And you will know my name is DEATH ☆
Who: deathknellgrell, cadaverdaddy, and later pushesupglasses.
When: October 20th, mid-afternoon
Where: "Eric Slingby's" photographic studio
Summary: Grell decides that if he's going to affiliate with AGI, he'll do it on his own terms. He calls Undertaker for assistance.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, gore. Will update as necessary.
The nude portrait of Vincent Nightray that hangs prominently in Eric Slingby's studio is a work of artistic genius. It's not so much the lighting or the composition that make it so, although these are expertly rendered; it's the way the picture captures the amused cruelty in his lopsided gaze. It's a happy coincidence that this artwork isn't spoilt by the spray of blood currently dripping down it, but rather enhanced.
It had been on Madam Red's advice, so long ago, that Grell had first disguised himself as a harmless butler. He was used to scaring people; so being habitually underestimated filled him with impish glee. It amazed him, too, what he could get away with, then as now. Hanging his head, blushing, and clutching at his handkerchief got him special prices on everything, from equipment to coffee. Models posed for trivial sums, and signed away their rights without a second thought.
He'd hung his head and wept when the two gentlemen from AGI came calling. As everyone knows, the reason to send two thugs to a business negotiation is so that one can hold the target down, while the other makes his "argument." However, Mickey "the Fist" O'Halloran felt adequate to deliver persuasion on his own, leaving Carlo "Big Tomatoes" Tomassi to rifle through Eric's photographs, in search of some of the more titillating nudes.
They had underestimated him, too.
Thus did Mickey the Fist die instantly, sliced to pieces in a flash of noise and Grell's red fury. Thus was Vincent Nightray's spellbinding, sadistic gaze the last thing Big Tomatoes ever saw, before he defaced the portrait with his own blood.
***
Now - everything is quiet, except for the click-click-click of their cinematic records, unwinding and curling and filling the studio with scenes from their short, vicious lives. Grell is still breathless when he makes the call on his NV:
"Undertaker, darling. I could use a bit of help."
When: October 20th, mid-afternoon
Where: "Eric Slingby's" photographic studio
Summary: Grell decides that if he's going to affiliate with AGI, he'll do it on his own terms. He calls Undertaker for assistance.
Warnings: Mentions of violence, gore. Will update as necessary.
The nude portrait of Vincent Nightray that hangs prominently in Eric Slingby's studio is a work of artistic genius. It's not so much the lighting or the composition that make it so, although these are expertly rendered; it's the way the picture captures the amused cruelty in his lopsided gaze. It's a happy coincidence that this artwork isn't spoilt by the spray of blood currently dripping down it, but rather enhanced.
It had been on Madam Red's advice, so long ago, that Grell had first disguised himself as a harmless butler. He was used to scaring people; so being habitually underestimated filled him with impish glee. It amazed him, too, what he could get away with, then as now. Hanging his head, blushing, and clutching at his handkerchief got him special prices on everything, from equipment to coffee. Models posed for trivial sums, and signed away their rights without a second thought.
He'd hung his head and wept when the two gentlemen from AGI came calling. As everyone knows, the reason to send two thugs to a business negotiation is so that one can hold the target down, while the other makes his "argument." However, Mickey "the Fist" O'Halloran felt adequate to deliver persuasion on his own, leaving Carlo "Big Tomatoes" Tomassi to rifle through Eric's photographs, in search of some of the more titillating nudes.
They had underestimated him, too.
Thus did Mickey the Fist die instantly, sliced to pieces in a flash of noise and Grell's red fury. Thus was Vincent Nightray's spellbinding, sadistic gaze the last thing Big Tomatoes ever saw, before he defaced the portrait with his own blood.
***
Now - everything is quiet, except for the click-click-click of their cinematic records, unwinding and curling and filling the studio with scenes from their short, vicious lives. Grell is still breathless when he makes the call on his NV:
"Undertaker, darling. I could use a bit of help."