Death of the Joker: Spirit Guide
WHO: The Joker (NPCs: Vengeful Spirit, Anderson, 2 Cops), Ciel, Tepet Sylene.
WHEN: January 26th
WHERE: Arkham Asylum - Gotham City
WHAT: Crazies, Spiritual/Magical IPA Investigators, Charlie the Choo-Choo, Vengeful Spirit, and body snatching.
Note to Admin: Tepet Sylene needs a tag, mang.
Like most nights in Gotham City, this one is dreary. The stars, obscured by a dense cloud of smog and heavy with tainted rain, are further hidden from sight from the streetlamps. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the stars are but flickering pinpoints of light peeking through and inky black sky. What little nature there is here, is twisted by shadows in this grim setting; lush trees and lawns take on a ragged, parched appearance in the colorless dark.
In a pool of yellow light, cast by a single street lamp, is a massive ironwrought gate, reinforced with thick, brick walls. On one side is a bronze plate reading "Arkham Asylum", home to the criminally insane.
Investigating this strange death was something that Ciel was interested in, to say the least. After all, it was not every day that you came across the possibility of finding a person who was able to kill by only knowing the name of his victim. Not that such a thing was actually a worry for Ciel... for several reasons, the least of which being that she always went by the code name she had been given by the Sacred Church and her ultimate employers, the Burial Agency.
The Executioner appears out of the darkness of Gotham City, dressed in her traditional black robe with it's white collar and cuffs. Raking her blue hair back along her head for a moment, she peers around for a moment - were any other IPA agents going to show up to examine this victim, or would she be alone once again here? She waits for a moment, holding a large umbrella up above her head to block the rain pouring down from up above. "Tch. This is almost like a cliché horror movie...'
Tepet Sylene has never been to Gotham, and frankly, at this rate she's not likely to want to come back.
Her silk robe and skin colouration (plus flower) make her stand out as an outsider about as much as it is possible to here. At least the weapon she brought, a small steel knife, isn't too unusual - although the gold inlay on the hilt probably is. She also has an umbrella that looks more like a parasol than anything else. It's important on a night like tonight.
Sylene walks in from somewhere down the streets, carrying a small bag in her off hand that probably contains magical paraphernalia, if her previous statements about being a magical analyst were true. She looks vaguely displeased. Blame the weather, and the job.
Ciel turns to look in Sylene's direction long before she comes into view. But she says nothing as she waits for the other 'young' woman to approach, and her lips turn downwards slightly. "Ah, you are one of the Stained then. I had wondered from your name," she comments, looking her up and down for a moment. "We gain nothing by waiting around in this disgusting weather. Let us head inside and speak with the authorities, and see what we might learn."
With that, the Executioner turns around and walks to the iron gate. She reaches out with one hand, and pushes the huge, black metallic mass aside, a long, grinding creak sounding out in response to the edifice moving aside.
Cliche, indeed, save for the lack of dramatic film-noir lightning. The gate, it seems, attempts to make up for it by creaking and loudly as possible. Far beyond is the asylum, deep shadows creating a haunted appearance, save for the presence of light within it's windows.
The front door is opened, spilling fluorescent light onto the two investigators. A man in a white lab coat with greying charcoal hair, a face that hadn't been shaved in days, and a tag that read, 'Anderson'. Behind him, a pair of Gotham Police play a bored game of cards.
"Are you the two IPA folks who came to see the body?"
"I beg your pardon?" Sylene says, one eyebrow raising just slightly. She doesn't look any happier to see Ciel than vice versa. "'Stained' is not a term we use. 'Dynast' is." She somehow doesn't think 'Prince of the World' would go over quite so well.
Her smile actually appears again once 'Anderson' shows up. "That is correct. My name is Tepet Sylene, and I'm here to do my own investigation." She is not entirely sure what Ciel's precise job is, so she leaves it out. "I hope that is not a problem?"
"So many people call themselves by names they wish to be," Ciel replies rather philosophically. She doesn't add the other part - that just because you wish to be something doesn't change the fact of what you are. She really doesn't have anything against Sylene - she's not admitted to seeking to expand her heathen religion to other planes, nor has she admitted to consorting with demon summoners. Ciel is quite happy to give her the benefit of the doubt, that she is using her nature for the betterment of others - a noble calling.
"We are here to examine the body and determine what method was used to kill the victim. If possible, we will then use this information to track down the murderer and pass judgment upon them," she replies to the investigator. "Any assistance or records that you might have would be useful - has a standard IPA forensics team come by to examine the area yet?" she adds, looking at the two police officers.
The two cops openly stare as both investigators enter. A nun and a... is that woman /green/?! Must be some superheroes from Metropolis or something. One nudges the other, whispering:
"Hey, that green girl looks like she could be The Joker's and Poison Ivy's love-child--"
"Augh, don't make me sick! I don't even wanna /think/ of the Joker... ugh, /spawning/."
The two of them fall silent, visibly attempting to banish the image from their minds. Even in death, The Joker seems to conjure feelings of revulsion in most citizens. Anderson, however, smiles and nods sleepily to Sylene, apparently failing to notice their appearance completely. Also, he seemed to be the only one in the room that failed to notice, or give any indication of noticing, the tension that was brewing between the two investigators. The two cops tried their best not to stare, but each secretly began to wonder if a fight would break out.
"Well, I hope you ladies don't mind sharing time with the body tonight. Arkham is planning on opening him up for studies soon." They wanted to study what made him who he was, identify his true origins and how to avoid another mistake like The Joker in the future.
Anderson led the way down the hall, rummaging in his coat pocket for what sounded like a set of keys. "Docs say that he suffered a major heart attack. Very sudden. He was watching TV, all snug in his little jacket and just like that --" He snapped his fingers sharply, a moment of silence underlining the unspoken conclusion. In the far distance, voices moaned within their cells.
Tepet Sylene is very good at ignoring staring cops - or staring anyone else, for that matter. It's something you get used to when you're a sorcerer, or you go insane. Sylene is not insane. Ciel only grates a little more because she's right there, and Sylene has to work with her.
She closes the umbrella as she enters. "I would just assume see it opened," Sylene says, "as I was going to ask permission to do so myself. If you'd rather have your designated man do it, of course that is acceptable to me." She follows without complaint, shoes ringing against the floor.
As she walks, Sylene opens herself up a bit mentally, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small hand mirror. She does not actually look into it, but she seems slightly more pleased to have it - even if juggling the umbrella, the bag, AND the mirror is a little difficult.
Anderson nods, "Well, we'd have to wait for our guy to show up... can't start slicing until we get all the official people involved. I hope you understand... but you're both welcome to stay for it!" He smiled hungrily, "I'm stayin' myself -- I can't pass up on an opportunity to see the Joker dead -- REALLY dead."
The mortician halted in the middle of the hallway, looking now at Ciel. His eyes hesitated on the instruments she bore, "Poltergeists? Not that I know of... oh! Don't let these guys scare you. They're all locked up tight. The ones who get too out of control will be sedated soon enough." He smirked, then kept walking, picking keys from one side of a keyring to another.
One's spiritually-attuned senses, however, would see one young woman through a large plate glass window, shrieking and swiping about her head... where the illusion of riverlets of blood run down the walls of her padded prison. The image fades in a blink of the eye, but the woman's frantic screams remain.
Anderson continued, "If you ask me, I think it was murder-suicide. The Joker's always been good at those tricks... being a geneticist and engineer and all that. He probably infected his guys and himself with a virus or something." He turned to the women, extending his arms out imploringly, "I mean, how else would those guys've all died at once? I think this whole 'Kira' thing is a load of bull." Of course, for those in Gotham who still have a hard time wrapping their minds around there being other worlds -- more than they could ever dream of -- this 'Kira' remained nothing more than rumor. Who could have such power?
Tepet Sylene does not, actually, have spirit sight quite as freely as, say, Ciel does. She has a mirror. She can see the reflections of ghosts in the mirror, even when she can't see them herself. That's why she's tilting it left and right occasionally, apparently.
Her lips purse slightly. She didn't recognize all of Anderson's words, but she got most of them. "I could name a few ways to do it," Sylene says. "Magic could do it, with the proper spell; I wouldn't want to be the one attempting to invoke it, but it is possible. Disease, as you said, or plague. A demon that cannot be seen by mortals."
Blind, as many people were in her home plane. Ciel was from a plane that was commonly considered to be '20th century'. Many people were not aware of the supernatural, mainly thanks to the efforts of the Church, the Magi Association, and the Death Apostles themselves. Not to mention the natural disbelief that many doctors have in such things. That doesn't mean that they don't exist, and Ciel frowns for a moment, looking over at the young woman and the strange visions she is receiving. Hmph - she would have to have a team come by and look at this place, if possible.
"We will know better the cause after we have seen the body. Abet, even such a terrible man might well have his own issues. Let us see him, and perform what rights we must to determine what we will," Ciel comments, waiting for Anderson to show them the corpse.
"Wow, I didn't think the IPA would send some spiritual investigators. You sound like ghost-hunters or something, does the IPA really think that maybe... maybe he was a demon or something? Man... that would explain a /lot/."
Anderson nodded to a large metal door and inserted a key. A large handle, like one of those old refridgerator handles of metal, was pulled back and a chill cloud of air poured out. It smelled of formaldehyde and stale ice.
"After you." The mortician offered, opening the door wide for the two.
Tepet Sylene props up her umbrella in the hallway because she doesn't want to keep carrying it around while using all her other tools. "I don't know if he /was/ a demon," Sylene says seriously, "but he may have had access to one - or it may be what killed him."
She uses the mirror to look into the room first. It reflects, as well as the physical world, spirits and ghosts and demons; Sylene sees no reason not to be sure she's not walking into a trap /before/ she goes. "And regardless, I am also a trained medical professional, so I could help with other things."
Ciel walks into the room without a word, although she is keeping her eyes open for anything unusual around here. There isn't too much that she isn't expecting, but at the same time... she's hoping that dead is dead here. It would be a terrible pain to kill someone all over again to have a chance to look at them just because they had been brought back to life by some strange means, after all.
"Did the Joker receive any visitors before his death?" she asks curiously, walking into the morgue and looking around. So which one is the subject? With a name like the Joker, he was probably rather distinctive.
Anderson, staying behind both women and peering curiously at the mirror as it swept the room before them, waited patiently until they were satisfied before following them in. He seems to relax when he hears that Sylene is a medical professional.
"Visitors? Well, I'm not sure... but we've got a log book and tapes from our security feed here. You're welcome to check those out after we're done here -- just ask the P.D. out front." Those two cops playing cards, he means.
A wall of square doors, some empty except for the bare metal tray awaiting a fresh occupant, others already locked with a nametag revealing the identity of whoever was inside. One, was named simply, "The Joker". Each door had a lock and the greying mortician began to pick through his massive keyring for the right one.
"Here we are..." He slid the key, it's pristine condition betraying the installation of fresh locks to secure their 'guest', into the handle and pulled it. The door swung open and a metal tray, long enough to fit your average adult's body easily, rolled out into the middle of the cold room.
...but the body was gone.
Ciel is the better investigator here, Sylene thinks. She's just the technical sort. Maybe it's best to let Ciel ask the policeman questions while she gets to actual looking around.
She wishes it wasn't so /cold/ in here though. Sylene shivers, wishing she had a thicker robe on, as she moves closer while he works to unlock the door.
There is nothing inside. This seems to surprise Sylene. "...did somebody take the /body/?" she asks, startled.
"N-no one was supposed to move it! The staff was going to come /here/ to get it---oh my god, I'm going to get fired for this!" The man begins to panic, sweating dispite the chill in the room. He turned to Sylene first, looking pale, then stared dumbfounded at his key.
Looking up with wide eyes, the man replied to Ciel, "No! No one except myself and whoever is on shift has the key, but those two cops keep us under close watch..." He brightens up, then continues, "The video! It's only been a few days, so it should be easy to see who came in and out!" Anderson made for the door, almost dropping the keys with excitement.
Then the room got much colder, coupled with a rough, husky giggle. The disembodied laughter echoed in the room as if it traveled down a long hall. For those used to this sort of thing, something wicked this way comes.
"Please let us know as soon as possible," Sylene says, actually stucking the mirror /inside/ the cabinet where the body should be. No ghost in there specifically, but she can feel something in the area...
And that something is getting stronger. Sylene had been willing to chalk it up to her nerves for a few seconds. Now, not so much. Sylene holds the mirror up to the room at large, dropping her bag and pulling out her steel saber. "Ciel," she says, "I realize you may not like me, but please listen: watch out."
"...sigh. Another day..." Ciel comments, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out three of her Black Keys. "And another piece of weirdness - are you able to defend yourself, Sylene?" The long, slender blades are held one between each of her fingers, the abbreviated hilt's pressing into her palm. The Executioner turns and tosses her satchel onto the morgue table tray, digging inside and pulling out a pair of small packets with her free hand.
The first Ciel tears open with her teeth, and the contents are tossed against the wall. It looks like a mixture of some sort of dirt and salt, and it spreads out along the line of the wall. "You - back against that wall," she says, turning and pushing Anderson up against that section of the wall. The second packet is torn open, and the Executioner shakes it on the ground, creating a line of salt and holy soil on the ground around the poor Arkham employee.
"Stay inside of here - it should protect you from whatever this is for a time," she states, before spinning around. "Get ready... its coming!"
The cool air remained, and the laughter reached a painfully loud level before it ceased completely. Anderson, seemed frozen in his tracks, facing away from the women. Then, he spoke. His voice was strained, filled with hatred, tinged with madness. There was his voice, mild and weak -- playing backup to a louder, more sinister one. Clearly, the man was possessed.
Back up against the wall? "I think I'd rather not, girly." No, it reeked of something sacred... pure and he knew it would feel like fire. Anderson pushed away from it, moving too quickly and with far too much force for his own physique. He wanted AWAY from that stuff. As soon as he had been forced to the wall, he seemed to appear at the other side.
He had been haunting this place for years. In life, he was put here after killing 19 nuns and arranging their bodies like tracks, drawing a huge train in blood. He was found screaming over and over again, "Express number 19 is coming to town! Charlie the choo-choo! CHARLIE THE CHOO-CHOO! CHOO-CHOO! Hahahahaaha!" Arkham was his home for 19 years before he used a smuggled nail to end his miserable existance. He wasn't from Gotham initially, but since those Gates came, he found himself there. He just felt like leaving.
However, the women here... something about them pulled him here. Pulled him from between the planes of existance to taste their blood.
"Charlie... hahaha. He's coming to toooown~" He lept for Ciel first, intending to punch her right between the eyes.
Tepet Sylene turns her back on Anderson entirely, especially after she guesses he's possessed.
This seems like a very stupid thing to do, but she is using her mirror to look backwards so that she can still see him. It's a small hand mirror, but Sylene is experienced in using it to stare at ghosts and thus isn't at as much as a disadvantage as she might otherwise be.
Trusting Ciel to take care of herself for a few moments, Sylene takes a deep breath, holds it, and then screams, a high-pitched and rather penetrating sound. To living beings it is just annoyingly loud. To ghosts, spirits, and other beings, it forces them to stay materialized, preventing them from teleporting or walking through a wall - and, perhaps more usefully, making even normal weapons have an effect on them. That would be more useful if he was exorcised, but she can prepare for the future.
She is also surrounded by a vaguely shimmering field of green against her skin. It glitters slightly but is nearly invisible.
Hmph - how fitting, that this absent minded fool would happen to be the source of this trouble. The Executioner holds up the Black Keys as she hears the initial refusal of the man to allow himself to be protected. And his transformation - it was unsettling. A blood drenched, deranged soul - a man who took pleasure in the deaths of others. Certainly as much of a monster in the guise of a man. "...in the name of Almighty God, I pass judgment upon you, monster. You will be cast from the ramparts, and destroyed utterly. Not a trace of you shall remain - such souls deserve naught but oblivion."
The scream from behind her is unexpected, and it distracts Ciel for a moment - enough time for the ghost to leap at her, spinning his hand forward to strike her. Or to attempt to strike her at least - the Executioner leans to the side, the punch parting her hair as she evades the blow. She weaves back for a moment, and then brings her free hand forward, holding the small amount of salt and sand from the packet in the palm of her hand. It's an open handed blow, and the sacred, blessed powder in her hand will probably burn if she strikes the spirit with it.
The possessed Anderson freezes just as his blow is dodged by the agile Ciel, gritting his teeth against the scream. His face contorts with fury and pain even before the blessed strike connects with his chest. There is an unearthly howl of agony, as a palm-print singes itself on his pristine white coat, smoldering where her attack struck true.
The ghost practically slid backwards, away from Ciel. Instead, he attempted this time to attack the source of the scream, mistakenly thinking that the woman was vulnerable with her back to him. He opened his mouth, intending to claw with his nails and chew ravenously with his host's teeth.
Tepet Sylene is mildly vulnerable; that mirror can't be pointed everywhere, but it lets Sylene use her full array of spirit-related powers, which is really more important than taking a scratch.
As it turns out, it's a bit more than a scratch; the nails rake along her shoulder and yank at her robe, while the teeth dig into her shoulder. She gasps, as much from shock than real pain; it's been a long time since she's been attacked by angry cannibalistic (well, sort of) humanoids. Still, it gets her close in, which she needs.
Sylene reaches behind her, the green glow around her intensifying and being shot through with specks of pink and purple and blue, and attempts to grip the possessed Anderson and the ghost inside him. This time it's not to ground him - it's to literally chain him in place, spectral ropes of nonphysical vine (except to the ghost, or to the possessed) peeling out of her anima banner and attempting to loop around him.
"Stay away, or at least don't touch," she warns Ciel, being on the verge of a full flux, something she wishes she could avoid but doesn't have much of a choice in at the moment.
Ciel watches as the ghost leaps away for a moment, and narrows her eyes. "Don't think that you're going to escape that easily," she challenges the spirit, and its host as well. The three Black Key blades in her right hand flash about, and she sends all three of them launching right towards Anderson's back. The weapons are designed with one purpose in mind - they return things to their natural state. For a vampire, or other undead, this is death - for a mortal, it's merely a painful stab wound, but not fatal from where Ciel is aiming.
And if she can lodge those blades into Anderson's shoulder, they will immediately begin unraveling from the hits, looking like pieces of paper peeling away, before finally leaving only a glowing rune in the place where they had plunged into the man.
And then the spirit will suddenly find itself being violently evicted from Anderson's body - something that will no doubt distract it significantly, unless it is much stronger than Ciel is expecting.
Anderson is bound in chains, the bloodied mouth of the human host grimacing in pain and pleasure -- clearly enjoying the damage it has inflicted. However, it's victory is short-lived. The spirit is outmatched -- even with the power that comes with such hate and madness, the ghost cannot resist the strong command these two possess over the supernatural.
Anderson slumps to the ground, while a shadow remains chained in his place. It laughs in a raspy voice, but is beaten. In life, he seemed scrawny, short and unattractive. With no small amount of fear, he shrieks and struggles in vain in his new prison.
"Charlie's not here! He went away! He's gone! ALL ABOARD!" Seems like he's ready to talk.
Tepet Sylene turns back, the glow around her radiating perhaps a yard from her body, the specks of colour in the green resolving into long, trailing vines with brilliantly, almost impossibly-coloured flowers. They're spectral, and vaguely transparent - but they keep moving, apparently constantly writhing and growing, and the floor under and around Sylene's feet is starting to rasp away slowly and surely.
That must be why she said 'don't touch'.
Sylene sets the mirror on the ground, making sure she can still see it. "Where did you come from, and why are you here?" she asks, very straightforward. Ghosts tend to be stupid, from what she knows; she's no necromancer and doesn't call them for conversations regularly.
Ciel pulls back one hand behind the ghost - one hand already with a Black Key in it. In fact, it's only at the last moment, when Sylene starts talking, that she pauses. She doesn't relax or change her posture, but she doesn't run her weapon through the ghost either. Nothing is said on her part - after all, Sylene has asked the first question, and she is more than willing to give her time to ask what questions. Ask away, and hurry. She's not sure how long it's going to take before this thing starts trying to break free of it's restraints.
"I came from your mother's, b****!" The green vines, the vibrant foliage... it was all too /pure/. The ghost writhed in it's restraints, trying in vain to avoid the growth. He gasped for air he didn't need and wailed.
"NEW YORK! I came from New York!" The ghost screamed again. "Please don't hurt meeeee! I'll tell you anything!"
The anima flux was not at the point that it could seriously hurt people (or ghosts) standing near her, at least not instantaneously; it's a slow, gradual process.
That said, Wood does represent Life on Creation, and Sylene is not in the least going to object if its presence cows a ghost into submission. "Classy," she says, "very classy," as she takes half a step forward. A different patch of ground starts to be rasped away by the constant motion of the vines over it. She has not /quite/ put the ghost inside its area of effect, but it's very near. "Were you sent or did you come here on your own? - Ask questions," she adds to Ciel, "as I doubt it will resist. And if it does, well, I will destroy it. It is chained. I do not think I will have a problem."
She may be bluffing for the ghost's benefit.
"There is only one important question that must be asked," Ciel replies to Sylene. She looks at the ghost for a long moment, and adds her own question. "What happened to the man called The Joker? Where is his body, or did he even die in the first place?" she demands of the squirming, writhing thing in front of her. There is little else that needs to be said on her part. She came for answers, and if this ghost gives them to her, she is more than willing to take them before she performs the rest of her investigation.
On the other hand, Sylene might find her words to be a bit of a problem soon. Certainly she is willing to threaten the ghost with destruction - but what is the point of giving out a threat if you are unwilling to follow up on it?
"I came, I came on my own! I died here... long ago. Opened my neck, I did -- allowed the train of red to rush out. CHOO CHOO! CRASH!" He giggled at the memory, as faded and clouded with hate as it was,
"I know the secret of 19."
Huh? They wanted to know about a joker? But he had the secret of 19! "The Laughing Man, he's gone. They put him in the closet." His head jerked toward the table. "I would have thought Charlie would have come for him, but a man in a white coat came instead." The ghost looked nervously around him and wailed again, he didn't want the green vines near him! In his mind, they sang like roses!
"He's gone! Let me go!"
Tepet Sylene looks at Ciel. She's asked most of the questions she needed to. The ghost is not terribly helpful, but he wasn't set here; he's a native of Arkham.
Well, as 'native' as any of them are. Perhaps Sylene should come back here sometime, possibly with Fals.
Regardless, she says, "Then we can send you back to where you deserve to go." She doesn't explain herself before she just lets her anima flux flare out a little more, intensifying with the 'waste' of Essence; the rasping of the flowery vines on the walls and floor becomes much faster and much more intense, and Sylene is surrounded by a very strong smell of flowers.
Unfortunately, there is now a minor difference of opinion regarding 'where' this spirit deserves to go. Whatever Sylene has in mind... is not the same thing as what Ciel has in mind. "Did you forget, spirit?" she asks. "You were judged, and you were found disgraceful in the sight of God. Begone."
And the Executioner thrusts the Black Key through the spirit's head, sliding it all the way in to the hilt. And with that, she twists it around, and drags the blade straight down to the floor below.
If Sylene doesn't step in to stop her at least, the motion will split the spirit in twain - and cause it to begin unraveling, dissolving into total non-existence. Not heaven, nor even hell, is the judgment of the burial agency. Just non-existence, a total end to everything.
"What?! NO! Let me go! I wanna ride the TRA--AAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!"
The spirit wails as a line bisects it's form, his two halves slipping before disintegrating before the plantlike aura. The air becoming notably warmer, the exorcism and spirtual magic banishing the unearthly chill. Once the two of them send Charlie's little worshipper to the afterlife, the room is still and quiet.
Anderson groans, but remains unconscious.
There is a peace now at Arkham, at least spiritually for now... but there's still the matter of this mysterious man who stole the cadaver... what did the video have to tell them?
WHEN: January 26th
WHERE: Arkham Asylum - Gotham City
WHAT: Crazies, Spiritual/Magical IPA Investigators, Charlie the Choo-Choo, Vengeful Spirit, and body snatching.
Note to Admin: Tepet Sylene needs a tag, mang.
Like most nights in Gotham City, this one is dreary. The stars, obscured by a dense cloud of smog and heavy with tainted rain, are further hidden from sight from the streetlamps. Here, on the outskirts of Gotham, the stars are but flickering pinpoints of light peeking through and inky black sky. What little nature there is here, is twisted by shadows in this grim setting; lush trees and lawns take on a ragged, parched appearance in the colorless dark.
In a pool of yellow light, cast by a single street lamp, is a massive ironwrought gate, reinforced with thick, brick walls. On one side is a bronze plate reading "Arkham Asylum", home to the criminally insane.
Investigating this strange death was something that Ciel was interested in, to say the least. After all, it was not every day that you came across the possibility of finding a person who was able to kill by only knowing the name of his victim. Not that such a thing was actually a worry for Ciel... for several reasons, the least of which being that she always went by the code name she had been given by the Sacred Church and her ultimate employers, the Burial Agency.
The Executioner appears out of the darkness of Gotham City, dressed in her traditional black robe with it's white collar and cuffs. Raking her blue hair back along her head for a moment, she peers around for a moment - were any other IPA agents going to show up to examine this victim, or would she be alone once again here? She waits for a moment, holding a large umbrella up above her head to block the rain pouring down from up above. "Tch. This is almost like a cliché horror movie...'
Tepet Sylene has never been to Gotham, and frankly, at this rate she's not likely to want to come back.
Her silk robe and skin colouration (plus flower) make her stand out as an outsider about as much as it is possible to here. At least the weapon she brought, a small steel knife, isn't too unusual - although the gold inlay on the hilt probably is. She also has an umbrella that looks more like a parasol than anything else. It's important on a night like tonight.
Sylene walks in from somewhere down the streets, carrying a small bag in her off hand that probably contains magical paraphernalia, if her previous statements about being a magical analyst were true. She looks vaguely displeased. Blame the weather, and the job.
Ciel turns to look in Sylene's direction long before she comes into view. But she says nothing as she waits for the other 'young' woman to approach, and her lips turn downwards slightly. "Ah, you are one of the Stained then. I had wondered from your name," she comments, looking her up and down for a moment. "We gain nothing by waiting around in this disgusting weather. Let us head inside and speak with the authorities, and see what we might learn."
With that, the Executioner turns around and walks to the iron gate. She reaches out with one hand, and pushes the huge, black metallic mass aside, a long, grinding creak sounding out in response to the edifice moving aside.
Cliche, indeed, save for the lack of dramatic film-noir lightning. The gate, it seems, attempts to make up for it by creaking and loudly as possible. Far beyond is the asylum, deep shadows creating a haunted appearance, save for the presence of light within it's windows.
The front door is opened, spilling fluorescent light onto the two investigators. A man in a white lab coat with greying charcoal hair, a face that hadn't been shaved in days, and a tag that read, 'Anderson'. Behind him, a pair of Gotham Police play a bored game of cards.
"Are you the two IPA folks who came to see the body?"
"I beg your pardon?" Sylene says, one eyebrow raising just slightly. She doesn't look any happier to see Ciel than vice versa. "'Stained' is not a term we use. 'Dynast' is." She somehow doesn't think 'Prince of the World' would go over quite so well.
Her smile actually appears again once 'Anderson' shows up. "That is correct. My name is Tepet Sylene, and I'm here to do my own investigation." She is not entirely sure what Ciel's precise job is, so she leaves it out. "I hope that is not a problem?"
"So many people call themselves by names they wish to be," Ciel replies rather philosophically. She doesn't add the other part - that just because you wish to be something doesn't change the fact of what you are. She really doesn't have anything against Sylene - she's not admitted to seeking to expand her heathen religion to other planes, nor has she admitted to consorting with demon summoners. Ciel is quite happy to give her the benefit of the doubt, that she is using her nature for the betterment of others - a noble calling.
"We are here to examine the body and determine what method was used to kill the victim. If possible, we will then use this information to track down the murderer and pass judgment upon them," she replies to the investigator. "Any assistance or records that you might have would be useful - has a standard IPA forensics team come by to examine the area yet?" she adds, looking at the two police officers.
The two cops openly stare as both investigators enter. A nun and a... is that woman /green/?! Must be some superheroes from Metropolis or something. One nudges the other, whispering:
"Hey, that green girl looks like she could be The Joker's and Poison Ivy's love-child--"
"Augh, don't make me sick! I don't even wanna /think/ of the Joker... ugh, /spawning/."
The two of them fall silent, visibly attempting to banish the image from their minds. Even in death, The Joker seems to conjure feelings of revulsion in most citizens. Anderson, however, smiles and nods sleepily to Sylene, apparently failing to notice their appearance completely. Also, he seemed to be the only one in the room that failed to notice, or give any indication of noticing, the tension that was brewing between the two investigators. The two cops tried their best not to stare, but each secretly began to wonder if a fight would break out.
"Well, I hope you ladies don't mind sharing time with the body tonight. Arkham is planning on opening him up for studies soon." They wanted to study what made him who he was, identify his true origins and how to avoid another mistake like The Joker in the future.
Anderson led the way down the hall, rummaging in his coat pocket for what sounded like a set of keys. "Docs say that he suffered a major heart attack. Very sudden. He was watching TV, all snug in his little jacket and just like that --" He snapped his fingers sharply, a moment of silence underlining the unspoken conclusion. In the far distance, voices moaned within their cells.
Tepet Sylene is very good at ignoring staring cops - or staring anyone else, for that matter. It's something you get used to when you're a sorcerer, or you go insane. Sylene is not insane. Ciel only grates a little more because she's right there, and Sylene has to work with her.
She closes the umbrella as she enters. "I would just assume see it opened," Sylene says, "as I was going to ask permission to do so myself. If you'd rather have your designated man do it, of course that is acceptable to me." She follows without complaint, shoes ringing against the floor.
As she walks, Sylene opens herself up a bit mentally, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small hand mirror. She does not actually look into it, but she seems slightly more pleased to have it - even if juggling the umbrella, the bag, AND the mirror is a little difficult.
Anderson nods, "Well, we'd have to wait for our guy to show up... can't start slicing until we get all the official people involved. I hope you understand... but you're both welcome to stay for it!" He smiled hungrily, "I'm stayin' myself -- I can't pass up on an opportunity to see the Joker dead -- REALLY dead."
The mortician halted in the middle of the hallway, looking now at Ciel. His eyes hesitated on the instruments she bore, "Poltergeists? Not that I know of... oh! Don't let these guys scare you. They're all locked up tight. The ones who get too out of control will be sedated soon enough." He smirked, then kept walking, picking keys from one side of a keyring to another.
One's spiritually-attuned senses, however, would see one young woman through a large plate glass window, shrieking and swiping about her head... where the illusion of riverlets of blood run down the walls of her padded prison. The image fades in a blink of the eye, but the woman's frantic screams remain.
Anderson continued, "If you ask me, I think it was murder-suicide. The Joker's always been good at those tricks... being a geneticist and engineer and all that. He probably infected his guys and himself with a virus or something." He turned to the women, extending his arms out imploringly, "I mean, how else would those guys've all died at once? I think this whole 'Kira' thing is a load of bull." Of course, for those in Gotham who still have a hard time wrapping their minds around there being other worlds -- more than they could ever dream of -- this 'Kira' remained nothing more than rumor. Who could have such power?
Tepet Sylene does not, actually, have spirit sight quite as freely as, say, Ciel does. She has a mirror. She can see the reflections of ghosts in the mirror, even when she can't see them herself. That's why she's tilting it left and right occasionally, apparently.
Her lips purse slightly. She didn't recognize all of Anderson's words, but she got most of them. "I could name a few ways to do it," Sylene says. "Magic could do it, with the proper spell; I wouldn't want to be the one attempting to invoke it, but it is possible. Disease, as you said, or plague. A demon that cannot be seen by mortals."
Blind, as many people were in her home plane. Ciel was from a plane that was commonly considered to be '20th century'. Many people were not aware of the supernatural, mainly thanks to the efforts of the Church, the Magi Association, and the Death Apostles themselves. Not to mention the natural disbelief that many doctors have in such things. That doesn't mean that they don't exist, and Ciel frowns for a moment, looking over at the young woman and the strange visions she is receiving. Hmph - she would have to have a team come by and look at this place, if possible.
"We will know better the cause after we have seen the body. Abet, even such a terrible man might well have his own issues. Let us see him, and perform what rights we must to determine what we will," Ciel comments, waiting for Anderson to show them the corpse.
"Wow, I didn't think the IPA would send some spiritual investigators. You sound like ghost-hunters or something, does the IPA really think that maybe... maybe he was a demon or something? Man... that would explain a /lot/."
Anderson nodded to a large metal door and inserted a key. A large handle, like one of those old refridgerator handles of metal, was pulled back and a chill cloud of air poured out. It smelled of formaldehyde and stale ice.
"After you." The mortician offered, opening the door wide for the two.
Tepet Sylene props up her umbrella in the hallway because she doesn't want to keep carrying it around while using all her other tools. "I don't know if he /was/ a demon," Sylene says seriously, "but he may have had access to one - or it may be what killed him."
She uses the mirror to look into the room first. It reflects, as well as the physical world, spirits and ghosts and demons; Sylene sees no reason not to be sure she's not walking into a trap /before/ she goes. "And regardless, I am also a trained medical professional, so I could help with other things."
Ciel walks into the room without a word, although she is keeping her eyes open for anything unusual around here. There isn't too much that she isn't expecting, but at the same time... she's hoping that dead is dead here. It would be a terrible pain to kill someone all over again to have a chance to look at them just because they had been brought back to life by some strange means, after all.
"Did the Joker receive any visitors before his death?" she asks curiously, walking into the morgue and looking around. So which one is the subject? With a name like the Joker, he was probably rather distinctive.
Anderson, staying behind both women and peering curiously at the mirror as it swept the room before them, waited patiently until they were satisfied before following them in. He seems to relax when he hears that Sylene is a medical professional.
"Visitors? Well, I'm not sure... but we've got a log book and tapes from our security feed here. You're welcome to check those out after we're done here -- just ask the P.D. out front." Those two cops playing cards, he means.
A wall of square doors, some empty except for the bare metal tray awaiting a fresh occupant, others already locked with a nametag revealing the identity of whoever was inside. One, was named simply, "The Joker". Each door had a lock and the greying mortician began to pick through his massive keyring for the right one.
"Here we are..." He slid the key, it's pristine condition betraying the installation of fresh locks to secure their 'guest', into the handle and pulled it. The door swung open and a metal tray, long enough to fit your average adult's body easily, rolled out into the middle of the cold room.
...but the body was gone.
Ciel is the better investigator here, Sylene thinks. She's just the technical sort. Maybe it's best to let Ciel ask the policeman questions while she gets to actual looking around.
She wishes it wasn't so /cold/ in here though. Sylene shivers, wishing she had a thicker robe on, as she moves closer while he works to unlock the door.
There is nothing inside. This seems to surprise Sylene. "...did somebody take the /body/?" she asks, startled.
"N-no one was supposed to move it! The staff was going to come /here/ to get it---oh my god, I'm going to get fired for this!" The man begins to panic, sweating dispite the chill in the room. He turned to Sylene first, looking pale, then stared dumbfounded at his key.
Looking up with wide eyes, the man replied to Ciel, "No! No one except myself and whoever is on shift has the key, but those two cops keep us under close watch..." He brightens up, then continues, "The video! It's only been a few days, so it should be easy to see who came in and out!" Anderson made for the door, almost dropping the keys with excitement.
Then the room got much colder, coupled with a rough, husky giggle. The disembodied laughter echoed in the room as if it traveled down a long hall. For those used to this sort of thing, something wicked this way comes.
"Please let us know as soon as possible," Sylene says, actually stucking the mirror /inside/ the cabinet where the body should be. No ghost in there specifically, but she can feel something in the area...
And that something is getting stronger. Sylene had been willing to chalk it up to her nerves for a few seconds. Now, not so much. Sylene holds the mirror up to the room at large, dropping her bag and pulling out her steel saber. "Ciel," she says, "I realize you may not like me, but please listen: watch out."
"...sigh. Another day..." Ciel comments, reaching into her sleeve and pulling out three of her Black Keys. "And another piece of weirdness - are you able to defend yourself, Sylene?" The long, slender blades are held one between each of her fingers, the abbreviated hilt's pressing into her palm. The Executioner turns and tosses her satchel onto the morgue table tray, digging inside and pulling out a pair of small packets with her free hand.
The first Ciel tears open with her teeth, and the contents are tossed against the wall. It looks like a mixture of some sort of dirt and salt, and it spreads out along the line of the wall. "You - back against that wall," she says, turning and pushing Anderson up against that section of the wall. The second packet is torn open, and the Executioner shakes it on the ground, creating a line of salt and holy soil on the ground around the poor Arkham employee.
"Stay inside of here - it should protect you from whatever this is for a time," she states, before spinning around. "Get ready... its coming!"
The cool air remained, and the laughter reached a painfully loud level before it ceased completely. Anderson, seemed frozen in his tracks, facing away from the women. Then, he spoke. His voice was strained, filled with hatred, tinged with madness. There was his voice, mild and weak -- playing backup to a louder, more sinister one. Clearly, the man was possessed.
Back up against the wall? "I think I'd rather not, girly." No, it reeked of something sacred... pure and he knew it would feel like fire. Anderson pushed away from it, moving too quickly and with far too much force for his own physique. He wanted AWAY from that stuff. As soon as he had been forced to the wall, he seemed to appear at the other side.
He had been haunting this place for years. In life, he was put here after killing 19 nuns and arranging their bodies like tracks, drawing a huge train in blood. He was found screaming over and over again, "Express number 19 is coming to town! Charlie the choo-choo! CHARLIE THE CHOO-CHOO! CHOO-CHOO! Hahahahaaha!" Arkham was his home for 19 years before he used a smuggled nail to end his miserable existance. He wasn't from Gotham initially, but since those Gates came, he found himself there. He just felt like leaving.
However, the women here... something about them pulled him here. Pulled him from between the planes of existance to taste their blood.
"Charlie... hahaha. He's coming to toooown~" He lept for Ciel first, intending to punch her right between the eyes.
Tepet Sylene turns her back on Anderson entirely, especially after she guesses he's possessed.
This seems like a very stupid thing to do, but she is using her mirror to look backwards so that she can still see him. It's a small hand mirror, but Sylene is experienced in using it to stare at ghosts and thus isn't at as much as a disadvantage as she might otherwise be.
Trusting Ciel to take care of herself for a few moments, Sylene takes a deep breath, holds it, and then screams, a high-pitched and rather penetrating sound. To living beings it is just annoyingly loud. To ghosts, spirits, and other beings, it forces them to stay materialized, preventing them from teleporting or walking through a wall - and, perhaps more usefully, making even normal weapons have an effect on them. That would be more useful if he was exorcised, but she can prepare for the future.
She is also surrounded by a vaguely shimmering field of green against her skin. It glitters slightly but is nearly invisible.
Hmph - how fitting, that this absent minded fool would happen to be the source of this trouble. The Executioner holds up the Black Keys as she hears the initial refusal of the man to allow himself to be protected. And his transformation - it was unsettling. A blood drenched, deranged soul - a man who took pleasure in the deaths of others. Certainly as much of a monster in the guise of a man. "...in the name of Almighty God, I pass judgment upon you, monster. You will be cast from the ramparts, and destroyed utterly. Not a trace of you shall remain - such souls deserve naught but oblivion."
The scream from behind her is unexpected, and it distracts Ciel for a moment - enough time for the ghost to leap at her, spinning his hand forward to strike her. Or to attempt to strike her at least - the Executioner leans to the side, the punch parting her hair as she evades the blow. She weaves back for a moment, and then brings her free hand forward, holding the small amount of salt and sand from the packet in the palm of her hand. It's an open handed blow, and the sacred, blessed powder in her hand will probably burn if she strikes the spirit with it.
The possessed Anderson freezes just as his blow is dodged by the agile Ciel, gritting his teeth against the scream. His face contorts with fury and pain even before the blessed strike connects with his chest. There is an unearthly howl of agony, as a palm-print singes itself on his pristine white coat, smoldering where her attack struck true.
The ghost practically slid backwards, away from Ciel. Instead, he attempted this time to attack the source of the scream, mistakenly thinking that the woman was vulnerable with her back to him. He opened his mouth, intending to claw with his nails and chew ravenously with his host's teeth.
Tepet Sylene is mildly vulnerable; that mirror can't be pointed everywhere, but it lets Sylene use her full array of spirit-related powers, which is really more important than taking a scratch.
As it turns out, it's a bit more than a scratch; the nails rake along her shoulder and yank at her robe, while the teeth dig into her shoulder. She gasps, as much from shock than real pain; it's been a long time since she's been attacked by angry cannibalistic (well, sort of) humanoids. Still, it gets her close in, which she needs.
Sylene reaches behind her, the green glow around her intensifying and being shot through with specks of pink and purple and blue, and attempts to grip the possessed Anderson and the ghost inside him. This time it's not to ground him - it's to literally chain him in place, spectral ropes of nonphysical vine (except to the ghost, or to the possessed) peeling out of her anima banner and attempting to loop around him.
"Stay away, or at least don't touch," she warns Ciel, being on the verge of a full flux, something she wishes she could avoid but doesn't have much of a choice in at the moment.
Ciel watches as the ghost leaps away for a moment, and narrows her eyes. "Don't think that you're going to escape that easily," she challenges the spirit, and its host as well. The three Black Key blades in her right hand flash about, and she sends all three of them launching right towards Anderson's back. The weapons are designed with one purpose in mind - they return things to their natural state. For a vampire, or other undead, this is death - for a mortal, it's merely a painful stab wound, but not fatal from where Ciel is aiming.
And if she can lodge those blades into Anderson's shoulder, they will immediately begin unraveling from the hits, looking like pieces of paper peeling away, before finally leaving only a glowing rune in the place where they had plunged into the man.
And then the spirit will suddenly find itself being violently evicted from Anderson's body - something that will no doubt distract it significantly, unless it is much stronger than Ciel is expecting.
Anderson is bound in chains, the bloodied mouth of the human host grimacing in pain and pleasure -- clearly enjoying the damage it has inflicted. However, it's victory is short-lived. The spirit is outmatched -- even with the power that comes with such hate and madness, the ghost cannot resist the strong command these two possess over the supernatural.
Anderson slumps to the ground, while a shadow remains chained in his place. It laughs in a raspy voice, but is beaten. In life, he seemed scrawny, short and unattractive. With no small amount of fear, he shrieks and struggles in vain in his new prison.
"Charlie's not here! He went away! He's gone! ALL ABOARD!" Seems like he's ready to talk.
Tepet Sylene turns back, the glow around her radiating perhaps a yard from her body, the specks of colour in the green resolving into long, trailing vines with brilliantly, almost impossibly-coloured flowers. They're spectral, and vaguely transparent - but they keep moving, apparently constantly writhing and growing, and the floor under and around Sylene's feet is starting to rasp away slowly and surely.
That must be why she said 'don't touch'.
Sylene sets the mirror on the ground, making sure she can still see it. "Where did you come from, and why are you here?" she asks, very straightforward. Ghosts tend to be stupid, from what she knows; she's no necromancer and doesn't call them for conversations regularly.
Ciel pulls back one hand behind the ghost - one hand already with a Black Key in it. In fact, it's only at the last moment, when Sylene starts talking, that she pauses. She doesn't relax or change her posture, but she doesn't run her weapon through the ghost either. Nothing is said on her part - after all, Sylene has asked the first question, and she is more than willing to give her time to ask what questions. Ask away, and hurry. She's not sure how long it's going to take before this thing starts trying to break free of it's restraints.
"I came from your mother's, b****!" The green vines, the vibrant foliage... it was all too /pure/. The ghost writhed in it's restraints, trying in vain to avoid the growth. He gasped for air he didn't need and wailed.
"NEW YORK! I came from New York!" The ghost screamed again. "Please don't hurt meeeee! I'll tell you anything!"
The anima flux was not at the point that it could seriously hurt people (or ghosts) standing near her, at least not instantaneously; it's a slow, gradual process.
That said, Wood does represent Life on Creation, and Sylene is not in the least going to object if its presence cows a ghost into submission. "Classy," she says, "very classy," as she takes half a step forward. A different patch of ground starts to be rasped away by the constant motion of the vines over it. She has not /quite/ put the ghost inside its area of effect, but it's very near. "Were you sent or did you come here on your own? - Ask questions," she adds to Ciel, "as I doubt it will resist. And if it does, well, I will destroy it. It is chained. I do not think I will have a problem."
She may be bluffing for the ghost's benefit.
"There is only one important question that must be asked," Ciel replies to Sylene. She looks at the ghost for a long moment, and adds her own question. "What happened to the man called The Joker? Where is his body, or did he even die in the first place?" she demands of the squirming, writhing thing in front of her. There is little else that needs to be said on her part. She came for answers, and if this ghost gives them to her, she is more than willing to take them before she performs the rest of her investigation.
On the other hand, Sylene might find her words to be a bit of a problem soon. Certainly she is willing to threaten the ghost with destruction - but what is the point of giving out a threat if you are unwilling to follow up on it?
"I came, I came on my own! I died here... long ago. Opened my neck, I did -- allowed the train of red to rush out. CHOO CHOO! CRASH!" He giggled at the memory, as faded and clouded with hate as it was,
"I know the secret of 19."
Huh? They wanted to know about a joker? But he had the secret of 19! "The Laughing Man, he's gone. They put him in the closet." His head jerked toward the table. "I would have thought Charlie would have come for him, but a man in a white coat came instead." The ghost looked nervously around him and wailed again, he didn't want the green vines near him! In his mind, they sang like roses!
"He's gone! Let me go!"
Tepet Sylene looks at Ciel. She's asked most of the questions she needed to. The ghost is not terribly helpful, but he wasn't set here; he's a native of Arkham.
Well, as 'native' as any of them are. Perhaps Sylene should come back here sometime, possibly with Fals.
Regardless, she says, "Then we can send you back to where you deserve to go." She doesn't explain herself before she just lets her anima flux flare out a little more, intensifying with the 'waste' of Essence; the rasping of the flowery vines on the walls and floor becomes much faster and much more intense, and Sylene is surrounded by a very strong smell of flowers.
Unfortunately, there is now a minor difference of opinion regarding 'where' this spirit deserves to go. Whatever Sylene has in mind... is not the same thing as what Ciel has in mind. "Did you forget, spirit?" she asks. "You were judged, and you were found disgraceful in the sight of God. Begone."
And the Executioner thrusts the Black Key through the spirit's head, sliding it all the way in to the hilt. And with that, she twists it around, and drags the blade straight down to the floor below.
If Sylene doesn't step in to stop her at least, the motion will split the spirit in twain - and cause it to begin unraveling, dissolving into total non-existence. Not heaven, nor even hell, is the judgment of the burial agency. Just non-existence, a total end to everything.
"What?! NO! Let me go! I wanna ride the TRA--AAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!"
The spirit wails as a line bisects it's form, his two halves slipping before disintegrating before the plantlike aura. The air becoming notably warmer, the exorcism and spirtual magic banishing the unearthly chill. Once the two of them send Charlie's little worshipper to the afterlife, the room is still and quiet.
Anderson groans, but remains unconscious.
There is a peace now at Arkham, at least spiritually for now... but there's still the matter of this mysterious man who stole the cadaver... what did the video have to tell them?