A tale of Bohemian Metal {IC}

[DoomHat]

Click here for back stage access (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=11314959#post11314959)

Storm clouds rumbled over the creaking rusted port district, threatening another downpour of noxious brown slime that only in London would qualify as rain…

[Burnheart]

In a cold dark warhouse at 4am a group of people are gathered around the unconscious form of one Patience Muldoon, official muckraker for the Underground Times, who just finished asking for their help.

"Well that wasn't very informative was it?" said the first figure to speak, a well dressed chinese man wearing a strange eye piece and carrying a large white bag marked with a large red cross, the symbol of a doctor.

"I think i can fix that" he continues with an eager smile, not waiting for an answer and stepping forward to crouch over miss Muldoon "The rest of you may want to step back a bit, this could get messy" he says without turning as he opens his bag and begins pulling out all sorts of strange devices, some of which at least appear to serve a medical purpose.

"Hmm lets see make the first incision here" he slices through miss Muldoon's chest from just under the chin down to below the stomach "Lets keep some blood for later tests shall we?" he asks rhetorically while filling three vials with miss Muldoon's blood and placing them carefully in his bag "Next crack open the rib cage" this he does exposing miss Muldoon's organs "You know its funny, normally when i do this there's lots more screaming" next he starts removing some internal organs to make space in the chest cavity "I miss the screaming" he says as he stores one of her lungs in a jar which also gets place with his bag "Now insert the soul containment device like so and" he says whilst inserting some kind of large metal spider with a glass cage in its center.

Rolling my studious gear for this [1d8

"Vuala! One freshly caught soul" a big, satisfied smile breaks across Dr Whites face as a glowing mist begins forming in the glass cage at the center of the metal spider he called the soul containment device. "Well i'm done here time to go" he says when the mist finishes gathering in the cage where it almost looks like the face of miss Muldoon.

[OMG PONIES]

A somber Frenchman tweaks his pencil-thin moustache and looks upon the scene with grim fascination. "Oui," he says to nobody in particular, closing his eyes and clasping his hands in a posture of prayer. "Her soul has been stolen by ze half-crazed Shaolin. Ze chorus sings for her; ze angels adore her. Carry Patience safe to Heaven's broad gate; she'll be waiting always in God's golden hallways--"

Henri's memoriam is interrupted by a hundred stars appearing on the wall. Whatever light the city has to offer pours through fresh bullet holes into the darkened warehouse. "Sacre bleu!" he shouts as he drops to the ground, pulling his pen and a canvas from his pocket and delicately dabbing the tip on his tongue. "Zat is no chorus of angels, but ze sirens of ze fuzz!" Lying on his stomach, Henri furiously sketches away, an odd oblong shape. As he finishes his drawing, he grabs a corner of his picture and tears a grayscale riot shield from the canvas. The glass of the shield is milky gray, much like the glowing mist in Dr. White's device. "Take cover!" he shouts as Interpol agents swarm the building, guns blazing. However, the artiste is able to take cover beneath his latest creation. Shots ricochet off the shield, bouncing harmlessly into the empty corners of the warehouse.

[roll0]

[Valgunn]

Generally the German woman in the large, heavy black coat of leather and other less innocent materials displayed a very calm demeanour. The A to Z of the Dictionary of the Bizarre could have played itself out before her to the tune of of Yankee Doodle Dandy and she would have taken it regally in stride. As it was S had covered by the Chinese man and his bag of soul-collecting tricks, and C had taken care of much earlier by the chemical weapon currently melting the organs of the woman on the floor. It was all categorized and accounted for in a simple, subtle manner that Jezebel found comforting - a place for everything, and everything in its place. All the while keeping herself mostly prepared for when something jumped out at them. Maybe it would be an A for ape-man, or maybe an L for land-octopus.

She was in the process of careful categorization of the rather French looking man (though she held nothing against him for his misfortune - after all, not everybody is blessed enough to be German) when a familiar chorus began to play. Her facial muscles managed to get half-way to a smile before she realized who was responsible for the outburst of automatic operatic fire. "Mein Gott!" She shouted natively. Then the wheel in her mind turned. I for Interpol, and I for international criminal! This sudden realization didn't stop her from acting however. Pulling one of her paired revolvers from her coat she crossed the distance between her an Dr. White as she interposed bullets and armoured coat between the law and them (well, between the law, the law's bullets, and them to be exact).

"Has she died?" She inquired automatically as her free hand pulled the briefcase from the dying/dead woman's grasp. "Or, er..." She drew a blank as to the proper phrasing in the situation. "Is she..." She tried again, but this time she added a complicated expression she hoped implied the correct words.

[roll0]

[Burnheart]

"Her soul is now in this Jezebel" Dr White points to his device "I think it is therefore safe to assume that her physical shell has ceased to function" Looking towards the collapsed wall annoyance flashes across his face "Things are never simple in this country are they?" he adds as he finishes placing the soul containment device back in his bag, then he stands up and says "Well lets get moving then shall we oh and who has the Briefcase?"

[THEChanger]

The large, slightly misshapen Irishman who had also been called held up the black Briefcase. "That would be me, good sir." Breandán Lannon gave a smile, which contorted his burned face into a rather hideous shape. "And I happen to agree. We should get out of here, before those lovely folks from Interpol blast us to bits, or worse, recognize any of us." So saying, Breandán made a dash for the back door, attemping to get out without being too badly hurt by the bullets.
So, this would be in a Decitful manner, seeing as that's how Breandán handles things. Jumping about, hiding behind the odd barrel, that sort of thing. Let's see how he does.
[roll0]
I'd say he did pretty effin sweet!