Private Pormont Manhattan

[Penthesilea]

Something’s rotten in the town of… Saines Fells. A small farm priory needed help, and the naturally unpious Penthesilea was more than ready to try her hand at their conundrum. It was a simple enough task: Find the rabbit that has ruined the priory’s garden. Unfortunately, taking an analytical approach, coupled with her predisposed incredulity towards innocence complicated matters.

Forensics was far and away from being her forté, but she felt that her surface level understanding would be enough to get her by in her adventures in this newfound world. Tragically, the list of alchemical requests she had made of Nota had yet to be filled; she would have no plaster, no fingerprint powder, no body fluid test kits. She was never helpless, despite how lost she may have felt. With the addition of a pair of gloves and a makeshift face mask, she took it upon herself to not contaminate the crime scene.

The priestess who had put her on such a task looked every so deeply concerned as Penthesilea continued to kindly shoo her away from getting too close.

As convinced as she was that it was just a rabbit that had nibbled its way through the scene. Unwilling to accept anything resembling an assumption, she wrote off the entire basis of the priestess’ claim. Once it was known that she didn’t actually see a rabbit, it became an active investigation. Under an unkeen--and particularly amateurish--glance, whatever conspired here could have easily been misconstrued for rabbits, if it weren't for lightest touch of scrutiny tearing the pretense of rabbitry apart.

She had gone through the painstaking trouble of roping off several sections of the garden for a far more thorough look. Individual fallen and partially consumed fruit were taken note of, as well the cleanly cut stems of the tomato vine. More intently than anything, her eyes were trained on the last marker, which outlined the most well-preserved of the pawprints.

Penthesilea had some serious work ahead; something strange and undoubtedly perverse was on the horizon. She didn't expect to be alone for too long. Having mounted suspicions about the supposedly cutesy, and wholesome nature of the "rabbit-plot" she had requested the aid of one of her more hardened companions.

@John Yun

 

[John Yun]

Only vaguely aware of what he was getting himself into initially, John was now fully aware of the entirety of his mistake. The woman, whose name he could not begin to remember properly, had sent a request for his presence of the utmost urgency. Naturally, it did not behoove him to help others. However, he was currently lacking in agency and goals and had nothing better to do, so he set out.

A brief sojourn later, he arrived at the priory garden with an expression of utmost severity. John stood next to the priestess who seemed, in a word, flabbergasted. He too felt the same after observing the garden.

Shit, she's a cop.

At least, that's what John assumed. He wasn't too keen on the details of criminal investigation. It had been nearly 20 years since he'd gone to prison, but the entire experience was unpleasant enough that he still felt that unpleasantness at this exact moment. He started to sweat profusely as he realized that making his character identical in name and appearance to himself in an illegal game probably wasn't the best of ideas.

In any case, she likely (hopefully) didn't know him, and seemed incredibly focused on this 'crime scene'. Scratching his head, he attempted to fathom the reason she was in the game. After a few minutes of thousand-yard-staring into the distance, the only thing he could think of was that she was trying to investigate the game from the inside. Logically, as this was a game, killing her was not an option. The only thing he could think to do was... help her and pray he was wrong and that this wasn't some elaborate ploy to shuttle him back to prison. As much as he hated doing things for others, this was a case of helping her for his own sake...

Stepping over the rope cordon, John approached with as much confidence and stoicism as he could muster, being careful to avoid stepping on the meticulously and carefully placed investigation... things. Standing next to her, he cleared his throat audibly and made an awkward show of imitating crime dramas by cupping his chin thoughtfully. John then stated out loud,

So, what do we got?

@Penthesilea

 

[Penthesilea]

"Good afternoon, Mr. Yun.”

She curtly greeted, upon being accosted by the guttural entrance of her dear friend and all of his past and present criminal misdeeds. Offering up one of her makeshift masks, she gestured for John down to join her in kneeling down to examine the well trodden soil. Being one with a proclivity for brevity, she wasted no time in getting straight to business.

"As you can see this garden has been raided. A rabbit remains the prime suspect, but I believe said rabbit is entirely innocent.”

Perhaps she had practiced this in the time she had. Feigning sympathy for the wronged rabbit was about the only way she could hide her contempt, and the tinge of guilt that followed. It was already a task that lacked dignity; a rousing adventure from a child’s picture book parading itself as a quest. It was a waste of time for everyone involved with only a paltry reward, but at this stage, it was better than the alternative of absolutely nothing.

"Look here, these paw prints lack a natural consistency. Their size varies by centimeters at their worst, the number of toes seems to change, and really, there aren't enough prints to suggest that were were multiple assailants. Thankfully, I have an idea as to how we can find the true culprit."

Penthesilea so plainly explained, taking care to point out the various prints that supported her hypothesis. Her findings were quite deranged. Marked with a small piece of red cloth was what might as well have been called the “smoking gun”: A scuffed paw print. While one theory may have pointed to the wear and tear typically associated with exposure to the elements, she couldn’t abide. Having combed over every single paw print in an exercise of obstinacy, she arrived at a finalized and significant conclusion--several of the “edited” paw prints were left incomplete.

Expecting honesty out of Penthesilea in any way shape or form was going to be a fool’s errand. Even relatively minor manners were often to be drowned out in a mistruth of some capacity. In this case, it was a matter of just how long she was actually at the priory before her request for aid was sent. Clues would be littered here and there, particularly when she went through the trouble of unraveling a parchment she had secured from the priory. Piecing together the rogue truths she painstakingly reconstructed a second suspect--whatever could leave a relatively small two-toed hoof print.

"One last thing, it is Penthesilea."

She added, as a complete non-sequitur.

@John Yun

 

[John Yun]

Gingerly, Mr. Yun received the scrap of cloth with bits of string looped on either side. He attempted to fit it around his face but perhaps Penth-, he shook his head, had neglected to design the mask for someone other than herself. Fortunately, John did not have much time to dwell on Penthies'-, he shook his head again, craftsmanship as she forthrightly began to explain to him why the rabbit-savaged garden was not in fact savaged by a rabbit.

His eyes glazed over as she began pointing out the disturbed earth and telltale signs and earmarks of rabid rabbit savaged... savageness, or lack thereof. It was honestly hard for him to pay attention, let alone recognize anything she had marked or was pointing at. Mr. Yun's attention was snapped back as she pointed to the final clue... Two small marks in the dirt that looked vaguely teardrop shaped. So focused he was, that he nearly missed the proper pronunciation of her name.

I see. That's interesting, Penny.

He confidently started, and then let it drop. Still cupping his chin with a look of intense focus, he stared at the last print. He tried to think of something constructive or perhaps useful but quickly gave up.

It doesn't look like anything to me. What are we supposed to be doing here? Does the priestess want me to make her a rabbit stew or something?

His voice was laced as much vitriol as he could muster for the mundane thing he just said. John couldn't remember the last time he cooked for anyone else and really didn't care to.

With a derisively curled lip he glanced in the direction of the priory before flicking his eyes back to the scarecrow of a woman dementedly labeling and poring over rabbit tracks. It reminded him of old dramas of similarly demented private detectives with an entire of wall covered in snippets, photos, maps and newspaper articles; all linked together with string and tacks in a horrendous spiderweb of obsession.

It doesn't matter what did it, go find a rabbit and give it to the priestess. If she thinks a rabbit did it we'll give her one.

@Penthesilea

 

[Penthesilea]

"It's a small bovine hoof: Likely that of a sheep. Meaning this is simply case of an incompetent shepherd. What we'll be doing is brining their failures to light, or possibly blackmailing them with their failures. I haven't decided yet.

She ever so bluntly explained, burning her parchment to ashes in her own hands. Penthesilea was more than aware of just who she was requesting the help of. In the notes she had taken in her time spent with her companions, she had only one brief line devoted towards John Yun, which amounted to the singular word of "challenging." It was this quality that led her to truly respect him. In this case, as he continued to question and nearly blatantly criticize the questionable nature of the quest at hand, Pentheseila was further steeled by her own innate stubborn inclinations.

So as John argued further, she began to feel as if she wasn't being confronted by John Yun, but rather she was facing her own inner demons attempting to convince her to quit. Sure, she wasn't exactly sure what the priestess wanted with the rabbit; she had assumed it was something twee, along the lines of making it the priory's pet. But whether they wanted to befriend or eat the rabbit was of little consequence; the truth in this case was of little importance to the jaded spy.

Ultimately, he was correct; this was mere child's play. Slay a rabbit, and call it a day. All of this investigation was the farthest thing from necessary, yet, she sighed. Removing her mask and gloves, having effectively cleaned her hands of said crime scene, she turned her typically fierce gaze more directly at Yun,

"Yes. I am aware this is a literal fool's errand. But now, this is a matter of integrity; I have yet to build a reputation, so I refuse to squander it by fumbling such a trivial request. To capture a rabbit, knowing full well that a rabbit is an innocent party is entirely unconscionable. Think for a moment, have you ever seen the film 'North by Northwest', would you really like to inflict such woes on another living creature?"

Her typically elegantly polite tone had been replaced by something containing a concentrated venom. As of this commenced, however, something happened. Between the two slid a goat, making a clear and overtly brazen b-line for the priory with the most gluttonous of intents.

"Hm... I didn't consider that it may be a goat..."

 

[John Yun]

Convoluted solutions to simple problems are likely one of the highest ranking pet peeves on John's long, long list of pet peeves. Naturally, this woman's very existence felt like it was personally designed to annoy him. He regarded her with cold stoicism as she blathered on, and on, about... morals? The morals concerning a rabbit? He couldn't help but interrupt her mid-tirade with an incredulous, pedantic,

It's a rabbit.

Nonetheless, she continued on with her venomous references to a movie he had never heard of. His cold stoicism was only marred now by his twitching left eye as his patience was wearing thin. John attempted of some new sarcastic, toxic comment but was similarly interrupted by the goat.

With a new target for his ire, John snorted derisively and took three heavy strides toward the goat that had brusquely brushed past them. Leaning down, he wrapped his formidable arms around the goat's neck, putting it into a chokehold as he held firmly onto one of its horns. He was surprised that he had to fight with it for a moment before wrenching it back around to Penny,

Fine, let's just bring this back to the priestess.

He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, but he could feel in his cold, dark heart of hearts that the woman would certainly attempt to further obfuscate the situation with another variable.
@Penthesilea

 

[Penthesilea]

It *was* a rabbit. Whatever deeply woven guilt that continued to wax and wane within Penthesilea's mind couldn't change the fact that this was a hypothetical rabbit, and a virtual one at that. She had died on hills much less worthy, but she didn't have to bring someone down with her. She needn't say a word. Having pushed her gaze to the side with an entirely dejected, her exacerbated sigh could echo more than any objection of hers could.

With the goat secured as a goat could possibly be, the gloves were on. She would ensure that her virtual hands saw no filth. Lifting the goats lips she examined its teeth, threatening the poor creature with an ember after its third attempt at chewing her fingers to the bone. Even in a chokehold the goat proved increasingly ornery as Penthesilea checked every corner of its mouth. After losing one of her gloves and the entirely of her right dress sleeve, she was satisfied with what she had analyzed.

Having expressed a certain overconfidence with just how unnatural the range of motion of a goat may have been, Penthesilea's yanked its leg uncomfortably, before tapping the soil off of its hoof. While she had yet to get the slew of testing materials she had requested, she was still confident that the soil was similar enough to the garden's to be said garden's soil. Nodding, she gave the subtle signal that this was, in fact, the goat in question.

Heartbroken, she contended with the fact that her foray into forensics and all that time therein had been for naught. This was, without question, the culprit; it sauntered right back in, having not even bothered to rid itself of the evidence.

"Yes. let's go see the priestess. The reward is yours."

She agreed, not wishing to waste John's time further. Heading towards the door leading to the vestry, she propped it open, so John was free to slam through with troubling himself. Yet trouble awaited, it was inside the priory that the truth continued to reveal itself. The priestess was nowhere to be seen, and in her stead was a goatherd, masked with the flimsiest of domino masks. He failed to notice the two, as he appeared to be writing a note, likely explaining the breadth of his plot.

"I didn't call you here to bore you with the details of an investigation, that was incidental--*this* is what I was afraid of."

'Penny' drearily explained, as her voluminous hair was unceremoniously being chewed on by Pormont's most disrespectful goat, who in turn, attempted to fight against its captor with an empowered second wind.

@John Yun

 

[John Yun]

Maybe it was the unfamiliarity with the game, or perhaps all players had a baseline strength, but John felt quite keenly that his strength was lacking compared to real life. Sure, he didn't have any old injuries or stiff joints, but his muscles seemed... ornamental at the moment. It was a struggle to keep hold of the goat whilst Penny took her sweet, sweet time inspecting every last nook and cranny of the goat. Puffing and sweating, he hauled the creature toward the priory door.

Hardly able to pay attention to Penny as she indirectly explained what was in front of them, John's sweaty grip on the goat's horn slipped. Quick to take advantage of the tired man's opening, the goat swiftly bucked its head back into John, smacking his forehead with, thankfully, a non-pointy section of horn. Reeling back, the goat followed up with a double-hooved kick into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he stumbled back onto the floor.

Labored breathing punctuated by several groaning coughs, John lied on the ground for a few moments as the goat trotted toward the masked man writing on some sort of table. So focused, the man was, on his writing that he didn't hear the creature behind him. With a gleam in its creepy rectangular eyes, the goat snaked its head around the man, snagging the note with a simple extension of its bearded mouth.

Simultaneous curses resounded from two directions. One set came from the groaning John as he stood up, face red with apoplectic rage. The other from the all too focused man whose hard-wrote note was just stolen and was currently being consumed by a goat. Though, notably, the words used by each man were quite a bit different.

Bastard!

Taffer!

Unenthused with his current strength, John's eyes, red with malice, snapped around for a brief moment before locking onto a long, strangely hooked walking stick next to the door. Grabbing it with the vigor of a man about to destroy a goat, John began to approach the goat. Meanwhile, the masked man continued to use strange words as he gestured at the goat that continued munching on his note.

 

[Penthesilea]

She couldn't agree in good faith; John Yun was evidently more proficient in acts of bastardy, while the goatherd's entire schtick was unbearable levels of taffidness.

Whatever the goatherd was mumbling had to end--be it commands to the goat, incantations, or unflattering comments about her lack of décolletage. Flourishing her arm forward she fired a small fireball directly at the slackjawed mouth of the villainous goatherd. To give both herself and John a moment to properly prepare for the battle at hand. Seeing John prime and ready to eliminate the goat, Penthesilea prepared to fire more fireballs towards the masked goatherd.

As John had unsheathed his fists to best made short work of his incalculably quarrelsome foe, so would Penthesilea. From a holster hidden on her shin she flourished a small lyre carved into the shape of a laurel wreath. However, the faithful introduction of her weapon. Instinctively she held a strict grip on the instrument, showing fine trigger-discipline as she kept her aim trained on the unarmed farmer. Just as quickly, she shook the non-berretta from it's headlining position and lamented this embarrassing incident that would only serve to haunt her forever.

She wasn't sure how this was going to go. While she was aware she wasn't stuck having to operate her antiquated instrument manually, she still lacked her usual self-assured confidence. Completely unlike her trusted cello, she felt lost as she blindly fondled the poor lyre. Fighting the nervous compulsion to close he eyes in the face of *danger*, she elegantly plucked at one of the string. Having expected nothing short of a discordant whine of the instrument's anguish, she was pleasantly surprised to hear a graceful utterance of... a note. Struggling to slide into the idea that this was going to combat for her, she continued to meander through the strings.

Penthesilea began to pick up the pace, playing a lilting waltz of a tune. This had only been one part of her performance. Unfortunately, her command of prosody was almost embarrassing. While she certainly enjoyed the works of English, and her own beloved Italian poets, she was far from being a poet herself.

Instilled with the confidence that came from instantaneous mastery of the lyre, she wondered if her command of poetry would be enhanced. Entering at the proper beat, the wraithful bard began to tell a story. Well suited for an adventure involving a rabbit and goat, it would all begin with a spider, finding a moth trapped in its web. Closing in, the spider would hear a voice, a cry. Claiming to be a great duke cursed, the moth begged and pleaded, offering more of his wealth as the spider bound him in its web, preparing to devour it... Somehow, this story was meant to supplement John Yun's strength.

The goat, however, was on a completely different wavelength. Whatever was driving it towards its previously mischief was compelling it to shift further into genuine malicious activities. Grabbing a priceless tapestry between its teeth, it feigned eating it for a precious moment. With a violent lash of its it neck, it yanked the tapestry down, flinging the iron rod that supported it at John Yun with deadly intent.

 

[John Yun]

Channeling his rage, John rushed forward toward the goat with his new stick held aloft. Just as he neared the loathsome creature, as he was about to ultimately end the bane of all things moderately edible, a sudden bolt of pure fire whizzed past John's head. Reflexively, he ducked down; looking back, he noticed Penny with her stick-like arm raised toward the masked man. He was about to swear at her when he felt a building heat coming from his hands. Eyes turning back to his newly acquired bludgeoning instrument, he let out a curse as he dropped the now-aflame piece of wood. Simultaneously, he heard what could only be described as a curse from the masked man again, who was trying to put out a fire on his shirt sleeve. It seemed as if the fireball had been deflected slightly when striking the stick, and had narrowly grazed the man's arm.

More importantly, John's attention snapped back to where the goat had been; mysteriously, and worryingly empty. Odd music and what could only be described as words came from Penny's direction. However, John had neither the time nor the ear for music to pay any more attention, other than to acknowledge the sounds existed. His eyes darted from place to place in the, frankly, small priory. Not a moment after he spotted the awful creature gnawing on some sort of wall rug, a wrought iron rod with menacing looking fleur de lis spikes was whipped in his direction.

John dove to the ground, letting loose a string of curses as the rod whizzed past his head. Not caring, or realizing that the rod would continue toward Penny, John jumped back to his feet and charged the goat before it could pull any more stunts. Leaping over a bench he delivered a dropkick to the goat's side, sending it sprawling onto its side with a distressed bleat. True to his nature, John immediately ran up to the downed creature and began brutally stomping it, punctuating each rage-fueled stomp with an angry curse.

@Penthesilea

 

[Penthesilea]

This didn't look too bad. John was handling well with the Paratrooper-esque confidence that Penthesilea had hoped. For a time, she continued to tell her story of the spider, who would eventually drop the big reve--before any spider-related plot threads because she realized that she was in the most mortal danger she had been in since she put that headset on.

In the zone of rhythm, she attempted to remove her head from the deadly trajectory of the flying missile, in perhaps the most needlessly flashy way possible. Throwing her leg up with enough force to throw her head downwards, the bard just narrowly avoided dying. She hadn't accounted for the excess fabric that had come with her supposedly period accurate mage attire. While having so elegantly succeeded in her somersaulting, dodge, she found herself struck. While the makeshift javelin hadn't hit her, it almost hit her, and in doing so, struck her robes between her ankles. Now pinned to the wall, upside down she was both made a fool of made and became an easy target.

Switching up her tune. While previously, she seemed to sticking to something entirely within the lyre's natural wheelhouse--a very Greek inspired accompaniment. Now, much of that slow, atmospheric background noise was replaced by a far more contemporary sounding, if still slow, build-up. All of a sudden, as her face flushed from her increasingly, precarious upside-down position, she switched up her song's cadence. All of a sudden, her song was far more deliberately disarranged. Abrupt chaos flew from lyre, as her spindly fingers meandered from the graceful dancing of a humanized spider to to the brutal hammering of someone looking to bang an instrument into a pulp and then set it afire. Appropriately, flames sputtered from the corners of mouth leading to roar ejected d-ranked puff of fire flying towards the taffer-in-chief, who seemed to be just ridding himself of the first round of fire.

Yet, one technically edible thing remained--John Yun himself. In a moment that could be deemed upsetting to all those living, and at least some of the dead, the goat bellowed with the guttural shriek of a goat suffering from the purest form of pugilists rage. Lashing it's head upwards in a textbook example--in Penthesilea's eyes--of shequan nanpai, the goat attempted to clamp its teeth into John's stomping shin, where it would hang on for dear life.

@John Yun

 

[John Yun]

Too incensed with his current situation, John ignored his temporary ally's predicament. Not that John would help even if he weren't preoccupied. The goat was generally unable to resist nor able to get back up with John keeping it down with his unrelenting barrage of stomps. The cries of the goats blended seamlessly with whatever noises Penny was producing.

The creature known as a goat could seemingly only put up with John's assault for so long. Letting loose its unearthly cry it bent its neck in a grossly unnatural way as it latched onto John's leg. Despite the fact that he had a moderately thick pant leg in the way, John still felt a significant amount of pain. Grunting in pain, John wrenched his leg away from it, hissing as its teeth slipped away from his flesh and bit into the excess cloth of his pant leg.

In retaliation John dropped from a standing position and used his momentum to strike the side of the goat's head. Upon impact, the goat's head pulled free from his pant leg and smacked against the floor of the priory. Unsure if it had perished or had simply been incapacitated, John stared at it for a moment with his fist raised. After a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly due to exertion, John finally looked up to see what was going on.

Fire, lots of fire.

@Penthesilea