Imprisoned Muse: Trouble in Central Park


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Scene Title Imprisoned Muse: Trouble in Central Park
Synopsis When a man commits suicide in the park, a group of Scions soon realise something more is going on than just an emo painter deciding to end it all. This is the first scene of a plot STed by Vette.

Central Park

The famed Central Park, an area that at times, has come to be known as the oasis of NYC. One of the great pleasures New Yorkers and tourists enjoy is getting away from it all inside Central Park. Stretching 51 blocks between 59th and 110th streets, this 843 acre, green rectangle has served its city well since 1859. From famous statues to castles, there is so much to see within this pastoral landmark. One of the more famous stops is The Dairy, built in 1870 as a milk bar, it now serves as the main Visitor Center. There is also the posh Tavern on the Green restaurant nearby. On the more romantic side of the park, Hansom Cabs can be found lined up across from the Plaza Hotel at 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, offering a romantic journey through the park. To the north lies a large, fenced-in body of water. with walking and jogging trails offered along the perimeter path.

It's early in the morning in central park. A low lying fog is laying over everything, and a wind is blowing that is /very/ icy cold. The wind seems to distinguish itself from other December winds, holding flecks of snow. It's here, then gone. It's caressing and choosing carefully. It's a disturbing little air current that can't be pinned down. The street lamps are still on, piercing through the mist. For one reason or another, each Scion here has ended up at this area of the park, even if they would not normally. Brought by whatever means. Brought by the hand of Fate.

For Rufus Scrivner, coming out here at this early hour of the morning means that he's going for a walk. Wearing his heavy, black trenchcoat against the ice in the air, carrying his long, black case and his sword over his back, the tall, blonde man strolls along one of the paths with faintly narrowed eyes. "Cold today," he muses to the lady with whom he walks.

Normally, Conrad would be asleep by now after a hard night of part— working, but as chance or perhaps Fate would have it, he's only now leaving the apartment of Swedish twins, here in New York, for school and what have you. He didn't really ask. Wearing a heavy brown jacket over the rest of his mostly casual ensemble of faded jeans and a vintage tee, he keeps his hands in pants pocket, which is normal, but right now it's a good idea to keep warm! "Maybe I really should have gotten their names. The night really was double the fun." There's a jingling of keys which may indicate that he's walking to his car. He doesn't make any indication that he notices anything out of the ordinary with this weather, It's cold. He's tired.

The most wonderful thing about winter, and winter weather? Cinchilla! Dion's a happy little puppy in his long cinchilla-trimmed black coat, hat and gloves. A dash of color shows through in the red scarf he's chosen. He certainly wouldn't normally even come into the park this early in a day, but it just occurred to him to do that given he was in the city anyway for a little morning shopping once the stores open. And then it occurred to him to follow a certain path. His mind is just on other things at the moment, and his feet choose his course. It leads him towards the pair. In his hand is his cup, in the form of a flask, from which he sips hot cocoa. Thank you, dad. His other gift is tucked inside his coat.

Lin is out because he has had an early morning already. It might be cold and the holidays, but Homicide is still busy as usual. He is wearing a dark trenchcoat with a scarf for warmth. A pair of black gloves on his hands. He walks through the park, heading in the direction where he knows is some coffee. God…or is it Gods now, he needs coffee.

"It's freezing," Vette agrees, rubbing her arms. She's all bundled up in her coat though, and her snow boots hit the light coating of ice on the ground with no particular trouble. The sun is starting to come up, adding an eerie pink red glow. Each of the Scions will start to be in distance of the others shortly.

Mindful of the slick ice, Rufus reaches out his hand to grasp Vette's arm tightly, ready to catch her in case she falls. Breath steams in a cloud before his face. "How about we get a cup of tea and some breakfast before we part ways?" he suggests. "There should be somewhere around here that's open for business. Perhaps a bakery."

Yawning openly, Conrad moves at his slow, almost languid pace, following one path or other in the park that leads up to where he left his car. Spotting several others in the distance, he has to murmur, "Look at all the bright-eyed and bushy tailed." He's probably talking about Dion. "What's so important that people have to be up and out of the house in the morning. Especially in this weath…er" He stops, becoming a little distracted now. At first, he looks at the faces of the people gathered — especially Vette's! But once that is done, he is carefully surveying his surroundings as if he's looking or waiting for something.

Dion enjoys the warmth of the hot cocoa as he walks. He's not in any hurry yet, since there's plenty of time before the business day starts. The park isn't very populated this early, though he does note that there seem to be a fair few of them crossing paths right around here. It takes until he's fairly close to realize he knows the two that are walking together, and they he pauses in his step and looks a little surprised. And, like he's really only now paid attention to where he's gone.

Lin tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks in the direction of the food vendor. He slows to a stop and lifts his head, looking around slowly. He spots Vette and Rufus. He knows those two. He continues to look around, even looking in the direction of the sun. "You know, this almost reminds me of a scene from Highlander." He mumbles to himself. He waves to the vendor. "I will have to talk to you later, Frankie."

There can be only one! Vette blinks at Conrad staring at her (lo! She notices!) And then? A gunshot, a single gunshot, rings through the air. Then there's nothing. Just silence. Silence, and then that strange wind that dances on the outer edges of consciousness disappears as if it never was. The crickets go silent. The street lights still hum. The light pat pat of snowflakes falling onto snow.

Reacting quick as a whip, Rufus seizes Vette and pulls her close up against him, turning her about and wrapping his arm aroun her head. That gunshot has him looking quickly around for the source as he starts to crouch, close to touching one knee to the pavement. He's searching, starting with the direction he thinks it might have come from.

Dion jumps and squeals a bit like a girl when there's a gunshot, his eyes widening. Fortunately, he does not spill his cocoa. He looks like he has no real idea where the shot came from, so he looks towards Rufus and Vette for whatever they can figure out. Of course, to those that don't know him, what little can be seen with the hat and the scarf could be either a boy or a girl. Kind of hard to tell, from the showing part of his face.

Conrad isn't shy about his staring. So when his gaze passes over Vette's way again, he flashes a grin which is followed by a wink. What does it matter to him that there's this other guy standing right next to her? Then the quiet calm of the winter morning is broken, though hearing a gunshot being fired isn't all too surprising for Conrad. Still, that doesn't make him lax, because a gunshot is a gunshot and he's had a few fired at him before. Just like what Rufus is doing, Conrad keeps low, his form sticking close to one of the trees in the park. His narrowed eyes carefully scan the surrounding area even further as he reaches into his jacket pocket, yet not drawing anything out of it.

Lin starts to raise a hand towards the two when he suddenly hears the gunshot. He reacts immediately. He is a cop after all. He knows better than to stand in the open, even if he probably can heal a gunshot wound now. He looks around, squinting for the source of the gunshot.

Vette lets out a shriek, and then silences. The fog sort of thins and they can see someone down by the resovoir. The form is slumped over and there's somethingnot someone, but somethingnext to it. Hard to see.

Rufus' eyes flicker across the other people in the park that he can readily see - Dion there, Lin over yonder - some other kid he doesn't recognise. Holding protectively and tightly to Vette, he slowly rises and fixes his eyes on that figure in the distance. "Stay close behind me," he quietly murmurs, before he goes walking forward. The two he does know are given a curt nod in greeting and acknowledgement. The other kid, Conrad, he assumes will just stay back. "Dion," he quietly calls as he makes his way towards the resevoir. "Are you all right?"

Conrad actually expects that the shot was meant for him, especially in his line of shady work. Pressing his back up against the tree, while he remains crouched on the snowy ground, he continues to survey the area. It's only then that he notices the shadowy figure through the fog. "Looks like someone else was the target this time." He whispers under his breath, though knows enough that while there's someone hovering over a slumped form, the coast is still not clear. Blue eyes flicker in Rufus' direction once the man makes his way towards the figures in the distance. "I guess the boys in blue will be here at any moment." He murmurs, expecting the guy to call the cops. Rising to stand now, he dusts off some of the snow from his knees in some sort of annoyance, though he can't help but let his eyes trail after Rufus, curious to see what's up; taking an initial step forward to get a better look.

Dion seems to take Rufus' words about staying behind him as meant for him, too. He falls in behind the lawyer, closing the cap on his flask and stowing it in his pocket for the moment. "I'm fine." he replies quietly then, almost defensively, given the squeal. It wasn't a very dignified sound. "What's that?" he asks then as he reaches into his coat for… a wireless microphone.

Lin continues to look before finally climbing out of his own cover. He looks over towards Frankie and his cart, but he is already moved along to better pastures. He starts to slowly make his way towards the group. "Did you hear the gunshot? Was anyone hurt?" He asks as he approaches.

"I think everyone heard the gunshot," Vette murmurs quietly. She stays behind Rufus. The man on the ground is in his late twenties. He's got long black hair that hangs down, messily, past his shoulders. He's in a Rolling Stones t-Shirt and wears ripped jeans. Half his face has been blown off and he is holding the murder weapon to his temple still, where he apparently shot himself. There is a half finished painting on it's easal here—the object everyone had dimly seen.

The painting:

The twisted figure of a woman seems to be oozing out of a mirror, her mouth opened in horror and in pain. Unfocused eyes bleed, and cuts cover nearly every inch of her naked body, leaking blood out onto a black and white tile floor, like the sort used in those 1950s kitchens. A moth sits on her nose, looking ready to leap off the canvas at any moment in a flutter of dead brown wings. This 1950s kitchen has stone columns that rise up and up in white, carved with the twisting impressions of something like frozen flames.

Coming upon the scene, Rufus slowly nods his head to Lin. "I heard it as well, yes. Neither Vette nor I are hurt." He straightens as he finds the dead body, and when he sees the painting itself, he arches an eyebrow. "Something about this does not seem quite right," he murmurs after a second or two of doing nothing more than surveying the scene. "A suicide, but…" He tucks his hand into the pocket of his trenchcoat, scowling in mild confusion.

As Conrad moves in closer, the entire scenario becomes more clear. There was no fear of a shooter lurking in the mist, so his footsteps pick up until he's standing directly beside Vette. Quite closely, though he keeps his hands to himself, having them tucked once more into his jeans pockets. "Talk about a tortured artist." He comments aloud, looking first at Vette. Then at the body. And then finally at the painting. "Yep, this guy's got definite problems." While this mystery is unraveling, he keeps an ear open for the sound of sirens. If the cops do show up, he doesn't seem like he's about to stick around.

Dion just stares for the moment, his mouth slightly agape. He clearly has no idea at all what to make of this.

Lin finally notices the body, which was obscured by the fog. "Woah. Yeah, I think we found where it came from." He says outloud. He walks over and crouches slightly to get a better look at the body. He looks to the painting for a moment before squinting. "Hmmm…" He stands up and starts to make gestures, allowing the flow of magic of the world to become visible to him. "Let's see if you are special." He mutters to himself.

Oddly there are no cop cars or sirens. Probably because a cop is already out here and nobody's called this in. The only people who heard it are standing around the body. Vette takes a step back, looking pained and worried.

It's right around now that Rufus takes notice of Conrad standin' real close. He turns his head to look at the young man, frowning at him, before he says, "This is hardly the time or place for attempts at humour." He glances then at Vette, and he reaches back to her for her hand to tightly clasp, trying to offer some reassurance. Then he turns his eyes back to Lin, watchful and waiting.

Conrad withdraws his hands from his pockets and raising them in a defensive manner, as if he were being held up, "C'mon. Don't tell you weren't thinking it." Then back into the depths of his pockets they go. For now, he ignores the body's existence as he focuses his full attention on V… well, Lin now. Arching his brow, he murmurs, "Special? I'd call that painting special alright. It drove a guy to kill himself. He probably sees those images in his head and BANG. Or you see that a lot in fiction anyway." Casually, he shrugs to take in the last member of the party. The jailbait.

The jailbait looks more than a little lost with all of this. His forehead wrinkles, though out of habit he then smooths over the skin with his fingers. Wrinkles can start young, if you don't watch these things. Finally, in a feminie sort of voice, "Shouldn't someone call an ambulance. Or, well, a hearse? Or something?" It may be his first body.

Lin looks upon the painting before lifting up his eyebrows. "Woah." He mutters to himself. "There is like a black wind." He tries to concentrate upon, trying to track it. "Damn!" He nearly shouts as it moves beyond him. He looks to the others. "Uh..You're right." He says, digging out his police radio. He calls in for an ambulance. He listens to the radio. "Dispatch, can you check to see if there is a painting on the other bodies?" He looks back to the others as he stands up. "We got more suicides going on out there."

Vette squeezes Rufus' hand hard, eyes going wide as saucers. "A black wind?" She furrows her brow thoughtfully. "So—something…did this."

Dispatch sounds surprised as the lady reports, "That's a 10-4 on one. The other one was doing some sort of creepy pottery."

"This is not the first?" Rufus inquires, deciding to ignore Conrad's protest. Whether or not he was thinking something along those lines is a thought he'll keep to himself. The man scowls, and he reaches about in his pocket to pull out a slim watch, studying the face of it for a moment. "Something, yes," he murmurs. Then he closes up the watch and tucks it back into his pocket, looking pensive.

Conrad continues to mildly keep his eye on Dion for a moment, before his gaze swivels to regard Vette again, but that's when he notices something alarming. His eyes quickly narrow once he notices Lin pull out his radio to call dispatch. So he's in the company of a cop. Nevertheless, he keeps up his casual, laid back demeanor even if he does take a step back and away from the small gathering in the case that he needs to make his disappearing act. "So we got ourselves some kind of epidemic." He murmurs, rubbing at the light stubble at his chin thoughtfully. "Some sort of suicide club. Of the insane." His gaze then falls upon Vette, knowing that what she says holds truth.

Dion takes a few steps towards the body and painting, though seems more focused on the latter. He studies it quietly for a long moment. His head tilts a bit as he considers it.

"Copy, Dispatch. Can I get an address on the second vic?" Lin requests over the radio. He scrunches up his mouth. "I am just wondering if the painting is where the woman was doing pottery." He says before reaching into a pocket for a pair of gloves. Homicide Cop and crime scenes. You got to be prepared. He checks for a wallet.

Dispatch gives Lin the address for both of the other suicides. Vette continues to hold Scrivner's hand and stares at the painting for a long moment, then finally looks away with a grimace. This is way out of her league—she's a scientist, not an artist, Jim.

There's not much more that Scrivner has to say right this secon as well, given that Lin has his buddies on the other end of that radio able to give him more information. So he steps back to give the other man more room, keeping close to Vette's side, and slowly, he winds his arm around her shoulders to squeeze her. Then he turns his eyes back to Conrad, scowling, "Who /are/ you?"

Conrad continues to just casually stand there as the cop investigates the grisly scene before him. Normally, he wouldn't stick around when in the presence of the law, especially if the cop in question is actually working; but something has his attention and strangely, it's neither of the two… girls. It's whatever conversation that he can hear between Lin and the dispatcher. And then Scrivner speaks to him, making him slowly turn towards the other guy, "I'm just a bystander like everyone else, man."

Dion shivers a bit as he stares intently at the painting, and it's hard to tell whether he is even able to turn away from it at the moment. "Something…" his voice is quiet. "The wind. Wind howls. It's speaking for something else. It forced its way into him, and through him. This is a message, interpretted by those with gift enough to hear it." He seems to be trying to understand it better. "It's not an attack, exactly. It's not a warning. It's not the voice of an evil thing." He's quiet a moment, then says "Not all who heard it killed themselves. Most did, but not all."

Lin jots down the addresses quickly. "Copy that, Dispatch. Thanks." He says. He looks over towards Scrivner as he looks to Conrad. If there is trouble, Scrivner is a good man…or god, whatever. He walks over to Dion and listens to him, nodding to him. "I saw it. It was a dark wind. It felt like it was suppose to happen…like fate. There was sad music. I could hear it." He says to him before offering his hand. "Detective Lin Kun." He offers. "Mr. Derek Steely here looked to work for a studio." He pauses before slapping his head and squints again, looking beyond for ghosts. "Anybody out there? Anybody see anything? Unless you are a Spectre for the Titans, I don't have a quarrel with you. So come on out."

No ghosts answer Lin's query; though the fog is lifting as they get a bit deeper into the morning. Vette says, "Maybe we should go to the other houses that dispatch gave you. Or to this studio. Maybe get someone to come get the poor guy's body or something."

"I was not suggesting otherwise," Scrivner answers, arching one eyebrow. "I was curious about your name, actually. A situation such as this one rather demands introductions be made. I'm Rufus Scrivner."

Lifting his chin as he scratches idly at his cheek, Conrad's attention flickers over to Dion when… she starts to babble on about the wind. Not only that, the copper starts on about it too and this is when he knows he's in good company. Even if the cop is one of them. Simply smiling faintly, he plays observer for a good long while; both of his hands once more slip deeply into his pockets. With Rufus' introduction, he murmurs to himself, "Rufus? Did your parents want a pet dog but got you instead?" It's a sarcastic joke, but his eyes do peer out at Lin when he states, "People call me C.W."

Dion blinks a bit, finally forcing himself to look away from the painting and shake some of the fog out of his brain. "Huh?" He looks over his head in this, and a little overwhelmed. And surprised enough that when his forehead wrinkles again he doesn't think to smooth his skin. "Oh. Yes. Hi." He takes Lin's hand, and replies. "Dion. Dion Nevins." Then, he adds "Fate. Is that why I walked here." The question is clearly rhetorical, though. He looks around again, as though not really sure where exactly in the park he is. "I really should watch that."

Lin blows out a breath. "Well, it was worth a try." He says to himself, removing the rubber gloves for a more warmer pair. "I think we got what we can here." He smiles and nods his head to Dion. "Kinda like sleep walking, huh?" He tries to joke. He looks to everyone. "I think I got what I can here. I am going to head over to the other D.B." He says, letting them know.

The ambulance rolls up in a flurry of red, sweeping lights and noise in a matter of moments. Vette blinks and says, "Oh. I'm Vette." And then she blinks again. "Goodness, that was very fast." She looks over at C.W. and the rest of what he says catches up to her. "That was a very mean thing to say, and I do not approve." As to the rest, she says, "Rufus, are we going to go with him?" She tilts her head towards Lin.

Scrivner does not look too amused either. He studies Conrad without cracking a smile, gaze flat and mouth tight. "I'm underwhelmed," he quietly states, voice just a touch flat, before he turns his eyes away from the younger man and looks at Lin. Contemplating Vette's question, he inclines his head with a jerk, and he says, "If it's permitted, Detective Kun, might we take a look at these other locations with you?"

Conrad mostly dismisses Scrivner, though when he has offended the lady, he offers a grin, "My apologies, sweetheart. It was a joke and sometimes I can be an ass, admittedly, but for you, I take it back." Looking to Lin, he ponders requesting the same that Scrivner asks of Lin. Having a feeling that the other locations will just be swarming with cops. Peering over at Dion though, he does comment, "Really, you should be more careful. There's a lot of unsavory types that prowl around the city." Himself excluded, of course.

Dion looks towards the others, then, watching each in turn. He doesn't seem to have been paying attention recently to their part of the overall conversation, and now looks a bit lost. As he puts away the microphone still in his hand, and replaces it with his flask, he says to Conrad "I don't, usually. I had some time before the stores open, and just wasn't paying enough attention." Then, to Rufus and Vette, "Should we do that? Go with him to see the others?"

Lin lets out a sigh before look to the medics. "It's over here, Boys." He calls out. He gestures to the rest of them to follow him away from the body. "Yeah, come on. We were all kinda called to be there for the act. I think we all should be there for the next body too."

The group arrives at a small studio apartment in Queens. It's reasonably clean, though the initial run of Uniforms is already all over it. Nobody will question Lin's right to bring in his entorauge though, given that most people in this group can talk the head right off of mortals.

The sculpture is a middle aged woman with flaming red hair. She's wearing a Tinkerbell nightshirt and a pair of black shorts. She apparently just laid down in front of her worktable after downing an entire bottle of prescription sleep drugs. The worktable has a rather gruesome creation on it. There is a broad bowl that looks like it is filled with water; the sculpture is of a drowning woman desparately reaching out for help. Knives have been stuck in each of the sculpted woman's arms, and her eyes and mouth appear to be bleeding heavily. Something appears to all have but been branded into the woman's chest; a harp of some form or fashion.

The woman's other work is hardly like this. They can see it throughout the studio. There are about 5 sculptures of ballerinas; in mid leap or in pliete or holding one another up. There are 3 sculptures of figure skaters: two in pairs, one in a couple. There's a sculpture of a couple of hockey teams going at it. The biggest one is of a fat little toddler happily poking his head out of a clump of sunflowers.

Rufus' eyes flicker back to Conrad, and he arches an eyebrow at him. "How sad. He thinks he's being clever." Offering his elbow to Vette then, Scrivner nods his head to Lin, walking away then to go and meander on over to this next site, by car, by foot, however the policeman decides is best to get there. Once there, he's looking around again and hanging back, taking in details and saying little right at first.

Though he never did ask for permission, C.W. assumes Scrivner was asking Lin's permission for all of them. Apparently, anyway, as he shows up at this 'new' crime scene and simply follows the group in whether they notice him there or not. More than likely Rufus notices him, since he's just chillin' and being observant too. This time, Conrad doesn't draw much attention to himself, attempting to blend in with everyone else as he views some of the art.

Under all that coat and fur, once they're somewhere warmer, Dion does in fact turn out to be a boy. In the strictest sense of the word, anyway. He shivers again as he looks at the sculpture, and nods slowly. "Are we going to try to go save her?" he asks quietly. "I have no idea how to do something like that."

Lin turns to the others, whispering lowly to them. "Hands in pockets." He instructs before walking into the woman's studio. He nods to those already on the scene. He frowns gently before reaching for another set of gloves. "We have a picture of the brand?" He asks, looking around at the cops. He glances over around before making the gesture again, again looking beyond.

"The brand, sir?" Officer Neely asks. He peers down at the sculpture. "No, there's no brand per se. I mean that's paint, and darker clay, meant to look like a brand, but if you're asking for a piece of metal that did that I didn't find anything like that. She might have done the detail work by hand, you know? I don't know much about art."

Hands in their pockets? He looks mildly confused by the request, but he complies. And of course Scrivner notices young C.W. hanging about. He wrinkles his nose in distaste to see him, but as this is not his crime scene and is Lin's, he does not speak up with any objections or whatnot. He simply moves onwards and continues to look around.

Conrad's hands are usually in his pockets, so it's no big deal to him. Shuffling along, he stands off to the side to view the sculpture which the dead woman was working on and idly his gaze roam to glance towards Dion again… except this time, he's not giving the teen a once over with his eyes. In fact, it's more of a double take when suddenly that cutesy jailbait chick turns out to be some tween.. This is quite disappointing and makes his brow furrow, though at least he has that sculptured woman to stare at. Obviously, he looks at her chest at least once and notes the harp image, himself. While he's curious, he's not going to stand around and hinder the investigation. There's cops swarming this place, so he takes a step back.

Dion finally turns away from the scene, looking quite affected by both the bodies and the art. A little on the sensitive side, one might imagine. He just tries to stay out of the way, and quiet.

"Oh, Sorry. I meant there," Lin says, pointing out the chest and where the brand of the harp is. He looks to the others, making sure they can see it. He looks to the bowl she was working on. "Drowning, huh?" He says outloud.

Vette rubs the side of her nose slowlythen remembers her hands are supposed to be in her pocket. She tilts her head at the statue but seems content to let the others draw their own conclusionsthere doesn't seem to be any science for her to offer, not yet, at any rate.

This … is a bit out of Scrivner's depth too, it seems. He studies the woman for a long, long while, then he shakes his head a few times. Having nothing to say, he glances back at Vette, then at Lin. He studies his pocketwatch for a second or two as well, then slips it away.

Conrad isn't about to go chat up the cop, nor is he going to stand around and talk to a girlish boy person and of course, Scrivner is out of the question, so he lingers around near where Vette is. "The kid said it's not a warning. Do you think it's a cry for help? I mean if these artists are getting maybe premonitions of what could be the same woman." He doesn't say whether she's hot or not as that wasn't described!

Dion quietly slips out away from all those people. Rufus and Vette have his number, after all. he just needs to go somewhere and shake for a while. It's all a little much for the eighteen year old.

Dion has disconnected.

Lin make sure enough photos are taken before gesturing for everyone to step outside and out of their way. He breaths out and tired breath. Very early morning and a Long day ahead for him. "So any impressions, thoughts?"

"A cry for help. Yes," Vette murmurs. "Much as it pains me to agree with the man who said such a thing as you said, I think that is exactly what it is meant for. A cry for helpbut one the mortals could not handle, perhaps. Perhaps itoverwhelmed them."

Scrivner turns to look at the younger man, and his eyes narrow with annoyance. Calmly, he steps around the lady, and he places himself between Conrad and Vette. His shoulder nudges lightly up against the lady's, and he stands just slightly behind her as well. "Hm. A woman trapped somewhere calling for help in the only way she can, going mad with pain and despair. Someone who can touch the minds or otherwise influence artists. So the question on my mind is… how do we track her? How can we trace the origins of this spell that she used?"

"Hey, I never said anything that bad." Yet. Conrad protests mildly. "You know, you're pretty hot when you're uptight." Though he doesn't know these people, it's not difficult to tell that they are special, even if he, himself, doesn't bring any of this up and let's them do as they please. And then Scrivner steps in and becomes a barrier from him and the little lady, even if C.W. looks somewhat amused. "Start painting?" He asks with that same humor to match his amusement. "I kind of wonder if we'll run into a dead musician, writing a song about this very woman. Anyway, just track down other artists, see if they are going through sleepless nights."

Lin looks over to Vette and Scrivner. "So do you think a God is doing this? This is the only way she can get a message out?" He asks, brainstorming. "Maybe there is a clue in the images. The sculpture had a harp. Maybe…an Irish Goddess?" He looks over to Conrad, nodding his head. "You have a point."

"Dion said some of the artists lived. Maybe we should visit the art gallery. If artists are suddenly turning out weird art that doesn't match up with what they normally do there /would/ be a bit of a buzz that might lead us to finding one. Do you think we should look at the final body?" They might want to regroup with Dion at the gallery, but if there's one more body to stare at maybe they should do it with the kid. Still, Vette doesn't question that Dion should be brought back in. Not when Fate has spoken so very clearly.

Now that they're outside, presumably they can take their hands out of their pockets. Scrivner slips his arm around Vette's waist and scowls, but his attention is on Lin and the lady for the moment. "The ones who survived might be able to remember something," he muses. "And yes, we should take a look at the final body. There may be another clue in the artwork that further points to this woman's identity."

Conrad doesn't seem to mind Scrivner's sudden possessiveness over Vette and he just hangs back once more, hand remaining within his pockets as he takes in all that is said. Studying the players involved in solving this mystery, he looks to each person's face as he listens to their discussion.

Lin nods his head slowly as he listens to them to others as well. "Why don't I go to the last body on my own? I could slip in without looking out of place. Unless one of you wants to accompany me. Then we can meet up at the gallery to talk to those who have survived?"

Vette blinks as Lin suggests not bringing all of them in to go look, but it seems she has no input on that. She just lets Rufus make that decision.

Rufus doesn't answer that one immediately. He glances at the lady, and he frowns to himself before nodding. "I sincerely doubt I'll be able to divine any great secrets by being there in person. Pictures of the artwork and the scene would suffice for me. You're right. You would draw less attention to yourself. There is no real reason why I or Miss Adams should be present."

Having heard enough of the conversation, Conrad silently dismisses himself, deciding to meet up with them at the gallery as he knows they'll be there. Slinking away, he returns to his car and prepares to zoom off for that much needed sleep.

The third body is an older gentleman. His salt and pepper hair is curly and close cropped to his skull. He's blown his own brains out too, only he went for a gun-eat rather than a temple shot, and he used a shotgun. He's dressed in overalls and a white teeshirt. Most of his art seems to be about the Vietnam War, so while the dark tone of the painting is the same the subject matter isn't.

The woman in the half finished painting is chained upside down and uncloathed to a broad pillar that looks like it runs up and down with twisting snakes that fall into flames. A dark onyx floor is beneath her and an unseen hand holds her bleeding ear and a bleeding knife, which he's just cut off. Her long hairblonde, in this picture, though the other painting had her hair as black as nightspills onto the floor, and she's clearly weeping. There are vague patterns worked into the floor of the torture chamber—bass cleffs and treble cleffs, quill pens and paintbrushes.

This scene was STed by Vette.

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