Night has fallen.
Of course it has.
It's been thirty years since any of you has seen the sun. Eternal night, that was the promise. While thirty years isn't eternity, it's close enough. The nights since then have blended into one long dark, a smeared span of existence. You slake your hunger. You sleep. And again. And again.
Occasionally, you are asked to help. That's the price of eternity, the price of the hunting grounds your Prince allows you. Tonight, you received the call from Sam Stokes, the Sheriff of this place, the Prince's fist, enforcer, what-have-you. She commanded you to meet with her servant, Detective Robert Webber.
So here you are, an hour or so after sundown on a lonely road out of town. Trees loom on all sides of you, nearly blotting out the night sky. Somewhere close, a creek burbles. An owl cries out once; a fellow predator hunting for its meal.
Introduce yourselves. Did you arrive separately or all together? Do you share a haven or do you sleep separately?
Samantha Baxter arrives alone, and before engaging with anyone else who might have gotten there before her, she sits in the grass and pulls out a deck of tarot cards. The deck is well cared for and clearly well used. At some angles, they seem to glitter with an eerie light.
She shuffles them, humming some abstract melody and gazing upwards at the sky.
She pulls three cards, face up on the grass. Lets out a "Hmmm," before gathering them up and tucking the deck into a pocket on the inside of her black jacket.
Standing and idly brushing at her pants, she looks around to take stock of the rest of the group.
"Samantha Baxter. Always a pleasure to see new faces." Her tone is polite.
Paul Clunie doesn't ride one of those noisy three-stroke motorcycles, his is a BMW R60/2, and it's outfitted with a sidecar for the comfort of his passengers. Today that passenger is Aileen Doss.
Paul parks at the side of the road, and shuts his engine off. He takes a moment to offer Aileen his arm before removing his helmet. His hair is cut accountancy-short . He shakes it out, but this doesn't really fix the helmet hair.
He strides over to Samantha, and offers his hand. "Paul Clunie," he says. "P-Dogg."
He seems entirely serious. "Nice to meet you."
Aileen takes Paul's arm and lets him help her out of the side car. Metal bangles jingling merrily on her right arm, as she takes her helmet off, and gives Prince Charming a run for his money as she shakes out her mane ala Calgon take me away! Any potential helmet hair never stood a chance. Nothing can defeat Aqua Net.
She catches Samantha's eye from behind Paul, shaking her head amusedly, silently mouthing "No one calls him that".
Not long after the sleek motorcycle stops, just as one can make out a few cooling pings, a slender figure made bulky by jacket, scarves and hood resolves from the darkness with a stride that looks slow but moves her along at a resectible clip. As she approaches the group, she lifts her head enough that too pale skin, and very white, very sharp teeth are seen in a kind smile made horrific.
The smile softens just a little as she turns to Sam, "Hullo dearie, I'm Juana. Pleased to make you acquaintance." The voice is soft, nothing like the sharp teeth. Something moves in the multitude of pockets and Juana taps and coos. After a second her head turns at a bird-like angle, a silent oh yes on her lips.
Her hand delves into a different pocket pulling out a pin-stripe bow with a circular centerpiece made of twisted leather. "Kitcat didnt want me to forget, they worked so hard to get the tails." The twisted decorative piece held out to Aileen. In almost the same breath, to Paul, "You need to be careful on these dreadful machine, so horrible when they crash and the blood and bone pours into the gutter."
Aileen accepts the gift. "Indie! Are those rat tails? She gently turns the bow creation around, and examines it with fascination, getting lost in the details for a moment. "That's very Alexander McQueen of you. I'm getting Savage Beauty Vibes." She looks at Juana and says, in all seriousness, "Please thank the mighty hunter on my behalf, for contributing to your inspired art." (edited spelling)
"Mm," Paul doesn't quite look at Juana. "For someone of my driving ability, it is simple enough to avoid the crash."
Paul looks around, "We seem to have beaten the good Detective to the scene."
Headlights approach. Road this lonely, it could only be one person.
A 10 year old Crown Vic pulls over on the far side of the road. The engine shuts down, ticking softly. The headlights stay on, the only real light on this section of road.
A man steps out of the driver's seat. After a second, those who know him recognize him as Detective Robert Webber. Only he has a little more gray in his hair, a little more paunch around his middle, a little more crepe around the eyes. It's only then you realize that it's been at least five years. Time stopped for you, but not for him.
He's dressed in a rumpled suit, but the flash of gold on his wrist--has to be a Rolex--is a reminder of who his master is. Same as yours, come to think of it.
He's holding a folder, a casefile, close to his body. He surveys the lot of you from across the street and shivers once. The night isn't cold. "Looks like the gang's all here," he observes, making his way across the two-lane highway to join the coterie.
He shies away from Juana apparently unconsciously, preferring to address Paul and Aileen. "You're probably wonderin' what you're doin' out here," he says. "Seems we got ourselves a serial killer. Two murders so far, and, um...it's the kind of thing you people get pretty sensitive over, know what I mean? Sam...Miz Stokes...she wants you to find out who did it, an' make sure they don't do anymore. Now, I've got the investigation stalled downtown, give you room to work, but I can't run interference forever if the bodies really start pilin' up. This is a small town, and folks notice if bodies start droppin'."
Aileen offers him her hand to shake. "Detective. How lovely to see you again. It's unfortunate it isn't under better circumstances." She smiles at him for a moment, a ray of sunshine in the everlasting night, before allowing her expression to reflect the seriousness of the situation.
"What are your thoughts? And what can you tell us that isn't in your report." Presumably he will hand over the file. But first she wants to hear him speak, to listen to his tone and emotion to get a better read on things. It was very interesting that he was on a first name basis with the Sheriff, and corrected himself in conversation. Was it a slip up - was it on purpose? Would digging into how close they were prove an advantage to be used later? They couldnt be that close though - his continued aging was proof enough of that. He was more useful to the Sheriff as a human. She files the thoughts away almost unconciously for later perusal.
Aileen takes Paul's arm and lets him help her out of the side car. Metal bangles jingling merrily on her right arm, as she takes her helmet off, and gives Prince Charming a run for his money as she shakes out her mane ala Calgon take me away! Any potential helmet hair never stood a chance. Nothing can defeat Aqua Net.
She catches Samantha's eye from behind Paul, shaking her head amusedly, silently mouthing "No one calls him that".
Samantha looks the group over, eyes momentarily fixated on Aileen's glorious hair. She touches her own, unconsciously. A little self consciously, maybe. Her clothing could belong to the 80s but her well tamed and straightened hair certainly wouldn't stand out there. Samantha looks like she might blend into any decade she found herself in.
"Nice to meet you, Aileen. P-Dogg." A smile touches her lips, finally. She looks to Aileen again, mouths when in Rome.
When her eyes land on Juana, she makes an almost formal bow of her head. And seems extremely intrigued. "The pleasure is mine, Juana."
When the Detective addresses the group, Sam is content to stay in the background and watch. And listen.
Juana doesn't try to talk to Detective Bob, just watching intently from the shadows of her hood, attentive not just to his words, but his stance, scent, and other prey-signils.
Aileen offers him her hand to shake. "Detective. How lovely to see you again. It's unfortunate it isn't under better circumstances." She smiles at him for a moment, a ray of sunshine in the everlasting night, before allowing her expression to reflect the seriousness of the situation.
"What are your thoughts? And what can you tell us that isn't in your report." Presumably he will hand over the file. But first she wants to hear him speak, to listen to his tone and emotion to get a better read on things. It was very interesting that he was on a first name basis with the Sheriff, and corrected himself in conversation. Was it a slip up - was it on purpose? Would digging into how close they were prove an advantage to be used later? They couldnt be that close though - his continued aging was proof enough of that. He was more useful to the Sheriff as a human. She files the thoughts away almost unconciously for later perusal.
"It's Bob," he says to Aileen, offering a smile that might have been charming ten, twenty years ago. And as soon as she makes the slightest motion to the file he hands it over, the pages sticking out of the front like an overstuffed sandwich. "Okay, yeah. Let's see. When we found the first kid I thought we had a real sicko around. But when we found the second kid? I knew we had a problem. That was two days. If this is a serial thing...means another body's on the way."
Aileen opens the folder. In the midst of various typed reports, she finds the pictures. The first is a handsome young man in an Oregon State basketball uniform. The second is that same young man cut up and stuffed in a storm drain. The next victim shows a good looking man in his thirties, the only real sign of age his high forehead. He's smiling in a suburban living room decorated several decades behind the time. The very next shot is the same young man splayed on a rock in the middle of the woods. There was a time when such violence would have chilled Aileen to the core. Now she merely feels the faint pang of hunger.
"Now the reason I'm talking to you is that both bodies were nearly emptied. Barely a drop of blood between them. Drummer, the first kid, he had been in that drain for a day or two, and you remember the rains. Figured most of it could have been washed away, but this guy, Thrush... made me think... well, you know. And if I'm thinkin' that, ain't too long before other folks start thinkin' it."
Paul nods amiably at Samantha, and focuses his attention to the Detective.
"Suspicious," Paul says, looking over Aileen's shoulder.
"So the brief is to stop this as quickly and discreetly as possible, regardless of whether or not it's ... within the family?"
Paul asks as a question, but it's clear that in his head he is merely stating the obvious.
Paul nods amiably at Samantha, and focuses his attention to the Detective.
"Suspicious," Paul says, looking over Aileen's shoulder.
"So the brief is to stop this as quickly and discreetly as possible, regardless of whether or not it's ... within the family?"
Paul asks as a question, but it's clear that in his head he is merely stating the obvious.
"That's right," Webber says. "Less I know about the particulars, the better." He shudders once, then patiently waits for more questions.
Juana moves forward enough to see the photos, but there is an attempt (poor though it may be) at staying out of Aileen's and Detective Bob's personal space (Paul less so). As her eyes look for signs of animal predator on the splayed form of Thrush, her hand comes up, two fingers is a momentary peace sign. "Two questions, Dectective Bob," one finger down, "How long did between the poor Thrush's end and his remains being found?" Second finger down, now just a fist which is withdrawn into a coat sleeve, "Both of the poor boys, Drummer and Thrush, were they loners or did they have a close knit family, blood or otherwise?" Her soft, too kind voice doesn't linger on the word blood does it?
Detective Webber flinches when Juana addresses him, and he makes an obvious effort to control his fear. Still, he has the manner of prey.
"Let's see... Drummer found four days ago. They think he was in that drain for maybe a day, day and a half? It's hard to tell. It's not quite like the TV shows, you know?" He tries a chuckle, but it dies as soon as he looks at any of the predators around him.
"Right, yeah. Same deal with Thrush. Animals had been at him a bit, though less than you'd think. Probably a little, you know, dry." A queasy look passes over his features.
"Both of them are locals. Drummer, that's Simon Drummer, he was a college kid, home for summer, I guess. Carl Thrush, he's... thirty-two I think? It's in the file there. Anyway, he lived at home with his folks. Probably why he was single. Both addresses are in the file too. Same deal with the places they were killed. Bodies are on ice at the morgue. They're looking to put Drummer in the ground pretty soon, and I'm trying to expedite that. Out of sight, out of mind, you know?"
"Can you... sneak us in to see the bodies?" Aileen asks, as if it was a perfectly normal question.
"Nice to meet you, Aileen. P-Dogg." A smile touches her lips, finally. She looks to Aileen again, mouths when in Rome.
Aileen return Sam's smile, she's definetly amused. When she sees that Sam makes an effort with Juana, she ever so slightly looks like she approves.
"Can you... sneak us in to see the bodies?" Aileen asks, as if it was a perfectly normal question.
"Oh yeah. Only one attendant at night. I show him a badge I could bring in a parade."
Sam moves a little closer to the group, relaxing her posture a bit after catching Aileen's eyes again. She leans over to take a look at the pictures herself, and there's a hungry glint in her eyes. Eyes she doesn't let linger on the mangled bodies before straightening up and looking to the Detective instead.
"I'm from a small town myself. Know that disappearances can catch attention quickly. And if this is one of the family, it's someone proud of their work and happy to display it. Happy to... break some rules." She almost seems to be talking to herself as much as she's speaking to the Detective or anyone else. Her voice is low, a little husky. It's the kind of voice a woman might either be very self conscious about, or using to her full advantage in a jazz lounge. "Guess it could be someone with just enough control to hide the damage they've done once they fed, too, I suppose." Thinking aloud again.
"Detective, have there been any animal mutilations in the area? Pets gone missing?"
"Detective, have there been any animal mutilations in the area? Pets gone missing?"
Webber frowns as he wracks his memory. "Nothing out of the ordinary that I can think of. I mean, the standard coyotes and ever since those loony environmentalists let that wolf pack loose in the woods..." he shakes his head. "But no. Not an uptick, really."
This was for Int and Academics
"Oh that group was so lovely!" Aileen is cheerful despite this terrible situation. She leans towards the detective in her excitement, and hands the folder over to Sam, so someone more qualified can take a look. "Did you know we rented out the art museum, and they were so generous with giving me a discouted rate, that most of the funds raised could go to the poor ecosystem. I mean... I don't want to like...hike in it or anything" She says hike, like it's a dirty four letter word. "but introducing those darling puppies improved the whole area, and now there's less flooding. I don't really know how it all works - but it turns out it's all connected. My dear friend Annie took some wilderness photographs or something, and she sold them to National Geographic. Really it helps everyone!"
"Oh that group was so lovely!" Aileen is cheerful despite this terrible situation. She leans towards the detective in her excitement, and hands the folder over to Sam, so someone more qualified can take a look. "Did you know we rented out the art museum, and they were so generous with giving me a discouted rate, that most of the funds raised could go to the poor ecosystem. I mean... I don't want to like...hike in it or anything" She says hike, like it's a dirty four letter word. "but introducing those darling puppies improved the whole area, and now there's less flooding. I don't really know how it all works - but it turns out it's all connected. My dear friend Annie took some wilderness photographs or something, and she sold them to National Geographic. Really it helps everyone!"
Webber coughs, hastily amending with pathetic sincerity, "Oh yeah, great group. Love the wolves. Gotta have wolves."
Paul sidles a bit when Juana comes near his personal space, but he doesn't outright move to the other side of Aileen.
"I also like to ask myself if there is a profit motive," Paul says. "Nail looking for a hammer and all that. If there is money to be followed, we are the ones to follow it." Paul taps his nose and winks at the Detective.
Paul sidles a bit when Juana comes near his personal space, but he doesn't outright move to the other side of Aileen.
"I also like to ask myself if there is a profit motive," Paul says. "Nail looking for a hammer and all that. If there is money to be followed, we are the ones to follow it." Paul taps his nose and winks at the Detective.
"Not a lot of money to be had between a college kid and a burnout living at home," Webber says, "but the addresses are in there if you want to follow up. Just don't... uh... hurt anybody if you end up going there."
"Not a lot of money to be had between a college kid and a burnout living at home," Webber says, "but the addresses are in there if you want to follow up. Just don't... uh... hurt anybody if you end up going there."
"Don't worry Bobby, they're professionals." She looks to each of her companions, winks at Juana, then focuses her attention back on the still flustered Detective. "Your investigation is in good hands." She reassures him with all sincerety. "Are we going to the morgue now? She asks. "If so, can I ride with you? I've always wanted to ride in a police car."
Is she a sincere air-head? Is she playing with the Detective?
Juana looks at Paul beautiful motorcycle with trepidation, "Kit-cat doesn't like the rushing air." Excuses.
Her head inclines to Detective Bob, "I could ride in the back, in the cage?" Unsaid, Behind you, watching
"In the cage?" Aileen practically purrs in Juana's ear. "Indie I didn't know you were so naughty." Her words a whisper, probably too quiet for human ears, or even those not as perceptive.
"Yeah, that's no problem," Webber says, his tone implying that maaaaaybe it is. Just a little.
Bob does indeed allow Aileen and Juana to ride with him--and it's obvious he's a lot more thrilled with one than the other--and leads the way back into town.
The county morgue is nothing special to look at, a brutalist structure looming on the corner of the desolate industrial area of town. A parking lot of decommissioned school buses slowly rust in the wet weather.
Inside, your footsteps echo. A single attendant sits outside the cold room, his desk lamp spilling a tiny circle of illumination. As you approach, he squints into the dark. A shudder passes through him. Maybe he senses the predators in his midst. Or maybe he's just cold.
Bob flashes his badge at the kid, and a moment later, all of you are in the cold room, a single wall of freezers in front of you. The kid unerringly goes to the two in question, pulling them out, then folding the sheets back from the corpses' heads.
Simon Drummer and Carl Thrush both sport stitched-up Y incisions and all the markers of an autopsy, but can be inspected. It's a bit like looking at spoiled food, the bodies of these two human beings.
Paul steps up, clears his throat, and starts pointing at various parts of the bodies.
"As you can see, from the signs of contusion here and here, they must have been alive when that happened, because dead people don't bruise."
Paul gives a sideways look at Juana. "Allegedly."
He leans in to look closely at the younger body. "Hmmmmm," he says to himself, loudly enough so that everyone around him can hear.
"Yeah, that's no problem," Webber says, his tone implying that maaaaaybe it is. Just a little.
Bob does indeed allow Aileen and Juana to ride with him--and it's obvious he's a lot more thrilled with one than the other--and leads the way back into town.
Aileen is very engaging and during the ride asks Bob questions about what he does. She doesn't use her Awe, just her normal charismatic presenence lets her skillfully make him feel important and knowledgeable. (ooc: if I need to roll, would it be etiquette or persuasion?)
Inside, your footsteps echo. A single attendant sits outside the cold room, his desk lamp spilling a tiny circle of illumination. As you approach, he squints into the dark. A shudder passes through him. Maybe he senses the predators in his midst. Or maybe he's just cold.Bob flashes his badge at the kid, and a moment later, all of you are in the cold room, a single wall of freezers in front of you. The kid unerringly goes to the two in question, pulling them out, then folding the sheets back from the corpses' heads.
Aileen does her best to be subdued to show her respect for the dead. She's not really sure what she can contribute at this moment, but hopefully someone more knowledgeable can step in and save the night. (ooc: does the kid leave them with the detective, or does he stick around?)
Simon Drummer and Carl Thrush both sport stitched-up Y incisions and all the markers of an autopsy, but can be inspected. It's a bit like looking at spoiled food, the bodies of these two human beings.
She doesn't know what to look for, really, so instead, from her vantage point a little ways away, she looks at the stitches closing the Y incisions, how precise they are, the distance between them, focusing as if it were a grotesque art piece. A little bit of her attention remains on the door and sounds of anyone outside coming in, when they're not supposed to be here. Just in case.
Bob does indeed allow Aileen and Juana to ride with him--and it's obvious he's a lot more thrilled with one than the other--and leads the way back into town.
Juana sits directly behind the detective, staying utterly, impossibly still. Just the occasionally eyeshine as the car's movement over pavement jostles the hood making it very obvious that she just stares directly ahead.
Simon Drummer and Carl Thrush both sport stitched-up Y incisions and all the markers of an autopsy, but can be inspected. It's a bit like looking at spoiled food, the bodies of these two human beings.
Juana doesn't get in the way, but she looks at the poor dead things. Mostly at the marks that weren't made by the human pathologist, just seeing what type of creatures tore into the exsanguinated flesh.
Sam, on the other hand, seems very uninterested in sitting in the back of a police car.
"I think, if P-Dogg doesn't mind, I'd like to catch some of that fresh air myself instead."
It has little to do with the women that are already calling the back seat. In fact, Sam seems pretty interested in them. Academically or otherwise, you can't be sure.
But with the way she's been looking at the Detective, and the way she responded to catching the ride to the morgue, you'd guess she's been in the back seat of a cop car before and it wasn't for funsies.
Sam makes her way around the bodies as well, and the way she looks at the bodies is with that same almost-academic interest as the way she looked at her new companions, the Detective, and the evidence in the folder she was handed.
It's maybe a little like someone who's had a lot of practice at being very interested in things and working on not looking so interested in them.
But she does allow herself a little extra closeness to the bodies. Really looking at those incisions, the damage done to the bodies. Her nostrils flare a little, even, as she sniffs at the younger of the two.
Sam, on the other hand, seems very uninterested in sitting in the back of a police car.
"I think, if P-Dogg doesn't mind, I'd like to catch some of that fresh air myself instead."
P-Dogg is quite pleased to have Samantha as his sidecar passenger, although the fresh air does mean there isn't a great opportunity for conversation along the way.
Sam leans in close to the mortified flesh, her keen eyes registering several details. The first, and most obvious, is that they've been cut up pretty badly by some sort of slashing weapon. Years of experience knowing where to feed tells her these wounds are over major arteries, they would have bled out quickly. There aren't any fang marks, but since vampires can close such wounds with their saliva, that wouldn't rule out a Kindred attacker. Both victims have pretty nasty wounds on the backs of their heads. Unless Sam misses her guess, they were incapacitated with a blow and only cut up after they were dead.
Bob does indeed allow Aileen and Juana to ride with him--and it's obvious he's a lot more thrilled with one than the other--and leads the way back into town.
Aileen is very engaging and during the ride asks Bob questions about what he does. She doesn't use her Awe, just her normal charismatic presenence lets her skillfully make him feel important and knowledgeable. (ooc: if I need to roll, would it be etiquette or persuasion?)
Aileen does her best to be subdued to show her respect for the dead. She's not really sure what she can contribute at this moment, but hopefully someone more knowledgeable can step in and save the night. (ooc: does the kid leave them with the detective, or does he stick around?)
He and Bob both go back out to the front desk, leaving you alone with the bodies.
She doesn't know what to look for, really, so instead, from her vantage point a little ways away, she looks at the stitches closing the Y incisions, how precise they are, the distance between them, focusing as if it were a grotesque art piece. A little bit of her attention remains on the door and sounds of anyone outside coming in, when they're not supposed to be here. Just in case.
These were once people. They had lives, most of which was ahead of them. They are also a spoiled meal, a waste of good blood. Both of these exist in Aileen's mind at once.
Charisma & Persuasion
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm that special, just a friend on the force," Webber says, blushing. It's not that Aileen sees the darkening in his cheeks--it's dark--but she can hear the rush of his blood and feel the warmth coming from him. "Glad I could help here. Last thing this town needs is a serial-type deal, you know? Bad for you, bad for me, bad for Mr. and Mrs. McGee."
As Samantha examines the truly dead people, Juana pulls out her phone, a small bell jingles on the purple cat case. Comparing Drummer and Thrash's homes to their almost final resting place. Seeing if there is any correlation between the killer's hunting ground and its disposal areas.
Once Samantha is done with her exam (and after letting her share what she wishes), "Look at where the poor boys were left first? Before disturbing their living people?"
"Oh, I wouldn't say I'm that special, just a friend on the force," Webber says, blushing. It's not that Aileen sees the darkening in his cheeks--it's dark--but she can hear the rush of his blood and feel the warmth coming from him. "Glad I could help here. Last thing this town needs is a serial-type deal, you know? Bad for you, bad for me, bad for Mr. and Mrs. McGee."
Aileen makes sure to get his card / cell phone number. She looks to see if he's wearing a ring to indicate if there's a Mrs. Detective.
As Samantha examines the truly dead people, Juana pulls out her phone, a small bell jingles on the purple cat case. Comparing Drummer and Thrash's homes to their almost final resting place. Seeing if there is any correlation between the killer's hunting ground and its disposal areas.
Once Samantha is done with her exam (and after letting her share what she wishes), "Look at where the poor boys were left first? Before disturbing their living people?"
Aileen nods her agreement with Juana. "Paul, what do you think? Your insight is second to none." She asks Paul.
"Maybe you'll find something out by the scene," Bob says. "Been a couple days for them, but stranger things have happened." He readily gives Aileen a card when she asks, and makes sure to get at least one number from the coterie. "Call me if you need something. I need to get back to the station. Got a job to do, after all."
Detective Webber takes his leave from the coterie after ensuring everyone knows where they're going.
* * *
Simon Drummer's body was stuffed in a storm drain at the end of a sparsely-populated residential street. Standing around the opening in the asphalt, it's easy to see how it was done without any human witnesses. The streetlight that should be casting its illumination here is burnt out, throwing this place in deep shadow. The nearest house is a little over hundred feet away, and all the windows in the neighborhood are dark.
Aileen nods her agreement with Juana. "Paul, what do you think? Your insight is second to none." She asks Paul.
Paul responds to this sort of flattery like the sun coming up in the morning, and just as subtle.
"I agree," he says, flashing what he has described as his hundred-watt smile. "There might well be clues or cues at the site of the body's discovery that others have missed."
*****
Paul looks around the darkened neighborhood. "For the so-called city, this isn't very civilized."
He looks up at the burnt-out streetlight, and sighs.
"Anyone could have come along in a car and dumped Drummer here quickly.
But I wonder...."
It's a long shot, but -- is this the sort of neighborhood where any of the houses have video camera doorbells? Paul investigates -- visor down on his helmet, in case he is successful at finding one.
Juana hunches down and climbs into the storm drain, staring into the deeper darkness of the pipes. And she starts to coo, discordant notes. Looking for the rats that populate the dark and dim places.
Paul strides toward the various porches and sidewalks of the neighborhood, pausing, looking, moving on. He does a circuit of both sides of the street in both directions for several hundred yards.
Paul is extremely certain there are no door cams on this street.
As for Juana, after a moment or two, she begins to hear the telltale skittering of rats. A good dozen of them emerge into the anemic light, their coats wet from the tunnel.
"Two came down here. Blood. Blood everywhere. Water tasted of it. Then one was gone. We ate."
Juana glances at the group outside the sewers, "They came down together, can you think of anything that they may have seen that would be useful?" Her voice low and quiet, attention still on the mischief of rats but asking for input from her coterie.
Attention back to the rats, "Before the two came did were there engine noises? Or when the one left?" She makes a horrible impression of a car engine. Like voom voom. One of her hands goes into a pocket and, despite a disapproving hiss, a small tin of canned meat is pulled out.