RE: Incident [TEXT]
03-29-2013, 12:15 AM
(03-15-2013, 01:54 AM)Pharmacy Wrote: »"I suppose you have some sort of explanation behind this."
You keep your face blank and meet his eyes. In the lamplight you can see his sclera in spite of the mask.
Nevertheless, you're quite certain his poker face is better than yours.
“I suppose you have some sort of explanation behind this,” you say for lack of anything else to break the silence with.
He doesn't reply, but he does crouch down beside you and ease your chair back into an upright position. Then he's gone, presumably somewhere behind you. Twisting your neck around doesn't really give you a better view.
And then you hear the quiet snick of a switchblade
(far too close)
but all you succeed in doing is tensing up before you realise your wrists are free.
“Stay seated.”
Number 6 walks around to the other side of the desk, pausing to pick up your gun and the blunt machete on the way. He sets them down on the dark surface, switches off the lamp and settles into the chair opposite you. Gloved fingers tap at the wooden armrests.
Slowly, so as not to look like you're trying anything, you bring your wrists back in front of you and massage them. They're still pretty sore from having your entire body weight (plus that of a chair) slam into them.
“What would you do if I made a break for it?” You say it casually, as if you're not really considering it.
He meets your gaze, and you're left with the uncomfortable feeling that comes with only being able to see the eyes of the person you're talking to. He doesn't respond for a moment and you think for a moment that he's ignoring you again.
“Esser is in the corner. You've met, but only briefly. The circumstances were unfavourable, but mostly for your client.”
Again, slowly, you turn in your chair. This time it's not just caution but fear that drags out the motion.
Your eyes aren't yet fully adjusted to the gloom, so it takes you a moment to notice the figure at the back of the room. They're sat behind another desk (smaller, less grand) and they seem to be wearing some odd kind of long hooded coat. The material looks stiff and pale, but the strangest thing about it is that the material of the hood seems to have been shaped to cover the upper half of the face. The eyes are completely hidden. As you watch, they yawn somewhat pointedly to reveal teeth that seem too long, too sharp...
Number 6 is watching you carefully as you turn back.
“The murderer.” You're not asking.
He inclines his head in confirmation all the same.
“He was acting on my orders. But yes. I'm glad you recognise him. Esser has a nickname I'm sure you'd recognise... but now is not the time. Do you know who I am?”
It's the most he's spoken at one time so far, and you suddenly become aware that his words have the slightest hint of an accent. Not one you can place at the moment. But maybe if you keep him talking you'll figure it out.
Nevertheless, you're quite certain his poker face is better than yours.
“I suppose you have some sort of explanation behind this,” you say for lack of anything else to break the silence with.
He doesn't reply, but he does crouch down beside you and ease your chair back into an upright position. Then he's gone, presumably somewhere behind you. Twisting your neck around doesn't really give you a better view.
And then you hear the quiet snick of a switchblade
(far too close)
but all you succeed in doing is tensing up before you realise your wrists are free.
“Stay seated.”
Number 6 walks around to the other side of the desk, pausing to pick up your gun and the blunt machete on the way. He sets them down on the dark surface, switches off the lamp and settles into the chair opposite you. Gloved fingers tap at the wooden armrests.
Slowly, so as not to look like you're trying anything, you bring your wrists back in front of you and massage them. They're still pretty sore from having your entire body weight (plus that of a chair) slam into them.
“What would you do if I made a break for it?” You say it casually, as if you're not really considering it.
He meets your gaze, and you're left with the uncomfortable feeling that comes with only being able to see the eyes of the person you're talking to. He doesn't respond for a moment and you think for a moment that he's ignoring you again.
“Esser is in the corner. You've met, but only briefly. The circumstances were unfavourable, but mostly for your client.”
Again, slowly, you turn in your chair. This time it's not just caution but fear that drags out the motion.
Your eyes aren't yet fully adjusted to the gloom, so it takes you a moment to notice the figure at the back of the room. They're sat behind another desk (smaller, less grand) and they seem to be wearing some odd kind of long hooded coat. The material looks stiff and pale, but the strangest thing about it is that the material of the hood seems to have been shaped to cover the upper half of the face. The eyes are completely hidden. As you watch, they yawn somewhat pointedly to reveal teeth that seem too long, too sharp...
Number 6 is watching you carefully as you turn back.
“The murderer.” You're not asking.
He inclines his head in confirmation all the same.
“He was acting on my orders. But yes. I'm glad you recognise him. Esser has a nickname I'm sure you'd recognise... but now is not the time. Do you know who I am?”
It's the most he's spoken at one time so far, and you suddenly become aware that his words have the slightest hint of an accent. Not one you can place at the moment. But maybe if you keep him talking you'll figure it out.
(03-15-2013, 03:21 AM)btp Wrote: »Demand info> How do I know you're the REAL No. 6!?!
“Number 6, I presume?” You smile humourlessly. “Or at least you're wearing his mask. How do I know you're really him? Or is it true what they say, that you're six different people wearing the same outfit?”
“You can't know. How would I even prove it?” He shakes his head. “And six people? I'm afraid not. Occasionally a decoy might be useful, and it's true the mask enables it. But they're not equal to me. Just actors. But if you know who I am, or at least who I represent, or even who I am pretending to be, do you know why you are here?”
“You just confessed to a murder. One that I witnessed. I would assume that's something to do with it?” Your voice doesn't waver, but you're starting to remember that Number 6 doesn't just have assassinations linked to him. For the second time that night, you start thinking of thumbscrews.
“In a manner of speaking. I'd been intending to talk to you for some time, in truth. Your placement in the murder of your client was simply a convenient circumstance. Speaking of which: your case is complete now. You know who sent the death threats. You know who committed the murder. Perhaps not why, but that isn't important. And with no other work, that makes you available for hire.” His attention is fully on you again.
“You want to... hire me? As a private investigator?”
“Perhaps. But right now, I just want to talk.”
From somewhere the masked man produces a box of cigarettes, which he slides across the desk, past the useless weapons.
“These were in your coat.”
You take them and flip open the packet. Twenty perfect cigarettes. A full box, just how you left them. Against all odds Number 6 seems to want to put you at ease rather than slowly pull out your fingernails, so you consider it.
When did you last have a smoke?
“You can't know. How would I even prove it?” He shakes his head. “And six people? I'm afraid not. Occasionally a decoy might be useful, and it's true the mask enables it. But they're not equal to me. Just actors. But if you know who I am, or at least who I represent, or even who I am pretending to be, do you know why you are here?”
“You just confessed to a murder. One that I witnessed. I would assume that's something to do with it?” Your voice doesn't waver, but you're starting to remember that Number 6 doesn't just have assassinations linked to him. For the second time that night, you start thinking of thumbscrews.
“In a manner of speaking. I'd been intending to talk to you for some time, in truth. Your placement in the murder of your client was simply a convenient circumstance. Speaking of which: your case is complete now. You know who sent the death threats. You know who committed the murder. Perhaps not why, but that isn't important. And with no other work, that makes you available for hire.” His attention is fully on you again.
“You want to... hire me? As a private investigator?”
“Perhaps. But right now, I just want to talk.”
From somewhere the masked man produces a box of cigarettes, which he slides across the desk, past the useless weapons.
“These were in your coat.”
You take them and flip open the packet. Twenty perfect cigarettes. A full box, just how you left them. Against all odds Number 6 seems to want to put you at ease rather than slowly pull out your fingernails, so you consider it.
When did you last have a smoke?