Re: Black Knight RP
Posted: Sun Nov 11, 2012 2:29 am5 years ago
A computer winks into life as files begin opening, hundreds of photos, case files, and newspaper articles flash across the screen. As the last files pop into being, a word document opens with the command, “Solve Me.”
A girl enters the room hastily and tosses her book bag to the side, ignoring the problems of Geometry and verb conjugation for the moment. She pushes her mop of unruly red hair out of her eyes as she glances are the now unlocked and full of new files computer. Her blue eyes scan over the muddle of odd clippings, one advertised the sale of a lawnmower; another announced the death of a Mrs. Bradbury, found dead in her apartment with results pending; a third raved about a new cleaning solution named Fresh-O-Shine, “It’s the fresh-iest!”
The world begins to fade away as the girl closes her mind and begins the search for the answer.
Morgan startled awake in her economy class seat. Her face was awkwardly close to a very loud, very cranky toddler who was attempting to put a straw in her eye. Morgan stood up and carefully negotiated her way in between the aisles of unhappy businessmen and the depressing glares of frustrated mothers attempting to silence their babies. She almost made it to the bathroom before being stopped by a woman in a crisp uniform.
“Please find your seat ma’am,” the flight attendant said in a crisp british accent. “We will be arriving at our destination shortly.”
Morgan looked the flight attendant in the eyes, and began to see. She was an older woman, probably working a few more years before retiring, she had been married two times by the looks of her ring finger, and judging from her stance, she wasn’t moving.
Nodding her head politely, Morgan returned to the claustrophobic space in between an older businessman and her nemesis, the toddler.
After finally escaping the confined spaces of the airplane, Morgan went towards a laboratory she knew of in the eastern side of London. After haggling with a couple of orderlies who had “lost” their cigarettes, Morgan got a couple of the things she couldn’t bring in an airplane. A medical kit fit enough for the marines, a few odds and ends and a new set of lab equipment built for the field.
Thanking the orderlies, Morgan made her way towards the meeting place. She strolled along the streets, enjoying the view, until the fact hit her that she was running late. To a knight meeting. Shit. She started to walk faster, keeping her head down against the intermittent rain. Could they have put this any further away? She thought as she walked across the street and rounded the corner. There. The decrepit building looked like it needed a few years of repair. The shingling was slip-shod and the ivy crawling up the walls didn’t help. Ominous, that the building seems to want to fall on its own.
Gulping down any thoughts of fear, Morgan began to walk toward the gated old house. As she strode up to the grumpy house, she saw a teenager around her age walking up the lane.
He appeared sleepy, with his eyes half-shut and his pace at a stroll. He was at the average height for most males his age eighteen to twenty; and a set of blood-red eyes, paired with snow-white hair indicative of genetic disorder, Albinism. He was wearing a trench coat, can conceal weapons, aid and other necessities; as well as a briefcase that he was holding casually almost too casually. He was almost completely unremarkable.
The teen began to slow once he reached the gate of the derelict mansion, pausing in front of the grand old house, silently beckoning her to pass him. Morgan stopped dead, staring at the kid in her way. She didn’t want to start a dialogue with the kid, at all. After about thirty seconds of both teens staring at each other, Morgan pushed against the sense of dread and said, “Hi, are you here for the meeting, too?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly at the sound of my voice normal behavior in this neighborhood. He straightened and said, “I suppose you could say that... I'm Alister Dalton Black. Nice to meet you."
Morgan remembered the scratchy voice of her grandmother as she taught her to protect herself from the Koga’i ,
“Remember, ayoli, the archer is only as good as the bow. Likewise, the brain is only as good as the eyes. Use your abilities wisely, or suffer from a lack of preparedness.”
Eyes are not dilated, seems to be in good health, no murderous intent, mild American accent, most likely the eastern sector. Really unsure as to why he’s here, maybe I’ll come back after he’s gone. But I am late for the meeting, and he is as well apparently. He seems a little suspicious, but any more delay and he might realize that I have no clue.
“So, are we going to stand here all day? I mean, it’s a little cold outside, don’t you think?”
"Hmm? Oh, I guess it is. Doesn't really bother me." Alistair shrugged his shoulders in an indeterminate way, shaking loose a few dewdrops from his coat.
"Well, in that case, let's get going. Ladies first." Gesturing in an overly pompous manner, and keeping his voice very calm, Alastair leveled a composed gaze towards Morgan, flashing a polite smile towards the now speechless and immovable detective. What is this guy doing? Is this a trap? Morgan mulled over the possibilities of dying versus the vial of hydrofluoric acid in her pocket as Alistair finished his bow with a flourish. As she contemplated her answer, Alistair’s polite smile may have changed into a smirk, nah, too obvious. Nodding her head, she leveled a glare towards Alistair and said, “Sure, I’ll make sure to get the gate.”
Alistair straightened up, stretching to make his bow less awkward. His smile never left his face. Then Alister looked Morgan in the eyes and very casually said, “Suit yourself.”
Without another motion he began to stride calmly up the path to the door, ignoring the weeds and broken beer bottles and the now confused investigator, swinging the briefcase back and forth methodically.
Morgan followed behind the other teen, keeping a safe distance. Once they had arrived at the front door, Alistair knocked twice and, when there was no audible response, quietly turned the knob. As soon as the door was open, he walked into the house and out of sight. Not wanting to stay in the gloomy air any longer, Morgan shrugged the water off of her jacket and stepped inside the door. The foyer reeked of decay, but she could hear voices on the side of a door. Alistair didn’t break his stride and walked through into the next room, completely ignoring Morgan’s existence.
"Well, this is quite the group we have here." He said as he strode into the room, stopping beside the door and impatiently holding it open. After I had walked through he found a place to stand by the wall and said, "Alister Dalton Black, by the way, and this is-"
He paused as he realized "I don't think I got your name."
At the sight of Alister’s pointing hand, 10 pairs of eyes swiveled to meet Morgan. Swallowing all fear, she saw an older man in a ridiculous Private eye costume, a hyperactive man who couldn’t seem to sit still, and another boy around her age, closing a book and looking contemplatively at her. Then, mustering up her courage, she said, “Hi, I’m Jones, and I’m here about the order?”
All of them stared at Morgan for another few, agonizing seconds. Then they started resuming what Morgan assumed they were doing before; talking amongst themselves, reading, and staring off into space were all popular choices. Walking closer to Alister, Morgan set her bags down and started to observe the people around her.
A computer winks into life as files begin opening, hundreds of photos, case files, and newspaper articles flash across the screen. As the last files pop into being, a word document opens with the command, “Solve Me.”
A girl enters the room hastily and tosses her book bag to the side, ignoring the problems of Geometry and verb conjugation for the moment. She pushes her mop of unruly red hair out of her eyes as she glances are the now unlocked and full of new files computer. Her blue eyes scan over the muddle of odd clippings, one advertised the sale of a lawnmower; another announced the death of a Mrs. Bradbury, found dead in her apartment with results pending; a third raved about a new cleaning solution named Fresh-O-Shine, “It’s the fresh-iest!”
The world begins to fade away as the girl closes her mind and begins the search for the answer.
Morgan startled awake in her economy class seat. Her face was awkwardly close to a very loud, very cranky toddler who was attempting to put a straw in her eye. Morgan stood up and carefully negotiated her way in between the aisles of unhappy businessmen and the depressing glares of frustrated mothers attempting to silence their babies. She almost made it to the bathroom before being stopped by a woman in a crisp uniform.
“Please find your seat ma’am,” the flight attendant said in a crisp british accent. “We will be arriving at our destination shortly.”
Morgan looked the flight attendant in the eyes, and began to see. She was an older woman, probably working a few more years before retiring, she had been married two times by the looks of her ring finger, and judging from her stance, she wasn’t moving.
Nodding her head politely, Morgan returned to the claustrophobic space in between an older businessman and her nemesis, the toddler.
After finally escaping the confined spaces of the airplane, Morgan went towards a laboratory she knew of in the eastern side of London. After haggling with a couple of orderlies who had “lost” their cigarettes, Morgan got a couple of the things she couldn’t bring in an airplane. A medical kit fit enough for the marines, a few odds and ends and a new set of lab equipment built for the field.
Thanking the orderlies, Morgan made her way towards the meeting place. She strolled along the streets, enjoying the view, until the fact hit her that she was running late. To a knight meeting. Shit. She started to walk faster, keeping her head down against the intermittent rain. Could they have put this any further away? She thought as she walked across the street and rounded the corner. There. The decrepit building looked like it needed a few years of repair. The shingling was slip-shod and the ivy crawling up the walls didn’t help. Ominous, that the building seems to want to fall on its own.
Gulping down any thoughts of fear, Morgan began to walk toward the gated old house. As she strode up to the grumpy house, she saw a teenager around her age walking up the lane.
He appeared sleepy, with his eyes half-shut and his pace at a stroll. He was at the average height for most males his age eighteen to twenty; and a set of blood-red eyes, paired with snow-white hair indicative of genetic disorder, Albinism. He was wearing a trench coat, can conceal weapons, aid and other necessities; as well as a briefcase that he was holding casually almost too casually. He was almost completely unremarkable.
The teen began to slow once he reached the gate of the derelict mansion, pausing in front of the grand old house, silently beckoning her to pass him. Morgan stopped dead, staring at the kid in her way. She didn’t want to start a dialogue with the kid, at all. After about thirty seconds of both teens staring at each other, Morgan pushed against the sense of dread and said, “Hi, are you here for the meeting, too?”
The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly at the sound of my voice normal behavior in this neighborhood. He straightened and said, “I suppose you could say that... I'm Alister Dalton Black. Nice to meet you."
Morgan remembered the scratchy voice of her grandmother as she taught her to protect herself from the Koga’i ,
“Remember, ayoli, the archer is only as good as the bow. Likewise, the brain is only as good as the eyes. Use your abilities wisely, or suffer from a lack of preparedness.”
Eyes are not dilated, seems to be in good health, no murderous intent, mild American accent, most likely the eastern sector. Really unsure as to why he’s here, maybe I’ll come back after he’s gone. But I am late for the meeting, and he is as well apparently. He seems a little suspicious, but any more delay and he might realize that I have no clue.
“So, are we going to stand here all day? I mean, it’s a little cold outside, don’t you think?”
"Hmm? Oh, I guess it is. Doesn't really bother me." Alistair shrugged his shoulders in an indeterminate way, shaking loose a few dewdrops from his coat.
"Well, in that case, let's get going. Ladies first." Gesturing in an overly pompous manner, and keeping his voice very calm, Alastair leveled a composed gaze towards Morgan, flashing a polite smile towards the now speechless and immovable detective. What is this guy doing? Is this a trap? Morgan mulled over the possibilities of dying versus the vial of hydrofluoric acid in her pocket as Alistair finished his bow with a flourish. As she contemplated her answer, Alistair’s polite smile may have changed into a smirk, nah, too obvious. Nodding her head, she leveled a glare towards Alistair and said, “Sure, I’ll make sure to get the gate.”
Alistair straightened up, stretching to make his bow less awkward. His smile never left his face. Then Alister looked Morgan in the eyes and very casually said, “Suit yourself.”
Without another motion he began to stride calmly up the path to the door, ignoring the weeds and broken beer bottles and the now confused investigator, swinging the briefcase back and forth methodically.
Morgan followed behind the other teen, keeping a safe distance. Once they had arrived at the front door, Alistair knocked twice and, when there was no audible response, quietly turned the knob. As soon as the door was open, he walked into the house and out of sight. Not wanting to stay in the gloomy air any longer, Morgan shrugged the water off of her jacket and stepped inside the door. The foyer reeked of decay, but she could hear voices on the side of a door. Alistair didn’t break his stride and walked through into the next room, completely ignoring Morgan’s existence.
"Well, this is quite the group we have here." He said as he strode into the room, stopping beside the door and impatiently holding it open. After I had walked through he found a place to stand by the wall and said, "Alister Dalton Black, by the way, and this is-"
He paused as he realized "I don't think I got your name."
At the sight of Alister’s pointing hand, 10 pairs of eyes swiveled to meet Morgan. Swallowing all fear, she saw an older man in a ridiculous Private eye costume, a hyperactive man who couldn’t seem to sit still, and another boy around her age, closing a book and looking contemplatively at her. Then, mustering up her courage, she said, “Hi, I’m Jones, and I’m here about the order?”
All of them stared at Morgan for another few, agonizing seconds. Then they started resuming what Morgan assumed they were doing before; talking amongst themselves, reading, and staring off into space were all popular choices. Walking closer to Alister, Morgan set her bags down and started to observe the people around her.