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Black Hands

Click, snick, bang.

0 · 103 views · located in Wing City Gardens

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

The Protomen wrote:"If there was a time
If there ever was a chance
To undo the things I've done
And wash these bloodstains from my hands...

It has past and been forgotten,
These are the paths that we must take.
You and I Tom? We are men.
And we can bend, and we can break.

Image

There's a little man in the realm,
who makes a little noise.

When he makes a little noise,
he scares the girls and boys.

When he scares the girls and boys,
he attracts, and here he's poised.

To catch the little man,
who makes a little noise.

So begins...

Black Hands's Story

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Click, clop, click, clop. Snick, Snick. Ka-chik.

These were the sounds that the hard-boiled detective made, his boots crossing the wooden floor of the bar, heel to toe, precise. Accurate. These were the sounds of his purposeful walk and his steady arms as he reloaded his service revolver, sliding the bullets into the eight chambers, reloading the cartridge with the same precision that he moved and carried himself with. Gloved hands finished their service, flipping the pistol closed with a click and a leather rasp as he slid it back into his holster. Fingering his hat, he decided to get on with his purpose for being here.

He was looking for a little man, of little noise. They told him that the little man was nearby, having been in this very bar quite recently. His footsteps carried him towards Taylor Besset, his grey eyes holding hers as the double clomp of his boots left him planted directly in front of her.

"Ssssckuse me, mmadam." He said, the words sounding foreign and oddly shaped on his tongue. "I'mm looking for some... i-informmation."

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Fire and brimstone would have a home with the man who slipped, rather than walked, through the front doors, utilizing a mere daylight of space between the heavy wood to make his presence in the space. His black gloves flinched and flexed, working themselves into the hands that were assumed underneath the heavy leather, fingers stretching in awkward angles, working constantly, twitchy, jumpy. But not nervous. Never nervous.

It was hard for nerves to strike the figure, who, for all the world, looked as if he belonged in the original Scarface. The man appeared to have just walked straight from a gangster film; white shirt poking beneath a black jacket and a matching tie, shined shoes, chiseled jaw and thick neck. He would look perfectly at home cradling a cigar between two fat fingers and uttering the words now, listen here, see.

The man loved his stereotypes. Almost as much as he loved his whiskey.

Speaking of, he meandered over to the bar, his intent upon sucking down the amber liquid clear through his body language. Seating his well-dressed ass upon a stool, he placed his forearms against the bar, an eyebrow lifting towards the screen as he tapped a few buttons. Inhaling, he smelled sin, sweat, and death.

He loved the cocktail they made.

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The man nodded at Alice, once. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be a woman in an age that was dominated by male strength, in a job where the view screens were deemed more useful for patrons than herself. These days, people were content to bury themselves into their own cocooned lives, they barely noticed the world around them. Lifting an errant eyebrow, he observed the tender, a small smile adorning his face. She was even pretty, a shining example in this moment of introspection exactly why it was so important to stop and smell the proverbial roses. Had he been a less enlightened man, he would've missed the glance upon her visage.

His head tilted slightly, taking in the girl who had just approached an order screen with a caution. Crepa was deemed interesting enough to further observe. He idly thought of an enemy on this earth, the dear, good Lamp. He would observe her at length, the man figured. He'd observe the shit out of her, make a full report on her actions, and then approach her and demand that she explain herself. There was something about the... chaos of her attire. Lamp would find her beautiful, no doubt. Lamp loved things that were far beyond norm.

This made the man hate her instantly.

He shifted a stool down so there was less room in between them, and gave her a long, slow look, from the soles of her feet to the top of her head, not even attempting to bury his glare. When he reached her face, his lips twisted around dark words, revealing completely blackened teeth.

"I don't like you."

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"She?" The drawl came from pale lips, black teeth split wide in a grin. The man's jaw worked for a moment, taking in the words she said, mouthing them along with her as the feeling behind them registered with his synapses. When she put such enthusiasm and feeling into the single word - bad - he mouthed it with equal fervor, a piece of spittle flying from his mouth and dissipating between them. Wiping at his lips, he grinned towards her.

"I am only a stranger until you introduce yourself to me, you hateful little thing." He said, calmly. "How exactly do you figure that strangers are bad? What if I were to give you money, or many gifts of wonderful connotations. Would that make me bad, still? Is Mother Theresa bad?"

Jesus, he was starting to act like Lamp, now. Just fuck with them without the questions. Don't start slipping now.

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Mouthing the words along with the girl, the man's smile began to grow, sinister and evil against the pale skin of his face. Shifting a chair closer, so they were as near as he dared, he finished her thoughts. "Mother is Julia." He whispered, with her. Looking back at her eyes, he let the grin overtake him once more.

"Soooo," he drawled. "You're simple. And stupid. Good things to know, in the long run." He paused, a tilt to his head. "I wonder if you have triggers. Switches to pull. I wonder if I can ruin your mind. It certainly seems feeble enough."

Concentrating, he squinted at her, his eyes flooding to be completely black. "Let's see... How about... Ro. Who is she."

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The man blinked as he mouthed her words, this time with a faint whisper behind each one. In harmony, the feminine voice of her and the rough, grizzled whisper collided in the air, making a symphony of oddities, a dark choir murmuring every word. He liked the way that "trigger" sounded from their mouths, the way it seemed ominous, evil. He nodded when he said it, delighted beyond compare.

"What do you dooooo," he murmured, shifting closer, "with the gun? Do you touch it? Does she pull the trigger? Does she think about pointing at someone and taking them from living to dead?"

"Does she know what dead means?"

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The man gasped, after the mouthing of her words. "Surely, you should be allowed to touch it! There can be nothing wrong with touching the trigger, picking it up, handling it. It makes such a lovely sound; a deep and bass-y boom. I'm a friend. You can trust me on this, my dear."

He leaned closer to her. "What do those people know? Edan and Little Ro have not seen what I have. I've walked through at least eight hundred summers, and nearly as many winters. Little Ro and Edan haven't seen as many of them as I have. Next time it's by itself, why don't you hold it for a seventh time? Why don't you see what kind of big, fun sound it makes?"

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Walk through the bar, step around the men and women of it, ignore the cold breeze that curls your toes and makes you shiver slightly.

Hop up on the bar counter. Put hands under chin.

Watch.

These were the thoughts of the Black Hands.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Main Street

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A chuckle floated across the street, hanging in the air.

"Dancing through life. Swaying and sweeping. But always keeping cool."

The haunting tones of the voice faded in and out, multiple whispers all collecting together.

A final cackle, and the sounds of the thumping music continued uninterrupted.

The setting changes from Main Street to Gambit's Bar

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"I expected more out of you, Reaver."

The voice came from beneath the darkened fedora, a snarling and sinister chuckle that flung around the bar air, ringing clear and strong as it hung. The man sidled up to the machine, leaning against the bar counter as he watched Reaver clumsily touch the screen, laughing harder at the ministrations.

"You can't possibly think you can drink, can you? And you shouldn't be so damn anti-social - there's a perfectly attractive young woman over there for you to go and pester."

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Wing City Gardens

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A slow applause suddenly erupted the air around them, as Memphis was just about to comply with his love's demand.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Well, nowwww," the deep, monotone voice came from the shadows, all around them, getting slowly closer. Six hat brims appeared first, before the stern and angular features of a man moulded fully into the light, an identical sneer on six, imposing faces. "Well, well, well, now. This is a touching scene. Touching. So, so very touching. Sincerely, I'm touched."

The six men all reached into a chest pocket, as Memphis began to let loose a low growl. A lighter was withdrawn, the snick of the flint flaring, lighting up the night. Six cigarettes suddenly appeared in six mouths, six whisps of smoke floated into the night sky, six low chuckles began rumbling from six low chests.

Something wicked, this way comes.

"Of course, of course. The two reunited loverrrrs. Does it bother you not, that she's undead? Vampiric. Zombified, even. Does it botherrrr you? Of course. Of course."

A smile around the cigarette.

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Character Portrait: Memphis Character Portrait: Black Hands
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The man in black nodded, once, twice, five times in rapid succession, each of the figures bobbing and weaving with the movement. "Aaaah. Ah ah ah. You were, expeccckting us? I see. I see, I see I see. Expecccckting us. I see."

He shifted, six heads bouncing between the two of them rapidly, glancing at each face. Suddenly, he grinned wide, the cigarette disappearing. "Oh-ho. Oh-ho-ho-ho. You are looking... for the version of me that is leading, yes? The leader, like a game. "Follow the leader! Follow him!" Ha! Yes, you are looking for the version that leads the parade. Like marching orders. The leader. Oh-ho."

He spread his arms. "And how, pray tell, for I pray you to tell me... What will you do when you find him? Will you kill him, Memphis? Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Your brother, you are not. You still have detestable things, like honor. Yes, honor. Honor killed your love, did it not? And the girl... still holding onto an illusion of love. Does she know, Memphis? Does the girl know what you did to bring her back? Does she know?"

He grinned, big and wide. "Oh-ho. Oh-ho-ho-ho. I'll give you the first shot, then. Oh-ho. Take it. First shot is yours. Yes, the first-"

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Black Hands spit at Memphis' boots. "Keep telling yourself that."

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The man in black smiled. "It isn't what I want, little girl. It's what They want. There are forces at play, forces playing, playing of force, that you or I cannot comprehend. I do as the man asks; I'm but the hands that are sent by the Brain. And the Brain's thoughts are something that I do not question, oh, no. No, not at all. Not a single little bit.

"You see, there is more than God here, little girl. You are a pawn. An important, pretty pawn - gorgeous pawn, oh yesssss - but a pawn, never the lesser. Your maaaaan, here, this man, the man; he has a more important role to fill. A void that he must complete, since he and his brother both opted to leave their position. They never forget, Memphis. Ridiculous name. So ridiculous.

"But the message for you, dear man - gorgeous man, quite a lovely man you are - is that the Lamp comes. And he comes quickly. It's best you not face him in the dark. Oh nooooo."

With that, the man in black melted into the soil.