Los Angeles: Blood Moon - ❌🌙ch7-i-hear-a-bad-moon-arising

Chapter 7 Location: Selma's place, Suburb area Players: @Diego, Bruiser Rat Diego ST: @Slinar [Alexander Montferrier] Previous scenes: #❌🌙ch5-whispers-in-the-warrens

The house was in the suburb, a pretty poor area even. The last two houses Diego passed by were all abandonned, and a half-moon was rising in the sky. The air was fresh from the coming night, and no one was in sight. All he needed to do was enter this place. It was pretty classic : a single-family house, almost abandonned, with dark shutters closed, and a closed door also, surrounded by a wild garden.

Diego was happy to hand the reigns back to the boss-rat. He felt uneasy around Luca, to be honest, and he was much happier to leave that spoonful of madness to others. Before leaving the warrens, the gunnrunner dropped by Mitnick and laid out the collected guns and bats on the table next to him. - Put 'em somewhere where we won't forget about 'em, but where kids can't reach 'em. I've been saying for ages that this place needs and armory. I think this is a good start. Of the guns, he kept one of the rifles and the knife with the neat holster. He pondered grabbing a revolver, but decided against it: should he run into trouble, no number of guns will help him, if he doesn't use them right. Lastly, he sent e message to Vincent.

"If go t cOurt, remember about Kris Tery. Make friends"

Returning topside took a while. - We need an elevator. Or a nice, neat backdoor, - he growled as he was climbing out of the sewers in a dingy alley behind some sleazy shop in Hollywood. A moment, and he was gone, merged with the shadows and on his track home. (edited)

13:19

Diego decided to skip the court all-together. There was nothing there for him, and he hated the petty politics, name-calling, shallow compliments. Selma, on the other hand... That was something he just couldn't let go and needed to figure out. His rifle he dropped off at home, for "home defense". Instead, he took out a familiar friend from a hidden niche near the ceiling in the closet. - Time to go for a walk, Shorty, - he said almost gently. Diego didn't have a fancy holster for this friend of his, so he put him in the backpack, where there already were several small plastic bags a flashlight, some industrial rope and a mountaineering grappling hook. He contemplated leaving the hook... but in the end figured it wouldn't hurt. Obscured from mind's eye, Diego slid onto a bus, hood and collar fully up. People avoided the seat he'd took, not quite understanding why, but feeling uncomfortable about taking it. Soon, he left it, just as quietly, before taking a walk to Selma's haven. There it was. Looking not lived it, abandoned. Diego knew that was half the trick. He also knew his kin's love for traps, so he was planning to be extra careful. He walked around the house, snooping around, checking for irregularities, assessing the back yard. (edited)

@Vincent ICEberry there is a SMS for you in this post.

As Diego looked in the backyard, he quicly understood that if there was a way used by Selma, it would be from the rear entrance. Far more easier to set a trap at the front. It was wild with vegetations, but he could see faint traces of steps on the grass, or more evidently, the path that Selma used to enter at her place. The rear entrance was a door with a glass stained window at the top. "Too stained. Almost like paint." he thought, before looking at it. Double protection, there was also a trap there. Checking around, he found a dog house at the back of the garden. Looking in it, he saw a carpet, and beneath it, the classical tunnel with a ladder.

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- Selma, you beautiful lil' paranoid freak, - whispered Diego with a pleased smirk hidden behind the collars. He kneeled in front of the dog house and took a long look inside. Long enough to neatly roll-up the carpet and put it aside. He then put the backpack on the ground in front of himself and took out the flashlight. Before shining down the tunnel, he once again looked around for something that he might have missed, like unexpected onlookers. Diego checked the "ceiling" of the doghouse for some final topside surprises and finally shined the light down. - How about it, Sel? Did you leave me any presents on the ladder, or maybe beneath it? Diego took his backpack and threw it down the ladder. After checking one last time, he started climbing down, occasionally shining the light on the next several steps. (edited)

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As the backpack hit the ground, Diego expected a detonation, but nothing like that. He crawled down in the tunnel, to what seemed to be underneath the house. There, he was blocked by a locked trapdoor in front of him.

@Diego, Bruiser Rat

Diego put the backpack back on. Would be funny if something really did happen to it (sorry, Shorty), but in Diego's mind it would be funnier if something happened to him *instead. Now, in front of a trapdoor, he shined the light at it, at all four corners, looking for unsavory tell-tale marks for a yet another trap, be it wires, sensors, or anything else that could trip a *boom. He was also looking for damages - scratches, marks of forced entry. And, last but not least, he shined the light at and inside of the locking mechanism of the trapdoor. The gunrunner took out his trophy hunting knife out of its neat little holster and gently slid it into the gap between the wall and the hatch of the trapdoor. He carefully slid it all around the door, prodding for obstacles... such as tightened strings or fishing lines, which could pull on a grenade ring should the door be yanked too sharply. For a second there, it felt like the army training center again. All the situation lacked was a Drill Sergeant yelling in his ear, telling him how his gravestone will have FRED on it instead of his own name if he "fucks up this shit in the field". With FRED standing for "Fucking Retard Extra Dumb". The gunrunner smirked and put the knife away. He took out the grappling hook from the backpack and rammed one of its claws into the gap between the wall and started pulling at it, in and effort to pry the hatch out of the wall. (edited)

@Slinar [Alexander Montferrier]

There was no traps, as he looked around. No sign of intrusion either. The lock itself was just a keyhole, to be put in. But as he pushed more and more, he managed to tore it appart open. It seemed to open directly in what seemed to be a basement, a dark one. He faint smell of dog ran to him, and of visibly of... Wood? Like wood dust. Entering the place, he saw what seemed to be a wood workshop, with there and there different creations, going from several stylished stakes on the wall, to what seemed to be personnalized coffins. The side work of Selma's, unexpected. It felt weird to enter one's intimacy like that. When walking past those crafts, he saw a big burnt wood portrait on one of the wall, visibly in the draft stages. The faces seemed familiar...

05:57

MOOD MUSIC https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imhmn4r0gic

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Diego sniffed the air. He almost barked a laugh when he really did sense a dog after crawling through the doghouse, but restrained himself - he was in the belly of the beast now, had to be quiet. With his light, he started examining the room. One thing caught in the light after another, the room started coming together, like a jigsaw puzzle. Diego couldn't help but be wowed by what he saw. And, in an unpleasant way, almost diminished by it. There was this whole side Selma had to her that nobody, as far as Diego was aware, knew. She created all of it, in her own time, investing the precious night hours in it. There was no such thing Diego could put on the table. His life was his business, his clan, and his hunting. The place had melancholic feel to it. And Diego felt a bit bitter and envious. Shivers went down his spine and he jerked his shoulders, chasing the unpleasant thoughts away. He stopped the beam of light at the carved portrait. Felt a pang of recognition and a desire to investigate further. But first, he needed to make sure he was safe. Approaching the coffins, he gently lifted the lids on each of them, peeking inside, making sure no surprises would jump out at him. The main danger, he feared, was probably upstairs, smelling of dog, wondering why the owner hadn't fed it in... a week? He swallowed nervously and a bit anticipatory. - I hope I won't have to kill your dog or dogs, Sel... - he whispered, almost soundlessly. Finally, he approached the portrait, shining a light straight at it. Who could it be? (edited)

Diego saw himself. But not the version of himself ugly, or the former self he was before. A idealized version, carved on the wood. Every members of the Nosferatu were there, Vincent, Mitnick, Gary at the center, happy and laughing. All in a big family, in a depiction of what you are beyond the horror of your bodies.

06:38

There was no danger in the basement, only the sound of silence.

It was almost as if something got caught in the rat's throat. Like a big, dry ball of yarn, making it hard to swallow. Almost as if it caught his breath, if he needed to breath. - ... what happened, Sel...? - he murmured wistfully, holding out his hand towards painting and touching his image with the tips of his fingers, and then gently touching hers. - ... If they are all wrong and you're in trouble, I WILL find you. Nobody gets left behind... He lifted his hand to the frame of the wood carving and took it off its resting place. Looked at it closer, one last time, and slid it into his backpack, carefully, so that the claws of the grappling hook won't damage it. This meant something, it shouldn't be lost. After that, the rat briefly stopped by the shelf with the stakes. Picked one and put it into the side pocked of the backpack, so it was sticking out a bit. At last, Diego looked behind and up the stairs, and started ascending them. Halfway he switched off his flashlight. By the time he was on top, he held a knife in his hand and was ready to slip to the shadows as soon as he'd passed the door. (edited)

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He could hear a low breath, as something was near the end of the stairs, in the shadows. He concentrated his look on the corner of the entry; where a complex mechanism involving a shotgun was deployed for the trap. He saw a dog, all parched up, almost dried, with a skeletal body and a tired look as he forced his head to lift to you, and growled. Even with his mistress gone, it seemed it wanted to defend the home.

Diego was not good with dogs. Or rats, birds, sewer alligators. He enjoyed petting something warm and covered in fur, but when faced with an angry animal, he would either run from it, shoo it away, or kill it. Ghoulified beasts... couldn't quite be shooed away. Seeing the dog in this state meant that the owner was away for quite some time. It was unlikely he would find Selma here, but there was always that pang of hope. Now, seeing the dog, he was hoping he WOUDN'T find her here. Cause there weren't that many reasons why she would be in this place and have her dog in this state. As risky as it was, Diego decided to try and restrain himself. He started quietly moving past the dog, careful not to trigger anything that could send a could of shot pellets flying into his face. For now, he tried to get past both the dog and the shotgun trap. If it was safe later... he would try to think of something.

The dog, a black golden retriever whinned near him, letting a low and pained sound, but didn't managed to get up. The shotgun trap was for the main entry, the one he avoided, and was no issue now thankfully. He could roam the house freely.

Diego looked at the dog and made a note to not leave it here if he could help it. Approaching the shotgun trap, he examined how easy it was to set it off and pondered taking the string of the trigger. But in the end, decided against side activities until the whole house was checked, bottom to top. But something in his gut turned, so he took Shorty out of his back and loaded him with a pair. He quietly crept across the first floor of the house, examining the rooms, the layout, the lifestyle of the person living here. The kitchen, the closet, the hall, the living room, for a lack of a better word. Upstairs he expected to find the bedroom or bedrooms, the bathroom and, if he was extra unlucky, an attick door or hatch. But he would only go there after finishing with the bottom floor. (edited)

Diego began to roam the deserted house. At the main floor, he founded what seemed to be a bed/couch, with a white sheet on it. On a little low table, a pile of books, and what seemed to be sketches of art for the portrait of them. There was also a journal there. In the room, numerous newspaper everywhere, and what seemed to be broken framed photos on the walls, with little shards of glass below them. A little door on the side of the living room led to a small kitchen, with a sack of dog food ripped open, but empty. In the fridge, still in function, some red meat, as well as two blood bags. The upper floor was deserted, and seemed to be not used. Diego saw a baby room, visibly being prepared, but abandonned since long. The door was hard to open. He also saw a bedroom, and there also broken framed photos, unrecognizable. The bed was visibly for two, with blood stains on the sheet.

@Diego, Bruiser Rat

Seeing the meat in the fridge, Diego stopped in his tracks. He took a look over to his shoulder, where the basement door was. He momentarily put Shorty on the fridge shelf, took out one of the blood bags, checked it for stickers with data, and then loosened the bag's tubing to get its scent. It smelled human, and Diego appreciated Selma's preparedness. His fridge had been empty. He wondered where she was getting the blood. The rat put the blood back for the time being and left the fridge with Shorty in one hand and the meat in the other hand. Approaching the dog, he quietly said: - Hey there, bruiser. Your owner left you something, - he tried to look as unintimidating as possible, even got on one knee in front of the dog, and threw it the first piece of meat. He patiently waited for the dog to eat it, and then offered it the second piece, on his open palm. - Don't do anything we're going to regret, kid, - he murmured calmly, hopefully. (edited)

The dog whimped, before beginning to eat the meat slowly, but then more and more rapidly. He was still fragile though, and he gulped rapidly is second steack, but seemed to look a bit out of breath.

- I am not a dog person, you know? - he asked the poor animal, as if it could answer him. - I'm kind of okay with cats: we agree to not bother each other, and I'm fine with that social contract. So no dice, sorry. And that was all of the meat. Diego's face hardened was preparing to get up and leave upstairs. After all, what else could he do for this animal? Letting out a small sigh, he grabbed his knife and slashed himself on the forearm. Licked the blade clean and put the wound to the dogs snout. - This does not mean a thing. Just to get you through the night, so that Selma gets you back when we get her back, - he told the dog with a certainty in his voice (edited)

As he licked the wound, the dog was more and more recovering. Soon, it rose up on his paws and began to try to lick Diego's hand, doing small whimpering as he pushed itself against his leg.

- Woa, you're going overboard there, - he told the dog, awkwardly petting it on the head as it pushed itself against his leg. - Lets not be hasty. I just don't want you to die. He got up and looked down upon the dog. - I need to finish here. Be quite. Don't trigger the shotgun, - pointless words. The dog probably didn't understand a thing. Diego picked up the journal he saw earlier and opened it a the first, the the last pages. Turned on the flashlight and shined on the pages, and then on the stairs upstairs. Carefully, keeping to the sides of the stairs, he ascended. On top of the stairs he looked back at the dog and actually relaxed a bit. - She wouldn't boobie trap the stairs... She wouldn't risk hurting you... (edited)

The upper floor was deserted, and seemed to be not used. Diego saw a baby room, visibly being prepared, but abandonned since long. The door was hard to open. He also saw a bedroom, and there also broken framed photos, unrecognizable. The bed was visibly for two, with blood stains on the sheet. So he calmly entered the second floor, now with the flashlight on, careful not to shine it at the painted over windows. He had to put Shorty in to the bag to free his hands for the journal and the flashlight, but he felt a bit safer now. The baby room brought him to a halt. Diego was unsure about investigating it... as if old ghosts could follow. He wasn't much of a superstitions man... but he was a walking bloodsucking corpse with the face straight out of nightmares. He couldn't afford to be an unbeliever. He did take several steps inside, trying to make sense of this room. If Selma ever came here, or if it was pure repressed trauma given physical shape. He checked the bathroom and made sure he hadn't missed an attic hatch or door. Finally, he entered the bedroom. - Damn, - he uttered. Walked closer to the bed, touched the age-old blood. This was also trauma, but not repressed. Out in the open, nagging at somebody's soul for who knows how long. A picture was painting itself... Loss, regret, guilt. He wondered if she slept in this bed, of if her resting place was elsewhere. He was as gentle around the bed as possible, not to disturb these ghosts as well. Carefully sliding his hand beneath the mattresses, he made sure nothing was hidden there. After that, he did a diligent search of the room. So far, this did not look like a haven. A workshop? Sure. But the rest didn't feel lived in, at least to him. (edited)

The Bruiser found nothing, excepted shattered memories and dust. More Dust to Ashes than the contrary, eh. All that was left was the diary. After going back to the living room, and sitting in the couch/bed, he began to look at the journal. It was merely information she had written down, there and there about her ongoing. Flipping throught the last pages, the entries disturbed him.

[A month ago] FUCK ! The Sabbat's here, this fucking bitch, they knew about my smuggling, and they threatened me with it. I need to deliver them some informations, time to time, and they will just leave me alone. I don't like that at all, but I have no choice. [Three weeks ago] I... I tried to resist. I stood up to them, but they... They know where my nephew lives, with his family. How do they ? It's like they've followed me since a while. I don't understand. I'm so fucked... [Two weeks ago] I discovered that there was an other informant... Gangrel one. I... I hope I'm going to be fine. [One week ago] There is a meeting at the factory later. I'll need to talk to Gary. Or to Mit'... But I'm so scared to put them in danger. I need to take care of that myself.

The short but stocky figure stood in the middle of the bedroom, shoulders slightly hunched, head lowered over the journal. It was so quiet in the house you could hear the dog whimper on the first floor. - ...Selma, you dumb wretched bitch, what have you done..? - Diego's low, hoarse voice broke the silence. His tone was as bitter as were his words. - ...Gary and Mit are not expendable to the clan.. but why on God's earth didn't you call me? He walked down the stairs, caring little for the sound his footsteps made. He felt heavy and wanted to feel heavy. He only stopped by the dog. - She's probably not coming back. kiddo, - he said to the dog, solemnly and wistfully. - So you're gonna have to go with me for now. Until I find you a better home. He kneeled by the dog, petted it on the head and looked it straight in the eye. - And we have a rabid gangrel to find. And put down. (edited)

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==END SCENE== (edited)

Recap: Diego reached the house of Selma, his clanmate who'd gone missing a week ago and was blamed with selling info to the Sabbat. Finding a secret passage into the house, avoiding traps, he got a new insight into the unlife of his clanmate. Unfortunately, he also confirmed her for a spy, even if unwilful. Unwilling to leave her dog to die in the house of starvation, Diego took it with him, aiming to find other snitches and do unspeakable things to them. For they hurt his family.

#❌🌙ch7-twenty-minutes-of-empty-words

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