1429/Road Side Corpse Service

Road Side Corpse Service
Date of Scene:	18 July 2017
Location:	The streets of Metropolis
Synopsis:	After a run in with some Daemonites, Priss has a body to get rid of. Miss Moreau spies an opportunity, helps her out, and is a thoroughly creepy, crazy mage.
Cast of Characters:	Voodoo, Miss Moreau

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Voodoo has posed:
Given that she is already on the radar of certain alien-watching, sometimes alien-hunting organizations, Priscilla Kitaen has to be careful. Which is why when she discovered a pair of daemonites riding a couple of GCPD officers, she had to make some special arrangements. Of course they had to be eliminated. And she did the best she could. But Daemonites don't go down easy, and one of those cops is dead now.

Priss cannot afford to get hauled in for more questioning, and if this cop's death is found, an investigation is sure to follow and spread to anything and anyone in the vicinity. Which means eventually she will be noted, and questioned, and her connection to //another// such scene will go poorly. Which is why Priss is now looking for a way to make this body disappear.

It should be noted that a motorcycle is //not// the ideal vehicle for the transportation of a body. And though Priss has many skills, hotwiring a car is not one of them. So she's driving down the street towards the site of one of the city's drug- and weapon-destruction incinerators, with the body wrapped up in plastic and stuffed into a super-sized duffel which is strapped to her back.

This sucks. Damnit all to Hell this sucks. What she wouldn't give for Spartan's energy blasts to slag the body to unrecognizability. Or Void's ability to just teleport where they need to go. But Priss is stuck with //telepathy//. Wonderful!

Miss Moreau has posed:
Everyone needs side jobs occasionally, and this is true even for Miss Moreau and the White Roses. And they're perfectly willing to be opportunists. A white sedan is hauling butt down the very same street where Priss' motorcycle is carrying a rather suspicious looking duffel bag, on her back, in the general direction of a known criminal hangout. Moreau and her gang know that spot well. It's the woman's bird that scents out the body.

The top of the sedan is down, with one goon driving, and Moreau in the passenger seat. Her brown hair flutters in the wind. In the back? Yup, a duffel bag. This one is a lot more lumpy though. Guns. Lots of guns that need to go away fast. The bird perched on Moreau's shoulders looks like it's made from spun gold, gleaming as the sedan starts to pass.

Moreau leans to the bird. "What's that Constance? Oh. Oh dear. Well. Why not say hello?" A single finger of the brown haired woman rubs the golden raven's beak. Then it's flapping off into the air.

A golden bird is set to land onto the top of that bag as Priss drives. The sedan pulls up alongside. Moreau's smile is far, far too pleasant.

It would be difficult to actively /land/ on the body. No, it's needs an anchor of some sort. The bird, already swift to keep up with the motorcycle, seems to suck in a breath. Something writhes inside of it, and then something is spat out.

A long, fleshy tendril tipped in sharp bone-spurrs curved backwards shoots out towards the duffel bag. Intending to pierce into the body itself and haul itself in like a winch and cable. It gives a garbled, horridly wet 'caw' as claws start to try to tear into that duffel bag noisily.

Voodoo has posed:
With helmet on and driving along, Priss has more than enough to worry about, a bird flapping about behind her isn't going to get her attention. Or it wouldn't, except that Priss can //feel// that bird. And she doesn't usually //feel// birds. They don't exactly have much in the way of emotions, so her empathic senses wouldn't usually attune to one. But hers just did, to that //thing//. That's no bird.

The bike swerves wide and then skids sideways as the driver brakes. The kickstand snaps down sharply, sparks flying as it digs against the asphalt before the bike fully stops. Then Priss launches herself, bodybag and all, up and off the bike, rolling. With agility and flexibility that almost beggars the mind - she's not Gumby, but she's impressive - the driver peels out of the bag and comes up on one knee as a sword - shaped like a katana in blade, but with an odd segmented crescent guard at the front of the handle - whips up in her hand, coming out of the back of her jacket somehow.

"Bye bye, birdie." comes the comment, as she advances on the golden bird, prepared to end the threat which, near as she can guess, is some kind of alien spawn like the Thing - the John Carpenter movie.

Miss Moreau has posed:
The white sedan pulls up when the bike swerves and comes to a stop. The goon in the driver's seat is grinning. He nudges the woman in corset and overly fancy dress. "That...ain't no normal Lady, Princess." Moreau has her hand on her book, open to one specific page. Her senses, keyed up, hear every movement. Moreau's smile becomes just a bit beastly. A blush fills her cheeks for a moment. She brushes it off in her head. Moments ago, it was all about a quick offer for some cash. Now?

Her heart beats a little faster as she hears Priss' voice, prepared to kill her bird. It sends a dark thrill through her body, and on top of it, a far more mundane one. Butterflies in her stomach, she swallows, and steps out of the car. A low incantation. She /needs/ to meet this unique, dangerous woman.

"CONSTANCE!" Comes Moreau's voice, authoratative and sharp, even if not loud. The last piece of the incantation, and the bird fades away tendril and all. For a moment? It's entirely gone. This is no mere invisibility. Then it's mental presence returns, and Priss could feel the annoyance directed at Moreau as it fades in onto her shoulder with that tendril retracted.

The goon stays in the car, now pulled up by the sidewalk. His hand is on his suit coat. There's a visible lump of a firearm, should Priss look his way.

Moreau simply closes the car door. Her book is closed, set into her side-ribbon, and then she's tapping her way over with her cane. A smile on her face, so prim and proper. Then, she's pausing and curtseying. "Oh, my most deepest apologies Miss! Constance can be such a naughty little bird! Are you unharmed? I have medical supplies in the trunk." Comes Moreau, a soft giggle utterly belaying her 'concern'. The swirling emotions, one part greed, one part mental and physical attraction, some curiousity, and just a little hint of that same predator's instinct in the woman. She feels keyed up after Priss' display.

Voodoo has posed:
Freed of the burden of the bodybag, the sword-wielding woman in the painted-on decorative jeans and the purple-tinted leather biker's jacket and completely visored bike helmet turns swiftly, eyeing the car, the woman, the bird and the goon in one sweep, then zeroing in on the bird and the woman. The good is - almost - ignored.

"OK, lady." comes the mechanism-tinted voice out of the helmet. "I dunno what your deal is with the freako bird. But you need to give it up and let me go. I got things to do, and no time for your crap." She doesn't advance on Moreau, but neither does she retreat. She exudes a kind of competent confidence that is quite striking. And there is still that compelling attractiveness, and all that when she's so hidden. It's a mite odd.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau gives a faux gasp, hand going to her mouth. Completely shocked, surely! The woman feels utterly amused by the bluster of Priss. Then she's taking a gentle step forward. One hand is lightly held out towards Priss.

"In a hurry, hmmm? Oh, but I have not even introduced myself! Please, sweet, sweet Lady...call me Miss Moreau. I would so very much like to meet you. Would you tell me your name, hmm?" Implores Moreau. That last bit is very much not feigned. Another step forward. Her heart hammers harder. Moreau has to bite her lip a little. This woman's emotions are definitely louder than most. Perhaps Priss' ability is working /too/ well.

"But I can understand why you are in such a rush. It must be so very difficult hauling that around on your back. First time? Was it an accident? Or intentional? No, no, but I am being nosy. It doesn't matter how, or why you are carrying such a burden. Yes, yes, it would be very good for you to get rid of that. I would so /hate/ to see you wind up behind bars when you are...intriguing, Miss."

Another low, long giggle. The hint of something just a bit unhinged lurks beneath.

"Perhaps I can help. I am much faster, and far more discrete than that little facility you are headed to, if I am to guess." Offers Moreau pleasantly, as if she were talking about tea.

Voodoo has posed:
"No offense," Priss speaks up. "But if you take another step towards me without my sayso, I'm going to make you about eighteen inches shorter. Got me?" Yes, she's threatening to behead Moreau, and all without even an introduction.

How mean!

Then Moreau gets into telling her things she really shouldn't know, and implying things that anyone sane - let alone more than a bit freaked out - would take as an implicit threat. "Listen, lady. No offense intended, but you're freaking me the Hell out. Back up, back off. Even if what you're implying is true, there's no way I would trust a complete stranger to 'help' with something like that. Blackmail, much?"

Priss may be a stripper and an alien hunter, but she's not an idiot, and she didn't just fall of a turnip truck. "I can feel whatever weirdness is going on around you, and ... it's not safe. At all." Yes. Priss can feel magic. She can't //read// it, like she can emotions. She has a lifetime's experience with the emotions. She has less than a year with magic. And it's much more rare.

"Now. You want something from me. Granted, you also want //me//." Yep. Priss can tell. "Not quite sure for what. Doesn't feel like the usual. Which only makes me edgier. So ... I'm not feeling prepared to offer my name right now. You can call me Alice, since I feel like I fell down a cursed rabbit hole at the moment."

Miss Moreau has posed:
Sightless eyes widen at the threat. There's a hint of fear, that lovely survival instinct, but once again that dark thrill tumbles down her heart. More and more, she seems attracted to Priss. A blush is staining her cheeks once again. "Oh. Oh dear. How very /beastly/, Miss! Such a tease, you are fit to make my heart burst with joy! Threatening a strange so openly?"

Her head tilts. The bird, watching Priss, lets out another caw. It feels protective, that edge of aggression entering it. It's wings flap. There's a low gutteral sound.

A slow shake of her head. "Blackmail? You wound me, Madame! I have far more to gain by helping you. And frankly, it's your own fault for transporting that in such an open manner. Did you truly believe that no one would notice? I assure you, I would not harm a single hair on your beautiful head, sweetling. Unless you gave me reason to. I put away the bird, you put away whatever blade you have, and we both dispense with the rounds of threats. A deal?"

A tap to her chin. "You're very sharp, Miss Alice. You're right. I am most certainly not safe, and every passing moment makes me want you more. Something about you calls to me. So primal. Beastly, lustful, I...I can barely contain myself. But my offer is genuine. Mmm. Oh, I know! Sebastian!"

"Give Miss Alice the keys. Pop the trunk." Sebastian looks, and feels dubious, but he steps out and does both. He ends up standing behind his leader.

He then tosses the keys to the Sedan over to Priss. The bird flits off her shoulders, onto Sebastians.

Both hands are held out towards Priss. "Now then. Take the car, load your cargo. Break the neck first, it fits better. Then drive me to wherever you like. I would be at your utter and complete mercy. Would that convince you, Miss Alice that I am entirely sincere in my offer of help? Such a compelling woman, feeling that /way/ about you might be reward enough." Her lips are slowly wet.

"Besides. You have Power as well, do you not? Aren't you in any way curious to see what you feel within me? To expand your knowledge?" Offers, Moreau dangling that like a haunch of meat before a wolf.

Voodoo has posed:
"I haven't wounded you yet. Don't tempt me." Priss responds. She has to admit, there's something compellingly creepy about this woman. Definitely strange, and unsettling. "Stupidest thing on Earth, but I believe you. I don't get it whatsoever, but I believe you." She sounds bewildered because she is. Quite a bit.

The armed woman eyes the caster, the bird, and the man in the car. She trusts no one, pretty much. She has learned from that mistake and painfully so. "Yes. I have Power. No, I don't want to learn from you." Honesty, and fierce. "I have no intention of picking up ... whatever it is you have." That said, though, she just got tossed the keys. She catches them, and then flips the blade around. In rather short order it disappears down her back, fitting impossibly through the back of the neck of her jacket. That shouldn't work. It's like Highlander or something.

"OK. Listen. You said you had a better plan than mine. So ... we go together. That's my only deal." She turns and hefts up the bodybag, throwing it over her shoulder with an unf and a squelch, then ambles over to the trunk as she pops the lid with the keys. Then she drops that quite literal dead weight inside and drops the lid. No need to break the neck, apparently.

"OK. Now ... you. Big guy. Sebastian, is it?" Priss waits for him to nod. Then she tosses him the keys. "Get it started, and idle. Help the lady and feathers here to get onboard. I'll be with you shortly. You try to leave without me, I'm not responsible for the mess." She heads over to her bike, walking it off the road and then activating the kill switches before she locks it up. Then she takes off the helmet, tossing her mane of ebon hair as she gets free, then snaps it into place on the bike and marches over to climb into the back beside Moreau.

"OK, Sebastian. We're all clear. Giddy-up."

Miss Moreau has posed:
"I /knew/ you would be agreeable!" Comes Moreau happily, enough so that she does a spin in place and claps her hands. She does openly pout though as Priss says she doesn't want to learn.

"How very dull! Not even the least bit curious?" Adds Moreau rhetorically. Still, those keys are caught in turn by the man. He does just as ordered: Moreau is helped into the back as Priss goes to secure her bike. The bird hops from Moreau's shoulder up to the front. The car starts up, and Sebastian waits.

"You sure about this, Princess?"

"Oh, have faith, Sebastian! I'm sure Miss Alice is a perfect Lady. This is our good deed for the year."

Sebastian rolls his eyes.

And then the sedan rumbles to life, and they're off. The drive isn't that long, only about twenty minutes. When they stop? It's at an abandoned little shop. Barred windows, run down, it looks like it'd be a haven for drug dealers and squatters. The sedan drives behind it, into what looks like an old loading area.

Sebastian is already opening the area with a key, shoving up the loading bay doors. Inside? There's a few couches, and what looks like an old freezer that's unplugged. Opening the trunk, Sebastian has the bag full of dead cop over his shoulder. Dumping it out unceremoniously into the freezer, he closes the door behind Moreau and Priss should she enter as well. Moreau finds a couch, and then she pats the seat beside her.

"Sit, relax, Miss Alice. This will take a few minutes, so please. Wine?"

Her book is taken out, held in one hand as she flips through pages. A small breath, and she finds the page she's looking for. Fingers rubbing alone the surface, she smiles. "Oh, by my Power and Mark, come forth to thy Mistress! Rattus rattus!"

Reality shimmers, and then perched all around the freezer are dozens of rats. Each as large as a cat, they're utter monsters: teeth and claws like nails, six eyes on their heads, and a tail ending in a spike of bone.

"Feast, my beautiful friends!"

Then they descend upon the body, and like a pack of piranhas, start to gorge themselves.

Voodoo has posed:
Priscilla really can't help it; she //hates// being called 'agreeable'. It all feels like the old days, when she was powerless, always a hairsbreadth from being a victim. And Moreau's rather interesting demeanor reminds her of the craziest, least stable folks she dealt with in those bad old days.

It's not a pleasant feeling.

Priss doesn't interrupt Sebastian while he drives, and she doesn't interfere. She does follow into the building when they arrive, moving to make sure Sebastian has a hand with the body as needed. But she does //not// sit with Moreau when the other indicates a seat. Instead, she takes a seat on another of the broken-down sofas, keeping some distance. And she doesn't even bother to hide a shudder as the magically altered rats appear. But even that doesn't compare to the almost green-gilled revulsion she demonstrates when they tuck in to consume and devour the body.

Damn.

"Yeah. No wine. Thanks." Honestly, if Priss thought she could get away with just bailing, she would. But she accepted the help, questionable as it is. Least she can do is hear the crazy lady out. She just has to hope Moreau isn't crazy enough to earwig her. And in a world with the likes of the Joker around, that's not an impossibility.

Miss Moreau has posed:
The rats are nothing if not efficient. All of the glurping and crunching aside, the things tear through the body. In the span of five minutes, the fridge is empty. There's not even a single drop of blood left aside from on the rats themselves. Her book closes, and soon? They're gone.

Moreau sighs happily. "Aren't they so useful? I can do so many more things for you, Miss Alice if you've a habit of problems like that. And my rates are reasonable. Favors, entertainment, cash...I am very, very flexible. Dinner some time for a body?" Teases the woman with a little wink.

Arms touch her hips though. "Oh dear, you are a poor houseguest, you know, Alice? Do you treat everyone this way, or only those who want to help you?" She waggles a finger at her. Then, she flicks a card towards her.

"Still. My number. I really do want to know more about you, Miss Alice." She stands, and then, she stalks slowly behind the couch where Priss is sitting. Leaning in, Alice will have to scurry or shove back the crazy mage.

"There is something just so compelling about you. Oh, I can't stand it! Are you /sure/ you won't stay? I am an excellent cook."

Voodoo has posed:
To be honest, Priscilla isn't sure if the revulsion is more a response to the crazy, the creepy, or the possessive. Does it matter? She literally dives out of the sofa and rolls forward, twisting around to her feet with //incredible// grace, speed and athleticism, and she comes up visibly ready for a fight. Trust is nowhere in her, apparently.

"Listen. You did me a solid. I owe you a favor, and I accept that. You name it, now or later, I'll do it." Well, probably. If not, Priss'll deal with that then. Burning bridges and such. "But you need to learn boundaries. People who touch me without permission get dead. Got it?"

That said, Priss isn't above needing illegal access resources, and she doesn't want to make more of a mess of this than necessary. "If you know what you want, in return for the favor, let me know. I'm here." And she's tucking that card away, not burning it.

Miss Moreau has posed:
Moreau gasps as the woman springs to her feet so gracefully! Sebastian is up too, hand going to his hip. Moreau lets out a sharp whistle, and Sebstian sits back down with a grunt.

"You're no fun. Maybe if you were not so interesting, you would not have to deal with situations like this! Can you truly blame a beast for doing what comes naturally?" Tuts Moreau.

Still, now she's leaning back against a wall. For now, Priss has her space, even if the strange mage is looking like she wants to all but throw herself in Priss' arms.

"Fine, fine. Oh, I think I have a very good use for you, my dear Alice. And don't worry, it won't even involve a teaparty! Call me tomorrow, and I will send you the full details. But I will be needing some protection soon. And you would be a lovely warrior to make sure my guests do not do anything...foolish."

Smile. "Until then, you are free to enjoy our hospitality. Oh, maybe I should introduce a few more of my pets to you!" Is that a threat, or just an offer? Hard to tell.

Voodoo has posed:
It's not the first time Priscilla's entrancing aura has caused her problems, but usually it's not quite this creepy bad. Then again, it doesn't usually attract a certifiably insane magical practicioner, either. "I don't blame a beast for doing what comes naturally. But I don't worry about having to put it down, either." she answers honestly. And she definitely has that air of lethality; she's not joking.

"OK. I'll call you tomorrow, and we can make arrangements." Priss offers, trying to put this all on a less confrontational footing. She doesn't want to have to kill anyone, but she will if she has to, even though that's what got her into this in the first place.

"Thanks for the offer. But I think I'll just head back to my bike and be on my way. I'll need sleep if I'm going to be any good to you tomorrow." And she won't be getting any sleep worth a damn while stuck here, that's for sure.

Priss turns to Sebastian. "Hey there, Tiny. You busy? I don't want to put you out, and I know you're hers. But if you could spare twenty to take me back to my bike, I'd appreciate it. If not, just say the word. Won't be the first time I hoofed it."

Miss Moreau has posed:
Her hands go to her chest, and she leans back as if about to swoon. "Oh dear, such dangerous Miss Alice! Lovely, just lovely! I can feel that beast, the hunter within you. My heart flutters!"

Still, she stays where she is.

"Wonderful. I will look forward to your call. No? Well, consider it a standing offer." Wink. Sebastian stands up, and grunts.

He looks to Moreau, who waves her hand. She dips into a curtsey for Priss. "Yes, do be a gentleman, Sebstian. Miss Alice, good day. It has been my absolute pleasure and honor to meet you. Look forward to our little operation, hmm? Oh, this is going to be so much fun!" Then, she collapses into the couch, sighing happily. The ride back will be a quiet one for Priss. Sebastian has only one thing to say.

"You get used to the Princess' weirdness."

Voodoo has posed:
And Priscilla's only response is gentle, but to the point. "I get what you're saying, Tiny. Thing is ... I hope and pray I //never// get used to that. If I do, I hope someone kills me." That said, she hops out of the car and stands beside the driver's door. "Thanks for the ride. Take care of yourself."