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- Dane Gregory - 01-27-2014
The Central Park of Rest and Culture was named after Mister Gorky, and referred to in all the tourists books as Gorky Park, and was one of the most famous places in Moscow.
Laid out in 1928, this was the first park of its kind, and the prototype for hundreds of others across the Soviet Union. It stretches along the southern banks of the Moscow River adjacent to the Zamoskvoreche neighborhood, and was divided into two parts.
The first was primarily of interest to children or those trying to entertain them, as it contained a range of funfair rides and rollercoasters - some safer looking than others. Indeed this was the case. During the midday hours, children and caretakers of all kinds filled the park. There were people there that reminded him of the young nanny pushing her stroller toward the shadow of the London Tower Bridge. Yes, Gorky Park was going to be the next canvas for Mockingbird's artistry.
During warmer months, his guide suggested visitors should hire boats or horses, go bungee jumping, or attend the sports club's tennis courts. In winter the whole area became a vast skating rink with skate hire, disco lights and music to match. The guide spoke true, some blocks behind him, he'd spent a quarter-hour watching skaters glide like swans across the ice.
In as much as surveying Gorky Park for his purposes, there was still the other, older, half of the park that drew his particular interest. It was considerably more restrained, consisting of formal gardens and woodland that combined the former Golitsynskiy and Neskuchniy Gardens, names that cropped up regularly in Russian literary classics. What fun was it to visit the real world inspirations for what any young man of education might read in the tales of bygone eras.
In this part of the park there were a number of fine, old buildings dating from the late 18th and early 19th Centuries, including two summerhouses by the great Moscow architect Mikhail Kazakov - supposedly the same man who designed the Senate Building in the Kremlin and the first City Hospital. Nearby was the enormous Green Theater, an outdoor amphitheater that hosts various gigs and concerts in the summer months. It was mostly abandoned in winter.
Sculptures, the Graveyard of Fallen Monuments, and the House of Artists were places Dane might like to revisit during open hours, but trespassing at night was only for one specific purpose.
He wanted to visit the park to honor its fame of greatest reknown: thanks to an author of the 20th century, Martin Cruz Smith's grizzly tale of a psychopathic professor put Gorky Park as a frequent scene of murder, and the Hollywood film it inspired. In his novel, three corpses who have had their faces and fingertips cut off by the murderer to prevent identification were found in Gorky Park. Specifically, just ahead of where Dane now walked.
Although the path had been cleared of accumulation recently, his footsteps still crunched on the bit of snow. Trees blocked out the moon overhead, so the lighting was dim, but beams of light from the distant street poked through. He was growing cold, having walked the near three-quarters mile to get to the exact location from where his driver dropped him off back at the more populated attractions in the distant behind. He pulled his cap low, but thankfully the wind was quiet. The short blades of his hair did not so much as wisp around his brow, nor the fringe on his scarf flutter against his wool coat.
The place where the corpses in the novel were found was off path, quite obviously. It would be foolish to dump bodies in the middle of the most public scene. They need time to rest before discovery. How else would they have time to grow bloated and maggoty? An excited smile grew as he approached the famous scene - oh how he wished to sit there and imagine himself as Chief Investigator Arkady Renko as he discovered the bodies - so imagine his shock and pleasure when he was but steps from the GPS-marked location and he came across literal treasure.
Two bodies were lain broken and scorched in the snow. At first Dane thought this was some extra-realistic monument, but when he knelt alongside - careful not to touch - his heart pound wild and thrilled.
He thrust himself upright, and scanned as much as he could of the scene, but there was not a soul in sight. So he licked his lips and retreated to hide in the darkness of the wooded area and wait to see what happened, if anything.
While he waited, all thoughts of winter dissipated. His skin sizzled with excitement nearly as hot as his imagination crafted who and what had happened to these beautiful dead. When he heard another's approach, he was careful to keep himself hidden, but was privy to witness the dumping of a third! glorious corpse. Together the three bodies had been grown men when alive, moderately built and none slender as a feather. However the one responsible for their abandonment, Dane did not presume him to be the murderer however much he hoped, was likewise heavily built. He must be to have carried three limp corpses by hand.
He was too excited by the discovery to not reveal himself. As soon as the individual gathered his thoughts, Dane stepped out of his hiding place, and casually approached the scene. The man heard his footfalls, but Dane was not attempting to be discreet any more.
He held his hands aloft as though signaling peace, but there was a smile plastered to his face that revealed his true mood.
"Greetings, stranger. It appears as though you've had an unfortunate accident.. or three."
Dane's British accent was elegant and musical, as lovely and innocent as his gentlemanly appearance.
- Giovanni Cavelli - 01-29-2014
"Greetings, stranger. It appears as though you've had an unfortunate accident...or three."
A man appearedthrough the trees and approached Giovanni. The man had a British accent and spoke calmly. Giovanni tensed as he approached. The man's voice spoke of a willingness to help, but Giovanni wasn't trusting and given the fact that three men just tried to kill him and Michael kepthim cautious. Then again, if the man had meant him harm, he could have done so already.
"Who are youand why are you here?"
Giovanni asked, keepin his voice low and allowing his suspicion to show.
Giovanni avoided seizing the power. He had come dangerously close to hurting himself earlier and didn't knowif he could handle it, but keptready just in case. He had no weapons, butcould fightwith his hands ifattacked.
Giovanni thought about his time in Russia and suddenly thought, maybe fate had brought him here,but to what end he did not know.
- Dane Gregory - 01-29-2014
This one was a twitchy little thing. He had a right to be, of course. The world did not take too well to suspicious bodies lying around. Or, more accurately, to someone in the company of said suspicious bodies.
Dane dipped his head, smile still plastered to his face: a smile that glowed through to the corners of his eyes and crimped them with anticipation.
"Why, my good fellow, my name is Dane, and I am something of a tourist in these parts. Did you know you stand but mere steps from a scene strikingly similar to the one laid out before us from a story written by the same man in whose name graces the park in which we now stand? No, I suppose you did not know that."
Dane chuckled and tucked his hands away, yet he was careful to keep them in plain sight. Suspicious people tended to think ill of those with hidden hands. The stranger could rest easy as Dane bore no weapon on his person; not that he needed to anyway.
He circled about, feet crunching on the snow, but kept the same radius as he currently maintained. In the darkness he licked his lips, barely containing his desire to go forth and arrange the corpses. They were so callously dumped as it were.
"Perhaps I should ask the same of you, good sir."
His accent contorted into accusation, but the twist to his lips suggested amusement rather than malice. "But I will not ask. I will advise against digging, if it was your intention. This earth is rock-solid."
He stomped one foot in demonstration.
He continued the circle, but turned his attention slightly off the mark for now as though he were only casually interested in the details. His heartbeat surged, however. "They will know the bodies were moved,"
he offered, then with brows raised in epiphany, added another little testament. "And I am sure your DNA has sloughed all over them, so they will find you in the blink of an eye."
He waggled his fingers, then, modeling the leather gloves that kept his hands anonymous. He shrugged and rubbed his smoothly-shaved chin.
He jerked his head around, locking eye to eye on the stranger. "Not that I've ever given this any thought before,"
and sneered sarcastically. "I am now in an unusual position that I don't believe I've ever found myself before."
What to do about it?
- Giovanni Cavelli - 02-06-2014
The stranger, Dane, certainly was an odd one. Giovanni noticed that the man kept his hands in sight. He was at least smart enough to realize how suspicious Giovanni was.
The stranger continued speaking, Giovanni nearly cursed aloud as the man brought up DNA.
I have been out of the world for too long,
Giovanni thought.
Giovanni was struck back by his arrival. He had no idea what to do with this man. Arousing the authorities would be easy, yet the man had not called out, but also was not shocked by the bodies. He hadn't given them more than a mere glance. More than likely, this man had dealt with them before.
However, Giovanni had been caught doing illegal activities before. Murder was a new one, but playing confidence would probably work well in this situation.
This Dane was also a sarcastic one and Giovanni could play along. It would be best to find out his intentions. If need be, he could use the power again, but Giovanni still felt this unwise.
"Well it seems that I have come across a disposal expert. Tell me,"
Giovanni said rising to his full height and allowing a confident grin appear on his face. "What would you do if you were in my...unique...situation?"
- Dane Gregory - 02-07-2014
A disposal expert, Dane cringed at the degradation of his expertise. As though he were a mere custodian hauling out the trash. He was an artist! And artists need be revered! Watched! Adored!
Luckily for the stranger, his subsequent question distracted Dane from all thoughts of correcting the man's grammar. He'd struck upon screeching octaves in his mind, one that howled over every other sensation until Dane was enslaved to answer it.
Ravenous eyes engulfed the mound of men, once more. He continued to pace in his slow circle, but now a hand rubbed his chin as he sorted through the possibilities. "They would have been in pieces by now."
His musings paused to look Giovanni up and down as though sizing him up. "You have to put your back into it, but you look like a big lad. You could probably manage it."
Butchering a man was harder than it sounds. Dismembering a roast chicken was a messy labor. And men's shoulders did not pop apart as easily as one might think.
Dane waved him off, though. "No point beating a dead horse, though."
His glint twinkled. Beating a dead anything could provide hours of entertainment. Especially before rigor mortise set in.
He went back to studying the mound. His pacing had carried him closer to where their killer stood sentry. "Your only option is burning at this point. If only you had an incinerator in your pocket."
He shrugged as though Giovanni was out of luck, but a conspiratorial grin gave away the tease.
"Or in your hand."
He thrust forth his hand where suddenly churned a small fiery globe, held to hover above his glove. The light reflected in the blacks of his eyes like twin furnaces burning within.
He expected Giovanni's jaw to fall and perhaps a timid backing away from the devil that'd manifested before him. If the man were a killer, he'd found himself in the company of a sadist.
The flame extinguished itself when Dane's palm curled into a tight fist. His arms returned to their previous, relaxed dangling.
He shrugged and turned as though to depart, however he caught himself before abandoning the stranger. He lifted his hand as though to offer fair warning, and dipped the fingers into a pocket of his coat. The heavy cardstock he retrieved was perfectly blank, but between the fingers it had the fibery feel of canvas. He held it up as though showing off a winning hand at poker. "You don't happen to have a pen on you, do you my good fellow?"
He studied the grizzly Italian once more. "No, probably not."
He gestured once more and pat his own chest until locating the slender stem of his trusty ballpoint.
It took a moment, but he sketched a tiny, inked figure of a bird in the center of the card. The pen went back in his pocket, and the card he offered to Giovanni. Dane licked his lips, giddy, and carefully watched the fellow's face for signs of recognition of the Mockingbird.
Edited by Dane Gregory, Feb 7 2014, 09:22 AM.
- Giovanni Cavelli - 02-07-2014
Dane was getting more interesting the more he spoke with him. He suggesting tearing the body into pieces, but by now incineration was a better option.
The real surprise came however when the man channeled a ball of flame in his hand. The same feeling came over him as when Michael channeled. Dane could use the power!
Dane turned to leave, but stopped as if remembering something. Pulling out a card and pen, he sketched something and handed him the card. The card showed a sketch of a mockingbird and Dane looked at Giovanni as if it should mean something to him. It didn't.
After awhile, Dane turned to leave, and Giovanni spoke calmy and evenly, "I will take your advice, Signore, and incinerate them."
Givanni channeled bringing a ball of flame into his left hand. Dane stopped and turned around, obviously sensing the power
"But there is more you should know,"
Giovanni continue as he knelt down and pulled down the sleeve on one of the corpses shirt. "These men have more of an impact on you than you know.
Giovanni pointed to the ouroboros tattoo on the man's arm.
Edited by Giovanni Cavelli, Feb 7 2014, 01:12 PM.
- Dane Gregory - 02-07-2014
Nothing. The man took the card without a flicker of recognition. Confusion skidded his thoughts to a stop, but Dane decided anonymity was in his favor at the moment. Mockingbird's next appearance intended to be grander than ever. The Italian should hold onto his card. It might be quite valuable someday. Perhaps he would recognize the symbol then.
Dane took his leave only to be paused by the overwhelming sensation of threat. Like the long reach of shadows stretching forth from the late evening sun. Their claws scratched at his heels. Their gums smacked at the flow of his coat.
He turned to behold an identical sphere of orange churning a small incinerator above the Italian's palm. The force of it pressed upon his skull like a vice, but Dane smiled through the pain, a true masochist, and stepped closer.
The Italian knelt to the closest body, and Dane's heart leaped gleefully into his throat in anticipation of what he might do. He swallowed the expectation all the more forcefully when the man merely wrenched back a sleeve. Flame glowed orange on black ink, and the familiar figure of a snack devouring itself struck Dane quite curious. Such was the same figure on young lady Aria. And upon the gravestone that drew her attention.
He'd kept his distance from the corpses to resist the urge to rearrange their limbs, but Giovanni beckoned, and Dane knelt eagerly alongside him. Every inch of him quivered to stroke the cold meat with the reverence it was due. The skin would feel thinner now. The muscle and fluid would bulge and indent beneath the press of his fingers. Perhaps a brief .. No. Awkward though it was, Dane placed his hands in his pockets for the first time since their strange introduction.
Studying the image, his voice broke in raspy, contemplative breaths. "We are brothers, you and I. So tell me this, brother. What does it mean?"
- Giovanni Cavelli - 02-10-2014
Giovanni saw the recognition in Dane's eyes as he saw the symbol. Dane had seen it before.
"We are brothers, you and I,"
Dane said calmly. "So tell me, brother. What does this mean?"
So Dane had no idea what this meant, but had seen it. Giovanni kept the flame going while answering, "This is the symbol of those who seek the destruction of those like us. They won't stop until we are dead or until they are. They are relentless."
Giovanni was surprised that he was not afraid to speak of the Atharim. Michael's training had that effect at least.
"I must take care of this and one person here is enough. I wish you well and perhaps we'll meet again."
Dane nodded and turn to leave. Giovanni let him go and waited some time before sending the ball of fire to the nearby corpses, incinerating them until nothing remained before turning to return to Michael's house. Perhaps Michael could explain the strange man Dane.
Giovanni walked into the house and walked straight to Michael.
"It's taken car of. I met someone though - one of us. He gave me this and it seemed like he thought it should mean something to me. Do you have any idea?"
Giovanni handed the card to Michael.
((Dane modded with permission))
Edited by Giovanni Cavelli, Feb 14 2014, 02:09 PM.
- Michael Vellas - 02-16-2014
The ache had dulled and the blood flow had been stemmed for the time being. He had called Oborev, but it would take another twenty minutes to arrive.
More than anything else, Michael was frustrated. When would they learn? He took no pleasure in tearing apart team after team of fanatical killers. It was clear they had little experience in dealing with people like him. They threw themselves at him like kindling on a fire. A waste of both life and time.
Seated on the couch Tony had called a bed, he spun nets of Fire and Air, creating multiple balls of light. The balls spun in the air like palm-sized fireflies, dancing to a tune unheard. It was an exercise in precision and control which he used to calm himself from time to time, and calm was exactly what he needed right now.
His peace was shattered as Giovanni returned with a determined step. Michael allowed the balls to disappear with one last flash and crackle of light emphasising his annoyance.
"It's taken care of. I met someone though - one of us. He gave me this and it seemed like he thought it should mean something to me. Do you have any idea?"
Michael took the card with a raised brow, studying the picture of a mockingbird.
One of us? So...another monster reared its head. This one was a curiosity, it would seem. A calling card was usually adopted by a killer, one who thought themselves particularly brilliant. Perhaps this one was justified in his arrogance.
But Michael had had enough of killers and madmen. "I have no idea, but I would suggest you be cautious. We may not be born abominations, but we can become ones if we choose."
Edited by Michael Vellas, Feb 16 2014, 05:06 PM.