructed, weapon raised and at the ready. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 10:45 AM Post #9 |
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His eyebrow rose slightly, apparently non-preturbed by the other's patient demand as he shrugged lightly, dropping his hand to the side before he stood up slowly, legs wobbling a bit. "First, how do you plan on getting over here?" He said rather harshly, a smirk playing his face as he slowly pulled the gun from his pocket, only to point it at the other. "I mean, seriously..." He blinked several times, grimacing several times as his injured arm throbbed. Gabrielle moved his feet to the edge, standing right at it as eyed the other male on the other building. Really, Gabrielle seemed to be one step a head at this moment, and he knew it could've changed at any given time. That's were the roof came in. "Besides, what'd I do?" He tilted his head slightly, a shifting his arm so his hand was resting in his pocket, not allowing his arm to dangle freely. |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 10:52 AM Post #10 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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Malachi already knew how he was going to get over there. He raised his radio to his lips and murmured a few words into it softly, so that they wouldn't make it past his hand, let alone across the space between the roofs and to the other's ears. "I have no intention of going over there." The redhead responded evenly, keeping his pistol up. "We have reason to believe you're a suspect in a current investigation. But I don't know why you'd be asking me that. If you are who I think you are, you already know what you did. and if you didn't do anything wrong, why risk falling and becoming a vegetable to get away from a cop, if you have nothing to hide?" He asked simply. "Put down your weapon, Sir, and place your hands behind your head. This is the last warning I'm going to give you. Don't make me come over there." |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 10:57 AM Post #11 |
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He let out a rather loud laugh, shaking his head. "Oh, yes, yes yes. Let's play a game, Mr. Cop." He said, pulling the gun back into his body, pulling his hand from his pocket, spinning the barrel of the gun. "Ever hear of....Russian Roulette?" He cackled, holding the gun to his head before he pulled the trigger, a loud bang echoing from the gun as he fell forward, down, down, down and down, his body crashing into overstuffed trash bags. No, he wasn't dead, but that was the miracle of blanks in a gun and having trash bags to stop you from killing yourself when you fell. Rolling himself off of the trash bags, he scrambled to his feet before tossing the gun aside and skittering out of the alleyway, assuming that no one would be there, seeing as how he hadn't heard the words spoken into the radio. |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 11:02 AM Post #12 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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The man had been wondering how Malachi intended to get over to that roof. Well, the younger twin had no intention of it, as he'd said, but his brother was more than capable of getting onto that roof. and with the other male secured in the squad car, Pearse was free to go to his brother's aid. It probably would have been better for the killer to be stuck with Malachi. Pearse was the kind of cop that got sued for police brutality, and ended up breaking limbs and snapping spines in an effort to subdue suspects; he just never realized his own strength like he ought to. The poor guy went from one twin to the other, Pearse having been on his way to sneak up behind him on the rooftop. But this was much nicer. He grinned ,recognizing Malachi's description of the man, and moved to place himself between the male and his escape route, seeing Malachi slide around a corner to block the other escape route. This time, he wasn't really hoping to risk losing the other again, so he fired a shot into the back of the suspect's knee. The thin capsule became a powder on impact, the small needle burying itself in flesh. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 11:09 AM Post #13 |
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Cursing wildyly, Gabrielle slid to a stop, whipping himself around to see the other male, apparently confused and at a lack of what to do. The male shot at him and Gabrielle expected a bullet, but it was something else instead. Of course, any foreign object entering the body would hurt. The needle pierced his skin, shocking his nerves immediately as he let out a cry, crumbling as his knee bent forward, making him collapse on the ground. Thankfully, he wasn't there for long. Growling he pushed himself to his feet. He managed to get about half way up before his nerves died on him, his leg collapsing on him, sending him forward onto the pavement, the relaxant spreading through his body as he struggled to drag himself away. He'd gotten to Pearse's feet, his entire body numb as he laid there, low murmuring escaping his lips, which too, wouldn't move. It was safe to say, these two cheated...now he'd have to kill both of them, assuming that he could figure out how when the drug wore off. "Fuff..." |
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| Lanthanide | Aug 30 2008, 11:20 AM Post #14 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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Malachi never failed to impress Pearse. Well, actually he did, but he had the ability to come up with some pretty neat crap, so his brother had to give him that, at least. Grinning wickedly, Pearse moved down to straddles the suspect's back, patting him down for weapons and removing any he found on the man, while his body was limp. "you're under arrest for murder, mate. If we find you to be innocent, we'll let you go. If we don't, you're fucked." He moved back and allowed Malachi to cuff him, before dragging the male up off of the ground and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The twins started back toward the car. Pearse glanced over at his brother and said, almost reluctantly, "You did good, kid." to which Malachi replied, "Oh fuck you, Pearse, if anyone asks you what happened you won't say shit all about me, I know you." The younger spat, before getting into the driver's seat and waiting for Pearse to chuck the limp fish in the back with the other guy. |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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| Secret Skin | Aug 30 2008, 11:27 AM Post #15 |
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Gabrielle's toe twitched inside of his shoe, a small smile sliding onto his features when the much stronger male had thrown him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to a farmer. "Fuff fu affole." he spat as best as he could, the tingling sensation beginning to fade from his legs, spreading the 'normal' feeling throughout his body. He moved his eyes to look over at the male who wasn't carrying him, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth before he swung his leg upwards, then brought it down as hard as he could on the other's back, launching himself backwards. He hit the ground with a thud, rolling onto his back before scrambling to his feet (which was much harder with his hands cuffed behind his back) as he took off a bit slow, gimping for only a second before he regained his original speed. Dear lord, his knee still hurt. He'd have to try to pick out whatever was in there. |
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8:58 AM Jul 11