Touch of Evil [P, Halloween]

Hands, Pockets. They made for a good pairing during the cold October night. Ikigai walked alone through the alleyways of his village. Nothing but the sound of whistling wind crashing against the walls to keep him company. It chilled him, and left him numb to the world around him. It wasn't winter yet, but the season was coming fast, and few knew that better than the ninja who lived on mountain tops.

Then...

Footsteps.

Another person roaming the alley ways at this hour?

His instincts almost had him reaching for his katana. Almost. As he turned he caught the shadow of the man, before the man himself. It was large, a hulking figure, and very offsetting. But shadows could be misleading when projected from the correct angle. The man was no man at all. It was a boy no older than 10, wearing a blue scarf and holding an envelope.

"Ik-Ikigai sir?"

A nod would be his answer, and he'd extend his hand for the envelope before reading its contents, hoping to find out why someone had sent for him at such an hour. The parchment however, held more questions than answers. A name he didn't recognize, a vague request to meet at a location, and the name of a drunk he'd met at a bar.

He didn't like it, but at the same time.... He couldn't ignore it.

He'd turn to the boy who had brought him this. "I need you to find Shien, green skin hard to miss."

He'd pause as he wrote on the back of the letter he'd just recieved.

"Shien, I'm going to investigate the letter on the front.
I hardly know this Ryuka guy, and I trust him about as far as I can throw him.

Could use a partner I can trust, Ikigai"

Stuffing the letter he'd hand it to the boy. "Now get lost kid" And then he'd make his way to third man casino.

WC: 323

Shadows stretched across the streets. The Sleepwalking City. Kumogakure. The streets here were lined with pumpkins – jack-o-lanterns burning with the palest light, a dim grey taking over the City – the moans of the undead roaming around them. That was commonplace – the reason for Kumogakure’s nickname. Any shinobi here, no matter how little experienced, looked at it as nothing more than a blue sky.

But tonight, there was something different. The cold night air chilled Shien to the core – to the bone. There was something off about the night air. A certain smell. A stench. It was the stench of murder.

It didn’t take much work to know that smell. It sticks with you, like a shadow at every turn. It hadn’t been long since Shien’s first tango with death, one he’d never forget. But this was something else. Something else entirely. And it didn’t take a Rookie like Shien to know that.

Shien reached into his trench coat, the soft autumn wind blowing its tails gently in a chilled air. With a light and a lick of the lips, his cigar’s warm air rushed into the ninja’s lungs, warming that October chill. He took the tobacco from his lips, the rush of smoke trailing behind him. He sputtered like a lemon, the new taste – the burn – something he still wasn’t used to. Boru got him started on it. Not by his own choice, of course, but by example. There wasn’t a gator in Sleepwalker City cooler.

The lizard man’s coughs grew quieter as the pumpkins grew fewer. Before long, Shien found himself in another part of town, and shortly after his attention fell elsewhere.

The boy rushing to him was small, one he’d never seen before. A sort of compressed young man wrapped neatly in a blue scarf. Urgency was plastered on his face like powder on junkie.

He told Shien about the crime and Ikigai, spitting out his words like some kinda nervous sprinkler – a snake with a lisp. Shien took the note, telling him to calm down. “Calm down,” he said, eyeing the thin sheet in dim city light. He nodded, thinking to himself. He hadn’t met two of the people on the list, this Damon and Ryuka. It was always good to see friendly faces in the business, Shien hadn’t got to know many in his short career, and it wasn’t something he was going to pass on. “This isn’t something I’m going to pass on,” he said, eyeing the kid and ushering him back to the suburbs. “Now get home, kid. It’s not safe out here. Not tonight.”

Shien looked up at the sky, the full moon just barely peeking through the cloudy sky. It was red, tinting the Sleepwalker City in blood. The ninja closed his eyes, taking a long puff of his cigar. With a turn, his coattails whipped behind him, smoke falling from his nose with the light of the casinos dead ahead.

WC: 490

Third Man Casino, On Green Dolphin Street. The interior was crowded, loud. Persons winning, people losing. A chaos of every single person in the room shouting. Some out of joy, some out of anger, and some, well they were cheering. These fellas were sitting in a number of sofas around a high stage in the middle of everything. On the stage, there was a show. THE show, the most popular in town. The Casino brought less people in to gamble than to watch Kathy's Waltz. It was October, which meant that she had just returned from her Summertime Tour, and it was still not time for her November Night routine. Boy that was a prevalent show.

So, the room was mostly divided into two groups of people, the audience and the gamblers.

Rocky, he wasn't having any of it. He wasn't there to play a game. Or maybe he was, but in that game, the people in this room weren't even players. The tired cop looked around and wondered just how many of these people were disguised criminals, runaways, crooked cops. There was no way of telling, not when his mind was this preoccupied anyway. "This damn city." Rocky mumbled, slamming the empty whiskey glass to the counter. "More.". The city sucked the blood out of him. The people in this room did. But this night wasn't the night to worry about it. There were citizens getting killed. It wasn't a metaphor for the city like it was for Rocky. Their blood was literally being sucked out of them.

His glass had already been filled by Magic. "Thanks, Magic John. You a good kid.". The kid got bullied in high school for his title, but after graduating he started getting the respect, and money he deserved. He had God-given talent for pouring out drinks. There was never a line at the bar of this casino, but not for a lack of interest. It was all thanks to Magic John's magic hands. "You're a very good kid, John. Let me repeat it to really get it across. You are a very very good kid.". He was. It would be a shame, and quite tragic, if the kid happened to be killed by the blood-sucking criminals down the road. Especially for comedic effect. Wasted on a meta joke. That would be really tragic.  Maybe even more tragic than the joke itself. Rocky looked up, to see the sign of the counter he was sitting in front of. "4". The owners of the casino weren't very creative. They named counters plain numbers. And there was a lot of light behind these signs, making them shadow over the people sitting by them. There was a giant 4 shadowing over the two.

He would wait for Damon and Sharky to show up. When Damon found his table, Rocky would simply nod to the retired officer. "I know you're retired and hopefully you're enjoying it, friend. You know I wouldn't have called you unless something very specific happened." Rocky would pass over a file to him.  "I'm just gonna put this here and look the other way.". He would then notice Sharky brought a friend, if they joined the two men. "Hey there fellas. He a friend of yours?" he would ask, and then sigh, "Well, I'm desperate, so I'll accept any help I can get. Especially if your friend here is from the Force as well.". He would turn to Damon once again, "Feel free to share whatever information you find useful in the file with our friends here.".

Shien could smell it all: the nervous sweat of gamblers, the aged cards and chips folding onto one another, the burning tobacco, the decadent desserts and bubbling beers weaving between costumers on their way to tables, and the lust each man carried for their waitresses. He was enthralled, almost lost in the luxury of the place. Nothing beckoned a man more than this place. The booze, the girls, the thrill of gambling… Shien wanted nothing more than to participate, to lose himself in it all.

But he couldn’t tonight. He had business here, and it wasn’t to get with some high-skirted waitress. Life wasn’t that kind – far from it. A life had been taken tonight. “Rest easy, pal,” Shien said, slapping the sharkman in a booth with a thud. The man had literally walked into the bar, knocked himself out cold. “Gee, Ikigai,” Shien said, groaning as he stood straight. “You’d better cut back on Boru’s meals.”

The Doku took a puff of his cigar, falling into a rhythmic sputter of coughing, smoke escaping his nose inbetween every gasp for breath, though one could hardly notice in the. “Treat em nice, won’t cha?” the lizard man said, thrusting a coin toward a nearby waitress.

He’d spotted them easily. Nothing was easier to spot than a disgruntled cop, especially a retired one. He’d recognize that face from a mile away, even without knowing them. He quickly apologized, explaining Ikigai’s absence. “Sorry for the lackluster company, gentlemen,” Shien said, “Ikigai there’s got himself a good concussion. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with just me. Name's Shien.” The Doku sat opposite of the pair, extinguishing his cigar into a flowery-ornate ash tray, twisting it into nothing. He blew the rest of his smoke into the sky, swallowing before he reached for the file, eyeing either of the gentlemen for permission to take it.

Prying his eyes into the file, Shien nodded. A chill ran up his spine, tingling all the way up to his neck. He twisted his tongue in his mouth, satiating what had quickly gone dry from fear. He’d never seen something like this. He cleared his throat, speaking, “I’ve never seen something like this. Is this what I think it is?” he asked, his thin eyes prying over the case file. He lowered it, placing it on the red table in front of him.

Turning, he rose a finger, calling the waitress over to their table, “Waitress,” he said, clearing his throat once more. She was a classical beauty, her blonde hair done up in short curls. Cherry red lined her lips. The lizard-like man slid back into his smoothed routine, draining the fear out of his face as best he could. He continued, ordering. “One pepperoni pizza for the lot of us, ma’am. Large.” He waited for her to write the order down, adding emphasis to the next ingredient. “And extra garlic.”

WC: 975

Rocky kept drinking his whiskey as his old friend and the two newer cops joined. He pitied all of them, for varying reasons. Damon, for being brought back into this sick job for a disgusting case like this. Sharky, for his only fault being, coming across Rocky once. Just once. That was all it took for him to be involved in this. And Shien. Oh pure, innocent Shien. He didn't need to be here at all, yet here he was. Rocky however, didn't even know his name yet, "What's your name, detective?" he asked the boy, then going back into business. He pitied them. And most of all, Rocky pitied himself. For being too weak to escape this Mad World.

Regardless, here the four men were. And here they would remain, at least for now. In fact, four others apparently decided to join them. Out of the corner of his eye, Rocky saw five men in suits walk into the room. They were all, of course, wearing fedoras.

There the sign of the counter still stood; the giant 4 shadowing over them all. The staff stood silent. The fedora-wearing men stood silent. Rocky sat, with his coworkers. All others slowly headed out, after seeing there was too many fedoras in one room for things to go well.

The 4 men approached the counter and surrounded the team, as their pizza was served. Extra garlic. Excellent choice. Rocky grabbed a slice, biting into it. When he looked back, the sight of the meat, with a bite taken off it took him back to the crime scene. His body begged him to throw up, but he pressed that feeling down. With shivers going down his spine, he swallowed the bite. It tasted good. Magic John poured Rocky another shot of whiskey. "Thanks again, kid.".

One of the five Fedoramen approched Rocky, leaning against the counter. "Rumor spread..." the man said, in a noticably low voice, "That a loser of a cop is recruiting other losers and a retired grandpa to work on a case...". He reached in to grab a slice of the pizza. "We're here to suggest you drop this case. And when we suggest something, we are very stubborn.". He took a bite out of the pizza. As soon as he did, he started choking on it, falling down to the ground to cough. A fedora pal of his jumped forward. He grabbed the slice he dropped and smelled it. "IT'S GARLIC, BOSS!". The one with the slimmest body, who rocked a long pony tail to compliment his fedora, muttered, as his cigarette fell out of his mouth "Motherfuckers.".

One of them instantly dashed towards Magic John from Rocky's blindside, and farther than the rest could reach. With a swift move, John's head was ripped clean off. The pizza-smeller noticed a single tear dropping down Rocky's left cheek. "Are you crying for god's sake?". Rocky chuckled. He breathed out, letting out the last puff from his cigarette. "No." he said, "Smoke gets in your eye.". With that, his arm moved swiftly, his index and middle fingers turning into smoke and entering the man's eyes. The man, temporarily blinded, walked backwards, tripping over the coughing man on the ground. "Pray to god and thank him that I'm not an Akari." Rocky said, as he moved forward and kicked the man's blinded face.

His head pounded, and the music didn't help a damn.

It had been a long time since he'd worked a case like this, and the pressure had got to him. He'd been lost in thought when he turned the corner of the bar. Hardly had time to react to the metal ladder hanging from the fire escape. It had struck em right in the head, and left a pretty mark too so he wouldn't forget it.

Rubbing his forehead with his blue hand he'd do his best to think, but the music ensured he couldn't. He was so distracted that by the time the fedora crew had dropped in on them, they were already too close for him too pull his sword. Ryuka, had already gotten into a fight with one, but he was just one detective in a world full of criminals.

Concussion or not, this was Ikigai's fight too. Slowly looking up from his seat at the bar he'd see a man dressed in a red button up with a beige vest and a top hat. He was tall, probably 6'5" smoking a cigarette and heavy enough to feed a village if it ever came to that. "Who the he-"

He'd start, but wouldn't have the chance to finish.

If an opponent was bigger and stronger than you, the element of surprise was essential. And what could possibly be more surprising than the guy with a concussion headbutting you in the middle of the bar. The mountain of a man would fall to his back, and ikigai would drop on top of him, pinning him to the ground before sending a few strikes to his face to make sure he stayed their before falling over on his own back and grabbing his forehead with both hands in pain.

"Why the fuck did I headbutt him"
"Oh my god I'm an idiot"

The idiot would mutter.

Of course, the man he had just headbutted was not a member of the fedora gang, he was actually just a regular at the bar. But Ikigai was waaaaay to concussed to tell the difference at the moment.

WC: 678

Halloween had come early. A lizard man was here to solve a case about a vampire. The other one that he had mentioned appeared to be the unholy spawn of a shark and a person. Damon took a long drink of his whiskey. People were into strange things nowadays. They would not get long to discuss the details of the case. The case came to them. It seemed that Ryuka wished to deal with one on his own, and Damon respected that. His eyes swirled to red as his sharingan activated itself, the result of a long, painful career as a cop. They tracked the sharkcest kid, watching in slow motion as he headbutted a large man who was not even a part of the fedora gang. The retiree picked up a piece of garlic pepperoni pizza, launching it at the assailant closest to him, slapping him in the face with a burning hiss. His hat came off, floating into the air towards Damon. With the bartender already another body in the pile of corpses left behind by the madness of this world.

It was time for it to be over.

His eyes turned to a swirl of inky blackness in a sea of red, a black fire appearing across the blood sucking foes. The blonde haired, red lipped waitress clung to Damon as he grabbed the flying fedora from the air. It was a nice hat after all. Designer. Shame it was wasted on scum like this. He turned towards her, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now-” placing the hat on his head and tipping it forwards, “-M’lady.”

WC: 1065/1000
MS [9/120]