A General Meeting [Active/O P E N]

[comeswithpants]

Who: Everyone ever (no seriously)
Where: Everywhere In the parlour
When: Day 001, shortly after noon (after this thread with Liz)
What: Tim decides it's high time to call a meeting of the Residents-- to discuss the situation and the notes
Warnings: Hopefully not too many time paradoxes. If anyone who wants to be in on this needs the time adjusted

Comments

Notes

[comeswithpants]

And finally, the letters.

"All right, so maybe there's a pattern in these notes we've been finding," Tim said, now that everyone seemed to have gotten everything off their chests. "Can everybody who's found one step up?"

((ooc: All letter holders, please step up! Others are welcome to provide feedback and the like, of course.))

[pfauenrad]

Klavier snatched the bag away from Midnighter, an expression of actual anger written plain on his face. "Ja, exactly." That was directed to Tim, indicated only by the briefest of acknowledging glances and an unmistakeable point at the young man, ring-decorated fingers flashing briefly in the parlour light.

"As for you..."

Klavier stood exactly where he was, neither backing down nor advancing, visibly unintimidated by the costumed man smearing a neat 50% of his entire life.

"I'm going to say this only once."

The anger visible on his face was significantly less apparent in his voice--but there was no mistaking the nature of the command.

"Sit. Down, Lederkostüm."

[grouchinleather]

Midnighter should have been angry, livid even that this punk ass kid was trying to tell him what to do. Should being the keyword. Instead, he just found himself horribly amused. It was almost pathetic how desperately the wannabe was clinging to the threads of power.

And Midnighter wasn't intimidated in the least. In fact, he took a step closer to drive that point home. Not a large step, just a tiny one--enough to make his point.

"Or what, möchtegern polizist?"

For the record? He has no problem with 50% of your entire life. Well, for the purposes of this argument he doesn't. Midnighter just thinks your idea of trying to cling to it in this house is fucking stupid.

[comeswithpants]

Great. This was going south way faster than Tim would have liked (the ideal speed being, oh, not at all).

Tim stepped forward, not so much actually coming between them as showing the intention. Maybe he was way smaller (and most certainly a lot younger), but he straightened up and he spoke clearly enough.

"Maybe it won't help us," he conceded, looking directly at Midnighter, before he turned his eyes to Klavier and continued, "And maybe it will. I know this isn't some TV show, and I know we can only do so much, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. But I know one thing that definitely won't help us out here.

"In-fighting." He frowned at them, not knowing how much they were going to appreciate being talked down by a teenager (in his experience: very little). But he had to. "So insults-- regardless of language-- are really not going to help us out."

[pfauenrad]

Klavier narrowed his eyes--both at Midnighter and at Tim--but he knew that there were other priorities... better times and places; right now, they needed to get to the bottom of this. Whatever that entailed.

"Ja." And suddenly it was as though he hadn't been inches away from brawling with a hooligan in tight leather dress that same minute; closing his eyes briefly, he passed the left note to his right hand and brushed his hair out of his face, letting the silky strands fall back before continuing. He was even smiling, although it might have been slightly strained.

"Anyway, I am not the evidence ogre. These notes are free for anyone to read or handle... provided they are left in the bags."

And just for a second, Klavier cast a look at Midnighter--a look that more or less amounted to cold steel.

[grouchinleather]

Kid might be meaning well, but if anything he was considered a roadblock and not a mediator. He'd already run battle scenarios with everyone in the room, and while he had a hunch the kid would give him more trouble than he seemed, in the end all scenarios ended with him on the ground and Midnighter still standing.

However, as much as he'd like one the Midnighter wasn't trying to start a fight, he just has a low tolerance for morons. So when the wannabe backs off, so does he. That doesn't mean he has to like the guy, or his blase reaction to the whole ordeal.

"Mach dir keine sorgen, möchtegern-polizist, ich werde nicht ruinieren säckchen. (Don't worry, wannabe cop, I won't ruin your little bags.)As he leaned in to take a note, Midnighter "accidentally" brushed his hand against his coat, showing the wannabe just how close he came to a beat down. Hanging just inside was his trusted eskrima-looking leather club and a couple of his spade-shaped shuriken sticking out of a pocket. Not that he needed them in the slightest to take care of

[comeswithpants]

Tim watched the two closely after that, reading their body language to the best of his ability. Because while they seemed to be stepping down for the most part, animosity didn't just disappear like that.

He stiffened a bit at Midnighter's reaction, though. Because while he had toned the aggression down, he was still taunting. And maybe that gesture was more meant for Klavier, but Tim could partly see it-- and piece it together, if nothing else.

He stepped in again, a little bit closer to Klavier this time, glancing at him briefly, but remaining calm all the same. A silent signal for him, that he hoped the man would get, to stand back and let it pass.

Re: Notes

[restoresbalance]

Luke stepped forward and pulled the note out of his belt. "I've got one here," he said. "It says 'I can still hear them screaming' and it's number four of however many there are. I found it in the study, if that's significant."

He held it out to show. "It's kind of a weird thing to say, isn't it? What do the other ones say?"

[is_not_number1]

Mello looked over Luke's shoulder to study the note. It evidently hadn't been written by the same person who had written any of the other notes he'd seen; the handwriting was entirely different.

"This one says 'They're gone. I made sure. Why won't it stop?'" He held his own note out for Luke to see. "And it's labelled number one. D'you think the numbers mean they're supposed to go in some sort of order, or..." He hesitated, biting his lip. "They might not have anything to do with each other at all."

[restoresbalance]

"If they're numbered, it's possible the numbers mean something," Luke said. "But if they were left by different people, I'm not sure how they would have been able to know what to number them."

He frowned, feeling the cloth of the note in his fingers. "And cloth is really an odd thing to write notes on anyway. Why not the treepaper, or flimsi, if they had it?"