Re: The Vivacious Deadlock: S3G6: Round Three: The Sable Masque
05-17-2012, 09:54 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Akumu.
Jack Moulin’s fingers flew over the keypad of the ancient laptop, entering figures with practiced efficiency. With his left hand he moved another packet of papers onto the completed pile, hit enter with his right, and sat back with a sigh. It was a beautiful day outside, and sunlight filtered in through the window over the lab-equipment covered counter at the back of the room. Jack clasped his hands over his head and pulled upwards, feeling the tension in his shoulders uncoil and his spine straighten into the shape it should have been all along.
Muffled voices from the front office raised to a frenzied tenor and Jack froze in mid-stretch. Sounds of a scuffle and a pained cry spurred him to action, and he pushed his chair back away from his worktable and looked about the lab for anything that could be weaponized. He settled on a meterstick, favoring its reach over the heft of a chemical reagents catalog. He turned to the door, shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and came up short. The intruder had already made it back to the lab, was standing in the doorway, and was utterly impossible.
“Jennie?”
The last time Jack had seen Jennie Zurich, she’d been in a casket. Long black gloves had covered the slashes on her wrists, and it was the only time he could recall seeing her look content. She had always been pushing for the next thing, the better thing, drawing the best out of all of them but never quite satisfied. It had been the sheer force of her that had drawn the collective together, the nucleus that they all buzzed about, and when she had been lowered into the ground they all blew apart, seeing too much of themselves in each other to stand it for one more second. Jack thought of that time only rarely now, but it all smashed back into him in that moment, the heights of freedom and power they had pulled each other up to and the long fall back to earth when the reality of their actions became clear.
Jennie stepped into the lab, hightops squelching wetly, and pushed something hard against Jack’s chest. He looked down and was surprised to see a jet-black pistol crumpling up the fabric of his labcoat. Jennie grinned at him, eyes hidden behind ruby-tinted aviators that took up half her face.
“Hi, Jackie baby. Ya miss me?”
She shoved the gun forward, and Jack stumbled back, flopping into the chair he had recently vacated. It rolled back on its casters, and Jennie followed it, leaning over to peer at the laptop screen while lazily keeping the pistol pointed in Jack’s general direction.
“Glad you’re still writing, Jackie. You know how much I hate it when you slack...” Jennie trailed off as her eyes scanned over the spreadsheet open on the computer, “What is this shit? Numbers? I know you’ve been writing. I can feel it.”
She jabbed a red-lacquered finger at the keyboard once, twice, then swept the laptop off the table. It flew through a flurry of paper and slammed into the wall with a sharp crack that cut through the haze of shock that had been surrounding Jack.
“Jesus Christ, it’s really true, you killed Norm! The cops picked up Lexy for that. They think she’s crazy!”
“You’re writing right now, aren’t you? Don’t lie to me, Moulin, I know you are.” Jennie said at the same time, rooting through the piles of papers on the table, then caught the last of what Jack was saying. “Maybe she is. Maybe we all are. Where’s the Tome?”
Jack’s brows furrowed, trying to follow what she was saying. “The?”
Jennie wheeled on him, straightening her gun arm and bringing it terrifyingly close to his face. “The Tome, Jackie! The fuckin’ magical macguffin you were all chasing after before you got poor Macy killed? You and Jake had it last, so where is it now?”
“Harmon and Phere had it last,” Jack said, looking cross-eyed at the black bore of the pistol and immediately questioning the wisdom of correcting a dead woman in the middle of a psychotic break.
“Yes, my precious doves, so armored they cannot fly, they were falling, falling, falling. Where are they now, Jack? They need me, and I can’t see them! What have you been writing?!”
The needle that had been wavering between ‘cooperate’ and ‘get out’ on Jack’s mental scale of what was least likely to get him killed swung firmly towards ‘get out’ as Jennie screamed. He kicked sideways at her knee as hard as he could, his chair swiveling with the motion. He spun. Jennie crumpled with a hiss. The gun went off, and everything went white.
The left side of Jack’s face, angled towards Jennie, blazed with pain, but at least he was still alive to feel it. He vaulted out of the chair and raised the meterstick he still clung to, twisting his whole body into the motion as he brought it whistling around thin-edge-first into the back of Jennie’s neck. The thick layer of scarves there absorbed much of the blow, but the cheap wood still shattered apart on impact and Jennie was driven crashing into the floor. Jack stared for a second at the results of the greatest violence he had ever committed in his life. He began to lean down towards his old friend, but when she started to push herself up with a groan he turned and fled.
Out of the lab, down the side hall, the main hall, past the prone form of the receptionist, Jack waited for the gunshot roar and the punch of a bullet shattering his body. It wasn’t until he was in his car peeling out of the clinic parking lot that he felt he had actually escaped. One hand on the wheel, he flipped open his phone and glanced down at his contact list, frowning. If anybody would know what the hell was going on with Jennie, it would be Gerald. He hit dial, clamped the phone between his shoulder and head, and hoped to whatever gods were watching that Botterson hadn’t changed his number.
Jack Moulin’s fingers flew over the keypad of the ancient laptop, entering figures with practiced efficiency. With his left hand he moved another packet of papers onto the completed pile, hit enter with his right, and sat back with a sigh. It was a beautiful day outside, and sunlight filtered in through the window over the lab-equipment covered counter at the back of the room. Jack clasped his hands over his head and pulled upwards, feeling the tension in his shoulders uncoil and his spine straighten into the shape it should have been all along.
Muffled voices from the front office raised to a frenzied tenor and Jack froze in mid-stretch. Sounds of a scuffle and a pained cry spurred him to action, and he pushed his chair back away from his worktable and looked about the lab for anything that could be weaponized. He settled on a meterstick, favoring its reach over the heft of a chemical reagents catalog. He turned to the door, shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and came up short. The intruder had already made it back to the lab, was standing in the doorway, and was utterly impossible.
“Jennie?”
The last time Jack had seen Jennie Zurich, she’d been in a casket. Long black gloves had covered the slashes on her wrists, and it was the only time he could recall seeing her look content. She had always been pushing for the next thing, the better thing, drawing the best out of all of them but never quite satisfied. It had been the sheer force of her that had drawn the collective together, the nucleus that they all buzzed about, and when she had been lowered into the ground they all blew apart, seeing too much of themselves in each other to stand it for one more second. Jack thought of that time only rarely now, but it all smashed back into him in that moment, the heights of freedom and power they had pulled each other up to and the long fall back to earth when the reality of their actions became clear.
Jennie stepped into the lab, hightops squelching wetly, and pushed something hard against Jack’s chest. He looked down and was surprised to see a jet-black pistol crumpling up the fabric of his labcoat. Jennie grinned at him, eyes hidden behind ruby-tinted aviators that took up half her face.
“Hi, Jackie baby. Ya miss me?”
She shoved the gun forward, and Jack stumbled back, flopping into the chair he had recently vacated. It rolled back on its casters, and Jennie followed it, leaning over to peer at the laptop screen while lazily keeping the pistol pointed in Jack’s general direction.
“Glad you’re still writing, Jackie. You know how much I hate it when you slack...” Jennie trailed off as her eyes scanned over the spreadsheet open on the computer, “What is this shit? Numbers? I know you’ve been writing. I can feel it.”
She jabbed a red-lacquered finger at the keyboard once, twice, then swept the laptop off the table. It flew through a flurry of paper and slammed into the wall with a sharp crack that cut through the haze of shock that had been surrounding Jack.
“Jesus Christ, it’s really true, you killed Norm! The cops picked up Lexy for that. They think she’s crazy!”
“You’re writing right now, aren’t you? Don’t lie to me, Moulin, I know you are.” Jennie said at the same time, rooting through the piles of papers on the table, then caught the last of what Jack was saying. “Maybe she is. Maybe we all are. Where’s the Tome?”
Jack’s brows furrowed, trying to follow what she was saying. “The?”
Jennie wheeled on him, straightening her gun arm and bringing it terrifyingly close to his face. “The Tome, Jackie! The fuckin’ magical macguffin you were all chasing after before you got poor Macy killed? You and Jake had it last, so where is it now?”
“Harmon and Phere had it last,” Jack said, looking cross-eyed at the black bore of the pistol and immediately questioning the wisdom of correcting a dead woman in the middle of a psychotic break.
“Yes, my precious doves, so armored they cannot fly, they were falling, falling, falling. Where are they now, Jack? They need me, and I can’t see them! What have you been writing?!”
The needle that had been wavering between ‘cooperate’ and ‘get out’ on Jack’s mental scale of what was least likely to get him killed swung firmly towards ‘get out’ as Jennie screamed. He kicked sideways at her knee as hard as he could, his chair swiveling with the motion. He spun. Jennie crumpled with a hiss. The gun went off, and everything went white.
The left side of Jack’s face, angled towards Jennie, blazed with pain, but at least he was still alive to feel it. He vaulted out of the chair and raised the meterstick he still clung to, twisting his whole body into the motion as he brought it whistling around thin-edge-first into the back of Jennie’s neck. The thick layer of scarves there absorbed much of the blow, but the cheap wood still shattered apart on impact and Jennie was driven crashing into the floor. Jack stared for a second at the results of the greatest violence he had ever committed in his life. He began to lean down towards his old friend, but when she started to push herself up with a groan he turned and fled.
Out of the lab, down the side hall, the main hall, past the prone form of the receptionist, Jack waited for the gunshot roar and the punch of a bullet shattering his body. It wasn’t until he was in his car peeling out of the clinic parking lot that he felt he had actually escaped. One hand on the wheel, he flipped open his phone and glanced down at his contact list, frowning. If anybody would know what the hell was going on with Jennie, it would be Gerald. He hit dial, clamped the phone between his shoulder and head, and hoped to whatever gods were watching that Botterson hadn’t changed his number.